O_O W00t! Thanks to all the reviewers who helped put TWO of my chapters on the frontpage =D I luff j00 all!
The usual: if you liked, comment, if you didn’t like, tell me why! And a little note to the readers (please don’t be offended if I don’t mention your name, I’m just answering a couple of questions/commenting/etc. ^^’ Because I’m weird that way.)

To iluvchocs: Well, more like iluvchocs to world. Everybody, this is one of my real-life friends, who loves chocolate, as you can see. xD They read my stuff occasionally. She doesn’t play Maple, she just signed up to this site because…why, exactly? >.> *whistles* Yeah, anyway. Chapter. Whoo.

To Ezyan: Same thing as above. Real life friend, reads my crap, but actually plays Maple. Bera. With me. You can thank her for this chapter, because I was trying to get her to do stuff and promised to upload this chapter tonight as a bribe.

To Colon: I incited someone to join! Thank you, that means a lot to me. <3 You’ll be able to find a good profusion of nice stuff to read on here. Welcome to MMOtales, and thanks for being a reader. =D

To Vicelin: Well, I guess you could call it that. I live in the Land Down Under, Australia, so currently it’s winter and our school holidays just finished </3 And our long holidays are in December, so yeah.

To DaMunky: Maybe I lied. Possibly I did. This is the first story I’ve actually put PLANNING into (insert gasp of horror). The rest I’ve ad-libbed like psycho and they have turned out as utter, utter crap. The kind of stuff you would read and instantly press the ‘back’ button on. And I’ll never write a book. I’ll probably die of EKHCS (Excessive Keyboard-Head Contact Syndrome) before I even get halfway.

To AnasF: As far as I know, JF wrapped up his latest story and sushiXchris actually was JF, or something. <_< OMG I’M NOT JF SERIOUSLY. I couldn’t write romance for CRAP.

Holy smoosh that’s a lot of TO THE READERS. On with the crap! This chapter will be bad. Liek nub t1ep li3k tih5 b4d. That’s seriously how bad it will be. Now…

*soaks hand in bleach*

It will also be extra long to highlight crapness. The author-thing is suffering from a syndrome called LATENIGHTWRITINGITIS.
—-
i. Li
I opened my eyes and stared at the wooden arches spanning the ceiling and wondering where in the Dark Lord’s name I was. I vaguely recalled something to do with red hair and someone telling me it was all right, and then I remembered someone feeding me something that had really tasted like puke. Oh yeah, and the part where Essy had been choking me to death. Hopefully she hadn’t succeeded.

Gingerly, I sat up, grimaced and glanced down at my torso, garbed in a mushroom-print shirt, wondering what had happened and why I was here. Well, Heaven probably didn’t have mushroom-print t-shirts, and Hell wouldn’t be nearly as comfortable. So I was safe for now. But where was I? From the moment I had blacked out in Orbis Tower, everything was foggy; I took the opportunity to look around a bit. Two rows of seven beds, opposite each other. It looked like an infirmary and the bed on my right looked rumpled, like someone had gotten out and then tried to make it again, badly.

There was a creak from the other side of the room as the door swung open and I looked up.
“Are you trying to imitate a Chronos?” asked the fire wizard, balancing a tray as she shut the door behind her. “You’re doing an excellent job of it.” I shut my jaw with a clack and glared at her, making a few mumbling incoherent noises before I finally pointed a finger at her accusingly.
“I threw you off a pier!” I declared, then realised how stupid that sounded and winced, wanting to take it back. She put the tray on one of the bedside tables and glanced up at me, raising an eyebrow coolly.
“Actually, I jumped. You obviously aren’t a very good assassin,” she commented. “Shouldn’t you be committing ritual suicide right now to atone for your dishonour?” I glared at her and folded my arms so I wouldn’t be further tempted to suddenly leap up and punch her smirk in.

