The shadow across the streets of the city

[DUEL Chris Graz]

((This was sent out after Xeno informed Chris of when the binding was to take place.))

::the following letter was delivered to all current Barons except Anubis and Drachen, who Chris knew worked closely with Shakira::

Barons! As you know there have been numerous problems with the ward lately, however a solution is in the works. Guardianship of the Ward will be infused into the Baronial rings we all hold so dear to us. This will ensure that the ward will remain strong and protect our sport for years to come.

This will not add any new responsibilities to you, however we do need one service from you all. Xenograg, former Overlord, will be binding the rings to the Ward this Friday evening. We need all the rings to be present. Therefore, I request that you all either be present that evening with your rings, or entrust them to me for that night. Without all of the rings present, this will not work and our sport may not survive.

Should you choose not to come and instead lend your ring to me, I will return it the next day. Please assist us in this matter.

Chris Graziano
DoS Supervisor

[Xenograg]

Everything depends upon stealth. None of the guards or night workers on the loading dock must be alarmed--or harmed. A dead, or simply missing, person would be discovered eventually, and likely quickly. Magic is employed to distract, hypnotize, or otherwise bypass those who could not be avoided. Hypnosis also allows questioning of the night foreman, who gives up the location of the secret door to the "other" basement.

The second basement is small and cramped. Two tall racks fill the center of the room, leaving only narrow walkways along the walls and between them. The aisles are partially blocked by a few barrels. Xenograg, Amaltea, and Alais each take an aisle to search.

"Xeno," whispers Amaltea in a rush, "look at these bottles. Wine and cognac, decades old. This room contains a fortune."

"Tha' is encouragin', Amal," answers Alais first. "This bein' no common storeroom means this is no common hideout."

"Yes...," is Xenograg's reply. "But something is out of place. Priceless goods in a room protected by only a hidden door. No, this is a ruse. A thief would grab and run, and look no harder than this."

"Aye, vera astute, my friend. We should stop talkin' and get back to lookin'." The three promptly do.

It is Alais who finds the true treasure: another secret door. Using magic, the stone floor reveals that most visitors' steps travel down one aisle and then stop before a pair of barrels. The companions eventually find the mechanism that opens the door hidden behind the barrels. The narrow passage is a stair that continues down past what the lighting illuminates.

The three invaders begin their descent....

[Xenograg]

Xenograg and his companions have found Badside--the real Badside. The narrow stairway finally ended at a tunnel deep below street level. Actually, the tunnel is itself a street. Doorways to man-made caves--offices, bars, brothels, and the like--exist on both sides of the tunnel in both directions.

Xenograg bluffs his way past the sentry at the foot of the stairs, claiming to be a new middle-level enforcer that will remember the sentry's rude greeting. The sentry chooses not to risk his hide, and admits them.

It takes some time for the three to get their bearings in this new and unexpected environment. They still have to find Shakira's domain within this underground town!

[Xenograg]

Xenograg finally gets his bearings after finding a hostel listed as a landmark in Jake's directions. He rents a room for the rest of the night. He gives the key to Alais who goes to prepare the room for their needs. Xenograg and Amaltea leave the hostel to reconnoiter Shakira's lair.

The lair is a tunnel complex with limited access. The main entrance is well guarded, but no underworld boss would be so stupid as to have only one way in--or out--of his or her residence. Jake's information provides the location of one such backdoor: a servant entrance for deliveries. No guards are seen on the outside thus guaranteeing a watch room just inside.

Xenograg and Amaltea return to the hostel where Alais has completed her preparations.

"Success?" asks Xenograg.

"Aye, we can leave anytime," replies Alais.

"Good because time is short."

"We know, dear," Amaltea says with a little annoyance.

"Sorry. Here we go."

The three invaders walk mindfully from the hostel to the back entrance, memorizing the way back. They quickly plan how to eliminate any guards inside without using magic, for doing so would surely trigger alarms and defenses within. The three Darelirs draw swords, each enchanted: Alais's Morvinyon, Amaltea's Tarillion, and Xenograg's Hiethur (the Ostego blade was left behind for being too large). Xenograg also draws one of his Forcade daggers, balanced for throwing.

Timing her movements to follow right behind a slave entering the lair, Amaltea rushes up to catch the door before it closes. She holds it open as Xenograg and Alais trot through. Amaltea follows close behind.

[Arjak the Hunter]

Shadows tormented his nightmare. Everything was in gray mist. Strange noises came to his ears and fearsome demonic shadows raced at him and then vanished in the mist. He called out, but no one answered. He ran, but the enshrouding fog was endless. It did not matter in which direction he went, there was nothing around him but the voices, the shadows and the fog.

