Our story begins in the Kingdom of Valerith, specifically in the city of Amblino, the City of the First Light. A weary Doctor make her way from the Amblino University into the City proper. Her dark bags under her eyes seem to be heavier now as the stressed Doctor continues on. A million thoughts rush through her head as she makes her way through.

She snaps out of her thoughts to hear music and she looks up to see an idiotic human make the noise with an instrument in a street corner before he is tackled to the ground by the guards and promptly dragged away.

A passing child asks her mother, "Mommy...? What was he doing? Why was he dragged away?"
"He was doing something very evil, dear. He was trying to make music. Whatever you do, dear, Never make music like he did...!"

The Academic continued on, and eventually found her way to the Grim Lodge. She enters and makes her way to the Quieter area where she can drink in peace, and she makes her order while placing a gold coin down on the counter,

"...Whatever is the strongest alcohol you have. I need the drink,"

There she would sit for hours and drink, and eventually, when nearly everyone is gone, she could be heard talking to herself with a conflicted and frustrated sigh,

"What am I going to do...?! Talking to them didn't work. Hell, I even got threatened for being arrested for telling a tall tale, but I know it's the truth. And I got caught taking matters into my own hands..."

With a whimper and a thunk of her head flopping onto the bar, forehead making the noise against the wood. Her next question is muffled as she asks herself, "Am I really going to have to go to the Legion of Needles and Thorns for help...?"

---

---

---

Amidst the intoxicating ambiance of a dimly lit tavern, where the heady fragrance of aged wines mingled with the murmured secrets of its patrons, there arose an encounter most unassuming. From the depths of delicate realms, where Nietzschean spirits joust with moonlit tides, emerged a cloaked Genasi. Her concealed being, a sublime symphony of aquatic elegance, seemed to flow with the very essence of the oceans, embodying their vast mysteries and whispered tales. Every glance she cast was a cascade of enigmatic waves, and every gesture, a ballet of liquid grace. However, in this very establishment, destiny played its most capricious card. For there sat a physician, a mender of wounds, who, in life's grand tapestry, harbored a deep-seated phobia of melodies and fables. This guardian of health, amidst the clinking of glasses and soft conversations, found solace in silence, fearing the very harmonies that Valerith detested. And as kismet would have it, in this kaleidoscope of emotions and stories, their worlds, both vivid and contrasting, were foretold to intersect.

As muses intertwined, amidst the shimmering veil of reality, born from the fervent embrace of elemental water and the lewd winds of karma, the progeny of a Marid immemorial danced nearer to the doctor's soliloquized sighs, with the ephemeral whispers of the abyss, her essence echoing the mysteries of the deep blue. Her every step was a testament to sublimated glacial beauty, a fluid tango manifesting as a serenade of billows and ripples.

"What am I going to do...?! Talking to them didn't work. Hell, I even got threatened for being arrested for telling a tall tale, but I know it's the truth. And I got caught taking matters into my own hands..."

Yet, in a poignant twist of cosmic irony, her path serendipitously converged suddenly with that of the clinician, as her gait harbored an inexplicable ataxia, gravity harshly crashing the corpus of the sorcerer into that humble sentinel of fragility and wellness, who obviously sought respite from the day's ordeals, perhaps yearning for a potion to soothe her weary soul. In the vast theater of existence, in that awkward waltz of fate, their paths collided, weaving together the ethereal magic of insincerity and the grounded wisdom of science in a momentary jaunt of Brownian chance.

"Mia culpa," as wet palms and clumsy fingers apologetically returned any lost pages to her possession. "Please." An undulating smile began to fibrillate. "Allow me to buy you a drink for your trouble."

---

Mechanics: Iota intentionally bumps into the quest giver, as she overhears her confession, desiring to take meaningful glances at the fretful paperwork.

Performance - Disruption of the Doctor - 9
Perception of Papers - 21

Arkerym's orders were - as they always were - concise, to the point, and utterly lacking in an explanation as to why he gave them. Miss Light had long since learned that she would get more of an explanation from following the order than questioning it, so she took up her cloak, draped it over her shoulders, clasped it tight around her, and pulled up the hood to hide the colorful garb that lay beneath. What few customers that were still present after the latest show, lifted their tankards to her as she passed by in appreciation of the entertainment she had provided for them. Soon enough, Miss Light emerged out into the bar.


Miss Light did as instructed and held. As she held, she heard the woman make mention mention the Legion of Needles and Thorns. 'The Legion of Needles and Thorns?' Miss Light thought to herself. 'Who are they that inspire such scorn?'


Miss Light's eyes swept over the room, quickly settling on the watery woman who was now approaching the book woman. 'Who is she?' Miss light queried her patron.


Despite the unsatisfying answer Arkerym gave, Miss light knew pressing him for more details would be a futile effort. So instead she continued to watch as the genasi bumped into the woman with a poorly hidden intent to spill the woman's papers and peruse their contents. 'Clumsy.' Miss Light thought to herself as she watched the genasi offer to buy the woman a drink.

