Creatures with a higher purity of Ardor possess extended natural lifespans as their soul’s essence and Signature are held in a sort of stasis for longer. Beings such as dragons and dwarves have incredibly pure Ardor. Comparatively, you look at creatures such as humans or beasts, and you will see more diluted Ardor. Lifetimes can be artificially extended to a certain degree by frequent use of restorative arcanum.

Vendrethaisen’s Teachings

Evangeline Alrinious

A light fog had rolled in a few hours later, blown across the land by the west winds. Evangeline had expected another attempt at the inner town, but the goblinoid forces had stilled their advances – the majority taking sanctuary in large tents just outside of the town’s outer wall. She suspected they would try again during the night – goblins were naturally nocturnal beings – but if Beylesa were to be believed, the next few days would be a standoff until either reinforcement came in from a nearby settlement or they decided to leave of their own volition. 

Evangeline was both annoyed at and grateful for the company. Any other travelers, especially those as amiable—in their own unique ways—were bound to be decent folk to travel with. And the safety of traveling in numbers was invaluable. But assistance invalidated the terms of her declaration and the subsequent acceptance of her trial. Even so much as a graze or a wound.

“I will slay a mighty and terrible foe,” she’d declared all those seasons ago. All for a chance to become—truly become—one of the Eldar.

How many seasons ago since she’d departed from the warmth of Sanfael’s arms? Three? 

In the waning light of the evening, they had all gathered in a room of the Greenfane Inn. Beylesa came in last, her frizzy hair had been combed and her eyes were more alert. She began pacing next to the table. 

“The lord and militia aren’t likely to be of assistance – they’re too busy keeping the town safe.”

Evangeline nodded. “By the directions, they’ve likely taken up residence in a cursed fortress in the Eizun forest—Grymtharn is its name. The Eldar clan would be pleased to once again scourge that cursed tomb.” 

“We can expect aid from the firbolgs?” Beylesa asked. 

Evangeline nodded. “It is the forest of my people. They guard it against those that would harm it or use it to harm.” 

“Whatever the extra cost, I will see to it that it’a paid.” 

“No compensation for them will be necessary,” Evangeline said. She caught the barest hint of slumped shoulders from Vyrnamint. “My people care not for the material trade of your folk.” 

“Then why do you?” Beylesa asked. Evangeline was surprised that malice didn’t hide behind the words. Her tone was of profound confusion thinly guised by mere curiosity.

“I’ve undertaken a Trial of strength,” Evangeline answered simply. “After I complete it, my remaining coin shall be split amongst the rest on my departure back to the clan.”

She pointed at the map. “But we’re to raid this base while their forces are split, it would be optimal if we held the element of surprise. We should leave soon to muster the dorces.”

“By the hobgoblin’s account, around two to three hundred goblinoids stayed back. If we’re going to take on those numbers, we’d could use a small army,” Yirnamint rubbed his beardless chin and nodded sagely.

“We can kill a lot if we attack while they rest,” Vyrnamint suggested

Evangeline shrugged. “Goblins are usually active during the night, but with the hobgoblins getting them in line, their sleeping patterns might’ve shifted. That’d explain why they attack during the day.” She rubbed her bracers absently. “This whole situation is foreign to me.”

“We can’t form a strategy until we get the layout of their base,” Ajin said. “Ev, do you have some familiarity with Grymtharn?”

She shrugged. “I’ve been there a few times in the last decade—nearby lycans, ogres, and other creatures of monstrous disposition are drawn to it like moths to flame, using it as a staging ground to feed on the forest’s bounty. But no, I don’t have an idea other than the general layout. Its halls shift, moving in the nights to shelter its fell inhabitants.” 

“Cursed castle,” Vyrnamint grumbled. “Just what we need.”

Beylesa seemed to take it in stride, setting her jaw. “When do we expect to leave?”

“The sooner the better,” Evangeline replied. “Ideally, tomorrow, if we can manage to get out of the town.”

