Drinking in the morning rays against her scales, Umira Dalimor stared out to the recently named city of Cracked Bay (formerly known as Nuremo) and to the streets below. Umira tried to make sense of what her life had now become, and failed.
First Liam Carter had stayed her hand from slaying the patriarch of the Yulvenir household, and then helped her save her brother, her only remaining family. Everything after that had become a whirlwind, he’d saved them once more when they became stranded in the desert, and then a fourth time by sending a demon to their rescue when the Weaver had attempted to orchestrate their demise (again, apparently).
What did that mean? It meant that Umira was now staring at a dozen dark slimes crawling their way through the streets of Cracked Bay. The population that had once lived here had all perished at the hands of a monster, killed practically where they stood by having their bodies become too heavy to move or breathe. By the time the Barb and its crew had crashed into the fortress, the stench of death had permeated every inch of the city.
It was a problem that they’d chosen not to address beyond what was strictly necessary. Umira’s magic would have aided in cleaning it up, but it would’ve cost them most of the aether they had in store, and under risk of potentially starting fires. So they’d just removed the corpses that were closest to them, to avoid needless diseases.
But now their newest ally had come to solve this problem for them.
“I sense distaste from you, little one.”
Umira’s scales crawled at the sound of the smooth voice, she only glanced over her shoulder to confirm the presence of a monkey with a spider on its head. Both creatures were made of the blackest substance to exist, darker than the night sky. Both stared at her with eyes made of red-hot coals that pierced into her soul.
“I am merely… unused to this, my Goddess.” She bowed low, grateful that they’d chosen a far more submussed presence compared to how they’d originally presented themselves the previous night. “Even in myths, deities barely deign to walk the mortal world.”
“You need not hide your intent behind vague words.” Monkey leapt to the window sill as she and Spider stared down to the streets. “We might be more active, but it will not make your task any less important. At least for as long as you wish for the position and prove true and capable to your station.”
Umira’s jaw clenched, tail whipping behind her with disapproval. “You are very generous, my Goddess.”
“It is, like most relationships, one of convenience.” Monkey stared out towards the sky, though Spider kept most of her eyes fixed on Umira. “You wish for revenge upon the Sultan, and I require capable mortals.”
“Why?” The draxani dared to ask. “You can clearly be in as many places as you desire, and I hesitate to believe any mortal could do anything better than a Goddess.”
“If there’s a capable and willing mortal to do a task, why do it myself?” Spider waved off with one of her tiny appendages. “Besides, if I were to take that mindset, I would be doing everything myself, stretching myself too thin.” The little arachnid wriggled. “Even if I can create aspects, I only have so much time and energy I can provide. It is better for me to teach mortals how to do mortal things, and leave them to it.”
The words gave Umira pause. “And this is you teaching me?”
“Only if you seek to learn.” She laughed, a sound that was not unlike tinkling bells. “Your sibling has opened themselves to the opportunity, and he learns from me even as we speak. There are many others in exactly the same situation.”
For a moment, she wondered whether to ask what would happen if she ever thought to abandon this cause. The thought alone made her flinch as she rubbed the anti-telepathy ring on her hand.
“Be not afraid of your own thoughts, little one.” Spider’s words dripped with amusement. “I am no violent demon. I’d much rather a curious mortal than a frightened one.”
The draxani’s thin tongue flicked against her muzzle. She already knew the answer to the question, not that it mattered. The Goddess was right that this relationship was currently built around mutual convenience. Umira wished the Sultan dead for what he’d done to the Dalimor household, and also for what he’d done to Noor. She never thought it would be a task she’d be able to carry out on her own, but then again, she also never thought she’d get involved with a deity to achieve it.
“I… am willing to learn, my Goddess.” Umira bowed.
“Very well.” At a wave of Monkey’s paw, a piece of fine paper appeared between her fingers.
Umira took it, marveling at how soft and uniform and white the paper was. Never had she witnessed such quality, with the words written in perfectly concise and uniform script. Her eyes hastily read over the entirety of the page and she frowned ever so slightly. “What is this?”
“An exercise, a simulation of a report you might receive once this city is properly populated.” Monkey grinned. “A problem you would need to think on how to solve. If you need any specific information for this hypothetical, ask away.”
Her tongue flicked out as she blankly stared at the paper, confused.
Who in the world would want to ask for insurance without getting the temple of the Weaver involved?
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Rania Yulvenir, the third-born dark elf of the Yulvenir clan, right-hand of the Yulvenir patriarch, and mage of the third circle, was imprisoned for aiding in a conspiracy to kill an Amil. It wasn’t the sort of situation she’d imagined she would end up in. The journey to Doeta had been drought with mishaps and frustrations, but Rania had proudly vouched for the High Priestess. Ilana had been a well known woman among the higher circles of Al-Zahra, the patriarch himself had spoken of her.
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So how, and why, was it that the venerable holy woman had attempted to murder one of the arms of the Vizier?
