“1099 days left” by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition

  Jericho, wrapped tightly in his purple cloak against the biting cold of the Long Night, walked in the shadows, distancing himself from the Magi camp.

  His relationship with Shuri had always been marked by mutual respect and camaraderie, stretching back over two Winter. They had shared many moments, both light and serious, forging what he had considered a strong bond of friendship. Yet now, doubts crept in.

  Lately, something had been gnawing at him, a nagging feeling deep in his gut that something was amiss. This intuition had become a persistent whisper, suggesting that all was not as it seemed with Shuri. It had always been there, right before him, yet he had either been unable or unwilling to see.

  The thought that Shuri might be involved in foul activities, possibly harming others like the newcomer girls—who remained painfully reserved and distant—disturbed him deeply.

  And there was Zora, with her quiet demeanour and her mysterious, cobwebbed tent, who had always seemed to carry a burden, a shadow that now seemed possibly linked to Shuri.

  Compelled by a sense of duty to uncover the truth, Jericho decided it was time to follow Shuri and observe her actions away from the watchful eyes of Mediah and Jaer. If she was indeed engaging in foul play, he needed to see it for himself and gather evidence.

  As the cold wind howled through the sparse trees, Jericho pulled his cloak tighter and set out on his horse into the darkness.

  He followed Shuri obviously to the local tavern. Knowing her habits well, he anticipated her movements, keeping a safe distance to avoid detection.

  His major concern was not just following Shuri but how he would handle the situation once inside the tavern. His distinctive appearance, marked by white hair and a vivid purple robe, was hardly inconspicuous in the rough-hewn atmosphere of a local tavern.

  As he arrived on the outskirts of the village, Jericho dismounted, tying his horse to a post with a practised hand while keeping his eyes on the vivid light windows of the tavern. Given his purpose, the glow seemed inviting yet foreboding.

  Before he could strategize his next move, a sudden tension snapped against his neck. The cold metal of a blade pressed dangerously close to his skin, and a familiar voice cut through the night air with a sharp, almost deadly, suspicion.

  "What are you doing here?"

  Jericho froze, weighing his words carefully. Any sudden move could escalate the situation to a dangerous confrontation. His mind raced for the right response, one that could potentially defuse the tension while still allowing him to pursue the truth about Shuri's actions.

  "I was... just looking for some fresh air," he managed to say, hoping his calm tone would belie the nervousness that gripped him.

  As the cold metal pressed uncomfortably against his throat, Jericho struggled to identify the voice in the darkness. Trying to maintain his composure, he continued to stammer his response, "And I felt thirsty."

  "Why have you been following me?"

  "Lolth, is that you?" Jericho's voice shifted from tense to relieved as he began to recognize the familiar tones of the dark elf. He turned with no caution. Seeing Zora instead of Shuri brought a sudden release of the tension he hadn't realized he was holding. "I thought I was about to die right now. Oh, geez, it's just you." He crouched to his knees, taking a deep, steadying breath, the cold night air sharp in his lungs. "I thought this would be the day," he half-joked, half-confessed.

  "Go back to the camp," Zora commanded sternly, yet not unkind.

  "I can't; I need to see..." Jericho stood. I need to find out what the hell she had been doing. “

  Zora, wrapped tightly in her black fabric, her face obscured, remained a silhouette against the night. "Go. I don't think these are the answers you want."

  "Then more of a reason for me to know." Jericho stepped forward, positioning himself firmly in front of Zora, blocking her intended path with his clumsy stance. "I am the one who brought Shuri to Ormgrund. I need to know if I messed up."

  "We will need to walk in the shadows. No movements, no words. We just came to observe, nothing else. Do you understand?" Zora’s instructions were taut, and her tone was that of a seasoned officer preparing for a stealth operation.

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  "Geez, you talk like Jaer," Jericho retorted, his tone half-mocking but with a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  "If she is an officer, it can't be that hard."

  "Ouch."

  "Place yourself behind me!" she commanded next.

  Jericho obediently took his place behind her. Zora reached back, positioning his hands around her waist. As soon as he adjusted to the unexpected closeness, Zora stepped into a shadow cast by the building next to the tavern.

  In an instant, they were inside the pub, present yet invisible.

  It was a rowdy hive of activity, bursting with the rough laughter and boisterous tales of hunters and sailors who had come ashore seeking respite in drink and company. Shuri, amidst this noisy backdrop, appeared completely at ease. She lounged in her chair, her feet propped up on the table, a clear sign of her comfort and familiarity with this crowd.

  Her laughter mingled with the sailors' as they boasted of daring escapades and unlikely victories, each story more embellished than the last.

