The Calamitous Bob

Laborers and soldiers alike busied themselves with the very last of the harvest. Tons of cereals were already in warehouses or ground into flour by Kazar’s mills. Only a few vegetables and some orchards at the edge of the forest remained, and they soon became hives of activity. The Kazarans collected the fruits as they ripened, defended the fruits while they ripened, and dressed and cooked the hare-like monsters who failed to break through to the ripening fruits. Marruk broke the yearly record of captured ‘harrans’ (the monsters) by seven and made a pretty penny with the pelts, not that she needed the money anymore.

With the harvest coming to an end, Viv proposed a vote on taxation. After extolling its necessity, they gave the citizen a choice between a small fixed part and a high percentage of their revenue, or a larger fixed part and a smaller percentage. It was basically a choice between being risk-adverse or not and didn’t make much difference to the city income-wise. What mattered was that people got a choice and the opportunity to discuss it. There was another round of massive, village-wide meetings and quite a few scuffles but that was liberty and politics for you.

The newly arrived Enorian refugees were included in the discussion but didn’t participate much. Most of them were abjectly grateful not to be made into slaves and being given food until they could develop their new lands. A few of the younger men and quite a few women joined the newly formed witch-pact corps of crossbowmen, now supplied by the Yries directly with ever-more polished ranged weapons.

The insular and distrustful people had decided to up their presence in Kazar. They were selling crossbows and armors in exchange for cloth and other goods. Viv had started stockpiling weapons in preparation for autumn, when a lot of soldiers would be free from the work rush.

They celebrated harvest day.

Viv didn’t have to do much. People had been doing this for ages and didn’t need direction. The same grannies and aunties who always did the thing did the thing. The same boisterous dads and grumpy, tender-hearted old farts mounted decorations at the ass-crack of dawn as they had for decades. Kazar took on festive airs and the fair grounds were once more the scene of vibrant preparations. At Viv’s personal request, their prisoners were even granted enough good food to handle their own banquet, after being told that it was ‘for decent behavior’. Viv sat at the place of honor while young lads and lasses competed in games of strength and dexterity for each other’s attention. She had to sit with a smile while the difference between Europe, which had pursued musical excellence for centuries, and Kazar, which had pursued survival, was made manifest.

For all their horrible flute plays, Kazar had a vibrant cultural identity, and they had claimed it with even more fervor since declaring independence. Soldiers and guards loved to add white, embroidered pennants to their armors so that every spear was a flag. A few traces of red dyes were appearing as well with the mountain tribes getting increasingly closer. Arthur had been given a special throne as the town’s mascot (she thought she was some sort of mayor). It was all very intense, but Viv was used to it now. You could only spend so much time taking care of people without genuinely caring for them. Viv was trapped in Nyil and she no longer minded that much. She only wished she could send a message to her family and friends. Tell them she was alive. And happy.

As the festivities were coming to an end, something unexpected happened. The head of the scouts, a dour man by the name of Michar, came to get her. He was unusually embarrassed.

“Yeah. So. I would like to know if you could be my witness.”

Viv froze in her seat and cast a dubious look backwards towards Solfis. The golem didn’t react.

“As in, for a duel?”

“No. I’m getting married.”

Michar didn’t strike her as a bridezilla so it was probably fine.

“Hm, I have no objections, I guess? When?”

“Tonight.”

It was already well past midnight.

“Now,” he insisted.

Viv’s paranoia woke up and flushed the last traces of sweet wine from her system.

“You’re fucking with me?”

Michar’s absolutely flustered face told the contrary. He was red as a beet under that slightly green skin tone. He also showed signs of deep shame, not the nervousness one would expect from a shit schemer and Michar was a shit schemer if there were any. He didn’t have a single cunning bone in his entire body.

“It was… sort of a last minute decision, Your Grace?”

“You unexpectedly decided to elope?”

“No, well yes, well, there is this girl. She’s not the most social one.”

“A Hadal.”

“Yeah. Their first generation. Anyway. We were fucking and I proposed. She said yes.”

