Finnius

A knock at the door, and then I see, The face, the eyes, reflecting me. A smile, a laugh, but not from me, You've moved on dear, now I see. Inside I hurt, I cry, I wail, You slap my face, it hurts like hell. A figurative slap, still hurts like hell, My heart cries out, my soul it wails. Brief hellos, I say no words, Into my heart, like shrapnel shards. Into my soul, like cold glass shards, The non-involvment, no spoken words. The door closes, and I sink down, I open a bottle and drink it down, The bottle falls, just clinking down, And there I'm left, I think I'm down.

*Looks up... *Shocked! Why, Katz, no one's ever written you a good love letter?! We simply can't let this be! /me runs off to PM much sappiness to Katz.

Having to pick, I'd have to choose lost. The feeling of not knowing where you're at, not knowing who you even are, is definitive of my current state of being. While I am fully cognizant of my physical location, or at least most of the time, I am caught in the slow spiral of apathy and self-disinterest. Having picked lost, I find myself at a crossroads, neither direction of which particularly appeals to me. Unlike Robert Frost, however, I will not choose a direction based solely on the appearance of travel. My mind does not allow for picking at all, instead my feet and body carry me where they wish me to go. It is a liberating feeling, to be lost. The paths I tread are mine and mine alone, sometimes physically, most times otherwise. Seperation from the bulk of normal thought processes provides for greater mental output, or something like that. *Grins. Welcome back, Sal.

My lord Fexus, Your faithful servant regrets to inform you that your one-time comrades have again taken notice of your actions in Cold Port. You know the ones I speak of. Two days ago, they kidnapped the boy, mistaking him for me. He proved himself admirably against adverse odds. You would have been proud to see him come back to me, blood on his face and resolve in his eyes. He has fire in him, Master, more so than I ever did. I am currently taking measures to keep myself and the boy safe from your former allies' depredations... however, knowing your intent for him, I am not sure how much longer I will be able to do so. Any further aid would be appreciated, although I realize it is unlikely you will send any. In this, as in all else, I trust your greater wisdom. Also, the woman Loryn Halgus is becoming rather... difficult. She is too ambitious, Master. Just yesterday she had me assassinate two High Judges in full view of the public... granted, it was whatever public could be found in a ratty bar in an even rattier section of town, but the point stands. I am requesting leave to do away with her at my earliest possible convenience. As Ever, Your Servant, Hryn The Lord of Hammerfall scanned the note quickly, chuckling to himself. His dog was an admirable piece of work, one of Fexus' most loyal and efficient agents... not that Fexus would ever admit that to the man. So the Dead Council was aware of his prescence in Cold Port... well, it wouldn't be the first time Hryn had been there, although it might well be the last. If Hryn failed in this task... this, most important of tasks... Fexus gently took the letter from his desk and swept over to the window of his study. He peered out into the dim light of day. A storm was brewing over Hammerfall, a storm was always brewing somewhere... Fexus thought he might let this one come, though. --------------- "Tell me about the Dead Council, Hryn." The boy was rabid for knowledge, had been since his kidnapping. It was irritating. "I've told you already, you're not ready to know. Now pick up that quarterstaff and attack me." Gavin bent down to the soft ground of the small courtyard behind the Lonely Sailor, wrapped his fingers around the smooth wood of the staff. He stayed crouched low, like a desert puma ready to strike. "Good stance..." Hryn readied himself for the boy's attack, stayed perfectly still. He stood straight and tall, an easy target. The boy bounded forward, darted in towards Hryn's knees. Hryn stepped over the sweep of his legs easily, and brought his foot down on Gavin's countersweep with the quarterstaff. The boy let go of the staff, sprung upwards with both fists. Hryn weaved back, avoiding the blow, and caught the boy behind his knees with a quick turn of his leg. Gavin's leg folded in half, and the boy went down again. Hryn sighed and shook his head. "And you had so much potential, for a moment there. Tell you what; for every successful strike, I will answer one question. Now try again." Hryn walked to the opposite side of the courtyard. Gavin picked up the staff one more time, and took the same low stance that they'd been working on since sun-up. His body was tired and sore, and his mind ached from the exertion of trying to keep up with Hryn's constant beratement. This would be his last run for the day, regardless of whether he succeded or failed, and they both knew it. They stood there, still for a moment; the only movement the wind rustling through the grass. Gavin stared at Hryn, Hryn stared back at Gavin. The wind shifted, Gavin leapt forward. He rushed in low, like he had before, came almost to Hryn's knees, then swung his momentum upwards. Hryn caught the staff as it darted towards his jaw... Gavin had counted on it, and released the staff the moment Hryn's hand closed on it. Gavin thrust his palm into Hryn's thigh, planted a knee into his gut. He swung around and grabbed the staff, just below where Hryn was holding it, and twisted. The staff slipped out of Hryn's grasp, cracking him in the shoulder. Hryn reached out with one hand and caught Gavin by the throat. He lifted him off the ground, and tossed him halfway across the courtyard. And then he laughed. "Good job, boy! By my count you have three questions! Ask away..." --------------- Fexus watched the lightning play over his city for a while. He was enjoying this storm, but there were more pressing matters to attend to, and so he turned from his study's window and walked over to the desk, where a large map was spread out. It was old, and made of tightly-stretched leather. The map showed all of the known world, the Althinean Island to the east, a large crescent with one point just past the southern corner of the Mephitic Island, and the other bowed down to almost touch Hammerfall near the center. The Mephitic and Althinean Islands were really too large to be named so, but the tradition was older than anyone could remember, and so it continued. The Krishin Island to the north, however, was just small enough to deserve its title. There were two red wooden markers placed on the map. One was positioned on Hammerfall, one on Cold Port. A small bowl of them stood beside the map, waiting for their places. There was a knock on the door. Fexus answered without looking up. "Come in." The door swung open silently, admitting one of the many nameless servants that kept Hammer Keep clean and tidy. Nameless to Fexus, at least. It was a woman, in her middle years. She walked hesitantly. "S-ser, the Head Cook w-wishes t-to inform you th-th-" Fexus' eyes narrowed, and the woman continued hastily. "She f-found someone in the kitchens, m'lord... thought you should know about it..." Fexus' eyes became narrow slits in his face, a low growl escaped his throat. "And why, pray tell, did she think that? Why not just inform the guards, or the Head of Security, instead of sending a scullery maid to tell me directly?" The woman dropped her eyes, whined under her breath, where she thought Fexus could not hear. "H-he was... he was d-dead, and there was this... this p-powder stuffed in his mouth, see? It was all b-black an-" Fexus wheeled around, swept to the woman, grabbed her shoulders. "Why didn't you mention that first? Take me to him! Now!" From below, from the kitchen, came a muffled sound, like caged thunder... Fexus scowled. ----------------- Gavin lay on the ground, working the air back into his lungs. He took the time to consider his three questions carefully. When he could breathe well enough to talk, Gavin picked himself up, dusted himself off, and asked his first question. "What, exactly, is the Dead Council? And no one word answers!" Hryn crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Well aren't we the demanding little lord?" Gavin's face darkened, and Hryn raised his hands in mock-terror. "Fine, fine, don't want the little warrior to kill me for my impertinence, now do I?" The smile left Hryn's face. "The Dead Council is a group of five individuals with more power than any five people should posses. It is old, dating back to the founding of Cold Port, nearly three hundred years ago. While most members of the Council have changed since its inception, rumor would dictate that its head has not." "Wait... Hryn, you're telling me that the head of this Dead Council is nearly three hundred years old?" Hryn closed his eyes and grinned. "Yes, yes I am." "But how is that possible?" "There are more things in this world than just humans like us, boy. The Head of the Council is one of those things. Now let's get inside and see what Mistress Ellon's prepared for dinner." Gavin opened his mouth to protest, and then realized that Hryn had tricked him out of two of his questions. He seethed inside, called himself a fool and worse, and eventually resolved not to let it happen again. He hung his head and sighed. "Fine, Hryn... dinner sounds good." "Cheer up, boy, at least you got one good answer!" Gavin spat on the ground.

And I quote: NooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOooooooOOooOOOoOOooooooooooooo!!! Stupid fricking Microsoft! (And I thought Cliffs Notes were evil...)

