The Game

[Faith Augustin]

40th Saun, 717
songstamp
Levellers: The Game (Lyrics below the video)

It was time, they were coming. She knew this, as surely as she knew that the patrons of the Inn At The End had to leave now. They were coming. Faith had prepared everything, she knew that. As she closed the door on the last of the patrons, Old Pete who was taking Famula home for the evening to discuss the various uses of ectoplasm and how blood truly worked was the last one to leave. He always was, she thought with a smile.

But still, as much as she liked to chat with Old Pete, with Famula and Frederick the Cat, Faith knew that now it was time. "Come on, PB! Time to move, my trusty friend!" PB, the chalk bunny, appeared in the room and he gave Faith a smart salute. "Get the tables ready, please? If you would?" PB nodded, eagerly, and then started bouncing around the room. Each time he landed on a table, he bounced off it like it was a trampoline and, as his chalk-bunny paws left the table, it disappeared. It didn't do this in a usual manner (whatever that was), but it exited reality with a sigh.

"Look Faith!" PB yelled with delight, "I made it disapoof!"

Faith couldn't help but smile at him and nodded her head. "That's excellent. Now, we need to be wearing our disguises, PB. Padraig is coming and he mustn't know it's me. I will only be distracting. So, I'm going to pretend to be a.." She lifted up the cat-mask and nestled it over her face. "A silver cat." It covered the top half of her face, but it was fooling no one. The young woman was wearing a red dress, one which she'd worn on the evening of a murder mystery, full and flouncy, above the knee and strapless. High heel shoes and her hair was piled on her head with little crystals in there. Apparently, dreaming Faith cared about fashion.

Eventually, there was just one table, intricately carved from a deep black wood. Four red chairs were around it, comfortable and almost throne-like. A chandelier hung over the table. The bar, which Faith moved to stand behind, was gleaming polished wood.

There were two entrances to the Inn. The two contestants would arrive through a different door each, she knew. They had walked through the Corridor of Truth, an apparently endless corridor with a hundred million doors off it. Padraig would arrive through his and the Prince of Eternal Mercies would arrive through his. Each person had their own Corridor of Truth. Each door led to a different place.

"But every'ne's got a door to the Inn at the End, don't they, Faith ole mucker?" PB said and Faith nodded.

"Indeed they do," she said and she looked as the two doors started to swing open. They were enormous, those doors and they swung open into the Inn at the End. The floor was tiled in a black and white checkerboard, the intricate table was there with the throne, like chairs and the short human woman with jet black hair and a silver cat mask stepped forward. She dropped a perfectly executed curtsy.

"Welcome, contestants, to the Inn at the End. The game tonight is played by two, although you may each bring a companion if it is your wish. The rules are simple, you represent who you are, what you are. Wheels turn, civilizations rise and fall, but the Inn at the End and the Game are eternal." She had no idea that her voice could sound quite so formal. "What happens here will determine the next hundred arcs, and the hundred after that. Play well."

With a grand gesture, she motioned towards the table and then lifted her mask ever so slightly and whispered to Padraig "It's me! Surprise! You'll do great, I love you." She winked at him and then lowered the mask.

"A'right, gents, I'm PB an' I'm yer chalk bunny fer the evening," said the chalk bunny. "Take yer seats an' pick yer partners." He gave a grin and added. "An' then? Lets play."

[Noth]

Song

In the beginning, there was nothing.

And then, there were monsters. Creatures of unfathomable ability and strength, and wretched disposition, they had feasted upon one another, rending themselves asunder in an endless cycle of bloodshed and ephemeral destruction. Eventually, there arose those among the hideous and grotesque titans who felt the desire for more than base carnage, and these ones had fundamentally begun the cycle of Good. They had determined it righteous to protect those lesser than themselves, and had fought with the maniacal and cackling atrocities before them with nothing less than bravery and courage.

But, even before the formation of worlds and gods and kings, there had been monsters with savage intent and gluttonous appetite. For all the workings of brave and valiant beings, and the mortal-kind that they inspired. For all of the foes vanquished and brought to heel, for all of the citizens freed from terrible bondage, or from the raking knives of torturers, or from the wicked gaze of the unkind, it would not be enough.

