"I'm back, Mistress," Cassidy called out as she entered the compartment.

Balancing the tray with her mistress's food in one hand, the young maid used her other hand to slide the door behind her closed. She then turned back around and made her way deeper into the unusually large train compartment.

She only almost tripped while carrying the tray to her mistress once.

Unlike Caspian's compartment, which was nice but basic, the one her mistress utilized was the epitome of posh. Cassidy's shoes slid over the soft velvet carpet like slippers gliding along a cloud. The almost crimson color of the carpet contrasted nicely with the varnished mahogany walls, which were inlaid with golden designs; eccentric swirls and arcane-looking symbols of an esoteric language that Cassidy could never hope to understand.

Not only was the decor fit for royalty, it was also quite spacious, easily large enough to house at least three regular-sized compartments within. This one even had a bed for Cassidy's mistress to sleep on and a small cabin attached to the main one, where Cassidy's own bed was located. It explained why this particular compartment took up an entire train car all on its own.

"You took an awfully long time bringing something as simple as a meal to me, maid," Cassidy's mistress said, her voice softer than the velvet carpet they stood on and sweeter than the most highly-prized ambrosia. Cassidy barely managed to withhold her wince.

The person Cassidy called mistress was a woman who appeared to be no older than eighteen, maybe twenty years of age and was, in a word, enchanting.

Like gentle waves as they caressed the shore, her long locks of raven hair descended from her crown and stopped somewhere near her lower back. A long set of bangs covered the upper-left portion of her face, hiding that eye from view. The other eye was visible, however, and anyone who caught sight of the single amethyst orb would find themselves enraptured by the woman's alluring gaze. She was a vision that spoke of lust; a promise of unfathomable pleasure that would come if only someone was willing to take her.

There was a reason she had earned the nickname Succubus.

"M-my apologies, Mistress Erica." Cassidy would have bowed deeply, but didn't because she was carrying her mistress' food and didn't want to spill it all over the floor. Again. Instead, she hurriedly walked over to the woman, nearly tripping over her own two feet in the process, and set the small tray on the fold out table situated in front of her mistress. "There were some... some complications when it came to getting your food, and it took a little bit longer than I expected."

"I don't want to hear your excuses," Erica said, and though her tone was even, it still caused Cassidy to flinch. Not that Erica seemed bothered by this. She appeared as unflappable as always, although she did make it a point to complain about her current lack of talented help. "Ha... if only my Derek hadn't fallen ill from overworking himself, I wouldn't be having to deal with such a sorry excuse for a maid."

Another flinch. Yet at the same time, Cassidy could not stop a small trail of sweat from traveling down her face at her Mistress' words. The only reason Erica's Knight was "ill" as her mistress put it, was because the woman had practically drained him off all his essence.

Very few men could keep pace with the vivacious Sorceress, and her Knight was no exception. There were even rumors about how Erica Angelo went through a Knight every decade because she had so much sex with them they died from exhaustion and dehydration.

Naturally, this was all just rumor and speculation, but Cassidy often wondered if there might be a grain of truth to these rumors.

It was probably best not to ask.

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor in this instance, Cassidy merely mumbled out another soft apology, and moved over to the left side of the doorway. She then clasped her hands in front of her, and did her best to blend in with her surroundings. As her mother had once taught her, a maid's job was to aid the one they served while appearing as unobtrusive as possible. It was a little difficult because the train was shaking as it ran over the tracks, but she liked to think she did an admirable job of remaining still.

While Cassidy tried her best to pretend she was a chameleon, Erica took a single bite of the stew idling in her bowl. She promptly grimaced as the taste filled her mouth. "The next time I travel, I am going to need to bring my own chef, it seems. The fare on this train is far too plebeian for my refined palate. Only a peasant would enjoy this." Despite the amount of complaints she had about the lack of decent fare, Erica still ate the stew. She was hungry, and Ashtown was still several hours away.

