[Official NPC]

Fortunately for Ionia, the vanguard do not take long to follow their Mystrider escort down the valley where she is being accosted by Tiana and her rearguard. Confusion over Lysaedra's sudden turnabout becomes the topic of conversation and eventually, it becomes clear that the Mystriders fear Maaike has been infected with a sickness they aptly call "Red Mist".

After a great deal of discussion and Lysaedra's supportive interjections, Tiana finally agrees to escort them to "the sovereign", the only man in their world they feel can help. Jericho attempts to learn more, especially after realising that "the temple" is the same rocky structure he saw in Garnak's mind, but he can get only glimpses that mean very little.

When they explain that others are likely to follow from Elysia, Tiana offers to station a squadron of Riders at the portal so they can cross the Badlands and Peace Valley without suffering as the vanguard have suffered. With that, the escorting Riders whip out large tarps and tell the Elysians to climb in. They will be grabbed at the corners by the myst dragons, two per "sling", to be carried to the temple.

Before they can set off, however, another squadron arrives and flags down Tiana. Jericho translates as the two Wing Masters confer: They bring a message that their village is under attack. A large Malaki war party has commenced a raid, but the villagers cannot evacuate as they normally would because a number of their young have recently "bonded" and are thus grounded. Lysaedra immediately turns bright eyes on the Elysian vanguard and asks for their help.

The vanguard splits into two groups. Those who even suspect they are infected with Red Mist are told to go to the temple along with anyone who wishes to go with them. The rest are taken to Vynett to help the Mystriders defend their village.

A couple of hours later, the first group has been dropped off at the rocky structure Jericho described with only a pair of Mystriders to serve as messenger relays and quick transport should it be necessary. However, the harpies guarding the temple have refused them admittance, telling them they will have to wait for an audience with the sovereign until he is ready, so they have little choice but to explore the temple while they wait.

Note: Don't forget to worldbuild as you plot! You can now also create/join side threads to explore events through Chapter One to Three, or to finish previous chapter threads.

Vanguard Members

PCs will be added to this list as they join. If NPCs (italics) do not already have profiles linked and are not personal NPCs, you can make them up as you go and their listed vitals will be updated per chapter. Struck-out names means they are dead or have left/not yet joined the main party.

Aella Karakinos — Unaffiliated Ayad, blacksmith's apprentice (inactive, following)
Aiden Roy — Therian
Aifric Ramsey — Therian Cartographer
Alain Gaston-Moreaux — Red Warden
Anatoli Vitalis — Rutilus, Espurian Guard (dead)
Faris ibn Alsyad — Purifier rep attached to LoP
Ionia Essytia — Skotadi representative, League of Adventurers
Kiel Taskel — Rutilus, League of Protectors
Maaike Sullivan — Therian scout, LoP-attached mercenary
Mortimer Jericho — Peteulanus, supplies & logistics, translator
Nimisha — Sidhe forest guide for unmapped areas
Captain Olympias Lysistrata — Apali, Varagoi, no-nonsense, stereotyper
Raphael — Djinn bodyguard and hunter attached to Ionia
Ninian Aedh — Therian enforcer attached to Jericho
Rusty Faelan — Therian enforcer attached to Jericho (dead)
Shane — Shadowkin attached to Kiel
Clara Moreaux — Feisty adventurer, Alain's wife
Rahil'Taj ibn Murad — Zanaryan Dao, Serren scribe, scribe
Na'im — Djinn attached to Rahil
Jael — large Zanaryan attached to Rahil

Current Objectives

• Explore the temple.
  
• Talk to various NPCs and learn what you can about Acantha, the temple, the sovereign, Garnak's whereabouts and the Red Mist.
  
• Ask the sovereign for the cure.

Chronology

This chapter will end out of character at midnight (GMT) on the 28th of August. In-character, the events of this chapter will last one week.

