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In The Mist Of The Erie Isles

By Mantrid Brizon

Episode Thirty-Four: Guilty Conscience Pt. 1

The door swings open, drawing the clerk’s attention. Looking up from a ledger, the young Vizhek sets his quill in the open inkwell beside him. Stepping into the main office of the charter company is a pureblood Lahnyt, and a beautiful one at that. Her blue flesh of multiple shades intrigues the towering elf, whose race are always a shade of blue. His silver eyes scan her humble clothes, an earth brown, priestly robe. He pauses as he takes in the faint shape of her ample bust, which subtly jiggles as she approaches his desk.

“Well, hello there. How may I help you, miss?”

“I’m looking for someone. A group, actually.” She says, resting her clawed hands atop the counter.

“I’d try the tavern for that.”

“These people would’ve come here to charter a ship to Rintzelaer. They’re my family. An older couple, with a young adult daughter and a teenage son. The father would’ve had a coloration similar to mine, while his wife has orange-”

“I’m sorry, miss.” The clerk cuts her off. “But we don’t give out the information of our clients. Policy, and all that.”

“I see...” She murmurs, her fiery eyes glancing at the counter.

“Perhaps if you tried a lesser company? Or maybe they’re still here? If they’re anywhere near as interesting as you, people will certainly remember them.” He speaks in a sweet, flirtatious tone.

As most citizens aren’t literate, even among her people, the Vizhek never bothers to cover or close his ledger. He’s too distracted with leaning closer to the attractive Lahnyt. Though the text is upside down, she can clearly read his logs, making out the names of her family and a date. Their names accompany many others that she recognizes, people who must’ve fled with them from Ogden. A box labeled “group discount” is checked beside their names. They were there, and bought passage to Rintzelaer, their homeland, nearly a week ago. They’re certainly still at sea, sailing to Rintzelaer, but Lutala breathes a sigh of relief; at least they’re alive and well.

“Miss? ... Was there anything else I could help you with?”

“Hm?”

Turning her eyes away from the desk, the Vizheki clerk raises a silver eyebrow.

“Was there anything else I could help you with?” He asks again, his eyes scanning her form.

“Oh, I don’t... Actually, what’re your rates?”

“Well-”

The door suddenly swings open. Glancing back, Lutala smiles and waves as Draeolynn enters the office. The beautiful, redheaded Falmun sees the blue and orange Lahnyt woman, but she can only force a faint smile. The Vizhek’s face lights up at the sight of yet another gorgeous woman in his office.

“A busy day, today! As I was saying, a trip to Rintzelaer, should you be interested, would cost only three-hundred vasariks! Up front, of course. A modest sum for such a long trip.”

“Oh...”

Lutala sighs, looking down at the floor. She’s not only devoted herself to the arts of healing, but taken an oath of humility, as Yashuva requests. Often, she healed for free, and the people she served merely donated what they could to keep her stocked with food and supplies. She has nowhere near the currency to afford the trip. Draeolynn approaches the clerk’s desk, her expression that of sorrow.

“And how may I help you, miss?”

“A one-way trip to Ogrodin, please...” She speaks softly.

“A fine land, miss! Beautiful coastline, a lovely, year-round climate, and the vasarik exchange is very good there; it’s worth three-hundred times the Ogrodin pintar! That’s good news for the vacationing Lords and Ladies, and all those wealthy expats who’ve been coming through here.”

“Lovely...” Draeolynn lets out a melancholy sigh.

“And it’ll only cost you a measly two-hundred vasariks. Cheaper than Rintzelaer because it’s a much shorter trip.” He says, glancing to Lutala.

“That’s fine... Oh, and I’ll need a crew to collect my things from another ship.”

“Easily done!”

He writes down the name and description of the Arona-Dahl, and a list consisting of her three trunks. The clerk then leaves his office, and Draeolynn is left with Lutala.

“Are you alright?” Lutala softly asks.

“I’ll be fine... Eventually.” Draeolynn murmurs, staring blankly at the countertop. “What about you?”

“I read his ledger. He logged my family as customers; they’ve set sail for Rintzelaer.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes. Though, I can’t afford to follow them at the moment...” Lutala remarks with a sullen tone.

“Oh... Well, you’re a smart woman. You’ll figure something out.”

“I’ve sent the crew!” The clerk chirps as he emerges from the back room. “Now, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your ship and we can get that pesky payment out of the way.”

“Alright.”

“You’ll like her! She’s a fine craft! Comfortable and fast!”

