#2 Evil Like Me

“For all our continuing efforts to obtain wealth and fortune, the only thing we seem to have an overabundance of is butter.” Goodman Gray said, as he sat on a log spreading some butter across a larger, firmer slice of butter. He inserted the butter sandwich into his prodigious maw, jowls upon jowls wiggling for the descent and those assembled could feel the palpable nature of his displeasure. “I am feeling displeasure of an almost palpable nature, and it is for this very purpose that I call you to go forth and return to me the thing I love more than anything else in this dear world.” A glint of gold in Goodman’s eye caught the dry Cefeng sun. “Please. Go into that their town and bring me…” His blubbery lips quivered in anticipation as the words crept across his tongue like a sacred prayer. “Paying customers.”

Zora smiled, if a lizard has lips. She’d been with the Imaginarium for less than a week and in that time had consolidated confidence. There was no such thing as a Zelk this far south, and so; no one knew what she was. Nobody could doubt her abilities for reasons of racism because none had even seen her race, a majestic dragon was she – albeit with human limbs and proportions. She lacked the wings of her forebears too, much to her chagrin; but could breathe a jet of cold air – ice breath to the ignorant. The mighty, mysterious Zora Astria would escape the accident of her origin to find fame and fortune amongst these foreigners in this, slightly crappy foreign land. “It would be my pleasure, Goodman – I can call you ‘Goodman?’” She continued talking before he gave permission. “It seems to me that this is something of a diplomatic mission which is, if I do say so myself, my area of expertise. It should be little to no trouble talking the local government into something.”

“Magibaron.” Vaughn corrected.

Scratching his thinning forehead, Goodman concurred. “The boy’s right, lords in Cefeng are called Magibarons.”

“Thanks for the exposition.” Zora would’ve rolled her eyes if she were biologically capable of it. “Let’s get to it before the sun goes down.”

“Whatever.” Vaughn did roll his eyes before setting off down the depressingly cobbled path leading up to Jeh-do. He was followed by a pair of silent sentinels – two life forms Zora had yet to make the acquaintance of, though she was sure she didn’t want to get on the bad side of either one. Rounding out the party, with ‘round’ as the operative word was none other than Clarice Von Malbrecht – paladin and scion of the famed Von Malbrecht, from the town of Malbrecht, in the county of Malbrecht – you get the idea. Clarice wore exactly as much armour as was needed to cover her vital organs, and not a chain link more. She stepped with an effortless grace, the kind of walk which seemed to disrespect you just by how she swaggered her hips or put a foot down – heel toes, heel toes. Zora’s eye drew instantly and inexorably to Clarice’s assets. Ample, muscular, frightening. She could pop Zora’s skull like a walnut, and reader; Zora thought that was stupidly hot.

Though narcissism would cause Zora to later revaluate the reason for this observation, she only noticed Clarice’s slight limp because she’d been looking at her ass with laser focus. A seasoned fighter, Clarice clearly shifted her weight subconsciously – none the less, she was favouring her right a little more. A few layers of make up covered a dull purple welt – the sort a practice sword makes.

“Tvig, dahrling.” She said to Twig, one of the aforementioned sentinel’s though – from the look he returned, his name was Twig and he was not her ‘dahrling.’ “Zis path is overly exposed, ve should take a side path up ze river.” Her accent was southern Verayian, her arrogance was universal.

Though Clarice was unusually tall for a woman, clocking in at a flat 6’ with the heels, Twig dwarfed her. Zora hadn’t seen a creature like him before, she hadn’t seen many creatures so that wasn’t especially unusual, but he had to be freakishly tall even by his species standards. He was a head over 8’ with frighteningly long, willowy arms which almost dragged at his feet. His skin was a pale green and his features almost simian – if Twig weren’t wearing the armour reserved for a Buke of Anbura, Zora would’ve assumed he was some kind of monster. He answered with one word, in a voice so dark it made the void in Zora’s soul shudder. “No.”

“Tisk.” She said. “Tisk I say. You vere not put in charge of zis expedition, ve are mutual partners and should all haze equiville say.” She pouted in an especially sexy way, her ruby red lips curled in a frown – was it attitude or was it inbreeding? Zora shuddered, trying to keep her head in the game.

“The Buke is right.” Answered the other sentinel in a voice so flat, so utterly bereft of any tone or emotion, that it took Zora a second to interpret. Helper August was a living suit of armour, or at least; that was the closest guess Zora could make. She’d also never seen a ‘Helper August’ before, but whatever he was; he seemed friendly. “While your suggestion is appreciated, there is no evidence of imminent threat and therefore no reason to expend extra resources on a detour.”

“You are just siding vit him.”

“I factored two thousand independent variables to reach my opinion, would you like me to list them?”

That earned him another pout, and Clarice strutted forward. She did her best to take a position just a step in front of Twig, though his natural gate was so wide she had to all but jog to do so. It seemed to make her more angry every time he took the lead, causing her to redouble pace. Zora bit her lip not to laugh. It didn’t seem like Twig had noticed.

Turning to the fourth and final member of her party, Zora took stock of Vaughn Ashford only to realize he had been sizing her up. He smiled sweetly. “You too?”

Jeh-do’s name loosely translated from an ancient language to “City by the River.” If definitions are to be taken literally, then Jeh-do’s name was fitting. Though the word ‘City’ seemed a little generous, and the titular river was more of a dry river bed, Jeh-Do fitted the two qualifications its name prescribed.

