Cerce's Retrieval (WARNING WALL OF TEXT)

Cerce · (This post was last modified: 07-25-2012, 15:05 by Cerce.)

Cerce has been conspicuously absent for quite some time. His room remained vacant, his items left untouched... However, some things seem out of place. His red cape remains on the back of his chair, which sat in front of his writing desk. It was generally his custom to take it off while relaxing, suggesting that he did not expect to leave. A number of books, as well as pieces of parchment, lay collecting dust on his desk. His bed is unmade. The chest containing his armor and weapons looks as if the lock has been broken. Not even his beloved kettle hat was left.

Saera shuffles through the hallway of Cerce and Varutil's shared home, leaving behind a faint trail of melted snow. She sniffs the air, still void of one occupant's scent. She approaches the doorway to Cerce's room, a claw reaching out to the closed door. As her hand comes close, a rune appears in the middle of the door, glowing faintly before disappearing into the wood.

Saera withdraws with a sigh, thinking to herself. Where could he have gone for so long?

Varutil stands at the stairway, having watched Saera go. As the door closes he makes his way to the door, placing a hand on the door and removing the rune. He steps into the room, looking around at the preserved items. Though the kettle helm that Varutil thought was a bit ridiculous was not present, he did note the cape. With a motion of his hand the cape lifts and folds behind Varutil as he strides out. The door closes and the rune reappears, locking the room once again. While he maintained that he was fine with waiting, he was tired of not knowing where Cerce was. Then again, he also needed Cerce back because the house was starting to look musty and unkempt. There was a reason Varutil normally resided in stone towers.

Making his way down to the lab he began shuffling through tomes he had on him, looking for the right one. As he made way to the scrying room he fished out the right book and opened it. The cloak settled on the floor next to him as Varutil began his magical process.

Gekk-va-Ro-Kaa, for once in his nearly eternal life, is puzzled. It is not immediately apparent to him why the strange man who calls himself Cerce has left. He does not particularly care for the man, but the mystery of the situation demands clarification. The god sits on the floor, places his hands on Cerce's cape, and closes his eyes. A vision begins to take form in the eyelid-inspired darkness, and the deity awaits its formation eagerly.

Little remains on the cloak but dust and the faint smell of Cerce's body odor. As Varutil places the cloak on the ground and begins to scry for Cerce, a faint feeling of hopelessness enters his mind. It is not his own, and comes with a brief thought.

Success brings failure.

Varutil's attempt to scry Cerce, as well as Gekk-Va’s attempt to view him, brings only the view of his desk, now with a small black chest sitting on it.

Varutil frowns at the sight of the box. It was familiar somehow, but he could not recall exactly where he saw it. The thought that enters his mind is the more pressing matter as Varutil thinks back to the bond that was forced upon Cerce and him. He thinks for a bit, trying to figure out if this box, obviously holding Cerce inside through some fashion, would endanger Cerce's life, and thus Varutil's own. He walks out and makes way for his library, leaving the cloak on the ground.

Numerous books stand out to Varutil on the subject. However, one in particular stands out due to Cerce mentioning his passage through the realm of Impassil when he first recovered his memory.

'Barthmew on Bags of Holding' - written in the realm of Impassil, it talks of the typical Bags of Holding and their ability to hold items in another reality, plane, realm, or even time. Barthmew the Alchemist hypothesized that, although fabric found in most Bags of Holding could hold an alchemical mixture that allowed passage to another realm, certain metals could increase the amount that a 'Bag' of Holding could hold exponentially when imbued with magic or alchemical mixtures. Barthmew also suggests that it would be entirely possible for items within enhanced Bags of Holding to stay within a state of suspended animation. Little else is mentioned, other than the fact that the original Bag of Holding actually housed it's own reality designed for the purpose of holding objects.

Perhaps Cerce was researching the box itself when he disappeared? The vision of Cerce's writing table again comes to Varutil's mind.

Varutil stands up, thinking a moment before sighing. As he goes through a list of actions through his head, he chuckles for a moment at the idea of throwing the chest into another bag of holding. He quickly sets the thought aside, seeing as Varutil was inclined to live for a bit longer. And it brought up the other fact that Varutil hadn't even seen the chest, even with his masterful arcane attunement. He grabs a tome from the bookshelf, an untitled work authored by his own hand. He had a general idea of what had kept the chest from view, but the finer details he often left in his books would be helpful. He makes his way downstairs, pressing open the door and subduing the glyph in the same action, already flipping through the tome to figure out in what way he needed to shift his sight.

As Varutil begins to flip through his tome, he notices that the chest is sitting in plain view on the table. He stares at it for a moment, looks back to his tome, and back at the table. The chest now is gone. It appears as if the chest is more than a bag of holding, perhaps with a mind of it's own, or maybe simply at the will of someone else.

Varutil pauses, then tosses his tome aside. It blinks out of existence, returning to the shelves upstairs while Varutil takes a seat at the desk, staring where the chest is. He was not frustrated nor deterred, but simply more intrigued with this new puzzle. Estimating the size of the chest, Varutil places his hand where the lid of the chest should be, waiting for it's reappearance.

A gust of wind blows the front door open as Saera made her landing, and she walks through the doorway. She licks off a small trace of blood from her last kill. Upon entry she notices the door to Cerce's room slightly ajar, the rune obviously gone for that moment. Rumbling curiously, she peeks in to see Varutil, hunched over Cerce's desk, hands held over it. She silently slips through the door, across the room behind Varutil to perch by the edge of the bed, eyeing the demon curiously. He did not seem to notice her entrance, as his attention seems to be engrossed with whatever is, or suppose to be, on the desk.
Awakening from his meditation, Gekk sees Varutil hunched over the table with Saera eyeing him. The deity nods to the draconian and joins the demon at the desk, correcting his hand placement slightly so that the hand lies directly where the chest was in the vision. Varutil glares at Gekk before returning his gaze to the desk, hand unmoving from it's spot. He did not care if there was an audience here or not, Varutil was intending on trying to figure out this puzzle.

The group looks over the desk one final time - again seeing the black chest. This time, it stays in its position. It is a small chest, just large enough to hold something the size of two fists with ease. It looks similar to polished obsidian, and seems to hum strangely. A note rests atop the chest, written in what can be described as a handsome writing of silver ink. It reads:

There is a test if you wish me to open
No key, or spell, or some mere token
You can't even see inside if I'm broken
Just one simple test
To open this chest

Before we go further, I must let you know
Three tried it before, and two have grown cold
One succeeded and now has grown old
Her lesson she passed
To he who thought fast

Your friend, Cerce, as you know him by name,
Has kept me, a chest, through famine and fame
Learning the lesson from she who came
To one simple chest
And passed the it's test

I hold the start and the end of it all
I even control if Kiwike should fall
These powers and more will be at your call
If you solve my test
And complete my quest

Hidden inside my poem of silver
Lies a phrase, and I am it's builder
Say it to me before I have killed her
And you'll start my test
To fulfill my quest

Suddenly, Saera is pushed to the ground, pain coursing throughout her body in a dark, twisted show of the chest's power.

