April 19, 2019
Earlier this week my publication secured a sit-down interview with none other than Cynric, the assassin responsible for many historical murders.
Obviously, I was nervous. This will be the first public interview of Cynric since his initial capture five months ago. In the days leading up to the interview, I did all of the research I could, although the resources are somewhat limited. A book titled "Assassin's Magic: What We Know" appears to contain the most up to date information.
"Earlier this year, the Interplanar Police were hot on the trail of finally catching a most prevalent serial killer. A shape-shifting creature known as Cynric, who was responsible for the murder of King Embers and many others. This time his target was Lord Andrea Prometheus. The Lord was due to speak at an event at Thunderhop Casino. The Interplanar Police followed a lead, which against all odds, lead to the capture of Cynric."
This short passage includes just about everything we know about Cynric the Assassin. He's responsible for a number of high-profile murders over the last two hundred years. He's long-lived, capable of shape-shifting and very, very dangerous.
And this was the thing I am to sit down and chat with. Naturally, I wore my best tie.
Agents representing the Interplanar Police arrived early to pick me up. They were guarded by heavy defence golems whilst specialist mages drew a Teleportation Circle. I've been told not to talk about the journey to the Interplanar Sneakret Operatives, IPSO, headquarters. Therefore I shall skip to my arrival.
The IPSO headquarters were both stunning and terrifying. Runes in intricate patterns I have never seen webbed every doorway. Towering golems made from solid metal lined the walls, glaring at me as I timidly passed. The corridors twisted and turned, narrowing and widening seemingly at random. I must have passed hundreds of doors, but at last, I was shuttled into one. I'm not quite sure how to best describe the decor. It was inconsistent, chaotic even, seemingly blending from one distinctive style to another. This room was plain and dry. There wasn't much except a large, dark window along one wall.
The IPSO agent turned to me, his bushy eyebrows rising as he grinned. "Take a look," he said. I approached the window. My legs were shaking and I'm not sure why. Looking through I see a large, cylindrical chamber. Both the top and bottom disappeared off into the darkness. Suspended in the centre was a cuboid, a room. It was floating, swaying ever so slightly side to side and upwards and downwards. It was hypnotic to watch.
"He's in there?" I asked.
"Yeah. It's the only way we can keep him contained. His powers are weak here, but he can basically do whatever he wants inside the Cube. His type can't affect the Null Zone around it though." The agent whose name I did not know lounged back on a chair.
"Is he dangerous?" I stuttered. What kind of monster needs this kind of protection?
The agent wiggled his eyebrows. "Yes," he stated. "But he's always been nice to me. We've told him you're paying him a visit. He could use the company, I think." Over the next half hour, I had a tasty dominion salad lunch, and then it was time for me to go into the Cube.
Again, I cannot say how I entered and left the Cube.
The inside of the Cube was lovely. It had a very homely feel; low timber ceilings, thick dominion sheep rugs and a magical fire crackling in the mantle. The room was asymmetrical and oddly shaped, causing my mind to warp as I tried to figure out how this place even fit inside the clinical cube I had seen suspended in a void.
He was lounging on a coach. His two long legs were crossed and resting on a footstool. He yawned lazily, eyes peeking over the newspaper he was reading to stare right at me.
His face was my own. His hair, his smiling mouth and bruised nose. I had been whacked in the face by an out of control golem last week. He looked exactly like me— well, kind of. It's very hard for me to describe this. I've already rewritten the following passage several times. He was distinctly not human. He looked like me, but he was quite clearly not. His skin glinted as though it was made up of trillions of tiny hexagons. No part of him was truly smooth, it was like he was covered with microscopic scales that didn't quite mesh together. He was smiling, which just showed off his far too-perfect teeth. His eyes were starry, oddly beautiful, and they radiated the sense that he was generally happy to see me. He let the newspaper fall to one side as he rose to his feet far too quickly. His back was far too straight and legs too close together. Every movement he made was perfectly fluid.
This was the most handsome, graceful, dazzling person I have ever met. He wore my face far better than I ever had in my life.
"You must be Arnn Quibbleson!" he exclaimed, as though he was meeting a mutual friend in a busy inn. "I'm a big fan of your work," he continued, gesturing to the discarded 'Daily Comet'. "Rogue golem army stirring up trouble in Caltra! I just can't get enough of it." He spoke with a smile, with enthusiasm. If I did not know what he had done, I'm sure that this introduction would've been extremely pleasant. But his accommodating attitude, his unbridled friendliness; somehow it just made me all the more uncomfortable.
Honestly, I almost bailed. I knew I would live to regret it if I did though, so instead, I forced my face into a smile, willed my legs to stop shaking and said: "It's nice to get a chance to speak with you, Cynric." I sounded like a child asking his crush out on a date. I don't quite know what was wrong with me.
"There's no need to be so nervous. I don't hurt people. I only murder my marks. And you're not my mark, so you're quite safe, see?" he splayed his hands and tilted his head, as though he had just proven himself a saint.
My mouth was dry and my face paled— I knew this because Cynric's did, too. I could hardly speak.
"You look sick," he said. His tone mirrored that of a mother who's woken up to find her beloved child has a runny nose. "Is there anything I could actualise for you? Anything at all."
"Actualise?" I thought. What does that even mea—
"Bring forth into reality. It's the word we used. A glass of water, perhaps?"
A tall glass of water was in his hand, looking crisp and delicious. I squinted at it, suspiciously.
"If I wanted to kill you, it wouldn't be by poison, Arnn. I don't do poison, it never seemed very fair."
Every word he spoke made my head pulse. It was like I was having an allergic reaction. I took the water with a shaky hand and sat down, stuttering out a fractured "Thank you."
Wasn't I meant to be in charge here? He was the prisoner, I'm the interviewer! Why did I feel like I was so out of my depth? I sipped the water— it tasted good— and I think whatever had shaken me so badly had finally passed. "Apologies," I said, somehow out of breath.
"It's quite alright. I sometimes have this kind of effect on people. I'm used to it, others are not. Would a different form make you more comfortable?" As I watched his skin folded inwards, his hair seeming to reverse into his scalp. The face smiling at me now was that of the IPSO agent I had spoken to earlier. Cynric began furiously wiggling his eyebrows and grinned.
"How— how do you do that?" I asked. It was a stupid question, it really was, but Cynric replied with a patient smile.
"I can utilize the full spectrum of Planar Magics and powers much older still," he stated. "I've made this region my home, I can do or be whatever I want." For effect, he changed the lighting in the room, from a cool blue to an intimate red.
Everything about him seemed to have transcended smugness. He has made this region his home? He was a prisoner! Wasn't he?
"What are you? Where did you come from?" I asked. He finally sat down across from me at the table. I wondered why he even had two chairs. He leaned forward on both of his elbows, the table wobbling slightly due to its uneven legs.
"There is no word for what I am in your languages." He said this solemnly, as though this was awful news. "I am a creature somewhat like yourself, though. I'm just longer-lived, and better... adapted to this reality of ours."
He looked off to one side. The force of his nostalgia hit me as though it was my own. "In my days I've lived all over. I have seen almost everything this world of ours has to offer. Beautiful, isn't it?"
I nodded.
"I will see it again," he stated. He was taping one slender finger onto the tabletop. Slowly, with perfect rhythm. The fire crackled in the fireplace.
"You will?" I asked. I saw something flicker in his eye.
"I'm afraid my stay in this place will shortly be ending. Ten days and then I shall see the sky again."
I did not know what to say. I looked around the room, but I do not know what I was expecting to find. I gulped. "How?"
He smiled, as though he was imparting onto me a deep secret, "I'm going to escape," Cynric whispered.
His form shifted again, this time taking that of a woman that I did not recognise. "Oh," I replied, dumbly. I took a sip of water. "Why did you kill all of those people?"
The woman pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Why did you write all of those articles?"
Answering a question with a question. What did I expect? "It's my job," I replied.
She nodded twice.
Ok... changing tac. "Why did you target Andrea Prometheus earlier this year?"
Cynric sighs. His form shifting once more. Andrea sat before me now; the woman's transparent glasses fogged and became Andrea's tinted shades. "I didn't," Cynric stated. "I do not know why all of your kind just assumed I was there for the shouty man on the stage. My target was somebody else."
I raised my eyebrows. This was news to me. "Who was your target, then?"
"I will not say."
