The Draw Sword Guild is composed of Japanese S-Rank hunters, right?

I wonder what will happen if all of South Korea's S-Rank hunters work in the same guild. . .

Where the Roses Grow: Chapter One

The compound on Arvala-7 didn’t house one bounty, but two. Elsi Nokk is an enslaved nanny with more than a few tricks up her sleeve. She’ll do anything to protect her charge, even if it means standing against - and then with - a certain Mandalorian. Rated M.

This story can be found on Ao3 and fanfiction.net.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Mild violence, electrocution, reference to sexual assault, mild language, slavery and associated themes.

This Chapter - Next Chapter

Chapter One

“Subparagraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild Protocol Waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset.” 

The thin metallic voice echoed faintly through the stone halls, but after a lifetime of eavesdropping she heard it loud and clear. Without missing a beat, she scooped up the tiny green creature that had been playing by her feet. To the baby, with his massive bat-like ears, the not-so-distant blaster fire must’ve been frighteningly loud. His dark eyes blinked up at her worriedly, ears held flat to his shoulders. 

She pressed a kiss to his wrinkled forehead. With the child cradled protectively to her chest, she hurried across the room, neatly side-stepping piles of supplies and junk. The baby’s bassinet sat among the wall, small and unassuming among the scattered bits of droid and speeder parts the Nikto mercenaries had scavenged from raiding bounty hunters. 

With practiced ease, she balanced the baby in one arm while opening the bassinet with the other. The quick press of a few buttons revealed the baby’s sleeping space. Small and dark, but made homey by several small blankets and a patchwork cloth frog, all lovingly made in the bright colors. Her fingers ached with the memory of each tiny stitch.  She deposited the baby in its bassinet, tucking in the blanket corners gently. 

He curled his little claws into the top blanket - the red one. His favorite. She smiled down at him sadly, wishing there was something she could do to stop the never-ending noise and violence; to stop him from being afraid. He was unlike any other child that had fallen into her care over the years. If he were, perhaps she could offer more comfort. But he always seemed shockingly aware of the galaxy around him.

He knew there were people dying outside. He knew they were coming for him.

She pressed a finger over her lips. It was something they’d practiced extensively. He copied the gesture, pressing one of his three fingers over his mouth with a self-pleased grin. 

She could distract him, at least. 

Despite the severity of the situation, she couldn’t help but return the smile. She leaned down to press a last quick kiss to the baby’s brow before pulling away and closing the bassinet’s shutters. 

“Subparagraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild Protocol Waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset.”

A few armed Niktos swarmed through the narrow space, causing her to flatten herself against the wall to let them pass. She was of little interest or value to them. An extra piece of furniture that they had to feed. They sidestepped her with the same regard they gave to the half-forgotten piles of junk they housed her and her charge among. Her safety was the absolute last thing on their minds. 

She was far too used to it to be offended. The heavy metal collar around her neck caused others to set her apart and then aside. It had once bit into her skin and drawn blood, but over the years the skin underneath had scarred and calloused. 

Now it only itched.

Knowing that it was up to her to keep herself alive, she tossed a ragged tarp over the bassinet and piled a couple of other odds and ends on top in hopes that if anyone did make it through, they wouldn’t realize it contained what they sought. At least not immediately. Just long enough for her to get a bearing on the newcomers’ intentions. Specifically, whether or not they intended to harm the baby. 

She had no love for the Nikto gang. They were just the most recent in the rather long line of hands the child had fallen into over the past two years - and those were just the ones she knew about. But as brutish as the group of mercenaries could be, they generally left her and the child to their own devices - so long as they weren’t in the way. 

She’d had far worse masters.

But, should the newcomers be successful, She didn’t want to be seen as one of the mercenaries. That was a very easy way to get a bolt through the head. Nor did she want to show any support for the attackers. Should they lose, the Nikto would be sure to express their displeasure. 

She slipped behind a few crates to wait, well out of sight but with a clear view of where the baby hid. Passive defense had served her well in the past, and she saw no reason to alter tactics now.

The battle outside was louder than ever, the usual blaster fire underscoring heavy artillery that made the air vibrate. She waited with bated breath, listening intently despite wanting to clamp her hands over her ears to defend against the volume.

Silence fell. 

She waited. 

There was movement outside. Footsteps. Two, at a guess, but there was no way to tell which side they were on. She stayed hidden.

She was startled by the sound of someone running. Someone close, too close. Before she had a chance to work out who they were and why they’d been able to get so close without her noticing, they were crashing into the barrels she had hidden herself behind and locking a hand around her throat just above the collar.

She wheezed as the grip tightened. They slung her around violently so that she faced them. It was Grod, the leader of the mercenary band. There was nothing particularly special about him - besides him being a little bigger than the rest... and the fact that he currently had the control fob to her collar. 

Grod hissed something at her in Nikto, squeezing her throat tighter for emphasis.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, eyes wide and pleading. “I don’t know Nikto.”

It was a lie, of course. But the tide had turned against Grod and she had no intention of assisting him in whatever he had planned - which probably included running. A bad idea in the middle of the desert. Especially while being hunted.

Grod snarled, perhaps having caught the lie. He fished in the rugged leather of his jacket and revealed the fob. It was small - just the right size to fit in the palm of the hand - metallic and black. A dial sat in the center of the object, along with a few buttons. 

She was painfully aware of its function. Cold fear washed over her, but she didn’t back down. 

Grod turned the dial and pressed the button. The collar around her neck seared into her skin. Her vision went white. She crumpled to the ground, mouth open in a silent cry as her limbs jerked and twitched with electricity. 

She wasn’t entirely aware of what happened next, but through the pain she saw Grod turn with his blaster only to fall at her side an instant later. 

Someone loomed over her, no more than a pale shadow in her pain-washed vision. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, unable to get enough air to cry out. Her teeth gnashed and rattled in their sockets. She heard voices, but couldn’t make out the words through the ringing in her ears.

The electricity stopped, but the pain didn’t. She gasped like a fish, trying to force her lungs to draw in enough air to breathe through the pain. Her muscles twitched by their own volition, trying to work out which electrical signals they were supposed to obey now that the horrible surge had come and gone. 

Darkness ate at the corners of her vision. She sank away into dizzying blackness.

. ~0~0~0~

“Nan!” Hetta’s shrill voice sliced through the air, shattering what had been an otherwise peaceful evening.

Elsi Nokk heaved a great sigh, trying to convince herself to be content with listening to her charge’s whiny shouts, so long as it bought her a few more minutes of solitude. She bent over her needlework with redoubled effort, so that when the child finally found her, it would seem that she’d been too preoccupied to notice.

“Nan Elsi!”

Nan, of course, was short for Nanny, as a slave could never hope to be awarded the title of Governess. It was a comparatively small insult, and one she was all too used to. 

She didn’t like being called Nan. It made her feel old, which she wasn’t. Her wavy blond hair had yet to start greying, even if it did look a little mousy tucked away in the low braided bun she always wore. The weathered places lining the corners of her soft grey eyes placed her in her late thirties, though her true age was anyone’s guess. A stressful life had the tendency to age a creature beyond their years, and she was no exception.

Elsi had no guilt at leaving Hetta to search for her. At twelve years of age, the child was spoiled, bratty, and had the wit of a bantha. Each day, Elsi would take her sewing to the riverbank while Hetta took her mid-afternoon nap. She always sat in the same spot, underneath the same tree that acted as a protective screen sheltering her from both weather and prying eyes.

Despite having found her nanny in the same spot a fair number of times, Hetta couldn’t seem to come to the logical conclusion as to where Elsi could have possibly disappeared to.

It only took another thirty odd seconds for Elsi to give up the charade. Hetta was loud and shrill, which wasn’t good for the headache that had already been building behind Elsi’s eyes. She heaved a great sigh and tucked her sewing back into her bag, folding everything neatly and ensuring that the needle wasn’t going anywhere. 

She stood and brushed away the low hanging leaves, parting them and striding out into the sunlight. “Here, Hetta.”

Hetta bounded across the short lawn and stopped in front of her nanny, where she stood bouncing on her toes. She was a blonde-haired bundle of sickeningly sweet pink and lace, a dress that Elsi had slaved over for weeks. Elsi’s keen eyes picked out the dirt smudged across the fabric covering her left knee and the slight tattering on the hem; two flaws that hadn’t been present when she dressed her that morning. 

Elsi tried not to be harsh about it. Hetta was only a child, and she was constantly reminding herself that children were SUPPOSED to play and get dirty. Had the universe been different, Elsi herself might’ve been exactly like Hetta as a child . But she’d learned early on to keep her smocks clean and pressed, as those that taught her weren’t quick to make allowances. 

She subconsciously tugged at the side of her simple blue dress to straighten the imaginary wrinkles. Lessons learned at the end of a whip didn’t fade with time.

Hetta didn’t seem to care that she behaved more like a common street urchin than the daughter of a nobleman. She had the same smug look on her face that she always wore when she knew something Elsi didn’t, which usually ended up being bad for the nanny. 

Elsi was usually quite good at predicting potential outcomes and preparing for them. But an unanticipated scenario meant she had no contingency plan for it, which exponentially increased her chances of being punished for negligence of duty.

Elsi crossed her arms over her chest, jutting out her hip and tapping her foot impatiently. Hetta’s father, Lord Burkisn, might be Elsi’s master, but Hetta certainly wasn’t.

Hetta’s expression faltered under Elsi’s piercing stare. Her internal debate flickered clearly across her face: to bask in powerful sensation of teasing, or to risk some kind of punishment later on. Lord Burkisn cared for his daughter, but since the death of her mother and despite his severity towards his slaves, Elsi had almost absolute power over Hetta’s upbringing. 

Elsi was not afraid to use what little power she had been allotted, and that’s what made her the best nanny an aloof widower Nobleman could possibly ask for.

“Father wants you,” Hetta explained, glancing sheepishly down at her nanny’s shoes. 

Elsi quirked an eyebrow, hiding her unease with a lifetime’s worth of practice. “What for?”

“Dunno,” she said, then quickly adding, “But he wants you to hurry.”

Elsi doubted the child’s ignorance. Despite the threat of being reprimanded for a lack of punctuality, she fixed her charge with her best ‘no nonsense’ look that could cause plants to wilt and waited for her to offer a more acceptable explanation. It was better to be prepared than to walk into any situation blind.

Hetta loathed that look. While she loved to cause trouble, she couldn’t stand being IN trouble. The death-glare was one of the most effective weapons in Elsi’s child-rearing arsenal, and she saved it for special occasions. Although being called to her master seemed arbitrary, having been sent for by Hetta sounded alarm bells for Elsi; it meant everyone else was otherwise preoccupied, and Elsi hadn’t been aware of anything out of the ordinary. 

“We have visitors. Daddy’s special guests,” Hetta started sheepishly. “And there’s a sick baby.”

~0~0~0~ .

Elsi found her way back to consciousness slowly; she had to coax it - her mind and body - away from the relief of dreamless sleep and into the light. It burned her inside and out. 

She groaned softly and forced her eyes open. The dull sandstone ceiling twisted dizzyingly overhead. Nausea coiled in her gut like a serpent. She rolled over on her stomach and retched, but there was very little to vomit up. 

The collar had been on a high setting, higher than the usual level used to punish a slave. Anything above 75% for more than a minute or two, and you ran the risk of causing permanent injury to the slave - brain damage, heart conditions. In other words, property damage - something no slave trader or master wanted. 

If she had to guess, she would say that the collar had been set to somewhere around 90%.

Grod had probably only intended to give her a brief shock, a few seconds of electricity strong enough to break her into compliance. She imagined that he hadn’t expected to be distracted by the blaster bolts cutting down the thick Quadanium door. The Nikto had drawn his blaster, no longer caring about the woman writhing in uncontrollable agony at his feet. 

Movement flashed in the corner of her eye. Elsi wiped her mouth and gathered what little strength she still had in order to lift her head. She found herself looking into the smoking cranium of the IG unit, presumably the same one that she’d heard earlier. 

Panic filtered through her foggy mind. The hunter was dead. Had one of the Nikto killed it? Did she still belong to them?

Oh, how she hated not knowing what to expect. She’d survived this long by knowing how to play her cards; and though they were often shitty, she won by playing the other person.

Not knowing the other players could be fatal.

Instinctively, her head snapped to where she’d stashed the crib. To her dismay, the debris she’d hidden it behind had been tossed carelessly to the side. From her place on the floor, she could see that the shutters were open and the baby peeking out curiously at the man that stood between him and Elsi.

A Mandalorian.

She hadn’t met one before, but the trademark T visor was hard to miss. She’d heard the stories, and she wasn’t sure whether or not she wanted them to be true. They were supposed to be warriors, noble soldiers in shining armor that were indomitable on the battlefield. The best warriors in the galaxy.

Elsi couldn’t speak as to the rest, but this particular Mandalorian seemed to have seen better days. The only parts of his armor that could even begin to be described as shining were his helmet and right pauldron, and those were coated with a fine layer of dust and sand. The rest of it was mismatched, a hodgepodge of dented metal that he wore like scales, painted with rust red or a shade of tan paint that was faded and scratched. 

If he gave a shit about his appearance, he certainly didn't show it. He stood nonchalantly with one finger extended to the baby, who was reaching for it with interested little coos. Although the baby seemed to be at the center of his attention, she could infer from the tilt of his helmet that he was keeping her in his periphery. He didn’t seem to feel at all threatened by her, though. But why should he? From what she could see, he had at least one blaster at his hip and a fearsome rifle strapped over his shoulder. 

More than that, Elsi spied her slave-fob clipped to his belt. 

Feigning another bout of nausea, Elsi grit her teeth. She hadn’t met a Mandalorian before, but from what she’d heard, they could be brutal… and tricky. Some lived by what most species would call honor, others lived by how their own personal code defined it. 

He hadn’t killed her yet, so that was something. But there were much worse things that could be done to a female slave, a bitter lesson that she’d learned very young.

Slowly, Elsi worked her way up to stand on shaking legs. Once up, she kept her hands folded in front of her and her head bowed submissively. The T of the Mandalorian’s visor turned to fix her with an empty stare. 

“What is it?” 

Despite knowing exactly what he was asking, she played ignorant. “He is a child.”

“Yes.” The indignation only just caught on his vocoder. “I was told the target was 50.”

“I can’t speak to his age,” Elsi offered, “but he has been in my care for two years, and he looks the same as he first did.”

The Mandalorian grunted and dropped his hand, which went to his hip. Elsi stiffened, bracing for pain, but instead of her fob, he came away with a canteen. He held it out to her. 

Wary, Elsi accepted it. She uncorked it and subtly sniffed the contents. Water. She took a few meager sips to help wash away the taste of sick, but didn’t dare drink outright. Water was precious in the desert. She wasn’t. 

The last thing she needed now was to outspend her own worth.

She returned the canteen. While he clipped it back to his belt, he asked, “You good to walk?”

Elsi wasn’t optimistic about how far her legs would carry her. She was already exhausted, drained by her collar and subsequent illness. And if that weren’t enough, months of being confined in a compound hadn’t done her any favors by the way of exercise. But, the way she saw it, there were only a handful of responses she could expect from telling a new master that she was too weak to walk and thus work. The Mandalorian had yet to be cruel, and might be willing to allow her to rest a little longer before setting out.

But she couldn’t rule out the other options just yet. The baby was the valuable one. Elsi severely doubted any bounty he intended to collect would be for her own delivery. He could just simply kill her to save himself both time and trouble. Or he could leave her behind.

For the baby’s sake, Elsi couldn’t afford to risk either.

“I can walk,” she said. “But first, may I collect his things?”

The Mandalorian’s helmet adopted a thoughtful tilt, as if he hadn’t considered that the child should need things other than a bassinet. 

He nodded curtly. “Be quick.”

Elsi dipped her head obediently and shuffled off to the abandoned corner she and the child usually occupied. 

Her limbs were still wobbly and ached dully from the collar, but she ignored them and quickly packed the few meager possessions they had between them into a worn russack sack; several of the child’s robes, an extra dress for Elsi, a few days worth of rations and a large canteen of water, as well as a few other odds and ends. 

Last but not least, Elsi’s special needle in its ornate casing was tucked away into one of the hidden pockets she’d sewn into her dress. The casing was made of rosy bronze metal, embossed with finger-worn roses and an image of a needle and thread. It was the only thing of worth she possessed, having inherited it from another slave. Although its contents had long since dried beyond use, she kept it close, waiting for the opportunity to fill it again. 

She finished quickly and padded back to where the Mandalorian stood waiting. Her heart clenched when she saw him holding the little cloth frog she’d made for the baby. He held it up to his visor, turning it back and forth. Elsi held her breath, half expecting him to toss it to the side. 

He didn’t. When he saw Elsi approaching, he returned the doll back to the child’s outstretched hands. The baby squeaked happily.

The Mandalorian held his hand out for the bag. Elsi gave it to him without question and watched with subdued frustration as he rooted through it and upset all of her carefully folded and packed items. 

She picked idly at the bracelet snaked around her wrist. It was the only ornamentation she’d been allowed to keep over the last ten years or so. It was nothing special, just a long braid of twisted leather with little burgundy beads that wrapped around her wrist seven or eight times. It was cheap and looked it. But wearing it made her feel safe, and so wear it she did. 

Satisfied that she wasn’t hiding any weapons from him, the Mandalorian stuffed everything half-hazardly into the bag before thrusting it back in her direction. She shouldered it without comment, hiding her displeasure at how lumpy and awkward it now was. 

Unbothered, the Mandalorian tapped idly at one of his vambraces. The bassinet beeped in confirmation. 

When he led the way out into the compound, the bassinet trailed after him obediently, its passenger giggling excitedly to his nanny, who forced a smile and nodded along to his babbling. Elsi, already dreading the journey, brought up the rear. 

~0~0~0~ .

Ok I'm gonna ask because I saw your tags mentioning another story, and when you posted CoTA you mentioned you had another, bigger, and more political AU. So... Can we know what it's about??? 👀👀👀👀

Omg omg thank you and also, yes! i have this thing! Oh god i don't know where to start because I'm very excited about it! Oh boy haha

It's this very complicated AU uuuuh here's the basis of it:

The Mist never fell and Runeard didn't die. He was severely wounded during the battle and during his recovery, baby Agnarr acted as Prince Regent. By the time he recovered, Agnarr and his weird girlfriend had figured out a way to manipulate him into abdicating and leaving the throne to him, making Agnarr king and leaving Runeard bitterly planning a game of thrones to take the throne back. Agnarr, as a young and inexperienced prince, took the easy route and delegated a lot of power go the church and the bourgeois, reducing the power of the State so he could deal with things more easily. Both the church and the bourgeois had been waiting for this for decades, as Runeard hoarded all the power to himself and gave other political actors almost no room to do anything. This granted Agnarr some very powerful allies and consolidated the legitimacy of his power very easily, ESPECIALY after Runeard got better and the bourgeois turned against him. Also, the people liked him a lot more. Having Runeard again after living under Agnarr's rule for a year or two would have caused an uprising.

