The evening air, thick with the musk of damp earth, clung to their cloaks as Emeric, Savi, and Nalia approached the shadow-covered border of Fayolham. With each step, the looming shape of Sevrin’s Keep cut a darker figure against the Eastern sky, its spires like gnarled fingers clawing at the heavens. Emeric felt the weight of countless eyes upon them, unseen watchers from within the brooding silhouette that whispered of past horrors and secrets long buried in its crumbling heart. “Can you feel it?” Savi’s voice was barely above a whisper, yet it sliced through the hush that had fallen upon the trio like a blade. “The sorrow is palpable, like a wet cloak.” Nalia nodded, her gaze fixed on the decrepit fortress. “And the anger,” she added, the corners of her mouth taut. “There’s a rage here that time hasn’t quelled.”
“Let’s not linger,” Emeric urged, trying to shake off the unease that gripped him. “We can ill afford the attention of restless spirits or prying eyes.” Nalia turned to him, a grin plastered across her face. “I didn’t take you for the superstitious type, mage,” she called out, taunting him. Emeric meets her gaze, expression serious but eyes lit by an amused fire. “I deal with forces beyond the natural order, Nalia. Of course I believe in the spirits of the land.” Nalia simply chuckles in response, a warm humor washing over the group. With spirits high, Fayolham unfolded before them, a tapestry of lantern-lit streets and shadowed alleys, murmuring with the night-time bustle of townsfolk. “We need a place to rest,” Emeric stated, scanning the buildings as they passed. “Somewhere inconspicuous. If their organization is truly here, they will be watching the town.” Nalia pointed to an aged sign, creaking on its hinges, carved with the image of a modest maiden, holding a knife behind her back. “The Maiden and the Knife. It looks humble enough.” Savi flicked her eyes to Nalia, “a bit ominous, though, isn’t it?” Emeric and Nalia shrug, “slept in worse,” they say together, walking through the sturdy oak door. The building seemed to sag with weariness, its timbers groaning in the gentle breeze. As the group walked through the door, the scent of roasted meat mingling with the tang of ale greeted them. “Perfect,” Savi muttered, her eyes scanning the room with a practiced caution. “Let’s find a corner where ears are scarce.” Emeric nodded in agreement, leading the way to a secluded table at the far end of the room. As they settled into their places, the noise of the tavern wrapped around them - a comforting blanket that would allow them to speak freely without fear of being overheard.
“Tomorrow,” Emeric began, locking eyes with his companions, “we begin our search. But for tonight, we rest.” Flagging down the barkeep, Nalia murmurs her agreement, Savi following suit. Their night of drinking and rest would not last forever, and they knew it, taking advantage of the time they had before searching out the shadows of the realm once more.
* -
Dawn had barely unfurled its golden banner over Fayolham when the trio emerged from the Maiden and the Knife. With purpose in their stride, they branched off in a silent agreement, each knowing the gravity of their task.
Emeric’s boots clapped softly on the cobblestones, his gaze sharp as he slipped through the waking market square. The laborers’ shops lay just beyond, where the true pulse of the town could be felt, and it was there he aimed to siphon whispers of the sinister cabal and their workings in the region. “Morning,” he greeted a burly blacksmith who hammered at an anvil, sparks dancing like fireflies at dusk. “Fine work you do.” The blacksmith grunted, pausing to wipe sweat from his brow with a soot-streaked arm. “Gets the bread on the table. What can I do for you?”
“Traveling,” Emeric said, easing into the conversation like a stone into still water. “Town’s quiet, though I heard this place has its share of stories. Strange happenings, maybe?” He watched keenly for any flicker in the man’s expression. “Stories?” The blacksmith chuckled, resuming his rhythmic pounding. “Every place’s got its stories. Lads talk of disappearances near the streams, the little lass whispers of voices in the woods.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “But folks’ll talk, won’t they? Keeps the nights full of shadows, keeps their lives moving.”
