The Silver Sphinx

 

“Time is often part of a solution, but never the solution itself."

planar proverb

 

 

Second Guild Day of Mortis, 126 HR

The alleys of the Hive were as familiar to Síkhara as the lines on her own palm. Every crack in the pavement, every rotten door, every hidden niche seemed to hold a story or a lost dream - some of them her own. About a week and a half had passed since she had met Krystall in the Rusty Blade, and neither the blood hunter nor the Razor Angels had been able to find any useful clues about the shadow thieves. Síkhara's client, the githzerai Zramag, was growing impatient. But then Krystall had contacted her. One of her cell members, a half-elf named Rianna, had discovered something. Disguised as a scribe at the City Court, she had told a new victim that her shadow had also been stolen, and had thus struck up a conversation with the affected gnome lawyer. He had shown her a piece of paper he had found in his office, the scene of the theft. Several symbols were written on the small scrap that the lawyer wasn't able to identify, and he suspected that the shadow thief had lost it at the scene of the crime. He had actually wanted to submit it to the Harmonium as evidence, but fortunately, Rianna had quick and dexterous fingers. She had taken the scrap of paper from the gnome without being noticed and brought it to Krystall. The leader of the Razor Angels had immediately contacted Síkhara and handed her the small piece of evidence. The fire genasi nodded gently. Krystall was a valuable ally, with her connections in the underworld and her unwavering determination to protect the weak. Now Síkhara had to find out what the scrap of paper meant.

Rakalla was her next port of call, for the medusa was a skilled alchemist and possessed knowledge in this field that rivaled even that of the scholars in the Clerk's Ward. If anyone could help her with this piece of paper, it was her. Síkhara turned into a narrow alley so dark she could barely see her own hand in front of her face. The smell of mold and decay hung in the air, and she heard the patter of feet in the distance. She drew her scimitar, just in case ... Why shadows? she asked herself again. What was so valuable about these incorporeal images that someone was willing to take such a high risk to steal them? And what did all of this have to do with the Clerk's Ward? It couldn't be just a coincidence that most of the victims lived and worked there. There was a deeper connection, a hidden logic that she hadn't yet figured out. Finally, the blood hunter reached the edge of the Hive. Here, at the transition to the Lower Ward, lived Rakalla. Síkhara stopped at a door with chipped green paint, but an intricately carved snake-shaped knocker. The medusa's laboratory was located in an old, abandoned warehouse that had once been used for spice trade. Now it was a realm of alchemy, a place where Rakalla did her best to turn the laws of nature upside down. Síkhara knocked loudly, and a moment later a small hatch in the door was opened and emerald green eyes with slit pupils looked through it. Although she knew that Rakalla could control her gaze, Síkhara flinched briefly. The hatch closed, and a few seconds later the door creaked open. The slender figure of the medusa stood out against the light of the laboratory, her snake hair writhing as always.

“Síkhara," Rakalla said with a smile. ”What a surprise. But it's good to see you again. Come in.”

The fire genasi entered the warehouse and was immediately overwhelmed by a wave of smells - herbs, metals, acids, and vapors that combined into a unique mixture, in equal shares stimulating and acrid. The interior of Rakalla's laboratory was lit by lamps made of magical crystals, and everywhere stood tables and shelves filled with bottles, flasks, crucibles, mortars, and pestles. Nevertheless, the room seemed to be both a laboratory and a living room, as on one side there was also a kind of sofa that Rakalla had apparently improvised from a few sturdy wooden boxes and old cushions. To her surprise, Síkhara saw Haer'Dalis sitting there. The blue-haired tiefling had his legs crossed and was quietly playing his lute.

When he saw her enter, he stopped playing and waved at her. “Ah, look at the firebird fluttering in here unexpectedly. The Lady's Grace, Síkhara.”

“Haer'Dalis.” She smiled. “That's unexpected, indeed. You seem to be here more often lately.”

Rakalla shrugged innocently at this remark, but the tiefling grinned. “An alchemist's laboratory owned by a medusa, and such a charming one at that - who wouldn't want to come here?”

He winked briefly at Rakalla, and she cleared her throat. “We're both part of the same faction, after all,” she explained quickly. “And since I told Haer'Dalis about the Prophecy ... well, that naturally brings us closer.”

Síkhara glanced briefly between the two, wondering if something more was in the offing here and, if so, whether it was mutual. She wasn't jealous - the affair between her and Haer'Dalis had been over for quite some time. They had remained friends - sometimes with benefits - but otherwise they were no longer bound to each other. However, she couldn't figure out what exactly was going on between the tiefling and the medusa for the moment, because Rakalla was now offering her a seat on the sofa.

