The Archeologists 2.0

[Rajani Aishwara]

Initiation Quest closed to The Architect and Ataraxis.


There is no endeavor, no undertaking, and no pursuit greater than that of tapping into an industry in its infantile stages. Not only is there the possibility of history rewarding you by calling you a pioneer, but you will be one of the first to gain a hold on those resources for a true entrepreneur pursues something outside the common mind set.

– Avanti Aishwara

Despite its location nestled in the deep and dark rainforest of Luthmor, Donnalaich was a city of extravagant luminosity. Crystal structures amplified the mid day sun’s rays as if they were incandescent, tall windows allowed the light to enter in great volume, and hanging prisms created an image not unlike that of a kaleidoscope. The grey stone would otherwise appear to be lifeless for its age could not be hidden. The organic curves of the city’s stone architecture were plagued with fissures and decaying corners, which could only be reversed and mended by temporal fabric. Time was that one force unstoppable, but it seemed as though this perfectly polished stone aged better than some women, still standing tall and taking pride in its wrinkles.

Donnalaich was also a city of giant fairies. These peculiar Fae were reminiscent of the pixies of fairy tales, sauntering about with membranes that resembled insect wings. But now in this time of new discovery, when the international community was introducing itself to Dheathain a new pair of wings would enter the capital of the Fae. In a world of fairy wings stood a young man with a pair of falcon wings that could only be seen by the third eye. Clad in the colors of the Peregrine, Rajani Aishwara floated across the floor of the Great Hall of Enchanting in a cloak of pearl white and mahogany brown. He found his way below one of the smaller statues and settled himself there.

Rajani was never one to jaunt about aimlessly. He was never one to take vacations, or to see places simply for the matter of seeing them. Even if such was his original intention, some conception was bound to plague his mind. This trip to Dheathain was no exception.

“Rajani Aishwara?” A docile feminine voice roused the entrepreneur from his brainstorm. He looked up to see a female Fae looking at him with a smile. "Captain of the Peregrine?”

“Yes.” Rajani said in a reluctant voice as he took a slow step forward and visually sized up the young woman. This woman was of a peculiar color scheme. Her hair was a deeper pink than cotton candy, and her eyes were deeper lavender than the dye itself. She reminded him of something a child would paint. Nevertheless, this was not who he arranged to meet. He was expecting humans, and many of them. “To whom do I owe this acquaintance?”

“I’m Donalda of the Eavan House, but I come to you as a representative of the Comataidh nan Roinnean.” Rajani stiffened up and crossed his arms over his cloak as she released the mouthful title of the local power. “I’m assuming by that reaction you know that the nan Roinn is the region’s governing power. Ever since this influx of ‘treasure hunters’ we’ve been conscious of the foreigners that have entered the city limits.”

“Please don’t concern yourself with my wellbeing,” Rajani said with a confident smile. “I know fully of the dangers I and my team face treading the city’s ruins.”

“Trust me when I say we won’t lose any sleep over such matters.” Donalda’s soft and quiet voice was a direct contrast from her assertive and cold language. It reminded Rajani of one the crewmates on his ship, the spunky Head Cook Mohana Colville. The sole difference was that Mohana never fabricated a façade such as a soft voice to hide her blunt and forward demeanor. “Word has it that you’ll be in league with Lehaim Alrajem, son of the legendary archeologist Mohammed Alrajem, which leads us to believe that you may have a chance at success in Donnalaich’s ruins. I’m inclined to inform you that the Comataidh nan Roinnean reserves the right to claim anything you find in our ruins. Now that the world knows of our existence, we need to be able to defend ourselves, and there may be items of tactical value in there.”

Rajani leaned forward to meet Donalda’s height. She was only up to the Avalonian’s shoulders. “I must respectfully refuse to follow such a decree. By effect if we enter the ruins at our own peril we reserve the right to ownership of all that we find. Not only are we toiling with our own mortal coil we will be fulfilling a crucial social service by clearing a new suburb for the ever growing population of civilians in Donnalaich. Fund my operation and you will get anything of tactical value.”

“I’m sorry, Peregrine Aishwara. This isn’t a negotiation. This is an order.” Donalda’s lavender eyes narrowed in anger, but it failed to strike fear into Rajani’s heart. It did just the opposite. He couldn’t help but smile in amusement at the comical scene.

He walked back to the base of the statue and leaned over with a hand on the statue and a hand on his hip. “I beg to differ, Madame Eavan. Act as a true herald, send the nan Roinn my appeal with an exact tongue, and we will see whether they react with an iron fist or an olive branch.”

A growl of suppressed rage crept out of the tiny red lips of the Fae female as she turned away and sunk into the rainbow canvas of her people crowding the busy atrium of the Great Hall of Enchanting. In the most honest of terms Rajani was in no need of funding. He would find sufficient fortune in his enterprise.

[The Architect]

Permission to bunny granted
“That will be a challenge indeed.” Mohana Colville said as she stared at the hull of the Peregrine from the dock. “The issue is not necessarily that the Captain is a stubborn soul, but it would suffice to say that he is... uncompromising. What are your intentions?”

“Simple.” Seti said as he adjusted his tunic. “I want to annex the Peregrine Group as a part of my organization, the House of Sora.”

Mohana let out what seemed to be a sneeze. It was a contained laugh. After she gathered herself she responded. “There is much I can say about that man that is less than flattering, but he is nothing less than a leader. He makes for a good colleague, but there isn’t a soul in this world who knows who he is as a subordinate because he has never been one. To make him one now at this stage in his life would be an impossible feat to say the least.”

“Subordinate to who?” Seti said with a laugh. “I don’t plan on making him a subordinate. I plan on making him a financial consultant at the least. He’d still be free under the House of Sora. He’d just have our protection.”

Mohana’s expression suddenly turned sour and her forested green eyes narrowed piercing the architect’s soul. “Your offered protection in this moment is nil, and might I suggest not a word came out of your mouth with a tone of charity. You must offer logic as your currency, or he will close his ears like I have mine.”


Donnalaich was a strange place. It was a bright place with fairies and hues rarely seen by the human eye. It was basically the image of a storybook fairytale. He felt like the deadly witch or warlock in his black cape as he held his blade and strutted towards the luminous city. For months now the architect had been following the exploits of the entrepreneur. He was in Radasanth when a few words from Rajani Aishwara thwarted the advances of the Illicit Entrepreneurs, and he kept up with the rumor mill as Raj ventured into Salvar and appealed to the Alerar and Salvar kings. Rajani’s failed attempts also reached the architect’s ears. He could use the entrepreneur’s financial genius, and the entrepreneur could use the architect’s commitment.

Seti finally reached the richly decorated Great Hall of Enchanting. He didn’t think his eyes could be plagued with even more color and light, but they were. Every statue, decoration, and window enhanced the hot and neon colors of the Fae so it was logical to search for a more earthly color scheme.

[Ataraxis]

“Perfect memory or not, writing a diary is harder than I thought.”

Exasperated by the unexpectedly difficult task, the girl slumped back sloppily onto the frailty of her elbows, letting loose an upset suspiration as the bed of fresh green crunched beneath her dress. With a faint twist of the neck, she allowed her eyes to wander over the district that sat in the shadow of the cliff, yet suffered nary a loss in all of its luminous radiance.

The Crystal Square had once robbed her of breath, but to witness its wonders from such lofty heights had quite nearly taken away the whole of her wits - and what little remained of them was now numbed to the mottled grays of the ancient walls and the iridescent specks of crystal light that instilled the locale with its ineffable mystique. This harmony of age-old wisdom and youthful vigor was further beautified by the emerald waters that pooled at the south end of the plaza, come from the magnificent cataract of which she could hear the clear and velvety rush, coursing so close by.

Lolling on her back, Lillian set the blank book upon her abdomen, taking in a deep breath after stretching her arms. There was the whiff of water in the wind and the warm pelting of the sun, beating gently upon her flushing cheeks. Old boughs yielded under the currents, creaking like doors that had seen the fall of time. Verdant leaves rustled from their perch, some resisting the pluck of the breeze, others gone to the sway in the fields beyond the hill.

This was a stark contrast to the feel of the district she had beheld only moments ago, but it was just as pleasant and delighted more than sight alone. Why waste away such rare and fanciful times by writing what she herself considered insignificant? After her months spent trekking the lands, crossing the seas and climbing countless foothills and mountains, would someone truly suffer indignation, were she to indulge in a few hours of agreeable dallying? Would some truly hold it against her if she wished for a few moments of respite, when, only days ago she had escaped a most gruesome demise at the grubby hands of a grotesque monstrosity that lurked in the swamps of Fiorair? Heavens, no.

Under this perfect weather, she abandoned herself to a rejuvenating trance, in which her thoughts milled about ever so quietly. Momentous images crossed her mind, pictures from a past both fresh and distant. First were the faces of her companions, a man and a boy who had helped her survive the ordeal in Fiorair. Though the experience still gave her nightmares, the memory of Aiden Darkstorm and his son, Chance, went ways to soothe her troubled mind. Unfortunately, their acquaintance had been momentous at best, and their sudden absence left in her a void that she felt could never be filled.