Viv glared at the man and wondered what had caused his brain to short-circuit, and thought that to propose ‘in medias coitus’, or whatever it was called, was the height of dick-fueled retardation.

“Lead the way,” she offered with an annoyed sigh.

And he did. Right into the forest.

***

The Hadal base could be found through an unassuming grotto entrance decorated with some red flowers and entire bouquets of mummified beastling heads. It was a cavernous and maze-like underground structure with naked, grey stone walls, not a single fucking light and passages blocked by heavy doors. It was also silent. The weirdest thing was that it smelled good. Really good. Like laundry and freshly-made pastries. She could not feel a single hint of the dampness or cold one would associate with such a place. Even as they reached some sort of main hall, the scent became that of flower and soap.

There were benches in the main hall. They cornered tables loaded with half-eaten victuals but there was no one sitting there for now. Illumination was provided by a few gems embedded in a stone roof dotted with a few timid stalactites. Irao took the center spot, looking all solemn because he was standing straight for once. Marruk and Solfis had followed, as well as Arthur and they sat their asses on a bench on their right.

Irao seized a tiny bell and rang it once. It gave off a light chime that sounded much louder than it really was. Viv felt a rush of black mana. It was too confusing and fast to follow, but her danger sense remained silent and so did Solfis. She was not under attack.

Hadals were filling the other benches, appearing as if from nowhere. Michar stayed at the back and a slightly shorter woman materialized by his side. A dark veil hid her form and most of her features.

The room was still quiet.

“Viviane?” Irao asked.

“Yes?”

“I don’t know how to officiate a marriage.”

Restraining the urge to groan, Viv directed the two lovebirds to walk down the ‘aisle’ and busied herself humming Mendelssohn’s wedding march. She stood by Irao’s side and welcomed the pair with her most serious expression. For some reason, the atmosphere favored whispers. She spoke in a low voice.

“We are gathered here tonight to celebrate the union of first scout Michar and…”

She hesitated then, until a barely audible whisper floated by her ears.

“And ‘Hey’, of the Hadals.” (Hay? Hei? She didn’t know.)

“Michar, do you vow to take Hay as your spouse, to protect, love, and hold her…”

She did her best to make something nice and romantic. The rugged Michar was crying like a fountain, snot dripping down his nose.

“...until death do you part?”

“Yes, I do.”

Viv repeated the same for Hay who nodded vigorously. The ‘veil’ had turned out to be an unadorned white cloth. She was practically bouncing on her feet.

“Then by the powers I hold as the leader of Kazar, and in the name of all the light gods, I declare you husband and wife.”

Viv almost jumped when she felt something caress her spine, and an old pain woke up for a fragment of a second just as the blue halo of the gems above her took on a light golden sheen. It had worked.

“You want to add something?” she asked Irao as an afterthought.

The man pondered for a long time. Finally, his yellow, slitted eyes landed on the assembly. Viv knew that they were wearing dark colors but they were so coated in mana that she could not even discern their faces.

“We left. We gathered. Now we live, we choose, we love. I wish you the same. Enough talk, let’s eat.”

Viv joined in with the party but must have fallen asleep mid-way, because she woke up in the tower with a glass of water nearby and a small note written in an angular hand. It said: ‘thank you’.

A few days later, at the bank.

The door shifted under the pressure of tiny white claws and Tom Manitaradin’s eyes widened. He turned from the lobby desk where he was exceptionally present and addressed a shadow behind a potted plant.

“Fetch me Lan, please.”

The shadow was still a shadow a moment later, but it felt emptier and the statuesque accountant sashayed to his side.

Witch, now heiress, now mayor Viv’s companion strutted sinuously over the polished tiles. Its paws clicked merrily on the ground, and it was not long until its head popped up from behind the counter. A pair of malevolent red eyes settled on Tom. They used to be feral and murderous, filled with barely contained aggression. Now, they were cold and patient. Still murderous though.

