Velandreis was the capital of the Immortalyn nation, a veritable city of earthly delights — at least on the surface where the Aristomagi dwelled and erected their many pale towers in imitation of the Lonely Spindle that was the home of their ancestor. Stories said that they built the city upon the magical glade nestled in the mountains that the legends spoke of but whether that was verifiable fact was beyond any to truly recall. 

As far as the eye could see, the city gleamed white and pristine, like so many bleached bones scattered across the verdant grasslands. There was space aplenty and room for all to have handsome parcels of land. At least, among the aristocracy. 

The middle class, with its merchants and tradespeople, proceeded downward into the mountain, for several levels dedicated to various trades. Agriculture occupied the uppermost level, so there were large glass skylights that allowed the sun in to help the crops to flourish. The next level beneath that was for smithing, forges, and the like, so that the heat rising from those places would help to keep the agriculture beds warm and humid, ripe for planting year-round with proper rotation. The next level down was for crafts and trades like leatherworkers, tailors, enchanters, professions that required little beyond materials. Beneath those were several levels dedicated to storage and warehouses, for the excess that each level produced and for winter stores for the entire city. 

Underneath all that, deeper into the ground like furtive moles, were the levels that housed the lowest caste, the Ochlomagi — The Sullied. Those whose magical bloodlines they had broken by their usage of magic, their bodies sullied by the onset of time and age, bodies that they polluted with many vices, from alcohol to drugs to promiscuity to using their magic to change their shapes or their features; beautiful, powerful, but doomed to be fleeting candle flames that eventually flicker out.

 It was down past the many levels of known civilization that Edouard went. There were some on the tram that traveled into the deeper levels that looked at him in askance; it wasn’t common for a nobleman to traverse these railways. The rich and powerful had their own, more secretive ways of reaching the places that entertained them in the deeps. Most of the people on the tram were common laborers and workpeople, the porters that ran goods up to the various levels and to the surface as they delivered things from the warehouses.

He stood off to the side near the railing of the tram, watching as the world he never knew passed him by. The verdant greenery and endless tidy rows of the Agriculture Level rivaled even the most cultivated gardens on the surface. When the tram stopped, people got off that were dressed in dirt-covered overalls wearing broad-brimmed hats to protect them from the sunlight that streamed in the skylights. They seemed happy, even excited, to return to their labors. Edouard marveled at this. From the what his peers spoke about the work of the middle class, it never seemed like anything anyone should feel happy doing. It was all hard work and dawn to dusk labor with only a few breaks in between.

How could people be happy doing such endless work with little time for reprieve? How did they pursue the things they truly wanted to do? When did they have time for leisure? The thought of living such a life made Edouard distinctly uncomfortable. Not because the thought of work made him squeamish, but the thought of having no time for himself to do the things he wanted to do with his life — The loss of his freedom.

As the verdant levels passed out of sight, it was a relief for Edouard to see them go — at least until the first blast of heat wafted up from the next levels that housed the smitheries, foundries, and other mechanical industries. He winced a bit, feeling that heat; he couldn’t imagine spending all day every day in such environs. The heavily built and muscled workers that filed past him laughed a bit at his discomfort, several of them eyeing him a moment before rolling their eyes. The young lordling was getting only the barest sample of what their daily lives were like, and they relished in his discomfort. One man grunted, giving Edouard a cocky grin. “Welcome to reality, mi’lord.” 

Edouard blinked in confusion and stupefaction. He knew the history of the city, of course, as all nobility enjoyed education thus, but he never could have fathomed all this. To experience it and see it first-hand truly drove home the lives people beneath the Aristomagi lived. Those not prosperous in the middle class owned homes on these self-same levels as their shops and businesses, only the most wealthy of them affording homes on the surface. Edouard looked upward, back along the railway where the sun and the sky had become a small circle of light in the distance. He couldn’t imagine living a life completely underground, never seeing or feeling the light of the sun. Another pang of remorse filled him, lending another layer to the discomfort he felt. 

