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Monster Maker

Tales and Truth - Zaurok Edition

Zauroks in the 21st Age can be found in every Plane and can be considered one of the most diverse and liberal communities in the world. Apart from their striking appearances, traditional Zauroks are nudists, polyamorous and posses a strong loyalty towards personal freedoms. It will not be hard to find a Zaurok to be greatly affectionate with a rather blaise approach to sex. All of this, however, comes from a rather dark history that forged them into the species and community that we know today.

During the Third Age, known as the Age of Towers, magic was just newly discovered by the mortal races of every Plane. Even the citizenry of The Great Mystery, were just starting to unravel the mysteries of their the Plane of Magic. This was an Age were a variety of wizards and magic-users started exerting their influence upon the world. Mage Guilds and organizations built around some for of magic - whether to restrict or encourage it - were developed. Lone geniuses in their craft influenced planar history with their great deeds.

This was also where the idea of ‘inherited magical talent’ started gaining great prominence. Those learned in the subject quickly realized that people who had at least one magical parent also inherited some of said parent’s magical potential. Of course, as we know now, this is not due to some innate magical ability that is passed through blood but simply a case of that individual being brought up in an environment where magic was abundant. Even if an individual is abandoned by said parent, any use of the parent’s innate magical skill would be somewhat absorbed by the offspring while in the womb.

Since this fact was thus far unknown to the people of the Planes, all sorts of people from the greatest of wizards, highest or royalties or just anyone with the means would craft great plots and schemes to breed or even absorb magic into themselves to heighten their power. More than one individual or organization took this to the extreme and conducted experiments that could only be considered ‘Arcane Eugenics’.

One of the most notorious examples was the creation of the Zauroks.

Created by the Lich Xerinicia, the Zauroks was an attempt by the Lich to breed the hardy Orcs that had ventured into the Deadlands with Dragons. At this time, the barriers between the Planes were still extremely strong and planar travel was very limited. So when an Orc or even a Dragon appeared in the Deadlands, it was extremely rare. Xerinicia saw them all as an extremely rare commodity and appreciated the Orcs’ hardy physiques and the Dragons’ elemental affinities as well as their innate magical abilities.

Let us remember that despite common misconception, the Deadlands is not the polar opposite of The Great Mystery. It is not a land devoid of magic. Rather the Deadlands has it’s own form of magic which is the polar opposite of The Great Mystery. Where magic in most other Planes is about generating some form of energy or interaction, the Deadlands is the complete and utter absence and nullification of other forms of energy. Yes, this even includes the ‘energy’ of life. When an Orc or Dragon crossed into the Deadlands, their remaining life force would start draining as the very Plane aggressively began consuming their very energies.

Returning to Xerinicia, she was considered one of the most vain and opulent of Liches. Though far from the most powerful, her penchant for extravagance and inclination to inflate her own importance gave her a rather nefarious reputation as someone who would do anything to improve her social standing. ‘Collecting’ was a past time of hers and she was often seen picking through the discarded trash from other Planes and outright lying about their use or importance to make it sound like she had acquired something of extreme value.

People and living mortals was one of them.

Preserving her collection of mortals exacted a heavy toll on her wealth and the Orcs and Dragons she did manage to capture would wither away by merely being in the Deadlands. She recognized that while the Orcs had the physical strength and hardiness to survive in the Deadlands, they did not have the necessary magical prowess to resist the degrading effects the environment presented. Similarly, while powerful in their own way, a Dragons’ sensitivity to the elements and the lack of said elements in the Deadlands sapped them of strength.

Seeking a way to preserve her collection so she could continue to boast about it, she initiated a breeding program between the two species in an attempt to create a species that was as hale and hearty as an Orc but had innate arcane energies that Dragons possessed.

After much trial and error, her results became the Zauroks, half-Orc and half-Dragons. At least that is how she advertised them. In reality, there was extreme genetic and magical tampering on her part to make the two species compatible. Though it is possible to trade the entire Zaurok species to these experiments, their genetic ancestry has been so heavily modified that they are really a species unto themselves artificially created with an Orc and the Dragons as a vague template.

Apart from being only slightly taller than an Orc, they are covered in scales and venomous fangs that are more akin to a snake. Dragons do not have such appendages and only certain subspecies have venom. Zauroks do not possess and horns or wings and are incapable of growing any either. They also possess genital slits and hemipenises whereas both Orcs and Dragons have only one pair of external genitalia for males. Zauroks also breed incredibly fast with the capacity to produce clutches of eggs like a Dragon but the average nine-month incubation period of an Orc.

Her creations did garner some awe from the communities in the Deadlands and the rapid explosion of the Zaurok population quickly earned Xerinicia the moniker ‘Mother of Snakes’. However, no matter what funds or popularity she gained from breeding an entirely new species, the booming Zaurok population was too much for her to control and keep happy for too long. She began selling Zauroks to others in the Deadlands in an attempt to recoup her losses merely feeding her newly created species.

Inevitably, Zauroks rose up in rebellion and managed to fight for their rights in the Deadlands. Their rapid breeding and innate magical resistances gave them the best form of defense and offense against the other species of the Deadlands who tended to be more magically oriented and acted far more deliberately and slowly. A blood war of emancipation was fought but the Zauroks eventually managed to win their independence.

A combination of fast, hit-and-run tactics combined with an extensive breeding program had allowed the Zauroks to forge their own nation of Leviathan. Some say that the homeland of the Zauroks was built on the skeletal remains of their own species that suffered over centuries of enslavement by the other nations of the Deadlands. This is partially true as, in the Deadlands, the power of absence literally crafts new lands just as how new forms of magic creates entirely new motes in The Great Mystery. With so many dead during what is known as the War of the Four Snakes, a new landmass was created and it was here that the Zauroks claimed their new independence.

Xerinicia, ironically never saw the start or the end of the rebellion. By the time she had started to breed Zauroks, she was well into two thousand years old. The creation of an entire species had been her crowning achievement and, as a Lich, when came to the realization that this would be her best contribution to the planes, she began to feel the Calling. It was only a short fifty years later after the first Zaurok was set out into the public that she eventually decided to Answer the Calling and committed her soul back to the Cycle.

One could argue that it was Xerinicia’s passed, who ultimately treated the Zaurok’s fairly and sought to do whatever she could to ensure that they were happy and healthy, that started the rebellions. Even though she was lacking in funds trying to keep up with the Zaurok’s breeding, she never once killed any of them, restricted their breeding or neutered anyone. Yes, she may have sold them off to others in the Deadlands but it could be argued that was only to ensure that those sold were in more comfortable homes that would not be suffering from starvation under her care while simultaneously taking care of the Zauroks within her care.

This, however, is purely conjecture.

All we can say for sure is that while Zauroks were initially a vanity projected created to uplift one Lich’s social status and born from the template of an Orc and Dragon combined, they are so much more than that. They are proof that even in the Plane that is colloquially known as the Plane of Death, life life can spring.

Chapter 5 – Date with a White Orchid

Morning rituals for Elders were very different from most mortals. This was especially true for those Elders who lived in the Central Material Plane or their non-Elder partners. For the unprepared, simply watching an Elder wake up, bathe, get dressed and even do something as mundane as yawn yoga could have a sudden onset of insanity. After spending decades on the Central Material Plane, Knight Keening had adapted but there were still things that he kept away from prying eyes simply because those eyes might end up exploding, bleeding or spawning fingers from the sheer insanity that showering in the liquid hostility of abyssal madness would bring.

These thoughts prevailed through the lupine Elder’s mind as he stepped out of the custom shower in his suburban home. Essence of midnight dripped from his blue fur and off the tips of his tentacles. Almost every aspect of his home had to be customized for Elder living because his and his son’s very being was so alien to the CMP. While there were certainly similarities, he was fairly sure that the writhing, fleshy tendrils jutting from the walls of his shower each with little, lamprey-like mouths was not a common fixture in modern homes. Those tendrils did leave him feeling clean, though. Those tiny suckers got down to ever strand of fur and every crevasse on his enormous, muscular body.

He had to use a special towel made from fabric woven from the concept of dryness to wipe off the last remnants of midnight from his fur. Even a drop of the jet-black goo that sparkled with the swirl of a galaxy in the local water supply could cause horrific mutations. Sure there were guardrails and failsafes to prevent such an occurrence but he did not want to be the one Elder responsible for transforming all of Sanctuary City into a Cronenberg wet dream. It would not look good on his career as a detective. Once he was dry, he tossed the towel that had the color of sandpaper into a nearby basket. That would need to washed and sterilized later.

Dried, he brought his enormous muscular frame to the nearby mirror. For a moment, he caught a glimpse of the second sink sitting next to him. Why he had ever agreed to having two sinks in his master bathroom was beyond him but apparently it was standard construction on the CMP. It just served to remind him that he was a single father.

Glancing at the mirror that had to be made from glass that had been tempered in the void so that it didn’t shatter at his sight, he quickly styled his hair, brushed his fur and checked the tendrils sprouting from his jawline. A few of said tendrils were growing a little wild so he purposefully retracted them, watching as the wiggled and writhed before shrinking back against his fur. Once he was satisfied with their sight, he proceed to what was perhaps the most mundane part of his morning ritual.

He donned a white singlet that hugged his frame, some white briefs and then a pair of jeans. No shirt yet. That would come after he made breakfast for himself and Salem.

Speaking of his son, he left the master bathroom and entered the hallway in the single family home. One of the three bedrooms was for his office while the other two were bedrooms. The master bedroom sat at one end of the hallway with the others opposite to it. He approached his son’s bedroom door which Salem had decorated with pictures of ‘family crests’. Their ‘project’ at school was to design their own family crest. Salem was currently going through multiple iterations though most of it had some sort of wolf motif.

It pleased Knight that his son had taken a shining to wolves, a species more associated with the CMP. Salem was adapting to the CMP well and consciously trying to fit in. No more accidental slips of using his Elder Voice and driving classmates mad. At least not in the past few months.

Knight knocked gently on his son’s door and pushed the door open lightly. There was a soft moan of protest from beneath the living, bedroom sheets. Salem purposefully turned away from him and the light from the hallway. The bed sheets squirmed and wiggled, the pattern of various phases of the moon shifting as they did so.

“Wake up, my little horror,” Knight said gently. “It’s time for school.”

Salem let out a little cough. “Dad… I think I’m sick. I’ve got the cold…”

That made the detective smile. “Elder can’t get sick. We can’t catch the common cold.”

His son then spun while still staying perfectly horizontal on the bed, pouting at him. It was clear by his sharp eyes, that the boy had been awake for a while and plotting this little lie. “Why not? Everyone is getting it. I want to get sick like everyone else.”

“You can get sick in your own way,” Knight said patiently. “There are things that we can catch that no one else can. But the cold isn’t one of them. Now get up. I’ll make bacon and eggs.”

At that, his son’s ears perked up happily and Salem sat up. “Oooh! Can we have that big chicken bacon from the Savage Lands again?”

He beamed proudly and with a bit of relief. Raptor bacon was significantly cheaper than traditional bacon particularly because the animals they came from were much bigger. They were also leaner which made them good for a growing Elder’s health. Not to mention this was again a sign that Salem was becoming more multicultural and embracing cuisine and cultures from other Planes.

“Sure thing, my little horror. We have plenty.”

“Yay!”

Knight turned, leaving his son’s door open and headed to the kitchen. Using all limbs to his advantage from his three-fingered hands, prehensile, tentacle-like tail and tendrils, he quickly assembled breakfast. The raptor bacon cooked very quickly and he made sure it had a little bit of color left without being like a rock that he could shatter on the walls. Besides that, he prepared some creamy, almost custard-like scramble made from the eggs of a breed of fowl from the Fae Realm.

Salem was ready for him, having dressed and showered by the time he brought the meal over. He switched on the holovid so they had some noise while they were eating, pulling up Salem’s favorite cartoon - an anime straight from the Firmament that spoke in the native tongue. Salem understood it fully and even shouted the main character’s catch phrase as she transformed in the language with perfect pronunciation.

Pride swelled in his chest.

While his son was watching the cartoon, he checked his phone for any messages. It was linked to the SCPD’s Infosphere so he could access his emails from where he stood eating his breakfast. His mood immediately soured when he noticed that there was an email from his commanding officer, Captain Ioel. Apparently the captain wanted to talk about the terrorists that had attacked Harrow’s clinic three days ago.

That could not be good.

Hiding the rising dread in his stomach from his son, he announced it was time to get ready for school as the cartoon finished. He ushered Salem to get dressed in his school uniform while Knight washed the dishes and got dressed himself. Once he was in his shirt and had his leather jacket in his arms, he headed towards the garage. Salem ran up to him and gave him a hug before he left.

