Random Stories and Fragments

Eric looked at Samuel with concern as they walked to a nearby hill. “What drove you to spend so much time listening to that idiot confessor? Next thing I know, you'll start ranting to every passerby who so much as litters that their souls will forever burn in hell for their failure to repent their crimes!” Samuel shrugged, then quietly said, “he was interesting.” “Interesting! You know who else was interesting? Dirty Tom the Mad Beggar! Remember how he used to rant about there being horrible creatures lurking beneath the waves, monsters demanding sacrifice, how 'that is not dead which can eternal lie,' all that crazy stuff? Just because someone's interesting doesn't mean they're worth listening to! Gods!” “Dirty Tom did predict that tsunami...” “Pht! He predicted a hundred tsunamis, and every time one didn't come, he said it was because he'd saved our town by offering sacrifice to his Overlords!' He got lucky, that's all! But enough about Dirty Tom and that Confessor. The way I see it, the biggest difference between the two is that one smells better.”

They had finally arrived at the hilltop, from which Eric looked upon the newly captured city for a few moments. They could see the entire city, and while Eric merely looked upon it like a conquerer, Samuel noticed new geometries in the city's design invisible at ground level. “You know what I really love about being a battlemage?” Eric said suddenly, and then answered his own question. “The freedom. I mean, obviously, you have to march with the armies, and take orders from your commanders, but otherwise, you're free to do as you like. Town mages have to keep all their spells running, smile for crowds, usually enchant weapons en masse... all we have to do is blow some stuff up and after that, we can run naked through the streets for all the army cares.”

Samuel nodded, but his mind wandered back to the incident with Father Moses. “You didn't have to be so rude to Moses. I didn't agree with a lot of what that confessor said, but he wasn't actually a bad person underneath all that religion.” “He'd thank me later for freeing him of his delusions,” Eric responded. “Religions are all the same. Con games. I think the Grigori are right. I'd even join with them, if they had a hope in the Hells of surviving their war with the Mercurians. What was it their leader, Cassiel said? Something about gods killing us for the fun of it. I'm not about to sacrifice my freedom and soul to some great being in the sky that doesn't care about me if I'm noy furthering his cause. From Agares to Junil, they're all the same. They won't let people be free. But that's all I want. Freedom and happiness, and if I have to choose one, give me freedom.”

“Freedom...” Samuel sighed. Freedom was one of the most important of Lanun values. Anyone hoping to reach any position of power in the Lanun empire had to be sure they didn't risk looking like they would take away any amount of freedom. “We live free,” many a Lanun said, “we die free!” The Lanun took great pride in this lifestyle, forgoing the comforts available to others on Erebus simply to know that they had freedom, when others lived as serfs or slaves in one form or another.

“You know,” Eric said, “they're afraid of us. The Bannor, I mean. They have mages, but their mages are carefully controlled, treated like creatures not to be trusted. Fear drives everyone's lives. Except ours. We aren't afraid of anything. We don't fear the unknown, because there is nothing to fear. We know what demons we can face, and which ones we cannot, but we don't fear any of them. That's the trouble with people these days. They're controlled by fear, but there's nothing out there to really fear! There are a million opportunities for greatness, but people dare not take them because they are cowards, who don't have the freedom to leave their comfortable lives and do something extraordinary simply because they're scared of the risk it requires them to take. They enslave themselves. That's how the gods like it, I say. They like mortals to be constantly afraid, so they don't get too great. So they don't think for themselves.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the Lanun captain who was serving as de facto commander of the city. “Alright ladies. You can gossip later. You, Eric, you're on watch duty. Fry any Bannor armies that appear from out of the jungle. Samuel, you got the pleasure of guarding the Bannor dungeons.” “We're mages, not ordinary footsoldiers!” Eric complained. “Sorry,” the captain said, “'til the Land Admiral arrives, duties are chosen by lot. No exceptions.” Eric sighed. “Bloody stupid.”

