The Golden Spud. This was the bar in Elturel that Rexi and the others had told him about. Back when Black Scarf was recovering, his boat captain Saltrock recommended that he visit a tavern Rexi had frequented. Rexi, the gnome who led the adventurers that saved his life, was a dear friend of his. She had written to Black Scarf while he was recuperating, and they had planned to meet at the tavern. Unfortunately, Black Scarf completely forgot to show up.

  Since recovering from the fight with Jalakara, the rakshasa that nearly killed him, Black Scarf had been in a poor mental state. When he got out of recovery in the extraplanar city of Automata, Black Scarf had briefly returned to his boat. After that, most of Black Scarf’s memories were of mist. The mist. All he remembered was that damned mist.

  After the mist, Black Scarf woke up in Automata again. The people and things of that “perfect” mechanical city didn’t tell him anything of value, other than he must have had a memory lapse. Black Scarf found out rather fast that he had been gone, somewhere, for over a month. Black Scarf remembered nothing, other than having a strange new chest on his boat that he couldn’t open.

  Black Scarf had spoken to Saltrock after he returned from Automata a second time, but Saltrock didn’t have too many answers. Saltrock said that, three days after he got out of recovery, Black Scarf went to pick up some supplies, but never came back to his boat. The dwarf told Black Scarf that he was gone for just over a month, until he abruptly appeared from a cloud of mist onto the boat.

  When Black Scarf materialized, he was half-delirious, and was dragging a large chest and a sheathed sword. He locked the strangely glowing sword inside the chest, and kept muttering to himself about “the heart” which made no sense. Saltrock tried to ask Black Scarf about where he’d been, but Black Scarf only told him that the information “could put him in danger.”

  Saltrock didn’t know if Black Scarf contacted the city, or if they contacted him, but a portal to Automata opened in the Silent Sea shortly after the mist faded. Black Scarf returned a day later, but Saltrock was given no details about what happened in Automata. To make the matter even more mysterious, once Black Scarf returned, the key to his chest was gone. This, along with his memories of where he’d previously been.

  Fortunately, Rexi had asked some adventurers to help Black Scarf with his problem. These adventurers had a doctor that wanted to help Black Scarf restore his memory. The doctor had looked Black Scarf over, and found something deeply unsettling. This doctor, calling himself Doctor Pond, thought that the method used to blot out Black Scarf’s memories had to have been done by inserting a needle, or probe, into the inward corner of both eyes…at the exact same time.

  Black Scarf was pretty sure who could be capable of that.

  Pond had told Black Scarf that in order to treat his condition, he would have to undergo surgery. This wasn’t something Black Scarf wanted to do just yet. If he was going to undergo a medical procedure, he might as well have a good meal and drink first. Maybe he’d even run into Rexi.

  Outside the bar, the smell of garlic potatoes was heavenly. Black Scarf entered without much issue. Usually, while in public like this, Black Scarf kept his scarf over his mouth. His black eyes sometimes drew attention, but he looked demi-human enough to avoid most unpleasant interactions. He didn’t have horns like a tiefling, nor did he shy away from sunlight like a vampire. At worst, he’d be asked to leave. Black Scarf could only think of a single time people gave him trouble, and it only amounted to him leaving the city he had gone to.

  As Black Scarf entered the bar, a sharp pain hit him. His eye stung, he felt his world spin, and caught himself against the wall before he collapsed. As he did, Black Scarf slightly bumped into a dwarf. The dwarf glared up at him.

  “Apologies, I’ve had a long day.” Black Scarf said in dwarven.

  “Feck off! Yer lucky I…” The dwarf started to say.

  Black Scarf’s brow furrowed. He would not deal with this today. He turned away before the dwarf finished, feeling his jaws start to separate from where they were sealed near his cheeks. If the dwarf tried to stop him, Black Scarf knew the dwarf would regret his actions.

  As he walked away, the dwarf said nothing.

  Black Scarf glanced back, but noticed the dwarf was looking at the ground, as if afraid. It couldn’t have been from him; Black Scarf didn’t do anything, and the dwarf didn’t see his teeth. What exactly scared the dwarf, Black Scarf couldn’t guess.

  Black Scarf started to glance around the bar, but didn’t immediately see anyone he knew. Rexi and Qresh were not here unfortunately. Rexi had been trying to set another date for him to meet, but Black Scarf’s damaged memory gave him trouble recalling the exact date. By coming to the bar, Black Scarf had half-hoped that he’d run into his old friends, either Rexi, Hein, or Qresh, but he didn’t see them.

  Black Scarf walked up to the bar, and was greeted by a rosy-cheeked halfling man standing on a stool. He was on the younger side, and didn’t seem to care that Black Scarf wasn’t fully human. The little man waved excitedly.

  “Hello there! Welcome to the Golden Spud! Best potatoes in town! I know you can smell ‘em cookin’!” The halfling said cheerfully.

  “Yes, I smelled them before I got through Elturel’s gate.” Black Scarf answered.

  “New customer, ha! Hopefully a returning one to! I’ll assume you want some of those, and what kind of drink can I get you?” The halfling asked.

  “Stout, dwarven preferably.” Black Scarf responded.

  “Lucky for you, we don’t have any other kind. I’ll send someone to give you the food right away! You want the drink now, or with the food?” He asked, finalizing the order.

  “With the food, thanks.” Black Scarf said with a grin.

  Black Scarf was so excited, he felt the sealed part of his wider mouth start to break. Black Scarf tried to close his mouth fast. It must not have been fast enough.

  The halfling looked at Black Scarf a little worried.

  “Sorry sir, but I think you may need this…” He trailed off as he ducked below the bar.

  A pang of fear hit Black Scarf, but his worries evaporated once he smelt blood. Thinking he’d scared off the halfling, Black Scarf realized that he was bleeding. This was not pressing, as his nose and the corners of his eyes had sporadically bled since…well…since he forgot.

  The halfling gave him a very clean rag. Black Scarf dabbed his eye and nose with it, then placed the used rag near the barman.

  “I hope that isn’t anything too bad. We have some good healers in town if you need them.” The barman told Black Scarf.

  “No, no, it’s fine. Nothing serious. Here, let me pay for my food.” Black Scarf responded and dug into his coin purse. The halfling smiled again.

  “That’ll be three silver pieces, and the stout is on the house. Didn’t realize you were hurt, and you didn’t even fight yet! Never get customers who bleed comin’ in!” The halfling said with a laugh.

  Black Scarf pulled out a gold coin. The halfling’s eyes widened.

  “I insist. And it’s nothing, don’t worry.” He assured the halfling.

  The little man grinned, then slipped the gold piece away.

  “Guess that’ll be two stouts…I insist! Now go get you a nice table…most of em are taken now, but we got some near the fightin’ ring. No fights are scheduled this early, so you won’t get to see a show, but that area isn’t crowded.” He told Black Scarf.

  Before Black Scarf could thank him, the halfling waved, hopped down onto the floor, and darted away with his stool to another customer. Black Scarf realized that the bar was quite full, it just had ample space to accommodate everyone. Black Scarf didn’t want anyone asking about his wounds, and was fine with sitting elsewhere.

  Black Scarf made his way to the table in the back. As he passed the fighting ring, Black Scarf could smell the blood. Having the senses of a shark, Black Scarf not only could smell blood very keenly, but if it wasn’t his own blood, the smell was borderline intoxicating. It made him maddingly hungry, as well as heightened his urge for violence.

  This wasn’t usually a problem. Black Scarf wasn’t a lycanthrope (or similar creature) that couldn’t control itself. He wasn’t some moron who would threaten innocent people out of impulse. He certainly wouldn’t succumb to his base urges either; he would rather die than stoop that low.

  If Black Scarf ever had trouble telling himself to snap out of it, he kept a rag on his person that was soaked in formaldehyde. He mainly used this to preserve biological specimens, but it was also a great way to suppress the smell of blood.

  Something was wrong this time though. Black Scarf knew that the bloodstains had to be very old. There wasn’t any fresh blood in sight. The sense of it shouldn’t be so strong. He actively sniffed the air, and the strength of the scent caused him to stop walking. Black Scarf straightened his posture, and slowly exhaled. He dusted off his shirt, which was dark-colored to hide any stains he may pick up in his studies of the Silent Sea, or from blood.

  “Blood…” The thought hammered into his head.

  Black Scarf tightly closed his eyes, trying to will away the urge. He could feel saliva dripping out of his mouth. Instead of blackness, Black Scarf saw a very specific image.

  It was Jalakara.

  Black Scarf also heard a loud, borderline thunderous, heartbeat. This only made the blood smell stronger. Black Scarf opened his eyes, and for a brief moment, only saw mist. His thoughts started to jumble together.

  “Blood…vitae…flesh…vulnerable…”

  “…no.”

  “Bloodsoupdeliciouskillfiend-not-deadrendtearmake-him-suffersink-teeth-intokilloblivionragepainmeatbloodwant-to-bitetearfeedblood…blood…”

  “…no.”

  “No!”

  Black Scarf’s counter-thoughts were the deathblow. The afterimage of Jalakara was banished, and Black Scarf no longer was enraged by the blood.

  Despite feeling better, Black Scarf still tried to think of things that repulsed him to subside his hunger. Several images came into his mind; the idea of losing control of himself, maggots, rotten meat, celery, cat droppings, Symmette, the smell of canned tuna, dead adventurers, the blood and cartilaginous flesh of the gith he fought at the tower…

  Black Scarf took a quick huff of his rag. The smell was vile. Black Scarf quickly sat down, trying to dilute the chemical stench with the aroma of ale and potatoes.

