#i suppose after pulling a sword from a stone and being near an actual wizard for a while

[cap10frogguy]

Man, to be King Arthur, just casually unbothered by everything. He gets a round table as a gift, and he's just like "Aw sick, I'm gonna have my knights sit around this!" But then the king who gave him the table is like, "Oh BTW, there's a chair here where, if you sit on it and it judges you unworthy, it'll kill you on the spot." And then Arthur goes, "Whoa, that's cool, I'll just have it out here with the other ones."

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 4 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!!  🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: The Hoardless Dragon

Summary: Thorin has been waiting his whole life for something interesting to happen in Erebor, and when Tharkun arrives with a “dragon expert” to warn of Smaug’s survival he thinks he may have gotten his wish. However, Thror falling in and out of the gold madness its beneficial to Erebor’s defenses, and it may be that there is more than one dragon to fear.

Tharkun has always been a curious character. Thorin may only be twenty-three, but he knew enough to recognize at least this fact. First off, he carried himself as neither man nor elf. Thorin has always been amicable to the men of Dale, much to his grandfather’s chagrin. Even to a lesser extent, his own father seemed hesitant over his friendship with Girion’s son. Flawed they may be, Thorin would describe men as a race as being unchiseled rock. Rough, but hiding their true value deep within. He would never use this to describe Tharkun.

Likewise, the elves had an almost ethereal, and in Thranduil’s case, haughty air about them that also didn’t apply to the wizard. Tharkun carried the same wisdom and experience as the ageless race, but he was also warm and wizened like he came to expect of men. He could even argue that Tharkun was secretive and stubborn like his own people if his battle of wits with his grandfather was any indication. Yes, Tharkun was odd. However, he was also kind. He encouraged Thorin’s curiosity of what lay beyond the gates of Erebor with tales of stone giants and great eagles. Battles fought long ago, and hidden lands of green hills and little people.

Thror may look at the eccentric being and sneer, but Thrain and Thorin were in near agreement that Tharkun was a true Khuzdbâha (dwarf-friend). That’s not to say Thorin was blind to the fact that Tharkun was a meddlesome interloper who preferred to speak in riddles. Thorin was third in line for the throne after all, and he knew how to watch for a politician’s half-truths. Still, when the herald rushed into the throne room to announce the arrival of the grey wizard, Thorin found himself fidgeting beside his grandfather’s throne in excitement.

Thrain’s eyes were twinkling as he looked over his father’s head at him. Still his words were reprimantory. 

“Thorin, behave.”

The young prince ducked his head trying his best to calm himself. He still wasn’t quite used to throne room behavior, and was constantly being reminded to behave. His mother was in fits that he had to attend open court at all thinking him still too young. He was proud of the fact that his father was already training him in his duties to the crown. However, he knew his father wouldn’t have sprung it on him at all if it wasn’t for his grandfather’s declining health. 

It was something Thrain and Fris did well to hide from their children, but Thorin wasn’t blind. The days of Thror encouraging Thorin and Frerin in their mischief as they tried to sneak by his office or taking him into the forge to experience his first taste at smithing were far behind him. Now, he could barely catch his grandfather’s attention so absorbed was he in his gold. Even raised to appreciate the might and beauty of Erebor, Thorin had a hard time understanding why his grandfather spent so much time with his gold and gems. Even his smiles and laughter were now replaced with ice glares and harsh words. Thorin loved his grandfather, but he was not so sure that his grandfather loved him anymore. Whatever strange inflection has taken Thror, Thorin hoped Tharkun held the cure.

The doors to the throne room were thrown open once more as Tharkun was escorted down the path with four guards stationed inside. A new precaution his grandfather deemed important to take as of late. Tharkun made no motion that the blatant display of distrust bothered him as he swept his way to the bottom of the steps with a deep bow and wide grin.

“Hail Thror, son of Dain. Hail Thrain, son of Thror. Hail Thorin, son of Thrain. It pleases me greatly to see the sons of Durin in good health and prosperity.”

Thror was content to glare down at the wizard so Thrain took it upon himself to greet their guest.

“Hail Tharkun! If we had known you would be arriving, we would have already pulled out the good mead. As it is, if you intend to join us for dinner tonight, I would see it done.”

“You do know how to tempt me, dear friend. As much as I would like to revel in pleasantries, I believe business must come first.”

“Yes, what storm follows in your wake this time, Tharkun Amsâlakhzar (bringer of bad luck)?” Thror mused.

The room was immediately filled with tension as Tharkun’s eyes narrowed on Erebor’s king in tight scrutiny. He’s never actually seen it in action, but Cousin Fundin, used to tell Thorin stories of Tharkun’s raw power, and how you never anger a wizard. The dwarf prince was half-afraid he was about to get a firsthand account.

“Ha!”

The sudden noise seemed to startle everyone in the room as Thorin turned his head just noticing for the first time that Tharkun did not arrive alone. The strangest being Thorin had ever seen in his life stepped out from behind the wizard. He stood merely an inch or two taller than Thorin which was on the small side for a dwarf. His beardless face, large wooly feet, and slightly pointed ears hidden by bronze curls stood in stark contrast to what Thorin was used to with his own kind having never seen another species of their height. Even his fashion was bizarre with the short trousers, perfectly tailored vest, and a velvet jacket of all things. That’s when Thorin remembered Tharkun’s stories of the little people on the other side of the world. This creature must be a halfling!

“I suppose you had every reason to fear, Grey Wizard, I’ll give you that much.” The halfling snorted, deriving some sort of depravatated humor from the situation.

“And what is this?” Thror demanded.

“Not what, Your Majesty, who. You can be knee deep in a dragon spell, and still have some manners about you.” The smaller male mocked.

Thorin had a detached bewilderment as he watched the impending mine-collapse. His own father didn’t speak to Thror so brazenly, and by the tightened grip on the stone throne, this matter would not be taken lightly. Still he couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by ‘dragon spell’?

“How silly of me!” Tharkun forced the diversion even as his hands tightened on his staff. “King Thror, Prince Thrain, Prince Thorin, allow me to introduce Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.”

At this the halfling gave a small nod of his head raising the ire of his grandfather. The smaller male would be lucky to leave with his life if he continued on this way. However, Master Baggins' attention then swept over to Thorin himself, and the halfling seemed caught off-guard for the first time tilting his head just slightly as he blinked slowly. The halfling’s hand immediately went to the golden band on his right hand, and he began to fiddle with it while narrowing his eyes on Thorin. 

“Why is Bilbo Baggins of the Shire in my mountain?” Thror snarled, pulling Thorin’s attention back to his grandfather and the wizard.

“Bilbo has been my traveling companion as of late.” Tharkun smiled, seeming to think the conversation was back on his terms.

“Not voluntarily, mind you.” The halfling grumbled earning a small whack on his back from the wizard’s staff.

Thorin had to duck his head to hide his mirth at the scene, but when he looked back up the halfling was watching him again. This time with more fondness, as he gave the prince a wry grin and a quick wink.

“You see, I asked Mister Baggins to join me because I noticed stirrings to the north.” Tharkun remarked casually enough.

“Stirrings of what?” Thrain asked curiously.

“That my Prince, is the right question.” Tharkun smiled brightly before his face and tone fell grave in the blink of an eye. “The fire-drake, Smaug, is awakening from his slumber, and he seems to be sniffing out a new hoard to bed in even as we speak. If you do not take precautions, I fear his sights may fall to Erebor.”

The wizard’s warning was met with silence. Thorin wouldn’t lie. There was a small part of him that thought this was fantastic news. Nothing exciting ever happens in Erebor! The entire time he’s shadowed his father, it’s been nothing but boring council meetings, numbers and figures, even their trips down to Dale had become tedious. Now, though, there was something exciting to occupy his attention, and he couldn’t deny that part of him that wanted to charge headfirst and face down a dragon to earn his epithet. Thorin Dragonslayer, they would call him!

Outwardly, he portrayed the same concern he could see on his father’s face. Then his grandfather burst into fits of laughter.

“You have told some tall tales, Wizard, but this one steals the prize! A dragon! Next you’re going to tell me Durin’s Bane itself is knocking on my doors.”

“It is no jest, King Thror.” Tharkun insisted with a tight expression.

Thror sobered up some, but still seemed to discredit the grey figure’s words.

“I have been chased from my home by a dragon before. I know the signs. Erebor is prosperous, it will not fall. Especially to a fire-drake that has been extinct for ages!”

“You ignore the signs.” Mister Baggins stepped forth once more. “They are all here, King Under the Mountain, and the fire-breather Smaug lives as well as a few that your people refer to as cold-drakes. Why, it wouldn’t shock me to find Eisigem still sleeps in Dain’s Halls.”

“Enough, you impertinent imp!” Thror cried, jumping to his feet.

Thorin’s hand fell to his sword at his waist along with the other guards even though he was conflicted about attacking Tharkun and his companion. Still, the hobbit offered his grandfather great insult, and he was not about to deny that.

“Who are you to question the word of the king?” Thror demanded.

Mister Baggins’ lips were pressed in a tight line, and once glance at the dark look from Gandalf sealed his sour mood.

“My apologies, Your Majesty.” Mister Baggins replied in a clipped tone. “I am but a simple hobbit, and it is clear that I overreached my station.”

“A simple hobbit, in the service of this ustar (interferer).”

“Gandalf is an...old friend. He called on me for a favor, and I found myself in the position of being able to fulfill his request.” Mister Baggins offered in response.

Thror gradually seated himself once more, and Thorin relaxed the grip on his blade. Tharkun stepped in at that point, half shielding the smaller being behind his person.

“Bilbo, you see, is something of a dragon expert.” The wizard offered. “I thought his knowledge would benefit Erebor well with the terrible news I’ve brought.”

Thorin stared at Bilbo with renewed interest. A dragon expert? How many of the beasts had he slain to earn such a title? Thorin found himself hungry for the halfling’s story perhaps more so than he ever yearned for Tharkun’s own.

“Aye, a dragon expert.” Thror huffed wryly. “Why he looks more grocer than warrior. Axe or sword, Mister Baggins, what is your choice?”

He smirked darkly in response to the king’s blatant mocking as he continued to fiddle with the ring on his finger in agitation. “Neither. I’m more fond of using my bare hands and teeth.” 

Thror huffed, not impressed with the hobbit’s jest even as Tharkun shifted uncomfortably. 

“Your Majesty, I have not brought Bilbo to advise you on how to slay dragons, but on how to prevent their arrival because Smaug is coming. Perhaps not any time soon, but the treasure beneath your feet will be far too alluring, I fear.” 

A tense silence fell over the room, and Thorin wanted to shut his eyes against the storm he knew to come. If there was one thing he had learned very well, it was that you did not mention gold in Thror’s presence.

“I see.” Came the unexpectedly calm reply. “You have not brought a dragon expert, but a burglar in my mountain. And use your insane theories of dragons as a front to rob me blind!”

“Your Majesty…” Tharkun began before Thror cut him off, banging his fist on his throne.

“SILENCE!” Thror roared. “I ought to kill you now for such insolence.”

“DO NOT THREATEN ME, THROR SON OF DAIN!” 

Like everyone in the room, Thorin shrunk away from the shadows that manifested outwards from Tharkun. Thrain broke protocol to place himself protectively in front of Thorin, and the guards stepped in front of the royal family. None approached Tharkun as they were quickly reminded the wanderer was in fact a wizard of great power.

“I’m not here to rob you!” Tharkun continued before the shadows suddenly died down, and his expression turned soft. “I’m trying to help you.”

There was no movement that followed as all eyes watched the king to see what he would do next. Thorin’s grandfather looked taut as a rope in a pulley. His eyes narrowed as if weighing his chances against the wizard in battle. Thrain’s hand squeezed Thorin’s arm in a reassuring manner, but his eyes remained on Tharkun just as his war hammer remained in his other hand. Thror finally got up and walked to the edge of the dais using its height to tower over Tharkun.

“Get out of my kingdom. You and your abrâfu shaikmash��z (descendent of rats).”

Tharkun’s chin jutted out proudly at the king’s order. Thorin’s eyes sought out the halfling to see how he would react to the slur. Only, the smaller being was no longer behind Tharkun’s cloak. He seemed to be the only one to realize this as his eyes darted over the chamber before finally landing on the halfling’s form. Thorin made a strangled sound in surprise as he jumped away from the throne. All eyes, including Master Baggins’, fell on Thorin as he merely stared in open mouth shock at the being standing on the king’s throne holding the Arkenstone close to his mouth. Almost as if he were speaking to it though Thorin couldn’t make out the words.

“T-THIEF! H-HOW DARE...AKLÂF MENU (curse you)!” Thror sputtered before coming to life and heaving his sword high above his head to smite the halfling.

Thorin could only watch in horror as Bilbo Baggins, dragon expert and friend of Tharkun, remained resolute in his execution, still whispering to the gem. Just when he was about to be struck down, the halfling’s eyes bore into Thror’s own, stopping Thorin’s grandfather in his tracks. It was as if time had been frozen around them. Thorin felt the itch to take a step forward, but Thrain still had his arm securely wrapped around the other. The guards also seemed uneasy about this strange spell being wove around their king and whether they could interfere. Tharkun only watched on with a narrowed, but unsurprised gaze.

Only a few seconds had passed, though they felt like a lifetime, when the Arkenstone’s light dimmed, and iron clattered against the ground. Thorin looked around wildly, but every adult had dropped their weapons and were staring at each other and the halfling with an awed fascination. Thorin looked up at his father as even he loosened his grip breathing deeply as if it were his first out of a long sleep.

“What did you do?” Thrain murmured softly.

The halfling merely hopped off the stone throne, straightening out his vest and jacket before approaching Thror. The king had sunk to his knees, but his blue eyes, the same eyes Thorin had inherited, looked brighter and troubled all at once.

“This is not a jewel, Your Majesty.” Master Baggins began still looking only at the king as he held out the Arkenstone. “This is a petrified dragon heart.”

Gasps rang throughout the room.

“While not as potent as a real dragon heart, it’s been weaving its spell over you all the same. The effects will lessen, though not disappear completely until it’s destroyed. At the very least, I wouldn’t advise putting it back above your head.” The halfling continued to explain as he shoved the stone into Thror’s hands.

“Don’t dragon spells come from locking gazes with the beast?” Thorin asked curiously.

Master Baggins flinched before turning to Thorin with a hard look. His voice, however, was soft and encouraging.

“No, Your Highness. That’s unfortunately a myth. It’s the heartbeat that lulls you.”

“Yes, but...what did you do?” Thrain repeated again.

“I spoke to it in its language and convinced the heart to sleep. Like I said, not a permanent solution, but I do hope it stops the irrational yelling and weapon drawing.”

Thror and Thrain just stared at him dumbfounded.

“You spoke to it…” Thror repeated.

“I did say our friend here was a dragon expert.” Tharkun used this moment to speak up, surprising many who had seemed to forget he was still there.

Thorin watched the hard glare that passed between the two before Master Baggins walked right past the wizard.

“Right, well, if you need me to silence any other madness-inducing gems, I’ll be down in the market. I’m famished.”

The halfling spun on heel, gave a deep bow to the royals, before disappearing out of the hall before anyone could so much as say a word in protest.

“Now, about Smaug…” Tharkun began.

Thror winced as he slowly pulled himself to his feet. 

“Peace Tharkun, it’s been a rather...eventful morning. If you are willing to wait until tomorrow...Erebor would be proud to host you and Master Baggins.”

Thorin stared at his grandfather in shock before a small smile began to split his face. Could it be? Did Tharkun and Master Baggins truly fix Thror? Tharkun’s approving smile managed to give Thorin hope that they had achieved the impossible.

“As His Majesty wishes.” Tharkun bowed.

Thror looked to be trying hard not to roll his eyes as he stepped out through the side entrance. Thrain immediately followed, dragging Thorin along behind him even as the younger prince turned to wave goodbye to Tharkun. Once they were in the relative privacy of the royal halls, Thror wrapped Thrain up in a hug.