“I have to go now. You have a good life, Lutala.” Draeolynn turns back to the Lahnyt.

“You too.”

Following the six-foot-eight Vizhek as he leaves the office, the dainty, redheaded Falmun abandons Lutala to her plight. She leans back, her long, tapering tail moving aside as she presses herself against the counter. She stands all alone, unsure of what to do or where to go next. Her eyes well with tears as she begins to ponder her options, all of which are limited. Should she break her vow and charge for her services? If she did, she’d have the coin to make the trip and then some, and in as little as a day or two. This, however, feels wrong to her; it’s akin to prostitution in her eyes.

Perhaps if she charged a very small fee and helped many people? That could upset the balance; healers are rare and know that they’re skills are in high demand, and so many charge considerable sums. Doctors pick up the slack, using science and medicine to treat the poor. Neither party would appreciate a cheap healer suddenly arriving and stealing all of their customers. Perhaps there’s even a local law against it, or a healer’s tax that she would have to pay?

She glances at her chest, taking a deep breath as she slips a hand down the front of her humble robes. Hooking a hemp rope with her thumb, she withdraws her hand and pulls out a simple, pewter pendant. She stares at the pendant, the symbol of her faith. Dwelling on her family and her beliefs, she struggles with what to do next. Again, she considers the possible ways to earn the vasariks required to buy passage to Rintzelaer, but promptly shakes her head. Unwilling to violate her principles, she’ll have to come up with another way.

Leaving the office, she wanders aimlessly through the streets of the capital city, staying near the harbor; she’s unfamiliar with anything else. Though she does her best, her thoughts routinely return to family. Her mother and father, younger sister and baby brother. Are they managing? Are they worried about her? Have they been attacked by pirates? For hours, Lutala moves throughout the city like a ghost, haunting the same streets and benches as she marches around the same blocks, over and over again. Eventually, her stomach begins to rumble, breaking her pitiful trance.

Looking through her coin purse, Lutala is disheartened to discover how little currency she actually has to her name. She’d made do without coinage for so long, she isn’t even sure what she can buy with her modest sum. Searching for a market, she passes a blacksmith’s shop. Glancing to her side, she glimpses a few familiar faces through the soft, blue hue of the window. It causes her to pause. Valan stands with his arms outstretched, being fitted with expensive armor by an equally armored Steingar. The human looks quite uncomfortable, yet he allows them to continue.

Lutala stands before the shop, watching them for a moment and reflecting on her time with the ragtag crew. How kind they were to her, and how understanding of her plight. Distracted by her hunger pains, Lutala continues toward the market bazaar across the street from the blacksmith’s shop. There, she finds that she can only afford the simplest of foods. She immediately knows, as she slips her last copper vasarik into her coin purse, that she cannot afford a bed for the night.

Walking through the streets as she eats her hard, day old bread and a solitary apple, she looks for a safe place to rest her tired eyes. Thoughts of her family have kept her up at night, and her sleep is very irregular. The sun eventually begins to set as the exhausted Lanhyt makes her way through the city. Near the outskirts of town, she finds an old park. No longer used by the residents of the capital city, it’s a neglected field full of overgrown weeds, with several homeless shanties constructed there. Wandering along the newer defensive wall, she finds a dry culvert at the base of it.

She’d been homeless before, just after leaving the Yashuvanite College and before joining several guilds to hone her skills. She’d learned how to survive on the streets, and all without sacrificing her principles. The culvert could be a safe place to tuck herself away for the night. Using her Halcyon magic, she brightens the tunnel with a ball of light that floats just above her palm. It’s empty. Crawling into the two-foot diameter pipe, she slithers far enough inside that most would never see her, even if the peered inside during the day. Hopefully, it doesn’t rain during the night, or prove to be infested with rats.

Resting her head on her forearms, Lutala feels the crushing weight of her situation. Perhaps she doesn’t have a choice? Perhaps principles are only for the good times, and she must set them aside to protect herself and her family? The mere thought of violating her oaths to her faith cause her to weep, her soft whimpers emanating from the culvert.

“What should I do, Yashuva? I need to make sure my family is safe. Show me the way. Please...”

Turning over in bed, Kirsta feels the comforting presence of a man, but it does her no good. In reality the nude woman clings to the man she’d slept with, whose name she never even asked for, but in her dream, she’s confronted by her demons. Luvel stands before her, rotting away. His partially visible skeleton is covered in putrid flesh. He extends a grotesque arm, pointing a boney finger at her.

“Why... Why...” His sepulchral voice demands.

