The War of Something or Other

[Amos]

In the time of Selena D'Muerte, tamer of dragons and Queen of Bloomingdale, there lived a hunter by the name of Aramus. The greatest deed of this Aramus was to slay a magnificent beast on the island of Ularu, and bring the corpse of the beast, including its severed head, back to the main continent, to lay before the Queen. Selena was not as impressed by Aramus, who she saw as a worthless, bloodthirsty cretin, as she was by the corpse itself. She shuddered to think how it must have appeared when alive. Seven feet tall at least, she reckoned, and she could almost hear the roars emanating from between its bloodstained teeth, see its long black mane twisting angrily in the wind, taste the sweat rolling down its lean, savage torso, and smell the sharp crack as it flicked its barbed tail like a whip. That the beast had been so coldly robbed of its life, for a matter of mere sport and bravado, offended Selena's artistic sensibilities, and when Aramus had the ingenuity to ask Her Majesty for a reward, she had the hunter thrown out of the city, and warned him of death if he dared return. The corpse, already giving off the interminable stench of rot, was thrown into the river, where it floated for seven miles before being washed ashore; while its detached head was stripped of its flesh, the skull polished, and placed in the treasury of Bloomingdale Palace; and its heart, which Aramus had secretly removed, and which still pulsed as if alive, was taken out of the city by the hunter and finally sold in a distant part of the land.

Seven years later exactly, an explorer, down on her luck and wandering aimlessly, came by chance across the skeletal remains of the beast, long picked clean by crows and ants and wild dogs. The ground it lay on was bare except for one spot: through the ribcage of the beast, where its heart once had beat with a sonorous and primal drum, a red flower was growing. The explorer, thinking it was pretty, plucked the flower, and pinned it to her breast. That night, as she slept in some bushes a few miles upstream, she had a dream in which she was visited by the spirit of the river. The spirit foretold that if she continued to wear the red flower, the existence of which was connected to the immortal heart of the beast, she would gain great wealth, fame, and power in a very short time. But also, the spirit revealed, that just by plucking that flower, the explorer had doomed herself and all her future offspring, and anyone else who so much as touched one of its petals. For the beast had a son, and that son would seek out anyone who so much as touched the red flower, and kill them. To this end, the protection of other innocent lives, the river offered her sanctuary:

"Throw yourself into me, take refuge in my cool arms of silver, and give yourself up to the benign currents of watery passage. Do not act, save this one act of self-sacrifice, and so be the silent guardian of many souls."

The explorer declined this beneficent offer, and the first part of the prophecy proved itself in a very short time. At first the former explorer, whose name was Allendre, resided in Bloomingdale. But soon her good luck had increased her wealth to an amazing degree, and made her as popular as the Queen herself, and so she decided to leave and found a city of her own. This she did, taking with her no less than two thousand followers to a spot one hundred miles north of Bloomingdale, to build what was to be hailed in its prime as the most beautiful city in the world. They named it Flora Escarletto, the City of the Red Flower. Allendre was quite naturally ruler for life, and she never went anywhere without the fabled orchid. By two husbands she had seven daughters, all of them beautiful and uncommonly wise. The city itself grew until it rivalled Bloomingdale in size; and more than matched it in wonders, with its spiralling towers of blue stone, long golden streets, and the creeping vines that covered the walls and bloomed at night with starry multitudes of tiny pink flowers.

But then, of course, the curse fulfilled itself. Allendre's eldest daughter was found murdered in her bed. Her head had been severed off, and her heart torn out of her breast. Despite all she did to protect them, the same thing happened to five more of Allendre's daughters, each one found with their head off and their heart gone. Desperate to save herself and her one remaining daughter, Allendre ordered that every single male in the city was to be evicted. Such was her power at the time that this decree was carried out, most of the men going willingly. Despite these measures, Allendre's paranoia flourished, and so she went even further and erected (with the help of a sorceress) a magical barrier around the city, designed to keep out any living creature. In this way they were entirely shut off from the world, and nothing was heard from the City of the Red Flower and the thousands of women enclosed inside its sorcerous petals, until 100 years later. A group of five explorers found the remains of the city, the magical barrier having fallen sometime before. All that remained of its inhabitants were the feminine skeletons that littered the otherwise preserved homes and streets; a calligraphy of bones sketched upon the perfect ruins.