The Bannor dungeons were remarkably clean. While most of the prisoners, and indeed, Samuel's fellow guards, slept, from the far end, Samuel could hear someone singing quite beautifully while playing a guitar. “So I fled the palace / ran as fast as I could / as the Balor rampaged...” then the singing ended, and the singer grumbled, “No, no... still needs work. What's a good rhyme for 'could?' Actually, I should probably rewrite that section...”

Samuel went over to the last cell in the row. The ones by it were all empty, and apparently had been for a while. “So, who in Tali's name are you?” asked the man inside the one occupied cell at the end. He was a short but good-looking middle-aged man, with a boyish gleam in his eyes. His cell was filled with books and instruments, more like an apartment then a prison cell. “Samuel.” “Nice to meet you, Samuel. Name's Ozziel. I'm a exile and traveling scholar. They gave up reforming me about the same time they realized I was totally insane. But I'm a Balseraph. It's what we do best.”

Samuel looked dubiously at the fellow. He seemed pretty harmless, although Samuel knew better then to trust a Balseraph. “So, what's that song you were singing? It's not bad...” “No, it's really a work in progress.” Ozziel insisted. “It's a song about that night I spent with Keelyn, old Perpentach's daughter. She's blossoming into a beautiful woman, let me tell you. But she's still got the mind of a little girl. If I wasn't such a pervert, this might have made me avoid her. Unfortunately, this just made me more interested. I suppose I got what I deserved, really. You see, once we were done with our 'bedtime game,' I said I had to go home. She wanted me to stay forever. I refused, and she threw a tantrum, three fireballs, and a Balor. Turns out Keelyn's one hell of a sorceress. I can't show my face in the Balseraph empire any more, she's got enough followers and political power of her own to see to it I end up fighting orcs in the Jubilee Arena. She's been quite a naughty girl when Daddy's away... So I ran, ended up here. Managed to lay low for a while, but then I met the governor's daughter. Charmed her, wooed her with song, used her father's bed, got caught red handed and totally naked. At least she didn't sic a demon on me.”

“So that's how you got in here,” Samuel guessed. “Yep.” Ozziel said, grinning unrepentantly. “The governor wanted my head, literally, but old Father Moses comes up and reminds him of the exact punishments for my crime. After all, she invited me in. I didn't rape her. Hell, I didn't even take her innocence... some lusty young Bannor boy beat me to that. Honestly, I'm sure a good portion of the young lads in this town have seen her bedchambers. She wasn't a hard catch. I sung her some sugary Kuriotate love song and she melted. I like the Balseraph love songs myself, but they're a bit explicit and tend to freak out non-Balseraphs with their... creativity.” Samuel decided he didn't want to know what Ozziel meant by “creativity,” so let him continue. “Luckily, I wasn't the first to get caught, so the town wasn't too shocked. So Father Moses lays down the law, tells me my exact jail term. He ain't bad, for one of those Order Confessors. Although I might just be saying that since he, you know, saved my life and all. He tried reading to me from the Code of Junil. But I'm a scholar, specialist in religions. Knew it almost as well as he did. Good thing he's the kind of guy who doesn't mind a debate or two; some Confessors would have found an excuse to execute me.” He laughed, pulling out a heavily annotated copy of the Code from one of the shelves in his cell. “I don't think much of organized religions, funnily enough. I'm no Grigori; I love disorganized religions, and good old Tali has probably saved my hide many times in thanks for my frequent offerings to his middle-of-nowhere shrines. But enough about me. I heard that the Lanun were attacking the city? So, who won?”

“We did,” Samuel said, and then added, “the Lanun.” “Praise the winds! So, I'm just a harmless scholar... you wouldn't mind letting me out of here, would you? I'll try to leave your women alone, or at the very least I'll make sure I teach them something they can show you.” “Sorry,” Samuel said. “Not my decision.” Tohrnir strummed out a mournful series of notes, but quickly perked up again. “So I've told you everything short of who my father is, and I'd have probably given you that if I knew. What's your story?” Samuel decided it couldn't hurt to tell. “I'm a battlemage for the Lanun. Me and my friend, Eric, signed up to make some quick money. That captain of ours decided the best way to hand out tasks was by lot, and I got this.”

