Isse ran and, where she did, chaos unfolded everywhere.
People threw things at the [Guards], undead skeletons appeared seemingly out of thin air and started attacking her enemies, barrelling through them like bulls towards red flags.
Assassins or whatever they were flew down from roofs and killed people and… it was just that: chaos. Pure, unadulterated, total, chaos, that somehow didn’t end in incredible amounts of property damage.
She ran and ran and ran and she didn’t notice the thread that connected her to Albert slowly beginning to deteriorate until… it snapped.
She kept running because that was the best thing she could do now.
Nearly out of mana and stressed beyond belief, her shoulder aching because of the arrow still stuck there, she was very close to being desperate. Luckily for her at least, the amount of adrenaline going through her system was keeping her from feeling the full breadth of her pain. Just as luckily, the arrow hadn’t hit anything too important and was keeping most of her blood from getting out through the wound. Already her body had formed a clot there and was trying (and failing) to repair the damage.
Then, finally, she saw them: the gates.
Big as she remembered, made of some kind of wood with steel bands reinforcing it completely, they were slowly closing.
Fuck! she thought.
They wouldn’t make it in time!
It was as she thought this that she heard something completely out of place: a song.
A violin’s song.
For a moment she thought it was her violin coming to life like it sometimes did at night, playing lullabies to lull her to sleep, but no: this song felt distinctly more complex, different in style from anything and everything her instrument had ever played and, most important of all, it was somewhat… familiar.
She blinked, looking around, trying to find out where the music was coming from.
She blinked again.
And the world was yellow.
People looked around at everything, clearly confused, some even scared. The [Guards] stopped in their tracks for a few precious moments, not understanding how whatever was happening could be possible.
For they were no longer in their city but among the corridors of a grand palace, the walls reaching higher than the clouds, the sky, the stars themselves, disappearing into eternity and infinity both. Where there had been homes now were open doors that led to rooms filled with improbable decors and decorations, some smaller, some bigger, some reaching higher than the gates Isse had passed through to enter this city.
And the people around her had changed too: no longer were there mostly humans with additions of some more exotic species of beastfolk: now there were undead monstrosities, actual slavering monsters, beautiful and ethereal beings, giants of flesh and steel and much, much, so much more!
She blinked.
And the [Guards] had changed too.
Now they all looked like little toy soldiers made of tin and wood and iron and roses and spikes and tears and the earth that had been trodden upon by the first Court of Masks and the warmth of her mother’s womb.
They all wore the same yellow armor and all had little strings coming from their joints and connecting them to something in the distance, ahead in this endless corridor.
Looking up up up and up she finally saw the source of the song.
A little man wearing a golden crown, standing on a balcony, a violin in his hands, playing the instrument like his life depended on it.
Or rather, the life of his apprentice.
“Go, Isse. Let me take care of this,” he said in a whisper of concentration as the notes from his song formed a meaning, the meaning that had driven his life for so long: All Shall be Allowed in Spite of Belief’.
Only, this time, she could hear another message as well, more words hidden behind these ones, no, that was wrong, not hidden, they were making them.
And the words that were its grammatical basis were these: All Shall be Well.
So she ran ahead, and Virgo, the King in Yellow of
“[In Hastur’s Name]!”
And suddenly the Court, for that was what he had done, he had called upon his beloved Court, warped.
He heard more than saw the creature, the old God that wasn’t a God but something more ancient, appearing behind and beside him in a flutter of yellow clothing, a smell of sweet cinnamon and tea wafting downwards from the being’s mask-covered face and to the ground.
Hastur, the King in Yellow, the Unnameable, the Priest Whose Face is Unknown (priest to himself, ha!), the Puppeteer, the Director, the Playwright, the King Hanged in Glory, he had so many titles both known and unknown that the list would’ve managed to go around his entire plane of existence and reach back to where it had started.
The King looked down at him but Virgo didn’t look back, instead just bowing his head in respect, but never stopping his hands, playing on, for the being behind him loved madmen and musicians and those with creative minds (even more so if they were all three combined), and hated interruptions, so stopping now would’ve been a very bad idea.
“What makes you call upon me, Young Musician?”
The King’s voice was sweet like honey and entered his ears with the same mellifluousness of honey. Yet there was a strange edge to it, a strange… unreality, as if the King wasn’t really there, really speaking.
Virgo guessed that was to be expected: after all, the King’s Court, the one he had taken inspiration from to make all of this, was built upon concepts, not things. So that is what he did whenever he called upon his own Court: he turned people into their most primal concept, into what they saw themselves as deep inside.
He looked down, down at the vision of the King in Yellow’s Court he had brought to this world.