  The smell of tobacco and salt, the wooden sticky floor underfoot with spilt drinks, and the grime of the sea blended with every round of stories. Their mugs would inevitably run dry. The cleric behind the bar would keep their spirits high and their cups filled, pouring more ale and beer with a generous hand.

  Shuri smiled, clinking her mug against those of the burly sailors. Her pink eyes sparkled with mischief and a hint of something more—a cunning that suggested she was more than just another merrymaker.

  She commanded attention, though not as the typical charismatic leader or the beloved life of the party. Instead, she stood out like a peculiar anomaly—petite and almost delicate among the burly, rough-edged sailors surrounding her.

  Yet, it was not her size that drew the eyes; it was her presence, exuberant and brash, her voice piercing through the din with an audacity that outstripped her small frame.

  To the untrained eye, she might have seemed out of place or even in over her head among such menacing company. But Jericho knew better. Shuri thrived in such settings; her energy and sheer force of personality made her not just part of the group but its unexpected epicentre. Her laugh was the loudest, her stories the most daring, her gestures grand and sweeping, challenging the sailors at their own game of bravado.

  Or so he thought. Was this just Shuri being Shuri, or was there something more calculated, more dangerous, unfolding before him?

  Amid the laughter and clinking of mugs, one of the more boisterous sailors leaned in, his voice booming over the din. "So, when are you coming with us for the next hunt?"

  "I'm busy with the camp now. I can't leave my girls like this," Shuri replied with a playful swish of her hand, her words slurring slightly as she chugged down her mug, the ale frothing at the edges. "I'm a Magi, now!"

  "We got orders from the White Cloaks to fish more fairies. Faewood went dark," another sailor chimed in, his voice dropping a notch.

  "Dark? Like no more sun?" Shuri's interest was piqued, her eyebrows arching in curiosity as she set her mug down with a thud.

  "No more sun and no more fairies. They learned how to hide," he explained.

  "They are hiding, but they aren't far; I got mail from Faewood the other day."

  "It's getting harder to hunt. Some of us think it's because we lost our lucky charm!" another sailor joked, slinging an arm around Shuri's neck in a rough, affectionate gesture, nudging her head playfully. His laughter boomed with hers.

  "Come on, guys, I only sailed the boat." Shuri, momentarily encased in the sailor's hefty grip, laughed along, "Speaking of boat, how is my precious girl?"

  "It's fine, but you can always check it for yourself," one of the sailors shot back, a sly grin stretching across his face, implying perhaps that the vessel missed her as much as they did.

  "Didn't bring my gear... next time, perhaps," Shuri replied remorsefully, brushing her short hair back into place with her hand, her demeanour cool despite the rising tide of alcohol-fueled enthusiasm around her.

  "So, any new girlfriends?" another sailor prodded, leaning in with a lecherous smirk.

  "A few here and there, but my eyes are only for one: a dark elf, that damn chick is so hot. She could melt the Winter with that booty! And she's easy, too. I love that I can bite her off. She tastes and acts like flowers. She won't make a sound, a true, lovely doll," Shuri boasted with a tone of something darker, something of a predatory.

  Jericho, hidden in the shadows with Zora, felt a cold shiver of rage wash over him at the description, which matched only one person in their camp. Beside him, he sensed Zora stiffening, her body rigid with either fear or anger or perhaps both. Shuri's words were not just offensive—they were a direct threat cloaked in the rowdy banter of drunken men.

  There was only one dark elf in the whole camp—Lolth. Jericho's heart pounded against his chest. Although he just revealed the mystery behind the girls leaving the Trial of Elements, he also lost his best friend.

  

  Lyra of the Red Sea, a figure whose name peppers the annals of history, has indeed carved a niche for herself in the lore of the Meres. Her debut came during the twenty-second Trial of Elements, where she secured a position within the Summerqueen's elite forces. Her involvement did not escape notice; she served as a key informant across the most varied royal courts. Persistent rumours suggest she was the Summerqueen's doppelganger, a role that allowed the regent to attend to global matters while avoiding the tedium of courtly squabbles—a plausible theory given Lyra's mercurial nature. However, no documented evidence lends credence to such claims. Moreover, Lyra's personal life has woven itself into the fabric of legend. Known for her romantic liaisons with notable figures such as Magi Esra Ann, Belmond Drach, and Magi Lolth, and probably others. Her name is often breathlessly cited in tales of sex and intrigue. Yet, one might cautiously ponder the veracity and impact of her affections on the grand tapestry of our history. Note that this author profoundly dislikes this character. But I must admit I can't avoid being biased. ——The Hexe - Book Two by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer