The Playground: Whispers of Taelarys IC

[TechnOkami]

13th of Bargenholt, Morning
Fortress of the Rose Receiving Chamber

As the sudden reaction of the reception lady ended up in the ringing of repetitious and grating bells on Murdok’s unfamiliar eardrums, coupled by the fast-paced clatter of boots and unsheathed swords ringing in the air, Murdok was not entirely sure what to do. Somehow he had offended the entirety of the organization in one blatantly obvious stroke to everyone here but himself. “Do they not like half-giants in this city?” were his initial thoughts as the boot clatter became progressively louder. Still puzzled as to what he should be doing in this situation, instinct clashing with what intellect remained beating inside his head, he quickly reasoned that the best course of action would be to do exactly as the woman said: “Please take a sea--”. Filling in the tail letter, Murdok did as thus and laid his sword leaning against the wall, just within arm’s reach in case things needed to become bloody.

This didn’t seem to bother him at all, the situation he was in; in fact, he seemed rather expectant of it, as if it were a daily occurrence in his life.

With several dozen rapiers inches from turning him into little pieces of meat, and the scowl of a very angry looking elf level to his face from whence he was sitting, he responded to her blunt inquiry in an almost as blunt fashion. Besides, Murdok also preferred cutting to the core rather than dancing around the topic.

“Attack? What attack? If I were attacking, there would be a floor of corpses beneath us, and I am not here to attack you; I am here to work as a blade for hire, and I heard the Blue Lions are hiring.”

[the_druid_droid]

11th of Bargenholt
Late Afternoon
Sevran and Tarin

The escorts sent by the Grand Inquisitor began leading Sevran back through the alleyways surrounding the gambling den, their noses wrinkling at the acrid smells floating out of nearby doorways. A moment later, they came out into the street proper and directed the noble toward a black carriage waiting at the curb, attended by a driver clad in a dull gray suit and black overcoat.

Once Sevran was safely inside, the carriage rattled off with a flick of the driver’s whip, and the slow journey through the streets of Taelarys toward Tarin’s personal residence began. No one else was present in the carriage, the escorts having remained behind when the grim-faced man had boarded, giving him the privacy to reflect on the upcoming appointment or drift off into thought or slumber as he so chose.

After countless twists and turns through the narrow streets, and one close call with an overly-stubborn pedestrian, the black coach began to wind upward through the better neighborhoods of the city. At last, after the rhythm of the carriage jolting over cobblestone had almost become second nature, Sevran’s ride slowed to a halt outside a modestly sized manor, nestled amongst other mansions bearing the crest of House Levant. The driver was quick to descend from his perch and open the door, and there on the front lawn was Tarin, dressed as always in his dark suit with only the silver glint of his watch chain and the red of his cravat to add color.

“Ah, Sevran d’Morn. It’s nice to finally meet you.” The Inquisitor bowed his head politely as his guest approached and gestured toward the open doorway of his home. “I believe I’ve been able to meet some of your...demands. There’s a bath waiting for you upstairs, if you’d like it; the servants will show you the way. When you’ve finished, I have dinner set on the back lawn, and I trust you’ll find things to your taste.” Here Tarin paused, letting his guest take in the house and grounds, and awaited a response.

[daelrog]

11th or Bargenholt
Late Afternoon
Tarin and Sevran

Sevran ignored returning the cordial greeting. "Some? I suppose that means there isn't a high-class whore waiting in the bath is there?"

The time passed and Sevran returned, wearing clean clothes. The noble did not seem to mind wearing a tunic with the House Levant crest on it. If anything, he seemed to almost enjoy it. Sevran was not a terrible looking young man either now that he was clean. He would probably never be called handsome by anyone but a liar, but now bathed, he was no longer the eyesore he was when he arrived.

He sat down across from Tarin, and his mannerisms seemed much imporve, friendly, even if he still lacked any sense of formality. "So Lord Inquisitor, how can I help you?"

[Mono Vertigo]

9th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Machinist's Guildhall
Eiko and Ira

Still thinking about her meal (some kind of fish soup that was pretty freaking good considering the place where she bought it), Eiko didn't hear the person coming behind her, and jumped in surprise. A full stomach didn't help with ambushes, even friendly ones, and she was more used to the militia.
She looked back and saw the woman. Eiko swore and replied. “Do you always introduce yourself to people like that? What is it that you want?”
Why did everyone ask for her, all of a sudden? The attention was nice, but a little unnerving for a woman like her, not yet used to positive publicity.

8th of Bargenholt
The Former Manor D'Lupil
Eiko, Xavier de Forza, Mikado

As expected, the tengu caught the bag with just a swift move. There were no pockets included with her outfit; if only she could trade it back for her practical clothes. Instead, she attached it to her own belt and kept a callous hand on it. “Thank you very much, sir!”
One week ago, she would have snatched a couple more coins than what she had rightfully earned, through cunning or brute force, but now, although she didn't really know the foreigner very much at all, she found her loyalty toward him to be a more rewarding trait. How strange it was to crave the respect of a human such as “Funny Man”.
Keeping just enough distance between her and them, she quietly followed the men, listening to their discussion. The wounds weren't much of an hindrance, fortunately; no important tissue had been damaged, beyond deep scratches and nasty-looking bruises.

[Kasanip]

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10th of Bargenholt
Lord's Arena
Late Evening
Kyranis, Liella, Eris

"You can not only go in the Tower, you'll be assigned quarters there that you can use anytime you need them. And yes, you can use the name ir Ostrim, though unless one adopts you, I'm afraid that you won't have a claim to also use a bloodline specific name.

I told them as little as possible, mostly that you were in some way of House Ostrim at one time; I wasn't sure how much of the rest ofwhat little I know about you you regard as private, and I wouldn't want to prove your trust misplaced.

As for if they said there's anything you must do, you'll have to learn finger-speech, but, naturally, if you can prove that you already know it, that's waved. The only other thing is being tested for magic."

10th of Bargenholt
Lord's Arena
Late Evening
Kyranis, Liella, Eris

Liella grinned at Eris.

"Which, if I saw what I think I did two days ago, won't be a problem for you."

They paused, and looked thoughtful for a while.

"I don't know what you should do, though. We don't have much to go on. What more can you tell us?"

10th of Bargenholt
Lord's Arena
Late Evening
Kyranis, Liella, Eris

Eris frowned a little. She remembered some finger-speech, but she must learn it again. The signs had changed. It was probably better to pretend not to know.
She returned Liella's smile.
"Yes, I am certain I can prove I can use magic." She agreed. Somewhere, the ash was not laughing.

Then she became serious. She looked at Liella and Kyranis. She had trusted them already. And she did owe them debt very much.
However, if she told them, then she could not hide her truth anymore. Would she be able to tell her story? If she did, what would they do?
Eris sighed.
They had protected her trust. If they failed her trust she could still murder them. But... they had helped her once. Maybe they could help more?

"I'll tell you about myself. It's a big secret. But you have earned my trust. My name is Eris ir Ostrim. It's the same name, if you research, that appears in the Sorcerer-Alchemist War. Or it probably does in the history books.

Yes, I was the one who went there, to old sir Brackett's Atelier shop, and I met with him and killed him. He coughed flames and smoke, before turning to ash.

The rest was an accident. I did not desire to set the whole Atelier into flames, but when he burned, the chemicals in the room also were burned and explode. The elixir of eternal youth, if it was true, I held in my hands as I escaped.

But there was no easy place to store it. Should I have run down the streets, then surely it would have fallen.

I drank it.

It was in a greedy choice that I did it. Surely it would never be seen again, I had thought. To be forever young was not a bad thought to me even at such a time.

And so I returned to my House that evening, the slaves washing the soot and ash from me. My bond mate bathed me and added scented oils to my hair and skin. But I smelled the burning and the ash all that evening, and in my dreams, I was dreaming of fire forever. Of burning that I would never feel, that tempting and beautiful flame.

I lied and said the elixir was not real. That the Alchemist tried to poison the Emperor. But I was a fire sorcerer, it was known. If the fires were an accident, I could have extinguished them also. That was the claims of the alchemists, in their fury.

But I was only 14 then! Even though I seem it now, I was not as wise as I have become. I couldn't have controlled the flames of the fire, I was too young and inexperienced. But there were many deaths in the war. Most of it was slave or mercenaries and bandits hired to kill each other. A few of our sorcerers were killed in the fighting as they led their own slaves into the fighting. The city was burning. I can still smell the ash and fire.