Varutil inspects the poem, barely noticing when Saera collapses. He is instead engrossed in reading and rereading the poem. The poem was very nicely written, reminding Varutil of a few people that Cerce had mentioned before, but seemed a bit too simple. The bolded letters spelled the phrase "I give up", but Varutil didn't think it could be that easy. Perhaps only to start the test this was required, or to enact a ritual of some kind. What the exact purpose was he did not know. What he did know was that answers were not found by sitting in indecision for too long.

"The phrase is this. I give up."

He sets the paper down, within Gekk's reach.

"But I do hope you realize that I have no intention of doing so."

Gekk picks up the paper and turns it over, finding nothing. "It seems there are supernatural forces at work here. I wonder if they know that they have attracted the attention of a god. If we are to trust this note, the chest should now be unlocked." The deity turns to the box. "Oh, how I hate participating in games..."

"Oh, you poor fallen god, you don't realize that this isn't a game. If this is anything close to what I think it is, this will be far much more than a 'game'. We may not even be able to recover Cerce if we fail at the minimum. In the worst set of circumstances we unleash a source of evil more powerful than almost anything...."

Varutil chuckles lightly and returns to looking at the chest before muttering "Almost anything...".

The hum of the chest dies down, and Saera is released from her state of pain. It doesn't appear as if she is injured, or that any lasting effects occurred.

"Oh... But you will... You all will..." A faint cackle is heard throughout the room. The windows grow cloudy, and the lights dim within the room. Sound seems muffled for all but an instant.

Nothing else happens. The chest remains locked.

Come now, my little demon. Did you truly think things to go so simply? I know you are aware of the dangers that some realms present... And, what else have we here? A 'god'? Something akin to laughter, yet so dark it could have been thought of a bear clearing it's throat, is heard within the minds of those in the room. This is almost too easy... Tell me... What did you expect?

"Expect? The words being a ritual that would unleash a blast of magic on all of us. In fact I even had an arcane shield up to guard against it. This situation is actually much more preferable. Besides, we still have your test to complete, and I'm positive that you'll cheat."

*Varutil leans forwards and picks up the chest, inspecting the outside of the surface while waiting for the response from the unknown voice.*

Gekk steps forward. "Make no mistake, demon; to that creature, this is very much a game, however deadly it may be. Choose wisely. I will let you decide the course to take, but you would be wise to ask my advice. I have dealt with this kind before."

A burst of laughter came from all around at once. Oh, "Varutil - you are just too much! I am not as you think I am. I do not wish your demise - far from it! Nor do I wish any other magical calamity to befall such a..." The voice pauses for a moment. "Well, I would say unique, but considering that this is the fourth time I have seen a dragonoid named Saera, I don't think that accurately fits. The tone of voice seems joking, almost pleasantly happy to be conversing. "Now, let's get on with this, shall we? I think you came for your friend. He's just outside the door. Go ahead, take a look."

The door to Cerce's small room opens, with Cerce himself standing, looking unshaved and unwashed. The rest of the house is nowhere to be found, and instead the room opens to a landscape that looks devoid of life, as if a massive volcano had erupted and left so much ash everywhere that nothing else could be seen.

Cerce simply smiles weekly, and states: "Took you long enough."

"Well maybe if you weren't too busy playing with a chest that contains the essence of a dark and powerful being, none of us would be in this situation. Now what realm are we stuck in now, and is this going to ruin the house? I left some books out and the wind would tear the frail pages. Oh, also, you need to dust. The house is a mess and you have quite a bit of cleaning on catching up on."

Varutil walks out past Cerce, chest still in hand while paying no great attention to Cerce.
Gekk-Va looked wary. "That was far too easy, Varutil. Get behind me. Now."

Cerce looks at Gekk for a moment. "Gecko - still playing god... Regardless, its nice to see a familiar face." He turns to Varutil, who is now behind him, looking off into the distant, barren landscape. "Nice to see you too, Oh Prince Of Darkness." He snickers sarcastically, but with no malice intended. "And who said I was playing with a chest? For the record - the chest was playing with me. Has been for..." He counts on his fingers. "... What, seventeen decades?"

"Fourteen. That time in Calradia wasn't on my terms. A certain... agitator had decided to borrow your exceptional ability to ruin someone's day, to great effect. Oh, and little Laurel said to tell you she loves you - right before Daemon beheaded her." The voice again booms, first speaking in its original, malicious tone; then resorting to a voice similar to one that a father gives to a newborn baby - and then back to his malicious tone.

Cerce winced. He continued, however, yet was obviously shaken by the voice's statement. "As... As I was saying... It likes to use me as a tool, a toy, and a trap. Don't think for a moment that this was my choosing." He wipes a tear from his face, and remains silent until someone speaks up.

Varutil chuckles at Cerce's comment to Gekk before turning to face Cerce directly.

"Well it seems he broke you then. That or was tired of playing with you. Mind explaining exactly where we are? I would prefer not to spend an eternity in here, and so far you and the entity in the chest are the only two sources of reliable information I have at the moment."

He pauses before placing a hand on Cerce's shoulder, talons lightly digging into Cerce's skin.

"Thank you for not dying. I really do appreciate living, and you dying in some realm because of a malicious box likes to mess with you would be a horrible way to leave my life.”
Fume streams out between her clenched fangs as she breathes raggedly, trying to regain some sense of composure from the initial pain. Throughout her ordeal, she did not notice what went on with Varutil and Gekk, only a faint recollection of a malicious voice that obviously came from neither of them.

Only after Saera's vision cleared, and the pounding in her head subsided, did she unfurl her wings from around her, only to find herself in a desolate wasteland. Utterly confused, she looks up to see Gekk closeby, Varutil along with......Cerce??

Saera stands up unsteadily, shaking off the remnants of the spell. "What is.....going on?"

Cerce looks into his room, seeing Saera. His face is immediately filled with concern, forgetting his former pain over the loss of so many friends due to his failures. Rushing over to help her up, he asks: "Are you OK? By the One, you look like you've been to hell and back. Not that you don't look good, it's just... Wow, you don't look good." He pulls her arm over his neck, bringing himself up to prop her upright.

"As for what's happening - well... We're in a tight spot. That's really all I can say for certain."

Saera smiles wanely as Cerce helps her up on her hinds. She winches slightly as she tried to stand upright, shaking her head to clear the haze of pain. She ruffles her wings before settling them on her back, arms propped over Cerce's neck.

