Grimoires and Gunsmoke

A mix of frustration and dread was etched on Lysandra’s face as she let out a heavy sigh. Looking down she examined the metal cuffs clasped tightly around her wrists. Each and every one of them was connected to thick metal chains, which in turn anchored her firmly to the all-metal table in front of her.

Looking around she found herself once again in the stark, featureless room that had become an all-too-familiar setting. It was a place of endless meaningless conversations that were passed off as interrogations. Every once in a while they’d ask her something meaningful she’d half heartedly ramble off and answer, but in the end, it always circled back to trivialities.

Lysandra's patience was wearing thin, the repetitive nature of these sessions becoming more and more grating with each visit. As she glanced around the room, her gaze fell on the one-way mirror that she knew housed her observers. It was like a silent, unblinking eye, constantly watching, judging. She wondered if they were looking for weaknesses, for cracks in her resolve, or simply trying to understand the enigma that she was.

“It’s not like I have anything to hide anyways…” She let out another defeated sigh as she hung her head.

In the cold, hard silence of the room, Lysandra's thoughts turned inward. She contemplated the series of events that had led her here, to this moment of isolation and scrutiny. Her actions, driven by a mix of protective instinct and a rush of emotions, now seemed impetuous in the stark light of the consequences.

And to top it all off, she felt foolish. Yzael, wasn’t just some damsel in distress or even a mediocre mage unable to function when someone or something got too close. No, Yzael was a seasoned and powerful High Elf mage that was probably several times older than Lysandra herself.

As Lysandra sat there, her thoughts wandered to Yzael's vast repertoire of spells, her centuries of experience in wielding magic. She could only imagine the depth and breadth of Yzael's magical knowledge, the countless spells and incantations she must know by heart, the arcane secrets she had unraveled over her long life. Yzael, in many ways, was a living archive of magical lore, a testament to the power and longevity of her kind.

However, she didn’t regret a single thing.

Just as the thought ran through Lysandra’s head, the room's door creaked open, pulling her from her reverie. To her surprise, Dr. Stennhouse, a scholar from this world whom she hadn't seen in what felt like ages, walked in. Her good eye widened in shock and she moved to greet him, the heavy bindings and the heavily armed soldiers walking in behind him put a stop to that.

“Ah… Hello, Lysandra.” Dr. Stennhouse's greeting was tentative, almost cautious. Lysandra could sense a distinct change in his demeanor since their last interaction. He seemed more reserved, his usual academic enthusiasm dimmed by whatever circumstances had occurred outside this room.

"H-Hello Stennhouse," Lysandra replied, her voice tinged with both relief and concern. "It's been some time."

As they conversed, it became evident that Dr. Stennhouse's grasp of her language had improved significantly. His sentences, though still marked by hesitation and occasional fumbling for words, were more coherent than before. This improvement, however, was overshadowed by the palpable tension in the air.

Lysandra's mind returned to the matter that troubled her the most. "Where is Emma?" she asked, looking past the scholar expectantly. "Is she doing alright?"

Dr. Stennhouse hesitated, his expression clouded with something Lysandra couldn't quite decipher. The way he avoided her gaze was telling. "Emma... she's no longer working with us, Lysandra," he said, his voice tinged with a mix of regret and discomfort.

Furrowing her brows, Lysandra had a hard time understanding his words. "No longer… working with you? What do you mean? Where is she?" The concern was evident in her voice, her single eye searching his face for answers.

With his shoulders slumping noticeably, Dr. Stennhouse took a deep breath and looked down. "Emma has… left the project. There were... uhhh, disagreements, and she has gone elsewhere." His words were carefully measured, but the underlying tension was clear.

The revelation struck Lysandra with a mix of emotions. Emma and Scholar Stennhouse had been a bridge between her and this strange new world, a friendly face amidst those who saw her as a threat. Emma’s departure left Lysandra feeling even more isolated and vulnerable.

"Is she safe, at least?" Lysandra pressed, her voice laced with worry.

"Yes, of course," Dr. Stennhouse replied, his voice softening slightly. "She's fine. She has returned to her studies elsewhere."

Lysandra absorbed this information with a mix of relief and sadness. Emma was safe, but the circumstances of her departure remained a mystery. Before she could say anything further, Dr. Stennhouse interjected, his tone more somber than before.

"And, Lysandra, I am also leaving the project," he announced, his gaze meeting hers directly.

Lysandra stared at him, her mind racing. "Why?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Dr. Stennhouse sighed, his eyes reflecting a deep sense of regret. "We made… uhh… mistake," he said, his words heavy with meaning. "It cost all, dearly and… almost got others killed. The decision was made that it was best to move on."

As Lysandra read the lines of stress etched on Dr. Stennhouse's face, it was clear to her that he did not agree with this judgment. But she remained silent, understanding all too well the complexity and weight of the situation. She too had been part of the chain of events that led to this point.

“I come say goodbye," Dr. Stennhouse continued, his tone tinged with a blend of sorrow and resignation. "My um… leaders granted me this courtesy for all the hard work and cooperation. For willingly turning over, uhhh… scholar… things… I've learned, I will give it to my successor."