“Remember to lock up,” he reminded. “And have a good day at school.”

“I will, daddy,” exclaimed his son. “Get the bad guys!”

“You know I will, my little horror,” he laughed. He gave Salem a little kiss on the forehead and then headed into his car. As he pulled out of his driveway, he waved at his son who was excitedly waving back at him from the front window.

Then he was off to work at the SCPD.

First of all, however, he stopped by at a Shelby _’s Donuts_ on his way to the office and ordered the dozen standard glazed donuts and the day’s ‘variety dozen’. The large coffee came for free from buying two dozen donuts. The coffee from Shelby_ ’s_ tasted more like hot water with a faint taste of coffee and came with the strange earthy aftertaste that he got from almost every beverage from the CMP. The tastes of an Elder were very different from the inhabitants of the CMP. Some would find the basic taste offensive but Knight had grown quite fond of it. Coffee in the Domains hit differently.

Morning traffic was unbearable as usual but after working these streets for a while, he knew all the side routes and traffic patterns to arrive at the SCPD’s Headquarters. Located in the Plaza amongst several other towering skyscrapers, the SCPD’s HQ actually only took up the first twelve floors of one of the pillars of steel, glass and magic. Nestled amongst other skyscrapers surrounding a large, circular garden, the SCPD overlooked the large, golden statue depicting the Chernoborg Meteorite that created Sanctuary City’s crater. Glimmering, clean and meticulously maintained, the Plaza and the surrounding buildings was the poster-child of everything that Sanctuary City was good for… even if the majority of the city was a stark difference.

Knight drove his car into the underground parking reserved specifically for SCPD officers, the wheels of the car sliding out from underneath the chassis. After parking his car in his designated spot, he grabbed his coffee, the donuts and headed towards the elevator that would take him all the way up to the sixth floor - where he had his desk.

A soft ding announced his arrival at his destination accompanied by a generic, female voice.

“Sixth floor. Sanctuary City Police Department Auxiliary Precinct Offices.”

“Thanks, Gladys,” he said, stepping out of the lift.

“Any time, Detective Keening.”

The bullpen of the Auxiliary Precinct was busy as usual. The SCPD divided the city into various precincts but it was the Auxiliary Precinct that provided crucial support wherever it was needed. If a squad needed assistance with Delvers, investigating a crime or even just providing extra manpower, the Auxiliary Precinct was there to lend a hand. Some argued that they should just be assigned to their local precincts and Knight had often considered transferring to his local command but there was just something about feeling needed that thrilled him. Not to mention the Auxiliary got the most interesting cases.

As he headed down the bullpen, cheers greeted him.

“Here comes Big Blue with them nuts!” roared a portly wereboar, immediately getting up from his seat. Far from being fat, Detective Odin Lywell was a big, strong, imposing man who used to wrestle and showed his Savage Land origins in his immense build. He snorted a little, sniffing at the boxes of donuts as Knight set them down.

The wereboar gave him a toothy grin, tusks flashing. “Is that caramel custard, I smell?”

“You tell me,” Knight said, grinning as he pulled open the box. Almost immediately, there were at least ten hands, tentacles or magical spells swiping donuts from the box. “I just got the daily variety pack as usual.”

Lywell plucked the caramel-coated donut filled with gooey custard, still grinning broadly. Everyone knew to leave anything even remotely related to caramel to the boar. “Oh my dear, sweet love, how I’ve missed you,” he cooed.

Knight chuckled and turned to leave with coffee in hand when he paused. “Hey Lywell…” The wereboar just gave him a grunt as his muzzle was filled with donut and sticky with caramel. “What are the Savage Lands like?”

The boar gave him a puzzled look and had to swallow before responding. “Why? Thinkin’ ‘bout taking yer kid there?” He immediately waved a sticky hand at him. “Bad idea. I know little Salem is like thirty years old or something but he’s still got them developing bones. If you don’t want him to turn out short and fat like me from the gravity, you keep him away.”

Lywell was in no way short. 5’10’’ at last measure. Compared to Knight, he was shorter but the man was built like a tank.

“I was just thinking about the case I’m working,” he responded. “GHM is pushing this agenda that Orcs came from the Savage Lands.”

Lywell snorted in derision. “I know Orcs who grew up back home but…” He held up two fingers. “If they don’t got no second form or ain’t fifty feet tall, they ain’t originally from the Savage Lands.”

“Are those the only two distinguishing factors?”

The wereboar sucked the sweet caramel from his fingers, bringing a little ‘pop’ with each motion. “Yep. It’s how we evolved on a Plane that’s actively trying to kill us. No offense to Orcs. They’re big and tough. But it took them hundreds of generations to adapt and be able to stay for more than a day in the Savage Lands.”

“And you’ve got to be a shapeshifter to have originated in the Savage Lands?”

He got another derisive snort for that. “Shapeshifters are from Silhouettes. Therianthropes are from the Savage Lands. One form to hunt and one form to defend.”

“And the fifty-foot people…?”

Lywell waved a hand absently. “That’s where you get all your raptor bacon and shit.” When Knight gave him a puzzled look, the wereboar said, “I can smell it on you. You had it for breakfast.”

Knight smelled his own breath against his palm, sure he had brushed his teeth. The wereboar explained that the vast Savage Land had native animals much like any other Plane but these non-sentient beings usually grew to gigantic sizes. Bigger than anything that could be supported in any of the other Planes. Their diets were immense and could easily put any zoo out of business for just trying to keep one. Add to the fact that the flora of the Savage Lands were also as deadly as the fauna and survival in the Savage Lands was never guaranteed. Even the herbivores of the Savage Lands could step on Knight easily.

“You might survive, though,” shrugged Lywell. “Not sure really how it works with you Elder.”

“It’d probably tickle,” answered Knight with a smirk as he swiped one glazed donut. “At least if I don’t shut off my own pain receptors. I’ll get better though.”

“Full cellular awareness,” sighed the wereboar. “Fuck, wish I had that so I didn’t have to grow fat and old.”

“Can’t help with the age but just don’t stop by Shelby’s for another caramel donut and you won’t grow fat.”

With that final quip, Knight turned, absently munching at the donut. He had finished it by the time he made it to the captain’s office at the far end of the bullpen. A quick knock and Captain Ioel bid him enter.

The angel with weathered features was already looking tired and worn even though the day had just started. Being captain of a squad in the Auxiliary was not easy. Every precinct in Sanctuary City wanted the Auxiliary’s extra manpower. Budgets remained the same so if they got a few extra hands, it wasn’t like it would get charged to them. At the same time, Ioel had to make sure that he didn’t reject something that could be potentially problematic. If he denied a call for assistance and it turned out to be a major case, it was Ioel who would get grilled.

Such stress had worn down the angel. His chocolate-brown features were marred by wrinkles and a light stubble of gray hairs dusted his cheeks and chin. He had shaved his hair down to the scalp. The four wings that sprouted from his back looked permanently frazzled and it was impossible to tell if the gray coloration on the otherwise white feathers was due to age or how it had always been. To Knight, he looked like a human who had become an angel later in life but had decided to come back to Earth to do more good.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” he asked.

Ioel nodded and fished out an epitaph and rested it on the desk between them. “Yes,” he rumbled in his deep baritone. “Have a look at this.”

Knight wandered over, wiped the last bits of glaze off his fingers on his jeans and picked up the gelatinous slab. The message on it came from the district attorney’s office. He quickly frowned after reading the first few paragraphs.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The Captain shrugged helplessly. “Unfortunately not. The individuals involved in the attack on Harrow’s clinic are officially cleared of all wrong doing.”

“Even though we have evidence of them attacking the clinic, killing almost a dozen people and, at the very least, causing property damage!?” Knight bellowed, fighting hard to keep his Elder Voice from coming through.

Ioel held up a hand calmly. “In the eyes of the law, the people who did those things are no more. The individuals that you arrested are not them. Not anymore.”

Knight groaned and slumped into the seat opposite his captain. “That’s got to be some legal bullshit right there. Did GHM send the slimiest defense lawyer from the Democracy or something?”

“Actually the conclusion of our own investigative team and interrogations,” sighed the Captain. “The DA decided to drop the case entirely because for all intents and purposes, they are different people. Whatever Doctor Prowler did to them wiped them clean. Down to their very soul.”

This had been a conclusion he had feared when not official accusation was proposed by the district attorney. It should have been a cut-and-dry case. They had evidence. They had eye witnesses. But when Tyson had mentioned what the Inscription was doing to those people and how he had effectively accelerated it to ‘end their suffering’, Knight knew there would be someone, somewhere, who would use that information to challenge his arrest. He just never though it would be his own side.

“So what happens now?” he asked, tossing the epitaph back onto the table. It landed with a wet slap.

Strangely, a little smile crossed Ioel’s lips. “We adjust our thinking.”

“To what? We’ve hit a dead end. There’s nothing we can use to make any arrests against GHM. If we try to put this in front of a judge to get an arrest warrant, they’ll say there is no official evidence. Those men could have just been extremists who were claiming to be part of GHM to stir the pot! They wouldn’t sign a warrant especially if it turns out GHM wasn’t involved at all.”

Ioel kept his smile and wagged a finger at him. “Don’t treat those men that attacked the clinic like terrorists or extremists.”

“Then how am I supposed to treat them?” demanded Knight, throwing his hands into the air in frustration.

“Like Delvers.”

That made him pause and immediately set his burning rage into a quiet simmer. After a second, he found himself once again being amazed at how much he could learn from the angel. Despite being over a hundred years of age, the world would continue to surprise and teach him.

“Nothing a Delver does is permissible in court,” he intoned. “That means even if you got a Delver to confess their association with a person or company, you can’t sue the the employer. But it doesn’t stop you from knowing their intentions.”

Ioel pointed at him with an affirming nod. “Exactly.” He got up and swiped the epitaph from the table. “The DA was clear. These men will go free. But he never said anything about not pursuing the investigation against GHM. He made a point that there is no definitive proof that they were associated with GHM and nothing in their soul, genetic records or blocks would hint at that. However, I take that more as a warning.”

“A warning that we can’t just go around openly accusing GHM,” agreed Knight with a nod. “But we know who they’re after. We know that Torpak and his gang knew about Albert Tien, maybe even was the one that planted him, and was going after Harrow.” He narrowed his eyes, rubbing his chin and agitating his chin-tendrils. “It is entirely possible that GHM has not been the ones sending Harrow those threatening messages and it was a bunch of extremists Orcs that were inspired by GHM’s message.”

Ioel let him muse and formulate a plan, remaining silent.

“I could use that to speak to GHM’s leadership. Get an interview. If this was just a bunch of pissed off individuals acting on their own, the SCPD might get involved but given there was death and property damage, we need to explore all angles. I could use that to get close and figure out their perspective.”

Ioel pointed the epitaph at him. “Good. Use that.”

Knight shook his head with a grimace. “Problem is that I don’t know how to contact GHM…”

“You’ll figure out a way,” encouraged the aged angel. “But you have an angle now. Use it.”

He thanked his captain and left the office. As he headed back towards his desk, he considered that Tyson would likely want to know that the men he had forcibly transformed were going to go free as early as this afternoon. Better to hear from him than the afternoon news. Doctor Prowler was a valuable resource against the Inscriptions and he wanted to maintain that trust.

Thankfully, he still had the good doctor’s number and he quickly called him up. He was surprised when a little chime and a woman’s voice told him to wait a moment as he was being connected to another Plane.

Where had Tyson gone to?

“Hello?” came the response.

“Doctor Prowler,” Knight began, disposing of any familiarity as he was in the workplace. “This is Detective Knight Keening. Hope I’m not interrupting.”

There was a brief pause on the other end. “No. No. Just… with friends. How can I help, detective?”

Sighing softly, he said, “I just wanted to let you know that the men we arrested a few days ago are going to go free this afternoon.”

“What!?”

An understandable reaction. Knight had the same one just a few moments ago. “Unfortunately, whatever you did to them has effectively wiped them of all accountability. Their souls are renewed as are their bodies. For all intents and purposes, they are entirely different people from the ones that attacked the clinic. We cannot prosecute them and since they have no memory of their prior acts, we have reason to detain them.”

There was another pause on the other end only this time it was longer. Knight could feel the disappointment and rage even though he was a Plane away. “I’m not giving up on this case, though. I believe I know what I need to do. I would just need to location of GHM’s leadership to ask them a few questions. I assure you, I will find them.”

Again, more silence.

Then…

“Do you think you can take those guys to me?”

