Floating Castle RP - Side Stories

[Lordxana0]

Vincent stumbled into his room, drunk as hell after a fun night of drinking with his latest partner and shut the door behind him, getting ready to get into his bed and sleep this off. As he turned around to walk toward his bed he realized that it wasn't going to work like that. Sitting on his bed was a young woman with light brown hair wearing a dress made completely of orange fox fur. She also had nine bushy tails which wrapped around her body, acting as a blanket as she sat in wait.

"Oh come now, I thought you knew better than to try and avoid fate" she stood up and snapped her fingers, covering the room in black energy before standing up and walking toward him. Before he could move to avoid her he pressed a finger against his forehead, clearing his mind of the effects of the alcohol. "Ready for your monthly beating pet?" she asked, putting a finger under his chin and moving it so he could look right into her eyes.

"Piss off bitch" he spat, wishing he had a way to finally remove her from his life.

She put a hand over her mouth and gave a little gasp. "Oh such language, that is quite naughty of you" she raised a hand and threw him against the wall of the room with psychic force, creating a loud slamming noise. "Don't worry about bothering your little friends, my magic makes the room quite soundproof" she spun her finger in a small circle and Vincent was forced to turn around against the wall.

"Before you start" Vincent grit his teeth. "My sister... she is here isn't she?" his voice was tinged with desperation, willing to allow himself to sound weak just for her sake.

The fox woman laughed a bit. "Yes, your little sister is here, snugly being controlled by a true ruler of darkness" she summoned a metallic whip to her hand. Along its sides were a number of sharp edges with hooked blades, a weapon of pure pain. "Now than, three tears stolen from me and a healing, as your soul belongs to me I am going to take what I am owed." she raised the whip and struck Vincent's back, releasing a howl of pure pain and agony as the weapon tore into his back. "One, now I believe we have thirty to go for tonight" she wrapped the whip around her arm, all of the blades seeming to twist away from touching her as she slowly cleaned the blood off it. "I want it clean before each hit"

Vincent let out a sigh, knowing that the pain would be lasting for quite some time. But he remembered why he was doing this, what he had done. This was his punishment, and he would endure it, he would find his sister, he would. The whip struck again and he screamed out again.

"Two"

**
Kunaga stepped out of the room and moved through the base, leaving Vincent laying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. He would survive, after all it wasn't much fun if he didn't. But the next few days would be a living nightmare for him, something she found amusing as all hell. As she moved through the pitch black hallways she took a moment to enjoy the scenery around her. This place truly was a marvel. She opened the door and looked at it for a moment before deciding to just leave it open. She was of course evil, evil people didn't shut doors. She slowly skipped through the straights, figuring that she could enjoy the air after her fun. Before she could get far a blast of green energy knocked her back a few feet and causing her to stumble. "Who dares?" she asked, her eyes turning blood red as flames began to spark on the tip of each of her nine tails.

"Tis I!" Cloth appeared in a burst of green flames. The master of the Dark Carnival was garbed in her usual patchwork green cloak and grinning mask. She was backed by the twin forms of Comedy and Tragedy on either side of her. "So you are my replacement?" she cocked her head to the side. "Not impressed, not at all"

Kunaga's flames and anger died down, only to be replaced with confusion. "Diablous?" she took a step back. "How.. why...you disappeared"

"I do many things" Cloth said in a mysterious voice.

"Tee hee~" Comedy covered her her mouth a single gloved finger.

"Whats funny sis?" Tragedy asked in a rather confused voice.

"Does many things" Comedy repeated.

"I still don't get it, explain it sis" Tragedy's voice gained a whining quality to it.

Comedy slapped her brother across the face. "You don't ask a lady to explain that sort of thing, perv" She crossed her arms and looked back to Kunaga, who seemed to be looking directly at her.

So thats where she went. the Demon Queen thought to herself. "So what do you want, and why are you in that form?"

Cloth chuckled under her breath. "I am not the demon you think I am, ever hear of the True Tragedy Queen?"

Kunaga blinked and began to laugh loudly. "No... no way" she cleaned a tear from her cheek. "The Actress turned Queen, turned mass murderer?" before she could continue an invisible hand wrapped around her throat. "Okay, okay not funny" the hand disappeared and Kunaga fell to her knee's, a hand on her throat. "Okay what do you want?"

"Get out of my castle" Cloth said, her voice cold with a sharp edge to it.

"Your castle?" Kunaga raised an eyebrow. "I thought this mythic rock was owned by that mad king."

Cloth shook her head and laughed. "That fool and the underlining couldn't understand true evil if it came up and slit their throats in front of them" the mad woman looked out into the darkness of the city. "The Assassins, that fool Soren, and of course, myself" she put a hand to her chest. "We are the true evil of this castle, we are the ones who shape events while they sit and play from high above. One needs to be right in hell in order to know how to play with its servants. Now I want you off my land before I decide to get violent"

The Demon Queen stood up and smiled wickedly. "If that is your wish I will stay out of your way, through I have property here that I need to regularly play with"

"Very well, you have full rights to bother your one plaything and those associated with him" Cloth waved her away. "Now begone with you, I am planting a special surprise here for later" Cloth reached under her coat to reveal a orb of pure dark energy, dropping it and watching as it sunk under the streets.

"As you wish, Tragedy Queen Condescia" the fox demon gave a bow and disappeared into the night, leaving Cloth, Comedy, and Tragedy alone in the streets.

"Hm... she is quite the demon" Cloth laughed and opened a portal of darkness. "Come now children, next we plan on getting my zombie coat back"

"Oh oh oh does it involve killing people?" Comedy asked with a bright smile on her face.

"Oh dear child" Cloth put a hand on her head. "Of course it does" the two laughed and entered the portal, with Tragedy following solemnly behind.

[Scarab]

Side story, Hector, Tamar, Sully.

Hector leaned back on the mattress he was sitting upon, his body once again covered in bandages. These last few fights had been more rough on him than the earlier ones, but still nothing the warrior wasn’t used to. Dry blood stained the ones on his abdomen, but the healers had closed up the wound before it could do any serious damage. As the healers left him and his companions, he couldn’t help but sigh looking at his now restored arm; the crystals had faded. As pleased as he was by the fact that he would not be gradually transforming into, as Sully had called it, “a glorified garden ornament”, he was a warrior. He knew well the advantages of having a physical shield you didn’t need to carry around with you, and the crystal form had been durable as diamond.

The room was humming quietly, but the foreboding malaise was lifting as people miraculously found their crystal mutations to be gone, or subsiding. Nobody was asking why and nobody especially cared. People were sitting around or sleeping and there were children bouncing on some of the nearby mattresses, but they kept being shushed by healers. All in all the atmosphere was vastly improved on earlier. Only a few feet away from them, Sully was examining the hilt of the impromptu axe she had created for Tamar with a technical eye. Judging her own work as any expert would. “hm,” she tutted to herself, biting her lower lip. “Ya know whoever sold this thing? They were lying about it bein’ high quality steel, this is probably more like an iron-blend, I should’a been able to handle this a lot better.”

