Chapter 45

(Septham 13th Year 672 of the 4th Age)

(Belburn)

Two days of following the lead on Edreth yields zero results for Radclyff, his wife and son, and Jemeir. Due to the situation at the Nagging Goat, they are currently at a different tavern called the Leaky Boot, with Jemeir reserving a room for him to live in until his new house is complete. The forlorn mood they keep hidden from the public puts a damper on their taste and appetite on their meal consisting of chicken, beef, or, in the case of Radclyff, goat liver.

When they are finished with their meal as they could, Aila, Barion, Jemeir, and Radclyff decide to try one more time for the day at a different avenue for producing more evidence against Edreth before finally ruling him out as the prime suspect and retiring for the day. Waiting for them across the street is a bloodhawk bearing a critical document, and it immediately flies towards Jemeir at first sight of him. Upon further inspection of the letter, he discerns a seal of two horses on opposite ends of each other on their hind legs, a symbol for the Hearthrow family; only one person appears in his mind of who is a member of the family.

“Malfias sent me a letter.”

“What does he want?” Radclyff sounds agitated by the news.

Being solicitous about opening the document, Jemeir soon reads the contents inside. A random, metal object falls to the ground after he opens the letter, and he retrieves it before resuming his previous task. “He wants to meet all of us at his estate for a discussion. Apparently, he has crucial information for our investigation, and this object is a token to gain us entry.”

“Something sounds fishy,” Barion comments.

“I agree with Barion,” Radclyff says. “I don’t trust him.”

As much as Aila enjoys the idea of ignoring Malfias, she decides otherwise. “I know he has a different view, and he has ulterior motives, but if he genuinely has info that can aid us at eliminating the threat to our family, then I say we begrudgingly hear his testimony at least. We’re no closer at resolving the issue anyway.”

Taking her statement into account, Radclyff agrees with his spouse. “We’ll hear what he has to say, and we won’t spend another minute after.”

Navigating the streets in the wealthiest part of Belburn is rigorous, and the group’s speed is languid due to numerous patrol guards blocking their footsteps. Each time they cease their travel, the guards ask them why they’re in Whuvest Square, and they produce the token from Malfias to resume their walk. The grandiose mansion and magnificent property cause the party member to look at them astounded when they arrive. By providing the token to private security at the front gate, they gain access to the property, and the guards escort them across the lawn to the main entrance.

Inside, Aila, Barion, Jemeir, and Radclyff unconsciously open their mouths, marveling at the sight of the white-colored stone and tiles, the tall windows extending two stories from top to bottom without a break in between, and a spiral staircase. Several servants of either Human or Nakjit assume the role of escorts from the guards once the party enters, and they lead them down the hallway to Malfias’s personal chamber. On both sides of the hallway are individual portraits of prominent members of the Hearthrow family with a bust underneath.

Inside the less vibrant room than the grand entrance room, the group spots Malfias sitting at a bantam, circular table with four empty plates and chairs and a platter of cheeses and cured meats in the middle. At the first sense of their presence, he shuts a miniature book and tosses it to the side. His gesture towards the vacant chairs is all he does to convey his message without much speaking.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Malfias utters as he pulls out a stack of various cheeses, fruits, and meat on a wooden skewer and consumes it. Handpicking out a few options from the selection, he continues, “There’s jouda, ewis, and eulne cheeses; that one securely wrapped is gonbargh cheese, and it has a pungent odor that people find repulsive at first, but the taste is remarkable instead of bilious." He picks up a piece of gonbargh cheese and ingests it. "I'm glad there's more of it for me. Also, there’s grapes, strawberries, and cherry tomatoes for fruit, and smoked meat sticks that are either regular or spicy.” The hunger drives Aila, Barion, Jemeir, and Radclyff to pile their plates with food.

“What info do you want to share with us, and why do you want to aid us?” Jemeir inquires after he becomes the first with the ability to speak. Everyone else listens while masticating their viands.

Malfias wipes the juices with a napkin when he bites a tomato as it flows down his chin. “I believe you and I share a quotidian goal, and it is Baron Edreth. My sources revealed to me you were investigating him.”

“Why does it matter to you?” Aila asks bitterly.

“It matters to me plenty. Having a possible Rakshasa on the loose is… unthinkable. The safety of Belburn -no of Adoran- is at stake. I am a patriot, and I want the kingdom to survive.”

