Chapter VI - Awoken

Author's Comment

Let's see, this is the shortest chapter to date, and by to date, I mean these six chapters and the next five. As you might note by the chapter's brackets, we are entering the Devil's New Suit Saga. Fun times lie ahead.



Random facts:

Music: Angie Hart, Aimee Mann, Some Various Unsorted.

This chapter shouldn't exist. The intention was to get directly onto 'Homecoming' from 'Welcome Back, Kansas', but that didn't work out.



Thing to hmm about: does Rilnae have a greater reason other than to prance around and help the group?
Faindil is still AWOL, is he hiding under a rock?



Chapter VI – Awoken (Devil’s New Suit Saga – Prelude)



“Can I make it right?
Can I spend the night alone?”
~ Angie Hart, ‘Blue’



The pitter-patter of little feet resonated down the tunnel. Lesharn was sprinting as fast as his stubby legs could carry him. He had been found out. It was only a matter of time before he was found.

He nearly fell. He had been running his hand along the wall to keep his path, and the path came to a junction. Left? Right? Straight ahead? He decided on right as he heard deep, thudding footfalls somewhere behind.



Rilnae was trying to watch everyone’s situations at once. Shandor had just awoken, finally, she’d been trying to poke him awake for ages. Rue was in the middle of a organisational war. Lesharn was being chased by an assortment of sailors. Cyria and Alril were pneumonia-bound. Shivayon, Varadrion and Santhorpe just seemed screwed in general. And Mihndrid, Silvan and Kalypse aren’t doing well at all.

Not to mention Rilnae thought that the beast that was chasing after the group in the fort somehow ended up in Shandor’s dimension.

Rilnae hated Tuesdays. ‘That’s it, I’ve had enough.’

Shutting down the images, she stormed out of the spherical room and launched into the labyrinth of corridors. She, however, knew where she was going – the Council.

‘Wait a moment, Miss.’ A man called from behind a desk as Rilnae charged down the enormous, ornate arched corridor towards the Council’s room. He had to run to catch up to her. ‘You can’t go in without an appointment.’

‘Then book me in.’ Rilnae replied, reaching out and touching the door handles. Even the light touch threw the doors open. The doors were rather proud of the delicious ‘swoosh!’ sound they made as they opened. It took them a millennia to perfect it. Not that we are concerned with this, back to the story:

Rilnae entered the hexagonal room. There were six stands jutting out from the floor; each was positioned into the three walls opposite the door. Two windows, which were moulded to the shape of two more walls, were beside the end of the stands. These windows were magical. In fact, none of the environment was natural, from what Rilnae knew. It had all been constructed.

‘Portal Weaver, you have intrud-‘

‘Yeah, great. Look, I don’t care what the hell you guys are doing, my friends are in trouble, you said by joining you I could help them.’

‘You can,’ One said.

‘And have,’ Another said.

‘Repeatedly.’ A third finished.

‘Then why in the Phlax did you break them up on the last portal.’

‘You were,’

‘Abusing,’

‘Your powers.’ The three others said.

‘I’m a Portal Weaver. I *weave* *portals* how can I be “abusing” my power?’ Rilnae said through gritted teeth. The man was cringing in sympathy before quickly making the doors shut. The doors delivered another perfect ‘swoosh!’.

‘Part of,’

‘Our arrangement,’

‘For your position,’

‘Was that,’

‘You would comply,’

‘With our rules.’

‘And. I. Have.’ Rilnae groaned inwardly.

‘Our records,’

‘Show that this,’

‘Is far from true.’

‘You have other,’

‘Duties to perform,’

‘Other than your friends.’

Rilnae sighed loudly. This sort of behaviour would probably get her turned into a newt or something suitably cliché, but she didn’t care.

‘We will,’

‘However,’

‘Aid you.’

‘You will,’

‘However,’

‘Perform your duties.’

‘Sheesh, okay, okay. Just help my friends.’



