Fahlnem manned the bar for a number of his closest friends and beloved acquaintances. Ciron, Kali, and Blueboy, who was a red lizard man standing at almost seven feet tall, easily towering over Ciron and Fahlnem, let alone the teensy Kali. Over the year or two that the Fiery Wench had been open, Fahlnem engaged in a number of memorable adventures with each of the individuals he was serving. Defense against the Undead, the return of Daemons in Eldham, snowball fights... He still hadn't found a Fire magic teacher yet, either. The nostalgia was almost overbearing in the moment. Fahlnem cherished those years more than any others.

"Fahlnem, you should get some more drinks. People are probably getting tired of the same garbage." Ciron jeered.

"I talked with an independent brewery the other day, actually. I'd have to expand the basement to facilitate more kegs- which means more booze-"

"I know what more kegs mean, Fahlnem."

"Sure. The guy's a Demon, one of the friendlier ones that came during the invasion. He said he only distills one type of drink; a hyper-alcoholic beverage called Daemon Breath. Great name, right?"

"You're one to speak." Kali remarked. Fahlnem grinned at her; she was cold and hardly expressed emotions beyond basic concern for others and an occasional, sick sense of humor. He fancied her.

"Just seems pretentious, is all. But it's some damn good stuff. I think branching out to supporting local businesses would do wonders for the bar, that's all." Fahlnem shrugged defensively. "I'm still gonna sell my own stuff too, though."

Ciron took a sip of Fire Rum. "Go for it. Pretty sure there's a bakery and hunter's guild here, too."

Blueboy raised a humongous, scaly arm. "Slayer's guild. I'm part of it." He brandished a stamped Slayer's Knife in the other hand proudly.

"That works too. Sell griffin stew, or something." Ciron held out his half-empty mug for Fahlnem to refill.

"Don't overdrink, buddy. All the rooms upstairs are taken." Fahlnem had given one of them for Kali to stay in, once they had become a bit closer.

"I can handle my booze." Ciron scoffed, drinking with a frown.

"Are you three going on the expedition to Ilyenora?" Fahlnem inquired. Ciron and Kali affirmed that they were, but Blueboy shook his head.

"I'm going to stay here. Most of the Slayer's Guild is going, which gives me more game to hunt!" He exclaimed boisterously.

A short, petite young lady opened the door to the bar with clear resolve. She stepped up to the bar, running a hand through her orange hair and repositioning her Princess' crown.

"Heya, Princess Sinace. What can I do for you?" Fahlnem offered with a kind smile.

"This bar. It's mine." She displayed a hand-written deed.

Fahlnem arched a brow in suspicion, glancing at the wide-eyed Blueboy and frowning Ciron. Kali's expression remained unchanged as she took another shot of god-knows-what. Turning back to the Princess, Fahlnem tried to remain calm. "Uh... sorry, but it's been mine for almost two years now. Not sure what you're on about."

The Sinace's attitude got more and more sour by the word. Uh-oh. She's fun to deal with. "There's no discussion about it. It used to belong to Almon, and now it belongs to me." She rolled up her new deed and put it away before straightening her dress and, with a huff, acquiesced partially. "I will, however, permit you to co-own it with me."

"Forgo, tell me more about the Crown. What makes them so special?" Fahlnem reclined back in the horridly-uncomfortable railcar seat, passively fidgeting with his cuffs.

"The Violet Crown consists of two individuals, twins, who guide the Magisterium with their foresight. Nobody really knows where they came from, but the 'official' texts say-"

The other Rite butted in. "The Violet Crown was gifted to us by the Magister in our time of need."

Fahlnem rolled his eyes at the two Rites, turning to Forgo for clarification. "The Magister? A God, I presume?"

Forgo nodded, writing absent-mindedly on the report. Fahlnem noticed that he was onto the part where he valiantly captured the warlock. Great way to suck your own dick, pal. Not like Elves can't do it anyway. "Yes. The Magister is where the Elven Kingdom gets its name-"

Fahlnem interrupted. "The Magisterium, yeah."

Forgo nodded again. "Precisely. The Magister teaches the pursuit of science and self-betterment. Elves, as a whole, have followed his teachings as long as history has been written. The issue being that we haven't actually had any significant religious figures for the Magister until the Crown came along. Before them, Elves were taught simply to follow the teachings of the Magister directly, leading their own lives based on his guidelines. Now, for better or for worse-" The Rites gave Forgo a rotten glance through their face coverings. "For better, the Crown guides the kingdom directly."

"Gotcha. Starting to get a general idea of the picture, here."

"Good. It's better for both of us if you act a certain way in front of them, Fahlnem. Like I said, it is a very real possibility that they spare you in the name of grace."

"And enslave me for my magic." He raised his cuffed hands, snapping a finger. A load of sparks came out as he did this, making the Rites jump. "Hah." He pointed at the Rites. "Suffer."

Forgo smirked lightly but rolled his eyes. "Try not to do any magic inside Ianann, either. I already told you that it's considered an affront to the Magister."

A good question, in Fahlnem's opinion, popped up into his head. He turned to Forgo with excited curiosity. "Has that always been the case? Or did the Crown put that rule in place?"

