Aphonion Tales (New posts 6/13, 6/15, 6/19)

[Ladybird]

Moving a little more slowly without Gyles’s expert tracking guidance and Varya’s overhead scouting, the party traveled on through the forest, winding their way towards the mage’s tower as the day wore on towards evening.

When they came to a convenient clearing to camp in, however, they found it already occupied, and by an extremely strange collection of tents: three sets of three identical tents. Something started to tug at Kit’s memory – threes. Something about sets of three.

And then the triplets came out. One set of identical triplets from each set of identical tents. “Tangites,” Kit groaned.

The little triplets were friendly enough, if a bit at loose ends without their One to lead them. The party decided to share the campsite – there was safety in numbers – and also shared their food with the Tangites, and the information about the basilisk. In return, the Tangites told the Canberrians what they had found on their long journey north, in which their One had been killed.

“Beyond three small bandit villages to the south,” said one of the nine little men, “there is a very large encampment. And – forgive me! They are all Ones! They don’t want the slavers to be stopped! And they have great power.”

“What kind of power?” asked Kit.

“Boom!” exclaimed one of the…ten little men. One of the sets of triplets had now become a set of quadruplets, a fourth identical little man beaming at the others from his spot around the campfire. Kit groaned. “Toby.”

The other triplets in the set sprang back from the campfire. “A doppelganger!” one of them cried, staring at the fourth – the magically-disguised Toby – in horror.

“Toby,” Kit groaned again. “You’re really not helping…”

“What?!” the fourth man protested, in Toby’s hurt voice. “It’s just a little spell…”

“You have magic power?” gasped one of the other triplets in the set. “Do you have great power?”

“Of course I do!” Toby declared, returning to his original form with a flourish.

“We have no One to lead us anymore,” said the little triplet slowly. “Do you think…do you think that you could be our One? If Paranswarm has led us to you…”

Toby glanced down at his holy symbol of Whimsey, doubtful for a moment. But Whimsey, in her eternal capriciousness, had decided to change his holy symbol – for the moment, at least – into the downward-pointing arrow of Paranswarm. “Of course!” Toby declared again. The nine little men clustered around him happily.

While Kit and Honore saw to the assembly of the rest of the group’s campsite, Toby was starting to teach the Tangites to sing. In three-part harmony, of course.

 

[Ladybird]

Late the following afternoon, the group (whose size was now increased by nine harmonizing little Tangites) reached the mage’s tower. In classic mage’s-tower form, it was tall, stone, and forbidding. Less classic was the harried-looking old servant who scurried out into the courtyard to meet the group, and who let out an exasperated sigh as soon as he spotted the petrified bodies of Jet and Alessandre, each slung across the backs of three of the Hanalian warhorses. “More basilisks? All right, all right, come on in.”

The servant helped them load Jet and Alessandre onto small floating platforms – much to the relief of the horses – and led the party inside, keeping up a grumbled running commentary the entire way. “Never sure how many steps it’s going to be. I can’t see why he can’t put his laboratory on the first floor and make it easier on all of us. No, he’s got to have it on the top floor. Or sometimes the second-to-top. Yesterday it was twenty-five flights up, and the day before that, it was seventy-three!”

Fortunately for everyone, on this day, it was only seventeen flights up to the mage’s workshop. The mage himself – who, the servant had told them, was named Alexandros Omsberg, - was as stereotypical as his tower, a small, hunched old man with wispy white hair and a long straggly beard. His workshop was cluttered with bubbling vials and the glowing debris of dozens of magical experiments. “Yes, Igor?” the mage said, looking up from some unidentifiable strange spinning silvery objects. “Oh, more basilisk victims? Right, bring them all in.”

In a few minutes, Jet and Alessandre were back to normal, much to their relief. Kit, a little wary of such freely-given magical service, said, “We’re all very grateful for your help, sir, but…what do you want in exchange?”

“My privacy,” Alexandros said simply.

“Er…well, we’d be happy to give you that, now that you’ve helped us,” Kit answered skeptically. “But are you sure you don’t want any other payment? We could put in a good word for you with the Archduke…”

“Archduke? I thought it was an Archduchess!” For the first time, the mage’s scattered grumpiness cleared, and he focused closely on Kit. “What happened to Amelia?”

