The recent months have proven challenging for Lanaen’s Band. The conflict with the Sae’gez, initially waged through rhetoric but now escalating into brutal skirmishes, had encroached dangerously close to Silifran, their stronghold. Smelling weakness, opportunistic criminals, behaving like a pack hungry hyenas eyeing a sick pup, besieged and eroded their faltering reign. As foreseen by X, they had been eaten from the outside and hollowed out from within.
While the Sae’gez and Lanaen’s Band clashed in the streets, taverns, and on the old dusty roads of strange godsforsaken places, Del’vhario schemed. Grand plans for great minds. Whether driven by genuine interest or mere indolence, the redheaded elf took a keen interest in Silifran, viewing it as a gateway to broader horizons. The resplendent districts beyond the outer ring, the inner sanctum of purity, the calling of a higher culture—the city of beings descended from the Gods themselves—a realm X wished to defile and challenge as an affront to divinity and its prodigal children.
Authorities initially attributed this surge in violent incidents to typical underground activities of the lessers—punitive measures or settling scores. However, as the violence escalated and spilled into the mainstream, the elven leadership could no longer turn a blind eye. The Steward of Silifiran mandated the Protectorate’s Commander to assemble a specialized team to address the growing unrest. Lanaen’s Band’s problems had just begun, and the worst was yet to come.
Del’vhario’s name gradually raised from the depths of the underground, first gaining traction among those on the fringe, individuals predisposed to rumors, legend and myth. Some tales grew so extravagant that they transitioned into legends—stories recounted by senile grandparents on their deathbeds. A redheaded elf? A pair of paltry gnomes? A cawakin feralis sorcerer? Their bizarre exploits seemed too demented, too blessed by the divine, to hold any semblance of credence. Yet, the persistence of these legends hinted at the truth. Perhaps a new faction, comprising unlikely characters, had indeed coalesced and embarked on their ascent through the underbelly of Silifran.
True to the extravagant tales, Del’vhario conspired. Compounding the Lanaen’s Band’s woes, tensions flared on another front with the Valentian Scars. Initial skirmishes escalated into bloody massacres, orchestrated by a redheaded elf and his cohorts. While the majority of Lanaen’s Band members adhered to the prevailing narrative—the Valentians Scars’ betrayal of the pact, necessitating a retaliatory response—the Valentians Scars’s leadership harbored suspicions to the contrary. They glimpsed the unseen force manipulating Lanaen’s Band strings, the insidious figure lurking in the shadows. Consequently, the Valentians Scars resolved to taunt and test Del’vhario, seeking to goad a reaction, unaware of the extent of the elf’s wrath that would inevitably be directed at them.
“Are we ready, Mau?” said the redheaded elf, perched atop a carriage.
“Do you still doubt my skills?” The gnome scanned the horizon, Fildereal looming between the trees. “It’s been so long since I did something exciting... fuck!”
“Shagging Marika every night is not enough?”
“Eh? Be a good sport and don’t be jealous of my superior gnome ways.”
“Don’t invite me to the wedding though,” remarked X, glancing sideways at his partner in crime.
“What? This is a different kind of excitement. This is what we were born for! Isn’t it, you plebs?!” Mau turned back, the two carriages behind them filled with their underlings, shouting in approval.
“You’ve got that right, we were destined for this,” replied X, grinning with the inscrutable smile of a sinister entity. The caravan pressed onward, seamlessly merging with the procession of caravans bound for Fildereal.
Fildereal, an elven enclave located closest to the wilderness and farthest from the trappings of civilization. Its position teetered on the brink of the savage realms inhabited by lesser races. Situated on the outskirts of the Elven Kingdom, the perils and barbarism of the kingdom’s remotest corners seeped into its streets, permeating its society. Even the elves here found it challenging to shield themselves from the encroaching savagery, unlike their counterparts in Silifran.
After a series of gold exchanges, the Del’vhario crew found themselves within the grand yet decadent confines of Fildereal. The grimy thoroughfares and peculiar odors heralded the arrival of the good times. Guided by Mau, the three carriages navigated through a desolate street that culminated in the kinhayas’ district. In this urban landscape devoid of distinct inner or outer ring, various checkpoints attempted to regulate the influx of undesirables into the elven quarters. Although some guards patrolled the streets, in the impoverished barrios, no one seemed to care.
