“I would make one final request,” I addressed Karlienne.

The Half-elven Herbalist was still held in bewilderment at my revelation. She considered me for a long moment, deciding if my thoughts were my own or was another convoluted suggestion still holding me in its grasp.

“The vegetation is lush,” My words drew her back from her thoughts, “You could easily find some nightshade and blue agaric.”

Karlienne still stood tongue-tied, while she tried in vain to decrypt my words.

“Please, craft me a time delayed poison,” I finally uttered those grim words, “A delay of a day should be sufficient.”

While Colby and Syrune were lost in their innate nature of discussing ways to produce an explosive. Zaehran, on the contrary, aided by perception and wisdom, was the first to realise my intention.

“Are you certain about this?” asked the monk in a benevolent tone.

Karlienne was no fool. She quickly grasped the meaning behind my request.

“You cannot go through with this?” she denied with fervour. Pain marred her features as she tried to divert me.

Her expression was drenched in a radiant glow as she said with a renewed vigour, “Perhaps, I could craft a sleeping potion. A potent one.”

Without a break, like an addled old crone, she continued, “That should work. Yes, it will. You could be unconscious.”

Pity, was the only emotion I had for the poor hapless girl.

“I am immune to most poison,” I shrugged as I denied her the last bastion of hope, “I have been ingesting small amounts of poison since my young days. A really potent poison is the only answer.”

She looked as if she was about to refute but my resolute demeanour made her forsake her arguments.

Dejected, she turned around and proceeded, aiming for the woods to forage.

“Karlienne,” I called her out.

In the narrow span of a moment, as she turned, clear pools of tears welled in her eyes and her lips quivered uncontrollably.

“There is no other way,” I said as I reached forward and thrust the silver ledger to her.

Trepidation arrested her movement and she stood motionlessly. Not even her sought-out ledger held her interest anymore.

“Should I fail today.....” I stammered and struggled to finish.

Eventually, I mustered the courage, “Too much is at stake. It has to be this way.”

She nodded unwillingly to my words.

“Promise me to leave as soon as you can,” I asked.

Again, she nodded silently as words failed her.

“Will you also promise to inform Arlene of my fate?” I begged.

At my request, she bit her lips and her fists balled tightly that her knuckles paled.

She finally stammered, “I will.”

*****

Karlienne unwilling concocted the poison. Its pungent odour, not betraying its virulent nature, surged, filling my nostrils with vitriol. Without paying much thought, I unflinchingly, emptied the contents down my throat.

Once the bitter after taste subsided, I bid my farewell to the motley bunch.

I held a long moment, staring at Zaehran. The monk unflinchingly returned my glare. Unspoken, our plans exchanged. His usual solitary eyes, now held compassion. The same sort that one gave an oblivious heifer at a sacrificial altar. Eventually, his thin lips tightened and silently, he made a promise.

Filled with gratitude, I returned an unspoken thanks to the monk who now held my life in his hands.

Even in these desperate moments, I had the urge to scoff at the twist of fate, for I followed a simple doctrine. Never to place my faith in the benevolence of others. While Vitalia would have called it an inability to trust others, I always found it always prudent to hold the reigns to the incentive of my allies. Now, devoid of any alternative, I am forced to gamble my life on the charity of an ascetic monk.

A brief moment later, like the rise and fall of a tide, the sense of irony retreated, leaving room to coherent thoughts and what lay ahead, held my attention.

*****

Instead of marching straight through the Forlorn Fair gate, I turned westward, cluttered by deteriorating thatch-roofed farms. I ignored the rundown buildings and marched further along the drab walls of Arlond. If I did not err in inferring the identity of the folks from Havorik Farmstead, I should shortly meet my interest on the western side of Arlond.

Soon my object of interest stood on a small moss-filled rock surrounded by murky stagnant waters. Nearby, to the sewer exit, sealed by sturdy thick iron bars, years of abandonment and deterioration made the drainage harden like cooled magma and the swarm of scorpions slowly advanced on the hardened sludge.

