Peat's Dragoon

Mede crashed through the brush carelessly, the hunter close on his heels. Branches clawed at his arms as he covered his face and barreled along. Snapped twigs and heavy breath forsake a sense of stealth, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care. All he could do was run, and not even in his normal manner. The hunter had one of those things, those ‘locks’. It emanated a field that anchored you where you were, preventing you from breaching reality to slip between spaces. It felt like a thick, wet blanket wrapped around your soul, and Mede refused to let it slow him down.

He hoped he could outrun the hunter, potentially getting out of the lock’s range. To that end he had to keep moving. No time to stop for a breath, and honestly, minimal need to do so as long as he was could reach his powers within. A scoff pressed between his panting as his anger flared. He wished he could stay and fight, but flight was always the first option, and to do otherwise was only sensible when there was no other choice. He yearned to hold his ground and carve the man up. He knew better, though – wherever you found one of the Academy’s agents, more tended to follow. Their offer was great at first, but restrictive. Mede knew his soul was meant for glory, so he had left to wield his newly sparked power and rule as he had only dreamed. It was easy enough, and in retrospect, blatantly visible to those who cared to look. They really were everywhere. That was made clear when he saw those sharp robes among his newly assembled court, something he tried to ignore even with their two-fingered point. When they asked where he was really from, he fled through reality itself without hesitation. Somehow they didn’t catch him. Mede was still unsure as to why. He made sure to be less overt in his next attempt, to no avail. Another glimpse of the gold trim had sent him reeling through the nothingness, one more lifetime wasted.

This time he thought he had it. Complete discretion, magical suppression, he even changed the way he looked in the mirror. A secretive position, an advisor, plans set years in advance and enacted behind the scenes; even a faked death and self-replacement! Useless. He had felt the lock before he saw the hunter, and in the middle of a market, he had fled. Yet another venture for naught.

Now he could only run. Fighting was barely an option – he still remembered the terrifying ease with which the greater individuals of the enclave wielded their gifts. More than likely he was being pursued by one much like them, and if not, there was a good chance one would soon follow. The Academy was not fond of losing members, and had a rather final and severe way of dealing with those who refused an offer to return.

Thusly he found himself surrounded by the stench of encroaching marsh and the crash of broken branches. He could barely discern the path ahead of him, making out what seemed to be a clearing further on. Hope for a straightaway urged him forward at a faster pace. He chanced a glance behind him. He was unable to spot his pursuer, but felt his lock all the same. He looked ahead right as he anticipated the clearing, before he filled with panic as the ground disappeared beneath his feet and he ran straight off the cliff.

He took hurried stock of his inevitable target, a thick bog that thankfully had minimal tree coverage near the cliff. Distance, even if downward, could only help him escape, and while he knew it would hurt, the effort to heal his wounds would not deplete him enough to compromise his efforts. The air grew thicker and began to reek of rot. Braced for the worst, he crashed into the muck and felt his bones break as they buried in the mat of vegetation. He screamed, pulled from within, and pressed his essence without, then pulled free whole limbs still aglow with his restorative efforts. Renewed structure, unfortunately, did nothing for his pain, and gave him the unique experience of phantom wounds overlaid on fresh flesh. He trudged along, quickly growing enraged with his reduced pace.

He felt the bindings about his soul stop, no longer in motion with respect to him. Mede paused, turning back to see his pursuer perched on the edge of the cliff. With his hands behind his back and a wide hat keeping his hair from his face, the hunter looked around casually. Eventually he locked his gaze on his prey. Mede thought he spied a smile, but couldn’t be sure at that distance. He turned and scrambled away on all fours, finding he greatly regretted his choice of paths. His spirit tugged as the hunter dropped from the cliff far more elegantly than his quarry. A single muted splash was the only noise he heard, and on turning back, he saw those black robes calmly striding across the submerged muck as though they weighed nothing at all.

Running was no longer an option.

Mede’s tattered clothing flapped as he raised his hands and energies, drawing up a well of light to lense it at his foe. The beam warped around the hunter, pierced the stone wall behind him and slowed his progress not at all. Mede tried to spot the source of the distortion; he noted a filigree sphere on the hunter’s hip that flared wispily within. He cursed to himself and adjusted his lens, then arced his power from palm to palm before he pressed it through the steel ball. Twisting metal smoked and wept the viscous vapors from within, while the hunter seemed apathetic to the attempt as he plucked it from his waist and tossed it aside.

Mede let out another beam which found its mark but met with a vigorous azure glow, shielding the hunter as the overflow cut more holes from the cliff. He saw the surge start at the same hip, then emanate from a buckle which had served to mount the orb. Its chevrons pulsed almost imperceptibly before they released the lustre which deflected his light. He cursed again.

His hands had readied another arc when he saw shadows slide over the water. Unable to respond in time, he recoiled from the darkness that leapt onto his skin. Void threatened to envelop him, its touch empty and cold. He flared his light to drive it back with minimal success. The effect receded, but he felt a profound sense of weakness, and upon a moment’s reflection realized the hunter had consumed his very spirit. He scowled and reassured himself that for all his crimes, at least he didn’t eat people. He sparked his hands again, and hoped to weave a defensive circle about his feet when the hunter spoke.

“I’m sure you know I am obligated to offer parley.”

“I’m sure you know that’s pretty hollow.”

“If you come with me, I won’t kill you.”

“If I kill you, I don’t have to come with you.”

Mede staggered his shocks, and one struck the shield moments before the second arrived at his pursuer. Electric fire burned a hole into the robe which revealed a rimy scab that rushed to enclose the wound within before evaporating away. The hunter looked more inconvenienced than concerned. Mede buried a hand in the peat, then drew up a massive, if basic, elemental. The creature stood over its master, loomed high and creaked menacingly in the encroaching darkness. A spiky fist reared back, while in response his pursuer raised his own hand to splay his fingers before the beast could strike. Its limbs jerked out, pulled taught at their seams to dismember the creature. The hunter seemed to breathe a bit less easily now, yet still he maintained his calm.

“Is that your final response?”

“No. Is this any better?”

Tendrils of braided root erupted from the water at the hunter’s feet. Some attempted to pierce him while others swiped for purchase. They bound him like a straightjacket, the natural coils held fast around his arrogance. Mede didn’t see him flinch, but was sure he had. He brought his fingers close in the peat to draw the vines together. A loud pop seared a hole in the hunter’s robe, and the sudden lack of lock told him he had found and destroyed the device itself. Mede grinned madly as he weighed his options. Why run if you can guarantee there won’t be pursuit?

