Enyo al-Ilori felt a relief beyond any she had felt in recent years. Her Torgarian ferry was swiftly bound for the now neutral port of Sentinel Point, the harrowing peaks of Torgar a swiftly shrinking reminder of her time spent there. She stood near the bow of the roughly fifty-passenger vessel, and found herself overcome with laughter. What a disaster that had been! She slapped her open palms down on the hull of the metal vessel with enough force to create a relatively loud reverberation. Her eyes flashed briefly over her shoulder, startling a burly bugbear that had started to give her a look. He quickly returned to looking at his feet as the ship glided along the calm seas.
“You ought to be more careful, Enyo,” the voice in her head echoed with its familiar and honeyed baritone, “eventually you’ll pick a fight you can’t win, and I can’t guarantee my help.”
She scoffed out-loud before returning her mental reply, “I can watch myself perfectly fine, so keep your thoughts to yourself. I’ll call on you when needed and you will answer. That was the deal wasn’t it?”
Enyo waited a while before continuing her thoughts, content there wasn’t a reply. “Besides, I didn’t need you back in Gorrok’gul. Well, it probably would have made things easier but even if I can’t go back right now, I do prefer having the option to return.” She smiled before being overtaken with another fit of relieved giggles again.
The bow of the ship remained her perch until they had docked at Sentinel Point. She disembarked with the rest of the passengers — a mix of goblins, hobgoblins, bugbears, kobolds, and the occasional human. Among the crowd, she stood out handily with her ram-like horns, purple hued skin, and silvery hair. Although nothing about her could be said to be particularly noteworthy, her most memorable feature eventually became apparent to those she met which lent itself well to the occupation she currently found herself with. It was her turn to step up to the make-shift checkpoint that now served as the primary interface between the Lakeland Republic, the Confederacy of Westmarch, and the Torgarian Empire. She slid her passage papers to the bored-looking Hobgoblin seated at the booth. He shuffled them around, reaching for his seal.
“Hmm… Enyo al-Ilori, Envoy of the Creation Isles to Clan Gorrok?” There was slight shock to his voice, as he shuffled a few more papers and peered closely at her. He stamped his seal on her papers, “Hope you enjoyed your time in Torgar. See you again soon?” He punctuated his question by sliding the papers backed across the counter.
“Hopefully not too soon,” she replied in a cheerful voice as she swiftly left the checkpoint for the Confederacy-bound docks.
A few of her previous passengers-in-arms were also waiting for a vessel towards the Confederacy, her cowardly bugbear admirer among them. She tried her best to ignore him, but with the crew taking longer than usual to prepare the boat, and sensing the occasional glance, she was about to snap. She turned on her heel, snapping to face him eye-to-eye.
“Are we going to have a problem this whole trip?” she demanded of him in Goblin.
“Huh? I — uh,” the bugbear took a step back, stuttering over his words, “n-no it’s not l-l-like that I -”
“Then enlighten me, WHAT could I possibly help you with?” she took a step forward with each step he took backwards.
The bugbear glanced down, seeing he was now on the edge of the dock. He scanned the crowd on the dock, seeing everyone doing their best to not look like they were interested. “Well you see — uh. It’s, well, uh – You’re a-a- a demonkin r-r-right? A-a-and — well, ah blast. It’s all gone to purple. I –”
She snapped a fist threateningly towards him, “Gone to purple? And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” She shook her purple fist at him.
“What! N-no it’s not like that at all it’s — “
Enyo threw her fist to her side, taking the opportunity to send a small blast of arcane energy towards him. It was an incredibly minor amount of power, expertly disguised with her inflammatory gesture, but it would be enough.
The bugbear slipped over the edge of the dock, crashing into the water with a shout. The crew on the ferry briefly turned to him, but saw him treading water towards a ladder so they returned to their work.
“Careful, the dock’s wet, you don’t want to slip again,” she said tauntingly as she turned her back to the humiliated bugbear. “Serves you right. Hopefully the quick swim cools you off or I’ll do far worse to you.” She thrust her chin into the air, and stood near where the gangplank was slowly being lowered. No one stood too close to her.