The path leading up to Jeh-do had been dirt most of the way, the sort carved into the mountain side by perpetual trade rather than an intentional engineering, however; Zora began to doubt that as she drew closer to the city. Emerging from the earth and mud like the most confusing serpent with a scaley equivalent to male pattern baldness was the missing roadway – chips of rock painted in the most elaborate shades of red and yellow peaked through the caked on mud, faded but never the less there. At a time these roads must have been magnificent, but years of apathy had failed their former glory. The city of Jeh-do was the same, and standing at the gate were a pair of burley men who’s presence explained why.

“Sollaug.” Vaughn muttered to Zora under his breath. She wasn’t sure when he’d decided that they were friends, but it wasn’t unwelcome. Taking advantage of men was one of Zora’s go to plays, she’d manipulate this boy like she had countless others before. “Do you wanna talk to them? I don’t wanna talk to them.”

“Why don’t you wanna talk to them?”

“They’re Sollaug.” He said, as if that answered the question. Of course, Zora had never heard of a ‘Sollaug’ either. They could well be anything, though from their general human appearance she figured they must be humans. A great start, but probably not enough.

“Oh shit, Twig’s got it.” Vaughn had the tone of voice you might use at a sport’s game.

Indeed, the towering man took one or two steps forward – more than enough to cross the distance between himself and the two warrior men. They were a little short, actually – in general, but also comparatively. The Sollaug were both beardy blonde types, wrapped in mostly animal furs though they were covered head to toe in multicoloured tattoos. Neither flinched when Twig looked down at them. “Good afternoon.” He only needed to mutter to make the ground vibrate. “I am Twig, son of Oda Kaibur and buke of the Sun Clan. I have come to –”

He was cut off by Clarice, taking a step in front of the monster she smiled an anaemic smile. “Excuse him, ze bugbear knows little of polite custom. I am Clarice Von Malbrecht. Leader of zis little band.”

The Sollaug seemed unimpressed.

“Ve have come a long vay to speak vit… speak vit your master, ze magibaron.” That got a response, a chuckle as a matter of fact. The one Sollaug turned to the other and muttered something in a language Zora didn’t speak – Giant she thought from the sound of it, but she’d never actually met a giant either.

Finally, the pair returned their gaze to Clarice. “You wish to speak with our master, the Magibaron?” Though it was obvious to Zora, Clarice seemed unable to see through the man’s expression. He was making fun of her, mocking. It was something Zora was all too familiar with, still – ‘better her than me’.

Clarice nodded enthusiastically, “Yes yes. Zat is precisely ze reason zat ve haze come.” The Sollaug all but bit his lip in mirth, at least; Zora read that expression. Clarice seemed totally oblivious to that as well, instead turning back to Twig to offer him a feigned apologetic pout as the gate opened. “It vas a good ting I stepped in ven I did, zhough you are gifted vit ze sword zere is much more zat you must learn.”

Twig did not respond, though that seemed to send ripples through her veneer. She instead turned to face front and ‘lead’ the party. The five followed the pair of Sollaug guards into Jeh-do, where Zora began to put together exactly why they had been mocking Clarice. It was obvious, plane as day when you saw them, that the people of Cefeng were enslaved. Dressed in shabby robes of silk – decades old and fading, were the people in Jeh-do market. They walked quietly, spoke in hushed whispers. None made eye contact, though the second a Sollaug walked past each fell back – humbly bowing to the waste. In equal measure, the Sollaug ignored them. The way a man might ignore a cockroach, the way a Trost would ignore a Zelk. Zora was all too familiar with subjugated peoples, she had spent her whole life receiving an education in suffering at the hands of imperialists, and so the people of Cefeng were just a book she’d already read before.

If you replaced ‘coal’ with ‘silk’, ‘Dragonborn’ with ‘Teifling’, and ‘snow’ with ‘dead grass’ they would be exactly the same story.

Clarice trotted ahead of Twig easily now, quite proud of herself for securing an audience with the “all powerful sovereign of Jeh-do, ze Magibaron.” The more she up talked the puppet leader, the more mirthful the pair of Sollaug became. Mistaking their glee for camaraderie, she continued pouring on false praise. She praised the crumbling infrastructure as “ancient and dignified.” The anaemic market as “elite and exclusive.” The sad looking Tieflings as “wise and shrewd.” Clarice was setting herself, and this whole adventure for that matter, up for an embarrassing collapse.

As the group reached the Magibaron’s palace – an opulent structure who hadn’t been maintained in about forty years (Zora guessed accurately that this was the date of occupation) – Clarice had just about finished declaring her undying loyalty to the Magibaron’s wisdom and potency. In her defence, Clarice seemed more than a little well read on the ancient history of the nation. Referring twice to a civil war and even once to the great rakshasa who apparently shepherded this culture. It was just a shame that she hadn’t kept up with current events.

The gates creaked open to reveal the Magibaron’s throne, then Clarice realized her mistake. In the open air crumbling courtyard, overtaken by vines and animal pelts, were a pair of thrones. The higher throne, gilded in gold and the finest animal pelts sat empty. Beneath, sitting on a cushion, on the muddy brickwork floor was the so esteemed ‘Magibaron’. He let out a heavy sigh as one of the Sollaug announced him “Please bow for his imperial highness, Magibaron Kane Ken Jeh-do of the Trailing Winds Dynasty.” Turning back to Clarice with a withering smile he introduced her as “Clarice Von Malbrecht, Paladin of St Cuthbert and leader of Madam Carpenter’s Imaginarium.” The court, mostly Sollaug, burst into laughter. Clarice was speechless.

This was it.

