"Damn, I'm hungry. Do you think she's getting that weird---whatever the noodle thing is?"

Larent tilted his head to the side, cold eyes bearing the faintest quizzical look to them as he stared at his man. Finally, after what seemed an eternity inside the parked vehicle they occupied, he spoke, voice biting. "You're thinking of Chow Mein. and if you're curious as to what she's going out for. You should go ask her."

The middle-aged man opposite him was dressed in grubby browns and greys. Balding already, brown hair with hints of grey. He didn't look much like a spy. But then, Larent was dressed roughly similar. They appeared more a pair of workers on their day off, than anything else. This man, though, quite contrary to Larent, had an expression of exasperation. "Sir. . ." the man hazarded, something seeming to bother him. "We haven't done much in the way of--putting the screws to her, destroying her hope. Or whatever the boss said to do. We're burning hours." He then seemed to look almost nervous, wondering if he'd overstepped his bounds.

Larent sat lazily in his chair, eyes unblinking. "Trust me." He replied, the phrase dangerously lacking in irony, considering it was a spy who uttered it. "We are serving Stamaria best . . ." He smiled a dreadful ghost of a smile. "By following her," He nodded towards the camera, a view of the street where Elle'n was just now exiting. "Get up front and drive. And stop worrying so much. That's my job."

The older man shivered for a moment, but nodded and did as instructed. Biting back whatever reply he may have thought on their following Elle'n so close behind. His was not to question why.

As the vehicle shifted into gear, Larent gazed tiredly at the monitor. Fingers idly drumming back and forth across his worn pantleg. How . . .best to approach her?

Edited by Ajax on September 20, 2014 at 1:22:22

Just as Elle'n stepped outside, the rain began to fall. Go figure. Tsuminar... was a dirty city, this far down. Most of the wealthy people lived high above the ground level with their own streets, plazas, and malls to occupy themselves with. Perhaps, for the time being, she could have afforded it, but it was counter-productive to her point. Despite reminding herself of that, though, she could still taste the squalor. Silently, she tugged the hood a little further down on her head to block the rain.

This place was the most like a real city you really got to, in Ymaggion. There were cars, widespread electricity, massive skyscrapers, and a disturbingly familiar population density. There was more crime here than any other city, except for maybe Rogueport, and the lower you went the worse it got. Some of the other cities did a better job of hiding an underworld they had, but Tsuminar was simple: go down.

As she walked on the sidewalks, this fact forced her to keep open eyes. Left and right, people watched her, and it'd only be a matter of time before one of them tried something. Hopefully she wouldn't be too rusty when they did.

Still, though, her mind was on food more than anything. She had found out after just a couple of days as a Theta that keeping with regular bodily functions helped with sanity, here. Eating, sleeping, exercising, and everything in-between were just as important now as outside the game. The debate, of course, was whether not she'd be able to tell the difference after long.

The Chinese place was only a few blocks down, though, and it was inside. No windows and no cameras in there--she'd checked. If someone wanted to tail her, they'd have to be man enough to do it in person.

Before long, she opened the door to the place and slipped inside, the familiar aroma flooding her nose and putting her at ease for a little while longer.

"... Rua Dragonheart," Rua replied, giving the proferred hand a firm shake. Mepple? Why does that sound familiar...? he wondered. He was certain he'd never seen this man before, and yet...

He shook his head clear of the extraneous thoughts. "We gotta hurry," he told his impromptu companion as he started down the alchemically-produced trail at a brisk trot. "That idiot woman's running headfirst into a bunch of mad-looking Stamarians and all she's got is a knife. Relayia, see if you can find anything ahead of us."

The dragonet chirped and launched herself from his shoulder, flapping her wings hard to propel herself down the path Terrel took.

Fille could only grimace as Sera turned to address the waitress, and finally took her own seat by the bard. She sat hard, slumping against the table with her hands cradling her head, eyes covered in her frustration.

She didn't hear what the waitress said. Fille couldn't bring herself to care, honestly. Her mind was consumed with Sera's rash actions and her inability to realize--or likely, her inability to care--about how she's putting her own safety at risk, and just how utterly wrong such a thing was. If she could only understand...

Fille let out a sudden sigh, her mind finally zeroing in on the insecurity that had started this argument with the other player. Why couldn't she have started with that? She let out a brief, rueful laugh that surely caught Sera's attention, and stared down at the table, not really seeing it.

"Almost... four years ago," she started, not even really knowing if Sera was listening but certain she was, "My mother killed herself."

