-Aldhicus, Elvehn.-
-The day after the trial of Bianca Miles.-
Praetor Crassius Acclasi sat at the corner desk of his private study nestled deep within the halls of the Elvehn Senate. Though the day's duties had long since ended, Crassius' mind was occupied with the repercussions of the current state of affairs. He made a list in his mind, placing each detail in an order of importance.
"Bianca Miles was exiled from the Heartland Fae. Verunil Osselus is dead. Any chance of an alliance between Ysolda and Verathorn is all but extinguished. And, naturally, Bianca has little chance at freedom from the executioner's blade." The Elvehn Praetor muttered to himself.
A letter appeared from the small, green brazier next to his desk, interrupting his thoughts. Emberstar braziers were funny things, capable of sending letters across great distances in an instant. One of the better creations of Elvehn superiority, though only magi had access to them. He looked down at the insignia upon the seal, rolling his eyes. Osselus. What could that bastard want now? He tore upon the letter, begrudgingly, and read its contents.
"Praetor Acclasi,
Words do not express how happy I am that you were unable to attend that despicable miscarriage of justice the Elbafans call a trial. To know my son's killer walks free burns me to my soul. Yet there is good news. Because of this new development, Ysolda War-Bear has currently been unable to achieve her alliances with the Heartland Fae, as well as the kingdom of Forswaron. With Prince Nazair's whereabouts unknown, and my child dead with Elbafas seeming complacent to the crime, it is only a matter of time until Queen N'fube takes action. The Mongrel has been given one year to fulfill her task of finding him. May she fail, and the human infestation of Gaol find itself eradicated.
Praetor Osselus."
The letter was burned as quickly as it came, green fire engulfing the parchment as it was tossed into the small brazier. Crassius Acclasi sat at his desk, a hand supporting his head as he wrote. As if he were so ignorant of current events that he didn't have his own sources. Verano's letter only served as repetition. He ran his fingers through his long, silver hair as his golden eyes scanned his own words. A missive to his men and Octavius at Fort Seneca.
Praetor Verano Osselus. The man was a joke, Crassius mused. He had allowed his own son to run rampant amongst the lawless forests of the Heartland Fae territory, and he had paid the ultimate price. It was only a matter of time before the savages had their way with him. Yet to think it was Bianca herself that ended the fool.
A knock came from his door.
"You may enter." His deep, suave voice bellowed.
A young man, an Elf, opened the door. Dressed in white and red robes, he took his first step into the dimly lit room. "Elvehnus Hold You, Praetor Acclasi. May I have a word?"
Crassius turned, a smile forming on his lips. "Of course, Legatus Maxwell. I was just finishing up a letter to our friends in Seneca."
Maxwell strode towards the man, looking over his shoulder at the letter. "I assume by now you know what's happened? With the Mongrel?"
Crassius chuckled. "Bianca, Legatus. The woman secured a fort we've been unable to take for the past ten years. Show a bit of respect." Crassius stood up and bound the letter with a tight, red thread. "Come, let us walk."
The pair left the room and walked the halls of the Elvehn Senate. Pillars of pure marble embellished with gold and green lined the immaculate corridors. Banners displaying the pride of Elvehn hung high above, commanding respect. Through the pillars and down the corridors, one could catch glimpses of soldiers training in the massive courtyard.
"I take it you are troubled, my young friend." Crassius laid a hand on Maxwell's shoulder as they strode side by side.
Maxwell shook his head, his golden eyes fixed straight ahead. "Apologies, Praetor. Thoughts weigh heavy on my mind."
"You may speak freely, Legatus. I have always encouraged healthy discussion amongst my colleagues."
As they walked, soldiers, servants, and other politicians bowed to the Praetor. Crassius Acclasi commanded a respect amongst the highest echelons of Elvehn that was rarely seen. Even Lord Batiatus himself sought the Praetor's approval. Back during the days of the Empire, Crassius held a power not unlike Emperor Morticius himself.
For Crassius' strength wasn't in his knowledge of weapons or military tactics, but his understanding of history, magic, and the psyche of the living.
"I have concerns regarding how the Senate is handling things. If the Mon-" Maxwell stopped himself. "If Bianca truly has killed Tribune Osselus..."
"We dispatched several representatives to the trial of Bianca Miles. From what they have reported, she was found guilty. However, due to certain political trifles, the woman is charged with finding the lost Prince Nazair al'Citadel. Her execution is stayed for one year. Unless the prince is found." Crassius explained briefly.
"They intend to let her get away with it?" Maxwell asked, worry in his voice.
"You seem afraid, my friend. Why?"
"What would you do, Praetor Acclasi, If you knew your brother's killer were still out there?" Maxwell insisted on an answer, anger growing in his voice.
