It was raining again on Tin Street. Rivulets of water cascaded down in a heavy but uneven torrent, moving as inconsistently and unpredictably as the crowd it fell upon. But the crowd was thinning out far more than the rain. Tin Street was legendary on Ravnica; perhaps the longest stretch of unbroken road in the entire city. But that didn't make it safe, and beyond the outer reaches of the Market, Tin Street grew narrow, and dark, and dangerous.

It was dusk, and the last stragglers of the crowd were finally beginning to move off towards their own private, desperate safe havens. At the mouth of a small alley connecting Tin Street to some of the back passageways stood Railu, his sharp, Elven eyes scanning the growing darkness with a practiced indifference. It was raining harder now, but Railu was protected, at least to some degree, by his umbrellarua, an Izzet contraption designed to protect the wearer from the weather. It's protective bubble worked only marginally well, as this was an archaic model Railu picked up in a junker's shop. Somehow, Izzet technology always seemed to work fine until a newer model was released, but Railu hardly cared. He would never have bought new, and not simply because he could never afford to. The junker was a second-hand shop; no profits went to the Izzet. Railu would never support them, or any other guild, if he could possibly avoid it.

A sudden movement caught his attention as some dark shape crossed his field of vision from across the street. Lost in thought, Railu had no time to register anything but the movement itself. Whatever it had been was fast, and it was big. Beyond that, Railu knew nothing. But a life on the streets of Ravnica had sharpened more senses than his sight. He knew it had not gone far. Perhaps it had sensed him as it ran by, or perhaps it could even see him, even shrouded in shadow as he was. Slowly, so as not to draw any more attention, Railu dropped to a crouch, his eyes constantly scanning for any variance in the rain-soaked street. His right hand instinctively came to rest on the handle of his dagger, which he wore in a leather sheath sewn into his clothes. He did not draw the blade, because the flash of steel on a Ravnican street usually brings more problems than it solves. Controlling his breathing as well as he could, Railu waited.

The wait lasted only a few, short moments before Railu became aware of a sound like rolling thunder. It was approaching from his left, the same direction that mysterious form had appeared from, and Railu risked one brief second to glance down Tin Street in that direction. That one, brief second was all the beast required, and within that momentary distraction, it sprang. Only Railu's instincts saved him as he pushed off with his left leg, bounding just out of reach of the creature as it crashed heavily into the wall next to which Railu had just been standing. His knife slipped, no more than an inch from its sheath, but the unearthly growl of the beast froze the young elf in place.

It was certainly big, eight foot long at the least and thickly muscled. It was vaguely demonic in shape, including the two short horns protruding from its skull, but had no wings, and no sign of the dark intelligence usually found in demons. What captured Railu's fear-stricken attention most, however, was its teeth, two rows of jagged, pointed teeth that resembled the very serrated arrowheads Railu himself preferred. The beast growled again, almost a roar this time, and then, in a move that surprised Railu even more then the first attack, it turned and charged down the alley, away from Railu and Tin Street both.

Refusing to breathe for fear his luck would run out, Railu took two steps backward onto Tin Street, just in time for his instincts to save him again as he reeled away from another towering shape bearing down on him. This one was accompanied by the loud neighing of a horse and some colorful cursing. Railu looked up to see a white horse, at least eighteen hands high, and atop it a rider in silver armor, whose face was not nearly so splendid as his adornments.

"Knights of Prahv? Here?" This was all Railu could manage as he noticed this rider was not alone, but accompanied by at least half a dozen others, all similarly attired.

"Out of the way, Guildless!" snarled the rider as he lifted his leg to kick at the elf. Railu was too shocked at their appearance to defend himself, and instantly discovered that the Izzet umbrellaura, while moderately successful at stopping rain, snow, and even wind, was not effective whatsoever against a heavily-armored boot.

Railu rolled backward as the Azorius Riders turned and charged down the narrow alleyway, apparently chasing the very demon that had attacked the elf. Mutual enemies, however, did not sate Railu's ire, and he instinctively reached behind his back for his bow, his singular prized possession. Old Otak, a shopkeeper he had known since he was a boy, once told him he was a match for any sagittar in the Selesnya Conclave. Railu had considered that an insult. If the shot was possible within the basic laws of nature, Railu could make it. If it wasn't, Railu would find a way anyway.

A sudden break in the rain made Railu pause, just before he had unhooked his bow. The rain returned a second later, but he spotted the cause immediately, an Azorius sky patrol scout. Railu had no doubt he had been seen, and the scout passing directly overhead was merely a warning against retaliation, a warning Railu reluctantly heeded. Even the other guilds barely retained their rights in an Azorius court. The guildless stood no chance, and even if Railu could afford an Advokist from Orzhov, he would never support them anyway. This was certainly a time where discretion was the better part of valor. Railu released his grip on the bow and rubbed his back, as though it were sore from the fall. The last thing he needed was to be followed around by the Azorius for several weeks on suspicion of being a malcontent. Railu sighed and turned down Tin Street, resigned to the knowledge that the guilds had won…again.

Gazwin giggled giddily as he skipped about his laboratory. The rain was just what the Firemind had ordered, setting the mizzium water wheels mounted in his walls to spinning. They were actually the prototype devices that had been used in the design of the Blistercoil system, which Gazwin had appropriated when they had been ordered back to the foundries for recycling. It wouldn’t have been too much trouble for him to have acquired the raw mizzium once they had been melted down, but…well, waste not, want not. One night’s worth of forged paperwork had saved him more than a month of tedious metalworking. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone would miss the mizzium itself, as he had been careful to replace the wheels with a load of his own scrap.

Gazwin clapped his hands with glee, making for quite the sight as he capered about his lab. Tall and lanky, with a head full of brown curls that never quite seemed to agree on what they all wanted to do, he looked more like an escapee from the nearest asylum than one of Izzet’s more successful (or, at least, less dead) experimenters. The runes he had hand painted to his wall began to shine a blue so dark that it almost seemed purple in place, bathing his naked skin in their ethereal glow. “Success! Success! At last, I have unlocked the gravcelerant potential of rain and used it to create a photonic resonance!”

He was so excited by his new discovery that he wasn’t paying much attention to the room around him. So he was completely oblivious when the hatch to the roof swung open, smashing into the back of his head with a dull whap. Gazwin let out a small screech as he fell, wrenching his arm as he tried and failed to catch himself on the edge of the table. The one saving grace was that thick carpeting, oddly stained by the consequences of hundreds of experiments, had been set down on the floor of the small apartment.

The open hatch admitted a goblin in tidy brown robes, now soaking wet and plastered to his small frame. The ladder he clambered down was slick with rain, but what would have been risky for a full grown man was almost childishly easy for him. He dropped silently to the floor, and began wringing his robes dry as he shook himself like a dog. A small puddle was forming at his feet as the water dripped off of him faster than the carpet could absorb it. He turned around, trying to see where Gazwin might have gone. “Master, I- AGH!”

“What, what is it?” Gazwin demanded, flipping over onto his back. Half way through the maneuver he ended up banging his knee into the table of a nearby chair. He instinctively pulled the wounded limb up to his chest, revealing far more than his assistant ever would have cared to have seen.

“AGH! AGH! Master, where are your clothes?!” the goblin demanded angrily.

“What?” Gazwin looked down, realized the problem, and quickly became a tangle of limbs as he tried to cover himself. “Oh! Sorry, Flibt, I wasn’t expecting you back so soon! I wanted to enjoy the beauty of the storm for a bit, and I suppose I got a bit carried away.”

“Master…” Flibt said. He spoke with the tone of voice used by one who had long since given up on patience, and was holding on through a combination of stubbornness and tenacity alone. “Master, we have talked about this. What if I was a lady, hmmm? You want the Great Dragon to reward you with a harem of lovelies, but how can you do that if you cannot behave properly, hmmm? You remember Ms. Veszian, hmmm?”

“You are right as always, Flibt,” Gazwin replied as he pulled himself back to his feet. “Now, where did I leave that kilt…?”

There was a crack of thunder, accompanied by the hiss of tearing metal and the sizzle of mana grounding harmlessly back into the wild as the entire room plunged into darkness. There was a moment of silence, and then, “Flibt? I’m scared. Hold me?”

To hear 'im tell 'vit. From the mouth of Mospe-Tr-Gan ran a silver stream down to the forearm of himself. And if shimmered in the light as his mouth spoke his words. Slurred and loud they came. When there was pause, Daog, the follower of first his feminine pursuits and second his monetary ones spoke aloud, without the slur and volume.

"And what would you do, Mospe-Tr-Gan of the oldest peoples, Mospe-Tr-Gan of the roast fowl and of the great Bovine Mandibles - with an 'Elmsplitter of the Azorius - who've been known for locking away and putting in the dark and sweeping or washing of the alleys and the dark streets where Mospe's feet make the holes for the steeds to trip over?"

Many eyes glanced at Mospe-Tr-Gan, who had his eyes fixed on a piece of dusty air a Goblin's arms length in front of his mighty nose, brimmed with foul brownish and blackish glycoproteins as it was. With the assistance of one leathery forearm and a blurry mess of fingers, wrist, palm, and knuckles, Mospe-Tr-Gan of the largest wart, Mospe-Tr-Gan of the rain drinking, slurry stepping, hound squealing, ale digesters, slog off his clay fixture - which, as they might say, that it was filled, though not so full anymore, with the liquid elixirs of fermentation and alcohol of all of the best varieties to be found across Tin Street and any subsidiary neighborhoods or 'burbs, high or low.

"Mospe-Tr-Gan has seen with his large eye", Mospe-Tr-Gan slurred through his hole of mouth - an aperture designed for heavy consumption of sweet liquors, and that of roasted animal fleshparts, but not so well for the manners of speech through which the general communities and societies and individuals of the Watery and Cold and Hot Ravnica chose to deign communication, "quite several of the White-Armoured trenchmen. The cold steel wearing Sphinxboys. The jewel clad officers of Orderous Law and Maintenance of Peace. Mospe-Tr-Gan of High Helmet and Wooden sticks, Mospe-Tr-Gan of -" Here Mospe-Tr-Gan of the inflammatory intestinal tract paused for an exclamation. The nature of this exclamation was not vocal, but it still exited the orifice of his Dark and Odorous mouth - coating the few teeth that remained there with a gaseous presence though molars and canines as they were did not seem to notice, as they wallowed it the black gumscape pitying their idle and sorry lot. "the Pickle Sniff does only one thing and that he has done three times and no more, when he encounters the feather-haired ring-bearers of Azor. When first Mospe-Tr-Gan, rat catcher, cartwheeler, and Blood Poet, encountered the clean and upright standing Manchildren of the Highest Emblem he took him into his Meathands, and crafted him into a long and narrow shape. The Pale creature with ten fingers and ten toes molded well, and when Mospe-Tr-Gan of the veiny eye was done, he put the Soldier of Justifications into his own Underbritches and ran across the streets as he was want to do and went trotting with his legs moving quickly all the time and the yellow and brown sweat bringing on the **** to crowd around Mospe's face and fan him with their translucent frostwings. And when Mospe-Tr-Gan was done with the running and he removed the parcel from his own Underbritches which were now wet as the deepest lake and widest ocean and the most Winterous of storms, he removed the corpse-like vertebrate human and set him upright and sat on a barrel of dead fishings and even the copious amounts of **** were more than interested in the contents and the patron."

