The Dragon's Board Room

Going through either door in the lobby takes a fighter to a large board room with a massive table cut from a single piece of dark, red wood. At one side a high-backed office chair wrought from leather and copper rivets with gold filigree sits, looming over the shorter leather swivel chairs that surround the table. There are no other doors int his room besides the main entrance, but it gives the distinct impression of being a connecting room.

“It must have been in the festal hall” Fortune muttered under his breath as his toes sought purchase on the rough stone, heaving himself over the boundary wall of the sprawling manor. His day had been somewhat of a shock, certainly, and many unanswered questions remained. Only a day ago, he had shared a cup of wine with the Prince Regent himself, nothing on his mind but harmless mischief. A part of him wondered who had poisoned the drink, and if they had known he would be likewise ended. Most likely, the poisoner had been someone unaware that Fortune had been contracted to kill the Prince over breakfast. A simple stroke of ill luck, multiple contracts and intrigues gone astray, had led to his likely end and subsequent journey.

He’d woken shackled in the back of a caged cart, breathless, but alert. The figure driving the nightmare creature pulling them seemed unfussed about his awakening. Around him slumped a few other slumbering passengers.  “Stay in the cart.” He said shortly, the outline of his pitch black cloak stark against the silver mist they traveled through.

“Where are we bound?” It was supremely unfair that dying did not alleviate a hangover. The cloaked figure did not answer. The surroundings were so coated in fog, even the road they traveled was obscured. The only thing visible below them was the trailing horror of the beast’s tails, which dragged behind like the gown of a lady’s dress. The figure gave no answer.

Fortune removed his shackles. The padding of the creature’s feet alternated between sounding like cobblestone and wet mud. Fortune left the cage. The only sound as he dropped down between the slithering tails was a soft, exasperated sigh from the driver. Then, he knew no more.

When he came to, he was perturbed to find it early morning, his least favorite time of day. He appeared to be on a hill, with a large castle-like structure the closest shelter. In the distance, he could see what looked like a vast arena. The smell of herbs and hot water told him there was a bathhouse nearby.

Though deposited inches from the front gates, Fortune hugged the walls as he moved about the manor, his personal credo debilitating him from walking through the unguarded gate.  Instead, he heaved himself over the wall, and sought a window.  Easing it open gently, a cool blast of air conditioning hit his face as he slithered inside, straightening to find a handsome boardroom. The decanter made a slight clink as he poured himself a measure of mead, ruefully hoping it wasn’t poisoned.

Chilly days were always the worst for Shib. He had no idea why the damned gauntlet insisted that the area have seasons, or why his beautiful plane had to get a light dusting of snow for a quarter of the year, and he certainly didn't know why everyone was do cheerful about it. He made a mental note to try and do something for the gods to capitalize on the pseudo-winter. Maybe a yule battle? Note to self. Make Dan figure out what was the most appropriate holiday, then make merchandise.

He picked up a gilded coffee cup from his hoard and slid into his human form. A quick trip through the magical wardrobe and he was ready to file through the stack of new fighter registration. Shuffling towards the portal that connected to the boardroom, small copper dragon slippers sliding over the thick carpet,  Shib smiled despite himself. It was going to be a very lucrative season.

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Entering the boardroom, his mood immediately soured. He stepped quietly from the wall immediately behind the large chair at the far side of the table and the smell of snow, thief, and bureaucracy hit him in an instant. He quickly took in the thief drinking Nib's wine, the open window that was letting the stupid, damned snow into his board room, and the large stack of paper on the table. Steeling himself and looking as intimidating as a man can in a bath robe and dragon slippers can, Shib rumbled at the intruder.

"What do you think you are doing in my board room?"

Fortune had the time to register how good the wine was on his tongue before the sound of slippered feet alerted him to the fact that he was not alone. He briefly considered making a dive through the open window, but then decided his chances of talking his way out of the situation were quite good. Briefly, as he eyed the door, he realized that his probability calculator was still set to a world he was no longer a part of, and felt a twinge of unease. This was not helped when the robed man materialized through the wall, coffee cup and murderous gaze equipped.

