With the ever-watchful Taltil beside, the two of us leisurely sauntered through Sarenthill on the third day. Availing the comforts of the ostentatious luxury offered by Leyandur’s office while waiting for Arlene would have been the prudent choice. That would also mean, enduring the probing from Antilorwe. After the dramatic unfolding of events with Celerim at their event, more than a few had their curiosity unappeased. Certainly, Antilorwe was one among those.

As we progressed through, Taltil suddenly stood fixated, eyes glaring daggers at the stalls of a street vendor. The vendor had delicately crafted candied flowers in bright colours of cherry pink, Magenta and honey gold. Her eyes darted between the vendor and me, oscillating between two states, hopeful expectation and longing desire. My stoic demeaner disappointed her and her big ears drooped, pouted and started dejectedly kicking imaginary things on the ground with her feet. With a huge sigh, I put down my resolve and engaged the pouting goblin.

“I do not have any coin. See no purse,” With outwardly extended arms, I shrugged.

A dark cloud of sadness settled on Taltil’s face as she faintly tried to apologise. I felt worse.

“Let me promise you this, we wait for Arlene and the others. Then we visit Silvaniel. Silvaniel pays Nemeash. Nemeash will give us coins and then I buy for all of you,” I patiently explained.

Her face regained its previous glory at the promise of the heavenly elixir, candied flowers.

“Grand Mistress, we meet.... tall elf man.... and get coins. Now,” suggested Taltil. I snorted at her name for Silvaniel. Long high elven names are still a struggle for Taltil to pronounce.

“That is not how it works. Nemeash has to be present,” I firmly insisted. It would be a bother to explain the complexity of how trading deals work to the goblin.

“We go now?” asked Taltil.

“No we wait. Till Vitalia is there first,” Taltil hissed at the mention of the fae.

In Vitalia’s presence, Antilorwe would not dare to approach me and thereby a lot of prodding interrogations would be avoided.

“Why?” persisted Taltil with her question. She seemed to be in a learning mood today.

“Because,” I took a pause to sort out of the answer, “the last one to come in gets the coin fast. so we go last.”

The answer seemed to satisfy the curious goblin.

we made a few more idle rounds around Sarenthill, before making our entrance into the building that Leyandur and associates called their office.

As we stepped in, the first thing to greet us was the commotion. My initial plan of a quick exchange with Arlene, Vitalia and Nemeash, fell into ruins when my eyes laid on Theodore and Captain Jorrel. Behind them stood the elegant form of Lady Jessbeth. Her serene and austere appearance contrasted every bit to the nervous gait of her household staff. Razzia blended in with the surrounding crowd and tried to keep her profile low. She currently engaged herself with another receptionist, a girl who is appeared to have gained only a few years on Razzia. The spy was back to her game, though her reasons were still shrouded in mystery.

Polite greetings were exchanged and acknowledged but the most vocal came from behind me.

“Rylon, at last, you are here,” the audacious voice of Ellie reverberated through the hall, “You left abruptly. So sudden. I am happy to see you doing well.”

Anselm stood awe-struck behind his wife, marvelling at the impressive interior of the hall. His companions, a handful of men and women in rustic wear stood with Anselm, a group set aside from the rest. Their pastoral and sylvan garbs set them aside from the polished cosmopolitan design of the reception hall. Their tired, restless eyes wandered all over the place, basking in the glorious display of wealth and posh.

Dar and Sir Gladwin stood pensively beside Arlene, with a wide smile on their otherwise calm face. I nodded to them in a simple acknowledgement. So almost everyone is assembled. Time to complete our side of the bargain and move ahead to more pressing matters.

Silvaniel cleared his throat, a gesture demanding the attention of all who gathered. His still fatigued eyes, a reminder of the ordeal that he suffered the past few days but the colour slowly returned to his face and traces of his old charm started to show up.

“We could now unlock the box, “ uttered Silvaniel to everyone in the room but he kept his attention on Lady Jessbeth and Nemeash.

For her part, Lady Jessbeth simply nodded and requested, “Could Lady Rylonvirah be present?”

“Sadly the will did not stipulate her presence, “ stammered Silvaniel, followed by a scratching his clean-shaven chin before she continued, “I am sure Lady Rylonvirah has far more important things to discuss with the representative from the trading guild.”

I was thankful to Silvaniel for the graceful exit option that he provided me. With that, Lady Jessbeth followed by Theodore, Ellie, Anselm and their few companions trailed after Silvaniel. After a moment of trepidation, Nemeash briskly followed them.