Before reaching this district, the caravan took a tour of this part of the city. Fildereal greeted them with a warm and inviting familiarity. Less regimented than Silifran, Fildereal unfolded in unexpected ways, yet upon closer examination, it revealed equal layers of hierarchy. As they traversed the charming and strangely scented streets, Del’vhario’s caravan left barrels of arreci at various taverns and dubious establishments along their route. The quality of their offering prompted the owners to grin widely upon learning it was free, accepting it without question.
As dust billowed from the streets, they found themselves parked along the main avenue of this district, positioned at the edge of this forsaken section, readying for an impending raid.
“Are you sure we got the right places?” inquired X once more.
“I told you, I don’t mess around with this. I got them spot on,” affirmed Mau, lending a hand in unloading several chests.
“I trust you, and even if you didn’t, fireworks are always... pretty to look at.”
“Aren’t they just? You, Ekk’s, got the nice life down. But I’ve done my part, and we’ll hit them hard and true.”
Mau and X led a motley crew of seven sentient beings. While feralis comprised most of their forces, they also commanded orcs, dwarves, a few brakans, mermyds and even an elderly vermaian, all working together alongside a cadre of other undecipherable mixes in pursuit of happiness. From these diverse subordinates, X could select at his leisure for missions like this one.
In Del’vhario, the pay was generous, the lifestyle luxurious, but it was the parties, oh Gods, the parties that truly gave meaning to life for these outcasts who had known nothing else. Some came from the same criminal background as their leaders, but the majority were simple, impoverished creatures lured into this way of life by a sweet-talking elf. The endless flow of dusts and arreci, and females from every conceivable race, and even some beyond imagination, provided them with motivation. Yet, the ultimate drive stemmed from the one thing that made every risk, every hardship, worthwhile—a force no one could forgo. Not gold, though plentiful, but power. Whether derived from weaponry or spells, they reveled in it. However, the greatest form of power manifested from Del’vhario’s name itself. This fueled them, with their deeds and accomplishments instilling both terror and reverence in friend and foe alike.
“Are we leaving the Lanaen Band’s brand here?” inquired Mau as they prepared, the creatures under their command marching down the street.
“Do you think the Valentians will buy that?” retorted X.
“Nah...”
“Exactly. But do leave Lananen’s Band items here, everything we brought for today. Those Nila has nicely procured for us, especially the insignias.”
“We informed all the establishments that the arreci was a gift from the Lanaen Band. Though the Valentians won’t be fooled that easily,” remarked Mau while checking his Skull Ripper.
“Yeah, but what about the elves? What about everyone else? They will buy into it... and even if they don’t, the locals will demand Lanaen’s head. Only good can come from that,” spoke X.
Mau laughed. “Sounds about right. And what best way to sow chaos than by killing some bitches.”
“Are all Valentian Scars members female?” pondered X, recently learning this fact.
“Last I heard, and truth be told, I’ve never seen a male among their forces.”
“Mhmmm.”
“It’s related to the Pulkrata’s Daughter... something about the line passing through females. Who really fucking knows? Religion and superstition,” shrugged Mau, then fixed his gaze on X. “Lesser minds, that’s all they are.”
“Indeed.”
Both they and their retinue halted before a large structure. This aged and neglected edifice loomed stark against the radiance of this world’s sun. Exiting the building, three female feralis approached the gathering outside. These female creatures shouted words that held no interest to the recent arrivals.
From twin bags flanking him, X extracted as many firebolt spells as his hands could grasp. He then cast them skyward, intoning the elven words of power. To the astonishment of the two members of the Valentian Scars, torrents of fiery magic surged toward them, striking relentlessly. Though the firebolt spell belonged to the lowest tier of fire spells, a barrage of them, as with most things, presented a formidable show of power. Several explosions later, the Del’vhario forces passed by barbecued chunks of feralis meat and exploded guts.
“Holy shit! You’ve just wasted scores of firebolt spells! Those are cheap, but at this rate... damn!” exclaimed Mau, infected with Nila’s concern about their finances.
