“Identify yourself and intentions!” Armand said.

“Or we’ll cut ya from groin to teat!” Typhus added.

“Wait, wait please. My name is Deacon, I just got here. Is that a latch? You dropped me into a locked box!?” Deacon yelled at the ceiling.

“Just Deacon? No family name? I’m not buying it.” Armand said.

“He’s a spy for the Vasilly Empire. I say we gut him and find our way out of here.” Typhus yelled.

“I told you it was a trap. A man in his small clothes with glowing green pupils, no weapons, and a dumb name, trap.” Elle added.

“You’re an elf? Like a real not cosplay elf?” Deacon asked.

“We are asking the questions here you mostly nude, noodle armed spy!” yelled Typhus.

“Ask me anything, just please don’t groin stab me.” Deacon exclaimed.

“I don’t know Armand; he looks genuinely scared.” Elle said.

“El get some distance but keep a bead on him. Ty get him out of that box and get behind him so we can do this right.” Armand directed. Deacon slowly stepped out of the sarcophagus and followed Armand’s directions about where to go. Armand closed the lid on the box they found the clothes in and told Deacon to sit.

“Ty give him that junk you found, I don’t want to keep talking to him in his small clothes. Not the boots though, the boots are for good boys who aren’t liars.” Armand said, “Now share your slate with me or I let Typhus over there start on your groin.”

“I don’t know what that is, I didn’t have anything on me but my briefs.” said Deacon.

“Don’t bullshit me, everyone knows what their slate is. It’s the first thing your taught as a child.” Armand said.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I just got here, I don’t even know where here is. Please don’t cut me.” said Deacon.

“Armand, we have a problem.” Typhus said.

“What is it?” Armand replied.

“I’d like to speak to you back here for a minute.” Typhus answered.

“El keep an eye on this one. Deacon is it? Put those pants on.” Armand walks over to Typhus who’s looking a little paler than normal.

“Shouldn’t we settle what we are doing before having asides?” Armand angrily whispered.

That’s just it. You see when he said he didn’t know what a slate was I stabbed him, just a little to get the point across. He didn’t even flinch. There was no blood, not even a scratch.” Typhus whispered.

“Well maybe you missed…no that’s dumb you don’t miss stabbing. Part of why I like you. I really need to get a look at that slate.” replied Armand.

“Are you some kind of monster? I insist you show me your slate!” yelled Armand stomping his way back to Deacon.

“Yes, sure let’s do that as soon as you tell me what a slate is you can have all of mine. Just don’t hurt me.” Deacon coward.

“What’s going on Armand? You are scaring me.”

“El why didn’t you pick up life signs in this room besides our own with your detect life ability?” asked Armand.

“It’s a spell not an ability and I cast it before we entered the room like usual.” El replied.

“Cast it again please.” ordered Armand. Elle mumbled a series of words under her breath and a dim light blossomed from her form in a circle around her straight through the walls.

“Same as last time…just the three of us…” she said. She took aim once more with greater focus and intensity at the now trouser wearing man.

“Thanks for the pants. You didn’t have to do that, so thank you.” said Deacon.

“Are you some kind of Fae or Demon?” Armand asked.

“Not that I know of, so this slate thing you were going on about, what is it?” asked Deacon.

“Well, do you get messages from the fates? They usually appear as a shining light in the periphery of one’s vision. Unless it is very important than they just plaster your eyes with the knowledge. This is all rudimentary knowledge of anyone born here.”

“Oh yea I received a few of those when I woke up in the box over there.” said Deacon. The other three people in the room visibly relaxed their shoulders, an involuntary breath they’ve been holding let out.

“Ok then you have a slate you just don’t know anything about it. Extremely hard to believe for someone who looks like they are in there early 20s.” said Armand.

“Ok look me in the eyes and think, share slate. The fates should do the rest.” Armand said.

“The fates…you mean that trio of angry harpies? They did not seem fond of me.” Deacon said. Three separate jaws dropped, and they all went wide eyed.

“You certainly aren’t from around here if you would speak so casually about the fates. That kind of talk is liable to get you in a lot of hot water.” Armand said, “now just like I told you look into my eyes.” Deacon began to gaze into Armand’s brown eyes. A pop up message entered his vision asking if he’d like to share his slate with Armand Desentes. He chose yes. What happened next was mostly good with a tinge of oh fuck.