"The Palace of Virtues," more commonly known simply as "the Virtues" among the locals, was a decrepit and dirty tavern, situated at the corner of one of the many dark and foul-smelling alleyways that led to the old port of Rocavelada. The dilapidated exterior did not give any false expectations about the quality of the people who frequented the place. Sailors making use of the couple of days they had in port to, in exchange for some coins, find some company. People looking for a bit of privacy and retreat. Especially a retreat from the forces of law. Individuals trying to make some money by selling their services and manual skills in every possible sense. And generally, people who did not have much respect for their personal hygiene. And even less for that of others.

Or so Lysandra thought, trying to discreetly cover her nose with a perfumed handkerchief while observing the diverse crowd that filled the main hall. She was not used to the smells of poverty and decadence that permeated the air, but she was surprised by her sister, who for some reason kept smiling, seemingly unaffected by the thick stench that saturated everything—a mix of dampness, salt, smoke, and sweat.

In reality, she could guess why her sister seemed so cheerful. She was sitting next to the young man they called Wart. She had noticed the conspiratorial smiles between them. And she didn’t like it much. After all, though the boy was cute and somewhat shy, he was still a third-rate ruffian. Certainly not suitable for her younger sister, not at all. She would have to talk to her about it later.

On the other side sat the big guy they called Crab. A rough and somewhat unpleasant-looking fellow. His head was entirely covered in scars from old burns, which deprived him of any kind of hair or beard. And the iron pincer on his left hand made her nervous. She had seen a few hours earlier what it could do to a man's head. And now he was using it to grab olives from the bowl that accompanied the watered-down liquid they dared to sell as "house wine." Had he at least cleaned the claw? She didn't even want to imagine. Besides, he kept staring at the waitress's huge ass. She had already let out a couple of rude remarks, which were received with joy by the plump woman, amid great laughter. A real challenge for the string that tightened her dress, which barely contained the earthquake formed by her huge breasts with every laugh.

And in front of her, the one called Toothpick. He didn’t seem to be having fun like his companions. He sat with a serious expression, holding his glass with both hands, staring straight ahead, slightly below her gaze. His sober silence intrigued her amidst all the noise, laughter, and shouts surrounding them. There were two options: either he was plotting something or he was just staring at her cleavage.

“I’m glad you brought us to such a refined and cozy place, Master Toothpick. I love the bohemian and carefree atmosphere of the place,” she said sarcastically, to catch the man’s attention. “I can’t wait to try the bed in the room and rest comfortably. I’m sure the bedbugs are even friendly.”

Toothpick snapped out of his inner world and looked at her with an amused air.

“Well, you must try the bath tub. I’m sure tonight only three or four people have used it before you, and the water might even be a bit warm,” he replied, also sarcastically.

As he said this, he finished his drink and leaned back in his chair, as tall as he was, to stretch a bit more, but the threatening creak from the backrest made him reconsider and he leaned back over the table.

“All jokes aside, this is the safest place you’ll find in Rocavelada,” he continued. “They have an agreement with the sergeant. You won’t see a guard enter here. And yes, it’s true that it’s a pigsty, but in the end, you even grow fond of it.”

“I suppose very in the end,” replied Lysandra, watching two men drag an unconscious drunk towards the street.

“Well, I think it’s time you told us about that damn medallion. Why it’s so valuable, why so many people are after it,” continued Toothpick, crossing his hands over the table and giving her his full attention.

Lysandra lowered her gaze and closed her eyes. She turned towards her sister, who had fallen silent, with a somber expression. The three men also remained silent, intrigued. Then, she stared at her glass, nervously playing with it.

“Tell me, Master Toothpick. What do you know about the outer planes?” she began to say, hesitantly. “The priests prefer to call them ‘heaven and hell.’”

“Well, heaven and hell, yes, those are things you hear in the temples. But certainly, matters of Faith don’t really go with me. Never in my life have I seen an angel or a demon. Nor do I know anyone, really, who has had contact with any of those things. Sober, at least,” he ended, joking.

“We, as sorceresses, have a different view than that professed by thaumaturges,” Lysandra continued, very seriously. “We think that what religious beliefs call ‘divinities’ are actually entities from planes of existence different from our own, which have nothing divine about them. They are another type of life forms, another type of intelligence, beyond our understanding. In certain circumstances, they can manifest in this world, although most of the time, fortunately, only partially. On the rare occasions when one of these beings has fully crossed into our reality, the outcome has never been good.”

“You must have heard the story about the fall of the kingdom of Hulfgar,” her sister said, eyes wide open. She loved telling stories.

“Of course, the great kingdom of Hulfgar, where magic was abundant and wealth overflowed,” replied Wart before anyone else could answer. “Old tales all parents tell their children.”

“They are old legends distorted by time, but they still hold much of their original truth,” Zarinia continued in a lecturing tone. “The kingdom of Hulfgar really existed, more than three hundred years ago, in what we now know as the coast of Horn. And it was as great and powerful as it’s told. Quite more advanced than ours right now, with all due respect to the King.”

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“And the arrival of a being from a lower plane, or hell if you prefer, erased it from history,” Lysandra concluded, with a somber tone. “The entire kingdom, gone in a matter of days. Hundreds of thousands died. Almost all of their knowledge, art, history was lost. Cities razed to the ground. Even the coastline receded due to the destruction. From all its splendor, only legends and old wives’ tales endured.”

