[IC] To Teluval, Farewell

[Polybius]

Companions

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You find yourself in the company of friends, on a narrow bridge, above the slums where the Grumblers hum their mantic lullabies. A silky mist clutches all, and the stone pavers of the bridge are slick where the lime colored moss does not reach. It is early evening, the sun long since cresting the precipice of the cliffs of Teluval, cloaking all in darkness. Torches light the way along the narrow bridge. You dare not lean over the edge for a look at the city; besides, you are more than halfway across the treacherous path by now.

You are on your way to the Ceaseless Feast, in the haunted hall belonging to one H. Erstwhile, a citizen of ignoble repute. Despite Erstwhiles reputation as a torturer and murderer, he is held in high regard among travelers for funding risky or daring ventures into the deepest, darkest ruins of the old-world. And it has payed off. Erstwhile's minor fiefdom of blackmail and corruption is an iconic institution of Teluval these days. Scholars from as far away as Beltane have long pondered the trinkets and artifacts locked in Erstwhiles vaults. The thought of all those strange devices, magical implements and weird-weapons are tantalizing enough to go and see what the man has too offer.

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IC is open. You are free to post.

[Polybius]

The Eye of the Cyclops

Evening comes quickly in the Twilight City, for the mid-day sun only briefly holds court over the city between cliffs. For a few fleeting hours, the bridges, verandas and vistas of Teluval are graced with what little light the dull orange sun can still provide. After, when the shadows have resumed the endless march across the crevice, and the market bridges have emptied, the city is illuminated by torch-light, carefully cultivated phosphorescent flora, and endless magical and automatomic marvels. Here a two-person airship, armed with only a mirror, a flame and two over worked and underpayed members of the city watch drift between bridge-spans. The light of the flame is reflected through a diabolical apparatus of prisms and mirrors, and a wavy length of light scans the darkest alleys of Teluval. The city watchmen, suspended mid-air aboard their rickety ship, shout and wave lightning tinged-batons at drunks and scoundrels, who scamper or stumble into darker alleys still. All is stone. All is night.

But in the halls and wine-gardens there is life, and light, and lots and lots of drinking. Just above the Mourning Quarter, where the dead are laid to rest, and the weeping is endless, there is laughter and song. Artists, poets, playwrites and troubadors gather in taverns and inns, with names as colorful as there patrons. The Squished Fish. The Varnished Turtle. The Gnomes Hole. As the evening wears on, and the laughter dwindles to a few hold outs, too drunk or weary to wander to whatever cave they call home, a Tall Man dressed in black slips between the dispersing crowds. He is a messenger, an errand runner. A mole. He carries a pouch on his hip and a short silver engraved dagger on his waist. From the pouch he pulls small coins, and places them effortlessly into the pockets of unsuspecting persons. It is the calling card of H. Erstwhile, a simple coin, that fits comfortably into the palm of your hand or claw. Emblazoned upon it is the Watchful Eye, a rendering of a cyclops eye. To the uninitiated it is simply a curiosity to be discovered, bleary eyed the next morning. To the initiated, or to those skilled enough to discover it upon there persons, it is a signal that you have been summoned to the Ceaseless Feast. All around the city of Teluval, in small, unsuspecting places is the same symbol, the staring eye of the cyclops. Chiseled into stone walls, or carved onto wooden beams, the eye leads along narrow bridges rarely crossed, down corridors frequented more by ghosts and flesh-hungry gnomes than well-to-do citizens and travelers. You have discovered this coin, one evening, in the city of names, and where our story begins.

For now, a scene.

The Squished Fish

---

Tucked into a bowl shaped room that once collected rainwater and fed the cisterns of Teluval, the Squished Fish is a gloomy wine-garden with pre-Obliteration mosaics along the long semi-circle wall. Glass bowls are suspended from the ceiling, filled with phosphorescent fish and eels, that bathe the room in an eery, murky light. The floor is warm and damp. The wails of the grieving several floors below in the Mourning Quarter are drowned out by the small trio of musicians occupying the center stage; a stone column rising from a central reflecting pool. There are a dozen tables, long and crafted of stone or scavenged wood, stools, couches and divans placed against those least decaying mosaics. The scenes are very old, depicting armored knights riding silver winged chariots through the night sky. One scene shows a sorcerer in a glass helm placing a flag on a gods-forsaken grey mountain.

A Tall Man winds his way from table to table, speaking briefly, shaking hands and then moving on to the next group. He is oblivious to the music coming from the stage, despite the obvious skill of those performers. He flutters like a curious moth from person to person, even approaching a cantankerous looking Grumbler and a rude automaton insulting the Suzerain of Corvasquer. The Tall Man, having performed his task slips from the Squished Fish as the song ends. The trio of musicians is debating what tune or tale to perform next. It is a typical evening in Teluval, and there is a relaxing feeling in the evening gloom, beneath the phosphorescent night of the imprisoned eels and fish in their glass bowls.

[PrivateVentures]

How pretentious. Thought Dali. 'Ophidian Ale'. Typical humans. They have a clever bar name! 'Captain's Quarters'. Don't know what it means, but it sounds clever. Can't come up with a good beer name, though, can you? Can't just be 'Chitin and Protein-infused Fermented Root Brew' can it? On second thought, that's awful. I guess you would need a shorter way to differentiate. I should just be glad they didn't call it 'Lizard Lager'.
"I'll take a Lizzzard Lager!"
SON OF A BITCH, WHY WOULD I SAY THAT?

"Pint or Gallon?" WHAT?

"It comesss in gallonsss?" The wide-bellied, bearded barkeep, the spitting image of the stereotypical tavern owner laughed and said,

"Only four pieces of copper, fella." Dali couldn't get the money out fast enough. The barkeep laughed again as Dali slapped the coins onto the bar.

"You got a deal, friend!" He took a seat at the bar and looked around. Pretty empty bar. Odd, considering the fact that the man sold ale in gallons. Dali would've thought that-
I did not think this through.

The bartender set what appeared to be a sawn-off half-barrel full of foamy beer onto the bar, winked, and stepped off into the back. Dali's jaw dropped, and he had to catch himself before his tongue drooped into the barrel out of excitement. "Oh, dear." With that, he leaned down, and began to slurp.

A quarter of the way in, he decided that there was enough of a crowd here for a song. He played terribly, but no one seemed to mind. The bartender returned with an empty barrel.

Halfway down, Dali set his hat and coat on the bar, believing that the warmth of the candles lighting the place must converge at the center table. He lay on it, soaking in the imaginary warmth. This would not have been a problem, if not for the man sitting at that table, now angry and covered in his own drink. He and Dali had a dispute.

Three quarters of the way down, Dali discovered that the dispute had ended, and that he was now outside, pouring the last quarter of his beer onto a somewhat-familiar unconscious human. He leaned down and whispered, "Lizzzzard Lager."

After finishing his beer, (in a way), he returned inside, and discovered the bartender's reason for the second barrel.

Halfway through his vomiting, Dali regretted his decisions.

Three quarters of the way in, he decided that his decisions weren't that bad.

Afterwards, he threw on his coat backwards, put on his hat, collected his things, and promptly passed out on the same table that had started a fight earlier. He slept soundly, but awoke to the bartender poking him with a broom. "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here." Dali lifted his head, blinked several times, and hissed.
"Lizzard Lager."

"It was funnier the first time." He whacked Dali with the broom. "Now get out, you're scaring the customers." Dali looked around. The bar was full of automatons, all staring at him and clicking and squealing in their mechanical way.

"Yeah, I should go." He stood up, and stumbled out, only to fall asleep against the outside of the building, and wake up the next morning, once more being poked with a broom.

"Pal, I told you to get out. Don't make me come back with my axe." Dali was startled. He looked up, into the bright, bright sun, high in the sky. Noon! MY SHOW! THE FISH! He jumped up. The bartender fell back, clearly surprised by Dali's sudden alertness.

"My booking! The Sssquished Fisssh!" The bartender, still sitting, appalled, on the ground, pointed slowly.

"That way." Dali charged down the street on all fours, guitar bouncing against his rucksack, hat threatening to fly off, tail slapping fences and signposts when he turned too quickly. He could see it. The old wood architecture. The wide, flat bowl shape. Not even a hundred yards away-

Dali tripped, rolling on old cobblestone, giving himself a nasty bruise on his elbow. A sudden cling-clang made him look as something flew from his pocket. A coin! But not like any coin Dali had ever-

"OOF!" He landed hard on his stomach, right on top of it. He stood up, momentarily distracted, to examine it. It seemed to be copper, or some similar metal. Brass, maybe. It was small, but heavier than it seemed. It held only the embossing of a wide eye. Wait... I've heard this story. He peered closer. His eyes widened. THE VAULT. Suddenly, he gasped.

"THE FISssH! MY SssHOW!" He threw the coin back in his pocket and stormed down the road, where the Squished Fish waited for a story and a song. He could smell the eels- delicious, delicious eels- already.

As the old, slightly damp door swung open and bathed the round room in light, Dali was hit in the face with a burst of lovely humidity. It felt great in there, warm and wet- Just the way I like it. The previous act was still finishing. He breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wasn't late.

He slipped into a table as the door fell shut, the room once more returned to the cloudy glow of luminescent- Don't look at the eels. Don't look at 'em- fish. The floor was wet, borderline soaked, and the wood had softened beneath Dali's claws. They sank into it as though it were butter. He glanced around. There was a tall, thin man in black, running from table to table. He looked back at the stage as the music stopped, and stood expectantly, but it seemed the previous act was just deciding what to do next. Fine with me. But as he returned to his seat, the man in black had vanished. Dali raised his hand, but there seemed to be no waitress in sight. Ah well. May as well just enjoy the music. He put his feet up on the table, and carved a little rune in its soft surface, the rune for his name.

