The wind howled and rattled the shutters of Roadhouse Elderath for most of the long night. Indoors though, everything remained warm and dry, with the only disturbances coming from guests visiting the bathroom and the regular calls of "All's clear!" from the watchmen. The new dawn brought with it sunshine and the smell of freshly washed forest – and breakfast.

Tulani stretches, yawning widely. While used to the wind and rain and other noises, she always has problems sleeping while adjusting to being in her homeland. But despite this, the Sylvanian Sphynx has managed to catch a couple hours of sleep at the tail end of a few unpleasant dreams, leaving her moderately refreshed.

In the other bunk, Muffy is already awake and dressed, and her patchwork plush-toy has been repacked into her bag. "Good morning, Tulani," she whispers, staring in her wide-eyed way at the waking Sphynx.

Quickly slipping into her own clothes, Tulani looks to Muffy and replies with a sleepy "Hello" muffled by another large yawn.

Long nights in worse weather than this has given the middle-aged wolf the ability to sleep through more or less anything and yet still manage to wake at signs of significant disturbance. Luckily for Arkold his sleep wasn't marred by any such occurrence and he wakes with a groan and a stretch of his muzzle. "Nuuaaaah, mornin'," he yawns as he sits up. "I need a drink."

Hanging upside-down from a nearby perch, Dr. Twig opens one glowing red eye and says to Arkold, "So do I, fwiend."

Others in the bunkroom are also stirring, while a few early-risers are already lining up in the hallway to use the washroom. The scents of sausage, bread and porridge keep getting stronger from the common room downstairs.

"Don' think abou' gettin' a pint ol' six thousand a'hundred an five," mumbles the Jupani groggily as he grabs his shirt and climbs down from his top-level bunk. "'Sides, doc, I think my blood would kill yah."

Tulani's ears perk noticeably at the delicious scents from downstairs, stomach grumbling, but instead heads first for the washroom line mumbling something about never knowing when you'll get another chance for a good wash with soap.

"I have made other awwangements, Mr. Arkold," the vampire bat chuckles, and puts on his dark glasses after flipping down from his perch and collecting his bag. He throws Arkold a little salute, and saunters out of the bunkroom.

Arkold returns the salute in a reflexive habit. Then once he's dressed he makes his way out of the bunkroom, pausing as he regards the washroom. He glances to the packed hall and the promise of water beyond the line, then at the stormy weather outside and finally towards the breakfast room with its alluring smell of food. With a shrug he gives up a wash for the morning. After all he figures he's just going to get drenched anyway – hardly unusual for him.

The common room is crowded and boisterous by the time Tulani and Arkold get to the breakfast line. Muffy is sitting by herself next to the fireplace, in the same spot she was last night, and eating from her bowl of porridge. Either she's saved the space around her for her travelling companions or the other guests just feel the need to give her more room. Twig has procured a bound and gagged Yiffle from Blarf, and managed to talk his way into sitting with the group of Gallisians, much to their horror. There is no sign yet of Lady Veil or her servant – perhaps she's a late sleeper.

The Sylvanian Sphynx looks about briefly once in the common room, quickly spotting Muffy. Grabbing a bowl of porridge, bread, and fruit for the morning, and forgoing the sausages – which smell a little 'strange' - she heads over to the fireplace, toting her food, and a cup of juice, and milk (for Muffy).

Much like the evening before Arkold takes a soup item (porridge) and some slices of bread which he undoubtedly plans to stick in it. In addition to this he gets a good few bits of sausage, a piece of fruit (previously having mentioned somewhat defensively that the existence of fruit on his plate is there to fight the "ol' scurvey"), and a cup of that particularly strong looking mateh. Once his breakfast is in order on his two plates and his mug securely carried by a few fingers he makes his way over to the table where the others are at and sits down by the fire. "'Ow'd the night treat yah?" he asks before cramming a sausage in his mouth.

Tulani looks up from putting some milk in her porridge yawning a bit before replying to Arkold, "I always have a little trouble sleeping when I get home," and adds, smiling, "I'll adjust soon enough, caught a few hours of sleep though, how about you?"

"I had a very interesting dream about giant spiders," Muffy says.

There is brief ZAP sound on the other side of the room, and one of the poodles at Dr. Twig's table seems suddenly much poofier than normal.

