To The Unhallowed Ground

[The Trap Master]

The island of _________ was a rather small, unknown country to the northeast coast of Corone. Despite its small size, the land mass contained a surprising number of people wishing to further their education. Unlike the Ravenheart University in Underwood (Which was more combat-oriented), or the Istien University in Raiaera (Which valued song magic over learning), this country held a school of learning known simply as The Academy. The Academy was a place of true learning, where one could choose whichever range of education one desired. It was the whole reason that John Shelby was here.

The man secretly known as the Trap Master had recently come into possession of a book, an item that his last victim had left behind. John reflected on the poor soul that had failed to learn his lesson; a practitioner of the dark arts that had begun sacrificing children in order to complete his sick rituals. As was his motif, the Trap Master had managed to secure his 'student' in a device that reflected his evil ambitions. John's hand caressed the leather cover of the book, feeling the strange indentions that made up some ancient language that the former detective could not decipher. While the title of the tome was a mystery that eluded the man, a lot of the text within had been translated to common speak, and it was within those pages that John had found something that would change the very way his alter-ego would be able to do his work.

Whenever John deemed one of his 'pupils' not deserving of a true death, he would trap them in the citadel, something that required the help of others to accomplish. He had to rely on the confidentiality of the citadel monks to not reveal any details of the tests. Furthermore, if the detective deemed the students unworthy, he would have to find an area that could accommodate the devices of the trials. This proved a very difficult task, as there was a severe lack of buildings that could provide the sufficient technology or magical capabilities to adequately satisfy the maniacal murderer's needs. Luckily, the book that now rested firmly in the man's grasp had informed him of a unique type of magic. More specifically, it spoke of a spell that allowed the caster to open up magical portals that were not of Althanas. Such ability would prove very beneficial to the needs of Trap Master. If he could create these dimensions and set all of his contraptions in place, he would be able to not only provide the man with the room her needed, but would allow for the same machinations to stay around for reuse. No longer would a loose-lipped monk be the potential downfall of the mastermind. It was perfect.

Unfortunately, John did not possess the linguistic skills in order to read all the details of the spell, and the books last owner never completed his notes on the incantation. John had come to __________ to find someone knowledgeable enough to decipher the unique language of the tome, or at least a book on how to do it himself. The man had spent a couple of hours in the library of The Academy, losing himself in a sea of bookshelves and people pursuing a greater intelligence. The smell of dust was abundant in the building; something the detective figured was a constant in the library. He figured someone could spend an entire day cleaning the establishment, and never fully make the place spotless. People came in and out too often, thumbed through various books too sporadically, it filled a place that was supposed to be known for quiet instead be replaced by various awkward noises.

Asking around thus far had proven unsuccessful for the man, who had left his only confidant and assistant (that is to say, a doll) at his home. He needed to be completely focused in order to learn how to perform this magic. Through all of his years, John had never studied the arcane arts, and with each year that passed him would make such things harder to learn. Yet, the man had faith that if anyone could teach him how to use the techniques within this mysterious book of his, it would be someone from the University. If he had to scour the entire country to find someone smart enough to teach an old dog new tricks, he would. He would find a way to make his smaller dimensions, and he would use them to the fullest extent.

The world would know to fear the Trap Master, and become a better place because of it...

[Visla Eraclaire]

The Red Parlor of Eraclaire Manor dated back several generations to a period as tumultuous as the present day. It was a room of intrigue and interrogations, without windows yet full of crimson drapes, candlelit and mysterious, set in the deep interior of the building. The ambiance was quite pleasing to Azmodean clerics, and so Visla held most of her audiences with followers of the Arch-Devil in the Parlor. This was not such a meeting, however.

Visla crossed her legs and drummed her fingers impatiently on the clawed oak arms of her petite throne. The padded chair was only slightly more ornate than the others in the room, a mere gesture to her rank in a chamber that seemed to believe itself more important than any within it. Seated beside the Viscount were Gaius, her tiefling advisor, and Tatiana, the Academy's representative who had called for the meeting. Standing at the rear of the room were Visla's Gray Knight Captain Gregor and the young Eudaemonian Saren, whose service was a demonstration of Uiria's loyalty.

