Baba Yaga's Boutique

[JMDavis ((Silver))]

The cages were each separated by another cell – Adam could actually feel the suppressing effects as a heavy weight on his shoulders and in his stomach, but beyond that level of exhaustion and nausea he seemed to be mostly fine. Hannah, two cells down, looked like death warmed over – she was unable to do anything more than huddle in a corner. The vibrancy of her… everything was muted and drab, as if she were a faded photograph of herself. Ajeet, four cells down, meanwhile seemed perfectly fine. The elderly Heroic had his legs crossed, with his hands in his lap and his head bowed as if in prayer. In a stark contrast to Hannah he seemed to glow with colour, he was vibrant and full of life and power.

A door opened and closed with the feeling of displaced air, Colonel Amanda Vimes and Doctor Bill stood in front of Adam. Colonel Vimes still had her shotgun in hand, and Adam could faintly see a glow coming from the barrel of it. “Doctor William Keller’s Log, Date is March 4th, 2016 and it is currently 5 AM. It seems like all three subjects have adjusted well – the female level six seems to be in something of a daze or state of exhaustion, but is otherwise showing no adverse side-effects,” Adam stared at the man – ignoring the fact that he’d apparently been missing for two years – and focused on the bit where the three of them were apparently fine. He wanted to scream that Hannah was becoming a black and white photo and that Ajeet was beginning to burst with colour but instead remained silent.

“The class seven-point-seven seems to be in a meditative state,” Doctor Bill continued, standing in front of Ajeet’s cell, “Does not appear to be responding to the presence of myself or Colonel Amanda Vimes. Cautious aside – testing on isolated environmental extremes to see tolerance levels of seven-point-seven hereby further designated as A58.” Then he began to move back, standing in front of Hannah’s cell and watching as she made a half-hearted attempt at a vulgar sign – two shaking fingers lifting up with the back of her hand facing Doctor Bill, “Level six female – hereby designated as A59 – seems to have some idea of her surroundings and is displaying her feelings by telling me her thoughts on authority: as a note it is not positive.”

Adam closed his eyes – opening them again revealed a figure he knew all too well. Skylark stood in the middle of the Faraday Cage, looking around with passionless burning eyes. “Quite a mess you wind up in – little sorcerer,” there was a long pause as Skylark seemed to shudder – onyx shedding like obsidian to tinkle onto the floor. Bronzed skin was momentarily glimpsed before the black stone shifted and covered it once more, “Not at all conducive to those of our ilk, eh?”

Adam stared at Skylark, “How… How are You here without them…” his voice trailed off – Doctor Bill and Colonel Vimes were apparently frozen in time as they observed Hannah. It still left many other questions unanswered – but a look back and a knowing smile on the face of Skylark left him feeling deathly ill.

“I am here by not being here. I am a fragment of memory embedded in your mind,” Skylark took a seat from the air to recline back in. “I admit all of this is… confusing. I am not sure what this place is but I definitely dislike being here, as does the Lady and… oh, interesting, the Vagabond,” Skylark stared at Ajeet for a few long moments, “He is doing… well for himself.” The Lord of the Infinite shook His head and looked back at Adam, “This is something of an ignoble end for -.”

“Get me out of here… us… get us out of here,” Adam said quickly. Skylark blinked in surprise. “I know… I have an idea of knowing how strong you are, Skylark – Lord Skylark – whatever the proper address is. Even in this Cage I’m sure You have the Power to break us free of here and get us to safety. Please, I’ll owe You anything if You do that for us. Please.”

Skylark stared at Adam for long moments before a smile curled His features. “Oh, My boy, it is tempting to take that offer…” Skylark closed His eyes and inhaled, “My Price shall be… safe haven.” Then He was gone as if He never was.

Time flowed normally again, leaving Adam to stare at nothing. Maybe he had imagined the whole thing. Maybe it was a delusion brought on by the shock. Maybe it was whatever was causing that annoying pattering sound. His face was wet, maybe he was crying… but why were the sides of his head wet?