"Well," the driver called back into the cramped set-up tucked away in the van's cargo space. "Chinese restaurant. I just checked, they don't have a camera rig. And we didn't---"

"Bug it. Yes, I recall." Larent replied softly, barely loud enough to be heard as the van pulled up to the curbside. Outside the rain pattered down on the van roof, giving a soft backdrop to his thoughts and a beat to drum his fingers too. After a few brief moments, he nodded to himself and half-stood. Opening the back door to the van and hopping out, heading onto the sidewalk and towards the restaurant.

The driver poked his head out into the rain, staring at his superior as though he were crazy. "Boss--what're you doing?"

"Getting something to eat. I'll bring you back some chow mein." Larent replied with a slender smile, entering the restaurant seconds later and closing the door to the jingle of the bell tucked above.

When in doubt, poke the tiger.

_____

Sera passed a small golden bangle from her satchel to the waitress, exchanging a few glances before the woman nodded and headed off to get the pair food. Now---to Fille's words. She winced as the impact of her companion's words hit her. "I'm sorry to hear that, Fille." She said with as much compassion as she could muster.

"I can't--even imagine what that would be like." And technically, that was true. She was on the receiving end of those feelings, at least the beginnings of them. But she'd never lost her mother.

The heavy-set man blinked in surprise at Rua's quick response, grabbing at the straps of his pack and picking up a pace to keep up.

"Stamarians," Orup repeated, his face concerned at that. "I saw two of their ships touch down on the other side of the hill, just a couple of hours ago. Can't imagine why they wanted to be here in the first place, but they don't usually harass travelers for sport. What are you so worried about?"

---

Elle'n entered and ordered her food, the game paying the sum automatically as it was prone to do in places like this. At least she could still afford food, and it turned out these places were better than they looked. If nothing else, though, it gave her a place to think where she knew she wasn't being watched. Just as she began to dig in, though, the door opened again, and she recognized the man coming inside. With some difficulty, she managed not to laugh.

"'cause we're both Thetas," Rua admitted in a rush as he kept staring up on ahead. "We're Thetas, she's in trouble with Stamarian law, and I'm pretty sure they were the guys who blew up part of the town earlier today."

What a magical combination. "She's also in the middle of a panic attack and she doesn't do well under pressure even with a clear head," he grumbled. "If they find her, they'll probably kill her."

Fille ignored Sera's offered condolences. She'd done her grieving, and she didn't want the bard's sympathy. She wanted her to understand. As such, the girl kept her unseeing gaze on the table she sat at. "We'd known for a while she was suffering from depression, but we thought we were making headway on her therapy... coroner said she died of accidental alcohol poisoning."

She sighed, turning her head aside. "We made a lot of plans, mom and I," she remarked, her accent beginning to thicken as she remembered her mother. "We were gonna see her hometown in France. Maybe see the Eiffel Tower in Paris. That was her idea, even. She and I came up with road trip plans and bought tickets."

She snorted, making a bitter laugh. "And then she went and drunk herself to death when she took her antidepressants."

Edited by RisingDragon on September 24, 2014 at 23:13:52

Orup's face fell at that. This jungle was bad enough, but they had managed to make it more dangerous somehow. "Blew up part of the town!" he exclaimed without thinking, that part the most shocking of it all. He had, of course, not yet made it to Rogueport, but, come to think of it, he had seen the smoke. Suddenly he was not so sure he should be following this swordsman, even if he looked like the man for the job...

But that was no way to look at it. This woman was in danger! Sacrifices had to be made. "Well," he said, after a moment of recovering his shock, "if she's in trouble, we can save her. I've got a potion or two in my pack I've been saving for something like this. We'll find her, boy!"

Rua nodded as they pursued the path, feeling for once hopeful of his situation. Mishap aside, this man had already shown two useful effects he could conjure, one with his most recent potion, and the other he was certain was also from a potion. "That'd be great," he said over his shoulder. "I'm not sure how well I'd do alone against how many Stamarians I saw."

Terrel ran and ran, pushing aside brush angrily and dodging branches as they loomed in front of her. She was mad, but she didn't know who she was mad with. Everything seemed bitter and useless now, and her heart ached like someone had kicked it mercilessly. Who to trust now? Where to go now? What to even do now? She couldn't confront it.

Rua had fallen behind a while ago, though, and she felt some modicum of relief at that. At least maybe now she could have a minute to herself to breathe. Slowing her pace, she came to a gradual stop, now having no idea where she was in this mess of a jungle. But it was good for hiding in, and that was what mattered.

