Deirdre stumbled slightly as her boots struck the polished stone floor of the Hall of Doors. The sharp contrast from the damp, uneven ground of the Witchlight Fens to the smooth, structured surfaces of the Exchange disoriented her for a moment. She took a steadying breath, the crisp, dry air of the hall filling her lungs. The familiar bustle of the Exchange hit her senses like a wave—voices overlapping, the faint hum of magical energy crackling in the air, and the rhythmic clink of boots against stone.
Behind her, the portal shimmered briefly before collapsing with a faint sigh, leaving Hoch and Needle sprawled on the ground where they’d fallen. Their paralyzed bodies looked like discarded marionettes, limbs stiff and bent at unnatural angles. The sudden and dramatic appearance of the trio caused an immediate stir.
“By the Multiverse—are they dead?” a merchant whispered, his hands full of neatly stacked parcels.
“They’re breathing,” someone else noted, craning their neck for a better look. “What happened to them?”
Gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by the shuffling of feet as onlookers formed a wide semicircle around Deirdre. The whispers grew louder, a chorus of curiosity and alarm.
“Someone fetch the Guild guards!” a woman shouted, her voice cutting through the rising noise.
Deirdre stood straight, adjusting her pack and setting her jaw. Orsafi chirped softly from her shoulder, her gem pulsing a steady light that contrasted with the tension in the room. She ignored the questioning stares and murmurs, focusing instead on the weight of her situation. She’d brought back the men who had betrayed her, but now came the hard part: explaining everything to the Guild without revealing too much.
A pair of uniformed Guild guards arrived quickly, their black-and-silver tunics immaculate despite the chaos. One, a tall woman with cropped hair and sharp eyes, stepped forward. Her hand rested on the hilt of a short sword at her side, her expression calm but commanding.
“What’s the meaning of this? Who are you?” she said, her voice clipped as her gaze swept over Deirdre, then shifted to the prone forms of Hoch and Needle.
“Deirdre,” she replied evenly, meeting the guard’s gaze. “I’m a member of the Guild.”
The other guard, a younger man with a narrow face, knelt by Hoch and Needle, his brow furrowing. “They’re alive,” he muttered, glancing up. “Paralyzed. Some kind of venom?”
“Yes,” Deirdre confirmed. “It’s from a Miststalker in the Witchlight Fens. They won’t be able to move for a while, but they’re unharmed otherwise.”
The tall guard straightened, her sharp eyes narrowing. “And why are they in this condition, Collector Deirdre?”
Deirdre took a steadying breath, weighing her words carefully. “They betrayed me during a contract collection in the Witchlight Fens,” she said. “Stole my supplies and left me for dead. I managed to retrieve what was mine, but their current state is... well, that’s the Fens’ doing.”
The guard’s lips thinned, and she exchanged a glance with her companion. “Serious accusations,” she said. “You’ll need to explain this to the Guildmaster.”
“I expected as much,” Deirdre replied, her tone steady. “Send for Varric. He’ll want to know about this.”
The younger guard nodded and stepped back toward the hall’s entrance, muttering instructions to a nearby apprentice. The tall guard motioned for Deirdre to stay where she was, her posture rigid with formality.
The crowd had grown thicker by now, whispers escalating into a low murmur that filled the Hall. Deirdre ignored the stares and muttered speculations, her focus trained on the arrival of Guild officials. Orsafi pressed closer against her shoulder, her gem pulsing softly in a reassuring rhythm.
“They’re alive,” someone in the crowd said again, their tone carrying both relief and disappointment at the lack of drama. Another voice added, “What could make a Collector turn on their own?”
Deirdre closed her eyes briefly, centering herself. Whatever stories the crowd was spinning, she knew the truth would soon be demanded of her—and it would have to be carefully told. Varric would be thorough, and she couldn’t afford to slip up.
The sound of boots echoed down the hall, sharp and deliberate. Deirdre’s heart steadied as she turned to see the tall figure of Varric striding toward her, his presence commanding instant silence from the gathered crowd. His eyes were sharp as ever, his movements measured as he approached the scene.
Now, the real questions would begin.
Varric approached with the poise of someone who carried authority like a second skin. His dark, close-cut beard framed a mouth set in a neutral line, though his piercing eyes betrayed an intensity that never wavered. His black Guildmaster's cloak shifted with each deliberate step, the silver trim catching the light and marking him unmistakably as someone who could bring order to chaos.