While not related by blood, Maxwell Osselus was the adopted son of Praetor Verano Osselus. He had looked up to Verunil in every sense of the word. Maxwell didn't agree with much of what his brother did, but he respected his power and his drive to do it. In his heart, Maxwell wished he could have had the authority and privilege to achieve half of what Verunil had. It annoyed Crassius, but he could empathize with the desire to measure up to his adoptive family.
Yet in all things, especially matters of the heart, Crassius saw opportunity. In this case, a passing soldier.
"Legionnaire. A moment, please."
The soldier halted where he stood. "Yes, Praetor!" The man snapped to attention.
Crassius smiled, holding out his hand. "Your sword, please."
The legionnaire was visibly confused, his eyes darting back and forth between Maxwell and Crassius. Yet he did as he was asked, and drew his sword before ceremoniously handing it to the Praetor.
"What is this, Legatus?" Crassius asked, his smile never fading.
"A sword, sir?" Maxwell answered, albeit hesitantly.
The gladius shone brightly in the sun, gold trim adorning the hilt. Its blade short, yet razor sharp. A standard weapon, handmade by the finest smiths Elvehn had to offer. It was a thing of beauty, as dangerous as it was elegant.
"Correct." Crassius began. "A sword is a fascinating thing. In the right hands, it can topple empires, remove tyrants, decimate savages that threaten our way of life." The Praetor gripped the tip of the sword in his right hand. The legionnaire's eyes went wide as Maxwell's mouth hung open.
"My Praetor-" The legionnaire gasped.
"In the wrong hands..." Crassius jerked his hand down the edge of the sword, slicing his hand and spilling blood onto the marble floor.
"Praetor Acclasi!" Maxwell shouted. Yet no sooner did his blood pool upon the tiles did it flow back into his wound. Like a waterfall going backwards in time. Every drop, every hint that it ever stained the floor, suddenly surging back into the man from whence it came. The gash stitched itself back together, an uneasy squelching of flesh, tissue, and muscle as all traces of injury faded.
Crassius clenched his fist, then opened his hand to prove that no wound remained. With a smile, the Praetor handed the blade back to the passing legionnaire. "I thank you, kind sir."
The soldier dared not speak. He only bowed quickly before returning to his duties. "Of course, Praetor Acclasi." And with that, the man was on his way.
"Praetor, I do not understand." Maxwell shook his head, still dumbfounded.
Crassius beckoned the young Legatus to walk with him once more. They emerged from the Senate and onto the cobblestone streets of Aldhicus. The densely packed buildings formed a wall of stone and wood. Shops, money lenders, homes, and all things in between formed a patchwork of facilities.
Sweet aromas of baked bread wafted through the air, a pride of Elvehn culture. It was often said that an Elvehn home is judged by the quality of its bread. Crassius always thought it a strange custom, but it was theirs. As they approached the courier's office, Crassius handed two golden coins to a baker manning her stall just a stone's throw from their destination.
"Braided bread, please. And one for my friend." Crassius told the baker, who took the coins with a smile on her face.
"Of course, Praetor Acclasi." The young woman kneaded the dough, and then twisted it into its signature knotwork shape.
"As you could see, the same sword used to serve a fellow Elf could, naturally, be used to kill that same Elf. A sword is a tool, Maxwell. And a tool is only as useful as the one who wields it." Crassius stated astutely.
"And I assume you consider Bianca the sword?" Maxwell asked, crossing his arms. "You intend to conscript her? Imprison her?"
Crassius held up a single finger. "I intend to bargain, Maxwell. The woman has been denied her freedom and treated as a monster. Where others see inconvenience, I see opportunity."
"Opportunity?" Maxwell's eye twitched. "With all due respect, Praetor Acclasi, the woman murdered my brother!" Maxwell's outburst brought unwanted attention from several passersby, but Crassius merely brushed it aside.
"And why do you think that is?" Crassius' eyes flickered as he watched the woman apply a simple fire spell to the wooden board that held the bread. Its searing heat enough to bake the dough to perfection, but controlled enough to avoid setting the stall ablaze. "Do you think Bianca would have killed Verunil had he not been tempted by that Fae? I'm told the girl, this 'Sha'ani,' was Bianca's adoptive sister. Our sources say Bianca was exiled from the Heartland Fae just before the incident."
"And what does that have to do with anything? Sir, I'm afraid I don't understand."
Crassius sighed, and turned to his colleague. "Bianca's fate may be in our hands, Legatus Maxwell. If we can convince her that Elvehn is the proper path."
And with those words, the baker handed the bread to the pair of Elves.
---
-Autumn's Gate-
-Gaoling's Blade Guild Hall-
Drunken laughter filled the dining hall as Bianca and Nifu drank their fill. Ten mugs stood empty, with an eleventh in Bianca's hand as she threw head back in a fit of glee.
"So I threw the table at him." Bianca spoke between giggles and slurs. "The whole table. True story." She leaned against Nifu, the two of them laughing.