"Why not?"
"I intend to finish the job."
We sat in silence for a moment. The crackling of the fire seemed louder than ever.
"Are you evil?" I asked.
"Are you?"
"I try my best not to be."
He nodded twice.
Silence.
"You're right to be afraid of me," he said. "We cannot be friends."
The fire seemed to die down somewhat. "Why not?"
"What I want and what you want are mutually exclusive," he explained as though he was teaching a math lesson. "I will win."
"Oh."
He shifted once more, taking the form of an elderly man who I did not recognise. "But that does not mean we cannot be civil." He held out his hand, offering me to shake it. I took his hand, it felt like stone.
"What is your true form? What do you really look like?"
For what felt like the first time since the start of the meeting, Cynric broke eye contact. He looked off, sadly, and gazed into the fire. "I do not know," he said. "I have forgotten." His sadness washed over me, and somehow this baffled me more than anything I had heard today. I just sat in silence. "I have lived for millennia and in that time I have learned to manipulate reality. I have changed so much and been alive for so long I'm not even sure what I used to look like. What I liked, what I disliked. I have forgotten the names of everyone I have ever known."
Silence fell once more. The fire sputtered and burned out.
"All that is left to me now is my mission. And if there is one thing I know, it's that I won't let you mortals get in my way." He started as a whisper but finished the sentence just shy of a shout. "Your prisons cannot hold me. Your weapons cannot slay me. Your gods cannot touch me." He was standing now, leaning over me, pushing down forcing the table to wobble annoyingly. He was no longer smiling, but he wasn't frowning either. The face of the old man was sanguine but uncaring.
I shrank inwards in my seat. It felt like my head was bleeding. The rush of emotion caused my vision to blur, my eyes to cross, my bones to ache. But then it stopped. He sat back down.
"I apologise," he said. "I should be civil." He signed, deeply. "I'm sorry, but I am tired. I think you should go."
I wanted nothing more than to leave, but I found there was something I had to ask first. "One last question?"
"Ok. One last question."
"Why does the table wobble?"
For the first time, I had caught Cynric off-guard. "What?" he asked.
"You can shape reality around you. You designed this place in the same way you designed yourself. So why in Grimsley's name did you actualise a wobbly table?"
Cynric stared at me for a long while, his form slowly shifting one last time. He was a King; looking resplendent in a flowing robe. His hair was dark and the twelve points of his crown glimmered with brighter inhuman light than the rest of him. He stared at me, as though searching my thoughts.
At last, he laughed. "Goodbye Arnn. It's been nice getting to chat with you."
And with that, I had to leave the Cube.
I was back in the plain IPSO room, the bushy-browed agent waiting for me. It had only been ten minutes.
"How did it go?" he asked, casually. He knew that this experience was going to be bizarre.
I frowned. "He didn't answer my question."
- Arnn Quibbleson
Earlier this week my publication secured a sit-down interview with none other than Cynric, the assassin responsible for many historical murders.
Obviously, I was nervous. This will be the first public interview of Cynric since his initial capture five months ago. In the days leading up to the interview, I did all of the research I could, although the resources are somewhat limited. A book titled "Assassin's Magic: What We Know" appears to contain the most up to date information.
"Earlier this year, the Interplanar Police were hot on the trail of finally catching a most prevalent serial killer. A shape-shifting creature known as Cynric, who was responsible for the murder of King Embers and many others. This time his target was Lord Andrea Prometheus. The Lord was due to speak at an event at Thunderhop Casino. The Interplanar Police followed a lead, which against all odds, lead to the capture of Cynric."
This short passage includes just about everything we know about Cynric the Assassin. He's responsible for a number of high-profile murders over the last two hundred years. He's long-lived, capable of shape-shifting and very, very dangerous.
And this was the thing I am to sit down and chat with. Naturally, I wore my best tie.
Agents representing the Interplanar Police arrived early to pick me up. They were guarded by heavy defence golems whilst specialist mages drew a Teleportation Circle. I've been told not to talk about the journey to the Interplanar Sneakret Operatives, IPSO, headquarters. Therefore I shall skip to my arrival.
The IPSO headquarters were both stunning and terrifying. Runes in intricate patterns I have never seen webbed every doorway. Towering golems made from solid metal lined the walls, glaring at me as I timidly passed. The corridors twisted and turned, narrowing and widening seemingly at random. I must have passed hundreds of doors, but at last, I was shuttled into one. I'm not quite sure how to best describe the decor. It was inconsistent, chaotic even, seemingly blending from one distinctive style to another. This room was plain and dry. There wasn't much except a large, dark window along one wall.
The IPSO agent turned to me, his bushy eyebrows rising as he grinned. "Take a look," he said. I approached the window. My legs were shaking and I'm not sure why. Looking through I see a large, cylindrical chamber. Both the top and bottom disappeared off into the darkness. Suspended in the centre was a cuboid, a room. It was floating, swaying ever so slightly side to side and upwards and downwards. It was hypnotic to watch.
"He's in there?" I asked.
"Yeah. It's the only way we can keep him contained. His powers are weak here, but he can basically do whatever he wants inside the Cube. His type can't affect the Null Zone around it though." The agent whose name I did not know lounged back on a chair.
"Is he dangerous?" I stuttered. What kind of monster needs this kind of protection?
The agent wiggled his eyebrows. "Yes," he stated. "But he's always been nice to me. We've told him you're paying him a visit. He could use the company, I think." Over the next half hour, I had a tasty dominion salad lunch, and then it was time for me to go into the Cube.
Again, I cannot say how I entered and left the Cube.
The inside of the Cube was lovely. It had a very homely feel; low timber ceilings, thick dominion sheep rugs and a magical fire crackling in the mantle. The room was asymmetrical and oddly shaped, causing my mind to warp as I tried to figure out how this place even fit inside the clinical cube I had seen suspended in a void.
He was lounging on a coach. His two long legs were crossed and resting on a footstool. He yawned lazily, eyes peeking over the newspaper he was reading to stare right at me.
His face was my own. His hair, his smiling mouth and bruised nose. I had been whacked in the face by an out of control golem last week. He looked exactly like me— well, kind of. It's very hard for me to describe this. I've already rewritten the following passage several times. He was distinctly not human. He looked like me, but he was quite clearly not. His skin glinted as though it was made up of trillions of tiny hexagons. No part of him was truly smooth, it was like he was covered with microscopic scales that didn't quite mesh together. He was smiling, which just showed off his far too-perfect teeth. His eyes were starry, oddly beautiful, and they radiated the sense that he was generally happy to see me. He let the newspaper fall to one side as he rose to his feet far too quickly. His back was far too straight and legs too close together. Every movement he made was perfectly fluid.
This was the most handsome, graceful, dazzling person I have ever met. He wore my face far better than I ever had in my life.
"You must be Arnn Quibbleson!" he exclaimed, as though he was meeting a mutual friend in a busy inn. "I'm a big fan of your work," he continued, gesturing to the discarded 'Daily Comet'. "Rogue golem army stirring up trouble in Caltra! I just can't get enough of it." He spoke with a smile, with enthusiasm. If I did not know what he had done, I'm sure that this introduction would've been extremely pleasant. But his accommodating attitude, his unbridled friendliness; somehow it just made me all the more uncomfortable.
Honestly, I almost bailed. I knew I would live to regret it if I did though, so instead, I forced my face into a smile, willed my legs to stop shaking and said: "It's nice to get a chance to speak with you, Cynric." I sounded like a child asking his crush out on a date. I don't quite know what was wrong with me.
"There's no need to be so nervous. I don't hurt people. I only murder my marks. And you're not my mark, so you're quite safe, see?" he splayed his hands and tilted his head, as though he had just proven himself a saint.
My mouth was dry and my face paled— I knew this because Cynric's did, too. I could hardly speak.
"You look sick," he said. His tone mirrored that of a mother who's woken up to find her beloved child has a runny nose. "Is there anything I could actualise for you? Anything at all."
"Actualise?" I thought. What does that even mea—
"Bring forth into reality. It's the word we used. A glass of water, perhaps?"
A tall glass of water was in his hand, looking crisp and delicious. I squinted at it, suspiciously.
"If I wanted to kill you, it wouldn't be by poison, Arnn. I don't do poison, it never seemed very fair."