“I tire of waiting,” Saren spat out into the room's silence.

“You'll make a poor guard then, boy,” Gregor grumbled.

“I'll tollerate the impudence because he happens to be right. What are we all here for again, Tiana?” Visla said, shifting in her chair to face the sorceress.

“A matter of significant importance to the Academy. A man has been apprehended attempting to research dimensional magics. While, by your Highness' mandate, the Academy no longer imposes restrictions on the so called Forbidden Magics, this particular man may be of additional concern. Initial scrying and observation suggests he may be linked to a number of torture-murder incidents throughout Althanas.”

“If he's a murderer, execute him. Why is Lady Eraclaire being troubled with this?” Gaius' response was simple and efficient, precisely the reason for his employment.

“It's not that simple,” Tatiana responded. “You of all people should know that a man cannot beconvicted simply on the basis of magical scrying. It's one of the provisions of that Infernal Code you've been implementing.”

“For every problem, a solution. Forevery law, a loophole,” the tiefling grinned. “I can have awarrant for his execution within the hour.”

“Enough, Gaius. Obviously Tiana would not have brought us together if her intent was merely to execute the man. Am I right?”

“Yes, Majesty. We believe the man's criminal history may prove useful. In these uncertain times, we facea great many dangers from within. The...” Tatiana paused before saying the next word with audible discomfort, “purges of the past few years make a positive public image for Lady Eraclaire difficult to maintain. If an outsider, a criminal, happened to dispose of undesirables, we would have deniability.”

“You're a credit to your Infernal heritage,” Gaius grinned.

Tatiana scowled a bit at the compliment. The truth of it stung and she wondered how much of Gaius' scheming nature ran in her fiendish blood.

“Very well. Now where is he?” Visla inquired.

A flash of light and a thud sounded as an answer from just outside the room. A man was brought in, bound and hooded in thick black cloth. The two guardsmen who brought him in threw him in the center of a great sigil etched into the marble floor and departed as if they were simply delivering a sack of garbage.

Gregor stepped forward to secure the guest, but Visla raised a hand as he passed her. He halted and awaited.

“Before we remove your restraints, let me make a few things clear. You are here to have an audience with the Viscount Estervale. The method of your transportation was merely a security measure. Thus far you have violated none of our laws.”

Gaius switched a bit, certain that he could find some violation merely in the man's existence, but he allowed Visla to continue.

“If you continue to act appropriately, I hope we can be of mutual assistance to one another. I must remind you however that each and every person in this room, myself included, can kill you in an instant if you step out of line. Gregor, release him.”

The Grey Knight pulled a knife from his belt and cut the man's bonds with a single stroke and snatched off his hood.

“That being said, welcome to Verimar, Land of Opportunity,” Visla smiled as she met eyes with the new guest.

[The Trap Master]

The people of the island sure knew how to treat a guy.

During his investigation into the magical arts, John soon found himself apprehended by the authorities. When asked on what charge he was being brought in on, the guards could not solicit a decent response. They probably figured that just throwing a bag over the older man's head and restraining his hands to provide a much better answer than their actual words. Every second of the 'escort' that John received felt like hours; a normal feeling when one suspects their own execution to be imminent. He breathed heavily within his makeshift mask.

Is this burlap? Tell me this is not burlap. How cheap of these guards to not have the decency to at least spring for a better feeling material.

His ears were filled with the sound of metal upon hard floor, welcome clicks that proved the Trap Master may not meet his end here after all. John thought of the irony of the situation; to be captured and killed without anybody truly realizing who he was. Or maybe that was just it. Perhaps they knew that John Shelby, in his brief time on the island, was the alter ego to one of Althanas most sadistic 'serial killers'. His heart began to race again at the thought of being expedited into Corone custody, shipped off to Terrinore to serve the rest of his days.

