Illusions And Shackles

Taldris Nox'Ryn

Zalathor was primarily the god of life, but he was also the god of many other things: of vitality, renewal, youth, and the endless potential that came with a new day. He represented dawn itself, that sacred hour between darkness and light when the world seemed to hold its breath.

And as the sun crested the horizon, spilling its warmth across the land, the faint silver glimmer caught in Taldris’ eyes. She narrowed them instinctively. To most, dawn was a blessing. But she was a Drow, and to her it was a warning. Taldris shifted beneath the canopy of a tree, adjusting her hood and moving backward. The sunlight filtering through the leaves came in scattered shafts, too weak here to harm for now. But that wouldn’t last. She knew the dangers of prolonged exposure: the dull ache in her skin, the painful burning if she lingered too long, and the blinding effect it had on her vision. Though the later she would mitigate with her magic. By making a veil of arcane shadow drawn across her irises to temper the light. It would make the sun bearable, but she would still prefer keeping out of its path.

Zalathor’s hour had come, and so it was the first light of a new day. Meaning it was time to move forward. She was appointed as a member of this strike team due to her skills in the schools of magic. Despite that, she knew that as a member of the Vanguard, most of the Lucian soldiers would find her presence annoying.

It did not matter. For now, their purposes aligned, and that was enough. She would make do. Thus, the party moved forward, slipping into the dense paths of the Ironwood forest. Towering trees loomed overhead, shading her from most of the rising sun. Despite that, she made sure to keep away from the sunlight, weaving her way beneath the thick canopies where the sunlight dared not reach. It came with the plus point of making her hard to see.

Ahead of her walked two humans. The one on the left had light olive skin and a lean, athletic build, one forged by endurance and strict training. He was clad in the polished silver and gold armour of the Lucian army, and his posture betrayed a soldier used to frontline combat. He had slate grey eyes that scanned the treeline like a restless hawk. Black hair, tousled and medium-length, brushed the top of his collar. A scimitar hung on the frog at his hip, balanced for quick draws. 'Alric', he had introduced himself.

The other man, to the right, had called himself 'Caelen'. He was broader, muscular. His movements were heavier, more rooted. He was another member of the Vanguard. His eyes were a milky white, their pale colour a contrast to his short black hair. A faint scar traced from his jaw to the base of his neck, disappearing under his armor. He carried both a glaive and a dagger, the first attached to his back and the second to his waist. Yet, something felt off about him. It wasn’t his behavior, or his movements, nor was it the way he held himself. It was something else. A quiet aura that clung to him like mist at dawn. Perhaps he wasn’t fully human. She had seen auras like his before, faint but unmistakable. It carried that strange stillness that Aasimars often did, like a soul burdened with divine expectation.

Finally, the one behind her was a halfling named Brina, the only other woman in the group apart from Taldris. She was as small as a human toddler, with dark skin and round, rosy cheeks. She too wore the silver-and-gold Lucian armor, though it looked almost ceremonial on her small frame. Still, Taldris couldn’t help but be impressed that despite her size, Brina kept pace with the rest of the group effortlessly. At her side hung a dagger, dangling near her knee. A dagger? Taldris narrowed her eyes. An assassin, perhaps? But then her gaze drifted to the pendant around Brina’s neck. It was a four-cornered star, the holy symbol of Cravon, the god of salvation. Understanding settled in. A healer, then. She wasn’t trained in martial weapons. The dagger wasn’t meant for offense; it was there because even the most peaceful of souls needed something to defend themselves with on the field.

The group moved with measured steps as the forest pressed in around them. None of them spoke. They all felt it. There was an unnatural stillness in the air, the weight of something waiting deeper in the trees. Whatever the Zadalyns were doing out here, it wasn’t just military. The cold air turned thick and tasted almost metallic. Taldris knew there was a faint hint of something arcane nearby.

The group continued to move forward, the two men in front took the lead, blades close to hand, eyes scanning the ground forward. Trailing the group, the halfling walked with soft, almost bouncy steps, her small feet barely making a sound on the forest floor.

Suddenly, the men came to a stop, and everyone else soon followed. They had arrived at the edge of a small cliff that overlooked a small clearing in the forest. Taldris looked forward to get a better view of what was ahead. She was careful to stay low, her dark fingers parting the ferns that clung to the cliff’s edge. From here, she had a clear view of the clearing below, and what she saw made her eyes narrow with quiet calculation.

The Zadalyns had carved out a sizable camp within the hollow. A makeshift fence of sharpened logs circled the perimeter, not perfect, but enough to slow an assault. Men in deep grey and crimson armour moved with urgency, some reinforcing wards on the outer posts, others hauling crates marked with runic sigils into a central structure. Perhaps to stop any magical leakage?