“There’s something else you’re concealing,” Barion comments, not yet buying into the words. 

Against his impetus of hurling an epithet at the Beastman, Maflias maintains his composure and articulates, “If he ceases to exist, it will leave a void where I can insert my son, Envarn, and have him be the baron instead of Edreth.”

“Not interested,” Radclyff says in a dismissive tone, standing up from his chair. "Find someone else more keen on politics."

“I can infer by all of you being present in my chambers that you’ve run into a dead-end in your investigations. If you didn’t, I would be sitting here patiently for a while and wasting these comestibles before figuring it out. Each minute of coming up empty-handed is another minute your precious children are in danger.” When Malfias realizes he’s onto something after revealing the threat to Aila and Radclyff’s family, he presses further, “I know of the event that took place at your home. The Rakshasa's possibly close to executing another scheme even as we speak, and you’ll likely lose some offspring all because of your inability to set aside your animosity towards me.”

“What do you know of Edreth?” Radclyff demands, agitated at the threat towards his offspring. Aila and Barion are visibly furious too. All three loathe the notion that Malfias is further ahead at investigating the culprit behind their family.

“On the condition that we’ll unite temporarily.” Looking at Jemeir, Malfias adds, “I’ll add a couple of concessions to sweeten the deal. I’ll personally fund the construction of your new abode and other buildings and some belongings you lost in the conflagration; I’ll even supply the livestock. Additionally, I can pull a few strings to ensure the citizens of Belburn forget their hostilities towards your sons and their friends so they can live with you peacefully.”

Malfias watches on as the others huddle up for a privy discussion. When they reach a decision, Jemeir reveals it, “We accept as long you fulfill your end of the agreement. What information do you have on Edreth?”

Malfias musters a subtle smirk. Stupendous. Conserves my valuable resources for more crucial matters than running the risk of jeopardizing them. “He’s a fake. The real Edreth is now a corpse outside Belburn, and I can give you the exact location so you can confirm it yourselves. He has a gold tooth in the back of his mouth. And you need not worry of backstabbing from me; a Hearthrow always satisfies his contract straight to the letter.” 

“What about the public becoming suspicious and acting erratically?” Aila asks.

Since he can efficiently dispatch the issue, Malfias waves it aside. “Don’t dwell on that. I can implant a narrative in the discourse while I ease the enmity towards Arven and the rest.” Handing Aila a scroll, he adds, “It will reveal the true form of a creature or object you use it on by dispelling the magic, and it’s puissant enough that it would even affect a Rakshasa. It only has one charge, though, and it activates as soon as you unravel it, so use it wisely.” Aila and Jemeir sense Malfias is truthful, but they leave room for doubt.

At the meeting’s conclusion, Aila, Barion, Jemeir, and Radclyff vacate the cell and retrace their steps towards the front door with the exact escorts. Outside the mansion, Jemeir abruptly stops at the sight of someone he recognizes tending the hedges. 

“Shung? Is that you?”

Upon hearing a familiar voice call his name, Shung pauses and grins at Jemeir. “I thought that voice sounded familiar.” They walk closer and embrace each other. “It’s nice to meet you again, Jemeir.”

“It’s nice to meet you also, Shung.” With a couple of pats on the back, Jemeir and Shung step back. “I like you to meet Radclyff, his wife Aila, and their son Barion.” They greet Shung after their announcement.

“Pleasure to meet your acquaintance,” he responds with a bow.

“How do you two know each other?” Barion inquires

“He’s my teacher,” Jemeir answers. “My parents lived in Hu-Jan for a few years, and I was born there. Unfortunately, they were killed by a mugging gone wrong, and he took me under his wings and taught me at a monastery.” He switches his focus towards Shung. “How’d you end up here?”

“A regional adversary invaded, and it destroyed objects and executed people that didn’t fit its narrative; the monastery and I were on that list. In summary, for being with the Hearthrow family, a man named Kywell rescued me from something I shouldn’t have gotten involved with and been with the house ever since out of gratitude. What brought you here?”

“Radclyff’s house was attacked while he and I were away. We were investigating who the culprit was, and Malfias claimed he had info that would benefit us. We just concluded the meeting.”

