#I really wanted to draw his little white mage getup

[millenniumscreampuff]

"I won't let you harm my friends!"

[early-sxnsets]

Roarin’ 20s

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16866697

Word Count: 2732

Summary:  At Watford's 1920s themed Halloween Party, a few questionable choices are made. There's one unexpected, yet welcomed, result of teenage drinking. (POV Simon)

Carry On Countdown 2018 Day 11: Time

(Bonus art because I had to draw Baz in the pinstripe suit I’d mentioned)

In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have dressed like Jack from Titanic.

Overall, there’s a number of reasons why. First, I look extremely dressed down compared to everyone else in this vamped-up overplaying for a student-run party. I don’t know how they managed to allow this to happen. Although, I doubt teachers really care to stop the majority of the student population taking over the courtyard and White Chapel for Halloween night. Especially not with the Humdrum off ruining the rest of the Magickal world.

Second, I think I picked the wrong time period, as Penny ended up lecturing me over the moment she saw this getup.

“1909, Simon! Some of the most powerful Mages in the world died on that trip! And that wasn’t even really close to the 20s!”

“Well, why didn’t they just make the boat not sink, then?”

“Because it would’ve revealed too much to the Normals, Simon. Merlin and Morgana, you’d think they’d see the entire ship levitate.”

Despite her tutting, I’m still standing here with straight ironed hair (don’t ask how I got a straight iron) and a half unbuttoned shirt with suspenders and trousers that sort of make me look like a 1800s beggar more than a 1990’s heartthrob. Thank Merlin for whatever kids snuck in the alcohol, because I’m nursing my second drink and I could give less of a fuck about the fact that I’m not really fitting this year’s theme. Instead, I’m thinking about things that I could theoretically do now without being tied down to Agatha.

It’s funny, because she’s in sight right now, seeming more out of place than ever, despite being properly dressed. She’s all set up like a flapper girl, all down to the single-feather headband and frilly bottom of her dress. She looks like a costuming department put that together for her.

I remember watching The Great Gatsby with her one year (she has a thing for DiCaprio), and looking at her now, she looks spot on like Daisy.

Wonder if I’ll have to sit across a pond with her and Baz living a posh life together with a bullshit green light blinking on my dock ‘til I’m finally shot dead.

Now I think of it, maybe I probably picked the wrong DiCaprio to come as...

Penny cuts my pool-death-daydreams short with a nudge of her elbow against my side. She’s got a big fur (“Faux fur! I wouldn’t dare use real fur!”) coat and one of those super smooth hats, which doesn’t quite accommodate her hair, even in a bun. There’s spirals of brown sticking out around the edges.

“How much have you had to drink?” she questions, narrowing her eyebrows at my drink as she adjusts her glasses. I just hold up two fingers, shrugging as I sway to the remixed obscure trap-jazz music. She just squints at me, seeming to try to decide whether or not to scold me before sighing and going to get her own drink.

It’s relatively boring; nothing’s really “happening”; drunk teens and dancing, mostly, until he decides to grace us with his presence.

Of all people, I’ve never known Baz Pitch to go to a student party, and in actual costume nonetheless. But, despite, that, here he is now, and in full getup.

I take back everything I’ve said about him looking like a vampire ever. Tonight, right now, he looks like nothing but an old-school gangster. Head to toe pinstripe tailored outfit, stuffy to the t and all color coordinated. Hell, he’s even got a pocket watch tucked from the part of his waistcoat. Part of me refuses to believe he just had that lying around, but another part of me has full trust that this is something he’s had hidden in his closet that I just haven’t seen and it’s driving me absolutely mad.

His head’s tipped up, his slicked, black hair staying set into place. The nerve of this prick, too; he’s got a cigarette dangling from his upturned lips, eyes shifting from side to side as he makes his way through the crowd of students.

Mind you, I’m using “makes his way” lightly; he’s practically parting a sea. Everyone in the bloody bottom floor of the chapel turns to get an eyeful of this arse. Fucking hell, he even gives a few people one of his long, cold stares just for safekeeping. Once he makes it to me, though, he just scans over me and gives me a bored look before opening his mouth for an expected taunt. “Not surprised you can’t count your years, Snow.”

I try not to step back, keeping my chin high as I keep a leveled eye. “Seems like you never take a second from being a villain, hm?”

His lip curls up into a smirk as he takes the cigarette from his mouth, tapping it onto my feet. “Pity, you’re even worthless in your fantasy dress-ups too. Couldn’t even survive some cold water.” He reaches around me, not breaking eye contact as he grabs one of the drinks. He pops its top, raising an eyebrow to me before coolly strolling off.

I exhale slowly, letting my chest deflate as blood rushes back through my limbs. “Tosser,” I grumble into my drink, taking a long sip as Penny stares at me for a minute.

“What the fuck was that?”

“What was what?” I respond quickly, maybe sounding a bit too defensive. I should finish this drink off.

“What was what?” She blinks at me incredulously, her mouth hanging open before she laughs. “Shit, I thought either of you was about to pounce each other, and I’m not quite sure whether it was to fistfight or to snog.”

I scoff, slamming back the rest of my drink before immediately turning for another. “I am not going to snog Baz,” I say aloud, maybe more for myself. No, wait, no not for myself; I already know I’m not going to snog Baz. Why in the world would I snog Baz?

I don’t dwell on that too long, opening my next drink and starting on it as I push myself into the crowd to dance.

There’s a lot of things I’m no good at, and sadly, dancing’s near the top of that list (next to talking and existing). Right now, though, I don’t care. I’m dancing with someone in the year below who urged me over, so I don’t think I really have to care anymore. The glow of the party lights and the thump of music in my feet drag my thoughts away.

Someone taps my shoulder as I pull myself away, catching my breath. It’s Sophie, a girl from our year, who’s holding a scarf and grinning at me. “Simon..?” She drags, smiling like she’s got some secret to share. Except there’s a scarf in her hands.

“What’s up, Soph?” I ask, leaning against the table. I finished my third drink not too long ago.

She flutters her eyelashes at me, offering the bandanna. “We may be playing seven minutes in heaven and I know you and Agatha broke up, so…”

Am I thinking? No. Absolutely not. I’m grabbing the bandanna, shrugging and saying “Why not?” as I tie it on myself. I don’t even gauge Sophie’s reaction, I just go for it and spread my arms out. “Lead me to my fate.”

I hear her giggle. “Alright,” she says somewhat weirdly (alright, maybe I should’ve thought about this).

Definitely should’ve thought of this, because now she’s pushing me forward, where I bump into people occasionally before I’m walked into what’s definitely a utilities closet, nudging into someone else before the door shuts.

It’s dark as shit. I can’t see anything, but I can definitely feel. I feel the beat of the music outside, I feel the swirling of my brain (if I could see, I’d be looking sideways). I feel the hands of someone against mine, their fingertips brushing against me.

