To Trump a Bluff..

[Saxon]

"Yew Listenin', Nachi?," the sell-sword roared at the despondent storyteller, his face turning a deep, flushed purple," I said I'm gonna kick yer teeth in, you cheatin' sonuva bitch!". Fibonacchi sat there, his glazed eyes wandering the crowd as he contemplated his inevitable demise. Slowly Mugov rose to his full height, and allowing the table to regain its balance. Jabbing a meaty finger at the peddler, the mercenary's pot belly quivered with movement," I'll see yew out in da alley, make sure to drink up, Nachi', yer gonna need the liquid courage!". With that Fibonacchi watched death slowly walk to the door, the crowd muttering to themselves as Mugov slapped the swinging saloon doors out of bitter rage.

Without warning the storyteller jumped to his feet, his hand sweeping over his corner of the table," Mugov, get back in here!" he hollered. Slowly, burning plush coals gazed from the other side of the saloon doors as the teal-coated trickster licked his lips," Cut of the deck, Mugov. Highest card wins."

Pushing the swinging doors cockily, the mercenary raised an eyebrow and strutted back into the room, grabbing his sweat-stained suspenders with a grin on his face," What are ya' willin' to wager, Nachi'?".

Casting his hand in the direction of the remaining plunder that had not been knocked onto the floor and pilfered by the hungry throng," All of it. Every last cent that I have," Fibonacchi smiled. His eyes glimmering with desperation.

Shaking his head, Mugov smiled, his puffy cheeks raising over his treacherous eyes," Ain't good enough, yew gotta sweeten the pot if ya' want me back to da table," the mercenary growled.

Holding his beloved wedding ring in his left hand and the copper chained watch in the other, the storyteller's gray-stained eyes danced," These too. Every last cent, Mugov. No tricks."

Smacking his porkish lips together, the sell-sword ambled slowly towards his hated enemy and stopped. He stood a head or two taller then the storyteller. Looking down on him, Mugov grazed the tip of the peddler's chin with his jagged knife," Still ain't good enough. I don't want yer damn money, I never did!".

Not blinking, Fibonacchi glared at his rival with a fire kindled anew," Alright then, Mugov, cut to the chase and tell me what it is exactly you want from me." The tension had begun to mount as the pair's fixed gaze was static with extreme prejudice. It had seemed like an eternity before the mercenary spoke.

"I want nothin' from you Nachi'. I've already got it," Mugov jutted a thumb to the doors to the pub and jeered," Once yew cross those doors, yer mine. No weaseling out of it, no where to run, and no where to hide. So quit yer grovelin', grow a pair, and step outside like a real man."

Dumbfounded, Fibonacchi was at a loss for words, his mind swimming in search for an answer. But, as the sell-sword lowered his wavering blade and started to turn away, the peddler laughed," What if I bet my life on this, Mugov? What would you do then?".

Freezing in place, the stunned mercenary slowly turning his head, his double chin wobbling as he considered the storyteller for a moment. Turning away, Mugov began to walk again," No way that'd happen. No one would be stupid enough to bet their life on a cut of the cards! Only a desperate, reckless fool with nothing left to lose would throw his life away!". The sell-sword's cuffed boots was the only sound in the room as he sauntered further away," Now com'n out and take yer lumps!".

Fibonacchi licked his parched lips once more, glowering in desperation," I am that desperate, reckless fool." like a broken record stuck on play, the sell-sword stopped again, turned and stormed up to the peddler his face a burning red as he dug his blade under his victim's bearded chin.

" I ain't fallin' fer your tricks again, Nachi'. I know what yer plannin' and it ain't gonna work. Now stop wastin' my time, before yew make me forget we're in a public place!" Mugov roared.

It felt like a play to the crowd as Fibonacchi stared dangerously into the mercenary's eyes. Pushing the blade away from his face, the storyteller stammered," L-look at this way, Mugov. You've already got me, but heres the thing. This pub is full of witnesses, and if I were to some how disappear, you would be rotting in a Coronian prison cell by the end of the month. I'm sure you've had your fair share of run-ins with the law, but I think you already know what Corone's government facilities can be like with the right conviction," Not letting the mercenary counter, Fibonacchi continued to speak in his sing-song, lulling voice," But! If I was willing to wager my life, in front of all these witnesses to a cut of a deck and I lost.. well.. it would be yours for the taking. Legal and all." Watching the mercenary turn the perverbial rock down the hill in his head, Fibonacchi watched with a keen, trained eye only one of his profession could develop. The crowd murmured loudly as they witnessed one man trying to bet his life on a mere cut of the cards.

Having mulled it over, the mercenary raised a wary eyebrow," No tricks?".

Swelling with pride the peddler feigned innocence," Why I'm hurt, Mugov. What do you take me for?!" But seeing his sarcasm lost upon the fat, portly sell-sword, Fibonacchi rolled his eyes and repeated," One cut of the deck. Highest card wins. No tricks."

Shoving his knife back in his belt, the mercenary plucked a cigar from his shirt pocket and pushed it into his fat lips, his tanned skin glistening in sweat as he jeered," Y'know, Nachi', I under estimated ya'. Yew are one crazy bastard".

Given the circumstances, Fibonacchi would've walked away when the card game was his. But knowing his life was on the line either way, he wanted at least a fighting chance. Cautiously extending his hand, the peddler's voice grew quiet," As a fox. Now do we have a deal?"

The mercenary looked about the sea of faces, their expressions varying from indifference to jittery. Catching the thin, pale hand in his meaty grasp Mugov nodded," We have a deal." But as the storyteller attempted to walk away, the mercenary held him fast," One last thing though. Yew ain't shufflin'."

