City of Sinister Angles

Ruminations On One's Place In The Universe

While he sang, Gringoire noticed a flimsy looking sign he reckoned he could cut straight through with his sword. He drew the weapon, swung it with all his might, and lodged it halfway into the sign. Gringoire gave the sword three good tugs before giving up on the entire endeavor. He left the sword behind and started his song over from the beginning.

* * *

Batilde circled the building where she knew the scent of power was originating from. It was surrounded by some kind of force, something that kept her from entering. She suspected it might even be mental, something stopping her from forming the thought to go inside.

She was starving, hungrier than she had even been in her life. She supposed she would have to feed on one or two of the little verminous souls to regain her strength a little so she could figure out how to get access to her true prize.

Batilde's keen hearing detected the sound of a man's voice slurrily singing a particularly disgusting variant of The Maiden's Endeavor.

* * *

Gringoire was getting to his favorite part of the song, where it really gets into the mechanics of how the maiden goes about achieving her "endeavor". One moment he was happily singing while fighting the low-key urge to vomit, the next he was screaming in pain. Something swooped in from the sky and bit into his neck. He thrashed, then he twitched, then he died.

* * *

Batilde drained the thin, sickly blood from unworthy vessel, feeding on the meager motes of power it contained. She felt a warm tingle as power surged through her. Her face flushed and she began to feel different. Light-headed. Lightheadedness turned to dizziness, which turned to nausea. Batilde threw up a large quantity of blood despite her complete lack of digestive organs.

She began flap her wings, but flying made her even dizzier and she quickly crashed into the side of a building. Falling from the sky and into a pile of refuse, Batilde slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

Batilde awoke inside a wrought-iron birdcage. The cage was on the counter of some kind of dollyshop or junk store. It was packed to the point of claustrophobia with shelves full of all manner of odds, ends, knicks, knacks, tchotchkes, and miscellanea. One of items in question was a cage similar to the one Batilde found herself in, this one containing a strange wing.

"What's it is ain't the issue," said a tall, shabbily-dressed, ill-kempt man standing on one side of the counter "That neither of us knows what it is just proves it's rare. As in valuable like."

"I told you," said another man, shorter and more portly, better dressed but no cleaner "I'll give you a groat. That's as generous as I'm inclined to be. Who am I going to sell this thing to anyway?"

"Three groats," said the tall man.

"A groat," said the fat man.

"Two groats," countered the tall man.

"A groat," said the fat man.

"One groat and five pfennings," said the tall man.

"A groat," repeated the fat man.

"One groat and one pfenning?" asked the tall man, his voice rising in pitch, almost pleading.

"A groat," reaffirmed the fat man.

It was her, she realized. They were haggling over her, like she was some kind of trained animal or slave. Batilde attempted to spit curses, both literal a figurative, at the two men but what passed for her voice was just an airless gasp. She flapped and trashed in the cage.

"I have too many other ventures underway to piss the day away haggling with you. I reluctantly accept your insulting offer," said the tall man.

The fat man flipped him a single grubby coin, which he caught in the air. The tall man doffed his fraying hat and left. The fat man put Batilde's cage on the shelf while she continued to flap angrily.

* * *

"Three marks is an awful lot of money," said Reto, weighing the picture frame in his hands.

"For a frame of less masterful craftsmanship I would be inclined to agree with you," said the dollyshop owner "For the one you hold in your hands it is a bargain the likes of which will one day ruin me."

"I don't know..."

"If it'll sweeten the deal, I'll throw in that thing over there."

"It's grotesque. What is it?"

"Very rare, and therefore valuable."

* * *

"It's appalling. What is it?" asked Vandalarius, of the ugly creature his client had presented him.

"Very rare," explained Reto "And therefore valuable."

* * *

"It's interesting. What is it?" asked Lady Morgana.

"It is a rare and therefore valuable creature from across the endless ocean. An exotic beast of a like I thought might strike m'lady's fancy."

"I shouldn't have thought you'd have actually known a thing about it," she sighed and waved the man off "Very well, I accept your gift."

* * *

The caged creature was placed in a disused menagerie along with a large collection of other thing which, for legal reasons, could not be called "monsters". Some of the cages contained massive predators that paced recklessly back and forth in the small spaces, others exotic smelling rodents and loud reptiles. A few of the captives seemed to be barely held in check by protective spells.

The noise from the motley assortment of beasts would have been enough to drive Batilde mad if she had not already achieved the state long ago. She spent her days and nights babbling wordlessly to herself and waiting for the terrified maids to come feed her raw meat.

* * *

The magic mirror finished telling the long story of the winged head-monster that was reflecting off its surface.

"Hmm," said Lady Morgana, with vague disinterest "What about this one?"

Shemoved the mirror to the next cage over.