The College granted a temporary hiatus to the boy while he coped with the shock of learning about the boomer strike on Babel, but today it resumes. Late morning sunshine lights the garden as the young unicorn clops into an open space, where a ring of carefully selected flowers circumscribes a circle of grass several feet across. A pair of Siamese Khattas in the gray robes of Dream are kneeling at opposite ends of the circle of flowers, and chanting softly in the cool morning air. The one facing in the direction of the unicorn smiles when she sees him, but doesn't break off her chant.

A young Cervani mage, the symbol of Mind emblazoned on the chest of her robe, sits on a nearby bench, the glowing nimbus of a held spell flickering like will-o'-wisps around her left hand. She nods a greeting to Rory. "Good morning, Apprentice Rorschach," she tells him. "I am Mage Aliera Viscoi. Call me Aliera – Mage Viscoi is my father," she adds.

The black and white unicorn bows. "Good morning … Aliera," he says, pausing awkwardly at the use of a first name for someone he really isn't acquainted with, and certainly isn't a peer of. He opens his mouth to habitually introduce himself, but then closes it again, when it registers that he's already been addressed by name, so an introduction would be redundant. He scans the garden and its surreal topiary, trying to wager mental guesses at what sort of challenges he'll be facing today.

"Today will be your final test. The ritual we've prepared – myself and my associates here, Mages Kiz and Kell – is designed to place you in a dream state, where we'll monitor your progress," the deer explains. "It won't be like a regular dream, or even like ones the twins here have given you before. It should seem just like reality to you. In the dream, you'll be a professional, a Journeyman mage, with certain duties and responsibilities. All we're going to do is see how you react to that. Try not to worry too much about 'what we want you to do' – we want you to act naturally." Aliera smiles comfortingly to him. "Do you have any questions?"

Rory pauses a bit in thought, then muses, "Well, Mage Heather doesn't like it too much when I act too natural. Am I going to be just me, or am I going to be older? And I heard rumors about things happening with dreams and stuff. It's all safe, right? This isn't something where I have to pass all sorts of tests and go on a quest to rescue someone or else I am forever trapped in the Realm of Boogeybeasts, or anything like that, right? Because for something like that, I figure I'd probably need to do a little bit of preparing, and write up my last will and testament, so someone else can take care of Mister Porky in case I don't come back, you know."

The unicorn, even while he's chattering, steals a glance over to Kiz and Kell. Or Kell and Kiz. He never really could tell them apart for sure, and he's having even more trouble now that they're all grown up (or at least a great deal more so than he is, by all appearances).

Mage Aliera opens her mouth to answer Rory's first question, then closes it again as the unicorn keeps on going with more questions. When he finally reaches the end, she blinks a few times, as if waiting to make sure there's nothing more coming. The Siamese felines exchange glances, smiling broadly through their solemn chanting. At last, the Cervani answers, "Ah – no. The troubles with the Dream Realm have all been resolved, some holidays ago, thankfully, Rorschach. It will be perfectly safe. And yes, I would like for you to act just as you think is right – just the way you would, whether or not you knew you were being tested."

Rory scratches his head, quietly pondering that he's not quite so certain, with Mage Heather's misgivings, whether acting the way he would normally act is the same thing as the right way … but it's a bit too late for that. Maybe he needs to take a class in proper stuffy-mage etiquette to impress grown-ups like Heather, or hang around with some older students (if they'd tolerate him). "Uhm … okay. I guess whatever 'materials' I need just exist in the dream anyway, so I don't need to bring anything special along, or make any special preparations, right?"

"Exactly," the deer answers, smiling again. "Please, if you're ready – lie down in the circle, and we'll begin." Aliera gestures with her hand to the circle of flowers.

The unicorn, feeling awkward and more than a little anxious, just bows again without really thinking about it, then goes to the circle of flowers. He tries to figure out how "fluffy" the grass might be to suit for a pillow. Whether or not it serves any purpose, he makes a show of turning about in place, then settling down and "fluffing up" a patch of grass before lying down his head, humming a make-it-up-as-you-go tune to himself to help steady his nerves.

After he settles into space, Mage Aliera kneels next to him, smiling again. She has a kindly, caring expression quite at odds with the impression Rory got of Heather. "Just relax," she urges him. The counterpoint chanting of the two felines washes over him, tingling at nerves accustomed to detecting magic, but also soothing in a certain way. "The spell will not harm you – just let its effect take hold."