“Fair enough,” Ozziel said. “but why become a battlemage? You mentioned quick money, but risking your hide on the front lines when you could get fat and lazy sitting in some town doing research? You seem like the kind of guy who'd make a better healer than a battlemage.” Samuel though about it. “The freedom...” Ozziel scoffed. “You want freedom? There's an entire world to see. Have you been to Jubilee during the Revelry? Visited the Amurites and toured the Catacomb Libralus? Or my personal favorite, have you spent a week in the heart of the Kuriotate Republic, sampling foods you never imagined existed and meeting creatures you'd find nowhere else? A wandering mage can go where he wants wants, when he wants, and do what he wants, paying his way through good deeds... or bad ones, if that strikes his fancy. A battlemage must follow an army. If you see the Kuriotate Republic, it will be as it burns. No, only two types go into the battlemage business. Raving patriots, and those seeking fame and power. Be honest. Which one are you?”

Samuel considered Ozziel's question, deciding whether or not to answer honsetly. Ozziel waited patiently, skimming through his copy of the Code of Junil with a pen in his hands. Suddenly, Ozziel stopped. “Here, I know this book by heart and have notes on practically every page. It's not for me, honestly. But you might find it worth keeping around.” Samuel accepted the book, then said, “but won't people laugh at me, think I'm some sort of acolyte?” Ozziel shrugged. “Claim the margin notes are yours, if it bothers you. It'll make you look like a heretic, and that could be a good thing in your situation.” Samuel opened the book and read one of the notes at random. It was beside a law about social order and read, in the stylized script preferred by the Balseraphs: “why is disrupting the social order seen as more of a crime then thievery? Judging by the themes of the Code, it may be that the acts of thieves are seen as mere symptoms, and disruptions in the social order are the disease. Perhaps Junil assumes that while thieves merely suffer from a weakness that can be cured, rebels are the causes of this infestation and must be eliminated. Indeed, much of Junil's thinking appears to be medical, looking at humanity as an organism and looking out for its wellbeing as a whole, sometimes at the expense of the parts that make it up... in this case, individuals.” The other marginal notes maintained this scholarly and subtly heretical pattern of politely questioning of the Code of Junil.

Samuel decided he liked Ozziel, and continued his story. “You asked me why I became a battlemage. Really, it was my friend's idea. I just followed along... against my better instincts, if you must know. My friend, Eric, he also mentioned something about seeking greatness...” Ozziel jumped up. “I told ya! Of course he seeks greatness. And he seeks it by becoming a battlemage. He seeks greatness for himself. Religions, as I've said, are my specialty, but I've studied a bit of history as well. Do you know what I think? All that have sought greatness have either been destroyed, or found it by climbing a stair made of the broken bodies of their enemies. He may be a good man now, but I wonder if he would rather be great then good. Stick with him, and he shall be true to you... but in doing so, you may not be true to yourself. Be sure you do not become this Eric's enemy.” Samuel looked at Ozziel suspiciously. Was this some sort of Balseraph mind game, to turn him against his friend for Ozziel's amusement? Or should he heed the scholar's words?

You might notice that Ozziel is not, at first glance, a typical Balseraph. This is not the last you've seen of this old scholar and his philosophies on religion. As you've guessed, "Dirty Tom" is a Zealot of the Overlords. At this point, the Overlords religion hasn't yet become mainstream among the Lanun. And if anyone finds a picture for Ozziel that seems to fit him perfectly, but doesn't quite match my description, I can easily change it. Like it never even happened...

For the past two years, the words of the Balseraph scholar, Ozziel, had haunted Samuel. For two years, he and Eric had been some of the most fearsome mages in the Lanun army, tallying up victory after victory against the Bannor army. Neither had worked their way up to the legendary status of archmage. This wasn't surprising, since archmages were so rare, and it was enough that the promotion was even being considered by their leaders. And, although he wouldn't even admit it to himself, Samuel feared it would be Eric, not himself, who was to be promoted. Among the soldiers, it was invariably agreed that Samuel was the better mage. But as one Lanun put it, “while Samuel knows his spells better than Eric, he doesn't have the drive you need to be an archmage. He doesn't want more power, or more fame. Eric does, and he'll probably get the promotion even if he has to pester Hannah herself to get it.”