There was shifting on the bed behind Hector as Tamar sat up for the first time in an hour. “Sully, you made it in roughly fifteen seconds. It was a frying pan. A frying pan. You making a weapon out of it at all speaks volumes.”

“Maybe for the uninitiated...” She grumbled under her breath. “Playing around with the shape is one of the first things I learned how to do,” the handle of the axe twirled in her hand casually “and the weaker the metal the easier it is to work with. Even rushed this is some shoddy work.”

Sully’s head lifted in surprise when the makeshift weapon was yanked out of her hands by Hectors now mostly uncrystallised arm, who spun the weapon around and began looking it over with his good eye. “Well, it’s clear this metal wasn’t meant for combat, but that isn’t exactly surprising considering what it was used for.” He turned it over and examined the handle of the object, “Hmm, you changed the original grip of the pan, the indents for each finger definitely helps with the overall balance of it. While the metal isn’t great you had a lot to work with, and the extra metal was put to good use to keep it steady; much easier to swing with the shape given without losing power. I’d pick this over nothing, that’s for sure. As far as crafting goes, this looks to be about the best you could have gotten out of something like this.” With that, he casually handed the weapon back. “Here you go.”

“... He do this often?” Sully grinned, looking over at Tamar. “Never had someone critique ma stuff that accurately and quickly.”

Tamar laughed under his breath, nodding. He was tired, obviously, even now several hours, but something was... well, different from usual. The typical... edginess Tamar had whenever he was interacting with anyone new just didn’t seem to be present around Sully at all. A kind of familiarity Hector wasn’t used to seeing at all. “The first time we met, he broke down my first sword into it’s exact components and told me the dozen different ways in which it sucked and should never have been used in an actual battle-”

“Well, it shouldn’t have.”

“-And then he dragged me to the forest to get a new one. And made me hunt birds.”

“You’re complaining about having to find food? That was a good bird!”

“-And there was a bear. A really angry, mean bear. Which we had to kill. So yeah, to answer your question he does this every time.”

“I liked it better when you were asleep.”

“Yeah, I liked it better when I was asleep too,” Tamar flopped back down on the mattress.

“Ya fought a bear?” Sully laughed, “I’d say I’m surprised, but big green here looks like he sleeps with bears.”

“They do have very warm fur.” Hector admitted absentmindedly, still eying his arm.

Sully and Tamar both snorted with laughter at the same moment. Sully’s laugh came to a stop when she noticed the swordsman was still examining his arm. “What? Don’t tell me you miss it now?”

“Miss it? Ha,” Hector chuckled, thinly hiding how he really felt. “Why would I miss that really cool indestructible diamond arm? Yeah… forget it.”

“Hector, it was going to kill you,” Tamar mumbled. “If you want tougher armour we can find that, but it’s kinda a fair trade.”

“I’m already wearing the armor of some kind of ghost fairy, I don’t think I can just buy more.”

Sully just looked between the two scratching her head, clearly left out of the loop of the many ridiculous adventures these two had already been on.

“Besides, everything tries to kill me, at least this one had the courtesy to let me still punch things.” He laughed

Tamar sighed. “Still not a good trade off if you’re dead! If it were up to you, every problem would be solved by punching things.”

“Oh come on now, tell me of one instance in the past where punching things hasn’t turned out to be handy.” He paused, “Get it, handy?” Sully palmed her face.

Tamar had apparently heard this kind of pun often enough that he was immune to the aftershocks. “How about when I need you to read signs?”

“...Irrelevant.”

“Hector, there was important stuff on the signs, about people trying to kill guild members.”

“Nothing I couldn't have worked out from the little stick figure drawings of people hanging guild members painted all over the same board!”

“...Okay that did look disturbingly like Anji, but even so it’s just words, they’re not gonna hurt you!”

“That’s the problem!”

“Whoa, okay, that’s interesting.” Sully curiously stated as she noticing the crackle of energy around Tamar. Actually she’d been noticing it for a while, the way it only sparked in response to certain phrases, certain sentences... names.

“Interesting is one word for it,” Tamar muttered. “I keep telling him to at least learn to write and spell a little but-”

“Idjit, yur not even paying attention are ya!?”‘ She pointed to his arm, “Don’t ya see all that?”

“Hm?” Tamar followed her gaze to his hands, closing and unclenching his fist briefly. He was probably remembering the way light had danced from skin to crystal, from Tamar to Hector’s formerly crystal-arm. “See what?”

Sully huffed, “Ya turned too slow, it went away already. Your arm was as bright as a candle stick, you were evoking and ya didn’t even notice.” She shook her head in disbelief.

“Eh, that happens.” Hector laughed, “Tamar is dangerous when he’s mad, no surprise to me.”

Sully crossed her arms, “You’re an emotional kid, aren’t ya?”

“Well-”

“Yes.” Hector interrupted, giving his younger friend a noogie.

“Quit iiiit,” Tamar struggled.

“Well then, I think we’re getting to the root of it now.” She nodded her head in thought, “How you evoke, I mean.” She waited for a response but Tamar was still struggling, “Hector. Hector let the poor kid go, please. He’s gonna go bald with your kind of strength.”

Finally the frazzled Tamar was released from the hold. “Yeesh. What, you mean, it has to do with being really annoyed?”

Sully smirked. “Well, yeah... and no. Not really. You’re on the right train of thought though. Ya said somethin’ about your magic never workin’ unless you’re using that one sword, right? Nuthin’ else worked? Well, maybe that’s ‘cause it was never the sword what mattered.”

She drew one of the little metal objects she had been making earlier from a pouch at her belt, and without flinching, crushed it in the palm of her hand. Hector started, expecting her hand to unclench and reveal broken fragments. But there was a taste like ozone in the air and when Sully’s hand opened the object, formerly some kind of small animal, had taken the shape of a pickaxe. “Like I said before, kid. Evokers evoke. They draw their strength from what’s important. This? This is what’s important to me. The way the metal works. Nobody else in the family ever quite got it the way I do. It’s my passion. You could say what we think is important evokes our powers. S’why it’s never the same in two people. An’ probably why your folks never figured it out sooner.”

There was an obvious pause as everyone else figured out what this meant. “...I... don’t think my family are relevant in this.”

Sully said nothing for a moment, frowning slightly back and forth between them. “Huh, there blows an ill wind, eh?” she muttered, then clicked her fingers. “But maybe it don’t matter so much. Let’s do an experiment, kid, jsomethin’ simple,” she tossed the pickaxe in Tamar’s direction. Tamar caught it.

He didn’t actually move from where he was lying, or look at her, but he caught it. He didn’t seem surprised until after the fact, sitting up and opening his mouth to talk but Sully interrupted. “Who frightens you, Tamar?”

“...Sorry, what?”

“Yer a broken record? Everythin’s afraid of someone. Or something. I’m hoping it’s a someone in this case?” Tamar shuffled. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes, Sully, it’s a someone’. Hold that,” she nodded at his hand. “Think of them.”

Hector didn’t say anything. He was watching curiously, mostly blase about this whole magic nonsense, but still wanting to figure this out all the same. Or perhaps, just wanting to figure Sully out.