And now, Mospe-Tr-Gan set down the clay vessel which held only a small amount of its dark and oily tincture within, upon the wooden hearty table which had seen as many or more visitors than the offices of Orzhov with the pleading and salty tears. A cobweb of strings and dust hung mere fingers above Mospe-Tr-Gan's giant domed hairless head. It swung and the shadow of it flickered against several of the dust-covered walls and upon the filthy faces and fleshbodies of several of the guests or patrons.

Mospe-Tr-Gan of the Brown clothe. Mospe-Tr-Gan of the broken bottle, and scarred kneecaps with several of the veins in each, all red, blue, purple, and green, continued to finish his Bold tale, "And he stood upright, with his spine straight, and his watery eyes unblinking and staring straight ahead, and 'twere I left him there. And then twice more, I continued the entire process of this, with the molding and the sweat and the Underbritches. . ." Mospe-Tr-Gan's stainface took on a dark and wistful appearance. Then his hole of a mouth evacuated onto the strong and wooden hearty table the contents of his innermost guts and the bodily processes of his self.

And as Mospe-Tr-Gan and Daog the follower and the rest of their sweat-drenched and shoeless cronies began another round, and Daog, who wishes only for pleasure and entertainment and fortune and power, asked with his own smaller facial orifice, "And but, Mospe-Tr-Gan, of the ****, and Mospe-Tr-Gan of the Hide Ropes, what would Mospe-Tr-Gan of the stench-gutter do if he were to encounter a pair of Endriks? One male and the other female and in the season of right time?"

The small-bodied goblin, Flibt, of the service and exotic experimentation, sat on his own rear end, and heard, though didn't listen as hard as he could, to the response through Mospe-Tr-Gan's gumhole - and he of the little fingers and sensible mind wondered with his very own ponderous brain, what his purpose was and if perhaps he had been especially cruel in some lost memory of his own Skullmind, to deserve this sort of stench-filled and uncomfortable fate.

Far away, a Boros guildmage lay sprawled in a gutter, naked and pale, save the pool of crimson spreading from his neck. A victim of cutthroats that picked him as an easy mark, a victim of drunkness that dulled his reflexes, a victim of rain that quelled his fire, a victim of a woman who drove him to drink, a victim of circumstance, a victim of Ravnica. Who knows what dreams were now seeping into the undercity, what history brought to a suddon close, what adventures aborted by a thug with more tatoos than vocabulary.

At least one figure did, and it was not pleased. Stepping cooly over the darkening blood, it pulled a quill and parchment from its cloak and hurriedly scribe a message
"K is dead. Need new catalyst. Recommend J."
before crumbling it to dust and casting it in the wind. The figure was only a block from its new destination by the time the reply manifested itself in a shop window's reflection.
"Proceed with extreme caution."

Jaroslav scarecly noticed the hooded figure that bumped into him on his way out of the Azorius field office. He was in a bad mood, which seemed to be the one constant of his new dispute mediation job. The Selesnyian and Golgari plantiff's yells followed him out into the humid night as he angrly murmered to himself.

"To hell with who did it, how the hell is a slum that got up and walked itself away even my jurisdiction?"

Jakob couldn’t beleive where he was... In Korozda, the maze of decay itself!! Only in his wildest dreams did he think he would ever be here. Him a street swarm member!!! Only 6 years in. Jakob could rember it well. The gate. It looked so... so... unwanted. When he saw it he knew he was goin to join it. It reminded him of himself. Now 6 years latter and he was a up and comin star in the ranks of the street swarm.

Already he had a pair of sewer trolls under his "command", as long as he fed them every so often with good bodies there were happy. He had 2 dozen of the Devkarin under his "command" as well. Only as long as he kept up the expansion in the smaller districs goin at least. As for the other street swarm. They nubered between 200 on a good day, to 50 on a bad. Alot of them despised him. In his first week he had somehow gotten the Gruul to move out of a small district. Now that was a something that was almost unheard of in the street swarm. Especially in his first week! Now he had 4 medium districs under his belt and over a dozen smaller ones.

Yeah life was lookin good. Till she had arrived. A devkarin elf, but one with the sense of power that was incredibly intoxicating. Everything about her demanded respect. It was amazing. What she told him was a huge surprise.

"You Jakob Bashner?" She asked with power literally oozin from her. Her eyes, the color of the darkest purple. Almost black. Her suit spoke of silence and death. Her face was cut like that of a Boros statue. Her hair was literally glowing Green and Black. He couldnt tell if she was makin her mana appear somehow or if it was just a special type of fungus. He couldnt care less. She was the definition of beatiful.

"Yes" He breathed out, barly able to stay conscious. Suddenly he felt self-conscious. He realized that he looked like a mess. After come home from the bar. His clothes wrinkled and he smelled of some of the dead bodies he had hauled around. Not to mention he stank of smoke. He really should stop smokin. Bad for the lungs and fungus and all that.

She looked him straight up and down. He could feel her disapproval. She her face twisted into a sneer.

"You have been called to Lord Jarad. He wishes to speak to you in person. Tomorrow at 4. If your late, I will torture you personally, then I will kill you, raise you up again and torture your spirit till the end of time. Understood?" Her eyes studyin his face intensly.

Now that had gotten his attention. "Wait, Lord Jarad? You mean Lord Jarad, the guildmaster of the Golgari? Lord Jarad the Master Lich? That Jarad?"

She noded her head. Her beatiful eyes starin at him cold.

Now here he was at the gate to Jarads inner chambers. Suddenly he heard clickin and the gate started to open. He saw a light slash through the crack. He gasped for on the other side was....

"Pull the lever!"

"I am, the problem's in the component."

"I thought I told you, cretin, go and see the Izzet tomorrow - you've been putting it off again!"

"You would too if you saw the state of the labs!"

"Oh shut it Graz. Look, I've fixed this bit, reverse the Gil Crank and try again."

"Yes Master."

Grumbling, the heavyset mutant did as he was bid and, once more, pulled the lever. Bolts of lightning lanced from the apparatus, streaking across the room to ground themselves in the salt pools causing, he paused to note in the logs, rainbow effervescence. The inhabitants of the pool, an elf, a vedalken and a human, seemed less than happy about this change, although it was hard to tell as they had had most of their upper bodies removed and replaced with gleaming organic crystals, then all sewn together to form one singular abomination. Still, as their eyes took on the glow that indicated fatesight, Graz could have sworn that their grimaces of pain got that bit more intense.

"Graz! Stop gawking like a fool and get to the Oracle!" Ardir shouted, shaking his elven head at the oaf. He watched as the once-ogre shambled into place and took his own behind the crystalline recorder. Soon the whirling images of fate were flying from the minds of the submerged trio into the Oracle machine. After a second, Graz twisted the display to send a stream of decoded visions towards the reader.

An archer watches the Azorius charge past, hate filling his soul. Two men, dressed in Orzhovy finery, dine together like the old friends they pretend to be. An elf, devkarin by her markings, wielding dark power over other rotscum. Four dark eyes watch a conclave guard drop dead, hiding mirth behind their various disguises. A head, covered in writhing serpents turns towards -

The display cuts out. Adrir curses, his enhanced fist smashing a small table to splinters as he swings it down. Breathing deeply, he focuses, an organic lattice spreading from his hand towards the pile of wood. The crystal wind their way throughout the framework, swiftly rebuilding it, leaving a gleaming new piece of furniture in their wake. Smiling at this effort, Ardir turns to his assistant.

"Graz, stop whatever you're doing now. I need you to go and talk to that crazed Izzet wizard."

Graz turned his misshapen head towards Ardir, grinning unnaturally wide as he answered:

"Which one?"

“K is dead. Need new catalyst. Recommend J.” Casamir reread the note that had appeared on his desk and sighed. “I liked him.”

He looked out his window at the rabble in the street below. He exhaled onto the glass and wrote in the fog, “Proceed with extreme caution.” Wherever the spy was the message would reach his soon enough. This was his first foray into cloak and dagger affairs and he found it ill-suited him. He’d been a decent officer, a terrible judicator, and now it seemed likely his last work would be as a chess master, spending the lives of others in a game he could never ask them to understand. He turned back to his desk, feeling every day of his fifty-five years.

He pulled the quill from its bottle and wrote;

“Railu,

It has come to my attention you are dissatisfied with the current arrangement of your district (which is to say: with you and yours on the bottom). I am an interested party willing and able to assist with your situation”

Here he marked out “situation” and rewrote “plight,” the message as the elf received it would include the more sympathetic word.

“Near the docks work two former Simic, well educated masters of scrying via highly morbid but effective means. You will know them when you see them. You need only find them and give an Azorius named Jaroslav a letter bearing their location. I know you detest working with the guilds, but you will find enclosed a valuable gift. A way of keeping the guilded from so easily taking advantage of your status.

-Your brother in freedom”

He wondered if the last part was too much. “Coconspirator,” maybe? In the end he just hoped the gift would be enough to win the elf over. He then carefully wrapped the note around his gift and placed both of them in the fireplace. The spells that made the notes find their recepients cost a small fortune, but Casamir valued the absolute secrecy they provided enough to pay anyway.

After he was done with that he wrote another note, this one on normal paper and much longer, to Jaroslav. It contained a lot of Azorius legal jargon but essentially ordered him to drop what he was doing and go to Tin Street to resolve a dispute he knew was already settled. The elf would find him and the note would be delivered. He didn’t bother to worry about explaining things to his subordinate. Within a few months the paperwork to fire him would have gone through and to Jaroslav it would be just another nonsensical task. He stamped the letter with his official seal, the seal of his district, his boss and finally the seal of the guild. An assistant would mail the letter.

In the meantime he read through a few small civil cases and signed verdicts however he damn well saw fit. Some counsel somewhere would no doubt reverse them, but by then most of the humans involved would already be dead. The Azorius were inexorable, but a clever hand could stall them long enough that it usually did not matter.

