Erwarth’s PoV - Tunnels of Ternòx


    Since their entrapment, the Grottos’ music has stayed synchronised to the planar wheel instead of the night sky. Each one’s music rings out with subtle differences, countering the local energies working to corrupt and twist the inhabitants.


    When I appear at our meeting point, I find my father standing far too close to the edge of the barrier’s protection. After months of us freeing the lost near those Grottos most in need, he looks better—his features are less drawn, though there remains a gauntness I dislike. Though now, at least, the fit of his clothing across his lean frame hints at a healthier weight.


    I nearly growl in frustration and disbelief at his presence within arm’s reach of the shimmering barrier. “Father, if you get caught by a barrier shift, mother won’t let your Soul hear the end.”


    “I can hear some lost through the rock that way,” says father, his pointing hand almost breaching its glow, ignoring my warning.


    “Lord Roher, you have responsibilities, and I can approach far closer to the Grotto than this. You said you had some news?”


    Father’s brow furrows, and he glares my way. His reproving look—I’m sure—is for using his title, but at least he takes some steps away from the barrier. “I’m not the only one at risk of a barrier shift,”


    I stalk further into the Song’s reach and leave him to follow until its strength presses against my ability to resist. Even as I come to a halt, he moves to block my passage further, and I smile at his outstretched hand but I don’t budge an inch when he frowns. “I know how far I can enter. You were a hand’s breadth from the barrier not protecting you. What were you thinking?”


    Father motions back towards where he’d been facing, still focused on those he had heard. “There are-”


    “Lost you can hear, I know. Let us know when you hear them. We don’t need precise directions, we can scour the rock with spells to find their suspended forms. Don’t risk yourself that way,” I state, wishing I could hear his Song.


    “Who between us is the child?” he demands, holding his amusement well constrained.


    When I let loose a bark of laughter, his expression turns into a look of mock outrage.


    “You, given you nearly stuck your hand beyond the barrier, let alone stood there at all,” I tease, his hidden amusement digging at my concerns. “Do you wish me to speak with mother about this when she arrives?”


    Father angles his arms out from his sides, showing his palms quickly in surrender. “I might have gained a fey’s impatience, but after so many centuries of decaying hope, what can I say?”


    There was no sense of Mana, but mother was suddenly there clad in her sung midnight-blue armour, stars glowing within the crystal sheathing her limbs. The open-faced helm she wore didn’t hide her eyes’ silver nor her delighted smiles. Glancing between us, she waves two fingers at father, scolding him for whatever she can hear in his song.


    “Was he causing trouble, Merenien?”


    “My name is Erwarth now, mother,” I correct, hoping the pair of them will give in.


    “Merenien, please don’t make me use that accusation,” she states firmly, her expression still calm and composed, belying the sudden sadness in her gaze.


    I set aside a flicker of frustration, but I don’t resist taking a playful poke. “Of course, Lady Laleither.”


    “You’ll get in as much trouble as your father today,” Laleither asserts before glancing around. From the look she gives me, it’s obvious she’s disappointed that none of the others joined me for this visit.


    “They’re busy with preparation work for luring in a large gathering of Nox at present,” I answer her unvoiced question.


    She gives me an understanding smile before fixing father with a frown. “As for you, Roher. Your mother always told me you had a Pixie’s patience in your youth, but when did you become young again? I told you we’d come out together, so we will speak on this matter.”


    “I wanted to see if I could hear any lost ones with no distractions,” Roher answers quickly. His protests don’t stop the sparks that brighten in Laleither’s gaze, hopefully her private scolding will prevent him from soon risking himself again.


    “Your message indicated you had news, father?” I ask before Laleither starts her scolding.


    Laleither purses her lips and, biting off her retort to Roher, turns back to me. “It was my news, and I wanted to see you again; your father simply beat me to sending you a message.”


    Her excited gaze has a question roll off my tongue. “Is it about retrieving Amdirlain’s memories?”


    “You should know that isn’t possible; the Anar and Lóm? are different aspects of the Song. They can’t awake our memories just as we can’t awaken theirs. Since Isa refuses to risk the Abyss to learn from us, only time or an event in the right key might bring them all awake now.” Laleither said, her scolding gaze fixed on Erwarth instead.


