Valiant: Tales From The Drift

[Tails #32: Life-Time Discount]

Log Date: 12/10/12764

Data Sources: Jazel Jaskolka, Lysanne Arrignis

Event Log: Jazel Jaskolka

Dandelion Drifter Skipper-1

10:28am SGT

“You know how to use that, kid?”

I look up from the Viscori knife. Milor, sitting across from me in the skipper’s passenger cabin, has been watching as I study the blade with a critical eye. “I know how to use it, yes. Knives aren’t exactly tunnelspace science.”

“Just figured I’d check. Never caught you packin’ cold metal before.” he says, tilting up his widebrimmed hat a little. “Figured you Preserver types were big on your magic.”

“We are. But I come from a witch coven, and witches used to live in the woods, off the land.” I say, turning the knife and sheathing it back on my belt. “I’m handy with a bow and a knife.”

He reaches into his pocket, digging around for a toothpick. “Don’t trust your spells to carry you through?”

“I have the spells I need. But after the thing with Grimes, I want a backup plan if I can’t reach my grimoire.” I say, pulling my jacket over the sheathed knife. “The witches of the woods never relied solely on their magic. I figure I shouldn’t either.”

“I dig it.” Milor says, finding a toothpick and tucking it between his teeth. “Sparkly lights and fancy tricks are good and all, but sometimes you need to just need to stick something sharp ‘n pointy in someone. That isn’t something you’ll have a problem with, right?”

“Problem with what?” I ask, looking up at him.

“Puttin’ the business end of the stabby stick in someone.” he says, nodding to the sheathed knife.

I just stare at him. “You do remember what I did to Grimes, right?”

He puts his hands up. “Point taken. Good to know you won’t be shy about it.”

“I would just like to remind both of you that we will be avoiding violence if at all possible.” Lysanne calls back to us from the copilot’s chair in the cockpit. “We’re not here to pick fights or injure anyone. We’re here to get answers and figure out who took Kaya, and where they took her. Dead people are not good at answering questions, so let’s do this as peacefully as possible.”

“I smell what you’re cookin’, blondie, but it ain’t like Tinker and Amagi are just gonna roll over and tell us what we want.” Milor calls back to her. “If they try to blow us off, we might have to get rough with them to show ‘em we mean business.”

“We do not have to resort to coercive violence.” Dandy says from the pilot’s seat. “There are other ways of exercising leverage that can produce compliance. The Tinkerbelles are wanted felons in Colloquium space; if we capture them, we could threaten to turn them over to the Vaunted. The prospect of prosecution and prison time might be a sufficient motivator for them to tell us what they know in exchange for being set free.”

“I get what you’re sayin’, strawberry soda, but following through on that is gonna require us to get them offworld and drop them off at the nearest Vaunted Enclave.” Milor points out, the skipper starting to vibrate as we enter the planet’s atmosphere. “And that involves keeping them prisoner on the Drift, and taking a detour from chasin’ after Kaya and her kidnappers. We’re better off wringin’ the information out of them while we’re planetside. Once we’ve got what we need, we can move on without them.”

“We’re not using whatever ‘enhanced interrogation tactics’ you picked up from the Challenger program, Milor. That’s final.” Lysanne says firmly. “If the Tinkerbelles don’t cooperate, we’re arresting them and take them back to the Vaunted, like Dandy said. Just because they did us dirty doesn’t mean we’re going to come down to their level.”

Milor puffs out a sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Have it your way, then. But I don’t want to hear any complaints if you come up empty-handed.”

“Look, that’s my condition for this trip. I get to choose how we do this; you get to choose who comes along.” Lysanne reminds him. “I still don’t get why you want to bring Ozzy along, but I’m not complaining about it.”

Milor takes his toothpick out of his mouth, motioning it to Ozzy, who’s snoring softly in the seat beside me. “Man’s worked in the black market. He may not want to admit it, but he’ll know where to find the Tinkerbelles. You don’t spend years working for a mafia boss and not know your way around the underground.”

I raise an eyebrow at that. “Is that why you told him we were going planetside to visit a vashy skewer grill?”

Lysanne turns around in her chair. “Wait, you told him what?”

“Honestly, I’m surprised he believed it, but if it works, it works.” Milor shrugs. “Gotta say, despite being a professor and a conspiracy theorist, he is really not the brightest bulb in the box sometimes.”

Lysanne massages her brow. “Let me get this straight: Ozzy thinks we’re going planetside to visit a skewer grill?”

“And doing some sightseeing, and some shopping, and picking up some magical supplies, since it’s a Ranter colony.” Milor says, sticking his toothpick back between his lips. “But the man was hungry, so I mentioned the vashy skewer grill, and he was all for takin’ a trip down to the surface at that point.”

“And what happens when he finds out that we’re not down there for any of that?” Lysanne demands in disbelief.

“Ehh, I figure we can hit up a skewer grill afterwards, right? That’ll give ‘im some motivation to help us track down the Tinkerbelles.” Milor drawls. “Trust me, blondie, I know what I’m doin’. The dog will hunt. Just let me work my magic.”

“Ugh. Whatever.” Lysanne says, shaking her head. “Let’s just get down there and get this over with. I’m starting to remember that we are not cut out for doing this kind of work.”

“I dunno, we seem to be doin’ a decent job so far.” Milor says, folding his arms. “Seein’ as the Vaunted can’t be bothered and CURSE has washed their hands of the whole affair. How they feel about us going off-schedule, by the by?”

“Surprisingly permissive.” Dandy answers, though most of her focus remains on piloting the skipper through atmospheric entry as the forward window tints red at the edges. “Their response to my report was a stock-standard admonishment about the negative impact it would have on their peacekeeping and altruistic initiatives, and a warning that any recovery efforts would not be supported by the organization since they stemmed from an independent project. But there was no specific verbiage forbidding us from pursuing this course, nor any verbiage ordering us to adhere to the assignment schedule, or return to the HQ. As a matter of fact, there was only a reminder that we would not be paid for any time logged on independent projects. There appears to be an implied understanding that we will not be returning to our regular duties until we have recovered Kayenta.”

“Good. If they’re not gonna help, then they may as well stay out of way.” I say, tapping my hand until my grimoire glows to life. Once it does, I start tapping through the pentafractal depths, checking on my stored spells and making sure I know the location of the ones I might need here. “Even if they were willing to help, I’m not sure I’d trust them with it. With the way that the Valiant keep showing them up, it seems like the Peacekeepers might be losing their edge.”

“Help is help, regardless of where it’s coming from. If CURSE changes their mind and decides to give us help, then we should remain open and receptive to that possibility.” Lysanne says. “You may not like them, and you have good reasons for it, but if they were willing to offer us assistance and resources, you should swallow your pride and accept it. For Kaya’s sake.”

I curl my hand shut, pressing my lips together. I know she’s right, and I know I would do it, if it meant getting Kayenta back faster. But I still don’t like it. “I’ll consider it if and when they actually decide to help us. As things stand, Kaya is counting on us to rescue her, because CURSE sure isn’t interested in doing it.”

“We don’t need ‘em anyhow.” Milor says. “We’ve run this race before and came out on the other side mostly intact. We can do it again. Might even be able to do it faster this time around.”

“Just because we’ve done it before doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be careful.” Lysanne says. “And all things being equal, I’d prefer if this is the last time we have to do something like this. Having to deal with a kidnapping is something that loses its novelty on the second go ‘round.”

“I will see if I can requisition a quieter, low-risk assignment schedule from CURSE once we have rescued Kayenta.” Dandy says. “For the time being, let us focus on the task ahead of us. Thinking to the future is no use if we do not take the steps we need to get there.”

The conversation in the skipper falls silent with that, the only sound coming from the skipper’s thrusters as we pass into Laiquedux’s atmosphere. Closing my eyes, I lean my head back and try to clear my mind. 

But all I can think about is what Kayenta would be doing if she was here — avidly watching through the cockpit window at the sight of yet another world, her wonder and curiosity just as fresh as it was the first time.

Encyclopedia Galactica

The Rantecevang Diaspora

The Rantecevang Diaspora is the largest non-Colloquium nation in the galaxy, though the designation of ‘nation’ has been disputed by many scholars who state that the Diaspora lacks the cohesion, unified government, and borders needed to be a true interstellar nation. Composed of thousands of colonies sprinkled across the galaxy, the Diaspora traces its roots back to Rantecevang, the homeworld from which the modern population of elves, dwarves, orcs, Kidaku, ectognathans, sylvans, and vashaya’rei originated from.

The original explosion of Rantecevang colonies across their local branch of the galaxy was prompted in part by an ecological disaster some fourteen thousand years ago that rendered much of the planet uninhabitable. As this occurred prior to the Serenity War, there are almost no surviving records of the disaster that prompted the original diaspora. What little has been recovered indicates that there may have been a global armed conflict, and radiation levels found in certain parts of Rantecevang exhibit half-life decay dating back to that time period. This disaster, occurring during Rantecevang’s transition from the digital age to the space age, resulted in a planetary exodus that saw a massive chunk of Rantecevang’s population flee into space, and to neighboring planets and systems that could support life.

