The Girls of Combat

[Call me J]

(open at any time)

The Zirnden was practically empty in the afternoon. Everyone there had an agenda. There was the strange looking man over in the corner, casually fidgeting with a packet of cigarettes he kept in the thigh pocket of his trench coat. Jame assumed he was with the City Guard. He looked too nervous to be a member of the Scourge. The Scourge recruiter was far more obvious. He was a smelly, coarse looking man who seemed like his affiliations with the crime syndicate precluded him from showering. He sat, his left foot folded over his right knee, waiting on the bleechers impatiently, his eyes never glancing at the man in the trenchcoat.

With the exception of the men representing Scara Brae’s finest and filthiest, the Zirnden might have as well been closed. The first fight wasn’t going to begin for another hour, and yet, Jame sat among the two recruiters, seemingly the only person out of place. He waited by the bar, furtively looking down the bar wench’s blouse as he pretended to pay attention to the cage in the center of the room.

Soon enough, Jame found out he wasn’t as slick as he thought he was. “You wan’ sommin’ from the bah?” the bar wench asked rudely. “ ‘Cuz you ain’t gettin’ whachu lookin’ at now, I’ll tell ye that!”

Jame shrugged. He was neither ashamed nor amused. “Whatever I just had,” he said. He placed his cup back on the bar surface without looking back at the wench.

“Three coins,” she said. Her voice was still hostile.

Jame placed the coins on the table, received another drink of dark elven ale and then went closer to the cage to inspect it. He wondered how much longer it would take for either the City Guardsman or Scourge recruiter to approach him. As he stood before the cage, he examined it like he was looking at a piece of pricey art. Casually, he sipped at his drink, as if to invite one of the room’s other occupants to strike up a conversation.

Neither took the bait. Jame thought it unfortunate. He wanted to know if he had guessed right on the motives of the two men. For all he knew they were underground bookies. Regardless, it didn’t matter much. He didn’t need to speak to people with other agendas, Jame had come to speak with the fighters. The half dragon was making his plans to leave the Pagoda, and he knew he was going to need to find someone else to take his spot. The Zirnden seemed like the best place for him to find someone up to the task.

Soon enough, the late afternoon crowd began to filter in. The afternoon crowd was considerably less chic than the nighttime crowd, when the Zirnden practically turned into an elaborate party for twenty somethings and the fighting practically became background entertainment. Instead, the people who came to watch fights in the afternoon were gamblers and warriors, exactly the kind of people that Jame was going to need.

“Also exactly the same people the Scourge is out to recruit and the Guard’s out to arrest,” Jame realized. He knew by coming this early, he had made himself a target. If the trench coated man was new at the job, he might have thought Jame was with the Scourge. If he talked to too many people, that was a risk he was going to have to anticipate.

However, before Jame could have even picked the first person to talk to, the trench coated man approached him instead.

“Fine weather we’re having, eh?” the man said. He offered Jame a cigarette.

Jame kept his gaze forward. He took a sip of his drink, but didn’t glance at the strange looking man. “You picked a strange time for small talk…” he said. He wondered why the man was thinking to approach him now, especially when the Zirnden was starting to fill with people.

“You should have a cigarette,” the man replied.

Jame’s reply was curt. “Don’t smoke,” he said.

As if he was responding to a cue, the trench coated man let out a fake laugh. “You should,” he said. “It’s good for your health.”

Jame just shook his head. “You’re really beginning to miss the point… aren’t you?” He turned to face the trench coated man, only to find that he had already begun to move away. A bit taken aback by the whole exchange, Jame looked towards the man he had pegged as Scourge for a reaction, only to find nothing out of the ordinary.

For a moment, Jame considered leaving. He had no pressing business in the Zirnden he couldn’t take care of the next day, when hopefully the man in the trench coat would be gone. He finished his drink in a gulp and was getting ready to leave when he suddenly heard the man in the trench coat speak again. Only now, the man spoke to someone else. However Jame could catch the word “Aglarlin” in with the conversation, and he was also relatively certain he’d heard Vanimedlë, the name of the Aglarlin headmistress. Jame immediately remembered how good she had been to him, and then, knowing that, decided that it would be best to stay. At least, of course, until he could figure out what the man in the trench coat wanted.

As if to suggest that nothing had been all that suspicious, the half dragon made his way over to some bleachers in the left hand corner of the room. He sat far enough away from the man in the trench coat so as not to arouse suspicion, but made sure he’d be able to hear anything that sounded louder than a whisper. Whatever the intentions of the man, he was going to discover them.

“I’m not leaving til I figure out this trench coat...” Jame decided. He didn’t care about finding a replacement warrior for the Pagoda anymore.

[Call me J]

(still open)

As the first wave of people entered the Zirnden, they congregated mostly around the bleachers near the bar. Jame smiled. He wanted as few people between himself and the man he had taken to calling “trench coat” as possible. Even now, as the chatter of the prefight crowd had begun to pick up, the half dragon could hear everything that trench coat said without needing to strain his ears.

However, trench coat had stopped talking, and it was abundantly clear why. For whatever skills the man possessed, it was obvious he was no actor. He sat now with his head in hand, gaze fixed forwards as if he was afraid to look to his left and notice Jame. The half dragon knew he wouldn’t speak again until he moved.

Frustrated, Jame let out a sigh. He thought about going back for another drink, if only so that he could blend in later when more people settled on the bench. However, he already alienated the only bar wench on duty, and he wanted to stay sober now that he had a potential enemy in his midst. “This is going well,” he thought. He hoped his frustration wasn’t as readily apparent as it was intense. “I’ve got to find out trench coat’s plans, either now, or I’ll have to beat it out of him later…” It was a rare thought of violence for the half dragon, but given all that Itarildë Vanimedlë had done and was doing for him, Jame felt as though a little violence was the least he could do for her.

Fortunately, Jame didn’t need to result to violence. A burly dwarf entered the Zirnden, dagger in hand, with his focus solely upon trench coat. “CLOVERFIELD!” the dwarf screamed. “You BLOODY fool! What have you done this time to me!”

This piqued Jame’s interest. He stood up, ready to intervene if necessary, but he made sure not to interrupt the events from taking their natural course. Trench coat, or Cloverfield as the dwarf called him, got up uneasily. “Look,” Cloverfield began. “This really is a simple matter…”

Cloverfield’s attempts at weaseling out of trouble were interrupted by a sudden bang of a gunshot. The sound ricocheted around the room, and there was a wave of panic as every last person in the Zirnden gathered for cover. Before Jame could even figure out what was going on, he saw that the dwarf who had entered the Zirnden just a few seconds ago had collapsed to the ground, presumably dead. A green skinned elf seated on the opposite bleacher held the smoking weapon, an ornate flintlock pistol.

Jame’s mouth dropped. His disbelieving eyes doubted what they saw and his bewilderment prevented him from screaming in frustration. “This guy… from Khalikh in Salvar? The hell!” Jame thought. He had come to the Zirnden to hire a fill in for the Pagoda, not witness a murder.

As others in the Zirnden began to panic and a few of the more hardy men moved to subdue the green elf, Jame just watched on dumbfounded. He had no idea how so much of his past had managed to collide in one place. “Don’t tell me… next Ashley’s going to walk through the door… right?” His appearance had changed enough since Salvar he doubted the green elf would recognize him, but none the less, Jame could feel as though they were staring at each other from across the room. A group of men had managed to restrain the elf. He offered no resistance.

“This is just too fucking strange…” Jame thought. “Between this guy and Cloverfield…”

Just then, Jame realized that he’d forgotten all about Cloverfield. Immediately, he broke his gaze with the green skinned elf, only to turn and look at where Cloverfield had been. The man was gone. “Fuck!” he thought. “Trench coat!”

Jame took one last look at the green skinned elf. As much as he wanted to know what had compelled the man to shoot, he knew he had to chase after Cloverfield, wherever the man had went. He got up and cursed the crowd around the dead dwarf. If it wasn’t all the people surrounding the corpse, he just might have found a clue. Now, his only hope was that he could catch another glimpse of Cloverfield before the man disappeared for good.

[Peacemaker]

As darkness fell the four friends arrived outside the Zirnden. Rosalie skipped between Duke and Jack, holding one of each of their hands. Every fourth step the two men would heave upwards, propelling a giggling Rosalie high into the air. Foley ducked in and out of alleys, running ahead, rummaging around for awhile then having to run again to catch up. The blond boy was determined to find treasures in the garbage-filled back roads, but had never had much success.

When they reached the popular street corner, Duke and Jack pulled off their bulging haversacks. From within they began to pull all manner of "produce" from their farm. The crowd that frequented places like the Zirnden tended to appreciate some of the more potent elements of Duke's extensive garden. Foley came racing up, a trash can lid in one hand.

"Hey Duke... why do we come here anyways? Couldn't we just sell this stuff in Radasanth?" The blond began spreading a selection of samples across the tin lid.
"Supply and demand Foles... it's all about supply and demand." Duke explained patiently as he worked. "Our products are moderately easy to come by in Radasanth; here in Scara Brae they're barely availiable. We can set are own prices. And what does that mean?"

"Profit!" Rosalie yelled, blurting the word out almost before Duke finished speaking. She began to dance in a tight circle, waving her arms and kicking up her long linen skirt. Foley jumped right in, the two of them joining hands and spinning, all the while chanting together:

"Profit, profit profit! Profit, profit profit!"

Duke grinned at Jack. The tall muscular black man nodded in return as the two continued setting up their sales. Before long they had bags of various different herbs and plants categorized, with small labeled samples spread out on Foley's trash can lid. The two older teens watched their friends dance.

"You know," Duke mused, hypnotized by the dance, "I've always hated money. The whole idea of putting a current value on things, on people even. You know what I saw the other day? I board with a bunch of bounties on it. Five hundred gold if you bring the guy in, four hundred if you just bring his head. His head, man. I don't get how some people can live with themselves. What right do they have? Anger only leads to more anger man. People gotta' learn... they just gotta' learn..." He trailed off, chuckling as Foley lifted Rosalie in his arms and continued spinning, her cackling with merriment.

"It's a sad, sad story my friend," Jack's deep slow voice drew Duke's attention. "When people get to the point they'd ratha' be out fightin' than at home lovin'... when any of us four gets to that point, I think I'll go an' live like a hermit forever. You feel?"

Duke nodded. Jack didn't speak much, it was nice to hear his friend voice a few thoughts. Before long the insane dancing and chanting of the two younger Tribals had attracted a crowd. Duke found the can Foley had taken the lid from and emptied it, turning it upside down. He banged on it a few times until the crowd grew silent, then a few more times to make Foley stop swinging Rosalie about. Taking their cue, the two hurried over to join their friends.

"My friends," Duke's voice carried out over the assembled group, "I have here for you some of the finest produce the big city of Radasanth has to offer. Up on the can Foles, tell the good people what we're selling."

With ungainly agility Foley leaped atop the trash can. Duke picked up his guitar from where Rosalie had left it and strummed the opening to a song. The three Tribals on the ground hummed and sang backup while Foley belted out in a high, pure tenor:

"Hashish, cocaine, marijuana, ((1))
Opium! LSD! DMT!
STP, BLT, A&P, IRT
APC, Alcohol;
Cigarettes, shoe polish!
and Peyote!
Dexadrine, benzedrine, methedrine,
S-E-X Y-O-U... Wow!"

The more enthusiastic audience members applauded, surging forward with gold ready. Jack and Rosalie handled the actual sales while Duke and Foley grabbed whatever people wanted, bagging it and taking the money. As they worked, Foley chattered away.

"Hey Duke, why do you always have me sing that song? We don't sell half the stuff I sang about, and there are bunch of other things not in the song that should be. Like salvia man! If that song had salvia in it, it'd be so much better!"
"I guess I just like the song the way it is," Duke replied, "Anyways, that's the way you three originally channeled it, and like, why mess with a good thing right?"
"I get ya dude."

They did good business, but soon the crowd dwindled, most of the customers filing into the Zirnden, intent on seeing how their newly acquired drugs enhanced watching a fight, or maybe a fighter's performance. The foursome began to close up shop. Just as they finished packing, a man in a black trench coat burst out of the fight club. Foley was on him like a mousetrap.

"Hey mister," he said, getting way too close to the guy, "Wanna' buy something fun? Man we got so much awesome stuff. Seriously, you wanna' have visions? We got stuff for that. You wanna' feel like you're Sir Pallotan? We got stuff makes ya feel that strong. Anything you want man, anything and we-- oof!" Trench coat shoved the overenthusiastic blond, sending him sprawling into the Zirnden's wall.

"Foley!" Rosalie rushed to the downed boy's side, worried as a paranoid mother. Jack came right behind her, helping the blond boy to his feet and walking him around. Duke stared after trench coat as the villainous fellow walked quickly away.

"You see that man? That's exactly what I mean. What do ya do with people like that anyhow?"


((1: "Hasish" from Hair, the tribal Love-Rock Musical))

[Call me J]

Jame ran out of the doors of the Zirnden only to find that Cloverfield had already run. The area around the Zirnden had become quite busy now, with all kinds of vendors selling fight related wares on the outside. Girls were talking brightly about the fighters they thought were most attractive, and men were bragging about the things they would do once they entered the cage. However, Jame couldn’t spot Cloverfield anywhere. The man had managed to disappear without a trace.

The half dragon heaved a big exhale and threw up his hands. He wondered what he could do now. The half dragon looked around for clues, but there really wasn’t much to go by. The farther Cloverfield was from the Zirnden, the more impossible the task would become. Jame knew that even a man as awkward looking as Cloverfield could be difficult to find in a wide enough area. Jame’s only hope was that someone would have caught him leaving. Quickly, Jame looked around. He took one quick glance back inside the Zirnden, just to reconsider if he would be better off trying to solve the mystery from in there. However, he decided against that course of action. With a wry smile on his face, Jame approached a group of rather raggedy looking vendors, one of whom seemed to have just been assaulted.

“If trench coat did this then I just might be in luck…” Jame thought. He had a hopeful smile on his face as he approached a light brown haired man, and took out his purse of gold coins as if to suggest there might be a material reward for valuable information.

“You haven’t seen a man in a trench coat pass by, did you?” Jame asked. “This is really very important, the information you give me could save lives!”

In truth, the half dragon didn’t know if the information would save lives or not. Cloverfield had just mentioned the name of a person dear to his heart, and so Jame wanted more information. Without a clue, he didn’t know if there would be anything that he could do.

Before the brown haired man could respond, Jame noticed a small green book that was near the blond haired man who had fallen. The text was in Raiaeran, so Jame doubted it could have belonged to the vendors. Even with Scara Brae as diverse as it was, most of the literature was in the common tongue. The half dragon thought to pick it up, but he decided to wait for an answer first.

[Peacemaker]

Duke stood staring into the darkness in the direction trench coat had walked. He felt transfixed by the man's senseless violence, his peaceful mind trying and failing to grasp the reason for it.

"Duke, Foley's hurt badly! His knees are all scraped, his elbow looks bruised, he twisted his ankle, he-"
"No I'm not, I'm fine."
"No you're not! Know he's not! Jack, Duke, look, he can barely stand! We've got to--"

The Peacemaker snapped from his reverie as Foley and Rosalie bickered about whether Foley would live through the night.

"Are you okay Foley?" He called, his tenor voice clear and calm.
"I'm fine," the blond boy winced, tentatively putting weight on an injured ankle.
"If he says he's fine, he's fine." Rosalie seemed reassured by the good will Duke radiated like a friendly inferno. She alternated smoothly from saying Foley would die to insisting he lean on her shoulder all the way back to camp. Jack left the two with a soft chuckle and stood beside Duke.

"It really bothers you doesn't it?" The smooth, low voice said softly. Duke shook his head, then shrugged, then did both at the same time.

"I dunno' man. It just--"

A very tall fellow arrived, inquiring about the cruel man in the trench coat. Duke considered the question, his hazel eyes meeting Jack's dark brown ones.

"Go on and ask him why he did it then. We'll meet you at the camp site." The black man headed back to the other two friends, becoming a part of their discussion instantly. Duke would thank him later. He turne to the very tall fellow.

"The man in the trench coat knocked my friend down. Did he hurt other people as well? I'll go with you to find him. C'mon man, lets go."

Duke took off like a bullet in the direction trench coat had gone. He hoped the very tall fellow could keep up, for he was a very fast runner. He sped down the mainstreet before turning into the darkened alley he had seen trench coat turn in to. For once he did not smile, instead wearing a mask of determination.

[Call me J]

Jame was startled by the way that the man with long brown hair shot off. The half dragon bent down quickly to grab the book he noticed before. He was a bit surprised at how fast the scraggly haired merchant was, and had it not been for Jame’s longer gait, he would have definitely lost sight of the man. “I wonder what he plans to do when he gets there…” Jame thought sarcastically. Even if the scraggly haired merchant could run, Jame doubted he could fight. No one on Althanas entered into the merchant trade around the Zirnden if they could make a living in the cage.

Soon, Jame saw the scraggly haired man turn down an alleyway. Jame followed. He shuddered a bit when he entered, just because of the sudden juxtaposition between it and the rest of the Scara Brae streets. While the area around the Zirnden was not the most clean or peaceful part of the island, the streets were at least kept clean and merchants were able to do business. This dark alley seemed to have none of that. Though it was still afternoon, two awnings overlapped over the alley to provide it of much light. It was exactly the kind of place that vampires might hide.

Jame knew that he would need caution now. Even if Cloverfield had ran through this alley, Jame knew that he couldn’t afford to. For all he knew, this had been a trap well set. If Cloverfield had allies, he would have wanted them to hide in a place like this. Jame unsheathed his sword. The weapon glowed brightly to warn him of danger. Jame nodded, as if to acknowledge that he had expected it to behave that way.