Mysts can carry just one person (besides their rider) between two of them, hence the slings. Larger passengers or those with cargo may need a third or even fourth dragon to counter the weight.

[Maaike]

Despite the urgency in the Mystrider's voice when she told Jericho that Maaike was "infected", the "sovereign" they had been sent to for help had kept them waiting already for two whole days. “Two days!” she exclaimed to no one in particular, her frustration and impatience getting the best of her. She then gave a series of hiccup to emphasise the point, gasping for air through it all, and then rubbed at her temples wearily.

“When is this guy going to let us in, damn him?”

They had been perpetually turned away by two vicious-looking women who were apparently half human and half eagle. Maaike had seen more of these guys around the rocky structure and noticed that they were likely temple guards: Even without the pointy spears they carried, they were nasty creatures. Short and solid with brown- or black-feathered extremities and stunted wings, they had long curved beaks that looked like they could rip a person apart with ease and round black eyes surrounded by a thin gold iris. Maaike had discovered for herself that they were strong because she had attempted to push by them and been tossed aside like a rag doll for her troubles. Granted, she wasn't the heaviest of women, but that had still stung her pride a little bit.

In the time they had been here, they had at least begun to understand a little bit of the Mystrider language. Aifric, the cartographer, had come with them because he thought he would learn more about this realm faster from the man who governed the lot than if he only went to a single village. (He hadn't said as much, but it was obvious he didn't think he could help defend the villagers against the Malaki, anyway.) He had proven to have a knack for linguistics, but most of the clicks and communication between rider and dragon went over his head. So far he had managed to teach the Mystrider their (proper) names and to explain a little why they were here, but he hadn't learned anything more about their sovereign despite Maaike's persistence.

Meanwhile, Maaike began to study the movements of the bird-like guards their Mystrider called "harpies", and explored the temple. Cut from the rock itself, it seemed ancient and a little on the delicate side. Man-made stairs spiralled the temple and the outlying 'buildings', Gaps like windows let her see into small rooms along the top edge of a structure that jutted out from the main part, which seemed like it was the heart of harpy activity. She called them eyries because they reminded her of griffin nests high in the Duskies, but they were probably more similar to Anyeli barracks than anything else.

“Ask him if there's another way in to see this guy, would you? I'm done waiting.”

[Jericho]

Jericho had opted to accompany Maaike to the temple not because he wanted to be her personal translator but because he didn't want to be caught up in another battle. He had used the excuse that the infected would need help asking this sovereign person for help, conveniently forgetting to mention that Lysaedra had told him said sovereign could translate just fine for himself. And then he had spent the past two days blithely ignoring every request for him to translate this person, to read that person's mind, to poke and prod. He had flatly and resolutely said "no" for two whole days, shutting his mind up back within his own skull and wrapping a wall of felt around it. Then he had settled against a temple wall with his head in Misha's lap (and Ninian on the look-out for the moss stuff that had killed Rusty) and slept.

“Would you shut up, woman?” The Therian's impatience was hard to ignore. It radiated from her every pore and it set his teeth on edge. Wiping the grogginess from his eyes, Jericho sat up and glowered at her.

“Ahhhh, my leg's gone numb. Damn it, Jeri, it's your fault for sleeping for two whole days.” Misha's hand spasmed around his shoulder and he wiggled.

“I notice you took the chance to catch a nap, too.” There was still sleep in the corners of Misha's eyes. “Don't cry to me if you haven't bothered to move.”

“How in the four corners of Hel am I meant to move with your big fat head in my lap?”

“It's only big because my brain swelled from all the translating and mind-reading you lot have had me doing. And whose fault is it we're in this Xanth-forsaken hole in the first place, Mister "I follow the Creed but boohoo my friends are dead, let's kill them all"?” Jericho blinked and spat out the sand and grit the Sidhe had just flung in his face. Misha glared at him, then took Nin's offered hand and dragged himself upright to wobble on pins and needles. He didn't look at Jericho again.

