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Description
July 6, 2012.  It hadn't been since Christmas that Xanecirge had felt the opportunity to assist Organization Eternal.  The exchange had been a breath of fresh air, a grand icebreaker to begin the winter months.  But now it was summer, nearly half a year since the major events occurring in Atlantis had begun.  Whoever hadn't been a part of the "preliminary" preparations weren't able to catch up in time.

Until a few days ago, of course.  The Fool of Crushed Mirth had received word in the Organization's newsletter that more reinforcements were necessary to finish the mission.  Four entities akin to Heartless (out of the ten or so that had initially appeared throughout the worlds) remained to be defeated.  Apparently these beings were able to sense the conquerors of their comrades, hiding themselves from any of the Nobodies who had already defeated one.

This is where the reinforcements were necessary:  to eliminate the ones still in hiding.

Xanecirge had been one of the first to line up and take one of these mysterious bosses.  When he went to report to the Superior in his office, however, all that he found was a locked door with several trinkets adorning it.  "That's right," he realized, "Raxen took part in this mission as well.  He must still be out."

Looking more closely at the trinkets revealed them to be parts of the mission.  Four photographs (fleeting snippets of the targets) with attached hastily scrawled notes about them accompanied a necklace with a luminescent blue gemstone on the end of it.  The single word "acquire" was written in the center of the necklace loop.

Only one of the four bosses was he allowed/enabled to engage, most likely to collect another of these crystals; but which one?

'I like that one, it's colorful,' a voice said as a red-and-gray hand pointed to one photo in particular.

Xanecirge looked at the name of the selected:  "Deal Makers…  Are you sure?"

Enthusiastically his head Carney minion nodded.  The nearly painted smile of Lesser Nobodies always seemed more sincere on his own set.  It was infectious.

He even found one on his own face.  "Alright, then."  He grabbed the photo and the details regarding it.  They certainly were colorful, the series of masks making up the swarm.  Then again, they weren't exactly party masks, especially not the big one acting seemingly as the main face with their big teeth and horns.

What world would something like this exist in, anyway?  A quick glance at the gathered intelligence told him the answer:  "Port of New Orleans… an American-based world."  Being thus identified meant that it wasn't a medieval-class world, but would it be more modern or more rustic?  Such might not have mattered, though, given his preferred appearance.

Carrie looked up at him as he mulled over the details.  'Are we going to put on a show?' she asked.

Again the clown grinned, summoning his accordion to his hands.  "They will sing of our success," he answered, compressing the ends to produce a single melodious note.  The music continued as he marched to the Skyscraper's base level, through the doors, and into the streets before finally disappearing into a portal of darkness.

…

The couple of carnies stepped from their portal of darkness into a narrow alley.  At first Carrie looked up with an inquisitive curl to her eyebrows, but the Fool pointed her to the alley's other end.  "Don't you hear the music?" he said with a smile.  "Can't you smell the food?"  Anticipating her first answer, he picked her up and stepped over the garbage cans (easily) to bring her closer to the sensations.

He already knew them well enough, the freshness still in his ears and nose.  As they stepped into the city street lights (a modern world this was, then), the lively jazzy brass, and the spicy Cajun heat (terms he learned from the multicolored neon lights) became even more savory to them.  The Port of New Orleans was most definitely alive tonight.

With the amount of people and laughter, though, it seemed unlikely that their current target was out and about in this setting.  Things were too laid back, too carefree.

The activity levels also threatened their low profile; they weren't exactly trying to blend in.  That was, of course, until Xanecirge caught sight of other clowns, scattered troupes of street performers dressed in gold, green, and purple.  Like jesters they were dressed, bells and caps included.  'Look,' Carrie said, pointing them out.  'More clowns.'

Her guardian couldn't help but smile.  "Yes, it would seem that this world will treat us hospitably.  I'll treat you to a helping of whatever smells so good after we finish."

Of course, if their target wasn't in the city proper, then they would have to do some searching elsewhere.  It took some doing to locate a less-populated street in the maze of music and people, only to realize the nature of the first shop they came to.  No light shone upon the sign; it was hard to make out exactly what lay inside.  On the surface, though, masks like the ones he had seen in the photo were hung like museum pieces.  'There's a good chance of this shop knowing about our target,' stated Carrie.

"Indeed."  The photograph was already out of the clown's pocket by the time he walked through the doorway.  His Lesser wasn't far behind.

A bell chimed as soon as the door was inched open.  "Oh, customers," said a voice.  As the owner came into view, switched on the lights, and viewed her guests she added, "And colorful ones at that.  What can I help you with at this time of night?"

Their host was a slightly-heavy African American woman in her late fifties, Xanecirge guessed.  Deftly she moved through the shelves and racks, her outfit from the same theme as the interesting objects she was selling.  Not all were as intimidating as the ones they were interested in.  "We were wondering what you knew about these," Xanecirge said, holding out the picture.

"Let's see, then…"  Barely a glance did she give it before quickly looking up to the Fool.  "What would you clowns want with these mask frowns?"

"You know them?"  Xanecirge hadn't expected things to go so easily.

"There ain't a bug in the bayou that doesn't know these deal maker voodoo masks.  They're the real deal in magic.  The Shadow Man, '', even summoned them to increase his powers.  After he broke his end of the bargain… well, the proof is in the graveyard."