Congrats, Alaeha! No one deserves this title, Any more than you. In any case, it's about gol-durned time! Almost makes me want to try one of these Questy-type things myself. Almost. And for the lady of the hour:

It was dark when Gavin woke. He opened his eyes to pitch black, felt the bindings around his arms and legs, felt the noose around his neck. He was perched on a stool or somesuch... an easy target. He could hear scuffling in the room, the scraping of feet on wood, and scurrying claw-clicks... mice, or rats. There was a gag in his mouth. Speech invaded the darkness. "... sure you got the right one? That scrawny piece of flesh doesn't look like any Hryn that I ever heard of..." "He killed Gerald with his bare hands... and Gerald weren't no pushover. This's yer man." A thump and a clink; a bag of coins hitting the ground? "He'd better be. Take your money and leave, worm, before I change my mind about letting you live." Hasty scraping sounds, thumping of boots, creaking of a door. A heavy thwock as the door closed again. There was silence, then. Silence deeper than the darkness, and then a crackling sound and the flicker of a light being struck. A point of fire resolved itself into a dim candle, held in a thick fist. The light drew a silhoutte for Gavin, a large, squat figure. The figure moved towards Gavin, moving surprisingly silently through the room. It glided more than walked. The figure came closer, and defined itself into a thickset man, bearded and robed in dark red. It studied Gavin for a moment, looked him in the eye. Gavin looked back. "Well, at least you're awake... that's a good start. It means that I don't have to wait for you, or take measures." The man leaned forward, conspiratorily, and whispered. "So I hear that you're the much-fabled Hryn... tell me... is it true?" Gavin's brain fumbled for an answer. The man hadn't met Hryn before, but had heard of him, a distinct advantage over Gavin... until he'd met the man, Gavin had heard no more about him than he'd heard of anyone else he didn't know. Hryn claimed to work for Fexus, though, a definite and powerful individual. Everyone knew of the Lord of Hammerfall, knew of the ruler of the largest city-state in the known world. All Gavin knew of him, he'd picked up in the weeks of training that Hryn had imposed on him. Luckily, the gag in his mouth prevented Gavin from speaking. He simply stared at the man with all the disinterest and cold-heartedness that he could muster. "Ah, how impolite of me," the fat man chuckled, as if he and Gavin were old friends, "let me get rid of that..." He produced a thick knife from within the sleeves of his robe, slid it under the cloth of the gag. Gavin felt cold steel press against his cheek, felt the blade turn towards him, oh so slightly... the thick man breathed deep, and his eye twitched, his hand trembled... and then he slid the knife outwards, severing the gag neatly, leaving a slight nick on Gavin's cheek. "Now, answer the question... are you Hryn?" --------------- Hryn left the office of Loryn Halgus after several hours of tedious information dumping. Loryn had wanted him to go over the working papers of every man and woman in Cold Port, initially, and when Hryn had flat-out told her that he would not, she lowered it to only the ones employed at the Court. Hryn had reluctantly agreed to that, and had spent the remainder of the day memorizing names and facts. Loryn wanted him back in the morning for some sort of meeting with one of her superiors... someone that Hryn would have to eventually kill, if he understood the woman's prattle correctly. She enjoyed running Hryn through circles, making him jump the hoops like a common dog... Frustrating... Hryn was still unsure why Fexus wanted her in power here, wanted her as his agent in Cold Port. But he would obey the Master's wish; he could do little else. A light rain began to drizzle down over the city. Hryn raised his head and let it coat him. ----------------- "Yes... yes, I am. And who would that make you?" Gavin had decided to play along, eventually. The big man was scared of Hryn, Gavin could tell that from the way his eyes never quite held Gavin's gaze for more than a moment, the way his hand kept moving back to the lump where his knife was stored, as if to make sure it was still there. He would not share the same fear of Gavin... not yet, anyway. The man opened his mouth, on the verge of answering, then shut it again. "I'll ask the questions here, dog of Fexus. Why are you in Cold Port? Fexus knows well that he isn't wanted here, and he's been pushed back before..." Gavin's mind reacted faster than even he realized, forming lies and half-truths before he could think about them, and transmitting the words to his mouth, which opened almost on its own. "My business is my own, as well as my Master's. What is it to you? Who do you work for?" The man narrowed his eyes, took a dangerous step forward, closer to Gavin... he was almost close enough for Gavin to smell his breath. "Do you not realize where you are, dog? You are standing on your dying chair... all I have to do is kick this from beneath you, and you will hang..." The man glanced down, involuntarily. The muscles in his leg twitched. For a moment, Gavin was sure he was going to do it, was going to hang him here. "Cold Port is the property of the Dead Council. I will ask you again: Why has Fexus sent his dog here?" Gavin leaned his head forward, looked the man straight in the eye... held his gaze. "If you call me dog one more time, you will not leave this room alive. That, I promise you." Pure Hryn. Gavin only hoped it would be enough to intimidate the man. The thick man's lips began to twitch, oppositely timed with his eyes. His face looked like some strange metronome. His breath was ragged now... he was angry. Afraid, and angry. ------------------ Hryn paused outside the doors of the Lonely Sailor. He considered not going in, considered letting the boy have a day without Hryn's constant berating. He considered letting the boy go back home, had considered it from the start. He knew what the Master wanted, though. The boy did have potential, and Hryn would see that potential fulfilled. And so he entered the inn, walked up the stairs. Hryn knew something was wrong the moment he saw Gavin's door. The boy never left his door open. Hryn slowly approached the door, pulled it the rest of the way open. There was a dead man in Gavin's room, his nose broken back into his skull... he'd died quickly. Hryn dipped his fingers in the man's blood. It was cooling, but not cold... the boy had likely been gone for at least an hour, though, and really no way to tell. Hryn had killed men this way, before, and sometimes the heart didn't stop beating for quite a while. Sometimes, the body stayed alive, futiley rasping lungs trying to wake the dead nervous system. And sometimes, where the Dead Court was involved, the body succeeded. Hryn did not think this would be the case, however. If it was to happen, it would have already. Once the blood cooled, there wasn't much chance for resurrection. Hryn studied the room further. Aside from the dead man, there was surprisingly little sign of struggle... no broken glass, no tipped wash-basin. The door was slightly off-kilter. Hryn grinned. So the boy had been kidnapped... or ran away. Either way, he'd come back on his own, or he'd end up dead. Hryn was interested to see which it would be. ---------------------- "I tire of this game, Hryn... tell me why you're here, or I let you hang. This is your last chance." The big man had become more agitated the longer Gavin had dodged his questions. Unbeknownst to him, however, Gavin had been slowly working the bonds on his wrists loose. They were almost off, but the dolt wouldn't be able to see that in this low light... At least he'd stopped calling Gavin 'dog.' "Then do it and cease your gumflapping, you rotund idiot!" The man snarled and drew his knife, intent on gutting Gavin before he hung him. It was time to strike, and Gavin did, with all the speed and ferocity he could muster. His legs whipped out as his arms broke the bonds at his wrists. He kicked the fat man square in the jaw, as his hands shot up and grabbed the noose around his neck, slipping his head out and swinging around for another kick. The man grunted as Gavin's boot connected with his jaw, reeled slightly. The second kick caught him in the wrist, as he was raising the knife to strike. Gavin heard the bones snap, saw the man's wrist bend at an odd angle as he screamed in pain. He dropped the knife and fell to his knees, holding his shattered wrist. Gavin let go of the noose, dropped to the floor. He bent to pick up the knife from the floor where it lay, and cut the bonds around his ankles. The man looked up at him with fear and loathing in his eyes. He looked so helpless, so... wet. Tears streamed down his face, he sniffled constantly... there was a trail of mucus from his round nose down to his wide, thick lips. Gavin knelt down, held the knife in one hand so that the man could see it. "Now... you will listen to me." The man looked up at Gavin, his lips trembling. "You are going to walk out of here alive, not because you deserve to live, not because I have any mercy for you... You will go to your masters and give them a message." Gavin paused, stared at the man. He could wait all night, would wait. The man would ask, eventually. It took not one minute. "Wh- what mess- what message?" Gavin smiled, showed his teeth to the man. The man cringed, for some reason. "I believe that showing is better than telling. Give me your hand." Gavin placed the knife in the fat man's good hand, and motioned to his broken wrist. The slow realization dawned on the fat man, his face twisted into a visage of utter terror. Gavin could only reflect on the fact that, even though he had the knife, the man was still terrified of him. He would not attack again. "Be quick about it, that's the best way. There's a good edge on that blade, I could tell when you pressed it to my face. Shouldn't take more than one good swing." The fat man's eyes widened, became saucers full of fear. His head began swinging back and forth, soundless protestations falling off his lips. Gavin leaned forward, met the man's eyes. "If you don't do it, I will. And I will use no knife." The man slowly, painfully moved the knife toward his wrist. He shook, violently, his body refusing the task that was set to it. Gavin continued to stare him down. The man touched the steel to his wrist, and drew a sharp breath. His eyes scrunched up, and he whimpered slightly... then he passed out. Gavin stayed stooped down for a moment, watched the thin trail of blood trickle down the man's wrist... it really would need to be taken off, it would never set properly at that angle, and would only end up getting infected. Still... Gavin took the knife from the man's hand and planted it firmly through the floor, to the hilt. Planted it directly in front of the man's face, so that the knife would be the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. And then he took the candle, found the door, and walked out onto the streets of Cold Port, to find his way back to the Lonely Sailor. Not once had he thought about running away. Hryn would be proud.