    “Unless you count finding an echo of the first Song,” Roher teases and gives her a bright smile that had Laleither’s lip twitch in amusement.


    “That daydream, next you’ll suggest finding the voice that gave us life from the forge’s sparks,” sighs Laleither. “To have a chance of finding either, you’d need Orhêthurin’s memories returned. There is no record she ever spoke of the Titan’s first singer, but she was the first awake—if anyone saw them, it was her.”


    “She’s been recovering some of them,” I offer, and their gazes snap towards me. “Her Monk Class is allowing her to gain access to memories. It’s a slow process, but Ebusuku has said she recovered some from multiple lives so far, including them lifting her sentence.”


    Roher’s gaze looks darker than the void between stars for a moment. “I’m glad he and his puppets ended up reborn; at least the others weren’t sycophants in their next lives. I remember his awakening ceremony following that life, even abstracted, he experienced sharp despair realising his misrule had cost his new family their titles.”


    “Not everyone has your perspective on things, dear, or your current impatience,” chides Laleither before turning back to me and holding out a crystal sliver. “We retrieved images of various caverns that we lost control of down the millenia. Given the Souls singing to the crystals wouldn’t have been able to move away from them-”


    “We can gather the Nox up and free those bound,” I finish and reach for the sliver, only for her to pull away.


    “Are you trying to hurt yourself? Don’t touch it,” reproves Laleither and slowly extends her hand again. “I’ll have it project the images for you.”


    Lowering my hand sheepishly, I frown in concern at a conversation with Amdirlain. “What about the crystal guardians?”


    “Would any of them still function after so long exposed to the Abyss?” Roher asks sceptically, father’s tone regaining the confidence I always remember from him.


    “One ambushed Amdirlain when she found a fallen Grotto—it almost slew her using a sword imbued with Order,” I counter before Laleither can chip in her doubts.


    “No command band would respond to demonic or celestial control,” father murmurs and I can almost see his mind racing with possibilities. “We might be able to get a simple one working for a mortal.”


    “I know there are mortals Amdirlain works with frequently. I’ll ask Ebusuku for help; if they risk it, we’d only need it to issue two commands: cease attacking and move through a portal,” I advise.


    “Those Elves that came to where we met spoke of being told of our existence by a Julia,” Rother says, eyeing me curiously but not giving voice to his question.


    “I hadn’t been going to pry about that meeting, but yes, that was Amdirlain’s name in her human life,” I explain, and before I can dig, he interrupts.


    “To imagine one of us reborn in such a short-lived species is almost beyond belief,” father ponders. “I’ll see about setting up something, but it won’t allow any complex commands.”


    “If you’d show me the locations, mother, I’ll see about getting the outer edges cleared, away from where a crystal guardian might lurk. Did you have any preference for where we should lure the Nox?”


    “Those in need of the most support now have it. If you could begin drawing more towards the main citadel? if we have enough Souls to support that barrier, it will expand enough to overlap some closer communities. Then we can enlarge the passages between them and shift distant groups into the additional space.”


    “Without us being spread so thin, we might break her hold,” comments Roher, causing mother and me to regard him doubtfully. “One can hope.”


    “It’s our oaths that bind us. While she remains in existence, without the royal line to void the agreement, we’re trapped—so no more foolish risks,” mother scolds him. Laleither is inclined to say more but cuts herself off and returns her focus to the sliver.


    Images of caverns large and small appear between us, giving me enough time to memorise each before the next replaces it—thirty-nine lost communities. “Is that all of them?”


    “No, those are the ones with images available,” Laleither replies softly and continues forcing cheer into her voice. “Now tell me how the others are progressing since we spoke last. Though first I believe I’ll have someone join us since she had an interesting suggestion.”


    The Gate that opens shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it’s an effort not to stare in disbelief at Ebusuku. “What are you setting us up for?”


    “Ensuring a safety net, that’s all. I wasn’t even sure it was possible, but Lady Laleither has confirmed it is achievable,” Ebusuku replies glibly.