His mirth cut short as the Hunter disappeared with a glacial crash. The tendrils fell limp as he retracted his powers in a panic before another crack called his attention. He spun as he felt another oppressive enclosure restrain his soul, the Hunter mere feet from him.

“Always carry a spare.”

He dropped the gridded sphere he held outstretched, then grabbed Mede by the throat with an inhuman grip. Frigid fingertips slipped into his skin while a chilled pulse pulled his power from his body. He tried to fight, but his intent found no purchase against the consumptive cold, and his body fell limp as his world turned to black.

Pelvic Sorcery

Thom leapt bodily into the room, Majel crashing behind him in her full plate. She turned and slammed the massive wooden doors shut, just in time to catch an undead limb grasping through the gap and sever it. More corpses thumped against the door and started clawing frantically, the unarmed limb merely twitching weakly. As she dropped the heavy bar and stepped back, the door shook but held. She complained to him as she took stock of the room.

“I hope this prize of yours is worth it.”

He straightened his robe and dusted himself off before replying.

“So do I. It may even help us escape.”

“I highly doubt you will be proficient in something you only just found.”

“Magic is magic! Once I grasp it, I can at least use it to minimum effect. Besides, why would he be buried with his spellbook if not to keep something secret?”

She shrugged. They continued down the long room, murals depicting a brilliant light from the heavens shining upon an individual, legions mirrored behind him. Thom traced the designs and tried to reconstruct their narrative, finding them to be variations of the same idea on every panel.

“They’re the same, but different. Different poses. Showing the measure of control, maybe?”

Majel stared at him blankly.

“Looks like dancing.”

“Might be. Some cultures use rhythm to control the dead, crafting a sort of metronome that replaces their own.”

“To keep the beat, you mean?”

They reached the door at the far end, the only one not to show the mage and his entourage. Instead, it held a descending pattern, the symbols matching those on tiles set into the threshold with a periodically broken line beside them. Thom looked over the wall, then looked over the layout beneath his feet.

“It’s a dance lock.”

“I feel like I should be surprised, but I’m not.”

“Step back. I’m gonna try to open it.”

Majel raised an eyebrow, but did as requested. Taking a few breaths, Thom reached far to one side and prepared to move, stopping abruptly and looking at his companion.

“Can you vocalize, or something? I’d do better with some kind of music.”

“Vocalize.”

“You know! Uhn-Tss Uhn-Tss or Boom-Chicka Boom-Chicka or-”

She raised a gauntlet to silence him.

“I get the idea. Can’t you just…I don’t know, imagine one? You pay me to stabby stabby, not singy singy.”

“I don’t need you to sing, just pretend to be an instrument.”

Majel thought for a moment.

“I suppose there was one tune…”

“Alright. Let it go and we’ll get this door open.”

She took a deep breath.

“DOOP. DOOT DOO-DOOT, DOOT DOO-DOOT-”

“Keep it up!”

Slowly he bobbed himself to the beat of his comrade, taking the first step and hearing a near-silent ‘click’. Confidence brought him to the second switch, then the third, her music intensifying as she watched him nimbly flow over the floor. Practically, screaming, she hit the high just as he popped the last seal, the door rumbling to her vibrato and falling through the floor. Thom panted appreciation at her through labored breaths.

“That…Was impressive…”

“Yeah, I used to be in a choir. Everyone was in my village. It was that or farm with the folks.”

She trudged into the antechamber, finding it surprisingly spartan and small, excepting the gem-encrusted sarcophagus in the center of the room. Thom took another deep breath to calm his pulse and chuckled.

“I wonder where he is.”

Majel rolled her eyes and walked over to the coffin, shoving the lid off unceremoniously. A minimal cloud of dust faded quickly, the corpse inside clutching a deteriorated book. Thom squealed and reached for it, tugging gently and eventually prying it free. He began thumbing through it on the spot, while Majel looked at the thing’s groin and raised an eyebrow.

“So…there’s that.”

Thom ignored her at first, mentally devouring what knowledge he could.

“Thom.”

“Yeah, it’s great, but these all read like instructions. It’s all referencing something else, something that’s not in here.”

“Is it a garment?”

He stopped.

“Possibly? How would you-”

His gaze turned from her to the place she was pointing, silencing him. Wrapped tightly about the body’s bits was a thong gaudier than a reformed priest, crusted in jewels with a transparent crystalline tube along its centerline, an etched metallic ball trapped within. The piece had a magnetism to it, pulling the eyes and making the prospect of looking away agonizingly difficult.

“-Oh.”

He thumbed a few more pages, looked back to it, and then back to the book. A smile spread on his face as he began to disrobe.

“No. No, Thom, stop.”

“This is what we came for,” he said, tossing his pants aside, “…and I get the gist of its use.”

Majel buried her face in her hands, partially out of irritation and mostly to block the sight of his and the mummy’s plumbing. When the shuffling died down, she dared a peek, horrified and hypnotized in equal measure.

“So? Does it astound?”

“…Damn.”

“Is that a good damn?”

“You’re wearing underwear fresh off an ancient corpse. You tell me.”

“Itchiness aside, is it a good visual? It’s REALLY comfortable, and it lifts and supports like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I really didn’t need to hear ANY of that.”

Thom shook his head, walking to the middle of the hallway and staring at the barred door.

“Open it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Either I’m right and we escape or I’m wrong and we die anyway.”

“Why not test it on that?”

She pointed at the slowly writing forearm.

“Not a terrible idea. Let’s see…”

Thom smoldered at the limb, bobbing his head a few times before pelvic thrusting at it. A high, clear chime sounded at the apex of his push, the arm twitching in reply. Another, then another, until it balanced on its broken bones and splayed its fingers. The companions exchanged a look. He gave it another thrust, emphasized with a grunt, the sound changing to a deep bass while the hand snapped in time to his gyrations. Without a word, Thom looked to Majel and smirked, nodding at the door.

The Mending

[Taken from the Journal of Razel Korr, Planeswalker]

I felt something earlier. Iman felt it as well.

We are searching for a ring, an artifact used in a shadow cult. It’s ideally another jaunt, except our complication seems to be literally eternity spanning.

Something great and terrible has happened, and I’m fairly sure it’s got everything to do with the rifts, considering as far as I can tell, they’re gone. It came over us in a wave, its direction outside of those we were inhabiting. I have a feeling it came from Dominaria. These things usually do.

Yet we’re away, far and away. Far reaches of the Eraud Labyrinth, well buffered from the brunt of whatever it was by infinite infinities and paradoxical hazards, yet still I find a profound terror in my newly changed form.

If I recall the mutterings about the Academy, the Rifts were due to the activity of our fellow Planeswalkers, so it makes sense that whatever happened to them would affect us. Still, to happen so suddenly, so surely, and so widely is unheard of.

