Elven Mourning

[INDK]

(closed)

Darkness was one of the things that had always kept Sevviel on the edge. It concealed too much, not just the shapes and actions of the people around her, but the angel particularly hated the way darkness never showed its true intentions. Often, it came under the guise of a benign break for the sunlight, a few hours with which she could rest before she had to take on the rigors of another day. However, it was on nights like these, where she was moving through the streets of Ettermire, that the darkness took on a much more sinister meaning. In the land of the dark elves, nighttime was particularly vibrant. The dark elves infravision made it so that while it was not particularly easy for the angel to find her way around, she was surrounded by thousands that could see her. Given that recent political events in the city of black clouds had left her essentially unarmed, Sevviel’s concerns were not unfounded.

However, cloaked under her dark brown shawl, Sevviel still made it to the library unharmed. Reaching her destination did not stop her heart from beating, even though she was pleasantly surprised at the lack of security in the building that housed so much of Alerar’s knowledge. “Seems just like any place normal,” she mused. “There isn’t so much as a member of the Mazzra anywhere.” The fact was that the angel hated Alerar with a passion. She considered dark elves to be a barbaric species little different from wolves or wild dogs. They flaunted weapons around with a pathetic air akin to a child that was greedily proud of a new wooden toy. It certainly made dark elves seem pitiable, but Sevviel also knew it was what made them dangerous.

Still, she had no choice but to wait in the stacks of the library. Sevviel had received a message from Damon that she was supposed to meet him there, and that he had a surprise for her. The angel had been denied the opportunity to accompany the former leader of the Brotherhood on his recent adventure in the Red Forest, and thus she had been a bit too eager to join him now that she had been invited.

The only consolation that Sevviel could manage was the thought that a library had to bring out the most civilized aspects of dark elven culture, and hopefully also the most civilized dark elves. Otherwise, she would have hoped Damon wouldn’t have asked her along. He had denied her the chance of going into the Red Forest with his protection, but had been perfectly willing to let her go her own way here. Trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, Sevviel remained at the periphery of the stacks, knowing that without Damon she didn’t want to call any attention to herself. Memories of her last encounter with a drow, a dark elf named Ghauntyrr’stra who nearly killed her, were vivid in her memory. Damon had been the only one who had been able to save her that time. However, until he came, she would be alone in the middle of an impressive library in a city of dark elves. Not knowing what else to do, the angel decided to keep her eyes out for any other foreigners, in the hope that they could give her some protection until Damon arrived.

[Ataraxis]

Fear for one’s safety was no longer a groundless sentiment in the Library of Ettermire. Of late, the quiet perusal of worldly trade books was not as much the ‘dull and uneventful drudgery’ that it used to be as the ‘perilous venture into a fastness of darksome secrets’ that it now was. One’s mere presence in Ankhas, be it as a sedulous researcher, a casual booklover or an innocent bystander, had become a veritable game of gambling where the stakes were always too high and the risks were quite more lethal. Whether that was an improvement or not had been left to the casulaties' discretion.

Only a fortnight ago, due to a small issue of containment in one of the underground preservation chambers, the Library had been overrun by the broods of Night, creatures that, though of body unseen, had shown a viciousness and gluttony untold in even the darkest and vilest legendry. Fear they could spawn and of fear they were spawns: fear was their plaything as much as it was the essence of their very existence. They had sown it within the souls of their victims by way of nightmares and delusions and had watched the black seed thrive into the black tree that bore the black fruits, waiting eagerly until they were ripe for the picking. Oh, what horror it had been for Lillian to witness tens of innocents consumed in bloody chunks as these abominations feasted on their fear by way of their flesh.

Indeed, she had been there on the night of the nefarious outbreak. Even if her presence then in Ankhas was pure happenstance, it had been the crucial key in the banishing of the invisible beasts, though the girl would have likely fallen prey to the night spawns had it not been for the help of one Erelisstra Helviana, pompous Drow, recalcitrant librarian and neophyte in the arts of conjuration. With their combined efforts and the slumbering powers of a time-old artifact, they had returned a bland tranquility to the Library of Ettermire, although it did not settle until after the technicalities brought by the ordeal had been dealt with accordingly – that is to say, to give proper funerals for the losses suffered and to permit a thorough inspection of the premises by squads of Mazzra constables. Security measures were enhanced and certain pieces of literature were resettled in locked vaults, out of the public’s reach, but no drastic change had been made to the Library, and the event was now all but forgotten.


