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The ultimate question of just how to proceed was ultimately far and away from straightforward. She and the skeletons were in clear disagreement about whether or not she should simply be able to walk on out. From behind the safety of her tree she continued to watch the guards in their intricate patterns, pivoting from simple back and forths to mathematically intensive patrol exchanges. With increased frequency, she found herself needing to duck her apocalyptic mussed locks behind cover.
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Her wicked scheming came to an abrupt halt; if the alarm somehow got tripped again she needed to be in the good graces of someone who could decapitate a headless ghost or two. Taking her eyes off of the exit she awkwardly shuffled herself around the tree, looking back towards the start of this leg of their journey.
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She managed to catch the sight of Xibalba getting up to just that. Her eye shot back and forth between the large skulking man, and the skeleton wandering having been reduced to a fumbling minion. Her train of thought had been thoroughly derailed. Subverted expectations couldn’t be the end here, although she was disappointed that Xibalba wasn’t intuitively pulling Arnold vs. the Predator levels of guerilla tactics on short notice.
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Her moment of distraction could have easily have been her demise. The tree could barely contain the two, Xibalba’s sudden entry had nearly lost Esther her footing. Feeling her soul leap from her body, she dug her nails into the hanging vines, clenching her wavering spirit between her teeth.
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Breathless, and suddenly a bit pale, she attempted to regain composure by way of a sputtered breath. Giving a confused eyebrow to the limp skull at their feet, she returned to business. Where were they going? “Just over there, should be our way out, if these assholes weren’t in the way.” Venting her very reasonable frustrations. Gesturing towards the collapsed wall; a crack directly facing the blackened water of the Atlantic ocean, ebbing far more violently that Esther had remembered it. As if simply saying over there had tempted fate, a flash of light enveloped the crack, as just ahead of them one of the guards stopped and seemed to put all of their concentrated effort on overlooking the final scrap of ground they had to cover.
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Counting down the seconds until she no longer had to contend with the lengthy cooldown of her abilities, she took her knife in hand by the tip of the blade. Basing her movement on years of knife throwers both on and off of the TV she gave the knife a good throw towards their planned exit. The guard drew all of its focus, pacing towards the blade gleaming in the distance.
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Reaching down, she took hold of a simple rock. Giving one last confident glance at her cumbersome ally, she beamed one last smirk, “It’s now or never! Can you make a break for it?” She hadn’t given him a chance to answer. Tossing the stone behind the investigating skeleton, she, having gotten a grasp on the way her abilities function and swapped places.
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While momentarily flabbergasted by the sudden teleportation of her own doing, she snapped into action. Throwing her weight into a push, she flailed herself into the exposed back of the skeleton. Twisting horribly on its ankles, the skeleton lost all sense of posture. Stumbling down, it hit the rocky coast, its lantern smashing and then vanishing beneath the waves. Esther hadn’t nearly fallen herself, only keeping herself standing by the grace of her history in ballet, “Oh fuck, they really made it a cliff!?” She exclaimed, in something between a whisper and a shout.
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Used Switcheroo.

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Who in their right mind would have even considered that there may be seedy alleys located within the grandeur of Unison central. Whether Esther had carved out her own, or had even worse yet, deliberately chosen the scummiest piece of land in the zone, was a complete mystery. Still, against one of the slimy walls is a set of stairs, leading down into a raucous slice of half-baked neo-noir.



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Inside was a regular bar. A set of pool tables, dart boards, cards, an actual bar (thus the classification), and door labeled Esther. Unique was the bar’s population. Filled to the brim with characters of the most dubious characters going about their day in an almost automated fashion. Femme fatales held their booths smoking from their lengthy cigarette holders, large almost ork-like figures argued over the pool tables, and nobody ever seemed to notice whoever popped in looking for Esther.



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She was usually located in the very back, in her office. Most anybody who did one of her jobs would be directed here. It was a simple matter; she didn’t expect anybody to do anything for her for free. If they could survive the smoke and stink of the superfluous bar, then they’ve finally reached Esther, who happened to be both Estrada and Levin rolled into one.
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(Strapped for points? Your good pal Esther can help you get a little extra during your usual questing. As a Mastermind she can cook up neat little sub-objectives for missions. Currently her heists lead to extra points. Listed below are available heists, claim a job below and Esther will start a mission of your choosing for you or your party; she will generally not join, they become your mission, she is just the fence.)
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Available Jobs:

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Wohl's Chalice This chalice was a part of the collection of a certain family that had seen their fortunes turned to rubble. It contains their emblem chiseled onto its base. A crest with two wolves facing away from each other, and between them is a full moon. Complete an [F Rank] Heist in the [Paris Zone] to obtain. - Grand Opening Special: Will Award 50% of acquired point value to a solo, will split 75% among a bigger party.

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Magic or not, it beat having to run around for three hours until the chickens were out of breath, which Esther had considered. That wouldn’t have left much energy to deal with the farmer, who had all the candor of a spring chicken. She wasn’t sure why, but Esther always held a personal visualization of farmers as naturally sullen and broken spirited people. Clapping her hands together, she met his warmth with her own brand of joviality, “Evenin’ pard’, these friggin’ chickens are fierce, you sure you can handle’em?”

