Sven had followed the dark hallway for some time, sensing all the while that he was traveling deeper under Castle Bhatt with each twist and turn. He had managed not to get a face full of wall by using the Expandable Unsnuffable Torch that he had received as payment for the last big job he had helped with. His lock picking skills were pretty legendary in Thieve’s Hamlet, though no one knew about his secret weapon, and until the law crackdown four months ago had made big scores too risky, he had been the go-to guy for group jobs that involved a door that couldn’t be conquered by brute force.

Now he seemed to have come to the end of the winding tunnel and his reward appeared to be a second door. The lock on this one was not nearly so well hidden, nor so modern; it was a bizarre-looking contraption about the size of Sven’s fist and located directly above the handle of the door: for one thing it was shaped in an intricate pyramid, seemingly made up of thousands of tiny pieces, all interlocking perfectly, and for another thing, it appeared to be made entirely of solid gold.

Sven shrugged and removed the Master Key from his purse once more, flicking out attachments and pulling the Key into it’s full, extended shape before again placing the earbuds in his ears and putting the Key to the door. He twisted the pyramid one way, and then the other, spinning it 360 degrees in both directions. He shifted, uneasily, from one foot to the other and carefully readjusted the Master Key, removed it, vigorously rubbed its surface, and replaced it. There was no sound.

Okay, so, no numbers, no letters, no sound, no apparent signs of Magic (This seemed way too subtle for a Magician’s handiwork, they were all about flair and signatures, which this simple piece lacked, and nothing smelled of vanilla, a scent which always lingered around Spells and Magical items.), no keyhole. Sven rocked back onto his heels, Master Key in hand, and then, on a whim, packaged away the Key and attempted to pull the pyramid from the door altogether. The bottom two corners lifted easily, but the top two remained attached to the door. He looked at his hand, holding it half-aloft and laughed aloud as he realized he was holding a door knocker.

So childlike and delighted in his discovery, Sven let the knocker fall hard against the door without a single thought about the possible consequences.

“Crap”. Every possible result of his thoughtless actions came to him in the next second, and there were very few good (as in not ending in death via a thief's hanging, so setting the bar pretty low) outcomes. Lacking a better plan, he simply pressed himself flat against the wall of the tunnel, holding his breath. There was a sudden whirlwind of movement that even his lifetime as a cynical criminal had not prepared him for. Whatever this was, it was moving faster than Sven’s eyes could comprehend. He felt a tight, pinching pressure on his shins and looked down to see they had been completely covered in a dark rope. Confused, he looked up from his shins to see the whirlwind halt and slowly become a recognizable figure. A bony finger came into focus as it stretched toward his incapacitated legs. There was a quick, surprisingly powerful shove, and then, before he had figured out what was happening, he was falling backwards.

“Imp” was his last thought before his head collided with the stone floor of the hallway and blackness enveloped him.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was cold. That was the first sign that something had gone very, very wrong. He shouldn’t be able to tell that it was cold. Runa’s sweater potion should have been keeping him from feeling any kind of way about the surrounding temperature. The Elemental Protection Potion had a lifespan of close to a day and a half, and he was cold. Accounting for the travel time to Castle Bhatt from Runa’s cottage and all of his (conscious) activities there, he should still have had plenty of time left. He had been out a long time.

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Sven’s eyes spung open as the full understanding of his situation finally settled on him. He sat up and shook his head, trying to straighten out the jumble of thoughts that were scrambling around his skull. Waves of realizations were followed by waves of panic as his brain struggled to keep up with itself. He must have hit his head very hard. His thoughts felt separated, like there was some kind of invasive obstacle between understanding his situation and understanding what his situation meant.

He was sitting on a huge, sturdy table, located in the center of a well-lit room. The table appeared to be the only piece of furniture in the entire room, but the walls were absolutely covered in bizarre objects that Sven could not even begin to guess the function of. Some of them certainly looked like they could be weapons of some sort, various sharp points and chains hung haphazardly off of objects, but they were like none he had ever seen. One wall held only glass vials, a motley assortment of sizes, that held a rainbow of colors inside: some a glowing gold that seemed to emit light, some a dark, swirling purple, others a deep, murky black. Potions, maybe? Although Runa was the most accomplished Potions Master that he had ever even heard of, and she and her thin, leather-bound recipe book probably could have only managed to fill a tenth of the vials on this wall. Sven could be sure of three things at this point: the first was that whomever this room belonged to was practicing Magic; the second was that and they had gone to pretty awesome lengths to ensure that nobody found that out. The third thing of which he could be absolutely certain of was that neither of the first two bode very well for him.

Just as his thoughts had finally begun to run linear again instead of in dizzy circles of panic, there was a thud and the metal scrape of a heavy door latch being lifted. Now he was remembering. He was thinking straight again and had the sudden, terrifying remembrance that he had not, in fact, been alone in this room. There had been another presence when he had entered, and, if he had not hallucinated it, that presence had been an Imp.

Imps were notoriously solitary and private creatures. Although he had encountered the occasional Imp in the Thieves Hamlet, Sven had never heard any of them emit more than a grunt to indicate they needed a refill of grog, or a mumbled utterance of annoyance when someone blocked their way (they only stood three foot tall, so this was a fairly common problem for them). Originally Imps had been great and powerful creatures that served as Magical assistants to a Warlock. They sometimes lent their powers to their Master if they meant to cast a particularly draining or difficult spell, and often were expected to perform some of the more “mundane” Magics in a Warlock’s household that were necessary to keep the hedges trimmed and the dirty dishes from piling up in the sink.

Over the years, as Magic had waned and Warlocks had become scarce, Imps had become more and more ostracized from both the Magical world and the human one. Humans began to fear them and their power; what had once seemed insignificant in comparison to the great Wizards and Warlocks that had populated the land had suddenly become the most powerful beings around. The Magical world had long rejected them; they had spent too many years living and working amongst humans. Though a Magical Creature might spend the odd night in a human-run inn, or do occasional business with a nearby human tradesman, it was considered in bad taste to familiarize themselves with any human persons, even the ones that had some understanding of Magic. While casual relationships were frowned upon, romantic ones were strictly forbidden, which explained Runa’s forbidden existence. By working for a human Master, Imps had fallen to the very bottom of the hierarchical order. When Magic had begun to peeter out of human life, Magical Creatures had followed its lead, retreating back into the shadows. Imps had done their best to follow suit, but had ultimately found themselves stuck in an uncomfortable limbo; outcasts of both societies.

There were quite a few reasons why you didn’t want to find yourself on an Imp’s bad side. The lingering dislike of humans in general aside, Imps were not only capable of small Magics, but they, themselves possessed Magical qualities. Endowed with ferocious speed and near-immortal, an Imp was a terrible enemy to make. And Sven had certainly not made a good first impression. Suddenly, there came the distinct sound of metal hitting wood. The door knocker. The door swung open, and Sven turned to face his fate.