Scrying changes.

Changes to the way scrying works went in yesterday. So goodbye, crystal balls & mirrors of revelation. All in all, I'm pretty impressed by and happy with the changes. The one negative I would pick out is that the whole process takes a lot longer to accomplish, so it's not really possible anymore to scry every named mob on the MUD in ten seconds or less. On the other hand, it seems to take a lot less spirit, and doesn't rely on hard-to-obtain and/or expensive items anymore. Plus, the entertainment value of being able to scry using an aqua frizzante is alone more than worth any added difficulty. ;P

Chapter 10, Part 2

The interior of the pub was cheerful and bright, with colorful tapestries hanging on the walls. The tapestries depicted various scenes of torture and cruelty, illustrated in vivid colors that seemed dissonant with their subject matter. Whoever had created the artwork was undoubtedly a master of his or her art, as the images on each tapestry was rendered with intricate detail. Vurp paused to admire the stitching on one picture which depicted the burning of the entrails of a still-living figure in white robes. The look of horror and agony on the figure's face was captured in such detail that Vurp wondered if it had been rendered from memory, or if an actual live model had been used.

Porphyria took a seat at the bar, motioning for Vurp to take the seat next to her. The diminutive boglin mage had some trouble climbing onto the seat, remembering that he was under orders not to fly, float, or otherwise use magic to make his life any easier. Under his breath, Vurp complained about the unreasonable demands of his mistress.

The inn's bartender was an elven lady of indeterminate years with long brown hair and a seemingly-perpetual smirk on her face. Porphyria motioned the bartender over, and ordered a meal for herself and Vurp, as well as a pint of ale for each. The bartender served two bowls of stew with little ceremony and pulled two bottles of ale out of the cooler beneath the bar. Vurp quickly began devouring his meal as Porphyria paid for both and began eating her own stew.

"Excuse me, madam," Vurp whispered once the bartender was tending to other customers, "but I thought that you couldn't eat regular food."

Porphyria glanced over at Vurp, responding quietly, "It's important to keep up appearances, and it won't do me any harm to eat this. Sure, it's pretty much indigestible for me, it doesn't particularly taste good to me, and I'd probably starve if I only ate this stuff, but it's not a matter of 'can't'. You could swallow pebbles if you wanted to, although you'd derive about as much benefit from them as I do from this food. And I can always go hunting later."

Porphyria beckoned over to the bartender, and asked, "What would a room for myself and my servant cost? I'm looking to stay for at least a few nights."

The bartender looked from Porphyria to Vurp, seeming to consider the possibility that Vurp wasn't entirely housebroken. "I'd ask for two gold a night, each, although if you're looking for an extended stay, you can pay in advance by the week, and it would only be 20 gold a week for the both of you."

Porphyria rummaged around in her coin pouch for a moment, counting out a number of gold pieces and handing them to the bartender. "Is Sanctuary coin good enough? I haven't had the chance to change my money for anything local."

The bartender looked suspiciously at one of the coins she had been handed, and nodded. "As long as you don't try and pay me in that debased Mycenaen crap, I don't have any problems. We don't get many visitors here from Sanctuary. It's kind of far, and the Pantarchic Church isn't especially strong there." The bartender seemed to be waiting expectantly for more information.

"We're not from Sanctuary - It just happened to be our last trade stop." Porphyria's response seemed to satisfy the curiosity of the bartender.

"Well, your rooms are upstairs. Second and third on the left. Breakfast is served 2 hours past daybreak, and you're on your own for other meals." The bartender turned her attention to a gnome at a nearby table who was attempting to order a drink, leaving Vurp and Porphyria to themselves.

Chapter 10, Part 1

The sun peeked over the distant mountains that formed the natural border between Celydon and Korindim, spilling light across a walled city whose most prominent feature was a huge cathedral whose towers and spires loomed above the city walls. Vurp sighed with relief upon seeing that the distant city was no more than a few hours' walk away. Porphyria had decided to travel from Sanctuary to Camille the hard way -- by boat across the vast Southern and Surdassic seas from Sanctuary to Halfmoon Bay, and then on foot the rest of the way, over the jagged and mountainous landscape of Korindim to the lowland forests and rolling plains that characterized much of Celydon's landscape.

Vurp grumbled under his breath. Porphyria had the ability to travel to nearly any place in just a handful of seconds through her powers as an ELF guerilla, or she could at least fly, which would be much faster, and yet she insisted upon walking. There wasn't much Vurp disliked more than walking around. The ability to fly was half the reason he had become a mage. To be honest, Vurp thought, blowing stuff up was pretty much the other half. The thought caused Vurp to chuckle slightly, distracting him somewhat from the foul mood his hurting feet had put him into. Even Vurp's robe was stashed away at Porphyria's insistence, and Vurp was dressed in a simple, ill-fitting pair of trousers and a white tunic in order to avoid attracting attention. Certainly, walking into a stronghold of the Pantarchic Church openly as an agent of chaos might not be the best idea, but Vurp still missed the comfort of his robe.

It was nearly midday when Porphyria and Vurp made their way through the gates of Camille, Porphyria posing as a religious pilgrim in a simple brown robe, and Vurp posing as her porter. Vurp was not able to pass as a pilgrim because goblinoids of any kind were barred from seeking salvation within the Pantarchic Church, while Porphyria could pass as an aviar without too much trouble. Vurp didn't mind much, anyhow. The Yehovists had always struck Vurp as a singularly stuffy and fun-fearing lot. Besides, the robes pilgrims wore looked as if they chafed horribly.

Camille was an attractive town, in its own way. The Cathedral of Cianna seemed to dominate the city, giving one the impression that the city was almost an afterthought to the Cathedral. Most of the other buildings in the town had a bit of class to them, though. The city held many of the stately manor homes of the officials of the Pantarchic Church alongside a number of other buildings that mirrored the stonework and stained-glass architecture of the Cathedral.

The Cathedral of Cianna itself was a popular place for pilgrimages, and the pilgrims brought a great deal of money into the city. As a result, many of the buildings closest to the Cathedral housed businesses that catered to the pilgrims -- inns, public houses, religious curio shops, and so on. Further away from the Cathedral were the various other districts of the city -- the warehouses, seedy bars, and dens of iniquity that could be found in just about any city, a stronghold of the Church of Yehovah notwithstanding.

"Right middle finger of the Angel Tyristael, ma'am? Only 500 gold pieces." The call came from one of the many street vendors who sold relics of dubious provenance - in this case, the vendor was a middle-aged human man who was holding up what appeared to be a finger bone, but could just have easily been from a chicken. Porphyria waved the man away, but he followed undeterred, "No? Well, how about a vial of holy water? Blessed by the Archistator himself! 50 gold pieces!" The man produced a small vial of water from a pouch on his belt and held it up for inspection. Vurp peered at the somewhat cloudy water inside with some curiosity, but was quickly dragged away by Porphyria, who was intent on ignoring the vendor.

"Just ignore them and they'll go away, Vurp," Porphyria whispered in Vurp's ear, bending down to do so, "these shysters are looking for an easy mark. And even if any of what they sold was holy, what would you want with it?"

Vurp sniffed, somewhat offended, "I'm just curious. I'm not planning on buying anything. Besides, the stuff over there in that shop looks much more interesting." Vurp pointed to one of the curio stands that lined the street around the Cathedral. The shop displayed a good number of items of silver jewelry bearing the holy symbol of Yehovah, and several of the pieces gleamed with an obvious aura of enchantment.

Porphyria noted a hungry look in Vurp's eye, and quickly remembered the circumstances of their meeting. "I'd leave those alone if I were you, Vurp. The Pantarchic Church is not especially known for their mercy towards thieves, especially when those thieves come from the ranks of the 'benighted races'. Besides, we're not hurting for money at the moment. Let's go find a place to stay for the night, and then we can go browse in shops if you're really that interested in Yehovist tchotchkes."

Vurp took one last look at the item shops and followed Porphyria down a small side street that looked to be lined mostly with hostelries and eating-houses. The smells of cuisines of various cultures wafted through the air of the street, making Vurp's stomach growl as he remembered that he had not had lunch yet. Porphyria headed towards an establishment with a faded sign depicting a white-robed figure hanging from a tree. The Anglic letters underneath dubbed the establishment the "Hanging Adonaist Inn and Public House".

"The Hanging Adonaist?" Vurp wondered aloud.

Porphyria looked up at the sign, and explained, "Yeah. The Adonaist schism split the Church awhile back. It originated from some argument over whether or not the divine nature of Yehovah pre-existed the universe, or some silliness like that. The Adonaists were for the most part driven out of Almeria by the Yehovists, and a good number of the Adonaists were executed, although historically speaking, hanging was generally considered too merciful a fate for them."

Vurp shuddered slightly at the morbid sign, and followed Porphyria inside. Once inside, Vurp's eyes quickly adjusted to the relative darkness, and the scents of good Filialtri cooking overwhelmed his nose.

Chapter 9, part 2

Porphyria stood a small distance away from Vurp, considering something that had been tickling the back of her mind. For one thing, goblinoids of any stripe were not known to be exceptionally gifted magi, since their short lifespans made the kind of intensive long-term study required to be a mage of any caliber a life-long pursuit. Hell, humans barely had time to make a serious go of being a decent mage, and they tended to live a couple of decades longer than any goblin. And yet here was a boglin who was wearing the robes of a full Frater Zephyrius Mutatoris, and had obviously learned a thing or two about magic. Porphyria wondered if boglins ever got gray hair, or went bald -- the hair on Vurp's head was a stringy black mess, not showing any real signs of aging.

"Uhm Vurp," Porphyria started, causing the boglin to fidget uncomfortably at the sound of his name, "I hope you don't mind me asking, but how old are you?"

Vurp smiled slightly at the question responding, "I'm somewhere around thirty-five years old, madam."

"But you don't look all that old..."

"I live a clean and healthy lifestyle, and generally keep out of danger. And I'm also a devotee of a certain sect of worshippers of the longevity aspect of Zo, goddess of life -- we learn some useful techniques to retard the aging process. Very useful for one whose lifespan would normally be measured in decades." Vurp grinned proudly at his own cleverness, showing a mouthful of sharp yellow teeth. Whatever other benefits that might have been passed on to worshippers of Zo, good oral hygiene was obviously not one of them.