"I can sleep through anythin'," replies the man as he tries to explain around the sausage. "Typhoons, water spouts, Raneah's snorin' – anythin'." He glances at the little white kitten with a surprised look on his face. "You too, eh? I was thinkin' of spiders. Lady Veil makes me think 'o spiders for some reason. Must be the veil, eh?" He gives the girl a gentle nudge of his elbow before resuming his attack on his breakfast.

The Sylvanian Sphynx looks curiously towards Muffy, cocking and ear towards Arkold, and saying, "Really? Giant spiders… " which quickly dissolved into unintelligibility as she chews a piece of fruit, before swallowing and finishing with a smile, "The two of you eh? Guess I got left out."

Muffy just stares at Arkold in silence for a moment, then goes back to eating her porridge. One of the Gallisians faints and falls out of her chair as Dr. Twig has his breakfast. "Oh my, is she nawcoleptic? I have found electwoshock thewapy vewwy effective for that… "

Looking towards the Gallisians' table, Tulani quickly covers a grin by shoving a piece of bread in her mouth.

In a lull in his eating caused by the need to actually pause and dip his bread into his porridge, the wolf nods. "Guess you lucked out enough with the scawmp, uh, scamp. Lady luck didn't have anythin' to give you." He twists around to glance at the commotion at Twig's table and grins, saying, " … heh, spiders."

Hooves clopping smartly, a uniformed Rhian bearing a clipboard approaches the trio near the fireplace. "The coach to Justininople will be departing as soon as you and the good doctor are finished eating," he announces. Several porters can be seen carrying bags and luggage from the stairway out to the main door now.

Using a chunk of bread to scrape up the last of her porridge, Tulani announces her readiness to leave by rising and heading for the door to take a look outside.

Arkold stands up shortly after. He pats Muffy on the shoulder and leans to ask, "Goin' to need help boardin' again, Muff?"

The kitten nods to Arkold after finishing her bowl of porridge, and says, "The steps are too high."

"Yeah were do they get off makin' steps so high anyway," the wolf complains sympathetically despite the fact he's nearly six feet tall. He reaches over and sticks his last sausage between his jaws and then holds his hand out for Muffy to take.

The storm has left the stone surfaces of the curtain wall and buildings damp and shiny in the morning light. The ground of the courtyard is still muddy, and Blarf can be seen off near a pile of burnt-looking debris with a shovel.

The carriage is pulled up by a tired looking Dromodon, which is then unhitched and led back to the stables while the porters load up the luggage and cargo once more. The driver leads a fresh team of drays from the stables to be hitched up to the coach.

Flicking a quick glance over to Blarf's activity with the shovel, the Sylvanian Sphynx, makes her way towards the coach, wings spread, using occasional fluttering hops to get past the more swampy looking patches of mud.

Arkold walks out of the roadhouse with Muffy in tow and a sausage being slowly gnawed between his teeth. He takes a moment to survey the condition of the yard and the look of the weather before making his way towards the carriage. "Ah, I love the smell 'o water in the air. No' quite saltwater, but good," he remarks to the kitten beside him.

Dr. Twig emerges into the daylight, holding up one hand to shade his eyes (despite already wearing dark glasses) and likewise flaps his way over to the waiting carriage.

There is more elbow room on the final leg of the carriage ride, as Blarf remained at the roadhouse. Also absent are Lady Veil and her footman, leaving only Tulani, Arkold, Muffy and Dr. Twig in the cabin. As morning becomes afternoon, the road widens and merges with a more well traveled route, the old Czar's Road. The coach is no longer alone, as wagons, riders and other carriages join the traffic.

"Will you be staying long in the city?" Dr. Twig asks Tulani, after the drive announces that they'll be arriving at the city gates soon.

"Not long I hope," Tulani quietly replies. "I've never really liked cites." She shudders a little, involuntarily, at the thought of so many people crowded together.

"A shame," the Eeee comments. "Justininople has many fine attwactions."

The gray Jupani takes full advantage of the extra space by leaning back against a corner of the cab and stretching his legs. "But cities are always such an opportunity," he comments after Tulani mentions her dislike. "Lots 'o people, lots 'o problems, an' lots 'o potential to weigh your coin purse."

"And what will you be doing in town, Awkold?" the bat asks.

"Prolly followin' Tulani there aroun' and seein' if I can't find a mage along the way," Arkold answers. "Might take in the sighs if I go' time. Can't say I've ever been to Justininople. Or, till recently, Sylvani."

"As the saying goes, 'a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there'," Tulani calmly states, rustling a wing to settle in more comfortably.