  Jalakara was dead. Black Scarf had been told by Rexi that he was carved apart like a ham by Azra Holder. There was no reason to think that such a monster was still alive. Holder and Symmette couldn’t lie, and both confirmed Rexi’s statement. Why would he be worried about that?

  Black Scarf couldn’t remember. He sighed, and hoped that his drink would be brought to him soon.

  “Miss Alabaster! Since you’re not fightin’ right now, bring this gentleman his food!” Allec the barman shouted.

  Near the very back of the tavern, Miss Ellir Alabaster was starting to arm-wrestle one of the patrons. A rather large half-orc man didn’t have the gold (or silver, or copper) to actually fight her, but wanted to challenge the Spud’s star fighter. Ellir happily obliged, so long as his friends bought him at least one of the Spud’s famous potatoes. Even if someone didn’t have money, Ellir didn’t think it was right for people to smell those divine potatoes and have to miss out on eating them.

  The contest didn’t last long, and Ellir not only slammed the man’s arm down, but the force of the swing caused the half-orc to roll into the floor. The man gripped his arm in shock, possibly checking if it was broken, then looked up to Ellir. His friends briefly shared his astonishment, but this vanished as the man started to laugh. His friends chuckled as well, and helped him off the floor. With a content smile, Ellir cracked her neck, then strode away from the group.

  “Are the barmaids busy already? It can’t be that full…” The woman grumbled, as she made her way to the end of the bar that had no stools.

  “You are a barmaid missy!” Allec said with a wink, then a cackle.

  “He’s over there by the fighting ring, so you’re gonna have to walk all the way to the other side. I know, I’m just terrible to you.” Allec chided sarcastically, before laughing again.

  His laugh was infectious. Ellir couldn’t help but smile, and took the tray without a word. The customer was sitting where the bar emptied out into a more circular room that composed the fighting area. People usually stood to watch the fights, but there were tables for anyone who wanted to sit. Those tables usually stayed empty when there were no fights, due to the blood and sweat smell that couldn’t really be cleaned out. This rarely bothered the spectators.

  Though Ellir was not lazy in the slightest, she really disliked serving customers. She was fine with fighting in front of them, but didn’t like serving them. She really wasn’t a barmaid, but a paid entertainment fighter.

  The easiest description of Ellir Alabaster was that she was a half-elf, but the other half was certainly not human. For starters, she was slightly over seven foot tall, which for elves was unheard of. Secondly, she looked like she fought for a living. She didn’t appear overly muscled due to her size hiding some of the muscle tone. Though not grotesquely large, Ellir was far from thin. Her arms had a width that hinted being more muscle, and her lower body was wider, but lacked the firmness.

  Ellir had a slightly round face, and her smile bore a distinct fang on her right side. She had pale skin and black hair done in a long, heavy braid behind her head. Ellir had several small scars crossing her arms, but the most prominent were on her face. Specifically, around her right eye. She had one across her eye, though it still worked fine, and two under it.

  Ellir wore a sleeveless black top that seamlessly matched her pants and didn’t stand out. After all, it was hard to see stains (mainly from blood) on dark colors. Ellir had no armor, save for gloves with metal plates over the knuckles. She always fought fairly against her opponents, and only wore the gloves while not fighting, or fighting against armed foes.

  As she walked in the direction of the table, Ellir glared at the dwarf from before; the dwarf who tried to start a fight right in the door. The dwarf met her eyes for a moment, then darted away to the other side of the bar.

  “Serves that bastard right…threatening my customers…he’s lucky I didn’t shove his stumpy ass through the chimney…” Ellir thought to herself, unable to hide her scowl.

  The dwarf would be one among several Ellir had knocked out or scared off. Anyone who would insult her customers…or threaten them…or do either to someone who couldn’t fight back…

  Ellir stopped thinking about the dwarf. She was getting angry at ghosts. He didn’t matter anymore. For reasons she didn’t share, she was always violent with those who were like the dwarf. People who bullied, took advantage of other people, or were just straight evil, Ellir had to fight them. Violence was quite literally in her blood.

  Maybe this was why she fought for a living, just to get the rage out. While this outlet worked, the people she fought paid money to fight. The bar had a fighting ring, and if that dwarf wanted to fight, he could do it for a fee. Fighting around the bar, especially fighting that scared away new guests, would not stand.

  Ellir didn’t actually look at the customer most of the walk to the table, and instead tried not to bump into a table or trip. She was certainly not graceful, but this didn’t really matter in her line of work.

  As she neared the man’s table, Ellir steeled herself. She had gotten better at dealing with customers that insulted her, but always readied herself before talking to a new one. Allec didn’t care if she threw particularly rude customers out, but they had to be either really nasty, or they had to keep insulting her after she told them not to. Both of those things rarely happened.

  Ellir could see now that it was clearly a man, but not an ordinary man. It was the man the dwarf threatened. He was not a human, though Ellir was sure he was attempting to look like one. Ellir narrowed her eyes, and examined his face more. He was not an undisguised changeling, as they had white eyes, and didn’t hide their faces with a scarf. He had grey skin, black eyes, and…something was off with his mouth.

  Ellir didn’t stare long, perhaps a half second, before she realized the man was staring at her too. She couldn’t tell if he was analyzing her; trying to determine her origin as she was his, or just confused. Maybe he wondered about her as well? She wasn’t exactly a garden-variety half-elf. He likely just wanted his food.

  Ellir smiled at the man as she got to his table.

  “Hi, we’re short staffed right now. I don’t usually touch the food, and I can promise you there’s no sand or blood on my hands.” Ellir said, trying to sound polite. She really hated having to stand in for the barmaids.

  The man’s black eyes met hers. They looked very familiar; eyes she had seen before. It was right on the tip of her tongue.

  “Oh, I don’t mind. Hells, I’m just glad to get a taste of these things.” Black Scarf said, as he tugged on his scarf to lower it.

  Ellir saw the partial webbing on his hands, his pointed teeth, and also how his mouth parted more than it should. She recognized what he reminded her of. Somehow, he had shark features. Maybe he was a wereshark, or some kind of shape changer? Ellir had to know. This may be the only time in her life she could actually talk to a wereshark.

  Ellir put the platter on the man’s table. He lifted both mugs off as she moved his food from the platter.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but can I ask…” Ellir started, and shifted to lean on the wall across from the man. Ellir didn’t sit in the chair.

  “Yeah, ask away…” Black Scarf said as he grabbed a potato.

  The potatoes were split down the middle, and the insides were scrambled with a mix of cheese, garlic, and chives. Black Scarf picked up the potato with one hand, held it closed, and ate it like holding a sandwich. Ellir thought she was alone in doing this.

  Ellir started to ask her question as Black Scarf took a bite. His eyes closed as he swallowed his food.

  “By the gods!” Black Scarf shouted before Ellir could speak, then went in for two more bites.

  The potato was half gone. Black Scarf happily grunted, then slammed a closed fist onto the table.

  “This is worth ten gold coins!” Black Scarf exclaimed, then realized his plate was fuller than expected.

  “Is that…he brought me three potatoes!” Black Scarf shouted excitedly, though the food in his mouth muffled his words.

  “Allec does that when people tip him. Say, if you don’t want them all…” Ellir asked, stopping herself as she realized taking a customer’s food was fairly rude.

  “Oh no, here, eat one of these too. I’m going to be buying more anyway.” Black Scarf said happily as he offered the woman a potato. He gripped it as if the heat meant nothing to him.

  Ellir lifted the potato, in the same manner as Black Scarf, and bit into it.

  As she chewed her food, Black Scarf motioned to her, “I interrupted you, what was your question?”

  Ellir swallowed her food before speaking, “I hope this doesn’t sound rude, but what are you exactly?” Ellir asked, and slightly cringed upon finishing the sentence.

  Black Scarf chuckled upon hearing this, then took another bite of his food. He didn’t look bothered in the slightest.

  Black Scarf spoke with his mouth slightly full, “Well, I can’t tell you who I work for, but they make people like me…let’s say more. They do this if you have the right…” Black Scarf stopped speaking, and closed his eyes as the potato flavor got to him again.

  “They’re really good, aren’t they?” Ellir said, more like a statement.

  “Yes…but I’m not a wereshark, so don’t worry.” Black Scarf answered then took another bite.

  Ellir started to tell him that she wasn’t worried, but Black Scarf slammed his fist on the table again. He was clearly enjoying his food.

  “I need to finish this before I can explain anymore. It’s too good, I can’t focus.” He told her, before he started to finish off the potato.

  Ellir didn’t leave. She watched the man eat, and saw his jaw widen. It looked so much like a shark, it was uncanny. What word did her grandmother call them? The word was…”morgi”…yes that was it.

  Black Scarf didn’t seem to care that he was being scrutinized as he ate, and reached for another potato. He didn’t eat it immediately though.

  “I started out as a normal human, but was given this blessing so I’m like…well…this now. Think a very lessened form of lycanthropy that isn’t a curse, and doesn’t make you go crazy or eat people. I’m not near-invulnerable, but I do get some benefits.” Black Scarf said, before eating again.

  Ellir’s senses were briefly turned elsewhere. She heard gasps coming from outside, the sound of at least two children crying, then the tavern noise dropped until it faded entirely. The echo of clicking footsteps broke the silence, footsteps that went up to the bar. Up to Allec.

  Ellir turned away from the shark-man as he was again lost in his food. Ellir could hardly believe her eyes. She heard it before she saw it. The two voices. They spoke exactly the same time, in exactly the same tone. That was the first warning. The second was that Allec sounded stunned, he wasn’t laughing, or joking. That was not right.