But the Bannor War was over. The Bannor had been forced to sign a humiliating peace deal, granting the Lanun practically free reign in their waters and requiring their traders to pay an almost ludicrous “protection tax” to the Lanun. Although this was good for the Lanun, it also meant that Eric and Samuel were no longer needed. But as ever, Eric had another suggestion. “My brother Dain has a ship, the Lady Luck. Does a bit of piracy. He's heard about what we've done to those Bannor dogs and was wondering if, since we're not needed by the army, if we could sail with him for a while, turn his little pirate ship into the scourge of the seas.” Samuel thought about it. Sailing the open seas had been one of his favorite parts of being an adept, and as a Lanun, the ocean called to him. “I'll come with. Someone has to keep you from getting yourself killed,” Samuel said. Eric grinned. “Good to hear. With our help, the Lady Luck will soon be a name feared throughout all who sail the waters of Erebus!”

The Lady Luck was not an especially impressive vessel. She wasn't a dinghy, but she was showing her age and hadn't been the finest to begin with. But she had potential, Samuel thought, and with a bit of work would be quite impressive. As Samuel examined the ship, he noticed her captain rushing down from it. “Brother!” Dain was a nervous looking fellow, constantly glancing around himself. He resembled his brother to a frightening degree, but was older and slightly skinnier. His eyes reminded Samuel of some sort of nervous rodent. Dain rushed up to Eric and hugged him. “Great to see you! I'm sure the crew will love to see you! They've heard about your exploits, and are eager to watch you in action! Look, boys! It's Eric the Firebreather and Samuel the Heretic!”

Eric and Samuel had earned their titles through different paths. For Eric, it was a simple matter of making sure all around him knew of his grand exploits and impressive skill with the powers of fire. Thanks in no small part to his own self-promotion, Eric the Firebreather was a small-scale legend, his tales of bravado and skill growing grander with each retelling. Samuel, meanwhile, had earned the name of “Heretic” due to his effect upon the Order. The copy of the Code given to him by Ozziel had proven a valuable asset. In truth, Samuel had found that despite his reservations, much in the Order was quite to his liking and over the years, had converted, privately, to following Junil... within reason. Samuel half-suspected this had been Ozziel's intention, although why a Balseraph would want another follower of the Order around was beyond Samuel's imagination. Most people around Samuel, though, only noticed the polite but piercing notations Ozziel made, and assumed that was why Samuel carried the book.

Further, Samuel had become a genuine heretic of sorts. Although the religion of the Overlords, once only spoken of by mad beggars, had spread across the Lanun lands and become their state religion. But Samuel and Eric had, for their own reasons, ignored the teachings of the Overlords. Eric merely shrugged off the religion as mass insanity, a fad that would go away eventually. “So, the world's gone as crazy as Dirty Tom. I'm surprised it hasn't happened sooner.” But Samuel had actively worked to weaken the power of the Overlords over the Lanun, publicly debating and humiliating their followers, turning many away from the Overlords. Most dreaded to even get in the way of a Cultist, but the Cultists themselves were wary of Samuel and went out of their ways to avoid him. He was too well-known to make disappear, and too powerful to attack directly. Indeed, most Lanun, despite casually following the Overlords, couldn't help but love the image of the seemingly invincible Cultists scared of a soft-spoken battlemage and his quiet, scholarly ferocity.

Fools still risked their reputations attempting to sway Samuel to their religions. Although a few bright minds in the Order had, with some subtle hinting from Samuel, figured out the truth and stopped bothering him, representatives from every other religion on Erebus had all been thoroughly rebuffed, despite doing everything from offering from massive bribes to threatening murder. In particular, the agents of Esus had abandoned hope after what had become known as the Slaughter of the Three Piers. For years afterwards, the incident would be used to teach mages how to kill would-be assassins. The Grigori, (who contrary to the expectations of Eric and most of the world, had decisively routed the Mercurians in the Battle of the Great Northern Cavern), counted him Samuel one of their own, even after Samuel had written an impressive commentary showing the countless flaws in the thinking of the Luonnator and their belief in a god whose very existence was in question.