Fine. Two could play at that game. “What was it you wanted translating, woman?”

[Official NPC]

Nerala exited the temple's main hallway, took a few steps, and then froze, her wing feathers ruffled by a warm breeze. Many Acanthans came to see the Sun God, known by many names across the land, and most were never given an audience or spent months here waiting. For that reason, tents were set up in a makeshift encampment on a rocky plain a few hundred feet from the temple proper, and it was there she had intended to go now. However, the strange creatures the Sun God was prepared to see now were still directly in front of the temple as if they had no where else to go.

“Miada, what are they doing?” she asked one of the golds standing on either side of the entrance. More lined the hallway, prepared to evict anyone too impatient to await the Sun God's own wrath.

Miada shuffled her stunted wings and gaped her beak open, the harpy form of a shrug. “They keep trying to talk to us, but I don't have a clue what they're saying. It's no language I've ever heard. We haven't been able to direct them to the worshippers' camp.”

“Oh. Well. That saves my legs a job, at least.” Miada chuffed, her laughter echoed by the other guard's, and Nerala stepped closer to the small group. Given the language barrier, she thought it might be difficult to explain that they had been miraculously granted an audience, so she simply gestured for them to follow.

[Dananka]

Danae pursed plush lips to hide a smirk. This whole thing had been so much fun, he rather wished he had not spent quite so many millennia holding Xanth at arms' length — though, he supposed, the fun came from having her propose her little deal after so much animosity between them. She just couldn't help herself. She would always try to be the "bigger man", and in so doing, trap herself in a tangle of her own principles. That she had accused him of sending the Malaki to her world against the small-print of their deal had amused him even further. Did she honestly think his ferocious creations needed an excuse to seek out greener pastures for the plucking? Ah, but her expression had been sheer bliss.

And now, her own children had come to him for help! “Bwahahahahaha!” He could not have manipulated this situation any more to his liking if he'd tried!

“So,” he mused, his enjoyment brimming over as he sat forward in his throne. The lush, royal blue velvet and thick cushions went well with the ostentatious gold trimmings. “You have come to me for help.” He had done them an unfathomable courtesy in listening to their story, despite his boredom through it all (he had been watching them all along, he already knew it), so as to appear charitable. He would listen, nod sympathetically (if he could stop the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth), pretend to be their friend... He may even agree to help them if he thought it would anger Xanth even more. “What is it you seek from me?”

[Faris]

Tempers were running high from the extended wait. Mister Jericho's self-declared break was not helping matters; insecurity coupled with inactivity was feeding into impatience. And that impatience was showing. One outburst followed another, and Faris had watched them all with a bland expression on his face.

He was an expert in waiting. He had waited such a long time, to leave Los and go back to Keikis. Then he had waited, for a way out of the politics that Zanarya was enveloped in. And still he was waiting, for a call of homecoming to arrive. Having a few hours to spare was nothing to him. All the same, the Marid had been the first to follow when one of the harpies finally gestured to them. Waiting was one thing; being infected with whatever that red haze they had come into contact with was another altogether.

The person who greeted them was a silvery humanoid. He was seated on a lavishly decorated throne, his posture marked with the vainity and ego of a preening eagle. Faris was immediately reminded of his homeworld's lords and lady. Was this a common trait of people in power? It took a moment for Faris to realise he had understood the words of this man without need for a translator. Interesting.

"Greetings, Sovereign. We are foreign to this land, and wish to learn more of...this world of yours. ...Of your land, your people, you. Your people spoke of a disease, an illness...it was linked to mist the colour of blood..." Faris had cut in before any of the others could speak, but he was faltering now. There was so much, too much in fact, that they did not know. He stumbled but determinedly finished what he had to say, before finally answering the silver ruler's question. "We seek knowledge."

[Jericho]

Whatever Maaike had wanted translating would have to wait, and Jericho was glad of that until he realised he would have to work even harder interpreting this sovereign fellow. It took him a second to realise the pale blonde was speaking their own language, glancing at Faris in surprise when the Zanaryan responded in kind as if he had understood the sovereign's query.

