I once believed it would be ideal if the stories of our life histories were written down on vast sheets of parchment . . . so we could, at our leisure, pick and choose the portions we desperately wanted to tear off and throw away. The vilest thing that ever happened to you. Rip. Gone. The most egregious act you ever committed. Gone. The worst decision you ever made. Poof. Never happened. The debilitating heartbreak of losing someone you will never, ever stop caring about. Toss. All better now.

But in truth, if we commanded that ability, where would any of us be? What would we have learned from our struggles, how could we ever grow, and how would we ever appreciate the truly noble and virtuous moments that fill the empty spaces in our souls?

I no longer wish to be able to change my story, despite the horrors woven within its complex tapestry. My life – complete and unabridged, with all its good and all its ill – is the road map to a more meaningful future – one that could only have sprouted from seeds planted so very long ago, in a dismal past I must fully claim as my own.

– Shiretha Tzylxariette

Slightly more than two miles from the northeastern perimeter of the worst rat-infested slums in all of Thal Doren, sat the expansive, upscale community of Elos Milaró; a sprawling neighborhood occupied by prosperous merchants, high-ranking officials, well-connected criminals and wealthy families whose ancestors were fortunate enough to side with the victorious insurgents during the year-long Verdanti uprising. The neighborhood itself was named for Pascual Elos Milaró, a mercenary pirate captain who hired on with the Verdanti fleet at the start of the war. The battles he waged against the Imperial navy were so successful that, in just the second month of the rebellion, Elos Milaró was promoted to High Commander of the entire Verdanti fleet. Although not all historical volumes agree on the significance of the commander’s contributions, most historians worth their salt believe that without the pirate’s leadership and maritime combat expertise, the Verdanti navy would have been quickly eradicated by the much larger and far better equipped Jurcoralan armada. For proof of his relevance, they point to the fact that, following the collapse of the Empire, the newly formed Verdanti Assembly offered the commander immediate citizenship, and presented him the expansive tract of land that now bears his famous name. Unfortunately, within just a few years following the war, those same lands were confiscated back by the Assembly, due to the commander’s inability – or unwillingness – to pay his taxes.

Today, the area was dotted with lavish estates, all built on the perimeter of the grandest and most affluent marketplace in the entire city; the Triverstine Terrace Bazaar. By design, each residential property boasted a meticulously tended acreage of perfectly maintained lawns, flowering trees, and lush, colorful gardens. At the center of each grounds stood an elegant, oversized manor; every one of them a unique work of architecture reflecting the diversity Thal Doren had come to embrace over the last one hundred and eleven years. Surrounding and separating individual properties were sturdy stone walls, often as high as twelve feet tall, and fitted with heavy iron gated entrances. While not always aesthetically appealing, the gates were constructed sturdily enough to repel a small, well-armed force of brigands or undesirables. Which actually made perfect sense. After all, Elos Milaró was just two miles from the Belge.

Endicott View. According to a shiny, round metal placard affixed to a hefty wooden pole, that was the name given to the wide, clean, carefully maintained thoroughfare Hisix now found himself standing upon. Just on the other side of the street, at the entrance to a much narrower carriageway, was a substantial wrought iron and steel gate that he could only assume had been constructed by a horde of inebriated dwarves preparing for a barbarian onslaught or a second revolution. The free-standing metal monstrosity barred the way of anyone wanting to access the carriageway or enter the property uninvited. It was nine feet long, seven feet high, and topped with curved jagged spikes ranging from eight to twelve inches in length. There were three reinforced locking mechanisms requiring an equal number of separate keys to open the beast at its dead center. And the gate itself was settled snugly between either end of a ridiculous barrier wall made from solid ten-foot slabs of cut granite . . . each around fourteen feet in height, and a good twelve inches thick. At one hundred and seventy-five pounds per cubic foot, Hisix quickly calculated a single wall section to weigh right around twenty-nine thousand, seven hundred and fifty pounds . . . and change . . . taking into account the portion that was buried beneath the ground as well . . . which the gnome estimated at around three feet. The remarkable weight of the wall sections convinced Hisix that magic must have been used to move the slabs into place. But honestly, the builders could have saved themselves a lot of heartache and hard work by just constructing the barricade from much smaller individual stone blocks and mortar, like every other property owner in the area had apparently done.