[Gunther]

Chao wore his armor, but left his weapons tucked away in some hole in the wall. A few knives adorned his body in hidden places, but nothing anyone could see. The hood of his cloak draped across his back and the black mask was hidden some place. His white hair braided into a piece of rope hung down the center of his back. He wore a thin mustache extending roughly three inches past his chin. The black fingerless gloves he often wore lay on the floor next to where he stood.

If there was a casino to be found in Teluval, Chao would know where to go. Sure enough, he found himself sitting at a table surrounded by others enjoying a game of chance. The seedy looking establishment was named The Grumbler’s Chance and with his luck tonight, the second youngest son of Li and Mei felt like he had a better chance of grumbling than winning. It was a rather large establishment with no fewer than twenty gaming tables of various sorts arranged throughout the room, its floor covered in a green carpet. The walls were lit with torches and lanterns, a few candelabras or chandeliers suspended from the fifteen foot high ceiling. The smell of body odors, tobacco smoke and alcohol filled the space. The sounds of talk embraced everyone’s ears. It was more of a moderate rumble than a loud roar. It was still distracting, but Chao didn’t care, he was getting his buzz on.

His friend, Saoirse Lockwillow had the chance cubes in hand. She was the shooter and others were placing side bets including Jhang Chao. Chao watched the small blue colored cubes in the yellow table, bounce and roll their way to the far end of the table. He placed a silver piece on the number six coming up. But the dots on the cubes came up seven. Good for the shooter, bad for Chao.

Once again, Chao placed a silver piece on the table, this time number eight. The dice rolled across the table and came up four. He lost another silver, but wasn’t about to quit. He placed another silver on six and waited. The second roll was another four. Again, great for the shooter, bad for Chao. Then he decided he would place a bet of one silver on the over seven. This way if the shooter rolled over seven, he would win, seven or under, he would lose.

He took a sip of his drink, a swill someone referred to as Burgundian Ale. He waited and watched for the chance cube. It rolled across the table and came up six. ’It seems I am just a few minutes ahead of my time’, Chao thought to himself. ’Maybe I should just quit while I am ahead? He smiled at Saoirse then thought, ’Oh yea, I’m not ahead.’

The Burgundian Ale was exactly delicious, but it performed admirally as an intoxicant and Jhang Chao was feeling every bit of it. His eyes were watery red and drool began to form at the corner of his mouth. He did not say a word, but if he did the words would sound slurred. He refrained from placing a bet, just to see how Saoirse did. She rolled another six and won that round too. Her next thee rolls were sevens. ’Who does that? Wins with three sevens in a row?’ Chao looked at Saoirse, smiled at her, raised his tankard of ale and nodded in congratulations. ’Oh, that’s right, Saoirse does.

With a flash of a grin, Saoirse scooped her winnings. The chance cubes rattled in her cupped hands again, shaking vigorously in anticipation of the next roll. Tension was high at the table -- maybe a little too high. Three sevens in a row was kinda pushing her luck; a couple of players, especially that big Grumbler with the nose-ring, had started to squint and sneer at her with a sort of suspicion that usually ended in Saoirse's forced ejection from the establishment.

She felt she could afford to be a little bolder than most. Saoirse had an ageless, adorable look about her that tended to let her get away with nearly anything. Even those opponents who knew she was cheating would take one look at her innocent eyes and button-nose and silently let her win anyway. The enormous goggles on her forehead served to make her look even smaller; her jacket was tied around her waist, freeing a workman's shirt and a collection of keys and a compass hanging from her neck. There were several woven string bracelets and translucent stones wrapped around her wrists, and an odd number of tarnished silver and gold earrings poked through her ears. Her deft little hands and forearms shone with smooth white scars from old burns long ago. She was sitting high on top of her backpack, forever watchful for other people's sticky fingers. Takes a thief to know a thief.

That flashy white-haired Chao guy was grinning at her again, with that dull drunk flash in his eyes, buzzed-happy though he'd been on a losing streak all night. He'd stopped betting, which was his own loss -- Saoirse had been about to throw him a win. She threw a win for the grumpy nose-ring Grumbler instead, and when his eyes lit up she was sure she was in the clear.

"Ha-ha!" Saoirse crowed, snatching up the cubes again. "Two out of three? I'll best ya again, I --" She was cut off when the Grumbler suddenly stood, his chair clattering against the floor, and slammed his meaty hand down on the table. Silence descended on the players. He grinned slowly -- when he lifted his hand he revealed two purple chance cubes.

"Roll again," the Grumbler urged her. "But use my cubes."

Saoirse met his challenge with a pretty grin. Obviously he was onto her -- it wasn't that hard to figure out she was using trick cubes. This was a test to prove her luck wasn't luck at all.

"Ya don't trust me, hah? I see how it is. If I'm just too lucky -- if ya don't want me to roll anymore you can just say so. I can take a hint." As she spoke, Saoirse secured her winnings, pocketed her trick-cubes and shouldered her bag.

"Roll the cubes." The nose-ring Grumbler bellowed a threatening command, and Saoirse raised her eyebrows and glanced over at Chao before she addressed the Grumbler again.

"Look, man, I'm not having fun here, just lemme go home, yeah?" Her cute face distorted in distress, and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She hopped down from her chair and took a step back toward the door, clutching her backpack. The Grumbler seemed only angrier at her performance.

Chao was feeling happy, but not too drunk to realize Saoirse may be in trouble. He moved behind the large Grumbler watching Saoirse move out of the establishment. When the Grumbler decided he had enough, remaining inside, Chao left the establishment to catch up with his friend.

“What was that all about?” Chao asked Saoirse wondering why she left? “It’s OK, I was losing too much silver in that place.” Chao looked up at the darkened sky, smelled the air. It had that crisp smell but various fragrances from the many establishments in the area sifted through to his nostrils, some pleasant, some not. Barbecued marinated beef made him hungry, but the raw sewage was an odor he preferred not to share.

Saoirse straightened her goggles and walked with her hands clasped behind her head. "Guy was gettin' cranky is all," she huffed. After a few paces of staring at the sky -- the only pretty thing to be had in this upside-down city -- she grinned suddenly.

"Hey! I heard Dali might be performing at The Squished Fish tonight. Ya remember that lizard-dude from that place with the upside-down mule? And the bonfire? And the creepy-ass story?" Even while she spoke, Saoirse turned her feet toward The Squished Fish, leading the way down stairs and across bridges, to the slightly better side of town where the heady aroma of old bile wasn't quite so strong.

The Squished Fish was easily found, and Saoirse followed an automaton inside, where the blue glow and wriggling eels and trickling water released a tension that had been building in her shoulders. "A whole lot different from the Grumbler's Gullet, huh?" She elbowed Chao with a smirk, excited to see what expensive drinks she could get the patrons to buy for her.

After a moment, she spotted a familiar lizardy tail. "Hey," she whispered to Chao, not quite pointing. "Isn't that him?"

Chao caught up to Saoirse and was happy he just didn't have to kill the Grumbler. He hated to do it, but it seemed the more practice he had, the easier it became. But, it was better to let them live.

Saoirse rambled about Dali the Dream Painter. "Yea, that's him," Chao answered her. The large lizard-Bard appeared relaxed with his feet up on the table listening to a performer on stage who did not have the sound Chao preferred. Chao followed saoirse into the Squished Fish taking a seat with Dali at his table.

Collaboration with @Mokley

[Darach]

A flash of light poured into a shallow cave. It touched everything within, including a hooded man sitting atop a crate wrapped in strange glyphs.

A voice followed… “The Sun is gone, as should you be…gone that is!” …It was a watchman.

The hooded man spoke with a baritone that could rattle the earth, “I move when I have reason...” The watchmen twitched a bit at the tone of this hooded man’s voice and readied his hand above his baton. “…. And my reason has not yet appeared.” The hooded man planted his feet firmly and began to lean forward off the crate as if about to pounce.

The watchmen began, “I know your kind…,” he draws his baton slowly, “One false step and…” he shifts to the side slightly to give himself a better angle, “I will deal with you accordingly.” He was prepared for anything. Or, so he thought.

The hooded man scoffed. “To think the likes of a lowly watchmen would draw a weapon without knowing his enemy.” No sooner upon finishing that sentence, he exploded from his seated position with amazing speed.

The watchmen stepped back in shock, eyes widened, jaw dropped. The hooded figure was less than 2 inches from his face. A flicker of what looked like hair set in flames, a stiff smirk on his face, eyes swamped in death. He couldn’t think, his voice was gone, all he could hear was…

“Smolder”

A cloud of black engulfed the watchmen from the mouth of the hooded figure causing him to flail in a panicked frenzy. Coughing, wheezing, and cursing as much as he could in-between.

The hooded figured moved almost knowingly through the watchmen’s clumsy swings and stepped out of the cave as if nothing had occurred. The watchmen, still trying to hit a ghost in the dark. He had no time to kill watchmen, he was here to find a lead.Without a second thought, the hooded figure dove from the ledge of the ash filled cave and landed lighter than expected upon the cobblestone road below.

As he stood his gaze fell upon the door before him. “The Squished Fish” it read decaying and damp across the door.

‘He’s right inside I am sure of it. That tall man in black. I’ve followed him all day, watching him doing something to every person he passes. I have him cornered now.’ The hooded figure thought hard to himself as he reached for the handle on the door.

Just then the door opened, something came out, but it was so fast the human eye couldn’t track it. The hooded figured side stepped and stumbled into the door. ‘Did I just stumble’ puzzled he regained his balance.