The first man to disappear was not far from the Arena. A shopkeeper, or merchant, closing down his business for the night and ready to head home. The cloaked figure leaped from the shadows, arms wrapping around the shopkeepers mouth and neck. A sleeper hold quickly subdues him.

The next morning mystified customers came by, but could not gain entry to the shop which did not open.

"Hello? Hello! Is there anyone there?" Only echoing laughter answered him. How long had he been in the fog now? Days? Weeks? His hunger and thirst were becoming overpowering. He ran his tongue over dry lips. He was still alive, he thought, so it can't have been weeks yet. It was hard to tell. The light never changed. No sound save the voices of the shadows reached him and their words were intelligible. He was lost with no idea where to go.

Over the next several nights, other people began to disappear. A merchant from the Marketplace that wandered too late in the streets. A pair of sailors from a berthed ship. Drunk and easy prey. In the following days the captains of three different ships reported losing crewmen.

He ran, and ran, and ran. The endless void of fog continued without respite. The voices chased after him. They whispered. They screamed. They laughed. They hungered. The voices called to him, the urgency of the hunger was overwhelming. They desired sustenance. They desired to feast. His skin crawled as he felt them slide over his body as he tried futilely to escape them. Would they never let him rest!?

A week past, and reports from Badside had begun to filter out about mercenaries disappearing without a trace. Not an uncommon event in Badside, but normally someone somewhere knew something for the right price. Frequently it was the slavers who knew. Perhaps because so many disappearances could be credited to them. This time, they knew nothing. One slaver reported his pens being broken into and a full store of "merchandise" along with the guards that had tended them being missing. He blamed a fellow slaver, but the other denied any knowing. All of the slavers too precautions to double their guard.

Someone, or someones, had begun hunting in Rhydin.

Hunger consumed him. He howled into the fog, but only the shadows answered him. His skin felt abraded, as though being eaten by thousands upon thousands of tiny mouths. His thirst was unquenchable. He felt pain, and the mouths became more vigorous in their feeding, or was he just becoming used to the intolerable agony?

Over the course of the weeks, since the "event", nearly a hundred people had been reported missing. The numbers varied. Occasionally, a scrap of cloth, or a fragment of clothing, sometimes a piece of identifiable jewelry would appear near the Arena. Most of them found near the rings. Where the Ward's influence could be felt.

Warnings were circulated among the merchants not ot go out at night. Captains put strict curfews on their sailors, forbidding them to leave the ships at night, save in parties of twenty or even thirty.

And still, the people seem to keep disappearing.

All was shadow. Their voices were all around him, filling him with their incessant cries of hunger. Hunger for pain. Hunger for blood. Hunger for suffering. Hunger was all that existed. And the need to inflict pain, in order to appease the awful hunger. Only by giving the shadows something upon which to feed could their constant cries of hunger be appeased. And so he hunted...

[Karen Wilder]

( The events of this post take place the night before the big fight in the Annex... the night that The Fatuna arrived in Rhy-Din. )

Karen moved quietly along the alley, following the cat-creature called Maetel. Thus far, she was impressed with what she'd seen...

"I am certain that Maetel wilt be most helpful in thine search for this foul murderer, Commander." The silver-haired swordsman had said. "But have a care... dare not to draw a blade nor firearm in her presence, save to defend thyself. Maetel doth hold a great hatred for weapons of killing."

"I dinnae think there'll be a prollem, Ser Vermillion. I's'll stick tae me cue." she'd replied.

Maetel had seemed overly eager and almost childlike when they'd started off... but now she was proving to be quite good at tracking.

"Maetel is can smell be-wrong-person-smell many-much smell."

It took Karen a few moments to get the idea that the cat-girl thought their target was close... they were in the Marketplace now, very near the Arena in fact. She moved up to the end of the alley where the cat-girl waited, taking a long look at the dark and gloomy area. "Well nae... do ye think ye kin find where he be hidin'?"

Of course, Karen's thick accent wasn't easy for Maetel to decipher either... and she looked at the woman with a puzzled expression for a long moment, until...

Suddenly a bright glow appeared over the northern side of the city; and moments later the very air itself erupted with a sound very much like a never-ending thunderclap. Karen stared in awe... she'd sometimes seen the flying machines that came to the starport, but this was a flying machine the size of a small castle! So amazed was she that she failed to notice her companion's growing fear.

"Much-bad people-persons be come!" she yelled over the rumbling roar. "Come for to hurt Maetel... come for to hurt tell-story-man!"

"What?" Karen tore her gaze away to look at the cat-girl, but it was too late... Maetel was already racing away with preternatural speed and agility; racing south for the waterfront.

