The Weave and the Wind (a shameless spoils thread)

[Otto]

"Are we ready?"

The other men look to each other for confirmation, then turned back to Otto. They clutched things nervously to their chests, things which glimmered with steel and brass, and their eyes likewise shone with anxiety. Orlannes nodded to the orc. This was it, the gesture implied. Too late to go back now.

They'd trained for this, sure enough - away from sight and after hours. But Otto couldn't help but feel a surge of unease flood his gut. He, who'd faced and found death countless times in the Citadel, who had chased midnight thugs and slogged through the bog and blood of a battlefield. But this was so far removed from his training as a soldier that he couldn't help but feel a little jittery.

"Okay," he murmured to the others, careful not to let his voice carry too far. "We can do this. On my count... ready?"

The men around him nodded.

"Alright then. One..."

Otto ran a paranoid eye across his surroundings.

"Two..."

His hands flexed and shifted, sliding across wood and steel.

"One, two, three, four-"

A fresh wave of noise rolled out from the band across the tavern commons, where it was absorbed by the general hubbub of its patrons. A few looked up when they heard it, but returned to their drinks and conversation just as quickly. The majority feeling was one of indifference, and as such, Otto and his fellow musicians were safely ignored. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this relieved.

Now for stage two.

Growing ever more comfortable and oblivious by the second, Otto opened his mouth, and began to sing (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FHYOnNy-lS0).



* * *


"Another round, lads?"

The publican's offer was met with cheerful affirmation by the soldiers. Free drinks had in fact been the crux of Otto's argument in getting them all here, and he doubted he'd have managed it otherwise. It had been an hour since they'd wrapped up the set and stepped down to a table, but the orc still fiddled with his loaned guitar incessantly. It was beginning to earn a few rolled eyes and quirked brows by this point, and when the beers arrived, one member of the troupe by the name of Aaron Coppercut had had enough.

"If you don't put that away," he warned, "then I will. In a permanent fashion."

Otto gave him a sheepish look. "Sorry."

"There's a time and a place, my friend," said Orlannes, "and we've just had ours. Now drink up."

[Resolve]

The attic apartment breathed springtime through large, open windows. Each gasp of sun-warmed air carried pollen which coated the sills in a sooty, yellow velvet, and with each sigh, a soulful tune drifted out to float above the street.

Resolve sighed, too. She relaxed against the side of the sofa while she listened, eyes closed, one leg tucked under her with the other snaked possessively around the singer's knee. As the last note faded, his voice gave way to appreciative silence which found itself interrupted by enthusiastic applause. The clatter resounded from the floor below, echoing off the tall walls of the alley from the neighbor's window to theirs. Apparently he'd had more of an audience than they'd thought.

"Rosie's a fan," Resolve grinned, "but of course she is. You're really something, Otto. I'm still so disappointed that I missed your first performance with the guys." Her smile faded into a faint frown. "Luned needs to relax with that Chronicle stuff, it's getting to be a bit much."

The orc had settled on the opposite end of the sofa, his plain linen clothes and slate gray skin overwhelmed by the jewel tones of the surrounding throws, pillows, and sari-swathed girl. "Thankfully, it went better than expected, so we're thinking of trying again sometime soon," he reassured her.

"Mm," Resolve grunted in acknowledgment. Then, without warning, she sat up with a start and a gasp to announce her sudden brilliance. "What about Moody's?"

Otto blinked back at her. Moody's Ale Cellar occupied the first floor and basement of the building they currently sat atop, best known throughout Radasanth as a dive of sorts. "I'm not sure if the fellows would be too keen, considering its reputation…"

"But it would be so perfect," Resolve pleaded, slithering across the cushions and into his lap. "You'd have me and Rosie and Ags to cheer you on, and it's just about the only thing that could convince Lune to finally take a break from work. I could talk to Moody, I'm sure he'd love to have you, and if you're worried about it being a rough crowd…" The girl nuzzled her face into his neck, his beard coarse against her skin. "Rest assured, I'll handle any troublemakers."

For a second, Otto pitied any poor sap that might end up being, noting the knots of lean muscle under his palm as he rested a hand on her back. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to ask them what they think," he yielded.

"Mmhmm," Resolve hummed in his ear, her arms coiling around his broad shoulders. But then something caught her attention, a glimmer of familiarity in the peripherals of her sixth sense. The exorcist tensed, lifting her head to glance toward the door. "Carrin's coming."

Otto's brow creased at the mention of his colleague; it would have been unlike his fellow watchman to come looking for him here, considering the young man's rather obvious dislike for Resolve. Carrin claimed –– perhaps rightly –– that she was a bad influence. But, as of yet, his concerns had gone unheeded. "Do you think something's wrong?" Otto shifted in his seat, but Resolve showed no interest in allowing him up. She was too preoccupied following the young man's astral signature through the building.

"No way," she gaped, then let out a sharp little laugh.

"What?"

"He isn't here to see you," Resolve said with glee, her arms tightening around his neck. "He's here to see Rosie."

"What?" Otto repeated himself, just as surprised as she had been, but then he cleared his throat. "Well, what he does on his time is his own business."

"What is he doing?" Resolve mused, feeling his presence draw deeper into Rosie's apartment. The question was rhetorical in nature; they both knew exactly why young men paid visits to classy prostitutes such as their mutual friend.

Otto fidgeted. "Maybe she invited him in for a cuppa?"

His comment went ignored. "I wonder if I could hear them from the window," she muttered, then squirmed with determination out of Otto's discouraging grasp to find out. She leaned right out into the breeze, a silhouette of violet cloth as she tried to catch voices on the alley's updraft.

Otto groaned.

[Otto]

"Let them be, please," he begged her.

Resolve clucked and sighed with irritation. She held herself out past the panes a little while longer, her head angling this way and that, but then withdrew with a frustrated twist to her face.

"I can't hear them, anyway," she said, flouncing away back into Otto's lap. "And I'm perfectly happy to not use the... other thing to spy on them, in case you were wondering."

The orc cast another look to the window. He smelled lilac, jasmine and witch hazel in succulent bloom, the underlying sizzle of the food vendors, and the background stink and perfume of a city full of people enjoying what the day had to offer.

"Why don't we go out for a bit?" he suggested, while his calloused hands tangled in her own. "It's a nice enough day that we might miss it once it's gone."

"Mm," Resolve replied. One of her hands freed itself and stretch up behind her, dancing up Otto's broad chest and along his sturdy collarbone, before twirling the soft strands of his beard around her fingers.

"I didn't realise it was that long," she remarked, still staring out the window. "And... fluffy?"

Something began to purr in her ear.

"What-"

Resolve jerked away, which upset Nuggetchop no end, since she still had his coat clutched in her hand. The cat flew past her face with an indignant yowl and shot beneath the cabinet, where two beady yellow eyes glared malevolently out from the darkness.

"Ugh, what is it doing in my home?" she growled.

Otto shrugged. "He must have followed me here. He's been doing that a bit, actually." He freed his hands. "Let's go for a walk. At the very least, it'll get him to leave as well. And unless I'm mistaken, I don't think you have any boxes for him down..."

Resolve leapt up. "Let me get my things," she blurted out.



* * *


The beguiling smell of food and roar of people drew the pair towards the foreshore. Wining and dining could wait until later, as they were too engrossed in the various displays which had emerged from the woodwork, thanks to the swelling heat. There were buskers aplenty, jugglers and two-bit magicians (the worst of which seemed to be just as popular as the best), fire-breathers and sword-eaters and more. Resolve found an artist who specialised in drawing outrageous caricatures of people, and forced Otto into a sitting. Therein followed a pained five minutes which nearly brought the poor artist to tears, as he futilely sought to make the orc's visage any more blatantly ridiculous than it already was. But Resolve was pleased with the end result, so they at least left him a richer man than they had found him - especially so when Otto made her sit down for a session herself. He stood behind artist's shoulder, and both men cackled wickedly while the fellow worked.

The sun had now burned the sky red and the river pink, but in a show of disregard for the curfew, the crowd showed no sign of dissipating. If anything, the daytime performances had merely been a warm-up for the increasingly frenzied and bizarre displays that emerged with the dusk. Resolve oscillated between barely-contained excitement and hair-pulling frustration. Otto still hadn't shown her her caricature; the way it wound the girl up was just too good to spoil it just yet.

They were on their way to dinner, after Resolve's umpteenth attempt to snatch the paper from Otto's pocket, when she slowed and cocked her head.

"Hear that?" she said, a nasty little smile appearing on her lips.

Otto strained his ears through the hubbub of the milling crowd. He reckoned he could discern a periodic, sharp percussion - hands clapping to a beat. And beyond that, maybe the pluck and twang of strings, as well as the shrill pipe of woodwinds.

"More music," he replied, at last. "Can't seem to get away from the stuff today."

"Not just any music," Resolve gleefully shouted. She grabbed his hand and towed him relentlessly forward through the press of bodies.

"You can sing," she continued on, as the music grew louder, "and you can play..."

The two of them finally burst through into a large, open square of even flagstones just above the water.

"... but can you dance (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5-TkClT4dC0&list=RD5-TkClT4dC0), Mr Bastum?"

Otto took in the gyrating couples around them, the band on the stage above, and finally, the determined gleam in Resolve's eye.

"No," he said, despairingly. Pleadingly. "No, no, no, no-"

[Resolve]

At that point, Resolve may have chosen to make a smart bargain –– the caricature in exchange for Otto's dignity –– but it was far too late for that. She'd been married to the idea, and the poor soul had no choice as she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him further into the square. They remained on the fringe of the flurry of couples, all oblivious of the awkward newcomers as they danced on determinedly into twilight.

"It's easy," the girl said as she arranged his hands properly, guiding one to her waist. She recalled teaching Luned the box step some years ago, a task made easy at the time with her parter's smaller relative size. Something told Resolve, as she looked up at the much taller, much broader orc, that this would prove more of a challenge. "Hmm," she voiced thoughtfully, ignoring the panic on his face. She sidled in close and could have sworn she felt anxiety prickle off his clothing like static. "Oh, would you just relax? Here, follow my lead, and don't worry about getting it perfect. It's supposed to be fun."

Resolve started them in a slower version of what many of the others danced, a simple set of steps which allowed them to maneuver and converse through the rhythm. It almost seemed to be going well, Otto picking up on nonverbal cues with neurotic competency, until he managed to step on his own foot out of avoidance of hers.

"You're thinking about it too hard," she told him, saving them both from his slight stumble with a few quick steps.

"I don't dance," he said, as if it needed clarification.

"It'll be over before you know it," Resolve insisted, then something in her movements shifted. Her hand slipped down from his shoulder to his side and she switched something in her step, guiding him more forcefully. It sort of worked, getting them through a handful of measures without glaring mishap –– at least until he realized what she was doing. Before he could pipe up to protest, one of his feet caught on something and he instantly lost balance. Instead of helping, Resolve capitalized on the misstep and pulled him down, holding him tight in a dramatic, ballroom-worthy dip.

The music dissipated with drawn out notes lost to the burning sky, and the churning bodies gradually slowed in anticipation of the next song. Otto wasn't exactly used to having his balance at the mercy of another person and found, unsurprisingly, that he rather didn't care for the sensation.

"You did that on purpose," he grimaced.

The girl offered him a peck on the corner of his mouth and grinned in her usual, subtly evil sort of way. "Can I see the drawing now?"


http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/a9/f8/03/a9f80304cbf0765e58914427328ea046.jpg

[Otto]

Here, a clinker-brick alley some way from the dancefloor, though still bearing the background scent of the river. A flat-capped and grizzled fellow leant against the bricks, beside a dark little alcove, and looked up as a white-shirted young man belted down towards him.

"Where's the boss?" the newcomer yelled.

The sentry scowled meaningfully as the other man drew close and doubled up, heaving. "Inside," he growled, and rapped out a tattoo on a stout little door in the alcove. "And keep your voice down, 'specially while you're out here."

The young man staggered inside, where a host of shady characters sized him up in the filtered gloom from curtained, sunset windows. He was ushered through a corridor, past rooms stifling in the afternoon heat and upstairs to a rather better-lit study. A burly and shaven-headed man looked up from his conversation with one of the nondescript figures. The youth snatched the cap off his head and walked, still a little unsteadily, in front of the broad man's desk.

