His name is Brass. Fil Brass. He is a true blood of Sigil, a veteren fighter who has seen and done enough to know that he will never live to do it all. He used to be a member of the Lower Ward Points, a group of cutters that had made a bit of a name for themselves. That was before the Blood War.

Marina, their unofficial leader, volunteered them to fight for the Baatzu in exchange for a piece of a broken artifact that the Points had spent years trying to put together. He was the only survivor. Now he wears the Points' trophy around his neck as a reminder. The Baatzu claimed the other pieces.

His friends are all gone now. Ash and bone. He has had enough of planewalking. Now, Fil Brass is a mercenary and a Cager.

Tonight's ride is easy. Go to the Fortune's Wheel Annex, stand behind the chair of his employer, and make sure the berk gets home without getting nicked. Pay is a lady, two if someone tries something. Work lasts three or four hours. He gets to drink a bit and eye the occasional pretty that drop s by the table, and then he does his part and goes home. Simple, familiar, and no planewalking.

He nods to the Harmonium patrol as he strides down the center of the street in the Lady's Ward in his trademark brass armor. They know him here and do not ask his business. They know him in most places in Sigil, and the bodies that know him for the most part steer clear.

He walks past the awning over the entrance to the Wheel's Fortune and heads for the unmarked door in the next building down. It is a plain, unassuming wooden door scarred with blast marks and pock-marked with notches from errant arrows and crossbow bolts.

He knocks thrice, waits, and knocks twice. A peephole slides open.

"It's Brass," he says to the peephole in his low monotone.

The door swings open and he is ushered into the Annex. Music and bright lights assault him.

"You playin' tonight Fil?" asks Checker. Checker is a retired player, the maker of Anything Chips, a Mongrelman, and butt-ugly. The Sensate symbol hangs around his neck.

Brass does not look at the beast. He is hungry and wants to stay that way.

"Checker, how long have I been coming here?"

"I dunno, five years maybe?"

"In all that time, have I ever asked for a chip?"

"Nope. Just thought you might be looking to try somethin new tonight, is all."

Brass smiles at that. He flips the sod a cage and walks down the aisle toward the bar that spans the entire end of the single room that makes up the Annex. Tables line both sides of the aisle -- half-full tonight -- of people doing some talking, some drinking, and a lot of gambling. The hired help circle like carrion over the tables, carrying food and drink and taking jink back to the bar. Minders stand behind many of the players, doing the same thing he'll be doing as soon as he finds his charge.

A mail clad hand grabs his shoulder, and spins him around.

"You lost?"

Fil recognizes the voice even before he sees the Mercykiller red armor.

"Hey Jayce. Have you seen the weasel?"

"Yeah. He's over at table four. He's made them wait for you before they start. He's hot as a fire Genasi's left testicle. Why do you work for that berk?"

"Two ladys," says Fil, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

Fil starts over to table four, then thinks better of it and first gets a tall cold one at the bar. He takes the frothy king-sized mug with him as he heads for his job.

There are four of them at the table. Trohan Gasslow a somewhat pompous burn-out has-been who has been sinking steadily on the leader board, Ian somebody, a pretty looking new blood who has shown real potential, Pennlow Burgen, an affable halfling and a canny finisher, and, of course, Lucias Adolphus, a human mage, number three on the board, a complete butt-hole, and his employer.

"It is about time, Brass," he snarks at the mercenary. "I nearly hired our waitress to mind me for the game."

"Oh? Have you fired me, SIR?" Fil snarks back.

"No. Don't be ridiculous. You are unique and we all know that. Now get in your station and shut up. The chant is the Fivers are back..."

Adolphus does not finish his thought. Fil finishes it for him. <And you never know if that two-bit tiefling that bobbed me when I was number 64 will show up> He sighs and takes up his position behind the mage's chair. <Sometimes, I really hate this job...>

She is wearing a slate gray body suit tonight. The intermittent silvery threads that give it its strength casts a slight hint of metallic glow. It is her sheerest number and looks like a second skin. Killraven watches her move in the mirror. Her tail bobs to inner rhythm and the light casts enticing shadows on her sleek curves. Sometimes, when she is relaxed, she seems to him to be soft and supple. Other times its seems her body is taut and her musculature is slim but well defined. Tonight, it is the latter. Killraven's lips turn slightly to a half-smile into the mirror.

She pulls on her boots and slips a dagger into each. Another dagger she slides into a holster on her hip that is made of the same fabric as her body suit. She finishes with a strong but delicate-appearing chain that she fastens around her waist. It slips down to her hips, drawing attention to her figure. The links are rendered in the shape of interlocking flames.

"How do I look?" she asks, spinning around for him. Her hair is well-brushed and loose -- it flares out from her as she twirls.

Killraven is not a courtesan. He does not have the words to describe what he sees, so he says nothing. Lilah stops twirling and looks at him. His expression satisfies her.

"That's what I thought." She gathers up the locket, which had sprung loose during her spin. She tucks it back into the cleavage between her breasts and it drops out of sight into her suit, leaving only an enticing trail of chain behind.

"Now," she says, "I've a few things for you. And if you're going to come, there are some rules . . ."

There is a polite knock on the door.

<Valas>. Killraven welcomes the respite from the climbing heat he feels after Lilah's little show.

Lilah skips to the door and pulls it open. The helmeted, long-robed figure beyond the threshold sits very straight upon its magical disk.

He is not ready for her. <!!@@#???> "Forgive my intrusion . . . I was just leaving . . . "

"Oberon? Come back here. We're just getting ready."

Valas does not halt his retreat nor turn around. "Obviously you have much more to do. You are still unclothed. I'll be in the common room. You can summon me after you have had a moment to don your full attire."

Lilah sighs, then smiles. <OK, it is a little, um, sheer. But it still counts as clothing>

Killraven has come up behind her and she nearly bumps into him as she closes the door and heads back into the room.

"What happened? That was Val -- I mean Oberon, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," she says, taking the opportunity to give him a peck on the cheek, "I guess he doesn't like dressing up. He said he'll catch us in the common ro om."

She flits around him and back to the bed, where she has laid out a number of recent purchases. "Let's see -- lose the kilt. I've got you some leather leggings. Here." She tosses them over her shoulder.

He struggles out of his kilt and tries them on. "They fit," he says flatly .

"They should," she replies, weighing the merits of a leather versus metal armband, "I've had lots of chances to measure you."

"And I, you," he says, wrapping his arms around her narrow waist and nuzzling her hair.

She smiles at the attention, lets him stay for a moment, then slaps his wrists. "No, no, raven man. No touching tonight," she chides. He does not let her loose, but she has enough room to turn and face him. She puts her hands on his chest and gently pushes him away.

"I'm serious, Killraven. If you are going to come with me to the Annex you have to play the part of minder, not lover. If you don't we could both get in a lot of trouble."

Killraven lets her go. He has his little half-smile on his face. "There is no difference to me," he says.

Lilah narrows her eyes and puts her hands on her hips. "Well, TONIGHT you had better find a way to keep your distance or I'll drop you faster than a hot coal."

<Ok, ok, don't get cross.> "Agreed."

"That's better. Here, try this on your left arm." She hands him a leather armband. "The place we are going is kinda like a barracks for "players" -- bloods that know the dark of gambling and want to try their skills on each other instead of the average gully on the street."

She notes the look of comprehensioin in his eyes. He is listening intently. <He knows about contests like this -- of course! Not much different from arena fighting I guess . . .>

"Just like your pit fights, the players have to challenge each other within the rules. There's no magic, no using mind powers, and, most importantly for us, NO FIGHTING. At the Annex, the rules are enforced by the Mercykillers, especially the NO FIGHTING rule."

Killraven cannot get the leather band over his elbow. Lilah comes over to him and loosens the laces and helps slide it higher up his arm. She can feel the ripple of muscle beneath the leather as it goes over his bicep. She pushes it past the place where her symbol scars this arm, and then lets her eyes travel up his shoulder to his eyes.

"If there is no fighting, what do you need me for?"

Lilah licks her lips. <I just do, you sod>. "The players usually come with their minders. It helps us work a psyche on the others if our minders look tough. That would be you." She goes back to the bed and picks up a leather thong. "And, the rules don't apply outside. A lot of scores that have been run up at the table have been settled at the door. I need you for that, too."

That satisfies him.

"I guess there might be a berk or two that think they owe me one for being outdone at the table. Hopefully, they won't be there. The chant is though that this guy Adolphus, who I set up pretty good a long time ago, has moved up pretty high. So, you might have something to do."

That interests him.

"So anyways, the players get together at the Annex. We try and beat each other. We get rankings. Higher rank has prestige. You know how it goes." Lilah's tail flicks thoughtfully, then resumes its normal bounce.

"Have a seat here. I'm gonna tie back your hair."

Killraven sits down on the bed. Lilah produces a coarse wire brush and tries to pull it through his dreadlocks. It gets stuck almost immediately. She yanks it free and tosses it across the room to her dressing table.

"This is the hard part for you," she says, as she decides to use her fingers to make sense of his hair, "and I am not talking about dressing." She sighs. "The thing is, you are also going to have to let me, well, do my work. You see, players use every natural gift they have to get an advantage. Glib ones talk, smart ones try to browbeat with their intellect, ugly ones try to disgust . . . anything that could distract an opponent when they should be concentrating."

Killraven does not move as he lets Lilah run her fingers through his hair, pulling back the dreadlocks into a bundle to secure with the leather thong.

"So," she continues, "I use my assets. I compliment, I smile, I squeeze my. . ."

Killraven jerks free and twists to look at her. His dreadlocks, not yet secured, fall back into their normal position. "I KNOW what your "assets" are. What do you mean, you USE them?"

She likes what she sees in him. Jealousy can be soooo flattering. She cannot stop a smile. "I flirt. I make them think I am interested in them sexually. That usually makes for the needed distraction."

"But you don't DO anything with them?"

Lilah giggles. "As if." She holds up the leather thong and lets it twist in front of his eyes. He turns back around and resumes his position as she again pulls back his hair. She can feel his tension as he forces himself to accept the reality of it. She knows it will be hard for him to watch. And she knows, if he agrees to it, that he will keep his word. "So, you cannot let anyone know you are jealous, even if you are. And for my sake, don't even think about laying a hand on someone just because I flirt with him or her."

<OR HER?> Killraven grits his teeth. It is one thing to know that she does these things. It is another to have to witness it and do nothing about it. Still, he belongs at her side. The price is acceptable. "Agreed."

Lilah grins. She quickly ties his dreadlocks with a braided knot.

"I knew you would do it. I have something to help."

She goes to her dresser and fishes around in a drawer. A sweet scent lingers in the air behind her. Perfume. His nose is still far too inexpert to identify the smell -- although it is not necessary to know what it is for it to have its desired effect.

"Ahh hah! I knew I kept some of these." She brandishes a pair of dark glasses, much like the ones Nim used to wear. She comes back to the bed and slips them on over his ears. "There you go. Now you can glare all you want at the sods I flirt with. Just TRY not to be obvious."

He wants to kiss her just then, but he does not, mindful of her admonition about touching. She sees it in his eyes and kisses him instead, breaking it off quickly before something else gets started.

"One more thing," she adds. "I have an earring for you." She produces a silver hoop.

"My ears are not pierced anymore, since the Forge."

"I know," she grins, producing a wicked looking needle.

The common room of the Inn of the Open road is moderately busy. It is a noisy place. Noisier than most, with its mixture of arguments, hushed whispers, laughter, and promises. Oberon tunes out the noise and keeps focused on the task at hand. He reviews the rules of the various varieties of the card game "poker" as explained to him by Lilah. He also starts to form hypotheses as to why the place called the "Annex" seems to be devoid of the effects commonly known as magic. Finally, he continues to work on the persistent problem of spell keys for the infinite planes of the Abyss.

"Hi Oberon."

"Hmm? Oh. Yes." He returns some of his attention to the common room.

Lilah has joined him at his table. She has covered herself with a cloak and is now quite presentable. He unintentionally looks at her lips and notes that they are painted with a pigment the color of burgundy. He quickly looks at the table to avoid any potential discomfort. "I deduce that you have painted your lips as part of your stratagem for tonight's contest. Will you . . . <gulp> be disrobing at the gaming table as well?"