The Northuldra are driven out of the forest around a year or two after this due to flooding and the damage of the land caused by the dam. This was part of Runeard's plan, because his military was so small and they had so little budget that they literally couldn't afford to conquer other land, so if he wanted to control the Northuldra, he would have to lure them into Arendelle.

The Northuldra now live within the borders of Arendelle, traveling around as they're a nomadic people, and herding their reindeer like it's nobody's business. they're severely opressed. The whole point of the plan is to force them to assimilate into Arendellian culture, in hopes of better controlling them and to take away their magic (magic = non-institutional violence. Any organized State would try to either eliminate it or institutionalize it). Iduna has been brainwashed by evolutionist antropology or some bullshit like that and she doesn't even dare to be in contact with her people until The Incident happens, when Anna is hurt by Elsa. She's desperate and she takes Anna with her to seek help, leaving Agnarr and Elsa behind. But guess what as soon as she's back with her people she realizes she never should have left, and because of a whole bunch of spoilery reasons she decides to stay with them and raise Anna with her people instead of going back and bringing Elsa along

Uh oh Anna has amnesia! Elsa thinks Anna is dead! ANGST

Anyways Agnarr dies at sea and Iduna "disappears under mysterious circumstances" around the same time. Runeard rises to power as Prince Regent until Elsa comes of age at 21 (as if that's ever gonna happen *evil laughter*).

Oh shit why is it snowing in summer

Elsa is depressed but if i start listing the reasons we're gonna be here forever.

Meanwhile england the Southern Isles is doing a napoleon and trying to conquer all Northern Kingdoms (Arendelle, Corona, Weselton and a few other OC kingdoms I made up). I know this has been done a million times but bear with me! The war already supposes a big punch in the gut for the economy, but add that to so much of the royal budget going to trying to colonize the Northuldra AND the fact that most industries have been interrupted with 1) the sudden death of crops and livestock 2) the lack of raw material entering the productive process 3) the interruption of trade 4) the nearly non-existent industry in Arendelle making it dependant on commerce and 5) the constant strikes among the proletariat factory workers and the miner's guild for a better salary and the reduction of prices (supply and demand baby!) AND the fact that both the industrial and the rural bourgeois HATE Runeard, the economic crisis ends up being a more dangerous enemy than the Southern Isles. The only industry that's doing well right now is the Northuldra reindeer herding industry (and just barely, as the sudden change in the weather didn't give the animals time to get all fat and ready for winter). It would be a big pitty if the Crown decided to expropriate the reindeer huh.

Add that to the constant attacks coming from the Southern Border, the Northuldra armed groups intercepting caravans delivering firearms from the port to the southern border and the formation of independant militias in the south of the country to fill in the void left by the military, and the levels of non-institutionalized violence is driving the State (and the budget) crazy.

Elsa sings this @ the Northuldra

Also, being all alone, Elsa has to hide her magic from her grandfather.

Anna and Elsa find each other again in this shitty context, but they don't recognize each other. It starts with Elsa needing help to translate some documents in northuldra which she thinks may help her stop the winter, but it soon turns into a dramatic story about propperly reconnecting one's lost heritage, navigating a court of people who want you dead, hiding your identity in enemy territory, mastering the four elements, fixing colonialism (ha), winning a war and also an i*cest love story, because I couldn't help myself.

Oh and also! The spirits have followed the Northuldra south and now live within the borders of Arendelle, but things are so out of balance, they're violent and dangerous to everyone. God knows the giants are a problem. You think you hate the giants from Skyrim? Wait until you meet these guys. Only Gale seems to be chill with humans, and that's only because she's fond on Iduna and her daughter. If only there was a fifth spirit to bring balance to the world 🤔🤔🤔 someone who already knows how to deal with spirits. Maybe someone who is already friends with one. It would be super conveniente if that person also sort of had a claim to the throne.

Bruni and Anna become bros.

You have no idea how happy it makes me that you asked 😭😭😭 i have more stuff and i already have 4 chapters (out of 30) written down but if i tell you everything i have in mind i will never stop. It's heavy and it's A LOT and i really really really hope i can finish it and post it some day. Just writing this makes me want to go work on it right now haha. Thank you 💙💙💙

FFXIV Write Entry #13: To Tend the Flame

Prompt: wax | Master Post | On AO3

Notes: Spoilers for Shadowbringers MSQ and spoilers for the Binding Coils of Bahamut side story.

She first noticed it during the battle at Laxan Loft, but it’s not until they reach Il Mheg that Synnove really paid attention to the new aether curling and weaving amongst her own.

Oddly enough, it’s not the Lightwarden’s. That had felt ice-sharp and rotten-soft at the same time, white to the point of pain and not singing but screeching of broken glass and denied, raging hunger. No, that aether sat in the core of herself, sulking and bitter, but otherwise not influencing her spells.

No, this aether was…warm. Fiery, but the welcome flame of a campfire in the night, or the hearth of a well-loved home. She outright dismissed it as Ifrit’s aether leaking from Ivar; that was too distinctive and too familiar. This new aether was familiar, too, and the way it intertwined among her own, yet remains separate, reminded her of a primal’s lingering touch, so clearly at some point she had come into contact with it.

There was a niggle of an idea at the back of her mind. The hypothesis was set; now to observe.

First: the Dreadwyrm’s aether coalesced much faster. Previously, she had needed to trance at least twice to build up sufficient reserves to (grudgingly) indulge Ivar and use him as the core to summon Demi-Bahamut to the field. Now she only needed to trance just the once. Ivar, at least, was delighted by this change, her bloodthirsty, rage-filled boy.

(And at least she’d stopped having panic attacks every time she’d needed to activate that array.)

Second: the new, strange aether reached peak coalescence only after she had finished coalescing Dreadwyrm aether, and then dissipating it with a summon of Demi-Bahamut. In fact, she couldn’t even tap into Dreadwyrm aether again until she’d tranced with the new aether.

Third: while trancing with the new aether, it affected two of her spells. Outburst was a relatively new creation that the aetherochemistry department had only recently finalized; Synnove had offered to field test it shortly before she and the others had been whisked away to the First. That spell fluctuating due to an unexpected outside influence was unusual, considering how rigorously the Guild tested and developed their arrays, but not impossible. Ruin III, however, was an old standby, a tried and true blast of pure, unaspected power reserved for the most talented members of the Guild that had been in circulation for years. The only arrays more stable were the ones for the rest of the Ruin series and the standard carbuncle summons they gave to the baby arcanists (who weren’t insane overachievers like herself who had to write her own from scratch).

And it wasn’t just subtle effects. No, both Ruin III and Outburst were unaspected; arcanists liked working without the interference of specific elemental affinities, or alternatively with an equal amount of each kind so that they all canceled one another out, it made the math behave. (There was a bloody good reason she’d run into the wall on her artificial aether infusion project: working with elementally aspected aether was essentially working with literal fucking chaos and sometimes it was fun, but sometimes it just sucked.) This new surge of primal aether turned her respectable, unaspected spells into roiling balls of fire and pitch.

Ivar, of course, loved it. Heron and Alakhai, who also preferred to fight in the melee, not so much.

Fourth: the aether sang, as it always did. It reminded her very strongly of the Dreadwyrm aether’s dirge-like ballad, but this aether’s song was slower, more solemn. Wordless crooning matched with the resonant tones of an Ishgardian pipe organ. It was a funeral hymn: no rage, only deep, boundless sorrow, and a bottomless well of love.

Observations complete, she compared the data sets the night they vanquished Titania, absently rubbing her chest every so often as she did. The carbuncles curled up around her in various stages of patience—Galette in her usual spot around her neck, Tyr loafed next to her, Ivar sprawled in her lap and reaching up to either bat at his sister’s tails or his brother’s ears—as she set up the portable readout device she’d thankfully packed back on the Source. Synnove flipped open her grimoire sitting on the ground next to her on the opposite side of Tyr, paging through until she got to the first page of the arrays for Ivar’s passive sensor programming.

Humming quietly, she took the channeling stylus from her mouth, and placed the tip on the activation sigil. The array lit up, and so did the readout device, pulsing out a hologram that scrolled through the most recent aether readings. Synnove squinted as she skimmed the data, scratching Tyr’s neck until the big carbuncle turned into a happy puddle of brass purrs.

Then she called up data from nearly four years ago.

“Synnove?”

She looked up, only a little startled, to meet Alisaie’s worried gaze.

“Is everything all right?” said Alisaie.

Synnove looked back at the data, gnawing on her lower lip as the implications of the data sunk in. She let out a slow breath and said, “Don’t know yet. Fetch your brother, please, the both of you need to see this.”

Alisaie, Twelve bless her, didn’t hesitate, just turned and hurried off to find Alphinaud. She returned with her twin in a handful of minutes to the spot out in the fields surrounding Lydha Lran that Synnove had settled in to review her notes. By the time they reached her, Synnove had pulled up both data sets onto the viewer at once. She gestured, and the siblings both sat in front of her.

“So,” said Synnove, setting down her channeling stylus carefully to ensure the tip still touched the activation sigil of the array, “I’ve noticed a peculiar bit of aether mixing with my own recently and no, it’s not the Lightwarden’s.”

Alphinaud and Alisaie’s looks of alarms quickly subsided, in favor of concern and interest as Synnove outlined for them the changes she noted. Then she pointed to the readout device.

“The display on the left is the recent data Ivar’s passive sensors have recorded,” she said. “I’m sure Galette and Tyr’s would read the same, but since Ivar is the only one installed with the Dreadwyrm Protocols, he has the most complete set.”

Alphinaud scratched Tyr behind the ears, as the big carbuncle had crawled forward for pettings during Synnove’s explanation. “And I note that it’s exactly the same as the display on the right,” he said.

Synnove hummed agreement, rhythmically running her hand down Ivar’s back from his head to the base of his tails

Alisaie sat with her arms crossed, just staring at the displayed data. Finally, she said, “The data from the right is from the Binding Coils, isn’t it?”

“It is,” said Synnove, quiet and serious.

“That’s,” and Alisaie swallowed, “that’s Phoenix’s aether.”

“I believe so.”

Alphinaud didn’t look as rattled as his twin, but Synnove had known him long enough to spot the tension around his mouth and eyes. “Why now?” he said. “You’ve been using the Dreadwyrm Protocols for a number of years by now, so why has Phoenix’s aether remained dormant for so long?”

“My best guess,” said Synnove, “is because we’re here on the First. Eorzea is upfront about the fact that Dalamud’s fall and Bahamut’s rampage unquestionably fucked up the continent both on a physical and metaphysical level. The rest of our home star claims suddenly only having a single moon in the sky after the second one blew up a few miles directly above the surface had no effect on their magicks and aether, but we can all three agree that they’re probably trying to save face to a bunch of foreigners how mucked up things got for them, because that is a load of chocobo shite.”

Alphinaud coughed, smothering a smile, as Alisaie momentarily forgot her distress and snickered loudly.

“Bahamut’s aether didn’t just insinuate itself into everyone at Carteneau,” continued Synnove, continuing to pet Ivar and reaching up with her other hand to scratch behind Galette’s ears. Both carbuncles purred happily. “And it didn’t just insinuate itself into everyone in Eorzea, though I’ll grant that Eorzeans have the highest concentrations. No, Bahamut’s aether is everywhere on the Source; it’s permeated every rock and tree and beastkin and Spoken.

“It’s always been too easy to coalesce Dreadwyrm aether; when I’ve run through my own aetheric reserves, I can still use the Protocols without much fuss. If I was only ever using the aether comingled with my own, I should run out, but I don’t. Thus, I have to be unconsciously drawing upon the Dreadwyrm aether all around me.”

“But here on the First,” said Alphinaud, thoughtful, “Bahamut’s aether only exists in you and us Scions. I have noticed you still have had no issues using the Protocols, so we can assume you are able to draw on the Dreadwyrm aether within us and the others.”

Synnove inclined her head to him. “Just so.”

“So, with a finite amount of Dreadwyrm aether,” said Alisaie, “Phoenix’s aether is finally detectable, and even able to exert influence and become usable with the dissipation of Bahamut’s. And with how quickly and how strong it coalesces, it needs to be dissipated in turn before repeating the cycle.”

“That is my theory for what’s occurring,” said Synnove. “And, of course, I’ve noticed it steadily growing stronger and more stable since this began. No doubt it’ll continue to do so, although at the moment I couldn’t tell why.”

The twins shared a long, silent look. Alphinaud raised a single eyebrow. Alisaie nodded.

They turned back to her, their expressions serious, but the gleam of excitement was in their eyes. Synnove recognized it and grinned; bless their nerdy hearts, her darling little sibs.

“What would you like to do with this, Synnove?” said Alphinaud.

“And how can we help?” said Alisaie.

“Well,” drawled Synnove, “we’ll need to build some arrays to control how Phoenix’s aether warps my spells when I’m trancing with it. And then, I believe, we should prepare for the day when his aether has grown strong enough that Phoenix will fly the skies of the First as he once did at Carteneau to vanquish Bahamut, with all the prayers of Eorzea to guide him. If you two are all right with that?”

The twins dove forward to embrace her; Galette squwaked unhappily at being jostled, but they ignored her. Synnove returned their hugs, smiling, and tucked them in under her arms. Tyr immediately came over to flop across all three of their laps.

“You’re the only one I’d trust with it,” Alisaie said.

“We couldn’t think of anyone better suited,” added Alphinaud.

“Thank you,” Synnove said, as heartfelt and honored as she could. “Now then, my fellow nerds, let’s get to it!”

𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐕, 𝐒𝐊𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐌: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐏𝐓 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌

So it was settled. The Chimer army marched at night, and swarmed into the Dwemer camp. They were relying on Chimarvamidium to lead the first wave, but it malfunctioned and began attacking the Chimer's own troops. Added to that, the Dwemer were fully armored, well-rested, and eager for battle. The surprise was turned, and most of the high-ranking Chimer, including Karenithil Barif the Beast, were captured.

Though they were too proud to ask, Sthovin explained to them that he had been warned of their attack by a Calling by one of his men.

“What man of yours is in our camp?” sneered Barif.

Chimarvamidium, standing erect by the side of the captured, removed its head. Within its metal body was Jnaggo, the armorer.

“A Dwemer child of eight can create a golem,” he explained. “But only a truly great warrior and armorer can pretend to be one.”

- Chimarvamidium

the dwemer, a race of elves also called dwarves (though they were of average size in comparison to the other races of tamriel), were known as master craftsmen; an atheistic race that lived in gleaming cities of grey stone and bronzed metal, among their steam-driven machines and amuniculi.  blinders of the falmer, associates of dragons before the dragon war, half at war with the chimer and half in an uneasy alliance with them.  part of their belief system involved the idea that the world dreamed, and to wake up would return them to their rightful place among aetherium and worked to those ends, building a brass god named numidium.  it’s said their chief tonal architect, kagrenac, used specialized tools - keening and sunder, with the use of wraithguard to safeguard - on the heart of lorkhan, and all once the entire race disappeared.

well.  almost the entire race.

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎

name:  tnathas birthsign:  the thief | 29 evening star race:  dwemer(i) (duuma in the dwemer language) occupation:  former tonal architect | currently traveling adventurer specializing in dwemer ruins birthplace:  kagrenzel, in the velothi mountains current residence:  clockwork castle, located in the velothi mountains specialization:  spellsword/storm mage | blacksmithing | enchanting | destruction and conjuration magic factions:  college of winterhold | bards college | avengers | dawnguard

𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋

tnathas is on the tall end of the spectrum for dwemer, standing six feet, one inch in his bare feet, with a lean, angular frame.  while it’s almost easy to believe he’s just a strange looking altmer, his ears and eyes are what give him away as something else, his ears being more dunmer in shape and size (they’re large, pointy, and are angled away from his head in a more dunmer manner, and he [like most dwemer] wears golden hoops up their length).  his eyes are also more dunmer in their shape and coloration, being blue on black sclera.  he wears his hair short, and his beard entirely unlike the current fashions (or the past ones), just long enough to have three dwemeri beads braided into it.  in a home environment, where he’s safe and feels comfortable, he trends back to dwemeri styles of robes, layers of cloth, open sandals, and runs around barefaced.  otherwise he typically rarely takes his helmet off in public, because the fewer people that see both how odd he looks compared to current elves or that he’s an elf at all, the better.

while a spellsword, he suffers the curse laid upon any dwemer that might have survived the cataclysm by the daedric prince azura, in that his ability to use magic does not regenerate over time.  as such, he has to keep a healthy supply of magicka potions nearby, or rely on the strength of his sword arm alone.  like all dwemer, he possesses the ability of the calling - a telepathic link between all dwemer - though these days...it’s mostly silent.  and because of dwemer innovation in both magic and machinery, he can and has been known to toy with magic that disrupts time for very short durations.  like the skaal and their listening and the former yokudan sword-singers, he’s also well versed in dwemer tonal magic.

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

a badly behaved dwemer in his youth, tnathas often thumbed his nose at convention and responsibility and instead of settling into his expected position as a tonal architect, he took what can be considered an elven gap year and instead traveled across tamriel to see what he could see, staying above ground more than below.  in this way, his experiences have shaped him into something that is not the typical dwemer, as he is less cold, less calculating, and in many ways, less logic driven and more warm and sympathetic.  

however, with the rumblings between those that did and did not agree with what kagrenac wished to do with numidium and the heart of lorkhan, tnathas finally returned home to dwemer life and settled in as a tonal architect, as the war of the first council decided to really get rolling between everyone and their cousins, from dwemer to chimer to nords to nedes.  he ended up, when it seemed that kagrenac was really going to carry out his insane plan to use his tools on the heart of lorkhan, closing himself up in a private lab in a small pocket carved from oblivion, and got to work.  when he emerged again, having no idea of the passage of time on nirn, his entire race was gone, the nords were at war again, this time with some nebulous empire, and he realized very quickly that displaying what he really was would bring nothing but trouble, and let people assume he was altmer or dunmer or an exceptionally large bosmer.  these days he’s simply trying to find his place in the world, while coming to grips with the things he’d been aware had been happening in the dwemer cities, and struggling with the choice of searching for his people - if they still exist - or letting those ghosts lie uneasy in their graves.

𝐅𝐔𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒

+ he’s not a man, he’s a mer, and yes, that’s actually an important distinction.  but if you never see him without the helmet he’ll let you assume what you want. + he can enter dwemer ruins and not be attacked by the amuniculi inside.  your safest way to traverse them is with him, unless you count the falmer.  the falmer will attack. + the house he calls home is full of all sorts of repaired and reprogrammed automatons.  the clanking is unbelievable. + he knows the divines and the daedra are real, he just doesn’t care.  believe what you want, but leave him out of it.  he’s got SCIENCE! to do.  you won’t catch him making deals with daedra or wearing an amulet of mara. + even in private conversation with someone that knows what he is, he’ll often correct himself if he uses old names for things.  it’s all about moving into the future, for one, because he’s not going to dwell in the past, but also because he’s already odd enough without calling something by a name that hasn’t been used in four thousand years. + the house contains...well.  two other dwemer.  of a sort.  they’re called the gilded and they’re automatons built from the souls and gilded bones of dwemer who were ill and dying.  lamashtu and lahar are their names and they act as caretakers for the house.  those who know the whole story will have to deal with the fact that tnathas mostly talks to either of them in dwemeris.  old habits and all that. + there’s also an enormous dwemer city under the house full of gilded that are...broken.  tnathas sees himself as their caretaker, because violent and confused or not, those are still his people and he has a responsibility to them. + his work/life balance is absolutely horrid and he will have to be dragged out of the workroom and study for things like sleep and food. + he’s decided calcelmo is his worst mortal enemy and lives to troll him.  calcelmo has no idea he’s even dwemeri, tnathas just thinks he’s kind of a dick. + his home is open to those he becomes close to and trust, and eventually the idea will take root of a new kind of guild - something like the companions - but to fight for the people who can’t fight for themselves, and not expecting payment in return.  if you guessed the avengers, here’s your gold star.

