Infinite patience

"Look, Mortimer, you need to listen to me. You have a lot going for you, but you need to learn how to use it right."

"But look, I can use it!"

"That's what I mean though. You look terrifying when you do that, but you need to keep that daft grin off your face. You look like you're about to join Gus' circus, not hammer someone into the ground"

"But it's fun! I can't help it!"

"You need to learn to help it. You need to aim for the 'I'm 350lb of focused rage' look, not the 'I just finished licking 3 frogs and snorted a mushroom' look. Okay, watch the mirror and go again. BY BALTHAZARS BALLS, didn't I just say to keep that stupid grin off your face?"

"But I'm so pretty. Look at my muscles ripple! Ripple, ripple!"

"That damn Tolah woman has been putting ideas on your head again. What did we say about that?"

"We said 'no ideas unless Tabitha approves and has budgeted for it'"

"And does Tabitha approve?"

"Well, your eyebrows say no. So do your eyes. Your nose is undecided, but your mouth is definitely a no too..."

"So, go again and lose the fucking grin...GODDAMMIT MORTIMER. I debate theology and military tactics with that horse of yours, and yet I'm struggling to teach you basic tricks. Perhaps he should be in charge here leaving you to run around free, rolling in shit and pissing in your own drinking water

"...fucking horse. I'll show him the back of my hand. And then I'll hit him with it..."

"Yes! Thats the face I want! Okay, go again..."

Mortimers Dozen

Brothers! Sisters! My little four legged fiery comrades! Today, I stand before you, not as an equal, but as your superior. Today, I look down on you with contempt and derision. Today, I am your God. I was born from the union of a dragon and a nightmare! My hooves shatter adamantite and my teeth can tear kraken hide!

But fear not my children, for the great Lord Mortimer has decreed that I demean myself and help you. He has decided that you are worthy, neigh, deserving, to be raised up to the level of slightly below me. I disagreed with him, but he hit me, so here I am. All praise the great Lord Mortimer!

I am to teach you great things! I will show you how to carry the pink skinned ones into battle! I will teach you all the tricks to get them surreptitiously killed or dismounted! I will describe in great detail and length all of the magnificent battles I have won! You will listen and be amazed! You will bite yourselves in shame, while dreaming of the honour of serving as my step stool!

But rejoice! You might be terrible but I am magnificent! Stay close, and my gloriousness may rub off on you! Listen closely and you too will learn how to spin miracles. Step close, and our formations will be tighter than Rombadazzles sphincter after hearing my name!

Open your ears, because this is the important part! Today, we form Crushers 11th Hellhound division!

We will be known by all who live as ruthless and bloody! Orcus himself will flee this plane in terror, lest he have to face us in the field! Thyr will throw open the gates of heaven and invite us to plunder its sweet flesh as reward! We will be horses amongst men, and we will live like Gods!

Keep these thoughts foremost in your mind! Remind yourself that you aren't as spectacular as me, but you're okay in your own way. And just remember, with just four legs, you can carry a man, but together we can carry mankind!

Now go, you smelly little bastards, and celebrate this glorious declaration! And damn, someone bring me a mare!

The circus comes to town.

Someone had decided that the best way to promote a circus is a smooth transition from mystery to substance. Hand-written posters went up around Dejune, announcing the impending arrival of "The Carnival of the Endless Dance".

The Aberdeenians knew what a circus was of course. Units from across the nation would put on displays of acrobatics and daring, with martial displays and the occasional honor duel. For some reason, ribbons featured prominently, and everyone would be amazed.

The monastic mountain Tengu knew what a circus was of course. Travelling monks would put on thoughtful, wordless displays, subtly attempting to teach the younger Tengu a little of their history and customs through dance and pantomime. For some reason, masks featured prominently and everyone would leave a little wiser and a little more cultured.

The Tsuen refugees knew what a circus was of course. Elves from distant lands came with strange tales and stranger creatures, and put on displays and shows that would amaze and delight. For some reason, songs played by unusual instruments featured prominently, and everyone would leave with a little slice of awe in their eyes, hearts and minds.

Knocking back her third mug of dinner, Falli Icesmith was heard to opine what a circus was. Dwarves from the old holds would travel across the country, and perform complicated plays and rituals hoping to instill what it meant to be a dwarf, in the divine sense. For some reason, hides of various cave-dwelling creatures shaped into costumes featured prominently. According to her, everyone would leave knowing what being a dwarf meant on a less literal level; what it was to be a child of the earth.

Dejune, however, did not know what a circus was. No one (besides Falli as she worked through a flagon of dessert) really believed that  "The Carnival of the Endless Dance" would be any of those things. They would just need to wait and see.

Dejune, being a young and rather unusual town, did not know what a lot of things were. "Winter" in Dejune meant that it was cold and the rain didn't know if it was going to be water or ice, but it was trying to make up for it with volume. Except on most Thyrsdays it would be warm and sunny, as Pangu's staff of weather control (augmented by Talisa’s tinkering) made the climate a bit more friendly.

Rumor had it that the circus was Frey's idea, as a way to boost morale after the horrors of the daemonic attack. Frey didn't move to quash or confirm the rumor, but her lyre playing that week had a certain portentous edge to it.

(you can listen to it here!)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AsD0FDLOKGA

As the days passed, more posters went up, promising "A day of enchantment" and "wonders not seen here before", which people broadly agreed was not unlikely. Young Tengu were seen stealthily putting the posters up in the dead of night, which at least showed some dedication to the atmosphere. As the day approached (the 338th day, to be precise), a space was cleared on the edge of town, and people collectively held their breath (and drink).

This was not to be a fair where people came from afar to appreciate Dejune and all it's cleverly priced baubles, this was to be a day where Dejune celebrated itself.

On the evening of the 337th day, the Circus Came To Dejune. Bright wagons rolled into town, pulled by horses and ponies and camels and a frankly distressing number of yaks. Someone, somewhere was sure that any circus without yaks was not a circus at all, and had hedged their bets against running out of yaks any time soon.

Animals came in too, but not caged or even really watched over; they had the slightly fat look of pets who were loathe to stray far from their source of snacks. Front and center were a pair of dire tigers and a cub. Some Engineers with an eye for such things may have recognised the female tiger as the one freed from Banth's enclosure; she and her cub look happy and have recovered well from their ordeal. A wooly mammoth (with its fur dyed a rainbow of color) was clearly enjoying the winter; a celestial monkey and a Dalish elf played cards upon its back.

Others creatures streamed on in, and it was not really clear if they were part of the circus, or had simply been swept up in it. A quartet of giant spiders huddled together for warmth around the chimney of one caravan. On the side were painted the words "Madame Esmerelda's Visions of the True Dance: Futures foretold, truths revealed, mysteries unveiled, hair untangled"

Behind them came the performers. Fire breathers, jugglers, and those who normally carry the titles "carnies" or "lovable rogues" or "Hey you!", depending on who was asking. Acrobats are easy to spot, every other sane humanoid had long since bred out the gene that demanded you do cartwheels in freezing mud.

Bringing up the rear was probably The Man Himself; surely no one else thought an entrance was best made on the back of a magically-enlarged elephant. Those who knew the term Ring Master would likely recognize the cut of this tall, gaunt human’s costume, though they would have to look past the constantly shifting colours, not a one of which could ever be described as subtle, or for that matter matching.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Rogues and Rakes, Boys and Girls of all ages, Come and join us in the Endless Dance. See sights you cannot believe, and some you should not. Hear fantastic tales and songs from lands beyond imagining. Learn what the whims of fate have in store for you or simply sooth your soul with a day of entertainment and joy. Everything you seek and more, you’ll find it waiting for you, in the Endless Dance.”

That night, the circus unpacked and then unpacked some more, then began to construct tents, stalls and dangerously high looking trapeze stands. Some of Dejune stopped to watch, others decided to get a solid night's sleep for the next day's events. Those who watched carefully however, could see the signs. The wheels of the wagons were worn and the animals tired. The winter had taken it's toll, and the circus was not about to leave in the next day or so. If Frey really had called the carnival, she was not paying them in coin, but rather in a place to wait out the freezing weather.

Thyrsday, the 338th day of the 1789th year of the age was a festive one indeed.

