Blistering sunlight beat down on a warped wooden deck, salt and sweat strong on the breeze. Thick jungle spread across the horizon, and a muscled half-elf rested bare elbows on the rail to gaze across swaying blue. Weeks aboard this rotting ship had worn on many a nerve, and he checked the strap of the large sword over his shoulder as he eyed the sailors. They thought his purse an easy snatch the first night; they never did find the one that vanished. Despite the pricey fare and the senator's objection, he had stumbled onto something he couldn't ignore. It was the shaman who had started it, with his casual mention of the many wonders discovered in his home country. The dusty days spent lingering in that old library had been vindicated the moment the swordsman read the words.

The bearer's light will burn eternal.

He checked his vest pocket to make sure the page was safe, and pulled his leather gloves tight as the ship approached the towering port-city of Talmhaidh. Tall stone towers stretched above even the dense canopy of Dheathain, a fine perch for the Drakari to view those who would approach their kingdom. The city rose with the land, but the port and market areas sat low against the sea, cut of solid granite to withstand the tropical storms. The half-elf recalled the slithering senator who now employed him, and hoped his crew hadn't gotten pulled into anything in his absence. They longed for the days in the clouds, and the simple smuggling runs of the past; the bastards might've even made off with his airship, by now.

The grimy plank creaked under leather boots as the large smuggler left the ship, and he wove through the crowd up the sturdy stone pier. Though an occasional misshapen wing was worn with pride, and many a veiny neck bare and bold, most of the passersby were the scaled serfs of the lowest class. Unsurprising, down here in the slums, though there were still a fair few human merchants and tradesfolk about. Usual thick cloak forgotten for this southern romp, the swordsman bore a sailor's tan up the steep streets and grand steps. The stonework grew finer as he ascended, and the members of the Wing and Flame castes grew more numerous. They wore their contempt plainly, here where they mingled with the scaled commonfolk, but the ire of the serfs was better hidden. A sharp eye here, and a clenched fist there; these things spoke for them.

Like their commoner brethren of the Scale caste, the imposing guards of the city all sported a lizard's skin, but none carried a weapon. The large black talons sprouting from their fingers marked them clearly as the Claw caste. The smuggler stayed clear of them as he scanned the tall stone buildings, searching the signs for his objective. The afternoon sun draped shadows across most of the streets at this altitude, and after clearing another set of wide stone stairs he spotted the fae embassy. Though the stone architecture matched its neighbors, the swordsman entered a different place. The carved walls ran rough around a central desk, stone roots and bushes protruding in varying detail. Someone was trying to turn it into a forest. The slender fae in muted browns quietly chiseling out a root in one corner was the obvious suspect, but the half-elf ignored him as he walked up to the aged fae in deep blue at the desk.

"Can I help you?"

Her voice lilted on the air like birdsong, and her pale blue skin held an other-wordly sheen. Every aspect of her marked her as a being of magic, though she still seemed much more human than tales of the wild fae. When the tall man asked for a guide to lead him to one of the ruins on Luthmor, she turned to the sculpting fae behind her and asked him if he would mind. The lanky lad approached to introduce himself as Alyn, with a boyish smile and an outstretched hand.

"Nyadir; good to meet you."

They exchanged pleasantries, and more of the smuggler's gold than he was expecting, and the pair were wading through the crowd back down to the pier. It didn't take much to hire a boat out to the island, though Alyn offered to provide passage for the return. The half-elf was confused at first, and then spent most of the trip out into the gulf listening avidly as the soft-spoken fae explained the self-docking boats, and other marvels they had unearthed at Donnalaich. Even the swarthy rowers lining the longboat lent an ear. Thoughts wandered into overgrown dells and down dusty stairs, and the swordsman watched the shoreline approach with excitement.