"You don't look too good yourself either. Judging from where you have been all this time, I'm not surprised."

She glances at Gekk, then at Varutil standing out in this.....nothingness. "This void....I can't feel anything at all. I've never been to a place this.....barren."

Gekk speaks before Cerce can. "I know what place this is. It was decimated long, long ago. Nearly none survived to tell the tale. Not physically; that much is for certain. Yet, some might remember. I certainly do." Gekk turns to Cerce. "I may be wrong, but I am nearly certain that this is the land in which you and the one you call Gecko met."

Cerce nods slightly to Gekk, and then turns to Varutil. He smiles lightly. "Hey - I've gone sev... sorry, fourteen decades along with this stupid thing. I wouldn't die. Granted, it does get a bit drafty out here - but I got used to it. Nothing to die over." Chuckling, he then adds, "And I'd never give this thing the satisfaction of killing two birds with one stone. And... thank you for worrying. Even if it was for your own sake - but I doubt it. I think there is a little feeling there; you're just afraid to show it." Still chuckling, he pats him on the head. "Good ol' Fluffy." He moves on to Gekk after calling Varutil an old nickname Cerce had tried to pin to him when they first met.

"As for where we are..." Cerce looks around. "Some of you may know of it. Suffice it to say that time no longer exists here. We are both spending lifetimes and not time at all simply having this conversation. This land is now the embodyment of nothing. Nothing is happening. Nothing will happen..." He pauses for a moment, looking over the mountaintop they now stand on. "Nothing ever truly happened."

A tear rolls down his face. He looks back to the group, a mixture of anger and regret on his face. "We are in a state of nonexistance. Welcome to the place even gods have abandoned. The land is dead, the spirit of life is no more... Nothing could have stopped it. And so nothing came. Therefore, we are in nothing. All I have tried... and nothing was the answer."

He pauses. "Three times I have failed to stop his quest for perfection. For peace. For... this. Three times, his quest was finished - and he didn't even do anything. Once was because of a plague." He looks off to where Bamboo would have been. "The other, warfare. Yet another, the gods themselves found it fitting to whipe the realm clean of life in a cleansing fire - and then they did the same to this one for good measure. Each and every time, when I tried to stop it... when I tried to help... Nothing came."

He lifts his hands, gesturing to the landscape. "This came. Perfection, balance, peace... His quest fulfilled." He sighs. "I don't think I can make you understand where we are. Simply put, we are here."

"Then he apparently has a demented view on what perfection is. This is not balance. This is a petty creature attempting to make balance out of something that is naturally chaotic. The fact that he thinks this is perfection is indicative of how little control anything has over existence. The very essence of the universe, any one of them, is out of the control of any god. I know, I tried it myself. It took me a few centuries and almost killing my friend Apze at least five separate times. Making perfect balance is simply not possible. The closest thing one can get to is making their own pocket dimension. It's where I store my books that I have at the ready. However, simply because of where we are, it is impossible to use any extra dimension without his direct consent."

Varutil emphasizes his point with him reaching into where he would normally reach to receive a book. He grabs only air.

"Now it comes to the matter of him and his test. Because unless he is not only insane but also a liar, then we were owed a test."

"This is his thought of balance? This place makes the Khulu desert looks rich with life. I guess we'll be stuck here till you or Fluffy can figure out this test of his." Saera chuckles, finding it rather ironic to find humor in....nothing.

"Really? You want the test now?" The voice booms sarcastically. "I was beginning to think the lot of you were content with catching up with your old friend. I'll get the test started..." The being seems to leave them momentarily.

Cerce seizes the opportunity, and begins to talk. "Very quickly: I must make you understand something. Nomanic Carver, who's essence is trapped within the box, is not the enemy. If anything, he is an unwanted and twisted protector. He has my best interests at heart - according to him. The reason he trapped me was because he viewed the Warlords as trying to take advantage of me. As a result, he has brought you three - the Warlords that I, personally, hold in highest esteem - to test your motives, your abilities, and whatever else he thinks should apply."

He turns to Varutil. "Due to some very... annoying circumstances, we share a bond similar to the one you and I share - only far more powerful, and different in its own way. It is true, I used to see Nomanic as the enemy - whereas now I simply see him as a being of great power with an evil disposition... But his quarrel is not with us. That is not to say he won't kill us - just that it is not his goal."

Cerce tries to continue to talk, but is cut off by the booming voice. "Cerce - do me a favor and remain silent. Your incessant ranting is one thing I shall forever hate about you. Well, that and your cursed kettle helm. Besides, we can tell them of the Other later." Energy seems to accumulate to the right of the group. "Let's get this started, shall we?"

Out of the cloud of pure energy, a man stands. He appears to be in his mid thirties, handsome and with black, curly hair. His eyes are almost as green as Gekk-Va's scales, and his attire consists of all black clothing. Holding a walking staff made of a shiny black substance with what looks to be a large white pearl on top, he leans on it, wearing a sly grin. The entire performance is done with finesse as the energy dissipates. He looks neither evil nor twisted; if anything, he looks rather charming.

He seems to almost float towards the group without taking a step. Making a slight bow, he says in a boisterous tone resounding with confidence: "Salutations! I'm Nomanic Carver. You can call me Nom, Manic, Mr. Carver, or, as Cerce likes to lable me, 'That Megalomanic Asshole' - but let's not start calling names. Well, OK, I lied, I'll start calling names - not you." Smiling, he points to Saera with the cane. "You are Varutil." He then points to Varutil. "And you are Saera!" He exclames with a giddy laughter, obviously pleased with himself. Turning to Gekk-Va, he then stops for a moment, sarcastically thumping his forhead in thought. "Oooh, a toughy... Let's see - Geckosquid? Noooo, the imposing godlike presence doesn't fit. Inkscale? Nah, the lack of a dagger in my back states otherwise. Oh! Oh!" He jumps up in mock excitement. "I know! You're the one sitting in a cage with a ceiling lined with spikes about to crush you! What luck!"

Suddenly, the entire group is transported to what looks to be the inside of a cave. On an outcropping, Varutil and Saera stand, with four switches on the wall behind them. At the other end of the cavern, Gekk-Va stands in a cage, unable to move, with a section of the ceiling descending to crush him at a slow, yet steady, pace.