She took a breath and slumped against the trunk of a tree, pulling the band that kept her hair in a ponytail out and dropping it on the ground next to her. As her hair relaxed around her face, she leaned her head back and groaned loudly.

This was supposed to just be a game. You hung out, wasted some time, pretended to not be yourself for a bit, and then went home. When did it turn into this? With an angry yell, she struck the tree next to her furiously, her frustration boiling over inside of her. She felt trapped and useless, like an animal caged but lame. Even if she got out, then what? Pushing off from the tree, she began to pace.

Tsuminar

His eyes swept over the patrons once, not bothering to pause as Elle'n swept into view. without a word, he sat down at a table, ordering two orders of the noodle-dish in a soft voice. He pulled out a small book from his pocket as the waiter left, settling in to read the tiny text and wait for the food to arrive, glancing not once to Elle'n.

_____

Rogueport

Sera gazed to Fille, a sort of sadness and compassion in her eyes. Finally, the hubbub around them, she questioned "And--what, you think I'm committing suicide because I "think" I'm going to die?"


_____


The Jungles Outside Rogueport

Contrary to popular belief. Stamarian troops generally didn't wear white. Rather . . . only the prissy gits back in Zailleon wore white all the time. Arrogant fools. The Stamarians of the Warlord's legions wouldn't be caught dead in white unless it was dress whites for a parade ground inspection. And for the hardened veterans of the Warlord's Legions--they didn't really have time to do inspections, what with all the Korin-hunting.

Lead Scout Raiph Wilson listened to the humming, chirping sounds of the jungle, steady on his perch high in one of the trees. His muscular frame was clad not in prissy-git white, as he preferred to call it. But in dark greens and browns, mapped to blend into the surroundings. His harsh, angular face was darkened with yellowed and brown face paint, eyes glinting out from beneath the jungle warpaint. A camouflaged rifle was slung on his back, along with a small water pack and other equipment along his person. Light-weight gear, all of it. Easy for movement.

And despite all the commotion in the city from where the rockheads of the artillery division had turned a few buildings into paste . . . he hadn't actually had that bad of a day so far.

Key phrase there. "So Far."

Of course, "So Far" had lasted up until the last half hour. Then some idiot had started knocking trees over and Raiph's entire good day and demeanor had gone out the window. Bloody fantastic.

The Stamarian scouts had one specific job, and that was to make sure the primary column wouldn't run into Trouble without knowing what Trouble was armed with, what Trouble's force-strength was, what Trouble's favorite colors were, and what Trouble had for Breakfast this morning.

So. Raiph and his men had gone looking for trouble. And now . . he may have found it. Though if she was trouble . . .she was a bit on the short side. And as far as he could tell, not the person who'd recently used trees as massive bowling pins. But there she was, about a hundred feet away and down, barely visible through the foliage, pacing back and forth.

Two other scouts were following the trail of bowled trees, but hadn't found those responsible yet. This girl was roughly on the same path as the trees---He slid down from his perch, readying his rifle and signaling the other members of his team. Time to see just what sort of miscreants were intent on bothering the Warlord today.

Fille took a moment to ponder her response, though she didn't really need to. She already knew what she wanted to say, and what she was going to say. She let loose a heavy, drawn-out sigh. "Goals mean nothing if you're dead," she said, before glancing back at Sera. "I don't care who you are or what your goal is, but if it's that important, that meaningful to you... is it really worth risking it by doing something reckless or stupid?

"Mom and I had a bunch of goals we wanted to meet, and then she got stupid and drank herself a suicide cocktail with her antidepressants. We'll never meet those goals now," she muttered. "What do you think your friends and family will want to hear when you... go? That you did it, that you sang for all of the leaders of another world? Or do you want some game representative tell them you sang for a den of thieves and one of them stabbed you to death in an alley an hour later?"

The choice seemed pretty damn clear to her.

"Well." Sera started off slowly. "I think my dad will be sad. But say the damn fool girl went into that game knowing she'd die. And it's "Just" a game." She paused a moment, her heart catching in her throat. "And my mom will praise god that her suffering is finally over and she can get on with life." Her voice wavered for a moment, and she dropped quiet as the waitress brought them two bowls of some sort of soup . . .with bacon. Thank heavens.

"My goal. Is yes, to sing for the leaders of this place. But it's also to sing. Like I've been doing. In Hells, on streets. To Shepards and hunters and soldiers too. To be what life robbed me of out there, at least for a few months before it all ends." She continued desperately, voice rising. "So being a bit reckless is part of the goal, Fille. And I am sick. I am sick, of lying on a freaking bed with tu---" She wobbled back, eyes pained, words trailing off.

