“Are you serious? Surely, a planar mage like you would not leap without looking.” I said out loud with evident bewilderment in my voice.

“Yes, Lady Rylonvirah, I am certain,” Again Syrune spoke with a calm demeanour.

My eyes darted between Syrune, Colby and Justiciar Celerim. Am I the only one who is firmly rooted in the ground?

Celerim wore a pensive expression while Colby grinned widely.

“Syrune, please, this is not the way. There are too many risks.” I elaborated, with a hope that my words would convince the Mage to abandon pursuing the reckless plan.

“Lady Rylonvirah,” paused the Mage for a brief moment before he continued, “you did your part. Now it is my time to do my part.”

“Syrune, you did your part by informing the Jusiticiars. This is where your involvement ends. You do not have any obligation, stop with this madness, now.” I pleaded.

Syrune’s fists were balled and clenched tight.

“Please do not try to dissuade me,” Pleaded the mage back.

Since a direct plea failed short of overcoming the Mage’s resolute barrier, I tried another alternate approach.

“Besides, there is no assurance, that Loshan will even approach you.” A grim determination to stop this insane plan from taking root guided my words.

“Of course, he will. I will make sure of it,” came the smug voice of Celerim, much to my astonishment.

“Did the thinner air of the upper atmosphere dull your rational senses too?” I retorted, betrayed by the words of Celerim.

In response, the Justiciar just chuckled.

“Fear not, I know how to make men like Loshan jealous,” answered Celerim with a mischievous grin, revealing a previously hitherto unknown side of the Justiciar.

Celerim’s words made me throw my hands in exasperation.

“I cannot understand why fully grown adults would accept an irrational advice from a lad whose face hasn’t even seen acne yet.”

Colby delighted further in the cacophony and grinned even wider than his normal self. His fingers drummed on the bar table. An action that contributed more to my ire.

“Why do we even have a child in our midst? Syrune, you are a respectable scholar of the collective. How do you even come to have a company with bairn like Colby?”

“Lady Rylonvirah, “ the lucid voice of Syrune articulated slowly, “I assure you, Colby is very much equivalent to any member of the Mages collective and even outshines a few. I hate to admit it, but Colby is a prodigy. Automatons, Mechanical Constructs, Golems. Those are his field of expertise. He is in fact, one of the best designers. Sadly, he is also singular in his interests.”

“Singular,” I spat that word out, “I think being one-dimensional is the definition of a gnome. Show me a gnome who can see the bigger picture. ” I gulped the contents of my mug and slapped it on the table.

“It is not like I took guardianship over Colby. In fact, I have been trying to get rid of him,” confessed Syrune.

“I still say we should have gone and found old Vangere’s notes. Then we could have fabricated the power source. We could like march in with our Automaton army and rescue all those poor girls. Then they will all come with us. We will have a full staff of maids.”

Colby’s body language progressed vividly to animated gestures as he excitedly continued. My cynical nature took control of my sense as my eyes squinted and my ears sharpened to the next suggestion from Colby. In anticipation of something vile and obscene, I rolled the sleeves up to my forearms. A preparation to smack Colby should the need arise to discipline the youngster.

Meanwhile, Colby continued unaware of the surrounding actions.

“Think about it syrune. A whole bunch of girls, all willing to help us because we saved them. Anything we say, they will oblige. No more boring cleaning. Everyday venison stew and custard pie. For breakfast, lunch, dinner and midnight lunch too.”

My infuriation disappeared with those words. Colby might be a brilliant, annoying, cantankerous and petulant lad but he also brimmed with innocence. Before his childish antics, whatever rage that I held evaporated like dew under sunlight. I slowly reached out and tousled his hair. At that moment, with big beady eyes, puffed baby fat cheeks and a dash of self-congratulatory smile, Colby radiated the adorableness which every child inherently possess.

“Well, if our precious gifted child wants custard pie every day, “ spoke Celerim as he drew himself closer to Colby, “then that is what he shall be given.” Saying those words, Celerim, tickled Colby.