Samuel and Eric boarded the Lady Luck and where greeted with a loud cheer from the crew. “We got plenty o' rum for ya!” yelled one of the crewmen. “We Lanun belong on the sea! So welcome home, mates! It's been too long, and your lady love has missed you!” added another, gesturing towards the sea. The crew offered Samuel and Eric rum. Eric gleefuly accepted, but Samuel politely declined. “A boat with two drunken mages isn't a safe place to be. Eric there might start up some fireworks, and then you'll need me sober to make sure he doesn't burn this boat down.” The crew shrugged. “Makes sense,” one said. “But you'll surely join in the celebrations?” Samuel grinned. “Of course. And I'll tell you all about what happened when you find yourselves waking up tomorrow morning in bed next to a Drown with a pounding headache and a lot of questions.”

Part 1

The city of Vallus was quiet this morning, an air of silent excitement hung over the empty streets. It was Junil's Day. The annual celebration of Law and Order, the one major festival celebrated in the Bannor Empire. A bird cycled over head, before landing on a tall, iron lampost. It cawed loudly, a bell began to ring, and suddenly the city was ablaze with noise. Junil was calling, and hundreds of citizens poured into the streets. As per tradition, at 8 o'clock in the morning, every citizen visited one of the city's numerous Chapels to pray thanks for Junil sending the Angel Sabathiel to guide and protect the early Bannor people in their journey through Hell.

The bell rang once more, it was a loud and very large bell that was by law fitted on the Largest Temple of every city. By this bell the people of Junil lived their lives. It rang when the day had begun, to awake the people of the Junil, it rang at midday, to tell the people of Junil that they had half an hour's break from work to get home and have lunch, and it rang in the evening, when the people of Junil must return to their homes for the night. It also rang each Saturaday and on Junil's Day to announce the compulsory hour's mass. As the bell rang, the citizens of Vallus once more flooded out onto the street and into the Junil's Day market and carnival.

-----

Lucinda slipped gently through the crowds in the market place. She was a young girl of perhaps 15, and so by law she worked as a servant to one of the city's many wealthy famillies. She had spent the morning searching for the final ingredients her Mistress needed for the meal she was cooking for her guests and bringing them back to Willosbe House. She had thought it strange that Lady Veronica was cooking today in place of the Cook, a kind woman who she had come to think of as her mother, but she had not dwelled on it. It was her party after all. Besides, she was free for the rest of the day until the party began. It was nice of Lady Veronica to let her enjoy the festivities of Junil's Day, she thought. She knew many of her friends had to work even today.

Suddenly she heard the shrill cry of children's laughter. She squeezed passed the queue of people waiting at a stall and sat down on the floor. It was a group of travlleing performers, acting out the well-known classic ''The Legend of Capria''. One actor, a boy about her age, was dressed in a painted suit of cardboard armour, and wearing a wig. She had seen the play countless times and knew it well enough to know that he was playing Capria, despite the terrible costume. A large man, wearing a terrible demon mask and carrying a pitchfork stomped onto the stage, with a cry of Booooo and Hisssss from the audience. Hyborem! She made herself comfortable and prepared to enjoy the show.

''Mwaahaa haaa.'' 'Hyborem' spoke the words more then laughed them. ''You will never escape! Why bother trying? Why not stay here with me, fair lady?''

The audience of children screamed in defiance. ''Boooo!''