"Many people come to die here, though," offers Muffy, without a trace of innocence. "My family depends on it."

Tulani's ears flick back in surprise at Muffy's sudden assertion. "Are your family morticians?" she asks, blinking.

"Well, 'ey, where people die is where mercenaries go eh Muff?" The wolf grins and twists to watch the kitten curiously. "So who's your family?"

The kitten nods. "We own a big mortuary here," she confirms.

"Ghoulsly and Barrowhite, for all your funereal needs," she recites.

"Guess with all them stories abou' the dead poppin' up and comin' home for dinner bein' in the body boxing business out this way has got it's own adventure, eh?" further inquires Arkold.

"Oh, when he get them, they stay dead," Muffy says, and actually smiles this time.

The carriage passes through the city gate and turns onto a cobbled street. Houses are arrayed opposite the city wall, some with walls of brick, some of stone, some of daub and waddle with wooden frame supports, but all of them with a somewhat organic look about them, a result of ages of expansion and innovation, as – as need demanded – a room was added here, a window there – or boarded up there. Symmetry is not to be found, and even the rooftops sport shingles of many colors: maroon, deep violet, cobalt blue, powder gray, and occasionally several shades of green, most of them dark. Bottle-bottom windows and protective bars are common; all shutters look sturdy, and are usually closed. Weathervanes feature serpentine or irregular forms, as if meant to act like gargoyles and scare off unfriendly spirits (or friendly ones, for that matter).

Past the pub – identified only by a swinging weather-beaten sign that was a faded painting of an overfull stein and a sawed ham – the carriage station rises above the townhouses, its front court comprised of a monument to one of the Justinians of an earlier age, ringed by a sinister wrought iron fence with foreboding iron spikes running the top. The old Czar's Road, still cobbled and kept in decent enough repair here in the city and for a couple leagues out, passes right by here, and under the great awning of the station.

The waiting area and loading docks are so large as to demand a certain grandeur that one might expect in, say, Fauxpas, or perhaps Blitzheim. But many of the windows are boarded over, and so many of the doors show signs of having not been opened in ages; an inn, it seems, has been built on the grounds, occupying an entire wing of the station. (The sign out front identifies it as "The Carriage Wheel," and it looks slightly less neglected than the pub.)

But the loading area – the one still actually used by the carriages – and the waiting area still put into use (however rare) is kept spotlessly clean. Not a shingle on the whole complex is missing, and it looks as if someone has been in the process of whitewashing the entire complex. (By the time they get finished, though, it may well be time to start again.) Lit lanterns hang on hooks outside the doors, iron-wrought holy symbols hang over every entrance and window, and a slate board shows expected times for the next carriages.

Through windows and bars can be glimpsed the waiting area, with its sun-faded but cushioned couches, side tables, well-worn hardwood floors, and low-burning oil lamps inside. A tall, gaunt-looking Khatta with the same large-eyed features as Muffy waits just inside, dressed in the garb of an undertaker.

The carriage comes to a stop at the loading area, and uniformed porters begin unloading the luggage before even opening the door to the passenger coach. "Last stop, Justininople. We hope your trip was enjoyable," says the driver without much emotion. Clearly he's said the same thing hundreds of times before.

Sighing Tulani looks out the window, standing to leave, noticing the Khatta waiting inside, "Is this one of your parents Muffy?" she asks, pointing.

Hopping out of the coach, Muffy waves to the waiting figure, then turns back and says, "No, that's my older brother. Thank you for keeping me company and letting me share your room. And thank you for letting me play with Oscar, too."

"You're welcome Muffy!" the Sylvanian Sphynx replies, stepping down from the coach and stretching her wings, and waving a bit, "Bye!"

"You awe quite welcome, Miss Muffin," Dr. Twig replies, collecting up his own bags.

Arkold leans over to get a look at the Khatta Tulani is pointing at. "Guess this is the end o' the line, at least for you Muff. Take care o' yourself," he tells the girl warmly with a pleasant smile.

The older Khatta collects Muffy's bags, and leads her off to a waiting… hearse?

"I suppose this will be farewell for me as well," Dr. Twig says to Arkold and Tulani. "I'm off to bring Oscar to the Academy of Natuwal Philosophy. I hope you find your stay in the city pleasant, even if only bwief."

Arkold is next out the door. Once on solid ground he turns around and offers his hand to Tulani to help her down. "Been nice talkin' to you, doc," he bids the doctor by way of farewell.

