“They're here!?” questioned Mau.
“What?! Who?!” asked X.
“Your fucking kin! The Legazz have arrived, you freaks! I see them surrounding us!” yelled Nila as she peered through the window of the seventh floor of this tower.
X approached the large window and observed the miniature elves scurrying about on the ground, akin to termites preparing to invade an enemy nest. “Tarnation!” Approximately twenty Legazz disembarked from the carriages that brought them. “How the hell are they here so quickly?!”
“These new Legazz are nasty shit!” yelled Dagg, the half-callao.
“What’s the play here? We go down there and fuck ‘em up? Oh, I want to taste some fresh Legazz blood!” grinned Ehr’riatt evilly. This half-karran, a recent addition to Del’vhario’s forces, while bloodthirsty, had proven his usefulness several times since joining X’s criminal organization.
From the moment he joined, his life had turned around completely. Once shunned and cast aside at every opportunity by elves and anyone else, this parasitized half-karran and the britthe inhabiting him worked as one. His parasite, the one that deformed him and pushed him toward blood also changed his physiognomy. Ugly, yes, but it gave him strange abilities.
“And you will, Ehr’riatt. You will taste the blood of those who come to die, but not yet. We scram—every lieutenant here, take your subordinates and look for a shadow... a hole somewhere to hide,” ordered X.
“Yes!” shouted Nila and Mau, who commanded their forces to do as they were told.
“Are we running away?” questioned Ehr’riatt, feeling wronged by those commands.
Nila and Mau didn’t doubt X’s words anymore; they trusted him. In almost every difficult occasion, he had come on top, and Del’vhario along with him. To the newcomers, his words sounded like cowardice, like someone who knew his gig had come to an end.
“You want to face them head-on, then hurry up and go... but you go alone. For the rest of us, that’s not the way. Here in Del’vhario, we use our heads. Who do they want? Me. I’m their priority. We’ve seen them coming directly for me time and time again. So I go down there, with someone like you, Ehr’riatt, someone willing to meet his death so much. Together, we welcome them, just enough for they to see me— Listen, we don’t have time, so I’ll make this short: I am bait and all of you concealed throughout the floors of this tower, their executors. As Ehr’riatt and me ascend, drawing them closer... Wait until I’m at the very top, then cleave them from the shadows!” explained X to the assembled forces. He then directed his attention to the empty space to his right. “Heiran... you are our trump card... you know what to do.”
From the shadows, emerging amidst the weak souls within Del’vhario, the orc materialized.
“Where the hell did—”
“Silence...” X cut off Ehr’riatt’s startled exclamation. “We act now! And you,” he pointed his index finger at the young half-karran, “follow me!”
Upon locating Heiran in the forgotten depths of the sewer dungeons, X invited the orc to his lair in the ruins. Without a spark left in his spirit, the orc accepted X’s offer. Returning to the ancient structure shared with the vawykins, the redheaded elf seated himself opposite of the orc, providing him with ink and parchment to write down what he could no longer speak.
The team assigned to scour the sewers later reported to X that they had found Heiran bloodied, with light bars inserted all over his body, hanging upside down, his tongue removed.
“What happened?” asked X.
The orc scrawled on a parchment, passing it to X upon completion. The redheaded elf studied the glyphs on the scroll.
“Deja vu... I’ve seen this somewhere else,” remarked X. He handed Heiran a fresh piece of parchment. “Here, write it down in the common tongue or whatever everyone speaks. The hell am I to know orc—I don’t even know elven and don’t plan too. So don’t hold any illusions about your surely super useful and amusing language.”
Heiran extended his hand, weaving words in the air, the lingering magic provided ample time for X to decipher the message.
“Can you shut up?” X read aloud the magically inscribed words. He redirected his attention to the orc. “See? Common tongue. Told ya. Now... just explain to me what happened.”
“And that was elven, but whatever...” wrote Heiran. Subsequently, he delved into the intricacies of his vengeance gone wrong, recounting how his superior in the sewers knew of the events at Dureld Dungeon and awaited him with leverage.
“I couldn’t kill him,” Heiran spelled out in the air with magic.
“I thought you were powerful.”
“No. I simply couldn’t go through with it.” The orc erased his previous statement and wrote again.