Still puzzled he stepped into the winery, the floor boards squishing beneath him yet holding their ground. The phosphorous light bathing his hooded figure as he headed towards the bar. 'What made me stumble?'

A flick of a tail caught his eye, A lizard, Obviously hung over sitting with what looks like a small child and a taller man with white hair. He knew the lizard was Dali. He had heard a few of his stories while training under his ophidian master. The other two were unimportant and he still didn't know what almost knocked him off his feet. He continued to the bar.

“Chamailéontas!” The barkeep bellowed.

Chama lowered his head and growled as he sat at the bar “call me Chama, I keep telling you that.”

“I’ll do no such thing! Your father would have had my head.” The barkeep smirked at the memory of Chama’s father.

“Except someone took his first...” Chama spoke with nonchalance cutting short any sort of humor.

“Indeed” the barkeep chose to lose this battle on words. “How about a pint?”

“Sure, Lizard Lager...” Chama began shooting a death glare as he reached into his pocket for a few coppers to cover the price. This will be the perfect distraction from that slip up at the entrance.

Chama rummaged and came forward with five pieces of… wait… four pieces of copper… and… A fifth coin with an image the likes of what he has seen in only the darkest of places in Teluval. The cyclops stared him down, as if showing him the stumble at the door was his destiny. His lead, THE VAULT.

Chama paid for the pint and placed the coin back in his pocket. He would sit here and figure out his next move. Pulling back his hood he released his red hair from its encasing. It lit up like a flame beneath the phosphorous fish. This, he knew would draw a lot of attention, but this was a damp back-of-the city winery. There was no way anyone who mattered would be there. ‘and yet here I am’ he thought as he sipped from his cup.

[Polybius]

The evening wore on in a way that is lightless, beneath the heavy cliffs of Teluval. The passage of time in Teluval is abysmal. The hours kept only by the great stone and brass clock nestled into a rocky crevice on The Pagans' Precipice, and someone had forgotten to wind it today. The thundering chime of the old bell had fallen silent just after the hour of Suncrest, when the ancient orange sun had passed the cliffs tops.

Despite the operatic performance of the trio of performers, they finished their latest piece to a smattering of applause. Blue smoke curled from behind a curtained booth, a long slender leg emerged, and disappeared to the sound of giggles and kisses. A glass shattered somewhere in a dark corner of the bar. An automaton bleeped and mewed. A grumbler...grumbled.

The barkeep, a pale skinned man of indistinguishable age, and dressed more impecabbly for the occupation he occupied cursed the name of some dead god and grabbed a broom. He tottered out from behind his stone bar, accompanied by an automaton not 4 feet high. The little critter's head was a mess of glass and metal, and he waddled on three single-jointed legs. The barkeep pointed, and the automaton flicked a switch on the side of it's head, illuminating the corner where the glass fell in silky blue light. The barkeep cleaned up and thanked his employee. The automaton whistled softly and disappeared behind the bar once more.

The companions sat quietly at a table. A bard, a tinkerer and a warrior. A wizard of some repute had entered the hall minutes before the glass had shattered, bought and payed for his drink. Outside, just down the stone corridor one could hear heavy footfalls, and the distinct tinkling electric of city-watch batons. Voices were shouting, men searching.

"He went that way-wait...NO THIS WAY!" came a shout among the commotion outside. The footsteps passed the little wine-garden and the wizard relaxed enough to remove his hood revealing a mass of vivid red hair.

The companions sat, each thumbing a small coin that had come into their posession, or soon would, not knowing what the other carried or what they intended. The night, very late, yet very young, grew old in a way. Time was funny like that in Teluval.

[PrivateVentures]

Dali glanced up when the two strangers sat down. The first seemed to be some kind of white-haired ninja. That’s a lot of knives. Wonder if he carries a single pair of scissors, or if it’s all just knives. The second stranger appeared to be a child, possibly the ninja’s kid, but it didn’t seem like it. In fact, she looked like some kind of a thief, what with all the keys hanging off her neck. But the real kicker had yet to walk through the door. He bobbed his head in greeting to the two newcomers, and fiddled with the coin in his pocket.

And then, he did. A guy in a hooded robe. Dali tasted the air, tongue flicking fast. The guy smelled like brimstone. Wizard, maybe. The ninja, like liquor. The thief, like sweat. The wizard strode in proudly, arrogantly. Dali had to stifle a snicker as he tripped over the doorframe. Then, he was forced to hold down his indignation when the wizard raised a hand and summoned the bartender out of nowhere. WHERE WAS THE BARKEEP TWENTY MINUTES AGO? And then, the barkeep offered him a drink. And then he says “Lizard Lager”. That seems racist. I should probably say something… But he also found the bartender. Decisions, decisions… Dali decided he’d rather order a drink than start a civil rights brawl. He walked up behind the robed fellow just in time to see the guy checking out a little bronze coin with an eye on it. Stranger still was when this weirdo pulled down his hood. Bright red hair gleamed under the light of bioluminescence.

”Triple rum, if you wouldn’t mind.” He tossed ten copper pieces on the bar. ”Keep the change.” He stepped up to the stool next to the wizard and asked aloud, ”Ssso, you got a coin, too, huh?” But at that very moment, the band left the stage, bowing quietly. He held up a finger. ”Hold that thought.”

He jogged back to his table to grab his guitar. He snatched it up, slinging it over his head. ”Hey, Ninja-guy. Watch my ssstuff.” He jogged back to the bar, threw back his rum, and stepped onto the stage, still wincing from the drink, bobbing his head in typical Ophidian greeting. His parietal eye registered heat converging up here, but cold below. Band must’ve worked up a sweat. He raised his arm in greeting to the humans here, No scales in the room. Weird. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. He strummed a melancholy A-minor using the coin as a pick, and raised it so the patrons could see. “The Eye of the Cssyclopsss. The Watchful Eye.” The patrons watched him flick the coin into the air, then suddenly, a coin fell onto each table, bouncing, shining, ringing, finally landing, eyes facing straight up. But when they blinked, it was gone. Dali plucked the strings with his claws, masterfully weaving his old magic through the room, the ambient lighting absolutely perfect for the hallucinations of a practiced hand.

e|---------------------------------------------------|
B|---------------------------------------------------|
G|---------------------------------------------------|
D|--------2-2-2--------------------------------------|
A|--------------3-3-3-0-0-0-2-2-2-------0-0-0--------|
E|--0-0-0-------------------------3-3-3-------2-2-2--|

Dali continued. ”The Eye watchess and waitss, watchess and waitss. It is the beacon of a madman, a hoarder of arcane knowledge, a mutant among sssane mindss.” To the listeners, there seemed to be a whispering floating through the room, and once more, Dali raised the coin. He’d stopped playing his guitar, but the music was still audible. The audience sufficiently pacified, the real hallucinations could begin. The eye of the coin held in Dali’s claws seemed to blink, and look around. It seemed to see inside the mind, to read one’s thoughts, to- ”It iss a little trinket, a little icon, an idol of the inner truth, of open eyess in the mind.” His Ophidian lisp began to lessen, more and more as he spoke.

At this moment, the light seemed to dim, the glowing sea-creatures seeming to fade away, becoming the silhouettes of different shapes, weird shapes, improper in a way, so much so that one might think that shapes such as those should not belong in a rational world. ”A man in black, nothing more than a sshadow with a pouch full of coinss, like the last whissper of a long dead god, fluttersss through the night, ssslipping little watching eyes into the pocketss of the destitute and outcasst.” Something flashes by in everyone’s peripheral vision. Something black. Something tall. “If you find such a coin, know this: It is a summoning. It is a calling. It is a journey to risk life and limb. It is a sacrifice of one’s soul. The Glutton’s Castle awaits! If you can find the path, and you can survive the journey, you may find what you seek. If not that, then you will certainly find something else.” The whispers grew louder, the music more menacing. The stage seemed to rise higher off the floor, and the weird shapes in the fishbowls warped even more strangely. The shadows stretched and the air was filled with the chlorine smell of ozone. ”But beware, ye seeker of knowledge. Beware, for you may find what you seek. But in the end, it may be nothing like what you wanted.” Dali slipped a pouch from his pocket, and fished out a leaf. He licked it, leaving a trail of sticky saliva along one flat edge. ”For this is a quest left by dreaming Gods and things that have no name. “ He sprinkled little herbs from the pouch into the fold of the leaf and began rolling it into a tight tube. He slipped it into his mouth, and struck a match. It flared bright red in the dim winery, and lit up Dali’s face like a ghost. The music still echoed loud and clear, thudding like a heartbeat. ”Ye who have found thyself beneath the gaze of the Watchful Eye, make thine way unto the Ceaseless Feast. Thou wilst uncover a conspiracy of Gods and Demons. There is a Painted lady and a fatherless son. Thou wilst hear the voices of three faces that will speak in unison upon a hill, and the babbling old Gods will choose their champion.” The room went dark again as Dali’s cigar lit, and the match blew out. Dali’s face was obscured in smoke and darkness, nothing more than a little glowing red eye in the fog, as the music faded away to become one with the whispering.

[Darach]

Chama became tense. He was mid sip of his mug and felt someone approaching him from behind. One wrong step and whoever it was would get a mug to the face at the least. He placed the mug gently on the bar, not a hint of nervousness visible.

He then heard, "Triple Rum if you wouldn't mind." Chama watched a familiar claw toss 10 coppers on the bar towards the bar keep. Dali is such a drunk Chama thought as he glanced over in Dali's direction with an arched brow."Keep the change." Chama watched as the bard sat next to him. Unwarranted closeness, check. Chama adjusted his elbow as a gesture of 'get out of my space'. Then almost in response to Chama's thought and motion, Dali actually started to speak anyway. "Ssso you got a coin, too, huh?"