After a few more moments, the light and the roar had faded and Karen gave a resigned sigh. "Bloody blasted timin'... now how's I gonna catch this guy?" She shrugged and headed for the Watch Headquaters at a brisk pace. Even if the killer had been nearby, they'd most likely went into hiding after that mess...

[TheAce0fSpades]

((These events occurred shortly before and continuing through part of the binding event on Friday night))

Ace had been given one final job to complete before he was to accompany Shakira and Anubis to the Annex that evening. He was unaware what events were going to take place, but judging by the amount of compensation Shakira had offered him to be by her side that evening, he assumed it was no mere challenge match or casual dueling night.

Ace's final task was simply enough. He was to ensure that Chris Graziano, the current DoS Supervisor, did not make it to the Annex that night with the Baronial rings. Unfortunately for Ace and Shakira, the rings were already on site as, in a rare fit of intelligence, Chris had opted to create and guard a special storage area in his office, rather than hold onto the rings himself. Only Xenograg would be able to retrieve the rings.

Incapacitating Chris was a matter that proved much easier than Ace had anticipated. Despite all the apparent rocks residing in the male Graziano's head, his head was quite soft when struck with a blunt object. Ace's orders did not mention Chris was to be exterminated, so he was merely removed from action for the night.

However, the rest of Ace's night would not be as simple. On his way to the Annex to meet with Shakira, he encountered a most unexpected distraction. On any other night this would have been welcomed by Ace, but not when a job was to be done, and there was money to be made.

"Ye make too much noise, Ace," Magnus Eques spoke out to break the ominous silence that permeated throughout the back alley where Ace had been traveling through. "And ye leave too much of a mess." Magnus tossed down a severed arm at Ace's feet which bore the mark of Drachen. Ace had been leaving this mark on his victims in Badside specifically to goad Magnus into making a mistake.

Ace's eye scanned the rest of the alley as Magnus stepped out into the dim light as Ace knew the other Polarian would not be far off. Leaning causally against the side of a random building was Magnus' older brother, Cletus Ganderfald. By his feet sat the gray wolf, Terra.

Ace had always relied on stealth and gorilla tactics, so meeting the brothers out in an open area was not the way he had envisioned this encounter taking place. Ace had preferred to settle things on his terms and at his own pace, however they had caught on, and now his hand was forced.

Without another word, Magnus and Ace engaged. And as with every other time in the past, they fought to a virtual stalemate until chance favored Magnus. A half-hearted swipe by Magnus with Drachen's hatchet, with the intention of drawing out a block from Ace, accidentally caught a hold of the chain around Ace's neck. As Magnus pulled back, the chain snapped and the Thirteenth ring dropped to the ground. In the split second that Ace's attention was diverted to the falling object, Magnus was able to capitalize and slice a gash into Ace's side with Dual Blade.

Ace staggered back as he knew it was now time to withdraw. Even though Magnus was fatigued, Ace knew he could not defeat him and then fight with the rested elder brother, who had up until this point remained motionless.

As Ace backed away, Mangus perused and Cletus stirred from his quiet vigil to retrieve the ring that had fallen from Ace. He handed it to the wolf with instructions to deliver it to the sorcerer, Xenograg.

Ace appeared more wounded than he truly was, and baited Magnus into a careless attack. As Magnus leapt forward, Ace countered and drove a dagger into Magnus' leg. Then, like a wounded animal, Ace fled to nurse his wounds. The dagger that struck Magnus was laced with a numbing agent, forcing Magnus to abandon any thoughts of a pursuit. And since vengeance was to be Magnus' alone, Cletus did not follow.

[Xenograg]

(continuing from previous post)


A guardroom was indeed the first open space down the tunnel from the servant entrance. The first of the four guards there receives Xenograg's throwing knife in the throat and collapses. The remaining guards are no match for three former DoS Overlords and are quickly slain. The noise created by the fight could not be helped. Presuming the worst, Xenograg wastes no time in leading his companions deeper into the lair. Twice the tunnels fork into multiple paths, and each time Xenograg gets a feeling as to the proper choice. Realizing these insights come not from within but without, Xenograg trusts and acts upon them--comforted that a friend is looking out for him from afar.

The tunnel ends at a door. They take a moment to prepare then throw the door open. The chamber beyond is a dining room with three other doors leading out. Eight men seated at the table all turn in surprise at the three armed invaders. They recover quickly and throw back their stools.

"Sound the alarm!" commands the man at the head of the table. Two others run for separate doors while the remaining draw weapons. Xenograg charges down the left side of the table, Alais and Amaltea the right.