“Something about balance, right?”
Heiran nodded.
Later, X learned the truth from another prisoner who had shared a cell with the orc and overheard the conversations Heiran had with his ex-boss.
The truth unraveled the fact that Heiran refrained from killing his boss to protect Ferraine. The human had wielded a potent threat, leveraging knowledge of Ferraine’s whereabouts—still within Dureld Dungeon, still in the metamorphosis phase. Though the orc managed to kill all other traitors, when confronted with his human superior, the latter revealed the threat, leaving the orc with an easy choice.
In a bid to protect his beloved princess, who lay gaiting her transformation, Heiran capitulated, willingly subjecting himself to imprisonment where he endured torture and lost his tongue.
“I knew there was more to your tale. Your love put a stop to your vengeance,” X confronted Heiran, having learned the truth. “So, all your talk about balance... were you just bullcrapping me?”
“Have a laugh at my expense, but I protect that which I need to protect,” Heiran traced the words in the air before him.
“We can help each other, and as I see it, I took revenge for Ferraine, where you couldn’t. All said and done, you owe me... at least thanks.” X received no response. “Think about it but do consider it. Here, you’ll have access to resources, enough of them to go and try to help her. I don’t know if you can liberate her from her prison, but at least you can build defenses around the dungeon and watch over her.” X observed the pensive countenance of the orc. “Stay as long as you want with us, and when you are through with Del’vhario, you can go, no strings attached. I’m just asking for the odd job here and there... you know, like in the old times.”
“I agree to your terms on one condition,” Heiran wrote. “If I ever need one favor from you, anything, you will provide.”
“Deal.”
Back in the tower, Heiran vanished back into the shadows, leaving only the elf and Ehr’riatt standing solitary on the seventh floor. The rest members of Del’vhario had dispersed to different levels, awaiting in anticipation.
Within the tower’s confines that X had infiltrated, none of its original denizens breathed life. Del’vhario combed the premises in search of an artifact requested by Sikue to advance the specialized research X had commissioned. While most of the tower’s inhabitants showed reticence to being robbed, they could no longer voice their disapproval against the flagrant violation of dozens of treaties and laws governing wizards and other races. Even several valiant adventurers, dispatched quickly by Del’vhario, had stood guard over this bastion of knowledge, research and progress.
Following a brief but fierce battle, Del’vhario ransacked the place. With the coveted stolen item securely stowed in his shoulder bag, X and the parasitized half-karran descended the staircase from the seventh floor to the third floor.
“Wait... wait...” X grasped for breath around the fifth floor, necessitating assistance from Ehr’riatt’s magical tentacles that hoisted him through the remaining floors. The elf still forgot, now and then, about his fragile condition.
Ehr’riatt peered down at the floors below, observing the Legazz as they finally breached the tower following their preparations. “Those fucking elves have stormed the tower!” he exclaimed.
“Hey, you freaks!” Functioning on borrowed strength, X leaned over the handrail and bellowed at the Legazz bellow. Several of the elves turned their gazes upward. “Welcome to hell!” With these words uttered, the redheaded elf unleashed a barrage of firebolt spells into the air, intoning the appropriate elven incantations and bombarding the Legazz positions.
“Run up!” X commanded the parasitized half-karran.
A frantic ascend ensued, with the Legazz in relentless pursuit at every turn, at every step. Eventually, Ehr’riatt supported X, nearly assisting him for the remainder of the climb. As they neared the summit, the elven units closing in. But here, the Legazz contingent found themselves systematically picked apart. Isolated in pairs or less, Del’vhario’s operatives struck from the shadows. Heiran confronted the captain and his chief lieutenant, creating a bottleneck while X continued to unleash firebolt spells upon them. Ehr’riatt had long since joined the fray, his time had finally come.
Amidst the turmoil, X successfully navigated through all levels of the tower. Once outside, the retreat signal resounded within the structure. All surviving members of De’vhario withdrew, and swiftly vanished, leaving behind their signature scene—carnage. Having achieved their objective, they saw no need to prolong their stay, thereby avoiding further casualties.