The explorers took what gold and jewels they could find, since though they were deeply moved by this picturesque graveyard, they were still at heart treasure-hunters. In the city's largest building, the home of Queen Allendre, they found only two skeletons. One was Allendre's last and youngest daughter, who had died apparently in the ivory bathtub that her bones now lay in. The other was Allendre herself; only she wasn't a skeleton, exactly. Her body was perfectly preserved, but pallid and lifeless, and from her breast there grew a small green plant on which seven red flowers bloomed. The greedy explorers plucked one flower each, and left the last two where they were. When they arrived back in Bloomingdale, from whence they had set out, now rich beyond their wildest dreams, they presented themselves to King Ezequiel D’Muerte. Or more accurately, they presented the King with various splendid gifts to gain his favour. Also, to each of his daughters they gave one of the red flowers.

No more than a week had passed when the explorers, having set themselves up as merchants, were found murdered in their beds. Each had died in the manner of Allendre's daughters. It caused quite a stir, but that initial tumult was nothing, relatively, for a few days later the eldest of the King's daughters was found likewise dead. Somehow the curse was made known to the King, and he locked his daughters up in various strongholds around the city. A massive reward was offered to the person who killed the vengeful beast, though nobody had any idea what he (or it) looked like. As well he hired four guards of exceptional ability to live with his remaining daughters, one with each, with orders to defend them to the death. Little known to him however, the young beast, like the immortal red flower that had sprung from its father's chest, had blossomed and multiplied.

And thus at the dawning of this day - the end of the first night of confinement for the four princesses - eight of these beasts now prowl the city streets, in various shapes, sizes, and forms, each one intent on revenging their common ancestor by fulfilling his dread curse.

[Amos]

And thus at the dawning of this day - the end of the first night of confinement for the four princesses - eight of these beasts now prowl the city streets, in various shapes, sizes, and forms, each one intent on revenging their common ancestor by fulfilling his dread curse.

Prince Aralim, wearing clothes of plain white cotton, pulled on a pair of soft leather boots, quit the palace, and headed towards the city market. His manservant argued against it, saying it was too dangerous, what with the beast being out there. The Prince would have none of it.

"It is not I who am cursed, it is my poor sisters."

As he walked, he couldn't help but look at the buildings (it was easier than looking at the people), and wonder at how little they had changed since his youth. According what his Great Grandmother had told him, though, the city was very different to what it had been in the past, since had been necessary to rebuild much of it after the various assaults by dragons, armies and zombies during the time of her ascension. Selena de Muerte had indulged herself then, replacing the stale white walls and drab tile roofs with miniature towers of jagged red brick topped by domed ceilings. The roads had walkways, in a colourful contrast, were paved with blue-grey stone. It was a little off-putting, but as Selena had argued, much more interesting to look at.

Aralim turned his gaze to the sky, filled with ashen grey clouds, and a bright golden patch where presumably the sun was, or perhaps a cloud made of light. As he walked his thoughts slowly left his head, till nothing remained except the impression of the scenery. Anybody observing him then (and there were a few, since he was after all a prince) might have noticed that he seemed somehow less substantial than he had just a few moments ago. It wasn't really something you could see directly; it was like looking at a flawless illusion, while knowing it to be only an illusion. He might have walked through a wall, or been blown away by a light breeze, and few would have remarked afterwards that they thought it strange.

"He wasn't all there. Sort of ghostly. I think I could have put my hand right through him."

Then the sword at Aralim's side clanged into a lamppost, snapping him back to reality in an instant. He noticed a few things of real interest then. The first was a young woman with long, black hair, about his own height, returning from the market (now only a block away) with what appeared to be a small sack of olives. He was less drawn by her strange eyes than the solidity of her presence, which he unconsciously contrasted with his own, unsteady existence. A walking statue? he wondered, then wondered why he had wondered it. She went by him without incident, and then a second sight struck him. The market was held adjacent to the town square, joined to it in fact by the splitting of the road Aralim was walking down, and both could be seen clearly from where he was standing. The town square was a place dominated by two features: there was the fountain, carved out of obsidian into the shape of a large jungle cat, another one the late Queen Selena's commissions; and there was the gallows, an eyesore erected more recently by Aralim's father. A little controversy had arisen after the King had executed a wizard, and relations between the royal family and magic-users had been all but cut off. the wizards were mad because they hadn't been even told beforehand, let alone consulted, or allowed to deal with the renegade as they saw fit (which was the usual way). Their anger had prevented the King from turning to magic as a means of countering the curse on his daughters, though not from want of trying.

In any case, no hangings had been scheduled of late, nor conducted for some few months, so it was with some consternation that Aralim perceived a figure dangling limply from the crossbeam. He headed towards the square to investigate.

