The Front Desk

You open the doors of the sprawling Victorian mansion and find yourself looking into a modern office reveption area. The A/C buzzes and spits cool air from a vent above a lone, paper strewn desk on the far side of the room. The desk is flanked with two large, ornate, oak and gold trimmed doors that are shockingly gaudy and out of place in the sleek, sterile office. Above one the name "SHIB" rests in copper lettering. The other door supports slightly larger letters that spell out "NIB". On the desk a rather less imposing plastic name plate reads "Dan".

Several small couches make up the front of the waiting area. A small coffee bar and magazine rack sit near the couches, although the magazines all look rather dated and several are in languages you cannot decipher. On a table between the couches pamphlets proclaiming the virtues of the various guilds are spread out in what you imagine must me an enthusiastic attempt to make them "look nice". The umbrella holder by the door is currently taken up by several swords, a bulky spear, and a scythe similar in form and, you imagine, function to the one that severed you from your mortal body.

Between glances at the back of the pamphlets and what the hooded man that led you here told you, you understand that you are in some kind of purgatory where you have been given a chance to fight and be noticed by the gods in order to secure a spot in heaven, rather than be thrown into oblivion.

Behind the desk a thin, bored looking middle-aged man is copying something out of several scrolls into a heavy leather book. He quickly peeks up as you enter, seemingly excited by the interruption. With a quick motion he rolls up the scroll and places it on top of a teetering stack of papers towards the edge of the desk. He straightens a small picture frame with a cheerful family photo contained within and looks at you.

"You must be one of the new fighters. Please step over this way and I'll have you registered and set up in a minute."

Dan was a creature of habit with his daily routine down pat.

He'd wake up in the morning just moments before his alarm to blink blearily at the orange digital numbers until they crept up to 7:00 am. Then, he would lever himself out of his comfortable bed and shuffle his way into the bathroom for his morning ablutions - shower, shave, brush, deodorize, brush some more, and pretend he didn't see his wife walk straight into the door frame because she was ambling with her eyes closed, like she did nearly every morning, too sleepy to process pain.

He'd dress himself in something neat and prim - Dan wasn't a fan of overly bright colors or busy fabric patterns, despite what his family insisted on. In recent years Erica had taken to purchasing him whimsical bow ties as joke gifts, and he received at least one standard "Happy Father's Day" tie from his children annually. This morning he chose a butter yellow tie bedecked in bananas.

Then it was to the kitchen, for coffee and a quick small breakfast. Dan had found that eating anything too heavy before his morning commute was unwise. Around this time Erica would be ushering their children out of the door so that they could pile in to the car and head for school, little Rosanna with her signature braid and Zachary wearing his new favorite dinosaur of the day t-shirt.

Dan would then gather his briefcase and coffee thermos, give the dog a brief pat on the head, and mosey out of the front door. He would glance both ways down the manicured street of his gated suburban neighborhood to ensure that none of his neighbors were out and about and feeling curious, and then discretely tap the cheerful lawn gnome that lived in their flowerbed with his foot.

Interdimensional travel could be unpleasant for those unprepared, but Dan had been doing this for years now and felt like he'd rather figured it out. There was always an insistent pull deep in his gut - the reason for all the light breakfasts - and the continuously disconcerting sensation of being dragged head-first through a narrow drain pipe. By now he'd mastered the art of materializing in the arena's lobby with both feet squarely planted on the ground, glasses only minutely askew.

He'd set his thermos on his desk, adjust his plastic nameplate so that it was facing directly at the front doors, and then gently ease himself into his chair, mentally preparing himself for the massive leather tome that sat in front of him, opened to the newest page and prepared to be filled out. Dan would select the pen he wanted to use, take a steadying breath, and accept the first scroll of the day from the grim reaper standing patiently in front of his desk.

It started soft, a ripple barely forming in the mug of coffee. As time went on the sound grew louder and more frequent. The once gentle and slow *thud* became rapid and loud. The room shaking, pictures falling off the walls, the once organized desk now a chaotic disarray.

Then...it stopped. And through the doors burst a nightmarish horror. The great creature appeared draconian in nature. However, where scales should have been there were only Black exposed bone remained. Where organs should be, dark purple flames filled the creatures skeletal frame. Where eyes should have been, only six dark sockets each filled with the same dark flames remained. These six flames seem to move as the creature moved its head, observing its surroundings. Its eyes fixed on the desk and the man behind it.

