Chapter 3 Elleshar: Diplomatic Relations

Chapter 3

Year 821 Month 5

Elleshar: Diplomatic Relations

Before the dawn broke, I rose from meditation, prepared to gather my team from the barracks. As I left my temporary living quarters, I took a moment to admire the stars and, in the far distance, the unmistakable sphere of my homeworld, Ilthynia. How I longed for the day when I would return to the floating isles, with their emerald pastures nestled beneath towering mountain peaks, the bridges painted in every hue of the rainbow, and the misty waterfalls cascading gracefully. The image was etched in my memory, a soothing dream to revisit during these tumultuous times.

Yet, my duty as a Velmar compelled me to stay. Kal'emsha faced dire times, plagued by famine, pestilence, relentless natural disasters, and the ceaseless throes of war, all of which had intensified since the year 799, just a few years after Necros had been defeated. What troubled me even more was the sense of the world's diminished Essence, as if it had contracted some sinister malady. Even before Christelle had spoken to me, I had sensed the disturbances. Still, the Lord of Dread's influence, if that's what it was, seemed unfathomable. Could such power truly corrupt the realm, or were the Oheriens, the guardians of the mortal realms, failing in their responsibilities? It was a weighty question that gnawed at me as I walked, my thoughts increasingly preoccupied when they should be wholly dedicated to the task at hand.

I headed toward the barracks, a structure with a rough-hewn exterior with cobblestone walls, moss-covered wooden columns at every corner, and a roof of wooden planks festooned with spider webs and avian droppings. After all the years spent in the human world, I still found myself astonished by their crude craftsmanship. It was almost as though I had nested with the primitive tribes of the Drokkar. If only they would heed my advice from time to time. Regardless, I proceeded into the building without voicing my dissatisfaction, focusing on the immediate mission that awaited me.

As I pushed open the creaking door, a nauseating amalgamation of peasant ale and sweat assaulted my senses. I couldn't claim to be surprised, for it would be unreasonable to expect the barracks to exude any semblance of cleanliness despite my numerous requests. After all, this was where many of my comrades congregated during their scant leisure moments. As I scanned the common area, I identified my team among the throng, each soldier weary and seeking respite. There was Roderick, the astute marksman; Davorn, our stout and ever-rambunctious warpriest; and our stalwart duo of heavy infantry, Keille, and Lieutenant Jeremiah.

I approached them individually, offering a gentle nudge and whispering the exact words: it was time. Davorn, our dwarven friend, couldn't help but voice his concerns through a cloud of pedestrian ale fumes. "I still don't understand why we need to go too if the mission is primarily political."

As I signaled everyone to follow me to the cathedral, I addressed Davorn's question. "In the unlikely event that Z'albor is indeed colluding with this cult, I will require each one of you by my side. There is the possibility that the Sardonians may attempt to apprehend me. Should this not happen, the inquisitors may demand our assistance still."

Davorn, still cloaked in the scent of ale, grumbled in response, "Aw, but konak, you're asking me to endure the two greatest pains in the rear—politics and sand. Ozen folks always end up lost in the Sardoniel desert."

This was the moment for Lieutenant Jeremiah to offer words of assurance. A tall, balding, middle-aged man, he was the voice of reason. "That's why we will be there with you."

Davorn couldn't help but complain further, "Easy for you to say, Jeri. The sand doesn't reach your knees. You don't understand the struggle we Ozen folks endure. Me and Keille will be spending hours ridding ourselves of sand, and don't even get me started on trying to keep it out of me beard."

A collective chuckle rippled through the group. They couldn't resist the camaraderie.

"Come on now, the Dame and the inquisitors are expecting us. We must not linger, for our mission is of great importance."

Davorn yawned, his boisterous spirit unwavering. "No need to be so uptight, konak. We're just having a bit of fun, that's all." He replied with a twirl of his handlebar mustache, evoking another round of laughter.