‘Got ya!’ He said grinning from ear to pierced ear.

Lesharn yelped, his legs moved uselessly – he had been lifted into the air.

‘Ha, wee midget. Even so, it’s the plank for you.’

Lesharn was hauled, roughly, out of the service tunnels and shoved up on deck. The sky was a very dull grey, the waves were choppy today. Lesharn was bowled over, another sailor picked him up.

The apparent captain looked at him, ‘How did you let him get on board?!’

The chef, at least, Lesharn assumed chef, he was the one who killed the rat in the supply room. ‘I… I don’t know. ‘E wos just restin’ in that tunnel, he could’a com’ from an’where.’

‘Oh could he? Could he really? Or is it your sloppy work!? Why shouldn’t I throw you to the sharks?’

‘I-I-I…’

‘I thought as much. Disgusting. Harris, have him meet the cat of nine tails.’

‘No, please, sir, I just – it wos an accident, I won’t let it happin again!’ the chef wailed pitifully as he was dragged below deck.’

‘By hell he won’t, not after the nine tails. And as for you… we haven’t had a good ceremonial plank-walk in a while. Do entertain us.’

Lesharn began whimpering.

Within minutes, the plank was extended and Lesharn was being poked along it with a very sharp blade. He reached the end, hands and feet tied, and looked down at the murky depths. He was frozen in place. A sharp, slicing wind had picked up and was tearing him apart before the sharks did. Or sea-serpents. Or shark-sea-serpent hybrids. Or horrible shark-sea-serpent-ravioli hybrids! Lesharn started whimpering again.

A sailor was sent onto the plank to give Lesharn a swift boot up the nether regions to speed up the proceedings.

Slightly like a football, Lesharn flew from the plank and tumbled towards the water.



‘You alright, Miss? We’ve got to get you an’ us out of here.’ The lead figure said to Rue.

‘There’s folks up on the ridge. They killed Roger.’ Another said.

Rue shuffled out from under from Roger as he was lifted. An arrow *thwanged* past her, hit the rock-face and snapped. The group started back the way they came as a cloak was thrown over Rue to keep her warm. Several more arrows whizzed past, and a few were fired back. Rue really wished she had a sword, even though, realistically, it wouldn’t do any good against archers, it would still be good to have.

What would not be good to have, but the Narrator will take a perverse pleasure in mentioning, would be an arrow whizzing at Rue’s head.

Fate, it seemed, made Rue turn to look at the ridge as the tip of the arrow was touching her soft, although frozen, skin between the eyes.



Shandor thought about the situation. He decided that he didn’t like this situation, and wondered briefly if he struck himself over the head with a slab of rock, would he go back to happy-world. Although he didn’t know this, the beast that had climbed up the building and was standing behind him thought that striking the puny little elf over the head with a slab of rock would have been a delightfully fun thing to do.

Shandor felt the warm, moist breath prickling the hairs on his neck. ‘Ten-to-one you aren’t the welcome wagon.’ Shandor groaned, spinning on his heel to face the Beast.

The Beast, currently, had a snout. And several rows of teeth. And some mean looking eyes. And claws – they, in particular – looked quite mean. It’s tail which branched off into several spikes was rather menacing. The fact that it towered over Shandor by a good few feet only helped Shandor picture that he was a Halfling. Why Shandor was picturing himself as a Halfling is anyone’s guess, but this is his section of the chapter, and he’ll do what he wants to.

The Beast swung one of the particularly mean-looking claws at Shandor and caught him in the chest. This strike sent him barrelling into the ruined wall. This wall thought it would be amusing to collapse – as it is also, technically, the wall’s section of the chapter too, it decides that it will, indeed, collapse.

Shandor thought briefly as he hurtled towards his death, that he would go out in a slightly more glamorous manner. None of his deaths have been particularly glamorous. That news depressed him the most. Well, aside from the “plummeting to death” aspect of the day.