Not ten minutes in the jungle and the smuggler already regretted it. The air gathered thick and sweltering under the dense canopy, and the ocean breeze faded some twenty paces into the place. A whole damn city in these woods, and they couldn't pave one road through the trees. Alyn distracted him by explaining the various plants and bugs they came across; the lad was really quite knowledgeable. His slender arm swung from colorful leaves, to barbed roots, each one bearing a poison worse than the last. The swordsman drew his dagger to clear some vines, but stopped at the fae's heart-stricken look. He carefully ducked the spiny vines instead, and his guide went on to explain a bit about himself. Young Alyn was a wood fae, and cared greatly for the jungle and things which dwelt in it.

"Why do you look so... normal?"

The smuggler's question brought an understanding smile to the lad's face. He explained that he didn't want to throw away what he was to try to be something else. The larger man couldn't help but nod, and the fae went on to explain some of the basics before they reached the city. The water fae were friendly with his kind it seemed, and together they worked to nurture life, in all its forms. The fire fae disliked them, though. Along with the air fae, they sought the outside world, each for their reasons, while the earth fae stayed neutral. The swordsman carefully avoided the plants Alyn had warned him about as he listened, and he learned much on their trek through the jungle. His gloved hands still slapped at the many mosquitoes, and his face still poured sweat, but the guide was well worth the money spent. After about an hour of walking, a floral scent wafted on the breeze, along with soft music.

Thin bridges made of pure white stone hovered above, stretching between the many white towers that reached up between the trees, and winding streets of smoothed grass branched off into the city that was suddenly there. Fae of all colors filled the streets, trailing wisps of smoke, or drops of dew. The trails of flowers that sprung up behind the wood fae sank back beneath the grass moments later. The entire place was bright and varied, perhaps to make up for the austere white stone of the buildings. Alyn led the large man into the center of the city, but guards were posted at nearly all of the other streets. When the smuggler brought it up, his fae guide told him that outsiders were only allowed into certain parts of the city. It wasn't long until they entered another tall white building, apparently some kind of housing for public records on the ruins.

"I'll be right back."

The slender fae left the dark-haired half-elf standing in an empty lobby, and scurried down the hall. The white interior walls were expertly crafted into a backdrop of trees and underbrush, each leaf crisply carved. If this was what the young wood fae was trying to recreate back at their embassy in Talmhaidh, he'd be at it for another hundred years. The lad returned with a scroll and a scowl, but when the large man raised an eyebrow he only led them back out of the city. The swordsman asked if they had a destination, and he replied that they did, at one of the ruins the restoration teams hadn't reached yet. As they traveled the young wood fae remained mostly silent, and his taller companion wondered at the mood shift. Still, better to keep his nose where it was, so he focused on watching out for dangerous plants.

The path was a short one this time, and they reached the broken and overgrown ruin some half and hour later. Even walking up the wide white steps at the entrance was difficult, but the stonework was more intact inside. The flickering magical lights all but spent over the ages, but Alyn walked into the dim ruin with confidence. The swordsman kept his head on a swivel as he followed, and found the slender fae staring at his scroll before a bare hallway. When the half-elf asked what awaited them, the lad pointed to a section that looked like a schematic for a pressure-sensitive hallway trap.

"There's no way to disarm this from this side."

The smuggler gave himself some room as he focused energy into his physical enhancement, and sweat popped out on his brow. Most of the blades were set to descend near the center, so he took off sprinting along the edge of the hallway. With his speed quadrupled, the blades didn't even finish falling before he skidded to a stop at the other end. A quick glance found the chain hanging against one wall, and one pull was all it took to disable the trap. The fae approached wide-eyed, and the swordsman tried not to appear too smug. The lad's reaction was more of suspicion than admiration, though, so the two continued deeper with the half-elf's mood soured.

Though the dark-haired man secretly awaited the next trap with anticipation, the fae boringly took a side-path to a security room. He walked back out moments later explaining that all the traps had been disabled, and the half-elf sighed in disappointment. The fae explained in a flat tone that this magical workshop hadn't been set up to be impenetrable, just abandoned, and swordsman chuckled. Alyn seemed more cynical than he expected, though maybe the earlier cheer was an act. The room they entered was as white as all the rest of them, but filled with oddly shaped gadgets and knick-knacks. The smuggler immediately considered taking a few extra, but after that puzzle box incident, he knew better than to go fiddling with random artifacts.