Their breath is soft against the muffled outside of the party, coming out in soft puffs by me.

I sort of instinctively think ‘she’, but I’m not quite sure. The way their breath’s hitting me, I think they’re taller than me (and I don’t know too many tall girls in the school. Granted, there’s roughly three, but still…) They’re definitely drinking too; I can smell it on their breath. Fermented, like cider, but their scent's mixed with something so familiar, so everyday that I can’t even pin it down. It makes me feel like I’m back in my bedroom.

Their hands close around my wrists as I tumble towards them, knees wobbling and heart racing. This was probably a shit idea. I should’ve probably said no, but I can’t care too much right now, and I actually want this right now. My arms grasp out and feel the fabric of a suit. I think my mind might be playing tricks on me now because I’m grabbing the suit jackets and yanking whoever this is closer. The thought of Baz flashes through my brain, but I try to will it away. It’s just a suit jacket; there was plenty of people wearing suits.

Now, I usually think of myself as a straight man. I think. Or, really, I don’t think. I’ve never snogged a bloke before, but the breath near my forehead’s driving me nuts and there’s something in my bloodstream telling me to not think and just go for it.

Who knows, maybe I’m not straight.

I slam my lips forward gracelessly and start kissing and oh, definitely not a girl. My hands rest on the smooth dress shirt and I feel slight muscle over a masculine chest.

He presses back against me, stumbling us back towards the back of the closet wall as his arms drape over my shoulders. I break back, feeling his breath on my face as I open my eyes to still find darkness. I wish I could see. I wish I could know why this feels right. Part of my mind is filling in Baz's features as my fingertips graze the skin of this bloke's face, but I'm nearly sure I'm imagining it. I try not to dwell on why I'd be imagining me kissing Baz, though; his face just sticks in my mind.

While my hand presses to his cheek, I find that he’s still got his blindfold on. I leave it, a little too scared to cross that intimacy line (suppose I’ll find out before he does, when the door opens for us again).

There’s not much of a pause, though, because he’s going at it again, snogging the breath out of me as his hands travel. They push aside the fabric of my mostly undone shirt, straining the bottom few buttons. Long, bony hands trailing against my skin and flattening against my chest. Without hesitation, I press forward, hands pushing into his hair and kissing him with every ounce I can really give right now.

This feels right. This feels so, inexplicably right. I push my hands into his hair, letting myself grip it lightly. Soft, slightly gelled down strands running through my fingers as I urge his head closer. This even smells right; he smells so comforting; like a candle I’ve had burning next to me for years. He tastes lightly of cigarettes, and he’s much cooler than Agatha ever was, but it doesn’t matter. He’s all I want right now.

A hand cups his jaw while the other stays locked in his hair, tugging at the strands and urging him onwards.

Neither of us tread anywhere below the belt. Seems too risky, too stupid. I’ve been drinking too much (who knows how much he’s had) and it’s not worth being that stupid. Fuck it, if it works out well, we won’t really stop after this. I don’t fancy myself as a romantic, but I also don’t fancy myself as someone to snog the life out of someone just to leave them.

As our lips part, his resting against my jawline, there’s a rattling knock to the door, giving us a few seconds to break apart before it swing open. The soft, changing lights of the party filtering into the small room and gives everything a harsh glow.

And there he is. Alll six feet (give or take) of him; slicked back hair, pinstripe suit, cheekbones to kill.

Tyrannus Basilton fucking Grimm-Pitch.

I stand slack-jawed, leaning against the wall we’d just been up against as he slowly lifts his blindfold off, staring at me with an expression I don’t think I’ve ever seen on him; guilt, and maybe a little fear.

He’s not angry, though. He’s nowhere near angry, but in the falter of his stone-cold persona lies this scared teen that looks away the moment we lock eyes. Before I can even form a coherent word, he’s pushing past whoever’s holding the door.

By the time I gather my thoughts to follow him, he’s mostly nudged out of the room and ends up slamming the doors open to the courtyard.

It’s frigid when I get there. Most people migrated to pack into the Chapel, but Baz isn’t interested in mingling. He’s going in whatever direction the crowd’s not, making me push through clusters of people as I shout his name.

It takes a solid distance for us to stop, hanging at least five yards apart from each other as he whips around, staring at me with wet cheeks. I feel my magick bubble and spill, working as an almost fog between us; I want him closer. I want to know what he’s thinking.

I can only really figure out one thing to ask right now.

“Did you know it was me?”

His jaw sets, arms crossing defensively over his chest as he stiffens. “Of course I did.” His voice cracks mid sentence. “I always know its you; I can feel your magick from a mile away.”

“Then why didn’t you stop?”

He huffs, laughing so bittersweet that I step forward on impulse. I want something that I’m not even sure about. “You’re so fucking thick, Snow,” he grumbles.

“You could’ve stopped me, Baz. I--we--”

He just stares silently as his arms drop, exposing his chest and his heart; exposing more of himself to me than I could’ve ever imagined. He’s so vulnerable, so weak. It's like he wants me to do something. Kiss him or kill him, he looks like he’d stop neither.

“That felt right,” I say, heart hammering in my chest. What the fuck did I drink? “That felt really really right, Baz.” Cross that, I don't think it's anything I drank.

“Don’t say anything you don’t mean, Snow.”

I swallow, eyes locked on his as I exhale slowly, trying to keep myself steady. “A lot of things don’t make sense to me,” I start, deserving me a cocked brow. I close my eyes, trying to continue. “There’s a lot that I’m clueless on, and there’s a lot that I just ignore, but Baz, that’s something that felt right. And I don’t really know every word I’m saying right now, and I don’t drink a lot so I’m feeling a little fucked up, but I’m still absolutely sure that that was right.”

As I speak, the ground in front of me crunches in a slow, hesitant manner. It stops just short of where I'm standing, the sound of Baz’s breath and the smell of home clinging to him as he stands. I dare myself to open my eyes, taking a moment to look up to him and swallowing any type of pride I’ve got left.

His cheeks are still streaked, jaw clenched shut, but lip quivering in the slightest. “Say that again,” he whispers after a minute, his hands stuck to his sides. I reach out, looping my fingers around his as I stare up.

“This was right.”

He lets out a shaky breath, looking down to me and taking what feels like an eternity to hold my hand back. “You need to get to bed and sleep this off.”

“I’m not going to sleep off feelings,” I huff.

“I know,” he utters back, causing my breath to catch as his hand lifts and pushes a stand of my straightened hair behind my ear. He leans in halfway, waiting for me to react as he whispers “Can’t sleep off mine either.”

Without hesitation, I close the distance.