“You wish,” I muttered, knowing how pathetic a comeback it was. There was a stretched silence between us for a few beats, whereupon she nudged the tray towards me, sat down on the bed opposite, folded her legs up beneath her and said, “Eat, or do I have to feed you like the kid you are?” Seething, I grabbed the tray and soup sloshed out of the bowl; hurriedly, I put the tray down and looked around for a napkin. She broke my concentration by declaring, “You do need a full time caretaker, don’t you.” I felt the rush of blood to my ears and decided to deflect the conversation away from my own failure.
“Where am I?” I asked, and she smiled, just slightly; a patronizing smirk that sent me clear messages without words, one that made me want to commit some severe violence just to wipe it off her face. Casually, she gestured at the window between us, leaned over and unrolled the shutters.

The door opened, but I didn’t pay much attention. Instead, I looked out the window, the brilliance of the afternoon sunlight reflecting off the fresh snow stunningly bright outside. There were a few people – a bowman, a warrior and a thief – having a snow fight; as the thief hurled a snowball at the bowman, another thief dispersed Dark Sight to appear behind her and grabbed her, making her tumble down into the snow with him. Someone settled on my bed and I turned to see who it was, hoping it was Az so I could ask him what in Zakum’s unholy name had happened and how I had gotten to El Nath.

Instead, it was a magician in a black Anakarune robe, and he was looking me over. Not in a perverted way, because then I would have stabbed him with my spoon. His gaze was just cool, assessing and watchful; after a while, he asked, “Are you having trouble breathing?”
“No,” I answered, then decided to try and get some answers. “Where am I? Have you done anything to Az?” Allamar let out a derisive laugh and I turned to glare at her; the magician just said, “Manners,” his tone inflectionless, and she shrugged, saying, “Bluntness is so amusing.”
“Not with our guest,” he said, waving a hand. As he rose, he gave me a nod and said, “This is my home. Your friend requires some time alone, and I would suggest you grant him that. Allamar?”

“Yes, master?” she asked, getting up. I just stared openmouthed. It was the first time I had ever heard the abrasive magician speak more than one sentence to a person without mouthing off.
“Take care of our guest. If she wishes to explore, do not hinder her. If she should want to go outside, then stay close by.” I closed my mouth and glared at him.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I snapped, annoyed. “And you haven’t answered my question. Where’s Az?”
“You misunderstand me,” he said, beginning to make his way to the door as he spoke. “She is not there for your protection. Rather, she will be there for the protection of…others.” Pausing at the doorway, he glanced back towards me, and with a jolt I realised that he was the one who had healed me. I remembered the green wash of light in my semiconsciousness; the pale face, the red hair…
“Like who?” I demanded, but the door was already closing. “Wait! What about Az?”

It shut with a click and I rose, planning to chase after him, but I was stopped with a Fire Arrow between the eyebrows. Irritated, I backed up a bit, but Allamar just followed.
“I could probably get out of the way before you fired,” I challenged her, and she just smiled mirthlessly as she put it out by placing her palms together.
“Don’t bother,” she replied casually. “If I don’t get you the first time, I’ll poison you.” Defeated for the time being, I sat back down and tried a spoonful of soup. It tasted good, if a bit thick. Then something hit me, and I sat up straight.
“That was your master?!” I demanded, waving my spoon at the closed door. Soup flew everywhere. Allamar stepped left just in time to miss a drop that decorated the wall; glancing at me as I ducked my head, face burning, she remarked sardonically, “You may be physically fast, but your brain speed does leave a lot to be desired.” A pause, then she sat down, smoothing the blankets out under her. “Yes, that’s my master.”

“How did he get someone like you to call him ‘master’?” I snapped, putting my spoon back down to avoid any further embarrassing accidents. “Are you just in it for his money, or what?”
“No!” she snarled, and I actually jerked back, shocked by the level of actual emotion in her voice. Seeing my reaction, she suddenly returned to her usual cool self and sighed, looking out the window.
“No,” she repeated. “Why should I be telling this to a stupid brat like you?” Bristling at the comment, I busied myself with the soup so I wouldn’t be tempted to stab her.

