“In Limrod’s heart, where wild vines weave fate,
Summer whispers secrets through twilight’s gate.
Souls drift dreaming in dusk’s endless spell,
Where tales unfold, and sorrows farewell.
Upon the stage, beneath stars’ silver glow,
The thespians weave through moon’s gentle show.
Laughter, a chorus amidst shadows that play,
A jubilant hymn, till night wanes into day.
Yet, as verdant hues to gold resign,
And the cloak of night claims more time,
Limrod’s whispers in the heart remain,
A sweetness caught in winter’s refrain.
Here, where memory and rapture entwine,
In the dance of leaf and spirit’s design,
Limrod endures through wine, tales, and cheer,
A haven eternal, year after cherished year.”
– Fintale, Our World in Words
Scene: Picture a bustling, vibrant theater district nestled in the heart of Limrod, where ornate buildings, bedecked with colorful frescoes and gilded accents, line the cobblestone streets. As dusk descends, warm lamplight glow illuminates the area, casting a golden sheen on all it touches.
At stage left, a lively crowd gathers around street entertainers, engrossed by acrobatics, juggling, and fire-breathing. The scent of mulled wine and freshly baked bread wafts through the air from nearby taverns and bakeries, mingling with the excited chatter of theatergoers.
At center stage, an imposing marble fountain serves as the district’s focal point, water cascading from the maws of intricately sculpted sea creatures. Around the fountain, vendors sell playbills and souvenirs, while children dart in and out of the water’s spray, laughing with infectious delight.
At stage right, the grand entrance of the Limrodian Royal Theater beckons, its doors flanked by two monumental statues of legendary actors from Limrod’s storied past, Cassian Varro and Livia Drusa. Above the entrance, an enormous marquee announces the evening’s performance, lit by dozens of flickering torches.
In the background, several smaller theaters and playhouses can be seen, each boasting a distinct architectural style, oozing charm. Gentle string music drifts through the air, adding a layer of elegance to the scene.
Amidst all this thespian activity, a keen observer might spot two figures, seemingly unaffected by the joyful chaos around them. There’s a young man, his subdued demeanor and watchful eyes setting him apart from the revelers. He moves with purpose, a silent guardian. Next to him, a young woman flits about with a captivating smile, her gaze darting toward the illuminated marquees.
Were it not already obvious from their high cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, olive complexion, and curly hair, these two share more than mere bonds of blood, but also the day of their birth. Today, they even share their style of clothing, both donning simple yet well-kept linen tunics in earthen hues, with matching belts cinched around their waists.
And this—this place, this moment, this pair—is where our tale of passion, ambition, and tragedy begins. So, with anticipation building and the stage set, the story of Lurian and Ocelia unfolds before us, like a tapestry of light and shadow.
Let the curtain rise!
To Ocelia, every cobblestone of the theater district seemed to whisper tales of legendary performances—or of famed playwrights—as her feet swept over them. She had memorized them all as a child. Lurian had not.
They approached the heart of the district, plunging into the thronging crowd. The siblings stumbled upon a small stage, hosting a troupe of actors mid-performance. Ocelia’s eyes widened in wonder as she observed the elaborate costumes and the captivating emotions displayed by the performers.
“You know, Oce,” Lurian sighed, hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his dagger, “the theater can be a dangerous place. A lot of these people wouldn’t hesitate to exploit someone like you.”
“You’re such a worrywart, Lurian,” Ocelia rolled her eyes. Every time they came here her brother would haunt her with the same soundbites. “I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself. Besides, you’ve always got my back anyway, right?” She smiled sweetly at him. “So, I’ve got nothing to worry about!”
“Always, sister,” Lurian chuckled softly. “It’s just... I’ve seen the worst this city can breed. We both have. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. I couldn’t live with myself otherwise.”
“I know, Lurian,” Ocelia placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “And I appreciate it. But I’m not that innocent little girl anymore. And I won’t let anyone here take advantage of me. I’m not some helpless damsel in distress.”
Lurian smiled at his sister, warmth radiating from his expression. “I’m well aware, Oce.”
Ocelia beamed at that. “Except if they need a damsel in distress on stage, of course,” she added cheerfully and returned her attention to the performance. Lurian watched her for a moment—glowing with excitement at the actors on stage—before his eyes darted around the crowded streets again, scanning for threats.
