Adventure of Artania Nero Thornson 2

After a guarded journey, the group passes beneath the Capital’s towering gates. Artania carries Tavian’s sword and royal dispatch seal, while aching shoulders recall the collapsed watch tunnel.

Callan, Seren, and Tavian accompany him through the crowded streets, with Al pacing close beside the sealed diplomatic gifts. The guild district rises nearby, bright with banners and adventurers.

Before the royal quarter’s waiting halls, Callan stops beneath an archway and draws a folded ledger page from inside his coat. His guarded expression finally breaks.

Artania draws the folded dispatch, Tavian’s sword, and the royal dispatch seal from his shirt pockets. He extends the three items toward Tavian, Seren, and Callan.

Tavian accepts the dispatch, Seren takes the sword with both hands, and Callan receives the royal seal. For a moment, the conspiracy’s evidence rests openly between them.

Artania turns toward the guild district, where bright banners ripple above crowded streets and painted shields mark taverns, smithies, and halls of fellowship. Al follows at his side.

The great wolf-like companion keeps pace through the press of travelers, amber eyes alert beneath his scarred muzzle. He ignores curious glances and stays close to Artania’s shoulder.

Past a fountain crowned by a bronze gryphon, Artania finds a broad stone building bearing a crossed sword and lantern above its arched entrance. Adventurers’ Guild is carved beneath.

The guild doors stand open to a lively hall of posted contracts, weapon racks, quest boards, and gathered adventurers. Voices and bootsteps roll beneath the high timbered ceiling.

Inside, Artania takes in the guild’s crowded grandeur: quest boards layered with parchment, polished weapon racks, scarred tables, and banners bearing adventuring companies’ colors. Al remains close at his side.

He rolls his shoulders and rubs both arms, working through the lingering pain from the collapsed tunnel. The motion draws little notice amid the hall’s constant murmur.

Artania gathers the smallest thread of blue-white magic between his palms, keeping it dim and close. He guides the warmth beneath his skin and through the strained muscles.

The healing settles the sharpest pain and loosens the rigid pull across his shoulders. In exchange, the magic leaves his fingertips cold and his left arm briefly numb.

A faint spark slips from his knuckles and vanishes against the stone. One nearby adventurer, a young adult woman with a sturdy build, warm brown skin, tightly curled black hair, and a green tunic over dark trousers glances over, then returns to a contract discussion as Al watches the room.

Artania moves through the guild’s busy hall, closing in on the nearest unoccupied adventurer. Al follows at his shoulder, alert but calm amid the surrounding voices.

The young adult woman gestures across the hall. Beyond the hearth, a long oak counter sits beneath a blue banner, where a clerk sorts parchment beside a brass-bound register.

The indicated path opens between scarred tables and weapon racks. A painted shield above the counter bears the guild’s crossed sword and lantern, bright beneath the hall’s enchanted lamps.

The young adult woman studies him for a heartbeat, then glances toward Al and the bustling hall. Her sturdy posture relaxes, and amusement warms her expression.

She offers a broad, callused hand, her green tunic marked with old dust and a small silver pick pinned near the collar. Al sniffs once, then settles calmly.

Artania shakes Brunna’s offered hand. Her broad grip is firm and warm, and the dwarf’s weathered face brightens at his straightforward courtesy.

Al steps forward at Artania’s invitation, lowers his scarred muzzle, and gives Brunna’s hand a careful sniff before offering a quiet, rumbling greeting.

Brunna scratches Al beneath the jaw when he accepts her touch. The wolf’s tail shifts once, and several nearby adventurers glance over with approving smiles.

Brunna leads Artania between scarred tables and weapon racks. He follows close behind, eyes moving over contract boards, polished blades, colorful company banners, and every passing adventurer.

The guild’s enchanted lamps gleam across brass buckles and worn armor. Curiosity draws a small smile to the corner of Artania’s mouth as the hall’s countless possibilities unfold around him.

Beyond the central hearth, a young adult woman stands behind the oak reception counter. She has pale skin, straight auburn hair braided with blue thread, and wears a dark blue vest over a cream blouse.

