A loud slap echoed through the halls. The noise startled those who congregated in the large halls; the bawling, shrieking died down along with the hushing of the murmurs of disorder and panic and the quieting of the rapid pacing which accompanied the entire scene. All heads — those turned down to Hell, those offering prayers to the gods, and those simply staring at the illusionary reflection of oneself in the cold eyes of the dead — turned to the source of the commotion.

All turned back once the baron shot a glare at the party gathered, though all kept their ears opened. Entertainment, even in a life-death situation, remained too exquisite and indulgent to ignore, particularly if it was a scandal or drama pertaining to the newly passed off bride.

Anise looked down at her mother, a hand on her reddened cheek. She declared with impressive, reckless bravado, “I am going to find Boo, mother.”

The madam who stood on her toes slapped the other cheek of her daughter. Meredith swallowed her anger and responded, “You will do no such thing. I am unwilling to allow you to venture into your own demise!”

The baron sauntered over with his pack of banshees who refused to calm their screeching, as if such noise was delectable to him — and perhaps, in some twisted way, those carnal noises were.

“Lady Tan’ae, what is the matter? For my new daughter to be struck — though I am still possibly an outsider — the issue at hand must be grave and rather outrageous, no? So I must ask, what is the matter?” The baron asked as he grabbed Meredith’s hand and kissed it, before laying his paws on Anise’s shoulders.

“My foolish daughter wishes to venture out this haven to her own death. That is what the matter is.” Meredith exclaimed as she turned her head away from Anise toward a painting of flowers hung on the wall.

The baron briefly hushed his swarm of pheasants before turning to the high priestess who somehow retained the ability to indulge in liquor.

“Antistita Industria Elspetha, what say you on this subject matter?” The baron smiled, showing his sharp teeth.

Meredith interrupted, “There is no other say. Venturing into danger almost landed you into death last time, as we all can still recall with vivid bitterness.”

“Mari’s right,” the priestess nodded as she threw the empty flask in an arc toward an assembly of fools and depressed. The flask shattered into glass pieces like chipped facets of a man-made star, or unruly diamond; the group flocked to it as if even those small shards would offer salvation from death.

The priestess continued on. “But, it does us no good to remain here. And I rather enjoyed that brat’s company when he lived with us in the past.”

“Oh, why would it do us no good?” The baron inquired as he shot wary glances about his halls.

“For one, this place is out of liquor. The second reason is the sheer panic which envelops the people here — if we want anything to be done, we only need the brave, foolish, or damned insane. And third of all, I can’t save all these people.”

“You’ll save us right?” One of the whores clinging to the baron’s leg asked before burying her head back into the sanctuary of the tights wrapped around the baron’s meaty thighs.

Aunt Elspeth looked at the woman in disgust and offered no reply.

Anise offered a wobbling smile. “It is agreed upon then? We shall go?”

Biting her lips, Meredith answered, “It seems there is no choice. If the Antistita had already said so, then there is no choice.”

The baroness who did not speak yet offered her words in her melancholic treble, “Let us hurry then.”

The group made no attempts to conceal their leaving of the place. Unsurprisingly, the mass stayed in the halls. Though it was of some interest that no other outsider joined their little group.

Stepping outside, the first thoughts which proliferated amongst the group consisted of a single word: Despair.

From the ancient growing tree which served as the castle of the region for generations, the group stepped out into a vast cacophony of terrible fate — blood, screams, and the list continued and consisted of worse and worse.

Aunt Elspeth took charge. As the priestess led the group, the numerous odd demons became unable to progress further than one step before experiencing the sudden impalement of sharp spikes rendered reality by ink.

The fae belonged to a different category entirely. Possessing of intelligence and the concept of life, the fae soldiers operated in such a way that the priestess remained wary at all times.

As the group traveled, it became inevitable for some fae to slip past Aunt Elspeth using their species’s innate illusions.

In one such incident, the pack of wenches responsible for carrying the baron’s heir became tangled with a squad of fae wielding longswords and gauntlets with swords jutting out. In an act much expected of them, the poor girls dropped the beast onto the floor and ran.

The baron, overcome by wrath, flung those two young girls back at the fae with a deft motion of his backhand. The pitiful girls served as distractions and saved the beast from being skewered.

As the fae had skewered the girls, so too did the priestess impale the fae — black spikes punching through the fae’s masks and sockets.

