Julius sits in a bag. A bag so small that his bones are just a jumbled pile. That, in itself, is a minor and temporary inconvenience. Merely a good starting point for the real problem. The bag sits in a box. Once again, Julius notes that such a trifle as this would only be a little less ideal. Usually, he could use his mental powers to feel for minds around. Or just call for his friends. Carrie-Anne very well could find him. No, the truly unbearable part of this situation was that the box stopped every sense from penetrating. It was so abrupt and jarring that it warped his perception. Sometimes it feels like the universe has dissolved, leaving him trapped and alone floating in the void of nothing. Sometimes it feels like the box is closing in. Like it is a press about to pulverize his remains into a dusty cube. In moments like these, his souls panic and make him gasp for air. A holdover instinct from being fleshy mortals. Still, the worst is when the box gives him vertigo. It’s like the walls are expanding, and the box is falling. They scream then. But they know nobody can hear it. He can’t tell if he’s been in here for 30 minutes or days. He has no stomach to hunger, no waste to expel, no brain to rest. He fears that his sanity dwindles and degrades with every moment.

Finally, in self-defense, his unity of three souls split. One eye changes to a deep, throbbing red orb. The other a glimmering blue. And a third scintillating violet sphere forms on his forehead. Orgthar, the blue orb flares and flickers as it speaks, “Argh! I hate doing nothing! Thish ish sho boring!”

Willow, the red orb, brightens and begins flickering as it speaks as well. “I don’t know, I wouldn’t mind it so much if I had some plants and creatures to meditate on. I haven’t had a rest in decades. Julius doesn’t sleep, and when we align with him, we hate wasting time.” She sighed. “I wish I could have a nap.”

Orgthar makes an appreciative sound. “Oh yeah, I’d literally kill for a good nap.”

Willow hums in agreement.

Orgthar’s next words were significantly more…enthusiastic, “Maybe taken with a couple of comely wenchesh.”

“Brute! Watch what you think here! I did not want to see–OH!”

Orgthar’s orb takes on a ruddy purple hue. “Oh godsh, I’m shorry. I fell into the thought by habit, and when you shpoke it kinda put you in it.”

Willow’s red has gone deeper and brighter. “Stop. Talking. Now.”

Orgthar bobs. His orb still flushed and dimmer now. “Yesh Willow.” After another interminable and immeasurable silence, Orgthar’s orb gains a little point as it shifts his attention to the violet orb above his. “What about you Vorashity? Anything you really want right now?

Voracity’s violet orb buzzes and flickers before responding. “I want a snack. Thank you for asking Food.”

Willow sighs–Well, she does the mental recreation of a sigh. “Voracity please. We’ve established that there is no way for you to eat us. Would you please not refer to us as Food? It’s both confusing and insulting.”

The violet orb emits a crackling hum. “It isn’t confusing to me. You both are Food.”

The point on Orgthar’s orb rolls in a circle. Somehow conveying frustration. “There are three of ush. It’s hard to tell ush apart if you jusht call ush both the shame name.”

“What if I call you Food One and Food Two?”

Willow flares ominously. “Absolutely not!”

Voracity buzzes thoughtfully. “Orc and Elf?”

Orgthar chuckles. “That’sh rashisht!”

“So, no?”

Both orbs flare as they answer, “NO!”

Voracity’s orb gains little spikes as he growls. “It feels wrong to use the true names of food.”

Willow sighs. “Voracity, we might have been considered food in our original forms. But only if you had been in your original form as well. You’ve tried countless times to eat both us and others. And you can’t. We’re about as much food as you are. Are you willing to be called food?”

“Of course not!”

“Then we are not food!”

Voracity dims and gives in. “I’m never going to get a snack, am I?”

Willow’s red orb hovers out of the eye socket and bumps Voracity’s. “Nope, but at least you have friends.”

Voracity buzzes forlornly. “Snacks would be better.”

A loud clack invades their universe and the lid opens. The three souls quickly revert to a single Julius and gaze longingly at the bottom of the chest. “Oh boy! Am I glad to get out of here! Pick me up, pleashe!”

A hand grabs the bag and lifts. The bag spins gently and Julius can see robed and hooded figures. “Oh hey, it’s some of the Shalvitore’s Shervishe. How did you find…me.” Julius remembers that this group had tried to summon monsters to kill him. “Oh dear.”