Like the sediment of a rock shattering under the weight of a tidal wave until finally it had returned to its original form, the world was a crucible of struggle, and when mortality and immortality and godhood had passed through it, they would be purified into the original image of reality, into the same selfish desires that had always plagued, and always would.

For the world had been Evil once, and to Evil it would return.

The twilight hybrid contemplated this reality as he strode down the long and dimly lit corridor, casting crimson eyes to his sides whenever he passed another door. Each of them reeked with terrible energy, and he questioned briefly whether they had been cursed in some unkind way to reject any enterprising adventurers who managed to stumble into this place. The light of blazing furnaces, red and green, flickered underneath each of the doors, highlighting the pathway forward for him with their melancholic and malevolent glow.

Champions of his ideals had arisen before in the past. Some took violent pathways: The warlords, the generals, the conquerors who subjugated and forced all to bend the knee to their unrighteous sovereignty. Others had been far stealthier in their approaches: the viziers, the advisors, the heirs to empires and kingdoms, and the nobleman with knives in his boots and poisons upon his sleeves. Some had been mighty, and had ruled brilliantly over others, and some had been geniuses in their own rights, creating schemes and plots that rivalled any that could be manufactured by the petty Godlings in their wretched hiding holes.

He was not them. Noth had read on the histories of them all, and he had recognized long ago that he was not as powerful as they were, not as conniving and clever as they had been. He could not shatter mountains with a thought, tear walls down upon a whim with the flicker of his hand, nor could he convince the aristocracies of the world to back his plots, to surrender themselves into his hand on false promises and falser dreams.

Yet, for all of their greatness, where were they now? Those who had climbed the proverbial ladder had been tugged down by their inferiors. Warlords had been beaten in single combat or been slashed to pieces in the night by unseen foes. Advisors and courtiers had found themselves bound and gagged, hung by their throats until any dying gasp of rebellion had been ripped free from their fleshy chests.

All the prestige in the land could not stop a swift blade or a deadly poison. Where all others had failed, though, the hybrid found himself standing. He had taken the reigns as champion for his ideology, because all other champions had fallen to the mud, been laid flat by their ambitions, and yet, he schemed for far greater than they ever had. Noth did not simply want a kingdom or the adoration of his people, he wanted peace and sustenance for all, and the only way he could accomplish that was by ruling over the world, and sending the godlings all to oblivion.

He’d seen it once, he remembered with a start as he neared the final door at the end of the hallway. Oblivion. It had been… beyond. He remembered killing himself there in order to escape, but the memory of it was something best not considered lest it drive one to madness.

Feathered fingers reached for the door, taking hold of it and pushing it forward with monumental effort. It elicited an otherworldly shriek as it was pressed open, an enchanting noise which devoured the silence for a brief instant, leaving only a ringing unpleasantness floating in its place until it had been banished back to its place.

He could see the maneuvering places of the Game before him now, could see the hostess in her cat’s mask, and the strange rabbit at her side. He himself was dressed in his usual regalia; donning the black suit of armor he had robbed from a dead man, leaving no piece of his own body visible except for his glowing eyes, and the lone twilight wing jutting forth from his back.

A presence tickled the back of his neck, and he cast a glance backwards, observing the presence of a standing figure there. It possessed a humanoid figure and face, though its eyes glowed a sickly green, and it licked at its lips with an unhidden hunger. It was very nearly animalistic in nature, twitching and shaking with every passing trill as it contained its desire to feast. It wore armor like his own, though its hands were visible, covered in strange and abhorrent scars which crossed along the flesh in arcane and archaic patterns. Perhaps most disheartening about the beast was the presence of a canid skull in the place of its left hand, the object strewn messily to the stump of its arm. The skull’s own eye-holes presented a similar eerie green, and it constantly opened and closed its mouth, as though envisioning an opportunity to feast.

The hybrid smirked, and slammed the door upon the beast, gesturing towards the door with an open palm and a pleasant voice,

“Apologies. You are not meant to see that yet.”

He shook his shoulders, dismissing the black cape which hung there, and allowed it to clatter roughly to the ground. Immediately, he scooped it into his hand, and placed it gently upon a rack which had been conveniently carved into his door.

“I am the Prince of Eternal Mercies.” He introduced, giving a dramatic bow. “I’ve come to play the Game, as all those before me have.” He smiled gently, removing the helmet from his head and placing it upon a nearby table.