Lilah laughs. Her voice is like pleasant music. "I do have clothes on beneath my cloak. I will not be removing them as part of my - - stratagem. My skin will still be separated from your eyes by my body suit."

"Whether it is suit or skin is immaterial. The effect you apparently desire it to reveal your form as if nude. I find it unsettling. If you intend to present yourself to your gaming familiars in such a manner I request that you remove your cloak now so that I might accustom myself to your costume and thereby avoid disrupting my analysis of play."

Lilah pouts. It was funny the first time, but she doesn't want to annoy her friend. "I guess I could change . . ."

"Nonsense. I'll not hear of it. You do not need to be solicitous of me as if a were an ancient modron incapable of accepting change. Besides, how can I evaluate the psychology of gaming technique if I deprive you of your stratagem? Please. I insist."

"Well, okay." Lilah takes off her cloak. She cannot resist testing Valas' mettle with a suggestive shrug of her shoulder as the cloak falls over the back of her chair.

<Focus. This is Lilah. She is a friend. Friend. Friend.> Valas opens his eyes and regards his companion. With preparation it actually requires little effort to suppress the terror her female form inspires in his heart. <As with many things, the key is preparation and forethought>.

She cannot observe his expression. His face is totally concealed behind his helmet. "Oberon? Are you home?"

"Yes. I have compensated. I believe I will be able to concentrate when the time comes. Now, if you please, since I have other matters to consider, replace your cloak so that I might release more resources while I have the leisure to continue my other thoughts."

She complies. "What are you thinking about?"

"Hmmm? Thinking about? Yes. I was considering the advisability of using four or more wild cards in a game of seven card stud from the standpoint of whether such cards materially change the probability of winning. There are several factors to consider . . ."

"What do you mean by probability of winning? Doesn't it just change the odds for everybody?"

"No, actually. As I was about to explain, simple probability theory does not take into account the tendencies of players betting into a more potent card mix . It will not yield informative conclusions. I think a matrix of known tendencies should be developed for each player, and then factored or possibly integrated with simple probability . ."

His musings on poker are interrupted by a change in sound patterns. <Odd. Chaos theory dictates that the combined sonance of a crowded room makes an overall repetitive wave. The randomness has apparently been disrupted, which in turn has terminated the wave, resulting instead in a pattern of ... decay . . .> Interested, he scans the room through the eye-slits in his helmet. " . . . could actually be a more potent predictor of outcome . . ."

Moc settles on the table. He looks around for food and finding none, caws angrily. The sound echoes against the decaying background noise.

"Ah. Our gladiator has come to join us. He seems a bit cross."

"Oh, nothing to worry about," Lilah smiles, "probably just an earache."

A few minutes later the trio are on the streets of the Bazaar heading for the Lady's Ward. Valas sits cross-legged in the center of his floating disk putting no more thought to its movement over the street than a normal body would to walking. Lilah is on the disk also. She sits demurely near the front edge, her shapely legs crossed at the knee and dangling above the street. Killraven walks in front of them.

It is early evening and the streets are still crowded with Cagers trying to get their last buys done in the dying light. Valas wills the disk to rise a few feet higher to clear any pedestrians, but there is no need. The street traffic parts in front of Killraven and the disk with its two passengers pass unmolested.

Valas is content with silence for the moment. He continues to work on his spell key problem and decides to spend some resources observing their surroundings. He quickly notes that Lilah seems distracted. Deducing that she may be inviting a question to initiate conversation, he asks one.

"You have not imparted to me your motive for revisiting this hive of gamblers that you have apparently forsworn."

"I was kinda wondering about that myself," she replies. "I'm not altogether sure. A knight of the post like me has to prove herself every now and then, I guess. And there are a lot of savvy cutters there that might have some chant on our portal problem. Besides, I think we might have some fun."

<It is apparent that you did not consider any specific objective. Interesting.>

"Do you consider gambling a form of entertainment?"

"Um, yeah." She suddenly smiles at some private joke. "Gambling can be entertaining. The last time I was there I copped this berk Adolphus' Anything Chip. . . and did I tell you about the Anything Chip?"

"No." Valas waits for her to continue. Part of him, however, continues to observe the ebb and flow of traffic on the street. The pattern there seems interesting, and not what one would predict using the usual chaos-based flow pattern modeling for large particle movement through areas of static gravity.

Lilah brightens considerably. She enjoys teaching Valas a little bit of the dark every now and then. She continues, "The "Anything" chip is a chip that is given by the house to any cutter with the rocks to ask for it. It is imprinted with the person's identity and functions like an item of summoning. Whoever has the chip can summon the poor sod whose imprint is on it and make him do "anything". It only works once, though, and then it's gone."

"Intriguing. Does the object work across planes?"

"I think so, cause I've heard the chant that a player can't find a place to hide from the chip's call. I've only used one once though. The chip is the ultimate weapon among the pros. If you bet it, the only proper call for that bet is your opponent's anything chip. Since everything is at stake when your chip is in the pot it really raises the level of play. By using the chip, a well-lanned player can bluff off berks that may have better hands."

"I infer that no more than one such chip can exist at any one time. Do they expire? Certainly extraordinary security precautions must be taken with such an item once created."

"Only one at a time. They last a year or so, and if you still have your own when you are done gambling it is given back to the house and destroyed on the spot."

"I am most anxious to examine such a chip."

"Well, anyways, I was getting to my story. I had been going to the Annex pretty regular in the old days, and I was working my way up the leader board." Lilah leans back on her hands and turns her face slightly to look at Valas. With his helmet it is difficult to judge what he is looking at, but Lilah does not let it interrupt her growing mirth.

"A body moves up the leader board by taking down a sod that is ahead, either by breaking him during a game or, better yet, getting the berk's chip." She becomes aware that her cloak has parted in front. She tugs it closed out of deference to her friend.

"Most of the players are standup cutters. But there are always a few that are . . ."

"Sphincters for the elimination of waste products from the digestive tract? "

Lilah chokes and then starts laughing. She laughs hard until the tears start to come, and then she laughs some more. "Right You can use the cant though. Arseholes."

"One of the "sphincters" was, or I guess I should say, is this mage Adolphus. He tried to make everyone miserable if he beat them, especially the women. He's not that great a player though, and I was able to tumble to his game after a bit of abuse. I got his anything chip."

Lilah starts to giggle again. "I made that weasel stand up on top of a table, drop his drawers, and sing 'Baby I'm the Bottom, You're the Tops,'-- three times."

"Fascinating. You have total power over a mage and rather than extract some extraordinary service from him, or elicit some kernel of arcane lore, you elect to make him embarrass himself?"

"Well, you know." Lilah starts to feel a bit taken aback. She had never thought of the incident in that light before. "He had it coming. He's a weasel. And besides, he was a lot less threatening to the girls after he waggled his little ding-a-ling at them." She smiles again. "He would have just twisted any other type of request anyway. It was the best thing a body could do with the chip." Lilah does not tell him the best part - that the Chip, like all other magic, does not work in the Annex and that she bobbed Adolphus into doing what she wanted.

"Lilah, you have yet to appreciate that you often give vent to your consideration of others by acting as proxy rather than directly offering compassion in some other more common format."

"So?" She understands his point, but not the significance.

"Never mind." <I had hoped this observation would help you . Maybe later. > Still considering the patterns of street traffic. Valas concludes that there is, in fact, a normative pattern. It suggests the presence of a phenomenon that applies a higher level order than dictated by chaos theory. He has a hypothesis as to the source. He decides more observation would help solidify the hypothesis.

"Lilah, you mentioned various rules and suggested that magic could not be used to cheat. How is that policed?"

"The Mercykillers police all of the rules in the Annex. But that one doesn't really need policing. Magic doesn't work in the Annex."

The disk comes to a sudden stop. Lilah turns toward the driver, unconcerned. <I thought that might get your full attention>

"Is this true? How is that accomplished? Is the mechanism available for inspection? Is the aura one of suppression, negation, annihilation, resistance, or . . ." Valas loses track of his other trains of thought and focuses all of his attention on this issue.

"Relax, Oberon. And get this thing moving or Killraven will be leaving us behind."

During the next few minutes. Lilah imparts what little she knows about it. Magic items don't work. Spells do not fail, they simply never materialize. Even artifacts simply fail to function. Upon leaving the Annex, all functionality returns. A mage who has tried to cast a spell inside the Annex finds that it is if he never tried once he leaves. It is supposedly the same for psionics. These powers simply do not work.

"Fascinating." <And very frightening>. "A pity we did not invite Rogan, or even Chakan to such a place. As magical constructs, would they cease functioning upon crossing the threshold? Actually, the field must not extend all the way to the threshold, or the anything chips could not be created within . . ." <Indeed, there are other conundrums here that are worth much analysis, such as the matter of the dancing mage.> "Lilah, could you tell me . . ."

"Hey!" she says suddenly, apparently losing interest in their conversation. "Did you see that?"

"What?" asks Valas, with some alarm.

"There is something funny about the crowd. Look! There!" Lilah cannot articulate precisely what it is that she finds disturbing. It is not any one person or thing, it is behavior.

<Excellent! > Valas is very pleased that she was sensitive enough to the normal information flow to pick out the very anomaly that he found so interesting. <You surprise me. To be sure I have been lulled somewhat by your capriciousness into underestimating your capacity. Very good.> "Yes, I have observed this since we first entered the Bazaar.

"What is it?"

"If I might explain. I believe we are observing deltas between normal crowd behavior when encountering obstacles and that caused by the instant stimulus. The normal pattern is triangular, sometimes truncated, as pedestrians become aware of the obstacle and make way around it. The instant pattern is fluid, like a wave mirrored on both sides that is generated in advance of the obstacle at a more or less constant distance."

Lilah turns to Valas. She is somewhat cross. "What are you talking about? What stimulus? What obstacle?" She thinks for a moment. "Us?"

"As I thought, at first. But not exactly correct. More precisely . . . him." Valas points at Killraven's back.

Now that she has been tipped as to what to look out for, she can see it too. He walks in a straight line with his confident, unbroken gait, as Moc circles above him. Pedestrians ahead of him, even those that do not appear to pay the least bit of attention, move off in one direction or another. No one bumps him. They do not get close enough. And, she notices, that as he passes them, many take a quick peek, which tends to create a slight undulation in crowd movement. A wave.

"Valas --- damn it, I mean Oberon, do you have any idea what is going on?"

"Of course. I have several hypotheses. They are too immature to share right now and require some empirical verification. As for what we are observing, I believe it to be the natural tendency of intelligent creatures to desire to view first hand, events of surprise, accident, conflagration, or of other dramatic character. There is a colloquialism for it, although it escapes me."

"Rubbernecking?" Lilah twists her hair thoughtfully, suddenly remembering the effect Killraven has when entering a crowded room.

"Um, yes, that is it. In a way. It is more precise to say they are anticipating something will happen. As companions, I believe we are accustomed to it or immune to it, depending on which of my hypotheses are correct"

"But why? Why is it happening? Is it magic?"

"Hmmm? Why? That is the question isn't it. Since I do not deem the phenomenon to be any threat to us I do not intend to devote much time thinking about it just now. And, as I said, this is not the time or place to discuss theory. That should also answer your last question."

Lilah puzzles on this for a while as they make their way into the Lady's Ward. She watches Killraven a little more closely. His new cloak billows behind his even strides like wings. <He does look nice in it . . .> But on closer examination, she notes that while most people are aware of him immediately, only a few look, and most of them clearly are not scoping his body. No one so much as tries to talk to him. It is odd, and clearly not a threat as Valas observed. Of much more imminent concern - the Lady's Ward.

"Let me down here, Oberon," she says, giving the magma elf a pretty smile. "We'll walk. You grab more altitude and signal us of approaching Hardheads. No surprises, OK?"

"Hmmm? Oh yes. I comprehend." He lowers his disk, and adds with distinct enthusiasm, "we will need to devise a nonverbal signaling system! I have several memorized." Valas starts gesticulating with both arms. "This means `Astral Plane' . . . this means 'material spell component' . . . this means 'important reading material' . . ."