Extending my arms away from my body, in a sign of amity, I knelt down and practised patience.

Eventually, one by one, they advanced, till hundreds of ebony black, pincer wielding scorpions surrounded.

“This is the only place safe for one to have their thoughts,” I uttered to the swarm before me.

I expected no response and I got none in return.

“Conjunctborn,” I spoke to the swarm again, “if that is the term you use for yourself, I would request a meeting with T’orrac. I am willing to co-operate, but our meeting will not be within the city walls.”

Eliciting no response from the swarm, in a sign of submission, I laid The Sentinel on the ground before me.

“The locust swarm can search the surrounding,” I uttered, “I come alone and I surrender my weapon.”

A single lone scorpion, indistinguishable from the rest, moved ahead of the swarm, struck its stinger twice on the ground and scurried back to its place. I interpreted that as a sign of acknowledgement.

The form of T’orrac moved immediately behind the barred sewer exit. Despite the unlikely environment of the meeting, he still held his composure. His neck thrust forward, hands clasped behind his back and the smile on his face radiated congeniality and confidence.

T’orrac is a politician down to the core.

“I have come to seek an alliance against the threat,” I formed my words carefully.

“One cannot turn friends in dire times,” uttered T’orrac, “but such alliances are only fruitful if both parties are willing to partake the risks.”

T’orrac wolfish smile still lingered on his face but soon disappeared at my acknowledgement.

“Then I thank the Druids of the Order of Chimera for your acceptance,” I extended my feigned gratitude.

T’orrac stammered for a moment as if stuck with a forge hammer but soon regained his control.

“A resourceful ally is always the best ally,” he congratulated with the typical smile of a diplomat.

“It was not hard to infer,” I volunteered, “Aversion to metal weapons, people in harmony with the primal animalistic instincts and the rampaging Dire Wolves.”

Stopping for a fleeting moment, I tried to guess his inner thoughts but abandoned the idea as the wolfish smile never faded from T’orrac sculpted visage.

“If I were to take a guess,” I said loudly as if verbalising my thoughts, “probably your wolfhandler was missing? spirited away to Arlond?”

“Mileena,” offered T’orrac a name finally, “she was our Wyress of the Wolf. She disappeared along with a few of our younger members.”

“Let me make a guess,” I volunteered, “You tracked her whereabouts to Arlond, but now you are faced with an explicable phenomenon. Some of your people losing their minds and some struggling to reel in their instincts?”

“You know the answer to all this,” uttered T’orrac. His statement was neither a request nor a command.

“Mind Flayers, backed by a mysterious ally, have taken over Arlond,” I revealed, keeping my placid expression unchanged, “Now, it is your turn. Something tells me you have a way to suppress their creeping influence.”

“There is a place, in the mind’s eye, where one must pass through to tap into the primal instincts,” T’orrac struggled with explanation, the same way one would struggle explaining colour to a blind, “We found the overwhelming influence negligible there.”

“But it comes with its own price. Stay there long and insanity greets you,” he added as an afterthought.

“I know the location of the Elder Brain,” I divulged, “and I would need some distractions before we deal the final blow.”

T’orrac raised a single eyebrow and repeated, “We?”

“The githzerai monk, a bookish scholar and a genius gnome lad,” I answered.

“Githzerai,” he repeated my words, “that explains his presence. But to think that you would willingly involve a gnome child in your dangerous venture?”

His accused wielding words like an envenomed dagger.

“I did not plan that way” I stammered trying to break free of his accusation.

Eventually, after inhaling a deep long breath, I explained with a clear voice and conscience, “I lost everything. I came to Arlond to gather a last remaining keepsake of a woman I loved. Those companions were poor anchorless souls like me. We latched on to one another for support.”

Pessimism still held sway over the cautious T’orrac as he held his tongue urging me to continue. To provide him more reasons to believe my words.

“I have less than a day to live or maybe even less. Call your sniffer,” I said, “he can sniff the potency of the poison I drank. That should provide you proof to trust.”

“That will not be necessary,” declared T’orrac,” For alliance can succeed what without trust between allies?”