“Dear Hostess… have we met?” He smirked, casting a wicked gaze upon his opponent.

“And you are?”

[Padraig]

The nature of the impossibly long and exceptionally dark hallway should have defied common sense, to a learned scientist and scholar whose very nature demanded that there was no conundrum or mystery that a clever physicist couldn't solve or explain given sufficient time and resources. There were thousands, maybe a million doors ajar emitting soft columns of light that somehow didn't manage to spill out completely. And millions more pinpoints of light, far off worlds and suns upon suns on the corridor's walls, ceiling and floors, and yet the hallway itself remained dark. There was a strange pattern to those stars and galaxies, the way they overlapped, came together and departed again, leaning to each partially open door as if inside each was its own reality.

And each door that was pulled open, gazed past, was just that. The scenes inside were what had been, what could have been, what was or might be, and what would or would never be. A middle aged man working alongside a much, much older one in a shoemaker's shop. That same man, silver haired and looking much like his elder then in a small house in Venora, piles of dusty books stacked around him while he dined alone on eggs and fried bread. And him again along with a young, beautiful woman with a swaddled babe resting in his arms and another girl child clinging to her mother's skirts. He appeared alone in a cluttered workshop, alone, wild of hair and wilder of eyes, looking much like the grandfather again, surrounded by vials of glowing, smoking potions. And again, man and woman seated on matching rockers, surrounded by children and grandchildren. But then him again, just him, bent and frail and alone.

To a scholar's mind, one at least that tended to ponder things like bent timelines and alternate realities, all of it made perfect sense. He emerged looking much more himself, save for the style of his clothing. Or maybe it was the reality he'd chosen in this strange dream state he was in, after having shopped each and every other possibility. Tall boots covered with cavas straps and engineer's pants, an opera tailcoat and empire shirt, brass gear buttons on an empire brocade vest, a black top hat, engineer's goggles and a black cane topped with a brilliant topaz orb. The beauty behind the silver cat mask? He knew her too and grinned a little when she revealed herself. The dreamer winked, put on a mask of feigned surprise, and uttered, "Shocking."

The Prince of Eternal Mercies? He turned to his apparent opponent, looked him up and down and uttered, "I sir am the Master Explorer of Worlds, the Curator of Truth as man has yet to know it, the Creator of New Realities." Apparently, somewhere along the way he'd picked up an uncommonly robust ego. And who would he choose as his partner? Instead of addressing PB and instead smiling at Faith, he said with a sweeping gesture, "I choose him of course." And just who had he chosen? It was the one who'd given the command, the chalk bunny himself.

[Faith Augustin]

It's a kind of magic....

The first one through the door was the Prince of Eternal Mercies and Faith looked at him in some surprise. Thanks to the blessing of Vri which Faith wore, she never forgot anything. Every moment of her life was in her memories and she looked at the Prince of Eternal Mercies, the half-Avriel with one wing and she remembered him and what he had done to her. It had been a long time, she thought and the young woman in the red dress and silver mask looked at him with a smile. "You do not need to apologise for what exists in your Corridor. It's your Truth, even if it is a Lie. Yes, we have met." She smiled at him and waited for him to sit. Silver eyes, like the mask she wore, gazed at him from the depths of the cat-face which covered hers and she observed him with more care, more attention.

When he had sat, she turned her attention to Padraig.

He walked in and she felt her heart leap, perhaps even literally so strong was her reaction to seeing him. Silver eyes hidden behind a silver mask showed the depth of emotions she felt as her lips lifted in a smile of pleasure and, it seemed, more than a little relief.

When both of them were seated, Faith moved to stand at the table. "I can not be your Hostess for I am known to and know you both. Clarity must be had, it is in the rules." She gestured her hands over the table and there appeared a scene. It was a small projection of a circumstance, a clearing with a cage which contained the Prince. It was rare that she was taller than anyone, but standing there she looked down at Padraig with a serious gaze and spoke. "Please note how I know the Prince of Eternal Mercies" With a gesture from her, the scene played out. It wasn't easy to watch and she looked down at it from her standing position with the cat mask firmly in place, yet the twitch of a muscle in her cheek betrayed her. When it finished she held out her arm stretched over the table. Turning it palm upwards, Faith curled her hand into a loose fist, like she was scrunching up a piece of paper. As she did, the scene on the table crumbled and crumpled.