“Indeed, they will,” Emeric replied, a touch of disappointment hidden beneath his amiable facade. He continued on, pausing at a bricklayer’s station next, where the scent of wet clay mingled with the morning dew. “Beautiful brickwork,” he commented, nodding towards the neat stacks of sun-dried bricks. “Thanks,” the bricklayer responded, not looking up from her meticulous work. “Y’need sum’pm built?” Emeric shakes his head, “merely admiring,” he assures her. “Though I wonder if you’ve seen anything out of the ordinary? For a place with so rich a history, there must be tales worth sharing.”
“Nuthin but old wives’ tales,” she said with a dismissive wave. “If yer after ghost stories, try the nurseries, they oughta take real good care o’ ya. I’ve walls to raise and not enough daylight to humor you.” Emeric bid her a curt good day, and moved on, feeling the well of information running dry beneath his inquiries. Masons, carpenters, tanners - all echoed similar sentiments: Fayolham was a town of practical folk, more concerned with trade winds than whispered secrets. Yet the lack of tangible leads only served to sharpen Emeric’s resolve. If his enemies wove their web with such subtlety that even the most common of tongues held no thread to unravel, then their influence and their power was even more pervasive and complete than he’d feared. With a quiet sigh, he turned his steps back towards the Maiden and the Knife, shoulders heavy and eyes downturned.
* -
Savi’s eyes darted from stall to stall, an unassuming figure weaving through the crowds of Fayolham’s bustling marketplace. She moved with a practiced ease, her gaze lingering just long enough on the faces and hands of the merchants and patrons to commit them to memory without arousing suspicion. The air was thick with the scent of spices and fresh bread, sounds of haggling and laughter melding into a cacophony that seemed as ordinary as any other market day. Yet beneath the comforting veneer of normalcy, Savi searched for the subtle tells of clandestine dealings - the brief exchanges too quiet for casual conversation, the hand signals that spoke a silent language of their own. But hours passed, and the morning’s bright promise dimmed to afternoon’s harsh light with no sign of anything untoward. Zartek’s minions, it seemed, had mastered the art of invisibility amidst the din of daily life.
As the sun began its slow descent, painting the cobblestones in hues of orange and gold, Savi made her way back to the Maiden and the Knife. Her shoulders bore the invisible weight of frustration, her mind turning over the events of the day like a puzzle missing too many pieces. The tavern's common room was a welcome respite from the noise outside, the low hum of conversations and clink of tankards a familiar refrain. Emeric sat at their usual table, his expression mirroring Savi's own disappointment. They exchanged a glance that needed no words; their silent inquiry answered with twin shrugs. "Nothing," Savi offered as she settled onto the bench. "The markets are clean, or they're too good at this game."
"Likewise," Emeric confirmed, his voice tinged with the fatigue of fruitless efforts. "Fayolham's workers keep their heads down and their mouths shut. It's like chasing shadows." The third chair scraped against the wooden floor as Nalia arrived, her presence a stark contrast to the mood that hung between her companions. There was a glint of something in her eyes—an ember of hope not yet extinguished.
"Actually," Nalia began, leaning forward, her voice a conspiratorial whisper, "the taverns hold more than ale and tired stories. I've heard whispers of ‘The Veiled Hand.’ Seems they fancy themselves puppeteers, pulling strings from the shadows of Sevrin's Keep. I think they may be who we’re looking for.”
"Whispers?" Savi pressed, her interest piqued. "More than that," Nalia replied, her confidence buoying their spirits. "A secret passageway, known only to those cloaked in their secrecy. It winds deep into the bowels of the Keep, where they convene to weave their influence over these lands."
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"So that is how we will reach their chambers in the keep," Emeric's brow furrowed, wondering how they would find this passage. "Then we know our next move." They shared a collective nod, understanding the gravity of what lay before them. The Veiled Hand had been nothing but a shadow, but now, thanks to Nalia's fortuitous eavesdropping, they had a direction—a path leading straight into the heart of darkness itself. As the evening wore away, Nalia and the others spoke about how they would infiltrate this clandestine order, and they settle on their previous plan. Disguising themselves, attempting to move unnoticed amongst their rank and file members. In spite of the progress they had made, Emeric could not shake a nagging feeling of unease in the back of his mind… something was wrong with this picture.