The tall guard stiffened, saluting crisply. “Guildmaster Varric. Collector Deirdre has returned with prisoners—paralyzed, but alive. She claims betrayal during a contract in the Witchlight Fens.”
Varric’s gaze flicked briefly to Hoch and Needle’s stiff forms, his mouth tightening ever so slightly before settling on Deirdre. “Explain,” he said, his voice calm but brooking no argument.
Deirdre inclined her head, her pulse quickening despite her outward composure. “Hoch and Needle were my contracted escorts for a collection in the Witchlight Fens. The agreement was for mutual assistance—protection during resource collection in exchange for a share of the rewards.” She gestured toward the two men, her tone sharp but controlled. “Instead, they betrayed me. Needle stabbed me, and they left me for dead. They took my pack, my scrolls, everything.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, though no one dared interrupt. Varric raised a hand, and silence fell instantly.
“They left you for dead,” Varric repeated, his gaze unwavering. “Yet here you are, alive and apparently well. How did you survive?”
Deirdre hesitated, weighing her words carefully. She couldn’t afford to mention the Domain Lord—not here, not to anyone. “The Fens are dangerous,” she began. “But I’ve spent my life navigating Domains. I used what I had—tools, knowledge, and a bit of luck—to get through. I tracked them, reclaimed my supplies, and subdued them with the help of the Fens’ natural... deterrents.”
Varric’s brow lifted slightly, his gaze dropping briefly to the stiff forms of Hoch and Needle. “The Miststalker,” he deduced.
Deirdre nodded, though she offered no further elaboration. Let him draw his own conclusions, she thought. Better to let the Fens’ reputation speak for itself than risk over-explaining.
Varric’s eyes narrowed. “And the Miststalker paralyzed them?”
“Yes.” Deirdre’s voice was firm. “Its venom immobilized them, and I chose to bring them back rather than leave them there.”
The Guildmaster tilted his head slightly, studying her. “You chose mercy.”
“They deserve to face justice,” she replied. “And I deserve to complete my contract without this hanging over me.”
A faint flicker of approval crossed Varric’s expression, though it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He turned his attention to the guards. “Detain them. The Guild will interrogate them once the venom wears off.”
The tall guard saluted again, motioning to her companion. The younger guard quickly produced a set of enchanted manacles, securing them to Hoch and Needle’s wrists. A faint, shimmering aura surrounded the restraints, ensuring no magical interference would aid their escape.
Varric turned back to Deirdre, his tone softening just slightly. “You’ve endured a betrayal that many would not have survived. If your story holds, the Guild will deal with them accordingly. We do not tolerate treachery among our own.”
Deirdre inclined her head. “I understand. Thank you.”
His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, as though weighing something unsaid. Then he nodded. “You’ll need to file a formal report. Meet me in my office after you’ve seen to your contract. The Guild needs to hear every detail.”
“I will,” she promised, her voice steady.
As the guards hauled Hoch and Needle away, the crowd began to disperse, their curiosity satisfied for now. Orsafi chirped softly, her gem flickering as though sensing Deirdre’s lingering tension.
Varric gave her one last, measured look. “You’ve made it through worse than most would have. Don’t let the weight of it linger longer than it should.”
With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, his cloak sweeping behind him like the closing of a chapter. Deirdre exhaled slowly, her hands finally relaxing at her sides. Justice was in motion, but the ache of betrayal lingered still.
“Come on, Orsafi,” she murmured, her voice quieter now. “Let’s get this contract sorted.” The carbuncle trilled in agreement, and together they moved toward the quieter halls of the Exchange, leaving the chaos behind.
Deirdre left the Hall of Doors with her head held high, but exhaustion tugged at her limbs. The formal report for Varric could wait - she had hours before that meeting, and right now she needed somewhere quiet to gather her thoughts before presenting her specimens to Fennor. Her feet carried her automatically toward Horizon's End, its warm glow a beacon of comfort in the busy Exchange. Some problems required official judgment, but others needed the quiet wisdom that only came with a cup of Mystleaf tea and a friend's understanding.
The familiar warm glow of Horizon’s End brought a sense of solace to Deirdre as she stepped through its arched entrance. The bustling energy of the Hall of Doors was replaced by the quieter, more intimate ambiance of the Exchange’s favored gathering spot. Soft, golden light filtered through the latticed windows, casting intricate patterns on the polished wooden floor. The air was filled with the comforting aroma of Mystleaf tea, mingled with faint traces of parchment and ink.