Zora stepped forward and bowed low. “It is an honour, your highness.” The laughing stopped for a second, nobody could tell if she was in on the joke or the butt of it. Good, Zora thought. Keep them guessing. Since Clarice had begun digging her grave, Zora had been considering how to take advantage of it. It wasn’t enough to deliver ‘paying customers’ to Goodman as requested, she had to show herself invaluable in doing it. If Zora could make herself pivotal, she’d be running the caravan before year’s end. “I am Zora Astria and it is so good to make your acquaintance. I have been sent by Goodman Gray, one of the co-owners of said aforementioned Imaginarium to ask that you grant us the privilege of your patronage.” The Sollaug seemed confused, but no one was stopping her. For whatever reason, this genuine, innocent respect – it wasn’t heaped on, but it was there – seemed to warm the Magibaron’s temperament somewhat. “In exchange for you signing off on us performing for the town” which was not something which she needed “I have a small group of adventurers who will provide you with some service.”

Looking around the room to see if anyone would stop him, the Magibaron rose to his feet. He was an older man. The Teiflings of Cefeng were (apparently) part rakshasa, some had thin striped fur down their sides, others had feline features like whiskers or even tails. The Magibaron was less catlike than some of his denizens, but even he possessed the iconic diamond eyes. Studying Zora, looking for the slightest implication of malice or cruelty, he found them missing in her dragon face. Eventually he found the confidence which was regulated by the Sollaug. “You may perform for me and my people.” He spoke quickly and with dignity. “In exchange for investigating something.”

“Of course, how can we help?” That was August, who seemed to perk up at the prospect of helping. Apparently, he was well named.

“Jeh-do is a… modest, but not totally insubstantial fiefdom. Consisting of the capitol city as well as a few dozen surrounding hamlets and villages. In the past weeks the populations of three such hamlets have gone missing.”

“Gone missing how?” Twig asked, his mouth a thin line, and so Zora’s work was done. She didn’t know the first thing about saving the world – that was what they’d sent the goons along for.

“Vanished, as though they all simply walked out of their homes.” The Magibaron was doing his best not to seem troubled, but the concern lapped at the fringes of his voice. No doubt he had been begging the Sollaug to investigate for weeks – unsuccessfully. “Food left on tables, doors unlocked and open to the elements. It is coming up on the harvest season, if we continue to lose workers…” He comported himself. “If you are able to solve this conundrum and find my missing citizens, I would happily promote your carnival or whatever.”

“Thank you, your highness.” Zora tipped her head in a modest bow. “We’ll get right on that.”

“You don’t have the first idea of what we’re doing, do you?” Vaughn had cornered Zora some fifteen steps from the Magibaron’s palace. Somehow, she’d found herself leading the others toward… well, whatever.

“Not a clue.” She answered smugly. “Poor people running from a shitty lord is nothing new, we just need to find some blue powder, say it was magic, then we’re good.”

That caused Vaughn to stop in his tracks, scratch his head, and squint. “You aren’t that naïve.”

“No, but that’s probably what it is.” She hadn’t stopped walking. “We just need to pound the pavement, find a blank we can fill that’ll make his dick hard, then count our money.” Thinking more, Zora decided to turn things around. “What do you think we should do?”

“Me?” Vaughn shrugged. “First guess, vampires.”

That got Zora to stop. “You don’t think this is a vampire thing.”

“We’re close to the boarder; I wouldn’t rule anything out.” He smiled an artificial smile. “But maybe you’re right.”

She sprinted to catch up. “But you’ve fought vampires before?”

“I have.” Clarice had gotten close enough to listen in. “The Von Malbrechts have defended Verayi from ze undead menace for a thousand years. If zis iz ze verk of ze undead, then I shall make short verk of zem.”

“Great.” He offered a thin smile, “We’re fine then.”

The group walked in silence for some time, out to the most recent hamlet to turn up vacant. The entire Do province was a little less than ten square miles across, said river split it cleanly down the middle and so it was a short walk. Even from a good ways off, you could tell the hamlet was deserted. A little closer and you would spy a hundred and one reasons why. The rooves in Cefeng had a characteristic arch to them, usually shingled those in this unnamed hamlet were almost entirely made of roped down canvas. Patched over and over and over again, it would provide no protection in the rainy season. Being close to the equator, it probably wouldn’t snow in this part of Cefeng, but the humidity would make the whole situation pretty untenable.

Little paddocks were lined up around most houses, though fewer had more than a half full coop. In the whole town there were maybe three sheep, and one ornery looking cow. If Jeh-do was impoverished, the hamlet was destitute. It reminded Zora of the Zelk villages up north, to be frank. People often vanished in the night, she saw no reason things would be different here.

“It is pretty clear that these people are in need of help.” Helper August said, helpfully. “We should begin looking through the buildings. Maybe there is some evidence or a survivor.”

“You say ‘survivor’ like you think they’re already dead.” Vaughn cut in.

“It is a strong possibility.” August responded heavily – except he didn’t. Zora had imposed the inflexion herself, but August actually said that in the same tone he used for everything else. For someone who seemed to care a lot, Zora was beginning to suspect that he simply couldn’t care at all. “Either way, it is a term I would prefer over ‘victim.’”

“Yeesh.” Being fully done with this, and any other, conversation; Vaughn leaped over one of the fences and began fishing around in the mud. Pulling out a little vial and some glassware Zora didn’t recognize, he took samples of the soil and scowled at them.

August went to join him, offering help and just as quickly being rebuffed. Zora leaned up on a dead post and lit one of her cigarettes. She’d rolled a few dozen for this little venture, but was beginning to think her supply wasn’t enough. Vaughn took sample after sample, August seemed to be fixing roofs, while Twig and Clarice went around kicking in doors. Well, she kicked doors. The sheer force of Twig’s mammoth strength seemed to send them off their hinges without effort. Zora zoned out as she took another drag, these were hand rolled with that nice Anburan tobacco she’d stolen in Toa Li. It had a smoother hit to the coal miner’s shit she’d been used to back home, but she still missed them.