It was time for Lillian to leave. She had gotten what had come for, and then some; in fact, her errand in Ankhas should have ended weeks ago, but the menace of a most excruciatingly painful death had been a substantial stump in her schedule, and so were the pleas of help she had heard from the library personnel. Certain sections of the building were in utter disrepair and many books were damaged, if not destroyed in the terrible bedlam, some of which she had read and astoundingly memorized, word for word. Shy as she was and utterly incapable of saying no to honest people in dire need, she complied with their supplications and became the provisory overseer of the scriptorium, doing her all to revive important texts by dictating them to the letter. In this manner she had spent many sleepless nights, scrawling on parchments and vellums and reciting obscure passages until her wrists burned in fever and her voice dimmed to a throaty timbre, even flimsier than it was commonly known to be. This day, she was relieved of her duty with grateful acclamations, and though many repositories of ancient lore remained lost to time, the adolescent had done more than a crowd of long-lived intellectuals could have ever hoped to accomplish in such a short period of time. This day, she would leave the eminence of the greatest house of knowledge upon Althanas, and would return home.

Wherever that was.

Head hanging low, the waif hobbled down the black aisle, ignoring the shelves that had inspired so much admiration in her upon her first coming, though the dismissal was not due to a lack of interest, but a fear of looking at the only things she knew she loved in this world and having to leave them behind all the same. The pleasant darkness of the study rooms and carrels, the smells of the mystical lieu, fraught with wisdom and lore, the silence that had cradled her as a mother would her newborn child… how she would miss it all. Her leader had urgently required her assistance, and she had already dawdled here far too long. A pity, truly. Repressing a whimper, the girl carried on, heading toward the vaulted egress without care other than for the woe that clawed at her heart, yet another emotion she would in time learn to suppress. That she would also have to say goodbye to the kind-hearted innkeeper of the Moru Úr, Shairin, and the insufferable prick, Erelisstra, was no consolation either. This was a dreadful day indeed. ‘Oh, I just wish I had a reason to delay my leave.’

If only prayers could always be answered so succinctly. In her unmindful walk, she had jarred into someone, which elicited a flurry of programmed responses within her mind, apologies mostly that ranged from nodding in embarrassment to bowing deferentially and offering any help whatsoever in redress. Craning her neck so as to look in the stranger’s eyes, her mind was overcome with an unheralded mirth and the sweetest of smiles was now tugging at her dollish lips. This fair-haired woman before her was the sign, the very incarnation of providence she had wished for. “Oh dear, you’re an angel!” Lillian cried out in giddy joy, childishly jumping up and down before she pounced and coiled her willowy arms around the svelte figure as gleeful tears moistened her endearing blue eyes. Little did she know that her exclamation was, in truth, more than a simple figure of speech.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Lillian blurted out, a sudden upsurge of self-consciousness compelling her to unlatch the stranger and step back. The girl squirmed sheepishly as her gaze riveted itself onto the black marble underfoot, a floor in which she found an unexpected interest, appreciating its dappled shades and twisted veinures more than would the common person. "Sorry about that. I'm, um... excessively happy," she giggled unconvincingly, her grin a clumsy attempt at lightheartedness; red had already flushed to her cheeks at the obvious lie. Nonetheless, she extended a greeting hand to the woman, a foreigner to Alerar it seemed, trying to redeem herself for the monumental gaffe. "I'm Lillian. Pleased to meet you."

[INDK]

Sevviel was unsure as to whether or not she should have fainted in embarrassment or swooned at relief at the dark haired woman who was gushing in front of her. The angel couldn’t help but wonder how many people knew of her race, and what kind of an issue that was in Alerar. Thus, the angel took a few moments to react, which was likely not noticed by the dark haired girl because she had just continued talking. Eventually, once Sevviel was sure that this Lillian had finished, she smile cordially.

