Chapter 57

(Septham 19th Year 672 of the 4th Age)

(Lenehil)

The train comes to a screeching halt as it arrives at Lenehil’s station, and it whistles one last time. Arven, the group, Bolts, and Lorna walk out of the carts with their equipment. Aside from Kaera, Bolts, and Lorna, they are awestruck at the change of scenery; they are not in Adoran anymore.

Weaving together in intricate harmony are buildings and flora. The trees match the height of the buildings, shielding the residents and tourists from the sun. In any available space, various flowers and hedges are growing in pots or the actual ground. All the vegetation indicates an abundance of water, and there are multiple bodies of vital liquid throughout the city. But, there is a negative side to the pools.

Pesky mosquitoes swarm individuals that are unfortunate without protection or ignorant of the settlement’s reputation. In Kaera’s perspective, the pestiferous insects remind her of enthusiastic fans flocking Janas Dyser. While aggressively squishing the mosquitoes against their skin, Arven, Lorna, Merrick, Myla, and Sylfinas stare at Bolts and Kaera as they stand around, envious of not consisting of metal or fur. On the other hand, Kaera secretly envies them for not having a pilous frame. The citizens are aware of the tourists’ need for insect repellant, so they place a shop strategically close to the train station… and charge premium prices to produce revenue.

Another culture to make the Adoranians cognizant that they are far from home is the unique currency, the Žoreć. After converting the bronze, silver, gold, and platinum coins into the local currency, they realize the major ripoff of repellant though they begrudgingly purchase just enough to cover them.

Resila steps out from the train. As if flaunting the group, she sprays herself with her own bug repellant instead of purchasing one.

“I wish you the best of fortune at locating your sister,” Sylfinas speaks.

“Appreciate it,” Resila responds. “Sorry about killing your concupiscence during the first day of travel.”

Sylfinas grumbles internally about his recent case of blue balls while maintaining an affable appearance before uttering, “Could’ve done that without the weapon, but I’ll forget about it.”

“May we see each other again soon.”

“I look forward to our next meeting.”

After shaking everyone’s hands, Resila leaves the station, beginning her quest for her feminine lover’s whereabouts. Arven, Bolts, Kaera, Lorna, Merrick, Myla, and Sylfinas walk through the border checkpoints and enter the city. Unlike Belburn, there are more Fenri roaming around; some are uncomfortable with the clothing law. The Wood Elves are friendly towards them.

“I wonder if the winter equipment will be just as expensive as the bug spray,” Kaera utters.

“Winter equipment?” Merrick inquires with dread.

“Canir is frigid and mountainous. My fur provides me sufficient warmth to living there, but hairless individuals can die from the bitter temperatures. Even a brief experience inside the kingdom is dangerous during the Iðæsil season.”

“Another helpful heads-up you could’ve told us in Belburn. I would’ve packed my favorite coat.”

“Judging by the amount of Fenri here and the cordiality towards them, it would be facile to acquire the necessary equipment for our journey,” Sylfinas utters.

The party members acquire their winter and mountain gear at a small business tucked between two major retailers for forty-three Žoreć and seven Itnić. In Adoranian and other members of the Cysrin currency, roughly eight gold and six silver and fourteen copper. The Žoreć are from identical, dark-grey metal but have different sizes, pictures, and outlines, while the Itnić is entirely uniform.

“To be on the safe side, we better accept a quest that contains a decent reward,” Arven suggests.

“I’m game to earn some money,” Merrick replies. Bolts, Lorna, Kaera, Myla, and Sylfinas concur.

Scouring a bulletin board inside the nearest tavern, they accept a quest worth three hundred Žoreć. The mission involves protecting a farming village three hours north of the city for tonight. The date of the post is today, and there’s no additional information.

The news nearby is primarily local or country matters. None deal with Adoran as the subject. In summary, the Selvacci's three hundred eighty-seventh birthday is a week away, no attacks anywhere in Canir from the Níðhöggr for two and a half months. The Green River Killer claims its fourteenth victim, three days since the last alligator attack, and more disappearances in Avyuril Village as the residents perpetuate the myth of Utyllen. They contemplate tackling the last half of the news, but the locations are on the other side of Aeyis.