He looked and saw that the [Guards] had started moving again, their movements more mechanical or fluid or… improbable, in some other cases, but still they went on, following the [Mark] put on Isse by their [Captain]. They loved their city and would do anything to stop the monster who they thought would be their bringer of Ruin.
He looked and finally saw them: his Court. A group of men and women of all shapes and sizes, all wearing yellow scarves around their necks, moving to stand between one of the hordes of [Guards] and the arachne. They began attacking, tearing through the armored things with a viciousness he’d seldom seen but knew all too well had always been there, for only the truly broken were ever allowed to become parts of the Eternal Court. Because they knew what it was like to be damaged and they all would rather not see it happen to others.
And, since they knew what it was like to be the broken ones, they had a good understanding of how to break others in their same ways.
So he watched and was… displeased.
Displeased that there had ever been a need to show, of all people, these mere [Guards] the scars that made up the people he truly cared about.
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He watched the arachne he was doing all of this for and… saw double.
Ah, right, the other one. He’d seen a glimpse of her when he’d looked at Isse with his Skill, and again he’d seen her a few times during his last concerto, but other than that? He knew nothing about her. So he watched in fascination for a moment as she took a knife, no, a rather familiar dagger out of her sister’s bag of holding, and began killing as many [Guards] as she could with Isse’s help.
Of course, though, nobody died, for that was the deepest nature of the Court: it was all a play. All fake in its absolute truth.
That was why people were always happy to let themselves go: because there were no real consequences (most of the time).
So those who died, those who fell at the hands of the arachnes’ blades and spells, to his Court’s weapons or teeth or claws, didn’t truly die. Like actors, they fell to the ground, slain, dripping a bit of blood, but not gone. They’d get back up when the act was done and the curtain fell. Until then, though, they would no longer be a nuisance.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he answered the King in Yellow’s question: “Your Highness, greatest of all Actors in the Play that is Life, I… I’ve myself become a King of a Court of my own, in an attempt to recreate the beauty of what you showed me a lifetime ago. But right now, here, I am King, but not Master.
“The threads of destiny are intricate and strange in this moment, forming a knot that would be most impossible to unbind. And, in this historic moment, others are trying to interfere, to impose their will upon the weavers. They would see the tapestry changed, reshaped, not knowing the ugliness of the final result.
“So I beg of you: help me cut away the threads of those that would see this beautiful sight changed into something darker.”
The Crownless King, the Throneless Tyrant, the Observer Within, took his words into consideration for a long time and a few seconds. Time broke around him, glaring his way like a teen and pouting, for his presence alone didn’t allow her the chance to look upon his beautiful Court. Virgo pitied her.
Finally, he spoke: “How I regret that you chose not to become part of my own Court when I made that proposal, eons ago.”
Virgo chuckled: “I couldn’t keep that beauty from the people, o’ Last Pretender.”
“True that. You have made commendable work in so little time with what little I gave you.”
He looked down at the unfolding play, seeing, like Virgo, the tangled threads of fate, and seeing, in them, the threads that weren’t woven by That-Which-Had-Taken-Fate’s-Place.
A moment later he spoke: “I am not welcome here. This world’s gods would sooner break their agreements than allow me to meddle. I cannot cut off those offending attempts at change, but I can still help the story progress.”
That said, the Bastard Son of White raised a hand larger than the city itself, two fingers, made of the hands of every man and woman who had ever dared to break the rules and traditions for a dream of something better and had failed, forgotten by all and all remembered by him, moving towards the hundreds of threads that disappeared into the distance, guiding the guards.
Two other fingers moved towards the closing doorways that led outside the Court, keeping it open a moment longer.
And the other hundreds of fingers watched and waited, happy to see their King act upon a play once more.
The fingers made a snipping motion.
The threads were cut.
The [Guards] fell face down to the ground, like puppets who’d had their strings cut.
“I have done my part. Goodbye, Young Musician. Live as you would, become greater and live without more regrets.”
With that, the King in Yellow, the Kindest Sovereign, the Cruelest Archivist, disappeared.
The world, like Virgo, took a relieved breath.
He had not expected the King to make an appearance. Usually, when he used that Skill, his Court became more real, more anchored to the world, at the price of things becoming a lot more unpredictable and unstable, oftentimes with undesirable effects.
How that happened was, the Skill somehow took a small, really, really, really small fragment of Hastur’s power, and placed its will upon the world.
The fact that the actual King in Yellow had come this time could mean a lot of things but, most of all, it meant… that the world was about to change. How? Nobody could tell: that was the beautiful thing about change, it was unpredictable!