[byakuyanya-purinsesu]

Underestimated Odds {feat. @lambentlodestar}

Starter for @byakuyanya-purinsesu because these two haven’t been through enough hell

After learning to fight with not only spears, but magic and knives as well, Shanzira felt quite a bit more confident going out on her own to do errands. In the very rare times some brigand had seen her appearance– garbed in gold and sable of a Nohrian Dark Falcon– and figured to shake her down for verious goods, she’d done a good job of ripping his guts out with her life-taking knife. It never really hit her just how morbid and horrifying it was, except when she actually saw the innards she spilled and the pained face she elicited from the brigand.

So Shanz felt pretty chipper on the way back to camp with a basket full of daikon, up until she saw a retinue of Vallite shadows between her and the camp, coming for her. She’d still not replaced her mount since its demise in the subspace incident, leaving her to fight about fifteen invaders on foot. She could try to make a break for the camp and run around them, and pray reinforcements came to rescue her before it was too late. Putting her faith in her incredible luck, she did just that.

“HELP!”

And luck was in her favor! Help arrived but not in the form of arrows… but instead magic trees that impaled effectively a good third of the assailants that were coming after the redhead.

“These foul mock-ups of life will not claim the lives of others on my territory.” rang the voice of a certain blond royal. Indeed, the savior that came to Shanzira’s rescue this time was not her beloved… but instead his Nohrian counterpart. Upon turning to see exactly who it was he saved, he paused for a moment and called out to her.

“Hold on… you–” He stopped himself short when he had to instruct his steed Krieg to skip backwards, avoiding a Spear Fighter’s swing of a Steel Naginata.

“Never mind. Talk later. Can you fight at all?”

Just as the crowd of invaders was about to crash into Shanz– being weighed down by a basket of radishes did not help her terrible running speed at all– trees sprouted in the forefront of the group, right in the faces of those closest to Shanzira. A look revealed a mounted dark mage, Prince Leo of Nohr. When she considered the effect his attack had had, Shanz quickly laid aside any and all complaints about who had rescued her.

“Gee, why do you think I wear this getup?” She brandishes her knife to gesture to her armor, plates she’d thankfully never neglected to don each morn. “Sorry– trying not to panic–” Her words cut off abruptly as an outlaw shot at her and hit, a disastrous blow that not only forced her to drop the daikon but cracked her breastplate and spilled blood. A scream of “FUCK” erupted from her mouth in reaction, seconds before she twirled her the sacrificial knife and sank it into the outlaw’s leg, a blow which should have forced any living human to one knee, though this one stood straight as before. The knife’s magic mitigated her pain somewhat, but couldn’t undo the damage to her armor.

“Gods… it seems you’re always in peril, aren’t you?” Leo remarked, annoyed at this most unfavorable of situations. The numbers definitely were not in their favor and he had no means of calling for more help. Their only means of living to see another day would be to abandon this fight and flee, as much as he’d love to stay and see them all crumple to his might.

Loosing another slew of branches that did away with the attacking Outlaw up close, he turned and beckoned the injured woman over to him.

“Pair up with me! We’re leaving. NOW!”

She didn’t need to be told even once; that had been her thinking as well. Leo had some semblance of defensive capabilities and a mount to flee on; Shanz didn’t, again thanks to her lack of mount. She held her chest with one hand, trying to stem the tide of blood released by just a single arrow. That arrow would’ve killed her if she had been astride a falicorn, she realized– even in death the poor beast still saved her life. But then, she would have gotten to market and back much faster on wings…

Crawling up the prince’s horse proved to be a challenge with her own slick blood on her hands, sabotaging her ability to grip. “I swear to the gods, I was never a trouble magnet until I woke up here,” she panted, using conversation to curb her urge to whine in pain. A glance back while she struggled to climb up revealed a sky knight, flying straight for them at full tilt with a raider naginata– it took all her self-control to stay where she was rather than flee.

Great. Bloodstains… that’s a saddle that’s going to require some thorough washing later.

Putting that minor grievance aside, the dark knight saw that quite a few of their pursuers wielded some sort of weapon that was superior to his own on the weapons triangle. Cursing himself for not having any of those admittedly genius inverse weapons that the Hoshidans crafted, he instead took hold of a Nohrian blade, further upping his already superior defense.

“Blast…!” He got away without a scratch but unfortunately missed his retaliating swing. The rest of the enemies began closing in on them from afar, their range slowly creeping up on the duo. It was histurn to make a move now… and it had to count. Analyzing his surroundings and his foes… he knewjust what to do.

Map Definitions: Green Squares (Forested Areas, slight evasive boost to those within) Red Starred Square (Use to Flee the map and escape safely)

Units:

Black King - Leo & Shanz (Paired) White King - Sorcerer White Pawn - Ninja Black Pawn - Mercenary White Horse - Sky Knight White Castle - Spear Fighter Black Bishop - Outlaw White Bishop - Samurai

“Over there!” With a forward pull of his horse’s reigns, the prince instructed Krieg to move slightly away from their current attacker and into a place on the field that might help them survive a little longer.

“I don’t like this… but we might have to take a little punishment if we’re to make it out alive. When you’re able to, jump and deflect any oncoming blows with that paired perfect guard. You won’t be engaging in skirmishes any longer… but surely, you’re capable of at least that much yes?”

“Yeah.” She was able to give him a nod as she fought back tears from pain, agitated only further when she snapped off the greater part of the arrow’s shaft that had pierced her. If she was to take a defensive role, then she decided to change weapons to the iron spear she carried– it was much easier to block with that. “Sit in the woods, huh?“ Not what she would’ve done– but Shanzira was generally of a mind to route, and make such a goal possible if it was unlikely. They were drawing well into the shadows’ reach, which meant that if they wanted to escape…

… They’d have to kill all of the enemies now coming to surround them.

An outlaw and ninja came first, the former picking a grassy place to shoot from while the latter came around from their side. The outlaw thankfully missed– Shanzira silently thanked her lucky stars at this– but that was not the case for the ninja, whose shuriken bounced off of Leo’s armor faster than Shanzira could stop. That… wasn’t good. That left two sky knights, a spear fighter, a samurai, and a mercenary to all come and swarm them… though strangely, one sky knight stayed back, holding its position by the sorcerer. Shanz gulped and prepared herself to stop the next attack– easy enough for melee weapons.

Their goal was in sight, and the dark knight was not about to lose it all now. Begrudgingly, while the forested space provided cover, it didn’t allow him; as a grounded mounted unit, to move his full 8 steps when moving out of it. So instead, he guided himself and Shanzira forward atop Krieg to the next forested space.

“Begone! Contemptuous fool!”

From there he quickly loosed a vine from his Brynhildr that struck down the enemy mercenary where it stood. While having his magic equipped, he knew that they’d be able to dispose of more of the opposing forces as they came along to face him. But on the other hand… he was also prone to taking more damage as a whole.

