It did not take long for Nadier to realize the room he found himself in belonged to Trini. The silk blue dress laying spread over the bed was one he recognized her in previously, unless someone was very lucky to have had her in their bed, and she had left in the nude. An image of her in her bathing suit quickly flashed in his mind, but he cleared it away to focus on the mission. He was not sure how he even got that image. He had never seen a sea elf naked before.

“Where do we start?” Ratface asked.

“You go look through Atro's room,” Nadier replied. “Does he have an office or a workplace of some sort?”

“Yeah. First room 'round the corner left,” Ratface answered.

The dwarf left the room and turned the corner right. Nadier breathed heavily in anticipation as he followed, but stopped to take a quick look back into Trini's room. There was a faint smell of her, which was of the sea, that lingered. The dark elf cracked a strain out of his neck, forcing his mind to get to work as he turned left down the corridor.

Regardless of his goals, his first objective was to gain an understanding of the home's layout. He wouldn't call it a building as it was closer to an apartment. He did not have much time, so he only caught a small glimpse of the large living room that was separated by the brick corridor wall which was warm upon touch, likely running small heating pipes through it. Another door was opposite the corridor entrance and walled to the other end of the living room. It carried the same design as the front entrance, and he attributed it to being such. All in all, it was a relatively small abode, which was surprising given At-Tro-Pos and Trini's flamboyant personality and luxurious dressings respectively. Though upon closer inspection, the functioning fireplace was layered with master-crafted bricks carved with flowered imagery. And every other furniture, from the coffee table to the granite counter-top was made of the finest material of elegance, glimmering ore and metal of wealth. Seemed that at home they preferred luxury in quiet, though of quality high.

Satisfied with his scouting, Nadier pushed through the heavy door noted by Ratface and immediately, he could identify the room, a chamber really, to Atro. A large round table was plunked down in the middle of the nest, a map of Devara stretching it with hand made wooden pieces placed atop. He identified pieces with markings for hunters and slavers, cities and town, travelling caravans and roving merchants. A stack of parchment was written with a detailed report of daily movements of all major players on the continent. From there, Nadier could taste the control.

Opposite the entrance was a crescent desk. Atop it were knick-knacks he recognized as cultural gifts from various parts of the continents. A book stand contained 4 volumes of varying height and cover, though all but one of them was of a dictionary's thickness. It was surprisingly organized, and he found no cabinet or trunks nearby which could store other sources of valuables, or information, or valuable information. He either had nothing valuable to hide, or was confident in his security of the place. Nadier hoped it was the latter mistake.

He sorted through the thick books on the desk instead. The foremost was a record of transactions The Arena had made. Bribes to Everwind officials, Mud Town representatives, slavers, pirates, and any other individuals or groups amongst the corrupt and criminal were written in there. In other countries, such a ledger would be damning, but there, on the plateau where the law was made by the owner of said journal, it was worthless to anyone else. The second dictionary sized book was ironically, a dictionary. Nadier set aside the third and thinnest book as it was the most interesting of the lot, with an empty leather cover binding layers of unequally sized parchments. The third of the thick books were of contacts within the world. Again, it was worthless information at the time, though if Nadier does manage to take down The Arena, it was definitely a tome he would return to collect. The content within could spell the demise of many in the underworld.

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With the larger books out of the way, he returned to the haphazard binder. Flipping through, it quickly was apparent what it was. At around two hundred pages, each pages had records of Soul Arms known or rumoured throughout history. A segment of sightings recorded possible connections between which great events of spell power could correspond with which magic signature of the legendary weapons. Entire chapters in the back were dedicated to documenting individual Armaments.

Bulverk. Royal regalia of the Queendom of Lutviin. Element unknown. Space-time projectile distortion with three known firearm forms. Type mechanical. Original soul, unknown.

Cold Fusion. Own by Miguel Vallertes, Grandmaster Enhancer of Aleynonlia. Element of ice. Spatial hyperfrost. Type biological. Created during “The Siege of the Frozen Edge”.

Name unknown. Own by Mir Scarletite Bel'Jarad, last Princess of Jarad. Element of ice. Exponential mass healing capabilities. Type unknown. Original soul, unknown.

Sonien and Sonar. Own by Adam Law, King of Aleynonlia. Element of nature. Drastically increases the fighting capabilities of its wielder. Type natural. Original soul, Adam Law.

Terrafore. Location unknown, owned by a member of the Clover. Element of earth. Godkiller capabilities. Type unknown. Original soul, unknown.

For the scrapped manner in which the information was pieced together, the book was incredibly comprehensive, with certain details on certain legendary figures that wielded the powerful weapons that even he had never heard of. Four thin pieces of string stuck out from the gatherings of the book's bind. Nadier flipped to them one by one.

The first bookmark was a page on the Omnispear, Ierba's Soul Arm. Its current ownership was originally pegged under Ierba Lang, though an additional “sley” had been added with a different ink to form “Langsley”, confirming Ierba's theory that the weapon had indeed returned to its original owner. Nadier flipped to the second marker, which was a page in progress on Takamagahara, a Soul Arm that had been missing for over two hundred years. The third string led to Wygahn. The initial page described it as one of the Soul Arms of the deep that took the form of a blunderbuss. But when the dark elf turned the page over, he found the next segment - which should have depicted its abilities, owners, and other relevant information - to have been ripped from the spine. While the missing page was a curious mystery, he set the issue aside and turned to the last marked section.

“I hope you didn't find my diary.”

Nadier shot his head up to the door. At it, Trini stood in a dress he had never seen before. It was clearly made for combat, with slits at the side to allow for movement and a skirt that only reached her knee to prevent any tripping. The thick dark cloth wrapped up around her waist, then under a leather corset torso with wrapping shoulder pauldrons. In her arms was a scarlet coat, likely to keep out the cold and as added protection. Even in battle it seemed the lady cared for her looks.

“You were supposed to be out with your father.”

“We returned early. And you're lucky I came back first.”

“Nadier?” Ratface's voice came from down the hall and Trini looked down that direction. “What are you-oh. Well, that's ma' screw up, ain't it?”

“Yes, it is,” Trini answered. “Now, hurry and leave before my father return.”

Calmly, almost with confidence, Nadier answered, “In a moment.” His nonchalance drew an eye of almost annoyance from her as he returned quickly to the book in his hand.

Lionheart. Own by Leo. Element of fire. Summons a avatar of flames that can mimic and fight independently of its user using powers from its previous wielders.

“Come on, we have to get going.”

It was only a few lines of information left, so Nadier pushed, “Just one last second.”

Type natural. Original soul, Aramas.

“Arborior!”

Arborior's glance shot up from the book. At the doorway was a human male in his late 40s. He had long since lost his hair and his rugged scalp sat bald atop his scarred face. Yet somehow, despite the glaring baldness, he had a beard that bushelled brown across the bottom half of his head. A survivor of The Arena's slaughter, an experienced gladiator, and having lived imprisoned for over two decades, the man's dressing reflected it, with a tunic made up from carved up cloth patch worked with varying colours of dirt over an increasingly slashed up body. His bare calloused feet scraped the rough floor without pain, though the scent of sweat constantly seemed to follow him around.

“What is it, Aramas?” Arbor replied.

“The bastard's on his way back. Let's go!”

“Right,” the dark elf answered definitively. He flipped back to the second of the three string markers, stopping at the introductory page of Wygahn. He then ripped out the back few pieces containing the bulk of its information. “We've got what we need to beat At-Tro-Pos. Let's get out of here.”