Rory nods faintly, briefly wondering whether it would have been acceptable for him to bring Mister Porky along. (Lately, since the news about the Boomer, Mister Porky has gone from being packed away safely in a box to a place of honor on Rory's pillow.) He closes his eyes, and lets out a deep sigh, listening to the chanting of the felines.

A few more minutes pass, and the twin Khattas finish their chant. Rory feels a deep languor seize his limbs, and just before he descends into sleep, he hears Aliera intone a word, and her held spell is released.

A little beige Zerda pokes her head through the door, looking at him with large china blue eyes. "Journeyman Stormshadow," she says, her voice soft. "There's a Mr. Knightly here to see you. Shall I show him in?"

Rorschach takes a moment to take in the office. "Wow," he says, even though he's aware that it's not really real. It simply had never occurred to him that he'd actually have an office. He sternly stifles the instinct to go running around and exploring the office willy-nilly. After all, it's not real. He well remembers dreams of being in the coolest library on the planet, only to open up books and find that they're just vague fuzzy gobbledygook, and as impressed with he as at the illusion, he's also subconsciously reluctant to spoil the fun by prying too deeply at the illusion and exposing any of the seams in the handiwork. He looks at his desk, examining what he's got set out, and then back at the Zerda, pausing while he formulates how to best act the role.

"Yes, Miss Fia," Rory says, only after saying this pausing and wondering whether Fia is her first or last name, or whether she even has a surname. "Please show him in. Uhm … does he have an appointment?" He struggles to try to "remember" whether he's supposed to know who Mr. Knightly is, or what he's doing here … or whether this is just as much a surprise to his dream self as it is to his real self. Trying to pose the part of a worldly and experienced mage, he stands and folds his hands behind his back, strolling to glance out the window. (It's a good excuse to see how good the view is up here, after all, while also seeming a sort of dramatic businesslike thing to do.)

The short foxish woman waits patiently for her employer to respond, the she does move to stand in the partly-opened doorway, hands folded before her. Rory's desk has a flyer on it about a new theatre opening that evening, and some notes about bills to pay – the office rent and Miss Fia's paycheck, and a book about Life magic. He must have been studying. After his answer, Fia bows. "Yes, sir." He can't recall that he's heard of Mr. Knightly before – either he didn't have an appointment, or Fia hasn't been keeping him posted on what his calendar looks like.

"What's he here for?" Rory asks quickly, before Fia can slip back out the door again. "Or, that is, for what does he have an appointment? I don't seem to have … notes … handy … on Mr. Knightly." He cringes at his own bad acting, and tries to formulate the best way to ask a secretary a question. But then, secretaries are supposed to be there to ask questions of, right? So you look smart and informed to the customer. It's all right to look stupid in front of the secretary – as long as you pay them on time. (This line of thought prompts him to glance at the paycheck on the desk.)

The payroll is due tomorrow, so it's not late – yet. Now that Rory looks at it, he does remember that his account balance isn't what it should be. He has a sudden fervent hope that whomever Mr. Knightly is, he pays well. While he's sorting these thoughts and others out, Fia's been briefing him. " – no appointment, Mage Stormshadow," she's saying. "He's minor nobility in Rephidim, with a house in the Noble Quarter, but no title. A middle-aged poodle, and well to-do. He said he wanted your services but wouldn't tell me anything else, sir."

"Oh!" Not-So-Successful Journeyman Rory says. "Well, I'd best not keep him waiting." He almost suggests to bring in some tea, but quickly reminds himself that this is a simulation, not 'play-acting', where he can make up tea or mateh or coffee or a special visit by the Royal Ambassador of Justmadeitopia when the whim strikes him. Nonetheless, he says, "If he takes tea or mateh or xocholatl with the little puffy marshmallow bits, and we have any, it might be nice to have some, to show him some hospitality." He hopes that's neutral enough so that if they simply haven't any – perhaps not a surprise if he's in such financial straits – the secretary can simply remind him that they haven't any. "I'll be ready for him in here." He looks at Fia as he's saying all this, watching to see any expressions that indicate that she thinks he's out of his gourd or otherwise not quite fitting the Journeyman role.

If Fia has any reservations about his fitness as an employer, she's keeping them to herself. She bows and says, "As you wish, Mage Stormshadow," then backs out of the door. A moment later, she ushers in a stout, smartly-dress poodle with iron-grey fur and a brass-handled black walking cane. "This is Mr. Knightly, Mage Stormshadow," she introduces. "I'll be back with your beverages in a moment, sirs," she adds, preparing to withdraw again, after a quick glance to Rory to see if he wants anything else first.

