The Shark growled, expelling a heavy stream of smoke as he pulled the cigar from his mouth.

Fisco was becoming increasingly frustrated with his Dominarian associates. No matter how many demands or messages he sent, there was no reply. He was loathe to travel to Dominaria himself - especially since silence had been maintained for so long. Either they were snubbing him, or something had happened to his extraordinarily secretive, but also mundane, branch of brokers and scouts. He sucked irritably on his cigar, and blew out another plume of smoke.

Behind him, Diana coughed.

Fisco glanced back at the angel, who was staring ahead passively, away from him. He raised an eyebrow. That cough had sounded... deep. Diana did not react to his gaze, and simply stared straight ahead, arms behind her back, wings folded.

Fisco turned to rummage through his reports once more. Last word had been a month ago, from...

Diana coughed once more, and when Fisco looked back, she was covering her mouth discreetly.

She was still not looking at him.

Fisco glanced at his cigar. It was barely burnt at all.

He turned away from Diana, and snuffed out the cigar in a golden bowl.

"Getting stuffy in here." Fisco grunted, looking over his reports once more. "Open a window for me."

He heard Diana step across the room and do as she was told. Fisco fell back into his irate inspections, wondering what in the hells had happened to his Dominarian outfit.

Diana did not cough again.

Clade hefted the enormous, stone slab, and slammed it into the ground.

Birds exploded from the surrounding trees with a chorus of frightened calls, flying away from the disturbance.

The slab was now standing upright. It was about as tall as he was, but half of it was now buried solidly in the earth. Clade had spent the majority of this morning dragging the slab from far away, across planes, to bring it here. The day before, he had crushed thousands upon thousands of red berries, the resulting paste of which was in an enormous bucket beside him. His fingers were still stained crimson from the work.

He dipped a thick finger into the paste, and began to write upon the stone.

Three days ago, he had remembered the name of another of his people - lost, for many centuries, to the blind eternities.

Clade marked the name of this troll onto the slab, and when he was finished, he gazed around at the hundreds of others like it, all standing upright, throughout this forest, and beneath the enormous, watchful boughs of his guardian tree.

Maybe tomorrow, he would remember another.

Clade left the Grove of Remembrance behind.

Malzeth slammed open the door with a growl, and stalked into the shadowed room angrily. Lucrecia and himself had been ambushed by a trio of angels, and though he had relished the sounds of their dying screams, he was less than pleased that his favorite hideout had been levelled in the process - along with several rather important samples of blood for his latest experiments.

Lucrecia entered the room silently behind him. She did not say a word, which made the hairs on the back of Malzeth’s neck stand up. Still irate, he went about clearing away age-old dust and cobwebs with a few waves of his hand. This tiny hole in the ground was where they were laying low. As much as he wanted to murder a few more Soul Wardens, he was less interested in getting fried. This was a temporary measure. This… This was a temporary measure.

Lucrecia was still silent behind him.

Malzeth felt his jaw tense, and a cold sweat break out on his forehead. He leaned heavily against the wall, soulless black eyes wide, trying to stop the feeling of control from slipping through his fingers.

Lucy touched his shoulder.

Malzeth froze.

“Look at me.” The demoness purred, voice like dark silk against the frayed edges of his nerves. Malzeth did so. Her eyes were hooded, her smile feral and wicked - it was that same smile that had stayed his hand, all those centuries ago. He turned fully to face her, but before he could, she grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall.

His vision swam, and he felt her claws at his throat.

“Close your eyes.” She ordered, her voice still soft, scratchy, and with all the silent assurance of death. Against the pain, he did as he was told. “You can’t escape from me, Mal.” She informed him steadily, tightening her grip on his throat, and caressing the side of his face with her free hand. He felt the shadows stir, and thick tendrils wrapped themselves around his wrist and ankles, pulling him taut. He choked in pain, but kept his eyes closed.

Lucy let go of his throat.

“You don’t control me.” She hissed, cutting open his shirt with one claw. He felt the flesh on his chest part slightly, and knew he was bleeding. His pulse thundered in his ears. “And you never will.” Her finger stopped just above his navel. “Do I make myself clear?”

