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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword
Wyvern

The "Meet the Almost Reporter" Conservatory Gala

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The wide marble ballroom set-up of the Conservatory glimmers under the light of an unstable chandelier, which is held in place by four imps in tuxedos on temporary appointment. Surrounding the large dancing area of the room are lines of rectangular tables labeled “Gala Grub,” as well as smaller circular tables with seats for pennites less likely to move their rear. The grub tables contain a variety of appetizer tidbits, ranging from deviled eggs to deviled curly onion cheese doodles. An assortment of entirely alcoholic beverages is lined up at a bar that’s been set up in the corner of the room, with the Bruteweiser logo being prominently displayed. Several troglyodytes from the Almost Report tune up their instruments on a stage built on the left end of the room, preparing for the official debut of their off-shoot rock band…

 

Wyvern tugs at his traditional geld bag tie and makes sure that his “Hi! My Name is Wyvern” tag is properly stickered to the front of his ashen suit. The overgrown lizard brushes the scales back on his head, then seats himself behind a large cardboard box resting at the north end of the room. He hoists up a sign that reads “Otografs,” then twiddles his claws and grins for a moment before signaling to a troglyodyte who’s serving himself some deviled caviar.

 

“Ssspinky, get over here for a sec.”

 

The troglyodyte pops a deviled shrimp into his mouth before approaching the reptilian Elder.

 

“Let me guess, you tore a hole in your dress pants and you need an emergency patching job?”

 

“No, no. I mean… kinda, but that’sss not why I called ya over.” Wyvern sets a large red quill onto the table along with several Almost Report posters, all of which show Wyvern pointing his claws in a cheesy news man pose. “I jusssst wanted to check to make sssure you got all the invitationsss out.”

 

“One personal invitation under every pennite’s door?” Spinky scratches the back of his head. "Yeah, I think we covered it."

 

“Good, good.” Wyvern rubs his claws together and leans back in his seat. “The legionsss of adoring fans should be swarming in any minute now...”

 

;-)

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A disheveled individual shambles in, "Is this the Lurkers Anonymuse meeting?"

 

Looking around, he sees Wyvern. Pulling out a small piece of paper, he heads towards him thinking, "He must be the guy who validates my parking."

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Wyvern grins and greets Snypiuer with open claws, then snatches the demi-god's scrap of paper and prepares to sign it. The reptilian Elder's face goes blank, however, when he notices the "Parking Validation" script written on the upper half of the sheet. He stops his quill in mid-scribble and lifts the sheet to his snout, examining it more thoroughly as the evil schemer cogs in his brain begin turning. Wyvern's eyes narrow as he sets the scrap of paper back down on his cardboard box, a sneer slowly spreading across his scaly face.

 

"Oh, of courssse sir. It'sss valet parking, actually." Wyvern pulls out a sheet entitled "Vehicle Ownership Transaction" and passes it in Snypiuer's direction, along with a quill. "Jussst sign there, there and there. Then lissst a couple target black markets here, then drop your keysss off in this slot on my cardboard box here. You won't be not missing your vehicle in no time."

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Sora wandered in, actually more like floated in, sitting cross-legged a few feet off the floor, flipping through a magazine titled "How to Get Over Your Writer's Block". (wish there was an actual magazine like that.) she glanced up, perplexion showing across her face.

She spoke to the wind sprite under her (but of course no one else saw it), "I told you to take me to the Banquet Room." Young, mischievious sprites. *sigh* Oh, well.

She stood up, dismissing the sprite. Maybe she could eat some of the food without getting hearburn or indigestion. Maybe. She headed over to the tables.

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"Greetingssss, Sora!" Wyvern waves from his spot at the cardboard box, tilting his snout as the magazine that Sora's carrying catches the corner of his eye. "Once yer done filling up on deviled artichoke heart-burners, come on over and I'll let you know all about the meritsss of Almost Dragonic Brand Writer's Block Blockers™. Made with real blocks of crumpled scrapped story sheetsss!"

 

Wyvern winks and strikes an enthusiastic claws up with one of his signature salesman sneers, then sets about practicing his signature several times over while waiting for takers. In the background, on the music stage, the distinctive twang of a rubber band bass guitar can be heard as the troglyodyte behind it adjusts its final stretches in tuning length...

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Snypiuer thinks to himself, "Wow, Wyvern must be over all of the trouble we've had in the past. I ALMOST feel bad about what will be happening in the near future."