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃

+ clockwork castle + the timelost dwemer - a deep elf race

secretist but tomik is emmara part 1

Jace crept down the stairs to the main floor and approached the door. Kavin wouldn’t have knocked, and he didn’t expect any other visitors. He prepared a spell to sense the mind of whoever was outside. When he detected the thoughts of his old friend, he threw the door open wide. Tomik looked as youthful as ever, but as he was an Orzhov oligarch, his age tended not to show. He wore a pair of white robes embroidered with a sunburst pattern that wound around his sleeves. Jace knew he possessed a wisdom and quiet power that belied his youthful appearance.

“Good evening, old friend,” he said with a partial smile.

“Tomik! It’s been a while. Come in.”

As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Jace’s sanctum was not exactly fit for visitors. As soon as he stepped through the door, he had to guide Tomik apologetically through the detritus of his research. He shoved some pieces of stonework out of the way and they sat down on the floor by an old, unused fireplace, where the threadbare carpet gave way to a wide hearth.

Tomik scanned the place. “You’ve taken up archaeology?”

“It’s a new project, I guess you could say. A colleague and I are studying patterns in old stonework. I’ve seen the same patterns used in dozens of different sites around the district. They’re geometric carvings with repeating elements. I’m fascinated. Did you know that almost every building on this street has stone sourced from the same salvage yard?”

“I didn’t.” his face was placid, but from the way he clasped his hands in his lap, Jace knew this wasn’t a social call.

“What brings you from Irbitov?”

“I live here now, in the Tenth,” said Tomik. He offered a small object to Jace, holding it delicately in his fingers: a golden broach in the shape of an intricate sun. It was too detailed to have been carved even by a master artisan; it must have been molded by magic.

“What is this?”

“A gift. From my master.”

Jace took the golden sun in two hands. “Master?” He glanced at the bundle of scrolls and papers stored in his satchel. “You’re working for someone?”

“Yes. Teysa Karlov. I’ve been working as an Advokist—before you were born, in fact. And now that Orzhov Syndicate is rebuilding, Teysa wants me back again as an advisor. You must have seen how the guilds have come back in force.”

“To be honest, I haven’t seen much beyond this building lately,” Jace said with a shrug. He realized that his hair was probably sticking out in every direction, and that Tomik had dramatically upped the cleanliness ante by his visit.

Tomik focused on him intently. “Jace, what do you know of the Guildpact?” It was a delicate question. Jace had never been fully honest with Tomik—had never told him he was a planeswalker, a mage capable of traveling between planes of existence. Most people had no idea there were planes beyond their own, and those who were bound to a single plane didn’t enjoy hearing that their familiar home was only one of a potentially infinite array of worlds. Jace tended to keep his planeswalker nature a secret. That meant that sometimes Jace had to put on a bit of an act, to display enough knowledge that he could seem like a native, such as in conversations like this. He knew about the history of the city-world Ravnica only through what he had gleaned from his research—and from seeing into other people’s minds. He considered trying to poke around in Tomik’s mind to see if he could learn more about the Guildpact. His magical specialty was a shortcut, but sometimes a necessary one. However, Tomik was a skilled mage in his own right and tended to be able to detect his mind magic when he used it around him.

“Politics was never my best subject,” he said.

“We shouldn’t be surprised that the guilds are on the rise again,” said Tomik. “The guilds are the pillars of history. The backbone of our entire civilization for thousands of years, and no matter what anyone said, the Guildpact was what held them together. But the Guildpact is gone. Dissolved. No magical enforcement of any of the treaties or laws. The guild leaders aren’t bound by the old strictures anymore.”

Jace thought of those he had known who sought power—Liliana, Tezzeret, Nicol Bolas. He thought of how they always used their power to gain more of it. “Any center of power is going to test its boundaries.”

Tomik nodded. “And without those boundaries …”

“You think they’re going to try to exceed them.”

Tomik looked at the golden sun in Jace’s hands. “They’ve already begun to.”

“Who? The Rakdos?” Jace guessed. He had never understood why Ravnicans had allowed a murderous, demon-venerating cult to remain one of the ten official guilds—it just seemed too dangerous. The going theory was that the Rakdos guild provided wellsought services of mayhem and perverse entertainment to those who possessed wealth and power, and that this was enough for them to be kept around.

“No,” Tomik said. “It’s the Izzet. Izzet mages have made illegal incursions into other guilds’ territories.” The Izzet League—the same guild of magical experimenters that had often been present when Jace had uncovered stone artifacts carved with the code.

“But isn’t that an issue for the lawmages? Shouldn’t the Azorius maintain those Borders?”

“They’re trying. The Azorius Senate has been issuing injunctions and rulings against the Izzet day after day, at the request of the other guilds. But without the Guildpact, the

Azorius have become toothless bureaucrats. Their legislation is just words on paper. Niv-Mizzet doesn’t seem to care.”

Niv-Mizzet was the guildmaster and founder of the Izzet League, an inquisitive and profoundly ingenious archmage who also happened to be an ancient dragon. If the Izzet had a new scheme, Niv-Mizzet was sure to be its source. “What has the dragon said?”

“Nothing. Whatever the Izzet are undertaking, they’re keeping it secret.”

“And you want to find out what their project is about.” You want me to find out what it’s about, he thought.

“The Obzedat, my guildmaster, thinks it’s urgent for the Izzet to be open about what they’re planning. But if they won’t cooperate, suspicions will grow among the guilds. Tensions will rise. It could lead to a conflict that could tear the guilds apart.” He spread his hands, and clasped them again. “We need the Izzet to cooperate.”

Jace sat back and took a breath, examining Tomik’s face. He was trying not to plead with him, but he could see the urgency behind Tomik’s expression. There was an edge to his manner that he hadn’t seen in him before. It wasn’t fear. Tomik had no concern for any threat to his own safety. He sensed that Tomik spoke out of an obligation—something deeply felt, a concern over and above loyalty to his guild. Jace wondered if there was someone else whom his was protecting.

“How can I help?”

His smile glowed. “Join us,” he said. “Help us. Help us to understand what the Izzet might be doing, so we can maintain peace in this district, and all the districts.” “You want me to join your guild?” “You’d be welcome in the Syndicate. The Orzhov believe in helping people, in lifting others up and forming alliances to connect people together. Jace, with your talents—you’d have such potential for helping us. We could use you.”

“I don’t know.” A guild would mean tying himself to a set of values, to one point of view. Most of all, it meant tying himself to the plane of Ravnica. And he wasn’t sure, even if he were to select one of Ravnica’s guilds, that he would choose the Orzhov. Jace looked around the sanctum, indicating the research around them with a vague gesture. “I have a lot of projects going on … I can’t commit to that right now.”

“But you’d be able to help so many people. I’m influential in the guild, Jace. Teysa has selected me as a kind of dignitary. And you could be such a natural at reading people. We could work toward the same ends. We could learn the truth. Together.” Jace hesitated. Not many people had ever looked at him the way Tomik was looking at him in that moment. He wanted to say something that would make Tomik look at him that way for a lot longer. Jace imagined the way his face would brighten even more if he told him yes—how he could touch Tomik’s hand and tell him that nothing was more important to Jace than joining him, helping him. He wished he could go through with it, for Tomik’s sake.

But he couldn’t.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t join the Orzhov. But maybe I could help in another way.”

Tomik’s smile melted. “Oh. I’m too late, then. You’re part of another guild already?”

“No. That’s not it.” He thought of all the time he spent on other planes. He thought of all the mysteries that drew him from one side of the Multiverse to the other. “I’m just not … someone who likes to get too attached.”

That struck him. “I see,” he said and stood. His demeanor reverted to formality and etiquette. “Well, I should be going. I have a lot of guild matters to attend to. Thank you for your time, Jace. It was good to see you.”

“No, Tomik, I’m sorry,” he said, standing with him. “I just meant I can’t afford to get mixed up in any of the … guild politics right now. I’m researching something important, and it’s taking up all of my time. I’d love to help you after I solve this.”

He nodded. “We’d love to have you,” he said. When he was at Jace’s door, he turned. “That sun I gave you is an Orzhov artifact, made by goldsmith. You can use it to contact me, if you want. Just say the activating words into it, and I’ll be able to hear you.”

Jace looked at his gift in his hand. “What are the words?”

“ ‘I need you.’ ”

FOUR

The servant’s passage was cramped and musty, they had to walk in file for how little room there was. Even Yasho, with his enormous bulk, had his shoulders lightly brushing the walls every so often. The dog went first, the logic being that his superior sense of smell would alert them to any dangers ahead long before their human eyes would, then Ser Walter, then Arlan, and Jasper came last, who closed the door behind them and locked it with his key before they headed forward.

“Where does this actually lead?” Arlan asked as they hurried along as fast as they were able, their swords and feet and bodies scraping so loudly against the passage he wondered how in the world he never heard anyone walking through here before.

It was Jasper who answered him. “To the mausoleum in the rear garden, young master. There is a small network of catacombs underneath it.”

He had to process that for a moment. “Why?” he asked, puzzled.

“Very few noble families have estates without such escapes, for precisely this reason,” Ser Walter answered him. “Especially those built in older times. That is why Governor Glenroy will do his best to find this one, to make sure none of us can escape.”

They were silent after that, quickly pacing along until the ground began to slope gradually upward and a set of very roughly hewn stairs greeted them. “You will need this to open the door,” Jasper said, passing his key down the line.

Ser Walter had to nearly climb over Yasho to get to the keyhole, but thankfully it was well-oiled and unlocked easily, allowing him to push it open.

The silence of the night and distant screams from the castle greeted them, with windows flickering in their flame-orange lights, as if laughing at them with the destruction it caused. They had come out right at the foot of the mausoleum, the trapdoor cleverly disguised as one of the pavement stones, and the terraced gardens shielded them from any prying eyes who might have tried to find them. Walter quickly stepped up to the entrance to the mausoleum and unlocked the door with another key, then opened it. “Inside, quickly,” he said, ushering them in before closing the door behind him.

For a moment pitch blackness descended upon them, until Arlan heard Jasper muttering something under his breath and fumbling with something that sounded like a box of toothpicks. Then there was a scratch and a flare of new light and he saw that it was actually matches, and that the manservant was trying to light an oil lamp that had been set upon a stand just inside the building. “Well, Ser Walter,” he said as he fiddled with the device, “I know little of how you personally plan to get us out through here, I have never been through the catacombs myself. Where is the entrance?”

“Right here,” Ser Walter replied, coming up to the middle of the mausoleum, upon which there was a grand statue of a figure covered in a robe with their face hidden behind a hood and their hands clasped in prayer. He knelt down and pressed one of the bricks at the base of the statue, and to the amazement of both of them the arms of the statue lowered and its hands opened, like a clam, revealing a flat golden medallion that was hidden in the hollow of their palms.

Arlan, Jasper, and Even Yasho crowded around the statue to get a look, amazed by the sight. There seemed to be some kind of symbol engraved upon the surface of the medallion. “What is it?” Arlan asked, looking to Walter.

“That would be the Guild Seal,” Walter explained, with the voice of someone who expected someone to know precisely what a “Guild Seal” was when he spoke of it. He jerked his chin towards it. “Pick it up, Arlan.”

Puzzled, Arlan obeyed, and he was startled to find that the metal was nearly warm to the touch, not at all freezing like the lifeless stone it was resting upon. He held it up in his hand to examine the marking better, but he could not even begin to decipher what it meant. It was all meaningless to him. Yet Walter was looking at him almost expectantly. “Is something meant to happen?” he asked the Warden Ambassador.

The last syllable was barely out of his mouth when the medallion suddenly burst into a piercing, all-consuming white light. It nearly blinded him, searing his eyes and his retina and it was all but impossible to tell if he had gone blind in that moment or if the light simply made him incapable of seeing anything else. Yet as the light shone, darkness filled his vision, and he was falling down, down...

When his eyes snapped open again he was no longer in the mausoleum. In fact, he had no idea where he was. He appeared to be on what looked like a long path of gravel, which continued on in front of him straight as an arrow. All around him was a thick, heavy mist which was so overwhelming and opaque that to him it seemed as if the very clouds in the heavens had fallen to the earth. Everywhere except directly in front of him, for he could see that the road went on and on, until it came to a set of enormous iron gates which towered above his head, and towering above those was what appeared to be some sort of castle. A great monstrosity of gray stone and imposing walls, nothing like the manors they called castles nowadays.

Arlan stood for a moment, unsure of what precisely to do, and he even considered going up to the gates and seeing if they would let him inside until he heard the crunch of gravel behind him and turned to see a hooded figure approaching him. He could not see their face, or even their hands, as their sleeves were pressed together and the hands hidden under the folds of fabric.

A part of him was confused and wanted to demand answers, but that deeper part of him cautioned him and calmed him, and he knew that all he had to do was wait calmly and patiently, and the answers would come.

The figure stopped in front of him and curtsied gently, even though they never moved their hands. “Greeting, Arlan Peyton,” they said, their voice soft and yet somehow unidentifiable. “My name is Tessa, Seer of the Spire.”

Arlan blinked at her, then looked around again. “Where are we? Is this the Spire?” he asked, his voice much quieter than he would have thought.

She seemed to ignore his question, or at least she thought that there were other, more important matters to speak of first. “Since you managed to activate the Guild Seal, your Quoto blood had been proven.”

His head snapped back around to look at her. “Quoto blood?” he repeated. “The Quoto are just rumors, are they not?” He remembered the lessons when he was very young, akin to legends at this point, spoken of in the same fashion as ancient gods, although more recent archaeological studies and excavations had supposedly started to find evidence of their existence.

The tales always spoke of the Quoto living in the ancient past, once a thriving civilization in the earliest parts of the world’s history, until something known as the Corruption wiped out nearly all of their population. To hide from their enemy, the Quoto disguised themselves and lived as common folk, burying all traces of their heritage under new personas and quietly hiding themselves among others, which the folk tales always ended by saying this was the genesis for humanity as history knew it.

“Your Quoto blood is latent,” Tessa continued on, speaking like Walter had earlier, as if she just expected whoever listened to her to both know and believe in the Quoto completely. “But that should not stop you from accomplishing feats that many of your people would struggle to perform.”

Arlan frowned at the explanation and crossed his arms a little. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” he said. “There is nothing overly special about me, and I have not done something so extraordinary that I would chalk it up as being an ‘amazing feat,’ as you have phrased it.”

Tessa tilted her head. “It was the Quoto blood in you which allowed you to react so quickly to the assailant in your room, when you disarmed him with a kick. And even earlier, it was the same Quoto blood in you which allowed you to best Ser Walter in your sparring match with him earlier.”

That made Arlan blink, and he even jumped a little in his surprise. He unfolded himself from his posture, struck by the information. “How did you know about that?” he asked, his voice quiet and amazed.

Of course, she did not answer him. “I also know of Governor Glenroy’s betrayal and murder of your family,” she continued on instead, slowly moving closer to him, although there was an unsettling smoothness to her movements. Even though he heard her steps crackling against the gravel, she looked as if she was merely floating above the ground. “It is your right and your duty to seek justice for this crime, and to avenge their deaths at the hand of one who once called himself a friend and pretended to be such before he murdered them.”

His hands were slowly curling into fists. Something about her words were low and powerful and plucked something deep inside of him, as if he were some sort of instrument and the fingers of her voice were tugging at his inner strings. “Of course I am going to,” he said, his conviction ringing in his voice like the steel he would drive into Glenroy’s heart for what he had done. “Baurus Glenroy will not get away with what he has done.”

“And with powerful allies like Ser Walter and Jasper at your side, there is little of your desires that you will not be able to accomplish,” Tessa agreed. “But before that, first you must leave the catacombs.”

“I’m guessing you know how to accomplish this,” Arlan said slowly, giving her a sceptical look. However if she could do things like watch him duel Ser Walter from wherever...this place was, then he thought it would not be too much a stretch that she knew what to do.

The hood nodded. “Indeed,” she said. “You must use the glove upon the altar.” Then with nothing more than that, she turned and began to leave.

“Wait!” Arlan said, reaching out to her. “What do you mean by that?”

He had hardly taken his foot off the ground to run after her before he was falling again, but he was rising too. Rising up and falling down, twisting and he was on his back, on something cold and hard that was digging into his skin, and—

He opened his eyes blearily and the ceiling of the mausoleum greeted him, as well as the face of Jasper, Walter, and Yasho all crowded around him, inches away and seeming a little anxious. “Oh, goof that you are awake, young master!” Jasper said, looking greatly relieved as he put a hand to his chest and sighed. “I was beginning to get worried.”

Arlan scrambled upright into a sitting position, nearly bumping into them in his haste. “What was that?” he asked, looking between them all. “Am I going mad? Was that a delirium?”

“What did you see?” Ser Walter asked, his voice low and serious.

How in the world was he supposed to explain what his eyes had just showed him? “I was...I found myself on a gravel path that led to a gate, which in turn led up to a castle. And there was a...I suppose a woman there. Her name was Tessa. But she was so covered in robes I could not tell what she looked like. She explained to me that...” here he hesitated, unsure of how to break the news without appearing to be a lunatic. “That I have ‘Quoto blood,’ as she put it—“ he saw Jasper’s eyebrows raise at this “—and this Quoto blood will help me accomplish many things.”

“That is very good!” Walter said, beaming. At the confused looks he received he did not elaborate but instead switched the subject. “Did this Tessa happen to tell you the way to escape, by any chance?”

“I—yes, actually. She said to use the glove on the altar, whatever those words are supposed to mean.”

“Oh, I suppose that’s what that contraption is for,” Jasper remarked, throwing a look back to the open hands of the statue. Now that Arlan looked he noticed that there was indeed a white glove in the hands of the statue, and thought that he must not have noticed it before because the medallion had been laying on top of it.

“Take it,” Walter said, helping Arlan stand up so that he could examine it more closely. “From what I can see of its construction, it appears to be an alchemical glove, made specifically for casting fire spells. Very rare and very powerful things.”

Arlan had little idea of what he was talking about. The complicated art of alchemy had never held a fascination with him, so the images stitched into the back of the glove held little significance to him except the knowledge that they were more than just interesting, intricate diagrams. In the middle of the diagrams was a stone, and aside from it being red he could understand little else about it. Nonetheless he picked up the glove and slid it on his left hand, a little unsettled by how precisely it fit, before he noticed something that made him pause.