In a surge of nostalgia, the girl let her mind wander further back, to another fateful meeting. Standing by the docks, under the blistering heat of the desert winds, she saw that lean vessel, rocked by the tranquil waves; and on the deck, he stood immobile, a burnished counterpoint to the hectic crew that scurried in the backdrop, raising the sails and crowding the cargo bay.

She smiled, recalling her first encounter with the spirited entrepreneur that was Rajani Aishwara, leader of the Peregrines. When she was lost, without a home, without a country, the man took her under his wing, by pity or by kindness, but providing her nonetheless with a shelter and a surrogate family. It might not have meant much to the young Avalonian, but Lillian had decided that she would eternally be in his debt, and would seek out any occasion to aid the man in his enterprises, no matter how perilous or madcap they seemed to be. But it had been so long, so long since she last crossed paths with a bird of prey.

Shielding her sensible eyes from the sun with her hand, she brooded, descending more and more into a state of disarray. What was she doing? Not only was tanning in the sun biologically impossible for the girl, but quite simply preposterous! Pulling herself up from the fetters of the soft ground, she held herself across the chest, holding against it the harsh surface of the empty journal. Strands of raven hair lapped at her pale face, the wind reflecting the blustery storm that raged in her heart.

If things remained the way they were, she would never enjoy a day in peace, nor would she ever derive any happiness from an idle reprieve amidst the hosts of nature. Only one thing had driven her away from that locked door, that sealed room in the confines of her subconscious – the reason why she had not yet gone mad, exposed to blights that would never let her rest. “I have to do something. I have to act, to help – anything!” she stuttered, clinching her eyes shut as she heard in the depths an ominous ruckus, as the beasts attempted to escape, wearing down the chains upon the gate.

The flutter of wings had pulled her from the chaos of her musings. Lillian felt a tear pearl in the nook of her eye, owing to the intense joy that overcame her and the sharp sting of talons that had dug into her one bent knee. A falcon, its feather coat boasting proudly the colors of cream and cinnamon, had taken perch upon her raised knee squawking twice as it stared with those globular eyes. Affixed to one of its golden legs was a furled parchment, one which she promptly untied and unfolded. These were not scrawls upon the yellowed paper, but cursive letters that were characteristic of her leader’s handwriting, which she had noticed multiple times in the past from his urgent missives.

With a joyous sigh, she thanked the moon; Rajani was presently in Donnalaich, and he required her assistance in yet another hazardous endeavor. Wiping the wayward tear from her face, she picked herself up, jamming the leatherbound diary into a rucksack she hastily flung over her back and, after a final glance at the Crystal Square, Lillian dashed down the cliff, hopping from one precarious footing to another. She was eager to set foot in Marach Mor, the Great Hall of Enchanting, where awaited the Aiswara heir.


~

“Sorry!” she wailed back to the man she had jarred into, one of caramel complexion and obsidian curls, much akin to Rajani’s. Though the two were of the exact same height, the stranger she had bumped into had a slightly larger build, one she had noticed even through his white tunic; and his facial features and general demeanor was as dissimilar to the Peregrine’s as ‘three-eyed latrine imps are to the dignified, monocle-and-top-hat Cyclops’, an odd comparison taken straight from one of the mad tales that had amused her inner child.

Giving him no further thought, she scuttled down a large corridor, her little boots sounding loud against the square flagstones underfoot. In her haste, the clumsy girl managed to stumble into half a dozen Draconians and at least two infant Faes, for whom she had ceased her mad and treacherous dash, excusing herself sheepishly as bystanders shook their heads at her undignified behavior. Her head still low, she proceeded towards the Hall in clumsy tiptoes, her high mood shot down by such an ungainly blunder and her state of utter mortification.

The screech of a falcon sounded from outside the Great Hall, and the great bird swooped into the immense chamber, weaving through the colonnades before circling about its master. Soon after, a flurry of footsteps echoed louder and louder, until the queer sound came to a full stop. White fingers slid over the coarse surface of a pillar, and from it peeked a dollish head, wreathed in streams of silky ink. Lillian, too self-conscious to make a grand entrance, simply pulled herself into view, weakly waving a hand to Rajani, her voice so terribly endearing as she spoke her words of greeting. “I am very glad to see you well, sir Aishwara.”

[Rajani Aishwara]

“Rajani Aishwara?” No sooner had the Fae official left had a masculine voice filled Rajani’s ears. He turned to the source of the voice to see a man at least five years his senior with another who looked to be his father. His skin was a natural crème tan and his smile was draped by a well kept goatee. This had to have been none other than. “Lehaim Alarajem, archeologist extraordinaire. I hope you don’t mind that I brought my father along with me. He won’t be joining us on the expedition, but after reading your proposal to me he was interested in meeting you.”

The young entrepreneur lowered his head and looked at his feet to hide the blushing cheeks. As much as he prided himself on his proposal and grant writing he had never come face to face with a recipient of those letters. He was a maverick communicator delving into subjects or admitting realities that were deemed improper by common standards, but it usually caught the reader’s eye, earned his or her respect, and guaranteed a response. In this particular situation, Rajani challenged Lehaim to surpass his father’s achievements to the point that Lehaim would not have to use his father’s first name for honor, but the other way around. This surely made offense. Rajani’s father would have taken offense.

A hand twice the size of Rajani’s came between his eyes and his feet, “I don’t know how it is where you come from, but the majority of Althanians like to shake hands.”

“’Tis an honor and a pleasure to meet you both.” Rajani said as Mohammed Alrajem took his hand for a firm handshake and looked up with a façade face of pride. He could sense a bit of irritation in the legendary archeologist’s voice, and he could certainly see it in his face. Even without the beard and mustache masking it Mohammed’s smile would have been less than enthusiastic. It was clear to Rajani. Mohammed didn’t like him.

“I like you, Mr. Aishwara.” Mohammed’s statement made Rajani’s head tilt in confusion. “Although your statements of grandeur were very bold, your idea to introduce organized business into archeology is intriguing. You mentioned searching for a manager for a firm. Would you care to elaborate?”

And there was the reason as to why Mohammed lied through his teeth and claimed to like Rajani. It wasn’t him that Mohammed liked. It was the idea. The archeologist saw himself filling that position despite the elusiveness of detail. The young entrepreneur couldn’t help but smile at this realization.

He decided to indulge Mohammed. “Until now, archeology has long been an evasive industry since ancient sites in all of Althanas are either forgotten or far and few between. But here, in Donnalaich, archeology can sustain itself as it is the first step to expanding the vast and ever growing capital of the Fae nation. This quest into one of the largest suburbs of the city is to experiment with the conditions of the expedition as a task and to determine whether it can be converted into a consistent profitable venture. From what I gather we must first explore the ruins, rid them of any belligerent forces, excavate, investigate, and make profit by selling artifacts, information, evidence, and property. With that profit a company and headquarters will be established, and the process will be repeated.”

“It sounds very promising.” Lehaim said with enthusiasm. Much to his dismay, his father was not nearly as enthusiastic. Rajani would not be one to blame him. Mohammed had been alive far longer than the two of them and his naiveté and novelty of the world had run dry. He had been likely to encounter dozens of creative minds like Rajani’s with empty promises.

“One of those steps was riding the ancient suburbs of any belligerent forces.” Mohammed said with crossed arms. “Who’s going to do that? You?”

In the average situation Rajani would not have tolerated such mockery, but with his son in danger Mohammed had flawless justification for such a cynical interrogation. Even so, he would only tolerate so much from anyone.

“Perhaps we can assist.” A group of five male Humans in cloaks emerged from the background. Rajani silently scolded himself for being so clumsy and loud. He was expecting Humans, but not this many, and he should have been aware of them to begin with. Their plain brown and black wardrobe was an eye aching contrast to the rainbow surroundings. “Xil’Mor Raxis at our service.”

“I do not pride myself in knowledge of etymology, but I believe that name is of Alerarian origin.” Rajani said with a perplexed face as he shook the man’s hand.

Xil’Mor smiled as he fidgeted with his narrow glasses. He spoke in a lowered voice. “That’s probably because I am. We all are. If the nan Roinn knew we were here we’d never get anything done. For now we’re just another one of the treasure hunting Humans… No offense. We represent the interests Ankhas, the Library of Ettermire. As you may know our library is the most extensive archive of information in the world. It houses not only the annals of history and civilization, but artifacts and items of significance as well.”

“So you desire knowledge?”

Xil’Mor shrugged his shoulders. “If nothing else, we desire exclusive knowledge of the Fae and the Ancients. Of course that information won’t be exclusive for long since we’ll probably store it in our public section, or even make it a featured article. It’s the principle of the matter that matters to us. Let me guarantee you that the King will know of your service to the nation and that you have the nation’s latest technology on your side.”

With that the Drow in disguise discretely lifted the side of his cloak to reveal a firearm. Rajani couldn’t help but widen his eyes in amazement. He had read of the weapon and see pictures, but never did he see one in person. This particular hand gun had a long barrel the length of Xil’Mor’s forearm and was riddled with elegant weavings and decorative patterns. It was beautiful as it was deadly, but there was risk in using it.