“Be careful,” was all that Jame said to the merchant he had followed here. He wondered how he had managed to get himself in another dangerous situation like this. The battles in the Dajas Pagoda had been different. Even if he was killed, someone would have been able to revive him. Now, he was stuck in an alley in a seedy part of Scara Brae, chasing after a man whose intentions he had no knowledge of.

Another shiver rolled down Jame’s spine. The smell of the alley was now getting to him. The deeper he moved into the darkened street, the more the place smelled like human waste and refuse. They had transitioned into one of the poorer parts of town, and Jame wondered if Cloverfield wouldn’t be the only danger they’d have to face.

Poverty frightened Jame. He had seen so little of it in his life that he didn’t understand it. He passed an older beggar, and the half dragon didn’t even bother to ask the man if he had seen Cloverfield. Jame just averted his eyes.

A few seconds later, Jame heard a hissing whisper. He glanced back towards the old beggar, but the wretched old man was merely staring into space. Jame shrugged, and glanced towards a dumpster nearby.

“Psssst…” Jame heard the whisper again. He clutched his sword a bit tighter, and looked all around him.

The tone of the whisper changed. “Look up,” it said, belying a bit of frustration.

Jame looked up. It was Cloverfield looking down on them from a small balcony on the second floor of the building to their left. He extended a rope ladder downward.

“I know you from the Zirnden…” Cloverfield said. His voice just sounded panicked now. “You’re Jame, right? Listen, if you want to talk, then we won’t have much time… Bring your friend there if you can trust him.”

For a moment, Jame wondered if he shouldn’t just let his sword do the talking. He wished his questioning crossbow would appear and test Cloverfield’s true motives. However, there was little that Jame had to fear. His sword had stopped glowing. Surprised, he looked around, wondering what could have been the threat to him if it hadn’t been Cloverfield.

After a few seconds, Jame noticed the beggar was gone.

[Feed The Machine]

The Scara Brae alleyways were tight and obscure, which yielded perfect cover for the lurking Bladesinger. “There he is.” Galyl’s eyes locked in on a man wearing a black trench coat atop a small second level balcony. However, at the bottom of a rope ladder that the enemy threw down was a very large silver haired man. There seemed to be others around him, but from his point of view, he couldn’t quite tell.

Glancing down at the picture that the Queen had given him, Galyl sighed. “This is going to be tougher than I expected…..”

* * * * * * * * *

~ Two Days Prior ~

Walking along the cobblestone pathways that were surrounded by the multitude of finely pruned shrubbery that led to the grandiose Valeena Castle, Galyl’s state of nervousness caused his heart to pound rapidly in his chest. Out of nowhere the Queen had sent a vague letter to the Bladesinger’s Guild, requesting his presence in Scara Brae to discuss important matters. Thinking back to the first time he came to Scara Brae and had investigated the mystery behind the cultic ceremonies at the Temple after dark, the young Bladesinger grew worried that maybe he’d broken a law during his stay.

“What more could the Queen want from me? I apologized to her several times for failing to solve that mystery.” Galyl had been staring at his feet as they carried his body along the path. The repetitive road stone patterns along with his constant stepping made him think of a criminal walking to the place where he would be executed. Such a final walk was solitary, a journey in which not a single person would follow. The Obsidian Spire native couldn’t help but to mentally place himself in that kind of position. However, his feet continued to advance forward until he approached two guards standing by the castle gate entrance.

“State your name and purpose for being here.” One of the soldiers stoically said, not showing any bit of emotion.

“I’m here to see Queen Valeena.” Showing them the letter that had the Queen’s official seal of approval, the guards nodded their heads. “Follow us please.”

The interior of the castle was as majestic as he’d remembered it being. Pristine, purple rugs were rolled out over the marble floors beneath them. Many people walked about, most being servants of the castle that gladly worked their hardest to further make the castle match the inner and outer beauty of the Queen. Galyl gazed upon several portraits of the former rulers of Scara Brae. “They all seemed to have had so much personality when they were alive….”

The hard and cold hand of one of the escorting soldiers had seized the attention of a daydreaming Galyl as he felt it grip his shoulder. “This way. The Queen awaits you through these doors.”

Following their lead once more, the Bladesinger saw Valeena atop her throne, waiting for him patiently. It was a strange sight for Galyl to see, since he was so used to nobles being arrogant and short-tempered. The Queen broke all of those stereotypes.

“It’s good to see you again Galyl,” Valeena motioned for the young soldier to come closer. As he did so, the Queen arose and walked down the throne steps to meet her guest at eye level. “I hope you weren’t alarmed by my missive to you. You aren’t in any sort of trouble.”

“W..well that’s good to know! I was fearful that I might’ve done something wrong the last time I was here.”

“Of course not. The fact that you apologized to me for the unfortunate turn out of the last mission was very impressive in my eyes. It shows that you are a true gentleman. Nobody ever does that,” Valeena smiled in such a way that it immediately put Galyl at ease. “Anyway, let’s get down to business," Pausing, Valeena looked around cautiously before leading her guest to her own resting quarters. The guards grew alarmed and proceeded to stop the Queen, but she assured them that everything would be alright. In an attempt to ease their unsettled hearts, she gave several of them permission to wait outside her bedroom doors and charge in if anything went wrong.

After obtaining privacy, the Queen sighed and continued. "Galyl, I’ve called you because I wish for you to investigate something for me. As I’m sure you’re aware of Scara Brae’s inner workings, you’ve probably heard of the arrangement between the government and the crime syndicate Scourge.”

“Yes I have, unfortunately.” Galyl bit his lip in disappointment of the Queen’s situation. The government didn’t interfere in the affairs of the crime syndicate as long as they didn’t target the Queen or her castle in any of their heinous missions. But the elf understood that such a dark arrangement would only harm the Queen in the long run.

“It isn’t something that I’m proud of, but it is the best course of action at the present time. But,” The Queen leaned into Galyl and began whispering, fearing that if she were heard by anyone on the other side of her bedroom doors, such information could somehow get back to the leaders of the Scourge. The Queen trusted her men, but was wise enough to know that not everyone who served her had her best interests at heart. “I plan on severing this connection and weakening the strength of the Scourge. You are the first installment of my plan. Because you're a soldier hailing from another country, those linked to the Scourge won't associate you with us here in Scara Brae. As it stands, I managed to gather information about a man named Cloverfield who is suspected as being a top-ranking member of the Scourge. He’s been spotted attending Zirnden battles.” Valeena opened Galyl’s hand and placed a picture of the Scourge member in his hand.

“So in the event that I come across this man, how would you want me to handle the situation?”

Queen Valeena was a classy lady and always promoted peace over violence. But the cold look that was now in her face after Galyl’s inquiry shockingly revealed a darker side of her that the world surely had not known.

“You will kill him.”

[Nymph and Dragon]

“This is ridiculous.” Twyla’s acerbic mutter didn’t carry far in the crowded room of the Zirnden, but the Elemental at her heels felt the waves of irritation that rolled across their mental link and didn’t need to hear her verbal expression. He was in aqueous form and was mostly invisible from any eyes that might happen to glance down at the dirty floor of the fight club, but his near invisibility made it more likely that a careless foot would come down on top of him, so he refrained from answering her and focused on scanning the minds in his immediate vicinity, watching out for anyone whose thoughts advertised a pathway that would lead across his back.

Twyla’s irritation was rapidly turning into anger. She stopped trying to weave her way through the lounging ruffians and stood with her arms pressed against her sides, jaw clenched as if to keep herself from biting the next person that bumped into her. Since when had the Zirnden become a popular place for people to hang out? The last time she’d been here, she’d made a very definitive note about the waning popularity of the organized fighting establishment, asserting in her record that humans probably wouldn’t be interested in government-approved rings because they’d prefer to brawl in the streets where they could roll around illegally in their own refuse. Of course, she had chosen to come early in the afternoon and had only stayed long enough to catch a whiff of the smell of years of sweat, blood, and ale that had soaked into every available surface within. Now the place was chockfull of thick hairy men in rusty armor and unwashed clothes who laughed raucously and boasted loudly, their voices filling the air like the frenzied chattering of a dolphin pod at mating season.

What were you hoping to find? The Elemental’s serpent-like form was curled as near as possible to the nymph’s ankles without actually touching her, pressed against the folds of her dress to keep himself as safe as possible from the booted feet that meandered around them.

“You’re telepathic,” she snapped at him, her eyes sweeping the crowd. “Figure it out for yourself.”

The dragon sighed. Good manners were a waste of effort. What makes you think you’ll find a Scourge operative in here who's willing to talk?

The corner of Twyla’s mouth lifted beneath the sheer pink scarf that covered the lower half of her face. “I’ve been just about everywhere else on this crummy island.” She glanced down over her shoulder with a frown. “Why, was that a hint that there aren’t any in here?”

The Elemental struggled with the moral dilemma for a few seconds. He didn’t like this place at all, and he knew that Twyla would leave if there weren’t any Scourge members for her to question. On the other hand, he had already picked up about four trains of thoughts that were definitely Scourge-esque in topic, but being such they were inherently not safe to approach. It was fair to lie to save her, wasn't it? I think we should leave now.

By the time Twyla had squeezed through the crowd and stumbled out of the Zirnden into the fading afternoon sunlight, her mood was a black pit of disappointment that wasn’t helped by the rush of eager merchants who shoved their wares into her face as she stepped into the crowded street. She swatted them out of her way and stormed around the human obstructions, already trying to think of another conceivable source of information on the Scourge for her chapter on Scara Brae.

The pair had left behind most of the Zirnden vender crowd when a man in a long dark coat walked quickly past them, glancing behind himself with conspicuous wariness and panting like a nervous performer. Twyla aimed a glower at the back of his head as he strode swiftly away, but he never made eye contact and missed out on her irate glare. Half a block later, a scruffy-looking street boy cam tearing past, heading in the same direction as the man in the coat, running as if all the shopkeepers in Scara Brae were after him. Twyla held back a snicker as he pelted past her and glanced back, expecting to see at least one armed guard racing after him and hoping that the filthy urchin would get caught. Maybe they’d beat him for a while in front of her before they took him to jail. Her mouth fell open when the only person running in her direction was an enormous and frightening man who wasn’t wearing the armor of a guardsman.

Her eyes flickered cautiously to the Elemental at her side. Is he . . .

Not to you. The transparent dragon’s eyes were fixed on the man as he passed them, his head tilted in curiosity.

Twyla checked behind herself again to see if there were other characters involved in this bizarre chase, but no more runners popped out of the crowd down the street. She looked ahead and saw the tall man disappear around a corner a short ways up the road. Why were they all running? The nymph’s black mood began to fade, replaced with a nosy curiosity that immediately began to barrage her mind with answer-demanding questions.

She started walking again at a faster pace until she reached the alley that the men and the boy had gone down, but she walked past it with only a glance in their direction and then paused in front of the building on the other side. They had stopped beneath a pair of balconies that nearly kissed over the middle of the thin passageway, and Twyla’s eyes glowed with excitement as she headed for the door of the building, habitually ignoring the mental protests of the dragon at her heels. If the three chasers were having a little party in the alley, she wanted to make sure she had a front row seat to the show. The building had a second floor balcony that was perfectly positioned for spying and there was nothing that could keep her off of it. They didn’t call it eavesdropping for nothing.

[Call me J]

Jame decided that it would be best if he climbed up Cloverfield’s rope ladder by himself. With the sudden disappearance of the beggar, the half dragon no longer believed that anything that had happened since entering the Zirnden had been a coincidence. If even a beggar in a dirty alleyway was somehow a coconspirator, Jame couldn’t take his chances that the man who had bumped into Cloverfield was not a coconspirator as well.

“I’ll handle this myself now, thank you,” Jame said. He hoped that the athletic vendor would leave well enough alone now, but he couldn’t be sure. He took one last glance down the alleyway and then up the rope. It wasn’t too far of a climb to the balcony, but he wondered if he should. He had no reason to trust Cloverfield, and had it not been for the mention of the Aglarlin headmistress, he would still be in the Zirnden, recruiting a replacement for the Pagoda and checking out pretty girls.

Cloverfield tapped on the railings of his balcony irritably. “You could hurry,” the man said coldly. “This is information that could save your life…”

Jame knew he was going to have to make a decision now. Though he still had reservations, he began to climb up the rope. He knew there was always the chance that Cloverfield could cut it once he had climbed high enough for the fall to be meaningful, but if necessary, Jame supposed he could transform into a dragon and fly away.

The ropes themselves were dry, but surprisingly sturdy. Jame climbed with caution, unsure if they would hold his weight. They did surprisingly well. Jame ignored the urgings of Cloverfield to hurry, but began to move quickly once he’d decided that the rope ladder wasn’t a threat. As he reached the top, Cloverfield began to pull him up, and though Jame’s first impulse was to resist, he let the man bring him up.

“Finally,” Cloverfield muttered. “You’re going to have to trust me now. I know you didn’t want to take my message earlier, but you are in grave danger here. That green skinned man is going to ask you questions that you can’t take no for an answer. Yes will also leave you dead…”

Jame looked down at his steel shortsword for some kind of clue about Cloverfield. The weapon was not glowing any more. Jame decided to relax, but only just a bit. The situation had become so complex that Jame felt as though he couldn’t even trust his senses. Cloverfield opened the door to the rest of his flat. Jame couldn’t help but notice that the door had steel bars on it.
“Pretty strong for just an apartment, eh?” Jame asked. The half dragon framed his question as a joke, despite how nervous he was.

Cloverfield was unamused. “Rough neighborhood,” was all he said. “Get inside.”

Jame, nonplussed, obeyed. He wanted answers now more than he wanted safety, but only because he was relatively certain he wasn’t safe anywhere. The half dragon looked at Cloverfield’s teeth as he passed the man, just to make sure that Cloverfield was not a minion of the Patriarch.

Once Jame had entered the flat, Cloverfield shut the door and deadbolted it shut. The apartment became almost completely dark. Before that, Jame had only got a brief glimpse of it, but what he had seen did not surprise him. The apartment was sparse; there were a few pieces of furniture that seemed to have been bought haphazardly and pieces of trash and scribbled on notebook paper strewn across the room.

“The place isn’t soundproof, so stay quiet,” Cloverfield said.

Jame nodded.

“So what do you know about the Patriarch?” Cloverfield asked.

Jame’s eyes opened wide. He reached for his sword immediately, though when he unsheathed it, he could see that it still was not glowing. Still, Jame held the weapon like he intended to use it.

“Put that away,” Cloverfield said. “I’m a friend of your father’s and Istien University. They needed someone to look out for you, and I’ve come. That green skinned man, notice how he has skin just like your father, they’re going to want you just like they wanted him.”

Had Jame not needed answers so desperately, he might have just attacked Cloverfield. Given the situation though, the only thing he could do was reply. “Want me?” he asked.

Cloverfield sighed. “Your father owed you at least this much,” he began. “You realize how you never see elves with green skin around? Damon’s about the only one?”

“There are a few others…” Jame interrupted. “I met one in Salvar during a Khalik game.”

“What have you promised them?” Cloverfield asked.

“Nothing…” Jame replied wide eyed. “They just told me to get out of Salvar.”

Cloverfield’s heaved a heavy sigh of relief. “Well here, Damon’s a member of a very secretive, self proclaimed elite group of elves by race,” he said. “Their green skin comes from the blessing of the Patriarch, who gave them the power of dragons. That’s why you can turn into one, because of Damon. I suppose that confused you too. At this point, you’re more dragon than anything else… But anyways, what’s important is your bloodline. It traces back to the Forgotten Ones somehow. Not sure how exactly, but just say that Xem’zund’s somewhere in your family tree. Or Nyvengaal, but the point still stands. Because these elves are so proud of their hoity toity blood lines and ties to the Patriarch, they don’t like any of theirs being outside the group. They let you go free for a while, learn a few things in the world, but eventually they’re going to want you for their devices. They lost Damon, and they really want you. You’re by far the youngest male…”

Jame’s eyes were open wide, and he couldn’t even speak. He had always wondered why the green skinned elf had helped him so much with Khalik, but for every question about his life that Cloverfield had answered, Jame realized that Cloverfield had also introduced him to much more danger. The situation was mind blowing. The only thought that Jame could manage was to wish he had never come to the Zirnden in the first place.

[Feed The Machine]

The man donning the black trench coat was surely in a hurry, for as the massive fellow scaled the precarious looking rope ladder, Cloverfield frantically looked down the street that was parallel to his hideout. His precautionary eyes would’ve certainly spotted the eavesdropping Bladesinger had the side street Galyl was on hadn’t been so narrow and shrouded in darkness. However, the task at hand grew more challenging upon Galyl watching the two enter the apartment and hearing the sound of several locks click.

“Hmm…now what am I supposed to do?” The young elf thought, realizing that he would have to find some way to infiltrate Cloverfield’s hideout and do what Queen Valeena requested him to do. Unfortunately, the Bladesinger was not trained in the art of espionage, but was a traditional melee fighter, finding comfort clashing blades head on. But an idea did come to the warrior.

Pressing close to the wall, when Galyl reached the point where the narrow street met Cloverfield’s street, he used a shard of a mirror that he’d found next to a nearby garbage can and held it at an angle in order to see if there were any other beings frequenting the road. “Crap……” The elven soldier noticed several teenagers around the corner. “Well, it looks like I won’t be barging right in.”

Above him were many balconies that were identical to the one that Cloverfield was atop of. Figuring that he too could scale the protrusions, Galyl shot out two roots, one from each hand. The wooden tendrils hooked onto one of the lower balconies and allowed Galyl to pull up onto it. He continued to do this until he reached the seventh balcony. “Alright, from this point, I should be able to get to the fifth balcony above Cloverfield’s.” The Bladesinger gazed downward. Any error would leave him yet another fatal statistic in a neighborhood that was clearly unsavory. But fear found no residence in the Obsidian Spire soldier. The task had to be completed, especially since his last mission for the Queen ended in failure.