A dozen possible quips came to mind, but he decided to go with an easy answer to better gage his host. Willing gooseflesh to his limbs, he rubbed his bare arms and looked wistfully out the window. “Apologies, m’lord, it was just so cold, I figured I’d nip in for a bit.” He gave the still-glaring dragon his best wide-eyed look, free from guile, as if the only possible rational action had been to crawl through a stranger’s window. His legs moved stiffly as if from cold as he closed the window, halting the incoming flurries, though the air still held the chill. Somehow, despite the knives that hung from his belt and the half-empty glass, he managed to appear provincial and harmless.

“In fact,” he continued, draining his glass “I’ve unfortunately become a little turned around.” Would it spook this man, to know he had very recently been dead? If he wanted to play his hand, he had better figure out where he’d been dropped off, and quickly. He spotted the gilding on the coffee cup and  noted the possession of the room in his address. Perhaps this man had the ability to send him home? At the very least, he looked like he could answer some pressing questions. Perhaps, like the Soul Cart, this place could also be a brief stop on his strange journey.

The dragon visibly relaxed and settled into his chair with a snort, setting the coffee in front of him. He took an an unthreatened posture at the table and eyed the stack of paperwork before him. Deciding to deal with the more interesting problem first he pushed the paperwork slightly to one side and eyed the intruder with a smile. Shib did not try and hide the flickering mischief that lit his eyes, nor the fact that his smile was more habit than joy.

"If you got lost and ended up here than I think it might be safe to say that you are more than a little turned around, warrior. You are at the Everclear Arena, a little fighting ring that my business partner and I put together for the undead to go at each other and try to fight their way to a better, usually warmer, place. The person who brought you here and I have a little deal involving the acquisition of new talent. "

Shib watched his new fighter carefully as he spoke, waiting to see how quickly he would catch on. While not directly involved in the fights, it was not uncommon for Shib and Nib to take an interest in individual fighters, and any that broke away from his reaper and found his way into the back room was at least worth more than a passing glance.

Inwardly, Fortune felt himself relax as he was brought up to speed and took the measure of the man before him. He’d dealt with his like before on his homeworld; pragmatic, detached, ruthless, and more than a little bored. He thought the things unsaid may be more important than the words. Who was this man to bribe a harvester? How would one even go about arranging it? How many other worlds were being picked over for souls, and how many options were there for advancement? He put those thoughts out of his mind. If the system could be bought, it was simply a matter of stealing enough of the right kind of coin, a notion he was easy and familiar with.

He dropped his shivering act with ease, and the gait he used to circle the table was predatory. “Many answers you have given me!” he said, taking up the hand of the dragon. “So you’re to be my new patron! Well met!” a being from another world may have balked or despaired at the thought of being bought and sold like cattle, but bonds and contracts were all Fortune had ever known. “Messire Reaper must have overlooked the plethora of strong pit fighters on my plane, much to your reward!”

Pit fighting was not what his talents were for, but of a surety he could turn his tools and technique into a strategy. Fortune had a way of making things work in his favor, and would play his role to the hilt, until it became more lucrative to do otherwise. “So all I need do is win a few fights, win you a bit of glory, secure my advancement, and retire to paradise?" He grinned with all of his teeth. "It does not seem so bad a purgatory. Best not get too attached to me, I’ll be on the monster-cart out of here, victorious, in no time.”

Shib shook Fortune's hand and smiled, genuinely.

"No hesitation? No outrage? No despair? I like you already. The long and short is that you are given a lot more leeway with how you fight and when you fight than a pit hound, but if you want to move on to a paradise or get another shot at life you do have to fight, and well. You don't need to worry about dying again while you are here, but you can get properly torn up. Keep your head up and show me that you can best a few of the old souls we have hanging around here and We'll see what we can't do about wooing a few gods with that charm of yours and leaving us both better off."