"Killraven, slow up. You and I are going to walk . . ." Lilah hops off of the disk, relieved to be free of Valas' detailed lessons. Valas is looking at his right hand as if it had betrayed him. He then starts moving his left in a semicircle. "This means 'interesting motes behind you' . ."

"Oberon . . ."

"This means `I am manipulating fire motes, stand clear of the blast area' . . ."

"OBERON!" Valas shakes his hands for a moment. "Hmmm? Was I proceeding to rapidly?"

"Oberon, just point with your elbows in the direction of any patrol that looks like it will intercept us. No one will be the wiser."

<Sigh>. "Yes, of course. Simplicity is called for due to the distance. I have the instructions and will meet you at the door of the Annex." Valas sends his disk higher and higher, and then moves off ahead of them. He does not gesture with his elbows. He scans the streets below for Harmonium. He also reviews what he has learned of the magic-dead area they will be visiting. And there is still the matter of the Abyssal spell keys . . .

Lilah takes one of Killraven's hands and starts after their floating friend.

At Lucias Adolphus' table in the Annex, things were starting to get interesting. Lucias looks across the table and smiles at the new arrival. Her name is Marryn. She is a player of at least moderate skill, but with her yellow hair, blue eyes, and tall, svelt figure, she is of more interest to Lucias than her ranking would otherwise dictate. After observing a few hands with her at the table, Lucias quickly discerns that she is after Ian's chip. She and Ian are closely matched and the contest between them would be most interesting, if Lucias lets it continue.

He folds his cards again and settles back into his chair to watch the last three players battle for the pot. Pennlow is still in, which means that all other things being equal both Ian and Marryn would be in a bit of trouble. Pennlow has, however, tipped that he is bluffing. Lucias suspects both Ian and Marryn know this and are not concerned with the hafling. And so, he watches the betting unfold and thinks of his own possibilities.

Lucias could use his cheat to get Marynn's chip. That would be interesting. Even now that buffoon Trohan, whom Lucias calls "friend", is looking through his folded cards trying to compute the hand he would have had if he had the temerity to stay in the pot with real players. But of course, Trohan always folds unless he has a sure winner. And of course he always sorts through his cards after to see if he should regret his decision. It is this simple habit that lets Lucias cheat. Well, that habit and Fil Brass.

He takes another look at the fetching Marryn. He promised himself he would only use his cheat once a night, and although the thought of getting Marryn's anything chip was certainly exciting, tonight there was at least the possibility that he would really need to use his cheat later. Besides, with his winnings he could afford entertainment with whomever could be found to sell her charms. <Its just always better if they don't want to...>. He sighs, licks his lips, and decides to wait.

Pennlow realizes he has tipped his bluff and folds. Marryn and Ian circle each other, both smiling as if they had no cares in the world. Lucias likes Marryn's smile. Perhaps he could get her chip during the last call if she and/or Ian are still here.

Lucias hears his minder smacking his lips behind him. "Brass? Why don't you get us all a round of . . . whatever?"

Brass grins. "I am already there . . ." <That always works smacking my lips. Its as dull as dirt just standing around. I'm going to get my trips even if I'm not thirsty.>

Lucias relaxes as the warrior leaves his post. He doesn't need Brass to watch the end of this hand. He really doesn't need Brass at all except to cheat. But for that, he REALLY needs Brass and it makes it worthwhile to indulge the minder's bottomless thirst and penchant for sarcasm.

Lucias twists the ring on his left middle finger. It is a black band with gold trim. It is a minor magic item that Lucias can use to replace items from a hand that holds the sister ring - in this case the hand of Trohan. It is a nifty little item that can allow small thefts to go undetected. Like all such items the ring does not work in the Annex, and it would not work at this moment should he care to use it. But as soon as Brass returns with libations for himself and the table and resumes his post behind Lucias chair Brass' own infamous magic-dead aura somehow negates locally the aura of the Annex.

And so, while Brass is behind him, Lucias can know all of Trohan's cards, which can help win a hand or two. And when he needs to, and Trohan holds a card he needs, Lucias can use his ring and no one's the wiser. Even Trohan doesn't know that his card has been swapped, since the sister item lets the holder believe that the replacement item was the original - a nice effect for the thief. In the big world there would likely be only limited chances to use such an item, depending on the wealth of the owner of the sister ring. For a player in the Annex, however, opportunities appear nightly.

Brass returns with a barmaid in tow. She passes out drinks for everyone and then waits for a tip. Ian, who has won the pot (but not Marynn's chip) obliges with a warm, flirtatious smile.

Lucias waits for Pennlow's deal. Five-card Monte again a game named after the most infamous player on the circuit. <Sigh. I hate Monte. I hated him when he was ahead of me on the board, and I still hate him even though he is in perpetual servitude in Baator. It was, though, a classic use of the anything chip . . .>

The peephole on the well-used door slides open.

"It's Lilah," she says to the peephole.

There is no reply. The hole closes.

Valas, who has lowered himself to street level, examines the wall through his disk. <Hmmm. Fire motes, electrical motes of both positive and negative charges, curses, frost, -- a veritable panoply. Well, one can conclude this method for ingress and egress is often contested through spellcasting. I also deduce that whatever process suppresses magic use within does not extend to the building's skin. This means a boundary must exist independent of the exterior, and likely the . . .>

"Oberon," says Killraven in his flat basso monotone, "the door has opened. Let's go."

"Hmmm? Oh yes, of course. Proceed." Before either of them make a move, a noisy black bird soars past them through the opening.

Lilah has already gone in and has been enfolded in the embrace of a hideous-looking vaguely humaniod glob of a man-thing. It has three eyes, one drooping uselessly on the end of a stalk, and arm that ends in a crab-like pincher, a hunched back, black scaly skin that looks as if it is oozing.

Moc takes a sharp right turn to avoid it.

"How have you been, you lump of pestilence?" asks Lilah affectionately.

Killraven replaces his half-unsheathed weapon. <Lilah knows that thing. Lucky for it.>

"What have you brought?" asks the glob thing.

"Ooops. My manners. Let's see - the big one is my minder, and the other is Oberon. He is here to observe. Gentleman," she says, apparently referring to Killraven and Oberon, "this is Checker. He and I go a ways back met him at the FestHall and he shared the dark of this place with me."

The drooping stalk perks up and joins the other two eyes in scanning the newcomers. Valas meets the look of the weird eye head on. <He is divining for magic . . >

"Welcome to the annex," Checker croaks. "Best step off your vehicle, Mr. Oberon. It won't work in here. Neither will anything else you have that's magical." He turns to look at Lilah, although the eyestalk continues to gaze unblinking at Valas (and he back). "Did you give them the chant?"

"Some. You'll have to read them the rights. I'm going to find a table. . ."

"Hold it, missy," Checker says with concern. "You ain't been in awhile. Things have . . . changed. The weasel is pretty much running the roost, if you know what I mean. None of the players will have you at their tables `cause he, sort of, has a seat on hold for . . . you."

Killraven starts to push into the room. "Wait a moment!" says Checker, as three Mercykillers intercept him. Killraven recognizes one of them . . Jayce. "The law is I have to read rubes the rules afore they can get in. It'll take all of two minutes."

"There is no need," replies Valas. "I have already noted, read and memorized the rules posted on the central ceiling beam. If there are no other regulations I am in compliance with your mandate and you may let me pass without further delay." Valas has gotten off his disk, and even with one step into the room he feels the slow deadening of magic. Checker seems to be standing at the edge of the field, with his eye stalk protruding out of the dead zone and into the space where motes still can live. <Absolutely fascinating. No motes at all appear in the interior and my disk still has its functionality from here. I must experiment further from within the radius of the dead zone.>

Valas walks slowly, stopping at the perimeter of the field and then enters it. He moves toward the center oblivious to Lilah, Killraven, or the many players gaming at their tables.

"He's not a player," Checker states. It is not a statement, not a question. "The weasel is at table four."

Lilah sighs. <I'm not going to let that ass Lucias bust me out of my night on the town.> She turns to Killraven, then walks up to him to speak quietly. Checker backs off and gives them some space. "Listen carefully to the rules, lover, and don't break any of them, or your Mercykiller friends are going to carve us like steaks . . . or at least try." She gives him a knowing, confident grin. "I'm going to play at table four. You stand behind my chair and watch my back. OK?"

He nods very slightly. The interior lights of the Annex reflect like stars off his glasses.

<Good>. Lilah looks down the aisle between the tables.

"Here's your chip, Missy," Checker says. He holds out to her a black chip edged with flames with the faintly glowing symbol of the Indeps in the center.

"Thanks, " she says, grasping it firmly. <And it is staying right here, where I can keep a good eye on it>. "Table four down the aisle, second table on the left in front of the bar?"

"Bullseye. Good luck. You're gonna need it. The chant is that the weasel has cheated his way to the top, although only Brutus and Krol have tried to call him on it. And they both died after their year in the Prison . . ."

"Spare me, Checker. I'm no gully and I don't need a roadmap. Later."

Killraven watches her go. She peels back her cloak after a few feet and releases her red hair. Then she shrugs it off her shoulders and slings it over one arm and struts toward her table. He has to remind himself that they are in her arena now, and she calls the shots here. But he doesn't like the looks she gets - the looks she wants - from the other players. He is glad of the dark glasses she gave him.

Checker looks him over. "Hmmm. I've seen lots of different kinds of cutters hereabouts. Nothing like you. What kind of creature are you?" he says, semi-suggestively.

Killraven stares at the blob-man. Moc lands on Killraven's arm and squawks at the strange looking creature.

"Not much for conversation? Me neither. I prefer the quiet . . ."

"Read me the rules."

Checker does not, and cannot mistake Killraven's expression. <Oh well, can't fault a body for tryin'>.

"Rule 1: Players only -- That means if you want to play, you have to get a sponsor and an anything chip. You know what the anything chip is? Lilah counts as your sponsor. You can get a chip"

<Would Lilah take a club and get into a pit fight?> "Next rule."

"Rule 2: Minders mind their own. That means you can stand behind your charge, but you can't speak unless spoken to. Most minders don't talk to players other than those they are minding. You can talk to whomever if you are not at the table. Rule 3: No magic, no mindpower. That explains itself. It won't work anyways."

"Keep going."

"Right. Rule 4: Anyone caught cheating loses the hand to the last one standing. That means, if a player stays in, proves another is cheating, that player wins the hand, gets the pot, and all of the table stakes the cheating berk has in front of him - or her. Minders stay out of this. Caught cheating is a term of art. Only players can catch each other and a body is caught only if the accuser can find another player that witnessed it. Minders, and any other body that's not a player, is not a witness. So you gotta stay out of scrapes about cheating."

"No I don't."

"But you do. Rule 5: No assaults on the premises. That means you can't raise your hand against nobody while you are in this building. Cheaters, accused, whatever. You got that one?"

"What happens if you break the rules?"

"You see those bloods in the red armor? They are Mercykillers. They'll either take you away to the Prison or execute you on the spot, depending on the offense. That's their job, and Rule 5 don't apply."

Killraven scowls and looks around the room. Lilah had been clear as to his role here. He would fill it. But with Mercykillers around he wasn't going to get caught short on the rules. He notes Jayce again, striding among the tables looking bored. <I don't think he recognizes me.>

"Read them again, blob-man."

"Checker. They call me Checker," the mongrel man sighs. "From the beginning . . ."

Rogan sneezes and stuffs his head back under his pillow. He had been sleeping soundly until the sneeze and the interruption angers him. It is not waking from a deep sleep that causes his pique, it is the cause of the sneeze.

"ahwoat ZIZIit?" he snorks into his bedsheets.

"Excuse me, master. I hundred thousand apologies! I knew you would be angry if I woke you and so I will go now. Here, let me tuck these in for you - maybe you will find eternal rest . . ."

Gauntwings efforts soil the lower half of Rogan's bed and raise such a cloud of dust that the stuff even gets under the pillow. Rogan sneezes again. He sits bolt upright and tosses the pillow aside.