"At least it'll be a more interesting death being stabbed by an NPC than any possibility in the physical world." She finally ended softly, cheeks flushed from when she had raised her voice.

Something caught Terrel's attention, but she wasn't sure what. Paranoid, or was someone actually watching her? She felt like someone was watching her. Her pacing stopped, and she looked around, straining her ears to hear anything. After a moment, though, she grew frustrated and called out, though her voice was not nearly so strong as she'd have liked.

"Hello?"

---

Elle'n watched the man sit, but he seemed to take effort in purposefully avoiding a look toward her. What was he on about, then? So far she wasn't impressed, but he could still have a game to play, and for now she didn't have a problem going along with it. For the next little while, she'd just concern herself with how real the food tasted in this game.

"I don't think either of us really believes that," Fille said softly, picking up her spoon and poking at it halfheartedly. Getting killed in some alley was a crappy way to go no matter how you looked at it. She took a spoonful of the soup and drank it down before continuing.

"I get that there's risks we need to take," she said to the bard once her mouth was no longer full. "There's always going to be. But some risks just aren't worth it. Too little reward for too big of a risk? It's just... not worth it."

She squeezed her eyes shut and banished a fleeting image of a woman, not her mother. She didn't want to remember that right now. "Sera, I hope you know that I can't come with you once you leave Rogueport. You do know that, right?" she asked.

Edited by RisingDragon on October 7, 2014 at 21:52:40

Rogueport


Sera's hands moved in a dainty fashion as she brought the spoon to her mouth for a sip. Savoring the bacon flavor, drowning out the more suspect flavors in favor of what she craved. "I have tried to get you away from me a few times already, Fille." She reminded the other woman gently. Carefully avoiding either agreeing or disagreeing with her companion's earlier words. "More than a bit worried about your life. I understand that you're not coming with me."

She took another bite of her food. "Where do you plan to go, after you get your information?" She asked, part of her realizing how much she'd missed, having someone to talk to.

____

Jungles Outside Rogueport

Raiph paused, considering his options for the briefest of seconds before pushing up through the foliage and nodding politely to the girl. "Stamarian scouts, ma'am." He said by way of announcement. His voice raspy and jagged, "Military column is moving through the area, are you---alright?" He hesitantly ended, unsure of what else to say. She didn't exactly look like a threat, especially when he had several more scouts spread around the area. And a whole column to call on. . . And if by chance she was a Stamarian citizen, he was obligated to offer her aid.

____

Tsuminar

Larent smiled to himself as the food was delivered. The game of ignoring one another could continue for quite some time, if they let it. Which would break first? And more importantly, would it be breaking? Or merely the next move in the dance? Either way, he might as well eat. Taking the fork in hand, he spool some of the noodles on it and took a bit, enjoying the fare, even if it was a touch bland for his tastes.

"Head after the Phantom Phoenix, I guess," Fille told her with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "I'll probably see if there's anything worthwhile about what Oracle said about those Relics. After that... I have no idea."

She opened up a player menu, and started navigating through it until she reached her contact list. "I can't join you, but that doesn't mean I can't help you still. I'm going to let my friends know about you, and ask them to help you if they can," she told the bard. "That way you don't end up repeating Rogueport and its scummy nights. Here, copy these over to your own contact list."

She pushed the holographic window over at Sera so she could scroll through and copy the usernames listed. "Don't be afraid to ask any of them for help if you need it. Some of them might be able to get you in with other kingdoms' leaders."

Terrel swallowed. Stamarians? Her heart rate spiked at the name. Was it possible that her sister had already turned her in? Was her name and face about to be on the faceplate of every Stamarian visor? In her mind, she quickly navigated the game's menu to ensure her name-plate above her head was indeed turned off. Uncomfortably, she glanced around the jungle--no sign of Rua, yet.

Part of her felt a pang of guilt for running off on him, but she wanted to get away now. She wanted to run, just like she always had. But now a real enemy was standing right in front of her, and she found herself stuck. Maybe she could slip away from these guys in this jungle, but then what? Go after some mythological relic she'd probably die trying to get? Go back to Rua, tail between her legs, and always wonder if she could trust him--or if he could even trust her? No, she knew what she needed to do.

"I'm trying to get home," she told the scout honestly and then added, less honestly, "to Zailleon. I was in line to catch a ship out of Rogueport, but then everything went to hell. You wouldn't know of anyone headed that way, would you?"

---

Elle'n finished her food in silence, but the IO was still looming behind her. Of course, she could just go about her day and not worry about him. No doubt Pius wanted her razed to the ground, but there was only so much of that you could do in plain sight. She wasn't sure of his game, but, either way, she didn't like it. Standing quietly, she beckoned the owner over, whom she knew loosely.

