Escape from Anebrilith

[Sagequeen]

Solo. Events take place after "The Spinner's Web."

The height of noon brought with it the brilliant light that filtered through the leaves of Concordia Forest like the translucent stained glass of a lovingly-adorned temple. Erissa sat upon the ground in awe of the verdant beauty, a sylvan wonder the likes of which she could only dream when she resided in Anebrilith. There, she dared not venture into the Red Forest, and rarely did she venture outside of Caedron Hall, her father's home.

Erissa shuddered as she imagined the wrath of her father at her hasty departure. The young elf would have harbored guilt that her mother bore the brunt of his anger - had she not been a co-conspirator in her husband's manipulations. Her mother's passivity concerning the events in their lives fully implicated her in Erissa's assessment. The anger she could not abandon grew within her again; she had been blind, betrayed by all those around her. She expected it from her father, and to a much lesser extent from her mother. However, the acts of her servant were a stark blindside that shook her world to its core.

Having decided that there was no place for her in Anebrilith, Erissa had willingly gone from the very lap of luxury to sleeping on the ground in a few short weeks, and her stomach rumbled constantly as the food quickly spoiled on the road north from Serenti. It was purely good fortune that in the current time of year the fields of southern Corone brought forth a variety of foods she quietly and regretfully pilfered for subsistence. The same fortune abandoned her beneath the eaves of Concordia and her hunger was perpetual, never sated by the wild berries and bitter roots she found therein.

Erissa forced the barrage of thoughts from her mind and focused instead on the emerald leaf in her hands. Almost imperceptibly, the leaf trembled, though the high elf remained as still as stone. Not a breath of wind was upon her skin in the moments that followed, but the leaf flipped from her cupped hands and floated gently to the ground. Satisfied, Erissa quickly rose and shook the debris from the cloak she had spread beneath herself. The budding arcanist took a deep breath and wondered at herself; the new powers she had recently acquired were very foreign to her. She had not yet become intimate with her abilities and the practice of them left her feeling alien.

The sun began its descent beyond the canopy of the forest as Erissa wrapped the cloak around her diminutive frame. The cloth was rough and irritated her bare arms, but her fine attire would only attract the type of attention she did not want. The master tailor regretted not purchasing different clothing during her month's stay in Serenti, but at that time she could not bring herself to discard her wardrobe. She walked with her head down, studying the elven songbook she'd taken from her father's extensive library as she made her way back to the nearby road. After a few moments, Erissa began quietly singing in rhythm with her footsteps as she walked.

Her feet ached and her body hurt. The traveling song she sang did somewhat bolster her resolve, but Erissa was painfully exhausted. Underwood was her destination, and she had remained on foot since leaving the boat that carried her from her native home of Raiaera. A handsome price Erissa had payed to secure a private cabin; she spent the journey across the sea in solitude. When she had arrived in Corone, indecision and a longing for familiarity had kept her in the southern port town of Serenti for so long.

At mid-afternoon, the high elf breached the outskirts of Underwood. The town was alive and populated with people of all sorts; newcomers were not unusual here and she rarely endured more than a moment's scrutiny from wary and watchful eyes. Erissa kept her head down and trudged forward, searching for a place to rest and eat. She was relieved when she found her way to the local tavern, The Peaceful Promenade. Attempting to remain inconspicuous, she took stock of the patrons as they arrived and went. None seemed overly threatening, so Erissa steeled herself as she stepped quickly and lightly across the path to the doors of the establishment. She slipped in through a barely opened door and took the first open seat against the wall she could find. The tavern was more populated than she would like, though it could have been much worse. The patrons were only beginning their warm-up for the evening rowdiness, and Erissa intended to find an inn before then.

She slipped the hood of her cloak back so that it rested on her shoulders. The light from the window behind her created a glowing halo as her silver hair caught the light, though the back-lit quality of it somewhat obscured her features. A waitress bustled to her table.

“What'll ya 'ave?” She asked with a friendly smile that well suited her rotund face.

“Wine, if you have it. If you offer a meal, I will have that as well,” Erissa said quietly.

“Just so happens we got both,” said the waitress. “How 'bout our special?”

“Thank you,” Erissa said with a grateful nod. Several minutes later, the waitress returned with her wine and a bowl of stew. Erissa looked around nervously as the waitress stood near her in uncomfortable silence.

"You've money to pay, I 'ope?" The waitress shifted her weight to her other leg and jutted out her generous hip. Embarrassed, Erissa quickly removed the coins from her satchel; to the plump woman's pleasant surprise, Erissa tipped generously. With an extra spring in her step she whisked away to the next table.