Chills were running down both of the clowns' spines.  The words might have been meant more as description than as scary dissuasion, but intimidated for sure was the Fool.  Even so, he pressed on.  "And where are they now?  In this graveyard you mentioned?"

"That's as good a place to start as any," was the answer.  The shopkeeper handed back the photo and added, "Be careful; keep the laughter alive and pure."

Xanecirge nodded with a grimace as he accepted the picture.  "Where would I find this graveyard?"

Turning from him the store owner approached her counter, picked up a pamphlet, and handed it to the clown.  "All of the 'haunted' spots of New Orleans are outlined on that map; my shop and the graveyard are identified.  You take care now."

"Thanks again for all your help," said Xanecirge with a gentlemanly bow.  Carrie gave one as well before they both left the oddities store.

…

With a world map in hand and new insight into their target, the carnies continued their search anew.  The main streets they elected to stay away from due to the nature of their mission.  Also, being clowns in this world was one thing, but appearing as tourist clowns was another.  Even sticking to their self-imposed long route, the graveyard was reached within the hour.

At first they didn't recognize it.  Tombstones he had been expecting, not plot after plot of aboveground crypts.  "Are people in this world really that rich, or is there another reason for all these…?" Xanecirge asked himself.  Either way, he walked through the iron gate to begin the search.  His above-average height allowed him a clear vantage point even above the many mausoleums.

Carrie wasn't so fortunate in this regard; not even with her hat was she as tall as one of them.  Still intent on helping her boss, she climbed onto one of the crypt roofs.

"Come off of there, Carrie," said Xanecirge as soon as he caught her.  "We shouldn't disrespect the dead."

'But I can't see,' complained the Carney.

The Fool held out his hand and coaxed her toward him, saying, "Come here, I'll help with that."  Her hand he took as he brought her onto his shoulders.  "Better?"  He could feel her nod her reply.  "Alright, then.  Tallyho!"  Almost at a gallop Xanecirge set off again.

Both clowns nearly forgot about their mission and surroundings in their game and their laughter.  The graveyard was ringing with the latter until Xanecirge slowed down from fatigue.

It was then that they heard it, the rhythm of the gallop steps continuing in the tune like a jazzy heartbeat:  "Bum, bu-bum, bu-bum, bum, bu-bum, bum, bu-bum, bu-bum…"  Immediately the Fool stopped and looked around; Carrie kept her eyes peeled as well.  What was it?  Their target?

Sudden a colorful streak passed betwixt two crypts in Carrie's sight.  'Over there!'

Like a turning totem pole Xanecirge faced the direction she indicated.  The invader was already gone.

From her new position Carrie saw another something moving through the shadows.  'There!'

Another foe appearing at random… the Nobody clown knew these tactics:  his Heartless had used them.  He had to keep his wits about him, not go chasing after every shadow.  Since he was the only one around to attract attention, whatever was after them would have to show itself to get close.  His accordion appeared in his hands for when it did.

The music construable as singing echoed from every direction.  Pinpointing any one enemy was impossible.  "Carrie, watch my back," calmly commanded Xanecirge.

Taking no offense from her boss's necessarily serious tone, Carrie's head floated off of her shoulders and turned around before dropping back into place.

Preparations were made.  All that could be done was to wait and assail them as they came.  He had a good idea about their numbers from the picture, but whether he could rely upon it had yet to be seen.  Where were they all hiding…?

Scanning his surroundings more closely revealed a detail that he hadn't noticed.  Their previous aimless wanderings had them arrive at a crypt personalized with more than just a name.  A relief of a face was etched into the stone, a head adorned with a top hat.  Was it that much a feature of the deceased man…?  Speaking of features, the overall portrait wasn't too flattering, the expression being one of fear.  The name below the face… hadn't he heard the shop keeper mention it?

Something else struck him about the crypt, more specifically the stone slab of an odd shape rising from behind it.  The more it revealed itself, the more familiar it seemed.  Full realization came when the low-set and wide-set aquamarine eyes loomed in the smooth rock face.  The same exact glow had highlighted the crystal sample!  This was the target mask!

A low hum resounded throughout the graveyard that emanated from the stone mask.  Movement like so many winds surrounded the clowns anew before their sources showed themselves.  A storm of color, a hurricane of horrific faces made its presence completely known.  "Carrie, we have our work cut out for us," Xanecirge nervously sighted.

Like so many bees coming in from work did the masks surround the glowing stone one, continuing to circle around like a tornado.  The other large face in the set retained its position towards the twister's top, acting as the head of the horde.

What Xanecirge wanted was the heart sitting in the eye of the storm.  With no more surprises for the time being, the Fool compressed his accordion with his hands as well as his element and aimed the spikes at the Deal Makers.  He kept his eyes on the main mask, keeping track of the time intervals where the others passed between him and the bulls-eye as well.  Wait for it to come around again, and… 'SPROING!' The trap was sprung, and a single drawn-out note accompanied the pressure-driven spikes.

The glowing eyes seemed to follow the incoming attack.  Xanecirge didn't think that it could do anything about it, but another mask rose up out of its revolution and caught the spikes in its face!

'That one was dragged out of its orbit,' Carrie noted.

"No wonder," said the other clown with realization.  "I thought I had timed that as well as my jokes."

