LCC - R1: Misery Business VS Caned But Able

I lunged forward, stretching my limbs towards Duffy, my cane being held at its very tip in order to get maximum length. It wasn’t much, but it was just enough to change the trajectory of the blow. I landed with a hard thud on the ground, a sudden pain striking through my chest. I pushed myself off of the ground, grabbing my dropped weapon as I did so. I grabbed my chest with my free hand, making sure to check for anything distinguishable bumps or bleeding.

“No, Duffy,” I said, adamant in my only request, “A gentleman never attacks a lady, no matter how unladylike they may act.” My eyes shifted towards Agnie, then towards her partner. He was holding his right shoulder, blood flowing between his fingers as he grimaced in pain. Apparently, my blow had done more than I anticipated. The fighter was hurt, so maybe his female compatriot would give up if her muscle was taken care of.

“Him.” I said with a new determination, pointing my cane towards the one known as Zack, “He’s the one that attacked us, so he should be the one that goes down. There’s no need to bring physical harm to her.” I motioned towards Agnie with my weapon. My eyes shifted around, trying to find something I could use to my advantage. Zack would be able to handle me in one on one combat, so I needed to keep my distance.

I smiled when I found a half-full mug of ale on a long abandoned table. There was also a couple of GP left on the oak as a tip, telling me that the thing had not yet been bused. I ran towards the table, reeling my weapon back and swinging it as hard as I could against the mug. Glass shattered, and both liquid and shards began to fly towards Zack and Agnie. Now, I realize the irony of inadvertently attacking a girl I had just asked not to, but at that exact moment, I was more concerned with taking the big man out rather than my own code of ethics.

Oh, this was absolutely priceless, and Ags fully planned to monopolize on this knight in shining armor. When the blade came down on Zack she screamed, and to her credit, it was a very genuine scream that rang so high and sharp that it was nearly a sound only dogs could hear, and the glassware sighed in relief when it remained intact. Even her partner winced at the shriek, and he was the one who'd been gored.

As Aimer smashed the mug she ducked behind Zack, effectively using him as a meat shield. (They were obviously very close, caring friends.) Then, not wishing to hang around for any future developments that might result in her being stuck by a sword or injured by shrapnel, the regal Princess Agnie Lar hightailed it into the throng of the spectating crowd, apparently a weeping, shaken mess.

Though she was not a professional actor like some in their midst, it was rather convincing, especially considering a competitive fighter usually bluffed to maintain some semblance of pride rather than throw it all out the window and, well, cry like a little girl. But in a place like Tenger Jerhal, honor meant little and playing dirty was a sport all of its own, at which this particular fey excelled in her formative years.

Once Ags was satisfied that she was adequately lost in the crowd, her short stature easily concealed even if she was quickly chased, she could be found no longer to the average eye. It was almost as if the fairy disappeared altogether, having slipped into some vacuum that awaited her, but such was not the case. After all, if there were doors available it'd be one thing, but alas, she was portal-less on the open dock unless she ran for the accompanying building, and she wasn't quite sure if this Duffy fellow would allow it. She recognized with calm resign that he was most dangerous to her, and the fact that he lashed out at her first in spite of Zack's initial offense was enough to keep her wary, indeed.

Donning the mantle of fey glamour was second nature to Agnie, and now there was a new face in the crowd: a stunningly lifelike interpretation of a specific person she'd seen moments earlier, with sandy blonde curls and blue and green mottled eyes that matched Aimer's to a tee. The little girl in the photograph had aged to a young teenager, preciously awkward and lanky, as if her weight hadn't quite caught up to a recent growth spurt that had her quickly approaching her brother's stature. She wore a cream colored dress lined with lace and ribbon, different than the one in the photo, but of a similar class that made her utterly picture-perfect.

And so this clone, made in utterly ill taste, awaited in the crowd either for the victim of her prank to notice or an opportune moment to let the cat out of the bag. And, of course, she kept a close eye on the gimp.

Zack grinned as Ags ducked into the crowd, but his grin became a grimace once he remembered the pain in his shoulder, as well as the few glass shards that were embedded in his body. Even though his jacket took the brunt of the glass, he could feel his blood flowing out of the various cuts. The youth had managed to lean back a little to avoid losing his arm to his opponent’s sword. He had been cut, but it was nothing life threatening, save for perhaps blood loss. He coughed a bit and growled, turning his attention back to his two foes.

