***Winner of the Wattys 2016 for Hidden Gems***
The Edgewise exists everywhere and nowhere. A sanctuary to all realms, should you find the door. Managed by one Macklemore Edgewise, proprietor, guardian of the between places, and barman of mystery...
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In the cellar, the kegs began to fizz.
The Edgewise could feel him through a thread of essence twisting and spinning in grasp too tight for a human. Through that flickering thread, it explored, tasting the chaotic darkness of the man, buried deep beneath a mask of flesh and bone. That darkness stole closer, following the thread to its source, seeking a weakness in the Edgewise to pry his way in. The tavern recognized the wielder and his stolen thread, another piece of stolen magic among the many he coveted. Through byways and hidden paths even the tavern was barely aware of, the man slipped inside, his oily presence slithering through the tavern's scars, reopening cracks that should have remained sealed.
The Edgewise knew it grew weakened.
A keg popped, sending a burst of sweet violet liquid across the dirt. It was unheard by all the patrons in the common room but one, who turned toward the bar. That would be enough. The Edgewise hunkered down and drew deep on its reserves. It had to be enough.
How fitting it should finally grasp a concept as odd as time when it was so close to running out.
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A miasma bubbled up through the dirt of the cellar, coalescing in the form of the hooded man. The thread of essence dissolved in his grip, its purpose spent. He glanced around, looking for that which must remain hidden, frustration and anger like a great snake coiled around him, waiting to lash out.
The hooded man froze, glancing over his shoulder. There was another there, swathed in shadow, all he could see was the bird shaped mask, bone white like some avian infused reaper. A vial whipped through the air, landing in the slush of dirt and violet liquor at the hooded man's feet.
Caustic smoke plumed, clogging the air. The hooded man staggered, dodging a green tinged needle that whizzed through the smoke. Tricky of the tavern, to summon a defender he wasn't aware of. He'd prepared for the others, ready with tricks and traps to subdue the peskier patrons, but this one...
He side-stepped as the alchemist whizzed by. He lashed out, catching the underside of the mask to knock it free. The plague doctor's mask tumbled into the muck, sinking up to the eye holes. The alchemist straightened with his back to the hooded man, hands limp and empty at his sides.
