On one bright and early morning in Elusis, the Harpy King's forces blotted out the sun. Winged beastmen soared across the blue skies and draped the surface with their shadows. Hundreds of wagons set off in the direction of the Shamsir ridge, filled with supplies, equipment, and rations for the long haul of war. Bravost was in for an unpleasant surprise soon. With any luck, Edirashok Misiah and her edirashem realized what was going on, and they found somewhere safe to hide their enormous caravan.

Archbishop Patrice watched from the East Saviran Trading Association's tower, quill in hand pressed to an empty journal. She had been writing all morning non-stop. War itself was such an exciting affair. The act itself would shake the very foundations of a country for decades to come. Allies and enemies made, a balance of power shifted, and more that must be recorded.

How would Elusis come out of this, she wondered? Bravost and Avanesse, too? Will the Harpy King's initial attack defeat them in one fell swoop? Or was this going to be a protracted war that strained the populace of its numbers and harvests?

The door behind Patrice swung open. Delayn and Camilla entered shoving in a dark elven man bearing the Dryoak Consortium tabard.

"Archbishop, we captured him skulking around in the bazaar. He was alone. A large amount of narcotics on his person suggested he might have been on his way to conduct an exchange," Delayn explained.

"Well done." Patrice rose from her seat and picked up the staff leaning against the desk. "Zone of Absolute Truth." Her spell created the area of effect spell that compelled nothing but honest answers. "Tell me, Dryoak: where is your guildmaster?"

"I know how this spells works. As long as I don't say shit, you ain't getting any answers out of me. That's my truth." He spat on the floor.

"In that case, kill him and bring back another Dryoak to question." She returned to writing.

The others, including their captive, stood there in silence.

"Are you sure, Archbishop?" Camilla asked reluctantly.

"I'm under the effects of the spell, too, am I not? Yes, and have Shaheed dispose of the body. We cannot afford to waste time," Patrice said.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" the man cried as Camilla drew her rapier. "I'll t-talk… Honest, I will! Truth is, Guildmaster Riley's already left with the Harpy King. She's not in Elusis anymore."

Patrice opened the cupboard and pulled out a map of Elusis' under-city. She smoothed it out on the desk, then handed the quill to the captive.

"Unfortunate. But you will still be of use. Mark every single Dryoak hideout that you know, and do not omit any through inaction. With the Zone of Absolute Truth compelling me to speak honestly, your life is on the line," Patrice explained.

The man did just that with shaky hands. When he finished, seven hideouts had been circled across the under-city. Two were surprisingly close to the association tower. One appeared to be in the confines of a spire. The other four were scattered farther away. Getting around Elusis to reach them would take more than just a single day.

"Which of these does Riley Dryoak typically reside in?" Patrice asked.

"This one." He pressed a finger to the spire.

It didn't appear to be the one where Amethyst and Petyr originally headed to. A different one perhaps?

"You… will let me live, right?" the man asked.

"Of course. But I cannot allow you to leave." Patrice gestured to the Saint Priests.

"But—"

Before the captive could get another word out, Camilla knocked him out with the pommel of her rapier.

"Call for Shaheed to deal with him. We will strike the hideouts on the way to the one at the spire," Patrice said.

"We?" Delayn lifted a brow.

"I don't plan to sit idle, Delayn. Come along now. Daylight's wasting." She walked past.

They casted aside their traditional attire for Saviran garb instead. Long headveils draped over them, and the light colorful dress whipped against the winds. Shaheed had spared them the outfits free of charge.

The only problem was…

"Are these a little too breezy? I feel as though I'm dressed up like Amethyst!" Delayn groaned, face completely red.

"Oh, please! These are nowhere near as skimpy as what she wears. I haven't seen these in the texts I've read about Elusis culture though. Is this normal attire?" Patrice asked.

"Haha! That's because they aren't normal attire. Belly dancers wear these. Actually, what we're wearing are closer to courteseans than dancers." Camilla erupted into laughter.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY THAT EARLY?" their bespectacled colleague ripped off the veil and cried.

Patrice smiled softly at them. Delayn and Camilla had known each other for over a decade now. From students of Knights' Academy to members of the sacred Saint Priesthood. Perhaps some of her pupils and students would one day reach their heights, too. Amethyst's daughters were born into the status to do just that.