    “How did you get in contact?”


    Ebusuku’s smile is far too smug. “Amdirlain showed me an image of the Burning’s Grotto’s edge; it was easy to open a Gate inside the protections.”


    “Now, why don’t you ask the others to join us? The preparations can wait,” Laleither says brightly, and I stare at her suspiciously. “Dear one, you are all Greater Succubi, one step away from lost if you die on the wrong Plane. She kept you from becoming Named, and now you have this wellspring of energy sitting within your form. Let’s get you a safety margin, and help ensure we can all achieve our goals.”


    “Mother?”


    Father surprises me by taking the lead in the explanation. “Ebusuku told us the effect of compressing excess shards above what you need to move to a new tier. It’s up to you, but you’ve been a long time sitting at the peak of Greater Succubus; she believes you’ll gain considerable benefit with that excess power properly invested in your form.”


    “Fine, but we do this one at a time,” I grumble. The others start to appear behind me and I fix a suddenly smug Ebusuku with a stern look. “I’ll go first, and if I feel something’s wrong, we don’t risk the others.”


    * * *


    They snap into existence around me, Teleporting in to appear on the hillside over looking a fog-shrouded plain of Jinamizi. I close my eyes for a moment against the lingering agony of the Ascension and have to catch myself against the feeling of power surging within my flesh. The agony that had left set me aching but also sickening with an exhilarating sense of immense power—the power itself not the issue, rather its demonic source.


    Most of the others have no further alterations to their form, though there is sexual energy in all of us, practically making our bodies glow. The cravings I’d long learned to deal with have gained new strength, and I’m not the only one to shift uncomfortably.


    “We take some time to adjust, and then we’ll resume operations around the caverns. Test your strength, speed, and magic limits, but spar carefully.”


    My voice is barely a whisper, but all nod their understanding and disappear. The bond I feel to the Plane about me is light compared to the possessive adamantine strength it once had. How long will it take to progress to where we can bind to more? Ebusuku’s Energy Drain provided a music template for the singers to share with us. I don’t know when she showed it to them, but I feel the Power’s net, and it possesses a sharp hunger, filled with urges of its own. How does either of them handle these cravings?


    Pulling an imprint stone from my storage bag, I hesitate only briefly before forcing my concerns about what I’ll find aside. When it activates, though, I get a blinding flare which makes the fog appear solid as the stone crumbles into dust. I’m not sure what I’d trade to view my Profile as simply as Ebusuku can.


    “Happy birthday to you all. Glad you are all safe, don’t go doing anything silly, please! I’m still fine, though you made your Oath links buzz. ”


    Amdirlain’s words echo through the link, and I wonder how many others are snickering at her, instructing us to be careful. Fine one to be telling anyone that!


    * * *


    Cycles later, the most recent herding has already shown the shocking extent of our changes. None of us had been in a state to focus on the transformation as we were buffeted by the energy. Instead, we all found our capacities expanded in near equal measure, though accuracy is impossible given the destruction of every imprint stone tried.


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    Fortunately, that hasn’t yet dulled our edge with overconfidence, and I halt the instant Calithil freezes. An orange glow from a nearby mushroom patch combines strangely with her silvery-blue hair, casting her face in shadows while her attention focused further along the tunnel.


    “Problem?”


    The single word projected into her mind immediately had her easing backwards, but she didn’t look about until she was close to me.


    “Wards on the approaches since we last came through here—Sisterhood styling.”


    That is enough to send a withdrawal signal, and we get clear once everyone is gone. Long practice with Planar Shift has it set me right where I need to be in the meeting hall of our refuge. Far underground on the Plane of Jinamizi, with its multitude of factions providing even more options if any of us get Planar locked.


    We’ve not yet spent enough time here to warrant softening its stark appearance, as we intended its construction of simple rooms for purely functional purposes. The central meeting hall is dome-shaped with corridors leading off at each cardinal point. Its simple curved roof of black stone is set with solid struts to help support the weight of all the rock above us. For all its simple appearance, it’s large enough that curved benches along the perimeter provide more than enough space for us all to sit without crowding each other.