Shib's eyes shone with genuine interest and opportunity. Here was a fighter who knew the game that Shib was playing, and seemed willing to play along as long as it was beneficial for him. This, more than the easily led medieval knights, wily skulks, or brutish thugs, was Shib's preferred kind of fighter. The dragon took a paper from the middle of the stack, a scroll containing Fortune's fighter registry, and slid it in front of the thief. He produced a plastic bic pen and laid it out next to the scroll.

"Just sign here verifying the details the reaper provided, then drop it off at the front desk on your way out and a get a feel for the place. I trust I'll be organizing a fight for you soon."

The Lord’s eye was shrewd, but it seemed he had succeeded in wooing at least one of the powers that be. He wasn’t sure what Gods he spoke of, but the rules handed to him seemed easy enough to navigate. And once the navigation was understood, the circumvention could begin in earnest. Fortune took up what must have been the ugliest plume in the worlds and read over his details, singing the form “Le Bold” in a courtier’s hand.

“if you’ve need of me to fight or woo, you need only find me.” Fortune executed a smart bow, slipping silently out of the boardroom and into the lobby, and left the dragon to his thoughts.

Aster slipped quietly into the board room, hovering just in front of the doorway while she tried to make up her mind. It wasn't like she had a wealth of options - she was trapped in this bizarre, otherworldly place for the next eternity. She was no "fighter", there wasn't a bone in her body capable of inflicting harm on another soul, deserving or not. She was the very definition of a pacifist.

Even the piece of paper covered in lies agreed with her on that point. These "abilities" she was allegedly capable of were all very passive. But her guide had called her a witch - devil women concerned only with terror and destruction. She'd been slandered with as much right before she was dragged beneath the water.

Aster took a few cautious steps toward the long table, wondering at the quality and shine of the wood. What an odd, richly adorned place she'd been left in. Large windows behind her gave her a sweeping view of the surrounding landscape, beautiful and strange.

She delicately placed her paper on the table, not wanting to hold on to it anymore. It made her heart hurt just even glancing at it.

From the wardrobe in the back of the room faint breathing can be heard along with the sound sounds of gold coins sliding down other gold objects.

A voice came from the wardrobe, "Come back here young one. Let me lay eyes on you."

Aster gave a violent start when the voice called out, nearly knocking over one of the chairs. She collected herself quickly, spine ram-rod straight, head swiveling to the wardrobe. Was the furniture speaking to her? That was no stranger than the giant lizard in the other room, or the tiny hellish imps that ran amuck, helpful as they may seem.

She collected her paper from the table and made her slow cautious way to the wardrobe, both curious of and concerned by the sound of breathing. Whatever it was it was no small thing like a mouse or housecat, something that could reasonably fit inside of an armoire.

Aster gently grasped one of the doors of the wardrobe, and feeling distinctly silly, pried it open, peeking her face around the door.

On the other side of the door was a warmly lit room, full to the brim with mounds of gold, treasure, and jewels. Directly in front of the doorway wasa particularly tremendous pile, which at first glance was no different than the others. Upon closer inspection one could see Nib's gigantic ruby colored eyes peering out.

"Don't be startled," the mound of treasure said, ""Dan mentioned you startle easy so I thought this would be more comforting."

Aster bit back on a scream when she finally caught sight of the giant ruby eye, managing to clamp down on a muffled squeal. The massive room inside the armoire was unbelievable enough all on its own, but she was loathe to look away from the massive eye long enough to check that this was indeed only a dresser that she was staring into.

"I've had quite a day," she finally said, at a total loss of what else she could possibly say. "Thank you for taking my...skittishness into account."

Being polite seemed the best route here. Aster didn't know what manner of being was hidden inside that massive pile of gold (more than she thought had ever existed in the entire world! Ten kings' ransom and a few ancient coffers, surely), but she did know that she didn't want to anger it.

Was it responsible for her...non-life in this place? Aster didn't feel dead, but it was difficult to dispute a drowning.

"That man at the desk told me to speak to you," she mumbled, uncertain. The shock of the dresser's trick had finally begun to wear off and left meek acceptance in its place, Aster not quite looking directly at the eye and instead somewhere along the coin scattered floor, paper still clutched in one trembling hand.