“When the wind that blows carries forth the blossoms of yore,

When the pride of the seas sing forth its enrapturing melody,

When the children of the earth call forth a powerful echo,

When the skies up high and depths below,

And lands between and lands beyond,

Tremble and rock from the cataclysm unleashed,

Shudder and shunt in the wake of Godhood.

Should thou desire to see the dawn once again,

The embrace of soft and fiery sun.

Only through thy blessed hand,

Will salvation be found amongst the suffering”

- Curate Taesena Monphyra, Specialist on Myndiri Studies, Arterian Academy Preservation Society, “Translated Myndiri Words Recovered From Ruin Wall Slab”

The city was bursting with activity, the square in front of the guildhall still filled with countless vendors, merchants, and traders conducting their business, oblivious to all the chaos behind the scenes. Yet, Aryana could tell something was wrong, or at least tense. In street corners where previously only one or two guards stood at attention, now there were three or four. Down streets and alleys that once were filled only with the throngs of people, now there were also squads of red and blue cloaked soldiers on patrol. Around the square too, when once she would only see red cloaked guardsmen, now there were a few of the more aesthetically random but still well equipped legionaries on standby, their eyes scanning the crowds like a hawk on the prowl.

Though the cold nip in the air didn’t grow any more frigid, Aryana could still feel the pain that lingered in the sky itself. A message, a warning perhaps of more sinister things to come. As is always, when the frost touches a land. She shivered at the grim sensation the thought brought about within her and offered a small prayer for the animals she had once kept stoic watch over. May the mountains guide you home.

Inside the guild hall things were much more frantic than in the square. Adventurers jostled for quests whilst others buzzed about here and there. Citizens and other concerned parties bombarded the guild staffers with requests and quests that they would like to post to the job boards. Behind the scenes too, they were working overtime. The guild bar was abuzz with rowdy adventurers from the night shift as well as a crowd of others settling in for their afternoon break. Many more sat at a small cordoned off area and to Aryana’s surprise, were dining at a small guild cafeteria.

One staffer even attempted to halt her guards but once they sighted the uniform, quickly moved to open the interior doors and ushered them towards a stairway going up. The second floor was a vast dormitory complex, and Aryana spied through one open door that the interior of the rooms seemed cozy enough. Wooden floorboards, carpets, tapestries on the walls, and a lamp. Though it did seem a little cramped with three bunk beds squished into the room.

The third floor proved much the same, more dormitories with restless adventures clambering to and fro. More than a few eyes however, were turned her way and Aryana naturally wilted under the attention, sticking close to her escorts as they led her to the final floor. She felt as if she had stepped into some other realm as a uniformed guild guard let them pass. Here, there was a sense of organised chaos, of dozens of moving parts grinding out a horrid cacophony only to produce exactly what they needed amongst the chaos. Where there were dormitories before, there were only offices and work rooms that guild staffers utilised as they coordinated the activities of hundreds of guild branches far from Arteria’s guiding hand. Her escorts whispered briefly to a few guards near the entryway to the main room of the floor and she soon found the doors being pushed inward.

At the center of the room was an elongated map table that modelled out the city of Arteria and its outlying territories. Lining the walls were hundreds of books, and at the center of each case was a protective glass holding what appeared to all be similarly sized models that all seemed to show different nations, with one final one scaling up to a continental view. All were intricately detailed, especially geographically, and some even seemed to have been recently used by a few miniatures still placed on them. One even modelled the Frostwind ranges and the lands to the north, beyond the great wastes. She was tempted to just walk up and try her best to pinpoint the exact location where she lived, the path still vivid in her memory when she finally escaped the tribe.

“Wow.” Aryana involuntarily gasped.

The sudden noise drew the attention of those currently in the meeting that was taking place, and from around the table, over a dozen pairs of eyes turned towards the new arrivals. Aryana had to blink for a moment before registering the situation she had placed herself in and bloomed a bright beet red in embarrassment, shrinking into her blouse to hide away. Around the map table were guild officials wearing expensive looking uniforms, all in shades of royal green with varying accents of black and red. Besides them, Aryana also noted what appeared to be three legionary officers in their classic mismatched attire but a touch more refined and sporting their notable grey cloaks, one even giving her a flicker of recognition as the injured captain nodded at her. Surrounding the edge of the room were two guild clerks at their desks, both dressed in mostly white with lines of dark green lining their shirts. Whilst a trio of legionary guards also stood at attention at different corners of the room.

“Gentlemen, hold your thoughts. Let us no divert our attention back to the first emergency topic of the day.” A giant bearded man declared.

His eyes looked tired yet his body spoke of a fearsome warrior with no intention of ever slowing down. His still vibrant black beard and scared cheek told Aryana that this was someone who used to fight tooth and nail, someone used to commanding. His presence said as much and the moment he spoke, the room descended into silence.

“As you say, Master Jorrick.” An elderly man agreed.