The man, a thick, heavyset fellow who looked like he sampled every dish that came out, watched her carefully but paid attention, and she leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"The guy at the other table's been following me," she said plainly, not bothering to even gesture. "If I leave through the back, will you lock the door behind me?" The backdoor didn't exit where most people figured it would. The owner considered it for a moment and then nodded, turning away from Elle'n a moment later as if they hadn't talked at all.

It was enough for her. Food already paid for, she brushed past the counter, pushing the rear door open that led into the kitchen and glancing back just for a moment to see the owner moving in front of it. A moment later, a satisfying click announced the lock engaged.

Edited by Ribitta on September 30, 2014 at 11:53:25

Tsuminar

With curious eyes he watched as she exchanged a few words with the owner, then hopped up and left through the kitchen. Unless she was taking up a new profession of chef, or more laughable, dishwasher . . . she was making a run for it.

He chuckled softly at that. Picking up the sack with the meal already boxed, and then his plate and the half-eaten noodles upon it, he headed into the kitchen a few seconds after at a meandering pace. A waitress tried to interpose her body, blocking his path into the employee's only area. But a firm smile and a murmured threat of "Tsuminar secret police" and she backed out of his way.

Once in the kitchen---he confirmed what appearances had already suggested, she'd gone out the back door, and the owner had locked it. Perhaps consternation was the intended emotion he was supposed to feel at this moment. But if it was, he didn't show any signs of it. The same easy smile, cold eyes and steady gait propelled him deeper into the small bustling kitchen. Gliding out of the way of a chef as the man prepared another sizzling dish.

Seconds later he'd snagged a bowl and scooped his noodles into it, ignoring the odd glances from the staff. Absentmindedly waiting for the owner to try something, but always pushing forward towards the door.

_____

Rogueport

"I'm rather enjoying Rogueport." Sera said, only half-joking as she took another dainty sip of her soup. A few seconds later though she was moving her hand through the air with practiced ease, opening her UI and adding the contact list to her still-meager friendslist. "If I find opportunity, I'll give some of them a ring."

Another sip of soup and a few moments of relative silence followed. "Thanks." She finally said with a gentle lilt. "you've been hella crazy, helping the crazy girl. But she appreciates it."

_____

Jungles Outside Rogueport

Bloody Fantastic. She was a Stamarian. The Warlord would have his head if he didn't treat the civi---or whatever she was, with the greatest respect. "Sorry, if we scared you, ma'am." Wilson said speedily. "If you need transport back to Zailleon, you should be able to ride on one of the transports out of our main base. We're heading back that way now."

She couldn't help but blink in surprise. "Really?" Terrel asked, the incredulity in her voice not faked, but she did add a touch of longing to it. "I don't want to be any trouble," she added slowly but then glanced back the way she had come, donning a look of anxiety as she did. These guys might suspect she wasn't the only one wandering out around here, and if Rua showed up, she had no intention now of pretending to be happy to see him. Maybe they'd catch the hint.

---

Unable to know what happened next in the restaurant, Elle'n focused simply on getting out. She hadn't come here to pick a fight, but she was done waiting for him to make a move. Walking in so brazenly was a mistake on his part, and she had every intention of making him pay for it.

This building's back door had once exited into a short alley between two different restaurants, but a remodel had joined the structures and added a way into the other place's basement.

As soon as she reached the stair, she descended, headed for an obscure room at the end of the hall, once she reached the bottom.

Branwyn missed her old menu. It had been so comprehensive, so helpful- there was this one little toggle under 'SETTINGS' she would gladly have eaten any type of meat to get back. She could've easily turned off all sensory information, effectively muting her nose and blocking any sort of olfactory input from reaching her brain. This last month had been trying for a number of reasons, but right now, Branwyn really missed being able to control what she felt when. She popped another herb into her mouth, shivering as it released an overpowering smell of mint into her mouth and nose.

She reset her watch alarm and slid the corpse-mask back over her face. The herb would help the stench for another fifteen minutes, but even it couldn't deaden the nauseating fumes wafting up from her wreeking wrappings and the mask that, were her nose to be believed, had been excised from an actual rotting corpse. It wasn't just her freakishly realistic disguise, either; this whole place smelled like someone had sprayed 'Rotting Animal Flesh' FeBreeze on every inch of ruined, moldy old stone. The taste of bile was in her throat whenever she swallowed, and there had been this one time when a bit of her mask had crumbled away and fallen into her open mouth... Branwyn retched and leaned against a dilapidated chimney. Not eating this morning had been such a good idea.

