Witch Hunt

Downtown Nivannen is a cut and carved sea of peoples, rushing blood through the veins of the organ body of the city. Riverbanks made of buildings, sped currents of humanoid movement fanned outward from tributary skyway terminals. Massive signs in glittering lights advertise hotels and eateries, towering scaffolded metal atop shorter buildings. Posters hang from cornices, and broad avenues splinter into ever narrowing streets. Modern skyscrapers surround ancient buildings, a far higher wall than the original architects of those old steeples and libraries ever thought would ring their structures. Old and new clash hideously in some places, but harmonize into beautiful medleys in others; not unlike the people themselves.

A building easily ten-stories tall, squeezed between several smaller ones like an awkward sibling, stands lankily, displaying several massive signs off its billboard exterior. The wooden marquee at the front, awash in light and shaped like a furled blanket, reads 'SUTOLLI THEATRE'. The side sign displays in smaller lettering, 'Gub the Goblin - Thassalia Demetrix - "It's Stabbin' Time!"'

Alabastra stops, admiring the sign above us. "Always wanted to take you two to see a goblin musical."

Faylie says, still groggy, "Why do they specify 'goblin musical' and not just 'musical that happens to have goblins in it'?"

She smiles. "It's kind of its own thing. There's a word for it in goblinoid, but I forget it. They're, like, kind of... parodies, or... ah, you'll see." She starts to walk towards the ticket booth.

"Hold", I say. "We are not actually seeing the show, you are aware?"

Her hand goes to her hip. "And why is that?"

"For one..." I point up at the sign. "It doesn't start for another hour. And two - because for the umpteenth time, it would be a waste of our vanishing daylight."

The rogue rolls her eyes. "Ugh, fine. We sneak in for dress rehearsal, then." She turns back to her partners. "But next time we're off the clock, and we've got money to burn..."

Tegan mutters under her breath, "So, uh, never then."

"For now! Let's find a backdoor." She walks around the side building, pacing through the crowd as nonchalant as can be, whistling a tune under her breath.

As we reach the back of the building, a small loading dock opens up, and a staff entrance sits relatively unguarded, metal blue door labeled to ward away the lost or vagrant public. I suppose we count as the latter, then.

"Get in - ask our questions - get out. If anyone stops us, say we're critics. At least that way they won't call the cops..." She walks up to the metal door, testing the handle. It isn't even locked; the rogue swings the entrance wide, and we step inside.

The dark of the interior takes a moment to adjust to after the daylight. We find ourselves in a musty brick-walled hallway, archways like portals into strange worlds, open doors revealing dressing rooms painted pastel pink to the left. To the right, a room stocked with props: mannequins waving their cloth arms in still-frame, fake swords hanging from walls, rows of costumes, statues, censures and lamps and clocks and flags, and a sewing machine and reams of colored cloth, a chaotic mess of furniture stacked and piled and thrown together.

Beyond the other edge of the hallway, a metal staircase leads up to a catwalk above an open area behind a massive red velvet curtain, held taut with rope pulleys. A mess of people mill about. Tiny, green and yellow-skinned people with huge floppy ears and pig-snout button noses are dressed in various outfits of questionable historical accuracy. Goblins in costumes of Praetorians, Skjöldrian raiders, Caskian revolutionaries, ranch hands, and samurai swing fake equipment in practice battle, and hold scripts in their hands, reciting lines alongside likewise costumed human actors. Beside them, stagehands in overalls and suspenders wheel pieces of furniture into position and adjust spotlights.

We move quickly to the dressing rooms, stepping inside to not draw the attention of the cast or crew. Vanities inset with glowing lightbulbs sit in rows along the exterior wall, messy with makeup and mannequin heads holding wigs. There's only individual in the room, a woman in her mid-20's, with deep navy hair in a short flapper style and flat yet striking features. She seems to be out of costume, wearing just a plain white dress, and her spindly shoulders slouch forward, hunched over her stool as she applies her lipstick.

She turns with a start when we shut the door behind us. "Oh, goodness, I didn't hear you enter!" She sounds sweet and calming, with a performers lilt that she doesn't switch off in this private moment.