In quiet alarm the storyteller nodded hesitantly and eyed his chubby pact-maker," Fine. But you aren't either". Nodding to each other in agreement the crowd released their pent up breath, the tension cut and the wager set. It took everything Fibonacchi had, but at the cut of a deck, he was going to see victory one way or another.

[Saxon]

As Mugov took a different seat from a random table, and sat, the chair creaked as it gave a silent cry under its heavy burden," How are we gonna do this Nachi'?". Studying the talkative crowd, the peddler walked to a brunette girl barely out of puberty and put his back to the mercenary, their voices drowned out by the throng of spectators. Turning with the bewildered girl in his arm, she smiled weakly as the crowd cheered while she accepted the deck of cards.

Escorting the bystander to the table, Fibonacchi took his seat and smiled at her," All right miss, you know how to shuffle a deck of cards, right?". The teenager held the deck of cards to her heart and nodded timidly, wary that the sell-sword would make a grab at her. Seeing Mugov slowly stir at the proposal, Fibonacchi nodded," When your ready, lass".

Putting a clump of cards in each hand, she began to awkwardly shuffle the cards, laughing nervously she continued to cram the cards together when she felt a strong, meaty arm wrap itself around her slender hips and yank her to the other side of the table. As the crowd gasped at the display, Mugov grinned as he looked down at her," Do it over here, doll face. Where I can get a better view."

Nearly jumping out of the fat warrior's grasp, the girl resumed shuffling when she was again interrupted by the chubby interloper," Say, what's yer name, tootz?".

Slowly bubbling with teenage angst, the girl gazed down at the cards and whispered softly," Zoe". The men in the crowd hollered at the name, while Mugov sat with his eyes affixed upon the teenager, completely disregarding the peddler. Slowly the deck of cards came together loudly, the one called Zoe trying to inch away from the barley-breathed brute. Putting the cards on the table, she walked back hurriedly through the crowd and out the saloon doors in a mad rush.

The patrons, caught up in gossip were put into startled silence when Mugov slammed his blade loudly into the oaken table, spilling some more of the treasure trove into the crowd. Fibonacchi, silently watching the forced procession in a sort've tongue-in-cheek way. Beginning to reach for the cards, the mercenary slapped the peddler's hand away savagely," Naw. I'm not sittin' through one of yer tricks again, Nachi'. Yew picked the girl, I get the first cut!".

Fibonacchi's eyes grew dark as he gulped, his hand retreating back to safety. Proceeding with the ritual Mugov placed his hand on the deck and held his breath as he looked about the sea of faces. Gripping a half of the cards with plump, relentless fingers, the man broke the deck and placed it under the remainder. Face down the leathery, blue pattern seemed surreal in the storyteller's eyes as he watched the mercenary turn over the card gingerly. Grinning from ear to ear, Mugov smacked the table in hysteria," Ten of clubs! My ol'e favorite!". Regainning his composure, the mercenary glanced at the distraught peddler and nodded to the deck," Yer turn, Nachi'. I'm watching yer hands this time, and if I even hear a snap, that knife ovah yonder is going into a part of ya' yew like. Got me?".

The storyteller looked to be weighing the scales when he nodded, and carefully extended his arm over to the deck of cards, his pale, thin hand engulfing the mass of leather, each one like a part of the Fate's ample mind, waiting to be plucked. Following suit with Mugov, Fibonacchi cut the deck and stacked it under the rest of it. Taking a deep, long breath and trying on the warrior's thin patience, the peddler turned the card face up onto the varnished table.

Gasps of surprise and blank, silent faces exchanged looks as a single voice laughed until the person's face resembled a tomato as he gasped for air. Witnessing Luck bring his competitor to his knees, Mugov could barely hold his liquor. Holding the card high in the air, the mercenary giggled," Hehaha! That is rich, Nachi'! I felt a heart attack coming on, but a four of hearts? It just ain't yer lucky night, is it?". Harshly getting up from the table and knocking the chair across the floor, Fibonacchi backed away in a blind falter, his fate being sealed from the moment the card hit the table. Grasping his graying black locks poking out of his wide, cerulean hat, the peddler looked to be on the verge of a psychotic episode.

Mugov watched the peddler regain his composure with a loud, violent outburst and walk silently towards the table, the mercenary picked up a gold piece and flicked it in his direction with a powerful thumb and grinned candidly," Fer the drink yer gonna need. Yew go ahead and collect it while I scoop my winnings into a bag." Watching the quiet storyteller obey without question he added," And don' go runnin' away now. There ain't a God that can help yew if ya' try to welsh on this bet."

The crowd slowly began to file out, distraught by the coming end of a destroyed, beloved man. Sitting on the stool by the bar, Fibonacchi grappled with his demons over a shotglass of whiskey. Loudly the mercenary talked with individuals who had shared his point of view, brushing the loot gingerly into a giant sack used for flour. With the pub still near the brim, it felt like divine intervention when a small, stepping stool cracked against the back of a random patron's head. The arithmetic of doing such a thing in a bar cluttered with tense, angry drunks was mind boggling. The result sparked like wild fire, the patron knocked into another man who knocked into another. Pretty soon fists left their owners into random faces, and the brawl was on. Women and small children squeezed through the throng of brawlers like trapped rats.