As the group members walk the streets similar to Nowell, Sylfinas absorbs as much of the environment’s stimulus as possible. Their path guides them past a dome-shaped building out of smooth, glistening stone. In between two of the eight arches connected to the ground and spire on the roof and in front of the ingress is a metallic statue of several Fenri fighting and baring their teeth against their adversary.

Sylfinas elbows Kaera to catch her attention. “Are you familiar with the statue?”

“I am. It is a required subject in Canir’s education system.”

“Who are they?” Myla inquires as she points at the sculpture.

“They are some of the members of the Ferocious Company, one of the most famous, or most legendary, group of Fenri in my nation’s history.”

“For what?” Arven asks.

“They are the reason why Canir has a friendly relationship with Aeyis right now. In the Year 1527 of the Third Age, one hundred eighty-nine Fenri escorted the Selvacci across Syi Caelora to safety while the mutinous military sacked the city. All but five sacrificed their lives defending the Selvacci and the city. As one of the rewards for their courage, he and the Alpha Prime of Canir forged a relationship, giving any Fenri the ability to travel outside the homeland without encountering animuses.”

“Hopefully, the hostile countries will warm up to Canir soon,” Merrick speaks.

“That would be wonderful.”

During the party’s travels to the village, it notices the trees disappearing as it exits the metropolis only for tall grass and additional water to replace it. The sun’s rays and the humid air causes the members to plead for them and the shade to return. Various frogs fill the void in sound with their croaks. A sudden splash of a slithery creature entering the water has the party members on edge, but they decrease their tension when they determine quickly it isn’t returning.

The group associates notice the villagers are busy tending the land when they arrive. However, the land is in combat against them. Most of the plants are the casualties in the struggle, and they are disposing of the remains more than claiming victory. What survives are in the process of storage.

The villagers not in the field notice the oncoming group with a suspicious look. One of the children runs off to alert the others in the area as their expressions darken when they realize the group isn’t traveling past them.

Myla alerts the party members about the ominous change in the atmosphere. It continues to enlarge to the point they start to notice the gelid reception without her hypersensitivity to the mood as if self-preservation is urging them to turn back. They shiver, although they’re sweating profusely.

Stopping in their tracks, they double-check the paper and the map to ensure the village is their destination. To their dismay, they are correct. Unfortunately, the other quests with a decent reward are either far away, too dangerous, or both, and the ones nearest to Lenehil are too cheap to live off.

Arven, Bolts, Kaera, Lorna, Merrick, Myla, and Sylfinas observe the residents from the village and the pasture congregate adjacent to the path as they near the settlement. The figures appear lively, but their eyes tell a different story about losing their soul in the past.

“Salutations, people,” Sylfinas initiates the conversation. “We are here to offer assistance for protecting the village tonight.”

“There’s no problem in Syvene Village,” a male Wood Elf with large ears speaks with authority and animosity.

“The note suggests otherwise.”

“The note is wrong. We don’t need any foreigners or half-breeds telling us how to operate the village. So, haul your asses back the way you came or walk further ahead, or we’ll show you our warm hospitality.”

“You got it.” Merrick begins to leave, but Arven grabs him by the back of his shirt.

“Somebody from here believes the village is under threat from someone or something,” Arven utters. “Are you sure that there’s nothing wrong?”

“That somebody lied. We’re completely safe and peaceful unless you force us to become inimical.” His tone suggests that the villagers will begin to execute their threat if the group lingers any longer.

“Then we’ll leave the village in peace.”

While the party members ambulate back to Lenehil, they aren’t sure what to process in their heads. They can’t shake off the feeling of an entity watching them from afar. Not confident as to why, they can’t help but stare at a lonely, dilapidated windmill; its turbines move side to side like it’s waving them goodbye in a taunting manner.

The limited money supply dwindles even more as Arven, Bolts, Kaera, Lorna, Merrick, Myla, and Sylfinas return to the pub and order a platter of duck lettuce wraps with a plum dipping sauce. They begin to consider accepting multiple, minor jobs to raise funds or travel to Canir fast and search for quests while fighting the Níðhöggr.

“I don’t know any Aeyisian laws about posting quests to the general public, but it should be illegal to post a request that turns out to be a lie. The Adoranian code takes care of the issue,” Sylfinas speaks.

“I don’t like that place,” Myla enunciates. “It’s too creepy.”