Alabastra steps forward. "Would you happen to be a Ms. Demetrix?"

The woman retreats slightly, planting her feet on the floor. "That's right." Her eyes start to dart. Then she chuckles, and her face snarls. "Ugh, Gods, security truly needs to be tightened around here... I'm not signing any autographs, today."

"Well, I wasn't gonna ask... but now that you mention it I guess I wouldn't mind one." The rogue smiles. "We wanna ask you some questions, and not about your acting career."

The actress stares at us, arm curling to her side, nervous energy as she shifts in her seat. "Alright. Perhaps I was being too kind. You need to leave." That is a shockingly natural response, actually. What exactly was Alabastra's plan, again? Because so far, all we've done is corner this woman alone in a back room.

"H-hold on. You went missing recently, we just wanna know where you disappeared to."

"Are you daft, or malicious? Either way, I will call the police!"

Alabastra backs up slightly, curious tilt to her head. "... Wait, what?" There goes here critic plan. The rogue says it almost involuntarily, not at all in response to the woman's threat, and her eyes squint in horror at the actress, like the declaration was shocking.

Faylie shambles forward, still tired. "Look, we really, really don't wanna bother you, it's just important because we know-", she yawns, and continues, "Know about your, y'know, lycanthropy, and you were having issues that a lot of other people were having and then you were cured of those issues and if we can figure out how maybe we can help other people!" She picks at the corner of her eye, not helping her rambling persuasive attempt.

Ms. Demetrix slams a hand on the vanity. "Oh, that is it!" She stands, and marches towards us. Without care that we're the only ones in the room, she marches right past us, and throws open the door.

"W-wait!", Tegan says, waving her hands in front of her.

Thassalia waves her hand out in the hallways, shouting, "Mr. Cork, come here, quick!" She turns back to us, arms crossed, back against the door, foot tapping. "You are so in for it! You don't even know!"

Again, Alabastra backs up, looking at the woman's face with sheer confusion. I start to look around for an easier exit, wondering if we should abandon this venture entirely... yet to have come this far only to be stopped now would be an intolerable waste of effort. If she won't give us the answers...

From around the hallway, a goblin in a button-down and a flat cap peers up and around the corner. "What is it-", He starts in a nasally, croaky voice, then stops upon seeing us.

We stare at the goblin. He stares back. Thassalia's grin grows wide and nearly wicked.

Then, he says, "Oh. Finally, you showed up!"

"What?!", Thassalia says, turning around.

"What?", Tegan, Faylie and Alabastra say.

"...What", I deadpan.

He points at Tegan and Alabastra with two-pronged fingers. "My understudies! You'd think you'd have rushed here after getting the call! C'mon, you're late!" The goblin ushers the two forward. He mumbles, "At least one of you is in costume already!"

Alabastra looks to Tegan, wide-eyed, then back to the goblin, and her face cracks into a disbelieving smile. "Yea. Absolutely. Sure I'll just... get into costume, then?"

Thassalia sputters, "W-wait, Mr. Cork, you don't understand, they're not even actors-"

He interrupts, "I wouldn't be putting gates on who's a real actor after your last performance, Demetrix." The woman blushes, ears turning red in embarrassed fury. Silently, Alabastra stifles a chuckle. "You're already on thin ice after missing so many shows. Don't test me - I will replace you."

What in the Hells is happening right now?

Mr. Cork looks to Faylie and I. "Wait... who are these two?"

Faylie speaks up, "Oh, we're just here to support our friends! Ha-ha."

The goblin drags his hand down his cheeks. "Ugh. Of course. I assume you at least paid for their tickets?"

"Absolutely", Alabastra lies.

Cork waves us away with the back of his hand. "Just go wait in the auditorium."

Of all the ways this could have gone... this is by far the most inane. Faylie looks to the other two with a guilty shrug. Tegan stares ahead in abject horror, but Alabastra smiles like a champion. I only turn and start to walk away. At least they had the good sense to leave me out of this.