Aimer seemed to be concerned about Ags more than the battle, so much so that he had taken off in the direction she went. Perhaps he was trying to convince her to give up. Zack smiled at the thought of what Aimer’s good intentions would buy him. His eyes then shifted towards the unnamed crippled, the seemingly stronger of the two men.

“Looks like it’s just you and me then, pal.” Zack spit to the side, a show of disrespect for his foe. The gesture seemed to leave the man unphased, as he came at Zack now with a horizontal swipe from his katana. Unlike the last time, however, Zack jumped back, prepared for the move. He could hear the blade whistle as it tore through wind. That was more than enough for Zack to know that the power behind the swings were from no normal person.

“He called you Duffy,” Zack began to bounce on the heels of his feet, raising his fists in front of his face to prepare for whatever strike would come at him next. “Can I take that to mean Duffy Bracken? Former famous Tantalum Troupe leader, current Ixian Knight, and most importantly, consistent tournament loser? Ags was right; we have this in the bag!”

His taunts seemed to fall on deaf ears, as Zack could tell by the cripples expression that he was unaffected by the verbal jabs. It seemed as though going after Duffy personally was going to be a useless endeavor. Zack smiled as an idea made its way into his mind. He suddenly stopped his bouncing, spreading his arms wide as if he was trying to draw more attention to himself. His shoulder seared with pain from this motion. He could feel the wound throbbing, but the blood had stopped flowing, the cut dried and sticking to his clothes now.

“Say we do get disqualified Duffy, what then? Your partner is beyond useless. He couldn’t fight his way out of a coin purse if he had an adamantine box cutter. Then there’s the issue of one Miss Ruby Winchester. I hear tell you had a falling out with your troupe. Chance you may run into her in round two. Are you ready for a reunion?” All through his talk, Zack was powering up his hands with electricity. Duffy couldn’t see it, but if the fighter managed to lay a hand on the man, he would receive a very shocking surprise.

“Forgive the pun, but it seems that Caned and Able doesn’t have a leg to stand on.”

“That’s Mrs Winchester, to you,” Duffy snarled. His eyes shone. His hair, a wavy bob of chestnut hair much akin to a mop wavered as he lurched forwards. In days of yore, the motion would no doubt have overwhelmed his opponent, and his blade would have snuck between a rib and a collar bone without so much as a bat of an eyelid. Today, an upward thrust with the right hand twisting the blade upwards in suit would quite have to suffice.

The crowd wooed and aahed, the division between attention after Aimer and Ags’ departure seemingly short lived. All eyes were transfixed on the exchange of virility and virtue between the two off landers. When Zack emerged unscathed from the supposed swordsman’s strike once again, the sense of anticipation began to take physical form. Women twitched, men stepped from side to side, and the guards and noblemen abandoned their usual uptight morals. They bade for blood, a fervour pushed to greater heights by the racial tensions and political back stabbing the tournament caused on the island.

“Even better,” Zack clucked, “I’ll make her husband a bachelor!” Ducking into the opening Duffy caused in over extending his sword strike, the mage darted his hands, charged with the sky’s zeal itself, directly through the bard’s guard.

In that moment, two things happened. The first was a change of fortune for both men. The second was a surge of lightning into the unarmoured and feeble body of just one. Duffy’s eyes turned white, for just the briefest of moments, as the energy rocketed down Zack’s arms and into every last inch of his body. He felt pain, but it was short lived. The air left him, an exhalation of surprise as much as one of agony. He felt the floor give way. He felt his Katarhna fall from his fingertips. He felt his heart, what little of it remained, stop dead mid-beat.

When he opened his eyes next, he was some hundred or so feet immediately south of where he had been standing just moments before. He looked up at the darkening sky, its crimson aura and golden halo caressing his spinning senses with promises of sleep well before the midnight chime. He clenched both his fists, but found bereft of blade, bottle, and balm.