It was no joke to the one controlling the Deal Makers.  Another hum like a growl sounded, and the masks serving as the twister began spinning faster in response.  Dangerous the tornado became, the winds whipping up small bits of debris and the masks carving more out of the tombs.  Fexyregof would have been furious with such disrespect to the dead.  (He was currently planning his treasure diving expedition.)

The destruction wasn't stationary, either.  As Xanecirge reeled in his accordion from the vanishing mask shards, the conical swarm crept closer and "climbed" down the crypt!

'It's coming for us!' shouted Carrie.

Her Fool of a master had to disagree.  "It's not coming that quickly.  We just have to stay away to avoid taking any hits."  He began backing up from it while keeping his eye on the two big advancing adversaries.

As soon as he began his retreat, however, another of the smaller masks was brought forth with its mouth open.  A pulse of light began to form between its separated jaws; it was preparing to attack!

There remained stone tomb walls on either side of him; the options remaining to dodge were slim.  In fact, they were a size one.  Still holding his weapon, Xanecirge compressed it two-fold once more before thrusting it spikes-down into the ground.  "Hang on tight, Carrie," he said.

When the mask was adequately charged, it shot forth a beam of energy at the clowns.  Xanecirge watched it come from his crouched position, releasing his holds on his instrument well out of range.  The express elevator quickly carried the clowns up and out of harm's way, the beam harmlessly passing alongside the accordion.  A sigh escaped the Fool as he rose.

As he neared the apex, the sigh became a gasp.  Yet another mask had been brought forth with energy of its own collecting in its open mouth.  The charging period was much shorter this time, as the energy was channeled into a single spherical blast!

Falling wouldn't be quick enough to avoid it, not for his assistant.  "Carrie, do you trust me?"

The Carney answered with a question of her own.  'You have to ask?'

Xanecirge's smile returned as he raised his empty arm slightly, beckoning her to clamber to it.  At the very peak of the accordion's recoil he turned and flung his arm back, throwing Carrie up while forcing himself down.  The energy bullet sailed between them, right where they had once been.

It wasn't long before the Fool found his feet flat on the ground again.  His accordion was back between his hands, and his eyes leered at the Deal Makers over his rubber nose and surly frown.  All of those attacks had been distractions for it to get closer to him and— wait, where had Carrie gone?  Did she teleport to safety, or was she attacked?

As painful as it was, he couldn't go off looking for her now.  All concentration was needed on the task at hand, unless he wanted to open himself up immensely to attacks from behind.  No, he would complete his mission to make this world safe, safe for its inhabitants and safe for his charges.  "Have at thee, you monsters!"

The Deal Makers seemed almost too happy to oblige.  Three masks came forward with open mouths and energy charging within like loogies to be hocked, dangerous loogies.  The sooner they spat, the less time he could spend to dodge.

Rushing the Fool made his move, accordion gathered in his hand.  Two of the masks released their blasts when he did.  Xanecirge stretched out to dive over them and used his accordion extension to keep himself airborne.  Neither attack even grazed him.  Confident in the attack of the final one, the clown Nobody went from a dive to a front flip.  He completed it while crouching with his weapon recompressed and held flat before him.  The spikes he zeroed in on the mask still charging (and more importantly stationary) before firing.  Still incomplete, the attack of the mask never escaped; the mask itself had been split right down the middle.

The cracks of light in this one revealed something that would have otherwise been impossible to see at this time of day:  each of the Deal Makers, large and small, was being "worn" by a shadow coming from the one in the center.  They were being directly controlled!

Enraged further was the stone mask, evidenced by the more intensely blazing eyes and the echoing roar it gave off.  Its underlings began spinning more sporadically, faster, and with a wider radius.  Their movement forward as a group also hastened considerably.

Xanecirge hadn't expected any of this to such an extent.  Hadn't he destroyed only two masks so far?  Perhaps this Atlantean guardian was even more determined not to suffer the fate of its brethren…  He couldn't concern himself with that, not when there was that horde barreling down on him.  His defenses were minimally sufficient against single attackers or long-range strikes, but an entire melee swarm was out of his league.

Their new speed was misjudged; the Deal Makers were upon him.  Like a debris-filled tornado it truly was, mask after mask colliding with him:  one in the arm, two in the leg, three in the chest, and a couple to the head besides.  All of the rocks and pebbles picked up heaped more insult and injury onto him.  His makeup was marked, worn away and replaced by red scratches.  Occasionally he could feel his boots scrape the ground, a moment's awareness of his position in the storm.  As close as he was to his target, his concentration had been scattered to the winds; and any offense he could have mounted would have been foiled in an instant by another mask.

More intense the assault became once he felt his back pressed against another mausoleum wall.  Constant slashes from a feral pack tore at his back and jacket with dirt being shoved in.  He could almost hear the leader's laughter over the scraping on the stone wall around him.

All of a sudden the storm let up a little bit.  Xanecirge was allowed to turn and see why before he collapsed to his knees:  the large, horned mask was descending to take its turn to attack.  He could tell this because the jaws were starting to spread.  Whichever of its cousins' attacks it was preparing to deliver, the clown wouldn't be able to dodge in time; the strength was no longer in him, as proved by his excessively haggard breathing.

