41: Sceptre

[Start from the beginning]
Zarenis sat on the bed in her tiny apartment room, thick curtains drawn against the morning light outside. She had handed over the censer to Lady Amloth – or at least, to her manservant, for she felt reluctant to meet the drow herself now. She had been invited in, which indicated that she was expected, but had declined the offer. She had fulfilled her mission, and was now rid of the infernal artefact that she had been hired to collect. In return, she had a large payment of gold coins, enough to keep her in relative comfort for a while.

So it should all have been over. That was it, mission accomplished, her part in Lady Amloth's schemes completed. Except, of course, that it wasn't.

She looked at the sceptre she held in her hands. It was made of a bluish-black metal, either crafted with some sort of pigment worked into it, or perhaps made of a substance she could not identify. Its tip bore a set of three sharp spikes, arching around a clear crystal with a slight tinge of yellow. Those spikes had proved deadly when she had used the thing as a weapon, making it almost as much a spear as a sceptre, although it was a little cumbersome to be used as a true weapon of war. The shaft was hexagonal, engraved with writing in what she could only assume was an infernal script unknown to her.

The sceptre had much the same effect on her as the censer, or perhaps the latter's effect had not faded. Either way, while she had the transformation under control, it took an effort of will to maintain her normal form, keeping herself from being more noticeable among normal humans than she already was. In that form, she looked even more demonic than her father had, and the tainted blood had run stronger in his veins than it did in hers. She wasn't comfortable with it, preferring to vanish into the background… but the problem was, the sceptre spoke to her.

28: Leren

[Start from the beginning]

Two figures crept their way along a narrow tunnel beneath the city. The larger one held a small lantern, casting long shadows on the walls, and illuminating patches of glistening moisture where the warm air condensed against cold stone. The tunnel turned sharply downwards, uneven steps plunging into the darkness beneath. With a grunt, the larger figure extinguished the lantern.

“’Er ladyship don’t like no lights,” sad a gruff, masculine voice, “‘sept the ones already down there. So watch yer step.”

“Easy enough for her ladyship to say,” commented a woman’s voice, “drow don’t need light.”

“We do it ‘er way, and that’s that. Or you ain’t coming. I only brung yer ‘cause she asked. You ain’t one of us, I can leave yer behind and say yer’s too scared.”

“I didn’t say I needed light, did I? You’re the one going to have difficulty on those stairs, not me.”

The man grunted again, put out. “Yeah, whatever. You comin’ or what?”

17: Preparations

[Start from the beginning]

The little alley was always quiet, and was even more so at this hour of the early morning, after the last of the prostitutes and drug peddlers had departed. Above, the sky was a clear dark blue, already lightening on the eastern horizon. The lesser moon was just visible above the rooftops, a small, baleful, yellowish half-disc, insignificant in the pre-dawn twilight.

Only creatures of the night were active at such a time, but Zarenis was hardly the only such person in the city. Another was the woman she had come here to meet, Nyvara. Even so, the tiefling hoped that she had not arrived too late, for Nyvara was human, and even she had to sleep at some time.

There was only one other person in the alley, a skinny and sallow-looking woman sitting hunched on a doorstep, lank and unwashed hair framing her thin face. The stranger did not acknowledge Zarenis’ presence, looking away with disinterest. It was always unwise to pay too much visible attention to passers-by in this part of the city, for few people here wanted attention.

12: Reception

The Emir’s palace stood near the centre of the city, its three golden domes as distinctive as the minarets of the grander temples. From here, the rulers of Haredil administered the city, and claimed fealty from the more sparsely settled lands around. The palace fronted onto a great plaza, close to the market that was the city’s lifeblood. No visitor could fail to be impressed, the Emir and his government making a clear statement about the wealth and power of their domain.

Lady Tarissa had been here many times before, but this time she had to admit that she felt a little trepidation. From what Almandar and Calleslyn had discovered at the Wizards’ College, the threat mentioned in the ancient documents was very real. The College made no direct mention of events, which doubtless explained why this aspect of history was so unknown, but it corroborated much that the old parchments said. They referred, in part, to a time when demonic influence in the city had been strong, and then faded away suddenly for no apparent reason, dismissed as little more than the natural waxing and waning of the infernal powers.