Then the Imperial Guard came, and the Emperor himself. He was mighty and terrible to see by us. And he ended the war and made his justice.

I remember the day I was in his court, on my knees in front of him. I trembled! And he spared me execution for my youth. But my exile and stripping from my family was my punishment.

Can you imagine doing that to a child? Is there a worse punishment?

You have never had your bond mate removed. You have never seen the ceremony.
Because there is no way to remove a bond mate, except by death. They broke her neck and burned her before me. And everyone watched the bonded tattoo that I wore burned along with my bond-mate. A final humiliation, but in my agony I didn't care. I cried all of my tears that night. It would not be my bed anymore. My mother was at the door. She never said goodbye to me, or my father. I was exiled. I had embarrassed the family. I didn't have a family anymore. I don't have a family anymore."

Eris stopped speaking. It was long explaining.

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I am sorry for a long waiting. It was a long time for me to change it.

[Lady Serpentine]

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It's fine. I don't mind waiting for a while if you're going to make posts like this.

10th of Bargenholt
Lord's Arena
Late Evening
Kyranis, Liella, Eris

The pair listened closely, smiles fading as they did, slowly being replaced with sadness, mixing with pain and anger when she told of her punishment, especially the removal of her Bond-Mate.

After the story was told, Kyranis and Liella were quiet for a while, not even finger-speech passing between them.

"Take up your name again, Eris ir Ostrim. You have been made to live without it too long, and suffered more than you deserve in other ways. We can't fix all of that, but we can allow you to return, and maybe have a family again. If you'll take it, there's a place for you in Ostrim."

Liella's voice, when she spoke, was sad, and tinged with a touch of pain from her recent experiences.

"You shouldn't have to be the only one to remember your Bond-Mate, Eris. What was her name?"

[VonDoom]

Third Car

Mikado's expression relaxed after a moment, once it was apparent that the fire mage wasn't in anymore peril than anyone else currently on the train. His walking cane in hand, the Ikokuan took a step out onto the passenger lane.

"Well enough," he offered somewhat curtly. "I was just about to get some insight into our current situation."

Meeting Claye's gaze, the tall foreigner seemed to have a questioning look in his eyes; perhaps the woman had some insight into the authenticity of their bomb threat, considering her expertise in making all sorts of things explode into fire. Though her training with machines was likely more useful in this instance.

"And yourself?" An ironic smile appeared on the man's lips as he continued.

9th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon
The Former Manor d’Lupil
Tarin and Mikado

A grisly sight awaited them.

Beneath the trap door lay a short stone staircase; narrow and dangerous, it looked like it hadn't actually been maintained in some time. Yet it was well-trod, the light of torches Mikado apparently had had placed there revealing a number of footprints in the accumulated dirt.

At the end of the stairs was a room surprisingly small, but large enough at least to accomodate them all. The new owner, and his esteemed guests of the Inquisition. Normally, having their kind discover such a room hidden in your property was a sign for alarm, panic even, but in this instance Mikado merely helpfully bid them enter.

The room was basic, but its purpose quite obvious. The floor was marked by a large arcane symbol, drawn in blood, the source of which was quickly apparent: on the walls straight ahead and to the right were crude steel manacles, dirty and crusted with yet more blood. Clearly whoever had maintained this room had expected much of the precious fluid to be shed, as there was a drain on the floor, showing signs that it had been made good use of.

A table to the left contained a number of items potentially well-known to the Inquisitor; a large red star, crafted from six precious rubies and held together in a frame of steel. A dagger, covered in the symbols of necromancy and dark magic, clean and quite sharp. There was an open book there, filled with what looked like gibberish on a first examination.

The new owner of the manner didn't show any discomfort as he stood there, or indeed much of a reaction. "Distateful," he commented, looking at the worn manacles. A few steps took Mikado right into the room, though he notably avoided stepping onto the symbol on the ground. "Take what you need, and examine this room as much as you like. Your men will have access to this manor at all hours for the next week."

The wealthy immigrant turned around, folding his hands behind his back as he calmly studied the Inquisition members. "I assume you have people skilled in finding exactly this sort of thing. Any other hidden passages and tunnels may provide further leads, but I fully intend to have these blocked and closed off afterwards. Obviously this 'Crimson Cult' of yours would know of them, and I suspect di Milverton to be aware of some myself. I wish neither to have access to my domicile."

"In fact, considering recent events, I would suggest looking further into di Milverton. Perhaps this cult wishes him harm, or to recruit him to their ranks. " He waved his hand to indicate the whole place, hidden sub-basement included, as he continued. "I am displeased at this discovery, but he did make me aware of who the prior owner was and I acquired it nonetheless, so I can't blame the man."

[Jade_Tarem]

First Car

Whether or not Anaya caught Sevran's words may never be known, but Lord-Commander Oskard did, and gripped Anaya's good arm tightly. She sat back down, grimacing at the bump, which had jarred her injured arm again.

Whether or not the rebels would have responded to Sevran is also unclear. The door at the front opens, and a sootier Michael Wainwright steps inside. "Everyone please take a seat," he says, "We're going to be taking a turn at full speed up ahead."

To the other two rebels, he says, "Make sure the other machinist gets up here intact."

Third Car

"Oh, y'know... the usual. Seems we're short an engineer, so I'm gonna have t' fill in up front."

"Please keep moving, there isn't time to waste."

"Alright, keep yer pants on." As Claye moves toward the front, she says offhandedly, "By the way, Mikado, this train ain't gonna go up like Masurao, but the detonators are hooked up to someth-" she doesn't get to finish before she's hustled through the front door.

Fifth Car

The mage seems about ready to make his move, but stops when the front door opens. None other than Boss Nessiel, and another man you recognize from the Arena fiasco, walk through quickly, discussing timing and setup angles. Before long, they're gone.

After a moment, the mage seems to hesitate, clearly wondering if he should wait until they move back up front. He turns a questioning look toward Amandre.

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If you're going to make your move now, roll OOC and tell me what your general plan is. Otherwise, hold off.

Baggage Car 1

It's a simple enough matter to retrieve Raina's bow, Anselme's flirting aside. Cophi provides a quiver with six quality arrows in it, but none of them look like something from Raina's personal supply or the Blue Lion armory. "You won't have enough time to take more shots than that," is all she says on the matter.

"As for setting up, the sooner the better. We're approaching the junction very quickly."

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You may position yourself on any of the passenger train cars. Further back than that will not give you enough time to make a difference - the engine will pass the switch point before you could take down the guards.

You need to make two successful shots to prevent the train from crashing - at least according to the rebels.

If you position yourself on the first passenger car, there will be time for you to take all six shots, but at the highest DC. The number of shots you can take and the DC goes down by one for each car that you go back, until the fifth car, which gives you only two shots at the lowest DC.

Yes, Raina will be armed with however many shots she doesn't use on the guards, assuming you want to start something.

[Swordslinger]

5th car
Amandre

After the party had exited the cart Amandre gently shook his head in a dismissive manner while looking at the sorcerer and making sure the rebels did not notice. There was not much this far back in the train and chances was they would not remain there for long. If they was to return while he was taking out the guards his plans would be ruined, everything hinged on that he could take them out and exit the car without anyone seeing where he went next. There was no need to rush, if they left by this car again he would have his window of opportunity.

[hi-mi-tsu]

13th of Bargenholt, Morning
Fortress of the Rose Receiving Chamber

Raina's gaze grew incredulous as she looked the man up and down; at a sharp gesture, the Lions' blades were lowered, and with some reluctance they moved away. Her rapier stayed out, though she relaxed her grip slightly; after another moment, she sheathed it.

"...We are always in need of skilled soldiers. But soldiers are not all that my Lions are. My people are educated, courteous, and chameleons. ...Come with me." She turned, glancing back at him.

"Into my office. It will be easier to discuss things there, and you'll be off the main floor. You're rather intimidating."

Baggage Car 1

Raina checks over her bow one more time, then spins on her heel and moves past Cophi, back up through the passenger cars. She counts, under her breath, and at the second passenger car she glances at Anselme.