* * *

Sitting in the otherwise empty theatre, only Faylie next to me, the emptiness feels all the more like a vacuum for the lack of a susurrus. We sit in a top row, and I'm woefully unable to find a comfy position in the bizarrely constricting seat. And in that open lonely space I take in just how ridiculous this entire venture has become.

Of all the avenues and variegated paths, we had to stumble down the one leading us to musical theatre. The lowest of the performing arts. I shift, anxious to be out of this situation despite it being the only path forward. At least I'm not having the worst time out of the four of us, if Tegan's turmoil was anything to go by, but that is cold comfort.

The wide auditorium carries sound like a windswept valley, made obvious when Faylie's voice echoes beyond her, "This is so exciting! My parents used to never let me go to the theatre in the Faewilds!"

I do not care. I am not curious. I don't care. The faun stares into me, her excitement dulling at my refusal to engage, as I white-knuckle the armrests. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her turn back to the stage, ears flopped over.

We sit in silence for a while in blissful silence, only interrupted by the occasional clamor from backstage that raises my brow.

Still, we've a long wait ahead of us, and I find myself wishing this wait would hurry along. That it was an hour later already.

Tick.

I blink, and suddenly everything is different.

The lights of the auditorium are dimmed and low, and where before all the seats had been empty, now a large majority are stuffed with theatregoers, chatting amongst themselves and settling into their seats.

W- wait... what? I look around in a panic... What just happened?

I turn to my right again. Faylie is fast asleep next to me, curled into her seat and drooling onto her shoulder. The others around act as normal as can be, like they didn't just apparate out of thin air. Not unlike The Other Side, only I can tell, this isn't the Ethereal Plane. This is real, these people look like average citizens of Marble City, nothing out of the ordinary.

I stand, my seat folding up behind me. This is an untenable complication. Regrettably, I need to find the others, and ask if they've noticed anything. I start by attempting to shake Faylie awake.

She flops over in my grip, looking up at me with wide brown eyes, blinking to consciousness. "Hmm?" She yawns. "Oh, hey Moodie... Oscar."

I'm too panicked to dignify the slip-up. "What was that?", I ask.

The faun shrugs. "What do you mean? I've been asleep for like..." She looks around. "Has the show started yet?"

This is pointless. I walk past her. "N- never mind."

"Okay..." She cozies back into her seat. It was always going to be a pointless proposition, talking to her.

As I glance around the space, there is an inexplicable feeling of being watched

. An eerie sense of eyes on my back, yet I don't see anyone casting me more than the expected glances.

I look around for an exit. I can't exactly get through the backstage from the front with this sudden crowd. As I make for the exit, multiple entering attendants file into the theatre, finding fast-filling empty seats. I brush past, bumping shoulders as I charge for slivers of daylight at the back of the dark theatre, emanating from the front of house. Back outside again, a line is forming down the block, eager to buy their tickets.

Tickets... Dammit, I don't have a ticket! I suppose getting back inside through the front is out of the question, now. I look up at the sky. It's well past noon, and the clouds have shifted to more of an overcast. If only this watch told the time!

Ah. The watch: did it cause this? As I walk around the corner towards the back end of the building, I reach underneath my shirt, gripping the metal. If so, that is a fascinating implication that I will have to explore later. Perhaps I should keep a handle on any time-related thoughts from here on, to avoid a mishap like that again.

Did I truly move forward in time with a thought? Or was it simply my perspective that shifted, blotting out the uneventful hour; is it a distinction without difference? Could I go backwards? Halt time entirely...? No, no I'm getting distracted again. There's no reason to push the bounds of what the watch can do. I only need it for one purpose, and blessedly it has performed that duty with distinction. There's no reason to risk over- or mis-use.

I round the corner of the theatre exterior once more, and for the second time, push through the metal door into the back area. The hallways are inundated with frenetic motion, nervous energy as the time nears for the curtains to rise. My eyes peel over the crowd for the others. I need to see if they noticed that strange hiccup in time, and while I'm here perhaps I can talk them out of this idiotic plan. Maybe even see if they've already gotten the information from Ms. Demetrix so I can simply leave them to this foolishness.

