“Shatter Peak?” Asked Tiffany as they rode.

“Oh, it's the best town ever.” Gushed Harley. “See, there was this epic wizard duel centuries ago. The two combatants did so much damage that a chunk was blown out of the mountain they were fighting on. And eventually a town sprung up inside the hole. It caters to adventurers and mercenaries and has some of the best shops and services in the realm.” Harley's eyes widened and she pointed up the road enthusiastically. “There!”

Ahead on the road loomed the mountain peak. Just below the summit it did indeed look like someone had taken a giant spoon and dug a hole out of the side. The road led straight to the hole and as they passed through the gates there were buildings everywhere, even built into the overhang of the mountain. The road led straight into an arena-like clearing in the center of town. The whole area was covered by a cage of bars that gave it the appearance of a vague sphere made of multiple triangles.

The group stopped along the road a short way into town. “Alright,” barked Rutger, “we'll stable the horses, then take care of any business you need to conduct and we'll meet up at Cassandra's.”

“Yes!” Chirped Harley.

“Who's Cassandra?” Again asked Tiffany.

“Only the best inn ever.” The little fae girl answered. “The hot baths alone are worth the price.”

It seemed a lot of excitement over another inn, but Tiffany had to admit a bath sounded great.

The horses were taken to the stable. Inside the large barn was a tree. The animals kept here were not in paddocks or pens but wandered freely around the tree. And as they approached, three women, barely clothed with green hair, walked out of the tree itself.

“Welcome travelers,” said one of the women in an ethereal voice. “whether your journey was long or brisk, may we lighten the burdens of companions as you lighten your own in town.”

“Thank you Marrycrist,” said Max as he dropped five gold into a cup being held by a short, portly man with the legs and horns of a goat that had wandered up behind the women. “no one cares for the animals better than you and your sisters.” Max said with a bow.

“A pleasure as always, Maximus of Floren,” replied Marrycrist, she and her sisters bowing in unison. Tiffany felt they may have bowed a little too low, offering a more than generous view of their decollage to Max.

The party exited the stable, and immediately began to break apart.

“Bethany and I need to visit the temple before the inn.” Said Rutger. “I trust you will get the supplies Max?”

“As always,” the tall bespectacled young man replied.

“I'll be restocking with my guild.” Added Blithe as he stalked off.

Tiffany looked over her mallet. The clash with Rutger left a gash halfway through her handle, “I guess I need a new weapon.”

Max was retrieving money pouches from Harley when he spoke up, “I can take care of that for you.” He gingerly took the mallet from her hands. “I have some ideas for improvement. So Sprite, why don't you take Tiffany to Glorianna's and get her some propper adventuring wear.”

“Ooo, we can splurge on Glorianna's?” Squealed Harley, “Girl's shopping trip!”

“Wait,’ responded Tiffany, confused. “What?”

Max indicated all the holes and rips in Tiffany's chore jumper, “your dress is nice, but you need more durable clothes than stable leathers when out adventuring.”

“And who is Gloriana?” she continued questioning confusedly.

“Just the best dressmaker and also best armorer in the realms.” Answered Harley with a squee, as she took Tiffany's hand and began to pull her down the street.

Glorianna's was a large single room building piled to the walls with different materials, boxes of supplies and around twenty gnomes flitting feverishly about on a hundred different projects. Silks and leathers and dozens of other textiles spilled from the walls, each in dozens of different colors and patterns.

Strolling along what aisleways there were in the shop was a curvy gnome with a beehive of blue hair and a flowing ball gown to match. She stopped at each project to inspect and instruct, often examining with opera glasses individual stitchs.

Harley dashed up to the matronly gnome, wrapping her in an overzealous hug, “Aunty Glory!”

“Harley, my girl! It has been so long.” The gnome replied, returning the hug. “What can we make for you today?”

“Oh, not for me. What you made for me is still perfect. This is lady Tiffany Harkness of Winter Hollow. And she needs propper adventuring attire.” The gnomer stated, in a false tone of superiority.

“Pleased to meet you, lady Tiffany.” The gnome said with a curtsy. She then looked over the girl with a critical eye.

“Yes, yes. A half orc I see. But your features favor your human side. I suppose we must balance that.” She turned to one of the other gnomes fittering around the shop. “Clear the leather works and have Bridget make some plate backs.” She turned back to Tiffany, “come my dear, it is time to make you fabulous.”

Rutger strode into the darkened chamber, the reflecting pool within was flanked by two priests, hand tucked into opposite sleeves of their robes with the hoods pulled up to obscure their faces.

They bowed as the pool began to glow with a pale blue light.

“Welcome sir Rutger, sword of Amon, light of dawn that drives away the darkness.” the priests said in unison.

“May the light never dim until the day all darkness is driven from the lands.” Was the big man's reply.

