Melanie was, above all things, a creature rooted in symbolism. Small things had become prophecy, reality had become omens when spoken of or about her. A monster who lurked within the shadows of reality, she stalked the world with a glory that heralded only confusion and vague ambition, suicidal devotion and shattered honor.

A denizen of the night, she made her way into the Inn when the mood ruled his frightful demesne. Her eyes, twin pools of rotten heroism, saw in shades of black and white, not color. A soldier born and bred, a careful tactician, she was predicated along noticing the change. The common place, things she knew and could deal with, posed no threat. It was the counter attack, the knife in the back or the random invasion that could stir her to instant reaction. Thus, the chess board. A game she'd seen played, she paused to stare down at it.

With her hands behind her back, she might as well have been a small statue, beautifully carved from cruel obsidian. For long hours she stared down, silent and still. She hardly blinked, she hardly breathed. Her mind, a sharp engine kept well oiled, if hidden, worked quickly to solve this puzzle. She saw a field of battle, a war in slow motion. Entranced, she carried on her flight of fantasy. People came, people left. Random patrons stared at the polarizing, well known figure they'd seen in so many places and under so many different lights. By the time the sun had risen and died once more, Melanie had an answer.

Having worn a hoodie, she slipped it off of her shoulders. Underneath she had worn a simple black t-shirt, typical for her. With no regards to decency, she removed the t shirt and laid it flat on a table. Skilled, too skilled, with the knives she always carried, she slit the sides and removed the sleeves, leaving a relatively flat plane of dark, soft cloth. It might have, even to this day, carried the traces of a perfume foreign and exotic, heady and potent. Carefully, she removed the black queen from the board. With a soft touch, she pressed every other figure, all thirty one of them, to the board. Left flat on the checked surface, she returned to the table.

They are all dead.

Once more, she spread the t shirt across the table. Another cut was made, this one in the center. Intentionally jagged, she aimed to cut out the area that might cover a person's heart. Her heart. Silent still, she returned to the board and, with a simple yet solemn motion, covered the board in the ruined article of clothing. After a pause, she pressed the dark toned queen to her lips. "Good bye."

With the shirt in place, the hole she had cut out marked a safe haven, a stop in the spread of darkness. Within the circle, the death ground, she gently laid the queen on the board. As she did, the figurine tipped over of its own accord. She watched, awestruck by this benign event. As the piece rolled to a stop, precisely in the middle of the exposed board, she turned away once more. She'd left her mark, the board had left its mark on her.

As am I.

A weary sigh escaped the older smith as he pushed in through the door of the tavern, azures sweeping over the dismal menagerie as gloved hand moved to close the door behind; however, the door resisted the mild motion.

?Hey, I'm right behind you you know!? The complaining voice from the young man that followed only worked to lend weight to the thought of forcing the door shut but that barely audible voice of conscious chided the nasty thought away.

?Hmm? Didn' notice.? A lie spoken simply enough as he'd set across the commons at that meandering amble of his for the bar leaving the youth to their own devices. It wasn't as if they were old enough to drink and Petar made no small amount of hell for the apprentice smith so it was a wonder why they had opted to follow him to the Red Dragon Inn in the first place.

Come on, let's do something together to celebrate Petar! Thick brow twitched at the remembrance of the lads words. They were making quite a bit of coin thanks to the preparations for the upcoming Beltane festivities and so the young man seemed to want to celebrate. Of course the older smith had declined; but unless he wanted to break the youths legs, a thought but then he'd have to finish all the remaining work alone, he really couldn't have stopped them from following him.

?Bloo'y idjit...? Growled out in a low mutter as a gloved hand angrily snatched a bottle of domestic whiskey from the rack, a few coins dropped into the till.

?What is this... art?? The annoying voice of the apprentice got a sharp sidelong glance from the older man as he turned about now with prize in hand, a mild quirk of brow offered at the stupid inquiry. Of course the young one oblivious as usual wouldn't catch this as there steely gray eyes were cast down upon a table in the middle of the commons. Azures traced the young mans gaze as he slowly ambled over: a cloth with a wooden spike sticking out of it? As he closed the details came together, free hand moving to strip the top from that bottle before moving to lift the dark swatch slowly as if it may explode if moved abruptly.

?Tis a chess set... wi'a cloth atop o' it.? Noted mildly as he took a swig of that liquor now.

?Well, I knew that.? This brought a mild twitch of that thick brow. If you already knew than why were you asking you... ?Wonder why someone arranged it like this??

?Because this lan' bae full o' daft nitwits o' course...? The response came naturally as he took another draw from that bottle. Form turned mildly on a heel facing him towards the hearth. Tick. A pause. Tick. Azures turned back to the table, the young man moving to correct the pieces. ?Wha' dae ye thin' yer doin'??

?Setting it up.? Matter of fact. ?Want to play a round... you do know how to play right?? Steely eyes lifted to the lumbering man, a cloying smile upon those young features.

?Though' ye said tha' was art. Ye shouldn' bae screw'n wi' someones art.? The older man observed frankly.

?You disturbed it first...? Another twitch of that brow at the out of place observation from the youth. ?Anyway, I don't see anything ta indicate this isn't meant to be played.? A pause. ?Are you afraid to be beaten at a game by me Petar?? And again that annoying smile lit those youthful features only flaring the older man's temper. It would seem the boy had been picking up a few things other than smithing from him; mostly a surly tongue and a blatant disregard for potential authority which were a couple of things that were probably best not passed along.

?Oh, bested by ye? Tha'll bae a particularly cool day in tha 'ells below.? The apprentice finished setting up the table, strong build sitting down across from where the other stood as he'd open with a pawn, that smile only growing on the youthful features.

?Is that so? I have to warn you old man I'm pretty good at chess.? Before he even knew it he was already settling down in the chair across from the youth, that bottle set aside as gloved hand moved to field his queens knight.

* * * * *

?Oh I am so going to enjoy beating you.? The young man smiled behind tented fingers as he looked over the board, steely grays plotting the remaining three moves to checkmate.

?Beat mae? Oi now, the floor boards still feel plen'y warm ta mae.? Azures moved over the board lazily, the long emptied bottle abandoned to the side where the majority of his pieces sat. Despite his bravado Trevor had easily been commanding the game setting the pacing with a strong offense leaving the older man to constantly defend, sacrifice, and rout. Of course the end was near, the smith hardly had any pieces left and barely a reprieve from the constant state of checks that had chased him about the board. A look once more before he'd push one of his two remaining pawns forward, one more to advance.

?Come now Petar, your making this too easy.? The young man slid that bishop down exposing a rook across the back row. ?Check.?

Petar scooted his king over to the only place he could as he had no other choice. That annoying smile blossomed on the youths face as he dropped his queen down to the line below the king cutting off any route of escape. ? So, what do you think, should I be sporting and not rook whatever you advance that pawn to??

The older man's face as always retained that stern yet stoic look, a mask well worn as azures raised unimpressed upon the youth. ?'Asn' anyone e'er told ye tha' avarice and pride call 'efore a fall?? Gloved hand moved to that pawn, a touch... and then he shifted to the lone remaining knight that had been protecting his king before he'd moved it. ?Y'see... tha' pawn isn' there ta advance a losing a cause... i's ta keep ye in yer place.? He moved the knight free from it's duty. ?Checkmate.?

That smile fell as steel gray eyes dropped to the board in shock. Indeed to the others word his king was trapped; a lone bishop forgotten halfway across the board, the pawn that prevented the one move to escape, and a knight. He looked about frantically for any move to stop that knight, but nothing could capture it and blocking it would do no good. ?I was doing so good...? A touch of shock held in that tone before a moaning sigh escaped the youth, hand moving to tip over his king. ?Ahrg! What crap luck!?

The older smith settled back, a mildly content expression touching that weary mask. ?Luck 'ad noth'n ta do with that lad. Come back whene'er ye develop a lil' more skill... though I may bae dead a' tha' point.? A lazy grin offered would set the youth to standing.

?Whatever old man, I'll beat you next time!? A mild stretch and scratch, those steely grays casting about before they found what they were looking for. ?Right, going to hit the privy... gods I think we've been at this for over an hour now...? Another stretch before the young man set off for the restrooms leaving the older man alone at the table.

Azures fell back upon the board, gloved hand moving to lift the wining black knight for mild inspection. The boy was pretty good, aggressive and smart, able to think ahead and build traps, good at guiding and leading another. However, he lacked the true spirit of a strategist... the ability to fight against insurmountable odds, to sacrifice when need be, and faith in luck. The smith had to take every piece he'd captured whereas four of his losses had been intentional pushing him into a losing situation that with luck he'd be able to turn around. And it had worked out for him... like so many times in his past. He turned the lone knight between his fingers, azures watching the light where it shone off dark lacquered surfaces. He knew that such luck wouldn't last, that one day his recklessness would cost him his life. It had already cost him as it was...

Thin lips turned down into a mild frown as he shook the philosophical thoughts from his mind, that knight set down upon the table once more. That swatch of black cloth would be taken up again and set over the completed game though nothing would impale through the hole made. A stretch and he'd amble off for the exit to find another tavern to fetch a drink which to whet his thirst with... preferably one that his idiot apprentice wouldn't spoil if he was quick enough on his departure.

* * * * *

?Whew, I feel lighter now... Petar?? Trevor looked about the commons as he exited the restroom, form moving back over to the table which they'd played at. A frown found those young features as he saw not hide nor hair of the lumbering smith nor any indication of where they went.

?That bastard left me behind!? Hands flew up in an annoyed gesture as he made that observation, a curse bit back as despite how aggravating this was it wasn't actually all too surprising. He looked over at the shrouded chest set, a hand moving to uncover pieces once more. Steely grays looked over the wooden game once more, mind playing out what moves he could remember that lead to that sudden end. That frown only grew, finally blossoming into a sneer as he knocked over the remaining black knight.

?Lucky old grump...? The dark cloth was dropped on the chess set once more as the youth stormed out of the inn.

The artist was prone to random polyphasic sleep cycles driven by the pace of her work, and it was after one of those awakenings that fluttered her eyelids open with sudden inspiration that she left the room she'd been staying in with decreasing frequency and stole down the stairs. The Inn rested in a rare, slim pocket of solitude, the time during which the artist imagined it righted itself from the previous night's unfolding dramas for the coming of the day that already curled fingers of peeping-tom sunlight over the edges of the window sills.

She was on her way to the coffeepot, spinning the cap on her thermos back and forth out of habit. The metal thermos had seen better days--better lifetimes, even--but it was one of the few relics from her past that she'd carried with her. Its scratches and dings held sentiment that she smoothed her fingers over the way one rubbed a worry stone kept deep in a pocket. The thermos accompanied her like a flask accompanied so many others here: a talisman, a quick ward against the bubble of surreality that seemed to lift, shimmering, from the worn floorboards of the Inn at will.

The table arrested her steps, and she moved in for a closer look. The artist collected visuals like some women collected jewelry, smoothed their fingers over glittering facets with regal satisfaction. Her hand hesitated over what, on closer inspection, defined itself as a black t-shirt tossed to the floor. She lifted it to deposit it in the lost and found and, in its lifting, a faint scent arose: familiar but distantly so, just a wisp of memory. When she saw the chess pieces in the passing of her gaze, she folded the t-shirt distractedly over the back of a nearby chair, instead, her mind already working to puzzle out the game that had transpired before and caught on the replaced queen that stood out among the others.

She studied the board with her lower lip pinched like a bud between two long fingers, half-moons of clay dried beneath unpainted nails. She had never been good at chess. The man she called father taught her, but she always got distracted by the pieces themselves, archaic knights and bishops in ivory and onyx that caught the light from the fire and tucked it in shadows of painstakingly hand-carved detail. Some games were won more easily in life than others, and it was often best to choose opponents wisely. But even then, there were times when Fate chided with laughter at the pretense of control.

"Shāh Māt!" her father would say, his words clipped with delight at the desert dry utterance of antiquity. It was a pleasant memory tethered to a more painful one, which made for a smile that was bittersweet as she righted the pieces to their proper places, taking long moments to study the carvings of each. Upon the dark matron she lingered the longest. The feel of it her hand had its own brand of ancient darkness, and she was quick to deposit it behind the wall of pawns and brush her hands of whatever lingering magic it held.

She had beaten her father only once, and it was not to the accompanying crackle of the fire or its dance of light over the pieces, but in the grotesque glare of fluorescent lighting, with IV poles dripping tangled plastic tubes and insistent beeps and pings that beat a staccato baseline in the terrible, disjointed music of slow death.

"Shāh Māt" she said then, but the way she said it was soft with defeat. There were some moments in life when victory had no glory.

The sun slid into the Inn in fits and starts at first and then with widening shafts of light that spilled over the chessboard. The artist pushed the white pawn--second from the right edge of the board, the one that stood guard before the knight--forward slowly with tender remembrance before she went on her way. The coffee pot was forgotten in her haste to exit into the flood of daylight.

A crackling of electricity accompanied by a pulsating bluish light suddenly exists within the interior of the Red Dragon Inn. That special portal from another realm opens and brings nobody else to the infamous establishment other than the tall and proud Norse Viking ... Shylah Vulpecula.

It just so happens that Shy visits the Inn of Olde when not a single soul in the commons area is around. Of course it is a deliberate act on her part. She likes it that way, especially when she is about to commit a crime.

What is her offense? The same one that somebody else has already done ... switch the Queen chess piece for a different one. Apparently she and another think alike. Whether that is good or bad is for others to judge. And she knows they will.

With a wolfish smile Shy plucks up the white queen and slips it into her breeks pocket. The new piece is fished out from a small red velvet pouch and placed onto the chessboard in the appropriate spot ... servat regina colorem!

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It was that time between night and day where there is not yet any light, but there is no longer the stranglehold of dark, either. Just where night gives up its last breath for the breaking of dawn, that was when the thief slipped into the Red Dragon Inn.

No one was there; this is exactly what she wanted. A quiet drink in the dead zone of the night. With an ice-cold brew in her hand she idly moved amongst the tables, and then there was the moment of discovery. Pausing, she eyed the table with its chess pieces, her head tipped to the left as she considered them.

The white queen was lovely and strong looking with her bad *** sword and shield, which brought a smile to the mouth of the elf. When she caught sight of the black queen, though, the thief hissed out a word that was very, very naughty in the Drow language. A matron sat there. Squinting at the figures, she studied the Two Knight defense, and a sense of reckless daring possessed her. She decided it was time for the famous Fried Liver Attack. She very precisely set the white knight which had been at f3 to g5, in order to set up for that Attack.

Up to now the creepers had been quiet, but as she put the knight into its new place, they puffed and hissed and in general startled the breath out of her. She jumped back, eyeing up the board as if it had a life of its own. The creepers seemed to be grinning at her. She snarled back at them, and then put more distance between them, climbing up on a handy table to finish off her beer, her eyes never leaving the chessboard. Once she had ascertained that the creepers were not doing much else but hissing now and then she calmed down. Rising from her tabletop, she studied the black Matron once more, though from a distance.

"You'll get yours, my pretty. Oh, yes, you will." With that dire promise delivered, the elf of two bloodlines made her delicate and graceful way out the back alley door once again.

It was not uncommon for Rekah to wake up in random places or for her to just show up somewhere. And sometime in the early hours she opened up a doorway from the wall and bunny hopped into the quiet Inn.

"Huh." She said as she looked around. Everything was in place and that dastardly couch was hibernating. She crossed herself superstitiously and gave the couch a wide berth as she headed towards one of her favorite tables. Rekah leaned over with a huff with the intent to get her hair out of her face. When that didn't work she brushed the braids and tangles back to tuck them behind her ears.

The chess pieces stood as silent sentinels. They stared at her. She stared back and wrinkled up her nose in thought. Minutes ticked by, a wild tumble weed rolled past, and a dust bunny hopped by as she mulled over what to do.

When silence settled over the room again she started to hum and rearrange the pieces across the board paying no mind to the rules or where others had moved pieces. She paused to rummage through her messenger bag, and pulled out a handful of hard candies and some gummy bears, along with some string, a pencil and sprinkles for a cake.

Once the pieces were set up she dropped the hard candies and gummy bears into a pile on the center of the board. Those were arranged in a certain manner. Next she wrapped one of the bishop pieces up in the string then tied it to the leg of the nearest chair.
The cake sprinkles were then tossed on the floor, the table and the chair.

She took a step back with a self satisfied grin, dusted her hands off on her skirt. And with a twirl she bounded back through that doorway to nowhere leaving the pieces on the board spelling out "Rekah" and the gummy bears and hard candies were arranged into 'hearts U'.

So, she left the board like that with "Rekah <3 U" across the black and white squares.

The next move was not too far behind. Rena had watched the board a couple of nights then went home to draw some designs that didn't quite work out so she sent off for some molds to her liking. Not wanting to mold the pieces in the regular black and white, she picked what folks would find in the boxes underneath the table(these were for the taking). She did set out a set of each on the sides though, blue on the left and brown on the right(from the white perspective). The candle pieces would make for interesting play, she thought, along with the sets not being matching.


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In the wee hours of the morning, Ella wandered aimless away from the studio to the Inn where the game of chess was happening. She?d cut out tiny paper hearts and painted them with her blood. The hearts were so tiny they could fit on the pawn pieces of the chess set.

No one was watching, she carefully picked each pawn up and placed a little paper heart on it, a bleeding heart among the candy shrine. Pain in pleasure, it looked like it was some sort of joke, but it wasn?t. She arranged the pieces back on the board as the would if it were a new game, but leaving pieces of the candy on the same square. Oddly enough the candy kept the spelling of the one who was there before.

Each piece wore the blood painted heart. The only one without the heart was the queen. She in her own right was left alone. Ella stared at the pieces. She could smell the blood and taste her tears. Her lips were so dry and her tongue passed over only to feel the bite marks where she wept too long.

Soon she was gone. In the end several small blood painted hearts were strewn over the floor like confetti and even lead up to the stairs and ended at the top of the hallway. ?No one will remember.? She said and vanished down the hallway.

That very night he had discovered the animated insanity that had befallen the chess table. Salvador refused to go anywhere near it until the following morning, however, when the magic had worn off and all the pieces were scattered about in neglected disarray. Even then he was reluctant to touch anything, but somebody had to do it.

Mirages flitted through his vision and whispers tickled his ear drums, memories sifting into his awareness with every piece he touched. And he had to touch every piece this time to put them all in their proper places. He rescued the rooks from the wall, scraping duct tape residue off of their roughly carved and unpolished surfaces. He cut the bishop free of the bit of string binding it to the chair leg. He left the Creeper pieces alone, just because they were looking at him funny, but put all the proper pieces back in place.

First he set the pawns. Then he set the oak pieces up in order from rooks to Viking Queen last. The maple pieces were the last to be restored to harmony. The very last piece he touched was the Matron, and his fingertip may have lingered on her head longer than the rest.