"Well, I'm glad to hear you won't be keeling over anytime soon then. At least, not from old age." Porphyria saw the boglin's smile dull slightly as she made the comment. She knew that the magi of the OZM tended to be a lot more careful with their lives than the typical ELF operative. Hell, almost everyone was more careful than the typical ELF operative, and often times, that recklessness spilled over onto those closest to the agent. Vurp would either learn to excel in his craft, or find himself on the wrong end of something sharp and pointy (if he was lucky) fairly quickly.

Vurp shifted nervously in his seat, and Porphyria realized that she had been staring at the boglin in an almost predatory fashion while she had weighed his chances of survival. She smiled reassuringly, and Vurp relaxed somewhat. "You and I should make a good team," Porphyria told him, "I've worked with people from your order before, and always enjoyed the experience."

Vurp nodded slightly. Some of the other magi of his order had been quite vocal in the past concerning their experiences with Porphyria. The phrase 'madwoman' came up with astonishing frequency, but then again, what could one expect from an ELF guerilla? The ELF form of magic basically relied upon calling up ancient and terrifying Powers and letting them rampage, all the time hoping that they hit the right target. It was nothing like the studied control that an experienced Frater gained over the elements. One would almost acquire madness as a survival tool, working as an ELF agent.

Vurp gathered up what little courage he had, and asked, "So what's the plan, mistress? Taking over the world might be a bit much for just the two of us."

"Oh, it probably is, and I was just joking, really. I think we should start with someplace smaller first, like Camille."

"You really mean to take over Camille? But why? I thought that we'd be spreading chaos. It seems like taking a place over would require imposing some sort of order, which is kind of the opposite."

Porphyria smiled happily, and replied, "Sometimes the surest path to true discord is to encourage the aneristic principle to flourish and begin to dominate. After all, very few really good revolutions start because there's too little control. And when empires finally fall, they tend to create enough discord to last hundreds of years, even if the empire only lasted a handful. Loosen the reins of power enough, and society becomes essentially self-ordering, but tighten them until society has no concept of self-order, and then let those reins snap, and that's when things really get interesting."

Vurp looked into Porphyria's eyes as she leaned towards him, entranced by the yellow runes that seemed to swim through her deep black irises. He looked for a hint of sanity somewhere behind those eyes, but could only see inscrutable depth. Vurp felt some fear at what this strange ELF agent proposed, but at the same time felt against his better judgment that he should work with her to see that her goals would be achieved.

"Madam, excuse me for questioning you," Vurp begain, seeming to wince at each word as it came out, "but I thought that chaos was all about giving people freedom, not about causing a new dark age."

"It's not about giving people freedom, Vurp. It's about making them realize that they already have freedom, no matter what their king or priest says. The State and the Church enforce order through a complex system of fear and force, and people buy into it -- they even begin to crave it. If you just kill the king, soon enough people will raise up another king. But if you make it so that people don't want any more kings, then you've got something that can last." Porphyria stood back form Vurp and turned around, looking into a dark corner of the room, continuing, "Dark ages are when people are the most free, anyhow. In order for people to experience real freedom, the system has to break down as utterly as it can."

Wow, Vurp thought, she really is completely bonkers. But there was still something in the back of his mind that couldn't simply dismiss what she was saying. For some reason, he found himself twisted more and more towards Porphyria's way of thinking, the more he thought about it. Maybe there was something to what she was saying, even if the first impulse of his gentle nature was to rebel against it.

"I see your point, Madam." Vurp's answer was timid and reverential.

Porphyria stood silent for some time, and then said, "We'll leave for Camille in a few days. I doubt we'll have much trouble with the Justicars there -- the strength of the Pantarchic Church in the city does tend to push out all the other religions. At the very least, we ought to be able to make a bit of a stir there, won't we?"

Vurp nodded, happy to at last have a hand in bigger events -- to have a Higher Purpose, even if it would probably get him run out of every town he set foot in, if not killed.

Chapter 9, Part 1 - Boglin

Porphyria enjoyed the cool night air as she sat on the porch of the Discordian safe house. In the week since she had come to the city, she had come to tolerate its various eccentricities. The small but lively nyloc community in the city had come to regard Porphyria as one of their own -- due in part, no doubt, to the influence of the Golden Apple -- and Porphyria enjoyed their company.

A sudden crashing noise off to her left brought Porphyria out of her reverie and into a combat stance as she quickly engaged her psychic invisibility. Out of the darkness from the direction of the noise, a smallish, green-skinned creature came flying as it made a beeline for the door of the Discordian safe house. Damn, Porphyria thought, looks like someone's bringing trouble with them. Porphyria sighed. She had just gotten the safe house comfortable, as well. If she was forced to abandon it due to the antics of this creature, she would be quite annoyed.

Luckily, there was little sign of anything chasing the creature, as it made it to the door and quickly rushed inside, slamming the door behind it. Moments later, a pair of guardsmen came rushing around the corner, stopping and looking slightly confused as they peered around, searching for their quarry. They strolled down the road, poking piles of garbage and peering into shadows, but walked straight past the safe house without pausing. As the two guardsmen turned the corner at the other end of the street, Porphyria breathed a sigh of relief and turned to the door. It was time to see who this new guest was.

As Porphyria slipped in the door, she heard a strange, hissing voice chant in Enochian. Porphyria's future sense alerted her to oncoming danger, and she dove aside just in time to avoid an almost-solid gust of wind which screamed past her ear and slammed into the door behind her, causing it to shudder violently. In the middle of her dive, Porphyria applied psychokinetic energies to change her course and propel her towards the small figure in the darkness, who was already chanting another phrase in Enochian. Porphyria crashed into the short figure about waist-height, knocking the breath from it and disrupting its spell. Grabbing the creature by the neck, Porphyria stood and examined her catch, holding the creature at arms-length as it attempted to smile ingratiatingly.

On close inspection, the strange creature was obviously a boglin -- a race rumored to be a cross between a goblin and a slaan, which shared little of the redeeming qualities of either race. The boglin's green skin oozed a slimy moisture which reminded Porphyria unpleasantly of urine, and its homely, frog-like face showed an expression of terror behind its sickly smile. The boglin was dressed in a thigh-length, sky-colored robe that looked almost comical on the creature's skinny form. Porphyria felt little weight at the end of her arm -- the boglin obviously had the ability to levitate, and was doing so in order to avoid being choked at Porphyria's hand.

Porphyria looked into the eyes of the boglin, and threatened, "Now, there will be no more of that magic in here, understood?"

The boglin nodded cautiously, its eyes darting around, apparently searching for some means of escape.

"Good, because if I hear any language other than Anglic from you, I swear that you won't survive to get out more than two words." At that, Porphyria released the boglin's throat and smiled with amusement as it hovered in the air before her rather than dropping to the floor. "Now, I would like to know who you are, and why you came here."

The boglin gulped, rubbing its neck, "My name is Vurp, apprentice brother of the Ordo Zephyrius Mutatoris, and Discordian Legionnaire. And I'm sorry for attacking you, madam, but I thought you were a Hellhound."

Porphyria nodded slightly, replying, "No problem. My name's Porphyria, ELF guerilla," -- the boglin's eyes widened slightly as a flicker of recognition played across his face -- "Why were the Hellhounds chasing you?"

"A simple misunderstanding, mistress Porphyria. I was accused of attempting to liberate a small amount of coin from a nobleman." Vurp's eyes continued searching the room for a means of escape, even though his body was almost completely relaxed. Perhaps it was a nervous habit.

"So you're a wizard, eh?"

"Merely an apprentice, madam. I have yet a long way to go before I am able to do more than the simplest of spells, but I am learning the best that I can."

Porphyria paused for a moment, considering. "Well, you're welcome to stay here, Vurp. As long as you promise not to send any lightning bolts my way, that is."

Vurp's eyes widened, "Of course not, Lady Porphyria. Even if I could muster a lightning bolt, I would never dream of harming you. By the way, is there any food in here? I'm hungry."

"There's some in the pantry there, although I don't know how fresh it is. I usually go out to eat," Porphyria said, "You're welcome to anything you can find."

Vurp smiled happily, saying, "Thank you. I'm really hungry." The boglin climbed up on the countertop in the kitchen and began rummaging through the cabinets.

Porphyria watched as Vurp found some dried meats and fruits and began to unceremoniously devour them. Perhaps this little creature would prove useful. After all, the magi of the Ordo Zephyrius Mutatoris had potent magic when properly trained, and Porphyria felt that she could use the ally.

"How would you like a job, Vurp?" Porphyria asked the boglin once he was done shoveling a meager meal into his mouth.

"Eh? What sort of job, madam?" Vurp seemed slightly confused at the question, and appeared as if he was looking for some possibility for escape, although Porphyria assumed that this was just his general demeanor.

"You'll be helping me take over the world, of course," Porphyria laughed, only partly serious. "You'll be my assistant, and help wherever I need it."

Vurp thought for a moment, considering. The Ordo Zehyrius Mutatoris had been his life for the past dozen years, but Vurp felt that he might be able to learn much more through this infamous ELF agent and her adventures. "Fine. I'll come along with you, madam." Vurp felt that perhaps he was making a mistake, but assumed that things would work themselves out eventually, even despite the strong sense of foreboding within his gut.

Roll Sanity Checks...

Chapter 8 - Aftermath

Wyrena looked around at the walls of the Ivory Tower and sighed. The walls stank with the caked-on viscera of Justicars -- her brothers and sisters in arms, who had fallen protecting the tower from that demon. Attempting to protect it, anyhow, Wyrena thought to herself as she applied her rag to the formerly-white stone, scrubbing vigorously. By all indications, Porphyria had been after just one thing, the artifact that Coelwyn had been keeping and researching a way to destroy. And the ELF agent had gotten what she came for. Wyrena shuddered as she thought of what that artifact could do in the hands of someone like Porphyria. Whatever came next, it would likely not be very pretty.