Every word he spoke made my head pulse. It was like I was having an allergic reaction. I took the water with a shaky hand and sat down, stuttering out a fractured "Thank you."
Wasn't I meant to be in charge here? He was the prisoner, I'm the interviewer! Why did I feel like I was so out of my depth? I sipped the water— it tasted good— and I think whatever had shaken me so badly had finally passed. "Apologies," I said, somehow out of breath.
"It's quite alright. I sometimes have this kind of effect on people. I'm used to it, others are not. Would a different form make you more comfortable?" As I watched his skin folded inwards, his hair seeming to reverse into his scalp. The face smiling at me now was that of the IPSO agent I had spoken to earlier. Cynric began furiously wiggling his eyebrows and grinned.
"How— how do you do that?" I asked. It was a stupid question, it really was, but Cynric replied with a patient smile.
"I can utilize the full spectrum of Planar Magics and powers much older still," he stated. "I've made this region my home, I can do or be whatever I want." For effect, he changed the lighting in the room, from a cool blue to an intimate red.
Everything about him seemed to have transcended smugness. He has made this region his home? He was a prisoner! Wasn't he?
"What are you? Where did you come from?" I asked. He finally sat down across from me at the table. I wondered why he even had two chairs. He leaned forward on both of his elbows, the table wobbling slightly due to its uneven legs.
"There is no word for what I am in your languages." He said this solemnly, as though this was awful news. "I am a creature somewhat like yourself, though. I'm just longer-lived, and better... adapted to this reality of ours."
He looked off to one side. The force of his nostalgia hit me as though it was my own. "In my days I've lived all over. I have seen almost everything this world of ours has to offer. Beautiful, isn't it?"
I nodded.
"I will see it again," he stated. He was taping one slender finger onto the tabletop. Slowly, with perfect rhythm. The fire crackled in the fireplace.
"You will?" I asked. I saw something flicker in his eye.
"I'm afraid my stay in this place will shortly be ending. Ten days and then I shall see the sky again."
I did not know what to say. I looked around the room, but I do not know what I was expecting to find. I gulped. "How?"
He smiled, as though he was imparting onto me a deep secret, "I'm going to escape," Cynric whispered.
His form shifted again, this time taking that of a woman that I did not recognise. "Oh," I replied, dumbly. I took a sip of water. "Why did you kill all of those people?"
The woman pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Why did you write all of those articles?"
Answering a question with a question. What did I expect? "It's my job," I replied.
She nodded twice.
Ok... changing tac. "Why did you target Andrea Prometheus earlier this year?"
Cynric sighs. His form shifting once more. Andrea sat before me now; the woman's transparent glasses fogged and became Andrea's tinted shades. "I didn't," Cynric stated. "I do not know why all of your kind just assumed I was there for the shouty man on the stage. My target was somebody else."
I raised my eyebrows. This was news to me. "Who was your target, then?"
"I will not say."
"Why not?"
"I intend to finish the job."
We sat in silence for a moment. The crackling of the fire seemed louder than ever.
"Are you evil?" I asked.
"Are you?"
"I try my best not to be."
He nodded twice.
Silence.
"You're right to be afraid of me," he said. "We cannot be friends."
The fire seemed to die down somewhat. "Why not?"
"What I want and what you want are mutually exclusive," he explained as though he was teaching a math lesson. "I will win."
"Oh."
He shifted once more, taking the form of an elderly man who I did not recognise. "But that does not mean we cannot be civil." He held out his hand, offering me to shake it. I took his hand, it felt like stone.
"What is your true form? What do you really look like?"
For what felt like the first time since the start of the meeting, Cynric broke eye contact. He looked off, sadly, and gazed into the fire. "I do not know," he said. "I have forgotten." His sadness washed over me, and somehow this baffled me more than anything I had heard today. I just sat in silence. "I have lived for millennia and in that time I have learned to manipulate reality. I have changed so much and been alive for so long I'm not even sure what I used to look like. What I liked, what I disliked. I have forgotten the names of everyone I have ever known."
Silence fell once more. The fire sputtered and burned out.
"All that is left to me now is my mission. And if there is one thing I know, it's that I won't let you mortals get in my way." He started as a whisper but finished the sentence just shy of a shout. "Your prisons cannot hold me. Your weapons cannot slay me. Your gods cannot touch me." He was standing now, leaning over me, pushing down forcing the table to wobble annoyingly. He was no longer smiling, but he wasn't frowning either. The face of the old man was sanguine but uncaring.
I shrank inwards in my seat. It felt like my head was bleeding. The rush of emotion caused my vision to blur, my eyes to cross, my bones to ache. But then it stopped. He sat back down.
"I apologise," he said. "I should be civil." He signed, deeply. "I'm sorry, but I am tired. I think you should go."
I wanted nothing more than to leave, but I found there was something I had to ask first. "One last question?"
"Ok. One last question."
"Why does the table wobble?"
For the first time, I had caught Cynric off-guard. "What?" he asked.
"You can shape reality around you. You designed this place in the same way you designed yourself. So why in Grimsley's name did you actualise a wobbly table?"
Cynric stared at me for a long while, his form slowly shifting one last time. He was a King; looking resplendent in a flowing robe. His hair was dark and the twelve points of his crown glimmered with brighter inhuman light than the rest of him. He stared at me, as though searching my thoughts.
At last, he laughed. "Goodbye Arnn. It's been nice getting to chat with you."
And with that, I had to leave the Cube.
I was back in the plain IPSO room, the bushy-browed agent waiting for me. It had only been ten minutes.
"How did it go?" he asked, casually. He knew that this experience was going to be bizarre.
I frowned. "He didn't answer my question."
- Arnn Quibbleson
Earlier this week my publication secured a sit-down interview with none other than Cynric, the assassin responsible for many historical murders.
Obviously, I was nervous. This will be the first public interview of Cynric since his initial capture five months ago. In the days leading up to the interview, I did all of the research I could, although the resources are somewhat limited. A book titled "Assassin's Magic: What We Know" appears to contain the most up to date information.
"Earlier this year, the Interplanar Police were hot on the trail of finally catching a most prevalent serial killer. A shape-shifting creature known as Cynric, who was responsible for the murder of King Embers and many others. This time his target was Lord Andrea Prometheus. The Lord was due to speak at an event at Thunderhop Casino. The Interplanar Police followed a lead, which against all odds, lead to the capture of Cynric."
This short passage includes just about everything we know about Cynric the Assassin. He's responsible for a number of high-profile murders over the last two hundred years. He's long-lived, capable of shape-shifting and very, very dangerous.
And this was the thing I am to sit down and chat with. Naturally, I wore my best tie.
Agents representing the Interplanar Police arrived early to pick me up. They were guarded by heavy defence golems whilst specialist mages drew a Teleportation Circle. I've been told not to talk about the journey to the Interplanar Sneakret Operatives, IPSO, headquarters. Therefore I shall skip to my arrival.
The IPSO headquarters were both stunning and terrifying. Runes in intricate patterns I have never seen webbed every doorway. Towering golems made from solid metal lined the walls, glaring at me as I timidly passed. The corridors twisted and turned, narrowing and widening seemingly at random. I must have passed hundreds of doors, but at last, I was shuttled into one. I'm not quite sure how to best describe the decor. It was inconsistent, chaotic even, seemingly blending from one distinctive style to another. This room was plain and dry. There wasn't much except a large, dark window along one wall.
The IPSO agent turned to me, his bushy eyebrows rising as he grinned. "Take a look," he said. I approached the window. My legs were shaking and I'm not sure why. Looking through I see a large, cylindrical chamber. Both the top and bottom disappeared off into the darkness. Suspended in the centre was a cuboid, a room. It was floating, swaying ever so slightly side to side and upwards and downwards. It was hypnotic to watch.
"He's in there?" I asked.
"Yeah. It's the only way we can keep him contained. His powers are weak here, but he can basically do whatever he wants inside the Cube. His type can't affect the Null Zone around it though." The agent whose name I did not know lounged back on a chair.
"Is he dangerous?" I stuttered. What kind of monster needs this kind of protection?
The agent wiggled his eyebrows. "Yes," he stated. "But he's always been nice to me. We've told him you're paying him a visit. He could use the company, I think." Over the next half hour, I had a tasty dominion salad lunch, and then it was time for me to go into the Cube.
Again, I cannot say how I entered and left the Cube.