* -
Emeric adjusted the simple woolen cloak around his broad shoulders, blending into the throng of townsfolk as they navigated the crowded streets of Fayolham. Beside him, Savi's keen eyes darted about, taking in every face, every shadow that flitted across the cobblestones, while Nalia moved with a shadow’s grace, a hand resting lightly on the hilt of her concealed dagger. "Keep close," Emeric murmured, his voice barely audible over the din of merchants hawking their wares and children darting between legs. They weaved through the market square once more, their steps measured and unhurried despite the urgency that pulsed beneath their calm exteriors. The smell of freshly baked bread mingled with the tang of fish from the docks, an olfactory tapestry that spoke of everyday life—a stark contrast to the sinister purpose that propelled them forward. As the silhouette of Sevrin's Keep loomed closer across the river, its darkened windows like blind eyes watching over the town, the trio felt the weight of history pressing down upon them. The air grew colder, and the laughter and chatter of the crowd seemed to fall away as if even the joy of the townsfolk dared not approach the cursed structure. "Act natural," Savi whispered, her lips barely moving. "We're just travelers, weary from the road."
"Indeed," Nalia agreed, adopting a slight limp as she feigned exhaustion, her head bowed to better hide her features. Approaching the entrance of the ruined Keep, they stuck to the shadows, watching for spying eyes peering out at them from windows or darkened alleys. Finding none observing them, the trio darted inside the keep, their footsteps echoing off of the crumbling stone walls. Passing the threshold of the outer walls, a chill fell over the group as they entered the defiled halls, once home to the proud Gladstone family. Stepping cautiously over rubble, brushing aside vines that worked to reclaim the stones around them, the trio pressed further into the old keep. “The air is like a shroud here, we shouldn’t linger,” Savi said to the others, fear tainting her voice. She hurries her steps, beckoning Emeric and Savi to follow. “And here, I thought I was the superstitious one,” Emeric replies, humor in his tone. A hush falls over the group as Nalia raises her hand, crouching behind a small pile of rubble next to a wide opening in the wall. “Quiet, now,” she whispers, “guards ahead. They may be armed, it’s too dark to tell.” The group falls in behind Nalia, Emeric already weaving strands of darkness around them, pulling the darkness of the night around them to obscure their presence. Savi begins a low incantation, calming their nerves for what was to come.
Peering around the corner, they spotted the guards: two men clad in leather armor, their expressions bored and disinterested. It was clear they were more concerned with the end of their watch than with any real threats. After all, who would be fool enough to slink around the ruins of Sevrin’s Keep late at night? “Remember, we’re not here to fight,” Emeric cautioned, catching the others’ gazes. “Not yet.” Nalia tensed, ready to move, “well, we did decide we’d disguise ourselves as recruits, should we not talk to them?” Nalia stepped forward, her charm at the ready. “Good sirs,” she called out with a smile, the picture of confidence. “Could you point us to the induction ceremonies? We’ve been told to arrive here at nightfall.” The guards exchanged a look, their suspicion momentarily piqued before one shrugged. “This here guarded en’rance might be a good place to start.”
“Thank you kindly,” Nalia replied, her gratitude seeming genuine as she steered her companions narrowly between the guards. As they passed by the guards, Savi stumbled, bumping into one guard clumsily. Apologizing profusely, she helped him to his feet again, while Emeric seized the moment to weave a sigil in the air behind the guards, setting them into a magical slumber near-instantaneously. “Thought we weren’t meant to cause a disruption,” Nalia said with a wry smile, jabbing Emeric in the side playfully. “This’s no disruption, rogue. Though I see how being seen could be a disruption for you,” he replied, returning the joke. With a shared look of understanding, the trio slipped through the door, stashing the guards behind some crumbled ceiling tiles in the room beyond, their hearts pounding in silent victory. The dim corridor at the end of the room promised secrets and danger, but it was the path they had chosen. They had infiltrated the keep, and now the true test awaited within its shadowed halls.