[dark fuschia]

The youngest Princess went by the name of Solya. She bore little resemblance to her other sisters, who all had long lustrous hair of raven black, eyes like sparkling sapphires, and skin as pale as ivory. Instead, she had mousy brown hair, that would never curl, and fell lankly about her face, her eyes were a mundane hazel, and her mouth completely lacked the sultry pout that ensured each of her sisters their place as some of the most beautiful women in the realm. She was not unattractive though, and she was well loved by her family, its just that her appearance always had raised quiet speculation amongst the commoners about her mothers' rumoured relationship with a butler. Solya had heard snippets of this talk, and often wondered, for she felt so different from her regal father, the grandson of Selena Del'Muerte herself. But it seemed of little concern, he adored her as much as his other children, and if the commoners spoke suspiciously of her origins, he never behaved as if he had heard. Solya felt it best not to speculate on the matter, it seemed of little relevance when her father loved her just the same.

And it was his strange actions borne of that love that she thought of now, as she sat quietly, locked away in a tower, afraid, and grieving the death of her eldest sister, Vesya. Vesya, who had always carried her when she was too small to keep up with the others, Vesya who had always sung her silly songs, Vesya, who had always called her "little flower". Tears leaked slowly from her eyes while her guard stood silent vigil nearby. His stern expression was no company and no comfort to the ache in Solya's heart. Why had her father locked her away like this? She felt like a mouse in a trap, as though she was just waiting for death. Her instincts told her to take Champion, her horse, and ride like the wind, but her father, damn him, had simply locked her away, as though that had saved Allendre and her kin!

Solya was no fool, she would not wait for death, she would find her own solution.

[sir archely]

Aramus took a sip from the tall mug of clear liquid in front of him. As he did so, his eyes peered through the liquid and the glass and watched a wavy image of the man seated across the table. His drink was long, though his sip was small. Whatever the clear liquid was, it was potent, and Aramus had never found solace in drunken stupors. More importantly, he was conducting business, and a clear head was best. It didn't hurt to be able to run in a straight line either.

The man opposite Aramus was well dressed, and sported large gold bands around each of his hands. The bands, in the style of the region, marked the man as a wealthy merchant. These happened to be more ornate than most, with gems of various sizes inlaid on the backs of his hands. What Aramus saw through his glass was the merchant holding a rather large bone, nearly as long as his forearm, turning it over and over in his hands. Three more similar looking bones lay on the table. Flanking the merchant were too large men. Certainly not as large as Aramus, but he was betting they knew how to use the swords on their hips.

As Aramus puts down his glass once more, the merchant speaks. "You say these are the teeth of dragons?" He gestures with one bone to the others, shiny black and deadly pointed on the table. Aramus leans back a moment, then replies, "Well, that is not precisely what I told you." His own teeth, gleaming white, flash for a moment in a rehearsed smile. "They are but a few of the teeth of one dragon, and a mere hatchling at that. Even so, I'm sure you can tell their quality. Now, do we have a deal? I came to you first for your reputation of a quick sale. I must be on my way, but not so quickly I couldn't find a better price."

The man takes sets down the bone he is holding, and, taking one last look at them, claps his hands together. Rather than the sharp report of skin to skin, a queer gonging noise is heard, generated by the cheaply enchanted gold bands. Thus is the sign of the region given that this sale is completed. The man reaches into his pocket and throws a pouch to Aramus, who catches it with another smile. The merchant points to the pouch. "There is some extra in there for coming to me first. And for coming to me first the next time." Aramus slides the pouch into his pocket without looking at the contents and says, "When I am in the area, I will. But like I told you, I'm headed back to the coast far west of here. Maybe I'll bring something back for you." He stands, nods to the men, and walks out of the tavern into bright daylight without looking back.

He can hardly keep a smile off of his face as he mounts his horse, and as he leaves the town behind laughter escapes. He looks inside the pouch at the glittering gems within and just shakes his head. It's a wonder what people will pay for some dyed and polished cattle bones. At least part of his tale was true. Aramus means to be on a boat down the river within a week headed for the coast. It's been a while since Selena was queen, and he doubts anyone will recognize him. Bloomingdale is the type of town where his skills can make a fortune... as long as he doesn't reach too high again.

[Marcus Makim]

He can hardly keep a smile off of his face as he mounts his horse, and as he leaves the town behind laughter escapes. He looks inside the pouch at the glittering gems within and just shakes his head.