It isn't long before I spot Tegan's shining armor, sticking out like a sore thumb, looking lost. Beside her are a handful of stagehands and performers, mostly goblinoid, but one clearly stands out. Towering over everyone else, with flowing waves of blonde hair, an actress dressed in a gaudy burlesque outfit stands with her back to the hall, shining threads of beads hanging off her shoulders, catching the light, in a slim and slightly see-through dress with a far-too short skirt, and a large feather atop her head. I catch myself staring, despite my self-disgust, my breath catching slightly. She turns, face painted with striking makeup, ruby red lips, and...

And she grins a familiar smile. Alabastra. I'd hardly recognized her in that getup. I revile inside myself. Dammit. Gods dammit that just isn't fair.

They finally catch my entrance. Her and Tegan excuse themselves, darting towards me. "Oscar?", Alabastra asks as they approach. She sighs, "Get in here." Her head motions toward the prop room.

I follow, eyes glued to the ground. Under no circumstance can I look at her in any way at the moment. Though, that ostentatious, flashy get-up suits her clownish personality, her flecks of freckles dotted with glitter, glinting gold like river pans- Fuck. Stop. Staring.

We pile into the prop room, shutting the door behind. Tegan immediately lets out a sigh, shaky hands running through her short hair. "Oh, Gods, this sucks so bad. I'm never gonna remember those f-fucking lines."

Alabastra puts a hand on her girlfriend's shoulder. "Don't worry, babe. It's a goblin musical - the lines are basically just suggestions, anyways." Her other hand goes to the other pauldron. "I'll be right by your side."

Tegan looks up, head tilting at Alabastra. She smiles at her, almost pathetically. "You look really good in that."

"Don't I?" She puts a hand to a fake pearl necklace on her collarbone. "Not my usual style, and a little demeaning if I'm honest, but, hey, try anything once, right?"

I look between them. They're acting normal. Or, well, as normal as can be expected from these two, anyways. "Did you two not feel that?", I ask.

The half-elf looks to me. Under all that eyeshadow her normally inquisitive eyes turn especially striking, like shining emeralds glinting back the world in their clarity. "Felt what?"

STOP STARING. I turn away. That answers my question, regardless. Whatever just happened, I was the only one to experience it. As I open my mouth to elaborate, a thought strikes me. They hardly need to know. They've already coveted the watch once, threatening to keep it from me. No reason to inform them of something it may or may not be capable of. I shake my head. "Nothing. Never mind." Before they can ask follow-ups I turn to the knight. "What exactly is the plan, anyways? Because if this is some elaborate excuse to waste more time..."

Out of the corner of my eye, Alabastra crosses her arms. "Yeah, this was all a big conspiracy to start up our actin' careers. You caught us red-handed."

Tegan adds, shakily, "Seriously, do I seem like I'm having fun?!" She is sweating up a storm, under that armor.

"And I'm making sacrifices too! This getup is not exactly comfortable." Yes, her great sacrifice is to look drop-dead gorgeous, what a heroic and noble act. Gods stop thinking stop even thinking at all.

I huff. "Then, seriously, what is the plan?"

The rogue's hand goes to her hip. "Twofold: One, our girl's on thin ice in this troupe. Between scenes, we're gonna threaten to sabotage her little performance on-stage unless she tells us what we wanna know." Leveraging her propensity for chaos is at least a more surefire plan than most she conjures, at least.

"That seems like it's going to draw a lot of attention, is it not? Won't the other actors try to stop you?"

She chuckles. "It's a goblin musical? The entire point is to go off-script. We're just gonna do it in a way that makes her look bad, but it's basically just one big competition to see who can derail the most." Oh, Gods, it's even worse than musical theatre. It's improv musical theatre. "It's real avant-garde stuff."

I shake my head. I'm not interested in debating the arts right now. "Have you managed to ascertain anything yet? With your Insight, perhaps?"

Alabastra grits her teeth, suddenly getting a far-away look in her eye. "Yeah, that's... that's the thing. I couldn't. It was just like Lyla Serrone. I- I couldn't read her. Like a smokescreen."

