The residents of Deepmere had nothing to celebrate. The imbibing of large amounts of alcohol was purely a coping mechanism. Brianna knew that, but it didn't stop her. It didn't stop any of them. The tavern, 'The Drunken Wizard', was packed. It was every day. Today, Deepmere had repelled the mists with ease. Acknowledging that feat, the mages from Dageth and the elves were getting a well-deserved rest. They would be replaced with over 10,000 combat specialist mages. That was the official story they were given. It was utter bullshit. They were slaughtered. A force of nearly three thousand mages was reduced to a little over half that. All of the casualties were from Deepmere. Their counterparts from Dageth and the elves had only a token force at the battle. Everyone knew someone who died. Brianna had lost a cousin and her half-brother, whom she didn't know very well. As for the reinforcements, the council of Deepmere was cautious not to disclose their origin.

Brianna took a long quaff from her ale. She started to bring it down, then changed her mind, bringing it back to her lips. The tankard, which had been full only moments ago, was now half empty.

Might as well finish it off, Brianna thought darkly, downing the rest. She slammed the tankard back down, somehow missing the table. The tankard clattered to the floor where her early one still sat. She glared at the unruly drinking dispensers. Dispensers… that was a funny word. It had 'pensers' in it with a 'di' up front. What was she doing again? Oh, yeah, the tankards. Why were they down there? Did someone push them off the table? Assholes. She swayed slightly as she tried to grab one of the elusive chariots to bliss. Did the fucking thing jump out of the way? No… that's right, it bounced because she fell. A giggle escaped her lips as she looked up into the rafters, her scarlet hair fanned out around her. She was a mess. Her pale skin was coated in so much dirt that she looked like a peasant. Fortunately, she didn't care.

No! The thought intruded in her stupefied state. This couldn't continue. She had to do something! She mustered all her strength of will and determination ... and then got back on her seat. Ah, much better… Where did her tankard go?

"Barkeep! My, my… Hey… what are thooooose thingies called that you put… the, the brown stuff in?" She slurred.

"Tankards?" The barkeep, deadpan.

"YES!" Brianna declared loudly. "It ran away! Bring me one of those… With the, uh… uh…stuff in it." Thinking was hard.

"Ale?" The barkeep asked.

"Who's Al?"

"ALE," the barkeep said slowly and clearly.

"YES! THAT STUFF! Put some of the Al into the, the… the thingie." Why did everyone seem so slow? She was communicating properly. Perhaps hand gestures would help. Oh, wait, she was already doing that. When did her arms get up here? Didn't she leave those on the floor?

The barkeep turned from her. He had plenty of others to mind as well. A group of elves sat nearby, clearly drunk. How obscene to get drunk in public. She'd never do that.

A raccoon-kin server gave her another tankard of ale before heading to another table. The kin. They were the only ones with any hope left. Everyone knew what really drove off the mists… The Magebane… Brianna shuddered at the thought, slightly sobering her. Any clarity was ruined as she took a long pull from her tankard. Then another. Then, yet another.

"Fuck…The damn barkeep forgot to fill up my…my… drinking… dispenser," Brianna muttered, looking into her empty tankard.

"Brianna Runedane," A low voice said.

"No, that's who I am," Brianna said sagely. Why was she so smart? It made dealing with the simpletons around her a hassle. With blurry eyes, she tried to make out the speaker. A kin of some sort.

"I have a message from the Magebane," the kin whispered.

That sobered her up. Well, actually, it didn't. Nothing other than a SUPREME CLEANSING spell cast in tandem by a team of elite Archmages could've achieved that. It did make her stop acting like an ass.

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"Shit…" Brianna mumbled. She was the unwilling agent of the Magebane for several more years because of a mana oath she'd made. It seemed like a lifetime ago. She followed the kin out back on very unsteady legs, or at least tried to. After bumping into several tables that she referred to as Bill, the kin grabbed her hand and dragged her outside.

***

Sylvar watched the intoxicated woman leave. She was unremarkable, other than not dying from alcohol poisoning. It was the kin that had his attention. Ever since the fall of Fortunia, he'd been scanning every kin he saw, looking for active mana pools. Such an endeavor would've made him the laughingstock of an elven grove. Yet, it had finally paid off. That kin was one of the Magebanes. His dense mana pool proved it. The only question was… what to do with that knowledge. He looked back at his elves, the throwaways. Societies' trash from elves who couldn't keep it in their trousers. He realized he didn't care. If this was a way to save his elves, then fuck all the high elites. He'd take it.

