The trek back home was a long one, and while his travels around parts of Pentamerone were interesting and a bit adventurous, it was simply good to be home. Home to the endless piles of dirtied teacups, pots, and saucers. Home to the both wonderful and aggravating life with the girl who had wandered strangely into his life twice now.

Night was falling as Hatter made his first step onto the property, stopping only briefly to inspect. Everything seemed to be in sorts, and once that check was successful, he continued up to the door. He nearly knocked before chuckling to himself at what an odd notion that would be, knocking on one's own door when there was surely no one at home except for him, and he would be the one doing the knocking. He brandished a small key ring from the pocket of his coat and listened to the clinging and clanging of metal as he flipped through to find the correct one.

The keys were placed back in their proper place within his pocket as he stepped through the unlocked door, closing the gateway behind him. He was only standing just inside of the threshold for a moment when a strange feeling hit him. Not that it really did any good, he sniffed once, then twice.

Something wasn't right here.

Morozko, instead of turning back to his cold mountain how, followed a trail leading down between Camlann and the mountains and found himself at the edge of a huge lake. He sat down at its edge, like a small child fascinated by a new toy. He reached out and frosted the grass growing at the lake's edge with a touch. It dusted over with ice and snow, becoming brittle. So beautifully brittle. He touched the surface of the lake, letting ice and cold spill from his fingertips. A delicate pattern froze along the water's surface, leaving Morozko smiling.

He was bored. Nothing held his interest long enough in this place. Nothing except...his mouth curved in a smile. as he touched the water again. this time the ice patterns danced and formed into the shape of a face. A woman's face. Elegant, beautiful, cold and deadly. She was the only thing the stay in Morozko's mind longer than a few moments, a few days. She'd been there since he'd found her.

And then he lost her, and hadn't found her again. Frowning now, he stood, hovering in the air as his own cold winds swept him from the ground. Perhaps there was something else that could keep his interest. If not, he would have to go find Mabb again, find what made her so compelling.

Ozma had moved farther down her path, and found out more, piece by piece, about this world. A snippet here from a traveler, and a bit there for an overheard conversation, or any place else she could get the bits of information she needed.

Her small presence was a blessing for getting information, but she realized quickly, in this place would make it hard to lead a revolt. She had been considering several options, including masking herself back into Tip, but had finally settled on just finding help. She couldn't go at this alone, and the people here didn't seem so thrilled with the situation that she couldn't find those to help her.

She just wasn't sure how to go about it.

So she sat, and waited, and listened patiently for someone. She knew, eventually, it's come.

Mordred was no fool. Lancelot's sudden return was nothing but a sign to him, a sign that the rumors were in fact true, and Arthur had returned. He should have had Lancelot executed, but the man had made a great patsy before. He could certainly use him again. Besides one always knew to keep his enemies closer that his supposed friends. Besides, it wasn't as though Mordred didn't have his own spies. He knew of Arthur's imminent plan of attack. He knew of where his men were hiding [and least some of them], and had already sent some of his own to dispatch of them.

As he stood before the altar in the church, Guinevere to join him, one of his lieutenants came forward to impart some knowledge to him. Two groups of men stationed in hiding throughout the city had been completely dispatched. Mordred's smile was pure satisfaction as the ceremony was set to begin. Good. Let's see Arthur make his move now.

The sun hung low on the horizon, enormous and burning a dark orange-red. It cast a merciless light across the Blasted Lands - the dunes glittered goldly and, at this time of day, cast great dark shadows across the waste. All that was visible for miles and miles was that vast sea of sand, unchanging and barren, and, strangely, a figure moving slowly across it on foot.

Moon had wrapped her tender feet in strips of cloth that she had torn from her clothing. She had been traveling for two days across the desert, staying in the shadows of the dunes when she could during the day and seeking shelter in shallow, rocky caves at night. When, in the city, she had become seperated from the people she had met - Jinn and Piper, kind, queer people who had helped her and seemed to understand her - she decided to go back out into the Blasted Lands. She had to go somewhere and she had the sense that there was something out in the sands, something that called faintly to her. Moon had no idea what it could be, good or bad, but she had decided to go, both to see what it might be and to discover more of the world. But after a few days out in the unforgiving desert, she was beginning to rethink her decision.

 

They had parted company some ways back, the Fool and the Hero, the Hero hurrying off to do meet someone and the Fool wandering the streets of the strange little town.  Charming, in a way, but unsettling. 

Here, there was no getting lost in thought - nearly all of the passers-by tugged at the Fool in some way.  Another hero here, an evil wizard there, a wisewoman at the fruit stand.

It bothered the Fool.  It bothered the Fool greatly.

At length, the Fool stood uncharacteristically still with Its hands in Its pockets and watched the fountain in the center of town.

Things were relatively quiet in Ozland, and that made Knave uncomfortable. Not nervous, because few things made him nervous. Not even the ravings of the Queen worried him greatly. He'd escaped beheading once before; he was certain he could do it again. But lately he'd managed to remain on her good side without trying. Probably because he had no need to rile her up by stealing her treats since one little White Rabbit was keeping him satisfied in the snack department. As for other satisfactions...he was taking his time with those.

But for now, things were quiet and that concerned him, if only because he saw it as the inevitable calm before the storm. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to happen, but he didn't expect things to remain calm and sedate - especially not in a place as genuinely weird as this - for very long.