Keille chimed in, her voice a source of perpetual optimism. "We just returned from another quest less than a week ago. It feels like we never get time off, so we have to bring the fun with us to the job. You know, it's essential to keep our spirits high." Roderick couldn't help but join in, directing a cheeky remark at Davorn. "Well, our cleric here certainly has a surplus of spirit."

Jeremiah, always a man of few words, muttered quietly, "Perhaps too much."

A few minutes later, we finally reached the cathedral, though, admittedly, with my comrades' foolery, minutes felt like hours. But regardless of their foolish antics, I cherished these friends. I could not have asked for a more loyal, steadfast group of allies. Professionalism, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. After all, what more could one expect from the Ozen and Human populace, less advanced than my own people? Nevertheless, these folks had moments of brilliance, and the cathedral was a striking example.

While the village homes and barracks were haphazardly constructed from ill-shaped stones and decaying wood, perpetually soiled due to the undisciplined ways of these warriors in comparison to the Velmar, the buildings dedicated to their God showcased the work of master artisans. The stonework was exquisitely cut and meticulously smoothed to perfection. Stained glass windows tinted in hues that enraptured the eyes, especially for those who had grown accustomed to the unrefined structures of Broeri. The artwork, be it the work of men or representations of these angels, created an aura of serenity and optimism, almost entrancing those who entered. However, fantastical as it was, I held no regard for their God, one who merely tolerated nonhumans. I had no use for their Heaven, even if such a place did exist. My heart belonged to Ilthynia, a genuine paradise. Upon my death, my Essence would return to nature's embrace for it to determine its purpose.

As we reached our destination, Roderick, nervously anticipating the meeting, inquired, "Where are we to meet the inquisitors?"

Keille, ever the provocateur, playfully slapped his backside and taunted, "What's the matter, Roderick? Are you feeling intimidated by real men?"

Davorn joined the good-natured mockery. "Ah, leave the lad be, Keille. He's just a wee little laddie."

Never one to back down, Roderick retorted, "Hey, you're one to talk about being little."

Davorn fired back with an irrepressible grin, "I may be short in stature, but where do you think our height goes? Clearly, I got the better end of that deal."

Laughter filled the air, and even Lieutenant Jeremiah was unable to resist joining in on the banter.

"Festivity is a welcome asset, but this is not the time for it. Come, the meeting room is nearby," I replied, bringing our group's focus back to the task at hand.

I opened the door, leading us into the very same room Dame Ménard had shown me just the night before. The Dame sat at the head of the table, joined by the four inquisitors. The table was a grand piece crafted from marble and adorned with intricate linen and exquisite golden chalices. It never ceased to amaze me how the Church claimed to be guided by pious and generous individuals despite the opulence within their reach that could better the lives of the common folk inhabiting the homes surrounding the cathedral.

Dame Ménard rose from her diamond-studded, gilded chair. She was a woman of celestial allure, indeed. Ménard displayed only a few wrinkles near her cerulean eyes, her ashen hair neatly bound in a loose bun. Despite being older than myself, her skin remained taut, as if she were barely of middle age. Human, she could not be, but the truth of her nature eluded me.

"I'm certain you are all familiar with me, but you may not know these individuals," Ménard began, indicating the inquisitors. She then motioned for Ossei to step forward. "This is Brother Ossei. He will be leading the expedition, and I will maintain contact with him every night. He is one of the most seasoned inquisitors within our service." Ossei waved to our group, offering a warm and welcoming grin. Ménard directed her attention to another inquisitor unfamiliar to me. This woman was fair-skinned, with almond-shaped bronze eyes and a long black ponytail. "This is Sister Guan Fei. She and Elleshar will share equal authority." Guan offered a polite bow accompanied by a gentle smile.

Davorn playfully nudged me, drawing my attention. "Oh konak, she has an itch she wants ye to scratch."

I shot him a sideways glance. "Shut up Dwarf," I hissed under my breath.

