The Nuclear Option

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

“I like your scar.”

The dark elf, Lenexa, looked at me quizzically as he scratched the southern tip of ashen tissue that began below his left cheekbone and traveled up his thin face in a V, one path going over his left eye (hidden as it were by a leather patch), the other crossing the bridge of his sharp nose and coming to a rest above his right eyebrow. His trimmed fingernail brushed the scar the wrong way, and it began to peel slightly before he pressed it back down to his flesh.

“You can tell it's fake?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I've spent the majority of my life in circles that required some cosmetic magic to remain undetected. Makes you pretty good at spotting fake scars and such after a while.”

Lenexa shrugged and sat back in his chair. “Well, hopefully none of the filth that we passed on our way here have eyes as sharp as yours.”

The Aleraran and I were seated in a small alcove off to the side in Ettermire's little bright spot, The Bottomless Pit. All sorts of shady clientele walked in and out of this cramped, poorly-lit, smelly, rancid dive. They would get their drinks, conduct whatever secret business they had, go check out the fights downstairs for a bit, and leave cussing and bloodied after they bet on the wrong fighter and tried to take their money back from the wrong asshole.

I eyeballed one guy with a very real set of scars across his chin and lip walk past, his arms full of mugs of ale. “I doubt they even know we exist,” I said to Lenexa as I took a sip of my own drink. Dwarven Forge, to be exact. A brew so potent that two pints could put down just about anything with a pulse. Unless you're like me, and your body can process alcohol faster than it takes for the bitter taste to disappear from your tongue.

I set my half-emptied drink down on the table. “So, how about we get down to business? Would you mind telling me what you're after?”

Lenexa shifted uncomfortably, several strands of black hair falling out from underneath his equally dark hood and across his face. Whatever he was about to ask, it wasn't something he was going to do lightly.

“At the request of the ki--“ The elf caught himself, and dropped his voice into a whisper. “At the request of my employer, I wish to commission you to create a set of weapons.”

He crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. “As you might be aware of our history, it is one of war with our former brothers, the Raiaerans.”

I waved him off, miserable enough that he decided it was necessary to drag me to this dump in the first place. “I've read enough books to know of the struggles between your two nations. Skip it.”

The dark elf's eyes flashed with annoyance, but it quickly faded as he nodded. “Very well. My employer has heard of your various crafts through certain channels, and while he is reluctant to reach out to you, several within his close council feel that it was necessary in order to avenge our ancestors of the wrongs that the so-called high elves committed against us all those years ago.”

So, whispers of my name and the plague I unleashed on Eiskalt had even made its way to the ebony halls of Dra'khaitan. I leaned forward in kind and jabbed a gloved finger at Lenexa. “If he's heard of me, then your employer is aware of what kind of dangers he faces by contacting me, right?”

He nodded solemnly. “We have considered other options, but none of them suited the kind of campaign he seeks to carry out.”

It was my turn to drop my voice to barely above a whisper. “I'm not saying I won't take a job, but I am a war criminal. If the man you work for were to be caught consorting with me the consequences would be disastrous--not just for him, but for your entire people.”

Lenexa held my gaze tightly. “We are aware of the risks, and we have prepared enough fail-safes and precautionary measures to guarantee that our relationship will remain unknown by anyone other than myself, my employer, and you.”

“For Alerar's sake,” I said as I reached for my drink once more, “I hope so.”

I took a swig of the Forge. “Now, tell me about these weapons.”

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

The dark elf produced a piece of charcoal and a small square of paper from a coat pocket and set them on the table. Hunched over his work, he deftly drew a neat Y that covered the majority of the paper, with a small line through the stalk of the letter. It took me a few seconds, but I recognized the Y as the triplet mountain ranges that separated Alerar from Raiaera and Salvar. The little line? Niadath Pass, where the Alerarans staged their previous invasion campaigns.

“I'm not at liberty to discuss our plans in detail,” Lenexa began, “but I do have the clearance to give you enough information to help you in your task.”

I sat in silence as he continued to scribble down little lines. The shoreline of the Gulf of Scales along Raiaera. The roads that skirt the Dead Lands and lead through the fallen city of Eluriand before curving north to meet the sea. Little circles along the way that denoted refugee settlements and cities that had not fallen to the undead hordes or the dark elf skirmishes that happened during the Corpse War.

Lenexa finished his doodle and put the little black rock back in his pocket before pushing the drawing towards me. He pointed at a few of the noted towns near the shoreline of the Gulf. “Ultimately, what we're looking for from you is a biological weapon that we will deploy at strategic points along the shoreline, where the Raiaerans are focusing their recovery efforts.” His face twisted pointedly at the mention of his rival country's name.