"What?" barked the big fellow.

The younger man stared at his superior's visage for a moment, before blurting out, "I saw that orc. And the gel."

"Where?"

"By... by the foreshore, along the Cockles. Where they're having the midsummer's dance-"

"Lead me to them," said the man.

He gestured to a few others, taller and more solidly-built than the youth, who detached themselves from the shadows and fell in behind their boss. He walked to the stairs, and slants of light from the window slid across an intricate bulldog design across his bald head before he covered it with a cap of his own. They trudged back down the steps, through the gloomy rooms below and swept up the alleyway, to emerge into the angry red light of the sunset. The sortie found themselves in the midst of the foreshore's piers and jetties, where the distant sound of merrymaking bounced to them across the water. Bully led them quickly towards the source, and as they reached the fringes of the crowd, dispersed his men to comb through the masses in search of their prey.

[Resolve]

"You win," Otto sighed in defeat. Safely off the dance floor, he was finally extracting the piece of paper from his pocket when Resolve turned away from him as if she hadn't heard a thing he'd said. He frowned.

"Bully's coming," the exorcist announced, recognizing the villain's signature far out of reach of even the orc's perceptive nose. "I recognize one or two of the goons with him, plus there are some others. They're on their way here, Otto."

He frowned some more, depositing the drawing back into his pocket. "I reckon even ruffians like to get out on a nice spring day. Might be wise to make ourselves scarce while they're about, though."

"Or we could hold our ground," the gutsy girl glanced up at him. He noted a dark mischief in her expression, one that told him she was eager to crack some skulls. "Maybe it's time to show them we're not afraid of them. What happened with Grimhildr has haunted us too long, especially after––"

"Not today," Otto beseeched her, forehead wrinkled in concern. "Please."

Resolve sighed. "Fine. If we want to avoid them, we have to go now."

Escaping the range of Bully's troupe took minimal maneuvering, sending the pair on a path through some heavenly scented street vendors and raucous fair games. The streets brimmed with the rebirth of warm weather and relish of the life that came with it. The energy was contagious, and Resolve found it difficult to remain reluctantly cooperative amongst so much music and color. Before long, she embraced the distractions, and Otto had to drag her away from an unnecessarily competitive round of darts before she lost sight of their predicament.

Soon the first indigo of twilight soothed the ache of the crimson sky and Resolve felt the pursuers fade from her grasp, bringing them to a rest at the edge of the festivities.

"I wanted to win you something," she complained halfheartedly, the gray tranquility of Radasanth's quieter streets rather gloomy after such excitement. "And that food…"

Otto felt his stomach grumble in commiseration. "Why don't we stop in somewhere?"

"That would be nice." The girl wedged herself under his arm as they began to walk again, her own limb coiling around his waist. It was cozy, at least until he felt her hand wander. She noticed him grow tense. "I want to see the caricature," Resolve explained herself.

Otto looked around, hoping none of the scattered passers-by had noticed the impromptu frisk. "Wrong pocket, it's––"

"I know," she said matter-of-factly before moving onto the correct one, paper crinkling as she retrieved the drawing. But before she could unfold it, something howled from a nearby alley. The strange sound was like an unseemly imitation of a human child's cry, uncanny and skin-prickling as it wavered and dissipated into the white noise of the distant celebration. Both Otto and Resolve slowed and stared wide eyed in its general direction, unsure what to make of it.

The source soon made itself known. A familiar creature coated in a cocktail of mussed gray fur and back alley refuse trotted out from the shadows, directly toward them.

"Ugh," Resolve sneered at Nuggetchop. "Trash cat."

[Otto]

Otto gave her a hurt look. "He's not that filthy," he replied, as Nuggetchop sauntered over and brushed against his leg. The orc frowned, sniffed the air, and blanched.

"Urgh," he said.

"We can't take that thing with us," stated Resolve. The cat yowled up at her, before positioning himself defensively behind Otto's calves.

Otto looked at it curiously. "I'm not sure we can do anything about it," he replied. "Though... I guess they wouldn't mind the smell at Visht-Ana..."

Resolve groaned. "Not the orc bar, please. Not tonight. You were right; it's too nice out. Let's grab something from a stall and sit down at the pier." She returned Nuggetchop's resentful glare before going on to mutter, "Maybe we can kick that thing into the water, too. Couldn't make it any dirtier."

"What was that, sorry?"

"Nothing. Oh, look! A pita place!"

She seized the orc's hand and towed him on towards the heady aroma of a long overdue dinner.



* * *


Sunset had long since passed. Up from the river, the light-studded veins and capillaries of Radasanth's streets split and flowed around a large, walled fortress. Beyond the looming battlements, within the large and moonlit yard beyond, sat a relatively small, squat stone building. Its windows were shuttered, its door locked firmly shut, and the light inside was dim and ominous.

Something inside let out a long, forlorn scream.

"Shush, now," Otto chided.

Nuggetchop looked up at him through a mask of suds and foam, and gave another pitiful mewl.

Otto sighed. "Well, then you shouldn't have gone midden diving," he replied.

He continued to rub the soapy mixture into the cat's sodden fur. The true size of the animal always surprised him; with its hair matted down, Nuggetchop seemed to consist of little more than skin and bone. After some minutes of this, he lifted Nuggetchop from the soapy bucket and held it firmly under one of the cisterns, where he scooped out moderately clean water with which to rinse the cat. It yowled and struggled, but couldn't hope to deny Otto's grip. He quickly toweled it down, and then Nuggetchop was free. It leapt away towards the hearth, where it chose a warm hiding spot from which fix the orc with a look of utter betrayal.

"Yes, well," Otto muttered. "Don't you do it again, alright?"

He crossed over to a bench, upon which were two plates, a mug a bottle and some food. He filled one plate with sliced meat and thick rye bread, filled the mug with the contents of the bottle, and set these before the hearth. Then he returned and doled out a smaller portion of fish onto the remaining plate, which he set down on the floor by a ceramic bowl of clean water. When he turned back, the dishes by the hearth were already empty.

"Finished, then?" he asked the shadows. "Then let us work."

Nuggetchop waited until the orc and the other, half-seen figure were far away from the fish, then scurried over towards his dinner.

[Resolve]

The morning sun chased away the last of spring night's chill, its cheery face peering over the tops of the highest rooftops as it climbed toward noon. A young man breathed in the salt and grime of the waterside neighborhood as he walked a stone-paved street, a bouquet wedged under one arm, his other hand busied in an attempt to tame his thick, brown mop. Something unsettling and unseen suddenly prickled the hair on the back of his neck and his posture straightened, the man blinking alert as he glanced around.

"Hello, Carrin," someone greeted him from just out of sight, and out from a nearby alley stepped a familiar, feminine figure.

He sighed. "Resolve."

"Flowers, hmm? And who might the lucky recipient be?" The exorcist grinned as she stalked a half-circle around him, noting the smartly wrapped posies. They mirrored the azure of the sky and her piercingly pale eyes.

Carrin picked up the pace again. "Wouldn't you like to know," he brushed her off.

"Oh, but I do," Resolve pressed relentlessly, keeping up easily in spite of his much longer legs. She clasped her hands primly behind her back as if joining him for a pleasant stroll, the hem of her silk tunic rolling in the breeze. "Rosie's a good friend of mine, after all."

The name drop stopped him in his tracks and he looked down at her, his expression caught somewhere between accusation and panic. "Wait, how'd you…? She said she wouldn't––"

"She didn't have to say anything," Resolve shook her head, enjoying herself perhaps a little too much. "Have you forgotten my talents? Not much gets past me."

"You know, you can be real creepy sometimes," Carrin said darkly.

"I'm sorry to hear you think that," Resolve pouted.

He pursed his lips in thought, glancing down the street, then back at the girl. "Keep it to yourself, will you? If my family found out I visited…"

To his surprised, he earned a truly sympathetic smile. "You're fun to tease, Carrin," Resolve said, "but I'm not that cruel. I'd like to think we could be friends, at least for Otto's sake. I hear you play a mean tambourine."

The young man rolled his eyes, then continued on his way. This time, she let him go. "For Otto's sake," she heard him grumble under his breath as he rounded the corner.

Resolve chuckled to herself, looked to the sky, and considered her real errand: checking in on Bully and his crew's current activities –– just for safety reasons, of course…

Well, and to satisfy her own sadistic curiosity.

She closed her eyes, opening her mind to the supernatural tapestry woven by Radasanth's many inhabitants, and set about tracking.

[Otto]

"'Orcs Among Us'?"

"No."

"'The Red Riders'?"

"I don't think so."

"'Radical Radasanthians'?"

Otto paused and gave this one some thought. "Maybe?" he eventually conceded, and Carrin beamed. The lad had seemed a little subdued since he had returned from lunch, and it pleased the orc to see him emerge from his shell.

"'Guards Guards'?"

"Can we shelf the band names and get back to practicing?" Aaron peevishly interjected. "Some of us have to go on duty in a few minutes."

"Alright," Otto agreed. "We'll take it one more time from the top then call it quits for the day."

Carrin hefted his tambourine, a hell-raising gleam nestled in his eyes.

"Let's jam, (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VufilzHKTqk)" he said.



* * *


They started to pack up five minutes later. The little storeroom cellar had squat, ground-level windows which let in hazy shafts of afternoon sunlight. Dust motes swirled lazily around the glaringly bright patches where the light fell, and against the vague, gloom-shrouded shapes of shelves and miscellanea. Carrin was the first out, his tambourines requiring and deserving little in the way of care and maintenance, while the rest hung back, packed away their guitars, and hunted down lost picks. Orlannes headed off to the forge, and Aaron had desk duty. Otto, meanwhile, reported to the gate for the afternoon patrol.

The sun had dropped far towards the skyline by the time Otto returned to the garrison. He was due another short break before going in to the forge for the evening, so he took his dinner back to the cellar and strummed on the guitar for a little while. The practice slowly devolved into slow string-plucking, with Otto alternating between putting an ear to the instrument, and watching the steel cords vibrate blurredly about.

He left some time before his shift was due to begin and headed over to one of the various squat, stone buildings within the fortress. The armoury was a little larger than the forge, and much more securely built. He stepped through the stout, iron-shod door and entered into a small room. An small opening in the far wall was secured by black iron bars, behind which stood a small, balding man. The fellow glanced up at Otto and flashed him a brief smile.

"What can I do for you, corporal?" asked the desk sergeant.

Otto walked up to the window. He could now make out rows and racks behind the fellow, lined with various arms and armour. Steely death glinted at him in the meagre sunlight, but he wasn't there for those.

"I was hoping to briefly requisition one of the wicker riot shields," he replied.

"Oh aye? Interesting choice. Sign here, if you please." The man pushed a clipboard and pencil through a small gap under the bars, where they stopped just short of the counter and intersected a horizontal iron rail. Otto crudely scribbled his name and details in the relevant fields while the sergeant bustled off to the rear of the back room. A minute later, a door to Otto's right clicked open and the man stepped through, carrying a large, lightweight shield of woven cane, and passed it to the orc.

"There ye are, lad. Thought you had a shield already, though. What do you need this for?"

Otto took it in his hands. The shield was vastly lighter than his own, and seemed remarkably strong for all that. It could easily deflect thrown bricks and bottles, and perhaps even cause a sword to bounce off without much damage - though it would depend on the angle of impact, weight and sharpness.

"Just research," he replied at last. "Thanks, sarge. Should have it back to you within a week."

[Resolve]

It took some time, between other errands, to lock in on Bully's signature. The journey took Resolve all the way down the waterfront, the light shifting in character as the last of afternoon's warmth melted into the cooler shadows of early evening. At first the girl wondered if she'd end up back at the warehouse where she first met the thug, a place she realized even she likely shouldn't wander alone, but no, his distant presence pulled her down the way and into a neighborhood of blue collar establishments even more disreputable than Moody's.

Dockworkers and other laborers populated this area, dives plentiful and wedged in under tall, dilapidated boarding houses. Resolve knew the street well, having occasionally frequented the nearby orc bar Visht-Ana with Otto, and she navigated around the ravines of sewage as deftly as any other local. They ran muddy down the brick-laden hill toward the river, mapping the heaviest traffic amongst litter and livestock and gangs of playing children. She'd been amongst them some years ago and found herself gladly kicking a stray can back into one haphazard fray of skinny limbs and dirty, giggling faces.