Interesting. When Jericho glanced at Ninian, the Therian arched an average eyebrow over his average face and shrugged. Misha was too busy eyeballing the strange king to notice Jeri's impatient stare.

“Never mind the knowledge, we seek the cure.” He had no idea how contagious it was, but he had been in close contact with these people for weeks now and feared what that meant for his own health. Faris seemed to be pulling on Zanaryan courtesy so as not to offend the man, but Jericho didn't have the patience to step carefully. And so he speared into the sovereign's mind to search for the information himself. Instead, he bashed his metaphorical head into a metaphorical brick wall and came back out rubbing his literal temples. It was like no mental shield he'd ever encountered before - not merely strong or even impenetrable, but something that had bounced him right out of the sovereign's brain before he could get clear of the scalp. “The Hel?”

Maybe Faris was right to be polite. They weren't likely to get the cure any other way.

[Dananka]

“So impolite.” The tension in Danae's tone belied the smirk he aimed at Mortimer Jericho. The telepath's attempt to read his mind was amusing, to say the least. Danae might have even let him peek beyond his barrier if not for the fact that doing so would boil the Peteulanus' mind right out of his skull. Though the loss would not be a tragic one, his game somewhat relied on Xanth's brats having the ability to understand what was happening so Jericho's role was an important one. For the moment. Besides that, giving them a glimpse of their fate at this point would just ruin his fun.

“You should take a leaf from your friend's tree here and show a little teeny tiny bit of respect.” He pitched his voice higher and held up his hand, finger and thumb close together. He let a spot of power flash in his blue eyes to show them he was no mere 'sovereign', not enough to have them cowering at his feet but a single, fleeting glimpse of what lay beyond this ostentatious facade. “I'll say this for her,” he mused cryptically. “She does know how to put together an intriguing package.” He raked the lot of them head to toe, his expression lascivious. His interest lay more at the atomic level than in any attraction he might have for any of them, but they didn't have to know that.

Standing with a swish of robes, Danae descended from the dais one slow, jolting step at a time. “Indeed, I fear the thing you seek is not—” He unfolded the fingers of one hand as if releasing a butterfly from his grasp. “—within your grasp at present. I can, however, tell you that the Malaki you followed has been and gone. Seeking the very same as you, in fact.” Danae pinned Faris with a knowing stare. “He knew how to speak to his god in the appropriate manner, so I gave him knowledge and he moved on.”

Studying his fingernails, Danae turned away with another swish of fabric, as if dismissing them, then turned just his head to look at them over his shoulder. “Hmm. Perhaps if you were to beg.” This time, the light in his eyes was avarice rather than power. “I might give you the same.”

[Official NPC]

Mikel staggered right by the harpies, so afraid to touch him, and burst through the throne room doors. “My lord. My lord.” Hands outstretched and reaching for salvation, he stumbled into a plinth and knocked an ancient vase to the floor. On his outbound journey, doing such a thing would have him on his knees and begging for mercy, but the only mercy he cared for now had nothing to do with the ceramic pieces shattered across his path.

“My lord, I have... I have failed... you..” A red film covered his vision and tears trickled down his cheeks. The same wetness trailed from his ears and nose and the corners of his mouth. He tasted copper. He had fallen many times on his way back to the temple, and only his desperation had put him back on his feet. “F...failed to...” Mikel slumped to his knees. “Save...me.” He breathed through a mire thicker than water. His voice was hoarse. “Please.”

[Maaike]

Beg? He wanted them to beg? Like dogs?

Despite Elysia's diversity and her marriage to a man who expected submission from everyone around him, Maaike was unaccustomed to people like this 'sovereign'. Something about him screamed pretentiousness, but at the same time there was a power simmering behind his pale blue eyes that made the hair on the back of her neck stand to attention. Even so, and perhaps because of Ashton, his attitude rubbed her the wrong way. She hiccupped in disgust and sniffed in disdain. Her nose itched like the fine capillaries were bleeding, and when she opened her mouth to tell the Mystriders' sovereign exactly where he could shove his begging, she produced a croak instead.