Fall and fall and rise again, Turning 'round the twisted field, Where dead do rise, And I surmise, That something wrong's been, Done. Rise up, rise, and then to fall, Around a field of wheat and grain, Ne'er mind the sun, That time is done, Don't let the mem'ry stall, You. Up again, down again, Dead man's hand, Or blind man's bluff, Grain or chaff? Meat or wheat?

"Well, a man's history is his own business, I say. Although I am interested to learn about you and your people, it is not a pressing issue, and I will not pursue it. What I want to know is our enemy. What exactly do you predict we will be facing, and how do I kill it." "We'll have time enough to talk about my people later... far too much of it, I fear. As for our enemy... the Heart was stolen from the safest vaults of the Sayaftali. The vaults of my clan, actually. No one knows where those vaults are save the highest members of the Blue-White-Blue... and several of those are missing. We assume that one of the missing took it, and either killed or otherwise disposed of the others. "What we are likely facing is a mage of great skill. Great enough to place a mind-jammer on a Stormrider... an elemental being of great strength. Assume that we will be facing enemies more powerful than ourselves. As for the killing..." The desert man shrugs. "Seperating the head from the body, assuming it has a distinguishible one is usually a good course of action..." The conversation winds down, people eventually go to sleep. The night stays quiet, still... A figure perches in a tree, short bow in one hand, knocked arrow in another. The figure motions to another tree, where another figure raises its hand in response, and whistles a sharp bird's cry. The cry is echoed several times, from several different trees. There is a slight sound, as arrows are drawn back. A creaking, as if from tree limbs. The camp is still, sleeping forms lit by moonlight and the dying campfire. Three black-clad forms drop out of the branches as the first arrows begin flying...

Gavin sat in his room, looking out the window as the morning mist settled over Cold Port. He'd been indentured to Hryn for almost a month, now, and the older man showed no signs of letting Gavin go back about his life. The boy had been scared at first, then angry, then scared again... now, he was numb. He had no more misconceptions of escaping his new master's grasp. His only hope was that Hryn would eventually tire of him. Outside of the window, a light rain began to fall, gently tapping against the glass. Gavin sighed and waited for Hryn to knock on his door. He would come, eventually. Sometimes he let Gavin stay in his room until nearly nightfall, but he always came. --------------- Hryn walked the streets of Cold Port in the early morning fog. People passed him by, never looking him in the eye, never knowing how much he saw of them. Hryn could smell the fear in these people, could sense their desperation, their... hollowness. They lived day-to-day lives in little day-to-day houses, doing meaningless tasks for their social betters, whom they hated. They reminded Hryn of himself, and so he ignored them. He was not unaware of the irony of his situation. Fexus had known this would happen, had known what course Hryn would take, the only course he knew. Hryn stopped outside a three-story building, one of a very few stone structures in Cold Port. Slate steps led up to wide double-doors; rotund marble pillars supported a heavy granite overhang. This was one of the Three Courts, or so his letter had claimed. The Courts were ancient... immense artifacts of great importance, or so Fexus had said. As for what they actually did... Hryn had his suspicions, gleaned from what Fexus had let slip, but they were no more than that. In any case, the building was being used as a prison, and unsurprisingly, a courthouse. Hryn was to enter the structure, find someone by the name of Loryn Halgus, and proceed under said person's orders from there. He had no description of this person, no idea where he was to find them, not even a gender to go by. Hryn sighed and started up the stairs. ------------------ There was a knocking at Gavin's door. The boy started up from where he had fallen asleep next to his window. He quickly walked over to the door, smoothing down his clothes as he went... Hryn disapproved of sloppiness. As he reached out his hand to open the door, it burst inwards, giving Gavin a crack to the wrist. Two men in rough brown leathers darted into the room with black strips of cloth tied around their faces, just below the eyes. One of them shoved the door back into place, and positioned himself to intercept anyone who might come in that way. The other spun a fist into Gavin's face, or tried to. Gavin reacted with a quickness born of Hryn's constant training. His mind was a thing apart from his body, which deftly caught the fist and twisted it down, and to the side. The man stumbled, And Gavin's body tripped him. He fell on his back, and the last thing he would ever see was Gavin's open palm striking down to break his nose, push the bone backwards into his brain. Gavin paused there, blood on his hand, mouth working open and close, like a fish gasping in the air. Gavin felt a slight pressure at the back of his head, moments before he blacked out, and remembered that there had been two men in the room... ------------------- Hryn did not stalk silently through the stone corridors of the Court. Nor did he try to creep, or remain silent. He walked with an air of comfort, stopped a passerby with the look of someone who belonged there, and asked to be shown to Loryn. The first person he stopped did not know, and so he tried another. Several times, he tried this, and eventually gathered that Loryn was a woman, one who worked here in an official capacity, although no one seemed willing to discuss what that capacity was. Hryn wandered the hallways for several hours before finding someone who could, or would, actually point him to his quarry. He followed the directions he was given to a small office on the second floor, where sat a woman at an oak desk, filing through stacks of paper. She had blonde hair, and wore black. She ignored Hryn, though he was standing her doorway with his arms crossed, obviously watching her. Hryn cleared his throat. The woman, supposedly Loryn, looked up from her desk. "Yes? What can I do for you?" Her voice was low, husky, melodic. Useful. "I'm here about a letter from Hammerfall." Hryn sauntered into the room, producing the letter in question and gently laying it on the desk, faced towards the woman. Her face betrayed nothing as she read over the letter. "So," she began, looking Hryn up and down disapprovingly, "This is what Fexus sends me... just what I expected from him." She stood up from behind her desk, displaying her tall frame. She was angled. A fighter, a scrapper at least. "Fexus sends as he will. You are Loryn Halgus? Yes? I am Hryn." There was a tense moment of silence. Loryn broke it first. "Hryn... I've heard the name... so you're the great Fixer that Fexus speaks so highly of? Can't say that I'm impressed. Still, I should be thankful that he actually bothered to send someone..." She sat back down and motioned for Hryn to take the seat opposite from her. When he remained standing, she crossed her arms and stared at him. "Fine, stand then. I assume that you understand the basic outlay of your orders?" "Of course." "Would you mind repeating them for me, then?" The woman actually grinned at him. She was having fun toying with Hryn, enjoying being in control. Hryn would have to change that. He'd play along for now, though. "Essentially, Fexus is looking to solidate his command of the Courts; to which end he needs a controlling say in Cold Port. While you do not yet have any kind of influence in this city, you share... views... in common with the Master. I am to help attain this influence for you. Am I forgetting anything?" Loryn smiled, a harsh smile that never touched her eyes. "Adequate."

So I was talking to Pered up on the roof after the Crocodile-in-the-bathroom fiasco, and I must have slipped or something, because next thing that I knew, I was tumbling backwards through the hole made when Orlan had entered. Then I was landing... on something... squishy... and smelly... and... uh oh. I opened my eyes, only to be met with the considering, (Well, as considering as she ever gets.) gaze of one seriously perturbed Minta. I had landed on the back of her new toy, the giant Slaad. "Hehe... hey... you..." Minta scrunched up her face, got into that 'I'm about to scream bloody murder and there's nothing you can do about it, and you're going to have to deal with it, and it ain't gonna be pretty' mode that I've seen so many times. And with Minta, that usually involved people getting hurt. I reacted in the calmest, most reasonable manner that I could think of. I grinned, waved, said "Sorry 'bout that!" and rolled off the thing's back. Twenty feet later... A resounding *THWACK* echoes through the room, accompanied by a generous splatter of chocolate, as a little blue man smacks into the surface of the cocoa-mud pit.

As I wandered back down the stairs, it occured to me that if I continued to drink scotch for the rest of the night, I'd be hammered before anything interesting happened. To which end, I set my glass oh-so-carefully right in the middle of the stairwell, at a twist, where it was sure to be found later. I then went to the bathroom... well, because. Anyway, the bathrooms of the Pen have always been one of its best, if most under-rated features. They are generally clean and well-stocked, and if one can ignore the miles-upon-miles of grafitto-tagged conversations that are plastered all over the walls, then one has a will stronger than mine. So it was that I became caught up in the Bathroom Walls of the Pen for the umpteenth time. I was engrossed in something about the 'Muses Rights Movement,' an interesting piece about the disturbing rise in Writer-on-Muse violence. In my concentration, however, I failed to notice that the growling coming from the stall next to me was not, as I had initially though, Wyvern with a backed-up colon, but a large albino crocodile... Long story short, I ended up running out of the bathroom with my pants still around my ankles, and seeing as the door-trolls had stolen my boxers... well, let's just say there were some snickers, some polite laughter, a few gasps, a sword unsheathing, and a slap or two. After getting my pants back up, I calmly explained the situation to the security-trolls in the following manner: "Aahk! Theresa-inthe-omy-witha-andthe-CROCODILE! TOILET... CROCODILE!" The trolls stared at me, bewildered for a moment... must have been the de-pantsing.

