Chapter 12
Approach to the Pfharplace.
Margaret adjusted the cuffs of the white button shirt that loosely hung from her body, her glowing golden eyes looking at the new outfit that had been given to her by Roddick shortly after returning from the incident at the parlor. Her pants, a grey set that ill fit her hips, attached to a set of suspenders that looked, at the moment, somewhat like flat ropes holding an upside-down parachute.
"Thank you for the clothes, Roddick. Though it might need a few… adjustments." Margaret said in a calm timbre, internally wondering if that Xericoz tailor (what was his name?) Would do with such an outfit.
Roddick, who had dropped his coat off in the observatory, and was currently wearing his normal waistcoat with white sleeves, and single watch chain attire, stood at the bookcase entrance of the materials room, his eyes gazing at a leather-backed journal splayed open in his left hand. With his right hand, the magenta gem glowing, he cast it toward Margaret and the clothes on her back tightened softly and, like the labor of a magic tailor, conformed to a snugger fit to her body.
"Nice trick." Margaret said, smiling at the newly fit outfit. "Do you have a mirror?"
"Somewhere, I'm sure." Roddick said in his normal, annoyingly chipper voice, as he began to walk across the room toward the worktable at the back.
"I thought you remembered, everything." Margaret said, her voice taking an accusatory tone.
"I do. Eidetic memory." Roddick set the book down on the table.
"So why do you need the book?" Margaret asked, turning as Roddick walked past her.
"Not my journal, I've afraid." Roddick informed, "Besides it's not Tailus' sloppy writing that I'm interested in. It's this spell. Even I can't memorize spells without special preparation."
"'Magic wants to cast itself.'" Margaret seemed to be quoting.
"Ah, so you did learn magic." Roddick smiled, looking over the page again.
"Requirement of my studies. Magical theory." Margaret approached the worktable, looking over Roddick's shoulder.
"Hm." Roddick gave a small chuckle. Margaret ignored it.
"What are you looking at?" Margaret craned her neck, looking at the page. She had seen magical writing before, but it always looked so… slippery. Like the words were changing before her eyes, though they never did.
"Concealment spell…" Roddick smiled, "Quite specialized to this room, if the journal is to be believed."
"Concealing what?" Margaret asked, looking at the pensive face of the blue-eyed Wizard.
"Don't know yet!" Roddick looked up with a smile. "Will find out in a moment, my guess!"
Roddick turned back to the page, running his finger along the words, reading it.
"You didn't turn away earlier…" Margaret said, lowering her voice in a half accusing half curious tone.
"What?" Roddick stopped reading.
"At the parlor…" Margaret ventured closer to Wizard, placing her hand on his shoulder, "When I appeared in the doorway."
Roddick looked puzzled at the hand on his shoulder. "My… last host was a physician. You have nothing I haven't seen before."
"Are you sure about that, Roddick?" Margaret moved slightly closer.
Roddick smiled and with a gentle hand lifted Margaret's hand off his shoulder, "Look, I am glad that your attitude toward me has changed, but… I fear this is going… a bit too far into the opposite direction." His voice hinted nervousness as he met the golden eyes of the smirking Ypfhar.
"I don't know...” Margaret’s gazed up and down Roddick, “…I was angry before." Margaret stepped forward with intent, "But I have to admit, even then…" Her golden eyes tracked his body. Roddick felt suddenly uncomfortable. "You're quite firm for a wizard."
"I've figured out the spell!" Roddick's voice became suddenly high pitched, as he escaped and spun around Margaret, rushing back to the table with haste. "Specialized, but simplistic in nature." His voice still carried a mountain of nervousness. He concentrated on the book, thankful for the distraction. Margaret moved beside him with curiosity, nudging up against his body cloyingly, as Roddick's fingers danced in a precise rhythm and he mouthed words that sublimated from his voice into an evocation. Glyphs appeared before his hands and settled on to the worktable, completing a set of hidden filigree whose light danced along the table filling an intricate pattern with light blue light.
The table rippled, like a rock dropped into a pond. After a moment there immerged an opaque crystalline like object, dark purple and shaped like a long oval; impossibly smooth, it rose from the table as if being fished from a pond in a swell of blue light. Roddick’s face lit up in delight as he reached out and grasped it. The light faded.
"What is it?" Margaret demanded, staring at the crystal in Roddick's hand.
"Gate Stone…" Roddick said, almost lost in a trance. "It powers the Gates throughout all of Ja Reyil. They must have removed it from the Twilight Run gate after taking power. It would explain why it isn’t functioning."
"That's why it was shut down." Margaret whispered. "Can we open the gate with this?"
"It's only one of five." Roddick said, with slight disappointment. "The Journal mentions them being distributed throughout the Lieutenants."
"So… If we get them all…” Margaret gave a pensive look, “can you figure out how to work them?" Margaret asked, her voice betraying a spark of excitement.
Roddick smiled a boyish grin as he turned his head toward Margaret, and with the zeal of excitement: "I have no idea."
Star entered the storage room on the third floor of the Tower. A cigarillo set into a stem hanging from his mouth. On a crate, her back posted against the wall, he spotted Da'La. She stared out into the darkness, one leg hanging off the box, and the other hiked on as an arm rest.
"I wanted to say I'm sorry." Star started, softly. "About earlier. I was worried and I yelled at you… I shouldn't have."
Da'La's monoconidial face came into focus. She closed her violet eyelids and sighed, "No." She said softly along with the sigh, "I should apologize…" Da'La opened her eyes and turned her head to Star, "You vhere right. Vhat I did vas a stupid risk. I just… I know vhat it feels like to be powerless."
Star hopped on to the crate, positioning his back toward the adjacent edge to face Da'La, "Strange, you're the most powerful force I know, Da'La."
Da'La let slip a smile. "Careful, zhere you also know a Vizard and a Ypfhar of zhe Order."
"Yeah, but their power is limited by their will!” Star exclaimed, hiking his leg against the side of the box for balance, “Yours is a force I've never seen. It’s relentless." Star continued.
"It vasn't alvays zhat vay..." Da'La said, quietly. "I vas once veak. Ill temper and veak villed. A… 'junkie'" She bit at that word for a moment, Star could feel a twinge of resentment mixed heavily with remorse. "An urchin languishing along zhe canals of zhe Meril Cove."
"What changed?" Star asked.
"I met somevone who changed my life." Da'La leaned back, looking at the ceiling, a nostalgic grin moving across her face, "Frédéric Choffard du Kerdamiet…"
"A Lover?" Star asked, his curiosity piquing.
"Oh, no!" Da'La chuckled. "Can you imagine? No, he taught me zhings far greater zhen romance…" Da'La's eyes glittered, her body posture relaxed. Star never thought he'd seen her so at ease. "He taught me faith." She let it hang in the air for the moment, Star silently listened, "Frédéric vas an old, retired Dek'Har. Let go from his oath, making a comfortable living as a Veapons Master for zhe children of concerned Barons and Aristocracy. I had broken into his house, hoping I could find enough to score a..” Da’La deliberated with her eyes before finally settling on “a hit." Da'La explained. "He caught me, he subdued me. Zhen he gave me zhe money vith the offer zhat if I vas hungry, he vould invite me over to dinner vonce a veek."
