Remnants of Night

Winging my way to the Pelthocian Capital City of Osiril—an atrocious place full of self-righteousness and inappropriate capitalization of letters—I was tempted to tuck in for a roll in the clouds. The chances that I would catch Trinathe before he collided with the ground below were good but even over the roar of the wind I could hear his whispered prayers to the Zarhsha patron Deity, so I took uncharacteristic pity. My lair was north of Pelthocia over many miles and many a mountainous region and took nearly an hour before the Capital came without view. Osiril was well fortified; surely a factor put in to effect due to the relative closeness of the Sarkkrai territories to the east. A siege of Osiril’s walls would no doubt fail however a blockade could effectively halt traffic in due to the city’s position carved into the rocky pinnacle of a granite precipice. At its back was the impassable near-vertical pinnacle, its sides were sheer cliff into a tumultuous river and the only entrance was an enormous carved bridge.

When I came within view of the south towers, having flown around to enter from the bridge, I knew the guards would have spied me by then. Momentarily, I delighted in thinking of their panic, could see the horses sprinting down the causeway to alert the castle. I could see townsfolk rushing in to the safety of the stone gates. Touching down in the clearing outside the towers, I shook out my wings and let Trinathe slide to the ground as elegantly as he could, given the long flight. He stumbled, rubbing his thighs to restore circulation while I pulled in my energies and shaped them in to my humanoid form. I missed the sense of immensity immediately.

Trinathe’s black hair was windblown as were his clothes, but he still managed to look dignified as only a Zarhsha could. Flicking back my own hair, I headed toward the bridge fully prepared to meet multiple crossbows pointed at my heart. Glancing up, I was surprised to see stern faces but no bared weaponry. The Pelthocians who hadn’t scattered like leaves on the bridge separated like water to let us pass. Pacing by their slack-jawed faces and staring eyes, I fought the temptation to see how many I could get to jump off the bridge. My amusing train of thought was interrupted by the sound of approaching shod hooves. The welcoming committee had arrived.

I had never actually stepped foot into Osiril. It felt cramped but clean, and the keep at its center was much the same. Perhaps the Capital City had spent too much time under threat of war for its stark lines and sterile appearance… Wait, was I sympathizing with the Pelthocians? My enemies? I shook away those feelings and replaced them—balefire would certainly cure a good portion of their issues. Ushered quickly through hallway upon austere hallway, I found myself in the throne room amidst a small armed force. Were I not who I was, such a display would have made me nervous, perhaps even hostile. Good to see time hadn’t lulled them into foolhardiness. I could never suffer fools lightly.

The Pelthocian King was no young buck but he knew his way around a battlefield and had the look of one who could still swing a sword. A little more gray on top and laced into his well-trimmed beard, a few more wrinkles around his sharp clear eyes and a bit of a developing paunch over his Kingly belt, Ostas Burend eyed me momentarily before dismissing his subjects, then taking a seat upon his throne. Directly behind him, his guards stood conspicuously. He studied me with an unreadable expression, leaving me to break the ice.

“Ah, I see you still live. I had hoped the Creeping Scourge would have eventually taken you,” I said with a smirk and a mocking curtsey. “My Liege.” The Creeping Scourge was a plague that rolled in like a mist, killing and mutating beings into monsters. Yes, I know it’s not a pleasant topic but I had been doing everything to win.

Ostas’ eyes widened and his face drained of color. Apparently my little surprise was still a source of fear. But the Pelthocian King was not a man of faint heart; he was on his feet in his next breath. “My advisors were against bringing you here. They said that letting you step foot to Pelthocian soil is an abomination against all we stand for and that we should be overjoyed to finally be rid of you.”

My smirk faded into a frown matching his.

“M-my Liege Burend,” Trinathe said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. He glanced between us both and I swear he gave me a look of exasperation. The King focused on him immediately.

“Trinathe. Your Trine had told me that this creature,” he waved a curt hand in my direction, “from our past was pivotal to our current situation with the Sarkkrai. Obviously they were correct in assuming she had escaped through that portal.”

“Hey!” I cut in. “I did no such thing.”

“Then please, enlighten me. The Sarkkrai were repelled, chased back to their lands with tails between legs and you—you—were nowhere to be found,” Ostas said, looking down his imperial nose at me.

