The sun climbed high in the sky as the cart trundled along the dusty road leading west from Neverwinter. After half a day's travel, Bayron—who'd opted to walk alongside the horse to stretch his legs—called out, "Time for a break! The beast needs water, and we could all use a rest before the hills get steeper up ahead."
Hythesion pulled on the reins, bringing the cart to a slow halt in a grassy clearing beside a small stream. The group spilled out eagerly, stretching cramped limbs and breathing in the fresh scent of pine and damp earth. Maitara unpacked a woven basket of bread, cheese, dried meat, and ripe fruit—provisions she'd quietly prepared before leaving Neverwinter.
"Finally, real food!" Geth groaned, dropping onto the grass and grabbing a chunk of bread. "I was getting tired of Bayron's 'travel rations'—"
"Hey!" Bayron protested, trotting over with a bundle of wild berries he'd foraged. "My rations are nutritious! You just have no taste for adventure food."
Akmenos snorted, tearing off a piece of cheese. "Adventure food is supposed to be edible, not an endurance test."
Geth held up his bread, inspecting it like a merchant judging wares. "At least this bread is fresh. Unlike the stuff we bought in Neverwinter—tasted like it was older than Sir Hythesion."
Hythesion raised an eyebrow. "I'll have you know, I'm only 'older' in the sense that I've seen more seasons than you. Not that I'm old."
"Sure, sure," Geth grinned, taking a huge bite. "Tell that to the way you—"
"Watch it, Geth," Akmenos cut in, mouth full of dried meat. "Before you make jokes about age, remember who's carrying our share of the supplies."
Ethan, sitting cross-legged nearby, chuckled softly as he spread cheese on his bread. "You two argue like an old married couple."
"Speak for yourself,)" Geth shot back. "At least we argue—you just sit there like a—"
"Like a trained soldier who knows when to conserve energy?" Ethan finished for him, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Fair enough. But I'll have you know, I can be plenty loud when the time calls for it."
As they ate, Geth noticed Ethan absently tracing a small, glowing sigil on his palm—a faint, silver light that appeared and faded. "Hey, what's that?" he asked, pointing.
Ethan glanced at his hand, then closed it. "Just a habit. It's the same mark I showed in the arena—the Celestial Council Symbol. Only members get it, and like I mentioned before, it can't be copied or faked."
Geth's eyes lit up. "So it's like a badge, but magical?"
"Exactly," Ethan confirmed. "Each council or order has their own mark—unique, tied to their very essence. You can't replicate them with magic or forge them with tools. They're granted, not made."
Akmenos paused mid-bite, looking over at Maitara who'd been quietly picking at her food. "Hey Maitara—we never did get the full story about what happened in the throne room. When we got there, you were on the floor, almost out cold."
The group fell quiet, all turning to look at her. Maitara stopped eating, setting down her piece of bread and wiping her hands on her tunic. "I… I followed Ser Larry there. When I walked in, he immediately shot some kind of red smoke magic at me. I dodged the first hit, tried to fight back with my own magic, but he overpowered me and knocked me down."
She picked up her food again, taking a small bite as the others nodded in understanding and went back to their meals. But as she chewed, her eyes grew distant—her mind drifting back to what really happened.
*FLASHBACK*
The throne room, just moments before the others arrived…
After Maitara had worked her mind control magic on Ser Larry, he'd bowed his head and said, "Yes My Lady."
Maitara stood up straight, fixing her gaze on King Tronan who was standing rigidly by his throne. She turned to Ser Larry. "Let's test if my… magic works. Larry—use your mind control thingy and make the King sit down on his throne."
The mind-controlled Ser Larry's voice was flat and stoic. "It's not mind control my lady. It's a curse possession artifact."
Maitara's eyes widened in surprise. "A curse—what?"
"A curse possession artifact," he repeated, lifting a dark staff from where it leaned against the wall. "A demonic object that possesses its victim once used. And these demons are controlled with this…"
Maitara stepped closer, studying the staff with keen interest. "Interesting… alright then. Use it. Make the King sit."