Resolve's sixth sense brought her to one of the aforementioned dives in particular: the Niema River House, a pretentiously named arch-nemesis of her kin up the hill at Moody's Ale Cellar. As a permanent resident of a rival tavern, she hadn't bothered to check in on such a place before, and its facade failed to prove particularly inviting. Battered shutters coated in peeling red paint had been opened to the kind spring weather, allowing a meager amount of sunlight into the dingy basement establishment. From what she could see, its jaundiced, lamp-lit interior was hazy with smoke, the cramped space already nearly full with the tired and hunched figures of first shift laborers.

Its only saving grace was a chipper melody (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W9mhsW5aWJM) which sang above the din of gossip and complaint. The friendly bounce of a banjo reached her ears first, followed by the low pulse of complementary percussion, then a voice. It resounded like melodious gravel.

But no, she couldn't allow herself to get too distracted –– she'd come here to track some pesky villains, and those villains she would seek.

Except, as Resolve analyzed what she could from the window, she had already found them. Though the crowd obscured much of the performer's corner from her vantage point, the glimmer of that sweaty, bald head was unmistakable with the reassurance of her paranormal radar.

Gruff, meat-headed Bully was an aspiring musician.

The girl let out a sharp laugh, quickly covering her mouth and muffling it into a snort. Luckily, no one inside seemed to hear her over the noise, and the goons' band continued their set without missing a beat. "Otto's got to hear about this," she muttered to herself in amusement.

[Otto]

Orlannes was worried for his friend.

It had begun innocuously enough, he supposed, when Otto started to keep a pot plant. That was fine. Everyone needed a hobby. And when the armoury had sprouted a tiny garden around the side, that had been more a cause of interest for concern. Then, for whatever reason, Otto had adopted a cat. That had been a little more odd. In Orlannes' opinion, it was a mangy, entitled little git which eyed everyone - except the orc - with as much suspicion and distrust as it received. But Otto had taken a shine to the creature. He'd made a little bed for it in the corner of the forge, and set out food for the thing each night.

Now there was this.

Orlannes watched the orc sitting by the window, looping thread around a hastily-constructed large metal ring. Afternoon light twinkled off crochet hooks and bathed Otto's focused expression in a warm glow. Of all the sights that Orlannes had seen, an orc brute doing some knitting was up there with the strangest of them. He finished tying some wire fast to the grip around a freshly-resined hilt, set it aside for later polishing, and made his way over to the orc.

As Orlannes approached, he saw a small wicker shield propped up opposite his fellow smith. Otto glanced at it every now and then, but he placed the rest of his attention on the shield, and ignored the elf. Orlannes watched him work, seemingly oblivious to the world, and the weave slowly began to assemble itself into a mirror of its wicker kin.

"This is..." Orlannes trailed off, and thought for a moment. "... new," he finished, lamely.

Otto grunted an acknowledgement.

"I can understand that you'd want to go for something lightweight," the elf continued, "but I don't know how much use a crochet shield is going to be."

"Ah, but you're not envisaging its potential as a fashion accessory," Otto replied, with a grin.

Orlannes took some time to picture this. "I'm not sure it'll catch on," he admitted eventually. He glanced back at the others, who were just now shelving tools and removing their aprons. "Alright, time to get a move on. Be seeing you in a bit."

Otto nodded, his eyes still set on the yarn. The two other smiths soon followed behind Orlannes, whom Otto bade a mumbled farewell.

He continued to weave the thread around for a while afterwards. When it was complete, he turned it over in his hands, shook his head, and slowly began to dismantle it.

[Resolve]

"You'll never guess what," a girlish voice piped up as Otto dissected a snarl of thread. He glanced back over his shoulder and toward the door, the new shadows of early evening obscuring much of the newcomer, though he recognized her well enough as was. The absence of her perfume caught his attention, and his suspicion was quickly confirmed as ghost Resolve stepped into the more generous light of the window. Her astral form wavered with the slightest hint of transparency, offering glimpses of the empty forge behind her.

At this point, the orc was used to occasional drop-ins, but even so, he wasn't convinced she should poke about city watch property quite so eagerly. "It must be quite something if it couldn't wait," he replied tentatively.

Resolve stood before him, hands clasped coyly behind her back. "You have an unexpected rival in the realm of music," she said with a little grin.

"I do?" Otto blinked.

Her smile widened, teeth bright. "I may have stumbled across a performance this afternoon," she dragged it out, the bounce as she rocked on her feet betraying her apparent delight. "By a band. A band populated by familiar faces. Tattooed ones, even," she clarified further. His eyes narrowed as he pieced together her clues, but she couldn't contain herself anymore. "Bully and some of his creeps play the River House, can you believe it?!"

He blinked again. "Well, that would explain why they showed up at the festival. Maybe they had a gig and we worried over nothing," he reasoned.

"Gig, my arse," Resolve shrugged off his suggestion, "but either way, their music is just as strange as you'd imagine. I wish you could've been there."

Otto wasn't as amused as she'd expected him to be, which quickly put a damper on things. "You went looking for them, didn't you?" he asked pointedly, and she immediately grew still.

"Well…" she said in as innocent a tone as possible, "I had to make sure they weren't up to something."

He sighed and shook his head, mellowing out her cocky self-assurance in the way only he could. The girl's posture lost some of its edge, limbs drawn in as she awaited his response. "Are you satisfied, now?"

Resolve rubbed her neck. "Yes, I think so…" she answered, then fell quiet for a moment as she considered his question more carefully. A sheepish grin returned to her lips. "I mean, they have a banjo, Otto. Just try to picture it."

The orc couldn't help but crack a smile at that point. "That does make a funny picture," he concurred, then went back to winding his yarn back into a ball. Nuggetchop materialized out of nowhere at his feet where he spectated with wide, golden eyes. The motion mesmerized the creature and he lay in wait for a stray end to fall within reach.

This peculiar activity caught the girl's interest. "What are you making?" she inquired, leaning in to inspect the remnants of his rather curious creation.

"Just an experiment," Otto explained himself. "I'll tell you about it later if it actually comes to anything." And, with that, he fell into thoughtfulness as he analyzed the way the string unraveled from its frame.

Resolve knew that look. "I like it when you get into a new project," she said as she watched. "You get all intense, it makes me just want to…" her hands began to fidget, as if itching to reach out and touch him. Unfortunately for her, and perhaps fortunately for him, she had no bearing on the physical world in her current form.

He cleared his throat. "Sooner or later, you're going to get yourself caught in here," he warned her wisely.

"Probably," the exorcist laughed quietly, "but not today. Orlannes and the others are off having dinner, and you should join them. Don't forget to eat while you're all preoccupied crocheting doilies or whatever that was."

"I won't," Otto smiled, tucking the yarn into his pocket to Nuggetchop's great –– and very vocal –– disappointment. "Speaking of Orlannes, I asked the guys about your idea at our last practice. They said they would consider it."

Resolve bounced on her feet again. "Excellent! I'll go talk to Moody, then," she grinned, "and you take care of yourself. See you soon?"

"Soon, yes," Otto nodded. "Goodbye, Resolve."

The girl smiled, blew him a kiss, and faded away into nothing as if she'd never been there at all. Nuggetchop grumbled in approval of her departure, then scampered off to follow Otto as he joined his colleagues for a well-earned meal.

[Otto]

The evening air was still warm and cloying, hinted with earth and salt. It wrapped balm-like around Otto as he meandered over a beaten dirt yard towards the barracks, and the mess hall within. Outside, the evening was largely silent, with the gentle whine of wind sporadically broken by a distant drill sergeant's yell, or the lonely and shrill cries of airborne gulls. Otto drew closer to a broad, grey structure, and new noises entered the backdrop; a muffled hubbub of raised voices and clanking crockery. It swelled as he approached the door, and exploded out into the night around him when he heaved it open. He stepped over the threshold and wedged the door closed behind him, cutting the din back off from the simmering night without.

Where the air outside stood warm, the canteen positively sweltered amidst the press of exhausted bodies, the heat of kitchen and that of a host of candles. Otto spied the seated figures of his comrades in animated conversation, then made his way over to the a laden set of tables at the rear of the long room. He helped himself to a thick slice of rye loaf, dripping, potatoes, beans, and a slab of cooling roast pork, as well as a tankard of small beer, which he took over to his squad's table. Fadime shuffled aside to make room for the bulky orc, who immediately began to tuck into his heaped plate. Carrin was speaking to Orlannes from the other side, and seemed to be using his knife and fork like drumsticks against the table's edge.

"... need to step it up if we're going to do this gig," he heard the lad say. "Moody's isn't just any poky little dive bar. Plus, half the garrison goes there."

Orlannes took a draught of ale before he replied. "What did you have in mind, then?"

"We'll squeeze in another session each day - after morning drills, and before lunch. Learn a couple more songs, and take fewer breaks between them, too."

"We should come up with a set list..." Orlannes mused, to which Carrin nodded.

"And settle on a single vocalist, I reckon. Get the roles defined."

The elf's expression turned apprehensive. "Nah. I like rotating through. Gives us a good mix of styles."

"Easy for you to say," Carrin grumbled, then turned to Otto. "No offense, but I get a bit self-conscious when an orc has a sweeter voice than me."

Otto shrugged, chewed, swallowed and said, "Don't be. You're underestimating yourself."

"You said I sound like a bag of laryngitic cats being fed through a mangle."

"Yeah, but it fits your songs."

"And he said that when we had only just started out," Orlannes added. "You've since refined that shriek of yours. It has character."

Carrin slumped despondently backwards. "Not convinced, guys."

He and the elf turned back to Otto as the orc stood up, his plate and tankard empty before him. They were only about halfway through their own meals.

"Got to get back to the forge," Otto mumbled. "See you tomorrow. After drills."

He clambered off the seat and strode over to the door. The ample candlelight shone off his broad back for a moment, and then the grey figure stepped out into the evening, where he melded seamlessly with the shadows. Meanwhile, the other two turned back to their meals, until Carrin perked up.

"I had one other idea as well, actually..."

[Otto]

Night had softened the forge into a blurred, sepia dream. Lanterns and hearthfire gently washed the room's sharp edges with amber light, which dulled even the freshly-polished blades in their racks. It flickered over the simple, blackened tools hanging upon the walls, and across the rough wooden workbenches radiating out from the hearth. It dimmed as it stretched towards the corners of the room, choked in dry dust and shadows. But it shone brightest upon the seated figure of Otto in the middle of the forge, and sparkled off the flittering shapes of two crochet hooks. Thread looped about itself and the circular iron frame in his lap, and a second intricate weave slowly gained shape.

After a while, he paused, lowered the workpiece, and stared into the coals.

"What?" he asked of the empty air.

Something moved behind him, something dark and man-shaped. Otto kept his eyes locked straight ahead, but the figure at his back leaned in closer over his shoulder.

"I have seen something like this before," Anvil hummed. "A woven shield, of golden thread. It turned aside every blade that sought it, though it was light enough to ride the wind..."

"Oh?" Otto remarked, returning to the task at hand. "You didn't make it yourself, then?"

"No. A cripple, who could not walk. A man rescued from death. A forest, on another world."

Otto paused his work. "Another world? How do you mean?"

"I mean to say that I have traveled far in my time away from home," Anvil replied in a brittle tone. "Ask me no more of it. Thoughts of returning make the millennia pass slower."

"Noted."

Minutes rolled by unnoticed. The only sound was the muffled clack of the hooks, and the faint hiss of embers. As the night's work schedule had been completed, Otto did not replenish the coals, but just let them down. They had been reduced nearly to ash when Anvil next spoke.

"How will this help you with your end piece?" it asked.

The hooks rattled a few more times before Otto replied. "I need to test designs, see what's strongest. And consider... other options."

The orc could feel Anvil scrutinising the mock shield again. "Untangle it. Lay out the thread."

Otto sighed, but began undoing his work without complaint. After all, wasn't this their agreement? Plus it was getting late, and if the spirit could set him on the right track, he might not need to spend as many sleepless nights completing the job. That thought had a particular appeal, in his mildly fuddled state.