Chama's eyes flared as he began to speak out of surprise, "You of all people got a..." Chama was interrupted with a single drunken finger"Hold that thought.". Chama looked over and realized the stage was empty. Dali must be performing next and nothing got in the way of his performances. But a claw finger to the face, especially that one... Chama bit his bottom lip holding his tongue as Dali dashed to his table and acquired his gutiar. As he slung it over his head he spoke to the white haired man briefly and came back to finish his drink as if he had never spoken to Chama in the first place. One track mind Chama was reading Dali like a book, Or so he thought.

As Dali stepped on stage, Chama turned back to the bar and his drink. He had heard some of Dali's stories when he was younger. All full of horrible playing a little parlor tricks that made you see cute little fuzzy animals and the like. Chama had no interest in childish stories.

An A-minor chord played in Chama's background, Dali began "The Eye of the Cssyclopsss. The Watchful Eye." The red headed wizard began to turn his head, but before he could, a coin just like the one in his pocket began to bounce off the bar in front of him and landed, eye looking up. It disappeared no faster then it arrived. With a single blink, vanishing from sight like a.. Hallucination Chama knew he had now been enthralled by minor magic. Dali's voice, his music, like whispers. Chama's gaze turned to the stage intently.

Dali's story told of a madman and his invitation by coin. Chama watched as the coin seemingly came to life. Looking at the crowd as if scanning for truth. This was nothing like what Chama remembered as a child. The luminous fish seemed to dim, their light changing and casting otherworldly shapes. Dali spoke of the man in black. Chama saw a tall black figure in his peripheral vision. He turned to see nothing but a damp mossy wall. I could have sworn...No it isn't... Chama's mind was confounded. Dali's story continued with a menacing crescendo. The stage rose, the fish continued to warp, the shadows stretched, the air heavy with a chlorinated smell. Dali spoke of dangers in accepting such an invitation as the coin.

Chama watched as Dali contiued while simultaneously rolling a certain herb within a leaf dripping in his siliva. A match was struck sending a death like light over Dali's face as he reached the pinnacle of his story.

”Ye who have found thyself beneath the gaze of the Watchful Eye, make thine way unto the Ceaseless Feast. Thou wilst uncover a conspiracy of Gods and Demons. There is a Painted lady and a fatherless son. Thou wilst hear the voices of three faces that will speak in unison upon a hill, and the babbling old Gods will choose their champion.” The room went dark again as Dali’s cigar lit, and the match blew out. Dali’s face was obscured in smoke and darkness, nothing more than a little glowing red eye in the fog, as the music faded away to become one with the whispering.

@PrivateVentures

Chama was frozen solid. The fatherless son...The fatherless son Chama kept repeating the phrase in his head knowing it was about him. He knew now he must approach Dali. That Lizard knew something and Chama planned to spueeze the liquor out of his scales to get answers.

As the bard's magic waned, Chama stood and headed directly for Dali. As big as Chama is, and as sudden as his hair returned to its bright luminescence under the fish that are now glowing again, he looked like a flaming giant weaving threw the tables with no steps missing their marks. He stopped just short of the stage. Careful Chama knew of Dali's power now and thought it wise not to take his stage. Chama looked up at Dali, his lack of patience bursting from the seams, "The Ceaseless Feast, The fatherless son... Tell me.. Chama's desperation was apparent, although semi masked by a forceful tone, as he pulled his coin from his pocket and flashed it in plain sight. He had been convinced that this was his destiny. Maybe now he can avenge his father as he has wished for so many years.

Chama continued, "Why do you know so much? Who are those two you are traveling with? Do you know the way to Erstwhile's Castle?!?!" Chama's patience was at its boiling point. His eyes glowed a low ebbing orange, his mouth leaked a dark cloud like substance from its edges that lightly coiled through his glowing follicles. Each word growled from his vocal cords like a dragon lying in wait. He was losing his cool quickly as he tore his gaze from Dali and glared at the two seated at Dali's table.

"I only ask for answers once..." The intended threat was very real. Chama was beginning to frenzy. A voice whispered in Chama's head and he spoke it in unison "I will not ask again!" The winery rumbled with a roar. The barkeep grabbed a tray and ducked under the bar shielding himself. He knew too well the temperament of a Red Wheel Magician from knowledge of Chama's father. This does not bode well for anyone close enough to feel the heat of his flames.

[Gunther]

Chao sipped at a glass of whiskey on ice while the trio on stage ended their performance. The red-haired wizard stumbled into the Squished Fish, rapidly blending in with the dim lit smoke-filled room. ’Was he drunk already?’ The roguish assassin considered. He made his way to the bar. It appeared the barkeep was familiar with the man of noted repute. Chao himself was aware of Chamailéontas’ reputation. He was someone the former student of the Fudong School in Hyosung, wanted to meet. His reputation as an assassin and as a wizard preceded him. The hood did not conceal his identity to Jhang Chao.

Dali’s attention also drew toward the recent patron of the Squished Fish. He stood and moved to the bar, obviously to get a drink. They may have exchanged cordialities, but Chao was too far to hear their conversation. Before he knew it, Dali returned to the table to gather his stringed instrument and was bounding back towards the bar.

”Hey, Ninja-guy. Watch my ssstuff,” Dali spoke to Chao.

“Ninja-guy?” Chao looked confused towards Saoirse. “Who is this Ninja-guy the bard refers to? I am a warrior.” Chao smiled, then conceded, “oh. He means me?” Chao laughed at the notion. “What the hell is a ninja?” Chao was bewildered. “I may as well keep an eye on his possessions.”

The lyrics flowing out of Dali the Dream Painter’s mouth were hypnotic. His song created a coin to appear on the table, eye side up and then disappear as quickly as it appeared. His words created a calming effect upon the patronage. It was as though everyone consumed a compliance drug making the crowd relaxed. Chao listened to the words, storing them away for tomorrow. ’I wonder if the morrow will ever come,’ Jhang Chao thought to himself. He honestly didn’t care. It was a bliss filled euphoria, the atmosphere Dali’s words created. The words found their way into the important regions of his brain. Glutton’s Castle. The emergence of smoking tobacco, a cigar gave Chao an item to focus on. Watchful Eye. Ceaseless Feast. A conspiracy of Gods and Demons. A painted lady and a fatherless son. voices of three faces speaking in unison upon a hill, and the babbling old Gods will choose their champion. The glow from the smoldering herbs, weeds stuck in Dali’s maw held Chao’s focus as the hypnotic tune ended.

But the red haired wizard was not relaxed. The song affected him in a different manner. It was alarming to Jhang Chao. He knew if the wizard were permitted to continue, he would cause a disturbance and quite possibly get himself harmed. Chao wanted to whisk the man away from the Squished Fish with haste, to get him outside to calm him down. His yelling only made things words. "I will not ask again!"

With the utterance of Chamailéontas’ final words, Chao dropped a pinch of sulfur creating a billowing gray cloud to erupt causing Chao to vanish from sight. Unseen by everyone in the room, Chao moved quickly to the wizard warrior’s side. Three seconds later, the assassin from the Jade Kingdom reappeared in the red haired man’s ear. “Chama!” he shouted at him. “You cannot remain here! You must leave NOW!!” Chao grabbed at Chamailéontas, pulling him towards the door. Given resistance, “now is not the time. We can find the answers to your questions later. If you die at this very moment, you die not knowing. Run and survive. We will head to the Ceaseless Feast and find your answers. Dali will be there too.” Chao pulled the wizard toward the door. He eyed Saoirse to move as well. The crowd, stunned by the warrior’s vanishing act, now recovering from that moment’s distraction began to rise again. Their rumble and zeal to grab the wizard renewed. Chao fought to pull the wizard from the room. He had the man’s back and was ready to fight, if needed to leave the establishment. If the wizard did not go, he was ready to go to work; to do what he did best.

[Darach]

Chama was beginning to step forward. He was so lost within his head he didn't even notice the crowd of people surrounding him. His past had taken him and he would not return without some type of wake up call.

'Find answers' the whispers continued.

Just then he heard something else, it was LOUD.

"Chama!" the name resounded in his head as he turned towards the familiar White haired man. The crowd was in shock. “You cannot remain here! You must leave NOW!!” The man grabbed Chama with force pulling him towards the exit. Chama was still lost, feral almost. He snarled and pulled back but heard again “now is not the time. We can find the answers to your questions later. If you die at this very moment, you die not knowing. Run and survive. We will head to the Ceaseless Feast and find your answers. Dali will be there too.”

Chama snapped back, if only a little, at the sound of answers being found. He stopped pulling and allowed himself to flow with the white haired, now noticably strong, man. Daggers, this man was not just any man. Chama turned to the crowd as they began to advance and backed towards the exit in unison with his new and obviously smart companion. The crowd grabbed and snatched, threw mugs and insults. A few of the patrons caught a foot to the face, but only enough for Chama to cleanly escape with his life.

Once outside of the establishment the door was slammed closed. Chama hadn't realized how far he had gone. It had been so long since answers were so close. He could have killed himself and possibly any unsuspecting patron. He has to keep control. This can never happen again.

He turned to his white haired, obvious assassain, savior and spoke frankly and quite apologetically, "I must repay you, On my honor as a mage and assassian, for you sir have saved my life". He bowed respectfully and continued, "What is your name? It seems you are already acquainted with mine." As he awaited the answer he looked to Dali so as to non-verbally apologize with Ophidian customs in mind. Ophidians fight all their lives, he hoped this would not cause Dali to feel animosity towards him.