He looked down and stared at a slowly forming puddle of blood. He lifted his hand to touch his eyes, nose, beneath his ears – crimson. Adam convulsed, shuddering, vomit erupted from his mouth to mix with his blood.

He collapsed back, his body seizing as he felt every nerve suddenly burst into flame. At a distance he heard voices shouting, but he didn’t care.

He was too busy dying.

Fucking God-Kings.

[JMDavis ((Silver))]

Adam didn’t realize he was strapped to a gurney and being rushed through the white hallways of whatever facility he was in. He was doing them the disservice of staining their floors – but considering he was imprisoned it was the least he could do. Amanda was barking into a micro-bud at her collar, ordering medical personnel to the Anomaly Ward’s ER. Doctor Bill was standing next to Adam and stumbling along as he kept checking and rechecking that Adam was still alive.

Adam was only aware of the fact he was dying – painfully, bloodily, and disgustingly. His moment of clarity came as he stood, looking down at his convulsing body on an operating table with multiple doctors hovering over him. “Pfeh, undertakers garbed in green who only fight death so they lose no money,” Adam’s out-of-body experience turned to look at the small Russian woman sitting in her rocking chair and knitting. Baba Yaga looked up at him, “And you! I say you’re not much of a hero. So you be good sorcerer. But here you go – being a hero and a terrible sorcerer! This is the problem with you cheloveks! You have to impress everyone with the size of your yaytsa. Well now they’re being scrambled along with your brain!” The tiny woman stood in her rocking chair, peering under the arms of the working doctors, “I know you do this to yourself, but who do this to you, eh?”

Adam stared at her, “I… I don’t even know what was done to me.” He muttered.

“Of course you don’t, pfeh,” Baba Yaga muttered something in Russian that Adam felt was meant to be supremely disparaging. “Brain hemorrhages… multiple hemorrhages, severe nerve damage, a side of impotence... the usual. Now, who do this to you?”

Adam frowned at the impotence line – an odd priority considering his potentially imminent demise – before answering, “Skylark… I made a -.”

“PFEH!” Baba Yaga spat onto his body at the name, “Skylark! PFEH!” Another gob of spit, “Lord of the Infinite… PFEH!” Adam winced; he really wanted her to stop spitting. “I tell you this vnuk, Skylark is a cheat. He makes djinn honourable and makes lawyers djinn. PFEH!” A forth glob, “Tell Baba what this deal was.”

Adam nodded, “If he got us out of… this place, I’d owe him… safe haven.”

Her eyes rolled, “He ask for safe haven? Der’mo. Well, is too late for that. But to the first bit… we can fix.” She sat back in her chair, “You lucky your Baba like you and your yaytsa.” She set her knitting aside, dusted her hands and looked Adam in the eye, “When you wake up, you Say these Words.”

Adam’s spirit shuddered as Baba Yaga Spoke the Words he’d Say. He recovered to see the little old woman staring at him with one eye wide open and the other squinting. “So… when I wake up, I Say those Words and… what happens?”

“Pfeh, what happens he asks? His Baba gives him gift and he asks her how much it is worth!” She shook her head and picked up her knitting again. “Pfeh, if you survive this your Baba is going to give you a firm kick!” with that she was gone and Adam was still staring at his body, until the spit sunk in and his back arched.

Adam choked on blood and vomit as it expelled from his lips with Words. Around him doctors, nurses, and armed guards crashed insensate to the ground – all convulsing as he had been moments before but without the same amount of blood and severity. Adam stared at them, then looked down at himself and saw that he was clean of any of the filth of his episode. The door to the operating room opened, Adam’s head snapped up and he Shouted, “Stop!” The armed soldiers coming through froze, Adam stared, “Leave.” They retreated from the door, looks of horror on their faces.

Adam was feeling a little sick – like he’d eaten too much of a delicious dinner – then slid off the table and gingerly stepped over the bodies of the operating staff. He frowned thoughtfully then Whispered, “Shield.” Around him a ring of blades formed, and as he exited a hail of violet shot flew toward him. The blades struck – some dissolving, others only shivering – cutting the violet energy from existence and leaving Adam unscathed. The guards were surprised – the energy should have shredded him into bits, Adam felt a flare of grandiosity and anger. The young man drew himself up and extended his arms, he wanted to slaughter them for the injustices he had suffered.

