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{James : Narnia : Grand Hall}

Upon his group's return the vast majority of the Earthlings and their remaining companions had gathered back in the Grand Hall and he immediately noted that they were armed, probably not a bad idea. He hoped one of them had grabbed something for him as well. Otherwise he would go get one on his own. After he had given them all the unwanted bad news and passed around the letter for all who cared to read it Kyle held onto it whilst sitting on none other than the throne itself, perhaps a bit odd... but frankly the entire situation was odd. The corsair fell silent after he had given his report. He sat down on the left side of the steps leading up to the throne, deep in thought as he pondered the whole situation. Apparently Kyla was gone to gather all of the clues on the plaques.

He listened to the complaints, but provided no additional input than what was given in response. None of it made sense. The fact that the riddle was the key and the way the letter was written. Including the taunt at the end which had undoubtedly been written by none other than the assailant.

'That could only really work one of two ways.... The first being that the king wrote the letter before he was attacked and the culprit noticed it and added the taunt. Or that the letter itself was written by the command of the attacker. Which makes even less sense. Either way it seems like solving the riddle is the key to figuring this out'

His thoughts continued on similar tracks like that for the brief time he had to wait before Kyla returned. The corsair's focus immediately turning to the pictomancer as she prepared to relay what she had found at Kyle's urging. The riddle hadn't been of huge interest to the corsair in the beginning. However, he had become determined to solve it and take the culprit down.

[ Kyle : Narnia : Grand Hall ]

As Kyla began to place the pages, Kyle's expression remained unchanged--but his frustration increased, if only for petty reasons. He resisted the urge to groan, instead standing up. Balancing the letter on the throne's armrest, he gave a questioning look to Melisandre and held out his glaive--and in understanding, she took it from him so that he could properly kneel and look at the pages.

The others were likely going to be huddled around as well, but Kyle tried to make his way over all the same, getting near Kyla and bending one knee to try and read the handwriting. He'd not cared if anyone else was trying to read it, trying to look through it--he was going to have a crack at it.

The indifference of his expression was matched in his eyes, perhaps to a disconcerting level. There was no energy there. He could only see the pages and the vivid, glimmering world around him.

Without even taking his eyes away from the pages, he held out one hand to Kyla, politely requesting whatever she'd used to write.

He didn't look away, however, because he couldn't. The moment his gaze crossed the first words, his mind was once again sundered by chaos, his thoughts desperately fraying even as he focused on the letters and words as intently as possible. There was screeching, grinding, ringing...Screaming. Agonized, furious screaming that was only barely human.He wasn't going to be able to solve anything like this. To begin with, he was already naturally indecisive, and riddles had so many potentials...But he'd be damned if he wasted the one opportunity that would never have otherwise occurred to put his literature degree and years of linguistic analysis to some actual relevant use.

Taking the pen after being offered, he first made sure the pages were in the order that seemed most correct. Assuming the riddle did, in fact, have a beginning and end--and it was the King's Riddle, not Riddles--he assumed it would look something like this:

The middle two were perhaps interchangeable, but he felt certain the ends were that way. Of course, the question could arise, 'Does it even need an order?' To which Kyle would flippantly ignore because of course it doesn't but it helped.Kyle glanced at the isolated sheet of spare letters next. Taking them into account based on order of appearance in the riddle and then the random statue, it came out to... vneest. Right, well, Kyle could only see that as two things, scribbling them down on the corner of the sheet: Events ; Steven.The screaming worsened, grating at his mind, his eyes struggling to focus as he turned back to the ordered sheets. His pen hand had a momentary tremor. He started going through poem with the pen, line by line, and placing marks next to parts, marking them as relevant or irrelevant (in his own mind). He was quick, almost jittery, as if he had to get it out now. In the end, quite a few lines had X's on their left-hand side, but other parts were underlined, while still others were circled* to add emphasis--he even repeated some words next to the final line.

The last three words were circled repeatedly, messily. And just as quickly as he'd started, he stood, pushing himself away with a noticeable amount of force, the pen dropping next to the page.

His blood pressure was spiking, and his eyes were trying to force themselves shut, as if to release tension. His headache was back in full force... but the only expression he could mustered was a disgruntled, twisted lip as he stood up, scratching his head.