“Síkhara, my dear, it's good to see you. What brings you to my humble abode?”

“I need your help, Rakalla,” Síkhara replied without beating around the bush. ”I have a new case, and it's ... complicated. It's about the recent shadow thefts. I don't know if you've heard about it?”

The medusa nodded. “Krystall mentioned something a few days ago.”

Síkhara took out the paper with the symbols and handed it to the alchemist. ”Can you tell me what this is?”

Rakalla took the small scrap and examined it with interest. Her green fingers slid over the mysterious lines of the symbols as if trying to feel a hidden message. “These are strange signs,” she explained, her emerald eyes sparkling in the light of the crystals. In her own quarters, she rarely wore her glasses with the blackened lenses. “Fragments of runes unknown to me, but connected to alchemical symbols.”

Haer'Dalis leaned forward to get a better look. “And what symbols exactly, my jungle viper?”

Síkhara knew that the bard gave all his friends animal nicknames, so this didn't necessarily mean anything about his feelings for Rakalla. However, he only used this type of nickname for people he felt close to, that much was certain.

The medusa glanced at him briefly. “One stands for the moon and another for bones. I can't make sense of it at the moment. But I'll analyze both the paper and the ink. Maybe that will tell us more.”

She went to one of her work tables, which was covered with a collection of tools whose purpose Síkhara could only guess. There were flasks made of different colored glass, crucibles with liquids bubbling over green flames, and a strange apparatus made of polished bone and twisted metal. “I'm preparing the extraction apparatus to analyze the ink and the paper,” Rakalla explained, without taking her eyes off the symbols on the scrap. ”If I can identify the individual components they're made of, that might help us determine their origin.”

She took a fine scalpel, carefully scraped traces of ink from the piece of paper, and then cut off a small blank corner of the scrap. She put the samples in small crystal bowls and placed them under a complicated microscope equipped with eyepieces, mirrors, and lenses.

Rakalla glanced through it and her eyes narrowed in concentration. “Interesting,” she murmured. ”The ink contains traces of moon dust mixed with ground bones. A rather rare combination. If this piece of paper really has something to do with the shadow thefts, then there must be a good reason for this particular mixture. There are portals to the Plane of Shadows whose keys are moon dust or bones.”

Haer'Dalis ran his fingertips thoughtfully over the strings of his lute. “The Plane of Shadows ... A place of darkness, secrets, and lost souls. A place sought by many, but understood by few.”

Rakalla looked at him. ”Sounds like you have experience with it.”

“Oh, I once visited a place called the Shadow-Cursed Lands,” the bard explained. ”But I am no scholar of the shadows. My knowledge is more ... practical in nature.”

He glanced briefly at Síkhara, and she nodded knowingly. They had visited this place together on their last journey on the Prime. Overall, it had been a rather unpleasant experience.

Rakalla did not ask any further questions, however, but nodded briefly and returned to her analysis. She placed the samples in a complicated device consisting of intertwined glass tubes and glittering crystals. Carefully, she poured in a mixture of colored liquids and then sealed all the tubes. With a steady hand, she lit a small fire under the device, and the liquids began to bubble and evaporate.

“This is an alchemical extractor,” she explained. ”It will break down the ink into its basic components and reveal any residue on the paper. With a bit of luck, we'll be able to link this information to a specific source.”

The minutes stretched as Rakalla worked on her analysis. Alchemy took time, as Síkhara knew. The air in the laboratory was soon filled with the hum and hiss of equipment and the scent of exotic herbs and essential oils. Haer'Dalis played his lute, his music sometimes cheerful and lively, then slow and thoughtful. Síkhara, on the other hand, watched Rakalla closely as she worked, without distracting or interrupting her with questions or comments.

Finally, the medusa took a corked test tube from a holder and nodded. “I couldn't find anything unusual about the paper. But the ink consists of an interesting combination of ingredients: moon dust, bone meal from nightmares, and a type of liquid shadow essence that I have never encountered in this form before.” She demonstratively lifted the test tube containing a gray liquid. “Even in this diluted form, it still smells very intense. Here, see for yourselves.”

She passed the tube to Síkhara, who removed the cork and carefully sniffed the contents. Indeed, the gray liquid gave off a strange, intense odor. It was difficult to describe, most like a mixture of nightshade, ash, and acid. The blood hunter had never smelled anything like it before, but Haer'Dalis sat up abruptly when he also sniffed the thin glass tube.