Any fantasy she might have had about the Mystriders completely overreacting to what amounted to Acanthan flu flew right out the window when a man, apparently human, burst into the hall. It looked like he'd been crying, but in the place of normal tears were red tracks that smelled of metal and fear. Similar tracks left his ears, and dribbled from his nostrils over his mouth. He was caked in dirt and sweat and vomit stains that made her draw her lips back in a snarl, but he was otherwise deathly pale — except for a blotchy rash that covered most of his face and disappeared into his neckline.

Danae's cryptic remarks — along with the frustrating news that the Malaki brave was already long gone! — were forgotten and Maaike gasped, jerking back instinctively as the man fell to his knees just a few feet shy of the sovereign's swishable robes. “T...Tell me that's not...” She lifted her gaze to stare wide-eyed at Danae. Flu she could handle, but bleeding from every orifice just wasn't in her plan.

[Faris]

Faris let his features settle into a blank mask as he processed the demand of this sovereign - this being. He recognized power when he saw it, yet the proud Marid could not help but balk. Were all rulers this egoistical? Having never met a Tanakheimein before, Faris still stubbornly clung to the notion that the silvery-haired person before them was merely some form super-Shrine Lord.

The sudden intruder immediately had all of Faris' attention however. The man stumbled in, proceeding to bleed in a most gruesome fashion. All the while pleading and begging. Faris felt his own skin heat up as his eyes followed the many scarlet rivulets that lined the man's face, shivering at the badness of it. He had never seen anything similar, ever. Was this the sovereign's idea of punishment for failure? How much power did the ruler of Acantha wield?

The smell of blood was becoming more and more noticeable, and Faris could only watch in morbid fascination as seemingly endless red fluid dribbled leaked out of the man. Like a bucket that was about to come apart at the seams, the spilled seawater merely a premonition of the total collapse that was to come. Faris took a step away from now prostate individual, letting out a heavy breath he had been unconsciously holding. In spite of himself he was already breathing as shallowly as he could, and through the mouth. The smell of blood was there still. So very strong; he could almost taste it. Faris snapped his mouth shut at the thought. It took considerable effort to breathe and not hyperventilate. All at once the grand throne room seemed so small.

Forcing away the sudden onset of claustrophobia (it was an irrational, and he needed all his wits around him), Faris ran through the sovereign's words once more. He dug in deep, into that iron will that had enabled him to survive a youth that consisted of serving a somewhat negligent and sometimes hostile Lord. Giving a smile that was backed by much bravo, he quipped to the Acanthan Lord as off-handedly as he could. It was hard; his throat was a little bit too dry and warm right now. Still, he tried.

"I would like to take back my words, O' Mighty One; it seems like we need something a little bit more concrete than knowledge. Pardon my insolence, but begging does not seem to be doing this man much good. ...... It's contagious and lethal, isn't it?"

Faris could not resist throwing out the worst-case scenario, on the off-chance that he was pleasantly wrong. And right now, he really wanted to be wrong.

[Dananka]

Danae stilled mid-turn to eye the human, his lips twisted into a sideways pout. Waving a hand, he turned his back on the cretin. “I have no patience for you now, Mikel.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb to effect a weary pose, then peeked at the Elysians. Mikel slumped to his knees, and the effect was immediate. Danae pouted again to hide his smile. Making the Elysians wait so long to meet him had paid off, indeed.

