Despite Topher's Protection from Cold spell, setting up camp with no supplies in a snowstorm was still unpleasant -- the snow kept gathering on them and dampening everything, and although everyone had bedrolls, neither of them had thought to bring a tent (especially since the entire trip had been a series of abrupt, questionably consensual teleports from pushy archmages, in Topher's opinion). Eventually, Zanasha and Hana gathered together under a blanket, while Topher merely cast another Mage Shield to keep the snow off of him.

Not that I need it, he mused, watching it slide off the rounded globe of shimmering gray force and slide to the ground around him. The fitted version seems to keep everything off of me, and doesn't even drain my MP when it takes hits. He frowned, summoning his Ledger. Where did I learn this, anyway?

After leafing fruitlessly through every spell in his collection, he began digging through the sidebars, appendices, and apocrypha from the copied version of his grimoire; it took him a long time, but eventually he uncovered a footnote buried in a wodge of mystical nonsense for a Heretic spell he couldn't cast (and had thus skipped over). It detailed, extremely briefly and with apparent skepticism, a theoretical combination of Mage Shield, the Heretic-only Soul Shroud spell, and the Shaman-only Earth Armor spell known as Arch Shielding, but that was all (other than a comment that if such a spell existed it would probably be restricted to members of the Archmage Class). Topher closed his Ledger and banished it, confounded. What the fuck? There's no way I could just luck into something like that.

Not unless you read the runic sequences of all three of those spells and intuited the common vectors, replied the distant part of his mind. Topher squirmed at the implication; it meant that whatever had been hijacking his thought processes might have been in there before he'd encountered the Edict at the Wanbourne Loci. Come to think of it, I started hallucinating Hotaka just after I fell into that sealed area; I guess maybe I got infected with the lex animus during the fall? He sighed -- he suspected the real reason had something to do with the missing time period after his fall but before his awakening, and there was probably no way he was ever going to find out. But even skipping over that, I don't have the Archmage Class. Even if I did manage to somehow spontaneously create my own Arch Shielding spell...

...then there'd be no guarantee it wasn't a rare ability that the Clerk and Archmage Classes share, just like Metaphrasty, the distant part of his mind finished for him. Topher sighed -- as usual, there was just no way for him to figure this out on his own, no matter how many imaginary voices in his head he argued with. Guess I should just be glad I'm down to one imaginary voice now, he grumbled. Internal monologues might not be mental illness, but that didn't mean he wasn't getting sick of his.

Eventually, the snowfall snowed and slackened, then faded to a scattering of twinkling flakes and dissipated entirely. The moon, shining brilliantly, emerged from behind the clouds, and Topher, having nothing better to do, found himself gazing at it. "It sure looks like our moon," he commented to no one in particular.

To his surprise, Hana responded, poking her head out from under the blanket she'd been dozing under. "What?"

Topher jumped. "Uh, nothing. Sorry. Just looking at the moon."

Reluctantly, Hana climbed out from under the blanket and clambered to her feet; her bleached-white hair reflected the light from the moon and the snow like a neon sign. She squinted up at the moon, frowning. "I've never been able to figure out where it gets its moonlight from. On our world, sunlight is reflected around the curvature of the Earth; but the sun here literally disappears underground at night. Logically, we should never be able to see the moon."

"Lady, I don't know if you've noticed, but logic is kinda in short supply around here," Topher groused. "I'm just thankful the moon doesn't occasionally shoot at us or something."

"Don't give this place ideas," Hana commented wryly. She looked around, wrapping her arms around herself. "I take it the storm finally abated?"

"Yeah." Topher scratched his nose. "Not sure what our next steps are, though. Maybe camp until morning?"

"Perhaps. I can scout a little in the meantime, I guess." The young woman shrugged, then ducked back under the blanket and murmured something to Zanasha before stalking away into the darkness without a backward glance.

Topher sighed, watching her depart. We all know you're tough, you don't have to keep proving it, he thought tiredly at her back. Carefully making his way over to Zanasha (the last thing he wanted was to slip and fall now), he crouched down near the blanket and cleared his throat diplomatically. "Uh, hey. You want anything to eat or drink?"

