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A breeze cut across the mountain path. Gravel parted, thrown aside by ungentle hands, replaced by gentler crosscurrent, then unsettled again. Wind tugged at Corran's robe. A leather sack sat in his palm. The maroon-furred deer stood still, silent, eyes shut and free hand splayed wide. Cold air rushed between open fingers, flowed towards, around, and away as current and crosscurrent reached far and wide beyond, cycling miles in mere moments before all returned to a single point. "So, are we on the right path?!" Harper raised his voice against the wind. It was loud. Louder than anything with ears as large as his should be expected to deal with. The rabbit grit his teeth. Between that and the chill emanating from his adventuring partner in waves, he was about ready to take his chances wandering blind. "Are we--" "Shut up!" Corran's voice caught on the wind in a vicious thunderclap. It whipped around, going from soft whisper to screech to whisper again before it dispersed in another rush of current. Harper didn't speak after that. The rabbit held his cloak tight against wind both magic and natural. He shivered. Air scrying, a terrible and terribly useful art all at once. How Harper hated it! Worse, the necessity of it! Why did magic always have to take so damn long! I'll freeze to death before this spell's done! Currents threaded and weaved themselves all in proximity, which Harper had little reason to believe wasn't everything within sight. It blew around rocks and discarded wood, combed through dry grass beds, adding the shape of individual blades to a collective memory understood only, truly, by itself; Imparted begrudgingly to whatever mage held its bag--an act of quid pro quo between prisoner and warden. Something--a stray current most likely--tugged at Harper's cloak. The rabbit glanced to his right, then swallowed hard. Green. Lush, thick, 100 meters down at least. A carpet stretched across miles of low-lying hinterland, interrupted only in patches where a tree fell here or naked branch stuck out there, noticeable if one focused. The Daletyme forest. Above and away it was idyllic, but inside stalked awful things no one wanted to deal with. Equally those awful things didn’t want to deal with anyone, so an unofficial truce remained between monster and man. That meant, of course, travel was only possible through the mountainside. Just then, the wind changed direction. All at once, every current and crosscurrent lurched towards Corran. Harper gasped. Harsh wind shoved at his back. His cloak inverted, flipped over the rabbit's head to become a green hood. By the time he pulled it back down the wind had stopped. "Inn's this way." Corran tugged on a pair of strings interwoven into the bag's lip, drawing it closed. The maroon deer carefully attached the bag to his belt then walked off without another word. Harper stared for a moment, dumbfounded, then enraged. "You...you could have warned me!" The deer plodded along as if he hadn't heard. Bastard. Harper followed at a distance. Then that distance got a little closer. Their gap closed by degrees, short bursts of speed brief enough to go unnoticed. Mages drew attention. By virtue of their craft, they dressed and acted in particular ways. Noticeable ways. Even the meekest wallflower of a mage was a person of interest wherever they went--save cities where their kind tended to culminate. Corran, being that meek wallflower of a mage, found his inability to blend in rather alarming. People were drawn to those long, flowing robes like moths to a flame spell. After the hundredth farmer—Harper counted—entreated the good sir mage to bless this or fix that or perform a trick he didn't know, a spell beyond his school, Corran decided plain travelers clothes would suffice. That suited his partner just fine. White fabric peaked out, just barely, beneath the deer's fastened belt. Eager for a little revenge, and within arm's reach, Harper’s fingers hooked around Corran's exposed waistband. "Huh??!" The unyielding fabric of his undies slammed into the deer’s crotch like a sudden punch. Corran squealed, high-pitched and pathetic. "S-stop!” Harper didn't. In fact, he did the opposite. Bit by bit Corran's undies tugged out of his trousers, stretching, thinner and thinner until a taut line pressed into his ass and his balls were crushed. Constant friction paired with mounting pressure made one end burn while the other ached. "You know," Harper said, a grin stretched over his muzzle, "little nerds like you really shouldn't tell warriors like me to shut up." He curled Corran's underwear around a fist as he spoke, soliciting a pained groan that made his cock twitch. Gods, why didn't he do this more often? That would put the mouthy deer in his place. A good, firm, humiliating wedgie every time he got a little smart. You don’t treat warriors like this, little man. You show respect! You show respect or you get a wedgie! Harper laughed, exalted in Corran’s adorable little noises, his