"Xeno?!" Alais calls out as the two runners near their doors.

"Yes!" yells back Xenograg, the time for stealth now past. Alais drops her running target with a spell Xenograg cannot guess at. He, however, misses his foe with an arc of lightning. "Damn!"

The sight of a group of sword-wielding mages takes the heart from the dining men. Some try to flee but it is too late now. Only the escaped runner survives the invaders' assault. The sound of alarm bells can be heard before the fight is over.

"Everyone guard a door," orders Xenograg.

"Which way do we go, Xeno?" asks Amaltea. Before Xenograg can answer, the door nearest him opens. He drops into a fighting stance to face...a small girl.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" she demands imperiously. Xenograg blinks at the serendipity of this meeeting, if indeed this is luck at all.

"Lily?" he asks. She looks at the dead dining men for a moment. When her eyes return to meet Xenograg's, they are full of anger and power.

"You do not belong here! Invaders!" Without even raising her hand, Lily slams the strange man in the chest with a telekinetic fist. Xenograg is knocked back hard into the table before landing on the floor.

"Xeno!" cries Amaltea.

"Watch out, Amal! The child has power," warns Alais. At that, Lily turns on Alais next but the telekinetic attack is stopped upon the archmagess's shield. Xenograg struggles to breathe. He avoids moving and thus becoming a target again. Lily continues to vent her temper upon Alais. After long seconds, he conjures a hemispheric shield around himself. Lily sees the new shield and strikes out at Xenograg again. The shield holds for now.

Xenograg calms himself. Alais and Amaltea will protect him; he has a job that only he can perform. Focusing his mind on the music, Xenograg conjures the melody to summon Athlstan's ghost.

[Deluthan]

I feel like I’ve been asleep for a while now, and I can’t tell if I’m ever going to wake up. I call it mental lag. My brain registers things a half-second slower than normal…
-Deluthan’s journal, written that morning

If I were born in a different time, under different circumstances, I could have been a hero. I may have been a great man.
-Deluthan’s journal, written a few days earlier

(The following events took place the afternoon prior to the binding ceremony.)

Del moved into the Arena via the main door, descended the stairs. With him he had a note for Altara about registering for the Warlord tourney. He first dropped that off in her box, and then took a moment to check out the corkboard, but there was little to read.

The Arena appeared as if it hadn’t been touched since the last duelist went home the night prior. Most of the wooden chairs were turned away from their respective tables, or stranded out in the middle of the floor where they had been at some point dragged, as were some of the barstools. One of the chairs was lying on its back, for whatever reason. Small splashes of sand that had escaped the dueling rings had not been swept up and returned.

There was no peep from Marcus, Al and Hubie, or anyone else for that matter. It was a stale quiet that filled the hall.

Del strolled to one of the rings with the nonchalance of someone just biding his time. Being alone was liberating for him, specifically somewhere where he wasn’t used to being alone. It always felt like a free opportunity to be a child again.

He unsheathed his bastard sword, spun it and turned it. He executed some forms, testing his physical acuity. He checked its sharpness with a few taps of his fingertip.

And then he wondered about the Ward, about Chris’ vague notice regarding the Baronial rings, and how the Ward had failed him some nights ago. He wondered if it would fail him now.

So he pressed the edge of the blade against the underside of his forearm and slowly dragged it across the skin as if he were drawing out a note on a violin. As he felt a thin sting, he pressed it down harder until the pain was severe enough that he had his lips pursed tight. Lowering the blade, he held the arm out to see if it would heal.

For a few seconds nothing happened. At first, the sting in his arm grew numb, and then it seemed to engulf his entire forearm. His fingers wiggled, curled and stretch, and he could still feel them, slightly. But it wasn’t he that was moving them. At least, he didn’t think so. The sensation offhandedly reminded him of something he had used before, but he didn’t have time to remember the name of it: The feeling was coursing through the rest of his body.

He didn’t remember much after that, and of what happened that night. He wouldn’t until he awoke early the next morning--

A wraith had him.

[Athlstan]

The melody of summoning speeds forth from the sorcerer Xenograg, racing between the planes of the worlds even as the first ripples of sound reach the walls of the room. The eldritch plainsong carries its own power, creating a caesura amid the deadly struggle of spell and sword. As the last notes sound and fade, a silence overtakes the room. Blade and incantation arrest in mid-strike, as though time itself pauses for the answer to the call. Even the demon-fostered child hesitates, confronted by unknown and unexpected possibilites far beyond the savage constraints of her cruel mistress's teachings.

Silence continues for a heartbeat.

And a second.

And a third.

Lily twitches slightly and begins to open her mouth to speak a word of derision at the failure of the sorcerer's ploy.