Railu stared at the box, his mouth in a tight, straight line as he inhaled and exhaled sharply through his nose. "Damn the Paruns…" he muttered to himself. He had only been sitting at the tavern table for a few seconds before the note and the small, pristine box had been delivered to him. He read the note over again, and it told him just as little. 'Assist with your plight,' 'a brother in freedom.' This whole thing stank of a trap, but a trap for whom? A lifetime of living on the streets had sharpened Railu's instincts, and they were screaming at him now. This note was a trap, but so what? Everything inside Railu told him it was a trap for this Jaroslav, not for him. Those same instincts were also blazing about the box. He hadn't opened it yet, but already he knew it was legitimate. Whatever was in that box radiated power. Not enough to make whatever it was unattainable, but enough to justify the claim of its mysterious sender.

Railu fumed. What did he care? Send some Azorious lapdog into a trap, why not? But again, the sender of this note must assuredly be guilded, as well. So wouldn't he be helping the guilds by cooperating, and worse yet, betraying his own convictions? Still, though, if he didn't do it, someone else would, and this way, he got whatever was sitting in that plain white box. This entire thing bothered him. Whoever sent the box knew him by name, found him with ease, and approached him with almost deadly secrecy. The guilds shouldn't care about him any more than he cared about them. Hadn't an Azorius kicked him in the face just earlier that night, simply for being guildless? Something here didn't make sense. It took several minutes, but finally Railu, with another curse uttered toward the guilds, decided to open the box.

Just as the top flap was released, however, a sudden crash from behind him drew Railu's attention. He looked back at the door of the tavern, or where the door of the tavern had been minutes before, and saw the opening now filled with the massive form of…something. It was huge and misshapen, but the area of its body that seemed to be a face wore a tremendous grin. As the thing squeezed itself inside, it spoke, speaking in a low, guttural voice with an almost hauntingly jovial edge to it.

"Ahh, this place will do! Come, my amusing little goblin friend! You will see how Mospe-Tr-Gan of the Emptying Casks drinks a tavern under the table!"

As the lumbering monstrosity separated from the wall behind him, a sad, sullen little figure shuffled in behind him, looking not the least bit interested in the company of his companion. Railu tried to turn back to his own table, but before he could, the gargantuan spoke again, and to the elf's discomfort, it spoke directly at Railu.

"What's you got there?" This creature seemed to have only one eye, but from its asymmetric position on its face, Railu doubted this was by design. Either way, that eye seemed to be focused intently on the box resting half an inch from his hand. Railu tried to pick it up and move away, but this Mospe-Tr-Gan (as Railu assumed was the beast's name) crossed the floor in three steps. Railu attempted to twist out of the way while making a grab for the box, but Mospe-Tr-Gan swatted him away. To the rest of the room, this seemed like a carefree, dismissive gesture. Railu felt differently, however, as the impact sent him flailing across the room and hammering into the far wall.

Railu reached for his bow just as Mospe-Tr-Gan withdrew the box's contents, a small, dull-green gem made even smaller between the massive fingers that held it. The giant creature spoke, his rumbling voice almost giddy. "I wish I could shows them all in Rix Maadi what Mospe-Tr-Gan of the Plunder has found!" Then, in a moment no one in that tavern was likely to ever forget, Mospe-Tr-Gan simply vanished, just a split second before Railu's arrow passed through the spot Mospe-Tr-Gan's eye had just been.

Even in Ravnica, it is certainly not every day that a thousand pounds of muscle and bone simply disappears, and the shock of witnessing it showed on the faces that remained. Railu recovered first, and used his next few moments to observe the reactions of those around him. The little goblin stood with his head cocked to one side, his mouth working without producing a sound. Old Demethre, the barkeep, stood frozen, a dirty rag still comically set inside the glass he had been cleaning. Two drunken gamblers were rubbing their eyes, while a tall elven woman, probably Golgari, was just shaking her head in disbelief. The Azorius officer was just looking around until his eyes locked with Railu's.

Wait, Railu thought, the Azorius officer? The guildless elf started as he realized this man hadn't been there before. As quickly as he could, Railu moved back toward his table, intent on rereading the note. There was no way this could be the Azorius he was supposed to meet, but he needed the name to be sure. As he moved toward the table, the officer moved toward him, and the goblin, apparently wanting a look at the spot his companion had been, moved toward both of them. Railu grabbed the piece of paper and read the name just as the officer spoke it.

"I'm Jaroslav, Azorious Mediator and Officer of the Peace. Would someone mind telling me what that was all about?"

Railu said nothing, still trying to figure that out for himself. The goblin, on the other hand, answered quickly, and his articulation alone betrayed him immediately as an Izzet.

"I wish I could tell you, Mediator Jaroslav, but I am afraid that the circumstance defies explanation. One moment Mospe-Tr-Gan was here, and the next he most assuredly was not, and in all my observances of him, I feel I can safely say that neither invisibility nor translocation are amongst his common skills."

The other two men stared at the goblin for a moment before both shook their heads and refocused on one another. "Anything you would like to add?" Jaroslav asked.

Railu thought for a moment, trying to decide on a course of action. This Mospe-Tr-Gan, whatever sort of creature he might be, had stolen the gem that was meant for Railu. Even the Orzhov wouldn't hold Railu to any sort of an agreement, since he never took possession of his payment. However, if it was the gem that caused Mospe-Tr-Gan to vanish, maybe it was as valuable as the mysterious benefactor had hinted. If that were the case, he wanted it back. Railu folded the note and shoved it into his pocket as he answered.

"He stole from me. He attacked me, unprovoked, and stole something valuable from me, and I want it back."

Jaroslav frowned. "And didn't I see you fire an arrow at his head? Hardly a legal response to theft."

Railu couldn't contain his ire. "You damn Azorius are all the same! Laws for everyone, justice only for the guilds! He attacked me! He stole from me! If I had killed him, you'd have hauled me off to Prohv, right? But if I were Selesnya, or Boros, or one of you back-sores on legs Azorius, it would be too much trouble, right? Damn the Paruns for siring the guilds!"

Jaroslav was about to answer when the goblin tugged on the sleeves of each of their shirts. When the two men looked down at him, he was looking around the tavern, and they followed his lead. Something was definitely not right. The room had filled with a light fog, tinted a dark blue. No one but the three of them were moving, not even an inch. While before Old Demethre was standing still with shock, now he was merely standing still, unblinking and unresponsive.

"What's going on here," Jaroslav managed in a whisper.

Before anyone could answer, a figure materialized where the door had been. It approached the trio standing by the table near the center of the room. The tall, gaunt frame of the man belied a sense of dark power from within. He looked at each of them in turn, and then spoke, his voice hollow, yet somehow concerned.

"Where is Mospe-Tr-Gan?"

"Wait," the goblin said, squinting at the newcomer. "Daog?"

The figure looked downward. "Yes, Flibt. It is me. Now, where is Mospe-Tr-Gan?" His voice obtained a more urgent edge to it as he repeated his question.

Confused, Flibt the goblin answered. "He disappeared. Completely. No trace, whatsoever. It was fascinating, really."

The color drained from Daog's face, literally. His skin-tone, previously a tanned peach color, turned ghostly white, the same white as the small box which had contained Railu's stolen gem. For a split second, the archer thought he spotted movement to his right, but when he looked, all he saw were the two gamblers and the tall elven woman, seemingly as motionless as before. He turned back to Daog.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

Daog exhaled, but something told his observers the action was only for show. "My true name would be unpronounceable to you, so you may refer to me simply as Daog, as Flibt knows me. I have been masquerading as a Rakdos subservient, but in actuality I have been watching Mospe-Tr-Gan closely. We have it on good authority that Mospe-Tr-Gan may soon play a vital role in a catastrophe which may well destroy the guilds themselves."

This piqued Railu's interest, but he tried to hide his reaction as best he could. Jaroslav was interested in other things, however. "Who is 'we?' What authority?"

Daog paused, but only briefly. "The Dimir. I am a Dimir agent. I hope the very fact that I am revealing myself to you is proof enough of the severity of this situation. We must find Mospe-Tr-Gan, before he does something even he'll regret."

"I'll have no part in this," Railu blurted. "All of your guild business is a heap of drake droppings, and I'd enjoy watching you all topple."

"I don't know who you are," began Daog, "or why you're here, but all of my Dimir training and my natural instincts tell me you play a role in all this, as well. It would be best if you came along."

Jaroslav nodded. "Besides, protecting the guilds is a duty of all of Ravnica, not just the Azorius and the Boros. Ravnica owes its success to the guilds."

"I'll tell you what I owe the guilds, quill-pusher," Railu answered antagonistically. He looked first at Flibt. "I owe the Izzet for the death of my mother, when they blew up a neighborhood where she was trying to heal the guildless." He changed his view to Jaroslav. "I owe the Azorius for sentencing my father for poaching after her death. They sentenced him to help try to convert an expanse of the Undercity to Azorius control," he looked to Daog, "an expanse controlled by Dimir smugglers, who killed him. Yes, I owe the guilds a lot."

For a few moments, no one spoke as Railu considered his options. He decided he no longer cared about the gem, or Mospe-Tr-Gan, or the trap. That sparked a thought. The only thing in the tavern that Jaroslav might think was a clue was the note in Railu's pocket, the trap that someone set for the Azorius. If the trap would eliminate one, maybe it could eliminate all three, and Mospe-Tr-Gan could do whatever it was that might destroy the guilds. Railu fought back a smile as he remembered that Jaroslav's name appeared just under the fold he had made in the note. In his pocket, Railu struggled and eventually succeeded in tearing the paper in half.

Railu turned away from the others, then hesitated. He pulled out the note to make sure he had the correct half, then turned back. "I want no part in this. But I have heard about someone who can help you, if you want. Here's all I know about them"

He handed Jaroslav the torn note, and then resisted a grin as Jaroslav read it. "Two former Simics, huh?" There was a note of uncertainty in his voice. "Very well, then, if that's all we've got."

He extended his hand to Railu. Without thinking, Railu took it, and immediately regretted it as Jaroslav slipped a small metal band around his wrist. Railu jerked his arm away, and the band immediately began to glow a dull yellow. The burning sensation he felt was only slightly less dull. "A restraining band?"

Jaroslav smiled and held up its match around his wrist. "I get lied to for a living. Did you think I wouldn't recognize it? Until we recover your 'stolen merchandise,' you're in my custody. Now let's go see what's down by the docks."

Railu's face distorted with rage, but there was nothing he could do. He recovered himself just enough to sputter, through clenched teeth, "Damn the Paruns…"

There was a thunderous knock at the door, jolting Gazwin out of a sound night’s sleep. The dullish blue glow of ethereal metals washed over the walls of his room, offering just enough light to see by without it taking him any time for his eyes to adjust. He waited for a moment, hoping the noise would go away, but as the knocking resumed at an even louder volume Gazwin found himself wondering if his poor door was capable of surviving the assault. “Flibt! Where are you, Flibt? There is someone some one at the door! See what they want, and if they don’t have anything we want make them go away! And if it’s more of those damned Azorius busybodies, make sure their pants are on fire as well!”