“I agree with that,” Kaera replies. “Perhaps it was for the best they kicked us out. I got weird vibes from that place.” She palpitates as if to remove any traces of bizarre, ominous sheen off her physique.

“Should we help locate Mr. Mittens and gather groceries to earn money or do we march onward to Canir and find quests there in addition to the Níðhöggr?” Merrick asks, butchering Níðhöggr.

“Canir,” everybody answers individually.

A male Wood Elf enters the dining room, huffing and sweating like he’s in a marathon. His eyes scan the area and locate the group effortlessly since it’s currently the only party in the chamber. Lacking in manners, he strolls up to it, pulls an empty chair over to sit down, and consumes the remaining lettuce wraps and beverages at a speed only Kaera and Merrick manage if they aren’t stupefied to react. In protest, the party members' stomachs growl to ward off the invader from their food.

“Listen, asshole,” Lorna speaks menacingly, “you have five seconds to buy us food or else your green hair will-“ 

The invader shuts her up with a gesture as he chugs a cup of freshly squeezed lemonade. “Ahhh. Appreciate you providing refreshments for me. It’s exhausting running to here from Syvene Village on a day like today. You should-“

In a blur, Kaera has the Wood Elf against the wall with his feet off the stone floor, growling and baring her fangs. “Buy us our food, and unless you want to know what my greataxe tastes like.”

The thief raises his hands up to show he's not a threat, and he puts on a presumptuous expression like he knows the Fenri and her cohorts aren't perilous to his life. “Woah, woah, woah. Let’s not get too hasty here. You were at the village because of a note, correct?” Still growling, Kaera nods along with the rest of the party. “I’m the culprit behind the request, and the village is seriously in danger. Put me back on the floor and release me, please. I’ll tell you why.” She releases him, and he gasps.

“Better explain yourself, now,” Arven orders.

“Alright, alright, alright. I am Vyash Naerie. I wrote the request because the villagers plan on sacrificing a family they believe are vile magicians for a ritual in a few hours.”

“Sacrificing them for what?” Merrick inquires.

“To lift a jinx on the land. For years since the very first sign of the Darkened Seven approaching, we’ve been harvesting fewer and fewer crops. Now that it’s nearer, it's starting to corrupt the soil- and it will spread throughout Myrith and the known world eventually for those that live elsewhere like Adoran. The elders were convinced that the newest residents were to blame for the issues, so they planned on sacrificing them to lift the curse. They hope to lift the cancer fast enough to harvest more crops before the Darkened Seven arrives. However, the ritual actually summons a demon instead of helping us.”

“Why the bizarre writing?” Sylfinas inquires.

“I figured it was the best way to attract attention the fastest since I had little time to respond. The Knights of Kyren would take forever in processing new contracts to hand out to its members, and that’s if they have a branch in Lenehil. I also presumed putting “Demon Summoning Ritual Near Complete, Please Help” for general purposes would scare off most mercenaries. So, I figured cryptic with a decent reward was the best course of action. I apologize in advance by saying I don’t have enough money for the reward.”

“Not interested,” Lorna responds. “Sorry, but your story reeks of bullshit that I can smell all the way from Emberyon.” She’s trying to figure out how she remembers him.

Vyash starts to act like a mendicant, dropping to his knees and holding his hands together. “Please, you have to understand. I’m the only one that’s fully aware of what’s about to occur. I’ve tried persuading people closest to me, but they bought into the narrative.”

“Can you tell he’s telling the truth, Myla?” asked Kaera. “You seem to know the mood people are in.”

“I don’t know about the truth, but I sense he’s horrified,” Myla answers. “I believe him.”

Vyash contorts his body forward, placing his hands on the wooden floor with an exaggerated expression of relief. “Bless you, Beastgirl. Bless you.”

“Before we assist you, you owe us our food,” Lorna speaks. “The two wraps I consumed did fuck-all to satisfying my appetite.”

“Deal.”

It is barely twilight in the sky when the party members and Vyash arrive at Syvene Village again. Not even the time of day can’t rescue them from the muggy air. Near the windmill, the villagers form a mob with lit torches in their hands around three piles of dried sticks. From the shadows, they watch them add more stick bundles to the pile.