And the stillness is broken by the unmistakable sound of a large drop of water falling into a lake, bringing with it an unresistable image of circular ripples speeding off into infinity.

And Xenograg's song is echoed by thunder.

At the first it is a low rumble, as a storm beating against the mountains might be heard for leagues across a plain. But in the space of the fourth heartbeat, as time regains its meter and steel blades flash again into motion, the storm swells into a shattering crescendo and bursts upon them. The song of summoning is shouted in the complex harmonies of the mightiest thunder, shivering the walls, unhinging a door that collapses onto the floor.

"Goddess... I shall be deaf!" thinks Amaltea.

A stark white sheet of lightning traverses the ceiling of the place, etching an instant of memory in lurid purple and green afterimages.

"...and blind as well..." answers Xenograg.

The concussion drops plaster dust and chunks over the combatants, lending them a grey-white coating that would be ludicrous if it were not immediately washed away by the impossible deluge of rain that sprays across the room.

Out of the rain steps a man in a robe of white samite and viridian. He is barefoot and bareheaded, powerful of leg, bearded, and there is might in his craggy gaze.

[Endrigon]

"Elder, our examination of the lads is complete."

"What are your findings?"

"As you know, elder, the remains of Unagi Miyamoto were..." the arcane investigator paused, searching for a politic word, "...unsalvageable." The robed man paused and sipped from a goblet of water before continuing. "And the lads themselves are still too traumatized for more than cursory interrogation. The psychics and counselors are all in agreement that it will be some time before the lads are capable of talking about the incident, if ever."

There was a shuffling among the elders at the news. Clearly they had hoped for better news with regard to the lads.

"It's our opinion that the lads are still in shock and the memories of the event have been submerged. It's entirely possible it is for the best that the lads cannot fully remember what happened. It may make it possible for them to recover more quickly."

"But that where does that leave us in determining what happened? What about psychic examination of the scene?"

"Psychic examination of the scene will not be possible. Nor will necromantic examination. The event was so violent..." again Endrigon paused. "The event was so violent that one of the psychics sent to review the scene has had to be relieved of duty. We are uncertain whether she will ever recover."

The tall, thin mage stood still, but had to fight the urge to wring his hands. His palms itched under the scrutiny of the elders while he conveyed the unpleasant report. "As you know, pain and suffering can also obscure any meaningful necromantic investigation. It will be many months before it will be safe to conduct a necromantic ritual at the site. The situation is not helped by the presence of the Ward, or of the reported presence of the ward wraiths."

"Which left us with only more scientific methods of inquiry. A forensic exam of the wounds suffered by the lads--and there are remarkably few--suggest that the samurai did not fight back against the lads at all."

"What!?" The reaction went down the line of elders as they each expressed surprise. It was several moments before Endrigon was able to continue. The elders all called out questions at the same time.

Finally, the senior elder was able to regain some semblance of order. "You are saying that Miyamoto allowed the lads to carve him to death?"

The mage took several moments, and several sips of water, before answering. "It does appear that way, elder. And it does explain quite a bit actually. As a former Overlord and Baron, the skills of the samurai are well known. It seemed implausible that the samurai would have fallen so easily against any opponent, much less three boys." There was more rumbling among the elders. Endrigon waited for them to quiet again before continuing.

"But what about the boy's wound? His hand was cut off!" From down the table, one of the more junior elders.

"We initially thought the wound was caused by the samurai, of course, but a close examination of the wound did not show the clean slice that the samurai's weapon would have made. Rather, the wound appears to have been made by...well...a meat cleaver."

The elders listened with minor disruption. "So, you are saying one of the lads did it?"

"Yes, it appears that way, elder. It appears that in their frenzy, they also did some harm to each other, including the amputation. None of the wounds are consistent with either the samurai's weapon, or his reputed skill. It's our belief that, had Miyamoto actually actively defended himself, all three lads would have been killed."

"We are convinced that Unagi Miyamoto sacrificed himself."

At which point, the meeting dissolved into a riot of questions and demands for answers.

[Athlstan]

"Lily. Come to me."

The cleric's voice was not loud, yet the command was so compelling that Lily took an involuntary step forward.

The briefest flicker of consternation crossed her face, to be swiftly masked with a cloyingly sweet smile as she took the next steps voluntarily.

"Of course... ...Father."

"Ware Athlstan! She has..." yelled Xenograg.

Lily's smile twisted into a feral grimace of hatred as she rushed the few remaining steps toward Athlstan. Suddenly in her hand was a curious short blade, heavily notched along its edge.

