Corminar knocked a very precise seven times on the dark green door.
We were by this point in the middle of the large town of Tarenthe, one of the many key stopping points on the east-west Goldmarch road—that which connected the Badlands in the east to the Beached Armada in the west. It was a vibrant town, without an ounce of poverty to go around—or at least, nothing that I could see, and I didn’t think it would escape my notice. The people seemed happier as a result, some of them smiling, even greeting strangers in the street. It took me a moment to get my head around it, though Lore had been eagerly returning their greetings from the second we’d stepped foot in town.
Val had made the case for stopping at a tavern to try out the local craft, but Arzak and Lore had focused us—the sheep were on the line here, and the sooner we resolved all of this, the better. And so Corminar brought us to this address, to an almost intentionally average-looking home, with common vines stretching up the walls and a clean, vibrant, emerald door.
‘Yes?’ a voice called out from inside the house.
‘Corminar Cladenor,’ my elven friend said. ‘Here for Aiwin Pelayor.’
There was a moment of pause. ‘On what business?’
‘Information. We can pay handsomely.’
‘Information on their crimes?’ came the response from the man inside.
It was Corminar’s turn to pause. ‘I am not sure I understand, sir.’
‘Are you asking for information from Aiwin, or asking for information on Aiwin? Not that I can help all that much with both, you understand.’
‘He just said he didn’t understand, no,’ Val called out. ‘And neither do I.’
Corminar hushed our big-mouthed friend with a held-out hand. ‘We have no intention of asking for information on Aiwin, I assure you. It would not… suit me for many of their crimes to be uncovered.’
At this, a bolt slid back, and the green door opened to reveal an elderly man, his hair greying, wearing a necklace with elven text engraved thereon—text that he, as a human, surely couldn’t read. ‘You are a friend,’ he said, looking up at Corminar.
‘From times long past,’ Corminar agreed, with a nod.
The older man gestured us all to hurry in to the large house, then spent a moment on the boundary looking up and down the street. Satisfied that nobody had seen us—which was probably not true; we were a pretty ragtag group of adventurer and likely to stand out in these parts—he closed the door behind him, and turned to face us.
‘Aiwin?’ Corminar prompted him. ‘I would like to see them as soon as is possible. Do they not reside at this address any longer?’
‘In a matter of speaking…’ the old man said. ‘Before I say any more, I have to know: are you truly friend to Aiwin? Can I really trust you?’
‘How would you have me prove it?’ Corminar asked.
The old man considered this for a moment. ‘I would have you answer a question: where does Aiwin consider home?’
Val baulked at this. ‘I thought this was their—’
This time, it was up to me to shut her up, which I did by putting my index finger on her lips. She made a show of moving to bite it.
‘Their home? Like me, Aiwin has no home. Not exiled from the Woods—we are not Red Thorn—but both of us guilty of enough that we are no longer welcome there. I assure you, sir: whatever you think we might be, we are not. We are here on unrelated work.’
The old man met Corminar’s eyes, as though judging whether the elf was speaking truth, or regurgitating someone else’s. Finally, he nodded. ‘You wish to see Aiwin? Then, I have bad news, I’m afraid. Aiwin was caught up in some rather nasty smuggling business. Seeds from the Dawnwood, you see—a matter that the Goldmarch government take rather seriously, considering their shaky diplomatic relationship with the elves.’
‘Birth seeds?’ Corminar asked, eyebrow raised. So rare was it that he volunteer expressions like this.
But the man shook his head. ‘No, no, nothing like that. Regular old seeds, but enough, perhaps, to dilute the magicks of the Dawnwood. Not that Aiwin was directly involved, of course—they act only to put interested parties together—but the subsequent clamp-down has been broad.’
‘Have they fled?’ I asked. ‘Where are they? We just—’
‘Tarenthe general prison,’ the old man said. ‘Awaiting trial. Queen Amira has broadened legal powers, however—for matters such as these, they can be held indefinitely. And until they secure any meaningful evidence, the authorities might just do that.’
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
‘Sorry, just to be clear,’ Val cut in, ‘the only person who knows where this depth raider is is currently in… prison?’
‘If it is information you’re after, I can check the notes,’ the old man said. ‘If the information is anywhere outside Aiwin’s mind, then it’d be there. Though these notes are not the most thorough, I am afraid.’
Corminar shook his head. ‘Anything Aiwin writes down will be encoded, and half of what they have written will be a lie, intended to fool anyone who pries. If we want the information, we will have to retrieve it directly from Aiwin.’
‘Does prison have visiting hours?’ Arzak asked. ‘We go speak them.’