“He killed my parents,” she answered at length, and then spent a couple of minutes smirking irrepressibly at me as she helped me wipe soup off my face.

ii. Interlude
“I thought I was quite clear on what I wanted,” a voice said from behind the redheaded magician, and he closed the door behind him as he turned around.
“Your instructions were…unspecific,” answered the magician blandly, ignoring the hostile stare of his visitor. The next second, the visitor had picked the Priest up by his collar and slammed him against the wall, his voice measured as he spoke the next words.
“Well, I’ll have to make them specific now, then, won’t I? I want you to kill them both, Saedas. Do it soon.” An expression of icy disdain on his face, the visitor slid in closer, whispering, “The debt, remember?”

He let go and the coughing magician landed in a crouch against the wall. “Obviously she wasn’t as ready as I thought. You’ll have to get your hands dirty then. Poison them, stab them in their sleep, do whatever you need to. Wait! No,” the visitor said, pausing to reconsider as he carefully tilted his Patriot back away from his eyes; cold, obsidian slivers in his blue-tinged face. “Leave the Black Angel for me. Do whatever you want with the girl.” He glanced at the redhead, who had stopped coughing and was just staring back, emotionless, expressionless. Irritated, the visitor knelt down, drawing an arrow from his quiver as he did so.

Drawing back the robes from the magician’s unresisting arm, the guest continued, “Don’t bother playing your games with me. I’ve been playing mine for longer than you have.” With that, the visitor stabbed the arrowhead into the Priest’s arm as he sucked in a sharp breath; with prolonged, cruel strokes, the bowman carved a word into the magician’s pale skin, where it stood out in inflamed, bleeding lines against its white backdrop.

Traitor

“It’s not wise to play games with a maestro,” commented the visitor, folding his arms over his knees. “Quite a suitable marking, isn’t it? It suits you so well.” Pulling the marked arm sharply towards him, the Hunter positioned the hand against the wall, rose and held it in place with a knee keeping the arm still. Nocking the arrow to a devil-winged bow, he added, “Don’t do anything to earn the tag, Saedas.”

The redheaded Priest let out a quickly-silenced cry of pain as the arrow thudded through his hand, effectively pinning him as it embedded itself in the thick planking. Shouldering the bow, which pulsed darkly, almost absorbing the light around it, the visitor cast him a cursory glance and turned away, adding, “Heal it if you want. But do as I say, or I’ll come back and carve it on your face next time,” as he left.

Eventually, his uninjured hand shaking as it crawled to the arrow, the magician let out a shuddering sigh and, cautiously, severed the shaft with a well-placed Energy Bolt that fizzled out on a convenient decorative shield opposite. Nerving himself, he braced himself against the door he had been leaning on and, biting his lip, yanked his hand along off the cut shaft. Blood trailed across the planks as he cradled the hand to himself.

The bright green light enveloped him, and the wound in his hand closed over without a scar. He flexed his muscles cautiously a couple of times, to make sure the healing had been performed properly, and seemed satisfied with the result. However, the word still stood out in angry red against his arm. Glancing at it, he pulled his sleeve down over it, got up, and left, the area in front of the door still speckled with blood.
“Maestro’s word has been delivered,” he murmured. “Therefore Maestro’s word shall be obeyed.”

iii. Li
“He what?” I blurted, once I had stopped choking. “Shouldn’t you be avenging them? Not calling the guy who killed them ‘master’?” She raised an eyebrow at me.
“What kind of sugar-fairytale happyland do you live in?” she asked derisively. “He did me a big favour by doing what he did.” I gestured helplessly with my spoon, trying to convey my exact emotions and failing miserably.
“Inarticulate, incoherent and immature,” she continued dryly, and my hand went for Steelys that weren’t there.

“All you need to know is that he did me a bigger favour than I can ever pay back. I call him my master, but he doesn’t treat me like a slave, or a ward, or a child.” She shrugged. “I’d hate him if he did, but he doesn’t. So I’ll keep calling him Master.”
“How old are you?” I asked, studying her. She acted like a grumpy old Malady, but now that I really looked at her, she just seemed…young.
“Nineteen,” she said, glancing at my tray significantly, and I hurried to finish the rest of the soup. “But how old are you? Five? Four?” I choked and plonked the spoon onto the tray.
“Eighteen!” I yelled. “Do I look like a five-year-old kid to you?”
“You act like it,” she answered caustically, and I drank the rest of the bowl down in one draught so I could throw it at her without wasting any soup. When I lowered it, she was staring at me with an expression of amused disgust.