Chama then noticed a silhouette in the distance. Not ignoring the assassins introduction, but also not acknowledging it. Chama looked in the direction of whatever it was and spoke calmly but loud enough for all in the direct vicinity to hear. "Do you not see that in the distance?" Chama pointed a singular finger and fired a flare like spark into the dark alleyway. All the walls were grazed with a singeing light. All shadows fell away as the spark swiftly traveled and hit the back wall of the alley. Nothing...

Chama did suffer from his past causing him mental distress, but never so realistically. He looked at the others and turned away embarassed. "You promised me answers assassin, Lets find them then. Together." Chama spoke deeply but truthfully. He needed the help. He hoped they would oblige.

[PrivateVentures]

Dali was not amused.

Not only had this red-headed derelict interrupted the show, but he had also begun causing a scene. This would not have been a problem, had Dali himself not also been causing his own scene. A different sort of scene, but a scene nonetheless. He'd deal with that later. He figured now was as good a time as any to try something new. I really hope I'm drunk enough for this finale. He struck a wide-footed stance, a "power stance" and tried to focus. He could feel his spell weakening.

He closed his eyes while the white-haired ninja and the weirdo-wizard guy settled whatever issue the guy had. Maybe he's just drunk. He concentrated, feeling the air in the room start to ionize, his hallucinatory spell's success dependent on the changing air pressure.

"Thisss sshow iss ssscrewed." He looked toward the door, where the two intriguing strangers had just exited. "Unless..." Please be drunk enough... And he cracked his knuckles and began to play.

e|--9---------------drinks began to steam-----------------------|YES YES YES!
B|-12(14)~---12(14)-12p9-----------------------------12-14(16)~-|
G|-----------------------11-9-11(13)~~-------9-11/13------------|
D|-----------------the lights blurred and rippled------9h11-----|
A|--------------------------------------------------------------|IT'S WORKING!
E|--------------------------------------------------------------|

His fingers blurred, his claws dulled themselves, he played so fast. One chipped, the fragment flying through the air, unnoticed, to land in a patron's rye whiskey and soda. The drink's owner noticed nothing. The lights in the room glowed brighter. He spit out his cigar, where it smoked on the floor, leaving behind only the smell of pine and lemon.

e|-----------------------------------------|
B|-14p12----14(17)~--14(17)14p12----14-12~-|
G|-------13----------------------13--------|CAN'T HOLD BACK-, he thought, then answered himself: But why would I want to?
D|-----drinks began to boil----------------|
A|-----------------------------------------|
E|-----------------------------------------|

Everyone left in the room beheld flames erupting from Dali's hands. They saw his claws smoking. They watched reality break like ethereal glass as his music became beautiful chaos.

--------5-------CRY TO YOUR GODS--------------------------8--8-----------8-5------------------------8b10---------7b9----------7-5---7p5--------------------------------------------7------7p5--------------------------PRAY FOR MERCY-----------------------8------------------
---------------------------------------------------8b10---8--5-------8--10--8---------Dali's brain felt like bursting-------------5----like a rotten melon------------------8b10----------10-8----8h10------------8-5---
------------------Dali's mind was changing----------------10-----his soul was changing------7b9-------7-----------------------------Someone was screaming-------------------------------------------------------------------------THE GODS MUST RISE----------------------Dali was screaming-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------5-----------------------------------------The fire rose higher and higher----------------8-5---------------------5---7p5------------5---5-5-----------7-5--7p5--------------7-----7-5---5-7----7------5------------7----7p5-7p5----------------7-----------------------------------------8-------------------------------------he could feel it--------------------------IF THEY ARE TO FALL---------------------------------------------------CHAOS ENSUES------------------------------13----------10------------------

Light blended into matter and the air surged with electricity. Dali's figure seemed to warp into something with eight arms and three heads. It became something awful, something unfathomable, something arcane. Dali wasn't bothered.
-12----12-14----------10----12-10----10-12/14----14-----------8/12-------------12--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------15b17-15-12------------------15b17-15-13--15-13-13-------------15b17-15-13---------------------the air sizzled-------------------------------14----------the darkness had weight------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------SONG OF THE OLD ONES------------------------------------------------higher and higher, the fire raged---------------------------13-15b17b15p13----13-15b17b15p13----13---15b17b15p13----13--15b17b15p13--------------------14----------------14------------------14-----------------14---------------------the darkness was heavy--------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------screaming echoes--------------------------------------------------------------------the light strobed faster and faster------------------------------------------------

Dali's eight arms became eight tentacles, then ten, then a raging black inferno, and then it was done. As quickly as it came, nothing more than echoes and a memory of a horrifying/incredible performance.

Dali's music started to even out as he calmed down, his brain ceasing to be drunk, and starting to become, instead, just tired.

e|-------A prayer---------9--------9-----------9-----------------------------|
B|--------------9---12(14)---12-9----9---12-9------------------------|
G|-----9-11(13)--------------that bears-----12----------12-11-9----11(13)--9~~-|
D|-/11------------------------------------------------11-------------|
A|------------------no blessing-------------------------------------------------|
E|-------------------------------------------------------------------|

Then all was silent and still.

He panted, tongue hanging out. For an instrumental... That was one hell of a finale. He bobbed his head again to the audience, shouted, "Good night, everybody! Or... day. Or whatever time it is. Good bye, everybody! I'll be back in the future!" He sprinted down to his table, and grabbed his rucksack, coiling his chain around his arm, and slinging his guitar on his back. He clapped the child/woman at the table on the shoulder. "Thanksss for keeping an eye on everything." He tossed her a coin for her trouble, and started toward the door, before realizing that the coin he'd given her was the exact one that he needed to keep. He ran back, snatched it off the table, and left two coppers in its place. "Sssorry, needed that one." Most of the audience just sat and sweated nervously. Several automatons made satisfied whistling noises, and the barkeep clapped as he jogged out the door, bristling with curiosity at- What the hell was that about -the two most strange of strangers. He swung the door open just in time to see the redheaded wizard shoot a little ball of fire down an alley. "Careful, there. You play with fire, you're two sssteps away from being a ssserial killer. Jussst leavess animal cruelty and bedwetting." Dali chuckled as he approached.

[Mokley]

Saoirse hadn't exactly meant that they should go over and socialize with the crazy long-tail -- she was happier to judge people from a distance -- but Chao being Chao had just waltzed right up and sat down at Dali's table like he'd been expected. Saoirse puffed her cheeks indignantly, but an automaton passed between them holding a thick frothy drink she didn't recognize but suddenly needed.

Within moments she was at the bar, her neck craned for service while she dug in her pocket for the morning's earnings: a pile of coins from a generous automaton with a squeaky leg. A handful of coins clattered on the bar, but something odd lay half-buried among them. While the bartender supplied her precious frothy drink and a basket of fried eel-bits, Saoirse pushed around the coins with a finger and picked up one that didn't look like any currency she'd seen before. She squinted and frowned at the eye that stared out of the coin. That sneaky automaton had jipped her! This wasn't currency at all!

She had enough for the tip without it, though, so she pocketed the counterfeit coin and happily carried her frothy-drink and fried-eels over to the table where Chao and Dali exchanged silent nods. The promise of thick alcohol placated the tinkerer's annoyances, and she plopped into a seat at the table to inhale the froth off the top of the glass, her feet swinging.

The music ended, the performers packed up, and the resulting stillness broke with a smash of glass and a giggle. From the street outside came the commotion of some drunk or a thief being chased in the dark. Saoirse chewed and drank and sleepily watched the other patrons moving in the damp blue light -- but hope piqued when Dali grabbed his guitar, and she grinned and perched her feet on the chair, clutching her new favorite drink in preparation for the show.

What happened next would be later remembered as an intoxicated dream. A vision of the counterfeit-coin, a tall looming shadow, a story of eyes and madness and demons and secret vaults. A deep voice roared and smoldered, Chao's seat went empty, the room shouted and rumbled and the front door slammed. The guitar strings quivered and smoked in a hellish rendition, Dali's voice hissed electric hallucinations of rising old gods and civilization burning, black inferno, echoes screaming in the dark, of crumbled consciousness and a final halting whispered prayer.

Saoirse sat entranced by a lingering vision of the charred wake of disaster, barely breathing. In a dazed fog she was peripherally aware of Dali talking to her, of a coin on the table that stared at her before it was plucked away by blunted claws.

The door slammed and Saoirse jolted. Her drink had gone lukewarm, the fried eel cold and rubbery. Where did Chao go? When did Dali leave? She rubbed a hand over her face and scooped up the two coppers left at her elbow. For watching his stuff, huh? Not that she would've noticed if anyone had set his stuff on fire during the performance.

She took a few deep breaths to clear her mind, dropped the coins in her pocket -- and guardedly pulled out the counterfeit coin she'd encountered earlier in the night. Her blood ran cold and electric to see the same watchful eye emblazoned there. She rubbed a thumb over it, just to make sure she wasn't still dreaming, but the performance was done and this was definitely real.

In a sudden fervor, Saoirse took a last gulp of the drink and shouldered her backpack in her rush for the door. It opened to the lot of them standing together in the street -- Chao and the angry wizard and Dali -- looking out at the fading light of a distant flare. She couldn't make anything out, though, so instead of worrying about it she tapped Dali on the arm and held the eye-coin up to his snout.

"Hey," she demanded in a serious tone that lilted slightly from the lingering effects of the last performance. "You've got one of these. What is it? The Ceaseless Feast, the castle, did ya make it up?" In the back of her mind she remembered old whispers and passing graffiti, watching eyes and priceless collections, but hesitated to believe anything she'd witnessed in the past hour. The fact that the coin remained solid and real in her hand still sent a shiver down her spine.