Rakalla didn't miss it, of course. “Does that smell familiar to you?”

The tiefling rose and walked over to the table where Rakalla was working. “Indeed. I'm sure I smelled that not too long ago. It was at a workshop in the Hive, near the Goblin Quarter.”

Síkhara also stood up. “A workshop? What was being made there?”

“I'm not sure,” the bard explained regretfully. ”I just happened to pass by on my way to the Armory and didn't pay much attention to the place. A few people were dragging strange devices from the courtyard into the workshop that looked like traps or cages. But that smell ... it was unmistakable. I'm sure it was the same.”

Rakalla frowned. “Can you remember exactly where this workshop is?”

Haer'Dalis nodded. ”It's in a small alley behind Dogskull Way. An inconspicuous building with no windows and a heavy iron door.”

“That's it!” Síkhara grabbed her coat. “That's our lead. Rakalla, thank you for your help! And you, Haer'Dalis, for providing the crucial clue.”

“Wait a minute.” The medusa took the test tube from the tiefling, corked it, and placed it back in the holder. ”You want to go there right now?”

“Absolutely,” the blood hunter replied. “I've been looking for a concrete lead for too long. It's time to do something.”

“Then you shouldn't go alone,” Rakalla said, also grabbing her coat. ”If dark alchemy is really at work there, it could be quite dangerous. I'm coming with you.”

Haer'Dalis had already fetched his lute and slung it over his back. “Of course, this sparrow will accompany you on this dark path, my firebird. May our steps lead us to the truth – or into the Abyss.”

As so often, his theatrical streak elicited a smile from Síkhara. ”All right, I could use a little backup. Then show us the way, my friend."

 

Near Rakalla's laboratory, the alleys were still relatively busy, partly lined with improvised stalls offering a wide variety of goods: simple but at least unspoiled food, cheap, sometimes stolen goods, and the odd questionable elixir. The merchants were a colorful mix of tieflings, goblins, humans, and gnomes, loudly touting their wares. The smell of soot, rancid oil, and cheap alcohol was omnipresent. But this was still the Lower Ward. As soon as they entered the Hive, the alleys became quieter, but also gloomier. The buildings here were significantly more dilapidated, some of them seemed to be on the verge of collapse. Rebellious or obscene graffiti could be seen everywhere on the walls, water dripped from leaky gutters here and there, and rats scurried almost across their feet. As they passed the Slags, the ground became increasingly uneven and littered with rubbish. The smell of decay and sewage hung in the air, and here and there they heard soft whispers, moans, or giggles. Alongside the poorest of the poor, the occasional fiend loitered here, to whom a berk could sell their soul - if they hadn't done so already. The alleys became even narrower and darker as Síkhara, Haer'Dalis, and Rakalla finally approached the Goblin Quarter. As the name suggested, there were a lot of goblins living here, so that small, green-skinned figures could now be seen on every corner. Krixxi had some friends here, as Síkhara knew. Haer'Dalis led the group purposefully and with the confidence of a man who had crossed these alleys countless times. Yes, he was currently performing once more with Raelis Shai's highly respected theater troupe, but like Síkhara herself, he had been in the Hive often enough to find his way around easily. He knew all the shady corners and secret paths. Finally he stopped at one of these corners. The smell of strange spices and fried meat wafted from a nearby dive and mingled with the stench of the alley.

“It's not far from here,” he said in a hushed voice. ”Be on your guard, my friends. We may not be the only ones looking for answers.”

They turned into a narrow alley, even darker and dirtier than the previous ones. The buildings huddling above them were so old and dilapidated that they were beginning to crumble. Cobwebs covered in dust and dirt hung between the low roofs, and symbols whose meaning Síkhara did not know were scrawled on several house walls, looking suspiciously as if they had been painted with blood.

Haer'Dalis pointed straight ahead. “There,” he said. “The workshop is in a building at the end of this alley.”

They continued cautiously, and the sounds of the Goblin Quarter faded behind them. The atmosphere changed subtly, becoming heavier, more threatening. The wind seemed to die suddenly, and the air grew cold and damp. Síkhara felt her muscles tense. At the end of the alley, they saw the building Haer'Dalis had described. It was an inconspicuous, windowless structure made of gray bricks. The heavy iron door was covered with rust and fitted with a massive lock. There was no sign, no indication of what was inside. It almost seemed as if the building was trying to hide from the world. They crouched in a dark corner and watched the house and the front yard for a while, but no one was to be seen. When they were sure that the workshop was empty, they sneaked to the front door. Haer'Dalis circled the building once, as quickly and silently as Síkhara remembered. She knew immediately what his shake of the head meant when he returned: the heavy iron door at the front was the only entrance.