Ocelia’s eyes remained glued to the stage. She had always been fascinated by the theater, captivated by how the actors could whisk an audience off to distant worlds, stirring emotions in them they never thought possible. It was better than any Elevated power she could imagine.
Lurian, on the other hand, remained more skeptical. He had seen too much of the murkier side of the theater world. The way producers and directors treated their actors. The way actors treated each other. Nothing glamorous about that, in his opinion.
So, as Ocelia watched with rapt attention, Lurian’s gaze settled on a group of men lurking in a corner. Dressed in dark leathers, eyes gleaming with something sinister. Instinctively, Lurian’s grip on his dagger tightened.
Suddenly, one of the men stepped forward. Lurian tensed. The man approached them, addressing Ocelia. “Excuse me, miss. I couldn’t help but notice your beauty. I must confess, it puts the spectacle on stage to shame. Please accept this humble token of my appreciation.”
Ocelia raised an eyebrow, sizing up the tall man before her. Perhaps he was even broader than tall, with a thick beard and an oddly refined demeanor. She could tell this man was used to getting what he wanted. In his hand, Ocelia spotted a bouquet of strikingly white desert lilies, elaborately tied with a crimson ribbon.
To an outsider, this exchange might seem peculiar: a well-dressed and prominent man handing flowers to a beautiful woman of evidently modest position. Not so in Limrod. Here, an almost archaic sense of romanticism was being kept alive, especially in the theater district. It was not for naught that Limrod was known as the Jewel of Lycar.
So it was not unusual to see a wealthy merchant chatting with a street performer, or a member of the city’s elite attending the same theatrical spectacle as a common laborer. If you followed the late Ilgast’s writing, this shared appreciation for the creative spirit, and the intermingling of different social classes, was what made the Limrodian experiment so vibrant and enchanting.
Ocelia took the flowers with a courteous smile. Yet Lurian’s hand never left the hilt of his dagger. He watched the man closely, studying his every move.
“Thank you, good sir,” Ocelia responded, voice threaded with a touch of suspicion despite her curtsy. “But I can hardly accept these. They must have cost you a pretty penny.”
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The man laughed. “Money holds no dominion when it comes to a woman as lovely as you, my dear. Please, keep them. Consider them a gift of the theater.”
Ocelia hesitated for a moment before reluctantly smelling the flowers. “Well, thank you,” she murmured softly.
Lurian’s grip on his dagger relaxed slightly—just by a fraction—but he stayed vigilant as the men receded. Once they had redirected their attention to the stage, Ocelia discretely inspected the bouquet. Not entirely surprised, she discovered a small envelope concealed within. Swiftly, she grabbed it and placed it in her pocket. Lurian shot her a curious glance but said nothing. For the rest of the performance, they remained in companionable silence. Finally, as the actors retreated under thundering applause, so did Ocelia and Lurian.
Back in their humble abode close to the trade district, Ocelia immediately began to examine the envelope from the bouquet. Lurian peered over her shoulder, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Why would he invite us to such an event?” Lurian asked, voice laden with suspicion.
“I don’t know,” Ocelia replied, her curiosity sparked. “But I think we should go. It might be a chance for us to move up in the organization. Think of the life we could live!”
Lurian’s expression turned serious. “Oce, think of the risks,” he cautioned. “We don’t even know what this man wants from us or what kind of event this is. It could be dangerous.”
“We’re always living on the edge, Lurian,” Ocelia scoffed. “This could be our chance to finally make something of ourselves. Aren’t you sick and tired of living like this? One step above rats hiding in the gutters. Besides, not as if we could refuse him, even if we wanted to.”
Lurian sighed in resignation. They had been struggling to make ends meet for too long, Ocelia was right in that. And he had seen the way his sister’s eyes had lit up when she read the invitation. He did not stand a chance here. “I don’t like the sound of it, Oce. You don’t know what kind of people we’ll be dealing with.” He sighed, raising his palms. “But we’ll go. Though, mark my words, we’ll need to be careful. I’ll keep an eye out, but you need to be on your guard too.”
Ocelia flashed a grin, eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Don’t worry, big brother. I can handle myself. This is going to be the start of a new life for us.”
Lurian smiled, feeling oddly rewarded by the joy and excitement in the face of his sister. He hoped they had made the right decision.