Notwithstanding our combined attention of hair tussling and tickling, the supposedly recalcitrant Colby gave up, giggled uncontrollably, fell off his chair and rolled while still laughing.

*****

Back at Justiciar’s Bastion, the young novice who attended us initially, blushed when Syrune thanked him for taking the cloak from the mage. My hands were practically glued to the back of Colby’s collars, more to prevent the lad from entertaining his curiosity inside the bastion.

As the Mage excused under the pretext to arrange the robes, I turned towards Justiciar Celerim.

“I reckon that you grew up with a lot of siblings, younger siblings if I should take a wild guess?”

“Is this just wild speculation?” a playful smile still graced his face.

“You were able to take the lead when Colby appeared and you pacified him much better, just observations,” I answered.

“True, partly but I agree, I did grow up with a huge family. A lot of cousins and extended relatives.” A prideful expression graced the Justiciar eclipsing a hidden darker emotion.

He continued, “So I had to juggle roles. Learned hunting from my cousins, riding gryphons too. Mostly raised by my aunts. Mother had to be away. That was the nature.“

I scoffed at his reference to being raised by aunts, an action for which the Justiciar was quick on the uptake.

“Not the sort that you are thinking about. My aunts are married to my uncles and have children of their own. Well, maybe not aunt Dreaya. She was a bit different. Could swing a greatsword like any weapons master. Taught my first lessons with the sword. Better than any of the instructors that the Justiciars could afford.”

“About that, my charming young elf, if your intention was to find me a mate, you are far too young to play that role.” My index finger tapped his nose playfully but the Justiciar just wrinkled his nose in return, unperturbed by rebuke.

Our short-lived banter came to an end as Syrune entered the room.

The mage appeared androgynous and pristine as ever. Hopefulness and anxiety danced in Syrune’s face. As the mage noticed that our eyes met, a shy anxious smile graced the planesbender’s face.

Though the long-sleeved robe that Syrune wore was prim and proper, but it was hardly the type of dress that one would expect in an atmosphere like “The Mingling Door”. One additional stolen sneak at the mage, provided a plethora of reasons. For Syrune no longer wore the brooding and dark visage that people normally attributed to the mage. In its stead, there was a waltz of anxiousness and expectancy.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Celerim closed the gap and thrust a satchel mysteriously in my hands as if he were waiting for the moment. The contents of the satchel, familiar yet distantly unfamiliar.

“Care to explain,” I prodded.

“I, sort of asked one of the clerical girls,” answered Celerim as he still maintained his eye contact with me. A wicked smirk played across his lips.

“And supposedly what explanation did you provide, for your serendipitous request?” It was my chance to smirk.

“None, I said that I need them for myself. Which by the way, is true. is it not, Syrune?” cajoled Celerim to Syrune who only bit the lower lip, in return. Syrune was either holding back a snappy response or a dam of emotions.

My eyes surveyed Syrune’s face. A smooth forehead without any ridges or roughness, accentuated by an elongated shapely eyebrow. The eyebrow curves, elegant like an unstrung bow. Syrune was blessed with long eyelashes, together with the curved eyebrows that brought out the emerald green eyes, alluring directly into the soul of the gazer. The facial skin, smooth, radiant without any blemish, taunted those who laid their eyes to caress.

My eyes wandered through the contents of the cosmetic satchel, fixing finally on an ivory capped rouge case. A carmine red thick paste held arrested within the elaborate rouge box, begging to be freed, to enrich the facial features of maidens or lads should they fancy or anyone who was bold enough to attempt. I tested the consistency with the tip of my ring finger, twiddled my ring finger and thumb to infer the quality. The carmine-red morphed to a shade of fuchsia and with further dabbing settled to taffy pink, drawing a satisfied smile from my lips. A minuscule amount, the quantity of two-finger dips, I rubbed on Syrune’s cheeks and with an upward motion spread the blush above the cheekbones. A few more dab and upward strokes and the mage’s face now sported prominent cheekbones and a smaller jawline. Satisfied with my almost forgotten skill, I thrust a lip balm which I found in the satchel at the scholar’s hand.