Nomanic stands on a very small pillar of rock in between the two outcroppings. The pillar seems barely able to hold him, yet he stands confidently, with his same sly grin. "Oh - too bad! I thought there were spikes. Guess not..." He laughs almost maniacally. "Okay - the goal here is simple. Have fun! Oh, wait." He thumps his forehead overdramatically. "That's my goal. You are supposed to do something about that ceiling of death. Maybe the switches will help - maybe they won't. Maybe - and here's an idea - they are really porkchop-dispensing levers! Hah-ha!" Nomanic lifts one foot over the abyss below him, as if about to walk off the pillar, but stops. "One last thing. Varutil and Saera's bodies have been swapped - I wasn't wrong about my naming earlier. And no magick here - this is my playground, you see. Cerce won't be able to help you. He is... otherwise indesposed. Ta-ta for now!" Nomanic then confidently walks off the pilar, and into the dark abyss below.

Gekk sighs with exasperation. "Remind me why I concern myself such with mortal affairs? Well, I suppose you two had better get me out of here if you want Inkscale to have a body to inhabit. Although, considering the audience, perhaps you don't... In any case, hurry on with it."

Varutil looks down at the new body he inhabits, sighing as he looks at his own body standing before him.

"Well, while unsettling, it's an easy obstacle to bypass. Saera, mind not doing anything to the body you are in. It is still technically mine. I promise I won't ruin yours."

As he speaks Varutil stretches out the limbs and appendages of Saera's dragonoid body. After moving her tail and wings a few times he rolls his shoulders and walks to the switch on the far left, planning to move through the four of them methodically.

Gekk rolls his eyes. "Were I able to move, I would be tapping my foot. I'm sure the sequence of the levers is quite obvious, demon. Tricksters do enjoy making challenges appear more difficult than they truly are."

Varutil pauses and turns to look at Gekk. Without the cloak that normally conceals his face, Saera's eyes glare at Gekk and her mouth turn into a bestial snarl, completely used by Varutil.

"And I assume, you arrogant godling, that you know each and every function of these levers? Did Necromanic not say that each function and purpose was yet unknown? Perhaps none of them do anything and we are learning not to trust Necromanic and try and save you ourselves. Or perhaps we need to pull all the levers to show desperation, or perhaps we must watch you die for our lesson. We do not know anything, Gekk. We are at the power and mercy of Necromanic, and all we can do is test what is before us. Your assumptions and arrogant ideas will get us killed, and the moment you cease to continue this arrogance is the moment I will begin rescuing you. The roof will continue it's course, and I will prevent Saera from touching the levers herself if need be. The fact that you make such assumptions even when at the mercy of such powers is the reason you failed and is the reason you are no longer a true god. Learn your damned place."

Saera's tail twitches in agitation and as Varutil notices the lack of control of the body he inhabits the more aggravated he becomes. His eyes are still burning with anger, but he no longer moves, instead focused on Gekk alone.

Gekk smiles. "Oh, but you do not realize. You are not fighting for my life. Oh, no. Being crushed in between two surfaces means nothing to a god. However, it means a great deal to he who once inhabited this shell. If this body is destroyed, so is Inkscale. I won't lose anything; I can simply inhabit someone else's body. Again, demon: You are not fighting for my life. You are fighting for Inkscale's."

"And that Gekk, is why your assumptions will kill you. This dimension we are in will not allow you to leave, physically or spiritually. If you lose the shell, your being is still in this dimension. There is no escape unless Nomanic allows it. So you are wrong, godling. We will be saving not only Inkscale, but you as well," said Varutil.

Gekk snorts. "You work on assumptions as well, although you are wise to be cautious. Whether Inkscale, I, or both of us are in jeopardy, though, you must hurry, damn you!"

"Educated guesses are not assumptions. Even if I am wrong I err on the side of caution. Boldness and ambition is needed when it is either require to achieve victory or victory is already achieved. Arrogance before we know anything is sheer folly."

Varutil turns and pulls on the lever he was walking towards.

"Besides, the only two who I wish to avoid having dead are Cerce and I. Everyone else is secondary."

As Varutil flipped the first switch, a single porkchop falls on his head. Looking up, he can spot Nomanic squating on a small ledge, waiving at him. He laughs hysterically and dissapears. "I just had to do that." came from somewhere in the cavern. Looking back over at Gekk-Va, he can see that there was a ring of fire now surrounding the cage.

Gekk's eyes flicker. "Remember moments of passion, Varutil. More bonds exist than the sort between you and Cerce..."

"You said it yourself. They be only moments. I have lived for quite a long time. Attachments to anything that dies is often not valuable to continuing my life, Gekk. The only things that I can rely on are myself and the books that I own. And as you can see now, even the books are not at my disposal."

The ceiling draws closer. Gekk sighs. "If you do not hurry, the Imagian Isles will be taken by Enderscale!" Now, he is shouting. "Many innocents will be slaughtered!"

Varutil mutters under his breath as he grabs the other three levers and pulls them.

"As if I care. They will die at some point, just because their end is hastened it doesn't mean I am concerned..."

Gekk closes his eyes and sees Enderscale drawing ever-closer to his homeland. The fires of war are about to reach the only place he holds dear. Gekk is the only one who can stop them, and he is about to fail. Opening his eyes, he sees the ceiling closing in on him. "Well," he says defeatedly, "This Nomanic is quite the devious bastard."

Saera snorts derisively, finding it irritable that her usual fume is missing.

"That is very comforting to hear, Varutil. Whether you care for only yourself and Cerce, or for all of us, if we fail this test, I fear there will not be any chance of getting out of here. Besides, I'm sure Cerce would very much rather see all of us get out of this place....and I to get my body back." She glances down at her body, the look of disgust partially hidden under the hood.

She turns around to look at Gekk. "Gekk-Va, as much as Varutil may care or not for you or me, he is our only way of getting you out of that cage. I think debating with him isn't going to make things any better than it seems."

Saera mutters angrily to herself. "If I wasn't stuck in this body, I would've been able to fly over and try to break his cage apart. Perhaps this is the reason for the switch......"

"Care for a quick flight lesson, Varutil?" She chuckles sarcastically.

As Varutil flipped the first switch, a single porkchop falls on his head. Looking up, he can spot Nomanic squating on a small ledge, waiving at him. He laughs hysterically and dissapears. "I just had to do that." came from somewhere in the cavern. Looking back over at Gekk-Va, he can see that there was a ring of fire now surrounding the cage.

The second switch seems to do nothing until the group looks to the ceiling. Whereas before it was barren, the descending section is now littered with spikes. "I was wondering where those went." Nomanic's voice echoes as the wall continues to fall.

The third switch stops the wall of death in its tracks, and also turns off the ring of fire. Nomanic appears again in a puff of smoke on the small pillar. “The fourth one would have just spead up the descent - but that's not exactly original, so no need to flip it." He smiles, and taps his cane on the stone.