"That was kind of him…" Star noted.
"He vas a kind man.” Da’La answered, “I vas an enfant terrible." Da'La’s face took a lackadaisical appearance as she continued her story. "But I vas hungry, and curious, and little hopeful I could squeeze some more money from zhis man. So, I came by every veek for a meal, and every veek he greeted me and fed me, and in exchange ve talked about faith."
"So, he had a motive…" Star said, his voice edging on suspicion.
"He vas lonely." Da'La corrected, almost amused ats Stars suspicion. "Old friends had died, and most students never came to visit. He vanted company to join him.” She paused again for a second, as if considering, “Over time, he taught me to abandon my… vays. After zhat I started coming over more. He took me in. Taught me sword dancing to overcome zhe chills of recovery."
Star just let the silence of the moment hang.
Da'La continued, "After he died, I joined zhe Ypfharian Order as a Dek'Har."
"Why not try as a Ypfhar?" Star asked.
Da'La chuckled, and turned to Star, her face alight. "Some like Ma Soeur are suited for zhe preaching and zhe miracle work. Me? I've alvays been a soldier.” Da’La turned her head back to the ceiling. “It's vhere I'm comfortable."
"You don't always have to be, you know." Star said, placing his hand on her knee. "You can stand down sometimes. Just be…” Star deliberated, “…Da'La."
Da'La let the smile rest on her face, she put her hand on his. "I know. But I like to." Another moment of silence. “Zhis is who I am. Zhe life I chose.” It was a statement that Star felt carried more weight than she was willing to tell.
Another moment hung, they sat in silence for a moment, settling in and looking into the quiet and peaceful darkness of the storage room. Star looked down at the hand. His eyes focusing on the parts not covered by the wedding glove. They were paler than usual. Almost dusty.
"Da'La?" He asked his question hanging in an accusatory tone. "How long has it been since you we submerged into salt water?"
Da'La quickly retracted her hand. She covered it with her other hand. “I don’t know if zhat is a proper question, Mr. Star.” She said, almost automatically.
“Damnit, Da’La.” Star returned, “You need to submerge. Even you can’t go forever without—"
"I haven't had zhe opportunity…" She interrupted. “Zhe last few days have been, extraordinarily—"
"What about the bird bathing idea?" Star asked, concern moving across his eyes.
"Zhe salt bag vas… compromised." Da'La confessed.
"So, the Faerie Wood?" Star came back, shocked, "Why didn't you tell us?"
"I didn't vant you all to vorry!" Da'La exclaimed, her eyes looking almost hurt.
"At the expense of your own health? We would have helped you!"
"How? Exactly?" Da'La asked. “Do ve have barrels of salt lying around, because I checked through zhe storage! And it’s not like I’ve seen a bat—"
"Roddick could have conjured something up." Star said, trying to reason through this.
"Zhat is not how magic vorks." Da'La explained. “It can’t just create zhings! And Roddick is certainly talented, but he’s not transmuter.”
"What about the materials room?" Star asked, getting more desperate.
"I vas in zhere. Not enough salt, and no, neizer does the zhe kitchen."
"Maggie?"
"Star. It's fine." Da'La's voice came back softly, "It's sveet zhat you vant to do somezing zho."
Star, eyes full of concern, met Da'La's weakly smiling eyes.
"Vhy don't you go check on zhe ozhers? See vhat zhe plan is going forvard?" She asked, touching Stars cheek.
Star reached the top of the observatory steps. Roddick was standing on the platform, observing the crystal roof, a journal splayed opened in front of him. Margaret hung on the handle rails near Roddick.
"Roddick?" Star spoke, "Maggie." He addressed Margaret with a nod.
“Margaret,” Margaret corrected, not tearing her eyes off Roddick.
"Ah!" Roddick's voice portrayed relief, "I'm glad you're here!"
"What do you need?" Star walked across the white marble floor toward the platform. Roddick vaulted over the railing that half encircled the platform, landing below with unexpected grace, and walked toward Star. "We might have some ideas of our next target."
Margaret followed him, "The Town Center." Margaret said proudly, not quite taking her eyes off Roddick.
"What? What about the Pfharplace?" Star asked, "Faith… and… all that? Get the people on our side?"
"Faith doesn't do us much good as long as we can be surrounded by soldiers, Star." Margaret came back. Star couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Maggie--" Star began.
"Margaret." Margaret corrected agaom. Her words had a bite to them. "Star, I'm just being practical."
"Margaret? Could you pop down and summon Da'La for us?" Roddick said, in his perpetually chipper tone. "I believe her insight here would be invaluable."
"What for?" Margaret turned back toward the platform in the center of the room, "She's just going to agree with me."
"And what if she doesn't?" Star asked, it was more of an accusation than a question.
"I'll order her to." Margaret spun around and sat on a semi-circle step leading to the platform.
"Regardless, she is the only soldier among us. Her insight could be extraordinarily valuable." Roddick calmed.
Margaret rolled her eyes. "Fine." Margaret stood and moved across the room. "I will be back in a second." She said indignantly. She walked down the stairs, her posture somewhere between the confident force of yesterday and petulant teenager. When the door at the bottom of the stairs closed, Roddick quickly moved closer to Star.
"You have to help me." He whispered, locking his glimmering blue eyes to Stars Coral greys.
"What?" Star expressed concern, the Wizard never acted this way, "Is something wrong?"
"It's Margaret…" Roddick said quickly, in a conspiratorial tone.
"She is acting off…" Star turned to the stairs, then whipped, "Did she threaten you?"
"No!" Roddick said, "By gods she did that before, I wouldn’t concern you over such a thing! No, she's wanting to… get… close to me."
Star gave a sound of relief, "Well, that's a welcome change.”
"No… Star, she wants to… Conjure the beast with two backs?" Roddick whispered.
"Is that a dangerous spell?" Star came back.
"No." Roddick gave an exasperated sigh, "Jump my bones?" Star returned with a look of further confusion, "Play with my Wizard's Staff?" Nothing. Roddick gave another sigh, and leaned in, whispering into the coral indent in the side of Stars octopus-like head.
"Oh, dear gods! That's disgusting!" Star reeled.
"Wait, you don't know how we--"
"I never asked!" Star said, desperate to get out of this conversation. He thought for a second. "Do you… feel unsafe?" He came back.
"No!" Roddick said, "She's more insistent, than predatory. I'm just… not interested."
"Why don't you just tell her no?"
Roddick turned back to the circular platform, moving toward it, "I don't know! We're finally getting along. Just… something has changed in her since the Har'Gof." Roddick climbed the steps to the platform.
"You're tellin’ me…" Star said, pulling out a cigarillo, and his stem from his coat pocket. "She's treating Da'La like a servant. And what she said just now… And what happened in the parlor…" The door to the observatory opened.
