C. Sebastian Nutt
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Book Three: Prologue
🕑 Added 2025-07-02 18:02:01 +0000 UTCNelif Manipas was never supposed to be involved in important events. He liked his job in the adventurers’ guild, liked his position in the heart of Ramacalla. The pay is nice, the people are courteous, and his entire family was able to enjoy living in the capital, where his children would receive the best possible education. He was his father’s dream, the man having saved his entire life to purchase Nelif a set of essentia, one that allowed him to join the guild and begin his journey through the administrative bureaucracy. Nelif found that for the last few years, he never had to deal much with anxiety, which is why the words that woman just said to him shook him so badly.
He wrings his hands as he steps back from the oracle bowl set out in front of him, turning away from the silver liquid and the woman still staring up at him from it. The information was too much to delay telling someone, but what exactly was he supposed to do with it? The other men and women working in the communications terminal of the building eyed him warily as he continued to back away from the oracle bowl, some lifting their heads to see just which one of the twenty he was responsible for monitoring had been going off for the last half hour.
They see, but none have the chance to ask Nelif what was going on before he flees the room. They had training all the time. Well, more questionnaires designed to root out dissidents within the ranks, but as the stress builds on his shoulders, those are the things Nelif turns to. This exact occasion had never been covered, but the theme of all the “trainings” has always been that if he didn’t know what to do, he should ask his manager. The only issue there is that his direct manager is at a dinner party, a party hosted by the head of the guild in the capital, no less, and Nelif butting into that social occasion. He would anyway; he was competent at his job, but for the entire trip up to the top level of the guildhouse, he could not stop wringing his hands.
It is just as awful as he imagined when he arrives. The door creaks awfully when he nudges it open, and a poor service worker on the other side gets his thumb pinched while oiling the hinges. The conversation in the room dies at the worker’s yelp of pain, those few in the dining hall turning to notice him. A few of the higher-ups in the guild sit on one side of an incredibly ornate and overly-long table, opposite some of the local celebrities the guild often displays as their mascots in the capital: a famous painter, an actress, a duelist, and even the mysterious man known only as the Bard. At the head of the table, the guildmaster of the empire himself sits, strained patience on his face.
“Manipas,” Nelif’s manager, an older orcish fellow whose complexion is slowly changing color with his restrained rage. “What are you doing here?”
Nelif swallows the lump in his throat, scurrying across the plush carpet to lean into his manager’s ear, whispering the message he had just received. The look of frustration vanishes from the manager’s face before he commands Nelif to repeat himself. Despite the news, Nelif feels a swell of relief once the message is finally relayed, stepping back and finding everyone still looking at him, looks of evident surprise on more than a few of their faces. He swears at himself, continuing to scoot away until he reaches the wall. As just a first rank magician, sometimes it slips his mind just how perceptive others can be. The duelist in particular throws him a strange and nasty look.
“Well, don’t hold all of us in suspense,” the guildmaster at the end of the table says. “I don’t wish to be kept in the dark, Reemus.”
“No, of course not, sir.” The orcish man pulls a handkerchief from his breast pocket, dabbing it against his neck. “It would appear that a message has been received from Danfalla.”
“Danfalla?” the guildmaster asks. “Shouldn’t that be impossible at this time?”
“Yes, of course you are right, sir.” Reemus turns his head, looking over his shoulder at his worker. “Nelif, if you would share.”
“They said that the city was under attack,” Nelif says. “They said that they need aid, that we need to send them help as soon as possible.”
“Who?” One of the other guild managers asks. “Who sent this message?”
Nelif swallows again, his mouth feeling incredibly dry all of a sudden. “She said her name was…”