“I’m sorry, Luvel! I-I... I just couldn’t help myself! I haven’t been touched in so long, and you’re not here to comfort me!”

“I was to be your husband! Why betray me? Why betray our love like this?!”

“I’m sorry, Luvel!”

“... Whore.”

With his final words, Luvel’s body breaks apart before her eyes, falling into pieces and forming a hideous pile of rotting flesh and cracked bones. As his coagulated blood pools at her feet, she can hear a shrill, almost demonic laughter. Turning her eyes from the vile pool beneath her, she stares in horror at the nearly skeletonized remains of Elder Matius.

“Heh-heh-heh... How’s that mission going?” He asks.

Kirsta opens her eyes, her alabaster skin gleaming with sweat. She glances to her right, finding the stranger, Luvel’s lookalike, sleeping peacefully beside her. Sitting up, she promptly covers her ample breasts with her arms, looking down at her blond patch of pubic hair. A clump of hair, glued together with bodily fluids, is the only physical evidence of her tryst with the stranger. The man had thoroughly pleasured her throughout the night, only spilling a few drops on her groin as he removed himself from her loins.

Though she feels relaxed, their passion having extinguished the fire within her body, she cannot help feeling corrupted and dirty for what she’s done. Having sex with a stranger? That’s not like her, and she’d never done it before. Even when she had multiple lovers in her clan, she was careful in her selection, and knew all of them for some time before revealing her splendor to them. She looks over at the sleeping man, wondering what his name is. It only makes her feel worse.

“By the Seraphs...” She sighs, resting her face in her hands. “How does Valan do this?!”

With labored breathing, Valan sits upright, his body sweaty and mind swirling. Claws rake his damp flesh, splitting the pale skin and cutting him deeply. His lover straddles him, grinding her flesh into his as she takes his considerable member into her taut loins. Her tail whips with delight and her body is pressed against his, her breasts smooshed into his chest. Her flesh glistens like well-polished armor. Their musk fills the room. Grunting and groaning, she soon lets out a roar, her womanhood clamping and convulsing on his masculine organ as she enjoys a powerful climax.

In response, she leans over and bites him, growling like a wolf as she sinks her teeth into the flesh of his shoulder. He cries out in pain, but his voice is muffled. Blood runs over her lips and down her chin. His blood runs freely, flowing over his chest. She soon releases him, throwing her head back and splashing his blood onto her breasts as she pulls back.

“Ahh-yes!” Cicera exclaims, overwhelmed with her pleasure.

She rolls over, pulling him with her as she falls onto her back, her legs wrapped tightly around him. Indana stares in shock at what her underling had done, being far more violent and carnal than she was when she enjoyed the bound, gagged and drugged human. After grabbing his collar and pulling him from the green and gold Lahnyt, Indana scolded her underling. Cicera, however, ignored the scolding, intent on raping him yet again. Making him sit upright, she takes him deep into her loins, her hands wrapping around his throat as she rides him with a primeval, almost insane vigor.

“RRRR-YES! This is how the mother goddess wants it! Nngf! This is what males are for!” Cicera snarls, slamming herself down and bucking against Valan as she chokes him.

Opening his eyes, Valan awakens from his nightmare. His body shivers and the pain in his shoulder is substantial. It’s only a mental wound, as his shoulder has long since healed after the brutal assault committed by the two women. He blinks several times, gently shaking his head. He tries to move an arm, briefly panicking when he finds that it’s stuck. His heart races. Why can’t he move?! He lifts his head and looks down, breathing a sigh of relief when he finds Sarana and Ashana both asleep.

The naked, half breed women lie on either side of the human, curled up and pressed against him. Lying on his back, both of his arms are outstretched, running under their necks. Ashana twitches, the tip of her tail flicking as she sleeps peacefully. Across from her, Sarana pulls at Valan as if he were a childhood doll. She nuzzles him with the soft flesh of her stubby snout, her feline nostrils flaring as she appears to smell his musk in her sleep. For a split second, he feels a sense of pride.

However, looking over the two, beautiful women, neither of whom being a tavern girl, he begins to wonder about them. Why would they have sex with a stranger so readily? Do they perhaps have men waiting for them at home? What about children? Are they lonely and looking for a long-term companion, and simply going about finding that companion in a very inappropriate way? Are they troubled by something, and using sex as a form of self-medication? Guilt flows into him. That’s his excuse, if it can even be called that.