Caught up in all the chaos, Mugov was knocked on his side by two wrestling drunks, and his bag of loot dropped with a loud, clinking thud. At the sound of money hitting the free-for-all part of the pub, the vindictive mob leaped over tables, hopped over chairs, and trampled others to the ground as they tore and wrestled an armed sell-sword for what appeared to be a bag full of plunder. Feeling his treasure lost anyway, Mugov grabbed the bag with both hands and wrenched it in the air, swinging like mad," Yew want my winnings? Then take em'!". Slamming the bag into the encroaching bland frenzy, the sell-sword watched one of the patron's fall to the ground, his skull cracking open like a melon upon a rock.

Pulling a lump of cold, useless pyrite littered ore in his hand, the brute grew purple with rage," Yew backwater, two-timing rat! Damn you, Fibonacchi!". As Mugov was engulfed by a vicious mob intent on seeking revenge, he looked to a bar that sat vacant except for the cursing bartender, a shot glass knocked over, dripping cold whisky onto the stained wooden floor below. Pulled under by the tide of angry spectators, the mercenary was in no state of mind to witness two vagrant shadows slip out the Silver Pub and leave the chaos behind to steal off into the slumbering city of Radasanth, a heavy clinking bag filled to the brim with hope, freedom, and especially treasure.

[Saxon]

Hauling the loot upon his back and the girl called Zoe right behind him, Fibonacchi had never ran so hard in his entire life. Thoughts bubbled in his mind as he turned a corner about what would happen if Mugov caught him. Turning his mind's eye away from the possibility, the peddler huffed another block with Zoe following close before he encountered a winery called The Tangled Vine. Stopping to catch his breath, Fibonacchi noted that the door to the brewery had been ripped off its hinges, scuff marks on the wooden steps indicating barrels and crates had been shoved out recently.

Watching Fibonacchi slowly mount the stairs and gaze into the dark, ransacked building she whispered hurriedly," Wasn't this the hideout in your story?! The one with the cultists worshipping that Bahk-thing?". The storyteller ignored her and stepped over the door with loud, subtle creaks and gazed around him. The slow, silent dawn just off the horizon revealed two or three cloaked bodies crumpled on the floor with wounds obviously self-inflicted. The brewery, despite its recent pillaging, looked to have been out of business for years.

Pulling the sack further up, Fibonacchi tip-toed over the bodies and stopped, turning his calm, gray eyes gazed at the girl who stood at the threshold and sighed in frustration," Yes, yes it is the place. But these people are gone by now, take a good look at this place! See? Now lets get to the roof where its safe and I'll explain!". Turning and hearing light creaks on the heavy wooden door the peddler whispered," Good girl," and walked further into the dark, decadent winery into the storeroom.

Unable to see, the storyteller pulled a match out with his free hand and flicked it against the grain of a nearby column. Watching it catch fire, Fibonacchi looked about him, startled. More bodies littered the place, all with the same wound; a knife plunged into their abdomen. It must've been a slow, painful death, the peddler thought contently. The shelves that would have held the casks were bare, a feminine voice called out behind him," Why do they care about wine so much?". The storyteller merely shrugged and walked to the banister where stairs spiraled to the top of the dark, former fanatic stronghold. Fibonacchi slowly climbed the creaking stairs, the girl following obediently behind.

Cracks of light poured in from the wooden roofing, the only light source from further up. It was agonizing minutes of tripping over bodies and nearly spilling over the poorly lit stairwell until the storyteller ran into a barred door with a thud. Setting the bag of plunder down, Fibonacchi unlatched the rusty door and slowly pushed it open. A rush of cool, refreshing mountain air from the nearby Coronian hills hit the pair full in the face as they gazed at the empty roof ahead. Pulling the loot over his shoulder again, the peddler walked onto the chipped tarred surface and dropped the bag, smiling as freedom glimmered all about it him. Stepping over to the ledge facing the winding road where eventually the Silver Pub laid, the peddler smiled," Beautiful isn't it?".

Too busy to answer, Zoe was bent on the ground pouring the plunder onto the ground, scooping it into halves. Shrugging, Fibonacchi continued," I was afraid you wouldn't come through on your part of the bargain. Especially the bar brawl part.. eh?".

The shuffling of coins stopped and there was a gentle response," I kept my word with the promise of half of this. Besides, how hard could it possibly have been?". With no answer, Zoe looked to the storyteller who stood stooped over the ledge, gazing at the horizon. Rising to her feet from a cross-legged position, the girl walked over and leaned over the ledge to, her unkept, migrant brown hair wafting in the breeze.

"So you want to know why I picked this place right?", Fibonacchi asked keenly, already knowing her answer he pointed to the great hill at the outskirts of the city, where a cloud of dust and mass of rubble littered its otherwise green scenery. Lights from various buildings surrounding the hill had turned on and people were already out, staring up at the rubble, completely unaware of what had taken place.

Zoe gazed at the fallen mansion in wonder," He was actually there? Just now?!". The girl's heart fluttered as she thought of the reclusive eldritch, the sort of puppy love common for teenagers her age.

The storyteller smiled and nodded," Give or take a few hours, yea, he was here. But I suppose you have another question you want to ask me, am I right?".

The girl nodded and whispered secretly," How did you know he was there? Are you spying on him?!".

Fibonacchi gave a hearty laugh as he continued to look at the war torn ruin of a mansion, a certain mysticism hidden behind his gray-stained eyes," In a way I am, but I'm not really sure.. Saxon and I share a.. special connection, if you want to call it that". Watching the girl look at him in the kind of keen interest he often saw upon his own children’s' faces, the peddler grinned," I took it upon myself to share his adventures to the world, because he obviously wasn't going to tell. Besides, hes an eldritch, secrecy is his thing, understand?".

Slowly tearing her gaze from the storyteller to the rubble, Zoe had one final question on her mind," What happened? Did he escape with the watch? Or did he get crushed like a bug?!" she chattered excitedly, hoping to hear of her hero another time.