Gekk-Va and Saera are transported to a small room, its walls and floor made of wood, the ceiling of brick. A loud roar is heard, but nothing is seen within the room. The ground shakes as if footsteps are steadily approaching. A diamond sword sits on a pedastal, intricately made and obviously enchanted by an expert. On another pedastal, a dingy scroll sits, unopened and neglected. Nomanic grins. "Let's see how you two do here. Choose well, for you can only choose one. I have something special planned for your little demonic friend. Oh, and if you haven't noticed, you are back to normal. Enjoy!" He walks through the wall in front of them, disappearing.

Gekk nods and walks to her. "I will take the sword, and you the scroll. It seems a fitting match."

"Pray it is in a language I understand." She stands in front of the scroll, reaching out and clasping the delicate parchment, being careful not to rip the scroll with her claws.
Before Gekk can grab the sword, it disintegrates into nothingness. The scroll alone remains. It reads:

The path of peace is a long one, friend
One winding with more than one bend
Now you must face the one he will send
To kill you both before the end

Stay your hand, do not strike
Remain vigilant, thrust no pike
For he will only return your strike
But won't attack if you don't like

The scroll also disintegrates into nothingness soon after reading. The sounds of enormous footsteps grow closer, and soon the foot of a giant dragon crashes through the wall in front of them. Removing the foot, the dragon pokes its head in, and roars mightily.

Gekk stays completely still. "Should he respond with anger, move not. Aggression will only be met in kind, if we are to believe the scroll."

"And that is my intend. I do not wish to be ripped apart by my ancestor, as much as it is such a nostalgia meeting one."

She continues with light trills, a lighter mood as compared to her mild warning, trying to evoke a non-violent response from the dragon towering before them.
The dragon moves its head farther into the small room. Inches from Saera's face, it roars, spewing some spittle onto both Gekk's ans Saera's body.

Gekk scowls. "Positively vile... Although, it seems to be a show of affection. I hope you know what you're doing..."

Saera side-glances at Gekk, scowling back. "Talking to a milleniums-old ancestor isn't as easy as you think, especially one that has been extinct on my land for a VERY long time."

She rattles her wings to shake off some spittle, most of it landing on Gekk. Ignoring him once again, she faces the dragon.

Suddenly, she roars back with equal amount of ferocity, like a child repeating after its parent. Her stance is otherwise normal, still showing no sign of violence or attempt to flee.

The dragon removes it's head from the room. "Well, it's obvious that I can't make you attack." The dragon speaks with Nomanic's voice. "In any case, Varutil completed his challenge - and found a way to release you! What luck! So, have fun back in Kiwike, and tell Cerce to behave." Nomanic appears next to Saera. "Especially with you. He seems to fancy something about you..." He chuckles a little, and in a flash Saera and Gekk-Va are transported back to Cerce's room, where Varutil sits, waiting.

However, during all of this, Varutil is transported to what looks like nothingness, surrounded completely by white on all sides, with no end. A small, intricately designed table sits in front of him. Nomanic occupies one chair, with another sitting beside him, empty. Coffe and tea sit steaming in their respective containers, cups waiting to be filled. Nomanic beckons for Varutil to join him. "Come, we are both gentlemen of a dark origin. Let us skip the pleasantries, and get right down to business. I've sent the dragonoid and the 'god'" (he mentions this with disgust) "on another test, mostly to see how they would do without your past experience with beings similar to myself, but partly because we need privacy for what may be spoken here." He pours himself some tea, and looks up to Varutil. "Tea or coffe? Cream... Sugar...? Come, take a seat."

Varutil looks down at his body, his own once again, as he sighs with relief and sits down, straightening out his cloak.

"Actually, if you wouldn't mind, I am interested in a special kind of wine. Distilled Mana Essence? I'm positive you've heard of it. It's about the only thing I've drank for quite a while, and being a demon we have an unnaturally high alcohol tolerance. Even if I drank it, I would still function as if I drank coffee or tea."

A bottle of the drink appears on the table with no real indication that it hadn't been there the whole time. Nomanic simply smiles. "Not much of a taste to it - but very potent stuff. Depending on the user's ability, it heightens magical tendencies to a dangerous degree. But I'm sure you can keep yourself under control." He pauses. "Or is this the reality where it's overglorified mango juice? I can't remember. Regardless, let us get to the task set before us." He folds his hands, elbows on the table. "You may ask me as many questions as you wish; but note that for every question that you ask, I will ask you one in return. And neither of us can lie - I'm sure you have ways of noticing when one hides the truth. Even if one is Nomanic Carver." He smiles with his usual sly grin. "Or we could just sit here and enjoy our drinks, talk about the weather, discuss politics, argue over whatever it is you do in your reality for a passtime. It's your call."

Varutil grabs the bottle and pours himself a glass. He swirls the glass in his hand before raising it to his hood. When he inhales he breathes a sigh of relief, finding it to be exactly what he wanted. He pulls off the hood of his cloak, revealing his demon features. Being careful as to not break the glass, he brings it to his mouth with practiced ease and sips gently.

"Nomanic, I have never actually lied once in my life. If I never wanted to answer a question, I simply avoid it in a way that makes it seem like I answered the question. I have no qualms about this trade of facts. Now, if I may ask, Cerce mentioned one of the old tomes I had before. Bare black leather with silver writing. I do believe you had a hand in that back. Would you please divulge the information on said tome? It had confounded me for many years before I gave it away. Also, if you would mind explaining why I have this Hrelthgar Bond with Cerce, I would be vastly appreciated."

"Ah, two excellent questions!" Nomanic seems pleased. "And I have two very good answers. First, the Hrelthgar Bond. I found it to be poetic justice, you see. I had traced your essence after you left the realm of Calradia, and simply threw Cerce in the same general direction, using your essence as an anchor. My... well, let's call him my brother, Daemon, had decided to use Cerce without my permission. Granted, Cerce still worked in my favor in Calradia, but Daemon still used him to his advantage. Daemon used Cerce to bring together a large majority of 'do-gooders' under one nation, Cerantia. Cerce had also become a member of a group known as the High Nobles in Calradia, and was even in the process of becoming Emperor of Calradia, ushering in an age of peace. Now that everyone looked to Cerce as the figurehead of everything good in Calradia, Daemon used a rather barbaric worshiper of the Blood God, known as Sven the One Eyed, to kill Cerce. I saved him, of course, but not before the entire High Nobles were summarily executed, and the realm was plunged into chaos." Nomanic takes a break here, sipping at his tea. "You see, my brother enjoys rampant slaughter, killing mercilessly, and the like. I, on the other hand, enjoy a more... refined taste in my enjoyments. I'm more in it for the ride than I am for the destination. I'm sorry to say that I won't reveal my motives, even to you here and now, regardless of if you ask of them or not." He sighs, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, but as to the reasoning. Yes, I brought you two into the merge due to the fact that I know you two would most likely have ended up either killing each other or becoming close partners. I simply removed your ability to kill him without killing yourself, and increased your ability to work together, thus ensuring Cerce's continued livelihood."