The others nodded in affirmation and Aryana found the old man’s eyes boring into her soul. The man had almost whitened hair yet still donned a heavy set of full plate armour, a fennec pelt wrapped around his neck as the grey cloak of the legion draped itself gently over his back. The man held her gaze and she couldn’t look away, as if compelled by some external force no matter how much she resisted. As suddenly as it had begun, he broke his gaze and Aryana nearly recoiled from the unexpected ripple of force that she felt brush up against her. The man at least, seemed satisfied as he nodded to himself, his hand stroking his beard in deep contemplation.

Aryana slowly inched her eyes back up to the table and flinched when she caught everyone staring at her, prompting a small round of chuckles that sent her tensing up in fright.

“I thought there would be two of them.” The first man declared.

“Sorry, Guildmaster. She’s the only one we could find, the other-” One of her escorts began.

“Is currently being treated in Fort Clover due to fatal injuries.” The old man interrupted, “Which, before you ask, is a matter I will discuss once our guest here begins recounting events.”

A few of the other gathered adventurers and guild officials murmured their disagreement and the Guildmaster silenced them with one firm clap of his hands.

“For now let us listen to the legion before making our judgement. Any questions? Very well then, let’s get underway.” He tapped his fingers on the table and looked at Aryana, “You are… not an elf… so Aryana is it?”

“Y-yes.” She stammered back.

“I have called you here to answer questions about the incident in the Grand Library of Arteria, do you understand?”

“Mmm.” Aryana hastily nodded.

“Good. I’ll spare the pleasantries in that case. So first things first, you are affiliated with the adventurer silver ranked party Runebound?”

Aryana froze for a moment before remembering that that was the name of Annalise’s party. She nodded.

“And you are also affiliated with one Sophie, Servant of House Rosengart and with no known last name or other such titles?”

A nod.

“You are affiliated with them and joined their journey down to Arteria from Melton? Is this all correct so far?”

Another nod.

“So why were you in Arteria?”

“Umm… ummm… Academy… Sophie wanted to go into the Academy…?”

“And?”

“Uhhh…. I wanted… to see the world?”

Aryana spied the frown forming on the guildmaster's face and winced, I said something wrong. A small sigh escaped the guildmaster's lips and he scribbled something on his paper before looking up.

“Why exactly are you in Arteria?”

“Err… to follow… Sophie?”

“Hmm, and you’ve applied to the Academy of Arteria as well, correct?”

“Yes.”

“To that end-”

“Guildmaster, I think that’s enough about her.” One of the guild officials interrupted, eliciting a chorus of agreement from the other officials. Though Aryana saw that the old legionary’s expression darken as he shared a look with the former wounded captain. The others however, were growing impatient.

“I agree with Sir Roswin, as much of a help that knowing about her might be, I believe we need more pertinent information.” Another chimed in.

“Very well.” Guildmaster Jorrick sighed, his hands pinching his nose, “Then one last confirmation. You are Aryana Frostfyre of Clan Frostfyre of Melton. No distinguishable acts, titles or accolades as of yet. Is that correct?”

Aryana winced at being labeled a Frostfyre and reluctantly nodded.

“By the saints she barely speaks.”

“Might as well be a mute.”

“For saints sake.”

A few officials murmured under their breaths.

Jorrick ignored them and continued on regardless, posing yet another question to her. “On the 25th of Phaerus, you accompanied one, Sophie of House Rosengart to the Grand Library of Arteria. Why?” He demanded.

Aryana felt intimidated and shrank slightly, pondering the question in her mind before replying. “W-we were, she was… going to meet a-a scholar on the Old Ones… sorry, on the Myndir.” Aryana hastily corrected herself.

“Mmhmm, and his name was?”

“Er… Nix?”

“Senior Scribe Gallatin Nix, yes.” Jorrick looked at a paper in front of him before he scribbled something else down, “And do you recall seeing anything strange?”

“I…” Aryana began but stopped.

“Well?”

“I… was told to stay behind, so… I-I went to sit down for tea. But it-”

“She sat for tea!”

“She saw nothing!”

“What a pointless exercise! We already know the guilty party, let us be done with this farce.”

A chorus of heated complaints followed her words and she grew despondent. Did… did I do something wrong?

“Gentlemen.” The guildmaster’s stern voice silenced the room before he turned back to her, “And? Can you describe everything that you remember?”

Aryana nodded and paused to recollect her thoughts when she felt the overwhelming gaze of all the officials having turned towards her. The looks of disdain and impatience pierced through her and brought back memories of the last time she had ever spoken to the clan’s other children, the same disapproving looks left on their faces after their parents warned them about her.

“Mam?” Jorrick asked, his impassive face now unnerving her as well.

“I umm… I-I… I think… I remember…” She stammered when someone lightly slammed the table.

“This is pointless!” One of the officials, the man next to the bored looking Sir Roswin declared, “ She can barely string a sentence together let alone remember anything. We might as well be asking a mute.”

“Reese is right, we all read the reports. What more can she add?” Roswin joined in.