The medallion had vanished, and now there was a tattoo on the inside of his left wrist, one which resembled the seal on the medallion perfectly. He slid the glove on and waited, frowning. “Nothing is happening,” he said after a moment.

Walter shook his head. “You need to concentrate with alchemy. Use your inner will upon the stone to channel the alchemical regents inside of it, which will then cause a thermo-kinetic reaction and a spell is cast. Depends on what type of magic the glove is attuned to, it will be different.”

Arlan glanced at the Warden Ambassador as if he has just grown a second head. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” he admitted, holding his hand out and trying to concentrate. Nothing happened.

The Warden Ambassador stroked his bread, then clearly decided to go for a different tactic. “Alchemy has much to do with changing matter around. If you excite the matter inside the crystal with your will, you will not only get a reaction of heat from what you are doing, but the power necessary in order to fuel such a ‘spell.’”

How in the world he was meant to excite matter with his mind, without having ever done it before, Arlan had no clue. He glared again at the glove, willing it to burst to flames, but nothing happened. “Why isn’t it working?” he asked.

Even Walter seemed a bit lost. “Really I have no idea. You need to truly concentration, young Arlan.”

“I am!” Arlan yelled, clenching his fist and hitting the ground in his anger.

Just then, the Guild Seal upon his inner wrist lit up in a bright orange light. It flared brightly, like a beacon, before racing down his hand and lighting up the symbols of his glove upon the way. The crystal glowed like a torch, sending a red flash of light all across the inside of the mausoleum before the heat and light erupted from his hand, dowsing it briefly in flames before the spell shot into the floor, lightly it up as well.

For a moment Arlan saw that there was a larger version of the Guild Seal carved into the floor in front of them, the lines so pale they were nearly unnoticeable until he lit them up, before the light vanished and the floor opened where the Seal was, revealing a hatch leading deeper into the earth. The smell emanating from it was even wetter, with a pronounced dank, damp earth smell that one only encountered in caves and swamps.

“Oh lovely,” Jasper said with a somewhat dramatic sigh.

“Lovely it is, Jasper, for it is our way to freedom,” Walter said enthusiastically, standing up. “Excellent work, Arlan! Now it is time for us to make our escape once and for all! I shall go first.” Before anyone could protest this he had already clambered into the hatch and slid down. There were no steps for this path, and the slope was quite steep, so one would have to slide down to enter, and if they wanted to get back out crawl on all fours laboriously back to the door.

The remaining three all exchanged looks, before Arlan shook his head. “I shall be glad to rid myself of this tomb soon enough,” he said, his voice drained but pulsing with the burning fire of his anger. The sooner he left this place to exact his revenge on Glenroy, the better. He wiggled in, feet first, and let himself slowly slide down the packed earth path until he came to a stop near Ser Walter. Following on his heels was Yasho, who seemed greatly distressed by the unrefined method of going down, and then Jasper, who looked only marginally calmer than the dog.

Thankfully the butler had the foresight to bring the lantern with him, as the hatch closed behind him soon after he landed. “Well, I suppose we should hop to, yes?” he asked, dusting off his stained clothes with an air of distaste.

“Indeed, this way,” Walter said, motioning them down the tunnel that led deeper in the earth. It seemed to be carved from rock, even though there was an earthen surface underneath them.

They had to duck around creeping, hanging roots and lichen which descended from the ceiling above, stubborn trees on their eternal quest to find more sources of water and nutrition for themselves, snaking their way in through the rock. Water pooled around their shoes with each step, the ground sinking under their weight with a slightly spongy texture, yet it did not spring back into place when they left behind their footprints which gradually filled with moisture.

Squeaking was coming from somewhere, and Arlan could see the shadows of rats darting just out of sight of their light, their beady eyes flashing in the darkness as they looked upon them. For all Arlan knew, they were the first humans these rats had ever seen.

“Those would be a good practice for your glove, until you learn to truly control what you can do with it,” Ser Walter advised, pointing to the rats with the tip of his sword. “Try and hit them with it. Little blasts of fire and such.”

“You think this thing is capable of such a feat?” Arlan asked dubiously, looking down at the glove encasing his hand. It was so soft that half of the time he forgot he was even wearing such a thing until he actually focused his attention upon it. He had indeed surrounded his hand in flames earlier to open the door, but he had been unaware of what he was doing and had reacted in anger and frustration at the ordeal, demanding that the glove respond. He was unsure if he could dredge up such anger on a whim in order to achieve his fire spells, and he was not entirely sure if that was even a good idea.

Walter nodded at him. “Of course it is. All the glove really does is let you summon fire. Then it is your own imagination and willpower which limits to what you do with it and how much you summon.” As if reading Arlan’s mind, he elaborated. “Having the glove react whenever you get angry isn’t a good thing. You’ll start exploding whenever you need to light a match. You need to have better mental discipline and willpower to channel your power properly, that way you can use it without having to bite people’s heads off. So training is necessary.”

“Indeed, young master,” Jasper piped up. “I would say it is a bit like wielding a sword. Any fool can get angry and swing one and cause damage, but a true artist and wielder is much more proper and skilled in his technique and accomplish greater things.”

At that Arlan had to manage a laugh. “You know how to use a sword, Jasper?” he asked lightly, holding up his glove and pointing and willing for fire to come forth. Smoke trickled from the tip of his finger, which to be fair was a whole lot better than nothing.

“I know a great deal of things, young master,” Jasper replied, unruffled as ever and so calm that Arlan half-wondered if the manservant was joking with him or not. Considering Jasper could be as dry as the southern deserts it was absolutely impossible to tell. “One must in order to be a good butler.”

Arlan smirked and narrowed his eyes, trying to concentrate on what he wanted. A blast of fire, like how he saw in the mausoleum. How his tattoo lit up, with the glove. The heat that came, the light, the fire, he wanted it to shoot from his hand and it would—

He felt the familiar rush of heat, as if the fire came from his very blood and not the glove. His tattoo lit, just like he imagined, and the glove glowed and suddenly a small ball of fire launched from his hand, as quickly as an arrow, and hit one of the scurrying rats dead on, immediately incinerating it. “Aha!” he said triumphantly, grinning widely the wisps of smoke curling up from his fingers.

“Excellent, young master!” Jasper said with a smile, clapping a tiny bit for him.

Ser Walter nodded, his face almost as triumphant as if he would have done it himself. “Excellent work. Now try to do that more, and learn to control it better.”

Of course hardly anything was ever so simple to master, but once Arlan understood the basic of what was happening it became easier. It was like clenching his fist, or taking a step forward, he knew he would do it and he made himself do it. It was a little harder than taking a step, of course, but he was pretty certain when he was first learning to walk it hadn’t been all that easy either.

Confidence helped, too. When he thought about how he just knew his hand would burst into flames, it did. He needed to know that the magic would come to life, with no doubts or second guessing himself. He practised his shooting at the rats, missing some and hitting others, but by the time he was starting to get a grasp on how to make it work rather than putting a huge amount of effort into it, he felt a change in the air.

The others did too, for they all came to a sudden stop. Now that Arlan was no longer walking he realized that his feet were arching from their trek, and he wondered exactly how long they had been travelling. He had been so focused on using the glove that he didn’t pay too much attention to the passage of time, but he knew that at the very least an hour had to have passed...or maybe two. Or three. With the unchanging darkness and dank around them it was absolutely impossible to tell. Maybe even days had passed.

The place they had come out upon resembled a cavern more than the tunnels they had been winding their way through, with two separate sections branching off into parts unknown. But it wasn’t the larger space of the separated directions that caught Arlan’s attention, it was the fact that the walls were now starting to be paved with brick rather than natural stone. Very ancient, slimy brickwork, but still man-made all the same. “We are near civilization,” he said. “Or at least where civilization once was.”

“Still is,” Walter said, sheathing his sword at last. “I believe we shall soon reach a sewer way, and from there we should be able to find a way to the surface and wherever we have ended up.”

Jasper stroked his chin a little. “I have doubts that we are still in Holdingstone,” he said, glancing at Walter.

“Holdingstone is a sizeable city, that is true, but we have covered far too much ground. We will probably be in one of the nearby villages or towns, at the very least. Maybe even farther.” Walter settled down against the wall, glancing at it in distaste before digging in his bag for a blanket and unrolling it upon the ground in a relatively dry spot. “We shall stay here for now to rest, then go up in the—morning? When we have our strength back.”

Arlan frowned at his words. “What about Glenroy?” he asked. “You don’t think his men will find our location?”

Walter shook his head. “Even though they undoubtedly are, they will have only discovered the servant’s passage in the pantry. The passage through the mausoleum, even if they will identify it which I very highly doubt, may only be opened with the usage of the glove which is currently resting upon your hand.” He tossed them blankets as well and started to lay down. “If I had to wager, I would say Glenroy would simply suspect you managed to escape out of the castle grounds, through the incompetence of his men and their barrier, and went off into Holdingstone itself. He will waste some days’ time trying to root you out, subtly of course, before thinking of turning to the surrounding area, but by then we will be long out of his reach.”

“Indeed young master, I do believe we have escaped the noose so far,” Jasper said, laying down his blanket. “We will need our strength for tomorrow, however.”

Arlan nodded, rolling out his blanket as well, and Yasho had already sat himself down upon it before he could lay down and curl himself next to the hound.

Sleep claimed him mercifully quick.

It was dark and dank within the Waterworks, so I lit a torch, and Ruin and I began to search for what could be blocking the water-flow. Piles of salt filled buckets which lined the halls. I’m... not sure what they were for. Perhaps they were separated out of the water from the spring? That would be my best guess. I spotted a splot of blood on the floor, just around the edge of a column. We rounded the corner to find...

...a body, lying right there in the duct. Is it selfish to say, my first thought was a sigh of relief that I subsist off of booze and haven’t drunken any of the city’s water at all? I sure hope my beers and ales are imported! Still, this is a very, very unpleasant discovery. And with the Peryite Flu going around, I can’t imagine people will be happy to know that their primary water source has had a corpse floating in it for who knows how long!

Ruin and I quickly pulled the body out of the duct, and set it on the floor nearby, whereupon we searched the corpse for clues, hoping to learn something about what had happened to her. In one of the pockets, I found a Blood Splattered Note, and attempted to read it. Alas, the blood had smeared most of the ink, rendering the note illegible. The only part I could make out was something about a death wish, and ‘the Mockers’, whatever that means.

With that... grim business concluded, we raced back across the top of the aqueduct and returned to Vabvam Drothan to report our findings. Vabvam: “The water seems to be flowing freely again. Good work!” Trials: “Uh... thanks. But you’re probably not going to be too happy when I tell you what was blocking the duct.” Vabvam: “Did someone stuff that blond Bosmer’s head in a toilet again? The one who’s always hanging out in the Arena District.” Trials: “...I have no idea who you could be talking about. No, it was a dead Argonian.” Vabvam: “...oh. Wow, that’s... I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do at the Imperial Office of Commerce. They’re not going to be happy at all to hear about this.” Ruin: “There was also a note on the body. It made reference to a ‘death wish’ and mentioned someone or thing called ‘the Mockers’.” Vabvam: “Huh, peculiar ‘The Mockers’ were mentioned in an old back-issue of the Black Horse Courier. Something about using the Thieves Guild as a puppet to control the actions of the Imperial Watch. “All a bit ridiculous, really. I don’t even believe the Thieves Guild exists.” Trials: I tugged at my collar and grimaced. “Yeah, you just keep thinkin’ that, pal.” That business done, we got our pay, and were on our way. I sure hope Vabvam will contact someone about cleaning up the Waterworks. Renting that same old room at the Merchant’s Inn, we turned in for the night... then I woke up in the middle of the night, and slipped off. Ruin is a heavy sleeper, and while it was almost his undoing when we first met, it’s a godsend now, as I was easily able to slip off to Marana’s house. Man, for a woman who trains Sneaks, the security on her house was abysmal. I was in and out in short order, richer for the experience. Or at least, I will be richer tomorrow when Derrien opens up his shop and I can fence the vase.

The following day, I made for “Discount Merchandise” before Ruin woke, and fenced the vase to Derrien, who was quite happy to have another piece of swag to move. I must say that I’m feeling kind of addicted to this work, now. The jobs from Derrien are thrilling, and they pay well, and I still have the job in Cheydinhal from the Thieves Guild to do. And it feels so good to do things that are ‘in my wheelhouse’; that test the skills I’m actually good at! I laid down the coin for another tip, and Derrien delivered once again. Derrien: “Do you have any idea how valuable that Ancient Dagoth Brandy is, that they display in the King and Queen Tavern’s taproom? Brewed in Morrowind centuries ago, and they have three bottle of the stuff! Trials: My mouth watered at the thought of sweet, vintage drinks. “A-a-are you sure you need... all three bottles?” Derrien: “Oh, yes. Unopened preferably. Sorry, babe, but if you want to get paid for this job, no sampling the merchandise.” Drat, rare and ancient booze and I can’t have any of it! And I never really got to enjoy Morrowind spirits; my old master wouldn’t let me have any. This Cyrodiil stuff is pretty great, but I long to taste the booze of the land I grew up in. And, of course, actually getting the stuff first required another day of waiting for an opening to pinch the bottles, and for Derrien to fetch more gold to move the product. Gah, you’d think he’d start bringing extra gold with him once we’d arranged this partnership. Oh well, nothing for it. With time to kill, I fetched Ruin, and we made for Bleaker’s Way again. I thought that maybe we ought to check on them to see what was going on up there.

We found Kristen again, and asked her about the word around town. Kirsten: “These are troubled times in Bleaker’s Way, my friend.” Trials: “What? What’s going on?” Kirsten: “Nivan Dalvilu and Hrol Ulfgar retreated to Nivan’s home shortly after your last visit. They told us they had something important to discuss. Naught but an hour after, shouting could be heard. The shouting continued for hours, and only died down recently. We’d thought to check on them, but they’d locked the door, and none of us have the key.” Ruin: He touched a finger to his chin in contemplation. “I have a bad feeling about this. I think we need to check on the two of them right away.” Trial: “Right! Don’t worry, I’ll be able to get in!” We rushed over to Nivan’s home, and it didn’t take much for me to breach the lock. We entered, and...

...well, this isn’t good. How could this have happened? Both leaders of Bleaker’s Way were dead! After shaking off the shock of this discovery, we searched the pair of them, and the house in general for clues. The first thing to notice was the prescience of a strange, seemingly ceremonial dagger near the bodies. Spell-burns and axe-wounds were present on each of them, suggesting heavily that their argument turned violent. Trials: “...what could have happened. It looked like their argument got too heated and they killed each other, but why??” Ruin: He steepled his hands, and pursed his snout soberly. “I admit upfront that this is mostly speculation, but if I were to guess; Nivan, being a Dunmer, likely had some allegiances to Mephala, who ranks among one of the chief gods of the Dunmer pantheon. It likely left him torn in his allegiances, and he insisted to Hrol that they would need to find some way to appease her. “Hrol, meanwhile, refused the road of appeasement. His pride would not allow it, and he insisted that they fight to preserve their community. “The two argued for hours over the matter, and finally as their argument grew hotter, Nivan picked up the dagger, putting his plan for appeasement into action by stabbing Hrol. Hrol survived the initial stab, and fought back. Nivan defended himself, and the two struck each other down.” Trials: “...” I punched the floor in frustration, the meaty thwack reverberating in the small home. “Dammit! This wasn’t supposed to happen! They... they just gave Mephala what she wanted!” Ruin’s assessment was just conjecture, of course, but it seemed the most likely explanation. We returned outside into the village, and gathered the community together, to explain what has happened. We told them that their community leaders were dead, and explained to them what we believed happened...

...they did not take it well. The village erupted into in-fighting almost immediately. Splitting off, Dark Elves against Nords, they quickly went at each other’s throat. Ruin, helpfully, suggested that we should retreat before the villagers turned their ire on us. We did so quickly, heading east of Bleaker’s Way... back toward the Shrine of Mephala. Foolhardy or no, I was determined to give her a piece of my mind over all of this.

Trials: I punched the statue in frustration and growled. “You! You did this! You witch!” Mephala: Smugly. “Oh-hohoho, this is not my doing. You, little thread-tugger, made this happen. “Such an ingenious plan, you had; tell them upfront of my schemes, and then simply sit back and watch as the divides of race and paranoia cut deeper than their alleged fraternal bonds. All you had to do was shout the encouragement, and let them do the rest! “Is there a prettier sight than friends at war? Take pleasure in the strife you have caused, mortal. Take my blade as reward, and reminder, that no one escapes the Web-Spinner’s machinations. I delight in seeing how many throats you will slit with unblemished hands, and how much sleep you will lose, wondering why your efforts turn to bloodshed.”

Her weapon appeared in my pack. I cracked it open to look upon... a kataaaaaaanaaaa... ...no! No! This weapon is evil! It’s a symbol of Mephala’s heartlessness. It’s... fine, fine craftsmanship a mark of the Web-Spinner’s degeneracy. It’s... delicate curve symbolic of the curve toward depravity. The... cobalt hue representative of the color of her enemies sorrow. The... Darn it! No, I don’t want this cursed sword! Even if it looks sick as hell and has a powerful enchantment. I’m... I’d get rid of this thing, but now I’m afraid of what might happen if it fell into someone else’s hands! Needless to say, Gentle-Reader, I feel awful. I thought I was helping by warning the leaders of Bleaker’s Way about what was happening, but my good deed did not go unpunished. Was it my fault for contacting a Daedric Lord at all? Or would Mephala have simply found someone else to do her bidding? I... I actually feel kind of like Ruin, now; unsure if I can trust my instincts and judgement. Giving a warning seemed like the right thing to do, but it resulted in so much carnage and strife. I have a lot to think about. And step one will be deciding what to do with this thrice-cursed sword!

Children of BFFH, Entry 73

 “Care if I do some scouting now that we’re away from Ashengarde City?” asked Rona hopefully.  Having a character name that matched her actual name was convenient, but I still had her on my list.  When she had asked me to join her and some friends on a quest, I didn’t really expect anything as grandiose as this, nor as time-consuming.

 “Good plan.  I’ll cover the ground.” replied Holly Wood, who appeared to be a River Elf.  She had a bow and several types of swords.  Though Forest Elves were constantly fighting my people for land, River Elves were too far away to care about Muckbluck Goblins.

 I scanned my list for the player name that Rona had provided me.  “Doc” was what she had told me.  Was she actually named that?  If not, why would they call her a doc?

 “Anyone willing to carry my pack?” questioned Rona.  “Gets in the way if something attacks me.”

 “I’ll take it.  Perseverance can carry a lot.” I told her, having my character accept the moment she offered.  On one hand, a Paladin was guaranteed to be the most trustworthy ally, but handing over these ridiculously expensive packs with their even more expensive contents was insane.  Though Rona and I have been texting, we only met two days ago.

 My jaw dropped open as Rona changed into a black bird and flew away.  I’d have never guessed that her character was a shapeshifter.  Was that racial or a spell she knew?  Actually, I didn’t have a clue what any of these people could do.

