Adventure of Alerie

The path to Veyrfen winds beneath black pines and pale mist. Alerie walks ahead while a young adult man follows, swaying cheerfully in a green, patched coat, copper curls escaping his feathered cap.

As Laryen sings, every roadside lantern gutters out at once. Mist gathers between the trees, shaping a wavering trail that keeps pace with Alerie's footsteps.

The bard's lively grin falters. Ahead, the mist thickens across the path, and something unseen answers his unfinished melody with one low, distant note.

Alerie adjusts her hood and glances toward Laryen. His bright singing has drawn her into the roadside performance despite herself; she sighs and faces the misty road again.

Laryen lifts his cap and gives an exaggerated bow. The mist folds over him at the end of his melody, swallowing his green coat, copper curls, and last wavering note.

The fog withdraws, leaving the path empty and silent. A sharp tug tears the clasp from Alerie's hood, and the small silver piece vanishes beneath the roots.

Alerie tilts her head, catching the sharp scent of active magic beneath the wet pine and mist. She lowers her steps and circles the tree, keeping its black trunk between herself and the path.

Her golden eyes find Laryen crouched beyond the roots, shoulders shaking as he muffles giggles behind one hand. The sight holds for only a breath before the image shivers like reflected moonlight.

Alerie reaches the far side, but there is no crouching bard there. Only damp needles, a fading magical warmth, and her silver clasp caught in a root.

His voice comes from beneath the roots, not from the path. The clasp gives a faint chime, and a narrow cleft opens beside it, descending into blue mist.

Alerie draws her assassins sword, its dark blade catching no light. Keeping one hand against the cleft wall, she lowers herself carefully through the blue mist.

The stone flexes beneath her palm like cold clay. Her boot slips, and the wall folds inward, dropping her onto damp ground below instead of leaving a stable descent behind.

She rises without sheathing her sword and walks ahead through ankle-deep water. Behind her, the cleft seals into a smooth black wall, erasing the route back.

His voice echoes from several directions at once. Ahead, three narrow passages open beneath root-veined stone, each carrying the same faint chime from Alerie's silver clasp.

She wades onward as the water rises to her hips, one hand steadying the dark sword while blue reflections crawl across the root-veined walls.

The three passages seal at once. Laryen steps from the central arch without illusion or flourish, his green coat dripping, copper curls plastered to his brow.

He raises both empty hands. The water around Alerie's boots surges toward him, gathering into a twisting column that stops just short of her blade.

Alerie’s dark blade sweeps through the twisting column. The water splits cleanly, collapsing around her boots as she drives forward through the sudden hush.

She seizes Laryen by the collar and yanks him close. Wet green cloth bunches beneath her fist, and his raised hands remain empty between them.

The severed water slaps across the stone and drains into cracks beneath the roots. The blue light dims, leaving Laryen’s face close and plainly visible.

Alerie narrows her golden eyes and tightens her grip on the sword. The leather wrapping creaks beneath her fingers as she holds Laryen fast.

The bard's copper curls darken to ash, his youthful features lengthening into the gaunt face of a middle-aged man. His green coat pales into a severe black mantle, and a thin silver scar crosses his left cheek.

The magic snaps outward as the disguise falls away. Alerie's clenched hand is scorched across the knuckles, and the silver clasp at her belt cracks with a sharp chime.

Alerie raises her dark blade until its edge rests beneath Laryen's jaw. The scorched knuckles of her gripping hand do not loosen, and the blue-lit chamber falls silent.

The remaining shimmer around Laryen gutters out. His gaunt middle-aged face stays fixed, silver scar stark against his cheek, while the roots above cease their restless pulsing.

The water settles around their boots. For the first time since the descent, every reflection shows the same man, and the narrow chamber offers nowhere for a second face to hide.

Alerie keeps her blade beneath Laryen's jaw, refusing to lower it. Her demand hangs between them with the cold certainty of drawn steel.

Laryen slowly lifts one hand, careful not to touch the blade. Silver light unwinds from his fingers and threads through the root-veined ceiling.

The black wall behind Alerie liquefies into a tall archway, revealing the misty forest path beyond. Dry air replaces the chamber's damp chill, and the blue light fades.

Alerie turns toward the open archway, keeping her sword trained on Laryen until the last possible moment. Beyond it, the misty forest waits in absolute silence.

Laryen steps aside, granting her the clear passage. As Alerie crosses the threshold, the cracked silver clasp at her belt finally breaks, scattering its pieces into the water.

The archway seals behind Alerie with a soft stone sigh, leaving Laryen and his hidden chamber out of sight. The forest air is cold, clean, and free of illusion.

Have Laryen accept that Alerie is not the danger foretold