And the thought that it was all her fault nagged Wyrena's conscience as she sat there amongst the aftermath of the previous night's battle. She could have warned the others long ago, if not for her shame in not being strong enough to resist Porphyria's tortures. The Justicars could have been ready, instead of having been taken off-guard as they were. And it was all her fault. Shame squeezed Wyrena's heart even harder now, and was even more terrible to bear now -- her temporary reprieve had come too late, and now the damage was done. If Wyrena confessed now, she would be kicked out of the Justicars, at best.

Wyrena looked at the new cracks in the wall she was scrubbing and cursed herself softly. Not all of the Justicars who had fallen last night would be coming back, even though the Justicars had more than enough -- if just barely -- to pay a priest to raise them. Some of those who had fallen had made their wishes clear long ago that they desired nothing more than to go to serve Tyr in the afterlife should they fall in battle, and the rest of the Justicars were honor-bound to follow those wishes. To Wyrena, it felt like a terrible waste of talent at a time in which the Justicars would need it most, but she supposed that her own faith might simply be insufficient to find solace in the idea that those who had fallen would be enjoying their richly-deserved rewards.

"Private, a word, if you would." The soft voice startled Wyrena out of her reverie, and she looked up to see one of the lieutenants, a sharp-featured half-elven woman, standing slightly behind her.

Wyrena nodded and put down her cloth, looking up obediently at the lieutenant. "Yes, madam?"

"Before he passed, Sergeant Upton wrote a memo detailing how admirably you stood against the raptorak raiders you met on your caravan duty. We found this note in his personal effects this morning. Additionally, we all saw how well you handled yourself against the orcish legion that assaulted the Tower last night. Had you not come when you did, many more might have fallen."

Wyrena shook her head at the lieutenant's words. An overwhelming guilt threatened to overcome her and force her to shout out the secret -- that it was her fault in the first place. Instead, Wyrena simply demurred, "I don't know what to say, madam. I simply tried to follow my duty."

The lieutenant smiled, replying, "And you did that very well. Far more ably than a simple private could have. So henceforth, you will bear the rank of corporal, and be entitled to all attendant privileges of your new rank. That will be all."

Wyrena lowered her eyes as the lieutenant turned to leave. Didn't the Justicars around here see that she shouldn't be rewarded for anything? She hung her head for a moment, and then returned to the scrubbing of the walls, hoping that perhaps there was some sort of penance in this simple act.

===

Porphyria looked around her with barely-veiled disdain. The city of Sanctuary was an oppressive place; the sort of city that touted itself as safe and orderly, but only achieved the semblance of safety by keeping nooses tightly-wound around everyone's necks. Public executions were distressingly common here, with the bodies being carted off to Kurd in the morgue so that further horrors and indignities could be perpetrated upon those who would tarnish the image of the city through thievery or murder.

A sigh escaped Porphyria's lips as she frowned her disapproval at the slave market when she passed it. Whatever distaste she might feel about staying in such a city, it was at least safe for her for the time being. The mainland of Almeria would likely be too dangerous for the time being, as the Justicars and their agents scoured the cities for Porphyria, seeking their revenge. And it wasn't as if this city was all bad, even despite the ever-present heat and humidity. There were still some small amenities here.

The Discordian safehouse was, like the one in Losthaven, almost conspicuously non-descript, presenting a facade of studied and deliberate squalor to the outside world, while being almost opulent inside. Porphyria knocked on the door, and then entered as no response came. The house had obviously not been used in a couple of months. Good -- the fewer people who knew Porphyria's whereabouts, the better.

Porphyria's eyes adjusted quickly to the inner gloom of the safehouse, and she let slip the small amount of concentration she had dedicated towards editing her presence out of the minds of onlookers. Porphyria looked at her new prize. The Apple of Discord, now masquerading as a ring on Porphyria's finger, promised great things to come. Unfortunately, while bearing the Apple provided Porphyria with increased favor with the forces of Chaos and some protection from Order, it would not protect her completely from the Justicars, and so she would hide away for a time, here in Sanctuary, while the Justicars exhausted their search and retired to their Ivory Tower.

Unlike the interior of the safehouse in Losthaven, this house was entirely mundane. There were no impossible angles or tricks of perspective, only cobwebs and dust. A cupboard full of preserved meats and fruits had been left behind by whoever had used the house in the past, but there was little else in the way of provisions. Porphyria was tired, and decided that she would sleep for the rest of the day, and then go out for something to eat at night.

===

Wyrena collapsed upon the bed in her new quarters. She had finished the arduous task of scrubbing the walls, and they again gleamed white. The corporals' quarters were a welcome relief from the closeness of the privates' chambers, which were little more than open bunk rooms. She would still be sharing a room with someone else -- another corporal -- but Wyrena felt that she now had more privacy than ever before in her life. This was almost the case, as Wyrena had spent nearly her whole life within the confines of the Ivory Tower, sleeping in a common room with a dozen or so other Justicars.

Wyrena stretched out on the bed, examining the small specks of blood she had been unable to remove from under her fingernails. Idly, she wondered how much more blood she would see in her life, and how much more she would be called upon to spill in Tyr's name. Wyrena knew the need for Order and the dangers presented by Chaos, but couldn't help feeling that there was little anyone could do to really tip the scales in the favor of either. Certainly, the influence and nearness of the Justicars had helped to keep the lands of Andala somewhat safe from the forces of Chaos, but then again, this was also a land where raptorak could raid caravans and good people could be lost fighting against some terrible and frightening demon that had invaded their home.

No, Wyrena thought to herself, it is important. People should be able to know what to expect in life. To know that there are rules, and that the universe isn't simply run on idle whim and random occurrences. As she drifted off to sleep, Wyrena could only hope to herself that her convictions were true, and not some idle fantasy.

===

Porphyria walked down the streets in a darkness lit only by the light of a barely-waxing moon. The street lamps were few and far between, almost absent from this run-down portion of the city. Porphyria strolled down the street almost completely alone. Although Sanctuary had no official curfew, few wandered its streets at night, for fear of being either robbed, or being mistaken for a thief by an often over-zealous guard force. Porphyria had passed less than a dozen people by the time she had walked to the spot she had been looking for -- a small tavern from which a strange and disquieting hissing spilled, being almost completely silent otherwise.

As she stepped inside, Porphyria was greeted by almost absolute blackness, and allowed her eyes time to adjust to the interior of the room. Shadowy creatures surrounded nearly half the low tables in the room, their legless lower halves reclining upon cushions on the floor. As Porphyria entered, many of the creatures looked up with suspicion evident in their glowing eyes, and the whispering sounds of their conversations muted slightly as a few more nylocs turned to stare.

Porphyria made her way to a table near the center of the room, and sat down cross-legged on the floor, gingerly folding her wings so that she might accomplish this feat with some measure of grace. Most of the suspicious gazes had left Porphyria, although furtive glances continued, and a more regular level of conversation resumed. A pudgy-looking nyloc came out from behind the counter, gliding gracefully and coming to a hover by Porphyria's left arm.

"Greetings, madam. I am Zerifelxis, your host. Please do not take offense, but are you certain that you are in the right place?" At the tavern-keeper's question, several of the nylocs nearby chuckled their amusement, raising an almost-disquieting hiss.

"Yes. I'm certain. And I'm very hungry, so please bring a bowl of whatever's on special tonight." Porphyria's eyes looked into those of the tavern-keeper, and she could almost feel the Golden Apple working its charms upon him.

The nyloc blinked in momentary confusion, and he responded, "I'm very sorry, madam, for my previous rudeness. Of course, your meal will be on its way immediately, and it will be on the house." The tavern-keeper quickly glided back behind the bar, and Porphyria smiled with satisfaction. She had been able to manipulate the nyloc as effortlessly as breathing, and could feel the glances of the others in the room slowly moving away from suspicion as the Apple worked its charms upon them.

Zerifelxis soon came back with a bowl full of blood, with curds of congealed blood floating in it. To Porphyria's nose, it smelled as wonderful as any other food she had smelled, and she began to think that perhaps being a blood-drinker might not be the worst thing in the world. The soup was hot, and as she bit into one of the congealed lumps, Porphyria savored flavors that non-sanguivores had little conception of and no real description for. The resulting sensations were delightful and heady, and Porphyria had almost eaten half her meal before she paused to regard a small glass canister on the side of her table. She sniffed the container quizzically, and was surprised at the scent of hot chili peppers wafting from inside. Similar canisters stood upon all of the other tables, and Porphyria wondered at that -- wouldn't a sanguivore have difficulty digesting the chili? Then again, others eat all kinds of indigestible things, like corn, Porphyria thought as she sprinkled her soup with a pinch of chili pepper. The spice livened up the dish considerably, making it all the more delicious. Porphyria quickly finished.

Looking around, Porphyria saw that the occasional glances in her direction had changed tone to respect and acceptance, although she could not tell whether the change was because of the Apple, or because she had finished an entire bowl of nyloc cuisine while appearing to enjoy every spoonful. She supposed that really, the reason for the change in demeanor hardly mattered. The tavern-keeper glided back over to her table, and Porphyria smiled pleasantly. It had been a long time since she had had a good meal, and she thanked the nyloc as he cleared her table. Porphyria offered a small silver coin as a tip, but the tavern-keeper waved her off casually saying, "It was a pleasure to serve you, madam. And please, do come back soon."

Porphyria nodded her agreement, and stood back up. As she walked back out the tavern door, Porphyria had the strange experience of being nearly dazzled by the bright light of a nearly moonless night. The interior of the tavern certainly was dark. Full and happy, Porphyria slowly wandered back in the direction of the safehouse, enjoying the dark, peaceful night.

Angels

Found out a few days ago that angels are a playable (at level 200+) race. Almost changed Porphyria's race on the spot, but figured that it'd contrast pretty badly with her basic theme. Still, if there was any race that I've been really wanting to play over the years, this would be it.

Chapter 7 - Apple

It was a little-known fact that the Golden Apple of Eris was neither an apple nor truly golden. In truth, the Apple could easily be said to be the physical embodiment of desire, as its form was completely malleable, and the Apple became what each viewer most craved in the world. As such, the Apple was one of the perfect mediums for creating conflict and discord, the desires of sentient beings being powerful enough to override their own common sense. Throw the Apple into a room, and soon each and every creature who viewed the apple would be battling to possess it.