He had me and he knew it. I could either come clean or I could lie like a plain-faced human at an upscale club. I chose the obvious route: diversion. “Chased them back to their lands, did you? I believe you underestimate the Sarkkrai Warlord if you thought that would be the last you’d hear of them.”

Ostas grunted in distaste. “Lehiras will only breathe easy when that vulgarity is dead and his skull adorns Osiril’s gate.”

“One of this alliance’s biggest mistakes will be underestimating what he can and will do. They’ve never had a Warlord quite like Ve’Sath; he is a prodigy. I take it he is still calling the shots?”

The Pelthocian King’s eyes narrowed as he examined me again as if not quite sure I really was who I claimed to be. He said something but I was suddenly distracted, as if part of my mind had wandered off and it was not simply because Ostas Burend was an atrocious boor. I could sense something coming like a storm building in the distance. My eyes were drawn to the door. Apparently I had been vacant for more than an acceptable moment, for now both the King and Trinathe were staring at me. Then the door to the throne room opened.

Let me tell you something about Ianarius Nalach; I despised him with a passion. He was ugly on the inside, the same as I—don’t let the Pelthocian exterior persuade you into thinking otherwise. But despite that he chose to involve himself with beings of which the words justice and right were commonplace—one of the many reasons I loathed the man.

I had tried to do away with the slimy worm back at the height of my reign in our last battle. Ianarius had been protecting the Pelthocian King with the assistance of three underlings. When I attacked and we squared off, the three banded together to protect him and in the end sacrificed themselves to save his life with a very powerful soul-shield. Somehow the shield snapped and knocked us all flying. Shards of the spell embedded themselves in our suddenly unshielded and wide-open minds. It created a connection between us; it was like having a small chunk of the other deep within our minds. I couldn’t hear his thoughts or predict his movements, but I was inexplicably very aware of his presence. I could feel him—shock, dismay, anger—a lot of it directed at me, the rest at himself.

Judging from the less-than-game appearance from the irritatingly fastidious man, I deduced that he had probably been napping. Ianarius was a tall thin man, towering over the average if only in height. He had a good set of shoulders to him and a frame that said if he chose to, he could be quite the physically intimidating sight. Instead, he chose to devote himself to magic, to improving his mind. His eyes had gone from the hazel green I recalled to a strange inky color; they had a shiny brightness to them reminiscent of polished marbles. When the light hit the irises just right, they gleamed like oil on water. Those were a mage’s eyes; one who mastered the art of energy manipulation to its fullest.

His hair was an unremarkable brown, cut an inch or so below his ears. The temples were going gray, not from age but from stress—I knew how old he was and also knew how magic utilization effected Pelthocians. Stress could change their hair, bow their back and break down their mental faculties but with regular magic use—having these energies pass through you like a conduit—kept their bodies youthful. Minds stayed sharp even in those that were eventually driven insane.

Yup, our ill-fated connection had awoken the sleeping bear from his little nap. And the bear was grouchy.

Ianarius paused when his eyes lit upon me. There was a moment of surprise before I could feel the energies in the room swoop in and wrap him up tight like a blanket, masking his presence entirely. If I hadn’t been looking at him, I wouldn’t be able to sense that he was even in the room at all, so hidden was he. He then rolled his strange muddled-colored eyes away from me and to the King. There was no mistaking his disgust, nor did he try to mask it. “You let that in here without wards? Into our city and into the throne room? Why wasn’t someone sent to notify me?”

“I gave specific instructions not to bother you, Master Nalach,” Ostas said, as the younger man approached in a quick ground-eating pace. “I can ill afford to jeopardize your health during these times.”

I noted the purple circles under his eyes, the haggardness as Ianarius drew up at the King’s admission; no one would—or could—second-guess the King’s direct orders. It also seemed as though the mage had wheedled his way into Ostas’ good graces, had made a name for himself while I was gone. “I… thank you for your considerations on my behalf.” His eyes snaked to me but deigned to not meet my own; temperamental.