“This is where the true survival test begins… we’ll have to both be on point to make it out alive.”

Nooo kidding. Shanzira gulped, honestly praying to whatever gods might listen that they’d make it out alive. As she turned her eyes skyward to do this, however, she saw something– that sorcerer, way in the back, waved around a peculiar staff and–

Oh no you don’t– “Stappit!” This wasn’t at Leo so much as it was at the Sorcerer now pointing the staff at them, though of course the walking corpse couldn’t hear her anyways. Shanzira stepped in the staff’s path and took the enchantment meant to affect Leo. She smirked as its effect was not readily apparent– as long as she was still able to do the occasional guard, they’d be fine. “Hhh hh, tht s––”

Silence. No voice. Of course.

She observed as the ranged units of the enemy came in and arranged themselves to attack again. Well, this time, Leo could retaliate. First came the outlaw whose arrow missed– Shanzira would have given him a loud HAH if her voice were operable. A heavy strike hit the Outlaw back, not enough to kill but enough to severely wound it.

Next, a ninja– but only one; the other hung back for some reason. Their shuriken came at the pair and honestly might have struck a killing blow if Leo’s armor wasn’t spectacularly well-tended. The ninja suffered Brynhildr’s wrath shortly afterwards, leaving it at the brink of (re) death. Shanzira may have been robbed of voice, but the enchantment didn’t stop her from blowing raspberries at the sap.

Lastly, the melee fighters– a sky knight, samurai, and spear fighter. The samurai landed a light blow; the sky knight struck twice and Shanzira managed to block one– but only one, and indeed managed to strip Leo of his armor with the second hit. Averting her eyes proved to be unwise as it meant Shanzira couldn’t block when the spear fighter came in to strike. Thinking to undo this annoying effect, Shanzira only handed him her cloak. You’re distracting.

“Gods! What the–”

The next thing he knew, the blond was suddenly bereft of his clothes sans his undergarments and seeing the woman’s cloak flashed from the corner of his eye, he hastily took hold of it and covered up the indecency. “Who the hell even made weapons that could do that!? More importantly… these odds…”

Looking around, he quickly saw that the enemy forces had surrounded him on all sides. He let loose another set of vines from Brynhildr and did away with the enemy Outlaw, trying to eliminate as many ranged opponents as possible. The dark knight was growing fatigued… and he wasn’t sure how much longer they could hold out. Things were looking dire…

“THORON!”

And then suddenly, someone wearing robes eerily similar to Shanzira’s made an appearance, bringing with it the most powerful Thunder spell Leo had ever seen. It had been focused into a beam of lightning that blasted by and tore through the last Spear Fighter. The caster was a white haired man of unknown origin, holding a peculiar yellow tome.

“You two need some help, it looks like. …And a change of clothes?”

That was the last person Shanzira had expected to see coming to her aid. It wasn’t impossible, but she’d not considered it in the slightest– she’d been hoping for more royals to hide behind. When she twisted around to wave and greet her help, a tide of pain cut off her words. That was right, she still had a damn arrow in her chest and a broken breastplate.

Distracted from socializing, her eyes drifted towards the enemy they fought. Six left. Two sky knights, two ninjas, one samurai, and the sorcerer remained. One each of the sky knights and ninjas stayed behind for some reason. An opportunity revealed itself to her eyes– so she darted forward and threw her knife, successfully sinking it into the sky knight’s neck and ending its usefulness. When the knife magically returned, it bolstered her strength and halted the bleeding in her chest entirely. Inspired by her success, she couldn’t help but puff up proudly.

Her voice returned even as the ninja and samurai made beelines for her– ninja first. The shuriken sank into her, but its poison didn’t harm her– it gave her strength and helped her stand. “Y’done fucked up,” she whispered before burying her own dagger into the ninja, then against the odds dodged the samurai’s stroke and hit back, killing it as well. The sorcerer directing the invaders seemed to stare in befuddlement, if she could discern a face.

She turned around to the newcomer, excitement on her face. “Wow, that bolt of Thoron was just what we needed!”

Seeing the enemy sorcerer’s behavior change, the tactician moved forward and went in for the kill while they were focused on the shocking display that the female had just put on for them.

“Let’s wrap this up…” the newcomer was going to strike from a blind spot and attempt to end the enemy commander’s life with one blow but in Shanzira’s gratitude, she also drew attention to him; making him drop the element of surprise just as an Ignis imbed Thoron was fired. While it made direct contact, the enemy still stood with only a sliver of health to call its own.

“Damn… they’re a lot more resilient than I remember.” Afterwards he was met head on with a icy blast of Fimbulvetr, not being able to swiftly dodge as he might when faced an element of magic he was accustomed to. “Gah, that’s c-cold! Freezing…!”

And it was at this point that Leo was tired of being shown up, having charged forward with what was certainly an unorthodox weapon, one in the shape of a bottle, to land the finishing blow. It might have been a more heroic sight… if not for his being bereft of the majority of his clothes. Honestly, it was more comical than anything. With that foe down, the way to camp was at last left without a barricade. Safety was calling their names.

“There’s our chance for escape! Let’s not dawdle here for a second longer!”

Shanz had to take a moment to stare at how sheerly bizarre that sight was. A prince of Nohr wearing almost nothing but her cloak, clocking a zombie dude over the head with a heavy-looking wine bottle. It even made a little conk noise. Having taken the moment to zone out with an expression of ‘what the fuck,’ the shout to flee managed to startle her, though she managed to jump into a sprint quickly enough, trying to clamber onto Leo’s horse while she was at it so her feet wouldn’t murder her later on.

The remaining ninja and sky knight attempted to give chase, but the small party was by then close enough to camp to threaten loads of reinforcements– and one person did show up to defend them; a diminutive woman in a verdant dress. After clucking her tongue and opening a tome, she tore the sky knight apart with a single blow of a tome foreign to Nohr– Rexcalibur. When she turned to throw her magic at the ninja, it vanished, finally seeing the futility of the attack.

Once back at the camp, Shanzira flopped over gratefully onto the ground, at long last safe. Gods be praised, she was alive and mostly unhurt, but that arrow in her chest needed work. She laughed weakly, then winced in pain. Hurt to laugh. And it hurt even more when the witch showed up again and simply yanked the arrow free before hovering a Mend staff above her. “Haha, thanks, that hurt, oh wow I almost died.”

Figuring to go to business, Eruca stepped to Leo– only to try very hard not to roll her eyes at his state of undress. It helped that the stranger in the cloak which matched Shanzira’s was there, drawing the witch’s interest with ease. “… Exactly what manner of shenanigan happened there? And who is this fellow?”