moans and groans and pained cries. He didn’t notice something curling around his waistband. Wispy, vaporous smoke curled off an incorporeal hand. Fingers, stout and meaty, held Harper's underwear in a grip he couldn’t wiggle out of. A soft breeze blew across the mountain. The smoke went with it, carried on a current where it soon dissipated. Harper’s pink nose twitched. His eyes went wide. "Uh. Maybe we could—" The pain was enough to make him scream. Instant, sharp. Harper’s undies slammed up his ass and flattened his balls against his pelvis. The hand rose, higher and higher. Harper let out a pitiful squeal. Out of pure instinct, his grip around Corran’s undies tightened. Both men ended up several feet in the air, writhing and groaning together in sheer agony. "T-truce!?" Harper squeaked, teeth grit, face contorted in pain. "Truce!" Corran agreed, blinking away tears. The hand blinked out of existence just as Harper released Corran's undies; both lads hit the ground with an awful thump. --- Night fell like a hammer. Everything at once flattened beneath its swing. The temperature went from bearable to bone deep, the sun from bright eye to depressed blot, and the pair from energized to exhausted. Even the trail they followed seemed tired, going from steep slopes and harsh curves to flat, straightforward ground. That was a mercy at least. Both men walked in each other's arms, huddled beneath each other’s cloak. Necessity demanded it. So they walked and stumbled, shivered and swore their way through what remained of their journey. When the sun was gone, replaced by a bed of stars, they saw a sign. It squatted by the roadside, right where the path widened into a final stretch that led near the forest below. Two lamps--one unlit--swayed on either side of a shut door. "This...are you sure it's the inn?" Corran asked as he fought another shiver. Harper pointed. The deer followed his finger to another crude sign set above the doorway: Hamlet Inn. "Your guy really said to meet here?" Harper scowled. "You think I'd go this far out in the Gods-damned hinterlands if I wasn't sure?!" "I think you've done that before, yes." Disentangling himself from Corran, Harper snorted and ascended the staircase. The Hamlet inn's interior was little more pleasant than its exterior, larger too. Harper didn't know what he expected, in fact, he didn't know what he even wanted beyond the vague promise of walls to keep out the wind. What he got regardless was a box, roughhewn and cluttered. Men sat around in clusters of tables, honeycombed throughout with minuscule floor space between. Chair back rested against chair back, shoulder to shoulder. Dozens of eyes all at once snapped towards the rabbit standing gobsmacked in the open doorway. He suddenly didn’t feel much like a warrior. "I...uh.” "Fuck, move Harper! It's cold out here!" Maroon hands shoved him inside. Harper stumbled with a yelp, waving his arms around a second before he steadied himself. Chuckling broke through the loud quiet of the inn's clientele, then everyone all at once lost interest in these two bumbling travelers. Corran slid in beside Harper. Harper shot him a glare, which the deer ignored. "You see him?" "I..." Saurians, of all shapes and sizes, filled out just about every table. Tankards cracked, dice rolled, cards shuffled. Sharp teeth gleamed in the dim light of a dozen lamps. Harper bit his lip. "You, uh, see a lizard around here?" . "Yeah," Corran replied, "I see one there, and there, and there, and--" "Shut up!" Few lanes charted a clear path, and every path that seemed clear either wasn't, or led to a dead end. Harper crept between tables, careful not to disturb anyone unless no other option presented itself. And when when none did, he would sooner double back and track a new way through than risk an "excuse me." He caught glances as he passed, but most patrons were content to ignore Harper. Most. As Harper squeezed between a few chairs, a giant, green tree truck grew out of nowhere, blocking the way. "Rabbit." An alligator. He stood eight, maybe nine feet, well over Harper. He wore plain, unassuming clothes--the kind that wouldn't be out of place for a farmhand. "Boss is waitin'." He turned. Harper stumbled backwards to avoid his massive tail. Patrons took notice as he neared. Chairs scraped against stone. Men scrambled from their seats or pressed themselves to tables in order to provide ample room for the alligator. Harper hesitated. Corran was nowhere to be seen. He waited a moment, shook his head, then followed. The bar was empty. It was a plain thing, a far cry from carved oaken counters and foreign liquors of city taverns that Harper had grown accustomed to in years previous. A row of large barrels stood behind, offering beer or wine of dubious origin and quality. A dozen stools, roughen as though cobbled together outside, lined the counter from end to end. A lit fireplace crackled nearby. That, out of everything in this place, looked strange in its banality. Indeed, it would not be out of place in a