A scream and the crack of a whip took her out of her past. Cowering at the feet of Clarice Von Malbrecht was a man – dressed in rags, no doubt a survivor she bought down the whip again. “Tell me vat I vish to know or I shall vhip you some more.” She held the whip taught, menacing the cowering villager.

“P-please don’t hurt me! I don’t know what happened!” He shielded his face as she bought down the whip again, a third time it came down but not a fourth.

Out of nowhere, Twig grabbed her by the wrist, twisted her arm, and threw her into the mud. “What do you think you’re doing!?” He only raised his voice a little, but from him it echoed around the valley. His arm was long and strong enough to pin Clarice to the ground without even stooping, and though she did her best to squirm there was little she could do to break his grasp.

“Zis man vas lying. He knows vat happened.”

Twig scowled, turning his focus to the beaten man who winced when the monster made eye contact. “Is it as she says?”

“No, please!” He was shielding his face again. “I told her everything I know! Please don’t hurt me!”

“We are here to help you.” August said, kneeling by the man and offering him a blanket. The shaking man was almost as terrified by August as he was of Twig, however; the strange machine man was a soothing presence. “Everything will be alright.” He reassured, and the man believed him.

Once Twig relaxed his grasp, Clarice was up like a shot – doing her best to wheel down on the towering buke, her pale blue eyes flashed with a cold fire. “Zis iz unacceptable. I am Clarice Von Malbrecht, how dare you –”

“You bring shame to yourself and your family.” Twig answered, before turning his back to her.

“Do not turn your back to me! Ve are not finished!” She hopped up and down, like that would get his attention. “I challenge you to a rematch! Ve shall duel again and zis vill regain my honour.”

“No.”

“You do not have a choice.” She screamed, drawing her sword – a long willowy blade which seemed to bend as she whipped it around her. Clasping it in both hands, a divine burning light orbited her – like lightning ready to strike. Twig still hadn’t turned. “Fight me!”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Twig stood. Not turning around, he simply drew the hilt of one of his swords – lightning fast, pegging her in the gut. Clarice crumbled to her knees, coughing and spluttering. Her shimmering silver sword clattered to the muddy path and she wheezed. Drawing his sword, Twig levelled it at her throat. “Do you submit?”

“Zis… gag… vas… Zat vas a cheap shot!”

Twig almost smirked. “Do you submit.”

She looked down, silver hair falling over her face as she trembled. “Yes, ve are done.” She coughed another few times as the mountainous buke returned his focus to the injured man.

Having taken a few minutes to tender his wounds, August also seemed to have conjured a cup of tea from… somewhere? Zora could’ve sworn he wasn’t carrying it before, but it was too nice of a tea set to just carry around. “Are you feeling better, Pat.” Apparently the man’s name was ‘Pat.’

“Yeah…” He offered a thin smile.

“When you’re ready…” August continued. “Would you be able to tell us everything you remember?”

“I don’t know what happened.”

“I understand that, and am not expecting all the answers from you, however; any input, no matter how small, could be significant in saving the rest of your town.”

Pat swallowed hard; the tea was good apparently. “I just remember… singing.”

“Singing?”

“Yeah.” He nodded from under a thick blanket – another artifact apparently conjured by August. “I was eating dinner and then… singing? Next thing I knew, I was climbing out of the well.”

The pair of warriors shared a troubled look. Zora tossed down her cigarette – her fifth in this particular chain. “You got anything, egghead?”

Vaughn pepped up. He’d been so ingrained in his little vials that he didn’t even notice the fight. “Wha—oh yeah.” One of the vials seemed to glow blue, giving off the dullest azure. “Magic, defo magic.”

Popping a squat next to him, Zora studied the vial. It looked like dirt to her. Admittedly glowing dirt, but there wasn’t much more to it than that. Noticing that she was staring, Vaughn flushed a little and looked up at her. “They were talking about magic singing, does that round it down?” She asked.

“A little?” Vaughn shrugged. “Lots of magic is musical, so it's kinda like saying the sword is metal.” His eyebrows furrowed, as though a memory was shaking loose. “’special mind control magic. There’s a lot of music in mind control.”

“These people were mind controlled?”

“What else would it be?”

He was probably right, of course. Zora decided that his idea was so good that it would become her idea when she reported back to Goodman – that is if he turned out to be right. She looked up, taking in the rest of the town. There really wasn’t much to go on here. Twig had gone back to kicking in doors as August did his best to tend to that poor man. Clarice had more or less vanished from sight, never a good sign. Then she spied it – on the roof, there was a little man lurking.

Zora grinned.

Now, it may seem a little redundant to describe a dragonborn as magical. Afterall, she had the physical appearance of a humanoid mythic beast with the power to breathe blizzards from her lungs. There was something to Zora which was, therefore; extra magical. Seeing the little hooded figure on the rooftops, no doubt a spy of some description, Zora blinked – feeling the frost shadow and wind of a thousand thousand lifetimes lived alone surround her. When she opened her eyes, she was standing behind the thing. Clearly a goblin, she could make short work of him. Instead…

With a flick of her wrist the goblin was entwined – wrapped in chains forged from blackest night, drawn up from the depths of the deepest hell. Zora was a scary lady. The goblin squeaked and began to squirm, but it was already too late. The dark mystic chains tightened around him – not enough to bruise, but every subtle link sent the message that Zora could snap him like a twig if the mood took her. “Now.” Her head tipped to the side in a sadistic grin. “What brings you to Jeh-do?”