That is a fascinating connection; perhaps enough of one that the Gloamwood Gang would find that an acceptable lead to let me off the hook? No, there's no solid evidence. "And the second part of your plan?"

She breathes once, regaining her composure. "I noticed she's been hovering over her locker all night since we got roped into this. Anytime either of us aren't on stage when she is, we're gonna poke around her things and see if we can't find somethin'."

My eyes narrow. "I could just do that. Since I'm back here already."

She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. "If you get spotted you'll get kicked out. We all might. Honestly, Oscar, probably best you just wait here."

Of course, relegating me to helpless hanger-on once more. I don't even have a leg to stand on and argue, either; she is technically right. I fold inward, back against a wall, and look away, eyeing the colorful menagerie of props around me. "Fine."

From behind the door, the goblinoid director shouts, "Alright, PLACES PEOPLE!"

Alabastra shrugs. "That's our cue."

I mumble, "Good luck."

"You're supposed to say break a leg; it's bad luck to say good luck."

"..."

She pauses, then clicks her tongue. "I see." She hardly wears makeup, especially not a face this elaborate, making her seem even more theatric, yet almost breaking through the layers of suspicion, the look she gives me nearly forces me to believe she's actually hurt by that jab. Almost. I turn away again, holding my forehead against the growing sting, until the two trod off to partake in their moronic plan.

There is something bizarre occurring. I can ignore it no longer; these ceaseless headaches, from being around the three thieves, they're getting worse. There's some pattern to them, I'm almost certain, yet... even thinking on that grows the pain, spiderweb fractures down the folds of my mind. I just need... need to get away from them. Sooner rather than later, and the pain will stop.

Behind the door, I hear a flood of footfalls, as the performers take to the stage. A loud, resounding clang rings through the building: the sound of the lights shutting off. And then, a slow violin medley drifts under the crack of the door, music oozing through the walls, dulled reverberations as drum beats and bass sections thrum into the room, like a pounding heart banging outward into the body of the theatre.

I can hardly even hear when the singing begins, unable to make out lyrics of any kind. It's just a high-pitched yammering struggling to overpower the backing instruments. One song ends, and after a lull, another begins, and then another, and only by the fourth do I start to hear anything worth listening to. It's a more melancholic and dramatic sounding piece, with its smooth guitar sections and low percussions and swinging brass and rustling chimes.

Wait. Those chimes aren't coming from the stage...

A low jangle right on the other side of the door stops with a boot-fall. Slowly, the entrance creaks open, and a figure peers their head around the corner. I duck behind a barrel, to stay out of sight, peering through a crack to keep eyes on the intruder. They appear to be a human man from first glance, as nondescript as they come, but as the figure steps into the room, shutting the door behind him, he reaches behind his back, and the illusion on his form shatters as he pulls two twinned scimitar blades to his side.

In a defensive stance, a familiar fiendling peels the interior for movement, curved horns over a sneering face, scowling into corners like he might spook out the darkness. "I know you're there, vampire", says Vail the monster hunter. "Come on out."

I freeze in place, feeling suddenly cold as ice.

Vail rolls his neck, clearly enjoying the hunt as much as I am not. It had a monster hunter. We should have just left him to rot... Did he know just from looking at me? Has he been tracking me this whole time? Or was he set on this path by the Forsyths? I shake my head. It hardly matters now, clearly he's been on our trail long enough to have caught me here.

He starts to prowl the prop room, checking behind every box, into every nook. I'm a sitting duck... Damn, it may be better to reveal myself early. Perhaps the fool will even listen to reason. Or at the very least, I can keep him distracted. When he's moved just far enough that he's further from the door than I am, I stand, arms help up, and shout, "Stop! I don't want a fight."

He spins, blades pointed towards me. Then, he lets out a small chuckle. "Huh. Yet you picked this fight - when you sunk your fangs into Grace's neck."

I bristle. "This does not have to escalate. Just leave."

