Ser Crusher

The Great Downwards Engineering Company was in the second temple. Gudmunds blood was still congealing. Tabitha was slowly flexing, trying to get the last of the stony stiffness from her muscles, when she spotted Mort kneeling off to one side. His hands were clasped in front of him, and he seemed to be softly talking to himself.

"Mort. MORT! What are you doing?"

Mort let out an exasperated sigh, and replied without moving. "I'm praying, what does it look like?

Tabitha stood motionless, thinking hard for a few moments before replying. "...prayer is unusual for you Mort. You usually just create a bloody mess out of a heathen then fist pump the sky, dedicating it to Balthazar as an after thought and... sort of leave it at that."

Mort clearly disliked having to explain something so fundamental. "Yeah, I was making faith coins. And now is a good time to spend them. Duh."

"Mort, that isn't how religion works..."

Mort finally shifted his pose, turning to face her. "Have you met our God? No? Well I have, so close your visor and go glare at Kruin or something. Geeze, respect my privacy"

"Ugh, the mouth on you sometimes." she muttered, before rejoining the group

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

"Dear Balthazar. This is Mort. Hi. How are you? That's good, I'm good too.

So, I don't know if you can see, but I hit more heathens for you. Shades killed the really bad heathen, but I kicked him a few times just so Orcus knew I meant business.

So, uhhh, the dudes said something about Orcus sending an army to go kill our people. I think he mostly wants to kill Shades' people, Shades being the Chosen One and everything, but Greyton is in the way and Tabitha thought it was a good idea to leave my horse in charge. YES TABITHA I'M TELLING ON YOU! Shoo, go away, I'm still praying!

Crusher is a horse and hes dumb and he wants to take over the world or something, but he's in charge so I would like to spend some faith coins and buy him some... somethings. I don't know what I can buy with faith coins. TABITHA, WHAT CAN I BUY WITH FAITH COINS? Okay, Tabitha is ignoring me. Can you like... make him shoot fireballs out of his eyes or something? Or grow lots of arms that hold axes? I think that would be useful. And while you're there, please make him a nice shade of blue so he matches my tabard when I ride him.

Okay I think Aggy wants to talk to me now so I had better go. I hope I can come visit you again soon, you have nice stuff to look at.

Lots of love, Mort."

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

Crusher had a big ego. No, that doesn't do it justice. Crusher had a massive ego. He was big and strong, super intelligent and a hit with the ladies. If he insulted you, you were to consider it a compliment, because at least you were worth that much of his time. With Mort and Tabitha out of town, he was in charge. The idea that there might be someone better suited didn't even occur to him. This was his god-given place.

However, while he would never admit it, his stomach did lurch ever so slightly at the news of the Unrighteous March. He might be 24 carat Awesome, but the idea of somehow using the ugly hairless mice who were looking up at him expectantly to defend Greyton didn't sit well with him. He studied them as they took the news of the impending doom and carefully masked his distain. Some of them were crying, some were grim and determined, others still were angry. They should be standing in rank and file, steel as far as the eye could see, ready to kill and trample thier enemies, not this huddled mass of soft weeping flesh. This was beneath him

Crusher snorted loudly and shook his head. He should be chasing chattle like this through burning fields and ruined towns, not plotting to somehow save them. He could remember some of his time spent raiding under Daarog - the smells of blood and fire, screams and roars, the bitter sweet taste of human flesh. That was how battles were supposed to be. Except this time, he's stuck on the side of the chattle.

"You. Horse. Why the long face? Hahahahaha, I kill me sometimes"

Crusher looked sharply around, looking for the source of the disturbance. Sitting on his haunches a few feet off was a Kyton - a leathery Devil with a huge grin, engulfed almost entirely in spiked chains. Rather than sitting dormantly though, the chains slowly shifted, writhed and lifted, almost like they were a nest of snakes. Held protectively in one hand was a longsword, clearly a prized possession, and one of the few other things currently on his person.

He swiftly stood and bounced on the balls of his feet a few times, enjoying the rattle of the metal links and the disquieting effect it had on Crusher. Noone else seemed to be able to hear it.