Instead of light between the teeth, though, what met his eyes was darkness, a darkness descending into nothing.  "What in Bozo's name…?"  Another tornado-like wind whirled around him, but this one was coming from the large mask's mouth.  Actually, to be more accurate would be to say the wind was driving into the dark abyss!  His knees dragged against the ground, his body being pulled by the force.

Dodge a projectile he couldn't, but he could still move his arms and legs.  As he was forced to rise, he extended his limbs.  He couldn't thank his luck enough for being so tall.  His feet hooked under the lower jaw while his hands (with some difficulty to the one holding the accordion dangling) gripping the horns.  It was less a matter of strength this way but more a matter of avoiding the awkwardness.  Wait it out, wait it out…

Wait a minute, he didn't need to ride out this attack:  he could end it now.  His physical strength may have been spent, but his elemental energy was plentiful.  This power he channeled through his hands and feet into the mask assailing him.  All he had to do was shut it up to stop the attack.  Of course, the Deal Maker wasn't agreeing with this; he could feel the lower jaw quivering on his boots.

Xanecirge should have expected some resistance, especially since this was the first use of his element on an opponent where resistance could be applied.

What he couldn't have foreseen, though, was something else being brought to the Deal Maker's mouth.  Then again, it was only when this newcomer tugged on his jacket that he was able to see her.  'I have the briefcase,' he heard Carrie say.  There was no doubt in his mind that his head Carney was keeping herself safe with her arms unwrapped.

He saw when he looked down to her a device packed but never used in his performances in her hand:  a flash-bang grenade!  A "throw-away" (throw-and-draw-attention-away) gag meant more for adult gatherings, he was wide-eyed surprised to see it out now.  "You're using that?"

A nod was all the answer he got before she tossed the prepped grenade into the vacuum.  With something swallowed, the Deal Maker more compliantly closed its mouth.  Xanecirge and Carrie's shoes were free to touch the ground.

Carrie's appetizer didn't sit well in the Deal Maker's stomach.  The mask rattled as it returned to its prior position; the look in its eyes was one of nausea, just shaky indigestion.  Instead of vomiting, the mask exploded with a blinding brilliance!  The flash-bang had been amplified!

Something else happened besides the destruction of the large demon mask.  The shadows that Xanecirge had glimpsed before dissolved like the ashes of a burning wick.  Without these, the Atlantean mask's connections to the others, the swarm of masks fell like flies.  Some shattered instantly upon impact with the ground, but the vast majority remained intact (while lifeless) on the ground.

It was Carrie's self-assigned duty to take care of these minions of their enemy.  Her eyes looked upwards before she raised her arms and shouted, 'Alright, drop the hammer!'  Immediately the night sky was painted anew with portals of darkness that Carney after Carney escaped from.  Each one held a different blunt comedic implement, and each of these weapons bashed against one of the fallen Deal Makers.  It was like an orchestra of shattering ceramic, a symphony of catastrophe.  Once finished, the Carney army turned to their commanders, saluted, and back-flipped as one into their own dark portals and off the battlefield.

Enough time had been spent on the small fry; it was time to go after the (remaining) big one.  Xanecirge had just the hook and line to land it.  "Allow me to end this performance on a harmonious note," he said, stepping forward.  Rhythmically his hands parted and came together to weave a more comfortable sound from his accordion.  There was nowhere left for the Atlantean mask to run.  For all the pain he had been put through, he would hunt and put it down with whatever energy he could muster.

His target could almost sense his determination, his resolve.  As solemnly and silently as before it stayed with turquoise eyes locked on the clown.

These eyes were soon separated by Xanecirge's ridge of spikes.  The weapon was purposefully anchored.

Violence might not have been something that the Fool of Crushed Mirth condoned, but he had developed two techniques to "shut down" any aggressor too dangerous to let roam free (or otherwise necessary to eliminate).  This was the more… spectacular.

Another single note echoed as the clown compressed his accordion again.  Instead of reeling it in to himself, he used it to bring himself closer to the impaled mask.  The accordion's bare leather strap was held tight in his grasp (instead of a playing position), a secondary fist that Xanecirge delivered through his weapon to the Atlantean face.  The blow felled the besieged; an odd note sounded as it carried the accordion end to the ground.

He wasn't done yet.  Stepping onto the stone, Xanecirge's shoes alongside the accordion were still between the wide glowing eyes.  It was the much narrower part before him, however, to which he pointed his Carney minion.  Heavy as it was, Carrie agreed to hold it by its topknot of stone hair.

Thus prepared, the final stage could begin.  Xanecirge knelt down and brought the accordion together again.  A good deal of magic he channeled into it.  He took to the air once more after he released but before he compressed his weapon one last time.  On this compression, the spikes freed themselves from the weakened stone face to be held below the Fool.  Then came the fall.  The landing followed, accompanied by the great shatter and the resulting pile of rubble.

A great sigh of relief escaped Xanecirge as he regained his feet and his composure.  His accordion disappeared, and his minion stepped forward with her eyes on him.  He couldn't help but smile as he looked down at her.  "We did it."

The smile became an inquisitive look as he caught sight of something at her feet.  Once he knelt down, picked it up, and found out what the glowing bit was, the happy face returned:  the Atlantean crystal had been retrieved!  Now it was truly "mission accomplished".

'Are we ready to go?' Carrie asked.

Xanecirge stood up and gave the crystal to her for the briefcase.  To answer her question he said, "I do believe we are.  Let's go and get us some local cuisine."

