A few more candles are propped up as the conversation goes on. A habit, Enjeine said. A welcome one, admittedly, given the chill the outside night is descending into. The wind howls through the tiny gaps at the doorway, once or twice achieving a sharp whistle. The decision to set out for the scythe-wielding killer right away might be a regrettable one now, but Iacy does not seem worried.

“Ah yes, that terrible incident. Sometimes I dwell on the price of my warning seals, with the Shades so rampant now. More could afford it if only I decrease the price, but it’s already the lowest I can make it. The ingredients and the preparations…But that’s assuming the killer is a Shade, or even influenced by one.” The elf goes to pick up a few packets of luminescent dust and hands them to Iacy. “And about the innkeeper’s girl, yes, that has brewed up discussions among the citymages; I got letters over there. But leaving immediately after just hearing the story, and from a stranger at that, even the goddess of luck shouldn’t depend on herself like so. What am I even saying? Not like you’d listen. When you first entered my humble home, I thought you’re curious about your shining temple, overly vain as you were, Your Eternity. Yet you didn’t even bring it up. Which is strange, pardon my imposing.”

Noticing the knight’s eyes lighting up in interest as he is reminded of the assumption Greufard made, Iacy pulls her cup from her mouth and laughs. “It appears that our visit here two centuries ago is remembered well by the cityfolk. I believe the location of Moonmorn being so close to the city is no random coincidence, is it? Then I was right. It’s been such an age. Would you like to tell it, Enjeine? Fine.” She turns to the knight with a spark of enthusiasm in her golden eyes. “We didn’t leave Evaeba without making some kind of impact. It’s a pretty huge one, actually, and to be actually honest, I wasn’t really part of it. It was mostly the merchant among us. Well, you, I mean, the ancient you.

“No, I’m not being modest. Look, Enjeine agrees. We just met at that time, my good Knight Diastre, and you might find it hard to believe now but that Lady Luck back then was adamant about detesting the mortal realm. Stop laughing, little elf.” Iacy smoothly quips at the elf with what the knight recognises as an inside joke. “I was, hm, acting like a goddess fallen from heaven. Very uncooperative, very barky; my presence was merely an additive glare that was properly utilised for the whole event – a merchant’s deal blessed by the Lady Luck – I imagine the rumours spreading like a quick sunrise in a lonely little village of about a hundred or two.” She gives an abruptly questioning look to Enjeine. “Are the elves still in their tree-settlement? No? Ah, the Shades; that’s unfortunate. Anyway, you had a whole idea about extending trade routes and whatsuch, through the forest and around the hillridges. And then there was that idea for an economic league, which I believe is the very notion that transformed into Moonmorn Fortress.”

“It has turned into a highway, by the by, those trade routes. That makes you a true hero.” Enjeine points out in genuine appraisal, then his eyes widen in a way that implies he is reminded of something important. “Do you remember Raundemi? Raun? Yes, the dwarf. He was the main blacksmith for the Moonfelled Morning Company, and the last member alive before he too passed. I’m sorry to deliver such news; he took the best care of the fallen goddess when the merchants were out, didn’t he? But er…due to some wars, the company fell apart some decades ago, three or four, and the fortress was gradually forsaken. Perhaps that was a lucky turnout in the long run, otherwise your battle with the Shades might have inflicted a heavier collateral damage. Buthaps the Core Of Reality spawns in places where dreamless endings are dominant.

“Back to Raun. I have to bring this up before the both of you take your leave; you’re almost out of time, aren’t you? Yes, back to Raun. He left a signature work of art to me, just in case the Lady Luck would agree to bless it in her name, so I could gift it to warriors who are dedicating their lives to the extermination of the Shades. Yes, a surprise, is it not? You could say that I was waiting for your return. I did not expect yours as well, my ancient friend who recalls me not, but all is well. All is very well. I could gift this appropriately, now that you’re a knight.” The elf whispers a spell as he kicks a carpet aside and pulls open a trapdoor hidden underneath, then he reaches down for a huge bundle all wrapped up in stylish silk cloth. He holds it up as a thoughtful smile flashes across his face. “Here you go, Knight Diastre; it’s yours. No, say nothing. Allow me to have a look at that pistol of yours – might as well – Raun taught me a few tricks.”

As he allows Enjeine to tinker away at the broken weapon, the knight unwraps the mysterious bundle to find a shield that sports a gloriously carved silver-blue crest depicting an elaborately-branched tree highlighted by linked circles of sorts. They are rings, he observes closely to realise, not mere circles; rings with spell engravings; enchantments. He feels a resonance in his chest, and he holds his breath as he tries to understand it while it tightens further and finally erupts in a sparkling sensation – as if the shield has imprinted on him, he concludes.

Iacy marvels at the craftsmanship, tilting her head as she observes the design, her eyes glistening with reminiscence as she inspects the ringed engravings. “Ser Raundemi was fond of the ancient you as well; he would have loved to hear this development of events. Hm, then we will say nothing but our thanks, Enjeine. Truly. This will make a world of difference in our coming battle. But you know, since you’re accustomed to my vanity and pride,” she grins, “surely you can see that I hope to make this a somewhat fairer trade. Is there anything that we might be of help with? Perhaps those ingredients for your seals?”

Enjeine freezes in thought. “I think I can solve that on my own. But now that you mention it, this meeting of ours is truly luck’s gift, because I was very close to decide not to return for the night. There’s some trouble with the orcs and I went to see; spent the entire day; fool’s errand. They had been relatively friendly neighbours with the city, but recently they started attacking our travelling parties.” He hands back the pistol, fixed and polished. “No serious casualties; still, there must be a reason…So if you can – as you would most likely run into them once you venture out of the citywalls – perhaps a goddess can demand a proper reason from their bulgy stubborn heads.”

The goddess stands from her seat and smooths down her clothes. “Will do. There are errands that call for a different kind of fool.”

The elf huffs at the remark as he sends them off. “Well, cuts to all of them that I wasn’t the right one!”