"And I know the Master Explorer of Worlds, the Curator of Truth as man has yet to know it, the Creator of New Realities," she said to Noth as she gazed down on him as imperiously. "Because I am his. Observe." The same thing, a scene on the table, but this was not one scene but a hundred all sped up together. The two of them jumping into a river, the two of them falling into a dark tunnel, fighting a shadow beast, standing side by side at a sink and washing up, waking up, falling asleep, walking hand in hand... a hundred different moments fluttered past.

"No worries! I don't care 'bout none of ya, I'll be Host. I'll be the chalk bunny host wiv the most, I will!" PB jumped forward and Faith took off the cat mask, handing it solemnly to him. PB donned the cat mask and, as he did, cat-whiskers drawn from chalk popped out from his bunny face. PB looked at the Master Explorer of Worlds, the Curator of Truth as man has yet to know it, the Creator of New Realities and he gave a cheeky grin. "So, I can't be yer partner, old mukka. But that's a'right, you'll make do with herself, wontcha?" The bunny took hold of Faith's hand and put it in to Padraig's. "I'll tie your hands together later, a'right?"

Faith sat down at the table, her hand squeezing his and she looked at Padraig with a smile. Now that he could see them, her eyes showed that she was not upset. In case he was, she added. "I'm not her any more. He's still him. I've changed and grown." Because of him, she did not doubt it. Faith considered the pitiful creature who sat opposite them and she smiled at him. "So, what happens now? When I gave up the mask, I stopped knowing."

"But I know!" PB grew until he was a very big chalk bunny with cat-whiskers. "You two pick a game. Choose carefully, cos wot you choose will be wot you play. We each choose a game. Prince of Eternal Mercies picks one then Master Explorer of Worlds, Curator of Truth as man has yet to know it, Creator of New Realities does an' then me. But I think you two are bein' a pair of pretentious pillocks. So I'm gunna call you Twinkle." PB said to Noth and then he turned to Padraig and frowned slightly, then his face cleared. "An' you? You I'm gonna call Edna." Faith raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"So, Twinkle an' Edna. State yer chosen game and explain the rules. Simply, though, cos I'm not very clever. An' honestly, I'm not sure Twinkle is much brighter." PB beamed at Noth and asked, curiously. "You sure you dun't want a partner, Twinkie?"

Then, however, the chalk bunny became more serious. A bell tolled somewhere and PB nodded. "There must be a winner. That winner will determine the next thousand arcs. There can be only one winner. Play for the future, play for the past and the present. You've seen the doors of time in your walk here. Choose and play."

[Noth]

His opponent did not seem to be a combatant like himself, nor necessarily a leader, and his titles spoke for themselves what his favorite past-times were. He was an explorer, a curious sort of person who likely spent much of their time attempting to discern the secret things of the world, of the reality which they called their own. He identified himself further as the ‘Curator of Truth as man has yet to know it’; a title which carried with it the implication that he was a knowledgeable individual, perhaps even possessing all that had ever been known by mortal-kind, but that seemed a tall order even for a contestant of The Game. His final title was that of ‘Creator of New Realities’, though that was not something which the hybrid found nearly as impressive. Did they not all create new realities every moment that they deigned it necessary to perform some act, to speak a single word or a sentence of them, to become or not to become?

He was not imposing in the same way that the Prince was, but Noth made a mental note not to underestimate him. His kind rarely won The Game, and that was because they often underestimated the explorers and scientists and gentlefolk of the world. They typically favored a more brutal or savage mindset, and that led them to make errors which inevitably caused their loss at the hands of the intellectual giants they faced.

The hybrid, for all of his theatrics was not ready to make the same mistake, and so he thrust his hand outwards his opponent in common greeting, a sign of peace in a time of conflict, or perhaps a sportsmanlike gesture meant to convey a lack of personal ill will. Neither were entirely true, of course, but they were the first step towards getting his mindset in order. He was facing an opponent, but just because they were his enemy did not make them a fool, and he would not make the same mistakes as those before him.