So he played on, his heart slowly calming down as his fingers began bleeding from the raw power he put in the song, in the Words.
Then he saw Isse pass through the gates.
And he stopped playing.
Every single member of his Court went back to where they had been when the song had started.
Actually, every living being did. Which meant the [Guards] as well. Luckily, they didn’t get up: they’d all lost their senses.
Turning towards the gates he sighed: “Good luck, Isse. You’ll need it.”
Then he started making plans to move away from this city.
[Yellow King of Hopeful Futures Level 55!]
[Skill - Call the Eternal Court Obtained!]
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Isse didn’t know why Virgo had been there, nor why he’d decided to help.
What she did know was that they had been inside the city, he’d started playing, and now they were out.
Before the song had ended Siidi had also handed her a dagger, saying to take care of it, so she’d put it back in her bag of holding: she didn’t want to lose it.
Now all she needed was to find a wooded area and she’d be safe. Yes, she was sure that was all she’d need to do. After all the [Guards] had lost her! She could find a safe place to stay in while she waited for her kids to arrive. Then they could go somewhere else! Somewhere better, somewhere safer, somewhere –
A ship flew down towards her.
In a panic she began running away, towards… she didn’t know. Anywhere was better than near a fucking flying ship!
But she couldn’t outrun it, she couldn’t even leave the thing’s shadow!
That was when, as she turned around to throw a [Fireball], probably the last one she had left in her, at the thing, hoping to make it crash, she saw something, a detail she hadn’t expected to see at all: chitin. The ship’s body was covered in chitin. The balloon that held it aloft in the air was made out of some kind of animal skins, it too covered in a light layer of chitin to protect it from harm, and it was connected to the ship with lianas.
I remember that airship, she thought.
Me too. Wasn’t that the madwoman’s ship? What did she call herself? Moon.
Speak of the devil: the ship closed in on her and a familiar face looked down.
“Hey, I remember you! You’re the girl who went to that bar in… can’t remember the name of the city. The child who loved my stories! Wow, you grew up fast.”
Another voice from behind her shouted something unintelligible that Isse’s brain still registered as being in Evarion.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. Get on girl, we’re getting you out of here and away.”
She threw down a rope… then thought better of it and threw down some kind of rope net.
Looking at the ropes suspiciously she turned towards Moon: “Why should I trust you? I was just hunted throughout an entire city because of what I am.”
The woman shrugged: “A strange voice contacted me and paid me 10000 gold coins to make sure I got you out of here. If you can’t trust me then you can trust my greed. But… I do remember the girl you were, the child who wanted nothing more than to see my airship and couldn’t stop listening to my stories. I wouldn’t hurt that child, even though apparently now she’s a grown woman with kids.”
Isse looked at her in surprise: “How –”
“[Detect Life]. My girlfriend taught it to me. I can sense five lives in you. Congratulations are in order I guess.”
She smiled warmly, then motioned her to hurry up.
Isse did.
And she was safe.
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The gods were not having a good time.
At all.
“How did she manage to escape?” asked Flato, the God of the Skies, as he held his head in his hands. There was the beginning of a headache there and at the moment he didn’t have a [Priest] he disliked enough to hand it over to.
“Her guardian, a certain Albert Sirion, apparently cashed in all his favors in the city to get her out. He is dead now,” answered Niddus, the God of Knowledge.
“I already know that you damn imbecile. It was a rhetorical question!”
“Well fuck you too Flato, you –”
“Guys, let’s all calm down,” said a third voice, a feminine one. The two gods turned towards her and saw Lorma, the Goddess of Love and Desire, sitting on her throne with a small smile.
“This isn’t the time to start another of your wars. While watching your [Paladins] fight is always entertaining, we have more important things to worry about. Mainly, killing that arachne.”
The three gods, for there were only three right now in their throne room, sat and sighed.
“The Right of Interference will be reset in a little less than a year,” said Niddus.
“In a little less than a year that arachne will have an army if she so wishes,” said Flato as he glared at the god.
“Yeah, well, what would you propose?” asked Niddus.
“We send a dream to our Priests and tell them to send armies wherever she lands. We’ve got our eyes on her after all,” answered matter-of-factly Flato.
“Actually… I don’t think we do,” interrupted Lorma.
“What?!” asked both gods as they turned towards the image of the flying airship… and saw only a button. A white, bone, button, with four little holes, staring right into their Essence.
Silence fell on the room.
Then Flato slammed his fist on the armrest of his throne and screamed: “BUTTON MAN YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!!”
Somewhere else in the world a shadow with white eyes felt the curse reach him and chuckled. He wouldn’t make things easy for them.