Gazwin waited for an answer, then frowned in confusion when the goblin failed to answer. Instead there was a high pitched schcraaack as the door finally gave way. Bits of dust and dirt filtered down from the ceiling as someone – or something – heavy stomped its way into the ground floor waiting room.

“Flibt?” Gazwin asked much more quietly. Was he under attack? Why was he under attack? And what had they done with poor Flibt? ‘I swear, if they harmed one hair on that poor gobbo’s head, I’m going to rend them down to atoms and mail them back to which ever thick headed, slope browed, mouth breather of a parun they work for in a garbage bag with the contents of my chamber pot!’ he mentally promised. ‘Well, unless they work for Niv, I suppose. In that case I probably want to wrap it up nicely, maybe with some bath salts or mizzium trinkets? “Thank you, Master, for the chance to prove my loyalty by removing the dim witted from your august company.” Yeah, that has a nice ring to it, I think.’

Gazwin spotted his thermoelectric atmospheric reionizer lying in its cradle just a few short feet away. The blaster was a variant of some of the more typical Izzet weapons, as he had, of course, made some personal modifications. The contraption was somewhat barrel shaped, narrower at one end and with a spectacular bulge of shaped sapphire in the middle. Half a dozen different dials on the left monitored energy levels, while the capacitor’s current charge. An emerald targeting gauge was mounted halfway down it’s length, projecting an estimated area of impact on the reionizer’s target. Taken all together, it sort of looked like a child’s plaything, much to the surprise of more than one assailant.

Moving as quietly as the crowded lab allowed him to, he snuck over to the work bench and carefully slipped his arm into the mounting ring. The weapon activated as soon as his skin made contact with the metal, vibrating pleasantly as he slipped it into place. He glanced down for a quick reading and smiled at what he saw. The capacitor would be good for at least five continuous shots before he would have to wait for it to reload. Granted, he could always fire them off in delayed bursts, but why give the other guy a chance to survive?

From downstairs came the sound of shattering furniture and some rather prolific cursing. ‘Oh, no, they’re trying to search my labs! The brutes will ruin everything! Gah, I almost wish it had been Azorius!’

Gazwin launched himself at the stairs, taking them three at a time as he bounded into his living room. He leveled the blaster in the general vicinity of where he thought the intruders were and shouted, “Nobody move, I have you surrounded!”

“You do?” a voice like falling rocks asked. “By yourself? That’s an impressive feat.”

Only then did Gazwin get a good look at his erstwhile visitor. The man? Creature? Thing? Standing in front of him had clearly been an ogre at one point or another, and still had the two prominent tusks jutting up from its lower lip. Unlike the typical Gruul or Rakdos brute, this particular ogre had gone to the trouble of filing the tips of his tusks down to a flat level and covering them with silver caps decorated with gold filigree. He was also wearing a rather well tailored suit, cut along traditional lines rather than the avant-garde fashions of the truly noble. The clothes were also some what worn and faded, indicating that their wearer had found himself recently facing some hard choices. It might all have been explained by the uniform bulge at the top of his head and the scar line just barely covered by his well trimmed hair, both clear signs that this particular ogre had once been an experiment belonging to someone else.

The ogre was also clutching the ruined remains of a chair in two ham sized fists. From the looks of things he had been trying to repair the obliterated piece of furniture, and just as clearly had not been having much luck. It was just so many splinters and pieces of fabric, almost as if it had been a victim of one of Gazwin’s own experiments.

“You might as well not bother,” Gazwin said, motioning towards the chair rather carelessly with his cannon. “I buy those things pretty cheap. I wouldn’t exactly say they’re designed to break, but they’re also fairly cheap to replace.”

He then leveled the cannon at the ogre, and a bright white light began to form at the back of the barrel, accompanied by an ominous huummmmmm. “Now tell me who you are, and what you did with my goblin.”

"Don't be ridiculous. Lower that thing. I am of no danger to you. My hatred extends no further than for shoddy furniture." The ogre set down the shattered stool, and began to walk toward Gazwin. "Now. You are interested in the things I can tell you - but I need something for you in exchange."

Gazwin still felt fear - but he felt something else too - shame. He was just a little embarrassed of his hasty actions. Who was this fellow? And why was he being so reasonable? Still, the fear of this brute was enough. "Not any closer!" Gazwin squeeled.

"Fine. Fine." The Ogre stopped in his tracks. "Now, do you want to know what I can tell you?"

Gazwin did. He was quite interested - and he made this clear with several motions of his head.

"Good. Then I'll need a few things from you. As you can see, I'm quite filthy. Draw me a bath. I'm also famished. Is there anything of sustenance in you abode? And if you wouldn't mind - I'd appreciate the use of a wash tub for my suit." The ogre strolled past Gazwin and up the stairs.

Gazwin supplied him with dried Indrik and some Orzhov-grade wine. After which, the Ogre took a lengthy soak in the tub. Whilst he was splashing and soaping, Gazwin dozed. His dreams were filled with an endless night. He saw the city spreading out beneath him. It was so dark, but then he saw the sun begin to rise. But lo and behold, he realized that the light was not coming from the Sun. Instead a fire so bright that it lit the heavens was spreading across the structures of Ravnica. It came for him. He started awake. One bead of sweat on his temple.

"You should go back to sleep, my friend." The Ogre stood in front of him, toweling off. The meager cloth didn't cover much. Gazwin quickly averted his eyes. "Would you mind helping me out here?" The big fellow couldn't reach the small of his back with such a tiny towel.

Gazwin stepped forward and rubbed the wet dark skin with his woolen clothe. It looked like a mere doily against the strong mangled back of this gigantic creature. "Is that better?" Gazwin inquired.

"Yes, much better." The ogre turned and smiled warmly down at the sleepy scientist. Then he raised his hand, and slammed it down on Gazwin's head. Gazwin fell to the floor. His eyes shut. Dead asleep. "You were tired little man, weren't you?"

After tucking the scientist into bed, the Ogre stood up, and continued his search. . .

A gorgon standing before a huge throne with a Zombie elf sittin on it. The elf looked at the gorgon "Leave us" The gorgon bowed her head then simply vanished.

Jakob's eyes bulged. What just happined? He had never heard of this kind of magic. The zombie elf looked at Jakob, his eyes felt like they were studyin Jakob for any threats, or for any ways he could be useful in death. Jakob felt himself self counciously try to hide himself before that gaze. So this was the gaze of a guildmaster. His power was simply breathtaking.

"Enter" The elf commanded.

Jakob could feel his feet moveing forword on their own command. Jakob inwordly tried, in vain, to turn around and run out the gate and as far away as he could.

He didnt. Instead he just kept on walking towards his guildmaster. He knew that if he didnt play this out right then he was going to be dead in a matter of milliseconds.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the throne where Jarad king Lich, and master of all Golgori sat. As he looked up in horror/fascination, he noticed how the Guildmaster seemed to be less elf and more plant. He saw how the guild master seemed to be literally held together by fungi. He shuddered to think just how much mana was coursing through the guildmaster, Just to keep himself upright must have taken loads of mana. More thenn he could ever hope to possese.

He felt himself get to his knees and bow his head. As soon as his eyes locked to the floor he could see bodies lieing all around him. instead of being left in the open they werecovered in moss and dirt and such to make in oh so easy to walk on them with out notice, but as soon as you looked down you could see them. What they must have done to have been killed and stay in the guilmasters sight.

Suddenly one of the bodies twiched in his direction. Jakob eyes literally went as wide as they could go. The bodies might be rotted but the minds were still at a state of awareness. At least enough to know he was here. These werent corpes but ghouls. Gaurds that would rise up and defend the guilmaster if an enemy got to close.

Suddenly he noticed the hives on the walls. He could actually here an unending wave of little scuttling coming out of the hives. He had seen these same hives. In fact he had used hives of the same species sept a fraction of the size. The amount of Insects in those hives must have been enourmous. If the anything got past the ghouls then the Guildmaster was protected by a infinite amout of insects. Indeed if anyone got past these defences then they desereved to be guildmaster.

"Jakob" Said Jarad.

"Yes my lord?" Jakob eyes went back to the ghoul right under him.

"I have summoned you for an important mission. I want you to go to a port district that is under Orzhos control. There is talk of them moving out. They have an important shipment that my spies tell me will inform them of them staying. We need this port district under our control. I need ships carrying important equipment unloaded. You are charged with this task. I watched you these past years and I think your ready for a challenge. If you fail, you will wish for torture. For torture compared to my wraith is honey compared to salt. If you succed your prestige in the golgari will grow exponetially. My favor will be with you and the comforts of both life and death will be yours. Do you accept?"

He could feel Jarad eyes burning into the back of his skull. He didnt dare look up for fear of diein right then.

"Of course guildmaster." He voice shaking completly. He could actual smell his fear from his breath.

"Good now get out of my sight worm." The guildmaster told him. His disgust the only emotion in his entire voice. Suddenly a hand shot of the ground and grabbed Jakobs head. He screamed as he was pulled into the ground and slowly swallowed up. He saw movement at the other ghouls were moving towards him. He saw the killer light in their eyes. As his waist went under he knew there was no chance of escape. His heart pumping harder and harder. He started to black out.

Then he saw nothing....

"You're a bleedin' fool, frogsucker" Railu muttered bitterly to the other elf as Jaroslav led them both away in shackles towards the nearest Azorious Guildhouse "Why didn't you fight? I've seen you Simic bastards tear through crowds in guild-conflicts. Once you told him he couldn't see your labs without a warrant what did you think would happen? You're not with your frogsucker guild anymore; the law has no place for you now."

Ardir merely grinned. "You think that my guildless status is what matters? I am one hundred and seventy three years old, boy. My son-in-law is an Orzhovian Advokist, my granddaughter a Dimir mage. I have friends and contacts in every guild in this city. Guilds don't run this city, they just act like they do; by the time that young man acquires a warrant he'll be old and grey."

"You seem very sure of yourself for someone tied up and going to prison."

"I had numerous ways out of that situation. This was merely the most expedient for my current goal."

"What current goal? A nice cosy chat with me?"

Ardir held his gaze. Railu cursed.

"****! I'm no one special! I'm not going to be anyone at all once I reach that prison and they shove me into a containment cell just for being in the wrong damn place at the wrong damn time. Why does this crap keep happening to me?"

Ardir waited for a beat, then extended his arm and gestured to the par beside Jaroslav, the goblin continously failing to start up a conversation. "Why are they here? Neither of them would welcome a tour of the Azorious law enforcement offices, yet they remain. Something draws them, boy. Something means that strange and msterious events continue to befall you. That something - what I've spent over half a century researching- is fate."

Railu snorted.