Rorschach's ears blush, as it occurs to him that he probably ought to think of something else, but for the moment he figures that he'd best just get down to business, rather than keeping Mr. Knightly waiting any longer than necessary. "Thank you, Miss Fia," the unicorn says, nodding to her, and then bows to Mr. Knightly. "It is a pleasure, sir, to make your acquaintance," he says, in as formal a voice as he can manage, and gestures vaguely to the chairs and sofa. "Please make yourself comfortable. How may I be of assistance to you, sir?" Mental note to self: check up to see whether 'sir' is a proper address, or whether 'm'lord' is more appropriate for Rephidim minor nobility, he inwardly frets.

Mr. Knightly stands before the desk, his hands folded over the top of his walking cane. He eyes Rory with a look of distaste that reminds him, unpleasantly, of Mage Heather. At least he doesn't seem to mind Rory's choice of address. After an uncomfortable moment, the minor noble accepts the offer and takes a chair. "I understand you are a shadow mage, Mage Stormshadow."

The unicorn nods. "Yes, sir," he says, and goes back to his own chair, to sit in it. At least while seated, the disparity in height between the two "men" isn't quite as obvious … or so Rory imagines. "I can hide people, creatures and things, and I can manipulate shadows." He is momentarily proud of himself for using a word like "manipulate" without having to give too much emphasis to each syllable. Surely that's a sign that he's becoming a serious mage now.

The poodle's habitual glower gets a little deeper as Rory lists off his powers. "I have need of a slightly different service," he says, stiffly. "On this evening I am holding a conference with certain other … parties. It is my desire to have absolute confidentiality at this meeting. I wish to assure that no one can spy on our doings. Is this something that would fall into your area of … expertise?"

The door opens quietly, and Fia slips in, bearing a nice wooden tray with a small china teapot and a matching xocholatl pot, along with two cups. She unfolds a little table to set the tray on, then pours out a cup for each man. Rory's froths, and has little marshmallows dissolving slowly into it.

Rorschach nods. "Yes, I can hide conversations, too. I know some Light Magic, so I can also keep a watch out for scryers trying to spy on you." He really isn't quite certain that his knowledge of Light Magic is sufficient to be of any serious use against any but the most novice of Light Mages, but a novice Light Mage would still be potentially more trouble than a casual eavesdropper. "Thank you, Miss Fia," he says, eagerly eyeing his drink, but supposing it best to let the marshmallows melt a little longer rather than immediately sipping at it.

The Zerda offers Rory a quick smile before she slips out again, fluffy tail swishing behind her. Mr. Knightly's expression has cleared somewhat at the mage's latest word. "I see. If I were to hire your services for the evening, would you be able to guarantee our privacy? Even from your own eyes and ears?"

Rory nods. "I could do it more easily if I can see and hear what I am hiding, but I guess you could say that I'd be making a magic moat of shadow and silence around your meeting. A Light Mage might be able to tell that I'm hiding something, but they shouldn't be able to see or hear what … and if a very powerful mage gets through my shield, I can warn you, so the meeting can be moved. Do you have enemies with mages in their service?" He begins to mentally construct scenarios involving master spies and secret agents and sneaky elementals lurking in the shadows dressed in trenchcloaks and wide-brimmed hats, looking around furtively and exchanging secret pass codes with each other. Or something like that.

"Enemies would be too strong a word. Say rather, I have rivals who might hire mages for this purpose. But what I understand of magic is that it is easier to conceal than reveal – so if, as you say, you are hiding our talks, my rivals' sources shouldn't be able to spy on us anyway." Mr. Knightly nods to himself even as he speaks. "How much would you require in return for your services?"

Rorschach ponders this a moment, then pulls over the Mage's Guild Guide of Services, a tome sufficiently complex to be referenced even in the presence of a client and still leave the mage in question considerable leeway in interpreting the final cost to the client, if he so chooses as to be creative. Journeyman Rorschach, however, is assuming that his popularity as a mage is not so well established that he can find excuses for extraneous little fees to add to his overall charge to milk this job for all it's worth. By all that he can see, he is badly in need of shekels to keep afloat, and now. He needs this client. He doesn't want his client to know this, but that's another level of difficulty. "Let's write up an estimate for you. I'll have a few questions, first, to help establish the parameters of the spell," he recites from an exercise in one of his college classes, as he digs through the tome.

