Quite upset about both your own failure, if you can call it that, and the attitude of the guards that you just passed, you enter into a rather long hallway in quite a grumpy huff. You hadn't even been in there long enough to finish the thought you had about where in the world you were supposed to head from where you were when you spot someone else in the hall. Someone who happened to be coming at a speedily pace directly towards you, with a facial expression, and a flushed face, that told you that he was in a mood even worse than yours. From a distance, you first questing why in the world he was wearing a robe as dirty as his was in a place like this before you realized that it simply looked that way normally, which, apperantly, makes it look normally filthy.
The next thing that grabs your attention, though snatched would be a better word, was the stave that the man was using as a walking stick. Without it, at the speed that he was moving, you figure that he would trip over himself. More interesting, however, is the staff itself. The thing appears to be intricately carved, even having a 'p' shape, handle-like decoration on each end. It's condition can only be described as poor, though. It has what appears to be dents covering it, as if from repeated bludgeoning. It seems to be so worn down that the center of it is actually visibly thinner than it's ends. There's even a clear crack running around it near it's center. It is quite an interesting object for anyone to be carrying around. So interesting, that it holds your attention enough for you to not notice the blue goggles and chest-long beard adorning the man's face until he's virtually in yours, less than a foot away and glaring at you.
He begins talking, in a loud, boisterous voice that only slightly matches his appearance. "I was asked to bring you here. I did. I was asked to prepare a welcome for you. I did. I was asked to perform it for you myself, and I set it up, and waited. I did, I did! But you, you just manage to mess it up." Before you can open your mouth and say more than a few startled stutters in your defense, he somehow manages to manuver himself to directly behind you, his hands on your back, shoving you down the hall into one of the rooms adjoined to it. He moves you into a position next to a window through which you can see a fairly pretty field. The one you were meandering about in earlier, you realize. Before you get to think about this further, the man, who you now, suddenly, notice bears the features of Merlan(no relation to any wizards of legend), raises one of his arms up to the window, pointing out of it. He says, then shouts, "See? SEE?!" all while shaking not just his finger, but his hand, as if for emphasis. As if on cue, a butterfly previously flitting around spontaneously bursts into flames. And sparks. Many sparks. It would actually be quite pretty, were it not coming from a combusted butterfly. It's then that you divert your attention to the grass, if only for the fire, due to the excess of sparks, that was starting there. You notice that a rather significant portion of the grass isn't grass. It's dirt, void of plants, forming a circle with a bit more missing within it in the shape of some foreign symbol. You groan inwardly, quite painfully, atleast to your pride. It's a glyph. Something you should have noticed much earlier. You snap out of this when you remember the fate of the butterfly, and begin to ponder the implications of this, You are snapped out of this, as well, by a flash of light behind you, and the sudden appearance of a previously white and clean, black, and soot covered, butterfly.
You sigh in relief, knowing that it wasn't your demise that was being prepared for, when Merlan sighs as well, apparently calming down, if only somewhat. He moves you, less forcefully, out of the room, and points down the hall before giving you one last shove. "The one who wants you is right down there. Go."
You, however, turn to face him. "But, which one is it? Jade O'Conner or Henry Pluss?"
"It's Pluze." he snaps back at you.
"Oh? Henry it is, then."
"No!" he snaps again, "His name is Pluze. With a 'z' and an 'e'. You did it wrong."
You reply, "But, isn't that how I pronounced it?"
He nods, before turning and walking away, leaning on his stick, again. "Yes, but not how you spelled it."
You tilt your head and squint your eyes in confusion before giving up, and turning towards the door down the hall, and towards the actual answer.
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