''Never! Foul Beast!'' the boy's voice was a high-pitched squeal, nothing like the strong, powerful voice Lucinda imagined Capria would have. It had occured to her that 'The legend of Capria' would be much better if women were allowed to act in it. Strangely, the Priesthood considered the play too central to Bannor culture to allow women on stage while it was acted and so the mythical queen of the Early Bannor, national heroine and inspiration, was always played by a young boy who's voice was yet to break. Somehow this ruined the drama of the performace, thought Lucinda, but she dared not speak her mind. Afterall, the agents of the Priesthood were everywhere, and openly dissagreeing with the laws of the Priesthood, such that were given to them by the Angel Sabathiel, or so they claimed, was a punishable crime. She looked around at the audience, and sure enough a young man dressed in priests' robes was sitting at a stall selling hot drinks, watching the show.

Lucinda was never quite sure she believed in Sabathiel. Afterall, the Angel from the stories was just and true, a romantic hero of sorts. Why would he make up all these silly, unfair rules? And then there was the fact that only the higher echelons of the priesthood, men like Master Hawker, were allowed into Sabathiel's sacred chamber in the Palace. They could easilly be making it up, couldn't they? She glanced nervously at the priest again, who's eyes were fixed on her. Lucida gulped. The priesthood's ability to hear the thoughts of their suspects was urban legend.

She turned back to the play, waited a short moment, pretending to watch it, and then rose to her feet. She quickly ducked into a nearby row of market stalls and began to run. Loud footsteps rang out on the street behind her.

Father Antony ran after the little girl, calling out to her. She had got up a left so quickly that she had left her purse, containing a few copper coins. ''Young lady!'' He called, ''Stop!''. Lucinda heard him calling, Oh no! He's coming for me! She pushed through a crowd and turned, sprinting down a narrow allyway. Suddenly, a door opened abruptly in front of her just as she was running past. She collided with it head first and fell to the floor.

----

Gregory felt his knees shake a little and braced himself on the wall to keep from losing his balance. He wondered why even now, on his fourth trip to Mad King's court he had trouble maintaining composure. Some things, it seemed will never change. A heartbreakingly young girl, barely clothed offered him a glass of wine. He thanked her, but she just stared back at him with two of the most hollow and vacant eyes he had ever seen. She turned and walked into the corridor leading to the kitchens. “Lugus protect her.” He prayed to himself, but he knew it was no good. He knew from a previous visit that this girl was a favorite of Mistress Keelyn. The mere thought sent a cold shiver down his spine. Oblivion take the lot of them.

“Give him the treaty, and get the hell out of there.” Queen Ethne had said. “The talks are complete, all we need is his signature and the border dispute between the Balseraph and Luchuirp will have been officially resolved. Perpentach has given his word, and mad as he is, his word is as strong as mithril.” “Dear Lugus how beautiful you are when you are being naive.” Greg thought to himself. Still, he did admit that if it worked, it would go a great way towards stabilizing that corner of Erebus. It had been just days since the death of Councilor Einion's wife, and all the nations needed to put aside their disputes and confront the growing Infernal threat.

A steward led him to a large table with an elaborite feast prepared. Evidently it was some sort of Balseraph holiday, but there were so many he couldn't begin to hazard a guess to what this particular feast celebrated. Perpentach sat at the head of the table, grinning like a fool at the play being performed on the main stage. Greg watched for a few minutes, strangely, the plot seemed to be a lampoon of Perpentach himself. Yet there he was laughing and clapping hysterically at an actor portraying him as a buffoon. “Gods he is mad.” thought Greg. Finally, the King turned and noticed the Elohim mediator.

“Come hither good sir, and hand me your writ. I bid you good tidings, and wish you to sit.”

Yeah, that never gets old Greg thought to himself, but with as much courage as he could muster he approached the King and handed him the Treaty, then took a seat at the table. Instantly a swarm of slaves brought him at least five different plates of food and a large decanter full of wine. He had once seen Mistress Keelyn have a man flayed alive for not accepting their food, and since that day Greg always made it a point to at least eat something, no matter how nauseous he felt. Keelyn terrified him, in many ways much more so than her father.

He thought back to his first trip to Jubilee. While waiting for his turn to see the King a small diminutive woman of about 20 years approach him. She was beautiful. So beautiful she nearly caused his knees to buckle on the spot, yet there was something off about her. As he looked her up and down he could see two day old blood caked on her dress. A dress that must have cost a fortune.