“Simple shopping trip turned attempted homicide… that’s what happened.” Leo cursed beneath his breath, pouring some vulnerary onto his own wounds and inwardly lamenting just how out of control that skirmish became. “Now hold on a second…” The half naked prince stood, still wearing Shanzira’s robes and stepped outside only to find his noble steed, Krieg, emitting a weak whinny and struggling to stand on its right back leg.

Upon closer inspection, he found a stray shuriken stuck within it and after hastily removing it from the injured animal, it collapsed in pain and the blond struck the ground with his fist in frustration.

“Damn it all, I was careless.”

As grateful as Shanzira was to be alive, it was plain to see (and hear) that saving her life had come at a cost. She sat up, removing her damaged breastplate as she did, and frowned at the collapsed horse. Not good, not good at all. Eruca, being capable of actually doing something about it, knelt by the animal and examined the wound.

“… You’re very fortunate, Prince Leo; the blade came close to touching bone, but the damage that has been done can be easily mended.” She whipped a mend staff out of seemingly nowhere and began to turn its healing powers to Krieg, brushing the beast’s side with her other hand to comfort it. She murmured small things to it as well, nothing more than things like “you’ll be fine” and “everything will be okay.”

After witnessing that, Shanzira turned her head to Robin in curiosity. “Hi. Thanks for your help, I was pretty sure we were just about dead there. But, uh, other than saving strangers from random zombies, what are you doing here?”

Leo’s eyes narrowed, watching the wound slowly close up and feeling pangs of guilt at seeing his animal partner in any kind of agony… and all because he hadn’t been on top of his game as he ought to have been.

“I don’t want to put him through this again… others might view their mounts as replaceable…” reaching forward, he gently ran his hand atop his head. “But there’s only one Krieg.”

“Hello.” the white-haired male spoke. “I’m just a traveler… and I had heard that there was a camp of people fighting together, unified from two rival nations. Looks like I found it.”

Shanz glanced at Leo, thought of Takumi, and nodded. “Yup, you found it. Whatever you need, I’m pretty sure you can talk to him about it.” She nodded her head at Leo before standing up and patting the dirt off her rear. There were nine royals in this camp, and while ordinarily each of them would have ceded leadership to Corrin, there was a little problem of Corrin being missing. (Well, there were actually eleven royals, but hell if Shanzira knew about the two who kept their status secret from the rest.)

Eruca approached then, having healed the injured horse. It was time she learned a thing or two regarding why a tactician of Ylisse was here, near the border between Nohr and Hoshido. “Your garb is not Nohrian, Hoshidan, Nestran, Izumite, nor of any land known here. Best I can tell, you are from beyond the Dragon’s Gate. What brings a man from so far away, possibly beyond dimensions, to us? If you’ve come to ask us for aid in some war elsewhere, I’m afraid you’re out of luck as we’re quite busy with our own matters.”

Not Nohrian, not Hoshidan… the words rang around in Shanzira’s head, but applied to a different topic. The warriors who had attacked her had consisted of classes from both lands, and were evidently undead. Unmistakeably, they were Vallite, but… why would the Vallites be after her? She had no divine weapon, no dragon’s blood… They shouldn’t even know of her existence. But they did… and she did possess knowledge, knowledge of three possible futures…

“You’re perceptive…” If he didn’t know any better, the tactician just might consider the witch his intellectual rival. With a little more strategy training and years of experience under her belt, she just might surpass him.

“I could ask the same of you though… that spell you used back there… it’s on par with my own, and I know these tomes aren’t easily acquired… they’re alien here. And you as well–“ he paused, pointing at the other redhead. “Call it Veteran’s Intuition but I’ve never seen a power quite like yours… if I had to guess from how similar you two appear… you’re not from around here either. Guess we’re allforeigners then, huh?”

“And what does that mean?”

In stepped the prince butting his way into conversation and now fully clothed once again in another set of his specialized armor. “I’m grateful for your assistance earlier… but I’d prefer you not heckle those in my employ…”

Shanz threw up both of her hands defensively. “Hey, I just stacked a personal skill of mine with some decent weaponry. My body inverts little magical effects that slow me down or make me stronger, so I grabbed a knife that would drain any ordinary person’s life force and made use of it to heal my wounds. Funnily enough, it also works on shuriken poison.” It was an incredibly awesome skill of hers, just so long as she stayed away from the rally parties– sometimes, those downright caused her to collapse on the floor.

Eruca, feeling a far greater need to keep secrets than Shanzira, simply stayed silent. She eyed the Dreamer, recalling how much more graceful under pressure her mother was. True, the tome she had used was very foreign. ‘Twas difficult to justify the existence of Rexcalibur but for the truth that she’d simply brought it with her from home. “I do not accuse, wanderer. I ask what about our camp draws your interest. We’ve all our reasons for being here; I wish to know yours, that we may perhaps aid you.” So rude, so quick to assume the worst. Nothing at all like the woman her father had trusted so much…

Sitting on the ground and watching things subtly escalate, Shanzira felt a strong need to defuse the situation. Arguments weren’t great to have, they’d just come off a fight– this was the worst time. She stood up before speaking. “I’m only here because someone in this camp found me and took me in when I was starving, and I decided it’s as good a thing to do as any. I’ll do any kind of work if the company’s good enough, and I’m pretty content with the folks here. Maybe you might figure the same one day, who knows.”

“Maybe I just might…” he answered with a chuckle. It was a good thing he hadn’t thought of Rallying their spectrum at the time, or else he might’ve unintentionally did her in. The one sitting down seemed to have a good head on her shoulders all things considered… her look-a-like who spoke with more skepticism, appeared to be a lot more reserved and full of secrets. He wasn’t one to pry… but he didwonder…

Then entered the other male he met on the battlefield… who upon closer inspection actually appeared familiar. “You… don’t remember me, do you?”

Leo merely blinked in response. Trying to recall his face… but nothing immediately came to mind. “Should I?”

“We met at that dinner party you held not too long ago… when you [pushed your associate onto me] in an attempt to get her to socialize.” he spoke in a lax tone, smiling knowingly.

“My name’s Robin… and I hear you’re one of the associates in charge around these parts. I come from a place far away named Arena Ferox where battles are rampant… and I’m not sure how it winded up there exactly but I found something there that led me here to these lands…” Shuffling through the deepest innermost pockets of his robes, he pulled out a particular weapon that ought to have been familiar for the rest of those present.

“Does this belong to someone you know?”

The first notable reaction was Shanzira’s. She jumped up and down excitedly, blathering unintelligible fragments at first: “That’s– it’s– you found– bow!!” And without another thought, she swiped it and ran off, searching for a very particular tent she stayed in most of the time.