At last, it opened is maw and let forth a burst of purple flames. These flames began to move, to take shape. When they finally had burned away, there stood a large lizardfolk. "One more for the arena" the dark monstrosity uttered in a whisper that ran chills through the entire office. Then with one last burst of flames, it was gone. All that remained of its presence were the now messy office and the large green scaled lizardman.

The roofless carriage rattled and shook as it went on. It was after going over what must have been a rather large hole that Veric finally was shaken to his good sense. Unease and confusion filled his mind as he tries to put the pieces of his hazy mind together. Just moments ago he was in the grasp of the cold dark of the sea. Now all he feels is the cold of a winter morning. But how? He was sinking to his demise as was his ship thanks to that bloody leviathan that just appeared. He filled that thing with enough toxins to drop 10 elephants. It must have been its death throws that ultimately sank the "Cutter", his home for so many years.

"May you rot before ya hit the sea floor, ya vile beastie!" He proclaimed then spat to ward off any curse such a creature may have put on his soul. "Could you not do that? I'd rather not clean some plagueman's spittle." Veric jumped at the unexpected voice from behind him and as he turned he caught his first look at the driver. Most of her anyway. A headless, pale body wrapped in a dress of fine black lace handled the rains of the carriage. The headless form moved to grab something off its lap. As it came into view it was shown to be a head whose eyes shown with an alertness that set it apart from the other severed heads Veric had known. The head then explained to him how he was dead, where she was taking him, and what that could do for him potentially. It was a lot to take in, but steeled himself as he had no other alternative. How ironic. He spent his life attempting to cheat death so he may find answers. Now here is death taking him to the answers he sought. He chuckled as they pulled up to the mansion. After disembarking the severed head told him to enter and seek the man behind the desk. "Seems simple enough." Veric mumbled as he went through the door.

As Veric walked through the door he stopped. The situation seemed rather tense. Also why was there a giant lizard in the center of this room that looked like it just suffered a rough patch of waves? "Welp. Seems as things won't be so simple in the afterlife either." He then took his gaze away from the overgrown croc and took notice of the lady and gentleman by the desk.

He then proceeded to edge around the lizard man till he stood by where he was told he needed to be. "Pardon me, Lovely" Veric said as he turn to the man behind the desk, caught sight of the nameplate, and proceeded to figure out just what is going on. "So mister, Dan. I here word of a deal to be made."

The haze finally lifted from Razzak's mind. His inner eyelids finally blinked revealing much for him to take in. The room was decadent compared to the carved stone bunks the dark skinned ones. Wait the dark ones! Where were they! Where were his kin! Then it all rushed back to him. The years of oppression under the dark ones heel. The night he finally shattered his chains and those of his kin. Uprising that would finally lead them to their freedom. His kin, lining up for the final charge on the last bastion of the dark ones. The blood, the screams, the blinding light and the searing pain that followed it. Then....nothing.

Suddently, a small creature approached Razzak. Her words were confusing Saurian? Egyptian? These words meant nothing to Razzak. Her build and frame was similar to that of the female dark ones. But here skin was pale. Here eyes had color, unlike the empty milky white eyes of the dark ones. Then before he could reply another small creature entered the room. His eyes were large and empty and his face a pale beak. He darted around Razzak and began speaking with the creature in the desk. "Razzak is Razzak" he finally replied to the female paleskin in a loud booming voice. "The Breaker of Chains, The one who was finally going to free his kind and rid our world of the dark ones!" he yelled with great ferocity "Or at least.....I tried." the loud boisterous voice was now less loud and less boisterous

