Wishing Well

[Eli]

Eli tried in vain to remember the name of the town he had asked the others to meet him in. He remembered where it was, or at least he hoped he remembered seeing as he thought he was sitting in it's only inn. Tavern. Thing. He remembered what it was called in Akashiman. He couldn't pronounce it but he remembered what it supposed to sound like. He leaned back in his sturdy oak chair at his equally solid round table near the blazing hearth of what passed for the dinning hall in the tavern he definitely didn't remember the name of. He supposed it was nice enough. The tables and chairs were presumably nice due to the comforting lack of bar fights and the smell of the kitchen indicated a cook who had too much skill and not enough apprentices. The sole serving woman at this hour, a woman who could probably bend iron pokers over her forearms, had taken one look at Eli's beanpole frame and insisted to the cook that Eli be fed. She had even taken interest in Snakey's well being, claiming that a healthy viper of his length should be thicker around the middle and that just because he wasn't a constrictor was no reason to waste away like he was. She brought him a whole rabbit and glared at Eli until he stopped trying to explain that Snakey had eaten twice that week already. Snakey liked the serving woman.


Four other places had been set on the table at Eli's exceedingly polite request. Eli heard things about Aurelianus Drak'shal. Fire and orphans things. The demon would sit across from Eli, relying on his familiar to watch the door and ignoring any others as possible threats. Magic was the real game in town and they both knew it. Eli would attempt to feign being intimidated and hope the demon was arrogant enough to fall for it.

Silently Eli hoisted Snakey from his traditional, if tactically unsound, "I just ate and you're warm" position coiled around Eli's feet. Receiving sleepy reproach through his bond with the two meter viper, Eli put Snakey in the center of the table.

"Yes, yes. You're terribly intimidating. Now make like a centerpiece. I need you on guard. Taste for demon and warn me. He's probably the only one we really need to watch out for."

Next was the soldier. V something. Vanessa? He was big. That was the extent of Eli's characterization of the man. Good to have in a scrap but otherwise inconsequential. If he arrived after the fiend he would put as much table as he could in between himself and the demon if he was stupid, and sit right beside him if he was smart. Distance was never a warriors friend in a firefight.

The healer was a bit of a puzzle. A demon too, he knew, but by all accounts not a very good one. Haruka, that was it. More Akashiman phonemes. He'd have to investigate that trend. No doubt her apparent naivety and altruistic magic were ploys to further some needlessly complex plot Eli didn't bother to try to suss. Healers were all nuts anyhow. Still, useful with a sword in your gut and only fire to look forward to on the other side.

He'd need the scholar to help decipher the rituals at the wellspring. True, what he had forgotten about dead languages and magical theory could fill a few libraries, but he was on a bloody schedule and who knew, maybe she'd bring more to the table than he thought.

If it weren't for Snakey's calm note of warning over their link Eli would not have noticed the nervous energy rising in the room. The few other patrons by turns laughing too loudly and falling silent. In the doorway stood a pale man. Short, with what looked at first glance to be a bright red mohawk but was indeed some sort of quill structure. Kyton stock. Or perhaps bebezu. His eyes, cat-slitted and full of naked hate, scanned the room. The other patrons, still as only prey who meet the predator can be, flinched as the demons eyes looked over them. Evaluating them not as people, but as a butcher might a slaughtered and skinned lamb. The serving woman met his gaze levelly. She motioned for Aurelianus to shut the door against the winter night and jerked her head towards Eli's table. Eli made a mental note to leave a generous tip.

Snakey stilled himself in the way only a millennia old viper eminently capable of impeccable violence is capable of. Eli hoped for it's own sake that the ridiculous winged homunculous thing on the tiefling's shoulder knew the difference between that and the stillness of fear. He met the fiends eyes. There was arrogance there but it was tempered with a vicious pragmatism and cunning. Eli dispensed with pretense and gave a small smile. Breaking the impromptu standoff Eli spoke a traditional Infernal greeting, the harsh flowing syllables carried easily to the doorway in the silence of the demons presence.

"Hail acknowledged enemy! You who further my goals."

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

The icy rain came down in sheets, blown almost horizontal by the bitter Winter gales. It had been coming down, on and off, for the past week, leaving the gutters of the Akashiman border-town overflowing. There was no moon this night. Lurking in the shadows of a small, narrow alley, Aurelianus Drak'shal viewed the lack of light as a particularly good thing. It made it all the less likely that someone would discover the corpse of the local lying behind him anytime soon. The Akashiman's throat lay open like a grotesque flower, blood already washed away and diluted into the gutters, exposing the neatly bisected arteries and tubes within. Keeping his ears parked for anyone nearby - unlikely, on a night as miserable as this - the Anarchist shrugged his coat higher on his shoulders and unfastened the buckled straps keeping it closed against the damp.

Glancing over his shoulder at the deader, Aurelius couldn't resist a smirk to himself. It had been piss-poor luck that the swarthy-skinned man had decided to try and knife the tiefling for his jink, but the tiefling still couldn't decide whose. Either way, he couldn't resist leaving a little something for the locals. Baiting them. Get a few rumours started.

Pulling the wide brim of his hat lower, the guttersnipe reached under his coat and drew Herzaa's blade with a happy little flourish. The wickedly curved and notched dagger gleamed viciously as it caught a stray flicker of torchlight from across the street. The razor-edge parted the deader's ridiculous robes, and the leather armour beneath with no difficulty and with a low purr of satisfaction, he set to work...


***

Half an hour later, once again washed free of any evidence of his sins, the half-breed emerged from the narrow lane, and with a quick glance around to make sure he was unobserved, wandered off down the narrow streets of the town. A little smirk curled the corner of his mouth as he thought of what he'd left behind - whatever had him in town wasn't going to keep him here long enough to see his art bear fruit, but he could well imagine the fun and games that would follow finding the mutilated remains of one of their own, strung up in a back-alley. The rumble of thunder off in the distance stirred him from his reverie, somewhere out over the sea, even over the omnipresent roar of the hammering rain. But the wind was carrying the storm further out. The rain was already starting to lessen, though the air still held a chilling bite to it. Stopping next to a small drainage culvert on the side of a squat stone building, the half-breed casually disposed of the berk's face. Nose, ears, eyes and tongue were all taken from a drawstring pouch and quickly swallowed by the murky water flowing into the opening. Whistling to himself and tucking his hands deep into the pockets of his battered coat, Aurelius made his way to what was apparently the only tavern in town - he actually had a reason for coming to this little burg, besides sizing up the local brothels and seeing if they had any talent he could use back at his own flesh-palace.

No, he had something much more entertaining on the books for the evening.

Some silly little sod had enlisted the deviant devil's help.

Shaking his head and chuckling softly to himself, Aurelius couldn't quite believe there were still rubes that clueless wandering the world. But then, he mused with a predator's grin, I'd 'ave the pikin' yawn without 'em. He made his way down the muddy road, churned by the passage of many feet. Either side of the road was lined with buildings raised up from the ground on stilted platforms, some of them even bearing walls of what looked like paper. Could burn this whole anthill to the pikin' ground with one soddin' match, he thought with a wry chuckle. There would be time for that later, he decided. For now, he had a meeting to attend.

Word had reached him through the usual channels the week previous, as he passed through Radasanth on his way to settle a dispute between two of the drug peddlers in his employ. Rumours, whispers and secrets always found their way to him, by design, most of them easy to ignore. But, this juicy little scrap of chant was just too good for the warlock to pass up and a day later he had been setting out East of the capital, making for the Coronian-Akashiman border. This berk, this Eli had sought the disreputable soul-broker. Deliberately. The thought hadn't stopped being funny from the first moment Aurelianus had heard it.