Normally this would’ve had all the stink of a plot, and Rania was no stranger to plots. Al-Zahra, the beating heart of the Caliphate, was said to have more plots than people, most times. And yet no less than eight witnesses had emerged, each of them verified through multiple iterative truth-detections. The very diviners employed by the Emir, priests of the Weaver’s temple, had confirmed this as well. And at that point Rania was left wondering if she was going insane or if the elf she’d traveled with had indeed been, somehow, an impostor.
A woman Rania knew not to be an impostor.
The only conclusion to be reached was that the High Priestess had, indeed, wished to murder the Amil. Which also didn’t make sense. Someone of her status, power, and influence should’ve had no issue in using disposable tools to do the job.
It all blurred like a spinning-top, a storm that had sucked the Yulvenir envoy and now threatened to crush her.
If only she could see the picture more clearly, then perhaps she’d know who she might need to convince to let her go.
Looking down at the metal rings that kept her hands tightly wound into fists, Rania briefly wondered whether she should escape by her own means rather than seek a diplomatic way out of this mess. At this point, she considered her mission a partial success regardless. Now that they’d confirmed the owner of the pink slippers was in Doeta, they could seek communications through standard diplomatic routes.
The locks they’d put on her were meant as measures against mages, and they’d been as thorough as they’d been able to while searching her for enchanted items. But she was a Yulvenir, and this was a remote little fortified city at the very edge of the Caliphate.
Poking her left molar with her tongue, she pulled the piece of metal up to her mouth and she focused. There was a small pulse of mana, and the enchantments on her restraints flickered and died. A second pulse, and the locks clicked open. Wriggling her fingers free, Rania flexed her fingers, tasting the momentary freedom before reaching up to her mouth and pulling out the tooth.
This much would’ve been easier had she been a fourth circle mage, but as it stood, the enchanted items had filled that gap.
There was a tiny compartment of aether within, not even a pearl’s worth. But it would be enough for her purposes.
Turning her back to the wooden door, she focused on the barred window. Despite taking her several minutes, the spell was as simple and compact as possible: a severing force that cut out a square around the window.
Rania heaved, pulling the stone into her cell, using the bars for proper grip, and dropped the block inside.
The guards had noticed by now, and their footsteps were fast approaching to check what was going on. Rania was already out the hole and into the streets behind the prison. By the time the guards started to raise the alarm, she’d gotten far away enough she was confident in her ability to escape. She had a second molar with another tiny packet of aether just in case, though clearly would not have any need for-
“I was wondering how long it’d take you, that was pretty decent for a mortal. Clean.” The voice came from within her own head. Rania felt an immediate sense of panic as she realized another mage- “Not a mage.”
Telepathy, powerful if it could get past the base layer of mental blankness.
What were they, then?
“Unimportant. The human you seek, his name is Liam Carter.” The voice spoke, apparently unbothered by Rania’s progress away from the prison. “You won’t be able to get through the gate without becoming invisible.”
“Who are you?” Rania scowled more profusely.
“Your patriarch has a life-debt to Liam Carter, does he not?” The voice asked. “Once you reach him, tell him to call for Maridah, call my name.”
She didn’t like the sound of this. God, demon, demigod, monster, spirit. Any of these options getting personally involved meant trouble of the kind she was not even remotely capable of handling. “How can I trust it’s truly him?”
“Liam asks whether the Yulvenir patriarch has hunted down everything he left behind. If he did, among his belongings there was a thin metal and glass brick.”
“He does have such an item.”
“Then he will explain how to activate it.” The voice declared. “You may refer to me as the Whisperer.”
Rania fell silent, a shudder coursing through her. There were only a handful of entities that could respond to being called by their name: Gods, demigods… and demons. She dared not voice the question, however, not while so clearly within the creature’s reach.
There would be time to think once she left Doeta.
It appeared there was much to report to the patriarch.
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The Merchant looked upon the world, and saw that it could be better.
A tinkling of the Gold Fairies, lesser aspects of his own creation, little incarnations of greed and insight. They rang their song for him, tiny bells that could only be heard by those whose ears sought the sound of profit.
One particular fairy was proving to be particularly loud that day.
It’d been sent to fly off into the heathen lands where trade barely existed, an explorer seeking for new sources of revenue. One never knew the mysteries that could emerge from where civilization barely touched, and it was always good business to keep an ear and an eye out.
The flicker of gold was screeching at him, annoyed at being ignored, infuriated at being made to wait. Time was money, and the God was wasting hers. So it was with a flicker of curiosity and the barest acknowledgement that the Gold Fairy burst out, unsealing the treasure of knowledge therein.
“Oh?” The Merchant cocked his head, skin tightening like dry leather.
Whispers of war, a rumor that was spreading faster than any mortal mouths could carry. A rumor that was driving nobles and rulers to discreetly stock-up in preparations.
War was always a thing to celebrate, but this rumor was not quite normal. There was magic in its propagation, discreet, subtle, it carried a taste of divinity.
The Merchant recognized the taste.
It seemed an Old God was stirring.
Golden teeth flashed as he curled his thin lips.
He could almost taste the profits.