"I'm going up top. Could you please stay here and make sure none of these...'rebels'...get any ideas?" She gave him a pointed look; it would be useful if he could read minds, just in this instance. She wanted him to look around...perhaps talk to that large fellow, even if he was sitting guard with Jameson. Gods, she hated that foul little man...but her eyes flicked over to them anyways, in what she hoped was an unobtrusive manner.

Leaning out the side of the car, she slung her bow--carefully--'round her shoulders and grabbed onto the ladders usually installed for maintenance; it was the work of seconds to scramble up to the top, and she breathed a sigh of thanks to her years of training. Standing steady on top of a train was nothing compared to trying to navigate tree branches in a storm...unslinging her bow, her eyes narrowed. The first car might have been a little better as far as aiming went, but it would also be much more conspicuous...

"It's very difficult to aim with you hovering." Raina's voice was clipped. Cophi had come up onto the train roof with her, and that was...annoying, to say the least. Raina had hoped for some space.

It didn't matter. The platform was visible now, as were the guards, and they were approaching it swiftly; despite Cophi's reassurance that she'd be able to fire all the arrows, if need be...she didn't feel she had that much time. Loading two arrows into the bow at once, Raina's eyes narrowed; she had to be steady. Not yet...not yet...now.

The arrows hummed when she released them from her bow; it was not an impossible shot, but it was a difficult one. And, just as it seemed that they would pass between the guards without ever hitting either one, they veered...one went right, the other left, to bury themselves in the shoulders of the unsuspecting men. Both guards spun--in opposite directions--the force of the shot carrying them around in a full circle before they collapsed; their screams were audible even over the noise of the train.

And before the shots had even hit, Raina had nocked another arrow to her bow, turning and aiming it at Cophi's throat.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't dispose of you, now."

[Swordslinger]

Car 5
Amandre

As he had suspected the party soon returned, the woman in front now held a bow as she walked by. They had recovered what they came back here for, and he considered it unlikely that anyone would be back here right away. His eyes met the sorcerers again and he made a small nod toward him, it was time to get moving.

[Jade_Tarem]

Fifth Car

The sorcerer nods and turns his attention toward the front of the car. Syra stops moving - at all.

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This would be the time to roll OOC.

Top of the Second Car

Cophi doesn't make any sudden moves, instead slowly adjusting her headband. "I can give you three." She stares at Raina directly. "First, if you attack me here, you'll have three arrows with which to try to defeat every other rebel on the train. There are thirteen of them, besides me. If you feel that you can defeat 4.3 rebels with one arrow and then repeat that stunt twice, then goody for you, but I rather doubt it."

She looks back at the guard tower, where a figure has darted forward from the treeline and jammed the rail selection lever to its other position. "Second, you place a high value on sentient life. You aren't going to pull a ridiculous trick shot like that and then turn around and kill me just for ruining your morning."

The train suddenly lurches to the right as it changes rail lines, but Cophi makes no move to take advantage of the distraction.

"And third, you should consider whether or not you even want us to fail." Cophi hesitates, and then apparently decides to go through with something, her tone becoming blunt. "Tell me, do you believe that anyone deserves to lose their family?"

[TechnOkami]

13th of Bargenholt, Morning
Fortress of the Rose Receiving Chamber

Murdok gets to his feet, puts a hand to his unwieldy blade, and puts it back in its... holder. It's nowhere near a sheathe, more like a series of belts used to hold the blade. As Murdok begins to walk, he keeps the weight of his left arm on the handle so the sword doesn't drag into the floor.

Quickly he catches up to the small elven lady, matching her pace as they moved through the hall.

"I wonder if they've even seen a half-giant before..." pondered Murdok.

[hi-mi-tsu]

13th of Bargenholt, Morning
Fortress of the Rose Receiving Chamber

"You will have to forgive our...hasty behavior." Raina led the large man into her office, letting the door fall mostly closed behind them, and inclined her head towards the comfortable chair that sat opposite her own. Settling down, she sighed, softly.

"Generally speaking, when a strange person comes through our door armed to the teeth, it is because they have some grudge against either myself or one of the Lions, and have come to 'exact their revenge'. Alternatively, a few times there have been kidnappings. We are...very cautious."

A pause, and Raina pulled some papers over, glancing through them.

"There is a rather rigorous screening process involved in becoming a member of the Lions. We do occasionally serve nobility, and the Vale is a high-end district; we have a reputation for being courteous, civil, and intelligent. But let's start with the basics, shall we? I am Captain Nessiel, or Boss Nessiel. What is your name?"

Top of the Second Car

Raina's aim faltered, the bow dropping several inches; she'd remained firm through the first two points, and had been about to make a scathing retort along the lines of "I'm not particularly fond of being threatened with death by train explosion, either", when Cophi asked her last question.

"...No." The word is quiet, and Raina's eyes flicker away from Cophi's face.

"...No one deserves to suffer that sort of loss. ...And yet, you are threatening the families of those innocents on the train with the same pain."

[TechnOkami]

13th of Bargenholt, Morning
Fortress of the Rose Raina's Office

Murdok ducks his head under the door frame as he enters the room.

As Raina spoke, Murdok listened, taking the inanely huge and frozen over steel beam he calls a sword, leaning its weight against a wall once again, just within arm's reach. He continued to listen as he took the seat opposite to her, letting his weight sink into its plush exterior.

When she finally comes to the exchange of names, "Murdok.", he says. "Just Murdok."

After a brief pause, Murdok speaks up again. "...so assassination attempts and kidnappings are a common event around here? I wouldn't think anyone would have the sheer stupidity to try and challenge an entire Mercenary group by themselves..."

He chuckles, "Then again, I've had my fair share of beating overwhelming odds before."

[Kasanip]

10th of Bargenholt
Lord's Arena
Late Evening
Kyranis, Liella, Eris

Eris's expression looked haunted.
"Harmonia." She said almost was a whisper. It had been a long time since she had said the name with voice. But she had never forgot.

"What family could I have?" Eris said with a bitter laugh.
"Look at me, and what do you see? You see a child. I took the Elixir when I was this age, and it has preserved me as such ever since that day. I will never grow to my full height. I will never grow into a woman. I will never marry. I probably will never lose childish frustrations and thoughts. To take an Elixir of Eternal Youth, must trade away what is Adult.
"Even if I was adopted by a family, I will not grow older. My adopted family will die someday. But I will be the same. When you are on your deathbed together, I will be this way."

She closed her eyes.
"Ostrim was my home 200 years ago. It's probably entirely different."
She opened her eyes and looked at Kyranis and Liella.
"But I want to see it again." She said earnestly. "If I have to give up revenge... Even if it's hard..." She laughed bitterly. "Why? All of the people I wanted revenge against are gone. I win. And now I can start over because of you."


She stood up and turned away. Her white hair concealed her face from them.
"I want you to see. Because it's the mark of guilt and love that I have carried for this time. But it's also a mark that you two carry. That all sorcerers are burdened with. That all sorcerers are blessed with."
Her voice sounded like she was crying.
She paused to adjust her dress, and showed her back to them. She hesitated, and then pulled the strings open, to show her back. There on her shoulder blade, there was a faint scar shaped like the seal of Ostrim.

"This was the mark of my bond, though it is faded and scarred from burning. It will never heal by itself."

[Lady Serpentine]

10th of Bargenholt
Lord's Arena
Late Evening
Kyranis, Liella, Eris

"I am sorry for the pain that was caused you, Eris. As you say, the bond is both blessing and curse, as we learned two days ago, though not as harshly as you; it is a wonderful thing to have someone be that close to you, but to lose that, even for a moment...

As for a family, I do not know. Perhaps the alchemists have finally calmed enough towards us that they could be of use if you wished to reverse it, or if there were a way to magically age you a few years you would remain that age. But whether or not there is a way to remove or change the effects of the Elixir, we will help you start over, if you need further aid, and be there once you have should you ever need us.

You should know, as well, that you no longer owe us. Consider what we have done so far to be paying, in some small part, the debt owed by House Ostrim for the pain you have felt."

[TheDarkDM]

12th of Bargenholt
Outside The Rhetizian Embassy
The Beginning of the Party

As the guests drew close to the Rhetizian Embassy, the intricately woven wrought iron gates swung open with a whisper, casting twisted shadows in the setting sun. Beyond the gates awaited an elaborate garden smelling of nightshade and roses, the flower bushes laid out beside obsidian paths in a great, flowing pattern leading to the stairs up to the main house, all overshadowed by the thin red leaves of a number of ancient varask trees. Stepping from the crushed gravel of the coach track onto the garden path, visitors found their way lit by delicate lanterns of purple glass, the flames inside sending tenuous fingers into the deep shadows of the garden. At the edge of vision, dark figures seemed to move in time with the thin whistling of wind through the branches overhead, only to disappear as soon as they drew the eye. The Embassy was separated from the city by naught but an eight foot wall, but already it seemed worlds away.