“My name is Sevviel,” she said. “I am the personal assistant of Damon Kaosi.” She said Damon’s name the way he hated, but she didn’t care. Sevviel tended to be much less shy about using Damon’s name as a way of getting influence, but that was more likely because in situations like this she often felt the need. “In fact, I am looking for him now. I do not know exactly where he is just yet, but I know he’d want to look through any books they have here on artifacts. Perhaps you can help me some…”

The angel wondered if she should be asking this Lillian for help. It was common practice for Damon to make temporary alliances of convenience with strangers, but Damon was also possessed with a seemingly limitless love for his fellow beings and enough strength to keep a more truculent ally in line. Despite being an angel, Sevviel possessed neither of those abilities, at least in the way that Damon did. Thus, she gave Lillian one last look over, to see if there wasn’t something about the woman that might reveal whether or not she could feel safe with her.

“It’s just she looks so pale…” Sevviel thought. “Though I can tell for sure she’s not a dark elf, that has to be worth something,” the tension of the moment didn’t allow Sevviel to laugh at her own joke. She didn’t say anything more, for a few seconds, but then managed a quick question. “Well, Damon will be coming soon, but I’m not sure when he’ll get here, or why he said it was so urgent. Seeing as he’s the one who can teleport, I wouldn’t see why he wouldn’t be on time!”

She chuckled a bit at this joke, but was soon interrupted by the arrival of another stranger. This one was a little drow girl, who only offered a piece of paper and then ran away. Sevviel had barely managed to get her fingertips on the message before the girl was gone. Curiously, Sevviel opened up the letter and smiled. It was from Damon.

“We’re supposed to meet him where worlds collide,” she said out loud, now deciding that she was going to need Lillian’s help in deciphering the riddle. “According to Damon, there is a place somewhere in this library where worlds collide, his world and ours… If that makes any sense to you, could you take me there?”

Sevviel offered as brave as a smile as she could, but in truth, she was more hopeful than anything else. Riddles had never been her strong suit, and she didn’t know why Damon had offered one.

[Ataraxis]

Something in this Sevviel’s voice had alighted the girl’s suspicion, as if her prideful tone when speaking of the late Raiaeran General was meant to assert her authority over Lillian, and to thus gain favors from the modest child. Though the attempt was all but opprobrious, it had been nonetheless successful; the bait had hooked, and from it dangled a spellbound Lillian, wide-eyed in rapt awe and blushing diffidence at the mention of the illustrious Damon Kaosi. His name and fame had spread even to Fallien, sometimes sung from the mouths of minstrels, other times carried in shipments of books; but they always reached the eyes and ears of a captivated public. In Lillian’s case, her first tryst with the Raiaeran hero had been in The Rise and Death of the Prodigal Son, where she had learned of his contempt for the undead that had plagued first his cradle and then his homeland. At a tender age he had joined the ranks of the Bandit Brotherhood, becoming against all odds the Aegis within only a few years. Kaosi had even been exalted to the position of General of Raiaera during his rise in the Brotherhood, and had successfully juggled between his duties to the very end. The budding girl had harbored unfathomable admiration for this man, as he had done more in his short lifetime than she herself had ever dreamed of accomplishing in a hundred years. In essence, the man was to the girl the very incarnation of Adventure, as sung in the tongue of poets and told in the teller’s tales: to Lillian, Damon Kaosi was a living and breathing hero.

But wasn’t he dead?

This considered, Lillian had begun growing wary of the fair-headed stranger. How could she make such an asinine claim when it was common knowledge that Damon Kaosi was, well, dead? Did this Sevviel think she could deceive Lillian by using an illustrious name as some label for success, or was this but a facetious trick by some sour scholar who still doubted the extent of her knowledge? Lillian hoped neither of the conjectures was true, but she still feared some deeper and far more inglorious reason for this statement. Maybe this woman was merely mad. ‘Merely mad, utterly insane… or worse.’ Questionable men had often tried to feed her lies in hopes of drawing her to their lair of promiscuity, but never before had a woman… hinted at such an unsavory interest. A part of her, however, still believed in Sevviel, and helplessly clung onto the idea that Damon was perhaps not as dead as she was lead to think, and her reluctant belief was further bolstered when Sevviel casually declared that the General would soon make his appearance. ‘No! I’ve been holed up in here for days, I must look terrible! I can’t meet him looking like this… No, what are you saying, Lily? He’s dead! He’s not coming! And you’re not that kind of girl!’