@Gordian Nought@rush99999
The Doctor gasps when she feels someone bump into her. She looks to the Water Genasi, before quickly gathering her papers and stuffing them in her books. She answers the young woman, "Oh. It's alright. There's no need,"

With a resigned sigh, she comments making a reluctant decision, "It's closing time for this bar, huh? I better get going..."

Rockmar carried the barrel of ale from the basement to replace the empty barrel behind the bar. He nodded to Grimi has he finished putting the barrel in its place.

"Am I really going to have to go to the Legion of Needles and Thorns for help...?" Rockmar's ears pricked up at the name of Legion of Needles and Thorns. ~That's bullshit. She can hire us.~ If she needed help, he would offer his aid. He knew some 'people'.

He climbed up on a stool and was about to address the Lady when he saw Lota approach her. ~Damnit, what's she doing?~

"Wait, Lass. Before you leave, may I have a minute of your time? I couldn't help overhearing that you might need some help? I know some people who might be able to help. At a much cheaper price than the Legion will charge." He gave his best smile.

@Gordian Nought@rush99999@Garth
The Doctor turns to look at Rockmar as he speaks up and offers to help. He can see the desperation in the Doctor's eyes as she considers this offer. She speaks, "That is very kind of you, but...um..."

She looks around, worried that someone of the law may be lurking in this tavern, just waiting for her to give them any excuse to arrest her.

She looks back to Rockmar and Iota, and she whispers, still scared that someone could be eavesdropping and would arrest her if she was not careful, "You see...I need help with something...illicit. You don't...happen to know someone whose expertise is...relieving a place with a lot of security of a certain object, would you?"

In the midst of the chaos of the small lodge, a seemingly unassuming half-orc sat at one of the tables by himself, one hand holding a tankard and while the other was making odd gestures as if he were a conductor of an orchestra. Open next to him was an old, worn notebook which a spectral, skeletal hand was frantically scribbling away in with a quill, seemingly at the half-orc's instruction. Every so often, he would mutter something aloud, like "No, no, that's not quite right" or "Perhaps. Perhaps." His eyes seemed to be waver between observing the various tavern-goers around him and staring at nothing in particular at all.

He was taking some time away from his companions to partake in some light brainstorming and people-watching, currently donned not in his newly acquired theatrical wear but in much shabbier clothing, with a hood pulled up to help conceal his features. He'd taken particular interest in the doctor when she had first arrived, taking note of her muttering. She seemed worried about something, there had to be a story there. "Mysterious academic walks into a tavern, has a problem that no one can seem to solve..." Arthek muttered to himself. He glanced over at the spectral hand, which had paused in its writing. "What are you waiting for? Write that down, write that down!" he ordered, suddenly seeming very agitated. The hand quickly began following his instruction as he turned his attention back to the doctor, who during the time his eyes had been off her had been approached by two others. One he recognised as one of his cohorts and current muses, the esteemed Rockmar Graniteheart, otherwise known Happy the Clown, making an attempt to get some information and perhaps even a job out of the woman. Good, good, making the story move forward, strong protagonist move there. The other person, however...

"Huh," Arthek said aloud as he fixed his eyes on the water genasi. He clicked his tongue thoughtfully. "That is... interesting." He squinted at her, tilting his head to the side as he observed the stranger. "Peculiar... very peculiar." Anyone who was paying close enough attention to him would note his neck was starting to bend a little more than should have been possible. He must have realised what he was doing because he quickly righted himself, in which a sharp click sounded from his neck bones. "Oof, okay. That... never gonna get used to that."

@Garth@XxFellsingxX@Guardian Angel Haruki@rush99999@Gordian Nought
Firelight flickered as embers flew from a brazier. A withered hand grasped a poker pulling it out to light a pipe. Light of day had faded many hours ago and the old man stood between the Grim Lodge and the building to the east. There was a small alleyway between the buildings, probably big enough for one frail old man like himself to walk comfortably. Which he did as he moved to the street. Another puff on his pipe and his eyes focused on the few still milling about at this hour. A child ran past him between his building and the other, picked up a sack of food and ran off. He smiled as he was able to help some of the unfortunate children. This smile faded when he overheard music and the inevitable guard tackle. They were very proficient in taking down minstrels, artists, and purveyors of creative arts.

The guards started dragging the minstrel off and ended up coming up to him. He only nodded to them and smiled. They handed the instrument over to Grimi and he took it.

“Name.” Grimi asked the fool to play music in this town.

“Benvin Glorybreath.” Came a whisper from the defeated man. After hearing that name Grimi burned it into the instrument asking for the correct spelling. Once finished he took the strings off the instrument and placed it without them on a frame on the wall. There was a small noose there which he placed around the neck of the lute. With a sharp jerk the bowl of the instrument was impaled on a nail. The nail was there as if waiting and when one looked there were many other open frames with similar nails. The man visibly deflated at the sight of his instrument and didn’t resist the guards anymore.

“I think this isn’t working.” Grimi informed them as he pointed to the framework tapestry of similar instruments.