“Did you accept his offer?”

“Reticently, yes though we’re still irate about joining him,” Aila answers.

Intrigued, Shung stares at Aila. “How come?”

“We don’t trust him, and we find it asinine that he knows we’re desperate for answers and exploits it.”

“If you’re still apprehensive with the agreement, there’s always going back on it. I assume the contract is verbal only, so it offers leeway to the people involved. On the other hand, would it be wise not to fulfill your end of the deal against a Hearthrow? These are things to take into consideration when you decide what to execute.”

“What would you do, Jānjî?" Jemeir inquires.

“It is not me in the situation. It’s you.” Shung stares up at the sky. “There’ll be numerous occasions where people have to make difficult choices in the future. I certainly will.” He refocuses his attention back to the party. “I’ll leave a Hu-Janese adage as advice, and as much as I enjoy your company and wish to continue, I must tend to other matters. In times of desperation, one does actions it never conceives under normal circumstances, but one rests when its heart is at peace at the end of the day.”

Sighing, Aila agrees with Shung. “Perhaps you’re right.”

The entire party members are now outside the perimeter of the Hearthrow Estate. After a brief discussion, they travel out of the East Gate, obeying the instructions from Malfias to locate the corpse. Beneath a pile of rocks, there is a mostly decomposed cadaver, and they examine it further to discover a gold tooth. 

“No doubt about it; he was Edreth,” Jemeir comments.

“And I don’t sense traces of magic based on my limited experience,” Aila utters. She pulls out the scroll from Malfias and stares at it. “This should be powerful to affect the other Edreth should he be Shalathyor in disguise.”

“I still believe it’s a trick,” Barion says. “Who’s to say it actually transforms a creature or object instead of dispelling the magic.”

Aila takes her son’s concern into consideration. “Unfortunately, I’m not that virtuoso enough to know the specific spell it contains, and it activates as soon as we open it, so we can’t do it that way.”

“There’s Ewythneitha and her magic shop,” Radclyff points out. “She used to be an apprentice under the Royal Archmage, Tteilynmeri, and her race is more adept at magic compared to others.”

“Vassyrans,” Aila snorts. “You could never get a solid read on them, and they always either have strings attached or request a favor before they help. I hoped that we weren’t put in a position to request her help.”

“Isn’t there a feud between them and the Elves?” Jemeir inquires.

“There’s also that.”

“You can wait outside while we visit her if you don’t feel comfortable,” Radclyff offers.

Aila shakes her head. “I’ll come in, but I’ll be in the back and silent.”

After they clean up the site to not alert the fake Edreth or anyone else involved, they return to Belburn and travel to Ewythneitha’s magic shop near Little Mohone. From the outside, the emporium is nothing special, considering it specializes in magic. The inside is vastly different, however. Decorations are everywhere, along with audible sounds from various animated gadgets and pseudodragons across a spectrum of colors crawling on the counters, the floor, stairs, and walls or flying. Magic items on display range from simple rings to staffs with a crossbow as the only available martial weapon. A pungent odor of tea leads the group’s nostrils to the counter and a female behind it.

The female has long, thick hair that starts silver at the base, and it changes to deep blue at the tip, white, smooth skin, bright yellow eyes, pointy chin, and the top of her ears curve downward and immediately taper to a point. She wears a heavy layer of white clothing with a blue diamond pattern around the collar and bottom. Her svelte figure is similar to Elves, albeit slightly wider, but she stands taller than any Elf in existence. Even Radclyff is astonished at how near she is to his height.

“What do you want?” Despite the annoyance in her voice, due to noticing Aila in the background, the words still have a mellifluous sound to them.

“Are you Ewytheintha?” Jemeir asks.

“The one and only.”

Jemeir produces a scroll. “Do you know what spell the scroll contains?”

“I did from the very second you unveiled it. However, I won’t divulge the information unless you do a favor for me.”

“What is your request?”

“My-” Ewytheintha abruptly cuts herself off at the sight of a bronze pseudodragon precariously close to a vase with a flower design and actual red flowers in it. “Dizarrok, chaaraokth!” The pseudodragon jumps up, startled at the sudden shout, and flees from the vase, and the Vassyran restarts her discussion to the group. “My request is this. I have a contractor that supplies me with food for the pseudodragons. Lately, I have noticed a trend of ordering more often than usual. What was once biweekly turned into once a week due to imitative bags, and I’ve contacted the distributor, and he said he doesn’t know why, but I suspected he lied.”