The Hostess spoke, declaring that they had indeed met before, and proceeded to renounce her position as Hostess for that same issue, making it clear that it would be an unfair event were she allowed to preside over the position. The hybrid nodded his acceptance of this without pause, acknowledging the passing of the mask over to the strange… rabbit that accompanied her. His only experience with rabbits was that they were particularly small morsels of flesh, and that their fur was not nearly large enough to constitute a use in most endeavors, though admittedly their eyes nor their meat were terribly harsh upon the gullet, and they held a certain weak gaminess which was pleasant in the mouth.

The woman; for she was no longer the Hostess, spread her hands over a nearby table, and the twilight hybrid felt a slight twitch ripple across his face as he observed the scene, recognizing it in a heart-beat for a past encounter. Strange, he considered, removing his attention from the retelling before the violence which had characterized it could occur once more, and shifting his attention fully upon the woman before him. Had she somehow managed to survive her wounds, or was there simply a power to The Game that allowed the dead to roam where otherwise they would be restricted? He did not pretend to know the answers to that, and so he returned his gaze to the table as his own event was scrapped and tossed to the side like useless rubbish.

She continued onwards, deeming it necessary to display her relationship with the Curator of Truth, though the hybrid could not quite understand why she believed such a thing. It would have been enough to simply have stated that she could not be the Hostess because she knew them both, yet, now she revealed more about his opponent and himself than either could have known otherwise. A miniature lifetime played before his eyes in rapid succession, flickering fragments of scenes igniting into existence like an explosion of life before vanishing into the ether, a flame blown out, its smoke the only remembrance of it.

And it frustrated him to an unacceptable degree, because all he could see in those hundred images was happiness and love, pleasantries even in the face of adversity, a dozen battles, mental and physical won because of their perseverance. It was not that the Prince deemed such things to be needless or to be opposite to his stance upon the world. He was blatantly Evil, but he was not a storybook villain who would think it reasonable to deem ‘Love’ or ‘Hope’ to be his enemy.

No… he wanted what they had. He wanted to tear away that smugness they felt, and claim it for himself. There was a fine line between envy and jealousy, he knew, and he fell towards the former in the passing of a heartbeat.

His predator’s mind worked quickly, sensing weakness as easily as someone feels the changing of temperature, or the sensation of a gust of wind blowing against them, and he spoke, his voice mockingly apologetic, his gauntlet outstretching towards the woman, palm upwards.

“You are correct. I do know you, though I do not know your name. It is a fault of mine, that I do not often remember the names of broken tools.” He chuckled mirthlessly to himself, withdrawing his hand to his side before she would have an opportunity to touch it, though he doubted she would even want to in honesty.

It was a calculated maneuver, an attempt at angering the opponent so that he would behave more rashly, and he would never have known where to strike if the girl had not shown him so blatantly their relationship. It was the way of pigs to lead themselves to slaughter, he supposed.

In a matter of moments, it was declared that the rabbit would be the new Host of The Game, and the rules of things were explained to them. It was somewhat bothersome to be referred to as ‘Twinkle’, but he doubted he could do anything about it. The Host’s power was nearly absolute, after all, and accepting that was one of the first things he had done upon deciding to enter the contest. He was questioned once more on his apparent lack of partner, but he simply smiled at the repeated question,

“If they are needed, my partner shall be summoned. Until such a time, let us continue.”

“So then. My game. Have you ever played Chess, Edna?” He questioned, accepting his opponent’s new title far quicker than he had expected.

[Padraig]

It made no difference that what his beloved showed him, had occurred in the past. Even before he'd known her, or she'd known him. It was a strange mix of science and fancy, but physics both, that Padraig had considered that where she, and he, were concerned, time and space had handily bent, twisted and overlapped in their favor. He was convinced that he'd loved her long before he'd known her. And what he saw on the table, courtesy a wave of her hand, made him want to engage in acts that weren't science at all, but were woven of far more primal impulses. A tool? Padraig's jaw twitched, as if he might him lunge across the table at his opponent.

But then Faith took his hand and his better impulses stepped in. In showing him what had happened, and as a result showing the nature of the man, a weakness had been revealed. Of course the same could be said in reverse. But a violent disposition often lashed out at the slightest provocation or perceived slight. Or at least would tend to, since such things naturally came hand in hand with ego.