The footsteps of Da'La and Margaret could be heard summiting the open steps into the observatory.
"Alright, Da'La's here." Margaret said, "Now, can we make plans for the Town Hall?"
"I would actually like an overview of the town, first." Star said, turning his head toward Margaret as he spoke, then bringing it back to Roddick. Margaret gave a hrmph.
"Ok!" Roddick smiled, bringing his hand toward the large, ceiling-spanning crystal structure, and with the grand movement of a concerto, whipping his hand in front of him. Between Roddick and the rest, a translucent yellow projection, like a living map of Twilight Run shimmered in the air. From this perspective, Twilight Run looked like a squashed oval with cragging, uneven edges and lines of dirt drawn between uneven boxes. At the bottom was a wall and a bit of fog representing the crushing drop from the other side. At the top of the map was a lake separating the town and the cliff face on which the manor of the town sat. A black wall enclosed a stately manor, that looked like two large boxes connected in the middle by another box spanning the width toward the back of the structure, and a large courtyard in the center. People, small people, like ants crawled along the lines of the map.
"First potential target…" Roddick pointed to the southeast part of the map, and then swiped the image to the center and, drawing outward with his fingers, expanded the map to one building. "The Pfharplace." It was seemingly composed of two buildings. One a large and circular dome like structure, made of grey brick and topped with a doming patina green roof. The second, which seemed smashed into the circular building, was a rectangular wooden structure, with a wood tile roof the jutted out from one side of the circle opposite to the street. Either side of the roof was line with dormers that poked like triangles out of the square box from this angle.
"This is the least well-guarded of the three. Only housing its staff and their leader. Dr. Tilbur." Roddick said.
"It's also the least tactically valuable." Margaret added, lazily, "Too out of the way."
"I'd like to hear about it anyway," Star said, coolly, his eyes gazing at the person he half recognized as his friend.
"Right." Roddick said, his voice leaning away from the tension, "According to Tailus' notes, it's presided over by Dr. Tilbur. A surgeon of some sort. His role seems to be in the supply of tinctures and potions."
"What kind?" Star asked.
"Not sure." Roddick explained, "Haven't gotten a look myself, and Tailus' notes are… less than helpful. An educated guess would be potions of Analgesics and performance enhancing potions."
"Go on." Star gave a small gaze to his companions. Margaret was looking at her fingernails, poking at them with a visible boredom. Da'La stood at attention, focused on Roddick.
"A delivery is made to the Pfharplace once a day for pickup." Roddick continued, "This is distributed evenly between South Watch and Town Hall." Roddick clapped his hands together and the image reduced, returning to its place on the map. "The second target is South Watch." Roddick pointed toward the North Eastern portion of the map, bringing it down with a gesture and expanding it.
This building was more spare. A straight, rectangular building made of stucco and a stone tile roof. Star could see foot traffic in front of it, while not near what Star would call bustling, it was moving. 7 or eight people traveling along the street, passing two guards who were sat against the street facing side, heads down. They looked to be asleep.
"This is the most activity, and the Headquarters to the New Clade police unit." Roddick informed. "For what the guards lack in… attention. They make up for in numbers. The majority of the New Clade are stationed between here and Autumnburn Estate."
"How many?" Star asked, he had taken out his notebook, jotting notes more from habit for the old gumshoe.
"According to Tailus' notes, and accounting for town recruits, there are a total of 100 officers in South Watch." Roddick said.
"That's a lot for such a small township." Star looked up, inquisitive.
"Yeah, we'll get to that." Roddick said. "While they switch out in rounds of 30, most of them find… other amusement throughout the city." On the visage in front of them, a guard approached a couple walking. "Mostly thuggery…" The blue-eyed mage noted, as the yellow guards pushed down a few of the citizens, laughed, and took a swill from something in his hand. "Their leader is Alphonse Pennywater. Tailus' notes depict him as a cold and shrewd psychopath."
"Let's get to the target." Maggie said, impatiently.
With a swipe of his hand, Roddick brought forward another building, from the north center of town only a few blocks north of their position. It was squarish, off set against the road with its entrance pointed toward the intersection. Its four corners jutted up like parapets, and in the center of the reddish-brown roof was a dome, whose spike in the center jutted toward them. Despite being the most well trafficked road, the actual foot traffic was sparse.
"The Magister's Court. AKA the Town Hall." Roddick announced. "Centered in a key position and presided over by Wasing Tendaff. Weapons Master."
"How did this Ragtag group bag a Weapons Master?" Star looked up from his notebook.
"No idea, Tailus doesn't say." Roddick conceded, "But it's bad news they did. He's in charge of creating an army."
"For what purpose?" Star asked.
"Does it matter?" Came Margaret, "It's the prime target."
"Yes," Confirmed Roddick, "It's centralized location, armaments, and proximity to the populace makes it ideal."
"So, the plan is to storm… their army?" Star sounded incredulous.
"No." Margaret smiled, "Tell him, Roddick."
"While this houses their army, only a handful of them are present at a time. 10 At the most. Tendaff works with small groups according to Tailus." Roddick said. "The rest are posted at the manor and switch out every other day."
"We could hold that position and ambush each incoming group." Margaret smiled. "It would be the perfect hold out."
"Until they figure out their soldiers aren't coming back from training shifts, then surround the place." Star pointed out. "That is, if we can defeat 10 soldiers and a weapons master."
"Come on, Star. They're trainees!” Margaret shot back. “Between Roddick and I alone we'd be able to make short work of them."
"Whatever has gotten into you has made you way too cocky…" Star looked at the map again. He chewed over the scenery for a second. He looked at Da'La, eyes focusing on Da’La’s hands which were stiffly shoved into her coat pockets. "We should take the Pfharplace." He turned back to Roddick.
"Oh. Come on Star!" Margaret let out an annoyed baulk. "The Pfharplace has no tactical value. Now you're suddenly wanting to take it?"
"You said yourself, it has spiritual value." Star shot back.
"Oh, so suddenly you're a man of the gods!" Margaret mocked.
"No!" Star said, "But some of the people here are…" Star said, looking back at the map. "There's a practical reason. We're looking at taking on a small army. We might need to make one ourselves."
"Oh, that will be so easy with the patrolling guards." Margaret said, her sarcasm bubbling through the air.
"It will be impossible without hope." Star said, then he shot a glance at Da'La. "Also, those supplies could come in handy."
"You're not buying this?" Margaret gestured toward Da'La and Roddick.
"I have to admit, it is a pretty thin case, Star." Roddick admitted. "I mean, hope is nice and everything, but we can form an army from a more secure centralized position."
Da'La stood silent but nodded in a reluctant agreement.
"So, it's settled, then." Margaret nodded, "The Tow--"
"It's not settled." Star interrupted. "Your plan still isn't much better, having us go headlong against soldiers, then surrounded by a hundred guard."