Arrogance filled him – he was a god to them. He was power incarnate. He was

A guardian

not going to kill them. His extended hands closed into Fists then relaxed and he Breathed out the Words, “Retreat… Forget.” It was less like seeing humans retreat and more like watching a video in reverse as the soldiers moved in the quick, militaristic motions they had used to take up position to leave the hallway empty.

Adam shook his head and tried to figure out where to go – he chewed on his bottom lip before focusing his mind and Whispering, “Find.” A small ball of blue light materialized in front of his face. It bobbed in place for a few moments before taking off – a trail of sparkling motes leaving a path to follow even as they dissipated. Adam followed the trail left behind; the smell of antiseptic and harsh chemical cleansers was strong. The buzz of artificial lighting was an annoying companion to the soothing glowing sounds of his conjuration.

The conjuration blipped through a door, the door swinging open after it blipped through, allowing Adam access to the cells. The small ball of light bounced up and down in front of Adam’s face before swirling in onto itself and vanishing completely. Ajeet’s eyes opened and Adam felt his head spin at the sheer Power in that gaze. The lips of the elderly man moved, but Adam does not recall hearing any words or sounds. But he knows Ajeet had said something as he freed first the Heroic and then Hannah – Hannah was slumped and black and white, unresponsive to Adam’s touch.

Once more Adam remembers Ajeet speaking but not what was exactly said, only a loose idea as he scooped up Hannah and followed behind the glowing Ajeet. What followed he only remembers in brief flashes – a hallway filled with gunshots and soldiers, and a blur of motion that shattered violet energy and broke wrists. A man in bronze armour wielding a vicious spear and bladed shield. That same man lying twisted and dead as Ajeet wept above him. Their gear – carried on Ajeet’s back – and the small man wielding his quarterstaff lead the way, passing the corpse of the man.

Then there was the room. The great runic arch forged out of synthetic metals and plastic, charged with wires and all the mysteries of technology. Ajeet’s staff was a sword – a blade of strobing multicoloured nothingness that carved the air apart and forced open a door. Runic cables shorted. Mystic plastics melted into flame. The great arch gave a piteous whine born of the shortcomings of mortal engineering before it died.

A Path stood open and Ajeet forced Adam onto it, everything now becoming crystalline clarity as they hurried from the facility and the portal shut behind them as failsafes roared into draconic life and snapped shut the energies of the Outerverse.

They stood on a plateau of violet glass overlooking fields of jagged purple as three suns set and their emerald light gave way to a verdant night of bronzed cerulean. Colour was already returning to Hannah, though she remained unconscious. Ajeet looked back the way they had come – showing his exertions with a very slight irregularity in his breathing. Colour seeped from him, flowing into the glass at their feet and giving all of it its own inner glow. “You can set her down, Adam – it’ll do her good,” Ajeet said after regaining control of his breathing. “The glass is as soft as air, here, and she’ll be reborn faster for it.”

Adam frowned – but he trusted the Heroic and laid Hannah down, his fingers brushing against glass and being tickled by their sharp edges without blood being drawn or skin being broken. As soon as her back touched she began to breathe easier, and the colour flowed into her more readily. “Where are we?” Adam asked, he had an impression of the last series of events and knew enough he didn’t need to ask what.

“Currently,” Ajeet retrieved something from his pouch – a disk of orichalcum, which a flick of the wrist revealed to be a compass. Ajeet studied the face – hidden slightly in the palm of his hand, before closing the top of the compass. “Currently we are in the Sovereignty of the Artiste General, Minervares. Not the most elegant of names for a God-King, but that is what you get when two High Concepts cannot choose between one another.”

Adam sat on the glass and felt himself beginning to charge – for lack of any better word. “What do you mean?”

Ajeet sat, folding his legs beneath him. “Art and war – joined together in how alike they are and struggling to separate as they focus on their differences… all in one package.”

Adam frowned, “We… aren’t in any danger here, are we?”