The reception clerk’s eyes settle on Artania, then on Al, while Brunna gestures toward the empty space before the counter. The brass-bound register waits beneath the guild’s blue banner.

Artania’s wary look settles on Brunna. Behind the counter, the reception clerk pauses over the register, while Al remains quietly attentive at his side.

Brunna taps one callused finger against the counter, her expression turning practical rather than offended. The blue thread in her braid catches the enchanted lamplight.

Artania inclines his head toward the reception clerk. The gesture is quiet and formal, but his movement jostles his sore shoulder, sending a sharp ache down his arm.

Maelin dips her quill into blue-black ink and writes his name into the brass-bound register. Al’s claws scrape once against the stone as the wolf shifts closer to Artania.

Maelin turns the register slightly, revealing two marked lines beneath Artania’s name. Blue ink glistens beside the first, while the second bears a smaller supervisory seal.

Maelin sets a blank bronze token beside the register. Its unmarked face catches the lamplight, ready for the guild’s crossed sword and lantern.

Maelin studies Artania for a measured moment, then draws the first marked line toward herself and sets the supervisory seal aside. Her quill begins moving again.

Maelin presses the bronze token beneath the guild’s enchanted seal. Blue light fills its face, carving a crossed sword and lantern around Artania’s registered name.

Maelin turns the newly marked token beneath the enchanted lamp. The bronze surface gleams, while a faint chill from the guild’s seal lingers in Artania’s fingers.

Maelin taps the token with her quill, and a second blue mark settles beneath Artania’s name. The enchantment leaves his fingertips numb for several breaths, but the rank is clearly recorded.

Artania offers Brunna and Maelin a respectful bow, then turns toward Al. The wolf’s amber eyes lift to him, attentive amid the guild’s steady bustle.

Al steps forward and gives each woman a careful sniff before lowering his scarred muzzle. A quiet rumble rolls from his chest, polite enough to draw approving smiles nearby.

Brunna gestures toward the crowded quest boards beyond the hearth, while Maelin slides a small list of bronze-ranked postings across the counter. Al remains close as new roads begin to take shape.

Artania takes the bronze-ranked postings from Maelin and crosses to the crowded job board, with Al pacing beside him. He pins the list beneath the blue guild banner.

The postings offer modest work: a missing herb gatherer, a troublesome well spirit, escort duty, and a request to investigate strange lights near the eastern farms.

Artania reads the eastern-farm notice closely. It requests a small party to locate the source of the lights, protect villagers if needed, and report any unusual magic.

Al raises his head toward the chosen notice, amber eyes fixed on the painted eastern road. The parchment bears the guild seal and a departure point outside the eastern gate.

Artania lifts the eastern-farm notice from the board and folds it beneath his bronze token. The parchment’s sealing tack catches his thumb, drawing a small bright bead of blood.

Brunna points across the hearth toward Maelin’s oak counter. Al watches the notice, then turns his scarred muzzle toward the eastern doors as if recognizing the promised road.

Artania crosses the hearth with Al at his side and approaches Maelin’s oak counter. He presents the Eastern-Farm Contact Notice and his bronze guild token.

Maelin smooths the notice beneath the register, then presses Artania’s token against a small blue seal. Ink gathers into the contract’s departure line.

Maelin returns the bronze token and folds the marked notice into a leather sleeve. Beyond the guild doors, afternoon light spills toward the eastern road while Al watches the way.

Artania leaves the guild through the eastern gate, with Al pacing beside him. The city’s stonework gives way to open fields, low hedges, and wind-bent grain beneath the afternoon sky.

King’s Farm Road runs east between cultivated fields and scattered farmsteads. Al keeps close, occasionally lifting his scarred muzzle toward the distant hills and the unfamiliar scents carried on the breeze.

Artania counts the fields as he walks, checking the road’s bends, drainage ditches, and weathered boundary posts. Beyond the second field, a squat stone marker rises beside a fork in the road.

The old waystone bears faded carvings pointing toward the eastern farms and the guild road behind him. A faint silvery residue clings to its upper face, unlike ordinary weathering.

Al stops beside the marker and studies the surrounding grass. Ahead, the farm road continues toward scattered fields where pale lights could become visible after dusk.