[Exit]

Gru^Sum
_{The City of Teluval - A not so Lonely Bridge}

He stood over an abyss, an infinity of air and regret between himself and the dark throat below. He stood there on the very edge with his toes curled and his weight ever shifting. He pushed loose smaller pebbles, throwing them from their perch and listening to the sounds they made as they bounced off invisible sloped walls. They continued cackling at him until swallowed by the pitch black.

He stood under an abyss. Blue and orange hues hung like sheets of paper in the sky and folded into itself a thousand times. The colors mixed gently as they flapped against the wind to create a moving image, like that of watercolor that never dried. The painting was ever flowing, every changing. It moved as if alive giving way to the promise of freedom but a promise that remained forever out reach. Blue and orange became blue and violet became purple and weaving in and out of these folds was the briefest glimpse of a light. It was the Sun... or the moon. A beautiful ship forever lost at sea.

...How late it is...

The light of another day's dusk gave way to the eerie grey of another day's night. The air became cool, almost damp, as if wading in ice. The cold was particularly annoying. Despite the absence of the wind flowing between cliffs, it managed to slip into the folds of his clothes and drag a tongue against his skin. It snaked up his body, over his chest and nipple, across his neck, nipped at his chin and planted a long kiss on his lips. His breath became frosted and he shivered. The cold was impossibly hard to escape and standing here wasn't helping. He needed to keep moving.

He peered through the dark trying to find his way. Surrounding him was the familiar yet unfamiliar. A whole world molded by Gods. Metal and earth was stretched apart and squeezed together. Structures twisted about in impossible shapes and wrapped themselves around each other in grotesque yet beautiful ways. These shapes were then thrown across gaps of empty space, speckled in light and layered in a mist of ambiance... of thoughts, ideas and lament. A hundred thousand bridges to a hundred thousand different worlds and yet... here he was without one. He stood waiting at the end of a path that clearly said "this way".

This way lead to no where. A drop off. A dead end. An unfinished idea. An unfinished wo-

...Wait...It's moving again...

A loud yet muffled rumble like that of the Earth splitting overtook him and he watched a strange and familiar city begin to shift. The large blocky shapes of the world broke apart and moved as if on their own. One shape became two. Two shapes became one. Streets and alleys and canals like veins detached and reconnected, finding and giving new life to neglected parts of the body. Like clockwork, like a sleeping restless child, Teluval stretched and shifted and rolled and became... Teluval once more. Blood flowed anew and undiscovered paths were opened waiting to be explored.

As the moon and the stars hung low in the clouds above, luminescent light fell upon the Lonely Bridge that was not there only a moment ago. It's path cracked and old, encroached with the soft green of flora that had been left alone to flourish. Etched in dirt and mud and shattered stone was the faded carving of an eye staring up at him from between his curled toes.

...There she is... She'll be our guide...Follow her lead Gru..."

"Hmmmphfff."

A grumbler crossed a not so Lonely Bridge. The abyss below. The abyss above.

[Polybius]

Above, Before...

Chama cast a single twinkling flare into a dark alley. The alley became a bridge, and upon it stood a Grumbler pondering. Upon his round, almost childlike face was a vicious scar stretching from crown to chiseled chin.

"Careful, there. You play with fire, you're two sssteps away from being a ssserial killer. Jussst leavess animal cruelty and bedwetting." Dali chuckled as he approached.

The distinct jagged outline of the Grumbler was interrupted by a protrusion-an erroneous mass of metal and glass. The flare lingered long enough for Chama to see only the decrepit remains of an automaton strapped to the Grumblers back. It seemed to be staring at the ground, but as it emerged from the shadows, Chama could see it was clearly following something; markings on the ground. Looking down, Chama noticed a perfectly round flagstone cut beneath his feet. Engraved upon it was the same Eye of the Cyclops symbol from the coin he carried.

"Hey," demanded Saiorse in a serious tone that lilted slightly from the lingering effects of the last performance. "You've got one of these. What is it? The Ceaseless Feast, the castle, did ya make it up?"

The path of eyes wandered from the bridge where the Grumbler plodded along, wound it's way along the street to where the group stood in a circle. The unlikely group looked to their feet. One by one all of the events of the evening dawned on the group; the wizard, the bard, the warrior, and the tinkerer looked at one another in the soft light of the torches along the cliff wall. A certain knowing came over them one by one. The path of eyes wandered down the street and disappeared into a stone stairwell cut into the cliff wall. A single gaslight illuminated the portal and above it a black slab carved with religious symbols and the words "Mourning Quarter". The Catacombs lay ahead and the Grumbler on the bridge was approaching.

_{EDIT:Some minor description errors.}

[Exit]

Gru^Sum
_{The City of Teluval - A not so Lonely Bridge - Night}

Gru stumbled along, staring at the threads of green woven in and out of creases in a long forgotten path. Even in the near pitch black of the lightless bridge did the various bits of foliage remain visible. There they were embedded forever in stone and longing forever for light. Single stocks of fragile stems stretched toward the sky in a never ending search for the sun but a certain Grumbler figured otherwise. Strong stone fingers plucked them from the ground and tossed them into Gru's waiting maw.

...Not now Gru. We haven't the time...

Ignoring the other voice in his head, his mind focused solely on the food so graciously left behind for him, he bent down to grab another handful. But as he reached for more green, the green suddenly turned to a blood red. Light like fire engulfed him drowning out all other colors in the world, which in the dark wasn't much, and replaced it with nothing but the brightest hues of flame he'd ever seen. Gru immediately dropped his fistful of veggies and stood straight up in alarm.

"Uwah... UWAH! AHHH!" He yelled as he wheeled back in surprise, eyes wide and large arms flailing. In his temporary crazed state he caught a momentary glimpse of a hasted glowing orb moving toward him. Half a blink later and his face smacked it out of the air knocking it to the ground where it came to rest between his feet. "Uuhhh.."

...What in the...? Gru? What's happening?!...

Gru didnt respond. He was busy rubbing away at a quickly growing burnt lump on his forehead and peering down at the glowing ball of flame. It was impossibly bright, so bright that he was overcome with the urge to step on it. It wasn't his smartest idea though to be frank, he didn't really have a whole lot of good ideas to begin with. As his foot came down on the fireball, he was met with the intense yet now familiar searing pain of burning heat. He yelled out a second time.

...Gru! Keep it down!... And relax! It's just a f-

Gru now frustrated, bent down and picked up the flare with his bare hands. Ignoring the searing pain and turning so that part of his back was facing the waiting silhouettes at the far end of the bridge, he flung it off the side and watched it tumble through air into the depths below. It fluttered slowly like a pebble dropped in a pool and as it drifted away it spit light and fire everywhere in chaotic spectacle until it was finally swallowed by the dark.

...

The grumbler suddenly tensed up and his head snapped to the end of the bridge. There now clear as day and waiting for him down an alley at the end of the bridge was a trio of persons. Three faded figures bathed in soft light and conversing among themselves. They looked at each other, looked at the ground, looked at him.

...Careful Gru...They've seen you now...

Gru huffed with irritation, rubbed the lump on his head and a burnt foot into the dirt, and made off toward the three.

[PrivateVentures]

Collaboration between @PrivateVentures and @Darach

Dali, startled by Saiorse's coin suddenly in his face, yelped involuntarily. "It's just a ssstory! Zsaakeo almighty! You people and thisss sstory!" He gestured toward the redheaded sorceror. "You and that guy both!" Dali was indignant at this point. Not only had his performance been interrupted, but suddenly, come to find out, humans had a serious problem with this particular legend. He'd always thought it was a good story, but he never realized people would take it so seriously. "And you!", he turned to the wizard. "Shooting indissscriminate fire in town and yelling at public performers! Have you losst your head?" Dali had taken one step too far. The night was otherwise quiet, the silence punctuated by the chirping of crickets and the rustling of night beasts.

A grumbler roared nearby as Chama's body tensed and he turned toward Dali, a savage look in his eye.

Chama's body froze in place. "What did you just say?" Chama's voice was so low it caused his hooded cloak to vibrate. Chama's father had been beheaded in his sleep. It was the last memory he had of him. Anytime the reference is made he losses more then his temper. More likely he loses all control. "lost my head, LOST MY HEAD!" Chama bellowed as he turned on his heel to face Dali. "I will show you who's head will be lost, you drunken Gecko!" Chama's eyes were glowing fiercly, His hair floating on an invisible breeze as it took on its own light. Ash seeped from Chama's nostils and the edges of his mouth. He pulled back his cloak and revealed his arms wrapped in chains connected to two Scythes on either end with bejeweled hilts. Chama stepped forward with his left foot and centered himself. With another motion the chains freed themselves and dangled a couple of inches from the ground. He gripped the scythes in hand and angled at Dali. "I do hope your bite matches your Sssmart mouth Ssssnake!" Chama mocked Dali as he shook off his cloak and revealed a scale like chain mail wrapped around his body. "Fight me!" Chama snarled, "What's there to be afraid of? Your scales should be more then enough to keep you alive." Chama continued to mock Dali. "Better yet, how about I just bring the fight to you!" Chama yelled as he dashed forward, planting his right foot a few feet from Dali and releasing his Scythes. He grabbed the chains they were attached to and rotated 360 degrees violently. The Scythes Reached out in a 2 foot radius and aimed to sever anything in their paths.

Dali was appalled. This heckler had not only interrupted a fun show, but now had literally shouted "Fight me" before actually drawing his weapons and engaging. Dali shouted, "WHAT, WHY?" as Chama whipped his scythes to bear, and begain spinning. Literally spinning, Dali thought as he hit the dirt, his new adversary's blades whirling over his head. His hat flew off and caught one of the blades, leaving a ragged hole in the brim. He shouted a prayer aloud, as the scythes spun over him. "ZSAAKEO BEFORE ME, ZSAAKEO BEHIND ME-" This was his only option. He feared fire above anything, save amputation, and already had seen this man hurl a flame down a long bridge. He visualized a dozen of himself, hoping to confuse his attacker. "-ZSAAKEO ABOVE ME, ZSAAKEO BELOW ME-" Adrenaline rushed and norepinephrine flowed copiously as he lay, face pressed into the dirt, praying, and imagining himself an army. If Dali had sweat glands, the dirt would have become mud in seconds.