The next inquisitor was a formidable figure much taller than myself. He had closely cropped hair and a slightly darker complexion. Unlike his counterparts, who carried elegant weapons like swords and chakrams, he bore a massive, menacing lucerne hammer on his back and wore thick spiked rings on his knuckles.

"This not-so-gentle giant is Martin. He's only as fearsome as he appears to our enemies." The behemoth doffed his hat formally, though his sheer size lent an inherently intimidating air to any action he took.

The final inquisitor introduced was the young man I had encountered the previous day, Indo Vescaro. He struck me as reserved but courteous, qualities I found rather agreeable. He brought to mind the warriors of my homeland—disciplined, rational, and inquisitive, which stood in stark disparity to my own team.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Elleshar Spellweave, representing Ilthynia. This gentleman with the auto crossbow is Roderick. Then we have Jeremiah, Davorn, and Keille.'' Osei approached, arms extended for an embrace, and shared a warm hug with everyone. Guan and Martin followed, offering handshakes, while Vescaro simply nodded in greeting without a word.

"Follow me; I will take you to the portal," Christelle directed, leading the way out of the conference room.

"May I have a word with Brother Vescaro?" The voice belonged to Bishop Aubemont.

Ménard turned slowly to face him, a contemplative silence stretching between the bishop, Vescaro, and herself. After a moment, she gave a slight nod. "Very well. But do not take up too much of the boy's time. He has a long day ahead of him." The bishop motioned for Vescaro to join him, and he did.

We continued to follow the Dame through the winding corridors, and it was only a matter of minutes before we reached the portal. This grand gateway bore the unmistakable mark of Oherien craftsmanship, with three towering pillars spaced several meters apart, each rising to six meters. The curved pillars leaned toward one another and were etched from top to bottom with cryptic symbols. Even the Velmar, for all their advanced knowledge compared to the other races, had not yet deciphered the mysteries of constructing such gateways. They held tremendous power and were capable of transporting individuals across entire planets.

"I am ready; let's proceed with the mission," Brother Vescaro declared as he entered the room. Ménard gestured toward the gateway. "Brother Elleshar, you may proceed."

I extended my hand as I felt the Essence coursing through my veins. My blood vessels began to emit a radiant blue glow. As I focused my power, the intricate engravings on the pillars responded in kind. The luminous patterns ascended from the bottom to the pinnacle of the pillars. Converging beams of blue light erupted from their tips, forming an expansive portal.

"God be with you," the Dame spoke.

With trepidation, I stepped forward, crossing the threshold. A profound disorientation overwhelmed me, like being submerged in a turbulent sea. Colors and shapes swirled, and I felt a brief but intense sense of weightlessness.

As the sensations abated, I emerged into a realm utterly different from the one I had come from. My surroundings shimmered and danced with a surreal, dreamlike quality. In the distance, I could see the towering silhouettes of ancient, gnarled trees, their branches twisted and contorted. The very air around me seemed to hum with an otherworldly energy.

The others followed through the portal, each appearing as if from thin air, their expressions a mix of astonishment and wonder. Then, as swiftly as it had begun, our passage through the portal concluded. We found ourselves standing on the scorching sands of the Sardoniel desert, where the sun beat down relentlessly, casting long shadows that stretched like molten gold over the dunes. The change in scenery was so abrupt that it left us momentarily stunned.

"Which way to Azaraj?" Sister Guan inquired, her voice carrying a note of concern as she glanced around the seemingly endless expanse of the desert.

Stepping off the Oherien device and onto the searing grains of the desert, I knelt, placing my hand upon the sands. I closed my eyes, connecting with the very Essence of the planet beneath me.

"Follow me," I declared with unwavering confidence as I rose from my crouched position, rubbing the warm, golden sand between my fingers. "I know the way." We ventured into the desert, the waves of heat distorting the horizon as we made our way toward Azaraj, each step echoing our shared purpose and resolve.