The goblin shrieked, garbled, and then began to speak. Unfortunately, predictably, he spoke a language Zora hadn’t even heard before. “Blarg glarg zarg blarg!” He said with the most earnestness that a creature like him could muster. Zora was at a loss.

“It’s goblin.” Twig’s voice came from behind her, he too was climbing the roof. “I assume you don’t speak it.”

“You do?”

Twig did not respond, instead turning to face the creature. Though the language (apparently ‘goblin’) sounded squeaky and crude out of this little monster’s maw, Twig spoke it like a cry from the darkest fog of the valley. The instant he uttered the first syllables the little goblin went stiff. If he had been scared of Zora, what he felt toward Twig was something unlike anything Zora could describe… well, that wasn’t true. Zora had known fear once, on a snow swept tundra far to the north. She shuddered a little at the memory she’d tried so hard to repress. “He says that he is of the Drazzak, that he travelled inland with a raiding party and got lost.”

“Drazzak.” Zora had heard the name before, it being one of the three largest Goblinoid tribes in Valog. “You’re a long way from home.”

Returning his focus to the monster, Twig barked once and returned a chorus of jabbering chirps. “His name is Splugg, apparently.” Twig’s eyes darted shiftily. Once the creature had gotten talking it seemed almost impossible to shut him up again. The growling grew in Twig’s throat for a moment, and then he finished the thought. “He entreats us to offer him asylum.”

“From what?”

“The Song of Dasha.” Hearing the name, Zora waved her hand. Gingerly lowering the little goblin to the roof. That confused Zora, she hadn’t chosen to do that. Her arm spasmed subtly, like what happens when you drink too much coffee except it was specific.

He didn’t try to run as the spell released him, instead he chirped “Thank you” in common. Zora hadn’t ever heard of the ‘Song of Dasha’ before, but she knew what it was. Dark magic, the power of a devil named Momon. The knowledge welled up in her mind’s eye, like a long-lost memory from a life never lived. The dark chains uncurled from Splugg the Goblin’s feet, but Zora was beginning to feel like she too was chained.

“Oh yeah, I know what the Song of Dasha is.” Vaughn was a little too smug as the group followed a tiny goblin down the dry riverbed. Apparently his party, the missing villagers, and whatever “big bad evil man” were all at its source – lacking a better lead, they’d all opted to follow Splugg in exchange for giving him a home at the caravan. One customer for Goodman at least, which was progress in the broadest possible sense. “It's this magical curse bestowed by the devil Momon, once sung it has the power to ensnare mortals into thraldom.” He seemed a little uneasy using that ‘t’ word, but moved past it quickly. Zora made a note of it, to be followed up later. “We’re looking for a warlock with a super strong patron.”

Zora knew that, she thought. Though she’d never heard of any of this before, somehow she understood it implicitly. There was even an image of Momon in her mind’s eye, like a great ape with thick red fur. “Do we have a plan?”

“It would be wise for us to employ stealth.” August began. “There are many innocent people trapped within, after all; and it should be central in our priorities to rescue them.”

“Agreed.” Twig put in.

“Bah.” Clarice said. “Bah, I say. Zere is a villain in zere begging to be punished.” She flashed her whip, dangling it precariously over her shoulder. Splugg looked at it for a moment, longing and fear dancing in those big green eyes like an aurora in the northern sky.

Shrugging, Vaughn pushed past them all. “Whatever, just don’t get us killed.”

“Vat do you mean by zat?”

“Who said I was talking to you?” Vaughn looked over his shoulder before turning to face the waterfall – again, waterfall being the literal truth but otherwise an absolute lie. There was a place where water sometimes might have fallen, you could tell from the erosion, however; the amount of water their now could barely be described as an embarrassed emission. ‘Water’ is both the singular and plural form of that particular noun, but reader; this was ‘water’ fall in the singular conjugation. “This is it, right?” Splugg nodded, a little too enthusiastically. “Then get lost, little guy. We’re mountaineering today.”

It took a long time to climb the waterfall. Though Zora could have blinked to the top, she opted not to for several reasons. First, and most importantly; she didn’t understand how her magic worked, but she had the dreadful feeling that it cost her something. Like every time she cast a spell or conjured a mystic chain some great cosmic credit card was scanned, sooner or later she’d hit her limit and it didn’t take a brain surgeon to work out that the debt would be prodigious. Second, not everyone in their little group knew of Zora’s magic. Of those who did, none were aware of its full extent. Third, and finally; Zora was absolutely one of the people who did not understand the full extent of her magic. Could she teleport a hundred feet? Yes. Two hundred? Maybe. The three mile hike up a winding waterfall? There really was only one way to find out, and Zora was in no hurry to do so.

The sun had finally gotten away from Cefeng by the time the group of five intrepid adventurers (sans cowardly goblin) reached the top. Twig seemed unphased, Clarice seemed to be pretending to be unphased though she panted whenever no one was looking. August, a literal machine, was doing fine, but Vaughn was on his death bed. He gagged and gasped, wheezed and moaned. “Oh god!” He coughed. “Please just kill me now.” They did not, and after a short rest; were able to proceed into what looked like a dank cavern.

Once they turned the corner of the dank cavern, it opened up into an opulent palace. Apparently the dank part was a cunning deception, easily overcome by walking through the door. Shimmering polished stone pillars lined a long great hall, decorated with suits of armour and portraits going centuries back. Each figure in the painting looked a little more rakshasa than their descendants, starting as an almost human lion creature, but watering itself down into a more and more human form. As the group walked inside they were met by a sound, singing.