Tamar’s hand had closed into a fist again around the iron pickaxe. There was a crackle, just like before, in the chapel ruins. The air tasted of static, shuddering and quaking. Tamar’s hand glowed and when he jerked backwards, letting go of the pickaxe, it flew from the bed to the floor, clattering against the stone and leaving a trail of blue-white patches of light, like water. Sully bent to pick it up, looking pleased, as if she’d worked it all out. “Ha! There ya go. You’re one of those Empathic types, pretty common where I come from.”

“What... was that?” Tamar frowned, glancing at Hector.

Like I said. It burns because you do. S’why it looked like fire,” She was smirking and clearly Tamar was finally piecing together exactly what she meant. because his eyes widened slightly. he reached out to gingerly take the metal item back from Sully. It didn’t touch his palm; it hovered just above it, crackling, growing brighter and brighter until it obviously started to frighten him. “Who ya thinking of that time?”

Tamar turned his hand over and back, the pickaxe remained where it was for a second, floating before the light faded and he slumped slightly, frowning. The red-yellow light faded like a match going out.“Her name’s Eliziya.”

“Ah,” Sully nodded. “Careful with that one. An’ with this guy here, Tamar. It’s dicey stuff. Think you’ve seen that already.”

There were a few more seconds of decidedly awkward silence before Tamar stood up, paused to reorient himself, and turned away without actually looking at either of them. “I... need to send a message to the guild,” he said quickly. “I need to tell them. About... stuff. I should’ve sent it ages ago. They... should probably know we’re not both going to die up here, I’m going to do that,” he said, and he didn’t respond to either of them before walking out of the room as quickly as he could.

Hector watched him leave, confusion on his face. Well. That was odd.

“Huh,” Sully muttered thoughtfully. “Well, this could’a worked out freakin’ badly.” She leaned back against the wall, arms folded. “Ya know, Evoker’s aren’t unusual where I come from, but ya get... issues sometimes. I heard of one guy damn near ripped himself apart. Couldn’t deal with what he was; didn’t have anyone to show him. What he did, back in that temple... The kid must care about ya one hell of a lot, Green, because I’ve never seen an outburst like that, not since... well,” she chuckled. “Me.”

“That mean you could do what he did to me?”

“If I had enough of a connection to the object, I could do something similar. Like I said though, it works differently for everyone, and a lot of it is dependant on how you’re feeling. That’s not even getting to the objects in question, which under the right circumstances can also affect my power.” She shrugged.

“No one ever said magic was simple,” Hector scratched his head, “I’ve never been one to give it much attention, but seeing how you use it to forge... No blacksmith in all of Lamada could do that.”

“Yeah, well ,what can I say?” Sully grinned. There was nothing cocky about it, mostly, her expression was one of self assurance. Then her grin faltered slightly. “Not that any gift makes a difference in the long run.” She thought on it for a moment, “Truth is, I still have a lot to improve as far as my craftsmanship is concerned. Evoking helps, but isn’t worth its salt without the experience and skill to back it up.”

Hector nodded; he didn’t quite understand magic, but skill and experience were two things he did understand. “Recognizing that is important, a lot of the mages I’ve met relied too heavily on their powers. You mentioned that you haven’t been able to practice, why is that?”

“Augh.” She groaned, “Well, if I’m bein’ honest, which I always am, I don’t...actually, technically, have a forge.” Hector just stared blankly. “Ya see, I have the drive and the ability to be a smithy buuut ma family… well, they’re kind of too caught up in the traditions of Catarina to let this dog loose.”

The swordsman tilted his head, “They don’t want you to smith?”

Her eyes expanded at the question. “What? No, no, of course they want me to! It’s just, well, it’s a little embarrassing honestly. Ya see, they are willing to give me both the property and money I’d need for a forge but they won’t yet. Not ‘til I find me a spouse.” She rubbed her temple in annoyance, “So old fashioned...”

“I don’t understand, what does that have to do with your abilities as a smith?”

“Well shoot, Hector, nothing!” the woman shook her head, thinking of how dumb of a question that was. “Like I said, it’s all about tradition. In Catarina, marriage is very important to our culture. Some crap about ‘spreading our skills and resources across families,’ which basically boils down to ‘if you want to inherit your families money, you better get married.”

“Sounds like a waste of time. You should just go forge anyway.” Hector answered simply.

“If the world worked how ya think, too many people would get there way I think.” She laughed off his remark, “Unfortunately for me, I’m basically at my families mercy, they have all the money at the moment. Ma Family… I love ‘em to death, but honestly people from Catarina are just too obsessed with the old ways. We’re in a castle from another dimension for, Bolka’s sake.”

“Your whole family came up to the Castle?” The man grinned

“Me n’m’elder brothers,” Sully nodded. “All six of ‘em. We went out lookin’ together, and just sorta wound up here. Seems that happened to a lot of folks...”

“And...” Hector paused, scratching his head, still trying to figure out how this Tradition was supposed to work. “And they’re the ones saying you aren’t allowed the money to build a forge unless you marry?”

“Most of ‘em, couple are less keen but there’s another really screwy Catarina tradition for ya: elder siblings get the say so fer jus’ about everythin’ after the parents are gone.”

“Yeesh,” The man shook his head, “This sounds almost as complicated as the whole magic business. So what’re you gonna do?”

“Well… I dunno!” She laughed throwing her arms up in a feight of frustration, “I Guess I’ll 'ave to go find a spouse!” There was a pause, as she concerned herself with the very idea, “Augh, courtship, nothing more nefarious in all the kingdoms combined. Would it really be so bad if I just wanted to make a few swords alone? Where they hell am I even gonna look for a suitable...suitor, I mean it can’t just be anyone. They need to respect the craft, ya know?” She caught herself, “Sorry, I’m startin’ to ramble. S’not your problem.”

“Hm,” Hector had just about wrapped his head around the whole concept, and, still finding it bizarre, placed it into the same category in his head as wild bears and kobolds: a nuisance, yes, but not something that could be avoided when it was standing between you and the nearest alehouse. Or someone who needed rescuing. Or an actually challenging fight.

Which meant, really, there was only one thing for him to do. Something which in his mind, at this moment, made absolute sense. “Well, what about me?”

The young woman brushed some of her hair away from her face, “Say what now?”

“The marriage thing.” He reminded, as if she had forgotten already. “Just marry me.” He offered, as if the situation was as simple as walking up a set of stairs.

There was a pause as long as it took for Sully to place the weapon she was holding carefully down on the bed. “...Okay. Did that crystal mess up yer brain or somethin’?”

“Nope, pretty sure it’s always been like this. Most people aim for my body, not my head. I'm too tall.” Hector grinned. “You need to marry someone, it has to be someone who respects the craft,” he honestly looked as if this was the most sensible thing he had ever come up with. “I challenge anybody in the Castle to the right of who respects the art of the blade more than me. Anybody. Even myself. Especially myself! ...What are we talking about again?” He paused, “Right, marriage.”

“Heh!” Sully’s voice carried more shock than anything else, “You’re actually serious, ain’t ya? We just met! Are ya even listenin’ to yourself?”

