A dread silence settled on the ragtag bunch gathered and in a fleeting moment, the air turned palpable. Even the otherwise unruly Colby dared not to break the tension.

Eventually, Urganza rose to the occasion, raised her fingers and with three quick flicks of her wrist issued her command.

Bereft of any alternate options, we silently fell behind the Stonecleavers, though against the enemy we face, the savagery of the Orcs would fare no better than a venomless ophidian.

“A prudent decision, they made,” commented Zaehran who still held close to us.

“Can’t blame them,” I responded, “Orcs are one of the few races who do not have a viable strategy against mind flayers.”

Amusement held the monk as he slowly removed the veil revealing a ridgeless nose and slitted nostrils.

Uncertain on how to interpret his actions, I focused on Urganza and the orcs marching ahead and continued with my explanation.

“The Humans would have summoned their necromancers to deal with the infestation,” My words elicited a nod from Zaehran, “Even the high-elves would bend their morals and seek aid from necromancers.”

“The wood-elves would have surrounded the site of infestation and scorched the earth while a volley of arrows assault from above,” Karlienne chimed in.

“The only time when they would willingly burn their beloved green,” a tinge of sadness mixed in with her voice.

“The dwarves even have a specially trained unit to tackle Mind Flayers, The Lost Children,” I continued, “They ingest a time-delayed poison while they throw themselves against the Mind Flayers. If successful, the antidote would await them.”

“How do your people deal with them?” asked Colby with a renewed interest.

“We capture a few necromancers and feed them a slow-acting poison,” I answered.

“Since your thoughts have been coherent,” Zaehran revealed his real intention as he uttered, “let me ask you this, what was your intention in the vault?”

“I.....” words faltered for a moment.

“Were you attempting to deal with a perceived threat?” asked Zaehran.

“I was attempting to control the swarm,” I struggled with the explanation.

“In your mind, if you were to revisit, would you plan the same?” Zaehran’s mysterious endless interrogation continued.

“I would not have,” I confessed with befuddlement, “The swarm was aware of my presence but it never considered me a threat.”

“Yet, it seemed like the logical choice at the moment,” stated Zaehran in a tone between a lecture and advice.

In shame, I acknowledged my folly and swallowed hard.

“Dire than I thought,” said the monk to no one in particular and yet to all, “if they could place you under a suggestion.”

The march stopped abruptly and every attention darted between the monk and me.

“You were under a spell, subtle and potent,” His voice rang loud and clear for all to hear.

At his proclamation, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, refusing to move.

“They knew of my hindrance and those folks, the native and yet not native,” spoke Zaehran, “were pulled in to counter me and you were required to counter the swarm. An elaborate and well laid out plan.”

“Why not mind bend the swarm?” asked Urganza.

“Collective intelligence differs from individuality,” answered Zaehran, “Slow and drawn process. They would know the risks far better than any, after all, the Mind Flayers are a swarm of thralls to their Elder Brains.”

“This is not their standard method,” All eyes turned on Syrune as the mage finally spoke, “A mind blast and leave the victim a husk, that is what they should be doing.”

“Mage who stands between worlds,” the words of Zaehran reverberated, open to multiple interpretations, “Something meddled and they evolved.”

The githzerai cast a glance back at the pylon we left behind.

“They still drain you,” continued Zaehran, “devoid of who you are, what you are but not what you can be.”

“So they have Vangere?” asked a trembling Syrune.

“I have been inside Octant Laboratory,” I assured the panicking mage, “The old codger has not been in for a while. I think it is safe to assume that he is not under their grasp.”

“It would be dire indeed,” added the monk, “if they could bend someone as powerful as your master.”

At the nonchalant words of the monk, the revelation dawned on me. I panicked and with a terror-stricken voice pleaded to Urganza.

“Could you please head towards Asterlund and inform Baron Beoric of the threat,” I begged.

The Orc stiffened at my sudden request and undisguised displeasure became evident on her face.

“Please this is important. They just suffered a demonic invasion but this is far severe,” I grabbed her callous hands and squeezed them with a naive hope that the Orc would lend a sympathetic ear.

“I cannot,” refused Urganza, “If the Dusk Reavers stood no chance, then I am needed with my people. North towards Forgewife Folly is where I would lead. The Stormlord needs to know.”

“Delivering the message in Asterlund might save more,” I screamed.

“They were right beside for years,” She stammered and struggled with her rage, “These lands are lost already. The One-Horned Warlord might be our only hope.”

“That arrogant fool of an Aasimar is walking towards Arlond with an army of Paladins,” My heart thumped erratically as I suppressed my rage towards the stubborn Orc before me, “You realise that with an army of Paladins under their will, no necromancer or even an arch-lich can subdue them.”

“More reason to abandon,” said Urganza with a firm resolve, unwilling to meet my eyes.

She quickly darted her gaze towards Syrune.

“You will do well to come with me,” Her round deep-set eyes held a different emotion as she looked at the scholar, “A tower filled with books, I cannot promise but a warm hearth, you will always have.”

Syrune avoided returning Urganza's gaze.

At Syrune’s refusal, she dropped all pretext and marched towards the scholar. She stood close enough for their breaths to mingle. Warm air blasted from her fuming nostrils, assaulted the dainty complexion of the mage. Finally, when she spoke, the slender mage’s long silky strands of hair danced helplessly from the reverberations from her powerful throat.