“What we need from you is something that will neutralize their forces while we stage an invasion by sea.”

I raised a gloved finger to cut in. “Define neutralize.”

The elf raised an eyebrow. “I'm sorry?”

“Like, do you want something that lays waste to their resources, their manpower, or both? Do you want everyone dead? Or do you want them laid up in bed for a few weeks? Do you want them with debilitating headaches and explosive diarr--”

“I get it, I get it,” he quickly cut in. “My employer mentioned to me that his only wishes are for you to 'get creative', and that he has full confidence in your abilities to do so.”

I nodded. “Creative. I can certainly do that.” Violently explosive, then, I mused to myself.

My new business partner picked up the piece of paper with the crude map on it, and with a snap of his fingers, it turned to ash. He quickly wiped the burned mess onto the Pit's sticky, dirty floor, where it would blend in perfectly. “If I may make a suggestion,” he added”

“Of course, I'm listening.”

“While my employer may be of a more bloodthirsty sort, I personally believe that a more non-lethal means of dealing with the Raiaerans may be appropriate.”

I cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “Given how much it seems to me that you hate them? You don't want them dead when you reach the docks?”

He shook his head. “No, I believe it makes far more strategic sense to leave them barely alive. When a person dies, they just bury them. Or burn them.” The dark elf leaned in closer. I caught the glint in his eye. “But when you disable a person, they have to be cared for. It's far more taxing on their resources. While those bastards are too busy and tired from taking care of their own and scrambling to find the cause of this latest tragedy to befall them, we will strike.”

From a strategic standpoint, it makes perfect sense. Hells, it was a philosophy that I employed years ago in Eiskalt as an agent of the Crimson Hand. Kill them, and they will fall. Weaken them, and they will fall quicker. And it would have worked, if Lichensith hadn't run off after that Ambrose character.

“Makes sense to me,” I said. “But of course, before I begin work, there is one more matter we should discuss.”

“Your payment, I presume?”

I smiled.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I could have asked for anything I wanted, and I knew Lenexa would get it for me. Piles of gold, a track of land and a manor I could turn into a lab, an airship or two--my mind began to reel with the possibilities. If I were a lesser sort of sociopathic monster, I'd have asked for all three and so much more.

But, what I truly craved was something that seemed far simpler, but its value outstripped everything else.

"I want unlimited and unrestricted access to every part of Ankhas," I said after a pause. "I want every tome, scroll, artifact, and room there open to me, at all times, no questions asked."

Lenexa's face darkened, his sharp features hardening as he thought about what I was asking for. He understood almost immediately, and began shaking his head.

"I don't think that's possible." The dark elf's nose twitched slightly. "I can't give you that."

I wrapped a vine-woven hand around the mug of Forge and brought it up to my lips. "Yes you can. I'm not asking for much."

"You're asking for everything," he spat, his tone harsh and cutting. "More than you even know--more than you can possibly imagine."

Oh, I have a pretty good idea, I thought to myself but opted not to say.

The elf relaxed a bit, and leaned back in his chair and picked up his drink as I set mine down. "My employer would likely never approve such a request. There are sections of Ankhas that are restricted to all but those who have his explicit clearance, and for good reason."

"I'm aware of that," I replied. "And I'd like those doors opened for me."

Lenexa shoot his head dismissively. "It's out of the question."

"I don't think that's for you to decide," I said, pointing a gnarled finger at him. "You're asking me to do something very risky here. Something that could be very dangerous for your employer should anything go wrong with his plans."

The elf's steely gaze narrowed. "Is that a threat?"

"No, I'm just saying that it's only fair that I'm compensated accordingly." A tense, pregnant pause grew between us, broken only by the chaotic din of The Bottomless Pit, whose patrons continued to ignore us while we discussed the fate of two countries. "Full access to Ankhas at all times seems fair, all things considered."

The king's agent sat in silence for several moments, deep in thought, the machinery of his mind churning as he calculated the risk of allowing someone like me into the deepest archives of the world's greatest library against the rewards of what I could do with the knowledge contained within them. What made his decision even harder was the fact that he and the king of Alerar were both aware of what happened in Eiskalt with a few vials and an armful of rats. Lenexa knew that I could be an asset to his country with the entire library open to me, but he was also acutely aware that I could become its greatest enemy.

It was only after several more seconds that seemed to stretch into eternity that he sighed heavily and slumped in his chair. "I will discuss your request with my employer. He may want to speak with you personally about such a thing."