“These ruins, Sir Raxis, they are fragile like all ruins. I pray to the spirit of circumstance that you will not have to make use of them.” Xil’Mor nodded in compliance. “You will be under my every command the very moment in time we step outside the city limits. Your advisory is encouraged if we face any danger, but my word is binding.”

“And my word is bond.” Raxis extended his hand and the two made contact. “As long as we have access to the information you will have our protection and our loyalty.”

“The crux of your fortune won’t be pictures of stones, but the highest quality of anthropological findings. Unfortunately for you we have no one of such value.”

“Isn’t that what Mohammed and Lehaim are here for?”

“In most cases we would have enough knowledge of the civilization to serve that purpose, but Donnalaich is new to us.” Lehaim said as he shook his head. “We can make a few generalized deductions, date the area and time of occupation, note uses of some objects, a little this and a little that, but we won’t be making any groundbreaking discoveries without someone who knows this civilization from top to bottom.”

“And I’m not going.” Mohammed’s irritability was becoming more apparent as the conversation progressed. Rajani could completely understand. The archeologist probably had to turn down countless job offers since his retirement, and was probably getting tired of everyone assuming he was on the job or even available to dig.

“Correct, Mohammed will not be joining us on this endeavor…” Rajani said as he paused, put his hands on his hips, and looked Mohammed straight in the eyes. He wanted to make sure the message was clear. “On any level. He was simply here to make sure his son would be safe, and you have secured such.”

The docile voice of a familiar juvenile librarian crept into his ears and Lillian Sesthal inched her way into view behind it. He was glad she of all people answered his hail. At least one person refused to abandon the Peregrine Group although he never feared her leaving. “Gentlemen, might I present to you the ever knowledgeable librarian Lillian Sesthal.” He turned to the librarian. “Would it be too terrible to ask that you act as a witness to all events that may transgress on this expedition? We will need a journal of our exploits.”

[The Architect]

There it was. A cluster of earthly hue screamed out in rebellion against the flamboyant status quo. The articulate man of amber skin was without a doubt Rajani Aishwara. Seti was out of hearing range but it was amazing what a mere mouth and mind could do. Rajani was surrounded by a troupe of men more powerful than him in one way or another. This group of cloaked men were obviously heavily armed or else they would have no need for the cloaks. Everyone was older than him, but they were all voluntarily below him. They didn’t have to profess their congregation. They looked up to him, no matter their height.

It wasn’t a new site to Seti. As an architect, he commanded labor forces consisting of men twice his size, and his baby face didn’t help in commanding respect. Seti had a gimmick though. Every building he designed was extraordinary in one way or another, which inspired the building troupes to obey him. Rajani had nothing but his charisma.

The only one smaller than Rajani in every physical sense entered bashfully onto the scene. Seti’s memory told him that this teenage girl was the black haired blur that plowed through him and countless others. It was a further testament to the devotion Rajani was capable of cultivating in others. It was a shame that he could not do the same with his entire financial firm and its warrior clients. Then again Seti would not have this opportunity to recruit a valuable member to the House of Sora if Rajani was able to move mountains with his mouth at will.

As he slowly approached the group of humans Dylan decided to change his plans of winning the entrepreneur’s favor. He had been informed of Rajani’s endeavor by his ship’s cook, and he found a use for himself.

He finally came within speaking range of the Peregrine named Aishwara. “Excuse me for the interruption. My name is Seti Dylan. I’m an architect with the House of Sora, and I’d like to offer my services for restoring the city ruins.”

[Ataraxis]

While she had wished for the most inconspicuous of entrances, the leader of the Peregrine had much more lurid plans in store for the librarian extraordinaire. Only mere moments after her bashful hail, Rajani had introduced the girl to a motley assembly of obsidian-cloaked men as well as a nigh-identical pair, both of a smooth caramel complexion, yet one quite ostensibly the other’s senior. In the piebald shades of the hall, against the ancient grays of the square flagstones and lofty colonnades, they stood out like a handful of sore thumbs.

In the fraction of a second, she had recognized the elder man as the illustrious Mohammed Alarajem, an archeologist of international renown whose name had made its way into numerous copies of scientific papers and journals of prominent digs, all of which had graced her eyes during the years of her singular childhood. Lillian couldn’t believe her eyes, and felt even more diminished in the presence of a living legend.

More squeamish than ever, she tiptoed into sight, stopping a dozen feet short of the tense congregation. It was all she could do without making a fool out of herself, now that the Peregrine had put her in the spotlight. “G-greetings,” she began, cursing an unintelligible oath as she heard herself stutter. “It is a pleasure to meet you all,” she finally said, upholding a semblance of control over the trills of her girlish voice. Silence hung for an eternal second, until she curtseyed in a most awkward and belated manner, looking more like a dollish puppet in the immense diorama of Marach Mor.

“I would be honored to take part in this expedition, sir Aishwara.” When she spoke to the man, she felt much more at ease, due to the fact that she had already embarrassed herself in his presence so many times that they could both indulge in a good chuckle of reminiscence. “I will gladly chronicle everything that will transpire on this journey, to the best of my memory,” she ended on an emphatic note, amusement hooking her lips of rose into a most endearing smile.

A masculine voice sounded from behind, offering the services of his house as it addressed the Avalonian. In a deliberate spin, she angled her gaze to settle upon yet another man who seemed to have toiled under the blare of the sun, recognizing his features on the spot. It was the same man she had jarred into, on her way to the Great Hall, and this realization made her timid once more. Bowing forth, she voiced the sincerest of apologies. “I am sorry to have initiated our prior collision, and can only hope that you may one day impart forgiveness upon my person.” In her hurry, she had mixed formality with a most technical vernacular, and 'odd' was the least derisive adjective on the minds of those attending.

[Rajani Aishwara]

Rajani tilted his head in reminiscence to the name. Not only did the name of this dark architect spark his memory, so too did the name of his company. The House of Sora was a fairly well known name, but from where did he know it. After a moment of narrow eyed contemplation Rajani widened his eyes in a light bulb of revelation.

“Ah. The House of Sora. One of your brothers in business crafted my ship. It is indeed a swift vessel of luxurious make, and I must thank your people for such a masterful work.” Rajani extended his hand with a smile. “Your services are welcome as they will complete the dealing, but I must ask what is your price?”

“Consider it paid in full by the Library of Radasanth.” Rajani rolled his eyes in exhaustion as he heard another party enter the scene. This time it was a small league of five uniformed women clad in white and pink. He did not blame himself for missing these women. They only blended into their ostentatious environment without flaw. They curtsied holding their sheathed rapiers with one hand and the end of their draping tunics in the left. “We are a private task force sent here by the Coronian Empire to offer protection in exchange for knowledge.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary, ladies.” The drow in disguise said with a sly smile. “We already got that covered.” The troop of men gave a chorus of proud laughs and silly looks. The thought of a woman protecting a man likely humored them.

“You’ve got it covered. With what? Overly destructive firearms?” The obvious leader of the Coronians placed her hands on her hips. Although she was indeed a warrior she had not lost touch with her feminine side as shown in her body language. “Trust me the only one’s you’re fooling with those getups are the Fae, who don’t give a damn about finding out who the ancients were. They just want more room to live. The Alarajems care to understand more about the world’s history, and if you care Mr. Aishwara I suggest you drop these gun toting make up artists and make us your primary protection force.”

“Wow!” The drow Xil’Mor said in a gesture of mocking astonishment. “I don’t know if you’re a woman, a warrior, or a merchant. You look like a woman, you wield a weapon like a warrior, and you swindle your way into things you have no business in like a merchant.” He turned to his partners. “That’s why they call it Tradespeak, you know.”

“Watch your tongue.” The woman held her white rapier once again. “Or I’ll cut it off and have it as a side dish to your children!”

“Really? You’ll eat my children?” Xil’Mor remained humorous as he reached down into his pants. “Promise you’ll swallow every one of them?”

The vulgar reply cued the other Coronians to grab their blades and step forward as one last wave of warning. The Alerarians all reached under their cloaks and stepped forward as Xil’Mor threw his head back and laughed. His hand was still in his pants as a ballroom dance of battle was ready to commence in the Great Hall. Rajani calmly stepped in between the two lines of dancers positioning himself where every bullet could pass and every blade would cut. It was intentional. As vital as everyone was to this endeavor, he was the coordinator of the dream, and to kill him was to kill anyone’s hope of acquiring what they wanted in a timely manor. Until the very moment they completed their mission in the ruins and made their way back into the occupied regions of the city, Rajani could literally bluff by betting his life and get what he wanted out of all of them.

He spoke calmly knowing that a raised voice would exhibit a lack of control.

“Might I remind you that we are being watched by the resident powers that be? To act in this manor is to submit reason to close the city’s walls to foreigners for all time, and we can be ousted from the city as early as we return from our mission. All potential profit, whether it may be in the form of currency, information, or relics can be taken from us if we give these Fae reason.” The men and women released their hands from their weapons, and after a look from Rajani, Xil’Mor took his hand from his pants. The entrepreneur then stepped up to the women. He refused to smile although the one visually professed to be the leader of the Coronians was a very beautiful one indeed. Like the others herr hair was wrapped in a bonnet in the back of her head and held together by a white mesh headdress. However she had sprinkled her tight blonde hair with pink pedals and a white lotus flower hung on the right side of her face accentuating her healthy glowing skin and her bright sapphire eyes. “And what might your name be, Madame?”