_________

Carrie-Anne squaws furiously and tries to nip the webbing Krop’s restraining hands. She’d been frantically trying to leave for hours. “Hwwwrk, I think something is wrong with Julius. Maybe we should ask for an update from the guard.”

Rick sets down a pint of ale almost as tall as he is, and flies over. “I think you might be right, kiddo. That Bird’s got more sense than the rest of you.” He seesaws his hand. “But Candii is already talking to the Adventurer’s guild. That’d mean we’d have to talk to the Clankers.” He started wagging his gauntlet finger. “And you don’t talk to Clankers about prisoner’s without a good excuse. Otherwise, they’ll clonk ya and throw you in the clink, too.”

Krop tilts his head, fixing Rick with his large froggy eyeball. “Hrrurwurrk, but we just said we had a reason.”

Rick pauses, then asks. “What?”

Krop nods his dark red head at the squawing buzzard in his hands. “Hwrk, his familiar thinks he’s in danger.”

“Nah yeah. That will work.” He chuckles. “Trust a toadie to lie with the truth! I must say Kroppy, thinkin’ like that, you could just about pass for fey.”

Krop blinks at Rick. “Hwroak, I think what you just said was rude. Please don’t.”

Rick nods. “That’s fair. Shall we?” Krop nods and they make their way outside. The afternoon sun is warm, and the town seems peaceful. The inn behind them is on the edge of a town square. A fountain spews water from the spears of several Draconic soldiers defending a small child with a crown. To their right, A man with a food cart slowly turns a giant spit of meat over a heat stone on his counter. The smell is maddeningly alluring. Rick gives the vendor a wave. “G’day Chauncey, how you been?”

The vendor looks up and nods. He is an Azuran, someone of demonic descent. His skin is burgundy and his horns curl past his short dark locks. He grins and waves. “Rick, you’re early. The next batch is going to be ready in an hour.” His crimson sclera and black eyes are intimidating on first impression. But Rick knows that this one’s alright. “Anyway, where are your friends?”

“Nah, we’re just passin’ bloke. Gonna check on a couple of them. They got in a misunderstanding at the gate again.

Chauncey chuckles. “Julius again? Can’t say I blame them. It’s not every day a skeleton comes up and asks me to describe to the best of my ability what my food tastes like.”

Rick laughs back. “Yeah, blurted out some yammer about messing with summoning circles and lots of people dying. ‘Course that riled ‘em right up and they started asking pointed questions. Then one of the guards tried to look under Sasha’s hood.”

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Chauncey winced. “That would do it. I take it she was napping.”

“Yup. She woke up, hissed, leapt right onto his chest and bit his hand while he tried to fend her off.” He stares off for a bit. “Anyway, no time to talk. Jule’s bird is pitching a fit. Gotta go check he’s alright.” Chauncey waves goodbye as they keep on. As they get within a few blocks of the Jail, they stop and look at each other. In the distance, they could hear the frantic ringing of bells. They share a nod and sprint forward.

Krop looks down at the still restless bird and shakes her to get her attention. As she turns one irritated, sulfurous eye to him, he speaks. “Hwrrk, look Carrie, I’ll let you go and look for Julius. Just please come back whether you find him or if you can’t. Hwrrrwwk, I’m worried too.” Krop isn’t certain just how smart Carrie is. The line is blurry, as Julius can communicate mentally with her, and he can’t tell how much she understands versus how much Julius translates. But she’s always seemed to understand everything they try to tell her. So when she stills and releases a less frantic scraw he shrugs and tosses her up. It was worth a try, and he couldn’t hold her and his ax. She rapidly flies ahead, and they see that the jail looks more like a disturbed swarmling nest than a precinct.

They head right up to the guards manning the gate. They’re obviously on edge. Both watching for fleeing prisoners, sending away curious onlookers, and trying to catch a glimpse of what’s going on inside. Rick and Krop pull their adventurer’s insignia and Krop speaks with an official tone. “Hwerk, adventurers Krop Groalken and Death Mote are reporting on suspicion of a crisis. Please activate the conscription spell and send us to your supervisor.

Rick does a little wave and drawls. “Call me Rick. I hate that name.”