‘Visiting hours?’ the old man replied, blinking at the orc. ‘No. No, dear, it doesn’t. Things are changing, in the Goldmarch. It might not look like it, but they are. Queen Amira is tightening her grip on her subjects. The law is just a part of it, even, but it’s where you’re most likely to notice the change. No visitation, holding without charge… all of that is new. Soon enough we’ll lose the right to a jury of our peers. After that… I do not believe there will be a trial at all.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Val trying to suppress a smile. Never a good sign.
‘Tell me about this prison,’ she said.
The man furrowed his brow, but complied nonetheless. ‘Built thirty years ago with the expansion of the new kingdom under Amira’s father’s reign. It sits on the old site of a human cemetery, and—’
‘Yes, yes,’ Val said, waving the man down. ‘I’m not after its history. I want to know what it’s like now. Tell me about the defences. What’s keeping Aiwin from breaking out? Sounds like they’re resourceful enough, after all.’
The man laughed, then strolled across the room to take a seat in a plush armchair. ‘“Resourceful” will only get you so far, dear. The prison is guarded by the finest of Goldmarch soldiers, trained in the ways of the sword and the bow. There will be a sorcerer on staff, as well—’
‘Was that a pun?’ I asked. This question went unanswered.
‘—who will be responsible for enchanted traps at every conceivable entrance, as well as being able to rain magicks down on any escapees. And that’s before we even talk about the building itself. There is an outer wall, high enough to be near unscalable, and even if you were to scale it, that would only take you to the guards’ sleeping and living quarters. The actual cells are behind another wall, just as high, patrolled day and night by soldiers in golden armour. If none of this is enough to deter you from attempting escape, then perhaps the artifact at the centre of this building is.’
Before Lore could ask the obvious question, Aiwin’s friend—housemate? …lover? I realised I didn’t quite know the relationship here—continued.
‘When a new prisoner arrives, their personal effects are taken away, and they are forced to wear a belt. This belt, upon equipping, becomes locked—you cannot take it off. This would not in itself be a problem, beyond it being unfashionable, however that it where the aforementioned artifact comes into play.
‘Built into the very structure, at the centre of the complex, is a cube—one powered by an enchanted gem. When one of the linked belts moves far enough away from the cube—that is, somewhere between the inner and outer walls—then the cube activates the belt.’
I licked my lips, resisting the urge to ask—
‘What happened when it activates?’ Val asked.
‘It tightens. It tightens until it can tighten no more—and few force in Alterra can stop it.’
The sorcerer nodded. ‘OK. OK, that’s interesting. We can—’
‘Val, why are you asking all this?’ Lore asked.
‘Because we need to break them out,’ Val replied with a wide, toothy grin on her face.
‘I thought it was a bank heist that you wanted to do,’ I said.
‘Yeah, but do you know the only thing better than a bank heist? A prison break—and it seems we have no choice but do to one.’ She flung her hands in the air in celebration. ‘How great is that!’
"Styk"
Level 11 Bladespinner
Base Stats:
Vitality — 26
Intelligence — 107
Dexterity — 38
Strength — 50
Wisdom — 26
Charisma — 8
Skills:
Worldbending — Level 25
Knifework — Level 23
Identification — Level 10
Stealth — Level 6
Needlework — Level 4
Abilities:
Slice — Slice the enemy for physical damage worth weapon’s base damage and additional damage scaling on [STR].
Stab II — Put your weight behind your wielded blade and force the tip through tougher hides and armour. Damage scales on [STR], increased by an additional 20%.
Closed Reach — Bend reality to narrow the gap between blade and target by up to 8 inches. Uses mana.
Mana-Fuelled — Passive. Optionally, use mana in place of stamina to activate Knifework abilities.
Local Portal II — Create a portal to another location within current range of sight or within a ten yard radius. Uses mana/second.
Portal Slice — Passive. Portals can now be spawned within non-sentient objects. Doing so slices through all objects that are not reinforced by magic.
Ash Husk — Convert your flesh to ash, strengthening it against flame for ten minutes. Gain 50% resistance to fire attacks.
Shrill Perimeter — Create a perimeter wall of 20 foot radius, invisible to all but those adept in magicks. If an enemy crosses this perimeter, this spell releases the shriek of a banshee.
Warped Shield — Passive. If an enemy strikes you with a low-level melee weapon, Warp Shield automatically activates to open a portal that deflects this attack. You must not have any portals currently active. Uses mana on activation.
Stealth Attack — Passive. 50% boost to damage when unnoticed by enemy.
Stitch — Create a basic stitch in common fabrics. Ability scales on [CHA].
Active Effects:
Legacy of Sisyphus:
XP gain increased by +900%