Oh boy, I thought to myself, the edges of my lip curling slightly into the smallest of sneers.

"There's an inn roughly half a mile from the palace called L'V'drin Murrpau," the elf said, switching from tradespeak to his native language with little effort. "I will arrange a room for you there, and be in touch within three days." Lenexa took one last look around the dirty, violent tavern. "Can I trust you to remain there and not speak to anyone about this matter?"

"You have my word," I said truthfully.

"Good," he nodded, "because I can assure you that you would be swiftly dealt with should you break it."

I'd like to see you fucking try, I opened my mouth to say, but opted not to.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

So, as it turns out, it really helps to have the kind of resume that I do: When Lenexa approached King Edar'axa with my request, it was approved almost immediately. The old warmonger was had his sights set a little too narrowly on his next campaign against his sworn enemies to think about it for too long.

That's perfectly fine with me, of course.

As soon as the staff of Ankhas were given the proper documentation and explicit orders signed by the king himself to allow me unrestricted access to every room of the great library, I set about my business of brewing up the kind of weapon that would make the old Regent squeal like a schoolgirl.

I spent hours upon hours browsing the expansive stacks, looking for books that detailed various alchemical mixtures, poisons, and plagues. I remember hearing that Alerar's famous library was the most thorough collection of information in the known world; but holy shit, the stories weren't kidding. I could get lost in here. I almost did, on a couple of occasions. It's like a maze in there. Hallways wind around and double back on each other, weaving between various sections of the library containing information on subjects that you wouldn't even think to wonder about until you saw them. World history, magic, technology, biographies, myths, fiction, the sciences--it was all a seemingly endless blur, an overload of info that would take me lifetimes to fully absorb.

It was nearly midnight before I settled on the first round of tomes that I'd tear through in my quest. The library staff, showing me an extra bit of kindness because of the hour and my apparent friendship with the king (because you'd have to be on good terms with him to get the clearance I have, right?), sent three of the junior members to help me carry my haul back to my room at the inn.

As we stumbled back into L'V'drin Murrpau, we got very odd looks by the three patrons who were still at the bar for last call. Our arms dead from the long walk and the heavy load, and we set them all on one of the many open tables in the dining area. I offered the three Alerarans a round of drinks as thanks, which they politely turned down. With a shrug, I saw them off, and began bringing the books upstairs to my room.

I'm not sure how much time had passed, but I woke with a start when I heard a knock at the door. I had fallen asleep on my bed, still in my black hooded outfit from the day before, my mythril face mask resting on top of my vine-knit hand.

"Just a second," I cried out as a second round of knocking brought me to my senses. I scrambled to put my mask back on before navigating between the pile of books separating me and the door. Opening the thing, I found the King's agent outside in the hallway, dressed in the full regalia of his lofty position.

Lenexa peeked over my shoulder and looked at the stacks that littered the floor. "Long night?" he asked, his a jet black eyebrow arched.

I simply shrugged. "They really need to put up maps in there. A girl could disappear in its depths if she's not careful enough."

"Indeed," the dark elf replied, his ash-gray face hard and unreadable. It didn't take a telepath to know that he was still very apprehensive about me having unrestricted access to everything inside Ankhas. He took a deep breath before continuing, "You know, we can give you a private apartment inside Valshath d’ Isto, as well as a laboratory in which you can work and develop your--" he caught himself at the last moment, option to let his thought die rather than finish it, lest the wrong person be within earshot.

Valshath d’ Isto. The Dark Palace. The home of the rulers of the most advanced nation in the world. A towering obsidian spire that oozes steam and ash, but also innovation and wonder. Some of the greatest minds in Alerar are invited to work and explore within its blackened halls, and I was being invited to join them. I felt a tingling sensation deep in my chest, a small weight of excitement mixed with foreboding.

Lenexa instead motioned over my shoulder to the messy bed and worn oak desk and chair that decorated the sparse inn room. "They would certainly give you more space and tools to work with as opposed to this."

And they'd allow you to keep an eye on my every move, no doubt, I thought. But, as cozy and adequate as this space was for my needs, I couldn't turn down the agent's offer.

"Of course, that would be very nice," I said, my shattered but warm smile hidden behind a layer of mythril.

"Perfect," came his reply. "I will send some men this afternoon to help escort you and your research to where you will be staying. In the meantime, is there anything else you will need?"

I thought about that for a good, hard second. With access to a lab, I could get my hands on just about anything I'd need--except, of course, for test subjects.