Erissa gingerly dipped her spoon into the stew and dared to stir it. The clumps of meat and brown vegetables floated in a steaming, gelatinous gravy. Slicks of spicy red grease had already formed on the skim; it was a far cry from her normal fare. She considered sending it back, but the immediate demand of her hunger would not allow such a thing. In spite of its appearance, Erissa found the stew to be very satisfying, even rather tasty. She sopped the last of the gravy from the bowl with a bit of crusty bread and savored the spicy warmth that lingered in the back of her throat.

The petite elf pushed the empty bowl to the opposite edge of the table and removed her songbook from her satchel. She lay it on the table and hunched over it, taking care to make herself appear busy. From time to time a raucous would arise, but for the most part she was ignored by the patrons who seemed unfazed by low-profile strangers in their tavern.

[Sagequeen]

The Peaceful Promenade was a vivacious place, bedecked with trophies of the hunt and an impressive collection of various clay, glass, and metal vessels in all shapes and sizes. The walls were covered in subdued vertical brown and dun stripes that met a cherry wood wainscoting. The chairs she thought gaudy but liked them nevertheless, the salmon velvet cushions contrasting the cherry wood frames, all held in place by ornate gold-colored nails. It was nothing like her home, and while Erissa was slightly uncomfortable, she was very curious.

Undisturbed, Erissa stayed in the tavern. Her songbook lay before her though her gaze was focused on the interesting array of characters in the large room. Never had she seen such a mix of people, nor had she ever witnessed such an uninhibited display of voice and movement. She ordered another glass of wine and sipped it slowly. The day was faded and her face illuminated by the candle on the table before her. Voices were raised in a boisterous chorus of some local drinking song, and in the far corner, the singers raised their mugs high in the air.

"To the resistance!" They toasted, glasses clanking and globules of foamy ale raining down on them. An extravaganza of deafening shouts filled the tavern. The night brought with it an influx of patrons, and Erissa felt slightly overwhelmed. She drained her glass of wine and packed away her book, preparing to leave, but was interrupted.

"Have we met before?" The stranger asked. Erissa looked up sharply, peering into the face of a high elf she had never seen before in her life.

"I think not," she replied, tossing a coin on the table and standing. She took a step for the door but the stranger sidestepped and blocked her.

"You're right," he said. "I would remember such enchanting beauty." He gave a devilish smile and flipped the side of his cape over his shoulder in a pronounced flourish. With another ridiculous gesture he puffed his chest and combed his long brown hair away from his cheek as he displayed his refined elven profile for her.

"If you will excuse me," Erissa began, but he would not let her finish. Still flashing his toothy smile, he continued.

"Indeed, it is rare to see a lady of such class and refinement in such a place as this. Perhaps the lady would appreciate company of the same sort?" Erissa rolled her eyes at him - much to her own great surprise; many had been the suitors who pursued her, though her father's station demanded she act with dignity. Feeling strangely mirthful, she spoke.

"Indeed I would. And where might I find such?" Erissa's veiled insult was not lost on him, but he brushed it aside.

"Why, right here, Mi'lady," the stranger said as he bowed. Erissa noticed several tables away a group of men had grown quiet and watched intently. They looked away quickly as her gaze fell across them.

"Does that line actually work?" Erissa asked, eyebrow raised. "I wonder because I am not from here. You see, I am a high elf of the ancient city of Anebrilith, daughter to a High Bard Councillor. Such clumsy forwardness is rather unbecoming in a potential suitor and I am unused to it." The stranger was for once speechless and backed away, mumbling an apology.

Erissa smiled sweetly and slipped out of the tavern for some fresh air; she decided it was time to find an inn. The streets were sparsely populated and a cool breeze lingered in the folds of her cloak.

"Oh, no!" Erissa said, slapping a palm to her forehead. Her staff was still in the tavern, left behind in her haste. Hoping the pompous stranger would not mark her return, she entered the tavern again, only to be met with the beginnings of a brawl. It started in the far corner, and spread quickly to engulf the central area. Erissa hurried toward where she had been seated.

The blow came from behind, knocking her to the ground. The full weight of the large man who had been tossed in her direction squeezed the breath out of her, and she struggled to get out from under him.

[Sagequeen]

The weight was incredible and the man was out cold. His sweaty stench engulfed and clung to her. Erissa wriggled forward, all the dignity she possessed quickly hemorrhaging. She managed to laboriously slip from beneath the dead weight and remained on her hands and knees as she moved forward.