 “Where’s Holly?” I questioned, realizing I couldn’t see her.  “I was going to assist her, since my stealth is decent, despite my armor.”

 Damien’s laughter was easy to recognize, despite being muffled from the coffin he was in.  “You’d never keep up.” he insisted.  I certainly hadn’t expected several characters to be vampires.  They all had very stereotypical coffins, hauled in a wagon covered by a canvas.

 “What Greythorn is trying to tell you is that Holly is a Ranger, as in the title.  She’s the best tracker and scout among us in the wilds.” explained Peredur, a tall fairy-like boy brown hair and gossamer wings.  He looked like a type of melee combatant with several weapons strapped to him.

 According to my list, that was… Four?  I really hoped his parents hadn’t numbered him.  I was fairly sure my clan had a NPC Ranger, but I didn’t have a clue what a player had to go through to get the title.

 “That does sound advantageous.” I admitted, wishing I knew more than that these were Four’s friends.  None of them sounded like adults, but did they all know Damien in person?  “If you don’t mind my asking, how did all of you meet?” I questioned.

 There was a brief pause before anyone replied.  Then Anima said, “Excluding Rona, we’re the children of Best Friend For Hire.  We all grew up playing this together where our parents work.  Since you’re going to see some strange things from my character anyway, I might as well tell you that my mom is the game’s developer, giving my character a unique inheritance.”

 Anima looked like a human priest.  She wore a perfectly white robe with silver trim and a black belt that held her morningstar and a dagger, so I assumed she was a healer, though most people focused on healing also carried a shield.

 “She means to say we inherited some admin-like abilities.” asserted Justine, sounding giddy.  Justine was probably human, though her skin and hair were perfectly white.  She wore a short skirt and a tight-fitting top, both in black.  The gold stripes on them made her look like some sort of superhero.  Lifting the enormous hammer strapped to her back would take inhuman strength outside of the game.

 Messy and Crazy were the supposed names of these two.  Was Rona just messing with me, or did they really call one another that?

 “So you’re sisters?” I asked, trying not to say anything embarrassing as my brain struggled with the idea that I was playing Ancient Tribes of Earth with the creator’s daughters.

 As Justine laughed, Anima said, “No.  Technically, she’s my niece, but we’re about the same age.  My sister is older.”

 “When you say admin-like, what sort of abilities do you have?” I asked hopefully.  Realizing she might not want to tell me, I quickly said, “Sorry.  I am curious, but you don’t have to say, though knowing what all of you can do might help if we get into a fight.”

 “Just listen to Ella or Four.  Ella probably remembers you exist by now.  She’s our de facto battle master when Four doesn’t take charge.  He’s our leader.” explained Kyduan, whom Rona named Aid.

 “Remembers I exist?” I prodded, not sure what to think of that.

 “Ella has very poor short-term memory.” explained Anima.  “As for my abilities, I can do things like this.” she stated just as an elephant appeared next to me.  “I ran into some trouble a few months ago, so I’ve been working at leveling my unique skills.  I can summon a large variety of the game’s creatures now.”

 “I spawn weapons, not creatures.” asserted Justine, using the shrug emote.

 “Okay…  so Anima is a healer with beast summoning, and Justine is a fighter?” I asked to confirm.

 “Yes, I primarily heal, so good way to think of us.” replied Anima.

 “I’m working on a Wizard title, so I have a very large number of diverse spells.” supplied Kyduan.

 “What’s that one give you?” I asked, feeling curious.

 “A flat twenty-five percent off on spell cost, twenty-five percent increased effect, and a number of unique spells.  The real trick to getting it is keeping all spell skills balanced for an extended period.  I have to do non-combat spells constantly to keep them on par with my other spells.” he explained.

 “If we explain what we can do, will you be able to remember which is which?” questioned Ada, who was walking by Adele, Adeline, and Adelaide.  The only distinct difference between the Elven girls were their weapons.

 I wasn’t even certain what type of Elves they were.  “I’ll certainly try, but… why did you make your characters so similar?”

 “We’re quadruplets.” stated Adeline, though she sounded exactly the same to me.

 Then Adelaide said, “Identical quadruplets.”

 “We’re used to matching.” added Adele.

 “I go to school with identical twins, but I haven’t met quadruplets before.” I admitted.

 Before I could say more, Holly came running toward us, calling “Hármann raiding party coming our way on blighthounds.”

 “How many?” asked Peredur immediately.

 “Around thirty.  I didn’t take the time for an accurate count, but I didn’t see any Pride Marks.” she replied.

 If I remembered right, Hármann painted their bodies as displays of their previous victories.

 “I took count!” exclaimed Rona as she came swooping down to land on Peredur’s shoulder. “Thirty-three of them.”

 “Can you control your minions from the air?” asked Four.

 “You bet!” she exclaimed.

 “Try to get them around to flank while flying circles over the Hármann party.” ordered Four.  “We’ll move to intercept, so Megwrn can see what we can do.  Ella, ambush plan.”

 Seemingly without even needing time to think, Ella said, “Right.  Mounted Hármann.  Aid stay with the cart and give the vampires cover on my mark.  They’ll charge in from the side after we engage.  Doc will create a trench in front of their charge, aiming to trip their mounts.  Then standard wall and assault formation.  Rona, use your magic to keep them funneled after the trench is deployed.  Some might try to escape the open side of our formation.  Messy, summon something ferocious if any get through the walls.  Layla, you’re part of the wall, so front line on the left, please.”

 “Wait.  My duty is to first try to make peace first.  As violent as they are, Hármann are intelligent.” I explained, knowing my new friends weren’t experienced at playing with a Paladin in their party.  “Also, what minions?”

 “Rona’s a Necromancer.  Don’t worry.  They’re not inherently evil.” supplied Justine.

 I had no experience with necromancers at all, so I had to take her word for it.  I was a little disturbed that I missed the fact we had Undead following us somewhere nearby.

 “In that case, hurry off to meet them.  When diplomacy fails, charge toward that thicket.” ordered Ella as she made her character point.  “We’ll reach there in time to hide.”

 I replied with the nod emote and hurried off.  This wasn’t how I was used to playing, but the experience would be good.  Small parties of my Goblin brethren rarely accomplished much compared with guilds like The Garde, and my solo play was largely just role-playing with the game’s NPCs.

 Spotting the raiding party, I rode out toward them, reigning Perseverance in a good fifty meters from them and casting Divine Presence to make me more noticeable while increasing my voice range.  Then I activated diplomacy and called “Please, stop and speak with me!”

 The riders turned as a group toward me and started speeding up.

 “If you do not slow yourselves, I’ll take that as a sign that you’re looking to fight.” I told them, frowning when there wasn’t a reaction.  With a sigh, I charged toward the thicket.  Diplomacy rarely worked on raiding parties, but I still hoped to pull it off eventually.  As I rode, careful not to outpace the raiders by too much, I pulled Hamchopper to the ready.

 When my mom decided to retire from the game, she had gifted me her giant cleaver, Hamchopper, as well as her armor and other gear.  Nekopawpaw had made Hamchopper a couple years ago as a special order through Uncle Mick, and the cleaver had proven its worth through countless fights.  Without the great gear, I probably wouldn’t have managed becoming a Paladin.

 Hearing the sounds of Hármann screaming behind me, I glanced back to see the back lines crashing into the front as a large pit opened in the ground.  By the time I was looking ahead again, spells and arrows were flying past me.  I hurried around to take my place, jumping off Perseverance as I reached the end of the line.

 A moving cloud of darkness charged into the Hármann raiders from the side, and the screams intensified.  When a zombie leaped onto the back of a Hármann who had attempted to flee, I realized that the fight wouldn’t even reach me.  I had seen some similar one-sided victories from the great warriors of my clan, but I never expected such a feat from other kids.

My response to Hiro Mashima’s recent interview

So I was going to let this slide as I do all of his interviews, but man oh man... Hiro Mashima just had to be Hiro Mashima. Now you can find the interview here, but man, this fucking guy.

Q=Interview Question M=Mashima

Q:How did you feel the first day you woke up and didn't have to work on Fairy Tail?

M: I was actually kind of lonely and sad, so I started doodling.

Yeah, your twitter has been kinda full lately...

Q: Fairy Tail is relatively new compared to other “classic” manga and anime series, but it is already considered a classic among fans. How does this make you feel?

M: I am really glad to hear that.

No. No. FT is nowhere near classic. It definitely came out in the golden age of manga (Big 3, Toriko, SNK, etc) and is still apart of its era, but I doubt that people will still care for it as much as they do now in 5 years from now.

Q: Both Rave Master and Fairy Tail are fantasy works. Have you ever considered doing something outside of the fantasy genre?

M: I personally just really love fantasy works in general, so if I do a new series, I would like to try to make it fantasy again. Rave Master was about friends saving the whole world, but Fairy Tail is about closer-knit relationships. So if I do another fantasy story, I would like to try a different approach.    

How’s about friends going on a journey and having a point to everything? Y’know what a shounen series is in general.

Q: Have you ever considered revisiting Rave Master?

M: At the autograph sessions, I have been experiencing a lot of people actually requesting characters from Rave Master, but I realize that I have forgotten how to draw a lot of the characters from that series, so it might be hard to revisit it.

Well great to know the thing that made you famous in the first place isn’t worth remembering how to draw. I mean seriously I know it’s been 11 years, but you have to at least remember something

Q: Many comic book artists have said that they know the last page of the series before they start. Was that the case for Fairy Tail?

M: I honestly didn't have any idea what the last scene of the story was like in my mind when I started the series. The fact that I didn't know what was going to happen next was actually the best part of working on this series. For example, when there is a cliffhanger where the characters are in a really tight spot, the fans wonder what is going to happen next? Well, that's actually my question and I really have to think about it.

Dude... You’re the author, it is your job to know this! This isn’t a game that you can just wing it and if it fails you can try again, this is a published series with a large following. You need to do it justice, that is the job of a mangaka.

Q: You have traditionally used more Western influences in your work. What kind of Western work do you draw inspiration from?

M: About 30 years ago in Japan, there was a huge boom of RPG fantasy games, so those are where I got my inspiration from. For example, Dragon Quest and Final Fantasy.

No surprises there...

Q: In the world of Fairy Tail, are the magic powers something you inherit or can you obtain them if you work hard enough?

M: In the world of Fairy Tail, if anyone wants to learn a new magic, if they train themselves hard enough, they should be able to. There are a lot of characters who are training themselves to learn a different kind of magic. However, in the guild of Fairy Tail, everybody is collaborating and working together, so most of those characters work on their own talents and refine them so they are able to give more help to the others.

SO Magic is something everyone can use? Then what was the whole point of 90% of the population can’t use magic? Did they just not give a shit about having awesome powers?

Q: I find Zeref very interesting. He isn't your typical bad guy and he is sort of a tragic figure. Why did you decide to make him like that?

M: I didn't want a typical bad guy. I kind of combined all of the elements I had been cultivating and inserted edit into this character, and he became a really highly complex character. 

Then you proceeded to shit all over his character in the final arc. Guess that was the real tragedy.

Q: Everyone likes the female characters in Fairy Tail. They seem to be both strong and sexy at the same time and self-confident. How did you go about making such balanced female characters?

M: This is actually kind of what I like in females. This my personal taste so I inserted it into the character. It's kind of my wish.

Maybe the female characters started out that way, but they sure as shit didn’t stay that way. Lucy became completely pointless in the last arc, Juvia has no personality outside I love Gray, Erza is an unintentional parody of over powered characters, Wendy is a walking Deus Ex Machina, Can needs her dad to solve anything in the end, and Mirajane has zero to any existence in this series.

Q: Is there a particular character you wish you had more time to develop?

M: One of the characters that I think of is Acnologia. In my mind I had a deeper setting for this character. But the story is from the main character's point of view, so I couldn't really do that. I may have some time to explore the story of Acnologia at some point.

No, you can fit in a character’s back story whenever you fucking like. In fact, seeing something from another character’s point of view is important to understand them. Though after seeing that Acnologia is just upset about a girl, I don’t think we need more.

Q: In terms of design, Fairy Tail is unique when it comes to designs.  A lot of the characters change their outfits throughout the series. How do you go about changing the characters’ clothes?

M: Every time I actually make a costume change, there's usually something that I didn't like about the character design so I refresh them. But sometimes I think maybe the previous character design was better so I kind of go back and forth.

Fair enough, you keep their normal look consistent enough.

Q: What Fairy Tail character will you miss the most?

M: There is a character named Brandish. I wish I could draw more of her.

And yet she didn’t make an appearance in the last chapter

Q: In the American comic book industry, it is common for multiple people to work on the same comic. In Japan, one person entirely writes the whole thing. In America, the creators may have died and people are still writing the series. What are your thoughts on this process?

M: One of the great things about American comics is that so many people can work at once to turn it into a movies or different types of comic books or media and that carries over overseas. In terms of manga, it usually one person thinks of the story and everything is centered on that one storyline, so, if there is an opportunity to branch off, that's actually a good thing. In terms of Fairy Tail, a lot of people love the world view of Fairy Tail, so it is actually possible to expand the story into a spin-off taken over by another creator, so it is kind of diversifying the intellectual property.

Yeah surprising how much better it is when it isn’t solely in your

Q: In American spin-offs, they worry a lot about continuity. Did you worry about that over the 11 years you worked on Fairy Tail?

M: I was thinking about it a little bit, but it wasn't the highest priority. It is more important to me to make the story exciting and really portray the emotions of each character. So if the fans find some flaws in the continuity, I am actually excited to know that people are reading that much into it.

Fuck you. No seriously fuck you. Stop being a writer and start being just an artist because that is not the tone of a writer. There are people who would trade their souls just for FT’s popularity or writers who wish they could make this series, and yet you are the one who has it... Go fuck yourself Hiro.

Q: Sometimes in Fairy Tail characters die, but they always come back. Why did you decide to both this?

M: This has to do with the fact that in Rave Master, a lot of characters actually died and it turned out to be a sad story. When you are working on a manga in a magazine, it is up to the reader's polls and feedback whether you can actually stay in the magazine. To be quite honest, the chapters that have the death of a really important character get a lot of reaction. Knowing this, I really wanted to make sure that people don't die in my series.

Yeah but rave was also an infinitely better story. Also that is the sad truth about popularity,but you should always be sure to do what’s good, not what’s popular.

Q: If you were in the world of Fairy Tail and you could have three people on your team, who would it be?

M: Lucy, Erza, and Juvia.

Well now I know what your personal wet dream is...

(There’s more, but I’ve responded to Everything I’v needed to. Hiro Mashima as a person, might not e a bad guy, but Hiro Mashima the author is fucking infuriating)

Day 1 Sequence 5

Night had fallen and Raven found himself back at Fortuna’s, sitting at the counter while Marie and her girls tended to the masses of customers at the packed tavern. The morning crowd had been weary but with a kind of focused determination. Now the mood was downright festive, and a haze of revelry seemed to spill out of the tavern into the streets. The last of the Griefers had fled shortly after he and Carlos had blown the gunnery ship. No other ships had come. The rest of the day had been spent cleaning up, and now, with the work day behind them and victory coursing through them, the locals of Southport were ready to celebrate.

Raven wished he could share the enthusiasm. Instead, he watched Marie work. She juggled and twirled a series of bottles, pouring and mixing into a large, elaborate sundae glass. Sparks and streams of tiny lightning bolts crackled around her hands as she went, and, when Raven thought the drink looked finished, Marie set both hands straight on either side of the glass. A bolt of something like lightning but not shot through the glass. Whatever was inside changed color, from amber to electric blue. 

She stuck in two sparklers and placed it in front of Raven. 

“This one’s from the master of the fishmongers’ guild. Be sure to drink up; he’ll notice if you don’t.” She nodded across the tavern and Raven turned to see a portly man in a battered hat raise a glass in his direction. Raven waved back with an uncertain smile before looking back to Marie. She was all smiles and nameless menace. Raven struggled to imagine her almost single handedly taking out an invading land force, but also had no doubt that she’d done so, as easily as Carlos had suggested. The effort to reconcile the two Maries made his head hurt.

He considered the drink. It was the latest in a series of drinks and dishes the locals kept ordering for him. Helping Carlos sink the Griefer ship had earned him no small amount of good-will from the people of Southport. Details had been lost in the telling and retelling. According to the chatter in the bar, he had stormed the destroyer, single handedly taking on the crew and giving Carlos the time needed to sabotage the guns. Carlos had told him succinctly to not correct them. He wondered why. He took a sip and felt something buzz along his tongue. The static around the pancakes, he thought. He wanted to ask how she did that. Instead he asked, “Are the sparklers really necessary?”

Marie winked at him. “I’ve got half a master’s in elemental-mancery, and a minor in mixology. The sparklers are absolutely essential.” She emptied her hands and placed herself directly in front of Raven, giving him the full force of her attention. “Now tell me what’s eating at you, hon. You’re a hero tonight, you should enjoy it.”

“I guess so. What will happen to the Griefers who didn’t get away?” Raven asked. In the wake of the attack and subsequent retreat, some forty odd surviving raiders had been captured. Raven had seen the Griefer bodies being loaded onto a palette by some of the Southport denizens, but he had no idea what would become of any of them.

“Hmm.” Marie paused for a moment. “Once we make sure that none of them are in immediate danger of dying, we’ll pile them onto a barge, along with their dead and tow them out to the edge of their territory. After that they’ll be on their own.”

“So you just leave them?” Raven asked, a twinge of defeat in his voice. 

“Hon, you gotta understand,” She said with a look of pity. “Griefers are something else. You can’t just put them to work in the yards under supervision like you would with your basic troublemakers. They hurt people. They kill people. If they think they can’t get away, they hurt as many people as they can and then kill themselves. The safest way to deal with them short of killing them, is to send them back where they came from and trust their fellow assholes to come pick them up.”

Anxiety squirmed under his skin. “I guess I just don’t get it. Things seem so… harsh out here.” Raven sulked into his manically cheerful drink.

“That what’s got you down, hon?” Marie smiled and raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Like, Carlos. I don’t know… I don’t understand. I don’t feel like much of a hero. Carlos did most of the work after all. And I guess I thought Carlos was a good guy. Like we were fighting to save the town! But he just wanted the money? Maybe? And also, he fights dirty. Not like a hero at all.” Raven sank into his stool. 

Marie laughed, a full bodied sound that, near the end, leaned a bit towards cackling. “I’m trying, but I don’t think I can imagine Carlos’ face if he heard you accuse him of being a hero!” Marie looked down for a moment as she got herself under control. Still smiling, she looked at Raven. “Was this your first fight?” 

“No way,” he said, determinedly. He wasn’t that much of a rookie. “I’ve fought Shamblers, and Rollers, and Mechs… I fought a Doom Rat and a bunch of Walkers just this morning!”

“I mean against people, dummy.” She smiled. “I’m guessing this was your first time fighting the kind of monsters who choose to be monsters?”

“But, they’re still people though!” Raven nearly jumped out of his seat.  “I can’t just cut them down like, like Shamblers!”

The smile slid from her face. Marie looked somber. “Shamblers used to be people too, you know.” 