After enduring several days of sweltering heat in the relentless desert, the grand city of Azaraj loomed on the horizon. Towering sandstone walls, standing a few dozen meters high, formed an imposing barrier. A hundred-meter bridge spanned the vast trench of quicksand encircling the city—a perilous moat created by the magi. The presence of Essence permeated everything within the city's confines, from the walls to the water to the very air itself. The magi had demonstrated the heights of human ingenuity. Their architectural marvels were nigh impervious to even the most formidable of adversaries.

"A heathen stronghold. Be on your guard," Martin grumbled, his unease palpable in the searing desert heat. I exchanged a glance with him but opted to keep my thoughts to myself, understanding that any further comment could escalate into unnecessary conflict.

"Do they not worship the same God, just in a different way?" came a calm voice behind my right shoulder. I pivoted to find Vescaro unexpectedly challenging his superior. Martin expelled bodily fluids and spat into the unforgiving sands.

"That makes all the difference, brother. They give sorcerers too much power and authority, believing they are gifted by God rather than having them humbly serve the Lord."

Serve the Lord? I pondered inwardly. The only lord I serve is High Elder Alterran, who assists the Church primarily because of his friendship with the long-deceased Chief Paladin Dango. And Lord Alterran is also a friend of Z'albor, one of these 'heathens' they speak of.

Vescaro countered, "Do we not do the same with the Paladins of our order?"

"That's enough," Brother Osei declared, shooting a disapproving glare at Vescaro. "Let us proceed with the mission. We won't stand out in Azaraj, given it's a bustling trade center with adventurers coming and going. Nevertheless, we should acquire thawbs from one of these caravans to better disguise ourselves."

As he signaled the other inquisitors, he addressed me directly, "Elleshar, you will lead your team to speak with the Sultan." I nodded, acknowledging the assignment with a growing sense of anticipation.

"Then good luck, and may God be with you," he said as our paths diverged.

"Come," I urged, ensuring my warriors remained in tow. We proceeded along the grand overpass, weaving our way among the caravans entering or exiting Azaraj. With each step, the city's formidable fortifications became even more pronounced. At least a dozen heavily armed infantrymen lined each side of the wide gate, and twice as many archers perched atop the towering walls. They seemed far from vigilant, their demeanor relaxed, engaging in casual conversations with their compatriots. A few even took the opportunity to eat while keeping watch. If I didn't know better, I might have assumed these defenses were merely for display. But I did know better.

I knew the Sardonians boasted some of the finest human archers and cavalry. Their infantry was fortified due to their alliance with the barbaric Drokkar tribes, and their sorcerers wielded potent magic by human standards. Most notably, their Janissaries were trained to identify and eliminate fourth-circle magic users. The troops' apparent laxity was not the result of inadequate training but rather their unwavering confidence in their ability to annihilate any foolhardy enough to mount a frontal assault.

As my men and I proceeded through the city gates, the guards acknowledged us with curt nods. Fortunately, they refrained from any undue scrutiny, likely due to our distinct armor, a departure from the typical crusader attire—courtesy of Keille.

"Which way to the palace?" Jeremiah inquired.

"I've never been to Azaraj specifically, but, much like your cathedrals, the palace should stand out." I closed my eyes and pressed my palm to the ground once more, reaching out to the areas with the most palpable vibrations through my connection with the world, letting my Essence synchronize with Kal'emsha. Azaraj, teeming with people, presented a challenge, but I narrowed our options.

Keille asked, "Do you see it?" I rose from the ground, dusting the sand from my greaves. "Perhaps. As long as we're in the vicinity, it won't be difficult to spot."

Roderick interjected, "Where to first?"

"The tavern!" Davorn leaped up, brimming with excitement.

"Shut up, you drunkard!" I slapped the back of his head and lifted my finger, pointing north. "Over there."

Davorn's head drooped, and he kicked sand in frustration. "All we've had for days is piss water. I could use an ale!"