This exodus did not occur all at once, but is believed to have been a steady stream of emigration that continued for at least a couple centuries before slowing down. Nor was the exodus uniform in its undertaking; different groups had different methods and executions for departing the planet, and choosing systems to resettle and colonize. This partially explains how quickly the Diaspora spread across their local region of the galaxy; each colony fleet made decisions independent of the others, and many were willing to go further and settle in systems beyond the ones closest to their homeworld. Schisms within the freshly established colonies would sometimes prompt secessions that would see a portion of the colony’s population leaving to establish their own colony on different planets or systems.

It is this pattern of establishing colonies, growing the population, then a portion of the colony splitting off to go colonize another world, that resulted in the Diaspora’s rapacious spread across the galaxy. What is unique about these colonies is that each one is an independent entity; as mentioned earlier, there is no unified government within the Diaspora. Each colony is a miniature nation unto itself, answering only to its residents and citizens. There are many Ranter colonies that have been established within the borders of other nations, or on systems and worlds owned by other nations, generating further confusion over the nature of the Diaspora as a galactic entity.

Despite the individualized nature of each colony, the galactic consensus is that the Diaspora is a distinct entity akin to an interstellar nation. This determination is based on two factors, the first being the presence of a national identity. Colony residents will proudly identify themselves as Ranters, regardless of the colony that one visits; they will trace back their heritage to Rantecevang, and view their group affiliation as equivalent to the designations of other nationalities. A Ranter colony in a Marshy system does not view itself as a Marshy population; they are Ranters that just happen to live in Marshy space.

The second factor is the tendency for collective defense action. Though Ranter colonies view themselves as independent states from each other, they are often quick to band together when a colony is attacked or otherwise threatened. An individual colony on its own does not present much of a threat, and a campaign against one typically appears manageable until the subjugating force finds themselves beset by reinforcements from other nearby colonies. Ranters are known to be particularly spiteful when attacked; if the aggressor is forced to retreat, colonies near or along the retreat route will broadcast the retreating fleet’s movements to Ranter pirate groups, who have a nasty habit of attacking weakened military fleets to capture and repurpose their ships for corsair activities.

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Laiquedux: Colony Starport

11:06am SGT

“That’s it?” I say in disbelief, looking over my shoulder at the concourse we arrived through. “We just… walk straight through? No security check?”

“That’s why I love the colonies.” Milor says, straightening his hat. “You could waltz in here with anything short of a grenade launcher and they’d let you through. I’da brought my shotgun, but I don’t think we’ll need it to deal with the Tinkerbelles.”

“Security at Ranter starports is notoriously lax.” Dandy says. “There are downsides to this, but for the most part it seems that the colonies have decided that the benefits outweigh the detriments.”

“L-look, I appreciate that you all th-think that I am, am, am able to track down persons of questionable employ, but you have to understand, it doesn’t really work like that.” Ozzy stammers, following us as we make our way towards the starport’s front lobby. “Just because I used to work in the black market doesn’t mean that I still have contacts there, or that I know what the, uh, the, the, the criminal landscape looks like nowadays—”

“Ozzy, my man.” Milor says, throwing an arm over Ozzy’s shoulders. “I think you will find that gettin’ back into the saddle is a lot easier than you think it is, buddy. See, I myself once thought the same as you. This old frontier boy used to be a Challenger, you know? But after fifteen years out of the field, I wasn’t sure if I still had it, at least until I came across the kids here, and let me tell you: it’s just like ridin’ a bike. Might be a liddl’ bit wobbly at first, but trust me, you’ll find your groove soon enough.”

“And you want to help get Kaya back, right?” I add. “This is your chance to contribute in a meaningful way.”

“Well, of course I want to contribute.” he says hastily, slipping out from under Milor’s arm. “But I don’t think you really understanding what you’re asking for, I mean, in a colony as large as this—”

“Welcome to Laiquedux! I take it you all are new here?” The cheery greeting comes from a woman that has on a brightly-colored skirt, halter top, and massive, slightly transparent, orange butterfly wings flared away from her back. She’s got holobrochures in hand, and offers a couple to us as she passes by. “Take a brochure! There’s plenty to do while you’re here, whether you like drinking with dwarves or sightseeing with sylvans. Check out the vashy skewer grills, or the guided noriac sky tours! Every day’s a happy day in Laiquedux.”

Ozzy takes one of the brochures as the winged woman moves on, though his attention is on the woman and not the brochures. “Was… is that a lepidopteran?” he murmurs aside to the rest of us. “Fascinating.”

Jazel, who had been following quietly until now, clears his throat. “Ozzy?”

Ozzy twists around to look at him. “Yes?”

“It is my understanding that the Tinkerbelles run a potion shop of sorts.” he says, clasping his hands behind his back. “They promised me a lifetime discount prior to betraying us, and during that conversation, they made a point of emphasizing that they were not bound by Colloquium regulations, and they could sell products that would not be found within arcane markets in Colloquium nations.”

I can see Ozzy suddenly becoming a lot more focused. “Oh, well, yes, that stands to reason, they are Ranters, after all…” he says.

“Indeed.” Jazel agrees. “And since they are not bound by Colloquium regulations, they may be carrying some materials that would be difficult to source within the Colloquium. There may be an opportunity to… acquire some of those rare materials, if you are able to help us find out where the Tinkerbelles are.”

“Oh.” Ozzy says, suddenly looking more thoughtful. “Yes, I suppose that is a good point, isn’t it…”

I don’t say anything; while I’m not entirely comfortable with what Jazel is implying here, I don’t feel like it should be entirely off the table either. The Tinkerbelles run a business that’s clearly selling things that are illegal in Colloquium systems, if the file with the Vaunted is any indication. Normally I don’t condone stealing or theft, but considering they got our friend kidnapped, and they’re wanted felons in Colloquium space, it feels like a little bit of light robbery is fair game.

“And afterwards, we can visit a vashy skewer grill before we head back up to orbit.” Milor points out, taking the holobrochure from Ozzy and looking it over. “Could be quite a productive and delicious trip if you help us track down the Tinkerbelles.”

“Yes, I suppose it could be, couldn’t it.” Ozzy muses. “Well, I can’t promise anything, but I suppose I could give it a try, poke my nose around a bit and see what I can sniff out while we’re here. Wouldn’t hurt to take a swing at it.”

“That’s the spirit.” Milor says, giving Ozzy a hearty slap on the back. “It’s decided, then. Let’s track down the Tinkerbelles, and then we’ll settle up for skewer grill afterwards. It’ll be my treat, since CURSE refuses to foot the bill for this mess.”

“Like I said, I can’t promise anything.” Ozzy repeats as Milor starts to steer him towards the front of the starport once more.

“Of course, of course. But we’ve got faith in you.” Milor says as the rest of us follow them towards the doors. “C’mon gang, let’s get going. We’ve got some elves to hunt down.”

Encyclopedia Galactica

Elf

A recognizable fixture galaxy-wide, elves come in many varieties, though all of them trace their ancestry back to Rantecevang. There are many stereotypes associated with elves, and while many of these stereotypes have an element of truth to them, they are typically not representative of the wider spectrum of elvish lives and culture.

There are three main subtypes of elves under the wider elvish umbrella: wood elves, high elves, and dark alves. Wood elves, as the name implies, historically lived in the woods, and tend to be tall and lean, with limbs that are just slightly longer than those of standard humanoids. They possess sharp teeth, extended, pointed ears, and a historical propensity for cannibalism and tribal culture, though these traditions have faded into the past as they have integrated into other cultures and societies. They still retain their fondness for the forests and the woods, and in the modern era, many work as conservationists, park rangers, and in the natural agriculture industry.

High elves are what most people imagine when the topic of elves are brought up; they are thought to be a crossbreed between wood elves and humans that has brought about the polished image of a conventionally attractive elf that features in many holos and other media depictions. High elves have proportions nearly similar to a human’s, with their teeth being far less sharp than a wood elf’s, and their ears being only moderately pointed. As a culture unto themselves, high elves prided themselves on their sophistication and advancement, though their integration into modern society over the last several millennia has taken the edge off of their arrogance and aloofness. Some of the older families in high elf enclaves still maintain class barriers, but it is far more common to see high elves wearing jeans, tshirts, and mingling with the masses in the communities they live in.

Dark alves are, for the most part, phylogenetically identical to high elves, with the only measurable differences in biology being skin pigmentation. Dark alves have skin coloration ranging from brown to black to certain muted shades of purple, with these colors being a consequence of environmental factors, typically due to a population spending many generations in areas with extensive solar exposure, or underground in the case of the violet hues. Beyond skin coloration, culture is the primary division between high elves and dark alves, with dark alves prioritizing lived experience over the more academic approach of high elves. As a result, dark alves tend to have a higher representation in ‘everyman’ occupations, and are generally viewed as easier to get along with, and more in touch with the common masses.

Despite the differences between the three main subtypes of elves, all three enjoy natural lifespans ranging between four to five centuries on average. This extensive lifespan informs several aspects of elven culture, ranging from career, education, relationship, and financial decisions. With an extended window of youth and of working years, elves tend to benefit more from the long-term accumulation and investment of wealth, which become resources that can then be invested in offspring, or other projects and ambitions. There are similar benefits to be had from accruing decades of experience in particular fields, resulting in many institutions and companies employing elves that have centuries of experience and connections at their disposal…

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Laiquedux: Backstreets

1:20pm SGT

“Oh my— oh my goodness, look at the size! Why, this is just— Lysanne, Jazel, are you seeing this? A magnificent specimen, it’s just remarkable—”

“Yes, Ozzy, we see the greatwolf.” I reply as we make our way through the outskirts of the colony, where the buildings are smaller, more dingy, and confined. The roads between the buildings here are dirt instead of pavement, and most people are on foot. The ones that aren’t are usually on scooters, bikes, or in the case of the colony’s mounted police — greatwolves, such as the one that’s currently across the street from us.