I motioned for him to come into the room, and shut the door behind him. "By any chance, do you happen to have any Raiaerans locked up in your jails? Anyone from some of the border outposts you guys raided? Anyone that wouldn't be missed?"

Lenexa's mouth opened to speak, but quickly shut again.

I pressed on, my voice barely above a whisper. "If I'm going to develop this, I'm going to need subjects to experiment on. But, if these weapons are going to be effective, I will need Raiaerans to make sure that I get things just right." I motioned towards a pile of books to my right, one of which was a treatise on the difference between Raiaeran Elf and Aleraran Elf biology. "The millennia that have passed since your kind left their homeland have made you a hardier folk, one more reliant on your instincts and stubbornness than your distant ancestors. They've made you more resistant to certain things, and you've shed most of the magical energy that courses through the veins of the Raiaerans. That's why I need them as test subjects; I'd have asked for a few of your own who are lined up for the noose, but what is effective on your kind might be shrugged off by your enemies."

The agent thought to himself for several moments. I waited in patient silence while he mulled over my request, and the ethics of it. I knew it was a terrible thing to ask of him--but it was a pivotal part of the process. If I was going to properly develop the weapon that King Edar'axa commissioned, then I would need to make sure everything was perfect. Whatever morals he might have could be set aside for the time being.

After a few seconds Lenexa nodded, agreeing with my points. "I will send word to the border region when we get you set up in your laboratory. I can have the prisoners delivered to you in five days."

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I won't bore you with the heavy details of what happened in the days leading up to the first experiments. Needless to say, I don't have the time nor the inclination to go down the laundry list of little things that we did to prepare for these all-important tests.

All I will say is that it didn't take long for me to decide what I was going to employ in the weapon.

After a day or two of browsing various texts and tomes, I settled upon a combination of diseases to use. The first was my own tried-and-true brand of plague, the very same stuff that killed thousands of people in Eiskalt; it was single-minded and incredibly effective at weakening its victims and, as previous campaigns have proven, is wondrous in its ability to grind things to a halt as the epidemic spread throughout the infected area. Seeing as Eiskalt is still having trouble controlling outbreaks even almost two years after the initial attack at my hands, even with the assistance of the Ixian Knights and other humanitarian groups from around the world, I'd have to say that it's a great place to start. The disease itself was proven rather difficult to treat, a constantly mutating pathogen that would have a cure one week that would be obsolete the next. If it works, you use it.

Another disease I would be adding to the mix was a virus that the Alerarans called Faer Elggur--translated from their tongue, Magic Killer. Uninspired, I know, but they've always been more about function than form. Essentially, what this virus does is it feeds off the magical energy that naturally courses through the body of every living thing. The stronger the connection between the two, the worse the disease gets--for example, a casual beginner dabbling in pyromancy with get a nasty cough and a high fever, while an archmage who has practiced his entire life will find their organs shutting down faster than they can heal themselves. Considering the rather healthy bond that they have with magical energies, the damage it would wreak would be considerable. There's a whole list of delightful things that Faer Elggur can do to its host, and they vary enough that it could take the Raiaerans a lot of time to pin down their exact cause.

I also have a cocktail of other things that I'm going to add in, just to keep them all guessing and extend the time that the Alerarans have to successfully stage their invasion. This isn't very scientific or professional, but a lot of it came down to me going to the Alchemists' Guild, seeing what the ol' Blue Hoods had in their frozen stores, and going "oh, that looks nice".

And so, having picked out the plagues that would be unleashed on the Raiaerans, several alchemists were hard at work cultivating the viruses for later use while I set about thinking of how exactly we were going to deliver them.

Of course, I immediately thought of rats. They worked wonders for the Crimson Hand's campaign, so why wouldn't they work here too?

The only problem was that I had no idea what kind of timetable Edar'axa was on. Was he going to pull the trigger on the invasion the second I handed the weapons to him? Was he going to play the waiting game and strike at the most opportune moment? If that was the case, then perhaps rats wouldn't be the best idea. I discovered on Eiskalt that rats are pretty resistant to my own plague, which is what made them excellent carriers in the first place. However, over the long term, they still succumbed to its effects, which would make them a poor choice if the king decided against a sudden strike.

Which led me to think that an airborne method of dispersal would be great. Something that could hold a charge or capsule of deadly viruses and propel it into the air through a mist or fog, or be dropped into water sources and food stores in order to contaminate their supplies--the latter of which would be far less effective. However, with this method, it would allow Edar'axa to strike at his leisure, as the potential outbreaks could be contained within their capsules for longer periods of time.