"I am Xelo'tah of Claire, here on behalf of The Patron, although I believe 'Balthazar' is the common name used here. Mortimer has uh... struck an odd bargain of sorts, and I am here to deliver our part"

Crusher just blankly looked at Xelo'tah for a few long moments, clearly a bit overwhelmed. "...who the fuck...?"

Xelo'tahs grin widened "My sincerest apologies, I mistook you for a creature of indelible charm and indescribable wit. Perhaps you can point me towards a horse with such an affliction"

"Look elsewhere and I'll kick your head in" Crusher said with a twang of a neigh "What do you want with me?"

"Let me cut to the chase. I, The One Xelo'tah of Claire, on behalf of The Patron, hereby confer upon you the vocation of Hellknight and all the privileges that role brings. Congratulations. You are assigned to the Order of the Scythe. Your rank and role shall be decided by the Lawbringer Grey upon his return. On the Lawbringers behalf, I wish to convey the following quest - " Xelo'tah coughed and dropped his voice an octave "'Lose Greyton and I'll make a new pair of boots out of your hide. And they won't be nice boots either'"

Crusher absorbed this tepidly. "This was not how I expected my rise to power to occur. Where are the fanfares, the apples, the screaming mares? The crowds of quaking slaves?"

Xelo'tahs grin faded slowly "Pomp and ceremony are nice and all, but sometimes you just need to find a hammer and hit a nail. Congratulations on your promotion, Sir Hammer, may you hit this nail swiftly and with conviction"

With that tibbit, he disappeared as quickly as he had come.

"...one fucking step and I will end you. I WILL FUCKING END YOU" Jaq screamed

Crusher watched the ragged forces of Greyton form up. "Every God has a humble beginning I suppose" he muttered to himself

Greyton

Tabitha sat atop the recently completed castle gatehouse and watched the activity unfolding in front of her. From her vantage point, she could see just over 2000 people scurrying around Greyton like ants - hauling, digging and building. The construction of Greyton was a task she had delegated to subordinates. She was nominally in charge and had provided some input, but ultimately her small team of city planners were responsible for this project. Since she had allocated all of the Castle labour to the job, she had about a month of free time on her hands. It was a rare treat, so she was quite happy to just sit back and keep half an eye on things.

The castle itself was set a hundred feet back east of the crossroads. It was still mostly mud, but was slowly taking shape. The sight dominating the scene is the massive hole in the center. The excavated dirt was being used to form the core of both the inner and outer walls, with the stone shells of the wall slowly being constructed around them. The hole itself was being shored up with masonry, forming the bottom two levels of the Castle.

East of the castle a large area was being cleared and cobblestoned. The existing temporary and semi-permanent housing was being reconstructed and relocated out of the area, ready for the new commercial district. String and stakes delineate the various plots in the areas surrounding the market square, with some small privately hired teams already starting to lay foundations and put up storefronts. 

She lifted her gaze slightly further to the north and she could see even more roads being cut. These were spaced further apart and were generally wider, more suited to a sprawling warehouse district. The area to become the warehouse district was unoccupied, so teams were going through removing the last of the tree stumps and other major obstacles before construction could begin.

Finally, she turned her gaze on the residential district running along the southern edge of the town. Large dormitories were being constructed in the eastern half in order to house all of the construction workers, while the western half was freely available for other residents to build their homes.

Tabitha shaded her eyes and squinted against the sun. She thought she can just make out the rivers edge from where she sat. It was mostly empty, but she knew Mirrax's engineering team was busy surveying the shore and drawing up plans for the docks.

The overall impression of the town however is not quite what you'd expect. Knowing Tabitha, you would expect to see a town laid out in a grid, where wide long straight roads would be the best and most obvious solution. Instead you have wide roads that suddenly narrow and wind through a sharp set of S bends, almost like a God has reached down, stuck his fingers in the earth in the middle of the town and has done a series of twists. Closer examination also shows all of the newly constructed buildings have flat top roofs edged with a low wall. Further more, occasionally rectangle pits can be spotted dug into roadways. 