“Makkê, birashagammi (My son, I’m sorry).”

Thrain didn’t say anything in return. Just clutched his father a little tighter and if either of the dwarrows were crying, Thorin pretended not to see. Instead he was practically vibrating in his desire to be dismissed so he could tell Frerin, Narvi, and Falvi. Obviously something as amazing as meeting a dragon expert was too big to keep from his best friends in the whole mountain.

“I have no patience to keep up appearances for the rest of the day. I would like to retire and actually enjoy my family once more.” Thror’s voice brought Thorin back to the present conversation just in time for a large grin to split his face.

He may just get his wish after all.

[luckyjak]

fic: Lover (2/3)

Link to chapter 1 | A03 Link

It was surprising how easily writing to Essek fit into Caleb’s daily routine. Alarm spell, putting up the dome, counting spell components, preparing spells for the next day, writing in his other notebook, then writing to Essek. He often wrote whole paragraphs about what had happened that day, sometimes even writing pages if it had been a particularly eventful day. Sometimes, if things had been timed just right, Essek was able to respond to his messages immediately, and they were able to talk to one another via text, trading messages back and forth, but most days Caleb wrote in the evenings, and woke up to a response from Essek in the morning.

He wrote about everything, from the mundane to the extreme. He still filtered his thoughts somewhat. He wasn’t stupid; he knew anything he wrote to Essek could still end up in the Bright Queen’s ear. But it was still nice to just talk to him, to write down every crazy thing that had happened in his daily life and have someone else to respond to.

--

They had made it to Port Damali and had the comfort of an inn, for once. A disastrous day had led them to splurge a little bit, at Fjord’s insistence, that they each deserved a “goddamn bed for the night.” By some miracle, there were even enough rooms for them to each have a private room, if they wanted, which most of them insisted on for at least an evening.

As was habit, he had taken the time before bed to write to Essek:

Fjord almost got sacrificed to a volcano today. Turns out Jester’s not just in a cult, but is actually the leader of said cult. She’s not having a good time right now. On the plus side, the dunamancy spells you’ve taught me keep saving us: Fjord not dead right now because I managed to use the immovable object spell on his whip, keeping him from falling. So thank you, Essek; my friend isn’t dead because of what you taught me.

He yawned and put the book away, intending on sleeping when he felt the vibration of the book, meaning Essek had responded. He pulled it back out immediately. In swirly, elegant handwriting was Essek’s response:

I’m glad Fjord is okay. Jester is the leader of a cult? Why am I not surprised? I’m glad the spell came in handy for more than pranking. No one was injured, I hope?

Caleb grinned, and pulled out his quill to respond.

A few of us are injured. Veth was shot in the leg by a crossbow, and Beau’s shoulder is fucked up, and Yasha is perpetually injured, but we’re fine other than that. Actually get to sleep in a bed tonight, so that will help. How was your day?

He waited a moment to see if Essek would respond, and sure enough the book vibrated again.

Well, no one got sacrificed to a volcano, but to be honest I wouldn’t have minded throwing Imyrn into one if we’d been anywhere near one.

Ha. That’s the accountant, right?

Indeed. He doesn’t seem to be aware of the fact that magic costs gold to cast. “Is there any way we can use charcoal instead of obsidian for our shadow warriors?” No, asshole, that’s not how magic works.

Caleb rolled his eyes. Every wizard in Exandria wishes that’s how it worked.

Right? I wish he’d go bother someone else’s department and leave mine alone.

Caleb frowned into his notebook, and drew a sad frowny face. I’m sorry. It sounds frustrating.

It is. There was a pause, and then the notebook vibrated again. When will you be back in Rosohna?

A good question; one Caleb wished he knew the answer to. Hopefully in the next few days. Fjord has some people he wants to talk to while we’re here in Port Damali, and we may stop by Nicodranas so Jester can see her muther since she’s so distraught. He paused, tapping the quill on the notebook as he thought carefully about what he wanted to say next. I miss you.

I miss you, too. I wish you were here tonight.

Caleb sat the quill down and looked around. The inn was quiet, and his alarm spell was already in place, but that didn’t stop him from taking a moment to stand up and double check to make sure the door was locked before he crawled back into bed, and to Essek’s messages.

Oh? He wrote back cheekily. And what would you do if I was there tonight?

It took Essek a moment to respond: I’d take you to bed with me, darling.

Fuck. That was what he was hoping he’d write. Would you? He wrote back, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. I thought we were taking things slow.

They were, of course, though it wasn’t by choice but rather proximity. There was a point in Caleb’s life when he enjoyed how much the Nein constantly traveled; now he found he wished they could stay in one place (Rosohna) long enough for him to spend more time with Essek.

Writing like this helped, of course, but it was nothing compared to actually being with Essek.

Well, maybe I wouldn’t. But I’d want to. I think about it all the time. Caleb groaned while reading. Are you alone?

Yes. Are you?

Yes.

Caleb slid one hand under the covers, cupping himself lightly. Then tell me what all you want to do to me, liebling.

--

He would sooner burn his notebook before ever letting anyone ever look at what he and Essek had written to each other that night. But whenever he had the time and the privacy, he found himself rereading what they’d written over, and over, and over again.

--

It took weeks to get back to Rosohna. After leaving Port Damali, Caduceus had had another vision from the Wildmother, which led to them hunting down the Stone family and reforging another sword, this time for Yasha. It had taken three and a half weeks and had taken them trapezing through the ruins of Draconia, but it was finished, finally.

“Ooh, we should take a break and go to Nicodranas!” Jester suggested, and Caleb felt like he could kill her. “We can go see my mama and Nott’s family!”

“Alternate suggestion: you can go to Nicodranas, and I’ll go back to Roshona and see my boyfriend. We have teleportation circles in both locations; it costs very little for us to go to both places.”

“Sure, let’s split the party. Nothing bad has ever happened because of that, right?” Beau snarked at him.

“Jester has Sending . It takes only a few moments to send a message, and it takes about a minute to teleport. Hopefully nothing attacks us while we’re in two of our home bases.”

“I want to go to Rosohna,” Yasha suggested, her quiet voice supporting Caleb’s idea. “I have bracers there that I never picked up.”

“Oh shit, right, I forgot about that. And I should probably check in with Darion if we’re going there.”

Fjord shrugged. “So we’ll split the party. Caleb can send Jester, Nott, and myself to Nicodranas, and Yasha, Beau, and Caleb can go to Rosohna. Caduceus, where do you want to go?”

The firbolg paused thoughtfully. “I suppose I should check on my garden. I’ll go to Rosohna.”

“And someone should check in with Essek and the Bright Queen, make sure they don’t need us for anything. But I suppose Caleb’s got that covered, huh?” Jester winked, nudging him in the stomach with her elbow.

“I promise if I do nothing else, I’ll be checking in with Essek,” Caleb promised them, keeping his face neutral despite the excitement building in his chest. (It had been weeks. He was allowed to want like this, wasn’t he?)

“Checking in with his pants , more likely,” Beau mumbled. Then “Ow, fuck, it was a joke , Nott!”

“You leave Caleb alone! He’s allowed to be excited about seeing his boyfriend!”

While they were conversing, he pulled out his blue notebook and sent a quick message Essek’s way. Good news! I’m coming back to Rosohna for at least an evening but hopefully longer!

The response was almost immediate. That’s great! There is a formal occasion tonight that requires my presence that I must attend--would you like to join me? It’s bound to be boring but the food with be free.

He was in the process of writing out his acceptance when another of Essek’s messages appeared instead. Actually, extend the invitation to the rest of your group as well. It’s a celebration dinner; the Heroes of the Dynasty should be in attendance. We would have sent out a formal invitation weeks ago, but you guys have been out for awhile.

He scratched out what he had started to write, and instead wrote: Will do.

He shut his messenger book gently. “Change of plans. We’re all going to Roshana. They’re having a fancy formal celebration and would like the Heroes of the Dynasty to make an appearance tonight.”

Jester gasped. “A fancy formal thing? Oh, we get to go shopping! ”

“Oh joy,” Fjord deadpanned.

There was a rush of voices as everyone began discussing what they wanted to do, or where, or what order they should do things.

“Sorry, Veth,” Caleb knelt down beside his friend, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I know you wanted to see your family.”

She shrugged. “It’s fine. I like fancy, formal things,” she paused thoughtfully. “Actually, could you ask Essek if I can bring Yeza and Luc? They may want to come to Roshana for the party and then stay the night.”

“I can ask.”

Essek didn’t mind, and neither did anyone else in the Dynasty; the formal affair was a celebration of the Luxon, the night before the Day of Light celebration in the capital. It’s the first time we’ve had a Beacon of the Luxon home for the Day of Light in almost a century, thanks to your efforts. Essek had written. So bring whoever you want.

That made the excitement of the group go up. It had been afternoon in the ruins of Draconia, but it was still early morning in Nicodranas when they showed up--once again without warning--in Yussah’s tower, and then again in the Lavish Chateau. Jester had tried to convince her mother to come to the evening’s celebration in Rosohna, but the Ruby of the Sea couldn’t be convinced to travel to a foreign city, even just for an evening. Yeza had been pleased to be invited, however, and Luc was excited about magical travel and seeing where his mama worked.

The rest of the day had been a bit of a hurried blur after that; there was shopping to be done, first by selling some of the ruins of Draconia they had managed to grab while traveling to meet the Stones. It had earned them quite a bit of coin, and Jester had insisted that they spend at least part of it on formalwear for the evening. Caleb found he didn’t mind too much; they had the gold to spend, and after weeks of not being able to see Essek, he wanted to impress him if he could.

He ended up buying several outfits of different levels of formality, settling on a dark blue and silver outfit for the evening that, according to various members of his group, brought out the color of his eyes nicely. With Yasha’s help, he shaved off the monstrosity of a beard that had grown in the weeks they spent traveling. He ended up not getting cut up this time, too, which was a bonus. He even got a haircut, trimming several inches off of his ponytail so that his hair wasn’t quite as wild as it had been.

He wasn’t the only one cleaning their act up: both Fjord and Beau had touched up their undercuts, which had gotten ridiculously shaggy since the last time they were in Rosohna. Veth, Jester, and Yasha had opted to keep their hair long, but took the time to braid their hair into a formal updo. Even Yeza ended up shaving his sideburns down a bit, although whether it was because everyone else had or he wanted to do it for his wife, Caleb didn’t know.

Before he knew it, it was evening at the palace of the Bright Queen, decorated in its splendor to an extend Caleb had never seen. The palace was always a beautiful building, the architecture elven and crystalline, but tonight it shine with a magical sort of decadence, the sort of thing that came from a people who lived for thousands of years throughout time immortal, that outshined anything he’d ever encountered in the Empire.

Waiting at the palace gates for him was his lover of a month and a half, wearing the same long mantle he always did, a perpetual scowl on his face.

The scowl melted away the moment he saw him, however. “Caleb,” he said quietly, a soft and gentle smile on his voice, and Caleb wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t walking closer as he spoke.

Time seemed to freeze and blur around him as Essek kissed him, quickly but deeply. It wasn’t long enough--would forever be long enough?-- but it was better than nothing he’d lived with for weeks.

Time seemed to resume, and he heard giggling behind him as Essek pulled away. “And the rest of the Mighty Nein, it seems. Good evening.”

Right. He forgot they existed for a moment.

“You gonna kiss every guest to welcome them, or just the special ones?” Beau teased as Essek flushed a darker shade of purple.

“ Beauregard--”

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have. We are in public, after all,” Essek winced, rubbing the back of his head. He bowed before them, gesturing towards the front of the palace. “If you’ll follow me, please.”

He led them down a long corridor into the Bright Queen’s throne room, which had been decorated in white and silver drapery and crystalline decor. His companions scattered almost immediately: Beau and Yasha to the dance floor, with Jester dragging an uncomfortable looking Fjord behind them. Yeza and Nott had tackled the snack table, and Caduceus was nowhere to be found.

Essek stayed beside him, though, a respectable distance so that someone might mistake them as colleagues, at least until Essek leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Although I should tell you: my sister Meela knows about us.”

Ah. That explained the stiffness. “Meela’s the priestess, right? The oldest?”

“Yes. She’s the High Priestess, actually. She was injured in the Scourager attack months ago, so she’s been at home recovering, temporarily relieved of duty, and it’s led to her meddling out of boredom.” He scowled, his cheeks still a slight dark purple. “She’s insistent on meeting you tonight.”

“Essek, that is fine for me. You have nothing to worry about. I do not mind meeting your sister,” he nodded in the direction of an approaching woman. “Is that her?”

“That would be Meela, yes.” He gestured for her to approach. “Meela, this is Caleb Widogast, arcanist of the Mighty Nein and retriever of the Beacon. Caleb, my oldest sister Meela Thelyss, High Priestess of the Luxon.”

She was plump in a way most drow were not, and her skin more gray compared to Essek’s deep purple. But they were almost certainly related in some fashion: they had the same eyes and the same mouth, although her smile was a bit sharper. She studied Caleb with the scrutiny of a woman who spent long years studying other people, although it was hidden behind kind-looking eyes.

She seemed familiar to Caleb, too, but he chalked it up to her resemblance to Essek. “A pleasure,” she shook his hand, her nails long and sharp. “My, but aren’t you an unexpected surprise? Handsome,” she ran a hand down the side of his face, brushing a stray curl behind his ear. “I like the long hair.”

“ Meela-- ”

“Oh, hush , Essek, I’m not going to embarrass you.” She winked at Caleb, as if to tell him that embarrassing her little brother was her favorite hobby. “It is an honor to have the Hero of the Dynasty here this evening for our celebration. You must tell me more about yourself; my brother has been surprisingly tight-lipped about this whole affair. I had to practically torture him just to get him to admit he was dating you!”

She wrapped an arm around Caleb’s, dragging him away from Essek.

He then proceeded to spend the next half hour going through what felt like the most bizarre interrogation of his life; Meela had wanted to know everything about him, or so it seemed. Where had he grown up? Who taught him magic? Did he regret leaving the Empire? Did he have any friends or family still back in the Empire, or was he loyal to the Dynasty completely? Surprisingly few of her questions involved his relationship with Essek: she seemed more interested in who Caleb was a person and where his loyalties lied than they fact that he was dating her brother.

Luckily, it was time for dinner, and Meela was called away to proceed over the meal, giving Caleb a bit of a reprieve. Essek’s face was flushed as he led Caleb to the table where the meal would be served.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, floating beside Caleb as they walked. “She’s never cared about anyone else I’ve ever dated! I don’t know why she felt the need to interrogate you like that--”

“It’s probably because I’m human,” Caleb pointed out as they joined the crowd. “None of your other boyfriends have been human, have they?”

“No. Well, one was a half-orc, but,” he sighed. “You’re probably right. Still, I apologize. This wasn’t how I wanted the evening to go.”

Feeling invisible by the crowd, Caleb reached down and squeezed Essek’s hand. “Well, the night is still young.”

They didn’t get to sit next to each other, but they did get to sit across from one another, which was a blessing in and of itself. Caleb had to practically jump over Fjord to stop him from sitting across from Essek by accident, but it was fine by the end.

Dinner was served over four courses, including dessert. There was some hesitation on how to eat--the food was served with twin sticks as opposed to forks and spoons, and that had been a lesson in and of itself. Caleb knew how to use them a little bit just because he had eaten out before with Essek in the past; his friends, however, were hilarious in their attempts, much to the thankful amusement of the Bright Queen and her entourage.

He didn’t get to monopolize Essek’s attention, either; a fierce but friendly debate over the nature of reincarnation had sparked across their table, and Essek had Opinions, it seemed, and a need to share them. Beau also had opinions, as did the Minister of Labor, a broad-shouldered bugbear who sat on the Bright Queen’s council not far from them. On the other side of Caleb, Yeza, Caduceus, Nott and the elderly goblin advisor seemed to be discussing the medical properties of mushrooms.