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Deirdre eased into the space, her body tense despite the calming surroundings. Her mind churned with the events of the Fens, the betrayal still a raw wound despite the justice she’d secured. She had come early, needing time to gather her thoughts before meeting Fennor, and the quiet hum of Horizon’s End seemed like the best place to do it.
As she made her way to a table tucked in a quiet corner, a familiar voice called out.
“You look like someone’s been wringing you out to dry,” Omylia said, emerging from behind the counter with her usual graceful ease. Her long, copper hair was pinned back in an intricate braid, and her sharp green eyes softened as they met Deirdre’s.
Deirdre attempted a small smile. “Is it that obvious?”
Omylia crossed the room with a tray balanced on one hand, setting it down at Deirdre’s table with practiced precision. On it was a steaming cup of Mystleaf tea, its gentle floral scent already soothing. “Only to someone who knows where to look,” she said, pulling out the chair across from her. “Here. Your favorite. Talk to me.”
Deirdre hesitated, her fingers brushing the side of the warm cup. She glanced at Orsafi, who had perched on the edge of the table, her gem flickering faintly. The carbuncle trilled softly, her small form radiating quiet encouragement.
Omylia didn’t press, waiting with the patience of someone who had known Deirdre long enough to understand her rhythms. Finally, Deirdre sighed, lifting the cup to her lips for a small sip before speaking.
“I was betrayed,” she said simply, the words carrying a weight that lingered between them.
Omylia’s expression didn’t falter, but her hand moved to rest on the table, a subtle gesture of solidarity. “Hoch and Needle?”
Deirdre nodded, her gaze dropping to the swirling surface of her tea. “They stabbed me, left me for dead in the Witchlight Fens, and took everything—my pack, my scrolls, the resources I’d gathered.”
Omylia’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table. “Those bastards. And you survived?”
Deirdre exhaled softly, setting the cup down. “Barely. The Fens aren’t forgiving. I got lucky.” Her hand drifted toward Orsafi, brushing the carbuncle’s fur lightly. “And I wasn’t entirely alone.”
Omylia’s sharp gaze flicked to Orsafi, then back to Deirdre. “There’s more to this, isn’t there?”
Deirdre hesitated again, the memory of the Domain Lord stirring uneasily in her mind. She hadn’t told anyone about the encounter—not yet. It felt... too vast, too personal to reduce to simple words. And yet, if there was anyone she trusted, it was Omylia.
She leaned back slightly, her fingers tracing the edge of the table. “I had an encounter,” she began, her voice low. “With something… powerful. The Domain Lord of the Fens.”
Omylia blinked, her composure faltering for the first time. “You’re saying it revealed itself to you? Deirdre, that’s—no one—” She stopped herself, leaning closer. “That’s not something that happens.”
“I know,” Deirdre murmured, her gaze dropping to her tea. “It shouldn’t have. I don’t understand why it did. All I know is that I was dying, and it... healed me. Spoke to me.”
Omylia studied her carefully, her sharp green eyes softened by concern. “And you haven’t told anyone about this? Not even Varric?”
Deirdre shook her head. “It’s not something I want spreading around. People don’t interact with Domain Lords—it’s unheard of. And the more I think about it, the more I realize I don’t want anyone trying to use what happened to me for their own ends. Not even the Guild.”
Omylia nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. “You’re probably right to keep this to yourself. But, Deirdre... what did it say?”
Deirdre hesitated, the weight of the memory pressing against her chest. “It didn’t give me a quest or demand anything of me. It said my respect had been seen and returned. That’s it.”
“And it healed you.” Omylia’s voice was quiet, almost reverent. “Just because you respected its Domain.”
Deirdre nodded, her hands curling around the warm tea cup. “That’s why I couldn’t leave Hoch and Needle to die, no matter how much they deserved it. The Domain Lord showed me mercy. How could I do any less?”
Omylia was silent for a moment, then reached out to rest her hand over Deirdre’s. “That’s not just mercy, Dee. That’s strength. And it’s why you’re different from them—why you’ll always be better.”
Deirdre met her gaze, the warmth of her friend’s words grounding her. “I just hope it’s enough,” she said softly.