Ajeet shook his head, “Oh, no, this is the art season – war has no grasp for another six months on this world. So, take this time to relax and absorb the world around you.”

Adam remembered nodding his head before sleep took him completely – exhaustion setting in without him knowing.

At least he was warm and in some place insane.

[JMDavis ((Silver))]

Gāisǐ de Shíjiān

A gasp.

A single breath.

A single moment of pain.

Crimson eyes stared skyward – dust floated around a corpse that refused to die. Gauntlets liked barbed talons slowly pushed a figure of such horror that it gave creatures within the Domains pause. Great wings furled – feathers singed and bloody – against a body covered in the fleshy shrapnel of war. The Angel looked around – other bodies lay on the ground. Mutilated forms of fellow Legionnaires were surrounded by thousands of the Infected.

A moment of… something.

A look of… something else.

Those crimson eyes traced the world. Fallen spires – rubble of a bygone kingdom. A flicker of the first something – ignored.

Wetness on his – where did that come from? – face. A hand reaching up – a mind analyzing – a hand lowered. Blood is what it had to be.

What else could it be?

He – there it is again… stop – looks around. Wreckage and ruin surrounds him – no, I don’t like that. It’s not right. Each step traces a pass through detritus and shrapnel – of either metal and stone or flesh and bone. He – fine. – finds his spear lying trapped beneath the body of a giant, the blade is still keen and the haft smooth and unbroken. A quick moulinet to test it – the spear screeching a chorus of singing voices as it spins through the air before he brings it to a halt in front of his face. Good enough, a reasonable thought as he once more looks at the remnants of what was once a sprawling and beautiful demiplane.

A twinge at the creeping vines that choke the rubble… it was something else. Different from before but something like before. It was something he almost knew from before he had these thoughts. His eyes narrow at the vines – and the embers flare into bright life. His wings snapped open – unfurling and shedding blood and burnt feathers and sending lances of – what is happening?! – down his body. He fell forward, gasping and… something.

It was… was cold. Not what had occurred when he opened his wings – but after it. He was cold. He didn’t like it. It wasn’t his skin. It was him. It was something deep inside of him. Why am I… am I thinking like this? The wetness at the eyes again, dripping onto the ground. Not crimson but clear. More things he didn’t register. More things that made him shudder. Made him… him weep.

“No…” he finally spoke, his voice smoke roughened and sounding as if he regularly gargled with razor blades. He forced himself to his feet, stumbling forward and finding a window – mostly unbroken and, impossibly, polished and free of dust and detritus. He looked into it – he saw his dirt and blood smeared face streaked with clear trails as tears slid down his cheeks. He shuddered this wasn’t… none of this was…

His fist crashed through the window, shattering it and denying its truth. That was just as wrong – but hiding himself, hiding the scarred face and the fire-bald head that shed tears, made him feel better. His breathing, ragged and uneven, began to steady as he forced himself to straighten. His scalp was itching, but he ignored it. He had dropped his spear in his… episode and walked over to retrieve it. With it in hand he closed his eyes and forced his mind to remember the path of the patrol. Once it was set he headed off – he could get back to the watch post, he could – bodies covered in sheets, some still kicking. Blood Legion healers looking down dispassionately and weaving the Violence to purge the infection the only way known how.

He couldn’t go back.

He didn’t want to die.

Die.

The word shivered through him.

It hadn’t struck him so profoundly as that ever before but now…

A shake of the head to banish the thoughts. But it was true, he couldn’t go back. He searched the vine choked spires and chose a different path, his steps nowhere near as easy as they should have been. Sounds echoed in the ruins – distant sounds of the Infected.

I’m Infected too.

He banished the thought and didn’t let his step falter. His stomach rumbled and his mouth was dry. He wanted to sit down and rest.

He kept walking.

These were not the thoughts of an Angel.

Screams – close now. He paused at the sounds – pain, fear. An urge, a chord struck him. He was running. His wings spread – pain again which he forced himself to ignore.

He was flying.

Blood was shed with feathers, the pain fueled him, drove him.

His scalp itched.

