Prototype's Gate

The trio moved as one toward the spot where the mysterious sword was embedded, their footsteps echoing softly against the rough stone and damp earth. Omeluum floated with a ghostly grace above the mined platform, his form gliding effortlessly through the air, while Blurg muttered an incantation, his body propelled upward in a powerful leap that carried him across the treacherous terrain. Alex, however, chose a more cautious route, clinging to the stone wall as he inched along it. Jumping would have been quicker, but doing so would have drawn too much attention to his capabilities—better to play it safe.

Once they reached the spot, a tense silence fell over them. The sword, its hilt gleaming faintly in the dim light of the Underdark, jutted out from the rock like a relic from another world. It was beautiful and eerie, exuding an aura of power that was impossible to ignore. Blurg approached it first, his scholarly curiosity evident in the way he carefully examined the area. Omeluum followed suit, his mind flayer tendrils twitching as he sensed the sword’s latent energy.

Blurg produced a magnifying glass from his robes, the lens catching the faint light as he held it up to inspect the sword more closely. His eyes narrowed as he read the delicate inscription carved into the blade. "This is a drow sword," he murmured, his voice thoughtful, tinged with reverence. "Judging by its craftsmanship and the recent nature of the inscription, it's a work of art as much as it is a weapon." He paused, his brow furrowing slightly. "The engraving says, 'Though I have to leave you, I will dance forever in Eilistraee's light.'"

The words hung in the air, their meaning elusive yet profound. "Who is Eilistraee?" Alex asked.

Omeluum’s telepathic voice entered Alex’s mind, cool and precise. "(The goddess of beauty, song, dance, freedom, moonlight, swordwork, and hunting within the drow pantheon. She is a beacon of light for those who seek redemption, a symbol of hope and grace. Judging by the soft white glow, it seems she has blessed this sword.)"

Alex nodded, absorbing the information. The sword, with its ethereal glow and sacred inscription, seemed to pulse with a life of its own, as if it were waiting for something—or someone. Blurg, meanwhile, had continued his examination, looking for any sign of a curse or trap.

"It seems the sword has no curse or traps attached to it," Blurg concluded, his tone confident. "To pull the sword, we can offer some blood or simply pull it out. I suspect, though, that you’ll be able to remove it without much trouble."

"Are you sure the sword wouldn’t break if I pull too hard?" Alex asked, his hand hovering near the hilt. The thought of shattering such a finely crafted weapon made him hesitate.

Blurg shook his head, a knowing smile on his face. "You can try, but I doubt it. Swords blessed by Eilistraee are extremely durable, almost indestructible. They are designed to withstand immense force and can strike with unparalleled power. Living creatures wielding such swords react first in battle, can better evade or withstand blows, strike more accurately, and can wound even creatures that need magic to be harmed. This is the first time I’ve seen such a sword in person, and I must say, it’s remarkable."

The significance of Blurg’s words wasn’t lost on Alex. A weapon of such caliber wasn’t just a tool—it was a rare and precious artifact, a link to something greater. Deciding it was safe, Alex stepped forward, his fingers wrapping around the hilt. The moment he touched it, a strange sensation coursed through him.

Blurg and Omeluum watched with bated breath as Alex began to pull. The sword resisted at first, as if rooted deep within the earth by some unseen force. It felt like a dozen hands were pulling against him, trying to keep the blade where it was. But Alex’s strength proved greater. With a controlled, deliberate movement, he extracted the sword from the stone.

As the blade slid free, a beautiful, haunting song filled the air, surrounding Alex in a melody so pure and sweet it brought tears to his eyes. He spun around, searching for the source of the music, but found nothing. The sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, wrapping around his heart, stirring memories of joy and sorrow, of love and loss. It was a song that spoke to the deepest parts of his soul, reminding him of moments he had forgotten, emotions he had buried.

But as quickly as it began, the song stopped, leaving only silence in its wake. Alex stood there, sword in hand, feeling as though something precious had been ripped away from him. "Did you hear it?" he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Blurg and Omeluum exchanged puzzled looks. "Hear what?" Blurg asked, his brow furrowed.

"Someone started to sing the moment I took the sword out," Alex explained, trying to grasp the fleeting memory of the song. "But it stopped now."

Blurg’s eyes widened in understanding. "We heard nothing. We suspect the sword had something to do with it. Did you hear a woman singing? Did the song seem to move your very soul?"

