The Treason of Phyr Sa'resh
The Spires of Ettermire clawed at the cloudy sky like hungry dragons, ever ready to devour knowledge. The great structures were a symbol of dark elven ingenuity, and grew in size and technology as their science advanced. Great minds walked the halls of the city's concrete buildings, budding dark elves whose unique thoughts might change the face of Althanas.
A young, fit Phyr Sa'resh strode proudly through the streets. His right arm braced against the small of his ramrod spine, and his left hand rested comfortably on the pommel of his cavalry saber. His short dark hair swayed in a breeze that rustled the neatly pressed lines of his military uniform. The dark elf had just come from a promotion ceremony, and the Alerian star of captaincy shone on his collar. He nodded at those he knew as he passed them by, sharp azure eyes flitting from face to face.
“Sir, you still have several appointments to make today,” the lieutenant riding his coattails reminded him, “Major Steeleye has requested your presence prior to fifteen hundred hours. You are expected for advanced dragoon training in the yard at sixteen hundred hours, and of course...” the lieutenant shuffled the sheaf papers clutched in his hands, “you're meeting the lady Annelle Nightshade for dinner at the Boar & Bar.”
“Thank you, lieutenant,” Phyr said as a steam cart chugged by. The pair of them stepped into the lee of a tall tower to avoid being run down. In truth, Sa'resh could keep track of his own appointments, but he appreciated his aide's efforts. Their boots slapped on the paved road as they marched toward the offices of the Alerian Armed Forces.
“I should warn you, sir,” the lieutenant added, “Steeleye's assistant made it quite clear to me that the major was livid when asking for you. He seemed enraged by the very mention of your name.” The short slender elf gulped at the mere thought of the major's ire.
“Don't fret about old Ironhead,” Phyr chuckled, using the major's nickname from when they'd attended military schooling together, “he's always cross about one thing or another.” In truth, the tall elf had a keen idea of what specifically had agitated Steeleye in this context, but he kept it to himself. “I'll handle the major. You just make sure my riding gear is ready for this afternoon's training.”
“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant gave a ghost of a salute. They arrived in front of the rectangular office building. Unlike the elegant towers that made up most of the military quarter, with their multiple spires poking at the polluted skies, the office building was block shaped and unremarkable. Poured concrete rose eight stories above the ground, and the dull grey walls stretched the entire length of a city block.
Phyr parted ways with his lieutenant as they ascended the stairs just past the building's service desk. Sa'resh made for the seventh floor while his aide stopped off at the fifth to polish the newly appointed captain's boots.
Despite housing an upper echelon of military officers, the seventh floor's halls were made from the same plain concrete as the rest of the building. Phyr's footsteps echoed as he made his way to the heavy door with Steeleye engraved in the nameplate. The young Alerian officer took a deep, steadying breath, and then knocked firmly.