As one entered through the rather improbable iron gates, the atmosphere changed. Everything felt more alive. The smell of exotic spices and mystic perfumes mixed with the earthy scents of animals and well worn canvas. Strange music drifted by, at once soothing and disquieting to the listener. Men and women in outlandish costumes moved through the crowd, some selling strange foods or trinkets, others wetting other appetites with hints of the performances to come later. Every so often a beast would walk seeming unrestrained along an alleyway, scattering and yet thrilling the audience.

Those with the eyes and the minds to see past the costumes and the masks could see the machine at work. They could see the craftsmen keeping an eye on the tents and stalls and mechanical games. They could spot the security officers, making sure that no one sampling the exotic liquors got too out of hand, and that no outside forces decided to take advantage of the large and distracted crowds to enlighten their pockets. A truly canny observer could tell the entertainers, the jugglers and firemen and acrobats, from the true clowns, who played tricks on those not in the spirit and gave gifts to those who were, influencing the crowd and drawing them all further into both the carnival, and the magic of the day.

The main attraction was the Big Top (which the Aberdeenians recognised for what it was), where shows could be performed in relative warmth. The mammoth proved adept at flicking colored balls through hoops with its trunk, and acrobats performed on high wires while the tigers chased them around the tent. The tigers would nearly catch a performer, but at the last moment he'd seem to fall off a wire, only to catch a passing trapeze and swing to safety. Apu the celestial monkey worked some magic with cards, and told jokes. The jokes weren't particularly good, but it was bizarre enough that everyone laughed anyway.

As the acts continued, one began to get the sense that the gaudily dressed dwarf guiding the audience through the evening was not merely hosting, but was also weaving some grand story, something subtle but with a deeper subtext, like those heard far below the surface in time of the dwarves’ prime. Possibly it was just the overly dour clown who accompanied him, often acting as the butt of jokes and yet showing a nuanced control of the large whip he wore wrapped across his chest, control more suited to battle than performance.

A juggler asked the front row to give them their weapons; he would juggle everything he was given. A magical sabre proved too difficult, and the crowd averted their eyes when it was clear the poor man's career was about to come to a painful end. Instead, he exploded in a flock of small colorful birds. A magician hiding behind a pillar came out and bowed, and the real juggler came out and this time performed perfectly.

The carnival games were rigged of course; floating wooden ducks were to be hooked by flexible bamboo poles with a less-than-optimally-curved nail hammered through the end. Those fortunate enough to hook a duck (a copper gave you three goes) were rewarded with paper tickets, redeemable for prizes.

Still, there was something there; while the ducks were all worth a single ticket, some were much lighter than the others and floated high on the water. The children with sharp wits did well, earning more than enough tickets to afford a mid-sized hand-knitted stuffed animal or a wooden sword.

Another copper piece bought you two stones to throw at a set of balanced iron cans. The cans themselves were much more stable than they appeared, but a ticket was given for every third can to fall, rather than for knocking over the entire pyramid of twelve. The cleverer among the participants soon noticed that it was easier to hit the top three cans off one stack than it was to knock an entire stack down (a rather satirical commentary on greed, surely). Not all the rocks were equal; while they all grey and roughly the same size, some were much heavier than others.

The other games had similar themes; they were all games of skill, but not the skill that the game traditionally tested. Greed was punished, while cleverness was rewarded; the number of tickets being dispensed made it unlikely that the games were going to break even, considering the quality and workmanship of the prizes.

Madame Esmeralda was certainly...something, although opinion was divided as to what. Her caravan was decorated with the spiral of Pharasma, hearkening back to the time where the Judging God was also the god of prophecy and what was to come. She had a raven that perched on a skull (as is practically required by law), but her fortunes were a little too accurate and personal, people left her tent looking more than a little uncomfortable. She told fortunes with a crystal ball and a deck of (what she assured Talisa) was non-magical harrow cards.

That night, while the engineers relaxed at the Planar Anchor, Gus approached their table and turned to address Shades. He appeared to be a slightly rotund half-elf of fairly average height and unremarkable appearance, if one could first get past the costume, which would require either being blind or a rather substantial will save.

"You are the Lord Shades of Dejun are you not? The leader of these Great Downwards Engineers? We have heard many times of this Lord Shades and his Engineers, and it is with meeting him in mind that arrangements were first made with your most fine associate Freydan. But we are sorry, we have not introduced ourselves. I, am the great Gustavo Bambilla," at this the man bows an improbably deep bow while flourishing an implausibly large hat, "leader of the Endless Dance, and this is my adjutant Siegfried Royman. We have come to offer you our services in your merry little band."

The Diary of Sally Wossname

Day 1:
The atmosphere on this boat is amazing. The crew are excited to have Mark back on board, and he’s looking forward to getting away from those horrible adventurers and their sweaty caves. I hope this is the start of a whole new chapter in our romance.

Day 2:
Well Mark didn’t invite me up for breakfast, but then he didn’t spend the night with those two tramps either, so I count it as a win. I’ll drop in to see him in his cabin once I’m feeling a bit less queasy. The crew said it’ll take a few days to get my sea legs.

Day 3:
So much vomit. Why is there corn? I didn’t even eat corn!

Day 4:
I knocked on his cabin door, but he just growled and shout that he wasn't hungry. I don't think he's in a good mood.

Day 5:
Finally caught a glimpse of Mark in his cabin today, sitting majestically at his desk and poring over important looking documents. There were a lot of empty bottles around him. The tramps were busy chatting up the helmsman while I staked out a good vantage point in the shade of the sails. One of the crew was taking him his lunch while another carried a few unlabelled bottles. I do hope he’ll call for me soon.

Day 6:
He came out of his cabin today, walked straight up to the wheel and spun it hard to the right. He then shouted at the poor marine to “listen to the waves” and stalked back into the cabin.
A few minutes later the boy up on the mast shouted out about “rocks on portside” but we missed them. It was very heroic.

Day 7:
I’ve been on this boat a week and Mark hasn’t spoken to me yet. I’m beginning to think he doesn’t want me here.

Day 9:
The tramps have both taken up with Marines. They tried to hide it from me, but it’s so obvious. I’m the only one here that deserves Mark. I’ve started working in the kitchen so that I can volunteer to take his food to him once the crew let me.

Day 10:
He didn’t recognise me! Me!! I took his meal to him tonight, and he just waved me off to the sideboard and didn't even take his eyes off the letter he was reading. What could be so important? I noticed the crest of the Mirrax Marines on the reports on his desk, along with some maps of islands.

Day 11:
This morning I cleared my throat while carrying in his breakfast. He looked very cross but didn’t stop working on his map. I should have known better. Tonight I’ll just stand there quietly.

Saw him reading something with a terrible, horrible sketch on the side. Some monstrous bird with three pairs of wings. the paper was yellow, the writing all brown and faded. I could see a really old-looking Mirrax crest on the paper too. It turned my stomach but I stayed there for near half an hour watching him lose himself in his work. Eventually he stopped, took a long pull from a bottle that smelled like fermented jerky, and fell asleep at the desk. I let myself out.

Day 12:
This voyage isn't what anyone thought. Hearsay has us going all the way north to the Sand Jungles! The crew are nervous. Even 'Dirty' Lizzy stalks around the deck, but that could just be her normal demeanour.

Mark has started talking. Not to me, but to the room. He talks about some “Black Scar” being “the Source”, and that the Jungles should be prepared for the worst. It sounded like one half of a conversation. Why are we headed towards somewhere if it’s going to be so bad?

Day 13:
I heard Mark describing something truly awful today to his invisible conversation partner. Violent storms, death itself flying on six terrifying wings. He went into more detail about ship positioning and counter strategies but it was all too much. The next thing I knew, he was standing over me with a concerned, but hard, expression on his face. He called in some marines and they carried me to my bed.

Day 14:
The ship weighed anchor at Skor, and Mark threw the tramps and I off the ship. 'Nonessential personnel', he called us. I still think he feels for me, I could see the pain in his eyes and I knew he was just trying to protect us.

I hope he is OK up in the jungles...

I'm on a boat motherfucker

Ralph awoke with to the sound of a crash, a fitful sleep giving way to the reality of existence in this place; the whip scars, the hunger, the constant nausea, the hard, damp floor.

What was that crash?  It sounded like something large and wooden striking a hard surface with significant force.  What was Captain Scarlet doing now. Huh, what foolish derivative name that fool had picked for himself.  He was clearly no captain anyway, likely just some rich noble boy who's daddy had bought him a boat to mess about on with his friends for sport.