"Ah, here it is."

The man who stood there holding the ring the half-elf sought was not Alyn, and his red clothing gave the man a guess to his element. The swordsman drew his blade as he eyed the man holding his prize, but the fool was entranced by the ring. Finally, the taller man asked what the fae had done to his original guide.

"The same thing I do to all weeds."

Sweat popped out on his brow just before the shorter man launched his first fireball, and the swordsman darted between the next few as well before claiming the fae's head. The ring bounced off to one side, but the smuggler wiped his blade on the dead man's fine shirt before sheathing it. He walked over and picked up the ring, noting the intricate vines carved into it, wrapping around the ruby set at the top.

"The bearer's light will burn eternal."

With a laugh he secured the ring in one of the smaller pockets on his vest, and headed out of the ruin. He would need to get to the coast, and wait for a boat to arrive. Going back to the fae city would be a bad idea, since he just killed one of them. He carefully made his way through the jungle, and away from the city, relying on Alyn's teachings to avoid all of the poisonous plants. The mosquitoes were even worse now that the sun was setting, and he swatted at himself almost constantly as he walked. A floral scent drifted on the wind, and he was looking at the white spires of Donnalaich again. The streets were more barren at this hour, but he didn't stay to see more. With an abrupt turn, he walked back into the jungle.

The city appeared in front of him again a few minutes later, this time with two fae standing near the entrance. The one in white silks raised an arm, and the smuggler lifted a few feet into the air, while the one in red crafted a large ball of flame in one hand. Sweat popped out on the swordsman's brow again, and just as the fire fae launched his attack, the mortal broke his bonds of air and dropped to the ground. The fireball flew off into the woods, and the smuggler darted with impressive speed up to the air fae, broad blade free and swinging just as a blade pierced his gut. The nimble fae ducked his swing and snatched the ring from its brown pocket. He quickly backed off, letting the half-elf slump to the ground while clutching his gut.

"My, my, that was close. This one is quick."

The haughty tone of the fae in white silks masked his fear, but the man on the ground needed time to heal before he struck. He pretended to pass out, and hoped the other wouldn't finish the job as he focused on his wound, and listened.

"Maybe you should actually detain him next time."

The gruff voice of the fire fae chimed in as the man walked past the mortal on the ground, but no blades fell to end the charade. The swordsman counted slowly as energy mended his torn flesh.

"Here it is."

The air fae spoke, the twang of metal likely the flick of the ring. The shuffling of the other's robes probably mean he had caught it, and the fire fae spoke now with excitement in his gravely tone.

"Excellent. The Ring of Eternal Flame."

A blob of fire landed onto the smoothed grass street, and a boot immediately stomped it out. The boot pulled away to reveal the flame still fresh, however, and several more stomps did nothing to quell it. After a few seconds the fire sucked into itself and disappeared.

"So none but the bearer can quench it. Perfect."

The half-elf tensed as the wound in his gut mended, and he tried to place the two in his mind based on their voices. The air fae was the closest, and also the one who could stop him; clearly the best target. The slender man in white silks began speaking again.

"Once the copies are made, your position on The Council will-"

A broad blade flickered just underneath the air fae's jaw, and the mortal sprinted off into the woods. Fireballs flew before the corpse in white even fell, but their target was already deep into the darkness of the Luthmor jungle. There were some serious implications to that man's last words, and as the half-elf ran through the jungle he thought again to the looks of disdain on the faces of those scaled serfs in Talmhaidh.

According to Alyn, the fire fae had always been aggressive expansionists. He hadn't known there was a council, but if the most unstable group gained control of it, things wouldn't go well. He would have to warn the Drakari, and hope the inevitable draft didn't cause a riot from the Scale caste. Things had gotten very complicated very quickly, and all for a ring that didn't even do what he thought. He slowed as he made distance from the city, relying on his half-elven senses as the darkness deepened. Alyn's teachings kept him alive that night, and he waited on the shore as dawn broke the next day.

Just one boat...