“Just look at that thing! It’s as big as a horse!” Ozzy continues gushing, his pace along the side of the street noticeably lagging as he gawks at the greatwolf. “And that cinnamon pelt is fantastic, you can tell it’s very well taken care of. Can you imagine a beast like that barreling down on you?” And then, a bit quieter: “Do you think they sell greatwolf pups around here? They’d probably cost a fortune—”

“We are not adding a giant wolf to any of the Drift’s biomes.” I say, shutting that down immediately. “Each of those ecosystems has been carefully balanced and none of them currently require an apex predator.”

“I mean, who said anything about keeping it in the biosphere?” Milor says, watching the greatwolf from under the brim of his hat. “Figured one of those would make a great pet if you hand-raised it.”

I look at Milor in disbelief. “What? No! If you want a pet that badly, get yourself a dog! Do you even realize how much a five hundred-pound wolf like that eats every day? You can’t keep one of those as a pet!”

“I mean, you should tell that to the rich and powerful that do keep them as pets…” Ozzy mumbles.

“The rich and powerful have more money than they have sense.” I retort. “We’ve resettled plenty of drakes and dragons that billionaires were trying to keep a pets, usually after the billionaire or one of their house staff got eaten. Just because you have the money for something doesn’t make it a good idea.”

“The kid gets along pretty fine with his big ol’ cat dragon, though.” Milor points out, nodding to Jazel. “So clearly it’s not entirely out of the question.”

“I raised Ravoc from his egg, and vorcruelians have intelligence close to or identical to humanoid intelligence.” Jazel answers, his attention remaining forward. The greatwolf only got a passing glance from him. “I’m good with wild animals, and I’m trained to handle them. All of that is very different from a rich idiot that doesn’t have any thing better to do than throw their money at animals that they think will make good pets, or prove their status.”

“I may also point out that we are here in pursuit of the Tinkerbelles, and intelligence on Kayenta’s whereabouts.” Dandy points out. “There will be time for sightseeing and tourism after we have rescued her. For now, I recommend you place your focus on the task we came here for, Ozzy.”

“Right, right, of course, of course.” Ozzy says quickly, picking up the pace and taking the lead again. “This way, this way. The person I was talking to told me that the Tinkerbelles had set up shop in the outskirts, away from the center of the colony, since the colony police tend to have a heavier presence there.”

“Do the Tinkerbelles not get along with the colony police? I thought they’d be comfortable here, since they’re beyond the reach of the Colloquium.” Milor says.

“They’re free from the Colloquium, but the colony government still maintains order. It’s not a free-for-all here.” Ozzy explains. “Selling hard potions and questionable products is still frowned on, so that usually happens in the outskirts, away from the eyes of the colony police.”

“What kind of questionable products are we talkin’?” Milor asks as we near a dirt plaza at the end of this road. “Are we talkin’ like hard drugs, or like dick pills, or like… what?”

“I mean honestly, it really could be a number of things.” Ozzy equivocates. “Like invisibility potions, those are supposed to be regulated, because most governments don’t like regular people having those. There’s a whole bunch of potions that could be addictive, more than I could ever list here… but there’s also raw products that can be used for brewing potions or used as ritual components. Lepidopteran parts are the first thing that springs to mind, those are pretty much outlawed in the Colloquium, with the exception of the chrysalis castoffs, and even in the colonies, using lepidopteran parts is frowned on. Avvikerene products too, there are certain raw materials from Avvikerene that are really potent or addictive, and they’re regulated or outright banned in Colloquium nations. Honestly there’s a lot of things that are dubiously legal to sell, I couldn’t even begin to list them all for you.”

“And they’re supposed to operating out of one of the shops in this shack plaza?” I ask, looking around as we enter the plaza proper. Most of the buildings ringing it are rundown, grungy, or boarded up, and trees are growing up in the cracks between buildings or straight through the building themselves, as if some wood elf magic had leaked somewhere and gotten out of control. The locals hanging out in this area don’t look all that reputable either — I’m seeing a lot of dwarves that look rough around the edges, and some orcs with tattoos that look uncomfortably similar to gang branding.

“Yes, the one right over there with the dwarf on the porch.” Ozzy says, confidently cutting across the plaza towards a boarded-up shack that has a dwarf sitting in a rocking chair on the porch. “Now before you say anything — I know it looks like it’s closed up and defunct, and that’s the whole point. Keeps them off the radar of the colony police. Really very clever, if you ask me.”

“Which means that dwarf on the porch is the bouncer.” Milor mutters. “We’ll want to get our stories straight. Lysanne, Dandy, you’ll be tourist gal pals that are looking for something a little special for Krysmis or Valentin’s Day. Ozzy, you’re the tour guide or the contact that’s showing them around. Jazel, you and I are the escorts for the ladies and the old man; we were paid to keep them out of trouble and that’s why we’re following them around.”

I narrow my eyes at Milor. “Oh, so you’re making the girls do the damsel-in-distress thing? ‘Cause that’s definitely not one of the oldest tricks in the book.”

“Stereotypes exist for a reason, blondie, and most dwarves tend to be culturally traditionalist.” Milor murmurs, taking out another toothpick and parking it between his teeth. “Play to the prejudice. It’ll be their weakness.”

“I must admit that Milor has a point. Using a person’s preconceptions to deceive them may help us gain entry.” Dandy concedes, taking my hand and lacing her fingers through mine. “We can play the role if it helps get us what we’re after.”

I sigh. “Fine. So what, Milor, you want me to play the dumb blonde?”

Milor scratches his cheek with a finger. “Why don’t you go for useless lesbian instead? Like, a lesbian that’s clearly lesbian but doesn’t know how to lesbian.”

“What? I’m not a— no, I’m not—” I say indignantly.

“Perfect. You nailed it.” Milor says, turning to Jazel. “And kid, you’re gonna need to look tough. You got your resting bitch face on?”

Jazel gives Milor a look. “My what?”

“Nothin’, don’t worry about it. You look perfect.” Milor says, looking to Ozzy. “And Ozzy, well… no notes. Just be yourself, that should be enough.”

“Oh, thank you! I always wanted to be an actor, and what’s more fun than playing yourself?” Ozzy says, motioning for us to follow. “Right this way, then!”

Within a minute we’re at the boarded-up shack with the dwarf on the porch, who looks none too pleased to see us. “The hell you city slickers want?” he rasps as we come up the stairs.

“Ah, well these two lovely young ladies were curious about tracking down some special potions that one would not otherwise be able to find in the Colloquium.” Ozzy says, leaning in a little closer to the dwarf and going on in a quieter undertone. “Specifically the ones that may or may not be brewed or sourced from Avvikerene by very special hands, mmyes? One can find substitutions or imitations on Colloquium worlds, but it’s not quite the same as the genuine article.”

“Mmm.” The dwarf rumbles, taking his pipe out of his mouth as his eyes shift from me and Dandy over to Jazel and Milor.

Ozzy notices. “Bodyguards.” he says, as if that explained everything. “Gotta keep daddy’s little princess safe.”

Milor, who’s leaning against one of the porch’s support beams, reaches up to take his toothpick out of his mouth. “Quick visit. In and out. Keep it quiet.” The words are clipped and efficient, lacking his usual frontier drawl.

The dwarf’s only reply is a grunt, but he rocks forward in his chair, his boots thumping to the porch as he stands up. Shuffling over to the door, he pulls a key out of his pocket and unlocks it, pushing it open. “No funny business.” he mutters, motioning us in.

We don’t need a second invitation; Ozzy slips in, with Dandy and I quickly following, and Milor and Jazel bringing up the rear. We find ourselves in a small potion shop, with display cabinets lining the walls, shelves organizing the floor into rows, and bundles of drying herbs hanging from the ceiling. There’s no end of bottles big and small, containing all matter of liquids and gases, sometimes with solid elements like organs or body parts suspended in the mixture. There’s label tape applied to most of the shelves and products, with handwritten names scrawled on them. This clearly isn’t a large-scale operation — most of the items here were produced by hand, rather than on an assembly line.

“Ohhh, now this is fascinating.” Ozzy says, quickly moving to the shelves and starting to study the rows of labeled bottles and other products. “Some of this is definitely illegal by Colloquium standards. This is an entire shelf of lepidopteran-based products; wings, hair, heart, bone… speaking of bones, looks like they’ve got a basket of spellbones here. Snap one of these beauts in half and that’ll give a group of four or five enough energy to be casting spells if they’re runnin’ low.”

“You are saying that many of these products are derived from what used to be living, thinking people?” Dandy says as the rest of us start to fan out through the shop.

“I mean, well, not completely, there are some things here that came from, like, plants and stuff.” Ozzy equivocates, looking around, then picking up a bottle with a big flower suspended in oil. “Like this! A preserved siren flower. I mean, granted, siren flowers come from a specific genus of sylvans, but you don’t have to kill them to get the siren flower. Or… or this here! Dragon scales, these are easy to collect as sheddings! No murder involved. Hopefully.”