He spun through the air, curling his wings in tight to dive between a tangle of vines, before powering him high into the air and letting him listen again. The screams again – he dove and flew into the setting sun. An elf lord – his body wreathed in smaller vines – strode forward. A sword of autumn light in hand and dripping blood. A group huddled in front of him, a wounded nymph standing protectively in front of two cowering behind her were two changelings, they were young and their eyes were wide in fear.

He curled his wings, powering in his dive and holding his spear forward.

A chorus of the most beautiful voices sung.

The Infected turned.

The spear struck.

Vines withered and died as the elf was lifted high and flicked from the blade of the spear. His body rolled once, twice, and then stopped. The vines were gone leaving a hollow-eyed and dead elf behind. Satisfied it was purged he turned to look at the wounded and the frightened. If anything their fear was magnified seeing him.

He looked at them for a long moment before spinning his spear and planting it in the ground. “I…” his voice was hoarse, not ungentle or unkind. “Are… Are you okay?” the words were alien, they made him feel… odd.

The nymph, more than the changelings, stared at him. She was leaking a greenish blood from her side. He stared at the wound and walked forward, the nymph pushing herself back and closing her eyes tight. Gentle fingers, warm metal the colour of a stormy sky, pressed against her wound. The blood remained but flesh knit together until there was not even a scar left.

The shock on the nymph’s face undoubtedly mirrored his own. He pulled his hand away slowly then looked to the changelings, “Are… Are either of you hurt?” he asked – he still felt uncertain. One of them – a boy – shook his head mutely.

The other, a young girl stepped past the nymph who tried, and failed, to pull her back. “Who are you?” she asked.

He stared and the question struck him as both being simple and profound. He was silent. He was a mess. He was whole. He was.

“Prometheus.”

It felt right.

The girl nodded her head, “I’m Macha… I’ve never seen an Angel with so much hair before, or blue eyes.”

Prometheus stared at the girl, puzzled, “I don’t…” Rainwater nearby, a glimpse in it showed someone else. Someone Not-Him – but it has to be. A face unlined by war and bloodshed. Hair that fell in golden ringlets.

Eyes the colour of a sky untainted and pure on some world far, far away that he had never visited nor cared about.

He was Infected.

A look at the girl, Macha, looking at him and slowly smiling.

He was warm.

He was happy.

Shíjiān Fǎnhuí

[JMDavis ((Silver))]

Adam’s eyes opened and he froze – he couldn’t breathe. His eyes flicked around, a frightened whimper leaving his throat. Crouched on his chest was a figure – completely indistinct with only two pale eyes the size of silver dollars staring down at him. Adam tried to move anything, but only another soft whimper left him. His eyes flicked around, Ajeet and Hannah were both motionless – other figures were standing around them, all staring down at the slumbering Heroic and sorcerer. Adam looked back to the one crouched on his chest.

It leaned forward, the darkness breaking up into different shades – a massive beak distinguishable from the face. The beak opened and You will not remember this if you try. But remember this – fear is more potent than any Blade. My Murder and I will travel on, remember that we could have feasted tonight and not even a God-King would have stopped us. Adam blinked and his eyes opened as his entire body snapped forward and a cry left his lips.

Ajeet was on his feet immediately, looking around with an intensity that could kill. Hannah stirred more slowly – as if coming out of a drugged stupor. When no threat presented itself, and Adam was breathing raggedly and shuddering, Ajeet relaxed and walked over to crouch next to him – a hand laid gently on Adam’s shoulder. “You alright?” he asked, not unkindly.

Adam took deep breaths, he felt tears. “I… I don’t… I think…”

Ajeet patted his shoulder lightly, “Shush, shush… a nightmare, my boy. Understandable, considering the circumstances. That place we were in… what happened to you.” He shook his head and smiled, “I know… here, sit with me.” Ajeet sat down on the ground, folding his legs and placing his hands in his lap. Adam followed into the same position – looking more awkward with it than the older man. “I want you to concentrate on your self, shut out the world and just focus on your self and my voice.”