Padraig on the other hand was a scientist, his was a more calculating mind. And careless impulses as good as guaranteed that a practicing alchemist or chemist who often worked with substances that could become unstable on a whim, would soon be a chemist or alchemist scattered across the walls, floors and ceilings in bits and pieces.

A good pummeling might be satisfying in the moment, but a slow and calculated one, much more rewarding in the long run. Of course Master Explorer of Worlds, the Curator of Truth as man has yet to know it, the Creator of New Realities, had a much nicer ring to it. But Edna would do. "Chess?" he said. "I know it, yes. Predictable...I prefer Renju."

[Faith Augustin]

"No, you do not know me." Faith replied and she smiled at Noth, doing her best to hide the pity she felt for this creature before her. "Your flawed assessment and rash actions both then and now have seen to that. To clarify, once again, I can not be the Hostess because I am known to you, not because you know me. Sadly, in your case, awareness does not mean knowledge." She was known to him, but he did not know her. The poor creature before them was injured and in pain, Faith did not doubt it. Hated by his people, no doubt, for his imperfections and abhorred by all others for the cruelty of his race. "But if you consider that a fault of yours," not knowing a name, that was, "then that is your Truth, even though it is a Lie." Sitting down, Faith looked between the two of them. What she didn't do was speak her name

Twinkle chose chess and Faith lowered her head, slightly, a smile crossing her face. A simple game to the man she loved, Faith knew. Padraig had a mind which was more suited to complex games, truly complex ones and when he named the game he wanted to play the former slave smiled.

"Chess for Twinkle and Renju for Edna! Choices have been made." PB spoke in his deep voice, a different voice than he had ever had in any of Faith's dreams before. "We'll start with chess, then. Twinkle you can be black an' Edna, you're white. The board," which appeared on the table between them, as PB spoke, at the slight twitch of his new cat whiskers. The pieces were symbolic of them, kings and queens, castles, knights and bishops all shaped in a particular way that the individual player recognised. People, animals, even places and shapes which were personally relevant to them.

"The way it works is that you play chess. But you do it by thinkin' about it, see. Like so." One of the white pieces, a knight atop a white horse, did a lap around the board. "So you think an' the pieces move. It's important that you decide yer move, not just think about all the different ones. The board responds to decisions. Decisive, boys, a'right?" He seemed to think that this was particularly important.

And before them, was the board. PB clapped his chalk hands together. As he did that, a deep reverberating gong sounded. He looked down at his hands and a low whistle escaped his chalk-drawn mouth. "Moseke's mammary, but I didn't know I could do that. Coooooooooool." The bunny clapped his hands together again and the resulting slight puff of chalk dust and almost whispered dull thud was an obvious disappointment to PB. He sighed.

Faith looked at the two of them, watching them both as they turned their attention to the board and she watched with interest as the two of them began the game.

[Noth]

It seemed for an unlikely moment that the Curator would resign to his more base emotions, and allow himself to get into a fight with the Avriel before him. The idea was one that was not altogether unappealing to the hybrid, though he was uncertain as to whether or not he would be punished for effectively inciting the violence, increasing its likelihood even if he didn’t personally throw the first blows. There was no doubt in his mind that he could fairly effectively slay the Curator if it came to that, and his slave girl lover would not be able to halt his advance very easily if she had remained at all as she had been in the vision, though the intensity of the show she had made involving her adventures with the Curator made that seem somewhat unlikely. Nevertheless, he determined not to rile the man before him too badly, but did incline himself towards frustrating him at least somewhat so that he would become more rash in judgements, and thereby more foolish.

The woman at his side took his hand, a small movement, but one which seemed to soothe the angered beast that had nearly become his opponent. Noth tilted his head somewhat to the side to display some semblance of curiosity, though in honesty he had already come to his conclusions before the physical movement could even be conceived. It was probable that Edna was inclined towards violence far easier than he let on, and that he was kept in his proper mindset, or restrained by the presence of his companion. The gesture of hand-holding helped to highlight somewhat further the idea that they were romantically involved, though there had been plenty of signs prior to that one to indicate the same general thought.