“They have seeds for spirit blooms here.” Jazel murmurs, studying a small, tagged pouch hanging from a nail hammered into the side of one of the shelves.

“Apparently they also sell clothing.” Milor says, lofting a fur-trimmed cloak off a hook on the wall and looking it over.

“Oh, that’s not just ordinary clothing.” Ozzy quickly says. “Any clothes you see in here are going to be enchanted. Most often it’s with protection wards that help raise you magical resistance.”

Milor raises an eyebrow. “So what, if someone throws a fireball at me while I’m wearing this, I’ll be safe?”

“I mean, it’s still gonna hurt, and you’re still gonna get burned, but you’ll be less burned than you were if you weren’t wearing it.” Ozzy explains, taking the cloak and looking it over. “How much damage it defrays will be dependent on the quality of the wards woven into it and the material it's made out of. It’s a combination of spellwork and material; the best mage cloaks are enchanted by arthouse tailors, and are woven with expensive materials like crystal thread. Getting any spells past a cloak like that is a headache, and the mages that own them can usually tank a few powerful spells head-on. This one, though… this just looks like your standard midrange mage cloak, although this fur trim on the hood is quite nice, I think it’s boosting the resistance potential of the cloak a bit, because it’s a…” He suddenly pauses, his eyes flicking up before he goes on a bit quieter. “…a morphox tail…”

That immediately draws Jazel’s attention, though he relaxes slightly when he sees that the fur trimming on the hood is from a red-tailed morphox, rather than the silver of Kayenta’s tails. “You’re telling me that they cut off the tail of a morphox to trim that cloak and make it more powerful?” he demands.

Ozzy shrugs. “I mean, that’s what it boils down to.” he says, sliding the fabric of the cloak between his hands. “I don’t know if the morphox was dead or alive, but no matter how you cut it, a tail had to come off to trim this cloak. Lepidopterans aren’t the only Ranters that get trafficked in the black market, unfortunately — any rare or highly magical creature is a valid target for poachers, and morphoxes are some of the most magical humanoids after lepidopterans and noctidopterans.”

Jazel looks up and around the potion shop, like he was taking it in with fresh eyes. “I want to burn this place to the ground before we leave.” he states simply.

“I understand that this shop makes you upset, but that’s no reason for arson, Jazel.” Dandy says immediately. “I agree that a place like this shouldn’t be operating, but we are in a section of the colony that is not well-maintained, with many buildings that are composed of lumber and built close together. Many of the products in this building likely have accelerants of both the normal and magical type. If you start a fire here, it could very well spread to other buildings in this district, endangering innocent people and likely earning us a very aggressive response from the colony police.”

“We are not setting anything on fire.” I agree quickly. “Even if it does feel like it would be the right thing to do. We should see about locating Tinker and Amagi so we can do what we came here to do.”

“Alright, sorry about that; I was in the middle of doing inventory in the back and didn’t realize we had customers.” comes a voice from the back of the shop, where the counter is located. A second later, Tinker comes out of the storage room behind the counter, wiping off her hands with a rag. “Welcome to Tinkerbelle’s, is there anything you’re…”

She trails off when she recognizes us, and there’s a long, tense moment of silence.

“You offered me a lifetime discount last time we spoke.” Jazel growls, shaking his grimoire to life as he starts stalking towards the counter. “I’m here to collect.”

“Amagi!” Tinker shouts, reaching down under the counter.

“Take cover, she’s got a weapon!” Milor shouts as soon as he sees Tinker reaching down. He draws his pistol, grabbing Ozzy at the same time and yanking him down.

Dandy and I duck down behind the shelves, but through the gaps between them, I can see Jazel is still marching towards the counter, pulling a spell free from his grimoire as he goes. It bursts open into a honeycomb shield just as Tinker pulls a hand crossbow out from beneath the counter, raising it and pulling the trigger. One of the yellow hexagons of hardlight shatters as the crossbow bolt ricochets off of it, and is quickly replaced as one of the hexagons around the edge of the shield filters inwards to fill the gap. Jazel keeps moving forward, reaching down for the knife belted to his side, and it seems like he’s planning on vaulting the counter until Amagi comes out of the storage room, elbowing Tinker to the side. In her arms is a heavy crossbow, which she lowers and points right at Jazel. In the instant before she pulls the trigger, I can see red runes flare to life along the shaft of the crossbow bolt.

And in a fraction of a second, the bolt leaves the crossbow, lances over the counter, slams into Jazel’s shield, and detonates.

There’s a fiery explosion that shatters most of Jazel’s honeycomb shield, throwing him back down the aisle he’d been striding through. It shatters the bottles on the shelves near him, rattles the walls of the shop, and Jazel ends up flat on his back near the front door. I rush back down the aisle I’m on, grabbing him and pulling him around the end of a shelving unit so he’s out of the line of fire. As I’m doing that, Milor pops back up and takes a shot over a row of shelves, nailing Amagi in the shoulder with a weak plasma bolt while she’s racking her crossbow. “Dayum, woman!” he barks. “Sit down and put your homemade grenade launcher away! Are ya outta your mind, firing something like that in closed quarters?!”

“We need them alive, Milor!” I shout across the shop to him as he ducks back behind the shelves, one of Tinker’s smaller bolts thunking into the wall behind him.

“I’m aware, I’ve dialed back my pistol as low as it’ll go!” he shouts back.

The commotion in the shop must’ve been audible outside, because the front door opens, and I hear the dwarf’s voice. “What in tarnation is goin’ on—”

I kick a foot against the door to try to force it closed, then quickly jerk it back as one of Amagi’s heavy bolts misses it by mere inches, thudding into the door. Glancing down the aisle, I can see Tinker and Amagi are taking cover behind the counter when they’re racking their crossbows, taking turns to fire at any target that presents itself.

“Milor, can you handle the dwarf?” I shout, finishing hauling Jazel out of the aisle and behind the shelving unit. It looks like he’s still getting his bearings back; his shield protected him from the brunt of the blast, but it still threw him fifteen feet down an aisle, and that would be enough to daze anyone.

“Hey boss, why don’t you take a tenner and stretch your legs!” Milor calls, kicking a leg out to block the door from opening as the dwarf tries to force his way in again. Raising his pistol, he fires a plasma bolt at the door handle, turning it red hot and partially melting it. The dwarf jerks back, and Milor kicks the door shut again. “Go for a walk! It looks like you could do with the exercise!”

“You Venusian trash, are you callin’ me fat?!” comes the muffled and indignant reply from the dwarf as he tries to bust down the door with his shoulder. Milor keeps his boot braced against the door, at least until one of Tinker’s bolts nails it.

“SONNUVA BITCH!” Milor roars as he jerks his boot away from door. “IN THE FOOT? REALLY, TINK?”

“Oooh, that looks painful.” Ozzy remarks unhelpfully.

“Tinker! Amagi!” I shout from where I’m at. “We’re not here to hurt you! We just want answers!”

“It’s a bit late for that, you already shot Amagi!” Tinker shouts back.

“You tried to EXPLODE the kid, of course we shot you!” Milor shouts back between gritted teeth.

“We’ve got nothing to say to you!” Amagi shouts over the sound of racking and loading her crossbow again. Beside me, Jazel’s got his bearings back and is sitting back against the same shelving unit I’m hiding behind. “Get out of our shop and don’t come back!”

“So help me god, I will burn down this shack with both of you in it if you don’t tell us where my fox is and who took her!” Jazel snaps back at her.

“I’d like to see you try!” Amagi snarls. I hear the click of a crossbow trigger, and in the next second my entire world goes sideways as the shelf we’re hiding behind explodes. I lose track of where I am and what’s going on until I slam into one of the cabinets lining the walls, the glass shattering as the frame crunches. I feel myself hit the ground with shards of glass showering around me, and my ears still ringing from being within a few feet of an explosion.

It’s not until someone grabs me and pulls me behind the remains of the shelf that things come back into focus, and I realize that it’s Dandy that’s got hands on me. Milor is keeping Amagi and Tinker busy by bouncing shots off the rafters that ricochet back down towards the counter at the back, while Jazel is starting to get off the floor, chunks of broken shelving sliding off his back. The straightline scars on his cheeks are glowing as he staggers back to his feet, and Tinker, seeing him get back to his feet, swings her crossbow towards him and pulls the trigger. He staggers back a couple feet as the bolt slams into his shoulder, but reaches up and yanks it out with a terrifying, chattering witchscream — an old warcry that witches once used in combat.

“I’m going to paint these walls with your BLOOD!” he shrieks, yanking a spell sphere out of his grimoire. It shatters as he brings his hands up to his chest, flickers of electricity dancing between his fingers as a black sphere grows between them. It quickly swells larger and larger, having an unsettling resemblance to a black hole, and upon seeing it, Amagi finishes racking her heavy crossbow and brings it up. Jazel twists his hands in opposite directions, and the black sphere flash-shrinks in a fraction of a second, reappearing right where Amagi is and flash-expanding to fill the same space as her head and the upper half of her torso. Jazel clenches his hands into fists, and the black sphere immediately collapses into a single point in the air before winking out — and taking everything inside with it. Every part of Amagi that was within the sphere is just gone, sheared off so cleanly that you can see her bones and organs in the bottom half of her torso like it’s a textbook cross-section, while her arms and the front half of the crossbow clatter to the counter, which also has a perfectly smooth scoop carved out of it by the sphere’s edge.