“Now, we are all here and it is time to discu—” Ostas’ regal nonsense was cut off by the sounds of commotion behind the door opposite the one Pelthocia’s Number One Mage had walked through so nauseatingly confident only to be put in his place (much to my delight). Everyone turned towards the noise. The heavy door was flung open and in walked a singular figure; behind him on the ground laid the two guards. Judging by his clothing, I immediately thought ‘soldier’. He walked with an assured stride, shoulders back, jaw tight. There was a light shading of hair on his face as if he hadn’t cared to shave in several days; his short dirty-blonde hair looked carelessly mussed. The man wasn’t hard to look at—if you liked stiff military types—but I knew he was someone I wasn’t going to like just by that glance. His eyes met mine briefly and the look wasn’t friendly; I didn’t know who he was but he knew who I was. And he didn’t care!

Then that piercing gaze fled and his steady gait faltered. His entire demeanor suddenly changed and his expression was suddenly like staring into an open wound, almost painful to behold. The soldier fell to his knees and to my surprise, Trinathe scurried to him. He buried his face in the cloth at Trinathe’s midriff, his arms around the Zarhsha’s waist. Trinathe bent to hold him, wrapping his own arms around the other man.

I had a moment of shock then an “Ah-ha” revelation, feeling as if I was just let in on a secret. Sooo the handsome Elf liked…

“When you left…and I didn’t say goodbye knowing… knowing you may not return…” The soldier said, pulling back enough to look at Trinathe in the eyes. “It was wrong of me. I felt terrible. There was nothing I could do but wait and pray.”

“I found my way back to you just as I said I would, Dalayn.” The Zarhsha cupped the Pelthocian’s face with his thin long-fingered hands. I am fairly certain the pair might have enjoyed a tender kiss right then and there if one of them hadn’t come to realize the audience they had. The soldier called Dalayn didn’t so much as scramble to his feet as was simply on them, indicative of a man of action.

King Ostas Burend had chosen to relocate himself to his throne, giving the two lovers their moment. But even a King’s patience could be stretched when it came to propriety. “Captain, while I admire your passion,” Ostas said. “This is a private meeting between… my advisors and me in this matter.”

The Pelthocian snapped to attention, bowing over his fist. “U-understood, my Liege. I apologize for the intrusion and will take my leave.” He hastened to leave, not without skirting a glance toward his lover.

“Captain. You may remain if you wish, seeing as how I might have further need of Trinathe.” There was no hint of surprise or mockery of the two men’s relationship; he either knew already or was just that unflappable. He sighed, rubbing his temples between thumb and forefinger of his large hand. The sigil ring caught the light and sparkled. “And now, the reason why we’ve gathered here.” The Pelthocian King straightened and looked directly at me. “As Trinathe was instructed to impart to you, we’ve witnessed a dark shroud fall over Rakmorath—one not even the Zarhsha Trine can penetrate. Our scouts do not return. The Trine attempted divination, but where they failed in regards to the goings-on inside the Sarkkrai lands, they succeeded in scrying that you were somehow involved. We were aware of your… repositioning… through the cast portal. My advisors believed that perhaps diplomacy might better serve our cause this time around so I kindly inquire of your knowledge of what the Sarkkrai are up to.”

Well, then. Never let it be said that Ostas Burend beat around the bush. While I was pleased that the conversation finally came back to me—after all, I was the guest of honor—the thought of those nasty little Zarhsha “divining” anything related to me gave me a case of the heebie-jeebies. “I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time then. The moment I stepped foot out of Lehiras, it stopped existing for me. I have a new life now. Backing the Sarkkrai in their endeavors no longer interests me.”

I was meeting the Pelthocian King’s eyes when I gave my admission, however I could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on me, none more intense than Ianarius’. Ostas’ gaze went to Trinathe. The Zarhsha smoothed down his shirt—jerking slightly when his hands ran along the zipper of a hoodie instead of the raw silks and thin cotton that his kind generally preferred. “I am inclined to believe what Zofeya says. I did not see her affecting the populace around her in any way they could sense.”

“Explain that.”

“Her… shieldings… were much more lax than they are now. She was fairly easy to follow.”

My fists were firmly on my hips about now. The nerve of this little snack-cake! I started to regret not eating him earlier. He wisely avoided meeting my gaze.

“And this new world…?”

“Did not seem to realize who walked amongst them,” Trinathe replied.

“Hey, I am standing right here,” I interjected. “Don’t talk about me like I am some sort of plague.” I saw Ianarius open his big fat mouth and immediately raised a hand. “Silence, mage. The Creeping Scourge was meant for you, not them.”

He eyed me skeptically, then turned to the King. “I am in agreement with Trinathe. I don’t believe her intentions were to conquer or destroy.”