"Wrrmdrrk!" There was a flurry of activity, and abruptly the half-orc's wild-haired head erupted from the blanket. She nearly head-butted him, then flinched back with a cough and an apologetic expression. "Excuse me, Friend Topher. A warm drink, please, if it does not inconvenience you. But should we not conserve your MP?"

"Oh no, Lady Zanasha, it would very much be my pleasure," Topher said jokingly, with a sweeping bow that nearly toppled him over. Concentrating, he formed the runes for the coffee he'd made for Tok, formed within a cup of dwarfmeal -- he'd found it very useful for drink containers and soup bowls. "You guys worry too much about my MP, though. It only costs one or two to make food."

Finishing his conjuration, he held out the steaming cup for her; she took it with obvious gratitude. "Nevertheless. By such degrees, fortunes are won or lost; I would not wish you to be unable to save us with a mighty spell for want of 'one or two' MP." She sipped the coffee, then brightened as the warmth visibly spread throughout her body; the tips of her ears twitched slightly as the muscles of her face and neck relaxed. "Ak'zul! This is...!"

"Yeah, my coffee is almost as popular as my rice," Topher smirked. "Anytime you want. Seriously."

Abruptly, the mood between them became strange; Zanasha peered at Topher curiously as she sipped again, her eyes speculative, and for once, Topher forgot to shy away. Perhaps it was the silent wood around them, dressed in the argent lambency of moonlight on fresh snow, or the rare absence of any pressing danger or task. They held each other's gazes for several seconds, a tenuous thread stretching on for moment after moment, until finally Zanasha looked away, her eyes dropping to the ground. "You are very kind to offer," she said, a curiously hesitant note in her voice. "I will try not to ask overmuch."

Topher blinked, then shook himself, feeling like he'd missed an opportunity. He opened his mouth to say something -- an attempt to lighten the moment, maybe, or perhaps recapture the mood -- but before he could voice anything, the moon slid behind a cloud, and abruptly everything was plunged into darkness.

Involuntarily, he tensed; he felt, as much as heard, Zanasha go alert beside him. Then, out of the darkness, Hana's voice called, "This way! Hurry!"

Cursing, Topher began to gather up their supplies. "Go! I'll catch up," he growled to Zanasha; the half-orc disappeared almost silently, despite her heavy armor, and Topher was left fumbling in the blackness as he tried to wedge Hana's bedroll and blanket into his Magic Bag. Hope they don't get all gross from touching the Sack of Dead Elf, he thought morbidly, but there was no time to worry about it; he stuffed them in as quickly as possible and scrambled off after Zanasha, following more by sound than by sight in the thick blackness of the forest. Branches and snow puffed against him, scattering off his Arch Shielding, but he bulled straight through them; getting lost in this forest would suck, and he didn't want to get left behind.

Suddenly, he emerged into a clearing; in front of him, dimly illuminated by the faintest of ghostly lights, were Hana and Zanasha. Hana, her body taut and straight with excitement, thrust out a finger like a lance. "There!" she whispered. "Do you see it?"

Topher's mouth dropped open; he could. "Yeah, some kind of light. We'd never have found this during the day." Trudging forward for a better look, he squinted; it seemed to be a squat structure, some ways off upon a hill. "Guess we'd better move before the moon comes out again."

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Swiftly, the three of them trekked across the snow; the moon did occasionally peek out from behind the clouds, but Hana kept them focused with frightening intensity on their path even when the light was drowned out by the sea of snow around them. Eventually, they drew close enough to see it even in the moonlight; a bulky hillock, cleared of all vegetation, which boasted a little building about the size of a large house upon its top.

The building was strange, a sort of hodgepodge of hut, castle, and cabin; wood and stone fought violently in its construction, and strange clumps of ice and earthworks appeared at seemingly random locations within its architecture. But strangest of all was the light, which seemed to emerge from a row of torches behind glass, of all things, that illuminated a sign of some sort. Topher peered at it as they drew closer, but couldn't make it out. "What is it? Some kind of shop, or something?"

"An outpost, perhaps?" Zanasha volunteered hesitantly. "It is certainly quite far from civilization."

"Well, as long as they're not hostile, it beats sleeping outside on the ground," Topher muttered. "Maybe we can get some rest and then look for this Rudo guy in the morning."

Finally, after another half-hour of marching through ankle-deep snow, they were upon it; seen at this distance, the sign could clearly be seen to read "ICEBREAKERS". Topher frowned. "What the shit? Some kind of guild?"