Description
July 6, 2012.  It hadn't been since Christmas that Xanecirge had felt the opportunity to assist Organization Eternal.  The exchange had been a breath of fresh air, a grand icebreaker to begin the winter months.  But now it was summer, nearly half a year since the major events occurring in Atlantis had begun.  Whoever hadn't been a part of the "preliminary" preparations weren't able to catch up in time.

Until a few days ago, of course.  The Fool of Crushed Mirth had received word in the Organization's newsletter that more reinforcements were necessary to finish the mission.  Four entities akin to Heartless (out of the ten or so that had initially appeared throughout the worlds) remained to be defeated.  Apparently these beings were able to sense the conquerors of their comrades, hiding themselves from any of the Nobodies who had already defeated one.

This is where the reinforcements were necessary:  to eliminate the ones still in hiding.

Xanecirge had been one of the first to line up and take one of these mysterious bosses.  When he went to report to the Superior in his office, however, all that he found was a locked door with several trinkets adorning it.  "That's right," he realized, "Raxen took part in this mission as well.  He must still be out."

Looking more closely at the trinkets revealed them to be parts of the mission.  Four photographs (fleeting snippets of the targets) with attached hastily scrawled notes about them accompanied a necklace with a luminescent blue gemstone on the end of it.  The single word "acquire" was written in the center of the necklace loop.

Only one of the four bosses was he allowed/enabled to engage, most likely to collect another of these crystals; but which one?

'I like that one, it's colorful,' a voice said as a red-and-gray hand pointed to one photo in particular.

Xanecirge looked at the name of the selected:  "Deal Makers…  Are you sure?"

Enthusiastically his head Carney minion nodded.  The nearly painted smile of Lesser Nobodies always seemed more sincere on his own set.  It was infectious.

He even found one on his own face.  "Alright, then."  He grabbed the photo and the details regarding it.  They certainly were colorful, the series of masks making up the swarm.  Then again, they weren't exactly party masks, especially not the big one acting seemingly as the main face with their big teeth and horns.

What world would something like this exist in, anyway?  A quick glance at the gathered intelligence told him the answer:  "Port of New Orleans… an American-based world."  Being thus identified meant that it wasn't a medieval-class world, but would it be more modern or more rustic?  Such might not have mattered, though, given his preferred appearance.

Carrie looked up at him as he mulled over the details.  'Are we going to put on a show?' she asked.

Again the clown grinned, summoning his accordion to his hands.  "They will sing of our success," he answered, compressing the ends to produce a single melodious note.  The music continued as he marched to the Skyscraper's base level, through the doors, and into the streets before finally disappearing into a portal of darkness.

…

The couple of carnies stepped from their portal of darkness into a narrow alley.  At first Carrie looked up with an inquisitive curl to her eyebrows, but the Fool pointed her to the alley's other end.  "Don't you hear the music?" he said with a smile.  "Can't you smell the food?"  Anticipating her first answer, he picked her up and stepped over the garbage cans (easily) to bring her closer to the sensations.

He already knew them well enough, the freshness still in his ears and nose.  As they stepped into the city street lights (a modern world this was, then), the lively jazzy brass, and the spicy Cajun heat (terms he learned from the multicolored neon lights) became even more savory to them.  The Port of New Orleans was most definitely alive tonight.

With the amount of people and laughter, though, it seemed unlikely that their current target was out and about in this setting.  Things were too laid back, too carefree.

The activity levels also threatened their low profile; they weren't exactly trying to blend in.  That was, of course, until Xanecirge caught sight of other clowns, scattered troupes of street performers dressed in gold, green, and purple.  Like jesters they were dressed, bells and caps included.  'Look,' Carrie said, pointing them out.  'More clowns.'

Her guardian couldn't help but smile.  "Yes, it would seem that this world will treat us hospitably.  I'll treat you to a helping of whatever smells so good after we finish."

Of course, if their target wasn't in the city proper, then they would have to do some searching elsewhere.  It took some doing to locate a less-populated street in the maze of music and people, only to realize the nature of the first shop they came to.  No light shone upon the sign; it was hard to make out exactly what lay inside.  On the surface, though, masks like the ones he had seen in the photo were hung like museum pieces.  'There's a good chance of this shop knowing about our target,' stated Carrie.

"Indeed."  The photograph was already out of the clown's pocket by the time he walked through the doorway.  His Lesser wasn't far behind.

A bell chimed as soon as the door was inched open.  "Oh, customers," said a voice.  As the owner came into view, switched on the lights, and viewed her guests she added, "And colorful ones at that.  What can I help you with at this time of night?"

Their host was a slightly-heavy African American woman in her late fifties, Xanecirge guessed.  Deftly she moved through the shelves and racks, her outfit from the same theme as the interesting objects she was selling.  Not all were as intimidating as the ones they were interested in.  "We were wondering what you knew about these," Xanecirge said, holding out the picture.

"Let's see, then…"  Barely a glance did she give it before quickly looking up to the Fool.  "What would you clowns want with these mask frowns?"

"You know them?"  Xanecirge hadn't expected things to go so easily.

"There ain't a bug in the bayou that doesn't know these deal maker voodoo masks.  They're the real deal in magic.  The Shadow Man, '', even summoned them to increase his powers.  After he broke his end of the bargain… well, the proof is in the graveyard."