Knight frowned a little. “I… suppose. Why do you ask?”

“We might have some way of helping you find your GHM leadership.”

He straightened in his seat. “What do you mean?”

“Well… their souls may be wiped of all culpability… but that does not mean those related to them have been wiped.”

Knight’s brow furrowed and his tentacles twitched with excitement. “Explain.”

“Maybe it’s best if I do it in person. I’ll send you the address. Think you can bring them over here?”

“Absolutely.”

?

The scorching heat was oppressive. Even the ancient imagery of the Hells was not as blistering as this. Raging flames licked at Teddy’s arms and leg. There was no damage. A shadow of pain licked at his nerves. His body reacting preemptively towards what it knew to be a burn without any of the outward effects. It was this that convinced him to calm his racing heart and firing neurons.

This was not real.

This was a vision granted by prescience.

“Fuck me…” he mumbled to himself, his voice echoing like it always did in one of these dreams. “Alright, alright…”

Holding his hands up, he ran through the techniques that had been taught to him. He examined each digit, making sure that each finger was spread wide so that there was no way they could merge in the blur of his nightmare. “These hands are mine.”

Already, he felt himself feeling more grounded, more solid. Gently, he crossed his arms, resting his hands on each of his forearms and then sliding them up his arm until he was gripping his shoulders with each arm crossed over his chest.

“These arms are mine.”

He closed his eyes, blocking out all the noises and sensations around him. No breath passed through his lips or mouth. The crackling of the flames vanished into a dull void. Burning sensations faded until he was left feeling nothing. Smells of ash cleared from his nostrils.

“I am me.”

Nothing. Absolute nothingness. An empty void where only he existed. Where he was solid. He was present. He was Theodore Prowler.

And he was grounded.

Finally, he took a breath; a sharp inhale. The air was hot. Bitterness of ash. The acrid tang of plastics and the sting of ozone that suggested perhaps the flames stared from an electrical fire.

“No,” he told himself, eyes still closed. “No analysis. Just be.”

Once again, he took another breath and just took in the sensations. Ash. Plastic. Ozone.

Next was hearing. What did he hear?

The crackling of flames. The roar of an inferno. Groaning metal supports that buckled under the heat. Wood sparking as it ignited. Debris crumbling to the ground and subsequently causing a rush of wind and spreading the fire.

Touch was next.

The heat was most dominant against all the feeling. But he could also feel the rush of a hot wind against his skin. More than that, he could feel the familiar touch of his leather and plate cuirass. The smooth, albeit heated, texture of his red coat. His boots and the trickle of sweat that ran down from his head.

Taste. Not much there. Just the same heat, the ash in the air. His lips were dry and he felt the metallic twang of blood on his taste buds.

Finally and most complicated of them all, was sight.

Only then did he open is eyes.

A curtain of crimson flames surrounded him. Above him was a devastated rooftop that showed a clouded night sky. The flames reached up towards an obscured full moon like crimson fingers crawling to the heavens. Walls obscured by smoke and flame were barely visible but he could make out large, industrial shelves filled with what appeared to be stacks of wood, blocks of concrete and poles of metal. The ground was made entirely out of concrete.

A single figure stood in the scene apart from himself. An enormous, muscular figure. Alabaster tusks shone through the flames. Crimson fire cast shadows and red light against his black flesh. Fiery veins rippled across his body. When the figure inhaled, it was possible to see a glow of crimson emanating from his within his nostrils. Black hairs gripped a cleft chin tightly in a short-cropped beard. A short tuft of black hair sprouted from the man’s head, the tips turning into a bright crimson.

Teddy woke.

Searing light from the morning sun blinded him momentarily and he groaned, holding up a hand to shield his face from the oppressive rays. A cold sweat tingled his skin and awakened his limbs. A soft groan left his lips as he squinted against the daylight while groping around for his blanket with his other hand. Unsurprisingly, the very same blanket was currently on the floor of the small staff break room that he had called his own.

Of all the rooms and facilities in the abandoned airport that Pulse called its headquarters, it was this one break room that he had decided to call his personal quarters. Partially because everyone else had taken residence in the control tower and partially because it was hard to find. There were three such rooms in the entire facility and all but this one was trapped to deter any would-be raiders. The one window on the east side of the room was the only other way into the room except for the lone door and perhaps the vents that was too small for most people.

Teddy sat up, keeping his head ducked as his eyes adjusted to the light. He ran a hand down his face, pausing a moment to keep both his hands pressed over his eyes as he committed the vision he just had to memory. The clairvoyant dreams could easily slip past his fingers if he wasn’t careful. Such visions had proven to be critical to survival more than once.

After a few minutes, he was confident he had committed every sensation to memory. Just to be sure, he reached under the two pillows that were now soaked with sweat and pulled out his Nebula. Opening a simple note-taking application, he quickly jotted down key details of the vision. Once he was satisfied, he finally extracted himself from the damp little cot that he had moved into the break room and pushed all the way to the corner, as far away from any entrance as possible.

Teddy plucked the blanket off the ground and threw it onto the cot. Then, he brought his impressive, scarred and mostly naked frame towards the many cabinets that lined the break room. A table sat in the middle of the room which was littered with the semi-gelatinous, opaque prisms that contained stolen data and documents he had collected from various Delves. Nya constantly told him to stop hoarding the epitaphs and just save their data somewhere else but there was just something about keeping the semi-plastic, non-Newtonian plates no bigger than an average piece of paper but about an inch thick that he found comforting.

A map of Sanctuary City was buried somewhere beneath the taphs. Stray bullet magazines and even last night’s shirt lay on the table. He grabbed that shirt and threw it onto his cot. Laundry would have to wait. Judging by the daylight, Ruben or Cole was probably doing their own laundry so he would need to wait until the evening. With that in mind, he stripped off the lone, black jockstrap that he wore as clothing, tossed it onto the growing pile and opened one of the cabinets.

Where once there would have been cutlery, snacks and all forms of miscellaneous trinkets that filled a break room, there was now his clothes and armaments. Neatly folded and sorted, just the way he liked it. First, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. Then he plucked a fresh pair of underwear, some tan cargo pants and a light, breathable shirt later that hugged his bulky muscles.

Only then did he step out of the break room after disarming and disengaging the locks that protected his personal sanctuary. As usual, the abandoned airport was dark, gloomy and exuded a suffocating aura of loneliness.

“Such is the life of a Delver,” he hummed to himself, slowly waking up and his mood brightening.

Straightening, stepped barefoot along the dust-covered floor; the cool metal panels feeling good against the soles of his feet. Not too far away, he found a familiar luxury lounge of a long-defunct airline. Even now, centuries after the airport had been abandoned in favor of personal, flying vehicles and gateway travel, the lounge still seemed luxurious and opulent. He could just imagine what it would have looked like in its prime with the velvety seats, open bar and free buffet.

What he was after, however, was the showers.

Clothes under his arm, he headed to the large bathroom with its private stalls that could easily fit two people. Teddy set down his clothes on the sink, entered the stall framed by wooden panels and turned on the water. There was no point in waiting for the water to heat up. Apart from the few places where Pulse had attached generators, the airport was not powered. The water they sourced from a spell that Nya cast when they moved in. He wasn’t sure on the specifics but it apparently used the rusting, abandoned airplanes that littered the airport as materials for the spell, generating water. She once estimated that they would have fresh, clean water for over five hundred years based on the ruins alone.

Cold, chilling water hit him hard and woke up the rest of him. His mental faculties quickly got a reboot and clarity entered his blue eyes.

“Wooof!” he declared, shaking his head and drizzling the nearby walls of the shower stall with water. Teddy slapped his cheeks lightly to introduce some warmth back into his body as the shower drained him. “Okay. Okay. I’m up.”

Now that he was awake, he began running through his current agenda for the day.

It had been a few days since the raid at Harrow’s clinic. Pulse had remained low. With the bonus they had received from Kunoichi and some of their own funds from previous Delves, they were able to live comfortably. Ruben and Miri had even hit up some casino the previous day. Nya had spent her time trying to do more research on Inscriptions but so far had not found anything. Cole just worked out.

“By this time, he should probably be on his morning run,” mused Teddy.

Teddy had been keeping an eye on the news and quietly probing for anything relating to the Green Hand Movement. Strangely, no official statement came from the cult on the attack from Harrow. No claim to the attack or even a denouncement of the ‘extremists’ who executed the act of terrorism. Three days of silence. GHM was likewise laying low. But that did not meant that Pulse remained idle.

Today was the day that he would be meeting up with the Order of the White Orchid.

Just thinking of them made him shudder.

The urge to clean himself became a little more urgent and he quickly grabbed some neutral-scented soap. All of his toiletries were neutral-scented but at the same time held odor-suppressing properties. There were some species and spells out there that were extremely attuned to their sense of smell and the last thing he wanted was for someone to track them down because they were covered in a particular blend of lavender and rose soap.

After a steady routine of soap, shampoo and conditioner, he stepped out of the shower and dried himself off. Then he moved towards the sink where he examined himself in the mirror. Running a thumb down his jawline, he felt his stubble growing in once more. With a sigh, he grabbed the shaving cream and his hand-held razor.

“Sometimes I miss traditional magic,” he told himself as he lathered his cheeks with the cream. “Thank the Planes people still sell all this.”

He stopped talking to himself as he carefully used the razor to give himself a clean shave. Memories of using a standard spell loaned to him by his father to give himself a clean shave without any danger of cutting or even some shaving cream left both a nostalgic and bitter taste in his mouth. Above all, he was reminded that as a Delver, he could not use standard spells. Few people would ever give a Delver a spell license unless they were hiring them for a Delve. Even then, if a Delver used someone else’s spell under their license, they would forever be under suspicion. It was akin to finding a registered gun on a crime scene. The owner may not have been the one the fired the bullet but there would be questions on how the firearm ended up being a murder weapon.

Once he was done grooming himself, he threw on his clothes and headed back to his room to slip on his heavy, steel-toed combat boots. Fully dressed and ready to meet the challenges of the world. As he plucked his red coat from where it hung over a chair, he was reminded that there were certainly challenges with being a Delver but he loved every minute of it.

Teddy stepped out of his personal quarters and headed to another wing of the the airport, the one closest to the control tower. It was there, under the faded sign for an eatery, he found the rest of his team.

“About time you got here!” bellowed Cole, waving him over to the table that they always frequented. Once the restaurant would have fed people eager for a bite to eat while waiting for their flights. Now, it was mostly abandoned except the five members of Pulse who always took the same seat - a booth in the corner of the restaurant. “Breakfast is already getting cold!”

“Nothing you make is ever ‘cold’,” joked Teddy, placing himself beside the large Lava Elemental and across from Ruben. The goblin’s face was planted squarely on the surface of the table, his breakfast untouched. “Still hungover?”

Ruben wearily lifted a finger an pointed at him, eyes still firmly pressed on the table and not looking up at them. “Don’t talk to me right now.” Then he pointed at Cole. “And don’t shout.”

Beside Ruben was Miri who happily sipped her coffee through mechanical lips. Unsurprisingly, the Ironborne suffered no side-effects from being drunk. The mostly-mechanical being processed alcohol differently. To her, it was just another source of fuel so she was likely feeling very excitable and energetic.

Of them, Nya was the only one that had finished her food and she was now scrolling down her personal tablet at any news. “What’s the plan for today,” asked the Siren without looking up.

“Sleep…” Ruben mumbled with irritation in his voice. “And maybe some pain killers.”

“Maintenance,” answered Miri shortly.

Cole rested against the booth, draping his arms along the back and pulling Nya and Teddy towards him. “A shower.”

Teddy impulsively pulled away from the large, muscular Lava Elemental who was likely just fresh from a workout and cooking for them. After having just showered himself, he did not want to get some of the Elemental’s body odor on him.

Nya did the same, waving him away as she kept her eyes glued on her tablet. “I would join you for a bath if you could heat the water.”

“I could do more than that, baby,” teased Cole with a lewd grin.

“Tempting but I don’t have the time to be frisky.” She lowered her tablet, finally looking up at them. “I’m meeting up with a friend of mine from the Savage Lands. An Orc.”

Teddy’s ears perked up and he turned towards the Siren curiously. Seeing his interest, Nya explained that it was just to get her contact’s opinion on the Green Hand Movement. See if she could glean some insight into whether or not GHM’s ideology of Orcs originating from the Savage Lands had some merit. She hoped that doing so might help her understand why anyone would gravitate towards that idea.

“Don’t you have something you’re doing today?” she asked Teddy. “Aren’t you supposed to meet with your old fraternity?”