Everyone in the entire Keep looks around as menacing music is heard, "dum dum DUMMM!!!"

Snypiuer quickly signs the papers, drops his keys in the box and wanders away before any questions can be asked.

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"Aren't you gonna take one o' thessse free-ish Almost Report posters?! They're only a geld."

 

Wyvern watches Snypiuer wander off without paying his offer any mind, then breaks into an evil sneer and begins moving in a flash. The overgrown lizard raps the front of his cardboard box three times, then claps. Three troglyodytes wearing auto shop overalls rush over to the signature booth, and before you can say "Snypiuer's ride is history" one of them has the keys in hand. Wyvern grins and points at the sheet that Snypiuer filled out, flashing a large number of lightning fast claw signals... semi-crescent motion for "de-assemble," curled claw for "market," hands cupped for "profit." The troglyodytes nod in sync, then dash off in three different directions, leaving Wyvern snickering in their wake.

 

"Ahhh, I love thessse calm little parties." Wyvern cringes as a loud farting trombone rings from the music stage. "Would sssomebody mind bringin' me a Bruteweiser and Non-H2O Tonic? Preferably before the flocks of fans begin to swarm?"

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Degorram appeared suddenly behind Wyvern, dressed in a black dress and gloves. In her hands was clutched a very squishy Wyvern plushie and a large marker. She held out both to the startled almost dragon and pointed at the Wyvern plushie's belly:

 

"Sign here."

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A small army of Kitten Minions swarmed into the room, taking up residence in various corners or on top of tables or investigating some of the stranger guests.

 

They were followed shortly afterwards by CheerMynx, dressed to the nines in a low-cut, sparkling ballgown that would look more at home on the red carpet. In one paw she clutched a glittering leash, which split into three parts towards the bottom, one for each of the cerbihuahua's diamond studded collars.

 

"Wyvie!" CheerMynx smiled as she glided up to the Almost Dragon. "Like, er, great party!" The expression on her face as she looked at some of the less presentable decorations begged to differ, but Wyvern was too busy drooling at the cheerline's attire by this point to care.

 

"Oh! Like, hi Degorram!" CheerMynx waved to the shapeshifter standing next to Wyvern. "Like, I'm totally sorry I didn't mean to interrupt. I'm just gonna like go and meet some of the guests and stuff, kay? I'll catch you two later!"

 

With another smile and wave, CheerMynx wandered off in search of her adoring public, the cerbihuahua working to gnaw on one of it's leashes as it followed.

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Degorram waved and smiled at CheerMynx but was too distracted looking avidly at the cerbihuahua to say anything. She had never seen the species before and decided she'd have to go introduce herself once CheerMynx settled down. Surely she'd want to dance, and she couldn't hold onto the dog while dancing....

 

Glancing up at Wyvern's face, she was sure he'd want to dance at some time during the night as well.

 

"Wyvern. Hey. Wyv. Wyvy-poo." She waved a hand in front of his frozen eyes and smiled when he slowly came around. "Please sign?" she asked, thrusting the plushie back into his vision. It squeaked and flopped when she squeezed it.

 

"Sssssure Dego," Wyvern said distractedly as he scribbled on the bottom of the Wyv-plush's foot. "Say, that's more of a rag doll than a plushie, isn't it?"

 

"It's undergone lots of use," Degorram said, holding up the slightly worn squishy and looking at it with attachment. "I've taken in a small flock of googlemonts and they enjoy cuddling with it." She winked and went in pursuit of the cerbihuahua.

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Wyvern’s eyes trail off after the ends of CheerMynx’s ballgown before turning back to the sight of the departing Degorram with a start. The overgrown lizard quickly bounces out of his seat and rushes over to the well-dressed shapeshifter, hopping in front of her and spreading his wings to prevent her from passing. He clears his throat and brushes a claw over his tie in an open display of nearly dragonic machismo, letting out a haughty laugh as he re-accepts Dego’s plushy and signs it six times over. He adds a final doodle of a Wyvern stick figure to the plushy before passing it back to her with a wide grin.

 

“Glad you could make it, Dego! We really need to catch up.” Wyvern pauses as the troglyodyte band begins pounding on their instruments in the background, the combination of rubber-bandjo, bone keyboard, granite rock guitar, and can-non-drums producing a sound most likely to be dubbed by critics as “sewer-indie-troglyodisco.” He cringes at the sound for a moment, then cocks a claw back at the dance floor. “Sssay, I don’t suppose you might wanna cut a rug with me?”

