Memoirs of Your Local Small-time Villainess

When Scarlett awoke to the golden rays of dawn filtering through the blinds, the previous day’s exhaustion still clung to her like a stubborn mist. A flicker of annoyance sparked within her at the sun for daring to disturb her rest, but its brightness told her she’d likely overslept.

With a tired sigh, she ran her fingers through her tousled hair and sat up, the silken sheets rustling against her skin. Her eyes drifted to the window, tracing the vague outlines of the world beyond the blinds before she finally mustered the will to rise.

The cool floorboards sent a slight shiver through her as her bare feet met the ground, with the chill of the morning air nipping at her exposed ankles. With barely a thought, her pyrokinesis flared to life, enveloping her in a cocoon of warmth as she crossed the room to the dressing table.

She spent several minutes preparing herself, much of it devoted to taming her long, dark-red locks, which had grown wilder than usual overnight. Satisfied, she returned to the nightstand beside her bed and retrieved her [Pouch of Holding]. A thought later, her nightwear shimmered and was replaced by a flowing emerald gown, and she left her chambers with a determined stride.

As Scarlett moved through the Elystead mansion’s half-familiar corridors, her mind wandered to the events of the previous day. Occasionally, she paused to acknowledge the respectful greetings of passing servants, absently admiring the expensive paintings that adorned the walls. Eventually, she arrived at a set of double doors that opened into a large, sunlit hall with tall columns lining a long table at its center.

Most of her companions, along with Raimond, were already seated, engrossed in conversation over a meal. Lady Withersworth was the only notable absence, but Scarlett assumed the older woman was still sleeping, much like she’d been until recently.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the belle of the ball,” Rosa remarked, the bard’s sharp eyes catching Scarlett’s entrance. “Finally decided to grace us with your presence, eh? Last night’s soirée must have been quite the affair. What sort of mischief did you fine folks get up to in that fancy palace?”

“Good morning to you as well, Miss Hale,” Scarlett replied, her tone cool but not entirely unkind as she moved to take her seat at the head of the table. Her gaze swept over the faces of her companions before settling on Raimond. “And to you, Father Abraham. I see you have made yourself quite at home.”

The priest’s plate was piled high with an assortment of delicacies, and the stack of empty dishes beside him suggested this was far from his first helping. His appetite might even rival Fynn’s, and Scarlett briefly wondered where he managed to put it all. Could he pray away the calories?

Raimond flashed a dazzling smile. “Who am I, as a humble servant of the resplendent sun, to refuse such magnificent accommodation? The sacred scrolls of Ittar teach us that ‘To bask in the warmth of hospitality is to honor the rays of the sun and one’s host’. Thus, it is only fitting that I partake generously of this sumptuous feast, for to decline such bounty would be to spurn the very blessings of Ittar himself!”

“Oh?” Rosa twirled her fork, a morsel of food balanced precariously on its edge. “So you’re telling me that all this time, our dear Fynn wasn’t just being a glutton, but actually practicing the tenets of a devout follower? Mayhap that we have an aspiring priest in our midst.”

Fynn, seated across from the bard, furrowed his brow at her words. “I’m not a follower of Ittar, though,” he said with a hint of perplexity.

“It’s never too late to embark on the path!” Raimond exclaimed with infectious enthusiasm, his head bobbing like an eager puppy for some reason. Scarlett found the sight distinctly unfitting a man of his station. “I would not be opposed to taking you under my wing, Fynn, my prospective protégé. Rest assured, I would impart only the noblest of virtues and most sacred of wisdoms that come with priesthood. I’m sure you would find it absolutely transformative!”

Fynn’s frown deepened as he eyed the blond man skeptically. “You’re lying.”

“Only in the most technical sense!”

Rosa nodded sagely beside the priest. “That makes it perfectly acceptable.”

Scarlett shook her head with slight exasperation as she removed the silver dome covering her plate, revealing a carefully arranged meal. As she began to cut into a perfectly poached egg, she raised her gaze to the animated priest and bard pair.

“I trust nothing too outrageous transpired in my absence,” she said. “Did the two of you manage to have your ‘discussion’ yesterday, as planned?”

“We sure did,” Rosa replied with a mischievous glint.

“It was rather illuminating,” Raimond added, his voice carrying a note of intrigue.

Scarlett narrowed her eyes slightly. “I see. That is…reassuring.” She raised a forkful of egg to her mouth.

“What about you?” Rosa leaned forward, studying her intently. “How’d your little palace excursion unfold? Was it as mind-numbingly dull as you predicted? Oh, let me guess — you somehow ended up beguiling a member of the imperial family into a clandestine minuet in the royal gardens beneath the moonlight.”

Scarlett fixed the woman with the flattest of stares. “…I most certainly did not,” she said firmly. She then shot Fynn a pointed look, silently warning him against getting any ideas about implying that she was lying. “While some aspects of the proceedings surpassed my expectations, and it was not quite as uneventful as I had anticipated, overall, it went well,” she continued, returning her attention to Rosa. “I can provide you with a more detailed account later, but for now, I would prefer to focus on my meal.”