The village elders emerge from the shadows, carrying the matching number of crosses with the aid of several youths. As they erect the wooden crosses, the group notices a trio of Half-Orcs tied to them, a father and two sons by their appearance. The horde hurls rotten vegetables, insults, and slurs.

“Pig-face!”

“Tuskers!”

“This is revenge for cursing our land with black magic before the Darkened Seven’s arrival, filthy, Green Apes!”

The elders gesture to the crowd to calm down and initiate the ritual. They instruct it to gather additional sticks to form a symbol and stones for the circular perimeter around the entire site while uttering crucial words for the ceremony.

During the entire process, the party members sneak closer to the location. Kaera, Lorna, and Sylfinas notice the windmill’s door rattle vigorously before others perceive it. Something powerful wants to escape. The only creature the party members can rationalize the monster’s vocals to comfort themselves is a wild boar. The shaking and guttural roar intensify as the ritual continues, ejecting splinters from the ingress.

“Whatever you do, don’t let it escape the windmill,” Sariel suggests to Sylfinas with concern. Typically, she is silent unless he talks or activates her, but she can’t wait for him.

Arven notices the torches about to ignite the sticks. “Cast a spell, Merrick.”

Concurrently, Merrick discharges a magenta lightning bolt at one of the torches as Lorna fires a bullet from her revolver. The Witch Bolt deviates from the path and electrocutes the villager while the projectile lands on target against another resident’s hand. Both shout in pain and drop the torches away from their destination as the others glare at the intruders. Merrick grimaces that his accidental victim is dead.

“Step away from the sticks,” Lorna warns.

“They’re in league with the warlocks,” one of the villagers shouts.

“They serve Qugguath,” another holler.

“We’re not conspiring with any dark forces,” Sylfinas responds. “The Half-Orcs are also completely innocent. What you’re about to do to them won’t fix your problem. In fact, it summons a demon instead, and it’s a vicious one.”

“Don’t listen to him,” the head elder orders. “This is our only chance we can survive the Darkened Seven.”

“Listen to the door,” Sylfinas pleads to the villagers. They detect the noises emanating from the windmill. “You hear something on the other side of the door growling and bashing at it? That’s what you’ll release by completing the ceremony. There has to be another avenue to lift the curse.”

“We’re completely aware of what lies inside there. It’s the source of all our problems. We’re trying to seal the demon away.”

“You know of its existence?” Arven inquires.

The Wood Elf leader glares at Arven in disgust. “Since the land started to become infertile years ago. Surprisingly, one benevolent trait of this Darkened Seven is its agonizingly sluggish speed from the first harbinger. I was there since the last event, and I know that infertility doesn’t activate until it’s nearly upon us.”

“What happened?” Kaera asks.

“An Eviči follower of Qugguath did a vile ritual in the windmill behind me that utilized a deceased woman as the host of a demon and placed a curse that prevented us from leaving. The village couldn’t afford any help from the Knights of Kyren to warrant sending a bloodhawk to the organization, so the next best we could do was to place a barrier around the windmill to seal it off. Then the blight occurred as we tended the land due to the first subtle signs of the Darkened Seven, and the girl was the source. At first, its effect was negligible that we coped with it, but it continued to expand its reach and power. Now, it’s to the point that even our well is almost undrinkable, and any outside food turns rancid upon entering the settlement. We still couldn’t afford the coin or the time to hire the Knights years after the ritual, so we searched for a method ourselves. Now here we are.”

“Why the Half-Orcs?” Sylfinas interrogates with a choleric attitude. “Why do you believe they are the vile warlocks responsible for the imprecation?”

“They’re not,” the immediate elder answers. “We simply kidnapped them,” he says nonchalantly.

“Innocent bystanders?!”

“We’re desperate. We will certainly perish when the main event arrives unless we banish the demon back to its plane of existence. We can harvest plenty of healthy crops once we dispel the anathema.”

“Isn’t there some other way that doesn’t involve more death?”

“Unfortunately, no. Only a ritual can dispel another, and locating one that doesn’t require sacrifices requires time we can’t spare. Believe me, I wish we didn’t have to follow this path, but life doesn’t give us luxuries. If I may, how are you and your companions aware of this?”

“An Eviči named Vyash warned us,” Kaera answers, knowing that Eviči means a male Elf. “He lives here, which brings me this question. How can he leave when you said none of the residents can move freely outside?”