Out of the halo of heat, the tram continued, passing through the quiet and mostly dark levels of the storage and warehouse levels. Fewer people came and went from here, most of them porters pulling small pony carts that were empty or loaded with things to be stored away. None of the porters acknowledged him, some of them even gave him a wide berth. They had little to nothing to do with the nobility and didn’t want to have anything to do with them now. Edouard was grateful for the silence and the lack of judgmental stares.

That quietude did nothing to prepare him for his descent into the levels that housed the den of iniquity that was the home of the Ochlomagi. These levels were one large pleasure district, designed to feed a variety of vices, addictions, and entertainments. Homes tucked away in corners or lofted above businesses as if ashamed to be associated with the lanes they perched on. While everything was well-kept and the streets were clean, the people stumbled, danced, or merrily ran hither and yon in various states of strung out inebriation or exhaustion. Shifty-eyed men and women idled on street corners, some providing legitimate business, others as thieves looking for easy marks to take advantage of. 

As Edouard stepped off the tram, no one made their way past him to get on the carriage or off of it. This struck Edouard as curious. Did no one travel this way to get down here? A sudden flash of violet light off to his right gave him the answer to that question as a gaggle of people came rushing out of a large building, chattering about all the things they’d get into and do while they were here. A brief peek into the building showed several rune-circled pads with a large central desk manned by several older elves. 

Something would light up on the desk, a series of runes or words that floated on the air, then one mage would move to a rune circle and cast a spell. Not long after, a group of people would show up, or sometimes just one or two. Spells of teleportation.

Even as he watched, the old elven man that cast the spell doubled over, clutching at his chest, breathing heavily. A younger woman ran up to him, helping him back to the central desk. 

Every spell cast leeches the Caster of their life-force, taking years off their life until there is nothing left… The words of one of many lessons Edouard had in his youth about not using his magic. Yet, here were people casting spells every few minutes as if their lives didn’t matter. It was mind-boggling to the young lord. What did they stand to gain by burning up their lives just to teleport people here to be entertained? Why not make them walk or use the tram? The cost of such a convenience seemed absurd, wasteful.

Edouard hastened onward, to where — anywhere but that doorway in that moment. He was so preoccupied with what he’d seen that he ran headlong into a beautiful elven woman in a stunning sequined dress. No, not sequins… It was a gown of gold coins woven together by a thin, gold filament. Her bright violet hair fell in artful waves across her shoulders and back as she smiled at him from blue-painted lips. She was as much a riot of color as the spell-illuminated street they stood on. 

“Well, well, well… good evening, young lord.” The woman purred at him, lifting a hand to put it on his shoulder, pushing him away to arm’s length. “If you’re interested in some company this evening, I can certainly oblige you for the right price, but until then I’d be glad for you to keep your hands to yourself.” The woman cast a glance to a nearby alleyway where a burly creature stood by with a massive club held in one hand. 

The creature was large, green with a thick braided beard and a slightly upturned nose. Clad in little more than an elaborately belted fur loincloth and leather boots, it cut an impressive, well-muscled figure. Intimidating and vaguely frightening, as was likely the intent. 

Edouard backed off from the woman, holding up his hands in refusal. “Ah, n-no, not tonight. I’m actually looking for some information.”

The woman arched a brow. Inspecting her brightly painted fingernails, she drawled out casually. “Information oft comes at a higher price that company down here.” Her eyes flashed to him, momentarily looking dangerous and cunning. “Are you sure you’re willing to pay for it?”

Something about her shift in demeanor unsettled Edouard, like a mouse trapped by the gaze of the hunting alley cat. He resisted the urge to swallow down his fear, wanting to show nothing of his emotional state to this corner-dweller. “I have to know.” He managed to say with a modicum of confidence.