There’s a moment of startling silence, and then what remains of Amagi — everything from her midsection down — topples over behind the counter, pouring blood and organs across the floor.

Tinker lets out a shrill scream and backs into the corner behind the counter, dropping her crossbow. I find myself short of breath, taken off guard by the brutal termination; this was a spell I’d never seen Jazel use before, and it didn’t look like a spell I’d ever seen any of the other witches in the coven use.

“What the hell…” Milor mutters, staring around the corner of the shelving row he’s behind.

Jazel doesn’t stop there, though. Another spell is pulled out of his grimoire, this one a golden-lined tether that shoots across the shop the wrap around Tinker’s neck, and he yanks on it, harshly dragging over the counter and onto the debris-strewn floor. Stalking over to her, he pins her down before she can get up, yanking out the knife he’d almost pulled earlier. “WHERE IS MY FOX? WHO TOOK HER? WHO DID YOU SELL US OUT TO?”

“Jazel!” I shout at him, scrambling to get back up. Tinker’s completely folded, crying and whimpering now that Amagi’s dead and Jazel’s roaring at her. “Dandy, help me, she’s our only lead—”

Dandy helps haul me to my feet, and I stagger over the broken shelves and shattered bottles littering the floor, getting my arms around Jazel and yanking him off Tinker. He strains to get back at Tinker, but Dandy gets between him and Tinker, blocking the way. Even when I’ve got him restrained from behind, I can feel the feral, adrenaline-fueled strength in his lean frame.

“Jazel, you need to calm down!” I hiss at him. “It’s over! Relax! We will find out what we need to find out from her, there’s no need to be jerking her around like a dog on a leash!”

Jazel’s still snarling, baring his teeth at her. “She better tell us everything she knows about who took Kaya, or she’s going to join her cousin!”

“I know that you’re upset that Kaya’s been kidnapped, but that doesn’t mean we can act like animals.” I retort, swinging him around to the side and out of the way. “We’re Preservers. We have standards. We need to adhere to them!”

I let go of him and start to turn back to Tinker, but that’s the moment at which the dwarf outside finally manages to bust through the door after ramming it repeatedly. “Should’ve known better than to let a bunch of offworl—”

That’s as far as he gets, because the moment he busts the door open, Jazel turns and throws his knife at him. Oddly enough, it ends up buried in the dwarf’s chest without a sound, and as he looks down at the hilt sticking out of his chest, Jazel marches over to him, grabs it, and lifts a foot, kicking him off the blade and down the stairs of the porch.

“JAZEL!” I shout at him. “I told you to STOP!”

“Jesus on a jetski, kid!” Milor grunts as he struggles to his feet, using the shelving unit to support himself. “Yer killin’ people left and right! You need to ease off a bit. The more people you murder, the more attention we’re gonna get, and we do not need that kind of heat right now.” Staggering over to the door, he grabs it and swings it closed again to hide us from the people in the plaza outside that are starting to send looks our way. They don’t look like the type to call the police, but only because they look like the types that’ll deal with trouble themselves rather than getting the law to do it for them. “Put that knife away, stay right there, and take a few deep breaths. All the fighting’s done. Let us handle the rest.”

Jazel scowls, but sheathes his knife, and starts touching the bloody spot on his shoulder where he ripped out the crossbow bolt. Convinced that he’ll behave for now, I return to where Tinker’s quietly sobbing on the floor, kneeling down on the side of her opposite Dandy. Reaching down, I grab Tinker’s shirt and pull her upright. “Where is our morphox, Tinker?”

Her only response is to whimper and cry, shaking her head. I sigh, looking at Dandy, then back at the others, before looking back to Tinker.

“I don’t want to, Tinker, but if you don’t answer my questions, I’m gonna get him involved.” I say, thumbing over my shoulder at Jazel. “The morphox is his girlfriend, and he is pissed. So, again: where is the morphox?”

“I don’t knooooow…” she moans weakly.

“Okay, well if you don’t know where she is, then you know who took her. You all led us into a trap, and that’s how she got kidnapped.” I say. “Who kidnapped her? We know it was an organized group; they were all wearing the same jackets.”

“Daughters… daughters of Azra…” she blubbers. “It’s not our fault, it was good money, they were offering us good money to help them get a morphox with nine tails… we couldn’t turn it down, it was good money…”

I narrow my eyes. “How much were they offering you?”

“Credits… half a mil…”

“Half a million Colloquium credits?” I repeat, then look at Dandy.

Dandy grimaces. “It’s a relatively small sum in proportion to any wider economy or even a small business, but it would be a windfall for anyone that comes from the slums of a Ranter colony, as this… area appears to be. It is the equivalent of twenty-five years of fulltime wages for anyone living at or below the poverty line; possibly more, depending on the local economy and job market. I can see why someone would be motivated to accept such a deal for what was a relatively risky, but simple, con job.”

“And who are the Daughters of Azra?” I ask, returning my attention to Tinker. “What do they want with Kaya?”

“Cultists… they worship a demon goddess… I, I, I can’t…” she whimpers, shaking her head.

“Did she say that the Daughters of Azra took Kaya?” Ozzy says, poking his head around the row of shelves where he’d remained hidden until now.

“That is what she is telling us, yes.” Dandy confirms. “I am searching the galaxynet now to see what I can turn up on them.”

“Oh, that completely tracks.” Ozzy murmurs, running a hand through his thin, wispy hair. “It’s not good, but it is definitely starting to make sense now.”

“What’s starting to make sense?” Jazel demands. “What’s this group that she’s talking about and why do they have Kaya?”

“Okay, I don’t mean to interrupt, I’m curious as the rest of y’all, but we’ve got more important things to worry about right now.” Milor grunts, bracing himself heavily on one of the intact shelving units. “Specifically — those bolts were poisoned, and I’ve still got one in my foot, and Jazel’s prolly losing blood because he yanked his out. Dandy, can you find Tinker’s crossbow? Ozzy, if you can take a look at the unused bolts, figure out what they’re coated with, and find us an antidote somewhere in this mess, that’d be great. Jazel, go through the shelves and grab any healing potions you can find. We won’t be able to stop at the colony hospital, so we’ll have to tend these injuries ourselves, and Ranter potions can do most of the heavy lifting for that. Lysanne, see what else you can get out of her, then wrap up the interrogation. We’re going to need to get out of here before the locals outside decide to get involved, or the colony police spot a dead body outside the front porch.”

As much as I don’t like being ordered around, I can’t argue with the fact that Milor has the priorities straight, and I can tell he’s drawing on his experience as a former Challenger. I nod to Dandy, who stands and heads around the counter to find Tinker’s crossbow, while Ozzy and Jazel set to the orders Milor’s given them. Turning back to Tinker, I pull her up by her shirtfront a little more. “We were planning on arresting you and taking you back to the Colloquium to turn you in to the Vaunted. Whether or not you answer my next questions will determine whether we do that, or let you go. You said you don’t know where Kaya is, so I assume you don’t know where the Daughters of Azra are. Who do we need to talk to in order to find out where they are?”

She shakes her head back and forth, still crying. “I dunno, I dunno, I dunno! No one around here. No one would know. We d-don’t see them around here. Maybe g-go ask morphoxes, if you can find them. The Ravens know, but yu-yuh-you’ll never get an audience with one of them, and even if you do, you won’t leave alive.”

“We’ve already thumbed our noses at one Raven and lived to tell it; I figure we can probably do it again.” I say, although I’m bluffing. The only reason we managed to get the better of Medukat was because Kayenta was with us. Without her to back us up, I’m not sure how any subsequent encounters with a Raven would go. “What are the Daughters of Azra planning on doing with her? Why did they kidnap her?”

Tinker keeps on shaking her head, covering her face with her hands now. “I can’t— I can’t… keep her, use her as a vessel… I can’t…”

At this point, her coherency has diminished to the point of being useless, so I let go of her, letting her curl up on the floor. Milor is leaning heavily on the counter, while Jazel, Dandy, and Ozzy raid the intact shelves of the shop for their respective assignments. “Any luck on an antidote?” I ask, moving over to Milor to check on him. “Are you gonna be able to walk out of here, Milor?”

“I can keep truckin’, but it’s a rough ride, blondie.” Milor grunts. “Ozzy, Dandy? Anything?”

“I, I, I, I’m looking, but y’know it’s not easy, like, I’m not familiar with this shop or their inventory management, and I’m not quite sure what it is they laced the arrows with, I just know the general family of poisons it comes from, so, like— y’know, usually I have a bit more time to do something like this—” Ozzy stutters as he scans along the shelves.

“I’ll take what I can get at this point; just get me something.” Milor says. “We can’t leave through the front door. Dandy, go scout the rooms behind the counter and see if there’s a back exit. There should be one; an operation like this would have at least one route into the backstreets to get away from sudden police raids. Lysanne, if you could help Ozzy look for an antidote, that would be great.”

“Checking now.” Dandy says, heading around the counter and to the backrooms.

“What are your symptoms, Milor?” I ask, heading towards the shelves.

“Elevated heart rate, sweating, chills, fatigue or weakness, and it feels like the area around the wound is burning, though that might just be from having a crossbow bolt sticking out of my foot.” he answers.