"Get away from my bed! You sorry sack of ash . . ."

"Dust . . ." interrupts Gauntwing, cowering backwards.

Rogan starts choking on the stuff. <Yaghhh. I hate this. I REALLY hate this. When will it go away?>

"Like any creature of your intelligence, I am sure," adds Gauntwing, "that you do not want to bother with any news that might distract you from your rest. It doesn't matter anyway, of course. It is just that I am only doing your bidding . . ." Rogan is now fully awake and clears his throat. He risks opening one eye just a little, half expecting that his head is enveloped in a cloud of dust. His expectations are correct. <Damn it.>

Rogan speaks through clenched teeth so as to not get grit in his mouth. "You've awakened me already. Tell me why?"

"Yes, of course master," shrieks Gauntwing, hopping onto the foot of the bed. More dust is raised into the air.

Rogan covers his mouth. <Oh please, hurry up, you toad>

"As you instructed, I have been keeping an eye on your companions. You asked me to tell you if they are getting into trouble."

Silence.

"Gauntwing, are they in trouble?" <Why does this have to be so hard?>

"Yes. NO. Not exactly."

Silence.

<Groan> "Gauntwing, tell me what you know," Rogan says with resignation.

Gautwing is jubilent. "Yes! Gantwing will tell you EVERYTHING!"

Rogan flops back onto his bed, raising a cloud of dust. <I would cry, but my eyes would just get glued shut....>

An hour or so later, Rogan is dressing. Gauntwing has just left to resume his surveillance.

<As disgusting as it is . . . I must admit that it is useful to have a planar servant. Gauntwing can be resourceful, which may just save some behinds tonight. I am sure Valas - I mean Oberon, will gladly reward me for a tip that he and Lilah and Killraven are going to be ambushed. Of course, I'll have to take payment in something other than cash to satisfy his curious sense of duties between friends. That's fine. I think.>

Rogan pulls on his boots and gets his belongings. Then, thinking twice about his haste, he sits down on the bed.

<Well, if there is one mage about and after us, I suppose a certain Harmonium who owes me a lot might be tied in somehow. Best to go prepared. Especially if I am going to be in the Lady's Ward.>

He dumps out his things and starts repacking.

Ryan stares glumly at the tiny pot. No one stayed in to call his hand -- threatening four to a straight and with luck running for him, even the cutters at his table couldn't stand the heat. Only Eric had stayed in this far, and he seemed clearly done. But before he tosses in his cards, Eric's eyes widen and he looks over his friend's shoulder.

"What? What is it. Have you seen the light and found the kipper to stay in to the power?" asks Ryan.

"Its not the light I'm seeing, braggert. Something better. A lot better."

She struts down the center aisle, noting the familiar faces that stare and smile after her lithe form. Things haven't changed all that much. Only a few new faces she doesn't recognize, a welcome change, new bodies to learn from, after Adolphus is dealt with. <Perhaps I used his chip too lightly last time, if only I had sent him on an errand he wouldn't have returned from... but... what's done is done, maybe he learned a lesson... I doubt it.>

Lilah hears a chair being pushed out from one of the tables up ahead, soon followed by a quick response.

"Whoa, she's got to play with us, Ryan," says Eric, still holding his three "hole" cards in front of him.

Lilah quickly locates the table and smiles in the direction of the players, locking eyes with the one who is preparing her a chair. <Not bad, if I could stand dirty hair . . .>

Ryan turns and gets an eyeful of the fetching tiefling. His heart nearly stops as he recognizes her. "Not in this lifetime, Eric, and not at this table. That's Lilah, you berk." Eric does not break his gaze. "THE Lilah. Adolphus's Lilah!"

Eric smiles. <That's the one who got Adolphus real good, won his chip and made him sing and dance with his trousers around his ankles in front of the whole Annex. Ryan says it was the best thing he had seen in a long time. Fitting punishment for that sodding piker.>

"You know that weasel saves a seat at his table when the chant says she's in town. You want to tangle with Brass, you can give her YOUR seat."

Lilah stops, turns and winks at the one she identifies as Ryan, who she remembers as being a half-way decent player. <Not bad eye-candy either.>

He grins meekly tipping an imaginary hat in her direction. "Eric, close your mouth, you're droolin' on the cards." Laughter erupts from the table, Lilah passes by wishing she could join their fun instead.

She homes in on table four. Tables one through five are set in an area separate from the rest. They are reserved for the high-ups on the Annex list, apparently Adolphus had become one of them. She glances at the leader board behind the bar, <Number three, that cheat must have a real sweet peel working. Time to find out how he is doing it.>

Thrusting her shoulders back, emphasizing her apparent charms, she makes the final approach to table four. An opportunity arises to approach Adolphus' unprotected back, she takes it. Watching the others closely, she puts her finger to her lips, smiling at Pennlow when he recognizes her. Realizing what she is doing, the halfing looks quickly at the table to stifle his amusement The others at the table are not as observant and do not notice the tiefling until she is standing right behind Lucias.

Lilah bends over his right shoulder. Pennlow grins and the other two players gape at the view of Lilah's cleavage. She leans in real close to Adolphus' ear.

"I heard you wanted to play with me, Lucias." She says to him in her most sultry voice.

Lucias about jumps out of his chair when he realizes the tiefling is standing right behind him. Pennlow breaks out laughing. Ian quickly closes his mouth and recovers his composure.

<WHERE IS THAT &#%$#& BRASS!!!> Lucias composes himself quickly, and putting on his greasiest smile, he stands to greet the victim of all his scheming.

Adolphus looks around impatiently, searching for his minder. He eventually spots him up at the bar, holding their drinks in his hands, flirting with a barmaid. He calms himself, <Now take it easy, enjoy the game, you'll get her chip, just bide your time and make her sweat.>

Lilah observes his impatience, noting him calm only after he spots what he was looking for. < I wonder what's got the weasel so antsy. Must be looking for his minder. He's definitely scheming. Keep the guard up girl. What's taking Killraven so long?>

Lucias finds his tongue. "Lilah... so glad you could join us. It has been a very LONG time" He motions for Pennlow to move so that Lilah may sit directly across.

Lilah has other ideas. She is already sizing up the table. She recognizes the halfling and that bubber Trohan. She wants to sit to Lucias' right, so as to be in a better position to bluff him. Trohan has that seat, which if fine since he will fold most of the time anyway. <Besides, if I get to Trohan's right I might get to peek at his cards...>. A handsome youngster is sitting next to Trohan. Pennlow, who has the next seat over, is already standing and offering his spot to Lilah. The chair next to him is empty and a blonde woman, whom Lilah does not know, completes the circle and sits to Lucias' left.

Lilah smiles warmly at the company and starts a leisurely stroll toward the empty chair. As she passes the players -- Lucias, then Trohan, then Ian, she traces her index finger along the tops of their seat backs. Her quick eyes pick up what she seeks behind Ian's chair. The scent of perfume lingers as she gets to Pennlow's vacated spot.

"Good. Now that we are all here," says Lucias, gesturing for a hop to bring chips for the new player, "we can continue our little contest."

As Lucias finishes and sits, Brass joins them, resuming his usual position. He looks at the new player. <Well, what have we here? I think the boredom is about to disappear for the evening.> Brass smiles in open appreciation of Lilah's choice of apparel.

Pennlow takes a new spot next to Marynn and his empty seat. "I believe it is my deal . . ."

Lilah has not sat down. She looks disapprovingly at her chair. She crosses her right arm under her breasts and lifts her left hand to her lips. When she has everyone's attention, she pouts.

Lucias sighs. <Let the games begin . . .>

"Is something amiss," asks Ian solicitously.

"Yes, I am afraid so." Lilah flashes Ian her best distressed look. "You see, this chair has a solid back. There is no room for . . . this . . .!" She present her tail for public viewing to illustrate her predicament. "I noticed that YOUR chair . . ."

Pennlow grins as he shuffles the cards. <Whew, she can lay it on . .>

Ian stands up so quickly he nearly breaks a knee cap on the table top.

"You can have my seat. It is not particularly comfy, but there is room for your be . .. um, tail between the slats." He pulls it out for her to see.

"Thank you," says Lilah. She gives him an appreciative smile as they pass to exchange places. "I am glad there is at least ONE gentleman at our table."

<One gentlemen, no ladies>. Lucias frowns slightly at Lilah's choice of seats. He wanted to have at least one player between her and him. Trohan doesn't count. <Time to make a play for psychic superiority>.

"We have missed you here in the Annex, Lilah. I myself am perplexed that you have been able to find so many other things to do that you could never find the time to come back. In fact, I think you have not met some of our newer players."

Lilah settles into her seat and fingers a lock of her red hair. The warm smile is still on her face and her dark eyes flash with reflected flames. "So, who do we have here?"

"The lad who so graciously gave up his seat," offers Lucias sarcasticly, is Ian Decker." Ian nods his head slightly. She catches his eye although it was difficult to find a moment when he wasn't looking at her chest. <Oh, he's going to be too easy. Hmm, nice green eyes.>

"And of course you know Trohan, and Pennlow, always overly eager to please." He says with a hint of condescension in his voice. She notices Trohan for the first time, who apparently wasn't having the same problem noticing her, his eyes glued to her figure, a lustful grin on his face. "Pennlow, I believe it was your deal." Lucias states a bit louder than necessary to draw his attention from Lilah, and resumes his seat.

"To my left, the lovely Marynn de Caynen." The tiefling meets the woman's gaze, unsure whether to expect instant hatred or curiosity. Marryn eyes Lilah up and down, evidently enjoying the choice of garment Lilah wears as much as the men at the table. <Hmmm... she seems interested, good,I like playing the flirt instead of the competitor.>

The blonde woman smiles at Lilah. "Welcome. And watch out for him," she chides, indicating Lucias. "He is greedy with the pretty ladies."

< Maybe I can get her on my side>. "Thanks for the chant."

"Oh," adds Lucias, with affected casualness. "This is Brass." He points over his shoulder to the bearded warrior. "He's my minder." Lucias cannot completely conceal his self-satisfied grin. Brass is the best in the business and everyone knows it.

Lilah looks unconcerned. This irks Lucias. As the hop counts out some chips for Lilah, Lucias tries to press his advantage. "Of course, I wouldn't expect someone in the middle of the board like yourself to concern yourself with the need for a minder. After all, who would . . ."

Lilah's thin smile starts to brighten. She looks over Lucias' shoulder and up the aisle, and begins to see a familiar pattern forming, the crowd quieting and fluxing as a black cloaked figure strides toward their table. Moc cuts ahead and flops unceremoniuosly onto the middle of the table, kicking a few of Trohan's chips.

Again, Pennlow smiles.

"What's this?" asks Marynn.

She cannot resist turning the tables a little bit. "Oh really, weas . . . I mean, Lucias, do you think I would bring my little basket of goodies <she squirms slightly to make the point> to a table full of wolves like this one without a little . . . protection?" She raises her delicate left eyebrow to punctuate the point.

With his back to the isle, Lucias is the last to notice. When he finally catches a look at Lilah's minder he can only sigh. <If I have to pledge my soul to every fiend in the nine hells I am going to get the better of you, woman.>

It is only one hour into the game before Lilah busts Ian. She was holding a concealed full house which Ian could have smelled out had he not been distracted. Unfortunately for the youth, Lilah had for the last hand or so begun sipping her drink using the straw as a pipette. Every time she filled it with the milky liquid, and tipped her head back slightly to lift the bottom of her straw to her red lips, he would forget to count the cards. During the hand that broke him, he was watching the progress of a droplet that fell on her left breast and made its way slowly toward the locket chain in the cleft of her bosom. He did not notice that no sevens had appeared among the twenty four up cards, save the one in Lilah's hand. Her seven over fours topped his low flush, and he was done.

Ian pushes his chair back slowly, shaking his head with disbelief.

He raises his green eyes towards Lilah. "The next time you and I are both here at the same time, do me a favor and just say 'hi' like you did for Ryan over there, and that way I can pay my rent."

Lilah laughs at this remark. "Stick around for a while. You never know what might happen to a body with nice green eyes looking for a place to stay the night."