“One…..Two……Three!!!” The powerful legs of the Raiaeran warrior launched him into the air. Once again shooting forth his root tendrils, he latched onto the third balcony above Cloverfield’s. “Alright. The rest should be easy.” Galyl made his way down to where Cloverfield and his accomplice had entered the apartment, yet he made sure that his descent was subtle and silent, rather than clumsy and rambunctious.

“This guy is really cautious.” Galyl pressed his ear to the wall and couldn’t hear a thing. “I should be able to hear something through these walls. Either Cloverfield has this apartment sound-proof, or he and the large man are whispering.”

"THAT IS WHY YOU ARE INFERIOR TO ME, SLAVE. IT SEEMS A MASTER MUST ALWAYS SHOW THE SLAVE HOW THINGS SHOULD BE DONE!!" The voice of the machine had struck his ears suddenly. Shortly after, the static noise that usually followed had hit Galyl’s ears in full force. But instead of drowning out his hearing, it sharpened it to the point where he was able to pick up some of the things that the two inside were saying.

…..what’s important is your bloodline. It traces back to the Forgotten Ones somehow. Not sure how exactly, but just say that Xem’zund’s somewhere in your family tree…..

A frigid chill streaked down the Raiaeran’s spine. “What!? A descendent of Xem’zund is Cloverfield’s accomplice!?” Fear for the future of Scara Brae had washed over him. He was well aware of the horrors that Xem’zund had brought upon his homeland during the ancient War of the Tap and knew that if such a tragedy occurred to powerful Raiaera, then Scara Brae would receive a blow that was far worse if the Scourge was somehow trying to acquire the power of Xem’zund. “I have to do something! I can’t allow these conspirators to bring this nation down to its knees!!”
The Bladesinger withdrew his claymore from out of his mouth. The lives of Cloverfield and his cohort would come to an end the moment they stepped back outside.

Crouching below the barred window, the Galoriand waited.

[Nymph and Dragon]

((Kick me if there’s a posting order that I missed. . .))

“Can I help you, ma’am?” The greasy-looking man who sat in the building’s foyer eyed her with the appraising suspicion of someone who was used to getting kicked in the crotch, a service that Twyla would have been happy to render if she had thought it would get into the building any faster.

The nymph drilled her eyes into his face, speaking with an authoritative brusqueness that she hoped would trick him into cooperating. “Do you own this building?”

He smiled sleazily. “In a manner of speaking. Are you here to buy or to sell?”

“I need to get onto the second floor.”

“Are you . . . here to visit a friend?”

Twyla’s eyes narrowed. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Perhaps you’re looking for employment,” he continued suggestively, as if his words were loaded with meaning that she was supposed to be able to pick up. A thread of amusement filtered into her mind across her link with the Elemental that she pointedly ignored.

“What, are you stupid? Do you not understand me when I speak? I Want To Get Onto The Second Floor. I’m not here to meet a friend and I don’t want to work for you.”

The man gaped at her perplexedly for a few seconds, giving the Elemental long enough to make a quick interjection.

You do know that this is a brothel, don’t you?

Twyla paused. Of course I knew that, dimwit.

“Yeah, sorry,” she said smoothly, choking up a quick laugh and shifting her weight to emphasize the curve of her hip. “I’m working with, um, Candy today. Special request from one of her shopaholic patrons . . . some kind of fetish with the whole two-for-the-price-of-one mentality. You know how weird those cheap bastard elves can be.”

She was walking past him before she'd finished talking and was mildly surprised when he didn’t try to stop her. The Elemental crept along the wall beside her, leading the way as they walked up a creaking flight of stairs to the second floor. A hallway greeted them at the landing, and Twyla walked along it until she reached a door that she estimated to be about halfway down the alley. She hoped the runners were still out there.

Twyla, you may want to knock—

An outraged shriek met the nymph before she saw the scantily-clad woman standing on an occupied bed. The red-faced man below her gawked, but he wasn’t in any position to do anything about her presence so the nymph only spared them a disgusted glance before heading for the barred windows. There was a door that led out to the balcony, but it had been padlocked shut. She reached for the neighboring window instead.

“It’s the middle of the day, you slackers,” she scolded idly as she pulled at the latch. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

The only reply was more indignant stuttering that Twyla ignored as she climbed out onto the balcony. You coming, viper? I mean, I’m sure they’d LOVE your company . . .

You’re a jerk. Did you know that?

Twyla smiled modestly as the Elemental’s aqueous form slid up the window and onto the balcony after her. Yes, prick. Yes, I did.

The smile fell off her face when she looked up and saw a cloaked man crouching on the balcony across from hers, facing the window with a sword in hand. Her eyes flickered over the edge and she saw that the huge guy and the man in the coat weren’t down there. Her brain came up with and discarded a dozen plausible explanations before settling on the most simple - and, given that they were humans, the most likely - account. They couldn’t have just run off again, and the only other direction one could disappear to in this alley was up. Logical deduction led to the conclusion that the man crouched in front of her was standing in the way of her research. He might have been part of the intrigue, but where had he come from? He certainly wasn’t one of the runners, and with those weird horns growing out over the back of his head he was definitely not human and therefore was simultaneously more respectable and less interesting. Whether or not he was a scripted part of the drama, his presence was wasting precious time that she could have spent listening in on a potentially fascinating conversation, a squandering that lit her very short temper. With a toss of her head the nymph stepped quickly to the edge of her balcony and leaned towards the man.

The Elemental was having trouble following her thought process, but her decided course of action had him worried even before she started talking. Twyla, he’s not here to get in—

“Hey, jackass, your idiotic posturing is taking up valuable space that I need,” she hissed in a sharp whisper, glaring at the armed man with as much malice as she could muster. “Get your own damn balcony!”

[Call me J]

Jame thought he heard something outside, but he decided to disregard it. He still wasn’t sure what he felt about what Cloverfield had told him. There was a part of the confused half dragon that just wanted to reach out, grab his sword, and force the man to swear that everything he had said was true. However, Jame knew he couldn’t do that. Cloverfield was likely not only more powerful, but now Jame had allowed himself to be put into a compromising situation by entering Cloverfield’s flat.

“You’ve been silent for too long,” the older man observed. Cloverfield put his index finger on his chin, as if he were mocking the time that it took Jame to come up with a response.

With a deep sigh, Jame finally spoke. “Were you there when I was in Salvar?” he asked. “When I played a game of Khalik against a dwarf and a man, and the green elf in the Zirnden helped me out?”

“No,” Cloverfield replied impatiently. “What are you getting at?”

Jame honestly didn’t know. He bit his lip. He wanted to come up with some kind of a test, some way that he could know whether what Cloverfield was saying was true or not. Part of him wanted to discount everything the trench coated man was saying as lunacy. It sounded like the kind of thing someone might say if they were only saying what someone wanted to hear. The idea of being the scion of legends would have been appealing to most people in Scara Brae, after all, the island was a place full of young warriors from Corone and elsewhere seeking to prove themselves. Just because Jame thought differently than all of them didn’t mean that Cloverfield would know that.

“How do I know this isn’t some kind of trap?” Jame asked. “You just came up with the story to get my loyalty for some kind of caper or plan to rob someone, and your goal is just to leave me lying in a ditch somewhere with my weapons gone?”

Cloverfield smirked smugly. “Now seriously, do you think I go around warning people about the Patriarch and Xem’zund? How many people in Scara Brae do you think actually care?”

With teeth gritted in frustration, Jame ran his fingers through his hair. Cloverfield was right, he knew far too much for this to be a common hustle. Frustrated, Jame was about to concede the point to Cloverfield, even though the older man’s smug reply had made him wish that much more than the whole story about the scion of the Forgotten Ones. Suddenly, it hit him. “If that green elf’s your enemy, how come he shot the dwarf for you?” Jame asked, grinning widely. He reached for his sword one more time, and this time actually unsheathed it.

Cloverfield’s face fell after Jame had spoken. The half dragon smiled even wider, because now he could sense genuine apprehension from the older man who had seemed so confident in his story. “Guess I’m not that special after all,” he thought triumphantly. “I’ve got enough problems without having Xem’zund somewhere up in the family tree…”

Suddenly, a thought appeared in Jame’s head. “Keep that weapon drawn,” he heard. He looked around, wondering who it could have been. He wondered if the green elf was his true benefactor, and had followed him from the Zirnden to guarantee his safety.

Seconds later, Cloverfield opened the door to the balcony. The experienced man opened it hard, intentionally, so as to knock the person snooping on the other side to the ground. “Because he wanted to torture me himself,” Cloverfield replied, answering Jame’s question even though his attention was now drawn to a green haired elf eavesdropping on the balcony. “And now that you’re done with your questions, I think I see a girl on the left balcony… bust in there.”

Jame wasn’t sure what he should have done, but in his confused state he felt it better to act now and figure out what he was doing later. He made his way out of the room, only to find himself caught in a situation with a middle aged businessman and an attractive young lady caught in a compromising position. It seemed as though Jame wasn’t their first visitor. They were hurriedly getting their clothes on.

“Go over to the balcony,” came another telepathic message. Jame assumed now it was Cloverfield. With a few courteous remarks to the confused naked couple whose coital arrangements had been disrupted, Jame moved towards the balcony with his sword drawn. He found a blonde athletic female there, one who might have been mistaken for the woman in the bed if not for a scar near her ear.

Now that he saw her, Jame didn’t know exactly what to do. He held his sword out, as if to suggest he might use it if necessary, but didn’t bring it close enough to the blonde’s body that she wouldn’t have been able to escape with a quick move.

“Uhh… why are you spying?” Jame demanded, though his voice depicted more confusion than authority. “Did the Patriarch send you?”

On the balcony next door, Cloverfield rolled his eyes.

(Feed the Machines, I bunnied you a little to suggest that you were hit by the opening door, even though I didn't say it explicitly. If this is a problem, let me know. Also feel free to bunny Cloverfield in your next post.)

[Feed The Machine]

There was no time to respond. The heavy door crashed into Galyl’s face, serving metallic punishment for the Bladesinger’s dishonest deed. Had it not been for the balcony’s rails, the soldier would’ve certainly fell from a height that would’ve turned Galyl’s white flesh to a broken bloody mess and nourishment for the crows. The boy’s vision doubled, distorting his reality. “There are…two of you?” Galoriand turned his head to observe an enigmatic blonde haired woman trapped by the massive human that’d originally accompanied Cloverfield. Of course, their identical counterparts were present as far as Galyl was concerned.

Snatching his wooden sword from between the metal columns of the balcony rails, the Bladesinger rose to his feet like a drunkard and pointed his blade precariously. “I can’t allow supporters of Xem’zund to bring destruction to this land! The madness must end in Raiaera!” His eyes reclaimed reality, vanquishing the delusions he’d received from the forceful door. He didn’t know what to make of this situation, but knew what his objective was. Squeezing the blade tightly, Galyl lunged toward Cloverfield, seeking to complete the Queen’s task with great haste.

((Jame, there is some distance between Galyl and Cloverfield. I know he’s crazy powerful, so do whatever you need to do to dodge it, and then school the young Bladesinger.))

[Nymph and Dragon]

Twyla blinked slowly, refusing to let herself be intimidated by the man standing in front of her. Her curiosity had vanished the moment his large frame joined her on the balcony, replaced with wariness at his naked sword and the alarming question of whether the balcony could bear up under their combined weight. She took a small step back— the only kind that his proximity and the limited floor space allowed her— and grudgingly tilted her head back so that she could meet the man’s eyes.

You asshole, she exploded at the Elemental. Look at those red eyes. This one’s a poser! You could have told me that he wasn’t human!

Would it have mattered? You wouldn’t have listened anyway, the aqueous dragon replied sullenly. He was inconspicuously loitering in the corner of the miniature veranda as a puddle, making sure to keep himself out of stepping range of the balcony’s other occupants.

Twyla had only had a moment to enjoy the crunching sound that accompanied her fellow eavesdropper’s just deserts before the massive warrior had stepped up behind her, effectively blocking her only viable means of escape with the intimidation of his fearsome presence alone. She hadn’t been that loud. How had they known she was there?

Wasn’t me, the puddle at her side interjected quickly. I warned you about getting involved in other people’s affairs, didn't I?

Shut up. She needed all her wits to talk herself out of this one. Her scarf covered the lower half of her face and prevented her from frowning at him, but her eyes burned with annoyance as she glared at the man in front of her, refusing to show even the slightest trace of guilt. Hell, she wasn’t even on his balcony! For all he knew, she was just an unusually well-dressed prostitute who’d gone outside for a breath of fresh air. He had nothing on her.

Or so she thought until he opened his mouth and spoke.

Damn. Twyla dropped the angry expression in an instant, widening her eyes innocently as her eyebrows shot up her forehead in a façade of vulnerable affrontedness. If he’d spoken with any kind of authority or threat, she might have buckled down and attempted to apologize for the first time in her life since getting skewered on a brothel balcony was not the way she wanted to die. But the man’s voice was young, uncertain, bordering on humanly perplexed in a way that set Twyla instantly at ease. He certainly looked like a nasty handful, but his hesitant posture told her that he wasn’t expecting to use his sword, and she had no intention of giving him a reason to want to.

“Spying? Me?” Her voice almost cracked on the high note, but she'd injected it with all the teary indignation she could muster as she fell into an Innocent Maiden persona.

You’re a terrible actress, the Elemental informed her.

Go piss on yourself. She blinked rapidly but couldn’t well up any tears and settled on a dainty wipe of the eye instead, gesturing feebly with her other hand and squirming her shoulders as if she was unsure even of her reason for existing. “I was just out here to . . . pray . . . and I saw that horned monster over there and I was so frightened . . .”

She cut herself off suddenly, completely losing track of her own badly-acted monologue as the warrior’s second question came suddenly to the forefront of her attention. She dropped her hand and the act, her posture again becoming rigid and defiant as her curiosity bloomed like a perennial in spring.

Why would he ask her something like that? Aside from the insulting idea that a person like herself would let some man tell her what to do, it was odd that he would assume that she was under the orders of some well-informed figure of authority just because she happened to be in listening vicinity. The door that had walloped her fellow eavesdropper had been opened with offensive force and without warning, which seemed to imply that it had been thrown open as a precaution against just that kind of imprudent curiosity. And this red-eyed giant had come at her with sword unsheathed, the kind of welcome one didn’t reserve for unexpected friends. What kind of business were these men involved in that they expected to be bombarded with attempts at intervention?

The kind of business we really don’t need to get involved in. The Elemental’s voice was urgent and nervous; he almost seemed to be trying to whisper as he spoke into her head. Pretend you didn’t hear anything and act really stupid . . . he might still let you—

Shut up! Her eyes narrowed probingly as they fixed unwaveringly on the tall man’s crimson gaze. “Who the hell is the Patriarch?”

[Call me J]

Cloverfield didn’t seem all that intimidated by the elf’s attack. It took him little effort to move the door so that Galyl’s seemingly well intentioned pounce hit nothing but the door. Once Galyl had hit the ground, Cloverfield pulled a small dagger from his waist that then expanded, until it had formed an entire longsword with its tip right before Galyl’s throat. “I’m sorry for being so forthright about this,” Cloverfield said, his dour humor withstanding the situation. “But really, if you’re going to evesdrop on people, have an idea of what you’re doing.”

With the issue of Galyl settled, Cloverfield turned his attention back to Jame, quite concerned that the half dragon was not doing as nearly as a good of a job with the other interloper. “How’s it going there Jame,” he said, his voice sounding quite sarcastic.

“The Patriarch is no one,” Jame was saying to the girl. “And if you don’t know who he is, then I’m sure as not going to tell you.”

Jame in turn looked at Cloverfield hopefully, in that believing that he might have made up for his earlier mistake, but the older man was still not pleased. He ran his fingers over his chin, as if contemplating how he was going to handle the situation. Jame had figured that Cloverfield had not anyone outside of the two of them to know much about the Patriarch. The same dangers that Jame faced knowing about the siring demon applied to Cloverfield as well.

There was a brief exchange between Cloverfield and Jame that took place telepathically. The older man told Jame about his ability to use his powers of telepathy, that he could literally open up his mind in many cases. He warned Jame that it might be a risk to him, but that given the situation, there were far fewer options. “Ideally,” Cloverfield concluded. “It would be just me and you… but with these people already in this far, I can’t be sure what they’ve heard…”

Jame nodded as if to accept Cloverfield’s proposal, but the older man in the trenchcoat had already begun to go ahead with his plan. He bit his lip for a moment, just to focus, even though he watchfully kept one eye on the elf he had at sword point.

With his thoughts open to both the woman near Jame and the elf, Cloverfield laid out his proposal. “I know that neither of you have any reason to trust me, but you can scan my brain for anything I know. You’ll find many things, but what I want you to look for is people talking about a man called The Patriarch. He is a siring demon that is older than time itself. He is now on Althanas, and he is making a move, the Forgotten Ones are either his coconspirators or just pawns in his game, I’m not sure which. Either way, I have a job to do. I don’t know if either of you is trustworthy, so I’ll be blunt. Althanas itself is in the balance, you’ll find that when you look into my mind, so if you decide that you’re not going to come with me, then you’re going to be telling me just what you care about. Now here are your options: You can prove your loyalty by coming with me, or I can just as soon suppose that you’re the kind of people who’d sell your loyalty to the highest bidder. I imagine you’ll know what I need to do.”

The whole time Cloverfield was talking, Jame was embarrassedly looking at the couple whose coital relations had been interrupted, assuring them that nothing interesting was taking place. However, the woman was far too confused and the man far too embarrassed for them to care about anything involving a Patriarch at all. Jame, eventually satisfied, turned his attention back to Cloverfield to find the whole thing had been settled.