The woman sniffed in satisfaction, waving a hand. Out of nowhere a young boy appeared, dressed in a bright red jacket with the face of a hyena in color-shifting paint emblazoned on the back of it. “This is Genet. He will take you where you need to be.” She told him before making a shooing motion with that self-same hand. “Now away with you, you’re scaring off the paying custom.”

Edouard nodded, looking to the boy expectantly. The child was somewhere in his teen years, though it was hard to pinpoint with elves, more-so with The Sullied given their prolific magic-use. He had large, guileless brown eyes and mousey brown-grey hair with a shock of red in it that ran down through his hair from his right temple. He kept it tucked behind one ear so the red streak went along the side of his head. Edouard couldn’t help but think it looked like a streak of blood. A very brief pang of sympathy lanced through him. Was that intentional? Meant to beguile passers-by into thinking the boy was some unfortunate? 

Edouard’s brow furrowed. Things down here were not what they seemed.

Genet led him through the winding streets. Every shop had some kind of magically created lighting, some even more elaborate, that frequently shifted to advertise a shop’s many wares. Bright lights warred with each other, making the streets a riot of dancing colors, all while music, loud voices, hawking vendors, and many magical fireworks popped and crackled as they tried to draw the attention of the crowds. Under any other circumstance, Edouard might have been enchanted, even excited to see such goings-on and be curious to explore and make merry. It was enough to make him stop a moment to gawp, but Genet put a stop to that quick enough by tugging on his sleeve and pointing on down the lane.

Edouard followed the boy onward, far away from the bright lights and energy of the heart of the level. They proceeded into areas that were still well lit but clearly not intended for the tourists. Tenement homes cloistered together in tidy, well-ordered rows, but tightly packed. Nothing like the spacious and open living estates on the surface among the Aristomagi with their manicured lawns and elaborate walking gardens. Edouard couldn’t imagine what it felt like to live this closely packed in to other people, literally living on top of one another. 

There was something ominous, oppressive about the way the buildings shouldered up against one another like an endless army of faceless soldiers, the windows staring out like a thousand weighing eyes. Edouard kept close to Genet as they continued along, farther and farther away from the light and merriment of the areas closer to the tram until only the occasional sputtering lantern lit the way. A moment of brightness in otherwise night-dark streets.

Eventually, Genet came to a stop outside a tiny hovel. Possibly the smallest tenement that Edouard had seen in this long journey. From the outside it looked like it was no bigger than a single room, barely enough for a small shop much less as a place to live. Genet gave him a courteous bob of the head, then the boy disappeared into the shadows leaving Edouard standing awkwardly on the front stoop of this minuscule shack. Steeling his courage, Edouard knocked.

♦   ♦   ♦

An amber glitter danced across the one small window that looked out onto the street. The glass was so grimed, however, that there was no more detail than that. Just an orb of golden light drifting across the pane until it was lost again to the dimness of the house's interior. A difficult thing to believe given the smallness of the place. By rights, the glow of even a candle would have lit the place well enough. Ahead of him, the door rattled a moment and there was the sound of soft cursing. 

"We told Valen that this door needed mending. Did he listen? Of course he didn't. Now here we are, trapped within our own home; someone'll have to bash the door in to get us out.  Then where will we be? In a home with no door. We will beat him when next we see him." The voice continued to mutter crossly, until at last the door came open again. "Ah!  Saved!"

A small woman, perhaps no taller than four feet tall stood peering up at him from a face like a wizened apple. Spectacles perched on her tiny, slightly bulbous nose as she squinted at him with piercingly green eyes. A multicolored kerchief held her graying hair in place atop her head and a dull red woolen shawl hugged her shoulders. Adorning the rest of her was a rather frumpy, multicolored patchwork dress that looked as if it had seen better days. All-in-all, Edouard felt like he'd been swindled and left on this poor woman's doorstep as some kind of terrible prank.

"Well?" The woman asked him.

"Uh..." Edouard said, blinking at the woman in return. "Huh?"