Well what to say of Marcus Makim? First, he was handsome, of course, with a height that could not be matched by most men, a smile that could make a maiden swoon on the instant and wavy chesnut hair which he often swept back from his eyes in an unaffectly grand gesture. He also had a magnificent sword. This sword he had inherited from his uncle only recently, who had in turn aquired it through a gentlemans' wager concerning the nocturnal habits of voles. With the inheritance of this sword, Marcus had told his surprised parents that he no longer wished to be a farmer, he wished to travel to far off lands and make his fortune. His younger brother encouraged him excitedly, and his parents, uncertain at how to react to such foolishness, told him that they would support him in any decision he made. His mother baked him a hard loaf of bread, and his father bestowed upon him the families second best horse.

They waved him off on a sunny tuesday morning and Marcus bade them farewell, bearing his mothers tears jovially. "Don't worry mum! We'll meet again. I will bring you pearls from the Erland coast." His mother burst into fresh tears at the thought of the dangers one might encounter aquiring pearls, imagining a sea monters gulping her son in one enormous tooth filled bite. Marcus, completely oblivious to the extent of his mothers suffering, squeezed her a little tighter. Then he shook his fathers hand, happily punched his brother in the shoulder and jumped on his horse. In the morning light he cut a fine figure, his clean and well cut clothes a testament to the life of comfort he was leaving behind. "Farewell!" He said, not without ceremony, and he began his journey.

He had been travelling for a couple of months when he arrived at Bloomingdale, hungry, and already disheartened by life on the road. He had been getting by on odd jobs in exchange for food and lodgings... but most of these odd jobs made use of the skills he had gained working on his parents farm. The kind of work he was trying to escape. He wanted to glory and excitement. He was tired of stacking hay. He hadn't even had a chance to use his sword yet, and everywhere he went people were rude to him, quite unlike the friendly townsfolk he had grown up with. But today, as he got his first glimpse of a large city, his excitement was rekindled. There it was, Bloomingdale, tower after tower beyond sight alongside the murky river... how could there be enough people in the world to fill such giant a place? He stopped outside the city in the centre of the road, gazing up in awe, his mouth wide open.

"Get out of the way you fish sucking fool!" came a shout, and next thing Marcus knew his horse had stumbled to one side as a cart careened by him, loaded high with wood. The cart driver shook his fist as he flew past, but Marcus didn't notice as his horse fell into a panic, unerved by the sudden traffic. Dancer was a strong and healthy horse, as any second best horse should be, but he was prone to irrational fits of panic just like any horse who isn't the first best can be. He didn't like sudden movements at all, of which there were few on the farm. Marcus clutched the reigns frettfully as Dancer reared, kicking his front legs out theatrically (later, Marcus couldn't help but think Dancer knew full well that he was perfectly safe, and merely took the opportunity for some attention)

"Calm Dancer! Calm down!" Marcus cried to no avail, using all his strength in an attempt to restrain his overly excited gelding. He grimaced apologetically to other people on the road.

"Bloody country hick." he heard someone say as everyone warily moved away from the pair, everyone except an advancing horseman who seemed quite oblivious to the trouble. He kept fingering a purse at his side and grinning, and hadn't seemed to notice the commotion at all. Unfortunately this brought him quite close to the troublesome duo, and one of Dancers hooves flashed out and nearly hit his horse. Understandably, his horse did not take to the near miss too well, and it too reared, far less theatrically and far more angrily than Dancer had done. And then in a stunning burst, it sped off down the road away from the city, it's rider rudely aroused from his revery to find his horse at full gallop and out of control beneath him. For Dancer it was too much, and he pulled free of Marcus reigns and raced off in pursuit, with Marcus jiggling upon him, no longer intent on controlling his horse, now merely intent to holding on for dear life.

So the two horseman raced, that is... there horses raced, and for rather a long while. When there came a bend in the road they just kept going forward into the trees that banked up beside the city. The trees thickened quickly into forrest, and the forrest thickened quickly into impervious. Both horses seemed to telepathically agree on a glade up ahead, and both pulled in their stride quite suddenly so that both their riders went tumbling forard over their heads to land simultaneously on the soft grass. The horses, demonstrating not the slightest bit of concern, began eating the aforementioned grass, the drama of the road behind them. The riders groaned and sat up.

"Umm... sorry about that." Said Marcus sheepishly, upon discovering all his bones were intact "Dancer isn't used to so many people... Are you all right?" He stood to help the other man up and then gasped. For there, scattered all over the ground and glimmering in the light that filtered through the trees, were more jewels than Marcus had ever seen.

[sir archely]

He stood to help the other man up and then gasped. For there, scattered all over the ground and glimmering in the light that filtered through the trees, were more jewels than Marcus had ever seen.