Behind him his sister stood nervously, her hood pulled low, like the priests but her eyes were cast to the floor for some reason in shame not reverence, as evident by how her foot played nervously with the dirt on the floor.

A visage of a man appeared in the water, “Speak Rutger.” the voice echoed.

“Archbishop, we have suffered setbacks but we are still on track.” Rutger responded.

“Sir Rutger we must have the weapon in our possession before anyone else is able to retrieve it. It must not fall into the wrong hands.”

“We will have it, we have the ideal team, each is the best at what they do.” He assured the image.

“They had better be, I am paying for the best of the best.” He was silent for a moment, but when he spoke again Rutger's rear pinched closed, “you have already stretched our graces when we allowed your… sister to accompany your mission.” The pause caused visible discomfort on the paladin's face and Bethany's head to hang lower, “do not make us regret our charity.”

“Bethany is loyal and good at what she does, my sister is as dependable as I am.”

“We will hold you to that Rutger.” and the pool went dark.

Rutger stood and strode directly to his sister, drawing her into an embrace,

“it’s ok Beth, I know you, better than them, I have no doubts on you. They will learn, eventually they will come about.” He punctuated his comment with a kiss to the top of her hooded head.

The ding of metal on hot metal filled the room that Max stepped inside. The heat and smell made him feel at home. The clanging stopped and a large figure emerged from the smoke. Eight foot tall and gray skinned, wearing a dress stitched together from at least three blacksmith aprons and little else in the heat of the forges. Her skin glistened from sweat in the forge lights making the lines of her muscles and the dark gray tribal tattoos pop. Her long black hair was tied up in a severe bun on the back of her head, keeping it off her sweating back.

Intense eyes the color of charcoal stared at him as she loomed, then suddenly softened as a wide smile stretched across her lips, “aw, come back to me at last my Maximus? Am I getting my hopes up that you at last want me to make something for YOU?”

The lean lad smiled back, “I just want to use your adamantite forge, Brigeite. You have the only forge hot enough for my needs.”

The large woman let out a soft laugh that was practically a giggle on someone her size, “oh Maxie, the forge isn't the only thing I have hot enough for you.” She batted her eyelids for a few moments before she realized he wasn't getting the hint and sighed. “Of course Max. For you, anytime. It's not like I have a lot of need for it. Adamantite is not in great demand.”

Max pulled out a small money pouch to hand to the goliath lady. “Still, I'll pay you for my time on it of course Brige.”

“No.” She said bluntly, placing her hand in front of the bag, “no charge for you Max. You know that I just love to see your designs.” She pivoted to return to her work and stopped, looking back over her glistening shoulder, “on second thought, if you still want to pay somehow, I would like, if you don't mind, an ingot of your special stuff. I do have one adamantine job coming up and I'd love to use your titanum alloy instead.” Her voice dropped to an almost sultry tone as she continued with a small pout on her lips, “Adamantine is so heavy and your special metal just as strong and almost as light as mythril. Please?”

Max removed an ingot from one of his pouches, a deep silver and almost mirror like in luster. It shone in the forge light as he handed it to her. “Alright, but I don't want to make a habit of this.”

The giantess leaned down, giving the arcanist a peck on the cheek as she took it. “Thank you so much Maxie.” She whispered, before strutting away happily back to her work. She paused for a second to look back over her shoulder with a sigh at him as he walked away to the big forge.

“Who seeks a place in the Black?” Asked the figure in the blood red robe.

Over a hundred black candles burned around the perimeter of the black painted, windowless room. It made the Black mostly an illusion of lighting. It made Blithe and the four other robed figures present stand out and hid the features of the room, giving it the pretentious appearance of an endless void.

“A traveler, wandering the world, spreading the blessings of the Black who seeks the comfort of fellow denizens of the Black,” replied Blythe.

“The Black welcomes its brother, and comfort awaits…”

“Wait,” another figure interrupted, “he isn't injured, I thought comfort meant healing.”

“No comfort is seeking a place to sleep for the night, embrace is healing.” Said another beneath his hood.

“No embrace is restocking, comfort is just a bed, Simon”

“The name is Silent,”

“I've known you most of your life Simon, and now all of a sudden it's Silent? And Comfort is restocking, embrace is a bed and respite is healing, idiots.”

Blythe sighed as the bickering continued completely derailing the solemn air of the ceremony.

Tiffany stood before the mirror, the fur lined leathers felt softer against her skin than the felt lining of her old jumper. The whole outfit hung on her left shoulder, continuing down that arm to her wrist and cutting diagonal across her chest leaving the right bare. Her right arm sported a bracer from wrist to elbow to make up for it and the skirt was alternating strips of leather and furs that hung from her mid hips to her knees. The skirt met the knee high boots with their fur lining caressing her calves. Across her brow was an iron circlet embedded with seven different stones.