Disgusting as it was, the disguise was working. The mask, the wrappings, and the battalion of status effects imbued within them had so far enabled her to escape the attention of the AI down in the streets of Thebas. Of course, Branwyn hadn't actually been down in the streets yet; no, that was far too dangerous. Just the thought of meeting one of the 'undead' was enough to make her breath hitch and her eyes prick with frightened tears. She knew it was just more AI down there, AI just like everything else that just so happened to be programmed with an apparent hive-mind mentality, a vicious inclination to brutally murder anyone who entered the city, and an undead appearance, but somehow, the knowledge that those things down in the streets were 'just more AI' did nothing to soothe her flaring nerves. No, she was staying up here where it was safe, concealed in the shadowy nooks where the city's rooftops met the city's wall.

The Relic was here somewhere, and Branwyn was going to find it. She was going to find it while staying perfectly safe on the rooftops, well away from the dangers of the streets below.

Edited by Quill on October 4, 2014 at 23:34:16

Edited by Quill on October 4, 2014 at 23:38:58

Rooftops were the best. They were the best thing since... well, since the last thing! Skild chuckled to himself at that. It was true.

Why?

He stopped dead at that. Hehehe--stopped dead. Like him! Wait, what was the question again? Why what? He frowned at that, beneath his mask. Such a pesky, stupid question, why.

Rooftops were the best... because they were. Couldn't it be that simple? For the whole day he could run on them, jumping from one to the other without a care in the world. Some went up, others went down, but they never went all the way down, that's what kept them rooftops! There. That was why.

Pausing on one particular edge, he surveyed the city of Thebas pleasantly for a little while, feeling like a true conqueror of all things vertical.

Clad in a tattered, brown tunic, he may not have looked so imperial as he felt except for his most splendid mask that he wore over his face. From head to toe, his flesh was covered by pants and sleeves and collars and all those other boring things, but the mask was what made him... him. It was circular and colorful with stripes and marks all over it, but most noticeable were the two, huge yellow circles in the center--those were what he looked through. Those were what let him see everything!

Checking his mask's fastenings carefully, he patted it with pride.

Were masks better than rooftops?

Ugh, that question was too hard! He couldn't decide, so he decided to do something else. Taking a few steps back from the edge, Skild took a running leap off the edge, flying a dozen feet through the air and landing lightly on another roof with an old chimney. It was quite spectacular, really.

But... someone else was there, weren't they? His mask let him see everything, after all. Turning his head to the shadows, Skild squinted at the figure who seemed to be hiding there.

"Hey!" he cried out, pointing at them. "Why are you hiding?"

Branwyn didn't hesitate. She turned and ran, ran as fast as she could away from the child-size figure who'd suddenly appeared on her rooftop. Her breath came in shuddering gasps as her feet pounded against the rooftops, and she could feel the disgusting sensation of her tears soaking the rotting mask covering her face. She tried to think, but it was like taking a pool of paints someone had tipped over and trying to separate a single color from the lot. Her brain whirled and whizzed, but all she could manage to gather from the screaming din inside her head was a single word: RUN.

They liked to run on rooftops too! It was a friendship made to be, if he ever knew one. Hollering with excitement, Skild charged after the figure at once, giggling every step of the way. They were quick--they were hasty!--but Skild had been running along rooftops for a long, long time, of course. People didn't call him the rooftop racer for nothing.

Well, no one called him that, but it was still what he was.

Despite the other rooftop-lover getting a head-start, Skild caught up fast. He must have loved rooftops more. As he closed in, he threw a dramatic cartwheel, flipping through the air and landing in pace alongside the other person--it looked like a girl! Perhaps it was love.

Fully infatuated by this connection they shared, he called out to her now from the side, "Where ya going? Rooftops are fun, but you're in a hurry!"

Tsuminar

Roughly eighty-three seconds after he entered the kitchen. There was a crunching sound, followed by a yelp. And then the door was opened. Larent exited a moment later, closing it behind him and taking another bite from the noodle bowl in his hands. His keen eyes took in the surroundings, ears listening for any signs of his quarry.

A single hallway, with a stairwell at the end, leading down. He took another bite of his food, heading down the stairs a moment later. At the bottom, several dimly lit options revealed themselves. four doors. One straight ahead at the end, two on the left, and a single door on the right.

For several seconds he didn't move, listening. The sounds of the bustling restaurants above and behind, ever-so-softly through the floor and intervening doors. Wherever did she go?