While Lillian was locked in a mental battle, common sense fighting reverent idolatry to a stalemate, a courier had dropped off a missive and had scarpered off without her notice. Only when Sevviel spoke again did Lillian snap from her internal debate. “Meet him? As in, meet him here, in Ankhas? At the same time and place? We’ll meet him in person?” As redundant as she was, she couldn’t help but add to her ramblings of disbelief, in a small, squeaky voice. “Face to face?” Her head was hazy, and all the reserve she previously felt had gone up in smokes; Sevviel was no longer a liar, lickspittle or madwoman: she was Damon Kaosi’s assistant, and she was asking for Lillian’s help. “Where worlds collide? Oh, that could be so many things!” Before the cascade of possible answers to this riddle, however, the young girl was in no way deterred; in fact, she seemed to exhale enthusiasm at the idea of aiding Sevviel, for it meant that she could meet Damon that much sooner. Moreover, she didn’t hide her joy at the prospect of a prolonged stay in the Library. “He might’ve meant Alerar was your world, since you are currently walking its grounds. And perhaps his world is Raiaera – either because that is where he is, or where he feels most at home. Do you think he wishes to meet you in the History section, where both of these countries have indeed collided? Or perhaps he means the room of Realia, where artifacts from both Alerar and Raiaera are in display? We could just walk to the exhibition room and make a stop at the History aisle, since it is on the way!” In her joyful impetus, she had raved on, her usually ghastly-white face now gushing a lively red. “I… I can take you there,” she said slower, clearing her throat.

‘Be composed. He is only a hero who found death to be but a minor inconvenience.’ With that, she made her way past lengths of knowledge-laden shelves, with the flaxen-maned woman following close behind. Lillian had memorized each and every nook and cranny that composed the marbled marvel that was Ankhas, could recall to the minutest detail the topography of the library and could easily visualize what paths were the shortest to a particular point. Even though she could still not pinpoint the exact location of a certain book – no one could, for that matter – she was still skilled enough to be hired in the establishment as a reference librarian. Puckering her lips into a proud smile, she told herself that one day, she might just consider the option of working here.

“We’re here.” So quickly did her heart beat! Beside a stack of books she stood, gazing listlessly around at the endless rows of leathered spines that were snugly fitted into myriad cases. At this point, the corridor split into many smaller halls, connecting the library’s spokes to one another, but there were also more vaulted ingresses here, linking the passage to study niches, each large enough to welcome two scores of reading customers. Angling her eyes to her newest acquaintance, Lillian looked anxiously, as if the woman had the power to summon the General with a word. Time wore on, silent save for the shuffling of fragile paper, but no man had yet come, no man had yet walked from the shadows or went through the shelves or plucked through the flagstones underfoot. The girl was now worried that she had made the wrong assumption. “I… I must have been wrong. Shall we move on to Aleraro-Raiaeran exhibition room?” Her mind wandered off again to dour broodings, fearful that she may have been gypped into some criminal machination by the seemingly trustworthy Sevviel. 'Mother Moon, I hope I'm wrong about her...'

[INDK]

Sevviel made her way into the Realia nervously. She didn’t like being away from Damon, but didn’t doubt that she would find him in a secluded spot. For all the time she had known Damon Kaosi, she knew that he didn’t like games. If he was giving her a riddle, it must have meant that there was a reason he couldn’t reveal himself. “It wouldn’t be as if anyone here would recognize him if he was clever,” Sevviel thought. “And anyways, I don’t know how many people saw the LCC.”

Thus, despite the fact that there was nary a soul around, Sevviel couldn’t help but feel uneasy in the library. She looked at Lillian vulnerably, like a child anxious for a loving compliment, hoping that the librarian would tell them that they were in the right place.

“I- I don’t know… I would think he’d be here, he wouldn’t want to make this too hard for me… uh- us!” Sevviel replied. In her nervousness, words were spilling out of her mouth just as quickly as she could think them. She was grasping around for anything among the books that would have suggested that Damon might have been there, even finding a tome that bore his name.

