By the time Tuera and her companions finally made it back to the gates of Sepermeru, the sun was hanging low in the sky. It had not dipped below the horizon just yet, merely threatening to do so; as if the sun was somehow taken with a stubborn refusal to take that final plunge from evening into night. Smears of gold and purple streaked across the sky as scattered clouds drifted lazily overhead. As they made their way through the gates and into the city, the gentle canter of horse hooves against sun-bleached stone was soon drowned out by the murmur of crowds and conversation.
Tuera was lost in thought as she led her cohorts through the city streets. On the trip back to town, Monty had attempted to explain – or possibly justify – his sudden absence and equally sudden reappearance within the Palace of the Triumvirate. Apparently, he had no idea that the "sorry looking shade" of The Archivist was even going to be there at all when he had requested they visit the Map Room. He didn't exactly part with the Giant-Kings on the best of terms, so he decided to mask his presence as soon as they set foot in the structure, preventing the Archivist from noticing him entirely. This, he claimed, was preferable to being tossed into another sewer. Most of the group seemed satisfied with his explanation, and did not press him further. After all, it made sense, didn't it?
But as for Tuera... she was not convinced. Though she did not voice her concerns aloud, several errant threads were hanging loose in her mind, just begging to be tugged free. If the Archivist hadn't been there, what could they have even found out from the Map Room? And how had Monty not foreseen the Archivist's presence? He's always talking about his "all-seeing nature," after all. Was it really the Archivist he was worried about? Or was he worried that someone had noticed that he actually disappeared before they set foot inside the structure, when they first saw the skeletons of the Serpent-Men clashing with the other undead? Valusian Serpent-Men... and, apparently, this snake staff had been witness to the fall of Valusia...
It seemed blindingly obvious to her what was going on. Had anyone else picked up on it? Should she mention anything to her companions? Perhaps later... right now, however, the smartest course was to keep quiet. If Monty suspected that she no longer trusted him, he might be less willing to divulge information; however, if she played dumb, acted like she wasn't onto him, it might make him sloppy. He might say far more than he would otherwise if he didn't think he needed to be as careful. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, after all...
The path ahead was sure to be a delicate tightrope, which Tuera had no choice but to cross.
"Hold a moment!" Jamila called from the back of her horse. The convoy of adventurers came to an abrupt halt at her words. "By my bones, I could do with a drink after the day we've had! I can't imagine I'm the only one?" Almost as one, the group turned to follow her gaze, and realized they had stopped in front of the Waterside Tavern, with the red and gold awnings fluttering in the gentle breeze. "Who's up to join me, spend a bit more of that coin we have?"
A chorus of murmured agreements followed, and they all dismounted their horses, one by one, and made to follow the pirate... except for Tuera, naturally.
"You guys go on ahead, have some fun," Tuera said with a dismissive wave from atop her immense warhorse. "I've got to check on that plan of mine, see if all the arrangements are in place." Ioanna looked up at Tuera curiously.
"Arrangements?" she asked with a furrowed brow.
"Oh, yes, didn't I mention?" Tuera replied. "Before we left this morning, I found us some lodgings to act as a sort-of... base of operations, if you will, for our little expedition. Something a touch more permanent and less expensive than nightly-rented rooms in the caravanserai would be, on the off chance that we were going to be here for longer than I hoped. And, since we are, I thought I would go check on the progress, see if the laborers I hired have finished."
"Afraid they've stolen something?" Shevatas asked, startling Ioanna as he appeared behind her, as if from nowhere.
"Well, if they have, I suppose I'll just have to bring them into the fold, like I did with you," Tuera said with a smirk and a laugh. Shevatas bristled at the comment. "Oh, don't give me that look, I'm only teasing. You lot enjoy yourselves, I'll be back shortly."
Honestly, Tuera doubted the men she'd hired would try and steal from any of them; after all, all of them were former prisoners of Westwall, and each one of them had had front-row seats to her wholesale slaughter of the prison guards. Not only had she made sure to pay them generously for their labor up front, not only were they indebted to her for freeing them from the prison, but they'd seen first hand the kind of violence she was capable of dishing out.