 

Degorram smiles and beams at Wyvern before the overgrown lizard continues.

 

“See, there’ssss this lavender Conservatory rug back there, reeeaaalll pricey y’know? Wyvern rubs his claws together with a little cackle. “And I figure we can split the profits 70/30, I mean after you help me cut it into pieces and all…”

 

Wyvern pauses as he notices the disappointed expression on Degorram’s face, and turns his tail stinger in the ground as he considers an alternative for plan B.

 

“Orrrr we could jusssst dance…?”

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Degorram smiled. "I'd love to." She placed the plushie carefully on one of the chairs that lined the ballroom's walls and joined Wyvern onto the dance floor.

 

"Do you remember Halloween?" Degorram asked slyly, smiling with a laugh in her eyes. "I believe that was the last time we danced. Or was there another time....in between....?" She suddenly drifted off into confusion as she tried to remember. Her brain was filled with thousands of species and behavioral patterns, but she couldn't remember how many parties she'd been to to save her life.

 

"Yessss.....Halloween. That wasssss lassst year, wasn't it?" Wyvern winced slightly and sniffed as he remembered. "A...a good time. Yesss."

 

"Oh, but speaking of that carpet," Degorram said, looking back at Wyvern. "I would agree to cut it with you if, say, we did it 60/40. You see there hasn't been any way to earn geld around here for since before I arrived, and I am very poor as a result. How am I supposed to buy all of your Almost-Draconic products without geld?"

 

"An excccellant point," Wyvern said, nodding. "40/60 it isssss. I'll, uh..." he glanced around confidentially and then leaned in to whisper behind a claw, "I'll contact you later about said carpet." He winked broadly and Degorram's black hair became streaked with pink and yellow highlights as she grinned.

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Kikuyu watched Wyvern and Degorram dance from the entrance as she swept through the scarlet drapes. She flicked them aside with a small flick of her wrist, glancing up at them and jumping when she realized that the velvet had been designed so that the only shiny parts reflected a 30-foot tall image of Cheer Mynx on each drape. Kikuyu shuddered and moved on, the silk of her kimono rustling slightly.

 

She crept up behind Degorram and draped her arms around her twin's shoulders. "I brought Plushie-Wyv's bow tie," she said, fastening the miniature tux bow around the doll's throat. "There, now he looks up to the occasion."

 

Degorram glanced at the chain and scythe looped in Kikuyu's obi with a wry grin. "Ahhh, so you came prepared as well."

 

"I'm always prepared," she said, sliding one of her hair sticks partly out of her locks to reveal the blade at the tip. She glanced at Wyvern and grinned. "Hullo Wyv. Looking forward to Valentine's Day? I've heard there are several plots to surprise you with something...special." She winked at Degorram, who returned her toothy smile. The ninja waggled her fingers in a little wave and pulled away. "Pardon me while I enquire at the food table. Those sausages are so reminiscent..."

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No one notices Snypiuer as he slowly walks around the perimeter of the party, idly checking windows and doors. Therefore, no one notices that he is quietly, discreetly, placing magical locks on each and every exit. As if to insure no one could escape.

 

After he completes his circuit of the room, he looks around and with a slight nod and a small satisfied smile, he leaves.

 

Moments later, as if on cue, a large group of law enforcement officials burst in the front door. "NOBODY MOVE! We're looking for one Wyvern Almost A Dragon, AKA Wyvie, AKA Wyv, AKA. . . . Boss - in connection to a stolen vehicle black market chop shop and the use of fraudulent Vehicle Ownership Transaction (V.O.T.) papers. Specifically a bait car recently recovered with V.O.T papers signed by an S. S. Squirrel."

 

A quick flash of memory shoots through Wyvern's brain: Looking at the papers Snypiuer signed, he saw an S and scribbling, in his haste, he just took for granted it said Snypiuer.

 

At that moment, three troglyodytes, wearing auto shop overalls, are brought in in shackles. As Wyvern quickly pulls off his 'Hi!, My Name is Wyvern' tag and slowly inches closer to the nearest exit, all three raise their manacled claws, point at Wyvern and say, "That's him!"