The five remained silent, surrounded by the tavern’s uproar. The huge waitress approached to replace the wine pitcher with another brimming one. She also left a new bowl of bitter olives.

“And what does all this have to do with the medallion?” Crab asked, plunging his dirty claw into the refreshed bowl of olives again.

“It’s called the amulet of Vanar-Gash. And it’s a key, actually,” Lysandra replied, also taking an olive. Hunger had temporarily overcome her scruples.

“A truly strange key. And believe me, if there’s something I know, it’s locks,” commented Toothpick.

“It’s a magical key, obviously. Its functioning doesn’t require mechanisms,” Zari pointed out.

“Of course. It’s obvious,” added Wart, agreeing with her. The other two men looked at him inquisitively, narrowing their eyes, and the boy fell silent again and lowered his head.

“But it’s a key, after all, so what does it open?” Toothpick asked, looking back at Lysandra.

“The entrance to the temple of Vanar-Gash. An impregnable entrance, of great Power. Not the most skilled thief could force the lock, nor the most powerful fire could melt its metal, nor the most expert masons could bring down its lintel.”

Lysandra paused for a moment to drink a bit and clear her throat. The others remained silent, very attentive to her explanation, completely oblivious to the surrounding noise.

“We have never seen the inside of the temple, but we know it holds only one thing. The Serpent’s Door. And before you ask, behind that door there is nothing. It’s just a crossing. A passage between two worlds. It’s locked with a seal, created by the last three great sorcerers of the kingdom of Hulfgar. They poured all their power into it. And their last breath of life. The evil that destroyed their kingdom was expelled through that portal, before it could spread further. For even with all the combined power of all the sorcerers of that time, they couldn’t destroy it. They could only force it to cross through the entrance,” Lysandra finished the sentence and gave a look to her sister, indicating her to continue.

“And the last three great sorcerers sacrificed themselves, entering that other world, and closing the door behind them, with that seal of Power,” Zari continued. “Since then, there has always been a sorcerer, heir of that honorable lineage, in charge of guarding the key and protecting the temple.”

“Or sorceresses, as I’m beginning to understand…” said Toothpick slowly.

The two sisters looked at each other. The men watched them again, but now there was a certain reverence in their eyes.

“Not exactly. We are not the guardians. Not yet. It is our mother who holds that honor. It’s a… hereditary position,” said Zari.

There was another moment of silence as the men digested all this information.

“I understand its value to you, but how did that key end up in the hands of Count Brademond? And what interest could he have in it?” Toothpick asked, genuinely fascinated.

Zarinia observed her sister with a sad expression. Lysandra had lowered her gaze to the glass in front of her, as if trying to sink into the wine it contained.

“It’s my fault.”

“Nooo, Lysa, it’s not your fault. It was that thing that deceived you… deceived both of us,” Zari said, her voice anguished, grabbing her arm.

“No, sister. I am the eldest, and I was responsible for guarding it while mother was ill,” she replied sorrowfully, though her tone quickly turned resentful, almost tearful. “That damn thing…”

“What thing?” Toothpick asked, astonished.

“You see, my sister…” Zari replied hesitantly, “was engaged to…”

“Zarinia! I don’t think this concerns these men at all!” Lysandra replied, dismayed, trying to maintain her composure.

“Lysa, I think they need to know,” Zari said, taking her trembling hand.

They held each other's gaze for a few moments until Lysandra closed her eyes and nodded.

“Alright. Tell them.”

“Thank you, sister,” Zari said, smiling at her understandingly. “As she already told you, these entities can sometimes partially manifest in our world. Somehow, the being that was expelled has managed to keep a fraction of its essence here, through that medallion. Only a small piece of its power. But enough to manipulate the minds of those nearby.”

“And that damn thing took over… someone I cared about a lot,” Lysandra interrupted, resentfully. “I don’t know what part of him was really… I no longer know what part was him, and what part was… that, controlling him…” she said, biting her lip. For a moment, there was a hint of melancholy in her eyes. But then, she clenched her fists and her eyes once again showed deep rage, while filling with tears. “The bastard deceived me, just to steal the amulet. And then I… I had to…”

As she said this, the men began to feel the atmosphere around them becoming electric, like the air before a mountain storm. Their hair stood on end, and they watched in horror as Lysandra’s eyes sparked with blue lights.

“Sister, calm down,” Zarinia said softly, placing her hands over hers. In a moment, she was herself again, the always regal, dignified, and haughty Lysandra.

“Forgive me… I… I think it’s time for us to retire, right, Zari?”

Lysandra stood up, making a courteous gesture of farewell. The young Wart hastily stood up to help Zari with her chair, which she thanked with a smile.

“My goodness, Wart. You’re quite the gentleman. You’ve never pulled out my chair for me, haw, haw, haw!” Crab mocked, with that sawmill laugh that could split planks. He was trying to lighten the mood, but it didn’t seem to work very well.

Toothpick also stood to return the courtesy, but before the sisters left, he addressed Lysandra:

“We’ll help you recover that medallion, if you wish.”

“Well, are you willing to risk your neck again for this?” Lysandra replied, surprised, while wiping her tears with a handkerchief.

“If the reward is worth it…”

“I figured it wouldn’t be an altruistic act on your part,” Lysa said, relaxing her expression and showing a half-smile. “Tonight, we’ll consider your offer, and tomorrow we’ll give you an answer. Good night.”

“Good night. Rest well, and don’t fight too much with the bedbugs,” Toothpick concluded with a friendly smile.