  “Bartender, I require immediate assistance. I have been forced to enter this revolting place, to find a miss “Mist”, possibly spelled with a “y.” I do not know if that is her legal name…but she is here. She is a tabaxi woman with a distinct accent. She may be with a tiefling named Creed as well. Please, I implore you to tell me where to find her, before the odor of your alcohol makes me ill…” The voices said.

  Ellir knew Allec was horrified, but he was too polite to show it. Nothing that was said seemed to offend him, although it should have. Ellir also knew he wouldn’t get angry at someone insulting his bar, but this wasn’t just a random person from the city. Allec was speaking to a human-shaped monster.

  The woman…Ellir used that term loosely…was not right. Ellir had heard of mooncalves; baby cows born with two faces that died soon after being born. That and twins fused together, but these were all found in nature. This woman looked similar, but was wholly unnatural. She had two heads, that moved and spoke at the same time, but this was only the surface. A pair of twins wouldn’t look or act so…symmetrical.

  Ellir usually didn’t judge someone based on their appearance. But this woman…women? She was insulting the owner of a bar she wanted help from. All of the patrons were watching her, looking horrified or confused, and the woman…women…looked very angry at this. Anger, combined with disgust, like simply walking on the floor, even breathing the air, was painful. It was like she didn’t want to become soiled by being in the tavern.

  The woman…it had to be “woman” as she had one body, at least Ellir hoped… was also extremely thin. Had she not spoken so clearly, Ellir would have thought that she was a starvation victim. Her armor, which looked very expensive, appeared almost like her skin. Her skeletal frame caused the armor to not be skin-tight like a revealing suit. Instead, it looked like it was holding her feeble body together. Her fingers were fairly long, and she had six on each hand. Instead of being like a normal hand, it was like a hand mirrored at the middle finger. She had two middle and index fingers, and a thumb on each side of her hands.

  Along with this, the woman’s face, or faces, were too…smooth. Her skin looked like painted porcelain; she looked off in a very wrong, indescribable way, like a doll that looks too human. She had on makeup, which was just as symmetrical, and two matching haircuts. Her hair was void black, and cut just at her jaw in a rather plain but uniform manner. It resembled a doll’s hair.

  Two heads, six fingers on each hand, armor and weapons matching perfectly on both sides. This woman was monstrously symmetrical. Ellir’s sharp eyesight could even make out her teeth, which were all the same. She had no visible incisors, or differentiated teeth, they were all the same, square, tooth.

  The woman walked with her back fully straight, it had no curve, and she was solely focused on the opposite side of the room. She was going to the guest rooms. As she walked, she vocally said how the tavern was “revolting” and “unhygienic.” It was difficult for Ellir not to tell her to leave.

  The shark man broke her concentration.

  “This potato is one of the best things I’ve eaten in my life. I don’t know how this bar’s owner isn’t a lord just from all of the money he makes from these things.” Black Scarf said.

  He was half finished with his last potato.

  Ellir finished watching the lady walk off. The last thing she really noticed about the woman was what she was holding. It was a ball of yarn…and…knitting needles of all things. The needles were symmetrically stabbed in the center of the ball of yarn. The yarn also had a strange texture, and was possibly balled up symmetrically. None of this made any sense to Ellir.

  Ellir turned back to the man, and tried to look calm. She knew that he could tell something was wrong, but must have missed the strange woman walk in. Ellir didn’t want to make him panic, and decided to not immediately tell him.

  “I’m sorry, I never asked for your name. I’m Ellir Alabaster, I run the pot…well the bets for the fights. That and I fight to put on a show, and stay undefeated until Allec tells me to fight worse.” Ellir said with a fang-protruding smirk.

  “Just call me Black Scarf. I know it sounds silly, but I had to get rid of my old name when I became this. We have to pick new ones, and I didn’t know what to pick, so they gave it to me.” Black Scarf answered.

  Black Scarf liked the woman’s accent. It wasn’t one he’d heard before, but she had a slight trill to her R’s that Black Scarf thought sounded pleasing. It wasn’t typical elvish. Black Scarf also noticed that she was alarmed. He could feel her heartbeat get faster, the pores in his face were like a shark, and could pick up on certain signals.

  “Is something wrong?” He asked.

  “No…pleasure to meet you Scarf…I just…I saw something I’d normally see while very drunk, but I’m pretty sure everyone else saw it too.” She responded.

  Black Scarf looked intrigued. Before he could ask, Ellir told him.

  “It was a two-headed woman, or women, that was complaining about this bar and looking for a lady named Mist…but you shouldn’t worry about…” Ellir started to try and reassure Black Scarf, but he interrupted her.

  “She’s here? How? Looking for Myst! What have they gotten into now?” Black Scarf said with an irritable growl.

  Black Scarf knew what that woman was. Ellir had to know more.

  “So, they are twins…?” Ellir asked, hoping he’d elaborate.

  Black Scarf sighed, rubbed his eyes, and shook his head.

  “No, she’s not. She’s not a they, and is only one person, plurals aren’t needed and she hates when people do that. Trust me, you do not want to listen to her lecture about how she’s not two people. I can’t believe she’s here…after what she did…and looking for my allies!” Black Scarf growled.

  Black Scarf could tell that Ellir was confused.

  “I’ll need to find out why she’s here, but we can worry about that when she’s done with…whatever she’s doing back there. Also like I said, I’m not a wereshark, and I’m not planning to hurt her or anything, so don’t worry…” He started.

  “Oh, I’m not worried.” Ellir answered aloud this time with a smirk. Black Scarf smiled.

  “You know despite looking like this, I can’t breathe underwater. It’s pretty awkward, but my skin can sometimes stop blades…” Black Scarf said.

  “Hey! So can mine!” Ellir responded.

  They both laughed. Ellir finally sat across from Black Scarf.

  The two talked for a while, Ellir didn’t know how long exactly. This may be the first patron Ellir had met not only willing to talk to her, but who didn’t gawk at her either. Ellir knew how hypocritical the thought was, as Ellir had just stared at a very odd woman, but that was mainly due to how she behaved. If the symmetrical woman was polite, Ellir might have been curious, but wouldn’t be rude. Now that the woman shown her true colors, Ellir couldn’t feel sympathy for her.

  The more she thought about the woman calling the Spud “revolting”, the angrier she got. That lady had no right to call this bar revolting. She looked like a bug from under a rock; a bug you’d want to stay clear of, and maybe remember it later in your nightmares.

  Ellir started to ask about the woman, but something else took her attention away from it. Blood seeped from Black Scarf’s nose and his left eye.

  “You need a healer. I’ve seen plenty of broken noses, but blood running out of your eye like that needs to be treated.” Ellir said with slight alarm.

  “Unfortunately, I need more than basic healing. The damage is minimal, at least I think, but the real problem is the memory loss. I’ve had several lapses in my memory, and some of them were tied to this place. I thought I was supposed to meet some friends here, but I honestly can’t remember.” Black Scarf replied.

  “I remember seeing a tabaxi woman come in like an hour earlier, she was looking for someone, but I never asked who. Oddly enough, I’m pretty sure it was the woman that the symmetry lady was looking for.” Ellir answered, sounding both confused and concerned.

  “Hells…so I was supposed to meet them today…damned Automatans. I suppose its partially my fault too, as why else would Myst come to this specific tavern? I should have connected the dots.” Black Scarf growled, before clarifying.

  “Not like “automaton” though they act like machines. The people of Automata, a city of perfect law and symmetry.” Black Scarf started.

  “This was caused by two perfect punctures, probably into my brain. I have no idea why, but the woman responsible for it just walked through the door.” Black Scarf told Ellir, who could feel her rage growing.

  “Don’t worry, Symmette is harmless…well…mostly harmless. She typically doesn’t do anything that breaks laws or rules, so I have no idea how she did this to me. I plan to ask her exactly what she did, but I can worry about that once we’ve finished eating.” Black Scarf clarified before eyeing the small remains of his potato.

  “I’ll go get us more, it won’t take long.” Ellir told Black Scarf.

  Ellir tried focus her mind on the task to quell her anger. After Ellir came back, she and Black Scarf continued their dinner, with Ellir only occasionally glancing back to the guest rooms.

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  “Of all the horrible places to meet on the Prime, why, in the name of all that is ordered and lawful, did you want to learn how to knit in a filthy tavern?” Ailia Symmette asked the tabaxi woman.

  “Well, the alternative would be for me to come to you. That did not work out so well last time.” Myst said with a half-growl.

  “I thought your new, symmetrically trimmed coat looked stunning.” Symmette answered, then attempted to smile.

  It was a forced set of smiles, like the concept was alien to her.

  “Drugging me just to make sure that my fur was even…” Myst started, before sighing.

  She knew arguing was futile, and she had in fact, learned to knit rather well in a short amount of time.

  The tabaxi woman wanted to leave, but had nearly forgotten why they were going to meet Black Scarf here. They needed Symmette to explain to Black Scarf what was wrong with his memory. Myst had gotten side tracked on waiting for Black Scarf to arrive. Black Scarf told Myst and her allies that he would meet them at this tavern, only he had been an hour late.

  To pass the time, Myst somehow persuaded Symmette to teach her how to knit. Myst’s party was given a hand mirror early in their adventure, and since finding out what was on the other side, rarely used it. This was a sort of communication device that contacted Symmette at exactly noon. The group rarely needed to contact Automata at all, but it just so happened that they arrived at the tavern right when Symmette was available. Myst didn’t think it would work, but her powers of persuasion somehow did the trick. She actually convinced Symmette to come to the prime, just for this. As it turns out, a symmetry monster can teach pattern-based crafts quite well.