Eruca had only raised her eyebrows, then chuckled at Shanzira’s response to bounce everywhere like jelly. “Yes, it’s a divine bow belonging to one of our best snipers. He’s very fun to tease but otherwise a good soldier. I can only assume the little… one… she’s taller than me, isn’t she… I can only assume she means to bring it to him. He’ll be very glad to have it back in his hands.” Eruca didn’t keep a close eye on either of them, but the Hoshidan prince had been very nervous since it went missing. Knowing the import of familiar weapons when it came to personal security, the witch had refrained from teasing him about it.

Meanwhile, Shanzira dived into a tent and tackled straight into someone very familiar, someone she spent more than a little time cuddling with. “Takumi!” Messy as this pile of two people and one yumi was, Shanzira managed to untangle herself, still holding the divine yumi. “Hey! Yeah! Your thing’s back! Someone found it, come on with me!”

“She’s… an excitable one, huh?” the cloaked outsider noted, blinking and peering out of the tent flaps in the direction she ran, practically high-tailing to its supposed owner regardless of injuries. She was honest… but an odd one, that woman.

“Huh? What is it–Oompf!” And then they disappeared under a mess of blankets and long hair, never to be seen again… but only momentarily. Sitting upright, he halted all silliness, cheerfulness and merriment to pin her down; overjoyed he should have been to get his regalia back, but he was examining what was unmistakably a wound from an arrow. There was no pulling the wool over his keen eyes, and instantly, his expression soured.

“What the hell happened? Who did this to you?”

“Hah?” Shanz paused trying to drag him back, taking a moment to process the question. She looked down at herself, noting the front of her tunic was still torn and bloody from where the arrow had pierced her skin. “Oh! Yeah, that. I went out to get daikon and there was an ambush waiting for me on my way back. It looked dark for a bit, but Leo and this stranger came along and bailed me out. And the stranger had your yumi! I don’t think he knew what it was, though.”

She was smiling far too excitedly for the tale she’d just recounted– just barely skirting the fact that she had nearly died. “I’m fine right now, my trick dagger stopped the bleeding and then the woman in the witch hat finished healing me.”

‘Fine,’ she said. Absolute bullshit. But at stupid as it was, even Shanzira didn’t see it yet– didn’t see that she was taking every immediate distraction possible to not think about how it hurt to take an arrow through her breastplate, to avoid thoughts of what might have happened if Leo hadn’t shown up. It wasn’t even her first brush with death– the previous one had been worse, had been something out of… no, it had been an actual nightmare. She’d awoken screaming and crying, prompting her family on the other side– the side without magic and dragons– to ask about a ‘dream’ she couldn’t bring herself to think on.

“Damn. I think that’s another one I owe Leo for. But you’re safe now…” he leaned forward and brought his lips to her cheek for a quick peck. Cupping his lover’s cheeks in his hand and squishing them together in a silly fashion, as if to reaffirm this to be the genuine article. His expression changed to one of simultaneous relief and worry, contrasting feelings to be sure.

“Now you said someone, the guy who saved you, had found the Fujin? Can you take me to him? I need to thank him personally.”

Shanz gave Takumi a playfully exaggerated frown at her face being squished before nuzzling his chest. The affection done, she took a step back and happily presented the divine yumi to Takumi, glad to put it back in the hands of the only man who could use it properly (who also happened to be her lover.) But as Shanzira turned around to lead Takumi to Leo, she had to pause for a moment to recall the path she took– and then she tugged him along at her usual slow jog.

Perhaps the first thing Takumi might have noticed was the stranger’s cloak, and its striking similarity to the one Shanzira usually wore (hers still being in Leo’s hands.) The first thing anyone said was from Shanz, preempting the conversation with a timid voice towards Leo. “May I have my coat back? It might be hard to wear with this armor, but it’s a nice coat.” A nice coat that she felt safe and secure in, at that.

Shanzira’s impetuousness did not go unnoticed by her mysterious ‘twin,’ who lightly sighed. She wasn’t about to further interrupt things, and she didn’t have anything to say as of yet. She would much rather observe in this conversation than contribute, as it likely related strongly to her own goals.

The blond, now fully clothed once more, shed the coat used to cover his indecency prior and handed it back to its rightful owner. Shame, when he went to change he thought it actually kind of looked goodon him. First words afterward came from the archer who eyed the stranger up and down curiously.

“So, I have you to thank in addition to Leo for keeping this troublemaker safe–” he ruffled her hair playfully then faced him once more. “And returning the Fujin? Words alone can’t express my gratitude… but I have a question for you.”

“Think nothing of it. My name’s Robin by the way. I actually had a question for you too, but you go first.”

Takumi’s expression then became denoting more seriousness, his tone of voice adapting to fit it as well.

“You, Robin. You and Leo both have the power to protect where I lack it… what does it take and what does it mean? To obtain that strength for myself and use it properly?”

Shanz happily snuggled her coat once it was in her hands again and resisted the urge to throw it at Takumi in return for ruffling her hair. It took effort to maintain– he should know that, given her morning routine with it. She silently listened… but then looked aside and to the ground upon hearing Takumi’s question.

The power to protect was something she desired as well. It was true that there were not many people in this world she would use it for, but elsewhere, she saw it being very important. But she didn’t have it, nor did she feel she had the capacity to acquire it. It was as if she could do absolutely nothing to fight for those she loved.

Although this question was put to Robin, Eruca responded to it. “The power to protect is a simple thing, but easily misused and brought to harm. It is born of love and resolve, the resolve to do what must be done and accept the costs and consequences. This includes honing oneself to learn to think strategically and attain strength, and in the moment when this power must be used, acknowledging and accepting whatever consequences may arise of your choices in that conflict. You name Lord Leo and our new friend Robin, Takumi, but there is another here who has put this power to use, and for you, no less: the woman you are so fond of.”

Eruca was right, Shanzira thought. She hadn’t been strong enough at the time, but she had attempted, once, accepting death as a consequence of failure but certainly not what actually had happened…

“Um… yeah, what she said. I don’t know what your guys’ situation is, but I’ve seen what one does when they try to use that power for good but go about in a way that leaves innocents war-torn and ravagedfor the sake of a campaign ruled by absolute might.” It was true. The conqueror’s reign, at least until he and his best friend brought him down, was one of extreme difficulty from both an ethical and moral standpoint. Especially with what came after it.

“Alright… truth be told, I think I’ve exhausted my training options here. My ability to improve, in both strength and strategy, feels stagnated… I don’t know what more I can do.”

“Well, that’s actually a good segue into my question. So, Takumi…”

“What would you say, if you came with me somewhere for a little while, in an effort to make us both more powerfully andstrategically sound?”

Shanz looked even further away at this turn of the conversation. She knew what Takumi would say, and he’d say it was to protect her along with everyone else he loved… But gods damn, perhaps it was selfish of her, but she did not want to be left alone. She feared what Takumi might return to if he left her alone with her thoughts– assuming he returned at all, given that their lives were always at risk. She didn’t oppose him picking up strength, she simply didn’t want to be alone. The simplest solution would be to come with him, but… She was still uncertain, still afraid.