Pulling a roll of tobacco from his pocket, Fibonacchi lit it with a fine match he scratched across the stony ledge, his eyes gazing towards the blood stained sky. Upon the horizon the dull scarlet orb slowly dipped, meeting with the sun it gave a kind of blood orange streak across the sky. Attempting to access his vast memory for the final time this evening, the storyteller began to speak in his alluring, sing-song voice, allowing the mental picture and imagination in Zoe's mind to do most of the work.

~*~

[Saxon]

It wasn't before long that Saxon realized what he had gotten himself into. Clutching the joggling watch that toiled away with the God locked inside, the weird staggered from the antechamber and into the center of the dark, rumbling stairwell. Rubble tore from the sky as the pillar cemented to the center of the stairwell shook under stress. When it rains, it pours, the eldritch thought quietly to himself as he studied the steps ahead of him. The smooth granite stairs that spiraled towards the surface were ruptured with holes and gaps as the mansion itself convulsed in its death throes. Hobbling with the aid of Syvriak towards the steps, Saxon felt the air cool around him, his senses tingling as the area grew darker. Without casting a provocative glance above, the eldritch leaped instinctively to the side, nearly crushed by a man-sized chunk of marble that rippled the stony dungeon floor below it.

Resting safely under the shade of the winding stairs above him, the weird felt a blinding pain in his side. Holding the staff in the crook of his arm, he dabbed his pallid hand in warm, viscid blood that seemed to seep out of his bandage from his gaping wound. It was the worst pain Saxon had felt in his lifetime, and he wanted nothing more badly then to find a physician to treat the wretched wound before it festered with disease. Slowly the rumbling of the entire stairwell was drowned out by a grating noise from above him. Feeling the shadows upon him darken, the eldritch felt his feet leave the ground as darkness roused from the shadows, pushing him out of the grisly scene below as the lower level of stairs crashed to the ground.

Having landed on the stairway two levels above the ruins below, Saxon spent no time doddling and continued to limp to the world above him. There was a certain rhythm to the shaking, as if two giants were wrestling in the city and both kept trying to get each other into a half-nelson. Something about this escape seemed too easy as the eldritch turned once more about the spiraling staircase. With the exception of the occasional blood curdling scream from atop, the cult seemed to have scattered from the mansion like cockroaches scurrying from daylight and into the cool, safe darkness under someone's sole.

Continuously looking down behind him, the eldritch's head smacked against a thick, ebony surface that hung above him. Rubbing his head, the eldritch gazed overhead to see the oddity. The ashen smog spawned by witchcraft seemed to have finally had a purpose after all. Without warning rocks and debris came crashing through the barrier into the darkness below. The weird ground his teeth as he stared in ire at the blockage before him, his powerful reflection cast in its shiny surface. Not to be daunted by the obstacle, Saxon held the watch, cover up, towards the sky and had instant results.

The barrier slowly began to curve towards the watch's magnetic hold, as if it were a cap being spun inside of a metal tube by a gush of steam. Not waiting to witness what the devil's smoke would do next, the weird had turned and hobbled down the stairs two at a time when he heard a violent scrape against the stony wall. Turning when he was a safe distance, the eldritch watched as the polished, black surface flipped like a coin caught in a bottle, revealing the ashen, opaque haze that had hounded Saxon only hours before. The steps the eldritch had previously stood upon had been sheared off, revealing moist, ground soil that poured without resistance into the abyss below.

With no where to run, Saxon placed his focus into the darkness around it, prodding it to life. Obeying its master, the amorphous, black substance scurried to the eldritch. Obeying his conscious orders, the shadows slithered upon the weird's back and formed four spindly, spider-like limbs that spanned over half the width of the stairwell. Not waiting to be crushed like an insect, Saxon dived off the safety of the stair case only to have the four limbs catch hold in the masonry above, causing the weird to bob. Looking above him and stuffing the rippling watch in his coat pocket, the eldritch firmly grasped his staff in two sweaty palms and climbed quickly into the haze above him.

Knocking aside any whistling debris that might send him into a fatal fall, the eldritch felt his eyes useless as the cloud grew thicker the farther he clawed into it. Hearing a deep whizzing above him, indicating the mass of the wreckage plummeting towards him, Saxon felt a cold flash graze his face as the shadows surrounding him ran defense. Going about this for agonizing minutes and feeling his resolve beginning to dim, a burst of daylight caught the weird suddenly about the face as the barrier left him and he plunged from the haze onto the shiny, basalt surface once more.

The gush of blazing light caused the shadows around the eldritch to dissolve or retreat into the safety of the shade, leaving its master to his own devices. Feeling the central pillar that had guided him all this way, Saxon staggered towards the stairs and continued his climb, the surface only a few yards away. Up, up, up the eldritch went until the ground before him leveled off and the tight cramped space bled into the ruined solarium. Looking about him bodies littered the ground around him, all of them the malevolent cultists who waited aptly for their lord and master only to be cut down by the chaos below.

Circling the expanse of the Hell he had just escaped, the weird ignored the crumbling ceiling and walked onto the quivering pillar where the lurid blood let symbol stared up at him. On intuition alone, the eldritch turned Syvriak upside down, the coiling staff unfolding its head, revealing two writhing, pronged tips. In a last act of heresy, Saxon plunged his staff into the symbol, hearing it click as it accepted the key. Turning Syvriak in his hands, the eldritch felt it ease and jerked to the right. With a low, unearthly growl, the steps heaved themselves back in place, filling the demon's face and into its curved horns. With a gush of dust from the demon's jeering lips, the rumbling stopped, the watch growing still as the God within finally conceded to its imprisonment.