“Then walk foolishly towards your own grave,” She gripped the Scholar’s sensitive wrist with her rough hands and quickly thrust something into the Syrune’s closed palm.

Karlienne looked as if she was about to engage Syrune before I cut in.

“At least, please promise to send outriders to inform, either Baron Beoric, Lady Wysteria in Westerleygates or Archoness Lady Stormaire. Could you?” I begged on my knees, abandoning decorum.

“I promise,” said Urganza, “to try.”

*****

“You too should leave,” I addressed my companions, “perhaps warn Sarenthill, the mages Collective and Viridian Dawn Rangers. Gives them time to prepare.”

“What will you do?” asked Karlienne.

“I would try to stall and buy time for the rest,” I answered her without meeting her pitiful gaze, “Besides our Venerable monk could use a hand.”

Zaehran who was silent finally spoke.

“Inside those walls, you will be a puppet,” he cautioned.

His words, even though spoke true still hurt. To be pointed at my own inadequacy and futility was humiliating.

Examing the grim faces of the four made it evident that with the threat near, we needed some miracle. Benevolent deities and their fortunes have long departed my company. Lyria, Celerim and even my daughter would not survive the following year if the Mind Flayers succeed.

“We cannot continue a prolonged siege,” I started with stating the obvious, “We lack the power and they have numbers on their side. So we need to strike at their Elder Brain.”

After an encouraging nod from Zaehran, I continued.

“Except Zaehran, none of us can enter the city without our will stripped,” As I explained, all attention was on me, “And we are unaware of its location.”

Zaehran cleared his throat and said, “Judging by the locations of the pylon, it is below the Tradeward Square, but the Elder Brain would be protected by a psionic field that sense thoughts and responds to it. Any mal-aligned intent would be detected.”

“Stay out of range and shot with an arrow?” I verbalised my thoughts for all to hear.

“Elder Brain usually resides deep underground, in a cavern and the whole cavern is encompassed in the field,” answered Zaehran, “You will not get a sight.”

“Besides a single arrow will not be lethal,” he added as an afterthought.

“We can rigg an explosive to it,” I offered, “but infiltrating the cavern is the issue.”

“But we have no explosives” impatiently asked Colby.

“Between you and Syrune, I am sure the both of you can produce something in Octant Laboratory,” I explained.

Octant Laboratory is the answer to more than one plaguing issue, I realised. Miracles do happen.

“Zaehran,” I turned towards the githzerai who was surprised by the evil grin dancing on my countenance, “if something without any mind were to approach the Elder Brain, how will the psionic field react?”

“I would say,” his words were contorted with mirth partaking in my latent glee, “the field will fail to detect and lay dormant.”

“Colby, if you were to be provided with a fully functioning brass skeever and some mechanical spider, would you be able to repurpose them to reach a certain location?” I posed the question.

Colby grinned from ear to ear and in a loud voice that betrayed his small form, he screamed, “Yes, yes, yes.”

Even Karlienne, who had the least stake and was oblivious to the ongoing conversation cheered.

Only Syrune, guided by foresightedness bothered to interrupt.

“But how will we get inside?” asked the mage.

“I could meditate a bit, refresh and get you inside the same way, I rescued her,” voluntarily offered Zaehran but not without hesitation, “but the place will be swarmed with the thralls, perhaps Mind Flayers too.”

“And probably Merrick and the folks from Havorik Farmstead too,” I added.

“Havorik Farmstead?” repeated Karlienne, “Strange folks but not foolish enough to risk their lives.”

“Do you know anything about them that might help?” I turned to the half-elf Herbalist.

“They always barter, no coins,” she said, “but their products were a superior quality.”

“People only give what they have in abundance and ask for what they need, so more details please,” I desperately asked Karlienne to reveal more.

“Sublimely distilled venoms, usually from spiders and snakes, grounded horns of great elks,” she shrugged, “and in exchange they took hard to come by alchemical reagents, some distilled spirits and rune carved baubles and the sort.”

“What sort of farmers would need reagents?” exclaimed Syrune.

They attacked with wooden Bolas, stones flung from slings and poisoned darts from blowpipes. When I was confronted, the mob mostly wielded quarterstaves. I missed something crucial.

In the eyes of my mind, I revisited the scene of my escape and tried to make a coherent image from the collage of information.

They are not a singular group.

T’orrac, their leader, was too refined to belong to simple peasant folks and at the same time, held no aversion to getting dirt beneath his fingernails.

Their prominent members sported animalistic features.

Quarterstaves, wooden bolas, slings with stones and darts from blowpipes were their weapon of choice.

No matter how hard I tried, the information was too disconnected to perceive their motivations or even their real identity. For one fact was evident, they are under no circumstances, simple farmers.

Dejected, I gave up eventually and sighed in frustration before beginning anew.

Rather than looking at the available puzzle pieces, I should look at what should have been there.

Weapons.

If I were to lead an assault, I would have armed the Aberrant Irregulars to teeth, with weapons of pernicious nature and not wooden weapons.

And in a surprising moment of coherence, like the inside of an intricate clock, every cog fell in its place.

“I am going to negotiate with T’orrac,” I declared to all.

Karlienne looked like she was about to argue but I raised my hands, signalling my intention.

“I have an edge in the negotiation. For they are not simple farmers,” Karlienne still stood with stupefied gaze, “and I have deduced their identity. In fact, I can even know their order.”