Amaltea and Alais scrambled to intervene, the awful knowledge that they were not close enough to prevent Lily's attack tearing at their guts in a sudden pulse of fear.

The cleric moved slightly as Lily hacked out furiously, meeting her assault with a bare arm. The notched blade bit deeply, biting into bone with a solid wet sound.

Lily drew the weapon back like a serpent readying for a second strike, and the deep wound on the cleric's arm suddenly was not.

In one instant there was riven flesh ready to spill a torrent of blood - in the next instant there was no trace of any wound.

Lily snarled and leapt forward with a disembowling slash.

The short sword cut through white samite and viridian, exposing an eviscerating gash... and then there was no rent in the garment at all.

Looking over Lily's head, Athlstan caught Amaltea and Alais with his eyes, imploring them to stand down and not attempt to stop the demon-raised.

Lily's rage broke in a wave of furious assaults, the notched weapon tearing and ripping through the cleric's body... and doing no damage.

"Lily... mine own chundrick cannot harm me."

Sheer exhaustion began to slow the girl's attacks, her thin arms struggling to lift the chundrick for another blow.

"Lily... that weapon was mine own before ever you entered the world. It cannot harm me."

The notched blade fell from Lily's numb hands, her eyes rolled back in her head, and a low lorn wail wrenched from her throat as she began to collapse into unconsciousness.

Athlstan reached and caught her as she fell, cradling her slight spent form.

And she sank her teeth to the gum in his forearm.

"And neither canst thou harm me... for thou wert mine long before Shakira ever knew of thee."

Lily turned her head into his chest and whimpering, surrendered to oblivion.

The cleric turned to Xenograg and his companions.

"I thank thee all for sparing her... Lily will be taken to the Home Beyond the Hedge, where I will assay her healing. But while I am granted this form in this world, there are other tasks I must needs perform."

The cleric turned his head and spoke a curious tri-tone into the mist.

There was a sound of light laughter, as incongruous and heart-lifting as a spring morning in this dank room under the earth, and three young women stepped out of the gloaming.

Identical in form and feature, each of the three was clad in the casual confidence of an adept swordmaiden, bearing with unstated competence a dire blade slung across hip in well worn scabbard.

The cleric's eyes sparked in delight and amusement at their appearance.

"Mine friends, allow of me to introduce Chloe Aelred, Clarissa Aerwyn, and Chelsea Aethrick... the daughters of the piper MacCrimmon and the abbot of the Mere.

Lasses... this is Lord Xenograg kathu-Darelir, his wife Lord Amaltea thu-Darelir, and the wathu-Darelir Lord Alais 'd Nitesong Sidhe."

The middle girl laughed softly and said, "Are not two of these ladies, rather than lords?"

The girl on the left turned and cuffed her sister upside the head. "Be not daft, Rissa... mind thy histories... each of these was overlord of Rhydin!"

"Lasses... 'twere it not for this precious burden in mine arms, I would cuff ye thrice for disrespect...."

The triplets quiet down after a few nudges and looks of sibling rivalry.

"Greetings and hale blessing...Lords."

The salutation is delivered in perfect unison, the artless unpracticed simultaneity of three lives so closely lived... though the effect is some spoiled by Clarissa's giggle at saying 'Lord' to Amal and Alais.

Chelsea's sharp elbow ends Rissa's giggle and the three bow deeply.

"Well met, lasses..."

"Aye, well met and blessing to thee..."

"Indeed... um... likewise."

Amaltea and Alais exchange a glance.

<w> "Daughters of the abbot of the Mere??"

<w> "Hey... I thought he was celibate or something."

Xenograg laughs. "Your daughters have grown well, Athlstan... I remember a certain cleric asking Yasafel about the finer points of nappies and puggies some years ago..."

"Aye... triplets qualify one as expert of those matters in precious little time."

"Lasses... there is yet work I must mind here... wilt thou take thy sister to our Home Beyond the Hedge and tend to her until mine return?"

Again the uncanniness of three voices unconsciously speaking as one, "For certes, Father."

The triplet's sibling playfulness vanishes in the competence with which they receive the inert form of Lily from the cleric.

They pause as Athlstan lays a hand upon Lily's brow.

"Daughter, I claim thee. From the forces and spirits of perdition, from the terror of ill memory, from the ways of evil, I claim thee. Whither I goest or thou... all the ground between thy feet and mine feet shall be holy ground."

And the three daughters of MacCrimmon O'the Mere depart into the mist with their half-sister.

[Shakira]

(This, of course, happened before the binding ceremony.)

Chloe, Clarissa, and Chelsea walk as quickly as they can through the streets of RhyDin carrying their sister.

"I didn't know we had another sister."