“What do you suggest?” Biggs asked as he got a little closer.

“Well, we could let him go. Then he could spread the word.” Grimi suggested as he puffed on his pipe.

“Then again, I doubt he would spread the word enough.” Grimi paused as he looked into the sky. Clouds had started to gather and he could feel the change.

“Well, it looks like another execution then.” Wedge informed them and they all sighed.

“What is that? Just about three or four a day?” Biggs asked as Grimi handed him his pipe and the poker he was using. With that he partook of the variable blend Grimi had made.

“You could have him work. I need someone in the kitchen doing dishes. After that if he still feels like playing an instrument then break his hands.” Grimi informed them as he looked between the guards.

“You boys may want to get under the eaves.” Grimi informed them as he moved closer to the Grim Lodge. Within moments it started to rain and they looked at him dumbfounded.

“How do you always know?” Wedge asked, not hiding his excitement. Biggs knew better and had joined Grimi when he moved. Wedge drug the perp under the eave. Wedge and Biggs both let out a tired sigh. They had seen many people hung, tortured, and sent to the chopping block. They seemed tired of it all.

“Well, I’m old and can feel the changes happening.” Grimi admitted as he looked around at the young men.

“Sure, I don’t want to see another person die because of one mistake.” Biggs answered as they got up and handed the young man over to Grimi and he smiled.

“Keep the pipe as a memento and if you ever catch this one breaking the law again.” Grimi suggested as he looked at the sturdy, almost club-like pipe.

“Break his hands with it?” Wedge asked and Grimi nodded. The two guards moved away and smiled as they shared the pipe. The old man didn’t have the strength to force the young man into the alleyway and back into the bar. However, with how little resistance the man gave all he did was follow directions. Once inside he tapped his barman on the shoulder and was informed of the events as they happened. Afterwards he moved up and the barman took the minstrel to the dish rack.

This was just about the time that Rockmar came up from the basement and nodded to him. Grimi nodded back and grimaced at the weight the young man was carrying on his short but sturdy frame. Grimi made sure to shut the doors and latch them when he came back inside but he moved back to check again. Once he knew it was firmly in place he moved back to the bar and poured a few drinks. They slid across the countertop to everyone nearby.

“LAST CALL!” Grimi yelled and then started coughing. He leaned against the bar for support as he shook his head. All of the helping hands around the bar started corralling the patrons to their rooms and bussing tables. That was about the time that a headless handless butler outfit came into the picture. Archibald was known to all patrons of the Grim Lodge. It was carrying a lantern and moved up to the group placing said lantern on the countertop. It moved behind the counter and placed its invisible hand on Grimi. Grimi only placed his hand on it and thanked it.

“I’m okay. Don’t worry about this old man.” He informed Archibald as he looked around the counter. There were a few faces he knew and a few he didn’t.

“Are all children of nighttime activities ready?” Grimi asked as he pointed his staff downstairs. He could see that everyone who wasn’t going to participate was already guided into bed.

“Rockmar, could you please lead the way?” Grimi asked with a grin that was never shown during daylight hours. He tapped his staff on the ground as if to gather everyone’s attention.

“Archibald, please do the normal cleaning and mending.” Grimi asked his unseen servant. With that it bowed and moved to do other tasks around the Grim Lodge.

Rockmar makes a 'wait a minute' gesture towards the doctor. Then gracefully jumped off the stool and stepped towards the bar owner. "Grimi, Grimi. Before we go down. I have somebody who would like to talk to you."

He then leans in close to Grimi and lowered his voice. _{"This nice lady says she needs to hire a group of thieves for a job. I told her you might know a guy who knows a guy. Can you talk to her? I'll go find 'Happy' for the nighttime activities."}

Even through he promised to go get ready for the activities, he stayed to hear Grimi and the 'nice lady' talk.

---

---

Aside from the unseen Archibald tending to the tavern floor, the Genasi ingested visually upon the slow exodus of the remnant of idiosyncratic collage of races as the owner's father, an aged doppelgänger of his son, entered and bellowed the last rites and call to alcohol. Upon cursory inspection of the previous encounter with the remorse instrumentalist and officers, he eked a refined taste and an even more sophisticated judgment; his spotless reputation seemed to precede the staccato of his boots, anywhere they took him. It made elves nervous and orcs laugh, but the warlock never left anyone nearby unscathed from his wise tongue. Whenever he and the irregulars, who hung around the Grim Lodge heard a bard warble, every rummy would linger until the musical keepsake was crucified upon the walls of the establishment. Then those sober enough would follow up with any bit of doggerel that came to mind and howl that unquestioned dogma, as if dangled by a master puppeteer, brewing the greatest inebriated slogan read in all of Valerith.

“NO ENTERTAINMENT / NO FIGHTS / NO BULLSHIT!”

Her aquatic mind waded through the oft ebbing and pounding of the heavy oak tables in that timeworn saloon, and for a brief moment, the air wasn't so heavy with a stale burning hearth or the stench of failure.

It was a vessel where all were first mates, with their proverbial captain Ekleipein at the hull.