The future consorts who carried the beast remained diligent to their task. When the group reached the inn, the consorts no longer clung to the baron. Rather, the few — if you can call creatures possessing such empty eyes so — alive bunched up together, accepting the fate to serve as fodder.

Meredith and Anise held each other close. The two looked at the baron with a concealed emotion not readily explained or explored — one which meandered between disgust, hatred, envy, and pity.

Bursting through the inn, the group quickly scrambled past the dead bodies and carefully up the blood-drenched stairs. Checking everyone room, it was when the group found a room barricaded from the inside, that Anise released a breath she did not know she was holding.

“Seem that fellow of yours is quite important to you,” the baroness said into Anise’s ears as she snuck up behind the girl.

The others were calling out for Bolverk to open the door and simultaneously attempting a break into the room as some others kept watch. Aunt Elspeth began to run low on her ink, and there was a definite reserve for a transportation ritual that she must keep. The priestess hugged the lovely, soft Meredith from behind as they waited for progress to be made. Meredith made no protest as she decided logically the safest place was correlated to the proximity of the strongest fighter in the group.

Anise looked at the baroness with wide eyes. She did not know how to address the aging figure in front of her.

“Royal Mother, Boo is important to me, yes. But you do not have to worry if I love him, for I love him the same manner I love my mother.”

The baroness laughed. “Oh, simply call me mother is fine. I was a simple merchant’s daughter once as well. And do you not know the prevalence of incest in the elites, the aristocrats?”

Anise blushed and became flustered.

Usha in her mind confirmed such notion, “This old girl has a point. My mother married her own son; I utterly hate their offspring — never did know whether to address them as brother or nephew, and we

often argued on the seniority and authority relations. Despise them, I do.”

The baroness smiled coy. “I am merely teasing, dear. Though, often truth lies in the thickest of jokes.”

Before that particular conversation could continue, the combined efforts of Bolverk from in and the baron from out finally managed to disassemble the barricade and allow for the group to rush into the room.

“Lady Tan’ae! Anise,” Bolverk exclaimed. He was a mess. Blood splattered all over his attire and sweat ran down his face like the summer light. Realizing who else was present, he kneeled and bowed. “Baron Din’ae; Baroness Din’ae. Consorts.”

“Brat, where’s my greeting?” Aunt Elspeth asked as she rummaged through Bolverk’s room. “And as expected of good, old, straightlaced Boo — not a single drop of drinkable alcohol! I hate each and every single one of you.”

“Auntie, drinking so much alcohol is not good for the body. I’ve done extensive research on the subject: headaches, mood swings, addiction —”

“I would hate to interrupt this reunion and surreal bantering, however, we are still isolated in the middle of a massacre with no signs of a miracle.” The baron interrupted as he carried himself to the center of the lodging.

Aunt Elspeth rolled her eyes. “Bitch, who do you think I am? I am the great priestess.” She uncovered parts of her body — mainly the navel area — to reveal various ink etched onto her bare skin in elegant formations. She surveyed the room and closed her eyes. “Though, I do not have enough power left to transport all of us without possibly changing an accidental destination in a desert or barren frostland.”

Before the priestess could continued, the baron whisked out a jeweled dagger. He promptly disposed of the remaining consorts. As he did so, his expression remained unreadable.

Next to Anise, the baroness whispered, “In the end, he truly loves me. And only me.”

The consorts fell, crumpled, writhing, and shrieking with soundless tears. The priestess looked at the baron. The baron looked back. Meredith bit her lower lip. Bolverk and Anise simply felt a coldness (and thrill) which disgusted them both.

“You killed them.” Aunt Elspeth spoke, breaking the silence. “And with no hesitation either.”

“As the ruler of this bulwark against the desert, I must make difficult decisions.”

“It did not seem to difficult for you. Well, no matter. I was about to do the same — though in a less painful way.”

“I ensured the most painless and swift death with my dagger. Not a single cry was uttered.” The baron said with a slight grin as he sheathed his dagger back into his sleeve. He looked down at his work and nodded slightly.

Without pursuing the matter further, Aunt Elspeth gathered everyone together, forming a circle around her. As she uttered the ancient language, the ink on her navel bled out and dripped to form great rivers. These rivers painted and crawled all over the rustic wood boards of the floor until a great diagram of shapes manifested. And when the final stroke finished, a great bright light engulfed the group.