The inside of the Cube was lovely. It had a very homely feel; low timber ceilings, thick dominion sheep rugs and a magical fire crackling in the mantle. The room was asymmetrical and oddly shaped, causing my mind to warp as I tried to figure out how this place even fit inside the clinical cube I had seen suspended in a void.
He was lounging on a coach. His two long legs were crossed and resting on a footstool. He yawned lazily, eyes peeking over the newspaper he was reading to stare right at me.
His face was my own. His hair, his smiling mouth and bruised nose. I had been whacked in the face by an out of control golem last week. He looked exactly like me— well, kind of. It's very hard for me to describe this. I've already rewritten the following passage several times. He was distinctly not human. He looked like me, but he was quite clearly not. His skin glinted as though it was made up of trillions of tiny hexagons. No part of him was truly smooth, it was like he was covered with microscopic scales that didn't quite mesh together. He was smiling, which just showed off his far too-perfect teeth. His eyes were starry, oddly beautiful, and they radiated the sense that he was generally happy to see me. He let the newspaper fall to one side as he rose to his feet far too quickly. His back was far too straight and legs too close together. Every movement he made was perfectly fluid.
This was the most handsome, graceful, dazzling person I have ever met. He wore my face far better than I ever had in my life.
"You must be Arnn Quibbleson!" he exclaimed, as though he was meeting a mutual friend in a busy inn. "I'm a big fan of your work," he continued, gesturing to the discarded 'Daily Comet'. "Rogue golem army stirring up trouble in Caltra! I just can't get enough of it." He spoke with a smile, with enthusiasm. If I did not know what he had done, I'm sure that this introduction would've been extremely pleasant. But his accommodating attitude, his unbridled friendliness; somehow it just made me all the more uncomfortable.
Honestly, I almost bailed. I knew I would live to regret it if I did though, so instead, I forced my face into a smile, willed my legs to stop shaking and said: "It's nice to get a chance to speak with you, Cynric." I sounded like a child asking his crush out on a date. I don't quite know what was wrong with me.
"There's no need to be so nervous. I don't hurt people. I only murder my marks. And you're not my mark, so you're quite safe, see?" he splayed his hands and tilted his head, as though he had just proven himself a saint.
My mouth was dry and my face paled— I knew this because Cynric's did, too. I could hardly speak.
"You look sick," he said. His tone mirrored that of a mother who's woken up to find her beloved child has a runny nose. "Is there anything I could actualise for you? Anything at all."
"Actualise?" I thought. What does that even mea—
"Bring forth into reality. It's the word we used. A glass of water, perhaps?"
A tall glass of water was in his hand, looking crisp and delicious. I squinted at it, suspiciously.
"If I wanted to kill you, it wouldn't be by poison, Arnn. I don't do poison, it never seemed very fair."
Every word he spoke made my head pulse. It was like I was having an allergic reaction. I took the water with a shaky hand and sat down, stuttering out a fractured "Thank you."
Wasn't I meant to be in charge here? He was the prisoner, I'm the interviewer! Why did I feel like I was so out of my depth? I sipped the water— it tasted good— and I think whatever had shaken me so badly had finally passed. "Apologies," I said, somehow out of breath.
"It's quite alright. I sometimes have this kind of effect on people. I'm used to it, others are not. Would a different form make you more comfortable?" As I watched his skin folded inwards, his hair seeming to reverse into his scalp. The face smiling at me now was that of the IPSO agent I had spoken to earlier. Cynric began furiously wiggling his eyebrows and grinned.
"How— how do you do that?" I asked. It was a stupid question, it really was, but Cynric replied with a patient smile.
"I can utilize the full spectrum of Planar Magics and powers much older still," he stated. "I've made this region my home, I can do or be whatever I want." For effect, he changed the lighting in the room, from a cool blue to an intimate red.
Everything about him seemed to have transcended smugness. He has made this region his home? He was a prisoner! Wasn't he?
"What are you? Where did you come from?" I asked. He finally sat down across from me at the table. I wondered why he even had two chairs. He leaned forward on both of his elbows, the table wobbling slightly due to its uneven legs.
"There is no word for what I am in your languages." He said this solemnly, as though this was awful news. "I am a creature somewhat like yourself, though. I'm just longer-lived, and better... adapted to this reality of ours."
He looked off to one side. The force of his nostalgia hit me as though it was my own. "In my days I've lived all over. I have seen almost everything this world of ours has to offer. Beautiful, isn't it?"
I nodded.
"I will see it again," he stated. He was taping one slender finger onto the tabletop. Slowly, with perfect rhythm. The fire crackled in the fireplace.
"You will?" I asked. I saw something flicker in his eye.
"I'm afraid my stay in this place will shortly be ending. Ten days and then I shall see the sky again."
I did not know what to say. I looked around the room, but I do not know what I was expecting to find. I gulped. "How?"
He smiled, as though he was imparting onto me a deep secret, "I'm going to escape," Cynric whispered.
His form shifted again, this time taking that of a woman that I did not recognise. "Oh," I replied, dumbly. I took a sip of water. "Why did you kill all of those people?"
The woman pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Why did you write all of those articles?"
Answering a question with a question. What did I expect? "It's my job," I replied.
She nodded twice.
Ok... changing tac. "Why did you target Andrea Prometheus earlier this year?"
Cynric sighs. His form shifting once more. Andrea sat before me now; the woman's transparent glasses fogged and became Andrea's tinted shades. "I didn't," Cynric stated. "I do not know why all of your kind just assumed I was there for the shouty man on the stage. My target was somebody else."
I raised my eyebrows. This was news to me. "Who was your target, then?"
"I will not say."
"Why not?"
"I intend to finish the job."
We sat in silence for a moment. The crackling of the fire seemed louder than ever.
"Are you evil?" I asked.
"Are you?"
"I try my best not to be."
He nodded twice.
Silence.
"You're right to be afraid of me," he said. "We cannot be friends."
The fire seemed to die down somewhat. "Why not?"
"What I want and what you want are mutually exclusive," he explained as though he was teaching a math lesson. "I will win."
"Oh."
He shifted once more, taking the form of an elderly man who I did not recognise. "But that does not mean we cannot be civil." He held out his hand, offering me to shake it. I took his hand, it felt like stone.
"What is your true form? What do you really look like?"
For what felt like the first time since the start of the meeting, Cynric broke eye contact. He looked off, sadly, and gazed into the fire. "I do not know," he said. "I have forgotten." His sadness washed over me, and somehow this baffled me more than anything I had heard today. I just sat in silence. "I have lived for millennia and in that time I have learned to manipulate reality. I have changed so much and been alive for so long I'm not even sure what I used to look like. What I liked, what I disliked. I have forgotten the names of everyone I have ever known."
Silence fell once more. The fire sputtered and burned out.
"All that is left to me now is my mission. And if there is one thing I know, it's that I won't let you mortals get in my way." He started as a whisper but finished the sentence just shy of a shout. "Your prisons cannot hold me. Your weapons cannot slay me. Your gods cannot touch me." He was standing now, leaning over me, pushing down forcing the table to wobble annoyingly. He was no longer smiling, but he wasn't frowning either. The face of the old man was sanguine but uncaring.
I shrank inwards in my seat. It felt like my head was bleeding. The rush of emotion caused my vision to blur, my eyes to cross, my bones to ache. But then it stopped. He sat back down.
"I apologise," he said. "I should be civil." He signed, deeply. "I'm sorry, but I am tired. I think you should go."
I wanted nothing more than to leave, but I found there was something I had to ask first. "One last question?"
"Ok. One last question."
"Why does the table wobble?"
For the first time, I had caught Cynric off-guard. "What?" he asked.
"You can shape reality around you. You designed this place in the same way you designed yourself. So why in Grimsley's name did you actualise a wobbly table?"
Cynric stared at me for a long while, his form slowly shifting one last time. He was a King; looking resplendent in a flowing robe. His hair was dark and the twelve points of his crown glimmered with brighter inhuman light than the rest of him. He stared at me, as though searching my thoughts.
At last, he laughed. "Goodbye Arnn. It's been nice getting to chat with you."
And with that, I had to leave the Cube.
I was back in the plain IPSO room, the bushy-browed agent waiting for me. It had only been ten minutes.
"How did it go?" he asked, casually. He knew that this experience was going to be bizarre.
I frowned. "He didn't answer my question."