“How do we plan to do that?” prodded Vyrnamint.

Ajin grinned. “You know how.”

Vyrnamint let out a mournful sigh. “I just got this shirt, too.”

Yirnamint chuckled and sat back. “So it shall be. What I most look forward to is spinning the tale of our heroic ventures slogging through the sewers. The children will adore it.”

Beylesa looked up incredulously. “We’re planning on taking the sewers?”

“You get used to it traveling with us.”

“The horses likely won’t fit. We’ll have to take only the necessities and leave everything else here,” reasoned Evangeline, eliciting another suffering groan from Vyrnamint.

“If it helps at all, I can summon my horse anytime,” Beylesa said.

“I can too,” Evangeline added.

Ajin nodded. “If Evangeline can’t get us more horses on the way, your horses will be valuable for moving our belongings.”

Beylesa sniffed. “Valduur isn’t a pack animal. And what of the panther?”

Evangeline shrugged. “Bertranth will have to be something different for a time.”

Beylesa looked baffled.

“We best turn in for the night,” Yirnamint yawned. “Tomorrow will be a grand day of dragging ourselves through the dregs of Cannar.”

(27th of) Summercrest, 1,499 AE

Yirnamint Baldet

“You can tell a lot about a place just by their sewers.” Yirnamint dropped down to the narrow stone walkway beside the sewer waters. He looked at his brother, who landed beside him softly.

“And what’s that?” Evangeline’s voice echoed down from further on, nasal from the wire used to pinch her nose shut.

Yirnamint eyed the smooth pieces of feces floating past in the greenish-yellow water. “They eat a very diverse range of foods.”

Ajin made a face as he passed. “Nami, are you looking at kifk again? I would have thought that an esteemed traveler like yourself would be too proud to even acknowledge that such things exist.”

“Defecation is a perfectly natural part of the lifecycle.”

“Guys.” Beylesa shot them a disapproving look, affixing her nose-pincher. “Could we not talk about excrement?”

Yirnamint nodded, beginning to walk after Evangeline. “The vomit looks particularly colorful in the firelight.”

“I asked to not talk about excrement.”

“Now, you see, it is highly debated on whether or not barf is included in the spectrum of excrement, since excrement counts as things from the bowels-”

“No talking about anything that comes from the body.”

“Does that include-”

“Yes. Whatever it is, yes.”

Evangeline led in the front with a small conjured ball of flame held aloft, and the group set off. They trudged through the labyrinthine corridors of muck and grime, Bertranth in the lead as a particularly large lizard. What seemed like ages later, they caught a glimpse of sunlight shining through a grate. Vyrnamint tossed Ajin a crowbar and soon, the passage was wrenched open. It led out to a small trench dug into the soft earth that ran into a cave system, spiriting the sewage into the underground. 

Yirnamint began magically cleaning and scenting his companions as all but one stretched and took in the sunlight. Vyrnamint was restlessly pacing in the shade of a tree, looking longingly toward the cave’s darkness. 

Evangeline was stroking Bertranth’s back, running her hands across his hide, fingernails catching just for a moment between the iron-like scales. “We make a break for the eastern hills in two minutes. The main force is congregated around the eastern and southern entrances. We shouldn’t encounter much trouble if any. But,” she added quickly, “it’d be best not to bring out your horse just yet. Might be a bit conspicuous,” looking at Beylesa.

It was as she said: the group faced no trouble as the morning sun climbed higher and higher in the sky, reflecting off the dewdrops in the grass. They wove between hills, eventually turning northwards. 

Once they took another break when the sun reached its peak, Beylesa sat cross-legged on a blanket, hands skyward on her knees, murmuring a prayer. A mote of light formed in front of her, and over several following minutes, the globule expanded, gradually taking the form of a well-muscled, snow-white stallion. It lowered itself before Beylesa.