Hero? No one wants a hero because that means something went terribly wrong, but then they need a hero... no, I'm going too deep, I think, history wouldn't be their enemy... enemy..."So, anyone know a Steven?" he said, glancing around. Hopefully he'd be able to hear them above the screaming.

Had the lights dimmed further, or were they just tired? They could see his eyes were still normal, still white and brown, certainly not completely black, filling the socket. It was so late, after all; everyone was likely running dry. They could clearly see his eyes weren't dripping unnatural sludge. How exhausted they were!

[[ Circled things are bolded! ]]

Joe : Disney : Grand Hall

Joe made his way over to Kyla leaned over the parchment, taking the time to respond to the pictomancer while Kyle went to town on the thing.

"You might be right." he said, awkwardly clutching his sword close to him as he leaned in taking a look at the thing. "Typos are a way people can send coded messages."

Turning his attention back to Kyle, he was beginning to notice something was off about the guy. More-so then usual anyway. The guy was teetering on a line between composed and earth shattering mental breakdown. The way he was moving, how he was writing and annotating along the parchment was to erratic and desperate to be coming from someone who was completely alright.

Maybe he was more shaken up by tonight's tragedies then Joe had thought? Or that clean out of his heart hadn't gone exactly as planned? Whatever it was, Joe's concerns were briefly put on hold as Kyle practically leaped out of
his seat and asked if anyone knew a 'Steven'

"Yeah, in Middle School." Joe responded "I doubt the King of Narnia knew him though."

Joe clustered in even further was directly over the parchment now, taking Kyle's old place over the parchment. Literature wasn't his specialty, per say, but he still knew how to go over a musty old obscure document and look for clues. Might as well give it a shot.

"Let's see." he began, glancing over Kyles annotations again "Riddles are almost always telling a story, right? So we might as well figure out what the story is."

He began making marks of his own, adding his own comments alongside Kyles and marking up the bits he found important as he took note of what Kyla was saying. The final result looked messy, but still readable. Like a poem you were told to mark up in English class.


"OK", he continued "You're definitely onto something with the story thing. That's a pattern here. The subject of the riddle is left to interpretation and likes to dwell in area's of thought untouched by rationality and objectivity. Based on that, and the line about how people still 'need' the subject, I'm thinking that the story of this riddle is about, well, stories, and the subject is something that's used in them."


"If that's the case, what's something that all stories need to have in order to work? A conflict. Stories need conflict and in a story, it's not just an enemy that provides conflict and interpretation. It's theantagonist. Or as they're more commonly called..."


He let his words hang in the air for anyone to finish, thinking the end was obvious to anyone who'd been listening. The Pictomancer had a good head on her. Differing explanations aside, they had basically come to the same conclusion.

In unison, almost by supernatural coordination, they all looked to their left from the throne to the middle statue where the white witch's statue stood, on it, the plaque reading the same title as the answer to the riddle glimmered in their eye. Something tugged at Kyla, Kyle, and Bobbi instinctual calling them to the statue and away from the throne.

Come on Kyle, don't break. You can't let that b*****d win!

Noelle, entered the main hall around this time looking far more composed. She made a short B-line to her father and began her attempts to wake the man from his deep slumber.

Please hold on, Kyla! You can do it!

The group, either naturally or by some curious, odd compulsion to follow made their way to the statue and gathered around it, giving it a closer look... There! Behind the pedestal, a small notebook sized indent. It lit up at their touch... who had placed their hand on it first? It was hard to remember. Everything was moving in a blur.

Don't give in Bobbi-nee!

"Damn it, I can't see. What's going on?" the man in esoteric robes rapped his fingertips against the table, gritting his teeth with annoyance, "Everything's so clouded. Why can't we see properly? The story was just getting to the good part."

"I- I'm not sure. This shouldn't be happening," to the two men staring at the crystal apparatus, it was like staring at a cloudy image flooded with white, glowing fog, "We need to move faster, we can still salvage this. Just... have to put our pieces into action. Everything should already be in place."

Even as he spoke, the original man in elegant red and black clothing looked up and found the table abandoned, his robed aid gone.



The small indent lit up, words writing themselves across the simulated stone in digital pattern.

"Who am I?"