Artania crouches beside the waystone and studies the silvery residue. It lies in the carved grooves like fine frost, undisturbed by the road’s dust or wind.

He carefully touches the residue, then rubs it between his fingers. The powder melts into a cold, shining film that creeps across his fingertips and leaves a sharp sting beneath the nails.

The silvery film briefly forms a pattern across his skin: three hooked lines surrounding a small hollow circle. Blue-white magic answers faintly, revealing the same mark etched beneath the waystone’s faded road signs.

Al gives a low warning growl and turns toward the eastern fields. Beyond the second hedge, a pale glimmer flickers once between distant farm buildings, though dusk has not yet settled.

The residue flakes from Artania’s fingers, but the cold remains in his left hand, numbing two fingertips. A narrow silver trace points from the waystone toward the nearest field.

Al steps onto the road, following the scent or magic with his muzzle lowered. The eastern farms lie ahead, and the strange lights have already begun appearing in daylight.

Artania follows the eastern-farm road with measured steps, keeping the hedges, field entrances, and distant farm buildings under constant watch. Al moves ahead, then circles back whenever the silver trace bends.

He spots fresh impressions along the road shoulder: narrow, three-pronged marks pressed into the damp earth, all pointing toward a low stone enclosure beyond the nearest field.

The marks avoid the main track and reveal a safer path along an old drainage bank, keeping Artania out of the tall grain and out of sight from the farmhouses.

Al reaches the enclosure first and stops beside a weathered well. Pale light pulses beneath its stone lip, though the afternoon sun still shines clearly overhead.

Near the well, Artania finds a dropped brass farm token stamped with the eastern guild district’s seal. Its surface bears the same hooked mark as the waystone.

The road behind remains clear, while the hidden path places him directly beside the glowing well. Al lowers his muzzle, growling softly at something moving below the stones.

Al obeys at once, retreating several paces with his head low and amber eyes fixed on the glowing well. Artania raises a blue-white shield before him and draws his sword with deliberate care.

He lowers the blade tip to the water’s surface. The silver glow parts around the steel without resistance, revealing clear water above a submerged stone stair descending into the well.

As the sword touches the water beneath, three hooked lines flare along the blade. The cold magic travels up the steel, outlining a small brass object resting on the lowest visible step.

The well answers with a soft, bell-like chime. Beneath the surface, the brass object turns toward Artania’s blade, and a narrow thread of pale light rises through the water to meet his shield.

Artania sheaths his sword and gathers the shield’s blue-white magic around his head. The spell seals a clear pocket of air against the well water, though it draws warmth sharply from his chest.

Al settles beside the well, tense but obedient, while Artania grips the stone rim and lowers himself into the glowing water. The bell-like chime trembles through the masonry.

Water closes over Artania’s shoulders and presses coldly against the shield. He descends the submerged stair, one careful step after another, while pale light coils around his legs.

Artania reaches the lowest visible step beneath the well. The brass object rests directly before him, its hooked mark shining through the water as the air bubble flickers around his head.

Artania snatches the brass object from the step. Its hooked mark flares, and the well’s submerged stairs shudder beneath his boots as the air pocket contracts.

He pivots and drives upward, climbing quickly through the dark water. The brass object twists in his grip, its edge catching against a narrow groove in the stone.

The sudden resistance wrenches Artania’s hand and tears the object partly free. The lowest stair sinks inward, opening a black recess beneath it as pale light spills into the water.

His shield flickers. Cold water presses through the thinning pocket, and the stairway behind him shifts out of alignment, blocking the direct ascent.

Artania secures the brass object against his chest and finds the remaining steps slanting sideways into the newly opened recess. Above, the surface glimmers far beyond reach.

At the well’s rim, Al’s growl deepens as the chime becomes a low, continuous note. The stone enclosure trembles, but no figure approaches from the fields.

Artania grips the brass object against his chest and summons blue-white power through his clenched fist. The magic burns cold along his arm as he grits his teeth.

Light spills from his palm, twisting into a braided magical rope. He thrusts it upward through the water, and the rope shoots toward the well’s rim.

The rope clears the surface and coils around Al’s foreleg. The wolf braces against the trembling stones, catching the line firmly as the chime deepens.