    I don’t even have time to sit when N?r speaks up. “Why a full meeting? We’d just located a large grouping of Nox?”


    “Sisterhood wards along the kill zone we intended to use,” Calithil cuts in, perhaps a little too sharply.


    N?r opens her mouth to retort, but Fainil sitting next to her, tweaks her sullen red locks and draws N?r’s focus. “Relax, you’re getting close to ninety, but so are others—no one’s looking to delay things unnecessarily.”


    I hadn’t thought it would need to be stated, but I can see a few others who hadn’t purged classes nodding as if taking reassurance from her comment. The bones of my wings flexing draw their attention to me, and I continue. “All the smaller communities are stable, so there is no urgency in this operation. I’ll send a message to Lord Roher and let him know there will be a delay. Ebusuku is going to be working with Sidero in Cemna. Given we’re all close to taking a Tier Seven Prestige Class, that raises the question: is there anyone that would like to get Blood Monk or other classes purged?”


    Fainil shakes her head, but a few glance enquiringly, an indistinct murmur starts , and I wait for it to settle only to be pre-empted again.


    “But we’re stronger now. What if we don’t get a Tier 7 to use?” demands N?r, her words almost a hiss of frustration.


    “We have one called-”


    “What!”


    The group’s combined exclamation of surprise cuts off Sírdhem.


    Waving the others to be quiet, I fix my attention on her. “Sírdhem, how do you know?”


    “I hit ninety with the last Dao town; likely from all the execution work most didn’t want to do,”


    “You could have told us!”


    “What, make others take rash actions? Don’t be silly. I’m telling you now so you don’t do something stupid. There was a plinth in my mindscape offering classes. On it stood a harp, and in a crystal chalice etched with one word—Enduring. I sensed it’s for what we went through with Balnérith and not breaking. It’s something we’ve had a while, I’d say. I didn’t take the Class. Thought I’d wait, maybe hit a hundred and see what happens,” explains Sírdhem.


    “I’ll line up a time and location,” I say, and note those whose tension eases. “Maybe bring a gift for the grumpy Kyton.”


    “Something that would appeal to a Dragon’s avarice might be an idea,” quips N?r, but I can only nod at the wisdom.


    “You joke, but we don’t know who she is. We don’t even know if she’s Anar or something else,” I offer, and see most stop in consideration. “Lord Roher has suggested there were a few non-Anar Souls entangled enough with Amdirlain’s existence to potentially be drawn back into her influence with her return.”


    “It’s not out of the question, given Isa has True Song and needed a Royal title in a previous life to gain her Prestige Class,” remarks Calithil. “Would be nice if Sidero had a Power that showed the colour of her Soul like Amdirlain’s Ki.”


    “Maybe she’s one of Orhêthurin’s Dragons; a number died fighting Leviathan with her,” says Sírdhem. Even the few thoughtful nods she gains has her grinning eagerly. “Anyone looking to put up stakes with a name?”


    I wait until they have recorded the bets before I continue.


    “With the Sisterhood wards near a Grotto, I suggest we focus on other activities until we hear of their attention shifting elsewhere,” I say. As I open my mouth to continue, ideas race away within me; the extent of my mental changes are going to take time to get used to.


    Tapping her foot, Fainil interjects during my distraction and shifts her wings restlessly, claws brushing against the stone, causing a hiss. “That could be awhile, since they were setting wards near the cave. Obviously, they came with a plan and pre-knowledge. She knows the barriers’ thresholds are the only thing keeping their oaths of service from coming into effect. Even if she doesn’t consider the possibility we’re helping them, it is clear something is up, and now she’ll want to keep a close eye on them.”


    “Anyone else have any thoughts to share?” I ask.


    When N?r signals first, I motion her way, and she doesn’t hesitate. “We gather information. Since she’s shifting forces to Ternòx, it could mean vulnerabilities elsewhere.“


    “I’d say we go back to gain levels elsewhere and let things settle,” counters Sírdhem. Her queue-jumping draws more than a few dirty looks, but she blissfully ignores them and deliberately fixes her attention my way. “We’ve taken the pressure off the others. Let’s not stick our neck in any traps now. She still has lackeys that know our methods well enough to enable them to set up a contingency for any approach we’d take.”