“Also she’s not even in the guild! Why the hells is she even here!” Another complained.

“That’s true, why do we need her here?” The others joined in.

“Gentlemen, might I remind you we’re in the middle of an investigation.” Jorrick spoke and the officials quieted at once, “But Lady Frostfyre, please collect your words and speak truthfully about the events.”

Aryana balked at being called Lady Frostfyre and her expression of displeasure clearly engendered a few more grumbles from the officials when the elder legionary cleared his voice, drawing everyone’s attention to him.

“Master Jorrick, if I may?” He asked, each syllable chosen deliberately.

“Don’t need the legion to meddle with guild affairs.” Someone muttered and the old man turned on them at once.

“Last I remember, the Legion and the city guard are primarily responsible for Arteria’s safety. Until the rampaging, murderous, rogue scholar is found, this is a security concern for the city. Thus, it is also our concern.” The old man chastised.

A few dissatisfied huffs came from the officials, but against the elder, they remained quiet. Jorrick waited for a moment or two before he nodded, gesturing for the elderly legionary to continue. The man nodded appreciatively to the guildmaster, Jorrick giving a respectful tip of his head in return. Aryana noticed the legionary staring down any would-be challengers one last time before the old man’s eyes homed in on hers, his intense gaze making her quiver with fright.

The man raised his hand and coughed to himself, clearing his throat as he stood up from his chair and leaned against the map table.

“Pardon me, my esteemed colleagues and gathered adventurers. This might take a few extended moments and I pray that you shall give me the time I require.” He looked around.

Aryana suddenly grew nervous, her palms getting clammy as the man focused directly at her. Yet, to her surprise, his stern and intense expression evaporated and transformed into one filled with care and concern. Not unlike that which her parents once showed to her.

“Faidum Chridint, mo paitemus son hi daoine.” The man uttered calmly with a soothing voice.

At once Aryana’s ears perked up and she could stop the shock from appearing on her face, the action eliciting a small grin from the old legionary. Warm welcome, I’m sorry for these people. Wait… but that's in... he’s speaking with the speech of the clans.

“Ciae?” Aryana whispered her reply. How?

“Tan veda lingaidh? Hmmm…” The man stroked his beard, “cuair was a vagdain… sitach uo.” He tapped his chest proudly. The old tongue… he was a wanderer like me?

“A lagrian?” Aryana asked. But he’s a lowlander?

“Mmhmm. Mo a lagrian.” He is! The man nodded before he smiled softly, “A paeag quaeist, hmm? An lindach volaich?” A small question?Does cloth fly…? What?! What does he even mean? Ah! Could he be talking about the clan sigil? Raised above the main hold of each clan? But of course they would be flying high? Why wouldn’t they? All of them are proud of their heritage… and most banners were of cloth or other such fabrics... so...

“Yes, tan sigils volaiche.” She replied. The sigils fly.

“Hmmm.” He nodded, a wistful almost melancholic smile on his face, "Ethus tan? Tan sigil suard?" And me, does my sigil soar? Ah...

Aryana shook her head and the man seemed to hum for a moment before flicker of understanding entered his eyes. "Ah! Amraid de a spiridanie."

"Yes." She murmured quietly. That's me alright, Friend of the spirits. The way the clans would describe the loners and outcasts, heh, how fitting, suppose I've always been one. She scowled at her own memories.

“The hells is this? Some strange witchcraft?” One of the officials interrupted, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“They’re speaking like madmen.” Roswin hissed.

"Heretics if I didn't know better." Someone grumbled.

“Enough, all of you. Sir Danneth will have our attention and that’s that. If you have concerns or disagree, you can wait outside until we are finished here and I will brief you afterwards.” Master Jorrick growled.

Another set of dissatisfaction rumbled through the room but the officials were quelled, for now.

The elder Danneth nodded appreciatively before he turned back to Aryana, a slight gleam in his eyes. “We may continue to converse in the words of the mountains if it proves more comfortable for you." He spoke to Aryana, though she could see his words were meant for the others as well. "Tan vercail sutha mo vercail. Mo erid enaris tan nareul fildeas.” He tipped his head politely. Your words are my words, I will recount your tale faithfully… he means that he would speak on my behalf? It… it would certainly be better than responding to the others.

Aryana bobbed her head in affirmation, a small bit of relief passing through her. In truth, she believed her command over Common, what the Vaettagh referred to as English, to be quite significant. She had practiced it for years on end, though admittedly she had spoken mostly to herself in delirium back home more times than she'd like to admit. Only recently had she been able to practice with others, especially with ones that wouldn’t actively be mocking her. Though she desired to forget about her clan, she couldn’t help but admit that there was something comforting in such familiar sounding words.

With a huff and a deep breath, Aryana steadied herself. She closed her eyes for a moment and sorted out what she would say. With one last firm nod meant for herself, she ignored the disdainful gazes of the officials and began telling the old legionary her point of view of all that had happened. Spirits guide me.