Alex nodded, his grip tightening on the hilt. The memory of the song lingered, a bittersweet echo that filled him with both longing and peace. It was as if, in those few moments, he had glimpsed a world beyond the darkness of the Underdark—a world bathed in moonlight, where beauty and freedom reigned.

"We can't say for sure," Omeluum interjected, his telepathic voice soft, almost reverent, "(but it could have been Eilistraee. She is known for her beautiful song that can move even the darkest hearts.)"

"But why sing just to me?" Alex wondered aloud, his mind racing with possibilities.

Blurg’s expression softened, a rare look of empathy crossing his features. "The only one who knows the answer is her," he said, his voice gentle. "Perhaps she saw something in you, something worthy of her blessing."

Alex, deciding that what was done was done, took a good look at the sword in his hand. The craftsmanship was exquisite, each detail carved with care and devotion. The hilt felt like it was made for him, fitting perfectly in his grip. The blade, though light, had a weight to it—a balance that made it an extension of his arm, ready to strike with deadly precision. As he admired it, he felt a subtle tug from the sword, a whisper at the edge of his consciousness.

"Sing," Alex murmured, almost without thinking.

Suddenly, a new melody began to play around him. This song was different from the one before, yet equally beautiful. It filled the cavern with its harmonious notes, resonating through the stone and air, making the very ground beneath their feet hum with life.

Blurg watched in amazement, his eyes wide with fascination. "What did you do?" he asked, his voice hushed as if afraid to break the spell.

"The sword... told me to make it sing," Alex responded, his own confusion evident. The song was a manifestation of the sword’s power, a reflection of its divine blessing. But even as the melody played, he felt another tug—this one sharper, more insistent.

"Shriek," Alex said, barely above a whisper.

The melody abruptly ceased, replaced by an ear-splitting scream that ripped through the air with the force of a physical blow. Blurg fell to his knees, his hands clamping over his ears as he cried out in pain. Even Omeluum, usually so composed, grimaced, his telepathic link vibrating with discomfort.

"STOP IT!" Blurg screamed, his voice ragged, desperate to escape the torment.

"Stop," Alex commanded, and the scream died instantly, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.

Blurg stood up shakily, dusting off his robes with trembling hands. "I would have appreciated a warning," he muttered, his tone tinged with irritation and lingering fear. "Now that you have your sword, we will go back to the myconid colony."

Before they could move, Omeluum floated over to Alex, his presence commanding attention. "(See that tower over there?)" He pointed with a tentacle to a tall, ruined tower that loomed in the distance, its silhouette stark against the dark expanse of the Underdark.

Alex nodded, his eyes narrowing as he studied the structure. It looked ancient, its walls crumbling with age.

"(I need something from there,)" Omeluum said telepathically, his tone smooth, almost persuasive. "(If you help me retrieve it, I will reward you greatly.)"

"Tell me why you don’t want to go there yourself already," Alex replied, his tone skeptical.

Through the telepathic link, Alex sensed a flicker of amusement from Omeluum. "(The tower's defenses are troublesome for mages,)” he admitted, his mental voice carrying a hint of resignation.

"How so?" Alex pressed, still wary.

"(The arcane turrets are highly resistant to any form of magic and have enough power to kill me in a few shots. All my magic focuses on the mind, which is ineffective against them.)"

"So, your plan is for me to get inside and turn off the defenses, allowing you to enter safely?" Alex summarized, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place.

"(Exactly,)" Omeluum confirmed, his tone almost relieved that Alex had understood.

Alex glanced at the tower again, weighing his options. The task seemed dangerous, but the allure of a reward—and the potential knowledge he might gain—was tempting. "I’ll see what I can do," he finally said, "but I hope this reward will be worth the trouble. I already have a mission from the myconids, and they seem very keen on getting their revenge."

Omeluum nodded, a silent agreement passing between them. He then floated back to Blurg, who was waiting a few meters away, his expression thoughtful. As they regrouped, Alex back shifted slightly, his body accommodating the new weapon as a sheath formed to hold it securely. The sword rested against him, a comforting weight, as if it were meant to be there all along.

____________

The remnants of the battle between the myconids and duergar were a macabre sight, the aftermath of a brutal clash that left the ground littered with broken bodies and scattered limbs. The duergar and myconid corpses, were being dragged back to the myconid lair by their brethren, the fungal creatures moving with a purpose that was both eerie and sorrowful. The myconids, though alien in their appearance and behavior, exhibited a grim determination as they collected the bodies to nourish their young—a necessary but somber task in the unforgiving world of the Underdark.