The following evening, they arrived at the address written on the invitation. Starting from the bustling trade district, their path had taken them through gradually quieter streets, leading up to the outskirts of the city. Finally, they had reached the elegant mansion—a relic of Limrod’s golden age—surrounded by lush gardens and guarded by angry-looking men in fine suits.
Lurian was prepared. Talk in the taverns described the Villa Marcellus as a place where decisions impacting the entire city were whispered behind silk curtains. And sometimes between silken sheets, if one believed the wilder rumors.
As they entered, Lurian’s protective instinct heightened, his mind racing with possible scenarios and escape plans. Beside him, Ocelia’s steps slowed as she took in the grandeur, a slight quiver to her breath. Lurian’s life had taught him that grandeur often masked a different sort of danger. But he would not let any harm come to his sister.
Around them, the walls were covered with paintings of lovers striding down leafy paths. The floors, pure Decoran marble, shone with their reflections. Waiters in crisp white uniforms offered them champagne, and music from a live orchestra filled the room.
“This is incredible,” Ocelia breathed, eyes wide and voice tinged with awe. “Can you even imagine living like this, Lurian?”
Lurian remained silent, sharp eyes taking in everything around them. He noticed the guests in their expensive suits and gowns, the way they laughed and mingled. He could not shake the feeling that something was off. These were not the people they usually mixed with. They were far out of their element.
As they made their way through the crowd, Ocelia spotted the man who had given her flowers the day before. He seemed deep in conversation with a group of well-dressed men, regaling them with a story. Seemingly oblivious to the entrance of Ocelia and her brother.
“Look. Over there!” Lurian nudged Ocelia, directing her gaze toward the podium at the far end of the hall.
“What?” she hissed, rubbing her shoulder, “What is it?”
Lurian made impatient noises. “Not what. Who. Him.”
Scanning the guests near the podium, Ocelia spotted him. The man in question was plump. Shiny face and beady eyes that roamed hungrily around him. Skin pockmarked. Thinning hair slicked back in a rather reptilian fashion. He was dressed in an expensive-looking gray suit that hung off his round frame like a burlap sack.
As they approached him cautiously, Ocelia noticed that he was engrossed in conversation with an unusually unremarkable middle-aged man who stood quietly beside him, swathed in a gray robe and nodding along with everything he said. The two of them were surrounded by about half a dozen bodyguards who towered menacingly over them.
Taking a deep breath, Ocelia stepped forward, clearing her throat to get his attention. The pudgy man turned toward them, his gaze first annoyed then seemingly amused, as he immediately scanned them up and down.
“Ah, there you are,” he said with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “Ocelia and Lurian, if I’m not mistaken? I’m so glad you could make it to our little gathering. Surely you’re wondering why you’re here.”
“Actually, we are,” Lurian crossed his arms over his chest, hiding the trembling of his hands. “I hope you can understand our caution, given the times we live in. Belt knows, we don’t want any trouble.” Ocelia noticed the odd man in the gray robe twitching an eye at something Lurian had said.
“Oh, I think you’ll find this one quite lucrative,” the fat man chuckled, eyes glinting with amusement. “You see, I’m in need of a couple of... talented individuals for a discreet business venture, and I believe you two would be perfect for the job.” He paused for a moment, extending his ring-studded hand toward the siblings. “But forgive my rudeness, I haven’t properly introduced myself. My name is Euphemius.”
A name whispered with a mix of fear and respect in Limrod’s underworld. A man whose mere glance could turn fortunes.
As Ocelia took his oddly rough hand, she tried to hide her nervousness. Of course, she knew who this man was—she had been working for him for years now. Though she never met him in person, and neither had anyone else she knew. Rumors about his appearance and character—decidedly uncharitable on both accounts—had circulated for years on the streets, but few actually saw the man. Briefly, Ocelia wondered what they were getting themselves into. Far too late for second thoughts now, though.
She also knew—or knew of—the gray-robed man standing next to Euphemius. They all did.