Tulani gives her regards to Dr. Twig, waving goodbye before she turns to Arkold, smiling and firmly stating, "Now its time to fix the problem, so let's go find ourselves a mage!"

"Yeah, a mage! Uh," the Jupani casts a glance around at the rather dismal looking capitol, " … so, where would we find one o' those anyway?"

Fortuitously, the waiting area has a large map of the city posted on one wall, allowing the pair to plot a route through the winding streets to Arcane Square, near the city center, where the Mages Guild is located.

Though many streets in Justininople have been painstakingly laid out in something resembling a gridline in the (relatively) newer portions of the city, the old city had no such conceit, and still leaves its mark where streets abruptly end, make sudden twists, or change names without warning. By chance convergence (or was it?) three roads converge upon each other here, and would cross each other, once they traverse a circle loop around watchtower and the walled grounds surrounding it.

The high stone walls are composed of mighty blocks of irregular shape and size placed upon each other, with no sign of mortar between them – just the interposing vines and clutches of moss that inhabit any crack. Beyond the wall and the rusty iron spikes that traverse the top, a crooked stone tower can be seen peering out from the center of the overgrown park.

The old watchtower tapers upward, with seemingly randomly placed windows, and awkwardly placed cylindrical outgrowths sticking out here or there to form rooms, and finally a great chamber on top, with a high conical roof reminiscent of a wizard's cap, and an array of brassy instruments: weathervanes, lightning rods, and items of less immediate function.

The iron gate is festooned with wrought and rusty representations of the runes of all the Spheres of Magic, and in barely legible metalwork, letters read, "Arcane Circle." A wooden sign posted nearby reads, "Mages' Guild Hall. Trespassers will be cursed."

Standing before the wrought-iron gate the wolf gazes up at the old tower and shrugs. "Well, it ain't Caroban. But I guess it'll do," he says before pushing the gate open with a hand.

The main lobby of the Guild Hall is dimly lit by smoky tapers that give off a pungent "evil spirit banishing" odor. A graying Korv is perched at the reception desk, and squints at the visitors out of his one good eye. "Yes?" he squawks, "Whatta ya want?"

"We'd like to hire the services of a Life Mage," the Sylvanian Sphynx replies calmly, pausing to look around carefully.

Arkold coughs as he wafts the smoky incense away from his nose. "Goin' to need," he coughs again, then sneezes and rubs his nose, " – curses, mage … canteen problem."

Looking Tulani up and down first, the bird asks, "What for? You don't look sickly… oh, a curse you say?" The beady eye aims itself at Arkold now instead. "Cursed item, or cursed place?"

Tulani chuckles slightly at Arkold's sneezing, replying, "My friend Arkold here has a cursed canteen that has been giving him trouble, and we've been advised to visit a Life Mage about it."

"My life is cursed too," adds the wolf with a grin as he fights another sneeze. "Bu' I'm guessin' you ca' 'elp wif 'at."

The Korv considers this, tapping on his perch with one talon. "I can send someone to check on this object, then we'll see if a Life Mage is needed as well," the bird says. "You've got money, I hope? We don't extend credit."

"'Ey it's cursed. I thought you all were supposed to be dealin' with cursed objects as a rule. Part of yer charter," argues Arkold, who curiously seems to have regained his focus at the mention of a fee.

Tulani flicks and ear towards Arkold, smiling, which quickly turns to a worried frown. Running a hand through her head-fur, her wings twitching a bit, the Sylvanian Sphynx quickly asks, "How much?"

"This ain't Rephidim, mister," the bird rasps. "We don't get subsidized here. 50 shekels consulting fee, minimum. More for getting rid of the curse, depending on how difficult or nasty it is."

"'Ow about if it is cursed I hand it over an' you discount the fee a bit, eh? Otherwise I'm sellin' it as a cert-o-fied cursed canteen," Arkold haggles.

"What would we want with a cursed canteen?" the bird laughs. "We've got enough cursed swords, cursed daggers, cursed helmets, and cursed cookpots than you could carry. This is Sylvania!"

Tulani says, "He's right you know, don't even bother, Arkold." Smiling a little, she shells out the minimum fund, saying, "How soon can someone take a look?"

"Uh, 'ow about you give me some of those cursed objects as a discount?" the wolf continues. "Ain't doin' you any good. Get a lot 'o bitter types travelin' around. You can make some more money de-hexin' whoever I hand the cursed stuff to. It'd be like doin' you a favor?"