“What…” he stopped his feeble attempts to speak as he felt his throat tighten and contract. He watched his condemning breath, part smoke, part vapour spiral up into the night. “Lightning…” he continued, the flashback in his mind as clear and bright and shocking as Zack’s spell.

It took him only a brief moment to rise, conjure his cane, and lean reliantly onto its support. He stood, wearing little more than a plain white shirt ad brown pocketed trousers a short distance from his opponent. With chagrin, he turned his frown into a bitter sweet smile. With nausea reeling his body, and with agonising pangs of his injury jolting up his thigh into his back, the bard did all he could to remain focussed.

“I have had quite enough, now.” He said softly. He ran his tongue, dry and cracked, and in much need of a drink much stronger than water over his piercings. They gave him something to focus on that wasn’t a repugnant face or a fattened, hideous visage of the island’s cruel and twisted fashion. “I could toy with you all the night’s long hours. You could swipe at me with petty taunts and,” he coughed, “I dare say they’d get to me…eventually.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“I heard you were weak,” Zack snarled. There was contempt in his voice that Duffy had once lived by. He smiled at the man, knowingly, but condescendingly too.

“I so did not want to do this now.” He looked around at the half-formed circle that often materialised about a spectacle. “I certainly did not want to do it here.” He picked up the Cane of Eraclaire, and leant on his left, and only one good leg. “Improvisation is a strong point, despite your many attestations.” He coughed again; a deeper rattle emerged from his lips.

“Does it matter where I beat you senseless?”

“My most radiant ladies,” Duffy proclaimed. His voice was loud and his accent was clear. “Good and erstwhile gentlemen, and lords, ladies, and vagabonds,” he waved a casual and flamboyant left hand across the left half of the circle. Curious eyes and shaking onlookers began to bite lips and tug at coattails. They had seldom seen a speech before. “My name is Duffy Bracken, Lord and Regent of the Brandybuck Troupe.” Zack raised an eyebrow.

“Wait a mi…”

“I am known by many names, and for many good and ill deeds in many countries. I am the Tantalum, in Scara Brae.” He began to turn slowly, “I am the Hero of the Western Weald in Old Corone,” he winced as he twisted his shin a little too far, and the bruised bone and throbbing muscles pulsed with a reminder he was less than defensible. “Here, in Lornius, I am but an outsider.” He set his sights back on Zack. His pupils were fiery, though the flames of passion, and not hatred were all that burnt there.

“Quit’ talking and fight, you waste of space!” Zack raised his hands in a defensive stance once again.

“What you have witnessed here today is a transgression against your traditions, and, might I add, against your honour. This good sir,” he gestured at Zack, lifting his shoulders and puffing out his chest as if to suggest indignation as he did so, “has broken one of the very fundamental tenets of the Lornius Challenge.” The crowd were, by now, slowly beginning to nibble out of Duffy’s hand. His sense of self-important and track record in previous engagements were forgotten. “I will ask you but once, will you let that stand?”

His voice took on a property quite unearthly. It did not seem like it was his own.

“Nay,” someone said with conviction, but without pitch. Duffy snapped about to look in the direction the voice had come from. Several more followed in a mumbled cacophony of half-acceptance and nervous encouragement.

Though Duffy had indeed fallen out with Ruby Winchester over the direction of the playhouse, and of the ways in which the bard had arranged their grand endeavour to Lornius, they were professionals. Professionals do not let personal qualms and misadventures get in the way of a polished, refined, and unrivalled performance. There was too much at stake to allow a petty minded man and a kleptomaniac undo his hard work. Things were happening he did not need to waste time explaining to the pawns in the political game that the tournament had become.

“I expected as such.” He smiled. This time, there was no passion in his eyes, or warmth in his tone, nor was there pretence. The method-acting faded away, and the oration became nothing more than pushing a rabid dog into a baying crowd of angry, bitter, and oppressed sheep. “Let it be said, that the people of Lornius did not allow their ways to be undone by outsiders!”

“Aye!” they agreed, their voice becoming an echo with weight behind it.