“Only to the important bits.” He waved his hand dismissively. “So, what do you say?”

Sully scratched the bottom of her chin. A normal person would have probably never considered the proposal at all, but the truth was the actual marriage did not matter to her at all. It was just an obstacle in the way of her future, she figured. She tilted her head to the right, looking the warrior over moment, as if judging him on some imaginary criteria. “... Hmmm, what’s the catch?”

“I get first dibs on any weapons you make.”

“Not the ones I’d sell, I hope.”

“Ehh, okay. How about in return every so often you make some weapons just for me.”

She tapped her foot, weighing her options, Hector meanwhile just grinned absently mindedly as if this was a normal conversation people had. The guy clearly didn’t have a clue. After juggling with the idea for a few more seconds, she finally came to a decision. “Ya got a few screws loose, I’ll tell ya that much...” A grin crawled across her face as she paused, “But, I can’t honestly say I have any reason to decline. Ya obviously know your stuff, and the sooner I get this over with the sooner I can pursue my passion. Fine, you got a deal.” She walked up to where Hector sat, and extended a hand for him to shake. “I’ll marry ya.”

“Great!” Hector grinned, returning the handshake.

There was a sudden, high pitched gasp and squeal from somewhere to the left. Hector and Sully turned, in unison, to see the small child from before, hands up to her face, and a gap-toothed beam. “You’re getting married?!”

“Um...” Sully started, but the girl had already turned away and was yelling delightedly to the crowded room. “Hey everybody! The cool lady who makes swords and the really tall guy are gonna get married!”

And that was how Tamar, returning to the former quarantine, came upon the loud cheering and clapping of an entire room’s worth of former plague victims; all of whom were apparently celebrating not only their continued survival, but some kind of joyous romantic union which hadn’t existed twenty seconds earlier.

He’d seen weirder stuff, honestly.

[RussetDivinity]

Prester didn't hate the castle. Sure, he'd gotten into a great deal of trouble and nearly died, but then, if he hadn't gone to the castle, he wouldn't have met Anais and wouldn't have his beautiful little Gwyn. He'd likely have become a knight-for-hire and been executed for treason -- he had a terrible habit of getting on the wrong side of fights -- and while he had his scars from here, at least he was alive.

Of course, he wasn't sure how much longer that would last.

Things were getting difficult in the city, and if he hadn't thought they might get more difficult if he tried to pack up his family, he'd have headed off to another floor. But Anais was making a name for herself as a troubador who was also a fine hand at healing, and Gwyn had a whole set of little friends. It would break her heart to leave them, so of course he had to stay by the city. Besides, he had a decent cobbling business set up, and when there wasn't enough of a market for shoes, he let out some of the unused rooms for weary travelers. There were quite a few who had been displaced, and he'd gotten to know quite a few who were very good customers. Kay left tips, even though he didn't have to, and Gwaine always chipped in with the chores.

The man walking down the path, though... he was someone new. It was difficult to tell from a distance, but as he drew closer, Prester realized both that he had never seen the man before in his life and that he looked to be in a bad way. He was thin and limping, and there was a scar on his face that might have come from a burn. His eyes were glazed, and he stumbled from one side of the road to the other. Dropping the boot he had been mending, Prester ran up to him and caught the man against his shoulder.

"You look like you could use a safe place for the night," Prester said, and this close, he saw that the man could hardly be more than twenty-five, probably a good bit less. "Come on. I'll have my wife see to your wounds, and you'll get a hot meal and bath. No charge, since you're new."

"Thank you," the man said, just before he collapsed.

Prester brought him inside, and Anais at once set to work treating the scar and his leg. As she hummed, Prester ran into the kitchen to get dinner started. The boot could wait until the next day. There was a dying man who needed food.

Neither Prester nor Anais allowed the man to say one word until he had eaten and been bathed. Prester found a few old clothes, and while they hung off the man, at least they weren't torn up and dirty from the road. Only then, once all of them were settled down by the fire for dinner -- second dinner in the man's case -- did they let him tell his story. It was brief; apparently he was looking for some girl and had run into trouble with a fire mage with a trained wolf just before reaching the castle. As the man spoke, Prester took a chance to look over him. He had red hair that hung a bit too long, but not quite long enough to be in a queue, and there was a hint of nobility in his face, but also a touch of wildness. It wasn't a dangerous sort of wildness, more the type that Prester's mother would have called fey.

"The mage didn't take it well when I killed her wolf, so I had to run pretty fast. I'm surprised my leg's held up this well." He smiled faintly. "Thank you for treating it."

"You can thank me with your name," Anais said.

"I'm Fitzroy," the man said.

Prester hissed. "That's an unlucky name, lad. This castle already has a king, and folk might not take too kindly to the king's son. You haven't been here long, and you don't know how easily they can get whipped up into a frenzy. Have you got some other name you can use, a family name?"

"Well..." Fitzroy blushed a little. "I could use Kerenskaya. It's Likovya's family name."

Both Prester and Gwyn reacted at once. Prester hissed again, this time from anger and the memory of a wound long since healed, and Gwyn cried out from joy, leaping to her feet and running to sit at Fitzroy's knee. "You know Princess Knife Lady?" she cried.

"Princess Knife Lady?" Fitzroy frowned and looked to Prester and Anais for an explanation.

"She's not a princess," Prester growled. "She's murderous and insane."

"Prester," Anais said, and he knew that she was going to tell him not to destroy his daughter's heroes, but he believed that Gwyn could have much better heroes than that so-called Princess Knife Lady.

"She tried to kill me!" Prester snapped. "The only reason she let me live is that she wanted me to carry a message. I know I was in the wrong, but that doesn't mean she gets to act as though she has life and death in her hands just because she carries around knives."

Fitzroy had turned pale. "That doesn't sound like Likovya," he said, and for a moment Prester thought the man might faint again. "She would never do something like that."

"Yes she would," Gwyn said, and Prester was shocked into silence. Turning back to Fitzroy, she said, "She told us the story. She was a princess who had three suitors, but she didn't want to be married, so she went out and threw knives for her own hand. She killed all three princes and went off to find her own castle, and she found this one. She'll conquer it, and she'll be the best queen ever."

Fitzroy smiled a little and set his hand on Gwyn's shoulder. "I remember that story," he said. "Shall I tell you the rest?" When Gwyn nodded, he went on, "There was a suitor who could not try for the princess's hand, because he was a bastard child, and his father would not recognize him. He and the princess truly loved each other, but they knew that in her father's kingdom they would never be able to be together. When the bastard learned that the princess had run off, he went after her, hoping to find her so they could wander the world together. Instead, he learned that she had found a castle, and he realized that he would have a chance to prove himself and be a king by her side, so he found the castle, even though it was in the sky and nearly impossible. Someday, he'll sit on a throne beside her, and they will rule wisely and well."

Gwyn was beaming, and Prester thought he saw tears in Fitzroy's eyes. "Finish your dinner and go to bed, Gwyn," he said. As his daughter went back to her food, he turned to Fitzroy. "I'll expect you out of here first thing in the morning. I don't know where your... princess is, but you can likely ask around for her. She's got something of a reputation, if only among the people she's been stabbing."