Bereft of all the aristocrats, a wave of relief washed over me.

“Whatever you had to do in Sarenthill, that demanded your attention, I take it that it went well?” questioned Arlene directly.

“Went better than I thought. Within a day, we should be officially registered with Sarenthill,” I spared Arlene the exact details.

“By ‘went better than I thought' do you mean the tryst with the handsome high-elven boy?” interrupted Razzia with a grimace.

Anger seeped through my face as I glared at Razzia. The woman just shrugged in defence.

“People talk,” she said.

“High elven-boy?” Arlene eyes widened in surprise and her voice rose, “I thought you hated high-elves,”

“Valiant little one, you should learn that people can surprise you when you get to know them well. Reserve your prejudices or much better leave it where it belongs. Outside,” admonished Vitalia, “Magistra Rylonvirah certainly has her own reasons. Don’t you Magistra?”

Had I known that this would happen, I would have happily cooped myself in a locked room, gladly answering Antilorwe’s probing. Despite her visible lack of interest in my personal affairs, Vitalia is the worst when it comes to interfering in the private lives of others. Now, I am her chosen victim.

“That was a bit misleading. Actually, the young High-elf in question was the son of a long lost friend of mine. I, “ paused myself and evened my breathing to an acceptable rhythm, lest Vitalia suspects, “We thought her lost. It was intensely emotional to know that she is well.”

“Explains why you had to go running after the high-elf, screaming his name,” countered Razzia. A sardonic smile played on her face.

“And this friend of yours, hadn’t she not thought of contacting you all these times? Surely, Magistra, she would have known that she was missed dearly,” cajoled Vitalia. As I suspected, Vitalia does not intend to let the issue fall.

“A simple misunderstanding on her part, which if I may candidly say, was surprised me as well. I thought I knew her and her family well. She suddenly disappeared and now has even changed her name. Very surreal. If I may borrow your knowledge and expert opinion, Provost,” directing my gaze towards the nosy fae and with a hope that she would take the bait, “I wonder what kind of circumstances would force someone to abandon a respectable position in a high drow house, change their name and marry into a high-elven house?”

The unexpected snort came from Arlene.

“The embers of a forbidden love died and she returned to her own people,” declared Arlene. A comment which drew deep stares from all of us gathered.

“Well for one she is not a High-elf and more importantly, she is not someone who falls with anyone on a whim,” I corrected her while suppressing the torrent of rage that surged inside me.

“Then the circumstances of your friend’s current marital status is more interesting,” cut in Vitalia as she purposefully tried to avoid looking in Arlene’s direction, “High-elves legally do not allow marrying into other races. Their children with mixed bloodlines are never accepted in their families.”

“But...I witness with my own eyes, High-elves with non-elven blooded partners.” I countered still struggling to get a grasp on the image that I build in the past few days.

“But not inside the dominion or even in High-elven prominent regions and mostly they were on the run,” Razzia revealed with a smug look.

Arlene choose to remain silent. Her face drew a blank expression.

“Most likely one of your houses threatened her? Made her flee?” suggested Razzia.

“Unlikely,” I denied her opinion, “She has a mountain of a will. Her partner would have protected her. Armies at their disposal.”

“Magistra,” said Vitalia with her characteristic voice of authority, “maybe the simplest answer is always the correct one. She was simply running away from her partner.”

“Impossible,” I refused.

“That seems right,” added Razzia, “She was running away from an abusive relationship.”

“Absurd, that would never happen. I know her partner.” Anger seeped through my voice.

“Then you are the ignorant one Magistra,” lashed out Vitalia as her eyes squinted hard and her jaw clenched tight. An unnatural silence passed through the hall.

“Maybe you did not know ‘her partner’ well as you would like to think,” Vitalia’s onslaught continued, “Look, everyone likes to think that they have the complete picture. But the reality is always multi-faceted. The face that was revealed to us may not always be the face that was shown to others.”

“That is my experience too. I agree with the honoured Fae’s views,” joined Razzia.

Deliverance came in the form of Nemeash, as he strode purposefully in my direction.

“I am grateful for all your ideas but I should now discuss matters of utter important with Nemeash,” With those words, I extracted myself from their accusatory circle.

“Nemeash, Do you have a moment?” the question, more a matter of formality.

Nemeash just gave a broad smile, the intent clear.

“I take it that they are now mulling over the contents of the box?” I asked.