The emptiness and the pain, the feeling of powerlessness, all of the things that made him use these two women in the first place, begins to flow into him once again. Disgusted with himself, Valan carefully slides his arms out from under the women, doing his best to leave them undisturbed. Somehow, he manages to pull himself away, slide along the bed, between the two women, and reach the footboard. Crawling over it, he carefully dresses and heads for the door, all without ever waking his two partners.

Slipping out of the room, he very carefully closes the door behind him, only to hear another door creaking open. Glancing over his shoulder, he stands within arm’s reach of Kirsta. He shifts his gaze. With the door wide open, he can see into the room behind her. Lying naked atop the bed, a man he’s never seen before softly snores. Kirsta glances back, glimpsing the man before returning her gaze to Valan. Her face flushes with embarrassment.

“Who’s he?”

“I, uhm... I don’t know.” She murmurs.

“Oh... I see.”

“Don’t judge me...”

“I wasn’t.”

“I just didn’t want to be the only one left alone...”

Valan and Kirsta share a gaze. This is so out of character for her. Is this his fault? Did he push her to this with his own amoral behavior? A slight tinge of guilt creeps into him. With a subtle nod, he accepts her explanation, and Kirsta carefully shuts the door. The duo head for the main hall of the tavern inn, finding it relatively deserted. As early as it is, that’s not exactly a surprise. They don’t find Steingar in the dining hall, but both of them assume that he either returned to the Arona-Dahl, or found a warm place to slither into for the night.

Kirsta repeatedly glances back to the door of the room where her lover sleeps. Valan is certain that she fears confronting the man she’s left there. Thinking fast, he suggests that they return to the ship for their breakfast. It’s a suggestion that Kirsta silently appreciates. Steingar is likely already there, or he’ll figure it out and return there later on in the day, so neither consider him in their decision. Their walk through the outskirts of the sprawling city is surprisingly peaceful, and they return to the harbor passing only a handful of citizens.

Reaching their ship, the others have already gathered in the lounge. Irzain has finally left his room, having pieced himself together enough to rejoin the crew. He sits silently at the dining booth, staring blankly at the tabletop. Entering the galley, Kirsta finds Mairlynn stirring a ladle in a small, bubbling cauldron, preparing a stew for the others.

“Nice to see you back, Kirsta! How was it ashore? Did you get a nice, soft, warm bed?” Mairlynn chipperly asks.

“Hey, can I ask you for a favor?” Kirsta speaks quietly, fearful that the others might hear her.

“Sure. What is it?”

“Silphium... I need some.”

“WHAT?!” Mairlynn gasps, shocked by the request.

“Shh!”

“Well, aren’t we the warrior princess! Who’d you conquer?!”

“That doesn’t matter, and keep your voice down. Just get me some Silphium from your stash. I, uhm... I don’t have any, and I need it.” Kirsta quietly retorts.

“It wasn’t Valan, was it? Please tell me I’m not the only woman who hasn’t had him yet.”

“Mair!” The human loudly whispers.

“Okay, okay! I’ll be right back. Watch the stew for me.”

“Thank you.”

Darting off, Mairlynn jogs through the lounge and down the hall, collecting the hide pouch of powdered Silphium from her room. When mixed with water, it creates a powerful contraceptive, in the form of a sweet tea. She slips the pouch into a pocket on her trousers, keeping it out of sight as she returns to the galley.

“What do you mean he isn’t here?” Valan asks.

“Exactly what I said. Steingar never came back last night.”

Slipping unnoticed into the galley, Mairlynn pours Kirsta a cup of water and mixes her the proper dosage. Snatching the cup, Kirsta chugs the tea as fast as she can, finishing it in a matter of seconds. She gasps for air and wipes her lips as Mairlynn raises a brow.

“Oh... I forgot how sweet that was.” The buxom human remarks.

“Has it been that long for you?!”

Kirsta’s face flushes, turning a dark pinkish color.

“No wonder you... Well... ... Did you want to talk about it? You know I’ll never judge you.”

“I know... Maybe some other time, Mair.”

“Figures...” Mairlynn pouts.

The childlike Falmun doesn’t press the matter. Assisting Mairlynn with the stew, they emerge from the galley, carrying several bowls. As they set the table for the others, Valan turns to Kirsta.

“We’ve got a problem.”

“What is it?”

“It’s Steingar... We’d better go back and wake him up.”

Hearing the bars clanking, Steingar opens his eyes. Lying on his side, his hands still shackled behind his back, his snout is half buried in his own vomit. The pungent odor makes him wince as he struggles to sit up.

“Alright you. On your... Ugh! What’s that stink?!”