“I’m sorry,” Kit replied gently. “She passed away just over two weeks ago.”

Alexandros sighed. “Well, I suppose she was getting on. Who’s inherited, then? Her son?”

“No – her grandson, Alistair.”

“Hmph!” The mage snorted. “Well, I hope he’s stopped foddering around enough to calm down and rule!”

Kit cleared her throat, while Honore tried to suppress a snicker. “Yes. Well,” Kit said awkwardly. “He’s, er, calmed down quite a bit. His grandmother thought that he would make a fine Archduke.”

“Well, we’ll see,” Alexandros conceded. “You’ve come from the capital, then? Personal friends of the Archduke?” He eyed Kit significantly, raising his eyebrows at her growing blush. “Personal friends,” he repeated. “So what are you doing all the way down here?”

“We’re here to fight the slavers,” Jet replied. Grateful to be talking again, and seeing that the rest of the group seemed to trust the mage, the often-laconic cook was, for once, eager to chatter away. “We were sent from the capital to investigate where they’re coming from, and to try to put a stop to them.”

“Ah!” The mage brightened a little. “In that case, may I make a few suggestions?”

“Oh, suggest away!” said Jet.

“Well, first, I would suggest that you should have the Archduke talk to the other members of the Mages of Northern Arilian. If they know that he’s committed to fighting the slavers, they may be willing to help. And I would suggest that he talk to them about other subjects, too.” Alexandros narrowed his eyes at the group. “You must have come through Brightspan in order to get here. Did you meet with the Duchess? What did you think of her?”

Kit wavered. “Well…she’s…er…”

Alexandros nodded, with a satisfied sniff in response to Kit’s hesitation. “She’s a diabolist,” he said flatly. Alessandre blinked, drawing back from the mage’s directness. “And you should talk to the rest of the Mage’s Circle, because it is not safe for anyone to allow her to continue her work.”

“Thank you,” Kit said, a little weakly. “We had…er, suspected that she might not have Canberry’s best interests at heart. Do you have any suggestions about who we should talk to first? And can we use your name – you know, say that you sent us?”

“Talk to Lady Meredith the Dazzling. This is more her area of expertise than anyone else’s.”

“All right. Thank you.” Kit could see Jet edging towards the door, anxious to get out of the tower and on his way. “Is there anything else that we can give you?”

“My privacy,” Alexandros repeated.

And so the party gave it to him. It was fifty-three flights down to the ground, but everyone walked it under their own power.

**
While the rest of the party worked on redistributing the packs, now that the Hanalians’ horses didn’t need to worry about carrying the petrified bodies of Jet and Alessandre, Toby stared thoughtfully up at the mage’s tower, wandering slowly back towards it.

“You know, I think that man needs a bit of cheering up,” Toby mused to the nearest set of Tangites. “I think he needs a monkey.”

And with that, he summoned a monkey, which went scampering up the outside wall of the tower. And then he left.

 

[Ladybird]

“So what do we do now?” Kit looked around at the others, as they made camp for the night. “We don’t have that many people left. And if there really are all these bandits, there’s no way we can make any kind of strike against them. I say we turn this into an information-gathering mission. Find out as much as we can about what’s going on, and get back safely. All right?”

“What if we find reinforcements?” asked Jet. “There are supposed to be some other knights of Canberry down here, fighting the slavers.”

“All right,” Kit conceded. “If we can find enough reinforcements from Canberry. Or Princess Anastasia. Otherwise, unless we get a really lucky break, I don’t think we’re going to have the numbers or power to do anything significant.”

It was the middle of the first watch when Honore heard something, far back in the woods, and nudged Kit. Kit concentrated for a moment, opening up her mind to Detect Thoughts. Surround them! someone was thinking, far back in the trees. Take the kidnappers alive!

That was all the warning that they had, before the trumpets blew and the clearing erupted with the clank of armor and clatter of hoofbeats as the Hanalians rode forth.

