Ardor signature determines a creature’s overall Ardor potential. Strangely, creatures with similar signature, or potential, seem to gravitate towards one another when in proximity. Whether their interactions are amicable or not doesn’t seem to be affected.
Vendrethaisen’s Teachings
Yirnamint Baldet
Yirnamint began humming a playful tune as he walked forth into the battlefield. As the beats of the grand war songs about his northern ancestors, he would continue onwards steadily.
The songs of glorious warriors and battles didn’t mention the rancid stench of death. Blood. Viscera. Urine, excrement, and guts. All permeated the air, filling it with their noxious fumes. He waved his handkerchief and hummed a couple of syllables. The air around him filled with the lovely smell of valley flowers in the springtime.
Sweet relief. How do those two ever get used to it? he pondered, glancing at Evangeline, then Ajin. The two had uncannily keen senses.
When Yirnamint turned back to the gate, he found Beylesa leading the stunned – but alive – mother and son away from the bloody courtyard. Evangeline helped the other hostages to their feet, but he didn’t miss that her hand dropped close to where she kept her knives. Ajin and a barely perceptible cloud of fog flanking the gate, watching for any straggling enemies. Vyrnamint had apparently seen fit to enter his gaseous state. Perhaps for stealth reasons?
Yirnamint strolled through the courtyard and picked up the halves of a doll, looking at its triumphant face covered in blood, remembering the porcelain countenances of the toys back home. They had been much harder to fix. Whistling, he gently set the halves against one another and held them there. The cloth began to sew itself back together. He began trailing behind Beylesa and the kid.
A few moments later, once it fully reknit, he resumed humming. When Yirnamint stopped the child with a gentle hand on the shoulder, he presented a clean, good-as-new doll. The kid’s eyes bulged, and he yanked the toy out of Yirnamint’s hands with surprising speed and clutched it to his chest, still sniffling.
“Th…thank you, sir,” the child gushed as the mother reached for her coin purse, wincing from the movement.
Yirnamint chuckled. “Payment isn’t necessary. The smile of a child is rewarding enough.” He ruffled the boy’s auburn hair. He thought he saw a confused look on Beylesa’s face, but it was gone in an instant.
“Yir? I could use some help over here,” Evangeline called.
He nodded over his shoulder and bowed slightly to the trio. “Duty calls.” He turned on his heel and headed to see what his friend needed.
Beylesa Trased
For the third time that day, Beylesa trekked into Stillstone Courtyard. Now, there were many dozen guards stationed at the gate. She had personally seen to that. This day was fragmenting by the moment. Almost all of the citizens were accounted for. Once they’d heard the war horns a few hours past sunrise, they had time to flee to the inner town and bunker down.
The strange gaggle that comprised the mercenaries trailed behind her. The golden-haired one – Yirnamint – was bantering with his brother, and the two others spoke in a language she didn’t understand. Beylesa turned to face them.
“The time has come for me to explain why I called you people here. I don’t like working with mercenaries, but the situation leaves me no choice.” Beylesa took a steadying breath. “There’s been a string of goblin attacks on settlements all across the middle of Emrandyr in the last couple of months. Murlap, Ramcarth, Brelar, and Burvin. Now, here-”
“Was Burvin destroyed?” Vyrnamint piped up.
“None have fallen yet; their sieges lasted less than half a week each. Very few casualties all around.”
“Good. They had the best ale when I was-”
“Only a few casualties?” Evangeline cut in, silencing Vyrnamint with a glare.
Beylesa nodded. “By my information, yes.”
“That’s uncharacteristic of them. Murlap is pretty fortified, right?”
Again, Beylesa nodded. Ajin and Evangeline shared confused glances.
“If they were to attack a settlement, goblinoid armies such as these hit a relatively weak settlement, enslave the surviving population, and then bunker up there,” Evangeline mused. “For them to deviate so radically from their usual strategy is worrying. They typically leverage their superior night vision and attack at night.”
“This is no ordinary band of pillagers,” Ajin cut in. “I know of these – their battle crest marks these as goblins of the Orsidian wilds. I have had encounters with their ilk before. Greedy warmongers, out for coin and blood. This is a larger and more organized force than most I have encountered; they likely follow the war codes common to bands in northern Orsidi and southern Islidan to maintain such a force.”