A thought cut across her mind then, a simple one: It’s just that I’m afraid of change in general. With that in mind, her course became clear. She looked to Robin, looking him in the eye as she never did, to deliver her question. “May I come with? I… I’d like to get stronger as well.”

“Well…” for the first time since they’d all encountered the tactician, he began to show the slightest twinge of uncertainty; taking to scratching the back of his head before clearing his throat. “You see… I can’t physically bring you along with us. For where we’re going requires the use of a sacred fighting tool of some kind.” he paused to retrieve the book from within his robes to illustrate.

“Like this special tome I carry… and his bow. The latter of which being what led me here in the first place.”

“Just a moment.”

This time it seemed Leo had to interject, a flag of concern in his brain being raised from the stranger’s words.

“You wouldn’t happen to be talking about bringing him to a magical set of doors that lead into what might be described as a mostly white void that expands nearly infinitely, would you?”

“I suppose that’s the most apt description for it–wait, how’d you know?”

Oh– that place. Shanz stiffened defensively upon recalling the place– though in her memory it was not a white void, but a place or magically dark clouds that thundered but produced no rain. Goosebumps showed up on her skin, and she shuddered at the memory of that place.

“We’ve been there before. It wasn’t a pleasant experience. And I’ve gone through those doors on my own before. They just opened right up for me, I didn’t have any different weaponry than what I now carry.” If those doors linked different worlds… then it was feasible that whatever controlled them recognized that she didn’t originate in this world. “I mean, we’re talking about the place where… y’know… that thing lurked.” Again, shudders ran through her body as she recalled the fight and its consequences.

“If that’s true, then you’re a fucking madman to go through there and risk finding it.”

“I�� feel like there’s some missed communication here.” never minding that little bit of coarse language there. “What you’re describing, and where I came from are two very different places… I hail from a place where heroes battle for sport, sharpening our skills with each match that’s played out to its end…” he explained.

“But you needn’t answer right now… I mean, most of us here are still just returning from a battle. And also…” he paused to glance over at Leo before nodding, as if silently confirming something. “I’d like to share something with you as well, if you don’t mind.”

… Well, Leo had been through there, but apparently Shanzira hadn’t. As usual, she was out of the loop. “It was full of dark and ominous clouds when I was there,” she huffed to herself. “But those were a pair of red doors with a silvery blue frame, right?” She remembered them very distinctly, as if she’d seen them more than a few times before– but never in the context she had on that day. “Yeah, I went through those. But–”

Having spent much of the conversation quiet, Eruca felt it necessary to interrupt. “Once the enemy there was felled, the darkened clouds yielded to bright light and became the white void Robin described. You were unconscious for this, so it follows that you would not know. But,” she turned around to Robin, “she is right in that a terrible foe lurks in that realm, but if it is as wide as I imagine it is, the odds of encountering it again are remote.”

Some comfort that was, Shanz grumbled to herself. She tightly hugged herself ‘round the sternum, more than a little… upset at recalling those memories.

“Oh man… there’s definitely a lot going on around here, huh? Well… if you’ll have me, I’ll stick around until you decide on an answer. Don’t think that means I’m asking for free. I’ll fight for your cause too, there are things on these lands I wish to learn and following you seems like the best way.”

“An interesting proposition… I’ll give it some thought after you discuss this thing with me. Come along.” Leo beckoned Robin to follow him elsewhere so they might discuss this matter free of unwanted ears to listen.

“To protect…” and that left a lone Takumi with the two girls to ponder whilst clutching his coveted regalia close to his body, silently vowing never to lose it again.

[aeqtales]

10: Holvert Hill 2

Jori’s mother was quite satisfied with the progress Holvert made. Even though Holvert felt quite differently, the mother was just all too happy that Jori was spending his time constructively.

After handing over the sum she promised, she proceeded to tell Holvert over a cup of steaming bouillon, about the trouble she had with the boy. Bad at school, always hostile towards other kids, hanging around with the wrong type of crowd - you know what I’m talking about.

Holvert listened to the woman’s troubles, going over any method he could use to get her to talk about the father. But she wasn’t easily persuaded to talk about that topic, and whenever Holvert took a gander at addressing it, she easily moved around it.

“Maybe he needs a father figure?” Holvert then forced a bit more prominently.

“He wouldn’t accept anyone else in that position,” she spoke.

“What happened to the father then?”

“Died,” she said as if that was all to it.

Holvert considered just telling her about Jori’s request. Just to get her to come clean. But then she’d hide the skull and ruin the relation she has with her son. That would lead neither to an answer for Jori, nor to uncovering the identity of the owner of the skull.

Holvert cut the conversation short, explaining he had many other things to do. Thankfully, she didn’t notice his change in attitude was more or less cause by her being a dead-end in his new investigation.

As he left for the exit, Jori rushed over him to wish him goodbye. When his mother turned away for a moment, he took Holvert’s hand and pushed a note into it.

Once outside, Holvert unfolded his clenched claw and looked at the note. It was an address and the name ‘Ballak Tor’ written above it. The necromancer.

Ballak’s address was in Soldan, the artist island of Telleh, right between rich Pedan and the quaint Outer Rim. Soldan’s streets were nothing but large outdoor workshops, small factories, stores and galleries sharing a space never meant for large crowds. The noise of artistry and craft pervaded the vicinity until Holvert took a corner, and suddenly found himself surrounded by relative silence. Here, the galleries were small and cosy, the outdoor stores quiet and subdued and the sides of the streets occupied by painters of canvas and furniture.

Detective Hill stopped at the end of the street, in front of a fancy furniture shop by the looks of it. One you had to ring a bell before you were let in. Exclusive, unaffordable furniture.

The doorbell rang pleasantly and not long after, an old, dark-haired Kikiru opened up. He had white marks running through his facial hair and large bushy, graying eyebrows - even more than usual for someone his species. He wore a dark red tunic, accompanied by a silvery sash wrapped around his waist. From a Southern Dedati culture from the looks of it.

Without saying a word, he gestured Holvert in and led him to the main section of the store. As Holvert passed, he noticed the fresh paint on the walls and echoes of other images behind the new plaster.

“What can I help you with,” stated the man with a soft, pleasant voice as he walked over to various parts of the content of the store. “You seem like a man who can appreciate a nice, sturdy desk. This particular desk has been formed from the upper middle section of a Gimmer tree. A procedure that leads to a sturdy, comfortable desk. Just feel its warm softness.”