Tom saw himself reflected in the slit pupils and pondered the strange intellect behind. The albino drake placed a full pouch on the counter.

“Change to gold?” Tom asked. It was the creature’s second visit.

Once again, an affirmative rune materialized above its head. Tom knew this to be impossible, yet it happened anyway. He made for the pouch and patiently counted the coins. Those were Enorian currencies, swapped against deadland loot at the temple of Neriad, he wagered. Prize for a raid.

By his side, Lan placed a hand over his shoulder to signify that she would begin. A pulse of mana erupted gently from the woman and those who were sensitive enough could have then guessed that she was, in fact, a priestess of Sardanal.

The god of wealth, growth, and insight was well respected in the north and she was strong enough to bypass an occulted status. Yet, she seemed to struggle. He felt the tension in her posture.

The creature’s eyes veered to his left as soon as she started praying. Again, an impossibility. In order to distract it, he picked up the owed golden talent and placed it on the desk with reverence.

The creature gave one last disdainful look at Lan before centering its attention on its newest treasure. Tom could see the pupils dilate with pleasure. It picked the talent between careful claws and inspected it.

Lan’s hand suddenly clamped on Tom’s shoulder with a ferocious strength, and only his experience stopped him from letting out a gasp of pain. He could feel her nails digging into his muscles, and a mild shake did nothing to calm the woman down. Tom managed to keep his composure through a supreme effort of will, although it was not strictly speaking needed. The drake had taken the pouch from its collar and gently, carefully placed the talent within. It turned and departed without a glance.

Sharp talons clicked on the tiles. The door opened and closed. They were alone.

“What was that about?” he hissed in anger.

“Dragon.”

Tom’s heart missed a bit. He gasped lightly, and felt tears well in his eyes from the sheer, mind-defying absurdity of it all. No, she was messing with him. This made no sense at all. No one on Nyil would be mind-bogglingly insane enough to— she was messing with him.

“Lan, this is not—”

“Dragon.”

***

Viv sprinted through the underbrush in a gait specifically designed to avoid getting caught by a root. She jumped between two trunks and felt her danger sense flare. The witch didn’t turn. A nope shield rose behind her back before she could really think.

A stone disappeared with a hiss.

“Shroud.”

A line of black mana hit the ground and a wall sliced up to mask her figure. The earth was twisted and pitted like an asteroid. At the top, towers of solidified gravel extended like gothic spires. The design was both alien and familiar. Another stone hit it a moment later. Viv was already off. She raced under low boughs, jumped on a stump and caught herself in the middle of a small ridge which she scaled an instant later. Short mana extensions dug handholds as she moved. She went over the elevation and blocked another stone. A line of trees blocked her path. A small burst of mana cleared enough foliage to let her through and right in the middle of a beastling pack.

Viv’s shock was extremely short-lived and she kicked the only standing creature in the jaw. She crossed through the trio of flea-ridden huts, then jumped down another ridge. There were boulders under her feet here.

“Sneaky Ghillie Lemon Squeezy.”

Viv’s shape was soon covered in an eldritch, tentacular coating of black mana. The mundane name did not express the unsettling appearance of the ever-changing armor. It moved randomly when she did, sometimes turning her into an inhuman beast. It had the added benefit of making it harder for others to spot her vitals.

Behind her, the angry shrieks of the beastlings turned into death screams. Time was of the essence. Viv took a sharp turn right and crawled silently under a thicket of pine trees. The shadows swallowed her and her vision was reduced to a narrow corridor. She looked up barely in time to find her path blocked by a thick webbing and a spider the size of a frying pan.

“Aw fuck that.”

The entire structure vanished in a cloud of annihilation magic. She bit her lip and kept going. Her thoughts were distracted. Specifically, they obsessed over a single concern.

“Please don’t jump on my back, please don’t jump on my back.”

Fortunately for her, the eight-legged creatures didn’t apparently live in colonies and she successfully made it on the other side. The trees were more spaced there, with tall ferns in between. Her goal was very close. Sadly, time was up.