When the guards stopped and the bag came flying off of the man's head, he backed up a bit at the light. Though his eyes had been opened the entire time, his pupils had still adjusted to the darker aspects of looking at the inside of bag. He took in a deep breath of air as words came at him like arrows from bows. It took him a moment to focus on the person who was speaking to him, his retinas centering onto the feminine voice that was offering him what sounded suspiciously like a deal.

The woman was quite plain looking, though the Trap Master knew better than anyone to trust appearances. She was young enough to be his daughter, with two almond colored eyes that had seen their share of troubles. She spoke with authority, probably the head of this small country from the way those around her seemed to completely focus on whatever she was looking at. She kept her brown hair neat, or perhaps clean would have been a better word. Regardless of the term, John could appreciate anyone who managed to practice good hygiene habits.

He felt a cold wind seemingly blow straight between his wrists (which were tied behind his back still). HE turned to see that one of the guard's had released him from his bonds. He turned back towards his hostess as she completed the greeting, to which John nodded his acknowledgement towards her.

"It is an honor to be here Miss...Estervale, was it? My name is John Shelby, and I am particularly interested and learning some of the magic spells your island has to offer. Moreso, one spell in particular. If there is something I must do in order to gain your approval to learn it, then so be it. However, I would ask that you do two things for me, if you would be so kind." John kept his voice civil, tried to keep from sounding smarmy to this equivalent to a Queen.

"The first is that I ask your men show you this book that I've been studying. I could not find a linguist who could decipher the texts within completely, which is my whole reason for being here. The second thing I must know is how I may be of service to you. You said we could both benefit mutually. What did you have in mind? I'm afraid you are far too young for a man of my age." John smiled, hoping his jest would be taken as such and not some sort of sick way of flirting with the young lady.

[Visla Eraclaire]

“If we had to associate with a criminal, could he not at least have been a gentleman thief or the master of a syndicate, someone with some sense of protocol,” Gaius moaned. “Her name is Eraclaire. She is the Viscount Estervale, that is, sovereign of this capital city.”

The tiefling stood and a map unfurled in his hand with a burst of flame, showing the whole of Verimar, with its associated archipelligo and the northern bay of Corone to the southwest. Visla sighed, but before she could put a stop to the geography lesson, Tatiana did it for her.

“We all know and he doesn't care, Gaius,” Tatiana said, standing up from her chair as well and meandering closer to the murderer as she spoke. “The book you've been studying was banned until very recently and for good reason. While Lady Eraclaire's policy against restricting knowledge is admirable, it was originally intended to prevent the superstitious persecution of those of us who practice the so called 'Dark Arts.'”

The young sorceress' eyes glowed a bit and a trail of verdant energy trailed from John's chest toward her fingertips. She smiled as she soaked in the man's Essence, and then let the spell dissipate before it caused genuine harm.

“Playing with life and death offended the zealots that used to control this land out of simpleminded dogmatic fear, but Dimensional Magics are not some childish taboo, they are genuinely dangerous,” she concluded and then took her seat, turning toward Visla. “I say we do not teach him.”

“Aren't you the one who brought him here, girl? Did you just want to put on a show?” Gregor scoffed from behind the throne.

“I brought him here because it is Lady Eraclaire's choice. I'm simply giving my recommendation. Dimensional Magic misused can rip the fabric of reality right apart.”

“Maybe in the hands of your voodoo practicioners, Tiana,” Saren scowled and stepped up from the background. “The ability to travel between and interact with 'alternate' dimensions isn't magic. It's science. Eudaemonians are proof that it can be controlled, mass produced, and even weaponized. The fact is, from our perspective, this is the alternate dimension.”

“Our perspective, Saren? You stupid child, you aren't even Eudaemonian. You're old Coronean stock just like the rest of us,” Tatiana taunted.

Saren started toward her and a plasma pistol materialized in his hand with a flash as he approached. “Hold your tongue, deviless, or I'll apply my science to your face,” he leveled the weapon at her. “At least my blood isn't tainted by the lower planes.”

Tatiana stood up to the challenge and green flames began to flicker in a crown around her head. “Lower planes? Isn't that a bit unscientific for a pseudo-Eudaemonian? The Nine Hells are just another dimension, aren't they? You petty little hypocrit.”

