A Lantern in the Dark

It begins with a sound that does not belong—a crack, like bone splitting under massive pressure, followed by the tortured screech of reality being clawed open.

The portal does not appear—it erupts, vomiting tendrils of corrupted starlight that lash outward, carving jagged claw-marks into the very air.

Through it, a figure falls.
Not stumbles—falls.
Hard. Heavy. Wrong.

An older man—Haltija, judging by the purple symbol on his neck—crashes onto the cobblestones. His ceremonial robes are shredded, soaked in a grim cocktail of blood, mud, and something darker still. One eye is swollen shut. The other, wide and frantic, darts about, desperate to anchor itself to something real. Something safe. In his trembling hand, he clutches a battered lantern—its glass cracked, its blue flame stubbornly aflame, bright and unnatural.

Behind him, five more Haltija stagger through as the portal flickers and begins to collapse in on itself. They are filthy, dazed, and utterly silent. Not a wound among them, but their eyes gleam with the haunted light of those who have escaped something that should not be outrun.

A second man, younger than the first with jet black hair matted and laying across his shoulders like frayed ropes, shifts his stance to brace an elderly woman by her arm. Beside them, a small girl clings to the folds of her grandmother’s skirt, eyes squeezed shut, flinching at every sound. To the side, a woman clutches a young boy to her chest as if he’s the last true thing in the world. Blood drips steadily from her sleeve—clearly not her own.

The older man groans—a sound like something breaking—and lurches forward, limbs trembling like a marionette trying to recall its purpose. Every step is a battle. His breath rasps. He lifts his ruined face—raw and red—to the nearest soul. A guard? A stranger? It doesn't matter. Only that someone hears.

His voice tears loose, ragged and dry, like wind flaying parchment:
“Find her... please—Baroness Eclipse—tell her I tried—”

Then it happens.

A wet, sucking gurgle from deep in his chest.
A breath—a cough—
Then blood.

Black-red ichor erupts from his mouth in a violent geyser. It sprays across the square, spattering boots, skirts, and the lower stones of the tavern with grotesque finality. The lantern slips from his fingers, strikes the ground, and pulses one last time—
A flash like a dying star.

Then it snuffs out in a swirling wisp of smoke—rich and clinging, laced with the scent of burnt marrow, dried petals, and stone chilled by centuries. The kind of scent that clings to ritual towers long after the mages are gone. A sacred end. A death offering.

He crumples.

A marionette with its strings cut.

He folds inward and collapses, still as the grave, while blood pools in winding rivulets between the ancient cobblestones.

No last words.
No twitch.
Just silence.
 

Zuigrii steps out of the tavern from some late night drinks when he hears the sound of the portal opening. Being on edge from the fighting recently, he stands at the doorway with his hand on his weapon. As he sees the older man fall he runs up to check on him. “I don’t know where you all have come from but I’m a friend of lady Jade. If you would be okay with me guiding you I can carry this man to the seshtau embassy and we can get word to anyone you need to.”

A soft voice speaks—worn, but not unkind.
“Wait... please. Don’t move him too quickly.”

The older woman, her face lined like bark worn by centuries of wind, steps gently forward from the huddled group. She carries the sort of presence that makes silence feel safer. One hand remains anchored to the shoulder of the trembling girl at her side, the other half-raised toward the fallen man.
“We... we don’t know where we are,” she says carefully, eyes scanning the unfamiliar square. “But if you’re a friend of this Lady Jade, and you speak for peace—then thank you. Truly.”

She kneels beside the corpse, not quite touching it, but her fingers hover over the broken lantern as if listening to the last breath of its light.

“He should be carried, yes... just gently. That lantern still burns in ways only we can feel.”

The young boy in the woman’s arms lets out a stifled sob, and the old woman turns her head slightly, her voice softening.

“If there’s a place of safety—this embassy you speak of—we will follow. And if there is someone who can summon this Baroness Eclipse... we would ask it.”

Her eyes finally meet Zuigrii’s. “Please. Help us.”

Zuigrii nods solemnly. “I can and will move as you say. I have fought alongside lady Jade many times and view her as one of my closest allies.” He gently lifts the man before carefully walking towards the seshtau embassy. 

When the group gets to the door Zuigrii reaches out and knocks loudly. No matter who answers he says the same thing, “Can you get lady Jade for me? These fine people are requesting an audience with Baroness Eclipse.” Emphasizing the last two words.

The heavy door creaks open with a deep, deliberate groan.
Standing just beyond it is a towering figure. Deep violet skin glints faintly in the lantern light. Horns sweep back from his forehead and his long, midnight hair spills over broad, bare shoulders. Eyes the color of twilight storms lock onto the group with immediate, unsettling precision.

The half-fiend stands there a moment, assessing. Not just seeing—measuring. Every wound. Every trembling hand. Every drop of blood that trails from the battered older man in Zuigrii’s arms.
When Zuigrii spoke, emphasizing "Baroness Eclipse," Maximilian’s sharp purple gaze flickered almost imperceptibly. A near-invisible shift of his posture—a man weighing a deeper knowledge against the politeness of the moment. He made no correction. No questioning. Simply... accepted.

Max inclines his head with regal gravity, voice deep enough to vibrate in the bones of the living.
He steps aside, one hand sweeping inward in a smooth, almost theatrical gesture.
"Bring them inside."

As the refugees and their wounded burden crossed the threshold, Maximilian turns, already sending a flick of magic—a low, whispered cantrip—through the darkened halls.
Not a moment later, the sound of approaching boots echoed through the embassy.

"Lady Jade will be summoned immediately," he says quietly to Zuigrii, lowering his voice enough that only the Beastman would hear the subtle weight behind the words.

"You were right to bring them here."

Jade rushes to the foyer accompanied by her flesh golem. She stops immediately and gasps upon seeing the group.

"Kumara help bring them to the ritual room. We can treat their wounds better in the open area."

As the group is taken off Jade pulls Maximilian aside and whispers.

"Send word to Lady Katalina about this. Ask her to bring herself and Roman here. And thank you for this."

After Jade rushes after the group. Once inside Jade tell Zuiigrii and Kumara to bring in seats for everyone. As they both start on their tasks, Jade pulls back her dress sleeves and starts administering first aid starting with the most injured.