Rosa’s lips curled into an intrigued smile. “Can’t wait to hear about it.”

“On a related note,” Scarlett redirected her attention to Raimond, her tone turning more diplomatic, “Father Abraham, I had the opportunity to speak with Deacon Solnate of the Quorum before the conclave began.”

The priest’s eyebrows rose dramatically as he looked at her. “Is that so? Now that

is an encounter I would have loved to witness. I can picture it vividly — the frosty composure of our esteemed baroness clashing with the unyielding and steely resolve of my distinguished colleague in faith. Ah, what a pity that I was not present for such a riveting exchange.”

“What a coincidence,” Scarlett said. “She expressed a similar sentiment. Which is precisely why she will be gracing our estate with her presence later today.”

Raimond’s expression froze, his eyebrows seemingly stuck at their zenith. He blinked once, twice, his gaze locked on Scarlett for a moment of stunned silence. “I…beg your pardon?”

 

 

“Deacon Abram,” Deacon Solnate’s voice sliced through the air like a steel blade from the entrance, echoing across the furnished parlor of the Elystead mansion.

Raimond choked on his water, hurriedly setting the crystal glass down on the mahogany table before him. He cast a pleading look at Scarlett, who sat impassively in her own armchair, offering no help.

Realising he was on his own, Raimond plastered on his most charming smile and turned to the new arrival. “Ah, my dearest friend, what an unexpected pleasure to see you gracing the abode of the reputable Baroness Hartford as well. It is always delightful to discover one’s associates share the same distinguished company.”

Though Deacon Solnate’s ornate gold mask hid her features, Scarlett could practically feel the weight of the woman’s frown. Her steps were measured and heavy as she crossed the room, the rich fabric of her red robes whispering against the floor. “Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

Raimond paused, then spread his arms wide. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance we could postpone the impending rebuke and simply bask in the joy of reuniting with a cherished peer?”

The withering silence from Deacon Solnate said more than words could. With a resigned sigh, Raimond slumped back in his seat, shooting Scarlett a wounded look. “And here I thought we were confederates in subterfuge, but it seems you were all too willing to abandon me as soon as someone with a fancier mask came along.”

“Do not drag me into this,” Scarlett replied coolly with her arms crossed. “If you wanted your presence here to remain secret, you should have made that clear from the start. You alone are responsible for explaining yourself.”

Deacon Solnate had arrived shortly after noon, and though Raimond had seemed tempted to flee before that, the threat of further consequences had apparently rooted him to the spot.

The woman brought one hand to the pendant around her neck, which emitted a soft glow as its enchantment muffled their surroundings. “When, precisely, were you planning to inform me of your presence in Elystead?” Her question cracked like a whip.

Raimond winced almost imperceptibly before recovering his smile. “I was rather hoping that ‘sometime after I’d left Elystead’ would suffice.”

“You were tasked with overseeing and coordinating the Orders of the Solar Hand in their ongoing succour operations,” Deacon Solnate reminded him sharply.

“Ah, but I am!” Raimond raised a finger triumphantly. “I’ve been in constant communication with High Priest Goodwin, working tirelessly to channel Ittar’s graceful aid to those poor souls afflicted by the current crisis. I simply haven’t been managing things in person.”

“The Quorum assigned you this task to rein in these wayward tendencies of yours, and to keep you accountable. This…dereliction will only further erode their trust in you.” Deacon Solnate went quiet for a moment. “…How exactly did you convince High Priest Goodwin to support this charade?”

“Elementary, mademoiselle,” Raimond said with a roguish wink. “I simply dazzled her with my irresistible charm.”

Judging by the masked woman’s skeptical silence, she did not believe him.

Raimond cleared his throat. “She also may or may not owe me certain favors. As do a few other benevolent souls who were kind enough to turn a blind eye to my current…shall we call it a spiritual retreat?”

Deacon Solnate regarded him for several long, tense moments before releasing a weary sigh, her fingers brushing the edge of her mask. “You’re incorrigible, Raimond.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.” Raimond’s smile didn’t waver.

The deacon’s gaze shifted to Scarlett. “Is she the reason you’ve ‘absconded’ to the capital?”

Raimond shook his head lightly. “She is not, in fact, though I can see why you would think that. My encounter with Baroness Hartford is merely fortuitous happenstance. She recently sought my assistance in gaining entry to the House of Fire, and what kind of resourceful co-conspirator would I be if I couldn’t oblige such a modest request?”

“At least try not to sound like you’re betraying the order,” Deacon Solnate said in a cold voice. She turned to Scarlett. “What was your purpose within the House of Fire?”

“I sought to research the temple’s history,” Scarlett replied. “As you may be aware, it was once a sanctuary dedicated to the fire goddess.”

Deacon Solnate regarded her silently for a moment, then nodded. “I see.” Her attention shifted back to Raimond. “Tell me, then. Why are you truly in Elystead?”

“Ah, well, the answer to that is somewhat…lengthy.”

“Explain.”

Raimond hesitated, leaning forward slightly and steepling his fingers. “My dear Ava, are you perhaps familiar with the ‘Tribute of Dominion’?” he asked, his tone suddenly serious.