Well, what a sport he'd picked for himself.  He probably told all the whores he shelled out coin for that he was a great hunter of pirates.  Maybe they even believed him.  I bet he didn't mention what he did with the 'pirates' he captured - the torture, the forced fights to the death, the other things Lobar didn't want to think about but the screams from which echoed through this ruin at strange times. Was he doing it to gain favour from some hideous profane god, or was the man just some kind of freak who took pleasure in these things?  Ralph didn't know, and it didn't really matter.

Another crash came from somewhere in the ruin, followed by screams. What was he doing now?  He saw movement and from out of the darkness appeared a figure - a halfling man wearing a stupidly ostentatious hat.  Just like one of scarlet's men. "Right worm maggot, you're next!" he...bellowed?  There was something strange about that voice. Ralph didn't know many halflings, but he was pretty sure their voices didn't sound that...musical.  And that hat...?

"Get ready," the halfling squeaked "you're leaving!"  Ralph was about to ask when his thinking was interrupted by a minotaur charging out of the darkness.  A minotaur in a shiny silver breastplate holding a mighty sword.  It smashed into the bars of Ralph's crude cell, smashing them to the ground. As they fell a mighty laugh erupted from the monster.  "Last one, ahahahaha!"

With that the minotaur's form rippled and it was replaced with a woman.  The colour of her skin gave her away as a native of the sand jungles, though the colour of her eyes was strangely out of place, and her right arm...emerging from the padding on the edge of her breastplate her fight arm looked grotesquely swollen and was sickly white, in bizzare counterpoint to the rest of her skin.  She was wearing a black leather glove on her right hand, but with bare arms it hid nothing.

Somewhere behind her Ralph noticed other people, some of his fellow captives, gingerly following the woman and her halfling companion. "Ok, going now."  The woman said "That man in the red coat dead.  His coat was dumb, deserved to die for that, as well as doing stuff to you."  She laughed at her own joke, then kept laughing. She gaffawed at her not particular funny joke for a good 15 seconds before straightening up. "Ok, so let's move."  "I'll stop this act now."  Said the halfing, and faded from existence, in the moment before she vanished Ralph thought he saw a tiny woman with butterfly wings take her place.

"What's happening?"  Said one of the newly released captives.  "You free now," said the woman " we killed scarlet, but if you want, would be nice for you to come with us."  "Come with you?"  said Ralph.  "What do you want with us?".  "Sailors."  Said the woman.  "Me and Erika here"  she gestured vaguely in the air "bought ourselves a big nice ship, but didn't think about how we need a bunch o folk to sail it for us until after."  Another mad laugh emerged.  "Anyway, we need something to move things between the land and this island we have.  We don't really have money to pay, but we give you food and rum and place to live."

It was certainly an offer...

Dead Again

I am going to die.

Agamemnon perched awkwardly on the throne, his feet hooked into the elaborate arms of the chair, his back braced against the force cage.  He stared down into the dead face of Severin Aerim.  Ambient light, filtered through the damned red mist, played off his too-old eyes, making them seem like shimmering portals into the hellish planes.

The cleric looked around the room.  Betty, turning her back on the shuddering door she'd barred with her axe, gored at a banshee whirling like a dervish above her; Joq was bouncing off any surface he could find, including the cage of force energy, hurling himself through the air at the undead horror.  The banshee, potent though it was, was actually (finally!) having some trouble finding a way to adapt to the bizarre combination of airborne flurry and pure canny might that it found itself in the midst of.  Across the cluttered library space Shades had barred the door near him and was surveying the room, his sharp eyes glinting with that by-now familiar combination of fear and cunning: back against the wall, facing overwhelming odds, the Lord of Mosswood's adrenaline-fueled opportunism had kicked in, ready to strike at the first crack in the enemy's defenses.  Killingsworth was stood in place, his face slack and strained at the same time - the classic visage of a mind struggling for control of its own body.  He was still ambulatory, so it could be Justin had possessed the magus.  Agamemnon smirked at the thought of how obstreperous the ghost would find his friend's mind, and at the thought of how desperate the would-be king must be.  Agamemnon realised he was right: destroy Severin and the day was theirs.

Agamemnon looked down at the face of the old man.  There was a slight smirk on Severin's cracked lips, which moved as if he were trying to speak.  Agamemnon felt no surprised as a devouring mist extruded itself into the chamber.  He made a token effort to avoid inhalation but he knew it didn't matter.  He'd never really expected to leave the confines of the cage.  The devouring mist would take him, but not immediately, not in time to stop him destroying the parasitic Justin's anchor, and source of his power and the seat of his sanity.

Even as he felt his body shuddering under the sapping onslaught, as he felt his vitality ebbing away, he grinned even as he grimaced in pain, raised his sword and drove it into the head of the one-king of Skor.

I am going to die.

~~~~~~~~~~

Agamemnon opened his eyes and sat up stiffly.  His body was aching.  He looked around.  He was in a glade, young birch trees swaying in a light breeze, early-morning sun filtering through the slight clouds, making the world pale.  He rubbed his head gingerly.  He and Snooks had gone drinking one night in the Salty Sabaton.  The next morning he'd felt like this.  At least this time Snooks wasn't standing beside his bed yelling at him to eat fried pork and drink more beer.  Usually when you took rest on the Astral before passing to the place of your ending you felt no pain, but the last few times he had been here Agamemnon had increasingly felt the pain and the injury of his death.  He idly wondered why; maybe it was something to do with the weakening of the planar boundaries.

A few minutes passed and he realised the aching and the nausea were not going to diminish.  He rolled painfully to his feet and looked around.  He didn't feel like he was alone.  "Darach?  Are you here?"

"I'm here Grazh."  The Father of Elves smiled as he approached.  Once again he was a relatively average-looking elf, handsome but not beautiful, with tousled fawn-coloured hair and simple green spun clothing.

Agamemnon smiled back.  "I'm thinking of building a little cabin here.  Somewhere to entertain when I visit."

Darach-Albith nodded.  "I hear the Mirrax Marines offer fairly good death insurance.  Maybe you should consider it."

The orc laughed, but the mention of Mirrax brought to mind Killingsworth.  "Are my friends okay?  Did we win the battle?"

"Justin has been dispersed and the undead armies have stood down.  You can ask your compatriots for the details when you get back."

Agamemnon nodded, and examined the sky.  You could never see the sun in Limbo.  Sunlight, sure, but never the sun.

In the distance he saw, out the corner of his eye, a faint movement, a shadow that wasn't a shadow moving delicately between the almost completely still trees.  He tried to focus on the movement, but couldn't.  It was peripheral, ephemeral.  It was something he could always feel near him but never see coming.

"Why is she here?"

Darach Albith inclined his head in her direction.  "She is interested in you."  He seemed about to say more, then didn't.  After a moment he stepped up and placed a hand on the half-orc's shoulder.  "Grazh, what's going on?"

Agamemnon shrugged uncomfortably.  "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean.  Why do you keep dying?"

Agamemnon laughed, but it sounded forced even to his own ears.  "Rappan Athuk is a dangerous place."

"You weren't in Rappan Athuk."

"That's a technicality."

"Yes, and you're a liar."  The god was in front of him now, leaning down from a terrible height, looking directly into his eyes.  "What are you doing down there Grazh?"

Agamemnon tried to break his god's gaze, but couldn't.  Out the corner of his eye he could still see the Pale Lady flitting about between the trees, watching him, listening, taking an interest.  "It's scary down there, you know?"

"So what, you're killing yourself out of fear?  I don't buy it.  Grazh ul'Kesh doesn't flee."

"But it's nice up here.  We're all going to be destroyed anyway; I may as well end it up here, away from that place.  Dying to Orcus will be torturous, but up here?"  He looked around.  This fragment of the Astral lacked vitality but it wasn't unpleasant.  "Here we can just ... quietly cease."

"Fatalism?  Really?  Grazh ul'Kesh is not a fatalist."

"You seem to know a lot about what Grazh ul'Kesh is and isn't, elf."  Agamemnon was angry.  He got up and started pacing.  "If you know me so well, dear Father, why don't you stop patronising me and just tell me what the problem is?"

"Fine."  Darach-Albith was angry too.  The priest tried not to be scared by that.  "There is only one thing that Grazh ul'Kesh has ever fled, and that's himself."

Agamemnon blinked.  "Is that it?  That's all you've got?  Some metaphysical bullshit about the self?  I expected better."

"Really?  You expected better of me?  What sort of pathetic greenskin runs out on his friends because he's a widdle bit scared, eh?  Is that heroic behaviour?  Does that sound heroic to you, orc?"

"I never said I was heroic you son of a bitch," Agamemnon was trying to control his anger, but for the first time since his personal revelation back at Greenhome in the Dales it was taking him over.  "I was fine without you.  I was a half-orc eking out a living on the outskirts of society until you stuck your nose into my life and fucked everything up."

"Really?  You were fine without me, were you?  Tell me again what happened to Emi?"

"... you cunt."  Before he knew what he was doing Agamemnon had thrown a punch at Darach-Albith.  He wasn't even conscious of what he was doing, it was just happening, like it did before, he felt removed from himself, like he was watching for the back of a long, dark hall as his body acted on its own.

"I see you've remembered how to be vile, half-man.  I see you've remembered how to be violent."  Agamemnon kept swinging as the elf talked, but he was nowhere near connecting any of his punches.  "Now try to remember what happened when you did nothing."  An image of Emi's beautiful face popped into his mind.  He didn't even know who he was punching any more, he just kept charging the elf-god who stepped nimbly past him every time.  "Your inaction kills people Grazh.  Do you remember that?  Do you remember people dying because you wouldn't do anything to save them?"  Agamemnon could taste salt on his lips.  He was crying.  He thought he might be screaming as well.

"Now tell me why you keep dying!"

"WHERE'S MORT?!"  The cleric finally landed a punch to the god's chest as Darach-Albith stopped moving and stood there, staring at him, staring into him.  "Why did Mort leave me down here alone!  Where the fuck is Mort?!"  Agamemnon slumped to the ground.  He was vaguely aware of Darach-Albith moving to sit next to him.  "He was the orc I couldn't be.  He was strong, and noble, and then ... he left.  He just left.  I can't do what he does.  We need him.  I need him.

"And Snooks.  I'm not a good man.  I can try, but ... I'm not a good man.  Snooks ... Snooks was a good man.  And he died.  And then Kruin died, and left.  They all die, Darach!  They all die, or they leave.  It's hell down there!  You have no idea.  It's constant, never-ending horror, and pain, and fear, and I could do it, for a while I could do it, I thought I could survive, I could keep going, I could honour the fallen and protect the living, I could be that man, but then Mort left us, and we were trapped down there in the Bloodways and Darach I'm scared, it's just me and Shades now and then it'll be just me and I'll be alone and I don't want to be alone down there!"

