[center][color=7bcdc8][h3]Arthek Yarnspin[/h3][/color][/center]

[color=7bcdc8]"Oh, guess we're moving,"[/color] Arthek muttered to his Mage Hand as Grimi beckoned them downstairs. The spectral appendage abruptly let go of the quill, almost as if exasperated. [color=7bcdc8]"Not to worry, we can continue this downstairs."[/color] The half-orc picked up his notebook, closing and gently dusting off the spine as he followed the rest of the group. As they were descending, they joined by two more of their clownish colleagues, the joyful Bozo and the enigmatic Miss Light, both of whom Arthek flashed a small smile towards. However, his attention was mostly focused on Iota, and every time he thought she was looking away, he would steal a glance at her. He still had no idea what she was doing here, but he was determined to find out before this evening was done.

When Grimi offered a mask and cloak to everyone in the group, Arthek held up a hand. [color=7bcdc8]"Ah, no need, old boy, I've brought my own,"[/color] he said. He turned back to his Mage Hand. [color=7bcdc8]"Hold this for me, would you?"[/color] He handed the notebook to it before turning to rummage around in his bag. After a moment, he pulled out a small mask, a cape and, most importantly, a large flamboyant cap with a feather in it, the last of which he had to shake a few times to get it back to its proper shape. He quickly put these on before taking the notebook back and following the rest of the group into the King's Chamber.

It was at this point he was then faced with that accursed contract Grimi insisted on producing every time they entered this room, and Arthek gave a loud sigh as he was reminded of the rules of this area. He plucked the quill from his Mage Hand's grasp before slipping both it and his notebook back into his bag. [color=7bcdc8]"Never mind, it appears I won't be needing your services at this time after all,"[/color] he said before waving his hand in a dismissive manner. The spectral hand became limp before dissolving into a ethereal blue mist and vanishing from this plane of existence. The author stepped forward. [color=7bcdc8]"Really, must we go through this ghoulish ritual each time?"[/color] he said, not directed towards anyone in particular. If he understood the irony of him of all people referring to something as 'ghoulish' he didn't show it. Nevertheless, he stepped up and pricked his finger, allowing his blood to be added to the paper. His curiosity for what was about to occur outweighed his outrage at this blatant display of censorship.