He’d just have to find his own entertainment, then.

Coyly, he ran his foot against the back of Essek’s shin, teasing him lightly. But to his surprise, his boyfriend didn’t respond to his touch, too busy yelling at Beauregard about how wrong she was.

...Perhaps he was simply distracted?

It didn’t matter; soon, Caleb was dragged into a discussion with Fjord about magic, which the Bright Queen herself joined in for.

The next course was served, and tempers were soothed. The discussion at the table was now about some sort of drow sporting game, of which Essek only had occasional polite commentary to offer and seemed almost as bored of the conversation as Caleb. Fjord, Beau, and Jester were being invited to play in a game the next day--an invitation extended to Caleb as well, but which he and Essek both declined, more interested in a game of a different sort.

Caleb tried playing with him again, running his foot down the entire length of his leg, but once again Essek ignored him.

How odd .

The third course was served, but Caleb barely paid it any mind; instead, his mind was furiously trying to connect the dots.

Essek floated everywhere he went. He never went anywhere without his mantle, even to a formal event like tonight, or even a less formal date with Caleb. The mantle was almost certainly enchanted somehow, though Caleb’s detect magic spell couldn’t identify the spell school, which was practically a guarantee that it was dunamancy of some sort. His specialty was time, yes, but part of dunamancy was also the study of gravity .

When they were at the White Dragon’s den, Essek didn’t leave behind footprints in the snow. When the ball bearings were left on the Mighty Nein’s floor, he pushed the ball bearings away naturally.

Essek floated not out of pretension like Caleb had assumed when he first met him, but because he couldn’t walk. His mantle helped him levitate almost constantly. And based on how he hadn’t responded to Caleb’s flirting, he likely couldn’t feel anything in his legs, if Caleb was guessing correctly.

(Was that why he didn’t want to have sex…? Could he have sex, even, if--?)

An impulsive instinct overtook him, and Caleb kicked Essek under the table sharply, in a way that was impossible to ignore and, likely, should have hurt and caused some sort of reaction.

But Essek didn’t respond at all.

Schiesse, but he was right , wasn’t he? Essek was paralyzed, or injured, or something , and Caleb was a stupid fucking idiot who hadn’t noticed before now.

And the winner of the worst boyfriend in the world award goes to me , Caleb thought sullenly. Why hadn’t Essek told him? He could understand not saying anything before, when they weren’t dating and Caleb had technically been nothing more than Essek’s student; frankly, it wasn’t any of Caleb’s business. But now?

And sheisse , he had planned on asking Essek to dance after dinner! What an idiot he was!

Maybe Essek thought he knew already? Caleb tried to reason, but how was Caleb supposed to know? Or maybe he’s embarrassed? But what was there to be embarrassed by, Caleb wondered.

“--leb. Caleb?” Oh, someone was talking to him.

“What is it, Veth?” He asked, shaking himself out of his musing.

“Are you alright?” She asked, three seats away but full of motherly concern. “You haven’t touched your spider legs.”

“ Nein , I’m fine. I just filled up on bread earlier.” He lied, pushing his plate away from him. He couldn’t imagine eating at the moment.

Why hadn’t Essek trusted him?

Like you can even talk about trust, Caleb chided himself. How much about himself had he not told Essek, either? Trust was a two-way street, and it seemed like it was something they both struggled with.

He was about to spiral into another depressive episode when he felt a hand on his thigh. Looking down into his lap he saw a spectral mage hand, different from the one Nott normally summoned, a shimmering translucent purple slender hand, tracing circles onto his pants.

He looked up to see Essek wink at him before he continued his conversation with Yeza about plants.

Oh, but he was a fool, wasn’t he? Caleb felt his heart race in his chest, threatening to burst from the amount of affection he felt for the dark elf. Did it even matter that he and Essek didn’t trust one another? They still liked one another, and that alone was a feeling worth pursuing. How long had it been since he felt like this? Since he just simply liked something (or in this case, someone) exactly as it was, without feeling guilty or ashamed for wanting something?

He spent the rest of the meal playing with the spectral hand on his thigh, occasionally rubbing his foot against Essek’s leg, unsure if Essek could feel what he was doing, but no longer caring. It was enough to just touch him, even if Essek couldn’t touch him back.

--

After dinner there were speeches, and a lot of them. It was nearing midnight, and Caleb was reaching a point of exhaustion, yet still he stood beside Essek as other members of the council gave their speeches. The first was from the Minister of Labor, who had a grand speech about working together in the face of adversity, how what made Xhorhas strong was their willingness to come together.

“Do you have to give a speech like this?” Caleb inquired, which was met with an amused chuckle from his beloved.

“No,” Essek scooted closer to him, reaching down to take Caleb’s hand in his own. “Thankfully.”

Then the War General spoke about the war efforts and how Xhorhas was prevailing against the evils of the Empire. Caleb tried not to listen to him much, instead focusing on the warmth of Essek’s hand wrapped in his.

“I’d like to dance with you,” Essek whispered into his ear; Caleb felt himself blush. “Later, on the balcony, after most people leave. If you’d like.”

“I’d love to.”

Next came the Sky Sibil, who talked about the history of Xhorhas and the light of the Luxon, and the importance of the holiday and the promise of rebirth.

After the Sky Sibil, the Bright Queen herself spoke, her voice regal. No one spoke while she spoke; no one dared. She thanked the Mighty Nein for bringing the Luxon to the Dynasty, and she spoke about how they still searched for the remaining Beacons, but that she had faith they’d return to them soon enough.

“I realize it’s late in the evening,” the Queen promised. “But I’d like to close our evening with a prayer. High Priestess Thelyss, if you would be so kind…?”

Suddenly, Essek tensed. “Something’s wrong,” he explained, letting go of Caleb’s hand and stepping closer to the dias where the rest of the council stood.

What happened next was something out of a nightmare: Essek’s sister approached the Bright Queen, embracing her tightly before stabbing her in the back, quite literally.

The disguise spell wore off immediately, as her form shifted from that of Essek’s sister to that of a short human woman with cropped dark hair, her knife bloody as the Bright Queen’s body crumbled. He would recognize the woman anywhere, even if it had been sixteen years since he saw her last.

Astrid.

[a-bit-too-much-of-a-zelda-fan]

Linked Universe Fanfic: Fright

Stop! You’ve Violated the Law!

So, you’ve stumbled upon this original post for my @ LinkedUniverse fanfiction. That’s okay, it happens to everyone. As of March 2021, I’ve uploaded the entirety of this fanfic to my Archive of Our Own page. Along with finally giving the story a name (Oops! All Links: A Linked Universe Story) I made substantial edits to some of the chapters. These range from minor stylistic revisions to fixing a gaping plot hole that kinda completely broke the character conflict in the earlier chapters. I also renamed and renumbered (but not reordered) the chapters. Specifically, this is now Chapter 1.

The AO3 iterations of these chapters are the definitive versions. So, if you would like to read this fanfiction, please do so on AO3, right here. With this embedded link. Hehe. Geddit? Link?

Note: My screen name on AO3 is FrancisDuFresne. Yes, that is me. I am not plagiarizing myself.

Anyway, for posterity’s sake, the rest of the original post is below the cut.

I wrote a bit of fanfic for @linkeduniverse . It’s 3 pages long in Word so I’ll put it under the cut. I hope you enjoy!

Night fell on the young heroes slowly but steadily. Soon enough, it was getting hard for them to see slivers of midnight-blue sky between the tree branches above them. They found a clearing just off the forest path and set up camp. As Wild and Four set about starting a fire, Twilight and Time scouted the area for monsters and got a lay of the land. Satisfied, they came back a few minutes later to a roaring fire and their seven companions enjoying idle conversation.

It can get tiring on a long journey like the Links’, so one must make their own fun. “Guys,” Wind said suddenly.

A general murmur of acknowledgment spread through the group.

           “We should tell stories.”

           Wild sighed. “You know I don’t like to do this.”

           Wind started to protest but was interrupted by Time.

           “Let the kid have his fun,” he said to Wild with a shrug. Looking at Wind, he asked “Stories about what?”

           “I dunno, something we haven’t talked about yet?”

           Warrior piped up, “How about something scary? We don’t tell scary stories often.”

           Wind’s eyes lit up. “Sure!” he said.

At the same time, Time’s and Twilight’s darkened. They knew this might not be as fun as Wind hoped it might be. The Links looked around at each other, waiting for someone else to start. It was my choice to tell stories, Wind thought. May as well start.

“I had some pretty scary things happen to me on my quest… not really terrifying, more like stressful. It was on my twelfth birthday that my sister Aryll was kidnapped. A gigantic bird came out of nowhere and snatched her up. The whole time it took to save her, I couldn’t bear to think what she was going through. She was only nine.”

A sister? Wild looked up. It had never occurred to him that one of the other Links had a sibling. He tried not to think of his sister if he could help it. Between knowing she died in the Calamity and not properly remembering her anyway, it was unpleasant for him. Wind now had his full attention.

“It took a while, but I finally saved her. It felt like a huge weight was lifted off my chest… then Tetra was kidnapped. Our crew decided to chase after a ghost ship. She jumped aboard and didn’t come back. It took a few weeks to find the ghost ship and save her, but she had been turned to stone. She was freed later, but…”

Four perked up when he heard this. His Zelda suffered the same fate.

“Well, anyway, I didn’t have too many jump scares. There were some redeads, but other than that it wasn’t too scary.”

Wind looked around the group, evidently finished with his story. Wild hesitated but spoke up. “My Zelda practiced and prayed for almost all her life to master a sealing power that could defeat Ganon. It was terrifying when the Calamity came and we both knew full well that she couldn’t hope to use that power. I… I couldn’t show my fear. I had to be there for her. She needed me to lean on, and I couldn’t deny her that.”

The rest of the group couldn’t help but stare. They had all had to push fear aside to defeat evil, but they never suppressed their feelings like Wild. Most them hadn’t, that is. They waited for Wild to finish, but he seemed to be lost in thought again. In a few meaningful looks, they agreed to leave him be.

Legend picked up the proverbial torch. “I woke up in the dead of night from a vision of Zelda to my uncle holding a sword and shield I didn’t even know we owned. He told me to stay in bed, but you know I couldn’t do that. I found him mortally wounded in the dungeons of Hyrule Castle… then, later, when I thought I was about to save Hyrule, the wizard Agahnim sent me to the Dark World. It was like Hyrule, but it was just… wrong. It was an evil reflection of what I knew. Seeing my world perverted like that was almost too much.”

Silence followed for a good few moments. Still, Time and Twilight were stony-faced. Sky looked around and figured it was as good a time as any to say his bit. “My Zelda went missing. We were riding our loftwings together. I could feel us having a moment. The clouds around us, inches away from each other… a tornado cropped up and pulled her underneath the clouds. I spent the next few weeks traveling the air and surface trying to find her.”

“I was this close,” he said as he held up his hand, almost touching the tips of his thumb and index finger. “So many times, I almost caught up with her. I lived knowing that while I was doing my own adventuring and fighting, so was she. I knew she could handle herself, but it still stressed the daylights out of me. So I guess I’m in the same boat as you,” he finished, gesturing at Wind.

A minute or two passed before Wind asked, “anyone else?”

Twilight looked over to Time. Time gave a near-imperceptible nod.

“I don’t like to talk about this too much,” Twilight began, “but I suppose I can share it with you all. I don’t want to invalidate what you went through or anything, but your fear came from what was around you. Your surroundings, your loved ones in peril, all of that. I’m not an exception.”

The others looked at him, wondering If he was trying to show them up or leading up to something terrible. Inwardly, they hoped he wasn’t being humble for a change.

“My gir—best friend, my friends were all taken from our village.”

Only Time noticed the change of wording. He understood Twilight’s reluctance to get attached to anyone.

“I was the last kid left,” Twilight continued. “Our world was stuck in perpetual twilight that kept us living in fear and darkness. I was only saved by the Triforce of Courage. I wasn’t the same, though. You’ve seen me turn into a wolf before. I’m mostly comfortable with it now, but I wasn’t always. The Triforce somehow knew I had the spirit of a wolf. Being a ranch hand, I know how vicious wolves are. How dangerous they can be. It scared me that that was the essence of who I am.”

Legend felt a modicum of guilt. The Dark World transformed him into a helpless rabbit. That was unsettling in its own right, but now he realized he faced the lesser of two evils.

“As I adventured, I began to understand that wolves are ruthless against their enemies, but they take care of their own just as fiercely. What I had to give and what I had to do to save my friends made me realize that. Malo, Talo, Beth, Colin… Ilia. I didn’t know where they were or if they were safe.”

All the Links understood this feeling well. Twilight felt no need to continue that train of thought.

“Those of you who had companions had someone that was easy to trust. The King of Red Lions, Ciela, Navi, Tatl, Ezlo, Fi; you knew you could count on them. Midna was something else. For the longest time, I had no way of knowing if she actually had my back, or if she was just using me. That scared me too.”

The sound of Navi’s name made Time flinch, but everyone was so focused on Twilight that they didn’t notice. The longest silence yet followed. Even Wind was speechless. Whether it was out of fear or shock or respect, Twilight couldn’t tell. He felt slightly guilty for unloading all of this on them.

Time eventually began to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat. The other eight stared at him. He had faced far worse pressure in his life, but he knew that he owed his friends a glimpse into his past. He had never told them much about it, only enough to bring them to visit Malon.

“Time?” Hyrule asked. It was the first time he had spoken all night.

“Hm?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want. We’d understand.”

“No, it’s okay,” he murmured. “I… I’ll be brief.”

The Links had no idea what to expect. They were on the edge of their seats. Time leaned his elbows on his knees. He stared straight ahead, seemingly transfixed by the fire. The eldest of the heroes took a deep breath, then spoke:

“I was afraid of being alone.”

The others waited for him to continue, but he didn’t say anything else. He was silent for the rest of the night. Everyone decided that it would be best if they let him be and turned in for the night.

Wild had trouble sleeping. What did he mean by that? He always had a companion, right? He was never alone. How could he be afraid of being alone?

The Links woke at dawn to see their gear neatly packed. Time was making breakfast over a rekindled fire. He had a tired look in his remaining eye. It occurred to the more perceptive of them that he probably hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep that night.

[zdbztumble]

Penultima Raving (KH III Spoilers)

No, I haven’t finished the game yet.

I must be near the end, as I’ve ended up in the crazy windmill world from the opening sequence, but as there was quite a bit that happened in the short span of story progress I made today, I decided against waiting ‘til the finale to do another write-up.

Where I left off last time was Sora piecing himself together - literally - and then proceeding to rescue everyone but Kairi in the various Disney worlds. That Kairi didn’t need rescuing, but was in fact keeping Sora from fading away, and was there to guide him back to the realm of light, was a great idea. The line “you’re safe with me” was wonderful, and a good start to a pay-off on her promise to be the one to keep Sora safe this time. But a great sequence in isolation can’t achieve its full potential impact when the character arc that it’s a part of is so neglected prior to that point. And as for the follow-up to that moment...well, let’s come back to that.

I feel torn here, because there’s quite a bit in this section of the game that’s brilliant in concept and beautiful to look at. If the execution weren’t so spotty, then this post would be much shorter, and much more of a SQUEE! in text form.

Going point by point:

- The cutscene when you enter the Keyblade Graveyard the second time, opening in the same way as the first, was a bit confusing but not a bad idea. But having Terra defend his friends against Terranort was. If I’m just starting to get the hang of how the Xehanort Horcruxes and Sora’s “host to three hearts” business all work, I still can’t figure out how Terra’s heart relates to his possessed body. More importantly - after Sora goes through the hard work of rescuing everyone and turning the clock back, having another character rush in to claim the Hero Moment leaves him feeling like a bystander in his own story. This isn’t a new problem in this level; Sora was a glorified bystander in the two Disney fairy tale worlds. Other characters pointing out how special and important Sora is throughout the game, besides being annoying and actually undermining Sora’s special qualities, make it all the more obvious when he gets left out of important action.