As the visitors drew closer to the towering mansion that served as the Embassy's main building, they found themselves passing through a light mist that smelt of precious incense, and the lanterns behind them became ghostlights in the aether. Climbing the steps of polished black marble, the guests found a pair of purple-garbed servants awaiting them, their distinctively greased red-black hair marking them as Rhetizian natives. Gripping the burnished silver knobs of the ebon double doors, the men moved in silent unison as they bid the new arrivals to enter.

Inside the Rhetizian Embassy

Past the doors, visitors beheld a long hall, its ceiling arching to the very apex of the building, a wide balcony running along the walls twenty feet above. Purple banners bearing the symbol of Rhetiz bedecked the pillars supporting the balcony, while the floor was a truly marvelous work of the mosaic craft, melding marble of every color into a marvelous map of the Dark City, only truly visible from the balcony above. At the far end of the hall, a great staircase led up to a landing holding another set of double doors before splitting into a pair of staircases leading to either side of the balcony. Flanking the doors were the green banner of House Rastrim and the grey banner of House Sudel, mirrored in the banquet's two noble hosts who observed their guests from the landing.

On the balcony above the doors, a string quartet endeavored to entertain the guests, while the mosaic floor buzzed with the low conversations of more than three dozen luminaries of Taelarys, Rhetizian born all. In one shadowed corner, a man of prodigious girth whose hair had gone to silver regaled a small crowd with tales of some personal duel, wielding his walking stick as a younger man would a rapier, and managing against all odds to retain his footing in the process. At opposite ends of the room, a pair of identically beautiful women shot poisoned looks at each other through the crowd, their enmity as clear as their relation. Lounging upon the stair was a young bravo, his hair a more Taelarian red than the Rhetizian's distinctive shade, speaking to mixed blood or unlucky birth. Despite it all though, he was attended by a small flock of warbling lovelies, all young and painfully innocent. This seemed to please their fathers not at all, especially a pair of distinguished gentlemen near the front door who spared not a glance at the new arrivals.

In every corner, the servants of the wealthy and the powerful tended to their masters. In every corner, wine and stronger stuff seemed in never-ending supply. To those accustomed to luxury, it was a welcome tedium, but to those of lower birth the opulence was palpable, a sweet honey that seemed to coat the very air.

[Kasanip]

10th of Bargenholt
Lord's Arena
Late Evening
Kyranis, Liella, Eris

Eris fixed her dress and turned to look at Kyranis.
"You have interesting suggestions. I lost everything in exchange for this life. But it's a life that I've gotten used to over 200 years. I may never be as beautiful or tall as others maybe. but life continues after tragedy. I should have realized that. i have as many lives as I can live. Anyway, my charm point is my youth and white hair."
Is she making a joke? It can't be sure. Eris takes a deep breath and stretches.
"I will start over. I'm not sure of everything. But certainly it will not be known until it is tried. Thank you. but you still have my debt and friendship. I always keep promises. And I do not blame you for Ostrim and the past." But she would have burned him too if it had been a few days ago if she had attacked Ostrim. Eris looked at Liella and Kyranis. "Though, now you know so much of me. I wonder, about you. Kyranis, those runes on your face. I do not recognize them."

[Lady Serpentine]

10th of Bargenholt
Lord's Arena
Late Evening
Kyranis, Liella, Eris

"My bloodline has a method, using spontaneous magic, by which we can take certain concepts, or a person's identity, and give them a material form, subtly altered by how we see them, and, somtimes, how they see us. These two," indicating the symbols under his eyes. "Are pain and lightning. The one on my forehead is life, with those that remain being protection and binding."

[VonDoom]

Third Car

As the smaller woman passed him, Mikado inclined his head, catching her gaze for a moment. The playfulness he had exhibited during the brief times she had encountered him in Taelarys was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating look. Not quite the same steel in his eyes that Claye had encountered at the site she herself had just brought up, when they had been threatened with blank-drawn swords, but it was obvious that the Ikokuan wasn't planning to let the situation simply play out uninterfered.

Once she is gone, the foreigner leaned against his former seat, his eyes fixed on one of their erstwhile captors -- the older woman, the teacher.

"A past acquaintance," he briefly noted, dismissing any potential questions that might be lingering in her mind. An unsettling smile appeared on his face for a moment, but only that, as it vanished as soon as it appeared. "Now, you were about to share the reason -- or target -- that may cause my imminent death. Please continue."

12th of Bargenholt
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy
Claye, Mikado

It was with an erudite eye that Mikado became aware of their new surroundings inside the embassy. As a foreigner in Taelarys, he didn't feel any less out of place in these Rhetizian-style surroundings than he did anywhere else, though the opulence did give him pause for a moment.

While he certainly had been one of the most wealthy men in Ikoku, his current monetary means were far beneath what would be required to create such a picturesque ambience. That much was obvious to the former Dragon Emperor, as he briefly guessed at the money it might take to replicate this scenery. At the very least, it was obvious that Rhetiz had spared little expense to conjur the image of eternal stability and plentitude in their home away from home.

It was a good thing that the wealthy immigrant had chosen a slightly more fancy style of clothing than usual, keeping in the spirit of what he had previously learned of Rhetizian culture.

His brown eyes briefly glanced towards the woman at his side as he continued onwards, assuming that, if she was even intimidated or at all impressed, Claye would make an effort not to show it.

"Quite the assembly," he noted quietly to the machinist on his arm, his tone strangely caustic as his gaze wandered back towards the various personalities in their immediate surroundings. "The more pomp, the less relevance in my experience. The important ones will show up later."

[Kasanip]

10th of Bargenholt
Lord's Arena
Late Evening
Kyranis, Liella, Eris


"You can give material form to concepts and identity?" Eris looks curious. "So you can change a concept or identity with the rune?"

She looks at his face closely.
"Lightning looks dragon-like. Why write a rune of pain? What are you binding? And why write 'Life' on your forehead?"

She doesn't seem to understand Kyranis.

[Lady Serpentine]

10th of Bargenholt
Lord's Arena
Late Evening
Kyranis, Liella, Eris

Kyranis nodded after a moment.

"It is possible to change an identity, at least. Concepts are more difficult, though it is usually possible to alter them for one person.

I chose to write a rune of pain because each symbol gives me some measure of control over, or at least protection from, the thing it represents - the exception being protection, which simply does what one would expect from such a rune.

At the moment, I am binding nothing. But it strengthens my connection to Liella, and makes it easier to control spirits and demons, should such become necessary.

As for why I chose to place Life on my forehead, the answer is complex. Partly, it allows me a bit of influence over animals. Another reason is that it tends to help ward off death. Still others are that it speeds healing slightly, and somtimes allow those marked with it to influence if they have children at a certain time or not."

[Kasanip]

10th of Bargenholt
Lord's Arena
Late Evening
Kyranis, Liella, Eris

Eris thought.

She looked at Liella and then at Kyranis again. "I see." She responded.

"I still don't understand. My identity is 'Eris.' Are you saying if you write 'Eris' rune on Liella, she becomes me? Or if you write 'cat' rune on me, I become a cat?" She frowns.

"Of course there must be consequences."

But maybe it gave her an idea too.

[Lady Serpentine]

10th of Bargenholt
Lord's Arena
Late Evening
Kyranis, Liella, Eris


Kyranis shook his head.

"Not exactly. For example, Liella and I each have the other's rune tattooed on us, but we're still ourselves. Were I to try, I could, perhaps, change Liella's hair color, or she could alter my favorite fruit, but to change her to you would require months, if not years, of work. And some changes are simply too much - turning you into a cat would likely result in one or both of us dying.

And yes, there are consequences. Even were I to take the time to try making her you, the mental changes would likely result in her becoming insane part of the way through, and not recovering until they were complete. Purely physical alterations, however, simply leave you drained, though that could, of course, be dangerous if you weren't careful."

Liella shivered at the mention of becoming insane, and the Sorcerer put his arm around her, drawing his Bond-Mate close.