“Pleasure me.” the girl said.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, pleasure me.” this time angry and with a look in her eye that was almost evil incarnate. Greg didn't know what to do, he could plainly see that this was someone of importance, but “pleasuring” this woman was out of the question. He knew Ethne had chosen him her emissary to Perpentach specifically for his self control, and he would see himself damned before he would disappoint his Queen. While desperatly thinking of a way out of the situation, an Imp came walking into the room. “Mistress Keelyn! If you don't hurry your dolly won't survive long enough for you to finish playing with him!” The girl gave Gregory one more glance, then turned and followed the imp out of the room. “Praise Lugus.” he thought to himself. “What does that mean?”

He looked over to see Perpentach looking at him with a devilish grin. “Obviously for my daughter you harbor great fear, but don't fret too loudly or else she may hear.” Reading my mind again thought Greg. I have to be more careful. As he thought that, Perpentach winked at him. Only years of training kept him from bolting to the door.

Perpentach took a rediculously large quill and dipped it into ink, signing his name to the parchment. “My name to this paper I freely write down, hostilities have ended so says this clown. But hear me oh councilor, give warn' to your queen. Tell her my riddles are not what they seem. She surprised me this once, she was earnest and fair, but one day I'll have her to myself in my lair.”

“Only if you see my cold dead corpse first.” Greg thought. At that Perpentach laughed hysterically and handed the paper to his steward as he turned his attention back to the stage. The Steward handed it to Greg and nodded when he asked if he had permission to leave. Greg ascended the stairs and was about to say a prayer of thanks to his God for managing to avoid Keelyn when he suddenly heard his name sung to him from behind.

“Greeeeegoryyyyyyy!”

He turned to see Keelyn behind him standing with hands on hips and a ridiculous pout on her lips. “You weren't going to leave without saying goodbye were you?” “That would be rude. I'll tell my Daddy that you were being rude!”

“Of course not Mistress, I simply assumed you were busy with one of your dolls.”

“I knew you still loved me ducky.” At this she ran and embraced him, then grabbed his face and kissed him in a way that can only be described as a child's idea of what an “adult” kiss would be. Gregory almost laughed before he caught himself. That would have been a mistake. Instead he held her at arms length and asked “Do I have your leave to go mistress? My message from your father is important and I must bring it to my Queen.”

“Of course ducky!” She pecked him on the cheek nodded her permission. Gregory turned to walk out the door when she called back to him “We can make her love you.” Greg stopped dead in his tracks. “What was that Mistress?”

“I said, we can make her love you. Would you like that?” Gods yes, Greg thought.

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean.” Greg lied. Keelyn rolled her eyes.

“Your Queen silly! We can make her love you, Giggles and me.”

“Giggles?”

“My friend” “I promise you it wouldn't cause any problems, Giggles will just put a compulsion on your paper there. When she signs it, she will be signing the compulsion too.” “Walk with me.” Keelyn led him to a fountain where she said something under her breath and the water changed into a vision of Greg alone with Queen Ethne, knowing her in a way only a husband should. Seeing it was slowly stealing his resolve.

“You could really do this?”

“Of course, just let me see the treaty so I can let Giggles read it.” Greg stood at the fountain thinking. It wouldn't hurt anybody. He is a good man, he loves Ethne. He would never treat her poorly, he would love her. It wouldn't really be against her will, not really. It isn't like he is taking her by force, she would love him, and he could be the kind of man who was worthy of her love he knew that he could. After what felt like hours of staring into the pool he turned to Keelyn.

“I'll do it.”

“I knew you would be reasonable, you have just made your Queen very happy.” Greg handed her the treaty and she disappeared with it into a long hall. Greg sat and stared into the fountain, mesmerized by the picture of what his life with Ethne would be when he showed her the treaty. Finally Keelyn returned.

“Now this is important, make sure you are alone with her when she reads the paper.” Keelyn looked at him mischievously. “Now before I hand this over, there is one more thing you need to do for me.”

“What is it Mistress?”

“Pleasure me.”