The Greatsword of Azura

Farah templed her fingers as she watched the two young creatures sitting across from each other at the little wooden table discuss their plan.

The storm that usually dripped over the town of Vulane was raging that night, and thus the tavern was nearly vacant except for Farah, her two ‘protoges’ and the barkeep at the other end of the establishment - too busy cleaning glasses and getting drunk on his own supply to bother them.

Farah - the renowned ferret thief - had only had one ale and she could barely follow what the other two were talking about.

Shinedash the weasel thief was there, looking over diagrams by Malina Whisperfur, a vixen with strange violet eyes behind tinted violet glasses from deep within the numeromancy department at the College of Elements.

“Shine, do you understand any of this?” Farah said. “And are you sure this is even a heist?”

“Yes mistress Haraf,” Shinedash said, sipping on his ale while Malina sipped her goblet of deep red wine. He then began to explain Malina’s dissection of some enchantment that had been ‘installed’ by some clerics of the Tyrian and Stateran temples into an art museum before Farah waved his words away with her paw.

“That’s the Azure Art Museum in the Fogs District, right?” Farah asked.

Malina merely nodded, her strange, violet-tinted glasses bouncing on her muzzle. 

Farah shifted in her seat, analyzing this newcomer. Farah imagined what Malina’s parents - both of whom were grog-drinking, shanty-belting, third-generation pirates - must have thought of their cold, calculating offspring. 

As far as the target of the heist itself, it was odd that both the Tyrians and Staterans came together to enchant that museum - “Two different religions came together to protect it,” Farah thought to herself.

Shinedash spoke up, but his voice was still barely above a whisper. “The one that only appears at midnight for one hour a month, mistress, yes.”

“Sounds like magic to me,” Farah said. “Are you sure you and this -” she gestured toward Malina, “- vixen know what you’re doing?”

The wind rushed outside creating a low hum that hovered over everything - a wooshing sound that was as though the world itself was telling them “Hushhh, husshhhh... this is forbidden.” 

The storm was even making the candelabra above the little table sway just slightly. Farah couldn’t escape the feeling that the candelabra knew more than it was saying. Usually her heists were planned in party atmospheres or at her own desk - it was all somewhat unnerving for her.

“It’s not a traditional heist, mistress Haraf,” Shinedash confirmed, “but the Prism underneath the museum is extremely powerful, and, ahem, Malina is very clever...” he said looking at his vixen guest admiringly. “Very clever and... and—”

“—And quiet,” Farah interrupted. “You’re a young male, Shine, there will be other females for you. Don’t let her in unless you absolutely have to.”

“It is as though I am not even here,” Malina protested quietly, adjusting her little glasses on her delicate snoot.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you per se,” Farah said, “I simply do not know you. What other heists have you been a part of?”

Shinedash nearly jumped out of his seat. “Oh, mistress, so many! Why, she-”

“Let her speak, Shine,” Farah admonished. “I admit, I’m intrigued. That museum has some very interesting pieces in it, but I want to know that miss Whisperfur is truly one of us.”

“I am in the dark arts college of the College of Elements, miss Haraf,” she began. “The same avenue as the college of thievery.”

“Some kind of mathematician?” Farah asked.

Malina nodded. “That is accurate, yes. Math and magic. I also double major in archaeomancy.”

Farah groaned. Shinedash leaned over to his irate master and whispered quietly. “She is very good at undoing enchantments, mistress,” he said.

Farah sighed. “Very well. Can you explain your plan in a way that I can grasp it?”

“I shall try,” Malina said.

“You’d damn well better,” Farah replied, sipping her ale as the candelabra swung gently overhead: It was casting strange shadows on the floor.

Malina inhaled, focused, took a sip of her own wine, and leaned in. Farah didn’t like how the vixen never blinked.

“Well, about three thousand years ago before The Great Schism, the paladin Cassius Azura—”

“—Wait wait wait,” Farah said. “Give me the shortened version. Also, before you continue, can I ask if you are associated with the Veilwinter Temple?”

Malina cocked her fluffy head. “What, praytell, does that have to do with anything?”

Farah slowly shook her head and stood. “I don’t like this. I don’t like any of this.”

Shinedash impotently reached out to grab his master. “It’s the perfect heist, mistress! I’ve gone over it with Malina and everything!”

“Then you do it Shine,” the ferret said with a half-hearted, fangy smile. “And remember me when you’re rich.”

Shinedash watched his mentor disappear into the shadows of the tavern. Even with all his training, he never saw her leave. The weasel sighed as he turned to his charming companion.

“This might go well without her slowing us down,” Malina said.