“You don’t get it, Mau. The message is what matters most here,” replied X.
“But the ones who witnessed it are dead.”
“No. All Del’vhario members present are alive and well. They will talk. You will talk, and Del’vhario’s legend can only rise.”
Mau fell silent, momentarily paralyzed, contemplating X’s words. Amidst all his craziness and violence, the elf possessed a method, a way of being that stood out from all the bloodshed and mounting corpses.
Meanwhile, their subordinates placed several barrels of that fine arreci around the structure—a gesture to the Valentian Scars, to Fildereal and to the Elven Kingdom.
Breaking free from the redheaded elf’s enchantment, Mau looked back at the members of Del’vhario. “Attack! Leave not a single one of those Valentian bitches standing! This is how Del’vhario deals with those who cross us!” he yelled.
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The cacophony drew forth the remainder of the Valentian Scars from within their warehouse. Not a battle, but a massacre unfolded. Without warning, this Del’vhario force ruthlessly dispatched any living being within that warehouse. They acted swiftly, optimizing time and resources, except X. In response, the Valentian Scars dispatched reinforcements. However, Del’vhario’s forces had already made a direct beeline out of Fildereal, vanishing any trace of them ever being there. Then, the second assault from Del’vhario commenced—a collaboration between Sikue and Mau, orchestrated by X. Timed explosions reverberated through Fildereal.
Half-filled with arreci and half with explosives, the barrels detonated at each previously scouted landmark. Every targeted location belonged to the Valentian Scars—distribution points for their products or gathering spots for their members—everywhere that Mau and his forces had ensnared through their network of spies. Although they couldn’t pinpoint the Valentian Scars’ headquarters, they targeted the next best thing, perhaps the best—their lucrative establishments.
As the poorest portion of Fildereal succumbed to flames in this darkest of nights, Del’vhario’s caravan journeyed without hindrance through the dusty roads of the borderless region they thrived in. Their satisfaction illuminated their way through these untamed lands. A striking scene unfolded behind them: amidst the smoldering remains of an ancient dust smuggling ring, a glimpse of something novel surfaced—life renewing itself on all fronts.
*
As anticipated, the pressure on Lanaen’s Band increased tenfold, their activities curtailed at every corner, on every street. Even the Valentian Scars joined the fray. Though they didn’t believe Lanaen’s Band had actually struck them at Fildereal, they seized the opportunity presented by their competitor’s precarious standing.
“All for the best!” X raised a cup of the concentrated Purple Haze in his drink.
The subsequent uproar drowned out all of Del’vhario’s upper management musings. Mau, Nila and X toasted with their underlings in a nondescript warehouse here in Silifran. After the crowd quieted down, the revelry continued unabated. While everyone else enjoyed themselves, the trio spoke of more savory matters.
“As I told you, Silifran is ripe for the taking,” remarked Nila, sipping from her glass of Purple Haze.
“Nila, your information does indeed suggest a weakened criminal structure,” replied X, also taking a sip from his Purple Haze.
“Weakened? Those bastards are paranoid with a capital P. Fuck ’em, I’m tired of dealing with their shit,” commented Nila.
“Let’s paint the sewers red,” suggested Mau, already on his third glass, eagerly drinking the purple liquid inside.
“We’ll plan, of course...” The redheaded elf surveyed the party. Dusts abounded, drinks of all kinds kept flowing, and females of every race and taste dotted the landscape of this makeshift hall of pleasure.
“With the pressure from all sides, I see no better opportunity,” asserted Nila.
“Even K’bula... and his group joined in the fun,” exclaimed Mau, refilling his fourth glass of the night.
“And the Saints, the human group based in Saint Jaulea, are keeping quiet. They won’t help them,” added Nila, taking another sip of her intoxicating beverage.
The gnomes’ voices yearned for decimation, the total obliteration of the group commanding Silifran’s underground. They spoke sweet words of glory and visions of greatness to the elf’s ear. While X agreed with them, he harbored a doubt, a bothersome spine lodged in his thoughts.
“But we need to finish them all. The lower structure is almost done for, it just needs a little push, our push. What bothers me is their leader,” stated X.