Harley had disappeared mid-fitting to reappear whispering among several of the shop girls and stuffing a couple of packages she received from them into her pouches. When she turned to see Tiffany as Glorianna finished the last few adjustments she let out another squee, “oh my Glorianna, you look awesome Tiffany!”

“Of course my sweet,” smiled Glorianna, “I was inspired by her half Orc heritage. It is a perfect recreation of the outfit Queen Selune wore for her coronation over the seven tribes.”

“My mom wore this?” Tiffany asked, in wide eyed surprise as she looked herself over.

“You are Selune's daughter?” Glorianna asked before a look of smug satisfaction crept over her face, “I had no idea when this inspiration spoke to me. I am good, aren't I? And I have to say it is so good to be catering to royalty again.”

Harley paid for services and the two were on their way to meet with the rest of the group. Tiffany kept looking at her reflection in shop windows as she passed, taken aback by how different she looked. In fact, if it were not for her signature twin-tails she wondered if she looked like her mom.

Tiffany was so distracted by her reflection in fact, that they nearly collided with Max as he exited a shop.

“Oh, excuse me miss…” he began before recognizing Tiffany, “oh! Hello.”

“So Maxie, how does she look?” Harley asked with a teasing tone.

“Beau…um,” he began, “that is… you look very nice Tiffany. I'm glad Gloriana could help.”

“Yea, she said my mother was crowned in an outfit like this. Do I really look ok?” She replied. She realized her cheeks felt warm for some reason.

“Again, you look great. And well, I can see on the circlet the stones representing the seven tribes. Turquoise for the desert nomad orcs, garnet from the forest runners, agate from the cliff dwellers, pearl from the sea orcs, pyrite for the lava dwellers, opal represents the subterranean cave orcs, and of course the moonstone in the center symbolizing your mother's tribe, the moon hunters. It is a beautiful symbol of your people…” he trailed off, now aware that Tiffany was just standing there, looking at him wide eyed. “I am so sorry. Sometimes I get started on a subject and keep going on and on in boring detail.”

“No!” She practically yelped, placing a hand on his chest and still looking in his eyes, as she suddenly realized she had been since he started talking. “I mean… you know so much about my people. More than I do.” She continued, her hands now playing nervously with the ends of her pigtails, “I mean… I could only find so many books back home, and most of those were either so vague in detail or else downright contradictory. No, I love… I like to hear you talk about…stuff.” She noticed now her cheeks were burning again as she bit her lower lip and for some reason could not get her eyes to look at anything but his boots. Her hand covered her mouth when she realized her dopey grin was revealing her tusks.

“Oh, anytime.” He replied, strangely equally focused on her new footwear as he rubbed the back of his head with his hand. “Any questions you have… you know… feel free to ask.”

“Max knows more about everything than anybody I've ever met.” Interjected Harley, standing at the side between them and looking up with what Tiffany felt was a smile too big to be comfortable.

“I don't know everything Sprite,” He said, glad for somewhere else to place his eyes now, “no one does.”

“As I said, if anybody would, it's you.” She added, desperately trying to curb his self depreciation before he humbled himself out of this connection the two obviously had.

“Um… anyway,” Tiffany stammered, uncomfortably, “shouldn't we head for the inn to meet up with the others?”

“Yea, I guess.” Sighed Harley, who wanted to watch the beautifully awkward interaction between these two continue.

“Weren't you excited to get to Cassandra's?” Asked Max.

“Oh, right.” The gnomer peeped excitedly, now remembering what she was previously excited for.

As they walked, Max and Tiffany continued in a game whose rules seemed to revolve around whether they could look at each other while the other wasn't looking.

Rutger and Bethany were already waiting outside Cassandra's when they arrived. The sun was setting behind them, reminding Tiffany how long they had been at Glorianna's.

“Finally,” grumbled the paladin as the three walked up. “Everything resupplied Max?” He asked.

“Of course, don't I always?” he answered, with a smirk, “the last bits will be delivered to the wagon in the morning.”

“Good,” the big man said, finally letting himself smile. “Then let's get rooms, a good night's sleep, and we can be back on the road by mid morning.”

As they walked to the doors, Tiffany looked about on the street, “where is Blythe?”

“Mister edgelord assassin doesn't sleep in Cassandra's. It's too cheery for him,” Laughed the diminutive girl, “he always bunks with his guild. Which gathers in a room below a dive bar up in the ramparts.” She pointed up at the buildings built into the roof of the cavern.

Tiffany found just looking up at them from the ground made her sick.