The purpose quickly becomes apparent - there are no long roads cavalry can easily charge down, every roof serves as an archers post, deadfalls and blockades can be organised quickly and deployed easily, and all roads lead to the Castle with the stained glass Holy Symbol of the cathedral, visible through the invisible sections of the wall, acting as a rallying beacon. Greyton might be a merchant town, but it is also a military town run by Hellknights.

Tabitha sighed and stood up as she saw Mortimer approaching.

"Taaaaaabitha! Shades will be here soon, I'm off to get more doors and loot and stuff"

"Hold up a sec Mort, I'll come with."

"We shouldn't be long, its only a temple... Wait, what?" Mort did a double take

"You heard me"

Snookums and the Dominion Army 2

Snookums was seated at the table in his field command tent when Captain Irrie was announced by the guard and ushered in.

Not one to be towered over, Snookums waved her to sit on a cushion which usually put people on the same elevation as him. Unfortunately the elvish arcanist still had a good half a foot on him once she had sat down.

The General harrumphed and rose to his feet, not really changing the situation but at least feeling better about it.

“So, Captain Irrie. Ah’ve been watching you and yer unit trainin’ and I must say Ah’m impressed. Ah think the Lights have become a critical unit in tha Army, do ye agree?”

Irrie nodded, unsure what was even going on except that nice words were coming from a terminally grumpy dwarf.

“Good, good. So t’that end, ah’ve decided we need t’make a few changes. Tell me, who d’ye think would be yer best replacement, if something were t’happen t’ye?”

Irrie gulped and thought quickly, something she’d always been good at. “Uh, Makaquaran, uh, Sir.” Probably not as good at talking quickly, however.

“Maka… quaran... Maka…” Snookums mumbled to himself as he leafed through a stack of papers, “Ahah, the Dalish lass? Former bandit gang leader.. ah remember her, showed initiative in tha Forest War… ah, you actually wrote ‘er up for a commendation after tha Daemon War.. Ah should really make time t’read those things.”

Irrie winced briefly at that, but maintained her cool. Those weeks in the Jungle with Boko throwing mud at them while shouting “Fireball!” were still paying dividends. She noticed the General was still talking and tuned back in...

“Okay, So here’s how it is: Ah’ve got t’get some fresh perspective in mah command unit, and Ah think ye’ll do fine. Makaquaran will be taking over command of tha arcanists. D’ye think ye can manage t’teach her anything she needs t’know by this afternoon?”

Irrie nodded again, this time completely out of her element but batting back a tear of pride.

“Perfect. Dismissed, Captain. Talk t’th’ quartermaster on yer way out if yer needing any new gear.”

====================================================================

Tugging at a fraying thread on her “new” uniform, Irrie hurried to the parade grounds where the Army had been instructed to gather. She had spent the better part of the day talking to Maka and explaining why this promotion was a good thing for both of them. Maka was sure that she was going to forget everyone in the unit behind but eventually came around to the idea that the Lights of Zelkor needed representation in the Command Squad. She had also managed to confirm that Maka was paying enough attention during the drills and training to be able to lead the unit effectively. There would still be more to do to ensure the future success of their unit and Irrie was certain the General would want her to keep training with them.

Irrie reached the grounds just after the General and fell in step beside him, careful not to give any appearance of looming over him. Together they walked up to the small platform at the edge of the green where Makaquaran waited, nervousness writ large across her hardy features.

Captain Hammerbreaker, the cleric, her new colleague, banged his shield loudly and shouted the assembled troops to attention. He then stepped smartly to the rear of the platform with Irrie and Makaquaran and let Lord Shades take his place beside General Snookums.

Irrie didn’t exactly have the best view for the ensuing speech, but she could see her comrades and the glowing pride on her units’ faces was the new favourite moment of her life. She stared intently at her friends, her unit, her town, her home and did her best to fix the moment in her memory so she could savour it forever. The memory, crystallised and perfect, sat on a tiny shelf in her mind, next to two other small crystals: One; a white moment of childhood innocence playing in the snow with her mamma, and the other; a dense red ball of anger that she no longer needed to look at.

The General stopped speaking and applause broke out. Irrie smiled and waved before she realised that none of the troops were looking at her, rather Lord Shades was getting the attention and cheers.

As it turned out, the General had also announced that every soldier was getting a 5 gold bonus for the end of the year.

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"