If only for that one aspect of the Apple, it would perhaps be the most feared artifact in all the world. But in other hands, such as the hands of a skilled xotimancer who was high in the favor of the forces of Chaos, the Apple became a much more fearsome object. Such a person could, at will, force the Apple to become just about any object the person could imagine, whether that item was a sword of unearthly craftsmanship, a beautiful garment, or some other thing. The real power of the Apple in such hands, though, lay in its ability to impart its aura of desirability upon the xotimancer wielding it. Such a person, in possession of the Apple, would find their personal magnetism and their abilities to manipulate the hearts and minds of anyone around them increase beyond imagining. Such a possessor of the Apple could easily become the most favored advisor of a king, the leader of a revolution, or even the goddess of their own religion.

Of course, the Apple could not entirely influence the hearts and minds of all people, and those who were high enough in the favor of order could often see through the glamors of the Apple, as their minds were often too clouded by the desire for perfect order. The Justicars, in particular, were fanatical enough in their devotion to Tyr to be nearly immune to the effects of the Apple, and they had been able to capture the ancient and fearsome artifact from one of its owners, a small-time conman who used the Apple to seduce and murder his victims. But the Justicars could not quickly find a way to destroy the Apple, and so they kept it in their Ivory Tower, researching ways to destroy the implement of Chaos once and for all.

Porphyria caressed the artifact in her hands, entranced by its potential. To her, the Apple showed its true form -- the potential for unbridled power, and Porphyria knew in her heart that that was the thing which she truly craved most of all.

Chapter 6 - Raid

A silvery sphere came into existence in Coelwyn's study, disappearing as quickly as it came and leaving behind a pair of gogtzulu and two invisible figures. Coelwyn leaped to her feet at the sight of the gogztulu, but was quickly laid low as Porphyria, unseen, swung the handle of her flux spear into the back of Coelwyn's neck, rendering her unconscious with a satisfying thud.

"Gogtzulu, guard the door. Kill anything that attempts to enter." Porphyria's order in the alien language of ngaathgl rang harshly against the alabaster walls of the tower, and the two gogtzulu went to stand by the door.

Porphyria quickly searched the prone form of Coelwyn for the artifact she sought. Porphyria longed to put the Justicar to death, as the death of this important figure in the Justicars' organization would no doubt diminish their capacity, but she stayed her hand -- if she could not find the artifact, she might have to take Coelwyn with her and attempt to extract that information forcefully. Nothing was to be found on the body of the Justicar. Porphyria swore under her breath. This would not be as easy as she had hoped, apparently.

"Work fast, agent. I hear someone coming. There must be some sort of ward here to alert the Justicars of intrusion." Even as Lethik spoke the words, Porphyria could hear the footsteps outside the door. As she looked over at the door, it opened, and a trio of armed figures came bursting in, their weapons glowing with the power of Tyr.

"Lethik, now!" Porphyria gave the order, extending her psychic senses so as to perceive the interplays of chance and to see the near future. Porphyria felt a slight feeling of vertigo as her psychic senses opened up to the dim echoes of future possibilities. In her mind, Porphyria could see the possibilities for each moment in time coalesce into a single concrete probability an instant before the moment passed, and she focused her attention slightly beyond that, so as to be able to react to the most likely possibilities even before they arrived. At the same time, Porphyria felt herself gaining an almost instinctual insight into the various unknowable factors which affected her destiny, and how to insert her own actions into any given situation for the best possible outcome.

At the same time, Porphyria created a field of psychokinetic energy around herself to turn aside blows, giving her added protection beyond the impenetrability of her chaos-forged armor. The psionic fields within Porphyria's matrix strained to keep up with the new demands put upon it, but held admirably.

The two gogtzulu had moved to block the way of the three Justicars, even as Lethik raised his ring-hand and pointed at the closest Justicar. A bright bolt of energy came bursting from Lethik's ring, striking its target with a small concussive force and knocking him back. At the same time, ripples of disruptive energy radiated from the Justicar at the point at which he had been struck. Porphyria felt for a moment as if the air had left the room as the local aether became strained to the breaking point and finally snapped. The Justicars' weapons ceased glowing. Porphyria smiled, hoisting her flux spear and subvocalizing its activation word, a faint feeling of glee filling her as the glowing blue blade sprang to life. For the next few moments in this space, the calls of the Justicars upon their god would go unheard, the aether too wounded to carry their pleas to the ears of Tyr.

"This is goodbye then, agent. I look forward to learning whether or not you survive this, as I have a few bets out on the issue." With that, the ringwielder sprang through the wall of the tower and into the night.

The two gogtzulu fell upon the Justicars with vengeance, and Porphyria could see pain cross their faces as the gogtzulu channeled mental energy flux into their minds, all the while attacking with their sharp claws. Satisfied that the gogtzul would be able to handle this wave, Porphyria went back to her search, tossing items around the study carelessly. Porphyria's frantic search turned up little but useless knick-knacks, books, icons of Tyr, and other personal effects of Coelwyn. The ELF agent fumed -- time was running out. Even if the anti-magic field did not give way soon, the army of orcs below could lose their nerve at any moment, sending the bulk of the Justicar defense force up to meet with her.

Soon, the sound of more fighting distracted Porphyria from her search, and she looked towards the door to find six more Justicars fighting against the two gogtzulu, delivering severe wounds to her servants. Although the Justicars could not call upon their god at present, they were still heavily-armed professional soldiers who could take their toll upon the raiders, and they were doing their best to take down the two gogtzulu, scoring several hits upon the two horrendous creatures. Porphyria decided that it was time to get her hands dirty.

As Porphyria strode into the fray, one of the gogtzulu took a mortal wound to its neck, the sword of a Justicar striking nearly clean through and spraying the strange green ichor of the gogtzul onto the wall. Porphyria ducked a mace blow fluidly, sensing it coming. In the next moment, Porphyria used her psionic senses to guide her spear between the Justicar's mace and shield, and caused the Justicar to scream in agony as she jammed her flux spear into the Justicar's chest, disrupting the nerves around his heart and causing him to die in the most incredible pain imaginable. Porphyria found herself exposed to the wild swing of another Justicar's sword, unable to dodge, but she turned the blow aside with her psychokinetic field at the last moment, feeling the force of the blow as a strange pressure somewhere in her mind that was quickly dissipated. Porphyria reversed her flux spear's direction and skewered the Justicar's leg at the kneecap, disabling him.

Although only four Justicars remained, Porphyria could see that her remaining gogtzul would not be enough to aid her, as one of its arms had been disabled and its wounds were causing it to slow down. At the same time, Porphyria was forced to the defensive as three of the four Justicars focused their attention on their invisible foe, and while she was able to ensure that none of their wild strikes landed on her, Porphyria could not focus enough attention on finding an opening. Porphyria felt a sense of urgency, as the Justicars would soon have the upper hand if she didn't find the artifact soon, and get out of there.

Making up her mind that the gogtzul was as good as lost, Porphyria built up her feelings of anger and hostility and in the next moment released them into a burst of psychokinetic energy. The energy radiated in a single solid burst, causing the air to ripple as it was compressed by the wave of explosive force. The stones on the wall near Porphyria cracked slightly but held, while the same could not be said about the four Justicars and the gogtzul, all of which grotesquely twisted as the shockwave hit them and their internal organs and bones ruptured. Blood and ichor leaked from strange places as the five lifeless figures slumped to the ground.

Satisfied that the immediate threat was over, Porphyria went back to her search, looking around for the artifact. The psychic shockwave had not penetrated too far into the study, but it still left a mess of strewn papers and books. Porphyria scanned the study, looking in drawers and stacks of papers for the object. She could almost feel its presence nearby, but there was no true hint of the artifact to be found.

Porphyria was so engrossed in her search that she did not notice the subtle feeling of the local aether repairing itself and bringing the forces of magic back into the small study. It was too late to react when Porphyria heard the chanting of a litany to Tyr behind her and turned to see a Justicar raising his shield to the heavens.

Porphyria felt a brief pang of terror as her psionic senses confirmed what she already knew, and all possibilities converged into one concrete, unavoidable moment which filled Porphyria's future-sense with a blinding certainty, beyond which she could not see. She stood as if frozen in time as the Justicar's shield flashed briefly and burst with silvery light. The next moment, a burst of silvery light engulfed Porphyria, and she felt the eye of Tyr upon herself.

As the silvery wave encompassed her, Porphyria felt incredible pain as her metabolic processes slowed and the entropy was driven from her body. Porphyria could feel many of the molecules of her body attempt to self-organize into crystalline lattices, causing many of her cells to die as they were choked with foreign structures. Nerve impulses slowed and were disrupted, and Porphyria could feel her focus on her barrier of invisibility slip and falter. The flux spear in Porphyria's hands became brittle and shattered under the incredible power of Tyr's judgment upon Porphyria.

The moment of horror passed, leaving Porphyria wounded and battered, but still standing. Porphyria could see several more Justicars rushing towards the study, some of the higher-ranking ones preparing to bring down the wrath of Tyr upon Porphyria again, their shields raised in defiance.

"No. My turn now." The words were only whispered by Porphyria, but she echoed her spoken words with a wave of telepathic energy, startling many of the surrounding horde and causing them to falter in their prayers to Tyr. In the next moment, Porphyria drew a long, black steel dagger from her belt, and threw it to the ground at her feet.

"Lord Kalkin, undefeated in battle, binder of demons, lord of lightning, manifest your indomitable power, I beseech you!" Porphyria's invocation rang out against the walls of the Ivory Tower, and she could feel herself being transfixed by the awesome presence of the god of lightning. The dagger at Porphyria's feet arced with electrical energy and vanished in a bright blue flash, causing a sphere of arcing electricity to form in its place.

The sphere of arcing lightning expanded in an instant, passing through everything in its path. Porphyria was somehow unharmed by the passage of the awesome power, but the Justicars bore the brunt of a fearsome electrical shock, several of them being knocked from their feet, others simply collapsing in place. The awful smell of smoldering hair and flesh filled the air of the small study quickly, emanating from the mass of figures now lying prone on the scorched ground around Porphyria.