Beylesa nodded, rubbing her scarf between two fingers. “You see why I called for your… specific skillsets.”
“You mean to burn the stumps of the hydra,” Evangeline remarked, folding her arms.
Beylesa held her hand out. “I left my map of Emrandyr at the Gleaming Goat. Which,” she grimaced, “is in the outer town. Could I borrow one of yours?”
After Yirnamint had unfurled his map on a nearby crate, the group huddled around the parchment.
“The first hit was two months back on Burvin a few hours past midday. They kept siege for three days until reinforcements from Brelar came and drove them off. The goblinoid forces retreated northeast,” Beylesa said, marking a line in charcoal to represent the direction they took. “The next attack was on Bonac, fifteen days after the retreat from Burvin. Their siege lasted four days, and then they retreated on the fifth morning.”
“Is it a siege if it lasts that short of a time?” Vyrnamint interjected. “The point of a siege is to wear down the enemy’s resources, right? Not camp out for a few days and go home.”
“I’m not paying you to argue semantics with me. They retreated to the southwest.”
“I’m just saying they have to have another motive other than just to be a pest.”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” Another thin line of charcoal.
“Surely, they would not make a beeline to their base from the town. You are trying to locate where their base of operations is founded on the trajectory of their retreat, yes?” Ajin surmised. “Why not just interrogate them? The guards captured many.”
Beylesa sighed. “I have a spell that forces creatures to tell the truth, but it doesn’t compel them to tell me about specifics. Nothing I tried worked. I’ve never heard of goblins to be so loyal.”
“Ah, but I bet one of us could get them to speak.” Ajin grinned at Yirnamint. “Is that not right, Nami?”
Yirnamint shrugged. “I suppose I could try. I’m not out of arcana yet.”
Beylesa rubbed her eyes. “You people don’t understand, no amount of coaxing, bribing, or threatening will get these creatures to talk. They’re supremely zealous.”
“Still, we could try?”
“If you insist, but I’ve expended much of my arcana: I would only be able to cast the spell once.”
“Once is all we need.”
“Lady Trased, are you sure this is wise?” the guard asked pensively, gesturing to the motley crew behind her.
“They were crucial in rescuing the hostages and turning the tide in Stillstone, guardsman Dukal. I trust them enough,” replied Beylesa. It was only an hour or two after the sun had peaked, but her body screamed at her from the day’s events. “Besides,” she added, “I’ll be with them. I’ll make sure they don’t misbehave.”
The guard shifted his weight from one foot to the other, seemingly unsure, but after a few drawn-out moments, he nodded. “O’course. You’ll be wanting to see the hobs, right? Come with me.”
Beylesa waved her companions forward and they followed the guard into the prison. He spoke with hushed fervor to other guards, who stiffly moved off. A few minutes later, they faced a chained-up hobgoblin wearing a bag over its head. A few goblins were similarly gagged, chained, and blindfolded: likely backups if this one proved more resilient than it looked. The guard stayed in the room in the far corner, fidgeting nervously with a length of chain.
Beylesa concentrated, murmuring a prayer. A golden bubble emerged from her twisting fingers, bathing the whole room in a uniform light. Immediately, faint sigils coalesced in front of the faces of Ajin, Evangeline, Beylesa, the guard, and all of the goblinoids. Notably, they were absent from the brothers’ faces.
Interesting…
Beylesa gestured for the guard to take the goblins out of the room. They weren’t needed anymore.
Yirnamint, who looked like a hobgoblin, stepped forward and wove his hands dexterously through the air, glyphs of pale pink light fading into existence as he softly hummed. The glyphs turned to wispy vapor and streamed into the hobgoblin’s ears. It’s muscles went limp. Yirnamint slowly drew the bag away from its head.
“Hello, friend,” Yirnamint began smoothly, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “How are you?”
The hobgoblin seemed as if he was in a sort of light stupor. “I… I’m not sure,” it rasped in faltering Kevar. Its head lolled down. “Why… why am I chained up?”