“Hungh!” She cried as a one of the patrons tripped over her. Erissa was reeling in the mayhem but spied her goal. Her staff lay on the ground nearby, knocked from where she had rested it earlier. The high elf scurried across the floor, avoiding the broken glass and plates. A bowl sailed high above the brawl; a cascade of lumpy gravy and chewed gristle arced from the bowl as they moved in concerted grandeur, pirouetting in the air. She was drenched with a final inglorious splatter.

So this is life beyond my home? She thought to herself as she closed the short gap between her and her staff. Relieved to have her hands on it, Erissa backed against the wall. The tavern was an incredible mess. Tables were upturned, some of the chairs were in splinters on the floor. She watched in shock as the men and women turned on each other, the very same that had been best of friends minutes before.

“Break it up! I’ll arrest the lot o’ ya,” came a voice above the din. Erissa was relieved to see a uniform. “Save that energy for the Empire!” Several other guards rushed in, and in the presence of the lawmen, the brawl died quickly. Erissa took her opportunity and edged toward the door. As the guards were busy helping patrons to their feet and sorting out the whole mess, she slipped out the door and onto the streets of Underwood, which were mostly empty with two hours till midnight.

[Sagequeen]

“What am I doing?” Erissa said as she stood alone in the thoroughfare of a city she did not know, bewildered by a simple bar brawl. I could always go back home, she thought, but at once banished the possibility from her mind. Searching for the courage that had coaxed her from Caedron Hall, Erissa pushed herself forward once again. She brushed away a glop of stew that had glued itself to her chin. Feeling more defeated than defiant, she walked in search of an inn.

For an hour she wandered the streets hardly meeting a soul. Erissa felt very small and very alone in the large, darkened streets; the looming buildings leered at her with windowed reflections of her small, vulnerable frame. Frazzled, she cried out in fear as the back of her cloak was given a tug; she grasped her staff and spun around, ready to strike her would-be assailant. She searched the darkness but saw no one. A warm tongue greedily began lapping the gravy from her cloak. Looking down, Erissa could make out a vague animal form.

“Shoo! Shoo!” She hissed and the figure cringed. Peering closely she saw a dog, a puppy not even a year old. He watched her carefully with intelligent eyes as he continued lapping and chewing the cloak, attempting to get every last crusted morsel. Erissa tugged her cloak away from him and tried to walk on, but the puppy mistook her actions and thought it was good fun. He clamped his teeth down and playfully shook his head back and forth, rocking Erissa. “NO!” she said sharply, and his tail drooped between his legs. Erissa began walking again, aware the dog was following her. She could not make out his body; it was black. As she looked over her shoulder, she saw the speckled-white paws, chest and snout bobbing in the darkness.

“No! Shoo! " She said again, and while the dog retreated several steps he would not be deterred. Frustrated, the elf ignored him and walked more quickly. Finally she came upon a quiet and well-kept little inn. Erissa opened the door intending to leave the puppy outside, but he squeezed in through a knee-high gap and nearly knocked Erissa to the ground. The vase of flowers on a nearby table was shattered across the ground as his entire hind end wagged at the smell of food. Erissa looked apologetically at the innkeeper and guests at the table enjoying dinner.

“It's alright, dear. Pets are welcome here. Oh my, you're a mess! I see you've sampled the local fare,” said the kind-faced woman. Erissa was not given time to protest the 'pet' part. “Come, let's get you cleaned up! Brin! See to the puppy!” Her son went to the kitchen to gather scraps and supplies to clean the mess as the woman guided Erissa to another room. “My name's Rora,” she said as she drew a warm bath.

“Erissa,” she replied. “I can pay for the stay now if you prefer. And the vase.” Grateful for the bath, she removed her cloak and paid the innkeeper who was in awe of Erissa's attire.

“Thank you! I'll be right back with a towel. I'll get that cloak clean, too.” When Rora left her alone, she slipped out of her silken purple dress and into the steaming water. To her delight, she saw small vials of liquid and chose a relaxing lavender to scent her water.

Sinking down to her chin, Erissa took in her surroundings. The inn was quaint and clean. The old, scarred wood floors were decorated with woven rugs, and the windows were covered with the same hues of azure and pale blue. The furnishings were worn but looked very comfortable, unlike those in Erissa's own home where style was the main consideration.

“Looks like you're traveling light, so I brought you something to sleep in. It's mine, but we look about the same size,” Rora said as she reentered the room. She laid out a large soft cloth and a folded cotton garment. Erissa was too comfortable to protest the short-haired woman's unannounced entrance. The innkeeper had a neighborly face and gentle grace to her agile movements. "Enjoy!"