The rest of the journey passed in silence, and the last rays of the sun barely scraped over the peaks of Westmarch mountains. The ferry unloaded its passengers onto the docks of South Port, where a similar checkpoint to the one at Sentinel Point prevented the flow of people from simply melding into the city proper. Enyo repeated the process, this time facing a scraggly human that performed the same lazy routine. He passed her papers back without a word, and just like that, Enyo had arrived in the Confederacy. Not many vessels were moored in the harbor — winter was fast upon the region, and though all of the ports of the Confederacy were open year-round, trade would be slow until the Northern water unfroze and the Republic fields could build up surplus crops again. In fact, most of the trade during the cooler months was with the Empire, which had a surprising economic benefit over the last few decades.
Darkness soon enveloped the city, and Enyo found her way through the twisting warehouses and workshops until she found herself near the edge of the city proper. The warm glow of the Ruffled Feather Inn beckoned her. She knew it wouldn’t match the comfort she had back in her suite in Torgar, but it would be cheaper and probably less annoying than the places closer to the city center.
She stepped inside to the sounds of sailors and adventurers engaged in conversations and games, punctuated with the occasional shout of victory of defeat. A few tables were occupied by quieter travelers, but for the most part this particular establishment had a reputation for a clientele that, well, tended to ruffle feathers. Enyo could only hope for a decent tavern-brawl to end her day of travel without a risk of an international incident. The thought made her chuckle.
“It would make things more interesting you know,” the voice in her head spoke up.
“I thought I told you to shut up earlier?” she replied.
“I don’t believe you did, no.”
“Oh, I guess I only thought about it. Which is weird since I’m talking in my head anyway. Well, if that’s the case — shut up.”
With that, she ordered an ale to ease the tensions of the day’s travels before she attempted a full night’s sleep without waking up to the relentless politicking of hobgoblins looming over her when she awoke.
“Don’t get too comfortable just yet –” the voice cut in before being promptly silenced.
“You do know the words right? Shut up? We’re not having a dialect issue or something?” the words flared into her mind.
“It is a bit idiomatic I suppose but, no, I understood you perfectly well. I just thought you would like to know someone has their eyes on you.” It was hard to explain, but Enyo knew what he was referring to. Well, mostly because she had noticed it too. However, his words were more than just an echo in her mind. They played to all of her senses, and the “someone” carried a directional instinct with it: towards a green scaled dragonkin, complemented by a brilliant emerald pendant about the neck.
Enyo hadn’t been back on the mainland of Avar in quite some time, and dragonkin weren’t exactly common in her home. However, she was reasonably certain she recalled enough about their morphology to conclude this was probably a female, for whatever that mattered to dragonkin. She shrugged, lost in her own thought. She hoped it would be answer enough to the permanent audience of her inner monologue. With that, she quickly downed her ale before pivoting in her chair and hopping to her hooves. She locked eyes with the dragonkin as she approached, determination in her gait.
Ixar eyed the demonkin as she approached, and noted the intent of ever step alongside the eye contact. As she thought, this inn indeed attracted the sort she was interested in. She doubted the conversation would need much in the way of guile — the demonkin clearly knew her gaze had been on her from the moment she walked in. Indeed, now she was at the table but remained standing, her narrow tail flicking with a touch of perhaps impatience or anticipation.
“Can I help you?” Enyo asked with a touch of urgency. “I’m trying to relax after what I could quite possibly describe as the most stressful week of my life.”
Straight to the point, Ixar thought to herself. She approximated a smile with her draconic features, “actually, yes, I’m hoping you can. The name’s Ixar Veridius. Local adventurer’s guild. Do you have a moment?” The last words she spoke trailed, baiting a response of the demonkin’s name as she gestured to the vacant seat across from her.
“Ooh, adventurers! A perfect way to blow off steam after, what did you call it? ‘The most stressful week of your life’?” The voice in her head chuckled tauntingly.