“That freakish human boss? We’ll kill him, and it’s a done deal. After handling most of them, and without their leader, the rest will scatter in the wind,” commented Nila, before settling comfortably into her seat.
“Really, X? You... getting squeamish... on us?” Mau could barely hold his thoughts together.
“You wish! I’m just saying that...” X fixed his gaze on his trusted lieutenants, their faces too intoxicated with unknown substances, and the promise of a future filled with more—more dusts, more fun, more carnage. “Screw it, let’s do it!” The redheaded elf rose from his seat. “We’ll deal with what we have to deal with, when the time comes to deal with that!” X momentarily drifted and lost his train of thought, but the significance of his words did not escape notice.
“A stroke of genius!” exclaimed Mau, already eager at the prospect of good old-fashioned violence.
“Del’vhario!” Nila rose from her seat, addressing the assembled crowd. “We go to war!”
The ensuing shouts threatened to tear the walls from the dilapidated warehouse. Fortunately, X was cautious, and had ordered the walls reinforced with several spells, ensuring not a single sound could escape the building. It had happened before; their parties spiraling out of control. Like their subordinates, the leaders also indulged in various amenities, both of the flesh and of the mind, until morning.
X had devised a plan precisely for this moment and in the following days, deliberated it with his lieutenants. He urged Sikue to produce massive amounts of spells, primarily for himself, while Nila and Mau labored tirelessly on their dusts. The redheaded elf utilized their forces to gather additional information, to surveil key Lanaen’s Band personnel, and stalk their usual hanging spots.
No one could deter them, neither now nor in the foreseeable future. The indelible mark they would leave on this world had truly begun.
*
Barely four days had elapsed before they set their plan into motion.
Nila had ample time at her disposal to map the sewers. Every spot, chamber, connection, exit, the stronghold, and the barracks were meticulously noted. The only area eluding her scrutiny was the headquarters—the deepest, heavily guarded room where the human boss and his top lackeys convened. However, that location did not concern her greatly, as everything would fall under Del’vhario’s heavy strides.
With the information she provided, Del’vhario carefully toured the outer ring. Their carriages, laden with barrels brimming with their special mix, made their rounds, halting at every sewer grate or entrance to the underworld. Upon stopping above a sewer entrance, the entire contents of one barrel or several barrels were emptied into the depths below. They employed hundreds of barrels in this manner. Mau watched with consternation as their contents cascaded into the gaping maws of the gargantuan sewer system. Their fortune, everything they had fought and killed for, resided within those barrels. If the plan failed, they would be left with nothing.
Beneath the cobbled streets, the explosive liquid mingled with the water below. Mau and Nila reiterated X several times that these powders would not lose their explosive properties when submerged, a fact which the redheaded elf, after much deliberation, approved for use.
“Here goes everything,” said Mau as his team poured the last barrel into the cloacas.
Meanwhile, another team distributed barrels topped with arreci and explosives beneath to various taverns and designated locations. Members of Lanaen’s Band in these establishments welcomed their leader’s gifts with open arms. “He hasn’t forgotten us!” they yelled overjoyed. Besieged by all sides, many had fled, and those who remained found themselves devoid of all motivation. Gestures like this served to uplift the morale of Lanaen’s Band members. Yet, beneath the surface of this seemingly kind act lay a hidden meaning—a menacing fate loomed over every sentient race gathered under the banner of Lanaen’s Band. The countdown to their final feast had begun.
Once Del’vhario finished their preparations, its forces gathered outside the grand avenue to witness the fireworks. Armed to the teeth, their plan sprang into action with several explosions that devastated many establishments in this part of the city.
“Del’vhario! Del’vhario!” they shouted before running headlong into confrontation. Del’vhario members killed every survivor from the Lanaen’s Band who had been caught in the blast, forcing the remainder to flee underground, seeking refuge in the still-intact sewers, where Del’vhario promptly pursued them.
The alarm reverberated not only through the cloacas; the explosions also rocked through Silifran’s political center in the inner and center rings. With knowledge of what had occurred at Fildereal, the elves realized that their city had become the next target of the violence gripping the border cities of the Elven Kingdom. Hastening to quell the unrest and apprehend or neutralize the perpetrators, the Protectorate, along with the Legazz, rushed to the outer ring on an urgent mission.