"Wait, boy. You're going to tell me that you don't believe in fate. That you have no destiny laid out for you. That you're free. You don't understand. Fate isn't a path that you walk down, a page in your life - already written but yet to be turned. Destiny isn't something you follow, it's something you are. It's a part of your being, a measurable phenomenon, an amount by which you bend reality around you. Think of it as a taut sheet of canvas, slanted downwards, and us as objects rolling along. Each object pulls the canvas under it, drawing the others towards it. Most people are barely specks of dust, but you boy - you're a boulder. You've got enough fate to change course of history and that's why every jumped up chessmaster in this whole world is doing their damn hardest to manipulate you."

"No. There's no guilds-cursed way that any of that is true. You're just a crazy old frogsucker who spouts nonsense."

"Think, boy. You ever stop to wonder why you're always on the scene when something dramatic happens? Why something always turns up right before you get killed, or jailed, just in time for you to make it out? Why those you love die in tragic ways? Face it boy, you're fated. It's just up to you to figure out what you want to do with it."

"It's not my fault my family were killed! It's these thrice-cursed guilds! They cause all the problems! Not my fate! You face it old man - if I'm so bleeding well fated then what the hell am I still doing here, chained to you and this blasted enforcer!"

Jaroslav reeled about "Will you two just shut the hell up! We're almost there and we don't need a bloody breakdown so unless you want me to -"

A roar cuts across the tirade as an immense horned, demonlike beast burst around a corner, scattering civilians like a small child kicking up autumn leaves.

The enforcer cursed; the goblin dove for cover; the dimir agent drew a hefty crossbow from his back. Railu watched as Ardir gripped the chains that bound them, then gaped in astonishment as they metal links turned to crystal filaments and burst apart, freeing them. "Do you believe me now?" The elf shouted.

Railu gave no answer, instead recovering swiftly from the shock, he began sprinting towards the enforcer. In one graceful motion he struck Jaroslav to the floor, grabbed his bow and leapt upwards towards a low balcony. Within an eyeblink he had vanished to the rooftops, leaving the rest on the street with the beast.

Whilst the combat raged, Ardir slipped into a back alley. A quick search found him small beetle, which he easily captured, caging it in his slender hands. Focusing, he could feel the life of the beetle, a subtle glow of vitality ready to be used, improved. Flexing his mind, the scientist sent tiny crystalline strands out from his palms, watching intently as they threaded their way under the skin of the beetle, working into its body. A minutes work later and his project was complete. He held a tiny winged messenger, newly furnished with message and eager for action. "You can't miss him" the elf said "no other ogre has his sense of fashion." With that he released the once-beetle, watching it fly away into the night.

Then he straightened, mentally reaching for the link he'd made between himself and the archer. It was there, blazing clearly, like a guiding star. But that could wait. He'd find the lad anywhere now, so why rush? A cautious elf knows when he needs help, after all.

"Well" The Ex-Simic researcher said to himself, as he began to walk towards the nearest Gruul settlement "It seems like it's time to talk to some old friends."

Casamir had made a life on self-assurance. Surety had given him his own battalion, and his men and his work had given him purpose. Doubt was of no use to him. Likewise fear was to be felt, acknowledged even, and then ruthlessly crushed. He was afraid now. Defeat had just become inevitable, his secrets would be exposed, the Azorius would have his life and the Orzhov would take his soul. He needed the elf, and what he’d gotten was some great useless thief.

"Mospe-Tr-Gan's girth is greater."

"I didn't furnish the room for you!" shouted Casamir, slamming the door. He was supposed to be talking to the elf right now. Instead his basement was full of Mospe-Tr-Gan he didn’t know what to do with. Through the door he heard the creature's muffled voice continuing to rail against the unsatisfactory living conditions and lack of drink. He'd taken his sudden appearance in the richly furnished basement in stride, demanding drink, but otherwise being amicable wards his captors.

"Sir?" said Mojmir. A good soldier, his father had been one of Casamir's finest. Mojmir was paid by the Azorius, but like all the house guard he was loyal to Casamir first.

"Yes?"

"Two things. What should we do with Mops-Tear-Grain? And your Dimir agent is asking for you."

Casamir took the offered letter.

-C

I trust you're enjoying your new guest.

You can consider my services no longer available.

You are beaten and I control the elf.

-D

"Damn."

"What's wrong sir?"

"Oh, I'm going to be hanged for treason, is all."

"Sir?"

"Nothing. It's my own fault really. I’m a foolish old man who thought I could fight the Boros, out-think the Izzet. Lie to the Dimir. It's over." Casamir hung his head in defeat.

Mojmir looked at his boss for a moment and said, "Out party the Rakdos, sir?"

"What?"

"My father told me about the Battle of Second Feasting. He said his whole platoon was surrounded by Grull marauders as far as the street would go. They were being led by a cyclops a story tall, drunk on wine and blood. They'd written you off as dead when they saw you run through on a spear that got by your armor and they lost you in the fighting. He said you came out of nowhere and fought one-on-one with no armor and a rapier. And you killed him like it was nothing. You led a charge against them and chased them out of the district entirely. If you can do that, sir, what's this?"

Casamir smiled at the memory. The bastard troll hadn't found a way past his armor, he'd put that damned spear through an inch of plate and the chain underneath. The battle had moved on as he lay on the ground in spasms of agony. It had seemed to take a day to work that rough length of ironwood out of the wound, inch by horrible inch, and just as long to strip off his armor. He'd stumbled through the abandoned streets in a daze, looking for his men.

The size of their leader hadn't been an exaggeration; the cyclopean goliath was easily three times his height. Searching for a better view he'd climbed to a third-story balcony to find his men. He'd looked down to find the giant raising its club to shatter their fragile formation and allow his followers to ravage those who remained. Heroism of the madness of youth, he'd sprung over the balcony and used the fall to drive his sword through the base of the Cyclopes’ neck and into his heart. The surge of blood as the leader stumbled in confusion and pain had threatened to throw Casamir off, but he rode the falling giant to the ground and stood before the hoard, covered in their leader's blood. The rest he took from the stories told by his men, for his own memory failed him from that point on. It had been their first real battle, and though he'd never attempted such heroics again it had forever solidified the men's loyalty. Shattered by the fall and bleeding, proud and rightfully so, he had never felt so alive.

"But that was a long time ago," he said, "And that was only pain. This is defeat. You will say you knew nothing of my actions or my plans, and you know nothing of my whereabouts, which will be easy enough because you won’t know them."

"Sir... Not a chance sir."

“I don’t suppose I could leave you if I wanted to.”

“Catching on, sir?”

He’d brought this on himself, he though with a smile. After all, what kind of hypocrite would he be if he didn’t teach his men to occasionally disregard his orders? “Gather the men, form them up in the courtyard.”

"The giant?"

"Oh, yes. Bring him with us. Can't let the beast starve in the basement, even if he is a thief."

"Yes sir. Good to have you back, sir."

"Today, lieutenat."

"It is no use," said a deep, rumbling, yet somehow vaguely sweet voice. Graz straightened both his posture and the collar of his suit, stretched his shoulders briefly, and allowed himself an uncharacteristic grunt of disappointment. Prior to the effects of Ardir's mutation experiments, such noises had served as his primary mode of communication. He was better than that now. But all of the improvements his master had made to his limited Ogric physiognomy had failed to produce the desired result in at least this one instance. Graz could not find what he was looking for.

The ogre glanced over at Gazwin, still unconscious but safely tucked into his bed. Graz frowned. Of all the guilds Ardir had dealings with, Graz hated interacting with the Izzet the most. Even the Gruul, who he despised for reminding him so much of his own former self, were easier to deal with than the wild, unpredictable Izzet. The ogre's intelligence was several times that of most ogres of Ravnica, thanks to Ardir's advancements, and because of this, Graz had learned well to anticipate the reactions of those he met with. The Boros would get defiant and preachy, the Selesnya would get frightened and preachy, and the Orzhov would try to bribe, and get preachy. But the Izzet were too crazy to be consistent, and it made anticipation impossible.

Graz narrowed his eyes at Gazwin, blaming him for the ogre's current predicament. The Izzet were all crazy, especially at higher levels, but this one was the worst of the lot. While the rest of the Izzet guildmages had their heads in the clouds, Gazwin's was in the upper atmosphere. This was not the first time the two had met, in fact Ardir had sent Graz here numerous times in the past, but Gazwin never once remembered him. And Graz was not an easy ogre to forget.

Ardir had once explained to his mutant that Gazwin started out in the Izzet as an ambitious but limited mage. He had had intelligence, but lacked the comingling sparks of genius and insanity that denoted the most successful of his kind. But Gazwin's ambition was not to be stifled by such matters, and he performed a radical experiment on his own mind. Were he to compete with the natural geniuses surrounding him, he needed every spare scrap of mental power he could muster, and so, through magic and science, he divorced himself of every mental faculty he deemed unnecessary. Apparently, remembering occasional acquaintances fit this definition.

The Izzet were a people of opposites and contradictions. If they wanted a spell to burn, they would look first to ice. If they wanted a spell to find something, they would create a spell to lose something else. Graz had hoped this would mean that if an Izzet wanted something hidden, he might put it in plain sight. This forlorn hope had led to disappointment, however, as had his more barbaric search of the labs, and now there was only one option remaining, one last, desperate tactic that Graz had hoped to avoid. He would need to speak to Gazwin again.

The elegant ogre braced himself, already feeling the pressure of an emerging headache tug at his long-healed stitches. He sighed once, and then, without further delay, emptied half a bucket full of water onto the sleeping guildmage.

"Wawawawa WA!" stated Gazwin, in his somewhat less than eloquent manner.

"Indeed," Graz agreed absently. He moved to sit in a chair by Gazwin's bedside, but, remembering the stool from earlier, decided against it. "I apologize for the cessation of your recumbence, but I require your assistance in procuring an object of some importance."

Gazwin blinked at the giant hulk of flesh before him. "Who are you?"

Again, Graz sighed. "Who I am is of little importance next to the object I seek."

"Are you looking for a photonic resonator? You know, I just very recently managed to unlock the potential gravcelerance of rain to power just such a device, although I haven't had the chance to actually build it yet…"

"Fascinating." Graz's utterly dry tone seemed completely lost on the mage, as did his exaggerated rolling of the eyes.

"Quite! But it does mean that if you're looking for one, you have come at precisely the wrong time, as it won't be completed for a week or few. Well, I guess it's not precisely the wrong time, rather more generally the wrong time, as anytime before it's built would be the wrong time."

Graz nodded in something between understanding and sympathy. His headache was getting worse. "In any case, that is not my quarry on this brief sojourn. To be frank, Gazwin, I think you know perfectly well what I am after."

Gazwin shrugged. "We are all looking for something. And therefore, what we're looking for must depend on who we are. After all, if you were me, you would be looking for whatever it is I'm looking for. So, if you need to know where the thing is that you are looking for, maybe it would help if you told me who you are?"