For the most part, the unicorn tries to stick to the basic costs prescribed by the tome … though he mentally also tries to calculate how little he can get by on and still pay Fia's paycheck, bills, and so forth, assuming that he won't have another job for a little while yet. If Mr. Knightly looks doubtful, he can quickly slip in that he's offering a discount special on Secrecy for Private Meetings, or something along those lines.

Thankfully, Mr. Knightly doesn't appear to balk at the standard prices, and a price is soon agreed upon, and the deal closed . The poodle departs, looking more confident than when he entered.

Only once all the appropriate friendly-isms have been done, deal-making, and other business-business, does Rory collapse in his chair, letting out a big sigh … and he takes a long sip of his cooling hot xocholatl. It may only be imaginary, but he decides that he now has a xocholatl craving. Once he wakes up, he'll have to get some for real, for sure…

"Your friend from the playhouse, Mr. Obers, would like to see you, Mage Stormshadow," Fia announces, after a decent interval has passed to allow Rory to recover.

Rory looks up from his hot xocholatl. "Oh! Here? Or did he leave a message for me to meet him somewhere?" A case! Maybe there's someone spying on the playhouse! Maybe there are some shadow elementals loose, haunting the theatre, that he needs to deal with. Okay, so that would be more the job of a Spirit Mage, but it still sounds exciting nonetheless.

"He's in the anteroom," Fia says. "Shall I show him in?"

"Yes, please, Miss Fia," Rory says, wiping off a xocholatl-mustache, and glancing to the desk, vaguely recalling there being something having to do with a play lying there earlier, and wondering if there's a connection.

Fia nods, then ushers in a tan-colored Rhian with a white man, with rather less ceremony than the poodle received. Apparently she doesn't think friends warrant the same lofty treatment as potential customers. Chris Obers grins warmly at the mage. "Hey there, Rory! Don't you look quite the all-mighty wizard?" He glances around, making a point of admiring the Important Scrolls and Books, along with the bas-relief carvings. "Nice place."

Rory beams proudly. "Thanks!" He is just about to boast about the fact that he might have a customer, but then he realizes that, of course, that should be confidential. Toward that end, he busies himself with putting away any errant paperwork and tidying up in general. "Do you want anything to drink? I just had some hot xocholatl. I've got this great view out the window!" He reminds himself to use words like 'great' instead of 'dark' when dealing with non-Shadow-Apprentices. "Uhm … how are things at the playhouse?"

The unicorn stops chattering long enough for the horse to actually get in a word edgewise, as he tidies the desk.

"I'm fine, thanks. I, uh, actually came about the playhouse," Chris says, looking a little nervous. "You know how we're having our grand opening tonight?"

"Uh," Rory says, "well … I guess I forgot. Been really busy, you know." He scratches his mane. "Is something wrong?" Rather than suggesting a long list of possible problems like spies or runaway shadow spirits or other dangers, he opts to just listen to hear what Chris has to say. After all, it might be more interesting.

"Well, um, my act for intermission – maybe you remember him? Comedian ventriloquist with an obnoxious puppet? Anyway, he got into something of a fight with my stage director and – to make a long story short, he won't be up to performing tonight," Chris abbreviates. Rory gets the impression that the Rhian has deliberately left all the good parts out of this story.

Rory frowns. "You sure I can't hear the long story?" he says, all too eager to hear the good parts.

"Well … " Chris looks as if he's torn between a desire to protect the theatre and to tell the story. Story-telling wins out. "See, Roger, the ventriloquist was flirting with Alicia – that's the leading lady for the play – and Alicia is married to my stage director, Hansel. So Roger's throwing his voice to all the props backstage, and he's doing imitations off all the cast members and the staff. Alicia and some of the other crew are laughing like anything, and then Roger does an imitation of Hansel's voice, only he throws it on … er … a prop Drokar. And not the head-end of the Drokar, either."

Chris pauses. "That's when Hansel walked in."

Rory gasps, covering his muzzle with his hands … though he still imagines it is a terribly funny situation. He does his best not to snicker, and to instead just look appalled.

The tan Rhian looks away, though he does seem to be fighting a grin of his own. Instead, he gives a heavy sigh. "Any road, Roger won't be able to make it this evening, though the healer thinks he'll make a full recovery. But, the show must go on, right?"