It had been three days since Hryn had landed in Cold Port, and his contact still had not shown himself. Or herself. Or itself. Hryn was beginning to get impatient. He'd been to every tavern, every inn, every seedy alley in this god-forsaken city, and so far, had been met with nothing. Hryn paced across the rough floor of his room, in an inn called the Lonely Sailor. He'd picked it on a whim. The innkeeper, a greying woman by the name of Ellon, was polite, had offered him a warm cup of tea almost as soon as he'd entered the door. Hryn liked politeness. The Lonely Sailor was not the largest inn in Cold Port, nor the most lavish. But it was homey, something this town was distinctly lacking. Cold Port was a largeish settlement; it thrived with trade, and travelers from all over the Mephitic Continent congregated in its crowded streets. It was home also to many criminals, vagrants, many homeless and starving, many sick and dying. Hryn could smell their sickness, could almost feel their desperation. He disliked it. And so he paced, back and forth across the rough wood planking on the second story of the Lonely Sailor, and waited for his contact to make itself apparent. A knocking came at the door. "Come in." Hryn ceased his pacing, whipped himself around to face the door, only to find the weathered face of Mistress Ellon peering in at him. "Ser, there's someone here to see you... says he has urgent business with you." "Send him up, if you would. Thank you, ma'am." Her head vanished out of Hryn's door, which closed softly behind her. Hryn prepared himself for whatever was about to walk through his door. Another tapping at his door, another soft creak as it opened. In the doorway stood a young man, maybe twenty, likely younger. He was nervous, Hryn could tell from his posture, from the way he constantly shifted his weight onto one foot, from the way he hadn't met Hryn's eyes yet. He wasn't much to look at. Average height, a bit on the scrawny side. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark complection. He wore brown leather pants and a white shirt, a grey wool jacket. No obvious weapons. He carried a package tied with string in one hand. "Either come in or stay out, but close the door whatever you do." The youth hesitantly stepped into the room, pulling the door shut behind him. "Speak," commanded Hryn. "I... er, I was told to come see you, sir. I'm supposed to give this to you." The young man held out the package in one hand. He had the look of someone holding a live snake, and not sure which end he was holding onto. Hryn grabbed the parcel out of his trembling hand and deftly snapped the string that bound it shut. The youth turned to go. "Stay." Hryn fixed him with his steel gaze on the boy, commanding him to stay put with no more than a twitch of his eye. He turned back down to the package. It unsealed to reveal a folded pack of clothing, dark blues and blacks. On top of this was a letter, sealed with the ruby signet of the Lord of Hammerfall. This, Hryn placed aside to read later. Messages from the Master were often dangerous, or at the very least fraught with confusion. They were not to be read in haste. Another letter was folded into the clothes, and this Hryn opened right away, as it bore no signet. It was addressed to Hryn, as he'd known it would be. He scanned it slowly, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. After a moment, Hryn closed his eyes, a slow grimace spreading across his face. The Master was obviously irrate with him again. Hryn breathed deeply, drew the air into his lungs, forced it back out. He opened his eyes. The youth was still in the room. Hryn was pleased with that. He favored the boy with a smile. "Tell me lad; what's your name?" As the boy opened his mouth to answer, Hryn threw a hand up in the air and spoke again. "Wait. Nevermind. Answer this first. Where did you get this package?" "I... I... it..." "Spit it out, boy!," Hryn snapped. "Some man gave it to my da... said it was for me. And I just heard about it this morning, so don't go thinking I'm holding anything back!" He had fire in his eyes, this one did... Hryn liked him. He turned away, ignored the boy for the moment. Hryn seperated out the clothing, two shirts, one blue, the other black. Two pairs of pants, in the same combination. A fine silk overshirt and black leathers rounded out the package. They were sized far too small for Hryn's well-muscled frame. Which left open only one conclusion. He had been sure there was more to this boy than a simple deliverer of messages. "Now answer the first question. What is your name?" The boy stared at Hryn's back, still busy with the clothing. "My name is Gavin. Gavin-" Hryn cut him off with a wave of his hand again. "You're last name is unimportant. I just needed to know what to call you. Fine, then... Gavin. It appears that you and I will be getting to know each other a bit better over the next few days. My name is Hryn. You'll be working for me." Hryn tossed the blue set of clothing over to the boy. "Now put these on and we can get started." ------------ The boy had rebelled at first, naturally. He had whined about having something called a 'Free Will.' Hryn knew better, and had told him so. The boy had tried to run away at first. Hryn had caught him and held him down, had let him beat his fists against Hryn's chest until his knuckles bled. And in the end, Gavin had given in. Getting him to wear the clothes was the easy part, getting him to look comfortable in them... The boy had potential, though. He had a good voice. ------------ Cold Port was home to many tradehouses. Long, low buildings where merchants gathered like ants buzzing over a drop of honey, viper's dens where lives were bought and sold like so much wheat. Gavin entered, swinging the door wide for Hryn. He bowed low over his hand, just so, as he had been instructed to. As Hryn passed, though, Gavin shot him a look of disdain, and animosity deeper than the Frozen Sea... -------------- The Lonely Sailor had been a good acquisition, and Hryn was well pleased with it. Mistress Ellon still ran it, of course, but the profits were now split two ways instead of one. Hryn had given the boy his own room, just across the hall from his own. Hryn had been tutoring him in unarmed combat, and Gavin was starting to understand the basics. Soon it would be time to start the sparring matches, and for the boy to meet his first assignment. -------------- Gavin picked himself up off the ground for the fifth time, and sprung towards Hryn with all the desperation of a starving dog. Hryn caught the boy by the shoulder, casually tripped him, and flipped Gavin onto his backside... for the sixth time. He sighed as he dusted his hands and prepared for the boy's next assault. "Focus yourself, boy! Fight with your head, if you want to win! If all you're after is a quick bruising and broken ribs, though, I suggest you continue as you-" Gavin spun quickly from the ground to his feet, and continued along his arch, bringing his heel around to connect with Hryn's face. Hryn's head whipped to the side, with a slight popping noise as the small bones in his neck grated against each other. He stayed there for a moment, contemplated what had just happened. Gavin stood spellbound, waiting for Hryn to move. Hryn twisted his neck back with more popping sounds, to look Gavin dead in the eyes. He cracked a smile, and a slight chuckle. "That was good. I didn't teach you that..." "I'm... I'm..." Gavin began backing away, fear creeping into his eyes. Hryn chuckled again, then threw his head back into a full laugh. "Think nothing of it! It means that you're getting better!" Hryn lowered his head again, all trace of mirth leaving his face as quickly as heat lightning. "Now do it again." The boy was almost ready...

Having made his announcement, Wyvern wandered off to who-knows where, leaving me in the somewhat perplexing company of Xaious, with whom I was only on passing terms. He seemed like a nice enough guy, no doubt about that, but... kind of creepy. I half-glanced over at him, nervous grin spreading across my face. "So... master of time, eh?" "Please, please, Master of Time... capitolized. Sound it out with me: M-aster of T-ime." He made little gestury motions with his hands as he talked. I think he really expected me to sound it out. A terse moment went by, with neither of us speaking. "So how's that working out for you?" "Fine, just fine! Really, it's great, I can see back in time, and forward and- ohmygod! I just remembered, I'm going to leave my oven on in three weeks! I must perambulate..." His brow furrowed down for a moment. He began walking towards the stairs up to the roof. I, for lack of any other ideas, followed. We began climbing the stairs. "So, Xaious... err... what's your favorite... erm... vegetable... type-thing." Xaious got this glassy look in his eyes, then wheeled around and fixed me with this really odd, steely stare. "Celery. I really hate celery. Never speak of this again." "O...k..." We took the rest of the stairs in silence, save the occasionaly creak of wood, or scream from bellow. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Xaious simply disappeared. I was left staring at Peredhil, who hastily reached up to straighten his tie, before realizing who was there. "Oh, Finnius! How are you doing? Pardon my absent-mindedness." He made a small inclination of his head, a politely small bow. "Don't think twice about it... err, did you happen to see Xaious? He was just here a minute ago..." I looked side-to-side, as if that would really help. Pered chuckled softly. "Yes, he was here just a moment ago. We had quite the conversation, actually." "Err..." "Don't worry about it, it hasn't happened yet. Give him a few hours." Pered must have noticed the look of sheer confusion on my face, as he cracked a smile and chuckled again. "Finn, for having been around here so long, you really do surprise far too easily." Pered flashed that all-knowing smile of his and clapped me on the shoulder. "Suffice it to say, it's nothing that should end up with you dead again. Really, you should relax, it's not like Wyvern's been possessed by a demon... (mumbled word that sounds disturbingly like 'yet.')" "What was that?" "Nothing, nothing. Hey, would you be a pal and grab a drink for me? I'm a bit parched, and opening a dimensional portal just to grab a glass of punch is kind of flashy." "Err... yeah, sure, be back in a bit." And I wandered back down the stairs, to get some punch. On the way to Table #3, I noticed the painting of Zool, and headed over to say hello, a drink in one hand, baseball bat in the other. "Hey, Zool! Long time no see! Still a painting, eh? Nice talking to you-see you later!" Zool was one of those characters with whom I actually enjoyed talking, but only on certain occasions. In private, he was fine, and an intrigueing and personable... err... person. However, put him in a situation where there was liquor and partying, add a dash of Joat, a pinch of Boaz, stir well with Tzimfemme, Rydia, Rosemary, and Minta, and Zool became... well, more personable, but less safe to be around. Luckily, my eyebrows had re-grown since last time. I waved hello-goodbye to Zool, and continued on my way back up the stairs, where I handed Pered his drink. After exchanging pleasantries again, I headed back downstairs. The night was still young, after all...