The hunger tsk-tsks. "After all the work I put into finding you?" He starts to approach. I back up, quickly against a wall, and with only one direction to continue: further from the door. Ugh. "Heard about that mess at the Serrone's. Best I don't ask... that's what your leader said, isn't it? I knew you were up to something."

My eyes dart around. Just keep him talking until you think of a plan. "She was right that it didn't concern you."

"Oh, but it did. Monsters like you roaming the streets - that's all the concern I need." He grumbles. "I offered my services, on behalf of Forsyth, but I don't really care for either of their aims. I only want to see justice done for the blood you spilled."

I'm most assuredly not faster than him, but I'd bet I'm smarter. I just have to break line of sight. "You have no proof we were there. Baseless speculation."

"You were lucky. I didn't pick up any blood whispers from you or your comrades... But there was one trail to follow." He starts to drag the sharp edges of one sword against the other, a high-pitched grinding sound filling the air that is drowned under the music. "Ol' Latchet squealed like a pig 'bout where you'd be next. Then I just had to wait until you were alone."

An annoyed huff escapes me. The detective sold us out. Bastard. "I understand why you've come, but I am no danger to anyone. Not anymore."

"So you admit you were?"

"Of course. But it is a solved problem." He's pushed me all the way to the back of the room. Behind the majority of this cluttered mess. A mess he won't have had time to memorize. I study my exit path, again and again, repeated in my head, routed through phantom muscle memory. Between the armor stand and the statue - through the coat rack - over the barrels - under the shelf - out the door. I'll only get one shot.

He points a sword at me again, looking into the side of the glinting metal. It reflects the room around it; my own visage absent. Then he looks back to me. "There's only one solution to this problem, bloodsucker."

Despite myself, I can't help but laugh. I say, bitter, "Your timing is abysmal, you know. Just a few days ago I might have taken your way out. Eagerly." My hand hovers over my satchel. Something within me crystalizes. "It seems the Gods just won't let me die."

Vail dashes forward. I reach into my bag, pull out a smoke bomb, and crack it onto the floor. Fog fills the space, and I run, eyes closed.

Though I am without sight, crystal memory sears into my mind, in perfect displaced time. I squeeze between an armor stand of knightly valor and a knock-off cherubic statue, pass through hanging coats, cloaks, and cloths dangling from a metal rolling rack, vault over the barrels I'd been hiding behind, roll beneath the bottom layer of an otherwise stocked shelf, and throw wide the door.

With a turn, I slam it behind me, to the clatter of a hunter swinging wildly at prey that is no longer there. I bank hard to the left and make for the exit door. The knob turns this way and that. I shake it desperately. The door doesn't open - did he blockade it, or break the lock? I throw myself into the metal, returned only with throbbing pain in my shoulder.

Not a chance I'm getting out that way; there's only one other route. I turn and run the other direction down the hall, hearing the slayer getting closer already.

I try the handle to the changing room, only to find that, too, refusing to turn. Behind the door, Alabastra's voice shouts back, "Oh, hah, just a minute! Wardrobe malfunction!" I roll my eyes.

Although I could shout back, ask for help... that would mean relying on her assistance. Some part of me recognizes that for the foolish stubbornness it is, yet... I won't let her hang anything else over me. I pull my hand away from the door and dart down the hall. The backstage meets me in no time. Various goblin actors and crewmen startle at my arrival.

The director from before, Mr. Cork, leaps from his folding chair and says, "Oh, what the hells?! You hangers-on gotta learn to stay in your seats!"

At the other side of the velvet curtain, the band kicks up a beat, and a classy piano starts a far-too smooth tune for my current dire straits. An unfamiliar voice sings in a lilting vibrato, "What do you do in the evening..."

Behind me, I only just the slamming of the storage room door over the din, and turn to see Vail rushing after me, blades stretched behind him in twin tails. I turn and book it past the actors, ignoring their complaints and making for the stairs.

"When you don't know what to do?"

The goblins look down the hallway to see the approaching warrior, and their eyes light up in wild excitement. One of them says, "Ooo, a fight scene! That's good!" All at once, they pull weapons in the forms of bone daggers, dull stone spears, and rusted machetes off the floor, and snarl wildly.