He turns toward the feminine voice. Standing in the doorway is a vaguely familiar Helngar woman. With red and white fur in a two-tone pattern, the white fur covers her chin, neck and chest, and runs along her front. She looks at him with glowing, yellow eyes, similar to his own, but lighter. Her hands rest on her broad hips as she stands in the doorway of his jail cell.

“Well, you’ve made quite a mess here... Babe?!”

“Yeah?!” A distant male’s voice replies.

“Bring me a water bucket!”

“M‘kay!”

Soft footfalls draw closer, and soon a Falmun man, all of five-foot-five, emerges from elsewhere in the building. Presenting the bucket to the Helngar woman, who is a full foot taller than him, she takes hold of the edge, her hand brushing his.

“Thanks, babe.” She coos, softly stroking his flesh.

“Anything for you.” He replies with a wink.

“Mmm-you’re too sweet.”

Her long, tapering, prehensile tail slowly wraps around his waist and pulls him in. Her free arm drapes over his shoulders. She leans in, looming over the Falmun man, who’s height makes him appear almost childlike in comparison to her. The Helngar woman promptly and unashamedly gives him a passionate, tongue-filled kiss, to the bewilderment of Steingar.

“You’re the best, presh.” The Falmun smiles as she pulls back.

“So are you, babe.” She coos.

“Ugh...”

“Hm?” She turns her head toward Steingar.

“What is it with all of you mixed couples? Since when did it become fashionable to have tiny, inferior humans and Falmun boyfriends?”

“Excuse me?!” She narrows her glowing eyes with a growing rage.

“Do you do it to piss off everyone, or just your father? Or is it some kind of sex thing?”

“That’s none of your business.” She growls.

“It is when you flaunt it in my face like a cheap whore.” He chuckles.

“Don’t you talk about her like that, you son of a-!”

The Falmun doesn’t even finish his sentence, marching up and kicking Steingar in the face with considerable strength. He falls back against the wall, banging his head and groaning in pain. His groan turns into a chuckle and he spits up blood from a split lip.

“Relax, babe. Calm down. I don’t want you breaking another one before we can sell him.”

“But he called you a-!”

“I heard what he called me. I’ve been called worse by better. Don’t worry about him! He’s just jealous because a beautiful, purebred Helngar is willingly giving herself up to a hung, elven stud and not him.” She seductively giggles.

“Yeah... You’re right, presh.” Her Falmun lover nods, taking deep breaths to quell his anger.

“Of course I am!”

She rests a clawed hand on his shoulder, before leaning in and kissing him again. She prolongs the kiss, as if to taunt Steingar with it. A little bridge of saliva connects the lover’s lips as they finally separate.

“You’re a good man, a great bounty hunter, and you’re excellent in bed. The first is reason enough for me to love you, but you have all three. You’re my one and only, babe.”

“And you’re mine, too, presh.” He smiles warmly at her.

“So don’t let our prize’s judgement cloud yours. Don’t let him get to you, babe. After all, he’s just a bank with a heartbeat!”

“Okay, presh.”

Grasping the bucket with both hands, the Helngar woman heaves a large quantity of water at her prisoner, splashing Steingar in the face. It washes off most of the vomit from his fur, and the trickle of blood coming from his lip.

“And now it’s time to collect!”

The pair grin sinisterly as they each take hold of an arm, marching Steingar out of a small jail and into the open air. They push him along, taking him through an abandoned park that now only serves as a home to the itinerants. Passing a few shanties and a patch of newer wall, lined with two-foot diameter culverts, they come upon a trail. Following this trail, they march their prize for over a mile, before reaching a dilapidated castle, that’s since been converted into a portion of the outer wall. Apparently, it’s not just that; it’s a secret prison.

Reaching the old, wrought iron gates, the guards recognize Steingar right away. After fetching their master, a towering Vizhek emerges from deep within the ancient castle. Even for a Vizhek, he’s tall, standing at a solid seven feet. He introduces himself as “Hirus”, a name that Steingar immediately recognizes and fears. Guards emerge from the old castle, carrying a chest. Opening the chest, it’s filled to the brim with large, golden vasariks. It must be nearly one-hundred-thousand.

For a brief moment, Steingar feels a sense of pride; not many have earned such a substantial bounty. With their treasure in-hand, the bounty hunters giddily make their way back to the capital city, while Steingar is led by Hirus and his assortment of guards into the dark dungeon of the ancient castle. What horrors await him in that dank pit?

“What do you mean, ‘he left’?!” Kirsta growls.

“Exactly what I said...”