The elder raises his eyebrows at the name. “Vyash told you? Where is he?”

“He’s right there.” As Kaera points to where Vyash is, she and the others behold him running away. In his wake is Lorna bleeding on the ground with Bolts frantically trying to save her.

Kaera chases after him while Myla and Sylfinas render aid to Lorna. Pivoting his head back, Vyash observes a giant mass of furious fur bolting at him and rapidly gaining ground. They roll head over heels as she collides against him, capturing him in the process and hauling him back. The elder stares at him as she erects her fur in addition to her fangs and growls.

The elder strolls up to Vyash and the snarling, female Fenri. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Vyash.”

“Oh shove your greeting up your ass, Ehrendil, you ancient bastard,” Vyash responds irritably.

“I’m going to take a wild presumption that you’re behind the demon.”

“Indeed, I am.”

“Why dabble in the dark arts?”

“Because it’s my retribution for what you did to Jesene, my wife.”

“What did Ehrendil do to her?” Sylfinas inquires.

“He executed her simply because she was a Human.”

“She was more than a Human. She was in the Hearthrow’s pockets and used you to gather intel on the Balcerans. Even though I don’t work for the family anymore, I’m still loyal to it enough that I’ll defend it.”

Vyash doesn’t buy Ehrendil’s explanation. “You’re lying. You’ve always hated Humans ever since you lost your wife and daughter centuries ago in the Štečak Drogna.”

“I’ll admit that I’m prejudiced against Humans, but I did it to protect the Balcerans. Regardless, the rest of the village is innocent. Why put it through hell instead of me?”

“Because it’s the most precious thing you hold in your heart. I would consider ourselves even as you watch every person down to infants succumb to the Darkened Seven as a result of food shortage, just as how I watched Jesene die.”

“There’s no way to banish the demon?” Merrick asks.

“Not unless you want to burn the Tuskers as a sacrifice,” Vyash answers. He stares at the group, laughing psychotically. “Who shall suffer?”

“Haul him away,” Ehrendil orders to three brawny villagers. “I don’t want to see his face anymore.” Vyash still cackles as the residents escort him to a makeshift prison. “Now, burn the Half-Orcs!” The father and sons beseech for their lives.

“Halt!” Sylfinas orders at the top of his lungs while standing in front of the crowd. Assisting him in freezing the mob’s movement is Sariel outlining his figure in the holy aura.

“Out of our way, mongrel,” Ehrendil speaks. “Our lives are on the line.”

“And so are theirs.” Sylfinas indicates the Half-Orcs.

“Three lives versus an entire village.” Ehrendil gestures to his citizens. “You want to damn them in exchange for those three?”

“I want to save all lives.”

“In the wild, does a pack of starving wolves negotiate with a deer so that they both survive? Would the poorest of families spare a chicken if it means another day without food? The answers are simply no; the pack and the family will sacrifice the minority for survival. Our situation is similar. So, why reverse the course of action?”

“Then why not three residents instead of the Half-Orcs? You said so yourself; you kidnapped them.”

“Because the ritual requires outsiders, and it’s strict on its rules. Tell me, how much innocent blood do you want on your hands?”

“What do you have to say?” Sylfinas asks the Half-Orc father.

“Save us, please,” the father replies.

As Sylfinas ponders how to find the solution where everybody benefits, he hears a demonic voice in his head. Free Toxzoroth, and the curse will end.

“If my companions and I release the demon, without sacrificing anyone, and kill it, would that dispel the malediction? It must be on this plane of existence judging by the barking and growling.”

“You believe your group can fight a demon?” Ehrendil inquires, amused that the Half-Elf is cocksure about him and his companions' ability to vanquish a demon.

“We fought a dologrun, if that has any weight to it,” Merrick speaks.

Ehrendil stares at Sylfinas. “Since you’re firm in your goal of saving everyone, go ahead and risk the entire world by liberating it.”

“How about we leave the village and forget about all of this,” Arven suggests. “We don’t know everything about this location, and it appears that there’s no time to learn the history. There’s also no reward for us, so no reason to involve ourselves and play gods. I believe that fighting the demon is a terrible idea.”

“You’re always enthusiastic about fighting,” Sylfinas responds.

“Believe me, I would love to kill a demon, but magic works well on them, which I lack.”