reasonably comfortable homestead. Harper began to suspect Hamlet Inn's origins and its current predicament were two different things. "Drink?" Snapped out of his thoughts, Harper turned to see the alligator now behind the bar counter. His rough, masculine appearance paired with the low light provided by the fireplace made him look like a gargoyle above cathedral doors. Harper took a seat directly across from him. "On the house?" The alligator shrugged. "Guess Pa can deduct a few coppers from your payment." "Few coppers?!" Harper blanched. "A drink is six pence in the city!" "City prices," The alligator said with a grumble that wasn't entirely mirthless, "these are nowhere prices, bunny. Ain't easy to get drink where no one lives." A fierce indignation rose in Harper's chest. Two coppers for what was no doubt some cheap, back county swill!? The rabbit opened his muzzle to refuse and refuse adamantly, then an awful creak drew his attention. A massive black cloak settled down in a stool beside him. Dull green scales peaked out from underneath. It took Harper a moment to realize there was a man in all that fabric, a lizard. "Just give him a cup, Boris." He turned in his seat, meeting Harper with a smile full of teeth and a stare just as kind. "Yes, on the house." The alligator, Boris, shrugged. He reached under the bar counter and produced two mugs, both of a much higher quality than anything their patrons had. He produced wine too, a common city vintage, then walked around the bar and off without another word. Lizard was a fresh contact, one gained through a friend of a friend’s ex’s roommate’s cousin, that kind of deal. A bad bet if there ever was one, an unknown, yet Harper couldn’t afford to knock work, no matter how shady. In a world of adventures both cheap and legendary, you got what you could. "I trust your journey was fair?" Black claws curled around a wooden mug. Lizard nodded towards Harper and took a knowing sip. Harper, for his part, forced a nod in return. His lips twitched, but he bid his countenance remain neutral. He set down his cup after a taste, satisfied he did not need to suffer through any more. Thank the Gods he didn't pay for it. "Very fair, thank you." "Merchandise?" Harper began to answer, then paused. "Coin first," he said, after some hesitation. Lizard shook his head. "You don't know how this kind of thing works, do you?" "I know handing off merchandise before you have coin-in-paw is a good way of getting robbed." The lizard chuckled, though his cold saurian eyes were less enthused. "That from experience?" "Silver or I walk." Lizard stared him down for what felt like five years and an extra pint. Harper stared back, blue eyes hard set, steady. Not once did he look away despite every bone in his body screaming to yield. Lizard reached into the confines of his cloak. Something glinted in the low light. Harper's fingers twitched. "I'll do you one better." A crowned ram peaked out between claws, head held high, regal. King Guy XI looked off into the distance, which happened to be a pot of mulled wine. Lizard slapped his claw down hard against the bar counter, then flicked the coin off like a bug; Harper slammed his mug down just before it passed him, catching the coin underneath. He stared down his new contact a bit longer, but maintaining his previous stolid demeanor would be impossible as soon as the coin was in his paw. Gold! Not silver, not copper, nor iron smudged with gold dust, but gold! Harper slipped the coin out from under his mug. He tapped it against the counter, held it up to the light, made a show of inspection that was only, frankly, half real. He wasn't exactly an expert on counterfeits, but every impulse screamed that was genuine. He smiled, big and wide. For a moment all he felt in the whole wide world was gold in his paw. "Well?" Lizard tapped a claw against the counter and stared at Harper, expectant. "Then our business is--" Wispy, white smoke curled into stagnant air. Harper turned to see a disembodied hand near his hip. Rolling his eyes, he dropped the coin into the waiting magehand. "Partner wants a look." Just as the lizard opened his mouth to protest, the hand zipped away. Drunk patrons made perfunctory grabs as it zipped above their heads. A pair of antlers stuck out behind a table full of lizards. "It'll just be a minute." The lizard clenched his jaw. "Crystal. Now." "You'll get it," Harper said. "Partner just needs to—" "You trying to rob me, bunny?" His tone was even, cold, but Lizard's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. There were stories in those eyes, none pretty. Harper met them with a cold stare. "Course not." "Then where's my crystal?" Before he could even began to formulate a response, something tugged at Harper’s cloak. Corran's mage hand opened beneath him; a torn scrap of parchment spelled out in tight, wobbling handwriting: illusion. Pain. Sudden, hard, blunt, exploded across Harper's forehead. For a moment the world went black, then blurry. Light leaked in from some unseen