[Kasanip]

10th of Bargenholt
Lord's Arena
Late Evening
Kyranis, Liella, Eris


"Of course." Eris says neutrally. She looks sideways at Liella.

"Yes, that sounds appropriate." Eris agrees. "It was an example. I don't wish to be a cat."
"I thought rune disguise would be convenient. But because it is tattooed probably it would be boring to wear forever." She said.

Suddenly the window glows brightly. Eris turns sharply to look out. There is a big feeling of magical energy.

Spoiler

Show

To mention TheDarkDM's plot ticket

"Let's go to the roof quickly." Eris suggests. Arriving to the roof, the light can be seen easily, even though it is night. Eris looks at it with dark expression.

[Lady Serpentine]

10th of Bargenholt
Lord's Arena
Late Evening
Kyranis, Liella, Eris


"Let's."

Kyranis and Liella follow her quickly, and, when they all arrive, stare at the light, confusion spreading across their faces.

[The_Snark]

9th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Machinist's Guildhall
Eiko and Ira

"Er, no," Ira said, blinking and trying to figure out what she'd done wrong. Friendly—check. Confident and outgoing—check. (Sort of.) Had she said something rude without realizing it?

Too late now. Ira had run over this conversation in her head and practiced what she would say in advance, but it hadn't gotten off to a good start and she was having trouble remembering what she'd rehearsed anyway. She plunged ahead nonetheless. "Ah, that is, I meant to inquire about your availability for a job. I understand you're not currently working on a project, and I've found my team one person short due to, er, health issues. Your name came up when I, er, asked around for a replacement. " She fell silent, fidgeting as she waited for an answer.

[Jade_Tarem]

Spoiler for Length

Spoiler

Show

???th day of ???, Claye-Potts Machinery, 11:00 a.m.
Halloween Special

Claye scooted back on her work bench and stretched. "Ah'm thinkin' about an early lunch, what about you, Potts?"

A surly voice answered her. "If I get muffins, will you let the imps run off with them again?"

Claye rolled her eyes and grabbed an umbrella as she made her way to the front of the shop - thunderclouds had loomed overhead all day, and they were thick enough that the sky was almost black. "Sweet Taelar, are you still on about that? That happened weeks ago!"

"And you never apologized!"

Claye gave her apprentice a scowl. "Ah never apologized fer gettin' rid of the creatures that you let into the shop and allowed to trash my office an' workspace?" She turned back to the front, shaking her head. "Ah wish the imps would come back an' take you away."

She paused at the front door. No answer had come from the back room. "Potts? Hey, Potts? Are yeh back there?" She grinned lopsidedly. "Sulkin' won't get your muffins back." There was still no answer. "Don't be like that! Ah'll buy you some more muffins, okay?" Claye frowned as the silence stretched to truly awkward levels. "Potts?"

She walked back into the back room of the shop, only to find Potts completely absent. "Where are yeh hidin', Potts? This is just stupid." She searched her office, the emergency shower, even the back alley. He was nowhere to be found. She even checked out the large window, opening it despite the raw, swift wind blowing into the shop and scattering papers everywhere. Giving up, she turned to the front room. “Fine, have it your way, Potts.” She drawled.

Lightning flashed and thunder cracked. Claye saw a shadowed silhouette on the floor, right in the patch of stark light cast through the large window. She turned around and took an involuntary step back. Standing just inside the window was…

Well, it was Anselme, but not like she’d ever seen him before. He was wearing what appeared to be jet-black and highly stylized armor, as well as an impressive high-collared black cape that would put any stage villain to shame. And on top of that…

“Holy crap! What happened to your hair?”

“What do you mean, what happened to it?”

“Yeh’ve got a mane. Did Boss Nessiel make yeh do that, to fit the whole “lions” theme?” Anselme’s hair was indeed poofed out in a huge corona of wispy hair. It was also considerably longer. In addition, his eyebrows now curved up diabolically.

“Well, no. It’s something new I’m trying.”

“Fine. Listen, I’m lookin’ for my apprentice. Have you seen him?” Claye tried to look past Anselme, but she couldn’t see anything but stormy skies out the window.

“Potts is no longer here. My minions took him at your request.” Anselme said breezily.

Claye blinked. “My request? What’re yeh talkin’ about?”

An imp jumped through the window and landed beside Anselme, cackling. “I wish the imps would come back and take you away! You said it, not us!” Laughter echoed from around the room. When Claye looked behind her, she saw nothing but heard the sound of slamming drawers and cupboards.

“And what’s been said cannot be taken back so easily.” Anselme added, smirking. “The imps aren’t big on competence, sanity, or hygiene, but they are punctual.”

“Now hold on a minute! Putting aside the fact that you’re apparently the Imp King, this isn’t the first time Ah’ve wished for somethin’ out loud! Where were you when Ah wished to find my grandfather years ago? Or when Ah wished for more tolerance for non-house sorcerers? Or when I was seven an’ wished for a pony?”

“Oh, we don’t grant wishes all the time. This is an experiment in human factors!”

“…What?”

Anselme gestured to the window, and Claye suddenly realized that the normal view of Exentia Street had been replaced by a vista overlooking a huge stone-and-hedge maze and the castle beyond. “We’re trying to measure how well humans solve problems under pressure in a time-constrained, mortally dangerous environment. Anyone who tries and fails to beat the labyrinth in thirteen hours gets turned into an imp. You can, of course, refuse to participate in the study – but one way or another, after thirteen hours Potts will be turned into an imp if you haven’t rescued him.”

“Human Factors experimentation doesn’t work that way!”

“I’d strongly recommend turning back and leaving him to us. We’ve tested tinkers, tailors, soldiers, sailors, gentlemen, apothecaries, ploughboys, a thief, butchers, bakers, candlestick makers, and even a lawyer (we still have his brief). There’ve been witches and mages, all manner of sages, and pages and pages of heroes of yore; aristocratic folks and some desperate blokes who said that they’d do it for a few gold coins more. There’ve been young and old, cowardly and bold, cautious and brimming with imprudence, and last but not least, from a school in the east, there’ve been limitless numbers of grad students.”

“They’ll do anything for free food and extra credit!” One of the imps snickered.

Anselme went on. “So far the only one to survive has been a fifteen year-old girl who spent most of her free time LARPing."

“What the hell is LARPing?”

Anselme frowned briefly at that, but didn’t elaborate. “It’s not important. Listen, are you going to participate or not?”

“You’re not leavin’ me much choice. Ah can’t just abandon Potts.” Claye stepped forward, through the window and onto the bleak landscape.

Anselme followed, along with several of his imps. “Are you quite certain? You were the one who asked us to take him.”

“Ah know, but Ah literally can’t leave him. It’s a union thing.” Claye looked carefully at the Labyrinth. “Besides, it doesn’t look that big.”

One of the imps hopped up next to her. “That’s ‘cause it’s only a model.” He was immediately shushed by the others.

“Ah’m going to do it. Let’s go!”

Anselme surprised her by vanishing from right in front of her, along with his imps. “What a pity. Remember, Claye… in thirteen hours, both you and Potts are mine!”

***

Claye quickly made her way to the edge of the maze, but stopped when she encountered a blank wall. She began circling the perimeter and continued until she came across a gnarled, gnome-like creature - who was, for lack of a better term, answering nature’s call.

The machinist slapped her hand to her forehead. “Aw, no. Not in the water! We’re upstream of civilization, people have t’ drink that.”

He responded with a gravelly voice. “Hrmph! See if I care.” A brief zipping noise was heard, and then the tiny man picked up a strange device. He waited for a moment, and when an imp popped up from behind a rock, he depressed the trigger and a bolt of lightning leaped out and struck the creature, which exploded.

“Hey! What did he ever do t’ you!” Claye said, horrified.

The little gnome looked at her. “Hrm? What do you mean? They’re imps. I don’t need a better reason than that. Besides, they don’t even die, they just pop back to the Imp King when you blast them.”

“…they don’t die?” Claye blinked as the implications surged through her mind.

“Sadly, no.” The small creature did a double take. “That’s a really disturbing smile, girl.”

One hour and a few minutes of eighties music later…

A tiny ball of flame connected squarely with the imp’s chest, exploding hard enough to leave nothing behind but a pair of smoking feet, which quickly vanished.