Rockmar, like many other patrons who would hoot, as in days prior, after a full expensive palate of Alfengrape with enraged conjunctiva, now quietly haunted the archeologist with an offer of aid, as the troupe similar to Odysseus-like banshees danced around the doctor as other wasted, uninterested protagonists stumbled home to their respective ancient Grecian odes. At this time, the inn wasn't a pub where deputized charlatans or slumming beggars trekked to guzzle ale from jugs. This served a hive where jovial spirits who witnessed hard lives went to expire into a speakeasy.

Slowly. Poisoning themselves along the way with the promise of merriment.

The hostelry seemed wintry inside, to the sorcerer, during this witching hour, similar to the denouement of a forgotten Shakespearean tragedy, frigid and melancholy except for the few savory instances when an infrequent gaze occurred from an authenticator of memoirs, with its spectral penmanship. Even then, though, that mirth was haphazard, like the instance, a gnome slipped in a pool of spilled liquor and plummeted onto his already bludgeoned face, shoving his Orwellian monocles into his baggy pupils. The whole crowd guffawed at his goggled peepers. However, the dystopian fall rendered him entirely blind in one eye and mostly in the other. And, yet, despite the effervescent cackling and flamboyant discretion to order, the entropic mage still prized it, but more so when the schizophrenic voices and darkness abounded less, in this solitude of buzz.

It was now her watering hole, the last few months, even if she didn’t own it or toiled there. Her shadow was present more than any other drunk dwarf. In her faded emerald garb, with eyes wide and dewy, legs long and strong, and a Poesque countenance able to fend numerous coarse words and whistles from hoary men, she strutted further into the fray of this thirsty work.

_{"This nice lady says she needs to hire a group of thieves for a job. I told her you might know a guy who knows a guy. Can you talk to her? I'll go find 'Happy' for the nighttime activities."}

Iota gestured past the trio, towards the resurrected, but seated Reborn and whispered inaudibly. "It's not polite to stare. Care to join us? Your other hand is invited." Then suddenly, the watered ethanol from the goblet of the scientist swirled into an erosive whirlpool onto the bar's countertop, coalescing into the now frozen semblance of an ovoid, light green, opaque, and with a gemstone-like sheen, stone.

Turning full attention to the matter. "Neutralization is possible, right?"

---

Mechanics: Iota Messages Arthek Yarnspin, catching his earlier glimpse. She then reveals her knowledge, transparently displaying said object with Shape Water.

"It's not polite to stare. Care to join us? Your other hand is invited."

If his death and subsequent resurrection had left any colour in Arthek's cheeks, it would have vanished the moment those words flowed into his mind. "Oh dear," he muttered to himself. "Well, this is not a plot twist I saw coming." After a moment, the shock and bewilderment in his expression shifted to curiosity, and he stood from his chair. "But I am eager to know where it leads. Come along, old chum," he said, motioning for his Mage Hand to follow him. "And keep notes. Accurate notes. I want a word-for-word account of this upcoming conversation."

The spectral hand gave him a thumbs up before gathering up the quill and book, and the two made their way over to where the small gathering was forming. "Rockmar! Grimi!" he said, opening his arms up in a welcoming gesture. "And two strangers. Who I do not know the identities of. Hence why I called them strangers, and not by their names. Which I do not know." Any sharp-eyed observer would note that while he was saying that last bit, he was making a concerted effort not to look at Iota. He clapped his hands together. "And what are we all doing this fine evening?"

As he was speaking, his Mage Hand had laid out his notebook on the nearest table and was already starting to scribble down what its master was saying.

@Birdboy@Garth@XxFellsingxX@Guardian Angel Haruki@rush99999@Gordian Nought
Grimi raised an eyebrow as the dwarf moved closer. As Rockmar spoke Grimi nodded and grunted a few times. There were few words coming from his mouth but his full-teeth smile would probably make people step back.

“We wouldn’t want to tarnish our…” Grimi paused trying to find the correct word.

“Prestige, reputation?” He pondered outloud and looked at the lady sitting across the bar. Grimi was interrupted by Arthek and Iota’s? approach. Grimi wasn’t someone who likes hugs. It was due to his frail body and he didn’t need the pressure to remind him of it. In the place of a hug he nodded to Arthek. It didn’t take him long to know what was going on and who may hear it. Due to this he found himself leaning forward on the bar. His towering stature would have been imposing had he any muscle to speak of. However, he looked more like a beanpole and that may or may not make people smile.

Quizzically he twisted the end of his mustache as he looked at everyone who gathered. More than a few new faces. The thought that they may be spies did cross his mind. However, he felt that his facade was well enough established and well known to help dismiss thoughts of spies.

_{“I feel like we should head downstairs before speaking about any nightly activities.”} Grimi informed the group in a hushed voice as he stood up and started walking down the stairway.