Even now, as he shoved open the main door of the tavern, it brought an almost feral grin to his features. Shouldering through the doorway, the tiefling was immediately hit by a wall of warm, welcoming heat. He stood there for a moment, taking the sodden capotain from his horned brow and letting his serpentine eyes dance over the other occupants of the dining room. It was a leather-headed cutter that didn't keep a watch on his surroundings at all times, but after a moment's calm scrutiny, he had dismissed everyone in the room as barely worth his attention. No law-dogs, no cutters looking like they had the balls to attack him, let alone the ability. Just frightened little bunny rabbits, all watching him with a peery eye.

Aurelius basked in the feeling for a moment, savouring their unease, before he finally hung his dripping coat up by the door. His hat went alongside it, leaving his tattooed scalp bare to the balmy heat of the room. Something squirmed inside his coat. Chastising himself for forgetting about poor Junior, Aurelius reached in an opened one of the inner pockets on the garment, letting his familiar out to enjoy the warmth as well. It scurried out and up his arm in a flash of fish-belly white skin and sable pinions, alighting on his bladed shoulder with a happy little screech.

"That better?" the warlock asked Junior, letting the once-dead creature nuzzle malformed features against his cheek and stretch its wings for the first time that day.

And then he heard the greeting directed at him. His tapered and pierced ears picked up every Infernal syllable. His eyes narrowed. Mouth curled into a sneer of contempt. The tiefling suppressed a growl at the words, instantly disliking whichever sorry prick had spoken them.

Turning, the half-demon mastered himself without giving any visible sign of his internal rage. Nodding to the serving woman and with an attempt at a friendly grin, he shut the door with his heel. The slam was almost deafening in the nervous quiet of the room, making a few of the patrons with their backs to him jump. The ones that did look round with irritation writ large across their features were reluctant to keep doing so when they saw the blade-clad creature standing in their midst. Almond shape eyes lowered back to their steaming drinks, heads down and shoulders slumped - every expression read 'no trouble here'.

All except the bar-maid.

The woman, not bothering to hide her dislike of the specimen in her tavern, thumbed him to the largest table in the room and he stalked over with a self-assured gait. Turning the chair to protect his gut, Aurelius straddled the worn wood, sitting before the human and exposing only a swathe of blades adorning his armour. Woe betide the poor bastard trying to stab him in the back. Now, finally face to face with the addle-cove that had invited Walking Treachery into his little endeavour, Aurelianus Drak'shal found himself entirely underwhelmed.

"You speak Infernal like a Guvner, mate," he said calmly, slit pupils narrowing at the man, his tone implying an insult even if the broad-framed berk didn't know how he'd just been insulted. There was a flash of black as Aurelius slid his forked tongue over his teeth.

Junior, its feathers ruffled and needle-teeth bared at the serpent coiled on the tabletop, shrieked its displeasure at hearing the Infernal tongue spoken here by someone other than its master. Like Drak'shal, it had no love of the Nine Hells. Its master ignored the snake sitting before him entirely - he knew that he could move faster than it, and his bite was more dangerous. Junior was not so dismissive, keeping sutured eye sockets on the reptile while his tiny scalpel talons skrch'd against one another.

The warlock allowed his eyes to relax, letting his perceptions drift out of the mundane. There was the briefest burst of light in his golden-yellow irises. Witch-sight, some called it. Pikin' 'andy is what I call it, he thought. Instantly, the hall was lit up with various swirling and clashing hues, burning like balefires against the bland greys of everything not living. The souls of everyone in the room, laid bare for his hungry gaze. He could even pick out the pin-pricks marking rodents in the walls. He only flicked his eyes around the room for a heartbeat before allowing his vision to return to normal. He had seen all he needed to.

"An' I can see you ain't all you seem, but you ain't never set foot there, so I 'ear you rattlin' its tongue from your bone-box again," his mouth widened in a fanged smile, eyes shining coldly from under horned brows, "and you and I won't be friends. Jig?" There was a hint of something deeper, more guttural behind his voice. Like the echo of a growl.

That was, as far as introductions went, about as polite as most people could expect from Aurelius. Shrugging off the irritation of hearing the noble accent, the inflections to the Devil's Tongue that marked a high-ranking fiend, the warlock reached into a pouch at his belt and brought out a small silver cigarette case. The rainy weather had forced him to go entirely too long without a smoke, which went some way to explaining his quick temper. Planting it firmly between his pale lips, he lit the tip with a small flash of black fire in his palm. Two puffs, three, and the cigarette was sending long coils of bluish smoke into the air. The first few draws helped him focus on the business at hand, and he flicked the glowing tip at the remaining empty seats around the table, the myriad charms and talismans bound round his wrists chiming musically.

"Now, while we wait on the other sods, 'ow about we play the Quiet Game?" he smirked, blowing twin streams of smoke from his nostrils.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Akashima. . . At long last, the wanderer found it's bamboo walls. The road was arduous, riddled with danger and pain. It took Victor months to reach the city, more from getting sidetracked and lost than anything else. As a veteran of the Salvar civil war, Victor received many sideways looks and disdaining stares at his Lieutenant's long-coat. It was nice to find a town where people did not understand the meaning of his attire; or the color of his eyes.

Raukorad, he had been called. Translated from Elvish, it means 'the Red Demon.' One attracts names like that in war. The man Victor met on the ferry promised pay, though he had not known Victor's other name. 'Meet me in Akashima; only one pub, so. . . I need to take care of a few more people. Things. Whatever.'

"'It'll be the score of a life time!'" Victor mimicked, going so far as to exaggerate hand gestures and facial expressions, "why do I get the feeling this is going to be soooooooo much more trouble than it's worth. . . I just need some travel funds. . ."

Victor sighed, letting his troubled mind wander from his current task to a much more enjoyable thing: forgetting it. He moved through the empty road leading to the city like a ghost, only animals reacted to his presence. He tried to forget the magnanimous personality the ferry from the Citadel introduced him to. 'Son of a butcher,' he'd introduced himself as. After many years fighting a war, a man hones many sense. Victor's sense of smell, attuned mainly to sweets, booze and easy women, was particularly strong. And that man smelled like a liar.

Victor's lonely footsteps echoed softly in the early dusk sky. Their heavy sounds seemed to get answers from every direction, as though a gathering were taking place.. A force had been pulling, drawing in unsuspecting souls into its strange machinations. Or people were just going home from work. Victor blended with the emerging crowd with unusual ease. The entire city seemed to emerge from every doorway; tired and annoyed. People shifted by each other in their strange clothes with no regard for one-another. Victor might have stood out if anyone paid attention. Wooden sandals continuously chaffed and stepped on the wanderers dark brown boots. Only a sigh of complaint left Victor though, as he focused on the last few months.

"Alder," he whispered, shaking his head and shedding the thought. His old comrade, left for a darker, bloodier path and it was too late for anything to be done. Instead, Victor was seduced by the light scent of sweet dough, which hung in the air like the soft white clouds above. He made his way to a shack, built around a oven and display stand. Sets of four dough-balls, smothered in some kind of dark paste and impaled on a thin stick caught his eye.

"Hey, old man," Victor nodded, "how much for the funny-looking kebabs?"

"What's a kebab?" the old man laughed, taking one of the full sticks from the display and setting it on a small plate, "it'll be a gold for 5, but the first is free."

Victor eyed the old man suspiciously, taking the plate with caution. A slow process of checking the food for drugs and other miscellaneous poisons using house hold tricks ended in a bite of the soft pastry.