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Tristan proved perceptive, once again. He got his instructions and executed them without so much of an argument. Nodding after the exchange, Esther slipped into position.

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Timing herself with the enraged outside, she jumped straight into work. Her process was both inelegant, but hopelessly efficient. Angling the frame by holding it on her knee, she blindly groped along the back, getting a feel for how the painting had been secured. Along eight tabs, she counted seven screws. Without a moment of hesitation, she took to having her knife double as a screwdriver, nixing any warranty the frame may have held. Fighting against the clock, she chose to start at the steepest of the hidden screws first, getting the most frustrating out of the way before the pressure of time made them too much to handle.

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One by one, she dropped loose screw after loose screw into her free palm. Seven in hand, she slipped the blade between the painting and the frame ever so gently. Pushing the knife broad side up, she grinned upon hearing an audible pop. Slipping the painting free, she eased it out, taking great care to not scratch the surface. Taking no time to appreciate a job well done, she slowly tilted the frame back to the wall as if nothing had ever been framed.

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Slicing the tablecloth into two distinct parts, she scribbled a set of hills and a terribly crude, ill-fated quadruped that seemed designed to spark arguments. Fighting the urge to sign her name, she simply dotted the canvas with the smiling sun of a young child. Tucking the cloth into the frame, she supplied a dummy painting, a true switcheroo.

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Snatching up the last half of the tablecloth, which could now be proplely wrapped around the painting. Cradling her prize, she made her way out, her eye warily examining every part of her limited periphery. In the home stretch, a bit out into the woods. Finding one last bit of use out of her knife, she focused on a muddy brick that laid in the yard. With her own twisted form of magic she tossed her knife upwards, catching said stone. Back in the yard her knife sparkled in the barest of Northern English light, pointing away from the house. Her signal that all was clear.

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Frankly, she shouldn’t have been surprised when the severed remnants of old Javert had continued on without the ‘meat’ or their meatless body. Contending with arms crawling around on fingers, and a jabbering skull creeping her way. All at once, she was given far too much to take in. Her willing suspension of disbelief had been strained far too astray, and as if she was in a dark movie theater, she had to let her grievances be known, “Hey jackass, what’re you even gonna friggin’ do? Scratch me?!” Which Javert responded to by clawing at Esther’s ankle.
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Her jumpsuit had been torn. While her skin remained intact, she still felt an unusual, agonizing chill searing up her leg. Death rang coldly in her mind. Gritting her teeth, she responded appropriately; stabbing at the swaying, swinging arm. Finding it difficult to switch her moves up, shifting into a ruthless stomp. Already, she had reached the limits of what was available to her. Truly left with a challenge, she struggled to come to grips that she, a grown woman, had to contend with battling scraps of a ghostly skeleton.
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In her struggle, she had lost sight of what had been going down right behind her. Even with Javet, suddenly chomping down on the meager knife she had on offer, was not enough to hold her attention.
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Just as she had lost him, Xibalba, for his foot of distance, had made himself known. She hadn’t been prepared for a speech, or moreover, she wasn’t prepared for one so heated. The man’s vicious weapon had been intimidating enough, at least as far as Esther was concerned. Now, she was simply concerned, feeling an intense warmth against the whole of her back. Just drawing the damn thing should have been enough, setting the blade afire was one hell of an extra mile. Taken aback, she and Javert glanced, curious to catch a glimpse at the hell being wrought. Raising an eyebrow, “Whoa pal, just how tough are you?.” She asked earnestly, running her knife--Javert attached--into one of the crawling arms.
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Attempting to repeatedly attempt another switcheroo proved futile. Repeatedly, she was assailed by the cooldown window. For now, she was content to wildly stab at what remained of her persistent foe. All while her companion went through with what perhaps the most metal act Esther’s surviving eye had ever witnessed outside of a screen. Considering it wasn’t the most strenuous, she was able to apply her mind elsewhere. Mainly on the convenience they may have had, “Alright, once you’re done burnin’ those rags to ashes, I think I can sort a way out of here.”