Rory nods. "That's awful. I hope you can find another ventriloquist!" Privately, he wonders if Chris is leading up to something. He's fairly certain that ventriloquism has never been part of his repertoire. In any case, he's got a prior commitment…

"Yeah, fat chance of that. But, I was thinking … I know you're not a ventriloquist, but I know you've done some performing before, Rory, with your dark shadow plays and all. I thought, well, maybe you could lend me a hand and fill in for him? He's a solo act – it's not like you'd have to do a particular thing, Rory. Just get up there for fifteen minutes and impress the heck out of the audience." Chris beams encouragingly. "What'd ya say?"

The unicorn sighs, frowning as his shoulders slump. "I can't," he says, feeling absolutely awful and for the moment forgetting that this is just all a dream anyway. "I'd really, really like to, but I've got some work to do, and I made a promise." He pauses, thoughtfully, looking out the window to gauge the time. "The only thing I can think of – and I don't even know if it'd work – would be if I could magick up someone for you to perform… "

The Rhian at first looks terribly disappointed, but at Rory's final suggestion, he asks, "D'ya think you could?" Even as he does so, Rory makes some mental calculations. Factoring in the time it is now, the amount of time he'll need to prepare the area for Mr. Knightly's guests, and the level of concentration the unicorn would need to pull off the latter – he suspects that any shadow-elemental he set to help Chris out wouldn't be very impressive. Or, if it was, he'd risk slacking on his commitment to Knightly.

Rory's hopeful smile quickly turns into a frown, as he shakes his head. "I'm sorry … It would be really boring, or else I'd be using too much time to put it together. I just can't." He wrenches his mouth in a frown. "Not unless you were secretly a Chaos Mage who could boost my spell. If I'd known about it this morning, maybe I would have had time, but … " He shakes his head sadly, trying to think of some cheaper alternative. A delayed effect Shadow Play, recycling one of his old performances? But even if that worked … keeping someone entertained for fifteen minutes with just the shadows?

"Oh. Well, that's ok. Maybe I'll ask that fire mage, whasshisname, Linford, if he'd like to do some fireworks or something for it," Chris muses, downcast.

The unicorn winces. "Fireworks inside?" Perhaps the things he's heard about fire mages and displays are just exaggerations. He himself is quite downcast as he sees the horse's reaction, and desperately wishes he could come up with some great plan, or otherwise alleviate the horse's gloom. "Uhm … want some hot xocholatl? I've got marshmallows!"

The prospect of marshmallows lightens the equine's gloom. "Really? Sure!"

The noble's meeting is at the back room of a gentleman's club, and Rory wards the entire area safely and without difficulty. About halfway through the evening, as he's talking with a waiter to keep awake, he detects a skilled scryer trying to get through his wards. The unicorn is pretty sure his spells should be good enough to hold against a breach, but he was just a bit distracted for a few minutes.

Rory grits his teeth. He can smell the distinct scent of a customer demanding a refund. He decides not to take any chances. He's going to have to warn his clients of the possibility of a breach…

Knightly takes the warning with surprising good grace, especially once told how short a time it was likely for – no more than a minute or two. The unicorn mage re-examines his wards and can find no failure in them, and the men are able to resume their discussion without further hindrance. The shock is enough to keep Rory alert for the remainder of the evening, until the gathering finally disperses.

Once the gathering finally breaks up, Rory finds a place to collapse and breathe a great sigh of relief. He still feels a little curious about the scryer, wondering who it might be who would be prying into such things … but it also occurs to him that prying into such things himself might pose the risk of violating Knightly's privacy, unless he looks into it with the noble's consent. Yes, another cup of hot xocholatl is sounding really good right now…

The club fortifies him with a cup of hot xocholatl, and then it's closing time. As Rory heads out onto the street, he feels almost as much as sees a lithe, feline figure brush past him and dash into an alley nearby.

The unicorn, quite suspicious about things even if he would otherwise have no reason to without an overactive imagination, decides that this warrants investigation. Besides, the thought enters the back of his mind that even though he may have kept out listening ears and prying eyes during the meeting … someone might have it in mind to go and investigate afterwards and perhaps find some 'clue' that ought not to be found. He suddenly regrets not thinking of the idea of simply hiding in the meeting room after the meeting and seeing if anyone suspicious showed up – not that he normally would have ever expected to need to do such a thing. Suspecting magic at work, he tries to focus his magical sense to see if there's anything at work … and attempts to draw no special attention to himself as he makes his way over to the alley to see what's up.