Chills were running down both of the clowns' spines.  The words might have been meant more as description than as scary dissuasion, but intimidated for sure was the Fool.  Even so, he pressed on.  "And where are they now?  In this graveyard you mentioned?"

"That's as good a place to start as any," was the answer.  The shopkeeper handed back the photo and added, "Be careful; keep the laughter alive and pure."

Xanecirge nodded with a grimace as he accepted the picture.  "Where would I find this graveyard?"

Turning from him the store owner approached her counter, picked up a pamphlet, and handed it to the clown.  "All of the 'haunted' spots of New Orleans are outlined on that map; my shop and the graveyard are identified.  You take care now."

"Thanks again for all your help," said Xanecirge with a gentlemanly bow.  Carrie gave one as well before they both left the oddities store.

…

With a world map in hand and new insight into their target, the carnies continued their search anew.  The main streets they elected to stay away from due to the nature of their mission.  Also, being clowns in this world was one thing, but appearing as tourist clowns was another.  Even sticking to their self-imposed long route, the graveyard was reached within the hour.

At first they didn't recognize it.  Tombstones he had been expecting, not plot after plot of aboveground crypts.  "Are people in this world really that rich, or is there another reason for all these…?" Xanecirge asked himself.  Either way, he walked through the iron gate to begin the search.  His above-average height allowed him a clear vantage point even above the many mausoleums.

Carrie wasn't so fortunate in this regard; not even with her hat was she as tall as one of them.  Still intent on helping her boss, she climbed onto one of the crypt roofs.

"Come off of there, Carrie," said Xanecirge as soon as he caught her.  "We shouldn't disrespect the dead."

'But I can't see,' complained the Carney.

The Fool held out his hand and coaxed her toward him, saying, "Come here, I'll help with that."  Her hand he took as he brought her onto his shoulders.  "Better?"  He could feel her nod her reply.  "Alright, then.  Tallyho!"  Almost at a gallop Xanecirge set off again.

Both clowns nearly forgot about their mission and surroundings in their game and their laughter.  The graveyard was ringing with the latter until Xanecirge slowed down from fatigue.

It was then that they heard it, the rhythm of the gallop steps continuing in the tune like a jazzy heartbeat:  "Bum, bu-bum, bu-bum, bum, bu-bum, bum, bu-bum, bu-bum…"  Immediately the Fool stopped and looked around; Carrie kept her eyes peeled as well.  What was it?  Their target?

Sudden a colorful streak passed betwixt two crypts in Carrie's sight.  'Over there!'

Like a turning totem pole Xanecirge faced the direction she indicated.  The invader was already gone.

From her new position Carrie saw another something moving through the shadows.  'There!'

Another foe appearing at random… the Nobody clown knew these tactics:  his Heartless had used them.  He had to keep his wits about him, not go chasing after every shadow.  Since he was the only one around to attract attention, whatever was after them would have to show itself to get close.  His accordion appeared in his hands for when it did.

The music construable as singing echoed from every direction.  Pinpointing any one enemy was impossible.  "Carrie, watch my back," calmly commanded Xanecirge.

Taking no offense from her boss's necessarily serious tone, Carrie's head floated off of her shoulders and turned around before dropping back into place.

Preparations were made.  All that could be done was to wait and assail them as they came.  He had a good idea about their numbers from the picture, but whether he could rely upon it had yet to be seen.  Where were they all hiding…?

Scanning his surroundings more closely revealed a detail that he hadn't noticed.  Their previous aimless wanderings had them arrive at a crypt personalized with more than just a name.  A relief of a face was etched into the stone, a head adorned with a top hat.  Was it that much a feature of the deceased man…?  Speaking of features, the overall portrait wasn't too flattering, the expression being one of fear.  The name below the face… hadn't he heard the shop keeper mention it?

Something else struck him about the crypt, more specifically the stone slab of an odd shape rising from behind it.  The more it revealed itself, the more familiar it seemed.  Full realization came when the low-set and wide-set aquamarine eyes loomed in the smooth rock face.  The same exact glow had highlighted the crystal sample!  This was the target mask!

A low hum resounded throughout the graveyard that emanated from the stone mask.  Movement like so many winds surrounded the clowns anew before their sources showed themselves.  A storm of color, a hurricane of horrific faces made its presence completely known.  "Carrie, we have our work cut out for us," Xanecirge nervously sighted.

Like so many bees coming in from work did the masks surround the glowing stone one, continuing to circle around like a tornado.  The other large face in the set retained its position towards the twister's top, acting as the head of the horde.

What Xanecirge wanted was the heart sitting in the eye of the storm.  With no more surprises for the time being, the Fool compressed his accordion with his hands as well as his element and aimed the spikes at the Deal Makers.  He kept his eyes on the main mask, keeping track of the time intervals where the others passed between him and the bulls-eye as well.  Wait for it to come around again, and… 'SPROING!' The trap was sprung, and a single drawn-out note accompanied the pressure-driven spikes.

The glowing eyes seemed to follow the incoming attack.  Xanecirge didn't think that it could do anything about it, but another mask rose up out of its revolution and caught the spikes in its face!

'That one was dragged out of its orbit,' Carrie noted.

"No wonder," said the other clown with realization.  "I thought I had timed that as well as my jokes."