The bird collects the shekels and checks some papers on his desk. "Ah, right away I think. About time this fellow did some work… eh, follow me," he says, and hops onto the floor after picking up a lit taper. "And mind yer step."

The wolf gives a 'I tried' kind of shrug before shoving his hands in his greatcoat and following along.

Tulani follows the Jupani and the Korv, still chuckling at Arkold previous comment.

The Korv leads the pair through a narrow stone hallway and down a flight of equally narrow stairs, into what is obviously a former dungeon. "Wait in here," he says, guiding them to a medium-sized room and lighting some oil lamps inside.

"'Ey nice dungeon," remarks Arkold as he takes a look around. "No' quite as good as the one in Rephidim, or Abu Dhabi, but nice."

The Sylvanian Sphynx leans against a damp wall, smiling good-naturedly at Arkold's comment before muttering to herself, "Hope we can get this fixed pretty quick… "

"Me too," Arkold agrees. Impatiently he begins running a hand along the walls as he circles the perimeter of the room. Occasionally he'll pause here or there and peer at a crack, or a manacle, or a loose brick before moving on.

There's a shuffling noise in the hallway, and a tattered looking Rath'ani half marches, half stumbles into the chamber. He's dressed in a fancier cut of robe than most of the mages they've seen so far, although lacks a great deal of the posture or airs of the lessers. He seems almost like a younger student playing dress-up. Tucked under one arm is a wrapped bundle that seems to be spitting out bits of loose chalk and candles every few steps, and his other hand is preoccupied with straightening his coat. "Good morning!" the raccoon says. "Pardon the delay. I'm afraid I was interrupted in the middle of talking to my hat."

Tulani looks stunned for a moment – even in Sylvania the raccoon's comments seem strange – but quickly recovers and replies, "This is my friend Arkold, he's having some problems with a cursed canteen."

The wolf pauses in his restless wanderings to twist around and get a good look at the arriving mage. After giving the Rath'ani the once over he turns to face him fully and runs a hand through his hair before giving the other man a nod. "Uh, well, I've been there," he offers with bemused sympathy. Then he offers his hand. "Name's Arkold. And the lass has the right of it."

The raccoon drops his bundle on a table and bits of cloth, glass, chalk, and candles spill out. "Pleased to meet you, I'm Chaos Mage Fenter." His accent betrays him as being from Rephidim, and even has a noble lilt to it, albeit a mangled one. He vigorously shakes Arkold's hand and does a comical bow to the Sphynx, his tail whacking the tabletop and causing a bottle of powder to teeter and spin dangerously close to the edge of the table. "A cursed canteen you say? What sort of curse?"

Almost forgetting herself, the Sylvanian Sphynx quickly says, "I'm Tulani, nice to meet you. Uh… well… " She gestures to Arkold, and says, "It keeps things hot, but it also gave him a fever."

Arkold peers at the Rath'ani curiously before perking his ears and giving a wag. "'Ey, you're from Rephidim. An', let's see … heh, noble quarter Rath'anis or a fine tutor, I'll bet." The wolf's own accrued accent is thick with the slurring and running together common to society's rougher sort. But deep in there one can still make out his own Rephidimite accent. Curiously it's rather similar to the Rath'ani's own, only more mangled by years of travel.

The wolf gives a nod. "Yeah, she's got it again. Keeps things hot. Includin' me. No matter 'ow far I am from it it seems," he adds to Tulani's explanation.

Fenter beams proudly at the wolf's comments as he gathers up some chalk. "A fever you say? Well, if you're not boiling in your own insides I'd say that it's a minor curse. I shouldn't have too much trouble removing it." He clears his throat. "Although I'm afraid I'll end up negating the beneficial part of the spell as well."

Tulani turns to the Jupani and says, "I think that's fine, right Arkold?"

"Yer more than welcome to null the canteen. It's of a good sort of material an' I'll wager it'll keep things hot an' cool without the need for spells. An' if it don' I'll just, uh, stick somethin' in it an' use it as a jar," answers Arkold. He reaches in to his belt pouch and pulls out the offending object before offering it to the mage. "It started back when I first stuck some hot mateh in it."

The Rath'ani rubs his hands together. "Well then, let's get to work. Is the canteen the only item you'd like for me to look at? Pardon me for being nosy, but I sensed more than one magical item when I entered the room." He draws a small circle on the floor of the chamber with a blackish iridescent chalk and then gestures for the thermos. "It probably linked the curse to you when you drank from it for the first time."