Killraven shifts slightly in his position behind Lilah. The evening had been very tiring already. <If that berk falls for Lilah's screed he deserves whatever I give him . . .>. He eyes the dandy from behind the security of his dark glasses. Moc shifts on his shoulder, waking from a nap.

"I know when I have been bested, lady," Ian says, bowing with exagerated formality. "And, since I value greatly the few small things that you have left me with, my shirt and shoes, for example, I'll not risk them for a place to stay."

Lilah pouts. <Is Killraven scowling at him?> "Suit yourself Ian. Here, buy yourself a drink." She flips him a chip.

Lucias groans with disgust. He has not had a single opportunity to get Lilah's chip. That bubber Trohan is folding quickly so that he can steal a few looks into Lilah's lap. The berk never has any cards that are worth the bother to cheat. Besides, Lilah is peery every time Lucias starts betting.

"Pennlow, isn't it your deal again?"

"Yep. But if you don't mind, I'll just take my own sweet time. I am having SOOO much more fun now."

It is two hours later.

Valas has completed his observations and experiments regarding the conditions in the Annex. He has cooled somewhat with the passage of time, so he found a metal bar stool and used a bare hand to heat it to the maximum it could bear without collapsing into liquid.

<The aura that is noxious to the motes originates with the foundation stones and diminishes with height somewhat, stopping near the inner surface of the ceiling. I deduce that the field is related to the mass of the suspect substance in the floor and weakens in a non-linear fashion. Aside from the floor, the structure would appear to be susceptible to magic . . .>

He is deep into recounting his observations and does not notice at first that two minders have been staring at him. Both had come to the bar to bring back drinks to table 2 and both found the peculiarly dressed Oberon of interest.

"Hullo!" says one. "Is there anyone inside that suit!" The other laughs.

"Hmmm?" Valas lets down one level of concentration to respond to the intrusion. "If you are inquiring as to the existence of a sentient life form within the confines of this admittedly unique exo-suit, the response is - affirmative."

"What did he say?" asks one of the other. "Beats the living tar out of me," the other replies. "But I'm tired of standing here waiting for this space of the bar to open up."

"Hey, suit," says the first rudely. "Move your 'exo-ass' off of my barstool so me and my mate here can get some proper drinks."

Valas has returned to his analysis and does not respond.

"Berk!" shouts the second, "move!"

Valas turns back toward the men. <How annoying> "I suppose this means you are prepared to resort to violence if I do not promptly remove myself from the vicinity. Naturally, since it would be pointless to match physical prowess with you, I will comply presently. I feel I should, however, warn you that I . . ."

"Cut the gas, berk. Just move!"

"I should have appreciated earlier that my attempts to elucidate would result in your predictable irrational demand to hasten my departure. Actually, I did anticipate this result." Without further ado, Valas gets up. <Now would be an opportune time to visit with my companions at table f our>.

He is safely within sword reach of Killraven when the screams tear through the noise and music of the Annex. Killraven immediately looks for the source, although he does not leave his post since both Lilah and Valas are obviously safe. The others at table 4, save Lilah, crane their necks toward the commotion.

Lilah looks at Valas and raises an eyebrow. His face is hidden behind his helmet, but he picks up the glance and responds.

"Heat conduction is a universal non-arcane phenomenon."

And while the commotion continues and cries of distress echo in the Annex, there is the sound of woman's laughter at table 4.

Twenty minutes later, Lucias wins Marynn's anything chip. The pretty blonde can hardly force her eyes from the table to meet the gloating gaze of the winner. Lilah is consternated. Marynn had been fine table company and she was actually starting to like her. To everyone's surprise, Marynn does not leave the game as is customary following the loss of a body's chip.

"You don't need to stay and watch, my lovely," sneers Lucias. "I promise I'll call you when I need you."

"I still have chips left. Maybe I can win it back." Her voice is low and barely audible. Lilah is saddened by the pitiful display. Marynn's willingness to endure the loss of dignity engendered by staying in the game bears grim testimony to her desperation in losing her chip to Lucias.

Lucias laughs cruelly, joined by a now drunk Trohan. "My my, how unbecoming for a lady. Wasn't it just a few hours ago that you strutted your pert behind to my table thinking to bob me for a few cage? And now you think I would sell you your chip back in a pot like a cheap bet? Not very damn likely, is it?" Lucias does not let up. "I said, not damn likely, is it Marynn?"

"no," she replies, her voice quavering.

"Leave off, Lucias," says Lilah, trying to keep a detached tone to her voice. "She still can play if she wants. You never know . . ."

"Trog-farts. We all know." Lucias snorts. "Marynn, my pretty, I am telling you right now, that I won't even consider selling your chip into the pot for jink on a bet." He puffs himself up and then looks back at Lilah. His eyes drift from her red hair to her flashing eyes, to the soft mound of her chest. He squirms.

<I think she feels bad about this. Let's see how bad>

Marynn starts to scoop her remaining winnings off of the table. She stops. "Please. Please give me a chance to win it back."

Behind Lucias, even the stoic Brass starts to feel uncomfortable. <Just spend the chip on something trivial and show us all you are not a complete ass-wipe, weasel. Come on, earn a little respect>.

Lucias continues to press. "OK, you want me to put it in play? Let's see how badly you want it. " He settles himself lower into his chair and pulls his hands off of the table top.

"Looking at sweet Lilah has given me . . . considerable wood. If you would be so kind as to crawl under the table and relieve me with your mouth, I give you my solemn vow that I shall put your chip into play tonight. Of course, I can't promise you that you'll be in the pot to call me. But at least someone else might have a chance to win it, and I suspect that would suit you."

There is a deafening silence. Much of the Annex has quieted, as is often the case as word spreads that a chip has been won. Marynn's cheeks turn scarlet and she clenches her jaw.

Lilah can no longer stand it. "Pike off, you pigfucking blowhard. I've known you to behave like an arse, now you have shown you are the arse-hole too." Lilah scowls openly at him. <No wonder there is a no assault rule. It would almost be worth a year in Prison to peal the skin off your arms, layer by layer, you piking animal>

"That's enough, weasel," snorts Pennlow. "You've made your point.

Lucias ignores the halfing, but not Lilah. "I see your tongue has a bit of a fork in it - goes with your tail." He lets the crack sink in, knowing that Lilah, like most tieflings, does not like backhanded references to her heritage. "What is it that I am doing that is different from what you have been doing all night? Your pouts, the innuendo, your outfit so tight you couldn't slip a piece a paper into your sleeve . . . you practically sucked poor Ian right through your straw in front of all of us . . . your damn mellons hanging out . . ."

A cold wave washes over him and freezes his bones.

<What the devil!?> Lucias quickly scans the table. Marynn still has not looked up, although her expression has a hardened determination to it. Trohan is looking at Lilah's chest, as usual. Pennlow is glaring at him and shuffling the cards. Lilah looks at him with open disgust. All is as it should be . . . Then he catches the stare of Lilah's minder, and the fear washes over him again. He cannot see the eyes -- they are hidden behind dark glasses, but he can feel the stare. The glasses are set on a strong face that displays a slight displeasure. No words are spoken but during the moment that he holds the minder's hidden eyes he knows with a certainty that he has irrevocably crossed some line - and that there was a price that would have to be paid for it. A steep price.

He loses his composure for a second, certain he is about to be killed. "Brass . . ." he chokes, "stop him!"

Brass knows immediately of whom Lucias speaks. He calmly eyes Killraven, who has not so much as moved a muscle during the exchanges with Marynn. Jayce and a few of the Mercykillers approach the table, anticipating trouble.

Brass and Killraven exchange stares for a minute. Neither moves. "Very well. I have stopped him, Adolphus," Brass concludes sarcastically. "Have you some other daunting task for me, or are you actually going to finish this game?"

Snickers echo from around the room and the tension is broken. Lucias is still too cowed to respond. He straightens in his seat and does his best not to look in Lilah's direction.

"Since she isn't bust, Marynn can stay if she wants. If you don't like it, you can find some other beauty to bob," Pennlow pronounces.

"Whatever," says Lucias, somewhat deflated. <Don't get your hopes up Marynn. I have big plans for your chip and they do not include giving it back to you . . .>.

Lucias glumly watches as the cards get dealt. On the surface, everything had gone as planned. Since Lilah was too peery to stay in when he had a hand, since she was too good for him to bluff, he had to rely on a more unorthodox strategy. Getting Marynn's chip was part of that strategy. Getting Lilah interested in Marynn's chip was another. He should be pleased, but instead, he feels somewhat queasy about it.

After the cards are dealt and new possibilities are distributed, Lucias finds his feeling of impending doom diminishes. He again focuses on the task at hand. Get Lilah, get Lilah, get Lilah.

It is an hour later. Lilah and Marynn have been steadily winning. Lucias has been slowly losing. Pennlow has stayed even and Trohan has kept drinking. Pennlow has abandoned five card monte and is dealing straight seven card stud. On the fourth card, Lilah draws the queen of diamonds to go with her two queens in the hole. It is a nice concealed hand. Lucias seems to be working on a straight. Lilah decides to go for Marynn's chip.

Valas has long ago lost interest in the game. Prohibited from communicating directly with the players or even approaching the table, he stands straight as a statue the appointed distance away, and reviews a book he scanned recently about magic resistance. <There seems to be no mention in this treatise of a substance that has the properties of the floor of this structure. There are, however, references to other works. I wonder if I have scanned any of them?>

"Pardon me."

It takes a moment for Valas to focus back on the Annex. "Hmmm? Yes?" It is Lucias' minder, the one called Brass.

"The game is getting a bit . . . interesting. I noticed that you came in with Lilah and her minder. I thought you might want to know."

Valas studies the man a bit more closely. <His physique comports with the norm for a fighter. Weapons are of exceptional quality but are not remarkable. Face is scarred and plain, except for notable drooping mustache. No doubt a capable killer.> "My thanks, friend. May I approach the table more closely to observe the strategy unfolding? I am unable to listen to the conversational exchanges with acuity from this distance and my understanding is that what is said is of paramount consideration in determining . . ."

"Yeah. You have to stand over Lilah's shoulder though since they are the bodies you came in with." <Gods. This berk is full of blather. Must be some sort of sage.> "And, no talking." The latter is added with some satisfaction.

"Of course. I deduce that overt verbal communication with any player might be misconstrued as a conspiracy to cheat." Valas follows the minder to table 4. He takes a position near Killraven's left shoulder, and watches Brass take his spot behind Lucias.

The fourth up card is dealt. Lucias, with four cards to a high straight flush, has been betting high. Lilah, Marynn, and Pennlow had all stayed in until the fourth card. With Lucias threatening all kinds of power with his up cards, they fold to his strong bet. Lilah does not.

She has drawn a pair of sevens up. With her queens that gives her a full house. <Lucias probably has a flush or, less likely, a straight. I beat either of these hands. Lucias cannot get trips higher than jack, which means even if he draws a concealed full house he can't beat me, and he has no cards showing that he can turn into four of a kind. I've got him>. Lilah dips her index finger into her mouth, feigning concern and pretending to agonize over whether to call Lucias' bet. She deliberately leans back into her chair to draw another leer from Trohan.

As he looks down her cleavage, she looks at his three hole cards, which, as is his habit, he holds in his hand. The only card that can beat her is the queen of clubs. Trohan has it. <Go ahead and look, bubber. You're never gonna get it.>

Lilah smiles seductively and fingers her anything chip. <Lucias will know I have him if I bet my chip. But knowing him, he'll have to stay in and call me in order to avoid losing face, since he has bet hard the whole game. He won't put his chip in, knowing I'll win it. So, I get Marynn's, and a boost up the leader board. Good deal.>

Killraven's eyes shift to Lilah's fingers as the caress her chip. He doesn't understand the game, the strategy, or the betting. He does know, however, that loss of that chip is tantamount to loss of freedom. The owner can compel the loser to do anything. He knows that if that chip gets into the pot she could lose it to another player and right now, the only other player still in is Lucias Adolphus.