Still, Shevatas did have a point. Her assumption only worked on the condition that humans were rational actors, who always behaved sanely and logically, which... yeah. There were literal galaxies of evidence to the contrary. No harm in double checking. Just to be sure.
The Waterside Tavern was already a bustle of activity, even this early in the evening. Braziers and torches flickered in the corners and on sandstone pillars; a hazy pall of strangely sweet-smelling smoke filled the air, lingering just above head height. The mutterings of jovial conversations and raucous jokes told around hookah pipes and plates of food filtered in to their ears from every corner. Off to one side of the building was a stage backed with vibrant tapestries, where a trio of barely clothed dancers were gyrating and shimmying in time to an improvised tune played by a band clearly just as distracted by the trio as the rest of the patrons.
Jamila, Shevatas, Obsun, Hunter Ophelia, Jakkad, Samar, and Ioanna eventually found a table large enough for their assembled group, and soon enough, nearly each had a drink in hand. At first, there was little more than idle conversation among their number, as they waited for the food and hashish for the pipe to arrive. Mostly, they compared kill-counts, trying to figure out which of them destroyed the most undead in the city. But then:
"Samar? Are you alright?" Ioanna asked, delicately holding onto her drink with both hands. "You seem troubled by something." At first, the warrior from Yamatai said nothing. He brought his drink to his lips and took a long sip.
"I'm merely... curious about something," he said, absentmindedly scratching at his beard with his free hand. He set down his cup on the wooden table with an audible thunk, deliberately drawing attention. "This woman we follow, Tuera. Does anyone... what do we know about her? Do we know anything?"
"I've seen her fight," Jamila said, downing the last of her wine. "I know which side of her sword I'd rather be on. All I need to know."
"I know she rescued us from that damnable prison," Obsun chuckled. "And she wants out just as much as the rest of us. So, that is enough for me! Do we really need to know more?"
"Probably not," Hunter Ophelia muttered with a shrug. Out of everyone assembled, they were the only one without a drink; in fact, they had not even removed their mask at all. "I don't really care, to be honest. Why do you?"
"I... " Samar paused, and took another sip. "I don't really know. I suppose I'm just..." he trailed off, furrowing his brow. "Something vexes me. How did she manage to get the Archivist to recoil as he did, with little more than a snap of her fingers? What manner of witchcraft was that?"
"Beats me," Jamila grunted out with a shrug. "I don't hold with sorcery, as a rule, so I couldn't tell you."
"What about you, Jakkad?" Shevatas asked, motioning his head toward the one-eyed Stygian at the opposite end of the table. "What's your take on all of this?" Jakkad looked over with his one good eye, chin resting on his palm, held between his thumb and forefinger.
"I should be the one asking you that," he replied. "Haven't you known her the longest?" Shevatas shook his head.
"Hardly. I've known her only a few days," he jabbed a thumb at the tiny woman sitting next to him. "Ioanna was already traveling with her when she pulled me into this madness, so she's the one you should talk to." Ioanna's eyes went wide as she realized everyone had now turned to look at her.
"I... I'm not sure how much help I can be, really. I met her barely a day or two before Shevatas, when she... when... I..." Ioanna paused, as unpleasant memories she'd been trying desperately to suppress once again filled her mind. She looked away from everyone, down into her still mostly-full cup of wine, and started anxiously drumming her fingertips against the side. "I mean..." She gulped audibly and shook her head. "I've only been here for... two weeks? I think? By Mitra, it feels like I've been here a lifetime..."
"Imagine how I feel," Shevatas muttered into his drink, with a mixture of exhaustion and annoyance in his voice.
"In truth, I don't know what I could say that she hasn't already told the rest of you," Ioanna admitted sheepishly. "I know she's from Stygia, and was some manner of powerful spellcaster before becoming trapped here with the rest of us..."
"Was she now..." Jakkad grunted out softly, idly rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"Yes, I believe she told us as much after the prison break," Obsun nodded.