The Canberrians were suddenly surrounded by sixty armed Hanalian soldiers. Just as before, there was a good deal of shouting and demanding to stand and deliver and surrender in the name of various crowns, until they managed to get it sorted out that no, they were neither slavers nor kidnappers. Unlike before, however, this group was led by a much more mature-looking nobleman, with his heraldry prominently displayed on his shield. At his side was a severe-looking man in the robes of a Paranswarmian Inquisitor, who, as soon as it had been determined that the Canberry party was no threat, declared, “It is your honor to meet His Grace the Duke of Snattercaz.”

 

[Ladybird]

While the Canberrians scattered around, making room for the overwhelming – but, fortunately, peaceful – force of Hanalians, the Duke of Snattercaz was holding a quick, muttered discussion with his advisor the Inquisitor.

“The leader isn’t displaying any heraldry,” the duke said, glancing at Kit out of the corner of his eye, “but she must be a noblewoman.”

“She’s traveling with a priest and a nun,” the Inquisitor observed. “For someone to have two clerical advisors, in an entourage that small? She must be at least a countess. Perhaps the heir to a duchy. If she were a duchess, of course,” the Inquisitor added, preening, “she would be traveling with a bishop.”

The duke frowned. “You’re probably right. I can’t place her accent, though. She doesn’t sound Canberrian. Although the priest most definitely does…" Snattercaz slid off of his horse and landed in front of Kit. “My lady?”

After all of this time, Kit was finally used to the title. “Yes, Your Grace?” she replied, not missing a beat. The duke glanced significantly over at the bishop, raising his eyebrows at her casual reaction, while Kit raised her eyebrows in return, studying the duke and bishop as they exchanged looks. Surreptitiously, Kit sent out a Mindlink to Honore. Help me out with this? Kit thought. This one’s important.

I’ll do what I can, Honore thought back. She glanced over at the duke and the bishop – fortunately, neither of them appeared to have noticed the psionic activity.

“What’s your name?”

Kit thought fast. She could tell that the duke wasn’t sure of her rank – she’d seen him looking for her heraldry. Don’t say ‘Dame,’Honore suggested. Just say your name and let him guess at the rest. “Katherine of Lyneham, Your Grace,” Kit said out loud. It had the result they’d hoped for – the duke and bishop exchanged another look, and she could see the bishop racking his brains, trying to figure out where in Canberry Lyneham was. Well, it wasn’t part of Canberry until a couple months ago, so he’ll have a fun time trying to figure that one out, Kit thought.

“What is your mission here south of your border?” the duke asked.

“We told you – we’re here fighting the slavers. We were sent by the Archduke himself to look into the matter.”

The duke and bishop exchanged another glance, this time a surprised one. “The Archduke? Has Her Grace finally gone into eternal darkness, then?”

Honore frowned subtly at the Paranswarmian idiom; Alessandre frowned a little less subtly. “She rests in the light,” Alessandre muttered.

“Sadly, yes, Her Grace Lady Amelia has passed on,” Kit interjected, speaking over Sister Alessandre. The duke looked at her more closely – there was a note of real sorrow in Kit’s voice when she spoke of Amelia’s death, and Snattercaz had noticed it. “Just over two weeks ago. Her grandson Alistair has succeeded her.”

“And whose son is he?” the bishop asked, a slight note of disdain in his voice.

“That’s Belconnen’s son,” Snattercaz replied, before Kit could do so. “One of them, at least. Belconnen was a good man – a good warrior,” he said, nodding in gruff approval. “I’m glad it’s one of his children who’s sitting on the throne now.”

Kit found herself grinning at the Duke. If he thinks Alistair’s going to be a good Archduke, then maybe he’s someone we’ll be able to work with. she thought to Honore, and could feel the priestess’s inward smile in response. But then Kit remembered something else that she needed to tell Snattercaz, and her smile faded. “Your Grace, I’m sorry to have to report another death. Several more. Sir Bernard Sathrecar, and all of his men. They were killed by bandits – they fought bravely, but they were outnumbered more than three to one, and all of them were lost.”