Alex, moving with the stealth of a shadow, observed the scene from a distance . His presence almost undetectable. Spotting an opportunity, he silently approached one of the duergar corpses and then a myconid, consuming both without leaving a trace. The act of consuming the bodies granted him a flood of memories and knowledge, a wealth of information that would prove invaluable for the journey ahead.

The myconid mind was a strange and alien thing, a network of thoughts and emotions that were deeply interconnected with the collective consciousness of its circle. As Alex delved into the memories of the young myconid he had consumed, he experienced life through its eyes—or more accurately, through its senses. The myconid had been barely five years old, a child by human standards, and its life had been filled with the simple joys of being part of a larger whole. There was no individuality as humans understood it; instead, there was a profound sense of unity, a shared existence where every thought, every feeling, was experienced together with its kin. The young myconid’s life flashed before Alex’s eyes—a brief, bright flame snuffed out too soon.

But it wasn’t just the memories that affected Alex; it was the emotions that accompanied them. The joy of being together, the pain of separation, and the deep sorrow of loss. This experience gave him a new understanding of the myconid Sovereign’s desire for revenge. To Sovereign, the myconids were not just subjects or followers; they were his children, and the loss of so many to the duergar was a wound that cut deep into his very soul.

The duergar’s mind, on the other hand, was starkly different. When Alex consumed the duergar’s corpse, he was met with a mind much more familiar—similar in many ways to a human’s, yet shaped by a life of harshness and brutality. The duergar’s memories were long and complex, filled with scenes of violence, struggle, and unrelenting toil. The gray dwarves were a people defined by their hardships, and they wore their suffering as a badge of honor, a source of twisted pride. Their lives were bleak, devoid of the warmth of happiness, and they embraced this emptiness as a strength, a defining trait of their race.

As Alex sifted through the duergar’s memories, he saw how they viewed the world—through a lens of cynicism and mistrust, where every interaction was a potential betrayal and every kindness a mask for hidden motives. The duergar thrived on greed, conflict, and a rejection of emotion, seeing these vices not as weaknesses but as the pillars of their society. This insight into their psyche made Alex understand why the duergar were feared and hated by so many. They were a creatures who thrived on the suffering of others, who saw no value in the softer emotions that made life bearable.

But among these dark memories, Alex found something crucial, a piece of information . He now knew where Thulla’s friends were being held, and it was clear that the Absolute army, was involved. It was time to pay the duergar a visit.

The beach where the duergar were camped was a desolate place, the remnants of a wooden cabin standing like a skeleton against the dark backdrop of the Underdark. Alex moved with silent precision, his form cloaked in the invisibility spell—a skill he had mastered from the duergar’s memories. The spell rendered him invisible to the eye and undetectable to heat and infrared sensors, though it did nothing to mask his scent or sound. He knew he had to be careful; the spell would break the moment he attacked, and he couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

Creeping into the cabin, Alex spotted a duergar sitting at a table, engrossed in reading a document. The duergar had no time to react as Alex swiftly wrapped his arm around his neck, snapping it with a single, practiced motion. The body crumpled to the floor, and within moments, Alex consumed it, absorbing yet another set of memories .

Stepping outside, Alex unsheathed Phalar Aluve, the blade gleaming faintly even in the dim light. Standing on a small wooden platform that overlooked the camp, Alex gave a single command: “Shriek.”

The blade obeyed instantly, releasing a piercing, supernatural scream that echoed across the beach, drawing the attention of every duergar in the vicinity. Alex spotted two duergar rushing toward him and another in the distance, preparing to cast a spell. With a powerful leap, Alex launched himself at the two nearest duergar, a cloud of spores exploding from him as he did so, engulfing the area in a thick, choking fog.

“Fuck, he was next to me. Everyone look out!” Gehk, one of the duergar, shouted as he coughed and sputtered, his voice filled with panic. “Fuck this smoke,” he muttered, realizing too late that it wasn’t smoke at all. The spores were something far more insidious, something that began to sap his strength, slowing his movements as if he were wading through molasses.

Gehk tried to fight back, to see through the thick haze that clouded his vision, but every time he thought he spotted something, it vanished the moment he turned to face it. His frustration grew, his mind struggling to make sense of the illusion.