Another few minutes' work saw the lengths of thread laid out in neat strips upon a nearby bench.

"Fetch some dyes," commanded Anvil.

"Dyes?" Otto looked around the forge, groggily. "In here?"

"Paint, then. Anything to colour the threads."

"We have lacquers..." the orc mused.

"That will do. Fetch them."

Otto did so. He planted them by the collection of thread, and awaited instruction. Anvil soon obliged.

"Twine them together," it said. "Let them join strength at parts, then split away where needed."

"And the lacquer?"

"Colour the threads, as heat would colour the steel. Stern straw, bending blues - and other in between. See the thing as it will be. Are you prepared?"

Otto nodded.

"Good. Then let us begin..."

[Resolve]

Moody didn't much look like the owner of a successful enterprise known for debaucherous goings-on, but not in the way one might expect. What he lacked in height, he made up for in girth, though not a drop of that famous ale of his ever passed his lips. He was a shrewd, teetotaling businessman, often holed up down the street in his somewhat nicer townhouse with naught but the company of his three bumbling companions. The dogs were equally rotund to their master, squashed faces and bulbous, glistening eyes resembling his as he pressed a magnifying glass to his cheek to analyze this week's accounts.

His tenant didn't bother knocking. Resolve let herself in, a small herd of excitable creatures collecting around her ankles and threatening her balance as she stumbled into his street-facing office. The stuffy roomed stunk of pets and two days' worth of dirty dishes, all piled without thought on one corner of the wide, cluttered desk. Plumes of dust and dog rose from the old, heavy carpet as the girl sauntered in toward her landlord.

The middle-aged man held steady in his study of the book under his chin. "You can tell that Rose of yours to simmer down," he grumbled, voice suffering from disuse. "I've got a man coming to look at the bloody pipes tomorrow."

"It's not that," Resolve replied, stopping by his side. She crossed her arms behind her back, doing her best to ignore the stacks of documents and books and disintegrating newspapers. Some of the latter lined the windows, aged editions of the Chronicle filtering sun into a sorry, sallow light. "You really ought to get someone in here to do a bit of spring cleaning. I bet one of the girls from the Cellar wouldn't mind making an easy afternoon's worth of––"

"They'd just muddle things," he shrugged her off, finally lifting his face from the journal. "I have a very particular system going here, Miss Curie, you know that."

She dropped the subject, her attention now fixed on the cold, slimy noses which prodded at her calves. The exorcist resisted the urge to nudge their whining owners away, knowing full well her lack of tenderness toward the pungent beasts had been a thorn in her relationship with Moody for years. They were his family, after all, and in that light, her impatience with useless domestic animals was inexcusable. "I'm here to make a recommendation, one professional to another," Resolve got to the point. "Your patrons are bored. Give them music."

"Music costs money," Moody brushed her off again. "And they aren't bored. They come for drink and conversation, not ruckus."

"How would you know if you never go over there?" Resolve asked, hands drifting to her hips, but she failed to get a rise out of the man. He was content to ignore his guest for his books. "River House has music," Resolve added, and from the sudden perk in his posture, she knew she'd finally hit a nerve. "But my musicians are better than theirs. Give us one evening, next Saturday, and we'll prove it –– to you, and to the gents across the way."

The man groaned, the corner of his downturned mouth twitching under his large, graying mustache. "Fine," he relented, glancing up at the insistent intruder. "But only because I know you have some of your mother's entrepreneurial spirit in you. You've got one chance to convince me, and if you fail, you keep your nose out of my business. Got it?"

"Got it," Resolve grinned brightly.

[Otto]

She left Moody to his bookkeeping, and slipped quietly out of the study. The man's dogs leapt up at even this small motion, bounding and jumping at Resolve's shins as she shuffled across the carpet, but were unwilling to stray too far from their master. Finally freed of their obstruction, she made a bolder bid for the street; she wrenched the door open, stepped out with the grin still plastered on her face, and almost clunked heads with Carrin. The young soldier startled and almost dropped a clutch of paper rolls from his arms, scrabbling at their flailing ends as they tumbled about. Still, Carrin was too slow, and Resolve too fast to recover - she snatched a falling sheet just before he could grab at it, and unfurled its contents.

Carrin made another attempt to seize it. "Hey!" he exclaimed, but Resolved skipped absentmindedly to the side while her eyes roved up and down the paper's length. Carrin's flailings eventually died down, to the point that he began to look almost sheepish. He took a step back and watched Resolve with a deeply anxious expression, as one would wait for inevitable doom.

"These are... what are these?" Resolve said, at last. The scroll rolled up with a snap, and she leveled a diamond-tipped stare in Carrin's direction.

"Uh... I was going to put them up. On the walls. So people could see them."

Resolve glanced back at the wide scroll again. "You know, that's not a bad idea." Then she squinted a little and twisted the paper to the side. "That's a pretty good rendition of Moody's, too."

"I reckoned I shouldn't lay the words on too heavily-"

"Yeah, the pictures really grab your attention," Resolve agreed, nodding sagely.

"That, and most people around here can't read. So I did some sketches and got a woodcut done, then, er, commandeered one of the garrison's printing presses. And here we are."

"They're pretty good... I reckon we could touch them up, though. Luned probably has some inks... what do you think about colouring them?"

Carrin shuffled his feet worriedly. "I honestly was just going to have time to put them up, then I had to be getting back to my duties. Do you think you could...?"

"Sure!" Resolve quickly answered. Before he could respond, she had whipped the bundle out of his arms and was dashing away down the street, towards the library. Carrin watched her disappear, simply glad that she had been too distracted to make any comment about Rosie, before setting off in the other direction at a very determined pace.

[Resolve]

Resolve did a quick run down the street, collecting the posters which Carrin had already pinned up, then squirreled them off to her apartment. On her way up the stairs, her incessant crinkling attracted the attention of one of her neighbors, who she didn't realized had followed until she dropped the stack of paper on the table in the parlor and the door closed behind her.

"What are you doing?" the fey inquired, strolling around to view the cargo in question. Her own brand of colorfulness clashed with Resolve's, crimson and violet sari against rambunctiously floral skirts that flounced with each step.

"What have I told you about coming in without asking first, Ags?" Resolve sighed at the much shorter girl. She failed to recognize her own hypocrisy on the matter.

"Music?" Agnie ignored her, picking one up to skim with mismatched eyes. Her rosy lips parted into a little smile of very white teeth. "How delightful!"

The other girl nodded, running a hand through her dark hair. "Otto's band. They need to be more eye-catching, though."

The fairy princess plopped down on the sofa in a poof of petticoats and analyzed the print with solemn professionalism. "Indeed," she agreed thoughtfully, tracing the imagery with one pale finger. Then, jumping up with a sudden stroke of brilliance, she made an executive decision. "Needs glitter."

"Do… do you have some?" Resolve asked, brow quirked.

Ags grinned wider. "Do I!"



About an hour later, the ladies wrestled their newly decorated stacks of posters into the stairwell in a cloud of silver sparkles. "Hold on," Resolve said, stepping across the landing to the entrance of the third residence atop Moody's. Deep red curtains obscured what laid behind the glass doorway, upon which she gently rapped her knuckles.

Within a moment or two, it opened to reveal another woman, similar to Ags in build in stature but with mahogany waves in place of the fey's golden curls. "You ought to be careful," Rosie teased, appraising their current state. "It's not uncommon for performers to come down a case of glitter lung. Terrible illness."

"Oh! Is that really a thing?" Ags frowned.

Resolve chuckled, handing over a poster. "Here, have one. Be sure to inform your clientele of the upcoming entertainment."

Rosie accepted it. "Ah, music," she said, almost as if let down. "And here I was, thinking you two had joined a burlesque troupe."

Agnie's jaw dropped as if she'd never heard a better idea in her life, but Resolve cut in before she could derail their conversation. "Otto and his friends are playing," she clarified, then emphasized with a little grin, "Carrin will be there."

That name failed to get the reaction she'd hoped, much to her disappointment. but Rosie nodded agreeably all the same. "Of course I'll be there, and I'll tell everyone I know to go. I'm sure they're quite good, if the occasional impromptu concert that I hear through the ceiling is any gauge."

"Excellent, thanks," Resolve suppressed a sigh, then grabbed Ags by the arm. "We're off to put these up, then. Be sure to spread the word!"

[Otto]

"I think... that should do it."

The thing looked almost like some primitive tapestry, all riotous colours and shifting design. The hues almost seemed to pulsate with every surge of blood through Otto's bleary eyes, which made the woven disk somewhat difficult to look at. He laid the finished product down on a bench after some short time inspecting it, then shuffled over to a stout, cast-iron kettle. Water sloshed and sparkled in the dim forge-light as he swilled it in a large stone cistern, before sitting it on the lip of the hearth. A few ribbons of steam coiled their way up almost instantly, soon followed by a low but rising whistle.

The screaming kettle reached fever pitch, whereupon Otto moved it from the sullen embers and scattered in a handful of dried, crumbling leaves. A stained little strainer picked up the soggy dregs as he poured the water out into a chipped mug, and were promptly scattered over a sorry-looking potted orchid perched upon a windowsill. The big orc blinked a few times, sighed, ambled to a worn wooden chair, and sat himself down amidst a symphony of strained squeaks and groans.

A vaguely humanoid-shaped patch of shadows sidled a little closer behind him, almost lost as it blended in with those thrown out by the clutter of the forge.

"I suppose I just need, oh, three weeks to put it all together."

The shadows shifted closer. "Or..." drawled a melodic voice.

Otto quirked an eyebrow. "Or?"

"Or we could make it tonight."

"One night, eh?" The orc slouched a little lower in his seat, and took a short sip of tea. "Of course, there's always a cost."

"Just exactly what you said. Three weeks sounds a fair price."

Otto mulled this over. "Meaning...?"

"It's simple enough," Anvil murmured. "Everything has a cost. In this case, it comes down to time and materials. We have the materials - we just need the time. But I can take it from you, if need be. Three weeks of your life, gone from the end, poured into this night."

Otto's hand drifted over to the woven disk, hovering just above. "I can see it. What it should look like, every weave and knot... how can it be so familiar? It's as though I am remembering it."

"Because you have learned from me," Anvil chimed. "And in this place, we both are in our element."

"It will be incredible. And what are three weeks of dotage and senility?"

Otto felt a faint prickling across his back, as the spirit almost seemed to brush against him. "Dotage? Perhaps. Or perhaps that will be three weeks of a peaceful life, lost. Or three weeks of a lover's embrace, lost. Or... who can know? Maybe even three weeks of a family's love? All lost."

Otto looked down at the colourful patterns beneath his fingers, and thought.

[Resolve]

Resolve reached her final stop far too late at night for a woman to reasonably be wandering the streets alone in such a quarter. Even the River House slept, its dark, beady windows watching her with suspicion as she ambled up and pinned the last flyer to the rotting oak beam that framed its sunken doorway. The surface of the paper sparkled with a wet-like sheen, and the girl dusted the remainder of the glitter off her palms into a cloud of tiny stars.

She supposed she should have felt guilty about antagonizing Bully and his gang, but especially after the festival, enough was enough. It may have happened many months ago at this point, but Resolve remembered Otto’s injury from their last confrontation so clearly that it still gave her sympathy pain to recall. It would have been easy to grow complacent with the thugs’ old employer behind prison walls, but they both knew from experience that the web of corruption spread too far to truly feel safe. They learned this the hard way some weeks back, but at least they managed to dismember that particular limb of the treasonous beast in the process.

Perhaps Resolve didn’t antagonize Bully out of mischief, after all. Perhaps she did it out of fear. It seemed like only a matter of time before Grimhildr rose in power again and sent the goons after them once more. If another confrontation was inevitable, she would at least ensure that it would happen on her own turf and terms.

Not only would she crush them, but she would make sure they never hurt Otto again.

“What are you doing here?” a gruff voice interrupted her thoughts of vengeance. Resolve twisted her head toward the alley to the right of the tavern, from which a behemoth of a creature emerged. His green-gray hide, pockmarked with scars up his arms and legs, looked sallow in the moonlight.