- Surfing the Keyblade stream is fun, but it’d be more fun if the combat didn’t just amount to hitting a single button in rapid succession, and if it wasn’t made confusing as hell with a random shout-out to the mobile game.

- The multiple Demon Towers surrounding all our heroes made for a very dramatic visual and a formidable sense of menace. It’s a shame I never got a chance to see how challenging they actually were, because this entire sequence is left as a cutscene. I imagine there are serious technical challenges to putting together a battle where Mickey, Riku, Aqua, Ven, Kairi, and Axel are all battle partners to you along with Donald and Goofy, but this just makes me think again that a toggling system that let you battle as members of various parties would be a great solution.

On the other hand, this sequence gave us Master Yen Sid casting his Fantasia magic all over the place, and that was a truly unexpected pleasure. I don’t care much for him being a Keyblade Master on top of being a wizard, but seeing him be a wizard was amazing. Now all we need is a Sword in the Stone world where Merlin can cut loose.

- Splitting the party up and leaving Sora to find them in a maze is a great idea, as is pairing enemies that were formidable bosses in their own right together to face him. I didn’t find any of them that much of a challenge, but I think I’m overleveled (spent a bit too much time having fun with the ship battles in the Caribbean, I think.) The bigger problem with these battles was the pacing, with cutscenes interrupting the gameplay entirely too often. Each of the villains is given an almost-identical death sequence, and with pretty much none of them being likable (or even memorable in some cases), the efforts at giving these moments some pathos, and the attempts to create moments between the dying and Sora, all fall flat.

- Did I miss something about there being two Replikus? I have been so confused about this ever since the Big Hero 6 level. The one running around being an evil Organizer was confusing enough, but another one living inside Riku? And being able to spontaneously emerge from his body to neutralize the evil one and leave behind an empty replica for Namine, who is also in this game by the way? The fuck?

- This whole sequence serves as a great illustration of the problems that come with having too big a cast. Terra gets his Hero Moment back in the Graveyard (and virtually the same one in the maze), but he gets written out of the action pretty quick. Aqua and Ven do too, as do Axel, Mickey, Riku, Kairi (still not back to her yet); all the Keyblade Wielders of Light get shoved out of the way rather unceremoniously unless the time for their one brief flash of brilliance (if they even get one), while the bulk of the story is driven by the antagonists. But as I said, the members of Organization XIII are still not very interesting, and there are too many of them for any one to stand out.

- What the fuck is Xion doing back here? She barely made sense as a character in 358/2 Days, but her death was one of the very last to have any sense of permanence, and to give the concept any meaning in this world. That’s now undermined even worse than it already was. On top of that, it seems obvious to me now that all those conversations between Ansem and “Ansem” that I thought might be alluding to Kairi’s part were actually about this blank slate of a character.

- And now we’re back to Kairi.

Xehanort cutting her down didn’t surprise me. I’ve been expecting something like this to happen from early on in the game, though I wasn’t sure whether it would be Sora or Kairi who was killed. In part, this is because I stumbled on some sad fan art that, though lacking any description or anything to tell me that it was a moment from the actual game, was tagged “spoilers” and made me nervous. A bigger tell for me was the fact that most of the Disney movies used have a moment of sacrifice for a loved one. Meg shoves Hercules aside, and Herc in turn offers his life for Meg’s; Eugene gives up his chance to be healed to free Rapunzel from Mother Gothel; Anna rushes forward to take a blow for Elsa; and Tadashi and Baymax both sacrifice themselves in Big Hero 6. At World’s End also sees the lovers Will and Elizabeth cruelly separated by Will’s death, with Jack sacrificing his chance of immortality to give them some measure of happiness.

Between that, and all the taunting by Organization XIII, there was a sense of foreboding early on in my play-through that something was going to happen to Sora and/or Kairi, and for all the missteps in the handling of their relationship over the years, those kids are still cute as hell, so I was emotionally invested. But then, in each of the worlds where a death or sacrifice happens, no connection was made by Sora, or any other character, to him and his bond with Kairi. In previous games, moments of much less importance would set him or someone else off, but not here. In some cases, that makes sense (Sora wouldn’t even be aware of the sacrifices in Big Hero 6) but for those moments that he literally bares witness to, it seemed very strange. While that was something of a relief, as it made any potential death seem less likely, it was also annoying, as I’d given the game credit for selecting worlds with the same thematic idea as a neat bit of foreshadowing that seemed destined to be an unfulfilled coincidence.

Then, when Kairi leads Sora back to the realm of light, Sora has a brief flash of Eugene and Anna’s sacrifices, and the connection was finally made. (Will’s death gets left out of the count for some reason.) It was very little, very late in the game, but it was something, and I started expecting a death again. But this was after the neglect of Kairi’s character and of her relationship with Sora became apparent, and the emotional investment did not return - at least not in full force.

It is rather cliche, killing the heroine (or letting her die) to motivate the hero, but that’s not a reason not to do it if it can serve the story and be executed effectively. Given how important Sora and Kairi are to each other, it’s the ultimate extreme that you can take with their arc. So I can’t object to the idea out of hand. And had Kairi been kept a prominent presence throughout the game and her training as a Keyblade Wielder made apparent and meaningful, her being cut down after demonstrating skill and bravery would have made for an extremely powerful moment.

That’s not what we got.

What we got was everything I objected to in my last post about Kairi, with a vengeance, in this entire section of the game. While I didn’t have the same experience of her being an incompetent battle partner that others have (she even pulled off a quick heal in a pivotal moment), she (and Axel) could have been removed and I wouldn’t have had any more trouble with those bosses. Of all the Seven Lights, Kairi’s consistently the one with the least screen time and the least to do in the cutscenes. The way Xemnas and Xehanort handle her, she’s reduced to a prop, a passive object. And when the moment of slaying comes, it lacks the dramatic flare and emphasis that was given to the deaths of literally every single member of Organization XIII, or to the revivals of Terra and Xion. This - the death of our supposed tritagonist, who is the prime motivating force for our hero and who plays a vital role within this fictional universe as a Princess of Light - is quickly tossed out and moved past.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; this is not about Kairi being a favorite character of mine (until she’s developed more, I can’t call her that.) This is a character who is supposed to be important. Not just important, but central. You can’t maintain the credibility of that idea if you leave this character sidelined for game after game after game, and only ever trot her out for when the plot requires something to happen to her. Again, the moment where Kairi tells Sora “you’re safe with me” is a good moment. Sora’s cry of “why her?” is striking; the implication is, basically, “out of all my friends that you could have killed, she was the one I would choose to save,” and that is a powerful moment. But moments can’t cut it on an arc this important, not after three games disregarded it and this one spent nearly all its time on the convoluted mess of the villains’ scheming.

That no one in the development process of KH III (to say nothing of the games between it and II) ever realized this, or recognized the problems that it would cause at the climax of this, the culmination of the entire series up to this point, is truly baffling, and I can’t imagine that there’s any way that the story can dig itself out of this mess in the short time remaining on the game.

[journeysintowebcomics]

Girl Genius Liveblog #147

UPDATE 147: The Storm King’s Coronation

Last time Phil Foglio had gone into the hospital to tell stories, and that led to him being taken into the Baron’s room so he got Wulfenbach to finally sleep. Instead the Baron is telling that guy a story. Let’s see what it’s about.

Oh-kay, I read the page and this story sounds rather fantastical, much more than I expected from Wulfenbach’s mouth. Note I say ‘fantastical’, not ‘implausible’. I’m pretty sure that, thanks to the heaps of MAD SCIENCE this world has, the circumstances and situations depicted here could be achieved if so they desired. Leaving that aside, it sounds kind like a Heterodyne story, or at least how I imagine Heterodyne stories are like: crazy awesome – and I’m not saying that because it turns out a Heterodyne ancestor is in the story.

An evil wizard…you know, maybe he was a spark, and his MAD SCIENCE was so strange and the world wasn’t used to MAD SCIENCE yet everyone decided it was magic. Didn’t stop him from getting his ass kicked by the benevolent king, who I suppose is not the Storm King, even though…in his weird wolf form he has lightning in his maw.

Haha, hey, I wonder if Agatha will hear this story at some point, even if it’s offscreen? Listen to this, Agatha, more proof your ancestors were nuttier than a Mr. Goodbar candy bar.

I know these tales are unlikely to be the literal truth, so the part about how the transformed king’s young soon had a giantess nanny is likely to be embellished. How exactly? I don’t know. Maybe she was a brave and isolated woman. The point is…

…that the young kid would leave her care only if he managed to take that pin from her hair, pin I’m rather sure isn’t a coincidence is shaped like a sword. Yeah, it’s kind of giving me the Sword in the Stone thoughts. Eventually, he did manage to take the pin, although not by sheer force. It was thanks to his ingenuity. He most likely was a spark, and a powerful one, to start at such a young age. If I remember correctly, that is a sign of a strong spark, right?

Anyway, he managed to get the pin, and therefore gained the right to leave. Meanwhile, the evil wizard’s daughter kept ruling the land, but she knew everyone obeyed her because the wolf was with her – he never stopped being the king, after all. This tidbit of information did not make her a happy camper. That was the chance the prince looked for, he disguised himself as a fortune teller, and convinced her to try to remove the crown with the sword. You can imagine how that went. Hint: metal is a pretty good conductor of electricity. Here it says neither wolf nor witch were ever seen again, but I think that’s an euphemism for ‘they turned into ashes’.

Huh…he suspiciously kinda looks like Gil. I wonder…Foglios, you’re not going to somehow pull that Gil could be considered a potential heir for the crown of the Storm King, right? Would that even work? Well it’s a bit too early to think about that, and this image is not proof, so…yeah, maybe I’m overthinking it.

This was a completely new story for the storyteller, who also apparently wrote once a collection of tales and songs about Wulfenbach – and his tone wasn’t exactly flattering, judging by the title. Of course Wulfenbach isn’t upset about being called a despot, that’s a minor thing to get pissed off for.

Once the storyteller leaves, Wulfenbach finally feels tired and decides to rest for a while. Good job, Phil Foglio’s in-universe counterpart!

When did you get here? I suppose she was always here and out of sight, but I didn’t think she’d reach Wulfenbach so quickly! It can’t be that simple for her to kill the Baron, right? I mean, this man got crushed by a flying contraption Agatha made, it’d be ridiculous if he died from being suffocated with a pillow or whatever Anevka plans to do. He’s not going to die here!

…

…right?

Meanwhile, at Mamma Gkika’s bar—okay, okay, time out. I think I’m starting to realize why the story about Agatha getting recognized and fixing the Castle is taking so long. All these cuts to different scenes and places are the reason. How many different changes have happened in the last three or so updates? Seven, I think. And like two were with Agatha or anyone else inside the Castle. I can understand cutting to Wulfenbach and the events in the hospital since he is a major player in this situation and his decisions can change everything, but is everything else 100% necessary? Even if they’re about established characters and all, changing the point of view and going back feels…superfluous. I’d almost dare to say the Foglios are padding the story.

Heck, Homestuck had less scenes happening at the same time. The only time it got as bloated as Girl Genius is right now was during the final acts inside Act 6, and those weren’t exactly the best acts of Homestuck. The comparison isn’t favorable for Girl Genius.

Maybe it’s that the Foglios are biting more than they can chew by branching off the current main story of Agatha in the Castle, and that’s why so many point of view changes are necessary, but I’m starting to get a bit burn out of having to pay attention and remember approximately six different groups of characters that may or may not appear in a short while again.

Okay, back to reading. Mamma Gkika’s bar where, as I kind of expected, Oublenmach isn’t having a good time. I was hoping the hammer was there! No way Mamma Gkika or any other Jager in there would let him enter all threatening and stuff. Effectively, he’s getting his just desserts, and Mamma Gkika is told he came here for the hammer.

…well alright. He got the hammer. I suppose…he’s getting played here. Something must be going on. Maybe Mamma Gkika actually wants the bell to be rung.

That change lasted one page. It changed again, and it’s to…a lot of people I had never seen before plus Boris, and they’re at castle Wulfenbach. Sigh. You know what; I’ll refrain from commenting on these scene changes. I have the feeling it’d get really repetitive, and you already know how I feel about those.

They’re not kidding, they do have Mechanisburg surrounded. It wouldn’t take long for them to siege the town once the Baron orders them to do it. It’s a good thing that as long as Gil is in the Castle, Wulfenbach’s most powerful moves are kept at bay. He’s indirectly saving Mechanisburg.

Wulfenbach’s troops aren’t the only ones waiting for something to happen. Many other factions are groups are positioned outside, each one likely to have their own agenda. Not only that, in other places of the empire, there are revolts and other smaller incidents of uprising.

…hm. I don’t know who to blame for this. Lucrezia and a Storm King affiliated faction are the ones most likely to be responsible for this. I’d even think Tarvek had something to do with this, but I kind of doubt it. It’s hard to command anything when you’re trapped in Castle Heterodyne.

Boris and other side characters provide some exposition about Wulfenbach’s current status. He’s getting better, much to the despair of Dr. Sun and his expensive machines. Anevka is also staying near Wulfenbach at all times, and it’s said…he listen to her. Hm. More like that’s the influence of the slaver wasp that infected him, I bet.

While they’re talking, a big monkey slams onto the window. Another day in the Girl Genius universe. It’s the first sign the situation had taken a serious turn for the worse, because not only the many factions are here, other sparks are doing their own stuff.

Aaaaand there’s also that. Welp! Everything is falling down in pieces! And the Castle is still unrepaired. Agatha better hurry up or Mechanisburg may be gone by the time she finally finishes!

I should stop here. Thank you for reading.

Next update: in four updates

[swipestream]

Fantasy and Adventure New Release Roundup: 30 December 2017

This week’s roundup of the newest releases in fantasy and adventure features an American Civil War fought with sword and sorcery, a sequel to Edgar Rice Burroughs’ The Moon Maid, and the return of the Shadow to audiobook in one of his most celebrated adventures of all time.

*     *     *      *      *

America Asunder (American Mage War #2) – Robert Edward

The war everyone expected is finally here, as the hydromancers of the North and the pyromancers of the South clash across America. The Union counterattack into Kentucky has the Confederacy back on its heels, but the nation’s western frontier is dangerously unprotected. The United States needs all the silver it can get for the Union Army to press the fight against the southern war wizards. Barely recovered from their last battle, Jared Gilsom and his friends are sent west to help foster a treaty with the Pawnee tribe that will hopefully provide some security for America’s western flank.

But a sinister power is rising in the South. As the war in Europe takes a sudden turn for the worse, the Union finds itself facing a new and uncertain threat. With alliances shifting and breaking across the continent, Jared and his companions continue their quest for answers in the struggle against the unseen plan that seems to be unfolding around them.

*     *     *      *      *

Conflicted Home (The Survivalist #9) – A. American

The only possible thing that could make Morgan’s world even more difficult happened. The Japanese fleet off the coast of California was wiped out. An even that Morgan and friends and family only knew about because of the radio broadcasts from the Radio Free Redoubt. So far removed from them it barely warranted notice. That is until the Chinese retaliated by launching a nuclear counter-strike against Mac Dill Air Force base. This, did warrant their attention and had the potential to profoundly impact their lives.

As bad as the fear of nuclear fallout was, it wasn’t the only threat still haunting northern Lake county. With proof the Russians had pathfinder units on the ground, at a minimum, in the state and discovery of Cuban forces cooperating with them, something had to be done. After encountering armored units and realizing they were ill equipped to deal with the threat, the old man called for help. The call was answered, but would require a near impossible trip by truck to Eglin Air Force base. America was certainly on the ropes, but she wasn’t down yet.