It was no joke to the one controlling the Deal Makers.  Another hum like a growl sounded, and the masks serving as the twister began spinning faster in response.  Dangerous the tornado became, the winds whipping up small bits of debris and the masks carving more out of the tombs.  Fexyregof would have been furious with such disrespect to the dead.  (He was currently planning his treasure diving expedition.)

The destruction wasn't stationary, either.  As Xanecirge reeled in his accordion from the vanishing mask shards, the conical swarm crept closer and "climbed" down the crypt!

'It's coming for us!' shouted Carrie.

Her Fool of a master had to disagree.  "It's not coming that quickly.  We just have to stay away to avoid taking any hits."  He began backing up from it while keeping his eye on the two big advancing adversaries.

As soon as he began his retreat, however, another of the smaller masks was brought forth with its mouth open.  A pulse of light began to form between its separated jaws; it was preparing to attack!

There remained stone tomb walls on either side of him; the options remaining to dodge were slim.  In fact, they were a size one.  Still holding his weapon, Xanecirge compressed it two-fold once more before thrusting it spikes-down into the ground.  "Hang on tight, Carrie," he said.

When the mask was adequately charged, it shot forth a beam of energy at the clowns.  Xanecirge watched it come from his crouched position, releasing his holds on his instrument well out of range.  The express elevator quickly carried the clowns up and out of harm's way, the beam harmlessly passing alongside the accordion.  A sigh escaped the Fool as he rose.

As he neared the apex, the sigh became a gasp.  Yet another mask had been brought forth with energy of its own collecting in its open mouth.  The charging period was much shorter this time, as the energy was channeled into a single spherical blast!

Falling wouldn't be quick enough to avoid it, not for his assistant.  "Carrie, do you trust me?"

The Carney answered with a question of her own.  'You have to ask?'

Xanecirge's smile returned as he raised his empty arm slightly, beckoning her to clamber to it.  At the very peak of the accordion's recoil he turned and flung his arm back, throwing Carrie up while forcing himself down.  The energy bullet sailed between them, right where they had once been.

It wasn't long before the Fool found his feet flat on the ground again.  His accordion was back between his hands, and his eyes leered at the Deal Makers over his rubber nose and surly frown.  All of those attacks had been distractions for it to get closer to him and— wait, where had Carrie gone?  Did she teleport to safety, or was she attacked?

As painful as it was, he couldn't go off looking for her now.  All concentration was needed on the task at hand, unless he wanted to open himself up immensely to attacks from behind.  No, he would complete his mission to make this world safe, safe for its inhabitants and safe for his charges.  "Have at thee, you monsters!"

The Deal Makers seemed almost too happy to oblige.  Three masks came forward with open mouths and energy charging within like loogies to be hocked, dangerous loogies.  The sooner they spat, the less time he could spend to dodge.

Rushing the Fool made his move, accordion gathered in his hand.  Two of the masks released their blasts when he did.  Xanecirge stretched out to dive over them and used his accordion extension to keep himself airborne.  Neither attack even grazed him.  Confident in the attack of the final one, the clown Nobody went from a dive to a front flip.  He completed it while crouching with his weapon recompressed and held flat before him.  The spikes he zeroed in on the mask still charging (and more importantly stationary) before firing.  Still incomplete, the attack of the mask never escaped; the mask itself had been split right down the middle.

The cracks of light in this one revealed something that would have otherwise been impossible to see at this time of day:  each of the Deal Makers, large and small, was being "worn" by a shadow coming from the one in the center.  They were being directly controlled!

Enraged further was the stone mask, evidenced by the more intensely blazing eyes and the echoing roar it gave off.  Its underlings began spinning more sporadically, faster, and with a wider radius.  Their movement forward as a group also hastened considerably.

Xanecirge hadn't expected any of this to such an extent.  Hadn't he destroyed only two masks so far?  Perhaps this Atlantean guardian was even more determined not to suffer the fate of its brethren…  He couldn't concern himself with that, not when there was that horde barreling down on him.  His defenses were minimally sufficient against single attackers or long-range strikes, but an entire melee swarm was out of his league.

Their new speed was misjudged; the Deal Makers were upon him.  Like a debris-filled tornado it truly was, mask after mask colliding with him:  one in the arm, two in the leg, three in the chest, and a couple to the head besides.  All of the rocks and pebbles picked up heaped more insult and injury onto him.  His makeup was marked, worn away and replaced by red scratches.  Occasionally he could feel his boots scrape the ground, a moment's awareness of his position in the storm.  As close as he was to his target, his concentration had been scattered to the winds; and any offense he could have mounted would have been foiled in an instant by another mask.

More intense the assault became once he felt his back pressed against another mausoleum wall.  Constant slashes from a feral pack tore at his back and jacket with dirt being shoved in.  He could almost hear the leader's laughter over the scraping on the stone wall around him.

All of a sudden the storm let up a little bit.  Xanecirge was allowed to turn and see why before he collapsed to his knees:  the large, horned mask was descending to take its turn to attack.  He could tell this because the jaws were starting to spread.  Whichever of its cousins' attacks it was preparing to deliver, the clown wouldn't be able to dodge in time; the strength was no longer in him, as proved by his excessively haggard breathing.