[Mokley]

After Dali's animated assertion that the whole thing had been made up, the Ophidian spat insults upon the hothead wizard; Saoirse immediately backed up to the edge of the road and away from the inevitable, explosive backlash. Shouts and hisses -- and the distant roar of an offended Grumbler that, in an outline of shifting moonlight, headed straight for them -- echoed among the moving, towering stone of the mysterious city.

She watched the wizard's flashing blades and the manifesting army-of-Dalis for a few annoyed seconds before the flagstone-disc under their feet caught her eye -- eye being a word of distinct relevance. The image shifted in and out of view between the battlers' skidding feet, but a similarly shaped flagstone lay not far away, outside the reach of the pub windows' glow.

Saoirse craned her neck, fingers curled around the palmed coin, not quite ready to accept that the story was just some crazy coincidence. After a quick rummage in her backpack, she'd struck a match and lit an oil lamp; with her backpack slung over one shoulder and the oil lamp held out in front of her, she skirted around the wizard's spinning scythes and squatted beside the second round flagstone in the road in the night. The Watchful Eye, as Dali had named it, stared flickering in the lamplight. The same image gleamed in her palm.

Standing, she held the light higher and caught another flagstone further on, and another -- at the end, hauntingly illuminated by gaslights, a deep recess in the stone, within it the dim shape of a staircase. That was the Mourning Quarter, she knew without reading it.

The eyes, the coins and the dead. This was an invitation -- and a morbid promise -- that Saoirse couldn't refuse.

She turned back, noting immediately that the angry Grumbler was getting close, and the red wizard was still busy raging against Dali's doppelgangers.

"Hey!" she yelled along the street at the storm of blades and scales. "HEY!" When her efforts went ignored, Saoirse pressed two fingers to her mouth and blew a loud, piercing whistle that reverberated on the high stone walls.

As soon as eyes turned her way, she held her lamp over the watchful flagstone at her feet. "Look down!" She swung the lamp to point it toward the Mourning Quarter, and waited for the others to see what she was seeing -- if only to be sure that she wasn't still hallucinating. "If you guys are done measuring dicks, how 'bout you come figure out what the hell's going on." She took a slow breath and grinned. "Apparently the dead are waiting for us, hah?"

[Polybius]

Puliver had not come to Teluval to guard the dead; had not wanted to leave his quiet fishing village along the Starlit Sea, and he missed dearly the early mornings along the shoreline where he tended his grandfathers nets. In the darkness of the catacombs, far below the city of names, it was easy to remember other times. Memories came and went, even if one was on guard duty or sitting among the shroud covered dead. It was a small antechamber, one of many along the halls and catacombs beneath the city. The only light came from the tiny glass orb atop his baton. A tiny blue glow. With a flick of his wrist, Puliver could send a bolt of electric power from the top and he fiddled with it as he waited. Puliver sat back against a brick wall, scratched a bite beneath his city-watch tunic and waited for the chiming of the clock atop Pagan's Precipice. He stared at the dead bodies in the room.

A dozen bodies rested on stone platforms waiting for the final rights rights and prayers to be administered. They were covered in dusky linen sheets of course-Puliver was thankful for that. No need for a grotesque vigil. Puliver would guard the bodies from looters until the priests came to carry them away-Wherever that may be, he thought. He sighed. He shifted uncomfortably. He waited. Minutes passed, or maybe an hour, Puliver did not know. He watched the little electric pulses in the glass orb atop his baton. The faint blue light made it hard for his eyes to adjust in the dark, but he was thankful for the weapon.

Looting of dead bodies was not common in Teluval, not that Puliver knew of, but he did fear other things that might be wandering around down here in the dark. He had heard stories, priests not coming back. He heard other things too, while he was on duty. Little scratching noises behind the walls. Chittering laughter, that was the creepiest. The sound of bare feet running in the dark. A lot of feet. Puliver scratched another bite and lightly tapped the back of his head against the brick wall. He wondered if the little bugs were fleas or spiders.

It's been ages, he thought. "Where are the priests?"

The electric-baton of his profession clattered to the floor as he shifted uncomfortably in the dark, and the little blue glowing orb attached to the top flickered out. He fumbled around for the rod in the dark, kicked it across the floor with a clatter by accident.

"Cripes!" he squeaked in the dark. He let out a deep sigh, sat back down, closed his eyes and waited. He thought of his little village along the Starlit Sea and how Grandpa and him would go fishing and tell stories and wonder at the world.

~ ~ ~

They would begin before the sun rose over the jagged hills to the north, setting along the sandy path from the circle of wooden huts that counted as his village. Puliver could count the houses on two hands, but only when grandpa carried the heavy ropes. They would walk the sandy trail along the dunes, stealing glances at the hills for the first glimpse of the sun. The golden rays would repel the shadows, and touch the brass towers of the City of Beltane behind the hills. Grandpa would tell Puliver how they weren't hills, but the edge of a great crater that had existed for a long, long time.

They would reach the beach and unload their gear. Grandpa would unlock the little wooden shack where he stored nets, line, hooks, crates, and baskets. They were alone on this part of the beach, but in the distance, east and west they could see the other families start to work. All the work was done by hand, and by the time the sun was half-way to zenith, Puliver's fingers and arms were trembling with exertion. They tied long heavy lines to large wooden pylons, or hauled in nets from the shallow waters. Puliver would curse as he knicked fingers on barnacles, or shriek in fright at the little slithery eels that popped in and out of holes on the sandbars. Grandpa would laugh, arms straining against the work. Blessedly, they would break for lunch and grandpa would tell Puliver more about the crater and the city of Beltane.

"Have you ever been to Beltane, Grandpa?" Puliver would ask, chomping a sandwich gritty with sand.

"Hm. No, but your grandmother did once, to fix a watch or a clock that had stopped ticking. Or was it your mother? I don't remember Pully, eat your sandwich. We have four more nets to haul in before dark."

One day, while they ate their sandy lunch, and waved away the great big black flies that haunted the shallows, they saw a golden orb emerge from the sea. Puliver's eyes grew wide as the moon. Grandpa only slowed his chewing, furrowed his brow and stared at the weird sphere. The orb moved towards the beach, finally reaching the edge of the shallows.

As it loomed closer, Puliver could see it was not an orb, but a boat. A metal boat. With wings, and a mouth like a fish or-

"A dragon!" he said out loud. Grandpa smiled, but looked displeased. The metal boat had been heading directly for shore, but now it turned as it reached the shallows giving Puliver a good look at the thing. A big waving fin attached to the stern pushed it along slowly. It was very quiet, except for clicking sounds, like a thousand fingers tapping. The tail waved and pushed, waved and pushed and the boat moved on. Puliver could see a glass window in the bow, a tiny transparent bubble cut into the metal carapace. He thought he saw a face inside the bubble and he waved. Grandpa gave him a stern look. They stood and stared, the nets and ropes on the beach forgotten.

"Have you ever seen anything-?" asked Puliver pointing excitedly.

"No," said Grandpa, and Puliver knew he was telling the truth.

The boat changed then. The bow opened like a mouth, and Puliver could see tiny jagged gears turning. Hooks emerged with blinking lights-yellow and red. The boat dipped under the waves and slowed to a crawl. It began chomping, sucking up water and sea grass and fish. A jet of foamy water burst from the topdeck with a gush. A cloud of black sand billowed in the murky waters behind it. What would have taken Puliver and his Grandpa a whole day to catch, the metal boat took in a few, giant gulps.

"The fish, said Puliver quietly.

"The fish," echoed Grandpa.

The metal boat worked for a while and then turned around and sailed back from wherever it had come. Grandpa and Puliver finished their work too and headed for home in the quiet dark. They had caught a decent haul, but Grandpa seemed disappointed. He didn't tell grandma about the boat.

The metal boat did not return until a week later. Puliver spied it on the horizon, artificial tail flapping through the waves. The next week, came two more metal ships. The nets yielded less and less fish and soon Grandpa told Puliver what he knew was coming.

"You'll have to go to the city. Teluval, of course. Not Beltane," he said one evening.

"What'll you do grandpa?"

Grandpa scratched his beard. "Your grandma has relatives in the next village. They grow grain for the cities. I can't imagine living in a city. Set in my ways. You'll learn a trade. Make some money. You'll be fine."

~ ~ ~

_{"Heehee...Heh...Hehehe, HA!}

The laughter shook Puliver from his reverie. A chill swept over his inert body. He had drifted off to sleep, and time ceased to exist for the city-watchmen. At least in this moment. "Wha-what?" he mumbled wiping his eyes. He blinked in the dark. The outlines of the bodies looked like tiny mountain ranges on the stone tables. One of the bodies moved. Puliver started trembling. His bones ached with cold. The body closest to him jolted, slipped off the table. A shape popped up over the lip of the table. A pair of close-set yellow eyes opened, closed. Puliver scrambled to his feet.

_{"Ha..har..hehee..}

"Get out of here! he shouted. The shape emerged again from the shadows, from the side of the table. The yellow eyes blinked again, this time one on top of the other. This pair was joined by three more scattered around the room. Panic seized Puliver. "Gnomes! he hissed. He could hear their little bare feet padding around the room, hear the sound of their tools, and the sawing and carving as they made work of the corpses. The blood drained from Pulivers face as he realized what they were up too. Their scratchy little voices pricked the air in the chamber of the dead.