“I’m not here for a desk, or for any piece of furniture,” Holvert stated, “I was told I could find a certain Ballak Tor here. A mage”

The man looked bemused at Holvert’s statement and cracked a faint smile of embarrassment. The detective in return took a business card from his pocket. “I was told he can talk to skulls.”

The furniture store owner looked at the card before pocketing it. “A private detective. I had wondered when such people in the business of solving problems pertaining people would come those of my speciality. But let us seek a more proper space to discuss this.”

He gestured Holvert once more to follow him, this time leading down a sparse corridor, down a flight of metal industrial stairs until they ended in something akin to wide concrete corridors belonging to an underground depot. From there, the man led him once more through a few corridors until ending in a large, dark chamber. In the background Holvert heard the humming of heavy aircondition fans and the air smelled entirely neutral. The man turned on the lights, revealing part by part a whole chamber filled with cabinets, bookcases, white boards with incomprehensible scribbling and various ancient looking devices. Near the white boards stood a set of comfortable looking sofas, and the man gestured Holvert to sit down. As he walked over, he noticed the cabinets were filled with the bone remains of various people, each one carefully tagged and catalogued. He also noticed there was a large section of the floor covered by what seems another large white board. A crate of candles stood nearby as well as a collection of large markers.

“This is rather more than what I expected,” Holvert said to him, “Who’s financing this getup? Ought to take a lot of maintenance.”

“Me, my colleagues and the Fund for Pratical Occultism. This is one of the few remaining treatment chambers that Har-Ikei didn’t manage to find and destroy. And as you can see, we try to keep it up to date with the latest technological and arcane developments. And this is only the study, but I doubt you’re interested in seeing the ritual room.”

Holvert indeed wasn’t, “Why? Load of dead folks?”

“Those unfamiliar with the means of necromancy are easily upset by them.”

“I’ve seen autopsies performed.”

“So a proper detective then?”

“Got my experience working with the Telleh City Guard. Specialised in tracking people down.”

“Which is why you’re here, I’m assuming.”

“We share an acquittance. Jori Welkander. He told me he spoke to you about his father and that you discovered the skull did not belong to him.”

The man played with his fingers, revealing to Holvert he had various missing streaks of hair around his wrists and arms. Scars, he guessed.

“Jori did come to me,” he spoke a moment later as if he had just decided to open up, “And yes, I examined the skull he brought and it wasn’t his father’s. He left disappointed.”

And then quickly afterwards, as if he realised something, “nothing happened to the boy, did there?”

“Jori’s fine. Just getting himself into business he really shouldn’t. But he also asked me to figure out what did happen to the dad.” Holvert reached over in his coat’s inner pocket and took his notepad out.

“Can you tell me anything about the procedure?” he asked as he whisked through the pages.

“Ah!” The man veered up from his seat, as if he suddenly woke up to a little unexpected party taking place in his room.

“Each imbued skull maintains an impression of the owner. It’s like a picture: the true, living, three dimensional person is gone, but a two dimensional image remains. Through well-established means we can ‘look’ at this picture,” he continued when emphasizing ‘look’ with finger-quotes, “which then tells us something about the deceased.”

“But you can’t talk to this thing without the name?”

“Correct, though it’s not quite talking. One of the main skills us necromancers learn, is to listen to the various strands of thought from the deceased and how to differentiate these conversations.

Ah, imagine it like having been at a busy conference all day, many of us still hear echoes of these conversations once we try to get to sleep. That’s the type of speech you receive through this ritual. Though my professional attitude requires me to tell you there are more complex, more thorough ways to access this picture - but that is not what we typically engage in, due to various issues associated with it.”

For a brief moment the mage looked like he anticipated Holvert asking about these specifics, but the detective had quite enough of all this magic babble and as his eyes rested upon the remains of a half-burned Inwid skeleton, he really didn’t want to think about what these mages were up to when he wasn’t there. “So, you used the name and you didn’t hear anything?”

“The name functions as a key to the conversation,” the man replied slowly recovering from the previously experienced disappointment, “You still hear things, but without calling the name, the thoughts never crystallise into something understandable.”

“And non of the other bits of thoughts led to anything relating to the true identity of the skull?”

“Honestly, I didn’t check. These things are routine, see. We just look at it, speak the name and listen. You can do that in a few minutes. A thorough investigation into the identity itself requires different, longer preparation. Fortunately we’re just in the space we can do that sort of thing. Do you happen to have it with you?”

“By coincidence, I do,” Holvert spoke and put the duffel bag down before the necromancer. The man reached into it and took the bundled up package from its container. Then he took the fabrics off until the skull was revealed before him.

The necromancer held it before him and peered right into the holes that once contained the owner’s eyes. He then carefully carried the skull towards the giant white board on the floor. He put it down in the middle and took a black marker from the collection. Then, he wrote and drew symbols and figures around the skull as if he had done this many, many times before.

Holvert observed the man’s actions and wondered which part of this was show and which necessity. Then he realised he didn’t quite care. For a moment he subconsciously wanted to walk around the room to keep himself occupied, but faced with the choice to be bored, or entertain himself by looking at dead people, he choose boredom.

Once Ballak was done, he took the skull in his hands again, stood in the middle of the ritual drawing and raised it above his head.

He then released a blood curdling, boneshattering roar. Holvert by instinct covered his ears as he felt the vibration of the necromancer’s voice resonating everything around him.

Ballak’s eyes rolled back in his head and he lowered the skull to level with his. All while maintaining his vocal violence. Then it stopped. And then the skull answered.

It took Holvert a moment to realise it was the skull that created the sound. And as the necromancer explained, what echoed from the thing was indeed a kaleidoscope of words and phrases and even full conversations. It sounded archaic, some centuries old, but Holvert believed to recognise some words and some inflexions as Royal dialect. Ballak meanwhile had closed his eyes as if he needed every inch of focus to mentally sorting through the words.

No sooner than Holvert having given up to try, the voices started unifying themselves into a single phrase, over and over again.

Remember me. Please. Remember me.

The voices echoed away. Just when Holvert thought it was over, the necromancer fell down to his knees and crashed upon the board.

For a brief moment Holvert did nothing. But the longer the man didn’t move, the more it crept up on Holvert that this was not the intention. He carefully walked over to the body, making sure not to wipe out any of the occult symbols.

The man was fortunately still alive, but didn’t respond to any techniques Holvert knew to wake people up from fainting. The detective noticed Ballak was still having a hand over the skull, and moved it off. Still touching him. Hum.

With hesitation instilled by disgust and sense of inappropriateness, Holvert took a piece of cloth he found nearby and lifted the skull of the necromancer.

And once more the cacophony of the skull’s voices coursed through the room. Though, this time, with a different message.

Bring me my name. And I will let him go.

And so there Holvert stood. With a unconscious necromancer and a skull in his hands that demanded to be named.

Why did he insisted on staying in Telleh, he didn’t know.