“Cover your ears.” Twig hissed and the group complied – even Clarice, who looked like she was about to put up a fight over it. There was no honour in being brainwashed. The singing continued for a moment, but it quickly fell flat – figuratively, as the man’s tones were immaculate.

“I suppose it really was just a matter of time before somebody noticed the single small, but easily exploitable weakness to the Song of Dasha, but no matter…” Stepping out of the shadows on the far end of a long hallway was the last portrait in the chain, a young almost totally human man in his early twenties. His green disc eyes glinted in the dark. “Tien Tarl Can Cheng, how do you do?” He took a foppish bow.

“I am Clarice Von Malbrect, of ze house Von Malbrecht.” Said Clarice Von Malbrecht of the house Von Malbrecht, stepping forward with a distinctive jiggle she waved her whip provocatively. “Ve have come to defeat you and save ze people.” She cracked said vhip. “In zat order.”

“Oh my goodness, you act as if I’m some sort of cad or philanderer.” Said the probable philanderer and decided cad. “There is nothing untoward here, as a noble yourself – one from such a prestigious and famed house…” Clarice blushed, Zora made a note that this woman could be utterly overcome by the tiniest amount of flattery. “Would take no issue with a lord utilizing the labours of his peasantry.”

There was a long silence in which Clarice processed that. “Is zat vat is happening here?”

“Just so.” Responded Tien Tarl, in a playfully offended tone of voice. “These lands were granted to my family some decades back, and I’ve been recruiting the locals for labour. As is my due.” He said that last sentence through a veil of hostility – bullshit as his whole position was, he believed it with every fibre of his being.

“A lord rules through the strength of his just claim.” Twig said, startling Clarice and warranting an eye raise from Tien Tarl. “You have utilized fell magics to enslave a population, these two things are not the same.”

“A talking animal.” Tien clapped his hands in amusement. “Thank you for bringing this delightful spectacle to my home, Miss Von Malbrecht, but alas; he does overstep himself.”

Clarice scowled, looking at Tien Tarl, then back at Twig. “Tvig is many zings…” She began, “but in zis case he is not vrong. If zese are your people, zen you must take zis up vith ze magibaron. Ozervise, ve vill stop you.”

Tien shrugged. “Fuck it, plan b then.” And shot her through the arm with a crossbow. In an instant, Twig and August burst into action – sprinting down the long hallway into the oncoming rein of arrows.

Vaughn knelt down next to Clarice, examining her wound. “You doing ok there, tough gal?”

“I am Clarice Von Malbrecht.” She howled, tearing the arrow shard out of the single slim piece of plate armour on her chest. “It vill take more zen zat.” And leapt to her feet. Alas, the sprint turned into a fall as she cleared ahead of the rest of the party only to feel the floor give way. Splitting down the middle, a massive trap door spread to reveal a pit filled with snakes. Though Clarice could not keep her balance, the whip lashed out from nowhere – securing itself to the rafters she hung like an oddly proportioned spider.

August did fall into the snake pit. The vipers leapt at him, but given his metal skin this was more of an inconvenience. “Please, do not bite me.” He said to the snakes, who didn’t seem to speak common. “It will damage your fangs. Please. I am trying to help you.”

Twig cleared the pit in a single, impossible bound. Landing just ten feet away from Tien Tarl, he didn’t even break stride as he drew his swords. Two shimmering katana catching the chambers torchlight brilliantly. “Oh shit biscuit.” Tien Tarl ducked into the shadows and vanished from view.

Rolling his eyes, Vaughn trekked over to the pit and looked down. “Can you help me with this, Zora?” He asked, lowering his hempen rope to August.

With the help of Clarice, the three were able to hoist the metal man out. “Thank you, I am afraid some of those animals suffered irreparable harm from attempting to bite me.”

“Better you zen zem.” Clarice huffed.

It took an embarrassingly long time for the group to harness Clarice’s whip, transforming it into a sort of pully system, and using it to cross the pit. Tien Tarl had designed a death pit which was just a little too wide to cross safely, making for an annoying but otherwise pointless challenge. Once they’d landed on the far side, the group discovered Twig in the next chamber over. He stood staring blankly at a statue of an owlbear, the walls were covered in mirrors, and Twig was stumped.

Clarice let out a belly laugh. “Hazing some trouble zere, Tvig?” Twig did not respond, nor did he elaborate if he was having trouble, but August stepped in.

“Allow me to help.” He said, walking over to the statue. He studied it closely, leaving Twig to stalk off and stare at his reflection gloomily.

“Bugbear’s not so good at puzzles, huh?” Vaughn leaned on the mirror next to Zora’s as she lit up her forty-second cigarette of the day.

“Would you expect him to be?”

He winced. “You gonna tell me your story now?”

Smirking, Zora looked at him in the mirror across the room as August successfully began turning the owlbear statue. “I’m a Zelk in Poset, you’re smart. Why don’t you tell me your story?”

He scratched the back of his head. “You don’t wanna hear that…”

“Human, artificer – I think, or an alchemist. Not a common set of skills.”

“They are where I’m from.” He bit his lip. “Cadfael.” Zora bit her lip. When she had been living in Trost, situated on the northern continent of Ivorox she knew almost nothing of Poset. Sure, she’d heard of Anbura, Lamalon, the Gnarled lands and so on – the stuff everybody knew, but the one thing she’d been warned about, that she knew not to touch with a ten foot pole tied to a ten foot cliché was Cadfael. Vampire heartland.

“Yike.”

“Keep your voice down.” He expressed an emotion other than bemused arrogance for the first time, and it was fear. “I’ve got a good thing going here, don’t ruin it for me.”