“Tempora Tessa. I’m the leader of this task force. We’re professional tactical escorts, and have protected several of the world’s most important figures. Just for the record we’ll only protect you if the information we have is exclusive.”

“Why? There exists a great deal more profit in healthy competition. It provides a great solution to this current conundrum. Our scribe for the task is my dear friend and professional librarian, Lillian Sesthal. She will record every object Lehaim finds and describes. We shall make two replicas of the manuscript and send one to each library. Lillian will gather what she can with the knowledge she has of the ancients, but a full fledged anthropologist is required to make a truly legitimate deduction, and a full fledged anthropologist is what both libraries have. Each library will interpret the information as they see fit. Through proper advertising, which I am more than willing to assist with, both libraries will gain publicity through competing views of the Fae’s predecessors and profit will quickly follow. Will the consensus comply?”

Tessa shrugged her shoulders and nodded, as did Xil’Mor.

“Very well. Let us set off as we have put too much time to waste already.”

::::::::::::

Mohammed was left at the Great Hall of Enchanting as the unusually large excavation team set out to the outskirts of Donnalaich. Within the hour the density of the population around them dropped dramatically. The Great Hall, although spacious, held more Fae than the eye could count. Now they were fortunate to see more than five within their direct vision. Naturally as the Fae began to disappear so did the color and light. Rajani’s eyes had grown accustomed to it just as they left.

Soon there were no Fae save for two guards formally chanting the list of risks the motley excavation team doomed to accept. They made several adlibs to the song informing them of certain creatures indigenous to the area and how they might be warded against. The team listened intently, and after accepting they made their way into the first abandoned street of Donnalaich. The age of the ancient city’s stone infrastructure was much more apparent now as cracks and discoloration blemished the organic shape of the once white walkways and the stucco walls. Rajani ran his hand on one of those walls as the team made its way along a sidewalk.

They were in a formation, with the Alerarian men(who still refused to dispose of their disguises) in the front, and the Coronian women in the back. The four intellectuals, the entrepreneur, the architect, the archeologist, and the librarian, remained on the inside of the formation. That was until the archeologist squeezed in between the Alerarians to get in front.

“Someone’s been here recently.” Lehaim said as he walked almost like an old man with his back slouched forward and his eyes on the ground.

Rajani couldn’t tell how the archeologist came to that conclusion, but he was right. “Many brave souls have entered these ruins. Perhaps some have come before us even on this day.”

[The Architect]

Planed details have been passed along via AIM in order to progress the story in a quicker fashion. Hmm. Temporary bunnying of Rajani and NPC’s have been approved.

As the others took their steps they saw a dead city of stone as grey as an old man’s hair. Seti was not one to boast about himself, but he never had a doubt in his mind that his imagination far exceeded anyone else’s. He looked down on the sidewalk and all the potholes filled up with cement and topped themselves with mosaic images of colorful Fae and what they believed to be the ancients. The walls around them became as pure as the whitewash walls of Jya’s Keep and shone with a pearly violet coating.

They were on the right side of an avenue of what looked to be a residential area of town homes. They were connected by thick columns, and the town homes across the street mirrored them with perfect symmetry. The pearly whitewash walls of Seti’s imagination stained the columns with their radiance, and the columns regenerated their ornate shapes. Crystal arches crossed over the streets connecting these columns. Holes poked themselves out of these arches and prisms of all shapes and sizes inserted to perfectly fit each hole. Eat your Hall out, nan Roinn. Seti thought to himself with a smile.

“What are your thoughts on converting this area into a habitable sector, Sir Dylan.” Rajani said without looking at Seti. The architect had been so caught up in his imagination that he forgot that he was here to win over a new member to his interest group.

“This is all going to take quite a bit of work. The potholes can be filled with ease, but that’s where the easy part ends. Most of these columns would have to be replaced and…”

“Speaking of which.” Lehaim interrupted as he stopped the walk and stared at a column in front of them with an intent eye. Seti wondered if that was what he looked like when his imagination took over. “This column is of ancient Raiaeran design, and when I say ancient I mean before the High Dark split. The designs on this thing could even be considered a euphemism of the lost unity between the Elves.”

The gunned men reacted with annoyance rolling their eyes and turning away.

“No, I’m serious. Come take a look.” Lehaim dragged his large fingers down the side as they made friction against the decorations. “Before they used marble to plate their columns the Elves would sculpt decorations into their columns. The unified Raiaera would often feature curvilinear organic designs like this combined with more straight symmetrical designs like this. When the split came the Dark Elves took the straight, and the High Elves took the curvy. Nowadays the Alerarians rarely even use columns and when they do the columns are square and brick stacked, and the Raiaerans plate theirs with marble. I could be wrong though. This place may have been origin of the design and both races may have copied it.”

“I believe the man asked Seti a question.” Xil’Mor said as he nudged at his glasses. It was clear that he was not comfortable with this information. In that moment Seti saw the potential future with Ankhas corrupting the information the librarian Lillian was writing.

“Don’t feel so bad, Drow.” Tempora said as she and her women giggled like girls. “Imitation is the highest form of flattery you know.”

“On the contrary, my lady. Offering to go down on a man within a minute of meeting him is the highest form of flattery.” The drow in disguise smiled with his chest out, his stomach in, and his hands on his hips as his boys erupted in laughter.

“You know what?” Seti said with frustration. “Xil’Mor was right. Rajani did ask me, so your stupid battle of the sexes holds absolutely no relevance. It looks to me like this is a childish flirt fest… Is it?”

The two groups made their denial very apparent.

“Then I’d advice the two groups not to communicate unless it’s for tactical reasons, and you can either fight or fuck when the mission’s over!” Seti’s eyes became wide in shock over his choice words and his assertion of authority. He immediately turned to Rajani, “I’m sorry Mr. Aishwara. As an architect I may serve clients, but I’m so used to being a leader to laborers that it just pops up sometimes. Really I’m sorry. I was out of line.”

Rajani had his arms crossed as he looked at Seti with a smile. “Perhaps you were, but your words, although crass, were fitting. Now let us return to the matter at hand.”

“Well I hope you plan on clearing the streets parallel to this one to ensure proper protection. That way we could gate the community.” Seti looked up at his crystal arches and smiled. “I was also thinking of adding my own creative flare to the restoration project.”

“That option has yet to be considered.” As Rajani spoke Seti took out a ball of yarn. It was his mobile measuring tool. “We would first have to probe the people’s desire. Would they accept a new age amendment to their old ways, or would they rather live in the fashion that these people did to a tee? A miniature scale model would be… Put that up.”

Seti looked up at Aishwara from the ground where he was laying his yarn. “Oh I’m listening, but if you want me too I’ll put it up. I was just getting a measurement of the width of the town house. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“You did no such thing. The dimensions have already been calculated. The width of every complex is exactly one hundred feet. The height is thirty five feet, breaking down in ten feet for every storey a few feet in between the stories, and a small extra for icing of the cake.”

Once again Seti’s eyebrows widened in shock. He was somewhat creeped out by this demonstration. He leaned over to the little librarian while keeping his eyes on Rajani.

“Did you know he could do that?”

[Ataraxis]

By leaving the mismatched procession to their uncouth dissensions, the librarian found it surprisingly easy to keep a low profile. She hid the flagrant coyness that turned her face whiter than paste behind the leather covers of her diary, now used as a makeshift journal for their future discoveries. At times she even juddered with the rising tension of their quarrel, as though their acidic words had spattered their way to feed on her delicate skin, a feeling she shrugged off with difficulty. Dismissing what rose out from the din of the following rabble, Lillian recorded with the utmost celerity whatever pertinent information left the lips of only Rajani, Lehaim and Seti.

With a nigh prudish little gasp at the architect’s vulgar – though apparently glib – sense of repartee, she corrected herself, disaccord shadowing her forehead as she neared the end of the page with Lehaim’s perceptive assessment over the roots of Elven architecture. Seti, not so much... The last stroke of her pencil had been harsh, the girl shaking her head disapprovingly for a while, before shifting focus from the scrawls of paper to the etches of stone.

This section of the ruins had made its state of disrepair painfully obvious, as opposed to the gilded restoration of the inner city, alit with crystal marvels and wondrous structures that had undergone an unwonted reversal of time. Here, unseen waves had lapped at the olden dwellings, earthen shades taken away with their receding ebbs, leaving naught but the grit of grey dust upon the worn walls, while deep crevices marred the slowly toppling buildings, chinks of ancient stone chipping off and down from the edifices like the sands of a great hourglass.

The mystique was much less present, and in her sullen study of the locale, the librarian became conscious of her every step, and those of the marching troop as well. It was like watching the final days of an old, old friend, knowing that each and every one of her breaths stole away precious seconds from a moribund life. Each breath, each step, was eroding, whittling – killing. It was a minimal measure, but the girl made every stride a long one, an economy she knew well to be worthless, but did it all the same. It was all she could do, other than hoping dearly that the foulmouthed architect knew how to hold his word better than he did his tongue.