“It’s messing with my mind. Got to get out of this,” Gehk muttered to himself as he stumbled out of the cloud, desperate to escape. “Lurkan, throw a firebolt and burn this shit up!” he shouted, but the only response was silence.

“Fuck,” Gehk cursed, realizing he was alone. He began to summon the dead, intending to use their strength to turn the tide. But he never finished the spell. A blade pierced his skull, the sharp steel driving through bone and brain with lethal precision. Gehk’s life ended in an instant, and as his body fell to the ground, tendrils of flesh wrapped around him, consuming him in a matter of seconds.

“Well, that was easy,” Alex said to himself as he sheathed Phalar Aluve, the sword’s sheath absorbing the blood from the blade. With a thunderous clap, he dispersed the spore cloud, the air clearing as if nothing had happened.

As Alex prepared to leave the camp, he noticed something unusual. Standing near the edge of the village was a red, rotund myconid with the stature of a dwarf. This was Glut, a Sovereign he saw back at the colony . He the look in his eyes that spoke of a deep, seething hatred.

“Flesh-walker, tongue-talker, far you've come. Reach into memory, tell me of home,” Glut communicated, his thoughts sliding into Alex’s mind like a venomous whisper.

“I have no home,” Alex replied, his voice steady, but his senses on high alert.

“I too have no home left. Let me show you what happened to it,” Glut conveyed, sending a vision into Alex’s mind. The image was stark and horrifying—a humid cove filled with the corpses of dead myconids, their bodies twisted and broken, the remains of a massacre.

“Duergar destroyed my people. I’m a Sovereign with no circle. This circle does not welcome me. But I heard the song; you were meant to cleanse the rot, and you did. The tumor is excised, the duergar are dead. Here, I break ground. From the dark, a mighty Circle will rise. My song will fill the Grotto! The death-dealer, the Grotto may sustain one Circle. In the Age of Glut, there may be no Spaw. Eliminate the other Sovereign,” Glut’s voice dripped with venom, his hatred palpable.

“Why do you want to kill Spaw, even after it gave you shelter?” Alex asked, trying to understand the depths of Glut’s malice.

Glut’s voice filled Alex’s mind with venom and rage. “A fate it earned. My circle long suffered while the duergar flourished. I sang to Spaw for help, yet it cowered in the Grotto and let my people be slaughtered. Choose, smooth-mind: help me kill the circle and reap a great reward, or protect the precious poltroon as it waits for the Circle of Glut to devour it whole.”

Alex looked at Glut. The offer was...tempting, but he couldn’t ignore the feeling of wrongness that radiated from the Sovereign. The duergar were dead, and the myconid Spaw had welcomed Glut when he had no one else. Now, Glut sought to destroy that same circle, driven by a desire for power and revenge.

“No,” Alex finally responded, his voice firm, the decision made. He would not become a pawn in Glut.

“Then you must die,” Glut retorted, his voice echoing with a chilling finality.

The ground beneath them trembled violently, a deep rumble that sent shockwaves through the cavern. Alex’s instincts kicked in, and he leaped back just in time to avoid the eruption of earth as a landshark burst from the ground. Its enormous form towered between Alex and Glut, its body grotesquely covered in fungal growths that pulsed with a sickly glow. The creature's eyes, once fierce and predatory, now seemed clouded, lost to the fungal infection that had twisted its mind and body.

Alex calmly he assessed the situation. The landshark wasn't alone; behind it, he spotted the looming figures of two hook horrors, their hooked limbs clattering against the stone floor as they approached. Their fungal-covered bodies moved with a disjointed rhythm, a clear sign that the infection had taken root deep within their minds, turning them into thralls of Glut’s will.

But Alex wasn’t one to be easily intimidated. He reached out with his mind, a tendril of thought snaking its way into Glut’s consciousness. The myconid’s mind was a labyrinth of rage and madness, but Alex navigated it with ease, forcing Glut to see through his eyes.

Images flooded Glut's mind—horrific visions of abominations made of flesh, beings of unimaginable terror that were slashed, cut, impaled, and consumed . The force was Alex himself, a relentless devourer that turned its enemies into mere fodder that only make him stronger. Glut could see each monstrosities meet their end in brutal, bloody fashion, as they were torn apart and consumed.

