Arazel Tyr Baelfost, Kel’ir of the Thirteen Clans, the walking paradox, sat in a sparsely decorated stone room. His mind wandered as the person in front of him droned on about topics he knew like the back of his hand. His mentor had drilled the knowledge of how to run the Clans into his head enough that he could do it in his sleep. This line of thought made him grimace, and the man in front of him began to sweat. Arazel ignored this and made his decision.

“Send half of the mined ores to the commerce district. The rest must be sent to the forges. The agricultural district must plant more Basa fruit, we’ll be running short in another four years. Increase the supply of their fertilizer as well. Dismissed.”

The man bowed his head repeatedly and hurried out of the office. The Kel’ir, Head of the 13 Clans and Master of the Underhome groaned and rested his face in his hands. The plan was nearly perfect, and somehow things still ended up like this. Why couldn’t his people follow the simplest of instructions? Or worse yet, act on their own? Like that damned Laengr clansman. What had posessed him to start torturing her of all things? Arazel rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms and stood up, ignoring the paperwork in front of him. He needed to blow off some steam.

He exited the Kel’ir’s office and began to make his way outside. At least, as close to outside as one could get here. The interior of the building resembled that of a human castle he visted once. Back when he was still the apprentice to the greatest Kel’ir to have ever been appointed to that role. Stone hallways lit by the dim blue-green glow of Glowmoss and decorated with intricate woven tapestries showing the legends of his people. The great heros of legend, and of course their villanous counterparts. Arazel had no doubt of where he would be placed in his race’s memory. He passed a particularly dark tale, the sealing of one of the greatest dangers to the world. His eyes lingered on the top of the tapestry where a proud Firstborn woman stood. Her eyes shone with a determination unmatched by anyone else in history, and her gray hair framed a stunningly beautiful face. Her cheekbones were sharp, and her mouth was twisted into something close to a smirk.

She showed no signs of the monster she would become. Her name had been lost after the massacre of the Melorine, a tribe dedicated to preserving history. However, her crimes were seared into the conciousness of his people. The only Kel’ir to ever try and kill a god. She nearly succeeded. The first time the Firstborn marched to war was under her leadership, and they didn’t taste defeat for nearly five hundred years. After all, that Kel’ir was the greatest Dae’voce the Clans had ever encountered. Her words of power could level mountains and empty oceans. Arazel shook his head sadly and continued walking. It was such a shame she fell to her own lust for power.

The guards at the front door bowed to him and pulled open the large wooden doors. Arazel nodded to them and stepped outside. The great cavern Underhome stretched out before him. A maze of rope bridges connected every level of the tiered space in front of him. Homes carved into solid stone flickered with Glowmoss. In the center of the cavern lay the source of Underhome’s continued survival. A freshwater lake almost a thousand feet across housed countless fish and patches of nutritious algae. Deep red Basa fruit glowed in its underwater pens while a Glowwhale breached the surface of the lake almost in the exact center.

Sighting a Glowwhale was thought to be a sign of good luck, especially since they kept the more hostile creatures of the lake away. Arazel took a bridge to his right. He glared up at the ceiling that had robbed his people of knowing the warmth of sunlight, the cool breeze of the sea, and a thousand other small things. Even now he couldn’t hate his gods. Even after they abandoned his people here. At least the gods had given them a home. Somewhere out of reach of the greed and fear of the younger races. Arazel quickened his pace. Emyr still needed a… stern talking to.

The prison was a dank place, rarely used and cleaned even less. There was little light inside, and many who entered never saw the outside again. There were few among the Firstborn who committed crimes, but none were ever petty enough to require short stays. Arazel strode quickly through the upper levels of the prison. His target was much deeper inside. He descended down four floors, with each floor containing fewer cells. The deeper the cell, the better made it was to keep its prisoner inside. Then finally he reached the final floor. This floor held a single cell, and it was much smaller than the first floor. Iron chains bound Arazel’s current frustration in a half crouch, with his arms stretched in awkward angles behind him.

“Emyr Ald Laengr. Do you know why you’re here?”

There was a slight pause as the mass of chains in front of him raised its head. A slow, raspy voice sounded through the clinking of metal. “It’s because… I failed… you.”

Azreal shook his head. “No, that is not why you are here. You are being punished because you dared lay your hands on my bride to be. You dared to disobey my direct orders that she was not to be harmed. You dared to think that in some twisted way, you were helping me along in my plans by torturing her.”

Emyr grunted as he shifted his weight in a vain attempt at relieving the stress on either his arms or his legs.

“I was… Saving you… the trouble… of breaking… her…”

“Do not ever presume you know what I want again. You will no longer be a part of this plan. Stay put until I decide you’ve learned your lesson. It will be two days until you get another serving of water. Be glad I still need you alive.”

Arazel turned around and climbed the stairs, “forgetting” the small cup of water he was supposed to give to Emyr mere paces from the mans lips. The relief the bastard wanted was so close, yet so infintely far away. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would make him suffer. Maybe now he could start making repairs to the mess his subordinates had made. Time was not on his side, but he felt no small amount of relief after seeing the mana signature of the patch on the dimensional rift. She was in capable hands, especially if that man was still alive and kicking. A slight grin spread across his features, and his tail flicked back and forth in joy. Maybe he’d end up seeing his old friend before all of this was over.

The Kel’ir headed back through the cavern, noticing another breaching Glowwhale. The grin widened. Maybe the gods were paying attention to him after all.