"I'm going to take a piss," Sylvar said to his men.

"Don't do it in the ale. There's already too much in it." One elf said to the guffaw of the others. Sylvar gave them a salute, not making any promises. It might improve the flavor.

Outside, Brianna was… regurgitating her consumed alcohol. Violently. All over the place. Although he couldn't see the kin's face, he could tell the kin was pissed.

"Need some help?" Sylvar asked, coming closer at a casual stroll. The kin turned regarding him. The kin was good. He could tell that much immediately. The kin's posture suggested that they could dash away or toward him at any moment. He raised his arms non-threateningly as he slowed.

"I just want to talk," Sylvar said.

"Talking's hard," Brianna mumbled. "Hey… uhh, I don't remember eating that…" She pointed to something he didn't want to identify. The kin didn't say anything and watched him.

Sylvar ignored the woman as she began yelling at a pile of trash for touching her ass. She then fell into it, not moving. He would've been worried she died, but the snores and scratching of her privates convinced him she wasn't in immediate peril. With the annoyance out of the way, Sylvar waited for the kin to respond.

"Talk then," came a low feminine voice. A female kin, then. From her posture, it was probably a rat-kin.

"I want to speak to the Magebane."

The kin scoffed. "Many do. I can't help you."

"I know you're one of her…" Sylvar paused, thinking of the word the Magebane had used. "Cultivators. I want to meet her."

The kin looked to the snoring woman and then back to him. She seemed to sigh in defeat.

"Fine. But you have to carry that one," the kin said, pointing to the drunken mage.

"Alright, just let me tell my companions I won't be coming back."

"How do I know you aren't getting reinforcements or planning an ambush?"

"I swear on my mana pool that I intended no harm to you or the Magebane," Sylvar said. He felt the oath lock into his mana pool.

"Go," the kin said. Sylvar rushed back, his mind racing. Was he making a mistake? Probably. But it was the only chance he and the others had.

"That was a long piss," his fellow elves said.

"Met a girl. Won't be back tonight," Sylvar said.

They looked at him and laughed. "She saw your member while you were draining the lizard and just had to take you home!?"

"Yup. She even wants me to bring her friend."

"Damn, boss! You go!"

Sylvar let the jeering continue as he left. He found the kin near the red-headed mage. The kin was poking her with a stick, but she showed no response.

"Take her," the kin commanded. Sylvar tried not to let his irritation show as a kin ordered him around. He simply hoisted the woman over his shoulders, praying she wouldn't vomit all over him. That turned out to be a futile effort less than a minute later.

At least my cloak is waterproof, Sylvar thought, ignoring the smell as he followed the kin.

"I'm Sylvar. Who are you?" Might as well make nice. The kin didn't answer for a long moment. Then she pulled down her hood. A female rat-kin. He should've guessed. She had dark chocolate fur and startlingly blue eyes, the color of the sky. Her hair was long and styled in a ponytail.

"I'm Trisva."

"What do you want with the mage here?" Sylvar asked, hoisting the mage to a more comfortable position.

"Information."

"What information? I could help." Sylvar offered.

"That's up to the big rat," Trisva answered cryptically.

Trisva avoided all attempts at conversation, so he followed through unfamiliar alleyways and was soon lost. He supposed that was the intention. After about twenty minutes, they arrived at an abandoned warehouse. He hesitated for a brief moment. The damn thing looked like it'd collapse at any moment.

"Stay here," Trisva said before confidently striding inside. A few minutes passed before she returned, motioning for him to enter. Sylvar pushed his trepidation aside and followed the kin. Inside, he saw that the place was well-made. The outside had been intentionally made to look deteriorated. He slowed as several figures waited for him. One of them was a rather large rat-kin. He really hoped he hadn't made a mistake.

"You want a meeting with the Magebane? Why?"

Sylvar set the snoring mage down before straightening. He put all his confidence into his following words, knowing that it would alter his life. He also knew he had little choice.

"I want to negotiate an alliance…"

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