The Duke closed his eyes. “I’m going to have to tell his father,” he said, with a sad, heavy sigh. The Inquisitor made the downward-arrow sign of Paranswarm with his hand, shaking his head. “Are you sure it was bandits?” the duke asked. “Not the slavers?”

“Well…” Kit said slowly, “we think they may be connected. “At least, we think that some of the bandits are being backed by some of the slavers. Some of the bandits are just refugees who have turned to banditry because they have no other option. And there are several groups of slavers at work. But we think there’s one group that’s become particularly strong recently.”

“We know,” said the bishop flatly. “There are over a thousand of them, at a fortified base to the south of here. And they’re attacking with these.” He hauled a heavy sack from behind his horse’s saddle and tossed it to the ground at the Canberrians’ feet. The sack slid open to reveal the grotesque figure of a creature that was half human, but misshapen, and with black bat-wings sticking up from its shoulders. The bishop smiled grimly, and a little maliciously, as Kit and Honore sprang back, and Alessandre clutched at her holy symbol. “It’s a tiefling,” the bishop said, at the same time that Honore prompted Kit with the same information in her mind.

Is that the same kind of thing that Lady Brightspan has been summoning? Kit thought to Honore.

There are multiple kinds of tieflings – so, not necessarily. But I’m not sure it’s entirely a coincidence that we’re finding tieflings here, either.

“The slavers have been using those,” Snattercaz continued. “And you’re right that some of the refugees have been turning to banditry, but some of them have been doing it because the slavers have recruited them. Offering to protect their families, in exchange for help with raiding and slave-taking.”

Kit shuddered, her frown deepening at the thought of the refugees being coerced and threatened like that. “We’ve heard that the slavers have some pretty serious magical power on their side. Do you know anything about that?”

“It’s an arcana,” the bishop said, with the air of someone who has just made a great and portentous statement.

What’s that? Kit thought frantically to Honore. Please help me out – I can’t look stupid in front of them!

I’m not sure exactly, Honore thought back apologetically. It’s some kind of demon, I think?

“Ah,” Kit said, nodding with a very good approximation of comprehension. “More demons, then.”

The duke stepped back, glancing over at the bishop again, and beckoned him away with a nod of his head. The two men held a whispered conversation for a few moments, and then the duke returned. “My lady,” he said, with a respectful nod to Kit. “Would you walk with me for a while? I believe there are some things that we may need to discuss in private.”

 

[Ladybird]

The Duke led Kit deeper into the forest, winding between the trees away from the camp and into the darkening night. In other circumstances, Kit might have felt apprehensive, alone in the dark with a strange man from a hostile country, armed to the teeth and with dozens of knights at his command. But she still had the Mindlink with Honore – and she could tell that Snattercaz was nervous about something.

Bet you two silver that he’s trying to work up the courage to tell me about Princess Anastasia, Kit thought to Honore.

Is it really proper to be wagering on something so serious? Honore’s words were disapproving, but her mental tone was amused. It turned more sober, though, as she asked, Are you sure you’re all right out there?

If anything goes wrong, you can raise the alarm.

Snattercaz took a deep breath, gathering his resolve. “My lady,” he began. “I’m afraid that I must inform you of another motive that Hanal has had, in our forays into the lands south of Canberry.”

“All right,” Kit replied. She was grateful for the darkness – it made it much easier for her to hide the smile that she wasn’t quite succeeding in suppressing. It shouldn’t be funny, but it really was – the Duke working up to a big confession that everyone already knew.

“We have been fighting the slavers wherever we find them, it is true. But our true purpose is to seek the Princess Anastasia, second daughter of the Empress Thyastis, may she reign in glorious darkness forever. Anastasia was last seen in this vicinity – she took one of her mother’s vollers, along with a small retinue, and came here in the hopes of combating the slavers herself.” The Duke’s voice warmed a little as he spoke of Anastasia. Maybe it was just a political match between them, but there seemed to be some honest affection in there, too, at least on the Duke’s side.

Carefully, Kit said, “I see. It must be a difficult political situation, not knowing the whereabouts of one of the princesses.”