“One hundred! Ah win, Hobble!” Claye and the gnome, who had told her that his name was Hobble as the game had progressed, both laughed. “That ye did, miss, and fairly.”

Claye checked her watch, and then checked it again when she realized that it now had thirteen numbers on it. Dammit Anselme. She looked at Hobble. “Listen Hibble…”

“Hobble.” He corrected.

“Right. Ah’ve got twelve hours t’ get through the maze. Can yeh tell me where t’ start?”

“Eh, the door is right that way, Miss Kilnmyr. You can’t miss it.”

Claye darted off in the indicated direction. “Thanks, Hubble.”

“Hobble!”

***

Claye had initially decided to stick with the “Right hand rule.” She had continued to adhere to it, taking only right turns, until she came to a pair of realizations.

1. Her goal was in the center of the maze, invalidating the rule, and…
2. The walls were moving.

After that, she’d started marking her path with scorch patterns, but had stopped when she realized that the floor tiles were shifting too. She thought she had caught a couple of glances of imps, but couldn’t be sure.

“What’s wrong with this place?” She finally snarled in frustration. “What’s the point in havin’ a labyrinth with shiftin’ walls? Why not just make the walls into a circle an’ trap me here forever?” She turned a corner and came face to face with Anselme again. She stopped in place. “You! What the hell are you tryin’ to get out of… out of…” She blinked a couple of times, and tried her hardest to focus on his face. Her cheeks started to turn red.

“Is there a problem?” He asked, reasonably.

“It’s… well… the tights are a bit distractin’, to be honest.” Indeed, Anselme’s outfit had changed to include a vest, a high-collared, open-necked shirt, knee-high boots, long black gloves… and grey tights.

“It’s in the job description. Now look here; there are a few things you need to know about the labyrinth.” Anselme said, not sure he had Claye’s full attention, but pressing on anyway.

“Uh-huh…”

“The labyrinth itself is a construct of my imagination, and I can control any part of it using these magical crystal balls.” He held one up for observation, it showed the two of them talking from a birds-eye view.

“Balls, got it…”

“The imps are also a… are you even listening?” He waved his hand in front of Claye’s face. She blinked and looked up at him. “Oh! Sorry, what were we talkin’ about, again?”

“Augh! I’ll let you figure this out on your own, then. I’m going to go bug your boyfriend – maybe he’ll be able to hold a decent conversation.” He stalked around a corner, and when Claye tried to follow, she ran into a dead end. Claye kicked at the wall. “Dammit!”

***

Anselme sat on his throne, imps cavorting about him by the dozens. He stared at the clock – nine hours and thirty eight minutes to go.

When he’d first learned he could create this little world, he’d enjoyed it. Now, if he had to sit here for another minute with only the imps for company, he was going to saw his own arm off. He stalked over to where Potts sat, bound, in the center of the room. The young machinist recoiled from the Imp King, but there was nowhere to go. Anselme leaned over him as curious music began to play.

“You remind me of the babe.”
“What babe?”
“The babe with the power.”
“What power?”
“The power of Voodoo!”
“What the hell is Voodoo?”
“You d…” Anselme stopped and stared hard at Potts with his good eye. “You didn’t even read the script, did you?”
“What script?”

***

Claye gritted her teeth. The song was actually helpful, it really was. She was using it to keep her sense of direction, and making progress.

She just wished they weren’t on the twelfth repetition of it.

“I saw Miss Kilnmyr, tryin’ hard as Claye could try.
What could I do-hoo?
Her young apprentice had gone, and left Miss Kilnmyr blue-oooo,
Nooooobody kne-eeeewww!”

She clenched her fists as the imps joined in. She could also hear Potts wailing in between verses.

“WHAT KIND OF MAGIC SPELL TO USE!”
“Slime and Snails?”
“Or puppy dog tails?”
“Thunder or lightnin’?”
“And Potts said…”

“Oh gods just let me go I don’t want to-“

“DANCE, MAGIC DANCE! (magic dance)”
“DANCE, MAGIC DANCE! (magic dance)”
“Put that magic spell on me!"

“-give you all the muffins you want just please stop-“

“JUMP, MAGIC JUMP! (magic jump)”
“JUMP, MAGIC JUMP! (magic jump)”
“Put that magic jump on me!”
“Find your helper, make him free!”

“-going to gnaw through these ropes and saw my own-“

“I saw Miss Kilnmyr, cryin’ hard as Claye could cry…”

Claye rounded another corner and saw that the castle was closer. She grinned and pressed on. Keep singing, bastard.

Two hours and three musical numbers later…

“AAAH! You’re not supposed to be here yet!” Hobble jumped as Claye suddenly burst into an atrium-like area.

“Yeah, well. Half of this labyrinth is hedge maze an’ Ah’m a fire sorceress. You do the math.” Her eyes narrowed. “Say… how’re you here? Yer much slower than Ah am, and started later.”

“Well, maybe I’m just better at solving labyrinths than you.” Hobble crossed his arms.

“Fine then, Habble…”

“Hobble!”

“…which way do I go from here?” Claye gestured to the five-way intersection they were standing in.

“Why should I tell you?” The gnome asked crossly. “What have you done for me?”

Claye made a disgusted noise, before an idea hit her. “Oh, I see. You don’t actually know anything about the Labyrinth. You got here by chance.”

“Did not! I got here because I know this place inside and out.”

“I don’t believe you.” Claye turned away, dismissing him with what she hoped was the proper amount of haughtiness. She’d never been trained for it, but hopefully she’d inherited the talent. “Now let’s see… I came from that way, so I’ll try… this way.”

“Ha! Shows what you know!” Hobble snickered.

“And what do you know about it?” Claye said, over her shoulder.

“Flameys live that way. And Flameys are crazy.” The little man shook his head.

The machinist frowned. “Crazy how?”

“They accost everyone they meet and force ‘em to join them in some nonsensical song. They pop their heads off, light their pants on fire, and everything. I don’t know why.”

Claye rolled her eyes. “Must be somethin’ in the water.”

“Touché.” The gnome nodded. “Fine, you go that way.”

“Thanks, Hoffle.”

“Hobble!”

Thirty-odd minutes and a narrowly avoided musical number later…

Claye darted into a secluded side passage to find two armored knights standing between a pair of doors. She heard the stone wall of the labyrinth snap shut behind her.

“Greetings, Miss Kilnmyr! Before you is a riddle – one of these doors leads to an oubliette, the other to the castle! You may ask one of us a single question, but be warned, one of us tells the truth and the other always… what are you doing?” The knight turned as Claye brushed right past him and opened the door on the right. “Aren’t you going to ask a question?”

“Nope. Ah’m good t’ go either way. If this is the castle path, great. If it’s the oubliette, Ah’ll find the secret passage an’ use it t’ get to the castle instead – an’ that passage will hopefully skip a bunch of the labyrinth an’ all of the remainin’ song an’ dance routines.” Claye started to make her move again when the knight stopped her. “That’s crazy! You don’t know for sure that there will be a secret passage down there!”

Claye nodded. “That’s right. An’ that means you’re the one that tells the truth. So here’s my question: does the oubliette have a secret passage that gets closer to the castle?”

“…yes. Yes it does.”

“Fantastic.” Claye said, deadpan. “Have a nice day, Sir Talksalot.” She walked a few paces beyond the doorway, but nothing happened. “Aw, it’s not even the oubliette passage. Score one for the Imp KiiiieeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeennnng!” The machinist disappeared as a trapdoor opened up underneath her, her voice fading away.

***

Anselme raised an eyebrow as Claye’s shriek reached the castle. He turned to Potts, who was rocking back and forth in the fetal position. “The best part is that both doors lead to the oubliette.” The imps all burst out laughing, but for some reason Potts didn’t find it as funny. The Imp King shrugged and went to change his outfit. He would soon be needed in the passages beneath the labyrinth, and he’d never missed an entrance yet…

***

Hobble continued sweeping the oubliette. Those bones didn’t clean themselves up, after all, and the Imp King liked to keep the place tidy. He comforted himself with the knowledge that being the groundskeeper for the labyrinth was good work, and that at least he wouldn’t have to meet that wretched Claye woman again. That was when he heard a voice above him.

“Hey! What’s with the hands? That’s freakin’ creepy! Let go!”

“Look, do you want to hit the oubliette at terminal velocity? That’s what we thought – so shut up and be patient!”