"A hundred drunks, Star." Margaret said defensively returning Star’s cool gaze, the glowing golden eyes against his grey corals. "I hardly think they can stand to hol--" Then it hit Star.
"They're not drunks…" Star said quickly.
"What?" It was both Roddick and Margaret in unison.
"They're not drunk!" Star came back with the enthralled voice of realization, "They're high."
"How in blazes do you know that?" Roddick asked, incredulous.
"Seconded!" Margaret demanded.
"You remember in the Faerie Wood, when you broke your leg?" Star began, the gears in his head turning. "Kunjao gave you a Analgesics tincture. You were high."
"Yeah, and then we spent hours lost in a forest, what's your point?" Margaret was already losing her patience with this story.
"Well, outside of Mema's house, have you seen a drop of alcohol?" Star asked. He turned to Roddick, "One bottle?"
"No…" Roddick admitted, tilting his head at the gumshoe.
"We've only been here a couple days! And we haven't exactly been talking to the New Clade!" Margaret justified, feeling her grip on the group loosen.
"Roddick has been watching them for hours, what are they drinking? Bottles of Wine? Beer?" Star turned his coral eyes toward Roddick.
"Small decanters…" Roddick dismissed the map, his gaze as if stunned to realize this "… Like potion decanters."
Star's tentacles lifted in the approximation of a smile, "Exactly! Bastards probably went through all the alcohol in a week!” Star declared, the gumshoe thrill of a solved case overwhelming him, “And why would they, months out, still need regular shipments of potions?"
"They're drinking they're own bloody stock!" Roddick's face beamed in the realization, "Smashing work, detective!"
"Where’s this going, Star?" Margaret asked, exasperated.
"Have you ever seen an addict without their fix?" Star asked. Margaret's face fell, "Exactly. We take the Pfharplace, and suddenly, the endless flow of potions stops." Star moved toward the Bannister, "We wait a couple days--"
"And zhey vill be so overtaken by zhe shudders zhey vill be useless!" Da'La joined, the realization dawning in her eyes.
"Exactly!" Star beamed. He stood with the pride of a private eye, revealing his findings.
Margaret looked around, feeling suddenly alone. She looked at Star, Roddick, even Da'La. She paused, "Fine." She spit. "We'll take the Pfharplace!"
Star looked as if he should take a bow.
"Come get me when we're ready." Margaret huffed, then turned toward the steps.
"We should move on the cover of night." Roddick called after.
Margaret waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, "Whatever."
Margaret stormed across the library, moving around the Reflection Pool, toward the open bookcase that led to the materials rooms in which she had made her quarters.
Star flew into the room after her, "What in the twelve hells is going on with you?” He demanded, “This is taking Pfharplace we're taking about!” Star exclaimed in an unbelieving tone. “Your place of faith!"
"Oh, so the skeptic has some words about faith, does he?" Margaret spun around, focusing her glowing golden eyes on Star.
"That's because the priestess has become an atheist!" Star yelled back.
"I thought you'd be happy, Star!" Margaret's voice came out half mocking, "You were right! The gods? We met; they're bullshit."
"Is this what all this is about?" Star yelled, "One crisis of faith, and suddenly everything in your life, everything you are! gets upended."
"You've known me for, what? A week?" Margaret became incredulous, "You don't know a single thing about me!"
"I'm beginning to think I don't!" Star fumed.
Margaret gave a sneer, "Well I'm glad we agree, finally" She said quietly, then turned to the materials room.
Star was set aback, "Maggie…" He pleaded.
"Margaret." Margaret corrected, then slammed the bookcase behind her.
Star stood by the Reflection Pool. He turned and looked into it. He looked at his reflection, gazing deep into the lost Xericoz that stared back at him. Then saw Da'La, moving alongside him. He let himself watch it, relaxing for a moment. A little moment for himself.
Then her felt a touch on his shoulder.
He jumped, surprised Da’La was actually there.
"Zhank you, Star." Da'La began the conversation softly, her eyes locking on to his.
"For what?" He asked, still calming his heart.
Da'La smiled, "I know you don't vant zhe Pfharplace to build an army vith faith." She said, her voice indicating that she found the idea of him doing it ludicrous. "Zhe Pfharplace is full of alchemic materials. One of zhe most common being: Salt."
"The other stuff was good too, right?" Star admitted, feeling weak.
"It's sveet." Da'La assured.
"What are we going to do about…" Star turned to the bookcases, "Margaret?"
"Same ve alvays do." Da'La said, evenly.
"You heard her. She's practically an atheist now."
“So are you Star, and I don’t hold zhat against you.” Da’La joked. "My service is not contingent on her faith." Da'La said in a reassuring and quiet tone. "It is on mine." Da'La laid her hand on his shoulder, "I vill just have to believe for zhe both of us."
"She's treating you like crap." Star accused.
"As is her right." Da'La said. "It's sveet zhat you care, zho." Da'La brought Star's head down to her level and pecked his forehead with her beak. She then, with a smile walked past him to the hidden bookshelf, leaving him to hold his forehead, then pulling on the skull and the bookshelf opened. She disappeared through it.
Roddick stood, finally alone in the observatory, staring up at the large crystal cieling. There was exactly 327.3 minutes between this moment and sundown. Roddick knew this. Roddick always knew the time.
He watched the city move its rounds. Wise to keep up on the passing of the city between now and go time. With Maggie's threat yesterday he was expecting a retaliation. He watched the streets with interest. So far there was no change, though the mere hours he had spent watching from the observatory was a hardly a big enough sample size to know.
Some unique movement. He focused his gaze and the picture in the crystal moved in. It was South Watch. Between the two inattentive guards a figure immerged. It was a blur. Not because it moved fast, more so that its form blurred the vision.
Roddick rubbed his eyes, but reopening the blur was still there, like a smudge on a window. The blur pulled something from itself. Roddick tried to see it, but all it was to him was a yellow light coming out of what he assumed to be the roughest approximation of the blurred hand. Then the light disappeared. Roddick took interest, leaning further in, though it did not get him closer.
Then the blur stopped blurring. Like taking off a coat, the blur ceased, and in its place stood a man. He was thin and tall with short pressed black hair. Well dressed, wearing a magenta shirt under a black waistcoat with coattails. Roddick thought he could see the glint from chain watch hanging from his fob, but his angle was wrong. He was staring off at something.
The dawning horror that he was staring off toward the Tower crept in the back of Roddick's mind. The man's head then craned upward. He was homely but clean shaven with a pencil thin mustache, and glimmering green eyes staring directly at Roddick.
Roddick rushed into the Library, moving through the small nooks and alcoves made by jutting out bookshelves, his eyes darting from book to book. Reclined in a nearby wooden chair in a neighboring alcove, Star shot up and readjusted the hat on his head. He looked over, the Wizard was moving from bookshelf to dusty bookshelf, maneuvering around a small circular red wood reading table as he darted from shelf to cattycorner shelf.
"What are you doing?" Star asked.
"We may have a minor… not huge really… problem." Roddick's normal chipper voice was filled with a shaky timbre.