Once all the pieces were set back in their starting positions, he stood looming over the table and examining the arrangement, as if to make sure everything was perfect. He folded one arm over his stomach, resting his opposite elbow in that hand, and touched his fingers to his own chin. The index finger crossed the corner of his mouth while the other three were folded under his chin, thumb along the jawbone. The first finger tapped twice, calculating.

His thoughts were momentarily disrupted by Rekah informing him, "Sal, if I don't return, it's because I was eaten by an oven." She hopped off the bar and bunny hopped into the kitchen.

"Okay," he said, not the least bit concerned about her potential demise.

He shut his eyes a moment and sifted through a hundred memories to find just the right one. Rusty eyes were illuminated, briefly, when he opened them again. A small solar flare in the irises. Finally, he moved two pieces. From the army of white, he moved the second rightmost pawn a single square forward, ahead of the knight. From the army of black, he moved a pawn one square further ahead of the impostor queen, the Matron. He left the board like that, turning to pick his still full mug of coffee up off the adjacent table.

Chaos had descended upon the table in the past twenty-four hours. 'Twas only fitting that order should descend upon it in due time as well.

Childish hands had altered the composition of some pieces.

Furious hands had scattered the lot to the four corners of the room.

On this empty night, when the whole of the city was fully absorbed in revelry and merry-making, no hands at all collected them and put them back where they belonged.

So the question goes: if a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Thus might one wonder likewise, was her arrival preceded by the haunting melody of copper chime? Or did the silver mist creep silently over the hardwood floor?

As pure essence she slithered through the room, collecting the pieces one by one, gathering each one into herself with a sigh. Careless foot traffic and blind happenstance had sent them all on different adventures. She found them under tables, chairs, couches, and curtains. Even the deformed chimeras were swallowed by the ebb and flow of that undulating, glittery cloud.

Once all had been collected, the spirit shriveled into itself, winking out like a light, only to reappear as a light drizzle of silver motes that fell over the black and red checkered table top. Shimmering into being, each piece appeared upon its rightful square, but for the six that had become three. Those settled into place along the fringes of the board to one side. On the other, the Creepers and ribbon were settled neatly, the latter curled sedately around the former.

Silence and calm settled over the Inn. The silver rain ceased. Somewhere a clock chimed the hour, but nothing further stirred.

Except . . . for a specter.

A plain-featured woman of caramel and chocolate coloring, adorned only in a long white slip of a dress, stood looming over the board as if she had been standing there all along. Only a breath of a moment before, however, she had not been there at all. With a quiet, stoic reverence, she reached her small hand toward the center of the board and there in the very center, in the middle join of four red and black squares, she pressed her finger.

Dust motes swirled and shimmered beneath her touch. The particle board crackled and groaned. A sighing breeze filled the room, starting at the woman's bare feet and swirling up her skirts, full of the rich and heady aroma of damp autumn leaves. The energy subsided when she lifted her finger, and on an exhale the ghost of a woman was gone, as if she had never been at all . . .

. . . if not for the presence of the bright red maple leaf stuck to the center of the board, left as evidence of her passing.

That Sivanna Cyredghymn had worn black that afternoon was no surprise. Long before she committed herself to the god of the invisible moon, Nuitari, she had considered it her signature color. The vest, boots and slacks chosen were all designed for utility and travel, and were austere, stiffly unremarkable things that fit far too appropriately on her slender form. Were third-party judgment based strictly on her mannerisms and demeanor, her only feminine saving grace might have been the thin, champagne-colored locks tickling her chin, or the mismatched teardrop necklace she wore, swinging uncomfortably at her collar with each purposeful step up the porch. The jewel, chafing her skin though it was, was something long since forgotten, subjected to benign neglect rather than active purge. It was rarely considered, but never removed, and though she touched it often, it was always for reasons she could never fathom.

One foot halfway into the establishment, the cleric had to remind herself why she had come. Muscle memory had brought her there, in spite of the unseasonably warm weather and obnoxious traffic en route. The rain from the previous day had dried up save for a few puddles, but the threat of more still hung in the atmosphere so thickly the humidity was quite nearly palpable. The venture to Red Dragon Inn was for an errand, she decided. There was a pouch of silver hanging at her waist, she'd a drink tab longer than she was tall, and the bar was straight ahead. It was no great leap of imagination to ascertain which step to take next. But Elvish senses were keen ones, and almost as soon as she entered the tavern did a familiar scent deter her progress, instead drawing her toward the cluster of furniture nearby. There had been some artful arrangement of figurines on a checkered tabletop set up there. What must have initially been a uniform collection of pieces had been exchanged, marred and molded, and painstakingly glued to form some new activity altogether. Two of the merged pieces caught her interest, but, ever the slave to muscle memory, it was an unremarkable bishop that she reached for.

It felt warm. She cradled the piece delicately for several long moments, her pale fingers artfully memorizing every dimple and cleft in the meticulously carved wood. But the details were weighted all wrong, far too hollow and faceless to eke out the meaning she both craved and didn?t.

Seconds passed, and by some renewed compulsion her eyes lost focus as she inspected the piece more closely. The scent was unexpectedly old, its inherent spicy fragrance diluted with far too many hands and pockets. It was a metallic and fleetingly familiar smell, but not at all an unpleasant one, and briefly the cleric let the wood rest against her lower lip in thought?a moment stolen when the door to the Inn swung open loudly, jarring her into dropping the item. Noticeably discomfited by the tingling, static imprint the thing left on her fingers, she collected the piece quickly and replaced it in an unintentionally imperfect position half-shared with a rook. Fortunately the feeling ebbed just as quickly, taking with it any significance the item or the board may have saddled her with in a previous life.

Compelled again, this time by amusement, the cleric deigned to pick up an alternate piece, nudging an opposing pawn forward to leave the king exposed. Though certain she?d never played, the game felt familiar, even if the board or its pieces hadn?t. Beside the king the Matron smiled gruesomely, no doubt willing the rules to be bent in her favor until every other challenger was dead.

Not long after, with fees tilled and tab closed, the cleric stole back toward the entrance, this time with purpose. She afforded one last glance to the board and its components, both of which were now being inspected by another pair of patrons speaking in tongues very much foreign to her. The older of the two gestured to the impressive amalgamation of glued pieces and laughed before waving his friend off with a casual ?Adios.?