Raven paused, his brow furrowed. It was easy to forget that the undead had lived, were people once. Did Marie and Carlos think of Griefers like Shamblers? What did she mean that they chose to be monsters? That they too, used to be people?

Marie smiled. “Look, babe. I think the world needs more people who want to be heroes. But the world is messy, and the good guys aren’t always nice guys. Don’t mind Carlos. He just thinks he has an image to keep up so folks leave him alone. Where do you think the money to fix the damage to the town is coming from? Or the tab for this party?”

Raven suddenly was struck with realization. “...You mean when Carlos talked about salvaging or selling the ship we sank?” 

Marie’s smile was back and broad as the horizon. “You worked hard today, babe. Take the night off and try to have fun.” Then she slid out from behind the bar and disappeared into the crowd. Raven looked down and found a sandwich under his nose.

Marie drifted through the assemblage of friends, neighbors, and patrons. She let the current pull her leisurely to the ‘Grown Up’s’ Table in the back corner. It was a private joke, Marie had with herself. Carlos and Poliviralos could sit at any table or counter in the bar individually, but when the two of them were together, they invariably huddled together at the table in the elevated corner of the tavern, like a couple smugglers discussing a deal. Always so serious. Marie enjoyed laughing at them. Just a little.

Tonight, as the two conspirators conversed they looked especially intent. Marie would allow it; this had been one hell of a day. And it wasn’t as if she had good news.

The table was covered in papers. As she drew closer, Marie saw they were charts and maps of the outer ring. Carlos had found something, then.

She pulled up a chair. “I’ve left your boy at the bar, Carl. I’m afraid we’ve caused him to have something of a crisis of morality; he thought you were a hero, you know.” Carlos pulled a face. Something between a wince, a smile, and a glare. Marie carefully filed it away among her happy memories. “Don’t worry!” she grinned, “My girls have him well in hand.”

“Hopefully they’ll leave enough of him for me to send back to the city tomorrow,” Carlos grumbled. He had been until a moment ago engaged in serious discussion with Poli, the Southport Librarian, and local sage.

“He’s had a long day. We all have.”  She paused, looking down for a moment as she gathered her thoughts. She leveled a bright smile and hawk-like gaze at the two men at the table. 

“So. Did any of that seem strange to you?”

Carlos and Poliviralos each raised an eyebrow. The old librarian quipped, “You mean their bringing a destroyer all the way up to the harbor, or your deciding to jump into the fray and bring a ruinstorm to a knife fight?”

Poliviralos was a short, dark skinned older man who had looked to be in his early 70s for the last four decades. He wore a purple paisley waistcoat, small round reading glasses, and short, wiry, white dreadlocks that flared in all directions from around a balding crown.

Marie shrugged. “What can I say? They knocked on my door and I came out to greet them.”

It was true that Marie rarely took such a personal interest in the town’s Griefer misadventures. Their raids tended to be smaller affairs, carried out in the dark of night. Griefers invariably came  to steal food, medicine, or other supplies from dockyard warehouses. Night shift workers, sailors, and fishmongers were usually more than enough to drive them away and finish mopping up long before they came within sight of her bar.

Carlos coughed. “Circling back to the matter at hand. Our xenophobic friends are trying something new, and that may mean that we could soon have bigger issues than a charred pier to concern ourselves with.” He gestured towards the stack of papers unrolled on the table.

Poliviralos nodded. “It’s not unusual for them to raid in the wake of a storm, but considering that they brought cannons into the harbor proper this time, it is strange that their artillery didn’t make more of a mess.” 

“Because they weren’t aiming for the town.” Carlos stood over the table and shifted the charts, bringing the map of Southport to the top of the pile. “Look here. Their targets are marked, and each mark has a corresponding line to the barrier wall. They didn’t shell the entire town because they were there to check trajectories. Every spot they hit was a target along one of these arc lines. They were aiming for the vent shutters on the wall, and testing arcs to go over it.”

Marie scrutinized the lines on the map, comparing them to another page showing elevation drawings with dotted line firing arcs into and over the Barrier Wall. “So they’re looking to shell the inner ring? Those cannons didn’t seem to pack enough punch to do more than scuff the lower Wall. Let alone hit the vents or arc over it.”

“Well I suppose it makes sense.” Poliviralos leaned back in his chair. “They can’t take back the city so they want to destroy it. They’ve been salty about their exile for a hundred years. I expect they’ll be salty at the municipal offices forever, but those guns aren’t going to breach the wall, even if they could reach the vents.”

“Unless they get bigger guns.” Carlos said matter of factly. “Which begs the question of where they plan to get those guns, and their munitions, and a platform large enough to hold steady when they fire cannons that big. Does anyone believe that the bastards have had those kinds of resources at their disposal, and just haven’t used them until now?”

“I have an idea about that.” Marie interjected somberly. She had been holding onto her discovery since she had watched the Griefer forces scurrying away to their boats. She thought of their ultimate cowardice, and the face of their commander. He had stood proud even as his men beat their craven retreat, as if knowing some haughty secret, shared nonchalantly within a circle of wretches and profiteers.

Marie leaned forward, low over the table, bidding the two conspiratorial grown ups closer and lowering her voice. “Whatever the Griefers are up to, Mercer has a hand in it. I saw the foreman from their shipyards talking to the Commander of their ground forces, and someone dressed all in black. Hood, robe, mask, whole package. Now, the attack was nowhere near their yards, so it’s no surprise that they didn’t come to help, but did you notice how many of their ships were docked when the Griefer’s hit? None. All their ships being out of the harbor, and a foreman talking with a Griefer right in the open is brazen even for them. I can’t figure what they would get out of it though. Mercer is all about the bottom line. Maybe it could just be protection money, but what if Mercer is supplying the Griefers?” 

“Hrm” Carlos grunted. “Not as if Griefers take cash for payment. Whatever their deal is though it involves an artillery barrage over our town and the Griefers getting their hands on some big damn guns. So it is decidedly our business.”

Poliviralos scowled down at the table. “As much as most everybody around here would love an excuse to tear down the Mercer Yards and run the jackals off the island, one witness is weak tea, even if that witness is you, Marie. It’s enough to stir up a mob maybe, but not enough to hold up in arbitration.” He shook his head, casting off his dire musings. “You said there was a third party?” 

“Yeah. Generic hooded weirdo.” Marie said, her voice tinged with tired frustration.

Carlos put his thumb to his temple, leaning back with similar fatigue. “Not like there’s ever a shortage of new cults, but not many that ever show up in the outer ring.” 

Marie nodded. “So you agree that our mysterious third party hails from inside the wall?”

“Well, Wreckers are certainly big enough assholes to be a part of something like this,” Carlos said contemplatively, slumping in his chair. “But besides them, I can’t think of anyone else on the outer ring. Wreckers might leave the yards sometimes to sell their scrap, but their fashion sense doesn’t include robes or hoods. So yeah, I figure that our well dressed third party is from inside the wall.”

Poliviralos looked thoughtful. His eyes cast down at the maps and charts on the table. He smiled a wry grin.  “We should at least consider the possibility that it is just some sort of trade for protection. Or that the foreman could be working with the Griefers independent of the rest of the consortium for his own gain.” Marie and Carlos looked at him skeptically. “The ships being out to sea during the raid could be a coincidence, or one man’s meddling with shipping schedules.”

Carlos sneered and chuckled to himself, considering. “Could well be. But I doubt it. I could see Mercer paying off the Griefers to leave them alone, but an individual foreman taking on that sort of deal in service to the entire company doesn’t make sense except as a fall guy.”

“Buuuut,” Marie rolled her eyes to the side, “it does give us a place to start!” She smiled. Her face then turned to a scowl as she thought about the damage wrought by the day’s events. “And after today, I know I’d love to have a word with that foreman.”

Piloviralos laughed. “That might be a worthwhile conversation indeed. Particularly given your delicate touch. But better if we can link him to his new friends in the inner ring, and find out more without alerting the Consortium via a deep fried underling.”

“Speaking of the inner ring,” Carlos nodded across the tavern at Raven, still swarmed by celebrating patrons and being teased by hostesses. The Kid was otherwise oblivious to the adults talking in the corner of the room.

“Yes, his story,” Poliviralos mused, considering. “It’s not as if we ever have a shortage of megalomaniacal sorcerers or damn fool mad scientists either. But this one could be real trouble if he has power over the Walkers.”

“Oh really?” Said Marie, her eyes widening and eyebrow raising. “Seems like I missed a beat in this story!”

“It’s not a short one.” Carlos sighed. “Ask the Kid about it and he’ll talk your ear off about it, I’m sure.” He looked weary, his gaze seemed far away. “ But the short version is that there’s a new weirdo in the deeps, and he might be a whole new flavor of pain in the ass. I managed to get through to Henrie earlier, and there’s some trouble at the Tower that they want some help with tomorrow. That could be related now I think about it”

Marie closed her eyes with a slight nod. “Well,” she pushed herself back away from the table and stood. “I should make sure that the girls don’t scar him too badly. But it looks like you and I are going to be chaperoning him to the gates tomorrow with this much business in the city proper. I’ll let you read me all the way into our Raven’s story once things die down.”

Marie turned with a slight smile, and sauntered down the steps and away from the Grown Up’s table, leaving Carlos and Poliviralos to their brooding and scheming. Quiet settled over the corner table in the dim light. The two men sat with eyes cast down, each contemplating the ramifications of the day’s discoveries. 

Carlos rapped his fingers on the table, his brow furrowed. He was glad of the Kid being there. Not just for his help in the afternoon’s adventure, but for his being there to draw the crowd, and shape the narrative. It minimized Carlos’ involvement and made it easier to slip away. Away from the attention and adulation that came from simply doing what needed to be done. 

It had been fun when he was younger, and lighter. But now it tired him. He thought about what Marie had said: the Kid had thought him a hero. What did that even mean; being a hero? Did the Kid even know? Had he given it any real thought? Carlos couldn’t remember thinking much about it before, but he did now.

To Carlos, it had always been an easy thing. The Job needed doing, the Job got done. Simple as that. Heroism was something that came after the fact;  the mythologizing that came with making the facts of the events into a story. The Job wasn’t pretty, and supposed nobility seemed irrelevant. People needed someone to do the Job, and he was good at it, from a long time back. 

Long ago, it seemed there had been someone to do the Job for him when he needed help. Then the time came for it to be his turn. He had been doing the Job long since, and now it seemed that more work had come to him.

Poliviralos interrupted his thoughts. “What about you Carlos? That boy washed up right at your doorstep, and you saved his life. How deep are you planning to go this time?” 

Carlos was silent for a moment. The kid was young. Too young, too naive, and too eager. He hadn’t yet gotten his scars or gained the hard fought understanding that the Job required. Carlos feared that the boy would get himself killed before he could. “I said I’d get him back to the inner ring where he belongs. Leave the whole thing to ASEC after that.” 

Poliviralos hummed noncommittally and, Carlos thought sourly, with some skepticism. “Well. It seems like you have things to think about, but I don’t plan to sit out a good party.” Poliviralos smiled as he rose from his chair. He picked up the staff that he had rested against his chair, and stepped with a hitch down the steps towards the celebration, leaving Carlos alone at the table.

Carlos looked out on the gathering from the corner table. A pretty picture of people celebrating their survival. A picture he stood apart from. That hadn’t bothered him for a long time. Tonight, though. Tonight something itched. It was a small itch, in a corner of his mind that he had not thought of for years. 

If Carlos could be said to have people, then these would be them. Marie at least made certain that no matter how much he might distance himself, he could not fully escape. And Raven, well, Carlos had saved his life; the Kid would be his people too now, wouldn't he? Carlos couldn't say how he felt about that. And now all of them were caught up in the middle of a gathering storm.

With any luck, they'd be able to get the Kid back to the city in the morning. That, at least, would would be one less. Gods, the Kid wanted to be a hero. If Carlos didn't deliver him back to the Sweepers pronto, he'd be looking out for the boy for the rest of his life. 

-----

<Last chapter | Next chapter>

Honey and Wine and Unspeakable Atrocities

Part 1: Black Tar and Burgundy Sheets

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11455362

This first one is set immediately after Nicias returns from Ahnmik the first time. It's kind of a fix-it, kind of just filling in the gaps. You can read here if you like, but my AO3 link is at the top

My breath caught in my throat as I pushed back the burgundy curtains to enter the dark, warm guest room. Brightly colored silks adorned the walls and chaise, soft woven rugs across the floor, and a plush bed, covered in luxurious pillows, decorated the inside. These rooms, found throughout the palace in Wyvern's Court, were often used for serpiente guests, usually of the Dancer's Guild. It was exactly the environment they would make for themselves in the Wyvern's Nest, and before at Sha'Mehay. However, the current resident was not a dancer, or a merchant, or even a friend.

Nearly the entire Cobriana line in one room, all for one visitor. Lying all but dead to the world on the burgundy bed was a young woman, maybe five or so years older than I. She had lighter skin than the avians I grew up around, but darker than the falcons who had delivered her. Her hair looked almost identical to my own taut black curls long and splayed out around her head like a halo. The only difference there was the shimmering red highlights dyed by magic. It looked like a fire scorching across smoke. She had been called Hai.

Every bit of her was Cobriana, except for a few things here and there, and one big thing. Her wings lay broken and battered behind her back, stained and dripping with an endless black tar that seemed to vanish a few moments after it dripped in huge clumps against the ground and bed. The tar kept bubbling to the surface of her angry, fiery wounds. I imagined she must be in incredible agony, awake or not.

Diente Zane and Tuuli Thea Danica, my parents and the only people whose advice I wanted most in the world, stood stoically in a far corner of the room. A united front, as always, perfect mixture of both worlds. Mother looked wonderingly at the form on the bed. Among the serpiente, she always made a conscious attempt to display her emotions freely. My Aunt Irene leaned lazily against Zane, anxiously running her fingers through her long, black hair. The melos tied around her waist, along with the revealing emerald green dress she wore, told me she'd run straight from Wyvern's Nest. I wondered idly if Salem was following close behind.

I crossed the room to stand next to my parents, opposite Kel and the falcon who called herself Darien. As I got closer, I examined Hai's face. She had the features of the gods and goddesses, demi or otherwise, associated with stories I'd heard the serpiente tell. I'd come to associate those features with falcons, with Nicias and Kel. My own face was more angular, more avian. My cobra parentage rounded my face more than my mother's, but Hai's looked like it had come straight from paintings or mosaics depicting Kiesha's days. I watched, as if an optical illusion, as her face changed emotion with ever angle- from serene, to angry, sadness, frozen in fear, and, amusingly, a smirk. I shuddered.

Magic unnerved me.

“Anjay and I were lovers,” Darien began her explanation. Irene snorted loudly, interrupting. Darien turned her head crisply towards her.

“Yes, I gathered that much,” she retorted. I resisted a chuckle- despite the obvious falcon wings, folded behind her broken and burned, Hai was as Cobriana as I was. My uncle, Anjay, was the only cobra to ever be a guest on the White Island of Ahnmik. It wasn't hard to figure it out.

Darien continued. “I was going to send word to him, but he was killed before I was able.”

The atmosphere in the room shifted slightly. Anjay had been killed by my mother's brother, Xavier, afer he'd killed my mother's original alistair, for revenge after an avian killed my aunt, Sisal, and her unborn child, after someone killed someone on their side after some killed someone else after so much revenge and bloodshed stretching back a thousand years so that it was untraceable. My family had a rule about not blaming each other, or using strong words. There was too much at stake, and by now we loved each other too much to approach those topics like that. It always felt so odd when others did so callously.

I hardly noticed that Darien had continued talking the whole time. “Shortly after Hai's birth, the Empress branded me a traitor, and I was locked away until Nicias freed me. Quemak, mongrel children, are forbidden to be conceived.”

Mongrel children. I swallowed hard at the description of not just my cousin lying out on the bed, but myself. I wondered how much she and I felt in common, being of two different worlds, yet also of none. It was an ache that no one else could ever understand. At least, I had thought.

My mother stepped forward, extending a hand to the falcon. “Thank you for bringing us to her, of course she is welcome here,” she said warmly, and Darien gave her her hand, smiling wryly.

“Is she?”

It was no secret that falcons made everyone in Wyvern's Court nervous. They were of the same origins as the serpiente, but allied with the avians in the war for years. Since our peace, they had been nothing but nuisance and pain. And regarded us as little more than insects. Still, two members of our Wyvern's of Honor were born falcons, and their son was my best friend. None of us were a inherently mistrustful people.

“Of course,” my father answered, his face a stone mask. It was a trick he'd learned from years mingling among the avian court. They expected everyone to wear one, physically or emotionally. He was far from a master at concealing his feelings, but adept nonetheless. I, however, had twenty years of being his daughter to practice in reading him.

His eyes were trained on Hai's face, unmoving, unyielding. Studying him, I could guess everything he was feeling. He was looking back in time, the last imprint his older brother had left on this world. His last gift, in a way. He undoubtedly felt a strong desire to protect his brother's only daughter. At the same time, he was looking at the previous Arami's eldest child. The only possible threat to his daughter's rule. A potential pretender to the throne- Anjay was beloved by the people. But he was also beloved by my father, and his child would be too.

Salem burst into the room at that instant, pushing curtains aside and practically running over to his mother's side. I noted his long hair tied up in what must have been a time consuming process, his golden yellow melos around his waist, and side-slit pants, I wondered what possible dance he could have been practicing.

He took his mother's hands in his own, asking questions with his eyes only. Irene gestured to the bed, and Salem turned to look.

“Son, meet your eldest cousin, Hai.”

Salem, without missing a beat, took a large step over to the bed, staring quizzically at Hai's Cobriana hair and jaw, coupled with her falcon wings and nose. He glanced up at Darien, still wearing her demi-form wings, for a moment, before back down to our cousin. With his back turned towards me, I couldn't see his face. I wondered if he thought the same thoughts that plagued my father.

As if having read my mind, Darien repeated the same statement she and Nicias had made earlier. “Unfortunately, she's unlikely to ever awaken. Nicias and I have tried everything possible, and she refuses to be pried from her place.” She met eyes with my father, her silver eyes turning violet. “I only hope that here, in this land of freedom and peace and serpents and birds, she has sweeter dreams.”

I shuddered again.

Salem, ever the friendly dancer, smiled diplomatically at Darien. “Of course! She's family, and she belong with the Cobriana.” He stated it like undisputed fact, and I knew we all agreed with him. Salem moved closer to the bed, taking a downy blanket and spreading it across Hai's body. For a moment, she looked serene again.

Salem shouted in pain, jumping back and grasping his arm guardedly. He looked back at Hai, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He let his arm go, and I watched as a slash formed across his bicep, blood beading and beginning to flow slowly down. Irene gasped in horror.

Darien crossed the distance to stand between Salem and Hai. She seemed almost more protective of Salem than her own daughter.

“I am so sorry, I had no clue she would lash out with her magic,” she explained. Before Salem had a moment to protest, Darien grabbed his arm and closed her eyes. When she opened them, they gleamed purple again. She removed her hands from his arm, and not only was the cut completely healed, but the blood seemingly evaporated. Salem rubbed absentmindedly at his arm and glanced back at Hai, whose face was now warped in anger.