Solfis landed in the middle of the clearing.

“Aw.”

//You did better, Your Grace.

//You have made some improvement.

“I stopped because there was a big spider.”

//Fascinating.

//However, your mistake this attempt was getting in the thicket while I had a visual on you.

//I killed the beastlings noisily.

//You should have guessed from the timing that I would see you crawl in.

//After that, it was merely a question of cutting you off.

“Oh.”

//You did scale the ridge with commendable speed.

//You blocked all the projectiles aimed at you.

“I’ll have to do better.”

Solfis tilted his head.

//If I may, Your Grace, I question your sense of priority.

“What, for training?”

//For spending so much time doing so.

“Didn’t I mention it? When the prince returns, we won’t wait for his siege specialists to lay siege this time. We’re fighting in the forest.”

//I remember you mentioning… guerilla warfare.

//I did not think that you would participate.

“Who else? Unless she dies, they will have a red mage.”

//Your path is not adapted to fighting in a forest, Your Grace.

“Neither is theirs. That’s why I’m training right now.”

Solfis took a few steps forward.

//You do not wish to slow them down.

//You wish to defeat them.

“Yeah, I have a plan.”

//Your knowledge of warfare might not translate well in our world.

“That’s why I have you and the others to go over it. Besides, remember what I told you about guerilla warfare?”

//I have logged the explanation you gave to Marruk.

//You define it as a smaller group of combatants engaging a larger, more traditional one through the use of ambushes, raids, sabotage and the use of mobility.

Solfis’ dry definition let Viv know exactly what the ancient war machine thought about those.

“Right, but at the core, guerilla warfare is about being a massive dick. And the people of Param already do it quite well.”

//We should build a traditional force.

“We will as well. That will be your job. Enough of that, time to regrow limbs. This is it.”

***

Viv had estimated that her understanding of change was sufficient to start experimenting. The first step was to perfect a diagnostic construct. In order to do so, she had grabbed the willing pair of inquisitors and the less willing Enorian earth caster, whose name was Lodan and who was a bit of a twat. The participants had gathered at an isolated guard house at the edge of the city for some tranquility. A large circular altar now occupied the center of the room, with Viv’s notes and books spread across a large desk set against the far wall.

Viv busied herself inscribing the four runes Orkan had mentioned and then recognized from her book. They would serve as a basis for their work.

“I am a prisoner of war,” Lodan screamed while she was working, “not some guinea pig!”

“Orkan volunteered. I just need you to smooth the stone between two attempts,” Viv explained curtly. She was still working and in no mood to be pestered. This was going to be a long session.

“Goodmother, I do not begrudge helping my fellow citizens in their captivity, but let me remind you that I am no stooge!”

“You have always been a lackey, Lodan. I’m just more transparent about it. Now you can help me willingly or you’ll be my first attempt at regrowing fingers. We clear?”

“Ahem,” Denerim interrupted. “What Lady Viviane is saying is that your participation in a project that will benefit all of mankind is greatly appreciated.”

The earth caster glared.

“Neriad will bless you.”

“I follow Maranor.”

Orkan and Denerim looked at each other, and then smoothly turned away.

Viv whistled.

The door opened and Solfis’ nightmarish form bent in like a stalking lion.

“I’ll help,” Lodan decided.

“I knew you would see reason,” Viv said. “Alright, I am done. Orkan, if you please?”

The inquisitor ambled smoothly to the stone.

“Should I undress?”

Viv considered the question.

“It would be nice but too distracting.”

“Wait, that's not what I meant!”

“Step in please,” Viv continued. She was in serious mode now. Orkan obeyed and Viv cast the spell.

Immediately, a rush of information threatened to overwhelm her and it took her unnatural willpower and mental strength to elevate her consciousness beyond the messy overload. The spell fed her details on, well, everything, and it required an instinctual understanding of the body. As it was, only her training as a medic allowed her to recognize that the blasts of lightning were nerves, pulsating fibers were muscles and the windy alveoles referred to the interior of the lung. While navigating the cascade of sensations, Viv realized that she had to dive back in to manage. She selected one at random and focused on it. The rest disappeared into the background like a muffled orchestra. They were still there, but muted. She felt around and realized that she could feel blood pass through it. Some things were added, some were filtered. She was in the liver.