“He was with us, and we never saw him leave.” Valan interjects.

The group stands before the sleepy barkeep, who was roused from his slumber in the back room by the daytime barkeep.

“Look, I’m telling you, he left with your other friends last night. They said they were taking him home.” The barkeep speaks while simultaneously fighting a yawn.

“Other friends?” Mairlynn raises a brow.

“Who were they?” Jarae asks.

“A Helngar woman and her Falmun boyfriend. They come in here every so often. I usually see them coming here from the gunsmith across the street. I know they like to shoot guns a lot... Are we done now?”

“Yeah, we are.” Kirsta sighs.

“Thanks for your time, sir.” Irzain adds.

“Yeah, whatever.” The barkeep yawns.

Dashing across the street, they find the gunsmith at his counter, standing beside his wife. The crew promptly questions them about the interracial couple.

“Oh, yeah! Ariska and Armis! They’re my best customers.” The gunsmith replies.

“Are you bounty hunters, too?” His wife asks.

The group share horrified looks. They all realize what must’ve happened. After a moment, they snap out of their collective trance, thank the gunsmith and his wife for their time, and leave their shop.

“Professional bounty hunters usually have places to store their prizes. As drunk as Steingar was when I left him, they wouldn’t have been able to transport him like that, not without drawing too much attention.” Valan explains.

“Why not?” Irzain asks.

“Because the guards would likely question them; guards can and do take bounties from people, so it’s in their best interest to make him look as normal as possible, until they can trade him.” Jarae answers.

“We’d better split up. Maybe they’re nearby.” Kirsta suggests.

“Shouldn’t we have our weapons for this?” Mairlynn cocks her head.

“The last thing we need is to prance around town, armed to the teeth, asking about two, well-known bounty hunters and their ‘new friend’.” Kirsta replies.

“Yeah. Someone’s bound to see that, put two-and-two together and tip them off.” Valan interjects.

“Better to go unnoticed. If we travel in small groups and move like thieves in the night, we shouldn’t need them anyway.” Jarae adds.

“Besides, I’m not going to risk having my firearms being taken by the guards. They’ll see my new pistol and my various upgrades for what they are; the Kingdom loves hoarding knowledge, and the last thing I want to do is give them an edge like that.” Valan continues.

“Alright... It’s just that this feels kind of... Dangerous.” Mairlynn murmurs.

“Living is dangerous...” Jarae remarks.

“Fair enough.” Irzain comments.

“Valan and Irzain; you two can take the eastside. The three of us can take the westside. We’ll make our way through and meet at the harbor.” Kirsta instructs.

The group separates, walking the streets and asking the shopkeepers and pedestrians about the two bounty hunters, Ariska and Armis, and their new Helngar “friend”. Few citizens and shopkeepers even have the faintest clue as to who they’re talking about. With so many people of every size, shape, age and race, a couple of names and purposefully vague descriptions don’t earn them any results.

“It’s been a while, Val.”

“Yeah...”

“Maybe we should...”

“What? What should we do?” Valan growls, turning toward Irzain. “Should we lock ourselves in our rooms and throw in the towel so soon?”

“I’m just saying... We’ve covered over a dozen blocks, and spoken to hundreds of strangers. Do you really think we’re ever going to find him in a place like this?”

“Not with that attitude.”

“We’re probably not. This place is just too big, and he’s been gone for too long.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it?!” Irzain’s brow raises in surprise.

“No, it doesn’t! This is my fault! Kirsta and I left him alone, drunk at that table, and now he’s been taken! She lost her temper, as usual, and I was-! ... Well, I wasn’t there for him. We keep looking, until we cover every inch of this damned city. End of story...”

“Okay, but what if-”

“Hey, you!” A voice interrupts them.

Both men turn around, frozen in place at the sight of several human and Falmun soldiers about ten yards away from them.

“I knew it! You’re coming with us!” A soldier yells, pointing a finger at Irzain. “You!” He turns to Valan. “Get out of here, whoever you are!”

“Wait!” Another soldier steps forward. “They’re friends. Why not take them both?”

“Good idea!”

“RUN!” Valan shouts.

Valan and Irzain bolt, dashing through the streets as the armor-clad soldiers give chase. Slowed by their gear, the metal clanks as the pursue the men. Racing down a city street, they dash right past Kirsta, Jarae and Mairlynn, who’ve been steadily making their way toward the harbor, situated between the east and west sides of town. Before the women know what’s happening, several soldiers push past them.

“Excuse us! Pardon us! Out of the way!” They yell as they zoom by.

