With these thoughts, Charles turned to Nymeria. "Miss Nymeria, would you mind checking with Mr. Eilinel to see if we can get any clues from this magic array?"
Nymeria nodded. She reached out her hand, and with a flash of white light, a massive, serpent-like greatsword appeared in her grasp.
Charles also readied himself—a burst of fire ignited as a large double-bladed polearm materialized in his hands.
At the same time, Montport's voice echoed in his mindscape. "Ah, what is it, my dear Master? Need me for something? Oho! You certainly found yourself quite the special place!"
Clearly, Montport had already released his consciousness, doing a brief probe of the area. Charles smirked, ready with his pitch, and communicated telepathically, "Montport, here's your shot to shine. Look at this magic array and see if you can figure out what it's pointing at."
Montport didn't answer immediately; he continued sensing carefully, then clicked his tongue. "Well now… This is hardly a simple problem… This—"
He was cut off by Nymeria's sudden interjection. "Priest Charles, I've got a result on my end."
Charles turned, smiling. "Oh? Excellent—what did you find?"
"This magic circle is extremely sophisticated. It can not only transmit information, but also transfer small physical objects and deliver certain energies." She explained, "It's basically an upgraded version of a Teleportation Circle, though a magic array this powerful naturally comes with major limitations."
"Based on the structure, I'd judge that its connection is definitely with somewhere in the Material World."
Her confidence lit up Charles's expression. "Really? That's fantastic!"
He'd assumed the angel was hiding in another elemental plane, or somewhere deep in the Lower Planes—he'd figured he'd need to reach level 13 and master 'Plane Shift' before planning any real rescue.
But to think the enemy was still in the Material World—well, that made both Ruth's vengeance and rescuing Malena so much more practical!
He looked at Nymeria with approval. "What else did he say?"
Nymeria opened her mouth, but hesitated, clearly locked in a lively negotiation with her demonic contact.
Just then, Montport's voice echoed in Charles's mind. "Master, don't trust her too much—her understanding is obviously limited. She only saw that the contact was in the Material World, but she missed the real catch."
"Look, Master… if you pay attention, here—these markings mean…"
He explained, and with the help of Eyes of the Rune Keeper, Charles—though utterly ignorant about Teleportation Circles—could piece together the gist with Montport's guidance.
Nymeria frowned—apparently on her side of the bargaining, she'd just cut a new deal with 'Eilinel' the demon: "There's also these markings right here—they're… yes, exactly those ones."
"They're for piercing through thick material barriers, like dense rock, thick lead, packed earth, that sort of thing, right?" Charles said deliberately. "And those are serious layers. We're talking, what, one or two kilometers of solid rock?"
Nymeria's small mouth fell open; she clapped her hand over it: "Yes… Yes! So, we can speculate there's a good chance this magic circle is linked to someone in the Underdark!"
Suddenly, she started spouting information at a rapid-fire pace, evidently with her own demon contact feeling competitive, wanting their piece of the limelight.
Montport pressed on, not about to be outdone. "And then look at the ornamental patterning—what does that remind you of? Spider webs! That's the calling card of the Demon Queen of Spiders. So I'd bet a bunch of gold we're dealing with Dark Elf business."
"If we can find a thread leading to a group in touch with Dark Elves, this whole affair will get a lot simpler."
At that, a subtle look flickered over Charles's face. "Dark Elves…"
Nymeria gave a surprised look. "Mr. Eilinel just said the same thing—some of these runes look very familiar; he says this may be connected to the Dark Elves as well."
Charles nodded. If they both said so, odds were high—Dark Elves were wrapped tightly around this mess.
Which meant the next step might be easier to narrow down after all…
He remembered staking out Shapiro's place. The owner of that seaside carnival played the part of a wealthy merchant from the Empire of Sein, but was actually a Dark Elf that had escaped the Underdark and afterwards disguised himself as a human!
And not just any Dark Elf—he was a Banrae, from the single most powerful family of Menzoberranzan!
Damn… If he wanted to push this guy, he'd have to get some extra leverage.
Charles's eyes shone with anticipation. He was already sketching out his next plan.
...
A few days later.
In the captain's room of the ship Ocean Maiden, the master of the traveling show—tall, pale-skinned, with a cascade of white hair—stared at a letter in his hand, his gaze unreadable.
He was Zardoz Zord, a prosperous merchant supposedly from inland Empire of Sein, captain of this vessel and leader of the "Ocean Maiden Carnival" troupe.
But it was all an act. His true identity was Jarlaxle Banrae—a Dark Elf from Menzoberranzan's ruling house.
Though he'd escaped that bloody, female-dominated, backstabbing city, it wasn't as if surface society would ever welcome his kind. To survive here long-term, he'd had to camouflage his identity, staying hidden and avoiding most trouble.
Even so, old problems had a way of finding him.
This letter, in particular, gave him pause.
The now-famous Nigel Charles—extending an invitation to dinner?
They barely knew each other. Why was Charles seeking him out?
Jarlaxle knew all too well who Charles was—his business was rooted in South Harbor District, while Jarlaxle's sphere was elsewhere, and by all rights the two had little in common.
Not to mention, his current identity and appearance were both magical fabrications, and it was clear that Charles was a spell-caster in his own right. If exposed—if anyone picked up on the faintest thread connecting him back to the Underdark—the consequences could be catastrophic.
Still, he hadn't expected Charles to come knocking.
What was he after?
Some new business venture? Was there real opportunity here, or was it something more sinister?
Jarlaxle wasn't sure. Charles was Liberl Port's brightest rising star, and he couldn't find a good reason to refuse.
So—accept the invitation?
He took a deep breath, recognizing this could be both an opportunity and an enormous risk.