[Blurred_9L]

The true memory

Timeline placement: Prior to entering the castle

He opened his eyes to see the world whirling around him. The sound of the waves hitting the wooden ship that went over the Martyr’s Sea. Darren rested his arm against his head as he laid on the bed, hoping the ship’s movement would stop. How long had it been since they left Corona? How long had it been since they got on the ship? He didn’t bother answering his own questions, perhaps mere days had passed, but for him it felt as if it had been years ago.

Trying his hardest to stop his breakfast from leaving his stomach, he sat on the edge on the bed and looked at the nightstand beside it, feeling a sudden chill as he pictured the book contained inside its drawer. He questioned why he had kept the book with them the whole time. He thought that, perhaps, he could keep it safe from everybody else, yet he laughed at his own weaknesses. Weren’t they fleeing right now?

“Hey, are you there?” Darren heard somebody calling from outside the room, followed by a strong knocking on the door. Startled, Darren got on his feet, but nearly fell over the floor.

“Y...Yes, what is it?” he answered weakly as he tried to regain his balance. The door opened to reveal a man wearing heavy armor. He scanned the room quickly, his eyes setting on Darren’s sickly figure.

“You’re… looking kind of green there, you ok?” he asked without moving from the door’s frame.

“Yeah, just a little dizzy.” Darren said embarrassed, as he sat on the bed again.

“If you say so…” the man trailed off, a hint of awkwardness in his voice. “...anyway, have you seen a girl with red hair around here? Curious, energetic… kind of around this tall…” the man held his hand around 8 inches above his head and Darren could have sworn the man’s face turned a slight shade of red as he mentioned that.

“...has a tendency to set things on fire…” the man whispered almost inaudibly.

“What?”

“N...Nothing. Anyway, have you seen her?” he questioned him, annoyance seeping into his tone of voice.

“No… I usually stay here all day. I’m not really that good at being on boats.” Darren excused himself, and this time it was probably him whose face turned red. The man looked disappointed at his answer.

“That’s okay… I guess I’ll keep looking. She tends to disappear sometimes, it really is quite worrying. Anyway, my name is Norbert. I’m staying at the room at the end of the corridor. I guess, if you hear about her from somebody, perhaps you could tell me?”

Darren nodded and Norbert left, his armor clattering as he went away. The door to his room remained open. Darren laid down again, the feeling of movement wouldn’t go away, though he didn’t expect it to go anywhere, after all, they were in the middle of a sea. It wasn’t long before the ship’s slow rocking and the sound of the waves crashing against the hull lulled him into sleep.

He dreamed of Corona, miles away. He dreamed of himself as he had been 5 years ago, when everything was the way it should have been. Before he had had any need for weapons like the knives he now carried beneath his cloak, before he even knew about the world outside the walls surrounding his hometown and before he knew the horrors of the Northern Fortress.

He sat on one of the lowest branches of an old tree on a hill overlooking the city. He looked up to find both Trent and Wendy climbing to the top of the tree.

“Hey Darren, get up here! You can see the whole town!” she shouted. He tried climbing up, but as much as he tried to get up to the point where his friends were, he just couldn’t reach them. It seemed as if the tree kept getting bigger and bigger and when he looked back down, he was back again on the same low branch as he had been before.

“How do I get down?”

“How do you get down?” she repeated, the question lingering in the air. “You jump back down, silly!” She said, and immediately jumped down from the tree into the ground. Except there was no ground anymore. Darren looked down to find a chasm of pure darkness beneath the branch of the tree and Wendy falling towards it, the distance between them growing quickly. He tried to jump too, but his hand held firmly to the branch and wouldn’t let go. Without notice, something pushed him and he started falling too, spinning in the air while screaming for his life, waiting for the second his body hit the floor.

When Darren woke up he found himself on the floor of the room, rather than on the bed. He stood up, slightly dizzy. He stumbled onto the empty corridor outside and gasped as he saw claw marks all over the walls. The smell of blood eerily hovered over the air. Darren crouched in fear, trying to find one of his knives in case he had to fight. His hand shook wildly and began to shook even more so when he found that most of his knives were gone, the only one remaining was the silver one, a keepsake from Wendy. He looked back into his own room and saw that the drawer on the nightstand had been taken out and it was now empty.

”The book.” Those words echoed in his head as he gripped the handle of the knife even tighter. He should have known. Why would it be any different, after all?

He slowly followed the stairs that led into the deck, each step creaking below him, barely audible by the sounds made by the ship rocking back and forth over the waves. He could still see the traces of blood on the wooden slats, as well as the scratches on the walls. Just what the hell had happened while he was asleep?

The night sky was covered with dense clouds, and when Darren reached the deck, he could barely see anything aside from the weak light coming from the torches ahead of him.

”I don’t remember any torches, though...?” it was then that he realized that, weak as it was, there weren’t any torches around, but rather the whole ship was starting to be engulfed by flames. As they gradually grew, the image in front of him became clearer: a girl, probably not much younger than him, flames sprouting from both of her arms; the man in heavy armor he had seen before, gasping for air as he clutched his left arm and the cloaked figure of a girl resting on the floor, her arm protecting something beneath her body.

“Wendy?!” Darren shouted, his voice cracking mid-word. He motioned to run towards the trio surrounded by flames, but something clicked in the darkness. Pain shot through his right arm, making him almost drop the knife he was holding. He felt the wound with his other hand, and immediately felt the blood pouring out, staining his cloak.

He tried to move, but his body wouldn’t budge, his fear increasing at the same rate as the flames began to move in towards them.

“Why did you have to come up here? You idiot!” Norbert yelled at him. The girl by his side flashed a cocky grin.

“I can handle them no problem, Norby. Relax and enjoy the fireworks” the girl said, the flames on her arm growing in size. With a swift movement, the flames around them flung themselves into the darkness, revealing three men in jet-black cloaks who were soon consumed by the fire.

“Amateurs…” a woman’s voice growled behind Darren, though he could not see who it was. Darren felt the gaze of something pierce him from behind and, as he threw himself to the floor, he could feel a sharp claw grazing his head. The woman behind him cursed under her breath.

“Oh…” the girl with the flames sounded surprised, her smile becoming wider. “A hellhound! Now that’s what I’m talking about!” She sounded more excited than before. Darren saw Norbert beside her mutter something inaudible.

He stood up and started running towards them, but was tackled by a heavy mass. As he rolled over the floor he caught a glimpse of the beast, revealed by the light of the flames around them. It’s huge claws were soaked in blood, its black fur bristled, its maw menacingly close to Darren, showing its fangs and a gray tongue that seemed too big for the maw.

Darren gulped and tried to stand and run away, his own terror messing up his movements. He ended up rolling over on the floor again, the beast leaping at him. He closed his eyes, moving his arms in front of him, trying to protect himself from the tackle. The hellhound opened it’s jaw, it was all over…

He opened his eyes and found himself encircled by flames. The hellhound howled from outside, but when the flames dissipated, it didn’t seem hurt or burnt at all. Darren looked around him, the flames had extended over most of the ship, he could even hear how it began to break apart.