Gazing upon the ruined mansion before him, the luxury and rich feeling shattered like glass, the eldritch still did not feel satisfied. Walking across the scuffed marble floor, slaughter and ruin spanning around him. Stepping into the threshold of the door where the cultists had dragged the fallien prostitute to be gorged upon by the murderous ravager known as The Sjaarg, Saxon didn't look back. Slowly, shadows around the estate quivered and roused again by some mysterious force within the realm of Tsep. Slowly ambling down the dark hallway, Saxon did not take notice to the darkness that began to thrive and cling to every surface it could get hold of, crushing it in it's grip.

Leaving a path of destruction behind him, Saxon staggered through an expansive ball room, littered with even more bodies and luxuries the eldritch knew he would never experience. Tearing down the walls, upholstery, and ceiling around him, the darkness followed the eldritch until he met the door. Placing his hand upon the silvery knob he gave it a turn and pushed the heavy, stain-glassed door open, blinded by the morning light. Slowly the blazing sun rose to bear witness to one of the buildings of Radasanth, rich in malevolent sin and lavish temptation, crumble in on itself. Feeling the strange, alien power that bathed him for the first time, that had taken hold of him from a source he knew not of, fled back into the depths where its master lay dormant. The eldritch never looked back as the seemingly innocent ivory estate was pried open by the evil within, revealing its secrets for the entire world to see.

~*~

[Saxon]

Zoe whistled in awe as she listened to the ending, her eyes gazing upon the mansion with a sort of dedicated malice that one could only find in children. Fibonacchi gave one last puff of listless, gray smoke and ground his cigarette into the ledge, his insomnia finally starting to wane. It had been a long, toiling night and the peddler was on the verge of collapsing out of exhaustion. Glancing at the blazing, morning sun, the storyteller winced, Daliya is going to kill me!. Still resting in his stooped position, Fibonacchi rose and nodded to Zoe," I'll take my share and scaddadle, I've got an angry wife awaiting me when I get home, the sooner I get there, the more likely I'll get to keep my scalp," finding the girl quiet as she still inspected the mansion intensely, Fibonacchi patted her on the shoulder and turned," Later, kid. Thanks again for pulling me out of that jam, sleep well". Hearing no response, Fibonacchi sauntered to the center of the blacktop and leaned over to the sack of gleaming, unprotected loot.

Hearing the distinct clinking sounds of the peddler rooting around noisily through their plunder, she turned," Mister Fibonacchi?". Watching him too caught up in his thoughts, she repeated even louder," Fibonacchi!".

Turning on a coin, the storyteller gazed at her with a pensive look," What is it, kid?".

Pointing in the direction of the estate, Zoe whispered quickly," There are people going into the mansion!". Turning her back to the peddler abruptly, Fibonacchi pocketed his wedding ring and the brass watch he had pinched from some big-wig and rose, walking with a quick pace over to the ledge, and peered into the ruins. Suddenly catching sight of several shadows walking up the beaten, cobbled road into the darkness of the ruin, the storyteller brushed it off.

"What about it? They're probably just two-bit grave robbers going to pick over the rui--," Fibonacchi was cut off by the sound of a foreboding gunshot ringing in the distance, suspicions immediately crinkling his aged brow. Turning on his heel, the storyteller shook his head," We shouldn't be watching, kid. Whatever is happening there is none of our business!".

Bubbling with frustration, Zoe caught the retreating peddler's hand and shouted," How could you say that?! After all you told me, all of us, about Saxon, about everything! You're not even curious about the people?!".

Although Fibonacchi indeed was, he wasn't about to fall into another deep hole he had dug himself into. Slapping her hand aside, the peddler's eyes narrowed," You don't want to go dabbling in Saxon's affairs. Hearing them is one thing, but I've been on the wrong end of that stick once, and it ended up nearly getting my head lopped off. Trust me when I say this Zoe, nothing about Saxon is safe. Ever". Abandoning the girl to her own foolish fantasies, Fibonacchi retreated to the treasure and began to collect his loot when he heard Zoe loudly storm towards him. Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye as he piled his share of coins into his cerulean, rain-stained coat, he stopped," What?! I have a family to feed, and I'm not about to go throwing it away on a hunch and especially when it concerns that eldritch!".

It was as if the storyteller had watched himself betray his very inquisitive nature in front of the adolescent, but he brushed it off. Daliya won't take me back a second time if I get chest deep in this shit again, the peddler tried to reason with himself. It was apparent that the battle inside of Fibonacchi could be seen, because Zoe began to play upon it," You know we should go look, Fibonacchi. If somebody innocent died, Saxon killed Krabek and his gang off for nothing!".

Slowly the storyteller rose, his gold-heavy coat weighing him down as he slung it over his shoulder. Having had to keep this secret from his children for the same reason, Fibonacchi nearly kicked himself for having lured Zoe into the same trap. Placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder he spoke somberly," Zoe, I will tell you one last time, Saxon's business is not to be meddled with. There have been people over the years like you who have taken up the idea of following him around and uncovering his mysteries, and they all died. Horrible deaths. Every one of their bodies I've found, even if its been by coincidence. Zoe, I'm begging you as a friend, do not go to that wretched place. You. Will. Die". Ending his last word with fatherly emphasis, Fibonacchi rose to full height and looked down at her to see if he had finally quelled the bubbling curiosity within the girl.