“Enyo. The rest isn’t important.” She nodded semi-politely and took a seat. “I don’t typically ‘adventure’ in the typical sense of the word but, well, I could probably do with punching a goblin or two. Chase off some bandits. Stand somewhere and be scary.”
“Well,” Ixar started, “fortunately this is probably not the typical adventure I need people for. Actually, it’s a little on the boring side. These lot,” she said, gesturing to the crowded tavern, “lack the subtlety for it. You see, there’s a small mining town not far from here, and shipments of ore have all but dried up. I just need some folks to come with me to check it out, make sure there isn’t some greater problem, and in return the adventurer’s guild will be paying the participants 20% of the mine’s usual output for assurance shipments will resume.”
“Oh? That’s actually not far from I usually do,” Enyo replied, taken slightly aback at not only the forwardness of Ixar in presenting the terms, but with how rather boring it sounded. Yet perhaps exciting? These were likely humans after all, not the usual persnickety hobgoblin she was used to. “It does sound rather mundane though. Why would the adventurer’s guild be recruiting for something like this? Aren’t you usually slaying wyverns or something?” Enyo was genuinely curious, as last time she had been on the mainland, they had in fact brought down a wyvern that had wandered in from the mountains and was shredding one of the Confederacy’s premier livestock mogul’s flocks.
“Indeed it is rather mundane,” Ixar replied, “but with the independent nature of the peoples that make up the Confederacy, we can never be entirely certain if terms of various concerns have not been radically redefined by one party.”
So there was the catch. They might show up to a small militia ready to repel attempts at enforcing a contract. Thankfully Enyo was not only gifted with diplomatic talent as well, but she could probably set their whole town on fire before they even thought of firing an arrow at her. She considered situations like this to be “a no-brainer.” She nodded confidently. “Yeah sure, like I’ve got anything better to do! Count me in.” She reached a hand out to shake on it.
Ixar took her hand in agreement. “Glad to have you, Enyo. We’ll meet down here at dawn, plan the journey, and head out as soon as we can.”
“A pleasure, Ixar!” Enyo said with a smile. A genuine one — she was going to enjoy just being muscle for once. She excused herself and made her way to the innkeeper.
After a brief conversation and a silver piece, Enyo made her way up to her accommodations and threw herself into the, admittedly, not entirely uncomfortable bed. It paled in comparison to the envoy suite back in Torgar, but she had been expecting a pile of hay and a threadbare blanket by all accounts.
It didn’t take long before sleep took her, but much to her disappointment it was going to be one of those nights. She had lost track, she supposed, and it was the sixth night of the new moon once again. She was still asleep, of course, but she was not dreaming. She stood in a room of pure white, unable to even hear herself breathe. The first night this had happened she panicked, but by not she knew it was just part of his routine. The show and game he liked to play. Her mouth moved to talk, but no sound came out. Then, only darkness surrounded her. Her pupils tried to adjust to the sudden change of lighting — but there had been no “change” of lighting as people are used to. The light was simply gone, and no level of nocturnal vision could penetrate this unnatural lack of light. Regardless, she took her steps forward. The darkness would end, she learned, if she simply stepped further into.
It could’ve only been a few steps, or she could’ve been walking for miles. She could never be sure. She felt a gentle, warm breeze blowing into her face. She reached out, her hands coming into contact with the most delicate and soft silk she had ever touched. She aggressively bunched it, throwing the curtains open. As the gap between them was ripped open, she found herself once more standing in the doorway to what she simply referred to as “his room”. A fireplace smoldered at the far end of the room, presumably the source of the intense heat of the room, despite how low the fire burned. The dim light was enough to illuminate the draped silks and plush pillows draped about the rooms. There were no chairs save one — an exquisitely carved ebony wood desk and chair with brass fittings sat near a large window opposite the doorway.
The chair was turned away from the door, and no papers adorned the desk. She could see the clawed red fist of the occupant gingerly holding a glass of amber liquid to the side, and the taloned tips of the great red wings peaking above the high-backed chair.