“You may be overfeeding your pseudodragons, or you need tighter security in your stockpile,” Aila retorts, immediately breaking her deal. “One of them, in particular, has more mass than the others.” She points at a silver pseudodragon, and it hisses at her as if it understands her and takes offense. It flies over to Barion and lands on his left shoulder.

Ewythneitha sends a death glare at Aila. “They are well behaved, and I am strict in portion sizes and time schedule.” She notices the silver pseudodragon acting friendlier towards Barion than all the other customers before. “It appears that Siivaakrah has an interest in you.”

“Easy there,” Barion comments towards Siivaakrah. It crawls around his body, sniffing heavily, and it crawls underneath his shirt out through the collar at one point. Ending at his left hand, it energetically bites him and flies away. “Ouch!”

“Siivaakrah!”

Aila and Radclyff gather around their son and inspect his injuries. Several puncture marks are on Barion’s hand, yet only one spot draws a minuscule amount of blood while the rest are dry. “Are you ok, Barion?” Aila inquires.

“I am,” Barion answers and stares at the wound. “I’m surprised it didn’t do more damage.”

Eyes blazing, Aila stares at Ewythneitha. “It did that on purpose.”

“She might’ve wanted requital for your insult.”

“Not my fault she took offense at the fact.”

Now Ewythneitha wants them to vacate even more. “If you can figure out the cause for the disappearance of my pseudodragon food, I’ll tell you what spell scroll you have. You can locate my supplier east of Belburn, an hour away, and the name of the business is Pawticular Beasts. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to start my tea break immediately.”

Aila storms out of the shop with Barion, Jemeir, and Radclyff behind her with much enthusiasm. They witness her stomp around in anger. “I don’t like her. I hate doing favors for people I don’t trust, but they have something I need.”

Radclyff does his best to soothe his wife. “We all don’t like our situation, but it’s for our children.”

“Let’s travel to the business before I follow through with the idea of using the scroll on Edreth.” Instead of taking an hour to reach the group’s destination, the horses diminish the time by twenty minutes.

Pawticular Beasts specializes in pet food, from prosaic dogs and cats to exotic snakes, owls, and pseudodragons. Utilizing the latest technology from an ongoing proliferation of innovation, the workshop yields massive quantities of products and employs a myriad of people. As a consequence, several distinct buildings were built nearby and formed a small settlement. 

After requesting to see the owner, the group discerns a short, adipose man. Lacking energy, he bends over and huffs for several seconds before he addresses the party members. “I’m Barathor, owner of Pawticular Beasts. My secretary, Uselia, said that you needed to see me.”

Jemeir gestures to himself. “I’m Jemeir, and this is Aila, Barion, and Radclyff. A client of ours has grievances against your company, stating that you switch some pet food with fakes, and we’re here to figure out and correct it.”

“It’s Ewythneitha, isn’t it?” Barathor becomes agitated. “I tell her over and over again, those alternative foods are sufficient than the actual. I had to resort to them since I lost a crucial ingredient for the real food for pseudodragons, but she refused to listen. There’s a steady stream of the special ingredient that disappear, so I have to improvise to maintain the bottom line.”

“What crucial ingredient?” Aila asks.

Barathor gulps. “It’s a family secret that only I and two other people close to the family know. If I disclose it, I suffer grave consequences.”

“What are the names of the other two that know?”

“They won’t tell you either. Just tell the Vassyran that I’m switching products, and I’ll even reduce the price by fifteen percent.”

“Twenty-five percent,” Aila counteroffers, “or we’ll recommend her to cut you off and find someone else. We’ll also spread negative press about you.”

“Twenty, and that is the final offer.”

“Deal.”

"Now, if any of you are interested, you can explore the facility on a tour that starts in about-" Barathor checks the time- "an hour." He points at a door to his left. "I strongly advise against going beyond that door. The room contains sensitive material."

"No thanks."

Aila, Barion, Jemeir, and Radclyff shake Barathor’s hand after the deal and exit the premises. When they feel they are out of earshot Aila, immediately spouts, “Anyone else sense Barathor hiding something, and it’s not the fact of a family recipe?” Everyone else agrees with her thoughts.