The elf laughed in an attempt to alleviate the palpable air.

“The Mind Flayers have rooted themselves deep inside the city, protected by an army of their thralls. Our thoughts are bare and exposed to their senses. Tell me drow, How do you plan to take an enemy who has no weakness?” asked T’orrac.

“They do have one weakness,” I answered, “I figured their long game.”

T’orrac silently urged me to continue.

“The eight dominion gryphons circling above the city, are scouts. Within a day, a large battalion of High-Elven Paladins would arrive from Northward gate. The Mind Flayers aim is to enslave the Paladins.” I said.

“Making them invincible,” uttered T’orrac with a grim voice.

“A large scale city-wide mind blast will affect the scouts in the air, alerting the Paladins. It is in their best benefit to let the army march unhindered and witless into Arlond.” I continued.

“And they would also not throw all their thralls at us. More than a few hundred would attract the attention of the scouts above,” added T’orrac.

“They will try to take the stealthier approach with subtle suggestion and small scale skirmish,” I completed.

“What is our role?” T’orrac carefully formulated his words, knowing well the abilities of the monstrous opponent that we faced.

“Create noise and let chaos reign,” I answered, “enough to attract the attention of the dominion gryphons, enough for the Mind Flayers to consider you a threat, enough to divert their resources.”

“Would it not be better to inform the High-Elven Paladins?” asked T’orrac.

“But I got something much better in mind,” I said with the wicked grimace, “I am going to negotiate with the Mind Flayers.”

*****

“I have come for a negotiation,” I screamed knocking the air out of my lungs as I stood outside the Forlorn Fair entrance gate of Arlond.

“You overstep your bounds, vermin,” came the thoughts, projected directly into my head, invading my last bastion of seclusion.

“Still not brave enough to show yourselves,” I scoffed.

“Even the mightiest of worms crumble under the feet of a behemoth,” came the invading thoughts in waves, “That is the order of the world. That is the nature of the void.”

“Your reign is about to come to an end,” I cackled.

“That monk will soon meet his end, as will those who accompanied him,” reverberated those thoughts like waves crashing against a jagged cliff, “Your paltry plan is at end.”

“For being Mind Flayers, you bunch are certainly blind to what stares in front of you,” I let my frezied laugh echo through the walls.

“Your thoughts are ours to read. You will ours to bend,” answered the contemptuous telepathic voices.

“So what are you going to tell you allies when you lose Arlond? or is it your new masters?” I asked loudly.

“We serve none. We require no allies,” the thoughts assaulted with renewed vigour.

“In three phases, your doom is spelt,” I uttered, ignoring the wave of unspoken words that flooded in.

“You only delay the inevitable,” more unspoken non-verbal voices flooded in.

“You will neither get those Paladins nor will your Elder Brain live to see the day,” I challenged them.

“Here is how it will unravel. In the first phase, underestimating us, wishing to keep the gryphon scouts oblivious, you will still attempt to silence us, relying on stealthier means and you will fail in that task. The scouts will be warned,” At my words, tall figures cloaked in purple mantle, stirred in the distance.

“In the second phase, you will realise your own folly and you will attempt to stop us from hurting your Elder Brain. You will throw yourselves and all your thralls, to guard your Elder Brain and you will fail again,” The figures advanced closer. Slimy tentacles dangled from an overtly deformed hairless head and writhed in cruel mockery.

“In the third phase, your Elder Brain will abandon you, while attempting a pathetic escape. The escape will fail.” The Mind Flayers drew closer. Their slime-covered faces, lambent and flickered as they climbed the ruined walls to reach the balustrade above.

“Go ahead read my thoughts,” I taunted the Mind Flayers, “The trap has been sprung. There is nothing you could do to prevent your doom.”

As if responding to my words, a single Mind Flayer took a step forward, leaned over the balustrade and as its eyes stared deep, a projectile stone tore open its oesophagus, spilling silvery-white blood covered viscera. Followed by twin explosions at the West District.

“Now, we have unleashed,” I cackled like a maniac.