“Look… Look!” she exclaimed excitedly, though any joy she might have felt was overwhelmed by her sudden nervousness. “It’s a book on Damon!” She didn’t know what it was about, or even why Alerar would have a book on the subject, but it detailed Damon’s military strategies. It was less than flattering, continually poking holes in the boy’s battle plans and suggesting that the only reason that Damon had been so successful was that he had always had been clever enough to make sure he had the preponderance of force on his side.

It seemed like the book was written expecting a war between Alerar and Raiaera.

Just then, before Sevviel could have heard any kind of a response from Lillian, another voice interrupted. It was masculine, confident and authoritative. It sounded a great deal like Damon, but the voice was no longer accented by the subtle naïveté that his ignorance often brought. This wasn’t the voice of Damon the amnesiac, it was filled with a well of pain, the sounds of the death of allies past and loves lost. It sounded like Damon, only he had regained his memory.

“It is good to see you, Sevviel, who is your friend?” the voice said.

“Damon!” Sevviel squealed. She turned around to see her old friend moving out of the shadows. However, his face was entirely too grave at the meeting, and he held a piece of parchment in his hand like it carried the news of his death.

“Yes,” Damon replied disquietly. “But we have to be quiet. There is someone in this library trying to kill me. I’m not sure who, and I’m not sure why, but lets just say what I’ve come to do has become a lot more complicated.” The boy offered no explanation as to why his voice had changed, or why he suddenly seemed to be more confident in his abilities, or even why his skin seemed like it was returning to a shade of green.

Sevviel’s smile faded. There was a good deal of what was going on in Ankhas that made little sense to her, and Damon’s seemingly sudden change of personality was one of them. However, the fact that he mentioned mortal danger meant that she had to wait to ask all those questions. Still, her eyes were rapt on the parchment that Damon had brought. “What is that?” she asked.

Damon immediately bristled at its mention. He gestured over towards Lillian. “Can she be trusted?” he asked, despite the fact that he hadn’t even bothered to introduce himself to her yet.

Unsure of how to reply, Sevviel blinked. Damon, judging the situation accurately, turned to Lillian instead. “Well, can you be trusted?” he asked, speaking directly to the black haired girl. “I assume you know Sevviel, I am Damon Kaosi…”

[Ataraxis]

It was the imagination of a young and wishful girl, full with ideals of justice and romanticism from by fireside stories, that had chiselled the face and carved the features of Damon Kaosi in Lillian’s mind, though her pride would never admit it. The focus had always been on his glorious triumphs, but a part of her always drifted off, imagining long strands of liquid gold wafting in the winds, framing a fine face of alabaster and gleaming eyes that shone with valour, wisdom and jaw-dropping classiness. Saying that her first true meeting with the legend had been a severe call to reality was an understatement, but it was far from a disappointment. Lillian went stiff as a board when the voice had called out to Sevviel, brimming dark and gloomy with a sorrow of which the depths she could not fathom. A bit disoriented, she turned to face him, the movement slow and deliberate and somewhat apprehensive. Her eyes went still as though gripped by the simplicity of the man before them, so unremarkable in appearance, yet so impressive in his simple presence. What more, for an instant of eternity, she lost herself in the abyss of his eyes, these endless black wells that held no pretension to emotions. ‘So this is the real Kaosi.’

Lillian had wanted to introduce herself when Damon inquired about her identity, though it had quickly become an impossibility as Sevviel made known her joyful affection for the ex-General, eliciting a few furious glares from those nearby. The girl's timidity grew thicker, forcing her to keep back and watch, for it was not in her wishes to interrupt their reunion and she did not want to feel any more out of place. ‘I’m not at my place here, am I?’ She had had so many questions for the man, so much praise to give, but at the same time, felt that there was nothing she could tell him that wouldn’t bore him or remind him of bitter days. Pulling her lips into a slight, sardonic smile, she sighed and shook her head. What was she thinking? Damon Kaosi was not the protagonist of a fairy tale, but a man who had seen more vices and blights than she had ever heard of. He was still who he was, and she would always be herself: their worlds, their lives were just too different. ‘I did my part. I should just bid my farewells and go.’