“So now we go…” Cloverfield declared. “Any more questions, ask them. Follow me if you care about Althanas.”

He made no effort to suggest where he was going, nor did he repeat the threat that he had made earlier via telepathy. “We’re going to the Zirnden!” he declared. “I heard its ladies night there! Lavinian Ale for a copper coin!”

[Feed The Machine]

“THIS MAN SPEAKS THE TRUTH….”

The voice of the monstrous enslaving machine yet again returned, falling on the perceptive ears of Galyl only. The young elf remained silent with his right hand pressed against the cold surface of the apartment door, having used it to truncate his momentum after springing aggressively toward Cloverfield. However he was in full agreement with his master, for upon being subjected to constant mental invasion via the machine, he’d gained the ability to receive messages telepathically, as well as hear other conversations being conducted in such a manner. All of this was overwhelming, since what the wise and seasoned Cloverfield uttered was information that he’d never heard anywhere in the land of Raiaera, or any place else for that matter.

“Xem’zund……a pawn?” The concept was unfathomable since his power alone was so grand and vast. With a mere thought, the dead rose to fully obey him and when their purpose was served, they returned to the tainted soil whence they came. His unholy strength challenged the deep well of power that the High Bard Council possessed, and with it, he had almost brought the elven country down to its knees.

“And he is only a pawn…..” The Bladesinger wondered just how strong this Patriarch was. Galyl broke out in a sweat, slightly shaking at the reality of this all-omniscient being present on Althanas. How in the world would they be able to stop such a force?

Galyl used the hood of his cloak to wipe his forehead and gain composure. He’d been bested by the obviously skilled Cloverfield, but came to the realization that he wasn’t the enemy. Yet this led the Obsidian Spire native to question the source of the Queen’s information. “Valeena was so concerned about making sure that your life came to an end….” The Galoriand lifted his eyes to Cloverfield, frantically searching the man’s opened mind for a reason behind this. But from what the trench coat wearing fellow allowed him to excavate, the reasons for the Queen's desire to see Cloverfield dead simply didn't add up.

Figuring it best to leave such a subject alone, Galyl withdrew his sword back into his body and dusted off excess dirt that he’d picked up from his earlier acrobatics. “Listen, I don’t know if I can fully trust you, but what you’ve presented adds up. I grew up in the Obsidian Spire and I’m quite familiar with the history of Xem’zund and the Forgotten Ones. So the fact that you’re saying there is an even deadlier being pulling the strings alarms me greatly. Hopefully we’ll be able to quarantine this plague and prevent it from infecting Althanas like it infected Raiaera.”

Standing in a perfectly upright position, the soldier emulated the standard Bladesinger greeting and saluted Cloverfield respectfully. “My name is Galyl Galoriand.”

[Nymph and Dragon]

Twyla jumped visibly when the man’s voice slid into her mind. She was by now accustomed to the intrusion of the Elemental, but this new and foreign voice that forced its way into her skull made her feel as if she’d been mentally raped.

I can block him if you want, the dragon offered eagerly. The new voice in Twyla’s mind was just as loud in his own, and though it wasn't welcome, it wasn't quite as disconcerting. He was used to hearing mental conversation—albeit fairly one-sided— and the insight he gained by following the interjection's trail to the tangled mess of thoughts that simmered in the head behind it made his cryptic words much less perplexing but no more attrative.

Of course, the man had left little leeway in regards to what he wanted from them, but having some background knowledge didn’t make the situation any more painful. Mention of a “siring demon” had sent Twyla’s eyebrows shooting towards her hairline, and though the involvement of demons made her want to demur his request for aid, his closing incentive for participation almost made her groan aloud. Telepathic or not, this man had to be human. No other species had such an undying love for help-me-or-die ultimatums. She didn’t give a damn about the future of Althanas; politics were too long-winded and fleeting to interest her and she had no reason to believe that any governing body would actively oppose the continuance of her innocuous existence. What did she care if some epic war wiped out half the planet’s testosterone-charged populace? So long as there was water she would be fine, and what could be more important than self-preservation?

At this point it’s too late for us to get away, so you might as well cooperate, the Elemental said resignedly.

His voice was muted in her mind. Are you whispering?

I’m trying to stay off Cloverfield’s radar, he explained. I don’t know yet how good of a telepath he is.

Cloverfield? Twyla almost laughed out loud at the name. She eyed the man who was sharing her balcony with amusement. What irony, to grow up to be a massive warrior with a name like Cloverfield.

The Elemental sighed. That’s not him.

The image of a different man popped into Twyla’s head, but a flicker of movement on the balcony across the way made Twyla turn in time to see the strangely decorated elf’s gallant salute. She rolled her eyes at his enthusiasm and turned to the man in the long dark coat. That was Cloverfield? His face made her grimace. He looked sneaky and too confident for his own good, the kind of face she would normally have respected if the owner hadn’t just invaded her mind and threatened her. He certainly looked human, but then again so had the big one.

She didn’t care for their means of recruiting, but even if they hadn’t invited her along she wouldn’t have let a noteworthy affair like this one proceed without her observation. Cloverfield hadn’t said anything about how they were expected to aid in this reputedly titanic struggle, and Twyla had no intention of risking life or limb in opposition of this Patriarch fellow, but she could still come along at least to watch.

“I’d be happy to come, since you asked so politely,” she said sourly. “Lead the way.”

[Call me J]

Jame wasn’t sure how he felt about Cloverfield recruiting these two people. He wouldn’t have wanted them to have killed him, but he didn’t know what them knowing about The Patriarch really hurt. Jame knew he had to be careful with the name, just because the Patriarch’s minions were everywhere, but he had checked the girl and he was certain that Cloverfield had checked the elf. He was certain that the two people whose relations had been interrupted had no clue what was going on.

“It’d be easier just him and me,” Jame thought. In truth, there were a lot of questions he wanted to ask, because he finally felt like he had gotten a piece of the puzzle he had first encountered in the Zirnden. Now, the information that Cloverfield had gave him had finally settled down in his mind, he wanted more. He wasn’t sure what he believed, he just wanted to believe something, either way, about what his fate and the Forgotten Ones had to do with anything.

Truth was, while Jame often seemed to be expected to play a hero, either during his stay at the Pagoda as a master, or during in Raiaera, he was always miscast. Just being the son of Damon Kaosi didn’t mean he thought like Damon. People who had known Damon longer than he had still expected that there would be a parental link between father and son, but if there was one, Jame had never felt it. He had done the things Damon had asked him as an obligation, as a favor, and because he didn’t know what else he would be doing. Still, it was unfair to confuse him with someone who wanted to have to deal with these situations.

The unfairness of it was starting to get to Jame. He hated being involved in violence perpetually, having to always fear for his life, or worse, at times even kill people. It didn’t matter to him that the people he killed often may have deserved it, Jame didn’t consider himself the kind of person to be passing those judgments.

Regardless of whatever Jame might have wanted at one point, he was walking back to the Zirnden. Cloverfield had led him back out into the alley though this time through the proper door. The street was just empty as earlier, and Jame wondered if he should have mentioned the incident with the beggar that he had seen earlier. Before the half dragon could suggest it, a voice punctured the air.

“Cloverfield!” It called.

Jame looked up, his sword drawn as he expected to find an assailant waiting on one of the balconies. There was nothing.

“Cloverfield!” came the call a second time.

Unsure of what to do, Jame looked in the direction he had come from, the direction that he now thought was the voice’s source.

“Cloverfield!” came the third shout.

Jame looked at his sword. It was glowing now. It looked as though the message was coming from someone directly in front of him.

Suddenly, the air in front of Jame began to waver. The hazy air soon gave way to a group of people, one of whom was the green skinned elf from the Zirnden. A man, who much resembled the homeless one Jame had seen earlier, was also among the five, though he had been cleaned up quite well.

“It’s too late for you Cloverfield,” the elf declared, as he pointed the barrel of his pistol straight at the trench coated man’s chest. “You played one too many cards in Scara Brae…”

“The rest of you can leave,” ordered another of the green elf’s supporters. He, and the four others with him who had been brought to back up their pistol wielding allies, all cracked their knuckles simultaneously, as if to suggest there might be a fight on their hands if they failed to comply.

[Feed The Machine]

The sudden appearance of men standing before Galyl and his newly formed allies cemented in his mind everything that Cloverfield had previously uttered. One person had a gun pointed at the skull of the Bladesinger’s target, but seemed uninterested in the rest of the group that accompanied him. Galyl contemplated the right course of action to take after one of the mysterious men mentioned that everyone but Cloverfield could leave. Had the Galoriand not been informed of what was really going on, he would’ve gladly left, leaving Cloverfield’s execution up to these men that were certainly more interested in him than he was. Yet this man held the keys to unlocking a mystery that tied the fate of Althanians together.

“What should I do?” The young elf’s mental inquiry was rhetorical. He’d decided to stay put, but how he was going to get Cloverfield out of danger was the presented challenge. He thought about restraining the gunman with his tendrils but understood that the immediate reaction from the rest of his crew would be to attack. Galyl simply couldn’t handle the opposing numbers on his own, and there was no guarantee that Jame, Cloverfield, or the blonde haired elf would come to his aid.

The Obsidian Spire native was about to draw the conclusion that he was stuck, but Machine’s voice returned yet again and this time accompanied by the static noise that he’d originally heard back when he first sparred against Findelfin.

“THE TIME HAS COME! THE TIME HAS COME!!” Galyl had no idea what the Machine was babbling about, and paid no mind to it, since it wasn’t the first time that it’d said something cryptic. However, an intense pain in his right arm immediately followed this arcane statement. Wide eyed and astonished, the Galoriand fell to one knee and gripped his arm in agony. Some of the green skinned individual’s allies took notice of this and looked puzzled. No further reaction though was given to the suffering soldier since they deemed Galyl’s anguishes as insignificant and unworthy of their attention. Yet amidst all who were presently there or anyone else that might’ve been watching all of this from some distant slum window, the elf’s right arm transformed into something monstrous.

His white flesh was replaced with an odd mix of onyx colored stones and metals. Sinews of wires sprouted linking the stone and metal together, which only added more pain. Galyl hadn’t the slightest clue as to what was happening to him, but deduced that it had something to do with the Machine. Attempting to ask the Machine what was happening to him was futile since it didn’t respond. Instead, the arm seemed to take a life of its own for upon its new birth, the fingertips down to the elbow had transmuted into a blade-like structure and impaled one of the green skinned elf’s allies through the chest. Momentum was carried until an alley wall stopped the unruly arm from charging any further. The tip of the hand blade had even pierced through it to a certain degree, knocking loose any bricks that weren’t securely fastened in place.

The young Bladesinger looked at the man he’d stabbed. He was stuck on Galyl’s arm with no place to maneuver since the wall behind him did not allow him to fall off. The blood pouring out of this man resembled a river in intensity. Fear set in the boy’s eyes since he’d never before killed a man, despite being a Bladesinger. He’d always imagined that he’d be detached after he killed someone for the first time, given the nature of his profession. But all of this was so sudden that sheer shock was the only way that Galyl could respond.

“Why…why did you do that!? Why did you do this to me!?” Galyl demanded an answer from the Machine, yet received none. Rather he was treated to the chuckling of the man he’d skewered.

“You’re going to have to do a lot better than that if you plan on killing me……”

[Nymph and Dragon]

Twyla took her time following the men, glaring at anyone who looked at her and giving an especially sinister glower to the idiot in the foyer, who stared open-mouthed at the unlikely procession that tramped out of his brothel. What would being seen in this company do to her reputation? She didn’t want to think about it. None of her companions paid her any mind as they trekked out to the street, but slipping away in search of more palatable business never even crossed her mind. As distasteful as the company was, it couldn’t be any more boring than what was going on in the rest of the city.

Uh oh . . .

Twyla didn’t have time to inquire after the Elemental’s murmur; a moment later the anxious dread that had drifted across their link was explained by the group of men that materialized in front of them, all armed and focused intently on the telepathic human with the pansy name. She was at the tail of the balcony procession, several feet behind the elf and the big warrior, and she didn’t even have to stand on tiptoe to see over the men in her party to look at those of the other. Twyla let out a small gasp when her eyes landed on the man with green skin. Now that was cause for excitement! How often did one get to see a man who really had eaten too many vegetables?

Maybe we should take him up on his offer, the Elemental suggested in vain from behind her. He was slinking against the wall in his smallest aqueous form, scanning minds as quickly as possible in case someone tried to make a sudden attack. Twyla stood among the armed men like a blue and purple rooster among tigers, defenseless, unshakably defiant, and completely indifferent to the danger that surrounded her. Instead of worrying about how she would get out of her dilemma alive, she was speculating about the parentage of the green-skinned man who had the means and motivation to kill her without warning. She was so confident in her own superiority that it didn't even occur to her that she was just as mortal as those around her.

Twyla was distracted from her theorizing when the soldier who’d so eagerly saluted on the balcony suddenly dropped to the ground in front of her. Twyla thought he’d somehow been shot until she saw that he was clutching at a splotchy arm that definitely wasn’t dripping blood.

“Great idea, drama queen,” she muttered at him. “Piss them off with psychotic theatrics so they kill us instead of—”

The pale elf was suddenly gone, launched through the air and the chest of one of the men and still on the fly until he came to a bone-jarring halt against a wall. She was still staring at the transformed arm of the elf in shock when the other assailants reacted to the sudden impalement of their comrade.

Twyla, move!

She didn’t budge an inch.

They won't bother me, she said stubbornly. They told us we could leave, and I'm not the one who responded by stabbing one of them through the chest. I'm what they call a neutral observer.

You’re guilty by association!

I’m NOT with them.

The dragon tried to contain his frustration. You wanna tell them that? You can’t just stand there and wait for someone to kill you!

Then drag your watery ass over here and save me, she said with a self-assured smirk as the men burst into motion.

[Call me J]

Jame, was too startled to move, so he could merely watch as the man skewered by Galyl’s surprise attack pulled himself off of Galyl. The half dragon watched in complete and utter shock as the man’s stomach began to heal right before his eyes. Within a matter of seconds, save for the torn shirt, there had been no indication that there had ever been a fight.

Unsure of what to make of it, Jame gulped. Before he could even finish a thought, the green elf shook his head. “You’re an insignificant little bug,” he said. A latticework of green energy appeared in front of him. “Act like it.” Seconds later, Galyl was trapped within it.

With no real plan in mind, Jame unsheathed his blade and took a wild swipe, only to have one of the green elf’s thugs duck underneath and grab his forearm. A simple forearm throw later and Jame was on the ground, his sword separated from his hand and flung halfway across the alley. He tried to move, but there was a heavy boot placed on his chest. The weight of him was so much that he couldn’t summon enough breath to manage much fire, even if he’d wanted to.

“And don’t even think about your little fire trick Jame,” the thug warned. “We know you well enough to know better…”

Had the day been any less strange, Jame might have been a bit surprised by some strange thug knowing who he was and his abilities, but he had reached a point where he was no longer able to be amazed by new developments. If anything, though Jame hated to think of it in these terms, it confirmed what Cloverfield said about him being an unwilling link between Xem’zund, the Patriarch and the green skinned elf.

Still, it didn’t feel much better to know this truth, especially now that he was stuck on the ground with a foot on his chest while Galyl and the woman seemed to be suffering in much less pain. The woman wasn’t even attacked. “All we want are Jame and Cloverfield,” the green skinned elf said, now speaking directly to the girl who seemed to be talking to herself. “You can leave, or you can stay. If you’d like to have what happened to your friend happen to you, you can stay, but otherwise, turn your back. By the time you’re bored, we’ll be gone. I promise you, you’ll have no troubles.”

With that said, another of the thugs tied up Jame’s arms and legs so that he couldn’t move, and then tossed his entire six and a half foot frame over his shoulder. He struggled as much as he could, but it was to no avail. Helplessly, he looked back towards Cloverfield, hoping that the wiry man might have some kind of way of getting out of the situation.

However, Jame was only disappointed. “I suppose I should come along as well,” Cloverfield said.

“It would be preferred,” the green skinned elf replied succinctly.

If he had any tricks up his sleeves, Cloverfield wasn’t showing them. He bit his lip for a second, as if he was debating over a business proposition, and then, without any more opposition, gave in. “Well then,” he declared. “I’d be happy to oblige…”

(Nymph and Dragon, Feed the Machines, assume the green elf is gone from by the time you are released/ turn around)

[Feed The Machine]

The emerald latticework loosened its tightened bond and dissipated into the air. The assailants were gone, but the Bladesinger didn’t take his eye off of them at all for the time that they were within his gaze. He didn’t know exactly where they went, but with an entourage like they had, they wouldn’t be hard to miss.

However, the young elven soldier’s mind still replayed fresh and vivid images of what had just transpired. The canary colored eyes that witnessed his mutated arm, which now consisted of black stone and steel, were wide open and caused the rest of his body to tremble with fear. Blood coated three-quarters of his arm, running down the hand blade slowly. Galyl still couldn’t believe that something like that happened. He was sure that he’d slain his foe. That alone would’ve been enough shock in and of itself, but when he saw his enemy respond with a zestful laugh and blast him backward as if he were a paperweight, that took him over the edge.

“Why are you doing this to me!? I’ve done everything you’ve asked!! Why…why do you continue to torture me!?” Galyl fell to his knees and grabbed his face with his left hand, which remained unaltered. Tears fled his eyes like rushing waterfalls, washing his palm of any dirt that he’d accumulated on it. Stragglers and all sorts of people that were near to see this, stood clear of the odd looking elf, having already seen what he’d done several minutes ago. Any thugs that might’ve thought to cause him trouble discarded that idea and went about their way.