Jeremiah asked, "Didn't you drink fresh water from our canisters?" Davorn looked up. "Yeah, that's what I said." Jeremiah gave him a puzzled look, attempting to decipher the dwarf's words. Keille sighed and stepped in front of the Lieutenant. "All water is piss water." Davorn nodded eagerly. "You heard the lady. Heed her sage advice."

Fools, indeed. I chose to ignore their banter and led the way northward. We found ourselves in the bustling market district, explaining the city's high population density. Stalls lined the streets, each hawking an array of goods, from fruits to fish, weapons, garments, information, and even slaves. It appeared that, at one point, someone was offering their sister. Human nature, even among the Velmar's allies, could be surprisingly uncivilized. However, I kept my distance; it wasn't my concern.

Keille's eyes sparkled with excitement as she rushed to a jeweler's stand. The man attending the display, his long, raven beard flowing like dark rivers, spoke in a raspy tone, "See anything you like?" Keille lifted a diamond pendant with delicate gold chains, studying it closely. "That will be 5000 ache," he stated. Remarkably, the dwarven woman had the requested amount and handed it to the jeweler as if it were mere pocket change. The man efficiently collected the currency into his storage pouch and smiled, saying, "A pleasure doing business with you."

Keille skipped back to us, her face beaming with joy. Roderick couldn't help but comment, "You seem awfully happy for someone who just spent half a house's payment on a necklace." Keille began wearing the pendant. "This isn't just any necklace. This is no mere diamond, but a runestone. It is perfectly cut and has a strong affinity with Essence. It will enhance any enchantments I place on it, whether I choose to wear it as a necklace or socket it into a weapon or armor. This one has a particular affinity with spirit properties, allowing me to access the spirit realm."

"Well, I stand corrected," Roderick conceded. As we continued north, I realized my mistake in choosing this direction.

"The spirit realm!" Davorn exclaimed. "Look, it's right in front of us!" The Ozen priest hurried toward a nearby tavern just a few meters away from us. I turned to the Lieutenant, who gave a resigned sigh.

"I concede. Lieutenant, you'll be keeping an eye on our loyal fools, no doubt," I said. Jeremiah initially shrugged, seemingly unsure about handling this group and keeping them out of trouble. I softened my expression, almost pleading. Once more, the Lieutenant sighed and gave a firm nod. "Yes, Captain. I'll ensure they stay out of trouble." I turned away, setting my course to the east. "Good. I will find the palace and speak with the Sultan and his advisor. Stay safe, Lieutenant."

"Godspeed, please, captain," he replied, returning the pleading visage. I returned a nod, and with that, I ventured eastward.

As I approached the Sultan's palace, the spectacle I had admired from a distance became even more magnificent up close. Over a hundred broad steps leading to the main hall's entrance, a grand staircase was designed to accommodate a battalion marching side by side in unison. Along the edges of the staircase, majestic pools stretched to great lengths, cascading down small waterfalls in perfect synchronization with each step. The miniature lagoons sparkled with the radiant colors of the precious gems that adorned their depths, while geysers added to the mesmerizing spectacle. Rainbows connected to each geyser, casting a serene and harmonious ambiance. This was the Sultan's palace, the dwelling of one of the most influential individuals in the expansive Sardoniel Desert.

Nobles of all sorts crowded the area, engaging in conversations, negotiations, and occasional arguments. I stood out because I was heavily armed and the only Velmar present in the crowd. At the top of the grand staircase, two humans stood guard, clad in beautifully crafted apricot plate armor made of Duram steel. Their heads were protected by Essence-enhanced turban helmets, with maille concealing their faces. Every piece of their gear, from blades to maces to firearms, was enchanted. These were the Janissaries—the enforcers of the law, the guardians of the palace, and the most formidable infantry at the Sultan's disposal. Their very presence exuded a formidable and imposing aura that left no doubt about their capabilities.

"Halt!" One of the Janissaries extended his hand, and I immediately stopped, unable to proceed even if I tried. His supernatural command was impressive indeed. It was akin to the mastery possessed by adept practitioners of the arcane who had dedicated themselves to their studies for a decade.