Resolve smiled wide. “Could ask the same of you. Hey, Gruul, you’ll come see Otto’s band, won’t you?”

Gruul glanced to the offensively decorated poster, then directed his imposing gaze back on the girl. His thin lip curled in disgust, baring a massive, fang-like canine. “At your human bar?”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. I know you, of all orcs, appreciate a bit of good music,” the exorcist pressed. “And if it’s terrible, you all can just go back to Visht-Ana and I promise never to invite you anywhere ever again.”

The creature’s expression softened and he grumbled something reluctant, dark, and distinctly orcish under his breath. “Otto does bellow a mean warsong if I ever heard one.”

“Excellent! Bring our friends. Well, except maybe Vrutha,” Resolve added, then quickly amended. “No, no, Vrutha too, so long as she keeps her elbows to herself this time.”

[Otto]

Night in Radasanth is a curious thing. For those used to its former ceaseless bustle, it now seems to sleep like a dead thing.

Positioned on the estuary, and with an expansive seaport to the west, Corone's capital was once the jewel of the island. It saw ships sail in from all across the known world - and sometimes further - with mercantilism in mind. At night, the harbour would be lit with a fortune's worth of lamps and braziers to guide ships in even under dark. No time was wasted. The sooner a ship was unloaded, its crew refreshed or replaced and its cargo holds filled, the sooner another could take its place. So the city had sailors roam its streets at all hours - under the keen eye of the watch, of course - and these sailors who had endured weeks or months of privation upon the unrelenting seas would observe the rows of food stands, the alehouses, the street theatres, the brothels. These sailors would try to buy everything at once. And the proprietors and performers would be there, every night, to welcome the currency that flowed into their purses. There were far more than seamen about at night, too; a city the size of Radasanth drew all sorts of people, and had all sorts of jobs which required odd hours of work.

The city had never slept, until the war. Radasanth became a lone bastion of the empire: a shadow of the former mercantile hub, its population culled, businesses paupered by the conflict, and most its remaining citizens bolted up by curfew. It is strange, because the city often boasts wide, festively decorated streets, bordered by welcoming shopfronts and spotted with the odd stage. These avenues are mostly deserted now at night. Even more curious is when regulation mandates the streetlamps still be lit and the decorations maintained, when the only things around to appreciate it are the wind and the strays. No one is sure of their opinion on the matter.

Eventually the night recedes. The city's amber-lit streets become less like something from a desolate dream as hints of grey creep into the otherwise blackened sky. Gulls start their chatter. The baker's doors open, showing life within. The milkman's cart trundles jerkily over rutted flagstones. Before the first hints of colour bleed into the eastern horizon, Radasanth's sleeping garrison awakes to the shout of drill sergeants. The soldiers snap on their gear and get to work.

Otto had slept in the forge, but the early wake-up regime had been ruthlessly pounded into him. He woke up on time, but in the relative peace and quiet of the small stone building. His equipment was there by the cistern, which he first visited to splash some water on his face. Though it is almost pitch-black inside the building, that didn't seem to cause any difficulties for the orc. He pondered on the day ahead: there would be light exercise to start, then breakfast. They will slowly break into heavier sparring and drills until lunch, when Otto's company will begin their patrols of the city. Investigations usually take priority over that, but the city has been unreasonably well-behaved of late, and Orman's squad has been assigned no such work.

Otto slipped into his uniform and headed towards the door.

[Resolve]

“You’ve been so busy with your new project,” Resolve lamented, draping herself over Otto’s back as he knelt to adjust part of the setup. “I’ve missed you.”

Early weekend evenings at Moody’s were quiet things; shifts ran a bit later those days, so the usual crowd of laborers didn’t start trickling in until well after six. Otto had arrived early to carve a corner out of the tavern for the band, the selection of which was a problem on its own with the dungeon-of-a-bar’s low ceilings. Navigating it at the orc’s height was an obstacle course of sorts, and its acoustics were just as much of a challenge. He worried that the heavy earth and stone foundation would absorb the nuances of their music, but there wasn’t much they could do about it at this point.

“Sorry,” Otto said as he puzzled together a stand for the set list.

The exorcist’s arms coiled around his broad shoulders and she nuzzled his ear. “I look forward to seeing it when you’re finished. But you’re staying here tonight, right?” She felt his face grow warm in response and smiled against his neck.

“How glum,” a merry voice interrupted from the stairs. Rosie stood on the landing that led to her girls’ workspace, Ags behind her, both with arms filled with décor. “This place is far too gray for your grand debut. Mind if we help?”

Resolve hopped up to greet them and Otto rose to his feet. “Uh, aye, if you're up for it,” he replied graciously.

The women alleged that they’d simply discovered the fabric in the back of Agnie’s closet, but both Otto and Resolve doubted its mundane origins. They pinned it up over the walls around the musicians’ corner and the impossibly dark indigo velvet created the illusion that it was not a stage, but an abyss. Streaks of fuchsia and deep, deep blue rippled through it, as if someone had woven this cloth from the night sky itself. Then, as Agnie distributed streamers in a well-matched violet, Rosie extracted one of her peculiar knick-knacks from a large pocket.

“What is it?” Resolve asked, eyeing the sphere. Its surface consisted of many tiny, flat mirrors, which reflected lamplight back at the walls in a smattering of faint little stars.

“Someone brought it for me from the glass fields of Fallien,” Rosie grinned, hooking a string around the top. “How about we hang it in front of the band, like so? Now, be careful not to bump your head on it, dear,” she addressed Otto’s height. He ran a hand over his hair and nodded.

Soon enough, Moody’s Ale Cellar had transformed into slightly less of a dive, which was far more impressive of a feat than one might think; after all, Moody’s prided itself on being the dive of dives. “Splendid,” Ags decreed, but only after she’d dusted a fair portion of the tables with a fine, silver glitter. The others had warned her that the patrons may not appreciate it so close to where they eat their dinners, but the fairy insisted that it was a shamefully underrated seasoning as well as a classic decoration. No one was quite sure how to argue that, so she won that battle.

“Thanks, Rosie,” Otto smiled as they surveyed their work. “Your help is appreciated.”

The woman shrugged. “When Rez gets excited about something, I can’t help but follow suit,” she confessed. “And I promised your mother I’d help look after you. Can’t have my friend’s son playing music in a pit, can I?” She offered him an encouraging pat on the back, then headed back upstairs just in time for the more of the band to arrive.

A young man stepped into the tavern, glanced around, and eyed the orc, who by now sparkled gloriously under the influence of Ags’ enthusiasm. “Is it usually like this down here?”

“Hello, Carrin,” Resolve chimed with an ill-concealed tone of mischief. He offered a grumble in return as he schlepped his things to the stage.

Orlannes arrived just behind, and when he managed to gather his surroundings, he blinked. “Not quite as I remember the place, but I suppose it’ll do,” he said as an amused grin crawled across his delicate features. “You have surprising taste in décor, Otto.”

The elf thought he felt a draft, but when he glanced next to him, the previously empty doorway had found itself inexplicably filled with fairy princess. “I helped,” Agnie smiled sweetly.

“Fine work, miss,” Orlannes congratulated her, finding himself somehow transfixed by her mismatched eyes of brilliant gold and amber.

She smiled wider, hands clasped coyly behind her back with a sashay of skirts. “You’re awfully pretty.”

He blinked again, natural charisma covering for him as he considered the slight predatory edge to her compliment. “Thank you,” he offered, then turned to join the others.



“Who was that?” Orlannes asked Otto quietly aside, when it appeared she had finally found another shiny object to amuse herself.

“Erm, her name is Agnie,” the orc filled him in. “If she gives you anything… don’t eat it.”

[Otto]

"Agnie, hmm?" Orlannes let his gaze linger on the the fairy for a touch longer than Otto liked.

He prodded the half-elf in the back with his tuning pegs. "How about a warm-up?" the orc said, rather pointedly.

Orlannes blinked. "Sure," he replied.

The elfin fellow set his case down by the side of the stage, and extracted a graceful-looking, gleaming rosewood wonder with Raiaeran script coiling around the rosette. Otto's stared down; his own battered and borrowed instrument looked thoroughly shabby by comparison. Something went jingled brightly behind them - Carrin setting up the percussion section, no doubt - while the fourth and final member of the band pounded through the doorway. Aaron gave the present company - all acquaintances by now, at least - a nod and a smile as he made his way to the stage. Otto saw the man take in Ags' and Rosie's efforts at interior decoration. He looked impressed, and Otto could understand why.

"Not bad," Aaron murmured by way of greeting. "Do they usually do this for bands here?"

"Wouldn't know," Otto replied. "They've never had bands here before."

Carrin gave his tambourine a conclusive flourish behind them, and said, "Alright, guys. What're we starting with?"

"Something with all the instruments," Orlannes suggested, tuning his guitar. "And backing vocals. Let's put the venue through its paces."

"Leeward Side?" Otto mused. The others nodded.

He turned to the bar, where Ags and Rez were holding a muted conversation over drinks. "Excuse me, ladies," Otto intervened. They looked up. "Could you do us another favour? We're going to warm up - if you could spread out across the room and tell us how we sound, that would help us with the acoustics."

They did so (possibly grumbling a bit about their curtailed gossip), and stared expectantly at the group as it finished tuning up. At last they were all ready to go; Otto gave his meagre audience an apologetic nod, and signaled to his fellows.

"One, two, one two three- (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LUemKLtbHxk)"

[Otto]

Bit by bit, they ironed out the kinks.

When the sound echoed a bit hard, they hung up posters or more fabric on the walls. Where it was at risk of being too quiet, they shifted tables and chairs out the way to give the music free passage. But overall, it was looking good; the band's music funneled clear and strong through the poky venue, from front to back. Luck be with them, the noise might even carry outside far enough to lure in a few passers-by.

They just wrapped up their final sound test, and a new voice cut through the short-lived silence.

"Oh, my, god." High pitched and girlish. Its owner was a bubbly-looking young woman in what appeared to be the most colourful fashion collision to grace Radasanth, and she had company. There were about eight similarly iconoclastic individuals. The speaker turned to one, a man (?), and gave them a playful punch on the arm. "Why have we never heard of this place before?"

Otto gave his band members a sheepish look. "Hello, Clarissa," he said.

"Otto!"

The girl dashed over to the stage - as oblivious to Resolve's stare as Otto was aware of it - and wrapped him up in an enthusiastic hug. "You never told us you were in a band. Oh my god, this is so awesome! I don't even know what you play!"

"Er, a bit of... everything, really." Otto patted her awkwardly on the back, and proceeded to try and extract himself from her grip.

"Oh, I got something for you," she added - and suddenly, Otto's vision went red. Literally. He could make out some sort of regular, square crimson pattern as the fabric was pulled over his eyes, and then his face was free again. He looked down to see a stylish plaid shirt covering his torso and pinning his arms to his side.

"Ah," he said. "That's... very nice? Thank you."

"I think it looks great," Resolve opined, now on the stage. "Why don't you give us a twirl?"

The orc obliged, and pirouetted on the spot. Long sleeves flailed about madly as he gyrated, almost slapping Clarissa across the face as she stood there and nodded appreciatively at the display. Then she clapped her hands together and smiled. "Excellent. Right, well, I'm going to get a drink with the others. Really looking forward to the show, Otto!"

She dashed away towards her group of friends, which seemed to have grown by one. Otto soon saw why; they had congregated around Ags, and were showing a keen interest in her taste of dress. From the looks of things, this was being reciprocated. Agnie had the vaguely stunned expression of one who thought this was too good to be true, and expected to wake up at any second.

"So," Resolve began, as Otto struggled to worm his arms into the shirt's sleeves, "Friend of yours?"

"We've met a few times," he explained meekly. "They've helped me pick out some purchases in the past."

Resolve opened her mouth to retort, but yet another voice roared in from the doorway.

"Ashdautas vrasubatlat, Otto!"

The entire bar turned as a host of tall, apish forms sauntered inside. The air instantly took on an animal scent, and filled with rough, raucous laughter. The floor trembled, and mugs skittered perilously along the edge of benches to their heavy footfalls.

"Oh no," Otto groaned. Then: "Wait. Is that Vrutha?"