- Arnn Quibbleson
Earlier this week my publication secured a sit-down interview with none other than Cynric, the assassin responsible for many historical murders.
Obviously, I was nervous. This will be the first public interview of Cynric since his initial capture five months ago. In the days leading up to the interview, I did all of the research I could, although the resources are somewhat limited. A book titled "Assassin's Magic: What We Know" appears to contain the most up to date information.
"Earlier this year, the Interplanar Police were hot on the trail of finally catching a most prevalent serial killer. A shape-shifting creature known as Cynric, who was responsible for the murder of King Embers and many others. This time his target was Lord Andrea Prometheus. The Lord was due to speak at an event at Thunderhop Casino. The Interplanar Police followed a lead, which against all odds, lead to the capture of Cynric."
This short passage includes just about everything we know about Cynric the Assassin. He's responsible for a number of high-profile murders over the last two hundred years. He's long-lived, capable of shape-shifting and very, very dangerous.
And this was the thing I am to sit down and chat with. Naturally, I wore my best tie.
Agents representing the Interplanar Police arrived early to pick me up. They were guarded by heavy defence golems whilst specialist mages drew a Teleportation Circle. I've been told not to talk about the journey to the Interplanar Sneakret Operatives, IPSO, headquarters. Therefore I shall skip to my arrival.
The IPSO headquarters were both stunning and terrifying. Runes in intricate patterns I have never seen webbed every doorway. Towering golems made from solid metal lined the walls, glaring at me as I timidly passed. The corridors twisted and turned, narrowing and widening seemingly at random. I must have passed hundreds of doors, but at last, I was shuttled into one. I'm not quite sure how to best describe the decor. It was inconsistent, chaotic even, seemingly blending from one distinctive style to another. This room was plain and dry. There wasn't much except a large, dark window along one wall.
The IPSO agent turned to me, his bushy eyebrows rising as he grinned. "Take a look," he said. I approached the window. My legs were shaking and I'm not sure why. Looking through I see a large, cylindrical chamber. Both the top and bottom disappeared off into the darkness. Suspended in the centre was a cuboid, a room. It was floating, swaying ever so slightly side to side and upwards and downwards. It was hypnotic to watch.
"He's in there?" I asked.
"Yeah. It's the only way we can keep him contained. His powers are weak here, but he can basically do whatever he wants inside the Cube. His type can't affect the Null Zone around it though." The agent whose name I did not know lounged back on a chair.
"Is he dangerous?" I stuttered. What kind of monster needs this kind of protection?
The agent wiggled his eyebrows. "Yes," he stated. "But he's always been nice to me. We've told him you're paying him a visit. He could use the company, I think." Over the next half hour, I had a tasty dominion salad lunch, and then it was time for me to go into the Cube.
Again, I cannot say how I entered and left the Cube.
The inside of the Cube was lovely. It had a very homely feel; low timber ceilings, thick dominion sheep rugs and a magical fire crackling in the mantle. The room was asymmetrical and oddly shaped, causing my mind to warp as I tried to figure out how this place even fit inside the clinical cube I had seen suspended in a void.
He was lounging on a coach. His two long legs were crossed and resting on a footstool. He yawned lazily, eyes peeking over the newspaper he was reading to stare right at me.
His face was my own. His hair, his smiling mouth and bruised nose. I had been whacked in the face by an out of control golem last week. He looked exactly like me— well, kind of. It's very hard for me to describe this. I've already rewritten the following passage several times. He was distinctly not human. He looked like me, but he was quite clearly not. His skin glinted as though it was made up of trillions of tiny hexagons. No part of him was truly smooth, it was like he was covered with microscopic scales that didn't quite mesh together. He was smiling, which just showed off his far too-perfect teeth. His eyes were starry, oddly beautiful, and they radiated the sense that he was generally happy to see me. He let the newspaper fall to one side as he rose to his feet far too quickly. His back was far too straight and legs too close together. Every movement he made was perfectly fluid.
This was the most handsome, graceful, dazzling person I have ever met. He wore my face far better than I ever had in my life.
"You must be Arnn Quibbleson!" he exclaimed, as though he was meeting a mutual friend in a busy inn. "I'm a big fan of your work," he continued, gesturing to the discarded 'Daily Comet'. "Rogue golem army stirring up trouble in Caltra! I just can't get enough of it." He spoke with a smile, with enthusiasm. If I did not know what he had done, I'm sure that this introduction would've been extremely pleasant. But his accommodating attitude, his unbridled friendliness; somehow it just made me all the more uncomfortable.
Honestly, I almost bailed. I knew I would live to regret it if I did though, so instead, I forced my face into a smile, willed my legs to stop shaking and said: "It's nice to get a chance to speak with you, Cynric." I sounded like a child asking his crush out on a date. I don't quite know what was wrong with me.
"There's no need to be so nervous. I don't hurt people. I only murder my marks. And you're not my mark, so you're quite safe, see?" he splayed his hands and tilted his head, as though he had just proven himself a saint.
My mouth was dry and my face paled— I knew this because Cynric's did, too. I could hardly speak.
"You look sick," he said. His tone mirrored that of a mother who's woken up to find her beloved child has a runny nose. "Is there anything I could actualise for you? Anything at all."
"Actualise?" I thought. What does that even mea—
"Bring forth into reality. It's the word we used. A glass of water, perhaps?"
A tall glass of water was in his hand, looking crisp and delicious. I squinted at it, suspiciously.
"If I wanted to kill you, it wouldn't be by poison, Arnn. I don't do poison, it never seemed very fair."
Every word he spoke made my head pulse. It was like I was having an allergic reaction. I took the water with a shaky hand and sat down, stuttering out a fractured "Thank you."
Wasn't I meant to be in charge here? He was the prisoner, I'm the interviewer! Why did I feel like I was so out of my depth? I sipped the water— it tasted good— and I think whatever had shaken me so badly had finally passed. "Apologies," I said, somehow out of breath.
"It's quite alright. I sometimes have this kind of effect on people. I'm used to it, others are not. Would a different form make you more comfortable?" As I watched his skin folded inwards, his hair seeming to reverse into his scalp. The face smiling at me now was that of the IPSO agent I had spoken to earlier. Cynric began furiously wiggling his eyebrows and grinned.
"How— how do you do that?" I asked. It was a stupid question, it really was, but Cynric replied with a patient smile.
"I can utilize the full spectrum of Planar Magics and powers much older still," he stated. "I've made this region my home, I can do or be whatever I want." For effect, he changed the lighting in the room, from a cool blue to an intimate red.
Everything about him seemed to have transcended smugness. He has made this region his home? He was a prisoner! Wasn't he?
"What are you? Where did you come from?" I asked. He finally sat down across from me at the table. I wondered why he even had two chairs. He leaned forward on both of his elbows, the table wobbling slightly due to its uneven legs.
"There is no word for what I am in your languages." He said this solemnly, as though this was awful news. "I am a creature somewhat like yourself, though. I'm just longer-lived, and better... adapted to this reality of ours."
He looked off to one side. The force of his nostalgia hit me as though it was my own. "In my days I've lived all over. I have seen almost everything this world of ours has to offer. Beautiful, isn't it?"
I nodded.
"I will see it again," he stated. He was taping one slender finger onto the tabletop. Slowly, with perfect rhythm. The fire crackled in the fireplace.
"You will?" I asked. I saw something flicker in his eye.
"I'm afraid my stay in this place will shortly be ending. Ten days and then I shall see the sky again."
I did not know what to say. I looked around the room, but I do not know what I was expecting to find. I gulped. "How?"
He smiled, as though he was imparting onto me a deep secret, "I'm going to escape," Cynric whispered.
His form shifted again, this time taking that of a woman that I did not recognise. "Oh," I replied, dumbly. I took a sip of water. "Why did you kill all of those people?"
The woman pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Why did you write all of those articles?"
Answering a question with a question. What did I expect? "It's my job," I replied.
She nodded twice.
Ok... changing tac. "Why did you target Andrea Prometheus earlier this year?"
Cynric sighs. His form shifting once more. Andrea sat before me now; the woman's transparent glasses fogged and became Andrea's tinted shades. "I didn't," Cynric stated. "I do not know why all of your kind just assumed I was there for the shouty man on the stage. My target was somebody else."
I raised my eyebrows. This was news to me. "Who was your target, then?"
"I will not say."