She applied a touch more pressure onto his stomach.

“Yes.” He breathed.

She grinned, small nose scrunching and dark smile widening.

“Then I’ll take over from here.” She offered, and Malzeth could feel the tension flee his body.

It was a relief to - finally - be outside of his own control.

“Excuse me?”

Aegil started at the small voice, and glanced down at the human woman whom it belonged to. His large ears fluttered in ill-concealed embarrassment, and he hoped that the woman was not well versed in loxodon body language. Today had not been going well and, frozen as he had been at the gate, he could tell it was going to get worse.

Before him was the Lift. It was an aptly named miracle of ingenuity, and was capable of raising or lowering many tons of cargo or people to the canyon floor far, far… far below. It was his… honor to operate the lift today, and his duty, as a member of the guard. The young woman, who was his first passenger for the day, was watching him curiously from the platform. He… needed only step onto the lift, and over to the large lever that controlled it, and… and they would descend. It was simple.

He just needed to do it.

He took a step towards the lift, and froze again, closing his eyes tightly and curling his trunk up to his mouth.

The problem with working the lift, was that Aegil was terrified of heights.

Several long moments passed, and he did not approach. The young woman, who he was sure was becoming impatient, spoke.

“Are your frightened?” She asked softly, and Aegil cursed himself for a fool because he just… could not open his eyes.

“N-no, ma’am, I-I’ll be right…” But all he could think about was the lift breaking, and the long, long, long, drop to his doom… Which had, of course, never happened before, but...

“What’s your name, sir?” The woman asked, and he realized he was beginning to breathe rapidly because his trunk was not getting any air into his body. He uncurled it, breathing in deeply.

“Aegil.” He told the woman.

“I’m Aloise.” She replied, and he nodded in understanding as he got his breathing under control. “You’re afraid of falling?” He thought, for a moment, about lying. But he was found out. There really was no point.

Ashamed, he nodded.

“I know a spell that will catch us if we fall.” She told him soothingly. “If I promise to use it, will you come with me?” Carefully, Aegil opened his eyes. Aloise was gazing at him earnestly, honestly, and mostly, with understanding. It was nothing like his father, whose thick gray face was always impassive, or his human commander, whose bald sweaty one was always angry.

And… If she was a mage…

“A-Alright, ma’am.” He agreed. Aloise smiled, and held out her small hand to him.

He took it between two thick fingers. Together, they stepped onto the lift.

It rocked slightly beneath Aegil’s feet, and he thought he was going to be sick. Aloise led him over to the lever, guided his hand to it, and then stepped away. Aegil felt his ears flap against his head nervously, his trunk flexing in response, but as he glanced at Aloise - ignoring the open air around them - he found the courage to pull the lever.

He did not remember much about the descent - his eyes were closed. But Aloise talked with him the whole time. Her cheerful voice was soothing, and she said things of little import or meaning. When he finally felt the lift stop moving, he opened his eyes, and saw that they were surrounded by solid ground.

“You were very brave, Aegil.” Aloise told him warmly. Aegil felt the skin beneath his eyes crinkle, but then he remembered that she would be leaving, and looked back up the sheer cliff nervously.

“...I’ll stay with you.” Aloise told him. “Until you have to go home. If it will make you feel better.” Aegil shifted nervously, hunching his shoulder.

“I’d… I’d like that, ma’am.” He rumbled, abashed. Aloise just nodded, and motioned for him to take them back up. For the rest of the day, Aloise would speak to him softly as he closed his eyes, whenever someone came to use the lift. Not once did the lift malfunction or threaten to pitch them to the canyon floor, and as the sun was setting, and they ascended the cliff one more time, Aloise implored him to gaze out into the open air.

From that height, the sunset was beautiful.

Insuwa was terrified.

He did not know what these humans wanted – only that Master had told them to go and hide once the sound of many boots began echoing up the mountain pass. The dojo was not very secluded, perhaps only a days walk off of one of the Imperial roadways. It was a peaceful place, a simple place, and Insuwa felt honored that he had been chosen to study here, beneath a Weapon Master, and among his peers.