Tulani pauses at the Raccoons comment saying, "Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude, but I had a sip from that canteen as well, and I've been fine."

"I'm no' surprised. Tha' sneaky cat I bought it from prolly 'ad a whole shop full o' cursed objects. Bet 'es long gone now though. No use sendin' the witch 'unters after 'im. And, uh," the wolf's brows raise, " … two magical items? We jus' thought we 'ad the one 'ere."

The raccoon studies Tulani for a moment and mumbles something to himself. His eyes shift color from blue to green. "I think the curse was dormant, drinking from it activated it again. Or it could be something specifically aimed at Jupanis, or men, or what have you. People have odd grudges these days. One of my instructors cursed me to smell like peppermint for a week after I drank his… um… nevermind." He scrawls a second circle next to the first. "And yes… at least two magical items. They're jumbled together so I can't tell the exact number, but the magic feels a little different."

After listening intently the wolf cocks his head to the side and asks, "Lookin' for the other items ain't goin' to cost us more, will it?"

Fenter shrugs. "Only if you want me to uncurse them." He draws a third circle, this one large enough for a figure to stand inside. "I'm willing to work for barter as well, although don't mention that to the fine gentleman who saw you in. I'd rather not have my head pecked at anymore."

"The canteen's the important thing," Tulani quietly replies, flicking an ear towards the Jupani and letting Arkold decide if they should have anything else looked at.

Arkold nods. "Yeah, what a seed-stuffed Rahktor, that one. As for barter, uh, well you can keep the canteen if that interests you. We got some other stuff from that ol' sand cat too. Probably best you look at it while we're here, eh? I don' trust 'im one lick since I found out abou' the canteen. No' that I ever did much anyway. Here, I'll show you what we got from 'im." The man removes his belt pouch and lays it down on the bench before he begins to dig through it. "Hate to find I'm cursed in the middle o' Sylvani after all. 'Ey Tulani c'mere an' take the map an' hand the good mage anythin' you got from the sand cat 'cept the bits."

Quickly taking the map, the Sylvanian Sphynx places her own pendant into the pile, keeping the map and puzzle-pieces out of site.

Arkold removes his own pendant from around his neck and places it with the other amulet before stepping back and nodding to the pile of two items. "Those two are what we got from 'im. Nothing bad has came of 'em yet. But, uh, if somethin' will I'd rather know it now eh?"

The Rath'ani's eyes shift from green to yellow as they follow the movement of Arkold's hands. "Oh, I'm not picky. I'd be happy to take the canteen if you don't want it anymore. Or if you happen to have a bottle or six of some pleasant vintage drink. If you happen to have a deck of playing cards I'd happily accept that. My last one exploded."

Tulani arches an eyebrow at the Rath'ani. "Exploded?"

The wolf scratches his head at the talk of exploding playing cards. "Uh, explo- er, uh," he stares at the mage, shakes his head and then just shrugs, … Nevermind. I'm thinkin' I got some playin' cards aroun' 'ere. Hope you don' mind Jupani women. Uh, might have somethin' to drink. Ain't sure how vintage it is. Don' think I'll be needin' the canteen."

Fenter coughs to himself as he picks up Tulani's pendant. "Um, yes. A fire mage felt that a proper deck shouldn't have six crowns. It's not my fault they were misprinted!" He turns the pendant over between his fingers. "I feel magic from this, but not quite a curse."

Sighing in relief, the Sylvanian Sphynx leans over with a rustle of her white wings, closely watching the Rath'ani, commenting, "That's good… "

"Maybe you're some kind of lucky, Tulani," remarks Arkold as he watches the mage work. "I bet mine's cursed."

Fenter sets the Naga head down and picks up the egg shaped one. He sniffs at it and then wrinkles his nose, his eyes turning a wild shade of violet. "This one feels like spirit magic, but nothing as invasive as a curse either."

Tulani grins and gestures to the canteen. "One down, two to go," she replies.

"Spirit magic?" The wolf's ears flick nervously. "Uh, can' say I've ever 'eard of beneficial spirit magic. My skin ain't goin' to fall off an' leave me some kind of pleasant skeleton right?"

"I could find out with a ritual if it concerns you. Both of the spells seem subtle, which implies that they do minor things." The raccoon glances out past the doorway. "It will take a bit more time though, and if you only came here for one ritual they might be a tad curious why it took so long."

