I pulled open the door. I stepped into a completely white room. The room was roomier on the inside. In fact, the room was roomy enough to fit a singular marble desk and a well-fitted man in a robe, whose ornate symbols seemed foreign to me. I figured you could fit about three more people into the room before you had to resort to twisting limbs like pretzels.

Was the candle on the desk another illusion? Were the white walls actually white? Was this man trying to imitate the Dark One, as he sat in a room by himself with little to do and almost no one to talk to? He didn’t look mad. Well, maybe he looked mad at the parchment he was furiously scribbling on.

“Ahem.” I said.

The scribbling gentlemen looked up, looking surprised.

“A visitor? At this hour? You missed the meeting by two days I’m afraid.”

“I came seeking refuge and to make deals with the Adjudicator. I assume that I’ve come to the right place.”

“That would be me. Although, I prefer my actual name Frank. If you’re one of those mystical fellows, then I guess the Adjudicator will suffice. What is it that you want?” Frank let out a sigh.

“I thought maybe you knew that I was coming? Druid Irna controlled that Black Crag Beetle to lead me here.”

“They’re interesting bugs aren’t they? I doubt Urna can control them. If you don’t mind, if you could let me finish this 4D painting then I can get to you. Isn’t it lovely?”

“Well, erm, it's just a sheet of white paper. All I see are scribbles.”

The adjudicator paused if only for a moment, as if something was wrong. His carefree expression returned.

“Well, that’s a shame. It’s quite pretty. Vivid blues, Vibrant Yellows, a touch of Red. It’s a shame that most people don’t get the privilege of seeing the beauty that can’t be found in the boring world.”

“The real world?”

“What does real really mean? If I can see, feel and touch something that you cannot, does that automatically make it less real than your perception?”

“I guess not. But there’s something reassuring about knowing that others can see what you’re seeing is actually real. Or else they’d think you’re mad. There’s more to life than living in a facsimile.”

“Tell me, what’s your name?”

“Arthur.”

“What do you know of this city's savior, Arthur?”

“The Church?”

“No, the man who came before the Church, who eons ago rebuilt the very city in which we stand.”

“The Dark One.”

“Yes, the Dark One. Do you know why he’s called that?”

“Is it the vile black liquid that oozes from his mouth?” I asked.

“What?”

“The black liquid that oozes out of his mouth.”

“Like his teeth are rotting? What sort of fucked up fairy tells have you outsiders been telling.”

“I just figured he'd look like that. It’s just a bit of intuition, really.”

“I bet he’d have perfectly healthy teeth if he was alive.”

“He is alive, I think. Or something in-between.”

“Stop with the boogey man, he hides under the bed and he’ll eat you if you pee the bed, nonsense.”

“So that’s not what happens when you meet him?”

“Yes, if you were to meet him thousands of years ago, I would presume that wouldn’t happen. Anyways, we’re getting off topic. If you’d kindly, shut the fuck up and let me finish that would be appreciated.”

“Sorry, I just thought that he’d be like that.”

“Kids these days.” muttered the Adjudicator. He took in a deep breath before continuing.

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“Well, this savior with pearly whites used his brain to revolutionize a poor tribal village. He lifted his people into a rich paradise of magical glory. No city to date has run on magic better than the Azmorillians did back in the day. Art flourished under his magic, cities and architecture were built with pure imagination, if it was possible it was in Nosturdam. Every person had their own golem to deliver food, to take care of their homework, to entertain them. The golems were the reason the city was built brick by brick. They were the first great invention of the Dark One.”

“Well what happened? Sounds like they had it great.”

“Jealousy. I’m afraid.”

“Jealousy?”

“The magistrates grew tired of the savior of the city. His ideas were constantly meshing with their profound wisdom. They were looking for an excuse on why he should be disposed. Once they found out their special golems weren’t actually golems but rather their dead ancestors, they used their golems to end the Dark one. Enslaved, they said. Continuously tortured, they said. Deprived of their agency, they said. They couldn’t be more wrong.”

“That their ancestors were used?”