The mutated ogre placed his hand gently to his head, lightly massaging the temples. "I fear I am losing my implacable calm."

"I bet I have something for that," said Gazwin, brightening up a bit.

"I'm sure you do," Graz replied, darkening. This was getting him nowhere. Ardir had removed many of the inherent imperfections of the ogre psyche, but even that former Simic genius had been unable to completely remove the emotion of anger. At times, Graz wondered if Ardir had even wanted to. Graz's anger was now much more difficult to attain, but once reached, it was just as dangerous as it had ever been, which made it occasionally useful to the elf.

Suddenly, Graz decided a more direct approach was needed and took a step forward, towering over the Izzet mage. However, even before Gazwin could react, the large ogre stopped, turning his head sharply to his right. A moment later, a strange, flying insect flew into the room, hovered in front of Graz, and then landed on his outstretched hand. The ogre knew it instantly to be the work of his master Ardir, the crystalline lattice a dead giveaway. It was rare, almost unheard of, for Ardir to contact Graz in the middle of a job, which meant this was no small matter.

The mutant held the bizarre insect up to his ear, listening intently, although more with his mind than anything else. For a few moments, he stood there, allowing his master's message to sink into his brain and translate into his expected course of action. When it did, Graz looked back toward Gazwin as he squished the bug in his hand. "It looks like I am needed elsewhere. From the Izzet to the Gruul, out of the dragon's claw and into its roost! Very well. Until we meet again, good Gazwin. And I am certain that we will."

"I will remember you," promised Gazwin with a silly, almost adolescent smile.

"You say that every time," the mutant said as he shook his head and left the Izzet guildmage's lab.

Gazwin's absent smile turned to a scowl, and then to a smirk. "Yes, and every time, I am speaking the truth, Graz."

He looked down at the floor where the lumbering beast had flicked the remains of another of Ardir's insufferable creations. It twitched one, broken leg, and Gazwin's smile returned in full force. Gazwin rubbed his skull and stepped out of bed. "Yes, Graz, I will certainly remember you."

Light. It’s always been about light, Gazwin thought as he cleared some space at his desk. He hated when Graz showed up out of the blue like that. Not only did the ogre never actually get around to explaining what he was looking for, but he always made a point of knocking Gazwin out before getting up to his skullduggery. Gazwin didn’t so much mind the searches, and if he ever figured out what Graz was looking for he would make sure to leave it in a suitable “secure” place for the ogre to find. What annoyed him was the constant interruptions burned through the day light hours, and that was an unforgivable sin.

Because it is all about the light! Gazwin fumed. Designs and theories raced across his brain like Boros legionnaires charging towards the enemy. It was impossible for him to lock down on just one thing, and bits and pieces of paper were thrown this way and that across the desk as he first sketched out one thing, started another, then went back to the first project. Towering signal beacons were given as much attention as personal accessories, each marked by bizarre formula that only he and Flibt could read. Ok, any maybe Niv Mizzet. Gazwin had never sent the cipher to the Parun, had never written it down, actually, but surely it would be no challenge for the Draco Genius to decipher it with a mere glance.

The world needs light, Gazwin’s mind insisted, while his fingers started rapidly assembling a…thing. He didn’t have a name for it yet, but it was a simple enough idea, so simple he was surprised he hadn’t thought of it yet. The Azorius had created simple recording spells a long, long time ago as such things were a necessity when your average guild member could natter away on a subject longer than most species could stay awake; in fact, Gazwin was fairly sure the Azorius practiced giving speeches in their sleep, as it was the only way for them to actually accomplish some of the more impressive filibusters he had heard of it. The recordings were stored in simple gems, and then when a person found themselves at the end of their lives and were looking for a painless and boring way to end it all, all they had to do was press the gem and let the soothing sounds of bureaucrats lull them into death’s arms.

But that was just sound. Sound! Ha! Sound was nothing compared to light! Sound was weak and slow; it faded after mere moments. Sound was stupid. Light, on the other hand, was eternal. The dark might creep around the edges of reality, but it could never overcome the light. The sun made sure that there was always light, and every species had invented fire, and from fire came electricity, and with electricity came brilliance. It was the fate of the dark to run before the light, for the light would devour it in the end. Gazwin made sure of that.

But they never understand! Sure, the other guilds used light. The Selesnyans decorated their structures with pictures of the sun, recognizing its role in the circle of life. The Azorius and Simic used light the way a farmer used his tools, to make sure they could be about their jobs. The Dimir, that darkest of guilds, they pretended they loved the dark but even they craved the light. Gazwin had seen reports on lanterns they had been building, beautiful masterpieces that filtered light like no other, but even those paled in comparison to his project. The Rakdos threw their parties by fire light, and the Gruul held their ceremonies accompanied by roaring bonfires. The Boros attacked at dawn, and fought until dusk; perhaps the goblins could keep going into the dark, but the humans needed light to see, and the angels simply refused to operate at night. And the Izzet were simply brilliant.

It took an hour to complete the device. Where the Azorius could only record sound, Gazwin could now record sound and light. It could even play it back by showing the images against a handy wall, though it looked a bit weird with all the objects in the way, and there might have been a slight delay between when someone spoke and when the sound was heard. Oh, and it would explode if someone uninitiated tried to toy with that. That last bit was very important. It wasn’t a proper invention if it didn’t at least have the possibility of exploding. Another hour, and there were four more of them, more than enough to cover every inch of the lab with surveillance.

Gazwin had just set the last device in place when he heard the door open again. He hopped down off his ladder even as Flibt yelled from below, “Master! I am home!”

“Flibt! Where have you been?” Gazwin demanded angrily as the goblin came up the stairs. “We had visitors! Again!”

Flibt frowned. “Graz?”

Gazwin nodded and peered suspiciously at the goblin. “You know, Flibt, if I was a lesser man I might think it a tad odd that you always seem to be away whenever that Simic reject comes to visit the lab.”

Flibt held his hands up innocently, one of which held a series of unwrapped letters. “Sorry, boss, but there was a clan meeting. It seems the clan has been taking some pretty heavy casualties, and a lot of the younger broods are working on some errand for Big Boss. Because of that, the elders have been looking to scrounge up extra man power for other projects, and there was talk of reassigning me to another technician. I had to justify our expense reports to Glumig, and then Sijin wanted a progress report on the Thermoluminazer. The good news is that I talked them out of it, so I’m here to stay. Oh, and I picked up the mail.”

“So I see,” Gazwin replied, snatching the letters away from the goblin. “Anything new to note?”

Flibt shook his head. “More bills, a few Orzhov scams. But I ran into Sylene on the way home. She said she is very thankful for your assistance on Project 71. Now that they have the Dedopplinizer you sent them they’ve managed to get it airborne and practiced its homing ability. You’ve actually put them ahead of schedule, and she owes you a favor that you can call on for anything. She said also said to stress the anything part, like it was supposed to mean something special. Oh, and she gave me this.”

The goblin reached into a pocket and pulled out a silver amulet, with a polished ruby in the center. The words, “Project Rainbow” had been carved into the silver around the stone, and the number 71 sat beneath it. Gazwin took it carefully, but when nothing seemed to happen shrugged and slipped it over his neck, making sure to hide the amulet beneath his robes. Syelene was not only a beautiful redhead, but was also one of the more talented mages in the guild. She had a penchant for showing a bit more skin than was wise for someone who worked around constantly exploding objects, and that, coupled with her guild marks, often led people to expect her to be extravagantly flamboyant and extremely short tempered. In reality she was actually quite demure and levelheaded, as well as being one of the more careful and quiet guildmages. As a result she tended to be given control over projects where some form of discretion was not only desired, but required. Her giving Gazwin an amulet tied to her current dealings was a high sign of trust. “Any idea what it does?”

Flibt mimicked Gazwin’s shrugs with one of his own. “She said now that the project was operational she had set one of the birds aside for your use, should you ever need it. She mentioned that it was her own personal bird you’d be calling on, so you could also use it to get a hold of her as well.”

“Interesting,” Gazwin murmured, tapping his lip in thought. “But not so important at the moment. With Graz taking more interest in our doings, I want you to make sure the lab is extra secure from now on. I can’t help but shake the feeling that something is about to happen, and I want us to be ready when it does.”

Flibt returned to his quarters. The “precautions” that his master insisted upon were both ludicrous and labor-intensive. What did Gazwin think was going to happen, a full on assault on his lab? Of course Graz was harmless enough – the enormous fool. He was not a tool, more of a meter. He was being used for measuring Gazwin, but Flibt needn't tell the scientist any of that just yet.

The small goblin did a quick calibration of the surrounding spaces. Gazwin was as conscious as a Selesnyan Wild Gangliberry – which is to say: his brain was working, but his eyes were closed, and they wouldn't open for some time. Then Flibt changed. Putting away her coarse Goblin garb, she withdrew from the air above her head a nightgown of silk and infantile Indrik fur. “That's better”, she muttered quietly as she got into her bed. It felt nice to hear her own voice again. The goblin's shrill squeak was not as pleasant as an imaginative person might imagine.

A summary of her thoughts as she lay in bed: I may have to act like a goblin, talk like a goblin, eat like a goblin, and sleep like a goblin, but at least I can dress properly from time to time. I can see now why they are so eager to give their lives to the Boros – it's like giving away free rashes.

Locking the door, the one known as Flibt was left secure. She snuffed her candle, and closed her eyes. And fell into the same slumber that Gazwin had entered already.

But elsewhere, there was no sleep to be had. Old Demethre's eyes had witnessed a lot in their time, but the events under the stars had been of value to others this time. He could not enter slumber for the mindthoughts inside his skull. To think of the sheer number of rags he could purchase – why 'twould be rags enough to fill each of Isperia's many courts. And what of their colours? Never again, would Old Demethre's ocular globes fix themselves upon the sorry sight of a dull, faded, off-white, yellowish, stained, tattered, offensively scented, tactily both coarse and of a slimy nature, dusty rag. Nay, he would have only the finest. Rags fit for the rear of Augustin III, his very self. His mind wandered, wondering if perhaps he could even add one of the very rear-rags of the Augustin line to his new-found rag-passion. Snapping back into the moment, he realized that he'd like all his rags to be composed of velvet, red in colour. The red of good grape-made wine or of heart-pumped blood – and certainly not dyed with anything that might fade. He'd purchase for himself One-Hundred and Ninety-Nine of them, for he knew of no higher numeral.