Astor could feel cold sweat coaxed from his brow as he drowsily noticed the pain in his side. he was on a floor, yes he was, a nice floor... but cold. is that marble? *thud* his side flared in pain again. He yelped in an unmanly fashion and flipped over to his back sprawling his limbs about like a spider ready to jump. His wide-eyed expression eyeing the figure that had been kicking him in the side. A tall skeletal looking being in dark robes, carrying a scythe. Could he be Koar? no too skinny, what is this thing, why was it kicking me, and where am I? Thoughts rushed through his head but words failed to take life. "Oh dear, you forgot again haven't you?" the being sighed. "OK, short version, I'm an agent of death, you are dead, i'm taking you to an arena to fight for the chance to live again, really stop shifting about and trying to poof away and maybe you can maintain consciousness and I won't have to suffer this explanation any more than the infinite times I have to repeat it already!" The being spoke in an amusingly scholarly voice, with a not so amusing echo that sounded like the wails of the damned. It was enough convincing... he was exhausted, and nearly out of consciousness again, he lost all the fight left in him. "well... I guess since i'm dead, there is no escaping right?" Astor spoke. "right" the reaper replied. "now get up and get walking before I have to drag you any further! you're the reason I'm not sitting in a carriage right now!" the reaper exclaimed with another, much lighter, kick to Astor's side.

They meandered down what Astor could now see was a dimly lit hallway, with not-walls... he wasn't sure what to make of it. His eye's couldn't process the  sights of the border of the hallway. He noted once again the nice marble flooring in an attempt to keep his mind off of the otherworldly boundary that he could only call the walls... They had nice lamps inlaid on them...Hanging from them? Hanging from nothing? with about 50 ft left before the precipice of what Astor assumed was the most hellish nightmare of an afterlife he could imagine he felt a ping in his senses...something he hadn't noticed, been too weary and distracted to notice. He could sense a vial he had left at home. He remembered it clearly now. It was with his mother, Camilla, back at home. This must all be some trick. He's being scammed. I bet this guy is some emaciated Koar, trying to scam him out of his Aether coins. hell he almost had enough to form a whole brick on him.

His walking slowed but the impostor didn't look back. He swiftly ran forward and kicked the back of the figures knees and it crumpled back ever so slightly, not hurt, but still moved by his blow. He yelled out "you chose the wrong mark fool!" and with a low hum and a pop he vanished away, back home too the...he was still in the hallway. Now face to face with the reaper. Although he couldn't make out his face under the hood he got the most certain feeling that he was shooting him an intensely angry look. He attempted to shift again with a frightened grimace, as if expectant of an incoming blow. still in the hallway. still facing this reaper. he panicked and started trying to teleport wildly. He had never not been able to teleport, he had never known a cage like this, but he was spent; his panic leading to poor decisions. He faded away into that good night once again.

The door to the office burst open as the most annoyed looking reaper you could imagine flung the limp body of Astor through what is now a revolving door entrance to the office. The revolving door spun swiftly as his body hit the ground with a flinching crack and he skid face-first for several feet between the other characters, knocking his head against Dan's desk. The others eye'd his body pensively as he lay entirely still and and seemingly lifeless.

After Veric recovered from the sudden intrusion of what appeared to be a young mans best imitation of a seagull slamming onto a deck he bent down to check the boys vitals.....then remembered where he was. What good is a doctor if everyone is already dead? But then how do I check if he is regular dead or dead dead. It was then that Veric remembered the first scientific method of deduction he ever learned. Don't know what it is? Poke it.

"Hey mate. You still with us?" he asked as he poked the prone form in the rib.

Astor was still. Unstirred by the doctors pokes. A very soft trickle of blood started from the top of his scarred skull. Not much, but still unsettling.

Meanwhile Astor dreamt he was back visiting the crystal city, performing for the Canaean people between gladiator shows in the ruby arena, and the emperor was there! And oh! his daughter which he didn't have eyed Astor longingly. She was gorgeous.

Seeing the blood slowly trickle and pool around the lad brought Veric to a decision. If they were dead it won't ultimately matter but he can't just let someone bleed on the floor. So he pulled out his small medical pouch he carries on him and proceeded to treat the battered boy. If nothing else maybe he'll get some information out of him as thanks later. Like why was he so battered and bruised? The rest of us were not delivered in such condition as far as he knew. As he place bandages, medicines, and stitches he noticed the twitch of a small smile on his soft, yet scarred face.

"Guess you're used to gettin hit, huh?" Veric remarked trying to get the boy to awaken. "Just got one of those faces, eh? It's not often i'm the pretty one ya know? Ha!"

Razzak looked at the palefaced female. He extended his had to meet hers. As his large hand seemed to engulf hers. He made sure not to clasp too hard to avoid hurting her.