“Let it be remembered, for all of history to record, that today was the day justice was enacted for tradition and honour!” He thumped his free hand against his chest, and coughed again. Though he had intended to perform a patriotic display, Duffy inadvertently dislodged the gobbet of blood that had pooled in his oesophagus, and phlegm, unceremoniously. He folded forwards, nearly falling, and clutched at his chest. When he rose, he had a trickle of blood down one side of his mouth, and a red smear thick with disease and acrid black magic down the other. His collar was reddened, from where he wiped it away out of view.

“Show this good sir that the people of Lornius expect him to pay, in blood, for each drop spilled outside of the arena!”

Something strange happened at that moment. Duffy, instead of advancing along with the crowd, which became alive and seething and angry all at once, instead retreated. He limped, he slithered, and he turned. Though the curse which ran through every vein in his battered body had absorbed the lightning, and his acting skills had given him the advantage over both the crowd and Zack, it had given the darkness within a shadow to hide in. He felt it even now rising up from the wound, long black tendrils writhing in the abyss of his soul. He click-clacked his cane as he wavered, uneasy, and then vanished.

The sucking sound of air leaving a space quickly and the ribbons of blue light in his wake were all Zack Blaze would see of Duffy Bracken’s generosity and mercy as he made a dramatic getaway. When they met next, the Bladesinger would pull no punches, and hold no torch to the light of civility. He would almost certainly make the man pay for being a thorn in his side in what may yet prove to be Duffy Bracken's final days.

“Assuming of course,” he muttered as he pushed through to the opposite side of the advancing wall of bodies, “that he survives the night…” he coughed again, laughing in between every pained inhalation, and sped away with what little haste he had left to find Aimer. At the very least, the boy would learn something about all this commotion, other than how to be an unfalteringly kind man in unkind world.

She was frightened. Something about this battle was very emotional for her, because the second that Zack had taken that damage from the glass shards, I couldn’t help but notice that she fled into the crowd. Without another word to friend or foe alike, I went after her, concerned for her well being. That was, after all, what a true gentleman did.

The audience was now so engrossed with Duffy, who was busy making one of his bleeding heart speeches that they barely moved as I nudged them to the side. Person by person, I tried to make my way through the crowd to find Ags once more. After a few people had finally cleared a small path (they seemed to be getting closer to the actual fight, for some reason), I froze when I saw a person I had not expected to meet. At least, not just yet.

“A-Amara?” I was absolutely taken back at the sight of my sister. She had grown into a fine young woman. I thought for a moment that the young woman standing before me was not my sister, but some sort of illusion. After all, Amara should have been about thirteen, and this girl looked a little older. Did my parents drive her away, to do the stuff she never would have dreamed of doing otherwise? Did my folks wind up treating my baby sister like they treated me?

“A-Aimer?” Her voice was soft, as if she was afraid that raising it would get her in trouble, “Aimer, is that you?”

I dropped my cane, a beaming smile on my face as I ran towards the girl. Tears welled up in my eyes as I threw my arms around her. I could feel her own arms around me, embracing me with just as much love as I was showing her. I had missed her so much that I had forgotten all about Ags and the tournament, at least for a few brief moments. “Amara, it’s ….I mean I…”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, my arms still around the girl. “We need to get you out of here.”

Duffy's speech was incredibly handy as it was just as drawn-out as it was dramatic, and while everyone concentrated on him, Ags had an opportunity to scout for found weapons. She pocketed a handful of forks and, to her delight, a steak knife that she nicked from some abandoned place settings, the disguised fey weaving through the tables and the distracted crowd to draw her position strategically closer to the building behind them.

Aimer found her a little more quickly than she hoped, but still, she elicited the desired reaction and hence was pleased with herself. "Amara" hugged him back, enjoying his cologne in a very creepy, unsisterly fashion, but thanks to the emotional distraction he didn't seem to notice, as he urgently insisted they split. She wasn't about to argue.

"Was that you fighting? Did you hurt someone?" she asked in a small voice, amping up a legendary guilt trip on her alleged big brother. "U-um… come on." She grabbed his hand, offered him a concerned but goofy little smile that said she wasn't quite sure what to make of this untimely reunion, and pulled him quickly towards the bar entrance. It wasn't far, and if they made it, she had this in the bag. Agnie pulled him insistently, glancing back over her shoulder once to reassure him just how concerned and upset his poor little sister really was.