If the view of the ramparts from the ground gave Tiffany vertigo, the entryway to Cassandra's could give you whiplash. You could hear the music before you got to the door. Just to get in the door Max had to drop a sliver for each of them. The left wall was lined with stages showcasing everything from dancing girls to musicians and magicians. To the right was the front desk where Max bought three rooms at ten gold coins a piece! Rutger and Bethany would share a two bed occupancy, she and Harley would apparently be bunkmates, leaving Max a room to himself.

“Are these sleeping arrangements set in stone?” She asked, trying to find the sweet spot between the din of the lobby and as loud as she could yell.

“Just the most efficient, for the price and convenience.” He shouted back. “Trog and I formerly shared a room and Harley got her own. And since you and I sharing the room might be seen as inappropriate, the shared room goes to the girls.”

He was right of course, Rutgar and Bethany were siblings as well as ordained members of the church, so no improprieties there. So roommates would be her and Harley.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Harley landed on Tiffany's back as soon as she finished her thought, “not that you'd mind sharing with Max, would you?” She whispered, teasingly in her ear, letting Tiffany realize she was still staring at Max while she pondered.

She quickly took the key from Max and turned away, fae girl still riding piggyback, “what?” She hissed, “what are you talking about?” feeling her cheeks heat up once again.

“You know exactly what I'm talking about.” Harley jibed as she dropped off the half-orc's back. But the conversation was soon lost to Tiffany as the floor of Cassandra's spread out before her.

A double grand staircase led to the upper levels where the rooms would be, but stuck between where the stairs ended facing each other was a bar too long to fit in her manor back home. Over a dozen male and female dwarves worked the length of it. She only knew some of them were female because while the males were in leather pants and bare chested, the ladies were in short, red pleated dresses, tight around their waists and sporting puffy silken white sleeves. Some wore beards, like the men and some were actually clean shaven and in heavy makeup. Uniforms shared by the wait staff of all species wandering around several dozen tables scattered on the lower floor between the entry and the stage. Some tables were full of patrons eating and drinking, others had games of chance from cards to dice to what looked to Tiffany like small marble tiles being placed in patterns on the table. To the right of the bar was an enormous stage fit to hold a full opera.

As the group made it to a table the stage was bathed in lights and out of the curtain that apparently made up the back came a human woman in a tight fitting red gown that sparkled like it was made of stars. And those stars were tightly wrapped around a woman of such contrasting proportions that if Tiffany was not looking at them herself she would never believe it. Long red hair left her head like a fountain and cascaded down her left side to her waist. Her eyes were shaded deep purple and smokey shades of black and silver with long dark lashes, while her lips were blood red with crimson clearly marking her cheekbones. Tiffany could see she was not young, but she was not old enough to be able to definitely pinpoint how old she was. And however many years she had under her girdle, Tiffany thought she was still strikingly beautiful.

“Once again,” she said, not yelling but regardless through some magic she could be heard across the whole floor, “welcome my darlings, to Cassandra's!”

The room erupted into a roar of applause, cheers and inarguably cat calls for the lady on stage. many people stood to applaud.

“For those new here, I am your host, Cassandra. I have a full evening of entertainment for you tonight that will knock your tights clean off your legs.”

“You are who we're here to see sweetheart!” Someone yelled from the floor.

“Oh, thank you lovelies,” she responded with what sounded like true sincerity. “I love all of you too. What say I start tonight's venue with a song from, well, little old me.”

Music from an unseen orchestra keyed up and began to play. It bopped and swayed for a few moments before Cassandra joined in the song. And she sang, to Tiffany's ears she sang beautifully. It was brassy and raspy but soulful and sweet. And in moments she was lost in the song.

“Hello I am Bairnevellu,” the strange voice jarred Tiffany from the song, “I will be your waiter today.” Beside the table was an elf. He wore the red leather pants the dwarf men behind the bar wore, and was similarly bare chested. In fact, the lack of body hair made him more bare than the bartenders.

“Darn, I was hoping for the snake girl from last time.” Rutgar said as Bairnevellu placed parchments on the table that listed the dishes available tonight.

“Really,” asked Bethany from behind her mask, and the thought occurred to Tiffany how she would navigate eating tonight. “I didn't take you for a serpent lover, brother.”

“What,” he defended, and Tiffany realized he was smiling this whole time. His mood was genuinely relaxed for once. “She was fast and efficient, and she didn't distract from the meal.”

“You would appreciate that.” His sister replied with a laugh behind her mask.

“Sadly, Sarissa has left us.” The elf offered, “it seems she found a future in the fights. Also, I apologize if I distract you from the meal sir.”

“No, that is not what I meant. But a shame about Sarissa.” Remarked Rutger, “still she does have the build for the fights.”

“True sir,” the elf replied, with a roll of the eyes, “do we know what we want to order, or do we need some time.”

“I'll have the venison,” Rutger said, handing back the menu, “with potatoes.”

“Spiced Potatoes, and the rhubarb pie.” Harley added, handing over her paper as well.