"Are you coming in or not?"

"I... hadn't realized I'd been expected or invited." Edouard said courteously. While this woman wasn't an Aristomagi, he didn't see why he shouldn't treat her with the same kind of respect he'd afford a woman of her age on the surface.  

Her forehead wrinkled slightly as her face scrunched up. "Are you dull or simply oblivious? I knew you were coming the moment you set foot off the tram. Lady Elusirion said you would come calling."

Edouard stared. "She did?" How had she known what he'd do? It continued to underline his thoughts that there was something more to that elf-maiden than she'd let on. Between her clandestine meeting with his father, to her lavish rewards, and now this? It continued to nettle at Edouard to the point that he almost felt annoyed.  Why couldn't these people be more convenient with their intrigues?

The Wizened Woman sighed, putting her hands on her hips. "Well?!" It was her turn to be annoyed as she raised her voice; perhaps the man was deaf and not dumb. "Are you coming inside or not?!"

The elf-lord grimaced, waving his hands at her as her voice echoed down the dark streets. "Shh!  Yes, yes, I'm coming in!" He hastily stepped toward her and she turned to usher him inside. Ducking low, he fully expected to bean himself on the roof beams if he didn't bend over practically double but no sooner than he crossed the threshold he realized the room was spacious.  More than spacious, he stared ahead of himself in wonderment.

He stood in a beauteous open-air courtyard that was lined on two sides by sweet-smelling flower gardens. In the center was a magnificent fountain of a unicorn rearing up onto its hind legs. The water that flowed made up its mane and tail, the water falling just so. Yet, the artistry was so fine and so detailed that it seemed like the creature was but moments from drawing a breath and galloping away. Edouard marveled at the elaborate garden and how all of this managed to fit in the tiny shoe box of a house it appeared from the outside.  There was but one answer, of course, and to be expected down here:  Magic.

The sheer expenditure of magic it must have taken to craft this place seemed obscene to Edouard.  He who had been raised that magic was a precious and finite resource, that those who valued their immortality clung to that magic with tooth and nail, casting not even the most rudimentary of spells lest they lose the magic that kept them young and invulnerable.  To see this grossly flagrant display of raw magic made him feel almost physically ill. 

Passing beyond the courtyard, they pushed into a set of golden filagree doors to the interior of the house proper. This brought him to a foyer whereupon resided a single round table of purest white marble. A living tree sprouted from the center of the table, wending skyward in a riot of colorful leaves in pastel hues. Not a single leaf littered the table or the floor beneath the table, held in picture perfect stasis. Stepping from a small doorway to the right of the main doors, a tall, stern-faced man regarded him. 

The man was unlike any elf Edouard had ever seen; this man was broad-shouldered and well-muscled. A short boxed beard lined his jaw and a moustache gave him a far more dour look than he might have had otherwise. His hair was a dark brown and the eyes that watched Edouard carefully were brown with flecks of gold. There was just something bear-like about the man that made him feel somewhat intimidating. Edouard was certain he was no elf, though, which begged the question what exactly was he?

"It's all right, Ser Galahad, we have been expecting him." The Wizened Woman said as she toddled past the bear. 

Galahad? What kind of name is Galahad? Edouard inwardly scoffed. Anything, really to make him feel a bit more comfortable, a bit more superior in this strange situation he found himself in. Sidling past the pair of them as they conversed, he walked casually over to the pastel-hued tree and made a great show of inspecting it. 

"I'm surprised he made it past the Pleasure Square." Galahad gruffed, continuing to eye the elf-lord even as Edouard paced to the heart of the foyer. 

"Yes, well, let us be glad he did or this would all be for naught. After all, the boy has come for answers and Lady Elusirion has decreed he should have them. It isn't every day that a boy's father plots to murder his mother."