Killraven looks up from Lilah's hand. Lucias' minder, the one called Brass, is looking right back at him, his face a mixture of amusement and confidence. Killraven returns the look. <I think we are alike, Fil Brass. We had better be, or one of us is likely to end up dead in a few minutes>.

Lilah picks up her chip and prepares to toss it into the pot. She notes an expression of mild surprise on Lucias' face. <Poor baby. Now you know I have a better hand. Give up Marynn's chip and we'll call it a night.> She does not see Valas visibly flinch as she makes her move.

She smiles sweetly as her chip hits the table. Instantly, the room quiets and a few more spectators gather. Pennlow is frowning, which is making Lilah a bit uncomfortable. <What? I can't lose this hand Pennlow. What did I do?>

A viper's smile appears on Lucias' face. He takes out a piece of paper and lays it on the table. He then produces a quill and ink, and writes down a few words. Although he is doing it in the open (to quiet any implication of foul play), Lilah cannot make out the words. When he is done, he calls over a Mercykiller and hands it over. The fighter reads it, and nods, all apparently in order. He takes it away.

"I am informing a . . . mutual acquaintance of ours, that I have just scored quite a coup," he sneers, reaching for Marynn's chip. "As tempted as I am to use you in the basest ways I can imagine, which is pretty base, you are worth a whole lot more in trade. Well, at least Dirkaly has agreed that I can "visit" with you if you are not already dead when he is done. That will have to do. Besides, I still have Marynn upon whom I can work off my agressions."

Lilah's eyes narrow. Killraven sucks in his breath. <There will be a reckoning for this . . .>.

Still smiling his snakey smile, Lucias drops Marynn's chip into the pot. Then, he reaches for his own. "I raise . . ."

Lilah's heart skips a beat as she realizes her mistake. She was so caught up having a lock on the winning hand she totally lost sight of the fact that she did not control the pot. <Raised! I don't have another chip. I can't call him. I have the winning hand and I am gonna lose to this sodding arsehole!??!?>

"What's the matter, Lilah? Are you a little short? What a shame that there is no credit that can be extended to call my bet. Now you'll never get to see if your concealed hand really does beat me. What a shame, shame, shame." Lucias laughs, long and hard, savoring the public vengeance against his enemy.

Lilah's face turns ashen. Lucias continues laughing until Killraven interrupts his moment. "You talk to much, and you laugh to DAMN much," he says in his monotone.

Lucias' blood freezes again, but only for a moment. Brass intones, "no talking. You are a minder. You cannot speak to a player unless spoken to." The two warriors again lock eyes, and now the Mercykillers circle the table. Jayce puts a hand on Killraven's shoulder.

"He's right. You're new, so you get some slack. No talking."

Lilah's heart sinks. She considers a desperate attempt to grab her chip (and Marynn's) out of the pot, but the proximity of the Mercykillers makes that a very dangerous gambit, even backed by Killraven. She is about to give in, when Killraven's black gloved hand appears under her nose. In it, there is an anything chip. It is gold, trimmed with black. In the center, there is a raven.

She looks over her shoulder at him. His face is angry, but terrifyingly confident. When she looks into his glasses, the anger fades.

"Are you sure?" <Of course you're sure. What choice do you have -- I guess I bet us both away anyhow> She already knows the answer and finds her strength rapidly returning. She won't lose.

"That's not fair! He's not a player! You can't get table stakes from somebody not at the table! Especially not an anything chip!" Lucias looks around for confirmation. He gets none.

"Actually, nothing prohibits it, Lucias," Pennlow announces. "While it is never done, probably because no one is barmy enough, it isn't forbidden. Not that I know of."

"Me either," adds Marynn quickly, finding her own smile.

Trohan shrugs.

"It's a good call then, if the minder agrees to it," Jayce says, referring to Killraven.

"I get to talk now?" he asks sarcastically.

"Yes."

He puts the chip in Lilah's hand and gives it a squeeze. "Take it." He looks slowly up at Lucias. "But when you win the pot, I get HIS."

Fil Brass barely holds in his mirth. The weasel is being outdone, and it couldn't have happened in a better way than this.

With four anything chips in the pot the entire Annex has ceased operations and the crowd is four deep around the table. It is all Valas can do to keep people far enough away so that he can maintain his view. <Something unusual about the one called Adolphus. There! Yes, definitely. Motes around the left ring finger!>

Lucias sits back and feigns dejection. Lilah triumphantly tosses in Killraven's chip.

"Pot is right," says Pennlow.

"I call," smirks Lilah. "I've got a full house. Queens over sevens." She restrains herself from grabbing the pot too quickly, although the desire to get her chip and Killraven's back into safe hands is nearly overwhelming. <And what does that berk have to do with Dirkaly?>

Lucias turns over his hole cards. In them are the eight of clubs and the . . . . QUEEN OF CLUBS? "Straight flush. Even at this table, where rules still seem to get bent against me, I believe that beats your full house." <I DID IT. I GOT YOU YOU BITCHY DAUGHTER OF A FIENDISH WHORE!!!! I DID IT I DID IT I DID IT!>

Lucias starts to cackle, and then laugh. Pennlow stares with shock at the cards. <Straight flush? That happens about once a year . . .>

Lilah does not take her eyes off of the queen of clubs. Just moments ago she had seen it in Trohan's hand. Now, it was on the table in front of Lucias. He cheated. She is so surprised and furious, she cannot control herself.

"You cheated! You sodding berk, trying to bob me? You cheated, I . . ." her voice trails off as she regains some self control. Her cheeks are flushed and she blinks back tears. <I'm sorry. I'm sorry raven man. Oh by the gods, I've given this souless needle dick power over you. I should be executed right here on the spot.>

Jayce interjects. "Pot stays where it is until this is worked out. You know the rules Lilah. You called a cheat, you gotta come up with a witness at the table or we get a piece of you for the Prison. That's the chant."

For a moment, Lilah panics and is reminded of her dream. Before the flames come, Moc hops onto the table in front of her, looking at her for some food. She laughs softly. The bird is a gentle reminder that she is not alone, and it calms her.

Valas angles for some open space and situates himself where Lilah can see him. <Verbal communication is forbidden. That should not be much of an obstacle, provided I can command a bit of her attention>

Jayce looks at Lilah. "Well? Who do you want as a witness?"

"A moment," she sighs. <THINK, think, think. Be like Valas. Deduction. Let's see. How?> She begins to doubt her own eyes, wondering if the queen really was in Trohan's hand. But thinking of Valas causes her to seek his whereabouts. She spots him a few yards away, standing behind a dwarf. She is comforted to see him, and makes a stab at grim humor, saying aloud . . . "kind of a tight spot. I don't suppose you'd let me take it back if I drop my trousers and dance on the table, would you?" she asks of Lucias.

The comment brings some laughter into the room from those that had witnessed Adolphus' humiliation more than a year ago.

"NO. I suppose not," Lucias replies impatiently. "Whose going to speak for you, whore?"

Having secured Lilah's attention, if only briefly, Valas starts waving his hand repeatedly. <This means "dangerous motes." Come on, Lilah, I am positive that you have the acumen to remember my simple instruction on nonverbal communication>.

Lilah stares at the lava elf for a moment. <What in the nine hells is he doing? Waving his arms like . . .> She startles herself with recognition of the signal. <Motes? Magic?>

When Valas sees she comprehends <Excellent!> he then runs his right finger up and down his left central finger. The hand sign might be perceived as somewhat obscene to the uneducated. To Lilah, its meaning is clear. She looks at Lucias' left hand and sees the ring. Then she looks at Trohan's right hand, and sees its mate. <Oooooooh. That's it. Magic rings, lets you swap cards. You cheating motherfucker.>

Lilah steams, but stays calm. <I need a witness > Trohan? No. Either he doesn't know or he is owned by Lucias. Marynn and Pennlow wouldn't know. The only reliable witness would be Lucias, who will simply lie about it. Even if the room weren't magic dead, she couldn't even ask for a spell to help seek the truth.

Lucias is looking at her greedily, as if she were sitting there naked and waiting for him to despoil. <Figured it out, maybe? It doesn't matter. It never does. You're mine.>

His gloating is again interrupted by Lilah's minder, who has enveloped him in his dark, deadly gaze. The minder shows absolutely no concern over having his chip in deep jeopardy.

Lucias grumbles. "Hurry up, my dear," he says to Lilah, "I find your minder's stupid staring to be uncomfortable. I would like to take the pot and cash out, and leave you with our red-armored friends."

Lilah perks up. <Killraven's right. You do talk too much.> She composes herself as a plan comes to her. She is not certain it will work, but it is the only chance that she has. She suddenly feels exhilarated. She will be relying on Killraven for part of the execution, but that's the way it is supposed to be.

She turns to her minder. He is the only person at the table she can now speak to. She pulls his ear near her and whispers to him. Killraven slowly starts to smile. "I knew you would think of something," he says to Lilah. As he raises his head, he gives Lucias a pointed look, and then leaves his post and goes over to Jayce.

Lucias watches him warily. <What are they up to?> He lets his left hand creep closer to the pot, his own cowardice starting to seep in and undermine his confidence.

"Do you know me?" Killraven says to Jayce, removing his glasses.

"Yes."

"I believe you to be a man of honor, Jayce of the Mercykillers. I have said as much to my charge, Lilah. She has agreed with my judgment."

"What is your point?"

"She would like you to interrogate her witness."

There is some commotion in the room at this. The other Mercykillers huddle to discuss it. Hushed conversations break out at other tables.

Jayce stares in disbelief. "Me? I don't know her at all. I could care less if she goes to Prison. Why me?"

"You will be fair, and speak truthfully."

Jayce looks to the knot of his fellows. They shrug, leaving it to him. He likes Killraven. While he wouldn't cross the street for most of the players in the Annex, he is not above doing a turn for a person like Killraven.

Lucias starts to feel a bit queasy. Jayce doesn't like him, but it makes no sense for Lilah to let him ask. Unless...

As they approach the table, Killraven makes one more point. "It is true, isn't it Jayce, as you explained to me when you were trying to recruit me to your faction, that a namer Mercykiller knows when he is being lied to?"

Jayce suddenly catches on to the game. "Absolutely true." <Of course, it doesn't work in the Annex.> Jayce is now standing next to Lilah at the table. Killraven moves to Lilah's right.

"OK, miss. I'll ask, if you tell me the questions aloud, so everyone can hear we aren't up to something. Whose your witness?"

Lilah looks to her left with grim satisfaction, and then points at Lucias. "Him."

The room is abuzz with excitied conversation. Bets are being placed on who will take the pot.

Lucias nearly faints. He wants to run but the crush of people prevent it. He is caught tightly in the trap. <How?>

The room explodes with noise but is quickly calmed by the shouting of the other Mercykillers. Jayce looks at Lucias, whose expression gives its own testimony. <You did cheat, didn't you weasel?>

Lilah considers her question for a moment. "Ask him: Did he use the ring on his left hand to take the queen of clubs from Trohan's hand to make his straight flush?"

Jayce repeats the question.

Lucias visibly trembles. He doesn't know about this power of Mercykillers. Whatever the power might be though, it shouldn't work in the annex. Maybe Lilah is bluffing.

"No," he blurts.

The Annex is enveloped in silence. Jayce's brow furrows in concentration for a moment.

"He's lying," he says, surprised and confused that he was able to tell so easily and certainly. Lilah squeals with glee and leaps off of her seat in triumph. Marynn leaves off of hers and embraces the tiefling. Pennlow jumps onto his chair and whistles. Trohan takes a deep draught.

Lucias eyes nearly pop out of his head. <How? How? How?>.

Out of the corner of his eye he catches a mail gloved hand moving over his left shoulder. It holds two ladys.

<Brass?> Lucias is now sweating profusely.

"I don't work for cheats," says the veteran. "Here's a refund for tonight's wages. I quit. And you should know, since you smeared up my good name as a minder and have probably cost me plenty in jink for future wages, I am taking a number and if there is anything left of you after prison, I will kill you the very next time I lay eyes on you."

He drops the two ladies into the pot.

<Brass? BRASS !!!!> The realization sickens him. The very thing that helped him cheat got him caught. Brass. The Mercykiller's power worked on him because of Brass.