The women immediately follow them at a distance, unarmed and unable to do anything else.

“Stop those men!” A soldier shouts at the nearby pedestrians.

The blissfully unaware citizens come to their aid, turning on the fleeing Valan and Irzain. Hordes of strangers tackle the pair, and soon they’re thrown to the ground and shackled. Held at swordpoint, the soldiers gleefully march them through the streets, taking the men away.

“Oh no!” Mairlynn exclaims.

“What’re we going to do?!” Jarae turns to Kirsta.

“I don’t know...”

“Well, I’m not just going to leave him! Er... Them.”

“I know, Jarae. I’m not either, but we need a plan.” Kirsta calmly retorts.

“So, what’s the plan then?” Mairlynn turns to her companions.

“I don’t know, yet... Let’s just see where they’re taking them, and then we can work it out from there.” Kirsta suggests.

The women go unnoticed as they follow the soldiers and their captives from a considerable distance. They march their prisoners back to the harbor and through an abandoned park, occupied only by the homeless of the capital city. The fear on the faces of the vagrants is evident, even from fifty meters away. Why are they so afraid? The women fall back even more as the soldiers and their prizes become the only people visible in the vastness of the overgrown field. They watch from behind a tree, perched atop a modest hill.

The soldiers approach an ancient castle, built into part of the city’s outer wall. A towering Vizhek emerges from the castle to meet the soldiers. He childishly claps his hands at the mere sight of the prisoners, focusing his gaze on Irzain. He speaks to them for a moment. From their distance, however, even Jarae’s large and powerful ears cannot pick up what he’s saying.

“That guy must be in charge.” Kirsta remarks.

“That has to be a dungeon of some kind.” Jarae adds.

“But... Why would it be so far out here, and not deep in the city?” Mairlynn asks them.

Kirsta and Jarae glance toward each other. They both understand why. Typically, dungeons are deep within the cellars of a fortress or castle, or placed high in a tower; the ruling elites don’t want the screams of their victims to startle their more obedient subjects. The only reason that this place is so far away is likely because something unspeakable must happen there. Seeing their matching looks, Mairlynn begins to comprehend the gravity of the situation, silently answering her own question.

“Ah-are they going to be okay?!” The youthful Falmun asks, her voice shaking.

“Don’t worry, Mair. We’ll get them back, and then we’re going to find Steingar and get him back, too.” Kirsta assures her.

“But we don’t even know where he is. What if he’s-”

“I don’t care! This is my fault!” Kirsta interrupts. “I left him to go and-! ... It doesn’t matter... If I’d been there, Steingar wouldn’t be missing, and had we not split up to find him, Irzain and Valan never would’ve been at risk of being captured like this. I’m fixing my mistake, even if it kills me.”

“Alright. We’d better come up with a plan, then.” Jarae sighs.

“So, what do you think we should do?” Mairlynn turns to Kirsta.

The blond-haired woman takes a deep breath, slowly exhaling through her thin nose. She stares intently at the old, dilapidated castle. The Vizhek and most of his guards have since disappeared inside, leaving only a few guards atop the wall, and a single man standing at the front gate.

“Let’s go back and get our weapons.” She finally instructs.

“We’re with you, Kirsta.” Jarae assures her.

“Yeah... Let’s do this.” Mairlynn gulps with nervousness.

As they turn and dart away, racing back to the Arona-Dahl to gather their weapons and inform Trellan, Irzain and Valan are led deep into the old castle. It stinks of blood and putrid flesh, with a hint of burning charcoal. The pungent odor burns their sinuses. What horrors await them in Hirus’ dungeon? Turning a corner, they’re pushed through a large door, finding themselves standing amidst a dark, musty hall, filled with many cages. Unlocking their shackles, Valan is taken by the guards, under Hirus’ order, and led to a cage. He glances back as Irzain is marched even further down the hall by Hirus and his most trusted minions.

Fear swells in Valan’s heart, fear of Irzain’s fate. Certainly, he’s being led away to be tortured. None of this would’ve happened had he been able to control himself and watch out for the drunken Steingar. All he had to do was not sleep with Ashana and Sarana. As he’s led toward the block of cells, a human suddenly races for the bars of his cage. He’s an older man, about Irzain’s age, with dark skin, dark brown eyes, and hair as black as raven’s feathers. Long and puffy, his hair is bundled into thick dreadlocks, which stretch just beyond his shoulders. He has a goatee similar to Valan’s, but much shorter and with sprinkles of grey in it.

“You’ve brought another. Another! ANOTHER! Hahaha!” The man laughs.