"Your words are kind Hannah of the Palefaces." He did not know her clan name or title so Paleface would do for now. "What world is this? I do not recognize your kind? I am no longer on Zarthiel anymore, am I?"
He had many questions but one last one burned in his mind "How did I come to this place?"

Leaving the no longer bloody body of the mysterious boy, Veric wondered near the the other two in an effort to placate any unease they may have for him or increase it should it prove more effective.

"Yes. The 'hows' and 'whys' are most definitely plaguing all our minds. But fret not. I am sure the fellow who has shown no regard for the strangeness of all this will most likely have the answers you seek." He said in his most placid tone he could muster while talking loudly as to ensure they could hear him through his mask.

His impromptu meeting with the Lord of this castle had gone in his favor, true enough, and Fortune was eager to root out more information about this world, the other fighters, and what possibilities lay in wait. He supposed he would have to wait a long time before meeting the other souls stewarded into this existence-

The scene unfolding in the entry was chaos. Fortune internally experience a great and sudden misgiving about his current predicament, the scroll of his registration form held lightly in one hand, the other resting carelessly on his dagger. Entering from the internal of the house rather than the grand entry, he unobtrusively padded his way past the monsters populating the room. Only once he had placed his signed form in front of Dan, patted him on the cheek, and given a stately complement to him about the amount of plumes on his desk, did he turn his attention to the things in the room. One, the sole femme, reminded him of a noble and possible person of rank. The others were in turn a large masked bird-man, a corpse, and something that was, in no uncertain terms, a lizard. “Charming.” Fortune was only able to keep a straight face because of his knowledge, that each of them had been harvested from different worlds and brought together to fight. Still, it was hard to be cocksure when there was a giant lizard in the room. This in no way looked like any gladiator stable he had ever seen in his homeworld. He supposed that was well enough.

“Greetings.” He enthroned himself on the edge of Dan’s desk, beaming at his compatriots, looking for all the world as content as can be.

The whole business of being an afterlife-turned-arena-for-profit (or perhaps it was the other way around? Dan had never really questioned the auspicious beginnings of Everclear) meant that there was no such thing as a trickle. Activity was either a drought or a downpour, and he was currently up to his metaphorical elbows in new fighter registration paperwork to do. Dan glanced longingly at the framed picture of his family, noting that one of the dried macaroni noodles pasted to the wooden frame had been jostled loose in the riotous arrival of the Lizard Reaper. That was only a small fraction of the damage - all of the carefully curated artwork had come loose from their hangers on the walls, some of them scraping off paint when they fell, one or two with splintered frames or cracked glass. He was used enough to the Devourer's antics that he'd known to lift his mug up from the desk when the thumping started, reminded just like he was every time of that one scene out of Jurassic Park. He wasn't sure if the Lizard Reaper would appreciate the comparison or not, and didn't feel the need to find out.

Hannah had turned on the newly arrived lizardfolk with her weapon drawn, and while Dan appreciated her protective instincts they were also entirely unnecessary. If he felt at any moment threatened he could always called on the guards in, the tiger and ibex and elephant headed contingent ever-present for breaks in his carefully controlled chaos.

"Now, that won't be necessary," he started to say, cut off when another figure came slinking into his lobby. He watched this newcomer carefully, aware that one weapon drawn could very well mean more, but the masked individual decided instead to skirt the tension and come to lean on his desk instead. Quite sensible, Dan thought, appreciative.

"If you could all form a line, or perhaps take a seat, we have some very comfortable chairs," he finally continued, only to pause once more when a figure literally hurled itself into the lobby and flopped weakly on the floor, down for the count. Before he could even suggest helping the unfortunate soul into a chair the plague-doctor looking person (Person? Dan thought to himself, only slightly sure. One could never really be certain around these parts) stooped to first poke at, and then attend to, their newest arrival.

Dan very patiently waited another minute or two to see if anyone else was going to come pelting through his door at him, or perhaps get any more blood on his floor, before he nodded to his assembled guests and picked up his pen.

"I do, in fact, have all of those answers for you. I will go ahead and address the most pressing matters first, and try to answer your biggest questions in one fell swoop so that we can start the registration process. Do get comfortable, everyone, it's a good bit of talking."

Dan waved his pen at the chairs in the lobby, and also gestured toward the coffee bar, which had weathered the lizard incident with stately grace.