As she left the Inn and made for her mount, his haunches piled high with parcels well equipped for a long but finite journey ahead, something in Sivanna prompted audible repetition of that word, though she had not an inkling of what it meant.

Regardless, she knew no one in Rhy?Din. Who was there to say it to?

Apparently, the community had grown bored with the chess table. What was there left to do when a chunk of the pieces were missing, having been transformed into something else? Salvador reflected on this Monday morning. He had come in when no one else was about, having turned a chair around to sit in it entirely the wrong way and rest his chin on his arms atop the back while staring at the mess before him.

Everything contained within it a secret, he knew. All he had to do was reach out and touch something. The three conjoined pieces, however, disturbed him. He expected gleaning the history of those objects, probably laced still with whatever magic had made them, would give him a headache, or worse. So he left them alone. The Creeper pieces just looked like a practical joke waiting to go wrong; he didn't trust them either. Mega Chessitron, however, made him smile. Only Cianan...

Soon enough his peaceful and silent contemplations were interrupted by the arrival of other bodies. This was to be expected at the Red Dragon Inn, though. He couldn't be upset about it. One did not go to the bar to seek silence and serenity.

He would have been content to ignore the lot of them as they came in, if not for the fact that at least one of them took it upon himself to talk to him. She was a strange creature, for a human. "Having a bit of strategic struggle, hmm?" she asked, from the bar.

He heard Anatolios say, "Salve," noting his arrival a bit delayed. Surprising the dimpled prick had sounded so cheery, instead of hissing or growling at him as per usual. That earned the man a polite nod in response, but Salvador reserved his words for the woman, saying, "Something like that."

Oh how little did anyone know.

Salvador observed while Anatolios fetched himself a drink and went to lounge by the hearth, mostly listening to him move. His eyes settled back on the board in short time. He would have been content to leave it at that, but the woman was persistent. Over the scratching noise of charcoal on paper, she fished for further conversation. "I do hope chess doesn't effect you as it does for me," she called back out. "It never likes me... The only game that I just can't solve...."

He grunted, and gave his head a slight shake in the negative. "Nah. I like chess," he muttered. "It's relaxing. Well..." He lifted his chin off his arms and turned one hand out, palm up, to indicate the mess that sat before him. "When it's not like this, anyway." He turned his arm to rest his elbow in the hand of the opposite arm, then set his chin in his upturned hand, adopting a more traditional Thinker's pose.

"I never said I didn't like it, so much as I can't figure it out..." She lifted her chin with a tilt of her head to the right, a grin coming to her lips with a slight sheen to her eyes. "I still would like to learn. It seems as though you, yourself, are stumped... or perhaps taking a liking to puzzling over messy chess pieces..."

She was wrong about him, of course. Another one of those people trying too hard to get to know him, making assumptions about what might be going on in his head. He was hardly half as complictated as people wanted to make him out to be.

He gave the chess board a crooked smile in contemplation. Pulling his hand away from his chin, he pointed out the group of three pieces made from six joined together in twos. "These don't belong," he said, not daring to actually touch them. Then his finger tipped over to indicate the enormous bundle of other pieces glued together to look like a giant. "Nor this." That one, however, made him smile just the teeniest bit. Pulling his hand back to his chin, he rubbed his jaw. "I'm going to have to make new ones," he mused aloud.

"That looks like a prank gone haywire," she said. Her fingers worked at the picture she was drawing. "Try holding still," she added. That and the scratching noise of her instruments was a clear indication that she was using him as a model.

He shrugged, muttered, "People get bored." He didn't fault them for having a little fun. He wouldn't have left the pieces, or glued down the board, if he expected them not to get vandalized in one way or another. Rusty eyes turned so that he could peer at the woman through his peripherals for a second, but other than that he remained still as requested. Well, except for the brief moment where he breathed a quick laugh. Good thing his elbow was propped on something. Easier to hold himself up by the chin that way. Not the first time he's posed for somebody either, so in that moment he was a statue.

She bent over her canvas, and gave a little light chuckle. "If it isn't to much of a burden for a strategist like yourself... And if you aren't to busy," she added with humor coloring her tone. She worked swiftly, finished the last stroke, and smearing shade that created the mess of hair on his head before walking over to him and offering a kind smile. Placing the book open in front of him, and setting her free hand on her hip, she said, "You can move now."

"I've got nowhere to be," he mumbled offhandedly. Nothing better to do. He moved before she gave him permission, though, tipping his head slowly to catch her in his sights as she moved closer. His eyes were more set on the open book she put in front of him than her, however. His hand lowered away from his chin and that arm settled atop the other as before. Giving her sketch a thorough looking over, he nodded a few times, and said, "S'good." He didn't smile. Art didn't make him all warm and fuzzy inside, sorry to say. He could, however, appreciate her skill.

"Take it. It's not first class." She still presented a freindly smile while she removed the page delicately with a tear that parted it from the bundle of white parchment. "And I really do think you should be more careful with sets like these. The public is not as kindred."

"Ah..." Here he lifted his hands, palms facing out in a kind of surrendering posture. He leaned away from the back of the chair and eyed the sketch with some manner of trepidation. "That's... No thank you. Really. Keep it." He wasn't at all comfortable with the idea of even touching the sketch. His arms folded loosely over his torso, then, and his eyes tipped to regard the board too. "I can always make more," he said. He didn't really care all that much about their fate.

"You don't seem to be as lazy as I am. I would do all in my power to ensure these wouldn't get... mistreated. Of course, I'm not you." She lifted a shoulder, the grin growing a bit awkward as she arranged the pieces on the board.

This woman was quite odd. He did not move to help her; only watched, with a slightly puzzled knit to his brows. "I'm not sure what you mean," he murmured. And really, he didn't. She was awfully confusing.

"I mean, I wouldn't work on another set of pieces to a chess board if there were ways of removal for the ones that were damaged, or messed with. Of course... there needs to be additions to this set. The black queen is missing..." She tapped the space while tucking a lock of tangled brown mess over her ear, to no avail of it remaining there as it cascaded back to its position blocking her view.

"I know," he said. "Someone switched her out." He tilted sideways, marginally, in his chair, and pointed at the more elaborately carved black figurine. The Matron. "The white one too," he pointed out, again with a finger as well, indicating the even more elaborately carved Viking Queen. Still somewhat puzzled by her line of thinking, he refolded his arms and shrugged again. "Pieces get lost." That was in the very nature of the game too. It happened.