At the far end of the camp, bound to a metal post and kneeling on the ground, was a Lucian scout. His armor was dented, his face bruised, and a gag was tied tightly across his mouth. Despite the distance, Taldris could make out the defiance in his eyes. He was still alive, for now.

But what caught her attention more were the non-humans.

Half a dozen or so Avians, their figure cloaked in feathers as black as pitch. They stood guard in front of what was the main gate. Though it was less of a gate and more of an opening between the wooden fence.

And near the central structure stood a hulking figure of fur. A bugbear, nearly eight feet tall, his fur matted with dried blood and streaked with war paint. A cloth covered his left shoulder with a morningstar resting on top of it, while the other was bare, revealing a tattoo of a beast’s gaping jaw. He wasn’t just standing guard; instead, he was commanding. His deep voice barked orders in a guttural tongue, and even the Zadalyns responded to him with care. Taldris’s brow furrowed as her gaze lingered on the bugbear.

What was such a tribal creature doing here? Why was he ordering the others around?

Bugbears weren’t known for discipline, nor loyalty to any crown. They were wild things. Mercenaries at best, marauders at worst. Brutes who followed strength, not structure.

“This isn’t just a forward outpost,” she murmured under her breath. “They’re preparing something. You see those crates? They're bringing in something, and it's something arcane.” The rest of the strike team stayed low, waiting for a signal. Taldris’ eyes remained fixed on the Lucian scout. Whatever was happening here, they had to move fast.

Taldris turned to the others, her voice low but firm. “First, we rescue the scout. Then we move to the crates. Our mission is to determine the purpose of this installation and dismantle any magical infrastructure. We get the scout out, find out what he knows, and then deal with whatever they’re bringing in.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“What do we do with the crates?” Caelen asked, keeping his eyes on the camp below.

“We burn them?” Brina offered hesitantly. “It’d be quicker.”

“No,” Taldris replied immediately. “We don’t know what’s inside. It could be reactive. And we’re standing in the middle of a forest with dry brush everywhere. One spark could set the whole Ironwood ablaze.”

Alric spoke up. "The orders said: 'If destruction is not feasible, retrieve any intelligence or artifacts that can confirm the nature of Zadale’s operations.'" He said it almost as if he had memorised it. “If we can’t figure out what's inside them and we can't destroy them, we take something that proves what Zadale’s doing here. We take whatever's inside the crates.”

Taldris nodded. “Exactly. Which means stealth is our only option. There are maybe fourteen, seventeen at most - including the bugbear and the Avian. Not a full detachment. This isn’t a normal camp. It’s private, hidden for a reason. It's something they don't want any Zadale or Lucian soldier to see.”

She glanced at each of them, her eyes sharp. “We only engage if they spot us. Otherwise, we go in silent, get what we need, and get out.”

"How do we plan to slip in?" Brina questioned.

“There’s a gap in the wooden fence on the right,” Caelen whispered, pointing. "If we squeeze in from there, we'll be hidden behind their tents. We might even have a clear path to the scout. But after that, our luck runs out, we would still need to get to the crates."

Taldris followed his gesture, narrowing her eyes. Sure enough, a small section near the base of the fence was uneven, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. She gave him a nod, quietly impressed.

“It’s narrow,” she murmured. “Brina and I could squeeze through, but I doubt either of you would fit.”

Alric chimed in, “We might be able to jump the back fence, but the Avian could spot us. We'd need a solid distraction.”

“And if they realize their prisoner’s missing,” Brina added, “they’ll start sweeping the area. It’ll only get harder.”

“I doubt that will happen any time soon,” Taldris said, her voice low but certain. “He's tied up behind the easternmost camp, the place is out of sight from the Avians who're too concerned with the front gate or the bugbear who's busy barking orders."

Everyone nodded. “We move when those men finish moving the crates inside. Once they're inside the main tent, we'll have fewer eyes to hide from. Then we slip in. I’ll slip through the gap first, get to the prisoner, and bring him back through the gap. Brina, you tend to his wounds. Once he’s safe, you two jump the fence on my mark. We don’t know their patrol patterns or positions, so we keep this quick and quiet.”

They let the silence settle around them one final time, letting the sounds of the forest swallow their presence. A crow cawed distantly. Leaves rustled above. Below, the camp moved with the slow rhythm of routine. The soldiers hauling crates and kindling fires, one of the Avian clacking its beak, and the bugbear roaring orders.

The group began to move, each one fading into motion like dancers in a practiced performance. No words. No sudden noise. Just grass parting silently in their path, as one by one, they descended toward the camp. They moved silently through the underbrush toward the gap in the fence. As they reached it, the group crouched low in the tall grass, hidden from sight. Taldris glanced back at the others. “I’ll go in, grab the scout, and bring him back.”

