After what seemed like eternity, the grim reality of my current situation shackled me, liberating me from the torrential assault of inner torment. I steeled my resolve, and a small smile graced my lips as I choose to look at the brighter side. I came here looking for information pertaining to Lyria and Vangere and I found more. As for the treatise of Vangere, we were too late. What we sought, vanished. The only silver lining is that, Zelaphiel too will return empty handed.

All that remains now, is to find, my missing companions, obtain the silver ledger from the bank and we would be rid of this curseforged city. No more mysterious howls, assault from swarm or a dreaded view of those pylons. I would instruct Arlene and Rodo to stay clear of Arlond, whatever lurks here can rule this desperate city.

With the letter safely secured in my inner breast-pocket, I hopped down the stairs till I reached the octagonal hall. The strange mysterious inner voice warned again as I gripped The Sentinel.

“Whatever holds Arlond in its thrall has taken note of my presence...... and it does not want me to leave.”

I paid heed and carried myself as swiftly as my feet would allow.

*****

The mob assembled at the entrance to the Octant Laboratory revealed themselves as I trotted halfway through the pavemented pathway, blocking my obvious route to escape. For a fleeting moment, I reconsidered evading them by hoping over the gazebo and the hedges, but discarded the plan when the lumbering form of Ar’krak towered over the rest.

“Drow, you have answers that we seek,” spoke Ar’krak with the same flat intonationless tone.

“I assure you, I have nothing that you seek of. I am merely on a personal matter,” I explained the truth.

“We lived closer to the curseforged city for years and now we face trouble,” said Ar’krak as his simian eyes bore at me with cunning intelligence, “and you are snooping here.”

I dug through my memory for a moment and grasped their identity.

“You people are from Havorik Farmstead, aren’t you not?” I asked.

Only an acknowledging silence was the elicited response from the mob.

I scoffed, “I was told you are some strange folks, but nothing would have prepared me for this.”

“You would be surprised, drow,” uttered Ar’krak, “even for your lifetime, the world is filled with surprises.”

Ar’krak pulled back his lips and revealed large canine teeth, in what appeared to be either a show of friendship or threat.

“I still believe you are making a mistake. Whatever befall your people, I have nothing to do with it.” I tried futilely to secure a safe passage.

“And I believe you, drow,” answered Ar’krak, “but coincidences are not what I would put my faith in. You may not be the cause of all, but you are definitely entangled. T’orrac will have questions and you will provide answers.”

Both of us glared daggers at each other, testing our willpower and resolve.

The other alternative route for me, would lead me through the basement and through the sewers of Arlond. A place where darkness rules and in this city, the darkness is no ally, even for a drow.

The mob, armed with quarterstaff and an assortment of other exotic weapons, exhibited no outrageous signs of aggression. Even Ar’krak, despite his awe inspiring physique, stood still with his thews encased muscular limbs on the ground more as a sign of supporting his bulk than threat.

The unnatural howls still continued from the West District and grew louder with every passing moment.

Ar’krak stood still, unnerved by the sounds. Eventually, his patience ran out and he twisted his neck in the direction of the screams. The strong powerful muscles of his shoulders bulged, unconcealing his behemoth strength.

“Zurin,” said Ar’krak, “Lead the drow. T’orrac would need me now.”

Without waiting for an answer, and with a huge leap, possible only by simian limbs, the beast covered a huge distance as he landed on the balcony of crumbling house. Ar’krak wasted no time to catch breath and leapt further onto another building and in a narrow span, the huge beast with unnatural intelligence was out of sight.

*****

As if possessing mind reading abilities, Zurin guessed my thoughts.

“You might want to reconsider what you are planning,” he said while deftly swinging bolas.

“You will find me a hard to loose. I am a consummate tracker and a trapper,” he boasted almost as an afterthought.

Zurin, with the satisfaction of having made his warning clear, turned towards the West District while the rest of the mob parted signaling their evident intention.

I fell behind the sniffer, paying no obvious heed. The crowd with peeled eyes followed.

As we walked, my thoughts were occupied with the mysterious unspoken leader of the Havorik farmstead, T’orrac. Elven of medium build, lithe and fast in his steps and yet carries himself with equal measure of wisdom and intelligence to boast. He knew to take counsel but relied on his own decisions. Heavy Telanvi accent contorted his words. Another enigma, just like Zaehran.

“I take it that you were not born in Havorik Farmstead?” I engaged the sniffer.

Zurin was either shy or was cautioned by T’orrac and only silence answered my question.

“So what brought simple peasant folks to this cursed place?” I questioned knowing well the sort of response I would receive.

The sniffer surprised me by answering back.

“You had your reasons, we have our own,” he responded.

Heading to a negotiation without knowing your partner is worse than jumping into a battlefield against an unknown enemy and I am currently violating both tenets.

I desperately wished for a way to evade and my salvation appeared in the form of the unexpected.

“An uncanny talent you possess,” came the sublime voice of Merrick, “Every time I find you. You shroud yourself in strange company.”