The feline – a Savanite by the look of him – dashes down the alley, past the doorway leading to the club, then skids to a halt as he realizes, with some consternation, that the far end is blocked by a wall. He tries a door near the wall, but isn't able to open it. He then darts back the way he came, trying the door to the club with apparent anxiety. He looks around, wild-eyed, ears flattened against his head. Rory can't sense any magic active at the moment.

Rorschach frowns, wondering what someone's slave is doing out this time of night, and without any clear errand in mind. He figures this is definitely suspicious activity, but opts to just watch for now, since he has no idea how the Savanite will react to Rory's sudden appearance. He watches to see if the Savanite seems to be making any attempt to hide his own actions, or whether he is merely desperate over some task.

The feline's eyes slide past the concealed unicorn without seeming to see him at first, then flick back towards him. His mouth goes wide, then he signs, "Please, help me!"

Rory rolls his eyes. So much for hiding. Well, not like he had made a serious attempt to do so. He drops the pretense of being sneaky, and trots up to the Savanite. He signs back, "What's wrong? The club is closed for the night."

"There are men trying to capture me! I have to – " His ears prick up abruptly in alarm, and Rory can hear footsteps coming down the street, from the same direction the Savanite had come. "Hide!" the feline gestures emphatically, then dives for a pile of rubbish near the club's backdoor, trying to curl up amongst it and conceal himself.

Rory frowns. Helping a slave escape his master would definitely be a problem … but for all he knows, this might be a favored slave who is going to be abducted by Darksiders, and he'd be obliged to help the master out. Rory frowns, obviously having blown any chance he'd had to work up an elaborate spell. Deciding to take action while he can, so he can figure out what's going on later, he opts to move closer to the back door, and work on a spell to hide the Savanite. He, after all, has an excuse for still being around. The Savanite, presumably, does not.

"Hey, do you feel that?" Rory hears a stranger's voice say, and the steps quicken. Two people, a fox and a Gallee, garbed in mage's robes and hurrying, turn the corner and peer down the ally at where Rory stands, along with a now fairly-well hidden Savanite.

Rory frowns. Briiiiight. No time to Obfuscate myself, and they've got a mage! He does his best to not make any more noise or motion than he absolutely has to. If he should be so lucky that they move along, that would be splendid. That's not going to happen, the little pessimistic voice in his head says, and he knows that certain other people would come up with a clever ruse to draw attention away from the alley, but he's never been quite that good at being so quick on his hooves in a sudden situation like this. He mentally ponders ideas such as shouting at the top of his lungs for the closest Temple Guard patrol … something a Savanite obviously couldn't do on his own.

"Who's there?" the fox asks suspiciously, perhaps catching a glimpse of the white fur markings on Rory's face. The Gallee, a collie, frowns, peering about but not apparently seeing what her companion has.

A thousand plans – okay, so maybe only five – run through Rory's mind, as he tries to figure out what to do. He feels very much like he had been caught sneaking a look in the headmaster's test book. Not that he's ever done such a thing, but he imagines that it would involve a great amount of getting into trouble, regardless. "Rorschach," he says. To his mind, there's really nothing else he can say. "The club's closed for the night," he adds, though he's fairly sure that is not going to prompt them to say anything like, "Oh! Well, never mind then!" and move along.

"Rorschach?" the vulpine repeats. Now that he's spoken, the Gallee's eyes manage to settle on where he is, more or less.

The collie frowns, then says, "Rorschach Stormshadow? Journeyman Shadow Mage?"

Rory inwardly groans. "Yes, and who are you?" he replies. "I'm a little busy right now." He is, after all, but he really wishes he had something legitimate at the moment. Well, perhaps he does. He blinks, recalling the attempted intrusion earlier. Perhaps this is all a ruse to try to sneak past him and spy on the meeting? "If you're a spying Scrying Mage, you might as well give up. I'm on to you. I sensed you trying to break my defenses earlier!" Of course, the Savanite can't be a mage. Might it have been carrying some sort of talisman, a center for a Light-based spell? But then, why have the mages come up themselves? Or else this is just an excuse for the mages to approach, without Rory suspecting that they're secretly just trying to find a way to sneak into the club and use powerful Light Magicks to scour the meeting room and search for any lingering whatever-it-is traces that powerful Light Mages might use to figure out what was said, after the fact.

(Some day, once he becomes a full-fledged Light Mage, he'll be better able to understand how these things work, Rory assures himself.)

"Huh?" the fox says, brightly.

The collie glances at him. "I'm Mage Corianne, and this is Mage Monc. I am a scryer," she admits, "but I doubt that you've felt me trying to break through your spells. Unless you're trying to hide a heretic?" she finishes, sounding dubious on the latter.