“We need to dig deeper into the factory tonight when it’s closed,” Jemeir says. “There’s always telling her that she won’t receive her usual food for her pseudodragons anymore, and she’ll pay less than the original price.”

“You think she’ll accept it?” Radclyff questions.

“Possibly if we paint it that she has no other way. She should be done with tea time by now.”

“We’ll investigate the factory later when I’m sure the current threat to my children is no more,” Aila utters. “Ewythneitha will have to accept the new conditions one way or another.”

“Have you found anything about my supply yet?” Ewythneitha inquires.

“We talked to the owner,” Jemeir begins to answer, “and he said that a particular ingredient needed to make the pseudodragon food was not cost-effective, and he found a different solution, so the factory would switch over to the new product entirely. He agreed to reduce the price by twenty percent of the previous amount.”

“But the pseudodragons love what I give them.”

“The owner and we can personally assure that they won’t know the difference. Unless you know another company that can give you a better deal, this is the proffer.”

Realizing that she would have to adapt to the new situation to feed her pseudodragons, Ewythneitha reluctantly relents. “Uuugghhh, fine.”

“Now, what can you tell us what spell scroll this is?” Jemeir asks as he produces the scroll from his pocket.

“It dispels magic for one spell currently in effect, and it is more potent than the basic version of the spell.” From the tone of her voice to her body language, Aila and Jemeir can determine Ewythneitha is telling the truth. Satisfied at the result, the group leaves the shop, and since it’s late in the day, the members decide to retire to their respective shelters. Unbeknownst to them, Siivaarkrah energetically flies over, lands on the edge of the window, and stares at Barion. “How unusual,” Ewythneitha enunciates with subtle wonder. “She’s never that fond of all the other customers.”

Halfway between Belburn and home, Radclyff and his wife and son encounter trouble. The two horses, Chestnut and Abelgard, suddenly halt their gallop and act nervous with the sound of neighing at the smell of something parlous nearby. The air turns frigid, causing Aila, Barion, and Radclyff to see their breath as brume flows from the tree line and hovers on the dirt path. Their mind starts to play tricks on them as the track seems to elongate and the branches extend to obstruct their escape and capture them. An otherworldly sound from behind them forces them to dragoon their horses out from the area to the asylum of their own home. All they can descry whenever Aila or Barion look back briefly is the mist and the branches on both sides merging together to block what little light remains. 

When they arrive at their home, Aila, Barion, and Radclyff barricade the entrances from inside while the horses run away for their self-preservation. All they can do is watch out the windows at the mist crawling across their front yard towards them. The wait becomes unbearable as the unknown entity doesn’t materialize itself, yet they know it’s out there spying on them. 

“Usse, come out,” Radclyff orders.

The red skin Spirit forms outside his sword. “Been some time since you last requested me to appear out of the blade, Radclyff, and couldn't you have done it at a more spicy party than the doom and gloom you’re in now.”

“Something’s out there, and it’s powerful.”

“I’m sensing bad vibes myself.”

“Fog’s seeping in!” Barion warns. From the gaps on the front side of the domicile, tiny streams of mist pour out into the house and none of the attempts to plug the apertures work. 

Everyone then hears a monster inside the fog enunciate, “Õldzit ezhä öglistõn ulhz ik Ūotsnašg liztnõn. Ḑerïntš uovvȭ.” The words evoke fear, disgust, and dread regardless of the whispery, otherwordly sound attached to them, and the language induces a hint of lunacy in the party members.

In the densest part of the fog near the front door, a shade rises from it. It resembles a humanoid, except the bottom half is nothing with vapor trails that quickly evaporate, and it has no arms to connect its hands to its shoulders. Its pupils are horizontal across the entire eyeball, with the irises and scleras are animated blue flames.

The first to react to the situation is Barion, and he charges forward at the specter and swings. His sword does zero damage to his horror as it slices through it, and it appears unaffected. Two throwing knives from Aila pass through the entity with the same results as Barion’s, and they imbed themselves on the door. The specter has its turn, and it commences by launching one of its fists at Barion. It passes through his chest before retracting straight back to the phantom, and each time it touches him, it sends an algid sensation throughout his entire body, and it nearly etiolates him to the point of falling to his knees. The specter sends another fist towards Aila, and it grazes her, but it also has the same corollary as Barion’s, and it terrifies her.