“I suppose I should order the elven plate,” Bethany relented.

The elf looked at Tiffany who looked at Max with a sarcastic smile that showed her tusks, “not ordering for me this time?” She mouthed, silently.

“I suppose you'll want the venison as well?” Asked the elf with a strangely superior tone.

“Actually,” began Tiffany, keeping a firm grip on the parchment even as she handed it back to him, forcing the elf to look her in the eye as she spoke. “I'll have two pan seared catfish, baby carrots glazed with honey and sprinkled with parsley, and a nice lemon mousse for dessert would be just lovely. Do you think the kitchen can accommodate that order, Mr. Bairnevellu?” She released the menu as punctuation of her question, although nothing she mentioned was on it.

“I will ask our chef, Melandria.” He replied almost trembling at the authority Tiffany had put behind the order.

“That sounds wonderful.” Said Max, with a big smile while handing Bairnevellu his menu, “if she can manage it, I'll try the same.” As the elf turned and huffed away with indignation at every step, Max turned to Tiffany, “I would not have guessed a noble born girl would be familiar with catfish.”

“Well,” she said, sitting up straighter, with her best aristocratic air, “we had it often at home. Winter Hollow, as is here, is not near enough to a sea to ask for fresh seafare. But you can find all varieties of cat in any river, so Maisy found all sorts of recipes. She could work wonders with it.”

The table laughed at Tiffany's tale, with the notable exception of Rutger but he did not grumble so it was taken as acceptance, until a tall woman with curly dark hair and a soiled apron arrived at their table. She wore a peach dress under the apron, which was pulled tight on her waist like a corset, with a ruffled skirt to mid thigh and white leather boots to mid calf. But what mostly stood out was the white pointy hat on her head more commonly associated with witches than cooks. “Who here be ordering from my kitchen like some highfalutin princess?”

The table was silent, and Tiffany knew she needed to own up to her little display of arrogance.

“That would be Lady Tiffany Harkenss of Winter Hollow, crown princess of the seven tribes. Currently deposed, but soon to be remedied. And she will then, of course, take her place as queen of her people.” Max was standing at this point, and ended with a flourishing bow. Harley, of course, followed suit, hopping up on the table.

The kitchen witch looked at the young girl wearing a sheepish smile. The girl wiggled the fingers of one hand in greeting and replied in a meek tone, “hello.”

A slight smile turned up one corner of her mouth and she said to the group, while still not removing her eyes from Tiffany, “well her highness is lucky that I do have a few plump cats on hand, and she will see what MY kitchen can handle, she will.” At that the cook strode away with a prideful air, back toward the kitchen.

“Did…did she actually buy that princess bit?” Tiffany asked when she was gone.

“Well,” Max replied with a chuckle, “you are technically a princess, and not only are you in your mother's coronation gown but you are in fact wearing a tiara.”

“Oh… yea.” She replied with a feeling of foolishness, realizing the seven stone circlet she had in her head technically WAS a tiara.

Cassandra had finished and more acts rotated out onto the stage to take her place. Dinner came halfway into the third act, a bird lady performing a rather moving soprano opera piece. Though most of her table were too engrossed in eating to appreciate it. And as she ate, Tiffany did have to admit Melandria's catfish was a good contender to Maisy's. She was finishing her meal as act number four took to the stage.

“Hey Harley,” she said, trying to get her small companion's attention, “there is a familiar face.”

Harley looked up to see the half elf bard from the trading town outside Winter Hollow tune up her bow and begin to play. “So here is where she got to.”

“Should we cover our ears?” Tiffany inquired, remembering the bard's propensity for enchanted music.

“First,” answered Max, just finishing off a lemon Mousse that was the perfect blend of sweet and tart, “that would be rude to a performer. And second, Cassandra takes precautions to keep her performers honest. Besides, her playing was very good back at that tavern so she isn't just a musical thief.”

Tiffany decided it was true as she set into a toe tapping diddy that made those not pleased with the avian opera stay in their seats.

“Whalp,” Rutger spouted with a rude drum to his breastplate and no appreciation for good music, “time to turn in. That way we can ride out early tomorrow.” He and Bethany stood at this statement, but the rest of the troop remained seated, Max continued to sip at his drink. “I'm hoping, at least.”

“I have a few things to finish before bed, Rutgar. But right after.” Max said with a tip of his cup.

“Yes sir,” saluted Harley sarcastically.

“Goodnight, Rutger. And you too Bethany.” Tiffany added sincerely.

As they walked away, Harley seemed to be about to burst. As soon as the holy siblings disappeared up the staircase the gnomer peeped up, “Maxie! You know who's playing at Percival's tonight! I know you saw the posters too!”

“I was not kidding Sprite. I have things to finish.” Max countered calmly.