~~~

The two men sat in the glade, looking at the vacant, peaceful sky.

"I'm not going to pretend I didn't point you in the direction of Rappan Athuk.  But I've never compelled you to go in.  I'm not that sort of god.  My friendship doesn't require your obedience, as should be apparent by now.  If you don't want to go back, don't.  Stay here.  Come to my Great Tree and don't return.  You will always be welcome there.  Or go back and be with your friends, and fight with your friends to try to stop what's happening.  It's your decision, Grazh."

Agamemnon nodded.  "Grazh ul'Kesh doesn't abandon his friends."

"If you're going back, go back to fight, and to win.  Don't be the weak link that the forces of destruction can use to tear apart the Great Downwards Engineering Company.  Do you understand?"

Agamemnon nodded again.  He lay down on the ground in the centre of the glade.  It was peaceful here.  He closed his eyes and listened to the faint rustling of the almost completely still leaves.  "Thank you Darach.  I couldn't see the problem until you showed me."  He paused.  "Again."  He listened for the approaching light that signaled the passage through the planes created by the divine magic of resurrection and let himself fall into it.  "I want to be with my friends."

~~~

I am not going to die.

~~~

The two gods stood side by side in the centre of the eternal glade, looking at the Astral sun that only they could see.

"He was obsessed with death."
"He was."
"He could have come to me."
"He could."
"You would not let him."
"No."
"Why?"
Darach-Albith turned to the Pale Lady and smiled.  "He's my friend."
She studied his face for an eternity.  "A good reason."

Yey or neigh?

Tabitha dropped the blank scroll and sat back with a sigh. "It is done"

Both she and Mort waited a few moments, watching in avid anticipation

Crusher slowly raised his glossy black head, and turned to look at them. Eerily, his lips parted with deliberate intelligence, his mouth opening slowly and a silken voice emerged

"Heed my words, mortals. You would do well to mark this day, for this was the day I ascended.

Know that Devils will think back to this day and prostrate themselves in fear. Angels shall weep blood and tear at their wings. Men will remember me with loosened bowels. Elves will stop in their tracks and sing their songs of mourning. Ogres will hold each other and wail. All will know of me, and that knowledge shall bring terror."

Crushers voice raised strongly, spittle flying everywhere

"I will walk all of the lands on all of the worlds. Trees will wither and die in my wake. Rivers will dry up. Mountains will tear asunder. Gods shall avert their gaze, as not to draw my attention. My merest touch shall destroy, and every breath shall kill.
All life in all the universes will gather to pay me homage. Mares shall line up to receive my seed, and my spawn shall form an army of hoof and flame. They will crush the spirit of all life ever. They will control it all, and they shall shape it and form it into something worthy of me."

Crusher dropped down into a conspiratorial whisper

"Consider yourselves fortunate, for you were the first to know of my glory. You two shall be amongst my most favoured servants."

Mort and Tabitha looked incredulously at each other for a long, awkward moment, before Mort abruptly landed a mighty blow to Crushers head.

"Shut up you stupid horse! Horses don't do stuff like that. You're going to carry me around and maybe bite people I tell you to, that's it"

Tabitha started to softly laugh "Sorry Mort, there is a reason why I don't dabble in the Druidic arts."

"I wanted Crusher to be cool and smart like that parrot Killingsworth has. You turned Crusher into a MASSIVE dick" Mort was arm-waving to emphasise

Tabitha was belly laughing by this point "Well, maybe it's just a bad first impression"

"Well, TURN HIM BACK!" Morts green face was turning a shade of purple.

"Whats done is done Mort. Channel that energy he has towards something useful and maybe he will turn out alright"

Mort sighed heavily before grabbing Crushers reigns. "Come on boy, it's time for you to poop"

"You shall yet live to regret your thoughtless words and actions, mortal" Crusher threatened

"Shutup. You used to be cool"

Mr LoverLover

"Hi my name is MORTIMER! Here have these flowers ILikeToEatDoYouLikeToEatLetsEatAtTheSameTimeSometimeIHaveKRERKYAnd...URGHH"

Mortimer awakened to find himself sprawled awkwardly on the ground. A bemused Lady Tolah was looking down at him.

"North gate, an hour before dusk. Remember to breathe next time, pretty boy"

She walks off, trying to contain her mirth

——

Ser Mortimer and the Lady Tolah were a short walk north of the city of Skor. They had found a secluded spot amongst some trees, and were silently enjoying the sounds of nature settling down for the night. The last rays of sunlight were filtering down through the leaves which were rustling gently in the quickly chilling breeze. The pair were enjoying a light dinner of krerky and aside from the soft sound of chewing they were sitting silently.

As the last of the light disappeared, the pair moved closer, the cold making them want to share body heat. Slowly they leaned in, faces almost touching.

“Lady Tolah?” Mortimer whispered

“Yes, Ser Mortimer?” Her reply was barely more than a breath

“Wanna arm wrestle?”

——

"I beat her 4-1 Aggy!” Mortimers face beamed with excitement. After a moment he dropped his voice to barely audible “I let her win that once, I felt bad for her”

Aggy studied his face for a few long moments before replying. “I wish that were somehow a euphemism. Are you seeing her again?”

Mort shrugged “Maybe. She said she might come visit our neck of the woods. I think she just wants to wrestle more. She isn’t very good at it though”

“Your mother has a lot to answer for…” Aggy said with a sigh

“WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT MY MOTHER?"

Who is that scruffy dwarf?

Not much good gets said of a dwarf who hears the call of the earth. Not even one with a mighty historical name like Dain Stoneheart. "Grashk'ruch' is what the other younglings called him in the wee mining schools, where he refused to swing his pick. Roughly translated into common it means " rockhead", or possibly "stonefish". Dwarfish is a tough language but what's important is the sentiment. Dwarves can convey a lot of meaning with a glance or a nod, neither of which were ever directed at Dain until he was nearly 50 and had been demoted so far that his lot was guiding tourists around the Hold. Not that his clan was thrilled at that either; he spent far too much time talking about the rocks and caves and didn't point out the masterful stonework of the central chasm bridge, or even discuss the golden filigree gates of the temple.

