“In the game of Ruli a board of 128 pieces are arranged randomly, so as to simulate the disorder of life. The goal is to change the field and garner a state where all choices lead to your victory. You acquire land, amass wealth, and make deals with the other players. It is a fickle game where one choice could win you everything or bring forth unimaginable loss down the line, but nevertheless it still requires a choice to be made to enact any change. Whether it is either recklessness or confidence that caused that change, only time will tell.”

  -Monk Laka of the Pink blossom temple

  Lodur

  The mysterious masked man took out a really cool sword out of his waist and brandished it in a pose. Lodur wanted to clap and cheer, but he remembered he still had dead rabbits covering his hands. He’s slowly getting used to holding dead bodies more and more as of recent, and the smell doesn’t bother him as much anymore. He could almost smell it as something sweet rather than something repulsive.

  “Now let’s get a closer look at our captives shall we? Number 1 release them.”

  “Right away sir.” The old man with a pointy hat came inside the cage and walked closer to the three teens.

  The old man lifted a finger and the three teens saw wood start to fly from his robes. Wooden cutlery, planks, sticks, and bowls started to fly around and whir towards them. The cutlery sliced the bindings of Rob and Beelza.

  “Duck and cover!” Beelza took a vial she tucked in her hair and threw it to the ground. Unfortunately the old man floated a bowl to catch the vial without letting it shatter.

  “Ohoho, Boss it appears we have a witch in our midst. Sorry dear girl, I mean you no harm. This old wizard no longer casts spells of that kind anymore.” The old man smiled and gave back the vial to Beelza.

  “A witch eh? What’s your name girl?” The masked man asked.

  Beelza took a second to process what just happened. “B-beelza...”

  “Well Beelza, this Bandit king does not discriminate against witches, so I hope you can calm yourself before you hurt anyone of mine.”

  “Y-yes”

  The old man walked beside Rob, who was now on the ground

  “Stand up now milad, no use napping in the dirt with that cloak on.” The old man said, lifting Rob up.

  Rob was silent for a moment before looking at the masked guy. “You’re not planning to feed us soup mixed with narcotics then lull us to sleep before killing us at night are you?”

  “What the hell, no. Why would I even do that? Also what’s that about soup?” The man said.

  The old woman who had the soup awhile ago suddenly disappeared from the room, like a phantom. The old man wizard approached Lodur next.

  “Hmm, it seems you’re not bound eh?” He looked at Lodur with his rabbit gloves. “Well let’s take them off then shall we?”

  “Mister, I don’t think you should do that.” Lodur jerked his hands away.

  “Nonsense boy, your hands should feel stuffy about now. Also that’s just a rabbit, a dead rabbit. How did you even manage to shove your hand inside it.”

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  “Mister, you seem like a nice guy, so please you don’t wanna know.”

  “Come now, enough of that.” He grabbed the rabbits and yanked it out. Lodur touched the robe of the old man and cringed. He wasn’t thinking of anyone in particular, but that was the problem. He wasn’t thinking about anyone.

  The robe quickly morphed into a dead infant that stretched to the shape of the old man’s waist. He was now wrapped in baby skin.

  Everyone fell silent. Speechless to the scene infront of them. They turned to see Lodur’s black hands, signs of being branded a heretic in a God’s eyes.

  “Hmmm, Oh dear that isn’t good.” The old man just frowned, before returning the rabbit gloves to Lodur. Everyone stared at Lodur, even the masked guy.

  “Sorry, I’m not a bad person I swear. I don’t mean anyone harm.” Lodur said as he hid

  “Hmmm, well I’ll be the judge of that.” The man said.

  “Do you know why the three of you are imprisoned right now? No. Well let me enlighten you. Goon number 6 bring in the evidence.”

  A stout man brought out a broken box filled with broken makeup and brushes. He took out a handkerchief in flourish and laid the broken box above it.

  “This is your crime to me. This is your error that you must compensate me with.” The masked man said.

  “A broken makeup box?” Beelza said.

  “It’s not makeup! It’s called war paint.”

  “Umm okay.....can’t you just buy a new one then.”

  “You can’t buy a new one, it’s the only one of it’s kind!”

  “Why do you even need makeup anyway?” Beelza raised a brow.

  “Warpaint, and this is why.” The man removes his mask to reveal that half of his face was covered in makeup, while the other one didn’t have any.

  “Pff” Rob and Lodur laughed under their breath, giggling at the ridiculous sight before them.