    Calithil huffs and rubs her fingers along her sword’s sheath. “I’d say we lure some into reacting and take a few of them out.”


    “If we do, they’ll know someone outside is deliberating working on it. Regardless of whether we take their squads in a fashion to prevent them from reporting back, that will just provide them with information.”


    “We should gather more information, see if it’s a general reinforcement of their vested interests on Ternòx or if they’re hunting us in particular. They could have just heard about the changes to that cave and set wards to trap anyone involved until instructions come.”


    Others put proposals forward, but I simply listen, considering the options, before the increasing heat in their tones elicits a frown that doesn’t settle them down. A sharp clap from Fainil interrupts the exchange before it turns into a full-blown argument.


    I give Fainil a nod for her disruption and raise my voice so everyone can hear clearly. ”You’re all too impatient; remember, we planned to take the long road. I know some of you are close to getting a new Prestige Class, but we can’t take this bait. That is what this is, bait, and you all know it, so you’re quarrelling. I feel we’d be best not engaging with them until we’re ready to crush a full battlefield force.”


    “I would like some information at least,” objects Calithil and waves off Fainil before she can protest. “There was an Alchemist that Amdirlain mentioned that is unlikely to be aligned with any faction.”


    “The Fey half-breed,” grumbles N?r. “You want to deal with one of them?”


    “Her nature means the Sisterhood won’t want anything to do with her, even at arms-length—she’ll have True Sight,” I remind N?r, immediately seeing Calithil’s point. My reminder earns a begrudging nod, and N?r signals—objection retracted.


    “Can I come along with you?” Calithil asks quickly, giving me an eager grin.


    “Did I say I was going?”


    “Of course you are, so I’d like to go along,” states Calithil, refusing to look away from my frown.


    “I’d planned to keep within the normal trio, but you and N?r can come along.”


    N?r stabs her tail towards Calithil in a complaint, her lips twisting into a scowl. “It was her idea.”


    “So she’ll naturally have a bias in favour, you’ll be against, and I’ll arbitrate.”


    Calithil stops and looks at Sírdhem curiously. “By the way, what was the name of the Prestige Class?”


    “Tirriel” mutters Sírdhem.


    “Guard of Daughter, what sort of name is that?” Calithil asks, not looking away from Sírdhem despite the muttering.


    “I don’t know; it combined all four classes though, and it was the only one I got offered that did that.”


    “We get some kills with Energy Drain first; I don’t want anyone wondering about why there are three fresh Named Succubi about. Any accumulation degree will make them more cautious and further throw off the Sisterhood.”


    * * *


    A day is all it takes to gain power that should have taken a century to accumulate, and adjusted somewhat to our new strength it’s time to progress.


    Qcppxtypcd, the place’s name is a snarling sound in Abyssal and doesn’t translate well into any tongue; perhaps the nicest version I’d heard is ‘Diseased Bone Pit’. The central tower looks constructed from an erratic rock formation, but it’s carved out of a primordial beast’s slowly decaying thigh bone. No one knows how it got here or what creature it belongs to, but even long dead, its marrow held power. An expedition of miners out of Hrz’Styrn found it and dug the first sample from the bone.


    Unfortunately for them, the Alchemist who had purchased it became even richer once he figured out a use for it. Naturally, he forced the previously free miners into working for him and set about accumulating power and connections until a rival destroyed him. The marrow is now supposedly all gone; however, the city became a trade hub before the workers finished hollowing it out. The city now stands out as an abscess, a diseased, rotting, and disgusting place. Which is something in an oppressively dank Plane filled with awful places, and the Abyss affords plenty of competition.


    When Ebusuku told me Amdirlain had found a half-breed devil in this place, it hadn’t been a surprise given all the other oddities it collects.


