Chapter 1

Kroka awoke from her slumber, the same as any other Monday in this strange world, with the stomping of feet outside and the feeling of no tongue in her mouth. 
The differing stomps and thumps came quickly, but Kroka could understand them as well as the words of her old world, if not better. 
“Great Ginou, Chubs won't stop bullying me!” came the overly quick, quiet taps of a young dwarf girl. 
“Quiet! I am fixing your hair. The dungeons are dusty, and your mother worked too hard for you to dirty it!” Came the angry, heavy stomps of a young dwarven-eared woman - Chubs - before the great Ginou even had a chance to respond. 
“Quiet both of you! Work in silence, the elf overseers will be here very soon,” The patient old man said as he looked beyond the horizon, where black clouds streamed across the sky in thin pencil lines - the writing was on the wall, that some would die before they even reached the deepest parts of the dungeons. “And you, Kroka, rise at once!” He quickly added. 
Rising to her feet, Kroka peeked through the holes in her straw house, seeing across the way, where a group of dwarves gathered their meager supplies together - some tools are always lost in dungeon runs, and the only way to get more was to retrieve it or do the equally impossible and get the money to buy some. 
“But Great Ginou!” The child whined with a stomp. “I'm afraid of the dungeons! 
“Don't be afraid of the dungeons, child, for the Great Ginou will protect you with strong arms,” The great Ginou flexed his wiry arms. “And a stronger mind.” He tampered out, before laughing - a rare noise heard aside from blessed Sundays. 
Laughter rang out from just out of view while Kroka tied on her dungeon gear - thin brown strips of linen sewed to pockets wrapped around her legs like ivy around two towers, concealing the two knife sharp stones she hid in the pockets - Aidan learned quickly that you were never truly safe in the dungeons. 
Suddenly, a warning tampered echoed through the ground like waves of fear. “Elf!” A dwarf stomped out. “The elf is coming!”
The sounds of laughter faded, replaced by the frenzied movement of everyone doing their best not to look suspicious to avoid a raid. Light parted the clouds in the sky, though from Kroka’s point of view, she could only see the shadows the light cast on the morning clouds. A silver chariot descended from the sky, adorned with red magic crystal figurehead in the shape of a horse - the insignia of the Elvish Rubyeus family. Flames trailed behind the chariot as it flew downward, headed right for Chubs. The dwarven women realized too late the trajectory of its path, but just before it hit her the Great Ginou leapt into action, pushing her out of the way of its oath before she could even blink, and sucking just in time for a wisp of the flame to barely kiss his forehead. 
“Oops,” Said a long eared man from inside the chariot. “My bad, really. I shouldn't drive around drunk.” He says with a scowl. The elf overseer was a silent, willowy wisp of a man, all pale skin and bone with a plume of curled red hair atop his head. - he resembled a lit candle more than an elf, with his white robe pooling like candle wax. In his lithe hands were five, ribbon like ropes leading ‘Eskrews’ on the ground. The rough, wiry haired sinewy brown beasts at the ends of the thin white crystal studded leashes were large, larger than any dog Aiden had ever seen, yet twice as loyal and thrice as brutal. Eight long, pink, finger-like appendages wiggles at the end of the creature's snout, lashing out and stroking the ground as if huffed and snorted around in the dirt. 
“Now, let's see the goods. C’mere, old man. I gotta make sure you're not gonna die on me so I have to pay for a new one,” He said with an exasperated sigh. The elf kept the leashes in one hand as he casually ambled over to the old man, then licked his thumb and pressed it to the slight burn in the old man's forehead. “See? Aren't I kind to you all? Go ahead… say thank you.” The elf concluded, eyes burning blue. 
Kroka shuddered at the indignity and thought of fighting, but one glance at the knife-like off white claws of those beasts reminded her that things could always be worse. 
“...An you.” The Great Ginou spat out - the dwarves could speak without tongues, but the words came through jumbled, and it felt more natural to use the language their dwarven ancestors used. 
The elf smirked. “You're welcome, dwarf. Now, off to the dungeons we go, eh?” The elf, having never left his silver chariot, sang as he rode off to the dungeons. He allowed the leashes to slip free from his hands, and the hound like eskrews went wild, snarling and chasing the dwarves into following after the jolly elf. There was no hiding, no escape - they were too fast, much too good at sniffing for any dwarf to find a safe place. 
Gathering the children together in his wide arms, the Great Ginou ushered them behind the elf, all the while assuring them of their protection. Kroka followed after, her feet rough and raw against the red dust earth. The mouth of the dungeon - and the heart of the Stony Jaw - laid dead ahead of them, the stalagmites and stalactites dripping with moisture like a grey cavernous mouth, salivating at the prey running towards it. Kroka internally shuddered, but nonetheless she ran along the red dust tongue, into the dungeon's hungry maw. 