  Before this all started, Black Scarf had been recommended to Myst and her companions by a gnome named Rexi, as an expert on things rarely studied by other sages. Black Scarf had information on the spellweavers, a very reclusive race of monsters. There was a spellweaver of significant power planning something malicious, and Myst along with her allies, were trying to figure out what its plans were. Black Scarf had some information on them, information Myst doubted they could have found elsewhere, but he kept having episodes where he would forget key details. Before her party could address this, shortly after meeting him, a small town Myst’s party was staying in was attacked by rogue modrons.

  Apparently, this had happened before. Modrons briefly invaded a tower off the coast of Chult, but the invasion was stopped. Black Scarf had some information on the modrons, but knew people who could tell Myst and her allies more. After the town was saved, Myst went to the extraplanar city of Automata, where there were experts on modrons. After meeting Symmette, who had lived through one modron incursion, Myst and her allies were fully prepared to deal with the rogue modrons. Symmette wasn’t exactly easy to work with though, after all, this was a woman who had drugged Myst just to make sure her fur was cut “properly” before entering Automata.

  Myst and her allies were working to stop the spellweaver, but in the process of doing so, ended up in Elturel. Black Scarf was supposed to meet them in a tavern, and in the guest rooms if they weren’t at the bar. Myst was the only member of her party here, but Black Scarf still hadn’t shown up.

  Myst and her allies knew that Symmette had done something to Black Scarf’s brain, and needed his memories fully restored to get all the information he had on the spellweavers. Myst didn’t understand why Symmette was so reluctant to undo whatever she had done to Black Scarf, but wasn’t planning to leave the city until it was fixed. Myst and her allies knew a doctor that had a good chance of repairing the damage, but Symmette would undoubtably be able to undo it more accurately.

  “If you will excuse me, I must walk through that morass of filth this establishment calls a hallway to exit this disgusting place. If you need my services again, please contact me on the mirror at precisely noon.” Symmette said, before turning swiftly around, and starting to leave the room.

  “Wait! We needed you here for another reason!” Myst shouted.

  Symmette stopped, her shoes making a loud click.

  Myst saw the woman visibly cringe. Both her necks twitched, and Myst saw her raised vertebrae on each neck. It must have been a symmetry thing, but it looked very disturbing.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Ah…yes…I had almost forgotten. I am afraid that what you are asking me to do will be more harmful than good.” Symmette said without turning around.

  “So, he is here now? Did you see him?” Myst asked.

  Symmette’s silence told her the answer.

  “We need Black Scarf’s information, and he can’t tell us anything if he can’t remember what day it is. If this rogue spellweaver is to be taken seriously…” Myst tried to say, before being cut off.

  “It is not a rogue, miss, it is a paragon of its people. I have dealt with an entity that could corrupt modrons before. It is not a simple as it seems.” Symmette answered, and both heads looked over each shoulder back to the tabaxi.

  “You have to at least tell him what you did. If you don’t, our doctor can probably fix it. Would you want that?” Myst said, almost tauntingly.

  Symmette cringed worse this time. Something about doctor Pond really disgusted her.

  “As you wish…but I fear this will not end particularly favorable for either of us.” Symmette answered before leaving the room.

  Myst sighed as Symmette exited, then shook her head.

  “Creed would have been perfect for this.” Myst said aloud to herself.

  Creed was the melee warrior of the party, though she wasn’t the type to only speak with a sword. Creed was fairly intelligent, and usually the party’s voice of reason. Her talents would have been useful here, but unfortunately, she had to go search for her missing husband outside the city. Myst hoped that Creed and her husband could be reunited, or at least she learned where the man was.

  Once Symmette had left, Myst noticed something. On a nearby table, there was a bronze key sitting in the center. It was placed in the exact center. Myst didn’t know why Symmette would leave a key, but she took it. It had to hold some importance, especially if Symmette didn’t mention leaving it. Myst turned the key over in her hand, and realized that it had a slight, toothy pattern on the side. The same pattern on the chest that Black Scarf had on his ship. The one he could not open.

  Symmette glided out the door, her footsteps making a metronome click as she passed through the narrow hallway. She prayed the rooms wouldn’t burst open, prayed she wouldn’t see anything inside. Through the revolting stench of alcohol, she could smell an unfathomable amount of filth coming from the other rooms. She could feel her heels stick to the floor with each step. Symmette doubted that this area was ever cleaned. Even the walls had odd shades of color that had to be mold. Symmette didn’t want to think of whatever fell spores were meandering through her sinuses right now.

  As she exited the hallway, several of the patrons stared. Primes…they always did this. It was as if her form was impossible for their weak minds to grasp. They thought she was the mistake…that she was the defective one. These flea-bitten savages wouldn’t know perfection if their lives depended on it.

  One patron, a large, sweaty man with several discolored bruises (or liver-spots) on his body waved at her. Symmette noticed how hairy his arms…and even knuckles…were. He croaked a noise, possibly trying to communicate, and raised his flagon of alcohol. Symmette saw it slosh out as he did, and fought back the vomit creeping up where her esophagus branched. Alcohol…all of it but wine smelled like urine to her.

  She walked faster, not making eye contact with the man, and trying her hardest to not look at the floor. It was impossible not to step in anything. Alcohol was everywhere, the sticky sound of each step made her sicker with every footfall.

  Black Scarf…she had to find Black Scarf. She had seen him…but at the other end of the bar…near that awful pit. The pit was likely used for fighting or orgies, possibly both. With primes, anything was possible. The halfling barman waved at her, and attempted to strike a conversation, but she ignored him. The nerve of the man…trying to get her to stay in this horrendous place…the anger stopped her from vomiting at least.

  There he was! She was never so happy to see such a hideous face before…but something was wrong. Black Scarf was not alone. Some disturbingly large woman was eating something with him. The garlic stench hit her first, followed by the scent of dirt mixed with filth and rotten vegetation. They were eating clearly unwashed root vegetables, probably still coated in what primes used as fertilizer…which was typically their own excrement. Though garlic had properties to destroy types of corruption, the excessive use of it in cooking made it smell nearly as bad as what it was supposed to counter.

  This was only the start though. Both Black Scarf, and the woman sitting across from him, were holding the remnants of the vile tubers in their hands. They were holding these things like hunks of bread, even with silverware present. Though the cutlery was undoubtably dirty (and probably not much cleaner that their hands) what kind of people eat like that? Symmette could excuse Black Scarf, since he was part shark, he likely didn’t know better. The woman across from him though, she had no excuse.

  The woman…Symmette had to not stare. This wasn’t like how the primes stared at her, Symmette was looking at what she could only describe as a monster. This woman had to suffer from some form of gigantism. Normal obesity likely wasn’t the sole cause, as the woman’s arms looked too toned. Of course, a half-obese ogre-woman would work in this bar…but the ears. They were pointed…how?

  Symmette thought about this as she got closer, then she smelled it. It was the normal stench of alcohol, but ten times worse. It wasn’t coming from the table, as Black Scarf had finished both his mugs, but from the woman. That, mixed with a noxious sweat odor made all four of Symmette’s eyes water, and she hadn’t even gotten close yet.

  Both the woman and Black Scarf were glaring at her…which was odd considering all the good things that she had done for him. Had she not taken away his memories, he would have gotten himself killed. He would have gone after the heart of a dead monster, and worse of all, sought answers of that place he had been. Answers about that terrible realm of dread…

  Ailia Symmette stopped just shy of the table. She noticed that Black Scarf had small blood stains on his face. The procedure must have not fully healed, which was a pity, but unavoidable to ensure both punctures stayed symmetrical. Unfortunately, he was not bleeding symmetrically.

  The woman with Black Scarf looked particularly angry, and Symmette noticed that she was, against all odds, half elven. The lack of body hair on her arms, coupled with the pointed ears made that clear. This didn’t lessen her appearance, as like most primes, she had a plethora of other problems. For starters, she had multiple small scars around one eye. Each scar was around the same length as the woman’s narrow eyes, which was very odd. That, coupled with her size and stench told Symmette something was very wrong.

  As she inhaled to speak, Symmette got the very faint scent of something horrible.

  Demon ichor.

  This woman had to have some sort of abyssal taint or heritage. That would explain so many things.

  Symmette coughed, wiped both sets of eyes, then tried to focus on Black Scarf. Before she could get a word out, Black Scarf spoke.

  “Why are you here of all places, Ailia?” Black Scarf asked.

  Symmette started to answer, but was cut off by Black Scarf before she could explain herself.

  “No, don’t tell me. Listen, I know you did this.” Black Scarf told her as he pointed at both eyes.

  Symmette was casting prestidigitation on herself, likely to clean her hands after she wiped her eyes.

  “Why? Why operate on me?” He asked, but sounded less angry and more curious.

  Symmette noticed the woman look back to Black Scarf when he said “operate” with concern.

  Gathering all the resolve she could, Symmette inhaled the putrid air, and started to speak. To her, it was like trying to have a conversation inside a cloud of toxic gas.

  “Black Scarf, you are possibly the only friend Automata has on this plane. That being said, I am afraid that you do not fully grasp the level of danger that you were, and quite possible still are, in.” Symmette started to explain.

  Ellir’s face darted back over to Symmette. Upon hearing “danger” she stood up. Though Symmette wasn’t looking at her directly, she could now see how tall the woman was. It was defiantly gigantism; this woman clearly was a demon ichor mutant.

  “Myst was quite insistent that I explain the cause of your memory lapse. Had we met in a more hygienic area, away from so many prying eyes, this could have been finished rather painlessly…” Symmette said, with an aura of menace.