She spoke, making it known to the Avriel that he did not in fact know her, but rather knew of her. She spoke of his flawed assessments and rash actions, but Noth knew that was a falsehood uttered by someone who either was very obviously attempting to irritate him in the same manner that he had performed only moments ago, or else someone who was entirely unfamiliar with his nature. The Avriel scoffed slightly in mock irritation, though she was correct that he did not truly know her. Still, he did not possess such terrible faults as those spoken, and recognized them for the lies they were, moving on rapidly with the next portion of the conversation.

Noth offered the game of Chess for his own, because it was a game of strategy and thinking. He could vaguely recall playing it many times as a youth, though it honesty it had been many Arcs since he had deigned it necessary to reside upon a bench and act out the role of a general in command of his miniature army. Thankfully, he had done more of the actual commanding as of late, having led his soldiers in attacks upon caravans, and having orchestrated grand schemes and plots the likes of which would shift the balance of Idalos forever, and that would bring about cataclysm and salvation to many.

His opponent chose a game as well, though its nature was entirely unknown to the hybrid. He had never heard of anything called Renju, and it seemed quite possible that it was either an entirely unique and unknown game, or that it was a local variation on a more popular style of entertainment, or thus he would never have been exposed to it given his lack of proximity to its origin.

The pieces appeared before them, and the declaration was given by the strange rabbit before them on how the mechanics of the game worked, and who would play which side. Edna was allowed the white pieces, which did seem to be a slight advantage in some cases, because it meant that they would be granted the first move, but in honesty Noth far preferred to react to his opponents in chess than to be forced into attacking otherwise unassailable positions. The table reacted to their conversation, and within a moment a chess board had appeared between the two parties.

Noth analyzed the pieces before him for several moments, finding them to be surprisingly familiar in nature. The rook on his left appeared to be a miniature version of Etzos, and upon closer inspection, he swore that he could actually see even smaller specks representative of people moving about its surface. The opposite rook took the form of a jungle-like village, and whilst he instinctively knew that it was indicative of Rhakros, he also recognized that the city probably didn’t actually appear in such a visage. Nevertheless, his examination of the pieces continued, moving on to the bishops which took the part of other familiar; albeit quite new, faces in his organization. The knights took the form of Marrow atop of a properly skeletal horse befitting his nature, and Thane striding upon a destrier he had likely liberated from a nearby caravan.

The pawns were by themselves quite uniformed in nature, dressed in the gear of war that he had envisioned for his future soldiers, their chests marked by the bloody handprint that acted as the symbol of their organization. The queen was far more interesting than they, and it took a form that he had rather suspected given the nature of the others upon the board. It was strange looking at his beloved Nightshade from such an angle, but even at such a minuscule scale, he found himself smiling slightly at her presence in his army.

It was the final piece of his army that gave him the most pause. It was a piece that made him stop, and stare, and even though he looked upon it from behind and above, he could have recognized his shape anywhere. A feathered hand reached out, and then he withdrew it, instead choosing to will the figure to spin around and face him. It twisted around to look towards him in properly obedient fashion, and Noth looked upon the face of his father, of the man who had taught him everything, who had in part helped him to become the person he was meant to be.

Determined eyes stared upwards at the opponent as the rabbit sounded the noise for them to begin, blazing with a fire that had been missing moments prior.

He would not lose him again.

[Padraig]

Twinkle maintained that he knew her. In turn, Faith insisted that he did not. As a man, Padraig, or Edna as it was, agreed completely with his beloved. As a scientist, he understood that fact and truth were not mutually exclusive. Except that in the minds of those with their own particular desires and agendas, where emotion and desire stepped in to muddy the waters, existentially speaking, the very reverse could be true.

Perception was everything. A lie spoken often enough could very easily become known as truth, even as it flew in the face of all that was real and factual. Most times in fact, it was the one most invested in the untruth who ultimately became the most ardent believer. It was clear that the opponent believed he knew Faith, and them by association. He didn't. But the bunny was right. Facts meant nothing. It was no less the truth in his mind, than knowing the sky was blue or the oceans were vast. It made Padraig wonder. How much more of Twinkle's life was a lie?

No matter. There was a game in front of them, one battle in a longer campaign, with one to follow. It seemed ironic that he was assigned the white pieces, while his opponent was assigned the black. Light and dark. Good against evil? Except that in chess, all the shades in between had gone missing. Twinkle saw what he saw, regarding his own pieces. But when Padraig, or Edna, looked at the black figures, they appeared as ordinary, predictable pawns, knights, rooks and bishops. It was what his slumbering mind chose to see, surely. Nothing unique, nothing unexpected or noteworthy. It remained to be seen whether it was a tactical error, or no.

