As Duke Rigby's youngest son, Othello did not have a title of his own. However, his father's status in conjunction with his own martial prowess had granted him sufficient rapport in many social circles. 

He signed the letter and placed it in an envelope, affixing his family's seal in black wax. He was about to ring a bell to summon a servant, but a voice from the shadows interrupted him. 

“I'm afraid I can't allow you to send that missive, my lord.” 

Othello didn't seem surprised to hear the voice. “And why ever not?” he replied impassively. 

The inscrutable figure stepped out of the darkness and into the dim light that filtered through the closed shutters. “The contents of it are somewhat… inaccurate, to say the least.” The voice was garbled, distorted as if it were being shouted through a long tunnel and bounced around more than a few twists and turns. The figure itself wore a plain gray theater mask, its expression a hellish cross between a frown and a smile. 

“Inaccurate, you say?” Othello replied skeptically, “it is simply a notice of arrest. How can it be inaccurate?” 

“Anything penned by a human is doomed to inaccuracy. In this case, however, I am referring to your explanation of intent.” 

“May I take that to mean that you are not, in fact, human?” 

“My, you are a sharp one.” The enigma swaggered over to the desk and set the tip of its cane on the polished hardwood with a hollow clack. “But humanity is a relative term. It could refer to the state of being human, having the quality of human emotion, human beings as a collective society, or perhaps… the fragility of human life.” The entity seemed to shiver in excitement as those final words rolled off its tongue. With a hungering groan, it focused its attention back to the Duke's son. “And now we're off topic,” it said distastefully. “Now, relinquish that letter, or I will be forced to take measures.” 

Othello chuckled mirthlessly. “Who are you to threaten me?” he demanded. 

The demon's eyes sparkled malevolently, and the mask seemed to distort into a grin of ecstasy. “They call me Justice. The Grey Scale,” it said, “The Balance of Good and Evil. I'm sure you've heard of me. I've done a lot through the ages.” 

Othello was deeply afraid, but he didn't show it. To do so would be to admit his own inferiority. 

“What interest could a demon of your stature possibly have in a mere baron?” he scoffed. 

“I have no reason to answer you. Do as I say, or face your judgment.” 

“And if I refuse?” 

“What remains of your brief mortality will be most unpleasant.” 

Othello's condescending smile never faltered. With a curious laugh, he relinquished the letter into The Balance’s grasp where it promptly burned, filling the room with the sulfuric scent of hellfire. 

The demon strolled to the door, pausing in front of the doorway. “A word of warning,” it said, “release the maid. Keeping her locked up will only bring supreme misfortune. If you release her, you might survive with at least half of you intact.” 

Othello looked on in befuddlement as the creature stepped through the closed door, disappearing without a trace. 

*** 

Everit stared blankly at the angry brat who had invaded his office. Even with all of his efforts to cover up the arrest, he'd known it was only a matter of time before someone leaked it to the boy, and the culprit seemed to be right behind him, tagging along curiously. 

“Where is my mother?!” Mancer demanded. 

“You sure are bold for a six year old,” Everit muttered. Then he looked at Shana. “Who squealed?” he asked. 

“Knowing wouldn't make any difference,” she replied, “they've been well taken care of.” 

Everit laughed at her cryptic response. “Seriously, children these days can be so mimetic,” he complained. 

“Answer me!” Mancer insisted. 

“Why did you come to me instead of the Baron?” 

“The guards seemed determined, and I didn't want to kill anyone,” the eighth circle mage replied, “are you going to make me?” 

“I have no intention to,” Everit confessed, “but I'm afraid I cannot acquiesce to your request.” 

The ground shook as Mancer stomped his foot, cracking the beautiful marble floor. “And why not?” he threatened. 

Everit stood up and walked over to his arched window, gazing out at the gardens beyond with his hands clasped behind his back. His long brown hair was tied in a low, neat ponytail, and his eyes seemed to reflect the wisdom of age in spite of his youth. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you're very predictable in your actions? The moment I heard of your mother's arrest, I knew you'd be coming to destroy my office, as if that somehow constitutes a productive answer to the equation.” He continued, “if you have the time to flaunt your power to a mere secretary, why not put it to better use?” 

“Pardon?” Mancer was very confused. “I came here to find my mother,” he said belligerently, “what the hell are you talking about?” 

