Isil sat down on the cold metal chair, her eyes constantly on the man slumped over in the chair across from her. His name was Amaties, and he was a spy sent from the Kingdom of Lent. It seemed his original purpose was to observe the Ulblaadaan Empire, but decided to turn his attention to Dirak-Feûr when the peace between the two nations was declared. He had confessed to having stolen a few items from Fallen Crescent’s supply caravans, but nothing as serious as what he did today.
Apparently, he knew nothing about the guild. He did not know its name, status, power, or fame. To Isil, this was most odd. Amaties, while only on par with an honorary member of Fallen Crescent, had managed to steal multiple valuable artifacts from her guild’s supply caravans, which were heavily guarded. Every wagon in the caravan had been enchanted with alarm spells and had at least two honorary members on guard at all times. His battle power may be at the level of an honorary member, his stealth was on a completely different level. Such a person would, everywhere outside the player guilds, would be valued highly.
It was because of this initial report that Isil decided to take over the interrogation herself. This was, of course, not due to the fact that she was getting bored. Now, she sat calmly in the white-bricked room, populated only by a her and Amaties, the table between them, and the chairs they sat on. Raiesa and two others watched from the other side of the wall, seeing through solid objects due to the enchantments placed on it. She dropped a stack of papers onto the table, the loud sound causing Amaties to flinch.
“I’ve heard part of your story from my associate, the woman who was in here earlier. I’d like to hear the rest.” Isil crossed her left leg over her right and leaned back.
“I already told her everything! Just ask her! Please, just leave me alone!” Amaties spoke in a loud whisper, as if afraid something might hear him.
“I want to hear it from you. Talk to me. Everything will be alright, so long as you will talk to me.” Isil said, hoping that the persuade skill still worked.
“No, no, no, no, no… She’ll kill me. I know she will! I’ve done things, terrible things…” Amaties curled into the fetal position in his chair, rocking himself back and forth.
Isil’s eyes flickered to the wall where Raiesa was. She conveyed no words, but the old woman’s perception allowed her to understand what she meant. Nodding slightly, she released the Fear spell from the man, and he slowly stopped trembling.
“I just hope you can get something from him when he’s shouting at you.” Raiesa informed Isil telepathically.
“Don’t worry, I can handle it.” Isil replied.
“Damn, you cowardly bastards certainly know inhumanity, don’t you?” Amaties spat, his fiery temper back in his voice.
“Good to see you back together,” Isil grinned. “Tell me, would you like to see how quickly I can break you?”
Instantly, the fire in Amaties seemed to go out, and he shrunk back into his chair.
“Good to know you’ll cooperate. Now, as much as I’d love to rifle through your mind willy-nilly, you might just be useful to me, and I prefer not to leave your mind damaged.” Isil stated, folding her hands.
This was the reason why interrogations were necessary. Reading memories and reading thoughts were very different. While Isil was able to read Amaties’s thoughts when he attacked her, it was because it was at the forefront of his mind, and discerning the most relevant train of thought in his mind was also difficult. Reading memories was like stretching out a rubber band as far as it can go. Knowing when to stop was crucial to prevent breaking, and even if you don’t break it, it stretches out and loses its original shape. Continuing the analogy, it is very hard to tell when the rubber band would break, and every rubber band is different, meaning that there is no set length it can stretch out to. So, to be safe, Isil did not plunge herself into his mind, and instead retorted to a classic interrogation.
“No, please, go ahead, I want to see you try. And enjoy watching you fail.” Amaties leaned forward, pressing his palms against the table, his mocking tone back again.
“I see.” Isil unfolded her hands and relaxed her legs, sitting up straight again. She removed a single page from the stack of papers, put it down on the table, and slid it towards Amaties, who looked over it.
“Look familiar?” Isil asked.
“No. I don’t know this person and I don’t know why you think I would.” Amaties tossed the paper away.