Close as I can tell, we have been pulled away from the material while simultaneously becoming embedded within it. No longer does it immediately bend to our whim – a feature that I realize now had been a gift of my nature. Our bodies are once more solid, mechanical representations, now more of a binding for our essence than a representation therein. To those who never got the hang of that manner of manipulation, it must be unsettling. To me, it means little. We still retain our knowledge, our connections, our potential for power, even if our awareness is reduced to that of our shell. Again, it means next to nothing to me as I freely admit to a lack of attention span.

I think we’re mortal again, as well. I’m not sure how to check that safely, but there are plenty of ways to extend myself so that is another non-concern.

Night is not responding. She had advised me that this may be a possibility, so I should be patient. Although now that I consider it, the timing is rather conspicuous.

I find terror in this situation because I do not know how the Academy is going to respond. If it wasn’t due to their actions, there is little doubt this shook their ant farm something fierce. I would pay to see the meetings this forces them to hold. I simply hope that whatever they decide, it is the option furthest from isolation. They may rethink their liability policy now, or they’ll feel vindicated and reinforce it. It remains to be seen.

As it stands, my priorities have shifted not at all. I have already located means to prolong youth, and as I aim to avoid death anyway that should functionally be no different. Besides, this might be a good chance to actually grow a little.

I am sure that Night will have answers for me when she reappears, but until then. I must keep on my course.

Justice

Ophelia gasped above the thrum of machines as she stepped into the minimalist chamber. Twin magical apparatus emitted a pillar of light, restraining the captive in a short hover in the center of the room. Naked excepting a set of engraved restraints at his wrists and ankles, Razel blushed slightly and spoke to his visitor.

“Oh. Glad to see you stopped by.”

Ophelia grimaced as she inspected the room, noting a honeycombed lattice reinforcing the walls. A field projected from the building itself, its materials enchanted specifically to prevent any sort of non-mundane travel. It left an aetherial pressure weighing down on the two planeswalkers, forcing the free individual to walk in the proper sense. Her odd raiment implicated her method of infiltration, bunching about her legs as she circled him.

“Roz…what happened?”

He shrugged as much as his bindings would allow.

“Not entirely sure. One moment I’m on top of the situation, nearly enjoying myself, the next someone trips a lock and binds me.”

“That quickly?”

“These folks have had experience with us, I think. If not, they’ve had a string of very specific problems.”

Ophelia sighed, shaking her head.

“Why did you involve yourself with the Telese?”

“Combination of boredom and circumstance. They keep a vault full of some nifty things, and I heard rumor of one in specific. Sounded like a possible example of Night’s worship outside her home.”

“Why not ask her about it?”

Razel frowned.

“My instinct is to hint cryptically, but you’ve earned my honesty time and again. She…one of the things I do for her is to search out these focal points and try to bridge a connection between her and the representation therein. She is a consciousness of a constant, and by bridging with like entities she becomes a unified whole.”

Ophelia blinked a few times.

“…I never realized you actually…helped her.”

“Downside to being bound to your constituent is that Void has a hell of a time working in the physical realms.”
"Did you retrieve it?"
"Gave it to Wodehaus and sent him home."
"Why didn't you follow?"
"There was more to be retrieved."

“You know I can’t break you out of here, right?”

He nodded.

“No, I’m well aware. You try, fail, they catch both of us.”

“Have they told you what they plan to do?”

“I overheard something about a Tribunal. I suppose I’ll get more information there.”

She caught the gleam in his eye, deciding to press the issue.

“What are you planning?”

He smiled darkly.

“Novus.”

Ophelia took an impulsive step back, regaining her composure with a deep breath.

“That kills you. Weakens you. Leaves you vulnerable and at risk.”

“I get better, after a while. A long while, but still.”

“You don’t know as it won’t kill you for good.”

“I’m pretty confident.”

“Why haven’t you done it yet if you’re going to?”

“I want to know what they know in case I need to return after the fact.”

Putting the pieces together, she continued.

“So you’re going to kill them all?”

He nodded.

“That’s the idea.”

Irritation flushed her face. She raised her hand to slap him, stopping herself when she remembered the forcefield. Lowering her arm, she condemned his plans.

“I thought you were better than that.”

Confusion washed over his face.

“…they kidnapped and imprisoned me.”

“Did they abuse you?”

“I…well, I mean, not outside of reason…they didn’t go out of their way to be cruel, but…”

“But what? They hit you a few times while trying to restrain you?”

“…yeah…”
"Were you using lethal force?"
"I only directly killed a few people...mostly I think the hole did more damage...It brought the roof down, at least."
“So you’re going to incinerate a council that probably had never set foot in that fight?”

He tried to shuffle in place.

“If they’re part of the council, they are complicit in the actions of those they command.”

“How do you know their intent is malign? How do you know it was ordered? I am assuming you broke into wherever it was they caught you.”

“…maybe…”

“Damn it Razel, do you only keep in touch to use me as a conscience?”

“While that is a definite benefit, no.”

She shook her head.

“Well, unfortunately you’re right about it being your only way out. I’ll stop lecturing you about the when. How, though? What’re those binders doing if not suppressing your mana?”

He grinned wide.

“There’s the question. See, these only redirect your Mana, not prevent it from being drawn. Close as I can tell, they siphon a part of it to power themselves and redirect the rest back to your pool, ideally to a burning discomfort.”

Ophelia nodded as she caught on.

“Which is exactly what you want. To fill it past capacity.”

“Right.”

She sighed again, looking him over a final time.

“Well, I wanted to see what was going on, and at least I know you have a way out, even if I don’t approve of it.”

She walked back to the doorway, stopping when he spoke.

“See you on the other side?”

She looked sadly over her shoulder to him.

“As always.”

<=>

“ORDER, COME TO ORDER.”

Her voice booming over the collected company, the Arbiter gestured to the guards at the far side of the hall, beside the enormous doors.

“Bring out the captive.”

They opened the doors with a great creak. Four heavily-armed individuals flanked the cylinder of light projected between the caps of his cell. Set upon a simple gurney, they rolled it over the bridge to the center platform, a circular gathering of the justices looking down to their prize. Slight murmurs bounced through the hall, silenced by a bang of the gavel. The Arbiter spoke once more as her amplified words reached into the furthest parts of the room.

“Anomaly 24, you are brought before this council to answer for your crimes and to face justice.”

Razel chuckled.

“Not the first or last time I’ve had those designators.”

The Justicar narrowed her eyes as Razel’s own response was amplified through the same systems.