"Why not?"
"I intend to finish the job."
We sat in silence for a moment. The crackling of the fire seemed louder than ever.
"Are you evil?" I asked.
"Are you?"
"I try my best not to be."
He nodded twice.
Silence.
"You're right to be afraid of me," he said. "We cannot be friends."
The fire seemed to die down somewhat. "Why not?"
"What I want and what you want are mutually exclusive," he explained as though he was teaching a math lesson. "I will win."
"Oh."
He shifted once more, taking the form of an elderly man who I did not recognise. "But that does not mean we cannot be civil." He held out his hand, offering me to shake it. I took his hand, it felt like stone.
"What is your true form? What do you really look like?"
For what felt like the first time since the start of the meeting, Cynric broke eye contact. He looked off, sadly, and gazed into the fire. "I do not know," he said. "I have forgotten." His sadness washed over me, and somehow this baffled me more than anything I had heard today. I just sat in silence. "I have lived for millennia and in that time I have learned to manipulate reality. I have changed so much and been alive for so long I'm not even sure what I used to look like. What I liked, what I disliked. I have forgotten the names of everyone I have ever known."
Silence fell once more. The fire sputtered and burned out.
"All that is left to me now is my mission. And if there is one thing I know, it's that I won't let you mortals get in my way." He started as a whisper but finished the sentence just shy of a shout. "Your prisons cannot hold me. Your weapons cannot slay me. Your gods cannot touch me." He was standing now, leaning over me, pushing down forcing the table to wobble annoyingly. He was no longer smiling, but he wasn't frowning either. The face of the old man was sanguine but uncaring.
I shrank inwards in my seat. It felt like my head was bleeding. The rush of emotion caused my vision to blur, my eyes to cross, my bones to ache. But then it stopped. He sat back down.
"I apologise," he said. "I should be civil." He signed, deeply. "I'm sorry, but I am tired. I think you should go."
I wanted nothing more than to leave, but I found there was something I had to ask first. "One last question?"
"Ok. One last question."
"Why does the table wobble?"
For the first time, I had caught Cynric off-guard. "What?" he asked.
"You can shape reality around you. You designed this place in the same way you designed yourself. So why in Grimsley's name did you actualise a wobbly table?"
Cynric stared at me for a long while, his form slowly shifting one last time. He was a King; looking resplendent in a flowing robe. His hair was dark and the twelve points of his crown glimmered with brighter inhuman light than the rest of him. He stared at me, as though searching my thoughts.
At last, he laughed. "Goodbye Arnn. It's been nice getting to chat with you."
And with that, I had to leave the Cube.
I was back in the plain IPSO room, the bushy-browed agent waiting for me. It had only been ten minutes.
"How did it go?" he asked, casually. He knew that this experience was going to be bizarre.
I frowned. "He didn't answer my question."
- Arnn Quibbleson
Earlier this week my publication secured a sit-down interview with none other than Cynric, the assassin responsible for many historical murders.
Obviously, I was nervous. This will be the first public interview of Cynric since his initial capture five months ago. In the days leading up to the interview, I did all of the research I could, although the resources are somewhat limited. A book titled "Assassin's Magic: What We Know" appears to contain the most up to date information.
"Earlier this year, the Interplanar Police were hot on the trail of finally catching a most prevalent serial killer. A shape-shifting creature known as Cynric, who was responsible for the murder of King Embers and many others. This time his target was Lord Andrea Prometheus. The Lord was due to speak at an event at Thunderhop Casino. The Interplanar Police followed a lead, which against all odds, lead to the capture of Cynric."
This short passage includes just about everything we know about Cynric the Assassin. He's responsible for a number of high-profile murders over the last two hundred years. He's long-lived, capable of shape-shifting and very, very dangerous.
And this was the thing I am to sit down and chat with. Naturally, I wore my best tie.
Agents representing the Interplanar Police arrived early to pick me up. They were guarded by heavy defence golems whilst specialist mages drew a Teleportation Circle. I've been told not to talk about the journey to the Interplanar Sneakret Operatives, IPSO, headquarters. Therefore I shall skip to my arrival.
The IPSO headquarters were both stunning and terrifying. Runes in intricate patterns I have never seen webbed every doorway. Towering golems made from solid metal lined the walls, glaring at me as I timidly passed. The corridors twisted and turned, narrowing and widening seemingly at random. I must have passed hundreds of doors, but at last, I was shuttled into one. I'm not quite sure how to best describe the decor. It was inconsistent, chaotic even, seemingly blending from one distinctive style to another. This room was plain and dry. There wasn't much except a large, dark window along one wall.
The IPSO agent turned to me, his bushy eyebrows rising as he grinned. "Take a look," he said. I approached the window. My legs were shaking and I'm not sure why. Looking through I see a large, cylindrical chamber. Both the top and bottom disappeared off into the darkness. Suspended in the centre was a cuboid, a room. It was floating, swaying ever so slightly side to side and upwards and downwards. It was hypnotic to watch.
"He's in there?" I asked.
"Yeah. It's the only way we can keep him contained. His powers are weak here, but he can basically do whatever he wants inside the Cube. His type can't affect the Null Zone around it though." The agent whose name I did not know lounged back on a chair.
"Is he dangerous?" I stuttered. What kind of monster needs this kind of protection?
The agent wiggled his eyebrows. "Yes," he stated. "But he's always been nice to me. We've told him you're paying him a visit. He could use the company, I think." Over the next half hour, I had a tasty dominion salad lunch, and then it was time for me to go into the Cube.
Again, I cannot say how I entered and left the Cube.
The inside of the Cube was lovely. It had a very homely feel; low timber ceilings, thick dominion sheep rugs and a magical fire crackling in the mantle. The room was asymmetrical and oddly shaped, causing my mind to warp as I tried to figure out how this place even fit inside the clinical cube I had seen suspended in a void.
He was lounging on a coach. His two long legs were crossed and resting on a footstool. He yawned lazily, eyes peeking over the newspaper he was reading to stare right at me.
His face was my own. His hair, his smiling mouth and bruised nose. I had been whacked in the face by an out of control golem last week. He looked exactly like me— well, kind of. It's very hard for me to describe this. I've already rewritten the following passage several times. He was distinctly not human. He looked like me, but he was quite clearly not. His skin glinted as though it was made up of trillions of tiny hexagons. No part of him was truly smooth, it was like he was covered with microscopic scales that didn't quite mesh together. He was smiling, which just showed off his far too-perfect teeth. His eyes were starry, oddly beautiful, and they radiated the sense that he was generally happy to see me. He let the newspaper fall to one side as he rose to his feet far too quickly. His back was far too straight and legs too close together. Every movement he made was perfectly fluid.
This was the most handsome, graceful, dazzling person I have ever met. He wore my face far better than I ever had in my life.
"You must be Arnn Quibbleson!" he exclaimed, as though he was meeting a mutual friend in a busy inn. "I'm a big fan of your work," he continued, gesturing to the discarded 'Daily Comet'. "Rogue golem army stirring up trouble in Caltra! I just can't get enough of it." He spoke with a smile, with enthusiasm. If I did not know what he had done, I'm sure that this introduction would've been extremely pleasant. But his accommodating attitude, his unbridled friendliness; somehow it just made me all the more uncomfortable.
Honestly, I almost bailed. I knew I would live to regret it if I did though, so instead, I forced my face into a smile, willed my legs to stop shaking and said: "It's nice to get a chance to speak with you, Cynric." I sounded like a child asking his crush out on a date. I don't quite know what was wrong with me.
"There's no need to be so nervous. I don't hurt people. I only murder my marks. And you're not my mark, so you're quite safe, see?" he splayed his hands and tilted his head, as though he had just proven himself a saint.
My mouth was dry and my face paled— I knew this because Cynric's did, too. I could hardly speak.
"You look sick," he said. His tone mirrored that of a mother who's woken up to find her beloved child has a runny nose. "Is there anything I could actualise for you? Anything at all."
"Actualise?" I thought. What does that even mea—
"Bring forth into reality. It's the word we used. A glass of water, perhaps?"
A tall glass of water was in his hand, looking crisp and delicious. I squinted at it, suspiciously.
"If I wanted to kill you, it wouldn't be by poison, Arnn. I don't do poison, it never seemed very fair."
Every word he spoke made my head pulse. It was like I was having an allergic reaction. I took the water with a shaky hand and sat down, stuttering out a fractured "Thank you."