Aramus groaned theatrically from his seat in the grass. He didn't think anything was too seriously harmed, but it never hurt to play the victim. It also helped him gain a quick moment in which to determine how best to use the situation to his own advantage. Then he noticed that the man's extended helping hand seemed to have forgotten its duties while its master gaped at the now jewel-encrusted glade. Gathering himself and standing to his feet, Aramus took a moment to look over this stranger and was surprised to see a man nearly as tall as himself. In fact, as he looked the young man over, he was even more surprised to find himself thinking that it could have been a younger version of himself. Admittedly, this one was better looking than he ever was, but convincing himself that it was merely the weight of passing years was an easy task. Even the sword at his side helped the image. It was easy to see the youth probably hadn't had it out of the sheath more than to hack at some hanging branches. Aramus waited until the shock of the gems was starting to wear off, and then spoke with a barking tone. "Well, what are you waiting for? They won't pick themselves up for me! Don't you know who I am?"

The man only stuttered apologies and made half a bow on his way down to the grass to pick up gems. "N-n-no? Should I know you? Sir?"

"Why of course! I am the Crown-Prince Hamgar of the Kingdom of Ers! Who are you that does not know this?!"

The jewels slowly made a glittering pile in the glade. "My name is Marcus Makim, sir-"

"Your highness."

"My name is Marcus Makim, Your Highness. I'm a simple country-"

At this Aramus' smile flashed out and he bent down to his knees, on a level with Marcus. The rough edge goes out of his voice. "Nah, that's no good Marcus, you keep on telling folks you're a simple country boy and they'll take you for a ride every time. And I don't mean the kind we just took. Listen, Hamgar is a 80 year old balding prince with warts. I don't even resemble the man! Tell you what, I like you Marcus. How would you like to tag along with me? I'm an adventurer of sorts, and I can show you the world. Agree, and when you put those gems back in my pouch, you can keep one for yourself, to get you started. You can call me Sumra, by the way. Glad to meet you."

As Aramus extends his hand and smiles, the first thought through his head is how some of the best cons take a partner. The second how some of the even better ones take a fall man.

[QuirkyTemplate]

Johnny B adjusted his hat and leaned back in his chair as duel lights blindingly beamed at his eyes from behind the other men. "That's quite an offer, Mr ...?"

"You can call me Mr. Toledo, but rest assured that my name is actually Frank Hillarino ... wait! Damn!"

"Ok Frank.”

“How did you --! Ah, no matter ... the fabled skills of Johnny Buttons in action. I was right to have come here then.”

“I'll take this one one condition ...”

"Go ahead."

"Give me a description of the job in more detail than 'the job'".

Mr. Toledo was silhouetted against two incredibly bright lights. There were five or six hulking shapes flanking him. Mr. Toldeo seemed to ponder the request momentarily, then said, "I'm sorry, but I've only been authorized to tell you when you've accepted."

"Damn. Okay, you drive a hard bargain, but I can respect that." Johnny was basically broke and any job would have to do if he planned on eating again. However, he wasn't broke for lack of work. No, Johnny B was the best bounty hunter this earth had to offer mankind, but he'd lost basically everything he had in a freak poker loss two weeks ago. Since then all his contacts had mysteriously vanished, as if someone had scared them off. He had a pretty good idea that whoever was offering him this current slant of employment was partly responsible. "So, half up front?"

Could he make out a smile from the blackened visage? "Yes. And half more upon completion of ... the job."

"Done and done. I'm sure you've heard that I'm basically the best there is in the entire universe."

"I've heard stories that you are incredibly proud of your abilities, Mr. Johnny B."

"Yes, well, arrogant is what I'd call it, but thanks anyway."

Johnny B sat there and listened to the requirements. It wasn't an ordinary bounty job, that was for sure. It was something else all together, something he'd never done before and wasn't exactly sure he felt comfortable doing. It was too late to think on that though, he'd taken the job. And his success rate was always 100%.

Tipping his hat down over his eyes he kicked back off the chair and stood. “Okay then, I'll probably need to get started right now. I'm gonna need the usual equipment,” he said. “The stuff I lost at that poker game you all engineered against me.” There was a pause of awkward silence; no one would admit to taking part in that. They didn't want to tip their hand even now, but that was just fine. Eventually a shadow nodded in acquiescence. “Plus I'll need a few things extra for this type of gig ... give me one of your men and I'll have him get it all together for me. With the world's best guards surrounding them, it's going to be no easy task kidnapping this Solya Del'Muerte kid.”

[Amos]

The real estate agent was short, thin, and very intense.

"This is a very old house, but as you can see it's in good condition. It was built before the time of Queen Selena, and was very lucky to survive her ascension. I think a dragon fell on the house next door. Come over here and take a look at the kitchen. Specious, isn't it?."

