"I don't like the title," Crowley muttered under his breath, closing Fixban's folder and handing it back to him.
"You think of something," Fixban ordered. Crowley just shook his head - he hated visiting Valaran when he was working, which was all he did anymore.
"I just don't think it's a very good idea," Crowley sighed, "sending them into the school like that. There's some shit down there, Val."
"Indeed," Fixban agreed with a nod, "which is why we need to explore. Who knows what's past the settled parts? There could be untouched vampire clans wandering in cedar forests, mighty pterodactyls in virgin skies, krakens in seas not yet polluted by man..."
"Fae in twisted caverns," Crowley added.
"That's a possibility," Fixban replied, "But, one day, Aleister, this office will belong to you and you'll quickly realize that, sometimes, a man must take risks to lead. And then I'll be the one binding you to the realm of possibility."
"I'm not going."
"I'm not asking you to. You're needed here."
"And I won't take the job."
"Not yet, no. You still have much to be taught before you can teach."
"So, it's agreed then."
"It is indeed - the final frontier."
"Oh, I was talking about lunch. But, whatever."
It was June 18th, 1916 - the end of Elfen High's third school year. Graduation was yesterday, with so many - too many - funneling off into the war that afternoon, while Richard saw these even less fortunate few off on another of Fixban's games. He wasn't cut out for this shit, seeing so many youth die before their time, but he had a responsibility here.
The janitor looked about the expedition; they were all there, at least theoretically. British. Austro-Hungarians. Russians. Germans. French. Italians. Americans. Bulgarians. Japanese. Ottomans. All the goddamn fools who marched to their deaths and those they dragged with them. It was called the Great War for a reason.
In a way, Richard wished these students and staff, these innocent adventurers, had gone to the Somme - Richard knew what was there, at least. He knew a lot of things, but he knew nothing about this school.
The only thing he did know was that they had no business mucking about in the innards of a dragon.
"Welcome, brave members of the-" he began, before audibly groaning, "Corps of Inner Discovery. I am, as most of you know, Richard, the custodian. I'm here to point you in the right direction."
He stabbed a finger at the exit from the school's sprawling gymnasium (every high school gymnasium times a thousand) - the border of Fixban's Elfen High and the perverted wild-lands of an untamed cadaver. There had been some exploration beforehand, but nothing as deep as the Corps was meant to go.
"You will be gone an estimated of six months," Richard continued, "In that time, you are to record every single thing. You will keep going into the school until you can no longer feasibly go further and return to the school without excessive casualties. You're no use to us dead. Bear in mind, you will not receive any aid, magical or otherwise, from any outsider. You will not be able to communicate with us in any way; this school is a deep thing, a dark thing, magic doesn't work right. You must resolve any conflict and save any lives on your own. If you are going to die, try to die close enough that we can loot your corpses.
Your expedition will be lead by Colonel Franklin Rosalind..."
The Colonel, a quintessential British man reluctantly leaving "second youth" as he called it (middle age for us savages) quite soon stepped forward, dressed modestly (for him) in a dark brown coat/trousers set, with a white under-shirt, a loosely-tied red cravat, and a black stetson (a gift from an American friend) a top his head. He carried a flintlock pistol and a sputtering gas lantern that provided light for this uncivilized region of the school.
"...who I trust will only treat you with the kindest of eccentricities," Richard added dryly, "Questions?"