The light cleared. In the lodging, there was not a single soul, as if a great wind carried them away.

When the light which blinded the group cleared, they found themselves in pitch blackness.

Aunt Elspeth got up and placed her hands on her heart. She straightened her back and announced her arrival.

“Ego sum, Elspetha Viola Cotta!”

At her voice, a great roar leapt out in the darkness as the entire cavern lit up with the brilliance of ten thousand torches, a galaxy of stars, great embers.

“This is beautiful,” Anise found herself whispering, much to her surprise. The cavern was enormous, where an entire forest would be able to grow and space would still remain. On the walls of the cavern, many intricate designs and patterns were etched in. Crystals and plants grew in the pleasant humidity of the cavern.

It did not take long for that peaceful admiration to collapse. The stampede of a thousand soldiers marched down the winding stairs. At the front of the regiment marched six garbed in priestess robes similar to the ones Aunt Elspeth owned, though these folks wore pretentious cloaks whose hoods hid their faces.

The group waited for the six to approach. Before a conversation could even start, the six bound the group in constraints form of ink.

One of the six stepped forward. The figure pulled off the hood to reveal a woman with bright round eyes and a button nose. She was plump and quite small, and this made her seem like a huggable mascot more so than anything else. Short curls adorned the top of her head in the color of wheat.

“Why have you returned?” The woman asked. “We have exiled you.”

“Well, in case the presence of the baron of Ardin has not ticked you off yet, that region has gone to shit, Maria.” Aunt Elspeth said and rolled her eyes. “And I can’t find any liquor there now.”

Maria squinted her eyes and sent for one of the soldiers to come forward. She turned back to Aunt Elspeth. “Talk. Do not lie.”

The group informed the short woman of the situation in Ardin. Her face contorted bitterly. She sent the soldier away to “the High Lord, and ask for a meeting of the Triumvirate — it is of a mass crisis”.

“We good now, Maria?” Aunt Elspeth asked. She tilted her head and cracked her neck. As if that was her magician’s snap, the bindings on her dissolved into puddles of ink. “I really need some good mead right now.”

All the soldiers at the back raised their spears. The other five hooded figures conjured up many balls of ink. Maria held out her palm and a million butterflies of ink flitted up from the puddles and surrounded Aunt Elspeth.

“We have not decided on your position, Exile.”

“Being the Antistita Superbia must have dulled your brain. Do you remember ever winning against me?”

“Transportation rituals require an abundance of power. You must be empty by now. I suggest you stand down, Exile.” Maria growled.

“Fine, fine. I will stand down. But at least let the other people go. Honestly, you only ever think about yourself. What a shoddy leader.”

Maria grounded her teeth. She obliged and released the others.

Baron Din’ae walked forward to the priestess with the sophistication of a lion. “Kind Antistita may I know where I will be staying until I reclaim my castle?”

Maria twisted her upper lip. “Hell if I know. What I do know is that the High Lord is extremely sick and his heir is always wallowing at a brothel or gambling hall. He most certainly do not have the time to entertain your troubles, Baron. Best we can do is find you a cheap place and work — like how all refugees are received.”

Baron Din’ae frowned. He turned to Meredith. “Lady Tan’ae, with your wealth, surely you can finance our temporary stay. I recall you have a business here in the Great Capital. Perhaps you can retrieve some funds.”

Aunt Elspeth laughed at Meredith’s grimace. “Mari finished the transferring of ownership to her business just this morning.”

The baron threw his arms into the air. “What?”

“I did not see a need to maintain a business. Anise would have been married off to a good family. I, myself, did not need to live in luxury. I only ever really started the business to gain peerage to contest for the marriage. I had aimed to live a simple life with the priestess out in the rural fields.” Meredith answered simply.

“Enough, enough. It is getting late, we will make a final decision on all this after a conference with the Triumvirate.” Maria stated. She held the angry baron down with her swarm of butterflies.

Anise remained in a state of shock over her mother’s plans until she entered sleep in one of the temporary holding cells belonging to the Convent.

Aunt Elspeth was taken in to stand further trial at the Triumvirate's meeting. The Triumvirate consisted of the Convent, the Church, and the Royal Family. Their meetings often signalled the arrival of a crisis which shall affect all of the Empire. Due to the High Lord's sickness, the other two leaders (along with Elspeth) stood on either side of the High Lord's bed.