Well, I could also just give him both rats and mist bombs, and let him decide for himself. The rats would keep as long as they weren't injected with the diseases anyway, so that would give him the best of both worlds to work with.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

The prisoners were still one day away from Ettermire, and there was nothing more for me to do to prepare for the experiments with the Blue Hoods taking care of replicating the viruses.

And so, I set out in the early morning to Ankhas for another round of research; this time for schematics for the dispersal bombs.

It took me a while to make my way through the twisted stacks and hallways of the great library to get to the section I was looking for. I was thankful that I demanded full access to the entire building, because I was stopped several times by librarians the deeper I got in. Turns out that they won't let just anybody into the engineering and artificing archives to learn how to make a bomb.

This time, I was prepared--I brought a lunch with me. A small wall of books was set up on a table in a dark, oil lamp-lit corner of a dusty study room as I sat there, munching on a simple turkey sandwich, canteen of water nearby. The books I picked out today were all pretty technical in their description. I suppose that anyone who would normally come to this corner of the archives would already know their stuff, and didn't need their hand held throughout the process. The only difference between myself and the others being that their knowledge came with years and years of study, while mine cost me my right arm and years of servitude to a variety of demons both literal and metaphorical.

The book I was currently looking at detailed misting systems, generally used for filling the houses of nobility with sweet-smelling perfumes to block out the industrial stink that permeates throughout the rest of Ettermire. I was certain that I could modify the specs just a little bit to mist a highly-concentrated dose of solution to cover a wider area, that way it would be more effective for Alerar's needs.

I set the book aside and reached for a treatise on effective water delivery methods when I heard the first of the whispers.

"Come..."

A chill crept down my spine. The voice was soft and alluring, but at the same time, felt like nails against a chalkboard inside my skull.

"Who's there?" I held my breath for several seconds, waiting in utter silence for an answer, but none came.

I relaxed a little bit, deciding that it was just my mind playing tricks on me. And then the voice whispered again.

"Come, chosen."

If I had any hair on the back of my neck, it would've been on edge. "Show yourself," I shouted, my voice echoing softly off the wooden walls of the reading chamber.

No answer.

I rose from my chair, my briar-knit hands clenching and unclenching, a slow creeping dread coming over me. What the hell was that voice? Where was it coming from? And what the fuck did it mean by chosen?

I'm nobody's chosen. I walk my own path, now. My life is mine to live, not anybody else's.

"Come, and allow me to open your eyes."

"Fuck off," I spat venomously. Vines erupted from my wrists and snaked towards the floor, digging themselves into the hard stone. I closed my eyes, dead set on finding the source of this voice. Taking a deep breath, I allowed myself to join with the world once again. Flickering lights appeared in my mind's eye, each and every one a source of life in the space around me. I could see the patrons, the librarians, the spiders and rodents who lived in the walls, the bats that made the roof their daytime home, and even the cat that the elf at the front desk kept as a pet.

The signs of life grew fewer the deeper down into Ankhas I looked. Scholars who held lofty positions in the three Guilds and the kingsmen who watched their every move. Several trusted members of staff who were tasked with guarding the more dangerous and restricted areas of the library. And then--

--Oh, gods--

--A rush of dark energy hit me full force, and I fell to one knee. I grit my teeth against the power that reached out to me. It was like nothing I had ever felt before.

The signature was pure black and full of malice, and it was coming from the deepest levels of the library.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I immediately ripped my vines out of the floor and retracted them back into my arms. The sensation left my body almost immediately, leaving behind the lingering kiss of dark energy that was slow to fade.

It was here.

The rumors were true.

It's really here.

They really do have it.

I blinked. Once, twice, three times. I couldn't believe the conclusions I was jumping too--but I had no other choice.

I heard the stories. About the Aleraran advance into Raiaera during the Corpse War. About how their campaign took them deep into their ancient homeland, and as they were advancing they ran up against a splinter group of zombified forces controlled by one of the lesser Dread Lords. They barely succeeded in destroying him, and took their spoils back to a base camp; one item in particular was immediately escorted back to Ettermire, to be locked away forever.

And it's right here.

Lenexa's apprehension and the swift change of his attitude towards me. The multiple levels of clearance and secrecy within Ankhas. The voice I heard, calling me chosen.

All of the pieces fell into place.

I had to find it.

I had to see it for myself.

Leaving my lunch and books where they were--nobody was going to touch them this deep into the archives--I threw the door to the study open and hurried down the corridors leading deeper and deeper into the library. I wove around the odd patron and librarian, getting more than a few odd looks along the way, but I didn't care.