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Tucking cans of Spider-Slayer into the various belts provided by her anime-esque barbarian furs, she felt a surge of spider-murdering confidence. It was needed, for the queen and her subjects were hot on her trail. Her time preparing was more than enough for the queen to catch up. Wounded, seething, and unimpressed, the queen made her slow descent from above. Fangs prepared to sink into Esther’s exposed neck.
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Esther had considered a few different one-liners to drop with this act of regicide. Dual-wielding cans, she forgot every single one of them as she sprayed the poison directly into the monster’s face. Unsurprisingly, she was unphased. She was enormous and those cans were mostly inert. Skipping directly to plan-F, Esther threw the can as hard as she could into the queen’s abdomen. Losing balance, she dropped down from her web, landing awkwardly on her back. Opportunity open, Esther issued a stock-standard coup-de-grace. Having anti-climatically defeated the queen, she determined by attempting a few different methods of checking the limp spider’s pulse. Awkwardly, she glanced at the remaining spiders, who quickly fell int a violent succession crisis over the crown.
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While they fought over it, Ester chose to simply take the crown for herself. With war going on all around her, she took her sweet time looking through the spices and condiments. Through the shelves of dried bottles of sesame oil, gochujang, she finally found a secret hatch in the floor. Pulling up a hidden lever, the mouthwatering smell of a well-kept spice rack found her. Lighting a torch she looked through the raided sacks until her eye was set on the one marked “McCornick & Company"
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Upon leaving the cellar, she stuffed the sack into a bag. Back on the surface a mess of spiders stood in place of the once small-time kingdom. Weeping, one little spider howled in a terrible despair in an expression of “what have we done?” In compliance with the parameters of her mission, Esther kicked the spider as hard as she could. On her way out of the front door, she offered the mission-giving NPC a simple spider-entrail enhanced salute, “’sall clear, Ms. Min-hee.”

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Scrapes, bruises, and a scowl dominated Esther’s appearance. The browns of her immodest furs were drenched in a colorful arrangement of bright greens, yellows, and deep purples. Using the blunt of her knife, she scraped excess entrails off of her person and continued to creep along the dreary spider-filled aisles of boxes. At no point in her life could she ever confidently say that she was a fan of spiders; she despised them, perhaps, she was even terrified of them.
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She was settling into things here, and for once, her expectations had been met. This wasn’t going to be a problem that could be solved with a can of Raid and a smoldering cigarette, like most of her spider-problems in the past. This called for a large blunt instrument, like a Warhammer, but she was lacking in that department; a knife was all she had. Nothing if not determined, she was getting plenty of milage out of her little beginner’s knife as the game so generously offered her when it went out of its way to call her a crook three times in a row.
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Her crooked eye and interest was piqued. The holes in the roof brought a spotlight down on one particular spiderweb, shimmering beautifully in the dusty sunlight. Esther, back against a box of prawn crackers scanned up and down the web. In its center was the largest spider she had seen yet; one the size of a dog in a kingdom of cat-sized spiders. Her understanding of game logic had her zone in on that as the boss, “Oh! Is that the queen?” she asked nobody aloud in a voice frayed by swears. Noticing a bejeweled crown gleamed atop the spider’s tiny head, “Yeah… that’s her alright.”

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“Ms. Esther? Perfect, Mr. Barakat. This joint is fallin’ apart, sure you can find some rebar somewhere.” She suggested addressing his concerns concerning his lack of a weapon. But the weapon had to wait. They had been found out, noise and its terrible consequences, didn’t need to be tested further.
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Wincing and continuing to move with a sense of urgency, she maintained her goal to try and lead the two through the increasingly unfamiliar complex. The audacity of its staff remained mesmerizing, “It’s gotta be an alarm, these jerks, bringing back prison of all things.” She groaned with a voice of raspy contempt. The soft clattering of ghostly bone on dusty concrete began to follow them, somehow making it over the continued wailing of the ghostly watchmen.
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Yet some time down the hall, one word finally caught up with Esther, and it wasn't the 'fancy' descriptor, although that did influence her line of thought. A life altering amount of amazing incidents had passed by the two. So far, nothing had even been on the cusp of what she would have previously believed. However, the last moment of this man’s memory was the proverbial straw downing the proverbial camel, “Wait!? Egypt? As in, 'Ten Commandments' Egypt?” Esther finally barked in a frantic whisper, well after the offending comment had been made.
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She had been working under the assumption that Xibalba had washed in from elsewhere, obviously. To her, elsewhere started out as anywhere in New York or even New Jersey. It was a diverse city, in a diverse era, she wasn’t stopped by a name that sounded exotic to her ears, she didn’t jump to him being from the other side of the planet.
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Her own peril seemed a distant thought. Stopping for a moment, “Hold the–“ She began a thought, only to cut herself abruptly as the whirling screech of the security head and the incoming grinding of rusty chains filled the halls. Balling her first and emoting with some traditional saber rattling she turned her attention backwards, “Shuddup, ya putz, don’t make go over there, won’t be nothing but a split jaw and pile of splinters.” She threatened, meeting her surviving eye with the vacant sockets of the ghost-camera. Perplexed, the head stopped its malicious wailing, although the damage was already done.
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The aforementioned consequences reared their ugly, ugly heads. Behind them it was clear that the first specter that plagued them, was more than happy to make a return. Ahead of them, threatened a another approaching shadow, secured on both sides by a pair of studier silhouettes, moving in brilliantly synchronized 24 frames-per-second.
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Esther, having been effectively countered by a variation on, “no you shuddup” did just that, grumbling a bit. Pincered between hostiles, with an open, partially woodland jailcell to their left, Esther's own options wore thin. Her inventory flashed across her face, as her own thoughts wrapped themselves up in 'What if I had a friggin' weapon' A dismissive wave of the hand had selected her "beginner's knife" which rudely shot out from thin air before clattering into the cold ground. It's blade flashed as it fell pass the cell, calling attention to a severe leak of light from between the leaves.

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