Black, thick rain poured down. Walls of water flowed over the sheer stone cliffs and squat towers of Hammerfall. The night sky above Hammerfall was violent tonight; the clouds hung low, threatening a storm to come. But no storm would come tonight. The rain drummed on rooftops, keeping the citizens of this city awake in the dead of night. No moon would show through to glisten off cold granite tonight. Fexus had returned. Hryn had known he was gone the moment the rain stopped. Despite the fact that Hammerfall was a city on the edge of the sea, straddling a waterfall, the rain never came without his prescence. No storm ever touched Hammerfall, save those the Master wished. It had been nearly a week without rain, nearly a week since he had left. Fexus was lord of all things in Hammerfall. Lord of Hryn, lord of the storm, bringer of rain. In Hammerfall, Fexus' word was life and death. His wish was law. And he was back now. On the outside perch of his Master's window, Hryn shivered. Hryn remembered his first meeting with Fexus. The Lord of Hammerfall was an exceptionally charismatic man, an exceptionally masterful man. An extrordinarily dangerous man. Hryn had entered Hammer Keep on a summons, an inquiry into the matter of his birth. Moments after the stone gates had crashed shut behind him, Hryn had known his life was over. He could smell the fear and anger, the blind ambition present in the Lord of Hammerfall. Hryn had felt his death in the air. He'd been right, too. Fexus had killed him, had destroyed what he had once been. Fexus had killed Hryn. He just wasn't through with him yet. "Hryn, you stupid filthy animal! Come to your master's call!" Hryn snapped back out of his mind. He could feel his master coming. Hryn scrabbled from his perch on the wet stone, slipping halfway out into the chill night air. He threw his arms in, grabbed the inside of the walls, pulled himself in by the elbows, tearing the soft skin of his arms. The master was in a bad mood tonight. Hryn decided to hurry. He worked himself back into the room and tore off through the keep, trailing water and small drops of blood behind him. He arrived, breathlessly, in the main hall just as his Master arrived. Fexus strode into the main hall, resplendant in dark blue and grey robes, tied at the waist with a white silk cord. The inlaid gold pendant, a disc carved with a lion and snake, hung around his neck as always. On his hand he wore a ring, gold also, set with a ruby the size of the knuckle directly above it. His hair, dirty brown, streaked with iron grey, was slightly disheveled. His hair was always perfect. Always. Hryn shivered again. Fexus scowled at him. Hryn cringed inside. He knew what was coming, had been through it a thousand times in his head. Fexus would drag him to the top of the keep, as he had so many others who disappointed him, who failed him. He would kneel down, force Hryn to the cold stone, halfway choke the life out of him. He would let him breath just enough to know what was coming. He would drag him to the edge of the keep's top balcony, the one with no railing... He would make Hryn stumble out to the edge, look over it into the churning waters of the Falls, the monolithic black stones onto which those waters crashed. He would offer Hryn a choice. Walk off the balcony, let yourself die. He would stare at Hryn with those ice cold eyes, would make Hryn ask for the other option. He would remain silent, of course. The other option was plain. Resist. Try to resist. "What are you doing cowering there, Hryn? Have the common decency to stand when your master addresses you! Have you heard anything I've said?" Fexus sounded angry. Hryn snapped back into himself once again. He hastily stood up, forced himself to his feet. He hadn't even realized he wasn't standing. Fexus fixed him with his eyes. His killer's eyes. "Good. Better, at least. Never good, not with you." The Lord of Hammerfall swept across the hall, stopped not six inches in front of Hryn. He raised his hand to Hryn's face, the cold granite of his skin bruising the soft flesh of Hryn's cheek in his gentlest caress. His eyes softened for a moment. "I have a job for you, my pet. Your master commands you." Hryn closed his eyes, hoped the tears wouldn't come. Fexus was going to send him away again, make him do bad things to good people. Hryn had no choice, really. He was his Master's creature, to the bone. Fexus had made sure of that... "Where am I going, Master? If I may be so bold..." "You may, pet. This time. You are going to Cold Port, to the north. You will be met there and instructed further." Fexus' eyes hardened again. "Now leave me. I do not wish to see you until your task is finished. Away with you." And Fexus left the hall, following the trail of water and blood-spots that Hryn had so carelessly left on the stone. --------- The ports of Hammerfall faced east. Hryn had cleaned himself up, had dressed himself in his browns and blacks. Had dressed his wounds under that, so that no one would see the wounds on his forearms. He had combed his black hair back into its place, had steeled his face, had resolved himself. He was a different creature outside the Keep. Here, he was the Master. Fexus sometimes had him go to functions in his place. He was the Master's will personified here, not his slave and pet. The ports faced east, faced the Frozen Sea. A bone-chilling wind swept over the docks, causing the dockhands to shiver and hold their arms, rub heat back into their skin. Hryn exulted in it, caressed the numbness and embraced it. He made his way to a small dock, reserved for this usage long ago. He nodded briefly to the aged dockhand who tended this boat, this ship of his. His voice was harsh, rough like gravel. Grainy. Sometimes women heard his voice and shied away. Sometimes they heard it and came closer. Hryn didn't care, really. He didn't care for women, or men... He was the Master's creature. The boat hung low in the water, sleek and black. It was built for speed and for stealth, and excelled at both of these things. Fexus had commisioned it, and rejected the first two models. The shipwright's guild had shrunk by half that year. The ship's captian saluted Hryn, and welcomed him aboard. This would be a long trip. Cold Port was far to the north, and with only one port between Hammerfall and Cold Port, it would be a hungry trip as well. The boat was built for speed, not comfort. There was precious little room for rations. Luckily, it had a crew of only two. The ship's captain, Jekob Raust, and Hryn. The black ship slipped quietly out into the night, into the Frozen Sea. The waves rocked the ship. Bits of ice broke against the bow. The night went by. ---------- Two days later, the black ship slid into port in Alt, on the tip of the Althinean Island. Alt was a large city, large and decadent. It sprawled for miles without planning or tending. Sloppy. Lazy. The black ship stayed in port for a whole six hours, just long enough to re-supply, and for its crew to clean themselves off, and then it was off again, heading north on the last long stretch of its journey to Cold Port. Hryn had never been to Cold Port before, but he'd heard many stories. He was sure he'd be glad to leave there. The trip took longer than expected, due to Hryn having to clambor down and break the ship out of inch-thick ice every two days. It wasn't called the Frozen Sea for nothing. All told, it took nearly two weeks to reach Cold Port. The city rose out of the morning, like a great brown slab of wood perched ominously on the edge of the Krishin Island. The black ship slid into port once more, and Hryn exited. Here he was to meet his contact. Time would reveal who that was. Time would bring him back to the Master.

Somewhere in the mass of confusion that is this party I leaned against the wall, baseball bat in one hand, cool glass of scotch in the other. Initially, I had told myself that there would be no drinking for me at this party. The drinking was what escalated the last party to such heights of badness for me, and scotch has always been my personal poison. Eventually, Wyv was escorted out of the mosh pit by a ninja. I thought about trying to intercept them on the way to wherever they were going. "I can't make it on time," I mused to myself. So I let them go. I'd find Wyv later, anyway. So I mingled my way over to where the Savage Dragon was chatting with Katz and Celes... "I remember you," began Katz, "I knocked you out!" "I don't care," I said, brushing the matter aside, "I want you around." I toasted briefly with my scotch and wandered off once more, this time encountering a stunned Gwaihir and a frowning Dreamer. I bent down to help Gwai up, and then realized that he was naked... I looked up to the Dreamer, looked down at Gwai... looked at the Dreamer, eyes widening, then back down to poor, naked Gwai, a grin cracking on my lips... "Knew it all along..." I giggled, then decided to get out of there before the Dreamer smote me. I waved at him as I left, though, "Don't stop living in the red!" I traipsed back around the party, finally coming to a Twister board near the outskirts of the dance floor, where Wyvern was lying, face-down and fetal. I stooped down, resting on my heels, and caught his eye. "Time to talk." I set the bat down beside me, and dusted off my knees. "Too tough to die, commando?" Wyv looked up at me, pitiful and bruised. "Somebody put something in my drink... Fun night, eh?" He flashed me his trademarked toothy grin, and launched right into an apology, "I'm sorry-" I cut him off with a wave of my hand. "Over it." I extended my hand to the big scaley son-of-an-unwed-mother, to help him up. "Party til you puke?"