Central District. Top-tier private banquet room, Blue Dragon restaurant.
Under warm amber light, the massive rosewood table was heavy with culinary delights—fresh local uni and crab, as well as rare, sweet tropical fruit shipped from far overseas.
A bottle of red wine breathed in the center of the table, its scent merging with that of the food, enough to stir anyone's appetite.
Jarlaxle sat to one side; elf or not, the spread made him salivate. Still, he kept his composure and etiquette, savoring each bite—unlike Nymeria, who'd have been wolfing down deviously.
Yet, even his modest reactions drew secret amusement from Charles.
He knew elves—Dark Elves, too—weren't all gluttons, and in fact, most preferred more delicate, refined flavors.
That was the reason for this dinner: knock 'em over with gourmet food first.
So far, it seemed to be working.
Between bites, they chatted idly—about economic trends, the city's newspapers, the demon crisis, and the quirks of different races. They might as well have been old friends, the atmosphere light and welcoming.
Once the wine bottle was empty, the room reached its most animated. Then, and only then, did Charles pose his opening question: "By the way, Mr. Zord, what do you think—does the Ocean Carnival concept have a future in other districts?"
Jarlaxle's expression shifted. He had a feeling the real conversation was about to begin. "Well… as with most businesses, the more prosperous and densely populated the area, the greater the potential for entertainment venues."
"East Harbor District, being next to Central, ought to show promise. But it's also bustling with cargo—costs must be sky-high."
He smiled. "Are you thinking of entering that business yourself, my lord?"
Charles nodded. "I am. But as a newcomer, I wanted an experienced partner. You seem just right for the job."
Jarlaxle still couldn't read if Charles was serious about business or probing for something else, so kept his answer non-committal. "Not an easy industry. First step: you need a ship… What kind of budget are you considering?"
Charles nodded approvingly. "I'm thinking—initial investment, a hundred thousand gold. If it works, and the returns look good, I can bump that up—a quarter million, half a million, even a million gold—depending."
A million gold!
Jarlaxle's heart skipped. Unlike so many of his kin, who thrived on slavery, looting, and exploitation, he knew what it really took to build a thriving business on the surface—and how bold a boast sounded compared to real commitment.
He raised his glass and chuckled. "With that much money, I wouldn't even know how to spend it all."
"Have you got a new project in mind, Lord Charles?"
He understood what was really being asked—nobody spends that much on mere carnival ships, so the temptation of pure money would never be enough for him. He needed to be sure Charles's business wouldn't get in the way of his own plans.
Opposite, Charles kept his expression warm, seeming to read the disguised Dark Elf through and through.
For all his surface composure, Jarlaxle Banrae was a true maverick—a Dark Elf who, unable to stomach Menzoberranzan's culture, had made enemies, been ostracized, and in the end, fled with a band of like-minded souls to the surface, forming a mercenary band.
Work was hard and profits slim, so he'd quietly moved into entertainment, using his artistic skills and insight to make a fortune off of performance.
And in the dark, of course, the Banrae family's intelligence and muscle kept him safe.
For now, business was booming in modern Liberl Port, and Jarlaxle brimmed with ambition—hoping to win official recognition and a noble title, so he could finally put his homeland behind him—if, that is, players didn't interfere.
Charles knew all this, having seen him play both foe and ally in later stages of the game.
Experience said the best strategy was to ignore him at first, then betray him at the right time for a massive payout.
But times change—and Charles knew tonight, that wouldn't work.
"Mr. Zord, do you know much about the Dark Elves of the Underdark?" Charles, abruptly but softly, changed the subject.
Jarlaxle's heart lurched. His worst suspicion was taking shape. Sweat formed on his brow. "Oh, I've heard things…"
"What's your take on them?" Charles pressed, smiling.
Jarlaxle took a slow breath and replied, sticking to the traditional human script: "They're despised, of course—Dark Elves are cruel, depraved, notorious for raiding the surface, capturing innocents for slavery and pleasure, acts that all decent folk abhor."
"Thankfully, that's just rumors to me. Thanks to Liberl Port and Lady Blackstaff, we're all safe here, free from such nightmares…"
Charles smiled. "That's old history. Since the Chthonians carved their mazes underground, the Underdark and city sewers have become nearly interlinked—those old friends of yours could show up on our doorstep any day now."
"In fact, they may already be working with folks within the city."
He let the implication hang, and Jarlaxle's pulse raced, his gaze skittering. "Ah, well—could be. Some people will do anything for profit…"
Suddenly, Charles shifted his tone: "Still, in extraordinary circumstances, there's nothing wrong with working with Dark Elves."
Jarlaxle hesitated. "Ah… Lord Charles, you're powerful—none of us can compare."
Charles chuckled. "It's nothing. I just think, times have changed, and as you know, the Dark Elves are a matriarchy, their men severely oppressed."
His gaze grew meaningful. "I'm a man myself. Naturally, I sympathize with the men of the Underdark. If I could find the right kind of contact, and that contact proved reliable, truthfully, I'd have no issue working together."
"Because, sooner or later, the denizens of the Underdark will flow into Liberl Port. The sooner we adapt, the sooner we seize opportunity. Right?"
He finished, watching Jarlaxle waver—half-suspicious, half-hoping.
Why is he telling me this? Has he figured out who I am?
No—calm down. If he's being this direct, he must want something from me…
Jarlaxle steeled himself. Across the table, Charles stood, ready to settle the bill. "It's been a pleasure, Mr. Zord. May luck find me soon."
Jarlaxle took a deep breath, adventurer's courage surging: "Perhaps. But if good fortune came that easy, it wouldn't be all that special."
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