Glaring up at the peddler with fury, Zoe strode angrily to the remaining treasure, stopped for a moment, and began to walk towards the door. Stopping at the threshold, the girl glanced at the storyteller with malicious eyes," Your a coward! Mugov should've cut you down where you stood. I'm going to the mansion and I'll find out what's going on, Saxon would want me to!". With that the girl stomped off down into the creaking steps, leaving her companion to his own thoughts.

Having encountered this many times, Fibonacchi grew angry with frustration, tears bubbling in his eyes. It was not often that the storyteller had shed a tear, but knowing of what will come to pass, the peddler began to walk with shame and stepped over the teenager's spoils with whatever honor he could muster. Disappearing into the darkness, the peddler had not the heart to follow Zoe to her doom, and he wouldn't dare tell his wife of what had come to pass. For some reason, Fibonacchi knew that his wife would have taken his children and left him if she knew what he was allowing to happen with another of his recollections of the elusive eldritch.

~*~

[Saxon]

When Saxon had left the ruined mansion, he had thought it would've been abandoned, decadent, and whatever ate away at it would have buried its despicable secret from the world's eyes. But, whatever it was that had pulled, devoured, and ripped the estate apart left it in ruins. Despite the destruction that had occured the night before, five jagged edifices dotted around the estate, appearing to be profane, pearled fingers that enclosed upon a ruined bauble that was the solarium. It was as if Althanas itself wouldn't let free whatever it was that lurked just beneath the surface of the strange, archaic symbol that laid sealed upon the chamber's marble floors.

Whatever the eldritch's wishes may have been, they were not carried out as a group of figures cloaked in trench coats and broad-rimmed hats, their intentions all but innocent, wandering about the estate. Moving about the ruins as the sun hung high over head, the figures stabbed at the crumpled robed figures with collapsible pikes, their interest seemed to be only information. People who had wandered to the ruins were hauled away from the far side of the hill where suspicion arose while others thought there was a pile of corpses, their eyes not worthy of seeing the shaking truth. Amid the shade of what was left of the roof, beady red eyes glared down upon the group, watching them work and its hunger unsated. An agonizing cry bounced off the walls of the solarium, the attention of the strangers drawn towards it like ants to a dying carcass.

Pulling a cloaked figure from the rubble, two of the men dragged her towards across the symbol, her blood trail smearing the demonic symbol she considered to be reverent. Wailing and sobbing as her broken legs wobbled and weaved across the ground, hitting bumps and rocks until she was dropped with a thud. Standing silent and sentient, the men gazed forward. Slowly the girl turned to find a man with a bowler atop his head meeting her gaze. Wicked hazel eyes sitting atop horned rimmed glasses stared nonchalantly at the fanatic from a deep, hooked nose. The man appeared to be amused at the sight, his rusty lamb chops twitching as his face creased into a smile. Again, the woman couldn't look away from his gaze as it seemed to bore into her very being. Smiling, the man kneeled down at her, pulling up at her chin with care," Yaani isn't coming back, Gilda".

Gripped with shock as the man clad in a brown, plush suit read her thoughts, she spat at him," Bahkthaal damn you, heretic!". Wiping his face daintily with a scarlet kerchief he pulled from his suit pocket with care, he never lost his smile. Continuing to follow her eyes, the man seemed to be reading her, his face testament to the power he held over everybody in the room. Slowly rising, the man pulled a revolver from its holster, his men holding the fanatic steady as she squirmed, pressing it to her forehead he jeered.

"Gilda, you have just done your country a great service. I thank you for your testimony in the matter at hand, and I assure you that we will bury you with your beloved," with that the bewildered cultist's eyes rolled back into her head as hot metal tore through her skull and into her brain. Crumpling like the others, the fanatic died with one last, fervent thought. Keenly losing the smile upon his face, the leader cleaned off the end of his gun and shook his head," A dirty business patriotism is these days, if only everybody would be like Gilda and be honest with themselves they wouldn't have to go through such ugly torture," placing the gun back in its holster the man glanced towards his compatriots," Take her body to the pile with the others. When we're finished here, burn the entire radius and make it look like an accident".

Completely obedient, the pair nodded and kneeled to grab the heap and hauled her away from the feet of the strange, wiry man. Turning to hear a muffled cry, the man was met by a pair of hooded twins who carried a kicking teenager between them, stopping a few feet of way the first one huffed," Found her hiding in the brush, m'lord. She ke--".

The first twin trailed off as he heard the leader tap his shoe, his eyes narrowing. Dropping the girl the two bowed low as they slammed their hands to their chest," Our apologies, m'lord".

With a perplexed looked upon her face, the brunette girl looked about her, her mind abuzz with questions until she meet the same terrible eyes locking onto her gaze. Kneeling down to her, the man smiled," Hello, Zoe".

Black with panic, the girl stammered," H-how did you know my name..?".

Holding his glance at her he leered," A lucky guess, Zoe. My name is Jericho Caldwell. I am the head of a very special organization that is trying to get to the bottom of this and I have to ask you a question, one of great importance," seeing his grip finally upon her the mysterious stranger tipped his bowler up with a thumb revealing waves of gentle, amber hair," Who did this?".

Before the girl could answer an animal-like roar ripped through the air, causing everybody to glance up in surprise as a great albino beast sprang from the roof, claws outstretched and leaping towards the leader with blinding speed. Rolling out of the way as the horror landed to the ground, Caldwell watched as the twins fall back while one of them was caught in the monster's terrible grasp and brought him off his feet. Reaching for his blue steel revolver, the leader nearly jumped when a shot rang out, the bullet whistling as it tore into the beast, causing it to be caught off balance. Again and again shots rang out until the beast collapsed into a heap, its captive choking as he landed, air flooding back into his lungs.