“Sound like an inhibiting poison, something that might be arachnid or snake-based. Meant to weaken prey and make a target too weak to resist, and easier to handle. Not much pain aside from your foot?” I say as I start to scan the shelves and the handwritten labels.

“Aside from the foot, no. Just weak and shaky.” Milor says, wiping his brow. “You feelin’ the same way, Jazel?”

“It’s a little hard to hold the potions you asked me to grab, yes.” Jazel mutters, starting to move back towards the counter, looking a little less unsteady than Milor.

“Oh, oh! I found some off-brand Damugrofen!” Ozzy explains, moving back towards the counter with a few vials in hand.

“If it’s off-brand, then by definition, it’s not Damugrofen.” I point out.

“On brand, off brand, brand new, I don’t care so long as it can take care of this poison.” Milor says, turning to Ozzy. “Whatsit do?”

“Well, Damugrofen and the generic equivalents are multi-spectrum curatives. They’re used to combat a range of basic or common poisons, toxins, and venoms.” Ozzy explains, uncapping a vial and handing it to Milor. “It doesn’t completely neutralize the poison, since it’s mean to handle a range of poisons, but it’ll cut down the symptoms enough to get you functional again.”

“I have found the back exit.” Dandy says as she returns from the backrooms, watching a Milor downs the vial with a grimace, and Ozzy opens a second vial for Jazel. “I recommend we depart expediently. We have what we came for; the longer we linger, the greater the likelihood we will encounter further trouble.”

“You’re just a bucket of sunshine, strawberry soda.” Milor grunts. Pushing off the counter unsteadily, he turns, and seeing Tinker curled up on the floor, he sighs, limping his way over to her. Carefully crouching down with a visible wince, he reaches down, getting a hand under her cheek so he can turn her head towards him. “I’m sorry, Tink. I didn’t want things to go this way, but you sold us out and got the fox kidnapped. If you’d told us what we wanted to know, none of this would’ve happened. We didn’t come here looking to kill anyone; we just wanted to get our fox back.”

I can only stand looking at Tinker’s big, teary eyes for so long before I have to look away, feeling thoroughly uncomfortable and at little upset about the carnage. “Let’s go. Dandy, can you lead us to the back exit?” I ask.

“Yes. This way; mind the corpse behind the counter, and the blood. The floor is a little slippery.” Dandy says, turning and heading into the backrooms. I take a moment to grab one of Milor’s hands and help him straighten up, then follow Jazel behind the counter, with Milor limping behind me and Ozzy stuffing his jacket and pockets full of bottles and vials before following us. Stepping over Amagi’s remains, we follow Dandy to the shack’s back exit, emerging into the narrow, destitute backstreets. There’s no hesitation as she sets off along the alley, presumably leading the way back to the starport.

I make sure that Milor, Jazel, and Ozzy are all traveling in the middle of the pack before bringing up the rear. Seeing the blood on my shoes, I look back and see we’ve left a trail of bloody footprints leading all the way back to the shack. After a moment of staring, I turn and follow the others, still uncomfortable with the destruction we’re leaving in our wake.

I’d hoped for many things for our long-awaited trip to a Ranter colony, but this was not one of them.

Event Log: Jazel Jaskolka

Dandelion Drift: Common Room

10:45pm SGT

“I must admit, Milor, you exhibited remarkable pain tolerance today. I did not expect you to make it all the way back to the starport with a crossbow bolt sticking out of your foot.” Dandy remarks she carefully winds a fresh bandage around Milor’s wounded foot.

Milor, who’s reclined on the couch with his leg resting on the coffee table, raises a thumb in acknowledgement. “I’ve had worse.” he mumbles. “Still hurts like a bitch, though. I’m glad we grabbed those Ranter potions before we left, otherwise this would’ve taken weeks to heal.”

“It will still take a few days to get back to working condition, even when you’re taking regular doses of an Alleviant.” Dandy says as she works on tucking the bandage. “This foot will not be weight-bearing for the next seventy-two hours. You are to remain sitting or reclined unless you have to go to the bathroom or take a shower. I will see if I can find a cane or some crutches among our medical supplies.”

“Ugh. Puttin’ me in the cripple club? Yer killin’ me, strawberry soda.” Milor groans.

“A cripple is what you will be if you do not allow that injury to heal properly.” Dandy says firmly, standing up and looking towards me. “What about you, Jazel? Are your bandages still fine?”

“They’re fine.” I mutter. I’m currently seated in one of the common room’s recliners, where we’re all supposed to be meeting to figure out next steps. Underneath my pajamas, bandages have been tightly looped around my shoulder and across my chest, covering the puncture wound where the crossbow bolt had gone into the joint between my shoulder and my chest. Even now, under the influence of strong painkillers, I could feel the dull ache; my only consolation was that I was taking regular doses of one of the Ranter potions we’d stolen from Tinker’s shop. While they were excellent for repairing damage and accelerating healing, it was the sort of thing you hoped you’d never have a reason to use.

“Alright, I’m here. Sorry for the delay.” Lysanne says as she steps into the common room with Ozzy following, the door spiraling shut behind them. “There were some dailies that had to be taken care of after I got my shower, and with Jazel and Milor on rest orders, they took a little longer than usual.”

“We are praying for your speedy recovery, by the way! Because, uh, yeah. That’s a lot of chores.” Ozzy jokes awkwardly, shaking the data slate he’s got in hand. “But seriously though, the sooner you recover, the better. I am not cut out for dealing with the varmarachts.”

“Jazel can help with chores that do not require weight lift.” Dandy says, picking up the sanitized wipe she’d used to clean Milor’s foot wound. “In order for his injury to heal, he cannot be putting strain on the muscle group in his shoulder. He is restricted to tasks such as dinner prep and laundry folding for the next few days.”

“Fair enough, fair enough. I don’t envy either of them, that’s for sure.” Ozzy says. “Poisoned crossbow bolts, that’s, ah, that’s some classic stuff, yeah? That’s the stuff of medieval fantasy! Not a lot of people can claim they’ve been shot with poisoned arrows.”

“Trust me, it’s a club that nobody wants to join.” Milor grunts as Dandy walks around the couch, heading for the counter at the back, where she can wash her hands, and the blood out of the wipe. “But I’d prefer not to linger on it. We’re all here, Jazel and I are properly doped up on painkillers now, so let’s figure out where things stand with the information we squeezed out of Tinker.”

“Oh, yes, right right, of course!” Ozzy says quickly, sitting down. “We did get our hands on some rather intriguing intel, didn’t we?”

“You tell us.” Lysanne says, folding her arms. “You’re the one that seems to know who the Daughters of Azra are.”

Ozzy glances at her, then at me. “And you don’t? You two are Preservers; I thought you might know a little something about this. Or perhaps not, come to think of it; the Daughters of Azra don’t really do much with the magical black market or poaching endangered creatures; they’re more of a crime syndicate, really. Maybe a mafia? I feel like mafia describes them pretty well in terms of hierarchy, but I don’t really feel like mafia fits the scale of what they are. Maybe a mob? A mob feels a bit smaller than a mafia. Is that just me, or—”

“Ozzy.” I interrupt, my voice a bit scratchy from the shouting I’d done earlier today. “Who are the Daughters of Azra, and what do they want with Kaya.”

“Oh, right, right, yes, sorry.” Ozzy says, snapping back on topic. “So this is— there’s a lot of ground to cover here. Are any of you familiar with the Rantheon?”

There’s a short silence, before Dandy says “I am.”

“Well yes, obviously, strawberry soda.” Milor grunts. “You’re literally tied into the ship’s wifi, you can access the galaxynet with just a thought. But for the rest of us, the answer is no. We don’t know what the Rantheon is. So Ozzy, you’re going to have to explain it.”

“Alright, well, as Dandy knows,” Ozzy says, motioning to her. “the Rantheon is the pantheon of deities that belong to Rantecevang culture. In the modern day, a lot of people are agnostic or atheistic altogether, and that applies to portions of the Ranter population as well, but there are still a lot of Ranters that participate in religions surrounding the gods of the Rantheon, or have them as part of their culture in some way.”

“And the Daughters of Azra are one of these religious groups.” Lysanne surmises.

“Sort of? Kind of?” Ozzy says, scrolling through the screen on his data slate. “So Azra, as you’ve probably figured out by now, is one of the deities of the Rantheon. But she’s not a good one; she’s a demon goddess, and she rules over the vashaya’reian hell, which is known as the Maelstrom. And those that worship her are known as the Daughters of Azra.”

“Are only women allowed to worship her, or something?” Milor asks, scratching at an eyebrow.

“That’s a good question, actually.” Ozzy says, looking up from his data slate. “I actually do not know. The name kind of implies it, doesn’t it?”

“Doesn’t seem like a great recruiting strategy.” Milor opines. “Like… not that I’m looking for a cult to join… but if I was, I’d definitely prefer a coed cult, instead of a boys’ club or a girls’ club.”

“Ozzy. Milor. Focus.” Lysanne reminds them.

“Sorry, yeah. I think it’s the painkillers talkin’.” Milor apologizes, waving a hand. “Dandy gave me a fresh dose, and I think they’re startin’ to kick in.”

“Azra is a demon goddess; the Daughters are the people that worship her.” I summarize. “That still does not explain why they kidnapped Kaya.”

