Stars Rift, a community where change is the normal, the reality all who live or trade here deal with moment by moment; plans, plots, murder, mayhem and the pursuit of the most hedonistic of pleasures encompass it. Change just is, all know, accept and deal with it as it happens.

The one exception to his rule has always been the academy. This great bastion of learning and knowledge, where the arts of magic are taught to students, scholars come to discover and hone skill for purposes best left to the imagination.

Constant, unyielding, unbending, always there – a true solid foundation for the community; and yet even here the forces of change demand their tribute. A series of events have come about, one along with the other that is turning this stability upside down on its head; what the future holds no one knows definitely save for one thing – Charity is up to her ear-tuffs and then some with it.


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Tonight Justin watches over the inn while his father is off making deals for the various ales, beer, spirits and wines the customers so enjoy. He is happy to have some time free of his father; a father who only sees the value in family for the extra coins able to be generated. Coin, coin and more coin; that is the one true love of his father – not necessarily his only son.

The new sign, squeaking in the breeze as it hangs over the inn’s door reminds him of one definite change that has happened; let his father rage all he wants, for the sign now shows the places new name.

“Wolf-packs Den – Come in and have a bite.”

He knows, as he silently mouths the name, that it is far from original or very creative. Yet it does have some advantages, as his – a massive shudder goes through his stout frame – new family of were-wolves howl in great delight. Not a were-wolf himself, or dinner even, he managed to have a night with the Manx twins, and now the mothers-to-be are holed up elsewhere awaiting the birth of the newest pack members.

There has been one constant here though, now gone, that he misses dearly – Charity the cat-girl. She has moved to the Academy at the request of the Chancellor Storm Dragon himself.

There is one more change though, for good or bad, a fortune teller who gives her name as Mystique – swathed head to toe in desert robes, veils that muffle the voice, and gloves that extend to up under the sleeves, the only clear sight is her amethyst colored eyes unnerving all about her performances.

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For six days the crowds have been drawn in seeking her advice and fortunes to be told; her knowledge, skill and ability are such that many a deep secret is made known – to the delight of rivals and the damnation of the ones who now are vulnerable. She shows secrets of what is to come – of loves to be found and lost, great deeds done, wrongs that need to be righted, great rights needing to be wronged! Oh the range of cliental she draws are strange – showing up in disguises and speaking in all manner of languages, coded, or visual signs of letters and symbols floating in the very air between her and them.

Tonight though is a gathering of students from the Academy; twenty four students and four Journeymen who are of the faction belonging to Master Fox-glove. The leader is one called Jolah the Brazen. Rude, crude, brash and belligerent to the core of his being, he bullies and intimidates all around him. Now when tact and diplomacy would be the best case to handle a situation, he reverts true to style – supported by a band of sycophants.

“Why then, tell me why, will you not just give to me the answer I seek?” Fists pound against the table hard enough to make it bounce around while the voice; one that reminds all of a petulant spoiled brat finally told no continues to make the whining demand over and over again.

For many a minute the one called Mystique sits still until sudden laughter cuts across the entire inns room. All who hear it understand to the core of their being this sound – for it carries the authority of the wind of Fate and Destiny itself. Others hear the fortunes of treasure won and acclaims made unto the ages in their honor. For a small group though, all that is heard is the silent howl of an open grave.

Silence follows the laughter coming her. All eyes turn fully her way, undivided attention at hand.

“Oh the young pup who knows not what to ask; for you demand an answer to a question not considered or even spoken. So then speak your one question and then be gone – you are a pup who is not worth notice by those who are by far your betters.”

Rage builds in his eyes, clear indication he is fighting to control the torrent of scathing remarks awaiting the dam to be breached. “Very well then I shall ask a question. I demand to know my destiny and how to solve the killings going on of the mages at the academy; along with how each murder is tied in with the infernal cat-girl Charity and the Chancellor – so I will be able to claim my rightful place as a Master of the Academy instead of as a lowly student of the first year. I DEMAND MY DESTINY NOW!!!”

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Hearing the rage in the shouted end to Jolan’s question Justin looks over with grave concern; signaling for the half-ogre bouncers to position themselves to ‘escort the young man outside, via the wall if needed.’ Even the normal call of wagers, bets and shouts of encouragement are silent – all know something is happening beyond the ken of their own lives. Some of those with more sense than the rest bolt for the door or out the nearest of windows while time remains – and for most, there is precious little left.

Seeing those glowing amethyst eyes of Mystique Justin notices finally a pulsation in the armbands he wears, a gift from the Chancellor that provides his body the protection of plated armor from harm, and briefly enhances his strength when at labor with heavy loads. He recalls with each pulse happening – and with growing unease as well – the warning that these will save him or someone dear to him in the future…

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Mystique laughs once again. “So then the young pup without teeth has courage; demanding what he feels is rightfully his and his alone?” Jolah nodded, arrogant grin on his face, and smugly crossing his arms in recognition for his way being the best. His gaggles of associates snicker and howl encouragement about how his day of glory and fame is now at hand.

“So be it.” She responded with casual dismissal for his actions.

Picking up the top card of a Tarot deck, one emblazoned with the a setting sun, she laughs aloud as it begins to glow with the brilliance of a rising sun. A casual flick of the wrist sends it whirling across the table to land just inches shy of the Jolah. All see it pulsating with the light, power feeding upon power for the inevitable release about to occur.

Screams and pandemonium encompass the room as people hopelessly run for doors, stairs or dive at the very windows secured shut against the winds. Jolah and his associates look upon the card, clearly understanding that their doom is now at hand; all their vaunted self worth and pursuit for instant glory is coming to an abrupt and quite final end.

“Queen captures Knight,” Mystique calmly says as the world explodes in a devils brew of light, heat, fire and smoke. Death has come, calling for the masses tonight.



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Upon the rooftop chimney a lone figure looks over both the community and the academy – both of which are so soon to belong to him and no others. With the coming of the Academy ball he will be the last piece standing, the King of the chess board. All opposition shall be swept clear, save for some he leaves – puppets and selected agents to maintain his hold should anyone arise again to challenge him.

So efficient are some of those agents at work, their task being one of causing chaos and passing the blame to the Chancellor and his lady love Charity, the newest Headmistress of the School. Constant and unyielding pressure is what he wants – pressure, pressure, and yet more pressure from within and without. So much pressure that when he makes the last moves, the academies leadership will be divided and unable to coordinate any measure of response.

He owes Charity, o’ how he owes her for what she dared to do – sick a Dire Tiger of all things upon HIM. Soon he will have his revenge; and should his agents fail, then he will do so personally.