All Morgan wants to do is protect his family and friends. To restore a normal sense of life. To see to it Mel and his girls are safe and protected. He doesn’t want to get involved in these military actions. He’s more focused on trying to restore power to town. But his desires are, to use a military term, overtaken by circumstances, and, once again, Morgan and his friends are compelled to get involved. And this time, it will cost them.

*     *     *      *      *

Fort Covenant (Tales of the Seventh #2) – Marc Edelheit

In this military fantasy, Ben Stiger is given a simple mission: march his understrength company to the Cora’Tol garrison far to the southeast. Once there, he is to take a fellow officer into custody and promptly return. But when Stiger arrives, he finds the Rivan have destroyed the garrison and slaughtered the inhabitants of the valley. Suddenly, what was supposed to be a quick and easy task turns into something far more dangerous.

With a Rivan army now moving to flank the imperial army to the west, Stiger makes a desperate decision. Short on rations, and hopelessly outnumbered, he must find a way to delay the enemy so Third Legion can react to this dire threat before it is too late. The solution lies in Fort Covenant, a forgotten place with a history important not only to his people, but the elven nations as well.

Set amidst the backdrop of an epic war, there are greater forces at work than the young Stiger can begin to imagine.

*     *     *      *      *

Our Survival (Grid Down #1) – Nick Williams

Roy and Josie are a survivalist couple and parents to ten year old daughter, Alex, when the EMP knocks down the entire power grid and sends America back to the Stone Ages in an instant.

Well stockpiled and supplied on their homestead in the countryside, the family seems ready and well-prepared to outlast the aftermath of the EMP attack.

But things change during a home invasion that results in Roy shooting one of the intruders, the brother to the leader of an armed and dangerous ex-prison gang scavenging for supplies and preying on the innocent.

Vowing revenge and in desperate need of the family’s stockpile, the gang prepares to launch a coordinated attack on the homestead.

Suddenly, Roy, Josie, and Alex are faced with a critical decision: do they leave their home and abandon their stockpile with it, or do they stay as a family and defend what’s theirs?

*     *     *      *      *

Soldier Scarred (The Teralin Sword #5) – D. K. Holmberg

The Conclave calls to Endric and threatens to pull him from the Denraen again.

While the merahl are restored, the price was high. The Conclave asks Endric to bring Tresten to his final resting place, leading him to the island of Salvat and the headquarters of the Conclave, but forcing him to bring an old enemy with him.

When the mission takes a dramatic turn, Endric wants only to save Senda, but doing so brings him into a conflict that his Denraen training has not prepared him for. Can he trust Urik while saving Senda and still discover the secrets of the Conclave, or will he be the reason that Salvat falls?

“I am really enjoying seeing the evolution of Endric into the person he becomes in earlier books. He is an amazing hero and I am enjoying this series very much. The only trouble I have with it is it never enough. I am really looking forward to the next one.” – Amazon Reader Review

*     *     *      *      *

Swords Against the Moon Men (Wild Adventures of Edgar Rice Burroughs #6) – Christopher Paul Carey

In 2076 AD, Earth has been conquered and humanity brutally enslaved under the cruel tyranny of the Kalkar invaders whose evil was spawned from Va-nah, the Moon’s hollow interior. Julian 7th—descendant of the great hero who led the first expedition to Va-nah and nearly defeated the Kalkars—receives a mysterious transmission from the planet Barsoom.

The desperate plea from the Red Planet swiftly hurls Julian upon a lonely quest into the heart of Va-nah where he teams up with an U-ga princess and a fierce alien quadruped, and launches a daring rescue to save a lost Barsoomian ambassadorial mission. The success of this mission depends on an unlikely alliance with the Warlord of Mars to assail the enemy’s impregnable stronghold.

If Julian fails in this quest, humanity—and the entire solar system—will never escape the iron grip of the Moon Men.

*     *     *      *      *

Vigil – Russell Newquist

There’s a dragon in the church.

After modern day paladin Peter Bishop and his friend Michael defeated the dragon over the skies of Athens, Georgia, it fled to Europe – with Peter’s girlfriend Faith in tow. Well, she’s a girl. And she’s his friend. And her stunning beauty doesn’t hurt.

Now Peter and his friends have tracked the dragon to France, where it’s living under a church and terrorizing the village. Can they slay the dragon, save the village, and rescue the girl before dawn?

Or will a wayward priest destroy everything they’ve fought for?

“how do you top spec ops, demons, car chases, a warlock, and a dragon vs helicopter fight?” – Amazon Reader Review

*     *     *      *      *

The Voodoo Master (The Shadow #97) – Audiobook by Audible Studios

The Shadow matches wits against Dr. Rodil Mocquino, the so-called Voodoo Master. Dr. Mocquino possesses a strange hypnotic power over men that causes them to do his bidding like mindless zombies. When the evil Voodoo Doctor creates an army of walking dead drones to carry out his latest vile plan, it’s up to The Shadow to put an end to the black magic and the doctor himself.

“Our heretofore undauntable hero meets a voodoo cult that not only manages to halt the Shadow’s plan, but actually injure and take the Shadow out of the picture. The following day, the Shadow awakens to hear his physician being kidnapped by the Voodoo Master’s thugs. Wounded and weak, what can even the Shadow do against the criminal who can create zombies from living men?” – Amazon Reader Review

  Fantasy and Adventure New Release Roundup: 30 December 2017 published first on http://ift.tt/2zdiasi

[tsw-story]

Chapter 43 - Secrets

Eldrian's bleeding, trembling hand continued to grip onto the blade of the sword as he struggled to pull himself to his feet, and when he saw that Daveon was too shocked to drive the weapon forward once more, he released his grip, and slowly lowered it to his side. The druid, once mentally recovered, handed Drodias back over to Kevin and took a step back.

“What do you mean you're not controlling him?” uttered Daveon.

“Don't kill her. Wait,” Eldrian said with a groan.

Arlandria hustled over to the injured wizard and consoled him. She looked to his wounds, and with her hands at the ready, she began her healing ritual. A soothing light started the process of closing the gashing in his flesh, and for that, he gave her a thankful albeit exhausted smile.

“What do you mean, don't kill her? She's a demon. Isn't that what you came here to do? And she tried to control your mind,” Daveon barked.

Eldrian nodded. “I know, but—“

“And where are the home owners?”

“She didn't kill anyone. Her magic might have been controlling me, and for that, I'm incredibly angry,” he said as he looked to Zayna. She lowered her head—ashamed. “But I heard everything she said. Her whole story. She doesn't want to harm anybody. She just wants to live peacefully here on Earth. She was following a dream. This time, there was no malice behind it.”

“But that's the entire point of finding these demons. They aren't supposed to live on Earth.”

“That's true. But that doesn't mean she should be gutted like a fish. That's too far. She didn't do anything to deserve death, but you're right about one thing. We need to tell Lucy we found the run-away.”

Zayna nodded her head. “I understand.”

“I'll make sure to tell Lucy the truth. You shouldn't be harshly punished for not harming anyone, but you oughta go back to the Demon World. They'll just send more hunters after you otherwise,” Eldrian said.

With Arlandria's magic as completed as it could be, she helped Eldrian steady himself, and he stretched open his previously injured hand. It hardly hurt now.

“So then, if we're all trusting each other now, who summoned you?” Daveon asked. “Who helped you get to Earth? We deserve to know that much.”

“I really shouldn't say,” replied the demon.

“You should,” Eldrian said. “To make up for what you did. I don't like being mind controlled.”

With a timid sigh, the succubus fiddled with her fingers in deep thought. Her eyes peered up at the crowd still cornering her near the wall, but she finally took a deep breath and began to answer their question.

“It's a bit of a long story, but the one who got me to Earth was... Deena.”

“What?” shouted every other one in the room nearly in unison.

Daveon furled his brow. “She's gone too far now. Voodoo, dark magic, but now summoning actual demons to our world? This is the work of the nastiest kind of witch. Arlandria. Are you sure you didn't notice her doing anything?”

The elf shook her head. “No. And since she disappeared, I haven't been able to go back to her home. I went to Eldrian and Kevin's house as a place to stay for the time being.”

“She wouldn't betray us. There must be a story,” Eldrian said.

“You keep defending her, but she keeps giving us more reasons to distrust her,” Daveon stated. “And now she could be anywhere.”

“But she's still our friend. We need to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

Daveon tugged on the brim of his toque. He lowered his head, and let out a deep exhale before looking to Eldrian once more.

“I'll let you do what you need to do with the demon. I need some time to meditate,” he muttered as he moved to the exit, and proceeded to disappear from view.

The group stood silent for a time. But, there was work that needed to be done. Eldrian pulled out his phone and called for Lucy, one of Satan's daughters, to come retrieve the demon and bring her back home. He told her everything, but too much was on Eldrian's mind for small-talk. Even Arlandria knew to leave him to his own thoughts.

***

A robed, hooded figure made its way down the dark streets of Edmonton city. They were further masked by a downpour of rain that had only began a few moments prior, which also melted much of the snow that previously lined the asphalt. The roads were now as black as the void, and hardly a soul was amongst them.

The figure dipped away into an alley, disappearing like a shadow. It approached what appeared to be an ordinary wall, it did something with its hands among the stone to cause a door to magically spread open. The knob turned, and the figure disappeared inside, with the door vanishing behind it.

Inside was the Bliss Abyss. The ram-like barkeep, Pil, still ran the show behind the counter. There were several bizarre figures, from wizards to demons, but the robed figure made its way straight to the counter. The robe itself was drenched.

“Ahoy, friend,” Pill said with a wave. “Welcome to the Bliss Abyss. Looks like it was really coming down from wherever you came from. Stirling? It rains a lot there. It's none of my business though. What can I get you?”

She pulled the hood down from her head. Beautiful red locks of hair fell free, with much of it tied back into a ponytail. Her skin was dark, and her eyes were a deep blue. It was Renatta.

“I am just waiting for someone,” she said. “But can I have a drink of water?”

“Of course. Coming right up.”

Pil retrieved a glass, and from the tap he filled it to the brim with ice cold water. He slid it to her with skillful speed.

“Thank you,” she said before taking a sip.

“No problem. Let me know if you need anything else.”

He continued on to tend to the rest of the customers, leaving her alone to stare towards the ripples in her drink. She sighed. It wasn't clear when the person would actually arrive, but this was the place she was supposed to wait—so she did. From her pouch she pulled a donut and began to munch.

It wasn't long before another figure joined the seat beside her. He had well-kept brown hair, tied back, and a slim but lengthy beard. His eyes were a radiant yellow, and much like her, he had a darker tone of skin. He straightened his silken purple outfit before resting himself down.

“Hello, señorita,” he said in an accent that was obvious Spanish. “Why is a beautiful young flower sitting all by her lonesome?”

“Just waiting for someone. Who are you?���

“Ah. My name is Nazario Cardozo. You see, I have a natural affinity with divinity. I am able to read one's fortune with impeccable accuracy. I normally charge for the act, but for you, perhaps I could make an exception.”

She gasped. “Really? You can read minds?”

“But of course. Give me your hand, and I will prove it.”

Like an excited child, she offered her palm. He snatched it up quickly and looked deep into her eyes. He smiled.

“Your gaze. It sparkles so,” he whispered.

“Is that my fortune?”

“No, no. Just an observation.”

“Will I be rich?”

“Of course, my darling. I see you, side-by-side with a handsome and wealthy—“

“And all the food I can eat, right?”

“Yes. And also, a man who—“

“A baker?”

“Please calm down, señorita. It is difficult to focus with you speaking so much. You should keep with being a silent beauty. Now, allow me to gaze upon your silky hand. Yes. I can see it now. You, and a man in all purple, happy together forever. Yes. True love. That is your future, señorita.”

“I do not know anyone who wears purple... I know someone who wears blue. Blue is close to purple!”

“Wait. Aha. I think you may be confused.”

A tap was felt on Nazario's shoulder.

“Huh?” he said as he turned his head, but then his eyes widened.

A tall, toned, dark-skinned woman grabbed him by his throat and lifted him up from his seat. She had red hair down past her shoulders, and what she wore wasn't unlike Renatta's preferred garb—vibrant, red, traditional Indian silks. This woman's was much more decorated. Nazario was thrown to the floor like a bag of potatoes.

From the ground, he looked up at the stranger. She had a circular blade on one side, and a shimmering scimitar sheathed on her other. Her bust held up a thick gold necklace, and hoops to match hung from her ears.

“How rude!” Nazario shouted as he stood up and dusted himself off. “You're... Ah. Very tall. You know, I really should be going. There is much to do. Goodbye now!”

He sprinted to the door and disappeared in nearly an instant.

“Mom!” Renatta shouted as she threw herself into the taller woman, though now she spoke completely in Indian. It was likely that not a person in the room understood the two speaking, but they still kept their voices down.

“My sweet Renatta,” she said as she guided the girl to an empty corner table. “Let's sit. We have much to discuss.”

The two of them sat, both Renatta and her mother. The older one looked to Renatta with a frown.

“You're soaking wet,” she said.

“I know. It's all right though. I'm just glad to see you again.”

“What of the news?”

“News?”

“The reason you wanted to speak with me.”

“Oh! Yes. I think I finally did it, mom. I found him. A couple days ago, I managed to find the last of his associates, and there I found the location of him. The man who killed dad.”

“So you know what to do then, Renatta.”

“Of course I do. I'll find him, and finally get revenge.”

“That's my child. This is what you've trained for. Finally, all this time you've been spending in Canada will pay off, and you can come home. Take his life, and our family can finally be at peace.”

Renatta nodded her head, but it was always obvious when she was thinking of other things. Her face read like a novel, and her eyes were lost once more in the glass of water she was nursing. A lot had happened since her arrival in Canada.

“Something troubles you,” her mother spoke.

“No. It's nothing.”

“It's fine to be nervous, at least for now. But when you finally face the man, you must do so with your nerves intact. You'll strike him down in the name of our family.”

“Yes, mom. You're right.”

“Now come here, sweetie. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The two of them embraced. They spent some time conversing in the Bliss Abyss, but soon, it was time for action. Renatta put back up her hood, and she left back into the streets of Edmonton.