Lysandra's heart sank at those words as her gaze turned downwards to her shackles "Goodbye…?" She repeated to herself softly.

The words echoed sadly throughout the room. Dr. Stennhouse had been more than just a researcher to her; he had been a link to understanding this new and baffling world. His departure felt like another closing door leaving her even more isolated in this foreign place.

Dr. Stennhouse gave a nod, a mixture of sadness and resignation in his expression. "Yes, goodbye.”

"I wish it didn't have to end like this," Lysandra said quietly. She could tell it wasn't easy for him to walk away just as it wasn’t easy for her to lose another ally. But she understood the reasoning behind it all. The man must have already had a ton of constraints and pressures placed upon him, so that little scuffle in her room must have really pushed everything over the edge.

A small smile spread across Stennhouse’s face as he stood up. “Me too. But we have to… accept what is given.” He said as looked at the guard who simply gave him a nod.

He stood up, ready to leave. "Take care, Lysandra. I hope you find your way."

As the door closed behind him, Lysandra was left alone with her thoughts as she came to realize she was just another stranger in a strange land.

She wanted to be angry at all these… mundane and inert humans around her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so. They had treated her with more respect and dignity than anyone in her world would, especially given her circumstances.

Lysandra looked around the bare room as feeling the weight pressed down on her entire being. She was truly alone, now. She should have never come to this heaven’s forsaken world. The decision to take up a freelance contract was driven by greed, a lure of riches and adventure that now seemed foolish and shortsighted. She had envisioned a straightforward task, a simple in-and-out job that would have padded her coffers and added another tale to her repertoire. Instead, she found herself entangled in a conflict that spanned worlds, a pawn in a game far beyond her understanding.

Her thoughts turned to the Seraphic Empire, those pompous, arrogant feathered bastards who had sparked this entire fiasco. They had thought they could just waltz into another reality and claim it as their own, without even an errant thought to what may lay on the other side. Lysandra felt a surge of anger at their hubris. It was their actions, their unbridled ambition, that had brought her to this cell.

Yet, here she was, chained and restrained, while those responsible for the invasion likely continued their machinations unscathed. The injustice of it all gnawed at her. She had been a free agent, a master of her own destiny, and now she was reduced to a captive, her fate in the hands of others.

But Lysandra was not one to wallow in self-pity or resign herself to her circumstances. She had always been a survivor, someone who adapted and overcame. This situation, as dire as it was, would not be her end.

The former commander looked up to the false mirror and opened her mouth, but once again, the door creaked open to show that dark haired woman, Toi…. Toi something. The woman had regularly accompanied the scholars during their previous visits and always stood stoically overseeing the learning sessions next to the guards.

Lysandra's gaze lingered on her for a moment, recognizing the familiar face. It had been a while since she last saw this woman, but her presence didn't elicit any particular reaction. She was just another character in this ever-evolving drama. But just as Lysandra was about to lower her gaze and resign herself to yet another round of questions, she caught a glimpse of Yzael following in just behind the guards that stepped in.

“Y-Yzael!?” Lysandra basically yelled as her shackles strained from her attempt to move forward.

Relief, confusion and desperation swirled throughout Lysandra as her eyes as she watched both the dark haired woman and Yzael took a seat in front of her. “Yzael… What's going on…?”

Yzael's expression remained composed, a stark contrast to Lysandra's evident turmoil. The High Elf turned to Toivonen who simply gave a nod to give Yzael permission to speak. Turning her attention back to Lysandra, Yzael's eyes conveyed a seriousness that demanded attention.

"Lysandra, I need you to listen carefully and answer as truthfully as you can," Yzael instructed, her tone firm yet reassuring.

Lysandra's heart pounded thunderously in her chest as she tried to process the scene before her. Yzael was unshackled and sitting across from her and seemed to have assumed a role far different from that of a fellow captive. "Have you... joined them?" Lysandra asked, her voice reflecting a mix of disbelief and concern.

A difficult look spread across Yzael’s usually stoic face as she slowly looked away. "It's not about joining them, Lysandra. It’s… it’s complicated."

"But why are you free while I remain bound?" Lysandra couldn't mask the confusion and hurt in her voice.

Before Yzael could respond, Toivonen interjected with a calm yet authoritative voice. "Yzael, please begin the questioning. We need to understand the full extent of Lysandra's involvement with her employers."

Yzael hesitated for a moment, her gaze lingering on Lysandra's pained face before letting out a sigh. "Lysandra, we need to understand why you came to this world. Can you tell us about the contract you accepted from the Seraphic Empire?" Yzael's voice was gentle, but there was an undercurrent of urgency in her words.

A mix of confusion and frustration was etched onto Lysandra’s face as gave Yzael a hard look. "Why are you asking me this, Yzael? You took the same contract. You should know," she said, her voice tinged with a sense of betrayal.

“Yes, I was. But as I’m more-than sure you’re aware, these humans are… meticulous and redundant.” Yzael acknowledged what Lysandra was feeling and tried to soothe her former commander by reiterating the nature of the humans' approach.