If nothing stopped them, crossing the threshold of the bar wouldn't bring them onto the first floor of that building, but much higher up. Using her Door to Door ability, Agnie linked the entry to bring them to their space upstairs, and Aimer unwittingly stepped through the portal along with her. Misery Business was given identical quarters to the other teams: large, comfortable chambers with a balcony with a view that was simply to die for. It thrilled her to no end to give truth to this idiom.

As soon as they stepped onto the balcony, brisk wind tugging at their clothing and hair, "Amara" didn't give him time to register the change and immediately drew that steak knife from her pocket, digging it unceremoniously into the chest of the young man before her. If successful, the remainder of the borrowed silver would likely follow, with full intent to commit homicide by cutlery and dump the man off the edge where he could quite possibly bounce off the sloped rooftop and plummet like a fallen angel to the denizens of the ghetto hundreds of feet below. How romantic!

This process, however, was disturbed when a rather drunk fellow stumbled in through the portal on their heels, just close enough behind that he passed through before Ags instinctively closed it. She looked to the intruder, who was just sober enough to experience some level of amazement when he walked into a crime scene instead of the bar, and she punted him in the shin, sending him stumbling back out onto the porch.

Zack grinned as the crowd began to surround his person. Duffy sure knows how to get a crowd riled up, he thought as they inched closer, wielding everything from their fists to random items strewn about the area. The primitive actions of the townspeople caused Zack to formulate a plan rather quickly. About three feet from being decimated by commoners, Zack through his hands outwards in a flashy display. “Stop!” He yelled as loud as he could.

To hi amazement, they did.

“We aren’t here to listen to you,” a voice shouted out from somewhere in the crowd, “We want our city back!”

Zack interlaced his fingers with one another and stretched out his hands, popping the knuckles in each of his digits. “You know, I would expect more from a rather civilized town, “he started, “then to be swayed by a few eloquently placed words from a person who should be considered anything but. You people are aware he was using you, right?”

There were some awkward glances amongst the folks, before their conviction came back and they began to advance towards Zack once more. “You’re a monster!” came a voice that sounded as if it were fading away, like it belonged to someone trying to escape the audience, “You started this fight!”

Nods of agreement and shouts of ‘Aye’ once again surfaced amongst the townsfolk, to which Zack responded by spreading his arms to the heavens themselves. “Then by all means folks. Attack me, and I’ll show you what a true monster is.”

The crowd was reluctant at first, but one single brave soul, wielding a small dirk, came charging through the crowd at the fighter. This barbaric approach was just what Zack needed for his plan, so as his attacker came charging, the injured youth shouted at the top of his lungs. “MAKAI!” he screamed to the clouds, “TO ME!”

Something hit the ground with a hard thud, causing the land around the townsfolk to quake ever so slightly. A cloud of dust had formed around Zack and the single attacking villager, impairing the vision of his fellow man. A scream came from within the dust cloud, and the man who thought he would slay Zack Blaze came running out, stumbling over himself to get away. “A monster! A true monster!” He managed to fumble out of his mouth as the dust began to settle.

The knife had found its mark, slightly below the lung and embedded to the handle in flesh. Only the flesh was blue, and belonged to an eight foot tall, blue ogre. The beast growled as he pulled the blade from his flesh, tossing it harmlessly to the ground. Zack smiled, stepping out from behind his meat shield and in front of the audience.

“I would suggest getting the guards,” Zack said, putting his hands behind his back and trying his best to mask the pain in his shoulder, “See, none of you can stand up to Makai. It took four well trained warriors, myself included, to subdue him. Four well trained warriors, people who have not been pampered by living in a floating city all of their lives. Now he is mine to command. Sure, you guys have your share of crime.” Zack paused for a moment to contemplate his wording, sticking his head up towards the heaven as if he was merely speaking philosophy.

“But how many of your people have fought an actual ogre before?”

“Boo!” Makai shouted, and the crowd was sent running. People trampled over their kinsmen to get away from the horrific beast. Guards were being called for left and right, but Zack had no intention of staying around long enough to see how this turned out.

“Think you can get out of here Makai?”