“I was just about to get to that.” Ozzy says quickly. “Azra is not just a demon goddess — she is the daughter of two other deities in the Rantheon: Maelstrom, the god of storm and shadows, and Radiance, the goddess of the sun.”

Lysanne puts a hand up. “Wait. I thought you said Maelstrom was the vashaya’reian hell that Azra ruled over.”

“No, yeah, that was confusing to me too. I had to read over this section three or four times to get my head around it.” Ozzy says, lifting his slate a little. “So, Maelstrom is the god of storm and shadows, and he created the vashaya’reian hell, which is known as the Maelstrom. So there’s Maelstrom the person, or god, I suppose, and then there’s the Maelstrom, which is a location in the afterlife that people named after him, I guess. But Maelstrom isn’t a demon god; he’s one of the… well, the good gods, I guess? Like, relatively speaking, he’s one of the Rantheon deities that is generally benevolent towards mortals as a whole.”

“The god of storms and shadows is a good guy?” Milor says, raising an eyebrow.

“Seems that way, from the myths.” Ozzy shrugs. “Like, he’s not nice, persay, but he’s just, and he does make a point of defending mortal populations from existential threats.”

“And what does this have to do with Azra?” I press, finding my patience being slowly eroded by all these tangents.

“Right! So, Maelstrom also created the vashaya’rei. And, as a gift and an homage to his wife, Radiance, the first vashaya’rei he created were the morphoxes.” Ozzy goes on. “And the first morphox he created was Azra, their daughter. The demon goddess of the vashaya’reian hell is a morphox.”

“Can I just say it took us way too long to get to that reveal?” Lysanne says. “You couldn’t’ve just opened with that right out the gate?”

“I mean… well no, you need to know what the Rantheon is, and what the Maelstrom is, and why Azra’s stuck in there.” Ozzy says. “She’s the demon goddess of the Maelstrom, but she’s trapped in there because of her insatiable ambition. As the child of gods, she felt she was entitled to divinity of her own. When it did not come quickly enough for her, she tried to take it by other, darker means — and when her parents reprimanded her, she tried to overthrow them. So she was sealed in the Maelstrom as punishment, and the conditions of her seal were that she could leave the Maelstrom only once she had served her time, or by being summoned by ancient ritual into a mortal vessel. An extremely specific type of vessel: a morphox with nine tails.”

There’s a silence in the room as the pieces suddenly click into place for everyone. I feel a chill crawling up my arms and my back, and I sit up a little straight in the recliner, my attention now fully engaged. “The Daughters intend to use my girlfriend as a vessel for a demon goddess?” I rasp.

“Whoa kid, slow your roll.” Milor says, lifting a hand in my direction. “I recognize that tone; I know when someone’s crankin’ the engine on the murderbus. Just take a few deep breaths, okay? I mean, like, who would take this seriously, yeah? The galaxy’s a weird place, I’ll give you that, you’ll find a lot of wild stuff out there, but gods and demon goddesses and ancient rituals — that’s just a little too wild to be true.”

“Even assuming that the process and motivations described are delusional, it does not change the fact that there are individuals that are acting on them.” Dandy points out, finally speaking up. “The end result could be a demon goddess; it could be a massive disappointment. But regardless of which one it is, the Daughters of Azra are going to try, and their attempt, whether it is successful or not, will likely bring Kaya to harm in one way or another. Our mission has not changed — we need to track down the Daughters of Azra and rescue Kaya from them before they can act on their ambitions.”

“Agreed.” Lysanne concurs. “The only thing that’s changed is that now we know who we’re chasing after. And Tinker said that the Four Ravens would know where they are, so we know what our next step is.” She finishes by looking at Ozzy. 

It takes a few seconds for Ozzy to realize she’s looking at him, and then another few seconds from him to understand why she’s doing it. When it finally clicks, his eyes widen, and his stutter comes rampaging back. “What? Oh, yeah, no, nonononononono, no, just, no. We— yeah, no, we shouldn’t, we really shouldn’t—”

“I have not come this far, and survived everything I have been through in the past year, just to abandon my girlfriend to some psychotic cult.” I interrupt him, speaking slowly and methodically. “Where can we find one of the Four Ravens, Ozzy?”

Ozzy puts up his hands. “Look, Medukat is probably already super angry with, like, all of you, after what happened earlier this year, and I, I, I really don’t think—”

“You do not have to come with us, Ozzy.” I say, lacing my fingers together. “Tell us where the Ravens are. I will handle the rest.”

“You ain’t handlin’ shit. You killed two people today and mighta killed the third if we hadn’t pulled you off her.” Milor scoffs. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere unsupervised until we get your fox back, because you’re a feral liddl’ murder machine when she’s missin’. Never woulda caught me sayin’ it a year ago, but I think she’s rubbed off on you, because she was about the same when you were missin’.”

I purse my lips at that, but don’t argue it. Even I know I went a little bit overboard today, although I keep telling myself that it was warranted. Especially now that it turns out my girlfriend wasn’t just kidnapped; she was kidnapped to be used as a vessel for a demon goddess. As far as I’m concerned, that’s enough to get any reasonable person’s blood boiling.

“Jazel’s right, Ozzy. You don’t have to come with us, but we do need you to tell us where we can find Medukat or one of the other Four Ravens.” Lysanne says. “We’ve already killed two people trying to get this far; we have to make those deaths worth something.”

“Jazel’s killed two people. The rest of us haven’t killed shit.” Milor says, as if that distinction was somehow important to him. “And while I’d prefer to do this without putting anyone else in a wooden box, you all should know that anything involving syndicates and the black market is likely to get bloody, especially if we’re not on great terms with certain portions of the underground. The kind of people we’re going to pressing for information will not hesitate to kill us if it suits their needs, and so we need to be ready to show them the same courtesy if we end up in a sour situation.”

“That won’t be a problem.” I mutter.

“I know it won’t be a problem for you.” Milor grunts, giving me a flat look. “You’ve already crossed that line and you’re well on the way to being a professional assassin. I’m sayin’ it for the sake of the rest of ‘em. Not everyone’s as eager to get their hands bloody as you are.”

“We’ll do what we need to, as the need arises.” Lysanne says. “But we’re going to avoid killing where possible. Ozzy, starting tomorrow, we’re going to need your help figuring out where to find one of the Four Ravens. If the Daughters of Azra plan on using Kaya as a vessel for their demon goddess, then they’ll be on a timetable, and we’ll have limited time to rescue her before they find a location for whatever ritual they need to do, and try to go through with it.”

“For now, everyone should go to bed and get some rest.” Dandy adds. “Today has been a long and stressful day, and some of you have sustained injuries. We can pick this up tomorrow once everyone has a chance to rest and clear their minds.”

“Right, yes, of course. Rest is good, that’ll give us some time to get our thoughts in order.” Ozzy mumbles, standing up. “Well then, see you all tomorrow morning, then…”

I do the same, rising from my recliner. I don’t say anything as I leave the common room, headed back to my quarters without a word; for the others, all of this probably seems bigger and more complex than the assignments CURSE usually hands us. And it is, because we’re doing this on our own, and having to figure it all out on our own. But for me, it doesn’t really seem big or complicated at all, because for me, only one thing matters:

I’m not stopping until I get my fox back.

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Dandelion Drift: Hallway

12/11/12764 2:19am SGT

Even though I agreed with Dandy when she said we should get a good night’s sleep after the day we had, I was finding it a lot easier said than done.

I had tried, but the fight in the potion shop just kept coming back to me, no matter how hard I tried to clear my mind and go to bed. It wasn’t the fight itself that bothered me, because we’d gotten in fights with black market dealers before, and we’d shut down illegal and unregistered potion shops before. We were Preservers, after all; that was the sort of thing we did, in concert with the Vaunted and local police forces.

The part that bothered me was how violent and brutal this one had been.

Particularly, how violent and brutal Jazel had been. Shutting down illegal potion shops and arresting unlicensed alchemists was sometimes an action-packed affair, but there was usually a line that wasn’t crossed. The measures we took, the spells we used, they could definitely injure people, and often they did hurt people when you used them in a fight. But none of the spells or magical tools we used were intended to kill people. They were all spells that most individuals could be expected to survive with some level of injury.

The spell that Jazel had used today, though, was unlike any other spell I’d ever seen him use before, and it wasn’t one I recognized. It was ancient, strange, and operated in a frankly terrifying manner; the way it appeared without warning, and took effect within a split second, made it incredibly difficult to evade. And the effect itself — neatly and precisely obliterating everything within the area of the sphere, through means unknown — was horrifyingly indiscriminate. It was, by all reasonable definitions of the term, a kill spell.

And as a rule of thumb, Preservers didn’t use kill spells.

Reaching the common room, I shuffle through the door, making my way along the kitchenette at the back as I search for something to drink or eat. I really shouldn’t be eating this time of night, but I can’t think of anything else that’ll take my mind off things, and help get my brain to settle. And I need to get to sleep sometime tonight if I expect to be able to function tomorrow.

“Out for a midnight snack, blondie?”

“Good goddamn—” I gasp, jumping a little as I twist around. Milor’s still sprawled out on the couch; I’d forgotten he was here. With his foot the way it is, he opted to just stay on the couch instead of crutching his way back to his quarters. “Graves of the gods, don’t scare me like that! Jesu christi, Milor!”