"State your business," he demanded. The duo's presence and expertise in the arcane compelled me to speak the truth.

"I am here to discuss matters of diplomacy with the Sultan, or one of his advisors if that is more feasible," I replied. The Janissaries exchanged a brief glance and then silently signaled for me to follow.

Inside the palace, the air was filled with music and dance. Entertainers demonstrated their skills, swallowing fire, juggling, and snake charming with pungi flutes. Only the most influential men and Drokkar received invitations to the palace. They rested assured, knowing they were shielded against the enemies of Sardoniel. Numerous Janissaries occupied the rooms, with at least a dozen in every chamber, and archers and magi patrolled the balconies of the grand halls. The sheer vulnerability of my position weighed on my mind; I could be slain before I even had the chance to draw my blade, and the same fate could befall my entire team had they been here.

We navigated through the palace towards the western wall, where two other Janissaries watched the entertainers. "Take him to Nazir," one of the Janissaries instructed the other pair. They nodded and led me across the hall as the first group returned to their positions at the entrance. We made several turns and passed more palace guards until we eventually came to a halt, and my escorts gestured toward a sorcerer. He was a striking, fairly tall man according to human standards. His black beard was meticulously groomed, combed, and oiled to maintain its lustrous texture. An elegant maroon turban adorned his head, studded with various valuable gemstones, and his robes matched its opulence. A Zeval steel shamshir hung at his side, undoubtedly enchanted, and a collection of powerful rings graced his fingers. He held a golden scepter in his hand, likely his catalyst for spellcasting. This was Nazir, the Court Magus of Jahan.

"Hello, my friend. What is it you seek?" Nazir's voice carried a composed demeanor as he waved off the Janissaries, a sign of trust or perhaps a reassessment of my threat level.

I met his gaze with a respectful nod, noting his gesture to the guards. "I'm here as a legate of Ilthynia on behalf of the Church. I would like to assist as the bridge for both nations to cooperate, if possible. Though, if it comes to violence, I will not take either side."

Nazir ran two fingers through his beard, his face reflecting deep contemplation. "And what, precisely, do you propose we cooperate on?"

Leaning slightly forward, my curiosity was evident. "Do you have information regarding the Disciples of Necros?"

A chuckle escaped Nazir's lips, a blend of wisdom and amusement dancing in his eyes. "We possess enough knowledge to understand that there are stragglers with a misguided plan to resurrect their messiah. They lack the power required to carry out such a ritual."

I leaned back, relief washing over me, only to be disrupted by Nazir's continued words. "Z'albor himself has been hunting them down, and with the assistance of the Janissaries he commissioned, it would be nearly impossible for the necromancers to possess the manpower to complete such a ritual. Unless…"

My heart raced as I leaned forward again, hanging on to his every word. "...unless they harbor an Essence user so potent that they remain concealed, evading detection by our council of Magi and enforcers. A necromancer with so much power they could hide from us. But that would be highly improbable. You would have a better chance finding a child powerful enough to be an archmage."

A moment of silence followed as I contemplated the profound implications. Nazir raised a valid point. "But if the Church dispatched me and my team here, they must view them as a threat."

Nazir confirmed with a nod. "Indeed, they are a threat. They continue to murder my people for their dark sacrifices and aspire to assemble an army of the undead. They shall not succeed, but realistically, we may never entirely eradicate them. They pose a danger to my people but are not yet a direct threat to the Church. At least, not until they expand into Broeri. However, if you and your companions are here, perhaps you can assist us in locating these stragglers."

The mention of "my men" caught my attention. Did he refer to the crusaders or had he somehow learned of the inquisitors? I decided to address it later. "I believe that is the best course of action. I will do what I can."

Nazir let out a genuine smile and gave a slight nod to his head. "Very good. Come, let me share what I know." His body language conveyed openness, and I couldn't help but feel that our cooperation might bear fruit.