"Once the Violet Crown was put in control of the Magisterium, one of the first rulings they declared was that the Magister hated all forms of magic and it was outlawed. Existing warlocks and witches were to immediately cease practice of their craft and either recant magic entirely or face honorable execution."

"Honorable? That seems kind of odd."

"It was to respect their dedication. They had committed their whole lives to the study and mastery of magic and even the Crown acknowledged that it was... cruel, to say the least."

It's doubtful that that's the reason for my scheduled audience with them. They're not being merciful. They want something.

Fahlnem resorted to glancing out at the countryside for the last hour or so of the trip. They passed sprawling urban villages, Magisterium outposts and checkpoints, and an outer-ring city or two. They didn't make any significant stops; none long enough to get off the train and stretch their legs, at least. But he wished he had paid more attention to his surroundings earlier, when they first left the boundaries of the Human territories for the Elven region. I'll bet there's a significant difference. He fell asleep.

The train halted to a stop, and Fahlnem was thrusted out of his brief slumber. "We're here. Get up." One of the Rites tugged on Fahlnem's arm, pulling him to his feet. The Pyromancer mumbled his grogginess away, hobbling toward the door with an increasingly-tight grip on his bicep pulling him along. As he stepped down a stool to depart from the train, Fahlnem was greeted with a vast pearly capitol lit up by an early morning sunrise. Each ivory spire adorning the capitol building, much like the keeps Fahlnem was familiar with, was tipped in that same lavender metal adorning the Rites. The village-homes on the outskirts of the city seemed tactfully overrun with vines and greenery, with almost every other building feeling the rumble of its own waterwheel turned by the crystal-clear streams. To Fahlnem, it was like nothing he had ever seen, even in his own homeland. He stared in awe at the beauty, amplified by the rising sun.

Forgo, leading the group toward the gates of Ianann, glanced back to Fahlnem with a proud grin. "Would you like a bath?"

Fahlnem sighed with relief. "Gods, yes. The Crown can run me through for all I care, so long as I've got clean clothes and a bath." He paused. "I'll take something to eat, too."

"You will find the same Elven hospitality here as you are used to. The difference is that we have even more to offer."

"But only because I'm not a Human, right?" Fahlnem's mood soured when Forgo didn't answer.

After a minute or two or silence, Forgo called back to Fahlnem again. "Don't let the people bother you. They haven't seen a warlock in centuries. Remember what I said about the Crown not being afraid of you?" They passed through the gate into the outskirts of the city, and immediately, Elven citizens began crowding them. Additional Lilac Rites gathered to escort the group and defend against stone-throwing. "Well, the people still are." Forgo continued with a scoff.

Fahlnem was plenty familiar with abuse. He had been lashed, locked in a dark hole for weeks at a time, burned, tortured, exiled, and starved. Jeering and stone-throwing wouldn't permanently scar him. Even if it was his own race.

Once they got closer to the capitol, the yelling stopped. There weren't any less people in the inner-city than the outer ring, so Fahlnem figured it was just based upon general intelligence and age of citizens. The richer Elves, which were the older Elves, lived closer to the capitol in the inner-city ring. They understood what they saw marched through the streets. They were less afraid of magic. Some of them probably used to practice it, if what Forgo said is to be trusted.

The group took a sharp turn at one of the intersections before reaching the Pearly Spire itself, making their way into what looked to Fahlnem like an incredibly sophisticated inn. It was empty, however, so he assumed based on its proximity to the Violet Crown that it was for visitors. Like me. Forgo dismissed the fireteam of Lilac Rites and walked Fahlnem upstairs to a room near the top. "Once you get something to eat and get cleaned up, check out the view. I think you'll like it here." Forgo unlocked the Pyromancer's cuffs and closed the door.

Fahlnem shouted through the wall. "I really hope you don't expect this room to hold me."

No answer. Whatever. Fahlnem fully intended on taking full advantage of the Crown's hospitality before trying anything goofy. He turned around to scan the room, absentmindedly taking his boots off so he could feel the lush, impossibly-soft carpet on his toes. Huh. Not as white and purple as I thought in here. The general color scheme matched the outer portion of the city more than the inner districts; plastered walls, stained wood floors with tasteful placing of rugs, and traditional Elven inspirational quotes lining what would have normally been acceptable paintings on the walls. To his immediate right was a lounge area with reading material and plenty of space to entertain guests with. Beyond that was an open kitchen with a marble-topped island and wooden counter-tops. Metallic wine racks in the style of grapevines hung from the ceiling. Fahlnem noticed that there were knives arrayed on the counter. There's no way they trust me that much.

On the other side of the apartment from the kitchen was the door to the bedroom and a bathtub in the open. He immediately marched to the bathtub, hurriedly undressing himself and dipping into the steaming water with an exaggerated sigh. It was big enough to completely lie down underneath the surface, allowing him to wash his hair while the rest of his body remained submerged. It had been at least a week since he was last pampered like this.

After the bath, Fahlnem scavenged the kitchen for ingredients and cooked fish in butter sauce, which he passively ate while standing on the balcony, surveying the city. All the bustling of a normal city with none of the noise. Even for Elves, this seemed wrong to Fahlnem. The pristine beauty, the clean streets. He wanted it all gone.