Scarlett’s eyes narrowed as she watched him closely.

“I am not,” Deacon Solnate answered.

“Neither was I, until quite recently,” Raimond admitted. “But maybe you’ve heard of ‘Beld Thylelion’?”

“…Is it a Zuverian ruin?” The masked woman’s gaze flicked briefly to Scarlett.

“It’s the Zuverian ruin, if much of what I have found is to be believed.” Raimond gestured towards Scarlett. “I had only heard it mentioned in passing before our honoured baroness here suggested I investigate further, and what I discovered was…rather unexpected.”

“Don’t draw this out,” Deacon Solnate warned. “Get to the point.”

A flash of disappointment crossed Raimond’s face. “And here I thought you’d appreciate my efforts at building suspense.” He sighed dramatically before continuing. “To put it simply, Beld Thylelion was a structure said to have been constructed by the Zuverian diviniarch Thainnith, ostensibly to house an artifact of immense power. In recent weeks, I’ve pored over numerous texts on the subject, but few agree on any details beyond its potential to eclipse even the Rising Isle in importance. Its location remains even more of an enigma, but it is apparently believed that it will eventually reveal itself and its contents to the world of its own accord.”

Deacon Solnate folded her arms before her chest, the onyx strands framing her mask shifting slightly. “And this ‘Tribute of Dominion’ is the artifact in question?”

Raimond nodded solemnly. “It would seem so. And as you might have deduced now, it’s likely that the time of Beld Thylelion’s emergence is fast approaching. Groups like the Hallowed Cabal and the Undead Council may already be privy to this information, giving them an advantage in locating the site and claiming the Tribute when it appears.”

“What would that entail?” the deacon pressed.

Raimond shrugged. “I’m afraid I can’t say for certain.” He motioned towards Scarlett once again. “You would have to ask our gracious hostess for more details.”

Solnate turned to Scarlett, the unspoken question hanging in the air.

“I, too, lack definitive answers,” Scarlett said, maintaining a neutral tone. She did not mind sharing this much, having already confided much of it to Raimond. “Based on my research, the Tribute of Dominion could be an unparalleled source of power, much like Deacon Abram suggested. However, it is also connected to three artifacts known as the Seals of Thainnith, which the Hallowed Cabal, in particular, is actively seeking. It would appear these seals are intrinsically linked to their grand design.”

“So you see,” Raimond concluded with another of his disarming smiles, “simply ignoring this matter would be the height of folly.”

Deacon Solnate studied him carefully. “Your presence in Elystead is related to this, then?”

Scarlett’s eyes moved to the man.

“Indeed, indeed.” Raimond nodded, his enthusiasm building. “I won’t bore you with the minutiae, but after weeks of mind-numbing research in dusty archives, countless correspondence with various acquaintances and proverbial experts, and no small amount of personal introspection, I’ve drawn some intriguing conclusions about Beld Thylelion’s potential whereabouts.”

Scarlett couldn’t entirely mask her surprise, though she doubted either of the deacons noticed.

“What evidence have you based these conclusions on?” Deacon Solnate asked, echoing Scarlett’s own thoughts.

“The evidence, as it happens, is as plentiful as stars in the sky,” Raimond replied with a flourish. “Or something along those lines. As I mentioned, historical mentions of these ‘ruins’ are either vague or contradictory, making many of them about as helpful as a blind cartographer. This placed a serious hamper on my efforts. I’m sure you understand.” His smile turned sly. “But I am fortunate, you see, in that I never let the mire of impracticability deter me. For I believe the key lies in one crucial revelation shared by the baroness — namely the Hallowed Cabal’s intense interest in acquiring the Tribute of Dominion, and the strong likelihood that they already know its location.”

He raised a single finger. “Consider this: The Tribe of Sin and the Cabal have long opposed the empire, but where does this perseverance originate from? Their persistence hints at a deeper motive beyond their unfortunate—if understandable—wish for the empire’s downfall. If we examine their initial attacks on various settlements several months back, we see that they are unlikely to have been random. Reports from Guild members and knight orders suggest they were searching for something specific. Having looked at records of previous conflicts with the Tribe, I can confirm that this pattern, at times, repeats throughout history.”

He paused, allowing his words to sink in. “I am not the first to make this connection, but the reason behind it has always remained unknown. However, based on the baroness’ insights, I chose to make the assumption that this all ties to their ultimate goal concerning the Seals of Thainnith and the Tribute. By mapping their activities across generations with this supposition, I uncovered several fascinating findings. More than mere coincidence, many of the Tribe and Cabal’s movements—including the locations of confirmed Enclaves—appear to have hidden purpose behind them, concealing what can best be described as ritualistic formations or natural arrays across the land. These seem to highlight locations of great significance.”

Raimond’s expression grew more serious. “To give an example, the Resting Eye is one such location. And I strongly suspect Elystead and its surroundings to hold similar importance, which is why I have come here in person to further investigate. These aren’t random occurrences; they are calculated moves in a centuries-old game. And we, my friends, are finally beginning to understand the board.”