“It is,” the Duke sighed. “And even more difficult than it may seem at first.” Kit’s ears pricked up – was there something new coming? “I admit my own personal involvement in the matter, since Anastasia is my betrothed…”

“How does she feel about that?” Kit broke in, surprising both herself and the Duke with her directness. She gulped, reaching along the Mindlink to feel Honore’s reassuring presence, just in case. Still, how could I not ask? What if she’s just running away from a bad marriage?

But the Duke didn’t seem to take offense, beyond an initial stiffening of his already upright posture. “She is aware of the need for someone in her position to make a political match. But she is not entirely opposed to the marriage for its own sake.”

Kit nodded, flashing the Duke a quick, apologetic look, and he continued. “But it is not just the marriage.” Snattercaz spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully as he went. “There is a faction at court that favors Anastasia as the heir to the throne. She is impulsive, yes, as is the way with the young. But she is also idealistic.” Unlike his compatriot, when the Duke spoke of Anastasia’s idealism, he didn’t make it sound like an insult. “A follower of the Weeping Woman. And…much better suited to leadership than either of her sisters.”

Kit grinned up at the Duke. The more she heard about Anastasia, the more she liked her. This was definitely the kind of heir that Canberry would like to see in Hanal. But… “What about the other sisters?” Kit asked, her smile fading a little.

Snattercaz glanced around, as if worried about being overheard, even out in the middle of the forest, thousands of miles away from his home country. “The eldest of the Empress’s three daughters is…secure in her convictions, and not troubled with moral questions.” His mouth twisted wryly. “And fond of torturing her slaves. And her lovers. The youngest daughter would not be an objectionable candidate from that perspective – she has shown no signs of the kinds of personality traits that her mother and eldest sister share. But she is weak and sickly, and probably could not withstand the physical rigors of rulership.”

“So which one does the Empress favor? The eldest?”

“The Empress has not declared her preference,” the Duke replied. His voice still had that careful tone, even though there was nobody to hear besides Kit. “The eldest is the presumed heir, but Thyastis’s plan for succession is…to live forever, and therefore not need a succession.”

Kit stared incredulously at the Duke for a moment. That does seem consistent with what we know of Thyastis, Honore offered over the Mindlink, when Kit relayed the information to her. Self-centered, and maniacally overconfident.

Snattercaz was still speaking, though. “The difficulty is that if the eldest sister takes the throne after Thyastis’s death – may it not occur for a thousand years!” he added hastily. “ – she will have the legal authority to execute her sisters. There will not be a second chance to put a good ruler on the throne of Hanal.”

Kit swallowed hard, and nodded. “Your Grace?” she began slowly. “I’m one of the Archduke’s advisors. From what I know of him, and from what I know of the situation in Canberry, I think that Princess Anastasia sounds like the kind of person that Canberry would very much like to see on the throne of Hanal. It would be to our benefit as well as yours, if she became Empress someday. If you’ll accept our help, we’d like to help you look for her.”

The Duke nodded, giving Kit a small smile. “Thank you. I had hoped that you would. We’ll have to find some way of communicating, so that we can coordinate our efforts…”

Kit reached into her pocket and pulled out the small stone that she had taken from the Hanalian lieutenant. “Would this help, m’lord? I’m not sure how it works, but I think it’s used for communication. It belonged to one of the leaders of the expedition we encountered earlier. I was going to return it to you,” she added, mostly truthfully.

The Duke’s eyes lit up. “Ah! You found the linkstone. Good. We’ll have to get it recalibrated so that it will be keyed to you, but the bishop can do that. Let’s go back to camp.”

The Inquisitor, still skeptical of the Canberrians in general and Kit in particular, was reluctant at first. But the Duke persuaded him to cast the requisite spell in order to realign the linkstone, allowing him to communicate with Kit, and vice versa.

And Kit went to bed quite satisfied, after tossing off a Sending back to Canberry. Found sane Hanalians, she reported. Helping look for princess, so we can have sane heir to throne…

 

[Quartz]

Oh yes...

 

[Ladybird]

Later that night, while Sir Toby and the nine little Tangites were on watch, there was a rustling, rumbling sound back in the trees. As they listened, the sound grew louder – and louder still, resolving into the rhythmic beat of dozens of hooves.