Ignoring the bleeding human for the moment, Danae paced the width of the dais to answer Faris. “Contagious, lethal and unpleasant.” As he stepped closer to Mikel, the human grabbed at his robes. Danae tore the fabric out of his grubby hands. “Disgusting.” Mikel followed him, shuffling across the marble on his knees. Danae flicked his robes behind him and bent at the hip to cup Mikel's mottled face, crooning as if soothing a pet or a child. “Poor human. Bleeding from the inside out.” Flicking a glance at the others, he smirked. “You saw the red mist, hmm? Soon there'll be nothing left but drops of blood hanging in the air like a shade clutching at the last dregs of life.” He could have just as easily been talking about the Elysians and their fate as Mikel's.

He patted Mikel's cheek again. “ You want the cure, right?” Mikel nodded and wheezed, clutching at his wrist. “But alas, you have failed to acquire that which I desire. What a shame. Now I have no obligation to save you.”

Shoving the human away, Danae stepped around him, but was trapped by an arm around his leg. “Please! Pl...ease, my lord. Save me! I...'m begging...you. Please.” Danae pinned a glare on thin air, yanked free and turned to grind his boot into the gasping human's face.

“Che. Now I have blood on me.” One of the harpies lining the wall immediately fell to her knees in front of his raised boot to wipe it clean with the feathers of her stunted wing. Beside her Mikel fell back clutching his throat and gasping for air. “Oh, look at that.” He smiled at the infectees. “You now have a chance to see your fate. What a pity it is. So new to my realm, and already dead.” He tapped his chin as if in thought, then lifted a finger in a "eureka!" pose. “Unless you wish to do what Mikel could not. Would you like to help yourselves out a little, hmm?”

[Jericho]

To borrow Kiel's phraseology, Danae was "creeping him out". Jericho believed in the Creator, but he was of the opinion that she had abandoned Elysia long ago. Faced with this man, however, this "sovereign" who was no mere ruler, Jericho had to question that opinion. The power simmering in those pale blue eyes was not his only clue. Danae had an attitude that smacked not only of privilege but told of someone so absolutely confident in his own abilities and indestructiveness that he could act however he pleased with no concern for consequences. He peeked like a child for their reaction, he ignored his subjects like a tantruming toddler when they failed to give him what he wanted, and now he was deliberately making an example of the bleeding humanoid so they would realise the price of failure.

His immediate instinct was to give a flat and resounding "no". Jericho held it back. He studied the sovereign's slender face for a moment, trying to probe past whatever kept bouncing him out of the man's skull, then switched his focus to the human. Mikel. His mind was little more than mush, his thoughts a broken diatribe. Useless. The harpy cleaner was next: She was picking at her bloodied wing with a frantic look on her beaked face, the knowledge of her impending doom clear in her black eyes even without the need for reading her thoughts. She was utterly convinced she was already infected, just from brief secondary contact — so why was Danae himself not concerned? He had touched Mikel freely with no thought to the blood.

“Perhaps we should take the time to discuss our options,” he proposed, taking care to keep his voice neutral and inoffensive. He even managed a polite smile.

[Official NPC]

Warning: Bits of this are quite disturbing, especially the bit I've spoilered out.

Mikel had failed, and knowing this gave up hope of being cured. Danae, the Sovereign, the War God, the Almighty, had abandoned him. Real tears mixed with the blood leaking from Mikel's eyes. His breathing grew shallower, pink foam bubbling up his throat from his lungs. He had used up everything he had to reach the temple, to return to his master's side so he could report his failure and beg for mercy. He should have known better. He could have died in his wife's arms.

No. Better this than that. For all he knew, his whole village was dead by now. The cure Danae promised had been as much for them as it had been for him. He had failed them, too. “My l...lord.” Perhaps if his request was not so selfish, Danae might be more inclined to help. “Ple-ee. Sa...ve usss.”

For Mikel, however, it was already too late. The blood seeping from his nose and eyes and ears became a torrent. He fell sideways, his legs and arms twitching as he stared helplessly at his god's feet. The red haze thickened until he was almost completely blind, sound muffled by the reddened mucus in his ears. Agony avalanched throughout his entire body as his flesh began to dissolve.