The trapdoor in the ceiling opened and Claye fell gracelessly into the oubliette. She rolled over and got to her feet before spotting Hobble, who sighed and continued sweeping.

“Alright. Now to find the secret door!”

One Hour Later

“Dammit! Where’s the secret door?”

“You’re not going to find it by tapping on the walls.” Hobble snickered.

“Yeah, I get that. But you know what? I think *you* just fell in here yourself. Let’s see you get out.”

“Oh no, I’m not falling for that again. I can afford to wait in here. You can’t.” Hobble sat down on the pile of former grad students plus one lawyer. “I intend to watch you fail, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

Claye extended one hand, palm up. A ball of flame appeared in it.

“On the other hand, I’m very busy, and should probably get going.” Hobble extracted a broken door from the pile of debris and propped it up against the wall, then opened it to reveal a passage. “This way to the egress!”

Claye shook her head. “Ah’m trying t’ get t’ the castle, not the egress.”

“Just go through the door, girl.”

***

They didn’t make it far before a small crystal ball bounced down the corridor in front of them. Hobble froze. “Oh no, he’s here.”

“Who’s here?” Claye asked.

“The Imp King! The ruler of this place! He controls everything with those crystal balls. Didn’t he explain this to you?”

“Eheh… maybe. I was a bit distracted, t’ be honest.”

Hobble raised an eyebrow. “The tights?”

Claye nodded sheepishly. “The tights.”

They were both cut off as Anselme suddenly stood before them. “What in the world are you doing, Wobble?”

“Waffle.” Claye corrected.

“Hobble! And I was just leading Miss Kilnmyr back to the beginning of the maze.”

“Not that yeh know where it is.” Claye drawled, smirking.

“Do too!”

“I see. Claye, I must protest your general conduct so far. I’ve found my knights bamboozled, my walls and floors scorched, my hedge maze on fire, and the imps now refer to you as ‘Mistress of the Ouchies.’ What do you think you’re doing?”

“Solvin’ your silly labyrinth? If there were other rules, yeh should’ve explained ‘em before now.” Claye crossed her arms, her gaze grimly locked on Anselme’s face.

“I did. You simply refused to pay attention.”

“Well, I’m payin’ attention now, Mr. Bulge. Why can’t Ah burn my way through the obstacles?”

Anselme held up his hand and the image of the clock reappeared. “It’s considered bad form – and an admission that you can’t solve the maze without cheating. But mostly because I’m going to take an hour of your time away each time you light up the labyrinth from now on.”

Claye’s tone edged toward the sarcastic. “Lovely. Can you at least tell me where all of this came from? Ah was under the impression that yeh didn’t have two bits to rub together. Where’d yeh get the funding for all of this?”

Anselme gazed at her steadily. “This is all a part of my mind, Claye. The imps, the architecture, even the weather and the way time moves.”

“Your mind is made of sadistic munchkins an’ musical numbers?” Claye blinked, disbelieving. “You’re loonier than Ah thought!”

“Not quite, Claye. Your subconscious also has an impact on the environment. The imps and the walls are constant, but the challenges are of your own design.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

Anselme smiled. “Not in *your* world, perhaps. This one, however, runs entirely on metaphor – and the occasional clever turn of phrase.” He began to fade again. “In any event, you are nearly to the castle. Good luck with the final challenges, though.”

When he was gone, Hobble shuddered. “You see, miss? He can unmake anything in here with a thought. Anything at all. It’s what makes him king.”

“Ah see.” Claye scratched her head. “Well, as he said, we’re nearly to the castle. Ah intend to have a chat with him somewhere where he can’t just whisk himself away.”

One Hour and Fifteen Minutes later

Claye sat down heavily on a log, in a more marshy part of the labyrinth. Her stomach growled loudly. “Whoof. I need to find somethin’ t’ eat.”

“Oh! I found something a ways back. I could use a break too.” Hobble hopped up on a stump and sat as well. He hauled an apple out of his pack. “Here you go.”

Claye caught the tossed fruit and took a large bite. “It’s weird for you to be this helpful up front. Why start bein’ nice now…?” She looked at him, then at the apple, then back, before the realization hit her. “A poisoned *apple?* Really?”

“It wasn’t my idea! And it technically isn’t poison!”

“Shockingly, Ah don’t care.” Claye’s hand came up, fire already lit, and she stood abruptly. “Better hope it acts - whooa.” She staggered and the fire went out. A moment later she collapsed to her knees, and then flopped face-down to the ground. She was snoring gently a moment later.

***

Claye found herself in a magnificent and opulently appointed ballroom. Masked dancers swirled gracefully around her, and gentle music drifted over them. She wandered about in confusion for a moment, but no one seemed to mind – the dancers moved as though they knew where she was about to go, never interrupting the dance.

And that was when she saw him.

She didn’t know whether it was some actor’s trick, or the atmosphere, or the fact that she was inexplicably in the ball gown she’d worn to Ghedim’s Rhetizian bash, but when her eyes met the Imp King’s she felt a surge of electricity go through her. It was suddenly as though the whole labyrinth and everything in it had been made for *her,* specifically. She and the Imp King closed the distance between them, and though no words were said they danced, flawlessly, from one song to the next. Anselme was a perfect gentleman, charming and funny, and so polite even while flirting, and she tried her best not to disappoint. But a thought kept nagging her as they danced. It wasn’t about how much time she had remaining, or what Potts might be going through while she was gone. For the longest time, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it finally came to her.

“Do you flirt with everyone that comes through this maze? Or just the ladies? An' what about that fifteen year old?” Claye asked pointedly.

“Well…”

“Oh good grief. This is just a stall tactic. Ah guess in some ways Ah *am* just a silly girl, even at age twenty-five.” She backed away from him and looked up. Now that she was paying attention, she could see the warped reflection in the ceiling that gave it away – they were inside one of Anselme’s crystal balls! “Where’s all these people come from, anyway?”

“They’re tinkers, tailors, soldiers, sailors –“

“Fine, Ah should have guessed they’d be your imps, but Ah won’t become one of them.” Anselme started to say something, but she ignored him, grabbed a nearby candlestick and hurled it at the ceiling as hard as she could. Darkness flooded in as the scene shattered around her…

***

Claye woke up with her head swimming and something shaking her. She could dimly identify Hobble’s voice. “Miss Kilnmyr! Miss Claye, wake up!”

Her hand shot out and grabbed him by the throat. “Gaaak! I see you’re awake now. How are you feeling?” He choked out.

“Ah just got drugged by a midget! How do yeh think Ah’m feelin’?” Claye snarled. Fire lit up in her other hand. “Oh good, that’s workin’ again. Give me one reason why Ah shouldn’t roast you.”

“I…did…what…I…had…to…do!” Hobble snarled. “You stop existing if you defy the Imp King! I don’t want to die!”

Claye glared at him for a few more seconds, but then lost steam and dropped him. “Yeah. Fine. You’d best go home, then. Ah’ll finish the labyrinth on my own.”

***

Claye and Hobble parted company, and Claye quickly made it into the Imp City. There was a brief encounter with a mechanical horror that looked disturbingly like the Bronze Crusader, but unlike the Bronze Crusader it wasn’t made of durium and so quickly fell apart when Claye assaulted it.

Things were going fine up until the imps showed up. Claye had figured it would happen sooner or later – the place was called the Imp City, after all. What she hadn’t expected was for them to be armed, and carrying a grudge. “That’s her! That’s the Mistress of Ouchies! Get her!”

“Damn continuity! Damn it to hell!” Claye dashed into an alley, and the chase was on.

She bolted through alleys and byways too, crossroads and doorways while dodging imp crews. She darted past spike traps and pits full of slime, and dodged other obstacles, most of which rhyme.

But it was no use, there were imps everywhere, and it wasn’t long before Claye was completely surrounded. “We have her now!” All of the imps cheered, and then stopped, looking at each other in confusion.

“Er… what do we do with her?”

“She’s a witch! Burn her!”

“Saw that comin’.” Claye drawled.

“Take her to the King!” Claye looked up. Hobble had suddenly emerged and stood triumphantly on the nearest rooftop. “She must be taken to the castle immediately!”

The imps cheered again, and began marching Claye to the castle. She looked up in surprise at Hobble. He just nodded back, and then he left.