[tekkaroll]

He could feel it resonating halfway through their journey; before the scraggly hills forced them off horseback, before they'd stayed in the warm but comely inn the first long day of travel. In fact, as soon as he left the city he realized he could feel it, if faintly, as if a mosquito were whining near his earlobe. But not quite, he amended mentally to himself as he rounded a particularly large tree, it wasn't quite that irritating, or high pitched. It was as if before he'd left the academy, it was but the vibration in your ears after a player had picked his bow from his violin, or the dying sound of a church bell. Now, and he could feel it even now, behind a layer of will, it was a low vibration. As though he'd stuck his head in a cello and the lowest note had been playing for the past several days. "Ye keep brushin' yer earring, highness." His companion, Guy, noted with an inflection that suggested he'd like to know why, but a look that said he'd be able to live without such knowledge. He's a simple man, after all; not stupid, mind you, just comfortable as himself. Magic and the like wasn't in his blood, and, as his late father would say, his veins sing against it. And so it was that when young Guy entered the palace, and eventually the academy, at the tender age of ten and found that his new master was a rival for wizards twice his age, his magical bias was all but smothered. A candle made irrelevant by the bright morning light streaming through newly opened shutters. Serion, realizing that he'd lingered on the question a little longer than considered adequate and was once more fidgeting with the angelite drop on his left earlobe, turned to Guy and made himself to look stern. "Companion Guy, I could have sworn that I'd taught you of the properties of anhydrite whilst we were riding through Gaulhearst?" As he spoke, Serion rose his eyebrows, looking no less stern. Guy rolled his eyes, and grunted something that probably meant "sorry fer askin'" and immediately put hinself in the lead, towards the direction Serion had been walking before he'd stopped. Serion, quite sure that the path they'd been following was slightly off track, trekked off slightly away from his friend. "Anhydrite is an amplifier, in this case, I am using it as a sort of dowsing rod. And it says this way, if you'd care to follow." Guy stood in place for a second as he realized he was going the wrong way, and that he was never the lead to begin with, turned and corrected himself without a word. Serion let out a ringing laugh and clapped Guy on the back, holding his hand there as Guy's ears turned bright red. "Worry not dear Guy, one day one of my burrs of knowledge will stick in your mind!" He let out another laugh which carried a little too far for both of their liking, and Guy nudged Serion's arm away and they trudged in silence for the next several hours. Just as Guy suggested making camp, they heard the barks of hunting dogs. Guy put his hand on Serion's shoulder, telling him not to move, and walked a ways towards the sound and cupped his hands to his bristly mouth. "Hullo!" he hollered, for he knew the dogs knew he was there already. The party converged upon him in seconds, bows and swords drawn. "Who are ye?" Said a man in the middle of five others, and two dogs. His sword was not drawn, and one of his eyes was gouged open, though it seemed to have happened long ago. "I come from Ashwall." Guy replied, standing a little taller in his red jerkin. His academy badge mustve caught the dying sun, for the man glanced down at his chest with his single eye, looked back into Guy's two pale blue eyes, and nodded. "We are friends, then." He turned, motioning for Guy to follow. When he turned to retrieve Serion, the man was already by his side. His silence made Guy's hair prickle, despite fifteen years of experience with the man's inherent stealth. Serion had pulled on his royal velvet cloak as well, though even with the black fabric eating his visage, Guy could see that Serion was clutching his ear. He could only assume that their target was very close. As soon as they reached the gate, Serion realized that they were at the base of the Crags, a mountainous maze made entirely of dark stone. Forest stretched all around, and ended abruptly at his boot, only three or four strides before the gate to the town. It was eerie, Serion decided, even after spotting several stumps in the gray soil that said the townspeople probably felled them for a clean shot should anyone attack. "Let me in, you damn fools. Colder n' a feckin' ghost out here." The one-eyed man grumbled at the gate, which opened barely after he'd begun speaking. The doorman's gaze was sharp on Serion, who probably looked extremely suspicious in his black cloak. Guy and Serion walked through first, and as the man with the crippled eye walked through, he spit at the doorman's boot. "Rude ter stare, Benji. Yer gawkin' at a prince." Benji, as Serion could see him better, was young, with a smattering of red scabs on his face and a mop of dark blonde hair on his head. He had the grace to dip into what was probably supposed to be a bow, before getting conked on the head by his gruff elder. "Speaking of rude", Serion said as he removed his hood, "My name is Serion, of Ashwall." Guy couldn't help but let out a light grunt of laughter; his prince's unruly black hair was waving straight up in the air, his right ear bright red from being fiddled with for several hours. Still, his posture was perfectly rigid as he bowed politely to his host. "Edmund, of the Crag." The older man bowed in return. "Come, Highness. Stay and sup with me and my own." Serion nodded. "It is suprising to see a Lord out on the hunt." Serion commented. "Especially with that eye of yours." Guy shot an angry glance towards him, then to Edmund, who had turned to appraise Serion beside him. He let out a bellowing laugh, and clapped Serion on the shoulder. "I might could have forgotten it was even gone, Highness. Tis a bit refreshing to have a man look me in the eye without lookin' away." He squeezed Serion's shoulder, a bit harder than he was comfortable with. "Ye might wanna keep yer tongue in yer noggin' about it when we enter my wife's domain, however. She is... not as fond of it as I am." Serion sent a small amount of his magic into the metal decoration on his cloak, which became extremely hot, if briefly, under the clenched hand of his host. Edmund recoiled, confused for a second, then smiled. "Fergive me, highness. Didn't realize I was in the presence of the youngest son of Ashwall." His upper lip quivered a bit as he spoke, and he licked a few beads of sweat that gathered there. It seemed magic wasn't in Edmund of the Crag's blood either. Guy said nothing, for he knew Serion well. It was rumored that the youngest son of the king was a bastard, born of the queen's sister. Of course, the queen's sister was barren, which was only known to her immediate family. She would take no husband, and so was her sister's handmaiden. Serion's aunt and her proximity to the king may have started the rumors, but the prince's eyes produced the most unrest. Even now, as they entered the halls of the Crag, his eyes burned liquid gold in the dim torchlight. Like a palace cat, Guy thought, not for the first time. Had they seen his grandfather, there would not have been a question. In fact, Serion's father was the only son in several generations of Ashwall royalty that had green eyes, as did his two eldest sons. Seeing Guy eyeing him, Serion winked. Guy scowled. Five years his junior, Serion was always hard to pin down. He wasn't necessarily a troublemaker, nor did rebellion suit him. He did as he pleased, though whether it was because his power as a royal mage enabled him to or because it suited him at that specific moment in time, Guy could never figure out. It was with these thoughts that Guy entered the main hall, slightly confused. There were no windows, and was devoid of outside noise. Only the sound of humming magelight could be heard, and technically the sound of their group shuffling through the solid rock hallways. Serion was chatting with Edmund about the dim white magelight that began to light the place Guy didn't remember how far back in the hallways. " These are at least five years old! They can't even be adjusted!" He took an orb from the wall and was carrying it with him, muttering to it between his actual conversation with Edmund. The old man had figured out that grunting was all the communication Serion needed to keep him busy, and was staring straight forward, at a woman sitting on the arm of a very cozy looking dining chair. She held something in her hand, though what it was Guy could not tell. Serion stopped talking as he saw the woman, though he was not looking at her directly at first. His eyes were not quite focused. He handed the magelight to one of Edmunds men and strode forward. "Your wife, I presume?" He turned to meet Edmund's eye halfway through his stride. But it was not his host that answered. "I am Tabitha, of the Crag." Serion turned once more, as if his foot was on a coin. He took the hand held out to him and brushed his lips on her knuckles. He then turned to the girl beside her. "Your daughter?" He asked, though he knew she was not. Her skin was lily white, and, he laughed a little as he thought this, her hair was a crown not unlike black tourmaline, whereas the lord and lady of the Crag were dark of skin with blindingly white strands of hair. Guy was giving him a warning look, probably for laughing. He shot back a look that successfully said, " This is our target." His magicless friend probably didn't understand his humor, as black tourmaline was supposed to shield its holder mentally. This girl was a torch in a field at night, a belle in a byre, a diamond ring on the finger of a scullery maid. Serion's mind reeled at the implications, a mage with this power, untrained. From her looks, she was no more than fifteen. "Ah, but excuse me for my rudeness. I am Serion, of Ashwall." Tabitha's thin mouth quivered a bit before she smiled. Forced. She bowed. "She is but a servant, Highness. Pay her no mind." Guy stepped up immediately, for his friend and master was not keen on being told what to do. However, Serion put his hand up, and Guy stood silently at his side. "She will come with me." His demeanor had changed completely. Tabitha made to argue, and Serion cut her off. "By order of the King, my father, Corwynn of Ashwall." The girl said nothing, but evenly met Serion's eyes. Tabitha gave her husband a meaningful look, and Edmund stepped up to break the silence that had stretched out a little bit longer than was socially comfortable. An effect Serion's forwardness seemed to have on the general public. "Why don't we speak over supper, Serion?" Their host said amiably, putting his hand lightly on his lady's back. She glared at him, jaw clenching. He didn't look at her. Edmund dismissed his men to the mess hall in the kitchens and sent Serion and Guy to their guest quarters to clean the road from themselves before supper.

[readbookywooks]

Rincewind looked down at the snake, which was still trying to keep out of everyone’s way. It had a good thing going in the pit, and knew trouble when it saw it. It wasn’t about to cause any aggro for anyone. It stared right back up at Rincewind and shrugged, which is pretty clever for a reptile with no shoulders.

‘How long have you been a barbarian hero?’

‘I’m just getting started. I’ve always wanted to be one, you see, and I thought maybe I could pick it up as I went along.’ Nijel peered short-sightedly at Rincewind. ‘That’s all right, isn’t it?’

‘It’s a desperate sort of life, by all accounts,’ Rincewind volunteered.

‘Have you thought what it might be like selling groceries for the next fifty years?’ Nijel muttered darkly.

Rincewind thought.

‘Is lettuce involved?’ he said.

‘Oh yes,’ said Nijel, shoving the mysterious book back in his bag. Then he started to pay close attention to the pit walls.

Rincewind sighed. He liked lettuce. It was so incredibly boring. He had spent years in search of boredom, but had never achieved it. Just when he thought he had it in his grasp his life would suddenly become full of near-terminal interest. The thought that someone could voluntarily give up the prospect of being bored for fifty years made him feel quite weak. With fifty years ahead of him, he thought, he could elevate tedium to the status of an art form. There would be no end to the things he wouldn’t do.

‘Do you know any lamp-wick jokes?’ he said, settling himself comfortably on the sand.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Nijel politely, tapping a slab.

‘I know hundreds. They are very droll. For example, do you know how many trolls it takes to change a lamp-wick?’

‘This slab moves,’ said Nijel. ‘Look, it’s a sort of door. Give me a hand.’

He pushed enthusiastically, his biceps standing out on his arms like peas on a pencil.

‘I expect it’s some sort of secret passage,’ he added. ‘Come on, use a bit of magic, will you? It’s stuck.’

‘Don’t you want to hear the rest of the joke?’ said Rincewind, in a pained voice. It was warm and dry down here, with no immediate danger, not counting the snake, which was trying to look inconspicuous. Some people were never satisfied.

‘I think not right at the moment,’ said Nijel. ‘I think I would prefer a bit of magical assistance.’

‘I’m not very good at it,’ said Rincewind. ‘Never got the hang of it, see, it’s more than just pointing a finger at it and saying “Kazam-” ‘

There was a sound like a thick bolt of octarine lightning zapping into a heavy rock slab and smashing it into a thousand bits of spitting, white-hot shrapnel, and no wonder.

After a while Nijel slowly got to his feet, beating out the small fires in his vest.

‘Yes,’ he said, in the voice of one determined not to lose his self-control. ‘Well. Very good. We’ll just let it cool down a bit, shall we? And then we, then we, we might as well be going.’

He cleared his throat a bit.

‘Nnh,’ said Rincewind. He was starting fixedly at the end of his finger, holding it out at arm’s length in a manner that suggested he was very sorry he hadn’t got longer arms.

Nijel peered into the smouldering hole.

‘It seems to open into some kind of room,’ he said.

‘Nnh.’

‘After you,’ said Nijel. He gave Rincewind a gentle push.

The wizard staggered forward, bumped his head on the rock and didn’t appear to notice, and then rebounded into the hole.

Nijel patted the wall, and his brow wrinkled. ‘Can you feel something?’ he said. ‘Should the stone be trembling?’

‘Nnh.’

Are you all right?’

‘Nnh.’

Nijel put his ear to the stones. ‘There’s a very strange noise,’ he said. A sort of humming.’ A bit of dust shook itself free from the mortar over his head and floated down.

Then a couple of much heavier rocks danced free from the walls of the pits and thudded into the sand.

Rincewind had already staggered off down the tunnel, making little shocked noises and completely ignoring the stones that were missing him by inches and, in some cases, hitting him by kilograms.

If he had been in any state to notice it, he would have known what was happening. The air had a greasy feel and smelled like burning tin. Faint rainbows filmed every point and edge. A magical charge was building up somewhere very close to them, and it was a big one, and it was trying to earth itself.

A handy wizard, even one as incapable as Rincewind, stood out like a copper lighthouse.

Nijel blundered out of the rumbling, broiling dust and bumped into him standing, surrounded by an octarine corona, in another cave.

Rincewind looked terrible. Creosote would have probably noted his flashing eyes and floating hair.

He looked like someone who had just eaten a handful of pineal glands and washed them down with a pint of adrenochrome. He looked so high you could bounce intercontinental TV off him.

Every single hair stood out from his head, giving off little sparks. Even his skin gave the impression that it was trying to get away from him. His eyes appeared to be spinning horizontally; when he opened his mouth, peppermint sparks flashed from his teeth. Where he had trodden, stone melted or grew ears or turned into something small and scaly and purple and flew away.

‘I say,’ said Nijel, ‘are you all right?’

‘Nnh,’ said Rincewind, and the syllable turned into a large doughnut.

‘You don’t look all right,’ said Nijel with what might be called, in the circumstances, unusual perspicacity.

‘Nnh.’

‘Why not try getting us out of here?’ Nijel added, and wisely flung himself flat on the floor.

Rincewind nodded like a puppet and pointed his loaded digit at the ceiling, which melted like ice under a blowlamp.

Still the rumbling went on, sending its disquieting harmonics dancing through the palace. It is a well-known factoid that there are frequencies that can cause panic, and frequencies that can cause embarrassing incontinence, but the shaking rock was resonating at the frequency that causes reality to melt and run out at the corners.

Nijel regarded the dripping ceiling and cautiously tasted it.

‘Lime custard,’ he said, and added, ‘I suppose there’s no chance of stairs, is there?’

More fire burst from Rincewind’s ravaged fingers, coalescing into an almost perfect escalator, except that possibly no other moving staircase in the universe was floored with alligator skin.

Nijel grabbed the gently spinning wizard and leapt aboard.

Fortunately they had reached the top before the magic vanished, very suddenly.

Sprouting out of the centre of the palace, shattering rooftops like a mushroom bursting through an ancient pavement, was a white tower taller than any other building in Al Khali.

Huge double doors had opened at its base and out of them, striding along as though they owned the place, were dozens of wizards. Rincewind thought he could recognise a few faces, faces which he’d seen before bumbling vaguely in lecture theatres or peering amiably at the world in the University grounds. They weren’t faces built for evil. They didn’t have a fang between them. But there was some common denominator among their expressions that could terrify a thoughtful person.

Nijel pulled back behind a handy wall. He found himself looking into Rincewind’s worried eyes.

‘Hey, that’s magic!’

‘I know,’ said Rincewind, ‘It’s not right!’ Nijel peered up at the sparkling tower.

‘But-’

‘It feels wrong,’ said Rincewind. ‘Don’t ask me why.’

Half a dozen of the Seriph’s guards erupted from an arched doorway and plunged towards the wizards, their headlong rush made all the more sinister by their hastly battle silences. For a moment their swords flashed in the sunlight, and then a couple of the wizards turned, extended their hands and -

Nijel looked away.

‘Urgh,’ he said.

A few curved swords dropped on to the cobbles.

‘I think we should very quietly go away,’ said Rincewind.

‘But didn’t you see what they just turned them into?’ ‘Dead people,’ said Rincewind. ‘I know. I don’t want to think about it.’

Nijel thought he’d never stop thinking about it, especially around Sam on windy nights. The point about being killed by magic was that it was much more inventive than, say, steel; there were all sorts of interesting new ways to die, and he couldn’t put out of his mind the shapes he’d seen, just for an instant, before the wash of octarine fire had mercifully engulfed them.

‘I didn’t think wizards were like that,’ he said, as they hurried down a passageway. ‘I thought they were more, well, more silly than sinister. Sort of figures of fun.’

‘Laugh that one off, then,’ muttered Rincewind.

‘But they just killed them, without even-’

‘I wish you wouldn’t go on about it. I saw it as well.’

Nijel drew back. His eyes narrowed.

‘You’re a wizard, too,’ he said accusingly.

‘Not that kind I’m not,’ said Rincewind shortly.

‘What kind are you, then?’

‘The non-killing kind.’

‘It was the way they looked at them as if it just didn’t matter-’ said Nijel, shaking his head. ‘That was the worst bit.’

‘Yes.’

Rincewind dropped the single syllable heavily in front of Nijel’s train of thought, like a tree trunk. The boy shuddered, but at least he shut up. Rincewind actually began to feel sorry for him, which was very unusual-he normally felt he needed all his pity for himself.

‘Is that the first time you’ve seen someone killed?’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘Exactly how long have you been a barbarian hero?’

‘Er. What year is this?’

Rincewind peered around a corner, but such people as were around and vertical were far too busy panicking to bother about them.