Viv pulled back from the spell and blinked. Her cortex was not currently dripping down her nose. So she had that going for her. She felt less exhausted than she feared despite the fact that the spell Orkan had revealed was obviously tailored for a healing path and would have melted the mind of a lesser caster.

“Well, that was something. Orkan, I think that your healers focused on selected parts of the body, not the whole damn thing.”

“Oh yeah we had to place the wounded part of the table. Once, I was hit in the crotch. Made sitting down really awkward.”

He smiled. Denerim facepalmed.

“You might want to mention it next time. It was a bit overwhelming.”

“Wait, so you saw everything?”

Viv slowly massaged the bridge of her nose, declining to answer.

“Like everything?”

Orkan waggled his brow.

“I was in your liver, Orkan.”

“Aw.”

“Right, I need to draw again, this time with a smaller circle. Lodan, please.”

Viv removed her mana from the table and the earth caster wiped it before getting back to sulking. Viv ignored his sullen form and took out her silverite blade. It was time to draw again. The circle was now smaller and more focused. This time, she asked Orkan to only place his hand in.

Viv expected the sensory overload this time. She arranged the sensations in her mind and managed, after half an hour of effort, to split them by nature. She could feel blood traveling with deep thumps in the vein network, see the muscle waiting for a signal to contract. The nerves were long, complex strings. The bones pushed on, protecting their marrow. She pulled out later.

“Right, besides some scar tissue, your hand seems perfectly healthy.”

“Glad to know.”

“Okay. The base spell works, now I need to dig deeper.”

Viv picked the runes she had selected and incorporated them in her design. The next step was to ‘zoom in’ to cell level using the ‘smallest’ and ‘part’ glyphs. She kind of knew it would work because creating the spell was half programming and half talking to someone when you were not completely fluent in their language. If the glyphs made sense to her then they would make sense to magic because the glyphs were magic given meaning.

After a few tweaks, she managed to identify cells by type and visualize small packets like bone fragments or a single muscle fiber. It was far from the DNA-based healing she envisioned but she suspected that it would remain beyond her for a while. She would have to be content with regrowing a limb from another, for now.

The next step was to form an imprint of the limb and that led to another problem. She realized that the glyph she had picked, ‘image’, was insufficient. She needed ‘capture’ as well to keep the form in her mind.

“Fuck, I need to learn a new glyph.”

“Well, that’s it then,” Lodan said from the sulk corner. He stood up and stretched. Viv realized that Orkan was meditating and Denerim was boiling water for their lunch. It was already noon.

“‘That’s it’ my bouncy ass, we have a few busy days before us. Get used to it,” Viv grumbled. The Enorian sneered.

“Right, goodmother. As you say.”

Viv took a step forward, only to be stopped by Denerim’s hand on her shoulder. He shook his head.

“No slapping the prisoners of war even when they act like little shits,” he said with an apologetic smile.

Damn him and his anti-war-crime religion!

“Fine!”

Viv retired to her study corner and found what she was looking for in the book. It took some time for her to understand and practice the new glyph. Fortunately, ‘capture’ was a simple concept and she had a clear vision of what she needed to achieve. It took her an hour to finish. She ordered an incredulous Lodan to clear the altar once again while munching on a sandwich.

That was it, normally. She inscribed the whole spell and took a last good look at it. Despite her fumblings, the end result was streamlined and elegant with the last part being Denerim’s job. One more activation on Orkan’s hand left her confident that she could keep it in her mind, as well as mirroring it into a right hand.

She was ready.

“Let’s bring in the first test subject.”