"They're called 'dango,'" the old man explained, wiping down the dusty countertop with an old rag. "You can find many a shop that sells them, but none that does so with as much love and devotion as me." The dark paste was salty, but worked perfectly with the sweet balls of dough to provide a perfect harmony of flavor. The soft ball almost melted in the stranger's mouth, pure sugary ecstasy washing over him like a wave. Each ball went down in one bite, satisfying the man's every sense. After the last ball went down, the man suckled the sauce soaked stick.

"Sir!!" Victor yelled, slamming his fists on the counter, "I need the dango!"

"What?!" the old man recoiled, shock and hope building in his eyes, "how many??"

"ALL OF THEM!" Victor yelled, slamming down a handful of gold coins. He left the shop with a smile on his face and a box of delicious snacks in his hands. I bet these would go great with some booze, Victor mused to himself, letting the last of the sun's rays warm his face. A multi-hued sky lit the way for Victor Valentine, a sky that would soon be lost in the chaos to come. The sky, on its horizon, held a coming darkness. Anyone left alone at the mercy of nature can tell a coming storm by scent alone, and there was one hell-of-a-thing brewing. The red eyed man walked as the sky turned from orange to red to purple to black. He welcomed the feint glow of a tavern, coming from beneath and behind the heavy wooden door of a two story building.

Victor used his free hand to open the heavy door, darkened from years of abuse. Many faces rose to meet the man's red gaze; most turned away, some starred too long, but only a few looked away without judgment at the strangers red-colored eyes. Victor brushed his now wind-blown black hair aside, before being greeted by a strong-armed woman who led him to a booth. The bar was crowded, though the sun had not even fell yet. Victor put his box of sweets to the side and observed the room.

Although the rest of the city was styled in a strange architecture, the room itself resembled most other taverns. Victor sat in a corner, out of sight for most people. but watched everyone. His back was to the wall, much to his liking, and the corner he'd been placed in was shrouded from light.

Rumblings from the heavens made the warmth of the hearth all the sweeter. A snug, coziness fell over the dry pub as slowly, people left to beat the coming storm home.

"Are you here by yourself or waiting for companions?" the woman asked, once she had made her way back to the new customer. Her words were sure, her voice held little doubt or reservation. This was a strong woman, one used to the harsh world around her.

"I think I'm meeting someone here," Victor said, suddenly realizing he'd forgotten what the man he'd promised to help looked like. "His name starts with a. . . D?. . . M!, no. . . E. . . yeah, probably E; or a W. Well I'm sure I'll know him when I see him!" Victor laughed before asking what the establishment had to drink. The lady began to explain the different kinds of drink they offered, but when she began talking of different regional variations and types Victor suddenly realized he didn't care.

"I suppose in the most general sense, the main difference is hot or cold," the woman finished,

"I guess I'll take the hot one," Victor said, hoping to find sweet relief from the bitter winds that begun to blow him closer to his fate.

Hours passed and Victor began to relax. The warm liquid filled his body, but, although the woman had said it was strong, Victor could barely tell it apart from water. And after three hours, he'd managed to keep his wits about him, though four empty bottles showed he was trying. Victor had all but forgotten the bizarre man he met on the ferry. He had grown far more interested in the barmaid. Her story was so average it was absurd. the more he listened, the more he became attached. He could feel her potential with every tale she told. From the seemingly benign scuffles with childhood friends; to moving from job to job, learning more and leaving before getting attached.

He was more than content to leave this town with his box and a buzz, when he closed his eyes to enjoy the moment. Then silence fell over the room.

Victor watched the eccentric man enter, a snake moving around his body. There was nothing to suggest that the man was anything more than a man. Other than, of course, his eyes. Sad, lonely things. Victor could relate. He watched the man take a seat; watched him interact with the people still calling the tavern their repose. He watched this man wait. Victor knew this was the man he'd been waiting for. He recognized the face and eyes, though the sea-sickness was gone.

Thunder and rain followed the man at his heels. He walked into the pub with a light step, as though chaos and discord were his running-mates. This man was the bringer of the darkness that fell over the land like a veil. Victor knew he should leave. He knew, in that moment; something told him, that the time to leave was now. His body ached for the exit. But his curiosity would not yield.

Before the red-eyed man stood, another form entered the pub. With a thundering crash, the door flew open, bringing with it a thing like something Victor had seen before. Another demon? the man sighed, sinking into the shadows of his booth. Victor held his breath, knowing now, better than before; it was time to go. Black sclera and yellow irises drowned two thin black slit pupils. His dark stare wash over everyone like a wave, leaving you feeling strangely empty inside. Victor could easily say he loved the guy's hair, but he wondered if he dared to.

"Dangerous folk," a woman's voice called, "the storm brings in the worst of'em." Though she put up a strong front, she knew that the new patron, and anyone affiliated with him were too dangerous to approach. The friendly barmaid's approach drew Victor's attention to his right hand, which clasped his long-sword. He hadn't even realized he'd been doing it. Since the first man walked in, and the second; Victor's hand never left 'the Bastard.' The blade he carved a path of bloodshed through the war with. Commander Valerian's blade. No guard, just the handle and blade, with a dusty silver gem at the hilt. None could think the blade was worth much, but it was certainly sturdy enough.

"I think. . ." Victor began, easing his grip on the Bastard, "I think I like this place. I think, they'll need about five bottles of the hot stuff. . . And, I think. . . Those are the folks I'm here to meet."

The fear in her eyes mirrored Victor's red eyes. The unease and an uncomfortable air filled the room with every second the demon with cat eyes lingered.

"Say it ain't so boy," she rebelled, "these are not the kind of things you want to be meddling in!"

Victor sighed, knowing full-well she was right. The woman was wise, beyond the year of a humbled barmaid. Or maybe just wise enough. And then it hit him.

"I don't even know your name," Victor sighed, keeping his eyes on the woman.

"Shiori," she eased, as her guard dropped, "Shiori Nobunaga."

"That's a good name," the red-eyed wanderer smiled, leaving a handful of coins on the table, "listen close then. Bring the booze and some food, and then I advise; you get yourself out of here before it really starts pouring."

They spoke in a language no one understood. Although the guttural tone meant something abyssal. Victor stood from the shadows, holding his box of sweets underarm. He had observed the whole exchange, and was sure who the most dangerous man in the room was. It was clear that only a complete and utter psychopath would knowingly and willingly sit at a table with monsters like these. One looked like a devil. The other had the mind of a monster. But Victor Valentine danced with'em. He danced with devils and madmen and liked it.

"Gentlemen!" he called, kicking a chair out in front of himself, mimicking the position of the man with the fancy hat. With the back of the chair covering his chest, Victor dropped the box on the table. He sat between the two man-things; 'Cat-eyes' on the left, and 'the Butcher' on his right. as five bottles of local liquor were set before them Victor spread his arms in a grandiose gesture with whimsy in his eye and madness in his grin, "I bring goodies."

Then quickly, moving his left hand to cover the side of his mouth, he leaned closer to the dark-skinned demon, "I love, your hair."

[Rosie]

“Ma’am, There was a letter delivered here for you today” Petra said as he noticed Rosie enter through the main doors of the library. Rosie had since returned to Corone after being separated from Elias and her training with Tobias. Getting a job as a librarian in a small town somewhere east of Radasanth. “I put it on you desk.” She continued.

Rosie groggily looked up at her college as she made her way past her around the towers of stacked books. “From who Petra?” She asked yet already knowing that Petra had no Idea who had delivered the letter. Petra was very bad at deliberately thinking ahead in conversations, allowing Rosie to pick up hints. Even if Petra wasn't aware of Rosie psychic powers.