Not turning, Jericho laughed as he put his weapon back," Good show, Faust, consider your pay doubled!".

Breaking from her captor, the teenager tore off into a run, Zoe passed the corner only to feel cold, clammy hand placed over her mouth and pulling her close to the wall. One of the strange men following in pursuit continued to run down the path and into the brush. Glancing up, the teenager saw Fibonacchi's caring face, a finger hovering over his mouth. Slowly they slinked off to the edge of the ruin and broke into a mad dash down the hill.

Followed by his men, Caldwell stopped them with an arm and watching the two refugees disappear into the forest and into the city below. A new recruit spoke up," Why are we letting them go, lets get them before they escape!".

Not turning, the leader who was far shorter then any of the henchmen around him, he shook his head," Don't you know the saying, Dane? You catch far more flies with honey then vinegar," smiling he turned," Besides I already know who was behind this, the Dadghaal were to be brought to justice today by my hand, and my hand only".

Retreating back into the ruins Jericho finally felt like something had been accomplished today. Halting to see a trail of blood where the beast had once been, the man tilted his head in wonder as his eyes slowly wandered to the ghastly symbol that seemed to jeer at him. One of his men rushed to him and shouted," Your orders, sir?".

Taking his eyes from the symbol he pointed to it," I want to know what that is, cut it out and bring it to the boys in the lab. Also, red flag the name Saxon and see what they can dig up". Dashing across the room in a mad hurry, the henchmen was quickly forgotten as the one called Jericho placed his gloved hands behind his back, his eyes transfixed upon the symbol intently trying to learn its secrets.

~*~

[Saxon]

Feeling the afternoon sun upon his back, Fibonacchi walked with his coat over his shoulder. Having to sacrifice all but a couple pockets full of coins, the storyteller kept telling himself it was the right thing to do. If he hadn't caught up to the girl, the peddler knew she would've been cut down where she stood. But, being in the past, the storyteller threw the concerns away, the draw to sleep becoming his overwhelming need. Turning a corner into his neighborhood, he saw a crowd gathered at his doorstep. What now? I'm not selling anymore today, the weary peddler thought adamantly. Gradually coming upon him like a tidal wave, something felt terribly wrong as members of the crowd turned to look at him, their faces stained with tears. Dropping his coat, the storyteller rushed toward the crowd, breaking into a mad dash. The crowd parted as Fibonacchi ran wildly on, his thoughts abuzz of what could've happened next.

Stopping, his face gaping in horror, the peddler looked down in shock. Sitting on her knees, a plump brunette woman Fibonacchi knew to be his wife held their dying child in her bloodstained arms. Collapsing to his family, the storyteller whispered weakly," No...no..no. Not Sally. Wake up, wake up!".

The scene all surreal to him, Fibonacchi began to feel hot tears run down his cheek as his wife turned to him, her eyes red as she reiterated the tale to him," ..She called out your name just a few hours ago, she wanted her doll. Remember how your the only one who can find it?", hearing her husband's stony silence she continued," Then a man came, a fat one, he looked as if he had been through Hell and back. He heard Sally call out your name..and.. and..he killed her!" Still clutching her still daughter, Daliya held their child between them and buried her head into Fibonacchi's chest.

Fibonacchi grew hot with anger, his eyes glancing at the ghastly wound of his daughter, and slowly pulled the familiar, grizzly knife from her heart. Placing his hand over the chest that gushed red with blood he whispered," I should've been here," feeling his eyes moisten at the grim irony he repeated," ..I-I should've been here".

Rocking back and forth the storyteller felt his world crumble around him when only a few hours ago he had been standing atop of it. Slowly picking her head up from her husband's chest she glared at him as she sobbed," Where were you, Fibonacchi?! We needed you!".

Pushing them back, the peddler felt time slow as he got to his feet, his gray linen shirt wet with hot, sticky blood. Grasping his black-gray locks in his hands he gazed up into the heavens and felt Fate deal him another choking blow. Turning, unable to face what he had done, Fibonacchi broke into a run from the scene, stepping over his coat he continued to run until he was but a smote in the distance. Slowly ambling down the stairs and down the sidewalk to where his father's coat lay, the little boy picked it up and stared down the road where he watched his father dash away from him and his family.

~*~

-- Three Weeks Later --

Hobbling down the same road he found disturbingly familiar, Saxon glanced up at the crescent moon as it hung jeering at him. The eldritch had managed to find a doctor who he found out was from Alerar and had never heard of a Salvic cult, for he had checked twice. Patched up and with more then two weeks bed rest, the weird had wandered about Radasanth in search of answers. The watch that sat in his pocket was quiet, the strange feeling of power missing as if the God had finally snatched it away. The ebony sheen of the watch seemed to have seeped back into where ever it had come from, revealing a shiny brass coating. It was unlike him, but Saxon asked around for the one of the leads he could find; Illumi.

The word seemed alluring and mysterious, and no one seemed to have recognized the name. The town had been repopulated with the Strange as they broke out of the woodwork, the Sjaarg no longer an issue. All of them held mum, even at the threat of disappearing, for it was their way to keep the weird guessing. But somehow through divine favor one that looked to be bound to a building, its face made entirely of rocks told him of a merchant that sold unearthly wares on the other side of the city. Having made the journey, the eldritch learned from the man that Illumi wasn't some where, but someone. Having only the location of desert of Fallien under his belt, Saxon had turned to leave when the merchant ribbed him with his cane and said:

"Strange One, you possess something that shouldn't be. What it is cannot be said, but think of it as a being held in a prison like a cantaloupe in a bowl. My friend, though it may be contained, it occasionally stirs and its power dribbles from its prison, seeping into reality and those around it. It will corrupt you and twist you until you are its pawn, Strange One. Cast it away. Cast it away before it is too late!".