She walked out and found a cage where a squirrel-like creature was waiting, obviously in some distress after being spat out by a dragon. Arthur had kindly provided experimental material against compensation (tastier meat). Viv brought the creature inside, used an anesthetic provided by the local apothecary and placed a tourniquet over the squirrel’s foot. Then she amputated it.

It was kind of weird to feel bad about it, considering what she had done to other humans. Humans were a bit shit though. Squirrels had done nothing to her, ever.

Viv picked up a cauldron from the corner of the room. It contained the slurried remains of a medium-sized monster called a scalehound, a nasty pack animal that lived in the forest. She wasn’t sure what the spell would consume so the unappetizing gunk contained every body part including the cleaned viscera.

It didn’t smell very good. At least a butcher had used a skill to preserve it.

She placed the cauldron on the altar and triggered the spell, focusing on the remaining foot. It took some time but eventually she got it all. The bones, the ligaments, the tendons, the veins, the nerves, the cartilage, blood, lymph… One by one, the elements added themselves to the incredibly complex interconnected construct that was a squirrel’s foot.

She had it.

An attempt to recreate the foot immediately failed. Her consciousness lost itself in the mass of gunk, but she found a workaround by putting a small amount of it in a nearby bowl. Slowly, carefully, she directed black mana to change goop into cells and proteins. It felt like it was taking ages, and the cells did not manifest immediately. Instead, the gunk solidified from a loaf of indistinct matter into a more and more refined shape. The circle proved itself vital as she would never have managed it without its support.

Eventually, Viv pulled back and stopped.

She had a foot.

It looked a bit ugly and not fully well-formed. It also lacked the hair of the original. It was still a foot.

She had built a foot ‘ex nihilo’.

“I did it. Now, we must..”

Viv shook her head when the three surrounding humans looked up from whatever they were doing. Lodan had been dozing off. Denerim and Orkan were cleaning their weapons. The sun was setting through the windows.

The squirrel was long dead.

She sighed.

“Patient is deceased. Time of death is… oh it doesn’t matter. Arthur?”

The bored dragonette climbed down from the roof and opened the door. Viv threw the squirrel’s body at her. It disappeared into her gullet with a single gulp. Runes appeared on the ground.

Cold

Not

Juicy

“Don’t worry we will have a proper dinner afterward. I think I’m done for today.”

Her mind was overtaxed. She acknowledged it despite her urge to go on. She was so close, so very close, and it had taken her very little time, all things considered. Just a bit of creative use of black mana.

Everyone packed up to leave. Lodan turned to her as the group was splitting up.

“You are still my enemy, woman, but I have to admit that you are an incredible mage. Perhaps your victory was not a fluke, after all.”

It seemed that it cost the Enorian some effort to say so. He looked a bit flustered. Viv considered telling him that she didn’t give a shit about his opinion then reconsidered. She still needed him.

“I appreciate your candor. See you tomorrow, Lodan.”

Best she could do.

Viv went back to the tower and crashed for the night. She was back at it the next day.

“Another squirrel, lady Viv?” Denerim asked, but Viv shook her head.

“I’m too slow rebuilding the limbs. It takes a lot of effort and I need to practice. I’ll make squirrel feet until I can do it in less than half an hour.”

Interestingly enough, the volume of flesh was not as important as the variety of constituent cells, which meant that building a human leg would not take exponentially more time. She worked strenuously at mass-producing the same rodent limb over and over for another three days before she felt confident in building another one. This time, she used a bit of flesh-mending potion to stop the bleeding and to give herself some time to work.

She was getting nervous.

It was stupid, but she was basically attempting a medical miracle by scamming the sentient planet and that felt risky, somehow. Now, here was to hoping that the squirrel would not turn into some fifty-meters tall flesh titan a la Akira. Fingers crossed.

Viv finished rebuilding a new foot, this one current-squirrel-compatible, and signaled Denerim that she was ready. Then she had to signal again because he wasn’t paying attention.

“Sorry, I was distracted. It’s been four days. Alright, here we go.”