______

Jungles Outside Rogueport

Raiph sighed inwardly. What was so hard to trust about a Stamarian soldier? People were always asking him "really? Are you sure?" and other such questions.

"Really." He said with a bare hint of exasperation. "The Warlord's column is moving in the area. If you need transport back to Zailleon, that'd be your ticket. Column will take a few more hours to get back to our base, then air-transport from there." He paused, unsure of what else to say. "If---you'd like to follow me, miss?"

When Elle'n reached the room, she immediately pressed the button on the far wall, summoning one of the three small service elevators that ran the entire height of the building. Unfortunately for her, though, the building was--in typical Tsuminar fashion--absurdly tall, stretching almost 150 floors and spanning multiple statuses and qualities before it reached the top. It could be as long as a minute or maybe two before the thing arrived.

For what felt like an eternity, she waited in baited silence, wondering if she was still being pursued. She doubted Larent Shepard would give up so easily. A few moments later, she found herself proven right in that.

A crunch echoed down the hallway, and she held her breath at once, reaching into her sweatshirt and pulling out a handgun. It was Tsuminarian in construction, firing energy instead of solid projectiles, and she set the thing to stun. The man who hunted her was a Theta--she'd read the file--and she wasn't about to be responsible for murder.

Raising the weapon, she pointed it at the door, her back to where the elevator would show up. If he opened it, she'd fire immediately...

A loud bell resounded through the quiet basement, signaling the arrival of the elevator, and she cursed under her breath. He'd hear it. Without waiting, she shoved herself into the small, one-man carriage, slamming shut the waist-high gate manually and pressing the button for the rooftop. Two more seconds and it would ascend, but that could be a long time. She hoped against hope she'd be gone before he opened that door.

---

Terrel put on a smile at that. Inside, she didn't feel like smiling, but not being herself for a little while actually held a bit of comfort. She could go away and hide inside another person, even if that meant being one who jumped at the word of a Stamarian. Anything was better than being herself right now.

"Of course," she said quickly, moving to follow the man the moment he began to lead the way. Something he had said, though, pricked her attention uncomfortably--she had to know. "Who's the warlord, if you don't mind my asking?"

Branwyn tripped and fell on her face. The corpse-mask pressed against her skin, but her stomach was so twisted up from fear that she barely noticed. She pushed herself away from the thing chasing her, crawling away on all fours across the rooftop as she sobbed, tears streaming down her face as pleading words tumbled incoherently from her lips.

She wanted to stand, wanted to run away, but her enormous legs wouldn't support her massive girth, and there wasn't anything she could do but crawl. Branwyn cursed her body, her hundreds of pounds of fat clinging to her buckling frame, and cried because if she just only still had that perfect body from before she could've leaped to her feet and gracefully bounded away. But she didn't, and she was going to die, die because her disguise wasn't good enough; the undead had found her even on the rooftops, and now it was going to strip the flesh from her bones and suck out the marrow and use her hair to weave together its clothes and she was going to be undead too and she would smell terrible and no amount of minty-pine-fresh herbs would help dull that scent and oh gods above she was going to die.

Branwyn crawled away from her pursuer, its jabbering only joining the chaotic screams inside her head, trying to blend into the shadows and hoping that her sobs and moans wouldn't be noticed.

The girl tripped and fell on her face--no, no she was not at all so fast as he. He wanted to celebrate his victory; it was a true test of his roof-running expertise, but it looked like she was no fan of defeat. Sobbing and crawling away now, Skild watched her perplexedly, torn between dancing and caring.

Oh, fine.

"Hey hey," he interceded, skipping up to her. "Losing's not so bad. I'm no good at all sorts of things! Fishing, skiing, cooking, reading, pencils, tea cups, third brunch, water polo, cat calling, squinting, knocking, digging, ice-skating, typing, walking--I'm bad at lots of things! Stop crying, okay? I'm not going to hurt you, I swear!" he finished with a promise, now standing right above her, waiting expectantly. Dead people could cry too--most people didn't know that!--but why cry when there was so much fun to be had? Hopefully she could see that...

Tsuminar


Bingo. Sound from the door at the end of the hallway. A few quick strides and he was at the door. Though leaning against the wall adjacent, rather than the door. Doors, as a rule, weren't terribly solid when it came to guns or blades, especially in this fantastical game.

Movement, various other muffled sounds. There had definitely been some sort of ding, or bell. Most units that required that were--He sighed inwardly, Pushing his luck and opening the door just in time to see the bottom of the carriage ascending the narrow passage.