“Hey, I’m just sayin’ hi. You’re the one that’s sneaking around in the dark.” he yawns. “Guessin’ you’re havin’ a hard time sleepin’?”

“Yeah, no shit.” I grumble, returning to the fridge and opening it. “Why are you still awake?”

“Painkillers are startin’ to wear off. What’s your excuse?”

“Can’t stop thinking about today. Or yesterday, I suppose.” I say, pulling the milk out of the fridge. “Left a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Yeah, you’re not the only one.” he says, reaching for bottle of painkillers on the corner table beside the couch. “Whachoo makin’ over there?”

“Chocolate milk.”

“Mind making me a glass? Helps get the pills down. Spoonful of sugar and all that.”

“Only because you’re on rest orders.” I say, pulling down another glass from the cabinet. “Don’t get accustomed to bed service. It’s not going to be a regular thing.”

“Me, taking advantage of my rest orders? Perish the thought.” he says, opening the cap on the pill bottle. “So what got your tits in a twist about yesterday? Amagi gettin’ killed?”

“Yeah. I guess. I’m still thinking about it.” I say as I start stirring the powder into one of the glasses. “Like. I wish she wasn’t killed, though I understand why we might’ve had to do it. She had a heavy crossbow with explosive runebolts, for chrissakes. Like you said — it was pretty much a homemade grenade launcher. It’s just the way she was killed that bothers me.”

“Oh yeah, the black ice cream scoop of doom.”

I pause, squinting at the top of his head, because that’s all I can see from here. “The what?”

“The thing that Jazel did, with the big black teleporting ball. Once he triggered it, it was like someone just reached in with an ice cream scoop and carved out everything that happened to be inside the ball. Spooky stuff. Messy way to go. So much blood.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.” I mutter, dumping a scoop of powder in the second glass and starting to stir it in. “I need to talk with him about that sometime. I don’t recognize that spell, and I’ve never seen him use it before. And honestly, I’d prefer if he never used it again.”

“You do know why he used it though, right? The kid’s upset. His girlfriend’s been kidnapped by some loony-bin cultists that want to use her a vessel for their resummoned goddess.” he says, then quickly adds, “Not that I believe that’s something they can actually do.”

“I get that he’s upset, but there were other spells he could’ve used.” I say, tapping the spoon on the glass and turning to the sink to wash it off. “He didn’t have to use something that was so destructive and obviously lethal. There were other options, and I know he had them available; he has over a hundred spell slots in his grimoire.”

“Yeah, prolly, but put yourself in his shoes. What if someone kidnapped Dandy and tried to upload a psychotic digital intelligence into her frame? Figured you’d be pretty upset too.”

“I would be upset. I wouldn’t be out there killing people with spells that butcher their bodies.” I say, picking up the glasses and making my way around the counter, setting his down on the corner table. “There’s a right way and a wrong way to do things, Milor, and using spells like that is not the right way to do things.”

“Yeah? And who are you to say what the right way to kill someone is?” he says, popping a pill in his mouth, then taking a sip from his glass. “There ain’t no right way to kill someone, blondie. I say that as someone that did it pretty often back in the day, and learned a lot of different ways to do it. Bare hands, or with a knife and some wire, or some poison in the drink, or down the barrel of a gun, or on the receiving end of some long-range arty — it’s always brutal, and most times it’s bloody. Doesn’t matter how you do it, it’s always ugly. There ain’t nothin’ pretty about takin’ a life.”

“Yeah… I guess.” I say, sitting down in one of the chairs and taking a sip from my glass. “I just… there should a line, you know? Like, leave the body intact so people have something to bury.”

“Trust me, blondie. Just because you leave a body intact doesn’t mean it’s good for viewin’.” Milor says, lifting his glass. “I’ll stand by what I said; there ain’t nothing pretty about killin’ someone. But I understand what you’re gettin’ at. It can be a little off-puttin’ to see someone get sliced and diced like a rotisserie chicken.”

“It’s not just that, though.” I say, resting my forearms on my knees. “It was… Jazel was bloodthirsty. Did you hear what he screamed before he cast that spell?”

Milor wiggles his glass back and forth. “About how he was gonna paint the walls with Amagi’s blood? Yeah, that was, ah… pretty raw.”

“Milor, that’s borderline psychotic!” I stress to him. “That’s not something you should be shouting before you kill someone!”

Milor shrugs. “I mean, the kid followed through, didn’t he? He told ‘em what he was gonna do, and he did it. That’s what you want to see in combat; if you tell someone what you’re going to do, then you need to follow through and do it, so they know you are capable and willing to make good on your threats. People take you a lot more seriously once you’ve demonstrated that.”

“Okay, yeah, that makes sense, but most people don’t threaten to do something completely unhinged, like paint the walls with blood!” I insist. “I’m worried that with Kaya gone, something might be wrong with him…”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with him, blondie.” Milor says, sipping from his glass. “Only thing wrong with him is that his girlfriend’s been kidnapped, and he wants her back. Put it in that context, and yeah, I think I’d be threatenin’ to paint the walls with someone’s blood if I was in his position.”

“I just… I dunno, Milor. It’s not what we do. It’s not the way Preservers are supposed to be.” I relent. “We’re supposed to be protectors. We’re Preservers; we preserve endangered magical creatures and artifacts; we preserve the balance of nature. We don’t run around murdering people in fits of rage.”

“Maybe that’s the problem, then.” he says, pointing his glass at me. “You’re lookin’ at this in the context of your job, but that’s not the way Jazel sees it. Kaya’s a rare magical specimen, yeah, and Tinker and Amagi were running an illegal potion shop, and pretty soon we’ll be hittin’ up one of the Ravens to get the inside track on where the Daughters of Azra are. These are all things Preservers would be dealing with anyway in the course of their jobs. But for Jazel, Kaya isn’t a rare magical specimen; she’s his girlfriend. Tinker and Amagi aren’t felons running an illegal potion shop; they’re the traitors that sold us out. The Ravens aren’t his sworn archenemies; they’re people that know where his girlfriend’s been taken. And the Daughters of Azra aren’t a bunch of loony cultists; they’re the people that took his girlfriend.”

He gives that a moment to sink in, then goes on. “I can promise you that Jazel is not approaching this in a work capacity, as a Preserver. He is approaching this as a very unhappy witch boy that wants rescue his girlfriend. And since this isn’t a work thing, the Preserver rules don’t apply, as far as he’s concerned. He will do whatever he needs to do in order to get Kaya back, and if the Preserver rules get in the way of that, he’s gonna toss ‘em and do what he needs to do in order to get results.”

I sigh, sipping from my glass. Milor’s right, and I know he’s right. But even if it’s the truth, I don’t like hearing it. “Can you talk to him? Get him to dial it back a little? I feel like if I try to talk to him, he’s just going to ignore what I have to say.”

“I’ll be honest with you, blondie. I’m not sure he’ll listen to me either.” Milor says, taking another sip from his glass. “When you have your special someone taken away, something changes in you. Something nasty and brutal wakes up, and it’s impossible to put it back to sleep until you’ve got your special someone back. You wouldn’t know it, because after this conversation, you’re gonna go back to your room, and snuggle up to your robot, and drift off to sleep. Jazel, though? He goes back to his room, and Kaya isn’t there. He goes back to a cold bed, an empty bed, a constant reminder that she’s missing, and she’s somewhere out there, being held captive. Something like that, it eats at you. And those daily reminders aren’t gonna stop until he gets her back.”

My only answer to that is a huffed breath and a sip of my chocolate milk. Again, he’s right; if I had to go back to an empty bed that I used to share with someone else, it would eat at me. I tell myself I’d be reasonable if Dandy was kidnapped, but I’m not sure that’s honest — and I’m not sure I would be.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll talk with him, and try to get him to ease off the violence.” Milor says. “I’m not gonna promise any results, but I’ll try to talk him into banking the worst of his murderous impulses until we catch up with the Daughters. And for what it’s worth, Lysanne — I did a little bit of reading while we were on New Aurescura. This is about par for the course for witches — the Church used to kidnap witch children and try to reeducate them. So witches get really violent when you kidnap or harm their loved ones. It’s baked into their cultural consciousness.”

“Yeah. You’re not wrong about that.” I concede quietly. “Surprised you took the time to read up on stuff like that. Or that you’re aware of the concept of cultural consciousness.”

He sets his milk on the corner table. “I ain’t as stupid as I sound sometimes. I’ve got a brain; I just don’t use it as often as most people think I should.” He tilts his head back, starting to get comfortable on the couch again. “At any rate, it’s two in the mornin’. I want to get some sleep, and you should get some sleep, so I’ll stop runnin’ my mouth now.”

“Yeah. Fair enough.” I say, standing up. “Thanks for taking the time to talk with me. And talk with Jazel, when you get the chance. Sleep well, Milor.”

“And the same to you, blondie.”

I head off with that, sipping from my glass of milk as I go. Working my way back through the halls of the Drift, I pause when I step back into my room, seeing Dandy’s shock of red hair sprawled across our pillows. I reflect on how comforting it is to see that — to know there’s someone in my bed, waiting for me to come back, and thinking about how it would feel to stare at an empty bed instead.

And I find myself hoping I’ll never have to go through what Jazel’s going through right now.