There was silence for a few minutes, but the Machine eventually responded.

“YOU CLEARLY HAVE FORGOTTEN WHAT YOU ARE. DON’T YOU REMEMBER THAT YOU ARE MY SLAVE? IT WAS WITH MY POWER THAT I RESTORED YOUR LIFE, CLEANSING YOU FROM THAT CURSED EXISTENCE!!! I CHOSE YOU AS MY TOOL, THUS YOUR BODY IS MY PERSONAL PROPERTY. YOU SHOULDN’T BE SURPRISED UPON SEEING WHAT HAD HAPPENED,” The static voice of the Machine paused before continuing.

“NOW, ENOUGH OF THIS FOOLISHNESS. THE PACK OF PREY IS ESCAPING. GO CHASE AFTER THEM!!”

And like usual, the voice dissipated, leaving Galyl alone yet again. He didn’t move right away, but stared down at the street blankly. Receiving orders from the Machine had become routine, but for the first time he truly understood what this relationship between the Machine and him was really about. “I’m just a…..puppet.”

An image of connected strings came to his mind. He pictured countless strands attached to his limbs. Attempting to move was impossible without the puppet master’s say so.

“Have I just been doing the Machine’s will this entire time?” Galyl thought about that for a moment before shaking his head in disgust. His entire existence was about fighting the odds and overcoming and he refused to believe that he was destined to a life of servitude. However until he found away to regain control, he had no choice but to obey the Machine’s command.

Rising to his feet, the Bladesinger dusted himself off,wiped his tears, and then headed in the direction he saw the green skinned man and his cronies walk last. There were still many things now that he wanted to learn from Cloverfield, but all of his desires and wishes would be rendered null and void if the wise man ended up dead. Galyl had to find him at all costs.

[Nymph and Dragon]

As exciting as it was to have the green-skinned elf speaking to her in a comprehensible and fairly civilized dialect, anger flared in Twyla’s chest at his swift dismissal.

The dragon jumped on the elf's rejection boat. Did you hear that, Twyla? It sounded to me like a perfectly polite way of saying “Get lost.” Looks like Cloverfield's been one-upped.

Are you kidding? As if I’d turn my back on a group of mongers like this. Even if they don’t try to put a dagger in my back, it’s clear to me that all they want is a better view of my ass.

Actually, the one on the green guy’s left is planning to come over and hit you with the hilt of his sword if you don’t comply, the dragon lied smoothly. So unless you want to wake up in a few hours with a rather unattractive growth on the side of your head . . .

Twyla followed the trail of his mind to see where he was and turned her head to give him a shocked and outraged look. You’d let him touch me? You’re supposed to protect me, you moron!

I know, he replied gravely, but I’m thinking that long-term subsistence is preferable to short-term pride maintenance.

“Fine,” she snapped, answering two addressers at once. The nymph tossed her head and gave the green man a hate-filled glare before she spun around and crossed her arms over her chest, lifting her chin high and trying to appear nonchalant as if she had turned around of her own volition.

I almost hope someone puts an arrow in my back, she growled at the Elemental, so that you can feel the double pain of getting impaled in an iron-tipped stick and know for once and for all that you fail at life.

Don’t worry, princess, he answered a little smugly, I got you covered.

Twyla may have been facing the opposite direction, but her attention remained focused on the activities that were now going on behind her back. There were sounds of a struggle from where the big man had been unceremoniously toppled followed by a short conversation, and then the whole gang was walking away, their steps swift and determined as they receded up the alley.

“Can I open my eyes now?” Twyla asked in an artificially saccharine voice, not waiting for an answer when she heard the twig-studded elf cry out. The frantic pleading in his voice made her look around quickly for signs of an invisible attacker, but then he grabbed his own face and began to weep into his normal arm and Twyla couldn’t keep her lip from curling distastefully beneath her scarf.

Oh, how nice, she thought sarcastically. They left me with the weeping willow.

It was disgruntling to be grouped with strange men whose arms turned suddenly—and apparently, unwillingly—into weapons, but it was even worse to be abruptly cut off from the action, disposed of without a second thought like the bastard son of a leprous prostitute. As boring as Scara Brae had seemed before, it now seemed that there were big and exciting games afoot, games that perhaps deserved more consideration than she had given them earlier. Who was Cloverfield really? Who was the green elf and what did he want with the unruffled man in the trench coat? And how on earth could the big red-eyed lummox be more important than she was? She wondered if it had anything to do with that mention of a “fire trick.” Telepathy, pyromancy, green skin . . . Was she dealing with magicians?

Twyla’s attention flitted to the elf whose name she couldn’t remember as he suddenly got up and set off after the green man’s gang. His tears had stopped, and his walk was the resolute stride of a man who knew what he wanted and who seemed ready to go to just about any length to get it.

The nymph frowned after him. Tell me his florist lives in that direction and he’s headed that way for his weekly trim.

His mind is . . . hard to read, the Elemental replied distractedly. There’s some kind of interference there that I don’t feel very confident messing with.

Coward. She took a moment to run her fingers through her hair before she set off after the elf, pretending not to see the questioning stares of the pedestrians who had come upon the tail end of the groups' odd exchange. Where were those burly idiots going? She hoped it was someplace well-lit and well-populated. She certainly wasn't going to be able to sneak into any kind of secret underground headquarters to figure out what was going on, but she had no intention of abandoning the story until every avenue of investigation had been insurmountably walled off.

The Elemental picked up on the intensity of her curiosity and groaned silently, snaking across the ground after her as she followed Galyl. This was nasty business that she really had no reason to be a part of, but there was no point in pointing that out to her now. It would take more than his wise advice to convince the nymph that staying involved was a bad idea, and now all he could do was hope that the effective advice came before the detrimental consequences of her interference.

[Call me J]

Jame tried to struggle, but on his own it was of no use. He knew even if he could breathe fire on these people, it wouldn’t work well. They seemed to know him too well for any of his skills to be of any use. He winced as they put a small gunnysack over his head, so that he could no longer see anything going on around him. Immediately, he stopped struggling. It wasn’t that he had decided to comply, but he realized that if he was going to learn anything about where he was being take, he would have to pay attention and listen.

However, the green skinned elf seemed to be just as aware of that. The entire group was silent, and though Jame could hear sounds suggesting they hadn’t gone too far from the commercial district, he had no way of knowing anything better than that. He could also tell they were in a back alley, the sounds of people haggling over prices and shopkeepers calling out their wares were only as loud as they had been in the alley where he had been abducted. It was also readily apparent from the smell. Jame could smell stagnant water all around him.

Eventually, Jame was taken inside, and perhaps underground. He could feel the air cooling around him, and could tell that he was being carried down stairs. He didn’t like the implications of that, being underground meant it would be harder for anyone to find him. He wondered if either Galyl or Twyla would try. It was clear that neither of them were able to stop the abduction, but he wondered if they had at least tried to follow him or something. Jame hadn’t thought of Twyla as the most enthusiastic type, but at the very least, he had some hope that Galyl might come after him. The elf seemed like too much of a fighter not to.

Once they had reached the bottom of the stairs, Jame was thrown into a room roughly. The gunny sack was pulled from his face, and he found himself in a little gray room. It was big enough to fit his long legs, but Jame made no mistake about it, it was a prison cell. There was no light, the door was made of cold steel and there was nothing on the walls but a few little chips in the cement.

“We’ll get you a bucket later,” one of the green elf’s thugs chuckled before he closed the door on Jame. The half dragon didn’t see any of the other people who had accosted him in the alley, and he had no idea what had happened to Cloverfield. His mind, which had been running nonstop since he had first met the trench coated man, was finally too tired to think any more. Jame just sat back, tried not to think about how frightened and confused he was, and breathed in the damp, stale air of his prison cell.

[Feed The Machine]

With his back to the wall of a jewelry store that’d happened to be the first building at the start of the alleyway where the altercation between the jade elf’s ruffians took place, Galyl turned his head slightly, peeking around the corner of the building. There were many people flooding the city streets, carrying on with their lives without a care in the world. “Did any of them see the green villain?” The question was more out of disgust than actual curiosity since he found it hard to believe that a great number of crooks that openly carried a massive man over their shoulders would go unnoticed. “Perhaps they did see them but were too frightened to do anything…..”

The Bladesinger, although understanding why a commoner wouldn’t directly confront the men, had expected someone to have at least called the Queen’s Guard. She was indeed hell bent on apprehending Cloverfield, and would’ve definitely leapt at the opportunity to seize and kill the black trench coat man. However once she learned the truth about her target and the men that chased after him, there was a possibility that she would be able to see just how long and deep the strings attached to this convoluted situation actually ran.

Nevertheless, Galyl’s first priority was to find Cloverfield and Jame. Taking the back end of his cloak, the milk skinned elf quickly wiped the excess blood from his newly transformed appendage. He didn’t yet know how to revert it back to normal and thus had to do as much as he could to reduce suspicion. Sprinting out of an alley with blood dripping from his arm-weapon, tailing him everywhere he went would not sit well with onlookers, especially if they were the authorities of the metropolis.

Several blocks of running awarded him nothing but fatigue. “Where could they have gone to?” With frustration mounting, the Red Forest resident was exhausting his options. Yet at the corner of his eye a group of rather large men standing outside of an armor shop were huddled together. There was no particular reason for these men to have grasped Galyl’s attention other than the fact that their behavior was different then the carefree hustle and bustle attitude of the rest of the city’s denizens.

“Did you see those weird men carrying that huge fella’ towards the Zirnden earlier?” One of them asked, looking further down the street as if he could still see the men that he was referring to.

“Yeah, that was pretty strange. Especially since the guy they were carrying was a guy that I saw lurking around the Zirnden earlier! For such a big man to be so easily held down is quite scary. What kind of monsters were those guys?”

The Galoriand had heard enough to know where they went. “The Zirnden!” Galyl had heard of the place. It was nearly as famous throughout Althanas as Corone’s grand Citadel was. However, he didn’t understand why they would be headed to the battle building. Regardless, the soldier followed his gut instinct and headed there.

Having acquired familiarity with Scara Brae during his last visit, it wasn’t hard for Galyl to find the place. Everything looked pretty standard, with not a trace of the odd men, Jame, or Cloverfield anywhere. But upon entering the facility, Galyl was greeted with chaos. Men roared and screamed at the top of their lungs as a burly, heavily bearded man split his opponent’s head open with mace. Blood splashed everywhere, bypassing the confinements of the chain-linked cage and landing on food, tables, and faces.

“Is there nobody here that is worthy to step into the ring with me!?” The victor called out to the crowd that only continued to holler in elation. Suddenly, the massive man’s eyes set on Galyl from a distance. “Bring that creature into the ring!! He shall be my next victim!!”

Immediately two armored individuals carried the young elf toward the blood stained ring. Galyl not knowing what was going on had tried to break free of their strong grip, but it was to no avail. He was tossed into the death cage and treated to the sound of the chain fence door locking behind him. The audience only erupted in cheers further.

“What’s going on!? I didn’t sign up to fight here!!”

“It looks like you don’t understand how things work when I’m in the ring,” The hefty giant spun his mace leisurely as he circled a baffled Galyl. “Because of my dominance, I’ve been given the privilege of picking out any sap that I choose from the audience to fight me. You just happened to catch my eye with those five weird wooden horns you have there.” The aggressor sought to snatch the Bladesinger by his peculiar protrusions, but Galyl quickly ducked and back flipped, landing on the cage wall.

“Haha! You’re pretty nimble! But your acrobatics won’t last long!” The elf didn’t respond to the obnoxious brute’s threat but instead patiently watched him. Strangely, he found that he had a strong urge to kill this man. This realization somewhat scared him since he wasn’t that kind of person. But upon being the Machine’s slave and experiencing for the first time what it felt like to possess the intent to murder someone, his mind was starting to slowly change.

His right arm commenced throbbing in response to the Galoriand’s altered mindset. Since his new attitude was in compliance with the Machine’s, he found that he was starting to gain control over his right arm again. However, the enemy came in swinging his mace, trying hard the crush Galyl’s skull like he’d done to his last opponent. The elven soldier though, evaded it and leapt to another part of the cage wall. Then with no show of mercy, the Bladesinger spun his body mid-air and shot at the mace wielder’s now exposed back like a rocket with his transformed arm of course, leading the way.

The arm blade displayed it ruthlessness again, yet this time it was successful in delivering death to its receiver. Galyl kneeled motionless having drove his entire arm through the man’s body. The force of the attack had even punctured a hole through the cage, leaving everyone in the Zirnden speechless. There weren’t any tears or agonizing shrieks from the Bladesinger this time, but rather a lifeless look on his face which made it seem as if he wasn’t even the same person anymore.

Removing his unnatural appendage from the bloodied holed carcass, he let the mountain of a man drop like a hewed oak tree, rattling the entire ring. Looking out towards the crowd, a slight grin broke his apathetic countenance.

“Who's Next?”

[Nymph and Dragon]

“Damn it!”

Several pedestrians gave the nymph disapproving looks at the uncouthly loud exclamation, but Twyla was occupied with trying to see through walls to worry about what the humans around her thought of her behavior. She had only made it to the end of the alley with that damned elf in sight before the overeager bugger had darted off around the corner, breaking into a run that Twyla had neither the capacity nor the inclination to follow.

You’re gonna lose him if you don’t pick up the pace, the Elemental smirked at her. She shot him a glare and stood on tiptoes to better search the roads, but the elf was gone, leaving only a trail of blood on the cobbled street that Twyla wouldn’t have been able to follow even if the drops weren’t being smeared by the feet that strode mindlessly on in their merry, stupid way.

Twyla sighed heavily and gave up the search, resting her hands on her hips as she considered her available options. Cloverfield was gone, the red-eyed man was gone, the horned elf was gone—

I’m still here, the dragon interjected sweetly.

More’s the pity. Everybody relevant or useful had disappeared, and the extent of her knowledge of the affair was so paltry that she didn’t even have an idea of where she might start looking. Her mood didn’t even improve when her idly roaming gaze landed on the jewelry shop beside her. There were so many questions bouncing around in her head that there was no way she’d be able to just abandon the mysterious men of the morning in favor of a silver splurge. She didn’t sleep anyway, but nagging wonders about the strange green man and his magical cohorts would occupy her thoughts all night long, and if there was one thing she hated, it was being bothered by questions that she couldn’t answer.

“Snake, what do you know about this ‘Patriarch?’” She didn’t have to speak aloud, but she liked catching the attention of startled passersby so that she could glare at them to relieve some of her wrath when they met her eye.

Next to nothing, he answered, and it’s a well-guarded enough topic that you aren’t likely to find anyone on the streets who knows anything about it.

“I could ask around for people who know of a Cloverfield,” she said with a snigger. “It’s an odd enough name for people to remember having heard it.”

The Elemental radiated disapproval, and there was a note of irritation to his negative vibes. Come on, Twyla, this isn’t that hard.

What are you talking about? She was surprised enough by his impatience not to speak the question aloud.

Think about it. From what recently visited establishment were two of the members of your party running when you first saw them? Where did Cloverfield want to go minutes before the green man kidnapped him? Where do heavily armed mercenaries and bodyguards like the ones that attacked you hang out to find work?

Twyla’s blue eyes narrowed. Don’t take that condescending tone of voice with me. You owe me your soul.

He snorted. You owe ME your life!

Twyla didn’t have to ask for directions before setting off for the Zirnden at a determined pace. She hoped her refusal to run wouldn’t make her miss any of the action, but really she didn’t even know what kind of action she was expecting. Would she arrive in time to see the guppy elf get killed in an ill-conceived one-man attack? Maybe the big grey-haired guy would get strung up and quartered, spattering his captor’s leaf-green skin with a liquid of the same complementary hue as his eyes. Maybe somebody would have the guts to make fun of the telepath's name. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to miss it.

The Zirnden’s street was still full of people when Twyla got there, but now there weren’t venders and pickpockets wandering about the entrance, there was a frenzied crowd that was shoving and shouting as every person therein struggled to get through the doorway and into the over-crowded fight club. Twyla frowned. Obviously something was happening, and now there were about a billion entertainment-starved humans standing between her and sated curiosity.

Are they in there? She didn’t want to have to go through the trouble of getting into the building if the dragon's deduction turned out to be wrong.

Galyl is, but . . . A wave of surprise swept across their link. Wow. Yeah, he’s definitely in there.

You’re sure? There were a lot of smelly humans in her way.

Believe me, I wouldn’t forget a brain like his.

Twyla sighed and cleared her throat. She had to get through, but she didn’t necessarily have to touch anyone to do so. She waited until she was at the edge of the pressing crowd before she started to sing, keeping her voice low and her words simple for the slight level of influence that she needed to get them out of her way. Only the people immediately surrounding Twyla could hear her, but that was all she needed to make her way through the crowd. As soon as her song landed on the ears of the spectators their interest in the activities inside faded just enough to make them step aside for the purple-cloaked young woman who made her way into the Zirnden, their excited shoving starting up as soon as she had moved past their hearing range. Twyla weaved through the men with imperial smugness, even feeling gracious enough to make room for the Elemental behind her as she sang men out of her path.

She was focusing so intently on her song that she didn’t pay much attention to where she was going, and by the time she finally did look up to take stock of her surroundings, the nymph was only a few feet away from the center fighting cage that was completely surrounded by enthralled men who climbed over each other in their desperation to see the fight. Was this what had everybody outside clamoring to get in? What kind of fight could be so fascinating that people would flock like locusts to see it?