Once she ascertained that there were no further threats from the Justicars near her, Porphyria returned to her search for the artifact, engaging her astral senses so as to hopefully gain some glimmer of the artifact's presence. The whole area of the study was encompassed by blinding silvery light in Porphyria's eyes, revealing the astral imprint of the vile consecrations to Tyr. But at the same time, the monochrome silvery pallet of the tower's astral presence gave stark relief to the glimmer of shifting chaos that presented itself from the crack in a small wooden box, heretofore unnoticed in the corner, and likely blown there by the incredible forces that had been unleashed.

Porphyria sprang upon the box, grabbing it from amongst the rubble and checking to see if it contained the artifact she sought. Inside, she could see through her astral sight the most powerful of chaotic emanations, and so satisfied, she made herself ready to make her escape, affixing in her mind an image of her dwelling in the mountains of Korindim. As she began to recite the invocation to Yog-Sothoth that would deliver her from the Ivory Tower, Porphyria saw a familiar face -- a young elven Justicar who had just reached the top of the stairs outside the door, her gaze falling upon Porphyria a moment before the ELF agent vanished into the silvery form of Yog-Sothoth. Poprhyria smiled at the look of horror upon the Justicar's face as once again, the world around Porphyria erupted into a confusing flurry of concepts.

Chapter 5, Part 3 - Army

The night of the new moon had come only a few hours before, heralded by a brilliant orange sunset. Porphyria looked over at Lethik Nardan, who she had met in Corna the previous night, and was now accompanying at the head of a small army of orcs on the road from Corna to the Ivory Tower. The two gogtzulu that Porphyria had summoned back in Halfmoon Bay flew overhead, scouting the surrounding area for allies of the Justicars, but found little opposition. Hours before, the gogtzulu had intercepted a lone man on a horse, but it had turned out to be a false alarm, although that fact had not been discovered until after the gogtzulu had nearly lobotomized him.

Lethik Nardan had provided about 90 orcs as soldiers -- he had dominated the leaders and key figures from two different mid-sized tribes from the area, and the rest of the orcs had followed their leaders willingly, if a bit dubiously. Porphyria had some concerns about how long the orcs' resolve would last once battle was joined, but was generally impressed at the ringwielder's ability to raise an army on such short notice. With luck, the orcs would be barely needed, anyhow.

Lethik signaled a stop. "The tower is in sight," he said, pointing to the west, where a tall white tower could be seen rising from the grassland, "if we move too much closer, we'll be in danger of giving away the element of surprise."

"Very well then," Porphyria said, "we'll make our final preparations from here, and order the assault."

Lethik turned to Porphyria expectantly, stating, "You never have said how you expect us to make it in and out of the tower alive. Nor have I heard from you what you expect of me."

Porphyria smirked slightly. "I suppose it's finally time for me to give up another part of my plan, although the extent of your involvement is minimal. Once we order the orcs to charge, and the Justicars are fully engaged, we will teleport into the Tower with the two gogtzulu, both of us invisible. Your job is simply to wait for my signal and activate a single rune from your ring there, then return to oversee the orcs, exiting by floating through the walls."

"Oh? And which rune would you pay such a fortune to have this one use of?" Lethik asked the question with a measure of disbelief -- he knew that the ELF agent was most likely insane, but hadn't before realized that her insanity extended to believing herself invincible.

"Domwrelin."

Lethik considered for a moment before responding, "That'll buy you a small chance, but it's still going to be you and a couple of gogtzulu up there against a good number of armed Justicars, even if most of the Justicars will be preoccupied with their front door. You're not going to make it."

Porphyria's eyebrows raised, and she said, "Oh? Are you worried about me, ringwielder? I hadn't realized that we had grown so close in our short acquaintance."

Lethik chuckled, "I just value my customers, especially the ones who have more money than sense. But I suppose it's your life to piss away. Although I'd suggest you wear a little more armor than that, if you're at least intent on giving the Justicars a good fight." Lethik pointed at Porphyria's garb -- a simple peasant skirt and blouse, painfully not suited for protection.

"Yes, I suppose I should change, since we're almost ready to go." Porphyria pulled out of her sporran of holding a parageos and xyrikallix. Porphyria was changed quickly, and the chaos-forged armor fit her perfectly, covering her from head to toe in color-shifting metal.

"Order the charge, Lethik." Porphyria's voice displayed a hint of excitement as she gave the instruction. The orc leaders responded to Lethik's instructions, rallying their forces into a charge to the Ivory Tower. Porphyria watched as the horde reached the front gate and began battering the wood of the door with a ram. Porphyria gave a mental command to the gogtzulu overhead, who landed beside her.

"We're going in. Get ready," Porphyria whispered, affixing in her mind the image of the place she wanted to go, Coelwyn's study inside the Ivory Tower. She had only ever seen it through a scrying apparatus, and hoped that the image in her mind would be enough. In the distance, Porphyria could see the front gate of the Ivory Tower fall, revealing an army of Justicars waiting just beyond. Lethik turned invisible next to Porphyria and she followed suit. The gogtzulus' tentacles writhed in anticipation. It was time to go.

"Ia Yog-Sothoth! O Keeper of the Gate who art the Gate, O Keeper of the Key who art the Key, who walks between worlds and across centuries, I call upon thee to deliver me forth from this place!"

As the silvery sphere of Yog-Sothoth's manifest form enveloped Porphyria, she could feel the strange, disinterested intelligence of the lloigor exact its toll for transit upon her psychic energy, taking along with it the image of the place she prayed she ended up. The next moment was darkness, before the world exploded in a series of concepts and images.

Chapter 5, Part 2 - Jhan

Wyrena sighed with relief as the wound on her leg closed and the dull ache went away. The cleric of Ilsidahur who was tending to Wyrena's wounds looked up, and asked, "Does that feel better now?"

Wyrena nodded, responding, "It does. I can't even feel any more pain."

The cleric nodded. "I am going to give you a prophylaxis as a precaution against infection, but you shouldn't have any more troubles with that wound."

Wyrena nodded and stood up, her leg giving no indication of having had a deep wound just moments before. "Thank you, sir. May Tyr's blessings be on you."

The cleric smiled genuinely and escorted Wyrena to the door. Wyrena waved and walked back out into the courtyard of Jhan, watching somberly as the body of one of the slain caravaneers was carried into the cleric's abode. The sergeant in charge of Wyrena's unit had offered to pay for those who had been killed by the raptorak to be raised from the dead, although it left precious little left to show for their work escorting the caravan. Wyrena felt partly responsible for her failure to do more to protect those who had died at the hands of the raptorak, and was glad to know that they would soon be back in the land of the living.

Walking slowly, Wyrena meandered across the courtyard to the north, stopping once she got to the entrance of Tyr's chapel. Wyrena walked in, and took a seat on one of the benches near the back, giving a prayer of thanks to Tyr for her earlier epiphany and the strength to own up to her shortcomings and warn the Justicars of what Porphyria now knew because of her. Wyrena felt a brief feeling of peace wash over her, although she could not tell whether it came from herself, or some outside source. Perhaps it was all the same.

After finishing her prayers, Wyrena stood up and left the chapel, going back to the courtyard to rest against the fountain at the center and to await the arrival of the rest of her party. Wyrena waited somewhat impatiently, as it was getting late, and although the trip from Jhan to the Ivory Tower would likely take no more than a few hours, she would prefer to get there sometime before midnight.

The courtyard was filled with the citizens of the citadel of Jhan, most of whom appeared simply to be milling about and talking with friends and acquaintances. Wyrena looked around for people she knew, spotting several who she had previously met while serving garrison duties, but nobody who she really felt the need to go up and talk to.

"Lost in thought, Private?" The familiar voice of the sergeant came from behind her, and Wyrena turned around, saluting her commanding officer.

"I was just thinking that it was getting late, Sergeant, and I'm eager to get back home." Wyrena said.

The sergeant nodded, replying, "We will be going fairly soon. The rest of the unit is just getting some food. I'm surprised you aren't getting dinner, actually."

"I'm really not hungry, Sergeant."

"I can understand that, I suppose, although I always find that a good fight makes me hungrier, not less hungry." The sergeant responded, "I just hope you're not uneasy over what we did out there today."

"No, Sergeant." Wyrena quickly said, "I know that we have the duty to destroy chaos wherever we find it. I just have a lot on my mind at present."

The sergeant looked as if he were going to ask what Wyrena had on her mind, but seemed to think better of it, and instead simply patted her on the shoulder, saying, "Well then, I hope you can find some peace on the ride back home."

"Thank you, Sergeant." Wyrena replied, saluting again as the sergeant wandered back to the restaurant where the rest of the Justicars in his unit were eating. Soon, the whole unit was gathered by the fountain, and made ready to ride back to the Ivory Tower. Wyrena looked up at the sky, and saw that the sun had already set. It would be past midnight before they could make it back home.

Armour gleaming in the torchlight, the small unit of Justicars mounted their horses and made their way out of the gates of Jhan, heading down the road to the Ivory Tower. It was not long before the quiet of the long ride made Wyrena forget the thoughts that had been troubling her.

Chapter 5, Part 1 - Caravan

Caravan duty was boring, long, and awful. Wyrena looked up at the clear blue sky, aching for some relief from the hot weather and plentiful amounts of road dust that had accumulated on her aching body and her equipment. Not a cloud was in sight, and while her lexoth-enhanced steel armor was not nearly as heavy or as hot as plain steel, Wyrena almost found herself cursing it. Again, Wyrena questioned the need for the Justicars to take on such menial-seeming assignments as caravan duty. The Officers had assured her that the tithes paid by the caravaneers for the protection of Tyr's elite kept the Justicars in food and equipment, and that the protection of the lawful from the forces of disorder was the sacred duty of every follower of Tyr, but Wyrena saw little distinction between serving as a caravan guard in the service of Tyr and being just a common mercenary. Plus, it had been months since the last caravan attack on the road between Corna and Jhan, and this tour was little different -- the fortress-city of Jhan was well within eyesight, and there would likely be no trouble before the caravan reached the gates just after noon.