“You are charged with the following: Sixty-Four counts murder, Three-Hundred and Twenty-Seven counts slaughter, property damage in excess of Sixty Thousand marks, Breaking and Entering, Conspiracy, Grand Theft, and Five noise complaints.”

Razel cocked his head.

“Complaints? They don’t like when the beat drops mid-fight?”

A hardened glare stayed trained on him as the Justicar continued.

“Near Four-Hundred individuals have died due to your direct actions.”

“They came at me first.”

“Yet you respond like a child. FOUR HUNDRED DEAD.”

“Is this supposed to phase me?”

Losing her temper, the Justicar screamed above the amplifiers.

“FOUR. HUNDRED. DEAD. DECADES OF RECONSTRUCTION. PRICELESS ARTIFACTS LOST. WHY?”

Razel arched an eyebrow, looking about the gathered individuals to try and get a read on them as he responded.

“Curiosity, mostly. Boredom. I didn’t intend to trawl a bodycount, but once they attacked me I defended myself. Apparently too well.”

The Arbiter fumed in her robes.

“They defended a priceless artifact. You responded with unequal force.”

“Hardy my fault your security is ineffective.”

Unexpectedly, the Arbiter smiled. Razel frowned heavily at that while the woman went on.

“Ineffective enough to capture and keep you?”

She cocked her head.

“How are you liking your magebinders?”

The justices chuckled amongst themselves while Razel frowned through the mockery.

“They’re a bit tight, but well made. Who’s the engraver?”

“Hiding behind wit will not help you here, criminal. Before we receive your plea, I am bound to inquire – where is the Umbral Mantle?”

“Is that the fancy robe? Where’s my robe? I’ll trade for it.”

“It is a piece of our cultural heritage and it belongs in a museum.”

“Is that why it was in a Lab?”

This time the Arbiter shuffled in her seat.

“Immaterial. The artifact by right belongs to us and our usage therein is one of your concern. Now, before you change the subject and with the charges as read, how do you plead?”

“Do you have any recordings with which to prove my association to these events?”

“How do you plead?”

“So no?”

A charge of power was sent through his bindings, the runes flaring as pain consumed his limbs. A shriek and heavy breathing told them it had the intended effect as the light began to slowly fade.

“How do you plead?”

Razel looked up to them darkly.

“Guilty.”

Time Travel Redux

It’ll work this time.

Khafra smiled to herself, placing her hand over the amulet on her necklace. Protection through hardship was her patron’s purvey, and she needed it more than ever.

“All systems green. Reverse-Probe ready and awaiting completion of the circuit.”

Her Commander looked to her through the reinforced glass, nodding in approval with a wide smile. Gods only know what he had to do to get the outer systems to agree to the project, but whatever it was, she was infinitely glad for it.
She nodded back, the boxy helmet transparent but lit with varying projected displays, making sure she was aware not only of the state of her surroundings, but of her self as well. The chamber, bare as it was, had passed the inspections with flying colors, finding no faults in any of the seals as well as a perfect isolation ratio per the testing device. The greatest contemporary minds available had come together to crack this mystery, and her equations were what made it a cohesive whole.

It started years ago, after she had noticed the anomaly in her studies. Nothing more than a ‘hiccup’ in recorded data – very much a hoax, yet obviously so. Even then, it was deep enough in the records that only someone with a vested interest would think to be looking, or even notice the discrepancy in the first place. What had kept her looking was when she saw it pop up again, further back. Then again, and again, each time sequentially further in a repeated pattern. She had a party the night she realized it didn’t terminate, but rather, WOULD do so shortly. That found her first collaborator.

The Commander of her academy saw her interest and immediately recognized the curious nature of the signal, getting her in contact with a friend in the deeper parts of their intel. A defunct archive was found to have noted a similar pattern, but well before the last few instances, having noted their supposed dates as well. It all lined up too perfectly to ignore, and with a formal inquiry underway, Project Binary was born.

Time travel was recognized as inherently different from teleportation, insofar as teleporting can be achieved via destruction and reconstitution. Yet while that may work for physical different places, different times require a proper bridge. Power considerations, material needs, all manner of exotic restrictions prevented it from being feasible before civilization had seeded the stars. Yet confronted with multiple independent hints that there may be ways to make it feasible on a personal, stable level[or at least to send some sort of message], a plan was drafted to build a sealed pair of rooms and establish a literal gate between them, then have a party present at that point to verify the transit had taken place. Simultaneously, they would send a probe with a set of plans to build a similar device, as well as a miniaturized variant that would merely monitor its original point and allow verification of successful arrival.

“T-Minus Thirty seconds to completion of the circuit.”

Power arced in the vacuum between the two panes in the window separating the rooms, a fierce plasma filling it to opacity. Khafra took her tentative steps forward, her suit bulky yet comfortable.

“T-Minus fifteen.”

The plasma began to clear,  the room on the other side flickering and warping.

“Ten. Nine.”

She stopped at the door itself, glancing at the probe in the far end of the opposite room, suspended within its chamber. Oblong and sealed, it reminded her of a pill more than anything else.

“Three. Two.”

Time to give Mother Nature her Medicine.

“One. We have full power.”

With a pop, the probe slipped into itself, sneaking into the past as the windows simply filled with a complete and total blackness. She furrowed her brow and looked to the handlers, who checked their pads in a hurry before whispering something to the commander. He leaned forward and spoke into the microphone provided.

“We have what may be a ping from the probe. The lights appear to have failed at some point in the future. Proceed with caution.”

Khafra touched her amulet once more, turning back to the control panel and grasping the toggle. With a deep breath and against all better judgement, she opened the floodgate.

CrabMando

Harro rubbed his hands together for warmth as he shook in his loose armor. A short distance past the outpost, the sea crashed loudly into the shore, a fine mist chilling the sandy area. A full moon peeked through heavy clouds, barely illuminating the dismal place. His breath fogged as he stepped into the guardhouse, jerking the chair to the window and sitting for a second to appreciate his posting.

His moment of peace broke abruptly with a loud crash from the next stop along his patrol. Leaping from the chair and dashing out of the door, he sprinted along the wall and slammed open the next guardhouse. He noted first a fellow patrolman filling the opposing entryway, then he saw the body laying face-up, although whose face was impossible to tell with the gaping hole through its head.

“Did you do this, Garn?”

His friend shook his head slowly, eyes wide as he looked to the hole in the ceiling. Garn followed the spray of effluvia and gaped.

“Don’t walk in front of the window.”

Harro mentally reassembled the path of the shot, agreeing wholeheartedly.

“Probably for the best. You should go get the Captain.”

Garn nodded and left, Harro kneeling to remain out of sight as he looked over the corpse. A reasonably quick inquiry of the pouches told him it was one of the newer recruits. Loud padding outside the door prompted Harro to extend his arm and speak hurriedly as the two people barged through the door.