source. Light like grease, like grime over windows. He groaned, at least it felt like he did. Getting a hold of his senses beyond vague notions of pain and noise and greasy light was impossible in those first few seconds. His head was down, he thought, or at least not upright. He tried to rise, but pressure kept him there. “Ease up a bit, Boris.” The pressure did, a bit. Just enough for Harper to turn his head. He saw...wood. Tankards and mugs. Black claws tapped against a grimy countertop. "Still awake, bunny?" Lizard ginned with one of those mirthless smiles. "Crystal. Cough it up." Several things hurt at once. First and most obvious was Harper's head. Second was the fact he, despite precautions, was being robbed again. Only this was for a particularly difficult get. Corran and Harper spent a bloody week trouncing around graveyards and haunted towers just to find one of these crystals! They was rare, formed once every fifty years or so from collective regret. Mages loved the thing, and criminals loved snorting it. No, Harper wasn't about to just head it away! "Real coin! Cough it up!" Lizard motioned. Harper braced himself for the pressure against his head to return, for a solid punch to the jaw, anything blunt and violent. Instead, a familiar feeling made his eyes go wide. Fingers curled around his waistband. "No!" Fresh fucking agony. His balls, between pelvis and briefs with nowhere to go, were crushed in an instant. And while his underwear went up, the hand at his head pressed down. Pinned, Harper could only fight a squeal as fabric bunched up between fluffy white cheeks and his undies stretched taut. Gods, that fucking burn! "Crystal!" "F..fuck you!" Another ripple of agony tore through Harper as his underwear was yanked higher. "Keep tugging, Boris," Lizard said, peering down at Harper with an indignant glare, "he'll break eventually." His underwear tugged higher and higher. Tears welled in the rabbit’s eyes. Then something surged in his chest. Energy, familiar and warm, reverberated throughout his body. His muscles, lean as they were, tingled with something great, powerful. Magic. Harper pushed with both paws. Muscles strained, bulged. Boris let out a surprised grumble. Harper's head rose by degrees. "Invigoration," Lizard scowled. He glanced out at the crowd around them. "His little partner's out there." Harper grunted. His face smacked hard against the counter again. Boris now had to strain to keep him down, which eased some pressure on his crotch. Still, It still wasn't enough. Harper hissed both in pain and frustration. He banged a fist against the counter top. Boris let out a hearty chuckle, even as he fought to keep the rabbit under control. "Nerds are still nerds, even when they team up!" Weak, small rabbit claws raked against wood--Only they weren't weak, not with Corran's magic. Harper dug furrows into the bar counter. Then he dug his nails in, curling his fingers. Wood splintered, frayed, and tore. Before anyone could think to react, Harper had a thin stake in his paw. He threw his hand back. "AGGHH!" Boris stumbled away with a roar. A long, sharp stick struck partway through his side. Not wasting precious seconds to restore his dignity, Harper whirled around. his overstretched undies flapping behind him like a short, oddly-placed cape. He drew a dagger off his belt. Steel glinted in low lamplight; a blurry mirror reflected mishmashed faces and tables and drinks into an amorphous blob of color. Harper lurched forward, determined to put the alligator out of commission before he recovered. Just then Lizard, forgotten in the heat of the moment, flicked forefinger over thumb and sent Harper careening across the inn in a blast of magic. Patrons barely glanced up as a white, loud blur flew above their heads in an arc that ended across the inn. Harper’s back cracked against the floor. Then he was falling. Another floor, this one lined with tables, rose to meet him. Harper twisted in the air and somehow got his feet back under him just in time. He landed in a dead squat on top of an occupied table. Metal tankards and clay mugs clattered over, drink spilled. Saurians hissed and cursed with great consternation. Someone shrieked. Paying them little mind, Harper jumped. More dishes clattered to the ground, their contents thrown about in every direction. That attack should have knocked him out old. Likewise, the hell that rugged landing should have, would later, play on his knees should have broken a bone or two. Harper shot a glance over the inn; a pair of antlers stuck out behind a table of drunken, cheering raptors. Much of a bastard that deer could be at times, Harper couldn't deny Corran's aptitude. Back across the inn, Lizard pointed. Harper prepared to take another spell head on. Instead, something far worse came right for him. Boris, a fresh scar where his wound once was, charged. Patrons clamored out of the way, drinks in claw, laughing, shrieking, stumbling, it didn't matter. Boris knocked tables and chairs and people away in a dead-on