“Contour your upper lip, raise it a bit higher,” I instructed Syrune, a suggestion which only drew a blank from the mage.

Celerim, carelessly took the offered lip balm, without a word volunteered and set about applying the base on Syrune’s lips with his fingers. Though Syrune drew a sharp breath and curled the fingers further at the touch of Celerim, the Justiciar seemed to pay no heed.

While Celerim’s hands worked their magic, directly giving a plump luscious boost to Syrune’s lips and indirectly adding more blush to the mage’s cheeks, my hands firmly grabbed a wide toothed comb and brushed through the scholar’s hair. Overwriting the mid-way part and the cowlick and giving the long flowing hair, a preferential direction to flow. I took a step back, once I was certain that we were finished pampering Syrune and admired our work.

The end effect, Syrune had a more warm and glowing presence with bedazzling eyes and inviting lips. The Mage now had a pronounced oval face adorned with succulent and enchanting lips.

“That is the best I could do,” I declared, “if we could have managed to style the hair, that would bring out the eyes and cheekbones to prominence and maybe also cut the broadness of the shoulders.”

“A pair of scissors, I can procure, easily,” volunteered Celerim as he leaned towards me.

“And you presume that I would know my way with scissors?” I sniggered at the implied meaning.

“Why not?” retorted the Justiciar.

“I am not in the habit of trimming my own hair, “ I took a deep breath, calming my nerves, “Way back, in another time, I had attendants for those. Never even had to care for my nails. I had my attendants for that.”

“Nails,” scoffed Justiciar Celerim with a mischievous grin, ”that is not a difficult task, considering the fact that you just have very simplistic well-trimmed fingernails.”

And as he did that. Celerim Stormaire, I realised, had a well-hidden malicious streak, one which he revealed only to people who he got close to.

Celerim’s comment drew an angry look from me. Syrune, spoke for the first time, in a while.

“Even I am perplexed, “ uttered Syrune in a voice that was slightly more intonated and yet somewhat melodious, “most women of noble birth prefer longer and manicured fingernails, but not you Lady Rylonvirah. I noticed this the first time we met. Arlene, I can understand. Probably hinders her prowess with the bow. But you prefer melee weapons.”

“Well, I...” I pondered a bit on how to answer the mage, “I had to sign a lot of edicts and decrees. Long fingernails and quills do not get along well. You know the feeling.”

I forced a befuddled smile on my face and hoped that Syrune will stop questioning further.

“No, I do not. I have written treatise and never found them to be an issue,” countered the mage.

“Syrune, you virgin, please consider the situation at hand,” I muttered and screamed under my breath.

“But what about the other hand, you have two hands,” added Colby, who suddenly found a renewed interest in our conversation.

Colby’s comment drew my ire, directed at Celerim. The Justiciar, for his part, just widened his grin even further like a hunter who cornered their prey.

“I don armour and chainmail. At the end of the day, I need a good back-scratching. Nails leave a mark. So I keep it small. There you have it.”

“Very practical,” nodded Syrune.

“But,” Colby still decided to argue, “with nails the scratching is better.”

“Colby, women take care of their bodies. It is tender for girls,” explained Syrune patiently.

Colby was about to respond to Syrune’s explanation. No doubt something unintelligent before I snatched the chance.

“Colby, Syrune tells me that you are good with mechanical constructs. Is it true?”

“Mechanical constructs, they are just child’s play for me,” replied Colby nonchalantly

The irony of his usage of the word Child’s play left me a bit disturbed.

“So what about dwarven puzzle boxes? do you find them fun? A nice challenge?” I leaned forward towards the hyperactive lad.