Resolve smiled a sugary sweet grin up at him. "I'm sorry. Did I forget to mention they were coming?"

[Resolve]

By the time Moody himself stopped by to check in, the tavern was packed. Between the additions of the usual crowd of laborers, Rosie's girls, and some curious passers-by, they were full to the point of standing room only, a concept unheard of to such a hole in the wall. Crutchley the bartender worked in a flurry of foaming ale, while the runner –– a half-dwarf boy known as Grumble –– shuffled refreshments out to the rest of the room. Moody lurked in the doorway behind the bar, where he stopped the kid mid-panicked skip for a word.

"M-moody! We didn't expect to see you tonight," Grumble stuttered.

"I heard the blasted racket from down the street," the curmudgeon answered as a curl of disgust quivered at the edge of his lip. "Look at this crowd. Orcs, even. Moody's Ale Cellar has always made a point not to serve such––"

"Excuse me, sir, but I can't stop now or I'll get behind. The orders keep on coming! Crutchley said we've already made what we usually bring in all night."

Something glistened in the old man's eye, perhaps a flash of compromise in the name of greed, and he released the boy's shoulder. "Well enough. You three better keep this mob under control," he referenced the overworked members of his undermanned staff, and then he departed through the back door.

Grumble glared after the ghost of his disgruntled employer, but as the first set (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pMRl55U0eDw) kicked off, he couldn't help but smile. For such an odd little group, they sounded good. He stood in the doorway to listen until the cook broke his concentration with a shriek. The boy turned to see a mangy cat dashing along one of the counters, its dirty feet tracking prints across some fresh dough that had originally been intended to top some meat pies. Grumble took up the chase with a nearby rolling pin in hand. "How did that get in here?!"

As Otto sang, the orcish crew hollered in solidarity, and Resolve had to hush them before their raucous voices drowned out the actual music. That didn't go over well, and the small lot offered her a threatening stare that made palpable their dislike of human etiquette. Vrutha, one of the more impressive specimens with a stature that grazed the ceiling at its highest points, made a point of cracking her neck and loosening her shoulders in response.

"Ah," Resolve gasped in admiration, violet eyes drifting to an immense patch of bare, scar-studded, yellow-gray skin across Vrutha's torso. "Is that a new one?"

The orc glanced down at herself, where a frighteningly raw wound traced a line from her ribs to her hip. A grand smile seized her maw, creating an expression almost scarier than when she had been angry. "Fresh meat," she explained, "strolled into Visht-Ana like he owned the place and left with half his face. He said that city orcs are soft," her grin widened. "Not anymore."

The exorcist nodded, glad to have diffused the tension with some small talk. "That'll make a good, gnarly scar. Was it serrated?" she guessed. "Looks fierce."

Vrutha fluttered her eyelashes at the compliment, then turned aside to catch some of Gruul's murmuring from behind. She snapped something back at him, and Resolve slipped away as they fell into typical conflict. It was a game they played out in public, they had revealed to her some weeks earlier: using only found weapons, what in their surroundings would allow them to slaughter the current company in the most splendid fashion? It led to many an argument, as well as occasional fisticuffs. The girl crossed her fingers that they'd forgo the latter, for Otto's sake.

Now that the show was rolling, Rosie returned to the main floor, and Resolve was there to meet her. The woman had changed into a stunning party dress in blue satin with glass beads that mimicked the starry theme of the décor, and she smiled to see her friend. "They sound good."

"You already knew that," Resolve stood near and snaked an arm around her shoulder. "And you look good. I'm sure Carrin will appreciate that."

Rosie tossed Resolve a baffled look, then shrugged, much to her friend's disappointment. It didn't last for long, however. "Shall we dance?"

"Yes!"

[Otto]

As the final screams died away, Aaron and Otto swapped places at the front of the stage. The band quickly adjusted the tuning on their instruments - twisting pegs and swapping out tambourines - and, after a few seconds, looked to each other for confirmation to proceed. Aaron nodded, and counted down with the tap of his foot. On the fourth beat, he led them off with a smooth strum and pluck (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6n9-odpZMZk) on the strings, and the band fell in behind after he opened on the vocals.

The crowd below moved gently to the easy, compelling beat. Even the orcs were nodding their heads appreciatively to the rhythm, though the set might have to get a bit heavier later on if the band was to to keep their interest.

Otto cast a wry glance at Carrin, hammering away in the back there. A job for the lad, perhaps.

Good gods, the place was packed. Half the people here had probably never heard of Moody's before Rez plastered up pictures of the joint a few days ago. He could see the usual clientele sitting uncomfortably around the edges - but a few were there in front of the stage, moving to the music. And there was Rez and Rosie, gyrating smoothly around each other. The older woman looked to be an accomplished veteran of the dance floor. Better than Otto, for sure.

As his eyes swept across the room, they alighted on a colourful flock surrounding the Visht-Ana crowd. Otto almost skipped a beat. He feared that the orcs would take immediate offense at Clarissa's friends, but as the seconds passed, he saw something amazing. The rag-tag humans were poking at the giant's scars, and running appreciative hands over their scant clothes. And the orcs - by and large - were smiling. Not in the warning, full-toothed smile that signified they were about to forcibly part you from your skin, but a warmer and more welcoming one. After a while, he saw the orcs raise their mugs and lead their new friends in a toast. Judging by the way the humans were still beaming, Otto doubted they knew what the words actually meant.

The song finished. A smattering of applause started up, swelled, spread, and flowed through the room. Otto looked at the others a little awkwardly, but they seemed to be reveling in it. Then Rosie swept onto the stage and seized him by the arm. "There's someone there who you owe a dance, Mr Bastum," she told him.

"But-"

"Don't worry," the woman hushed him. "I'll take care of the next song."

She deftly lifted the guitar from his hands, and walked over to confer with the rest of the band. Another pair of hands grasped at Otto and drew him down off stage, where he found himself in Resolve's clutches.

"Hey there," she said, smiling. "Ready for another round?"

Rosie began to croon (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i7JaXToWma0) behind them. Otto gulped, and nodded.

[Resolve]

"Slow songs are easy," Resolve reassured, taking Otto's hands and placing them on her hips. She stood close –– so close that he wondered if his feet would actually have room to move –– and rested her arms over his shoulders, her fingers reaching just far enough to lace behind his neck. "Just shuffle your feet to the rhythm and don't think about it too hard."

They began to move and, miraculously, Otto fell in fairly quickly. Resolve felt him relax and she leaned comfortably into him. "Rosie's got some real talent," he marveled as their friend sang. A calm had overcome the crowd, earning weary Grumble a few moments of respite. Somewhere in the background, they heard Vrutha's distinctive roar of a laugh; one of Clarissa's friends had asked her to dance, and the orc swore she had never heard of anything more absurd. After that, she bought him a drink.

"Is that Flint and Luned?" Otto asked into Resolve's hair. Several other couples crowded the small dance floor, and he could just barely see the sparkle of the disco ball's light reflect off a familiar bald head.

Resolve nodded from where she'd rested her head against his chest. "She said they'd stop by."

"Seems like everyone's here," he observed as he glanced around, "and then some. Those posters must have been charmed."

"It's official," the girl jested. "You'll all have to retire from the watch to become full-time musicians. You've already got the groupies." He laughed, and they spent the rest of the song in an embrace made cozy by the dim light and mellow music.

As all good things must, Rosie's number soon ended, and Resolve sent Otto back to the stage with an encouraging pat on the bum. "Knock'em dead," she grinned.

"Let's wake them up a bit," Aaron suggested as Otto picked up his guitar, and the rest of the band concurred. As they rolled out their next tune (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r7Hb4bxF12E), the tavern simmered back to life, and the floor filled with as many dancing bodies as it could reasonably hold. Resolve suppressed the temptation to spur a friendly mosh when even Vrutha and Gruul joined in, at least as well as their ceiling-grazing statures allowed. Vrutha shone brightest between the metallic glisten of her armor-laced attire and the sheen of glitter she'd picked up from her table, and even the insinuation of violence in her motions seemed momentarily beautiful.

Just as the song finished, a new group emerged through the entry at the other end of the tavern. The crowd parted around them as they passed, as the more knowledgable locals recognized them immediately as the resident band from the Niema River House.

The last note petered out, and Otto stood tall at the forefront of the stage where the trio of tattooed skinheads now congregated. Resolve and the crew from Visht-Ana closed around them in an imposing wall, all of whom could have perhaps done a little better at concealing their enthusiasm at the prospect of having some skulls to crack.

"I have to admit, I was skeptical about the rumors," Bully smirked with his arms crossed like knotted tree trunks. "It's been some time since we've had healthy competition on this side of town. What do you say, gents? Shall we battle it out and settle our differences?"

The band shared a cautious glance, then nodded to each other. Carrin avoided looking at Gull, an avian-like fellow who managed to sport a full pair of drumsticks despite the fact that their last meeting had left him with one less hand. "Alright, then," Orlannes stepped in diplomatically. "Show us what you've got."

The three men drew their instruments as if they were their most cherished weapons, Bully with his banjo, Cat with his bass. With feline vocals, they rolled out their first blow (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F39UP1mjAnc), and it was a doozy.

Otto and his comrades all eyed each other afterwards; how would they follow that? In a moment of uncharacteristic bravery, Carrin stood from his stool. "I've got something." He had mentioned to the group before that he occasionally tried his hand at songwriting and had even begun learning guitar for it, but he had yet to actually share any of his creations. "Can I borrow your guitar?" he asked Otto and the orc obliged, lifting the strap from his neck and delivering it into the young man's hands. Carrin took a deep breath. "Wish me luck."

He stepped up to the edge of the stage, wiped his brown hair from his eyes, and let'er rip (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xLz54rWO2xM) –– twice (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o7PKAnaHlis).

[Otto]

"Okay," Orlannes panted at the end of that bout. "Time out."

Otto nodded, and stepped to the front of the stage. "Thanks for sticking with us," he told the crowd. "We're just going to take five, and come right back."

They stumbled off towards the bar.

Bully's gang were more than happy to take over the set in the mean time. The buoyant feeling of success quickly faded once again as Bully's roar (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=27LLPANAgzw) washed over the venue. Aaron, Carrin, Orlannes, and Otto sunk gloomily into their beers. Otto traced sad little designs into the glitter which dusted the bar top. Resolve plunked down on a stool to his side, and put a comforting arm around his waist.

"Don't be like that," she cheerfully admonished. "You guys are killing it up there."

Otto cast a sidelong glance to the back of the room. "Gruul's lot might disagree with you," he remarked. True enough; something about Bully's content and delivery was getting the orcs perked up in a way their own band hadn't.

He narrowly avoided a face full of bangles as Resolve waved her hand dismissively at this complaint. "And if you played just for them, you'd alienate the rest of the bar. Come on, now. You're made of sterner stuff than this."

"Yeah," Otto said, then much more firmly: "Yeah, you're right. We can't take this lying down. Bastards stabbed me last time, and I didn't quit then. Well, we're not going to start now."

"You sure about that?" Bully growled behind them. "Might save you a lot of time and effort."

Otto hadn't even noticed the song finish. He muttered a curse into his beer, but stayed sitting where he was. "You're a long way from home, Bully. Risking a lot just by coming here."

"Oh, I had a debt to pay," the stout man replied.

Resolve bristled. "So do we," she spat at him. "How about you, Gull?" She addressed this to a sour-faced fellow standing behind Bully. "You so keen to lose another hand?"

Gull scowled and stepped forward. He raised an arm upwards as if to strike, the end of which ended in a curved iron hook, but Bully stopped him by firmly pressing a palm against his chest. "Hold off, Gull," the leader said. "We have better ways to do this. Why don't we make things interesting?"

Otto stirred. He slowly shifted around to face the others. "What did you have in mind?"

"One song. Two bands." Bully grinned maleficent. "We duel it out up there, in front of everyone, let them choose a winner."

The orc rubbed his chin absentmindedly, which resulted in a fabulously sparkling beard. "Okay. But on one condition. When we win, you never come back to play in this part of town again. Stick to the waterfront."

"Okay," Bully replied, "on one condition... when we win, you never play in the city again."

Resolve rolled her eyes. "Come on. Hardly a fair deal."