Twyla looked through the bars of the cage and stopped singing abruptly with a choked gasp when her eyes landed on the horned elf. What was he doing in there? She had her answer almost immediately when he sprang through the air and used his freak arm once again to stab someone through the torso. As soon as she stopped singing the press of hot bodies crushed against her from every side, nearly suffocating her in the cheering, screaming, and applauding vigor that started up with new enthusiasm at the pale young elf’s outlandish victory. A bolt of echoed pain went up her spine as someone stepped on the Elemental’s tail in the milling excitement that ensued, and the shock of the pain was enough of a jolt to make Twyla start singing again, keeping her voice quiet enough that only the people in her immediate vicinity responded to her not-so-politely sung request to get out of her way.

She reached the edge of the cage and grabbed onto the fence to hoist herself up onto the elevated foundation of the enclosure, leaning into the pliable mesh so that she was standing precariously on the edge with her face pressed against the crosshatched boundary between legal bloodshed and its avid fans. She shuddered at the elf’s smile and turned her mind to the dragon. Two questions: what’s his name again and why’s he so happy?

The Elemental had slid up onto the cage after her and was resting comfortably along the inside of the fence, stretched out as a thin cord of clear and practically invisible water. Galyl, and you don’t want to know.

“Galyl!” she shouted in a voice that didn’t carry over the roar of the crowd. “What the hell are you doing? Where’s Cloverfield and the big guy?”

“Hey, get off! You’re blocking my view!” A wave of protest was rising from the people behind Twyla, who was foolish enough not to understand the gravity of the crime of getting between a man and his game, and the fervor rose as she ignored their ire and tried again to get the elf’s attention.

“Galyl!” She could barely hear herself!

Twyla . . .

Shut up! “Galyl!”

“Hey, you know him? If you wanna talk to him so bad, you can get in there with him!” Hands tugged at the hem of her dress, meaty fists seized her ankles, and before Twyla had an idea of what was going on she found herself being yanked down from her perch, dragged through the crowd, and tossed roughly onto the sandy floor of the fight cage, sticky blood splattering against her face as her hands landed in a fresh puddle.

Oh, hell no. Twyla pushed herself up and looked over her shoulder with a ready retort that was quickly suppressed as the meshed door was bolted shut behind two inhumanly large men who stepped forward with sinister, large-toothed grins, both wearing only a heavy breastplate and pants and covered in swirling tattoos. The one with a mustache had a giant hammer in each hand, and the other carried a matching pair and a smile that promised a penchant for sadistic tendencies.

“We’re the Crush Brothers,” the one with the mustache rumbled, “and we’re next.”

Twyla got quickly to her feet and went to the far corner of the too small cage, making sure that the horned elf was between her and the advancing men.

“Never mind, Galyl,” she said faintly. “We can talk later.”

And outside the cage, the crowd was going wild.

[Feed The Machine]

The vociferous crowd continued shouting in jubilation, having watched the previous “champion” of the Zirnden lifelessly crash to the ground. His eyes were glossed over and static, with the only motile aspect of his corpse left being the rushing blood that was still escaping his fatal wound. The crimson liquid bypassed the cage, spilling over an edge of the ring, splashing on the squalid Zirnden floor like a waterfall. Some of the crazies jumped from their front row seats chanting “Freak! Freak! Freak!” in joyous, drunken stupors. Some were even so insane and intoxicated as to lie on the ground and let the blood of the victim fall into their mouths.

Fights in the audience broke out as these blood drinkers gargled the red fluid and spray spit it into the faces of other onlookers. Security eventually quelled some of the quarrels, but they were extremely slow moving. After all, this was the Zirnden.

Galyl still stood motionless in the middle of the ring, apathetic and unaffected by the behavior of the spectators. Even upon hearing the derogatory chants he remained calm. Normally such a comment would’ve seeped under his milk colored skin and made him self conscious since at times his physical appearance embarrassed him. But he simply smiled wickedly.

“Do you hear that? They call me a freak,” The Machine’s slave sat on the chest of the competitor he’d slain, grabbing him by the face and looking him in his soulless eyes. “But I’m a freak that they fear. A freak that captivates these fools with fear!!”

The jingle of the cage lock as well as someone calling his name caused Galyl to snap his head in that direction. “Its that woman……” She was looking less than elegant, having fallen into the puddle of blood, turning her silky sapphire dress into a purple soaked mess. The Galoriand carefully watched the blonde haired trickster, having made several mental notes about her back when they were in the ally with Cloverfield, the green skinned elf, and his goons.

“Don’t you get within three feet of me. You’ve tried twice to pry open my mind. Doing so a third time will cost you your life,” The Bladesinger didn’t sound like himself, having adopted the voice of the Machine, which was a cold, deep tone that was always accompanied by the sound of white noise. The elf’s sharp eyes shifted though, having taken notice of the appearance of two giants that’s boldly entered the ring. “The Crush Brothers you say? What an appropriate name for two men that will be crushed under the weight of my power….”

The giants looked at each other before grinning.

“We'll be the ones crushing you and that frail thing in the corner.” Upon them letting out a loud roar, an ominous force was cast over the entirety of the facility. Every spectator felt its ancillary effects, which induced headaches, but it seemed that its primary function was to intensify gravity, which happened to only be experienced by those within the cage.

The throbbing head pains that the crowd felt, had to be lightweight compared to the crushing sensation that Galyl felt from the fierce gravitational pull. “What…..is…..this!?” The elven soldier tried to take a step, but attempting to do so made him feel as if he had a two-ton ball and chain locked on his ankles.

The Crush Brothers smiled as they freely moved about. “We are the strongest warriors around! Nobody can escape our gravity technique!”

And that was true, not only for Galyl, but also for the entire ring. The cage began to bend and fold in, while the sandy ring floor sunk inward. The Crush Brothers didn’t know what was happening, considering that they weren’t the brightest bulbs in the building. However, Galyl knew what was taking place and added confirmation was given to him upon the Machine speaking out yet again.

“BRACE YOURSELF.”

Shortly after, the floor of the ring fell through, dragging the entirety of the cage down into the thick darkness with it. Sand from the cage floor fell downard like heavy rain, making it impossible for the elf to look up without having the grainy material poured into his eyes. Galyl frantically looked for something to latch onto save thin air. The body of the mace wielder was falling beside him, so he quickly grabbed him by the hair and pressed against his blood stained back. The Bladesinger didn’t know when or where they would land, but one thing was for certain:

He would have a good cushion.

[Call me J]

Jame had been sulking in the cage. He felt sorry for himself, disappointed that he couldn’t get anywhere. Then, he heard the sound of the ceiling crack above him. Wide eyed, the half dragon wondered if it was some kind of advanced torture device, watching with fear as he saw the rupture getting larger, and his ceiling starting to indent downwards. There was a small area in the back that didn’t seem to be falling, so Jame quickly moved. He watched as the majority of his roof caved in amidst a pile of debris and dust.

Coughing, Jame fanned the dust out of his face, confused and terrified. He didn’t say anything, even as he heard the sound of a second thud. This one was a lot less ominous, and though it brought back up a lot of the dust that had settled, Jame could see what had fallen. It was the elf he had met in Cloverfield’s apartment.

Immediately, Jame began to smile. His entire body fidgeting, he looked up towards the ceiling to discover that the place he had been kept was right above the Zirnden. Now, it wouldn’t be too difficult to escape.

“Thanks…” Jame said, unsure of how to thank the elf who had came after him. “Is Cloverfield with you?” The half dragon looked up at the hole that had now been created, and seeing nothing but confused spectators and fighters gathering around the chasm, he knew that wasn’t the case.

The half dragon decided that they couldn’t leave without Cloverfield. It wasn’t so much an act of loyalty on Jame’s part, as much as the fact that he knew that the mysterious man in the trench coat was an important link to both his future and past. Jame looked up. He would be able to escape through the Zirnden, but the way that the roof had fallen gave him an opportunity to scale over the door as a way out of his prison. Figuring Cloverfield couldn’t have been too far away, Jame decided on that course of action.

Immediately, the tall, muscular half dragon pulled himself up to the top of the door and then jumped down across to the other side. He drew his short sword, grateful that it hadn’t been taken from him. Whether it was intentional on the green skinned elf’s part or just an error of judgment didn’t matter, it was more important that Jame now had the weapon. He was going to free Cloverfield, the moment that he found him.

For a moment, Jame considered calling out to the people who were waiting above on the ceiling, so that he could urge them to jump down and help join in his fight, but he soon decided against it. The mere fact that he had been found in this prison cell below the Zirnden might have already tipped the Patriarch off as to his intentions, and even though Jame had already let the name slip once on the balcony, he knew the necessity of being discreet. He continued to ignore the confused calls sent down from the people above him and, after pulling the latch away that would have prevented his escape, opened the door for Galyl.

“We’re going to have to find where Cloverfield is kept…” he said. “Where’s the girl?”

Before Jame could answer, he noticed a group of men charging towards him from a thin set of spiraling stone stairs. The half dragon recognized four of them from before, but there were at least three others. Suddenly, all of the momentum from his unexpected escape faded. He had wanted to rescue Cloverfield, but he had momentarily forgotten just how hard it had been to fight the green skinned elf in the alley. He had no doubts that it wouldn’t be more difficult here.

Shuddering, Jame watched as the seven men made their way down into a small dark room, illuminated only by a torch and the hole in the ceiling. “Don’t fight…” one of the men said. Jame recognized him as the one who had been run through earlier by Galyl.

[Nymph and Dragon]

Twyla kept her back pressed against the chain link fence, twining her fingers in the cold metal as she stared down in horror at the corpse-bullying elf on the ground before her. She flinched when his gaze slid to her, her fingers tightening on the fence at the malice in his gaze. A flash of wariness slipped into her mind from the Elemental, but Galyl spoke before she could inquire after his worry. Her eyes flickered down to measure the floor space between them before she could help herself, and with her cheeks reddening beneath her veil she opened her mouth to deliver a hot retort only to find that his attention had already shifted away from her.

What the hell was THAT about?

I’m not going to risk finding out, the Elemental answered grimly. Right now it’s the two big goons you need to worry about.

Why? she demanded, The elf’s the one that just threatened me!

She got her answer when the mustached Crush Brother answered Galyl’s taunt. Frail thing? Why was everybody being so antagonistic towards her today? She hadn’t even done anything wrong yet! The crowd behind her surged and rolled like crashing waves on a stormy sea as people rushed around in a blood-fueled frenzy, shaking the walls of the cage and screaming for more death. The cries suddenly became pained, but Twyla wasn’t worried about them because something far more worrisome was happening to the cage’s occupants, of which she was the one of prime interest. She felt light-headed, as if all her blood was being pulled to her fingertips and feet, as if something heavy were dragging her whole body down with an invisible pull that tugged her inexorably towards the sandy ground. Voluntary movement was out of the question; she could barely force her lungs to expand to draw breath. The nymph slumped against the fence, giving in to the pull and letting her back slide down until her rear hit the floor.

What’s going on? She had the feeling that if she let her jaw drop she wouldn’t be able to close it again. Who was doing this? Was this another nasty side effect of being around an elven freak? Her eyes lifted arduously to Galyl, and she saw with chagrin that he was just as bogged down as she was. The Crush Brothers, on the other hand, were moving gleefully forward, almost graceful in their uncontested freedom, their hammers rising as they approached their helpless opponents.

Cheating bastards! Twyla shoved away her mounting terror, making sure that she stayed too angry to be afraid. Why aren't you over here giving them ice enemas or something?

Twyla, I can’t move! The Elemental was even more affected by the gravity than she was. He’d been in an aqueous form that spread his mass over a comparatively large area when the extra gravity had hit, and the downward pull was almost completely paralyzing.

Wow, snake. I’m SO glad I brought you along. What would I do without you? If it weren’t for you, I’d—

She never finished the thought, because a moment later the floor fell out from beneath them. The heavy pull ceased abruptly, but by then normal gravity was all that it took to bring them crashing to the floor below. Twyla felt the sandy ground drop and she let out a scream as her stomach flew into her throat.

The Elemental reacted as soon as the floor dropped as well, but his response was much more proactive. He launched himself across the fragmenting cage, his watery form expanding until he hit Twyla as the largest formless glob he could manage. He wrapped himself around her, swiftly forming a cocoon of water that completely enveloped her, ignoring her mental shrieks of protest as she tried ineffectual to squirm free of his grasp. They hit the ground painfully hard, and within the envelop Twyla jerked as the pain of his collision echoed along her spine. She instinctively opened her mouth to scream some more and he had to manually shift away from her face so that she wouldn’t swallow part of him.

Calm down, he said a moment before a familiar voice spoke up from beyond the dust. The Elemental quickly released Twyla, letting her hit the ground from only a foot or so above the rubble-covered floor and shrinking back into a puddle that was small enough to hide beneath one of the many piles of debris.

Twyla almost groaned aloud as the pain of a second landing flared on her back - this time lingering to let her know that it was real - but she stifled it when she heard the red-eyed man’s voice.

'The girl?' Please don’t tell me he’s talking about me. The nymph’s mood was going from bad to worse, and the sound of approaching footsteps didn’t help. She was covered in dust, there were rock fragments in her eyes, she’d skinned her palms during one of her recently all too frequent falls, and there was blood on her scarf that she was certain wouldn’t come out in the wash.

“The girl,” she said loudly, her voice hoarse from the gritty air, “resents being referred to as such and is currently lying on a pile of rocks that aren’t scoring very high in the friendly department!”

Now’s not a good time to be clever, the Elemental interjected. The green guy’s men are here.

Twyla’s head jerked in the direction of the footsteps and she waved a hand in front of her face in a futile effort to clear away the obscuring dirt. She furtively pulled off her scarf and took a moment to examine the blood stains as she listened and thought. Was Greenie there? As much as he seemed to be a villain to Cloverfield’s hero, it seemed that the elves were the ones who were turning out to be the most surprising people of the day. She wrapped her scarf around her face again and twisted to peer around the room from her vantage point on the ground, squinting in an effort to see through the dust.

Speaking of elves . . . if she couldn’t even see him, he had to be at least three feet away from her, right?

[Feed The Machine]

The aftermath of the sudden event caused dust to billow to the hole in the ceiling, which forced the eager spectators to either cover their faces with their hands or shirts, or even back away from the perforation all together. Galyl was amid the sandy rubble; face down on the back of the man he’d killed. The corpse had crashed to the ground hard amongst the fallen sand and distorted elements of the cage. Its limbs were twisted awkwardly in positions that clearly would’ve drawn out wailing cries if the man still drew breath.

“I’m alive……..” The elven soldier rose to his feet, brushing loose fragments of the debris off of his cloak. He noticed that his arm had mysteriously returned to normal. This was perplexing, but the Bladesinger didn’t have any time to analyze this seeing how he found Jame, whom he’d just happened to free from captivity. Chuckling at the luck that this large fellow had, Galyl approached him in a friendly manner. His previous animosity had surprisingly vanished.

Yet Jame inquired of Cloverfield, which brought Galyl into a solemn frame of mind. “Cloverfield…..” It was as if he’d completely forgotten about him while in the cage. Along with the quarrelsome woman, the young elf followed after a hasty Jame, who seemed to know where he was going. Astonishingly quiet, the objective was clearly to leave without being noticed. The green skinned elf, along with his cronies wanted the large man for reasons that were unknown to Galyl, and this was emphasized upon the appearance of several men that’d seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Instinctively, the elf drew his wooden claymore out of his stomach via his internal system of wooden tendrils and brought it to his hand. The faces of the figures were a little hard to see with their being limited light, but the face of the front man had come under the light seeping from the hole in the ceiling.

“It’s….him!!”

Galyl’s indignation rose as he clenched his sword tighter. A part of him wanted to rush at him, but the last time that occurred, he saw upfront how strong and supernatural this being was. Instead, the Bladesinger stayed ready and didn’t say a word.

[Call me J]

Fighting would be useless. Jame knew it, and every fiber in his bones confirmed that fear. Though his claws ached to pop out from his skin and tear into the flesh of the men blocking him from his escape, but he knew there would be no point. Now, he heard the voice of the girl that he thought had been left upstairs, and seemingly unaware of the situation on the other side of the cell, she seemed content to complain about the way he had spoken about her.

The half dragon couldn’t reconcile his two desires, and he had never felt the way he did that moment. While he was sometimes naïve, he had always been somewhat calculating and strategic, if only because his lack of martial prowess required it. Now though, instead of putting his hands in the air and trying to find a way to fight unto another day, he just wanted to get the situation over and done with. He’d surrendered once to the green elf’s men, and he had no intention of doing it again. If Cloverfield was right and he was really related to the Forgotten Ones, Jame felt as though there had to be a skill embedded somewhere deep inside him that would have unlocked a power far greater than what the elf’s cronies had thrown at him.

Though he wouldn’t have admitted it if asked, his thoughts immediately fell to his father, Damon Kaosi. Damon’s powers had to come from somewhere, why was it that he couldn’t unlock the source. If it was a matter of something in the lineage of the green skinned elves, it should have been available to him. Scowling, though he wished that he could, Jame knew he couldn’t make a decision based on hope alone. He could continue to shoot daggers into the chests of his soon to be captors with his angry stares, but that was the only violence he’d be able to muster against them.

Biting on his lip, Jame eyed the one who had once been disguised as a homeless man. He wanted to say something, just get a few biting words in lieu of the sword he really wanted to use. Still, he refused this as well. It would just lead to him being brutalized later, especially if his words actually hurt.

Irrelevant of what he wanted, he was going to have to give up. “And the sooner you come to grips with that, the sooner you’ll accept it.”

Still, Jame decided that he wouldn’t. He’d been manipulated enough for one day. With that, he let a set of dragon claws pop out of his hand, and without another moment’s hesitation leapt forwards to get involved in the fray. Secoud later, he hit up against a yellowish green wall of energy, and it slapped him hard, like a thousand little explosions all across his body. He fell back down to the ground, the entire side of his body looking like it had been exposed to a flame for a bit too long. The wound wasn’t severe, but the pain was.