Instead of light between the teeth, though, what met his eyes was darkness, a darkness descending into nothing.  "What in Bozo's name…?"  Another tornado-like wind whirled around him, but this one was coming from the large mask's mouth.  Actually, to be more accurate would be to say the wind was driving into the dark abyss!  His knees dragged against the ground, his body being pulled by the force.

Dodge a projectile he couldn't, but he could still move his arms and legs.  As he was forced to rise, he extended his limbs.  He couldn't thank his luck enough for being so tall.  His feet hooked under the lower jaw while his hands (with some difficulty to the one holding the accordion dangling) gripping the horns.  It was less a matter of strength this way but more a matter of avoiding the awkwardness.  Wait it out, wait it out…

Wait a minute, he didn't need to ride out this attack:  he could end it now.  His physical strength may have been spent, but his elemental energy was plentiful.  This power he channeled through his hands and feet into the mask assailing him.  All he had to do was shut it up to stop the attack.  Of course, the Deal Maker wasn't agreeing with this; he could feel the lower jaw quivering on his boots.

Xanecirge should have expected some resistance, especially since this was the first use of his element on an opponent where resistance could be applied.

What he couldn't have foreseen, though, was something else being brought to the Deal Maker's mouth.  Then again, it was only when this newcomer tugged on his jacket that he was able to see her.  'I have the briefcase,' he heard Carrie say.  There was no doubt in his mind that his head Carney was keeping herself safe with her arms unwrapped.

He saw when he looked down to her a device packed but never used in his performances in her hand:  a flash-bang grenade!  A "throw-away" (throw-and-draw-attention-away) gag meant more for adult gatherings, he was wide-eyed surprised to see it out now.  "You're using that?"

A nod was all the answer he got before she tossed the prepped grenade into the vacuum.  With something swallowed, the Deal Maker more compliantly closed its mouth.  Xanecirge and Carrie's shoes were free to touch the ground.

Carrie's appetizer didn't sit well in the Deal Maker's stomach.  The mask rattled as it returned to its prior position; the look in its eyes was one of nausea, just shaky indigestion.  Instead of vomiting, the mask exploded with a blinding brilliance!  The flash-bang had been amplified!

Something else happened besides the destruction of the large demon mask.  The shadows that Xanecirge had glimpsed before dissolved like the ashes of a burning wick.  Without these, the Atlantean mask's connections to the others, the swarm of masks fell like flies.  Some shattered instantly upon impact with the ground, but the vast majority remained intact (while lifeless) on the ground.

It was Carrie's self-assigned duty to take care of these minions of their enemy.  Her eyes looked upwards before she raised her arms and shouted, 'Alright, drop the hammer!'  Immediately the night sky was painted anew with portals of darkness that Carney after Carney escaped from.  Each one held a different blunt comedic implement, and each of these weapons bashed against one of the fallen Deal Makers.  It was like an orchestra of shattering ceramic, a symphony of catastrophe.  Once finished, the Carney army turned to their commanders, saluted, and back-flipped as one into their own dark portals and off the battlefield.

Enough time had been spent on the small fry; it was time to go after the (remaining) big one.  Xanecirge had just the hook and line to land it.  "Allow me to end this performance on a harmonious note," he said, stepping forward.  Rhythmically his hands parted and came together to weave a more comfortable sound from his accordion.  There was nowhere left for the Atlantean mask to run.  For all the pain he had been put through, he would hunt and put it down with whatever energy he could muster.

His target could almost sense his determination, his resolve.  As solemnly and silently as before it stayed with turquoise eyes locked on the clown.

These eyes were soon separated by Xanecirge's ridge of spikes.  The weapon was purposefully anchored.

Violence might not have been something that the Fool of Crushed Mirth condoned, but he had developed two techniques to "shut down" any aggressor too dangerous to let roam free (or otherwise necessary to eliminate).  This was the more… spectacular.

Another single note echoed as the clown compressed his accordion again.  Instead of reeling it in to himself, he used it to bring himself closer to the impaled mask.  The accordion's bare leather strap was held tight in his grasp (instead of a playing position), a secondary fist that Xanecirge delivered through his weapon to the Atlantean face.  The blow felled the besieged; an odd note sounded as it carried the accordion end to the ground.

He wasn't done yet.  Stepping onto the stone, Xanecirge's shoes alongside the accordion were still between the wide glowing eyes.  It was the much narrower part before him, however, to which he pointed his Carney minion.  Heavy as it was, Carrie agreed to hold it by its topknot of stone hair.

Thus prepared, the final stage could begin.  Xanecirge knelt down and brought the accordion together again.  A good deal of magic he channeled into it.  He took to the air once more after he released but before he compressed his weapon one last time.  On this compression, the spikes freed themselves from the weakened stone face to be held below the Fool.  Then came the fall.  The landing followed, accompanied by the great shatter and the resulting pile of rubble.

A great sigh of relief escaped Xanecirge as he regained his feet and his composure.  His accordion disappeared, and his minion stepped forward with her eyes on him.  He couldn't help but smile as he looked down at her.  "We did it."

The smile became an inquisitive look as he caught sight of something at her feet.  Once he knelt down, picked it up, and found out what the glowing bit was, the happy face returned:  the Atlantean crystal had been retrieved!  Now it was truly "mission accomplished".

'Are we ready to go?' Carrie asked.

Xanecirge stood up and gave the crystal to her for the briefcase.  To answer her question he said, "I do believe we are.  Let's go and get us some local cuisine."