Ser Larry raised the staff, and a faint purple glow emanated from its tip. He murmured something in a language Maitara didn't recognize, and King Tronan—still under the artifact's influence—slowly walked to his throne and sat down.
"Hmmmm," Maitara hummed thoughtfully. "So it wasn't mind control after all. Hope that elf figures it out…" She glanced around the empty throne room, then whispered to herself, "If you want to control or possess all of Neverwinter, you must have a lot of these things. But where?"
She looked back at Ser Larry, who stood motionless. "Show me your room."
Ser Larry turned and walked toward the throne room doors without another word, guiding her through the castle corridors to his quarters. The room looked perfectly ordinary—simple bed, wooden desk, armor rack. Maitara scanned every surface but found nothing out of place.
"It can't be nothing," she said aloud. "Do you have a secret room? Or a hidden space?"
Ser Larry walked to the far wall, pressed a small, unmarked stone brick, and with a low groan of gears, the bed lifted upward to reveal a dark opening leading downstairs.
"Well damn," Maitara breathed, impressed despite herself. She descended the narrow stone steps and her jaw dropped—before her stood rows upon rows of shelves, holding more than a hundred of the same dark artifacts she'd seen on the staff.
"Not gonna lie—have to give it to you Larry," she said with a small smile, running a finger along one of the shelves. "You're well prepared."
She made her way back up to his room, letting the bed lower back into place—but deliberately left the hidden door to the basement slightly ajar. "That should be easy enough for them to find."
Maitara and Ser Larry returned to the throne room. She turned to him, her expression serious. "Alright—here's the plan. You're going to attack me. Knock me back like you've got the upper hand. Then, when the others get here, use the King as a hostage—make it look like you're about to kill him. But accidentally knock that crown off his head when you grab him." She pointed to the golden crown resting on the throne's armrest.
Ser Larry bowed his head. "Yes my lady."
Maitara smiled, positioning herself just right for when the others would arrive.
*END OF FLASHBACK*
Maitara blinked, pulling herself back to the present as Geth waved a hand in front of her face. "You okay? You zoned out there for a second."
She forced a small smile, picking up her food again. "Yeah—I'm fine."
Bayron nudged Hythesion with his elbow. "So, when we pass through Silverlake City country later, will we get to see it? The actual lake?"
Hythesion nodded, tearing off a piece of bread. "If the road holds true, we'll pass within a day's ride of its shores."
Geth leaned forward, curiosity lighting up his face. "Hey Hythesion—do all the Silverlake Mercenaries used to live in Silverlake City?"
Hythesion shook his head, setting down his half-eaten bread. "Not exactly… the name came from the city, but it all started with our very first mission there."
At the mention of Silverlake Mercenaries, everyone paused mid-meal, turning their attention to him. Even Bayron—who'd been tending to the horse—quickly tied the animal to a nearby tree and trotted over to join the circle, eager to listen.
Hythesion shifted his weight, getting comfortable against the tree trunk. "Back then, the Silverlake Mercenaries weren't even an organization yet. It started with just six of us—"
"THE ORIGIN SIX!"
Akmenos shot up from his spot on the grass, shouting at the top of his lungs with a high-pitched enthusiasm that made everyone jump. His eyes were wide with excitement, and he'd accidentally knocked over his piece of cheese in his rush to sit up straight.
The group stared at him in stunned silence—Geth's mouth hanging open, Ethan trying (and failing) to hide a grin, Bayron tilting his head in confusion.
Akmenos's face flushed bright red. He cleared his throat loudly, straightening his tunic and carefully picking up his fallen cheese before dusting it off. "Ahem… pardon me. Sir Hythesion—if you'll allow me—I'd like to tell them the story of the Origin 6."
Ethan raised an eyebrow, looking between Akmenos and Hythesion. "Origin 6?"