Adam gave a slow nod, closing his eyes and focusing on his self. He had tried meditation and yoga before – it hadn’t worked, but now it was coming to him almost naturally. His breathing was slow, and Ajeet’s voice sounded as if from far away, “Now – focus on Infinity.” All of his calm meditation suddenly threw itself to a halt, and his eyes opened. Ajeet looked at him calmly, head tilted and eyebrow quirked, “Yes?”

“How… How do I focus on Infinity?”

Ajeet smiled, “What? Can you not focus and grasp the concept of the vast and unending ends of the all?”

“No…”

Ajeet nodded his head, “Neither can they. Those people, that place? They are a man, sitting in the darkness, with only a small flame to illuminate their fears and their knowledge – a flame they fear will go out. But you, my boy, you are the man with a torch – a man who has a mighty blaze and can walk the cave without fear of a sudden gust extinguishing all that he can see. So know that you, my boy, will learn the truth of the bogeymen, the hidden hand behind fears, and you will have the light to banish their masks and show them as nothing more than those like you: scared, with their own torches, stumbling in the darkness.

“Beyond that, you are a sorcerer. They feared you. They locked you up and cut you off from your power. Remember that when next you have a nightmare, remember: you are a nightmare to so many more. You are the bogeymen to those who huddle around their small flame, to those that lurk in the darkness and prey upon mortal fears.”

“I… suppose that makes sense,” Adam murmured.

Ajeet nodded his head, “Remember, young man – fear is a potent thing, but Knowledge will forever be its end.”

“More Lost Summit babble?” Hannah asked, rolling over onto her side and slowly sitting up. She had her colour back and looked unharmed by the prior ordeal.

Ajeet grunted, lips pressing into a line, “You have issue with the raven-men?”

Hannah arched her back until it popped, “I have issue with anything that spends eternity crouched on a perpetually drifting mountain… some of the time. But that philosophy, of all of their thousands of sayings, is worthy of an eye roll – in my experience, knowledge of a foe only tends to make me fear them more.”

Ajeet harrumphed, “In my experience, I prefer to know what I’m dealing with rather than face the unknown.”

Hannah eyed Ajeet, “You didn’t strike me as an Odyssian…”

Ajeet shrugged his shoulders, “Then you haven’t been paying attention.” He rose from his meditative posture and nodded his head toward the horizon, “Best we begin walking – we can find villages along the way to for rest and repast.” Ajeet rose, dusting himself of shards of glass and retrieved his kit, “I think the boy deserves a bit of sightseeing as well – as joyous as the Boutique is, and there is something to be said for the other Worlds.”

Hannah stood, letting out a slight hiss of pain, “Might as well – we might be lucky and stumble across a village in peril with a beautiful damsel for you to rescue!”

Ajeet rolled his eyes, “Most likely after you two unleash some Ancient Evil by reading the wrong incantation.”

Hannah laughed, “Ahh… stereotyping, we’re terrible people.”

“Now, now… I’m hardly terrible and you two are hardly people.”

Adam rolled his eyes and Hannah snorted, “I suppose my travel guides are going to spend more time sparring than telling me about the sights?”

Ajeet waved his hand, beginning to walk, “What is there to tell? You can see, can you not? Then you don’t need us to tell you what you see.”

Hannah followed after him, “Sound argument there.”

Adam trudged along behind the two, “If I’m a sorcerer shouldn’t I be, I don’t know, learning about everything?”

“If you want to learn about Everything then you’ve already started to learn wrong.”

“I didn’t use a capital there! Stop putting concepts of the written word into my mouth!”

“Now, now, boys – no fighting over who put what into whose mouth.”

“… I’m stuck with a centuries old child and a vague warrior-poet… This feels like a cosmic joke.”

“Well, aren’t we Mr. Self-Important, thinking that if the cosmos had a sense of humour you’d be the butt of its jokes!”

“… I’m going to start staring at the countryside now, in silence. I’m going to pretend my mentor-in-failing isn’t mocking me more than teaching me, and that I can just walk in companionable silence with Ajeet.”

“I feel like I’m doing a great job at being a model of magic.”

“Example,” Ajeet and Adam said at the same time.

