39 – Slithering motions

“Be more specific.” Said Syrma’s distorted voice, coming from the Farcaster Orb.

“They entered the city of Semiluminal through the main gates at 16:28, together with a merchant named Taiival. We believe that he was transporting illegal goods from Obscuria to Semiluminal, which is also compatible with a Tier 7+ escorting Quest that’s been accepted at the Noctis guild around the time the target left the outskirts of the city.” Markillus said.

“What did they do after they entered the city?”

“They followed the merchant to his designated location, where he rented a shop for a week. What followed was a brief conversation between the target and the merchant, during which the target showed the merchant a box before making it disappear through unknown means.”

“An inventory.” Syrma said, and his head left the field of view of the orb for a moment. “Then?”

“The party split up for a while, then they spent the night in an inn. At 11:54 of today they have been spotted again in the White Highlands neighborhood of Semiluminal as they entered the mansion of duke Elstrom. Their objective is unknown but our man thinks that they are looking for something of importance.”

Syrma tapped his chin, and the metallic skin made a mute ting. “Duke Elstrom. Good. We can use him. Gather more information.”

Markillus nodded. “Sir.” He said. “There is another piece of intel that might be relevant. Around 14-hundred hours, the exact time is unknown, the merchant Taiival suffered an accident while he was examining the contents of his shop. It was reported that his men found him dead with his cranium exploded open, and dust scattered all throughout the room. The place has since been quarantined and the authorities are on standby.”

“Has anyone entered yet?” Syrma asked, suddenly standing up.

“I told Tiemens to hold them off until I could report the fact to you, sir.”

“Good call.” Syrma said. “Keep the authorities away from that room.”

The Farcaster Orb went dark.

***

Syrma inhaled the tasteless air of the room. What would have been revolting to a normal human, to him was barely a faint smell that barely registered in his brain. Even with his Tier 15 senses, not much managed to penetrate his metallic skin and reach his cells buried beneath it, making the world dull and distant. The room was splattered with blood, caked and crusty dark stains on the walls and ceiling of the dim room. A large wooden crate rested half open atop another crate, next to the still sitting body of the deceased merchant.

Syrma peered into the box, at the glittering dust that seemed to shimmer as if hit by a ray of light even in the almost total darkness. His yellow skin of alive metal reflected this light as he plunged his fist into the dust and brought it to his lips.

“Pixie dust.” he muttered, cleaning his tongue against the back of his arm.

He went to examine the dead body. As he expected, a small wooden box laid open on the ground, the lid having bounced away to the far side of the room. Syrma picked it up, fighting against the faint resistance of the sticky blood keeping it glued to the floor and turned it around in his hands before tossing it away onto the pile of dust of the crate once he was satisfied with it.

The door opened with a loud groan of strain, and the dragging of soggy wood against the uneven floor. Markillus was keeping watch outside and jumped on his feet, readying his weapons with his heart in his throat at the sudden movement in the room behind him, which he had thought empty. His eyes noticed the pale yellow and gold skin of his employer but instead of relaxing, his body contracted even further. He didn’t know if Syrma had noticed this, or if he was going to punish his reaction, for the guild master showed no interest in him or in the room he had just emerged from.

“Erase all evidence.” Syrma said. “I want it clean. Now.”

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Markillus nodded many times in quick succession.

“Also,” Syrma said, and his voice was silky like a brown recluse’s web. “Let duke Elstrom know that I will be visiting shortly. Before the sun sets, even.”

Markillus once again could only nod, and to his relief the master seemed still not have any interest in him as he sat on a chair and set down the Farcaster Orb on the table. Markillus rushed to clean the table before the Orb could get dirty with all the grime, dust and blood that had soaked the table after he had tortured the three associates of the merchant, but Syrma simply waved him away with an annoyed expression. The shoo was powerful enough that where the gilded fingers hit against Markillus’ armor, they left deep dents and a spreading hematoma below, but he recovered quickly from the recoil of the violent movement and went to guard the door leading to the busy, afternoon street.

He tried his best not to listen in. He concentrated every ounce of his being into watching the people walk, memorizing their faces and trying to dissuade anyone from investigating this strangely empty building in the middle of a bustling commercial district. He knew very well what would happen to him, and to the trespasser both, if it ever happened.

He spotted Tiemens in the crowd, and immediately motioned for him to be quiet and guard the door. Tiemens was the only surviving member of their team, after they had dared fail to follow Ishrin when he mysteriously appeared in the guild back in Noctis. The two often talked about leaving without any trace, about escaping from this crazed person who had assumed control of the guild in their hometown, but after today…

“I saw him in the Orb. He was in noctis not five minutes earlier! Then suddenly he comes out that room! I tell you, I was about to drop dead there and then, my heart was pounding and I was sure that if I didn’t faint myself then he would have heard me and gotten annoyed. Y-y-you remember Theresa, right?”

Tiemens’ face lost color for a moment. “Don’t talk about her. I still have nightmares. Goddard went to check on what was left of her before he left, and he sent me a letter. He says that her body is still there, transformed even further, with metal spikes poking out of it like brambles of silver. He did the right thing, Goddard, leaving when he could. Now we’re stuck here.”

From inside the building, the faint voice of the guild master could be heard. He was annoyed as he talked to someone on the other end of the Orb, somewhere back at the entrance of the volcano realm, and the two unwitting guards wondered what was going to happen to the poor guy. The conversation was not going well, and the two overheard many strange things that they surely were not supposed to know, and that they were going to keep for themselves and swore not to talk about even to each other.

The realm was decaying, it seemed. By the tone of voice of the guy on the other end of the Orb, it was not without consequences for not only did the realm threaten to completely destroy a portion of territory that was half the size of all Nocturnia of the Winds, but it seemed that deep within the realm something was awakening. Something that, Syrma said, had been sealed there for centuries. Although, here came the weird part. Syrma seemed unnaturally happy at the fact, because in his words: “it might very well be that the death of a couple dozen thousand people in this remote corner of the world will be deemed sufficient for a Dynasty to intervene. That is indeed wonderful.”

After saying that, however, his mood soured again. The researcher on the other end of the connection said something, but neither Markillus nor Tiemens heard it clearly, after which Syrma said that he either complied and sent the men in, or something far worse was going to happen to him. Markillus thought about what happened to Theresa once again and gulped.

“Is there no way you can replicate what he did?” Syrma asked, and Markillus wondered if he talked about Ishrin.

The response was inaudible.

“We don’t need him, then. The Dynasty will be here in time. Send the Tier 9 and 10 adventurers inside.”

The conversation suddenly stopped, and another voice took the place of the speaker at the other end of the Farcaller Orb. This time they talked about the Dynasty, and apparently it was close, and there was to be a festival in someone’s honor when it arrived or the consequences would be dire. Syrma spoke with an unusually sweet, syrupy voice and ensured the other party that all was going to be ready for his arrival.

Markillus wondered if maybe he should just tempt fate and try to run away.

***

There was a woman, immersed in a white space. The space was not real, but for her, it was all there ever was and all there will ever be. She vaguely recalled having a name, but she didn’t care. All she was, all she ever will be, was a clerk for the Guild.

She turned around and the image of a mighty spacefaring vessel, cruising the currents of spacetime, appeared before her. Its name, the text said, was Soaring Dragon 36.