Having come to after seeing... shuder... a witch doctor... I assessed my situation. I had really only come down from the roof to try and grab Wyvern aside for a moment, but was again foiled in my plans. Wyvern, it seemed, was currently spinning out of control on the dance floor. "If it's not one thing...," I began to myself, whipping out a pair of jack-boots and pushing them onto my feet, "it's always something... you try to do things the nice way," as I grabbed a leather jacket and threw it on over my best black robes, "but NO, life just won't let me be nice, will it?" I reached out in a random direction and fixed my steeliest glare at whomever happened to be in it. "Jeans. Now." To my great surprise, someone actually handed me a pair of blue-jeans, which I promptly ripped the knees off of. I slipped these on under my robes, so as not to flash the party, then pulled off the bottom half of the robe, leaving me with a torn off black shirt. "Baseball bat and black magic marker." After these things were provided, I took the marker and wrote, in large black runes on the shaft of the bat, "Beat On The Brat!" Finally, I was ready. I pushed my way out onto the floor, shouldering stunned mages out of the way in my path towards Wyv. I briefly encountered Elladan towards the back, and spared him the shoulder, opting instead for a polite tap and a wave. The dance floor by this time was crowded once more, with several mages spinning in circles in time with the music, apparently thinking that Wyv was doing some sort of line dance. Now, I thought to myself, How to stop him from spinning long enough to talk to him... Whereon I inserted the baseball bat into Wyv's projected path of spin, somewhere near the top... As expected, his scaley snout whipped right into the bat, releasing his momentum, and nearly dis-locating my shoulder. Wyvern fell to the floor, partially out of dizziness, but mostly out of the bat to the face. I stared down at him for a moment, lying there in the middle of the dance floor, little cartoon ducks floating around his head, bags of geld in their mouths. I considered dragging him off into a corner and addressing certain... design flaws with this setup. I considered taking the bat to his head again. I am, however, a proponent of creative venting. So I slung the bat over my shoulder, raised a hand into the air and pointed down at my current location, directly above Wyvern, and addressed the dance floor in my loudest voice. "I need a huge frickin' mosh pit, RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW" I then exited the crowd, stage left, before the pit arrived. On my way out, Elladan plucked at my sleeve. "Y'know, that wasn't very... polite," he smirked. "Tell yer da I'm sorry fer the display, and give him my regards. Oh, and when Wyv gets out of there, I'd like a word with him, if you'd be so kind..." I then stalked off to find the remainder of my clothes, only to find them gone... Punk mode it was to be, then.

I sit here in this spinny chair, And let my mind drift anywhere, Or at least that was my first idea, Until my craft occured to me; I thought, Let's take the time to write, But my fickle muse, she would not bite, She skirted 'round my addled brain, On synapse-skates, with electron trains, Until I cried out, "Let me be!" And logged onto mIRC, In hopes of killing my boredom, And maybe getting back to some, Light writing, some prose or such, But it did not help, at least not much. So I perused some older posts, Dredged up the Pen's beloved ghosts, I read and re-read, for two hours, But this it seems was beyond my power, To do away with this dull curse, To get my muse to at least rehearse, And so I admitted defeat at last. ... And now my Writer's Block has passed.

A letter softly floats down from the rafters, as a lone dove flaps off into the evening. It is tied with gold string, rolled scroll style in papyrus. It reads simply: Dearest Ozy, Although we may not be on the most verbose of terms, I am, and always have been, a great admirer of yours. On this, the day of your birth, or at least a resonably late approximation of such, I would like to wish you happiness for the next year. I would also like to plead for your, or anyone's really, assistance; as I am currently trapped, underpantsless, at yet another of Wyvern's over-blown parties. Any aid you could send would be most appreciated. As a side note, please inform Pered that I will be borrowing his dove trick for the next few days, one of those useful little things I managed to pick up on at Cerulean's Masquerade. Neat, ain't it? Yours Truly, Finnius Mustardio Jalopini-Canard O'Harpy OOC: Happy Birthday!

So there I was, having finally gotten a hold of Wyvern for a moment, and having just gotten past the 'annoying-but-necessary-small-talk' segment of the conversation when what should happen, but a random party-goer should punch him in the face! Really now, what are the odds? Of course, this is Wyv we're talking about, so... pretty good, actually. Seeing as Wyv was... incapacitated for the moment, I slipped off to the side to procure some food. I safely reached the table, reached out a hand to grab something, and was promptly bitten by a half-crazed Dean the Adequate, who mistakenly thought my little blue hand was some sort of French delicacy... who knows, maybe it is... in any case, I jerked my hand back, wiped off a small spot of blood, and more gingerly and cautiously took a muffin from the table, and wandered off, munching happily for the moment. I meandered through the crowd, in my absent-mindedness, bumping into Savage Dragon, and consequently falling on my backside. "Haha! Sorry about that, mortal, but a Page like myself can't be bothered to notice every little peasant at this gala! Here, let me (Insert exagerated stoop) lower myself to help you up!" Whereon he did, actually, help me back up. "No, no," I began, "completely my fault, I should have been watching where I was going... enjoy the party..." Of course, he was already gone by the time I had hit 'watching,' but y'know... politeness. I passed a group of mages taking shots of O'l Peculiar, and wisely decided not to join in, opting instead to head for the roof. I made my way to the stairs, finding them blessedly empty, and made my way up into the cool night air. The roof of the Conservatory awaited, sparsely populated by the less inebriated members of the Pen. Walking over to the edge, and looking down, I could see the line of potential party-goers stretching out into the night, dazzling from glow-sticks and sequins like a shining river of twinkling sparks. It was almost enough to make you appreciate Wyvern... Almost.

Explanations, Around the Campfire "I expect the first question most of you have is about that storm. However, the first question I am going to answer is about our, or at least my, quarry. As Xavier so kindly pointed out earlier, it is a small red stone. As a gem, it is nearly flawless, one of the most priceless pieces in existence." Finnius stands from his seat around the campfire, begins pacing as he talks, punctuating sentences with a point of a finger or a nod of his head. "As a gem, it would be worth kingdoms, but to the one who knows its true potential... it is so much more. I should start at the beginning. "I come from the Blue-White-Blue clan of the Sayaftali, an organization of people who live in the desert. We are warriors and scholars, assassins and traders. We formed more than five hundred years ago for one very specific purpose. And that purpose was to contain the Demon Mephis for all time. He was a god, once; a terrible god. When he was finally defeated and sealed away, the blast of heat from his screams of rage killed all the plants within a large radius around his temple. This is where the desert comes from, and only five hundred years afterward is it starting to recover. "Things are different now. Somewhere along the line, the leadership of the Sayaftal was corrupted. My clan knows this, as do certain others. We know this, but are tied by bonds of honor and loyalty stronger than steel." The desert man pauses here, his body slumps to the ground and he looks far older for a moment. "The stone is Mephis' heart, petrified and atrophied, but still alive. Should it be misused, a man could ascend to a god. I believe that whoever has it now knows this, but does not know the full truth. That god would be Mephis, and none other. It would take a mage of unrivaled power to control the Heart without being possessed by it. No such mage exists, I believe. And right this moment, I have no idea where to start my search. I was supposed to find a contact in Eelix, but... in the past." He stands again, stretches. Walks around the circle, slinks around the group. "The reason I said that it did not matter whether we went into the forest or the desert was that my quarry could have gone either way. In any case, if we're on the right trail, we'll know soon enough. When he tries to kill us again. What I suggest in the meantime is that we keep going in the same direction, at least until we find a settlement. For right now... if anyone has any questions, now's the time."

*Sniffs... *Sniffles... *Snickers... ~Woo-hoo! Thanks to you, Ozy, and to everyone who showed up to give congratulations. Really, it's a wonderful gesture, and is greatly appreciated. After finishing with gratitude, Finnius wanders around the room congratulating the other promotees, especially Tanuchan, ntraveller2, and Xaious.