In fact, earlier that day, Master had announced they would be receiving a visitor in the afternoon. He told them it would be a surprise, and there had been much speculation as to who it would be.

Shortly after that, they had heard the marching.

Insuwa did not think that these humans were the visitor that Master was talking about.

For the moment, he was huddled with many of the younger Kor students in the farthest portion of the dojo. From his point of view at the window, he could make out several dozen humans, the Master, and a few elder students, speaking. As he watched, the humans became increasingly animated, and their words grew louder. The Master raised his hands – a gesture of supplication.

There was a shout, and as Insuwa watched, Master, unarmed, was cut down.

He let out a startled shriek, unbelieving, and before he knew it, there was shouting all around him, and someone shoving him backwards, towards the rear exit. The elder students followed Master into death, and the humans stormed the dojo.

Insuwa did not know war. He did not know battle, or blood. He did not know fire, or hatred, or that the Mad Emperor Mairth had declared that the Kor be purged from the face of the earth. All he knew were his fellow students, the way of the Kor, and that something, somewhere, had gone terribly wrong.

The humans tore through the paper doors with little ceremony, and Insuwa finally found it in himself to run. There was shouting, of that he was certain, and much chaos. The dojo had always been a place of quiet and peace.

Insuwa ran.

Outside of the dojo (When had the flames sprung up?) his fellow students were being hemmed in by armed and armored human soldiers. (Why were they doing this?) Insuwa looked frantically for a way out, but the gray-clad humans were everywhere, swords gleaming in the firelight of the destroyed dojo. Before him, he saw several students slaughtered where they stood, and the realization that he would soon be among them flooded his senses.

Then, with a great rush of wind, the front line of soldiers fell to their knees, spontaneously sprouting fatal wounds. Shouts of surprise rose from the humans as the remaining students clustered together. With no warning, a figure, unbelievably tall and white, appeared before them, backlit by the flames of the dojo. His blade was drawn, free of blood. His back was straight.

The humans did not pause, and charged the immaculate figure as one.

He was untouchable. Never once did a wound mar his body or a drop of blood sully his clothes. When the soldiers began to focus their efforts upon the students, he imposed himself, faster than they eye could follow. Insuwa caught sight of his cold and noble face only once, and felt as though he was looking upon a god.

The soldiers called for retreat. They did not get far.

The last human alive, though not standing, Insuwa recognized. This one had cut down Master. Their savior pointed his blade – his Katana, as Insuwa recognized it – at the human.

“This fate and more awaits Mairth.” He sheathed his blade. “Go and tell him.”

The human scrambled to her feet, and ran.

A gentle breeze pricked at Insuwa’s bare scalp, the dull smell of metal and blood carried with it. Their savior, tall, and pure, and white, turned, face inexplicably softened. Then, he spoke, with a voice like wind through a canyon.

“Forgive me for my late arrival, young ones.” He placed his hands together, and bowed. “I am Jinsen. Please – follow me. I will keep you safe.”

Later, Insuwa would wonder for what reason a god would weep.

Ida Roth, Holy Inquisitor of the Avacynian Church, narrowed her eyes in the darkness. The creature she was hunting had fled into this cave of hellspawn and treachery, and she had followed it with zeal, as was her duty. With a crossbow in one hand and her blade of blessed silver in the other, she was more than prepared for a fight.

If only the blasted thing would just attack her already.

“This one asks only for your patience, miss.” A deep and alien voice snaked out of the darkness, and she whipped her crossbow in the direction it came from and fired. The sound of a bolt hitting stone echoed through the cavern, and she cursed.

“You’ll get no patience from me, creature!” Ida growled. At first, she had thought the four-armed monster was a skaab of some sort. Then it had spoken. She had never known a skaab to speak – or be so far away from any known or reported skaaberen. “Now come out so I can give you the death you so richly deserve!”

“Question: What has this one done to deserve death?”

She sheathed her sword quickly, and loaded another bolt into the crossbow before she lost track of its supposed position.

“I am a seasoned inquisitor of the holy church, monster. Your mind-games won’t work on me!”

“This one does not engage in the playing of ‘games’. This one finds that this one is often…” She fired her bolt at the sound, but again, there was no satisfying screech. Ida scowled into the darkness. “…ill-suited for such endeavors.”