Teddy held up his hand and backed away from her. “They are not my frat. I had no association with them. I never pledged to anyone and I never went to college, remember? They’re Tyson’s crew.” He lowered his hand and grimaced, shrinking slightly. “But I am meeting up with them, yeah. I figure they might be able to help us.”

He began to eat the food that Cole had prepared. Seemed the Lava Elemental was going for a Silhouette-themed meal. Bacon that was very-well-aged and had a pungent, strong taste formed the center of the meal. The accompanying eggs, toast and tomatoes all formed vessels for the protein. As he had said many times before, if Cole hadn’t chosen to become a Delver, he would have made a decent chef. Or at the very least an Infosphere influencer basing their content entirely on cooking.

“You’re really going to see the cumancers?” asked Ruben, his voice still weary and sluggish. “I thought you hated them.”

“I don’t hate them,” bristled Teddy. “They helped Tyson get to where he is now. Hell, it was their techniques to get men to cum that formed the basis of Tyson’s thesis and got him his doctorate.”

The goblin, sharp as ever despite his addled state, lifted his head and gave Teddy a pointed look. “Then why do you look like you’d rather do anything but meet up with them?”

The leader of Pulse and only human of the group grimaced. “Maybe it’s because they’re all a bunch of oligarchs with so much money that they can afford to do nothing but literally fuck each other and doing so actually gets them more power.” He jabbed a piece of bacon aggressively with a fork. “Cum is their source of power. They fuck one another all to power their spells. Spells that they use in their companies and make more money or some shit.”

“Are you jealous?” Ruben teased.

“No,” he hissed. “I’m pointing out the many ways the Order of the White Orchid makes me uncomfortable.” Lifting a finger, he said, “Maybe it’s the fact that they milk one another to make money. Or maybe it’s the fact that they are not above market manipulation, bribery or political corruption to get what they want. Or maybe it’s one particular member that makes my skin crawl.”

The four other members of Pulse exchanged glances. They knew exactly who he was talking about. There was been multiple times he had made it clear that he found Devon Thaumeister detestable. The flamboyant, overly touchy and eccentric Cheshire had never done anything hostile to Pulse but more than once, Thaumeister had propositioned Teddy for sex while trying to spin the suggestion as a way to ‘consolidate their power’. A few times, the feline even suggested having both Teddy and Tyson fuck because ‘there is a hidden power between twins’.

“Why even suggest going to them, then?” Nya asked. “Surely there are other ways to find out… whatever it is you are trying to find out?”

That was the annoying part. There wasn’t.

Suddenly not feeling very hungry, he pushed his half-finished meal away from him. Then he was reminded that he needed to keep up his strength and begrudgingly pulled it back towards him. “The Order has a lot of connections and whether we like it or not, they have really powerful magic. It’s been refined over generations. Their spells are so powerful that they can do shit to you for just having been born because you needed to have some form of semen for birth.”

He gave Miri a pointed look seeing how she was about to protest. “And yes. That extends to the nanobot-infused oil Ironborne use to reproduce.”

Lifting a fork, he continued. “All we have right now is the name of someone in GHM. Uraprik. No one from GHM has come out against the attack at Harrow and they haven’t even claimed it. They’ve been quiet for the past three days. We found nothing at Harrow’s local Infosphere. We bought ourselves some time and brownie points for saving him but I am not going to wait until GHM attacks next. We were lucky we were there when Harrow was attacked.”

“You were lucky,” Miri corrected. “From what Torpak mentioned, they had planned to attack him after leaving Albert Tien for us to find. It is my belief that they fully intended to use Tien as a distraction for us. Hoping that we would be too preoccupied with trying to determine what happened to him and hiding what would otherwise be considered a failed Delve from our exclam to immediately rush to him and report our findings.” She set down her mug, pondering the dark contents. “Or maybe they had hoped to use Tien to incapacitate us with his powers…”

“Was all ‘bout timing,” Cole agreed. “They hit him at his clinic all he had was a bunch of Kevs. Ain’t his headquarters where he’s got all the security. They knew he was visiting. Probably knew ‘bout our Devle too. Set out the bait for us and hoped we would be too distracted with Tien to seek him out.”

“Conniving sons-of-bitches,” grunted Ruben.

Teddy finished his meal quickly and pushed his cleaned plate away. In the same movement, he got up from his seat. “And that’s all we have right now. We know they’re smart. Smart enough to know we were on their tail. We can’t wait around for them to attack Harrow again. We need to find them.”

Nya lifted a deep-green eyebrow at him. “And the White Orchid fits into this because only they have the means to find out more?”

He sighed and glanced away. “If GHM was smart enough to do all that shit, they’re probably smart enough to have protection against traditional scrying magic. The cumancers don’t use traditional magic.”

“There is is,” sighed the Siren. “I can’t fault you for that logic… Just remember, Teddy, no Delve is worth your dignity.”

“I lost my dignity when my parents sold my twin brother’s soul just to keep me alive.” He grabbed his coat and slipped it on. “If I leave now, I might just make it to their mansion after lunch. With luck, I’ll catch them between their midday orgy and pre-dinner fucking.”

“And if you don’t?” Cole asked.

Teddy’s skin crawled and he shuddered.

“Then I better hydrate.”

?

Two, large, crystal spires loomed in front of them. Each one was the size of three men standing abreast and were perfectly crafted with flat sides that did not refract any light with their opaque surfaces. Arcane runes were drawn across their lengths, emitting a soft, red light. The spires stood about thirty feet tall and had a large, golden arch hovering between them, not quite touching the crystal themselves but somehow suspended perfectly. The words ‘Welcome to Sanctuary City’ were written over the golden ‘crown’.

Bert gawked at the sight, his wide jawline hanging open while one of his hands was tightly intertwined around Tyson’s fingers. There was trepidation in his grip but it was more out of a fascination of the unknown than pure fear.

Tyson admitted quietly to himself that he envied the Priapan’s sense of wonder. The first time he had crossed into another Plane had both been a fascinating and frightening experience. It didn’t help that said Plane had been the Hells. He had stepped onto other Planes since then; proudly bearing the badge of having set foot on every Plane if only to attend some conferences or do a tour about his techniques to help again soul-related diseases.

His eyes drifted to the left and then to the right of the immense, permanent portal situated on the northern side of Sanctuary City. This portal and the surrounding facility that regulated people coming in and out was vast. Comparable to a major airport of old like the one where his brother called his base. One major difference, however, was that this gateway was built in a perfect intersection of four roads.

Bert gently squeezed his hand, calling his attention. “What does that symbol mean?” asked the Priapan, pointing at a large emblem over the terminal just ahead of them. The line shuffled a little forward as the officers scanned people’s identities before letting them through. A little bit of fear shot through Tyson’s chest.

To distract himself, he decided to answer Bert’s question. “4PC is the code for this particular portal nexus,” he answered. “It’s short for ‘Four Points College’.” Anticipating Bert’s next question, he pointed down to the left and right. Rows upon rows of security checkpoints were being manned and lines of Planar travelers were being sorted through. Behind them was the various kiosks and counters where people could buy tickets, check in to their travel times or deposit their luggage.

“The four biggest colleges of Sanctuary City are down each of those four roads that have the gateway at its center. The entire town of Four Points is built around them.” He then gestured towards the terminal. Just beyond the line of security, past the wall of small businesses to accommodate those waiting their turn to travel was the actual gateway. A much bigger version of the crystal arches that they had just passed through. “When people discovered that there was a stable portal to the Great Mystery here, they were quick to establish centers of education and magical sciences. Those four colleges stemmed from that. The surrounding towns and facilities followed shortly after.”

Bert flicked one of his ears in curiosity. “So Sanctuary City is basically a college town?”

A few people overheard them and some threw Bert a befuddled look. One older man let out a derisive snort but didn’t turn to face them. Tyson had to admit that he found the statement amusing.

“If good old SC could be pigeonholed into being a college town, things would be much simpler,” he answered with a shake of his head. “No. This small part of Sanctuary City could be considered a college town. But the city itself has influences from all nations and all Planes.” He looked towards the great, crystal gate with a little smile. “Uniquely amongst other locations on the Central Material Plane is that Sanctuary City has stable gateways to all of the Planes. The popular theory is that the meteorite that crashed here thousands of years ago enabled such a connection.”

“Just thousands?” asked Bert tilting his head curiously. “Seems a little… soon?”

The observation made Tyson smile. Earlier in the day, they had visited one of the learning centers and hooked up Bert for another session. Though it only lasted two hours or so, his young Priapan ward had grown a little more cohesive. A swell of pride blossomed in his chest. He briefly wondered if Banchomyon felt the same watching him grow up. There were still gaps in his knowledge. Less than a full day’s worth of being hooked up to the eSchoolers would not make up for almost twenty years of education.

Nuances and specifics like the history of Sanctuary City were one of the things glossed over in general knowledge syllabuses fed by those machines.

“The meteorite would have caused a mass-extinction event if it had hit with all its might. But when it was detected and determined that it would impact, entities from every Plane decided to intervene.” He grimaced a little and tilted is head to the side. The motion once again reminded him of his alien tusks but it was not as jarring at it had been before. “Unfortunately, different entities and organizations had their own idea of how to stop the Chernoborg Meteorite. None of them could ever come to a consensus.”

“Why not?” Bert asked. “All of Earth would have been destroyed, right?”

That old man who had been standing a few feet away let out another sort. “Politics, is why.”

Tyson gave the man an affirmative nod. “The CMP and particularly Earth still serves as the nexus for the Planes. Though other planets and colonies have been populated, our little ball of rock remains the most known across the Planes and acts as a central place of commerce. Everyone knew that if Chernoborg hit, Earth would be rendered lifeless and uninhabitable. At the same time, whoever saved Earth would likewise gain unprecedented power, renown and influence.” He shrugged and waved a hand absent through the air. “So politicians did what politicians do best. They bartered with the fate of billions.”

He continued his brief history lesson as they shuffled down the line. The old man was keenly listening and as did a few others. Bert remained quiet and absorbed the information about how, as the meteorite drew closer and closer, no individual or organization could come to an agreement on what to do that would satisfy everyone. Eventually, in desperation, all the involved entities just threw what they could at Chernoborg regardless of what the other parties could agree upon. The Priapan let out a soft gasp as Tyson slammed a fist into his own palm to emphasize how the indecision eventually caused Chernoborg to slam into north-western Washington State. The impact site had been evacuated long before the impact but the magical energies and technology that had been used into haphazard and disorganized attempts to stop the impact caused great instability in the Planes.

The actual consequences of the impact site didn’t cause a mass-extinction event as, miraculously, the spells, machinery and techniques put into stopping the meteorite had actually prevented any mass-extinction event. A crater was created but there was no global winter or new ice age as many people had feared. The only unexpected outcome was the discovery of a precious material known as realmarite.

“If you look out into the city, you’ll see the huge realmarite monoliths in the district we call the Rocks,” Tyson explained. “It was a really precious mineral that could conduct and enhance any form of magic or technology regardless of Plane. Mining operations to extract realmarite was the beginning of Sanctuary City.”

“Was?” Bert asked. “You mean realmarite isn’t so important anymore?”

Again, Tyson was surprised by Bert’s ability to zero in on the strangest and most obscure of details. The smile on his face wavered a little, however, as he wondered if that was a result of some of Albert Tien coming through, his rapid upbringing under the ever-curious and involved Banchomyon or a result of his programming from the Inscription.

“It wasn’t long before people started discovering ways to artificially manufacture realmarite,” answered Tyson, shuffling closer and closer to the security gate. “Sanctuary City, was little more than a few mining corporations trying to stake their claim. They all recognized that they would soon run out of a reason to mine the first ever case of realmarite since people could more easily and cheaply create it. So they banded together, expanded their operations to do more than just mine and eventually Sanctuary City came about. Now, the monoliths of realmarite remain as national monuments and you can still take tours of the old mines.” He gave Bert a little smile. “If you want, we can go visit it.”

Bert mulled over the question, his brow furrowing. “I don’t know… maybe.”

There was certainly a personality emerging behind the blank slate but it was still nascent and budding. Apart from the sex-heavy inclinations, a person was emerging from Bert. Tyson had to wonder if the focus on self-pleasure was due to his influence or the Inscription.