“I’ll be fine,” he flashed his grin of jagged yellowish teeth, “As long as you don’t mind me cracking a few skulls to escape.”

“That’s fine,” Zack nodded to his large bodyguard, noticing the green liquid oozing out of his abdomen, “I’ll bandage that up later. Just worry about escaping. I will no longer be a priority for…well anybody right now.” Zack began to head back towards the hotel, ashamed he let Duffy escape but sadistically happy he instilled fear into the people of Lornius. Before he walked off, the youth paused for one more moment. “Oh, and Makai?”

“Yeah?”

“ ‘Boo’? Really? Work on some better dialogue.” He could hear the ogre laugh as he started to make his way back to the hotel, a brisk jog set for his pace as he passed several guards rushing towards the scene of the crime. Each step brought with it a small jolting pain in the man’s shoulder, but now he had an advantage. He had seen Duffy Bracken fight, knew the kind of strategies the man used.

And Zack was not impressed.

Duffy Bracken did not hate crowds. He did, however, hate being in them. The teething mass of bodies pressed against him as he swatted uptight seamstresses and scruffy looking bricklayers out of the way. His commotion seemed, from his unfocussed perspective, to have served its purpose, but it left him fighting an altogether more oppressive enemy – himself.

“Excuse me, coming through!” he chirped, stumbling haphazard as an overweight gentleman clad in fine hazelnut silk bumped into him. “Get out of the way, can’t you see I’m injured?” he snapped. When another passer-by keen to draw the blood of an outsider clipped him on his left, he lost his composure. At this rate, by the time he found Aimer, he would be a bloody mess without ever having to draw his blade or sing a song.

The bard stopped dead in his tracks when a distinctly grating voice penetrated the ambient noise of several hundred people converging. It was clearly Zack’s, projected by the echo between the tall buildings that hemmed in the mass of bodies. He did not wait to listen, assuming that if the mage was fighting back with words, then he had overestimated his ability to deal with the situation. He shook his head, knocking away the compassion he had for most living things, and left the happenstance firmly where it belonged – in the past. Misery Business had brought it upon them.

“Aimer Rogers, you good for nothing cad!” he shouted, his voice a clear cut straight-laced Coronian insult in a mumbling chorus of strange, thick, and almost aggressive Lornian dialect. Only the sound of his cane clicking against the stone came from the bard as he continued. He was not entirely sure why he found himself naturally weaving through the crowd to the bar they had started the afternoon in, but it seemed as good a place as any.

After all, when he was a child, Ruby Winchester had always told him to go back to a safe place, and wait. The safe place for a younger Duffy had been the Prima Vista, the troupe’s play house of yesteryear, long before he had to grow up and deal with people as vile as those he was surrounded by. He stepped up onto the canopied veranda to the left of the main entrance, flustered, sweating, and distraught. The sky was by now quite dark, it’s mid-morning resplendence long dead, its evening idyll well and truly spent.

“Oh bollocks,” he snapped.

He had been so busy trying to guide the hands of fate towards his agenda, and of course, teaching Aimer the finer points of acquisitioning one’s goods from thieves, he had forgotten to look after his own personal effects. He felt his waist, and closed his eyes with a long, drawn out sigh when he realised how stupid he had been. He clicked a finger and fore thumb, and hummed a tune that vibrated with the stars.

Silence filled the space, drowning out all the commotion and hubbub of the city.

“I’m sorry…” he said. When he opened his eyes again his Katarhna, a blade worth more to him than any life, was resting on the nearest table. Its blade untarnished by Zack’s slithering dexterity, or his jawbone, for that matter, and its hilt perfectly trimmed with black and gold ribbon. He limped towards it and rested a palm on its edge. “I need to learn to not leave old friends behind when they need me most.” His voice took on a sombre quality that mingled dramatically with the light of the moon as it danced over the canopy. He picked up the blade, and slid it into his belt on his left him. It’s weight, unnaturally heavy for a blade that swung so lightly balanced his crooked stance out somewhat as he made for the main entrance inside.

