Chapter Four: The Emptiness of It All

"I think I hear voices", said Boris.

Finally, his long trip was coming to an end. Once hired by the Blackstone, he had to guide the tiefling all the way to wherever he wanted to go. They crossed the safest of the paths in the Underground for a while, but due to the shifting mind of his client, he had to take many shortcuts, which led to a few wrong turns and more perils than he wanted to face. He was a gnome born and raised in libraries, of course! Why should the guild put him as guide he could not tell, but Master Estebanelos surely disliked him long since his admission.

"Is it close now?", asked Ideal. A weary tiefling with a troubled past, he bore on his skin the scars from the many battles and bloodshed at Tiefenland. Though once a war medic, now he pursued the intents of an obscure patron which lent him otherworldly resources.

"I think so, yes", replied the gnome. "If we hadn't changed our schedule so many times, though..."

"It is not for yourself to judge, gnome. Though I prize your service as much as anyone would, I do have another's agenda to follow,  and not my own."

Boris was unhappy overall, but Ideal was a decent client. 

"I, I didn't mean to complain, s-sir..."

"Never mind, let's proceed. It seems to be very close now."

As Boris led to a tunnel of yellow fungi-flowers and bright worms, and at the end the found a wall of rocks and sand.

"This is it", said the gnomish guide. "Here it is. My job is over now and I will..."

"Shh. It's only over when I say it is. Be quiet", ordered Ideal. He put his ear close to the rock and tried to listen.

The clash of iron and copper. Panting, grunting, growling. Silence.

"What are you...", Boris tried to say, but Ideal was already spellcasting a fierce blow to the fragile barrier.

On the other side, a rugged, dirty, blood-stained dwarf carrying a bunch of corpses stared at them, mildly surprised. By his side, a red half-orc like the travelers had never seen. Ideal could smell the magic in her much alike one could recognize the nuances of a subtle spice.

He knew it in his heart she was like him.

Raibeart spit on the floor.

"No time for new-arrivals. Are ye troubles?", he asked.

Ideal thought for a while. "No, Master Dwarf. We come in peace, though we know not where we are."

"Lowlo Mines, in the Republic", said the half-orc. Ideal felt her gaze on him and knew she was having the same thoughts he had just had.

"We don't mean to intrude, my distinguished travelers, we're just passing by...", tried Boris, worried to death by the looks on those people's faces. It felt just as if they were retreating from a terrible war.

And then Ideal saw her.

Approaching the cooling body of who once was Lordani, the fellow tiefling recognized her semblance, much like his own, except for the shorter horns. They met years ago at many a battlefield, knowing each other without exchanging words but always in opposite sides. They saved each other lives more than once, and then they never met again.

Until now. Ideal wondered how the gods enjoyed such turnabouts, how they tendered those moments and cherished the ironies. He felt anger rising within his guts, for the emptiness of it all.

"Her... what was her name?", he asked.

Raibeart was too tired to stand back from the tiefling as he approached. Besides, part of him saw some sort of emotional reliance in the familiar face, in the skin colors, in the sound of his voice.

"Lordani."

Ideal lowered his head and cleaned his spectacles. At last he knew her name.

However, amidst the solemn recognition, a vile voice tainted his mind.

"Follow the--m... They will lea--d you where I nee--d..."

The tiefling looked at the dwarf and at the half-orc, sighing. He knew what to do.