Lillian was just about to bow and say goodbye when Damon announced, his tone rather unsettled, that someone within these very walls was plotting his murder. She couldn’t help but listen on, though the man had not disclosed any more details as to how he came about this knowledge or why he came to the Library of Ettermire, knowing this. ‘What in Ankhas could be so important that he would willingly put his life at risk to find?’ she pondered unnervingly. That was when she noticed the piece of vellum that drooped from his grip, and how the man handled it as if the thing could start a plague. ‘Either it really can, or that is what he needs to find… whatever it is that he came for.’

Drawing her head up from a pool of musings, she finally noticed the two black orbs that were riveted onto her person. She stepped back in retreat, bringing both arms close to her chest as a feeble defence. Alas, though the threat of his stare had not struck, the trenchant of his words had made their way to her heart. To hear mistrust from a man she had iconized ever since her childhood had whittled away what little the girl thought of herself. She knew her reaction to be childish and was perfectly aware of the logic behind suspicion of all strangers. Someone wanted him dead, for Suravani’s sake! It was perfectly understandable that securing his immediate safety would be his first priority. Any less and he wouldn’t have deserved to hold that mythical name. She knew all this, all of it, and yet she felt like crying. ‘He talks as if I mean nothing at all…’

“I’m…” she started meekly, repressing the jolt of a whimper and the sound of a sniffle. She looked down to the marble slabs, letting her black hair weep and hide her wetting eyes. ‘Damn you, Lily… you’re so weak.’ She blinked quickly, trying to spread the tears thin and hide the marks of her immaturity. “I’m Lillian,” she stated with a strained effort,hoping he had not seen her moment of weakness. As she cursed herself once more, she found the will to speak a straight sentence, devoid of the ebbs and tides of her emotions. “And I cannot answer your question. No answer could possibly alleviate your suspicions. You know that.”

Lillian hadn’t meant for her tone to be so accusing, but it was hard to keep her emotions in check and put words to her thoughts simultaneously. “I’m sorry, sir. I-I didn’t mean that… I just… I just know I can help you. I know this place very well...” What words she may have mumbled were unintelligible gibberish to the man and his assistant. Clamping her eyes shut and letting out a squeal of air, she spoke a tad louder, a deep carnelian brushing at her cheeks. “I just think you’re a really, really amazing person, sir, and I still can’t believe that you’re the General Kaosi. I just wished you could trust me and let me help, that’s all.” Lillian couldn’t quite grasp that she had told him something so embarrassing and was now ready to run far away, burrow a hole in the ground and live there for the rest of her life. With much hesitance, she peeked through a half-closed lid, hoping fervently that they weren’t watching her gravely, or worse, laughing at her expense.

[INDK]

Damon’s face softened as Lillian spoke. He seemed almost disturbed by the way his gruff nature had rubbed off on her. With a sigh, he looked at Sevviel, as if to ask what should be done about her suddenly becoming so embarrassed. Finding no real support or suggestion from the angel, the one time general turned to Lillian with considerably more kindness than he had approached her before.

“I’m sorry if that was rude…” Damon said, trying to grab her hand so that he could show that he had meant no evil intentions. He had always considered himself a particularly good judge of character, and from Lillian’s behavior, it was quite obvious that she meant no harm. She didn’t reach for a weapon, and her nature seemed to be one where she was more likely to acquiesce to pressure than to confront it. “I’m used to dealing with soldiers, they tend to be more used to people being gruff. If you can help me, I appreciate it.”

Like he was extending an olive branch, Damon pressed the piece of parchment he had been holding into Lillian’s hand. “I don’t know if you are familiar with the legend of the dimensionwalker,” he said. “There was once a drow named Xhadryn who could walk through different planes of existence with ease. He was rumored to have become invincible because of this skill, right up until he walked into a dimension of nothing but fire. He was supposed to have this amulet that gave him these powers. Someone precious to me has been lost in the maze of dimensions, and with the amulet, I should be able to find the way through…”

Damon stopped for a moment. He wasn’t as concerned with making sure that Lillian had absorbed his story as much as he wanted to insure there was no one else listening besides himself and Sevviel. He took a quick glance at the angel. “Keep your ears out…” he told here. “Someone is following me.”