“Wait,” Erissa interjected before Rora could leave. “Would you be interested in my dress for a trade? Something fit for traveling, if you have it.” Her eyes brightened as Rora held out the purple garment she had folded. She caressed the fine cloth with a work-toughened hand.

“Hardly seems fair to you; I can't imagine what you paid for this!”

“I made it, actually,” Erissa said smiling. “I can always make another.”

“Well, I can't turn an offer like that down,” Rora said, eyes wide. “Let me see what I can find for you.” She spoke absently as she held the shoulders of the dress against her own. Years vanished from her face as the expression of a young girl playing dress-up enlivened it. She gave a broad smile before leaving Erissa to her bath. Erissa sunk back down into the water, breathing in deeply the soothing scent before submerging completely. She lounged until the water cooled.

[Sagequeen]

“One of my favorite parts of being an innkeeper,” Rora began, “is the stories.” She smiled with earnest content and propped her feet on the hearth. The cheery fire crackled and colored the room with subtle, flickering amber hues. The common room was empty but for the two of them, and Erissa sat near her, wrapped to the chin in a hand-knitted quilt, on the long couch.

“I can only imagine,” mused Erissa as she gently laughed at the pup who was sprawled out near the hearth. He woofed and twitched in his sleep, absorbed in the dreams only dogs can know. We are both strays, are we not?

“What's yours? If you don't mind me asking, of course,” Rora said intently. “Wait, let me guess! Your family is wealthy. But you're sick of that life and want to see the world.”

“You are right, in a way. I am looking for someone,” Erissa answered, a touch of sadness in her voice, “though for whom I am unsure.”

“Hmmm. That's not terribly uncommon,” Rora said with a disappointed cluck of her tongue. Erissa was hesitant to continue, so Rora attempted to discern her situation. “Let me think... I can't tell your age, never can with elves. But why would someone obviously well-off like you leave it all behind? Love? I can't think of another reason.” Rora raised her eyebrows in an enticing gesture. Erissa heaved a heavy sigh, feeling a little frustrated.

“Well, not love exactly. And I am 25 years,” she began.

“Hey now! That's a rare thing indeed to meet a High Elf younger than I am,” Rora exclaimed. Erissa nodded politely to Rora's interruption. "But if not love then what?"

“My father is a conniving politician," Erissa said matter-of-factly. "I'm nothing more to him than a pawn in the game where he sees himself as not only the king, but also the hand controlling the pieces. He wants power, to put it plainly. My mother might have had reservations about his control over our lives, but not enough to overcome her love of the wealthy lifestyle he provided. It has been like that all my life. I was naive to think she would protect me from a coerced marriage."

"I see," said Rora, "I guess that's a good reason." She suspected more, and indicated it as she drew out the last few words.

"Recently, my paid servant betrayed my family and divided us further against one another, over a man I hired to gather materials for my tailoring. I saw him as nothing more than good company until my father hastened his departure. Then I realized there was much more there. Love? Perhaps, but in what sense I cannot discern. He is so like my brother was,” Erissa paused a moment as she recalled him. “When I lost my brother I lost myself, and now, it is as though I lost him again when Virlas left. I will never forgive my servant for what she did.” Rora nodded slowly, considering the story in silence.

“So now,” Rora began, “you are searching for hope or revenge, but you can't make up your mind which.” Erissa confirmed with a reluctant nod. “May I give you some advice?” Rora asked, but did not wait for approval. “You can have your revenge, but it will leave you empty. Trust me, I've seen enough of that type come through here. But you don't seem like that.

"Now, you can chase hope and happiness all your life," Rora continued, fluffing her gray-streaked brown curls. "The two are birds of a feather, bluebirds I fancy, and good luck catching them! But the way I see it,” she paused and furrowed her brows in thought, “if you make your heart a garden filled with good things that bear sweet fruit, those bluebirds will come to you. But keep in mind, there's no room for hope and happiness in a heart consumed by revenge and hatred. Forgive your servant,” Rora implored Erissa who stared moodily into the fire.

“She is from here, from Underwood,” Erissa said, never looking away from the flames.

“Oh, really!” Rora said, interest intensely piqued. “I can venture a guess why you've shown up here, but I'm resisting the strong urge to ask your servant's name.”

“Her name is Arienne,” Erissa said, figuring Rora would get the information out of her eventually. Rora rubbed her chin, contemplating.

“I should warn you: if you want your revenge, it's right here, back home in Underwood. Looking rather well off, too, flashing gold around like it's a common thing in these parts. I wondered where she got it but now I know.” Rora sighed and shook her head. “I'm not saying you should go and do anything. I already said you shouldn't! But I didn't want you to run into that one unexpectedly. She hasn't been right since her parents were killed. Wasn't all there before to tell the truth of it. But now, I can't quite put my finger on it, but somehow she's worse off than before.” Rora shuddered. Her brown eyes settled directly on Erissa. “Mercy is a virtue, Erissa. Remember that.” She waved her hand in the air as if dispelling a stench. “Tell me about the man, Virlas was it?”