A herd of antelope thundered into the clearing, crashing with desperate speed through the trees. Three of the Tangites dove down to take cover; three looked to Toby for guidance; three stared in confusion.

Their confusion only increased a few seconds later, when the lions that were chasing the antelope appeared. The other six Tangites yelped and joined the first three in hiding in their miniature tents.

Toby reached immediately for his gun. Perhaps this was not the original purpose for which Whimsey had sent him here, but if She chose to send lions into his path – and surely, the appearance of a herd of antelope and lions (herd of lions? pack of lions? flock of lions? oh well, there were only three of them anyway, not really enough for any kind of group) in such an unlikely environment indicated the workings of Whimsey. She would favor his gun, if She saw fit…

BOOM! He fired at the rearmost lion, sending out a puff of smoke – and suddenly, the lion was running upwards, flying at a steep angle into the air.

Toby waved his gun, as if to direct the lion away. And sure enough, it moved in the direction that Toby’s gun pointed. The lion floated off, letting out a series of increasingly befuddled mewing roars. And then the sound faded into nothingness, leaving only peace and quiet in the night.

 

[Ladybird]

The parting between the Canberrians and Hanalians was much more cordial than their meeting – except for the bishop, who still glowered at everyone with vague discontent – and Kit and the Duke each promised to notify the other if they came across any sign of Anastasia.

They hadn’t been on the road for very long when the all-too-familiar sound of battle floated towards them. This time, though, there was something different – the accents of the shouting voices sounded familiar, and the sound of monstrous hisses was growing fainter by the second. The Canberrians spurred their horses forward, riding towards the battle this time instead of away. “Broadfields!” Honore exclaimed, breaking into a bright smile at the familiar sight of her home county’s banners.

The fight was almost over, and the large group of knights bearing the banners of Canberry’s Earl Broadfields was definitely on the winning side. The corpses of tieflings and bandits littered the ground, and there were halfling auxiliaries hurrying between the fallen bodies, finishing the last few off. There was nothing left for the party to do besides offer healing to the wounded, and try to figure out what had happened.

“I can’t understand where these abominations came from,” grumbled the leader, once the initial introductions had been made. Sir Alonzo Barleybasket, a vassal of Earl Broadfields, was as bluff and wholesome-looking as his name would imply, and looked surprisingly at ease in his heavy armor. “I’ve never seen anything like them before.”

“They’re tieflings,” Honore explained. “Some of the slavers have been using them to resist the armed groups that have been sent against them.”

Sir Alonzo grumbled even more darkly. “We knew they were some sort of unholy creature. Now we’ll be better able to fight against them. Which way are you headed? Would you…” He paused, glancing back at his lieutenant, and his expression grew a little more gloomy still. “Would you like a more heavily armed escort?” The knight didn’t look precisely happy at the prospect of needing to protect the little group, but clearly, his honor demanded that he at least ask.

The relief was plain on Sir Alonzo’s face when Kit replied, “Actually, we’re on the trail of a different group. Of slavers,” she added hastily. “You haven’t seen a voller around here, have you?”

“Well, actually, yes,” Sir Alonzo said, drawing back with surprise at the odd question. “Heading southeast. Yesterday morning, wasn’t it?” He looked back to his lieutenant for confirmation once more, and the other man nodded.

“Then that’s the way we need to go, too,” said Kit. “Good luck, Sir Alonzo, and take care. We’ll meet again, I hope.”

 

[Ladybird]

Another day’s ride south, and they saw it.

An enormous wooden fortification rose up from the southern plains, surrounded by another several layers of outbuildings, tents, and makeshift stables. Dust wafted through the air, churned up by hundreds of feet as an enormous group of slaves, bound and shuffling and downcast, was herded out through the open gates of the stockade. Through another gate, a smaller group, only a dozen or so, was being driven raggedly into the slavers’ camp at the hands of two mounted uruks, whipping them brutally forwards. Above the wooden rim of the stockade fluttered the distorted, black-winged form of a tiefling.

The group hung back behind the crest of the hill, watching warily for a few minutes. Finally, Sir Toby broke the silence, his booming flamboyant voice slightly subdued. “Shall I scout ahead?”