"… Which is?" Star leaned forward trying to track the Wizard.
"One of their Lieutenants knows we're watching him." Roddick said quickly, moving to another bookshelf.
"… How?" Star drew out the question.
"Oh, I don't know. Could be a dozen things really, gut feelings, wizardry, the bloody shakedown Margaret did yesterday!" Roddick's voice became sharply irked.
"I mean, how do you know that?" Star asked, trying to maintain the calm.
Roddick wheeled around the bookshelf, eyes locked on the books, sorting through them in his mind, "I was doing some last-minute monitoring and I saw him exiting from South Watch." Roddick pulled a book from the shelf, flipped through it, then replaced it quickly.
"And how do you know this was a Lieutenant?"
Roddick sighed, and as if reading from a page that existed in his mind, "'Tall and thin. Properly dressed like a butler, with black pressed hair, a pencil thin mustache, and … green eyes.'" Roddick said, still darting his eyes along the bookshelf, "That was Tailus' margin note on Alphonse Pennywater."
"That boy took a lot of notes…" Star said, somewhat amused.
"Too bad most of it was an unfocused mess, but yes. He notated everything." Roddick said.
"So, what does this mean, and what are you looking for?" Star asked, now following Roddick as he whipped around to another alcove.
"Well… If I were a Lieutenant in charge of a gang's main body of human resources, and I just received intel that a new group of insurrectionists had not only taken out my eyes and was currently stationed in one of my strongholds…" Roddick’s voice moved like a rapid current.
"You'd mount an attack." Star finished.
"Precisely." Roddick gave a weak smile. "Sooner than later."
"So why not just leave now?" Star asked.
"And move under the cover of what? Gumption. Can do attitude?" Roddick bit back. "Reality is that the guard is bound to be on high alert. If we stand a chance at all. We need to strike at night, undetected." Roddick pulled a scroll from one of the Cubbyholes and blew dust off. "Ah!" He exclaimed, then moved toward a nearby table. Roddick swiped his hand and polished the stained red wood table in an alcove near opposite of the door from its candles, books, notes, and assorted knickknacks, all coming crashing to the floor.
"What is that?" Star asked, moving around the reflection pool, and approaching behind Roddick.
Roddick held the scroll to his lips, and with a quiet incantation, the scroll glowed a deep blue for a moment as glyphs and filigree appeared in the air around it, before immediately shattering. He then slapped the scroll on the table and unrolled it. It looked like a floor layout of five rooms that shifted and undulated before Star's eyes. They were the five floors of the Tower, a flat room with open stairs and a small platform; a room of bookshelves forming alcoves around a circular pool, and a small hidden room that seemed to fit outside of the dimensions of the tower; a room that resembled a crescent main moon, with a light half containing a kitchen and the dark half the storage pantry; A large room with tables; and a circular parlor with a hearth.
"A map?" Star asked, looking over Roddick's shoulder.
"Blueprint… kind of." Roddick looked over it, "More of a living blueprint. The tower changes over time, so the map… keeps up."
"What are you looking for?" Star looked over the pensive Roddick, his glimmering blue eyes dancing across the page.
"Wizards are… Paranoid." He said, "The idea of being stuck in a tower, even a living one is unnerving. So, they develop escapes."
"Don't they just… teleport out?" Star asked.
"Have you ever seen a tel--" Roddick shook his head, "Never mind, it doesn't work that way."
"So, aren't we just delaying the problem?" Star asked.
Roddick stopped, "What exactly are you saying?"
"He's saying that even if your escape hatch plan works, we still have the same problem only with the Pfharplace." It was Margaret. She stood behind them at the entrance staring out with her strange golden glowing eyes. "And there we won't have the benefit of a giant crystal that watches the city. Not keen on escape hatches Ypfhar's are either."
"Glad you could join us." Star said, acknowledging her and turning back. "So, do you have any ideas, or are you just going to mock us while we're being swarmed?"
"I wasn't saying anything you weren't thinking." Margaret said, stepping out from the bookshelves, Da'La followed in toe, at attention as always.
"Well, super." Roddick said, "Assistance appreciated as usual Margaret, but unless you have any idea--"
"Sanctuary." It was Da'La, she spoke as a realization hit her.
"What?" Star asked, turning to Da'La.
Maggie rolled her eyes, "The Rite of Sanctuary. The Ypfhar answer to the Wizard cutting and running when the town is under siege. Prevents ill will from entering or harming the Pfharplace."
"Can you cast it?" Star asked.
"Need to clear it out first, but yeah. Same trick I used in the sky carriage, or to deflect those bullets earlier." Margaret confirmed, a bite was still left in her voice that gnawed at the center of Star.
"Didn't we almost die in that plummet?" Star asked.
"Almost being operative." Margaret said defensively, "And I wasn't a full Ypfhar at the time. Plus, the sky carriage isn't designed to house that Rite. Pfharplaces are built with it in mind." Star looked at Margaret, then Da'La who nodded to him.
Then Roddick, hunched over the map, smiled a Eureka grin: "…And I might have made our escape…"
The orange light of the setting sun was giving way to inky black-purple as Captain Brais lead the march down the dirt road toward the crooked Tower at the center of town. The road, which was surrounded by houses that, while not packed together, hardly resembled the country roads of his youth. The houses, mostly jettied Tudor houses, with cobble bases, and second stories made of stucco and this strange greenish wood which when stained gave a glitter polish that when the sun hit it right looked like a rainbow of color.
Brais, a forty-year-old man with 60 years on the face, was tanned in the way that hides were tanned. His skin was leathery, eyes a dull yellow and what was left of his mud brown hair was tucked under an old leather cap. He wore a leather vest that resembled straps holding straps together. To his side was a cutlass that dangled and clanged against the black blunderbuss on his back. It was a powerful thing, wooden handle moving in toward a black barrel that resembled a long cast iron funnel.
Brais popped the cork on a decanter and swilled a bluish liquid into his mouth. It tasted like a floor cleaning bucket mixed with the smell an apothecary, but it got the job done. He felt the warm numb crawl into the back of his brain. Behind him there were twenty men only slightly more hapless than himself.
Pennywater had ordered him personally. Apparently, a group of birdbrains had snuck into the Wizard's tower and axed the Wizard's Apprentice. Brais never liked the boy anyway. Too fidgety. Brais had spent most of his life around criminals and ne'erdowells. People like Grund never lasted. Chances are this tower was a handful of towns people thinking they'd start a revolution.
It wasn't lost on Brais that only a few months ago he would spur one on, if only to just break into townsfolks houses to rob them blind. But he was a lawman now, he guessed. Might as well do lawman work. He turned the corner, his men following in a loose pack behind him and approached the winding walkway to the tower.
Star walked into the parlor from the staircase to greet Margaret, who sat in a chair nearby the lit hearth, the orange light of the fire brightening the left part of her face, leaving the right part only lit by the golden glow of her eye. Standing away from the fire behind her was Da'La. Her hands were wrapped, as if she had taken her wedding gloves off and used the cloth to wrap her hands.