But, his recent influx of gold would be put to better use than mere luxurious raggery. He'd find for his small tavern all of the best accommodations. Some sort of non-chair seating, yes! Like cushioned orbs, capable of supporting any set of hindquarters that could fit through the door. Or was that a preposterous notion? Perhaps booths of a kind would do. . . Yes, that way his beloved customers could no longer hurl chairs at one another. But then he must find a new form of entertainment. Old Demethre's old brain worked inside his old skull. Yes, he thought. Some form of game, involving balls. Why there must be millions of those. He mentally noted that tomorrow would be the day to briskly trot on down to the Rix Maadi Emporium of Fun and Games. He remembered too, that he must stay strictly on the “Games” side, and that he must avoid at all costs the “Fun” section.

But what of his stock, he thought, glancing at his trusty old barrels. They'd taken him far. From a street urchin selling Spitshine to other less-connected urchins until the day he'd first opened this place, and for the decades that had crumbled on afterward. Now, Old Demethre decided, they would be used to keep him warm, for he would have the finest selection of ales and spirits of any tavern in the Quarter. That'd be another thing to find in the Rakdos district. No more Spit-flavoured beverage for Old Demethre, Old Demethre thought. But his thoughts were interrupted.

“Glad we found you awake, Old Demethre.” The door slammed shut after this utterance of words.

“Who-?”

“Who, indeed. We'd like to know about any other visitors you've had this evening. Who came here Demethre? I think you'll find that we're less generous, and I hope we won't have to prove that we're less merciful as well. . .”

Old Demethre's old eyes grew wide.

Damn the paruns, Railu thought again, though without much enthusiasm. It was well on its way to being his personal mantra. From a shadowed belfry he watched his erstwhile captors try to halt the raging beast. Only the Dimir agent was armed and his heavy crossbow, no doubt powerful enough to punch through Boros armor, was having little effect on the beast.

A crowd was gathering (in second floor windows and far enough down the street to feel safe and still offer a good view), and there was nothing the spy wanted less than to be seen. Revealing his Dimir status to the guilded was already risky, he didn’t need the whole of Ravnica recognizing him on sight. He sidestepped one of the monster’s horns and brought a dirk from amongst his robes and into the creature’s neck. The hide was far too tough to fully pierce, of course, but that’s what he paid so much for magical poisons for. The beast staggered and spun, but it was a lethargic movement. The creature would be dead soon enough, but he didn’t have time to wait for something that wasn’t really his problem to die. Jaroslav ran up to him and began to speak but was cut off, “I recommend you leave.”

“Why?”

“Because I am.” And with not so much as a puff of smoke to mark his passing, he was gone.

The Dimir has vanished! Damn! Railu turned on the scene below and began to run, but stopped a moment later. Somewhere close, dark eyes were searching for him by magical light. A cold, electric sensation swept him over, casting a ghostly light into the shadows.

“I am not easy to hide from.” Railu felt suddenly disoriented, not sure if the voice had come from his ears or his mind. Unnatural fear rips at his heart with ratlike claws. As his muscles tense to sprint away a man steps out from behind a pillar, breathing heavily. “Why can’t you just stay still?” it says.

“Hush!” whispered Railu, “He’ll see you!”

“He’s not looking for me. I’ve been guilded two months and I know how this works. Listen, I need you to hold still for just a moment more, let me know when the spell wears off.”

Railu was about to ask what damn spell when the fear that had settled on him vanished. “Are you alright?” asked the man.

“Yes, I think so. What was that?”

“No time to explain, I don’t know how long a handful of zombies can hold off an assassin. Come with me,” the man turned and jumped off the belfry to the roof.

“Assassin? Who are you?” Railu asked, stress and fear giving way to anger.

“I’m Jakob, you’re Railu, introductions over, running now.” The man was human, and set a slow pace Railu could easily follow, but for him it was clearly taxing.

They jogged three blocks with no sign of pursuit before Jakob had to stop for breath.

“So why are you helping me, what’s in it for you?” asked the elf.

“I heard about you in a tavern, they said you know the area and you sounded useful.”

“That’s it?”

“No, there’s… there’s,” But that was it. There was no other reason. Looking back Jakob had no idea why he should bother with someone with such dangerous enemies when others would surely be just as good. Why the hell did I do that? He wondered. He realized he had absolutely no idea. Since saying that sounded stupid he finished with, “Anyone the other guilds want that badly must be worth the effort.” Jakob felt like an absolute imbecile.

Railu looked at him a moment in suspicion and said, “‘Other guilds?’”

“I’m a member of the Golgari,” no sooner had the words escaped his lips than his jaw exploded with pain and he found himself on the ground listening to departing elven footsteps. He wasn’t unconscious, but knew damn well he couldn’t catch Railu, so he didn’t bother to immediately get back up. A few moments later Mokosh, the elf who'd led him to Jarad, appeared above him. When it became apparant she wasn't going to help him up he got up on his own. She'd sneered at him when they'd met, and he wasn't sure she'd changed her expression since.

"So do I work for you or do you work for me?" he asked idlly.

"Could you kill me?"

"Probably not."

"Well I could deffinantly kill you. Come on, I don't like being in the sun."

"Well that's cleared up."

To all possible hells with this! Thought Railu, I need to talk to Old Demethre.

For a moment, Jaroslav stood, mostly in silence, glancing around the street and scratching his head. This, he thought to himself, has been one very strange day. Beginning the day by being told to hunt down a renegade district was bad enough, but having his assignment suddenly and inexplicably changed to make his way to Tin Street (which would normally have taken two thirds of the day just to get to), all to address an issue he knew full well had already been addressed, was far too strange. The fact that his travel time was cut into a small fraction by that passing Izzet Transpornado, which moved too fast for Jaroslav to avoid but happened to be travelling in the right direction, only added to the bizarre day. When he arrived at the tavern, hours ahead of his prescribed schedule, he walked in on the encounter between Railu and that Rakdos Ogre, which in turn put him into a temporary alliance with Flibt, who had disappeared now, and Daog, who had done so quite literally, and ultimately led him to standing alone and perplexed with nothing but the carcass of a large beast for company. Jaroslav was beginning to miss paperwork.

"What guild, sir?"

Jaroslav almost jumped at the voice that sounded behind him. He turned around to see a pale woman, cloaked in a black hood trimmed in white and holding a quill and parchment. "I'm sorry?" he asked.

"What is your guild?"

"Ah, Azorius. Why?" Jaroslav stammered.

The woman clicked her tongue and shook her head slightly. "Azorius, eh? You should have known better."

"Known better than what?"

"Is that your creature over there?"

Jaroslav glanced over at the dead monstrosity, then back at the woman. "No. It attacked us and my…" he paused, realizing he had no word to describe what Daog was. He was no friend, no colleague, and acquaintance didn't seem to fit, either. "And we killed it."

The woman nodded. "So you admit it is your kill? That makes it rightfully yours. Are you aware that this street is Orzhov property?"

Jaroslav exhaled sharply. He knew where this was going. Suddenly, he didn't miss paperwork at all. "How much trouble is this going to cause?"

The woman smiled, which somehow made her look much colder. "Though I know how much you Azorius love your legal documentation, let me skip to the end of the parchment, as it were. You have violated Orzhov law, and if we were to press the issue, we could have you incarcerated in a facility of our choice for up to three years, not to mention the substantial monetary penalties you would owe. However, I happen to have here a convenient favor contract, complete with an overlook clause that would cover this…incident, were you to sign now."

Jaroslav didn't blink. "What do you want?"

Her smile deepened, sending a chill up Jaroslav's spine. "You are much more 'to the point' than most Azorius. I like that. To put it bluntly, we need you to do something. If you do, then legally, this," she motioned toward the beast, "never happened."

Jaroslav took the contract and read it quickly, his Azorius mind scanning every line. When they had finished, his face registered shock. It was legitimate, not a single string or loophole. He knew he could beat the charge, but it would cost nearly as much as losing. Jaroslav shook his head, signed the parchment, and said "What do I have to do?"

Even before he opened the tavern door, Railu knew something was wrong. His sharp, elven nose immediately detected the strong scent of decay that always marked the trail of the Golgari. At times, it was difficult to distinguish the Golgari smell from the smell of the homeless, desperate guildless who also lived amongst the garbage, filth and disease of Ravnica. However, having just been in contact with that Golgari Jakob (Railu rubbed his knuckles in fond memory of that "contact") he recognized the odor immediately.

The guildless elf forced open the door and burst inside. The room beyond was dark, but his eyes focused immediately and intently on the form of Old Demethre near the bar, or rather, what was left of the old barkeep. Railu screamed the word "no" within the confines of his mind, but his mouth refused to echo the cry. For several moments, the archer merely stood, dumbfounded and disgusted by the sight of his long-time friend and sometimes mentor, sprawled in gruesome pieces on the floor.

Slowly, carefully, Railu began to make his way across the cavernous tavern room, all the while trying to make sense of the horrid scene about him. Old Demethre had never been a saint, and he had scammed his fair share of patrons over the years, but he was a good man who had never hurt anyone physically, and never stole or scammed from anyone who couldn't afford it. He was guildless, like Railu, but had made himself a success in a guilded world despite it. The young elf looked at his old friend's face, just about the only thing left to Old Demethre, and fought back a tear. Old Demethre didn't deserve much, he thought, but he deserved better than this.

"Who did this to you?" Railu begged to know, this time out loud.

"That's what we'd like to know," a voice sounded from the darkness.

On instinct, Railu dropped to one knee and reached behind him to unhook his bow. Before he could, however, the same voice, a hard, feminine one, spoke out again, hurriedly this time.

"I wouldn't do that! If you pull your weapon, I might not be able to stop them from skewering you where you stand, and neither of us wants that."

Railu's grief had dulled his normally keen senses when he had first seen the remains of Old Demethre, but now that danger had sharpened them again, he saw this woman was far from bluffing. The guildless elf was practically surrounded. Two men, a human on his left and a viashino behind him, carried long and exceedingly sharp lances leveled straight at his heart. Two more men stood to his right, a goblin with a short sword and another human, this one with a rapier, both drawn but held almost casually with their tips hanging near the ground. The speaker, a human woman of medium stature, was actually the furthest from Railu.

"Who are you?" asked Railu, neither drawing his bow nor relaxing the hand that had been reaching for it.

"We might ask you the same question," responded the man with the rapier. "And I suspect we're in a much better position to ask."

"Relax, Arros," the woman said. "Let's all of us relax." She focused her attention on Railu and took a few steps forward. "Please, if you relax, then so can we, and nobody needs to be unnecessarily hurt."

Realizing he had no chance in an all-out battle anyway, Railu relented, withdrew his hand, and stood up. As he did, however, he indicated toward Old Demethre's body. "Someone has already been unnecessarily hurt."

The woman glanced in the old man's direction, grimaced, and then nodded. "Very true. And we want to know who did this as much as you do. Now please, if you would be so kind, who are you, and what are you doing here?"

"My name is Railu. I didn't do this."

She nodded. "We know that, Railu. No murderer reacts the way you did."