“Don’t go in front of the window!”

Captain Taloo peeked at Harro, then to the corpse, and then back to Garn. A firm, un-expected shove proved their foresight as another bolt cored Garn and crashed through the ceiling, both holes leaking the freshly-started rain to mingle with the fluids inside the guardhouse.

“I see why. Report?”

“…uh…I got to my station and then heard a disturbance, sir. Came to investigate and found the scene as you did, then sent Garn to retrieve you. Sir.”

Thunder clapped outside the room, making them both jump. Taloo crouched down and crept messily through the bodies. Once he was safely on the other wall, he rose to a crouch and grimaced at his clothes as he resumed command.

“We need to stop whoever that is, obviously. Let me check the rampart really quick…”

Harro watched impotently as his Captain crept out of the door, peeking over the wall and staring intently at the beach beyond. Another flash of electric fire illuminated the sky, its responding thunder drowning Taloo’s confusion. He crept back inside with a furrowed brow.

“There’s nobody there.”

Harro cocked his head.

“Are they hiding?”

Taloo glared and smacked him upside the head.

“You know damn well it’s all beach except to the east. Where would they hide? The tide is high, but it’s not close or deep enough. Nothing but sand and a Crab.”

Harro stopped rubbing his head.

“A Crab?”

“Yeah, a big one. One of the brown rounded ones. Horseshoe, I think.”

Harro frowned.

“Those’re bad omens.”

“What, are you going to tell me some family story about how they are to be respected as heralds of misfortune or monsters that kill in the night then?”

“…well not now I’m not.”

Taloo smacked him again.

“It’s a moderately-sized, rubbery, nasty-ass crab, alright? They come to shore every once in a while.”

“Then where is the gunner?”

It was Taloo’s turn to frown. He crept back to the wall, peeping over and waiting for lighting. The flash only seemed to confuse him further as he scurried in out of the rain.

“Well, the both of them are gone now.”

The captain slammed his fist on the floor. A matching *thump* sounded outside the far door, drawing their panicked attention. Slowly and viscerally they snuck across, opening it wide and staring into the rain. The stone catwalk was slick, with a single Horseshoe Crab rocking anxiously on its back and scrabbling at the air as it tried to right itself. A flip of its tail forced it onto its side, the mess of appendages now hidden under its dull shell. Harro raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes as he addressed his Captain.

“We should go. Slowly.”

Taloo smirked and stood up, disbelief overwhelming the memory of death behind him.

“It’s…it’s a crab.”

“It is going to kill us.”

Taloo shot him a questioning look before walking up to the thing and poking it. He stood and turned to reply, rivulets running down his robe.

“See? It’s a Crab.”

Harro faced the bodies and gestured.

“But what about-”

Another deafening THOK rung out as he reeled just in time to see his Captain’s boots disappear over the edge. Lightning flared off of the wet Crab’s shell, unchanged since he had seen it last. Harro began to whimper while a cacophony of boots burst through the door at the end of the walkway, the man in the front bracing his fellows from advancing before he surveyed the scene. As Harro watched in terror and disbelief, an Arbalest slipped out of the shell, impossibly huge for its confinement. With an assuredly unnatural swiftness, it clawed back the bolt and let loose with a volley of death, shredding the personnel as well as the wall behind them. It fell on the massive siege engine as it disappeared back into the shell, a satisfied chittering creeping out of the Crab. Unsure of why the chitinous one had spared him, but unwilling to argue the choice, Harro blacked out.

Found

Space rent itself asunder as the planeswalker careened into the realm, falling ungraciously into a shallow marsh. Razel felt the wind of the sphere careening past him, noting the splash as it landed farther ahead. An attempt to planeswalk confirmed his fear, Identifying the ball as a Planar Lock. He turned to face the scar he had only just come through. Its lingering presence in the Lock’s influence implied the pursuit of the blind mage. With moments to spare, Razel dove behind the scar, landing so as to make himself hidden beneath the murky waters.

The blindfolded mage was shunted loudly into the swamp, landing with significantly more grace than his prey. The scar collapsed on itself, flaring in visible light for a moment as the wound in reality compressed. The pond was rippling with the wake of the visitors, while only the blind man stood above it. Razel’s subdued energies were masked by the darkness inherent in the swamp. The tracker trudged about the muck, reaching out with his mind and finding nothing.

A bubble escaped just behind the mage, followed by a ripple of liquid as Razel grabbed his ankles to pull him off balance. The accompanying splash was extended as Razel erupted from below, leaping above the liquid and expending a large pulse of his energies to flash freeze a portion of the pond. The Hunter’s fingers twitched slightly in their frigid prison as they began to steam, a responding flare of heat and pressure cracking the ice and blowing out a small cavity in the center of the tributary, small trails of water leaking back into their new arena. Razel recoiled as the shockwave passed him, noting with subdued pleasure the now soggy state of his opponent. The rush of water wound down in volume as the level evened out, swallowing the combatants’ shins as it rose.

The blindfold draped down his back and clung to the rest of the mage’s clothes as the moisture weighed them down considerably. An orb of fire resolved within his palm, expanding to the tips of his fingers as he caged the energy. Razel charged and jumped to tackle his enemy, instead being partially deflected by the fireball crashing into his chest full force. The blast launched his already airborne frame further back, splashing beyond the ring of ice that had already begun to thaw. Plodding heavily through the puddle to splash into the water beyond, flames grew again within the hands of the blind one. One fireball was lobbed into the marsh itself, setting off a small gas explosion and vaporizing a portion of the remaining pond. The mist that surrounded them failed to inconvenience the blind mage in the slightest as Razel silently slid his head above the water, attempting to spot his opponent. The fog made the proposition difficult, and the lack of an astral signature told Razel that the Academy still utilized their Suppressor Artifacts. A splash from behind drew his attention as he held himself still, spotting a soft orange glow within the mists.

Another fireball tore through the vapors and missed the ‘walker by inches, colliding loudly with the watery surface just next to him. Razel took the opportunity to stand under cover of other noises, closing his eyes and reaching out with his shadows towards the source of the flame. His umbra glided across the water, skimming over the fish freshly killed by the fire and dissipating shortly beyond. A bolt of plasma skipped along the shadow, seizing an entry to Razel’s defenses while the shock knocked him from his feet once more, the blind mage moving toward the sound of his fall. Razel clambered to his feet, watching the glow approach at a much less violent pace. As the fog thinned, the Academy robe became clear. He marched on surrounded by the ring of fireballs that served to illuminate and protect him, preventing the shadows from getting too close. The hunter taunted his prey with sadistic glee.