The words cordially invited coupled with the name Wyvern still sends shivers down my spine, even three years and some change after the debacle at Cery's unbirthday party. Why, you ask? Let us say that before that party my name was only Finnius Mustardio Jalopini-Canard, not Finnius Mustardio Jalopini-Canard O'Harpy, which makes a lot of difference, especially when the O'Harpy in question was Scarlett O'Harpy, a noted cannibal. In any case, it was just such a shiver which ran down my spine and tickled my... well, very delicate parts, when I first saw the flyer posted on a pastrami and peanut-butter sandwich being batted out of the hands of the lovely Celes by a black cat. I quickly stooped to recover the sandwich, recieving a small scratch, when the flyer first caught my notice. In my shock, I dropped the sandwich, much to the delight of said cat. My face turning a paler shade of blue, I excused myself from Celes, and went off in search of Wyv. I first checked the Recruitment Offices of the Pen, only to find stacks of paperwork taller than I am, and a note on Melba's desk reading Gone A'Partyin'. I then turned to the Cabaret Room, whereupon I did not find Wyvern, but instead a slightly inebriated Ozy, handing me a large quantity of apples, and an equal amount of oranges. He then handed me an official-looking piece of parchment, which I thought was some kind of documentation of my new status. Alas, I was wrong again. It was another flyer, another hideous, mind-numbingly-terrifying flyer. I thanked Ozy profusely, and then went again in search of my quarry. It was at this point that I actually stopped to read the thing. "Mmm... yes, lunar eclipse, birthday celebration for... oh ye hoary gods... near-nekkid... SPRINKLES!...disco ball... sugary liquor-like concoction...," My mouth sounded out the pronouncement of doom, adding its own comments until my eyes caught on one line of text. While awaiting the eclipse on the Conservatory’s rooftop, amongst several cryptic runes, glowing crystal balls, mystic mirrors, and ancient indecipherable parchments. "No, not even Wyv could be that dense... could he?" I ran as fast as my little blue legs could carry me, straight to the Conservatory, only to find that I was too late. The line was enormous. People had come from all over the countryside for this party... Wyv had been busy. Whipping out my Mighty Pen ID Card, I made my way to the front of the line, where I encountered a burly ogre acting as bouncer. "Oy, Melba, I need to speak to Wyvern." "Speak to him inside, if yer wants to. But first we'll need some undies." "Err... excuse me?" "Didn't yer read yer invite? Underthings or no entry." I scanned the note again, finding the requirement for a gift of underwear to which Melba alluded. "Well, you see, I don't really have any spares on me, maybe you could take a rain check or...," At this point, Melba whistled sharply and seven more burly trolls appeared. "Actually, Finny-poo, we got strick'est orders not ter let a mage by this door but has ter come in." "Actually, I'm not really a mage, honestly, can't do much more than light a carpet on fire and occasional-ugh!" The 'ugh,' by the way, was the sound of a little blue man being hoisted off the ground by two of the seven large trolls, the other five of which proceeded to procure a pair of undies from me. "No, wait, I lied, really, I'm a powerful mage, and if you don't put me down and leave those boxers alone, I swear I'll vaporize you brutes where you stand!" The trolls hesitated for a moment, and then glanced over to Melba, who just spun her little finger around in the air and tapped her foot. The trolls got what they were after, then set me down in front of a snickering mass of party-goers. Melba took my boxers (Blue silk worked in black spirals, trimmed with little grey and white smiley faces around the legs.) and threw them onto a pile in one corner. I was then and only then ushered, in my best robes, but bereft of any undergarments, into the Conservatory Proper. I nearly passed out.

Good Morning, Conservatory! (The Semi-Continuation of What Lies Waiting) (A Journalistic Pursuit in Three Parts, with Commentary by Ragamuffin, the Beloved Sideshow Freak.) Wyv's talk show had taken off since our stormy first episode, two or so weeks ago. He'd added a theme song, an audience, and actual working cameras. (The ones we had been using were just mock-ups, so no one ever really saw the first episode. Which was just as well.) He'd hired several other people, for various different reasons. The most surprising one of the lot was that Bead was now our shadowy make-up artist. He'd whisk into your dressing room an hour before the show started, all dark energy and crackling electricity, and be out before you ever saw his face. I'm about to go off on a tangent. Dead people can do that, y'know. Betcha forgot I was dead! I once heard a rumor about Bead. More specifically, it was about what happened when we had Peredhil on the show, a few days before my... errrr... accident. Pered was in the green room, waiting to be introduced, when suddenly, he hears this unearthly sound. Well, he looks up from this raw kielbasa he's wolfing down, and there in front of him is Bead, wielding his make-up palette and oversized paintbrush and looking down at Pered with murder in his eyes. Bead snarls at the guy, he does, and says in a gravelly voice, reminiscent of Clint Eastwood: "Whar's mah tutu?" Pered, not knowing what the half-crazed stagehand is talking about, just slowly puts the kielbasa down and backs into the corner. Bead goes over to the kielbasa, picks it up, turns it around a few times, then sniffs it. He gets this really dreamy look in his eyes, puts the thing back down, then slinks out of the room like a pregnant yak. Pered, when he got called out on stage, was white as death and couldn't say two words without looking over his shoulder. I don't know if it's true, but I wouldn't put anything past the old lush. Anyway, enough of that. I was talking about the show, right? Of course I was. Oops, another grammatical mistake. I really must watch that. Err... The show, yes. Well, I remember when we had Gyrfalcon on, because it was the first time we had actual cameras, and the audience was really pumped up about seeing a mod in person. Gyr struts out on stage, waves to the crowd a few times bows left, right, and then to backstage, y'know, showing the audience his rear. Showboater. Anywho, we got him to sit down, and the questioning began. Finn: Gyr, or should I call you Mr. Falcon? You're one of the most vocal mods on the UBB's, along with RagingGoat and Darkhawk in the Apprentice section. Describe the position for us briefly. Gyr: Gyr is fine. Being a mod, hmmmm? There's not really a whole lot to it, really. To tell the truth, I really don't do a lot of really important or really challenging stuff. Mostly, it's really mundane. Finn: Really? (Shakes head.) Well, could you tell us about the other mods, then, y'know, do you get along, is there any difference in opinion as to what you will and will not allow? Gyr: I really couldn't say much about the other mods. They're really nice people, and they do really good jobs. Really, my only complaint is that sometimes... well, I really shouldn't say anything. Finn: No, please, go ahead. Gyr: Are you sure? I mean, I really wouldn't want to hurt anyone's fealings. Finn: Yes, please go on. Gyr: Well... (Looks around, then moves in closer, and whispers.) Sometimes, Tzimfemme can be really scarey. She has this really big carp thing and... I'm a-scared of fish. Finn: ... Gyr: I don't think she really knows about it, and I really don't want her to be really mad at me, so could we cut this part out, before it really gets aired. Finn: Errrr... we're live. Sorry. Gyr: (Eyes widen in fear and teardrops form in corners, running out in cute little rivers, anime-esque.) Finn: Hey, big fella, I'm sure she'll understand. After all, she's a mod! Mods're supposed to be understanding and compassionate, right? Gyr: (Sniffing.) You don't know Tzimfemme. I once tried to call her just Tzim... and... she... (Breaks down into incoherent sobbing.) Finn: (Looking around at irrate audience.) What?! Audience: Booo! Hisss!! Finn: I think that's quite enough for now. Please join us next time, when our guests will be... Oh dear lord! Tzimfemme and Rydia! ----------------------- Five in the Morning, the Day After Gyrfalcon's Appearance, Wyvern's Office The old lizard leaned back in his Corinthian leather rotating lounge chair, behind a desk made of that rarest of woods, monogamy. He puffed away on an imported Cuban and purused his own personal religious book, the Wall Street Journal. As he got to the listings for commercial and local business stocks, his scaled lips cracked in a very large, very disconcerting, smile. I, standing across from him and fidgetting with an unwrapped twinkie, looked up as the overgrown almost-dragon gave a low chuckle. "Errr... if there's nothing else important, Wyv, could I go now?" The big gila monster waved absently at his door. "Yeah, whatever. Thanks for the paper." I took the elevator back down to my dressing room. (The old studio that we had rented had long ago been abandoned for Wyv's mega-skyscraper office complex.) I passed a small production crew of about three hundred or so, and waved hello at them. They didn't even notice me. Back in my dressing room, I tried in vain to once more unwrap my twinkie. I swear, twinkies and cockroaches will be around forever. I mean, five thousand years from now, I can see aliens landing to explore our planet, finding an unwrapped twinkie, and marvelling at the height of our shrink-wrapping prowess, just moments before the giant, mutant cockroaches melt them to slag with their super-laser. You see how I go off on tangents? Anyway, I eventually gave uup on trying to pry open the shrink-wrapped spawn of Bead and got on to the important business of looking over today's episode plan. I usually spent the better part of the morning tossing out the cue cards with inappropriate or just downright lewd questions that Wyv kept sending my way. Our semi-draconic executive producer had sent more than his fair share this time. But can you really blame him? After several hours of this, the door flew open, the lights went out, and I was plastered with coat after coat of make-up. With a thunderous crack-a-boom, Bead left and I knew it was about time to head down to the studio, which was two floors up and three subway transfers away. I arrived just as the second sound check was going on. The audience showed up about ten minutes after that, the camera crew about ten minutes after that. It was showtime. (Cheesy TV theme song.) Finn: Hello, and welcome to Good Morning Conservatory, I'm your host, Finnius Mustardio Jalopini-Canard O'Harpy, and we've got a great show for you today! Audience: Yaaay! Finn: Our first guest is... (Stage Manager and Head Bouncer RagingGoat runs out, whispers in Finn's ear.) Finn: What do you mean cancelled?! RG: (Shrugs.) Finn: (Whispering.) Well, who do we have, then? RG: (More whispering.) Finn: Oh, this is just great. How am I supposed to... nevermind. Cerulean, from front row: (Screaming.) I love you, RagingGoat! Wooooo! (Waves pom-poms.) RG: (Waves sheepishly.) Audience: Awwwwwww... Finn: (Slaps forehead.) And now for this word from our sponsors.