"Spacious. You mean spacious."

"Yes, I suppose you might call it that." She gave Yuvna a nudge with her elbow. "Plenty of room for frying up meatballs, eh?"

"Umm. Sure. Actually, I'm a vegetarian."

"Really? No wonder you look so pale. So what do you think, then? Is this your dream palace or what?"

Yuvna fumed. She was tired, irritated, and suspected that her spaz of a real estate agent would follow her around until she'd bought something.

"When can I move in?"

[Amos]

Moving into a new house is like rebuilding your old one, Yuvna thought as she unpacked her things, because everything you have goes into it. Only you want to build it better than it was before, so you add a few new parts, give it a makeover, and spend hours arranging the furniture. You remake yourself in the process as well. Put on a smile, become interested in your neighbours, and constantly tell yourself how far you've come and how good that sofa looks in the corner. But eventually that face melts away, and you realise that one house is much like another, that Mr and Mrs. Johnson next door are opinionated and nosey, and all you've really managed to do is put all your physical and emotional junk in a different position where they seem strange and unfamiliar. Suddenly all those deficiencies stick out like a sore thumb, and you're left wishing for the nice, familiar deficiencies of old.

Coming back to a city where you once lived, on the other hand, was a very different story. Bloomingdale hadn't changed a lot, and she spent some time walking the streets, reliving memories. Over there was the entrance to the sewer that Vic had dragged her and her brother into. This was the market where she had come with Selena to buy olives, after things had settled down. Miss Blanchett's Dancing School for girls, where she had been enrolled for a whole year, was still standing, though it had been converted into a bakery. Even the sky looked the same, and she remembered the day she'd finally got to ride a dragon, and had almost crashed into a flying castle that had come out of nowhere. Bloomingdale had provided all the best moments of her childhood. Some of the worst too, even if they didn't seem so awful now. Yuvna was very careful to avoid the part of town where she'd lived before becoming a zombie. That cold, decrepit area, the old wooden buildings dilapidated, as miserable as their tenants. The quiet suffering of the very poor. The hard, slippery stone walls of the well, and the dark water flowing into her lungs...

[QuirkyTemplate]

Johnny B shifted uncomfortably in his saddle as he made his way down Kemper road towards Bloomingdale. A passerby gave his brilliantly white pants a double take, then a tripple take, then he went tearing off down the road at a full sprint as if he'd seen some insane, yet awesome, force.

Johnny kept on riding. There's still a long way to go ... bugger distance. One of these days I'll put distance in it's place too. But 'till then, he moved on.

[Marcus Makim]

As Aramus extends his hand and smiles, the first thought through his head is how some of the best cons take a partner. The second how some of the even better ones take a fall man.

Marcus Makim scratched the back of his head thoughtfully, visibly undecided about this encounter. From what he knew about rich folk, they didn't just go around giving people jewels for nothing. "Ye say I can take one of these fine jewels here?", he asked.

Aramus nodded, "Why yes... as a token, the beginning of what will be a great partnership."

Marcus relaxed immediately, now this he could understand, damn he was lonely, by gum, he really did want a partner in his travels. "You're on Sumra!" he declared happily, and swiftly he grabbed his new friends hand and shook it fiercely, "I think you're right. This WILL be a great partnership."

Aramus agreed, relieved when he finally got his hand back. He watched while Marcus picked up the bright gems that littered the glade, seeing that he kept the smallest for himself. It certainly appeared to be the least valuable of the lot. "You know what I like to do when I have a pocket full of gems my friend?" Aramus asked as Marcus pocketed the gem, "I like to drink ale! Lets make another attempt to enter the city, see if our horses are up for it this time." Their horses certainly weren't up for it, having found a delicious source of fresh grass, but with some prompting they managed to get them going, and soon the pair were back on the road heading towards the city once again.

"You know, " Said Aramus, "We are lucky, I hear that is an enchanted forrest. If we had gone much further in, we might have had alot more difficulty getting out."

Marcus grinned, "I think that would have to do with there being so many bloody trees in the forrest rather than magic."

Aramus laughed, he was starting to like Marcus. They passed the city gates and asked directions to the closest Inn.

[Amos]

Mister Shnookums, slender of form and sliver-haired, didn't like the new floors of the new place. He leaped from bed to wooden box, living on the shelves and the high places, sat for long hours glaring suspiciously at the carpet below, studying its habits.. When the moving boxes were removed he found himself stranded on top of the wardrobe. To get himself away he invented a new system of movement, that involved scratching frantically at the walls to counter his downward momentum as he flew in the direction of the bed. Gravity, he knew, was more or less constant, but could be manipulated by sheer force of will in certain cases. He made some calculations. G minus O, divided by T minus F, equals PS: where G is gravity, O is obstinacy, T is time, F is fear, and PS a variable equal to either probability of success, or painful stimulus. He coiled his muscles, readied his claws, and mewed a quick prayer to the cat gods..

