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."