“What's that? Some late patrons! Wonderful! I will show you to your rooms!” Grimi said a bit loudly as if someone was listening. It sounded like he had run this line over a thousand times and to some would sound like he wasn’t lying. The saying the walls have ears was true in most places. However, he was extremely paranoid and paid extra once the building was finalized.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs it opened into a huge section of the building. Pillars could be seen evenly spaced to support the building. Many shelves and barrels of different types of alcoholic beverages were scattered around. Leading them through a small walkspace through the area, he stopped at a massive barrel. There were many like it and all of them looked similar. The frames that all of them were on had wheels making people assume that they could move, which when empty they probably could. However, they couldn’t otherwise because of the wedge-like blocks keeping them in place.

He looked back at everyone as he used his staff to slowly move the blocks guarding this barrel’s wheels. The spigot sticking out of the barrel was leaking some liquids. Not too much but a drop every now and again. Turning the spigot off and on a few times in a numbered sequence he then removed it. As he did he pulled it out and with it a chain. When he was finished he backed away from the barrel holding the spigot in his hand as the chain started getting pulled back in and the barrel opened. Once “fully” open the spigot rested against the hole again. One quick twist placed it back in its spot. The opening revealed an empty container and at the back rested a door. He pulled out his key as he shuffled to the door.

“Confounded!” He yelled as he dropped his keys, his hands were visibly shaking. He took a small moment to breathe and then knelt down and scooped them up. After finished, he opened the door. There were bright lights moving around behind a curtain on the inside of the doorway.

Once one passed into the doorway there was a muted deafening silence. However, once one passed the doorway music and festivities could be heard on the other side of the red silk curtain. Grimi led everyone to what looked like a dressing room and pulled out masks. His was made of what looked like wood. However, half of the mask was white and the other half was black. There were markings on the white side that resembled the god of the sun and on the other side there were markings that resembled the god/goddess of the moon. In the center two figures stood back to back. Some would assume the respective god or goddess.

Grimi Handed out masks to everyone and capes. He pulled out a special raccoon looking mask and handed it to The Doctor. The cape likewise looked similar to that of a raccoon's back and even had a tail in the center on the end.

Afterward Grimi would lead them past the curtain and into a room full of music, fun, mischief, and bewilderment. The main room had a stage in the back and various people dancing on it. Some minstrels could be found on either side playing instruments in a way which complemented one another. Bozo was where Bozo usually was. She was playing a nice flow upon her flute. The patrons were always enraptured, albeit a bit intoxicated on this or that. As they walked through the area Grimi looked at Bozo and hoped that she could see him. Even striding atop a table she was still so short that people sitting would overshadow her. He would nod and point to the room where they were heading. Then again knowing Bozo as Grimi did, the tales were something that Bozo themself believed and would get too in character. At least that was the old man’s opinion on it.

There was a walkway on the right side which led to a door. Above the door hung a plaque with a fist punching a face. Several other doors with plaques lined the walls as well. At the end there was one with a crown. Grimi led everyone to that door. Once inside Grimi sat behind a big table and pulled out a contract. Once everyone entered the room he pressed a button and the door shut. There was a small table with some seats around it near the main table; as well as stools and other such posterior resting devices.

The document states that none would reveal what happened here in the King's Chamber, downstairs in The Grim Lodge. They may speak freely between others who signed the contract. However, if they are found purposely speaking loudly in crowded areas or so someone else can hear then they have broken the contract. None are allowed to write about it either, save for this contract. Those who fail to follow the contract will be lost to The Great Old One. There are some other stipulations of keeping the speakeasy and other underground establishments to oneself. Don’t speak about fight club and so on. At the end there are several boxes and at the top was one filled in by a signet ring and Grimi’s blood.

“We don’t do names but sign in blood.” Grimi stated as he placed the paper at the front of his desk for the others to look at. He pulled out several clean almost needle-like nails and placed them in a jar nearby. He leaned forward and laid his head on the desk. The cool wood helped with his burning blood and he almost passed out. His hood fell forward revealing a funny almost jester looking crown.

'Seems like we will be doing that regardless of your orders.' Miss Light thought in reply as she heard Grimi announce his intentions to show the 'late patrons' to their 'rooms'.


'I take it she would not be happy to see you again?' Miss Light inquired despite already knowing what Arkerym was going to say.


'Of course.' Miss Light complied, stepping aside as Grimi approached the entrance to the King's Chamber to allow him to lead the way down. Once everyone else who was following Grimi had passed her, Miss Light followed the group down the stairs and into the speakeasy.

As Grimi began handing out costumes, Miss light didn't bother stepping forward to collect one. She was already wearing hers. Instead, she simply pulled down her hood, revealing her face and the half-mask covering the side of her head that had been withered as a mark of the pact she had made with Arkerym. Normally she would have done away with the cloak entirely at this point, but Miss Light refrained from doing so this time to keep Arkerym hidden from the genasi.

The dressing room was a hidden area sequestered away from the rest of Grimi's 'King's chambers'. The secrecy was so that those changing out of or into costumes could not be found with their masks down and their make-up off. Personally, Widry would have enjoyed the chance to be properly praised for the illustrious musician she was, but Grimi was a paranoid man, paradoxically given the threat he was willing to let live under his meager bar. Regardless, the seclusion from the raucous music booming just outside her door was a delightful reprieve.