It didn't matter to his kin that Dain could move the earth with a thought; that's undwarfish. It didn't matter that he could hear the wishes of the stones; rocks were for breaking or carving. Dain found himself alone in the foreign land that was his home.

One might call it fate then, when during a tour attended by a Tsarian diplomat, there was an Aberration attack. Jumping quickly in front of the confused group, Dain coaxed the tunnel's rock walls into action and sealed off the passage, crushing the monsters that had almost reached him. The grateful envoy mentioned this to the Hold's Chief Engineer, who certainly didn’t keep his rank by missing opportunities. Dain was quickly promoted to Special Permanent Attache to the Tsarian Council of Magi and the next day found himself on the surface for the first time, headed for Tsar.

After a few weeks of travel sickness and sore hindquarters, Dain found himself even further out of his depth in the city of Tsar. Given no special duties by the clan and all but forgotten by the envoy, Dain was drawn to the sewers below the city, searching for a connection to the earth. These being the infamous catacombs of Tsar that he had wandered into, he was quickly set upon by an Aboleth. During the difficult battle, Dain found and drew upon the same power that he had felt back at home; the earth's power. As he channeled Nature's hatred of the foul creature into the pulsing stone walls of the sewer, something clicked inside him and he felt bizarrely peaceful.

Later, a guard patrol sent to investigate a possible cave-in dug his unconscious form out of the rubble. Captain Tolah remarked that she had never seen a smiling dwarf before, and that it was creepy. After they found the smeared remains of the particularly dangerous foe along the passage floor, Dain was quickly offered a new career that he took to with gusto.

Dain went back to that cave-in during his next day off and cleaned it up good as 'new'. He kept one small pebble, however, and hung it around his neck. When questioned about it, he just says that it keeps him safe.

Bettytaur making choices

---

All who walk under Mitras Sun are Blessed. Treat them with kindness and humility. Listen to their story and do not judge

---

You like it here, don't you dear?

BEST. THRONE. EVER. NEED MORE MURALS. ALL MUST KNOW MY GLORY

What do you think about this throne? Is it grand enough to match your majesty? Will you be happy to sit here for a while and let others bask in your glory?

I WILL SIT HERE UNTIL MY ARSE WEARS A COMFORTABLE RUT. I AM KING OF INFINITE. I CAN SEE INFINITE. BEST KING EVER.

That's probably true dear. You probably will be the best King this place has ever seen.

---

Walk in the darkness where-ever you can, for you are Mitras torch.

---

You know, this really is a big place. Its pretty amazing isn't it? What a grand kingdom you now have. Would you... suffer an old fools selfish request and let me stay here with you? I want to explore and find everyone. Plus, all kings need their trusted advisors you know. Its part of being King.

INFINITE PLANE. INFINITE PEOPLE. FIND THEM ALL. TELL THEM OF MY MAJESTY. ALL WILL KNOW OF MY GREATNESS

That's right. The more people I find and help, the more people you will rule!

---

Help those that ask for it. Offer help to those who need it. Understand that people are capable of solving their own problems, they might just need support

---

And after a while, who knows, maybe some of these people will want to leave and tell others of your benevolent rule. People will see how happy and healthy your subjects are, and they will want to come here and be your subjects too. Every day you will be the king of more people and they will all sing your praises.

YOU ARE A GOOD ADVISOR. I PROMOTE YOU TO CHIEF ADVISOR. YOU MAY HAVE A LITTLE THRONE.

---

Spread Mitras light to those who cannot see it. Let them bask in it, but do not force it upon them. Redemption is a choice. You can illuminate the path, but they are the ones that need to walk it.

---

I might even be able to help you too, dear. With a bit of work I could help you become healthy and well . There are other things in life aside from thrones and mur...

YOU SPEAK BLASPHEMY. I HAVE CHANGED MY MIND. YOU MAY NOT HAVE A LITTLE THRONE. I WILL USE IT AS A FOOT STOOL

Well perhaps that's something we can talk about later. For now, how about we let my companions out of here? They need to spread the word that the Bloodways have a new King, after all.

SO IT SHALL BE DECREED. SPEAK TO THEM

Anger is an energy

"I WILL ALLOW YOU TO RETURN KRUIN, BUT YOU MUST GIVE ME ONE THING"

The pale lady intoned in her eery hollow voice.

"Ok, what ya want from me then?"

"THE MORTALS HAVE LITTLE WE CANNOT MAKE OURSELVES, BUT THE FEELINGS SUCH FEEBLE BEINGS SUCH AS YOURSELVES EXPERIENCE CAN SOMETIMES BE USEFUL.  IN YOUR CASE, YOU HAVE MORE ANGER THAN ANY MORTAL HAS A RIGHT TO, AND I WANT IT."

"You want ma anger?  Fuck, if that'll stop this hurtin then take it."

With that the pale lady placed her hands upon Kruin's head and a vivid red flame burst forth from it, and from Skrillex, the tiefling appearing to be consumed by it. The flames swirled until they materialised into a form identical to Kruin, demon arm and all.

"What tha fu...what tha...what is that thing?"  The original Kruin spluttered, seeming to stumble upon her words, struggling to form a sentence.

"A SHADE OF YOUR ANGER.  YOUR BODY WAS OCCUPIED BY TWO SOULS AS IT WAS, I'VE TAKEN BITS OF BOTH KRUIN AND SCRILLEX AND MADE THIS. IT SHALL STAY HERE IN THE DIVINE REALMS UNTIL I HAVE A USE FOR IT."

"Wha...wha...why can't ah speak anymore, you...did....you...di...you take that away?"

"NO, ALL I TOOK WAS YOUR ANGER, AND THE MURDROUS PARTS OF SKRILLEX.  YOU CAN TALK FINE, YOU JUST NEED TO FIND A NEW WAY TO EMOTE."

"I...ahhh....bleh..."

"BEST YOU BE GOING NOW, AGAMEMNON IS EXPECTING YOU."

And with that the mysterious dark world around Kruin faded, to be replaced by a flash of white light and the rough stones of the inside of Rappun Athuck.  There was Aggy, looking concerned, always such a good friend.  "What, did I just think that."  Kruin wondered.  There were the others, mostly useless, but at least they tried.  "No, this isn't how I think."  Kruin said to herself....calmly?

Then she noticed the look on everyone's faces, terror at seeing Kruin.  She felt hurt.  "Why are my friends scared of me?"  But then she noticed the strange gossamer imaged around her, one of Erika's illusions, making Kruin look like a demon it seemed.  "Sill Erika"  Kruin thought, the look on her companions faces as the illusion dropped was amusing though.

The party made their way out of Rappan Athuck, Kruin saying very little.  Once they reached the surface she gave a throwaway excuse and stalked off.  "What now?"  she thought.  "I traded my anger so I could live, but my anger was all I was.  It was how I fought, it was how I performed magic.  What of me now?"  She felt powerless, for the first time in her life, though looking back she thought that she should have maybe felt that way more often.

"Where to now?" She thought.  "No one really respects me, I've not done anything to deserve that. Why did I not realise that until now.  They just fear me or mock me, what kind of existence is that?"

The glass island, surely the work she'd begun there was worthy of respect.  She headed to Tarrens Junction, paid a fishing boat to divert to near the islands shores and swam the last few hundred feat.  As she scrambled up onto the muddy shore, she smiled.  She had done something worthwhile at least.  Amongst what had once been blasted fused sand, small plants now sprouted, some in rows of crops, other just growing with irrepressible abundance of nature.

The forest people greeted her in their own odd ways, such a pleasant group of misfits. Up on a cliff next to one of Erika's illusionary watch towers she found Bogbrew swearing at a patch of seedlings.  "Grow you fucken useless weeds, grow you bastards or I'll rip ya out by the roots and chuck you into the brine!"  Kruin knew it would be effective.  He had even more of a way with anger than she did.

"Ahh, Kruin, ya came back I see. What ya bought us this time?"

Kruin felt guilty, these people sacrificed a lot to be out here, and they were used to being rewarded when Kruin visted.  Guilty?  That was new.