Prologue A cold, wet morning. Wind whistles past two still forms, hands at hilts, swords slightly drawn. They face each other as the sun draws over the horizon, painting the bottoms of the now-silent clouds with crimson light. The light silhouettes them, shadows lengthen and retract as the sun moves behind the clouds. The two move as one, clearing the path between them in seconds. Swords clash and fall back, meet again. One stumbles and falls, the other darts in quickly and the duel is over. --------------------------------------------- Chapter One Death is surprisingly easy to adapt to. Yes, I realize that was a grammatical error, but hey, I'm dead, I can do that kind of thing. Anyway, like I was saying, death ain't all that bad. Yeah, it's a little chilly at first, but you get used to that. I think I'm forgetting something... hmm... Introductions! My name is Finnius Mustardio Jalopini-Canard O'Harpy. Call me Finn, it makes things a lot easier. Some of you may know me from various places in the Conservatory, but I won't plug myself now. Maybe later, but not now. Of course, those of you I've met have been mostly alive. At the time of my relating this to you, I'm very dead. How can I talk to you from "beyond the grave," you might ask? Let's not go into details about that, just assume it's possible. Truth to tell, the exact mechanism is beyond me. I'm rambling, aren't I? Bad habits carry over, it seems. Anyway, let's skip to the story. It all started innocently enough. Most things involving life-threatening danger start that way, ironically enough. Maybe it's because people get antsy with guilty beginnings and decide to stay in bed. Maybe not, who knows? I had just gotten up, hesitantly, as I had a nasty cut on my side. That was nothing interesting, just proof positive that you should always watch your feet while peeling onions in the rain. But that's a story for another time. In any case, I got up, pulled on some clothes, then realized I hadn't taken a shower. Fifteen minutes later I pulled on my clothes again, opened my front door and went off to buy some bandages. The ones I had were clean enough, but I needed more before that changed. The market was uninteresting, which is just the way markets should be. Old Man Moesie sold me some cheap linen rolls, I bought a few fresh onions, (I have a weak spot for them. Everyone needs a guilty pleasure, right?) and I made my way back home. Upon returning to my place of dwelling, several things were instantly noticable. First, I had forgotten to close the door on my way out. Second, there were several large burly men on my couch, one of whom I recognized. Lastly, my old roomate was perched on my favorite chair. He'd apparently lost an eye since I saw him last. That, or he thought eyepatches looked cool. If I'd known what I was about to get myself into, I would have just closed the door and looked for a new apartment. --------------------- Chapter Two So I come home to find an old roomate waiting with two big goons. That didn't upset me so much, seeing as one of the goons was my current roomate. The missing eye, though, was kind of off-setting. Putting on my best "I've-got-visitors- whether-I-want-them-or-not" face, I stepped into my humble two bedroom apartment. I decided to address the old roomate first. "So, Wyv, what brings you around these parts? I thought you said you were never coming back after the whole cross-dressing debacle. Man, you'll never live that one down." Wyv stared at me with his one good eye. He growled a bit under under his breath, stood up menacingly, and jabbed me in the ribs. Normally, this wouldn't be such a big thing. Wyv always said hello like that and he never put much force behind it. Unfortunately, I had a large open wound right across my ribs. I clutched at my side, fell over, and made a noise that sounded something like this: "...ghagaaack." Wyv, of course, was instantly down and helping me get the weight of my wallet off, so that I could stand up more easily. Once he had secured my financial future, the scaley bash-tarde pulled me to my feet. Noticing the blood, he asked what had happened. I related the whole onion-peeling accident to him, by which point it was time for dinner. "Hehe...," chuckled Wyvern, "I always told you those things would be the death of you." "It'll take more than a little white bulb to kill me, Wyv. But how'd you lose the eye?" Wyv proceded to talk while I made the evening meal. I decided on linguini alfredo, and threw in some diced onions, just because they always made Wyv sneeze, and I knew he hated that. Wyv had lost his eye in a construction accident, or so he claimed. Let that be lesson number two, kids. Always wear safety glasses, even if you're only putting up a swing-set. After dinner, we adjourned for the night. Wyv said he had a favor to ask me in the morning. Once again, I made a large mistake. "Sure thing, Wyv, I'm sure I can help you out." ----------------------- Chapter Three Early the next morning, which was surprisingly cold and wet, Wyv showed up in a stretchy-looking black jumpsuit. Wyv was an odd duck. "Hey, Finn, how's things? Wound still treating you right? Onion breath? Not bad, eh?" I grunted a greeting and waved the old lizard in. Wyv, I was fairly sure, hadn't eaten breakfast. After all, the sun wasn't halfway up yet and Wyv was never one to let the opportunity of a free meal slip by. I scrambled some bread and toasted some eggs, then dumped that mess and got it right. Over the morning meal, Wyv made his proposition. "... It was only a matter of time before the idea hit me to do a talk show. Y'see, the Conservatory is full of all these great writers, mods, yada yada yada, and who better to capitolize on their stardom than moi!" "Malevolent, Omnipotent I?" "No, you arse! Me!!" "So what's the point?" "Err... well, I've got the studio, I've got the crew, but I still need a host. I'd do it myself, but these kind of interviews are far too dang- errrrr, public, for me." Far too public for Wyvern? I hope he didn't expect me to buy that. "And, of course, you could buy a part of the stock when-" "Buy?" After much arguement, fussing, and filching of toast, Wyv finally got me down to the studio. It turned out to be a much nicer place than I had initially thought, with a few chairs, a table, and lots of lights. No place for an audience, though... "Wyv, where's the audience going to sit?" "Oh, there won't be an audience. They take up too much space, and we're not insured." "Not ins-" "Not yet. Going to happen." Wyv assured me over and over about the demure nature of the guests, what a priviledge it would be to host this show, what a fist full of mon- he usually stopped there, for some reason. In the end, he had me hooked. Besides, what harm could a little talk show do? -------------------------- Chapter Four "Lights..." "Camera one, ready." "Camera two, ready." "Camera three..." The first night on Good Morning, Conservatory went surprisingly well. Our guests were Cerulean and Bob the Ninja. Of course, Cery beat the living tar out him, stole back her flatware, and got us our first test of the studio medical staff, but that was to be expected. Afterwards, though, they settled down and the interviewing started. Finn: So, Bob, we've had word that you're on some kind of a secret mission right now, but we haven't heard much since... let me check... part two. Care to comment on that? Bob: (Eyeing Cerulean warily.) What? Oh, that. Yeah, I'm trying to keep things under wraps. Can you believe some guy was following us around with a notepad? I tell you, reporters these days have no sense. Finn: OK, well... (clears throat) on to the next question... Cerulean, you're one of the more prominently prominent people in the Conservatorial community as of the moment. Or so I'm told by this cool little thingy in my ear. Would you like to say anything about these nasty, "Pen expanding into evil" rumors. Cery: The operative word there, Finn, is "rumors." While I can't specifically say anything about our secret plans to dominate the UBB's, I can tell you that Wyvern-Brand Maple Syrup is not made up of a subtle mind-altering agent, designed to weaken the will of the masses. Wyvern-Brand Maple Syrup is one hundred percent syrupy goodness, and a part of your balanced breakfast. Finn: ... Bob: ... Cery: (Smiles happily and nods to herself.) Finn: Moving on... Bob, how's the ninja business? Bob: (Still staring warily at Cerulean.) It's everything the ninja business should be. Except for these black pajamas. Your wardrobe department has no idea what a ninja is supposed to look like. Finn: That's all... nothing else? No interesting stories, or anecdotes? Bob: Nope. Finn: (Turning to Cerulean.) As we all, no-doubt, remember, you were the instigator of one of the largest calamities to ever hit the Conservatory. But Cerulean's Masquerade wasn't just about our executive producer's madness-fueled quest for the ultimate party, was it? Cery: No, actually that was about it. Oh, yeah, and getting lots of pressies! Lots of shiny, happy, gift-wrapping! Finn: ... Bob: ... Cery: (Beams brightly at the camera and waves at Wyvern.) Finn: (Turns towards camera.) And now for tonight's final thoughts. (Rifles through notecards.) Oh, we don't have that segment. Well... Good night, everybody! As the first taping of the show, and my first time interviewing, I thought it went rather well. Wyv, our executive producer, had a higher opinion. "Finn, that was great! I mean the dramatic tension, the plugs of my maple syrup line, it was perfect!" "It was all right, I guess..." Wyv's bottom jaw dropped, which was impressive considering the number of teeth it contained. "All right?! It was more than all right, it was... it was... it was ratings! This is gonna be big, Finny-boy, reeeeaal big." I nodded, much like Cerulean was still doing, and headed back to my apartment. It may have been huge to Wyvern, but I thought I needed a little something more... like an aspirin.