“Shit! Shitshitshitshit!”, he cursed as he still ran towards the trio, the flames sent by the girl stalling the chasing beast. Without knowing how, he found himself with the book open in his hands and though he could hear Norbert voice asking him what the hell he was doing, he could understand what he meant by that.

Suddenly, the ship hit something, sending all of them to the floor. Darren could hear the hellhound howling again, but when he stood up again, he couldn’t see anything but the flames that surrounded him.

Run now. You can always do something about this later

He felt as if he wasn’t completely in control of himself, but he knew that his instinct or whatever that was telling him to run was right. A man’s voice yelled at him from the ship as the flames intensified, yet he couldn’t help it anymore, so he hid the silver knife inside one of the cloaks inner pockets, held onto the book with one arm and jumped into the sea below.

He tried swimming at first, but the weight of the book made it harder to stay afloat. He struggled for a while before giving up, the light of the flames on the sinking ship started to be concealed by the rising smoke. ”Is this… how I die?” he thought before closing his eyes and letting the waves and the water current take him away.

-- -- -- -- -- --

“What do you think happened to him?” A member of a passing caravan asked as they saw Darren’s body wound up on the shore. A burst of whispers and murmurs spread over the remaining members as they theorized about his current state. They were promptly shouted by the head of the caravan.

“We can’t just leave him here, that’s for sure.” he lifted the young man’s body and motioned the others for help. As he carried him away, he noticed the soaked book that had been previously by Darren’s side.

“Where should we… leave him?” said one of the members who remained by the shore.

“Put him on the cart with medical supplies” he ordered without taking his eyes off the book. “We’re not that far from our rendezvous, if he’s awake by then, we’ll take him with us. Otherwise…” he stopped speaking, he wasn’t a pessimist after all. He slowly walked to the book and picked it up.

The other member began to return to her respective cart, but was stopped by the leader.

“Wait! He had this with him. Make sure it doesn’t get lost.” he spoke with authority as he gave the book away, a chill running down their spines as they both touched the leather cover.

“Sir, are you sure?”, she asked, a tinge of fear on her voice.

The man hesitated, but nodded in response. “The book’s still fine, yet it must have been in the water for a long while. The book must have some sort of enchantment. Dangerous artifacts shouldn’t be left to be found by an unsuspecting person.” He answered as they walked back to the rest of the caravan. He could still see her fellow companion was still worried, though. “I’ll make sure the man takes care of the book”, he reassured her.

“If he’s still alive, that is.”

“I’ll take care of it myself otherwise.”

“I’ll hold you out on that, then”

[The Wild West Pyro]

The tavern was busy when the Drifter entered.

From his current state, it didn't need a wizard to know that the Drifter had gone adventuring. An oily black sludge covered his boots and spots of it were on his waistcoat. His hat had a large cut in it and his coat was frayed and torn at the edges. He was calmly cleaning the shortsword in his left hand as he walked over to the bar.

Although he got curious looks from various patrons, the bartender smiled at him and slid a tall mug of ale across the counter.

"Drifty! How's that adventure been going?"

"Oh, it's been going well...I got the statue for the Grand Wizard and that clan of Orcs won't be troubling the forest, so to speak."

"Splendid, splendid...I won't need to hire guards to transport the beer safely anymore! Here's one on you!"

The Drifter sat down at a chair adjacent to the wall and removed the black bandana covering his mouth.

Several patrons winced or shuddered as the mask was removed, while the bartender politely looked away.

Above the mask, the adventurer's skin was fine, but the skin underneath was scarred and blackened, like it had been burnt. There were glowing orange runes in the written language of the Orcs branded on one side, while the other carried several jagged knife wounds. The skin was also cracked near the scars, like rock breaking up, and scaly around the chin.

There were many rumours to where the Drifter had gotten such a horrific disfigurement-Zagor's curse, Dark Elves, an angry demon...but all agreed that the man had a reason for wearing his mask.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Drifter calmly sipped his drink while wincing at the slight throbbing in his cheek.

He'd gotten used to the throbbing, after bearing with it for 3 years.

He remembered cursing himself after the Guardian of the Castle had fallen, for being careless and dodging, and getting a chin full of dragon fire, screaming in pain as the breath had scorched the skin off it. He had patched up the wounds and gotten it healed, but had to wear the mask, one that he had taken off another dead adventurer during his adventure in the Canyon of the Dead.

Then he had been cursed by Zagor as they fought on his stronghold in Firetop Mountain. The warlock had thrown a massive stream of dark energy at him, branding the runes into his cheek. The wound had stung fiercely, but now it had been reduced into a gentle throbbing. The scars he had gotten would heal over time, but the runes were there to stay.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Soon, the Drifter had finished with his meal and drinks, delivered the statuette, gotten his reward and now read at the bar counter while patrons danced, played cards, joked or sang in the afternoon sun.

He was getting to the part where the Fellowship were crossing the bridge to safety in Moria when the bartender walked over.

"Just something for you, Drifty-there's been rumours of a floating castle."

The Drifter slammed his book shut.

"A WHAT?"

"A castle, floating in the sky. Nobody knows what it is, but it's floating. There are...entire landscapes in there, full of mysterious creatures, and quests to fufil...and lots of cows."

The Drifter stared at him, interest glinting in his amber eyes.

"And will there be loot, Mac?"

Mac chuckled.

"You and your loot, Drift! Yes, yes, I think there will be loot-"

Immediately the stool scraped back as the Drifter packed up, put on his mask, left a tip and charged out of the door.

He had been doing nearly the same adventure for months-going to the forest and slaying a bandit gang, then retrieving an important object. Satisfying, but not as thrilling as any of his other adventures. It was getting boring after a while.

Now there was something new to do.

He looked up into the sky and saw, a faint speck in the distance, the castle.

The Drifter unsheathed his shortsword.

"Places to see, monsters to kill...and objects to loot. To whatever things are in there...here I come."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And an hour later, he wondered why there were so many cows around the place.

[Victin]

Peace. Perhaps the woods were the only place left someone could find peace in this cursed castle. Amidst the trees, Aria always found peace. She didn’t know why, she only knew she did. The feeling of grass on the sole of her feet, tickling her between her toes. The sunshine glistening on the morning dew. The songbirds, beauty the ears could listen to. In fact, it all came down to a single word, and that word wasn’t peace.

It was freedom. Even if Aria thought, and felt, and saw, and heard, and smelled, everything around her, she was still trapped in the same damned place. And she wouldn’t find freedom again until she found a way to leave.

Today the songbirds didn’t sing as beautifully as they did the other days. Or maybe they sung more harmoniously and rhythmically than they ever did. Aria didn’t know. She didn’t know why, but she was crying.

When the sun pierced her eyes, she came to her senses again. Aria realized she had fallen asleep. Yawning, she raised to her feet and brushed the dirt and grass off herself.

