“They are a nuance!” Chathi scowled at the companions, seething in rage as she stood her ground against their advance, her voice thick with a Thayan accent and suffering from pronoun confusion like most Thayans when they spoke Aglarondan, while her dark eyes panning across their faces… burning them into her memory for future retribution. These would be heroes had already cost her greatly; the dragon she had endured so much to enthrall and most of her orcs lie dead… the survivors having fled past her to cower further back in the cave. Her operation here was in ruins… and all because of these five! “You’ll find Aglarond justice more than a mere nuance!” Rynard shot back with confidence and pride. “We don’t take kindly to those who kidnap our citizens and sell them into slavery!” “She does not take kindly to those who interfere in her business!” Chathi mocked the mage, her voice tainted with restrained anger. “They would do well to concern themselves with their own fate,” she threatened, standing defiantly as they positioned themselves to attack. Despite the evil snarl that turned her lips, Rynard couldn’t help but admire her exotic beauty and blatant arrogance… even for a Red Wizard, she was unbelievably smug! Caught red-handed, with her minions already defeated, she still dared to threaten them. She must either be a truly powerful wizard or completely insane! Then a frightening thought occurred to him… she didn’t look insane! “Mark her words… There will come a reckoning for this!” she hissed. Then, just as the companions lunged forward to seize her, she spoke a single word in Aragrakh, old high wyrm, a language that only Rynard recognized as it is used now only by wizards and sorcerers in the casting of spells, and winked out of existence before their stunned eyes. “No!” Rynard cried out in frustration, and confirmed the obvious; “A teleport spell… She could be back in Thay… or nearly anywhere on Toril.” “Anywhere but here suits me just fine,” Cosar commented as they advanced further into the cave, much more interested in finding the dragon’s horde than confronting a member of the universally feared order of wizards. The remaining orcs had little fight left in them and gave up the traitor Saevel, who tried to hide among their captives, with little prompting. He tried to bargain for his freedom with information about Nymara’s niece, Calastra, but the orcs foiled him again, confessing that they saw her with a dark cloaked figure days earlier. “The Ancient,” Talice confirmed in a near whisper, as if just speaking his name was enough to invoke his wraith. “No one knows who he is or what he wants…. but it’s said he’s stalked the Yuirwood for two thousand years!” “Not even an elf can live that long,” Rynard dismissed her. He had seen wonders in this forest, but this had to be an exaggeration or simply an old wife’s tale; the kind told to frighten children. “A baelnorn can,” Nymara said solemnly. “An elven lich… left to guard what should never be disturbed.”