‘Out on the road, then?’ he said quietly. ‘Lost track of time? I know how it is. This is the Year of the Hyena.’

‘Oh. In that case, about-’ Nijel’s lips moved soundlessly-’about three days. Look’, he added quickly, ‘how can people kill like that? Without even thinking about it?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Rincewind, in a tone of voice that suggested he was thinking about it.

‘I mean, even when the vizier had me thrown in the snake pit, at least he seemed to be taking an interest.’

‘That’s good. Everyone should have an interest.’

‘I mean, he even laughed!’

Ah. A sense of humour, too.’

Rincewind felt that he could see his future with the same crystal clarity that a man falling off a cliff sees the ground, and for much the same reason. So when Nijel said: ‘They just pointed their fingers without so much as-’ , Rincewind snapped: ‘Just shut up, will you? How do you think I feel about it? I’m a wizard, too!’

[readbookywooks]

Riddles in the Dark

When Bilbo opened his eyes, he wondered if he had; for it was just as dark as with them shut. No one was anywhere near him. Just imagine his fright! He could hear nothing, see nothing, and he could feel nothing except the stone of the floor. Very slowly he got up and groped about on all fours, till he touched the wall of the tunnel; but neither up nor down it could he find anything: nothing at all, no sign of goblins, no sign of dwarves. His head was swimming, and he was far from certain even of the direction they had been going in when he had his fall. He guessed as well as he could, and crawled along for a good way, till suddenly his hand met what felt like a tiny ring of cold metal lying on the floor of the tunnel. It was a turning point in his career, but he did not know it. He put the ring in his pocket almost without thinking; certainly it did not seem of any particular use at the moment. He did not go much further, but sat down on the cold floor and gave himself up to complete miserableness, for a long while. He thought of himself frying bacon and eggs in his own kitchen at home - for he could feel inside that it was high time for some meal or other; but that only made him miserabler. He could not think what to do; nor could he think what had happened; or why he had been left behind; or why, if he had been left behind, the goblins had not caught him; or even why his head was so sore. The truth was he had been lying quiet, out of sight and out of mind, in a very dark corner for a long while. After some time he felt for his pipe. It was not broken, and that was something. Then he felt for his pouch, and there was some tobacco in it, and that was something more. Then he felt for matches and he could not find any at all, and that shattered his hopes completely. Just as well for him, as he agreed when he came to his senses. Goodness knows what the striking of matches and the smell of tobacco would have brought on him out of dark holes in that horrible place. Still at the moment he felt very crushed. But in slapping all his pockets and feeling all round himself for matches his hand came on the hilt of his little sword - the little dagger that he got from the trolls, and that he had quite forgotten; nor do the goblins seem to have noticed it, as he wore it inside his breeches. Now he drew it out. It shone pale and dim before his eyes. "So it is an elvish blade, too," he thought; "and goblins are not very near, and yet not far enough." But somehow he was comforted. It was rather splendid to be wearing a blade made in Gondolin for the goblin-wars of which so many songs had sung; and also he had noticed that such weapons made a great impression on goblins that came upon them suddenly. "Go back?" he thought. "No good at all! Go sideways? Impossible! Go forward? Only thing to do! On we go!" So up he got, and trotted along with his little sword held in front of him and one hand feeling the wall, and his heart all of a patter and a pitter. Now certainly Bilbo was in what is called a tight place. But you must remember it was not quite so tight for him as it would have been for me or for you. Hobbits are not quite like ordinary people; and after all if their holes are nice cheery places and properly aired, quite different from the tunnels of the goblins, still they are more used to tunnelling than we are, and they do not easily lose their sense of direction underground-not when their heads have recovered from being bumped. Also they can move very quietly, and hide easily, and recover wonderfully from falls and bruises, and they have a fund of wisdom and wise sayings that men have mostly never heard or have forgotten long ago. I should not have liked to have been in Mr. Baggins' place, all the same. The tunnel seemed to have no end. All he knew was that it was still going down pretty steadily and keeping in the same direction in spite of a twist and a turn or two. There were passages leading off to the side every now and then, as he knew by the glimmer of his sword, or could feel with his hand on the wall. Of these he took no notice, except to hurry past for fear of goblins or half-imagined dark things coming out of them. On and on he went, and down and down; and still he heard no sound of anything except the occasional whirr of a bat by his ears, which startled him at first, till it became too frequent to bother about. I do not know how long he kept on like this, hating to go on, not daring to stop, on, on, until he was tireder than tired. It seemed like all the way to tomorrow and over it to the days beyond. Suddenly without any warning he trotted splash into water! Ugh! it was icy cold. That pulled him up sharp and short. He did not know whether it was just a pool in the path, or the edge of an underground stream that crossed the passage, or the brink of a deep dark subterranean lake. The sword was hardly shining at all. He stopped, and he could hear, when he listened hard, drops drip-drip-dripping from an unseen roof into the water below; but there seemed no other sort of sound. "So it is a pool or a lake, and not an underground river," he thought. Still he did not dare to wade out into the darkness. He could not swim; and he thought, too, of nasty slimy things, with big bulging blind eyes, wriggling in the water. There are strange things living in the pools and lakes in the hearts of mountains: fish whose fathers swam in, goodness only knows how many years ago, and never swam out again, while their eyes grew bigger and bigger and bigger from trying to see in the blackness; also there are other things more slimy than fish. Even in the tunnels and caves the goblins have made for themselves there are other things living unbeknown to them that have sneaked in from outside to lie up in the dark. Some of these caves, too, go back in their beginnings to ages before the goblins, who only widened them and joined them up with passages, and the original owners are still there in odd comers, slinking and nosing about. Deep down here by the dark water lived old Gollum, a small slimy creature. I don't know where he came from, nor who or what he was. He was Gollum - as dark as darkness, except for two big round pale eyes in his thin face. He had a little boat, and he rowed about quite quietly on the lake; for lake it was, wide and deep and deadly cold. He paddled it with large feet dangling over the side, but never a ripple did he make. Not he. He was looking out of his pale lamp-like eyes for blind fish, which he grabbed with his long fingers as quick as thinking. He liked meat too. Goblin he thought good, when he could get it; but he took care they never found him out. He just throttled them from behind, if they ever came down alone anywhere near the edge of the water, while he was prowling about. They very seldom did, for they had a feeling that something unpleasant was lurking down there, down at the very roots of the mountain. They had come on the lake, when they were tunnelling down long ago, and they found they could go no further; so there their road ended in that direction, and there was no reason to go that way-unless the Great Goblin sent them. Sometimes he took a fancy for fish from the lake, and sometimes neither goblin nor fish came back. Actually Gollum lived on a slimy island of rock in the middle of the lake. He was watching Bilbo now from the distance with his pale eyes like telescopes. Bilbo could not see him, but he was wondering a lot about Bilbo, for he could see that he was no goblin at all. Gollum got into his boat and shot off from the island, while Bilbo was sitting on the brink altogether flummoxed and at the end of his way and his wits. Suddenly up came Gollum and whispered and hissed: "Bless us and splash us, my precioussss! I guess it's a choice feast; at least a tasty morsel it'd make us, gollum!" And when he said gollum he made a horrible swallowing noise in his throat. That is how he got his name, though he always called himself 'my precious.' The hobbit jumped nearly out of his skin when the hiss came in his ears, and he suddenly saw the pale eyes sticking out at him. "Who are you?" he said, thrusting his dagger in front of him. "What iss he, my preciouss?" whispered Gollum (who always spoke to himself through never having anyone else to speak to). This is what he had come to find out, for he was not really very hungry at the moment, only curious; otherwise he would have grabbed first and whispered afterwards. "I am Mr. Bilbo Baggins. I have lost the dwarves and I have lost the wizard, and I don't know where I am; and "I don't want to know, if only I can get,away." "What's he got in his handses?" said Gollum, looking at the sword, which he did not quite like. "A sword, a blade which came out of Gondolin!" "Sssss," said Gollum, and became quite polite. "Praps ye sits here and chats with it a bitsy, my preciousss. It like riddles, praps it does, does it?" He was anxious to appear friendly, at any rate for the moment, and until he found out more about the sword and the hobbit, whether he was quite alone really, whether he was good to eat, and whether Gollum was really hungry. Riddles were all he could think of. Asking them, and sometimes guessing them, had been the only game he had ever played with other funny creatures sitting in their holes in the long, long ago, before he lost all his friends and was driven away, alone, and crept down, down, into the dark under the mountains. "Very well," said Bilbo, who was anxious to agree, until he found out more about the creature, whether he was quite alone, whether he was fierce or hungry, and whether he was a friend of the goblins. "You ask first," he said, because he had not had time to think of a riddle. So Gollum hissed: "What has roots as nobody sees, Is taller than trees, Up, up it goes, And yet never grows?" "Easy!" said Bilbo. "Mountain, I suppose." "Does it guess easy? It must have a competition with us, my preciouss! If precious asks, and it doesn't answer, we eats it, my preciousss. If it asks us, and we doesn't answer, then we does what it wants, eh? We shows it the way out, yes!" "All right!" said Bilbo, not daring to disagree, and nearly bursting his brain to think of riddles that could save him from being eaten. "Thirty white horses on a red hill, First they champ, Then they stamp, Then they stand still." That was all he could think of to ask-the idea of eating was rather on his mind. It was rather an old one, too, and Gollum knew the answer as well as you do. "Chestnuts, chestnuts," he hissed. "Teeth! teeth! my preciousss; but we has only six!" Then he asked his second: "Voiceless it cries, Wingless flutters, Toothless bites, Mouthless mutters." "Half a moment!" cried Bilbo, who was still thinking uncomfortably about eating. Fortunately he had once heard something rather like this before, and getting his wits back he thought of the answer. "Wind, wind of course," he said, and he was so pleased that he made up one on the spot. "This'll puzzle the nasty little underground creature," he thought: "An eye in a blue face Saw an eye in a green face. "That eye is like to this eye" Said the first eye, "But in low place, Not in high place."" "Ss, ss, ss," said Gollum. He had been underground a long long time, and was forgetting this sort of thing. But just as Bilbo was beginning to hope that the wretch would not be able to answer, Gollum brought up memories of ages and ages and ages before, when he lived with his grandmother in a hole in a bank by a river, "Sss, sss, my preciouss," he said. "Sun on the daisies it means, it does." But these ordinary aboveground everyday sort of riddles were tiring for him. Also they reminded him of days when he had been less lonely and sneaky and nasty, and that put him out of temper. What is more they made him hungry; so this time he tried something a bit more difficult and more unpleasant: "It cannot be seen, cannot be felt, Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt. It lies behind stars and under hills, And empty holes it fills. It comes first and follows after, Ends life, kills laughter." Unfortunately for Gollum Bilbo had heard that sort of thing before; and the answer was all round him anyway. "Dark!" he said without even scratching his head or putting on his thinking cap. "A box without hinges, key, or lid, Yet golden treasure inside is hid," he asked to gain time, until he could think of a really hard one. This he thought a dreadfully easy chestnut, though he had not asked it in the usual words. But it proved a nasty poser for Gollum. He hissed to himself, and still he did not answer; he whispered and spluttered. After some while Bilbo became impatient. "Well, what is it?" he said. "The answer's not a kettle boiling over, as you seem to think from the noise you are making." "Give us a chance; let it give us a chance, my preciouss-ss-ss." "Well," said Bilbo, after giving him a long chance, "what about your guess?" But suddenly Gollum remembered thieving from nests long ago, and sitting under the river bank teaching his grandmother, teaching his grandmother to suck-"Eggses!" he hissed. "Eggses it is!" Then he asked: "A live without breath, As cold as death; Never thirsty, ever drinking, All in mail never clinking." He also in his turn thought this was a dreadfully easy one, because he was always thinking of the answer. But he could not remember anything better at the moment, he was so flustered by the egg-question. All the same it was a poser for poor Bilbo, who never had anything to do with the water if he could help it. I imagine you know the answer, of course, or can guess it as easy as winking, since you are sitting comfortably at home and have not the danger of being eaten to disturb your thinking. Bilbo sat and cleared his throat once or twice, but no answer came. After a while Gollum began to hiss with pleasure to himself: "Is it nice, my preciousss? Is it juicy? Is it scrumptiously crunchable?" He began to peer at Bilbo out of the darkness. "Half a moment," said the hobbit shivering. "I gave you a good long chance just now." "It must make haste, haste!" said Gollum, beginning to climb out of his boat on to the shore to get at Bilbo. But when he put his long webby foot in the water, a fish jumped out in a fright and fell on Bilbo's toes. "Ugh!" he said, "it is cold and clammy!"-and so he guessed. "Fish! Fish!" he cried. "It is fish!" Gollum was dreadfully disappointed; but Bilbo asked another riddle as quick as ever be could, so that Gollum had to get back into his boat and think. "No-legs lay on one-leg, two-legs sat near on three-legs, four-legs got some." It was not really the right time for this riddle, but Bilbo was in a hurry. Gollum might have had some trouble guessing it, if he had asked it at another time. As it was, talking of fish, "no-legs" was not so very difficult, and after that the rest was easy. "Fish on a little table, man at table sitting on a stool, the cat has the bones"-that of course is the answer, and Gollum soon gave it. Then he thought the time had come to ask something hard and horrible. This is what he said: "This thing all things devours: Birds, beasts, trees, flowers; Gnaws iron, bites steel; Grinds hard stones to meal; Slays king, ruins town, And beats high mountain down." Poor Bilbo sat in the dark thinking of all the horrible names of all the giants and ogres he had ever heard told of in tales, but not one of them had done all these things. He had a feeling that the answer was quite different and that he ought to know it, but he could not think of it. He began to get frightened, and that is bad for thinking. Gollum began to get out of his boat. He flapped into the water and paddled to the bank; Bilbo could see his eyes coming towards him. His tongue seemed to stick in his mouth; he wanted to shout out: "Give me more time! Give me time!" But all that came out with a sudden squeal was: "Time! Time!" Bilbo was saved by pure luck. For that of course was the answer. Gollum was disappointed once more; and now he was getting angry, and also tired of the game. It had made him very hungry indeed. This time he did not go back to the boat. He sat down in the dark by Bilbo. That made the hobbit most dreadfully uncomfortable and scattered his wits. "It's got to ask uss a quesstion, my preciouss, yes, yess, yesss. Jusst one more quesstion to guess, yes, yess," said Gollum. But Bilbo simply could not think of any question with that nasty wet cold thing sitting next to him, and pawing and poking him. He scratched himself, he pinched himself; still he could not think of anything. "Ask us! ask us!" said Gollum. Bilbo pinched himself and slapped himself; he gripped on his little sword; he even felt in his pocket with his other hand. There he found the ring he had picked up in the passage and forgotten about. "What have I got in my pocket?" he said aloud. He was talking to himself, but Gollum thought it was a riddle, and he was frightfully upset. "Not fair! not fair!" he hissed. "It isn't fair, my precious, is it, to ask us what it's got in its nassty little pocketses?" Bilbo seeing what had happened and having nothing better to ask stuck to his question. "What have I got in my pocket?" he said louder. "S-s-s-s-s," hissed Gollum. "It must give us three guesseses, my preciouss, three guesseses." "Very well! Guess away!" said Bilbo. "Handses!" said Gollum. "Wrong," said Bilbo, who had luckily just taken his hand out again. "Guess again!" "S-s-s-s-s," said Gollum more upset than ever. He thought of all the things he kept in his own pockets: fishbones, goblins' teeth, wet shells, a bit of bat-wing, a sharp stone to sharpen his fangs on, and other nasty things. He tried to think what other people kept in their pockets. "Knife!" he said at last. "Wrong!" said Bilbo, who had lost his some time ago. "Last guess!" Now Gollum was in a much worse state than when Bilbo had asked him the egg-question. He