pursuit. Harper jumped to another table, spun his dagger to a reverse grip, and went to meet him. --- Magic is hard. Harder than anyone untrained wanted to admit. It's easy to think of mages as Gods, conduits of sheer energy that played with reality just as a bard plucked strings. Well, nothing is quite so simple. The bard plucks strings in an order, a rhythm trained to what seems like perfection over years of practice. Yes, it looks easy. Less easy are the failures, so small and specific as to be unnoticeable to laypeople, that make the bard wince. A note out of place here, a finger twitch there, delicate accenting mangled or lost entirely between the jump from one note to the next. Corran weaved his spell with absolute certainly that every part, every whispered word, every finger twitch, was a fuckup never to be forgiven. Still he went on. Fingers wiggled, words whispered, vapor rose from his hands and, on occasion, lightning sparked between his antlers. His hand trailed after Harper as he jumped from table to table to table. "You know, I've always had a thing for deer..." A chair screeched as the raptor beside him pushed closer to Corran. Beer sloshed in a tankard double the size of everyone else's, and claws traced playful circles over Corran's knee. The deer grit his teeth. Dammit Harper! He always had to get himself into trouble at the worst times! "They're reaaaaaal graceful, you know? Flexible." The raptor leaned in. Hot breath tickled Corran's neck. The deer readjusted his trousers without taking his eyes, or most of his focus, off Harper. "You wanna come back to my roo—" The raptor screamed and fell back in his seat. Suddenly, people were running. Shrieking and scrambling out of the way of something. Corran spared a quick glance towards the raptor. Black smoke rose off his chest. He groaned. Corran looked away. Blue light shot towards him. --- Harper ducked, rolled, and slid away just in time to avoid a chair to the head. It splintered, smashed to wood pulp between a stone floor and sheer force. The patron who had been in it groaned, collapsed over a pile a shards and splinters. Harper didn't have time to feel bad for him. Another chair came, another, though mercifully absent of patrons. The rabbit hopped, slid, and weaved his way around with ease. Patrons watched on the sidelines, generally careless of the danger, as if watching a circus act. In a sense they were. After some brief paw-to-claw, Boris realized his great strength was little use against a rabbit, already fast, enhanced by magic energy. Harper weaved past another chair, then with his dagger aloft he dove between Boris's muscular legs. The alligator roared. Blood trickled down his calf. Not enough. He seized the only thing left in grabbing distance, a table. Harper jumped to his paws, began to run, then fell into a heap. Exhausted. Corran!? A light show played out on the other end of the inn. Lighting crackled, blue arcs smashed against levitating tables. A pair of antlers flashed, and mirror images of Corran casted rays of light towards a Lizard who shrugged them off with ease. Oh fuck. Boris held the table above his head. The crowd watched, enraptured. A wave of disappointment came over them when he set it back down. "Spent, aye?" Suddenly the monster was gone, and Boris was that same quiet, gruff, guy that led Harper through the inn to Lizard. "Alright, no more fun. Let's take ya to Pa." Harper couldn't move, couldn't do much of anything but watch as the alligator stomped up to him. Claws wrapped around his stretched out waistband. "Do you...have to?" Harper panted. "No," Boris said, bunching up the rabbit's undies in both claws, "I want to." He pulled, and suddenly Harper had enough energy to scream. --- Opalescent light shimmered. Rainbows crackled in and out of existence with electric intensity. The air around Corran's fingertips sweltered; reality itself rippled with mana exhaust, energy vented from constant casting in too short a timeframe. The untrained observer saw little more than heat haze, felt little more than an odd rise in temperature. Corran saw, felt, his reserves draw thin. Another fireball hurled towards him from the bar. Corran intersected it with a ray of light. The crowd, apparently feeling safe or safe enough with what narrow berth established by hugging the walls, cheered for more. Lizard was more than happy to oblige. He stood stop the bar counter, one hand outstretched, tankard in the other, eyes bright with either magic or glee. This wasn't even a contest. Even if Corran hadn't drained himself assisting Harper, there was no way he could see out this one-sided war of attrition. The deer panted. His vision blurred over like someone wiped down his eyes with gloss. He hoped, prayed, that Harper won his battle and was just about to shove a dagger into that bastard’s back, then a familiar scream shattered any hope of a sudden turnaround. Lizard fired another fireball. The deer's defensive line of tables exploded into splinters, and suddenly he was on his