“This tarnation!” X exclaimed as his feet splashed through putrid water. “Once more ankle-deep in this rotting liquid!”
“But can’t you smell it... amid the putrid stench, the latent potency, the power,” Mau inhaled deeply the infested air.
“All I smell is putridness,” remarked the elf.
“Don’t we all smell what we choose to smell?” a familiar voice greeted them as they entered the sewers.
“Nila! What kept you, and where’s our welcoming committee?” asked X.
“Fuckers are going haywire in there,” the female gnome gestured deeper into the cloacas. “You really spooked them this time, our time!”
A roared erupted in the sewers. The forces gathered here smelled the putridness of the long-due demise of their rivals.
“The Lanaen Band is going down!” yelled Mau.
“Hey Mau, shouldn’t it be Lanaen’s Band?” interjected X, suddenly pausing the whole advance of Del’vhario’s main force.
“You ask the weirdest of questions with the weirdest of timing.”
“I’m not doing it on purpose... I think.”
“Lanaen is elven for indestructible, or some shit,” explained Mau.
“I thought it was a name, someone’s name... how its own members use it gives that impression,” commented X, expressing his confusion.
“Well, fucking retards are using it wrong, does it matter?”
“Nah.”
“Let’s give those motherfuckers a piece of hell, our own special kind of hell!” shouted Nila.
“You heard her!” commanded X “Advance!”
What followed could only be described as the pure genius of a crooked mind, the gallantry of the deranged, of the deprived of motherly love, or perhaps of someone who simply relished the spectacle of destruction.
With the precision of a choreographed performance, Del’vhario launched assaults on the fortified positions of The Lanaen Band. In their own turf, Del’vhario’s adversaries smirked, confident in their advantage and time being on their side. Despite sustaining loses, Del’vhario’s forces persisted in their frenzied attacks, unquestioningly devoted to their cause. Their leaders, adept at triumphing through convoluted schemes and by lurking in the shadows, guided them to eventual victory time and again. Even if they ordered a retreat, after sustaining heavy losses, they would rise once more until no one was left standing.
Meanwhile, members of the Lanaen Band patiently bided their time, knowing full well the Elven Protectorate would arrive any moment now with soldiers and special forces into the sewers. Though capture seemed inevitable, survival remained paramount. The human boss and his lieutenants grinned with assurance, confident of their band’s resilience.
As expected, the arrival of the Protectorate was swift. Del’vhario’s sentinels positioned throughout the streets whistled as soon as they spotted the elven soldiers, their echoes resounding through the tunnels, alerting Del’vhario’s forces to their presence. Amidst the advancing elven forces and the barricaded members of The Lanaen Band, Del’vhario’s own survival teetered on the brink.
For X, this awaited moment finally materialized. With a shout and a smile, he commanded his forces to retreat to predetermined positions within the sewer system. The sudden hush that enveloped the tunnels marked the cessation of hostilities. While the Elven Protectorate pressed forward, triumphant shouts from The Lanaen Band members rumbled deep within the labyrinthine sewer network.
Outside, in a small garden on the outer ring, the elven commander of the Protectorate and his most trusted captain stood upright. They conversed in elven, with the most obnoxious of accents.
“How’s the raid on the sewers going?” inquired the commander.
“Our forces entered the sewers at midday; the operation is underway and—” the captain began, interrupted by a soldier’s urgent arrival.
“Urgent news!” exclaimed the solider.
“What are you waiting for, soldier? Speak!” ordered the commander.
“Commander, suddenly the group that attacked The Lanaen Band base vanished! The Protectorate’s forces are combing the area as we speak!”
“What!?” exclaimed the captain.
“How did they—? Lead us there!” shouted the commander, prompting the three figures and the awaiting forces to enter the sewers.
In the moments that ensued, hell engulfed them. The ground trembled, the murky water below rippled, and then they heard it—thunder, fire, the earth cracking, and bricks soaring several stories into the skies. Peering down from the center ring uphill, Silifran’s Steward and other politicians had first front-row seats into the carnage unfolding below. The sewer system in the outer rings erupted before their eyes.