Nomanic refills his cup with tea, pouring in a little creamer. "Now, as to the book. It was mine to begin with, as a matter of fact. The contents of the book simply allow the reader the knowledge I wish them to see. Consider it a book into my mind; only I decide what is on the page. In your case, when you first looked into it, I saw no need to divulge information to you regarding myself, or my abilities, or how you could use it. I still see no need to divulge such information. In Cerce's case, he knows how to travel to another dimension upon his death - but he cannot pick what dimension. The intricacies are trivial; I'm sure you know how similar magical workings are performed."

He leans forward again, looking into Varutil's eyes with obvious intrigue. "You asked me two questions; and so I ask two in return. Firstly; what is your will to live; or, why do you persist on living? Is it the fact that you don't wish death, or is there something out there that needs doing before you go? Or are you in it for fun?" He smirks, and stands up, looking off into the whiteness to the right of Varutil. "Secondly; if I was to remove the bond, what would your stance towards Cerce be?"

Varutil pauses in thought of the answer, sipping from his glass as he thought. He reaches for his robes absentmindedly, looking for an empty tome, forgetting that his own pocket dimension did not operate there. When he realized what he was doing he stopped and chuckled, returning his hand to his side.

"If only I could write down this exchange. My private library is filled with situations such as these, but I will admit, this is a bit high on the list. Now, my stance on Cerce? I would not kill him outright for petty revenge. That would simply be foolish. As would the idea of abandoning him outright for any reason. No, we have a sort of... 'partnership' occurring as of lately. His attitude and disposition makes it a bit difficult to make him to be used and controlled, but he is incredibly reasonable, so simply making a deal with him is easy, however emotional he can become."

In thought of the first question asked, Varutil drains the last of the glass and begins to refill it. When he leans back, he looks off into the distance, his crimson eyes glossed over in remembrance. His face turns into a slight frown, the odd features making it seem more sinister than intended.

"My will to live? I could easily say I do it for the fun, but that is only part of it. I could delve further and explain that I wish to prove myself better than my brother, but I have done that many times over. I could say I wish to rule, but I have already done that with three kingdoms. The first was invaded, and I simply did not have the population to defend myself. The second time I was bored and left. The thirds time I incited a rebellion myself and faked my demise before leveling the city in 'revenge'. I don't have the patience to rule over idiots and imbeciles. I don't wish to study forever, for that becomes dull. I think what it comes down to is three main reasons. The first is that I wish for all beings to learn their place. Many things, creatures, and even celestial beings like to believe they know more and can control more. As you have probably heard, unfounded arrogance is inane. The second is to change things. To stir the proverbial pot. Change is necessary for both growth and action. Complacency is stale and boring, and no one enjoys that for very long. And the third...."

Varutil's frown becomes deeper and his eyes grow dimmer. He is still in thought, so the actions are not intended, but instead involuntary.

"The third reason is out of spite. Many have wished for my death Many constantly do. Even my own brother would prefer I be dead. But I continue. I persist to spite those that oppose me. I am proof of their failures. Their inabilities. Civilizations have fallen to me. Demi-gods have died at my hand. Minor gods avoid me to avoid crossing me. Larger deities have made cautions to me, warning against my growth and progress. I move forward, growing ever stronger, to show those in my past and my future, that I am change. I am power. I am a force that would shame them and their abilities. Those who I bless with my presence would better appreciate it than deny it. Apze accepted it, and he has lived longer than any demon of his kind and achieved more kills than anyone of our race. Many kings have risen to power with my backing, and trade companies have flourished. As have civilizations fallen for spurning me, and men slaughtered. All are below me. None are allowed to refuse me! Clarissa did not see it, even after many chances, and she suffered for it!"

With his last sentence Varutil drains his glass and slams it onto the table in a rush of anger. As the glass shards fly about, Varutil freezes, realizing the loss of control exhibited. As he slowly returns to his sitting position, he sighs.

"And perhaps a bit of anger. Sometimes emotion is needed to continue living. Now, I do hope I can ask you still. I wish to know how you and you're 'brother' Daemon are linked to Cerce, and what function does Cerce serve in all of this."

Varutil motions to the space around them, the nothingness that extends unto oblivion.

A blank book, quill, and ink appear on the table without any major display. The shards of Varutil's glass also seem to have disappeared. Nomanic smiles at Varutil's display of anger, knowing he hit a soft spot. Putting his tea down, he sighs, pondering the question a moment.

"A demon, a slave, and a 'necromancer' walk into a bar." He chuckles. "Not exactly how it happened - but my existence, and Cerce's life, seems to almost be a running joke. And a funny one, at that - not those sad jokes with no true meaning. One that could make you roll on the floor laughing for hours." He actually does begin to laugh. "Oh, the travel's we've had - there was one time where Cerce actually changed into a woman for a year and five months... And another when he walked in to deliver a message to a king while he was having a sex affair with a witch - that was fun. Entire kingdom was in an uproar, he's trying to put down political strife, and Cerce is just standing there with a piece of parchment going 'Oh... Not the time?'" Nomanic bursts in laughter. "And... And another... when this mercenary woman had... actually mugged him and stuffed him in a chest... so... so..." He tries to catch his breath. "He's sitting there, butt naked, and he comes out of the chest, right in front of the high court of some powerful merchant family, right? And he just looks at the head of the family, strait faced, everyone else falls quiet, and he goes: 'Just... don't ask.' He picks up the chest, and uses it to shield his naked body from the rest of the crowd, and runs out! Hah!"

((For the record, all of those were true events, and hilarious at the time))

Calming down, he reaches for his tea, sipping it again. "High Nobles courts, assassin guilds, castle building, rebellion, opening a brewery - all of it such fun. But as to how it all began - and why." Nomanic looks off into the distance, smirking. "Well, you see, Cerce is, technically, my creation - gone wrong. Most kids grow up bitter, angry, and self-obsessed with this 'why me' attitude when they have both parents die in childbirth. I killed the wife, and the father threw himself against me trying to save his child, so I killed him too. All quite sad - but necessary. I had planned to give the child as a present to Sarkora of Sarkom to be an indentured servant, as I had already gained a high status in his court. I thought, 'Oh, this guy will raise the kid as his close servant, and he'll eventually rise up against him'. Nope!" Nomanic sips his tea yet again. "Cerce grew up to be an annoying goody-two-shoes. Clumsy, innocent, good-natured, hilarious, and religious. Loves to talk, write, all that stuff. Not exactly what I had planned."