“No, not that. He liberated those dead people and gave them a second life. They were able to exact their own free will. They chose to help those in the city.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“It is in the scriptures. The tales of golems disobeying their masters if they disagreed with what they deemed was the right path. These golems were more like companions than the robotic leftovers we deal with today. They had souls. Anyways, the story is a lesson that change brings hardship and betrayal. That’s why I stay here, content with the fabulous life around me.”

The adjudicator motioned towards the dull white walls, in his rather squarish room.

“There should be more to life than this grayish room? Don’t you get lonely down here?”

“I have people in my new reality, albeit they don’t talk much. But their silence tells me that they are happy. I’ve never heard them complain. There is nothing in the world you can offer me that I don’t already have.”

A sad smile peered from the man who wasn’t quite looking at me.

“But wouldn’t it be great if your people could act more like people?” I asked.

It was made apparent that the adjudicator cared only about himself. I wondered what a man like him could want, if he had everything in his not real reality. But that wasn’t quite true. Like the mindless skeletons Alric commanded, I figured that the people in his world were just as mindless.

“Sure, but I’m not made of magic.”

“What if I told you that there is a necromancer who is so close to rediscovering how to keep a soul trapped in an undead.”

“I would assume you’re lying to get me to do whatever you came here to get me to do.”

“But on the off chance that I wasn’t?”

“I’d feel slightly obligated to help you, but not so much as to leave the wonderful world that surrounds us.”

“Hmm, fair enough. Well, I'm a bit lost. If you could give me some directions, that would be wonderful.”

“Sure. Where are you headed?”

“Well, there's this vial of blood I’m looking for. Rumors are that the Church is borrowing it from me. They call it The Blood of Armure.”

“Ah the Blood of Armure. Yeah, they keep that locked away in the Cathedral next to their fancy new Courtroom. It’s about fifteen streets west give or take. They keep it at the top of the tower as a symbol of their religion. Hacks, the lot of them.”

“What exactly is he the saint of?”

“You owned the vial and don’t know what the saint is associated with? Wait, nevermind. I don’t want to know. Is there anything else that I need to tell you before I can go back to finishing this painting? It really is stunning.”

“Do you know, by chance, how to get rid of the magical tracker that the Church put on me and my friends?”

“Wouldn’t that be helpful? If you need the Church to bring back some vial of blood they borrowed, they could just bring it to you.”

“Well, I think there's something to be said about surprise retrievals. It’s sort of like the evolution of surprise gifts.”

“I don’t understand. Look, if you want to remove the tracker all you need to do is break the mana lock using the simple three step method on this scroll. Also, eat one of these pills. If you’re wandering around the city you’re bound to be caught by a Church tracker. Happens to everyone. On the paper, it had a spell and an incantation.

I popped a pill into my mouth and swallowed it.

“So I just recite this and it goes away?”

“Yep.”

“Is it as easy as saying these four words?”

“Absolutely.”

“Illthakorp Plorp Blop Jarl.” I repeated. It was an odd phrase that roughly translates to “I’m no longer bound by the archaic laws of pork.” While the translation from the ancient orcish language doesn’t translate well into the human tongue, it was clear that the creator of the spell was making some profound commentary on the state of the world… whatever it was he was trying to say.

As I looked at the entwined spell, I watched as it slowly started dissipating.

“Is the, uh, dance necessary.”

“Of course. You can’t remove spells without a little movement.”

I waved my hands in the air like I didn’t care, although I did care. The diagram on the scroll was only so precise and if this didn’t work then I’d be in trouble.

“What if there is no dirt? How am I supposed to look at the dirt in here?” I asked as I read the final instruction.

“Just look at the floor. That should be close enough.” responded the Adjudicator.

And finally, I looked down at the floor.

Seemingly, it worked although it occurred to me that the pill might’ve been doing the heavy lifting. I suspected that the scroll might’ve been an elaborate prank, but it wasn’t worth testing if the scroll was actually gibberish.

“Goodbye.” I said, politely as I exited the Adjudicators rather bland looking room.

The bug greeted me at the exit, as if it was waiting for me.