The scholar's eyes flicked to the note and back to Aldwyn's face. "Perhaps," he said slowly. "But it will require a... delicate approach."
He rummaged through his desk, pulling out an ancient-looking book bound in leather that was as cracked as his own skin. "This tome," he said, "contains a ritual that can grant us a glimpse into the future, albeit a fleeting one. It's not something to be taken lightly, and it comes with a cost."
Aldwyn's eyes remained on the scholar, his mind racing with the implications. "What cost?"
The scholar laid the book on the desk, his hands trembling slightly. "The ritual requires a drop of blood from one who seeks the truth," he said, his voice low. "And it can be... unpredictable."
Aldwyn didn't hesitate. He pulled out his knife and sliced the pad of his thumb, letting the crimson droplet fall onto the open page. The moment it touched the ancient parchment, the room grew cold, the candle flames flickering erratically.
The scholar's eyes became transparent and he looked into the visions he received. They were vague and full of symbolism, but he would find a connection to get the right answer.
Aldwyn waited, his heart pounding in his chest. The air grew colder, the candle flames flickering wildly as the scholar's eyes took on a distant, glazed look. His chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid breaths, and the room grew eerily silent.
After what felt like an eternity, the scholar's eyes snapped back into focus, his face a mask of horror. He slammed the book shut, the sound echoing through the small room like a gunshot. "The visions... they're not clear," he stammered, his hands shaking.
"There can be two reasons for this. The first is that there are too many factors that are unclear for me, but this is unlikely unless the history of Selthar and the Lycan Cult is wrong..."
He paused briefly before continuing. "Secondly, the place you're looking for has connections to powerful individuals... or rather, individuals who have unlocked a certain path and are above stage 3."
"You have to know that I belong to the Path of the Prophet and am currently at stage 3 'Voice of the Gods'. Since I couldn't see anything, the person you're looking for must be above this stage, or as I just said, it could be because my information is wrong, which is very unlikely."
Aldwyn's eyes narrowed, considering the scholar's words. "So, the Lycan cult is being supported by someone with significant power and influence?"
The scholar nodded gravely. "It seems so," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "But I could try something else. Stage 2 of the Prophet's Path allows me to see brief visions of your future. So I could find out if you come into contact with a dangerous situation."
Aldwyn's eyes gleamed with interest. "Do it," he said, his voice firm. "I need to know what I'm walking into."
The scholar nodded, his expression grim. He cleared a space on the cluttered desk and pulled out a second book, this one even older and more decayed than the first. The pages were brittle, threatening to crumble at the slightest touch. He laid out a series of strange artifacts: a crystal, a feather, a small vial of ink that shimmered with an otherworldly light.
"For the ritual of the Prophet's Sight," he began, his voice taking on a ceremonial tone, "I require something personal from you, something that holds significance."
„Dammit...I don't own anything like that. Is my weapon enough, since it guarantees my survival?"
Aldwyn reached into his holster and pulled out his revolver. The weapon felt cold in his hand and he placed it on the desk.
The scholar's eyes lit up, recognizing the significance of the object. "A weapon," he murmured. "A symbol of your power and your will to survive."
He took the revolver, handling it with surprising reverence. "This will suffice," he said, placing it at the center of the artifacts. He then drew a complex pattern around it with the shimmering ink, speaking ancient incantations that seemed to resonate through the very air.
As the scholar chanted, the room grew colder, the shadows thickening and stretching like living things. The candle flames danced erratically, casting eerie flickers across the scholar's furrowed brow. The air grew heavy with anticipation, and Aldwyn could feel the weight of unseen eyes upon him.
The scholar reached out and placed his hand on the revolver, the ancient ink glowing briefly before it absorbed into the metal, leaving behind a faint, pulsing light. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his hand trembling as he recited the final incantation.
Suddenly, the room was plunged into darkness, and a cold wind howled through the cracks in the walls. Aldwyn felt a sharp pain in his forehead, and when the light returned, he was momentarily blinded by a series of rapid images flashing before his eyes. He saw himself in the ruins of the cathedral, surrounded by the snarling faces of lycanthropes. The air was thick with the scent of blood and fear, and the moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the scene.
The vision grew clearer, and he could feel the panic rising in his chest as the creatures closed in around him. He fought valiantly, his twin blades flashing in the moonlight, but they were too many. The silver locket glinted in the chaos, and for a brief moment, he thought he saw a pair of red eyes watching him from the shadows. Then, the scene shifted again, and he was standing before a throne, the pale-skinned woman with red eyes holding the Duskbringer. She spoke in a language that was not of this world, her voice echoing through the cavernous space, sending shivers down his spine.
The room grew colder still, and he saw himself standing in a place of utter destruction, the ground littered with the bodies. The pockmarked man from the Thieves' Guild lay at his feet, his smile twisted into a grimace of pain. The woman's voice grew louder, the words becoming more distinct, and he realized with a jolt that she was speaking his name. "Aldwyn," she called, the sound echoing through the ruins of the city. "You have served your purpose."