Erissa barely heard the innkeeper's question and struggled to withdraw from the shock of hearing Arienne was in Underwood. In her anger and for lack of a better place to start, Erissa had come to Underwood, Arienne's hometown, first. She never truly expected to find her former servant, nor did she have any idea what she would do if she actually did.

"I bet he's handsome, isn't he?" Rora grinned, finally getting Erissa's attention. "Probably some dashing rogue, I'll wager, to just up and leave like that. Plenty of those around!"

"He is not a rogue! He is a mercenary!" Erissa paused, realizing how laughable her comment was. She attempted to explain. "Of course he was handsome, as men go I suppose. But it was like he already knew me. He made me smile; we laughed. It had been years since I laughed like that. He helped me - out of the goodness of his heart - and took only a fraction of the pay I offered. And," she said sharply, "he was never inappropriate! A perfect gentleman." Erissa smiled, but her train of thought wandered and the smile faded. "But it would never work. I am no more an adventurer than he is a tailor. Besides, I will always lose him in the end. Whether it is the cruel edge of a sword or the heartless and slow ravages of time that take him--"

"Oh, of course! You must have the gift of foresight," Rora said sarcastically.

"No," Erissa replied, missing the point.

"So you can't see the future then," Rora said, frowning and throwing a hand up in the air. "I realize you have several thousand years to live and he has less than a hundred. And yes, mercenary is a dangerous line of work. But live for right now! Don't keep living in the past and dreading what you think the future will bring. Live for what you can do today! Grow your garden! Make a place for hope and happiness, and they'll come. And you -- you're green as a spring melon to be 'adventuring' on your own, so he might end up outliving you!" Rora regretted her harshness. "But don't mind me. I'm just a gossip with too much advice to give."

Erissa brooded as she watched the flames consume the logs. A few moments later, Rora retired to her bedroom.

[Sagequeen]

Morning came with the call for breakfast, followed by an excited, prancing dog jumping on her in bed. Erissa shoved him to the floor, not entirely thrilled with his presence in her room. She had allowed him in only to avoid troubling the others. Her mood lifted when Erissa caught the unmistakable scent of a slow-roasted coffee, freshly brewed, and she coveted after the taste of it. Her rude awakening swiftly forgotten, she also detected the yeasty-warm scent of baking bread, bacon frying, and eggs scrambled with pungent fresh herbs. Not a single elegant breakfast at home had she anticipated more than the homely meal that awaited her.

Erissa slipped into the robes Rora had left for her. Her master tailor's eye analyzed the sage-colored cloth; it was acceptable though the seams were slightly crooked. The layered garment was a good fit and the many pockets would prove useful. Slinging her satchel over her shoulder and taking her staff in hand, she regarded the puppy that watched her carefully. He seemed to know she was preparing to leave and stayed at her heel.

“Well then. What do you think?" She asked the dog. His bright and eager eyes held held fast to her movements. “She is here. Do I seek her out or do I leave?” Receiving no answer, Erissa ambled down the stairs to the common room. She joined the guests at the table and enjoyed a hearty breakfast; the promising aromas from earlier were consummately fulfilled. As the meal concluded, the other travelers left for their day's errands. Erissa remained at the table, nudging a morsel of egg around her plate.

“Still deciding, are we?” Asked Rora as she began cleaning the table. Erissa did not answer immediately. Rora scraped and cleaned the plates; the clinking sound filled the air and disrupted Erissa's thoughts.

“If I did want to, where would I find her?” Erissa asked finally.

“Tsk, tsk.” Rora shook her head with a motherly disposition. “Well, remember what I said, but I won't be meddling any more. You'll probably find her in the market or one of the taverns. What's the name of that one... The Dark Horse, yes. She's in that seedy little place all the time with those tag-alongs, or so I hear. They'll be gone the moment the gold is, don'cha know.”

“Thank you again, Rora. I'm not sure if I will be back today.” Erissa rose from the table and gathered her things. The puppy scrambled to her side.

“Thank you!” Rora said. “You're welcome anytime!” She waved as Erissa opened the door, letting in a bolt of strong, clear, mid-morning sunlight. Erissa blinked as her eyes adjusted, then she made for the market area. Underwood was much more amiable in the light of day. Humble cobblestones paved the main roads between buildings of every shape and size. Though they were all very different, when viewed together the many influences lent it a certain charm not found elsewhere in Althanas, much like the people of Underwood themselves. Beautifully manifold they were, coming and going, living in relative peace with each other. The unconventionality was a curious source of comfort for Erissa.