This throws Rory for a loop. Could Mr. Knightly be a heretic? Or is the Savanite supposed to be a heretic? Can a Savanite be a heretic? What is a heretic, anyway? He has a rough idea of the concept, but isn't quite sure how it works in Rephidim. Maybe he'd best make sure he isn't one before going there. "Is this some sort of religious Temple business?" he asks. "If this is just some sort of trick to get closer, I'm going to be really, really … " He struggles to find a potent enough word. " … sad!" He's pretty sure that wasn't really the word he had in mind. Maybe the gross understatement will sound more profound than it really ought to. Maybe Barada herself will come to the alleyway and shoo off the mages and tell them to leave Rory alone, and not charge him for the favor by stealing one of his teeth. And maybe he will sprout feathered wings and fly away. Or not.

"We're with the Caroban Watch, Mage Stormshadow," Corianne says She holds a little fey-light in her left hand, and she waves it over her chest to illuminate the chain around her neck and the badge of office that goes with it. "Forgive me, heretic isn't quite the right word. Hedge-wizard, actually. A Savanite practicing magic!"

Rory ponders this. Okay, this is really twisty. He's now feeling like he really needs to brush up on how the rules work on this. Can a Savanite be a mage? Didn't he hear some sort of nonsense about that sometime? Or was that just a joke? Was the Savanite doing magic? If this is some sort of ruse, then impersonating the Caroban Watch … Wait a moment! Rory thinks. This is Rephidim, not Caroban! He knows that Caroban has jurisdiction over magical concerns … but this is sounding awfully fishy. The Caroban Watch here? And where's the Temple Guard? Or, wait, do they need the Temple Guard? Can Rory tackle this Savanite himself and drag him off to the nearest Temple patrol so some Investiquisitor fellow can sort this all out? Angst! There've got to be some rules on this somewhere…

Corianne and Monc exchange glances as various expressions flit over the unicorn's face. The collie tries again. "Journeyman Stormshadow, have you seen a Savanite come through here recently? Male, thin, about 5'8"? We were trying to capture him and believe that he ran down this way."

As soon as the very straightforward question is asked, Rory finds himself answering, "Yes," without even thinking about it – until after he's said it. He's always had this curious habit of just saying things like they are (that is, unless his overactive imagination has embellished upon things too far beyond reality). It earned him no small amount of derision from fellow Babelites. Well, the jig is up, he thinks glumly.

Monc blinks a few times, as if surprised by the direct answer, but the collie only looks relieved. "Wonderful. Did you see where he went?"

"Yes," Rory says, and crosses his eyes. I did it again! If I ever have to hide something, make sure that nobody ever, ever asks me what I'm hiding, or I'm a goner for sure…

"Uh … would you tell us where?" Corianne says, still patient if a little puzzled by his answers.

Rory wonders that, if this is a real heretic, the Savanite is probably going to jump up about now and drag him off to be sacrificed to the dark gods, or turn into a monster and eat them all, or … Actually, he's getting very tired of coming up with wild ideas right now. "I was going to take him in to the Temple Guard, in case he was an escaped slave, or you were slave-rustlers. Are you slave-rustlers?" He decides to add that last bit in, just in case anyone in the group of mages is afflicted by the same malady that he seems to be suffering from when asked direct questions like that.

It then occurs to the unicorn that he hasn't actually answered Corianne's question, but he's pretty sure she'll remind him of that in a moment.

"No," Corianne says, almost laughing. "But, quickly – where did the slave go?" Her vulpine companion is searching around for signs of the cat's presence or departure, apparently. "We have to track him down, quickly."

Rory feels terribly conflicted now. He said that he'd help hide the slave, but he's also obliged to help the Caroban Watch. Well, he didn't say how long he would hide the slave. Surely he'd understand, being a heretic and all, that running and trying to get help from a mage … Rory, as much as he tries to rationalize this all, starts to feel very sick in the pit of his stomach. He feels as if no matter what he does, he's doing something seriously wrong here – and all the more so by his hesitation. "He's here in the alley," he says, giving in to that odd impulse to simply say whatever's true. "I'm hiding him from slave-rustlers." If he were a couple of years younger, he's pretty sure he would start crying right now.

The Savanite chooses this moment to spring from his hiding place and bolt for the alley entrance. Monc tries to tackle him.