"I still find that a little hard to believe," Hunter Ophelia chimed in. "Never met a wizard that skilled with a blade before. Usually all it takes is a quick slice and a stab-" they mimed several sharp jabbing motions with their free hand, "-and casters fall just as quick as any other."
"Well, she's been trying to teach me some magic, so her story about being a wizard, or a sorcerer, or... it seems believable enough." Ioanna shrugged. "At least, it seems believable to me."
"Oho! Is this so?" Obsun asked, leaning forward against the table with undisguised curiosity. "Have you learned anything of interest yet?" Ioanna continued to look nervous, being put on the spot as she was, but answered all the same.
"A... a bit? We've not really had the time for much. Though, yesterday she gave me a lesson in brewing alchemical potions." Ioanna held up a finger, as if she just remembered: "Oh! That glass phial she threw at the dragon, and it exploded in green flame? She first showed me that during the lesson." She chuckled nervously. "That's why I ducked out of the way as quick as I did!"
"I was wondering what that was," Samar said, sniffing loudly and scratching his beard again. "Did you make that?"
"Oh, by the Gods, no! No!" Ioanna held up her hands, shaking them furiously. "She had already brewed that before we began. Called that dreadful concoction witchfire, I believe. After all her tutelage, I was only barely able to make a single health potion. And not even a very good one, by my estimation." She sighed and shook her head. "Honestly, this whole situation seems a bit... she keeps telling me I can learn this, but it just seems so insurmountable. Especially with these bracelets..."
As she spoke, plates of steamy hot food finally arrived for the table, carried by some strangely familiar looking arms. One by one, everyone looked up, only for all of them to look up once again in surprise.
"A temporary restriction, as I told you before," Tuera said, setting down the last plate of food; Ioanna almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of her voice. "With enough time and practice, anything is possible through magic."
"... how long have you been standing there?" Shevatas asked. Tuera simply smiled in response.
After an hour or two, the sun had finally disappeared, replaced by a black carpet overhead flecked with stars. The cluster of mercenaries were wandering through the torch-lit streets, their bellies full of food and drink, continuing their various conversations from the tavern as Tuera led the way. Their path zig-zagged this way and that, down the main thoroughfare and through narrow, crooked alleyways. Eventually, Tuera brought them to a stop in front of a squat two-story building sitting on the edge of town. The best description of this beige stonebrick cube with only a few windows and a pair of wide double doors right in the middle was probably "nondescript."
"...this is the place?" Jamila asked, her disappointment leaking into her tone.
"Yep!" Tuera said happily, turning on her heel to face them with a smile. "I think it used to be a warehouse or... something like that. I'm honestly not sure." She shook her head and waved it off. "Whatever it used to be, it's apparently been sitting abandoned for several years. I know it may not look like much, but there's plenty of space inside. Take a look around, make yourselves at home! There should be more than enough rooms for everyone."
"And you're sure they didn't steal anything?" Shevatas asked, as several of their number started to wander inside the building. Tuera chuckled, shaking her head.
"I'm sure. I understand your concern, but I already checked, those boys did good work. Tell you the truth, they seemed surprised that I actually paid them for their time, fixing this place up for us. I'm sure they expected me to put them back in chains as soon as I freed them, since slavery seems to be the word of the day in this vile pit..." She looked down with disgust. "...but that's not how I operate." She shook her head and composed herself. "Either way, if my hunch is correct, I'll need to call on them again later."
"Again?" Shevatas furrowed his brow. "Later?"
"Oh, yes." Tuera smiled broadly, ushering Shevatas to follow the others, draping one arm across his shoulder and making grand, sweeping gestures at the warehouse as they walked. "This building is ripe for expansion, and that group seems eager for work... or at least, more coin. But enough of this!" She patted him on the shoulder and gave him a gentle shove towards the door. "Go on in, take a load off."
Before she got a chance to follow him inside, Tuera felt a hand on her shoulder, and she stiffened up almost reflexively, coming to a halt.
"Hey," Jakkad said softly from just behind her, and she felt the tension evaporate. "We need to talk."