He tilted his head, giving a soft chuckle for lack of anything else to do. Perhaps the cautious approach had not been the best for today.

_____

Jungles outside Rogueport

With deft ease Raiph led Terrel back through the jungle, picking his path out carefully, shadows spread out around them, feint glimpses of camouflage indicating other Stamarian soldiers moving alongside. "Hell, you're new to the Jungles, I guess?" He called back, making good time, stopping every little while to make sure she wasn't lagging.

"The Warlord is the ranking Stamarian military commander on the continent. Makes sure Stamarian interests, and citizens." He nodded back at Terrel, "are looked after. Kept safe. Makes the Korin and any other enemy of Stamaria pay in blood for transgressions."

In the distance, a rumbling could be heard, growing closer with each step they took. "He's a great man." Raiph said with something like reverence. "One of the best men you'l--ever meet. To the Legions, he's like our father, priest, confidant and brother all in one."

He grabbed a particularly large branch out of the way, about to let it swing back before realizing maybe it was more polite to hold it for her. "just straight on through the trees up there, almost to the trail. You'll meet him soon enough, if you have need. He's always available for Stamarian citizens."

Once through the trees, Terrel would find herself on a large hardened road, vehicles stretching as far as the eye could see in either direction. Ranging for heavy troop trucks, to lighter jeeps darting up and down the sides on glowing engines, hovering a few inches off the ground. Nearby, a massive vehicle like an armored barn trundled along on wheels bigger than some of the jeeps. A squad of heavy tri-barreled Stamarian tanks rumbling along as an escort. "The Seventh Stamarian armored legion, Cher Plek Theatre. One of three of the Warlord's Legions." Raiph said by way of introduction to the mass of vehicles and soldiers.

Elle'n exhaled only when the elevator groaned upwards past the floor, though she faintly heard a door open as she ascended above it. Just in time, perhaps? There was more than one elevator, though, so she wasn't out just yet. These service elevators could only go to a couple of floors-keep the riffraff out of the especially nice areas--and she didn't doubt he would follow her to the roof.

The thing was quick, though, gaining speed quickly and spitting her out on the rooftop only a couple of minutes later. It was large enough, with small buildings littered across the top to maintain particular pieces of equipment. Plenty of places to hide.

The young woman first laid down a small device around a corner--non-lethal to stop the eyes--and then quickly found a place to lay low in wait.


---

"Damn," Terrel breathed significantly less reverently at the sight of the convoy. "What are you trying to kill?" she asked in all seriousness.

---

From Kallagulia, the heart of Stamaria, a message was sent.

Mr. DuValle,

You are formally requested in presence by Emperor Aurinar Stamarin, without delay save be it for the best of the Empire. Relay your position and we will pull you through at once. You may choose to bring or leave your craft.

As the soldier escorted Terrel away from her place of rest, they were were followed by the gaze of Relayia, as she rested in the trees, her tail curled around a branch for support. As the foliage was moved back and obscured the two of them out of sight, the dragonet unfurled her wings and released her tail's grip and took to the air, flying back the way she came.

Within a few minutes, Rua had caught sight of his pet soaring in his and Mepple's direction, and she began chittering wildly, flying in erratic circles around her master. "Calm down," he ordered, waving her over as she nearly slapped him in the face with a wing. She wouldn't keep quiet.

He grimaced and looked back at his newest companion. "She's found something, looks like," he said. "Wish I could talk to her like a human being, but that's out of the question. Might wanna be ready if we find something."

Fille smiled again at the bard's remark, though it seemed a little sad at the same time. "Well, someone had to do it," she remarked back. "God knows where you'd end up if I hadn't."



As the White Devil surveyed the operation of the Wolfram from his command chair, he was pulled from his thoughts--having tried to puzzle out the suspicious flash of light that engulfed the area that the HelDottir gunship had been last seen in--by the holographic screen materializing in front of him.

It was not a private message window, he noticed right away. Several of the bridge crew noted the appearance of the screen, and all of the players among them recognized what was effectively a quest notification.

Jordan DuValle sat up straight in his chair when he noted just who was requesting his presence. "We're departing," he announced as he began to type in his response. "Ready all crew for a transfer to the Imperial Citadel."

There was a quick announcement over the intercom of the airship, and a flurry of noise as the deck patrols began to move off of the V-shaped flight deck and into the hold.



Command,

Orders received and acknowledged. The Wolfram is awaiting transfer to the Imperial Citadel. These are the attached coordinates.



"The crew's ready for transfer, sir," he was informed. Nodding once, he added in the coordinates and sent the reply on its way across the world.