”Not sure but it must have come in the middle of the night. I was here at sun rise this morning.” She said as she returned to the book she had sitting open in front of her. The young elf was always to caught up in whatever she was reading at the time. Rosie ignored this as she as she turned a corner and made it to her desk, in a sense this was not just a library rather a dungeon. The walls made up of books and the creepy crawlies were Rosie and Petra the only two attendants to this well of knowledge. As she reached her desk she set her satchel down and leaned back in her chair just allowing herself to relax for a moment. A quick blur of white raced our of her satchel and across her deck. “ Lucius, is that you!?” Rosie said as she tried to play little with her pet. The white blur shot off of her desk and onto her legs, then quickly up to her shoulder finally resting there. A little white mouse was perched on the shoulder of his best friend, nuzzling her gently.

Then she noticed it, the letter. She had not been expecting anything so this was a surprise. Making sure that her leaning to grab the note didn't bother Lucius’ balance on her shoulder, gently she clutched the letter and leaned back. “Wonder who this is from, any ideas Lucius?” She said teasing her mouse.

What the fuck, how... Rosie thought as she sat down at her desk. A awkward look cast over her face as she continued to read the mysterious letter. There was no indication to whom may have written this note, yet it managed to find itself on Rose’s desk in Corone. Revealing that her actions in Raiaera were no secret to whomever the person behind it was.

”Rose Algose, if you still seek information about The Braded Titans I have it. One week from now I will be in Akashima, meet me there if you wish to talk.” That was the end of the letter, nothing like why this person may help me or what was the bigger picture. Yet Rosie’s run in with The Branded Titans was during her training with Tobias, how could anyone know... this was definitely weird.


* * * *

A couple days had passed since Rosie getting the letter, and she deciding that there wasn't much to loose chose to make her way to Akashima. The city the letter had mentioned, The only tavern was the meeting destination. Rose had be instructed to gather any type of equipment she might need, being a scholar she decided upon a tome she had picked up. The tome was essentially a dictionary for the old magic.

The journey wasn't as rough as she expected, managing to crew up with a traveling caravan. She made it Akashima in a matter of days not weeks. The region’s bone chilling winds left her feeling like she was venturing into the bowels of an Ice Wrath yet this had been her only lead to find out anything at all about the group that attacked her and Tobias to ruthlessly. After making her way through the narrow streets she finally found the spot. A run down building, the name above the door was only partial legible. It read “The Reckless-” The rest of the sign was to far gone.

Stepping inside she quickly noticed that this was no place for her, grown men sitting all around and none of them looked like anybody she should affiliate herself with. As she scanned the room with both her eyes and mind she notice one thing. They were all focused on a group of men sitting at a round table. So distracted that not a one turned to see her as she entered, their minds hadn't registered this either. Taking advantage of the fact Rosie pulled her hood over her head telekinetically and moved over to the bar and sat down. A bully of a woman walked up to here eye balling her like she was a circus act. Taking this as a sign, Rosie immediately started to penetrate her mind.

Not only did this woman know who Rosie was under her hood, presumably from her small stature and obviously being out of place here. But she was instructed to usher the young scholar to the table drawing all the focus in the place.

”Rose, right?” The woman said as she stopped across the bar from the girl. She was cleaning a mug with a rag and still eye balling poor Rosie, this woman was a bruit in size rivaling an arena fighter.

” Aye, and I already know what you are going to say. I will sit here for a wile and just observe.” The woman leaned in and smiled at Rosie.

”These men are dangerous, please if you feel scared leave.” She said as she then turned and walked away.

[Haruka]

Sorry for the late reply. I've been a bit busy within the last week, and during free time I lacked the inspiration to write anything :P

Timid, holding her fingers against her lips, the demon entered the bar.

Eyes changing color by the second, Haruka darted them across the room for those who she was supposed to meet. Being a healer from her tribe, Haruka took requests for healers well. Upon the notice given by a man named Eli, Haruka was quick to enter. Once she came in, she noted an ugly sight though... Another species of demon: Tiefling.

Tieflings were very differant from her own, Hametsu, from what she'd heard. Including the fact that they apparently held no honor. While the Hametsu were indeed very violent, from stories whispered in taverns and streets the Tiefling branch was far worse. Haruka shivered under her heavy clothes, the heat and warmth of the bar around her existing not. In instinctive defense, the Hametsu briefly bared her hidious teeth, then silent and scared walked over to the bartender.

Haruka whispered to the woman, "K-know of a guy named... Eli... here?"

The woman nodded then, to Haruka's dread, pointed to the exact table where the other demon stood. Haruka bit her nails, the jagged sharpness of her white fangs easily ripping them off. As Haruka unintentionally trimmed her nails, the woman spoke, "You do not have to face them. Like I told the other girl, you can leave at any time."

Just then, Haruka noted another girl, a human blond about her age, standing very close by. Too nervous to speak, the Hametsu spoke telepathically.

Hi... You here to meet that Eli guy too?

[Eli]

Eli almost laughed. First the demon had come in eyes blazing like hateful stars, then the red eyed man had finally stopped pretending to observe Eli and given everyone the impression that Eli was as dangerous as Drak'shal. Now the two women were up at the bar, cowering. The human girl looked as if she would rather be anywhere else and the child's appearance was not helping.

"Ladies. How good of you to join us." Eli said far too loudly over the deserted silence of the tavern. At this even the inns heartiest patrons and staff made their various excuses and absconded into the night through the nearest portal. The two women stood in silence as the last few pieces of glass from the now shattered windows fell from their frames. The demon child recovered first and made her way, picking past hastily overturned chairs.

Eli continued: "This is Victor something or other," Victor raised his half empty bottle of sake towards Haruka and smiled what he probably thought was reassuringly, "And this is Aurelianus Drak'shal." The demon made no move to acknowledge that anything had happened since his initial comments to Eli and was continuing to radiate lazy generalized hostility. The girl at the bar looked to be turning green but nevertheless made her way to the table. Both women sat across from Victor and tried not to look at Aurelianus. Silence reigned.

"Charmed I'm sure." Eli said brightly. "Now we all know why we are here so without further ado, let's be off. This'll be a milk run."

~~~

Captain Darktail was furious. A group of bigfolk had made it past the antechambers of the Kobold fortress. They'd been burned, stabbed, poisoned, bludgeoned, twice made to listen to elvish pop music, covered in ants and set on fire again. Now the scouts said that even the poorly locked chest filled with bees guarded by a straw dummy in a moldy robe filled with demon bees fake final boss fight/reward had failed. He'd barely had time to muster a proper fighting force. 60 crossbow and deaththorn quarrel armed Kobolds stacked three deep across a flat hallway filled to the breaking point with various spear and spinning blade traps would have to do.

~~~

Eli sprinted around the corner. "More fire, more fire, for the love of all that is holy more fire!" he shouted.
Victor came next carrying Rosie who was apparently allergic to demon bees and convulsing as Haruka administers one of her cures on the fly.
Aurelianus was last. Ostensibly he was covering the others' retreat but actually, being immune to demon bee venom, he was using their retreat to cover his larceny.

"Why is it always bloody bees?" Aurlianus cursed to himself slapping away the insects which had followed him from the chest.

Captain Darktail pulled the emergency "Someone annoyed the demon bees" lever slamming an eight ton slab of granite down across the hallway missing the party by centimeters and cutting off their only other route out.

"First row!" he barked. "Aim! Fire! Down! Reload! Second row!...