“I wager not. My assignment was to procure the symbols. What happens next, those details are not for my eyes,” answered Nemeash.

I slipped him a folded and well-preserved parchment.

“Could I avail your services now?” My words contorted with mirth.

“What should I procure for you, O gracious employer?” Nemeash caught on with the humour.

“I just passed you the pattern, a famous but eccentric blacksmith engraves those on her designs,” my voice dropped to a whisper. I expected Nemeash to be surprised at the gender of the blacksmith but Nemeash’s eyes focussed more on the engraving in the parchment.

For a long-enduring moment, his eyes drank in every detail in the parchment.

“You want me to find all her creations?” asked Nemeash.

“No, I want you to find her,“ His calm posture changed to a defensive stance.

“Yes, but do not contact her. Hear me out. Way back I had armies outfitted with her weapons and they were masterwork quality. Reliable and trustworthy. If I were to face more enemies, like the pruning hands, I would like The Aberrant Irregulars equipped with decent weapons.” I explained the truth but only part of the truth.

“Not a request that is usual in my line of work,” scoffed Nemeash.

“Do not try to make direct contact with her. She is a bit picky with her privacy and moves a lot,” I explained.

“Anything else that I should be aware of? where should I start? any leads?” Questions fired from Nemeash like a turret in a siege.

“She is a tiefling and the last I know of her work, it was somewhere around Ellisinore. She was connected with some prominent families there. I would start from there, but discreetly,” I suggested.

“Then I would depart to Ellisinore with the next transport available,” declared Nemeash.

A loud tapping of boots on the polished limestone floor announced the approach of Sir Gladwin and Dar.

“Dar, you look well,” I shouted in excitement at the peddler, “what brings you here?”

I was finally relieved to have the company of someone who is simple and honest. No more playing around with words and agendas.

“Madam, I would not miss the chance to greet my saviour,” uttered Dar with his peddler savviness.

“Still playing with honeyed words, I see,” I humoured the peddler.

“Madam, I am just a simple humble peddler. Such words are beyond me,” refused Dar. His words disagreed but his expression radiated joviality.

“Not for long. You are looking at a soon to be caravan master,” interjected Sir Gladwin.

“oh...,” I dramatically raised my surprised voice, “how did that happen?”

“The caravan master fell ill during our journey and Dar proved competent enough to liaison between the mercenaries, Lady Jessbeth and the gypsies. So Lamont and I decided that when we return to Westerleygates, Dar will get his own caravan to lead,” explained Sir Gladwin. He appeared unaffected by the journey and still retained his wits about.

“Such an honour is not for the likes of me,” rejected Dar. His thin bony hand scratched the back of his head.

“I think you should grab the opportunity, Dar. Think about it. You will have the protection of The Aberrant Irregulars and you will be associated with a guild. No longer can nobles force you to part with your goods for a lower price. “ I encouraged the peddler.

“Technically they still...” countered Sir Gladwin, but stopped himself when I glowered at him.

“If you say so, Madam,“ finally gave in Dar.

I patted Dar on the back and we all laughed.

At last, the pruning hands can do whatever nefarious deeds they want. We have dealt them a serious blow for now. Dar is on a good track to becoming a reputable Merchant. At the end of the day, we will get paid and within the following days, The Aberrant Irregulars would be an officially registered Mercenary company. Finally, I am a step closer to finding Lyria. I can finally rest a bit, catch my breath and enjoy myself with a roof over my head. With the revelation, the weight of the past days lifted from my shoulders, I shared a hearty well deserved laugh in the company of the three men.

ElenaV

Dear Reader, you might consider till this point to be the official end of Arc I
I, Initially planned for the following to be a part of the interlude before ARC II begins since it foreshadows some of the events to occur in Arc II
But upon introspection, it did not feel right to make them into an interlude, that would not bring closure to the ARC
Maybe with more pondering in the future, I would find a way to weave the chapters so that the end of the arc and Interlude are separated
But for now, Please accept this.

Theodore rushed in, his face drenched in sweat and breathing uneven. With long strides that refused his age, he reached us.

“Lady Rylonvirah,” he took a brief moment to compose himself, “Lady Jessbeth requests your presence. There has been some development. A nifty situation has presented itself.”

“With who?” I questioned with a sliver of hope to gain more about the situation before plunging myself in.

“With Antilorwe and Silvaniel,” answered Theodore.

“In that case, Provost Vitalia may I request your company,” I requested politely.

Arlene naturally accompanied us.