These fierce skirmishes, particularly when battling the new Legazz forces head-on, exacted a heavy toll on Del’vhario. Minimizing member losses became a priority for their redheaded leader. The elves from the heart of the Elven Kingdom arrived well-prepared, wielding power and savagery. X almost respected them.
Despite the mounting corpses, many willingly risked their lives for a taste of paradise—where power, wealth, luxury, and the most hedonistic of pursuits flowed endlessly. With smiles on their faces, they marched toward their deaths for Del’vhario. The taste, even if just once, of such divine pleasures was well worth the sacrifice.
*
The following day, at Silifran’s Main gate, a human approached the elven captain responsible for its security.
“Who might you be?” asked a female elven soldier, facing Lord Jarailo under Silifran’s Main Gate.
“I’m Lord Jarailo. I collaborate with the Commander and Viceregent Val’lay,” he replied.
“Uh-huh...” The captain had heard such claims before, many of which turned out to be false.
“Please, take a look at this,” said the human, extending a parchment to her.
The female elf read it carefully, taking her time even as the long line of carriages waiting to cross into Silifran continued growing.
“Does this mean...?” the female captain mused aloud.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Yes, captain, we’ll be working together from now on, for as long as the situation requires it.”
“Hmm...” Dynea Fylse, captain of Silifran’s Main Gate security, harbored reservations regarding the human lord’s words, though the document appeared genuine. “I’ll verify this parchment, and if it is legitimate, then so be it.” With that, she proceeded into the main building adjacent to the gates.
Lord Jarailo surveyed the long queue of caravans and creatures awaiting entry into Silifran. Their fatigued expressions bespoke the mind-numbing process and the elves’ apparent indifference to expediting matters.
“It has been verified,” Dynea Fylse informed Lord Jarailo as she returned the document to him.
“I came personally today, but I won’t do so next time. My associate will handle it. He’s the one actually transporting the goods,” Lord Jarailo said.
Dynea Fylse sighed, bothered by the human’s demand. This request pushed the boundaries of what the document allowed. “Provide his name, race, and all necessary details to avoid confusing him with... others.”
“He’s a half-elf, named Ferd’inan Sil.”
“Great, another half...” muttered one the elven soldiers under the captain’s command.
“Half-elf and half-what?” she asked.
“Half-prunae,” replied Jarailo.
“A half-what?” The human’s revelation caught the female captain off guard.
“I don’t ask, and he doesn’t tell...” replied Lord Jarailo.
“A prunae?! Goodness, some of us really need to tone it down... captain,” remarked another elven soldier helping secure the main gate.
“Indeed, Lennel, these mixes are getting stranger by the day,” concurred Dinea Fylse.
“Here are your transport documents. As for your associate, he must bring his personal documents and this...” The captain handed a small letter to Lord Jarailo. “Your cargo may proceed.”
“Captain.” Jarailo nodded respectfully and proceeded into Silifran.
“Next!” she called out.
*
In the inner ring of Silifran, two individuals engaged in conversation in a modest office within the main barracks of the Protectorate.
“Last time we met at Lai’Seili’s home—” Jarailo began before the military-clad elf opposite of him interjected.
“At Luz’sa En’terra Lai’Seili Fylso Lynya, voice of the Rulseah Family and Steward of Bra’nka’s residence,” the commander corrected.
“Yes, there...”
“I didn’t trust you, and to be sincere, neither did Luz’sa En’terra Lai’Seili Fylso Lynya.”
“I suspected as much, Commander. If that’s the case, why am I here?” inquired Lord Jarailo.
“You’re here because, thus far, your information has proven accurate. However, I’m curious, why does most of your intelligence pertain to the Valentian Scars, the Sae’gez, or even the scarce Saints?”
“You don’t need that kind of information?”
“I’m not saying that. Dealing with that scourge is imperative, but... you’ve provided us with few targets regarding the criminal faction known as Del’vhario.”
“That information is hard to come by... My sources work extremely hard, day in and day out... but they’ve hinted at something brewing beyond these confines. Not today, but soon.”
“And for today?”
Jarailo retrieved a scroll from the left pocket on his jacket. “This is the most recent intelligence I’ve vetted myself.”
The new Commander of the Protectorate, dispatched from the innards of the Elven Kingdom to replace the recently deceased one, accepted the sealed scroll, unfurled it, read it, and then left it on the table.