His voice is deep, but his pitch is strained, his words growing increasingly louder and more shrill. His laughter is a manic cackle, reminiscent of a storybook witch. Valan furls his brow as he looks over the man. Suddenly, the man reaches out for him, startling Valan and the guards, who collectively lean back.

“Has he taken it? It’s mine, do you hear me! Mine. Mine! MIIINE!”

“Shut up, Roak!” A guard growls.

“Back in your cage!” Another yells as he swats at Roak’s arm with the wooden scabbard of his sheathed sword. “Don’t make us come in there again!”

“Aahhh! Give it!” Roak screams, flailing his arm about. “Mine. Mine! MINE!”

“Knock it off, you crazy bastard!”

Finally, the guards beat his extremities until he finally retreats into his cage. He cowers in a corner, pulling up his filthy, dark grey robes and hiding in them like a little child.

“That man becomes crazier with each session.” A guard remarks.

“Yeah. Hirus should just kill him and be done with it. This is becoming sad.”

Pushing Valan along, they bring him to a cage adjacent to Roak’s. Inside, the human is surprised to see Steingar, sitting in the corner that’s furthest from Roak’s cell.

“Steingar! Buddy!”

The guards share a surprised glance when Valan darts into the cage of his own volition. He kneels beside Steingar, who closes his eyes and rests his head against the bars.

“Not you, too.” He remarks.

“Where’s the love?! I thought you’d be happy to see me!” Valan smirks.

“Not in here...”

The guards clank the door shut and turn the key, locking Valan in before leaving the cell block.

“You shouldn’t have come looking for me.”

“What?! Why not?!” A stunned Valan asks.

“This is Hirus’ dungeon.” Steingar replies.

“Is that name supposed to mean something? Who’s Hirus, and why is everyone so afraid of the guy?”

“He’s the torturer... Not A torturer, THE torturer... He was King Euralian’s favorite, and now he’s King Vashalak’s favorite, too. I’ve heard stories about what goes on in here... Horrible things... Hell would likely be preferable to this place.” Steingar explains.

“Hopefully Hell smells better.” Valan grins.

“Heh... I missed that.” Steingar smiles.

“Whatever’s going on here, Steingar, we can survive it. No prison is escape proof. We’ll be alright.” Valan assures him.

“I hope you’re right... I pray to the Seraphs that you are... And I pray that whatever he does to Irzain isn’t too horrible or crippling.”

With a hard push, Irzain stumbles into a room. To his relief, he finds very few furnishings and no recognizable torture devices. However, he does find himself staring at a platform that sits atop a pivoting device. It’s unusually high, and light beams in through a dome shaped, polygonal, plate glass window that’s installed into the ceiling. Several straps for arms, legs and a torso are visible on the platform. The guards grab him and force him to lie flat on his back, while Hirus whistles a pleasant tune. He’s clearly taking great pleasure in strapping the Scribe to the table himself.

Suddenly, he reaches beneath the table and manipulates a wheel attached to the pivoting device. It squeaks like the hinge of an unoiled door. The table shifts, slowly tilting to one side. The guards grab the sides of the table and tilt it the other way, orienting it so that Irzain is resting diagonally, his feet toward the floor. Hirus turns the little wheel, tightening the screw and locking the table into position. He takes a hand and slides it gently over the Scribe’s chest, grinning sinisterly at him.

“Well, well, well... This has been a long time coming. The King will be so pleased to learn that he finally has your secrets.” Hirus begins, stroking Irzain’s cheek in a faux loving manner. “I want one of you to take a horse and ride to the harbor fortress. Once you’re there, I want you to requisition an armored carriage so that we can transport the King’s prize to his royal palace.” The torturer instructs.

“That could take a couple of hours, sir. They weren’t ready yet. Are you sure you don’t want to just strap him to the back of a horse and take him to the palace right now?” A guard asks.

“No. I’m going to do this right. Besides, it sends a better message with the carriage, that no one can challenge Our Majesty. Besides, that gives me some time to explore him, and the new toys in my toy chest down the hall!” Hirus turns his head toward the cell block.

“Yes, sir!” The guard chirps.

He darts away, leaving his companion standing across from Hirus, watching him with notable discomfort as the Vizhek moves slowly around the table. He drags his hand over Irzain’s cheek, resting it on his temple. He takes his other hand and places it on the other side of the human’s head. Hirus’ silver eyes begin to glow a disturbing shade of dark purple, and his hands radiate with sinister magic.

“Let’s begin...”