"I'm guessin' the guild thinks you're a bit of an' odd duck an' prolly doesn't bother you much, Mage Fenter?" inquires Arkold.

The Sylvanian Sphynx nods at the wolf's comment before smiling to Fenter and saying, "Better safe than sorry right? Wouldn't want my friend to end up a walking skeleton."

"Yeah I wouldn't be half as charmin' without my skin," adds Arkold.

Fenter clears his throat. "Anything they said out there was probably a lie, except for the part about my hat. And I only do that because of the bug incident in Darkside several years back." He blushes through his ears. "I'll tell you what, I'll uncurse the canteen, and then take it in exchange for one ritual, and depending on how irritated the staff here seems to get, I'll take the cards in exchange for a third. Although keep in mind this will possibly take several hours."

Tulani nods to Fenter, smiling. "Sounds alright to me," she says, flicking an ear to the Jupani. "Arkold?"

"Right, well, I'm no' goin' anywhere. What about you Tulani?" Arkold turns his head to watch the Sphinx as he walks over to stand by the door to position himself to intercept anyone who might enter. "An' if anyone comes in I'll 'andle them."

By the door the wolf nods. "Sounds good then? Right. Do your stuff Mage Fenter."

Fenter pales a bit. "Handle? Um… please keep in mind you're in a building where members of the staff can make your hair grow out pink or make your feet stick to the floor, or give you an allergy to licorice." He links his three circles with a few slashes of chalk and begins lighting candles. He places the canteen in one of the smaller circles, and then a black stone in another, and he takes his place in the third.

Arkold gives the mage an almost hurt look. "Why is it when I tell people I'm goin' to handle someone they always think I'm goin' to mash 'em? I can handle people without manglin' their workin' parts," he clarifies gruffly.

Tulani watches for a good while as the mage's ritual progresses, but after an hour, turns to Arkold and says, "I'm going to go into town while he's… ", she gestures to Fenter, "taking care of the curse. I'll see if I can't get some room and board set up." With that, the black and white Sphynx exits the dungeon, wings brushing against the damp stone.

Shrugging, the raccoon twirls on one foot, bows to the canteen, bows to the stone, and then starts chanting softly to himself. The temperature of the room rises slightly, or perhaps it's just a trick of the mind.

Before the Sphynx leaves the wolf bids her to be careful upon re-entering. "Mage magicks don't like to be disturbed. I'd 'ate to see this ritual disrupted, so, uh, be careful will yah? Oh an' try not to get tha' sour bird on our case. Oh. And get me a sandwich if you could. Thanks," he instructs her.

The heat of the room grew higher as the ritual continued, to the point that it felt as though the stones in the walls were being heated, and then slowly the heat drained away. The smell of smoke and burning wax filled the chamber (along with the odor of a sweaty raccoon.) But finally it was over, the end signaled by Fenter stepping from the circle and pinching out the wicks of the candles. "I should be grateful that wasn't a curse that made one feel hungry… "

Just as the room cools down, so does Arkold. After feeling overheated for so long, it's almost like having ice poured down his back.

Fenter licks some soot from his fingertips and pulls a piece of cloth from his pocket, wrapping the black stone up in it. "Would you like this disposed of or would you like to hold onto it? The curse is dormant again, and unless you swallow the rock I doubt it will do you much harm now."

Candles, smoke, and Rath'ani sweat aren't the only smells. Arkold has been inside the room too and despite his increasing bodily acceptance of high temperatures even he started to sweat. He wipes his forehead as the ritual concludes and then shivers noticeably as he feels the curse release its hold on his body. "Y-yeah, I'd have eatin' all the rations off the s-ship. An', uh, unless it'll help pay for all this I'll take the, uh, s-stone I guess. Always wanted my own cursed rock," he says.

Nodding, the Chaos Mage ties up the bundle and hands it over. The stone is warm, but cooling rapidly. "Sometimes it's better to move spells to a less harmful object than dissipate them. If you don't know the mage that cursed it they can sometimes leave little presents for unsuspecting people who try to break the enchantment. You learn that in your first month of college, usually when you try to break the locking enchantment on the larder door."

Tulani reenters the dungeon after a rather uneventful absence. A talk with a porter for the train running through the capitol allowed her to get its schedule, as well as securing rather comfortable quarters for the night and have some interesting conversations over lunch. And low and behold, there in her hands… not one, but two, count 'em, two huge sandwiches, packed with meat, cheese and various vegetables!