The response seemed to resonate with Lysandra as she let out a tired sigh, resigning herself to the situation. "Fine," She whispered in a weary voice.

"The contract I took... it was straightforward and was offered by taskers sponsored by the empire.” Lysandra explained as she remembered and regretted disregarding the warnings of Ulina, owner of a Tavern acting as a small Freelancer guild she was a part of. “I was to provide my services as a mercenary – nothing more. Specific tasks, recon, escort duties, and occasionally dealing with bandits and criminals. The pay was good, very good. I didn't ask questions; I never do. It's cleaner that way."

Toivonen listened to Yzael’s translation attentively, taking mental notes. "And at any point, were you made aware of their broader intentions? The invasion?"

Lysandra looked to Yzael as she reiterated Toivonen’s question and shook her head. "No. They never shared their plans with hired help. I knew they were ambitious, the Empire always is, but an invasion of another world? No, I didn't see that coming."

Yzael translated this, her expression remaining neutral. Toivonen’s gaze was analytical, trying to discern the truth in Lysandra’s words.

"Did you have any interactions with higher-ups in the Empire? Anyone who might have hinted at something more?" Yzael asked, following Toivonen's line of inquiry.

Lysandra thought for a moment. "Not really. My only interaction with anyone of remote standing was the Drakonic officer that warned us about…” She trailed off and glanced towards Toivonen. “Their capabilities. And by that time, we were already in the field.”

Toivonen nodded slightly, jotting down notes on her pad as she listened to Yzael. The intelligence officer then leaned in, her eyes sharp and focused. "And what is your opinion on the Empire?”

Letting out an annoyed sigh, Lysandra dropped her head in a fit of frustration. "I've answered these questions a hundred times over," she said, her voice edged with irritation.

“Lysandra… I know, but please answer the question.” Yzael looked between Lysandra and Toivonen. “This is simply their way, so just please.”

With a twitching eye, Lysandra shook her head and relented. "Ugh… fine.” She groaned. “My feelings about the Empire haven't changed. They're ambitious, overreaching, and now, clearly reckless.

Yzael translated her words, maintaining a neutral expression, but Lysandra could see a hint of understanding in her eyes. Toivonen, however, remained impassive, her demeanor professional and detached.

“And what is her opinion of the forces of the world the Empire invaded?” Toivonen said before glancing at Yzael who relayed the question with the insistence on the importance of an honest response.

Lysandra's annoyance faded, replaced by a contemplative silence. She looked down at her shackled hands, her expression turning distant as she grappled with the weight of the question. The memories of her friends and colleagues who had come to this world with her, filled her thoughts. She had led them here, promising adventure and riches, only to find tragedy and death.

Her mind wandered to the taverns where they had planned their exploits, the laughter and jokes they had shared. Each face, each voice, now just echoes in her memory. They had trusted her, and she had led them into a disaster.

So, who was to blame? The people of this world who had swung the death blow in defense of their home? Or the Empire, whose reckless ambition had thrust them into a nightmare?

Guilt, anger and sorrow churned in Lysandra’s gut as her gaze remained fixated on her twiddling hands on the table. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know who to blame," she admitted, her voice laced with pain. "My friends are all dead…”

“They all died at the hands of the defenders of this world. But we were the invaders, misled by the Empire's folly." She continued as she brought her hand up to her missing eye only for it to stop short from the thick chains binding her to the table.

Yzael translated her words slowly, her voice tinged with empathy. Toivonen listened intently, her expression remaining as she looked towards the two way mirror.

"Thank you, Lysandra," Toivonen said after a brief pause. "Your perspective is invaluable in understanding the complexities of this conflict."

The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension as Yzael awaited Toivonen's next move. Toivonen's gaze was piercing, almost as if she were trying to delve into Lysandra's very soul. After a moment of heavy silence, she leaned forward, her eyes locked on Lysandra.

"I've been informed," Toivonen began, her voice steady, "that the Empire you were fighting for had decided to withdraw from the battlefield. They forced the mercenaries, including your team, to cover their retreat." Yzael translated her words with a growing sense of dread. "It seems they promised reinforcements, gold, land, and status to those who stayed behind. But that support... it never arrived."

Lysandra's reaction was immediate and visceral. A dark, hollow laugh escaped her lips as she dropped her head into her hands, her shoulders shaking with a mix of anger and despair. Yzael, translating her laughter into words, couldn't hide the scowl on her face.

Toivonen waited for the laughter to subside, her expression unreadable. The room fell into another round of oppressive silence, the weight of Lysandra's realization hanging in the air.

Finally, Toivonen spoke again, her voice rough with effort as she tried to speak in Lysandra and Yzael's common language. "Do you... want revenge?" Her accent was thick, her pronunciation uncertain, but the intent behind her question was clear.

Slowly lifting her head, Lysandra's eyes met Toivonens. The raw emotion in her gaze was palpable and for a long moment, she just stared at Toivonen, her mind wrestling with the enormity of the question.

After what felt like an eternity, Lysandra finally spoke. “I want to hurt them.”

Toivonen turned towards one of the guards in the back and nodded towards them. “Inform the goddess she’s ready.”