I had to find it.

Several times, the voice returned. "Come, chosen. Free me from my bonds. Learn from me. Know your destiny." I did my best to ignore its honeyed yet grating tone as I picked up my pace, but it continued to

Further and further I went, deeper and deeper into the bowels of the great library. I hurriedly flashed my card to the librarians who stopped me at each new level, and blew past them whenever they opened the doors leading to the next set of archives. I was passing artifacts of infinite value, scrolls and tomes containing knowledge from long-lost civilizations, and hundreds of other things that would normally stop me in my tracks and beg me to discover their untold secrets.

"Come," the voice pleaded once more.

I didn't know where I was going, but I knew exactly where to go. I don't know how much time passed in the archives, but I found myself at a dead end hallway. The faint light of the series of lamps that illuminated the lower areas of Ankhas barely reached here, but it was enough for me to notice something very peculiar about the wall I faced. The mortar that held the stones of the wall together was fresher; it was a lighter shade of gray than that of the walls to the left and right of me. This wall had been recently constructed--but how long ago? Days? Weeks? Years?

"Come, chosen."

I wanted to curse the voice in my head. I wanted to scream at it and tell it to leave me alone. But the words refused to form, sticking in my throat and leaving me unable to breathe.

An incredible, oppressive weight began to press on my chest. My thoughts began to swirl around in my head, unable to piece themselves together and allow me to act. I stood frozen at the end of that dark hallway, my breath shallow, my eyes unfocused. Involuntarily, tendrils of plant matter extended from my wrists and rooted themselves into the masonry before me.

I was greeted with a wave of the same dark energy that overloading my senses previously, which pulled back and molded itself shape of a man--but not quite a man. It was humanoid in form, and forced onto its knees on the cold, damp floor with its arms stretched out. It was bound to something, I could guess that much. Its back was hunched over and deformed, and an incredible weight was placed on it. It sat there, barely moving, on the other side of the wall.

It's here.

They have it.

They have it.

Taking a deep breath, I felt compelled to dig in further, to crack the masonry with the strength of my vines and tear down the wall. I could feel the soul shards of a dead Forgotten One coming to life inside me, filling me with a malicious warmth that mixed with the dark energies of the being on the other side of the wall. My head pounded with a growing intensity. My knees began to weaken and shake. My eyes burned. Everything was fire.

They have it.

It must be mine.

I'm the... I'm the chosen. I'm their chosen.

I will have what is mine.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

A sudden crash and a scream that echoed around the corner quickly snapped me back to reality. A raspy breath escaped my throat as I regained control of my senses. I violently tore my vines away from the wall, ripping small chunks of masonry out with them as they withdrew into my arms. I stumbled away from the wall, frightened, shaking, and confused.

What the hell was that? What was that feeling? I had never felt anything so dark before in my entire life. Not when I was dealing with Lichensith, not when I was serving Podë...

Who was that? Who was speaking to me just then?

They called me chosen. I am not a chosen.

My destiny is mine, and mine alone...

--mine... it will be mine--

--NO!!!

Before I knew it, I broke out into a full run, my steps echoing against the stone hallways as I escaped the dead end. Instinct had completely taken over. I knew I had to get out of the lower archives of Ankhas, and I had to do it now. I was halfway back to the staircase when I nearly tripped over a lithe little creature in dark, earthen robes hunched over a pile of books scattered across the floor.

"H-hey--!"

I ignored her cry as I leaped over her, racing to get back upstairs and away from this place as quick as possible.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Sleep didn't come easily that night. I spent hours tossing and turning restlessly, a cold sweat dripping down my body. What sleep I did get was plagued with nightmares.

Each time I shut my eyes, I could see the killing fields of Raiaera. I could see the razed countryside, dripping with corruption and the shambling, tattered corpses of the damned. The pillaged cities, smoke and screams pouring from their ruins. My gaze always turned towards a towering obsidian building, a construct seemingly built of pure hatred and anger. I would always see a man, dressed entirely in black armor made of leather and dragon scale, his face covered by a silver mask. He would reach up slowly with a gloved hand and remove the mask. But the face behind it... It was my own face--my human face, from before I was turned into... into what I am now. My piercing blue eyes. My thin, birdlike features. My lips, twisted in a cruel smile.

And then I would wake up, a horrified scream caught in my throat.

- - - - - - -

"Are you alright, Miss Freebird?" The Alchemist, an elderly man with wrinkled gray skin who had to be pushing 400 asked.

No.

"Yes," I said, my voice sounding completely foreign and distant. "Just a rough night, that's all."