Edited by Snypiuer

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Wyvern turns and releases Degorram in a final dance spin, raising a claw to her apologetically as his feet carry him in the direction of the exit. The overgrown lizard's course of escape is altered, however, when one of the wiser law enforcement agents yells something about a CheerMynx dress malfunction to distract him. A few turns and scrambling slides later, Wyvern finds himself surrounded by shackle-bearing officials behind a deviled angel food cake table. He raises his claws defensively as the law begins closing in, pressing his wings up against the wall and stammering.

 

"L-l-lisssten guys, it really ain't what ya think! If you r-read the fine print, you'll see it sssays-"

 

"We don't wanna hear it." A brawny officer steps up to Wyvern, lifting his set of cuffs with a menacing stare. "You're under arre-"

 

"Stop right there!"

 

The law enforcement officials all turn simultaneously, only to drop their cuffs and salute as a venerable white-haired man in an odd outfit that could only be that of a commanding officer stands before them. The law officials all yell simultaneously:

 

"SIR!"

 

"The arrest of Wyvern is hereby postponed." The venerable man strokes his white beard with an air of dignity and respect, as well as a hint of uncertainty that catches Wyvern's eye. "Please drink up at this party until further instructed, or until you pass out and don't remember anything."

 

The surrounding law officers scratch their heads in confusion as they glance to one another, and begin muttering amongst themselves until the commanding officer stamps his foot on the ground.

 

"That's an order!"

 

The law enforcement officers abandon their posts with a scattered batch of "yessir"s, migrating over to the bar to fetch themselves some drinks as instructed. Wyvern scratches his horns, then slowly slinks out from his hidden corner and heads back over to the dancefloor. Wandering over to the venerable man in the odd outfit, Wyvern glances in both directions and raises a claw to the man's ear as he whispers:

 

"Great work, Dego." Wyvern grins and passes a small pair of carpet scissors to the shapeshifter. "For later. I owe ya a longer dance as well, by the way."

 

Wyvern winks, then heads over to the refreshments table in the hopes of drilling Kikuyu for more information regarding certain Valentines plans. In the background, the troglyodisco band picks up its rhythm again after halting for the law's invasion.

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Degorram released an inward sigh of relief as she stomped venerably over to where 'her men' were beginning to drink. If she was to spend the rest of the evening confined as an old man (cripes the beard itched!) she was going to make sure she enjoyed herself in some manner.

 

"DRINK UP BOYS!" she roared in a general-type fashion.

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POUND POUND POUND!

 

The evening quiet was shattered by resounding bangs at the Keep of the Pen is Mightier than the Sword. His after dinner reading disturbed, Grimmael puzzled for a moment what the din could be, and by the third set of explosions resigned himself to finding out what it was. He followed the noise to the front gate, which quite surprised him, as he had forgotten the Keep had a front gate. Most denizens these days teleported, or use a tunnel, or the side door, or a window, or flew... But the front door? How mundanely forgettable.

 

Grabbing a nearby broom he vigorously brushed the dust and cobwebs from the enormous portal, scattering grit, evicting creepy crawleys, and even a couple bunnies, in all directions. Coughing through the near-impenetrable cloud that arose, he heaved up the bar and pulled one side open a short way, which groaned heartily in protest.

 

He peaked out into the cool night air and saw... a black skull?

 

Craning his neck up he saw a mountain of a man, most ominously attired. His limbs and body were thick, like stacked boulders. He wore short black breeches, cinched at the waist with a thick leather strap and an iron buckle the size of a dinner plate. Cast onto the buckle was the dispassionately unmoving grimace of a skull. He wore no shirt, though his prodigious body hair mostly made up for it. His head was completely covered by a black hood with two small eye holes cut out. In his hand was a capacious double bladed axe, the handle made from the trunk of some unfortunate tree, the keen edges brilliantly reflecting Grimmaels's candle light, which he had brought in one hand.

 

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Grimmael,"Executions are on Thursdays. And next time, please, use the servants entrance." He began to close the door.

 

"This is the Keep of the Might Pen"? It was a voice like rocks grinding, like an avalanche, like an earthquake, like the dead rising from their graves after the great trump.

 

"Yes," answered Grimmael. "Yes, but you see..."

 

"I'm not here to execute anybody. Where did you get that idea?" said the great voice, sounding somewhat taken aback.

 

""Well, you are dressed as an executioner, and you have an executioner's axe, and, well, you LOOK like an executioner!"

 

"Hmph," rumbled the mountainous man, "My dad always wanted me to be, said it ran in the family, I even gave it a whirl for a while, but, oh, I don't know - was never really satisfied, you know?. So, decided I should experience the rest of the world for a while - you know... to find myself."