"Are we ready?" Margaret asked, letting herself get lost in the crackle of the fire.
"My guns are repaired and cleaned," Star said, "Roddick is in the observatory, keeping track of the movements outside."
"Vhat does he see?" Asked Da'La, peering over at Star.
"It's not good." Star answered, approaching the red cushioned chair opposite of Margaret, and sitting. "South Watch is sending men this way, along with a handful of Town Hall men."
"Vhat are zhe chances of a breach?" Da'La asked.
"Nil, unless we let them in," It was Roddick, stepping out of the stairway, adjusting his cufflinks, and checking his magenta catalyst. "The Tower isn't keen on new guests right now."
"How long do we have until they're here?" Margaret asked, turning her attention to the Mage.
"Intruders!" A voice that had witnessed the smoke of a thousand cigarettes bellowed from the outside.
"I would say they've already arrived." Roddick said with a smile and approached the hearth.
"We'll give ya a deal!" Came the voice again. "Come out wif your 'ands up, and we'll give each 50 lashings! Now ain't that better than what my men'll do if we ‘ave to come in and get ya?"
"Well, come along!" Roddick said, in a cheery nervousness, "Better get a move on." Roddick placed his hand on the top of the hearth and spoke a couple words, his voice sublimated for a moment as the arcane language slipped from his tongue. The fire erupted into a yellow light, then dissipated, leaving only a small iron wood rack and the cooling embers of the ashy wood. The wood rack then descended, and with a grinding sound of stone on stone, the stone back of the hearth slid out of the way to reveal a set of stairs, carved smoothly in stone with precision no human hand could have plumbed, and a perfectly cylindrical tunnel leading down.
"We will give ya to the count of 30!" Came the voice outside.
"Let's go!" Roddick hissed, as he ducked under the mantle and slid into the entrance.
"Wait a minute…" Star said, as a devilish spark ran across his eyes.
Captain Brais took another swig of blue liquid, letting the quiet numb fill his lips. He looked up at the crooked stone brick tower with the blue conical roof, and the magenta door. There was no answer when he called in to the insurrectionists.
It had been a while since he'd been in a fight. A proper fight, that is. Not the times in which the townspeople decided they'd weakly swing at him and he'd have to teach them a lesson. A rough and tumble. Truth be told, he missed it.
"Awright, men." He said, grasping the Blunderbuss, pulling it over his shoulder and dropping its heavy weight onto his other hand. "Guess we're gonna 'ave to do this the--" The door to the Tower swung open.
Brais gave a slight sigh, returning his Blunderbuss.
"Stand down, boys. Half of you wif me, the other half… just keep yer piss inside until we come out?" He ordered, as he waved a small group toward him. They were opening the door, but Brais had done enough home invasions in his life to know not to trust an unlocked door. He cautiously stepped forward, his company loosely packing in behind him, as he opened the door into the foyer.
The foyer was a small hallway with a bench and coat rack on the side, the floor raising gradually up it so that the coatrack at the end came up to Brais' chest and the chest to his shins. He stepped through the door to the outside. "'Ello?" He called. There was no answer. Brais nodded to his men, then pulled the blunderbuss again, readying it for action. A series of shink and ffft's followed, as the men in his company pulled out various weapons. Brais opened the door and stepped into the parlor.
The parlor was dark, but for the hearth, which roared a warm light against the two lounge chairs and table in front of it, whose shadows danced on the polished wood floors. He moved into the room, eyes on the door opposite of the foyer which sat closed. His men followed and fanned into the room. Brais looked above to the rafters, then around.
"Don't look like anyone's here, boss." One of his men, Pitor said. Pitor was a small fellow who could be mistaken for a Nyrian were it not for his untamable horse like hair. He had a full mouth of half teeth and what seemed like a permanently broken jaw.
"Keep alert." Brais said, moving slowly through the room. He looked behind and all ten men in his company had fanned out, looking behind chairs and under tables for threats. "Well men, looks like they ran upstai--" but Brais couldn't finish the sentence before the ground beneath him began to move. Brais leapt toward the back wall while the floor, like being pulled by two invisible hands, began to part, making a groaning, cracking sound like that of an old house settling, only louder.
Brais scrambled to the door that led to the stairs, as a chasm began to form on the wood floors. The groan filled his ears as the ground cracked and yawned, pulling the floor in twain. A few men, not so quick on their feet, lost balance and, desperately grasping for an edge but finding no purchase, fell screaming into the darkness below. Their scream lasted for far longer than Brais anticipated.
The chasm continued to grow, separating Brais and three men, from the remaining four. Brais watched the other men run to the door to the outside, which had shut behind them, and the desperately pull on the handle. They jerked on it as panic set in their eyes. The men began to pound on the door. Their fists sounding like they were pounding on stone.
"What in the twelve…" Brais whispered, watching his men, who in a panic and unfeeling from pain killers bashed their hands against the door as blood began to drip from their fists.
Pitor, who was on his side of the chasm ran toward the stairwell door looking for an escape--any escape. Brais watched Pitor, but his eyes fixated on the water pooling under the stairwell door.
"Pit--" he tried to yell, but Pitor grabbed the handle and jerked on the door, letting out a cascade of blue water into the room. Brais was swept from his feet in a flurry, as he hurriedly dropped his blunderbuss and wailed for something to grab. His hand clutched on to something as the water flowed passed him like he was caught in a river current. For the first time in weeks Brais felt his muscles burn and he grasped for dear life, the water flowing up his nose and into his mouth. But it wasn't water. It was sterile. It tasted like an apothecary. His entire body went numb.
The water passed, slowing to a trickle, and Brais found himself clinging to the leg of a chair. Well, half a chair. The other half was on the other side of the chasm. This half of the cushion seated chair stood, like nailed to the ground. Brais’ hand white knuckle clenched around its leg, his body hanging over the chasm. The sound of trickling liquid, the acrid sting of the smell, and the beating on the wall opposite of the chasm filled his ears.
The beating stopped, being replaced with sloshing footsteps. Not from behind him. Dreary, through the fog of the drugs, Brais looked up and his heart sank. Shambling toward him was a tall and thin man, with a leathery emaciated face, wearing a leather hat and with missing eyes. Blue liquid dripped from its eyes. It took a moment for it to sink in, that the thing shambling, dragging its leg toward him, sloshing through the gallons of Doctors Juice, was wearing his face.
Roddick quickly made his way down the unnaturally smooth cylindrical tunnel that looked quite like an impression left by a straight stick being pushed through a highly packed mound of mud. Filigree from the top gave a dull blue light throughout the tunnel, but otherwise it was dark.
"You think they'll find the tunnel?" Margaret asked, as she followed quickly behind the Wizard.
"I think the Tower will take care of the problem for us." Roddick said with a smile, keeping his eyes forward.