“Jhalah sarei, mailarien,” she whispered, smiling as she ruffled the mane of the steed. It whinnied softly, nuzzling its head against her hand.

Vyrnamint looked over, incredulous, eventually drawing Yirnamint’s surprised gaze.

“How does she know,” he mouthed.

Yirnamint discreetly shrugged, eyes concerned. The words she spoke translated to “Many greetings, friend,” in Solianis. From when they were children, they had innately understood a tongue that no one else did. Their parents chalked it up to a mystical bond between them, that they were destined for great things. 

The twins had come to a different conclusion. And if Beylesa understood the lost language of the celestials, there was little doubt as to what her true nature was.

“Keep a close eye on her,” Yirnamint Sent, rubbing the copper wire set along his flute’s length. “She might be one of us.”

Vyrnamint nodded and rested his head back against the trunk of a particularly leafy tree that he’d found, not taking his eyes off Beylesa.

Despite the earlier objection from Beylesa, the horse didn’t seem to mind being set to carrying the group’s bags and equipment, and they set off once more, skirting around the foothills. Now they weren’t laden with the burdens of their equipment, they moved almost non-stop. The terrain seemed to fly beneath their footsteps. Yirnamint’s feet ached, and pleaded with him to stop, but the others were not saying a word of complaint, so neither would he.

When night fell, Evangeline laid out their trajectory for the next few days in the light of their campfire.

The night’s rest passed, and soon they were trekking across the verdant hillside beneath the rolling clouds. The hours, in contrast to the previous day, passed languidly, as a mild heat set upon the land and upon the group. It wasn’t as bad as traveling in the summertime, but combined with his aching legs, it made for a quite unpleasant journey.

He looked at his brother, who was panting raggedly and squinting furiously. I seem to be doing better than others. His brother had always been tougher than Yirnamint, but due to his recent condition…

The sun rose and fell. They had taken a short break every couple of hours.

At a few points in the journey, when they’d encountered a particularly tall bluff or unfavorable hill, he’d favored warping the distance between him and the inimical precipice rather than exhausting his already pained legs.

Though for all his efforts, when Evangeline had finally called for them to make camp, Yirnamint almost crumpled to the ground in relief, ready to make the grass and dirt his bed for the night. He’d stood long enough to set up his bedroll and volunteer for the last watch of the night before curling up beneath the stars.

Evangeline Alrinious

Bertranth, now back in the familiar panther form, lay curled up beside Evangeline as she watched the globe that encapsulated her friends. Yirnamint’s spell that conjured an impenetrable dome proved to be quite valuable, but a watch was still needed to ensure that they wouldn’t encounter any abjurers who would come along and dispel the magic that kept the dome up, leaving the group vulnerable to attack. 

Her watch was almost over, but she wanted to appreciate the night sky more. The wind that drifted over the trees rustled her clothes and heightened her appreciation for Bertranth’s soft pelt. She idly scratched beneath his chin as her gaze roved to and fro across the starry horizon. The small metal rods and picks were a comforting weight in her hair.

The notion of time seemed a distant memory, a concept conjured by frightened people clutching, attempting to put reason to the madness that was existence. Her gaze reached a copse of trees, and she could almost see a small elven girl laughing and climbing those branches, body smoothly working its way up through the oh-so-familiar boughs of bark. 

Boulders she would clamber upon, seeking adventure. Hills she would hike through with wide eyes, appreciating the natural beauty of the world. Bushes she would claim were mighty citadels, pebbles that she would pretend were guards. A princess, a nomad. A free spirit. Free…

Evangeline’s gut twisted and tightened in the way that loss could make it. She pulled her knees to her hands, reflecting unwillingly on what could’ve been, what should’ve been. The loving embrace of her graceful mother filled her with longing. The warm comfort of her mother’s gentle songs filled her with regret. The sweet taste of dinner after a long day of playing with the birds in the meadow filled her with anguish. The sight of their blood ebbing out of their sightless, broken bodies filled her with an unquenchable fury. 