hissed and spluttered and rocked himself backwards and forwards, and slapped his feet on the floor, and wriggled and squirmed; but still he did not dare to waste his last guess. "Come on!" said Bilbo. "I am waiting!" He tried to sound bold and cheerful, but he did not feel at all sure how the game was going to end, whether Gollum guessed right or not. "Time's up!" he said. "String, or nothing!" shrieked Gollum, which was not quite fair-working in two guesses at once. "Both wrong," cried Bilbo very much relieved; and he jumped at once to his feet, put his back to the nearest wall, and held out his little sword. He knew, of course, that the riddle-game was sacred and of immense antiquity, and even wicked creatures were afraid to cheat when they played at it. But he felt he could not trust this slimy thing to keep any promise at a pinch. Any excuse would do for him to slide out of it. And after all that last question had not been a genuine riddle according to the ancient laws. But at any rate Gollum did not at once attack him. He could see the sword in Bilbo's hand. He sat still, shivering and whispering. At last Bilbo could wait no longer. "Well?" he said. "What about your promise? I want to go. You must show me the way." "Did we say so, precious? Show the nassty little Baggins the way out, yes, yes. But what has it got in its pocketses, eh? Not string, precious, but not nothing. Oh no! gollum!" "Never you mind," said Bilbo. "A promise is a promise." "Cross it is, impatient, precious," hissed Gollum. "But it must wait, yes it must. We can't go up the tunnels so hasty. We must go and get some things first, yes, things to help us." "Well, hurry up!" said Bilbo, relieved to think of Gollum going away. He thought he was just making an excuse and did not mean to come back. What was Gollum talking about? What useful thing could he keep out on the dark lake? But he was wrong. Gollum did mean to come back. He was angry now and hungry. And he was a miserable wicked creature, and already he had a plan. Not far away was his island, of which Bilbo knew nothing, and there in his hiding-place he kept a few wretched oddments, and one very beautiful thing, very beautiful, very wonderful. He had a ring, a golden ring, a precious ring. "My birthday-present!" he whispered to himself, as he had often done in the endless dark days. "That's what we wants now, yes; we wants it!" He wanted it because it was a ring of power, and if you slipped that ring on your finger, you were invisible; only in the full sunlight could you be seen, and then only by your shadow, and that would be shaky and faint. "My birthday-present! It came to me on my birthday, my precious," So he had always said to himself. But who knows how Gollum came by that present, ages ago in the old days when such rings were still at large in the world? Perhaps even the Master who ruled them could not have said. Gollum used to wear it at first, till it tired him; and then he kept it in a pouch next his skin, till it galled him; and now usually he hid it in a hole in the rock on his island, and was always going back to look at it. And still sometimes he put it on, when he could not bear to be parted from it any longer, or when he was very, very, hungry, and tired of fish. Then he would creep along dark passages looking for stray goblins. He might even venture into places where the torches were lit and made his eyes blink and smart; for he would be safe. Oh yes, quite safe. No one would see him, no one would notice him, till he had his fingers on their throat. Only a few hours ago he had worn it, and caught a small goblin-imp. How it squeaked! He still had a bone or two left to gnaw, but he wanted something softer. "Quite safe, yes," he whispered to himself. "It won't see us, will it, my precious? No. It won't see us, and its nassty little sword will be useless, yes quite." That is what was in his wicked little mind, as he slipped suddenly from Bilbo's side, and flapped back to his boat, and went off into the dark. Bilbo thought he had heard the last of him. Still he waited a while; for he had no idea how to find his way out alone. Suddenly he heard a screech. It sent a shiver down his back. Gollum was cursing and wailing away in the gloom, not very far off by the sound of it. He was on his island, scrabbling here and there, searching and seeking in vain. "Where is it? Where iss it?" Bilbo heard him crying. "Losst it is, my precious, lost, lost! Curse us and crush us, my precious is lost!" "What's the matter?" Bilbo called. "What have you lost?" "It mustn't ask us," shrieked Gollum. "Not its business, no, gollum! It's losst, gollum, gollum, gollum." "Well, so am I," cried Bilbo, "and I want to get unlost. And I won the game, and you promised. So come along! Come and let me out, and then go on with your looking!" Utterly miserable as Gollum sounded, Bilbo could not find much pity in his heart, and he had a feeling that anything Gollum wanted so much could hardly be something good. "Come along!" he shouted. "No, not yet, precious!" Gollum answered. "We must search for it, it's lost, gollum." "But you never guessed my last question, and you promised," said Bilbo. "Never guessed!" said Gollum. Then suddenly out of the gloom came a sharp hiss. "What has it got in its pocketses? Tell us that. It must tell first." As far as Bilbo knew, there was no particular reason why he should not tell. Gollum's mind had jumped to a guess quicker than his; naturally, for Gollum had brooded for ages on this one thing, and he was always afraid of its being stolen. But Bilbo was annoyed at the delay. After all, he had won the game, pretty fairly, at a horrible risk. "Answers were to be guessed not given," he said. "But it wasn't a fair question," said Gollum. "Not a riddle, precious, no." "Oh well, if it's a matter of ordinary questions," Bilbo replied, "then I asked one first. What have you lost? Tell me that!" "What has it got in its pocketses?" The sound came hissing louder and sharper, and as he looked towards it, to his alarm Bilbo now saw two small points of light peering at him. As suspicion grew in Gollum's mind, the light of his eyes burned with a pale flame. "What have you lost?" Bilbo persisted. But now the light in Gollum's eyes had become a green fire, and it was coming swiftly nearer. Gollum was in his boat again, paddling wildly back to the dark shore; and such a rage of loss and suspicion was in his heart that no sword had any more terror for him. Bilbo could not guess what had maddened the wretched creature, but he saw that all was up, and that Gollum meant to murder him at any rate. Just in time he turned and ran blindly back up the dark passage down which he had come, keeping close to the wall and feeling it with his left hand. "What has it got in its pocketses?" he heard the hiss loud behind him, and the splash as Gollum leapt from his boat. "What have I, I wonder?" he said to himself, as he panted and stumbled along. He put his left hand in his pocket. The ring felt very cold as it quietly slipped on to his groping forefinger. The hiss was close behind him. He turned now and saw Gollum's eyes like small green lamps coming up the slope. Terrified he tried to run faster, but suddenly he struck his toes on a snag in the floor, and fell flat with his little sword under him. In a moment Gollum was on him. But before Bilbo could do anything, recover his breath, pick himself up, or wave his sword, Gollum passed by, taking no notice of him, cursing and whispering as he ran. What could it mean? Gollum could see in the dark. Bilbo could see the light of his eyes palely shining even from behind. Painfully he got up, and sheathed his sword, which was now glowing faintly again, then very cautiously he followed. There seemed nothing else to do. It was no good crawling back down to Gollum's water. Perhaps if he followed him, Gollum might lead him to some way of escape without meaning to. "Curse it! curse it! curse it!" hissed Gollum. "Curse the Baggins! It's gone! What has it got in its pocketses? Oh we guess, we guess, my precious. He's found it, yes he must have. My birthday-present." Bilbo pricked up his ears. He was at last beginning to guess himself. H^ hurried a little, getting as close as he dared behind Gollum, who was still going quickly, not looking back, but turning his head from side to side, as Bilbo could see from the faint glimmer on the walls. "My birthday-present! Curse it! How did we lose it, my precious? Yes, that's it. When we came this way last, when we twisted that nassty young squeaker. That's it. Curse it! It slipped from us, after all these ages and ages! It's gone, gollum." Suddenly Gollum sat down and began to weep, a whistling and gurgling sound horrible to listen to. Bilbo halted and flattened himself against the tunnel-wall. After a while Gollum stopped weeping and began to talk. He seemed to be having an argument with himself. "It's no good going back there to search, no. We doesn't remember all the places we've visited. And it's no use. The Baggins has got it in its pocketses; the nassty noser has found it, we says." "We guesses, precious, only guesses. We can't know till we find the nassty creature and squeezes it. But it doesn't know what the present can do, does it? It'll just keep it in its pocketses. It doesn't know, and it can't go far. It's lost itself, the nassty nosey thing. It doesn't know the way out It said so." "It said so, yes; but it's tricksy. It doesn't say what it means. It won't say what it's got in its pocketses. It knows. It knows a way in, it must know a way out, yes. It's off to the back-door. To the back-door, that's it." "The goblinses will catch it then. It can't get out that way, precious." "Ssss, sss, gollum! Goblinses! Yes, but if it's got the present, our precious present, then goblinses will get it, gollum! They'll find it, they'll find out what it does. We shan't ever be safe again, never, gollum! One of the goblinses will put it on, and then no one will see him. He'll be there but not seen. Not even our clever eyeses will notice him; and he'll come creepsy and tricksy and catch us, gollum, gollum!" "Then let's stop talking, precious, and make haste. If the Baggins has gone that way, we must go quick and see. Go! Not far now. Make haste!" With a spring Gollum got up and started shambling off at a great pace. Bilbo hurried after him, still cautiously, though his chief fear now was of tripping on another snag and falling with a noise. His head was in a whirl of hope and wonder. It seemed that the ring he had was a magic ring: it made you invisible! He had heard of such things, of course, in old old tales; but it was hard to believe that he really had found one, by accident. Still there it was: Gollum with his bright eyes had passed him by, only a yard to one side. On they went, Gollum flip-flapping ahead, hissing and cursing; Bilbo behind going as softly as a hobbit can. Soon they came to places where, as Bilbo had noticed on the way down, side-passages opened, this way and that. Gollum began at once to count them. "One left, yes. One right, yes. Two right, yes, yes. Two left, yes, yes." And so on and on. As the count grew he slowed down, and he began to get shaky and weepy; for he was leaving the water further and further behind, and he was getting afraid. Goblins might be about, and he had lost his ring. At last he stopped by a low opening, on their left as they went up. "Seven right, yes. Six left, yes!" he whispered. "This is it. This is the way to the back-door, yes. Here's the passage!" He peered in, and shrank back. "But we durstn't go in, precious, no we durstn't. Goblinses down there. Lots of goblinses. We smells them. Ssss!" "What shall we do? Curse them and crush them! We must wait here, precious, wait a bit and see." So they came to a dead stop. Gollum had brought Bilbo to the way out after all, but Bilbo could not get in! There was Gollum sitting humped up right in the opening, and his eyes gleamed cold in his head, as he swayed it from side to side between his knees. Bilbo crept away from the wall more quietly than a mouse; but Gollum stiffened at once, and sniffed, and his eyes went green. He hissed softly but menacingly. He could not see the hobbit, but now he was on the alert, and he had other senses that the darkness had sharpened: hearing and smell. He seemed to be crouched right down with his flat hands splayed on the floor, and his head thrust out, nose almost to the stone. Though he was only a black shadow in the gleam of his own eyes, Bilbo could see or feel that he was tense as a bowstring, gathered for a spring. Bilbo almost stopped breathing, and went stiff himself. He was desperate. He must get away, out of this horrible darkness, while he had any strength left. He must fight. He must stab the foul thing, put its eyes out, kill it. It meant to kill him. No, not a fair fight. He was invisible now. Gollum had no sword. Gollum had not actually threatened to kill him, or tried to yet. And he was miserable, alone, lost. A sudden understanding, a pity mixed with horror, welled up in Bilbo's heart: a glimpse of endless unmarked days without light or hope of betterment, hard stone, cold fish, sneaking and whispering. All these thoughts passed in a flash of a second. He trembled. And then quite suddenly in another flash, as if lifted by a new strength and resolve, he leaped. No great leap for a man, but a leap in the dark. Straight over Gollum's head he jumped, seven feet forward and three in the air; indeed, had he known it, he only just missed cracking his skull on the low arch of the passage. Gollum threw himself backwards, and grabbed as the hobbit flew over him,but too late: his hands snapped on thin air, and Bilbo, falling fair on his sturdy feet, sped off down the new tunnel. He did not turn to see what Gollum was doing. There was a hissing and cursing almost at his heels at first, then it stopped. All at once there came a bloodcurdling shriek, filled with hatred and despair. Gollum was defeated. He dared go no further. He had lost: lost his prey, and lost, too, the only thing he had ever cared for, his precious. The cry brought Bilbo's heart to his mouth, but still he held on. Now faint as an echo, but menacing, the voice came behind: "Thief, thief, thief! Baggins! We hates it, we hates it, we hates it for ever!" Then there was a silence. But that too seemed menacing to Bilbo. "If goblins are so near that he smelt them," he thought, "then they'll have heard his shrieking and cursing. Careful now, or this way will lead you to worse things." The passage was low and roughly made. It was not too difficult for the hobbit, except when, in spite of all care, he stubbed his poor toes again, several times, on nasty jagged stones in the floor. "A bit low for goblins, at least for the big ones," thought Bilbo, not knowing that even the big ones, the ores of the mountains, go along at a great speed stooping low with their hands almost on the ground. Soon the passage that had been sloping down began to go up again, and after a while it climbed steeply. That slowed Bilbo down. But at last the slope stopped, the passage turned a corner, and dipped down again, and there, at the bottom of a short incline, he saw, filtering round another corner-a glimpse of light. Not red light, as of fire or lantern, but a pale out-of-doors sort of light. Then Bilbo began to run. Scuttling as fast as his legs would carry him he turned the last corner and came suddenly right into an open space, where the light, after all that time in the dark, seemed dazzlingly bright. Really it was only a leak of sunshine in through a doorway, where a great door, a stone door, was left standing open. Bilbo blinked, and then suddenly he saw the goblins: goblins in full armour with drawn swords sitting just inside the door, and watching it with wide eyes, and watching the passage that led to it. They were aroused, alert, ready for anything. They saw him sooner than he saw them. Yes, they saw him. Whether it was.an accident, or a last trick of the ring before it took a new master, it was not on his finger. With yells of delight the goblins rushed upon him. A pang of fear and loss, like an echo of Gollum's misery, smote Bilbo, and forgetting even to draw his sword he struck his hands into his pockets. And -  there was the ring still, in his left pocket, and it slipped on his finger. The goblins stopped short. They could not see a sign of him. He had vanished. They yelled twice as loud as before, but not so delightedly. "Where is it?" they cried. "Go back up the passage!" some shouted. "This way!" some yelled. "That way!" others yelled. "Look out for the door," bellowed the captain. Whistles blew, armour clashed, swords rattled, goblins cursed and swore and ran hither and thither, falling over one another and getting very angry. There was a terrible outcry, to-do, and disturbance. Bilbo was dreadfully frightened, but he had the sense to understand what had happened and to sneak behind a big barrel which held drink for the goblin-guards, and so get out of the way and avoid being bumped into, trampled to death, or caught by feel. "I must get to the door, I must get to the door!" he kept on saying to himself, but it was a long time before he ventured to try. Then it was like a horrible game of blind-man's buff. The place was full of goblins running about, and the poor little hobbit dodged this way and that, was knocked over by a goblin who could not make out what he had bumped into, scrambled away on all fours, slipped between the legs of the captain just in time, got up, and ran for the door. It was still ajar, but a goblin had pushed it nearly to. Bilbo struggled but he could not move it. He tried to squeeze through the crack. He squeezed and squeezed, and he stuck! It was awful. His buttons had got wedged on the edge of the door and the door-post. He could see outside into the open air: there were a few steps running down into a narrow valley between tall mountains; the sun came out from behind a cloud and shone bright on the outside of the door-but he could not get through. Suddenly one of the goblins inside shouted: "There is a shadow by the door. Something is outside!" Bilbo's heart jumped into his mouth. He gave a terrific squirm. Buttons burst off in all directions. He was through, with a torn coat and waistcoat, leaping down the steps like a goat, while bewildered goblins were still picking up his nice brass buttons on the doorstep. Of course they soon came down after him, hooting and hallooing, and hunting among the trees. But they don't like the sun: it makes their legs wobble and their heads giddy. They could not find Bilbo with the ring on, slipping in and out of the shadow of the trees, running quick and quiet, and keeping out of the sun; so soon they went back grumbling and cursing to guard the door. Bilbo had escaped.