[Sagequeen]

The Scheming Servant

Arienne awoke at noon with a pounding head, laying next to a stranger she had met the previous night. Darker than usual hues resembling bruises colored the bags beneath her eyes, and she felt like dried meat. Her stringy blonde hair was greasy, twiggy, and in complete disarray. As she sat up, she groaned and wrestled with the blankets. The stranger stirred; he yawned and stretched his arms, then flinched when he noticed her.

"Oh! Yeah. You," he said as he rubbed his bleary eyes. Arienne reached out and caressed his bare midsection, but he quickly rose from bed and began dressing. "Ugh. You seemed a lot prettier last night." The comment pierced deeply and tears welled in Arienne's eyes.

"But - you said you loved me," Arienne protested weakly. The stranger shrugged.

"I got over it." He hoisted his satchel and flipped a coin at her. "For your services," he said before walking out the door.

"But I'm not..." a prostitute. Her words went unheard and Arienne sunk back down on the bed. All the gold she had acquired from the sale of her stolen goods had not brought her the happiness she so desperately sought. Nor did the men at whom she threw herself; they always left. Not even the new home, new furnishings, wardrobe, fine foods, and new-found friends could fill the void in her soul. She gazed at the nightstand and the oddly shaped trinket that lay thereupon; a sense of dread rested heavily upon her heart.

Arienne found her solace in the nightstand drawer. She took into herself the amber poison willingly, reveling in the burn that warmed the back of her throat and stomach. She drank deeply and soon the headache faded. Tendrils of sensation buzzed in her arms and legs, gradually grasping her awareness and mollifying the sharp edges of her ceaseless agony. She stumbled from her plush pink and red bedroom to the adjoining bathroom. Unwilling to look in the mirror, she raked a comb through her hair, oblivious to the snapping strands, until it hung limply and tangle-free. She drew a quick bath to wash away the remnants of the night.

******************************

[Sagequeen]

"If you insist on following me, I will have to give you a name," Erissa said, frowning at the pup sitting at her feet. He grunted and gyrated in the dirt as he thrashed his paws in the air. His short coat was covered with dust that plumed fantastically as he shook himself; his ears flopped comically and he lost his balance. Erissa laughed affectionately and gave him a vigorous scratch between his ears. She drew in a deep breath; with her decision made Erissa felt a weight lifted from her.

Underwood was alive and bustling at noonday. The market was filled with a kaleidoscopic tapestry of people hurrying to and fro, weaving masterfully amongst themselves in what appeared to be a well choreographed production. Erissa picked her way through them and spoiled the seamless movement; she was bumped and jostled about as she found her way to the dry goods.

"I need traveling food," Erissa said to the vendor. "Three weeks' supply." The old man nodded and went about gathering an assortment of salted meats, dried fruits, and a several portions of dense and dry flatbread. Erissa was relieved he did not ask her any questions; she would not have known how to answer. Her journey would take her north, through the treacherous lines of Empire forces and the Comb Mountains, then west to the city of Radasanth. That was his hometown, a good place to begin her search for the mercenary; she had no doubt he would prove elusive. As a high elf, time was on her side, but not so when her quarry was a human.

"You might wanna consider gettin' another bag," the shopkeeper said, pointing at her small, flimsy satchel. "So happens I got one here. Water can't get in it very easy to spoil your food, and it comes with some basic supplies." He showed her the larger, sturdier satchel and Erissa nodded. She had watched carefully for the past hour; the merchants and their customers haggled with boisterous spirit. Less than confident, she decided to give it a try. She had brought a wealth of gold, but it would not last forever.

"The price?" She asked.

"Ten gold coins," he said and spit on the dirt. The craggy old man waited for the counter-offer as he chewed a wad of brownish goop.

"Hmmm. This certainly is quality food and the satchel does seem rather new." Erissa paused and tilted her chin downward. Keeping her head angled down, she slowly looked up at the man with wide eyes and a small smile. "But that is more than I can spend. Would six be enough?"

"Nine." The hard-faced man spat again to punctuate his offer. Erissa sighed heavily and looked down at the puppy.

"I think I could manage seven, if you'd be so kind as to throw in a little extra for the dog," Erissa fluttered her eyelids. She felt ridiculous. Such haggling was unheard-of in her former high class business. The old shopkeep grunted, and Erissa was at a loss for what it meant. As she was about to relent and agree to his price, the merchant spoke.