  “Hey stop laughing!”

  “Bfffftt” Beelza also joined in.

  “It’s not funny, stop it!”

  The man’s face turned red with embarrassment and rage. Was there any other pain that could compare to being laughed at by teenagers? Knives didn’t think so. For the third time in his life he felt the pain of being laughed at by teens. One when he participated in a ball, the other when he wet himself in bed when he was younger.

  “It costs 50 gold pieces you know. And you three just fell out of the sky and broke it.”

  With the sudden mention of the price, all three snapped their mouths shut. Lodur was stunned. He had never heard fifty of anything before. He couldn’t even count to a number that big. Was the man going to demand compensation?

  “But we don’t have fifty of anything sir. We don’t even have gold. We couldn’t buy you a new one even if we tried.” Lodur pouted at knives, hoping to garner sympathy.

  Knives smiled. “Whoever said anything about buying, we’re making a new one.” He clapped his hands and yelled again. “Goons get my cosmetics catalogue.”

  Trisha Berfast

  Trisha was currently applying her luxury makeup, one bought by the generous taxes of her citizens. True, her citizens could barely feed themselves, the lazy things, but how would the city prosper if she didn’t look her best everyday. She only taxed the people a small quarter of their earnings, a small sum compared to most nobility, but Trisha is generous like that. She was kind, benevolent, and most of all beautiful. She was packed with virtue and grace, the traits a noble like her should have.

  After adding her finishing touches to her look, she went out of the door and locked her room with a key. After losing her last makeup box, she had to cool off her anger by buying jewelry, also paid by the taxes of the people.

  Aaah passive income, what a marvelous thing nobles like me have invented. Perhaps I should increase the taxes to a third just for this month, afterall an exciting festival is coming soon and I’m just dying to wear a new set of pearls.

  She perused her 12 different pearl necklaces, admiring their luster against her skin. She checked herself in the mirror and thought she might have been the visage of a holy saintess. Truly she could call herself heavenly on the worst of days, and angelic on better ones.

  “Ohoho, I must say, I might be considered divine at this point.”

  She strolled the mansion’s halls, tended to by the dozen aides that orbited her. They wore maid and butler outfits with clean cut fabrics and finely tailored gloves. They were the image of refined conformity and servitude, qualities that a servant should always have. They would have been perfect, if not for a few peculiarities.

  They wore chains around their neck and arms, hidden by their collars and cuffs. Their movements, though graceful, were inhuman and strange, almost mechanical in precision. They gave off a strange odour, like one of pickled meat, powdered medicine, and alcohol. Their facial expressions were blank, as if no emotion or thought was behind them. Finally, their eyes were sown shut and hidden behind their hair.

  The aides followed their mistress as she walked down a winding staircase. They illuminated her path with candles as they walked soundlessly behind her. It was as if she was all alone as she went down the floors. Her aides were like phantoms and shades of perfect automation, something she was proud of achieving.

  She came to a stop infront of a door of brass with large and sturdy locks. It smelled of sulfur and iron. She took a simple looking key from her bosom and turned the lock. Her aides opened the doors with ease to reveal a dark room with pit in the middle. It was deep and filled with movement, like a slow undulating current of mass.

  She looked down and saw the pit filled with creatures of decay and undulating chaos. She saw life unbridled and unopposed. She saw the creatures that gave pride. She saw maggots, thousands and thousands of maggots that wriggled in a heap of life.

  In the center of the pit was a black tongue that pulsed ever so slightly in a rhythmic, hypnotizing manner. It moved and shifted as if alive, despite being severed. It was mounted on a gold bust of a skeleton that opened it’s maw in hunger. Maggots flowed out of it from holes on it’s side, like a fountain of perverse decay. The wriggling creatures were covered by black ichor that dripped from the black tongue.

  Trisha looked at the scene with glee. She felt as if the scene was equivalent to a beautiful shrine to an unknown deity erected in her domicile or an immaculate fountain of unending life. She found it all so beautiful.

  It was one of the rare places that she could truly fall to rapture. This was her haven, her paradise, her altar of faith.

  She felt so free in these dark pits, as if they showed her the true beauty all should strive for. Soon her benevolent ambitions would spread to her citizens and they would join them like her servants, improved and beautiful.

  She smiled as the maggots flowed like water, showing bones underneath it for just a split second. She drooling at the scene as maggots climbed her dress and dug into her legs.

  “How beautiful.”