“You’re not so righteous without your little orb, are you?”

“I wouldn’t say I was righteous to begin with. I gave you exactly the attention you deserve.”

Two more bolts of electric fire arced into Razel, launching him back further still. The fire mage kept his stride casual while mocking the ‘walker before him.

“Why did you leave, Razel? I really want to know.”

The rime mage lurched to his feet, his hair damp and draping before his eyes.

“I thought you had files on everyone? What, your superiors don’t tell you everything?”

Razel dropped and sprung as he saw the hunter raise his hands, propelling himself under the orbiting flames and directly in front of the mage within. His arm shot out, an icicle roughly a third of the length of his arm spiraling from his extended fingertips. He drew in his legs to crouch mid-air as he propelled the spike at the blindfold in front of him. Twin bolts of plasma spun their own helix from the hunter’s palms directly into Razel, launching him once more. The ice mage fell beneath the waters, while the tracker kept coming.

“Matter of fact, my Superiors have an unnatural interest in you. You’re right, they’re very secretive...but it’s not my place to question them.”

Razel raised his head above the waterline, holding himself on all fours.

“Really? I think it’s exactly your place. Why would you blindly do what they ask?”

The Hunter scowled at Razel, who smiled as he went on.

“Aside from the obvious. Do you ever wonder why you do what you do?”

“No. I do it because you are a liability. You are irresponsible. You are malicious. It is Planeswalkers like you that caused the Dominia Anomaly. Would you wish all of your kind a half-life such as that? Losing their longevity? Cursed with power but no time to learn to control it? Trapped in a single form for their entirety? You are a propagator of misery and destruction.”

“Only half of that was true. I could care less about ‘my kind’. We’re creatures, same as any. Just better ones.”

The water around the hunter’s legs began to boil as his emotions rose.

“We are the apex of existence. It is our responsibility to keep the multiverse safe. Especially from ourselves.”

“So what did I do to warrant execution?”

“One dignitary, three halberdiers, two patrolmen, Joxer the ‘Mighty’, 524 infantrymen, property damage in excess of the annual product of the location-should I continue?”

Razel was speechless for a moment.

“…Are they making you keep track now? If this is some new job requirement, I’m glad I got out when I did.”

“It’s not. I just don’t like you.”

Knowing it would only intensify his ranting, Razel replied snarkily as he crept backwards, keeping himself mostly below the water.

“I don’t even know your name. Besides, I gave those people stories for ages to come. You have to admit, the bit with your Jackie fellow was grand. Why the hell wouldn’t you like me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

The question was clearly rhetorical as the water grew hotter, bubbling loudly as he kept on.

“You say you’ve done this before, have you? How much time did you sink into your longest assignment?”

Razel moved slightly more to the left as he thought to himself, eventually stopping as he offered a reply.

“Well, I never really timed them, but I’d say a standard Academy week. Maybe two.”

The blindfold quivered as his eye twitched in irritation.

“How long ago did you leave the Academy?”

“I make a point not to count.”

“I, personally, have been assigned to your case for nearly a century. I inherited your case when my predecessor died, and he had inherited it from the death of the previous agent almost a millennia prior, whom I had heard a rumor regarding his obtaining your case through the promotion of the agent before.”

“You’re missing some numbers-”

“THE POINT is that I have spent nearly a lifetime looking for you. I could be doing such better things than this. You were in the Academy. You know the options available to me. Instead you waste my time.”

“You mean your superiors don’t let you out for classes? What a scam!”

“Normally they would...but your case is an old one. I think it’s getting close to the top five, if the latest recovery update was correct. That means we dedicate more resources to you. Every day you live is an exponential increase in the possibility of you becoming a catastrophic liability. The variables are too large outside the Academy. With enough time, you will ALWAYS be found.”

His flames flared into existence where they had been before his charge, dispelling the subtle shadow Razel had snuck towards him. The ice mage’s scowl dipped into the water.

“Let me finish, you insufferable...berg!”

The bolt was anticipated but unexpected quite so soon. Ill preparation meant that the lightning connected painfully to his face, forcing him back underwater. Again Razel braced himself on all fours, breaching his head above the swamp and wobbling slightly. His cheek was recovering slowly due exertion, leaving a gaping pit of rime beneath his eyes to disappear behind the rejuvenating flesh. He spoke quietly and deliberately.

“Fine...go on.”

“A LIFETIME OF DEAD ENDS. GOOSE CHASING! FAILURES! The longer I go, the louder they get! More insistent! More impatient! NO MORE!”

“No more what?”

The steam cracked with static as the blind mage drew up a well of mana.

“No more YOU!”

This time Razel was prepared. The erupting mass of plasma instead met the sphere from before, located by Razel’s wandering hands and thrust in his stead to the fireball approaching. The device crashed into the spell, imploding on itself and sparking a hole where the two had collided. The blind mage observed in confusion as his quarry addressed him.

“Ever done that before?”

Razel stood confidently, no longer secretly seeking in the muck. The rotating flames began to slow their orbits, stopping at his cardinal facings. The hunter responded with caution.

“I value and keep my items intact. What did you just do to us?”

Razel gestured at the midair aberration, wondering if the motion was even noticed.

“That void is projecting a lock field. It is slowly evaporating, but it will be on the scale of a week to a year. We aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

The steam made the Academy robes billow about the hunter as it rose.

“Do you expect me to take my time in killing you then?”

“Not exactly.”

“I aim to please.”

“Will you at least give me a name, so I know who to ridicule after your inevitable failure?

“You may call me Itako.”

“Sounds like a woman’s name.”

Razel dodged the superheated blast deftly, his former lack of dexterity now an obvious falsehood. The Fire ignited yet another gas pocket to thicken the fog considerably. Razel easily discerned Itako’s presence from the blinding glow behind the mists. Quietly and under cover of the hunter’s complaints, he crouched to retrieve water in his cupped hands. Razel tamped his energies further, noting a radiant discomfort the quieter he sought to be.

“I suppose you think ‘Razel’ is a pinnacle of masculinity then.”

“Do you always make a habit of bickering with your targets?”

The tracker flushed as he realized how far his self-control had slipped. Razel deftly flung the water to the side, making sure it audibly splashed away from him. As Itako’s energies arced toward the disturbance, his prey disappeared, only to reconstitute behind the now revealed hunter’s location. Itako whirled about in surprise, expecting neither Razel’s sudden appearance nor the hand that grasped his throat firmly, preventing any escape of his own. Itako croaked his disbelief.

“But…the Lock…”

Razel’s grip tightened, his middle two fingers piercing into Itako’s flesh.

“So not only do they keep you in the dark, they don’t even teach you to lie?”