Butted up against the far curb as he was, Hisix owned a clear view of the flagstone carriageway, which ran straight northward – perpendicular to the main street from the gate – for a good fifty yards. It split left and right, just before a marble stairway which led up to the main entrance of the largest and ugliest house the gnome had ever laid eyes on. The carriageway appeared to circle the dreadful structure, but that was only an assumption at this point. Had Hisix been standing closer to the gate, the lawn and the ground floor of the dwelling would have been concealed from his sight. But since the spot he stood was a good two feet higher than where the gate was situated, his gnomish vision had no trouble taking in the better part of the property’ frontage, despite the darkness of Thal Doren’s overcast, pre-dawn skies.

The house itself seemed to have been constructed with little to no planning and appeared as though it had been built in stages, over a considerable period of time, quite possibly by different owners. Being a gnome, Hisix inherently had an understanding and appreciation of rock, and the skills it took to cut, shape and build with the various types commonly used in human constructions. And Shiretha’s house certainly had no shortage of variety when it came to stonework.

The original, central portion was comprised of a flat, light-colored granite. But to the right of that was an entire grouping on the ground floor where much darker, more rounded stones – likely brown basalt – were mixed, helter-skelter with an occasional granite block, here and there. And above that, a narrower, flat, dirty-pink-colored quartz made up nearly the entire second and third floors. Part of the remaining ground floor was clearly composed of several different limestones with the odd chunk of sandstone thrown in . . . while both corner towers seemed to be built purely of travertine or some similar rock that perfectly matched a small, newer section of the third floor. The smooth, polished steps traversing the hill, up to the main door, were actually quite elegant, and had been carved from a blue and white-hued marble. The roof sections, which had seemingly been added in stages as well, were equally as mismatched as the other building materials. And some of the older portions of the roof were in definite need of repair or replacement. The building boasted several tall, narrow chimneys, each jutting six to seven feet upwards from their respective places on the roof. Hisix counted nine chimneys in all. And, despite the haphazard building process he had observed so far, all of them looked to be similar in both appearance and materials . . . mostly smaller granite blocks . . . which also seemed newer than most other portions of the ungainly structure.

At the top of the marble stairs, a large arched metal door, complete with a heavy external portcullis, was far more suitable for a military fortress than any city residence. It left no doubt to its purpose – which was to prevent unwelcome guests from entering the colossal manor . . . at least from the front. Hisix guessed the door was constructed by the same overzealous builders who had put up the monstrous walls and gate. He also would have bet a bucket of diamonds that every entrance into the mansion was similarly protected.

Despite no one living in the house, the grounds had been fastidiously maintained and beautifully kept over the past eight years . . . which was just one of the many perks of owning a house in the exorbitantly overpriced community of Elos Milaró. Apparently, no eyesores of any kind were allowed within view of Triverstine Terrace Bazaar, and the city made sure it stayed that way. Of course, the Elos Milaró residents were expected to fork over their hefty pile of yearly taxes to cover those services, and so many others associated with the privilege of living in the richest, most secluded neighborhood in Thal Doren. Hisix half-jokingly wondered if someone popped by every week to wash the windows and polish the brass as well.

Shiretha sidled up beside the gnome, letting her arm gently drape across his narrow shoulders. “Well, my dear . . . what do you think? Spectacular, isn’t it?”

Hisix was far too weary to determine an optimal response, so he went with the first thing that popped into his head. “Well . . . it’s definitely larger than I imagined. By a lot.”

“Sure . . . sure, but what do you think? It’s really something, right?”

Hisix slowly nodded his head, struggling to find the words . . . which came out as a bit of a half-mumble. “Yup. It’s something alright . . . “

Shiretha began to chuckle. “You coward. You really weren’t going to tell me how absolutely godawful and atrocious the place is, were you?”

Hisix paused and looked up to meet Shiretha’s gaze. She was staring down, one eyebrow arched, and a cocky smirk plastered on her lovely ebon face.

“Well . . . I . . ." was all he replied.

“Well nothing. You weren’t going to say anything.”

Hisix wasn’t comfortable with discussions that put him of the defensive, so, naturally, he introduced a bit of conversational maneuvering. “Before I commit to an answer here . . . you’re stating – unequivocally – that you actually do realize your house is ugly as a hill giant’s arse?”

Shiretha laughed even harder this time. “Of course, silly. Well, maybe not that ugly. But we’ve been together for two years, Hisix. How could you possibly think I would find this horrible mess of a house even remotely appealing?