Having shunned the warning with a curtly nod, Saxon took the advice with a grain of salt and took his information back to the inn he had been staying. Hearing a few days later that the store of the strange merchant had been burnt to the ground, the weird could only suspect the worst. Knowing somebody was onto him, Saxon had checked out of the Silver Pub and investigated his other lead; The Tangled Vine. Having found the bodies cleaned out and the store in ruins, the weird journeyed to the rooftop where it had laid untouched. A pile of various coins and assortments had awaited him and he felt as if he had seen it all before until he caught sight of the ruins upon the hill. Taking the money as a settlement for his trouble, the weird didn't stop until he had walked upon a street that caused him to feel great sadness.

Now stopping as he felt eyes upon him, Saxon turned to see a little boy clutching a stuffed bear staring at him, standing upon the stoop towards a small apartment. Nodding to him in respect, the eldritch continued on only to hear the child call out to his father. The weird had ignored the statement and turned another corner until his face was caught in torchlight. Feeling around in his pockets he pulled the watch out of curiosity. Looking at its new brass sheen, Saxon turned it lightly in his hands, the weird stopped as something caught his eyes. Slowly in the shine as the brass met the torchlight, the eldritch could make out a ghastly face jeering at him, following the shine of the keepsake and disappearing back into its prison. Hearing the merchant's warning echo back in his mind, Saxon finally nodded in understanding. Placing it back in his pocket, the weird slowly walked down the road, Syvriak clacking as it hit the pavement. Slowly the tapping died away as the weird disappeared back into the darkness, where for the first time in weeks he felt at peace.

Spoils:

Eye of Bahkthaal: Having captured the demon-god in the keepsake his father built, the watch seems to have gone back to the brassy sheen the weird once remembers. Whatever purpose it serves, the weird doesn't know. But occasionally a strange force comes upon the eldritch rendering his control over the darkness to increase 1.5x his normal power. Somehow though, Saxon suspects the watch expects a terrible price for its gift.

[Storm Veritas]

This is a long quest, and took me a long time to read. It was worth it – a really tightly written story that held my interest the entire way. Using dual stories is sort of a hackneyed, often misused gimmick, but the way that you interlaced the stories and created so many parallels between the torrential trials of Saxon with the game of poker were really thrilling.

This story really has a tremendous start, and although the ending is sound, it has the feel that the premise for the quest and the starting mechanisms were much more skillfully thought out than the climax areas and the ending. The quality of writing remained fantastic through the thread, with only a few errors (“your”, where “you’re” should be, for example) that wouldn’t normally be caught with a simple spellcheck.

STORY

Continuity: 9 – This category is the “when” of your quest. These are almost free points, and you didn’t do much to change that. I haven’t read much else by the Saxon character, so there weren’t glaring anachronisms here within your character’s story. I would have liked a little more background at the get-go from your main character.

Setting: 7– I’ll start with what I didn’t like – the introduction of Saxon / weird / eldritch. I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on there. Your intro to the story was very sound, but they were such bizarre characters that it took me quite a while to catch on.

When you were good, you were fantastic. The single thing that you do best is set a stage, and describe action. Your use of analogy referring to real-world descriptive events is far more effective and entertaining than the seven-syllable thesaurus abortions that often come down the pipe. Keep up the good work there.

Pacing: 7 – I think your efforts here were fantastic, which is why I give you a 7, but it is one of your weakest categories in that the constant shifts from plotline A to B and back were not always done at the best times. There were some places where you had great momentum in a storyline (particularly in the earlier phases of the card games, which were brilliant) where I would have liked to see you carry that momentum forward a little more.

CHARACTER

Dialogue: 8 – Could be better, but most are worse. I think Mugov really started to annoy me after a few lines – he became fairly predictable. The thoughts of Saxon, the words of Fibionacci, and the peripheral characters vacillated between effective and excellent.

Action: 8 – The death of Fibionacci’s child made Saxon’s last stance anticlimactic. The action in the Saxon threads were much more entertaining, and you weren’t gratuitous with violence. While I may question the actions being driven by illogical thought (Mugov’s decision to get ethical at one point and challenge Fibionacci to a formal fight, and then turn around and murder a baby), the raw, pulpy action was great.

Persona: 7– Hit and miss. Fibionacci was a tremendously deep character, both the hero and the villain. Mugov was very flat, fairly boring, very predictable. Saxon was fascinating, much more noble, but tough to follow. You created some real impressions on these characters, and didn’t force the reader’s opinion. As I read this I could really form my own thoughts about the characters (especially Fibionacci, who I found the most interesting), and really enjoyed that.

WRITING STYLE

Mechanics: 10– Given the difficulty of such a dual-layered thread, I gave you a ten. This isn’t to say it is flawless – there were a few really petty errors in grammar – but on the whole this thread was executed in a master stroke.

Technique: 9– The use of those metaphors / analogies still stands out as just a brilliant move here. Love that.

Clarity: 8– A few points docked here, too, for Mugov’s irrational decision making process. That really grinds my gears. Given the complexity of this story, I still feel you did an outstanding job making this as clear as possible.

Wild Card: 9– Less than perfect, but nonetheless outstanding. I will nominate this thread as a candidate for a Judge’s Choice.

Final Score: 82

Saxon Receives 850 EXP and 200 Gold, as well as the Eye of Bahkthaal.

[Letho]

EXP/GP added!