Arkold accepts the stone with all the care of a person handling a known dangerous object. As he's looking it over Tulani walks in and he gives her a grateful (if sweaty) smile. "'Ey! Food. Jus' what I was hopin' for. I 'ah a big breakfast bu' all this heat is makin' me hungry again. Hey, Tulani, you wanna look at the cursed rock?" He dangles the cursed object enticingly to the Sphynx as he holds out a hand for a sandwich.

Smiling brightly, the Sphynx bows and says, "Here! Enjoy!" before handing a sandwich each to both Fenter and Arkold.

She also removes the cursed rock from Arkold's fingers, turning it over in her hand.

The wolf takes the sandwich and slides down to eat it while sitting on the floor. "Looks like our good mage 'andled that curse without a pinch. I feel fine now, Tulani, bu' after bein' so hot bein' cold is like freezin'. When we get back to the rooms I'm buyin' a hot bath," he explains. Then he's gnawing on his sandwich.

Fenter brightens. Free food! "Thank you, dear lady. I apologize for the smell. Ummmm, curses you know. They're quite smelly."

Tulani just twitches her nose at Fenter's comment, shifting her wings in a few rustling flaps, to get rid of a bit of the smell, before smiling brightly to him and saying, "What smell?"

"Cwarful wiff the wok," the wolf warns as he chews on his sandwich. "Stwill cwurshed. Jush dwormant. Miht cwome in handwy."

Fenter tugs at his robe, flapping it about to cool himself. He also manages to do an impressive job at devouring the sandwich. Casting rituals must be hungry work, although the mage's chubby build also hints at a simple love of food.

"Swoo, wha's newxt?" ask the hungry lupine. "Gwoin' tow stwart the secwond witual?"

Wiping his hands off on his robes, the raccoon nods. "This will just be a ritual to examine the items. Hopefully that means that we'll stay at a comfortable heat level this time." He pulls out a fresh stick of chalk after scrubbing out his old lines and starts scribbling new ones down. This time he simply draws a large circle ringed with symbols to stand in, and a smaller one nudged up to the larger one to place the pendants in. He piles some brightly colored powder on the floor, jams some candles down into it and takes his place in the circle. "Well now, let's get started. Thank you again for the lunch, Miss Tulani."

The black Sphynx nods happily and mutters a short, "You're welcome," before leaning back against the wall to watch the last ritual.

"Yeah, thanks Tulani," adds the wolf appreciatively. He reaches over and punches Tulani lightly in the shoulder before he folds his arms and turns his attention squarely on the ritual. A display of concentrated focus he hadn't even displayed during the removal of the curse.

Tulani mutters a muffled, but good-natured owww at the arm-punch, rubbing the spot and smiling.

The candlelight causes the fabric of Fenter's robes to shimmer and shift colors, and the haze of the chalk dust gives the whole scene a ghostly look. Fenter doesn't move as much as he did previously, but his words and mutterings come quicker, and his fingers dance a few feet above the pendants, as though he were trying to sift and dig through the air, or push it around and arrange it to his liking.

As the ritual begins to build, cracks suddenly appear on the surface of the spherical pendant, and a tiny, semi-transparent taloned claw bursts out of it!

Arkold's eyes widen instantly at the sight of the tiny claw. "Saints in a halter top I though I-" The rest of his exclamation if broken off as he clamps his hand over his muzzle. He continues to stare at the object with wide eyes though, and his free right hand reaches to rest firmly on his scimitar.

The silver ball breaks open completely, and a serpentine shape as long as Arkold's forearm squirms out and hovers in the air. The apparition looks vaguely like a Naga, but instead of arms it sports a single, nasty looking claw growing from the center of its chest. With a horrible screech, it begins to batter its tail against the invisible walls of the magic circle, raising purple sparks!

The Sylvanian Sphynx jumps back as the sphere cracks open, her fur bristling. Her wings flap out suddenly, half spread, making her look larger, and more intimidating. Hissing lightly between her teeth, she backs up a bit more, watching the proceedings intently, unintentionally flexing her claws.

Fenter's eyes pop wide open and he freezes in mid gesture. Apparently, this wasn't an intended part of the ritual.

The wolf's jaw strains as if he had been suddenly punched in the stomach. A look of agony washes over his face. He tenses as if fighting a battle against the pain – a battle he appears to lose in short order. He releases his hand from his scimitar to use for bracing himself against the wall as he slumps to his knees with a groan.