    Lightly equipped in upgraded gear that still carries our group’s symbol—bars and broken chains—we start towards the closest gate, Teleport having set us down at the edge of their line of sight. Keeping on foot, we give them plenty of time to look us over without being obvious about our counter-inspection of their forces. However, we’d deliberately picked an approach that didn’t provide a view of the city to avoid drawing trouble from accusations of spying.


    The score of hyena-headed Hymadan watching from atop the battlements were out of place, but they weren’t unexpected after Amdirlain’s tales of the city. Whatever arguments caused them to leave Lord Qjiadlóv’s service hadn’t ended with Set’s destruction. Another half-squad stands within the gate’s interior, happily taking bribes from a Cambion to ignore a line of Dretch and the packs they carry with lumbering steps through the gates.


    When a Shoosuva sniffs the last of the Dretch, the squad leader pushes it to one side. The massive hound doesn’t move easily, but the Hymadan possesses enough strength to force it to move. Either his display of strength or the way he doesn’t shift his focus from its scorpion tail holds the beast from lashing out. Though they both resemble a hyena, I’ll never understand why they cooperate. Maybe their similarity is enough to cause a pack effect to hold a hierarchy among them, but delving into the minds of either species isn’t something I plan to do.


    Every guard carefully disregards our entry, and for a moment I feel they’re ready to pay us not to start trouble. The leader can sense the fresh power the first of our kills provided us and gets quickly out of our way.


    With the possibility of a Sisterhood presence, we all take extra care to avoid mimicking each others’ behaviour. While the three of us look dramatically different, not all are lazy enough to go by surface appearance. Still, there was plenty of difference to distract even those not given to laziness. N?r’s voluptuous figure with her dark blue eyes, sullen-red hair, and full lips. Different to Calithil’s lean figure, silvery-blue hair and irises, even if both share equally fine Elven features with lifted cheekbones, ivory skin and pointed ears. Their feathered wings are rare enough, but alu-demons and some breeds of Succubi in the Pit, and assorted Planes of the Abyss, also have them.


    My bone wings, of course, do a lot to distract from the rest of our appearance, and my only similarity to them was my Elven features. Skin the dark red of dried blood, eyes of solid black, and the curves I possess beneath my leathers draw nearly as much attention as N?r’s voluptuousness. The mental shouts from those around us aren’t associating us with rewards, but simply lusting after our power and flesh.


    Navigating through the city is easy enough, even when avoiding attention by not teleporting within its wards. The three of us in a deliberately rough spike formation; different to the Sisterhood’s line of five abreast, used to force other flyers from their path. From experience, we keep our flight paths low to avoid fire from the tower’s enforcers. The obviously shuttered doors of the mercenary hiring hall draws a growl from N?r that’s not just from keeping in character, and heading onwards, we land near the Alchemist''s shop.


    Ebusuku’s description hadn’t done the precisely structured wards woven through the shopfront enough justice—under an elaborate mask of chaos, their exacting standard was clear. Anyone screwing up within the wards was going to wish for an enforcer’s ballistae bolt to end their pain. A fey wildness coupled with a Devil’s precision had certainly bloomed to full life within the shop’s owner. Taking in the way our reflections twist slightly off true in the glass windows and door, I hesitate to push it open.


    A departing customer solves that problem for me, though the alu-demon pauses with a hand out stretched—but her gaze is on us, not the wards themselves. Pulling the door open, she moves to one side holding it, either not wanting to offend or seeking a chance to put a knife in our back. The nervous glance at Lorrella though, makes it clear she’s more likely to behave even before I touch her thoughts. Only once we’re all within does she hurry away, the tension in her body language easing once the door latches behind her.


    Lorrella, it seems, was dressed up for Amdirlain last time, or this morning is a casual day, given she is clad in a gauze that is thinner protection than a dream. The whiteness of the scrapped silk swirls around her like the vapours of a cloud. Her attire’s paleness highlights amber skin, along with making her vibrant red hair, and green gaze pop, particularly against the background of her furled black wings.


    “Three Succubi in matching outfits, and not those Sisterhood menaces. I recognise your little crest of bars and chains, but the last individual wearing them hasn’t been back for a time,” Lorrella says before I spoke. “Duckie send you or did you stumble upon me on your own?”