<sub>"Hehe...it's alive, har.."

"Blech...gross... Leave it, plenty of meat here."

"What if we kill it?"</sub>

Silence crept into the room. Puliver's bladder emptied, the hot liquid gathering in a little pool at his feet.

_{"Ha! That's a fine ideeaa har!"}

Puliver screamed at the top of his lungs as he charged out of the room. The sound echoed down the corridor, filling the dozens of chambers where the dead lay, past the iron portal with the coin-slot, up the stairs and out into the streets of Teluval.

[Gunther]

A Meeting of Fools

_{Collaboration with @Exit@Darach@PrivateVentures}

The old bridge rattled now against the footfalls of an ageless beast. With each step, stone cracked and dust and dirt turned to a dense cloud around burnt feet. Gru moved with a purpose, only this time it wasn't toward a bush or tree or pieces of green. Something in that direction had offended him and... well... he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do but whatever it was, it was going to be done over there. Little else mattered. Not the green, not the cold, not the Eye, not even the annoyingly loud whistle that cut through the air only a moment ago. It was the scream that followed that pulled Gru from his relentless march and he came to a pause only a step away from the two clashing figures before him.

Gru stared at the sky as if to find the source of the noise.

“Huh?” Gru quizzically spoke to himself.

“Chama! Enough!” Chao yelled at the wizard. “Put those bloody scythes away. We are taking Dali with us!” Chao drew his short sword in his right hand and a dagger in his left, ready to fight if he must. He made a point not to step in front of the red-haired man. Chao knew he needed both the bard and the wizard to complete whatever it is they were destined to complete. Harming either one would be a horrible mistake. “What the hell is your problem with this Ophidian anyway?”

Chama continued to spin his scythes, his anger consuming his entire being. He split Dali’s skull with a downward spin, but another Dali came into sight. So, he severed its head completely, but that didn't end it. Chama was fighting against an army of reappearing Dali. He slashed and severed as many as he could as fast as he could but to no end. He was exhausting himself. Just then he heard an ear-piercing whistle. He was mid swing and his scythe dug deep into the cobble stone beneath him. This wasn't just any stone it was a depiction of…. The cyclops eye!! His temper lessened and he became clear minded. He blinked and turned to hear Chao scolding his actions, questioning his issue with Dali. Chama retracted his scythes and gripped the hilts. “He doesn't know me to be spewing such drivel!” Chama bit his lip to control himself. He continued with labored breath, “He… could never get what it's like to be an outcast… with a beheaded father and nothing else to show for life but death.” Chama put his scythes away as he looked down upon the eye again. “Never mind… the eye… it calls to us… Saoirse… thank you for the wake-up call.” Chama nodded in her direction and turned back to Dali and Chao who was obviously armed and awaiting the next move.

Dali glanced up as he heard his name. At least the blades stopped their spinning. He stood slowly, still certain he would be under attack again shortly. “What do you mean… ‘taking Dali with usss’?” The wizard’s weapons were still. Dali took a few deep breaths and fixed the white-haired warrior with a penetrating stare. “Thanksss, of courssse, but what did you mean?”

From a distant perspective, not quite with the others, Gru blinked. His eyes snapped from the sky to the other figure now accompanying the original three. A tall thin man with boyish facial features framed by locks of white. He was brandishing two blades, one in either hand, and yelling at the redhead and the snake.

"...Uuhhh." Dali muttered, but out of range of the others.

The red in the man's hair did remind him of the fireball that hit him in his face earlier…

“The coin!” Chao yelled at the large Ophidian. “The coin you were talking about on the stage. We all got one with the eye on it. It’s some form of an infernal invitation. We must find out what it means. What is the Painted Lady and a Fatherless Son? Where are the three faces upon a hill that will speak in unison? Does anyone have any idea what this means?” Chao paused, looking around at the group. “The Woad? Does it have anything to do with the woad which travels towards the Starlit Sea?”

“These are my questions too.” Chama spoke to Chao’s inquiries as he sat on his heels and traced the eye beneath them. “I have reason to believe my father’s killers are connected to all of this.” Chama gripped at the air making a fist. “I swore I would fight till the day he was avenged. Which is why I was so angry.” Chama flashed back to Dali’s performance. “I couldn't tell the truth from the illusions and I needed to know right then.” Chama sighed and stood adjusting himself and retrieving his cloak. “I suppose I should have been a bit calmer but the end must still be the same. I need answers.” Chama covered himself once more placing his red hair under its hood and directing his gaze at a shaken-up Dali. “Answer Chao, what do you know and what's with the riddles?”

“I know as much as you do, friend,” Chao calmly replied while replacing his sword and dagger to their scabbards. “My guess is that we should travel to the Mourning Quarter and the Woad. Maybe we can find a clue there. Hopefully something will present itself to guide us on our way.”

Remaining at a distance from the group causing the fracas on the bridge, Gru reached for one of the fire-kissed braids.

...NO...

A soft barely audible sound like that of metal against glass could be heard from behind the grumbler followed by the glint of something metallic being tossed over its shoulder. Before stone fingers could wrap themselves around the locks of the wizard, a coin emblazoned with the Eye landed in the palm of his hand. He stopped.

...They are of like mind Gru...

Gru rolled the coin around in his large hands until it came to rest between his index and middle fingers. He held it up in front of his eyes. Framing the coin, and through his digits, he could see the other four characters in the alley. All of them still vaguely aware of his presence and too preoccupied with either each other or the hidden messages embedded in the city around them.

...They are friends... for now at least...

Gru peered at them from behind the coin, gave them a final grunt and smile that really wasn't a smile at all, and unwittingly pushed past Chama, coin held out in front of him as if it were a light. He moved toward the spiraling staircase, the simple machinations of his mind having already forgotten the still throbbing lump on his head and the complicated garble the others were spewing from their mouths.

‘Unsatisfying answers all around,’ Thought Dali, brushing dust off his coat, and retrieving his hat. It was torn, a long gash ripped right through the brim. He sighed and stuffed it into his bag, in the same motion, feeling around inside. He came forth with his pouch and began rolling another cigar, intending to produce a tight cone, but succeeding only in a tight tube with only enough space for the paltriest of aerodynamics. He puffed heavily on it as he lit the tip, struggling to get the cigar going without inhaling its contents. It caught, but still required close observation, lest it burn too much on one side, due to the uneven rolling. Ordinarily, it would have been a clean-cut cigarette shape, but Dali’s adrenaline had yet to stop running, and his fingers still trembled, even as he pulled the leaf from his lips and spit out a thick and creamy smoke ring. “Didn’t know about the head thing. Sssorry.” He nodded to Chama, whose red hair was almost indicative of his temper. Needed a bit more red to be fitting. “All I know isss the legend. Picked it up from an old guy who ussed to visssit my granddad.” Dali had learned long ago that the real secrets, the secrets that have true bearing in the great workings of the world, were more likely to be found in legends and stories, than in the darkest tomes of the oldest wizards. This particular story, unfortunately, had so many iterations and revisions that it barely even resembled its original version. Even so, he thought, as he puffed out another fat ring. “Warrior, what’sss your name? You sseem to know what’sss going on.”

“My name is Chao, Jhang Chao. I have traveled from the Jade Kingdom, many miles east of here. I met Saoirse several weeks ago. We have helped one another. I have learned some things about this city since being here. The Water Road, or Woad as it is called is somehow connected to the legend you mention. It seems to me, that is as good a place as any to start looking for clues. As I stated earlier, I know as much about this coin and the legend as you do.” Chao detailed as much as he knew or at least suspected about the legend. ”Although, a painted lady could mean a whore and a fatherless son is often times referred to as a bastard. They could mean a whore and a bastard? But I’m grasping for ideas here.”

[Mokley]

Saoirse wavered where she stood, illuminated by the oil lamp, shocked to stillness by the appearance of Chao's weapons. She nodded a silent response to the calmed wizard -- Chama, he'd been called -- and while quiet stretched once again in the flickering cobbled street, she mentally recited the names being thrown among them. Dali. Chao. Chama.

The yet-unnamed Grumbler was closer now -- close enough for Saoirse to notice the glint of an automaton strapped to his broad back. Her interest piqued, and for a moment her attention was thus distracted from the rapid speculation on the eye and the coin. (Dead fathers? Old stories? The Painted Lady? The Woad? What could any of that have to do with her?) She raised the lamp higher, to better illuminate the dim eyes of the limp automaton and the determined face of the Grumbler, whose focus was entirely on the mouth of the Mourning Quarter. A coin flashed in his meaty hand.

"Hello?" she addressed the Grumbler, even as she stepped aside to let him pass. "Are you --?" She was cut off by the echo of a blood-curdling scream issuing out of the darkness of the crypt. Saoirse swung the light in the direction of the sound, her blood frozen and breath stopped, waiting for another noise to prove that whoever had made that screech still lived. Please be alive.

"Chao?!" she called shakily behind her, even as she rushed after the Grumbler's clanking automaton with her light, toward the Mourning Quarter. She dropped the coin into her pocket and instead withdrew her trusty knife. "Gonna need those weapons, buddy." Saoirse made very sure to keep the Grumbler between herself and whatever was down that winding staircase, the lamp extended to illuminate his path.

She was scared. These coins could very well be a symbol of their deaths, and five coffins lay open at the bottom of those stairs. No amount of treasure and fortune was worth her life -- but maybe it was a long-latent motherly instinct that drove her forward anyway, knife in-hand, to find and rescue someone surely in need. She wasn't a fighter, but she was resourceful, and only Chao could best her speed. No, this was too much to run away from. Too much to leave alone.