“We should be very careful,” Rakalla whispered, her snakes hissing softly. ”This is certainly not a place where visitors are welcome.”

Síkhara nodded in agreement, stepped forward, and examined the heavy iron gate. She placed her hand on it - it did not radiate any arcane energy. “It's locked, but not magically sealed,” she concluded. “No arcane protection, just a sturdy, old-fashioned lock.”

Haer'Dalis stepped beside her. “Perhaps that's their mistake,” he said with a faint smile. “To think that a simple door is enough to protect their secrets.” He pulled a set of fine tools from a leather pouch on his belt. “I'm more specialized in words than in locks, but I've opened more complicated doors.”

While Haer'Dalis fiddled with the lock, Síkhara and Rakalla kept a watchful eye on their surroundings. The alley and the courtyard were quiet, but the blood hunter felt her hair stand on end. Someone - or something - was watching them. She could feel it, but she couldn't see anyone, and that made her nervous. After a few tense minutes, the lock finally gave way and sprang open with a soft click.

Haer'Dalis took a step back. “The door is yours, my lady,” he said with a grin and a bow in Síkhara's direction. “May your steps lead you to enlightenment ... or at least to an interesting fight.”

“You're an oddball, Haer'Dalis,” Rakalla whispered.

Síkhara nodded at the medusa's words but opened the heavy iron gate without a comment. It creaked unpleasantly and the fire genasi immediately paused with a quiet curse. Rakalla signaled her to wait and searched for something in one of her belt pouches. Only a few blinks later, she had pulled out a small vial and dripped something onto the door hinges. Then she nodded to Síkhara. And sure enough, when the blood hunter pushed against the door again, it slid open smoothly and silently. Síkhara nodded appreciatively at the alchemist and peered inside the building. Only pitch-black darkness and a smell ... the stench of acid and that unmistakable aroma she had perceived from the shadow essence in Rakalla's laboratory. Haer'Dalis had not been mistaken.

“I'll go first,” Síkhara whispered, then stepped into the dark room. As a fire genasi, she possessed darkvision, and knowing that tieflings and medusae did too, she refrained from using a light source that might betray their presence.

Haer'Dalis and Rakalla quickly slipped into the building behind her and closed the door quietly. The room was large and gloomy, apparently a storage room that had been converted into a laboratory. Tables and shelves stood everywhere, filled with bottles, flasks, crucibles, and strange devices. Thanks to her visits to Rakalla, Síkhara recognized some of them as alchemical apparatus, but others were completely unfamiliar to her. The air was filled with the strange smell of nightshade, ash, and acid, which indicated the presence of shadow essence. Boards with strange symbols and diagrams hung on the walls. Síkhara recognized some of the signs - they were on the scrap of paper that had led them here. But she had never seen the other symbols before. On a table in the center of the room stood a device that caught Síkhara's attention - a kind of cage made of polished steel and reinforced with runes etched into the surface. It was empty, but Síkhara could feel the subtle magical energy emanating from it.

“What is that?” she asked quietly.

Rakalla stepped beside her and looked at the device with a skeptical eye. “It looks like some kind of trap,” she said. “A cage for something ... immaterial.”

Síkhara felt a cold shiver run down her spine. “A cage for shadows,” she whispered.

She examined it more closely and discovered a small opening with a complicated locking mechanism. Haer'Dalis picked it as skillfully as he had opened the door and found a small crystal vial inside the cage. It was empty, but Síkhara could perceive the faint aroma of shadow essence.

“This is where they kept the stolen shadows,” she said. ”They locked them in this cage and extracted their essence.”

Suddenly, they heard a soft noise behind them. They spun around and saw a shadow detach itself from a corner of the room. It was pitch black and had a vague humanoid shape, but its contours were blurred and unclear. However, two red eyes glowed in the darkness of its silhouette.

“You shouldn't be here,” the shadow hissed in a hoarse voice. ”You must be removed.”

Then it attacked. It lunged at Síkhara with such speed that she barely had time to react. She dodged just as the shadow reached for her. Its claws, formed from pure darkness, sliced through the air where she had just been standing.

“Haer'Dalis, Rakalla, take cover!” the blood hunter shouted, drawing her scimitar.

The tiefling leaped aside and drew his two short swords. He whirled the blades and intoned a short melody. Instantly, his weapons were surrounded by an aura of blue light. Rakalla's snakes hissed as the medusa reached for a vial on her belt. Her gaze was useless against a shadow, which was probably the reason for the curse she uttered.