“Oh? And how do yo—” A thought accorded to me and the mage looked back at me with a slight mocking smile. “Insufferable ass,” I mumbled, bringing my mental shields in tighter. I would really need to remember this one could pick up on emotions as well as energies… Shifting my stance, I addressed Ostas. “As I said, I have a new life there. What you—or the Sarkkrai—do here is not my concern.”

The Pelthocian King studied me thoughtfully. “If that is true, then I am glad. The gods be praised.” Though his words said one thing, his expression did not lighten. He did not look relieved that I was not behind whatever it was that was going on in Rakmorath—the problem still existed for them and their only ‘clue’ turned out to be a wild goose chase.

I sighed. I didn’t want to get involved but… “So... what do you plan on doing?”

“Alas, diplomacy has never worked with the Sarkkrai. I’ve no wish for another war, so in order to find out what they are planning, I will need to send someone more capable than a scout.”

“Perhaps they are not intending on starting another war. Perhaps they simply wish Pelthocia to stop spying on them,” I pointed out. Judging by the expressions of all the men, they were inclined to disagree. I shrugged. “You never know.”

“We do know. Ve’Sath and his minions do not want peace; they want the complete annihilation of Osiril,” Ianarius remarked.

“Oh come now, you forget how much they hate the Zarhsha. Pretty sure they are more interested in getting rid of them first.” My attempt at a joke fell flat. I twirled a strand of hair around my finger. “I suppose I could simply go ask them. It’s not like they would shoot me out of the sky.”

The room went absolutely silent. So silent I could almost hear their heartbeats. I glanced about. “What? It’s a better plan than any of you have come up with. Think of it as reparation for what I’ve done to you in the past.”

“You would do this?” Trinathe asked quietly.

“Yeah. Sure,” I replied. “Ramorath is not that far by flight and they wouldn’t dare attack.”

“I do not like this,” the mage said. “It’s dangerous.”

“Who do you think you are talking to? You needn’t concern yourself with my safety.”

“I didn’t say I was concerned with that. My concern lies with you possibly striking up old allegiances.”

I glared at him. He glared at me.

“I approve of this venture,” Ostas Burend suddenly said.

“My Liege—”

“I understand your point of view but we have little to go on and I am not willing to risk more lives just yet. If… Zofeya… can bring us some answers then this will prove fruitful. If she does not, then we will be no better off but no worse either.”

“And if she decides to pick up where she left off? Then what?”

“Do you think you could stop her, Master Nalach?” Ostas asked, pinning the mage with that intent gaze over steepled fingers.

That gave the man pause. He honestly looked to be thinking over his chances. The arrogance of this one was astounding! “Listen to your Liege, ’Master Nalach’. You couldn’t stop me so you might as well have a little faith that I might bring you back a morsel of the information you so obviously need.”

Trinathe broke our second round glaring contest with his soft voice. “I would like to accompany you.” He pointedly avoided the eyes of Dalayn, who looked absolutely apoplectic and ready to say something he may come to regret. I decided to save the Elf from himself. Or the wrath of his lover.

“Absolutely not. Zarhsha are considered a delicacy to the Sarkkrai. They wouldn’t think twice about gutting and spitting you—even with me in your company.” Dalayn’s hands turned to fists at his side; the sound of his knuckles cracking was audible. “And I dare say the good Captain might just break your legs to keep you here.”

Trinathe bowed slightly, a bit of a shy smile tugging at his mouth.

“Then I will go. Well-shielded, I should be able to hold my own against anything they throw at me long enough for you to finish the parley. Sarkkrai fear magic-users since they know so little about the craft.”

“Some of them might remember you, Master Nalach. This might not be a good idea—especially with how much of the burden you placed on your shoulders to open the portal,” the King said. “Your students are not ready to leave your shadow. If you are not yet fully recovered, this could leave Osiril without her Master Mage…”

“Then in addition to diplomacy, we must now practice trust. No matter how distasteful.”

“See, I was with you on that up until the end,” I responded. “I don’t need an escort and I don’t want to play babysitter so if the Sarkkrai decide you aren’t welcome in their lands, then you best hope you are wearing some Nikes under that dress…”

My use of a human term threw him. He couldn’t even respond to the dress comment. Hm, I’d have to remember that tactic the next time I didn’t want to hear his snarky voice.