Although… perhaps not Pan. But one day, they would almost assuredly shape the future. What a thrill, to capture history in writing while living through it! To that end, the Harpy King must be defeated. His history was one of conquest. Boring. Tyrants like him were among many. Even his greatest achievement, the tearing open a portal to the Primal Planes and infusing elementals into a person, belonged to someone else.

Camilla suddenly paused in the middle of the street. She watched two human women enter a little shop. Most likely sisters, given they looked similar to each other.

"Worried about your sister?" Patrice asked.

Before Edina took off for Buhar, both Kara and Theena insisted on going with her to save their friends. Patrice still didn't trust the Theena girl, but Camilla's younger sister seemed to.

"I'm just wondering how much different life woulda been if I hadn't left Kara in Bravost. We were super poor then. That girl was just a teeny tiny kitten, always cuddled up next to me. It hurt to leave. Now? She can put up a fight and make her own decisions. So, no. I'm not really worried. I'm sure those three will be fine." Camilla grinned.

They were coming up on the first hideout, a gambling house operated by the Dryoak Consortium. A couple of bouncers at the front stopped them on their way in.

"Where do you think you're going? Whorehouse is the other way. This is a respectable joint," the large human man said, and his other two fellows snickered derisively.

"Hey, hey. Not so fast. Maybe they can hang out with us instead." When an elven man reached out to Patrice, Delayn grabbed his hand and pressed her staff under his chin.

"Do not touch the archbishop," Delayn glowered.

"Delayn…" Patrice sighed.

"Oh, oops! It was a force of habit, I swear!" She panicked having revealed their identities.

"I suppose it doesn't matter. Go inside and find anything useful, and capture the Dryoak officers. Archbishop's orders!"

Camilla bowed. The Saint Priest entered the building and screams erupted all over. While gambling patrons escaped, she cut down anyone who wore a Dryoak tabard. As crowned Priests, Patrice and Delayn swiftly captured guild members who tried to run with Penance. Their combined spells tied up over ten, who collapsed to the ground just outside of the gambling house.

When the crowds had thinned, Patrice peered inside. Camilla's swordsmanship was second to none. Even while outnumbered, she deftly and easily evaded their attacks, parried the unavoidable ones, and carved each aggressor with no wasted movement. Three jumped her at once. So she dove into the closest man and dispatched him while the other two caught up. When they did, one sword swung for her neck and the other thrusted a spear for her chest.

Camilla disarmed the woman's sword and deflected the spear with a parrying dagger without looking behind herself. By the end, twenty Dryoaks littered the ground. And she didn't even utter a single martial skill unique to her class. It was all just her alone. The fencer flourished her rapier before sheathing it.

"All done!" Camilla beckoned from within and clamped her lips on someone's smoking pipe.

Patrice had only seen Saint Priests fight a handful of times. Each time they always proved themselves effective, efficient, and impressive.

"Think I'm a whore, do you? I'm a priest! A priest!" Delayn repeatedly kicked the man who suggested they belong in a whorehouse earlier.

"Then act like one, my goodness… Camilla, identify the officers. Bring them to me and search for pertinent information regarding our missing fellows," Patrice said.

"Yes, Your Grace!" Camilla bowed.

They turned the place upside down but found nothing on where Renya or Petyr could be. The Dryoak officers didn't know either, and it wasn't as if they could lie under the effects of Zone of Absolute Truth. For all they knew, those two had been taken to Buhar along with Amethyst. If only they knew that for sure, then Patrice could rest easy knowing Edina was on her way to them. But they didn't.

Riley Dryoak survived that day. Petyr Stormcloud must be alive, too.

The three of them hit two more hideouts, a whorehouse and bar respectively, and none of them offered any clues. Patrice grew impatient. How in three hells did they not know? If they rescued their guildmaster from the burning ruins, then surely they had found Petyr with her.

Finally, they reached the spire. Multiple windmill sails on multiple floors didn't so much as move. Their wooden frames and fabric had been eaten away by time. A broken sail hung precariously, barely attached to the rest and possibly months away from falling off. Faded murals of farmers tilling vast fields, harvesting wheat, and bringing them to the spire to be milled.