“Alright.” Ida grunted, reloading her crossbow for a third time, eyes sharp for movement. “Let’s humor you. If you’ve done nothing wrong, why’d you run from me, back on the shore?”

There was a long silence. She feared for a moment it had slinked off.

“…This one is poorly suited for understanding interpersonal nuances. Question: Is there any amount of humor being had at this one’s expense?”

She fired her crossbow again. Still nothing – but she mulled over the oddly phrased question.

“No, I was being serious.” She replied.

“Most interesting." A pause "This one absconded because this one was being fired upon by an unknown, hostile party. Party since identified: You, seasoned inquisitor of the holy church monster.”

Ida blinked.

“You’re the monster!” She roared, drawing her blade and throwing her crossbow onto the ground. If she could not find it, by its voice, she would have to draw it out by force! She charged semi-blindly in the darkness of the cave. Vaguely, midway through her charge, she heard a… clock?

Her body seized up.

A little blue light appeared from somewhere behind her, throwing her shadow on the damp stone floor into sharp relief.

“…Plane: Innistrad. Description: Small. Single known continent. Oceans, unexplored. Population almost entirely human, with several notable mutations. Supernatural presence, very strong. Angels. Demons. Attitude of resident populace: Hostile. Conclusion: Unsuitable for settlement. Presence of likely originator species, implausible.”

The voice was right behind her, and the light winked out. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, but she could not will herself to move…!

For a bare moment, she swore she felt a chill breath slide over her neck.

“This one is not a monster.” The voice, deep and dark like the bottom of a well, was quiet, thoughtful. “This one… this one must not be.”

Then, there was quiet. For a few terrifying moments, she Ida thought she was going to be stuck here forever, then her body lurched into motion and she gasped in surprise.

She spun, but there was nothing there. Warily, she wondered where it had gone. Quietly, she wondered what it had been.

Motta was not certain where he was going.

His back was on fire. Fire… Fire was familiar. Pain was not. If he imagined the searing agony as a flame, he could control it. Master it. He would master it.

Where had all the trees gone – where were the insidious whispers of the Vorst? He wandered.

Thrim would never leave the Vorst.

Motta should have never left the Vorst, but his people… His brother…

The cool moonlight was soothing. The free air was invigorating. The smoke that the pain-fire had filled his mind with cleared, though the fire still burned. He was standing in a flat expanse. A meadow.

A village.

So, he had returned here.

Heavily, Motta sat, and closed his eyes.

Though the night was silent, and the walls were tall, he imagined the village of the little ones. The unbelievably tiny children. The smiling adults. The community, working together as one, for the betterment of all. Once upon a time, his people had been similar. Once upon a time… Once upon a time. Like a fairy tale. A story.

Motta huffed a laugh. Such was his calling.

“It’s cold out tonight.” A voice spoke up, and it did not come from within Motta’s head. Slowly, he opened his eyes. Before him stood a little one. A man. Never had one of the little ones spoken to him before. He had been unsure they ever even noticed him.

Motta’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

“…You’re making the guards nervous.” The man mentioned, gesturing back towards the village. Motta squinted into the darkness, but he could not see anyone else. Granted, his eyes were still fogged with pain.

“Hm… I will go.” He managed, and began to stand.

He did not make it far, and with a cry, he fell to one knee.

“Are- are you hurt?” The little one asked. “Mercy – what happened to your back?”

Motta could not find any words to speak, such was the pain. Instead, he just looked up, and stared at the little one. With a tentative hand, he touched his own chest, to feel the heartbeat within. To feel the life-fire, to be rid of the pain.

“Motta.” He murmured. “Motta.” It was the only thing he could remember amidst all the flames. His name. Who he was. What he stood for.

“…Wait here, I’ll – I’ll be right back. With bandages, and water…”

Motta did not have the mind to protest, and as he watched the little one retreat, the darkness caved in around him, and he knew no more.

When he awoke, lying on his stomach, the little one from the previous night introduced himself as Brand, and asked if he would like anything to eat.