“That means being stealthy,” Kit said, shooting a pointed look at the ruffled musketeer, and recovering her skepticism along with her equilibrium. “Are you sure you can do that?”

Sir Toby drew himself up with a plumed huff. “Certainly! In fact, I can be more stealthy than anyone else! If necessary, I can be invisible!”

Kit hesitated for a moment longer, glancing towards the others. Alessandre, deep in distressed prayer as she watched the procession of downtrodden slaves, offered no reaction. Honore, skeptical but resigned, pointed out gently, “It is an asset.” Jet, just skeptical, shrugged. Finally, Kit nodded. “All right. But be careful. Here – I’ll keep a Mindlink running with you. If anything bad happens, let us know – and get out of there, quick!”

“Fear not!” Toby declared, with another flourish of his hat. It turned into a confused shake of his head halfway through, as the unfamiliar sensation of the Mindlink sank in, but he waved his hat and musket aloft, and trotted off down the hill.

**
Eeeeeek! ahem. I’m all right, I’m all right! Never fear! Sir Toby’s thoughts came over the Mindlink in scattered bursts. That was rather close, but everything is all right. They seem to have put up some fascinating traps around the perimeter of the encampment. Oh, look, caltrops! How shiny! And quite effective.

Still visible for now, the musketeer crept closer to the slavers’ fortified camp, unnoticed among the chaotic shuffle of prisoners, bandits, tieflings, and captors. “Hm,” he murmured out loud. “That’s an unusual design for a trap.”

“Ooooh.” A slow, sultry feminine voice came from behind Toby’s shoulder. “What are you looking at?”

Toby straightened up. The voice belonged to a woman, nearly as tall as Toby himself, with flowing black hair…and flowing black wings. There was something slightly wrong about the set of her bones, and her eyes glowed faintly red.

Over the Mindlink, Kit’s thoughts started to grow more agitated the minute she received the image. Toby, Honore says that that sounds like a tiefling. Get out of there!

Toby didn’t respond to the frantic thoughts pounding in his mind, but he did talk back to the black-winged woman. “It’s a trap! Fascinating, isn’t it? Look how the little bolt goes this way and that!”

“You’re rather fascinating yourself,” the tiefling drawled, moving a little closer to Toby. “What are you doing so far from home? You’re not one of us. Who are you, little feathery one?”

Toby, get out!

A strange, unfamiliar emotion tugged at Toby, holding him back from answering the winged woman. Could it be…caution? “But who are you, fair lady? Er. Dark lady?”

“I asked first,” she replied, with a slanting smile. One elegant hand lifted, and flickered in the familiar-looking motions of a spell. If she’d succeeded, Toby wouldn’t have known what it meant – but he was able to resist, and realized that the winged woman was trying to Charm him.

Get out get out get out!

If this is where Whimsy has sent me, then I must follow! Toby thought back, over the Mindlink. And then, just to himself, But that doesn’t mean that I need to sit here and wait while she tries to Charm me. Toby stepped back and lowered his gun, carefully taking aim at the winged woman.

BANG! A fruitcake shot out of the end of the musket.

Woooooo! I am the Voice of Whimsy! And I say GET OUT!

Now that’s just silly, Toby thought back reproachfully. Before the tiefling could finish her next spell, Toby was already casting one of his own, and in a tiny puff of feathers and cake crumbs, he vanished.

The tiefling let out a low chuckle. “Ooooh, this game is fun,” she drawled. She vanished too, except for her lips, which remained, red and full and hovering ever closer to the invisible form of Toby.

Toby darted around to the side, and took aim again at the predatory lips. With a whiff of gunpowder, he became visible again, but this time, the bullet found its mark. The tiny pellet of metal didn’t appear to have hurt the tiefling woman much, but a second after it hit, the bullet’s other effect took hold. The red lips parted – in laughter. Hysterical, uncontrollable laughter seized the tiefling, and she shimmered into visibility again, doubled over and unable to do anything but laugh.

And then, Sir Toby got out.

 

[recentcoin]

Yay for Sir Toby...

Nothing like a bit of chaos to liven things up....