My dark countenance reflected the inner turmoil. Radiating a repulsive aura that kept even the oblivious Colby from approaching me. Our return to the inn was swift. No words exchanged. Syrune gently held Colby’s pudgy fingers with an attempt to emanate an ambience of assurance to the perturbed young gnome. I grind my teeth hard enough to bleed from the gums as I futilely struggled to yoke the rising rage.

The twin serpents of anger and anguish intertwined together, further fanning the flare of betrayed bitterness. The greetings of Therrin, I ignored. Even the cursory glance of Theko felt predatory. I sought solitude, like a gentle mother’s embrace. It is always the ones who I trust betrayed the most, for there should be trust gained to betray. I gave a wry laugh at my own pathetic humour.

In the seclusion of the lone room with thick isolated grey walls, I sobbed myself to sleep, only to be greeted by nightmares. Hunted through a horrid desert, unnatural howling beasts on my trail. Their golden eyes, projecting the malice hidden beneath. My steps faltered as I let my sweat drenched form collapse. The vile beasts closed, encircled with heinous dreadful paws, ignoring the sweltering sands. I opened my mouth to scream, but the sounds arrested at my throat. The lead beast approached. My eyes widened in shock as the of the beast morphed to that of Rodo.

I groped and stumbled through thick vegetation, thorns as large and every bit vile as the claws of a manticore tore through my skin. The singular beats of hooves followed. Sinister vines as thick as an orc berserker’s strong arm throbbed and girdled with deviant motion, and attempted to halt my movement. Eyes bulged and breathing became erratic as pain constricted my ribs. In my hapless condition, Arlene’s pole arm skewered through, a hitherto unknown vicious glee pranced in the ranger’s face.

Vangere’s face haunted as the surroundings mutated. Gone was the kind, accepting smile on his grandfatherly visage, replaced with a fiendish grin. His countenance darkened as he grew farther and colossal. Compassionate eyes withdrew to smouldering embers and lips that bore a frivolous smile deformed into a mocking jeer. Held powerless, I cowered. The colossal being that was Vangere darkened and turned translucent until only a silhouette with humongous hideous horns, ember eyes and mocking lips remained. The landscapes proceeded unhindered through its strange mutation till the familiar form of Lyria materialized. The same hellish landscape as previous dream. Lyria’s eyes focussed on me, ignoring the titanic threat behind.

Huge thuds issued from massive war drums, and their frequency continued to increase.

The silhouette that was Vangere cackled.

The sounds of the war drums increased in octave and soon was accompanied by a melody from a child’s toy.

“You think she stayed with you out of love, you fool,” boomed the thunderous voice. A voice that was one and many.

Lyria’s jaw tightened, and her posture stiffened in response. The ground obeyed her will. Ripples without a source distorted the spot where the colossal being stood. The ground contorted to reject the giant shadow of Vangere.

“She stayed with you out of defiance,” cackled the thunderous voice as the nightmarish landscape dispelled the being.

More voices screamed my name.

Lyria’s accusatory gaze focussed on me. The scream intensified and I woke up.

Loud thuds arouse from reckless knocking on my door, along with the loud noise of a children’s toy box rhythm. Syrune stood outside, wrapped elegantly in a satin night robe. Hidden behind the dainty mage was Colby holding a small miniature musical box.

“See, I told you this would wake her?” The young gnome still attempted to rub sleep from swollen eyes.

“Immediate departure is advisable,” uttered the mage with urgency in voice.

“Are we under attack?” I questioned.

“Depends,” Syrune pushed the falling locks of hair and considered my state for a moment, “I will pack.”

A grumpy Therrin argued with Theko as the carriage rolled through the street exiting Camorien’s ride.

“Planar mages are normally sensitive to extraplanar influence,” The mage’s hand gently stroked the sleeping Colby’s head while the scholar’s emerald green eyes stayed on me.

I shrugged at the disjointed information that the mage provided.

“I fail to see the connection,” I vocalized my ignorance, “what happened exactly?”

“You are indeed clueless,” he exclaimed while attempting to calm the squirming Colby, “Something attempted to assault your sanity. Something from another realm, a plane of hell, possibly. The precise nature, eludes me.“

“What I felt was not just a dream? It was all real?” A tingling sensation spread across.

“Very real, that is what happened to you but not what happened in the dreams,” responded Syrune.

“Could you be any less vague?” An impatient sneer involuntarily escaped my lips.

“What you felt was real but the dreams you experienced were just your mind interpreting the reality as projected by your perception,” A very clear and precise academic rubbish issued from Syrune.