"I suppose..." She gave a little shrug, and snapped the sketch book closed, albeit loudly with an apologetic smile upon packing it away and retreiving a small black case. She popped it open, and grabbed the longest piece of the body, while the other hand fit the head to one end. She carefully put the instrument together.

With quite a lot of confounded curiosity, he watched her put together whatever the hell contraption she was putting together. The woman was making his brain disconnect by this point. What in God's name was she doing? "Uh," he said smartly. "They're hand made." Of course they wouldn't be like any pieces she'd ever seen before. They weren't factory issue. He had carved them himself!

The woman smiled a bit, and placed her mouth over the hole at the head, blowing lightly as a sound light and lovely rang from the instrument. "A flute," she said in response to his questioning gaze. Amusement was evident in her tone and eyes as she gazed at him only breifly, playing a cooling tune that was meant to caress the ear with her talents.

He only looked at her strangely and said, "Ah." At least he had a name for the musical contraption now. Funny. That actually was one of those things he hadn't ever before seen up close and in person. What rock had he been living under? One that also hadn't taught him any manners of proper introductions or how to talk to a lady, clearly, because he still hadn't bothered to ask her name or supply her with his own.

Another woman had moved into his peripherals, and he was grateful to her for being a curious distraction. "Is this your game?" she asked, a song-bird's lilt from the petite woman that threaded the air as it wound towards him.

He pulled his attention off of the strange flute-playing and portrait sketching girl to look at the other woman nearby when she pitched her question. He only looked at her briefly before fixing his gaze back on the mess of the game, and shrugged. "I put the board on there and made--" Not all the pieces. He had to pause to stop himself for taking credit for what hadn't been his own design. "I made these." He pointed out the roughly carved pale wooden bishop to indicate the lot of oak and maple pieces. "Suliss took the black queen," he added, pointing out the doppleganger Matron. "Shy..." He knew she was in here somewhere. He could hear her voice. He lifted his head to look up and around, to place her.

There she was, tucked into her favorite booth. Hearing her name, she smiled ever-so-prettily at him from across the room. "Ja?"

He tipped a finger at her first, but then turned his hand up in a staying gesture and shook his head. "Nothing." Looking back at the curious woman, he said, "She took the white queen." And thusly saying pointed out the Viking Queen that had replaced her.

For her rather abrupt interruption, the woman beamed a vaguely apologetic smile even as she turned away for the door. "I like it." That was all from the introspective artist. Nothing profound, just a few words of humble praise accompanying the widening of a smile more secretive than before. Then she vanished beyond the door.

I like it was enough to get the vaguest little smile out of him, though. He watched the other woman leave, and when she was gone he looked back at the table, whereupon he saw the sketch of himself looking at him. He frowned at it. He noted the signature. Maybe even committed it to memory. But he still did not offer up his own name.

Standing up, he pulled the chair away from the table, spinning it around on one leg until it faced the table like it should, but he set it aside a moment so he could kneel down and dig through the boxes underneath. There were candles under there, molded to the shape of chess pieces. He dug out some replacements for the pawns, rook, king, and knight that had been sacrificed to form the chimera beasts on the side of the board. For now, wax would do as stand-ins. He set them on their appropriate squares, and then picked up Mega Chessitron and set it on the seat of the chair he had once occupied before pushing it against the table. Then he picked up his coat off the back of the adjoining chair and slipped it back on.

He turned, glancing over barefoot girl, Viking and friend, and Anatolios. Without any hesitation whatsoever, he then prowled over to a booth and crawled inside, leaving it at that.


__________________________________________________
(Taken from live play dated 5-12-14, 10:32 starting time stamp, with thanks to
Ashlynn Cromer, NorseLady, Anatolios, and Senna, as well as to everyone who
has made a contribution to this story so far. Keep 'em coming!)

The gate which deposited him was subtle; silent and without ado he stepped sideways from the Market to the Inn. His gaze level, he silently scanned the patrons as a hand drifted down onto a nearby tabletop. Metal capped fingertips clinked against seeming refuse, before his gaze lowered to encompass the chess board - atypical a rendition as it was. Slowly glancing for any patrons that might be using it, he sat with elbows straddling the board and hands steepled to support his chin as he leaned in. His eyes still sought to make sure he wasn't interrupting someone?s game, but more and more lingered on the board itself.

Particularly, the Knights - specifically those rendered in wax; the two other Knights which stood to the sidelines were left unmolested.

One by one, he reached down and gathered up the Knights into the palm of his hand. "This is a bad idea," he muttered softly to himself. "Atticus..." One by one, he held the pieces up between thumb and forefinger, muttering quietly to it before a small gateway would open over the board and vacuum from within would draw the single piece in, while he muttered a word.

Prime. Negazarcugis. Alluvius. Nosgoth.

After finishing the act and the litany, he dropped his head again to his steepled hands, and lost himself for a moment longer in thought.

His head canted up sharply, eyes waxing brilliant blue orbs that seemed lit from within, "Come out... come out... wherever you are..." His addiction to his Myriad was waxing along with his eyes, which were now being altered by its power so that they allowed him to view places both distant, and elsewhere.

Some would perceive this as madness.

It was.

He again looked towards the chessboard, and frowned. There was something wrong with it. Right for chess, but, wrong with what he felt the game represented. The border along the edge of the board, directly behind where the Knights would be default stationed now drew his attention fully and he raised a hand, thumb seeking to scrape the border away with one of the blue-black Talons that were slowly descending his forearm to his fingertips. Thought the Knight pieces were now gone, who knows where, used in some archaic ritual no doubt, you could at least now summon... "Reinforcements."

The markings he had made behind the Knights default squares were vaguely reminiscent of... Gateways.

Just as suddenly as it had been occupied, the chair at the chess board was empty again. Kaius was gone, with just as little aplomb as his arrival had held. The only thing left to mark his passage were the subtle alterations to the board - which all the pieces that had been taken off the board before his arrival were now placed beside, indiscriminately for White or Black. Among those pieces were two new ones, both armored, one white, one black - each holding a sword blade point down, with a flower engraved and stylized to be growing from each hilt; a black flower from the white figure, and vice versa.

Each of the Knights he had left stood beside their mate in color, for now off the grid.