“Max, they are our favorite band.” She whined, “we see them every time they play a town we're in.”

“Yes, Max,” said Tiffany smiling. As different as they were, the two of them seemed to share more of a big brother/little sister dynamic than the two actual siblings that just left. “They are your favorite.” She jibbed, still having no idea who they were talking about.

“See, Tiffany is going, so you can finish up and meet us there. You know you really want to now. Plus we have to get ready anyway,” she babbled at breakneck speed.

“Yea, Max,” Tiffany began, “wait, what was that?” her ears just then catching up to the wake of the tongue tornado. But Harley was already dragging the half-orc from the table toward the stairs.

“Where are we going?” Tiffany asked, as Harley was simultaneously pulling off her clothes and digging through those magic pouches of hers

“To Percival's.” She answered as if that meant anything to Tiffany.

“And what exactly is Percival's?” She asked.

“Percival's Victory Pavillion.” She said exasperated, as if her words should be common knowledge, “the big area in the center of town. The Dodecahedron of Death. It's usually a place where adventurers fight one on one to settle disputes or just to prove who is the best. But they also book live bands and performers that draw too big a crowd to hold inside. And why aren't you getting undressed?”

“Um, because these are the only clothes I have, Harley.” She replied, in a tone that she felt on second thought might have been a little too ‘you are making less sense than usual’ than she meant to.

“You think your best friend wouldn't have thought of that?” She replied, as she threw one of the strange packages she had received at Glorianna's at Tiffany.

Harley's cheery disposition had not faltered for a second. Tiffany wondered if she even heard words beyond their literal meanings. Did the tiny girl even understand tone and inflection in conversation? Harley had her package torn open and was rolling a collection of cloth in her little hands that seemed to be the culmination of a dozen exploding rainbows. The girl squealed with glee as she continued to unfold it. Tiffany opened her paper to reveal a bundle of fine silks that would have come from Bellisarra’s back home. She set her package down on the bed and began to undo her adventuring clothes.

The dress hung to her knees, with green silk that matched the color of her eyes ornamented with white tooling and similarly white lacings that cinched at her waist. It jumped from her shoulders to her arms leaving everything above her collarbone bare. Glorianna even included white leather sandals that laced all the way up her legs to the knees. Tiffany stood there and twirled back and forth just to swish the skirt. And it sparkled. The fabrics looked like Glorianna had trapped tiny fireflies in the material. The two stood before a full length mirror in the room after helping each other get dressed. The diminutive fae girl looked like she couldn’t pick what color she wanted for the dress so she picked them all. Like Tiffany’s, it stopped at her knees and cinched at her waist, but her’s exploded into multi hued puffy sleeves. And it was topped off by iridescent purple sandals.

The two girls stood there twirling and giggling, until Tiffany’s smile began to fall. “What is it?” Harley asked.

“I missed wearing nice things. I never really had a friend to share it with though,” the orcish girl confessed. “But the last time I wore something this nice was the night my life fell apart. Some boys had invited me to a party. What I didn't know was that I was to be their entertainment for the night.”

Harley took Tiffany’s hand in her tiny one, “My daddy always said that people fall back on hate and prejudice when they don’t know better.”

“Well my response just made it worse. Then when my mother’s people attacked all they saw was how dangerous I was.” The orcish girl wiped the tears from her eyes while she sobbed lightly.

The tiny girl tugged lightly on her hand until she looked down into her eyes. It was the first time Tiffany noticed that her eyes were as chaotic as the rest of her. One eye was blue as a stormy sky, while the other was the green of a stormy sea.

“You are not responsible for people's reactions. You are brave and a good friend and I think you're just the best.” She wrapped her arms around Tiffany's waist, hugging her as tight as her little arms could muster, “so let's go to the Pavillion, dance to some music and have fun among people who don't care where you come from. I will always be on your side Tiffany, I promise.”

The front entrance to Percival's Victory Pavillion was a sea of beings. The air was alive with hoots, cries of excitement and screams of the non-terrified variety. Tiffany was amazed at how many of the people were covered in body paint. And in bright vibrant colors. She supposed it made sense that if you wanted to be noticed, you had to be an eyesore. Everywhere she looked signs hung indicating no unauthorized weapons would be allowed, which made her glad Harley had left hers at the inn and Max had hold of hers.

Large security personnel surrounded the entrance, with a man standing on a platform in the center of the flow in collecting silver coins. A raven perched on his shoulder and whenever he tipped his hat black horns could be seen emerging from his brow. When someone tried to slip by without paying the raven would accost them until security showed up to drag them out.

Harley dropped the slivers in his hand but it was to Tiffany that he tipped the bowler hat and winked. Passing through the gate Tiffany could see that the whole bowl of the Pavilion was built of descending stone steps with pathways every fifty feet around. Patrons either sat or stood on steps, but Harley continued down the double wide aisle, headed for the level area surrounding the stage.