That he would engage her in small talk was the last thing she had expected. It was the Hall of Enchantments all over again, and the shy girl felt trussed-up by invisible ropes, her back now painfully straight and taut. Nonsense rushed along the rails of her mind, disoriented trains that left streams of smoky confusion in their wake. Did the architect have an extra-sensorial prowess that had allowed him to delve into her mind and hear what she thought of him upon her first impression of the man? Was he machinating an evil plan to ridicule her in the middle of this moving mass of men and women? Did he fancy her and had just attempted the first monumental step? Was he out to kill her?

Only after a blubbering while did she pay heed to his words, slating off her cockamamie assumptions as she put them in context. He was quite simply impressed with the Peregrine leader and the unconventional workings of his mind. The librarian let her cheeks fluster in shame, letting only disappointed eyes gleaming over the ridge of her hefted journal. “O-Oh, yes, of course,” she stuttered as she walked, sparing only cursory glances to the architect, who was so alike Rajani, yet nothing like him.

“S-Sir Aishwara has wonderful eyes!” There was a gaggle of snickers from the back and a roar of laughter from the front, and only then did the socially-stunted girl realize her immense blunder. “I-I meant that his mind was… that he… not that I…” Clearly it was now a lost cause, the laughing cage in which she was trapped only redoubling at her futile efforts of dissipating the misunderstanding. It was a rare sight, a librarian so pale that she could be lost in the weakest snowfall, turning redder than a basket of beets. The girl fumed with repressed anger, even her ears a clear shade of carnelian, and she turned a deathly glare to the architect, looking cold and icy daggers at the man, quite certain that he had, in fact, seen to fruition the plans of her public humiliation.

In a trice she fell back to her journal, her shape seemingly shrinking into ghostly outlines behind the leather bind. Regarding it with an irksome intent, she was struggling not to lose objectivity, not to let her mortification seep into the wooden frame of her pencil. She did, however, leave herself a mental note to use two if its blank pages for a particular set of lists. Perhaps Seti Dylan was not out to kill her, but he was certainly giving her reasons to pick up this dark and dirty business.

“You’re on my black one.” She muttered darkly under her breath, scribbling two short words on the penultimate page of the diary as she regarded the man with frightening blue eyes, set in a vicious squint. “For now."

[Rajani Aishwara]

Rajani immediately acted to alleviate some of the damage Lillian had just inflicted on her own name. “Please take no heed of a mere slip of the tongue ladies and gentlemen. It’s imperative that we focus on the task at hand.”

With that said he thought nothing more of the young lady’s words. He wasn’t going to deny that Lillian showed admiration towards him, but it was the same admiration she showed towards everyone on his ship. He recalled their quest for the nobility’s favor in Salvar and how much favor Lillian showed towards Mohana Colville’s resourcefulness and motherly atmosphere.

The entrepreneur raised a hand signaling the party to stop. “Sir. Dylan, would this be an appropriate area for restoration?”

“Probably the best.” Seti said with a smile. “It’s not too far from the occupied areas of the city, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to keep anything at bay. Of course we’d have to gate the community as a simple security measure. The stone would need to be polished, re pasted, and filled with concrete in the cracks. Like you said earlier we’ll have to see what the people want in terms of style. I have plenty of ideas though.”

“Mr. Aiswara!” One of Xil’Mor’s men said from afar. Being the scout of the party he was well ahead, standing at a corner where another street crossed theirs. He was just about to take a right turn at this cross section when he suddenly stopped and reached for his firearm. “I’ve spotted something!”

“Hold!” Rajani said as he and the rest of the party began a sprint to the scout’s position. “Do not draw your firearm!”

The group leaped over gaping potholes and small fissures and arrived at the corner to see a chaotic scene in the distance. A giant stone humanoid creature was fending off a handful of humans more than a few hundred yards down the street from them. Every limb and piece of its body was made of broken parts from surrounding buildings. Its hand fell into countless pieces as it made contact with its target only to reform in mere seconds. This was also evident with the other limbs as the creature kicked and swatted the team. Their conventional weapons stood no chance. Staffs and swords were useless against the regenerating body. Even elemental magic did no good as one of the victims launched pale blue projectile of ice at it only to die seconds later when the creature merely stepped on it.

“Correction. Draw our firearms.” Rajani said with wide eyes as the golem finished off the last of the group by tossing him more than a hundred feet into the air and letting him make bone crushing contact with the ground. With its job done the golem slowly disassembled allowing its pieces to slowly drift away and drop to the ground. This was their opportunity to avoid confrontation with the stone entity.

“Back, pray you, back!” the entrepreneur said through his teeth as he pushed Tempora to the side. The rest of the team took heed and did the same.

Alas it was too late. The thing saw them with its luminous violet eyes. Strangely it did not regain its shape. Instead it kept disintegrating until what looked to be its core, a glowing violet orb, was exposed. The orb dropped to the ground and bounced off into an alley, as the pebbles and larger fragments rolled in different directions.

“We’re being stalked.” Tempora said with a calm, but critical tone.

“Well while you’re at it, Missy, let’s get the obvious out of the way.” Xil’Mor said with a smile and a slight adjustment of his glasses. “That sphere was the nucleus of the creature which resides in the head. We destroy it, and we’re good. If we don’t it’ll just regenerate and keep coming at us. In order to avoid conflict with the lady here I’m going to step back and let you devise the strategy, Mr. Aishwara.”

“Stupendous.” Rajani drew his blade and started for the center of the crossroad. “Both bands take to the manmade canopies where the creature’s head is well within your range. Madame Sesthal, take command of the women. Sir Dylan, take command of the men. The leaders of the groups are your advisors. Trust their advisory but use your best judgment as not to destroy what is still in tact.”

Rajani stood in the middle of the street and watched the small wave of pebbles roll towards him. It was a given that he was the bait. He stood firm with his feet planted, his blade in hand, and a façade of bravery to shield against his own fear. He did not want to be in this position. If he could put one of the other warriors in this position he would, but it wouldn’t serve the same purpose. Like earlier, Rajani was using his unique position to leverage the efforts of the team. The Avalonian held the most critical position in this endeavor, so critical that if he died the team might as well turn back and give up all hope.

With that known, the monster had to die as soon as possible.

[The Architect]

Seti didn’t object to Rajani’s instructions. He didn’t want to put more stress on the Peregrine’s heart by mentioning how immature these men were. He didn’t want to tax his mind asking for any suggestions in strategy. He didn’t want to waste time. Before Seti could be this man’s leader he would have to be this man’s follower.

And follow he did, by leading his designated men. Seti pointed to the top of a building overlooking the intersection Rajani stood in. From what he knew of these firearms, Seti figured they’d have a good view of the action no matter what angle the stone creature attacked from. The men completely understood and made way for the old stone townhouse. The man named Xil’Mor stood by the steps and let the rest pass first.

“Good luck.” Seti said to the raven haired girl with a smile. “I’ll try to keep your man alive if you do the same.”

“No offense, librarian, but I’m going to stick with the boys and their guns.” Lehaim said as he turned away and started for the building of interest.

Seti looked at Lillian and shrugged his shoulders before he followed the group. The building of interest was just another cookie cutter town home indistinguishable from the others. It had the same broken window panes, the same crumbling sides, and the same dead grey stone as the others. Seti was stopped before he headed up the same narrow staircase.

“Architect.” Xil’Mor was standing with his firearm pointed into the alley. Both his hands wrapped around the gun’s decorative grip as his head tilted and his eyes filled with determination. “I have the core in my sights. I can fire upon your command, but my aim is questionable at this range. I could damage some of the surrounding buildings.”

“Then the decision is clear. Don’t fire.” Seti continued up the steps. “Come on up, but keep your eyes on the core.”

Seti sprinted into the home not far behind Lehaim. The two leaped over broken staircases, climbed ledges, and crept through narrow spaces until they joined the team on the partially caved in roof. They were limited to a small ten foot space on the side of the building, not something Seti had anticipated. If they were all to stay on the roof, they would be confined to this small space with no room to dodge potential attacks. He sent three of them to the windows of the lower floors, while the rest remained on top and waited for the attack.

[Ataraxis]

In response to the mockeries of the architect, Lillian had a witty retort assembled and ready for delivery; however, a factor of things left her as mute and still as an alabastrine statue, such that she seemed right at home amid the structures of broken stone and stucco. What little faith the upstart archeologist showed in either her, or the colorful band of warriors of which she had unexpectedly found herself in command, was already one thing to deter her morale; the monstrous construct of hard and heavy debris that was lurking around the bend was another.

He couldn’t have been serious, could he? The question was asked in a tiny voice of disbelief, her eyes wide and her mouth wider, the whole of her expression bearing remarkable likeliness to a fish. She had become the leader of these women, these awful, mean and arrogant women, when only moments ago they had united in a laughing choir at her verbal gaffe? Take command of them? I’m just a librarian, not a military strategist! Seti knew it, Lehaim knew it, and no doubt did the women know it too! Why then, was Rajani so oblivious to the obvious?