"Uh... sure," she said without thinking. She turned to look at him, and suddenly grew concerned: his face was serious, as if it had been cast in stone, and his single eye stared at her with an intensity that momentarily gave her pause. "What's up?" Jakkad said nothing at first, looking past her, just over her shoulder. There was a soft thud as the heavy wooden door swung shut.
"I know you're not from Stygia," he said, cutting immediately to the heart of the matter just as soon as he was sure they were alone. "Who are you?" Tuera kept her expression neutral as gears spun furiously within her mind, calculating potential scenarios and responses.
"What do you mean?" Tuera asked, trying to play it cautious. "How can you be so sure I'm not from Stygia?"
"Because I don't know you," he said firmly, as if his answer was obvious, which only made Tuera more worried. "Ioanna says you claim to be a powerful caster from Stygia. If this was true, then we would definitely know each other."
"That's a bold claim," Tuera continued feigning ignorance. This was a risky roll of the dice on an attempt to keep bluffing. "Stygia is a big place, after all. Perhaps it was merely a quirk of fate that we never met before now?" However, her gamble did not work.
"Stygia may be known to outsiders as the Land of Sorcerers," he said, his suspicions clearly confirmed. "...but those who posses the Talent are few and far between. I would know you already, were you one of us, for the Black Ring is meticulous at scouring our lands for those with even a glimmer of power. Powerful sorcerers from Stygia are either part of the council... or dealt with. And I can tell, just from looking at you, that you have never once set foot within the walls of Kheshatta."
"Alright, fair enough," Tuera shrugged with a sigh. "I take it you have, then?"
"Of course I have," he said with a growl, screwing up his face as he talked. "How do you think I wound up in this accursed prison?"
"Well, you didn't bring it up before now, and I didn't want to pry. I mean, you told me you were a bounty hunter when we first met..." she said with a smirk. "So, how did you end up here?"
Jakkad fell silent and frowned, folding his arms across his chest. This was vexing: he was supposed to be the one asking her the questions, after all. However, a thought crossed his mind: perhaps she would be more willing to tell the truth if he divulged a few details first? Perhaps...
"I... was once a powerful sorcerer, sitting on the council of the Black Ring," he began. "There was a time when I drunk deep from the wells of the infinite abyss, indulging my every decadent whim, commanding obedience with a thought. Nothing seemed beyond my reach. But..." he paused, casting his gaze down, away from Tuera. "... after many years, I grew weary. Tired of the politics. The schemes in the dark. The endless backstabbing..."
"Yeah, sounds familiar," Tuera chuckled.
"One day, I had enough, so I decided I would leave the council, in the only way I was sure they would not follow or look for me: fake my death, and escape Stygia unnoticed. I would give up my powers, and... start over, somewhere new."
"Just disappearing wasn't enough?" Tuera asked, trying to disguise a smile. She was intimately familiar with this entire scenario, as she'd done it herself plenty of times. Jakkad nodded.
"I would've had no choice. Once one is a member of the Black Ring, the only way out is through the grave. The council do not wish their secrets to be learned by outsiders..." He cleared his throat. "This was around the time Thoth-Amon returned. When he first disappeared beyond Stygia's borders, he was little more than a low-level adept: ambitious and with potential, but otherwise unremarkable. When he returned, however... his power eclipsed the entire council, and no one could understood how or why." Jakkad shook his head. "I did not understand the significance at the time, but... after our talk with The Archivist... it seems so obvious, now."
"What happened?" Tuera asked. "Since you're here, I can only imagine you didn't escape the way you wanted?"
"I do not know how, for I told no one, but Thoth-Amon somehow learned of my hidden designs. He exposed my plan, in every detail, to every member of the council. From there, my fate was sealed. I was stripped of everything, shackled by the bracelet, and cast into this foul place, left to die and rot in the desert." When he looked up at her again, his face had returned to its previous stony expression. "And that is why I am sure you're not from Stygia: because you were not on the council of sorcerers who condemned me. So I will ask again: who are you?"
Tuera internally weighed her options... and eventually hit upon an idea that even she found unexpected. He had rumbled her quite quickly after all, and he seemed to be a spellcaster of some power. Assuming his story was true, at least. Perhaps he would understand if she simply told him the truth... Perhaps...