That made Edouard stop dead in his tracks, his head turning back toward the Wizened Woman as he started in perplexity. He let out a nervous laugh. "I beg your pardon, but I think I must have misheard you. For a moment, I thought I heard you say that my father was plotting to kill my mother."

Lifting a hand to adjust her spectacles upon her nose, the Wizened Woman nodded. "I did."

♦   ♦   ♦

There were many reactions at war within Edouard as he continued to stare at the Wizened Woman and her bear-like companion as they stood by the entryway, looking at him calmly as he processed what he'd heard. Anger came first; a white-hot rage that brimmed from within him that his father would dare to harm Edouard's beloved, gentle mother. It was followed quickly by confusion; but why would his father want to do such a thing? They were happy together, weren't they? He'd never seen any evidence to the contrary.  Guilt and helplessness crashed in around him like the tides, the two feelings intertwined like the sea and the sand; what could he do to put a stop to this? Was it too late? What if his mother was already -- He didn't allow himself to dwell any further on such thoughts, pulling himself free of them with an upward jerk of his head even as his hands came crashing down onto the cold, hard marble of the foyer's central table. 

"You're wrong! They love each other!" Edouard protested, though even to his own ears it sounded feeble. When was the last time he'd seen his parents in public together or even in the house together?  It was as if they lived separate lives while just happening to live in the same place. What few kisses they shared were dutiful and rehearsed, an outward display to feelings that had long since evaporated. "You're wrong..." It came out as more of a whimper than a strident denial.

The Wizened Woman came up to him, resting a hand on his as it continued to press into the table. "We cannot imagine this is an easy thing for you to hear, my body, but hear it you must. You are the only one that can save your Lady-Mother, if there is anyone. It is why Lady Elusirion sent you here, after all, because she has no real want to take another's life but the rewards were too egregious for even her to ignore. To save your mother, though, she will need your help."

"My help?" Edouard looked down to the little woman, his brow furrowing together.

"Your help." She agreed. "It will require you to trust in me and Ser Galahad here, but rest assured that we want to put a stop to this as much as you do.  Lady Elusirion is a good and kindly soul, we don't want to see her sully her name and her reputation by committing murder."

But she can't kill us.  We are Pure Ones.  We're immortal!  Invincible!  Everything that Edouard had been taught for the whole of his life reared up in defiance of what he was being told. How could this woman kill his mother; she who was one of the Immortalyn.  She was timeless, ageless, untouchable by the vagaries of the world. There was nothing that could harm one of the Pure Ones.  Nothing.

Except magic.  Magic was the one thing that had no rules and no limits. So long as the Caster was willing to sacrifice the necessary life-force, literal years or sometimes decades of their life, there wasn't anything that magic couldn't do.  Entire cities were built in the span of a handful of breaths, the dead were brought back to life, lovers were ensorcelled or disenchanted depending on the will and want of the Caster. The only thing that might cause any kind of hesitation were the personal morality of the Caster.  Like now.

Edouard stared at the marble tabletop as the pastel-hued tree rustled overhead.  He wasn't sure what he'd expected when he began this venture. He thought that, perhaps, he'd find out about some clandestine liaison that he'd have to chastise his father over.  Inviting the elf-maid to their familial home had been a glaring mistake and if it was enough to make Edouard ask questions then it was likely that there were others doing the same.

Are you sure about that? A pang of uncertainty rippled through the young elf-lord. Most of the Aristomagi cared little for anything outside of their own comforts, their own affairs. The only time someone else mattered was when they were an obstacle to something they wanted.  A chill ran down Edouard's spine.  Is that what it was?  Was his mother an obstacle for something his father sought?  Edouard swallowed hard past the lump of misery that welled in his throat.  His gentle mother deserved better.

Looking to the Wizened Woman, the elf-lord's face hardened. "How can I help?"

She smiled, stepping past him and moving over to a nearby wall. She drew an elaborate rune upon the wood and the panel vanished to reveal a secret passage. "You can start by following me.  My name is Muriel."