On stage were five orcs in loincloths, also painted in the shocking body paints. They squatted in a semicircle and beat out rhythms on leather drums. Those gathered on the grounds leaped into the air in time to the rhythm. Tiffany could feel the rhythm deep in her bones, it made her want to jump too. In fact, by the time she reached a clear spot where the stage was visible, she was bouncing to the beat with every step

“Is this who we're here to see?” Shouted Tiffany, her heels still rising in time to the drumming.

“No,” Harley replied, “Warfront is just the warm up act. But I see you like them.” She added indicating her bouncing.

Tiffany smiled, all but admitting Harley was right.

A man wandered through the crowd that by his height she assumed he was a dwarf at first. But then she noticed he was beardless and his eyes bugged out, each one pointing in a different direction. Greasy black hair only escaped from his head in sporadic shoots. He carried a wooden box in front of him on a strap that struggled to stay level an account of the hump on his left shoulder

“Sausages! Hot nuts and sausages!” He cried.

Tiffany bought a sausage and took a bite, “by the gods! These are awful.” She cried, still bouncing in time to the drums.

“It's stadium food,” Harley laughed, “also the mead and the ale is watered down. So watch what you buy.”

The sound of a conch shell horn signaled the end of the warm up act. As the orcs left the stage a man in a jester costume entered.

“Welcome everyone to Percival's Victory Pavillion! Lets thank Warfront for getting us pumped!” He paused to let the crowd's cheers die down. “Now the moment you've been waiting for! Ladies, gentlemen and fiends, give it up for the Mighty Mighty Gnometones!”

Tiffany had not noticed that the majority of the stage while the orcs played most if it was shrouded in a mist. This mist now dissipated revealing five gnomes with insanely complex devices that they immediately began to play music on. One gnome played no less than five brass instruments at once. Another played a steam powered harpsichord.

Harley began dancing, a mix of wiggling, spinning and high kicks but the music these Gnometones played matched her friend's manic nature. Tiffany attempted to match her companion's movements, but soon gave up, content to simply sway with the music. She looked about at the crowd that had gathered. The stands were nearly full, and the main floor was truly a mix of various races together to see something they all shared a love of. It was her father's dream made manifest. These strange, chaotic people they called adventurers, people she was initially scared of, had to in fact be the most accepting and welcoming people. Among them, it didn't matter if your ears were pointed or round, if you were short or tall or if you had tusks or not. You could be an elf, a dwarf, a human or an orc, but to them you were just a fellow adventurer. She smiled, freely and without self consciousness for the first time, maybe ever, and thought that things just may work out after all.

So to say when the hands emerged from the crowd, covering her mouth and grabbing her arms and legs, her hopes were a bit dashed would be an understatement. Tiffany watched as Harley, still bouncing and gyrating to the music of her favorite band, disappeared into the crowd engulfing her and her assailants unnoticing. She was dragged around the stage to an area that was less well lit and deserted, apart from her and what turned out to be orcs that had taken her.

“Now, human blood,” said the one behind her holding her mouth, “we will remove the stain of your mother's defilement to our proud heritage.” He released his hold on her neck and mouth to walk around to the front of her. He had no worries of her screams now, no one would hear her over the music. The others continued to hold her by the arms and the two on her legs knelt, keeping her at an angle in front of the one doing the talking. “For the glory of our queen!” He screamed, and drove his fist into her stomach, threatening to fold her in half with the force of the blow. All the air was forced out of her and her abdomen throbbed. The talkative orc reared back again, “for the taint of Selune!” And drove his fist across her face. She spat blood up at him in defiance, her eyes closed and panting in pain. Again and again his fists found her face. The orc just smiled and leaned into her face, whispering, “I have all night for this you mutt.”

“What makes you think you actually have that long?” Replied Tiffany, in a voice an octave or two deeper than usual. When her eyes opened they were glowing white.

He knew that voice. But no, it couldn't be. The enraged orc swung his fist at her face once again. At the last possible moment her head pitched away from the swing and turned allowing her to sink her teeth into his wrist. Skin split and bones cracked under protest of her vice-like grip. The male screamed in protest and the lackey on her left arm did just what she hoped. He he let go of her arm to help pry her teeth from his leader's arm. Before he could even grab her head she had driven her elbow into his sternum and used her shoulder to toss the warrior into his boss. Both fell to the ground in a heap. She used her free hand to yank the head of the orc on her left leg back by the roof of his mouth, and when he released her leg from the pain she kicked him in the chest and swung the leg back up to collide with the head of the orc holding her right arm. She finished by driving the same leg down on the thigh of the last captor with a sickening snap from his thigh bone. The orc immediately rolled over and screamed from the pain.