"Do you really want to know?" she asked.
"I would not have asked if I didn't."
"Alright," she shrugged. "I'm not a native of this planet, or even this time. I am an alien warlock, originally from a world that exists in an entirely different universe, and I don't know how I got here. I woke up naked in the desert, roughly a week ago, wearing only the bracelet. I only claimed to be from Stygia because I figured it was the most believable story that wouldn't draw attention or suspicion, as I wasn't sure how people would react to the truth of a visitor from beyond the stars."
Jakkad was quiet for a very long time, scrutinizing her with a mixture of confusion and disbelief.
"No, really. Who are you?" he asked.
"I'm not lying!" Tuera insisted. "I mean, we basically had it confirmed earlier that the Giant-Kings are from space, too. Why is it so hard to believe? Would it help if I called where I'm from 'The Outer Dark' instead? That seems to be the most common phrasing in this timeline, even if it's not accurate..." Jakkad scoffed at her words dismissively.
"Alright, then. If you do not wish to tell me the truth, then keep your secrets," he said with a growl. "But do not treat me for a fool, feeding me these absurdities."
"I – you – but – ugh..." Tuera didn't know whether to laugh or scream. She eventually settled on an exhausted, wheezing chuckle as she gripped her temple in frustration and shook her head. "Okay, fine. You don't want to believe me? That's... fine. I mean, yeah, I get it, it's unbelievable, but..." She sighed one final time and inhaled sharply through her nose, trying to compose herself. "Okay. So. What happens now?"
"Now?" Jakkad furrowed his brow in confusion.
"Are you planning to tell the others?" she asked. "I mean... if I was in your shoes, I would." Jakkad looked pensive for a moment, scratching his beard thoughtfully.
"No," he said eventually. "In truth, none of them seem altogether interested in your origin. When the topic arose, they all appeared more concerned with your skill with a blade than your past, so..." he grinned, chuckling under his breath. "I truly think they don't care."
"And what about you? Now that you 'know' I am a 'liar,' what are your plans?" Tuera asked, making air-quotes she spoke. "Are you planning to leave?" Jakkad continued staring at her as she spoke, trying his best to keep his expression neutral.
"The thought had crossed my mind," he admitted.
"If that's truly your wish, I won't stop you," Tuera said with a shrug. "I'm not in the business of forcing people to do things against their will..." A pang of guilt stabbed directly into the back of her mind, like the thrust of a sharpened stiletto, flooding her with memories... and she paused.
Anymore, she did not say aloud.
"A generous offer, but... again, no," Jakkad responded, unaware of Tuera's internal struggle. "No, I think I'll stay. My goal was always to find Razma, and now that I know she's still alive – and not in the Unnamed City anymore – I think sticking around will be my best chance at finding her again. And besides..." he chuckled softly to himself. "At the end of the day, all that truly matters is that we all want to find a way out of this wretched place."
"I'm glad to hear it," Tuera said with a nod, quickly composing herself. "And hey! Now that I know you're also a practitioner of the mystic and arcane arts, maybe we could compare notes later? I've already found one or two loopholes to circumvent the bracelets, and maybe if we put our heads together, we can find more?"
"Perhaps..." he said, flashing a smile over his shoulder as he began walking to the door. "But I doubt I can offer much assistance. I gave all that up, remember? I learned the hard way that all power has a price..." He gripped the door and looked back at her once more, and even from this distance, it was clear: he looked very, very tired. "And I've no interest in paying that price, yet again."
He walked inside, letting the door shut behind him, leaving Tuera alone in the dusty sandstone street. She smiled and started slowly shaking her head. You have absolutely NO idea, she thought to herself.
"I can't believe you just up and told him the truth like that," Monty suddenly said from his spot on Tuera's back.
"I'm surprised he didn't believe me," she retorted, folding her arms across her chest.
"... really?" Monty shot back with incredulity. Tuera shrugged.
"Okay, yeah, not really surprised," she admitted. "More like... disappointed."