Hana blinked, and then her mouth opened into a huge grin. "It's not a guild. It's a bar. We can get food and drinks!"

"Oh, hell yes," commented Topher fervently. The three of them renewed their trek with increased vigor, finally reaching the hilltop a few minutes hence; there was a large wooden door, but it was ajar, and palpable warmth radiated out along with bright firelight and the smell of roasting meat. Topher resisted the urge to shove past the other two and open the door, instead stepping to one side and pushing it further open with his foot. "Ladies first."

Within, the building was clearly a tavern; Topher recognized the same general layout as the one in Frostford, with a bar, tables, and a roaring fireplace over which a large stag was in the process of becoming delicious. A pudgy, friendly-looking man, bundled in a stylish cap and a heavy coat, ladled broth over it as he waved to them without looking up. "Yes, yes, come in. I cannot eat it all myself, you know, heh heh!"

As they entered, Topher looked around, at first for a chair and then (somewhat sheepishly) for threats. But as his gaze settled upon the stranger, his form began to change; gray static twisted and writhed about him, and Topher instantly found his Stylus in his hand. Disrupt Illusion. "Watch out!" he gasped to Hana and Zanasha, who were reacting even as he readied his weapon. "He's..."

"Not your enemy," the man finished, as the illusion fell away. Chubby, clean-shaven cheeks were replaced by chiseled, severe ebony hollows, lightly girded with an iron-gray beard shorn close to the jawline; the fat, jolly body withered, becoming iron-hard and rangy. But the eyes retained their life and joyousness; they were warm and brown, and bespoke a strange, contradictory sense of both peace and wildness that Topher had never seen in another person's gaze. "At least, I hope not," he corrected himself with a chuckle.

"Rudo," Topher breathed. "You're Rudo Muchenje." Beside him, he felt Zanasha relax slightly; her hand remained on her sword hilt, but no longer gripped it quite as tightly. Hoping it wasn't a mistake, he banished his Stylus -- the last thing they needed here was a friendly fire incident.

Hana stepped forward, drawing an audible breath. "Muchenje-san. Do you remember me?"

The old man shook his head, still grinning. "I cannot say I do, young lady. And I think," he commented, turning back to the stag and ladling another spoonful of broth over it, "I would remember such a white-haired beauty."

"I wasn't white-haired then," Hana clarified, still moving closer to him. "I was short, and fat, and had black hair. And I was with about twenty-six of my classmates."

"Ah, yes." The old man did not turn. "I must confess, I had thought myself forgotten. How are your friends? Do they fare well?"

"They're all dead," Topher interjected, seeing that this was going to go nowhere if he didn't get involved. "And we're a little worried somebody's going to try to kill you, too."

Rudo did not respond for a long moment; an oppressive silence abruptly descended throughout the tavern, and Topher winced, feeling like he'd killed the mood. Then, slowly, he reached for a plate and a knife, and began to cut strips from the roasted stag. "Such dire news. Surely, it will seem less ominous upon a full belly, yes?" Moving with slow but steady surety, he filled three plates and set them down upon the table nearest him. "Come, sit. This would be a poor tavern if its host did not provide service, after all," he chuckled.

Warily, the three of them approached the table and sat; Rudo strolled, slowly and calmly, behind the bar to collect a number of mugs of ale. "Is this a trap?" Zanasha whispered to Topher and Hana as he departed.

"How should I know?" Hana hissed back. "I don't even really know what we're supposed to do here!" Her hands, Topher noted, were white-knuckled against the edge of the table, and her body shivered slightly with what he knew couldn't be cold.

"Easy," murmured Topher. "Imagine you had settled down in some town ten years ago, and then suddenly he turns up looking for us. It's gonna be weird. Let's just all get through it." He snapped his mouth shut as the older man returned, bearing three mugs of what looked like a thick beer or stout; against his will, his stomach rumbled in anticipation. Traitor, he thought at it furiously.

"Now then," the old man began, sitting down opposite the three of them and folding his hands atop an old, battered-looking cane with a thick brass head, "What brings you to my establishment, hmm? I do not get many visitors."