“Children like you shouldn't use such foul language,” Everit chided, “anyway, this is me making a job offer, but if you don't want it, I won't press the issue.” 

“I'm listening.” 

“Good. Take a seat.” He gestured to one of the empty chairs sitting against the wall of the small room, but Mancer ignored it and sat behind Everit’s desk, placing his feet on top of the secretary’s papers. 

Everit scowled distastefully, then addressed the girl who was lingering in the doorway. “Shana, my dear, why don't you join us? It's far more practical to hear the negotiations directly. And close the door on your way in.” 

Shana entered cautiously. As the door shut, a magic barrier activated, closing off the room to prying eyes and ears. Instead of sitting down, she elected to stand by the door, intending to be a spectator to the conversation. 

“Shana Du’Lacy Baltimore,” he continued, “do you agree to uphold the statutes of the kingdom of Velikanst and stand as a witness to give credence to these negotiations when prompted by lawful summons?” 

“I- I do,” she stammered. She looked quite alarmed, but Everit offered no explanation. A discussion of merit was far from usual for a situation like this; they were typically only invoked for government workers and other positions requiring absolute trust between both parties. 

One thing was certain: This was no mere job offer. 

Everit placed his badge of office on his desk and said, “as a third degree Honorary of the kingdom of Velikanst, I, Everit Henry Massey, the stakeholder, hereby open official negotiations with the counterparty, Pericles Mancer Allison, mage of the empire. Does the witness approve?” 

“Yes?” Shana replied. She didn't understand much of the legal terms, but it was clear to her that she was expected to remember what was said here, and so she tried her best to commit it to memory. 

“Then let the discussion begin.” Everit turned to Mancer, who was looking bored out of his mind. “Pericles Allison, I have a proposition for you. If you agree, I will supply you with information that may be of some interest to you.” 

“What do I have to do?” Mancer asked skeptically. 

Everit smiled. “Nothing much. Just an odd job every now and then.” 

“So, you want me to sell my soul for a single piece of information? That doesn't sound like a fair trade…” 

“I said I would supply you with information. I never said it would be just once.” Everit turned back to the window, hiding the grin that crept across his face. “I will tell you anything you desire after you carry out each mission. You will have the right to refuse a request, but doing so will terminate our contract.” 

“I have one stipulation,” Mancer declared after much thought, “tell me where my mother is, or you will not live to see the end of this negotiation.” 

Everit laughed. “Very well. Does the witness approve?” he asked again, and Shana assented. “Then the agreement is made. If any shall break their covenant, let the wrath of the spirits fall upon them.” He plucked up his badge and grinned at Mancer. “It's too late now, boy,” he said devilishly, “you've just signed your bill of sale.” 

*** 

That night, a young child visited the Rigby mansion. The driving rain soaked through his cloak as he stood outside the ominous structure. Lightning flashed in the distance, a stark example of the random, equitable violence that resided in nature. 

He was an unwanted guest, but there was no power in the world that could stop him. 

Mancer called out to Chroma and time stopped in its tracks. Droplets of water froze in place, hanging in the air with impossible stillness. Sound had no presence; silence blanketed the world as if it had never been conceived. He strolled soundlessly through the halls and down to the cellar, where the criminals were kept. 

There, he found a scene that elicited boundless rage. His mother was pressed against the stone wall, her face frozen in fear as the guard twisted her arm. 

Mancer felt nothing but wrath. This violent manwhore had dared to place its filthy hands on his mother, and now he would reap the consequences. 

“Tumulus,” Mancer growled, “feed.” 

The earth spirit rumbled noiselessly through the dungeon, encasing the inhumane soldier in stone. Energy pulsed as the necromantic earth spirit drank its life force, swallowing it up like a breath of fresh air. 

The guard fell to the floor, shriveled and expired. 

With his spirit’s help, Mancer carried his mother out of the mansion, where time resumed, and the results of his havoc were wreaked upon it. The magnificent building, now devoid of supports, collapsed in a heap of rubble and debris. 

Eclesia gasped, completely disoriented at the sudden change. 

“Where am I?” she wondered, “Pericles? What are you–” she got no further. Tumulus put her to sleep, draining her just enough to cause fatigue. 

“I'm sorry mother,” Mancer said bitterly, “next time I won't fail you.”