A surprisingly unguarded tunnel entrance at the bottom led into the spire's base. If murals were any indication of the building's purpose, this must have been a wheat mill. Farmers likely pushed wheelbarrows full of harvested wheat in the past.

They did eventually find resistance inside the hollowed base. Ten dryoak thugs, who were lounging around on crates and playing cards, put down their hands for weapons instead.

"You ladies lost? I don't remember calling no prostitutes," a hulking minotaur man wielding a huge club said.

"Delayn, Camilla. I've grown tired of our farce. Dispatch them so that we may ascend," Patrice ordered.

"Yes, Your Grace!" they exclaimed in unison.

Delayn blinded them with a flash of light, and Camilla closed the distance to knock them out. Patrice casted Penance for good measure, so if any were to come back to consciousness, they couldn't immediately call for help.

"Would you be so kind as to tell us what we can expect up there?" Patrice kneeled down to the minotaur and asked.

"No clue… Guildmaster just posted us here… to guard the place is all…" he croaked.

"An awful lot of you just to guard an old mill. Must be something important up there," Delayn patronized.

"Sometimes… we get supplies here. Told to send them upstairs… Really, that's all we do…" an elf added.

The rest of them clammed up. It was probably going to be all the answers they would get.

A staircase led up into the upper floors of the spire, but a lift at one end of the room proved faster. They piled into the platform, and Delayn pulled a lever beside it. The platform creaked and groaned. Dust from the rope system showered them coming to life. Soon, it began to lift the trio up.

They got up to around half the spire before the platform came to a stop. To no surprise, each floor was in fact an abandoned mill farm. Old machinery left to collect more dust than wheat. Tools scattered about the floor. The floorboards squeaked to soft footfalls one floor above them.

Camilla lifted a finger to her lips, then pointed to the stairs that led up. They quietly made their way to the next floor and found an old harpy man in gray robes tending to someone in a cot. Something reflected sunlight bleeding in from the window into Patrice's eyes. She shielded the light and followed its rays to a glistening set of armor on a mannequin. Including a felmetal warhammer. When the harpy turned around from the bed and saw them, he gasped.

"W-What are you doing up here? This floor is off-limits by order of Guildmaster Riley!" he exclaimed.

"Don't move," Delayn threatened, her staff glowing brightly.

They climbed onto the floor. A cauldron boiled off to one side, and potions sat empty on a nightstand next to the bed. Lying unconscious and possibly the most calm she might ever be was Petyr Stormcloud.

"I'm just an alchemist and physician! The consortium's guildmaster paid me to look after this woman," he scrambled to explain.

"Riley Dryoak did? I don't understand. Why save Petyr? I thought she hated her?" Patrice wondered aloud.

"Isn't it obvious?" Camilla drew closer to the bed. "Seems to me Riley didn't have it in her to finish the job. A softie in the end. If only she stopped fighting for the Harpy King. Things would be a lot easier. Anyway, what's the plan? Are we hauling her home, Your Grace?"

"Hm. Doctor, how long has Petyr been out for?" the archbishop asked.

"Been a week now, I think? A shaman comes by every once in a while. Helps me feed her, provide restorative magic. She says the coma is the woman's battle. It's up to her willpower now," the man said.

It was no wonder the consortium thugs below didn't know. Riley kept this a secret from them, too. Delayn found an old pull cart to hoist Petyr and her equipment into. They returned to the association tower, hoping no one paid too close attention to them.

But people appeared to be distracted by something else.

"What is this? Water?" Delayn lifted her foot as the muddy liquid bubbled up from the ground.

A thin layer of water spread across the under-city. Children came out to play and jump on the puddles. The thirsty poor cupped a handful and brought it up to their parched lips. Many of the residents emerged from their dwelling with a mixture of confusion and joy. Even upper-city harpies descended from their perches to get a better look.

However, Patrice knew better. She had learned of the warnings from Ujit, the former Exalted Mystic of Elusis. This wasn't a sign of good omens, but of a disaster of catastrophic proportions to come.

"I fear we are running out of time," Patrice said.