“Against my better judgment, you have my permission, Ianarius,” the King said, his tone very serious. Use of the mage’s first name seemed to sober the room with portent. Ianarius bowed. “However I ask that you do not leave until first light. One more night’s rest will do you good.”

Ianarius looked to want to dispute but decided it was probably for the best to go along with what the King had said. He did look rather tired. “As you say, my Liege.” He bowed, then said to me, “I will meet you at the East Gate come morn. I ask that you do nothing till then.”

I got what he meant—do not cast while in Osiril. I had a mind to cast a light spell every twenty minutes just to interrupt his beauty sleep. When he turned to leave, the fabric of his robe flowing around his light leather boots, I couldn’t help my next words. “Don’t bother with packing much. And don’t bother with a horse, you won’t be needing one.” The set to his wide shoulders stiffened. He hadn’t thought about how he would be getting into Rakmorath. It was petty, but such thought amused me.

We all watched the mage stalk out of the room. The King then sighed and rubbed his lofty brow again. “For the time being, you are a guest here. Trinathe will show you to your quarters for the night. Dismissed.” I raised an eyebrow and Ostas jerked, realizing what he had said and that he had just lumped me into ‘his people’ with a single simple word. He gave a small shrug and gestured with an eloquent hand. Apparently, it had been a long day for all of us.

Trinathe and Dalayn escorted me out of the throne room, briefly outside as the hallway turned into open walkway, and into the personal quarters of guests and staff. Two of the afore-posted guardsmen trailed at a polite distance. The sun was setting but I wasn’t quite tired yet. In a subdued manner when we arrived at the room I would be residing for the time being, the Zarhsha asked if I wanted anything to eat, whereas I replied no. Jumping portals had a way of making one physically ill over just the thought of eating. The pair left without saying much else, most likely to have a nice chat about unnecessary risk-taking. That left me to myself. Or so I thought.

Feeling a bit more relaxed, I loosened my mental barriers like I would the strings of a pair of thigh-high boots. I wasn’t planning on casting but I was far too old to not weave my presence into the room I was planning on sleeping in. Breathing out, I expanded my awareness to fill the decent-sized suite and wandered about. Lightly, I touched things here and there—it really was a lush set up—and when I walked in to the bedroom that’s when I felt I wasn’t alone. The four-poster bed could have fit five or six comfortably and there was a large window with fabulous layered curtains pushed back to reveal the evening sky. Lovely, with the exception of the lone spy somewhere in here.

I paced to the window then toward the bed, feeling the presence slide away from me. Circling around, I cornered it behind a large trunk. Pulling energy into my hand till it glowed ready to strike, I calmly asked who the Hells had the audacity.

My request was met moments later by a chuckle. The voice was low, whispery and drew out syllables as if tasting them. “Ah, I was wondering when you would finally notice me.”

“Who are you and what are you doing in my room? Spying on me?”

“Spying? Dear me, no.” A pause. “Well, perhaps a little.”

“And your name?”

Another chuckle as I carefully stepped to the side of the trunk, fist positively glowing with the full-force of my disdain. Quick as a snake, I kicked out and knocked the trunk out of my way to reveal…

Nothing. Nothing at all. But the presence ‘knocked’ on my senses with a playfulness that was starting to grate and I turned to the bed to see—

A snarling headache alerted me a mere moment before the door to my suite was slammed open and in charged Osiril’s Master Mage. Ianarius looked to have quite the bee in his bonnet, strange eyes flashing in unsuppressed anger. Why? Oh, that’s right, I was told not to work any spells while in the Capital. Oops, silly me. “What is this? You were specifically instructed—“

“’What is this’?” I repeated indignantly. “That’s what I should be saying! A spy? Really? What did you hope to gain from that?”

“A spy?” The mage repeated, some of the heat diffusing from his voice.

I gestured to the bed. It looked empty, but I knew better now. Ianarius’ eyes narrowed, focusing his energies and just like that the presence blipped out of existence. “I… there was someone there!”

“And where are they now? You try my patience.” He sounded more worn out than angry.

“Now now, there’s no need to be short,” came a voice from both nowhere and everywhere. “Do not fight on my account, children.”

The mage and I exchanged glances as if making sure the other was not behind this. There was no point in spreading out and searching; whatever we were dealing with was powerful if it could mask its presence on-whim from us.