For a long moment, Omylia was silent, her green eyes fixed on Deirdre as though weighing her words. Finally, she reached out, placing a hand over Deirdre’s. “You’ve always had a connection to the Domains. This… this doesn’t surprise me as much as you think it might.”
Deirdre blinked, her heart stuttering slightly. “You believe me?”
Omylia’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Of course I do. And I think you’re right to keep this close. People wouldn’t understand—not yet. But I do. And I’ll be here for you, Dee. Whatever this means going forward, you don’t have to face it alone.”
Warmth bloomed in Deirdre’s chest, easing some of the tension that had gripped her since leaving the Fens. She squeezed Omylia’s hand lightly, gratitude shining in her eyes. “Thank you.”
Omylia’s smile widened. “Now, drink your tea before it gets cold. You’ve got a meeting with Fennor to prepare for, and something tells me you’re going to knock it out of the park.”
Deirdre chuckled softly, lifting the cup once more. For the first time since returning, the weight on her shoulders felt just a little lighter.
Deirdre glanced at the ornate timepiece on the wall, her expression shifting from open vulnerability back to quiet professionalism. "I should go set up the specimens. Fennor will be here soon, and I want everything properly displayed."
Omylia squeezed her hand one last time before releasing it. "Go on then. Show him what a real Collector can do." Her smile turned playful. "And Dee? Come back later and tell me how it goes."
Deirdre stood, gathering herself. The warmth of friendship and Mystleaf tea had steadied her, but now it was time to focus on the work ahead. With a grateful nod to Omylia, she turned toward the private meeting room, Orsafi bouncing lightly at her heels.
The private meeting room at Horizon’s End was quiet, its usual hum of conversation replaced by an almost reverent stillness. Deirdre stood alone at the center table, unpacking the collection jars she had painstakingly protected through the journey back from the Witchlight Fens.
She began with the Driftshade Bulbs. Each jar was carefully set down, the faint, misty glow of the bulbs within creating soft halos on the polished mahogany. The wisps of fog that curled around the bulbs made them seem almost alive, as though the mist itself breathed with quiet vitality.
Next came the Luminescent Gliders, their soft, rhythmic light pulsing like fireflies caught in stasis. Deirdre adjusted their placement until they caught the lantern glow just right, ensuring their ethereal shimmer could be fully appreciated.
At the center of the table, she placed the Ironbelly Oozes. Their translucent forms undulated faintly, the metallic veins within glowing faintly in hues of silver and copper. Deirdre made a mental note to highlight the reinforced glass she had used—an extra step to ensure the oozes’ corrosive acid remained safely contained.
Finally, she set the jars containing the Verdant Wisps along the far edge of the table, their emerald light delicate and soothing. The spores swirling faintly within the jars seemed to pulse in time with the glow of the wisps themselves, a testament to the symbiotic balance she had carefully preserved.
Stepping back, Deirdre surveyed her work. The table was an intricate display of life and magic, every piece collected with care and respect. It wasn’t just a presentation—it was a declaration of her values as a Collector.
The quiet creak of the door drew her attention. She turned to see Fennor enter, his warm and unassuming presence a stark contrast to the tension she had faced in the Fens. His calm, measured steps carried him toward her, and his eyes swept the room with an appreciative glimmer.
“Deirdre,” he greeted with a faint smile. “You’ve clearly been busy.”
Deirdre returned his smile, gesturing to the table. “I wanted everything ready before you arrived. These specimens...” she paused, glancing at the jars, “represent more than just the contract. They represent what the Fens offered.”
Fennor approached the table, his gaze settling on the Driftshade Bulbs. His expression softened further as he examined the collection, his hands remaining clasped loosely behind his back. “The care you’ve shown is obvious. Shall we take a closer look together?”
Deirdre nodded, a faint swell of pride warming her chest as she gestured for him to join her at the display.
Fennor settled into a chair across from Deirdre, his calm demeanor putting her at ease. The jars and containers between them seemed to glow faintly under the room’s soft lantern light, the collected specimens drawing his quiet admiration.
“I’ve heard there was trouble during your expedition,” Fennor said gently, his gaze lingering on the array of carefully preserved samples. “But from what I see here, you’ve handled it remarkably well.”
Deirdre exhaled softly, leaning forward to adjust one of the jars containing an Ironbelly Ooze. “It wasn’t an easy trip,” she admitted. “But the Fens are... something else. It’s hard to put into words. Even with everything that happened, I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.”