back, groaning. Moments later, footsteps. A light kick to the rips forced Corran onto his side; a fist curled around his waistband. --- Much of the inn was a splintered mess by now, but if anyone cared they didn't say it. Patrons continued on as if nothing happened. A lucky few managed to find an intact seat or even a full table, though most made do without. Many clustered as close as they dared around the bar to gawk. Harper bit his lip. Corran tried not to cry. Boris had taken both men squealing by their underwear back to the bar counter, showing them off like trophies just won in a grand tournament. Enough patrons laughed to make both men feel sufficiently humiliated. It only got worse from there. Lizard waited for them seated with a drink. Soot-stained fingers bid welcome. "Strip 'em," he said. Lizard took great satisfaction in their pained expressions. He took even more in their horror as Boris unceremoniously--shifting Corran over to the same claw he wedgied Harper with--tore off their clothes. Tattered rags landed in a heap at Boris's feet. Corran immediately covered his crotch, which was outlined almost perfectly due to the tight wedgie. Harper didn't bother. If there was any dignity in receiving a horrific public wedgie, he'd find it. His balls really fucking hurt though. "You boys shoulda just took whatever I gave ya and walked away. I hope it," Lizard said, as he motioned towards the pair's taut undies, "was worth it." Harper snarled. He lurched forward, but only accomplished another spasm of terrible pain at both ends. Lizard, unimpressed, motioned towards the fireplace. The "battle" of moments ago provided much fresh kindling, and the hearth already settled into a cracking roar. "Mantle could use a new piece, Boris." Ohhhhh fuck. A hanging wedgie was, to anyone prone to receiving them, a nightmare. Your own weight and gravity worked against you, combined to exert as much pressure as possible on a poor nerd's balls. Harper's ass burned, burned with the kind of unyielding friction that made him grind his teeth to nubs. Corran shared a hook with him, and they both hung by am impromptu piece of iron driven into the wall over the mantle. Both men watched as Lizard rifled through their belongings, sparse as they were. He upturned bags, tossed about scraps, and made a damned fine mess that neither could hope to put back together. If there was any comfort to be taken, it was in Lizard's clear frustration. He hissed and jabbered insults towards Boris, tore scraps into smaller scraps, undid fabric at the seams stitch by stitch. Nothing. Nothing he wanted at least. Finally, after a good while, he looked up at Harper. "Where is it!?" The rabbit managed a grin despite the pain. Lizard, incensed, redoubled his efforts, enlisting Boris to pick through scraps with him. "W-where--" Corran winced, then clutched at his poor balls, "is it?" Harper's eyes shot down to his underwear. The crystal sure didn't feel great crushed against his balls, but it was worth seeing Lizard's attempted robbery fail. Maybe. "Pa." Boris stood up, something clutched in a claw alongside a few tattered remnants of a shirt. Corran gasped. "My wind--" Harper slapped a paw over Corran's muzzle. "This it?" Boris tossed Corran's bag over to Lizard; he snatched it out of the air with a triumphant sneer. "Has to be!" He stuck his claws in and pulled the bag open. No one knows exactly what happened that night, none that frequented Hamlet inn at least. Everyone could recall the battle, short as it was, and a couple losers anointing the fire place by their tighty whities. Few could tell after. Some gave reports of a sudden spell unleashed by the victor, usually followed by a sour anecdote on the trustworthiness of mages. One patron suggested a monster burst out of thin air, perhaps a summon by the losers. Whatever it was, it tore through Hamlet in seconds. Tables, both pre-smashed from battle and whole, shattered into wood pulp, crushed in an instant by unseen forces. Bottles broke, wine and beer swirled about, raining back down on patrons along with just about everything else not nailed--or hung--down. People fled. It was that, or find yourself at the mercy of the spell, or monster, or whatever it was. --- Hamlet inn was a desolate ruin when the wind finally escaped. Free of its prison, without Corran as anchor, winds of the north, south, east, and west hurried out, all at once, in their respective cardinal directions. Mere suggestions of walls stood around Harper and Corran, air framed with broken wood. Harper smirked, just a little, as he surveyed the damage. "Guess we won that one, Bud!" Corran looked much less enthused. "My wind...." The pair dangled in silence for a while. Harper wallowed in victory, Corran mired in disappointment. Then a terrible thought struck both men at the same time, encouraged by a breeze that made them sway back and forth, sending fresh agony through their nether regions. "How do we get down?" Harper didn't reply. He just clutched at his balls and blinked away tears.