“Your smell,” hissed Zurin indignantly, more infuriated at himself than the man before him.

“Friend,” a candid smile flashed across Merrick’s face, the same smile that won him the adoration of friends and followers, “you too would reek if you had to disguise your trail from a pack of ravenous dire wolves.”

Zurin’s thick woolly eyebrows arched inward, confused at Merrick’s use of the word ‘Friend’.

A silent alarmed rang inside me. If these two were to collaborate or even establish a working relationship, it would spell the doom for my plans. Their mutually assured antagonism is the key to my liberation.

“A word of caution,” said Merrick as he strode forward towards Zurin, “the one you are holding captive, is extremely dangerous. She caused daemonic portals to open in Asterlund. Leave her to me. She has a long list of misdeeds to answer.”

“Smooth honeyed words,” I scoffed with a feigned vindication, “You opened those portals. I am here to stop further breaches from happening. You have followed me here to prevent me from succeeding. That proves it all.”

“Do not fall for her tricks. She could weave tales like a spider,” Merrick countered, “Give no ears to her words. That is how she worms her way in.”

The moment arrived to gamble on the fact that the loyal Merowyn and Ottomar would never abandon Merrick.

“Let me prove that I am not lying,” I faked another outrage of righteous fury, “He is not alone. He has conspirators hiding, waiting to ambush the moment you let your guard down.”

Noting the hesitation in Zurin, I gave him the little push that he needed.

“Don’t believe my words,” I said, “Sniff them out yourself. Trust your own senses.”

Zurin sneered at no one in particular.

“I do have friends nearby but only to subdue her,” explained Merrick.

“See,” I screamed and cackled like a maniac at Merrick’s admission, “that was the ambush for you.”

“Stop, all of you stop,” roared Zurin with bestial rage.

The sniffer pointed at Merrick and said, “You will come with us. We will decide later.”

Merrick seemed like he was about to refuse but finally gave in.

“Without your weapons,” added Zurin.

“Not so far, yer mongrel bred bastard,” shouted Ottomar as the bear of a man got out of a ruined alley.

Soon Merowyn leapt from another rooftop. He was soon followed by ragged men with painted faces. Three dark leather clad archers with notched arrows and steady aim revealed themselves above different roofs.

The air was palpable for a moment, until a well aimed bolas knocked one of the archers. Simultaneously. a swarm of locust and scorpions descended and then chaos ensured.

*****

The pain threatened to overwhelm my senses. The lungs burned, begging for a pause, while my muscles rebelled. The throbbing wave of agony increased till only a constant surge of gnawing torment remained. Tightly gripping The Sentinel, I force myself and bolted through the haunted streets of Arlond.

Twice, bolas were aimed in my direction to no avail. Like a cornered hirudinidae, I darted swiftly, changing my direction at a moments notice with a hope that the unpredictability would ensure my safety.

Just as I flirted with the possibility to catch my breath, two stones, propelled by a lethal force flew in my direction, forcing me to duck with feline celerity. The stones embedded on already deteriorating wall behind, narrowly missing my vitals. Cracks appeared in a concentric pattern on the wall where the stones embedded.

Their pursuit continued restlessly, with torrent of poison darts assaulting the spot where I stood a fraction of a moment before.

The continued assault denied me the opportunity to formulate an escape strategy. In the end, it became a contest of endurance.

The chase continued through a few winding streets and eventually, my perseverance triumphed.

*****

Pausing to calm my nerves, I gasped desperately. I could ascertain two facts about the people from Havorik Farmstead. For one, they preferred unconventional ranged weapons and second, their choice of weapons required a certain calibre of expertise. All in consistent with the isolated sylvan community.

In the comfort of the intermittent clarity, my brain churned multiple paths. Some outrageous and some suicidal and some lead to illogical conclusions. Seeing no practical approach to my deplorable state, I twisted the problem in its head.

Ar’krak, with his powerful leap, definitely controls the rooftops. So I shall avoid the the balconies, balustrade and roofs.

Zurin would sniff my scent. I should stay out of open spaces and avoid streets and alleyways in his vicinity.

Zaehran has not been antagonistic. So I could push his presence to the back of my head.

Merrick is a skilled tracker. Sooner or later he would start his search in the sewers. That rules out the underground.

The mysterious swarm of locusts and scorpions, though not deadly, would still prove to be a hindrance. An opponent who even the ascetic Zaehran choose to avoid. Even armed with The Sentinel, there is no hope to slay a swarm. I could outrun but not for an indefinite period. The answer was obvious. Either I isolate myself from them or isolate them from me. Since I still bore the responsibility to my companions, the choice was obvious.

Though Octant Laboratory might have some necessary means to trap a swarm, it is also the first place observed by both the factions. I briefly considered the cityhall before dropping the idea as infeasible.

Eventually, I settled on the only other building in the ruins of Arlond that might host a vault strong enough to trap a swarm. The Bank.