Glut’s bravado crumbled under the weight of the vision. His trembling grew worse, his body stiffening as the realization dawned on him: he was outmatched. No amount of fungal warriors would save him from the fate that awaited. With a sudden, violent surge, two spikes shot up from the ground, impaling him through the chest. The myconid sovereign’s body went limp, his mind shattered by fear, and the landshark and hook horrors collapsed in unison, their connection to Glut severed like strings cut from a puppet.

Alex walked forward with purpose, his eyes fixed on Glut’s fallen form. The air was thick with the scent of death and decay, the silence only broken by the distant drip of water from the cavern’s ceiling. Tendrils of flesh extended from Alex’s body, sinking into Glut’s corpse. But rather than consume the myconid, Alex initiated a different process. The flesh began to writhe and shift, enveloping the body like a cocoon. The transformation was swift but intense, the body compressing, reshaping itself into something entirely new.

When the process was complete, what remained was no longer Glut’s fungal form but an abomination , clad in heavy red armor from head to toe. The armor gleamed with a red hue, and the helmet, with its open eye slits, revealed a pair of eyes that now glowed with an unnatural green light. The sclera was dark, almost black, a stark contrast to the vibrant green of the irises. The creature blinked, taking in its surroundings with newfound clarity before turning its gaze to Alex.

“Flesh-walker, what did you do to me?! Why can I speak?! Why does my mind feel so different and so much more?!” Glut’s voice was frantic, a mix of panic and anger at the sudden transformation.

Alex met Glut’s gaze with an unflinching calm. “I changed your body, combining it with that of a duergar,” he explained, his tone matter-of-fact. The complexity of the transformation—reconstructing Glut’s DNA, merging it seamlessly with duergar biology—was a feat that defied natural law, but Alex knew that such explanations would be lost on the newly reborn Glut.

“A duergar? Me?!” Glut’s voice cracked with disgust and horror. “Kill me now! Better to be dead than to have duergar blood running through me.”

But Alex shook his head. “I know about your kind’s weakness—that you can’t leave the Underdark. But with this new body, you can walk to the surface and create a circle somewhere else.”

Glut’s reaction was immediate. His eyes widened, and for a moment, hope flickered in his gaze, mingling with disbelief. "I can see the surface now?" His voice was hesitant, suspicious, as if the very idea was too good to be true.

"Why would I lie to you? You know what I am," Alex replied, his voice devoid of deception. There was no need for lies; the truth was powerful enough.

Glut’s body shuddered, a tremor that spoke of both fear and excitement. Slowly, he nodded, the reality of his situation beginning to sink in. "Then I will follow you. Besides, I would like to see what this new body can do now."

Alex watched him carefully, noting the shift in Glut’s demeanor. The transformation had not only altered his body but also his mind. The once prideful and arrogant myconid sovereign was now more cautious, more contemplative.

"I plan to take a raft docked at the beach to a place with a lot of duergar. You can follow if you want," Alex offered, his tone neutral, almost indifferent.

Glut's expression darkened, the memory of his fallen circle still fresh in his mind. "To miss the chance to pay back those that killed my circle? I will follow you even if I lose both my arms. But just to be sure, can my arms still grow back?"

Alex nodded, his confirmation bringing a flicker of relief to Glut’s strained features.

"Send your minions to hide in one of the shacks. We can't take them with us," Alex instructed, his mind already focused on the next steps.

Glut hesitated for a moment, then nodded in agreement. With a mental command, he linked back to the remaining zombies, sending them to hide in one of the nearby shacks as Alex had suggested.

As the last of the zombies disappeared into the shadows, Glut turned back to Alex, a question burning in his mind. "Do... I still have a grudge against Spaw?"

Alex paused, considering his answer carefully. "Do you?"

Glut’s gaze dropped to the ground, his leafy green eyes reflecting the turmoil within. "Yes," he admitted, his voice softer now. "It still stood idle while my circle was killed by duergar. But I can see my own mistakes that led to my circle's downfall. Maybe I would have done the same if I were in his place. You can relax; I don't plan to kill Spaw's circle anymore."

Alex nodded, a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The rise in intelligence had not only given Glut the ability to see things more clearly but had also allowed him to find a measure of peace—at least for now. But Alex knew better than to trust completely. Glut’s new form was still untested, unproven.

They continued in silence toward the colony, the weight of their journey hanging heavy between them. When they finally reached the outskirts, Glut stopped, his gaze fixed on the distant lights of Spaw’s circle. "I will wait here," he said, his voice carrying a hint of unease as he moved to sit on a nearby rock.