Jame ignored the pain, even though it was killing him. Seconds later, before the Green elf’s thugs could have even responded, the sound of a corpse falling down the stairwell interrupted everyone. Jame cringed. It was the green skinned elf. Then Cloverfield followed. He was battered and bruised, and he spit out both blood and a tooth on the body of his former adversary.

“Now, it seems some of you already beat me to my friends,” Cloverfield began. He pulled a flintlock pistol out of his pants, the very pistol that had been used earlier by the green skinned elf to shoot the dwarf earlier in the Zirnden. “Your master’s done, your powers are gone, now really, do you want to have this fight or leave.”

As Jame watched, he could now see that the thugs were having the very same thoughts he was having seconds ago. This time though, it was his enemies that would have to sweat it out. With an eager smile, the half dragon looked on, wondering if they were going to submit or be just as stubborn as he had been. The same part of him that had been fed up with being jerked around hoped that they wouldn’t go quietly.

The sound of unsheathing swords confirmed it.

[Nymph and Dragon]

“Please not another fight!” Twyla’s exasperated exclamation was- uncharacteristically- too quiet to be heard even over the whispery drawing of blades that followed the unexpected appearance of the dead green elf. Twyla glowered with distaste at Cloverfield, who stood at the top of the stairs with his iron weapon like the swaggering jerk she knew he was. What other kind of person would kill something as fascinating as a green elf just because it was a little unfriendly? She gazed mournfully at the cooling body of the elf, ruing the resource that was now permanently untappable. There would have to be a lot of history between the two to justify the cold-blooded murder of a such a curious specimen.

Get over yourself, Twyla, the Elemental said from beneath his rubble, his voice tinged with worry. They're about to start fighting but I’m not sure if those three will be able to handle them all. Jame’s injured, and—

Jame? Who the hell is Jame? Twyla was already moving, pushing herself to her feet and slapping at the dust on her clothes. She was farther away from the staircase than anyone else, except for the mustached Crush Brother, who’d landed in an obviously fatal position on the far side of the room, and her distance gave her a clear view of both parties and the tense hostility that surrounded them.

The Elemental sent an image of the red-eyed man’s face to her mind, but he didn’t wait for her to acknowledge the cue before it disappeared. I don’t know if those guys can still heal themselves without the elf’s magic, but they're still more dangerous than—

What the hell is wrong with him? Smoke was drifting lazily from one side of the silver-haired man, and even from a distance Twyla could see that the hand poking out of his sleeve wasn’t the same one that had wielded the sword earlier. It looked engineered for manual slaughter, disturbingly more like a claw than any kind of deformity she'd ever seen. Do they all have freakish arm-morphing abilities? What’s Cloverfield do, turn his fingers into feathers and tickle people to death?

The dragon didn't hear her question; its thoughts were focused on loftier subjects of interest.

Oh good, he projected on a wave of relief. They’re here.

Who? Twyla's attention shifted from the men in front of her to the gaping hole in the ceiling overhead. Men had been gathering around the edge of the building’s new indoor sunroof to watch the action below, but now they were drawing away, pushing against each other in their hurry to back off and moving away from the hole with worried and defensive murmurs. She could hear the clipped gait of metal-toed boots and the clatter of sheathed swords against armored hips, and she remembered with sudden dismay that the Knights of Scara Brae were notorious for their dislike of public disturbances and their resulting intolerance for anything that even slightly resembled crime.

The nymph swore under her breath and made her way towards the tense standoff, lifting the hem of her skirt to keep it from getting caught on protruding rubble. She could have taken advantage of everyone’s preoccupation to slip away before bedlam broke out, but she was far too interested in the drama to duck out now, which most immediately meant that she didn’t want progress held up by the interference of the police. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the city guard— she was always careful not to get seen when she was doing something illegal and therefore had no reason to fear them—but she had no doubt that the protocol-loving guards would want to spend hours and hours investigating the unusual people involved and the even more unusual corpses, time she really didn’t want to spend dying of curiosity. If they could slip away before they got there . . .

“Heads up,” she hissed as she drew nearer to her companions, edging carefully away from the elf to approach the red-eyed man’s other side. “Lucky for your pride, we don’t have time to stick around for a fight if you don't want to be here when—”

She trailed off with a curse when a string of knocked crossbows jutted out noisily along the edge of the hole in the ceiling, followed closely by the darkening of the doorway behind Cloverfield as soldiers stepped up behind him with swords in hand. As if that weren’t enough, the floor in the corner of the room suddenly flew up as a trapdoor was shoved open, spewing up another platoon of armed guards who filled the room with meticulous efficiency and silent intimidation. Within seconds there were multiple weapons focused on each non-uniformed person in the room, and the only thing moving was the stirred dust that drifted uncaringly through the air around them.

“Never mind,” Twyla muttered resignedly with a roll of her eyes.

[Feed The Machine]

Each member of Scara Brae’s City Guard filtered into the room in such a way that it seemed as if they’d been built into the framework of the Zirnden, only to sprout out of trapdoors and secret compartments when the facility’s danger quota exceeded maximum capacity. Their clanking breastplates, thigh guards, and gauntlets were the alarms that were set off when the limp cadaver of the emerald elf flipped and rolled downward like a shoe that’d been tossed down a flight of stairs. The authorities didn’t seem to have locked eyes onto any one evildoer, but made sure to keep the herd within their fence of razor sharp swords.

Underneath the obscurity of his hood, Galyl carefully observed the armored soldiers that’d enclosed the two fighting factions from all sides. He remained silent, still donning the same focused expression he had when the jade colored elf’s vandals foiled their escape plans. Alternative escape routes were scanned for, but the Bladesinger saw nothing feasible in sight. That’s not to say that there weren’t any, but the Galoriand would have an impossible time uncovering one with the coupling of high pitched and baritone-like shouts from the officers clashing in torturous unison.

"All of you! Keep your hands where we can see them!!!" Galyl wanted to raise his hands to his ears, but instead endured the bad choir. As far as he was concerned, a viable way to deal with the armed hindrances was to slaughter them all. This was the Zirnden, so the case could be made that rogue City Guardsman opted to enter the ring and died during competition. Galyl’s lips had curled slightly upward, toying with the idea. Such a thing would’ve been easy to do at the right time, but his better judgment quickly convinced him to do otherwise.

“What am I becoming!?” Galyl maintained his outer composure, but inwardly he was breaking down. The Machine had already made it quite clear that it was the Bladesinger’s master. The elf however, could’ve never comprehended the amount of control that the Machine already had. All this time he’d believed that he was making his own decisions and shaping his own character. Was all of that staged?

Twisting his neck to look at the bloody dressed woman, He was utterly baffled that she hadn’t tried to lie her way out of this predicament, vomiting verbal waste about how she was kidnapped and had nothing to do with any of this. She didn’t seem to have a purpose in any of these matters but rather simply tagging along on this joyride. A thrill seeker she was, one who’s own entertainment and pleasure were at the apex of her priority list. Yet at this moment, even she seemed more calm and confident than Galyl was.

“What should I do? I can’t get arrested, I’m a Bladesinger!!” His arm reverted back to normal, as well as the ruthless demeanor that had reigned supreme for a short time. Humiliation and fear of representing his country poorly were the triggers for the physical and behavioral transformation, a development that the Machine surely was not happy with.

Instead of its usual audible interjection, the Machine used an unseen force in an attempt to bring Galyl to his knees. It was powerful, but not too overwhelming as to destroy the young soldier. “What….are….you….doing!?” The elf squeezed his fists, trying to muster up all the strength necessary to combat the invisible influence of the Machine. His unwanted Master wasn’t budging and didn’t show any signs of letting up. Galyl on the other hand was struggling under the pressure, sweating profusely in the process. His jaw was now tight with teeth exposed and saliva dripping like a feral beast ready to tear into its prey.

His threads of control were nearing exhaustion, and the reality of succumbing to the Machine’s will again was looking like it would soon be brought to fruition. However, ruckus at the hole in the ceiling caused many of the police guardsmen to shift their attention upward at several people that were dangling from the upper level. The few friends that cared about these fools were desperately holding onto them as their feet pumped back and forth like overworked airship pistons. “I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!” The human barricade of authorities started to break apart, with some running towards the hanging individuals in all hopes of assuring them that everything would be okay. Galyl took notice of the fleeting men, and hope of escaping returned. The unseen pressure had disappeared, leaving the Bladesinger a moment peace. Looking toward the girl again, he came up with a plan.

Closing his eyes, Galyl relaxed and began speaking telepathically to the nymph. A skill that he somehow acquired through all the mental turmoil he’d been through. “Hey, if you can understand me, then listen up. It doesn’t look like we’re going to make it out of here the conventional way so we have to distract them. You’re somewhat of a sneaky and conniving person so do something to get these guys attention with your.....charm...” There was a hint of rudeness in his tone, which suggested that the Machine’s personality had affected his own in small ways, despite managing to resist its influence as a whole. He didn’t know what the woman would do if anything at all, but one thing was certain. Fighting head on with the bladed masses was out of the question. There were far too many present that could provide Galyl and his allies an early trip to their graves.

[Call me J]

Jame looked on uneasy. He had been battered and had been hurt, and while the adrenaline had caused him to practically ignore his pain up until now, he couldn’t do so any longer. He had welcomed the arrival of the police at first, figuring that they had to be better than the green elf’s henchmen, but he was suddenly concerned.

By now, the Scara Brae Knights had drawn their weapons on everyone. Two of the green elf’s men had resisted, but their heads had been chopped off without much of any negotiation. Their leader, a man dressed in a starch black peacoat now entered, and kept his mouth in a thin, nonplussed line as he looked around the room.

Jame watched him nervously, too afraid to fidget with a Knight’s sword just inches from his back. He looked towards Galyl quickly to see if the elf had any better plans, but he didn’t see anything other than a similar sense of panic. The woman seemed to be underwhelmed, but unhelpful. Cloverfield seemed stunned. His eyes were as big as saucers and he eyes seemed to be desperately searching for something that would inspire him to an escape.

There was an uneasy silence in the room before the man clad in the peacoat finally spoke. “It looks like we arrived at just the right moment,” he began. “I’ve always been a believer in that prevention is better than cure, even in cases where it reduces the sentences of the guilty…”

Jame noticed that the peacoated man seemed to walk right beside the fallen body of the green skinned elf without even noticing it was there. “The fights at the Zirnden are supposed to be upstairs,” the leader of the Knights continued, presumably using a smug sort of jocularity that was amusing only to other members of law enforcement, because no one else chuckled at it. “What was going to go on here wouldn’t have been acceptable at all.”

It seemed that he was about to issue a decree about the fates of all the people in the room when he noticed Galyl out of the corner of his eye. He seemed somewhat surprised to find the elf there, as if somehow they were both old friends from somewhere.

Jame looked on wide eyed. He exchanged a quick glance with Cloverfield, and the two of them looked at each other, uncertain as to the implication of the new development. The man in the peacoat leaned over towards Galyl’s ear and began to whisper. Jame preened his ears and heard nothing, but a telepathic transmission from Cloverfield relayed the message.

“I know you were sent here by Queen Valeena,” the peacoated man had said. “I am Lieutenant Grashin of the Scara Brae Knights, and the Queen wanted to make sure you’d have the support that you needed. It’s by chance that we found you, but now we’re going to need to know from you, who is Cloverfield? We know he’s in with the Scourge, and that he’s the one that killed Sir Xavier Galosi over there. Which one of the people is he, and who’s he working with. Anyone who helped you out here can go, with complements of a grateful Queen, but we’re going to need to have you identify Cloverfield first.”

Jame’s eyes opened wide. He didn’t realize that the whole time Galyl had been a spy for the Queen. He didn’t know what the Queen would have had against Cloverfield or any of his friends that the trenchcoated man claimed to represent. Jame wondered if Galyl knew the secrets of his life now, and the relationship on the balcony had been compromised even before it started. Unsure of what else he could do, the half dragon wondered if he should fight, just to get a cathartic punch in before being taken away with Cloverfield. Given the fates of the two thugs that had struggled, Jame didn't anticipate lasting long, but if he was going to die anyways, at the very least he felt he was entitled to a bit of spite.

However, Cloverfield eyed Jame as if to warn him not to interfere. The look on the man’s face was stern enough that Jame knew that Cloverfield now had a plan. Trying to suppress a smile, Jame watched in anticipation for the answer that Galyl was about to give.

(While I normally don't care about post order, it'd probably make more sense for Galyl to go first, unless you have something you really want to put in here N&D)

[Feed The Machine]

Was this really happening? Were the tides of this woeful situation changing before the Galoriand’s very eyes? Here he stood among murderers with a long list of families that they’d destroyed and bodies that they’d stacked up. Men who thrived on doing others immense harm and causing strife, pain, and destruction where ever they went. Yet with the blades of justice holding the horned elf, Jame, Twyla, and the ruffians within an unbreakable circle, Galyl was sure that he’d been officially, yet unfairly sewn into the fabric of criminality that was originally woven by these evil men. But he should have known that the Queen would not forsake him, having called him from Raiaera for assistance.

The young Bladesinger hid it, but great joy initially filled his body, knowing that Valeena deployed her soldiers to aid him. Words could not express the gratitude that he felt, seeing how neither his name, nor Raiaera would be tainted. However, there was that feeling of guilt that viciously tore into the joy that’d originally consumed him.

Jame’s face was chock-full of disgust as he set his fiery crimson eyes on Galyl. The elf attempted to avoid eye contact as he felt the shame of having deceived the group that he’d spent some time helping. But what was he to do? He wasn’t a citizen of Scara Brae, but rather a Raiaeran Bladesinger whose sole duty while occupying another country was to represent the motherland well. Just moments ago Galyl was beginning to doubt that doing such a thing would even be a realistic possibility, but of course, that was before Liutenant Grashin’s emergence.

“What should I do!?” The Galoriand looked around at the sharp and cold eyes that were now all on him. “If I give Cloverfield up, I can save myself and get out of here as a hero. Cloverfield and Jame would most likely be executed, and Scara Brae would surely establish some sort of military relationship with Raiaera. But……there is still so much more that I want to know.”

Galyl’s eyes scanned the small crowd one last time. His eyes met with Cloverfield's which had a stern and confidence look in them.

"Do what you must." Cloverfield shot the elf a telepathic message. The weight of the powerful man's brief statement sat heavily on the Galoriand's mind, but no further words followed. Still, such a statement was additional confirmation toward what Galyl already knew he had to do.

“Cloverfield is not a single person. Rather Cloverfield is a group. The group of criminals that you see before you are Cloverfield.” The elf’s finger pointed to all of the henchmen including the one that had healed himself of the fatal wound that Galyl had previously given to him. The real Cloverfield hadn’t fully descended down the stairs so the authorities did not regard him as part of the collection of wrongdoers.

“Is that so?” Grashin signaled for his men to apprehend the men that Galyl singled out. “Get these individual pieces of trash out of my site.”
Without hesitation the armored distributors of justice hastily moved in, seizing the scoundrels with great force. Naturally the vandals resisted, shouting, screaming, with some either claiming their innocence or trying to redirect their accusations on the real Cloverfield. But the Scara Brae soldiers ignored their rants and swiftly displayed their might, thus overpowered them. Clearly the villains soon realized that they stood no chance against them.

As each hooligan was rounded up, constrained with a special magically enchanted chain that prevented any kind of escape, Lieutenant Grashin approached the young Raiaeran yet again. “Galyl Galoriand, I cannot thank you enough for your cooperation. In your display of professionalism and flat our bravery, you confronted a problem in which you had little information to work with, and in turn you did what Scara Brae military as a whole was unable to do,” With a smile, the large soldier extended and open hand. “We are forever in your debt.”

A partial smile crossed Galyl’s face. As much as he wanted to wholly accept those honors, in good conscience he simply couldn’t do it. “Sir, it would be foolish of me to say that I did this alone. If it weren’t for the help of my new comrades,” The Galoriand paused, moving his hand in panoramic fashion to acknowledge Jame, Twyla, and Cloverfield. “I would not have been able to do it.”

“Well then, you three also have my deepest gratitude. Well done!”

The Lieutenant and his soldiers navigated their captives throughout the Zirnden, leaving Galyl, Jame, Twyla, and Cloverfield among the rubble. Spectators that ran close to falling from the hole in the ceiling were eventually saved by the people around them, which left the soldiers with no need to provide any further assistance.

The area was now a great deal quieter. Unfortunately, it made Galyl feel worse than when the soldiers were present. He thought to offer an apology but quickly retracted that idea, seeing how it would do little good as of now. There were still many things that he wanted to discuss with Jame and Cloverfield about the Forbidden Ones, but since he was certain that any trust that he built with them had been torched by this point, the young elf simply leaned against a nearby stone wall and lowered his head in shame.

[Nymph and Dragon]

Twyla watched the green elf’s men unwillingly exit of the room, unable to keep the annoyed frown off her face as the Knights left their real quarry standing casually on the staircase to wreak more of whatever mayhem they had wanted him for in the first place. They were after Cloverfield, too? What kind of mushrooms was this guy selling? More aggravating to the nymph’s unsatisfied curiosity was the wonder of what had the commander whispered to the elf. Whatever it was, the reactions of the men in her party told her that it had been pretty important, or at least that the telepathic Cloverfield was whispering secrets that he didn’t see fit to tell her.

Don’t get huffy, the Elemental chided. Galyl’s a spy who was sent to hunt Cloverfield, and the Knights are here to help him.

Oh, really? she said with feigned sweetness. You mean I couldn't have figured all that out from what just happened? Why don't you tell me something I don't already know?

The Elemental paused in thought. The green elf’s name was Xavier.