Lilah cannot contain her joy and she raises her arms in triumph. The room erupts in applause and laughter. Players come over to congratulate her. Four chips in one pot? Remarkable. Taking down the number 3 player on a cheat? Astounding, marvelous, miraculous.

Killraven sets his jaw and makes room for Lilah's numerous admirers. He is still staring at the crestfallen Adolphus. Slowly, the gladiator makes his way around the table to Marynn's now empty chair.

Lilah regains her senses and turns to get her chips out of the pot. <First things first. I'd be bugged if they disappeared . . .> She notices Killraven now standing next to Adolphus and out of her reach. There is no mistaking his expression. <Bast! Stop! Oh shit.>

Two Mercykillers are on either side of Lucias' chair as Killraven closes. He looks at them.

"Leave him for a moment." It is not a request. Jayce nods his assent from behind Trohan's chair as he collects the ring off of the bubber's finger.

Lucias' eyes widen at the approach of Lilah's minder. "What are you going to do? You can't touch me. The no assualt rule!" Lucias is desperate.

Killraven grabs Lucias' left hand and yanks it to the table.

"Owwwww! Let go, you barmy sodding berk."

"Killraven! Don't! Let him be . . ." <Are you trying to get a ticket to the Prison?> She feels the unwelcome panic in her gut as she tries to get past Marynn and into position to stop her lover from doing something stupid. <Bast! Too crowded!> "MOVE!!" she yells.

The shouts again quiet the room.

"Killraven, he's right," says Jayce calmly. "You can't assault a player in here, even one that is a confirmed cheat. Not that threatened assault is a crime . ."

<Oh, BIIIIG help> Lilah snorts as she pushes by Marynn.

Killraven has not moved his glare from Lucias. Their eyes locked, Killraven pronounces, "Rule 4: Anyone caught cheating . . ." his right hand pulls free his exceptional steel axe . . .

Lilah dives at him, "NO!"

" . . . loses the hand to the last one standing." He chops through Lucias' arm at the wrist. Blood spurts onto the table top from both the severed hand and the stump, which Killraven promptly releases. Marynn simply faints.

"You lose."

Again there is stunned silence. The no assault rule in the Annex had been unbroken for years. Now, a severed hand lays on the table. Lucias is crumpled back into his chair, waving his wounded arm like a leaking flagpole, mumbling "no assault rule . ."

For several heartbeats, nothing happens. Then the Mercykillers move in for an arrest.

"Well done," says a voice from the crowd. Lilah immediately recognizes it as Valas. Her heart is beating wildly. She has the presence of mind to grab the four anything chips from the pot before the spreading pool of blood sullies them.

"I believe the minder's interpretation of Rule 4, although literal, is correct. We have a conflict between this rule and Rule 5 governing assaults. If there is a Guvner present I am certain a ruling could be had as to what consequences should follow from a presentation of such a conflict. Have we such a learned fellow?"

The room is silent. Guvners do not frequent the Annex. They are not good gamblers nor fun to play with.

<As I anticipated> He looks at Jayce. "Since no Guvners are present, I believe it is within your discretion to suspend enforcement of the rules at issue until such time as a proper decision is made? After all, Mercykillers do not interpret the laws . . ."

"Um, yeah, that's right," says Jayce uncertainly. "But since this is a private establishment, we can't take up a rule with the Guvners unless a petition is filed.

"Very well. Does anyone present desire to file the petition?"

There is no response. Lucias has no friends, save one. "I do," moans Lucias. <If it is the last thing I do, I'll see that barmy in the Prison with me . . .>

Lilah steps away from the table and saunters over to Lucias, her tail twitching. "What did you say, weasel?"

He cannot look her in the eye as he cowers in his seat, still bleeding.

She bends closer to him, suffocating him in her perfume. She pulls his chin toward her, forcing him to look. She puts his anything chip under his nose.

"Say again?" She closes her hand over the chip and feigns concentration. "Didn't you just say, 'let's forget the whole thing'?"

He starts to feel faint. "Let's forget the whole thing " Lucias passes out.

"You'd better get him outta here. I wouldn't want him to die before he sees the inside of the Prison."

A trickle of laughter flutters around the room. The two Mercykillers drag Lucias away.

"I guess, since no one is asking, we don't need a ruling," says Jayce.

Cheers fill the Annex again, and the band starts playing. Several of the players again crowd Lilah. She looks into her hand. She still has Lucias's chip. Just like the last time when he obliged by jumping up on the table with his pants down, the berk did what she asked without using it up. Like everything else (or almost it seems), the chips don't work in the Annex. Of course, there was no point in telling that to Lucias.

Someone had revived Marynn, and she is among the knot of players pressing in on Lilah.

"Don't forget about my chip,' she says in a sultry voice. "I owe you big time, and I know how to pay back."

"Oh, I won't," Lilah replies, smiling.

"Hey Lilah, how about a dance?" shouts Ryan. Other voices add their votes to the call.

Lilah ignores them. She pushes a few admirers out of the way and gets over to Killraven. She wraps both arms around him and gives him a big squeeze.

"Hey," he says softly, that half-smile appearing for the first time since they came into the Annex. "What about the no touching rule?"

"It was my rule. I can break it," she says, snuggling into him. "Besides, I am finding out that you can be a 'handy' guy to have around."

The laughter slowly fades, but the celebratory mood of the patrons of the Annex remains. The band starts up a sultry song, and again there are calls for Lilah to dance. Most of the players have given up their games for now and are talking about what they have just witnessed.

Lilah steps up a chair and onto a table, careful not to slip on the chips. "Everybody! In honor of every man Adolphus bobbed and every sister he insulted, drinks are on HIM!" She holds up a handful of chips.

The noise in the room intensifies and Lilah is again surrounded by acquaintances, well-wishers, and would-be suitors. Killraven takes the opportunity to find a pillar that needs some bolstering. He leans against it and crosses his arms.

He casually scans the room from behind his sunglasses. He notes that Valas has struck up a conversation with Lucias' former minder. The hair on Killraven's neck prickles. <He and I may have something to settle. I don't want Valas in the middle of it>

He leaves the pillar to its own devices and slowly walks toward Brass and Valas. Moc circles once and decides Lilah and her guests are much more likely to produce something interesting to eat, so he wings over there for a visit.

Brass looks up at his approach.

Valas does not give Killraven a chance to make his typical surly greeting. "Welcome. Lord Brass and I . . ."

"Fil. Fil Brass. No one calls me "lord" of anything."

" . . . Fil and I have just resolved the remaining bit of mystery regarding the play at table 4. It seems that Lor.. Fil Brass is from a prime world where there is no magic. Since he is made from plasma that lacks motes, his personage, even his configuration, normally repel completely any intrusion of arcana within a certain distance of his body. It seems that his natural aura locally negates the field in the . . . ."

"Whatever you say, Oberon." Killraven is clearly not listening. He is looking intently at Brass, and Brass at him.

Valas is not the least bit irritated. <It is of no concern to them, nor should it be. Lilah would be interested.> He decides to look for her.

Fil Brass thoughtfully rubs the stubble on his chin that passes for a beard as he calmly regards Lilah's minder. He is a little curious. <You are different . . . aren't you. Let's see>

"Let me guess," asks Fil, finally breaking the silence between them, "you think I want a piece of you because of what you did to my man Lucias Adolphus, am I right?"

"Do you?"

Fil thinks for a moment. "No. Not now. You took off his hand after I quit. If he had shown any real potential to be a human being, I still might have had to take you down. But he's a weasel and I don't put my honor on the line for dumb animals."

Slowly, a half smile forms on Killraven's lips. "I thought it might be something like that. You seem to be a man of quality, so I felt obliged to give you a chance to repair your reputation if you wanted."

Fil smiles back. "Thanks for the offer. Not too many bloods go out of their way to let me take a chiv to them. Are you thirsty?

"Dry as a desert."

"Come on. I think there is something else I want to talk to you about anyway." He leads Killraven around the crowds to the end of the bar. He takes a seat, and notes that Killraven stands at the end where he can keep an eye on Lilah and Oberon.

<He's not like most minders. Even Jayce did him a turn. Hells, I've known Jayce for five years and he wouldn't do me a turn. And now, I'm standing in line too. Well, I just don't want to see . . . what did he say? A "quality" guy, go down right outside the door to that looney Lewellyn.

"So," starts Brass, "I want to explain something about the door to this place . . . ."

Valas tries to make his way to Lilah, but the press of people is too thick. Without access to magic, his only recourse for controlling the crowd would be to remove some portion of his suit. He decides that would be too disruptive, and resorts to some polite, but insistent, shoving.

When he finally gets close enough to actually hear her, she is talking to several of the young men who have been entreating her.

"Just one then. Just one. Don't even ask for another."

"Lil . ." starts Valas. But he is cut off by a chorus of cheers.

She had been seated on a table. Now she stands on it as the young men gleefully push more tables toward her, shoving the chips and cards to the floor willy-nilly.

Valas gets the attention of one of the ringleaders. "Pardon me, gentleman, but would you be so kind as to elucidate as to what is going to occur?"

The man smiles and hurries to a spot near the makeshift stage. "Lilah's going to dance."

<Dance? Here? Whatever for?>

A heavy downbeat from the band splits the air and the noise dies down considerably as the music begins. Valas is now held in by a small crush of people pushing to be close.

<Dance? I will probably find this disturbing>.

Lilah tosses her red hair in a circle, thrusts out her pelvis, grinds her hips, and dips her shoulder.

<Definitely.> Without further ado, and dispensing with the polite formalities this time, Valas turns his back on the stage and shoves his way to a quiet corner behind a pillar.

He ignores the music, the heavy drumbeat, and the occasional hoot from the appreciative crowd. <Now, where was I? Spell keys . . . that's it>

Brass finishes explaining about the likely ambush. Lilah's minder has said nothing, but has nodded his assent as Brass described what likely awaits them.

"You know," said Brass, "Lilah did not mention your name. Neither did Oberon, Jayce or you."

"They didn't?"

"No."

The music starts again. It the room fills with cheers and a big drum beat. Lilah starts to dance.

"Then I won't either." Killraven watches her from his place at the end of the bar. The attentions of all of the men, and some of the women, that she draws disturbs him.

"That's a bit rude."

"I'd rather be rude than make a mistake."

Brass smiles at this. "I like your style. I had a friend once, when I was still a planewalker. He acted kinda like you . . ."

Brass looks into his beer and relates a story. Killraven hears none of it. He cannot take his eyes off Lilah. Slowly, everything else in the room fades to black. He sees only her willowly form tracing graceful, beautiful, sometimes seductive images into the air. It burns into his mind like a brand.

Presently, Fil realizes he has lost his audience. He turns to admire Lilah for a while. "She's really something . . ."

He notes Killraven still does not hear him. <Oh man, do YOU have it bad.>

He does not stop Lilah's minder as he gets up, and slowly heads toward the makeshift stage without even so much as a goodbye or thank you.

The music is familiar. It is played often in the FestHall -- a song of obsession. The singer, a female water genasi, has a throaty alto voice, fitting for the gritty lyrics.

Lilah lets the music fill her soul and flow out to her body. She moves the way the music leads her. Her narrow escape and great victory in the Annex exhilerate her and sharpens her enjoyment.

She does not look at her audience, she can feel their appreciation. Slowly, surely, as the dance continues, concern for them fades away and she dances for herself. She moves from table top to table top effortlessly and gracefully as if it were one stage, letting her subconscious mind guide her movements, and giving her own thoughts to the air.

The lyrics move her and seep into her reverie. As the song draws near its conclusion, she looks through her eyes to see if he is near -- the object of her own obsession. She had not looked into the crowd for her whole dance, yet oddly, he is the first one she sees. There are other people in her field of vision but they do not register, there is only Killraven, the dance, the music, and the words.