Aldwyn felt a cold hand on his shoulder, and the vision dissipated like smoke. The scholar's eyes were wide with terror, his hand shaking as he clutched at his heart. "The path you walk is fraught with danger," he gasped, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "The Lycan cult is just the beginning. There are forces at play here that even I dare not fathom."
The room was silent except for the scholar's labored breathing and the distant sound of the city waking up. Aldwyn's mind was racing, trying to piece together the cryptic images from the vision. The silver locket, the Duskbringer, the woman with red eyes - they all pointed to something much larger.
He decided to do nothing about it for now, since he didn't have any power to protect himself. The vision was clear: nothing good would happen to him if he went to the ruins of the cathedral.
Aldwyn left the scholar's lodging, his mind racing with the images of the future. He had to be careful. The Thieves' Guild, the Lycan cult, the mysterious woman with red eyes, and the elusive Duskbringer were all part of a web of deceit and danger that was growing more tangled by the moment.
„I have to choose a path as soon as possible... I can't wait any longer." Aldwyn thought to himself as he walked through the deserted streets of Helgarde. The rain had started to fall.
He made his way back to the 'Silent Seraph' tavern. The tavern looked unchanged, but the atmosphere was heavy with tension and whispers of fear. The patrons eyed him warily as he entered, but he ignored them, his thoughts focused on the information he had just received.
Taking a seat at a corner table, Aldwyn called for a mug of ale. The tavern keeper brought it over, his eyes lingering on Aldwyn's grim expression. "You look like you've seen a ghost," he said, his voice a low rumble.
Aldwyn took a long swig, the liquid barely touching the back of his throat before he set the mug down. "Worse," he murmured.
The tavern keeper leaned in, curiosity piqued. "What's that?"
"Irrelevant... I need to find a way to get stronger as soon as possible. You wouldn't know an assassin, would you?" Aldwyn asked without any hope in his gaze.
The tavern keeper's eyes narrowed, and he leaned in closer. "What's your price range?"
„Wait what... He knows an assassin?"
Aldwyn studied the man, his mind racing through his limited funds. "whatever you think is fair!"
The tavern keeper rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Fair, you say?" He leaned closer, his breath heavy with the scent of stale tobacco. "For the kind of information you're after, I'd say a golden coin should do it."
Aldwyn gave him 10 silver coins which have the same value as 1 gold coin.
The tavern keeper's eyes widened at the sight of the silver coins. "This is more than fair," he said, his voice a gruff whisper. "But know this: the man you seek is dangerous. He goes by the name of Caius. He's a Mercenary, and he's got a hideout in the old sewers beneath the city. You'll find him there, if he's not out on a job."
Aldwyn's gaze remained unflinching. "I'll find him," he said, his voice cold and determined.
The tavern keeper nodded, his expression grim. "Good luck," he murmured, sliding the coins into his apron. "You'll need it."
Aldwyn downed the rest of his ale and rose from his seat, the chair scraping against the floorboards. The rain had picked up outside, the droplets pounding against the cobblestone streets like a mournful drumbeat.
He ventured into the slums, the stench of poverty and desperation thick in the air. The cobblestone streets were slick with rainwater and filth. The people he passed hurried along, heads down, avoiding eye contact.
The sewer entrance was hidden in an alley, a crumbling archway with ivy clinging to the stones like a living shroud. He descended the rickety ladder, his boots splashing in the murky water below. The sewers were a labyrinth of tunnels, the only light coming from the occasional flickering torch set into the damp walls.
The stench of waste and decay filled his nostrils, but he pushed on. The water grew deeper, and he could hear the distant sounds of rats scurrying away from his approach. He knew that Caius would be expecting trouble, but he was ready for whatever lay ahead.
The tunnels grew narrower, the ceiling low enough that he had to duck at times to avoid hitting his head. His twin blades felt heavy at his side. The only sounds were the drip of water and the squelch of his boots in the muck.
Aldwyn moved through the shadows, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. He could feel the presence of something else in the darkness, something that didn't belong. His heart raced as he approached a large, iron-barred gate. It was the entrance to the Mercenary's lair.
With a deep breath, he gripped the bars and pulled. To his surprise, they swung open with a squeal, revealing a chamber beyond that was surprisingly well-lit.
The room was large, with a vaulted ceiling held up by arches of ancient stone. The floor was covered in a layer of straw, and there were wooden crates and barrels scattered about, filled with supplies and weapons.
As Aldwyn stepped through the gate, the sound of his boots echoing through the chamber, he spotted a figure sitting at a makeshift table, surrounded by scrolls and a map of Helgarde. The figure looked up, a wry smile playing on his lips as he took in the sight of the mud-splattered person.