"Read a book? Play a game?"

The director facepalms. "Oh, not this early, please!" Ignoring his pleas, the goblins start a brawl right in the middle of the backstage, creating a battlefield of motion that Vail clumsily crashes into. Already on the other side of this sudden violence, I push up the stairs, running onto the catwalk above the stage. I stumble as I reach the top, shin colliding with a metal step, but I push through the pain and make a mad dash across the other side of the metal walkway.

"Every night, it's just the same!"

I reach into my pack, pulling a large vial of acid, and splash it over the joints of the catwalk as I run, kicking up clouds of burning steam where two halves converge.

"What do you say if I tell you..."

Down below me, the curtain splits my vision into two halves. On the left I see the unfolding scuffle between the goblinoid actors, deep into their... improvisation. A goblin in a cowboy outfit jumps onto Vail's back, small jabs from a knife with a too-dull blade into his front.

"How to keep from feeling blue."

To my right, aside the band, three figures on the stage stumble awkwardly through a scene. A feminine goblin sings into a microphone, and behind her, Tegan barely holds her own in a dance, stilted movements failing to keep with Ms. Demetrix, who wears an outfit similar to Alabastra's. Demetrix rolls her eyes, huffing at her less-than-cooperative stage partner. She spins in a dance toward Tegan. The knight fumbles to catch her, and whispers something toward the actress I don't catch over the music. Thassalia Demetrix stares at Tegan, and her face snarls cold murder. Then she pulls away, wrenching free of the knight's grip.

"My advice is good to take."

Demetrix's hand flashes in radiant holy magic, and she produces in her hand a leather-bound book. She clutches it to her chest, whispering unheard words of power to herself. Around her is summoned a swirling tornado of blue magic, ripped through with currents of gold and black. She sends it forth, and it strikes Tegan off her feet.

"And it's easier to do."

Under the strange spell, Tegan goes sailing through the velvet curtains, smashing into a pile of boxes and barrels, disappearing under the crashed wooden rubble. In the place she flew through, the veil folds, pulley's buckling and releasing, and the curtain falls to reveal a partial view onto the backstage. The chorus of fighting goblins start to spill out into the stage lights.

"When you're all alone, any old night..."

Released from the battle he'd been stuck in, Vail makes a break for the stairs, taking them two-by-two as his swords cling-clang and ping off the steps behind him. As he rounds the corner, he slows, noticing how trapped I am. Though I can see the stage below me, our view to the audience is blocked by a long ceiling overhang. Still dragging his swords behind, he says, "Nowhere to run."

"And you're feelin' out of tune."

I back up to the very end of the catwalk, shoulder blades against the railing, and stare him down. "You've made a horrible mistake."

"Pick up your hat! Close up your flat!"

He tsks. "I can practically smell the undeath on you. You're a monster - that's no mistake." He starts to rush forward.

"Get out, and get under the moon!"

"Actually...", I say, and lock my arms between the sides of the railing. "I just meant coming up here." He hits the halfway point of the catwalk, and the burned and acid-melted joints of the precarious metal give way under his weight. In a massive creaking crashing sound, the catwalk snaps in two, and the monster hunter falls away.

"Underneath the bright, silvery light..."

The metal swings out under the curtain, and my shoulders scream with pulling pain as I hold on for dear life, gravity threatening to slide me down into the pit of violence below. My vision tunnels in fright from the precarious vantage point, and I feel like throwing up. Lowered below the fallen curtain at a near-match angle, I can no longer see the stage, but hear gasps from the audience. The band keeps playing.

"You'll be feelin' better soon."

To my surprise, at the edge of the snapped half of the catwalk hanging from the ceiling by metal threads, the fiendling holds on, having caught the edge, dropped sword as payment. He snarls up at me- No... Something else snarls below.

"Pick up your hat, close up your flat!"