“I think the surroundings here are still unfamiliar to her. She has never been around a cobra before, much less every last one left. I'm sorry,” she bowed her head in defeat. A moment later, she turned to Kel, smiling again. “I do have an idea, if you would help me?”

Kel tensed, but nodded. I wondered exactly how well they had known each other, if Darien was the only thing Kel remembered from her previous life.

Darien scooped up Hai effortlessly in her arms, wrapping her in the Cobriana black blanket.

“Royal blood calms her. Would it bother you if I let her stay near Nicias, at least for now?” she asked. I couldn't help but notice the way she bat her eyelashes at Kel.

Kel visibly hesitated around the phrase “royal blood” being used to refer to her son, but agreed nonetheless. She bowed to my parents, dismissing herself to follow Darien as she simply left. I could hear soft, but curt, conversation as they disappeared down the hall.

For a moment, we all stood in pained silence. There had been a lot in such a short amount of time, and we were unsure how to react. Within half an hour, we had found out that we had a missing family member, of parentage that was so foreign it felt like myth, and watched her be carried away. My head was still spinning, struggling to catch up. It felt unreal. Salem was the first to speak up, with a raised voice.

“What are we doing?” he asked incredulously, gesturing towards the empty doorway. “Oliza, that's our cousin. She's every bit Cobriana as you and me! We should be insisting she be at home here, in the palace!”

Me more than you, I resisted responding. It killed me that someone who might understand the feeling of not belonging I had was in the city, but that I might never get to speak with her. My small family somehow felt smaller the second she was taken away.

“Salem, I want her here too, but I don't know anything about what she needs, and her mother thinks it would be better for her elsewhere. I know next to nothing of falcon magic,” I admitted, my throat tight. Nicias was my only real experience with falcons, though my parents had told me of Kel and Andreios'

I think part of why Salem wanted her there so bad was a loneliness he didn't want to admit. Maybe not in the same way I felt, he still had cobra family like my father and his mother, but still lonely. Cobras were incredibly social people. And Salem could be such a hothead.

“Oliza's right. And there's nothing saying she won't be comfortable here, eventually. But for now, we know nothing about how to make her feel at home,” Irene added, reaching out to take her son into her arms. After a warm hug, I reached out to take his hand.

“Come. Let us see if we can't try to find her and Kel. Maybe we can visit her wherever she's staying for now,” I said, pulling him slightly in the direction of the curtains. He obliged, following me close behind. I heard my father and aunt begin talking in hushed whispers as the drapes fell behind us.

-

-

I know it kind of sucked but I decided it made the most sense, chronologically, to be from Oliza's POV and she had the least to feel about Anjay. I think Zane will narrate the next one. I have most of Zane and Irene's conversation after this, I just need to iron out some details. So stay tuned for that.

Connected by a Cable [Chapter Three]

"I will say that much of this game relies on the community. Yet not many may like the open world Player Versus Player activities that can happen at any moment. It could hinder or cause you to leave the game completely. But don't fear. You can always log back in after you take a break. It's not like the characters will die."

   Over the next two days, Hioshi and Yukara leveled more and more. Now reaching level Thirty Eight the two thought it was finally time to go and find the capital city. Mainly to purchase a mount for Yukara to ride on. They took a carriage system to make the trip automated but that didn't stop Yukara from sight seeing with Hioshi. Eager to see the capital, Yukara pointed out various landmarks. It also served as a good break to reflect on these few days of leveling they performed. Hioshi normally brushed the leveling experienced aside just to get to the end but in this game, he hadn't felt this kind of excitement and wonder since he was a teenager. It must of been the Player Characters being so real in their emotions and responses.    The cart turned and went along the path. Passing by lower level characters and new ones that just started the game after the initial launch. It was weird seeing the Player Characters wave at passing carts but then again, Yukara waved back as well. Almost like there was a real sense of an internal community. But the trip would finally end after some time. What would of felt like Seven Minutes to Hioshi felt more like twenty in that short time traveling. The cart stopped outside of the large imposing stone wall. Taller than anyone could see over. Spires and battlements for protection. The wall stretched far and around. Along the walls were crystals at every certain length for a light source. The gate was large enough to allow a mass exodus of people at once, and thankfully the gates were open. They past the guards that welcomed them to the city. "Welcome to The Palaxian City!"    Yukara walked deeper past the gates. The sounds she heard as well as Hioshi indicated that there were a lot of people...and we are not talking like fifty of a hundred. We speak of nearly thousands of people! The stretch of the entrance led to a high rise with two sets of stairs that went down to the ground floor. From this view, Yukara lit up with wonder...and so did Hioshi.    The City was sectioned off in three wings. One designated for Trading and vendors. Most player characters set up their shops at the plots. Some even managed to buy the highest selling type of trade post, a cart that showed their favorite mount at the reins and their character cleverly inside the carriage. While others defaulted to the rug underneath or a stall. The Computer Characters had their own shops as well and were seen as less data in recent discoveries and more like real inhabitants. Dialogue was not pre-written. It was an honest to god real response. The coloration of the banners that hung over the district made it stand out the most.    Over on the opposing side was the Tradecrafts and professions as well as trainers for classes. From this view, Yukara noticed how the Player Characters were in their own type of attire. Whether it be using the giant anvil at the forge or the various looms at the tailor's guild, they had all the professions there! Plus, it was where they had to go to learn how to ride a mount. Yet Yukara wasn't ready to just bolt over. She noticed the third district between them and while it stretched on, it contained the Inns, miscellaneous shops for reagents and even food. A restaurant or two were also noticeable. In the center of it all, a large fountain that towered over the stalls stood proudly. A statue of the supposed goddess named Mahna and her hands opened to let loose the water that trickled down to the base.    Finally, far in the distance from where Yukara stood was the castle. A giant construction of various towers that housed the important figures in this world. Among them was the Queen. Takara Waterfrost. But that place was locked to players until a certain quest was fulfilled...which none have realized yet. This all made Hioshi just soak it all in. It was a wonder to see this. Yukara then took off on her own through the middle district. "H-hey! We need to go get your mount!" he tried reasoning with the overexcited Yukara as she merely ignored him. Giggling along as she saw the people she past. The Inns were packed with players either exchanging stories or looking for certain people to do dungeons or other activities and events. She approached a vendor and on her own whim, bought a cheap meal to eat as she walked. Hioshi yelled at her again. "Come on now! We need to save that money to get your mount." to which she pouted "Okay...but after, I want to explore the city."    Hioshi guided Yukara to the Tradecraft District and started looking for the stablemaster and pens. They past by the huts that showed the other characters toiling away at their crafts, perfecting their skills like Alchemy and Enchanting weapons. It wasn't until they reached the pen did they get a warm welcome by the tutor of riding. "Well hey there, young one. You looking to learn how to ride a mount?" the man asked as Yukara nodded. "Oh yes! Is it okay if I pick my mount out first?" she smiled at him to ensure that her cute look could get away with anything. "Well...I guess I could let you look around. We got all the basics!" The man showed her to a part of the stables where various animals were kept and ready to be sold in mass. Three colored horses, two kinds of ostrich looking mounts, a large wolf, a bear and what may of been the very gem that caught Yukara's shining eyes. "BY MAHNA'S LIGHT, A TURTLE!"    Immediately she latched onto the shelled reptile as large as a horse itself, slowly gnawing and chewing on grass. Hioshi was...conflicted. "A turtle? Y-you sure you don't want a horse or even a wolf?" sure she seemed to enjoy it but the price-    "That will be One hundred, Fifty Thousand G.E.M!"    Yukara opened her bag and found their funds. One Hundred, Twenty Thousand G.E.M only. She was far too short to buy the mount. And training alone was over a thousand. Yukara's heart sank. She looked to the turtle again then at her money. Begging for a miracle in her mind. Hioshi just reclined and said "Looks like we should buy that horse now. It's cheap and reliable." but Yukara tried something unheard of by any player. She turned on a sad look, put fake tears on and asked the tutor "Mister...I-i would really love..to ride a turtle...C-can't I have it for...One Hundred Thousand please?" she sniffled to add into her lie as the Tutor was buying into it. Apparently even NPCs can be haggled.    "What? But...I mean-Oh. What's the harm? I'll sell it for Seventy Five." with a smile on her face, Yukara instantly learned how to ride the mount and appeared on top of the large turtle. The saddle was secure enough despite the turtle's running speed and yet she felt like a god. "ONWARD LANCELOT!" she shouted and decided to ride around on her turtle. She was definitely as human as many of us. Enjoying the gentle breeze as her turtle carried her to her next destination. All this happened as Hioshi just laughed at how Yukara was acting. When was the last time he laughed at all?    After enough time running about, Yukara approached the central fountain where she noticed a group of characters gathering about. Hioshi was curious about the group and approached the mass gathering. Each character, from Dwarf to Raptear and all varying classes were in the level range of Thirty Five to Forty Two. There was one who stood among the rest on top of the fountain's edge as he was in the middle of some kind of long winded speech.    "...So anyone of you willing to help take out this threat?" the human warrior player called out. Yukara did not know what he was talking about so she asked him openly "What threat? I just got here?" to which he told her "There is a Player at level Forty Eight preventing us from finishing a quest in the Salium Desert. He keeps killing us!" this of course made Hioshi remember a time in the past. He was like any noob with his friend when all of a sudden they were repeatedly killed by the opposing faction who was far too high in level for the intended zone and was being quite rude about it. Only when a person of equal level came about to their aid did they get some peace in leveling. This made Hioshi's blood boil inside. It's one thing to openly fight players in a game with equal footing, but it's not fair to those who can't even harm them back. Let alone mining their own business. Hioshi then typed out a message.    Unlike in most MMO games, typing anything into the game would come through your character. In this it comes from the actual controller. As such...    [Yukara's Master]: "We can take care of him. Our guild is skilled in handling issues like this."    Such words coming from the sphere of light over Yukara's shoulder gave hope to both the players and their characters. Yet Yukara was nervous...Really nervous. More so at the idea of fighting other player characters.    Yukara and Hioshi called his guild to meet outside the gates of the capital city and discuss things over the communication channel. Their levels ranged from Thirty Eight to Forty Five. Yet someone already at Forty Eight would prove to be quite the struggle. ----    They would make their way to the Salium Desert by traveling along the southern road out of the city. The town there was called Owai. A few buildings overlooked the land with an oasis in the center. In the distance further south lay the Ruins of an ancient civilization said to belong to the Children of Mahna.. The players said the Ganker waited among the ruins where the ending quest line had one face off against the Guardian of the Temple. Later to set up for the first raid dungeon know as the 'Vault of Origin'. Yukara and the guild discussed the plan in town.    "Alright...so the plan is to gang up on him as soon as he appears...but if we do it too fast the Ganker will most likely run off before we even get a few hits in. so we need bait." Nina and Zack thought among the group. They had other low level characters keep watch while they examined the map. It wasn't until Kael raised a hand. "I nominate myself! I have a spell to make myself immune for five second-" but then his owner interrupted. "That is a noble sacrifice, Kael...but you are a match for this Ganker. Not to mention you can heal yourself. No it has to be an easy target...someone low level...and..." his voice faded and the group looked to Hioshi and Yukara.    "M-me!?" Yukara shouted in fright. Hioshi saw it coming. With a sigh he added on "You are a good candidate for bait. We have no self heal but we do have Glacier Stone. Ten seconds is how long it lasts and that's plenty of time." They would discuss the plan further in detail before the night rolled around.     While their characters were safe in town from any PVP activity after their Masters logged off, it didn't mean they were inactive. The group treated the leveling players at the Inn with free meals and drinks to boost their stats for the next day. Yukara on the other hand decided to head upstairs and enter one of the rooms they had available. Kael noticed this and figured to bring her a meal. He asked the NPC for a special meal just for her...    He approached the room with the food in hand and knocked on the door. "Yukara? I brought your meal." He said in a soft voice. Unlike his normal show off tone. After hearing her accept his invitational knock, he opened the door to see her looking out the window at the cloudless night sky. He sat the meal down on the table and tried approaching her. "...Are you okay?" he asked. Yukara nodded "I am. The idea of acting as bait is new to me." but her frown said it all. She was nervous.    "Well...don't worry. I am sure your master knows what he is doing." he nudged the meal over to Yukara, letting her smell the aroma. "Is that...Thunderserpent Stew And Globerry Wine?" Her eyes widen at the dish. A stew warm and hearty in a light yellow broth and the wine provided was a blue tint that glowed a warm color. "B-but...How did you-" she stopped as Kael raised his arm up. Showing that he sold his bracer gear. with a grin he said "We may not be able to grind or obtain items from monsters on our own but that doesn't mean we can't sell our own items off. Now eat up. You will need every stat boost you can." explaining as Yukara felt guilty. The food in question were considered the second best meal in the game for her class, the wine was just for roleplaying flavor but the taste was divine to the Player Characters.    "T-thank you Kael! She happily stated, enjoying the meal before him. "Tastes so good!" her sigh of enjoyment came through. Kael simply chuckled at her reaction. "Take it easy. We got all night." he sat there, watching her eat. She looked up from her dish and offered a spoonful. "Do you want some?" to which Kael blushed a little. "Uhh...N-no thanks. You should enjoy it. Plus I already ate earlier with the rest."    When the meal was done, Yukara felt content as she laid on the bed. A smile across her face. "That was very filling..." she rolled on the bed back and forth as Kael was about to leave. "Get some rest. I'm sure Nina would not be happy if you were not aware. Hioshi is very lucky to have you." he let it hang, making Yukara blush and chuckle. "I'm just glad I got a smart and kind master. Like I was made for Hioshi." she let that comment out as she went to bed. It was during this night that Kael noticed his companions drunk and or passed out. One of them was Nina snoring on the table. Kael eased Nina up and carried her with care to her room. "Come on Guild Master...You can't be this indecent. No one will take you seriously..." ----    Come morning the group heard about more people being ganked by this player character. Yukara had to set out on her own while her companions camped over far away from sight. It would be risky and they would have to move in the moment the ganker showed up. She pulled up to the ruins where the person was and started with killing a few extra monsters to pretend she wasn't aware. Hioshi instructed her along the way. "Remember Yukara...don't look around. Just be yourself."    Yukara waited and waited...being patient and trying her best to hold it together. Being bait was not the easiest job in the world. Hioshi had to remind her again that if they do not do things right, the plan would fail. The pressure was getting to Yukara. She wanted to cast a spell to uncover the ganker from hiding. Then it happened! A strike from behind and the high level ganker showed herself. One strike from the shadows already put Yukara at half her health. She had to bite through the pain and press on. Using a spell to teleport a few yards away and retaliating with a quick fireblast. Being of a higher level, It wouldn't be nearly as effective as other spells. But it was not their goal. She continued with her rotation of fireball or blast and running away. Mostly to gain distance and be a 'challenge' rather than sitting and taking it.    The ganker charged forth through the barrage as Hioshi helped guide Yukara's spells. "Now!" he said, making Yukara cast an Arcane Chain spell and rooting the rogue to the ground for a few seconds. Yukara used this to gain more distance but that is when Hioshi noticed what Yukara didn't see. She broke the chains early! "Yukara, the chains!" he shouted to Yukara as she turned to see her dashing forward. Attempting to close the gap. And upon catching up she sunk her blades into Yukara, dealing more damage to her health but also restricting her spellcasting for five seconds. They only had enough health to survive two hits. The plan was getting rocky...    That is until the Ganker approached Yukara, grabbed her by the wrist and with her hand firmly around Yukara's neck she placed her back against a pillar from the ruins. She then finally said something. "You look quite adorable...It's a shame that my master wants your character dead. You do remind her of someone she hates..." her smiled under the veil as she raised a blade. There was no time to cast the Glacier Stone ability. Hioshi sat there, watching it happen. Helpless to seeing this unfold. Sure she could easily respawn after but it was like watching a friend die before your eyes unlike other games.    "Yukara. Hold on, please..."    It was at that point that Yukara used a spell just as it came up to teleport a few feet away before the blade struck her. From there, she cast her Glacier Stone in the nick of time when the ganker ran at her. Her blade deflecting off as she noticed Yukara's smile under the ice. Hioshi finally looked at the screen and was astounded by how Yukara managed to get the block up in time. That is when he heard his friends...    "STRIKE!" and his group descended upon the Ganker, pinning her down and all taking turns attacking the high level player. Widdling her health down. The numbers were clearly too much and at her last amount of health, the Ganker vanished in a cloud of smoke. When her ice spell wore off, Yukara collapsed on the ground despite narrowly avoiding a player death. She sighed and heaved in a few breaths before being helped up onto her feet by Kael. "You did amazing, Yukara."    As they went to comfort and celebrate the minor victory, a few other characters came out and looked around for any sign. "I-is she gone?" one asked before Nina replied in a loud voice. "The ganker is gone for now. If she comes back, call on us again. The New Frontier Guild. We are also looking for fresh or old players to join our raiding ranks. Apply on our website!" not wasting time to recruit, she and her controller were more than willing to actively recruit all kinds of players.    This rejuvenated the Player characters but also those controlling them. Yukara was just glad it was done... But that Ganker said that Yukara was familiar to her controller?

my heart won’t be pushed around by the lying dragon

nor succumb to its fear that was afflicted upon my seed, that was never meant to be there in the first place (as it was in the beginning...)

the point of its genesis. in peace.

and so i’ve drawn a (Full Circle) line to gently invite someone to read, and to engage in thought with me.

have you searched deep within to find the treasured seed of the Spirit of being first chosen by Love that leads the heart to open up and to welcome the entrance of Light (inside, Anew)?

to see yourself as you truly are, a pure naked heart, newly identified by a sacred act of grace to know yourself as a child of our beautiful Creator (to see yourself in the True mirror)

A point made clear in Today’s reading from the ancient book of Acts from chapter 19 that includes witches and warlocks turning to the True God and burning their books of spells and incantations:

Now, it happened that while Apollos was away in Corinth, Paul made his way down through the mountains, came to Ephesus, and happened on some disciples there. The first thing he said was, “Did you receive the Holy Spirit when you believed? Did you take God into your mind only, or did you also embrace him with your heart? Did he get inside you?”

“We’ve never even heard of that—a Holy Spirit? God within us?”

“How were you baptized, then?” asked Paul.

“In John’s baptism.”

“That explains it,” said Paul. “John preached a baptism of radical life-change so that people would be ready to receive the One coming after him, who turned out to be Jesus. If you’ve been baptized in John’s baptism, you’re ready now for the real thing, for Jesus.”

And they were. As soon as they heard of it, they were baptized in the name of the Master Jesus. Paul put his hands on their heads and the Holy Spirit entered them. From that moment on, they were praising God in tongues and talking about God’s actions. Altogether there were about twelve people there that day.

Paul then went straight to the meeting place. He had the run of the place for three months, doing his best to make the things of the kingdom of God real and convincing to them. But then resistance began to form as some of them began spreading evil rumors through the congregation about the Christian way of life. So Paul left, taking the disciples with him, and set up shop in the school of Tyrannus, holding class there daily. He did this for two years, giving everyone in the province of Asia, Jews as well as Greeks, ample opportunity to hear the Message of the Master.