He only had the occasional glimpse of what was supposed to be a chessboard on the rare occasions, and he had to admit. It was a glorified mess. There was so much oddity to see it was wondrous! He couldn't help the fleeting glances over the peculiar items people had left in the wake of the game, and any of the other strange devices. Even though he himself never played the game, he found it amusing none the less to watch it spiral into madness!
Lips played a soft smile, each corner tugged upwards to reveal a glimmer of the pearly gates beneath soft flesh, as eyes of a warm glowing gold washed over the sea of typical Rhydin madness with a sigh suddenly pushed past the gates and into the free air. A bed of thick blonde swept over his face for a brief moment as he ducked down to peer closer at the various devices, all of which were so shiny and attractive, he could have pinched them there and then! But he was here for a different reason!

Three items were hugged close to his chest.

One was fuzzy and lightly brown. The other was crisp white stained with crayon-filled colours of a seemingly rampant child's imagination. And the last was a smaller, much darker piece of fine wood, but not fine craftsmanship.

The first was set down beside the board, the largest of all free and definitely the pinnacle of the gifts. A toy, a stuffed version of a mouse, sat sullen and alone by the board with lifeless limbs drooped down like furry spaghetti.
The second was a card, hand-made as though by a toddler, it was scribbled with various words, but the main icon on it was the drawing, a rough attempt at two people, one short and blonde, with golden eyes and smiling, beside a rather dark-looking chap, dark brown hair and a straight line on his face. You can guess who that was! The words that bore into the thin card on the first page when opened were:

I'm sorry. I should not have done the silly things. Hope you forgive me. J. Beside the sentence was a crude heart, a cute clich? to end the message.

And lastly, the third was beside the board, undecided on which side to take but obviously it was a piece for chest, despite it's roughness. It seemed to take the form of a small mouse, whiskers hewn into the side of either cheek, with a rather sharp pointed nose and ears for its face. But he tried, and he hoped it was appreciated.

He pulled back when the gifts were laid bare, and smiled happily, arms curled tightly around his chest, inspecting his work proudly before wandering back out. Never turning back.

His morning had started off well enough. The day before had been even better, in its ways, but left to his own devices he eventuallly found himself back at the Inn. He had yet to get his own coffee maker, and he missed its disgusting pick-me-up. Therefore, he came with the intention to get himself a mug.

Anatolios found him there, and they had a wonderfu conversation in which they made terrible, evil schemes together.

Then he noticed the chess table.

The coffee machine was sputtering to the end of its cycle when his eyes caught on the sight of the awful, horrible plush creature sitting dejectedly among the rest of the chaos. His brows drew together, and he frowned thoughtfully. The sight of it was so disturbing, that he abandoned the man to better company (Cameron had arrived) and made his way over to investigate at close proximity.

There was a big fuzzy, stuffed thing sitting on top of the chess table like a sore. Salvador glowered at it, because his first thought was that some loathesome child had been messing with his things. He hadn't ever cared about who might tamper with the pieces and the board before, but he did not like children much. He pushed out of his lean and stalked out from behind the bar with the solitary purpose of grabbing up the plush mouse and tossing it in the fire, but he stalled when he saw the card. His reaching hand moved for that and snatched it up instead.

Baffled and perhaps slightly horrified, he looked at the awful picture drawn on the card. Then he slipped his thumb between the folds and propped it open to read the words scrawled on the interior. After that, he looked down at the teddy mouse for ten terribly long seconds. With a great deal of hesitation, he reached out to touch the plush thing's head with just his fingertips. Rusty eyes flared with light for a second, and he instantly withdrew his hand as if the stupid little thing were on fire. "He can't be serious," he muttered.

Behind him, he heard Cameron chuckle. After a moment, he quietly said, "I do believe
your friend is upset."

"What is wrong, Salvador?" asked Anatolios

Salvador turned, teeth bared in disgust, to look at the pair of them. He held the card up by his head and gave it a shake, wishing it were a neck to wring instead of a scrap of blank card stock with an infantile drawing on its front. In fact, he crumpled it. "He left me . . . a teddy bear." It was a mouse, not a bear, but still. Who does that!?

And Cameron, ever the helpful sort: "Want me to kill him for you?" he asked, pale blue eyes slitted, but smiling.

Salvador drew back his chin, looking at Cameron as if that were the most ridiculous thing anyone could ever suggest, insulted."No? Tch. If anyone's going to kill him, it's going to be me." He looked aside and sneered at the teddy mouse. Then he marched straight for the kitchen.

He heard Anatolios laughing. The man snorted, too. He was such a good friend. "Let me eat his eyeballs!" he called out to Salvador when he passed into the kitchen. "At least let me have that!"

"You can have them!" he called back, snarling through the door. He added a mutter: "Probably make you sick to your stomach anyway." There was some clattering, clamoring, cussing out the Stew, and then Salvador returned from the kitchen with a long carving knife.

He took that with him back to the table, and clutched it by the blade between his teeth as he stood there. He folded the card in half, inside out so that the picture was hidden and the words were bare. He turned it so that he could write just one word on blank side opposite Jak's heartfelt little apology with the stub of a pencil he had in his pocket. Sal's word
was "idiot" without any punctuation or capitalization, all lower case.

When he was finished, he shoved the pencil back into his pocket, took the knife in one hand and grabbed the stuffed mouse up by one of its gangly arms, and then turned about to march up the stairs. He passed right by Thorn without so much as a hello. Oh man. He was angry.

He came to a stop right outside the door he remembered had been Jak's, and assuming it still was...THUNK. He nailed the teddy mouse to that door with the carving knife, pinning the note to the plushie's belly through the dot of the second I of his own message.

A moment later, he came prowling back down the stairs, satisfied.

Upon his triumphant return, he moved back to the chess table. There remained the matter of the little, horribly amateurish wooden figurine. There was much less ire in his expression when he stared at it, thoughtfully. After a few long seconds, he picked it up and slipped it in his pocket. He'd keep that. That was okay. And then. Then! He prowled over to invade Thorn's personal space.

Once again, everything else on the table was left for someone else to marvel over.


____________________
(Taken from live play, 5-22-14.)

A piece of both light and dark. Lay on the floor now with the many other scattered pieces. But unlike those pieces this one had more "life" to it. The moment it hit the floor it whirled abound tumbling under any near by tables, to land standing up.

The piece that resembled a queen stood there. Such an ornate piece.