Widry had started the festivities with calming and gentle music that night, as she did every night. In a simple smiling mask and a cloak depicting the night sky, her voice echoed through the room freely and unimpeded. It did wonders to ease the crowd's anxiousness to have soothing melodies and a plucky singer to ease the tension. As the night went on and more people entered the speakeasy, however, the tune would undoubtedly change, as it did today. With midnight approaching, Widry prepared her true costume. The final strokes of her brush put the last touches of grease paint onto her face. Bozo had a simple make-up. A red clown nose over her own, which limited her vocal range slightly. The rest was just a white face, save for the blackness around her eyes. Her outfit was much more ornate, sporting jingling bells and a checkered black and red pattern.

Satisfied with the look she burst into the crowd, dazzling lights sparking and swirling around her as she played a short diddy with her flute. Bar-goers turned their attention to the runt who seemed to appear from thin air and Bozo seized his chance, hopping atop a table and continuing to blow into her flute. A strangely beautiful, if directionless flute solo began and a band quickly joined in as fellow entertainers saw the ringleader enter the stage. A crowd practically swarmed the tiny flutist, and she hoped expertly to a barstool, flickered her wrist, and watched as her spirling lights formed into a man made of pure light in the center of the crowd. As her music grew more intense and rapid, the man of light beset himself into a frenzied tap dancing routine, though his feet remained silent. Cheers of excitement at this rare form of entertainment were only usurped by the dazzled looks of amazement on the people's faces. As the song continued she saw Grimi entering with more people. He was motioning to her, and she knew that Grimi did not someone to lollygag with. This distraction caused her to lose her concentration on the dancing lights she had formed. The crowded murmured in confusion and she quickly intervened as the song came to an abrupt end.

"You'll have to forgive our dancer for leaving so soon, ironically he isn't very bright" She loudly announced, her face etched into a dramatized grin. Her joke only mustered a few laughs from those still coherent enough to understand.
"Don't worry though, I'll see where they went off too. In the meantime: hit it, boys!" She commanded, and on cue, the band burst into a jazzy song on their own. With the party back in full swing, the tiny Halfling weaved through the crowd and toward Grimi.

The Doctor gives a nod to the dwarf, Rockmar, when he gave her the 'One minute' gesture and went over to speak with Grimi. Her attention is then drawn to her cup of alcohol, when it started to swirl and form into a familiar shape before freezing into the form of the Murkmire Stone. The Doctor looks shocked as she looks at it, before Iota's voice gains her attention. The Doctor asks Iota in realization, "My notes...! How much did you-?!"

She stops herself and nods, "Y-Yes. It is possible,"

She is startled as Grimi shouts the Final Call for the patrons of the Grim Lodge and had others hurried to their rooms or out. The Doctor watches Grimi's movements as he moves to reveal a secret door, and begins to hand out masks and cloaks to everyone who doesn't have one, including herself.

The Doctor looks at the Raccoon Mask and Cloak with the tail, and she nods while muttering to herself, "Yeah. Yeah, that about checks out," It's clear that she could see the irony/humor of her getting the raccoon themed masquerade attire, considering her request. She puts on the attire, and follows the group.

As the Doctor follows the group, one might hear her mumble to herself with worry with a bit of a squeak to her voice, "....I'm being led into a cult...?"

Her head lifts up at the sound of music and merriment, and the speakeasy was revealed to her. If one could look past her mask, they might see her start to wonder if this is better or worse than the Legion of Needles and Thorns.

When the contract was placed in front of her, she took the time to read it, and she was surprised to hear that they sign the contract in blood. Her eyes are wide as she speaks, "Oh-! Uh-! Okay...! Um...How do you want it signed in blood?"

The old man’s head was still on the desk when the question was asked.

"Oh-! Uh-! Okay...! Um...How do you want it signed in blood?" The Raccoon asked as it seemed that she didn’t realize the reason he placed the needles on the table top. His arms fell from the desk and a rumbling could be heard coming from him. A loud thump could be heard as he shot up.

“SON OF A B–.” He cursed as he held his leg. Grimi kept hitting parts of his desk with parts of his body. It was something that looked really painful but like it was something that happened often.

“Urrgg. Sorry about that. Passed out and my legs got too cold. Cramps kill me.” Grimi admitted as he rubbed his legs. He noticed that the paper wasn’t filled out with blood and took it. Then he recalled that this person wanted to spread the truth. He reworded it in a way that would allow her and others to spread the information while hiding their identities. Anonymous helpers were listed at an anonymous place. The contract would also protect people from outside influences. If they accidently or forcibly gave away the information then the contract had a forgiveness clause. However, it further stipulated that if they tried to use this as a loophole in order to get the information out there then it would still hold true. The contract changed and he showed her how to sign in blood.