The tug and rattle of the chains and shackles bound her still, though she had long since thrown them off. Her wrists began to itch again. But when she reached to satisfy the urge, she felt a gentle but firm pressure against her right wrist, moving it to the ground. She turned her head to see the large, sorrowful eyes of her long-time companion staring back at her. It communicated a simple message.

Evangeline exhaled slowly, extending her fingers and pressing them into the ground. She focused on the dirt beneath her fingers, closing her eyes, mentally commanding the earth to respond to her plea. When she opened them, a flower sprout had wriggled through the earth and blossomed, revealing a bright orange beauty. She stared at it for an extended moment, then crushed the blossom in her fist.

You’re here for me now when I don’t need you. But when I did? Nothing.

She opened her hand, letting the crumpled petals slowly flutter to the ground. Evangeline felt the tingling of the itch, but she turned her attention to scanning the horizon for threats, long past when the next watch was due.

(28th of) Summercrest, 1,499 AE

“Only a few more miles,” Evangeline called back to the group the next morning, standing from the roots of the tree. A stone nestled between them was inscribed with Kahar, the runic symbol for earth, commonly used by giantkin to stake their claim on good lands. 

Evangeline shielded her eyes from the drizzle as droplets pattered against her cloak. When the downpour had started a few hours ago, they had all gotten out the protective rain gear. Save for Beylesa. Ajin had offered her one of his coats, but they just barely fit the towering woman.

“Ev, when’s the sun coming out again?” Yirnamint complained, pulling his cloak tighter. Mirrors, he was shivering.

“Come on, don’t be such a baby.” Vyrnamint was currently jumping from one puddle to the next, splashing his brother with each landing, grinning all the while.

Evangeline turned her hand palm up, letting the rain pool in her hand. She raised the pool to her lips and murmured to it. The droplets rose above her hand, dripped three times, morphed into a miniature cloud, then puffed away.

“Rain for just a few more hours, but not much sun today, I’m afraid.”

Yirnamint closed his eyes softly. “Legends tell of enchanted harps that could compel the skies to the user’s will. What I wouldn’t give for one of them.” He stepped out of the way of another splash, glaring daggers at his sibling.

Ajin scoffed. “Legends also say that Beldrien exists. Why do you deny the existence of one, but not the other?”

“Because one makes sense and the other doesn’t.”

“So a few strings controlling the fragging weather makes sense, but shape-changing metal does not?”

“You’re just mad because you don’t have any proof.”

Ajin smiled, and his right hand dropped to Kar’nek’s pommel. “Blessed are they who ignorance is kept from shame, for they are content.”

Yirnamint sputtered dramatically. “I am most certainly not ignorant. I’ve studied the songs and stories of the land’s people from Emryndar to Yscerloore.”

Evangeline smiled, leaning up against a tree. “Do you know the Elisimar Valdian?”

Yirnamint folded his arms. “Of course,” he said matter-of-factly. “Virrie and I were practically raised on Archon Thestius’ works.” 

“We weren’t,” Vyrnamint grunted as he jumped to another puddle. 

Yirnamint gave his twin a sour eye. “If you had taken nearly as much courses in Yscerlian musical theory and history as I have, you’d have too.” 

“Could we continue on our way, or are you people going to sit and sing all day?” Beylesa interjected.

Evangeline was about to retort but thought better. “She’s right. The firbolgs don’t like the animals in their territory to be scared off,” she conceded, looking apologetically at the dejected Yirnamint. “Maybe later: it would be nice to be reminded of home sometime.”

Yirnamint looked more down than before, but the group pressed on.

The forest was silent as the grave when they found the stacked pillars of stones that told the tales of the clan’s past chieftains scattered like leaves in the wind and trampled underbrush indicating a force in numbers had come through.

