[X] Just go to sleep early; the woman probably just needs some space. There’s got to be some alcohol around here somewhere...


Suddenly cognizant of your train of thought, you snort to yourself derisively. She’s out too late? This is the woman who apparently is the only reason the entire goddamn village hasn’t been burninated already, and you’re worried because it’s late?

“I’ve got the brains of a bulette sometimes,” you mutter, and walk into the clean, well-apportioned kitchen. Your eyes are drawn to a tall, white cabinet. You crack open the door, and a rush of cold air hits your face.

“Nifty,” you comment, and track down some eggs and a chunk of ham. Apparently practical magic isn’t an entirely foreign art here; perhaps enchanting is just a more arduous process. Rifling the drawers, you find a frying pan set it on the stove. As the iron stove begins to heat, you set the ham on a cutting board and....

“What kind of kitchen has no knives?” you muse. A quick search of drawers turns up nothing. Giving up, you reach into your pocket to dig out that long dagger you found on the airship-

-and find the grip in your hand as soon as it enters your pocket, with no searching whatsoever.

You pull it out and examine the blade curiously. Aside from being sharp, it looks totally ordinary.

You shrug. Later it might warrant experiment, but for now, you’re hungry. You dice up the ham and proceed to cook up a gigantic eight-egg omelet. Cutting it in half, you shovel them onto two plates, and take one to Keine’s room.

Cirno is curled up on Keine’s bed, with the covers pulled over her head.

“Hey, Cirno.”

“Mmmfff.”

“Hey, Cirno.”

“Goway.”

“HEY! LISTEN!”

Whaaat!” she exclaims irritably, sitting bolt upright and throwing the blankets away.

“Breakfast!” you exclaim, putting a fork on the plate and sliding it across the floor to her.

“Uh.... breakfast?”

“Yeah, who makes an omelet for dinner? It’s six-AM.”

You turn your back on a very puzzled fairy. You figure this is easier then admitting that eggs are about the only thing you can cook worth a damn. Trotting back to the kitchen, you devour your own omelet at lightspeed. As usual when you’re researching, you lost track of just how late it was, and you’re ravenous.

“And now...” you ditch your plate in the sink, and go to Keine’s study, where you open her storage chest. It takes you exactly thirty-four seconds to find a bottle secreted underneath a pile of blank scrolls.

“Score,” you whisper, and carry it back into the main room with you. Tucking it under your arm, you take your last responsible act of the night- picking up your spellbook and preparing Moment of Prescience and Otto’s Irresistible Dance. You cast Prescience immediately; giving you its benefit till at least noon tomorrow. That leaves your ninth-rank spell to choose, and here you pause a moment. Your natural pick here is Meteor, since in your opinion the shortest line between a problems and solutions is flaming explosive death. However, it’s not the best pick for fending off nighttime surprises at close quarters.

“Shapechange, then.” You prepare it, and then toss the book into your chest, which obediently trundles to a corner of the room and settles down. After working the stubborn cork out of the bottle, you sample the contents.

“Ptthfffbhaarrchk!” you comment. “Fuck, it tastes like an elephant took a shit in a rice paddy.” You take another sip. “Make that a herd.”

Five drinks, and you revise your estimate to a pack of ankhegs. By eight, you’re sure it was a pack of ankhegs that ate the farmers and shit them out. By ten, you decide its ambrosia.

Unfortunately, your indulgence has done nothing but make the room spin as fast as your thoughts. Strange magics, a sad little fairy, an alien demiplane full of powerful and potent women with little sense of responsibility, a shapely schoolteacher who-

“Hey!” Cirno declares from the door to Keine’s room, her empty plate in hand. “You’re drinking!”

“Daaahm rooight!” you slur in Sylvan, since Cirno doesn’t have her borrowed hat on at the moment. “Hey, Cirno, how many pixies does it take to paint a barn?”

“No, no, you shouldn’t be drinking!”

“Depends on how hard ya throw’em! And whu can’t me drink? Are I adult or what?” You take another swig.

“It’s before five! You’re an alcoholic!”

“Lies!”

“You said it was six in the morning a half hour ago!”

“Hey, whacha do when ya see an elf drowning?”

“What’s wrong with you!”

”YOU THROW HIM HIS WIFE’N’KIDS!” you cackle hysterically.

“If you don’t put that bottle down, I’ll... I’ll tell teacher!” Cirno says in tones of rising alarm.

“Shezn’t heres,” you observe, stomping your foot to punctuate your bulletproof argument.

“I’ll find her!” Cirno begins edging towards the front door.

“Oh hella whack!” you exclaim. “Chest, HO!” Your chest obligingly trots over, and you unsteadily mount it. Kicking its wooden sides, you draw your wand and thrust it ahead. “AFTER THAT FAIRY!”

