Falice adjusted his silk-white mask as he lay on the inn’s bed. His fingers riddled against the curves he had created to replace his torn face.

“Markov!” he called as he heard a door swing open.

The answering voice was low and resenting. "What do you require of me now?"

“Has Olle been paid?” Falice said bleakly.

“Why don’t you go and see for yourself,” Markov replied grinning as he stared down at his blind comrade.

Suddenly the windows blew open with a gust of wind as moonlight leaked onto Falice’s face encasing the mask partially in its glaze.

“For what it’s worth,” he replied almost comically rising to his undamaged feet, “that wasn’t a very good joke”.

Falice Woodsworth had been practicing to control his hot head but with a Swedish stooge tempting him unpredictably, he was relishing the challenge. It had taken some time to convince the innkeeper Olle to let them rest for the night and with a companion whose name was Markov Västervik and whose relation with the innkeeper was almost as that of a distant cousin, Markov had proven himself useful and in a few minutes a room had been secured.

Upon the lonely inn overlooking a far but not unreachable and certainly not barren forest landscape jewelled with a loch within, Falice stared up at the moonlight while his friend slept on a side of the feeble bed. He considered it to be feeble not because material or colour or even the small size, but because it brought back foreign memories, memories of his childhood cabin. At the age of twenty-seven he had lost a vital sense, his sight. For all he knew it had somewhat enhanced his other senses but he could still tell light from dark. He planned to return to Bagintons Academy, but no, not to continue his education. He had had enough of that already. He would exact of his revenge towards the creature that scarred him but to find it, he would have to visit the Kelp Garden.