Then, before the former general continued his instructions, his voice turned particularly grave. He looked straight into Lillian’s eyes, with little regard for how his different anatomy might make that seem. “This parchment that I gave you, I found it in a bazaar by chance, told me that if I came to Ankhas I would be able to find Xhadryn’s amulet. However, since the moment I’ve gotten here, it seems like someone’s been trying to kill me…”

At this point, Sevviel interrupted. “Someone’s coming,” she said.

Damon’s face fell. “You two, head away…,” he said tersely, reaching for the old Brotherhood dagger that he often carried. “I need to take care of this on my own.”

Sevviel stuttered for a few moments, but soon silenced after a severe look from Damon. “Just go…” he said. “Take the parchment with you, it'll answer your questions... In the meantime, I’m going to find out who is trying to kill me.”

The former general spoke with enough severity that despite how completely confusing the situation was, Sevviel obeyed. She didn’t want to. The dark elven library was forboding enough with the thought of someone trying to kill Damon, but she was even more frightened at the idea with being stuck with no one but Lillian. However, by the way Damon spoke, it seemed like she wouldn’t have a choice.

“Go now…” he hissed. “Find somewhere… HIDE!”

[Ataraxis]

Lillian had no time to revel in the blitheness that came with both Damon’s trust and the parchment that was now resting in her hand. It was cool to the touch, but the girl handled it with such caution that it could have very well been searing hot, and her fingers were wrapped around it guardedly, even in her wild dash under the southern archway of the exposition room and into a shadow-paved corridor. Damon’s insistence and martial authority had given the girl a much needed jolt, quickly curing her of the worry that had plagued her mind upon hearing that the assassin was now hot on Damon’s tail. Plus, she was not enough of a simpleton to think that he, had she offered her help to stay and face adversity, would have been very appreciative; more likely than not, her weakness and inexperience would have been but another burden to the past general. ‘He’s Kaosi! If anyone should be afraid, it's be the poor man that was sent to dispatch him.’

Catching the glimpse of a badly lit alcove, Lillian swerved right and slunk into to study niche on the tip of her toes, on the lookout for any undesirable presence in the vicinity. The room was empty; she was glad to see that she had chosen well, having barged in under the assumption that the level of dimness of a room was generally indication enough of its occupancy. Craning her neck back, she spoke to Sevviel, knowing she had followed well from the lightness of her footsteps. “Sevviel? What should we do now?” As if answering her own question, Lillian took the piece of parchment by the rims and pored over it quite naturally, as though her eyes were perfectly acclimatized to the obscurity that leered from every corner. “Varazapa!” So great was her amazement that she had noticed the linguistic slip too late. Hopefully, Sevviel was not one to learn of Fallien profanity.

“This is intriguing, to say the least,” she followed promptly, not wanting them to dally over an unintelligible verbal excess. Padding lightly toward a study desk upon which she spread the vellum, Lillian waved a hand at eye level, from side to side as a way of activating the library’s artificial light-domes. In response, a dim light flickered into existence, buzzing in magical sparks before shedding an illumining glow over both women and the mysterious parchment. Lillian winced for a moment, unaccustomed to sudden change.

After giving Sevviel a fair amount of time to skim the document, Lillian spoke. “If we parse a bit, I'm sure we could make sense of it and extrapolate clues as to the whereabouts of Xhandryn’s amulet.” Lillian tried to express an air of positivism, but she could imagine how browsing through an ancient text for glyptic hints could fall short in Sevviel’s list of priorities, especially when the one she was supposed to assist was currently in relative danger. Lillian frowned knowingly, but only gnawed at the silence.

“Do you think he’s faring well?” It was not the best way to break the ice, she realized. In truth, Lillian was more nervous than she had let on, her voice slightly trembling. “I don't doubt his prowess in combat...” she seemed to hesitate, as if she had foretold a bitter reaction on Sevviel’s part, and was surprised to hear herself blurt out her concerns without her complete volition. “But the fact is, if history has taught me anything, that he is not invincible...” Reprimanding herself for this lack of tact, she sought redress in supporting the woman. “I'm sorry, I don't think straight under pressure. I'm sure he's doing just fine...” What a lousy failure, she thought: she could not even convince herself.