The room that we were ushered into was every bit luxurious with colourful glass ornamented chandeliers and exquisite paintings adorning the walls. The delicate figure of Lady Jessbeth sat on a well-enamelled chair. Her fingers clasped tightly on the figures carved on the handrest of the chair. Her face still maintained a composed austere grace while panic reigned behind her amber eyes.

Antilorwe loomed next to the panic-stricken girl, her eyes squinted hard in accusation. Behind her, stood Silvaniel, rubbing his chin.

Lady Jessbeth glowed as she noticed my presence and addressed me directly, “Lady Rylonvirah, there have been some unexpected developments.”

“Calling it a development is an underrated statement,” scoffed Antilorwe.

“I take it that it has something to do with the contents of the puzzle box? May I have a look?” I asked.

Antilorwe clasped an ancient parchment tightly between her fingers and glared at me.

“Unfortunately, that is unadvisable,” bluntly responded the elven-woman.

“I can give you a brief summary,” volunteered Silvaniel.

“Lord Bevan Wysteria, felt that the campaign, though started with good intentions of riding the lands of the daemon colluding Verdant Hegemony, had his belief shaken with the progress of the campaign. So finally when he lead the forlorn hope into the breach in Faredhil’s Fall redoubt, he did what he could to save those poor souls. In a questionable and misguided manner,” explained Silvaniel.

“He did the best he could to save those lives. They were besieged by armies from all sides. The inhabitants were not daemon or daedric worshippers as the propaganda made it sound. When he leapt into the breach all that he found was poor malnourished people. People with family. People trying to get by with honest wages,” continued Lady Jessbeth from where Silvaniel left.

“My ancestor knew that he could not smuggle them all to safety. A select few, he inducted into his own army and later made sure that they settled well among the gypsies and as peasants in some remote villages. Even provided them each with the symbols for unlocking the puzzle box. I guess that was his way of repentance for the wrongs of our people.”

Lady Jessbeth stopped her narration. Stains of vivid scarlet invaded her cheeks while knowledge of the actions of her ancestor still knotted desperately inside her. She finally pushed a teardrop from the corner of her eyes and her composure returned.

The contents of the puzzle box placed her in a terrible spot. If made public, her house would feel the wrath of humans and elves alike.

Still does not explain Antilorwe’s stance or why Silvaniel is apprehensive?

“The rest, those he could not smuggle inside his army, he hid them inside a portal and begged in his will to open a breach and help those poor souls. That was his humble dying wish,” explained Lady Jessbeth with a pensive shimmer eclipsing her eyes.

“His dying wish was to open a large scale portal to an unknown hellscape,” scoffed Antilorwe with a twinge of sarcasm.

“Do we know which realm?” Vitalia’s voice cracked through the room demanding absolute attention from all.

Antilorwe adjusted her jabot and breathed in shallow quick gasps. When she finally found her voice, it was small weak and trembling.

“All we know from the instructions are that it is another extraplanar realm. Not the good sort or even the ethereal plane. The message states that they are not sure which entity rules the plan. Uncertain if it is an archfiend or prince. So it has to be one of the daemonic, daedric or circle of hell.”

“So you still have your wits to guide you,” retorted Vitalia, “Did you bother to infer how Lord Bevan managed to hold the portal open for a whole population to pass through? He was no mage and that is a feat even planar mages cannot attempt on a whim.”

“From what we gathered there were a handful of conjurers and daemonologist inside Faredhil’s Fall redoubt,” replied Silvaniel.

“Does not add up. A few mages could not have managed it. Unless there was a strong ritual tied to opening it, in the first place,” offered Vitalia and sent her piercing gaze towards Silvaniel.

Uneasiness knotted inside Silvaniel. He wiped the sweat from his brow.

“How many symbols are there again? Entertain me,” demanded the fae.

“Ten,” I volunteered with the altruistic intention of saving more from Vitalia’s attitude.

“A tenfold ritual. So Lord Bevan was crafty. The ten bloodlines he saved, were done with careful planning. Those bloodlines are needed to open the portal to the realm again,” revealed Vitalia.

“That is immaterial. The will of Lord Bevan, however altruistic it might sound, still demands that a portal be opened to a lower plane. We cannot allow it,” resisted Antilorwe. She let her defiance finally spill over into her words.

Summoning her inner courage, Antilorwe hardened her voice and declared, “I have sent word to Justiciars. We might be sworn to protect Lord Bevan’s interest but we cannot stand aside while such breaches are intentionally created. Assisting or even turning a blind eye would be going up against every high-elven ethic.”