[Good for Nothing Captain]

"I did not sign up for this!" the healer yelled, finishing her spell on the blonde girl. As the path from behind was closing, frost and ice began to form at her feet. As though she were there one moment, and gone the next, Haruka zoomed between the closing slabs of stone. Like a dying echo, her voice was all that remained, "sorry, good luck!"

Victor stared at the granite wall that nearly took his charge's head. With pain in his eyes, he whimpered, "take me with you. . ."


~~~


It was supposed to be so easy. Victor smelled the lies each time their 'fearless' leader spoke. Fearless or crazy; Victor assumed the latter. They stood atop a cliff, before the traps and the fighting. The sun had just hit its zenith, and a quiet peace held strong in the air. A subtle breeze lifted a smell from the valley below; some kind of flower, or nectar. Victor closed his eyes, breathing in the sweet pollen as it drifted by. He could not have possibly guessed of the trials to come. He could not guess what vile creatures waited in the tunnels below. Victor desired nothing more than to stand under the warm rays of the sun and enjoy the sweet mountain air.

"Simple and easy. . ." Victor sighed, as the rest found a path down the cliff, "I really needed simple and easy."


~~~


The gargled yells and barks of the Kobalds brought the red-eyed man from his reverie. Victor turned, his expressionless eyes scanning the murderous ranks which took aim at their small group. The tunnel widened where the Kobolds stood, and further back it split into six separate tunnels which branched in many directions. They were looking for something, that much was clear, but Victor was more concerned with something else. Spears and spinning blades of metal comprised the space between each group. One spear, popped in and out of its slot just above Victor's head, shifting his hair before his eyes. A vain began pulsing in his temple, reflecting the rage boiling beneath the surface.

"I just wanted simple and easy. . ." The black haired man sighed, taking Rosie under his arm. Her form was limp, still battling the effects of the demon bee venom. His free hand wrapped around the spear's base, as soon as it reached the end of its thrust. Victor broke the spear off, his grip tightening over the wood.

"All I wanted. . ." Victor growled from behind the Tiefling and the artifact hunter. The two turned at the sound, but could only follow his form as he lunged forward, "WAS SIMPLE AND EASY!"

The man moved through the traps with ease, after having observed their simple movements. The trap's design were primitive at best. Victor made quick work of them, closing the gap between himself and the kobolds. The first row scrambled for their weapons, frantically loading bolts into their crossbows.

"Burned!" Victor yelled, crashing the spear against the skull of the furthest Kobold on the left. "Stabbed!" he roared, breaking the spear in half against the Kobold on his right. Catching the blade tipped half mid-flight, " fucking poisoned!!" he yelled, stabbing the last Kobold, blood spraying across his coat and Rosie. The imposing image and rage filled eyes alone sent the next row of Kobolds fleeing for their lives. He heard the twang of bow strings and fell to the ground.

Bolts soared overhead and Victor heard cursing from behind. The Bastard flew from its sheath, cutting deep gashes in two Kobolds who's fear filled eyes rolled backwards as the life drained from their bodies. "Bludgeoned! Fucking Elvish pop music?! Who the hell has Elvish pop music in a dungeon!?! I you know what? That's not so bad, that, I get. But ants?! Why Ants?!" The next row down didn't move, they simply stared, their knees buckling in the piercing glare of Victor's red eyes. Their commander barked orders, frantically pushing fleeing Kobolds forward.

"A milk run!" Victor turned, stabbing his sword into the ground at his feet, "a fucking milk run?! Do you ever know what you're talking about!?!"

The butcher rose, mostly avoiding the crossbow fire. But before the man could respond, gargled roars filled the air. The non Kobold group turned their attention to the other kind of living thing in the tunnel. Captain Darktail lifted a heavy mace, while the other Kobolds drew worn down swords and shields.