The fox manages to grab one of the hedge wizard's legs and they both go sprawling. Corianne says something like "Thank you" to Rory as she rushes to help her companion restrain the Savanite.

Rory just looks with a dead expression at the scene, letting the spell fizzle away. He can't look at the mages. He trots out of the alleyway … and desperately looks up and down the street for any sign of the Temple Guard. "Guard! Guard!" he shouts. "Help! Guard!"

A few awkward moments pass while the mages wrestle with the Savanite while Rory shouts for help. Finally, he hears running feet, and a pair of Jupani Templars come running up, At first, this only serves to add to the confusion, as the wolves leap past Rory and try to sort out the struggling combatants.

Rory simply tries to dive out of the way, and let the Temple Guard do their job. They're supposed to know stuff like whom to tackle, after all. Or, at least, that's what he supposes. He's never really had to deal with tackling criminals himself, so he's not privy to the intricacies involved in such an endeavor.

It doesn't take long for the situation to sort itself out. The Savanite stops resisting shortly after the guards arrive. The Templars, after inspecting their badges of office and listening to their story, seem to accept that the two mages are, in fact, of the Caroban Watch, and accordingly have jurisdiction over things like hedge wizards. The Jupanis ask to escort the watchers to the Temple, just the same, for further examination of the affair, but no one seems unhappy about this except the Savanite – and, perhaps, Rory. The others at least seem willing to leave him out of the rest of their story, though. "Thank you for your help, mage Stormshadow," Corianne tells him sincerely, as they prepare to lead their captive away.

Rory just nods mutely at first, then croaks out, "If … if that will be all?"

"Certainly. You may go now, Journeyman. Good night," Mage Corianne bids him, waving farewell.

The unicorn clops off, making his way back to … wherever it is he's supposed to go. He has no idea whether he's got a home, or whether he just camps out in the office. Maybe there's some sort of business-paper-boring-stuff I should be doing in the office, he ponders.

As he trudges off into the night, he finds the world growing gray and indistinct around him. It almost seems to match his doleful thoughts – in any event, the occurrence, curiously, does not alarm him. As the road beneath him melts into nothingness, he has time to think, At least I won't have to fill out paperwork now – and then he wakens in a circle of green grass.

The Cervani mage's face hovers over his, her eyes showing some concern, though not a great deal. The sun hangs in the western sky, and insects chirp in the garden around him. "Back among us, Rorschach?" Aliera asks.

"Oh yeah," Rorschach croaks, his mouth feeling dry and pasty. (He belatedly hopes he didn't drool in his sleep, or snore. That would be so terribly embarrassing.) "It was just a dream, wasn't it? Uhm … how does the play turn out with Chris? Does the fire mage burn the playhouse down, or does it go okay? And was that really a heretic? And did Mr. Knightly get to keep his secrets? And can I have a glass of water? All this talking is making my throat dry."

Kiz (or maybe Kell) giggles from nearby, and a small brown hand presses a flask into his. Aliera answers, "In order: the play with Chris goes fine; he can't get the fire mage to help, either, so he does a stand-up act himself and everyone loves it. The Savanite was really a hedge wizard; I don't know why 'heretic' came up. And, thanks to you, Mr. Knightly gets to keep his secrets. And yes, you can have a drink."

Rory gets up, and gulps the proffered water. "Thanks," he says, at last. "I think I've got a real craving for hot xocholatl, though." He doesn't sound all that terribly enthusiastic about it, though. It just seems the thing to do. Or, at least, it's the most compelling goal he can think of at the moment. "What now?" he asks.

"Now, your council evaluates your test results and decides if you passed or not." There's a smile in Aliera's voice as she speaks.

Rory nods. "Uhm … so do I wait somewhere? Or do I go off and wait for word? Or … ?" He shakily gets to his feet.

"Whatever you like," Aliera says, standing with him and offering a hand to steady him. "Though," she continues, her eyes sparkling as she leans closer, "if you promise not to tell – I think it's safe to say I can call you 'Journeyman Rorschach' from now on."

The unicorn makes a polite smile, but his heart's not really into it. He knows that it was just a dream … and besides, that was a 'hedge wizard' … but he feels like a heel, like he violated a trust, like he betrayed someone. It may be purely illogical, he supposes to himself, but it hardly seems appropriate for him to jump for joy or dance a jig right now. "I think … I'll go off and wait for word. I think I'll get myself some hot xocholatl now," he says, setting down the empty flask. It's not really the xocholatl he's looking forward to right now, though. It's more the desire to just go somewhere.