"Where did she come from?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure father will tells us later."

"Not too fast, I cannot keep up!" They stop abruptly upon turning a corner. The road that would take them straight to the Hedge blocked by a beautiful pale woman with long black hair.

"Hello girls. I believe you have something that belongs to me." The girls look at each other then at the girl their father called Lily.

"My business is not with you," Shakira says matter-of-factly. "I will not harm any of you if you just lay her down and leave quietly. Oppose me and face the consequences." All three girls look at each other, then Clarissa nods. Lily is gently lowered to the ground.

"Father told us that she is our sister and that we must take her home," Clarissa explains. "We were only obeying our father, and we do not intend to disobey him." In unison, all three draw their swords. Nine cat demons walk out of the shadows to surround the girls as if taking a cue from the ringing of the swords being drawn.

"See girls? You should have listened to me." The cat demons quickly move in to remove the 'obstacles.' As the girls fight the cat demons, Shakira calls to Lily. Lily slowly opens her eyes and sits up, paying no attention to the fighting around her.

"Mother?" She looks around and finds Shakira. Lily smiles her pretty little girl smile at seeing the only person she's ever known as her mother and mentor.

"Come Lily, before it is too late to undo what that meddlesome cleric did to you." Shakira extends her delicate pale hand. Lily stands and walks over to Shakira, taking the offered hand.

"No! Don't go with her, Lily! Remember father!" Chelsea calls. Lily turns and gives a cold look to the girl.

"I have no father." Shakira smiles at the reply. Lily turns her face up to Shakira, smiling. "Are we going home now, mother?"

"Yes, dear. We are."

"She's getting away!" Chloe warns her sisters as she's fending off the cat demons. She suddenly finds herself swinging her sword at the empty air as the cat demons vanish along with Shakira and Lily.

All three girls stand looking at each other; other than a few scratches, they are unharmed. The cat demons did not fight to hurt them but simply to hold them back. Knowing for the first time the bitter taste of failure, they wonder how they will explain what happened to their father.

[Badsider]

The shadows slipped back into the hidden corners and darkened alleys as daylight finally broke in Rhydin. With the destruction of Shakira, the rising sea of chaos and mayhem that had threatened to engulf the streets of Rhydin broke, like waves breaking against the shore. Without direction, the ripples faded away dispersing back into the waters from which they came.

Likewise did the surge in violence lessen within the streets of Rhydin. The storm had passed. In its wake were many dead, and scars that would be long in healing. The citizens of Rhydin began poking their heads out, checking to see if it was all clear, or perhaps only the eye of the storm overhead.