"So fine," Railu responded. "It's your turn. Who are you?"

"My name is Allia. These are my men. We're with the Wojek Civisward."

Railu scoffed. "More guild Imp droppings! Will this never end!"

"Actually," she corrected, "we're guildless. The Wojek League is a Boros organization, granted, but the Civisward is a volunteer splinter of the Wojek. Nearly all of us are guildless volunteers. We associate with the Boros, but very few of us are members."

"Just aspiring, huh? Nearly as bad. Anyway, what are you doing here?"

"Someone came here for a drink and stumbled on the scene," Allia explained. "That someone contacted the Boros, but…"

She trailed off, so Railu finished her sentence for her. "But Old Demethre was guildless, so they had better things to do."

Allia started to protest, then reluctantly nodded. "The Wojek officials said that if the Civisward wanted to look into it, we could, although, I admit they said we'd be wasting our time. Railu, do you have any idea who did this?"

The guildless elf only thought for a moment before his nose reminded him of the prevalent Golgari scent lingering in the air. "Jakob. He's a Golgari. I had a run-in with him earlier today, and he said he got my name from a tavern. He must have meant this one. And obviously the Golgari have been here, their stink is everywhere."

"Only one problem with that," Allia said with a note of disappointment. "Verrik?"

The viashino nodded, "Your elf nose is good, but mine's superior," he hissed. "You're right, the Golgari have been here, there's no doubt about that. But something else was here afterwards. The Golgari scent trails end right over there. They never touched the old man. Whatever that other scent is, though, it was right here."

Railu closed his eyes. His natural dislike of being shown up was screaming at his mind to distrust the lizard, but his desire to avenge Old Demethre won out. One by one, Railu shut off his other senses, first sight, then hearing, then touch and taste, until only smell remained. The scent of decay was overpowering, both from the Golgari scent trail and the obvious odor coming from his dead friend. After a few moments, though, Railu broke through and discovered the viashino was right. There was another scent, much weaker and impossible to identify. There was a sick sort of sweetness to it, and yet it seemed to burn, just slightly. It was like nothing Railu had encountered before.

He opened his eyes and glanced at the lizard. "What is that smell?" But the viashino only shook his head and shrugged. Railu refocused on Allia. "Whatever it is, don't try to stop me from finding it."

She smiled. "I wouldn't dream of it. Even the Boros support the vendetta laws. But take this, just in case you could use our help." She handed him a small, reddish, glass figure in the shape of some sort of bird. As he was examining it, Verrik flicked his lance up, catching Railu's hand with the blunt side and sending the figure crashing to the floor. Miraculously, it didn't shatter. Railu looked over at the lizard only to see him smiling. He looked back at Allia.

"It's enchanted. It cannot break on accident. However, when you choose to break it, we will know," as she spoke, she withdrew a similar bird figure, this one white, hanging from her neck, "and we will make our way to you. Only break it if you need the help of the Civisward, or if you find the murderer."

Railu picked up the trinket and, after considerable debate, slipped it into his pocket. "And what will you be doing while I'm looking for Old Demethre's murderer?"

"We'll look into it from the usual channels," she said bluntly. "Although something tells me you'll have considerably more luck than we will."

Railu thought back to his conversation with Ardir and scowled again. When he spoke, he merely muttered. "Luck or something like it."

Gazwin didn’t bother looking up as the young elf came barreling through his laboratory window. The boy was surprisingly nimble, and, in the brief second between hitting the window and smashing through to the other side, he had already plotted out the one route through the cluttered lab that would keep him from crashing into anything too painful. This required him to roll under a table, and for a moment he was nothing more than a lumpy ball of flesh and clothing before he collided with the far wall with a dull thump. The Azorius falcon that had been following the elf wasn’t so lucky. It flared it’s wings as it tried to avoid the jagged edges of the shattered window and it looked like it might actually avoid cutting itself into pieces…which just meant it was a sitting duck, er, falcon for the trio of energy lances that had been recently mounted in defense of that window. Lightning wrapped around flame as all three weapons fired at once. The poor bird wasn’t sure whether it was supposed to be disintegrated or exploded so it tried to do both at once, covering the broken wreckage of the window and the street below with a fine cloud of grey ash.

“Well, I suppose that was one way to test the system,” Gazwin said as he set his cup of hy-brew to the side. His lips twisted into a wry smile. “And look! Clean up’s a breeze!”

The lump of elf piled against the wall groaned in reply, though Gazwin wasn’t sure if it was from the pain of running into the wall or the pain of the bad pun. “Oh, fine be that way. Who asked you anyway?”

Gazwin shook his head as he wiped his hands on his apron and began heading for the stairs. “Flibt! We have company in the main lab! You might want to bring a medical kit!”

Gazwin bounded down the stairs and yanked the door open, revealing two surprised Azorius justicars, one of whom was just about to knock. “Yes?”

The justicar who had been about to knock stared at Gazwin for a moment, before shutting her mouth with a click. “In pursuant to article 2342.5 of the Azorius Legal charter we hereby state our intentions to-“

“No, you can’t come in,” Gazwin said, cutting her off midsentence. She was pretty, in a common sort of way, and her long golden hair frolicked in the afternoon breeze. It didn’t hurt that the chest piece of her armor had to have been custom made. She had also, if Gazwin was any judge, put on a bit of perfume before arriving for her shift, something that reminded him of spring flowers. “Would you like to get a bit to eat later, however? There’s this lovely little pub about three blocks from here. I need to wrap up my experiment, but I suppose we could meet at about seventh toll?”

“We are pursuing a prisoner!” the other justicar snapped. “You will let us in at once, as per article 23-“

“Nope, not gonna,” Gazwin interrupted again. He glanced over at the second inquisitor for a brief moment, then paused to take a longer look. The man’s brown hair had cropped down to little more than stubble, and his face looked like it had become unfortunately and repeatedly intimate with a brick wall. His armor, unlike the blonde’s, was liberally adorned with spines and etchings of fierce looking creatures and was clearly in compensation for something. On top of that… “Aren’t you a little short for a justicar?”

Gazwin thought he saw a flicker of a smile on the blonde’s face as the man cheeks turned a rather unhealthy shade of purple. “You are required by law to let us in!”

“Actually, I’m not,” Gazwin said, trying to sound as bored as possible. “Article 2342.5 only allows for you to access unguilded territory in the pursuit of an unidentified criminal. In order to access guilded property you need to cite article 79874.32, but that still wouldn’t get you in. Would you like to know why?”

“Why?” the man asked. The sound of his teeth grinding together could be heard a block away, which was more than loud enough for the gathering crowd.

“Because article 6942.15 specifically exempts all Izzet territory that is congruently the site of an active phenomenological experiment from being entered by Azorius personnel, on grounds of termination and subsequent execution of said personnel. Apparently Isperia didn’t take it too well when a flock of hussars accidently got themselves turned into a pile of two inch high, bright blue talking frogs. Now, I heard that the effect wore off after only a few days, but apparently they still haven’t quite gotten the taste of flies out of their mouths. Well, those that changed back, at any rate.”

The man’s mouth began to open and close, closely resembling a fish taking its last desperate gasps of air. There was now a distinct curve to his partner’s lips, and a small twinkle had appeared in her eye. The Azorius might have had a reputation for being overly ordered and stuffy, but that didn’t mean they weren’t human as well, and being an obnoxious git was still being an obnoxious git. She clearly didn’t like her partner very much either, and Gazwin was willing to wager there were all sorts of rules and regulations that he was cheerfully breaking in her favor.

“You will let us in right now, or- or- or-“

“Or, what?” Gazwin asked.

The justicar’s hand snaked out and before anyone could stop him he had snatched Gazwin’s apron off of his hips. He held the bit of cloth up triumphantly as he crowed, “Or we shall arrest you for public indecency!”

The entire crowd gasped as Gazwin’s nakedness was exposed. Children gasped and tittered with excitement, while fully grown adults fainted dead away, the women from fear and the men from envy. The only thing he was wearing was the silver amulet he had been given by Sylene. Oh, and the illusion spells I’ve stacked on it since then, he thought with a trace of amusement. But then, there’s no need to tell them that, now is there?

Instead he folded his arms across his chest and leaned nonchalantly against his door frame. “Now, normally that would have cost you at least dinner and a good bottle of wine. Instead I’ll have to settle for making you feel even smaller, since you still can’t lay hands on me. You seem to have forgotten that between the three of us, the only ones standing in public are you and your lovely young partner. I, on the other hand, am still standing inside my house. Which reminds me…” Gazwin turned towards the blonde and said, “Excuse me miss, I would like to file a report of a voyeur lurking about these parts. He’s a short, ugly looking man, but that’s not the worst of it! Would you believe the scoundrel has the audacity to disguise his depravity by using the honorable outfit of an Azorius justicar as a decoy! Why, he even assaulted me in my own home!”

This got a laugh from the gathered crowd, and even the blonde’s demeanor finally cracked. She grabbed her sputtering partner by the shoulder and began to lead him away, but not before warning, “I will be back to follow up on this investigation…later.”

“But I didn’t get your name!” Gazwin called after her.

“Well, then you’ll just have to hope that I actually do come back to look into your matter more closely, won’t you?” she said teasingly.

This earned another laugh from the crowd, which finally began to disperse as Gazwin turned around and headed back inside. He did some quick calculations based on the direction they had been heading and raced for his lab.

Flibt had picked the young elf up, and was carefully stitching closed a small cut across the youth’s hairline. They both looked up as Gazwin charged back in, then recoiled in unison at the sudden burst of nudity.

“Master! Clothes!” Flibt insisted, even as he put the last stitch into place.

“No time for that!” Gazwin replied, hastily fetching a pair of large, curved pieces of glasses. He handed to each of them, then tried to push them in opposite directions. When this didn’t work due to his inability to be in two places at once, he ordered, “Flibt! Go stand at point F4! You, elf, come here! Stand there! No, not there, here! Ok, now put your arms out like this… A little higher… A little more to the left… Hold on, I want to make sure this is lined up properly!”

“Wait, what are you doing?” the elf asked.

“No, don’t move, not yet!” Gazwin screamed as he lunged for a nearby blind. He yanked it open, there was a flash of light, and then a scream from several blocks away. Gazwin immediately rushed across the room and peered down the street to the Butcher’s Block. “Haha! Got the bastard in one shot!”

“Wait…” the elf said. He sounded as if realization had finally dawned on him. The glass he was holding felt extremely warm, but not quite hot enough to drop. “What did we- I mean, what did you do?”

“I don’t know,” Gazwin answered with a cheerful shrug. “Do you believe it is possible for sunlight to kill a fully armored justicar?”

“No…”

“Well, then we haven’t done anything at all!”

Railu stared at Gazwin in horror. “By the bells, you’re Izzet!”