“I had hoped to catch you alone when you returned to your true home.” Ah! So I was correct in thinking someone was in my forest! “But this will do. Actually this works in my favor.” The voice gave another low chuckle, the sound coming up and over our shoulders like an unwanted caress. I eyed Ianarius in discomfort and he me. For once, the two of us were on the same exact wavelength.

“Who are you?” I demanded again. “And what do you want?”

“You will learn… in time.” The presence swirled around us then coalesced into a bright-white ball. “Follow…”

Ugh, I wanted to relax, possibly take a good soak and get some sleep. Most definitely did not want to follow some mysterious floating ball around Osiril while being accompanied by the most irritating man in history. No matter how delicious he looked, all fiery and tousled. Wait, what did I just think?

The ball zipped forward then buzzed till we caught up. The door was still open and we followed whatever-it-was out into the hall. A small group of Pelthocians were loitering at the end of the hall. Gossiping no doubt judging from their animated expressions and gesturing. They hadn’t seen us yet.

In the sort of fanfare that exists purely for lonely showboaters, Ianarius was suddenly gone from my side, poofing in front of them in a short-range teleport spell. The staffers gasped, startled, then displayed appreciation when they recognized who it was. I rolled my eyes. Simple spell, requiring line of sight and energy to burn—he’d better hope he wouldn’t need that energy to save his hide later. The mage shooed them off then waited for the glowing ball of light to pass, directing us away from the layabouts. He fell into stride at my left.

Trying to take the edge off my thoughts, I commented to the mage, “I suppose it’s safe to say my Harbingers were routed?”

He was quiet for a few steps before responding. “Once we knew what we were looking for, the parasites were hunted down and destroyed.” I felt a bit of… remorse, something… over their loss. The Harbingers were my perfect assassins; trained and bred to infiltrate the Pelthocian society, sow discord and take them down from within. “We learned much from the one we captured.”

Oh ho! He’d probably wanted to say that for a while. “Ah. So that’s how you knew what to look for?”

“Indeed. Right now, we are simply waiting for nature to take its course.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’ve run out of questions except for how long these monstrosities live.”

I stopped cold and had to force my feet to continue to move, lest I reach over and slug the smug bastard right in his perfect teeth. “You have one of my Harbingers—alive—and are keeping it prisoner till its life runs out? Ugh, and you called me dark….”

“Would you rather we had simply killed it?”

“Pretty sure that death is better than torture, no matter where one hails from,” I replied. “After this is over, I am taking it with me. I don’t care how it happens but you will see it done.” I’d think about what I would be doing with an inhuman bloodsucking killer afterwards. Maybe I could fly it out to the country, let it run free…? Yeah right.

A few turns later had me loathing this place more than I already did—how many corridors, floors and hallways did one need, honestly? I was beginning to think we were being baited, seeing how long we’d continued to trail it like fools. The floating ball was emitting a sound like humming -did floating balls hum?—then it darted off and went through a random door. Literally through it. When we approached, the door came open and we entered.

I never had the opportunity to wander Osiril, let alone its castle, and far be it for me to judge on one’s architecture, but I highly doubted that this was part of the original design. The room was heavily shadowed with a vaulted ceiling. The walls were not visible even with the fire pit stationed in what I assumed was the center of the room. Flames stirred oddly in its copper basin; the sparks catching in an air current and spiraling up. So busy was I trying to focus on those stirring flashes that when the fire suddenly whooshed up, it startled me. Letting down my mental barriers just a bit, I attempted to sample the brand of magic. This wasn’t Pelthocian. This wasn’t Sarkkrai (they did not possess latent magic skills in the slightest). This was nothing like I had ever felt before.

I met a hard impenetrable force like no other. Not even Ianarius had barriers this strong; it was like butting up against an iron wall. The fire whirled and reformed itself outside the pit, becoming vaguely humanoid. The fire being laughed and the sound washed over us with power that only a mage-trained mind could feel.

But I was not about to be bullied by some fire sprite or whatever that was! Especially not while on a temporary vacation with a lofty mission on the horizon that I was becoming more and more eager to be done with. The being took a deep breath and the energies of the room swept in. This was no fire sprite. “My name is Invyrchal. Perhaps you have heard of me?”

It took me a moment to realize that the being was speaking human English. Shit….