Akmenos puffed out his chest, his voice now steady and full of pride. "Yes! The Origin 6—the very first six members of the Silverlake Mercenaries. Renowned across the lands for their perfect success rate, and known as some of the most skilled, powerful, and talented warriors to ever band together!"
Hythesion laughed softly, lying back against the grass with his hands behind his head and a fond smile on his face. "Alright then, Akmenos. The floor is yours."
Akmenos bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you for this honor, sir." He took a deep breath, standing up to face the group properly, ready to begin his tale.
He paused for effect, letting his words sink in before continuing:
"10 years ago, before Silverlake was even a name on the map, six warriors came together. They weren't kings or nobles—just six souls with strength, skill, and a dream of building something greater than themselves. These were the ones who'd go on to found our Silverlake Mercenaries, and their names are still whispered in awe across every corner of the land!"
"FIRST—KAYLLA, THE IRON PALADIN!"
Akmenos slammed a fist against his chest. "Leader of the Origin 6, and the first ever Commander of the Silverlake Mercenaries! A human Paladin who wielded a massive iron maul that would make any warrior think twice before crossing her."
"Her greatest feat? She single-handedly defeated the Twin Orc Lords—Gromm and Korg—who'd been terrorizing the entire southern continent, burning villages and enslaving thousands. They were both Champion Like in power, but Kaylla? She was World Like through and through. To this day, she's known as the Greatest Paladin Warrior of the South—and there's no debate about who was the strongest of all Silverlake!"
"NEXT—HYTHESION, THE STRATEGIST BEHIND THE SHADES!"
Akmenos gestured to Hythesion with a proud grin. "Our very own sir Hythesion here! The Elf Sorcerer who never holds a weapon—but trust me, his mind is deadlier than any blade. As the Key Strategist of the Origin 6, he's the reason they worked so perfectly as a team. During the 3rd Great War, he predicted every single move of the Dark Orc Armies—their positions, their supply routes, even when they'd attack. He outmaneuvered an army ten times their size without losing a single member of his unit. They call him 'The Monster Behind the Glasses' because he sees everything… and plans for it all!"
Hythesion rolled his eyes but smiled, shaking his head as the others chuckled.
"THIRD—OSMEDIOUS, THE UNBREAKABLE SHIELD!"
"An Orc Berserker who fought with both a greatsword and an enormous tower shield!" Akmenos exclaimed, miming holding a shield in front of him. "He was the Frontline Leader—not just for the Origin 6, but for every Silverlake mercenary who follows and During the fall of Xeros Bridge—the largest bridge in the north—he held up two massive stone foundations single-handedly while thousands of civilians crossed to safety. The bridge was collapsing around him, but he didn't budge an inch until the last person was safe. They say no amount of attacks can bring him down—and honestly? I believe it!"
"FOURTH—GLYNLIE, THE DANCING PRINCESS!"
Akmenos's voice softened slightly with respect. "Sir Hythesion's Girlfriend..." Everyone then smiled, "A human Swordswoman who was born into nobility, but gave it all up to walk the path of an adventurer. She fights with one sword, and her movements are so fluid and graceful, it looks like she's dancing across the battlefield—which is why they call her the Dancing Princess. She ended the brutal Elf Slavery Trade all on her own, and during the 3rd Great War, she single-handedly held off a reinforcement army of 50,000 Dark Orcs to protect her comrades' flank. But she left to become something bigger, greater, and became Neverwinter's General Captain.
Geth immediate said, "Yeah she's a tough one to fight against." He continued to eat his food
"FIFTH—DALE, THE SHADOW STALKER!" Akmenos continued.
"A Tabaxi Rogue who moved faster than the wind itself!" Akmenos said, making quick, silent hand movements to mimic stealth. "He was Silverlake's eyes and ears—the leader of all rogue scouts. And did you know, He once completed an assassination mission against a powerful Vampire Lord while the rest of the Origin 6 were asleep. When they woke up, he'd already finished the job and was tending to his small farm plot he'd planted at their camp!