 

"Umm.." replied Grimmael, unsure of where this was going. "Well, what can I do for you?"

 

"Let me introduce myself. My name is Tim. I understand there was a vehicle theft, and recovery was imminent, however time has passed and nothing else has come of it. I have been sent to investigate." As he spoke he raised his other arm, and dwarfed in his mighty mit was a sleek black leather attache case. "My card."

 

Grimmael managed to catch the fluttering business card dropped from above, and held it to the Candle to read:

 

Tim B. Head

Insurance Investigator

Dewey Cheatum & Howe

Insurance, Pawn, and Bail bonds.

NOT an executioner

 

"Ah. I see. You are going to want to talk to Wyvern."

 

"Actually the car belonged to..."

 

"Doesn't matter. Whenever things like this happen, Wyvern is uncannily always in the middle of it. Come along." Grimmael showed Tim into the Keep.

Edited by The Portrait of Zool

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As Grimmael turns to lead Tim into the Keep, he hears an attention getting cough come from what he can only believe (considering the alternative) is the skull on Tim's buckle. With a quizzical look, he says, "That was the buckle. . .wasn't it?" A voice coming from a location slightly lower and (to Grimmaels great relief) further behind Tim, responded, "No."

 

Tim steps aside, "Sorry, forgot to introduce my. . .associate." A dark elf stands behind Tim, smoking a cigarette and wearing a trench coat and a Fedora pulled down at an angle over one eye. He says in a rough voice, battered by countless cigarettes and booze, "Names Noir. . .Mage Noir, but you can call me Sam." He hands Grimmael his card:

 

Mage Noir

 

Private Wand

"I guess we got lucky Tim. Looks like we're after the same guy. I'm a mage for hire, a private wand. I happen to be looking for a 'Wyvern' in regards to a little matter." He shows Grimmael a picture of Wyvern - at a strip club. It's a much younger Wyvern, but there is no mistake that it's Wyvern. "Now, there are several 'little matters' I need to see him about, but this is the one I was specifically hired to take care of at this point in time." He hands over another picture. It's of a girl recognizable as one of the strippers from the previous picture. . .holding a baby that bears an UNCANNY resemblance to Wyvern.

 

Grimmael is pulled away from staring at the picture by a small voice to his left and close to the ground, "Are you my daddy?" comes from a chubby, dirty diaper wearing, mucus excreting miniature version of Wyvern.

 

Tim asks Sam, "Mind if I get my business with him over first?"

 

"Sure. We got time, and now that we know his whereabouts, there will be a lot of others interested in that knowledge." Sam adds with a small smile, "Tim, we got all the time we need."

 

Grimmael can only shake his head as he leads the trio into the Keep.

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Voice over in Mage Noir's voice as the four make their way to the Conservatory:

 

We followed the doorman into the Keep, our footsteps tracing a maze of paths that could only have been mapped out in the mind of an over excited, hyper-active 9-year old on acid. That's what you run into when you allow the artistic and power mad to create their own place to live. Still, I found it interesting. A warren of buildings and alleyways that held intrigue and wonder at every turn. While the little snot sack that stumbled beside me seemed to be both excited and apprehensive all at once, Tim had to stoop down almost double more then a few times to get past low over hangs and through doorways - I can only guess at the picture of the Keep sketched in his mind and didn't envy him one bit the backache (not to mention the headache from the times he didn't duck quite quick enough) he was going to have in the morning.

 

We came to a door and as the smoke from my cigarette drifted in front of me like a gossamer faerie ballerina, the doorman said, "Wyvern is the one that looks like that (pointing at the little snot machine), only bigger and not as suave." He opened the door and we found ourselves staring into a ballroom filled with a plethora of beings from the exotic to mundane. My grey matter did a round house kick to the inside of my brain case as a feline creature with a body that would make a blind man weep with joy walked by. I didn't even notice Tim's catatonic state of euphoria as another vision of femininity walked by. I still have no idea how I was able to pull my Wizard PPK snub nosed wand and fire off a veil spell to protect both of us. Tim was wiping drool from his chin and thanked me as the intoxicating visions of beauty began to fade away. Another quick true form spell from my snub nose cleared the room of all concealments and disguises, both magical and natural. A group of flat foots drinking at the bar were astonished to find that the Captain they were drinking with was actually a shape-shifter that was a copy of the girl that walked by me right after the 'kitty cat' did.