“You are a barbarian,” she pronounced, getting up and tidying the tray, taking the bowl out of my hands before I had the chance. “Scadur has better table manners than you, and the man eats like a rabid boar.” I scowled at her and she just gave me that cool, stab-in-the-face kind of look. She had made it to the door, balancing the tray, when it swung open and she stepped back, doing a hurried juggling act, which ended in a loud crash. However, my attention was fixed more on the person who had just opened the door, even though the sight of Allamar juggling anything would’ve been funnier than a drunken Mushmom.

“Oh…I’m so sorry! Here, I’ll help you-” The girl was bending down and carefully stacking the – thankfully wooden – eating utensils and cutlery when I finally yelled, “What in Zakum’s name are you doing here, you jealous, psycho female werewolf?”
“Ah,” murmured Allamar, as the bewildered-looking girl stared at me. With one eye. The other one was hidden behind an eyepatch; purple today…but I remembered what had been happening when it had been crimson red.

Somehow, that one syllable pissed me off more than anything else could possibly have at that moment.

“Li?” whispered Finesse, taking a step towards me. I reached for my Steelys, which weren’t there, and roared at the magician, “Where in the Lava Dungeon are my weapons?!” Finesse looked astounded; shocked, worried, happy as she continued to approach. I didn’t frankly care.
“This is just glorious,” muttered Allamar, massaging her temples. I vaulted out of bed and stopped Finesse one armspan away from me by jabbing a finger at her violently, shouting, “You have the nerve to pretend that you’re all sweet and innocent again after you tried to kill Az and half-strangled me?”

“…what are you saying?” whispered Finesse, her visible eye starting to fill with tears. Disgusted, I stormed up to her and jabbed her between the collarbones, announcing, “You – are – a traitorous – jealous – bratty-”
“You really need to learn to keep your mouth shut,” cut in Allamar laconically, and I glared at her. “Stay out of this.”
“No,” she said, smiling coolly, slightly, infuriatingly. I was really on the verge of just beating Finesse to death with my bare hands, and I didn’t want anyone getting in the way of my sweet revenge. However, my train of thought was derailed as Finesse grasped for me and wailed, “I didn’t attack you! I didn’t! I swear I didn’t! I’m so sorry for everything, Li! This is all my fault…” With that, she burst out crying onto me, and I disengaged myself forcibly, staring at her as she slumped onto her knees, a sobbing little purple ball of misery. Chancing a look at the magician, I saw her expression, bordering somewhere on smug. Hasting over, I grabbed her by the collar.

“What the hell is going on?” I seethed through clenched teeth, and she laughed coolly. “Finally! You’re asking the real question. I thought I could give up on you by-” For once, she shut up. I had a Steely pressed to her throat, under her chin, and she asked under her breath, “Do you sleep with knives attached?”
“Yeah,” I replied through gritted teeth. “Answer my question or I’ll stab you.”
“I’m surprised the body count hasn’t begun mounting yet,” she remarked, and I pressed the knife a little closer. She shrugged, somehow managing it when I was holding her collar.

“My master saved Finesse’s life,” she said. “But her mind became fractured and dysfunctional due to some…other factors. Sometimes she’s Essy, sometimes she’s a psychotic, violent killer. That one we call Finesse. To make it a little bit easier…my master, to cut a long story short, divided them. You can tell by the colour of the patch.” Carefully, she stepped back, pulling out of my grip, and I let her.
“So what you are basically saying,” I said through gritted teeth, enunciating each syllable, “Is that when the patch is purple, Essy is cute and Essy-ish. When the patch is red, she’s a psycho who likes killing things. And, apparently, neither one remembers what they do as the other.”
“Would you like a star?” asked Allamar sarcastically. “Shall I fetch one for you to put on your hand for being such a smart student?”