Wasn't I meant to be in charge here? He was the prisoner, I'm the interviewer! Why did I feel like I was so out of my depth? I sipped the water— it tasted good— and I think whatever had shaken me so badly had finally passed. "Apologies," I said, somehow out of breath.
"It's quite alright. I sometimes have this kind of effect on people. I'm used to it, others are not. Would a different form make you more comfortable?" As I watched his skin folded inwards, his hair seeming to reverse into his scalp. The face smiling at me now was that of the IPSO agent I had spoken to earlier. Cynric began furiously wiggling his eyebrows and grinned.
"How— how do you do that?" I asked. It was a stupid question, it really was, but Cynric replied with a patient smile.
"I can utilize the full spectrum of Planar Magics and powers much older still," he stated. "I've made this region my home, I can do or be whatever I want." For effect, he changed the lighting in the room, from a cool blue to an intimate red.
Everything about him seemed to have transcended smugness. He has made this region his home? He was a prisoner! Wasn't he?
"What are you? Where did you come from?" I asked. He finally sat down across from me at the table. I wondered why he even had two chairs. He leaned forward on both of his elbows, the table wobbling slightly due to its uneven legs.
"There is no word for what I am in your languages." He said this solemnly, as though this was awful news. "I am a creature somewhat like yourself, though. I'm just longer-lived, and better... adapted to this reality of ours."
He looked off to one side. The force of his nostalgia hit me as though it was my own. "In my days I've lived all over. I have seen almost everything this world of ours has to offer. Beautiful, isn't it?"
I nodded.
"I will see it again," he stated. He was taping one slender finger onto the tabletop. Slowly, with perfect rhythm. The fire crackled in the fireplace.
"You will?" I asked. I saw something flicker in his eye.
"I'm afraid my stay in this place will shortly be ending. Ten days and then I shall see the sky again."
I did not know what to say. I looked around the room, but I do not know what I was expecting to find. I gulped. "How?"
He smiled, as though he was imparting onto me a deep secret, "I'm going to escape," Cynric whispered.
His form shifted again, this time taking that of a woman that I did not recognise. "Oh," I replied, dumbly. I took a sip of water. "Why did you kill all of those people?"
The woman pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Why did you write all of those articles?"
Answering a question with a question. What did I expect? "It's my job," I replied.
She nodded twice.
Ok... changing tac. "Why did you target Andrea Prometheus earlier this year?"
Cynric sighs. His form shifting once more. Andrea sat before me now; the woman's transparent glasses fogged and became Andrea's tinted shades. "I didn't," Cynric stated. "I do not know why all of your kind just assumed I was there for the shouty man on the stage. My target was somebody else."
I raised my eyebrows. This was news to me. "Who was your target, then?"
"I will not say."
"Why not?"
"I intend to finish the job."
We sat in silence for a moment. The crackling of the fire seemed louder than ever.
"Are you evil?" I asked.
"Are you?"
"I try my best not to be."
He nodded twice.
Silence.
"You're right to be afraid of me," he said. "We cannot be friends."
The fire seemed to die down somewhat. "Why not?"
"What I want and what you want are mutually exclusive," he explained as though he was teaching a math lesson. "I will win."
"Oh."
He shifted once more, taking the form of an elderly man who I did not recognise. "But that does not mean we cannot be civil." He held out his hand, offering me to shake it. I took his hand, it felt like stone.
"What is your true form? What do you really look like?"
For what felt like the first time since the start of the meeting, Cynric broke eye contact. He looked off, sadly, and gazed into the fire. "I do not know," he said. "I have forgotten." His sadness washed over me, and somehow this baffled me more than anything I had heard today. I just sat in silence. "I have lived for millennia and in that time I have learned to manipulate reality. I have changed so much and been alive for so long I'm not even sure what I used to look like. What I liked, what I disliked. I have forgotten the names of everyone I have ever known."
Silence fell once more. The fire sputtered and burned out.
"All that is left to me now is my mission. And if there is one thing I know, it's that I won't let you mortals get in my way." He started as a whisper but finished the sentence just shy of a shout. "Your prisons cannot hold me. Your weapons cannot slay me. Your gods cannot touch me." He was standing now, leaning over me, pushing down forcing the table to wobble annoyingly. He was no longer smiling, but he wasn't frowning either. The face of the old man was sanguine but uncaring.
I shrank inwards in my seat. It felt like my head was bleeding. The rush of emotion caused my vision to blur, my eyes to cross, my bones to ache. But then it stopped. He sat back down.
"I apologise," he said. "I should be civil." He signed, deeply. "I'm sorry, but I am tired. I think you should go."
I wanted nothing more than to leave, but I found there was something I had to ask first. "One last question?"
"Ok. One last question."
"Why does the table wobble?"
For the first time, I had caught Cynric off-guard. "What?" he asked.
"You can shape reality around you. You designed this place in the same way you designed yourself. So why in Grimsley's name did you actualise a wobbly table?"
Cynric stared at me for a long while, his form slowly shifting one last time. He was a King; looking resplendent in a flowing robe. His hair was dark and the twelve points of his crown glimmered with brighter inhuman light than the rest of him. He stared at me, as though searching my thoughts.
At last, he laughed. "Goodbye Arnn. It's been nice getting to chat with you."
And with that, I had to leave the Cube.
I was back in the plain IPSO room, the bushy-browed agent waiting for me. It had only been ten minutes.
"How did it go?" he asked, casually. He knew that this experience was going to be bizarre.
I frowned. "He didn't answer my question."
- Arnn Quibbleson
Earlier this week my publication secured a sit-down interview with none other than Cynric, the assassin responsible for many historical murders.
Obviously, I was nervous. This will be the first public interview of Cynric since his initial capture five months ago. In the days leading up to the interview, I did all of the research I could, although the resources are somewhat limited. A book titled "Assassin's Magic: What We Know" appears to contain the most up to date information.
"Earlier this year, the Interplanar Police were hot on the trail of finally catching a most prevalent serial killer. A shape-shifting creature known as Cynric, who was responsible for the murder of King Embers and many others. This time his target was Lord Andrea Prometheus. The Lord was due to speak at an event at Thunderhop Casino. The Interplanar Police followed a lead, which against all odds, lead to the capture of Cynric."
This short passage includes just about everything we know about Cynric the Assassin. He's responsible for a number of high-profile murders over the last two hundred years. He's long-lived, capable of shape-shifting and very, very dangerous.
And this was the thing I am to sit down and chat with. Naturally, I wore my best tie.
Agents representing the Interplanar Police arrived early to pick me up. They were guarded by heavy defence golems whilst specialist mages drew a Teleportation Circle. I've been told not to talk about the journey to the Interplanar Sneakret Operatives, IPSO, headquarters. Therefore I shall skip to my arrival.
The IPSO headquarters were both stunning and terrifying. Runes in intricate patterns I have never seen webbed every doorway. Towering golems made from solid metal lined the walls, glaring at me as I timidly passed. The corridors twisted and turned, narrowing and widening seemingly at random. I must have passed hundreds of doors, but at last, I was shuttled into one. I'm not quite sure how to best describe the decor. It was inconsistent, chaotic even, seemingly blending from one distinctive style to another. This room was plain and dry. There wasn't much except a large, dark window along one wall.
The IPSO agent turned to me, his bushy eyebrows rising as he grinned. "Take a look," he said. I approached the window. My legs were shaking and I'm not sure why. Looking through I see a large, cylindrical chamber. Both the top and bottom disappeared off into the darkness. Suspended in the centre was a cuboid, a room. It was floating, swaying ever so slightly side to side and upwards and downwards. It was hypnotic to watch.
"He's in there?" I asked.
"Yeah. It's the only way we can keep him contained. His powers are weak here, but he can basically do whatever he wants inside the Cube. His type can't affect the Null Zone around it though." The agent whose name I did not know lounged back on a chair.
"Is he dangerous?" I stuttered. What kind of monster needs this kind of protection?
The agent wiggled his eyebrows. "Yes," he stated. "But he's always been nice to me. We've told him you're paying him a visit. He could use the company, I think." Over the next half hour, I had a tasty dominion salad lunch, and then it was time for me to go into the Cube.
Again, I cannot say how I entered and left the Cube.