[Witches Came out of the Woodwork]

God did powerful things through Paul, things quite out of the ordinary. The word got around and people started taking pieces of clothing—handkerchiefs and scarves and the like—that had touched Paul’s skin and then touching the sick with them. The touch did it—they were healed and whole.

Some itinerant Jewish exorcists who happened to be in town at the time tried their hand at what they assumed to be Paul’s “game.” They pronounced the name of the Master Jesus over victims of evil spirits, saying, “I command you by the Jesus preached by Paul!” The seven sons of a certain Sceva, a Jewish high priest, were trying to do this on a man when the evil spirit talked back: “I know Jesus and I’ve heard of Paul, but who are you?” Then the possessed man went berserk—jumped the exorcists, beat them up, and tore off their clothes. Naked and bloody, they got away as best they could.

It was soon news all over Ephesus among both Jews and Greeks. The realization spread that God was in and behind this. Curiosity about Paul developed into reverence for the Master Jesus. Many of those who thus believed came out of the closet and made a clean break with their secret sorceries. All kinds of witches and warlocks came out of the woodwork with their books of spells and incantations and made a huge bonfire of them. Someone estimated their worth at fifty thousand silver coins. In such ways it became evident that the Word of the Master was now sovereign and prevailed in Ephesus.

[The Goddess Artemis]

After all this had come to a head, Paul decided it was time to move on to Macedonia and Achaia provinces, and from there to Jerusalem. “Then,” he said, “I’m off to Rome. I’ve got to see Rome!” He sent two of his assistants, Timothy and Erastus, on to Macedonia and then stayed for a while and wrapped things up in Asia.

But before he got away, a huge ruckus occurred over what was now being referred to as “the Way.” A certain silversmith, Demetrius, conducted a brisk trade in the manufacture of shrines to the goddess Artemis, employing a number of artisans in his business. He rounded up his workers and others similarly employed and said, “Men, you well know that we have a good thing going here—and you’ve seen how Paul has barged in and discredited what we’re doing by telling people that there’s no such thing as a god made with hands. A lot of people are going along with him, not only here in Ephesus but all through Asia province.

“Not only is our little business in danger of falling apart, but the temple of our famous goddess Artemis will certainly end up a pile of rubble as her glorious reputation fades to nothing. And this is no mere local matter—the whole world worships our Artemis!”

That set them off in a frenzy. They ran into the street yelling, “Great Artemis of the Ephesians! Great Artemis of the Ephesians!” They put the whole city in an uproar, stampeding into the stadium, and grabbing two of Paul’s associates on the way, the Macedonians Gaius and Aristarchus. Paul wanted to go in, too, but the disciples wouldn’t let him. Prominent religious leaders in the city who had become friendly to Paul concurred: “By no means go near that mob!”

Some were yelling one thing, some another. Most of them had no idea what was going on or why they were there. As the Jews pushed Alexander to the front to try to gain control, different factions clamored to get him on their side. But he brushed them off and quieted the mob with an impressive sweep of his arms. But the moment he opened his mouth and they knew he was a Jew, they shouted him down: “Great Artemis of the Ephesians! Great Artemis of the Ephesians!”—on and on and on, for over two hours.

Finally, the town clerk got the mob quieted down and said, “Fellow citizens, is there anyone anywhere who doesn’t know that our dear city Ephesus is protector of glorious Artemis and her sacred stone image that fell straight out of heaven? Since this is beyond contradiction, you had better get hold of yourselves. This is conduct unworthy of Artemis. These men you’ve dragged in here have done nothing to harm either our temple or our goddess.

“So if Demetrius and his guild of artisans have a complaint, they can take it to court and make all the accusations they want. If anything else is bothering you, bring it to the regularly scheduled town meeting and let it be settled there. There is no excuse for what’s happened today. We’re putting our city in serious danger. Rome, remember, does not look kindly on rioters.” With that, he sent them home.

The Book of Acts, Chapter 19 (The Message)

and from its paired chapter of the Testaments we read in the book of Job when Job was directly confronted by God:

God then confronted Job directly:

“Now what do you have to say for yourself?

Are you going to haul me, the Mighty One, into court and press charges?”

Job Answers God

[I’m Ready to Shut Up and Listen]

Job answered:

“I’m speechless, in awe—words fail me.

I should never have opened my mouth!

I’ve talked too much, way too much.

I’m ready to shut up and listen.”

God’s Second Set of Questions

[I Want Straight Answers]

God addressed Job next from the eye of the storm, and this is what he said:

“I have some more questions for you,

and I want straight answers.

“Do you presume to tell me what I’m doing wrong?

Are you calling me a sinner so you can be a saint?

Do you have an arm like my arm?

Can you shout in thunder the way I can?

Go ahead, show your stuff.

Let’s see what you’re made of, what you can do.

Unleash your outrage.

Target the arrogant and lay them flat.

Target the arrogant and bring them to their knees.

Stop the wicked in their tracks—make mincemeat of them!

Dig a mass grave and dump them in it—

faceless corpses in an unmarked grave.

I’ll gladly step aside and hand things over to you—

you can surely save yourself with no help from me!

“Look at the land beast, Behemoth. I created him as well as you.

Grazing on grass, docile as a cow—

Just look at the strength of his back,

the powerful muscles of his belly.

His tail sways like a cedar in the wind;

his huge legs are like beech trees.

His skeleton is made of steel,

every bone in his body hard as steel.

Most magnificent of all my creatures,

but I still lead him around like a lamb!

The grass-covered hills serve him meals,

while field mice frolic in his shadow.

He takes afternoon naps under shade trees,

cools himself in the reedy swamps,

Lazily cool in the leafy shadows

as the breeze moves through the willows.

And when the river rages he doesn’t budge,

stolid and unperturbed even when the Jordan goes wild.

But you’d never want him for a pet—

you’d never be able to housebreak him!”

The Book of Job, Chapter 40 (The Message)

and a portion from Today’s chapter of Proverbs about the nature of faith:

The Words of Agur Ben Yakeh

[God? Who Needs Him?]

The skeptic swore, “There is no God!

No God!—I can do anything I want!

I’m more animal than human;

so-called human intelligence escapes me.

“I flunked ‘wisdom.’

I see no evidence of a holy God.

Has anyone ever seen Anyone

climb into Heaven and take charge?

grab the winds and control them?

gather the rains in his bucket?

stake out the ends of the earth?

Just tell me his name, tell me the names of his sons.

Come on now—tell me!”

The believer replied, “Every promise of God proves true;

he protects everyone who runs to him for help.

So don’t second-guess him;

he might take you to task and show up your lies.”

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 30:1-6 (The Message)

my reading in the Scriptures for April 30, day 42 of Spring and day 120 of the year

Married with a Dragonslayer

Chapter 1 on FF The Mission

Master Makarov gathered a select few Fairy Tail members to discuss a new important mission. Princess Hisui had come to him with a request. There were rumors spreading in Crocus about some large scale dark guilds from the other continent, wanting to establish and branch out in Crocus area. According to one of the informants, there was a meeting set up at a sketchy bar to discuss the matters at hand and where precisely to establish their headquarters. The mission : infiltrate the meeting, discover who the dark guilds are and report back. Simple right? Then WHY did Master have to choose Natsu? He could have chosen Juvia and Gajeel to infiltrate. They were part of a dark guild before joining Fairy Tail, that would have been less conspicuous. Hells, even Evergreen would've done a great job. But Master chose Natsu. I can still hear him say it : "This is an infiltrating mission, you have to blend in or you will be at risk for putting Crocus in danger." I still get sweaty palms thinking about the idea of being among dark guilds. I don't want to mingle in with dark guilds. Don't you know what they do with pretty girls like me? Good thing he hasn't chosen me.

"Lucy! You will be joining Natsu in this job". It''s as if Master could hear me thinking.

"Huh? WHAT?! You've got to be kidding me right?" I feel like sweat is pouring out of every pore. Master can't be serious right?

"ALRIGHT! I'm all revved up! Luce, lets kick some dark guild butts!" I can't believe this. Did Natsu even listen to what the Master was saying?

"Uh, Master. I really don't think I'm the most fitting person to infiltrate really" I've only been with the guild for less than a year. I know we've had some shit happen to us in the past but this is on a whole other level. "And wouldn't it be better if, you know, Natsu didn't go since he always destroys everything? Can't Laxus come along since he knows how to control himself and is super strong?" SHIT! Why did I Say Laxus? Laxus is freaking scary and I'm sure he hates my guts. "Or you know, anyone BUT Natsu, since he really doesn't fit the mission description."

"That's where you come in play Lucy, Master is confident you can keep some ropes on Natsu. You will need his powers if it takes a different turn than the Master predicted" I didn't hear Erza enter the room and her remark startles me. I can keep tabs on Natsu?

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, you guys have been going on jobs together ever since you joined Lu-chan". Wait, why is Levy siding with them?

"Half those jobs ended with us having to give up the reward to pay for reparations due to Natsu destroying everything!"

"Oh come one Luce, it will be fun! You, me and Happy, just as always! I will try not to destroy anything!" He throws one arm over my shoulder and smiles his usual smile. Just look at that confident smile of his. Well, I guess it's worth a shot if even Erza believes he can do it. After finally accepting the job, Master explained that they had intercepted and captured two members of a dark guild called 'Screaming Shadow', an upcoming dark guild, scheduled to meet with the other dark guilds in Crocus. Natsu and I were to go in their place. Sounds like an easy enough job.

"There is one catch to this job. The representatives you are impersonating, aren't just the representatives of the guild. They are also a recently married couple, still in their honeymoon phase". Erza stated in all seriousness.

"SAY WHAT NOW!?" Erza! How can you say this so casually?! I'm convinced this is the first time Natsu and I have the same reaction at the same time. The Master just gave me this look and-..

Ah, the quarter drops. Now I know why they chose us. Natsu and I get a long the best. He's always teasing me and I feel like I'm mommy-ing him most of the time, people often do mistake us for boyfriend and girlfriend. Even Lisanna thought we were an item. Oh god this is so awkward. Natsu and Lisanna were trying to rekindle their childhood feelings since she came back from Edolas. She made it very clear to me one drunk night, that she still has feelings for him when we were having a girls night out for Cana's birthday. Also, I've been on a couple of dates with Grey, and they were surprisingly really fun. It is still in a really early stage and we are getting to know each other better. But if I should believe Natsu, Grey is really interested in me. I need to snap out of this. Natsu and I are friends. We are going to be acting our way through this mission. We totally got this.

It's 2AM and I can't sleep. I've got so many thoughts and emotions running through me. What if Lisanna hates me for this, because she and Natsu are supposed to be an item, although Natsu doesn't confirm nor deny having any feelings for her. What if Grey decides that I'm not interesting enough to date anymore because of the mission. I mean, Natsu and I are supposed to look intimate together. I can't seem to shake my thoughts away. Maybe a bath will help sort my thoughts. As I get out of bed I trip over what seems like a log and face plummet onto the floor.

"Ouch, what the fu- , NATSU! WHY ARE YOU IN MY ROOM AGAIN!" I can't believe this guy! How does he even get in here after I lock all the doors?

"Lucy, why are you yelling so loud? We are trying to sleep here" I hear Happy behind me on the sofa and turn to see him rub his sleepy eyes. I honestly can't get mad seeing Happy like this, and Natsu didn't even wake from me tripping over him. "I'm sorry I woke you Happy, but maybe next time let me know so I don't trip face first over this guy here. Anyways, I couldn't sleep so I'm going to take a bath."

"Are you worried about the job, and how Lisanna and Grey would feel?" This cat is way to observing. "Lucy, I don't think you have to worry about anything. They know it's part of the job, they won't hold it against you. I mean everyone can see that you and Natsu have a special kind of chemistry." I cringe at the word chemistry. Isn't that something only lovers should have? Does this mean that everyone sees us as lovers? I sense Happy dozing off again, so I decide to tuck him in underneath his special blanket I recently bought at one of the stores not long ago. It smells a little like fish and it has a fish on it. It reeks so bad when you're up close with it, but I figured that they crashed enough times already that they should have their own blankets. As I look over at Natsu, I see he already found his in the closet. I giggle a little at the sight of them before continuing my way to the bathroom for my bath. I suppose Happy is right. I'm worrying over what ifs and maybe's.

This will be the first time i release some of my work and i’d like to hear your thoughts.

The first expansion

Chapter one: Ameliorated reality

The sun and the moon hung at their peak. Sunlight shined on the reflective waves of water, illuminating the afternoon hustle and bustle of players old and new. Green light from lit hearths and blue flames from torch fire illuminated the golden roads of Midgard highlighted on both sides by orchids and wolfsbane. I could see it all atop my giant goose as I flew from the western Sea to the eastern ocean, everything was perfect on the twenty fourth of January 2044, the day everything went to shit.

The Ameliorated Reality engine was the innovation to end all innovations in the gaming market. It was designed in north America with the original intention of working as a means of relief of physical and mental stress or degradation, however when it was discovered that treatment for such symptoms would have people paying out the ass to even experience the thrill of not being mentally fatigued, it was instead modified to work as the skeleton to a game called “North pyre online” which was released on march of 2030. Ameliorated reality allowed for people to experience stimulation through a virtual means. I forgot the exact numbers but my best guess through experience is that it multiplies the nerve signals in your brain by two, meaning whatever you do in North pyre online it feels twice as real as doing it in real life.

Gripping the feathers of my goose’s neck, I landed at the front door of a mausoleum sized log cabin, these large cabins worked as the headquarters for larger guilds in game. I hopped off the giant goose and put him in his usual resting item, a red shooter marble. I strolled into my guilds hq and walked up to the service desk. Immediately I noticed the color of my clothes change from a mix of various colors, from my Tyrian purple velvet coat and aqua t-shirt, to bright red velvet coat and gold t-shirt, the guild colors.

Secretary type AIs hold the job of manning a stronghold’s front desk and market, ours was an elven woman who reminded me of those overly peppy waitresses who don’t do much in the way of customer service other than annoy you.

“How can I help you, Keiter?”

“Don’t call me that.” I said my tone reciting familiarity and boredom, due to the many times I had to say that.

“My apologies. how can I help you, master?”

“Don’t call me that either!” I was getting frustrated already.

“What should I call yo-?”

“Look, all you need to know is my product and how much it’s worth, now how much am I gonna get for this?” I said. After dumping several pounds of raw fish, several weapons and minerals I couldn’t use, and several other miscellaneous artifacts I had no idea the purpose or worth of, I waited there for an estimate. It didn’t actually matter how much it all was worth, I just wanted to make room in my inventory.

“Hmm… 340 gold, and nine coppers is your change.”

“Keep the change, I can’t buy anything with coppers” I responded, taking the 340 gold.

I turned around to find Sarca, the guild leader, standing expectantly behind me. The name “Sarca” was spelled out over her head in violet letters, mine with indigo, and the rest of the guild had theirs spelled out with any color from blue to red. This meant that Sarca was the only member of the guild who’s been playing longer than me.

“I didn’t see you at the guild meeting this morning.” She said. Sarca played an elf mage in a red robe with silver tassels over a purple tunic. Now though the robe and tunic were red and gold just like my outfit when I walked in. “And considering your stealth score, I don’t consider that to be a good thing.”

“What do you want, Sarca?” I sighed, placing the 340 gold into my inventory.

“What I want is for you to be involved, to start thinking of this guild as anything other than a means to sell… fish!” Sarca replied, a bit peeved.

“Alright, Sarca, out with it, were is this coming from?”

“Yesterday was the guild raid on the western drow settlement, and you didn’t show up like you said you would.”

“I was fighting a Charybdis.”

“We were fighting Abaddon and his army of manticores, while trying to mine enough blood marble to finish the second floor of our new guild hall!”

“You’re the top level healer in the guild! And what, you didn’t succeed?”

“You’re the top level tank! No we didn’t succeed, we whipped!”

“Oh come on. Forty one players go into a drow settlement and none of them survive?” Sarca sighed “thirty nine now, some of the lower level players who’d died first quit the guild.”

“So, a couple of reds who couldn’t take the heat quit, how is this my problem? Look if it makes you feel any better we can kill a few hydras to make a nice dragon scale necklace for you, but until then I’m gonna watch the sunset, alright?!”

Sarca tried to argue the situation, but I was having none of it. I threw my red shooter marble like I was skipping a stone, hopped on top of my giant goose, and flew off.

I landed Herbert, I named my goose, at the top of a hill overlooking the ocean. The beach was miles away from the starting area of the game, a colossal hearth with green flames burning coldly within it. Many people go here to relax, not today. Today was the day the game makers would install the third expansion for the game. A flood of new players were logging in for the first time and buying up as much weapons, armor, and food as they can, crashing the in game marketplace in the process, and leaving lounges, like the beach, barren. I didn’t mind though, less time to associate with people, and worse failing. I don’t hate people, on the contrary I long for a friend every now and then, i just get tense around ‘people’ is all. I joined a guild, the crescent sun entente, but that’s not exactly the same thing as having ‘friends’.

Sitting down at the base of a pair of pear trees, Herbert curled up into a football shaped lump. I crossed my legs and took out the small leather sack around my neck which acted as the game’s inventory. I took out my signature weapon, a small baton that grew into a large iron battle axe once outside my inventory. Funny how we can be slaves to habit, here I am trying my best to relax and the first thing I do bring out my weapon.

I put the blade by my side and began my lounging properly.

My character in game is a felidae pirate, so I wasn’t surprised when I kicked off my boots and saw fur and four clawed toes on my feet. I was surprised when I felt how the wind flew through my fur, I still couldn’t get used to that. Next I brought out a flask of cider, for use against scurvy, and took a swig. The taste is intoxicating, and no it’s not because of the pirate flask oddly enough the one thing you can’t do in game is drink, I could feel the taste of apples clear as day, its sweetness took me over and forced a moan out of me. I found myself in a stupor, and once I’m out of it I find I’m holding a bread roll in my hand. It’s the size of a baseball and shaped like it had been tied in a knot before baking.

After a single bite a cacophony of sensations filled my mouth. The crunch of the crust occupies my teeth, the softness of the white bread fills the contours of my cheeks and softens my pallet, and the taste was hard to describe in precise terms, rest assured though it still tasted like bread.

Chewing the bread I stared at the sun and moon. The two were about to eclipse over the southern horizon. I took out my golden sundial which, among other things, was the only object in game that told time. 11:59:35 AM, 25 seconds to launch. I thought about my guild, where were they among all this chaos? 20 seconds. I gotta go down to the traders and collect some new knick knacks. 10 seconds. Maybe I’ll mess with the reds just for fun. 5 seconds. The ground began shaking and immediately I knew something was wrong.

Once the moon had covered the sun my body started glowing, the ends of my extremities and hair began sparking and crackling. It felt like my entire body was covered in pop rocks. I only had a few moments to register the fully eclipsed sun turning black as the night.

I couldn’t comprehend what happened next. The only thing I remembered was waking up in a cold sweat.