"What's his name?"

"The dog? I know not," she said, shaking her head.

"I seen this dog 'round here the past few days. Kicked around and ignored, scrappin' for whatever food he could get." The shopkeeper felt a tug at his heart. "Aaaagh, fine. Seven with some food for the little guy." Erissa was very relieved, and the old man packed her new satchel with the goods. "You know, I always thought Osher was a good name for a dog. Too bad I can't stop sneezing and itching around 'em. I'd have me four or five."

"Osher?" Erissa asked with a tilt of her head.

"Means good fortune, or so I hear," the man replied, nodding. "Ever'body can use a bit o' that."

"I suppose it suits him, then," Erissa mused as she smiled at the pup. "Come on, Osher."

[Sagequeen]

The Scheming Servant

The gold was swiftly disappearing: of this she was vaguely aware, though she could not comprehend how it spent so quickly. Arienne looked into the old wooden chest where a fair amount of glittering coins remained. She slammed the lid shut after removing a handful into her expensive wyrm-leather purse. She broke the wax seal on another bottle of whiskey and muddled it with a mix of stimulant herbs in her glass. After focusing a few moments, the drink in her hand became as cold as ice, crystallizing the bruised leaves. Arienne drained the glass and chewed the herbs. A shaking hand clumsily applied a mask of make-up to hide the affliction that despoiled her youthful glow. She left her home at mid-afternoon.

The herbs had done their job, giving her a jolt of energy and alertness. From a distance, the young woman appeared elegant and fashionable; the fine beryl garment bore intricate golden embroidery and belied the character of the one wearing it. Arienne shoved her way through the crowds; unable to stomach what passed as food at The Dark Horse, her typical routine brought her to Underwood's open market.

"The usual?" Asked the young man who operated the small store. Arienne cut a sharp nod and he put together a sandwich of a rustic, crusty roll, smoked salmon, and mixed greens which he dressed with vinegar and oil. Diced olives and a slab of strong red onion gave it a pungent kick that somewhat obscured the smell on Arienne's breath in case she were to meet someone she knew along her route. She tossed several coins on the counter and took her meal without a word of thanks. The young man simply shook his head as she tramped away.

“Dammit!” Arienne wiped away a glob of salmon that had dropped onto her exposed cleavage as she ate. She scuffled around on the bench where she sat in search of her handkerchief. “Stupid boy can't build a proper sandwich!” Her voice was angry but subdued, though it did draw the attention of a cloaked figure several yards away. Arienne slipped a flask from her purse and stole a generous drink to wash down the last of the sandwich.

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[Sagequeen]

It figures, Erissa thought. I make up my mind to let it be, and here she is. Erissa had been slow to leave Underwood, her fondness of the city grew quickly and with great enthusiasm she had gone from vendor to vendor, store to store, examining the incredible selection of goods. Erissa drew her hood over her head, pulling it forward to hide her face. She was compelled to confront her former servant, and there was no denying it. When Arienne left her bench and walked from the market, Erissa followed with Osher at her side. She tailed Arienne openly; the market was full of late afternoon shoppers.

As Erissa continued the slow pursuit, she detected a growing impression of elven architecture, antediluvian as it was and dilapidated; they were advancing into one of the older parts of Underwood. Arienne fussed with her purse and clothing as she walked through the sparsely populated streets, never looking back, until the thoroughfare opened wide into an old disused square; she crossed it quickly and reached her destination, The Dark Horse. The shell of the building suggested great age and noble elven history; the current inhabitants were merely hermit crabs who cared not from what derivation their latest home had come. Arienne threw open the door and went in without hesitation. After a few moments Erissa crossed the square as well, but halted at the door.

"Stay," she commanded Osher. He was uninterested in following her inside, flopping down instead around the side of the building. Erissa slipped into the tavern and took a seat at the bar.

“A round on me!” Arienne yelled, followed by the cheers of those at her table. The bartender slid a frothy ale in front of Erissa.

“Got here just in time,” he winked, his ruddy jowls wobbling as he spoke. “Haven't seen you here before. Make yourself at home!” The man and his tavern shared a shabby, neglected appearance. The paint flaked from the walls and chairs like dandruff, and years worth of dirt was caked in the darker places. The Dark Horse and its owner rarely hosted a large amount of visitors; this night, only five were present and seated around Arienne. She laughed and talked loudly, putting on a show for her admirers.

“Oh, him?” Arienne asked. “He bored me. I sent him on his way.” They laughed loudly amongst themselves and continued chattering. For some time, Erissa had been content to listen to the babble and gather what information she could, but the conversation soon took a turn which she could not idly allow.