Wyrena's recent torment at the hands of the ELF operative Porphyria had left her with nagging doubts. She knew that she should warn her superiors of the information Porphyria had because of her, but she just couldn't bring herself to cope with what she saw as her failure to live up to the ideals of her holy Order. And besides, she considered, it had been over two weeks since she had cracked under the unbearable pressure of that demonic ELF agent -- perhaps nothing would come of it, after all. After all, as far as Wyrena knew, the artifact was secure in Coelwyn's possession, and would soon be destroyed by the incalculable fury and justice of Tyr.

The horse beneath Wyrena shuffled uneasily in its gait, and Wyrena scanned the horizon, looking for signs of trouble. She was thinking that perhaps the horse was just getting impatient for the comforts of its stable back at the Ivory Tower when she spotted the glint of metal off amongst the tall grasses which surrounded the well-worn road.

"Sergeant!" Wyrena shouted, pointing to where she had seen the ominous reflection of sunlight. The sergeant turned to look, squinting against the sunlight to where Wyrena pointed. After a moment, he pulled out a brass spyglass and put it up to his eye.

"Raptorak!" the sergeant spat, calling out to the head of the caravan, "Make ready, all, a party of raptorak approach from the northeast!"

The alacrity with which the half-dozen Justicars assembled themselves into ranks bespoke lifetimes of military discipline. The sergeant-in-command ordered the Justicars to ready their weapons and shields as the horses strained against their reins in anticipation of the coming fight.

"Private Wyrena, stay behind and guard the caravan." the sergeant ordered before calling a charge against swiftly-closing raptorak. The five Justicars spurred their horses into action while Wyrena stayed behind, anticipating the swift destruction of the raptorak menace at the hands of the faithful of Tyr -- raptoraks were fierce combatants that would not go down easily, but the numbers seemed fairly even, and the Justicars had a good record in fighting these occasional pests.

Wyrena snapped out of her reverie as she heard one of the wagon drivers scream in pain. She looked at the source of the cry and found that the man had been impaled by a wickedly-barbed spear. Before she could react, a dozen or so raptorak burst from their hiding places in the long grasses alongside the road, and were on the caravan in the blink of an eye.

Wyrena's sword, blessed with the power of Tyr, glowed with energy as she spurred her horse towards the closest raptorak raider. The sword flashed breifly, shooting a bolt of ordered energy into the raptorak and sending it staggering before Wyrena brought her sword down at the junction of its neck and shoulder, opening a deep gash from which the creature bled profusely. Even though it was clearly well past dying, the lizard-creature continued to thrash about dangerously, its spiked tail whipping about in its death throes and hitting one of the nearby draft horses. Wyrena dodged the flailing raptorak and focused her attention on the rest of the raiders, who were now falling upon the caravan with ferocity.

Wyrena saw the closest raptorak spit a glob of viscous green poison into the face of a wagon-driver, whose look of surprise quickly contorted into a grimace of pain and horror before he was put out of his misery by the raptorak's spear. Wyrena spurred her horse towards the raider, again sinking her blade into raptorak flesh and side-stepping the horrific thrashing of the dying beast. Elsewhere in the caravan, the party of twenty or so men were taking losses, felled by the raptoraks' venom or their spears. Although the untrained caravaneers were attempting to muster some defense, pulling old and largely unused steel swords from their hiding places in the wagons, the caravaneers were obviously fighting a losing battle.

Wyrena looked to where the rest of the Justicars were in the midst of fighting six raptoraks in the distance, and yelled out her need for help from her companions. Suddenly, Wyrena felt dull pain at her side as a raptorak spear crashed into her armor but fortunately failed to penetrate. The next spear found its way into the flank of her lightly-armored horse, which reared up and threw her to the ground despite her attempts to hold on.

Wyrena's unkind contact with the ground forced the breath from her body and sent her sword flying into the grasses. Although Wyrena was dazed, she quickly rolled to her knees, drawing a dagger from her belt as she deflected another blow with her blessed shield. The raptorak had apparently decided that Wyrena held the greatest immediate threat for them, and were now attacking en masse. Wyrena staggered to her feet and deflected blows from the raptoraks' spears with her shield as she looked for an opening to get inside their reach and use her dagger. A gob of raptorak venom splattered against Wyrena's helmet, narrowly missing her exposed eyes, and Wyrena prayed to Tyr for strength as she deflected the raptorak's spear thrust and bashed her shield up under its protruding snout, thrusting her dagger into the raptorak's now-exposed neck. The blade glowed fiercely, as if with anger, as Wyrena pulled it back out of the raptorak flesh, and Wyrena smiled grimly as she felt the blood of this chaotic creature splash against her gauntlets -- today, Tyr's will was being done.

Only a moment later, Wyrena felt her feet go out from under her as another raptorak's tail slammed against the backs of her knees. Again, she felt the ground against her back, and only seconds later felt a spear blade penetrate the armor protecting her upper leg and sink deep into her thigh. Wyrena screamed in agony as the barbed blade was ripped out of her flesh. Nine raptorak remained alive, and although Wyrena had great faith in both Tyr and her own fighting ability, she knew that she would not be able to survive alone for much longer against such a force.

Wyrena parried spear blows, using both shield and dagger as she struggled to regain her feet, but her wounded left leg would not support her weight, and she looked around her for some kind of hope, smiling grimly as she saw the four remaining justicars from her party galloping at full speed back towards her position. Wyrena threw herself to the ground just as the four horses jumped over her now-prone form and crashed into the remaining raptorak, the silvery weapons of the Jusicars swinging with great force and leaving two raptorak in their death throes.

The return of the Justicars caused the usually-fearless raptorak to break morale, and another of the lizard creatures was struck down by the sergeant-in-command as it turned to run away. Quuickly, Wyrena threw her blessed dagger with all her might at the closest raptorak to her, and saw it enter the creature's flesh with a satisfying thud. Four of the five remaining raptorak were quickly surrounded by the Justicars, while the fifth dove into the tall grass and ran.

The four raptorak wielded their spears with fierce determination, knowing that the Justicars would show no mercy -- death was the penalty for their crimes, and the raptorak obviously preferred to go out fighting. The sergeant looked at the four with barely-veiled disgust and raised his shield to the skies, incanting an ancient and deadly prayer to Tyr.

The sergeant's shield glinted once in the sunlight, and erupted with a blinding silver light as it served as a channel for Tyr's awful judgment against the sinful. The bodies of the four raptorak were seemingly consumed, transformed by the unbearable, silvery light into structures of pure order before vanishing. The wave of silvery light passed over and through Wyrena, and she could feel herself being scrutinized inside and out by an awesome force which sought out and weighed her flaws against her assets, and Wyrena felt terrible awe which turned into relief as she was found worthy and passed over, unharmed. Wyrena felt herself weeping at the experience, knowing that while she had been found worthy of Tyr's mercy, she had yet to atone for her horrible transgressions. Wyrena made up her mind to inform her superiors immediately upon her return to the Ivory Tower.

Wyrena felt the cool gaze of the sergeant looking down on her, and felt his hand upon her leg, wincing as the sergeant inspected her wound. "Don't worry about the tears, private. That affects all of us the same way the first few times we feel it." the sergeant said with understanding, "It looks like you did okay out here. You might just make corporal for this. Now, let's get to Jhan and get this wound treated."

Looking up, Wyrena saw the stern but kind face of the sergeant, his brown eyes glinting with the remnants of the awesome power he had channeled moments earlier. "What of Private Ambrose? I didn't see him make the charge with the rest of you." Wyrena asked, hesitantly.

"Oh, he's fine. He lost his horse, like you, and I think he may have broken his arm. Nothing at all to worry about. Unfortunately, not all of our caravan survived."

Wyrena nodded, feeling relief that her companions were all still alive and safe. As she allowed herself to be lifted up and seated in one of the wagons, atop a bag of grain, Wyrena felt confident that everything would be just fine.

Chapter 4, part 3 - Star-spawn.

Halfmoon Bay was a city situated on the coast of Korindim, and had a reputation as a haven for thieves, pirates, and libertines of all nature. The city's inhabitants prided themselves on having little respect for those who would stifle the anarchic bustle of the city with useless things like rules. What laws were enforced in the city were generally confined to small oases of seeming peacefulness amongst the roiling torrent of chaos, and were never cheaply enforced, paid in either bribes or wages to some strongman in order to ensure that the purchaser of such services would remain unmolested. Several private mercenary companies provided security services for whoever could afford them, and most were not known to outright rob their clients, so long as their exorbitant fees were paid on time.

Down by the docks, several taverns stood which were rumored to have trapdoors under their tables, and tunnels to the nearby docks where many a ship captain would pay a pretty penny for another deck-hand for the long and treacherous trip to Mordo or other exotic ports. It was in the cellar of one of these taverns where Porphyria had just finished paying the associate of Lethik Nardan far more dekans of precious orichalcum than most people would ever see in a lifetime. She ignored the muffled groans coming from the handful of humanoids of various description who were sleeping off the effects of the knock-out drugs they had unknowingly ingested with their watered-down grog the previous night.

"Can I interest you in one of last night's catch, lady?" The voice which spoke belonged to Lethik's associate -- a rancid-smelling little man whose name Porphyria had already forgotten. "We've even got an ogre, if that's your fancy."

Porphyria looked around at the prone figures in their cages. Most were likely bound for service on one of the ships moored by the docks. The Discordian church generally frowned on the practice of slavery, and for a moment, Porphyria considered forcing the issue of their release. However, she dismissed the idea -- if the little man told Lethik that Porphyria had sabotaged his operation, there might be trouble with the plan. She answered, "What possible use would I have for an ogre?"

"What you do with 'em once they leave my cellar is none of my business, m'lady." The man nudged Porphyria with his elbow, winking. "Anyhow, I can see you're not that interested. Your loss, I suppose."

Porphyria nodded, saying, "I assume our business here is concluded then. Please let Lethik know that his price has been paid, and that our plan will not be delayed."