He pricked his thumb and allowed it to pool over his thumb. Afterwards he placed his thumb in the rectangle at the top. His blood print filled the shape almost perfectly. Once finished he placed the bloody needle into an empty cup with some kind of liquid in it. Clear, however it smelt strange. After that he looked at them and smiled as he placed it fully in front of the group, while still being on the desk. Grimi noticed a jingling coming from his hood and started cursing in several languages. He pulled off the jester crown and revealed a normal looking crown on his hood. Someone kept playing with the old man by placing that on his hood. With a huff he slammed his head really hard into the desk. He groaned as he slowly passed back out. Snoring could once again be overheard.

---

---

“What's that? Some late patrons! Wonderful! I will show you to your rooms!”

After a world of exchanged enchantment and integrated intrigue, the resplendent troupe gracefully descended beyond the blasphemous iconostasis, into the clandestine realm of a spectacular speakeasy, an angelic chorus nestled devilishly beneath the quaint Grim Lodge. Adorning their visage each with a bestial masque, unparalleled in animalistic design, the juggling Ekleipein waded through the mosaic of zodiac performers and benefactors, whilst their rippling capes, opulent and singular, billowed behind them, whispering uncouth omens and prophecies. The audience's flowing drapes, lavish and distinctive, mirrored, murmuring, in rebuttal, epochs and auguries of the laughing yore ahead. In an Orphic tableau reminiscent of a harrowing journey to a mythic underworld, the luminous Genasi, behind the facade of a charcoal sheep, evoking the allure of glaring nymphs and staring sylphs of recent exhumed lore, gracefully plunged deeper into the chthonic abyss of a circus.

As the crew's proverbial Charon's obol-rattling passengers watched from the Stygian spectral stages, the ethereal sorcerer's gaze juxtaposed and swam elegantly amidst the shades and phantoms, their musical talents illuminated by a lewd glow reminiscent of the cursed treasures of the Nibelungs. Echoes of a Pan's flute, eerily distorted, played in the distance, and creatures bearing vizards of chimeras, harpies, and fauns, danced and cavorted, casting shadows that intertwined with the march of their seraphic ensemble. At the dénouement of this Dantean panorama, Iota, undeterred, an aquatic Aeneas, ventured, lastly into the King's chamber, seeking perhaps an elusive Eurydice or a forbidden knowledge known only to those who dared to traverse past the planes of clowns and minstrels. Amidst the melange of decorations, the elderly warlock, eyes gleaming with unspoken wisdom, extended a parchment upon the table of Acacia wood – a pact of silence, awaiting a crimson signature from the unitiated.

“We don’t do names but sign in blood.”

In an Abrahamic ambiance steeped in solemnity, the lupine Genasi, as a sable lamb, stepped forward next to the damned spot. Macbethian and unwavering she extended her brachial artery-laden extremity, sinister, unveiling delicate capillaries pulsating beneath the alabaster skin. With the offered Faustian lancet, she carefully provided a Mephistophelian incision along the bacilic portion of the arm, allowing the ferric life essence to bead sluggishly, from the peel of steel. The sanguine fluid, laden with an estranged hemoglobin and an ironclad symphony of leukocytes and diplomatic immunity, melded the vellum's thirsty surface with the opposite thumb's now ruby imprint. The amalgamated droplet, a new testament to the vascular commitment, solidified the oath as it intermingled with the fibrous texture, creating a bond forged in the very marrow of existence, mesmerized, seeking a gavel of approval and a nod of affirmation.

---

Mechanics: Iota follows suit and signs.

After waiting a few minutes for the doctor to sign, Rockmar rolled his eyes. He walked up after Lota and pricked his finger like the other times he has done this. He didn't know what the big deal was. He's signed before. But it made Grimi happy. So, Rockmar played the game and signed the damn thing every day. Because, 'he was a team player'.

After he signed, he nodded to the doctor. "Just like that. Easy." He then sucked his finger to clean the blood off. He looked at his finger and wiped the clean, but wet finger on his pant leg. He took a mask and cape without looking at them. He never wore them, but we wanted everybody to see him take them. he went into 'his' room to put on his clown makeup and get dressed.

After a few minutes, a deep and rhythmic beating could be heard approaching the common room from behind a door. Happy the Clown kicked open the door. He was dressed in red and black with a jester's hat on his head. He face and bald head were covered in white make up. Over the top of his beard, an angry frowning mouth has been drawn on. The makeup made Happy's eye's look angry.

"Let's get the damn party started!" He matches the beating of his drum to the other jazz band members. He sits to the side of the other musicians glaring at nobody in particular as he pounds his drum.

---

OOC: It's a sad fact that only 1 in 7 dwarves are happy.

"Oh, guess we're moving," Arthek muttered to his Mage Hand as Grimi beckoned them downstairs. The spectral appendage abruptly let go of the quill, almost as if exasperated. "Not to worry, we can continue this downstairs." The half-orc picked up his notebook, closing and gently dusting off the spine as he followed the rest of the group. As they were descending, they joined by two more of their clownish colleagues, the joyful Bozo and the enigmatic Miss Light, both of whom Arthek flashed a small smile towards. However, his attention was mostly focused on Iota, and every time he thought she was looking away, he would steal a glance at her. He still had no idea what she was doing here, but he was determined to find out before this evening was done.