"I guess we'll just come back here every week, in that case," Bully chuckled. "I mean, look at that crowd. They love us. I reckon Moody will be glad that we can drum up business..."

"I'll talk to the others," Otto growled.

"See you on stage," Bully smirked. His band sauntered off.

Otto shook his head, while Resolve opted to clench her fists and hiss a few choice insults at Bully's broad, retreating back. They rejoined their own band after this small bout of stress-relief, and passed on Bully's ultimatum. Their grim disposition seemed to darken - except for Carrin, who just looked to get angrier. He was drumming his fingers on the bar and chugging his lager down in long, furious gulps. The empty mug made a heavy thud as he slammed down, and the shockwave sent a small, glittery cloud rolling out.

"We can take 'em," he stated. "But I'm not singing. It's Orlannes' turn."

The half-elf groaned. "Don't put this on me. Please."

"Oi, the rest of us have had to take the gamble," Carrin retorted. He prodded his colleague in the chest, and went on, "You're not going to back out on us."

Orlannes sighed, and nodded. "No, you're right. I just-" he looked anxiously about the room, and paused as he settled on something; Otto tracked along the man's gaze, and saw Ags smiling back at them. She gave Orlannes a little wave.

Otto placed a hand on his abashed friend's shoulder. "Deep breaths. Done this a hundred times before. Now let's get up there, put Bully's gang down, and afterwards..." Otto hesitated, quashed his conscience, and continued, "... afterwards, I can put in a word with Ags, if you like."

Orlannes perked up. "Really?"

Otto nodded.

They finished their beers and departed for the stage. Otto wrestled unsuccessfully with his feelings of guilt. Orlannes probably had no idea what he was in for. At best, it would probably be an uneventful tea party. At worst... well, Otto should find a reason to be nearby. Just in case.

He heard the crowd quiet down a little as they stepped on stage. Bully's gang were standing to one side, already set to go. Bully's banjo was slung over his shoulder, Cat was plucking idly at his bass, and Gull had a triangle hanging off his hook and was staring daggers at Carrin. Otto and the others made a beeline for their instruments, set to the side of the stage while they went for drinks. Otto went over to his guitar case and opened it up.

He stared at the contents for a long, long time.

Aaron was the first to notice the frozen orc. He walked up behind Otto and, when he followed his friend's gaze, said "Oh."

The guitar lay smashed right through the middle, like someone had stepped on it. He looked up at Bully. The man caught his eye, smiled, and shrugged.

"That bastard," Aaron growled.

The others had also come over to stare at the sad sight by now. Carrin shook his head. "That's it. We're done," he deplored. "We can't take Bully on now."

Otto calmly closed the lid on the case, and got to his feet. His hands were steady as a surgeon's. He nodded to himself a couple of times in silence. Then he looked up, and strode over to Bully so that they were nose-to-nose and staring each other in the eye.

"We have a deal," Otto told him. "Be ready to play in two minutes."

Bully blinked, and Otto was gone - a shape disappearing into the crowd. He found Ags easily enough; she was sitting with Clarissa's group, though trying to keep as much distance as she could from the orcs. They, in turn, seemed more or less pleased with this arrangement. The fey beamed up at Otto as he approached.

"Hello, Otto," she said. "Oh, your beard... does it need more glitter?"

"No. Yes," Otto corrected. Agnie's smiled grew wider. "I love your decorations. I was wondering if you could do us a couple more favours - we want to go all out for the finale. And I need to pick something up from the garrison."

"Oh, you are asking a lot, aren't you?"

"If it helps, I can get you a tea date with Orlannes..."

She clapped her hands together with glee. "Done!"

[Resolve]

Agnie led Otto upstairs, where they procured use of a door from a long hallway of many. Usually that section of Moody's was nearly as busy as the bar and heavy with all manner of questionable aromas, but the music had thoroughly distracted the regulars. For once, it was the quietest corner of the seedy little place.

The fairy princess twisted the knob and it opened with a click not to the den within, but the garrison yard. A draft of cool, night air scented with spring spilled into the corridor, and she grinned up at Otto. "Two minutes."

He nodded, then stepped out into the dark.



In Otto's absence, tension continued to rise. Resolve and the Visht-Ana crew stood cockily in their wall around the intruders, where Vrutha prepped by cracking her sharp, bony knuckles in anticipatory delight.

Rosie closed in behind her friend and tapped on her shoulder. "Will they be alright?" she whispered. "Should we step in?"

"Don't you worry," Resolve smirked slyly back at her. "I'll make sure nothing happens to Carrin's pretty little face."

The elder woman blinked. "Ah… thanks? I'm sure Grannie would appreciate that."

Resolve's smirk vanished. "Grannie?"

"Well, he's always been her favorite," Rosie sighed with uncharacteristic bitterness.

"Is that what you two have been…?" Resolve pieced the story together and, while she had never really been one to judge her friends for their lifestyles, she couldn't help but assume she meant something far too kinky for her tastes. "Gross, Rosie!"

"What…" Rosie trailed off, baffled. "What do you think we've been up to? We're cousins, Rez!"

The exorcist's face had gone a little gray at this point. "Gods, you're just making it worse!"

"Ew!"

"Ahem."

Someone cleared their throat, and the women looked back toward the stage. Apparently everyone had heard their conversation in the quiet that had fallen over Moody's during the wait. Carrin, who had been standing sadly toward the back, stepped forward.

"Fine, if you're going to make things even weirder, I'll tell you." He glared accusingly at the nosy exorcist, who stared back with wide, pale eyes. "Gran's been ill," the young man continued, nearly knocking his head into the precariously positioned disco ball. "She'd never approved of Rosie's life choices, and I'd hoped to… to reunite the family, in case she doesn't have much longer."

Rosie groaned and covered her face in aggravated embarrassment. "This is the fifth time she's pretended to be dying to get an apology out of me."

A large, calloused hand reached out and grasped Carrin firmly by the shoulder. He nearly leapt out of his shoes when he turned and saw the limb was attached to Bully. "Sorry to hear about your gran, lad," he said with genuine empathy. "Real sad stuff, that." Then he released him, stepping back toward his band and reclaiming his confident posture. "But we're still going to kick your arse."



By the time Otto returned, Agnie was distracted; he caught her murmuring conspiracy into the shadows, seemingly at nothing.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, hoisting his new creation at his side.

The fey glanced up over her shoulder, shooing something invisible away with her hands. Her mouth opened to reply, but then her mottled eyes fell upon his cargo and glistened with envy. "Oooh, now that is a beauty."

[Otto]

Otto slid the canvas wrap back over the bundle he held under one arm, and smiled. "Thanks," he replied. "I finished it just last night. So - are we ready?"

Ags nodded vigorously, bouncing on the balls of her feet for emphasis. "Mm-hm!"

"Thanks," Otto murmured. "I owe you one." He looked through the crowd to the stage, took a breath, and slipped into the crowd.

"Don't forget to speak to Orlannes!" the fey yelled at his back.

Otto slid between the Moody's dance-floor goers with ease, a bit like a boar tromping through brush, until a heft paw fell onto his shoulder. He looked around, and then up, into Gruul's twinkling yellow eyes. Gruul was older and taller than Otto, his feral black hair matted with scars, his tusks longer and thicker. Otto didn't know what he did for money, and reckoned this was just as well.

"You play good," Gruul rumbled in thickly-accented Tradespeak. "Lack of string-thing not hold you back."

Otto waggled the bundle about in his grip. "I've actually got that covered, don't you worry-"

"No, not understand," Gruul stated with a frown. He swapped over to orcish. "Your instrument was not holding you back when you had one, but something was. You do not like the tattooed men, no?"

Otto shook his head.

"No. You were complacent, and when they came, they gave you fear. But this is war," Gruul intoned, with a sweeping gesture that sent several patrons sprawling. "This is a battle! But I see you hesitate and moan, and all the while, that other man looks at you as a wolf eyes a rabbit."

"I know."

"You know? You stare back like a rabbit eyes a wolf! Well, are you a rabbit?"

"No!" Otto growled.

"Then what are you?"

Otto visibly bridled at this. "Uruk!" he stated, glaring Gruul in the eye.

Gruul scowled. "No need to be so ashamed of it!" His other hand came up and shoved Otto roughly in the chest. "Again!"

"OTTO URUK!" Otto screamed. The crowd around them froze a little; what they saw was two grown orcs yelling at each other, and apparently on the edge of fisticuffs. Everyone knew, too, that orcs were a generous sort when it came to handing out punches. The crowd began to edge away.

"Does an orc cower, or does an orc fight?"

"Uruk lutauman!"

Gruul brought his massive brow down against Otto's. The younger orc could smell ale and rancid meat on Gruul's breath, and his voice thundered deafeningly down Otto's ears.

"Otto mabaj armauk!" Gruul roared. "Otto lutauman urukuurz! HWROOOOOAAAAAR!"

Otto echoed the warcry, screaming at the top of his lungs. It spread to the other orcs one by one, who picked it up and howled out to the rafters. Patrons scurried for cover. Dust shook down from the ceiling. Vrutha slammed her tankard down hard enough to crack the table, and let free a monstrous clarion that nearly drowned out all the others combined. And just discernible under it all, Clarissa's gang piped in with their own treble contribution.

The screams slowly died off, but now the floor shook with a steady, rhythmic thump. The orcs had begun to stamp their feet in unison, still hollering and hooting in expectation, and urging the bands to get a move on. Gruul pushed Otto away towards the stage.

"Otto mabaj ang-gijak ishi," Gruul said over the chaos. Otto nodded, turned, and prowled off to the set.

[Otto]

Bully watched, with a look of disdain etched into the wrinkles on his face, as Otto approached. Gull and Cat leered out from behind him with equally maleficent expressions. As Otto went to step up, Bully moved in front and blocked him.

"Nice show, that," the man remarked. "Going to need to do better to win this, though."

Otto brushed past and went over to his own bandmates. Carrin's tambourine was jittering nervously in his grip, Aaron was angrily tuning his guitar, and Orlannes simply clutched his instrument to his chest and stared into space. Otto put a comforting hand on the half-elf's shoulders.

Violet eyes flickered into focus and alighted on Otto. "We're doomed," Orlannes wailed.

"No." Otto tightened his grip and leaned in. "We are men who have fought and died in the Citadel. We are men who have trained for this, day in, day out, for the last few months. We are men who don't bow down to our enemies. And we have a few tricks up our sleeve yet."

Otto released his friend and stepped back. He looked at Aaron and Carrin, and told them all, "I don't know about you lot, but I'm about to kick some arse. Feel free to join me."

"And how," Bully cajoled from the sidelines, "do you plan to do that with half your guitar stuck in my boot tread?"

Otto just grinned back at him. "Confessing so easily, Bully?" he replied with a mocking, sad headshake. "Grim would be disappointed in you."

"Let's just get this done. We've waited long enough for you to get your... flute."

A quick glance down revealed that a faint metal tube had poked through the cover. "Not a flute, Bully," Otto casually responded. "I was thinking we could settle this with some Gravel Road. My strings against yours."

"I don't know what you got in there, but there's no way it has strings-"

"My problem, Bully, not yours. We doing this or not?"

The thick-set man ponderously stroked the neck of his banjo. He was staring at Otto's thin, cylindrical parcel, thinking and idly plucking at the steel strings. At last, he nodded. "Better get ready, greyskin," he croaked.

"Right," Otto affirmed. He walked to the lip of the stage, sat down cross-legged on the beer-soaked decking, and unfurled the rolled-up bundle into his lap. The canvas whispered off, and revealed a large, shimmering disc about a metre across. At first it seemed a single, malleable surface, until one took in an intricate steel weave criss-crossing the surface in a labrynthine design. The light gleamed white off some threads, but a second layer of patterns emerged in the colours: concentric rings of blue, yellow hatchwork overlapping pink chevrons, and more tones beside, all flowing into and out of each other.

Otto ignored the sudden stilling of the two bands, and the curious milling crowd that edged a little closer to the stage. He busied himself with fiddling around the disk's back; tightening a string here, hooking one onto another there. The thing flexed and distorted, and its threads spread apart enough to allow a finger to strum them. He did so to one; the note which arose sounded like it came from his old guitar. Otto plucked at another string, this time eliciting a brittle chime. The orc twisted around to face Bully and, staring the man in the face, let his hands briefly dance across the shield's taut surface. A mocking noise, very much like a banjo (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kBNOVhWo5Hg#t=5m55s), sallied from it.