She bit her lips, and skipped over to the place her sandals were hidden. In fact, it wasn’t the sandals she was worried about. Aria took her belt, passed it around her waist and inside two leather bands on her scabbard, tightening it in place. The blade was sheathed safely inside, and she smiled relieved at that. At the town she usually made sure to keep everything concealed. Here, where nobody would find her, she didn’t mind it being plainly obvious for anyone who might actually find her. The dress she wore now couldn’t hide it even is she tried.

Aria rubbed a few sweatdrops off her forehead and returned to her walk around the forest. So far, her walks had been remarkably uneventful. Despite the fact that made her glad… It also was disappointing. For some reason she kept expecting to find… Something, in the forest. She didn’t know what, she didn’t know why, yet she had that feeling. Perhaps the rest of the castle was so wicked she didn’t expect to be safe here. Aria doubted that explanation, though.

Thinking about it, she was feeling hungry. She scanned her surroundings in search of a fruit tree, and found some apples. Aria climbed up, snatched a few of the most red and round of them, and sat on a branch. Their sweet flavor almost brought back sweet memories… Weren’t her thoughts interrupted by a strange sight.

Up by a gnarled branch was an ephemeral orb that looked uncannily like flame. No flame, however, was quite as pale and insubstantial as the glowing fire. Though it caressed the branch possessively, the wood conspicuously failed to ignite. Aria leaned forward, fascinated and confused by the apparition in front of her. It was delicate like a flower, despite looking like fire. The petals of flame licked her fingers, yet left them unharmed. The warm feeling was almost comforting. It was definitively magical in nature. Who could have created such thing? Maybe a forest spirit? Maybe it was the forest spirit? Maybe she was putting her hand inside a living thing!?

“Uh… Hi?”

The flame winked out of existence and reappeared by another tree perhaps ten metres away from Aria. It danced gaily through the air, bobbing and sprinkling incandescent leaves as it went.

“Wait, don’t leave! I didn’t mean to, uh, scare you away!” She shifted her weight a little too quick and almost slipped of the branch. Her hands grabbed it and she threw herself down, landing unhurt on the ground. “Phew, that was close,” she said to herself before she turned to the flame. “Come back! I’m not going to hurt you!” Despite the exquisiteness of the moment, Aria didn’t feel scared at all. Excited, maybe. She didn’t want to stretch it that far, because she had no reason to, yet, she did.

After several minutes of leading her on a merry chase, the flame extinguished itself. Darkness settled itself over the trees like an old cloak and left Aria nearly blind. She hadn’t realised how late it had become, nor had she realised how much light the orb was giving off. She took her hand down to her waist, where her blade awaited. This was an instinct the castle had forced upon her, whenever the veil of the night fell over the city. This couldn’t be a trap, could it? She didn’t think a forest spirit would do that to her… did she even know forest spirits were a thing?

From above, a measured voice spoke, “Be careful. Don’t step forward, or you’ll drop.”

Aria blinked, searching for the mysterious speaker. The voice sounded feminine, or perhaps youthful. Without warning, a torch-flame flared into existence above Aria, forcing her to shield her eyes at the sudden illumination. Startled, she jumped back. Not away from the light, away from the dark depths below.

“Thank… you… Uh, did you bring me here to the edge of this cliff… er… Who?”

“You shouldn’t have followed the light,” the voice murmured. “I shouldn’t have.”

“You shouldn’t have… what?” Aria looked around, but there was no one around her. Above, however, crouched a slender figure, that could pass for a human weren’t a pair of furred ears on her head. The person was smaller than Aria, but she knew that anyone who could create the cold flame she had seen earlier had to be using magic. Aria’s expression wasn’t that of fear, but that of awe. “Whoa… uh, greetings, miss,” she said, bowing in respect.

With a large bushy tail swishing behind her, the speaker shook her head. “Go home. It’s late. You should leave.”

“I think… I think I’m lost,” Aria’s cheeks blushing bright red. “Would you happen to know where the city is? … Miss.”

A single outstretched finger with a candle-light at its tip was the speaker’s wordless reply.

Aria took that as an unspoken not. Now that was bothersome. Perhaps… If she was talking to a spirit, maybe she should make an offering. “I am sorry, but I don’t have anything I could offer to you, miss. I don’t think you have any use for what I have with me right now… Unless you wish me to return to you the apples I’ve eaten? I didn’t intend to steal anything from you,” she gave another respectful bow.

“What?” The speaker grimaced. “Why are you offering me... They’re not mine. Look, it’s not safe out here at this time. You need to go home.”

“You… aren’t a forest spirit?” Aria blinked until she swallowed the realization and blushed again. “Uh… This is… Awkward… I’m sorry, I’ll just… leave.” She shifted her feet, turned right and left, but didn’t actually know where to go.

“You aren’t wrong,” the speaker muttered, “but what I am is irrelevant. Walk that way,” she jabbed a burning finger, “and you’ll find your way back. Do you have a light?”

She was more confused now than she was before. “No, I wasn’t planning on still being here this late.”

“Fine. I’ll guide you. Just follow the light,” and the speaker vanished nimbly into the darkness. Within moments, the torch-flame began to drift serenely in the direction previously indicated.

Aria quickly followed. Despite the moon casting a dim luminescence onto the world around her, her guide was the only lightsource she could see. Even though many trees and a few other natural obstacles presented themselves in her way, Aria easily caught up to the fox-girl. The nocturnal silence was a dreadful presence, yet surprisingly she felt safer there than at the city. At the city she knew there were dangers lurking in every dark alley and unlit corner, and that she was all by herself.

“So, uh, are you a spirit or not?”

“I am what I am,” said the fox-girl curtly. Almost immediately, she seemed to regret her sharp tone. “I’m human, or I should have been,” she began again with a conciliatory nod. “But then I found out I wasn’t.”

It was clear for Aria there was a story behind the fox-girl’s initial statement. “Do you… want to talk about it? You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” she asked, trying to be as sensible as she could.

The fox-girl sighed deeply, brow creasing. “I’ve already told someone I perhaps shouldn’t have told quite yet… I wonder if that was wise. Well, I’ll tell you a bit, and then some. As things stand, I am a spirit of some sort. Real smart of you. I didn’t even realise it until now, and even then, not by myself. As to what I properly am, I only have guesses. But you may find me in the city once in a while. You might have heard of… friends of mine. Severed Storm.”

“The guild? Yes. Their names were thrown around wildly during the riots,” she said that as her eyes deviated from her guide for a second. “Look, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. You’ve already been nice enough to me, and we don’t even know each other names.” Aria wondered what were the chances of the fox-girl be tricking her, but she saw no reason for someone with magic expertise to trace such convoluted plot to cause her harm.

“I came out here to get away from them,” the fox-girl said dully. “I needed to think. But I come out here and find no revelations waiting in meditation. There’s nothing, no earth-shattering epiphanies to be had. Well, here’s a truth for you. My name’s Eliziya. Or perhaps one of my names. I don’t know. But it is the one I answer to.”

“I’m Aria.” She let that bit of information sink in as she thought what else she could say. “I also like to come to the forest. I don’t really know why. Maybe forget the world exist, forget everything exists, and just… I don’t know. It just feels good to me, to sometimes be alone and not feel lonely.”