“Good, the payment will be waiting at the gates. Ask Captain Dinea about it.”
“Commander, it’s always a pleasure to do business with such honorable partners.”
In that moment, two knocks interrupted their negotiations.
“Enter,” stated the commander.
Viceregent Val’lay strode into the commander’s office within the main barracks of the Protectorate.
“Lord Jarailo, I wasn’t expecting to find you here,” remarked Val’lay to the human.
“Viceregent Val’lay, do you work here?” inquired the human Lord.
“I serve wherever the Elf Kingdom requires me.” Val’lay then turned to the commander. “Commander, I bring news.”
“Well, Lord Jarailo, now that our business is concluded, I can expect to see you in...” the commander began.
“In several days. I must sell my wares in the HUF and... I intend to take a few days off. My bones are killing me,” interjected Lord Jarailo.
“Rest well, but please don’t keep us waiting for too long.”
Lord Jarailo inclined his head slightly. On his way out, he paused at the threshold and addressed Val’lay. “I’ve heard rumors circulating here in Silifran that some members of Lanaen’s Band are attempting to regroup and reestablish their presence in the underground.”
“It’s The Lanaen Band. Lanaen isn’t a name; it means something that cannot be harmed,” corrected Val’lay. “And regarding those rumors... I doubt their veracity. They likely stem from individuals yearning for the old days—calmer, if I may say so.”
Jarailo nodded. “Viceregent Val’lay, I defer to your expertise in such matters.”
“Keep the information flowing, and we’ll provide you with what you seek,” the commander reminded the human.
“I will. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” the human concluded before exiting the office.
Once alone, the commander and the viceregent conversed openly.
“What are your thoughts, Viceregent Val’lay, of this information?”
Commander Dylien Galei motioned towards the scroll resting on the table before the viceregent. In the confines of this modest chamber, the commander’s office, both elves tasked with safeguarding the kingdom at large and Silifran in particular, usually deliberated on significant matters in perfect elven.
“Is this from Lord Jarailo?”
“Yes.”
“What’s there to say? It’s more likely true.”
“It’s probably as you say... However, I’ve been contemplating: where does he acquires such information? Does he have someone inside the criminal factions or...?” wondered the commander.
“We’ve followed him. Recently, he began renting a room in the more affluent sector of the outer ring. We haven’t observed any suspicious activities there. And when he ventures outside Silifran, he frequents the Human United Front, where we can’t really keep track of him... Therefore, for now, your guess is as good as mine.” Val’lay sat down, meeting the commander’s attentive gaze. “Rest assured, we will eventually uncover the source of his information. Such matters rarely remain in the shadows for long.”
“Be that as it may, the identity of Lord Jarailo’s informant or informants isn’t our primary concern. Instead, this faction... Del’vhario... poses a growing threat to the Elven Kingdom. They even launched an assault on the Wizard’s Tower near Mylsina.”
“I’ve heard. And aren’t they neutral?” Val’lay pondered the unfolding events. “I understand elves, humans and other races gather in the towers to research sorcery, and they prefer to keep to themselves, not taking sides in any conflict. They isolate themselves from the world.”
“You’re correct, but Del’vhario attacked them all the same, indiscriminately slaughtering anyone who looked them the wrong way, as per accounts of the few survivors.”
“What did they want?”
“They looted anything not affixed to the walls, so... we are not sure, and the Le’Garantezz we dispatched suffered significant losses. They were ambushed inside. Survivors described it as a hellish ordeal, assaulted from all directions. Naturally, our forces inflicted heavy casualties, but...” the commander trailed off, a troubled expression coloring him.
“We find ourselves at a disadvantage in these calculations. That elf... the one called Ekk’s, knows. It’s nothing for them to recruit from the feralis, the orcs... from various other races; some reproduce faster than others. However, for us... we struggle to replenish our ranks fast enough.”
“Most of Silifran’s elves remain unaware, but that character, that traitor, has become public enemy number one. If this persists, the High King will be compelled to divert resources towards his capture.”
“That doesn’t sound right. We require those resources elsewhere, particularly here on the border, across its entirety,” remarked Val’lay.