“You knocked your head hard in the fight against those nasty townspeople. Fear not; you’re in good hands. You’re restrained because you tried to attack some of our superiors. You gave the cook a solid beating, I’m afraid,” he chuckled, gently turning the chin of the hobgoblin to face him. “I’ve been assigned to test you to see when you’ll fight again.”
“Why do you speak the lowly tongue,” the hobgoblin lulled, still in Kevar.
“A simple cognitive assessment to evaluate the extent of the damage, including a series of questions. I suggest you answer all of them as best and thoroughly as possible.”
The word seemed to quietly reverberate throughout the room. Beylesa stiffened, standing up straighter, narrowing her eyes as her fingers brushed against her scarf.
I need to be very, very careful around that one.
The hobgoblin nodded slowly.
“Now, let’s start with something easy, shall we? What did you have for breakfast?”
“Breakfast?” the hobgoblin inquired, turning the word over in its head, furrowing its steep brow. “Shalekj… rabbit stew.”
Yirnamint nodded. He droned on for several minutes, ever so subtly building up to the all-important question. He coaxed their numbers from the creature, how many were at the base, and how many were on the assault. Beylesa felt her impatience rise, but she could appreciate the patience and deftness.
“If you are separated from the army, how would you find your way back to the base quickly?”
Beylesa felt her heart thump in her chest faster. The anticipation felt like electricity coursing through her veins as she waited for the creature to translate the words into Kevar.
“I’d follow… River Ikol upstream from the forests until… I come to… two big fang rocks…” it articulated, looking woozy. “Then… I’d head due east about a mile or two around the forest edge, … then I’d be back.”
“Grymtharn,” Evangeline whispered. Yirnamint held a hand for her to quiet.
Beylesa exhaled slowly – she hadn’t realized she held her breath for so long. From close beside her, Ajin gave a small fist pump. Yirnamint’s expression didn’t shift at all.
“That is all. Thank you for your cooperation. I will see to it that you get released and back in the action as soon as possible.” He beamed and replaced the hood. From beneath it came an acknowledging grunt, followed by a few unintelligible words, then snoring.
Yirnamint shrugged his shoulders as if doffing a cloak, and the illusion disappeared. He smiled at them tiredly. “Mirrors, I forgot how exhausting that spell can be. My head hurts,” he chuckled softly.
“You have outdone yourself, Nami.” Ajin walked up and thumped Yirnamint on the back. Yirnamint was grinning like a fool.
“I’ve still got more in me today. I didn’t use much on the fight earlier.”
Evangeline rapped twice on the door. It opened, and the nervous guard from before stood there. They exited and made their way through the labyrinthine hallways to the outside world.
When they finally emerged into the sunlight, Yirnamint sighed in contentedness and strolled over to a bench, where he promptly laid down. Vyrnamint sat down next to him, squinting and blinking rapidly.
Beylesa's muscles were beginning to feel sore from the running and fighting, the familiar warmth of her magical reserves was almost depleted, and she felt exhausted from not having slept much the night before. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to banish the images in her mind. She could do it most days, but today was so overwhelming and stressful that she just wanted to curl up beneath a heavy blanket.
She opened her eyes, ran her fingers through her frazzled hair, and forced her body forward, seeking an audience with her uncle.
Ajin
“What do you mean he can’t see me now?” Ajin heard Beylesa argue. Her agitated tone made it clear that it stood for a command rather than a question.
His perspective made it hard to see what was going on – he could barely see inside, noting the ornate canes set where umbrellas would be – but he could just make out the servant’s shoulders slump ever so slightly. A few minutes ago, when Beylesa stalked off, Ajin noticed that her posture was that of someone reaching the end of their patience. After excusing himself from the others, he’d followed Beylesa to see what she got up to.
“I apologize for the inconvenience, but the lord is busy now.”
“He can make time for discussing the town’s defense. Surely information of the enemy is more important than whatever other business he’s currently attending to.”
The servant girl sniffed indignantly. “He’s currently with the captains of the guard and militia discussing housing while the occupation lasts.”
A few, long moments of silence. Beylesa stood a good two heads taller than the woman. Mirrors, she had a few inches on himself and Virrie.