“Now that we’re properly introduced,” Euphemius continued, “let’s talk about the job I have for you.” He spoke clearly, making sure the twins understood every word. “I received a letter from an old associate of mine. A ship recently docked in the harbor. Medium-sized frigate, obvious storm-damage, Trifeltian make. I want you to… obtain an object from its captain. An amulet, white stone with a bit of amethyst, about the size of my finger. Be discreet—if I wanted a bloodbath, I’d send those guys.” He pointed to the burly men surrounding them. “Once you’ve got it, bring it back here, and you’ll be compensated.” He motioned to the bodyguard standing closest to them. “My associate here will give you all the details.”
That… did not sound too impossible, actually. Ocelia glanced at her brother before she turned back to Euphemius. “What’s the pay?” she asked cautiously.
Euphemius chuckled softly, voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “Five hundred gold—a fortune for those brave enough to seize the opportunity,” he answered after a brief pause. His eyes flicked between the siblings, gauging their reaction.
The twins shared a surprised glance before Lurian spoke up hesitantly, eyes narrowed. “That... sounds like a lot of money...” He trailed off, unsure how to finish his sentence.
Quickly, Ocelia jumped in. “We’ll do it,” she said confidently.
Euphemius gave them a satisfied smirk before clapping his hands together decisively. “Excellent!” he said and reached into a desk drawer next to him. He pulled out two small velvet bags, placing them on the table between them. “This should cover your expenses,” he said gruffly, pushing the bags toward them with one hand while rubbing his chin thoughtfully with the other. “The rest comes with success.”
Lurian picked up one of the bags, revealing a glittering pile of gold coins. He could not believe his eyes and looked at Ocelia, who was grinning widely now. Ocelia’s fingers tightened around the velvet bag, as if fearing somebody would take it away from her, while Lurian ran a hand through his hair.
“You need to leave now,” Euphemius broke their reverie. “The longer you wait, the harder this job will become. They won’t stay in the city forever.” He leaned in, eyes gleaming with malice. “And, surely, you understand what happens if you fail me.”
Ocelia, whose grin had suddenly become substantially weaker, nodded hastily and bowed. Dismissed with a wave of Euphemius’ glittering hand, the siblings navigated the crowded hall and left the mansion again. Outside, an ecstatic Ocelia hugged her brother. Lurian could barely manage a suggestion to start toward the docks in an effort to escape her enthusiasm with his life intact.
“Can you believe it, Lurian?” Ocelia exclaimed, eyes still gleaming. “Five hundred gold pieces! We’ll live like the rich and famous!”
“I still don’t like this,” Lurian shook his head with a troubled expression. “It’s too easy. Why would he pay us this much for one item? Easy money often comes with hidden dangers. Something’s off.”
Ocelia rolled her eyes. “Don’t overthink it, Lurian. We’re finally catching a break. Just enjoy it.”
They reached the harbor in record time, paces quickened by the promised riches. Under the cover of darkness, Ocelia and Lurian scouted the maze of docked ships there, searching for the one Euphemius described. “Look for a ship with a broken mast or tattered sails,” Ocelia suggested, eyes scanning the forest of masts amidst the chaotic symphony of creaking wood.
Lurian nodded, eyes darting from one ship to another. “Right, and don’t forget about the Trifeltian insignia. It’s likely faded, if there really was a storm, but we should still see it.”
Suddenly, Ocelia stopped. “Wait. What do Trifeltian insignia look like?”
Lurian looked at her with an unreadable expression. “No idea. But it’s got to be looking different from the Limrodian ones.”
“Right,” Ocelia nodded slowly. Ships from far-off Sariz and Imra lined the piers, flags fluttering in the night breeze. At least she recognized those. They continued their search, Lurian always keeping one watchful eye on his sister, as the sound of waves crashing against the docks filled the moonlit air.
“What about that one over there?” Lurian said suddenly, voice low. “The sails look pretty beat up for sure.”
“Lurian. Even I know that ship is from the Belt. Just look at its size!”
He squinted at the ship in the distance. “Hmm, could be. Let’s keep looking then.” While he continued to pace, examining ships hailing from all over the world, Ocelia suddenly leaned forward, trying to get a better look at something.
“Lurian, come look!” He turned and started jogging toward his sister. Only to see a ship marred by gouges in its hull. Its sails—depicting some kind of bird, barely visible in the dark—hung in slices.
He nodded appreciatively. “Nicely done, Oce!”
Grinning, Ocelia gestured him closer. Above them, below the ship’s railing, someone had painted a name above an unrecognizably embossed surface.
The Escape.