Mala Cognitio

     Putting his shoulder to the brick wall, Jougs shoved and as he did so his boots slid across the cement. He quit shoving as he neared a 45º angle to the wall. Pushing himself upright, he asked, “you sure it’s this wall?”
     Glancing from the map to Jougs, the annoyed Inquisitor replied, “use the tools,” and tapped the bag slung across Vorant’s back.    
     Shaking his head, Vorant unslung the duffle, unzipped the main compartment, and proceeded to dig around. After a moment, he held up a short handled sledge hammer. “Here,” he said before disappearing back into the bag to withdraw a rusted railroad spike.
     “Is that all you brought?” Jougs asked. “Seriously?”    
     “Nope,” Vorant said, extracting a hammer and an incredibly long screw driver, “brought this too.”
     “So, we’re just supposed to start banging on the wall?” Jougs’ doubt as to the sanity of the plan had grown exponentially since leaving the Interrogation Room. He asked, “don’t you think someone on the other side will hear us?”

Iratae Voces

     Suddenly flooded with brilliant emerald light, the kitchen staff froze. Without giving a second thought to the sudden disco, Preston the Head Cook yelled, “snap to! Hungry people waiting! Go on!” His business as usual attitude hid his shock at seeing a young woman appear out of thin air. He spun towards her with a metal whisk in one hand, saying, “I don’t care who you are. You ever just pop in here like that again, I swear to Mercury, I’ll turn you over my knee! Do you know how close you came to making Scott drop the tray he’s carrying?” For his part, Scott had chosen that moment to disappear through the swinging doors leading into the Dining Hall. Regardless, Preston continued, “damned Royals, just come and go as they please. No consideration for those who slave away making sure they have all the luxuries they need. Ridiculous,” he shook his head as he turned back to the mixing bowl, “if you’re hungry, I suggest you find a seat out there,” he waved the whisk like a magic wand.

Lege Teneri

     The tears wouldn’t stop flowing. She’d ravaged her swollen eyes and raw nose with half a roll of toilet paper, but still, the damnable salt water and mucus trickled down her face. Her ass hurt from prolonged sitting, the ceramic toilet seat offered her no comfort. Her temples throbbed; each beat sent a shockwave through her nervous system. Holding onto the bathroom wall, to keep from falling off the toilet, she sunk into the cold tiles. The position was awkward, but the cool tiles soothed her burning skin. When the urge to vomit finally passed, Tokus Cassius, Mercury’s Messenger, climbed off the toilet. She slowly navigated the bathroom to the sink, where she turned the cold water tap on and began a two handed shoveling maneuver, slapping her face with the ice water. She gave no thought to the water that jumped over her shoulders to land on her back. Right when she was starting to feel like a functional human being, her stomach flipped. She lunged back to the toilet, where she barely made it before—Oh, sweet mother of Mercury! That’s disgusting!—hugging the porcelain goddess. In her painful state, she did not hear the thrice knock of the Mercury’s Elite Guard.

Patria Carere

     Pacing the Bard’s Quarters, Kent Wheelock paused at the window overlooking the Forum Publicos. From this vantage point, he could see the tiny walled courtyard that separated Fintan’s quarters from the forum, as well as the mass of people haggling at the midday market. He could also see the Pissing Puppy Statue where he’d cussed Fintan out the first time they’d met after... You old rat bastard, Kent sighed, turning his back from the forum to continue his short journey to nowhere. Every day for the last two weeks, Celatrix Julianne Verna had plagued him with memorizing Donian rhyme schemes, epic grammar, and ancient idioms. Just thinking of her made his brain ache and his heart long for the far easier life he’d lived on the Gambling Strip, where scrambling for food and shelter were the apex of his intellectual problems. He sighed again, she’ll be here any minute. Get your head on, he shivered at the unintentional thought which brought with it the all too realistic feel of the shovel as it had connected with West’s neck. Throwing his hands to his knees to keep from falling, Kent weaved where he’d bent over. Staring at the maroon rug he suddenly experienced a wave of vertigo that ended with him kneeling on the floor, holding a hand over his mouth. As he was crawling on three limbs in a feeble attempt to make it to the bathroom, his door swung open and Ensign Balin entered.