Alex nodded, understanding Glut’s reluctance. There was no need to push him further—at least not yet. With a final glance at Glut, Alex made his way up the stairs to where Spaw and the others awaited.

As he reached the top, he was greeted by Thulla, her face a mix of relief and worry. "Did you find them?" she asked, her eyes searching the area behind him.

"They moved them somewhere else. I plan to head there soon," Alex replied, his voice steady, reassuring.

"Please save them," Thulla whispered, her plea heavy with desperation. Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away, leaving Alex to continue toward Spaw.

Spaw stood silently, watching as Alex approached. His eyes, seemed to peer into Alex’s very soul. "I killed the duergar," Alex announced, his words hanging in the air like a dark omen.

(Do you hear it? A new harmony, serenity,) Spaw’s hand rose, his finger pointing at Alex. (I name you Peace-bringer. Freely you have given to us, freely you can take. The garden gate is open; go and get your reward. But before this, I ask for another boon. You have cut the duergar blight but not its source.)

A vision unfolded in Alex’s mind, vivid and disturbing—a drow standing triumphantly atop a pile of myconid corpses. (Nere, this one is called. He haunted us. Hunt him in turn, bring me his head, and I will know my circle is safe. The drow lurks in the ruins beyond the lake. Bring me his head and return.)

Alex nodded, his mind already fixed on his next destination. Without hesitation, he turned and walked toward the cave that Spaw had opened for him.

The cave was bathed in an eerie, almost ethereal light, cast by the luminescent blue mushrooms clinging to the damp walls. The air was thick with the earthy scent of decay, mingling with the faint, sweet aroma of the glowing fungi. Trinkets lay scattered across the floor—forgotten relics of the past, tarnished and worn by time. Yet, these were mere distractions to Alex’s keen eyes, which were immediately drawn to the centerpiece of the cavern: a mummified drow corpse, lying in a state of eerie preservation.

Alex approached the corpse with measured steps, his expression impassive yet curious. The drow’s body was contorted in a final, agonizing pose, as if death had caught it mid-struggle. The skin, dark and desiccated, clung tightly to the bones beneath, preserved unnaturally well.

“The body seems intact enough,” Alex muttered to himself, his voice low and devoid of emotion. He placed his hand on the body and quickly consumed it . A torrent of fragmented memories surged into Alex’s mind, disjointed and blurred, as though seen through a cracked lens. Images of battles, whispered conversations. Despite the corpse’s decrepit state, the brain had been remarkably preserved, allowing Alex to extract these fragments—pieces of a puzzle that would never fully come together.

“It seems this one was a friend of that drow I released from stone… Dhourn,” Alex mused aloud, piecing together the fractured memories.

His gaze fell upon a small, unassuming book beside the corpse. The cover was worn, yet it emanated a faint magical aura that piqued Alex’s interest. He picked it up, brushing off a layer of dust to reveal the title inscribed in delicate script: “Flumph Mating Ritual.”

“Perhaps Blurg can help me with this,” he murmured, tucking the book away carefully.

As he scanned the area for anything else of value, his eyes caught a glint of dark metal lying close to the book. It was a simple, yet elegantly crafted piece, its surface smooth and cold to the touch. The metal seemed to absorb the light around it, creating an aura of quiet mystery. Alex picked it up, the chill seeping into his skin, and decided to bring it along as well. Whatever it was, Blurg would likely find a use for it.

Satisfied that there was nothing more of interest in the cave, Alex turned to leave, his thoughts already on the next task. However, as he stepped out of the cave, a short figure stopped him ,a dwarf woman, her face set in an expression of weary indifference.

“Did you see a fella on your way in?” she asked, her voice flat . “Dwarf, Baelen’s his name. Bald, blue tunic, dumb as a stick.”

Alex paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the question. “No, I didn’t,” he replied, his tone measured.

“Right, never mind,” the woman said with a shrug.

Alex felt a flicker of curiosity. “Who is he to you?” he asked, probing gently.

“My useless husband,” she replied bluntly, her words heavy with disdain. “It’s no surprise he’s made a mess of it.” Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and walked away, her steps brisk and uncaring, as if the matter was already forgotten.

With a shrug, Alex let the encounter roll off him like water on stone. He had more pressing matters to attend to, and the dwarf woman’s apathy was just another oddity in a world filled with them.