Its form was that of an elven woman, in robes of black and white. Eyes of silver looked nearly alive. She held in her right hand four small gem stones. One of blueish-green, one of emerald, one of amethyst and one that was pale blue like an aquamarine but shone nearly gold when the light touched it. The Allied Kingdoms. Edhel Ndor, Sim'Tahl, Crendia and Nosgoth. The figure also held another little item in her up raised left hand. It looked to be a very small representation of another ally. Rhydin.


Those eyes that looked so alive seemed to glow. If there were any about the inn to note it, they might see a tiny glow coming from the piece. Then suddenly up it rose. Floating of its own accord.

Slowly it floated back to the side lines of the chess board. There on the outskirts of the checked board the piece sat itself down once more. Before the piece the red and black squares of the board were blank.

The queen stood alone, unprotected. But only for a breath. With in that small upraised hand those small gems began to glow. And slowly around the queen in her black and white robes, there would appear a knight, a dragon, a mage, and an archer. Each piece represented a true chess piece. The knight stood cast in mithral a warrior on a horse. Ready to protect and serve. The archer stood as the rook piece. A guardian. Another piece cast in the silver of the elves, in the form of a female archer, with a wondrous bow.

The mage stood as the bishop piece. To heal, to give wisdom. Once more cast in mithral. The form was that of an female elven mage holding a clear round crystal in on up raised hand. The dragon stood as the King. Lord and ruler, powerful. It stood to the side of the queen piece. Once more cast of elven silver. A silver dragon with blue gem stone eyes, that looked fierce protecting the set queen. There were no signs of pawns though. Just the queen, her dragon king, their knight, their archer, and their mage. They stood side by side.

Seems that one piece wouldn't be so easily dismissed. Now it sat with reinforcements. All watching, all waiting.

There is a mess on the floor, a thing of rubble. It is noticed that pieces have been moved and replaced. They are not necessary for this next trick. Each one is placed to the side of the board. There are even slips of paper with them, marking their positions so that they can be put back where they belong if someone wishes. They are not needed right now. Not part of this punchline.

Instead, new pieces appear. They are normal chess pieces from a new set, very well made. Black marble and white alabaster they are, their heads topped in gold. Pawns and kings: two kings, five white pawns, three black. They are arranged rather specifically:

http://i.imgur.com/gfF3kAW.png

A piece of paper is perched on the table in front of the board. It simply reads: White to move.

Long story short....

Nobody had bothered with the "joke" that had been left behind. One piece had been moved in entirely the wrong way, but other than that it had gone ignored.

Then, one fine afternoon, Jackie VonTombs came in to harass Sal. He had been sitting at the chess table puzzling over the placement of the pieces for quite some time. Then he had been distracted by Thorn. And then Jackie and her friend. She and Izumi talked him into agreeing to go on some kind of adventure at some point, but it hadn't been this day, because during the conversation Jackie had decided to idly set up the board.

Salvador could never resist a game.

After putting all the hodge podge collection of motley pieces into some semblance of order on their starting squares, the girl had begun the game. Then she cut out of him in the middle of the battle and left it to Cianan to take up the fight.

Salvador had played black. The drow had done admirably for being a beginner, and for having picked up mid-game. But in the end the drow had lost.

The end result had been left on the table with the white king tipped over in acknowledge of defeat. And now... the board sits like this.

http://i252.photobucket.com/albums/hh9/ehzoterik/silly/jack_cici_endgame.png

Waiting to be arranged and played again.

______________________________________________
(( I'm always willing to indulge in a game in live play, provided I'm not otherwise occupied. To do this I rely on one of two tools. Either engaging me in a game on chess.com, or by knowing how the pieces move well enough to be described in live play and edited using this tool. The above image was created using the latter. ))

A rather long arrival and possibly hilarious set of words and circumstances preceded Teshid finding himself inside the Inn, where he could make contact with the chess board and its mythical contents. Regardless, when the amount of time had passed he jumped on the opportunity to head that way.

As he made his way inside, he saw the chess set and Icer. As he offered his own little greeting to the Dragoness he heard Salvador commenting on the chess set, ?Yes. If I can find the right wood again.?

Teshid set off through the whirlwind of people and their complex problems to find the chess board, and he managed it after only a few moments of being berated by voices and emotion. A woman emerged from the restroom, upset. A man and another woman were discussing something, heatedly. Salvador and his companion were drinking beer, while Icer snooped towards them. All these things were happening, but he had found his goal and settled before it.

He searched through the pieces, until he found one that was something and something else all at once. Something wrong, so to speak. A pair of pawns fused together in a horrible mishmash from which they might have never returned. Teshid took this piece in both hands and closed them around it. He settled in, and began to whisper words of rebirth and regrowth to the wood.
Around him, people had appeared and entered into the argument with the man at the bar. He gave and received, but after a while a number of people left and the few that remained were sharing a tense silence.

None of that mattered, while the two pieces began to grow and twist out. The tiny crackling of the branches together, the leafy shields and pieces of armor growing in tiny little bushes out of the shapes bending into place, all this coming together to form the two new footsoldiers.

The man seemed to have lost his argument, and he went upstairs. The woman arguing with him left as well, however, so he may have actually won. Salvador and his companion were being assaulted by Icer.

The important thing, here, however, was that Teshid?s work was nearly completed. The two little soldiers were finished being breathed into life, and he gave them their orders. When given the command, they would fight for their King. They would cut down (as best they could with blunted little tree swords) their enemies, leaving them beaten and bloodied (more accurately, knocked to the side) before claiming their place. They would grow into whatever piece they were ordered to if they?d reach the other side of the board, and grow back into themselves when checkmate was declared.

A Minotaur entered at this point, and Teshid became a little distracted. Luckily, however, he had finished his work and he was quite proud of it. The man that had won his argument came back downstairs and left, followed quickly by another woman. The Minotaur was drinking out of a bucket, as far as he could tell, and this was incredibly interesting to watch. He did, however, have to make note of the fact that the room had so effectively cleared while he was busy.

"Did something happen while I was away?" He didn't ask anyone in particular, but his eyes did catch Rei's watching him. Surprisingly enough, he replied. ?Think some folks had words. Don't know why.?

"Oh." He pondered for a moment. "How sad for them. Well, I feel pretty much done."

He'd accomplished so much, there was barely anything left for him to worry about.

A couple of days ago, the board was reset.

All the mismatched, motley pieces and the board were dusted, polished, and the pieces put on their starting positions.

A fresh, new game awaits.