“‘Slowing us down’? Malina, she’s... you don’t understand! The best thief in…”

“It’s all right,” the vixen said soothingly. “With fewer... how do you say? Chefs in the kitchen, there will be less confusion.”

Shinedash sighed but eventually nodded. “All right. I’m ready for the first step.”

“Of course,” Malina said brightly. “Meet me in the Fog District at Third and Volux  on the fifteenth: that is when the new moon will appear and bring the vial I gave you, along with the ceremonial knife we stole.”

Shinedash nodded.

“See you then,” Malina cooed, giving Shinedash a lick on his cheek before exiting.

Less than a week later, Shinedash found the vixen in a circle of graves, taking notes and scrutinizing the strange symbols etched on their reliefs. On top of each were little glowing spheres, the size of oranges - like little crystal balls - swirling with gray and blue mist within.

“Uh, hey Malina,” Shinedash said as he approached. “Can you remind me again? I thought this was about an art museum.”

“These false graves are the key,” Malina said with an air of mischief. “Did you bring the-”

“-The vial and the knife? Of course.”

Malina smiled sweetly. “Of course you did, my weasel.”

Cassius Azura was tired. More tired than could be possible. His vision - normally excellent - was blurry and dim.

The great badger paladin saw before him the Tyrian temple of Hasian: A perfect place to rest.

The door was oak and the brass doorknob felt warm in his hands. His tiny hands.

When did his hands become so small? How long had it been this way? The cleric within looked at him with astonishment.

“Sir, we are closed,” the otteress said.

“Out of my way, wench,” he slurred. Was his voice always that high? It was like a child’s.

“Sir! How did you even get IN here?”

Cassius mumbled something and stumbled through the entranceway to a door he recognized.

“Sir! SIR! You’re not allowed in there!”

“Not allowed? This is the resting place of my lineage.”

The paladin reached for the handle and this time it was cool and inviting in his paws. Again he pondered how small he had become.

“Who are y-AAH!” 

A scream from behind him, but the great paladin was undeterred. Down the stone steps he descended, farther and farther into the darkness. Past Vulane’s Undercity and sewers, nearly to the depths of the Abyss until there it was. A giant stone slab with a stony depiction of himself atop it with his greatsword Bloodsworn.

Shinedash awakened. “Wh-what’s happening?” He looked around. He was in some deep crypt. The air itself was dark and froze his lungs when he breathed it in. “Where am I?”

He felt a light touch on his shoulder and suddenly he was eye-to-eye with Malina once more.

“You’ve done marvelously Shiny,” Malina said, crossbow in paw.

There was a clapping from behind as Farah stepped forward. This time, Malina sighed. “You’ve done... I would say ‘well’ but this is... bizarre.”

“Can someone please explain what’s going on?” Shinedash asked.

“Your girlfriend here,” Farah said indicating Malina, “performed some ritual to lead us down to this... And that’s where I fail to understand what’s going on. Oh, also, she murdered some female otter upstairs. I didn’t stop her in time and I, ah, was curious.”

“You want a cut, is that it?” Malina asked.

“I thought you were sitting this out, mistress?” Shinedash said, still trying to process everything.

“No my boy, I needed to make sure you were safe.”

“But you let Malina... infuse me with the soul of a long-dead paladin and murder some random otter?”

“Not my best moment.”

“Moments,” Malina corrected.

“Hush, you,” Farah said gently. “And yes, since we’re here in this... tomb... I think it’s only fair we split this three ways. Unless you want... complications.”

Malina rolled her eyes and smirked. “Honestly it’s probably good you’re here. Help us move this tomb covering.”

The three mammals - two below averaged-size and one medium-sized - heaved against the large tomb covering until Shinedash gasped. Blood was seeping onto his hands. As he felt his neck to determine the source he gasped once more.

“Y-you sliced my neck, Malina?” He asked, stunned.

“My dear weasel,” Malina began, “I needed a substantial amount, and there was only a small chance of you dying. Now be a good male and get this thing off of here.”

“You’re lucky you’re beautiful and charming and clever,” Shinedash said under his breath.

Malina chuckled softly as the three heaved again. This time it slid. Underneath was a suit of armor and an instant later their delicate noses were met with the stench of several epochs. Malina was already wearing something over her snoot, but the mustelids reeled. Delicately, Malina pulled out the greatsword and heaved it over her shoulder.

“You two can have whatever else is in there,” the vixen said to the two thieves, flat on their backs and holding their noses. “See you later, Shiny!” Malina said, lifting her mask for an instant and rewarding Shinedash with another cheek lick.

Suddenly, Shinedash had very few concerns as he lay on the cool, slimy bricks with a silly smile on his muzzle.