Oh my, oh my. I have found the little hovel, the little far-off plane. Hehe, the little hidey-hole! A place for the Shark to hide his baubles and trinkets and demons and such. Oh, so drab and dry, and falling apart at the seams. So small and brittle and soon to be broken like it's master! All the wealth in the worlds, all the wealth surrounding me, would not save him. Oh no, oh no. Oh my, oh my.

Haha.

My clawed little fingers - oh, so sore, not broken, but the memory - clack together nervously, like the chitinous legs of a beetle run to far from it's underrock home. Oh my, but I could smell the evil already, bearing down upon little old me, my little old self, and my little old mind. I laugh. That's what I do best. Laughing.

Not really. That was a lie.

For all the wealth surrounding me, my prize is not the golds and jewels and ill-gotten gains. No, no, my goal is the guardian, the white-haired man who looms, who appears with a growl and startles a screech out of my giggling gullet. Who grabs my neck as way of greeting - to shut me up, no doubt no doubt! - and threatens to break me, to snap me. Hoho. I am already broken, he does not see. Already snapped!

"My order dictate you live until you explain yourself..." The white-haired man looms over me, and oh, oh, this is rich! Compassion, perhaps? Some sort of misguided attempt at goodness. Hehe! But the Shark was a foolish fellow. "Are you here on purpose or on accident?" I felt myself being shaken. In my bones, shaking. In my mind... shaking. The man blinked. "...And don't you lie to me."

Well, that was no fun.

The pressure on my throat eases, so I get to speak! First, I laugh, because it's all just so very, very funny.

"Xeran." I murmur, because I don't remember my own name but I remember his. Because I learned his. Because I clawed his name out of the murky - EVIL, CRUEL, THRICE-CURSED - memory I have left. Oh, my eyes run over the barely lit collar around the poor man's neck. One rune! Out of six. The demon's eyes narrow at me.

"...How do you know me, rat." He growls.

Haha. Hehe. Hoho.

"Oh, I am but a learner of things." I tell him, still strangled through his grip. "And I thought - well, here's someone who hates someone I hate! Someone who must not just die, but suffer!" And that last word rings off the gold and the jewels and the ill-gotten gains. Something dribbles down my chin, oh my. The demon sneers at me.

Then stops.

"...You did not trip any of the wards." He mutters. I cackle.

"Tricky... tricky!" I manage, and the demon drops me. Wordlessly, he bids me explain. Probably. I do anyway. "Oh, you've got quite the fetching collar on, oh yes... quite the problem... but you know the Shark. Oh yes, but you know him." His face darkens.

"You came here looking for me - why?" He demands.

I reach into my undoubtedly fine clothes, because I know how this magic works. With demons, it's always deals and darkness. So, to bind a demon, one needs deals... and light. Oh, and what light it is that I've brought brought for Xeran! Oh my, oh my, what a light indeed.

"I bear gifts!" I cry. "Oh, a bit of kindness towards an unkind one, a bit of conversation when you wish I would stop - and a vial of blood. From the man we despise."

Xeran's eyes widened.

"...You would free me." He muttered.

Oh my, oh my. Yes.

"Only if you help me catch a Shark... and make it bleed." I tell him, ears twitching and teeth chattering. His hands flex. He wants to free himself - but he cannot. I know this! He needs me! He needs the blood I have brought to be free of the collar he cannot!

"If I am free." Xeran says stiffly. "Nothing will save Fisco Vane from my wrath."

I laugh as a nod, I laugh as I scrabble forward, and I laugh as I break his bonds.

Oh, very soon, Fisco Vane. Very, very soon.

Haha. Hehe. Hoho.

I knew you wouldn't be off of Fisco for long!

Also, hey, more Fisco-Diana stuff! Well done as usual!

Cool little look at Clade, and another motivation for him. I like it!

Well, Fisco growing frustrated about the silence of his outfits is vital information, but acts as a backdrop for the purposes of the story. While it does, in fact, happen the purpose of the mini-fic was to expand upon the relationship of Fisco and Diana further.

Granted, these shorts are canonical, and I may or may not be using them to grease the wheels of future narratives. Wait and seeeee~~~!!!