8: Spying

[Start from the beginning]

Zarenis woke up as the sun began to dip in the sky, casting its orange light through the narrow window in her garret apartment. She had slept through much of the day, which was not unusual. She preferred the night over the day, when harsh sunlight could make things all too visible. At night, she could see better than humans, or even elves, could, allowing her to see without being seen.

That much was practical, especially given her chosen stock in trade, but there was also, she thought, beauty in the night. Haredil’s skies were often clear, an advantage of its arid environment, allowing the stars and moons to shine brightly amidst the velvet blackness. And darkness was so much more beautiful than harsh light. The way things shrunk into the shadows made them somehow cleaner, purer, than they were when their reality was exposed by sunlight.

Her diabolic heritage might also have been relevant, of course.

She slipped out of the bed, pushing the thin sheets back into place, and quickly dressed. She did not have a wide range of clothes, just enough spares to ensure that some would always be clean, and her tastes were simple – and practical – enough. Perhaps if, one day, her job should take her to some high class party in disguise, she might have to buy an expensive dress, but the thought held no attraction for her.

4: Hiring

[Start from the beginning]
Soft soled leather boots made little sound as the dark cloaked figure strode along the back street. The houses nearby were large, some of the more opulent ones in Haredil, many of them lit by lantern light from within at this time of night. Even were it not for the darkness outside, little would have been visible of the figure’s features, shrouded beneath the long, hooded cloak. The figure glanced about, to make sure that no one was watching, but the street was otherwise deserted. It stepped up to the back door of one of the homes, and knocked softly.

After a long pause, the door opened slightly, and a human face peered out. Apparently satisfying himself as to the identity of the visitor, the man opened the door further, and the figure disappeared within.

The room within was gloomy, lit only by the candelabrum that the manservant held. Zarenis pulled back the hood on her cloak, revealing a pretty, yet serious face with pale skin and shoulder-length brown hair. However, her heritage was immediately apparent, as was, perhaps, her reason for concealment. Just peeking up from beneath her hair were the tips of two tiny, black horns, and her eyes glittered in the candlelight like two dark garnets, the reddish tinge decidedly unnatural.

“I will inform her ladyship of your presence,” said the man, not reacting at all to her appearance, “please wait here.” With that, he was gone, taking the candle with him, and plunging the room into near-total darkness.

1: Arrival

The sun shone down on the city of Haredil as the small group rounded the crest of the hill. The white towers and copper domes and minarets glittered in the light, welcoming them back after their long journey. The last few weeks had been exhilarating, dangerous, as they had probed lost catacombs in search of treasure, fending off monsters and evil spirits to gain their prize. And a good haul it had been, too, the coins now loading down their saddle bags.

Almandar looked around at his companions, staunch comrades in the battles they had faced, and many more beforehand. Lady Tarissa was the leader of the group, despite her foreign origins. Born to aristocracy somewhere to the south, she looked nothing like the nobles of Haredil or its neighbouring cities. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was now free of her helmet, and her pale lips formed a smile as she saw the city ahead. The paladin might be an exile, but Haredil had become a home for her, too over the past few years. With the dust of the journey, and the heat of past battles, only her regal bearing now marked out her high born ancestry, but once they returned, there was no doubt that she would be able to move amongst the nobility once again, her knowledge of etiquette making her ideal as spokeswomen for the group.

Where Lady Tarissa was muscular and heavily armoured, Almandar’s fellow magician, Calleslyn, was willowy, armed only with a dagger tucked into her belt. She was wearing travelling clothes now, of course, but by tomorrow, she would, he knew, be dressed in rich robes that only complemented her beauty more. As pale and blonde as Tarissa, her hair was long, currently tied back into a long pony tail to reveal the high points of her ears. She had lived among the forests of the southern island for much of her life, which perhaps explained her mixed expression as the city approached. She looked, Almandar thought, calm and relaxed. Perhaps for her, as an elf, this was just the end of another journey, a pause between travels, rather than a true homecoming.