The group laughed at that, and Akmenos grinned before pressing on.
"AND LAST—JANNA, THE SHARPSHOOTER OF THE SHADOWS!"
"A Drow Hunter who never missed her mark!" Akmenos declared, drawing an imaginary bow. "She fought with a bow as her main weapon, but also carried two dwarven pistols for extra firepower! With her speed, flexibility, and perfect aim, she was unstoppable. During the 3rd Great War, she single-handedly wiped out an entire army of Werebats—creatures that could fly faster than most archers could track. But Janna? She never missed a single shot. To this day, even though the Silverlake is now done, she's still known as Silverlake's greatest sharpshooter
Akmenos paused, letting out a long breath as he finished his tale. "These six built the foundation of everything Silverlake stands for—strength in unity, skill in diversity, and honor above all else. That's why Silverlake Mercenaries were verg well known and even though it disbanded 3 years ago, their reputation still stands.
Akmenos finished his story, puffing out his chest proudly as the group sat in quiet awe—even Ethan looked impressed, leaning forward to ask the first question.
Ethan leaned forward, his expression serious now. "So… why did the Silverlake Mercenaries disband? With a reputation like that, you'd think they'd still be going strong."
Akmenos's face fell. He shifted uncomfortably where he sat, then shook his head. "I… I don't know the full story. I've only heard bits and pieces, but never the real reason." He looked over at Hythesion, lowering his voice slightly. "I think we should let Sir Hythesion answer that."
All eyes turned to Hythesion, who'd been quiet since Akmenos started his tale. He sat up straight, setting down his empty cup and running a hand through his hair. A small grin touched his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"It all ended because of me," he said plainly. "I made one mistake—a mistake that cost the lives of some of our lower-ranked members. Good people, who trusted me to keep them safe."
The clearing fell completely silent. No one moved or spoke; they could feel the weight of his words, the guilt he carried even after all this time. It was clear he wasn't ready to share more than that.
Akmenos cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. "Well… it doesn't matter how it ended. What matters is what they built—and I'm sure one day, Silverlake will rise again. And when it does, I'll join them, and it will be called, the Origin 7!"
Geth burst out laughing, clapping Akmenos on the shoulder. "Dream on, red velvet, You'd trip over your own feet before you even make it to the recruitment table!"
"Hey!" Akmenos protested, but even he was smiling as Ethan joined in the laughter.
"It's called Origin 6 because 6 of them started it, you stupid idiot! If you join, it will not change the origin 6, and you will not be as powerful as you said they were! " Ethan chuckled. "Though I'll admit– you can be quite a promising fighter, if you're drunk"
Soon everyone was laughing, all except Hythesion, who just stared into his cup as he took a slow drink of water. Maitara noticed his silence and stood up, brushing grass off her clothes.
"Alright, that's enough," she said gently. "We're done eating—let's pack everything up and get back on the road. The sun's still high, and we've got miles to cover before dusk."
The laughter died down as everyone nodded in agreement. Bayron went to untie the horse, Geth and Akmenos gathered up the leftover food and packing supplies, while Ethan helped Maitara load everything back into the cart. Hythesion stayed seated for a moment longer, then stood and joined them, his expression calm once more as he prepared to lead them onward.
Back in the depths of Neverwinter's dungeons…
The cold stone walls of the prison cell did nothing to chase away the chill that clung to Ser Larry's bones. He sat huddled in the corner, his armor stripped away, his clothes tattered and stained. The only sounds were the drip of water somewhere in the darkness and his own ragged breathing.
Then, a voice cut through the silence—smooth, cold, and carrying an edge of mockery.
"How low does the great Ser Larry fall?"