His thoughts were derailed when a loud ‘next’ emerged from one of the officers behind a security shield. Straightening his back and turning to the line, he headed over. Fear shot through his veins like cold lightning. The individual behind the wall of shimmering, light-blue hexagons with golden outlines was an Infomorph. Her lithe body was made entirely out of shimmering, rippling letters and scribbles of different languages colored in all shades of red and black. Judging by the fact that the letters were very compact and appeared almost solid with very little gaps between, he guessed that she was fairly old. Vaguely humanoid in shape, she had a head of ‘hair’ that appeared like a fiery bonfire with those shimmering letters making the individual strands. Her featureless, crimson eyes made it impossible to tell where her gaze was leveled and even harder to read her expression especially as she wore the white mask that all Infomorphs bore when visiting other Planes. Here was a typical, alabaster, stone mask with a passive expression with her eyes shining through the holes and little else.

Tyson produced his personal epitaph and held it up just before the shield. The security agent lifted a small scanning device, interfaced with the gelatinous tablet with a few beeps and then began tapping on her console.

Then she paused.

“Huh,” she began. “Please present your block.”

Her words made him freeze. “Uuuuh…” he began.

She glanced back up from her console. “Your identification blockchain, please, Mr. Prowler.”

“Is there a problem?” he asked, lifting his hand for her to see and quickly making a few signs through the air, invoking his personal spell tied with his very soul that every individual was given on the Planes shortly after birth. It was the same spell he used to unlock his front door. Very hard to replicate and separated him from anyone else in the Planes. Lines, runes and emblems danced across the shield, forming an arcane rune with his demonic pseudonym on the ring much like Banchomyon’s personal emblem or the arcane summoning circles of the ancient Ars Goetia.

Of course, that would not be enough to fully identify him.

The Infomorph waved a hand absently through the air, capturing the imprint of spell and began scanning it through the system. The spell would be run through various systems in a complicated inter-Planar blockchain network that would ultimately identify him as Tyson Prowler. Colloquially called a ‘block’ for short. There would be little need to request a block unless there was something wrong.

“No problem at all, Mr. Prowler,” said the Infomorph casually. “It just looks like you haven’t traveled to another Plane in the past three months. Standard procedure is to ensure that we get your latest block next time you travel just in case there are any changes.”

“Changes as in…?” he began.

She briefly glanced at him, a slight turn of the head being the only indication of the gesture, before turning back to her console. “People develop arthritis, lost limbs, get them replaced and their soul gradually changes and evolves. These show up as little quirks in their blocks that we at the SCIPTA need to keep up-to-date.”

Despite calling himself an expert in the mechanics of the soul, he still found this piece of information surprising. Though the reflection of the soul in an individual’s block was known to him, he hadn’t considered how physical changes could affect such a critical form of identification. Internally, he was relieved he could still enter his home even after transforming into an Orc.

A soft beep came from the officer and that was followed by a few flashes of information on his tablet. A notification of his portal opening, some recent warnings about the Great Mystery and the standard warnings about interplane travel particularly portal sickness.

“Alright,” said the Infomorph waving him along. “You’re all done, Mr. Prowler. Have a good trip.”

He thanked her and followed the arrows on the ground to join the line on the security scanner. Behind him, Bert went to an adjacent security line. Now came the real test. Albert Tien would have had a block but Bert did not. He would not exist in the system at all. But that would only be a problem if he needed to present is block. If the officer, a tired-looking minotaur, didn’t ask for it, they would be lucky.

Of course there were ways to still travel through to other Planes without a block but if Banchomyon’s theory was right then none of that would matter. If Albert Tien was being replaced by Bert, then…

The minotaur officer scanned Bert’s epitaph for his flight details, tapped on his screen and not even a few seconds later, waved the Priapan through. Tyson sighed externally but at the same time, his heart was gripped by anxiety. Part of him had wished that Bert had been asked for his block. That way he could confirm his theory. Despite all his expertise, he could not go around asking every government agency for Bert’s personal information. At least not without power of attorney.

Still, that was one hurdle overcome and likely the biggest one.

Bert happily came up behind him as they joined another line where they had to go through three security gates. The first was a magical scan to ensure that they didn’t have some dangerous runes that could disrupt portal travel. A few skippers - a colloquialism for the agents of the Sanctuary City Inter-Planar Transport Agency - waved some wood or metal wands with runes embedded into them at them.

No spells were detected and they moved on the cybernetics scan. Essentially a giant metal detector. Neither of them had any cybernetics so they basically flew right through. The last was a physical pat-down to ensure that they didn’t carry anything that would be dangerous. The officers were not very gentle but after fusing and separating from Bert over the past few days, the gloved hands were comparatively gentle.

At long last, they were free from the security gate and were free to wander through the terminal. The terminal itself was shaped like a giant ringed oval around the enormous crystal spires with restaurants, outlet stores and even some sleeping pods available for those with long waits between travel.

The gateways themselves were not connected to the main, crystal spires - at least not physically. Bert asked about this, querying why no one was actually moving towards the large portal even though there were constant announcements of gates opening and closing. Tyson explained that the two crystal spires and the space between them did indeed form an enormous gateway but that was never used unless it was to transport something extremely large like a ship for large forms of transport. The spires created a space of stable travel around it. The perimeter made by the entire facility formed the limits of that space. Artificial gateways to the Great Mystery could be generated anywhere within that space with little risk of failure. People could try to open their own gateways but there was always this risk of something going wrong. A reason why Tyson opted to avoid using the standard demonic transportation magic he had learned from his foster. He was unsure how his current state would affect the spell.

With little time to spare, they headed to their gate, having to take a small tram to get to the actual gateway. Since this was a portal to the Great Mystery, the gate itself was shaped like an enormous ring made out of inward-pointing crystals engraved with runes.

They did not have to wait long upon arriving before the gate itself opened. The air crackled with magic making the hairs on the back of Tyson’s neck stand on end. A faint hissing noise rose from within the portal and the inside of the ring filled with a shimmering, inky blackness like someone had filled it with the very essence of the abyss. After a few seconds, tiny little stars danced across the surface indicating that the pathway was now stable into the Great Mystery.

“Alright,” Tyson said, as he guided Bert towards the gate. “Just watch your step. Don’t hesitate when crossing over. And breathe normally.”

Bert could only nod. There was nervousness in his eyes but it wasn’t tinged by fear. More like eager anticipation. One by one, the travelers stepped into the shimmering ring, crossing from the Central Material Plane into the Great Mystery. Tyson let Bert go first and watched as the Priapan paused a moment upon approaching the gate before stepping through. He waited a second before following afterwards.

It was not the crossing that got him. It felt like just taking another step. The disorientation came from the vast differences that came between the Great Mystery and the CMP.

Also known as the Plane of Magic, the Great Mystery was simply infused with magical energies. So the moment he stepped through, every hair on his body felt like its roots were being electrocuted. He could genuinely feel the magic in the enamel of his teeth. The very air smelled magical; like there was a persistent smell of lemon in the air that made it feel sharper. Gravity here was also much lighter and it took a second for him to reorient himself before he continued moving forward to avoid colliding with the next traveler behind him.

The difference in the glass, metal and concrete terminal of Four Points to the alien beauty of Sanctuary Lakes Port Nexus was like night and day. The floors were made of an opaque crystal like quartz but fiery wisps of energy danced beneath the surface in droves; like fish beneath a frozen lake. Walls were made of floating rocks that had half-inch gaps between them that had crackling, red energies snapping between them. The ceiling of the nexus was a dizzying display of metal that swirled and constantly shifted like liquid mercury forming and reshaping itself constantly. Through the windows that were really just made of some dense, gelatinous substance that was impossible to pass through, it was possible to see the Perpetual Rainbow.

Bert gasped the at the sight of the beam of light that arched through the sky, consuming perhaps an eighth of the horizon and somehow illuminating the rest in a faint, deep blue. “What is that!?” he asked, bounding over to a window and pointing at the monument.

“That’s the Perpetual Rainbow,” Tyson explained. “That’s basically the entire Plane of Magic that’s inhabited by mortals. The Great Mystery, at least the place where we’re standing on right now, is part of the Rainbow. It forms a big ring.” He pointed towards the band of colorful light. “Travel far enough and you’ll find buildings like this somewhere on that band.”

“And everywhere else?” Bert asked, pointing at the space beyond the Plane. “What’s there?”

“Possibilities,” he answered enigmatically. “The Great Mystery is constantly growing. It reflects the currents of magic in the other Planes. As new forms of magic are created and as more people use magic, the Rainbow keeps growing.” Tyson gripped Bert’s shoulder lightly and began to pull him away from the window. “There are novels and papers written all about what would happen if and when the limits of the Rainbow reach the end of the horizon but no one really knows what’ll happen once the Planes reach the limits of its capacity.”

“How much does it grow?”

“Hard to say. On average, it grows about three thousand miles a year.” Bert gawked at the number. It was impressive no matter how anyone spun it. To fathom how an entire Plane grew by the width of the the continental North America in a relatively short time was hard to comprehend but when one considered that there were trillions of intelligent beings across thirteen different Planes, with each individual possessing the possibility to introduce, expand or grow some form of magic, it was not so hard to believe.

Bert absorbed his brief lecture on how each of the bands of the Perpetual Rainbow used to belong to the seven primary schools of magic - Abjuration, Conjuration, Divination, Enchantment, Evocation, Illusion and Transmutation - but as the lines between those schools were blurred, the divisions between them were no longer considered official. Magic itself just seemed to organize itself into the seven colors. Even though his ward would occasionally let his gaze wander to one of the fascinating stores or boutiques in the terminal, he still seemed very attentive.

“What about Necromancy?” asked the hybrid. “I remember from the learning center that used to be one of the official schools?”

“Necromancy falls into the realm of the Deadlands. The planar opposite of the Great Mystery. Technically, it isn’t considered a ‘school of magic’ at all because it is the ‘magic of death’. A form of magic that draws power from the absence of magic.”

There, at long last, he lost Bert. “That…” The furry Orc-Satyr hybrid tilted his head to the side. “… huh?”

Tyson chuckled as they passed through the main entrance of the terminal, the large stained glass doors physically shattered to let them through before reassembling behind them. “The Deadlands basically has no magic on its own and yet people can do so many things with that ‘absence’ that it becomes its own form of ‘magic’ in a way. Vampires, Liches, Zombies, various forms of Undead and all those that originally come from that Plane have biologically created some ways to emulate magic.” When he got a blank look from Bert, he just smiled and said, “Let’s just say that life finds a way.”

A third voice interrupted their conversation.

“Still giving unsolicited lectures, I see.”

A smile inadvertently crawled onto his lips. The joy and familiarity he felt in his heart exorcised any discomfort from his tusks as he turned and greeting his old fraternity brother and friend.

Spreading his arms wide, he cried out, “Devon!”

In front of him was a lean feline that stood about 5’4’’ dressed in a loud, emerald green suit that glittered like tiny specks of diamond had been sewn into the fabric itself. A glistening red cravat hung from his neck over a pearly, white shirt. A black cane topped with a sculpture of an erect penis was in one hand while he gripped the rim of his green top hat. His crimson fur was striped with black though it was not the natural stripes like Banchomyon. These stripes were far more symmetrical, evenly spaced and almost painted on. Bright, yellow, feline eyes glimmered with mirth and mischief especially as he hungrily appraised both Tyson and Bert.

“Tyson Prowler,” replied the Cheshire, striding forward spreading his own arms. As he spoke the surname, he drew out the first two syllables into an audible purr like he did when they first met. Devon leaned into the embrace and as Tyson wrapped his arms around his long-time friend, he felt Devon’s paws roving across his back, feeling his muscles across his back.

Typical Devon.

Even amongst the fraternity, he was one of the raunchiest.

“It has been far too long,” sighed the magical feline, pulling away. He took another second to appraise Tyson. “You’ve certainly changed.” Before Tyson could respond, Devon immediately shifted his attention to Bert. “And I assume this is the ‘Bert’ you told me about.”

Devon took off his top hat, revealing a gentle stripe of silver hair that ran down a straight line along his scalp like a smooth, silver wave. Smooth as ever, he moved his cane into the same paw that gripped his hat and offered the now-freed paw to Bert.

“Devon Thaumesiter,” greeted the aristocrat.

Bert grinned brightly and gripped Devon’s paw, shaking it happily. “Bert! Just Bert!”

Devon quirked one silver eyebrow. “Oh my. Offering your name freely to one of the Fae? You are quite trusting.”

Tyson rolled his eyes at the two pulled away. “You make for a terrible Fae.” He then swiped the epitaph that was quietly hidden in Devon’s other paw - the one that was supposedly preoccupied by his hat and cane. Holding it out, it was clearly Bert’s. “You honestly belong more in the gutter of Sanctuary City or in the courts of some god of thievery.”

Bert was amazed as Tyson handed him back the tablet that Devon had swiped.