No sooner than he came to the handle, something felt...odd. He pressed his fingers against the steel, and instantly felt dizzy. He stepped back, set his cane down hard on the decking, and cocked his head to one side. He ran his hand over his chin inquisitively. He recognised the sensation in his stomach, and the sudden cessation of pain in any part of his body. The curse that kept his shin shattered as though the fall that caused it had just happened also afforded him remarkable resilience against his natural foe - magic. Something was almost definitely magical about this door.

"One mage, and a witch," he said abruptly. He was starting to dislike the obtuse, cackling woman more and more. He shook his head, decided against being foolish enough to open the door, and made his way around the side of the building to the veranda's double doored summer entrance.

He slipped into the bar quietly, unassuming and devoid of any particular features that would have otherwise drawn every gaze in the smoky pool quarter. Given the lavish nature of the establishment, it surprised Duffy to see such a murky array of patrons. There were elves, dwarves, and orcs mingling around the green felt plinths to a sport he had never, in five centuries, been quite able to understand. He wove through them, muttering pleases and thank you to avoid conflict, and came to a short, sharp, and sudden stop halfway along the bar.

“I should not leave new friends behind, either,” the bard said flatly. He watched the front door. Though several people entered, which he could see through the window, none ever came inside. This puzzled Duffy greatly, who had to rub his eyes just to check he wasn't hallucinating. Someone quite literally stumbled out backwards onto the porch, tripped and fell down the stairs, and then walked away disgruntled. The inn appeared to be defending itself.

“Would some Thayne or another tell me what the fuck is going on…?” he pleaded, his irritation sneaking through into his words like a narrator's emphasis. All his sense of self importance and his oratory skill were thrown firmly out of the tavern’s window, kicking and screaming like an unwelcome guest. He quickened his pace despite the lash of pain up his side that struck with every step. With the Katarhna in his left hand, and his cane in his right, Duffy stopped acting like a hero, and started being one. With a beading brow of sweat and worry he made his way up the mahogany veneer of the stairway in hot pursuit.

My eyes shifted downward to the piece of metal now sticking out of the center of my chest, ‘Amara’s’ hand still holding the handle. As she pulled the knife out, I reached down towards the hole, feeling at it and then pulling my hand back to see the result. My own blood poured down each of my fingers, dripping softly onto the floor. I stumbled backwards while looking at the person I thought to be my sister. Agnie was apparently a master of deceit, and I had fallen for her ruse hook, line, and sinker.

I stumbled backwards, cursing the fates as well as my own bad luck. Already I had let down my partner in this tournament, and the event had yet to even officially begin. I was so engrossed in my own failings that the balcony overlooking the sky didn’t register with me even when my legs hit the fine redwood railing. My eyes shifted from Ags, to my blood soaked hand and back. I felt my body getting dizzy; the blood was leaving me at an exuberant rate. Still, I tried to put up my fists, an attempt to redeem my earlier carelessness.

It wasn’t until Duffy entered the room that my consciousness and body gave way and fell backwards, straight off the balcony.

The plan worked and as Aimer grasped at his chest, the fey smiled at him, never dropping the guise of his dear sister's face. She was immensely proud of whatever trauma this was causing; the Challenge may have ultimately been nothing but a game, something she would largely forget in a matter of weeks or months, but he would always remember this.

The gimp burst into Misery Business' chambers at last minute and Ags spectated as he saw his partner fall off the balcony, then limped at full speed to follow. This surprised her –– humans were a little stupid, throwing themselves around for each other all the time –– but endeared her, and she decided, as she peeked over the edge of the railing to watch the beginning of their hopefully-lethal plummet, that if they were to ever meet again, she might buy them a drink.

Unfortunately for Zack, she was significantly less invested in him than the other teams seemed to be with each other. The thought to go check on him outside and make sure Duffy hadn't skewered him and he wasn't bleeding out on the pavement didn't even cross her mind. Instead, feeling utterly satisfied and accomplished, her mind quickly turned to reward as she remembered the elegant, spacious bath she'd spied earlier upon arrival.

Agnie walked across the room, shedding the glamour as she did so, and the inhumanly radiant gold returned to her hair and eyes as she became herself again. Along with that went her clothes, left carelessly in a trail to the ice bucket where she grabbed a bottle of champagne, and she disappeared into the spa where she was determined to victory-soak until she was nothing but a mushy, fairy-shaped prune.