Larry's head snapped up, his eyes wide with a flicker of hope as he peered toward the cell door. Standing just beyond the iron bars was a figure unlike any he'd seen before: dressed in a deep crimson velvet robe trimmed with metallic gold brocade that ran from shoulder to hem. He wears an ornate crown of dark iron and polished bone sat atop their head, set with blood-red gems and sharp, upward-curving points. Their face was hidden behind an angular wooden mask—high cheekbones, narrow eye slits, and a thin, straight mouth carved into an unyielding line.
"Sir Klemmen!" Larry's voice cracked, part sob, part desperate plea. "Thank the gods—you're here! Please, release me from this disgusting place!"
"Woah, woah—let's not be so hasty, Ser Larry," the figure called Klemmen replied, their voice echoing off the stone walls. "I didn't come here just to free you. I bear words from the White Lord himself."
"Huh?" Larry's voice was weak, his body still shaking from his imprisonment.
Klemmen stepped closer to the bars. "The White Lord wants his treasure returned. Where is the Hell Staff?"
"I don't have it!" Larry scrambled forward, gripping the iron bars. "When they captured me, King Tronan took it—he's hidden it somewhere in the castle!"
"Hmmmm." Klemmen's head tilted slightly behind the mask. "And what of the Anubis Bracelet?"
"It's here—on my wrist!" Larry reached for his arm, then froze. His fingers pat frantically at his wrist, then his clothes, searching everywhere. "It's… it's gone! I don't know where it went!"
"Hmmmm. How disappointing." Klemmen said with a cold voice.
"Wait—wait! I'll find it! Just get me out of here and I'll track it down, I swear!" Larry begged, his eyes wild with fear.
"You wasted the artifacts entrusted to you by the White Lord," Klemmen stated flatly. "And worse—you failed to capture the elf and the pendant."
"The dwarf girl! She controlled me!" Larry pressed his face against the bars. "Let me go, and I'll hunt them all down—please!"
"Gannurim's chosen? She's quite handy, I'll give her that," Klemmen said, "but she's still just a girl. And you—you were defeated by a mere child."
"But I've worked so hard… please…" Ser Larry cried.
"You know what I hate most, Ser Larry?" Long, sharp claws suddenly extended from Klemmen's fingers, glinting in the dim light. "People who make the White Lord angry."
Larry stumbled backward, scrambling until his back hit the cold stone wall. "No—wait—"
Klemmen walked through the iron bars as if they weren't there, moving like a ghost through solid matter. "The White Lord is furious with what you've done. So I'm here to end this." Klemmen tilted their head, the mask's narrow eyes seeming to pierce through Larry's trembling form.
"Please! Have mercy!" Larry fell to his knees, hands clasped together in supplication.
"This is mercy," Klemmen said calmly. "Be grateful it was me sent here, not the White Lord himself. You'd wish for death long before he finished with you."
Before Larry could scream, Klemmen drove their claws into his chest. They lifted him from the ground as if he weighed nothing, and Larry's body went rigid as his blood aura began to flow out of him—drawn into Klemmen like water into a thirsty vessel.
Within moments, Larry's form grew gaunt and still. Klemmen dropped the lifeless body to the floor, wiping their claws clean on their robe. "Thank you for the meal."
A new voice—smooth and feminine—rang out from the shadows. "Well, that's positively disturbing."
Another figure emerged from the darkness: a woman dressed in a fitted deep red satin tunic with a folded collar and gold-trimmed neckline. Her mask was sleek and black, curved to her face with almond-shaped eye holes and a narrow, twisted smile carved into one side.
"You vampires really are the worst," she said, wrinkling her nose behind the mask.
Klemmen turned, their posture stiffening slightly. "Soléne. What are you doing here?"
"The White Lord has summoned us all," she replied, her voice carrying a note of urgency. "He's finally found a living vessel for his beast-like weapon."
Klemmen's shoulders relaxed, and a low chuckle rumbled from their chest. "Oohhhh. So the White Lord's plan is finally moving forward."
Without another word, the two figures vanished into thin air, leaving nothing behind but the cold stone cell and Ser Larry's still form on the floor.