The Cheshire beamed brightly and flipped his top hat back onto his head. “Still as fast as ever, I see. You haven’t lost your feline reflexes even in your… greener physique.”

Throwing the red cat a sarcastic look, he said, “I just know your tricks.”

“And I clearly have fallen out of sorts of yours.” Devon leaned on his cane. “I never took you to be a shapeshifter especially given your profession. Doesn’t changing shape constantly run the risk of damaging your soul?” Again, before Tyson could explain, Devon made some grand gesture to interrupt. The Cheshire spun on the heel of his black and white wing tipped shoes, waving his cane through the air and beckoning them to follow. “Ah, we can discuss that in the car. Come along!”

A short distance away, there was a large limousine waiting for them; white and with golden trim. A magical construct made out of steel, lightning and arcane runes opened a door for them and bowed as they entered.

Bert was growing increasingly uncomfortable as they stepped into the bright, crimson, velvety interior of the limo.

“Uhm… just what is this ‘fraternity’ that we’re going to…?” asked the hybrid.

Devon batted his eyes in mock offense and let out a gasp. “Oh, Tyson! You didn’t tell him about us? I’m offended.”

“And rob you of the opportunity to give one of your famous monologues?” the Shaper answered with a knowing smirk.

Devon returned the smirk. “You know me far too well. Of course, that’s to be expected considering how much time you spent in me.”

Bert’s discomfort grew greater. “You… mean that literally? Did he treat you?”

“Oh, he treated me alright,” giggled the crimson Cheshire. “My prostate needed a lot of treatment.”

Deciding to put his charge out of his misery, Tyson turned towards the hybrid just as the door to the car shut. It made his heart giddy a little seeing Bert jump at the sound. Just like the first time he got to introduce some freshmen to the Order.

“Devon and I belong to a fraternal order. The Order of the White Orchid. They specialize in a particular form of magic that uses male ejaculate as a catalyst for their spells.”

The discomfort on Bert’s face became tainted by confusion. “You mean…”

Devon flung his arms wide, grinning broadly and even went so far as to spread his legs. Somehow, in the few moments when Bert and Tyson’s attention were turned to one another, the Cheshire had not only managed to unzip the fly of his pin-striped pants but also pulled out his erect feline cock.

All part of his pageantry.

“We’re cumancers!”

?

“I’m going to need more information,” Knight said cautiously as he watched Tyson undress.

In the private locker-room-style change rooms of the White Orchid’s mansion, Teddy leaned against one of tiled walls surrounding the stall where his twin brother - currently in the form of a red-haired Orc - was undressing. The cool, blue tiles and seemingly mundane surroundings didn’t give him any sense of comfort. Seeing his brother naked was not the issue. Growing up as a twin, there was nothing he had not seen before when looking at himself in the mirror. Even when Tyson became a demon or when he transformed into an Orc, he was not at all squeamish about seeing his brother naked.

No. He had his back to Tyson so that he could keep an eye on the other members of the Order who were likewise undressing around him. It was them he did not trust.

“It’s just more of their mystical bullshit,” he rumbled towards Knight. “Use cum. Poof. Magic.”

“It’s more complicated than that, Teddy,” growled Tyson, removing his underwear and setting it on a wooden bench. When he turned to grab a white, silken robe emblazoned with the Order’s emblem - an stylized orchid penciled in black and gold - Knight turned away reflexively, a blush on his blue cheeks.

Tyson ignored the motion and donned the robes. “Even though their souls may have been wiped clean and effectively reset, I believe that the people who remembered these individuals for who they were still hold a tenuous but fleeting connection. Friends, family and even distant acquaintances will have some imprint on their souls. When they were Inscribed, their Inscription was slowly eating away at their very souls and reformatting it into something that fit some sort of central narrative around the Green Hand Movement. This would have started affecting others as well. It’s similar to what happens when people undergo the Lapsing.”

Teddy grunted softly, arms crossed. “Right. People don’t just immediately vanish when they lose their soul. People remember them for a while.” He glanced over his shoulder as Tyson slipped on the robe. “And you think you and the Order can use your magic to connect with the victims’ souls and trace those connections to their sources.”

“And how does that help us with GHM?” asked Knight.

The Delver took a deep breath, trying to ignore the very obvious scent of disinfectant and mild floral scents in the air. The Order used their magic to arouse and increase people’s sensitivity to touch. No doubt there were pheromones or some sort of alchemical brew in the air that would heighten even the faintest touch. Knight was already experiencing it even if he was unaware of it. Just the way the big lupine Elder adjusted his own package was enough evidence of this.

As much as he hated their methods, he knew it was all necessary for the Order’s spells. They wove it into their ethos that they would never use an unwilling person’s cum against them. One of the things that he admired about them. Since the Order patented all forms of ‘cummancy’, any use of their form of magic outside of their doctrine was punishable and all use of their techniques was highly regulated.

“Someone will have inflicted the Inscription on Albert Tien,” Teddy resolved, answering Knight’s question. “Someone gave Torpak his Inscription too. Even if they’re Lapsing right now, there might be something they have between them all to help us find out where GHM is running or where this ‘Uraprik’ is.”

A large, green hand fell on his shoulder. His brother, Tyson, now dressed in that white robe and currently barefoot, gave him a toothy smile.

“Thanks for understanding,” said Tyson. “I know this sort of thing makes you uncomfortable.”

“It was my idea in the first place,” Teddy admitted with a sigh. “I’ll be honest. I wasn’t sure that the White Orchid could actually be of any help but I figured if they couldn’t use any of their spells, their connections might come up with something.”

A soft purring instantly set him on edge and he felt the lean arm of Devon Thaumesiter sliding around his shoulder. Like Tyson, the crimson Cheshire was dressed in a white robe and little else underneath. As Devon pressed himself against Teddy’s other side, his bulge was pressing up against Teddy’s thigh. Never before was Teddy thankful he was wearing his coat and thick cargo pants. The more layers between himself and the nymphomaniac, the better.

“You were right on both accounts, you handsome, Adonis amongst adventurers,” cooed Devon, two of his fingers walking up Teddy’s chest. “Our techniques can indeed help our dear fraternity brother trace the connections still threaded around your Inscribed’s souls if they are still there. But if they don’t…”

Devon pulled away like lightning, his long, striped, red tail briefly curling around Teddy’s thick neck before brushing up against the Delver’s nose. “… we have our own research on the Movement that we can impart.”

Both Knight and Teddy were immediately interest.

“What do you have on GHM?” demanded Knight.

Devon appraised the detective, gave a flirtatious smile, before batting his eyes at the blue lupine. “Not much given that we only began researching them three days ago when Tyson informed us he needed our help. But we found some interesting things.”

The feline Fae beckoned to be followed as he sauntered down the locker room with a sultry sway to his hips. Teddy pushed off the tiled wall and followed. Tyson and Knight were right behind them. As they strode down the room, he tried to ignore the sights of obvious homosexual proclivity around him. Far from being a homophobe - he slept with Cole and Ruben whenever he was feeling lonely - he just found the very obvious depravity around him uncomfortable. If these were heterosexual encounters or between two women, he would still feel like maggots were crawling underneath his skin.

Banchomyon often attributed his prudish inclinations to being raised by human supremacists who were obsessed with perfect genetics. Maybe some long-repressed trauma over making sure he ‘preserved his perfect seed’ and only had sex with those deemed ‘genetically compatible’. He tried to shake the thoughts from his head but when he saw the half-snake, half-orc Torpak being felt up by two members of the Order while getting undressed, he visibly grimaced.

“What did you find?” asked Tyson, sensing his brother’s discomfort.

“A few things,” answered Devon, approaching the door leading out of the locker room. “The Green Hand Movement has been around since before Casey Harrow became famous for his dental reconstruction tailored to Orcs. Started sprouting up around eight years ago.”

“Harrow only became famous three years ago,” Knight surmised. “At least that was when I could find the earliest records of him actually making a profit. Before that, he had some failed ventures and was actually in quite a bit of debt.”

Teddy threw the detective a curious look.

“He’s in a better financial position now,” said the Elder, reading his intentions. “Collectors aren’t chasing him down. Banks aren’t afraid to lend him money. But before three years ago, his name was basically starting to go sour. Not enough to be considered a black mark but getting a loan with his name on the contract would have been a tough sell.”

More and more it was starting to sound like GHM was just after Harrow because he became famous. An organization trying to popularize the idea that Orcs belong in the Savage Lands that barely made a blip in the media. Going after a rising star like Harrow would have catapulted them to notoriety. Literally riding the tailcoats of a successful entrepreneur to lift themselves up.

But something still did not sit well with him about Harrow. Perhaps it was his prescience or just his experience as a Delver. This still stank.

Fresh air finally wafted into Teddy’s nostrils as he stepped out of the locker room. At least as ‘fresh’ as the White Orchid mansion could get. There was an unsettlingly ‘clean’ and ‘fresh’ smell in the air. ‘Nothingness’ was the best way Teddy could describe it. The temperature was unnaturally cool, colder than room temperature but not so cold to make him shiver. It brought up images of an organization that was obsessed with secrecy that they scrubbed the very air to ensure not a single particle was out of place.

Devon immediately turned right towards a pair of steps. White, silky curtains with gold trim obscured most the steps until the Cheshire pulled it apart. Tyson gave his brother’s shoulder one last squeeze before moving past them, heading towards his place in the ritual.

“As you two won’t be participating in the ceremony, I ask that you both stay in the seating area,” he said curtly. Then he gave both Knight and Teddy a sly side-eye. “Unless, you’ve changed your mind?”

“We haven’t,” Teddy said sharply before Knight could say anything. “Now what else did you hear about Harrow or GHM?”

Seemingly disappointed but gesturing for them to head on upwards, Devon said that the White Orchid gathered what information they could about the two organizations. Before breaking into the economy as a successful entrepreneur, Harrow had studied business at a business school down in California. After graduation, he tried a few ventures mostly aimed at Orcish interests and Orc-centric products. These ranged from skin cream, gym franchises and even some health products. Most of the time, he was just financing the efforts of others and not doing the research and development himself. None of these succeeded until the revolutionary operation over tusk maintenance came about.

“Prosthetic tusks?” Teddy asked.

“More than that,” Knight answered as they reached the top of the steps. “Orc tusks aren’t just pointed pieces of ivory or for display. They have nerves and blood vessels. Damage to them is painful. Before Harrow, getting dental implants or ‘fixing’ misaligned tusks were really expensive. What he brought to the market was cheap, affordable procedures to maintain tusks that worked.”

“Just fuck him already,” growled Teddy.

At the top of the stairs was an observation booth similar to a skybox. Wooden railing separated them from where the ritual would take place. Curved glass rose from just after the railing to fully separate them from the ritual and was likely tempered with magic to avoid any of the energies from seeping into the booth. Two, lavished, plush seats with high backs, armrests and soft cushions were set out for them. A full buffet of food was presented as well.

Devon led them to their seats giving Teddy an opportunity to look out into the ritual area. A large, circular chamber yawned out in front of them with an enormous, white dome sitting above. Imagery of various male specimens of each species was painted into the dome. Teddy recalled how the Dome was divided into fourteen different segments with each segment representing one of the Planes except for the fourteenth. That part of the mosaic was depicted by the large, golden ring with a thirteen-leaf orchid at its center.

Below the dome was a vast, circular pool of suspiciously milky white liquid. It was large enough to fit thirty or forty people. Pillars surrounded the pool. From a distance, it was impossible to see the figures carved into the white marble but Teddy knew that, upon closer inspection, one could see the various penises of all shapes, sizes and species forming the contours of each pillar. Tyson was standing in front of one said pillar, still robed.

This was the White Orchid’s ‘Seeding Room’. One of their major Places of Power that had become the focal point of their magic and Order. Here, in the Great Mystery, their power was at its greatest. Teddy heard that thanks to the influence of each of the members, they had established similar Places of Power on each of the Planes but it was not nearly as extravagant or prominent as this one. Or as old.

“Is… is that…?” began Knight, pointing at the pool as he took his seat.

“It isn’t semen,” Devon chuckled. “It is standard magical catalytic fluid that they just so happen to dye white for the aesthetic.” With a wink, the Cheshire turned to leave. “What is a ritual without its flair, after all?”

“Wait!” said the Elder, holding out a hand. “Was that everything you learned? You spoke only about Harrow. What about GHM?”

The Cheshire gave him a little, teasing smile that made Teddy’s skin crawl. “We can save that for after the ritual.” He held up two fingers. “For now, I will leave you with two pieces of information to mull with.”

Teddy physically brushed his arms to get rid of the creeping feeling he got from Devon and perked his ears.