Marynn watches entranced. It had been a long time since she had found a woman as appealing as Lilah. It was clear she was quite smitten. Her drink bought with the forsaken chips of her defeated tormentor remains untouched. She traces her finger around the rim, her eyes never leaving the tiefling as she dances on the makeshift stage. There is a fierceness about this woman, one Marryn finds dangerous and exciting, a fierceness that seems to rule both her passions and beliefs. <I will know her>, she decides, a satisfied smile spreading across her features. <I wonder what Lilah will have me do when she calls?... I wonder when she'll call?>

The song ends. Abruptly, Lilah breaks off looking at Killraven as she realizes she had stopped dancing some time ago, and feels awkward. . Apparently the crowd does not care or did not notice, as applause and cheers erupt as soon as the last note fades.

Ryan holds his arm out for Lilah to help her down. Her cheeks flushed and feeling somewhat dazed, she gratefully accepts. Ryan is saying something to her, but she does not hear the words. She gives him a smile anyway, and leaves him standing there.

Another song starts and the players start pushing the tables back to their normal spots. Lilah finds Killraven standing near a pillar. She does not look him in the eye (hidden behind the dark glasses anyway) but looks at the door.

"We should be going. Could you get . . ."

"I am already here, and prepared to leave immediately," responds Valas.

Lilah is surprised that she hadn't noticed. She is still a little disoriented. Valas hands her a sack with the remains of her winnings, and she finally looks into the face of her minder.

"I . . ." she begins, but his sunglasses are off and she forgets whatever pointless conversation she intended to start.

Killraven does not know what to say or do. This is neither the place nor the time for any kind of display of emotion. He holds her eyes for a moment, and then concurs. "We should leave."

The lovely Marryn de Caynen watches as the Fivers gather to leave. She sees Checker step up to say something to the group. Her eyes light up as she realizes something. <Checker may know where I can 'bump' into her again.>

As the three head for the door Checker calls out to them. "Come see us soon at the FestHall, Lilah!"

Her composure restored, Lilah returns him a bright smile. "As soon as I can."

She pulls open the door.

<Ah, shit . . . I forgot . . . Brass ambush> Killraven shoves aside Valas, and pushes Lilah into the street as hard as he can.

She is totally unprepared for the rush and tumbles forward onto the pavement. The air is filled with a loud sizzle and crack. There is a heavy crash as Killraven is hurled into the door and falls flat on his back at Valas' feet.

<Lightning?>

<Lightning? Atmospheric origins unlikely given current location and angle of incidence of the stroke. Given direct impact with comrade, magical origins are effectively certain.> Shaking the after images of the bolt from his eyes, Valas habitually raises his lens to confirm his hypothesis.

The first glimpses appear through the light green glass, when he hears the crackle of a spark followed by a low groan emanating from the doorway.

Glancing down at Killraven, Valas branches off several other thought processes, calculating possible offensive and defensive strategies.

<Process. Electrical discharge, fallen companion, the motes are beginning to gather again. Subject will not survive another direct interaction. Medicinals must be administered immediately. Currently available sensory information unable to pinpoint the source of motes. Lilah will have to undertake search and destroy operations. And what is the source of the excessive dust suddenly suspended in the air?>

Lilah's senses reel with the crack of lightning and the smell of ozone. Seeing her lover slam into the doorway of the Annex, she sets her eyes searching desperately for the source of the spell. There, hiding behind the facade of the rooftop, directly across. She frowns. Muscles tensing, acting instinctively, she rolls to a kneeling position in the middle of the street, daggers in hand. She hears he sound of armored feet pounding on the pavement, coming from both directions.

<They've spotted me. Too late for them though, just distract and retain...> A rythmic chanting emanates from the roof...

When his ears pick up the rhythmic chanting, Valas shouts in Lilah's direction, "Electrical discharge imminent!"

<Why can't he just say "He's casting" or "incoming"! I gotta give him the dark of combat talk.> Lilah releases her dagger.

Valas pulls on Killraven, edging him into the partial concealment of the doorway where he can work his healing magic. "No! Lilah needs help." Killraven protests. Residual electricity absorbed by his Baatoran breastplate arcs in a green spark into the "decorative" razorvine surrounding the door, causing Killraven to twitch with aftershocks. His sunglasses are askew on his face and his pony tail is frayed and upright with static.

"Your utility to her will increase after treatment of your injuries. In addition, pondering the current situation, including the incorporation of the earlier conversation and the high probability of further attackers, the most effective strategy will require your full prowess at arms. Thus I will treat you."

"Sorry, so sorry," says a whiney, thin voice from the small foyer over the entrance. "He would be better if he were dead. After all, what is the use. . ."

Valas does not look up. "Gauntwing. I am midly perplexed to admit that your presence pleases me. Is your master in close proximity?"

"Yess, yesssss. But he is wasting his time trying to stop a Hardhead patrol on Lantern Street from adding to your worries. It is pointless, of course, but he is doing it anyway."

"Noted. Inform your master we will be joining him shortly." <I hope>

There is a cloud of dust, and then Gauntwing is gone.

Across the street, Lewellyn, their assailant, is partially concealed, out of the view of the doorway, until his spell is ready. At the last second he realizes the brim of his blue hat is showing, and he snaps his head back into the shadows. The mage starts slightly when he hears a loud 'thunk' as a dagger slams into the wall guarding him. A thin smile creases his face as he nears the end of his spell.

<Missed me, now I will finish my job.>

Lewellyn's chanting reaches its crescendo, a blue crackling begins to form around his fingertips, when a sharp pain stabs through his chest.

<What the . . ?!!!>

Her aim is true this time. Her first dagger had served its purpose, making him flinch enough to pinpoint his location. With grim satisfaction Lilah notes the blue glow ebbs from the mage's fingers, his hand grasping at the spoiler of his magic.

<I love those quick mithril blades.>

Lilah looks back at her two companions, wondering whether to retreat to safety with them, wondering if Killraven is alive.

<I think he's alive -- I think I'd feel it if he weren't. Besides, if one lightning bolt takes HIM down, the cutter that cast it is going to put me in the deadbook right quick if I stand here waiting for it.>

She hears a scrambling noise from the rooftop, the assailant is on the move, probably to a better vantage point to hit them again. Anger fills her like a raging flood.

<Sodding piker! I know your Lucias' hireling. Your head's mine.>

Her fingers weave a quick pattern, her legs taking on a soft warm glow. Springing up and over, she lands softly on the rooftop, rolling to a crouch. She is met by three missles of light exploding into her chest, knocking her back. Lilah shakes her head, stunned by the unexpected attack, thinking the spellslinger had moved from his position.

<Ow. I hate that spell...>

Back in the foyer, Valas lays his hands on the chest of the gladiator, a warm red glow forming between them. The wound on Killraven's chest has only barely begun to heal when a patrol of armored Harmonium thunder around one corner, barreling straight towards the Annex.

Valas digs into his robes, retrieves a pouch containing several vials, and hands them to Killraven. "I must attend to the approaching hostiles. You must consume this entire set of curatives."

Killraven sits up on one elbow, "Pike it, Valas! I'm not going to let you fight alone. I'm gon-" He's unable to finish his declaration as his bursts into a fit of coughing and sputtering.

By the time he gains control, Valas is headed towards the closing patrol. Killraven glares at his back, digs into the pouch and grabs a handful of vials. Smirking, he opens several and raises them to his mouth, only to be interrupted by a shout from Valas, "One at a time, my friend!" Valas doesn't hear Killraven's low growl.

Analysis percolates up from the lower levels of Valas' mind. Four Harmonium heavy infrantry approach with standard armaments. No apparent missle weapons. One additional practitioner of priestly arts. Advisory concerning Harmonium's limited ability at mental control through the expression of a statement limited to a single sentence.

The last thought is punctuated by an order from the leading Hard-head, "Freeze, berk!"

As Valas feels the magic of the statement gather around him, he registers a possible escape due to the wording of the statement. Focusing on the belief that his internal temperature is greater than that of the typical target of the statement, Valas hardens his will and forces the magic to splash off of him.

Recognizing the Harmonium priest trailing several steps behind the rest, Valas raises his lens, utters a few stark words, and releases the spell at the armored form.

The rest of the Harmonium reflexively dodge out of the way, an instinctive reaction to the sight of a Spellslinger pointing in their direction.

No great waves of fire detonate around them, no streaks of light slam into them, and no vile fiend appears in their midst. Shrugging, they turn back towards Valas, not noticing the priest vainly attempting to shout orders at them, his voice magically sucked away as soon as it leaves his lips.

"Magebuster!" shouts one of the Harmonium, apparently the lead officer, and then steps to the side. Two others also step to the side, allowing Valas to see the remaining Harmonium kneel down, crossbow in hand, locked and loaded.

The implications cause a flurry of mental activity, various maneuvers observed while in combat with his comrades, old lessons from his days in the Underdark, even descriptions from several books are all suggested by various portions of his mental machinary. A more cynical section of his mind smugly notes they all require a reflexive reaction from his physical form. A reaction that only occurs after months, even years, of repetitive training and practice.

The Magebuster frowns slightly as his target simply stands there, flat-footed while he takes a bead on it. Resigning himself to whatever magics the Mage must have prepared, he releases his bolt. He shrugs, though, as the bolt slams into the Mage with a sickening crunch, knocking the robed figure off his feet and onto the hard brick of the street.

<Unexpected and extremely painful.> Valas tries to cough out some of the blood he feels entering his lungs, but is unable to since the wind is knocked out of him. <I must flag this 'magebuster' for future research, perhaps it is a newly formed tactic.> Tense heartbeats pass before Valas can breathe. Sitting up he glances down the street, trying to ascertain the situation.

Three of the Harmonium march towards him at an angle, trying to avoid the firing line of the Magebuster, who was quickly reloading his crossbow. The priest had apparently given up on casting, and was lowering his mancatcher to join the rest of the patrol.

Realizing he only has enough time for a single spell, Valas quickly decides on the most effective one given his circumstances and begins chanting the strange language towards his outstretched palm. There, seen through his strange lens, gathers a group of Motes with the color, texture, and subtle form of roots and tree branches.

The Harmonium were just reaching the edge of the Annex building when Valas releases the Motes. A glowing green light streaks from Valas' raised palm, entering the razorvine covering the part of the Annex building closest to the group of armored foes.

The razorvine seemingly jumps to life and begins growing at an incredible rate, streaking out across the street, reaching the building directly across from the Annex. Once anchored there, the wicked vegetable grows upwards, forming a viscious wall between the Harmonium and Valas.

Valas hears the Harmonium reach the razorvine and begin hacking at it. He responds by chanting another, similar spell, calling on the same strange, green Motes. Again at the end of the chanting, the Motes fly out from his palm and into the razorvine, causing them to seemingly seethe to life.

This time, however, the vine does not seek to expand itself but to simply lash out at anything within range. The Harmonium shout, then scream, as the razorvine grabs hold of them, finding gaps in armor, shredding flesh.

Examining his dweomercraft, Valas decides he is safe for the moment, and begins calling on Motes of the curative flavor...

"I think that is one of them," a voice from nowhere calls.

Valas wheels around. Coming around the corner from the other direction are two heavily armed men with lowered crossbows, and a third figure, a wild looking dwarf, wielding a massive maul.

Valas quickly finishes his healing. The warriors break into a trot, closing this distance. One of them mistakes the mage's healing magic for something more offensive.

"Peery lads," says tallest of the group. "He is slinging another spell."

The dwarf's face reddens as he breaks into a run. "NOTHING CAN STOP NARGE!" he cries.

<This is an unwelcome development. Killraven?>

"Hurry up, you louts! Do you want to tell the Mover why we were late?" Resettling his grip on the mancatcher, Sgt. Jillik turns back to the street, followed by his four man squad. Unsuprisingly, the well-lit streets are clear and calm at this hour. The squad hurries down Lantern Street towards the Fortune's Wheel. Although nervous about the unknown situation ahead, Jillik takes comfort in the sound of the squad behind him. Even just short of a full run, their booted feet strike the pavement in unison, the sound of Order echoing down the empty streets. Muttering a quick prayer to his diety, Sgt. Jillik heads on.

The squad draws a little attention as it hurries through the Ward; the mere threat of the forces of Order are usually enough to maintain the peace here. Beings on the streets quickly get out of the squad's way, and turn to watch them pass. Concentrating on the goal (and ready