The group moved quickly, single file through the unnatural tunnel, until a gentle light from the end of it came into their vision. It was a light blue, near white light, cast against the purple-black night sky. The group rounded toward the end of the tunnel, before Roddick stopped dead. Roddick looked out, the mouth of the tunnel was sudden, with no gradual expanse. The tunnel just… ended.
Roddick looked around, locating a glyph on the right side of the wall, and placed his hand on it. With a subtle orange light, Margaret heard the sound of grinding stone on stone.
"Don't. Look. Down." Roddick warned as he exited the tunnel, stepping on a landing Margaret hadn't seen before, then stepping to the right. Margaret stepped out and her heart dropped to her stomach. On the outside of the tunnel was open air. She looked outward, the white peaks of a seemingly endless mountain range, lit by the light of the mother and daughter moons, against the backdrop of the nebula spotted sky. The wind suddenly felt solid.
Roddick was to the right of Margaret, standing on a raised platform next to the one she currently stood on. Behind Roddick was a series of square platforms that went up the Cliff Face of the floating island to the green grass of the ground above. A stone wall peering over the cliff face that separated them from Twilight run.
Margaret moved toward the craggy cliff face of Ja Reyil. "What madman would put a tunnel here?" She yelled above the howling wind; eyes locked on the slowly moving mountains below.
"My guess is that the Wizard who made the tunnel didn't want to pop out in the middle of the street, in case an invading army was marching through it!" Roddick said in a raised voice.
Da'La came out of the tunnel, taking a moment at the miles deep drop into the mountains below and cautiously moving toward the cliff face herself, next to Margaret, who gingerly stepped up to the next platform, bracing against the cliff face wall.
Star was the last to come out, holding his hat, keeping his eyes locked forward. The sight was breathtaking. His coat flapped in the wind as he paused for a moment to gaze out at the expanse. Mountain peaks, pointing toward Mnorima. The mother moon. A large thing that brightly lit the night. She was waxing, and her daughter, Lloria nestled next to her only 1/5 the size of her mother. The inky-purple framed the view, the plump noble stars large from their feasts, distributed unevenly across the skies in their fiefdoms. The small popper stars, like pinpoints into the fabric of eternity filled the spaces between their lords. The green and purple glow of the wolf of heaven, a permanent cloud in the night sky, with the large blue Noble Star in its eyes gazed across the star filled sky. And the gates of Ypfhi'don, the great disc of the heavens rested in the north point.
Star was not a religious man, but this view took all breath from him.
"Star!" Margaret called, halfway up the platform steps. "Are you just going to stand there?"
Star tore himself away from the view, and made his way up the stairs, bracing himself against the cliff face.
On the top of the stairs the cliff edge of the floating isle went from shear rock and pebbles to long green grass as it expanded out near, by estimation, twenty feet to the tall wall that lined the south side of Twilight Run. As Star stepped from the platform to the clifftop ground, Roddick knelt and placed his hand against the ground. The platform stairs retreated into the side of the cliff.
Margaret took a moment and sat in the grass, clasping her hands on the ground below. Taking a breath. Getting her bearings, she moved her head side to side, looking up and down the wall. Da'La approached her and stood at attention beside her.
"So… Now what?" Margaret asked.
Roddick turned from his position, and clapped his hand together, then forming a window between his hands, using his thumbs and forefingers, scanned over the wall. "If I were to guess, the person who built the tunnel, might want an entrance back into the city…"
"What for?" Star asked. "They would have just escaped, why not just walk along the wall until you're out?"
"You're not thinking like a Wizard, Star." Roddick answered, scanning through his palm. "It's a long journey by foot in either direction. I would want to reenter the city quietly and make my way to the gate."
"So, all this way just to go back to across the street from the tower?" Margaret asked, bemused.
"Better than going out the front door…" Roddick said, stopping at a section of wall, "There it is!" He walked toward the wall briskly, and running his hand along the wall, a blue light traced filigree from his hand, forming a square about the size of a doorway, and a piece of the wall receded.
The group moved through a small, wooded trail that extended halfway through the southside of the city. Obviously meant to be some sort of park or walking trail for moments of quiet contemplation in the small but growing town. For now, the cover of the sparse trees around the dirt walkway was a welcome hiding spot for them. The trees around them weren't groomed, but they were hardly brambly, just thick enough to hide the rest of the town behind them. A nook of privacy at the edge of the world. They made their way to the southeast side of the city.
Margaret had taken the lead, holding her sigil out in front of her as it dimly glowed golden, lighting their way like a torch.
Behind her was Da'La, who crouched as she walked, her hands tucked under her coat, ready to grab her blades at a moment’s notice. Roddick was more casual, hands in his pocket he looked as if he was on an evening stroll. Star was only grateful he wasn't whistling. Star, his Pepperbox at ready took the rear, occasionally peering behind them at the dark wood, whose branches, nearly, but not quite, blocked out the light of the mother moon.
The woods opened gradually to a kind of clearing. It looked unnatural, as if the trees were moved aside to make room for what was in front of them. Like a long courtyard leading to a manor, the grounds in front of them stretched all the way to the silhouette of the Pfharplace. From their perspective, it looked somewhat like a wide wooden plank house, with a tall roof, and dormers poking out of each side of the roof, all back dropped by a giant white stoned Bundt pan, with a green copper roof.
Between them and the Pfharplace, an acre of blue green grass lit by the cool white light of mother moon flanked by sparse trees with an overgrown cobblestone trail cutting through middle of it, that widened at the center to make room for a large circular fountain, which now made home to a wild garden.
"Ok, so what's our plan?" Star came up from the back, eyes locked on the Pfharplace.
"We hit it quick. We hit it hard." Margaret said.
"That's not a plan." Star said, flatly.
"It's what we have!" Margaret hissed, "Let's go!" Margaret, sparing no time, only in a slight crouch stepped off the path into the grass and, like a baring train, moved directly toward the Pfharplace.
"Maggie!" Star called out at her, keeping his voice in a hush.
"For the last time!" Margaret called back, matching the hush yell of Star while still moving forward, "It's Margar--" click.
While quiet, the soft sound of a mechanical click reverberated through the night air. Da'La leapt into action, as Margaret stepped back in a panicked rush. A flat disc, like a sports discus, covered in the purple light of filigree leapt from the grass, spinning in the air as the intricate patterns etched into it blurred into a strobe. Da'La grabbed Margaret, tightening her arms around Margaret's abdomen, as Roddick and Star saw a thin wire unfurl from the spinning disc. Da'La whipped Margaret around and the wire whistled through the air, and like a razor wire whip ripped into Da'La’s back, tearing a line through her coat. Da'La let out a cry as the white-hot pain surged through her back. She pushed Margaret away, just in time for the wire, screaming through the air, lashed up her arm, opening the pink under-flesh of her scale green, white-ashed arm, and blood gushed to the ground.
Da'La let out another cry, and Star fired.
CRACK! Echoed through the night, and a spark flew off the disc as it was sent careening back into the grass, cleanly cutting a circle in the tallgrass before coming to a crash. Star immediately ran toward Da'La, who stood on her knee holding her bleeding arm.
