Chapter 1, Part II: Ilban

Ilban, such a strange word. It literally means “comrade,” or “brother-in-arms,” in the original Old Elven tongue. I suppose it could also mean “sister-in-arms,” but, back during the Lotorine Wars, the women didn’t do a whole lot of fighting. Things have changed, though. As an Ilban, I’ve joined their Ilbum, or, “company,” now, for the time being, anyways.

They call themselves members of “The Ring,” a secret society dedicated to preventing the Ascension and the birth of a Golden Child. It seems like they know a lot more than they let on, but, if they’re going to stop Daurellian from achieving his twisted ambitions, that’s enough for me. I’ll play along with their theatrics and plotting for as long as I need to. If that means killing Father, I have no qualms about it. The man’s a shell of himself, anyways, happily licking clean the boot of that famed despot who openly broadcasts his desire to rejoin the Twelve Bloodlines.

“Samir, we take a right here.” The Hondari man says. I was unable to catch his name when he introduced himself, and have been hanging on to a sliver of hope that he might say his name again at some point soon. He has yet to. “And this door.” He stands before a heavy iron door.

“This is your hideout?” It’s certainly hidden, tucked back into an alleyway, rabble walking about. It’s almost uncomfortable how crowded the streets around this alley are, yet how unnoticed we are. The only other person in this alley is a clearly inebriated elven man, despite the fact that the sun is still hanging high in the sky.

“Yes, indeed.” He says, simply, as he opens the door. The Pale Elf with him, she’s quite stealthy, and doesn’t often talk. When she does, it’s usually related to killing, I’ve found, though I did get her name. Mirra.

The Hondari man raps on the metal door three times, and the slot level with his eyes slides open. He looks through it, despite being two steps down from the door, putting his height into perspective even more so than I had noticed before. “Easterly wind.” The two eyes peeking through the door are joined by a small, feminine voice, saying this as if it makes any sense.

“Westward bound.” The Hondari man says, in response, seemingly on cue.

The door slides open into the brick wall, and, behind it, stands an Oak Elf. He has long, braided hair, a ruddy face, a somewhat muscular build, and a crooked nose that defines the rest of his features. He notices me looking at him, and stares at me for a second, sharply, before his face lights up. “Ah, if it ain’t the noble scion of our esteemed researcher. C’mawn in!” His sudden and complete shift in tone, accent, and seemingly person makes me feel as though he wasn’t the one to ask the question which the Hondari man answered. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a round-faced half-breed, human and elven, not unlike my own half-sister. “Well?” The Oak Elf steps backwards and motions for me to enter.

As I step through the threshold, I feel a sort of intensity wash over me unlike anything I’ve felt for months. Magic. Intense magic. “Who’s the mage? You, or you?” I turn to look at the pair.

“Neither of us. We’re not the only people here.” The half-elf is speaking now. “We wanted to tell you that your father is going to die so you didn’t have to watch, but we didn’t expect you to want to join in. What gives?” She has dark hair, and generally soft features, alongside a single pale blue eye. However, her most noticeable feature is that her other eye seems to have been badly damaged, as a deep scar cuts from the left corner of her mouth up to her hairline, right through a blind eye.

“I see. Do you have names?” I look around the room after asking this, ignoring her question. A singular candle is lit in a dish atop a cherry wood table, and a few chairs are scattered around the room. Windows line the upper edge of the walls, with bars preventing anyone from reaching out, or in, but providing a fair bit of light while not letting anybody see inside.

“You’ve already met Mirra and Wulf. I’m Deora.” The half-elf says, bluntly. Wulf, hm? That would be the Hondari man’s name, though I don’t recall it being so short.

“You can call me Granth.” The Wood Elf says with a bit of a goofy smile.

“You’re awfully jovial for someone who’s a part of a secret plot to kill a nobleman.” I find my eyes looking everywhere except for at any of these four. Why did I agree to come with them? Maybe they’ll just kill me.

“It pays to keep a good attitude towards life when things are at their grimmest.” Granth says back to me. “I guess you’re wondering why we told you about our plan to put down Pops?” He nonchalantly stretches his arm across his chest while saying this.

“I suppose I am, yes.”

“Well, for one, it’s good to have connections.” Deora states.

“If we can poison his wine or slit his throat while he’s sleeping, it will be easier than putting a bolt through his neck while he’s on stage about to reveal his findings.” Mirra speaks for the first time since entering the hideout. “Unfortunately, we tracked his travel too late, so he's in the palace. Not ideal.”

“Indeed, it is not.” Wulf says. “We were able to discover that Andril, your father, had a son and daughter aboard a traveling ship, however, and thought we might take you ransom.” Ransom? As if Father will pay these fools.

“Now, now, don’t tense up.” Mirra gets her words out, quickly. She must have seen me reaching for my dagger, which I had thought I managed to grab without her noticing earlier. She pulls it from her pocket. Shit. I grab for my dagger, and find a loosely hanging bag of sand. When did that happen? “We’re not going to ransom you off to your father. I happened to overhear the discussion you had with your half-sister, before breaking into your room. Wulfhard and I hid before she stormed out, and decided it would be better to be upfront with you.” Wulfhard? That must be Wulf’s full name.

“But why allow me to come with you?” Nothing makes sense, nothing’s adding up. This secret society, dedicated to assassinations and subterfuge, why would they allow a random element to involve itself?

“You’d make a prime recruit for the Ring, is all. You check all the boxes, certainly.” Deora says. “No more binding ties, that’s a check. You’ve already justified killing to yourself, that’s another. Oh, and, you don’t want our beloved Emperor to ascend to godhood, and usher in a dark age, because nobody in this gods-damned world can remember what happened the last time this occurred. That’s another check.” She sighs, and adjusts something mechanical in her hands.

‘Well, what do you say, Ilban? Care to join us?” Wulfhard says, turning to me.

“I don’t suppose I have much of a choice, really.” I look around at the four surrounding me, then down at my hands.

“You can leave and never look back, Samir. It’s your choice.” A voice behind me. One I haven't heard for months. The usage of my name and the voice saying it send a chill down my back. A headache comes on. “Or, you can fight with us, against Daurellian, for something worthwhile. Your father is lost, you do not have to be, son."

"Mother?"