"You know what? we're done here!" Victor yelled, pointing to Rosie's limp frame and lifting her up. He took his blade, sheathing it and moved forward. Gaining great speed from the start Victor blurred past the first two rows still alive and planted a foot on Darktail's head, using it as a board to propel himself forward. The red-eyed man and limp girl disappeared down one of the many tunnels.


~~~


Heavy sighing played the track for the empty cavern. This one, like all the others, was barely lit by a single torch from either direction. Victor labored, propped against a wall; a small frame curled up next to him. His fist grasped the Bastard, red eyes waited for someone to give a reason to draw blood.

A small crystalline frame rested in his free hand. Mixed feelings swirled in the man; leaving companions, no matter how crazy or violent was not his style. Then something called his attention. There was something sweet in the air again. Something called from far in the tunnels. Something beckoned.

[Rosie]

Victor 'The Butcher' continued to smuggle Rosie underneath his shoulder through the gloomy hallway.

Shame...

How could I have... I mean, already... I tormented myself thinking about how utterly useless I have been. Stung, poisoned by winged demon bees. As we crept through the shadows of this cave Victor held me dear to his breast. Where we are going still unclear but Victor seemed determined to fallow the sweet aroma.

"Don't worry Rosie the pain should fade soon." Victor said to me, comforting, soothing. Holding me close I began to cough into his side violently, shivers began to race all though my body. "Now Girl," He started as he tried to shake me slightly. "you cant be giving up so easily. How are we going to get to know each other better if'n you go cold here." Blunt yet comforting words. "Now count with me. C'mon focus on me, forget about the pain." I hear him, though im shivering and in pain I hear him.

"One,.. Two,.. Three,.." He starts to count as they both hurried through the dark hallway.

One... Two... Three... I think with him, trying to stay with him. The pain feels like my blood is boiling, burning my entire shoulder where she had been stung. But I cant speak, not a word, anytime I try I loose my breath. Four... Five... I keep trying all I can focus on is I have to keep moving.

Once I read a book of the fauna of the region, The Easy Guide to Corone- Fauna. I remember doing some reading on the venom of the Demon Bee and their sting, the pain wile extreme does dissipate rapidly after mere minuets. Surely something Victor knew also seeing as he continues to try to focus me somewhere other than the pain.

"Five, six" Victor continues as I began to mouth them with him. Remarkably I begin to start to feel slightly better, still far from fine but better. My shivers has stopped and I begin to breath more regularly.

"Seven Eight!" Im able to say aloud with him, breaking past the pain. "Nine Ten!" I say louder as I start to hold more of my own weight as we moved.

"Are you fine Hon?" He asked me as I start to pull myself from him. He letting go of me gently and me wishing I could still lean against him. But this was no love story, and im not just a damsel in distress. I leave his arm and begin to walk alone, still hurting but well enough to walk. Nothing could hurt more than my pride, if I were to be a burden.

"Fine, thanks to you. How did you know to help me like that?" I ask truly wondering if he knew or was he running on instinct.

We continued in the direction of the aroma, ever vigilant to attack. If there were anyone around them I would be able to detect them telepathically. For now we seem safe. For now...

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

So far, the "milk run" was just that.

Roaring swathes of Hellfire poured from Aurelius' hand, swallowing any of the kobolds leather-headed enough to try and follow. But even as he heard the high-pitched shriek of yet another roasted mongrel, the tiefling had to cut the pyromancy. He shook out his hand, swearing under his breath as he tried to smother the scorched leather of his glove. A quick glance showed a ragged hole burned through the palm, but his skin underneath was still unblemished.

Cuttin' it close, mate, he tutted to himself.

The edges of the leather curled and smoked, but Aurelius ignored the itchy heat in his hand for now, his other hand slipping under his battered coat. No-one had managed to mark what the guttersnipe has stolen from the "heavily" guarded chest - and that was exactly how he intended to keep it. The object was tucked away into one of the many inner pockets on his coat for later examination. Risking a glance over his shoulder at the sorry sods accompanying him on this ride, the tiefling was disgusted to see the so-called demon turning tail and fleeing. Without missing a beat, Aurelius drew a shuriken from his holster and sent it after the cowardly little shit. But, his eagerness to cripple the mewling little healer was met with disappointment as the group's escape route was cut off, with her on the other side. The impact of the huge stone slab sent tremors through the narrow hall, and Aurelianus had to reach out to the damp wall to stay on his feet.

Fangs bared in a feral snarl as the kobolds closed in on the now cornered party, he backed up a few paces - easily side-stepping the traps that made up the quintessential enemy stronghold - drawing almost level with Eli. He flexed his hands, not taking his serpentine eyes off of the wall of crossbows facing him. A bead of sweat trickled from the crest of quills down the back of the half-demon's neck, sliding under the high collar of his bladed armour.

Grinning, not in spite of the seemingly hopeless situation, but because of it, the leather-clad spellslinger spread his stance, planting his hob-nailed boots firmly. Aurelianus gritted his fangs, focusing inwards and summoning all of his considerable will. A vein in his temple throbbed under the hissing hydra tattooed there; his forearms were tense, tendons standing taut against his alabaster flesh, hidden beneath his sadistic armour and the trademark coat. He could feel the raw arcane energy welling up, making his teeth itch, building in his coiled fists and surrounding them in a faint heat-haze shimmer. The air in the corridor started to smell of burning ozone, but if the kobolds noticed, they gave no sign.

There was a blur beside Aurelius as Victor charged into the fray, but the tiefling paid him no heed, concentrating. Silly bastard gets penned in the dead-book, I'm not goin' to lose any sleep, he thought cheerfully, keeping his eye on the assembled kobolds. His timing had to be perfect. He saw the swordsman's weapon rise and fall, saw the glittering arcs of scarlet splashed up the walls. He saw the severed limbs, heard the howls of pain. He could smell the same piss and fear stench every proper fight eventually took on. He saw the second and third ranks lining up their shots...

And at the same moment they pressed clawed thumbs down on the release levers, Aurelius unleashed the Eldritch Blast he had been shaping within. It roared into being before him as he flung his arms up, roaring down the wall in a shimmering wall and where the crossbow bolts met it, they exploded into fragments, their momentum halted by the sheer force of the energy. It continued down the narrow hall, ripping the crude traps from their mountings in the walls and just as it looked like it was about to catch the back of the bloodthirsty soldier, the human swept up the only other female party member and fled from the remaining kobolds. The same moment he vanished into one of the many tunnel openings behind the yapping little bastards, the arcane wall slammed into them. There was the hollow sound of snapping bones and a handful of them were taken off their feet. But the force of the blast was mostly spent, leaving the rest unscathed.

Luckily, the plane-touched killer was following hot on the heels of his own blast, a gleaming blade in each hand. A vicious smile twisting his features, Aurelius drew back his arm and hurled his curved, many-pointed throwing knife into the face of the first kobold to try reloading its crossbow. The steel tore through its chest in a weltering spray of blood. But even as the creature's claws flew to the hideous wound, the gory weapon tore free and returned to the warlock's waiting hand. A few loping strides before he met the wall of mangy beasts, Drak'shal unleashed a torrent of black Hellfire from his fanged maw. The smell of charred flesh and fur was enough to make a normal man gag, and clouds of thick smoke curled into the cramped confines of the hallway as the unholy conflagration took hold.

And then he was among them, hacking, slashing, dodging and weaving through the melee. There was no real grace to his fighting; it was brutal murder, straight and to the point. No wasted energy, no unnecessary flourishes. Just fluid and efficient slaughter. The fiend-blood in his veins roared with the orgiastic thrill of it all, and Aurelius couldn't hold back the sound erupting from his scarred lips, somewhere between a scream of unbridled rage and a manic peal of laughter.

All things considered, he was having the time of his life.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the rational part of himself noted Eli standing in the same spot up the corridor, not lifting a finger to help. But that part of Aurelianus' mind was not in the ascendant at the moment. Ducking a clumsy swipe from a notched short sword, he hammered the Baatorian knife in his left hand in under the offending kobold's arm, tearing through its heart. A dozen of the pathetic little bastards were bleeding out their last on the stones beneath his booted feet, but there were plenty more to play with. A snarling beast with rust-coloured fur leapt at the tiefling, but all it received for its efforts was a bladed bracer ripping the side of its snout away. It fell, howling, back into the scrum. But there were two more to fill every gap he made in their lines. He was already bleeding from half a score of minor wounds (all the speed in the world couldn't save you if you were outnumbered enough) but the sharp sting simply spurred him on to newer heights of murder.

Where's the pikin' leader?

The thought burned through the fugue of blood-lust. A life-time of gritty, up-close and personal murder had gifted the Cager with all the low animal cunning one really needed to survive in this kind of situation, and he had long ago learned to listen to it. When it came to rabble like this, morale was always the weakness - they could outnumber you twenty to one, and still flee as soon as you put the shits up them. Sweat glistened on his horned and tattooed brow, mixing with the watery blood of the kobolds slathering his barbed and bladed armour. Eyes darting over the horde, he finally found what he was looking for. One of the rat-bastards, bigger than the rest but still barely chest-height on the warlock, barking orders and gesturing wildly with the knobbled clump of steel it called a mace.

The sadistic grin returned.