For once, I wished for the presence of the Fae. She would have translated academic gibberish to evident truth. The last time, I dreamt of the nightmarish landscape, Vitalia woke me up. A very clear memory.

Did the Fae suspect something?

“Plain words, please,” I pleaded.

“Let me see,” the mage took a deep breath, “imagine if I hold a cylinder in my hand. The shadow cast by it could take on any form. A circle or a rectangle being the most common ones. Ellipse or rhombus, uncommon but possible.”

“Simple enough. No objections there,” I agreed.

“Precisely, the reality of the extraplanes, to the uninitiated, exists in a higher dimension. Like the cylinder and the dreams that you experienced, are those shadows. The form they take, is how your mind interprets, depending on your personal experience and emotional state,” concluded the mage.

“What I felt is not what happened? What I saw is not what actually was there?” Doubt guided my words.

Syrune gave another silent nod.

“If I saw friendly faces there? What would it imply?” I skirted around without mentioning my former life.

“Hard to say. Candidly, I wish the Fae companion of yours would articulate better. Naturally affinity with the ethereal realms,“ Shrugged Syrune.

“But You are here. Provost Vitalia is not around. Please,” I begged.

“I cannot. Not my field of expertise. Even something harmless mingling lead to diverse projection. Depends not just on your personality but also your society. For example, most high-elven minds would project the contact as an invasion in their dreams, while wood elves perceive as an invitation to a grand festivity. Surprisingly, the orcs report it as a hunt or a challenge in an arena,” scoffed the mage.

“What about dark-elves?”

“You are missing the essence of my argument. It is impossible to follow back from your perception to what the real intention of the entity could be. It is easier the other way, relatively,” concluded the mage.

“Then how did you conclude that it was a malevolent attempt?” My arms crossed across my waist and I considered the scholar before me.

“Because it was obvious. Have you ever considered why it is impossible to kill a daemon or a devil?”

“In this plane, you can only banish them, because they are not native to our realm?” I volunteered what answer that I could recall.

“Partly, but not exactly the right answer. Kill them, with enough time they would reform in their own plane. That is the nature of it. Their sense of morality is different. Ever wondered why Arlene’s mentor is the way she is?” offered the scholar.

“The Provost is immortal?” My Voice slipped over my befuddled mind.

“To an extent yes as her race is a liaison between two planes, but that is besides the point. The denizens of those planes have a different morality to ours, and most would discard a mortal life just as a child discards a broken toy. Not this one,” Syrune drew another deep breath and emerald green eyes settled on the squirming Colby again, “it took glee in taunting you. Rejoiced at your suffering.”

“Could we stop for a break? I need to sort things,” a grim determination echoed in my voice.

Nested between the gnarled roots of an ancient tree, with its soft willowy bark behind my back for support, I resumed my familiar mediating pose.

Finally, my own Mercenary Company and a place to call my own, just the advance of a single step and the betrayal of Vangere, the hidden secrets of Lyria and an unknown daemon or devil took a personal interest pushing me back by three steps.

I wrestled with my emotions, to let my rational self triumph. A fresh perspective is needed. My emotions a wild beast, enraged by my feeling for Lyria, refused to be yoked. The beast assaulted ruthlessly, like an aimless maelstrom attempting to sow destruction along its path. For a long enduring moment, the maelstrom razed, till there was nothing left to churn. And then slowly, like a rainbow after a tumultuous thunderstorm, the clarity returned.

The fact is Vangere and Lyria share a secret, entrusted the old alchemist with a letter for my daughter in her time of need. Vangere swore on his life to see it reach the hands of my daughter, and he disappeared. In this event, too much of coincidence. It is prudent to assume that Vangere’s disappearance is connected, the letter is not delivered.

The record in the hidden cabinet was full of entries. There is, with certainty, another companion or follow-up volume somewhere and with luck, the letter that Lyria wrote. The only plausible location that Vangere could have stored those, the Octant Laboratory, in the curseforged city.

More digging through Vangere’s notes, a task no doubt Syrune would gladly agree to. A task that would put me in the way of our mysterious organisation. With Merrick still menacing around like an obsidian dagger hung by a loose thread above my head and an unknown entity from another plane, fighting another mysterious adversary is the most unadvisable solution.

Time for an offensive stratagem.

Unmask them first. Force their identity in the open. One opponent at a time.

Propelled by resolute vigour, I broke my meditative stance, much to the amazement of Syrune and Therrin.

“Syrune, tell me about Serinimae. I mean how she looks like? and Therrin, get me some thugs, the sort who have iron stomach and shut mouth. Come morning, the city guards of Sarenthill will find Serinimae’s corpse.”