* -
Emeric’s breath came in measured huffs, a counterpoint to the click and whir of the trap they had just narrowly avoided. A grid of deadly crossbow bolts lay embedded in the opposite wall, a silent testament to their brush with death. Nalia was mete inches from where one bolt quivered in the stone, her eyes wide but her demeanor unfazed. “Woulda thought they’d allow folks through past their guards,” she said, clearly unhappy with the series of traps they’ve avoided so far. “Barely avoided this one,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the hum of latent danger that filled the decrepit corridors. “Too close,” Savi agreed, her mind already spinning in an attempt to figure out the workings of the next trap - a series of plates, each promising its own brand of demise. She studied the pattern, her gaze flickering across the subtle differences in the stonework. “Left, two steps forward, then right,” she instructed, having deciphered the safe passage through intuition honed on puzzles, albeit less lethal ones. They moved together, steps synchronized to Savi’s commands, a dance of survival choreographed on the fly. With a final leap, they land just beyond the end of the last trap in the corridor… and Emeric begins tottering backwards. Frantically, he thrusts his hands out in the air, tendrils of arcane energy shooting out from his hands, growing and writhing like vines, grabbing hold of the ceiling when Emeric was a hair’s breadth away from hitting the trapped plates they just managed to avoid. Sweat beading on his brow, he began pulling himself up from the ground once more, Nalia and Savi watching with bated breath. Finally righting himself once more, Emeric simply shook his head, and continued onwards to the bend at the end of the hallway. As they rounded the corner, their relief was short-lived. They faced a wrought-iron door covered in arcane symbols that seemed to pulse and twist under their gaze. Emeric reached out, sensing the malice emanating from the barrier, yet knowing it was their only way forward. “Stand back,” he warned, drawing upon the ancient words he had discovered along his travels. The air crackled with energy as he spoke an incantation, the symbols glowing red before fading away, the lock yielding with an audible click. Emeric moved to open the door, but Savi pulled him back, grabbing hold of his wrist. “You’d better explain what that was, right now,” she insisted, concern in her voice. Emeric looked back at her, “Got us through the door. Let’s go.” His eyes swirled with the mixture of gold and shadow that had become their normal since being exposed to Zartek’s magic, and in that moment, Savi felt that presence in him, that chilling malevolence of Zartek. “No, Emeric, you just used an incantation. The arcane does not rely on incantations, the divine does. You’re giving in to him, aren’t you?” Her voice rose a level, nearing a shout, “where did you learn that method? Your studies, what were they?” Emeric pulled his arm away, his demeanor overtaken by his frustration, “what are you insinuating, Savi? You think I brokered a deal with our enemy? Do you forget what he did to us? To Keyon? You insult me.” Turning away once more, Emeric strides towards the door. Savi’s mouth hangs open, limp, finding no words to return from what she had said. Wordlessly, Savi and Nalia followed Emeric.
Pushing the door open, they entered into a vast chamber, dimly lit by torches that cast long, dancing shadows along the walls. In the center, a circle of robed figures stood, their chant rising in a cacophony of discordant tones. At the heart of their circle, something writhed - something that should not be. Emeric’s hands raised in front of him, glancing at Savi as if to say, ‘you think I would have a hand in this?’ Nalia’s lips moved in a silent prayer, while Savi’s eyes left Emeric’s, darting around the room, searching for any advantage they could exploit. “By the Veiled Hand, we summon thee!” bellowed the leader of the ritual, his voice resonating with unnatural power. The trio watched, horror-struck, as reality itself seemed to tear, the fabric of existence fraying at the edges of the summoning circle. And from that maelstrom of darkness and light, the Arcane and the Divine hijacked for their sinister purpose, a shape began to emerge - a shape that defied logic and sanity, a harbinger of the doom they feared most. Their path had led them here, to witness the birth of a nightmare. Sure as they could, they steadied themselves against their task. Three souls, bound by fate, standing against the steady march of darkness.