“That’s nice,” Zi replied wistfully. “I’m supposed to like the forest. I should like coming out here. I’m supposed to… But I don’t. Not here. Not now. It’s all just dark and empty.”

“People are supposed to grow and find their own homes,” Aria bit her lips to not laugh at the irony of someone who only wants to go back home saying this. “If the forest isn’t your home… I mean, that’s okay. Besides, it’s not like this isn’t an actual forest, rooted to the dirt of the world. I don’t even know if there’s earth below this castle, maybe we’re floating above the ocean, or a magical void, or any other castle bullshit. Uh, pardon my language, miss Eliziya,” she added, almost reflexively.

“This is bullshit,” Zi agreed. “Shovels of bullshit stacked into a steaming mountain of crap. A year’s supply of manure crammed into a pixie’s jar. I only want out now, but maybe the grass only looks greener on the other side of this shit-hill. This place has given me nothing but grief and unanswered questions.”

“And physical injuries. Grief, unanswered questions and physical injuries.”

“Aye, and physical injuries,” Zi repeated, then stopped in her tracks. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Not at the moment. I have a few scars, but that’s it.” It was morbid, but Aria’s life had definitely become easier after she got herself a sword.

“Oh. Right. That’s good. If you are hurt, I could help, probably. ‘m a healer.”

Aria wasn’t fazed by that assertion. Of course she was a healer, she was magical. “No, really, I’m okay now,” differently from a few weeks ago. “Thank you for the offer.”

Zi nodded, and resumed the trek in awkward silence.

“So,” Eliziya ventured, “I take it you have no guild?”

“No,” although that didn’t make a difference to the anti-guild factions before. “I found free shelter and food.”

“You’re not starving or anything, are you? The Church has a bit of a charity going on. Might want to check it out, if you’re in need,” rambled Zi, trying to fill up the silence.

“I know about their charity deeds… They constantly help us back in the...” Aria elongated the pronunciation of that word, then fell into a brief moment of quietness. “Now that I come to think of it, I remember Severed Storm’s name from somewhere else. Your guild also has been… uh, very charitable to us. Not specifically me, but I’m still thankful that people at this castle seem to care. Outside… in some places people have it worse than here.”

Zi nodded, swishing her tail from side to side as they continued, snapping leaves and twigs underfoot.

“I can barely remember outside. I want to get out. But then, I’m not quite sure there’s a place out there for me.”

“There’s a place for everyone and everything,” Aria said almost instantly. “I… think...” She followed Eliziya by her side, while trying to keep a respectful distance. “I have to confess, I don’t remember much of the outside world either. But I remember my parents, my home. That’s why I want to go back. If you don’t have somewhere to go back, it’s because you haven’t found it yet. If you do, well, the only thing stopping you is… The castle.” Aria tilted her head to the side. That wasn’t what she was expecting to say, despite it making logical sense.

“Mmm. Your parents, they let you come here on your own?”

Looking astray, Aria coughed in response. “My parents are probably still back home.”

“Ah. At least… At least they’re alive. At least they exist,” Zi trailed off to a mumble.

“I guess so…” Aria’s eyes remained unfocused, distraught from Eliziya’s words. The fox-girl saw nothing of it, still making her way through the tangle of the forest, back to Aria. They traversed the night in silence for the next couple of minutes.

They cleared the forest without warning, passing the tree-line without a word. While there was little in the way of visibility, the city’s silhouette was clear enough to obscure the horizon.

“There.” Eliziya coughed. “You can, ah, you can find your way back now.”

“Thank you for helping me out. I guess I owe you one?” Aria smirked at Eliziya, and sighed in relief for arriving safely.

“You owe me nothing.” The fox-girl’s face paled. “This is what I owe you.”

“If you don’t let me be in debt with you, I’ll keep visiting you until you do.”

Eliziya didn’t reply, but slowly retreated into the trees. Her form shimmered, and a glowing will’o’wisp wavered into existence just as she vanished into darkness.

Aria walked towards the city, hoping the darkness would hide her as much as it did the girl she had met in the forest. It’d be a long and slow crawl back to the orphanage.

[The Wild West Pyro]

The Castle had many levels, more than any other castle he'd been in.

His great-grandfather had, as a vengeful ghost of a knight, gone through the lair of the Ice Lord to get back the Spirit Stone, said to contain the ghosts of many heroes of popular legend.

When he was 29, the Drifter had nearly gotten lost in the infamous Deathtrap Dungeon, if not for the aid of an asskicking Barbarian that he was soon forced to kill, thanks to that stupid midget and his brainwashing.

In the Tomb of Akharis, with all the passageways and the Necropolis and the stupid flooded maze, he had barely gotten out and nearly died from the injuries sustained by fighting with the entire cult's private army and Pharoah Akharis himself.

The Maze of the Golden Dragon, although less hostile, was no less frustrating, and it was only through Littlebig the Dwarf that he had found the second emerald eye and the golden dragon.

But this castle was definitely the worst.

The levels had been treacherous for the most part, and no loot had been found yet. The enemies were varied, though-he remembered his battle with the undead Orcs, and the fight with the Iron Maiden, as well as the river dragon and the stone giant, who were thought to have been long gone.

Now, other than a few suits of black, animated, Dwarven armour and a gigantic rhino made of DIAMONDS, Drift had encountered nothing else other than insane architecture in a giant, black Gothic cathedral.

Stairways criss-crossed from ceilings, floors, pillars, domes and buttresses. Doors were on walls, in the stones or even simply hanging in mid-air. They all held nothing but darkness and a few skulls. Bridges led to impossible angles, and yet Drift could walk across them, even when they were going straight down, vertically. There were windows, with bright, harsh, almost blinding white light coming from them, also hanging in midair and occasionally even moving. Gates, pillars, giant stone heads, statues or rubble occasionally blocked the way, but fell into pieces when he approached. Random paintings of wizards, warriors or wraiths hung in the air, smiling down, almost mockingly, at the adventurer.

Drift frantically waved his torch round. The green flames revealed nothing but yet MORE stairs and impossible doors.

He had been wandering for a week, his provisions slowly dwindling and his legs growing more weary with each step. He had heard nothing, no speech or sounds whatsoever, except that of his own footsteps. He had stopped to read his favourite books, the tales he had grown up with about the War of the Ring, but even that had failed to break the blackness.

In frustration, he swung his shortsword at a nearby rock blocking his way. It cracked, groaned and smashed into a thousand fragments. Drift watched as it fell into the dark, unending emptiness that was the ground...then he heard a tiny yell.

Drift stopped to think.

There were others in the castle too.

Other adventurers.

And I could really use some conversation.

After all, you can't talk to your brain forever. If that giant hat-wearing pie hallucination comes back again and starts spouting shit about stars and sandwiches, I will impale my fucking brain on a spear.

Drift pulled out a pocket telescope, infused with magic, he had bought a few days ago. He saw a blurry shape in the blackness, someone with a sword...or was it a knife?

He shut the telescope and looked down. There was nothing but blackness...and yet, someone was down there.

Drift looked through the telescope again, then adjusted his fedora, took a leap, and sank into the endless void beneath him.