We live, we die, the world forgets.
Somewhere
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Alphabets jumbled together, so that the graceful swoops of Rellanic battled the crude lines of Davek.
Tendrils of arcane formulae twined in green chalk. Sigils, runes, and sympathetic congruences combined to create an elaborate diagram.
The best suite in the Lorius held the warlock. I swept into the to outer suite and found his handiwork scrawled upon the walls.
I ignored the glittering common rooms, set aside for merriment and games; I stalked straight to the back of the house.
We discovered the Warlock had taken rooms at the most expensive lodge in Veltalar. We turned, and made our way across town, to the Lorius.
The gang's will crumbles when their magical construct fails. I say, "Now, please, before you make me truly angry; where's the warlock?"
“I’ve had enough,” she hisses like a cold wind blowing through the eaves. A frost bloom freezes the advancing driftwood scarecrow in place.
Then I grab him by the neck, twist, and throw him across the room. He comes to rest in a tumbled heap at Thoster's feet.
While Thoster helps the wizard, I deal with the emboldened gang leader. A fist straight into the kid's throat does the trick.
But it's a distraction--this animate garbage, these confused youths who think they're dangerous. Where's Japheth? Where's the Dreamheart?
The thing isn’t actually that fast; it just caught me off guard. I sway like a tree in the wind, avoiding another blow from the construct.
I tense, then jerk my arm free of the nail. Blood trickles down my forearm as I snap to my feet, just in time to duck another claw.
The pain tries to collapse my focus. It's like acid poured across my concentration. And the wizard's bubbling scream isn't helping.
The blow hammers me to the ground. Three spikes remain behind in my flesh, punched through to the wooden floor. I'm nailed in place.
I leap at the gang leader. Raidon charged. Before my knee connects, one of the construct’s nail hands claws me out of the air.
I realize the youths work for Japheth--the warlock has co-opted them, either with magic or coin. Either way, they'll soon learn their error.
The gang leader flings something through the air. It buries itself in the wizard’s throat. Blood wells around a protruding poisoned blade.
My companions and I far outmatch this sad gang. If we fight, they will lose. Badly. I raise a conciliatory hand and ask, "Where's Japheth?"