The Blue Hood paused for a moment before nodding, setting down a tray of vials and sterilized syringes on the polished metal table next to me. One of the vials contained a purple serum that contained a mutated, less lethal strain of my personal plague. A second vial contained a cloudy liquid, the words Faer Elggur--Magic Killer--written on the label. The other four were clear and contained various other diseases which I started to have a feeling weren't going to be necessary for the finished product--as I continued my studies on Raiaeran elf biology, I learned that as soon as their connections to the natural magic of the world was severed by the Faer Elggur, their immune systems essentially shut down and allowed everything from their natural environment in to ravage them. But still, it never hurts to have too much data.

I just had to push the memory of yesterday out of my head long enough to collect it.

Comfortable beds had been wheeled into the well-lit room in advance. The sheets were fresh, the pillows fluffy, and thick leather straps hanging at the sides to keep the subjects from escaping. There were four of us in the room; myself, and three from the Alchemists' Guild who were only told that we were testing a few experimental vaccines. We were all dressed in pristine white clothing--shirts, pants, and coats, all of which were uniform in design. Rather than a hood to cover my briarheart features, I opted to wrap my head in gauze, leaving my four glowing amber eyes and the plant matter surrounding them uncovered so I could see, then I slapped a surgical mask over my mouth (lest I frighten everyone with my sharpened teeth--my assistants were unnerved enough by my eyes as it is).

Right on schedule, there was a knock on the door. Several officers from the Aleraran army escorted in the Raiaeran prisoners that were shipped in from the border regions. Each of the five were shackled together, their hands bound, their ankles locked up to prevent them from escaping. They were dressed in tattered rags of uniform design, but outside of that and the fact that they looked a little gaunt from their treatment while locked up, I paid no attention to their features.

I thanked the officers for bringing them in, and asked them to strap them into the beds while I began preparing the injections. I could hear the curses and protests of the subjects as they were tied down, begging to know why they were brought here instead of freed to return home and be with their families. With practiced skill, I filled five needles with Faer Elggur, then filled another one with my own plague, and the other four with the remaining diseases I picked out for the experiment. The point, I decided, was to discover two or three pathogens that worked best with Magic Killer without actually killing the infected. The Alerarans were looking to disable, not destroy.

After the subjects were properly restrained, I had my assistants begin prepping them for their injections. The faint odor of alcohol filled the air as tattered shirt sleeves were rolled up and the insides of elbows wiped down and disinfected. I could hear their struggling against their bonds, and was quietly surprised they still had the strength to fight after all this time.

No--I can't start sympathizing with them. They are subjects. If the Alerarans thought of them as less than people, then for the sake of my task I had to as well.

I took a deep breath, and then set about my task. The experiment would be simple enough: Each of the test subjects would get a shot of Magic Killer to reduce their magical resistances, then a shot of a different pathogen. Over the next week or so, they would be monitored twenty-four hours a day, with each turn in health documented. The subjects that provided the best results for what I was looking for would be experimented upon further, while the others were... dealt with accordingly.

The first subject proved to be very interesting. Almost as soon as he was injected with the first virus, he turned a ghostly shade of gold, and shuddered. He opened his mouth to gasp or cry out or something; and I noticed that his tongue had been cut out. I did not have the prison's records handy, but immediately guessed that he used to be a powerful spellcaster--otherwise, why remove the tongue? I read that those who had strong ties to the magic of the world were hit the hardest by Faer Elggur, but I never could have imagined that the effects were this immediate. I made a mental note to speak with the Alchemists assigned to me about creating a strain that was slower to act.

The second subject proved to be no problem as well. There were no immediate effects of note, so I moved on.

It was the third subject that was the problem. When I reached for their arm, they fought me with every ounce of energy they could muster. They shook around in the bed, they screamed at me, cursed, and resisted to the best of their ability. With a gloved hand, I reached up and latched onto their jaw, squeezing it shut.

Holding the needle up to their face, I hissed, "This is either going in your arm or your eye. Makes no difference to me."

"lle will caela mani naa lle," the subject spat back through clenched teeth, his eyes burning with newfound life.

My vision darkened. For a brief moment, I found myself back at the darkened dead end deep in Ankhas, reaching out for the object beyond the wall.

I clenched his jaw tighter with my briar-knit hand, pushing the elf's head back against the pillow. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," he said in heavily accented Tradespeak. "You will get what is yours, monster."

I will have what is mine.

Amber light flared up in my vision, and an uncontrollable anger overtook me. "NO!"