Isil quickly snatched it out of the air and returned to her seat. She briefly glanced over the paper, making sure she got the right one. She had grabbed a magic photograph of a corpse. It lied face up in a grassy plain, wearing a red and black uniform that bore the mark of Fallen Crescent. He was an honorary member of the guild, and a guard from one of Amaties’s target caravans. He had died many days ago, but the picture was taken on the day of his death. Isil had only just found out about it.
“Truly? I see, my mistake then. However, I thought you’d know. After all, that artifact you used when attacking me was something that was under his protection.” Isil slowly rose to her feet.
“What can I say, I don’t know the guy.” Amaties said, shrugging simply.
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“I see.” Isil said, starting to walk around the table.
Amaties remained silent. While his outside demeanor was calm and collected, his heart was imbibed with fear. Despite the fact that he was one of the elites in the entire Tyverran Continent, he feared the mysterious organization that worked from inside the tower. He was under orders not to interfere, but his desires had gotten the best of him. His appetite for their treasures had began when a caravan had been caught in a landslide. He was just returning from hunting in the forest when he spotted them.
Ironically, he had helped them out of the goodness of his heart, only for it to turn into desire upon seeing a stray artifact. It had been wrapped lightly in cloth, allowing it’s knot to loose and a peek of the contents to be revealed to him. Out of curiosity, he had taken it out of the cloth, originally intending to re-wrap it once he had gotten a good look. A small crystalline cross on a necklace. It glowed a light cyan, and radiated power visible to the naked eye. The instant he laid his eyes on it, it was as though his soul had been taken by it. He desired the artifact greatly, in his mind, it was the one thing holier than the divines themselves.
“Precious…” He had muttered to himself.
A sudden movement of the rocks below him tore his mind away from the artifact, and broke whatever bewitchment had been cast upon him. After steadying himself, he was shaken by his attitude from before, and quickly wrapped the blasted thing in its cloth. Fear had lingered in his heart, and he swore never to bother those that bore the mark of a crumbling crescent moon. However, the light had haunted his mind day and night, and he could not turn away from the thought of holding it again. Eventually, the longing began to cause him physical pain, and he could take it no more.
One night, having finished his report to the imperial Spymaster, he had a sudden thought. A caravan that bore the mark of the crumbling crescent was staying in his village overnight. It would be guarded, no doubt, but the might have his Precious with them. The pain ebbed away as the thought of stealing their valuables. More and more he thought of it, and the pain turned into blissfulness. He was getting high off the thought of simply stealing something – anything – from those caravans.
So he did it. In the dead of night, he went to each caravan, perusing through their valuables but taking nothing. However, the fruitless search through the many wagons began to itch at him, and his annoyance with his luck demanded he steal a few trinkets. None of them were as important to him as his Precious, but they would suffice. They looked rather alike. At the last wagon, however, he suddenly returned to his senses and realized what he was doing. He had immediately left, and swore never to return.
As his luck would have it, however, he returned the next time they came around. The call had only grown stronger, and he was not able to resist it. Many times, he brushed against failure, but was able to escape every time. Except for the last raid. It was just his luck to meet a guard that had stepped away for a piss. Thankfully for Amaties, he caught the man while he was pulling up his pants, and ended his life quickly.
“Ah, so that’s why his belt was loose.” Isil remarked.
“?!” Amaties was shocked.
H-how?! D-did she read my mind?! Amaties thought in shock. He turned to glance at Isil, who slowly sat in her chair, and gazed up to look at him with a small grin. She nodded once, and that was enough. Amaties spilled everything, realizing that the woman opposite him truly had eyes that could stare into his soul, and the only reason she hadn’t perused his memories was because she wasn’t willing to break him to get the information. It was the final straw for him. Any pretense of bravado and swagger had gone flying through the window. His only hope now was that they still had use for him.
-_Hours Later_-
The ten scouting teams had returned with little news. Summarizing their unnecessarily detailed reports, nothing changed. Of course, to Isil, the world had been thrown out the window and replaced with a fancy new one that desperately needed an instruction manual. Official statements, army movements, even secret ruins and shadow organizations – there was nothing different about them.
“… We’re the only ones that’ve changed...” Isil muttered to herself.