Bully scowled. He even made to step towards the orc, until Carrin shouted from the rear of the stage.

"Oi, Bully!" The young man started to thump a tempo on his tambourine to lead them in. Orlannes and Aaron were stationing themselves behind Otto, fingers ready on their strings. This was it. "Play fast!"

They hit the beat, and Otto took them off (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x8ZFlGJkyt0).

[Resolve]

As the heavy beat of the new song reverberated off the claustrophobic walls, the crowd churned. Resolve only remained dazzled by Otto’s shiny creation for a moment –– she could admire it later. Now was the time to dance.

Ags stood quietly off to the side, out of the action but within view of the stage, where she stared intently up at the ceiling. Someone with better eyes than most may have noticed the scurry of something small and elusive along one of the many beams that stretched above. She raised her hand in a little gesture of confirmation, the scurrying ceased, and from half a dozen locations over the patrons’ oblivious heads, something flickered. Within seconds, the sparks took within their colored glass lanterns, and light rained upon Moody’s in a pulsing rainbow. By now, even the orcs were covered in Ags’ prolific glitter. It caught flame under the sparkle of the light show in a fierce sheen that only highlighted their intimidating physiques further, and they rocked it hard.

This spectacle pumped the dancers into a frenzy, and before long, a mosh pit blossomed at the foot of the stage. Clarissa and her friends watched in humble amazement as Gruul and Vrutha slammed against each other in joyful rhythm, not seeming to mind when their skulls occasionally cracked precariously against the beams. One of their comrades joined and the ripple he sent through the foundation nearly knocked one of Ags’ sprites from its post, the green light falling askew momentarily, but it recovered.

“I’d say that’s a tough act to follow,” Bully spoke over the last few notes, “but we don’t need special effects to cover our weaknesses. Ain’t that right, fellas?” He glanced over his shoulder and his gang stood at the ready, clutching their instruments and raring to take over the stage. The tattooed man then looked back to Otto. “Why don’t you kids make room for the real musicians?”

Otto and his group offered a graceful bow to their adoring crowd, then stepped aside with more respect than their rivals had earned. “Be our guests,” the orc said.

As he returned to the floor, Resolve found his elbow. “Is that what you’ve been working on?” she asked with a proud little grin. From the way she pressed into him and seemed to nearly have forgotten the mug in her other hand, he could tell she’d finally started hitting the bar. “You’re really something, Otto,” she praised him, and then offered him the beer. “A reward.”

Meanwhile, the other band had gotten their rendition of Gravel Road rolling. As much as Otto hated to admit, Bully’s peculiar voice suited the tune in its own grating way.

A few bars in, however, the thug faltered; a pink beam of light shone directly into his eyes, his heavy brow creased as he squinted into the crowd. In the distance, he made out Ags’ unassuming little figure, arms raised as she orchestrated her horde of sprites. He couldn’t see her smirk with that blasted light in his face, but he could sense her mocking him, and a man such as himself certainly wasn’t about to that that from a fairy princess.

Bully managed to play through his frustration until he scored an opening at Gull's triangle solo, which he used to reach down and steal the first tankard he could grab. “Hey!” Clarissa protested, but he ignored her, chucking it across the dance floor…

And directly at Rosie, where it hit her square between the shoulders and soaked the back of her pristine dress. She jolted upright with a shocked little shiver, then turned to glare at the offender in dismay.

The woman didn’t have to lift a finger with so many friends in the room, however. Both Resolve and Carrin noted the offense and immediately glared death in Bully’s direction. The man only had a split second to recognize his mistake before they’d take action.

That briefest moment of silence was simply the calm before the real storm.

[Otto]

A quiet, Radasanth street. A faint hint of midden floating in the air, over a rutted cobbles carriageway, inbetween tall buildings spaced too close together-

- a door bursts open, throwing a braying din and several disheveled thugs onto the road. They stagger away as quickly as they can, coated in pink glitter, chased by tiny dancing lights and a sea of rowdy patrons. The pursuers are led by a feral-looking orc, possibly female (inasmuch as one can tell), with two cheering youths in fashion-show trainwrecks bundled under each arm. The chase quickly leads away from Moody's wine cellar, so that peace and quiet soon descends on the street again.

Back inside the nearly empty building, Otto calmly unstrung his invention and began to furl it back up. Resolve was aggressively sponging down the rear of Rosie's dress, as though she imagined the cloth were steel wool and her friend's back to be Bully's face.

Rosie seemed to be upset about something. "Please tell me you understand-"

"Yeah, yeah," Rez soothed her. "I'm not that dense, hon. But I can't believe you never mention you two were related until now!"

"Family embarrassment," Rosie answered dismissively.

"Oh, come on. Anyone who's met you-"

"Not me, Rez." Finally satisfied with her handiwork, Resolve let her friend go. "Carrin's side of the family are all a few sandwiches short of a picnic, especially grandma..."

"Um," said Carrin. The two women shot him a scathing look, so he immediately shut up.

"She's an evil, conniving old crone, and you know it," Rosie pressed on at him. Carrin opened his mouth to retort, but instead shut his trap again with a shrug. "She gets her kicks from turning the family against each other, like some sick Braen Tragedy. The biddy's been trying to get me back on the scene for years, but I'm not falling for that old trick again."

Otto approached silently behind Rez and brushed her cheek with a kiss. She spun around and seized him by the beard before he could escape, though, and pulled his lips in to hers for a more thorough show of affection.

"You're finishing up?" she asked when they disentangled. Otto nodded.

"I think that's a good note to end on."

Resolve pouted up at him. "And I had just got you to myself!"

"Well..."

"It's okay," Carrin interjected from the stage. "We've got you covered - right, guys?"

"Yeah!" Aaron exclaimed.

"Huh?" Orlannes managed to break his gaze from Ags; the fey had taken advantage of the lull to inch closer to her prey, and sat smiling innocently at him from a front table. "Oh. Yeah. Yeah!"

Resolve raised her arm. Otto would normally have hesitated - but not this time. As the band behind them finished the set (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZyaK3jo4Sl4), he placed his hand in hers, and they danced.

[Philomel]

Thread Title: The Weave and the Wind (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?27207-The-Weave-and-the-Wind-%28a-shameless-spoils-thread%29)
Judgment Type: Condescended Rubric
Participants: Otto and Resolve

Story: 22

General: As usual this thread was a delight to read. Just as with your other stories, you really weave an epic tale that lasts from beginning to end and is enchanting almost all the way through. Overall this thread was really good, with a good balance, strong pacing and well-written setting. If picking at faults, however, the thread could have generally done with a better rise of tension perhaps towards the end, rather than the fast-paced rise that seems to occur - and then die. It was mostly the joining from Resolve’s last post to Otto’s, with a definite seeking to build - and then it ended with a dance. Though this is definitely a ‘thing’ for your characters, it seemed a little bit of a denouement, and the thread begged for one last post, or at the very least a slight expansion here. There is very little to say to improve here, apart from try to mind your moments of important scenery, and make them particularly stand out with strong tone and purposeful words.

Otto: You particularly captured the reader’s attention from the opening line, with “Are we ready to go,” which is not only dialogue from your central character but also a message to the reader saying ‘are you ready to enter into this story.’ Following on from here the story flows pretty well, from point to point, with a fairly good capturing middle with the sort of rise in tension when the agreement is settled between Anvil and Otto. You have the right amount of romance and flirtation mixed in with the steady pressure of a soldier’s life. The setting especially from post 20 was very well written, so commendation here.

Resolve: In a very close similar way your strengths lay in the rise and fall of the piece. You seemed to have a very good hold on the setting, with apt descriptions of the bar scenes in such a way that the reader could picture themselves in them. Smells and tastes were also used in your writing, which is always really good. Use of light was greatly powerful nearing the end, where you wrote, “caught flame under the sparkle of the light show” in post 31, and ended it on a light but personal touch, which was great.

Character: 20

Otto: You do a fine job of balancing between the romantic and the soldier, as mentioned above, which really suits these threads well with yourself and Resolve. There is a set demeanor to Otto that you manage to carry out, a sense of duty but also a sense of gentlemanly fashion, giving a different sort of face to an orc. From dialogue to persona there is a definitive character that you continuously portray, which is very good and very well done. Sometimes, though, the other characters in this thread do somewhat overshadow Otto - so just be careful to make certain to the reader that you know who the main person here is, unless obviously stated so. In a way, Anvil seems to take over halfway through the piece, but despite this it is not too much an issue. Your strength lies in the balance of dialogue and persona, though perhaps dialogue is lacking in places, especially from around post 6 to about 12, where it could be slightly developed more, in a way of clearing showing what your character truly desires from the entire agreement and situation. However, mostly extremely well written.

Resolve: You write a beautiful strong female who has surprisingly gentle moments in this piece, which was great to see. Your touches of romance in post 21 clearly showed various sides to Resolve, which developed down into the epilogue, which was most excellently done. Dialogue was your strong point here, where you used it in conjunction with action to clearly show what your character was thinking and wanting from Otto and others, with a fluid good word choice and a sentence structure unique to her. Having a single way of speaking for a character that is clearly defined is particularly hard to develop and you really have done this well.


Writing: 23

Otto: You have a really good strong use of description in this piece, with such things as “colour writing” coming into play, as in post 3 with, “The sun had now burned the sky red and the river pink.” Your word choice also is steady and strong and has a relatively good variety from the simple and explanative to the elaborate, essentially at times when you need them. Similarly, around the middle of the piece you change voice and tone, but in a way that works, going from the personal to an omnipresent present tense, one that perhaps would sometimes be odd and hard to follow, but works for setting as well as your writing skill itself (mainly, post 20). In general more use could be made of metaphors and similes but all grammar and spelling was there and present, so well done here.

Resolve: All in all you have a good hold of writing, showing a clear defined style as you go. You have a good hold of word choice, even littering in a few longer words that had to be looked up by the judge for meaning, which is always a good sign and use of the tactic of ‘write for the intelligent reader.’ Overall description was strong, though a better use of general literary techniques could be used, so encouragement here to maybe use them a little more. Some areas of dialogue, also, in terms of neatness could be lengthened out, given their own paragraphs too, though this is not firmly necessary it could help with pacing and reading. (such as post 31, where Bully acts and speaks, and also where Clarissa speaks.) The only slight issue at times with your style of writing, is that you use some colloquialisms, such as “and it was a doozy” in 26, which does not quite fit into the rest of your slightly high register. However, despite this, your writing was particularly strong at the beginning and end, bringing in the rise and fall of the piece, which is always a need.

Wildcard: 7

Wildcard here goes to sheer romance and strong defined love ... and pictures. All in all it was a great pleasure to read, and you definitely wrote a story of casual pub life, agreements and disagreements and a weave. The musical elements were more or less an added bonus, as well as the lovely pictures from Resolve. So wildcard points here goes to the the SWOON.

Overall Score: 72

Otto (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?16653-Otto) Receives!:


2550EXP!
50GP!


Resolve (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?16124-Resolve) Receives:


2020 EXP!
205GP!



Otto is also awarded spoils under the following description:
"Otto: one masterwork shield made of steel weave. The shield can be 'unstrung' to be stowed loose/furled up, or 'strung' to become rigid. In this form, the shield is a slightly bulged disc in shape, roughly one metre in diameter, and has functionality as a defensive armament. Its design is self-reinforcing, making it much stronger than it appears (and laced with enchantments to strengthen it further); all in all, it should be of Mythril durability and weight. It can also be tuned and played, able to mimic any other instrument in the guitar family." - in addition to this description, it can be added that the shield is round, made of steel, though has an enchantment to make it lighter and stronger (of mythril). It also consists of two 'layers', one of which can be strung to make the instrument requested.

EXP and all of the awarded GP was taken for this spoil.

Otto is, however, given 50 GP from Philomel's account (http://www.althanas.com/world/private.php?do=showpm&pmid=131356)for his work here well done. Permission granted by me.

[Hysteria]

XP and GP added!