***

“I don’t understand! What do you hope to gain here?” Potts shouted frantically. The clock had already ticked down to show six hours and forty-five minutes remaining. “You have a bazillion imps already! What good will two more do you?”

“None at all.” Anselme said, raising an eyebrow. “The purpose of the labyrinth isn’t to make people fail, it’s to make them succeed. The failures just become hired help for the future.”

“Wait, what?”

“It’s very simple. The amount of intelligence I can produce while also giving a creature an original personality is limited. If I try to make a companion with more intelligence, it’s just like talking to myself. If I try to make a companion with completely original ideas and desires, that creature’s ability to think is itself impaired. So…” He paused. “Do you hear… singing?”

Indeed, Claye had started the imps on a rousing new verse to their favorite song.

“…WHAT KIND OF MAGIC SPELL TO USE!”
“Fire or fire?”
“Or maybe more fire?”
“Did we mention fire?”
“And Claye said…”

“RUN, BASTARD RUN! (bastard run)”
“RUN, BASTARD RUN! (bastard run)”
“Set that Imp King guy on fire!”
“Light him up, we’ll make a pyre!”

A crowd of imps suddenly burst into the throne room, carrying Claye. “We got her, boss! She’ll never make it into the castle now!”

“Alright, I’m starting to see your point.” Potts conceded.

Claye straightened up. “Ah’m here for Potts, Imp King! Ah’ve solved your labyrinth in jig time, an’ yeh can’t unmake me like everyone else here. You have no package over me!”

“Power.”

“What?”

“The line is, ‘you have no power over me,’ Claye.” Anselme buried his face in his hand. Honestly, what was the point in having a script if no one was going to bother with it?

Claye flushed red. “That’s what Ah meant. You have no power over me.”

Still irritated, Anselme snapped his fingers. A moment later Claye found herself at the beginning of the labyrinth. “FFFFFFFFFFF-”

Six hours and fifteen minutes later

Claye burst back into the throne room. “TWICE! Ah solved the labyrinth twice. By the way, both of your stupid riddle-doors lead to the oubliette!”

“Yes. Yes they do.” Ansleme responded, trying not to laugh.

“Fine. Ah’m here. Now give me my apprentice back.”

“Well that’s just it, Claye. There is one more thing I’d like you to know. You’ve successfully managed to solve the labyrinth.”

“Twice.”

“…twice, yes. The reward for doing so is not just the simple return of your apprentice. You have a choice. You can have Potts back, or you can stay here as the Imp Queen, and rule by my side.”

“The what now?”

“You’re the very first person – over the age of fifteen – who’s managed to solve the labyrinth. The imps are terrible company, and dear Potts will be joining them soon. But you – you have your own personality, and dreams and hopes and opinions and a triple-digit IQ and everything.”

“This place is all in your mind. Why would Ah accept?”

“Oh, it’s real enough. In some ways, it is a firmer reality than the world you live in, and certainly nicer than some dimensions I’m familiar with.”

“Ah’m sorry, but Ah can’t abandon Potts to his fate.” Claye walked over to her apprentice. “Don’t worry, Ah’ll get yeh-“

“Actually, Miss Claye, I think I’d like to stay.”

“You… want to become an imp?” Claye blinked, disbelieving. “Why?”

“Well, look at them. They’re all having such a great time – not to mention being immortal. No one ever gets arrested by the secret police, or ripped apart by zombies, or crushed by heavy machinery. All things considered, sanity seems like a small price to pay.”

“Huh. Ah never thought about it like that.” Claye turned to the Imp King. “Ah accept your offer.”

Anselme sighed. “Very well then, you’ll be back at your shop in… what did you say?”

“Ah said Ah accept. Look, my choices are goin’ back and livin’ in a brutal dictatorship, or stayin’ here and rulin’ over a musical dictatorship. And frankly, the view ain’t bad either.”

“Are you talking about my-“

“That’s not important!” Claye jumped into his arms. “Put that magic spell on me!”

The Imp King hesitated, before shrugging. “Oh, to hell with the script.”

“That’s the spirit! Queen me, Anselme!”

And so he did.

***

Claye woke up, covered in sweat. She sat up slowly as the thunderstorm raged outside. She was, back in her shop, in her very bed. “That… was a dream?” She groaned and flopped back onto her pillow. “My subconscious is so weird.”

The following morning

“Are you alright, master?” Potts asked as he walked into the back room. “You were kind of muttering in your sleep last night, loud enough that I could hear it in my room. Something about imps and queens and crystal balls. Then toward the end you started to sound like a dying coyote and-“

“Ah’m fine!” Claye shouted. “Look, Ah think the main boiler needs maintenance. Could yeh see to it?”

“Right away, boss.”

Claye took a deep breath. She’d put in a good day’s work and forget all about the dream. That was the plan, and she was sticking to it.

The door opened, and Anselme walked in. Claye stared at him. “You’re wearin’ pants!”

Anselme raised the eyebrow over his eye patch. “Shouldn’t I be? I can take them off if there’s a new dress code here…”

“No! Ah mean yes! Just… what are yeh here for?”

“Ah. I was hoping you could fix my watch. It hasn’t quite held time properly since that business with the train…”

“Right, right. Let’s see it.” Anselme handed the watch over. Claye stared at it, for just a moment, the face had looked like it had thirteen numbers on it, but when she looked again it was the more standard arrangement. “Alright. Ah’ll have it back to yeh tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Anselme bowed and left the shop.

Claye watched the door long after he was gone. Then she shook her head and told herself to stop being silly. There was no way that Anselme could be the Imp King. The very thought was just ridiculous.

***

Outside, Anselme stopped and took a shortcut through the alley behind Claye’s shop. It was there that he found Potts, working on the boiler. He quietly turned and left the young machinist to his work.

An imp bound down from a nearby rooftop, landing on Anselme’s shoulder. “How’d it go, boss?”

“She was acting a bit strange, to be honest.”

“Aren’t we all!” The imp chortled.

Anselme nodded as a few more imps jumped down. Bored, he gave one a stern look, and when he was sure he had the imp’s complete attention, he leaned over.

“You remind me of the babe…”

Spoiler

Show

Normal Adventure posting resumes tomorrow. Happy Halloween!

[the_druid_droid]

9th of Bargenholt
Former Manor d’Lupil
Tarin and Mikado

Tarin and his men began inspecting the cellar room at Mikado’s invitation. A look at Maxis was all the Grand Inquisitor needed to verify that the implements and symbols scattered around were truly signs of cult activity.

Turning to his host, Tarin spoke. “You did well to contact us about this. It is indeed troubling - the nature of this chamber suggests that the Crimson Cult was much more serious about their work than I had expected. We’ll certainly take you up on your offer of future investigation.”

Waving Inquisitor Maxis over, the gray-haired man spoke again. “Maxis, get your team together and find this cult - root out every last member you can find in the city. A dedicated group of demon worshippers is a threat we cannot ignore after the incident at Jameson’s establishment. Additionally, please share with our host any information you may have about cult activities that may be relevant to his acquisition of this property, and make sure you find all the passageways inside.”

11th of Bargenholt
Late Afternoon
Tarin and Sevran

As his guest sat, Tarin picked up his utensils and started in on a dinner of roast chicken, covered with a fruit glaze. “I’ve been fascinated by House Morn for some time now. Despite their chaotic reputation, they’ve managed to retain a significant amount of power in Taelarys - no easy feat when everyone is looking to bring you down.”

The Inquisitor chewed thoughtfully for a moment and cleared his palate with a sip of wine before continuing. “A dark time is coming for this city. Everyone feels it, as the unrest in outlying provinces grows on apace with mumblings and stirrings about upstart slaves and mysterious cults back home. Some in the city are afraid of these changes... they see that unrest may cost them the luxury and security they’ve grown accustomed to. I, on the other hand, welcome our uncertain future: it is in the midst of troubled times that men rise to become leaders, and perhaps something more.”

Again, Tarin paused, whether to stretch out his guest’s uncertainty, or to savor his meal was uncertain, but eventually he resumed his train of thought. “Many nobles in this city have become soft; they have forgotten the necessary role of brutality in maintaining power - they will not survive this upheaval. You, on the other hand, show promise... you aren’t afraid to do what’s necessary to survive, but I think you can do much more than merely survive; men like you will thrive in the new world that is dawning... if only you’ll rise to the challenge instead of losing yourself in a Dream.”