  Ellir was fighting back the urge to attack. She knew this woman had done something to Black Scarf, and was just waiting for her to say what it was.

  “What did you do to me?” Black Scarf asked again, his voice sounding cold, but Ellir could detect a mote of concern in his question.

  “Of course, we took the memory of the event away, for your safety, but thanks to Myst, your safety is now forfeit…” Symmette said, before being cut off.

  “If he’s in this bar, then he’s safe.” Ellir growled through clenched teeth.

  She smiled, and one head turned towards Ellir, before looking back to Black Scarf. Symmette didn’t expect that woman to sound so feminine, it caught her off guard.

  Ellir nearly punched her upon seeing how the woman looked while smiling. It was more unsettling than actual fiends she had fought.

  “Oh no, I am afraid that is not true at all. This horrible place will not help him. He will likely get some kind of infection from eating this poorly prepared food, or whatever kind of foul miasma is in the air. It smells of sewage…but regardless. What the surgeons and I did would have helped him, but that has to be undone now…all because Myst thinks that I am unethical. What I did would have saved you.”

  “What…did you do to me?” Black Scarf asked again, before his eye bled more.

  Black Scarf let out a slight grunt of pain, and leaned forward. He nearly fell into the empty plates near his chest. Ellir didn’t want to take her eyes off of Symmette, but Black Scarf appeared to be actually injured now. She reached for his shoulder, but Symmette’s twin voices stopped her before she could touch him.

  “Black Scarf, we altered your brain.” Symmette said without a shred of emotion.

  Perhaps, Ailia Symmette intended to explain herself. Perhaps if she were someplace else, she could have simply said why she did this, and how it helped Black Scarf. Unfortunately, she was not in Automata, but inside a less-than-clean tavern. Due to this series of events, and how poorly she worded her responses, Symmette did not have time to explain anything else.

  In a flash, Ellir grabbed a chair near an empty table, and swung it at Symmette. The impact caused the chair to shatter, and slung the mutant back into the nearby wall at an angle. The force of the blow actually smashed the small woman into the wall cavity. Symmette briefly stuck to the back of the wall’s interior, then slipped inside of it with ease.

  One of the patrons loudly screamed, “Gave her the chair she did!” The rest of the bar went wild. Several patrons left their tables and stools to stand closer and watch.

  Ellir’s rage subsided for a moment. She dropped the shattered remains of the chair’s legs as she glared down at Symmette.

  “Get out of this bar and go back to whatever hellhole you crawled out of!” Ellir shouted.

  All of the patrons continued to cheer. All except Allec, who looked worried. He grabbed a towel, and started to go around the bar. He must have seen Black Scarf nearly pass out.

  Allec stopped, along with the cheering, when he heard a strange laugh. More accurately…two laughs. The laughing came from the hole in the wall, and sounded like it was practiced, almost like the repetitive clanging of a machine. Symmette’s thin arms crept out of the hole, bent unnaturally, then lifted her up. She swung herself back into the bar, and hardly looked injured.

  “Hellhole? I assure you miss, where I come from is far from hell…far from this place. As I cannot explain myself without being accosted…” Symmette said, as her hands snaked to two pistols on her hips.

  “…then I must secure my safety.” She finished.

  Ellir knew exactly what firearms were. She also knew that the chances were good nobody inside the bar would recognize one, or what they could do. Each pistol had two barrels. If this thing missed, someone could die. Ellir had to act fast.

  Ellir lunged at the palindrome terror. Though she didn’t have to move far, Symmette was impossibly fast. She drew and fired two shots from the four barrels at Ellir. One shot hit the edge of the fighting pit wall, but one bullet hit Ellir in the shoulder. The bullet stopped inside the larger woman’s body, and didn’t make much of a wound. In the split second this happened, Symmette found it odd. She had never shot a humanoid before where the bullet did such little damage. Maybe the powder in the shot was bad? That or it was like shooting a large game animal, which made more sense.

  Ellir didn’t get stopped or pushed back by the shot. Her momentum continued, and Ellir grabbed both pistols. Symmette smiled again, preparing to fire two more times, but felt the trigger lock up. Both heads darted down, and much to her horror, Symmette noticed that Ellir had somehow bent the metal of the guns. Though not badly crushed or dented, both weapon’s internal gears were undoubtably damaged.

  Ellir kept her grip, and started to headbutt Symmette. Symmette saw this coming, released her grip on the pistols, and did a sort of backflip. She kicked Ellir in the face, but the blow was so weak, it hardly moved Ellir’s head. Symmette landed a few steps away on her feet, but also in a visible puddle of ale. She screamed, then tried to dash away from the puddle. She slipped, slid a short distance and almost fell onto the floor.

  Symmette caught herself just before she touched another mysterious puddle, and let out a sigh of relief. This was short lived, as Ellir’s fist slammed into her left head, and threw her back. Symmette hit the wall near the fighting pit, right onto a dried bloodstain, then scampered away. She got closer to the bar proper, where the patrons were all cheering. The smell of their collective bad breath nearly made her gag, but she had moved away from Ellir.

  Once she was near the bar, Symmette smugly smiled. She closed her eyes as she spoke, and didn’t notice Ellir advance.

  “I am afraid that you are outside of your jurisdiction, you poor, foul-smelling barmaid. You cannot fight me away from the designated fighting ar…” Symmette tried to taunt, but Ellir answered Symmette by punching her in the stomach.

  The crowd darted out of the way, though they continued to watch and cheer. Ellir actually felt the front of Symmette’s spine when the blow connected. The smaller woman was thrown back, and landed into a puddle of warm mead. She hissed a spell, then kicked herself off the ground. With a brief shimmer, the alcohol was gone. Symmette didn’t talk, and drew both her swords. This time she stood still, and waited for Ellir to advance. Ellir noticed that Symmette seemed more upset that she landed in booze than being punched like that. Ellir wondered if she could even feel pain.

  Symmette wasn’t far from the door. Ellir wanted to throw her out, but she kept thinking about Black Scarf. What would happen to him if Symmette just…left? No, Ellir has to make sure that this monster is unconscious once she is thrown out of the bar. Symmette would likely track Black Scarf down to wherever he lives, maybe even abduct him for all Ellir knew.

  Ellir started to punch again, but Symmette intercepted her fist with a blade. Ellir’s glove caused the strike to make sparks, but the other blade slashed her in the upper stomach. The shortsword didn’t cut too deep, which seemed to amaze Symmette. She darted back, looks of worry on both faces, then advanced in a flash. It a flurry of spinning blades, Ellir was put on the defensive. Ellir wanted to take the cuts and keep punching, but she wasn’t daft enough to ignore that many strikes. Despite this, each small cut caused her anger to grow, and her focus to fade.

  Symmette was beginning to panic. Why couldn’t she cut this woman properly? She had magical swords, and it was like trying to cut through soft rock. The swords went in, but couldn’t go in deep. Darting back and dipping in again, Symmette stabbed both swords forward, bending down as she did. One blade pierced Ellir’s side, and went in deep enough to really draw blood.

  Ellir swung her fist at the blades as she stepped back, which removed them and caused Symmette to fall off balance. Much like Symmette, Ellir countered by thrusting both fists forward. Ellir planted a fist in each perfect face, and sent Symmette flying to the other side of the bar. Several chairs and tables wobbled and fell. The patrons sitting at the tables got up, but kept cheering. Once she landed, Symmette leapt to her feet again.

  Normally, a blow like that to a woman around half Ellir’s size would have been serious. Had Ellir not aimed to knock her target out, it was likely that the strange woman would have died. This was what Ellir had thought at first, but she noticed something peculiar. When she hit Symmette, her bones held much more resistance than they should have. Ellir had punched possibly hundreds of people like that, and nearly every time, a tooth got loosened, or something broke. Ellir knew that none of Symmette’s teeth even moved when she hit her.

  Symmette slipped away her shortswords, and started to chant. The bar was not a bright place, and darkness was exactly what Symmette needed.

  “Tendere Umbra!” Symmette screamed in an unnaturally loud chorus of dual voices.

  The patrons stopped cheering, and began looking nervous.

  Ellir found herself wrapped in perfectly symmetrical, shadowy bindings. She strained only for a moment, before one binding on her right arm broke. Ellir could feel dark magic burning her skin, which just intensified her anger. She broke another binding on her left foot, as several magical missiles pelted her.

  Upon magic being casted, several of the patrons started to leave the bar. By this time, Myst came down from the upper rooms, holding the remaining ball of yarn.

  “What in the Nine Hells is going on here?” She asked, though nobody replied.

  Myst turned to the sounds of shouting and spellfire.

  “I’m gonna break all twelve of your fingers! Think you can hold me down and fling spells!” Ellir roared, and snapped the final binding.

  She could feel the rage finally take her. Symmette noticed for a split second, some of the scars on Ellir’s face actually opened, but not only that, the scars turned into eyes! The eye had a dark sclera, and reddish iris. It was demonic, but thankfully, only lasted a moment before vanishing. Symmette started to get unnerved.

  “I’ll dump every chamber pot we have here down both of your throats!” Ellir shouted before running to an empty table.

  This was one threat that did frighten Symmette. She fired again, but the magic missile barrage did little to stop Ellir, and Symmette had never seen anyone break out of her dark tendril spell so easily. A bar stool flew past Symmette’s right head, and into a wall. Then another nearly hit her, but Symmette conjured a shield. A literal storm of chairs and stools was flying at Symmette, who started running to dip behind the bar. Symmette hesitated, seeing all the spilled liquor, but a chair hit her, and forced her over the edge.

  Now more patrons were leaving the bar. Myst watched the barman run to Black Scarf, and give him a rag. Black Scarf and the halfling then watched the larger woman fight Symmette. This shocked Myst, to say the least.