Al pulls. The rope tightens between them, giving Artania a secure lifeline through the shifting water. The cost lands immediately: his left arm goes numb to the elbow.

The brass object remains locked in Artania’s grip, its hooked mark blazing against his fingers. With Al’s weight anchoring the rope, the sideways stair steadies beneath his boots.

Above, Al digs his claws into the stone and hauls again. The continuous chime breaks into three ringing notes, and pale symbols awaken along the well’s inner wall.

Artania plants both boots against the sideways stair and pulls with all his strength. The braided rope bites into his numb arm as Al anchors it above.

The submerged steps realign beneath his weight. Blue-white magic flares around his chest, driving back the water as he hauls himself upward through the chime.

Artania breaks the surface and grips the well’s stone rim. Al catches his cloak in his teeth and drags him fully onto the enclosure floor.

Water pours from Artania’s clothes while the brass object remains clenched in his hand. Its hooked mark dims, revealing three tiny runes engraved beneath the metal.

The well falls silent. Along its inner wall, the awakened symbols now form a clear path pointing beyond the enclosure toward the eastern farmhouses.

Artania follows the glowing symbols beyond the stone enclosure, water streaming from his clothes. Al stays close, pacing beside him as the path crosses damp grass toward the eastern farmhouses.

He shakes the arm carefully between breaths, flexing his fingers while keeping the brass object secured. Each movement loosens the stiffness, though the effort leaves his shoulders trembling.

The symbols lead directly to the nearest farmhouse, where a red-painted door stands open beneath bundles of drying herbs. A well-worn bench rests beside the threshold.

Artania reaches the farmhouse and settles onto the bench, with Al standing guard at his knee. The eastern fields lie quiet behind them, while the brass runes fade to a faint, steady glow.

Artania rises from the bench and studies the farmhouse threshold, red paint, drying herbs, and open doorway while Al watches the quiet fields behind him.

His voice passes through the empty-looking rooms and returns faintly from the rafters. No footsteps answer, but the brass object in his hand grows colder.

Artania searches for magical traces, following the fading symbols across the threshold. The herbs carry ordinary scents, yet their shadows point inward against the afternoon light.

A blue-white shimmer gathers beneath the floorboards, then folds across the walls like a veil. The farmhouse’s magic conceals every deeper sign before he can read it.

At his feet, the threshold symbols rearrange into three hooked lines aimed toward the rear of the house. The open doorway narrows with a quiet wooden groan, leaving the marked path and the dark interior as his only clear leads.

Artania follows the three hooked lines through the dim farmhouse, past silent rooms and hanging herbs. Al pads close behind, claws muted against the old boards.

The markings guide him around the rear wall and through a narrow pantry, where concealed magic chills the air. Each step makes the brass object colder in his hand.

At the rear of the house, the hooked lines converge beneath a warped wooden door. Blue-white light outlines its frame, revealing a small stone step beyond.

Artania reaches the back threshold, but the brass mark bites sharply into his palm. The sting numbs his fingers, and a bead of blood darkens the metal.

The concealed rear passage is fully revealed: a narrow garden path descends behind the farmhouse toward a roofless stone shrine, where pale symbols pulse beneath the open sky.

Al stops at the threshold and gives a low warning growl toward the shrine. The hooked lines remain bright under Artania’s feet, marking the path he has reached.

Artania lowers himself at the rear threshold and places the brass mark on the packed earth. Its hooked runes flare once, then release his palm, leaving a thin crescent of blood and lingering numbness in his fingers.

Al remains at the farmhouse threshold while Artania proceeds slowly along the narrow garden path. Damp herbs brush his clothes, and the concealed magic grows colder beneath the open sky.

The backyard slopes toward the roofless shrine. Its fallen stones encircle a shallow basin filled with pale radiance, pulsing in the same rhythm as the strange lights seen beyond the fields.

Artania studies the ground around the basin and finds three-pronged impressions crossing the soil. Their tracks converge on the shrine, confirming it as the source of the lights.

Behind him, the brass mark answers with a muted chime from the garden earth. Its glow reaches toward the shrine, while the blood on Artania’s palm dries and the numbness begins to recede.