Síkhara now created a small flame in her free palm, one of her abilities as a fire genasi. “Shadows are sensitive to light!” she shouted to the others, then rushed toward the enemy.

As she did so, she drew the blade of her scimitar across her inner left forearm. The sharp, familiar pain as the edge cut through the skin and drew blood ... then the flash as her blade was engulfed in flames by her blood magic. She struck with the burning scimitar, which flashed in a bright light as it came into contact with the shadow. It recoiled and let out a pain-filled screech. Haer'Dalis reacted immediately. He hummed a short melody that created a ball of radiant light. The bard sent it flying toward the shadow, which flinched under the light as if burned. Síkhara seized the opportunity and attacked again. She struck several times with her scimitar, a series of quick, precise blows, while holding her hand with the flame aloft to cast even more light on the shadow. Each time her scimitar touched it, the shadow let out a pained sound and recoiled. But it was resilient. It frayed under Síkhara's attacks and Haer'Dalis' light spell, but it did not dissolve. It attacked the fire genasi again with its claws, and it was almost as fast as it had been at the beginning of the fight. She could barely dodge the attack this time.

“Síkhara, take cover!” she heard Rakalla shout behind her. ”It's going to get very bright!”

The blood hunter jumped behind one of the tables, and in the next moment, the medusa hurled a kind of grenade that hit the stone floor directly in front of the shadow. A blinding flash bathed the entire room in a flickering, almost painfully bright light. The shadow screamed, a bloodcurdling sound that made the walls of the laboratory shake. It frayed, its body flickered and swirled and began to dissolve. But before it disappeared completely, it hurled a wave of dark energy at the group. Síkhara ducked behind the table, Haer'Dalis and Rakalla behind a stack of boxes. The dark streaks swept over them without hurting them, but shattered some of the nearby equipment. Then the shadow was completely gone.

Síkhara slowly stood up and looked around. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“We're fine,” replied Haer'Dalis. “Thanks to the literally enlightening intervention of this dauntless jungle viper.”

Rakalla grinned. “Oh, thank you very much. Who would have thought that a simple alchemical flash grenade could be so useful?”

Síkhara nodded seriously. The fight had been short but intense, and this shadow had been no ordinary specimen, but a more powerful creature of darkness. That alone confirmed that they had stumbled upon something big and dangerous. “That means we're on the right track,” the fire genasi concluded. “We're closing in on the string pullers behind the shadow thefts.”

“What now?” asked Haer'Dalis, letting his gaze wander over the partially destroyed laboratory. “The creature is gone, but its creators are not.”

“We'll search everything,” Síkhara declared, sheathing her scimitar. ”Every table, every shelf, every corner. There must be something here that will give us another clue.”

The medusa and the tiefling nodded, and they began to comb through the laboratory carefully, table by table, shelf by shelf. They found various alchemical devices and ingredients, but no records of experiments or even clues as to who might be behind it all. However, they discovered more of the strange devices that resembled traps or cages, as well as vials filled with a dark liquid - presumably shadow essence.

Rakalla carefully packed the flasks away. “This is more than just ordinary theft,” she said with concern. “They're trying to create something. I'm not sure what it is, but it can't be anything good.”

The medusa was right - something big and dangerous was going on here, but whoever was behind it seemed to have covered their tracks well. Just as they were about to give up, Haer'Dalis found something - an inconspicuous compartment in one of the tables. The drawer was secured with a complicated lock, but the tiefling managed to open it with his thieves' tools. Inside, they found a handwritten note indicating a date and time: one hour before anti peak, and the date referred to three days from today. Next to it was a rough sketch showing the part of the Hive where Slaadi Walk and Black Boot Walk met. One of the houses was marked with a cross.

“Hmm, that's on the edge of the Night Market,” Síkhara said. “Apparently, a meeting, an exchange, or something similar is supposed to take place in the marked house in three days. That seems to be our next lead.”

Haer'Dalis carefully put the note back in the compartment. “I'll leave it here and lock the drawer. Maybe we're lucky and no one will suspect anything.”

Rakalla nodded with a sigh. “It's bad enough that the fight left traces of our breaking. But if the shadow thieves think the hidden compartment is untouched, they might not cancel the meeting at the Night Market.”

“Everything depends on that,” Síkhara agreed, already on her way to the door. “That's our only lead so far. Hopefully we'll know more in three days.”

 

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Of course, Haer'Dalis is talking about the Shadow-Cursed Lands of Baldur's Gate 3 here, as I played with Síkhara as my Durge.