"Oh, I will," the man promised, "thank you for your patronage." He then chuckled and swatted Porphyria on the bottom as she made her way up the narrow staircase back into the tavern. To herself, Porphyria considered the possibilities for something bad to happen to this little man and his business after the mission with Lethik had been concluded, and was satisfied in her knowledge that those possibilities were nearly endless.

After bidding the stale air of the tavern a quick farewell, Porphyria stepped back into the streets of Halfmoon Bay, enjoying the smell of the ocean breezes which rolled off the harbor and pushed back against the stench that inhabited so much of the rest of the town. Porphyria paused by a small dockside shrine to Eris in order to offer a small gold trinket she had obtained earlier in the day, and was pleased to see the item vanish as it touched the altar. A moment later, a small brown rat appeared in an incandescent sparkle. The rat nuzzled up against Porphyria's ankle as she glanced down at it, wondering whether the rat portended something, or was merely a return gift from the Goddess. Porphyria shrugged, guessing that the rat was merely a display of her Goddess's sense of humor, and she shooed the rat away, stopping to watch as it ran aboard a boat with Dethek runes on the side that proclaimed the ship's name to be the Gilded Hammer.

Although her personal aura of darkness shielded her sensitive eyes somewhat from the glare of the overhead sun, Porphyria's eyes were still dazzled by sunlight reflecting from the waves as she reached the end of one of Halfmoon Bay's many docks. Reaching into a pouch at her side, Porphyria extracted a small black gemstone, releasing it into the air and sighing in comfort as the darkness around her deepened significantly. Porphyria scanned the calm waters of the harbor, seeing a spot in a shadowed cove where no ships or other watercraft were present, and she spread her wings and launched herself into the air, heading towards the secluded spot. As she neared her destination, Porphyria applied her psychokinetic facilities towards lifting her body, allowing her to come to a hover above the water without disturbing its placid surface. She felt the containment field of the psionic matrix she had bought the night before begin to slowly drain, sparing her the small effort of maintaining levitation.

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wagn'nagl fhtagn!" Porphyria's words, spoken in the strange language of Ngaathgl, echoed through the cove and seemed to fill the air with a shimmering presence that lingered for a moment, and then dispersed. Porphyria felt as if an alien force were suddenly tugging on her spirit, and felt it siphon off power to fulfill the needs of her invocation. Soon, Porphyria saw two forms swimming under the water towards her, and she smiled as the pair of gogtzulu burst from the water beneath her feet and spread bat-like wings, coming to hover beside her.

Porphyria disliked involving the gogtzulu in her plan, but of all the monstrous and wonderful creatures afforded to the ELF by the pantheon of strange beings they invoked, there were none that were more suited to the task at hand. The problem was that the gogtzulu shared a collective consciousness that was dominated by Great Cthulhu, and Porphyria was uneasy with letting That Being know of her plans or her actions.

The two hideous creatures writhed the tentacles in seeming anticipation. Porphyria felt one of the gogtzulu attempt to establish a telepathic contact with her, but the attempt failed as it reached her formidable psychic defenses. The gogtzulu were typically speechless, not often deigning to communicate with those of other races, but universally understood the Ngaathgl language, and would follow her orders so long as Great Cthulhu willed it.

"Come," Porphyria ordered in Ngaathgl a moment before rising further into the air and turning inland. The land of Korindim stretched for as far as her eyes could see, and beyond, on the other side of the continent to the west, lay Andala and the city of Corna.

Chapter 4, part 2 - Matrix

The streets of Losthaven were still bustling when Porphyria landed, even though it was well past midnight, and the morning twilight was only a few hours away. Such was normal for the city, as the nocturnal inhabitants took over their shift from those who preferred the daytime. Porphyria drifted through the bustle of the streets invisibly, manifesting only as a deepening of shadows that the populace subconsciously avoided.

Up ahead, Porphyria spotted a small open stall amongst the storefronts. The stall was manned by a middle-aged svirfneblin man who sat, slowly polishing his wares -- an assortment of flux weapon handles interspersed with perfectly-formed quartz crystals of various colors. This was the place she was looking for, and Porphyria dropped her psychic veil of invisibility before walking up to the front of the stall.

The svirfneblin looked up from his busy work as his customer approached, his deep blue, pupil-less eyes scanning Porphyria's face before he nodded slightly and continued his work. "Whatcha come here lookin' for?" the shopkeeper asked, seemingly disinterested.

"I need a psionic matrix. One of your best, and preferably violet." Porphyria scanned the rows of weapon handles as she awaited the shopkeeper's response. Her attention was quickly drawn to a quartz crystal that the shopkeeper had selected from amongst the others, and now held in his hand, appraisingly. The psionic matrix was an intense amethyst color and apparently flawless.

"This is the best violet one I've made in a long time," the shopkeeper mused, "it's easily worth ten thousand gold."

Porphyria chuckled aloud, "I think you're mistaking me for someone with more money than sense, friend. I've gotten matrices of that quality for less than one percent of that price."

The shopkeeper snorted derisively, "Sure, from people who don't know the value of what they have. If you want to go hunting around rummage sales and pawn shops for some undiscovered treasure, be my guest. But I know quality, and here you pay for quality."

The shopkeeper had a point -- merchants who had little knowledge of the wares in their shops often sold psionic matrices as if they were mere crystals of quartz. On more than one occasion, Porphyria had needed to pry off a pewter dragon or unicorn that had been ignorantly glued to a psionic matrix by someone who thought that they were thus enhancing the value of the ware they were selling. Porphyria shuddered to think of the powerful matrices that had been blithely destroyed, or eaten by lothari.

"I will give you five coruscars, each easily worth a thousand gold," Porphyria haggled, flashing the shopkeeper a disarming smile and producing the otherworldly gems for inspection.

"At least you're not attempting to insult my intelligence or my skill at my craft," the svifrneblin said as he inspected the quality of the coruscars, "but your price is still too low. I will need at least three more of these gems in order for us to have a deal."

"One" Porphyria offered, "and I will take that flux spear from you at its asking price." Porphyria pointed to a shaft of steel standing behind the shopkeeper.

"The asking price for that particular specimen of my work is two thousand gold," the shopkeeper said, "bringing your total up to eight of these gems."

Porphyria produced the svirfneblin's price -- it was a bit steep, but she could tell that the items were worth it. She took her purchases and walked a short distance to a residential street, where the crowds of the market quarter were absent.

First, Porphyria tested the flux spear, smiling as a glowing blue blade of light emanated from the steel haft. Porphryia felt the spear drawing slightly from her psychic facilities to maintain the coherence of its blade, and she gleefully provided it with the power it required. The weapon would be a good addition to her arsenal, and would soon find action against the Justicars.

Finally, Porphyria let the blade of her spear go dark, turning her attention to the unassuming violet crystal in her hand. Carefully, since from time to time the elemental intelligences of particularly powerful matrices manifested themselves with a quarrelsome and sadistic bent, Porphyria probed the psychic fields contained within the crystal. As the fields within the crystal responded to her probe, Porphyria could sense a muted and submissive intelligence within, barely more than a faint whisper in the background of her mind. "Good," Porphyria thought, "one that doesn't talk back. I will have to come back to that shop for my next one."

It took only several brief moments before Porphyria felt the fields of psychic energy within the matrix attune themselves to her psionic facilities. She focused on filling the matrix with energy and the color of the crystal became more intensely violet as psychic energy filled it up for later use.

As if coming out of a dream, Porphyria stirred herself from the bonding process, knowing that the matrix was ready to serve her. Soon, she would put it to good use.

Chapter 4, Part 1 - Lethik Nardan

Lethik Nardan tapped his ring impatiently on the hilt of his sheathed dagger. The cunning little rat of a being, Cynlew, had promised to give Lethik the location of the hiding place of a Frater Ignis Aeternis who Lethik had been hired to kill. In exchange, Lethik would come out to this forsaken prairie in the middle of Cimbra in order to meet with Porphyria -- a being who Lethik knew only by reputation. Lethik wondered what the ELF Guerilla could possibly want from him, and half expected a trap -- members of the Discordian priesthood had found themselves on the wrong end of his blade in the past, and perhaps someone had finally decided to settle the score.

The moon was barely out, and the ringwielder's shadowy form would have been all but invisible in the darkness, if not for the two glowing red points of light that stood in place of his eyes. Lethik made it a point to disguise his true form when there were others around to see it, but the lands about him were deserted; the closest intelligent being was probably a league or two away, and Lethik felt like conserving his energy.

After the passage of another few minutes, Lethik noticed a light moving across the sky, seeming to grow larger as it moved towards him. Soon, the light was close enough that Lethik could discern a golden-winged figure at its center, glowing brightly. This must be Porphyria -- Lethik was both relieved that she had come for the meeting in a highly-visible manner and slightly unnerved by the confidence such a gesture portended. Lethik kept his gaze on Porphyria as she slowly circled the area and finally came to ground in a graceful landing. She appeared unarmed and unarmored, dressed in garments of cloth that shifted color through the spectrum. Lethik let down his guard slightly, taking his hand away from the dagger at his side -- Porphyria appeared to be here to talk rather than to fight.

"Lethik Nardan?" Porphyria asked, her voice betraying a small amount of apprehension. This was good, Lethik thought, it meant that she knew and respected his reputation.

"I am. And judging from your appearance, you must be Porphyria. I hope whatever job you have for me is worth my traveling out here in order to meet with you."

Porphyria nodded, responding, "I think you'll find this job quite entertaining. I want you to help me with an assault on the Justicars' Ivory Tower."

Lethik snorted in derision, "You've obviously heard some of the more inflated stories about me... I may be good, but I don't think anyone is good enough to attack that place and live to tell the tale -- at least, not without the support of an army. Thank you for wasting my time."

"I think you overestimate the obstacles in our path, but I can assure you -- the object here is only the acquisition of an item that is being held by the Justicars, and I only need your assistance for a very small portion of this plan. If all goes well, you can be in and out in a matter of seconds -- before more than a handful of Tyr's faithful can respond to our presence."

Porphyria waited for Lethik to make up his mind -- if he could not be convinced to join in her plan, there might be others who would be acceptable substitutes, but none she knew of would have the same set of skills and powers. Finally, Lethik nodded slowly and whispered, "I think you're insane, and you're probably going to die a horrible death doing this, but then again, anything other than my own hide is your concern."