The question was followed with six blank spaces while a holographic keyboard appeared just below.

The riddle, the answer led them to this hidden interface. Six letters. Six mistakes. That question. That had to be it...



There was a shift, a dull, deep click. The statue shifted, splitting right up the middle and parting to reveal a staircase below that lit up with makeshift lights lining the passage all the way down.

Something tugged at them, called to all of them to enter. A whisper over their shoulder, gently nudging them in that direction. With an urgent haste they found themselves clamoring down, their footfalls echoing off of the limestone walls.

"Dad?" Noelle's voice echoed down from behind them, "Dad?! Oh no... someone?! Anyone? Help! It's my dad, he's not waking up! Where did everyone go?!"

They could hear her voice, but for one reason or another it couldn't register, they just kept running down the steps. The voices behind them still clearly singing tales of tragedy in their absence.

"Hey! The door to the library is locked."

"Do you think the culprit has locked themselves in?"

"Where are the master keys?"

"The earthlings took them."

"Where did they go?!"

"Forget it, just break down the door!"

"Another one dead? God, why does this keep happening?!"

"Check the balconies, the other one is likely still here."

"No one's here... and the doors upstairs to the balconies were all locked."

"Damn it, this doesn't make sense. Where are the earthlings? Shouldn't they be here helping? This one was one of their own right?"

Words kept floating by, echoing into the depths as they continued down. At last they burst through a door into a wide empty stone room devoid of any decoration or furniture but one object...

{Bobbi .:. Narnia .:. Grand Hall}

Whether Dawn took the sword or Bobbi set it on the floor next to her, the Archer backed up a pace or two, removing herself from the group a little in an effort to find some breathing room. Kyle was kneeling by Kyla’s layout, radiating something so intensely Bobbi was starting to feel sick. Her headache spiked, lancing from one temple to another. She winced, placing a hand to her head as the other tightened its grip on the bow she refused to let go of. A sharp inhale through her nose and a couple more steps back, and she still felt—frantic? Frustrated? Weirdly focused, but she couldn’t tell on what. Probably the riddle.

Dimly, a memory floated to the surface of her mind. An imagined voice, experienced only through the pages of a book—

"Dammit, lock it down!" "Ground and center, greenie!"

Another sharp inhale, and Bobbi managed to find the leak that was Kyle. Deep breaths, find the calm spot in the earth beneath you, match your core to the calm, bring yourself into alignment, there—

Bobbi breathed a sigh of relief as her headache ebbed and the foreign emotions faded. Not completely, but enough where she could think again. She still felt waves coming off of him, so tangible to her she was surprised no one else was reacting. Though they no longer poured over into her, they were still thick in the air. But when Kyle opened his mouth to ask a question, Bobbi felt like she’d been slapped in the face.

"So, anyone know a Steven?"

Her eyes widened, her free hand moved from its spot on her temple to her chest, where she felt her heart pounding. She couldn't see the riddle, couldn't know that the spelling was wrong.

Steven, Stephen, Steve, El Steve-o, no, no that can’t be right!

"M-my brother," she said, loudly enough to be heard, but barely, her voice filled with disbelief. "B-but…" Her mind spun, stringing together the implications. She hadn’t seen him since they arrived, but Mom had said he was there, in the residential wing keeping Dad company, avoiding the crowds. And this riddle was supposed to solve the murder of the king, but Steve would never—

And yet, so many horrible memories boiled to the surface. Of when they were younger, and at each other’s throats. The scars she used to have, the fights they used to get into. Fights that, if she was honest with herself, she’d always lost because she fought with honor and he fought dirty. The screaming, the threats, how he swore up and down that he’d kill her one day—but they were just words said in the heat of anger, weren’t they? For all his threats, he’d never done worse than bite or claw, never used a weapon except that one time he threw a bottle of ibuprofen at her head, never went for anything vital, just tore at her arms with his nails, or at her face, or pulled her hair. And she'd given as good as she got, matching threat for threat, violence for violence, anger for anger, pain for pain. Met his claws with her fists, his teeth with her kicks, hair-pulling with open-handed slaps or the occasional nut-shot when she was desparate. They were always back to being amicable within half an hour or so, whatever started the fight forgotten. They’d gotten along so much better after she’d moved out, it was just proximity and constant exposure that set them off on each other. Sure, he had a violent streak, but he’d never kill anyone.