Aurelius sheathed his knives, using his barbed limbs to clear some space around him, before he pulled out another trick from his arsenal. With another heartbeat he honed his willpower and let it erupt from his flesh in a rapidly expanding sphere of magical flames. Freki's Shield hit the mass of yipping enemies and lit them up like a bonfire. They shrieked wildly, lashing out at each other, ripping at their brethren as they tried to escape. The warlock, sweat steaming from his frame under the infernal heat of his own invocation, fixed his eyes on the kobold commander. It met his gaze, snarling hatefully. But even a kobold could display bewilderment. Its piss-yellow eyes widened in confusion as the quilled nightmare brought his hands up to his face.. and buried his thumbs in his own eyes.

It was the last thing Commander Darktail would ever see.

It would never see the warlock drawing his thumbs out of his eye sockets to reveal his serpentine eyes were completely unharmed. Instead, Darktail's were dribbling down his cheeks, matting the fur with a nauseating mix of blood and ocular fluid. The inhuman shriek of agony that tore from its lungs ruptured its vocal chords with the sheer volume. It never saw the blade hurled at it, and barely had time to feel the razor tip of the blade thunking into the back of its skull before it died.

There was a brief lull as the enemies' will to fight wavered. Another blast of Hellfire through their ranks settled the matter, and the survivors broke. They scattered every which way they could, howling and barking savagely. Aurelius tried to move through them, making his way clear at last of the melee. Only when the last one had disappeared from sight did he allow the exhaustion of the last few minutes to settle in. They wouldn't be gone long, but the brief respite was a welcome thing. He dropped heavily to one knee, barely noticing the blades mounted there sinking into a dead foe. His ink-black blood dribbled from cuts across his exposed arm, and a few lucky strikes had even managed to pierce his armour. His arms felt like lead-weights when he dragged himself back to his feet and wiped the sweat from his face. The half-breed's lungs felt like they were on fire - which, a few moments ago they had been - making his chest rise and fall in deep, ragged heaves. Huge tears and ragged holes in his coat re-knit themselves as he finally turned his attention back to the leader of the now scattered party.

"Gotta 'and it to you, cutter," he panted, the corners of his mouth curling into a satisfied smirk, "you know.. 'ow to.. show a bloke a good time."

Still trying to catch his breath, the tiefling jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the other corridor openings behind the slowly spreading pool of blood, and butchered opponents.

"So.. we leavin' the silly buggers to it and gettin' on with the job at 'and?"

His tone told Eli it was not even a question.

[Eli]

Six plans. He’d gone through six plans since the healer had come to her senses. The first plan had involved her demonic nature contrasting with her peaceful nature. Perfect for the Rites. Her departure was no problem of course, Victors quest for redemption would no doubt be close enough for clerical work. Unfortunately for that plan and the next, which had hinged on Rosie’s innocence in a somewhat more intimate way that Haruka, Victor had absconded with the maiden. Plan number four was panic. Plan four was always panic. As always Eli discarded unproductive plans. Plan number five had been negotiate with the kobolds from a position of power. That had gone out the window an eldritch blast ago. Eli was impressed despite himself with the warlock’s display of power even if it was too flashy for his tastes. Eli noted the speed with which the tiefling had flung what looked like a shuriken at Haruka’s back. Plan seven began to form. Eli considered aiding Aurelianius in combat but seeing as he occupied the whole of the kobolds attention Eli decided to observe. The tiefling had made it halfway down the hall before Eli discarded plan seven. The child lacked subtlety. Plan eight was already half complete when the first line of kobold soldiers died, their swords still sheathed. Eli deferred judgement on plan eight until the death of Captain Darktail. Eli was disappointed. Plan eight was predicated on the demon’s pragmatic self interest. But the fight, while certainly an exercise in economy of movement, was bookended in flagrant wastes seemingly for the sole purpose of entertainment. Eli could not judge whether the demon would desire Eli to fail more than his own success without extra incentive. Plan nine then. Why did always have to be plan 9?

"So.. we leavin' the silly buggers to it and gettin' on with the job at 'and?"

Eli snorted. The response was crucial. Probably. Well at least important. Depending on unpredictable future factors.

“What I wouldn’t give for your services on the regular.” he said, pitching his voice slightly higher than normal, adding a bit of awed quaver. Eli assumed the demon would see through the ruse like glass but it paid to stay in practice and who knew, perhaps it was distracted enough by it’s mastubatory display to not notice. And sometimes pigs flew.

Stepping over the bodies Eli walked towards the left hand path.

“It may come as a surprise, friend, but I have not been entirely honest about our purpose here.”

The demon chuckled and lit his second cigarette since they had begun walking down the leftmost corridor.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

It seemed like no matter how far they walked, nothing around them changed. Their boots dug into the ground, as had clearly been done by hoards of creatures before them. Victor dragged his feet, kicking a rock down the length of the corridor. With each cacophony from the skittering rock, Victor let out a rising groan. And with each groan, the look of irritation intensified behind the fogging glasses of the small blonde. Victor's half open eyes burned with anger, which he failed to keep in.

"Would you please. . ." she whispered, trying to keep her calm.

Another ricochet filled the stuffy tunnel air with noise, interrupting the girl, and was followed by an almost intentionally long groan. The blonde girl waited for the noise to end before starting again. Just as she inhaled to speak, another barrage of noise stopped her from speaking. She closed her eyes, trying hard to restrain her feelings. But the irritation she felt from her partner was overwhelming. She sighed, letting the emotions pass and tried to maintain her composure.

"It would be most helpfu. . ." She began again, only to be stopped by another groan, followed by another wave of noise.

"Would you please stop that!?" Rosie yelled, her feelings getting to be too much.

"Stop what?! There's nothing else to do here! This stupid tunnel and stupid team we've assembled is by far the most disorganized and hazardous joining of lunatics I have ever seen!!"

"Who the hell are you calling a lunatic!?" Rosie yelled in response, "I'm not having a picnic here either! Did you get poisoned and almost killed by demon bees!? I don't think so! I hate this place and everything in it! And if I could I would blow it to high heaven! Myself and everyone else here included because even that would be better than spending another minute in this god forsaken tunnel, with this dim light which is giving me a splitting headache, your mind numbing groaning and obnoxious rock kicking, and that nauseating sweet smell that is making me sick to my stomach!!"

The girl panted, using up all of her breath on the heartfelt rant while Victor stared, wide-eyed and shocked. The pair had stopped in their tracks, Rosie propping herself against the wall, and Victor standing in the middle of tunnel. Her rant seemed to take a lot out of both of them. Victor sighed, removing his sword from his belt and plopping down where he stood. His sword in one hand, he rested his elbows on his knees and let his chin fall into his chest.

"You took the words right out of my mouth." Victor said at length.

"I know," Rosie sighed, "I mean, I think we all feel the same way."

"Yeah. . . And that sweet smell. . . It's definitely here; I mean coming from inside the tunnel. It's why I ran this way. As a wise man, far older and insightful than I could ever hope to be once said: follow your nose."

That got an honest laugh from the blonde, somehow cutting the tension. Victor sat in the silence, allowing his anger subside. And in the silence, something crept in. Victor could feel the subtle intrusion. It was something familiar. Something dark. His whole body told him to run. The tunnel almost darkened, shadows seemed deeper and somehow more sinister. Victor looked to Rosie to see if she was getting what he was getting. But the girl seemed unaware of the encroaching threat.

The man stood abruptly. His red eyes scanned both ends of the tunnel to no avail.

"We should go," Victor said sternly. Rosie looked up, thinking to ask why, but she could feel everything Victor felt and knew better than to ask. The girl knew what he was feeling and knew there must be a good reason, but she did not feel it. The pair set off down the tunnel, Victor kicked up dust with each step, indicating the severity of the situation.

The red-eyed man's guard was up, his hand gripping the hilt of his blade. The deeper his dread sank, the stronger the sweet aroma got. For the first time, Victor feared finding the source of those delicious smelling goodies. Could this be another trap? Did the source of this horror delve into his soul and find his greatest fear? Evil sweets.

Noises filled the air. Blades grinded against metal, heavy pounding and crunching. The tunnel seemed to narrow. The walls were suffocating and the air grew thick. Victor's heart was in his throat; Rosie mimicked his fear. Victor held his sheathed blade out in front of him, one hand on the hilt and the other on the sheath. Rosie hid her already small frame behind the nervous warrior.

The tunnel grew darker and it's turn was sharper. The pair hugged the wall, inching forward ever-so-slightly. After almost ten minutes a brighter light peaked from around the corner. The shape of a well crafted doorframe became visible. The slightly ajar door let the light flow through. On the opposite wall, dark figures played out a scene from a horror story. A wicked blade crashed down against a mangled form atop a table. The noises grew louder, but the pair could only stare at the frightening shadow play on the wall. Ferocious movements intensified and exaggerated by the shadows captured the pair's attention. Then things changed, as a low laughter danced from the open door. Their terror filled gazes turned quickly to the door.

"Well don't just stand there," a harsh, menacing voice called, "it's rude to keep your host waiting."

Victor swallowed audibly, then Rosie did the same. They looked to each other to ensure agreement. Victor closed his eyes, and steadied his nervous. He pulled the Bastard from its sheath and moved forward, his sharp eyes looked to the door and burst through it.

"Welcome!" the man yelled hoarsely then fell into a coughing fit, his voice turned light and whimsical, "dinner is almost ready!"

Victor's jaw dropped, as did the blonde girl's. She then covered her eyes in embarrassment and turned away. Irritation bubbled under Victor's brow as his eyes shut once more. The old man's back was hunched, skin dangling in all the wrong places. His hands clasped behind his back and a wild smile on his face. Scattered teeth were missing from his grin and scraggly facial hair unsettled anyone that looked at him. His hair had long since fallen from his peak, but in its place rose two rabbit ears. In two words; revolting oddball.

"Put some gods damned clothes on!!" Victor yelled.