  “What is she doing?” Myst asked herself, before reaching for her own pistol. She considered firing it to calm down the fight, but noticed another familiar sight. Watke, the party’s dragon-blooded sorcerer was sitting near the bar, with the few remaining patrons. Earlier, he had refused to go inside the tavern because he knew Symmette would be there. He, like most people, couldn’t stand her, so seeing him here made no sense. Myst didn’t understand why he chose to show up now.

  Watke looked remarkably human, save for a small smattering of scales on his skin. He smiled mischievously, then looked over at Myst before speaking to some nearby drunks.

  “Hey, do you want to know why this fight started?” He asked the group. All of them appeared to be heavily intoxicated.

  “Huhrrp. Wassa… *belch* …eeh…” One drunk growled, hardly conscious, but the other patrons were listening to the sorcerer.

  “That tabaxi lady over there…”

  Watke pointed at Myst.

  “She got with that two-headed woman, that’s why they both went to her room for so long, and the barmaid wants to throw her out because of it.” The sorcerer said while suppressing a laugh.

  Though the others couldn’t see it, Symmette was struck with absolute horror and disgust. She covered both mouths, and barely managed to stem the vomit from exiting onto the floor.

  Despite not sounding too serious, that man had a gift of persuasion as good as Myst’s. All the patrons still in the bar looked at Myst and Symmette in horror. Most screamed, and several started to run out of the bar. One gnome patron leapt out of the window. The sorcerer laughed, then dipped out of the door just before the crowd reached the exit. Myst shouted at Watke to stop, raised her pistol, and ran after him.

  Allec, now going back to the bar, heard this, and his brow furrowed. He leapt onto the bar top to get everyone’s attention.

  “Wait a minute! Wait a minute! Nobody panic! That can’t be right! No one alive would be crazy or drunk enough to do that!” The halfling shouted.

  The remaining patrons heard him, and several stopped and nodded in agreement. Allec hopped down, and nodded back at the people so they understood. Before the crowd could go back inside to watch the fight, Symmette threw a chill touch spell at Ellir. The spell missed, and not only hit the doorframe, but started to rot part of it as well. This scared the rest of the patrons off.

  Symmette found herself on the filthy floor, but resisted the urge to leap over the bar. Her opponent was in a rage, not thinking clearly, and could be swiftly dealt with no matter how hard her skin was.

  A barstool crashed against the wall, which knocked some displayed liquor bottles into the floor. Symmette screamed, leapt up, then casted a spell. She was visible for a brief moment before her image faded.

  “Try to hide on top of a shower of broken glass!” Ellir roared before throwing another stool, then a chair.

  The mirror behind the bar was shattered, and most of the remaining bottles were broken. A keg also started leaking. Symmette hopped over the bar practically drenched in alcohol. The blurred, slightly wet image gave Ellir a target.

  Ellir smiled widely, and Symmette saw that she was holding a broken table under her arm. It had been snapped from its support, and Ellir threw it like a large discus. The table narrowly missed Symmette, and hit the back of the bar so hard, it was lodged inside the wall. Symmette managed to not only dodge this, but slip undetected behind Ellir, and stab her rather forcefully in the side.

  The shortsword went in under Ellir’s arm, and was meant to puncture her lung. Ellir however, rolled with the blow, and fell down before Symmette could get the blade deep into any organs. It was still a nasty stab wound. A wound that gushed blood…near-black blood…that was shooting at her. Symmette was sure it had demon ichor in it…

  Now visible, Symmette screamed, flailed around, and slid on a puddle of spilled alcohol. Symmette’s raised heel hit a half-broken table, caused her to fall backwards onto it, and into a mass of potato peel covered plates. She screamed again, and frantically started to prestidigitation the filth away. Symmette had about a second before a fist slammed into her chest. The strike broke the table more, and caused Symmette to roll onto the floor.

  Symmette didn’t know how that stab didn’t drop Ellir.

  Ellir was focusing more now, trying not to let the anger take her. If she lost herself, then she would end up dead. That stab would have been lethal if she didn’t fall when she did. How Symmette was still conscious though, she didn’t understand. It was like…a lycanthrope.

  That was it! Symmette was resistant to damage like werewolves were, only it couldn’t be connected to silver. Ellir didn’t have magic weapons, but could tell that last strike did hurt Symmette. She must be wearing down.

  Symmette had rolled off the table, and stowed both swords. Ellir saw this as an opportunity to press the attack. Symmette spoke another spell. Whatever it was, it didn’t work. Ellir felt her body start to lock up, but fought through it. As Symmette was unarmed, Ellir was able to actually grab her by the twin-collars, and throw her at the door.

  Just before this, Rexi actually appeared in the doorway. The well-armored gnome walked inside with a wide smile, which started to fade as she entered.

  “Well, something interesting must be going on at the Spud today…” Rexi said with surprising optimism.

  Rexi then saw Ailia Symmette smash into the wall by the door, cough out some blood, draw her swords, then charge at a large woman with several cuts on her body. Rexi recognized Symmette’s target; it was the lady from the fighting pit, Ellir Alabaster! Symmette darted around, causing more cuts, but one of her target’s swings connected, which quickly slung Symmette out of sight.

  “Holy shit!” Rexi squealed.

  As Ellir ran after Symmette, she slapped a shattered chair out of her way, which then flew in the direction of the doorframe. Rexi ducked under this, and scurried inside.

  As the two women fought, Rexi ran to the bar. The area behind the bar was in shambles, but near the bar at the very end, Allec was watching the fight, along with another familiar face. Black Scarf!

  Rexi ran over to the two, briefly forgetting about what was happening.

  “Black Scarf! I’m so happy to see you! I hope you’re doing well…wait…you’re bleeding?” Rexi said, her cheerful tone dropping to concern.

  Rexi then became aware of her surroundings. Most of the bar’s furniture had been broken. There were several dents and holes in the wooden walls, and everything behind the bar was smashed.

  “Did you get hurt in this fight? Why is Symmette here? What’s going on?” Rexi asked Black Scarf, then turned to Allec.

  Allec looked…happy? Rexi had been to the bar enough times to know that Allec was almost always cheerful, but at a time like this? He appeared to be actually glad to see the bar get wrecked. He was softly giggling to himself as he watched the fight.

  “Allec…your bar is being torn apart by Ellir and the…er…other one. Do you want me to stop them?” Rexi asked Allec.

  “Oh no, this is fine.” The halfling said rather calmly.

  Rexi’s happy demeanor started to leave. Her excitement was fading, and Black Scarf still hadn’t said a word.

  “Allec, they’re destroying this place. How are you happy now?” Rexi asked, a little worried about the man’s health. Maybe he took a barstool to the head?

  “I’m gonna get so much insurance money from this, I’ll be able to afford two bars!” Allec responded with a cackle.

  Rexi laughed nervously, then looked over to Black Scarf. She started to ask if he was alright, if he had a concussion, or was just in shock. Rexi didn’t ask anything when saw his mouth very much agape as he stared at the fight. He was staring at Ellir as she fought Symmette…and in an infatuated way.

  Rexi squinted one eye in confusion. She whistled to get his attention, then waved her hand in front of his eyes. Black Scarf didn’t notice.

  “Oh, don’t worry, the one from the circus started it. She experimented on his head or something. That’s why his eye is bleeding.” Allec told Rexi while pointing at Black Scarf with his thumb.

  Rexi’s brow furrowed, then she leapt up to cheer.

  “Slap some sense into her Alabaster! Make sure to get both heads!” Rexi shouted at Ellir.

  Allec walked to a still intact keg, and poured Rexi a drink.

  “At this rate all my potatoes will have to be mashed.” He said with a laugh.

  Symmette was fighting harder now. She knew this probably went past self-defense, but this belligerent sow of a woman had gone too far. Black Scarf needed that procedure to forget about the land of mists. If he remembered, the truth could destroy him. That and the demon-tainted barmaid actually touched her. The thought made Symmette’s blood boil.

  Symmette couldn’t parry Ellir’s strikes, but she could easily avoid them. Even though Ellir was clearly trained in combat, she simply couldn’t match Symmette’s speed. Symmette would have to exhaust Ellir…but she wouldn’t get tired. Even after being stabbed in near-vital spots four times, Ellir didn’t slow at all.

  Ellir was running out of things to throw, which was her only option when Symmette darted out of punching range. Dodging a fist is one thing, dodging a table is much more difficult. Now that she wasn’t as enraged, Ellir thought about her situation. She needed this monster unconscious out of this bar. Symmette didn’t appear to feel pain, but was distracted by disorder. Every time Ellir broke something, the palindrome monster flinched. Ellir would have to step up her game.

  Ellir sidestepped close to the bar’s center. Ellir then started to smash her fists on the top, and punch where the bar top was connected to its supports. She was attempting to break a gap in the bar. Symmette stopped, and looked confused.

  “Why are you destroying your own bar? Is this not your livelihood? Did you realize how disgusting it is for you to give people food? Especially after fighting in that awful pit!” Symmette shouted, her voices cracking with her labored breathing. Each exhalation was in equal intervals apart.

  Symmette shook both heads, wondering why she bothered, and started to attack again. She leapt at Ellir, who with unseen agility, dipped out of the way. Symmette flew across the bar, and into the door that led to the kitchen.

  Landing on the floor, she saw the real horror of this place. The kitchen was filled with pots of butter. Symmette could tell the butter was not fresh, as it reeked of rancid milk-fat. Not only that, but there were simply bags…opened bags…of potatoes. Most were spilling out, and some were on the floor. All the potatoes were unwashed, and the garlic was clearly rotten based on the smell. Even if it didn’t appear to be visibly decayed, she knew that it was.