“Well, you own it, for one. And to be fair, I only just found out that you were a wealthy land baron or something . . . so I’ve already had to question a good number of my preconceptions this evening . . .”

Shiretha continued to snicker as she shrugged. Hisix noted that she was finding an extraordinary amount of humor in the situation.

“Fair enough,” she said. “But just so you know, when I purchased this estate, it was because of the price . . . and the vaults, of course. Wait ‘til you see them for yourself. Lots of gears and such . . . Had to be built by dwarves or gnomes. I’m sure you’ll know, right off. Anyway, I needed a large depository for a lot of coin. A lot of coin. In a place no one could gain access to. And I had no intention of dumping my money in any of Thal Doren’s less than stalwart banking institutions. This house, as ugly as it is, fit the bill and was being offered at a price I was willing to pay . . . and, as it so happened, could afford. I intended to sell the place all along, but I had to depart Thal Doren quickly, and under less-than-ideal circumstances. And, well . . . I never quite got around to selling.”

Hisix scanned the front of the unsightly abode and shook his head. “Well . . . ugly house or not, the land alone is probably worth a fortune.”

Shiretha nodded. “Oh, it is. Trust me.”

Hisix smirked. "Can I?"

Shiretha sighed, drew back her arm and flicked the point of his left ear. “That is getting old. Now let’s head in. I don’t know about you, but I’m beat. And . . . I still owe you an explanation. It won’t be a short one, I promise you.”

Hisix reached up and rubbed away the sting from his ear, “And I’m pretty certain one of us will grow weary of the topic, long before I run out of questions.”

“Probably true.” As she glided across the street, directly toward the gate, Shiretha produced a metal ring of keys from deep within her shoulder satchel. The ring, itself, had a diameter half again larger than a standard jurcora. Hisix quickly counted fourteen brass keys, all about the same size, along with a pair of significantly larger ones made of a dull, green metal so dark, they were practically black.

Hisix cleared his throat. “Uh-hm. Also . . . just how much is a lot of coin, exactly? Are we talking thousands of jurcoras? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands?”

Shiretha reached the gate and began to fiddle with the keyring, until she found the specific key she was looking for. “Yes.”

“Wait. Hundreds of thousands? Hundreds?!”

She shrugged. “Maybe several hundred.”

Now that they were closer, Hisix could see that only one of the three central keyholes was actually open. The remaining two were blocked so no key could be used in them. “Maybe several hundred?”

“Alright, already. Yes. Several. Five hundred forty-six thousand, two hundred and eleven . . . ish.” Placing the key in the first of three keyholes, Shiretha gave it a clockwise twist. Several metallic clacking noises sounded, followed by a sharp pop. Hisix was certain something inside the mechanism had shifted and a second hole was now open and accessible for a second key.

Hisix tried to catch Shiretha’s gaze, but she was fully focused on the keyring. “. . . ish?”

Shiretha used a second key, this time turning it counterclockwise, which was answered by more metallic clanking and knocks. “It might be two hundred and twelve. It’s been eight years, after all.”

“Shiretha, that’s a fairly specific ish.”

The drow shrugged. “It’s my money. If I asked you how much money you have, you could tell me in an instant. To the copper.”

“One jurcora, three severans and four coppers. And that includes your two severans. Oh . . . and this ring which is worth way more than we paid for it. Way more. Remember that.”

“And see . . . you’ve made my point.” Shiretha turned the final key, which again caused a series of metallic clanks and clicks, followed by a significantly louder pop than before. The nine-foot-long gate immediately split apart in the exact middle and began to swing inward in the direction of the mansion from where it was anchored at each end, creaking and groaning the entire way, as if it hadn’t budged in a very long time. “Ha! I remembered all three. Imagine that.”

Shiretha then turned toward Hisix and let the smile fall from her face as she yanked her deadly black sword free of it scabbard. “And I hope you still have some spells left, because I think we are going to need them.”

Hisix was sure his face showed exactly how confused he was at that moment. “What are you talking about?” He looked toward the house, but saw no movement, no light and no smoke rising from the chimneys. Not even an article of clothing or a tool or any normal everyday item someone might leave outside. “The place looks empty. If someone was living here, I think the signs would be obvious . . . to me at least. Why are you expecting trouble?”

Shiretha’s eyes narrowed dangerously . . . a look Hisix had seen several scary times before. “Because, Hisix my love . . . to the best of my recollection, my front door never had a portcullis.”