"Don't even get me started," Arienne said sarcastically; she seemed eager not only to start but also to enthusiastically continue. "Those High Elves, as they call themselves - as if they're better than us - are terribly annoying. But the worst was that Caedron family. After I made my fortune in Anebrilith, my hireling couldn't stand it! She was so jealous of me! You should have seen her face when I took the man she loved! It was priceless." Incensed, Erissa flagged down the bartender.

“Do you have a lute?” She asked. “Perhaps I can provide some entertainment.”

“Pfffffttsh! What respectable tavern doesn't?” He asked, wiping his hands on his sweat-stained shirt before retrieving the instrument from his side of the bar. “Glad to see you doing something since you ain't buying ale.” Erissa gave it a strum. The strings were old and the wood worn, but she was able to coax it gently into tune. She turned on her stool and faced the open room.

Erissa played softly at first, plucking beautiful arpeggios that enticed the ear and lifted the spirit. With great precision Erissa strummed a melodic lay that flowed impossibly across the neck. Her fingers remembered the years of discipline at her instructor's side; she shifted unimpaired to a minor key. The mood of the room subtly changed as the weight of the sombre melody increased, a bittersweet burden upon the soul. Erissa's velvety alto embraced the cadence of her strums and her voice ascended above the thrum of the strings in a mournful refrain. Arienne attempted to ignore the prickling traveling up her spine and the sense of dread that was growing in the pit of her stomach; she twitched her head around, trying to physically dislodge a mental thorn.

"Arienne, did you hear me?" Her companion asked. "I asked if you heard about Amilie! You'll never guess what that tart..." The story continued but was drowned out by the song that assaulted Arienne's ears. Agitated, she rose from her chair and crossed her arms, rubbing as if she were chilled. As the final verse began, Arienne shuffled forward and spun around, certain the mysterious player was right behind her; she could practically feel the warm breath tickling the nape of her neck as menacing words were murmured. The conversation stopped and her companions watched Arienne apprehensively, aware of her tendency toward erratic behavior. Finally, Arienne could stand it no longer.

“Stop it at once! Stop that wretched music!” Arienne shouted angrily, to the surprise of those around her. They had enjoyed the performance. Erissa let the last chord hang in decrescendo until it died completely. Her face was hidden by her hood, not even her chin visible as her gaze rested on the lute. The tavern was silent as a sepulcher; even the bartender paused at his work.

“Perhaps I should thank you, Arienne,” Erissa said as she lay the lute on the bar behind her. As tangled and drunken as her mind was, Arienne felt a strong recollection of the voice, although it seemed very out of place in the humble surroundings of the tavern. The words bounced in her mind, like a hellish echo-chamber, and evaded her fleeting attempts at recognition.

“Who are you?” Arienne finally asked, terribly unnerved. That owner of that voice could not possibly be in a tavern in Underwood.

“You managed to do for me what I could not do on my own,” Erissa continued. Taking pleasure in Arienne's discomfort, she savored every moment of silence in its fullness before slipping her hood back, finally revealing her face. Arienne blanched in disbelief. “You see, I would still be my father's unwitting pawn had you not interfered in our affairs.”

“You--” Arienne stuttered. “What are you doing here?” Her words were slurred and uncertain.

“What do you think, Arienne?” Erissa equivocated, unsure of the real answer herself. Many thoughts labored in Arienne's disheveled mind, the fear of which was written on her face. The group of people around her edged away warily and migrated to the far wall. The tavern's owner shifted behind the bar, torn between concern for the ladies and the desire to see a good cat fight. “I see you are enjoying your spoils,” Erissa said with a slight sneer. "If your hate for me was so great, you could have simply left. You had no obligation to me."

"You didn't deserve a single good thing you had! You paraded it about while you pined away for your dead brother," Arienne raged. "And you didn't even care about Virlas! You just used him!" Erissa nodded, her suspicions confirmed. An icy shadow darkened her heart; she noted Arienne's slurred speech and swaying stance.

"The betrayer, thief, and liar is a fit judge for such matters?" Erissa laughed coldly. "Aside from that, why do you fool yourself into thinking you ever had a chance with him?" Her statement was true, but she did not clarify that the truth of her statement rested in Virlas' work. Arienne seethed where she stood, fists clenching and unclenching, hatred written upon her face. Erissa dared to prod deeper, dispelling the lies earlier relayed. "You forget your place, servant. Did you really think fine clothing bought with stolen wealth would make you anything more?" Erissa leveled her gaze at Arienne. "Once the gold is gone, so too is the illusion. You will be nothing but a servant again."