The inside of the Cube was lovely. It had a very homely feel; low timber ceilings, thick dominion sheep rugs and a magical fire crackling in the mantle. The room was asymmetrical and oddly shaped, causing my mind to warp as I tried to figure out how this place even fit inside the clinical cube I had seen suspended in a void.
He was lounging on a coach. His two long legs were crossed and resting on a footstool. He yawned lazily, eyes peeking over the newspaper he was reading to stare right at me.
His face was my own. His hair, his smiling mouth and bruised nose. I had been whacked in the face by an out of control golem last week. He looked exactly like me— well, kind of. It's very hard for me to describe this. I've already rewritten the following passage several times. He was distinctly not human. He looked like me, but he was quite clearly not. His skin glinted as though it was made up of trillions of tiny hexagons. No part of him was truly smooth, it was like he was covered with microscopic scales that didn't quite mesh together. He was smiling, which just showed off his far too-perfect teeth. His eyes were starry, oddly beautiful, and they radiated the sense that he was generally happy to see me. He let the newspaper fall to one side as he rose to his feet far too quickly. His back was far too straight and legs too close together. Every movement he made was perfectly fluid.
This was the most handsome, graceful, dazzling person I have ever met. He wore my face far better than I ever had in my life.
"You must be Arnn Quibbleson!" he exclaimed, as though he was meeting a mutual friend in a busy inn. "I'm a big fan of your work," he continued, gesturing to the discarded 'Daily Comet'. "Rogue golem army stirring up trouble in Caltra! I just can't get enough of it." He spoke with a smile, with enthusiasm. If I did not know what he had done, I'm sure that this introduction would've been extremely pleasant. But his accommodating attitude, his unbridled friendliness; somehow it just made me all the more uncomfortable.
Honestly, I almost bailed. I knew I would live to regret it if I did though, so instead, I forced my face into a smile, willed my legs to stop shaking and said: "It's nice to get a chance to speak with you, Cynric." I sounded like a child asking his crush out on a date. I don't quite know what was wrong with me.
"There's no need to be so nervous. I don't hurt people. I only murder my marks. And you're not my mark, so you're quite safe, see?" he splayed his hands and tilted his head, as though he had just proven himself a saint.
My mouth was dry and my face paled— I knew this because Cynric's did, too. I could hardly speak.
"You look sick," he said. His tone mirrored that of a mother who's woken up to find her beloved child has a runny nose. "Is there anything I could actualise for you? Anything at all."
"Actualise?" I thought. What does that even mea—
"Bring forth into reality. It's the word we used. A glass of water, perhaps?"
A tall glass of water was in his hand, looking crisp and delicious. I squinted at it, suspiciously.
"If I wanted to kill you, it wouldn't be by poison, Arnn. I don't do poison, it never seemed very fair."
Every word he spoke made my head pulse. It was like I was having an allergic reaction. I took the water with a shaky hand and sat down, stuttering out a fractured "Thank you."
Wasn't I meant to be in charge here? He was the prisoner, I'm the interviewer! Why did I feel like I was so out of my depth? I sipped the water— it tasted good— and I think whatever had shaken me so badly had finally passed. "Apologies," I said, somehow out of breath.
"It's quite alright. I sometimes have this kind of effect on people. I'm used to it, others are not. Would a different form make you more comfortable?" As I watched his skin folded inwards, his hair seeming to reverse into his scalp. The face smiling at me now was that of the IPSO agent I had spoken to earlier. Cynric began furiously wiggling his eyebrows and grinned.
"How— how do you do that?" I asked. It was a stupid question, it really was, but Cynric replied with a patient smile.
"I can utilize the full spectrum of Planar Magics and powers much older still," he stated. "I've made this region my home, I can do or be whatever I want." For effect, he changed the lighting in the room, from a cool blue to an intimate red.
Everything about him seemed to have transcended smugness. He has made this region his home? He was a prisoner! Wasn't he?
"What are you? Where did you come from?" I asked. He finally sat down across from me at the table. I wondered why he even had two chairs. He leaned forward on both of his elbows, the table wobbling slightly due to its uneven legs.
"There is no word for what I am in your languages." He said this solemnly, as though this was awful news. "I am a creature somewhat like yourself, though. I'm just longer-lived, and better... adapted to this reality of ours."
He looked off to one side. The force of his nostalgia hit me as though it was my own. "In my days I've lived all over. I have seen almost everything this world of ours has to offer. Beautiful, isn't it?"
I nodded.
"I will see it again," he stated. He was taping one slender finger onto the tabletop. Slowly, with perfect rhythm. The fire crackled in the fireplace.
"You will?" I asked. I saw something flicker in his eye.
"I'm afraid my stay in this place will shortly be ending. Ten days and then I shall see the sky again."
I did not know what to say. I looked around the room, but I do not know what I was expecting to find. I gulped. "How?"
He smiled, as though he was imparting onto me a deep secret, "I'm going to escape," Cynric whispered.
His form shifted again, this time taking that of a woman that I did not recognise. "Oh," I replied, dumbly. I took a sip of water. "Why did you kill all of those people?"
The woman pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Why did you write all of those articles?"
Answering a question with a question. What did I expect? "It's my job," I replied.
She nodded twice.
Ok... changing tac. "Why did you target Andrea Prometheus earlier this year?"
Cynric sighs. His form shifting once more. Andrea sat before me now; the woman's transparent glasses fogged and became Andrea's tinted shades. "I didn't," Cynric stated. "I do not know why all of your kind just assumed I was there for the shouty man on the stage. My target was somebody else."
I raised my eyebrows. This was news to me. "Who was your target, then?"
"I will not say."
"Why not?"
"I intend to finish the job."
We sat in silence for a moment. The crackling of the fire seemed louder than ever.
"Are you evil?" I asked.
"Are you?"
"I try my best not to be."
He nodded twice.
Silence.
"You're right to be afraid of me," he said. "We cannot be friends."
The fire seemed to die down somewhat. "Why not?"
"What I want and what you want are mutually exclusive," he explained as though he was teaching a math lesson. "I will win."
"Oh."
He shifted once more, taking the form of an elderly man who I did not recognise. "But that does not mean we cannot be civil." He held out his hand, offering me to shake it. I took his hand, it felt like stone.
"What is your true form? What do you really look like?"
For what felt like the first time since the start of the meeting, Cynric broke eye contact. He looked off, sadly, and gazed into the fire. "I do not know," he said. "I have forgotten." His sadness washed over me, and somehow this baffled me more than anything I had heard today. I just sat in silence. "I have lived for millennia and in that time I have learned to manipulate reality. I have changed so much and been alive for so long I'm not even sure what I used to look like. What I liked, what I disliked. I have forgotten the names of everyone I have ever known."
Silence fell once more. The fire sputtered and burned out.
"All that is left to me now is my mission. And if there is one thing I know, it's that I won't let you mortals get in my way." He started as a whisper but finished the sentence just shy of a shout. "Your prisons cannot hold me. Your weapons cannot slay me. Your gods cannot touch me." He was standing now, leaning over me, pushing down forcing the table to wobble annoyingly. He was no longer smiling, but he wasn't frowning either. The face of the old man was sanguine but uncaring.
I shrank inwards in my seat. It felt like my head was bleeding. The rush of emotion caused my vision to blur, my eyes to cross, my bones to ache. But then it stopped. He sat back down.
"I apologise," he said. "I should be civil." He signed, deeply. "I'm sorry, but I am tired. I think you should go."
I wanted nothing more than to leave, but I found there was something I had to ask first. "One last question?"
"Ok. One last question."
"Why does the table wobble?"
For the first time, I had caught Cynric off-guard. "What?" he asked.
"You can shape reality around you. You designed this place in the same way you designed yourself. So why in Grimsley's name did you actualise a wobbly table?"
Cynric stared at me for a long while, his form slowly shifting one last time. He was a King; looking resplendent in a flowing robe. His hair was dark and the twelve points of his crown glimmered with brighter inhuman light than the rest of him. He stared at me, as though searching my thoughts.
At last, he laughed. "Goodbye Arnn. It's been nice getting to chat with you."
And with that, I had to leave the Cube.
I was back in the plain IPSO room, the bushy-browed agent waiting for me. It had only been ten minutes.
"How did it go?" he asked, casually. He knew that this experience was going to be bizarre.
I frowned. "He didn't answer my question."
- Arnn Quibbleson