Slowly, life resumed normalcy. Shops reopened that had closed in the face of gang violence. The nights became safer, though never completely so. People continued to vanish from the streets, but the number had dwindled to a body here or there. The rise of Badside had been stemmed...or so it seemed.

~~~

Two voices spoke within the darkness, deep below the surface, down in the darkest places of subterranean Badside. A man, his face pressed to the cool floor, knelt nearly prone before a bank of darkness in which hovered a mask of horrific features.

"I do not understand, master. What has been accomplished? With the fall of Shakira, her plots and subterfuges come undone and dissolve like mist in the wind." The figure remained prostrate, unwilling to lift his eyes from the floor until bidden to do so.

A voice answered him, though it did not seem to emanate from the mask. "Which is why you serve those greater than you." The voice echoed about the chamber, both deep and rumbling and at the same time a great whisper. The prone figure trembled in fear, wary of punishment.

"I remain in the dark, master, please enlighten me."

The voice with the mask did not answer for what seemed an eternity, but the man had long ago learned infinite patience with the master. The master would answer only if it so suited him. The servant wasn't really sure it was a he, or if designations like he and she had any applicability to one of the great masters. Very few knew of their existence at all. Those that did, mostly only spoke in hushed whispers of rumors. The master he lay before was called the Spider. The Spider was only referred to in the quietest of whispers, for it was widely rumored that the Spider's webs ran through all of Badside, and that any word spoken would travel its secret filaments to his ears.

Many who spoke boldly of the Spider simply disappeared. So too did many who only whispered his name. No one knew who the Spider really was, or what he looked like. Like all the great masters of the undercity, his presence was masked and hidden by the strongest magics and technologies.

It was hinted that even the great masters did not know each other, save perhaps by the masks they chose to exhibit.

The kowtowing man, though high among the ranks of the Spider's servants, did not know which of these rumors were true. What he knew for truth was only that his own interactions with the Spider were always in this chamber of unnatural darkness, where only the great and terrible mask could be perceived. His flesh crawled with the magics that could be felt flowing through the room guarding it against detection. Tiny whispering voices swept about him, like the lingering remnants of lost souls.

"The great game is not played in the light as those above would do. The shadows conceal the poisoned dagger until too late to be avoided. The obvious thrust may be no more than a feint to draw out the pattern of an enemy's defense." The voice broke out in a rare lecture, startling the prone man. He flinched but kept still, his face and eyes locked onto the floor under him.

"Where you see only an ebbing tide of violence and chaos, we see the revealed presences of trap and guard. What profit is there in a blunt assault upon those that serve the light, where they can stand strongly in defense?"

The man quivered, but dared to speak. "I do not understand, master. Please," he groveled, "teach me, show me your great and awful wisdom."

A dagger tumbled through the air from out of the concealing darkness. The point struck true only inches from the man's lowered head. He could feel the thump as it buried itself into the floor. A shiver went down his spine, worrying that he had offended his sworn master.

"If I bade you take up that knife and enter the streets of Rhydin, to hunt down and slay those who serve the light, against whom would you strike?"

"I...I do not know, master." A terrified response from a man certain he was about to be ordered to his own destruction.

"Of course. So how would you draw out your enemy? How would you identify those that will stand against you? Who will stand aside? Who can be bribed to stand aside? And who will stand with you?"

The dawning realization swept through the man all at once. "A feint! Of course, master, I understand now!" The man's sense of wonder almost overcame his fear.

"Do you? I wonder. But let us continue our lesson. And would you send your strongest piece out to engage the enemy? Throwing forth your castles and high priests *1 to probe the enemy's line for weakness? No. You conceal yourself, sending forth pawns and mercenaries you can afford to lose." The grotesque mask hovered in the air, floating at the edge of the darkness. "When you know who and where the enemy is, you can neutralize them."

The man thought he understood now, and eagerly suggested, "and so the one called Shakira was just a pawn?"

The pain was immediate and overwhelming. The man screamed long and hard, without reservation under the cruel lightning lash of his master.

In a voice that seemed detached from the pain it inflicted, "do not presume to think you understand the hand that is played by those greater than you. Listen and learn. Nothing more."

The fiery lash slithered back into the darkness from which it had burst, a hissing crackle and afterglow the only remnants of its passage.

"Shakira...was one who played a game to prove herself among us. To justify her right to ascend into our inner circle." The voice seemed distant and cold, though perhaps that was illusion with the pain of the lash so recent upon his body.

"Then...then did she fail?" Immediately he was fearful of another punishment.

The voice did not answer.

*1 references to pieces from a chess-like game common to parts of Badside.

~~~

In a dark tunnel, a small girl stood beside an armored figure and a robed man. Near them, a mask of hideous decoration floated in a cloud of darkness. The girl looked up at the mask and then turned to the robed figured. "Mother hasn't taught me that trick yet." Her voice was untinged with fear, and betrayed only the faintest sense of wonder.

The robed man, "no, but there is much for you yet to learn." The man looked to the floating mask, his eyes reflected no fear of the manifestation, though he was cautiously wary. "And did my mistress pass your test?"

The mask projected a voice, one un-settling in its nature as it slipped past the ear, almost like a figment of the imagination. "The circle is content."

"And you will abide by her request?"

"We will honor her wishes. The girl may join us. We have made a place for her."

The girl looked up at the robed man. He had been the servant of her mother for as long as the girl could remember. "When will mother join me?"

The robed man knelt before her. "She will always be with you." And he touched her in the middle of the chest, right where her heart beat, with a long slim finger. "Right here."

The girl did not smile, but those that had reason to know would have feared to see her terrible smile, for it was like a reflection of her adopted mother. Those who saw the little girl's smile had reason for dread.

The man took her hand and whispered quietly to her. "And now you must go with them." He pointed at the armored figure. Black enameled armor of an ancient style encased the man from head to toe, so that no portion of him was visible save for two glowing eyes. "He will be guardian and protector for now. You must go with them to your new home."

The little girl did not frown, or pout. Nor did she exhibit any fear of the armored knight with the gleaming eyes, or of the horrific mask. "If mother would have it so."

The girl stepped forward, her tiny hand seeking the metal hand of the dark knight. She slipped tiny fingers into the hand of the armored giant and looked up at him. "I am ready to go." Her voice was cold, and so unlike that of a normal child. So innocent a gesture was her taking of his hand, and somehow it did not seem as if it were the knight that would be protecting the child.

The mask began moving. The darkness swirled around it as it flowed downward into the tunnel. "Come. Come seed of Shakira. I will take you to your new home.

The girl followed the mask, walking hand in hand with the fearsome knight, down into the shadowy darkness of Badside.