Would he?

She didn’t hear the others talking, her mind too wrapped up in justifying why it wasn’t him, why it couldn’t possibly be her little brother—when her attention was dragged away, not of her own will, towards the statue of Jadis. Now her mind was winding in confused little circles. What did the White Witch have to to with her brother? Suddenly everything felt like a dream, as her body moved without her input, placing a hand to the pedestal—other hands joined her, or hers joined them, she couldn’t tell. Down the stairs, through the door—

And suddenly Bobbi found a target, something that all of her emotions could focus on, an outlet for her pain. But Joe was already on it, and that was fine. If it was broken, if she could have the rest of her self back, maybe things would start making sense again. Her mouth opened, her voice pouring out cold, dripping with icy anger.

"If you don't, I will."

[ Kyle : Narnia : Grand Hall ]

When the answer was said aloud, when the idea was given figurative form, Kyle didn't seem to react at all. Of course, even when Bobbi gave up a possible suspect, Kyle didn't react either. His eyes had, for the briefest of moments, glazed over with a thousand yard stare.He couldn't tell if the chaos in his mind had reached its peak, or if had all just stopped suddenly. He couldn't hear... anything. He couldn't even think anything. His thoughts had become like air, or worse, a void. The increased blood pressure had become a knot in his chest, like someone was taking his heart and squeezing it dry.

He couldn't breathe.The only thing to save him was the compulsion. He walked toward the statue, but everything about him was tense. His legs wants to sprint, his arms wants to throttle, his body was pulling itself in so many different directions it was like something inside him was trying to explode.The anachronistic pad was jarring, but so were the electricity and the angels. Nothing was making sense, but here they were, running, trying to find something--it obviously wasn't the vill--murderer, or they'd have heard the statue move every time it was used. Unless this was a secret passage?No, it was worse.

Now he knew whether his mind had grown too loud or too silent--because it got worse. His stomach churned, various spots on his body were starting to stab with pain as if his blood vessels hurt, his neck strained...... and then Joe went to swing."NO!"

The scream was abnormally deep and guttural for Kyle, but it wasn't unnatural--it was as if the shout had come from his core. His only movement was to throw out his hand, as if to catch--or Banish?--Joe's attack, but his expression had finally, drastically changed.

He looked scared.If Joe caught himself in time, Kyle quickly spoke again, explaining himself even as his expression faded back to nothing. "If--If this is what the murderer is doing without magic, do we really wanna test what he could do with it? We have a name now, we can go through possible Stevens."Of course, if Joe didn't stop himself, then something else entirely would happen.

[Joe: Narnia: Negator Room]

The male stopped his swing, staring at Kyle as he explained why he stopped Joe from swinging. And then Amy also had a comment.

Joe lowered the mace, cocking his head at the two. His face was neutral, though his shoulders were tensed up. "I'm willing to risk those odds. Obviously they aren't going to stop, and with us limited, we might not be able to stop them. Besides, this must mean someone is exempt if they're doing all this with the negator. Unless you don't think that's right and someone is overpowering the negator."

He looked back at the negator, knuckles white from the tight grip on his weapon. "If it's fake? Doesn't matter then. If it's a trap? I doubt it. Don't know why...or maybe I don't care. What kind of idiot makes a riddle the key to the negator? On top of that, how would we even know this Steven? Didn't the king set it? Unless we know the king, I doubt we know the Steven. That's even if they're sticking around in sight, And where in the world did the King get this kind of set-up, anyway? And why did we all come this way and down into here at once?"

He was rambling, he knew. But he was getting so frustrated....

"All I can do is fight, and I want to be able to fight at my best. And I'm willing to take the odds and risk destroying this thing, because sitting here and thinking with no eyewitnesses, no proof, isn't going to get us anywhere with parts of us sealed off."

He looked back at Kyle, and his eyes showed frustration, exhaustion, and a strange determination.

"I'm ready to give us a proper fighting chance."

A small part of himself wanted to move, destroy the machine, get his magic and his summon and his weapon back. But he stood there, not moving. Because he was waiting. For an answer. For a response.