"If you didn't have the luxury of a chatty reaper, I can fill you in. You now find yourselves in the Everclear Arena. You met some kind of unfortunate end and died, and are now here, in an afterlife of sorts." Dan waited a moment to see if there'd be any objections - usually the more religious sort had something to say about an afterlife - and then carried on.

"You're being given a chance at securing yourself a grand afterlife, an existence after existence, as it were. You will fight and compete in the Arena to earn the attention and favor of the gods, who may decide to take you into their guilds and under their wings."

Dan took a sip from his coffee mug, the slogan 'Beware the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and good with ketchup' emblazoned in tacky font on the front. "Shib and Nib own the arena. They are copper dragons, and generally very agreeable, but I wouldn't try to cross them. They hold this plane of existence together for your continued benefit." He glanced up at Fortune Favors as he entered the room quietly, looking only mildly amused that he'd found another entrance, and then disgruntled that he'd chosen his desk, of all things, to perch on. Impertinent soul. At least he already had his registration form filled out. Doubtless Dan would hear all about that later from Shib or Nib.

He adjusted his glasses, flipped a page or two in his massive leather tome, and then gestured at Hannah, looking up with a professional smile in place. "Miss Lovecraft, I believe you were first in line."

Even death cannot save you from waiting in line it seams. Veric didn't pay much mind though. What do the dead have if not time after all. Plus it gives him time to look over yet another newcomer. lanky figure yet thin muscles suggest a good measure of agility. He'll bend before he breaks. But there is no reason to focus on such things yet. After all he didn't even know if he'll being killing anyone yet or if he could at this point. Friends first. Friends are easier to kill In anycase.

He strolled back over to the desk so as to strike up a word with the newcomer while also picking up the wounded boy to take him somewhere out of the way.

"Mind giving me a hand with hand with him, mate?" He asked. Giving a nod to the prone figure.

The only thing she could think about was that she didn't deserve it. Ephraim was a liar. She knew that he'd blindly flung the accusation out of grief, and that he most likely didn't believe the damning words he threw at her, but that didn't matter. She was still branded as a witch.

Even after she'd saved his infant son's life, had brought the child into the world when he had stubbornly tried to leave before his time in it could begin, Ephraim was not satisfied. Aster had been unable to save his wife, the woman bleeding out before their eyes on the wooden table she'd given birth on. Aster still had the baby in her arms, coated and dripping in blood and other fluids, other humors, when the poor woman drew her last breath. The birth had been too much strain, too complicated, too many things had gone wrong in rapid fire succession.

The infant was ripped from her shortly after Ephraim turned on her with a pointed finger, grief and fear written in every line on his face as he screamed at her, denounced her as a witch.

"WITCH! WITCH!" The townsfolk cried, their cruel fingers twisted in her clothes and grabbing at her limbs. They drug her to the lake by her ankles, as she'd managed to pry their hands from her arms and wrists, and she scrabbled at the ground with piteous wails as she jerked and flailed.

It took hardly anything to damn a witch. But Ephraim had a freshly dead wife on the table in his kitchen and a heart full of fury. Aster could hardly hear anything over her own sobbing as she was condemned, her wrists bound behind her back as her sins were recited for the village at large.

She saw the large rock they were tying her to, the anchor they were going to drown her with. She watched the four grown men it took to shove it into the shallows of the lake, shrieked some more as she was inexorably pulled along with it.

"You'll be in hell soon with your husband, you devil's harlot," one woman hissed in her ear as she harshly pinched her cheek, the last words anyone said to her before she was hauled beneath the surface.

It was unfair. It was wrong. Aster had never hurt a single person in her life. She had DEDICATED herself to the betterment and health of other people. She'd saved that baby.

The water was cold, and the bottom of the lake was muddy. Her boulder, her now eternal companion, stirred up debris as it sank in, Aster suspended in the water above it like a grotesque flag.

She opened her mouth to sob.

---

"Well, that's unfortunate. You're quite young to have met such an end," the being said to her, hands wrapped casually around the staff of an ancient reaping scythe. Aster couldn't look directly at it, shivering too hard to be able to do much of anything at all. She was sopping wet, water dripping from her and pooling on the floor where she lay in a crumpled, jittering heap.