One orc still standing swung on her, however she blocked it easily and drove the heel of her hand into his chin before dropping down to sweep his legs out from under him, banging the back of his head on the stone plaza. The rest, of whom were still able to, gathered around their boss who had regained his footing and looked quite angry.

The boss charged with a roar of frustration, both hands out in front of him. She charged in suit, leaping in the air just before they collided and driving a knee sharply into his sternum. His spine buckled at the impact affording her the opportunity to land several blows across his face before landing. She spun under his arm as he fell and grasped behind her head and under his chin, and with a backwards kick to the inner side of his knee, flipped him over top to the ground in front of her. She stomped on the back of his head with her pretty white sandaled foot, driving his face into the stone floor.

The two remaining both tried to attack her at once. She sidestepped one, hooking his arm in hers and dragging it into his companion's face. Before he could fall back she grabbed his arm as well, pulled him back towards her placing a kick between his legs before falling to the ground and causing the heads of the two orcs to collide with a hollow thwonk.

Tiffany knelt there, breathless and confused. It happened again. She didn't recall what she did but unconscious orcs surrounded her. Her pretty new dress was torn and dirty. She began to cry in big, wet, snot filled sobs. She didn't know what was happening to her. Harley said this was berserk rage but this had never happened to her before. Did people just suddenly become berserkers? Did you need to train, or have it passed down from your parents? Without knowing any other rage fighters, she wasn't sure.

She heard the muffled cries of Harley through the music. The living assault of color was running up to her and when she reached her the short girl didn't even attempt to slow before plowing into her with a hug.

“I'm so sorry, Tiffany!” tears were streaming down the cheeks of the little emotional tornado. “I didn't realize you were gone! I'm a horrible friend! You needed me and I wasn't there!” She continued to bawl.

Tiffany slowly wrapped her arms around the hysterical halfling, “it's ok,” she recomforted her softly, her still weeping voice barely a whisper, “you are not a bad friend. You are honestly the best friend I have ever had.”

Something was draped over her shoulders. The smell of leather and machine oil suggested it could only be Max's long overcoat. He came, it seemed Harley had gotten him to come after all. And even though she continued to sob, a smile spread slowly across her face. Before she could say a word to him he had one arm under her arms and another under her knee picking her up. “Shhh,” was all he said as he walked out of the stadium with her. She laid her head on his shoulder, dripping tears and mucus down his shirt.

She had to weigh as much as him yet he continued through the streets to the inn, even when she could feel his muscles twitch from the limits of exertion, he kept going until he laid her down in her bed. He took back his coat and covered her, still in her torn and dirty dress and still with her sandals in her feet, with the blanket. “You get some rest,” he said softly as he moved one of her twintails that had fallen over her face, “and if you need to talk in the morning, Harley and I are here.” He stood up, and she could hear him talk to Harley as he left, “do you have her from here?” Before leaving through the door.

Tiffany lay there dor a long while with her eyes closed and Harley must have assumed she was asleep, because soon the little whistle of her breathing could be heard from her bed as she slept. Tiffany pulled the covers off and sat up. She was a mess. Her dress was ruined so she removed it along with her footwear and put on a fluffy red robe that hung next to the chamberpot. She left quietly and snuck down to the famous baths of Cassandra's that Harley had spoken of. The baths had four rooms, two with tubs large enough for their whole party at once and two smaller private rooms. The tub was already filled and warm and a rack of different soaps lined one wall. Tiffany selected one that smelled the best and hung the robe on the back of the door. She removed the ties on her tails letting it cascade down her body and climbed into the hot water. The scent of the soap made her head fuzzy. The room swam around her as the bath soothed her body and even seemed to calm her mind. She was still unsure about this berserk rage she seemed to be able to access. Mostly because she could never remember what had happened during these episodes. What if she hurt one of her friends while she was in that state during a fight? What if she hurt Harley, or….what if she hurt… Max?

With a long exhale she sunk beneath the surface and let the warmth and soothing properties of the soap wash over her. She needed to find another berserker and talk with them, and find out what is normal and what isn't.

As Tiffany sat beneath the water, the door to the room opened and a figure slipped in, locking the door behind them. As Tiffany slowly emerged from under the surface and cleared her eyes from the soap and water she became aware of the back of the pristine white robes of Bethany. Robes that soon fell to the ground revealing her soft curves, alabaster skin and undeniable thin tail that hung down from the top of her buttcrack. Higher on her back were tiny wings that fluttered as she released them from the binding she had wrapped around her upper torso. And without her hood, now visible and sprouting out of her pearl white hair were two pinkish horns like the kind the man taking admission at the concert had.

The priestess turned to approach the tub and only then noticed Tiffany sitting in it eyes wide as what she now saw. She let out a scream, “OH, NO!”