Cirno shrieks and tries to bolt for the door, but the chest manages to get between her and the exit first. She bolts into Keine’s bedroom and the chest dutifully follows. With growing panic, she darts back into the main room and out the front door with the chest hot on her tail, slowly gaining momentum.

“YAHOO!” you whoop with glee. The chest is gaining on Cirno rapidly, and when it finally catches up with her, you scoop her up and seat her on the chest in front of you. Holding her firmly with one arm, you whip your hat off with the other.

“RAWHIDE, MOTHERFUCKERS!” you shout, urging your mount on by smacking it’s side with your hat. The chest is really moving now, barreling down the empty side streets on the edge of town with impressive velocity, the rumble of its many tiny feet echoing down the alleys. It sounds vaguely like a stampede of armadillos. Somewhere in there, Cirno’s shrieks of terror turned into hollers of exhilaration.

The chest leans into the turn as you corner at high speed, and you hear a scream as somebody in a red-and-white dress dives out of the way. Here and there heads pop out of windows to observe your passage, but all they could possibly get is a glimpse.

Around that point, your memories fade into brief snatches of corners rounded, deserted streets whipping by at high speed, and Cirno’s delighted yodeling.

***

You wake up with one hell of a hangover.

“Gemme uh cleriiic,” you wail softly, and try to roll out of bed. You remember in mid-air that you made yourself a proper, Western-style raised bed last night, and the impact with the floor splits your brain in half and sends it bouncing around the room for a few minutes.

“Fuuh.” You grab your head to try and squeeze your intellect back in, and your hands discover your Belt of Spell Resistance tied ‘round your head like a karate belt.

“What the hell do those elephants eat?” you wonder aloud.

“Elephants?” queries Keine’s voice from somewhere overhead. “What the hell is an elephant?”

“Ask a dwarf sometime,” you reply to the floor. “Their invective approaches poetic fluidity when that query is put to them. Please give me some water or perhaps a swift death. Help.”

A hand turns you over, pulls you upright, and applies a glass to your lips. “I should probably be pissed at you,” Keine says as you drink, “but you just look too damn funny right now.”

“When’d you get home?”

“Early in the morning. You were already asleep. Cirno probably put you to bed.”

Memories of your impromptu gallop through town start coming back to you, and you begin to construct an algorithm linking the duration of Keine’s good humor to the probability of her over-hearing town gossip.

“Sorry. Had trouble sleeping,” you manage to rasp out.

“I guess so. Thanks for making dinner for Cirno, by the way. I saw the plates.”

“Dun mention it,” you mumble, clawing your way back up to the bed and sitting down heavily.

“I’ve pulled the shades. Finish that, I’m going to put breakfast on.”

You take Keine’s advice and slug down the water, rubbing your head miserably. After a while it subsides, and you start to feel rather better. Despite the prior nights activities, it seems you got a decent night’s sleep. Tugging your grimories from your pocket, you settle down and go through the familiar process of preparing your spells for the day. You’ve got some you want still prepared from yesterday, so it goes a bit quicker then normal.

Keine comes out of the kitchen carefully balancing two heavily-laden trays just as you tuck your books away. You rise to help her, but she just tut-tuts you, and makes it across the room with no problem. Handing you one tray, she takes the other and sits next to you on the bed.

“Sorry it took so long,” she said. “I don’t usually make waffles.”

Waffles, sausage, bacon- it looks like she went all-out. “Don’t know what I did to deserve this,” you say, “but it fills me with glee.”

Keine shrugs. “Nothing fancy, just time-consuming to put together.”

“What about Cirno?”

“She’s pretty whipped, I figured I’d let her sleep a bit longer.”

“Mmhmm,” you agree absently, digging into the waffles. Just as you take your first delicious, syrupy bite, the hair on the back of your neck stands up.

You swallow, and flick your eyes towards the corner of the room, near the ceiling. You don’t so much see the magical sensor as feel it, the peculiar way your gaze slides off that spot. You “feel” it move a bit and quickly flick your eyes away from it to avoid revealing your knowledge.

“Good?” asks Keine.

You nod absently, your mind racing. What to do?’


[ ] That’s the Scry, next is the Die. Get my friends out, now.
[ ] Do nothing. The spies ignorance of his detection is valuable, no matter what their objective.
[ ] Openly inform Keine and show your contempt for the spy’s amateur attempt.
[ ] Inform Keine discreetly at the first opportunity.
[ ] Write-in?

---------------------------------

Remember that you now have the advantage of surprise if any attack is incoming; weigh this against possibility of overwhelming force. Also, our MC has finally had a full nights sleep and a morning with his books, so you may suggest 3 7th level spells, 2 8th level spells, and a ninth-level spell, if you so wish.