The guard’s pupils shrink to pinpricks at Rick's adventuring title. The name Death Mote was in many a heroic legend. A notorious figure who randomly seems to slaughter hordes of people. Good, bad, it depended on the story. He gulps, and then recovers admirably. “R-Right then.” He walks to the gate. On one side of the granite arch is a differently colored brick with the symbol of the adventurer’s guild. The guard slices his finger on the blade of his halberd and touches his bleeding digit to the symbol. Out of the stone comes a scroll. The guard unfurls it and speaks the command. “Activate conscription protocol.” Suddenly, Krop and Rick are sheathed in a royal purple light.

The scroll is a special creation of the adventurers’ guild. For several hundred years, the world suffered from two plagues. The first was an endless, randomly spawning series of magical monsters and crises. Peaceful kingdoms would suddenly find that the mountains near their cities hosted dragons. Caves would appear where there was none, and it would be filled with tombs of the dead or evil cults. Crime bosses would arrive overnight, and the people would both remember that they had always been there and that they weren’t there yesterday. No one knew how to defend against reality being rewritten so randomly and dangerously. The second plague was the seemingly simultaneous rise of the adventuring hero. Just like the mysterious threats. These warlike and impulsive peoples began popping up among all races in all cities. These warriors began demanding dangerous work, many were greedy and violent. Attacking and stealing or committing a rainbow of chaotic deeds. Some were moral. A few even avoided confrontations and crime. But to a person, they had a strange eagerness to adventure. Most would appear like the threats. Just pop into existence on the road or in a tavern. Some were locals that suddenly changed and yet, had always been that way.

Usually, the adventurers would flock towards the new threats. Largely ameliorating the damage these calamities caused. But when not encountering a challenge, these beings regularly cause trouble. Almost a century ago, a minor, but widespread guild realized that these beings were the cure for the much more alarming plague of terrors. The adventurers' guild was mainly a hunter and mercenary lodge for those who like to travel the wilds. But they began working with local leaders and these heroes. They began collecting requests and bounties subsidizing juicy rewards for hard jobs and becoming the place to report new threats. At the same time, they began writing a charter. A code of conduct that must be maintained by its members in order to have access to these lucrative jobs. Lastly, they began submitting new laws. Laws that would better use these warriors for the strange and random crisis, while curtailing their destructive tendencies.

This scroll was one of those. It was a special conscription spell that would deputize an adventuring party. Castable only by an employed member of the government, the spell would show all involved that these were in service and had the blessing of the locals. As a countermeasure to abuse, the spell would also track the deeds of those highlighted. If they fail to obey the law and betray the trust, the highlighted color would change. It would simultaneously show their duplicity and trigger a capture contract to every other guild member in the area. Thus, after conscription, the guardsman just pointed to the central building and spoke. “Seek Captain Maruze, human, dark hair in a top-knot, war hammer and well-used armor. He’ll give you orders. The alarm is signaling that multiple prisoners have escaped their cells.”

Krop pulls out his great ax and Rick produces a strange weapon. In his hands is a very large sword grip. Pommel, grip, and cross guard are all present and accounted for. It’s the rest of his Zweihänder that’s missing. For all appearances, he holds a sword handle as big as himself and no blade. They quickly make their way inside. Each guard they pass notices the conscription aura first. Nodding and stepping aside to allow their passage. Rick notices that the few he recognizes eye his weapons and grip their own with suspicion. Some run ahead and a few trail behind them. Rick flies to Krop’s shoulder and he whispers. “Listen lad. Don’t react to threats from the guards. Trust the conscription. I think they’re going to try to detain us. Possibly even draw steel. Don’t react. They can’t arrest a conscript in good standing. I suspect some of our party may be…responsible for the alarm. I know how you are about threats. Do not fight, only defend.”

Krop’s froggy green eye rolls to look at Rick. “Hwrrunk, That’s a terrible way to deal with threats. But you clearly see something I don’t…Hrwerk, I will stay my hand until they draw my blood. Then I must slay them. It is tenant three of the code of the Grimurrk.” As they enter, the glares intensify. Rick’s keen ears begin hearing whispers and single words. “Some of them” and “Dirty tricks.” Finally, they reach the cells. Many prisoners are shouting and clamoring. Guards swarm around. Teams of three enter each cell, one restraining the occupants, one barring the door and watching for escapees, while the third searches each cell. One cell has been cleared and turned into a temporary station for the captain. A table has been pulled into the room and a map of the complex sits upon it. Two clerks sit at the desk, one marking each room that gets updated, while the other frantically scribes a written account of each report and order issued. Standing beside the table, issuing orders, is Maruze. As soon as Maruze's dark eyes spot them, he silences the stream of reports with a hand and points at the two adventurers.