"Sorry Bogbrew, I haven't bought anything with me, Aggy and Erika didn't come, I got a boat, I'm...I'm sick."

"Sick, the slack ass weak little gods'll fix you up in no time. Oi, you little shits!"  He shouted at the air around him.  "Kill whatver bug this woman's let get inta her!"

"It's not that kind of sickness I'm afraid. I..." and she started to sob.

"What the fuck you playing at?  Stop being a weak little baby!"

"Bogbrew, I've lost my anger. I just can't feel angry anymore, no matter how hard I try.  And I can't do magic, I can't fight.  What can I do without it?"

"Hah?.  Well, we'll just have to give it back to ya"  With that Bogbrew threw his arms forward with a quick vulgarity and torrent or water sprung from the air smashing into Kruin, who stumbled perilously close to the edge of the sea cliff.  He ran forward and shoved her before she could regain her balance and she tumbled off the edge.  "Get mad fast and learn ta fly!"  he bellowed.

Kruin began to plummet but quickly turned her fall into a graceful arc, rising back up into air to land back on the cliff.

"See, I knew I could get you your anger back."

"Nahh, I'm not angry though, I know you wanted to help.  I just think it's hilarious that you managed to do something useful with that spell.  Every time I've done it it's failed horribly."  And she laughed.

"What the fuck?  Did you just cast magic by laughing?"

"Seems I did.  Maybe I don't need anger after all, maybe there's other ways to do this stuff..."

The trials of Ser Marrin

We're under attack!

Maxim, rally to me! To me! Mountain formation!

Balthazars balls, are those demons?

Where are they coming from?

Lets just get orientated first. Lieutenant, headcount!

We're down 3, Marrin!

Okay, not too bad. Anyone see the enemy?

Not me.

No sir

Not anymore

Alright. Square formation! Crabwalk towards Tabithas tent. Lieutenant, its dark, so you take the lead!

Yessir!

Uhh sir, I think I can see Tabitha. She's writhing on the ground, a couple of dozen yards to the east.

Does she look hurt?

Uhh no Sir, I think she's laughing

Oh Gods...

Sir? Does this mean I can go back to bed?

Romance or something like it

"What in the 9 hells was that? I had him! What got me?" Killingsworth looked around in an all-too-common mix of shock and anger.

"You should choose your allies more carefully" said the familiar-looking woman who...had always been there.

"Don't I know you?"

"Yes Mark, we met once before, when you were training under your first arcane master"

"Oh? Oh! Right. My first scorching ray spell. Good thing that master was rich, it made up for his failings as a teacher."

He sat down and immediately fell through the stool.

"Will anyone be collecting you this time?" She inquired politely.

"I should hope so, my current employer offers death insurance as one of her few benefits." Killingsworth busied himself trying to find his reflection in the mirror on the wall.

"Did you want me to stay with you until then?"

Having straightened his jacked over the gaping chest wound, Killingsworth turned to her and winked. "Sure, it's not often I get to spend time with such an attractive lady"

A fleeting blush on her cheek shone like a touch of sunlight on snow.

-------------------------------

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrgggghhhhhh gedditawayfrommeaaaaaaaaaagh"

"Hush Mark, it's ok. You're ok... Well, I mean, for a given value of ok."

"Aaaa- Oh, it's you again. Hello there, m'lady! You almost make that horrible death worthwhile"

"'Almost'? You tease!" She giggled like the clattering of coffin lids. "At least you have a good lot of friends with you this time"

"M'lady flatters me with her attention. Have you been watching me all this time?"

"Well, your new companions do keep me busy"

" Of that I have no doubt, now be a darling and fetch the brandy from my left jacket pocket"

-------------------------------

Once the pain stopped, Killingsworth opened his eyes and smiled. There she was again.

"Did you miss me?"

"Oh Mark, hopefully we have more time together now. Your companions look quite lost down here."

"Hah! Well let's make the most of it!"

Killingsworth embraced her, feeling her cool body against his, her hip bones digging into his waist.

-------------------------------

"You nearly had that dragon, you know?"

"Ah m'lady, you always know how to cheer me up. Twas a tough fight and my friends shall yet triumph."

"It looks like they are settling in to loot the island now. Did they not think to recall you to life first?"

"I'm sure they know what they are doing, securing the prize first. It's a solid plan."

"Now they've stuffed your corpse in the bag too!"

"Well, aaah how else would they get my body home..."

"But now they are unpacking and planning a feast!"

"Hmm, maybe they have forgotten me this time..."

"Ah there we go. Til next time, my love!"

"Adieu, my Lady!"

-------------------------------

This time she looked positively grim. "I'm not sure how I feel about this one. Does she really need to die?" She said while Killingsworth picked himself up off the floor.

"You know me, my dear, I wouldn't risk life and limb for someone that didn't deserve it." He brushed some dust from his uniform sleeve.

Her laughter rang out like funeral bells. Killingsworth always enjoyed his time with her, though he feared one day he may go broke and be stuck here.

"Oh, look Mark, that's new", she said, "This time an old woman is bringing you back, with the help of that birdman"

-------------------------------

"Back so soon, my love?"

"Ah, yes. I missed you! Nothing to do at all with being eaten by a wurm."

"Well maybe we will get some time togeth-WAIT come back!"

-------------------------------

To be continued?

Unidentified

"I wanted to be a wizard, once," said Agamemnon, staring down at the bones of another Agamemnon.  This one had the unmistakable markings of spell misfires down one arm, the sort of wounding all wizards carried, if they lived long enough, or faced danger often enough.

"Just to fuck with people?"  There was an elf standing in the corner of the small mausoleum, with his hands in his pockets, leaning casually against the wall.  He was a fairly average-looking elf, shorter than Agamemnon, with blonde hair and grey eyes, dressed in simple yet very finely crafted linens.

"To prove I could."  The priest grinned. "Although the thought of my fellow apprentices having to share rooms with an orc, the looks of horror on their faces at the indignity of it all ..."  He laughed.

"You would have made a good wizard."  His second companion, a short, human woman in a black robe, who stood in the doorway to the crypt, looking out at the trees.

"Absolutely," said he elf.  "I would have been fine with wizard."  He thought for a moment, chewing on his lip.  "It would have been less trouble, that's for damn sure."  He stepped up beside Agamemnon, peering into the simple stone casket at the cloth-wrapped skeleton that lay within.  "Not thinking of resurrecting him, are you?" the elf whispered confidentially.  "Only we've talked about that."

"Fuck off, you," laughed Agamemnon.  The elf lightly skipped out of the way of the punch aimed at him and bowed in mock politeness, spinning and, in one fluid motion, taking a swig from a hip flask before making his way to the open doorway, alongside the woman, offering her a drink.  She declined, but the two entered into quiet conversation.  Agamemnon didn't bother trying to listen in - it wouldn't have worked anyway, but he had other things on his mind.  So the mausoleum bore his name, true, a very uncommon name, shared by only four people in history, so far as he could tell: himself, first and foremost; the Agamemnon who was a soldier in the Righteous March; the portrait of the man he found in the historical text; and now this fellow, dead in a crypt that he probably fabricated for himself using arcane power.  What was the connection?  One Agamemnon was his namesake, a man he had named himself after deliberately, and the one in the book looked a lot like him.  But this wizard?  Clearly this man was not him - he was only a quarter orc, for starters, and had a very different face.  And yet here he was, buried a thousand years in the Stoneheart Valley and still here.  What were the chances that Mortimer and Fairweather would stumble across this tomb when falling onto the prime material?  Did something draw them here?

"It will be dark, soon."  It was the woman speaking.  Agamemnon hadn't heard her approaching but she was standing beside him, her porcelain fingers tapping him on the arm.

"It's only just past noon, isn't it?"

"That's not what she means, friend," said the elf, sounding more solemn than the priest had ever heard him.  He cleared his throat, rocking on his feet like he was eager to get going.

"If you're worried," the half-orc said, "why don't you help me?"

The elf reached up and patted him on the shoulder.  "You think I haven't?"

Agamemnon shrugged it off.  "Do you know who this is?" he asked, pointing at the bones.  The elf looked out the door at a bird flying past, not answering.  "What, do you need me to cast a divination?  Am I not pursuing the proper channels?"

The man looked across at the woman.  Some understanding passed between them, and he looked at the floor.  "I'm really not the person you should be asking."

"You mean you don't know?"

"It's ... more complicated than that."