    “Duckie?”


    “She never gave her name, but she was sweet,” Lorrella purrs and gives me a pouty sigh. “Enough that I almost asked if she’d bend over the counter, and let me check her undercarriage—such a cute piece of tail, yummy.”


    “I know who you mean,” Calithil admits, with her amusement under control. “And her discussion of your skills is why we’re here. She’s outside the Abyss at present. She might say hello if her Master allowed—or should that be Masters—gave her free time.”


    “Cabals and their summoning gang bangs,” sighs Lorrella, wrapping her arms tight around her waspish torso, the gesture lifting her breasts and straining the fabric. “Is that little crest for a mercenary band, because I’ve seen nothing like it for a ranking Demon?”


    “Mercenary band,” I state bluntly, only just beating Calithil to the punch.


    “I thought so, seems too tame for a Demon Lord or Lady. Well, aren’t you three just out of luck being in the city now? Come to see if you can tap into Duckie’s arrangement with the hiring hall shut down?”


    “What happened?”


    “Sisterhood is claiming all the contracts. We have to deliver them to the side door and they take care of them if we accept their price. One of their big wings pushed herself onto the city council,” Lorrella explains with a shrug, its casualness not enough to mask the spark of interest in her gaze. “Individual arrangements they can’t do much about, but who has time to bother talking to mercenaries who may or may not deliver?”


    “Would have thought they’d be trying to get their former city rebuilt,” sneers Calithil.


    Lorrella’s lips twist in distaste, and her wings rustle momentarily. “Who knows when that will be at present. ùeqr?kas is an endless pit draining in building materials; hard to get any metals to build my babies. Likely they’re here to make a profit from the increasingly expensive resources coming out of the mines.”


    “Our little duck mentioned you like building and maintaining transports, but is that the only machinery you deal with?” I ask.


    “Depends on what you’re after,” admits Lorrella. “Got a special project in mind?”


    Giving a serious nod, I get down to business. “Some gate breakers, and a fortress ward spike.”


    “How big, how many, and who supplies the materials?” Lorrella asks in a flurry. “I told you metals are a pain to source around here presently.”


    “We’ll supply the materials, and the Gate to shift them when complete,” Calithil offers readily enough, going with the flow of my request.


    “That’s the boring bits sorted. Now tell me the fun stuff,” Lorrella insists, tapping her fingers on the countertop and leaning towards me with parted lips. “What do you need to break?”


    “Gates two hundred metres across, equivalent materials strength of abyssal-steel plates, triple-reinforced with cross-linked adamantine-core bolts on a central-”


    Lorrella’s squeal of excitement stops me, but she impatiently gestures for me to continue, and I get on quoting the information on the new gates of the Sisterhood stronghold on Hrz’Styrn. By the time I’m done, her eagerness has a heady murkiness filling the shop, and my body is twitching in response.


    “Oh baby, that’s going to be so much fun. When do you need this built by?” asks Lorrella, bouncing on the spot with sudden energy.


    “Lorrella, I’m sorry but I don’t need one, I need at least five, and you’ve forgotten the ward spike. I’m going to need it capable of draining Mana from an energy nexus.”


    “That’s going to take a while to get ready,” pouts Lorrella, sounding like a sulky child about to have its toy taken away. “Are you going to be fine with only me doing the work?”


    “I’m not in a rush for them, Lorrella. I want them built exactly right, not a rushed job like so much junk I’ve seen assaulting the walls on Hades.”


    “They have hired you to assault the gates of Hell?” asks Lorrella, the faintest fire showing in her gaze.


    “Why else would I need such expensive equipment?”


    My bland question draws a smirk from Lorrella, and the barely discernable interest in her gaze eases off. “Oh truly, why else?”


    Ignoring her smirk, I gesture towards the door. “One necessity though: you’ll need to use a construction yard in a different city.”


    “That will cost you, sugar,” warns Lorrella, and I can see her mind jumping between possibilities.


    “I’m sure we can sort something out.”


    “Oh, they’re not for besieging Hell,” Lorrella breathes. “I’ll give a discount—a small one—but a discount.”