Xavier, huh? Twyla watched as the Knights continued to shuffle industriously out, vacating the room almost as quickly as they’d came. Cloverfield, a group? She'd been in Scara Brae for weeks and had never heard even a whisper about him. Either he wasn't as big a fish as they all believed him to be, or else he was an even better-kept secret than the Scourge's bank account number. What kind of trouble were he and Jame involved in? More importantly, why were men-- and elves-- such idiots? She had no doubt that Galyl's little fib was going to come around eventually to bite them all in the ass. Seriously, who in their right mind would name a secret organization something as dumb as Cloverfield?

The lieutenant spoke to Galyl again, hand extended warmly as he offered sincere thanks that Twyla was surprised to see the horned elf refuse. She was even more surprised when he roped the rest of them into the gratitude hot seat. She crossed her arms tightly, inclining her head in a facade of docile modesty to keep the anger in her eyes from showing. Why the hell would they want to be associated with him? He’d just lied to the Scara Brae police! Sure, they had the lieutenant’s gratitude now, but once he figured out that glorious Galyl had told him a big fat whopper of a lie . . . she was relieved when he didn’t ask for their names before he followed after his so-called “Cloverfield” prisoners.

There was a moment of silence following the last of the guards' exit during which Twyla’s eyes flickered from one man to another, trying to decide who she wanted to yell at first. The whole fiasco was getting weirder and weirder with each passing moment, and tagging along blindly while green elves got killed and telepaths eluded authorities was starting to rag on the nymph's patience.

Galyl was against the wall, already looking like a kicked puppy, so she settled for the dark-coated telepath, hands on her hips as she glared up at him. "Would somebody please tell me what the hell is really going on?”

[Call me J]

Jame didn’t know what to say. It seemed the adventure had ended even before it had got started. The half dragon didn’t do anything as much as things had been done around him. Scowling, he shook his head, took a deep exhale, and wondered what intentions Cloverfield, green skinned elves and the Forgotten Ones would have for his future. He didn’t much care for playing a pawn in someone else’s chess game, and wanted it to end.

Cloverfield looked pleased. He winked at Jame and ignored the nymph’s glare as he made his way over to Galyl. He waited before explaining anything, seeming to marinate in the feelings of the rest of the room. “Well then, I’m sure you all have questions,” he finally said, like a master of ceremonies announcing the night’s opening act. “And the thing is, you’re going to have questions after I leave. Life sometimes, it’s funny like that.”

Knowing no one else would find it funny, Cloverfield laughed at his own joke. “Anyways…” he began. “The green elf, his plan was to kill me, but not until he figured out who had sent me. The thing is, as Galyl has probably figured by now, that bastard’s got a few connections. Some of them are high enough that you could get locked up just for talking to me.” He paused for a moment to let his words sink in. “I suppose you would have wanted to know that before associating with me…”

Jame frowned. Cloverfield seemed to be toying with them for his amusement more than he seemed to be giving him anything useful. The half dragon already knew everything that Cloverfield had said, and he was sure that the mind read on the balcony had told the others those details. “So where does this leave us?” Jame said. Though the rest of the people might have thought he meant all of them, for Jame, all that really mattered was getting Cloverfield to answer more questions. Jame wanted to know what amongst the stuff he’d heard was really true, and what had been said in expediency. There were questions that he needed answers.

“All of you are free to go…” Cloverfield said, speaking as if it was clear that he understood Jame’s subtext, and the words applied to him as well. “My need for you is done, I just needed you people to keep those goons occupied while I took down the green elf. The power of the rest of them was based on his, once I had him out of the picture, you would have been able to handle the rest until the police walked in. In a way, you helped me, but in a much more important way, I managed to get lucky that he didn’t exactly lock my chains up all the way when he was finished torturing me.”

Cloverfield laughed again, and Jame had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from saying something spiteful about the mysterious man’s annoying habit of poor dark humor. Instead, he watched as Cloverfield put a hand on Galyl’s shoulder. “You did alright there,” Cloverfield said. “You showed where you stand, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Thanks to you, I don’t have to spend tonight locked up in one of the Knight’s jails before someone came to spring me out. You did good, and if I were you, I’d go to the Queen and collect my reward before she realizes that she didn’t get me.”

“And that’s all the information there is for now,” Cloverfield concluded. “If you want to know more, you’ll have to end up in another life threatening situation with me!”

[Feed The Machine]

Despite receiving the approval of Cloverfield, the elven Bladesinger still felt guilty about what he’d done. Deception was a weapon that he hated seeing on display since he hailed from the school of thought that held honesty and righteousness up as banners for onlookers to see. His values and morals were centered on being a positive example to others, and deceitfulness had no home in such an aspiration.

Though he felt tainted, scarred, and blemished, he exposed a grateful smile toward Cloverfield, Jame, and Twyla. For the brief time that they were together, they clawed through perilous trials hanging onto their will to live and conquer adverse circumstances. Hopefully by not offering Cloverfield to the City Guard, his loyalty would be firmly established in Jame and Twyla’s mind. Galyl then nodded farewell, before leaving the presence of the three. There weren’t any need for words, since all that needed to be said, was already spoken.

The Zirnden had calmed down in some respects from its latest escapades. While the number of attendees had decreased, handymen had stepped on the scene to repair the hole in the floor of the caged arena, for the owners of the facility couldn’t afford to have the battle ring out of commission with all of the money that its hosted brawls raked in. Some of the lingerers cheered as Galyl walked by them, but the young soldier didn’t respond. As far as he was concerned, he should’ve been reprimanded for his behavior and his failure to represent the Bladesingers appropriately.

Leaving the battle building, the Galoriand was greeted with the bluish orange sky of a late afternoon. Fatigue was certainly setting in with the diminishing of all of his adrenaline. “There is no way I’m making it back to Raiaera tonight. It’s best if I find an inn and head out tomorrow.” However, before he could embark on finding a suitable lodge, a soldier that’d been standing outside of the Zirnden grabbed him by the wrist.

“You’re Galyl Galoriand, right? The Queen told me to bring you back to the palace.”

Immediately, the horned elf grew nervous. “They found out already!? No, it can’t be….” The Red Forest native remained calm and followed the soldier, wishing not to bring any further calamity on this day than he’d already managed to do.

When they arrived at the Queen’s abode, the soldier led him to Valeena’s quarters. “Her Majesty awaits.”

Opening the door to the room that he’d once spoke to the Queen in, he found her waiting patiently as she’d done upon the elven soldier’s first arrival from Raiaera. Having been sitting at the foot of her bed, she rose up gracefully in her scarlet dress and walked toward the elf.

“A true gentleman surely keeps his word. I don’t know how to thank you for all that you’ve done Galyl,” She smiled, displaying the kind nature that the people of Scara Brae knew her for. However, the Galoriand did not return the favor with the same gesture. Instead, his face remained saddened, burdened by his dishonest actions. “Does something trouble you?”

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to perpetuate a lie, but at the same time he didn’t want to betray Cloverfield. But after a few moments of agonizing back and forth clashes internally, he opened his mouth. “I…..I…lied to you men,” The Queen’s eyebrows raised. “Cloverfield is not a group, but is indeed a man. A man whom I met.”

Galyl expected Valeena to be astonished, shocked, or even hurt. But instead she chuckled. “I already knew that. What I didn’t tell you the last time that you were here was that a green skinned elf had been contacting me, threatening me saying that if I didn’t issue a command to apprehend or slay Cloverfield, then he would bring harm to my people. I knew that he was a foreigner and had ulterior motives, but I couldn’t sacrifice my people in order to bolster stubbornness. Therefore, I called you and gave you misleading information in hopes that you’d figure out the truth behind all of this. So I guess I lied to you as well, but it seems that you did just what I thought you’d do!”

The Bladesinger was floored. He would’ve never thought that the Queen was enduring such pressure from the man that’d pursued Cloverfield. Such a revelation only solidified Cloverfield’s statements about the Forgotten Ones and their minions wishing to further their plan of world domination. Otherwise, a foreign elf would’ve never sought to seize control of Scrae Brae through the Queen.

There were no words to express his gratitude and relief. Instead, Galyl bowed graciously. Afterwards, the Queen approached her cupboard and withdrew a ruby and gold colored steel badge that was in the shape of a round shield. “This is the Red Halo metal of honor. As a soldier from another land, you served Scara Brae valiantly and I would like you to have this.”

The Galoriand humbly accepted the gift, although he felt extremely unworthy. He’d read tales of the heroic Scara Braean knight and dreamed of one day becoming an example like that for his people back in Raiaera.

“Thank you Queen Valeena,” The elf said, sticking the badge on the front part of his cloak. “As long as I have breath in me, I will always be an ally of Scara Brae.”

The Queen nodded her head. “Then I look forward to seeing you progress as a hero in this world.”

With that, Galyl left Her Majesty’s presence and then her palace. Tomorrow would be the day that he would return home, but for now, the comforts of a warm room and bed were calling him.

(Galyl's story continues in Words of the Auld Hoose (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=12388))

[Nymph and Dragon]

Twyla's mouth fell open and she stared with undisguised shock at the dark-coated man. That was it? He had only wanted them involved to use as a distraction and now that the elf was dead he was just going to dismiss them like unhelpful servants? Who did he think he was? It was downright cruel to tantalize someone with the prospect of involvement in a matter of nationwide turmoil only to reveal with a grin and a wave that she wasn't actually involved at all and was only necessary as an expendable, replaceable, completely anonymous distraction. What did she look like, a prostitute?

A soft peal of laughter echoed in the nymph's mind from the Elemental. Didn't see that one coming.

Are you kidding? You're telepathic. Don't tell me you didn't know he was going to do that!

So's he. We have our little tricks, he said loftily. I don't tell you everything that's going on in my head and he blocked me from seeing what was going on in his.

I wouldn't want to know, she retorted, still too shocked to speak as Cloverfield stepped past her and addressed the pale fighter. The horned elf was gone with a nod and Cloverfield's very posture made it clear that she was supposed to follow suit. After all the threats and taunts and promises of intrigue . . .

Twyla sniffed haughtily and lifted her chin as nonchalantly as the anger in her chest would allow.

"Glad I could be of service," she said icily. I hope that Patriarch catches you both and flays your sorry asses.

Twyla strode quickly up the stairs and pushed her way through the crowds that still lingered on the ruined ground floor, ignoring the silent snickering of the Elemental beside her. She stormed out of the building and down the street, but her energy waned before long and she sat down on a crate outside the brothel with a sullen huff, her eyes shooting daggers at anyone who so much as glanced her way. Rejected. Denied. Tossed out like molding caviar and forgotten like the crippled youngest child of twelve in a starving peasant family. As much as she'd grumbled about the odd company, being a part of a team with a goal and a noble aspiration had been . . . pleasant. Instructional, if nothing else. Did people really spend their whole lives fighting and conniving and striving for the achievement of some greater goal, devoting their existences to some altruistic cause that she hadn't yet been informed of?

Probably not. It seemed so tiresome. Jame probably had some hidden vendetta against the Patriarch that drove him to participate, Cloverfield was obviously evil at the core and had the self-centered scruples of a professional swindler, and Galyl . . . well, there was obviously something very wrong with that strange little elf. Why would anyone get so upset about lying to save his own life? Twyla comforted herself with the thought that even though she may have been the only one who didn't have a good excuse for getting involved in the Zirnden fiasco, she was, at least, also the only one who was normal.

The nymph's gaze roamed the still-bustling street in front of her, watching the moronic humans as they ran about with excited grins to see the demolished floor of the fight club, stupidly repeating exaggerated stories about the events that had caused it. Galyl hadn't drunk the blood of his freshly-slain victims, for one thing, and she certainly had not spent her time in the cage weeping like a lost child. There wasn't a point in trying to set them straight; they would just lie to make the story more interesting when they told it again later. She set her chin dejectedly onto the palm of her hand and sighed heavily. What was she supposed to do now?

The dragon's tail flickered and a flash of amusement floated across their bond. The Scara Scourge is still in business.

Twyla glared at him out of the corner of her eye. Don't patronize me.

The Elemental didn't reply. A spark of resurrected interest had already flared in the nymph, and her mind was racing back towards the trails of rumors and clues that she'd been following before ever having entered the Zirnden. With one of the most popular fighting rings out of commission-- at least until they replaced the floor-- the unruly members of the Scourge were going to have to find some other way of entertaining themselves, and everybody knew that the only thing men loved as much as a good bloody fight was a bloody good drink.

Come on, viper, Twyla said, pushing herself quickly off the crate and dusting off her dress before setting off down the street at an energetic march. Let's go find us some drunk Scourge.


((Never a spoil.))

[Caden Law]

Quest Judging
The Girls of Combat

Frankly speaking, don't expect a very positive judgement on this one. It wasn't exactly easy to get through; it lacked cohesion, J's writing style is bloody difficult to follow, Duke was even worse with a side of I Dropped Like A Fly. Feed would've been better if he actually gave himself more of an introduction and a summary of past events. Twyla was like a glass of water in a desert, if only for sheer snark value. She's around half the reason this thread will score above the low 50's.

Don't get me wrong though. There was potential for you to do more, and to do it better, but you needed to actually get together and plan things out better.

STORY

Continuity: A solid 4. Little to no effort in actually establishing the backstories most of you were drawing on.
Setting: 7. Thank the whorehouse and the Zirnden, because the actual city was relatively lackluster.
Pacing: 5. Twyla saved this, if only barely, and mostly because she made everyone else's jumps and sequences and transitions make sense. Ish.

CHARACTER

Dialogue: 7. Twyla saves the day again. Galyl and Jame used too much Perfect Understanding -- like when Galyl was pardoned by Valeena for screwing up, or when Cloverfield was able to perfectly explain everything on the fly.
Action: 5. Most of the actions were overly elaborate for overly simple things, and Twyla was guilty of this one too. The fact that most of the real action sequences kept getting cut short until the last stretch in the Zirnden didn't help much.
Persona: 6. Jame's persona was all over the place with too much explanation of what he felt and not why he felt it. I can understand numbness, but he was borderline tripolar from James Bond to Shinji Ikari to Rincewind the Wizzard. Duke was split too much. Galyl was rough around the edges but I can pass the blame for that to the Machine instead of inconsistent writing. It would've helped if more effort was given to establish the Machine as something other than a creepy mechatree!Bubba in the back of Galyl's brain going You're my snugglebunny now..., but Eh. Twyla was consistent throughout, give or take a fluke here and there.

WRITING STYLE

Technique: 5. Lukewarm for the most part. Nothing stood out enough to bump it up, nothing stood out enough to bash it down.
Mechanics: Comma abuse notwithstanding: 8. Galyl could also stand to lay off the multiple exclamation points.
Clarity: 5. Jame and Duke were bad, Galyl was decent, Twyla was good. It balanced just well enough to keep this at a 5.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card: Wild card's a 7 for snark.

TOTAL: 59/100

Again: This had potential. It could've been done better. From a purely Outside Perspective, it looks like you guys were just freestyling this with no real cooperation beyond acknowledging that X was X and Y was Y, except when it wasn't. Early on it dragged, towards the middle it was confusing, and towards the end it was too much spotlight thievery.

EXP Rewards
Note: Seeing as how this thread waited nine months to get judged, I'm handing out EXP on the assumption that all characters involved are at their current level (J (7)) or two higher (Duke (0 = 2), Twyla (1 = 3), Galyl(1 = 3)).

Call Me J: 1950
Peacemaker: 685
Feed the Machine: 1205
Nymph and Dragon: 1300

GP Rewards

Call me J: 325 GP
Peacemaker: 60 GP
Feed the Machine: 354 GP
Nymph and Dragon: 325 GP

Other Rewards

None, apparently.


Intro could've been worded much better. Ie The Zirnden was practically empty, save for...[nervous city schmuck + stanktastic Scourge mook]. Loses points for having no adequate description of Jame either, nevermind that the Scourge are supposed to be a secret group trying to stay low on the radar. Likewise with how haphazard the setup of everything was. The amount of focus put on them, followed by the disdainful equivalent of shyeh, whatever, could've been done better too. That a Watchman is there to arrest someone in a presumably legal environment likely to be full of people who can kill him individually doesn't make much sense either.

Comma abuse. Spelling change/error (Bleachers/Bleechers). Could've capitalized the Trench Coat, but no biggy there. And who the heck's the green elf? Paragraph errors for Duke. Negated because Duke had a black guy in the group. No, seriously. Considering the pasty complexion of Althanas as a whole, Diversity Is Goodly. The song is...quaint. I'm sure none of those drugs would exist on a world like Althanas, but what the hell. We've got Earthers and people from outer space. Pharmaceutical knowledge probably catches on quicker than most things.

...mmkay. I can buy Cloverfield knowing Jame as a Hierarch. I guess. Not sure if I'm liking Valeena's portrayal in this; reminds me too much of all those Elves who are Perfectly Understanding And Will Always Say As Much. Which tends to provoke thoughts of genocide. *Scribbles note to burn a Raiaeran orphanage.*

Compared to everything else so far, Twyla's intro was almost like a breath of fresh air...until she used an entire sentence to describe the act of smiling beneath a veil. Without actually saying she was smiling. Or smirking. Gnahagh. And for such a big reveal, the Dragon Elf thing could've been handled better. Hurray actual fighting. All the intrigue was getting stale. Twyla's already won thread MVP.

...and the prospect of delicious violence ends just like that. I hate perfect understanding. I hate it so much ;-; Twyla's about the only redeeming response to the whole thing, with the added What The Heck? of another Cloverfield somewhere. Yay, also. Actual violence? Which will probably be short-lived.

...what? No, seriously. What?

Twyla is, again, a relative breath of fresh air. Sure takes the drama out of it, but humor and absurdity are easier to follow in this case anyway. The Twyla-Galyl-Zirnden debacle was easily the best part of the thread so far.

[Commentary ends here. Had to finish the rest without access to the file.]

[Witchblade]

EXP and GP added!