Her heart took an immense leap; Lillian cycled such an outstanding volume of air to get past the initial shock that she feared she would soon collapse from hyperventilation. Bit by minuscule bit, her composure returned, and her mind was finally beginning to wrap around the immensity of her assignment. Though it had been her deepest wish that he choose a task better adapted to her line of work, Lillian could not deny that before her was an open path, a golden opportunity to truly help the Peregrine. Yes, worry still stormed inside her chest when Rajani stopped at the crossroad, putting his life on the line to act as red herring for the golem. However, one last look of faith from the entrepreneur had given her all the lift she needed, and at once she devised her next course of action.

They may have no firearms, but unless they’ve been outright lying, these women could not have defended the most eminent heads of Althanas with only shiny rapiers and matching uniforms. Maybe with a bit of magic, and a bucketful of luck…

“Miss Tessa, I need your team positioned on the second floor of that building!” The librarian turned to face her subordinate, throwing back her right index to indicate a dilapidated townhouse, directly opposite to the one where the gunmen were stationed. The order was spoken in her most commanding tone, decent in the sense that it was more authoritative than a timid suggestion. Lillian was overjoyed that it had not come in a broken and high-pitched tone, but her glee was quick to vanish when she noticed that the cobbled spot once occupied by the Coronians was now worryingly vacant. “Miss Tessa?”

Flaps of pink and white cloth disappeared behind an ashen archway that led into the building, and Lillian could hear a rush of heels charging up the stairway. Only two were left on the nigh empty road; one was a bonnie brunette who had taken for the entrance, while the other was Tempora Tessa, leader of the task force and Lillian’s alleged advisor. The former had stopped at the threshold, astride a heap of fallen rubble, to look back at the young girl; the latter was waiting at the foot of a wrecked pillar, her bright sapphires dead-aimed at the pale teenager in consideration. It might have looked like cogs were turning in her mind, but Lillian had the foreboding feeling that she was only mincing the words that would come.

“Look, librarian. I’m sure you’re a nice little girl and all, and you might've thought up some madcap plan to impress your little crush, but we’re not playing games, here.” Her body moved fluidly as she peeled herself from the column, turning on her heels to enter the ruined structure as well, shooting the girl with one last look of derision. Her fingers rapped at the silver pommel of her rapier, in a taunt or a show of arrogance. “This is a battlefield, not a playground. If you really want my advice, then I suggest you go hide somewhere while we take care of the big, bad monster, m’kay?”

“We’ll keep your darling alive, promise,” said the one with auburn hair, a light chuckle putting emphasis on the drawn vowels of her silky drawl. “He’ll be back right in time for your make-believe tea party.” Tilting her head in a semblance of sympathy, she gave Lillian a heart-shaped smile that could not possibly be more specious and hollow. The two warriors wasted little time for hurtful grins and a mocking laughs. At once, they dashed beneath the whittled arch of the doorway and scurried up the rundown staircase to catch up with the rest of their band, though careful enough not to fall where the stone had collapsed. The structure was, after all, on its last, few and shaky legs.

Lillian watched the carrefour where Rajani had gone, observed the eddies of rock and rubble as they loomed closer to the entrepreneur, their advance as slow and dangerous as a tidal wave. Though she had seen none of the carnage the magical creature had wrought, or the gruesome deaths that had befallen the other band of explorers, the screams and cries were still ardent in her mind, and even stronger was the certitude that she would not allow her leader to suffer the same fate.

In an attempt to gather herself, she recalled an old saying that seemed to fit the circumstances, and began its recitation. “S-Sticks and stones may... may...”

Able to say no more, she swept the back of her wrist across her eyes, and in silence, made her way to the stairs.

((Sorry for the belatedness. Academia starting again and whatnot!))

[Rajani Aishwara]

A light breeze broke the silence causing friction in the entrepreneur’s ears. A blunt low hit to his eardrums rolled continuously until it was accompanied by a snare coming from the alleyway between the buildings. A light sheet of dust coated the street as it was followed by a pile of rolling pebbles. Rajani faced the entity with a deep breath and shoulders square. His sword rose and he imagined it cutting the deadly stone beast in half. He glanced at his blade. The reflection in the mirror finish was not of himself. It was that of a young woman with skin as dark as his, but with eyes as bright as the powder blue sky. She stared back at Rajani with a model smile, and his facial muscles couldn’t resist. He smiled back. His heart was now much more pacified as his grandmother peered back at him through the blade.

With Sitara on his side Rajani set his eyes back on the pile of living pebbles. The grey mass rose like a snake as it slithered into the intersection to meet him. Just as it arose a wall of dust churned from its belly. Rajani immediately understood the being’s plan, or so he hoped. The orb was nowhere to be seen, but it intended to use extensions of itself as bait to distract the team.

“Eyes on your backs, ladies and gentlemen. This creature is gifted.”

Rajani turned Sitara down as if to use her as a cane, and covered his eyes with his right sleeve as the wall of dust slapped his entire body and continued to rain at him. With the blade now parallel to his forearm he could see the reflection of the stone snake coiling its featureless head for a strike. Rajani bent his knees preparing for a quick maneuver. If the thing should act like a snake, t’would be best to assume it was just as fast as one. In one lightning fast movement the entire snake’s body had straightened in an all intentional strike towards the young entrepreneur. He had prepared though, and as his feet landed several feet to the side of his previous location, the snake hit the ground in a loud belly flop. The thousands of pebbles spilled out from the body of the snake until they returned to their wavelike form again and rolled back into the alleyway it came from.

It wasn’t over. Rajani knew better than to think such naïve things. “Keep your posts!”

His toes suddenly tingled through his boots from a vibration slowly pulsating from the ground. In the distance a giant slab of marble no less than twenty feet long and fourteen feet wide slowly flipped its way down the street as best a cubic object could. There was a tactical advantage to being so far away. The creature had to take time to transport the heavy parts of its form. They had to neutralize it as soon as possible.

Rajani threw his voice with utmost urgency. “Take no heed to the environment surrounding you. Locate the core and dispose of it!”

“Whoa! What?” Lehaim’s head popped out of a window and a large hand quickly emerged to pull it back in.

[The Architect]

“So.” Xil’ said as he turned with a smile. His men did as he did. “I guess this means we should set our sights to that purple light over there… Aim!”

The crew of Drow marksmen lifted their aim in almost perfect synchronicity. The abysses of the long but narrow barrels were directed at a violet radiance cast on a canvas of stucco and marble.

“This is tragic. To risk loosing history over a couple of lives.” Lehaim murmured as he crossed his arms with a grumpy huff of the lungs. “I could completely understand if it were a hundreds or even just dozens of lives. It’s just us though. It’s not worth it.”

I’m glad to see you’ve got your priorities straight.” Seti uttered with a scowl. Lehaim looked at him with a quizzical look. Seti rolled his eyes. “It was sarcasm – when you say something, but through your body language and tone you mean another the opposite.” Lehaim still seemed confused. “Your priorities are horrible. That’s what I meant to say.”

“I should’ve gone with the ladies.” Lehaim’s face quickly transformed from confusion to offence. “They might’ve understood.”

“It would be a shame if you had, archaeologist, or else you would’ve missed this. Fellas, my twelve.” Lehaim and Seti turned to see a sight they couldn’t have made up if they wanted to.

The lavender orb rose on a plateau of puzzle fit stone. Like a catapult the platform scooped the orb like a spoon and began to coil fro. It was obvious. The creature was about to take to the air. Xil’Mor said a few urgent words in Alerarian tongue, and then pulled the trigger of this firearm. A thunderous clap popped in Seti’s eardrums as a spear of smoke spat out from the abyss of the barrel. In the midst of all that force Xil’s torso only slightly rocked back. Sparks bounced off the orb as its light flickered for a split second, but the shot wasn’t enough to stop it.

“Fire!” Seti yelled, and a beat after the entire team fired in perfect unison. Instead of there being several different shots there was one large, deafening, cannon shot. “Do your ears ever get used to that?”

The orb launched itself into the emerald canopy of the sky above successfully dodging the gunshots. Instead of hitting the creature’s core, the bullets ran through the pillar of rocks only to ricochet in several different directions.

“Ladies!” Seti shouted out as the lavender core flew over head.

”Ladies!!!” All of them screamed in urgency as a great boulder, once the launching pad flew over head as well.

[Ataraxis]

“Gents! Gents!” Tempora barked, downright annoyed with the gunmen. Sparks had flown where lead struck stone, a wayward bullet embedding itself deep into the windowsill, missing her bloodless hand by an inch. She barely had the time to count her fingers; a flash of purple had caught the corner of her eyes. It was the perfect chance: had they taken aim there and then they would have struck true, putting a much welcome end to this debacle. The Coronians, however, weren’t blind to what the floating spere had drawn in tow.

It was a big, big hunk of rock.

Unlike the archeologist, the women had their priorities straight. “Get away from the windows!” Tempora roared, so loud that her lungs stung like mad. A stream of pink and white almost bottled at the derelict exit, its disorderly flow directed by the frenetic milling of the leader’s arm. “Fall back, for your mothers’ sake! Fall back!”