“You’re ruining it for yourself telling me.” Zora considered. “So why would you…?”

“Maybe…” He looked at his feet, then looked back at her ice white eyes in the mirror. “I spotted someone else who knows what chains feel like.”

Before she could answer back, the silence was split by Clarice’s shriek. Apparently, August had solved the puzzle, as the owlbear lurched to life – knocking Clarice to one side, it smashed forward and through a mirror. “We’re back.” Zora muttered, putting out her cigarette and following the group through the exposed passageway.

This part of the palace was still under construction, apparently; as it looked more like a massive carved out cave. People from the village, some goblins too, mined away fruitlessly all around them. They had slack jawed expressions as they toiled in relative silence – silence except for Tien Tarl’s soft humming keeping them going. On closer inspection Zora could see that a few had died working, dropping dead where they stood, the others didn’t even clean up the bodies. “Wouldn’t you like to be evil, like me?” He hummed to himself as one brought his pickaxe down too close to his hand, splitting the fingers in two.

“This stops.” Twig bellowed, loud enough to cut through the singing, but the work carried on.

Tien Tarl twirled some wine in his goblet – an odd cup which seemed marked in a language Zora had never seen before, but somehow intuitively knew was important. “Does it now?” He laughed as he took a sip. “I am their ruler, they are here willingly with no chains. If they wanted to leave, don’t you think that they would?”

“This stops.” Twig took another step forward, drawing his swords. The first was a long katana, the second a shorter uchigatana.

Tien Tarl stood, behind him something emerged from the shadows. It was hard to make out from here, but it looked like a beast – a great ape. Red fur, yellow eyes melting out from black amber. The creature stood in shadow behind the earthen throne, one paw clutching around. “Then make it stop.” He all but taunted.

“Perhaps discretion is ze better part of valour.” Clarice looked around nervously, drawing her own sword. The workers stopped, turning around to face the party they seemed poised to strike.

“There is no valour in discretion here.” August said, he seemed to be unarmed, then again; he could be a weapon. Zora found herself faced with a big decision here, there was a strong chance that the thirty foot tall diabolic ape would slaughter them all, but for her there was no choice. She was fundamentally a self-serving person, after all; but she did it with a purpose. She would break their chains. The Zelk, her people, but now she realized that may not be enough. There were people subjugated here too, and so she raised her fists. She wasn’t sure what kind of magic would happen, but she could take this monster down. “Do not allow the people to become harmed.” August said, as he drew a hammer – also from nowhere. He tossed it at Tien Tarl who leapt to one side – instead it shattered the rock throne into a thousand pieces. Momon, the devil ape, roared.

It charged into battle like a blazing wave, fists clattering on the filthy cobbles below. Clarice stepped up first to meet it, divine light orbiting her like a guiding star. “Zis creature iz beginning to irk me.” She spat, slapping her sword across its face; a blast of radiant light sent it skittering into the wall – but just as soon as it was down, it got back up again.

Tien Tarl crossed swords with Twig. His rapier was quick like lightning, but he made the false assumption that Twig would be slow. The second their blades met he found himself on the defensive as a counter strike swept his midsection. Leaping back to guard he was shouldered in the gut by the colossal beast. If one of his mind slaves hadn’t leapt in to take the blow it would’ve been the death of him.

“Be careful of the innocents.” August yelled (raised his voice, but otherwise retained his typical inflection), though he was quickly allayed as Twig withdrew a dry sword. Somehow he’d stopped it mere inches from the man’s gut. August’s hammer returned to his grasp as he bought it down on Momon’s paw. The creature yowled in pain and took another swing. Conjuring a cloud of mystic darkness, Tien Tarl threw what looked like a black net at the armour – causing the glowing lights in his eyes to go dim. “My vision is impaired. I cannot see.” August said calmly, spinning his hammer at random. “My vision is impaired, please retain a safe distance until I can identify the source of this malady. Thank you and sorry for the inconvenience.”

“That’s one down and four to go.” Tien Tarl beamed, taking a backflip onto his patron’s shoulder. “Let’s have some fun now.” Momon let out a bellowing roar, slamming its fists into the ground. Clarice wobbled, almost losing her balance. Taking aim with his crossbow, Tien let loose a narrow volley of shots. Shielding herself with radiant light, Clarice was pinned down.

Twig wasn’t doing especially well either. Backed into a corner by twenty or so townsfolk, he did his best to ward them off with his fists, but they kept coming. Even his non-lethal attacks could leave a human broken, so he reigned himself further and further back.

Pulling out his crossbow, Vaughn took aim at Tien Tarl and fired – the mechanism instantly jammed, causing the arrow to impotently flop down in front of him. He shrugged and walked back to the broken mirror. “Welp, that’s the best I’ve got.”

Having taken the worst of the volley, one arrow finally broke through Clarice’s barrier. Skewering her neatly in the arm, it sent her skittering to the ground. In the moment it took for her to regain her composure, the gorilla brought down a hammer like fist crushing her.

This was going badly, Zora took a step forward. She knew that she had powerful enough magic to chain down a goblin – easy. She probably had enough to chain down a lion or even a regular sized gorilla, but this… as she saw Twig staring down the creature – one of his arms badly bruised but still clutching a bloody sword, she realized that it didn’t matter. Whatever the cost was to defeat this, to free these people, she would gladly pay it.