The High Lord resembled not a lord, though he certainly appeared high. His eyes an ecstatic crimson bled down to his bulb-like nose. The old man moved about his arms wildly with laughter as he listened to Maria's report.

The Patriarch of the Gilded Sun, Sacerdote Pierre, made no expression as he listened. His crisp blue eyes seemed like ice about to crack and break. And his nose hooking downwards gave the impression that he once badly lost a fight to the point that the nose never healed properly.

After Maria finished retelling her speech, she lifted the butterflies covering Aunt Elspeth's mouth.

"Hmm, aren't ink and alcohol made of the same things?" Elspeth mused. "Oh, can you undo the butterflies around my wrists too? And torso. And legs. Basically my entire body."

Maria glared at the taller woman. She presented the priestess to the other two leaders.

"Yes, yes," the High Lord answered and raised his hand. "I may be going senile from the poppy, poppy beautiful poppy, but I am not a complete husk of my old, old, very old self yet." He laughed.

"Elsie, good to see you again. How was Bolsur?"

"Good to see ya too, Ivan. Pretty much turned to hell, and all of Ardin will too eventually — probably by tomorrow if the fae are as impressive as the legends."

"No greetings for me?" Sacerdote Pierre's warm voice sauntered over. He extended his arms in a hugging motion. Elspeth, without a choice, accepted the brunt of the hug.

"Pierre, go fuck yourself." Elspeth growled. The High Lord and the Patriarch laughed. "What? Why ya laughing? I ain't kidding. Go fuck yourself, for Aalok's sake."

"Will you all stop joking around!" Maria screamed and tightened the butterflies around Aunt Elspeth with a clench of her hand.

"Oh, Maria, Maria, have a sense of humor will you, darling? Surely you will? You're hurting the poor, poor, very poor girl."

"High Lord, though I also believe Antistita Maria is of the very barren and desolate kind of fields, we must get on with the meeting."

"Yes. Of course, the meeting, how boring, my Elsie how are you today?"

"Ivan, you've gone senile."

Maria slammed Elspeth into a wall. She conjured up several more swarms of butterflies.

"I. Will. End. You. All."

"My, my, Antistita Superbia Maria, sweet Maria, is that an act of treason I hear?" The High Lord smiled and his gold molars glittered.

"I believe that is certainly the case, my High Lord. The appropriate punishment would be execution, no less than that."

Maria screamed and threw all her ink butterflies at the ground, where they all collided and turned into a black mist. And even that quickly dissipated.

Elspeth got up from the ground and walked over to the bed, now free. "Can we please decide what to do with me? If I'm to be killed, I want my last meal to be a hundred barrels of the finest liquor — each a different variety if possible. If not, then just give me a bowl of sake before chopping my head off."

"I suggest we reauthorize Elspeth Viola Cotta's position as the Antistita Industria — unexile her, if you will."

"No." Maria's reply was instant.

"That sounds like a fine, very brilliant and illuminating idea, Patriarch of the Gilded Sun. I, High Lord Ivan de Lisle concur!"

"And I do not." Maria reiterated.

"I don't concur either," Elspeth grunted. "I have a traumatized friend to take care of and her rather stupid daughter."

"You are not part of this Triumvirate, my apologies, Antistita." Sacerdote Pierre looked at her with musing. "Two out of three. Majority, no?"

"We need a unanimous decision to ratify any course of action!" Maria declared angrily.

"What do you want for making Elspeth an official leader of the Convent?" Pierre asked.

"Why do you want her to be one so badly."

"I fucking hate all of you. Every single one of you."

"My, my, dear Elsie, how your vulgarity titillates me. Oh ho!"

"Can't I just see my old friend back in a lofty place? Besides, with the state of things, we can all agreed that we need her to lead."

"If you were my friend, ya broken-nose bastard, you would just buy me a life-time supply of liquor!"

"Shut up, Exile. Fine, I will reinstate her. However, the next tournament hosted by the Academy, the Convent will oversee it."

"Fair enough."

"Oh happy news, rather great news! Elsie, you are officially back! Now, if only my son will get his hairy ass away from the brothels!" The High Lord began weeping.

The others grew uncomfortable, called for a servant, and promptly left.