"Cerce grew to be almost a friend to Sarkora, and, seeing as how he wouldn't rise up against his oppressor, I did the deed myself. Poisoned the king in his food, and raised his body back to life so that I may rule the kingdom." Setting his tea down, he leans in towards Varutil. "You must understand, this was back when I was more interested in destruction - much like my 'brother'. But then Cerce came into the room, saw that I was controlling the king, and decided to call the guards and put a crossbow bolt through my heart. I was still alive, of course, but the shock of it all was a bit much. A seventeen year old shooting a crossbow with a necromancer bearing the weight of his power down on him, and then managing to pierce the necromancer's heart? Bah. Still absurd."

He leans back. "So he cut out my heart, thinking that'd help anything. But really it just caused a lot of problems for him, as I was always there in his little sack that he carried around, messing with his head. I will admit, I was quite the ass at the time. Eventually I decided to transport him to another reality, taking me with him. It was here he found the black chest - and put my heart into it." Nomanic pauses. "It was at this time where I rethought my approach to my existence. There was no true meaning - just destroy this, destroy that, cause some chaos here, and maybe eventually everything will be destroyed and I'll have some quiet... but what is the fun in that? Nothing. There is no existence after everything is removed, right? No sense in it. So, realizing this, I decided to cause a bit of frustration for those that still thought this way - at first, it was just Daemon, so I sent Cerce into his realms and stirred up all sorts of trouble. Daemon didn't like that, and so he started jumping realities with us, always coming two or three realities behind. You might have heard me informing Cerce of his wife's demise at the hands of my 'brother'."

He gets up, staff in hand, twirling it around a bit. "But now Daemon isn't the enemy. The Other is." Twirling the staff around again, he smacks it down into his hand. "Because the Other isn't in the destruction business because he likes it, or because he doesn't enjoy sentient life other than himself. The Other was asked to help settle differences between sentient beings so as to create peace. The Other then took this command as to create peace, and saw that peace could not last regardless of the circumstances with sentient beings - and then began to remove them." Nomanic turns to Varutil. "Not out of malice, or hatred, or because it seems logical. It does this simply because it does. The One - which is, according to Cerce, the creator of everything, and embodiment of love - created the Other to be without emotion or thought, so as to avoid it turning evil. The problem is, the Other could still misinterpret the One's commands. It's all quite annoying, so I don't think about it much - but I've seen the Other at work, and he's no fun at all. Just lots of fire."

Nomanic reclaims his seat. "So, in short, I have Cerce because Cerce is good at being Cerce. He unifies, creates bonds - be they romantic, friendly, political, whatever. Thus, they stand a greater chance against Daemon - and after him, the Other. So far we've only really succeeded with Calradia. That realm is still kicking after shoving both destroyers on their way. And no, before you ask, you can't destroy them - much like you cannot destroy me. You can move them, capture them, but never destroy. Also, before you ask, I am not a demigod, or necromancer - even though I played the part of necromancer in Sarkom - and I am not a celestial being. My name is Nomanic Carver, I have no creator, I exist for myself and my chosen pastimes, and I do so enjoy tea. Nothing more, nothing less." At this, he sips his tea.

"I hope that answers that question. I know that was a rather lengthy response, but I think you need to see the full picture in order to appreciate one of the many paint strokes within it. Now, as for my question to you - Who is this Clarissa? I'd take her as a love interest, but then again I assumed you had some feelings for Saera at first - so I may be wrong."

Varutil picks up the book and quill and begins to transcribe the conversation without looking away from Nomanic. The quill scribbles furiously as he talks, explaining the events and extrapolating on the question he had asked. When he finished, Varutil sighed and set the book down for a moment.

"How I would like to spend my time sitting here and simply asking you questions, learning from you of your power and the control you have. Even if you weren't a celestial being or a deity, the time you have had is infinite compared to me. Time like that is something I strive for, something I hunger for. Even with how long I have lived, it is only a second to beings like yourself...."

Varutil picks up the book again, this time writing slowly. The quill weaves the tapestry of words onto the book, moving carefully as it handles a delicate thread.

"Clarissa was my first, last, and only love. I have no interest in Saera. As with all creatures of the flesh, I enjoy the pleasures of the flesh at times. It is a weakness at times, and it last for only a short time before I no longer feel the urges. I have bedded many over the time, but they have always just been tools, instruments for relieving the urges. The only time I knew a female as more than a tool was with Clarissa, or, as her full Elven name, del' Clarisava Naamora. She originally told me that it meant 'The Graceful Movement'. It wasn't until after I had mastered their Elven language that I learned it was really 'The Elusive Trickster'. Names were given at birth that described how they would be as they grew older, and she fit perfectly into her name. At my first glance of her she had stolen me by her beautiful features. A tall, slender frame with beautiful auburn hair, azure eyes, and a smile that would melt any man's heart. She was very lean, not much in what many men consider 'attractive' when it came to her body. But what I valued most was her intelligence and skill."

Varutil pauses in thought, his hand letting go of the quill for a moment to stretch his hand.
"It has been many years since I have last written by hand. Your dimension's lack of magi is crippling."
Varutil stands up, grabbing the book and quill to resume writing as he begins to slowly pace.

"She was a master with the bow. A single arrow and she could kill three men who were up to five feet away. It may sound impossible, but she had learned to ricochet the arrows and penetrate them through the bodies of men. Armor was no issue for her. She had killed a fully armored orc before with a single arrow to the heart. No one could surpass her skill. And behind that skill was a mind as sharp as her arrows. No small detail escaped her notice. Alie was quickly caught in the snare of her words, she could find the smallest clue to any mystery with a quick glance and then figure out the entire issue in a matter of minutes. She was just so fast and clever, she surpassed any other creature I had met at the time."

Varutil laughs, a harsh and bitter sound. It had more emotion than any laugh he had made recently and made it sound more of a curse than a sound of joy.

"The best part of this beautiful creature was that she was part of an organization called 'The Black Shield'. It was an order founded entirely on the basis of hunting down rogue magi and magic users. And I was a prime target from the day of it's formation."

Varutil walks back to his seat tossing the book down onto the table and picking up his glass.

"That is who Clarissa is. Now, if I may ask, why put the three of us through your 'test'? It seems a bit inane to me."

Nomanic smiles. "Ah, now there's a question. Why put you through these tests? Why tests that seem so simple, or that have no true revealing qualities?" His smile broadens. "Simply put: You tell me more than you think you do." He picks up his tea again, watching as Varutil writes away.

He sips lightly, and then talks again. "Do you know how much I could tell about a person simply by what they are wearing? Or how they talk? Or what they drink? I have once determined the name of someone's first child by the fact that they enjoyed the color red. Just because the levers obviously would end up freeing Gekk-Va-Ro-Kaa doesn't mean that it still wasn't a test. I know more about you now than everyone in Kiwike knows of you since the moment you arrived. I know your outlook, your demeanor, what course of action you will soon take, why you are here, what hand you prefer to use, what color you enjoy, your first and last love, your reason for living - and really, what more do I need to know?"