Just as she was going to continue eating the bland food, the train began grinding against the tracks, the wheels emitting a loud shriek akin to the dying squeals of a gutted animal, as some outside force caused them to shudder and shake like dwarves trapped within a collapsing mining tunnel.

Not only was Erica nearly jerked out of her seat, but the spoon she held smacked her in the face, causing stew to splatter all over her lovely features. It also completely ruined her make up.

As if that wasn't humiliating enough, the bowl of half-finished stew flew off the table, spilling all over her expensive silk dress.

Furious, Erica stood up, throwing the tray, table and bowl with a single swift, violent motion across the room. The force with which she tossed the objects caused them to crash against the far wall on the other side of the compartment with a loud bang! The wooden table shattered into splinters, and the bowl of stew also broke apart like so much glass. The act caused the contents to splatter across the wall, leaving large spots of reddish fluid to run down the mahogany wood.

"What is going on here?!" Erica's growl reminded Cassidy of an enraged lioness. "Just what does the driver of this bucket of bolts think he's doing?"

"W-would you like me to find out, mistress?"

Erica glanced at her maid. Cassidy was leaning against the doorway, gripping the handle in a fierce hold to keep from falling over as the train ground to an inelegant halt. The poor thing looked positively rattled.

"Don't bother," Erica growled, a rather nasty scowl marring her beautiful face. Grabbing the nearest piece of cloth, a napkin, she did her best to wipe the stew off her face and dress. The face was easy enough, albeit, it left a bit of a sticky mess and her makeup was totally ruined. The dress... not so much.

"I'm going to find out what's going on myself," Erica muttered harshly. "That man better have a very good reason for stopping this thing so suddenly, or so help me, I will make sure he lives to regret how his actions have marred my beautiful self.

"E-eh? W-wait! Mistress Erica!"

Erica ignored her maid as she stormed out of the room and down the hall toward the conductors station.

Because she was in the second car, reaching the conductor was just a short walk. When she arrived, it was to see the conductor, a middle-aged man with short gray hair, standing in front of the mechanism that controlled the train, looking like nothing was wrong. This only served to irritate her further. Was this imprudent man so stupid he hadn't even noticed what was happening?

"Hey, you! Why did the train stop so suddenly?" Erica demanded. In spite of her demands and how the man had been quite smitten with her when she first boarded, the raven-haired femme received no answer. This only made her angrier. "You imbecilic old fool, listen to me when I'm talking to you!" Reaching out, she placed a hand on the conductor's shoulder, preparing to give the foolish man a well-deserved verbal lashing for ruining her dress...

... only to back away in shock when the man toppled backwards, crumbling to the floor like a soulless doll that had run out of Mana.

"What in the Spirits' name is going on here?"

She looked down at the conductor to see that he was dead. His eyes were wide and glazed over. He also wasn't breathing. Erica couldn't tell what the cause of his death was, however. There were no marks on his body from a weapon. Poison maybe? But, no. It would have to have been an airborne virus of some kind, which would have infected everyone. Food poison was always fast acting; he would have died within minutes of ingesting it (and she knew he'd not eaten since she boarded), and poison through touch required at least fourteen hours before it entered the bloodstream. Only ten hours had passed.

So then, what has caused him to become one of the dearly departed?

Looking up and out the front window to see if something outside held the answers, Erica saw a lone figure standing on the tracks several meters away from the train. She couldn't determine much about them. The tan cloak they had donned made discerning even their gender impossible, and the hood covering their head cast their face in absolute darkness.

A glance out the windows on her left and right revealed this figure to be one of several. She counted at least a dozen more surrounding the train, all of them standing high atop the cliffs, all of them wearing the same tan cloaks and hoods that concealed their features.

Erica narrowed her eyes. She didn't know who these people were, why they were there, or what they wanted. However, she did know one thing: whatever happened from here on out was going to be more trouble than she'd anticipated.

"Tch!" Erica clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Of all the days for my Derek to fall ill."