Prologue

Two days ago.

"You're going to Cheliax", she said.

The Queen of Mendev's regal gaze was fixed on me, and the stained glass windows of the Cruciform Cathedral bathed us in the colored light of sunset. "I don't wish to argue, your majesty, but Terendelev's murder is still young. Would it not be wise to avenge her while we still have an idea of Korramzedah's location?" Witnessing my friend and commander's death at the hands of the Storm King was still fresh in my mind. "And I beg your pardon for my ignorance, but... what interest do we have in Cheliax?"

"Her loss wounds me as well, Casimir. But the Storm King is too powerful to assault directly at the moment. We're working on that, don't worry, and your passion commends you, but wisdom decrees we must bide our time so as not to waste soldiers on a fool's errand. As for your other question, you are going to Cheliax for Arueshalae. She is there on her own mission, but as I have recently learned that the Red Rasper is active in the region, I'm sending my most trusted guard to ensure her safety. That means you."

"With utmost respect, your majesty, should we not call Arueshalae home and let Cheliax deal with the Rasper themselves? Without Terendelev here we really cannot spare the manpower."

"No. The White and Green Raspers are still active in the Worldwound, which makes whatever the Red Rasper's doing in Cheliax our business. But that's Arueshalae's mission. Your mission is to protect her. I don't think I have to tell you how important this is to me." I suppressed a smile; this is why I respect Galfrey.

"Yes, your majesty. It's important to me too." More than you know, I thought to myself.

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Six days ago.

A knock at my door roused me from prayer. I put on my tunic, laid my greatsword on my cot, and answered.

It was Irabeth. The half-orc must have been fresh off duty, since she was still wearing her full plate. "It's been over a week. You need to come out sometime, Casimir."

"I come out for missions and for meals."

"You know what I mean. Look, I know you blame yourself for what happened, but you can't. If we had stayed we'd all have been slaughtered; leaving was the right call, and as our leader, you were the one to make it."

"Terendelev was our leader."

"Yeah, well, Terendelev died, and you were second in command. We're crusaders, Casimir; none of us live forever. You know that."

"You don't understand, Irabeth. My oath to Iomedae's code forbids me to run from battle. I've shamed myself and I've shamed Her. I don't know why She hasn't stripped me of my magic already."

I was going to say more, but being struck on the cheek by Irabeth's palm interrupted me. "I swore the same damn oath you did, Horns, so don't talk to me about Iomedae's code. Terendelev sacrificed herself to save us; the only person you're shaming is her with all your useless self-pity."

I stood there stunned for a moment. "Thank you, Irabeth, that will be all." She paused, then turned to leave. "And Irabeth... don't call me Horns." She turned around, saw my small smile, and grinned herself. Then she left.

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Today.

I stood outside the north gate of Westcrown this morning. I would've preferred to teleport straight into the city, but protocol is protocol. The wizards who brought me here bid me good luck and disappeared back to Nerosyan. It was warm out, but a cool breeze could be felt from the nearby Inner Sea. I missed the cold, bleak air of Mendev. In all my 90 years, I had never been this far south.

I walked up to the gate, where a man wearing Hellknight armor awaited me. Hellknights. I'd heard many stories about them - consorting with devils and perverting Iomedae's word into tyranny - but rarely seen them in the flesh. His black, spiked armor was every bit as cruel and disgusting as the few I had encountered in the Worldwound. "Hold, tiefling," he barked at me. If I could see his eyes, I'm sure they would've been narrow with suspicion; my kind are considered second-class citizens here.

I judged him to be of low rank, based on his assignment to guard the city gate, and thus easily dealt with. "Hold yourself, Hellknight, and watch what you call me. I am Casimir Barristan of Mendev, an Archon of Queen Galfrey and Paladin of Iomedae. I'm here on official business." I shoved the entry papers with Galfrey's seal I'd been given at him. Slightly cowed, the Hellknight opened the gate, and I went in.

Westcrown was exactly as I expected; the scent of corruption, both governmental and supernatural, filled the air around the crumbling buildings. I walked through the streets, my white and red regalia a stark contrast to the "City of Twilight", until I arrived at the Lord Mayor's manor. His secretary informed me that he was still at the opera and I must wait, so I patiently took a seat. An hour later, Lord Mayor Arberian Arvanxi returned, visibly intoxicated with Iomedae knows what. I expected to be practically interrogated on my presence in his city, but he merely looked over my papers and bid me on my way.

I made my way to the docks of the trade district. Citizens I passed looked at me with fear, while city officials preferred scornful expressions. I sighed internally at these once-proud people, of Iomedae's own blood; I truly pity them. Once at the docks, I found an official. "Excuse me. Can you show me where the Ninth Circle will be docking upon its return?" He looked over my papers and showed me to a dock reserved for the important vessel.

Which brings us to now, in the evening. As I write this, I'm getting more used to the breeze. I can see black sails on the horizon; I wonder if this is the Ninth Circle. Queen Galfrey decided to let Arueshalae fill me in on her mission's details so far, so I still don't know exactly what's going on here in Cheliax that concerns us Mendevians. I can't wait to find out.