Isil set the report down on the table, her eyes catching a glimpse of her scarred forearm. She had taken off her robe and magical accessories to feel more comfortable in her office chair. Underneath the black magician’s robe was well-made plain clothing with little enchanting. Aside from the elven ears and natural beauty, she looked no different from the average commoner. A simple use of appearance-changing magic, and she’d be able to slip into the crowds easily.
It was good that a disguise would be simple. She was a woman of action, and she wasn’t getting any closer to finding ‘Heaven’ by sitting around reading reports. She opened the middle drawer in her desk, and pulled out a rolled-up sheet of paper. She put the paper down in the center of the desk, shoving the other papers to the side. The paper was unfurled over the desk, revealing itself to be a detailed map of Tyverra.
Isil took some paperweights and placed them on the map’s corners. She grabbed a pen from a different drawer and circled Dirak-Feûr’s location on the map. Then, with a pen of different color, she began circling other places on the map, seemingly at random. Having circled multiple different locations, none of which having a common factor, she sat back down and poured over her edited map.
The circled areas on the map were all places that had connections to the divines. Whether they were evil or good, owned by man or beast, they were divine in nature. These were the most likely places to have a connection to ‘Heaven’. Perhaps one could even deliver her there and save her the trouble of performing complicated rituals. Her first choice was a ruin near the city of Suugant, in the borders of the Ulblaadaan Empire.
The Ulblaadaan Empire was basically a massive tribe of nomadic warriors who enjoyed conquest and destruction. Their emperors were all warmongers, and it was likely that Ulblaadaan had never gone more than ten years without being in a war. Their current emperor was Huundaar Nvibarr. The emperor himself was the most powerful warrior in the empire, and led his troops personally, leaving all the governmental problem to his far weaker ministers. Ulblaadaan was a nation of strength, not intellect, meaning that the emperor was the only person that could keep a hold on the power-hungry clans. It was a mess of a nation, in Isil’s opinion.
She had chosen the ruins near Suugant because it was one of the only places that had a divine avatar constantly within it. Many divines play active roles with their avatars, then quickly die out, returning to their true divine form. Though avatars were rare enough that a strict rule could not really be observed, avatars that lingered for a long time on Kalixkto were practically non-existent. As far as she knew, only 3 or 4 remained on the planet, the rest of the divines speaking to and manipulating the world through priests, prophets, and places of worship.
It was possible that she could hold a conversation with a divine through one of those things, it was also likely that the divine may not care to answer her. If she started physically forcing an avatar to speak, however, it would produce far better results. A wicked grin sprouted on Isil’s face. Just the idea of beating up a divine was already making her excited. However, her emotional high was interrupted by a yawn and a feeling of drowsiness.
“Hm… I should get to bed...” Isil muttered.
She rose from her chair and stretched a little. She collected her robes and accessories, stashing the accessories in her pocket rather than putting them back on. She turned off the desk lamp and headed over to a random shelf near the door. A book with a red cover titled “Secret Mechanisms” was pulled back, but not off the shelf. A creak of metal along with a quiet rumble made Isil let go of the book, the clanking of metal heard as it slowly restored itself to its original position. The bookshelf swung 90 degrees, revealing an opening with a bed and floating magic orbs.
Isil had discovered this room not too long ago, when she was browsing the books on the shelves. Seeing the “Secret Mechanisms” book, she had become extremely interested. She had always retained a bit of longing for those book-doors she had often read about. It was when she had gone to remove it that she picked up the sound of moving metal. She released the book and was astonished to witness a book-door in her own office. It was then she realized why she had never had a bedroom – it was because it was in her office all along.
Isil walked into the room pushing the floating magic orbs to the side. A tendril of mana turned on a small ceiling light, revealing a small wooden chest at the foot of the bed. Inside the chest was a far larger space that the outside revealed, a product of dimensional transcendence. She removed a set of pajamas from within, and dumped her magic accessories inside it. A change of clothes later and her commoner clothes joined the accessories. Isil ceased her supply of mana to the light and pulled again on the “Secret Mechanisms” book. The book-door closed and Isil flopped onto the bed, falling asleep instantly.