“Guards! Detain these accomplices at once.” Several guards ready their weapons, and some give general sounds of confirmation. But none attack.

“Yeah nah bloke, that’s unlawful.” Rick drawls.

Maruze hefts his hammer onto his shoulder and walks towards the two. “Unlawful you say?” He snorts and motions for his men to surround them. “I catch your friends mid-escape, and you show up at the scene of the crime, and you say I can’t arrest you?” His gauntleted fingers tighten and creak against the haft of his hammer. “Bugger that. Lay down your arms and I promise you’ll make the trial safe and sound.”

Krop has frozen. His ax ready to parry any assault. Rick feels a bit of sweat under his helmet. Krop doesn’t do nonlethal. To attack him is to challenge him to a battle of life and death. “Now look here bloke. We’ve been conscripted. And by the magic of the conscription, you can clearly see that we’ve done nothing to break the law or hinder you. We’re all mates here. You can’t arrest us, and we don’t have to let you. Attack us, and you break the contract that binds us to your service. Also, breaking that contract is a crime. We’ll be forced to arrest you. You’ll get your own pretty ass thrown in here if you try.”

Maruze glares at him. His fingers drum on his hammer. “Um, sir?” one of the clerks pipes up.

“Report.”

“He’s completely right, sir.” The clerk reminds him. Maruze grunts in displeasure.

Rick holds up a hand. “Now look, you seem like a competent bloke. How about this? We solemnly swear that we aren’t here to help our friends escape. Actually, one of our party’s familiars began freaking out. We suspected that they were in danger and came to help. We promise to aid you in recapturing ALL escapees, including our friends, and will aid you in seeking out the truth. If they committed crimes under the law, we’ll ensure that they see their punishments met. All we want is for our friends to survive and find what happened here. Fair?”

The silence stretches unnaturally long as the captain considers them. Finally, the same clerk speaks again. “Sir, are you aware of what happens if they break the law while under the conscription?”

“I know the law, Anders.” Maruze snapped.

“So you know that breaking the conscription laws can lead to the death penalty for them and makes them a permanent beacon and bounty for all other adventures?”

“Oh, right.” The captain sighs and lowers his hammer.

Rick flies over to the table and asks the clerk. “So, how many prisoners have escaped and what do we know?”

Maruze speaks, glaring at Rick. “Only three prisoners have attempted escape. We found your friends out of their cells, and standing in the skeleton’s cell. The skeleton was missing, presumed invisible, and your other friends were inside its cell. We ordered them to stand down and they didn’t. Prisoner Borbigmos turned and made a sudden movement, and one of our soldiers fired their crossbow in panicked response. The bolt took his leg and we subdued him. In the fight, your otter friend evaded capture. Broke our sight lines and disappeared. All entrances and exits are locked down. We know the otter is still here at least. No sign of the skeleton Julius, was it? Also, upon entering the cell, we realized a silence effect was active.”

Rick nods. “If I can get Sasha the otter to reveal herself and promise not to flee custody, will you allow me to interview her before she returns to a cell?”

Maruze glares. “Gods-blighted adventurers. Fine. Should she agree to return to her cell, and you agree to capture her by all means necessary, should she refuse I’ll allow this circus to run.”

Rick’s grin is hidden behind his helm. “Deal! Well, little lass, you heard him. Come out and tell us your tale.”

From under the table with the map, there comes a hiss of displeasure. Both clerks yelp in alarm, and a shadow darts out from under the table and behind Krop. Krop reaches out and pats the top of her hood. Giving the space over her ears a little scritch. There is a resounding silence as everyone gapes at the otter. Then, the sound of enraged seething whistles out of the captain's nostrils. It’s clear he’s moments from losing control. “Hiding in the command room. GOD’S BLIGHTED ADVENTURERS!” He paces in front of the only door out. Still guarding the exit even as he overflows with vitriol. Swearing and grumbling and turning purple with anger, he takes sixty seconds to vent. As he stills and waits to catch his heaving breath, there’s a snigger in the next cell. Maruze’s head snaps up, and he yells, “Shut your scud hole Chopper, or I’ll forget to feed you for the next two days!” Finally calm again, he looks at Rick and waves for him to start.

“Alright Sasha lass. What in all the planes is going on?”