Steaming hands grasped desperately at Razel’s forearm, the sputtering flames calming as his will to fight was sapped through his neck. The hunter began to slump, his impending death prompting Razel to toss him aside and into the muck as his vitality began to leak. The ice mage once more threw out his hand, resolving the frozen helix from his fingertips. This time, however, the length was a full twice that of his arm. Itako weakly worked himself upright, baring the back of his head to the elements. The augur drove clean through the knot in the blindfold, piercing the wrap through its front as well. Razel closed his eyes as he indiscriminately began tearing parts of Itako’s mind away, offering each thought only a cursory examination.

The shriveled tracker gaped dumbly at his surroundings, his thoughts compromised before the sacrament. The mind had already begun to decay, and several whims faded mid-pull. A glowing recollection called to him, revealing a path and intent leading him back to Itako’s previous locale. A whiff of sulfur and a tinge of oil complimented the soft whisper of its name, the syllables lilting into the abyss as Itako’s body dissipated its essences.

Foundry…

Razel broke the spike from his fingers, leaving it embedded within the head. As Itako's body collapsed, the flesh stopped steaming. Razel panted out of reflex, his energies spent. There was no sense in trying to flee again. Not this time. The seniority of his file was worrisome. Rifling through the tracker’s robes yielded only a Mana battery and the standard-issue suppressor. He broke the artifacts without a second thought.

“May as well be rid of any other shadows following me.”

With no witnesses, he stepped into the eternities, bobbing through the nothingness as he sought a quiet place to recover before the hunters became the hunted.

Broken Cookies

Razel sat obliviously at a small table, ignoring the hustle and bustle of the dining area around him. A fist-sized fruit, based on a citrus scaffold and designed to produce blood instead of juice, was sold across the bazaar. Several of the vampires walking past were fangs deep into one, and the creative solution to the need to feed made him smile offhand.  The reinforced rickety realm Ophelia had built impressed him at every turn. The front’s façade of the flesh certainly brought in the bulk of the income, but all of that was spent to sustain the populace behind it. Apparently this was Ophelia’s perceived noblesse oblige. It took him a moment to recognize the person approaching him, causing a brief jump upon the realization that he was being approached at all.

SkeleTones

Varying instruments clattered to the ground in a heap at Razel’s feet. He shook out the bag and folded it over his arm, addressing the undead gathered before him.

“This is why we’re here. We’re putting a band together.”

Five skeletons exchanged uncertain glances, expressions limited by lack of meat. Wodehaus pointed to the pile and voiced a concern.

Clack clackety clatter? Clatter clack clack.

Razel frowned.

“Flutes and horns were the easiest to find, alright?”

Clack clackety-

“FINE, you can have the damn Koto. Not my fault you don’t have lungs.”

Clackety-

“Shut it.”

He lobbed the stringed instrument at his house guard who caught it in a deft motion. The skeleton to Wodehaus’ left gnashed and twitched, bound in a straightjacket that looked like it had been left as a relic of his living days. Unfortunately, it had a smell to match.

“Yeah, you get a Banshee’s Blade.”

Razel gathered and unsheathed a ragged sword, then walked up and set it tightly into the jacket’s straps. A wailing metallic mouth sat in front of the desiccated lips. Razel took a step back and framed the image with his fingers, adjusting the straps for maximum flair.

“Don’t worry about getting the words right, the sword will do the work. Just…I don’t know, twitch to the beat?”

His sanitarium skeleton gnashed a reply, bouncing to a rhythm audible to itself alone. Confident in his singer, Razel turned, bent over, and picked up a pair of Lyres, wandering to his two rimebound dead and placing the strings in their frozen fingers.

“There. Remember – you, you’re taller than a tree, and you, you’re not a bumblebee.”

They looked to each other, glanced themselves over, and shrugged, identical features making delineation a pointless exercise. Razel returned to the pile, tossing aside a didgeridoo and withdrawing a large drum bound with treated leaves. He handed it to the final skeleton, its rags draped from a continually rebuilt frame whose singularity of sources was questionable at best. The creature tapped it lightly, a subdued bom catching it unaware.

“Hold on, we’re not ready just yet.”

The bony band inspected their instruments individually. Razel placed the remaining flutes and horns into his bag, keeping out a spotlight built from a worn powerstone. After tossing the sack into a conveniently portable hole, he climbed a nearby tree and sat on an extended bough, anchoring the light to the space in front of him.

“So I need you guys to make this convincing. You’re not making the music, but they don’t need to know that. The important thing is to convince them of the sincerity of our little danse macabe. If we succeed, I win the bet. If they call us on it, I lose. Simple, right?”

One of the rimy skeletons raised a hand.

“…yes?”

It gestured in lieu of audible articulation, agitated by something about its instrument. Razel buried his head in his hands.

“They’re the same. Different detailing but functionally identical.”

It gestured with more vigor, drawing attention to the other Lyre.

“THEN TAKE IT. I DON’T CARE.”

The two traded toys, both seeming pleased with the exchange. Razel pointed at Wodehaus, his voice thick with irritation.

“Don’t even start to complain, that’s the only Koto we have.”

After taking a moment of offense, Wodehaus irritably stuck a single note. Razel paid it no mind and continued.

“So the piece we’re going to do is a bit stranger than the songs you’re used to. Except maybe you.”

The sanitarium skeleton was in the midst of particularly excited headbanging, his own skull missing the handle of the sword in his shirt by centimeters each time.

“…right. Now, this-”

Razel pulled a horseshoe-shaped object from his sleeve, thick and squared at the edges.

“-is a Resonator. It will play the music through you.”

He plugged it into the spotlight, and with a few flicks of some buttons the device began to emit a barely audible thumping. At the sound of the beat, the skeletons began to bob their heads, the straightjacketed individual slowing to keep the time.

“All you have to do is pantomime musical talent and the effects will do the rest. Easy enough?”

They all nodded in unison as Razel grinned widely.

“Alright, let’s get this rehearsal on the road. In 3…2…1…”

It's not Jam

“Man of my word, I am. Get you there and back. Kept half my promise now.”

“This is it then? It looks like a Sliver…”

Grieg nodded under his heavy robe.

“Not sure what a ‘Sliver’ is, but yes sir. These things have been showing up all over the place.”

Razel circled it slowly, caressing the smooth stone with an outstretched hand. Its pointed aesthetic thrummed with redirection as it coerced power from its surroundings towards a terrible purpose.

“I’ve seen things that work in a similar way, but not exactly the same. That one fed to an individual, this one…I don’t know. Almost a beacon…or a network? Both?”

Grieg shrugged.