I'd also like to mention the Diana was not disapproving politely - she was coughing because Fisco was smoking like a chimney. If she had been able to NOT cough and disturb Fisco while she worked, she would have stoically suffered the smoke until the end of time, just to give Fisco some peace and quiet. Or at least, quiet.

Hence why she would not look at Fisco when she coughed. It's not her place to feel uncomfortable, she thinks.



Yeah, it sort of is.

That's sort of the point of the berry juice ink. It doesn't last very long. He has to go back and refresh it every so often, that way he doesn't forget their names. It's tedious, but he's a nigh immortal troll. One day, he may etch it all into the stone, and never return - maybe he already has. I haven't really decided on a timeline for that one yet.

Thanks for reading, Barinellos!

He's like a druuuuuuug!!!

Hehe, yeah I suppose I didn't really count these mini-fics when I was talking about writing stories for Fisco. Whoops. O_o

Clade needs more love, too, and I'm hoping to give that to him here in short bursts, since I'm not certain how I want to present him next in a larger work.

Also, that pun was a work of ART. Beautiful.

@ Fisco & Diana -- These two have rapidly become one of my absolutely favorite "couples," albeit in a non-traditional sense of the term. I love these little slice-of-life interactions. They kind of reveal the everyday reality of this relationship.

Honestly, this story reminds me of a phenomenon of marital life which I call "competitive not-noticing." This occurs when something is obviously bothering one or more members of the partnership, but neither wants to actually have to take action to address it. At that point, it becomes a competition to see who can pretend to not notice the problem for longer, since the person who first acknowledges it leaves himself/herself open to the unstoppable rebuttal of: "Since you mentioned it, could you just take care of that, honey?"

In this case, we have the added complication that Diana basically can't complain to Fisco. So all she can do is be subtly put-out, and hope that he breaks down and notices first. Which he does. Oh, Fisco, you softie.

Again, there's something very true-to-life about this interaction.

@ Clade -- This was a fascinating little look at a different side of Clade. I don't quite grok all his motivations yet, so reveals like this are very interesting.

@ Mal & Lucy -- I can't think of the right adjective to describe these two. It's definitely not "sweet," that's for darn sure. But it's something.

I always have to keep reminding myself that they're the "bad guys," because they're interesting and charismatic, and I frequently forget that they're, you know, creatures of elemental evil and all that.

@ Aloise -- Ruwin, you write some of the very best long-form work, so please consider that a baseline for what I say next: This little short-short is one of my very favorite things I have read in a long, long time. It's really, really beautiful, and it has me starting my day with a giant smile.

The simplest thing I can say is just this: Thank you.

"And here, Tour, we have a painting of Demons at Rest. It's...best not to look too long." I enjoyed this as a little slice of life for demons, and it totally makes sense to me.

Oh, Aloise. God help you if you're ever in a hurry to get somewhere, because I think you would still stop and take a day to do things like this.

This is also funny because Raven and I were just musing yesterday on the lack in our archives of any definitive sub characters But yeah, I think this was done very well.

Also Aloise continues to be great. I particularly loved the small inhuman touches for the loxodon. They were paradoxically very humanizing. And you know how I feel about nonhuman characters.

@OL: I think that's one of my favorite things to do. Make undeniably evil characters that you can't help but like. Because that's what a lot of evil people do, really, and why they get away with so much: They make people like them. After all, people are more willing to make moral concessions for people they like than they are for people they hate.

Yeesh, just look at fandoms in general. They figure that because a character is likeable, that they can't possibly be anything but a precious, misunderstood baby. Bluh. Since when did enjoying an evil character for being evil become such a crime? T_T

But I digress.

As for Aloise - Well, you're quite welcome, OL. Always glad to spread some joy.

@Raven: I think if Aloise was ever in enough of a hurry to forego helping someone in need, we should all be very concerned about what she is getting herself into.



You can thank a very peculiar Dirk/Jane fanfiction, as well as a bit of independent research, for my understanding of this particular mentality. Unfortunately, I have few personal experiences to extrapolate from. O_O



Speaking of research, my search history now reads "Bondage and the psychology of the submissive member", and "Do elephants smile?", with about a 15 minute interval between both searches. Being a writer is weird.