A distance away from the room’s stone doorway, Tempora spared herself a second for mathematics. Five heads, including hers. Five fingers, all hers. Rapier still drawn, she steeled herself, satisfied by the reassuring results of her tallies, until a worrying afterthought weaseled itself into her mind. “Wait, where’s the girl?” The tense silence was answer enough. “Damn it! We have to–”

Stone walls shattered like glass sheets under the sheer force of a catapulted boulder. The whole floor shook as the townhouse was breached; everywhere, jags and chunks of rock were rolling, flying, bursting apart. There was a grinding sound, then a deafening collision; the wall to the ruined corridors cracked. Some had lost their footing, but Tempora remained ever poised, implacable eyes of defiant sky blue set on the collapsing structure before her. Upon the second strike did the last partition fall, raising a shroud of olden dust to strip them of vision, yet they could all see the writhing shapes and hear the snaps and scrapes of a reforming beast. A stale wind tunneled into the breach, but she stood against it, almost insolent as she cut through the fog and brought her blade to bear.

When the crest of its crude head poked through the mist, Tempora brought her rapier down to the rubble-strewn ground. At once, jets of diamond dust sprayed, not from the tip of her weapon, but from the dense clouds in which the rest of her team had vanished. Before it could even lift the stumps that were its handless arms to wallop them into bloody crepes, the cones of cold had made contact, instantly forming upon its limbs layers of climbing and thickening ice, effectively fettering them to the floor. It tried to break away with a twist of its disproportionate torso, so small either by a lack of growth space or readily-usable minerals; thus, it exerted a great deal of torque, and the cuffs began to splinter. Tempora did not wait any longer. It would be dead long before breaking free.

Lightning surged as she slashed upwards, crackling blue into the air like faultlines through the earth. The electric whip cracked square upon its torso, causing the makeshift armor to break in twine, smoke hissing loud from the earthen wound. “Again, to the heart!” she shouted. In answer, another dual spurt of magical cold gushed out from behind, frosting the gap with a white, sparkling sheen, followed closely by a steady stream of sorcerous fire: the wound grew larger, deeper, spread open by the thermic shock enough to expose the mauve glint of its core.

It yanked harder, and the frozen shackles broke apart. Free at last, the golem spread out its deadly mallet-hands to crush her like a gnat, but Tempora sneered uncaring, her force of nature long unleashed: electricity was bursting within the hollow of its chest, sizzling in a flash of light before fading to nothing.

When the smoke in the wound dissipated, she noticed a warren of light shining right through. Not a second too soon, she sidestepped the golem’s pulverizing thrust, escaping sudden death with a badly scraped cheek. “The core’s gone! Find it!” Tempora yelled, fumbling her last word when she saw the torn white petals that were now strewn across the ground, the only remnants of her hair accessory. She was blessed with luck, but she also knew that luck never lasted very long.

“Moira, behind you!” one of the women cried out, pointing behind the one with brown hair and an accented drawl, Tempora’s second in command. Her rapier left a silver filament in its wake as she spun back, but instead of purple shards, sparks had erupted from the violent clash. She cursed, watching as a coat of stone spread between the edge of her blade and the hovering gem. Instantly, it zipped out of sight, seemingly to escape through the yawning rift it had left in the ancient building. Curses were flung without moderation as the women traipsed after it, but with the last of its strength, the golem’s husk lazily moved to bar their path.

In between cusses and swear words, the orb went flying back overhead, not with the aerial grace and dexterity it had demonstrated from the start of battle, but with a blunt and uncontrolled velocity. It crashed, quite simply, unable to avoid the last untouched wall of the townhouse. Instinct had led her hand, her sword; Moira pierced through the blasted thing. It droned its final wail, and the eerie glow that animated it turned to a dull and dreary black. The golem crumbled into dust and rubble, no longer blocking the view to the opposite building. One of the Coronians waved to the men there, beckoning them to come until she, like the rest, fell silent at the sight of a ghost.

From the ashes of the beast, Lillian had emerged - or so it had seemed, at least. Her skin had lost the stark whiteness of snow in exchange for a greyer shade, as she was covered from head to toe in dry filth. She hacked and coughed, looking even frailer than she did before the ordeal. It was imperceptible, but rivulets of blood were slowly dripping from her lilywhite hands. “Is it over?” she queried weakly, almost falling to her knees as the cough grew more painful.

“You’re alive,” Moira said, her vowels even more drawn out than they habitually were. “Least, I think you are.”

“Contrary to common belief, I’m not some sort of undead creature,” Lillian said without humor, her eyes squinted to match her frown. She rapped at her sternum with a fisted hand, and then rubbed her throat to ease her breathing. “Yes, I’m alive, I think.”

Tempora was the first to break her daze, the first to notice Lillian’s uncharacteristic wounds. Why the hands, and nowhere else? Save for those and her rather untidy look, she seemed perfectly unscathed. The core was next to draw her attention; she couldn’t make sense of its apparently suicidal last act, but it was then that she saw a red stain at the foot of the grimy wall into which the orb had flown. The blotch was streaked with curving lines, as though a length of tangled thread had left its mark. “Did… did you…” Tempora muttered, disbelief seeping into her face. Her question was interrupted by the footsteps that sounded nearer, coming from the dilapidated stairway.

The men had swallowed their pride, and decided to come.

[Rajani Aishwara]

The silky pearl veil of Rajani’s sleeve descended as a stage’s curtain drew up. What he saw was scene of victory indeed, a group of strong women standing against a backdrop of mountainous ruins. One of these women had the dead core of the golem settled on her blade like a kabob.

“How?” Rajani asked with a look of pleasant surprise as he approached and yanked the grey core off the blade.

“Don’t ask her.” Tempora said with her hands on her hips. There was a troubled look about her face. “And don’t ask me either. Ask the Librarian.”

“Is that…” Lehaim ran up to the orb. He turned it around in Rajanis hands so he could see what the archaeologist was referring to. The blade shaped slit was leaking with a thick lavender fluid, the same color that the orb took when it was alive. “That’s ectoplasm in its fluid form.”

“Lifeblood of the supernatural.” Rajani nodded his head as he turned it around for everyone to see.

“How did you know it was ectoplasm?” Xil mor said with a mocking smile, “I thought Avalon was a utopia on every plane.”

“And that statement couldn’t be more true…” Rajani said mirroring Xil’mor’s smile. He never had a problem admitting how comfortable his home was. It presented an opportunity to catch adversaries off guard when he proved his valor. “My blade is composed of an ally which includes ectoplasm, which was key to enchanting the blade with my late grandmother’s spirit.”

“Wow! Really?” Tempora’s eyes grew wide in curiosity. Rajani held up the blade and the Coronian women looked into its mirror finish. Sitara back at each of them with the same kind smile she’d always had during her living days. They gasped in amazement and exchanged little comments about how pretty she was and how youthful she looked. “One’s spiritual form takes on the year of their life that most defines them.”

“Let’s take another look at it.” Lehaim said as he took the orb and cracked it on the jagged sidewalk curb. The sphere split into two pieces and sat in a puddle of its own purple blood. The entrails of the monster were no more than intricate weavings carved into the inside glass. Lines and points knotted in and out of each other, mere canyons where purple rivers once flowed. “My father and I encounter ghosts all the time. It’s a given in our profession. Think of this object as less f a heart and more of a brain. The pattern of the lines and points determine the creature’s particular functions and abilities. Judging from the way it acted it has to kill living creatures in order to absorb their spirits. They say every fluid ounce of ectoplasmic fluid is one person’s eternal soul.”

“What about Rajani’s sword?” Xil mor said with a tinge of skepticism. “Does that have to feed on a soul?”

“Content souls need only abstract manifestations, such as jolly, rage, intrigue.” Rajani took a silk handkerchief and wiped the purple molasses off Sitara. “She feeds from the bond we forged when she was alive, and the bond we forge now.”

“This golem core says a lot about what happened here.” Lehaim picked up the broken orb and placed it in his burlap travel sack. “High supernatural activity can usually be traced back to a malcontent among the last residents of this area. Only people that can’t accept their deaths produce beings like this, and beings like this have to fester and feed for a mighty long time to become solid again. I’m not the biggest expert in this particular field, but this golem usually takes about two thousand years to form, and if there’s more than one you can double that time.”

“This is a very very educational talk. Believe me, I’m learning a load and I’ll be telling my mother all about it when she picks me up after school today,” Tempora said as she took a glance at her nails. “But can we walk and talk?”

Rajani nodded and looked to the mansion in the distance. The columns that held up the flat roof featured similar designs to that of the golem’s neurological interior. It couldn’t have been a coincidence.

[The Architect]

“Hey, Lehaim!” Seti took a few hasty steps to catch up to the archaeologist. He bit his lip, which only complimented the face of intense bewilderment. It was a daunting task to wrap his mind around this concept. “I’ve never heard of a ghost in solid form.”

The archaeologist shrugged his shoulders. “More or less. Like I said it takes a while to become solid again.”

“I’m confused. Can you start at the beginning?”

“Sure. I’m not really a teacher, but I can try to clear it up.”

“Start with the living.”