"It's always more complicated than that," said Agamemnon.

"Yes," the elf said, angrily.  "It is always more complicated than that."

The half-orc felt he should be angry too, but he just couldn't find it in himself.  The puzzle was too intriguing, and he knew that if his friend could help him further he would already have done so.

The three spent some time - maybe hours, maybe less, maybe more - in the crypt, Agamemnon studying the bones for any missed clue, waiting for them to talk to him, to tell him who they were; the elf, sitting cross-legged in the corner, drawing spirals in the dust; the woman, standing in the doorway, watching as the sun moved across the sky.

Their reverie was broken when a small boy, playing too far from his parents' passing caravan, chased a lost ball into the crypt, tripping on the woman's dress and tumbling across the stonework until he crashed into Agamemnon's legs.  He rubbed his head, then looked up, terrified.  The elf reached out, picked up the ball, smiled to the child and tossed it to him.  The ball glowed golden in the air as it fell to be caught by the boy, who muttered a thank you and darted back out into the trees as quickly as he could.

Agamemnon grinned, then burst out laughing, and the elf joined in.  Even the woman smiled.  The poor boy had no idea with whom he had just shared a room.

Ad Vitam

Kubler closed his eyes.

~~~~~~

Kubler felt sunlight on his face, warming him.  There was a sound, in the distance; he would make it out soon, but the sound already made him happy.  The next sensation was the rough prickle of hay beneath him, and he crunched it in his hands.  He was sitting on a bale of hay, in the sun, and there was ... a sound, people, playing.  He would identify the sound soon, but he was already happy.  There was a scent in the air, hay, of course, and grass, long country grass, freshly scythed, and something ... buttercups.  They had such a subtle scent but at this time of the year, if you closed your eyes and let the tamed wind blow over you, you could inhale lungs full of cut grass and hay, and delicate buttercups.

Kubler opened his eyes.  It was early autumn.  The sun was still warm in the Stoneheart Valley this year.  There was work to be done to prepare for the winter, but for now he could relax - they could all relax and enjoy one of the beautiful days at the end of the growing season when everything was ripe and you could be satisfied with the harvest, knowing your hard work had paid off.

He identified the sound, and it was beautiful, but it also made him sad.  He looked out over the field.  Emi and Jez were chasing a rabbit.  The rabbit was quick, darting about.  Emi tripped on her skirt and rolled to a soft landing in the cushioning grass, causing both mother and daughter to burst into giggles.  The delicate sound of their laughter hit him right in the heart, and lifted him up.  It was a beautiful sound, and it made Kubler smile, and made him sad.

"Why don't you go to them?"

Kubler shook his head.  He watched his family scampering after the rabbit again.  They were never going to catch it, but it was fun to try.  "That's not how it works."

"I decide how it works."

Kubler slowly managed to take his eyes off the scene in the field and turned to regard the speaker, a tall woman in a black robe, her face bone white.  She was beautiful, and she made him sad.  "No.  You decide how death works.  You don't decide how life works."

The Pale Lady was closer, though Kubler hadn't seen her move.  "This is a window into what happens next.  This is where they are, in the endless fields.  They are happy here.  You could be happy here."

Kubler stared at his wife, Emi.  She was beautiful.  She wasn't more beautiful than she was in life.  She was as beautiful.  She was full of life, so vital, so happy.  He watched her face.  She wasn't perfectly happy, but she was happy, as happy as she had been in life.  It wasn't some idealised version of his wife, it wasn't some facsimile lacking the soul of his wife; it was her, and she was beautiful, and she made him sad.  As he watched a shadow crossed her face, and she looked around, searching.  She knew he was here, that he was watching.  She could never see him, but she could feel him, feel that he was watching her.  He ached to go to her, to run into the field, to pick up Jez and run with her, to hold his wife, to help them chase the rabbit, to fall down in the grass and lie in the sun and be happy.

"Kay!"

It was Agamemnon's voice.  He felt a hole open up behind him, a warping of the plane that tunneled back down to the prime material.  All he had to do was close his eyes, lie back down on the newly-baled hay, and fall back to the world.  All he had to do was stop looking at his beautiful family and be sad again.

"You don't have to go.  You know you don't.  Just die.  Die, and go to them."

Kubler shook his head.  He felt the cold fingers of the Lady on his shoulder but ignored them, wiping the tears from his eyes.  He took one last look at his beautiful family, and it made him sad.  "You don't die for the ones you love," he said, lying down on the prickly hay.  "You live for them."

Kubler closed his eyes.

~~~~~

Kubler opened his eyes.

The Pale Lady's deal

Those fools!  Hang me will they!  I'll have my vengeance! You fools, your spells mean nothing too me, you can't harm my mind!  That's the woman we need to kill isn't it?  Hit her hit her hit her! Skeletons!  no, just hit her hit her hit her!

No, you can suck life out of us like that but I can hit you, I can hit you I can...

HELLO KRUIN HELLO SKRILLEX

Who you, and who is Skrillex?  

IF YOU HAVEN'T NOTICED BY NOW YOU NEVER WILL BUT SHE IS EVERYTHING YOU WANT TO BE

Oh, you mean the demon in ma arm?  Don't care, she just helped me a kill a bunch of people, they really needed to be killed.  Fuck, ah died agen didn't I?  Oh well, can come back and get 'nother demon in me.  Sure that'll do something ussful, not sure why Aggy and Killingworth never use the ones they have...

NOT EVERYONE RETURNS TO LIFE IN THAT WAY KRUIN

What, that's fucken stupid, so much betta this way, why we pay for all them gems every time someone else dies then?  Why not just use the idiot with the sky on his ceiling?  So you mean if they bring me back I'm not going to get any new power?  That fucken stupid.  Also, shouldn't there be a line a people here waiting to have some smart ass god claim them?

I THINK YOU'D RATHER NOT GO THERE YOU'VE UPSET TOO MANY GODS NOW BUT I CAN SPARE YOU FROM THE FATE YOU DESERVE 

I don't deserve any stupid fate from gods, they're stupid and their followers are extra stupid.  Aggy going to bring me back and Orcus people and everyone else can keep bein idiots and...

THERE'S NO RETURN FOR YOU TWO I'M AFRAID THEY CANT BRING YOU BACK AFTER WHAT YOU'VE DONE

Now you shut up stupid lady you can't tell me I'm not coming back...

DO YOU FEEL THAT PULL THATS

Yeah, that's them bringin me back

IT KEEPS PULLING, ITS NOT NORMALLY LIKE THAT

Ok, you're right, stupid lady, it's starting to hurt now, what you want?

I CAN ALLOW YOU TO GO BACK BUT YOU MUST DO SOMETHING FOR ME IN RETURN

Ok, this fucken hurts, ok what you want me to do?

WELL...

A conversation

As Jaq looked up from his prayer's, he felt more than saw the figure standing in the dark. Though it's face was in shadow he could feel it watching him, studying him.

"I know who who you are."

"I know what you are." The stranger spoke with a soft voice, and yet there was great age and power behind every word.

"Then you know I have no fear of you, or of what you represent. Here, in this place, I have moved beyond such concerns." Jaq turned away, busied himself with the meager possessions his cell contained.

"I am aware. I was simply curious. My daughter often watched you and your friends, and even I found myself curious at times. Much has changed now that you are here. Your friends don't know, do they?"

"No. But they shall find out in time, of that I have no doubt. And I imagine you will be watching then as well."

"Most likely. We have our roles to play."

As Jaq moved to exit the room, a strange smiled played across the stranger's face as she slowly faded away.

The Pale Old Hen

The moon and the few visible stars danced between heavy clouds, as the night’s plum wine warmly buzzed in Hanabi’s fingertips. Ying and Chen, the two tengu Runners, were always good company at the Planar Anchor. The trio, along with Haku, had been celebrating the news of another group of refugees that had been spotted heading out of Aberdeen. Perhaps the lucky weary souls were friends? Family? Rivals? Either way, Hanabi was looking forward to seeing new but old faces out and about in Dejune town.

The night had turned into something particularly special when Graaahk, Taejan and some of the Dominion Army’s other Banshees turned up to the Anchor, assumedly on one of their rare free nights. The gargoyle was normally a reserved creature that tried his best to pass as humanoid at all times, but he knew how to let his wings down with a few stout dwarven ales warming his bones, that’s for sure.