The last of the three parts of the spell required him to reattach and heal the new limb to the maimed test subject. Viv sort of expected a deep, complex chant with like fifty stances and the secret forbidden name of Neriad which was made of fifty syllables in Hebrew. Instead, she got a phone call.

“Oh Neriad, you who shine upon those who fight to make the world better, I beseech you. It may look weird because I am healing a squirrel but bear with me, for we are furthering the cause of...oh.”

Golden light erupted from his skin with enough intensity to light every corner of the room. Denerim’s hair glowed and split like he had enough electricity in him to power a city block.

It kept going, there was more light.

Even more light.

Jesus fuck that was a lot of light. Viv hid her eyes and collapsed, suddenly struck by a terrible pain. Her head bashed against the altar and she fell backwards. The agony disappeared as soon as it had come, yet it left her a gasping wreck on the ground.

Suddenly, Solfis and Arthur were there. The golem picked her up and gently hauled her to her feet. There was still a lot of light and a certain heaviness in the air of the room. The unpleasant smell of gore had been replaced by a powerful clean one, like crisp mountain air. Solfis looked… careful.

Viv turned and faced the divine incarnation of Neriad.

The golden god wore the body and traits of the inquisitor, yet only an idiot could fail to see the difference. Its sheer presence filled Viv with the realization of how deeply insignificant, inconsequential, she was. His mere gaze was a physical weight upon her shoulders, and yet, for all its might, Neriad’s presence no longer hurt her. A thin golden halo surrounded his body without extending out. He was holding himself back for her sake.

Neriad took a step forward and placed his hand against Viv’s head. She realized that she had been bleeding from a gash when he reached out with a thumb and made the pain disappear.

“Ah, Viviane Saint-Lys, the outlander. We meet in person.”

His voice had a fucking echo.

“Although renewal is the domain of Sardanal, I know a thing or two about healing. I will grant my servant Denerim the rest of the spell. I applaud you for thinking out of the box.”

Viv opened her mouth and grunted something. She was tired. She was caught off guard. He was a fucking god. She could feel the overwhelming pressure coming from what could only be a mere projection. He was immensely, mind-defyingly powerful.

“Errr.”

The figure patted her shoulder.

“I will notify a priest that you require soul healing. In return, you will perform the limb rituals on my servants. You will see that generosity brings its own rewards.”

He smiled and it carried both humor and a bitterness as deep as the ocean.

“I must leave. Octas the spider bitch is trying to sink an island off the coast of the Vizim. My attention is required. Do you, perhaps, have one more question?”

Viv had many questions.

“What happened to me? Why am I here?”

Neriad closed his eyes and breathed in. Shadows crept back from the corners of the room while strange voices whispered at the edge of Viv’s hearing.

“You will not like my answer, I’m afraid. You were picked at random as part of a vast and ancient game. You have done nothing to deserve this. I can only tell you one more thing. Your family and friends are fine.”

Something in his voice felt… off. Viv’s old social paranoia woke up and she searched the god’s face for more.

“Completely fine?”

“Completely fine.”

Neriad had the carefully neutral face of a shitty liar, but he was telling the truth. It took Viv five seconds to figure out what he meant.

“Motherfucker.”

“Duty calls, outlander. I will leave you now. Keep an eye out east. I would be displeased if my wounded servants were to die, hmm?”

Neriad closed his eyes and Denerim opened them.

“Well, that was something,” the inquisitor said.

Then he slowly, slowly toppled backwards into Orkan’s waiting arms.

“I think we should continue tomorrow,” he said.

“That would be for the best.”

Viv watched the two depart. Arthur used the opportunity to chomp on the squirrel while Solfis kicked Lodan awake. The Enorian had collapsed during the incarnation process.

//A remarkable outcome, Your Grace.

//Personal visits by gods are very rare.

//Yet, you do not seem satisfied?

“Read between the lines, Solfis. Why would my parents be completely, completely fine? How could this happen six months after I left?”

//Apologies.

//Query returned no results.

“They think I’m still alive, Solfis. They think I’m still alive. How?”