Gregor and Gaius simply looked on as the two continued to shout at one another. Saren's trigger finger twitched and Tatiana's flames burned brighter. After a few moments, Visla stood from her throne, completely unnoticed by the would-be combatants. She approached John and placed her left hand on his forehead. In her right, she grabbed a small etched stone from a pocket in her robes.

“Home.”

The calamitous bickering was silenced and the Red Parlor vanished. Visla stood and John knelt on the oaken floor of a simply furnished bedroom. Visla's apartment from Radasanth where she had lived for months with her former companion was still the place she returned to as a sanctuary. It wasn't actually in Corone, of course. The real apartment was probably ashes and dust by now, as the mainland civil war dragged on for year upon year. No, this sanctuary was beyond the reach of anyone but those Visla invited.

“There, peace and quiet,” Visla said, taking a step back from John and sitting down on the comfortable queen bed.

“Don't let this humble creation fool you. Tiana is right. Dimensional magic can be dangerous,” Visla warned and then furrowed her brow in concentration.

A scream came from outside the windows and a brick flew through, shattering the panes into thousands of razor sharp shards, scattered across the floor. The heavy thing came to ground with a weighty thud only a few inches from John.

“It's simply a matter of discipline and control. If what I'm told is true, you aren't a common murderer. You're a serial killer, a proven success. To kill a man takes nothing but a moment of rage. To kill two could be a coincidence, but to kill one after another and move along unhindered proves you are, if nothing else, not reckless,” Visla said and blinked.

As her eyes opened again, the window was mended and the brick gone. She took a book from the bedstand and turned to the page she had read, sitting alone in the woods, pelted by rain. The stained vellum gave precise instruction on how to create a sanctuary such as this. She passed the book to John and then reached back into her pocket for the stone.

“You won't be able to actually cast the spell here, but you can study. I'll return tomorrow and check on your progress.”

Without giving him time to object, she closed her eyes and vanished from the room. She appeared again in the Red Parlor where things had calmed down substantially.

“I wish you wouldn't do that, milday,” Gregor pleaded.

“And I wish my advisors didn't behave like children,” Visla said with a glare to Tiana and Saren. She walked swiftly from the room and left them to their shame.

[The Trap Master]

Her advisors argued as if they were children. In the former detective’s eyes, it was very off putting and very unprofessional to have such a disastrous mix and match of cultures under one roof. It looked more like the folly for a comedy than any kind of royal court. Apparently, the Estervale (which was apparently a title, and not a name) Visla must have seen the frustration in John’s furrowed brows, because a few seconds later, the two of them were in what appeared to be an apartment.

As the brick busted through the building, John’s eyes shifted towards the window, his eyes growing in shock as they had somehow wound back up in Radasanth. Visla began to speak once more, though John was still a little swept away by the current events. It wasn’t until the magical woman placed two words together that garnered the man’s full attention towards her.

Serial. Killer.

John brought a finger hurriedly over his lips, as if to tell Visla to not speak so loudly about his profession. How did they find out what he did? He was always so careful in moving the bodies, capturing his victims. Had he inadvertently captured a member of Visla’s family before? So many questions swirled John’s head as to why this woman before him knew of his identity.

“Serial killer is a bit of a stretch. I more of a teacher,” John spoke with shaky confidence, as if he were trying to convince himself that he was doing no wrong, “My lessons may be a bit extreme from time to time, but that’s what you need in order to open the eyes of….less enlightened students.” As he spoke, Visla repaired the glass from the broken window, even managing to rid the room of the brick and the shattered glass on the ground in the process. She was truly a person to be feared, and John thanked his lucky stars that she seemed to want to help him.

Before he could thank her for the book, Visla vanished before his eyes. Judging from the stone she was carrying, he could assume that the object was the only way in or out of this place. With nothing else to do for the moment, John went over to a bed, sat down and began to read the text. He would do this until the wee hours of the night, practicing hand motions, learning the insignias, absorbing all the knowledge he could possibly have about this unique ability.