His own pieces were representations of things, beliefs, theories, that defied any sort of sensible physical form. They remained stationary and seemed in motion at once, as if they orbited round each other, or the board, representing the world or universe, revolved around them. Things that defied gravity, time, space, laws of physics and motion, and yet paid homage to them both at once. Theory, emotion and logical thought in motion, all revolving around the more stationary king and queen, which seemed the only reasonably identifiable things on the board. Himself, and Faith.

[Faith Augustin]

Faith looked at the pieces on the table in front of them and she smiled. First, she spoke to the Prince, her voice soft and gentle. "Nightshade. You have feelings for her?" As he looked at her piece, after all, his face came as close to a genuine smile as she had seen. "I've dreamed of her, I didn't know she was real in the waking world, where we are now. But then, I've met a few people from dreams." Faith looked at the piece and then at Noth. "She seems to me to be a bastion of light in the darkness." Her gaze on Noth was sympathetic, then. Was he in love with someone who would stand against him? Therefore, was he hiding himself from her? That must be dreadful, she considered and her hand in Padraig's tightened.

Then, her gaze turned to Padraig's pieces and her head leaned against his. "Look at those there," she motioned to the king and queen on his side. "Surrounded by theories, ideas, concepts and just the two of them. Am I really that short?" Her silver eyes turned to look at him, twinkling with amusement. "Or are you just that tall?"

"Alright you pair, Twinkle and Edna. It's time to start the game. The rules is simple, cos they is the rules. Don't mess with the rules an' I won't 'ave to chew you up an' spit you out." He gestured and then he jumped up on to the stool (which had just appeared) and perched there to watch them.

The game, or this particular game in the three they would play, was short and brutal.Watching it, Faith recognised that the Prince, or Twinkle, was more than willing to sacrifice anyone. He played, in her opinion, recklessly, but that meant that he pushed and he pushed hard. Padraig, for she was not calling him Edna, was immediately on a defensive footing and he was protecting two pieces. The king and the queen seemed to be treated with equal importance in his match and that gave Twinkle an opportunity.

Which he took.

Faith, sitting and watching, saw what was about to happen just before it did. Padraig protected the Queen and an unseen pawn, kept in abeyance, moved and struck the king down. Faith looked at Padraig and smiled, then shook her head. "It wouldn't happen if it wasn't chess. In the real world outside, that queen is as focused on the king as he is on her. You forgot that." Leaning over, she kissed his cheek and looked at him without concern. He'd lost this one, but the next one would be his.

"First game to the Prince of Eternal Mercies, Twinkle to 'is friends. And us!" PB declared in a very loud voice. "Now, the next game is Renju. So, you need to know 'ow to play, feathers?" Faith lowered her head to hide her smile. PB was the most irreverent individual she had ever met, it had to be said. Yet, in that moment Noth knew what the rules were and, as the board shifted from the black and white board of chess to the fifteen square board of renju, both of the men involved knew.

"So, we do the same thing. You don't 'ave pieces this time, there's stones, an' you know 'ow it is you gotta go. Think your moves, they will 'appen."

This time, the pieces or stones as they were called, were large and cool in their hands. The one that they chose to make their move shifted and changed into a sort of thrumming pillar of glowing energy in either black (Noth) or white (Padraig). Faith looked down at the board and she smiled. There was no queen to protect, not in this game. In this game, each piece was as important as the other and so she settled in to watch, her mind half on Nightshade. If she was like she was in the dreams Faith had shared with her, then Faith had a lot of respect for her. How things worked between this pitiful creature and her, Faith did not know, but she simply hoped that Nightshade was happy, in whatever she did.

Faith's hand held on to Padraig's and her fingers curled around his. Leaning forward, she picked up her iced water, which had suddenly appeared, and she watched with fascination on her face.

"This!" PB exclaimed, suddenly and loudly, "this is a game of the intricacies of the mind. You may begin!" His voice boomed out, once again loud and unreasonably so. Then, however, he spoke in his normal tone. "An, you know, you can talk about stuff. If you want."