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Macross cringed as the genie raced out the door. It was kind of rude, actually, after having been freed from a thousand years of imprisonment he hadn’t even said, “Thank you,” but had just raced off bragging about destruction and revenge. No good was going to come of it. Macross could see it now, a formal invitation from the King of Evil Genies arriving for him at the New Cathedral of Saint Cuthbert in Verbobonc to celebrate his coronation. He’d probably get RSVP’d next to the bitch Queen herself.

He’d just blame it on Baldomero. No one would even raise an eyebrow.

This letter has led to a chaotic state of affairs and that's not necessarily a bad thing I suppose. It was a strange group of us who gathered on the top floor of the Tattered Drake. Bleh, it was an Izzet establishment with many fancy things to tip over, drop, and break. Their fault for letting me through the door in the first place. I believe the Izzet woman was attempting to gather one of each guild under the roof, which seems like a terrible idea to me. I'm still not sure exactly what sort of errand we were actually sent on, but it involved gold and promised more chaos than I could stand to turn down.

The ancient creature who took command of our small party was an Azorius! Initially, I had to respect his leadership instincts. The group was comfortable with him leading, and while I still did as I pleased, I was happy to let him wrangle the others.

At the building we were told to investigate, we were confronted by Azorius arresters. Initially, I and an Orzhov loxodon were prepared to fight, but our Azorius leader told us to lie low and he would talk to them. Being sorely overpowered against a squad of arresters, I saw the wisdom in that. Our group ducked around a back entrance except for one trash elf whose aura and (lack of) social skills I had come to admire during the nights venture. Redunklas' negotiations had failed and it seemed as though we were going to have to fight our way out. As the arresters approached the exposed trash elf, and rounded the corner to the back entrance the Loxodon and I threw up a mighty charge. I sure as Rakdos am not about to run from any arrester when they get too big for their Azorius charms. We had those blue boys right where we wanted them, but I certainly was not expecting the fireball (or the second fireball) from our Azorius friend Redonklas. Though I don't believe it was a setup, one of my personal creeds "never trust azorius" was only reinforced by the nights activities.

By the time I had come to, the battle was over, and I, lucky to have survived another scrap. Something is indeed up with Azorius, though I'm not sure where we go from this point.

Dill was the first down the waterfall, Valindra had shown him how to use a boulder as an anchor point while still being able to retrieve your rope. They carefully made their way down the wet slippery pitch when suddenly Diogenes lost his footing and grip, falling into the cascade below. Dill watched him being swept away in the flume of water, shaking his head, “If that ain’t fucking typical.” Diogenes gained some purchase at the bend in the river before it channeled into the gloom of this underworld.

Dill had been in a more-than-usual foul mood since leaving Caer Gwynned. It started that first night in camp. Dill laid in the tiny tent pressed between Blair and Diogenes, clutching the crown Anwin had made to his chest, listening to Valindra and Solera bicker like an old married couple by the campfire. Their sudden silence was all he needed. He quietly crept out from under the back of the tent while the other two, now alarmed, fussed over how long it would take to don their armor. From his side of the tent he could barely make out four menacing figures standing still in the snow, braced against the wind, bows drawn. The closest one fired an arrow, nearly scalping Dill. “Surrender and give us yer gold,” came the garbled voice from behind a mouth half full of blackened grotty teeth. Dill thought quickly, he raised his empty hands, “Sure thing buddy,” as he walked a normal pace toward the bandit. “Look, we don’t want any trouble...” he continued as he covered the distance between them. It took to solid punches to kill the bastard, the first to the stomach, driving his large intestine with such force, that his abdominal aorta ruptured. He doubled over while Dill pummeled his head. His ear cartilage and skin burst around the sides of Dill’s fist, his brain twisting inside it’s casing of bone. He was dead before he hit the icy ground.

A terrifying moan cut short Dill’s reverie at the base of the waterfall. It was more like an ear splitting high pitched squeal. In his periphery, he could see Blair and Solera running like hell, but he couldn’t look away from the nightmare descending towards Diogenes. An abomination of what first appeared to be a black cloak unfurled itself to an eight foot wingspan. Ivory talons at the ends of it wings, a mouth foul of razor sharp teeth and finally, the best part, a long thorned whip-like tail. It was Diogenes turn to run for his life. A string of expletives left Dill’s mouth culminating in the monster engaging in an anatomically impossible activity.

“Sometimes you need to be more careful and creative to survive,” said Talon. Macross looked at the old Guildsman curiously. “Take these magic users for example. Somehow when one casts a spell it ripples out through the ether and allows another a chance to react instinctively and interfere.”

“Could we do that?”

“No. Reading a scroll is one thing. Counter spelling is a Mages’ thing. Of course, when they are busy with it, you should be busy, too. When they are distracted, finish them off. Nothing works to your advantage like killing enemy mages. Except for keeping friendly ones alive. But that’s a story for another day.”