"Don't force me to tackle it," Merrick replies. "Not with my mana on the fritz."

“Don’t let them burn us,” the Half-Orc father implores. “I’m a merchant. I can reward you handsomely. We were returning from my parent's house after we celebrated my youngest son’s birthday. He just turned five.”

“And I have babies that will suffer a slow death in the near future,” Ehrendil responds.

Toxzoroth promises that Toxzoroth won’t destroy your realm immediately upon release.

Kaera notices Sylfinas walking to the windmill. “What are you doing?”

“Ending this quandary,” he answers.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Sariel speaks.

“Me too.”

As soon as Sylfinas unlocks the door, a powerful force sends him soaring in the air. Inside the darkness, a dyad of red eyes materializes. Next to emerge is a pair of long tusks with its shorter brother behind it as the figure takes heavy footsteps. In a mix of boar and ape, the demon appears; Kaera whimpers at its size. She and everybody else that can move their arms shield their eyes as it unfurls its bony wings, sending the crosses flying.

“Ahhh, sweet freedom. As payment, Toxzoroth will dispel the curse now and then leave.” A greataxe bounces off its ivory, barely leaving a scratch, and a magenta lightning bolt doesn’t faze him. “You dare attack Toxzoroth while Toxzoroth is late for Herald meeting? Toxzoroth will make you pay. Iuzguz Ekther: Uhrkthanz thikiklath!” Storm clouds gather above Kaera, Merrick, and anyone else that he deems a threat. While they avoid the lightning, he flies away. Soon, the only signs of the storm are charred grass from the lightning strikes.

After noticing the execration is gone, the villagers release the Half-Orcs from their bindings. The father and his sons gather around the group as Lorna survives from her wounds while Ehrendil stares at Sylfinas.

“I hope you can live with your decision of condemning the world to death,” Ehrendil speaks.

“Toxzoroth won’t get the opportunity,” Sylfinas responds. “You have my word.”

“You possess too much Human in your blood, and in my lifetime Man doesn’t keep its word more often than not. Its heart is too weak that it corrupts easily or turns into a coward. Ask yourself this while walking back to Lenehil. Is saving lives worth the suffering of others? Ponder real hard on that while you travel.” He walks away from him.

As the party travels to Lenehil, the Half-Orc father, called Umak, gives his appreciation on a near-constant basis to the point the party members tell him to shut up. Lorna promises him that she can manufacture a new windpipe on his throat. Upon hearing that they have no place to sleep, he adds free rooms and meals for tonight on top of giving them two hundred ten Žoreć and a token.

“If you reveal this token at any store that matches this symbol, you can receive up to fifty percent off your purchases,” Umak explains.

Arven taps on Sylfinas’s shoulder and gestures him to walk in the back with him. “That was extremely inane of you back there.” He keeps his tone low so that Umak’s rambling about his travels drowns him out to the remaining party members though he doesn't mask his disapproval.

“I couldn’t stand there and watch Umak and his sons burn alive,” Sylfinas replies in the same tone, adding his hostility towards Arven.

“You need to know when to make necessary sacrifices. Now there’s a powerful demon on the loose, and I’m not convinced we can stop him… or his companions for that matter.”

“That’s a major problem of this world. People suffer because they are a minority, like me.”

“Do you know about the greater good?”

“Yes, and my greater good is Illyria as I strive to end the violence and suffering worldwide.”

“Unfortunately, that’s impossible.”

“That’s another issue. There are too many people like you consider that some problems are unsolvable to not bother at getting the ball rolling.”

“You want my idea of attaining world peace? Look at me. Look at the group. Now picture us, the races we belong to, and other races that aren’t Half-Elves are gone or pick another race to be the sole remainder. That’s what it’ll require for world peace, genocide because no ethnicity can coexist peacefully.”

“That’s a sepulchral way of viewing the world. Maybe the entire humanoid population must face its greatest existential threat to unite everyone instead, and the solidarity will last forever. Trust me, I’ll solve it one day, somehow.”

“Whatever you say.” Ashereth used to have the same outlook as you.

Meanwhile, at Syvene Village, Ehrendil arrives at the location containing Vyash. The volunteer guards step aside to give him access. After he opens the door, he notices an empty chamber with a note attached to a wall by a dagger. As he reads it, his only reaction is to crumple it up.