I looked at poor Lady Jessbeth, the cornered girl with no solace.

“So what are you going to do with the letter now?” I proposed the important question.

“The contents should be revealed to all,” proclaimed Vitalia with dazzling determination, “A whole civilisation, massacred and silenced. Generations grew up not knowing their heritage. We have a solemn duty to these people.”

“Do you realise that publishing it would mean the death of the poor girl?”, I screamed at the fae not bothering to hide the shadow of annoyance on my face, “She would be hunted for the actions of her ancestor by both, Duke Lothmar and the wood-elves.”

“That writing will never see daylight. It speaks of things blasphemous to the divines. Whispers of touching the forbidden. We will neither be a party to it nor allow such a travesty to pass,” screamed Antilorwe with a fury that almost choked her.

“Then what about those poor people trapped inside the nightmarish alien realm? What was their sin? For being humans with a bit of elven blood or elves with diluted elven blood? Humans might have butchered the Verdant Hegemony but where did you High-elves do? Comfortably tucked inside your ivory bed on the crystal towers and erecting barriers all around,” accused Arlene. Spittle flew from her frothing mouth.

“Easier to talk about what is forbidden and allowed when you could enjoy pasties and wine inside your fancy towers while others had to feed their children bugs and worms so they do not go hungry,” the half-elf’s face twisted in rage, “All I know is there are people who are trapped and we are the only ones who could help them. And yet we are arguing amongst ourselves on our moral superiority”

“There will not be any opening of portals or breaches,” I worded, as I tried to maintain my hold on my rage, “nothing good ever comes from communing with the forbidden planes.”

“That’s fancy coming from you, Dark elf,” The last two words, Arlene uttered with spite and spat in my direction. Her warm spittle splashed across my face and ran down my left cheek. I bit my tongue and reminded myself to exercise patience.

“I am a dark-elf and that is precisely why I know on certain authority that it is a bad plan. We do not worship daemons. We placate them. Our rituals are not meant for inviting them, but to keep them away. Our relationship with daemons and daedras is the same as that of a common peasant and the tax collector. We do not pay our tribute out of fondness for the tax collector, rather keep them away from our village.”

A stunned silence occupied the room. Everyone averted Arlene’s glance, even Vitalia.

“I understand your motivations but I try to be the realist to your transcendentalism. They have been held in the nightmarish realm for more than a century. Who knows what horrible creatures they are transformed into? If they have survived, they are no longer what they went in as.”

Surprisingly, it was Anselm who broke the tension.

“My grandfather a king. So what? I am still what I am. No village willingly opens their doors, for us. Our girls, still promiscuous whores. Our young men, still lazy thieving bastards. Opinions do not change. Our past does not change what people feel about us. Our glorious past, just one more reason to mistrust us. Now they will think, we have a reason to murder them in their sleep. Not helping.”

At this moment, among the gathered, Anselm dazzled more wisdom than any of us. No one had the courage to challenge Anselm.

Arlene tramped her way out with eyes red from anger. I gingerly nudged the fae.

“I owe you a debt of gratitude, Vitalia. For standing by my decision on not opening the portal,” I whispered.

Vitalia’s eyes darted like swallows around the room, ensuring the privacy of our conversation before she could delve further.

“There is more to it. Even Syrune, a prodigy among planarmages could not have attempted it alone. It is unthinkable that a bunch of conjurers and daemonologists could achieve it.”

I sharpened my ears, for whatever the fae had to say next, for it was something important.

“Simply put, they knocked on every door, and something answered, opened and held the door open, from the other side,” Vitalia’s face wore an expressionless mask, a perfect camouflage to the sensitivity of the topic.

“Then the ritual to open the breach?” I prodded Vitalia.

She is a sylph with lunar affinity. To ignore a secret is to betray her nature. She would have found a way to eavesdrop on the conversation, despite the best efforts of the high-elves to ensure the priority of their clients.

“The ritual is not in the will. Interestingly, it is in another location. Lord Bevan entrusted the knowledge with Vangere. Supposed to be safeguarded in the alchemist’s octant laboratory. Wherever that is. Its location is lost as its owner,” scoffed Vitalia.

At her words, an intense feeling of unease started rioting inside me. I knew exactly where the octant laboratory is. A dreadful place haunted with shadows of silence. A place where even necromancers fear to tread. A city where all inhabitants vanished in a single night. A place aptly named, Arlond, the curseforged city.