“This is insane,” I declared, throwing my hands up in the air. “I’m taking a walk.”
“You honestly think you’re going to go out into sub-zero temperatures in a t-shirt and jeans?” the fire wizard remarked, raising an eyebrow. I made threatening stabby motions at her to add gravity to my words, as I carefully said, “No. Which is why you are going to give me my clothes. Then I am going to go somewhere without split-personality killers and magicians with weird master-slave complexes.”
“The house won’t-” began Allamar on her usual smug tone, then I wheeled around and bellowed at her, “I DON’T CARE!” Stepping back, I glared at Essy, whose bawling fit had dwindled to sniffles by now, and repeated, in a more normal voice, “I. Don’t. Care. I don’t care what I can or can’t do. I am going to find Az and take a walk, and neither you nor you are going to stop me.” Seeing Essy open her mouth, I pointed the Steely warningly at her and snapped, “You’re not coming anywhere within five miles of me.” She lowered her head and began crying afresh. I really was beyond caring at this point. I was just so plain angry, so point-blank enraged and confused and irritated, that I could have boiled water by glaring at it.

“You or you,” corrected Allamar, and I raised my knife before forcing myself to lower it.
“Clothes,” I repeated through clenched teeth, and, shrugging, she crossed to the cupboard and, placing a new Shadow set on the nearest bed, she followed it up with a Red Burglar identical to mine and a Blood Avarice replete with pouches of Steelys. Right now I was too angry to insist on my own. I just went for them and piled them all up in my arms, muttered a reluctant, “Thank you,” to the fire wizard, and stormed out. Two seconds later, I walked back into the room and muttered, “Where in the Dark Lord’s name is the nearest bathroom?”

After instructions on how to reach a bathroom that seemed as far away as Maple Island, I arrived there after little difficulty and paused outside the door. There was a sound of running water, and, cautiously, I knocked on the door.
“Hello?” I called. No answer. With a sigh, I chanced the handle; unlocked. So I walked in.

The instant I was in, I froze. There was a dark figure hunched over the sink…a familiar dark figure. As I watched, he turned off the taps and gave a slight sniff.
“Az?” I whispered, and he looked up into the mirror at me. He looked haunted; most of all, he looked like he’d been crying, and I dropped everything with a clash of metal and took a step forward. He turned now to look at me, and he’d definitely been crying and still was. Hesitantly, I took another step.

“Hey,” he said, doing his best to sound cool and failing miserably. Slowly, I extended an arm to him, and we both slumped down against the stone exterior of the bathtub together. There was silence between us for a while, but it wasn’t uncomfortable silence, just the kind of silence that you keep because it’s better than speaking. Then he sighed, putting an arm around my shoulders and ruffling my hair like he used to, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“Who do I trust?” he said finally, his voice hoarse and bitter as he tilted his head up to the glowing crystal on the ceiling. “When we met Al in Lith, I thought we could bring this game back to the players and…break it.” He slumped forward, head between his knees, and his voice, muffled, continued, “It’s harder than I ever imagined. How many players are on the other side? Who do I trust?” Confused, I responded in the only way I knew how.

“First of all, you can stop with all your ‘I’ crap,” I said bluntly. “We’re a team.”
“Team,” he said thoughtfully, propping his chin on one of his knees so he was facing me slightly. Then he grinned like a Buffy and I did my best to look severely disturbed. It took a while this time, but I managed it, and he laughed. It was a little strained, but it was a laugh. That was the scary thing about him, really. He could slip into depression for ages, and suddenly, the psychosis was back on and so was the cheer.

It was his mask. And I was so used to seeing it that the real side of him was a terrifying shock.

“Yeah, we’re a team,” he agreed, holding out a hand to me. I took it, albeit reluctantly. Now that he was back to a façade of normal, who knew what was transpiring in his head. “So, teammate. Tell me, what have you found out and will you vote for our team to be called Team Az is Uber Awesome?”

“No” I replied flatly, watching his face fall. “We’re a team. I didn’t say you could be leader.”
—-
Ok, that was solid crap. Joy. Fun. It’s 1am and I have to get up at 6:15 tomorrow. *waves drooping flag* Arrrgh. Please flame me. I know I deserve it.