Ying had offered to escort Hanabi home during the earlier hours of the morning, when all was said and drunk. It was a genteel but sort of useless offer, given that the shadows had granted her the ability to see through their darkness. She accepted out of politeness, but as it turned out, the Runner was more inebriated than he had previously let on. She ended up lugging him to his own home instead. Now it was just her and the chill embrace of the early morning. Well, that and a pale glowing figure some tens of feet away.

Hanabi rubbed at her magically gifted eyes and shook her sloshy head a little, but the figure remained. It actually reminded her a lot of the apparition of Shades that had manifested in Castle Calaelen during Bofred’s several failed attempts to resurrect him. Oh that whacky godling.

Deciding it was best to leave what could have only been one of Erika’s illusions, or an impressively large witchlight, Hanabi toddled on back to her home in town. She was surprised to find the lanterns on, and the scented candles for her tiny shrine to Thyr lit. She called out quietly, and heard a soft murmur from her spare room. It was a large room Hanabi kept free for any newcomers who were having a hard time finding a new home in Dejune, or were waiting for new housing to be built. She opened the door, and peered inside.

In the bed was an ancient tengu hen with brittle white feathers. Not the warm glowing white of the Winterfeathers spell, but the dull waning colourlessness of a cold campfire’s ash. Her greying beak was chipped and peeling back in places, and her eyes were opaque. She shivered under a heap of blankets, and didn’t look a day away from her grave.

Hanabi cursed something fierce in Elven, something about boils on a devil’s arse and Chen not warning her about this new roomie.

“I- I am so sorry. I hope I didn’t wake you,” Hanabi flustered a little, “…Is there anything I can get for you?”
“No, it is okay,” the pale hen rasped, “I will not be staying for long.”
“I can get a healer.”
“A healer will not help this time. But please, stay with me, I do not wish to be alone as the light fades.”

Hanabi pulled up a seat next to the waning hen, and held her hands in her own. They were cool and bony. She wasn’t entirely sure what to do or say, so she turned to what she knew best: the legendary tales of tengu folk hero Fairweather. Fairweather, the master thief who stole from the rich and the cruel, and shared his spoils with the poor. The cunning politician whose words alone tore down the slavery laws of Aberdeen. The master trapper who could catch a panther with nothing but the scraps and junk in his pockets. The sharp-eyed gun man who could shoot down a moonlight moth in a snow storm. The only consistent element of the Fairweather tales was that they were inconsistent, and that he always had some crafty way to turn the weapons of his enemies against them at the very last moment. Seeing the genuine delight beaming from the old hen's face, Hanabi added her own story of Fairweather the people smuggler, who thwarted the Aberdeenian Shens, and risked his very life to give others the chance to live a free life of their own. For laughs she also added the story of Fairweather the reckless adventurer, who saved his friends from a horrible vengeful cave monster by lobbing the torso of its fallen comrade at it.

“I think we both know that Fairweather died horribly in that story,” the hen laughed, and made the beaked equivalent of a smirk.

“I think we both know that Fairweather dies horribly in all of his stories,” Hanabi replied, but found herself talking to a cold empty bed.

Betty - Dealing with loss

Betty Hearthstone was writing a list of dwarven words on a chalkboard. The scrape and click of the chalk was soothingly rythmic and homely, in the same way a saw cutting wood or the sound of laughter of children at play is. She was listing words for facial expressions, while trying to avoid those accosiated with booze. She was muttering in dwarvish under her breath as she wrote.

"Smile. Frown. Sad. Hmmm, no, I can't use happydrunk or saddrunk. Mmmm. No, vomitdrunk won't do. Puzzled, I can use puzzled. But probably not confuseddrunk. Or forgetfuldrunk. Or fightdrunk. Sometimes I think the ale dwarves drink has more culture than they do, bless their rocky little hearts"

With a flourish, she finishes the last rune and turns back to her class. 3 small human children, two elven children and a tengu chick were sitting in a semicircle around her, charcoal and tablet in hand. A tall Pale Lady was standing at the back leaning casually against the wall. She hadn't been there a moment ago. Betty opened her mouth to question her, before her eyes widened slightly in recognition.

"I didn't think it worked this way, but I assume you are here for me" Betty said to her in dwarvish. "Let me finish with the children before we return to The Forge"

"What did you say Ma'am?" One of the children piped up

"I'm just talking to my self, sweetie." she replied. "It's what old ladies do sometimes. You know what, I was going to teach you some new words today, but I think I have changed my mind. I lost a friend of mine a while ago, and every now and again I think about it and it makes me sad. Have any of you ever lost someone important to you?"

"My dog went missing once. We didn't know where he was for a WHOLE WEEK!" Charlie, one of the human children exclaimed.

"Did you feel sad when he was gone?" Betty asked

"Yes, very. I cried and everything. But I was happy when he showed up again. He was dirty and smelt bad, but I was still happy"

"I'm glad you found him again, Charlie" Betty said. "What about you Yorokobi?"

"My uncle died" Yorokobi replied sadly. She was one of the elvish refugees

"In the fighting? Thats sad. Were you close?"

"Yes. He taught me how to fish. And he used to tie my bag shut using a knot I didn't know just to annoy me"

"He sounds like he was an interesting person. Do you still like to fish?" Betty asked gently

"No. It reminds me of him and then I feel sad"

"Well, I think you should try to go fishing again, even if you feel sad. It was something you shared. He mightn't be here anymore, but you can still be close to him"

"I guess so. I just don't like feeling sad" Yorokobi looked on the verge of tearing up

"Being sad when you lose someone is part of what makes us what we are. Its okay to feel that way. Besides, while he mightn't be here any more, you still have a relationship with him. You still share things with him. You have things of his that you can use, like fishing and knot-tying, and through that its almost like he's still around. Death only wins if you forget about him."

"I won't forget" Yorokobi promised

"I'm happy for you" Betty said with a smile.

When she nextlooked up, The Pale Lady was gone.

The tale of The Pale Lady and Jerky

"So let me get this straight. You want me to follow you? And write and sing songs about you as you travel? And you'll pay me a gold piece a day to do this?"

Mort nods gravely

"So when do we start, Ser Grey?"

-------------------

By the time Mort reached the fort of The Order of the Nail, he had accumulated quite the entourage. There was Sheer, the human bard (who was extolling the virtues of Mortimer in a battle he had never actually been in), Holly and Molly, the gnomish bodybuilding twins, a three legged cow named Limpy, thirteen chickens and a rooster, and a pale lady on a white horse.

The Pale Lady was softly spoken lady of advancing years, who Mort found to be incredibly morbid. Perhaps she was just fearing her own imminent death, but all of her conversations eventually ended up back there.


"That's a nice scythe. Where did you get it?"

"Which one? I have two you know" he said. You can almost feel Morts pride flex a bicep

"I have heard of Dacris. I'm interested in the other one"

Mort perks up "Oh, I call it Mothers Kiss. I bought it off some dickheads. I redesigned it myself though, it used to look all boring and stuff."

"I see. I suppose you kill a lot of people with that scythe"

"That's sort of the idea. It isn't there just to chop my jerky you know. Although it does that well as well"

Sometimes you either question what Mort says, or just roll with it. After a moment, the Pale Lady decided on the latter. "Why do you fight? Aren't you afraid you're going to die?"

"I've died before. No big deal. It always gets fixed"

"Your death gets 'fixed'?"

"Yea. People chant things and wave things around and it gets fixed. Except Laniss, he died and we couldn't fix it."

The Pale Lady pauses for a moment. "Maybe he isn't actually dead... But anyway, isn't your death something you are afraid of?"

Mort shrugs. "No, not really. I mean, I may die one day, but that isn't today's problem"

"So tell me then Orcling, what problem today is more important than death?"

"I'm trying to work out if a three legged cow makes better jerky than a 4 legged cow. You see, a three and four legged cow both have the same amount of soul material, but a three legged cow has less body material, so the tasty soul material should be more concentrated. So it should taste tastier." Mort was gesticulating so enthusiastically by this point he almost slipped from his horse. Perhaps it is time for some ranks in ride.

"If I understand your meaning then, death is indeed today's problem. It just isn't your death that your thoughts dwell on"

Mort thinks for a few moments before replying "I guess so. Food is death, and death is food. So sayeth this wise Greylorian"

"I suspect there are entire religions that would be mortally offended by that comparison..."


It was a long journey.