 

As the flatfoots drunkenly reached for thug-thumpers and night-sticks, the shape-shifter moved away from them with experienced ease. Three shackled troglyodytes in the corner desperately tried to unshackle themselves and chaos began to skitter throughout the ballroom as the 'law enforcement' officers began to lurch about haphazardly, all the while yelling at each other, "Get that lizard before he escapes!"

 

A larger version of the little diaper bundle was in a far corner of the room. I looked at Tim and he looked at me as we both said, "Wyvern!"

 

I was feeling like things were looking up. . .

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Hugging a large notebook with pictures of Wyvern pasted all over the cover, a slight figure in a sea-green dress slid out from behind a table of food. Hoping to get Wyvern to sign her collection of "Almost Report" transcripts, she stepped out into the crowd, only to find that she had stepped into a madhouse.

 

Law enforcement officials were running pell-mell across the room after Wyvern, who was desperately trying to escape. A smaller version of Wyvern had toddled across the room and was now pulling at the table-cloth. Freya backed slowly out of the chaos, trying, and so far, not succeeding, to control her rising temper. She was suddenly very glad that she had left her daggers in her room, or someone would have gotten seriously injured over the mess that the Gala had devolved into.

 

Turning toward the door, the elf sprinted forward, intent on removing herself from the increasing madness. Then two things hit her at once, the knowledge that the doors were magically padlocked, and a flying pie.

 

“Who threw that pie at me?” the berserker, barely holding onto her sanity at this point, dropped her notebook and whipped around to see the mini-Wyvern giggling over by the pastry table. She had stepped forward, rolling up her sleeves, when another pie hit her right in the kisser. Eyes glinting with a hint of red, the elf lunged forward. “That’s it, you little brat.”

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Mage Noir voice over:

 

Some how things seemed to get worse from there, like an old Studebaker without brakes tearing down dead man's hill. It's a wild ride, but something tells you it isn't going to end well. It could have been the booze or maybe the fact that the flatfoots parents were most likely blood relatives, but them trying to catch Wyvern was like watching the Keystone Cops on peyote - led by Barney Fife. Why Wyvern was even attempting to get away from them was a mystery, he would have been better off just standing still.

 

An unknown informant had tip me off that the exits would be wizard locked and from the looks of it, they were. So far all his tips had paid off, that worried me. For some reason, I felt like a mouse in a maze that had every correct path lined with the sent of cheese. I had to wonder what was at the other end. But I was getting a sack full of geld for my troubles and I figured not every mouse gets caught. Some times he gets the cheese and gets away.

 

Tim considered wading into the mayhem 'till I mentioned that there was only one way out and it was through us. So, we sat back and waited. . . .

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Wyvern scoots himself to a messy halt as he reaches Tim B. Head and Mage Noir, glancing behind himself for a moment as a furious Freya B begins beating the pie-tossing law officers to a cream-covered pulp. The overgrown lizard shakes his wings and wobbles in his semi-inebriated state, turning his head back in the direction of the two Pen newcomers and raising a claw before an uncomfortably queasy expression falls over his snout. Mage Noir grins victoriously, mistaking his delivered baby for the almost dragonic nausea that too many Bruteweisers had induced. His grin promptly fades, however, as Wyvern taps a claw on his chest and belches a burst of flame, which accidentally engulfs and instantly incinerates the Wyvern baby. Once the flame has cleared, all that remains is the ashes of a Wyvern baby costume and a nervous-looking imp carrying a large celebrity tabloid camera.

 

"Greetingssss guys, welcome to th'party!" Wyvern guffaws and shoves a few wine glasses and beer bottles into Tim and Mage Noir's hands, oblivious to the paparrazi at hand. "Hash any of you seen CheerMynxshie? Ah'm lookin' for CheerMynxshie."

 

"Wyvern." Tim's thunderous voice causes Wyvern to pause. The giant insurance investigator waits until the lizard is looking up at him before continuing. "Tim B. Head. I had a question regarding-"

 

"Th'anssswer is NO!" Wyvern pulls out a signed Almost Report poster and places it in one of the notches of Tim's enormous belt. "Only ONE ssssigned possster per fan. If ya wanna getsss more paraphenalia signed, we can work out something for an extra 10 geld a ssscribble."