Spoiler

The process took only seconds, but he was still conscious when the last of his extremities dispersed as red droplets to dance over his disintegrating corpse.

[Maaike]

Maaike had thought that Ashton had been most terrifying thing in her life. Nothing else could ever compare to the humiliation and terror and betrayal of her life with him. And yet, here she was in an alien world, staring at the mistifying corpse of man Danae claimed had the same sickness as her.

All at once, pieces of the puzzle slotted together. The red mist, the scent of blood. Though the deep tissue of Mikel's torso remained mostly "intact" (if gruesome and largely liquefied), most of the arms and legs had dissolved in a matter of seconds so even the absence of that first 'corpse' made sense. They might have stumbled across the cloud at the end stage, when nothing but the finest droplets remained. Or perhaps what was left of the body had been carried off by scavengers, or the heat of the Badlands' sun and the wind there had served to speed up the disintegration.

Needless to say, she didn't hesitate. “What do you want us to do?”

[Dananka]

Danae smiled: the genuine, high-wattage smile of a man who got what he wanted. “Very good, Maaike Sullivan.” She had not given her name. None of them had, but he knew them all inside and out. How delightful it would be to play with their tiny brains, to push them to the brink of madness, to make them dance like puppets on a string. “Very good.”

Turning with another dramatic swish of fabric, Danae tapped his pointed chin in thought, then paused to look at the group. “Are you not going to bow? To kneel and scrape before your sovereign? Well, no matter.” They would learn. Then they would scurry back to their own world grateful to be the children of a soft touch like Xanth, or stay to serve a god with a firm hand. Or die. Either way, he would have fun watching Xanth wring her hands like a helpless mama.

“There is something I want.” Swish. “Something you will acquire for me.” He did not confess that he himself could take what he wanted without a second thought. The point was not whether or not he could get it for himself. Where was the fun in that? “A very precious item that only the Ohani of Neluna possess.” With his back to them once more, he turned at the waist with a hand up to his face to set an aside: “Watery place. You'll like it there. Assuming you can swim.” Swish. “I will even given you the means to get there.” He waggled his fingers at another harpy (the one who had cleaned his boot was plucking feathers from her wing as if that would have her from the sickness) and she disappeared into the dark shadows of an alcove. “Of course, you are not the first I have asked to do me this "favour", but these people are useless.” He sneered at Mikel's still-dissolving remains. “Perhaps you will have better luck.”

[Faris]

The use of Sullivan's name did not escape Faris' notice, and the Zanaryan was well aware that they still did not know the smiling man's name. It seemed that the ruler of Acantha seemed to have the upper hand in every aspect. For starters, the man was immune to the disease that had taken the human called Mikel. Faris was sure, for it would otherwise take a certain kind of madness to so nonchalantly caress a dying man infected with an illness this gruesome.

Or perhaps Acantha's Lord is indeed mad.

Faris would not be surprised if that were the case. The Lords and Lady back home were much the same; showing their eccentricity in appetite, temper and vanity. It was entirely possible that this man had an inflated sense of security and some measure of disregard for his own health. The sovereign was less stubborn than Lady Kaia, at least. Faris quirked a small smile, a discreet thinning of his lips. The smile grew wider as he listened to the rest of the silver-haired man's instructions. Swim? Faris could do a whole lot more than just swim.

"They are useless indeed." Faris refused to accord respect to the groveling and now very dead human. Especially since the rubbishing of his pride had earned them absolutely nothing. "But we are not. We will have more than just luck. After all, we are not human."

Faris could not see the ruler's face, but it was a small matter. After all, the man had no need to lie when truth would hurt them so much more. And it would, in all its deadly crimson glory if they did not find a cure in time. They needed start moving soon. Faris absentmindedly scratched at a spot on his arm, the skin reddening and warming under the abuse.

"Do tell us more about this item you seek. That it is jealously guarded will be a given, I expect, but what of its nature?"