Devon’s features were suddenly very serious. A look he barely ever wore when amongst his Order brethren. Even on the few occasions Teddy had seen Devon in the courtroom, that expression was barely ever seen. “The first is that the Green Hand Movement calls itself a ‘cult’ but they have no known presence here in the Great Mystery or the Singularity”

That, in of itself, was strange. Cults usually formed around some new belief or form of magic. Their absence in the Great Mystery - the Plane of Magic - and the Singularity - the Plane of Knowledge - was disturbing. Teddy kept this to himself though he was sure Knight was intelligent enough to understand the implications and questions that arose from that statement.

“And the second?” asked Teddy.

Devon lowered his paws, his pupils narrowing into slits. “We have no idea who created the technique that Harrow is now profiteering off.” Then, in the next instant, Devon’s playfulness came back and he shot the two a bright smile. “Well, I’m off to get fucked and to fuck! Last chance to change your mind and join us!”

Teddy slammed a fist into the armrest. “No!”

“I’ll get you one of these days,” teased the Cheshire and turned around, drawing the curtains close and pranced down the steps two at a time.

Once he was gone and the curtains stopped shifting, Knight let out a little chuckle. “He really wants to sleep with you, doesn’t he?”

Teddy turned to face the glass pane separating them from the Place of Power. “That hornball thinks he’s a collector. Always going around seeing whose cum he can ‘taste’ and ‘collect’. He’s had my brother’s. He’s always been after mine.”

Despite all the unabashed horniness and innuendo, Devon Thaumeister was still a very shrewd and intelligent man. The White Orchid was also a very tight knit fraternity. They protected their members as if they were genuinely family. Some would even argue that they treated their brothers better than most families. This extended to the families of their members. Banchomyon had often quipped that he benefited from the Order’s protection and resources because Tyson was a member. Whenever Teddy made his disgust of the Order - particularly Devon - known, Banchomyon would be the first to defend them and advise Teddy that Devon’s insistence of becoming a member could stem from the Order’s over-protectiveness. After all, someone could hold Teddy ransom to get the secrets of the White Orchid out of Tyson and then the exclusivity of the Order would be in jeopardy.

Still didn’t stop his skin crawling.

To get his mind off the uncomfortable feeling, Teddy forcibly unclenched his fingers and focused on Devon’s parting words.

“Any cult should have at least some imprint upon Singularity,” he mused quietly. “Knowledge, even if it’s wrong, spawns something.”

Knight agreed with a short nod. “Especially if they’ve been around for eight years. The only way they could have avoided detected would be if they purposefully kept their numbers low or secretive or their belief system is so full of contradictions that they cannot come to a consensus on what they believe.”

The blue-furred wolf made a good point. “That might make sense. They only started attacking Harrow recently. Maybe they just kept bouncing from target to target and only now just started focusing on something.”

“I’m more concerned about the fact that they cannot find out who original developed the technique Harrow is touting as his own,” Knight said. “Surely there must be a patent somewhere. That would not be hard to find.” He fished out his own phone and began tapping away at the keys.

Whatever he was searching for was interrupted when the lights in the Place of Power dimmed. Teddy sank into the couch and took a deep breath. These thoughts out have to wait. All his focus had to be directed at the ritual.

Pillars of light fell upon the pillar surrounding the pool filled with milky liquid. Members of the Order stood around the pool’s lip, all robed. Alongside them were the figures of interest for the ritual; Bert, Torpak and the other former GHM members. The ‘celebrants’ as they were called, were dressed in contrasting black robes.

One of the Order members; a red dragon with blonde hair, lifted a violin that he was clutching. After a few seconds, he began to play it. Soft, melodic music began to fill the air. It had a slow, rhythmic beat with sharp bursts of faster notes here and there. Blood was encouraged to pump faster through veins as the tune was undeniably catchy.

“What…?” began Knight.

“That’s Drekhan,” rumbled Teddy, adjusting his own package. “The Order does everything it can to arouse during their rituals. Drekhan uses his magic to infuse his music. It stimulates people. Gets them to lower their guard. Next will come the aromatherapy.”

Though they could smell it, they could see the purplish-pink haze that began seeping out onto the Place of Power. More and more, the scene was starting to look like a steam room filled with guys. Even from where he stood, Teddy could tell the combined effects of the dim lightning, the pornographic-adjacent music and scents that was infused with aphrodisiacs was taking hold on the participants. Bert was looking a little shaky on his cloven hooves while Torpak and the other Zauroks were unashamedly rubbing their erections through their robes.

Members of the Order of the White Orchid moved to each of the celebrants and helped them remove their black robes. This left Bert and Torpak fully exposed with throbbing erections and their bodies starting to glisten with sweat. Seeing them all side-by-side made Teddy wonder…

“… why are they all jacked…?”

Knight let out another agreeing grunt. “I noticed that too,” rumbled the Elder. “Also why are they all male?”

Maybe it was because they only had a small subset of victims but it was suspicious that, thus far, they had only seen guys that all transformed into images of masculine perfection of their appropriate species.

The next stage of the ritual began. One by one, a member of the Order - still fully robed - guided each of the celebrants into the pool. Said pool was only about waist high but amongst these towering and impressive specimens, the water just barely covered their testicles. Their raging erections were left revealed. Each celebrant was arranged in a rough circle around the center of the pool. The Order members retreated back into the shadows, their robes soaking with the catalytic goo.

Now it was Tyson’s turn.

A pang of guilt struck Teddy’s chest as he watched his twin brother remove those white robes to reveal that - admittedly - impressive, green body. It just felt wrong not to see his brother in his demonic body. He quietly swore that he would make it up to Tyson and was already planning to use the money he’d get for this gig on some extravagant gift. Maybe a trip to Miami or something.

Tyson, fully naked now and erect, waded into the pool, his fingers drifting across the surface of the white liquid and gently disrupting it. Words were said. Likely instructions but from where they sat, Teddy couldn’t make it out.

Then the chanting began.

Magic sizzled through the air, making the hair on Teddy’s arm rise. Even from their distance, he could feel the power that radiated through the air. Nothing in his life had ever felt as potent as the magic that the Order used. It was like the air suddenly turned into thick gelatin that was electrified. He had to force himself to continue breathing because the overwhelming, dominating power of the ritual that was just starting was threatening to shut down his body’s most basic instincts.

He glanced over to Knight who showed typical signs of this kind of exposure. The detective’s eyes were fixated on the ritual. Clawed hands were digging into the armrests of the couch and his jaw was hanging open slightly. No breathing. Teddy reached out and gently slapped the Elder’s chest, right at the diaphragm, with the back of his hand.

Knight gasped and blinked a few times in shock.

“Remember to breathe,” warned the Delver. “This is just the first part of their ritual. It gets more intense from here.”

The blue furred wolf nodded, the tendrils on his face twitching in agitation as he mumbled thanks to Teddy. Turning back towards the Place of Power, Teddy braced himself for what he knew would inevitably come; the increase in sensitivity.

Down in the pool, Tyson was saying something, likely more ritualistic words. He cupped his hands into the liquid and held it to his lips, taking a sip of it. Each of the celebrants did the same. Once that was done, the music provided by Drekhan intensified.

Then it hit.

Every inch of Teddy’s skin felt like it was a hundred times more sensitive. He became very aware of every fiber of his underwear and how it cupped his crotch. The shirt on his back tingled and tickled his flesh. Every hair on his body became as sensitive as his fingers and even the soft, velvety texture of the chair was sandpaper against the back of his neck. To distract him, he glanced over to Knight who looked surprisingly calm.

“How are you enduring this?” he grimaced through clenched teeth.

The Elder gave him a little smile. “Full cellular control, remember? I just shut off my nerves.”

“Lucky bastard.”

He turned his gaze back to the ritual, watching as Tyson, his hands dripping with the magic fluid, drew close to Bert and began drawing arcane runes on the Priapan’s chest. Being at the center of the ritual, Bert was clearly enduring the full brunt of these magical energies. His features were twisted into a mix of pleasure and pain; cheeks flushed, eyes pleading and lips turned into a grimace. The ritual, however, kept him from jerking his sizable meat.

The thing about ingesting the catalytic fluid was that they any spell channeled through the liquid was now inside them; in their very cells. Their bodies were under Tyson’s full control.

Tyson finished drawing the runes of Bert’s chest and the fluid, surprisingly, remained solid and didn’t drip all over the Priapan’s green, heaving chest. The runes glowed, emitting a soft, white light. Tyson then moved to the next celebrant, Torpak. The Shaper hesitated a little as the Zaurok panted and heaved, a hungry look on his face. Being a professional, however, Tyson continued and began painting the runes.

For Teddy, the magic was intensifying and it took all his effort not to tear off his clothes there and then. That was all part of the Order’s magic. He tried to occupy himself with the battle applications of such magic like he had every time he was forced into observing such a ritual. Getting your enemy to strip off their own clothes and armor because they were being overwhelmed by their sensations would be very effective especially if the area of effect was so wide.

Then, without warning, all the sensations began to fade.

Fear gripped him. That was not what he was expecting. It was only meant to get more and more intense until he was literally jerking his meat if he couldn’t resist. He opened his eyes, having never noticed he had closed them, and focused back on the Place of Power. Nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Tyson had moved on from Torpak and was drawing runes on the other celebrants. The chanting was continuing. The haze was still there. Lights dimmed. Music going at a steady pace.

So why did he suddenly feel… numb?

He glance around and noticed a blue, furry paw on top of his hand.

Knight.

“How do you feel?” asked the Detective.

Teddy frowned. “I don’t… feel anything…”

“Good,” responded with a little smile. “That’s exactly what’s supposed to happen.” The wolf nodded towards Teddy’s hand. “I’ve just interfaces with your central nervous system and shut down your skin’s sensory nerves. That should help.”

“It… actually does,” he admitted. “Didn’t know you Elder could do that. That’s pretty sweazy.”

Knight’s smile broadened a little before he turned back towards the ritual. “Comes from being a cop. Learned this trick because it became necessary.”

Teddy made a note to ask for more details later. Now that he had his full focus again, he looked back towards the ritual and watched.

Once Tyson had finished drawing the runes on each of the celebrants, he took up position in front of Bert again. Again he was saying something. The intensity of desire grew and even with Knight’s interference, Teddy could feel his cock throbbing against his pants. It took a few seconds for Knight to adjust his technique so that Teddy could ignore that as well. The Elder was sporting his own erection but thanks to his full control over his physical form, he could ignore it.

The chanting began to be interrupted by the occasional moan and huff. In the shadows beyond the pillars, figures moved. The other members of the Order were now starting to tease and touch one another. Sex heightened the potency of the ritual. How they could maintain any sort of concentration while being pleasured was beyond Teddy and by now, the Delver knew better than to ask.

What little light around the Place of Power dimmed further. Spotlights on the individual pillars faded leaving only the pool perfectly illuminated. The music from Drekhan reached a new tempo and mist took on a deeper, reddish color. By now, the urge to jerk off would be overwhelming and anyone with less control would have ripped off their pants and masturbated only to find themselves painfully denied of release. Even from this distance, no one was allowed to cum unless Tyson said so.

Thanks to Knight and his experience with the ritual, however, Teddy sat perfectly in the couch with his focus uninterrupted. Knight had a fascinated look on his lupine face but was likewise focused. Both of them sported erection but they were unattended.

The Monster Maker proceeded with the next stage of the ritual. Tyson sank down into the pool until he could wrap his lips around Bert’s cock. The Priapan, still paralyzed by the ritual, looked like he wanted to do cum so badly but was denied release until Tyson fully gobbled every inch of the man’s cock. All too avoid a single drop of semen being lost in the catalytic fluid. The minute Tyson’s lips kissed the base of Bert’s dick, the Priapan let out a loud, explosive cry and came.

Teddy heard it from behind the glass and even Knight was caught by surprise at how quickly the Priapan orgasmed. That ejaculation was met by a chorus of others. Members of the Order had cum too.

But it was not over. Tyson gripped Bert’s dick in his mouth and throat for a good minute, sucking it dry. Then, he pulled away, gave the horned Orc a quick smile and nod and then moved to the next; Torpak. Like with Bert, Tyson sank into the water, wrapped his lips around the half-snake, half-Orc hybrid’s cock and used his magic. Torpak came and, again, the Order came. Torpak’s roar was much deeper than Bert’s but it was no less reverberating. One by one, Tyson sucked off each of the celebrants until he had swallowed each of their loads. After each one, the moans and cries of the Order member joined in.