 

Wyvern pats Tim on the gigantic leg in a good-natured manner and turns to dash off in pursuit of CheerMynx, accidentally swatting the tabloid imp with his tail and sending it flying across the room where it lands on a sizzling deviled imp platter. The overgrown lizard's path is promptly blocked by Mage Noir, however, who pockets the magically altered photo he was carrying of the stripper with Wyvern's baby and raises a hand.

 

"Wyvern. Mage Noir." The supposed sleuth doesn't bother to shake the lizard's claw, opting instead to pull out a pad of paper and a quill. "What do you have to say regarding the supposed scandal between you and-"

 

"Lishten, Mage man, I'd really love to talk ssscandalsss but right now I gotta go tell CheerMynxshie dis joke I jussst heard!" Wyvern shoves a card with a portable crystal ball incantation number into the scandal-breaker's hands. "I'll be here all night if ya wantsss to talk later!"

 

With that, Wyvern bows his head tipsily to Mage Noir, almost hitting him in the face with his horns in the process. He makes his way around the persistent Private Wand by creating space using one of his wings, then dashes off in what he drunkenly assumes is CheerMynx's direction. Mage Noir immediately sets off in pursuit of the lizard, but is promptly trampled by a second wave of law enforcement officers with Wyvern's arrest on their mind. Needless to say, the law officers' iron spike heeled boots invoke urgent thoughts of healing spells in a certain investigator's mind...

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Degorram turned around blearily and observed the chaos with a bemused and absent look, her eyes half open and not at all focused. There were a few empty mugs behind her on the bar table, at which she sat alone -- for most of the soldiers had joined the fray in their own drunken excitement, though it was certain that they had forgotten who their enemy was. Obviously Degorram did not realize that she was alone, for she leaned over to the empty chair behind her and whispered "These dance parries......always out 'f and," and she nodded knowingly, every nod causing her General disguise to slip and waver until it dribbled onto the floor like a puddle of silk. Degorram slipped off her chair and stepped in it, slipping on it slightly as it wheezed and squeaked under her feet, and walked towards the party, a white mustache the only part of her disguise still attached.

 

Amazingly she managed to make her way uncertainly across the battle field without hitting anyone, mumbling apologies to discarded chairs as she tripped over their legs. She came to a halt next to Wyvern, dazed by the alcohol she had consumed. Putting her hand on his shoulder she hicupped. "Iss getting a liddle rowdy Wyv. Shallweezzzit the bilding?"

 

Wyvern nodded frantically and started to back away towards one of the doors when someone reached out and made a grab for his arm.

 

Degorram's fist flew swiftly and crashed into the person's nose, sending them flying across the room. The shapeshifter pulled her almost-dragon overlord towards one of the doors, smashed it open (wasn't that magically padlocked?) and yanked him down the hall, bumping into walls everynow and then.

Edited by Degorram

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Realizing that the situation was changing and changing fast, a dark figure that was observing from the shadows flicks his hand and right before Degorram smashed open the door, the lock spells vanished from the exits. "Can't have anyone hurt trying to escape the chaos," he thought to himself as he made a tear in reality and slipped away.

 

On a dark plane of existence, the dark figure brooded and absent mindedly talked out loud to 3 smaller individuals (who stayed quiet), as he recalculated his plans. "Don't see how Wyv knew the kid was a phony, I'm just glad I was able to make it look like he was a paparazzi and Mage Noir was a reporter. Man is he going to be upset! Bad enough he had no idea the kid and photo weren't real, making him act like a reporter may have been a bit too much. I'll tell him it was necessary and give him a big bonus. That ought to keep him from trying to kill me. He's an asset, hate to have to liquidate him."

 

Turning to the 3 smaller figures, he says "Well guys, any idea on how to further discredit Wyvern or tarnish his image - if at all possible?"

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Kikuyu followed her much toozed twin and the captive Almost-Dragon (Dego's grip could be pretty tight) as they escaped towards the far end of the hall. As they disappeared around a corner, Kikuyu put on an extra boost of speed to catch them...

 

The hall around the twist was empty. Kikuyu harrumphed and glanced along the walls, grinning grimly as she noticed a lump behind one of the curtains giggle in a very drunk Degorram voice that whispered very loudly "They'll never find us here hee hee."

 

Kikuyu pushed aside the cloth. Degorram had Wyvern in a headlock and the Almost-Dragon was turning slightly blue and red at the same time-- blue from lack of air, and red from the close proximity to Degorram's chest. Degorram grinned widely at Kikuyu and hiccupped again. "'Lo Kiku!" she burbled. "Care te join usss?"

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