Radclyff’s turn is up, and he turns to Aila and Barion. “Go to our room, Aila, and bring Barion. You know where we keep the treasure from our adventuring days, so search it for something that appears to be useful.” With his mother behind him for what little protection she can provide, Barion runs up the stairs. It’s mainly coins. At least they’ll be relatively safe while I do my job, Radclyff thinks. Their absence causes him to have more peace of mind, and he resumes his fight. To start, he slides Blazefury across his chest, lacerating a giant gash and spilling blood to aggrandize his power while raging and summons Usse. Aila’s going to hate sewing up another shirt if we live through this. “Lite me up, Usse!”

“As you command, Keeper.” 

Red flames envelop Radclyff’s entire body and greatsword, but none of his clothes incinerate, and he feels zero agonies from the fire. He swings the blade twice at the specter and hits both times with recklessness, one dealing more damage as he slices the body upwards. Or so he believes; the phantom appears unfazed by the injuries, and it stares at him.

“Päuztū ovvaž,” The grey phantom utters in what Radclyff believes is a mocking tone. Again, the language makes him queasy. It points at a part of the floor behind Radclyff next to the stairs and utters in a different language, “Necro Nature: Summoning Circle of Undead!” A magic circle appears, and four undead with skin and bones in tattered clothing materialize from it, wielding rusty weapons. It points up the stairs and orders them in the previous language, “Ǟsūgūgel!” The undead obeys and charges up the stairs in a single file line.

Radclyff dispatches the last undead, and he sees empty eye sockets before it comminutes, becoming frightened at knowing what they are. These must be Sorrowmen, and if that’s true… then that means that the specter is a Ȳrgoso-or Ethae in the common tongue- and they’re The Soulmonger’s forces. The Ethae attacks twice at Radclyff, with the first one missing while the second scoring a direct hit. Despite the rage and being a Fenri, he too is shocked at how fast his vigor fades from him.

Meanwhile, in the master bedroom, Barion is holding the Sorrowmen at bay from the doorway as Aila is diligently opening the safe in the walk-in closet. The first undead disintegrates due to the multiple injuries already from him, and the next one assumes its position. Its blade and Barion’s sword clash two times while the third Sorrowmen manages to stab him in the arm once. He returns the favor by slicing part of the second Sorrowmen’s rib cage off, and it disintegrates midair.

“Need my assistance?” Aila offers from the closet as she scours the contents of the safe.

“Not yet,” Barion answers. “I’m glad my sword has an effect on this particular undead.” An overwhelming force from the combined might of Sorrowmen causes him to fall, and the undead in the back charges into the closet, uttering a scream from her, while the other is in a struggle against Barion as it attempts to stab his throat.

Back on the first floor, Radclyff issues a command to his spirit to grant him the ability to cast a stream of flames at the Ethae. Burnt and smokey, the shade moves the fog underneath it over towards him. As it wraps around his legs, he senses them tense up and freezes. Now that he’s at the mercy of it, the Ȳrgoso floats away from him and effortlessly hits twice against him; both hits have a more significant impact on him than the previous hit.

“Want to take over, Usse?” Radclyff.

“Hand me the sword,” he replies.

With the exchange of possession now complete, Usse is next to the Ethae and stabs it with the combusting greatsword in the chest. The injury is more severe as a result of the Spirit wielding the weapon it resides in. However, it does little to free Radclyff from his predicament, and the phantom responds to Usse by nearly draining his energy to the point of him retreating back into the blade from two solid hits.

While Radclyff and Usse deal with the Ȳrgoso, Barion throws the Sorrowmen off his body and uses the momentum to his advantage to reverse the direction of its weapon and stabs it in the void of its eye socket; it succumbs to the damage and atomizes. Free from danger at the moment, he runs to the aid of his mother, and he tosses the last remaining Sorrowmen away from her, placing himself between her and it. She and it appear to have injuries from their struggle. He ducks down from its attack and kills it by cutting it in half. The top half immediately turns to dust while the bottom half stumbles around for a few steps before disintegrating too.

“Thanks for the help, Barion,” Aila says, and she wipes some blood from her lips.