"Wait, your establishment?" cut in Topher, blinking. "You own this place?" He eyed the old man carefully; he didn't look dangerous, but Topher knew better than to trust appearances on that score.

"Of course. I built it, many years past." The old man blinked, very slowly; his mouth was set in a kind, dreamy smile. "I have the Innkeeper Class, you see -- not much use for adventuring. The king, and the others at the Summoning, thought very little of it -- and even less of my Unique Skill, Perfect Slumber. I cannot blame them, either," he continued with a chuckle, "for they are clearly not well-suited for wars. Fortunately, I, too, have no appetite for wars." Topher flinched a little.

"Yeah, well, war might have an appetite for you," he ventured, picking up a dented pewter fork and taking an experimental stab at his food; the meat slipped greasily onto his fork with a heavenly scent, and he had to restrain himself from stuffing it into his mouth immediately. "If bad guys show up here to kill you, they probably won't be too concerned with how cool your Skills and your Class are."

Rudo shrugged. "If they do, what can I say? I am no threat to anyone." He watched as Topher carefully levered a bite into his mouth, then smiled with evident satisfaction at his reaction. Sure hope this stuff's not poisoned, Topher thought belatedly.

"Master Muchenje," cut in Zanasha hesitantly, sipping her beer, "have you ever heard tales of assassins? Or anyone else interested those from your world?"

"Assassins," mused Rudo. His eyes flickered over the three of them. "Yes, I have heard tales of assassins." He pushed a bowl of spices over to Topher, who could not help but sprinkle them upon his food; if he poisoned me, it's already too late, so fuck it. "There are many groups who ply such a trade in this world; word reaches me even here, for this place is not untraveled despite its remoteness. I have guests, of a time -- typically adventurers, such as yourselves." He chuckled.

"Muchenje-san," Hana cut in -- struggling to maintain her composure, Topher saw -- "If you have any useful information, we would be very grateful. A number of powerful people have requested our aid in getting to the bottom of this mystery, and it is very important that we do not fail." Slowly, he realized that she had touched neither her food nor her drink.

"Yes," mused the old innkeeper, "I can see how important it is to you that you do not fail." His eyes flicked back to Topher. "Mister Bailey, are you aware of the Skills granted to the Innkeeper Class?"

"No," grunted Topher, "but I can guess. Probably something to do with cooking, supplies, that sort of thing." He paused. "And probably identification. Since I hadn't told you my name yet." Slowly, he began to put down his fork.

"Quite correct." The old man nodded again. "In particular, I have a small array of Skills -- Detect Status and Sense Troubles, to name a few -- that grant me the ability to confirm the identities of guests, and anticipate their needs." He pointed a wiry finger at Topher, who noticed abruptly that his nails, though scuffed, were healthy and strong. "You, Christopher Bailey, have the Clerk Class, and you pursue the affections of the woman you love." As Topher's face blushed scarlet and his mouth dropped open, the finger moved on to Zanasha. "You, Zanasha Jones, have the Fighter Class, and you seek a family to replace the one you lost." Zanasha's gaze turned thoughtful, but she did not move; her hand, Topher noticed, was knotted around the handle of her beer mug as though ready to use it in battle.

"And you, Hana Shirakane," he finished, turning his gaze to the young woman and folding his hands atop the head of his cane once more, "have the Hostess Class, and you are here to assassinate me in your capacity as a deep-cover agent of the Demon Lord."

For exactly zero point five seconds, no one moved. Then, slowly, Hana began to stand up.

She pushed back her chair calmly and precisely; her left hand, which had been hidden beneath the table, came up to reveal that it gripped the twisting vial that contained her Elixir of Enhancement. Without breaking eye contact with Rudo, she tipped it back, consuming the entire contents of the bottle in less than a heartbeat.

Topher sat, frozen with shock; he knew he should be reacting, but he was so stunned by what was happening that his intent to act twisted, lost, between poles of confusion. What. The. Fuck?

Quietly and efficiently, Hana tucked the empty bottle back into her hip pouch. Then, with a motion so fast Topher couldn't even begin to follow it, she drew her Flux Blade. As she did so, it took a form he'd never seen before -- a long, broad sword, with a black blade that bore crawling ruby-red runes and seemed to pulse with deadly hunger. Still locking eyes with Rudo, she said, in a flat voice that trembled with finality, "Draw your sword."