She pressed her eye to the narrow gap, the rough wood cool against her skin. Her gaze swept the area beyond. No guards were in sight, just the still back of a tent facing her and the low murmur of soldiers further off. Satisfied, she exhaled slowly, then turned sideways and began to squeeze through. The wooden planks barely creaked as she slipped into the enemy camp.

She stayed low, crouching behind the tent, keeping away from unwanted sight. Taldris tried to peek from the side, searching for a scout. She scanned the camp, her eyes darting first to the soldiers hauling crates with cautious precision, then to the hulking bugbear barking orders near the central firepit. Then, to the Avians, twitchy and alert, lingered near the entrance. And finally, her gaze settled on the Lucian scout: bruised, bloodied, and barely conscious. He was slumped against a post behind the easternmost tent. Chains bound his wrists, and his cloak was tattered, the emblem of Lucia barely visible beneath grime and dried blood. A guard stood next to him.

As she moved behind the row of tents, trying to stay low, she tried to draft a plan in her mind. The scout was placed in a location just out of sight of the Avians and the bugbear. She could make her way near the scout by continuing to walk behind the row of tents, but then she'd need to find a way to take care of the guard. Even if it was one guard and the position was out of enemy sight, she'd have to do it quietly. Any noise, and they might come searching and find her.

As she reached the final tent, she stood still, trying to draft to assess the area around her, a plan forming in her mind. She took another look towards the scout and the guard. He had his back toward her. Taldris tightened her grip on the hilt of her blade, weighing her options. A quick strike to the back of the head with the flat of her weapon could knock him out, but if he fell heavily, the thud might draw attention. Then the Avians or bugbear might be on her in seconds.

No. Too risky. She couldn’t afford to draw any attention. She had to move him from his position.

Her fingers slipped from her weapon to a pouch at her hip. She retrieved a small vial of sleep draught. It was a fast-acting, scentless concoction that she soaked into a piece of cloth. She crept forward, every step a whisper, heart beating in rhythm with the rustling leaves. One hand reached out, and the cloth pressed gently against the guard’s nose and mouth.

He stiffened, confused, and then slumped. Taldris caught him before his body hit the dirt, dragging him behind the tent.

The guard went down. Now she had to make sure no one noticed the missing guard, then take care of the scout.

She closed her eyes and started whispering an incantation under her breath. A ripple passed over her body like a heatwave through glass. Her midnight skin paled to a lighter olive tone, her white hair darkened and shortened into a black cut, and her lean frame shifted subtly into bulkier shoulders and a square jaw, the worn face of the very soldier she had just subdued. Even her armor and cloak transformed, taking on the familiarity of he Zadale uniform, the black steel and the crimson lines.

Taldris knelt beside the scout, her boots crunching softly against the packed earth, as she pretended to be a regular guard on his duty. Her fingers moved with practiced indifference as she examined the chains, careful not to let urgency show.

The scout was barely conscious, his lips cracked, and a shallow gash on his temple crusted with dried blood. His wrists were shackled to a wooden post with iron manacles, the lock old but sturdy. She leaned in, her eyes scanning for weaknesses; for rust, or a loose hinge, or even a poorly fastened bolt. Yet she found none; the restraints were well maintained.

No easy way to break them. Not quietly, at least.

Her hand slid into her belt pouch and wrapped around a thin iron wire, a lockpick. Still crouched in character, she muttered softly as if grumbling about another tedious task, her voice low and gruff, fitting the persona. She didn’t look up. She couldn’t afford to. Every motion had to appear mundane, like a soldier checking for signs of escape, not planning one. She slid the pick into the lock, careful not to draw attention, and began to work.

Click.

Click…

The sound of her work was drowned out by the strident commands being shouted by the bugbear. None of them were looking her way. Not yet.

Click. A soft give in the metal.

The first shackle slipped loose, and the scout stirred faintly. He blinked at her in confusion, trying to speak, but she placed and firm hand on her mouth. She shook her head subtly. She moved to the second lock. Another shout from the bugbear. Another turn of the pick.

Click.

Taldris caught the chain before it clattered to the ground, lowering it gently. Both manacles were undone. She leaned in closer to the scout, whispering low through her false voice:

“Don’t speak. Just follow. We're getting you out of here.”

Taldris grabbed the scout by the upper arm and hauled him to his feet, guiding him forward with measured, confident strides. They retraced her steps, moving behind the tents and towards the fence. She kept the magic of Disguise Self running, in case any other Zadale force was to find her and approach her, she could lie about escorting a prisoner. She walked them close to the perimeter, passing behind a wagon and a stack of supplies. She glanced back once; no one was watching.

The tall grass just beyond stirred; her allies were waiting.

Once they were within a few feet of the gap, she leaned into the scout again and whispered quickly, “Squeeze through.”

She gave one last glance over her shoulder. No alarm yet. No arrows. Though she knew it could happen anytime soon. Then she pushed the scout through the fence. He was safe, but now came the hard part.