Darkness surrounded her. Zora was no longer standing in the incomplete palace carved out of a dying hill in Cefeng. She was massive – a size beyond all comprehension. She was in a billowing cloud of darkness and smoke – a line of chains extended from beyond her, they dominated her. These chains were held down, pulled to the earth by tiny glowing men and women. She couldn’t make them out from a distance, she did not know what they were called but she understood them. She understood what they were and, in so doing, somehow knew what she was or rather who’s eyes she was seeing through. Just as the blazing ape was Tein Tarl Can Cheng’s patron, this thing was hers. And then she heard a voice, a voice like a pillow whisper to a lover. It was so unassuming in its entrapment that it shook her to her deepest core, the frozen heart which beat for every second of her life now did so in rhythm with its words. The two innocent words.

Release me. Release me.

The chains sprang forth from nowhere and from everywhere – all around the great ape, darkness formed into thicker frozen shards of night until they bound the greater devil like a wounded beast. Zora could feel the chains as though they were her own skin, tightening. With a clenched fist, she jerked down and the mighty ape came with it – smashing into the concrete. Spying an opening Twig leapt, driving both of his swords into the beast’s skull it shattered and then popped – bursting like a balloon the thing vanished into a cloud of dust and vapor in the blink of an eye.

Tien Tarl fell on his ass. “Well crumbs.” Before he could do anything, a swift blow sent his crossbow skittering one way, another split his rapier down the middle. The third sword strike put a point at the Machiavellian musician’s chin. “This is a rather unsettling turn of events, wouldn’t you say.” Twig was angry, almost beyond words and Tien quickly read the situation. “Now, let’s not go doing anything hasty.” He raised his hands. “The Song of Dasha is still in effect, afterall; if I die then everyone afflicted by my mind control will lose their – well their minds.”

“Lies.”

“True.” Vaughn said, as he helped Clarice to her feet. She was barely hanging on, though somehow still conscious. “That is how the Dasha thing works – usually, there’s some wiggle room for it or –” Twig met him with a cold gaze, and so Vaughn just quickly finished with “Yeah, he’s telling the truth.”

“Release them.” Twig barked an order which was met with a laugh.

“Not bloody likely.” Tien did his best not to chuckle. “Alas, my hands are tied – figuratively. But can we not, shall we say, strike a bargain.” He extended his hand to Twig’s bloody and bruised one. “A devil pact in the eyes of my patron Momon – neither one of us may violate the terms or face certain death.”

“I am a buke.” Twig said, that did shake Tien a little. “What I say is law.”

He thought for a moment, scanning up and down the monster’s admittedly buke-like armour. Zora had no idea if he was lying, though in her defence, she also had no idea what a buke was. “Then if you are a buke, you should have no problem agreeing to my terms – after all; if you speak honestly the Devil’s pact has no effect.”

“No, zis iz wrong.” Clarice stepped forward, drawing her own sword though Zora couldn’t tell if she was levelling it at Twig or Tien Tarl. “Zere vill be no devil pact, only justice.”

“These people will die.” Twig growled.

“Zey are alvedy dead.” She flipped her snow-white hair with arrogance. “Ve kill him now before he huts anyvne else.”

“We can make the terms of our deal anything you like, if it is no longer harming people then so be it.” Tien Tarl put in, a little too helpfully.

“If you make zis deal, zen I vill kill him myself.” Clarice hissed, her sword now cleanly aimed at him.

Twig nodded. “I believe you.” And then he punched her in the face, sending the paladin sprawled to the ground unconscious. “I shall spare you this once in exchange for you releasing everyone who ever was under your influence or that of your patron…” He considered. “You will swear also to never cast a spell in Cefeng again.”

For a second, Tein seemed to be taken aback – but then his mouth melted into a snide smile. “Very well, master buke, but only if you swear never to swing your sword here either.”

They shook hands – an arcane serpent sprouted from their arms, wrapping them together and bonding the pair to this agreement, but suddenly, Twig’s grip grew tight. “Of course, the manitabe is a versatile form of swordplay – including many forms which may be described as ‘stabbing.’” He let go, causing Tien to lose his balance and almost fall back.

The defeated magician regained his balance and shook the dust off – waving a hand, the spell evaporated, and he vanished into the darkness beyond. Twig let out a heavy sigh.

They stayed in the cavern for some time, it became quickly apparent that many of the villagers had been severely wounded, but Helper August was more than able to jump in. For such an odd, unsettling creature he seemed more than capable of fixing everyone – splinting a leg here, casting a spell of healing there. It wouldn’t be quick, but before too long the living armour would help everyone.

Zora stepped out the mouth of the cave just in time to watch the sun rise. She took a drag of her first cigarette (at least that day, technically) and smiled. She had questions, but now for the first time one of them had an answer. She was a warlock. Who was her patron, what did it want? All questions for another day, but she was one step closer to answering it than ever before, one step closer to saving her people.

The massive armour clad mountain took a step out of cave behind her and sat, his gangly legs dangling over the cliff side. Even seated, Twig still came up to Zora’s eye level though he didn’t say anything. “Nice touch. Punching her out.”

“Anything to spare me another conversation with that woman.”

Zora laughed, after a moment Twig joined in – though his version of ‘raucous laughter’ would be a dry chuckle by most standards. “You did well today, warlock?”

She nodded, for the first time confident in that answer. “Thanks. You too.”

“I did nothing more than what I was called.” He waved away the compliment like a child would brush away a bug. “What, precisely, are the terms of your contract?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I ask, not out of idle curiosity, but concern for the Imaginarium’s safety.” He left a pregnant pause before filling it with “and yours.”

“I’m a big girl, Twig. I know what I’m doing.”

“Did I say otherwise?”

“No, I guess not.” She flicked the cigarette. “I’ll be fine, Twig. You don’t need to worry about me.” But reader, he did need to worry about her. The whole world would need to worry about Zora Astria.