Evangeline barely heard the calls to slow down as she and Bertranth tore through the forest along the path, her heart pounding in her ears. The earth bled as the skies wept. Gray-orange corpses of goblins lay in the dirt and underbrush. Breath ragged, she pulled to a halt, skidding and sliding on the wet ground as she came up on the blackened scar where a proud village once stood as a bastion of nature’s will.

Now she saw the horrible truth. Hulking bodies lay in puddles of their blood and viscera. Bertranth growled, his ears flattened against his head. 

Keep. Moving. 

If she stopped for much longer, she feared she wouldn’t be able to move again, lying down in the dirt. She would be yet another victim of an unseen war. So she forced herself to run on.

Evangeline scrambled between the broken and burnt buildings. She flew past countless splashes of flaming orange mixed with grays and browns. Face soaked by rain and tears, she found her way to the center of the clan.

She collapsed to her knees.

Ajin

The piercing wail cut through the air, cleaving into Ajin’s soul. He winced at the sorrowful sound but followed it. A minute later, he arrived at the apparent center of the small village. It was littered with corpses. The vast majority of them were the corpses of goblinoids; slashed, crushed, limbs bent and broken to unnatural angles. Their weapons were gone, likely taken as the surviving forces exited the village.

In the center of the carnage knelt the trembling form of Evangeline beside the shadow of Bertranth. He silently picked his way across the battlefield towards the pair. 

As he drew closer to them, Ajin saw what Evangeline was looking at. A massive firbolg with streaks and circles of green decorating its gray skin lay dead among the bodies of the fallen goblins. His red-orange hair was streaked with gray and matted with sweat and blood. 

Bertranth swung his head towards Ajin, a hollow look in the beast-spirit’s green-blue eyes. Bertranth’s muscles tightened, but he allowed Ajin to approach.

Evangeline did not comment as Ajin sat beside her, continuing to sob. They sat in silence as the rain pattered against the ground. The minutes seemed to stretch to eternity.

Evangeline took a shaky breath, choking back tears. “The firbolgs here took me in when I was lost,” she finally said, voice hoarse and raw. “Olonorin and his family cared for me and Bertranth. Taught me how to channel my anger for my benefit, instead of allowing it to consume me.” She chuckled haltingly, then swallowed. 

“This,” Evangeline slipped her dagger out of its sheath. She flipped the weapon and caught the blade between two fingers, showing it to Ajin. “This was a gift from them.”

Bertranth’s started sniffing the air and he trudged towards the sundered building. 

Evangeline muttered shakily under her breath, and runes in the giants’ script appeared inscribed on the blade in faint blue light.

“Njunst gnate irost, shenjavas ditchivakt. ‘Let anger not take you, but empower you,’” she translated, the Jilthrek words rolling off her tongue easily.

Ajin sat at a loss for words. What do you tell someone who lost everything, everyone, important to them? What words had he wanted to say? Vendres would know. 

There was nothing he’d read in a book or been taught that had prepared him for this. Across the vast knowledge accumulated, nothing had covered this. There wasn’t any formula he knew to apply to this type of wound. Empathy had no equation.

What would Vendres say? That it would be okay? Ajin didn’t have the faintest idea of where to begin. His faltering reply was cut off as Bertranth whined and growled at the wreckage, tail slashing through the air furiously as he scratched and dug at the mound of planks. A small wave of relief washed over Ajin at the bought time, but with it came the sharp stab of guilt for not knowing the words.

Evangeline stumbled to her feet, sniffling, a puzzled expression stretching her face. She stalked over to the panther and laid a hand on his back. Bertranth let out a high-pitched whine, scrabbling at the planks. Evangeline stiffened, then began tearing planks and stones away with frantic fervor.

“Help me!”

Ajin jumped to his feet and began to do the same. They dug around in the wreckage for some time, the steady beat of the rain against the ground broken by the clattering of thrown wood and the thumps of tossed stone.

Ajin understood as soon as they uncovered the face of a large firbolg, dark gray skin marked with designs in green and matted by blood. 

The firbolg was still breathing.