“You’re welcome, mom,” Barion responds and stares at the open safe. “Anything useful in there?”

“Coins and jewels mostly.” She rummages through the safe, uncovers some essential healing potions, and hands two to Barion before consuming two herself. “Drink these.” Vibrations from the assault downstairs coaxes them to pick up the pace in the search. “We better find them fast. Sounds like your father is receiving a major beatdown and requires reinforcements.” As they search, they uncover a shortsword and a rapier and nothing more they deem useful; Barion obtains the sword while Aila receives the dagger. “At least they have enough runes on them to consider them magical,” Aila utters.

When they reach the top of the stairs, Aila and Barion witness how deadly the Ethae is by staring at Radclyff’s bloody body as he dodges some of its punches before it paralyzes him with fog. An idea forms in her brain, and she whispers it to her male progeny. “It doesn’t know we’re here. I want you to aid your father by facing it and, while you do, lead it to that spot over there, so I have the best opportunity to land what I hope to be a critical hit and have it be sufficient enough to kill it. It appears it’s weaker than earlier.”

“I’ll make an honest attempt,” he replies. As Aila hides, Barion alerts the Ȳrgoso to his presence, and they initiate the combat. All Radclyff can do is remain paralyzed and listen to his son and Ethae clash. Wielding a magical blade this time, Barion’s attack actually affects the shade though it’s not much. As much as he tries to coerce the ghost to where she wants it to be, it never floats near the location long enough for her to strike. So she creeps silently down the stairs and only alerts Barion to let him know to not allow the Ȳrgoso to turn around. 

Barion suddenly becomes lethargic as the Ethae hits him once, and the other fist sails over his head as he falls to his knees. It then commences sending fog over to him as it utters, “Tēršti juv kõvnä.” As the mist slowly surrounds him, his body tenses up while Radclyff’s suddenly eases. Just as it prepares to attack Barion for the final blow, a sharp, excruciating pain racks its body from a stab in the neck by Aila, freeing him from the paralysis. In tandem with Radclyff, they deal enough damage that it explodes. The mist particles fade away along with the fog and cold, not before it smiles at them.

“We need to alert Jemeir,” Radclyff huffs.

“We’re in no condition to do it, especially you,” Aila says. “There are four basic healing potions you can have, but it won’t be till tomorrow before we can reach him. Hopefully, nothing terrible happens, or he’s able to withstand it by himself if it does occur.”

“We’ll set up watch tonight in case anything else bumps in the night.”

Meanwhile, in the Leaky Boot, Jemeir is asleep with his back towards the moonlight shining through the window. Shadows of bony fingers appear on the wall as the lead Sorrowmen opens the window and slips into the room with four more. Believing they have the element of surprise, they creep closer to the bed and attempt to strike when he suddenly moves and strikes four times with his walking staff on the nearest undead across its head twice and the last two on the torso. It turns into dust and blows away from the injuries. They must be Sorrowmen from their appearance. The remaining undead attempt to strike at him with either parrying or dodging five attacks, and he sustains injuries from the other three.

The momentum from their assault forces Jemeir to flee into the hallway as he temporarily stuns half of them to provide an escape route. Something’s wrong. There’s no way that everybody is sleeping through this. I need to alert Radclyff and the others that some of The Soulmonger’s forces are here as soon I finish these Sorrowmen. To gain more space to maneuver around, he bolts towards the dining room and is astounded at the sight of a male person sitting by himself.

“Listen, mister, it’s not safe here. Send the guards!” Something in the back of Jemeir’s head warns him that the person is abnormal and to flee as the figure casually strolls up to him.

Before Jemeir can escape, the figure casts a spell on him, “Art of Enchantment: Lullaby.” 

The spell takes hold of Jemeir, and he can sense his body becoming quiescent and struggles to keep his eyes open. Like an alcoholic, he stumbles around the chairs and tables as the room starts to spin around, making him dizzy. Mere inches from the tavern entrance, Jemeir succumbs to the spell and falls asleep.

“That could’ve gone smoother, but I completed my objective,” the figure articulates as he orders the Sorrowmen to lift Jemeir’s unconscious body. They haul him away after the figure utters to him, “You probably won’t hear this, but try to have the best expression on your face when you wake up. It’s the least you can do for an old friend.”