Porphyria nodded, relief showing on her face. "I'm glad you're willing to entertain my madness then," she chuckled, "now, about your payment."

"I want one hundred dekans of orichalcum. After all, since you're looking to commit suicide, you'll not be needing it" Lethik stated, adding, "and my price is non-negotiable... take it or leave it."

Porphyria whistled slightly under her breath. Lethik's asking price would not completely bankrupt her, but it would come close. Again, she considered alternatives to Lethik's involvement, but knew that any further delay would only complicate things, as the Justicars might have time to figure out what to do with the artifact she intended to steal.

"You will have your price. Where would you like it paid?"

"I have an associate in Halfmoon Bay who will take payment for me," Lethik said, handing Porphyria a small slip of parchment, "here are his name and address. And since I really don't trust you to survive this, I will be requiring all payment be made up-front."

Porphyria smiled wryly. "You should have your payment in a couple of days. You will meet me on the night before the new moon in Corna, and we will make our attack the next night." Porphyria thought for a moment before adding, "And if you could bring along some expendable troops, it would be worth an additional ten dekans of orichalcum to me."

"I will make sure to bring along some friends then," Lethik chuckled, "Just be sure that your payment is made in a timely fashion, and my services are yours."

A small flare of almost-imperceptible light came from the ring on Lethik's finger, and seconds later, a shadowy black figure came swooping from the sky. Lethik mounted the rhug shi, and it flapped its bat-like wings once before leaping into the sky. "I will see you in Corna, then," Lethik shouted from the back of his mount, now visible only as a dark shadow that blotted out the stars as it passed through the night sky.

Porphyria brushed the dust that had been stirred up by the rhug shi's wings from one leg of her pants. The ringwielder would be more than worth his price, assuming her plan was successful. Porphyria recited an invocation to Nuit, goddess of night, and was instantly engulfed in comforting darkness once again as the glow faded from her body. Mentally, Porphyria reviewed the list of things she had yet to prepare before her plan would be ready -- it was a short list, but the night she was to meet Lethik in Corna was only a few days away, and Porphyria would need all that time to get fully prepared. Taking wing, Porphyria flew back in the direction of Losthaven, quietly singing a hynm to Eris.

Chapter 3 - Interlude at Lost Lamb

The Lost Lamb Tavern was one of Losthaven's most recognized landmarks amongst a certain set of people. Mercenaries, fortune-seekers, brigands, and all other types of wanderers found a home away from home in the Lost Lamb. The tavern itself was marked by the black iron silhouette of a lamb which swung above the entrance, and at all hours the open door welcomed the custom of its often-dingy clientele.

Despite its reputation as a place frequented by people who, as often as not, saw profit more than pain in engaging in the violent arts, the Lost Lamb was a surprisingly-peaceful place. It was widely known that Aildrek, the shrewd half-elven owner of the Lost Lamb, offered free drinks both to members of the Losthaven Guard and the Thieves' Guild, gaining the tavern the patronage and protection of both groups. The Lost Lamb was also host to quite a few regular patrons who had fought against (or were) dragons and denizens of other planes and lived to return for happy hour, and none of these patrons were particularly adverse to handling bar fights with decisive violence.

It was just before midday when Porphyria strolled into the Lost Lamb and was greeted by the sight of a mostly-empty bar. The serious drunkards had mostly gone by this hour to nap away the various intoxicants they had imbibed for breakfast, and they had yet to be replaced in their positions on the well-worn stools by the lunchtime drunks. A handful of various shady types peppered the stools which were arranged around the tables -- Porphyria noted a pair of Orc men playing cards at one of the tables near the center, an old, red-headed gnome woman nodding off on a stool against a bar, and a yeti of indeterminate gender in red wizard's robes apparently trading shots with Hank the Garbage Dwarf. Without ceremony, Porphyria took a seat at a table near the center of the room, with her back to the open door.

The interior of the tavern darkened noticeably upon the entrance of Porphyria, whose personal aura of darkness muted the sunlight streaming in through the doorway. The darkness caused the two orcs playing cards to glare over in Porphyria's direction. Quickly, Porphyria reached into a pouch at her belt and released a small black stone which hovered in the air for a second before beginning to orbit around her head in an erratic pattern. The aura of darkness surrounding Porphyria quickly abated.

As she was about to call Aildrek over to bring her a drink, Porphyria was surprised by the entrance from the room behind the bar of a young-looking, blonde-haired human woman who strode up to Porphyria's table and asked, "Is there anything I can get ya, hon?"

Aildrek had for years worked alone at the Lost Lamb, day and night, rarely closing except for riot, flood, or other disaster. Porphyria had once heard that Aildrek had not slept for over ten years, and that he had employed the help of a mage to craft a magical device which allowed him to maintain his constant state of wakefulness. Whatever the case, nobody had seen Aildrek sleep or leave his tavern in living memory, and so the appearance of this new person, apparently a waitress of some sort, disrupted the natural order of the Lost Lamb in Porphyria's mind for a moment, and she hesitated slightly before she answered, "deep dragon's blood, if you please," and handed a few coins to the barmaid.

The serving girl nodded and went behind the bar, shoving aside Aildrek (who was reading a newspaper) non-ceremoniously before grabbing a clay bottle from the shelf behind him and pouring a glass of deep-red liquid, which she set down on Porphyria's table. "Anything else I can do for you?" the barmaid asked, peering down at the strange winged woman.

The barmaid barely waited for Porphyria to shake her head slightly before going back behind the bar and taking up a station next to Aildrek. Porphyria sipped her strong liquor carefully, thinking that at least the new help was efficient and poured large shots.

A handful of hours passed while Porphyria sat at her table and sipped her drink, replenishing each shot with a new one as it was consumed. The card-playing orcs had wrapped up their game and moved on and the yeti mage had been shown the door after vomiting profusely on the sawdust-covered floor. The setting in of evening brought with it a livelier crowd, and Porphyria soon found herself engrossed in conversation with an old acquaintance named Galrick, a quessae cleric who had once helped patch Porphyria up after a particularly nasty run-in with a bezhuldaar.

The relative peacefulness of the now-lively tavern was suddenly shattered by the sound of breaking glass, and a high, shrill voice screamed, "Goddamnit, no! I keep telling assholes like you -- I'm not looking for adventure of any kind! I don't know any fucking rumors about dragons or gold or whatever shoggoth-buggerers like you jerk off to in lonely hours! I'm not the heiress to some forgotten kingdom! I'm just working here to fucking put myself through school, and I'd appreciate it if you would shut the fuck up!" The source of the voice was the new barmaid, who was holding a broken bottle to the throat of a rather surprised-looking man at the bar. The dim commotion of the bar had silenced itself as all eyes turned to make the strange tableau the center of attention. Aildrek had taken up a station within arms-reach of the man, and had his hands hidden behind the bar, but undoubtedly resting on something lethal.

The dark-haired man took a look at the jagged glass perched inches away from his throat and slowly raised his hands, inching backwards slowly. "I'm sorry, miss. I didn't mean any offense." the man pleaded in a thick Graecan accent.

The young barmaid nodded slightly in satisfaction, placing her broken bottle in the trashcan beside the bar.

Porphyria waved the barmaid over once the moment of excitement had passed, and ordered another drink. The familiar confusing murmur of conversation once again filled the room as the excitement died down, although a respectful deference seemed to follow the new barmaid as she made her rounds through the crowd.

Posting...

Posting will be a bit irregular for the next week or two, I imagine... Just reassuring everyone that I don't intend to quit the blog.

Chapter 2, Part 2

Porphyria paused for a moment, then answered, "I need you to put me in contact with a Ringwielder by the name of Lethik Nardan. Do you know him?"

"Yes, I do... But I think you might have trouble getting him to help with your plan. He's not known to work exceptionally well with others."

Porphyria frowned slightly, her attention momentarily distracted by the passage of an imaginary fish through a wall of the strange house. The denizen of the Exoma flitted about the air for a bit before exiting through the opposite wall. Finally, Porphyria said, "I'll worry about securing Lethik's cooperation, if you can get him to agree to a meeting. At any rate, I'm banking that he wants to see the Justicars get a black eye as much as I do... The Justicars have been a fly in his lord's ointment for quite some time."

Cynlew nodded. "I'll get you in touch with him then. Although I really would appreciate a little something for my trouble..."

"What did you have in mind?" Porphyria asked, quickly adding after catching a fleeting thought in Cynlew's mind, "And I swear to Eris that if you suggest anything uncouth, I will lobotomize you with a rusty icepick, and I'll do it slowly."

Cynlew quickly popped a piece of the maggot-ridden cheese from his plate into his mouth, as if to stifle any words that might accidentally slip their way out. He chewed pensively before continuing, "In that case, I suppose I'll just have to settle for a favor to be named at a later date." Cynlew finally swallowed, sparing Porphyria any further sight of the crunched up larvae and stale cheese from milk of indeterminable origin. Again, Porphyria wondered what this little creature's charm could possibly be, while Cynlew added, "Is there anything else you need?"

"No. Just get in touch with Lethik and let me know what he says. Pull in a favor or two from him if you must, and you can put them on my account. You know I'm generally good for them."

Cynlew's face crinkled into a genuinely-happy grin, and he cackled, "I know, I'm still recovering from your last one!" Even if Porphyria had not been idly scanning Cynlew's thoughts, the vulgar fantasy behind Cynlew's statement could not have escaped her. Porphyria just rolled her eyes and shook her head. She knew Cynlew was (mostly) harmless, and that his vulgar sense of humor was as inevitable as the tides.

Porphyria stood up and moved towards the door, announcing, "In that case, I'll leave you to your snack. Thank you again for your hospitality."

Cynlew nodded and waved. Perhaps thinking it wise not to push his luck too far with his old friend, Cynlew kept quiet any further ribaldry.

Porphyria exited the strangely-proportioned house back into the streets of Losthaven. She could feel her plan coming together, and she whistled happily as she strolled through the dingy streets of the poor quarter towards the Lost Lamb Tavern.