"Are you ok?" His psychic voice resonated with a breathless worry. Da'La grit her beak, holding on to her right arm with her bandaged hand, the blood soaking into her grey coat, staining it.
"I vill be fine..." Da'La lied. The pain was unbearable. The kind of pain that stands every nerve on end and rips the breath from your lungs. Were it not for the fact that Da'La felt so dry, tears may have welled up in her eyes.
Margaret scrambled to her feet, "What were you thinking Star?" she hissed as she ran toward them. "That shot alerted everyone within a mile!"
"I'm sorry?" Star turned, unbelieving, "That next wire might have taken off her head. I thought that was worth--"
"She would have been fine…" Margaret said through her teeth, holding out her glowing gold hand over the wound on Da'La's arm. The wound closed, like a zipper bringing the green ashy scales together. Da'La let out a sigh of relief, as Margaret healed her back. "There, all better." Margaret said, clinically. "But now they know we're here."
Star stared at Margaret in cold fury. This was beyond the pale. He couldn't believe this; he wouldn't believe this…
"How can we tell if there are more of those?" Margaret directed her fiery golden eyes toward Roddick, who stared out into the yard. Da'La returned to her feet, checking her healed wounds.
Roddick took a step forward, closed his eyes. He spread his legs into a stance, and with a hand gesture, brought his hand and knee down to the ground, making a muted thunder as it hit, and a dim yellow light cast from his hand covering the grass.
"Follow me." Roddick said curtly, and made his way across the courtyard, weaving through an invisible maze with expert direction.
Margaret followed, then Da'La at attention, and Star trailing behind, his furious mind locked on the red hair of Margaret. They followed his direction precisely, and Star caught up to Da'La.
"Are you ok?" He asked, suppressing the white-hot fury in his mind to display concern.
"My vounds are healed." Da'La responded, professionally.
"Not what I'm asking." Star corrected.
"Not now, Star." Da'La said, severely, as she moved closer to her charge.
Roddick reached the back of the building. It was mostly flat, with two upper windows that peered into dark rooms, and a small, enclosed porch entrance, left of center, that resembled a skinny wood paneled shack pushed against the back wall. Roddick made a window with his hands and peered at it. Nodding to the rest, he approached the back door. It was an old rickety thing, with a blackened pewter handle and yellowed glass that peered into nothing. Roddick grasped the handle and pushed. It only budged slightly.
"It's blocked!" He hissed.
"Step back." Margaret ordered. Roddick looked back and acquiesced. Margaret stepped in front of the door, grabbing her sigil, and whispering a chant her in it and her hands began to glow a golden light that danced on her fingertips like a roaring fire. She raised her right arm and giant golden fiery hand, twice the size of Star, materialized from the ground. With a quick gesture, it grabbed the shack-like intrusion, and with an ease, and the whine and crack of tearing wood, tore the addition off, sloughing the wood and steel it to the side. Leaving a torn hole of broken and busted planks into the side of the building about the shape of a man.
"Now who's making noise?" Star accused.
"Kind of late for the element of surprise." Margaret returned and stepped up into the hole with daring. She was quickly followed by Da'La, then Roddick, and finally Star, who ducked under a hanging splintered board.
The inside was dark. The windows on the side were covered. Only the light from the torn entrance, and a single metal plate, that looked like a metal wide hat dangling from a chain, covered in orange filigree, cascaded dim light throughout the room.
The smell assaulted their noses. A potent mixture of ammonia and the acrid smell of antiseptic mixed with a sickening mildew. It lit their noses on fire and stung their eyes. Blinking, their eyes adjusting, they peered into the room. The ceiling light hung in the middle and illuminated the metal frames of two small single person beds, sitting feet facing each other on opposite sides of a narrow walkway of weathered wood plank floors. As their eyes adjusted, they noticed more, there were two rows of several of these metal framed white beds extending the length of the narrow room, and people were laid on them, white sheets tucked over their heads, the rest obscured in darkness.
"What in the twelve hells…" Star looked around. It looked like a plague doctors medic tent, with rows of patients packed in seemingly to locate all the disease in one place. It was a grim one at that, all patients with the universal sign of death, the cover slipped over their head.
Movement caught his eyes. Toward the back of the room, a silhouette frame sat up slowly from the bed, then another, then one more, quite a bit larger than the other two ambled to its feet.
A voice came from the darkness, "You aren't the doctor?" It was the gentle voice of an old lady. The figures moved from their beds, the large lumbering figure leading the group.
"We're here to help." Roddick offered to the darkness. "Whatever Doctor Tilbur is doing…"
"Doctor Tilbur is healing us!" The cheery voice of the old woman called from the darkness. "Bringing my youth and energy back!" The lumbering figure, whose silhouette as it reached the light resembled that of a bear continued approaching. It stepped into the light.
Roddick let out a sigh of relief. It was a Taian, with bear-like features. Large and stalky, with a thick neck and elongated face. He had brown, short hair and orange eyes; his skin, the parts not covered in fur was a reddish tan. His arms came down past his waist and his hands were disproportionally big for even his enormous body. He was a lumbering thing with a thick rigid neck, but not-altogether unusual.
The old lady's sweet voice called back out from behind the lurching bear-like Taian. "Bjorn? Could I see our guests?" She asked. The Taian gave a grunt, then from its waist bent over.
Roddick's heart dropped.
On the back of his head was fused skin to skin the face of an old, wrinkled woman with blue curly hair and bottle-bottomed glasses, and two chains on the side that attached to bear man's skin. The rest of her body was fused, almost melted into his back. The woman's dull blue eyes, magnified through her thick glasses, rested on the faces of the group, who looked on wordlessly.
"Well, well, well" The woman's sweet voice began to carry a menace, "What are we going to do with you?"
DMs Notes: Unfortunately, I don't really have a lot of commentary about this session. This particular session was mostly another slow burner. Players in my experience tend to spend inordinate amount of time 'planning' their attacks. Well, I say planning. Most of it amounts to bickering among themselves about the best next step, and trying to get subtle hints out of the GM.
From a story telling perspective, this was a fun one to write. Most of you already know that this isn't a perfect transcription. Rather a fictional reimagining of the events of the story, with a keen eye on character, plot, and drama. So most of what I write is often taking what was implied as the general feel around the table, and not necessarily how it happened. The dramatic shift in these two chapters of Maggie is both fun, and hard to write in this way.
I guess my general advice coming from this session to GMs, is don't discourage your players from family fights. Don't let it get out of hand, of course. Especially if it makes anyone uncomfortable. But if your players are adults, and understand that this is just a game, these rifts can be great drama. People don't always get along; people sometimes get on each other's nerves. Family fights. What is a party but a family?
Written by: Jack Shawhan
Proofread and Edited by: Alhana Escher
Original Characters played by:
Maggie - Donovan Hill
Star - Stephen Kirk
Roddick-Tem - Joshua Horton
Schancier, Whispers of Ja Reyil, and all associated copyright Jack Shawhan, 2021