"Poor Mister Shnookums. Did you fall off the wardrobe? Here, come and have a nice glass of milky-wilky, and then Yuvna will put up some boards so you can go wherever you want to." She left the cat on the kitchen table with a saucer of milk, and after a short trip to the lumber yard, fulfilled her promise. Planks of wood extended from every piece of furniture, and were balanced on piles of books where there was no other choice, so that the house was lined with a complex system of walkways, which Mister Shnookums prowled along like a jaguar walking along tree branches, acting as if they had always been there. Indeed, the clumsy cat who had crashed into the hated carpet existed in a different dimension of space and time, and was so far from identical to the graceful Mister Shnookums as to be another cat entirely.

[dark fuschia]

Solya was no fool, she would not wait for death, she would find her own solution.

Now Solya didn't just spend all her time being the youngest royal princess. No, Solya had a secret. She dabbled in magic, and not just any magic, in soul magic. Some people called this the blackest of all arts, yet Solya took a more liberal minded approach. As long as no one was hurt, what was the problem? People only feared soul magic because they didn't understand it, she reasoned. These ill-informed people, who included her tutor, her maids, her flower arranger and most unfortunately - her father, believed soul magic drew upon the energy of a persons soul. They regarded it as nothing more than metaphysical theft.

Solya knew that this was not so. Soul magic drew upon the reflective power of the soul. It stole no enery from a soul itself. In fact the soul played a part something akin to that of a mirror. Everyone knows that when light comes from a mirror, it is not the mirror itself that has produced the light. So it was with soul magic.

So where did the energy of soul magic come from?

Well Solya could admit she didn't know exactly, but it was the same place all magic came from. That place inbetween sleep and waking, that place which exists on the edge of every dew drop and within every sliver of moonlight.

Soul magic was merely the means of channeling this power.

And why, you wonder, would a girl of sixteen snows know of such profane matters as MAGIC? Well the answer was simple: The crazy woman in Solya's mirror.

Solya had only been a small child when she first appeared. That she was crazy there could be no doubt, for her eyes were wild, and she often asked Solya not to forget to water the couch, lest it stop growing, but she knew things, that crazy woman, she knew things. Like how to make it rain immediately, and how to cure warts.

It wasn't until she was quite a bit older Solya realised no one else could see her. Her family had always seemed to believe her stories about her. For instance, when she would say to her father, "Maggie told me how to make a flower produce parmesan cheese instead of pollen today" her father would say, "That's nice Solya". It was with not a little dissapointment and frustration that one day Solya realised they simply thought of Maggi as an imaginary friend. So she stopped speaking of Maggie soon enough and everyone had forgotten about her nowadays.

But Maggie hadn't forgotten Solya, she always came for visits, sometimes daily, sometimes not for months, but always with a lesson or two. "Child, if you really want to understand bananas, you have to turn them into book-ends and then ask them about their childhood."

Such was the nature of Maggie and her strange advice, but her suggestions almost always gleaned interesting results if not complete success. On her advice Solya COULD turn bananas into book-ends, shiny bright yellow book ends shaped vaguely like... bananas... yes, but book-ends nonetheless. However they never answered any of her questions about childhood or otherwise.

So Solya took what she could from the crazy woman in the mirror, and some of it was powerful stuff. She could heal many illnesses for instance, but to protect herself, she always did it without anyone knowing. Like the time she had turned the Cooks' deadly consumptive coughs into butterflies. The Cook never knew it was Solya, and her terror of butterflies never left her after that strange day that they kept flying from her mouth, but she didn't die the slow painful death Solya had seen. She never even knew at what great risk she had been from the menace which had worked its way into her lungs.

Solya liked the cook, she made excellent cookies.

Then there was the elderly Prime Minister. Solya didn't like him at all, but she pitied him his gout, which he constantly complained about. Solya wasn't even sure what gout was, but she thought perhaps the Prime Minister might be more agreeable and stop punishing peasants with unfair taxes and fines and regulations if he didn't have it. She asked Maggie what to do, and Maggie immediately suggested a spell that involved pickled onions. It worked straight away. The next day the Prime Minister was all about the place, walking here and there, where once he could barely stand at all, and rarely left the royal parliamentary chamber. He didn't seem any happier at all though, and when he walked by Solya (at a brisk and business-like pace) she heard him complaining about his boils and mentioning some upstart peasants in town who he was going to track down personally in order to make them pay their taxes now that he had the use of his legs back.