—

To the north of the dwarves, two men and a young woman complete their journey to the wealthy side of town.

—
Mrs Peacock’s estate was in the blue side of town, a far walk from the shabby red roofs where Mr Robin lived. As the dirt roads transfused into perfectly formed tan brick streets beneath his feet, he briefly wondered how different this world's killers must be from his. 
After all, they had magic to kill and stuff, right?
Mr Beaver and Ms Cuckoo made small talk just ahead of him, and though he kept one ear out for any clues, his attention mostly dissolved into the landscape around them. The blue side of town was up a tall hill from the red side, down where the smell of fish and scat from the docks was thick in the air. Up at the blue side of town, flowers of all colors bloomed from windows, and the smell of fresh baked bread and flowers was perfume in the air. Every house was three stories tall and stood on its own grand plot of land, which made crossing the streets without a cart very difficult. When they finally arrived at the grand manor which Ms Peacock formerly owned, Mr Robin and Mr Beaver immediately stopped, mouths agape as they beheld the sight of the blackened hole in the blue roof of the manor. 
“The flames.. they shot straight up, you see,” Ms Cuckoo explained, wiping a tear from her eyes before letting herself and the others inside. “They went through several floors and went straight into the sky.. it could be seen all the way from the red side of town.”
“I see, how horrific,” Mr Beaver replied, offering Ms Cuckoo a tissue to cry in. “That must've been very traumatic, Miss-”
“Cuckoo! Have the people in that room come here at once!” Mr Robin excitedly exclaimed, interrupting Mr Beaver. “The sooner we find the killer, the better!”
Ms Cuckoo raised an eyebrow, but nodded and left to fetch the people in the room the night of Mrs Peacock's demise nonetheless. 
“Mr Robin, you really should learn to talk to women better,” Mr Beaver chastised. “Anyone would be traumatized after seeing such a thing, and women are especially fragile.”
“Really?” Mr Robin rubbed his chin and pondered. “If it were me in that room, I would've laughed personally. I mean, going so far as to burn a hole in the roof… the killer must've been quite angry with our victim.” He concluded. 
“That's funny to you?!” Mr Beaver asks, affronted. 
“...a little.” Mr Robin replies, much to Beaver's chagrin. Before Mr Beaver can reply, though, Ms Cuckoo brings in a small parade of women. 
“Here's everyone that was there that night,” Ms Cuckoo began. “Mr Pig, Mrs Hen, Mrs Horse, me, and the lovely Mrs Herring.” 