  Symmette then saw the apex of filth. A lone mouse rolled down from a bag. It was grotesquely filled with food, likely from awaiting customer’s orders. The mouse was too engorged to scurry, and simply waddled in front of her. Its black eyes met hers, and as if drunk off its own gluttony, stalled before appearing shocked. The mouse defecated right there, then hobbled to a hole in the wall at the back of the kitchen. Once the mouse left her line of sight, Symmette could see more pieces of dried stool inside the mouse’s retreat.

  Symmette’s faces twisted to scream, but a loud splintering of wood interrupted her. Ellir had actually torn up a large chunk of the bar. Symmette turned to look at the massive beam of wood that was once a portion of the bar. Its end came at both her faces in an instant.

  Symmette didn’t have time to stand up and dodge. The bar end slammed into her, as Ellir was using the bar-piece like a battering ram. She was able to force both Symmette, and the giant hunk of wood, through the back wall of the kitchen. Ellir kept charging, and went through another wall. After the bar went through the wall, Ellir crashed her entire body through with little effort.

  “Stop! What are you doing? Think of the property damage!” Symmette screamed.

  She was clearly more upset about the mess than being injured.

  Ellir’s vision briefly was obscured from the stirred dust in the air. Flecks of wood got into her eyes before she hit the back wall of the bar. Ellir nearly smashed through it, but the wood was thicker here. That, and she didn’t feel anything on the end of the beam. Ellir dropped her weapon, and felt gooseflesh on her neck. She spun around, and put her back against the wall. Nobody was behind her, but Symmette wasn’t in sight.

  Ellir saw the holes she had made through the walls, the damage to the kitchen, and looked back out to where the bar top had been. The impact of what she had done was starting to settle. This only lasted a second however, because she also realized that she was away from her remaining customers. That was the reason she had done this after all, because a monster hurt one of her customers.

  Ellir bolted back to the bar. As she ran, she felt the fresh wounds she sustained bleed more, and could now feel how deep they were. If she kept this up, there was a chance she could die. All Symmette needed was another good backstab, especially from an ambush point, and that would be it.

  When Ellir went through the kitchen door, she dipped to the right, and headed for the section of bar that wasn’t torn up. She kept her back to the bar, and readied to intercept an attack. As she stepped into place, Ellir felt a thicker piece of glass under her foot. The mirror. She had forgotten that it was broken.

  Ellir blinked, and Symmette appeared from nowhere in an instant right across from her. Ellir on reflex, forced out a punch, which connected with Symmette’s collarbone as she lunged in with both swords. Ellir’s fist managed to prevent the brunt of Symmette’s attacks, but she still took a sword to the upper stomach. As Symmette was thrown back from the punch, Ellir leaned forward as if in pain. She briefly knelt down, keeping her eyes on Symmette, before rising. This attack did hurt a little more than the others, but Ellir wasn’t in as much pain as she appeared. Ellir hoped that Symmette wouldn’t be able to tell…or see her pick up a shard of glass.

  Ellir noticed that Symmette now had one reddish-bruised eye. Not quite a black eye, the wound appeared more like an injury from a recent blow. Most of Symmette’s wounds had been magically evened out during the fight, but she had forgotten this one. It was perfect.

  Symmette leapt up from the ground, and started to attack again, but slowed once she saw how hurt Ellir looked…and that she was holding a piece of the broken mirror. Symmette raised her swords, but Ellir didn’t attack. Ellir held out the piece of the mirror she had broken. As Ellir slowly moved the shard, Symmette saw how one of her faces had what resembled a black eye.

  Horror grew on each face. Ellir dropped the mirror piece to the floor, and Symmette dropped both swords. The palindrome screamed, terror gripping her at just how ragged her appearance had become.

  In the two seconds Symmette screamed, Ellir tensed both arms, pulled them back, and with a roar, punched outward as hard as she could. Ellir’s timing was impeccable, as she punched Symmette in each head, this time much harder than she had since the fight had started. Ellir felt less resistance from the woman’s skulls, and was fairly certain Symmette had been knocked out as she flew back.

  Ellir paused a second and examined Symmette once she landed. The monstrous woman’s body twitched, and both sets of eyes were closed. She was out cold.

  “Oh wow…that was pretty brutal…” Rexi said, as she darted over to Symmette. Before she got too close, she noticed the stab wounds in Ellir. Rexi’s head darted from her, back to Symmette. Ellir clearly looked more injured, and was bleeding, but Symmette was on the floor.

  “Was Symmette trying to kill her? That seems pretty drastic?” Rexi thought to herself as she pulled out a potion.

  Rexi then noticed just how dirty and demolished the bar was, and started to understand. Symmette must have thought being in the dirty bar as it was being torn apart was torture.

  Rexi saw Ellir turn towards Black Scarf. Black Scarf’s expression hadn’t changed, but something inside his eyes did. He audibly grunted, slightly slapped himself, and shook his head. Rexi also noticed how Ellir didn’t seem to be bothered by her wounds.

  “Hey wait! You’re really hurt! I think you need this potion!” Rexi shouted at Ellir before she got too far away.

  Ellir turned back with a smirk, “Oh I’ll be fine, just a second…”

  Ellir then took one of the smaller kegs that was only a little dented, pulled out the cork, and proceeded to empty it into her open mouth. Ellir made sure some of the alcohol sloshed into her open wounds. She dropped the significantly drained keg, wiped her mouth off, shook her head, and much to Rexi’s astonishment, her wounds stopped bleeding.

  “Nobody experiments on my customers…er. Well…nearly all of the customers are gone…and this place is trashed…”

  Ellir looked at the demolished bar interior, then over to Black Scarf, and finally down to Allec. She was now realizing just how badly she had damaged the bar, and what that could entail.

  “Allec…I’m so sorry. I’ll fix it all, I swear it! I’ll…I’ll find a way to pay for this…I promise!” She started to plea.

  The halfling laughed, that same, infection cackle, then scratched the back of his neck.

  “You know, when you fought for the first time, I had this place insured. Miss Ellir Alabaster was one of the possible dangers I had this place protected from. The guy who sold me the insurance thought it would be free money; that nobody workin’ in a bar would be crazy enough to trash it! Ha! By running that monster off, you just got this bar some free upgrades!” Allec shouted.

  “That is a really optimistic outlook.” Rexi chimed in, then darted over to Symmette to give her the potion.

  Rexi carefully poured half of the potion down one throat, then did the same with the other. Symmette did not wake up, but the bruise around her eye vanished.

  Ellir looked down at the halfling, tears nearly in her eyes, but that last sentence reminded her that the monster was still in the bar. Ellir ran back over to the unconscious Symmette, who had ropes of drool, potion fluid, and blood hanging out of both mouths. Ellir lifted her by the leg, and carried Symmette to the door as if she weighed nothing. Rexi didn’t have time to protest.

  Ellir tossed Symmette into the surprisingly empty street. Before Symmette hit the ground, a shining, bronze portal opened from nowhere. Symmette sailed through, then landed onto the other side, onto a perfectly symmetrical stone street, at the feet of a very tall, bronze, mechanical man.

  “Azra!” Rexi shouted, though her smile didn’t last long.

  Ellir saw the machine, which was only a few inches taller than her, and didn’t look impressed. She walked out the door. Allec looked worried, and ran out of the machine’s line of sight.

  “Are you gonna try and terrorize the bar like she did? You won’t have any better luck!” Ellir angrily shouted at Azra.

  Azra glanced at Ellir dispassionately, then looked down at his wife. His mechanical brow furrowed. Azra glared back at Ellir, but he didn’t say anything. Rexi looked afraid upon seeing this. She ran up, as if she were trying to diffuse the situation. Before she could speak, another voice spoke for her. It was Black Scarf.

  “She isn’t at fault here. Ailia abducted me, probed my brain without consent, and damaged my memory. She came to this bar, then tried to tell me what she did in a way that made it out like she was going to do something worse. I knew Ailia wouldn’t, but this woman didn’t. She fought Alia, trying to throw her out, but Ailia mistook the attack as a threat on her life.” Black Scarf told Azra.

  Azra’s brows relaxed. Much to Ellir’s surprise, the machine looked shocked, almost sympathetic.

  “Ailia would have killed this woman, had she not knocked her out.” Black Scarf said.

  Ellir visibly scowled, but didn’t say anything.

  “I know it was all a mistake, but Ailia could have killed an innocent person, and was angrier at getting dirty than the actual fight.”

  Black Scarf started to walk closer to the portal, but Ellir stepped back, and blocked the door’s exit. Azra looked at her, and appeared to be actually sad.

  “My apologies. I do hope that you have no lasting injuries. If so, I will send an envoy from Automata to secure you compensation and healing.” Azra told Ellir.

  Ellir looked shocked, but tried to smile and respond, “Oh…no that’s fine sir…eh…just don’t…don’t send anyone here anymore…thanks…”

  Azra nodded, then turned to look at Rexi and Black Scarf with a smile.

  “Farewell friends. I will see to it that Ailia is healed. It is good to see you Rexi…” He shouted, “…and you Black Scarf…well, good to see you awake that is.” Azra chimed.

  Ellir’s face changed to disgust when she heard that last part, and the portal closed. The three stood there in silence for about a second, before Rexi spoke.

  “That mechanical man is her husband.” Rexi squeaked at Ellir, matter-of-factly.

  Ellir turned around, then took a step into the doorway, shock plastered on her face.

  “Her husband? She…has a husband? How? Did she build it?” Ellir shouted in amazement.