"You did not. Darling, that's pure insanity." Nifu took another drink of mead, setting the empty tankard next to the others. "Keep 'em coming, Hildegard!"
Bianca snorted. "Hehe. Keep. I was just there."
"Speaking of the Oaken Keep, I think Bree stopped by there today. Old girl looked pissed." Brecca, ever the voice of sobriety, chimed in.
"She's probably still mad that I licked her ass!" Bianca cackled, adding another empty tankard to the pile.
Nifu broke into a fit of drunken laughter. "You did what?!"
Brecca smirked. "I think you mean 'kicked' her ass."
Nifu laughed along with her, Brecca standing by enjoying the spectacle.
Bianca's vision blurred as she recalled stories with her new companions. At least, she assumed she could call them companions. She had fought with one, and the other had been the model for her favorite series of erotica. And of course no one had threatened to kill her in the last hour, or call her Mongrel. All in all, as good an afternoon as any.
"So what made you pick up Forbidden Desires of an Al'Maran Prince? It's not exactly flying off the shelves in the local bookstores." Brecca asked, grabbing one of the mugs still full.
Bianca paused, holding up a finger as she chugged the tankard of mead before slamming it back down onto the table. "So," she slurred. "I may be a pervert for admitting this, but I really love steamy romance novels."
"Really? I never would have guessed." Nifu chortled drunkenly.
Before Bianca could manage an answer, the doors to the hall of Gaoling's Blade swung open. She turned to see the new arrivals. An orc, though she could barely make out the shape of the woman, and a Faerie. Finally, the man in the middle who stood out to her more than either of the other two.
"Ey! Harder!" She slurred, dropping the mug and shakily rising to her feet. "Harder Fur-Stroker!"
Nifu broke into a fit of laughter. Even Brecca couldn't hold it in, slapping a hand on the table as amusement filled the room. "Okay, I like this one. Ben's kid is a hilarious drunk."
Jardur rolled his eyes. "Well, Rami's gonna be pissed."
Bianca shambled towards the white-haired man, giggling to herself. She had to admit, he looked rather attractive when he wasn't holding a sword or a shard of ice. Or did he look more attractive that way? She couldn't decide.
"What in the name of Segovax are you lot doing?!" The Faerie, whom Bianca finally recognized as Bree, fumed while looking at the pile of empty tankards. Her eyes darted towards Nifu and then Brecca, who threw his hands up in surrender. "Did you let her drink all this mead, Brecca?"
The orc put her hands on her waist, arching an eyebrow as she looked at the muscular warrior. "Husband." She said deadpan.
Brecca chuckled, now nervous himself. "Hello, Lambur."
Bianca's eyes widened, pointing towards the robed orc and then to Brecca. "Ha! Someone's in trouble."
"Yeah. You!" Bree grabbed Bianca by the hem of her tunic. "That's at least a hundred Elbas. At least! How did you even drink this much?!"
Bianca stumbled backwards, the fell forward before landing back on the ground. "Oh, look at that. You managed to knock me down. Guess we can call it even."
"Lighten up, Bree." Nifu laughed, making his way to the group. "Just a little fun."
Bree glared at the Al'Maran man. Bianca, barely able to see straight, rose to her feet clumsily and shambled towards the last mug of mead. The Fae woman stammered, her eye twitching. "Stop drinking all the damn mead!"
"Alright, kid. Fun's over. I'll get you to your room." Jardur reached for Bianca as she swayed, only to be swatted away by a half-full tankard.
"You'd-" Bianca stumbled, setting her beer onto the air beside her and letting it fall to the floor. The alcohol splashed onto the stone, a perfectly good pint wasted. "You'd like that, wouldn't ya?"
Bianca blinked slowly, her body moving to some unheard tune.
"Yes, I would, cause you're wasting drinks." Jardur rolled his eyes.
The others said nothing, save for Nifu's drunken chuckles.
Bianca giggled, still swaying. "Didn't think this is how it'd play out. Losing my first time in a storm of ale and to a rugged assassin, no less."
Jardur blinked, half-stunned by the remark. "Losing-what are you...?"
"Shhh..." Bianca held a finger to Jardur's lips. "I ain't that easy, boy. I'm holding out for the right man, you see. I-"
And in that moment, half a keg of ale came rushing from Bianca's stomach and onto the floor. Right on Jardur's boots and pants, followed by the half elf woman collapsing onto her back.
Jardur sighed. "Charming..."
---
Gold is the currency of most realms, yet it goes by different names depending on the nation it belongs to. For Elbafans, the currency is named, rather simply, Elba. In Elvehn, they don't bother with the name and simply refer to it as gold. Dwarves call them Kronii, and Fae have no currency whatsoever preferring to trade in goods and services such as deer hides or taking daily chores for each other.
-Gaol and Its Many People