I drew up the syringe and jammed it into the subject's neck. The need hit the bone of their spine and hooked, tearing through more muscle and flesh. His screams traveled throughout every hall and floor of Valshath d’ Isto.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Several days passed without further incident. The experiments continued along, as the condition of the subjects worsened more or less as I predicted. Patient 1, the Raiaeran without the tongue, went into shock on the second night; but he was quickly treated for it. I suspected that it was his body's stronger reaction to the Magic Killer virus that caused it. I'd have to follow up on that further.

On the fourth day, Lenexa requested that I meet him for lunch to discuss the process with him. Apparently, he had some news that he felt important to share with me.

We had lunch in his quarters within the palace. They were suitably spacious and lavishly decorated. In the living room, he had two plush sofas placed across from one another before a fireplace, a small mahogany coffee table between them. Various display cabinets and bookshelves lined the wall, their shelves filled with knick knacks collected from his travels. Mounted on the wall was a beautiful piece of hardware, a mythril sword with a jewel-encrusted hilt polished to a brilliant sheen. He would tell me later that it was a gift to him from the late Queen Vorathi as a reward for his service to the country. What kind of service, he would not say.

We sat down on opposite couches, while a chambermaid left to retrieve our food. He was dressed in earthen casualware, while I was back in my black hooded shirt and facemask. We each held a tumbler of whisky in our hands, both refusing to take the first sip until the other had one.

"Thank you for the invitation," I said to break the silence. "It's nice to escape my work once in a while. I trust you know that all too well."

The dark elf nodded solemnly. "Naturally. Ours are very different lines of work, but both very busy nonetheless. Has everything been to your satisfaction? Our workspaces? Equipment? Have the guildmembers assigned to you done everything you've asked?"

I sloshed the amber liquid around in the glass a bit. "Yes, yes, everything has been wonderful, thank you. It's a lot better than what was made available to me in Salvar and Corone."

Lenexa brought his glass up to his lips and looked at me over the rim. "I find it surprising that a mind like yours thought it best to work in those countries, rather than come here sooner."

Vines rustled as I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, my path in life led my elsewhere... as you're probably aware." The king's agent no doubt did thorough research on my past when the decision was made to hire me. My work with the Crimson Hand and other organizations made for a impressive, if not incredibly dark resume.

My host nodded, and took another sip of his drink before setting it down on a ceramic coaster. "I've been reading the reports the Alchemists submit at the end of each day. It seems that your research is progressing nicely."

I nodded. "As of right now, I'm quite impressed with how Faer Elggur is working with the other viruses to get the desired effects. One of the subjects died last night, though. They weren't terribly affected by the Faer Elggur, but the second pathogen we introduced to their system took advantage of their lowered immune system and progressed past the point where they could be treated."

The ashen-skinned agent hummed to himself for a moment. "Perfect," he said.

I cocked an eyebrow. "'Perfect'? Not really. You said you wanted the weapons to disable and distract, not to destroy the Raiaerans."

Lenexa's voice was steady and sure. "I said that's how I'd prefer things, but ultimately it is up to the king to decide. We met yesterday, and he informed me that he plans on moving shortly. Possibly within a month or so. He wanted me to inform you to wrap up your experiments as quick as possible and begin production on the weapons themselves."

Stop my experiments? I felt a familiar anger simmering in the pit of my stomach. "But I still have so much to learn--the plagues, their potential long-term effects on the environment, how to treat the various combinations of--"

"It wasn't my call, Miss Freebird," he interrupted. "If it were up to me, I'd give you an entire year to complete your research. But it isn't. I'm just relaying to you the king's orders."

His gaze briefly fluttered down to my clenched fists.

"Listen. Considering that his majesty granted your request for access to Ankhas and has given you near-infinite resources to work with, the least you can do is oblige his whims. I'm sorry, I really am, but..." His voice trailed off.

I took a deep breath and exhaled. I closed my eyes. I forced the anger back down into the pits of my soul. I took another breath. "It's okay, it's fine. I just..." I shook my head. "Don't worry, I can do it."

"Thank you. I'm sorry to put upon you like this, Miss Freebird." Lenexa shifted his weight on the overstuffed couch. "Have you devised a delivery method yet?"

"Yes. A simple misting device. I drew the schematics up days ago."

"Excellent. Send them along to the Artificers' Guild headquarters, and I will see to it that they begin producing enough of them for the campaign. Tell the Alchemists under your control to prepare whatever you need them to."

A knock at the door that I barely heard.

"Ah," Lenexa's face brightened up. "Lunch is here."