"Those witch hunts always get out of hand," it continued without any input from her, making a soft surprised noise. Aster could hear the crinkling of parchment over the chattering of her teeth, but just barely. "Oh, but it looks like they actually got themselves a real one this time around. Imagine that."

"W...what...?" Aster managed, shoving wet hair out of her eyes. "I-I-I-m no w-witch!"

The being seemed to look at her, though it was impossible to tell. It seemed to be mostly made up of a massive draping robe that trailed on behind it like the train of an extravagant dress, the imposing hood shadowing whatever face it could possibly have. The fingers that curled around the scythe were thin and skeletal, the fingernails long and sharp.

"It would seem that you are," was all it said. Aster broke into a litany of fresh sobs.

---

Her wails died down shortly before she was escorted through the door, a hiccuping whimper still on her lips as she was led through, one arm looped over the robed figure's like she was some sort of debutante. She trembled in the middle of the lobby, the lighting casting over her blue-tinged skin and illuminating the trail of puddles in her wake. Her guide gently ushered her into line and patted her on the head before it left.

Aster stared at the rest of the people gathered in the room with her, marveling at how strange and sleek everything was. There weren't any candles, where was all this light coming from? Did that woman have a sword? Was that...a giant LIZARD?

She let out a terrified scream, scrabbling back against the door, her hands flying to the knob. The man sitting at the desk gave her a concerned look that she was in no state of mind to process, her frightened gaze jumping over the other occupants. Another person in a wretched twisted mask, some entirely too pretty man perched on the desk like he owned it, and someone presumably dead and bleeding on the floor. Most likely after being attacked by the lizard.

"Take me BACK!" She howled at the door, hoping beyond hope that the more or less kindly spectre would return for her.

Dan nodded agreeably. That Hannah was all business was a pleasant departure from his normal clientele, a much needed break in his day, if the next woman that was escorted into his lobby was going to be anything to judge by. She must have been reaped from a plane further back in time - he could tell from her old fashioned clothing, and the way she darted her glances, panicky and distrustful, at the lights and the coffee bar, and everyone else in the room.

He addressed Hannah again just as the screaming started up, not even blinking an eye as he gestured at the registration form.

"I just need you to verify that the information on this form is correct, and sign at the bottom for me. Your housing arrangements will be seen to as quickly as possible. As for joining up with one of the Guilds, you will have to earn their favor first. Some of them are a little more easily courted than others, though, I have found."

Between the strangeness of the world and those present, Veric was about at his wits end. Somewhere between the lizard man and the howling banshee that just arrived he thought things couldn't get any more intolerable until some strange phenomenon occurred within the room. Following the flicker of light and the chilling breeze a man appeared through the door. The man was garbed in black. With every step the man took the lights flickered and the shadows seemed to cling to him. He passed him and the other members of this circus show as if we were an after thought. He spoke briefly with Dan, of what Veric could not recall as for some reason the man's voice put him on edge.

Veric then decided that his unexpected patient laying unconcious among their feet could use a chair. One at the farthest edge of the room. He picked up the injured youth, slung him over his shoulder, and proceeded to procure a spot where the young man could rest, while allowing Veric to observe the situation.

Fortune was glad that the birdman had left off pestering him about the body on the floor. He had no interest in entangling himself in that situation. From what Shib had told him (he hazarded a guess as to which Dragon he had spoken with, and taken slight care not to sit on the golden name plate while he perched) the lad would not die of his injuries. Not here. As the bird man took his charge away, he shot him a withering look, hoping to turn his attentions to the gathering tidal storm that had just walked through the door.

He had to force his eyes away from the weeping woman, managing through hard-fought self-discipline not to give into the urge to make things worse. As it was, he offered an indolent  predatory grin in her direction before sizing up the real threat.

It appeared his initial recognition of the noblewoman had been correct. Already, the powers that be had come calling for her. He supposed that if the Dragons could be considered the patrons of this world, the Gods could be taken for Johns. He had no illusions that the thing that had just walked through the door was not, in fact, human. He did not like that is stood so close. He met its gaze squarely, for a brief moment, and experienced something that felt vaguely like seasickness. His eyes slid to Hannah, and back to the creature, giving his mark, before settling back on the weeping woman, seeming disinterested in the whole proceeding.