“Not much. There are far more interesting things. It is all just gears and cogs in a position offering a billion combinations,“ spoke Colby off-handedly and after a brief encouraging glance from Syrune, he continued, “if you want to know, every combination is a valid state with a definite energy level, except the right combination which has a bit different energy level. Obvious since the mechanism unlocks.”

“But the difference in energy levels are so low, that they are almost negligible like a stable straight line,” countered Syrune.

“Not true, even though the difference is infinitesimally small, there is a difference,” argued Colby. Their terms extremely academic for neither the Justiciar nor me to follow. Perhaps, Vitalia might have some success in interpreting the strange animated discussion.

“Too minute difference to make any appreciable change,” strongly disagreed Syrune.

“Hear me out Syrune, that’s not a problem. Isolate the box from air currents and grab a suspension gyroscope table, place the setup on a vibration table inside, set controlled vibrations. The vibrations would lift them to the correct state.” Colby paused midway through his step and creased his forehead as he tried to convince Syrune.

“Still the vibration should be fine-tuned. Practically impossible.” repeated the mage with the patience of a parent explaining to their curious child. Proud at their child’s curiosity and yet annoyed with their insistence.

“Get me one of those dwarven tonal resonators from those burrowing constructs. I can modify them and add an amplitude dampener and we have our proof of concept.”

As Colby finished delivering his proposal, Syrune gingerly tilted towards my direction, an unspoken communication. The mage was right when it involved the young gnome.

*****

The common room of “The Mingling Door” was packed. Cheap perfume, wine and sweat permeated the air, mingling inadvertently into a new non-descriptive odour. Colby, to the futility of his tantrums and consequently, much to his dismay, was left at the Justiciar’s bastion, with an attendant watching over him. My entrance, marked with a few regulars glancing in my direction, either gauging me as a potential bedmate for the night or as a potential rival for their ardent nights.

My outfit, a jade green velvet shirt and a beige swallowtail coat cut with three magenta coloured embroidered lines ornamented across the chest, was a timely loan. Courtesy of the Justiciars again. Paired with a dark magenta cravat held by an emerald brooch adorning it and light coloured pants revealed to anyone who let their gaze linger in my direction, undoubtedly my preferences in the choice of partners.

The favour of luck deserted me for the evening and along with it, the chance to find an empty table. I resigned myself and half-heartedly dragged myself towards the barkeep, aiming for the only empty stool. Most likely the standard camping place for any creature of the night. Not the sort that sustained on blood, the sort that sustained on alcohol.

“Sublime Absinthe, please,” I voiced to the busy barkeep.

My order attracted the attention of the young dapper barkeep.

“Sorry, but that one is forbidden to sell,” explained the barkeep with a twinkle in his eyes, “but I always appreciate of one who could hold that.”

“Why?”

“Banned in Sarenthill, In fact, in most of the surface world. Deadly to most races. But if you prefer, I could offer it as a cocktail.”

“What? mixing sublime absinthe with any lower spirit. You speak of blasphemy, Sir.” I engaged the friendly barkeep with my banter, carrying a smirk on my face.

“Then, I am guilty of blasphemy, ma’am” played the barkeep along.

“May I request your company for the evening,” interrupted a deep resonating male voice.

I muttered irritably under my breath. Men. Can’t seem to take a hint.

The speaker, a young, well-dressed man with a slightly broad jawline. His sun-kissed olive tanned skin in the decorative light of the tavern, reflected off him, providing him with a heroic glow. With light brown eyes, slightly broad shoulders and a stalwart posture to compliment them, most women would have found him not just attractive but an ideal dreamy husband out of a fairy tale.

“Pardon,” I responded with droopy eyes, “do I give the distinct impression that I am seeking the company of a man, tonight?”

“My intentions have been misinterpreted,” answered the man with a calm voice, “please allow me to formally introduce myself, Lady Rylonvirah.”

And then I knew that my luck had gone done the drains. Why do things have to get always complicated?

“My name is Merrick.”