“Well, I’m here. Can we get this over with?” Enyo said, throwing herself down into one of the pillows.
“Ah, Enyo. Always the charmer. Yes you do have a busy day tomorrow so we can cut things short I suppose.” The voice that plagued her mind responded casually. He stood from his chair, and turned to face her.
Enyo was no longer afraid of him, even though she had been on their first meeting. She didn’t know terribly much about him — yet. He called himself “Angel” perhaps somewhat ironically. She may be demonkin, a long disconnected descendant of the fiends from the darkest realms of existence, but she was very much mortal. Angel, however, was a devil. She knew that much. She had known when she struck the deal with him that night. She knew when she pledged to fulfill her oath, less she pay with her own immortal soul at the end. Before her stood an inhabitant of the abyssal realms, and the source of her power. His red skin seemed to shimmer with heat, the edges of his razor sharp claws dancing in the lowlight, and the imposing form of his wings framing his silhouette was surely the source of the myths of many races to fear what lurked in the night. Despite all of that, his face was deceptively mortal. He was clean shaven, complete with slicked down hair that didn’t look the part currently, but she knew to be a light brown in color. His eyes beheld no evil, and were a cool blue that contrasted nicely with his red skin. Indeed, he had hidden his features the first few times after their initial encounter here in The Room. He was, nonetheless, a being of pure evil. She knew this for a fact.
“Let’s not waste anytime, then,” he said with a smile, and a stack of papers appeared on his desk. He leaned against it, took the papers, and began to leaf through them. “Today marks the 6th day of the 30th moon since our deal was struck,” he began after Enyo nodded, “and on the initial night you promised me your soul –”
“Unless I exchanged a hundred souls in my stead.” Enyo finished for him.
“Indeed, you do listen! I was starting to worry I was talking to myself during these meetings. Since to-date you have contributed,” he furrowed his brow, his lips silently moving as he looked over the figures. “Three souls. And while I’m not usually one to split hates, they weren’t exactly the best quality,” he said with disappointment in his voice.
It was a game to him, she knew. Did he enjoy holding it over her like this? She wasn’t going to just become a murderer for him though. Indeed, it’s partly why she had become an envoy. Part of her hoped she would mess up on accident one day, and spark a conflict to claim her bounty to “Angel” — although her natural gift for peacemaking had only been accidentally enhanced by dark power coursing through her. Who knew devils could be such charmers?
Angel knew those things too. As much as she kept an iron grip on her mental faculties, the man was incredibly perceptive, and deceptively empathetic. She accepted the bargain, afterall, and Enyo was no poor judge of character. His face at the moment reflected that knowledge.
“Look, Enyo, I know you’re not a murderer. And I’ll have you know I’m not either! I swear. I have my own preferred methods of harvesting souls,” he accented the words with a gesture to The Room, “so I get it, I do. You’ll get there. But you do need to get there, or I’ll remind you that means your soul belongs to me. Not that I’m complaining — it would be valuable currency in the abyss.” His words were sincere.
“You’ll get your souls. Maybe this new adventure will present a good opportunity, right?” she knew by now he was, likely, listening at all times. She hadn’t quite figured out if Angel did other things with his time, or just liked hanging out in her brain most of the time, but it was rare he missed a detail of her life. But, it did happen.
“Indeed. So,” he gestured to the table, where a scale appeared in a burst of flame. The brass and iron instrument was skewed heavily to the right, a chunk of gold adorned with the curved horns of a ram, much like Enyo’s, weighing it down. To the left, three shimmering pebbles were piled. The scale seemed to want to begin balancing, but remained weighed down. “Your soul hangs yet in peril, Enyo. Let us hope it is a good opportunity.”
As Angel finished his sentence, The Room began to shred around her. The warmth quickly replaced with a still nothingness. She was once again in the empty and silent white room. A moment later, and that room too began to shred away as she slipped into true sleep once more.
The rest of her sleep was unhaunted.
Rampant Swan 