Nomanic sets the cup down again, not bothering to refill it. "And, I find it funny how you have such compassion yet such detatchment. You may say otherwise, you may even feel and think otherwise - but no demonic being would lift a talon for a god, regardless of circumstance. And no demonic being would ever think of saving someone that they hated - as I'm sure I read your distaste for dragonoids correctly. So the only real reason you did these things was to get to me." He sits back in satisfaction. "Well, that and save Cerce. Am I right?"

Varutil chuckles before taking another sip of his glass.

"You are correct, Mr. Carver. I truly did not know how long I had to play your silly game to get to you, but that is what I wanted the most. You are right in the fact that I don't care about Gekk. I almost let him die if it wasn't for the fact that I wanted to get to you at some point. About the only three interesting beings I have met so far in this land are Cerce who connects me to you, Android because of his amazing build, and my very own golems back home. This is a very dull land, so I'm getting quite more of a vacation than I let on."

"But yes, I did wish to get to you. Cerce had mentioned you often enough and explained how there was some sort of connection previously established. I had to know if you were a direct threat to me and if you may cause more or less. I go through my life knowing, and whenever I lack knowledge I am at a disadvantage. A prime example is with Clarissa, as I was explaining before. To summarize a very eventful four years, I ended up killing her as well as about five thousand other mixed races because I did not know if she was playing me, playing her order, or both. It has been my most critical error and the most I have ever paid for a mistake. I do not wish to make a mistake like that, and as such I had to investigate you and whomever else was part of Cerce and the Hrelthgar Bond you had so generously imposed upon us."

Varutil reaches into a small pocket, a pulling out a very small and mundane book. He reached over and handed it to Nomanic. It is blank on the outsides, but inside the book is filled with pages upon pages covered in red ink. Runes overlap each other, creating what looks like a solid blob on each page, but it is easily seen to be runes.

"I wish to know if that would collapse this dimension if powered. I have been trying to create that for a few centuries, but I cannot test it on my own dimensions. I need to know if that will function here, if at all."

Nomanic looks over the runes, pausing afterwards. Looking back up to Varutil, he states simply: "Explain to me the intended effect of this tome. Then I will answer your question."

"Its supposed to collapse a dimension in on itself, not killing killing anything but simply causing the fabric holding it together to fall apart. I've needed something along the lines of it two times so far, and I am tired of not having access to a quick way out of a dimension."

He traces the lines of certain runes and begins listing off their effects on the fabric of dimensions and how it would unravel a dimension theoretically. After he finishes he leans back and takes another sip of his glass.
Nomanic thinks for a moment, and shrugs. "Very well - yes, it can work here with that effect. Besides, the questions are getting rather dull, and everyone has passed their respective tests... although, I must say, for a god, Gekk-Va seems rather ignorant. Or perhaps stupid. Or both." He finishes the rest of his tea, and sets it down. "Let us say this is your final test. If it works, then you leave this dimension and return to Kiwike, along with everyone else. Does that seem fair?"

"That, Mr. Carver, seems very fair. Though before I begin, may I ask how I may be able to contact you again? The conversation we had was much more enjoyable than the other sundry of conversations I've had leading up to these events. I wish to pick your brain over, try and garner some extra information from your brain."

Even as he speaks Varutil pulls the book open to the exact middle of the book where a hand-like shape rests. He rolls up his sleeve and places his palm down while he pulls his hood up with the other hand.

"Oh, I do believe that unless you wish for a messy table of mana essence and blood, you should let me access my magic."

Nomanic laughs at the last comment. "I almost want to see that. But for this performance, yes, you may use your magic. As for how you can contact me - simply use the black book with silver lettering. There are a few blank pages in the back - ink written there will seem to absorb into the paper, and I can write back to you without going through the trouble of traveling through dimensions. Yes, I know, it is overused by magicians and their ilk; but it is simple and standard, and what isn't broken doesn't need to be fixed." He smiles, and sets his cup down for the last time.

"Indeed. Trite things sometimes are the most effective."

Varutil closes his eyes for a moment before his hand and the book begin to shimmer for a moment, then become enveloped in a bright red orb. Suddenly wiry tentacles of energy shoot forth, reaching beyond the edges of both Varutil's and Nomanic's sight, reaching to grab the edges and begin crushing in the dimension. After a few moments the orb disappears, but the tentacles do not. Varutil neatly picks the book up and returns it to his coat pocket. The tentacles work quickly, already fraying the edges of the dimension and leaving small burn marks throughout. No area is unaffected as they march across the sky.

"Mr. Carver, if I may ask, what do you think my favorite colour is? We have a few moments before the spell finishes, so I might as well ask."

Varutil grabs his glass and conjures a second one, filling both with the last of the mana essence. He holds it out to Nomanic, expecting to make a toast.

Nomanic smiles slyly, taking the glass. "I'd have to say pink. It goes hand-in-hand with you, Fluffy." He laughs, tips his glass with yours, and in a flash, Varutil finds himself exactly where he started when he read the first poem.

Varutil chuckles, draining his glass before causing it to disappear. He leans back in the seat, facing the other two in the room, watching their faces.

"It's Purple, just so you know. It stands for nobility, and I like to keep that as a reminder..."

((It is at this time that everyone is now in the room back in Kiwike))

Cerce also stands at the foot of his bed. "What the hell, Gekk-Va? 'Oh, we'll disregard what the all powerful being just told us, and take both!' No offence, but did you loose your inteligence for a moment? Nobody falls for the scroll and sword room!" He seems flustered, but smiles nontheless. "But... thank you. All of you."

Saera checks all over herself, relieved to find everything is back to normal. When Cerce mentions about the room, she seems a little flustered. "That part is also partially my fault, as I agreed to taking both. But it still worked out, didn't it?" She makes a dragonoid's version of a sheepish smile, like a child caught in the act of something.

She approaches Cerce and Varutil by the bed. "I suppose our thanks to go you, Varutil, even if mine and Gekk's life are only secondary. Still, it was quite an experience meeting a full-grown dragon. But I am rather undecided if I would like to meet this Nomanic again."

Gekk frowns and shrugs. "I am not at all surprised that we made it out alive. As for taking both, Cerce... I am not one to play by anyone's rules. Even if it kills me."
Gekk starts to head out the door, but stops for a moment in hesitation. "Oh, I almost forgot."
He turns and walks up to Saera. "This is from Inkscale." The deity reaches his tail around her waist and tickles her briefly. "Whatever that is supposed to mean..." With that, he trudges off. There is work to be done.