“Mrs… Herring?” Robin said, in sheer disbelief. 
Mrs Herring, who stood in the corner in a red dress with an equally bloody formerly white apron and a smile on her face while she sharpened knives, looked up from her enriching unusual activity. “Yes?”
“...It's nothing. I assume everyone in this room was here the night of the… fire?” Mr Robin asked, gesturing in a broad sweep towards everyone in the room. “Now, if you could introduce yourselves with your names and professions, I can begin the case.” Mr Robin excitedly said as he produced a feather pen and crinkled sheet of writing paper from his coat's pockets. 
“I'll start,” said a tall, statuesque woman with high cheekbones and a chin held even higher. Her ears were perfect ovals, concealed by her short black bob. “My name is Elizabeth Horse, though you may call me Mrs. Horse. I'm a stable worker.”
“Oh,” said Mr Beaver as Mr Robin furiously scribbled it down behind him. “So you work with horses?”
“No,” said Mrs Horse. “I was referring to my income. I raise rabbits.”
Mr Robin sighed and scribbled out something on his sheet. 
“Suppose I'll go next,” said the bloodied older woman, setting down her knife and walking to the center of the room with a smile that lifted her wrinkled face. “My name is Rubyred Herring, but everyone just calls me Mrs Herring. I butcher the rabbits.”
Mr Robin nearly spat. “You can't be serious!” He abruptly yelled, shocking the poor old woman. Mr Beaver snatched the pen and paper from his friends hands, then held them just out of reach. “You'll get them back when you swear not to scare old women!” He said, face puffy and pink with anger. 
“HA! It's fine, the old bat doesn't scare that easy,” The one man, a stout, short man with arms thicker than his thighs barked out. He crossed his tattooed arms and smirked. “Name's Mr Pig. I cook the rabbits.”
“No first name?” Mr Robin asked. 
Mr Pig grunted, face scrunching up in displeasure. “You want a first name?” He asked before spitting on the ground, right next to one the shadows left by Mrs Peacock's fiery fate. “Well I want a million dollars. So take your little wants, and shove it up your-”
“Mr Ass!” Ms Cuckoo abruptly shouted. “I forgot about Mr Ass. He was in the room that night, too.”
“He was?” Mr Pig asked, raising an eyebrow. “I didn't see him.”
“That's because he was under my dress.” The last woman, a curvaceous brunette with a buxom bust that stretched out the front of her red linen dress, stepped forward. “Hello, detectives. My name is Merrygold Hen, or Mrs Hen. I breed the rabbits.” She winked. 
“Mrs… aren't you married?!” Mr Beaver said, shocked. 
“Yes, and the day is long, yet the night changes all things.” She smoothly excused. Mr Robin, who at this point had soaked through his measly paper with ink, stepped forward with a raised brow. “Is there a reason you all seem to work with… rabbits?”
“Oh yes, Mrs Peacock absolutely adored eating rabbits, said it gave you their libido.” Ms Cuckoo replied. 
Silence fell over the room.
“...Moving on,” Mr Robin crumpled up his wet ball of notes, tossing them into a flower pot behind him. “I'd like each of your accounts of what occurred last night, individually.”
“But Mr Robin,” Mr Beaver said, picking up the wet ball and placing it in his breast pocket to throw away later. “What about your notes?”
“Oh, those were only for you to keep up, Mr Beaver. I can remember all the information I need.” Mr Robin replies, to Mr Beaver's dismay. “Now, let's begin the interviews.”

—

To the North, a girl desperately tries to explain her situation 

—“...So, you're saying you're from another world?” The maid - Selene, as she has been angrily and forcefully reminded - asked, standing with her arms crossed as she sat across from Valerie. 
“Yes! That's what I've been trying to tell you for the past hour! Holy crap!” Valerie yelled, half ready to rip the white strands from her head. 
“...I know. I've just been messing with you,” Selene says with a smirk. Valerie figured her anger must've shown on her face, because Selene’s smirk faded a second later. “Wait, that means you don't know anything about this world. How magically advanced was the civilization you came from?” Selene questioned. 
“Um, we didn't have magic,” Valerie then brightened up. “But we did have planes, and high tech ships, and ESPECIALLY trains-”
“If it's not magic,” Selene slowly drawled. “I'm not interested. You really don't have any magic? Like, at all? What kind of backwards world did you roll in from?”
Seeing the anger from on Valerie's face once more, Selene rolled her eyes and decided to let up. “You just haven't seen magic like I have.”
Valerie’s ears perked up. 
“Here,” Selene said, “hold out your hands.” Valerie did as was asked, and stared silently as Selene encased Valerie's hands with her own palms. “Are you ready?”
Valerie couldn't nod fast enough. “Yes!” She excitedly whispered. “Please, show me.”
Selene gently opened Valerie's hands, keeping her palms at the back of Valerie's hands, then smiled. “Watch and learn, kiddo.”
A small bubble of space, barely the size of a baseball wobbled into being just above Valerie's palm. “This,” Selene began with a smile. “Is the most basic form of magic - zone control.”
“Holy crap, whaddya mean this is the most basic form?” Valerie said. Her eyes twinkled with wonder as the ball rotated slowly about, its surface perfectly smooth and clear as crystal. 
“Within this zone, I can exert my will upon the world according to my whims - as is my right, as a magician,” Selene smirked, and the ball flashes with blue light before filling with water. “I can change the material inside, the speed at which it rotates, or even where it moves. Watch this!” Selene said, a hint of humor lighting up her dreadfully serious features. The ball of water sounds on its axis until it resembles a blue bullet, then shot off at a tree nearby, spearing through it and leaving a hole in the wood in its wake. 
“Can… can you teach me to do that?” Valerie asked in wonder. Selene merely smiled and nodded. “I suppose I can spare the time. Here, I'll start by teaching you the very basics of zone control. First…”
As the two women gleefully spoke and learned of magic, a mysterious figure watched from the shadows, hidden by vines and roses. The figure smiles, then frowns when Valerie forms a small sphere of her own. 
“Too quick,” the voice hisses, far too silence to reach the girl's ears. “Much too quick. Something must be done…”