A massive clawed hand paws and wrenches itself from the mess where Tegan had been. Long and sharpened fingers meet in a palm the size of my head, covered in a thick coat of gray-brown fur. It's matched by another, as a huge hulking form pulls itself free. Hunched and hair-coated, an animalistic humanoid form heaves with anger, a feral wolf's maw dripping with spit and spite. Glowing yellow eyes peer around at the sudden screams of the stab-prone actors, teeth mashing, as it lets out one long, "Awooooooo!"

"Get out! Get under the moon!"

From the hallway, Alabastra rushes onto the scene, but skids to a halt as she sees the wolven form afore her. She mouths, 'Oh, Stardust...', but I can't hear the words from this high up over the music and screams.

"Ooh-ooh! Look at those stars above!"

The werewolf turns around, ears perking in quick-twitching motions. It looks up at me, as the monster hunter now pulls himself up the accidental ramp towards me. His other sword is stowed, but his eyes are full of determination.

"Look, look! Look at those sweeties love, oh boy!"

Crouching low, the lycanthrope paws at the ground, and leaps through the air with a great show of strength, sailing in an arc for the half of the walkway I am fighting a losing battle to hang on to. I nearly panic... before it collides with the hunter, and pulls at his cloak and armor in a raking motion with its claws, rocketing them both down into the stage like an anchor into water.

"Give me a night in Rune!"

Hunched over Vail, the werewolf growls, and rears back its claws, dagger-like edges glinting with stage lights.

"I mean it. All you gotta do, any old night..."

Alabastra yells, "Stardust! Stop!" The werewolf pauses, looking into the half-elf's eyes, shoulders drooping low.

"When you're feelin' out of tune."

In a furious motion, the lycanthrope turns and bolts, rushing back through the curtain, to a cascade of audience panic. "Werewolf!", someone shouts. Over the cover of the fallen theatric fabric, I catch the sight of it- her... bounding on four limbs up the stairs, straight for the doors. My fingers start to slip.

"Just pick up your hat! Close up your flat!"

Several other figures in the audience stand, shouting after the fleeing knight, "My Gods! Werewolf! After it!" A handful of men begin to chase after her, missing only pitchforks to wave. My wrists start to twist beyond what I can bear.

"Get out under the moon!"

With a gravity-wrought jerk downward from the falling catwalk, my grip slips from the railing, and I slide and tumble down to the ground. I land feet-first, and immediately feel my ankle shoot out from under me, knotted on itself in a horrible sprain. I collapse in pain. For a moment, my world is only spinning stars and a bassoon solo.

"When you make a date, any old night..."

I lift myself onto my forearms, still laid out on the ground. Thankfully, most of the goblins have already stabbed each other to surrender, but they're not what I'm worried about. Vail starts to sit up, stumbling from the tumble he took.

"You gonna meet your sweetie soon?"

Alabastra rushes forward, and kicks him hard in the back of the head. He crumples. She looks at me... and offers a little smile. From his seat, the still facepalming director Cork grumbles, "Yeah, sure, why not - we're gonna need to call a priest anyways." The rogue turns to the goblin, shrugs, and runs over to the destroyed boxes, throwing the paladin's blasted-away chunks of armor into the bag.

"Well, then pick up your hat! Close up that flat!"

She runs over to my side, leaning down. "C'mon, Os, we've gotta go", the half-elf says, and she grabs me by the shoulders. Part of me wants to pull away, but the pain shooting through my leg overpowers any other thought. I can do nothing but accept her assistance, as she cantilevers me to my feet, arms over each other's wingspans. With her leading, I limp out onto the stage. We catch Faylie's eye in the audience, stood from her seat and wide-eyed.

"Get out!"

Alabastra helps me off the stage, and we meet back with the faun. I take another look around the audience, and see Ms. Demetrix to the side of the box, smug as can be. Before I can say anything, Alabastra issues, "Don't worry about her - we have what we need. Let's go." My eyes drift toward the stage one last time.

"Get under the moon!", the singer finishes the song with a final crescendo of the band, and opens her eyes to the chaos around her. The rest of the curtain falls away, covering the performers in a wide velvet red blanket.

There is a pause, before a single audience member claps.

It isn't followed.