“Those are basically synonymous… so I’ll take the compliment.”

More than anything he saw in the Boutique, this journey across the landscape of this world left Adam breathless – his eyes blurry on occasion with tears. There a tree dominated – it was thousands of miles away, and yet it looked as if he could reach out a hand to touch it. Dark avian shapes drifted through the violet leaves of the tree and perched on bark of burnished steel. The wind that deigned to blow their way from the tree brought with it scents of cardamom, lavender, vanilla, and clove and the soft music of a thousand strings playing a song he instinctively knew as Vivaldi’s Spring.

A bridge stretched over what he at first took to be a chasm, but as he neared he saw great golden fish leaping from the waves to snatch enormous butterflies dripping colours from the air. Another song, the pleasantness of Smetana’s The Moldau accompanied their trip across the bridge – the three stopping halfway along the vast chasm to stand aside for a procession of creatures both human and alien.

They were tall, with features so pale as to be almost translucent – cat-like eyes regarded the three companions with coldness at odds with the warmth of the apparent summertime. They wore robes of elegant fabric – shimmering like ice and fresh fallen snow. Circlets of soft silver, studded with sapphires, circled their brows and kept cobweb fine white hair from their purple and blue eyes. Behind them capered creatures with floppy, wide-brimmed red, hats. Scraggly beards bristling from within the shadows of the caps for some, while others just showed a gleaming of broken fangs. Warty hands clutched at the trains of the beautiful creatures’ robes, keeping them from the ground – while other hands held tools of murder, butcher knives and cleavers, long daggers and ugly cudgels. More than the elegant ones, these paid an unhealthy amount of attention to the three – like mongrel scavengers eyeing something they knew they could take when alone in the darkness.

Ajeet never took his eyes from the procession – the same true for the tallest of the red-crested creatures, this one lacking a brim to its hat – instead the crimson forming a long tail down its back and showing scraggly hair and a face worn by scars, time, and scabs. Unlike the others its callused fingers rested on a wickedly curved blade – jagged nails drumming against a much-stained hilt.

“Foul creatures,” Ajeet spat as soon as they had wandered from view. “This bodes ill for us if we wish to see the palace – no doubt the fae will wish to room with the God-King.”

Hannah frowned, “It’s been a while since I was anywhere near Avalon – but in the lead, was that…?”

“Prince Venar – with his servant the Elder Crow acting as captain of his guard… not that he needs a captain of the guard,” Ajeet spat again, “Foul redcaps…”

Adam blinked, “So… I’m guessing we don’t like elves and goblins?”

Hannah and Ajeet looked at him, then one another, “You’re his mentor.” Ajeet said simply – before removing his pack to begin digging through it for a quick snack to get their energy up – muttering something about the next village being no more than an hour’s walk away.

Hannah blew out her cheeks, “So… no, we don’t. As a general rule of thumb – it’s better to treat the fae as if they’re plotting your slow and painful demise… which the majority of them are. Those aren’t elves, by the by… well, they are but call one an elf and they’ll make sure to torture you in ways that have made many Heroics weep. They are the sidhe – rulers of Avalon. The creatures with them are to goblins as treants are to ogres – an entirely different ballpark. Redcaps are the premiere murderers of Avalon – in a stand-up fight most anything can take them, though Elder Crow (that’s the big one) is one of the few accomplished… ‘swordsmen’ among them.” The sound Ajeet made told his thoughts on that particular statement. “Redcaps prefer to strike silent and swift from the darkness when you’re alone – not because they can’t fight, but because they get the most pleasure from killing that way.

“That’s the key when dealing with the fae – everything they do they do out of their own twisted view of pleasure and joy. The closest thing you’ll find to a ‘good’ fae is… an ogre, actually. They’re one of the few who have a stable and mentally healthy personality.”

Adam blinked a few times, processing the information, “Wasn’t an ogre the first thing we encountered on arrival? Wasn’t he the one trying to slaughter you because you offended him?”

Hannah nodded, “Yep – that’s a stable and healthy personality amongst the fae.”

“… I don’t want to be on this plane anymore.”