“More things I don’t follow! Tell you what I do follow – the sun. It’s dropping now, and we should head back. We don’t want to be in the woods after dark.”

Razel stepped back to mentally note the design for later re-creation and study. After a pause he nodded to himself.

“Alright, I’m done. I just needed a minute to memorize some features.”

He stepped casually to his guide, keeping pace as Grieg turned to start back on their path.  The farmer was fond enough of the area to know when it was wise to leave. Their trail grew dimmer as the sun sank towards the horizon, Razel looking at the woods uncertainly.

“…are you sure we can make it back in time?”

Grieg frowned and rubbed his chin.

“Well damn. I suppose we have to take a shortcut past Maurer Estate.”

“You say that name as though I should be aware of something terrible.”

“Recent calamity, much like the rest of the Strad. I haven’t yet been there myself, but I’ve heard it wasn’t a small thing.”

The path took a well-trodden turn to the right, the trunks they passed growing thinner and less numerous. Water burbled away out of sight nearby. Within minutes a village emerged from the woods, the clearing filled with buildings and silence. A small, unassuming settlement, Maurer Estate was now a ruin. Carts were overturned in the street that crossed the river bisecting the village, now reflecting a moon high in the sky. Silence broke only to whistling wind and clapping of abandoned shutters. Razel smiled.

“Charming.”

Grieg seemed much more shaken by the display. Anguish twisted his face as he walked to the edge of the bridge, resting a hand on the nearest post and peering across the water.

“I knew a few people that lived here. I don’t even see any bodies. No survivors…and no dead.”

“I wouldn’t be sure of that.”

While approaching Razel pointed at a lone corpse, facedown by a ruined vendor’s stand. Grieg gasped and whimpered to himself. At the sound, the door beside it creaked open to reveal the head of a frightened child. Hesitantly, she stepped out of the building, followed by what appeared to be her sister in an identical dress. Out of earshot, they mumbled something to each other. Grieg tensed as Razel restrained him with a firm grip on his shoulder. The first one cautiously ambled over to the body and tugged on its sleeve, sobs drifting across the open space. The second of the twins looked up, her eyes catching Grieg’s and causing him to jump slightly.

“We have to help them.”

Razel shook his head.

“Too dangerous. I already feel like I should be on a tricycle.”

Grieg furrowed his brow, turning to Razel in angry confusion.

“Danger? They’re children!”

“Who somehow have survived several days without assistance.”

“Maybe they’re resourceful!”

“Maybe they’re undead.”

He stepped back, aghast at the suggestion.

“They’re Children!”

“Children can’t be raised? Isn’t that what you do with them?”

Grieg sputtered his lack of a reply. Behind her sister, the other twin cocked her head and stared at the argument.

“If they’re vampires, why haven’t they killed us yet?”

Razel gestured to the river.

“Running water reflecting a silver moon. Is this why you didn’t become a Cathar?”

“Wh…nonsense! That’s just a superstition.”

“Like people turning into wolves or exsanguinating friends or women with feathered wings or walking corpses?”

Grieg paused again.

“If they’re vampires, why aren’t they covered in blood? HMM?”

Razel looked at the twins before looking back to Grieg.

“They are. See those stains on their aprons?”

“Aprons? It’s probably food or something! Besides, how can you make that out from this far in this darkness?”

One of the twins shouted to them.

“IT’S JAM!”  

The other one smacked her sister’s arm and mumbled something. Razel gestured at them emphatically.

“See?! How would they hear that?”

“Kids have great hearing!”

Razel buried his face in his hand, coming back up with a realization.

“Grieg…I think they’re glamouring you.”

“Children can’t glamour you. What do you think they are, vampires?”

“Yes.”

“Well maybe they’re glamouring you into thinking they’re vampires.”

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve heard while here and I had to listen to that guy in the street go on about shrews. Are you telling me they’re Fae?”

“What is with you and these things that make no sense?”

Razel turned to the children once more, cupping his mouth and yelling.

“HEY KIDS! COME HERE.”

The far one grabbed the closer one’s arm, shaking her head and watching warily. Grieg scoffed.

“Why would that work? They’re obviously scared!”

“They’re obviously undead.”

Both of the girls took a few careful steps forward. Slowly but surely they came closer, stopping a stone’s toss across the water. There was no mistaking the splashes and stains now.

“Look at that brown and tell me it’s jam.”

“They must have been attacked during a meal!”

Razel looked to the children and spoke firmly.

“So do you control him or is this all suggestion?”

“Stop acting like they glamoured me! If they did, why haven’t I abandoned you to go to them yet?”

Razel thought about this as he turned back to his companion.

“That is a surprisingly good point. I know they’ve got their brainy hooks in you, but…”

“But what? If you don’t want to help, fine, but promise me you’ll wait. I need to lead three people back now.”

Razel raised an eyebrow as he made a connection. With pointed words, he replied.

“I can find my way back on my own. Your services are no longer needed.”

“Why couldn’t you say that sooner?! CHILDREN! WHERE ARE YOUR PARENTS?”

Grieg hurried over the cobblestone bridge. At the first fall of his feet on the other side, the two monsters bared their fangs and leapt, tackling the peasant and ripping into him without hesitation. Razel walked to the top of the bridge and shook his head, looking down on the grotesque scene. He addressed the creatures through their gory feeding frenzy.

“Alright, I lied to him. Do you two know how to get back?”

The closer of the two looked up from half of the limb she was consuming, cocking her head in inquiry. Her voice rasped against the flesh crowding her throat.

“Why did our charms not affect you?”

“I’m not from here. That’s also why I don’t know how to get back.”

Her sister piped up beside her in un-juvenile curiosity, wiping bits of thigh from her cheek.

“Are you a vampire too, then?”

“I try to tell people I’m not but I kind of fit the bill so I really don’t know. If nothing else, I don’t do that fang thing.”

To make his point, he flicked his wrist and extended two needle-like claws from his middle fingers, retracting them in the same fashion.

“Oh no! Were you going to eat him?!”

“We didn’t know…”

They both dropped their pieces, looks of despair overtaking them. The further one extended a forearm, her lip extended in a show of solidarity.

“No thanks. I really only needed him to get back. I mean, I could get back another way, but that’s got costs and is not the point.”

Relieved, the children resumed their carnal consumption. After giving them a moment to finish he again implored their assistance.

“So…which way is the town?”

The closest waved a degloved hand in the general direction they had been traveling.

“There’s a fork further on past the overlook, keep left and you’ll see wagontrail.”

“Thanks.”

He turned to leave, catching himself and facing them again.

“Actually…I know someone who would LOVE to meet you two…”

...if only to show you how to eat cleanly, he added in his mind.