  Rexi and Black Scarf laughed. As they did, Myst walked back into the bar, and appeared a little disheveled. Black Scarf could smell the powder from her gun. She must have shot something.

  “Black Scarf, we have Doctor Pond with us. When you are ready, we can go to your ship and hopefully undo what Symmette did to your memory. Also, I believe this is yours.” Myst told him, as she handed over the key.

  Black Scarf grimly looked at the key for a few seconds, before pocketing it.

  “If possible, I would like to do that tomorrow.” Black Scarf told Myst.

  “Why did she mess with his brain? I know Symmette is crazy, but that’s a little low, even for her. Did you or your friends ever learn why?” Rexi asked Myst.

  “Yes, but it is a very long and annoying story. If you want to hear it, I can tell it to you somewhere that isn’t partially destroyed.” Myst told Rexi.

  Myst looked around the ruined tavern, and nodded to the door. Rexi waved at Black Scarf, before leaving with Myst.

  Black Scarf noticed that Allec wasn’t around. It was only him and Ellir.

  “Thanks for…well…sticking up for me. I would say that Symmette is harmless, but she stabbed you pretty good.” Black Scarf said, as he leaned on an intact part of the bar.

  Ellir softly chuckled to herself, “Not good enough. I’m just glad you didn’t get abducted again.” Ellir told him.

  “Well, I could have gotten this memory stuff sorted out tonight, but I wanted more of those potatoes.” Black Scarf told her, before looking around at the destruction

  “I did get a little carried away, didn’t I?” Ellir said, looking a little guilty.

  Black Scarf lifted himself off the bar, gazed around at the wreckage again, then looked back over to her.

  “Only a little.” He answered with a toothy smile.

  They both laughed. Black Scarf leaned against the bar again, and as there weren’t any barstools left, slid down the bar, and sat in the floor. Ellir sat down as well. Black Scarf could smell Ellir’s blood. He started to dig out his formaldehyde-soaked rag, but another smell nullified the scent. It was garlic potatoes.

  Allec returned from the back with two large bowls. They were filled with the potatoes he usually served, only mashed, and topped with melted butter and chives. Both Black Scarf and Ellir cheered as he brought the food out. Allec laughed, then put the two bowls in front of them.

  “What did I tell ya!” Allec shouted, then ran off to get drinks.

  Despite their surroundings, Black Scarf and Ellir Alabaster had a very nice dinner.

  ******************************************************************************

  “I am your wife! You are supposed to stand up for my honor…not help my assailants!” Ailia Symmette screamed.

  She was just a little over half Azra’s height, so the scene looked odd.

  “Ailia, I love you, but you cannot simply gallivant off to the Prime, then fight a barmaid with a growth deficiency just because she is rude and unsightly.” Azra responded in a very calm voice.

  “She attacked me!” Symmette screamed, sounding a little desperate.

  “You abducted Black Scarf. Primes do not like being abducted…I know…I watched you bring him here unconscious. Had he been awake, I am sure he would have protested.” Azra retorted.

  Ailia screamed in frustration, then started slapping at Azra. Most of her strikes only hit his lower stomach and legs, which bounced off harmlessly with metallic dings.

  The two were standing inside Symmette’s large, perfectly square office. They were not alone, but the few people there were far away, nearer to the entrance. As Symmette did this, the few people inside turned and saw. Azra looked panicked, which caused Symmette to stop.

  “I consent! This was agreed upon! There is no crime being committed here!” Azra shouted back at the onlookers, who turned away.

  Symmette looked at the floor, both faces showing signs of shame.

  “Azra…you are right. I did lose control. I do not think that woman was deathly injured, but this goes beyond simply being disgusted with primes.” Symmette said as she rubbed her hands, which were likely sore from slapping metal.

  Azra’s head tilted in question.

  “It was Black Scarf. I did not “abduct” him, though it may have seemed like it. I had to make him forget what happened after his recovery. You see…he was taken by dark powers…to the demiplane of dread…” Ailia told Azra as he gasped.

  “No! How…how could such a thing happen?” Azra asked.

  “I do not know…but what I do know…is that he and others stopped a Darklord and escaped. You can only escape that prison one way. That is not all, however.” Ailia said, as she started to walk down a hallway. Azra followed.

  “This Darklord had a certain item…the heart of a fiend. It was Jalakara’s heart.” Aila finished as she entered her laboratory.

  Azra stopped, his eyes glowing red as parts of his body started to get hot with rage.

  “Jalakara was slain! He cannot return!” Azra growled.

  “No, he cannot, you saw to that, but I know Black Scarf did not retrieve the heart. I also know that the heart is somewhere on Faerun. If the heart was in possession of a Darklord, then it was undoubtably reclaimed upon his or her death. Only powerful people or things would want such a grotesquery, and I think I know exactly what took it.” Symmette told Azra as he started to cool.

  “Why would anyone want a filthy heart? If Jalakara is dead, what use is it?” Azra asked.

  “There is a spellweaver of significant strength that is championing their old machinations, and I have no doubt he is using that heart to do so. It really is a disgusting matter, but what is important here is that Black Scarf may think that Jalakara is alive just because his heart is still intact. Some adventurers looking into the matter wanted to help get his memories back, and if that awakened leech doctor fixes Black Scarf’s memories, then he could end up in danger for nothing.” Ailia said.

  “That wasn’t the only item of note here. He also brought back some kind of divine blade, a sentient sword that would have likely informed him of what had happened. In his brief moment of lucidity, he contacted me asking about information on the blade, and the heart. He had locked it in a chest you see…for safe keeping. After I performed the procedure, I simply did not return some of the items that we held during his surgery. Namely, the key to that chest.” Ailia explained.

  Azra gasped in horror.

  “It was not theft! He did not ask for the items back…likely due to the memory loss.” Ailia muttered.

  “But! I did return it! So please, do not worry dear.” Ailia followed up her previous statement.

  Azra looked more calm, possibly due to him realizing that Ailia was concerned about her friend. Black Scarf was a good man. He smelled terrible, like urine, as most sharks do, but he is still a decent person. For a prime.

  “We should ask Black Scarf to come here, and give him a detailed explanation why going after a dead fiend’s heart is a bad idea. We owe him that much.” Azra told Ailia.

  “The spellweaver they are searching for cannot bring Jalakara back. I think it is better if he does not remember. Taking him here will only anger him, and he will likely not see reason. If he remembers, he could end up dead trying to retrieve that heart for nothing. I have no doubt this spellweaver could slay Black Scarf if he tried to challenge it.” Symmette told her husband with stoic looks on both faces.

  Azra looked disappointed, and tilted his head to the ground. This made Symmette’s faces soften.

  “…but if he gets his memories back…no thanks to doctor Pond and that vile barmaid…we can see. We can at least ensure the others keep him safe.” Symmette answered, as she walked towards a metallic operating table.

  “Yes. Perhaps we can even aid them in stopping that creature. Spellweavers are aberrations I believe, so aiding in its destruction only makes the Prime safer and more orderly. As we do not have the time to leave for an extended period, I could send a…” Azra attempted to say, but stopped upon seeing Ailia lie down.

  Azra dropped what he was saying, and looked worried upon seeing Ailia on the table. He took a few steps closer to the table, and looked over the strange slab of metal. Azra attempted to reach out, as if he were planning on lifting Ailia off the table, but hesitated, and spoke instead.

  “Is this really necessary Ailia? You do not have any visible marks from your fight.” Azra asked with worry in his voice.

  “Yes, that may be true, but internally I may not be fully whole. That is what I am being analyzed for.” Ailia told Azra.

  Once she was on the table, two modrons came to each side. They were quadrones, but were carrying strange medical instruments. They looked over Symmette, then glanced at each other before talking. Both modrons spoke at the exact same time, and in the exact same voice.

  “Sub-dermal scans indicate that your bones appear to be fully healed. Despite this, we cannot definitively know if there is scarring on the bones or not unless we look below the flesh to visibly examine them.” The two beings told Ailia.

  “That will be far too much trouble…and you could miss something. I will happily accept a reset.” She told the modrons.

  Azra looked concerned, and hesitated before speaking.

  “Ailia…perhaps…perhaps this is a little too drastic…” Azra protested, but was cut off by a loud, metallic ring.

  Two large, metal spikes shot from the table, each one piercing Symmette through the back of each head. This killed her instantly. The table then tilted back, and Ailia’s body slipped into the glow of an incinerator below the floor.

  By the time the table returned to its original place, a back panel in the wall opened. Ailia Symmette appeared from the darkness inside the wall. She walked up to the table as the panel closed, then smiled at Azra in a way only Symmette could.

  “It is not as terrible as it seems, Azra. I understand to most of the Prime, and even the outer planes, this sort of technology is rare, but I have designed it to be both flawless, and efficient. There are thousands of me by now; I have plenty of resets.” Ailia answered with dual grins.

  Azra also smiled, then moved in to hug his wife.

  “This is what I admire about you so much my love, you plan so well for mishaps. Imagine having a scar on your bones and not realizing it! Such a thing makes me happy I no longer have bones!” Azra told her joyfully.

  The two laughed inhumanly, but cheerfully, as they exited the lab together.

  Final Note

  The characters Myst, Creed, and Watke belong to their respective owners, and their actions were not my creation. Myst’s player really did roll abnormally high, and convinced Symmette to come to a dirty bar in order to learn knitting. I should note that Watke the sorcerer was nearly castrated from the shot fired from Myst’s pistol, but Doctor Pond saved the day. I really don’t know how the players would have reacted to seeing Symmette getting beaten up in a bar, but their reaction to what happened instead was priceless.