When Grimi offered a mask and cloak to everyone in the group, Arthek held up a hand. "Ah, no need, old boy, I've brought my own," he said. He turned back to his Mage Hand. "Hold this for me, would you?" He handed the notebook to it before turning to rummage around in his bag. After a moment, he pulled out a small mask, a cape and, most importantly, a large flamboyant cap with a feather in it, the last of which he had to shake a few times to get it back to its proper shape. He quickly put these on before taking the notebook back and following the rest of the group into the King's Chamber.

It was at this point he was then faced with that accursed contract Grimi insisted on producing every time they entered this room, and Arthek gave a loud sigh as he was reminded of the rules of this area. He plucked the quill from his Mage Hand's grasp before slipping both it and his notebook back into his bag. "Never mind, it appears I won't be needing your services at this time after all," he said before waving his hand in a dismissive manner. The spectral hand became limp before dissolving into a ethereal blue mist and vanishing from this plane of existence. The author stepped forward. "Really, must we go through this ghoulish ritual each time?" he said, not directed towards anyone in particular. If he understood the irony of him of all people referring to something as 'ghoulish' he didn't show it. Nevertheless, he stepped up and pricked his finger, allowing his blood to be added to the paper. His curiosity for what was about to occur outweighed his outrage at this blatant display of censorship.

---

---

"Really, must we go through this ghoulish ritual each time?"

Beneath the silvered snooze of a slumbering crown and slobbering crescent, a convocation of mirth-makers, jesters whose visages bore the sacred paint of ancestral smiles, convened within the shadow-draped alcoves of a royal mastaba. No ordinary conclave this, for each harlequin's palm was kissed by the vermilion testament of an oath writ in life's own ink. Their hearts, a carnival of clandestine intentions, pulsed with the thrill of impending larceny—a tapestry of intrigue soon to unfold.


"Doctor." After many bated waves of respiration, the Genasi implored the moniker of her fateful epitaph, as the Marid-borne ruminated upon gleaned pages, contemplating within her supratentorial lattice.


In their midst, the archeologist's parchments, antiquated and curling at the edges, spoke of an enigmatic allure, the Murkmire Stone, veiled by the sands of time and swathed in the riddles of ostracized pharaohs long turned to dust. This jewel, a gleam in the eye of countless coveters, lay ensconced now within a citadel of curiosities, a newly erected museum whose hallowed galleries sang with the echoes of Thebes and whispered the secrets of Amarna, set to open its doors after this exhumed samhain.

"Egg of Unknown Creature..."
"Dormant for generations, until unearthed."
"Will hatch and will be ravenous for raw meat."
"Grows exponentially as they feed."

These entertainers, caparisoned in garb as variegated as the coral serpents of the Nile, would need to plot with the precision of a pyramid’s architects, their necessary scheme as labyrinthine as the catacombs of Saqqara. Not for them the vulgar smash and grab of common crooks; no, their performance would be one of such finesse that Ptah himself, divine shaper of artifacts, would look on with artisanal approbation.


Amongst their numbers, a schismatic half-elf, Miss Light, her gestures painting silence halved into a tapestry of night and day, mimed the deceptive stillness of a duplicitous sarcophagi, her movements a hieroglyphic script scribing their stealthy ingress. Happy, his mountainous percussions ascending and descending like the Osiris in his eternal cycle, mimicked a Bozo's juggling of piped chronos until the gates of soot and exhibition would yawn wide. A reborn author, his enslaved spectral fingers spinning a glomerular koan as twisted as the circuitous avenues of Minya's necropolis, embodied the twined flexibility required to bypass not only writers block but, hopefully, any hurdle, more intricate than the web of Neith. And the makeshift ringleader, Grimi, a soporific maestro of the grandest circus of subterfuge, orchestrating the operation with the sagacity of an Imhotep, promised riches beyond the gleam of a Tutankhamun's burial mask.

Iota delicately sampled her new family, wed by blood and bred by laughter.


Their pact sealed, the fellowship would need to disperse into the ether of predawn, the stars themselves unknowing sentinels of the dramatic diaspora soon to grace the stage of twilight. The horizon would begin to blush, soon enough, with the faintest touch of Ra's first rays. These de novo siblings, wrights of illusion, would need to ready their looms, for the sands in the hourglass waned. No inverted promise of stellar ambiance could betray the silent ballet set to commence, where the only audience would be mute witnesses to a heist threaded with the elegance of Abydos' carvings. A symphony of shadows poised to pirouette through the sanctum of antiquity, to claim fortune before malevolence hatched — a legacy locked within the vault of ages, soon to feel the caress of thespians turned master thieves.

---

Mechanics: Iota asks the doctor about not only her notes but how we few... we, happy few, can come together outside of a blood bound contract to 'neutralize' a soon-to-be unstoppable ravaging being. She imagines a grandiose 'snatch the hatch'.