Once he one done, Tyson again took up position in front of Bert. He held up his hands about waist high and uttered a single word. Teddy liked to say it was ‘cum’ but it likely wasn’t. Either way, the effect was immediate. All the celebrants ejaculated at that moment. Their seed shot out in a perfect arc and landed into the pool. What Teddy always found fascinating was that despite their different sizes, shapes and capacities, each celebrant shot out exactly the same amount of seed and the shots all rose through the air to form symmetrical arcs and always landed exactly the same mount of distance from their sources.

That was the magic and power of the Order.

Tyson then lifted his hands higher, this time to about bellybutton-high. Again, he uttered that same word and again, each celebrant came. Every member of the Order of the White Orchid did the same. Teddy knew that if Knight wasn’t using his influence, the temptation to join in would have nearly broke down his defenses. The first time he had observed such a ritual, this was about the time when his pants were around his knees.

The Monster Maker raised his palms another step higher, this time about shoulder high. Another burst of cum. More moans.

“How are they producing so much?” asked Knight.

Teddy snorted. “Magic of the White Orchid. They swallowed the magic. Now that magic is making their balls work overtime to produce more and more cum.”

“That is a frighteningly unconventional technique.”

Glad that someone else agreed with him, Teddy smirked and simply said, “Yep.”

Lastly, Tyson lifted his hands into the air, above his head. One last utterance of the magic word and one last burst of seed. After a few seconds, he lowered his hands, gave Bert a smile and then said something. Bert suddenly lunged at him, throwing his arms around the Orc and locking lips. Despite having just ejaculated five times in a row, the Priapan was filled with energy and raring to go. The Priapan practically tackled Tyson into the pool, rubbing their cocks against one another.

Torpak and the other Zauroks were hit by a similar effect. Now that they were free of the paralytic spell, there was nothing holding them back from ravaging one another. Within moments, all of them were splashing and colliding with one another. Cocks were shoved down mouths, asses were filled and cum was spilled. The liquid they were bathed in didn’t seem to slide off their bodies and coated them completely, turning them into almost indistinguishable, white silhouettes.

“Is… Is that part of the ritual?” Knight asked.

“Oh yeah,” sighed Teddy. “We’re about halfway done.”

“Just halfway!?” exclaimed the detective incredulously “What else is coming?”

Deciding not to avoid the very easy pun, he pointed and said, “Just watch.”

The chorus of moans and cries of ecstasy grew louder and louder as the music grew in tempo until it was very obviously just a score from a pornographic movie. Then streams of pearly, quite liquid began seeping in down gutters carved into the floor towards the pools. Other White Orchids were now pouring their own seed into the mix so that they could support Tyson.

All the while, the orgy in the middle of the room continued. Teddy was clad he couldn’t tell who was who down there because he was unsure how he would cope if he watched his brother fuck and get fucked. But, as had happened the many times he had witnessed this ritual, the figures in the pool began to blend with the mix of cum and magic fluids. Their forms began more and more indistinguishable until they just seemed to melt and bubble into the pool.

“Here we go…” he warned, leaning forward slightly.

The pearly-white mixture began to churn, spinning in the pool like a maelstrom of milk. Every second the passed, the churning grew more and more intense. Any of the concoction that splashed out of the pool’s limits would sink back thanks to the gutters and gentle slope of the room. Within a minute, the whirlpool of white was rising up to a couple of feet into the air.

Streaks of the fluid shot into the air, curling upwards like thousands of white strings. Each strand began to coalesce, forming shapes and figures. For a second, one of the figures appeared to be a hoofed and horned individual.

Bert.

Bert looked at his hands, examining his palms and then the back before seemingly looking up towards the sky. The the streams pulled away from Bert, following it to a reptilian figure with a large underbite, tusks and a tail.

Torpak.

The large serpentine creature flexed a bicep then bounced his pectorals before turning to the right. The strings of white goo that made him peeled away from his form and formed another of the Zauroks. One by one, each of the celebrants seemed to be shaped from the fluids of the pool. By now, every droplet of the concoction had been drained into the swirling mass. The pool was completely empty. No Bert. No Torpak. No Tyson.

If this had been the first time Teddy had witnessed this ritual, he would have panicked.

But he knew what was happening.

As the last of the Zauroks dissolved into the strings of fluid, the concoction bubbled, shaping itself into another image. White droplets formed a grainy image, constantly shifting and undulating as it strained to hold onto that connection.

A scene was displayed in front of them. Some sort of large doorway like one that belonged to a warehouse. Piles of wood sat around the area as well as what appeared to be various construction set pieces. Bricks. Bags of materials. Heavy duty trucks.

Then… a sign.

Teddy immediately got up to his feet and rushed towards the glass separating him from the ritual. Being fully aware of the importance of Knight’s influence, he gripped the Elder’s paw tightly and dragged him all the way to the window.

“There!” he exclaimed, pointing at the symbols displayed in the three-dimensional image made from cum and goo.

The image of a big, grinning Orc flexing a bicep while wearing an hardhat of ancient design grinned at them while the words ‘Primal Foundations’ was imprinted across the from the logo.

“Got it,” Knight announced, using his free hand and tentacles to take a picture of the scene.

They were lucky that the Elder had so many limbs.

Not even a second after the picture was snapped, the image roiled and twisted. Something agitated the liquid particles in a way that Teddy had never seen before. Droplets of the white goo began spinning out of control, swirling in an increasingly rapid way. The music from Drekhan abruptly stopped and the moans from the White Orchid ceased. The goo suddenly slammed together, forming a single, enormous, pearly sphere.

The orb rippled and shifted until not a single disturbance could be seen on its surface. It was almost a perfectly clear, spherical, white mirror.

“Is this part of the ritual…?” asked Knight.

Teddy began to back away from the mirror. He inadvertently released Knight’s paw. In that instant, he realized something was very wrong. The influence of the Order was gone. There was no overwhelming compulsion to jack off or cum. His skin wasn’t constantly tingling and the only agitation he felt from his clothes came from how it stuck to his skin from how drenched in sweat they were.

“No… No it isn’t.”

Panic and fear shot through his veins. Not for himself. For Tyson.

He turned, threw aside the velvety curtains and bolted down the stairs. Barely off the last step and turning towards the Place of Power, he was immediately tackled by a red, furry figure.

“No!” exclaimed Devon. “Stay back! It isn’t safe!”

Teddy tried to pry himself away from the Cheshire but the feline was covered in sweat and cum while also being annoyingly squirmy. He could barely get a grip on the Fae.

“Let me go! I need to save Tyson!”

Two, big tentacles wrapped around Devon’s waist and yanked him off.

“Go!” Knight shouted.

Nodding towards the Elder in thanks, Teddy rushed down the hallway leading to the Place of Power, heart pounding and his mind already reeling. Once again, he had thrown Tyson into danger. It was his idea to contact the Order, to perform this ritual. Just like it had been his idea to bring Albert Tien to Tyson to consult him.

“Fuck!” he roared at himself as he reached the threshold of the Place of Power.

There he stopped.

There was a face reflected upon the surface of the white orb of goo. A face with red skin, huge tusks and craggy features. His eyes were burning with an unnatural fierce, red glow that shone even through his nostrils. The crimson-skinned Orc seemed to notice Teddy and turned to him.

For a second, they stared at one another.

Then the Orc roared.

Without warning, the orb of cum and goo just collapsed. Whatever magic held it in space and maintained its shape was released. All of it came crashing down back towards the pool. From its height, the impact was enough that it sent a tidal wave outwards. Teddy raised his hands to protect his face as the wave of white just barely hit him. A few droplets landed on his arms and his boots lightly doused but nothing too bad.

It was all strangely warm.

Ignoring his own discomfort, he rushed forward, charging past stunned and cum-covered members of the Order and wound past the pillars shaped like a tower of dicks. Enough of the fluid had spilled out of the pool that barely a few inches was left at the bottom. But down in that pool, staring up into the ceiling…

… was Tyson.

Bert, Torpak and the other celebrants were there too but Teddy was mainly focused on his brother.

Again ignoring his own disgust at goo covering him, the Delver dropped down into the pool and knelt beside his brother. Tyson’s eyes were wide open and he was breathing but he looked dazed and even… afraid.

“Tyson!” Teddy cried, holding up his brother’s head and resting it on his lap. “Tyson, buddy! Speak to me!”

Tyson’s red eyes drifted towards him.

The Monster Maker swallowed. Then, in a hoarse voice, he said…

“… I need a drink.”

The Five Stars

During the Eleventh Age - the Age of the First Accord - Earth, a planet in the Central Material Plane, was gripped in a world-wide war. Triggered by England’s attempt to ‘reinstate the colonial commonwealth’, the initial invasion of Europe sparked conflicts all over the world even from across the Atlantic in the continent of North America. What had once been the United States of America devolved into squabbling ideologies and civil war that involved its north and southern neighbors of Canada and Mexico respectively.

Canada, which had long maintained amicable relationships with England, opted to invade the United States. Sick of the ‘Yankee-rhetoric’ of constantly threatening to invade Canada, the Canadians took the initiative and though a series of surprise attacks, invaded. Eager to protect their then-capital of Washington D.C., the US fortified its eastern flank while the western coast fell.

Seeing the weakness of its neighbor, Mexico launched a simultaneous attack. Though the two countries had no coordination, the timing crippled the United States as it was forced to split its attention between two flanks.

This was exacerbated by the act of a group of industrialists led by Cornelius Fordson who took a large chunk of sympathetic American citizens who believed that the United States of America had fallen long ago and this war was just the final straw. They launched countless floating fortresses and cities and ‘seceded’ from the United States, forming the first of the independent nations and calling themselves the Skyward Nation of Lincoln. Lincoln remained neutral in the fight and thanks to their superior technology and armaments, no nation wanted to provoke them.

Ironically, it was the appearance and threat of the Chernoborg Meteorite that ceased the fighting and brought all nations and even the Planes to unite under a common cause. After the impact, fighting ceased and peace talks were held.

When the dust settled, the United States of America was no more. Canada established the Commonwealth of Greater Canada, taking many of the western coast from California all the way up to Seattle and Alaska while maintaining control of its eastern half. A democratic country with an emphasis on personal freedoms, it is governed by a President with their capital positioned in Oregon.

Conversely, the Nation of the Heartlands took control of Texas, Mexico and many of the central states. More centralist in their policies, the Heartlands have a strong sense of community and family while being an agricultural powerhouse across the continent. Wealthy in a traditional sense, they provide key exports to the other nations and are ruled by their Consulate.

The country of New Horizon occupies key states not taken by either the Commonwealth or the Heartlands. A religious democracy, they espouse adherence to traditional Christian teachings both on a governmental and individual level. Ruled by the First Cardinal, they maintain a strong relationship with the Vatican and, though considered conservative in many ways, are one of the most technologically advanced nations in the world.

Remnants of the former United States took over the eastern coast of the continent including what had once been Canada and formed the Democracy of the Dollar. With capitalism at its very core, the Democracy is considered the strongest economy in the world. Though having very few material exports on its own, this nation is at the core of global and extraplanar trading. Many corporations make their headquarters in the Democracy and it considered itself a trade or mercantile state. It is ruled by the 100 Cents, a group of one-hundred corporations that make the most money and whose actions drive the nation. Unlike the other nations who have regular elections or forms of inheritance, the rankings of the 100 Cents constantly change with every financial quarter.

Lastly is the lone Skyward Nation of Lincoln. Though occupying the space above the continent, Lincoln remains independent and nomadic. It is constantly on the move and openly trades with other nations it comes across. While it has lost its technological superiority over the years, it has the strongest military doctrine with mandatory military service for all its citizenry. Arguably possessing the largest military of the five nations, it acts as the ‘guardian’ of the nations as it has established peace treaties with each nation to the point that any hostilities between one another or against the nations would invoke the ire of Lincoln.

These five countries form what is colloquially known as the ‘Five Stars of America’.

Interestingly, there is a ‘sixth’ star amongst them. The city state of Sanctuary City. Located in Washington State which would position it within the Commonwealth of Greater Canada, Sanctuary City is an enigma. Completely independent of the other nations and often at the forefront of innovation, it has retained its independence throughout the Ages thanks to clever political movements by its Prime Diplomat and the protections offered by the powerful corporations that consider it their headquarters. With each corporation possessing its own paramilitary group, an army of Delvers considering it their home and strong political ties across not only the globe but the Planes, anyone who would attack or show open hostilities to Sanctuary City would be considered insane or suicidal.

The Five Stars remain a tenuous peace but where borders are shared, there will always be tension and clashes of ideologies. Thus, Sanctuary City has often been named the ‘Sanctuary in the Starstorm’.