The servant coughed awkwardly, looking away under Beylesa’s unflinching gaze. “I’m deeply sorry. This is a bad time.”
Beylesa heaved a long, disappointed sigh. “Sure. Fine.” She turned on her heel and began marching down the street, leaving the tall building behind. The door closed with a soft click, and Ajin could make out the lock sliding into place. She hesitated when she saw him. “You.”
Ajin swallowed a chunk of the bread he was eating. “Me.”
“Why were you following me?” She resumed her pace.
“You look tired. Why not take a break?”
“I’m not paying you to be my minder.” She brushed past him.
“But you are paying us. You’re our benefactor. Your well-being is in our best interests.”
Beylesa kept walking.
Ajin thought for a few moments. “What’s your favorite color?”
She halted, looking back incredulously. “What?”
Ajin shrugged, left hand rubbing his jaw. “Honest question.”
“What, are you trying to sell my identity to a doppeler?”
“I feel you’re not usually this hard with people.”
Beylesa turned her shoulders to face him, tilting her chin slightly upwards, and crossed her arms. “And what makes you say that?”
He nodded towards the small red cloth. “That scarf around your shield wrist. It is meticulously handmade and worn from countless storms, discolored by the sun. You have money and have likely had ample opportunities to replace it, but you have not. That shows a degree of sentimentality. Ergo, you have your armor down some of the time. Metaphorically speaking.”
She scowled. “Do you psychoanalyze everyone you meet?”
“I am much the same way.” Ajin lifted his necklace, showing the silver bird pendant normally hidden by his armor and tunic. “We need to be able to work together if we are going to do this task of weeding out the enemy. We need to have trust. You can put us in one of those truth bubbles again, we will all give the same answer.”
Beylesa looked like she was going to say something. She didn’t look as angry as before. Slightly miffed, but more stressed than anything. But, she turned and kept on her path.
“Oranges and greens.”
Ajin smiled and didn’t press further. He leaned back against the walls and closed his eyes, basking in the warmth of the sun, resuming chewing on the loaf of bread. He was able to stave off some self-leveled reproaches of hypocrisy.
Sanfael Eld
Dozens of miles away, Sanfael set his spearaxe – a massive weapon with an axehead and rear hooked spike, both set beneath a vicious spearpoint – against a tree, breathing heavily from the exertion. The spectral form of his great-great-aunt thumped him on the back, giving him an encouraging smile before fading like the others.
Olonorin was leaning on his maul. “Your strength is growing day by day.” His booming voice seemed to echo throughout the grove, but it would be silenced by the runes before ever disrupting the wildlife. He chuckled, rubbing his right arm where Sanfael had struck him moments ago. “You got me good there. Soon, you might overtake me.”
Sanfael beamed at the praise. “Thank you, Father.” He bowed. “I doubt I’ll ever be as skilled as you, but the words are appreciated.”
Olonorin barked a laugh. “I am getting only older, and you are getting only stronger. Come,” he added after a moment. “Let’s go see the elders. You are ready.”
“Ready for what?”
Olonorin smiled proudly. “Ready to accept the full blessings of our ancestors.” He began walking.
Sanfael’s breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t help but show a smile of pride as it blossomed across his face. It fell slightly. “What about Garseian?” Sanfael called after his father as he began to follow. “He’s not back yet.”
“Word came on wings from him just this morning,” Olonorin called back. “He said he’s been delayed, that Ielethanrial’s tasks have led him down unexpected paths. He also said that he believes you’re ready, and that the ceremony should proceed without him.”
His smile grew, but the expression quickly faded after the announcements were made. Cries of dissent rose as Sanfael strode around the grassy knoll to the Path of Heroes. They were few in number, but their vicious insults were loud and rending.
“Kin traitor!” some chanted
“You drove him away!” others shouted.
“Kaelperos was more worthy than you’ll ever be!” one decried.
Sanfael set his jaw and continued on the path. The words tore at his oldest wound. His deepest regret.
I wasn’t enough to save him.
The growing clamor, both for and against him, rose. Thunder rumbled in the distance—a fell omen, to be sure.