Fennor gave her a thoughtful nod but didn’t press for more details, his attention already drawn to the Luminescent Gliders. Their soft pulses of light reflected in his eyes, the glow steady and uninterrupted. “These are remarkable,” he said, his tone quiet with admiration. “I’ve rarely seen them in such pristine condition. They’re so sensitive—most collectors struggle to bring back even one intact.”
Deirdre smiled faintly, her fingers brushing the rim of the jar. “The trick is minimizing stress. I used moss and water directly from the Fens to replicate their environment, and I handled them as little as possible. It takes time, but it’s worth it.”
Fennor leaned in slightly, studying the jar with a critical eye. “It’s clear you took great care. Respect like this is rare in our work.”
Deirdre shifted her attention to the Verdant Wisps. “They were a challenge for a different reason,” she said, motioning to the floating orbs of light, their faint glow suffused with tiny spores. “They’re symbiotic with the spores they carry. I had to make sure the environment in the jars stayed stable. The enchanted glass helps.”
Fennor raised an eyebrow, his interest deepening. “Enchanted glass? I wasn’t expecting that in your setup.”
“It wasn’t part of the plan,” Deirdre admitted. “But I had to improvise when I realized how delicate their balance was. A lot of this work comes down to adapting to the Domain itself. You can’t force it to fit your expectations.”
Fennor chuckled softly. “You’re absolutely right. Domains have a way of humbling even the best of us.”
His attention shifted to the Ironbelly Oozes, their metallic veins glinting faintly under the soft light. “And these? I’ve rarely seen specimens like this outside of their native Domain. Their acid alone makes them difficult to transport.”
Deirdre nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I reinforced the jars with additional runes to contain the acid, and I included some of their native moss to keep them calm. Stress makes them produce more acid, so keeping their environment as familiar as possible was crucial.”
Fennor studied the jars closely, his gaze flicking to Deirdre with a quiet respect. “You’ve done more than meet the contract, Deirdre. Your work shows an understanding of the Fens that goes far beyond what most would bother with. It’s not just skill—it’s reverence.”
“The balance matters,” Deirdre said softly, meeting his gaze. “The Domains aren’t just places to harvest resources—they’re living ecosystems. Taking too much, or taking carelessly, would damage that balance. I couldn’t do this work if I didn’t respect that.”
Fennor leaned back slightly, a contemplative smile on his face. “Few in this field take that perspective, but it’s one I deeply value. You’ve shown that respect in every step of this process.”
Deirdre hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the table. “There were complications beyond the Fens themselves,” she said carefully. “I partnered with others for the expedition... but they betrayed me.”
Fennor’s expression darkened slightly, though his tone remained steady. “I see. Betrayal in our line of work is dangerous, even deadly. It is why Dungeon Keepers rarely collaborate.”
“It was close,” Deirdre said, her voice soft. “But I made it out. And the specimens made it out. That’s what matters.”
Fennor studied her for a moment, his calm presence grounding the weight of the conversation. “Your ability to adapt under pressure speaks volumes, Deirdre. Your work is exceptional—not just in quality but in integrity.”
The quiet praise sent a ripple of relief through her. “Thank you,” she said, her voice steady. “That means a lot.”
Fennor gestured to the table, his expression warm. “Your work speaks for itself. I’d like to discuss future collaborations—if you’re amenable. I think we could accomplish a great deal together.”
Deirdre straightened slightly, her heart lifting. “I’d like that.”
Fennor offered a faint smile, his usual calm returning. “Good. We’ll work out the details in due time. For now, take pride in what you’ve accomplished. This was no small feat.”
As the conversation wound down, Deirdre felt a quiet sense of fulfillment settle over her. The challenges of the Fens had tested her in ways she hadn’t anticipated, but sitting here, sharing her work with someone who understood its value, made the effort worthwhile.
As she carefully packed away the specimens for transport to Fennor's dungeon, Deirdre reflected on how much had changed since she first entered the Witchlight Fens. She had faced betrayal and survived, earned the attention of a Domain Lord, and emerged with more than just her contracted specimens - she had gained a new understanding of both the Domains and herself. The hum of the Fens' power still resonated in her chest, a quiet reminder that sometimes the hardest paths led to the most meaningful destinations.