“Which is precisely why you’re here. We must come up with a plan to apprehend this... individual, Ekk’s, and dismantle Del’vhario. Capture all of his lieutenants, the gnomes—everyone.”
“A magicless elf, whose name doesn’t tell us anything. One who simply surfaced in Saint Jaulea one day and wreaked havoc by betraying us and...”
“We’ll learn more once we capture him.”
“Do you suspect Lord Jarailo is doing this on purpose?” asked the commander, shifting the topic of the conversation.
“What do you imply, Commander?”
“The information he provides us with...”
“It always proves accurate.”
“Precisely. I mean... he might possess intel on Del’vhario, yet he withholds it, only giving us details concerning their rivals. Armed with this intelligence, we engage them, lose time and resources and inadvertently weaken those factions as well as ourselves... Is it for them? For Del’vhario?”
“That... is a serious allegation, one that needs solid proof, because as of now, he’s one of the primary reasons we can even present progress to the High Council.” Val’lay sighed, acknowledging his own reservations. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. One way or another.”
“Good.”
“And how did the general receive the latest information? Did he have doubts about it? I know he disapproves of anything non-elven,” stated Val’lay.
“Disapprove? Now that is a diplomatic way of putting it. He was unequivocally opposed to it from the outset, but the results and his wife’s influence helped.”
“His wife?” inquired the viceregent.
“Luz’sa En’terra Lai’Seili Fylso Lynya has established a business relationship with Lord Jarailo. She was the one who introduced the Lord to me. I corroborated the information he gave me that day and... you know the rest.”
“That human Lord, he sure knows how to navigate even elven society.”
“It’s easier when he possesses the information we require.”
“That’s true.”
“But, as you say, he remains an enigmatic character. Keep an eye on him.”
“I will.”
“And now, onto the next order of business.”
*
A few days later, a half-elf stood before Captain Dynea Fylse at the Main Gate of Silifran.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I am Ferd’inan Sil, and here are my documents,” replied the half-elf, handing a pair of documents to the captain.
“Ah, it’s you...” she said, taking the documents with little grace.
“I see my reputation precedes me, Captain...?”
“My name is irrelevant, especially to you,” she replied, striding towards the transport vehicle behind the half-elf. “Is this all the cargo?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll inspect it,” she demanded after scrutinizing the cloth covering it.
“The letter clearly states there’s no need for inspection,” objected Ferd’inan.
“Well, I said, ‘We’ll inspect it’.”
“You enjoy this, don’t you, Captain?” retorted the half-elf.
“What?” The captain immediately stopped and regarded the slim half-elf, her expression turning into a frown.
“This power you have over us, if I were an elf, you’d let me pass without question.”
“Are you drunk or something?” asked a lower-ranked elven soldier. “Is this half-something speaking correctly?”
“Of course, we don’t trust any of you!” exclaimed the captain, her patience waning. “If you don’t like it, you’re free to return whence you came— No. I changed my mind. If you want to leave, we still need to examine your cargo.”
“Wha—Why are you like this?”
“You made me curious. Why so much... secrecy? Now, we either inspect your cargo or you go to prison!” declared the captain.
The half-elf refrained from further complaints as the elves inspected the cargo. Most of it comprised barrels filled with arreci, while the rest consisted of trinkets from the HUF destined for sale in the outer ring. The elves cracked opened several barrels and indulged in a couple cups of the arreci.
“All this babble when this isn’t particularly good,” remarked a soldier after the security team completed their routine check.
“Next time, remember to bring some manners along...” The captain glanced at the half-elf’s documents. “Ferd’inan Sil.” Then, she met the half-elf’s frustrated gaze and returned his documents. “You may pass.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Dinea.”
“Excuse me?”
“My name is Dinea Fylse, and if you’re going to be passing through here frequently, the least you can do is learn my name.”
“A pleasure, Dinea—”
“Captain,” she corrected him sharply, “Captain Dinea Fylse.” She flashed a grin, letting him know that she really enjoyed this. “What’s keeping you, half-elf? Stop crowding my gate, move along,” she instructed before turning around to address her next victim. “Next!”
Thus unfolded a fateful encounter between an unassuming half-elf and a dutiful elven gate captain—an encounter destined to alter the course of one of their lives.