“Okay. Umm…” He rubbed his goatee for a moment. “Most archeological finds are abandond or built on top of by the original population. Occasionally sites are deserted because of more abrupt events that cause untimely and massive deaths. Genocide, plague, natural disasters, those sorts of things. A ghost comes about when a dead person’s spirit absolutely refuses to let go of this world. The spirit creates the ectoplasm, and the ectoplasm becomes the ghost’s life blood. He meanders about our plane in an ethereal form until he realizes there’s a catch. With that cycle of ectoplasm he’s eating himself, and he’s going to journey into the Anti-firmament soon if he doesn’t feed on a spirit other than himself. If he wants to stay he has two options; kill the living or destroy other ghosts thus taking their spirits and ectoplasm. He determines how he does it and proceeds to kill. Every spirit he claims is more ectoplasm and the more powerful he becomes, until he’s claimed so many souls he becomes solid again.”

“You mentioned mass death. How does that factor into what we were facing?”

“It takes a massive and abrupt wave of death for a ghost to have so many spirits to feed on.”

”Hold it!” Xil’Mor raised a fist to halt the crew and held a long moment of silence. “Boys, do you hear that?”

“My ears fail to alert me to any anomalies.” Rajani said in all his eloquence.

One of Xil’s men nudged the entrepreneur on the shoulder. “You wouldn’t. Your ears haven’t been trained to her an Alerarian contraption.”

“An airship to be exact.” A deep voice resonated from behind them. In a single lightning quick movement both Xil’Mor’s men and Tempora’s women were turned around with their weapons raised. Seti’s heart was sent racing as blades and barrels brushed up against him. He wasn’t their target though. A crew of ten Drow clad in proud Alerarian colors stood less than fifty yards away with their long firearms raised. One stood center with his arms folded. The distant speck in the blue sky was no doubt the marvel of technology that took them around Donnalaich. They approached with a stylish confidence.

“I know, I know. Another group come to offer their protection for you in exchange for a piece of the pie. But I have here…” The Drow exposed a piece of paper covered in graceful ink. “An official decree by the king himself. It says here that the Xil’Mor operations team is to be withdrawn from the expedition into the Donnalaich ruins. In order to assure a more secure operation, the Milex special operations team will be sent to replace them. Xil’Mor and his men are to return to Ettermire post haste. It’s signed by the King himself.”

The onyx elf tossed the decree in their direction, and Xil plucked it out of the air. The human disguise was a convincing one as his face turned red with anger. It was legitimate, but only to a small degree. “Everything but the King’s signature is written by the High Graf.”

“The Graf knew you’d make some sort of compromise we didn’t need, like say, teaming up with a league of women.” Milex nodded and smiled a crooked smirk of arrogance. “Now if you don’t mind, the Lunar Knife is waiting.”

“Allow me to interject…” Rajani stepped forward and gave the letter a quick scan. It was in Alerarian, which he spoke fluently. Reading it was a different story. He approached the alternate Drow team with a courteous smile. “Quite simply and frankly… no.”

“Whether you like it or not, Mr. Aishwara, the man has his orders. So you can continue this expedition with or without us, but Xil’Mor returns to Ettermire.”

“No need. I’m resigning.” Xil’Mor said with a quiet and somber voice. His sarcasm and light hearted façade had been shattered like a faulty piece of armor. He reached under his shawl to pull out a pin with the Alerarian shield. He gave it a kiss, tossed it to Milex, then turned to his men. “You know why I’m doing this. I won’t take it anymore, and if you’re tired of it you can resign too. It’s your choice though.”

One by one every man removed his shield, kissed it, and placed it gently on the ground in front of him. Seti could see through their actions that they still loved their country, but they knew they had to leave her. It was a nationalistic form of tough love, but what for? What was rotten in the kingdom of Alerar? What did Xil’Mor have enough of?

“Resigning in the middle of a mission is among one of the worst offenses of treason, especially for someone in your position.” Milex said “We’d be forced to dispatch of you.”

Seti took Lehaim by the shoulder and shoved him into the alley between two homes and drew both of his swords.

[Ataraxis]

The atmosphere in the ruins was rife with enmity, tension rising between the two opposing parties, drawing ever closer to the point of breaking. One wayward sound and all that was taut would suddenly snap. Lillian had remained as inconspicuous as could be during the verbal spar that had so quickly escalated, hands closed in tight fists around the leather borders of her notebook. She winced when the barely-scabbed wounds in her palms opened under the undue pressure, but she tried her best to repress a pained squeal and keep to the tears from welling out. Bloodstains streaked the jotted notes she had taken during the archeologist’s offhand lecture on ectoplasm, and the impression of the orb she had sketched had gone from lead greys to vivid reds. ‘Make it so that this is the last time blood is drawn today.’

There it was, that single sound that broke it all. The nerves, the distrust, the tension. In that instant, all was shattered, forgotten, the only thing reverberating in their minds the blood-curdling screams of a life about to be snuffed. Their heads spun as one toward a nearby building, just as dilapidated as the townhouses but built much larger as would be a public hall or a place of worship. The Alerarians who’d descended from the Lunar Knife looked back warily to Xil and his gunmen, but the second cry had struck a bone-chilling cord. It was a loud and disturbing gurgle, as though great volumes of blood were spewing out with the last of the victim’s breaths. “We will discuss this at greater lengths afterward, Xil’Mor.”

It took the murder of a faceless, nameless man to call between them all an unspoken truce. They scurried for the building one after the other, hastening their pace when yet another scream resounded, a woman’s this time. Expecting the worst, Xil readied his gun, an act mirrored by all of his men, while Tempora and her team prepared themselves with a silver rapier in one hand a seething spell in the other. Lillian stowed her notebook away in the depths of her knapsack and quickly followed suit. She kicked one of the Alerarian pins by accident, but was careful not to step on any of the other shields that littered the ancient street.

Milex and Xil’Mor were the first to ascend a wide stairway and vault over the broken pillars that blocked the entrance to what could ostensibly be a cathedral of some sort. In a single gesture of the hand, they parted their forces in two, half the men stationed outside the edifice while the rest followed their leaders into the olden darkness. The Coronians stayed back on the alabaster steps on Tempora’s command. She didn’t want the chaos that would most likely come from spells and bullets flying in a cramped space. Rajani, Seti and Lehaim had taken cover behind the truncated shapes of marble columns that rose from the street level, and soon did Lillian join them in what was most likely the best shelter available.

“Damn it!” came Xil’s shout from the sunken dark, followed by a deafening thunder of gunshots. Lillian bit her lip, unable to endure those terrible seconds of silence. The ensuing choir of unsheated swords told her that they were still alive, and the subsequent clash of metal told her that they were fighting. There was the roaring bellow of a beast disturbed in the comfort of its dreadful lair, and the young librarian realized that they had just stepped into a den of monsters. Then, at once, black fumes trailed out from the obscured entrance like a smoking arrow, Only to embed itself into the cracked walls of a broken house with a loud twang. The black mist diffused, revealing a wicked-looking spear that had impaled two of Milex’ men like pigs on a spit. The weapon turned to dust and vanished, letting the two corpses drop limply in pools of their own blood.

The two teams emerged from the shadows like a swarm of escaping rats, shooting terrorized glances over their shoulders at the sight of a black-clad knight that strolled ever so slowly, the same deadly spear appearing in his clawed gauntlet with a swirl of shadows. “Full of yourself, aren’t you? Well I won’t let a cocksure bastard take any more of my people!” Milex hollered as he drew a second firearm from the folds of his cloak, a filigreed wonder of silver and ivory. In the time of a blink, he brought them to bear, aimed them, pulled the triggers and let twin bullets soar, dragging smoke and fire as they passed through the visor of the murderous warrior’s horned helmet. Dark fluids gushed from the wound, and the bastard fell. They all watched with unbelieving eyes, speechless from astonishment. “What… what happened?” Lillian said absently, unmindful that she had broken the dazed silence.

“That thing was waiting for us. There were corpses all around it, most likely another group of explorers. He had just wrung the last drop of blood from a woman when we opened fire.” One of Milex’ men, the one closest to the fallen knight, had spoken in a hurry in between bated breaths, still shaken from what had just transpired. He caught a glimpse of the two cadavers not so far behind, and cussed, averting his eyes. “Rakis… Zel. Damn it all!” he cursed, walking up to the armored corpse and kicking it square in the neck. Bones snapped as the helmet rolled away, but what was behind was something he had not expected. It was an unremarkable face, that of any normal man rather than the profane monstrosity he had expected. Livid of face, a stubbly chin and two oozing holes above his eyes. His eyes.

“Now. Let’s all gather ourselves here, and we’ll–”

Milex turned, his keen hearing alerting him to an alarming howl. The last thing he saw before being assaulted by dancing stars and a world of pain was that wicked black lance, rending the air to skewer his arm. The Drow flew back two feet and was pegged to the stone floor, left to writhe, roar and spit blood and saliva. Shortly after, the spear exploded into a black mist, rematerializing into the hands of one of his men, the same who had kicked the fallen knight. He was staring them all down, with eyes whiter than polished bone, whiter than the face of death.