Solya had sighed and worked to cure the boils, but then he only complained of another illness... and so it continued, with Solya curing him of a new ailment every night. It wasn't until the Prime Minister was complaining miserably of the very slight paper cut scar on his left little finger that Solya realised that some people will never change. By this stage he was the healthiest person in the land and persecuting peasants with more gusto, fervour and enthusiasm than most men might put into eating their dinner.

But I digress. The point is, by Crazy Maggie's tutelage, Solya had become very good at soul magic. Where Maggie came from she didn't know, but she never really thought to ask. To her, Maggie was as natural as her parents, as the seasons, as the comfort of her home.

But now she was far from that home, and far from Maggie. She didn't appear in the small hand mirror her father had allowed her. She thought of spells for her predicament, but she was too used to acting directly on Maggies advice.

There had to be SOMETHING she could do.

[Amos]

Mister Shnookums eventually came to be on friendly, even intimate terms with the carpet, so that Yuvna was able to take down all the miniature gangplanks. Only now she found herself burdened with a fairly useless pile of wooden planks. It was summer, so burning them in the fireplace was out of the question, and she had no way of storing them. She could perhaps have simply returned them to the lumber yard, but she found even the idea of it embarrassing. Besides, they might be offended.

"Hi, I'd like to return this wood, if that's okay."

Why? Is something wrong with it?"

"Oh no. It's very.. very good.. wood. Um. Well, it's just that I brought it a few weeks ago because my cat didn't like the carpet, but he's okay with it now, and I don't really need it anymore. I'm not asking for a refund or anything. I just want to give it back."

"I don't know. We've never taken wood back before. It would be like giving lumber back to the forest. Can't you just leave it somewhere out of the road? One day you'll find a use for it, and you'll say, 'Boy, I'm sure glad I kept all this wood.'"

"My house is so small. Well, my kitchen is rather specious.. I mean spacious.. but it would get in the way. Please wont you just take it?"

"Really now, miss, there's no need to make a scene. I'll tell you what, drop it over there behind the fence where nobody can see it, and I'll personally make sure that it gets a loving home."

[Amos]

A week passed. Yuvna dumped her boyfriend, because he couldn't deal with the fact that she didn't particularly like him. He did give her a good idea though. While they were at a restaurant together, she mentioned the subject of the cumbersome lumber, and asked him his opinion. He told her she should build a raft.

"We can go boating together. Not on the main river, of course, one of the slow-moving creeks that branch off it, or maybe a lake. It'll be fun."

"What? Why would I take you along?"

"Because I'm your boyfriend, that's why. Gods, do you even like me? We've been together for two weeks and this is the closest thing to a date we've been on."

"Date? Don't flatter yourself. And no, I don't like you. Is that a problem?"

Mr Johnson next door lent her some tools. She wasn't really sure how you built a raft. The rafts she'd seen looked simple enough, but she feared that there was some important secret to their design, without which her raft would fall apart in the water, or float backwards. Her technical resources were limited however, and in the end she just arranged the boards haphazardly, and made up for any possible weaknesses in the structure by hammering in a lot of nails. She christened it The Armadillo, and Mister Shnookums added to its deck the final important touch of a dead bird.

Mr. Johnson leaned over the fence to admire it. "Not bad," he admitted, though he was more or less against the idea of young girls building rafts and going boating by themselves, and his approval stemmed more from having had all of his tools returned, as well as an unwillingness to admit how little he himself actually knew about building rafts. "Have you noticed," he said, going off on a tangent, as neighbours are wont to do, "the butterflies?"

"The butterflies? Flying insects, colourful wings? Sure, I've noticed them."

"Yes, yes. But have you noticed how awful some of them are looking? I think that they have consumption."

"Consumption! How on earth can butterflies catch consumption? Do they even have lungs?"

"Well, that's what I thought.. But if you put your ear close to them you can hear them coughing and hacking away! Isn't it strange?"

"It is rather... odd," said Yuvna, inching away from him. What kind of person would hold one up to their ear in the first place?

"I bet," continued Mr. Johnson, now slowly but surely working himself up into a tirade of vast neighbourly opinion, "I bet some bugger's been messing with magic. Maybe some kind of insect-hater. I don't trust those bloody wizards, you know, always messing around with things you can't see. In my opinion, if you can't see something, you should-"

"Got to run, kettle's boiling!" cried Yuvna, and dashed back inside her house; there was only so much conversation that a girl could take.