~~~

The two eyed the spread with mistrust and suspicion. Mounds of dough and pastries towered before them. Some filled with sweet smelling paste and jelly, other with assorted meats and garnishes. They took their time, observing the food, before both turning to their host. The old man who seemed far younger in spirit than in body. He covered himself in a velvet robe, hands stuffed in his pockets. But occasionally, a breeze of unknown origins lifted shifted the gap in his robe. Rosie jerked her head to the side and covered her eyes while Victor turned and fought the overwhelming urge to vomit. Many curtains wafted at the furthest wall. Dark passages stretching behind them.

"Oh my!" the old man's shrill voice sounded, "I don't know where these breezes keep coming from."

"From hell," Victor whispered, "this must be hell. There's no other explanation."

"You're right," Rosie confirmed, from under her knitted brow.

"Please" the old man laughed, "dig in! It's an awful lot of food for just me."

"Thank you for the meal," Rosie peeped, keeping her eyes down and taking something from the nearest plate to distract herself.

"Why is there so much food? You can't have known we were coming." Victor investigated.

"Well I have a nose for these things," the old man laughed. He turned to the fire which lit the room and removed a pot of tea from above it. He walked over and poured three cups. The aroma was intoxicating, a intricate symphony of flavors and smells that Victor could never have imagined. He lifted the cup to his lips and sampled the beverage. It was unlike anything he'd ever had. The hot liquid flowed into his mouth, first numbing his taste buds with heat, but then the flavor kicked in. And kicked it did, heavy and complex. The rich flavors blended seamlessly; sweet mixing with flowery and fruity, nutty and chocolaty. Victor turned to the man, and stared into his eyes. The focused and sharp stare he got back challenged him. The two men locked in a battle of wills. And Victor was losing.

"It's okay," the red-eyed man said to his companion, "you can trust him."

"How can you tell?" Rosie whispered.

"No one who makes tea so heavenly could have a shred of malice in their souls."

The old man laughed, leaving the table and moving around his dwelling. Bookcases and crates filled the large room. Preservatives and cooking aids were littered around the room. The shelves of the bookcases were stuffed with assorted, heavy leather bound books. From what Victor could tell, they were of a magical and culinary nature.

"My name is Victor," the warrior said, taking a full, soft, bun from the platter.

"And I am Rosie," the girl added, taking her third pastry and taking a sip of tea.

A shrill laugh filled the room, and the old man danced towards the table. "I am Madam!"

Victor thought to question, then looked the man up and down, and decided against it.

"Why M. . ." Rosie started, but her companion put his hand on her arm and shook his head.

The pair ate and Madam sat opposite them. He observed them silently, as they ate; pouring tea and taking plates off the table once they were emptied. Once the pair had finished, and filled their bellies, they took their turn to observe. The old man moved with grace and a lightness of foot. As if he were unburned by age or fatigue. He took heaps of plates from the table and to a washing station in a corner of the room.

"Hey, old man," Victor asked, "how old are you?"

Rosie was shocked by his directness but Madam answered quickly and without hesitation, "Nine hundred and thirty seven."

"What?!" the two guests recoiled in tandem.

"Oh yes," Madam turned, leaving some dishes in to be washed and returned to the table. "I said I have a nose for these things. I know why you are here and what it is you seek. Or at least, what the old one seeks. And I can offer only this warning; you will find only disappointment here. I have spent my entire life learning from it and keeping it company, and this is not something one can master or poses. And it hates feeling used."

"I. . ." Victor began but was cut off by Madam's sudden departure from the table.

"You will find what you seek this way," moving quickly to one of the numerous curtains and pulling it aside. The darkness was sinister. Victor could once more feel that same horror he did in the larger tunnel before. Madam shifted the curtain and the fear dispelled.

"Oh-ho, that's interesting," Madam inquired, "you're no stranger to extra-planar forces. You know, they leave a mark on you. Something not easily scrubbed off. You can feel what's ahead; that's for certain. And I can see you mean to continue despite what you feel. But she knows not what truly lies ahead. And she has an appetite. And I have a soft spot for a pretty girl with an appetite. So take care of her. . . Or there'll be a Madam to pay!" And with that he twirled off towards the same curtain and bowed as he moved it aside.

"I hate this place so very, very much," Victor sighed as the terror washed over him once more.

[Rosie]

The darkness of the corridor genuinely frightened the young telepath as she clung to the coat tails of her red eyes companion. Victor showed nothing but confidence in everything that he has done up till now. Even he was unsure how to take the path set for them by Madam. The old man seemed to full confident in his assumption of Victor but something had been adding up thus far.

Rosie prided herself on her sensory type abilities and since she and Victor split from the others she hadn’t been able to pick up any of the other presences in this god forsaken place. Victor, he was easy enough to read. Other than the random mannerisms he had she was simple, he thought only of making it out of here alive. His thoughts stained red by his actions yet his actions had been the only thing keeping the pair alive.

As the two traveled father towards the thing they had been so effortlessly tricked into finding, Rosie knew she must pick up and contribute to the search.

“Victor, listen to me.” She said still clinging to the red eyed warrior.

“Aya lass?” He answered her reaching back with one arm to grab at her hand, he intentionally leading her forth. The darkness of the corridor was now too much for he or she to see in, consuming everything around them. Holding on was the easiest way to keep from getting lost.

“This place is messing with me, if you hadn’t already been briefed by Eli. I’m a telepath but ever since we entered this place my powers had been severely limited.” She said as she allowed him to pull her father with each coming second. “Normally I can simply read the minds of those around me and sense when other sentient creature are around. But even when Madam was hosting us courteously I couldn’t even feel him. Not a single thought slipped to me.”

“A telepath huh, well isn’t that interesting.” Victory said in a slightly annoyed tone, he tightening his grasp of Rosie. He seemed annoyed at her for some reason, but for whatever reason he wasn’t angry or he want thinking it. “You mean this whole time you were just listening to me think.”

Rosie didn’t respond just simply she continued to fallow close behind Victor, she had been used to adversity from others. Ever since her days back with Elias, the other kids would throw rocks at her and point. Crying childish chants to rip at Rosie’s self-confidence, the kids from her village treated her like a devil.

“I’m sorry.” The young girl started just as once again a sliver of light split the enveloping darkness. The sound of running water filled the hall as she and Victor pressed onward. “I should have told you sooner.” Victory sighed and loosened his grip. “I promise I haven’t invaded any spaces that were private to you. I’ve only caught your emotions freely, but anything personal has been left alone.” Rosie said trying to plea for forgiveness.

As the pair continued the light blinding the two began to take shape, an opening to a large and vast cavern illuminated but the surface. Holes in the celling of the caver allowed the sun to shine even in here. Victor emerged first into the light then quickly behind him Rosie did as well.

“Remarkable.” Rosie said in complete awe of the beautiful cavern. A rushing waterfall fell from a very high up cliff into the valley of the cavern floor. The sides of the monstrously large cave were lined with other dark hole all around it. Much like the one that the two had just emerged from, other passaged all leading to this room. Though massive and mostly empty other than some foliage growing in the spot allowing it, there was a distinct and heavy presser of the room. The pressure weighting heavily on her shoulders, Rosie noted that it made her feel at least twice her weight.

“It tis lass, and I bet whatever we are looking for is going to be atop that cliff.” Victor said as he sheathed his bastard in the soft soil under his foot and pointed up to the top of the running waterfall.

“Then let’s get going, let’s see what is so important to endanger us over.” Rosie said encouragingly, stepping forth in the direction of the massive cliff.