Ffh Nes Ii

He watched the Syrii ambassador leave.

They had spoken for three hours. Or rather, the ambassador and a selection of his advisors had spoke; he’d said nothing. Honeyed words, half-truths, and deceit – he’d tried to expunge them all from his court (damn that word!), but no one could clear them all. He’d put up with it.

At a gesture, his advisors left him. All except for two – the dead man, and his majordomo. The one with glasses was in his typical spot, lounging calmly on a beaten (and ill-matching) couch at the entrance, while the other… “puttered about”, he labeled it. Adam put up with them because they generally didn’t talk, they didn’t try to bow to him, and Aod at least bore much of the same… special relationship with Death that Adam was blessed with. Normally Priest was here too, but he was currently occupied.

Adam was pretty sure that none of the three realized he didn’t remember their names. Of course, he’d forgotten his – his old one, anyway – but his dim recollection was that people usually tried to use the things. It just wasn’t something he bothered with, and on the whole, he thought he’d covered well.



Horonz finished his self-appointed tasks, and wandered over to Aod. Adam had ordered everyone else out – as usual – and was currently glowering at the far wall and thinking whatever thoughts – as usual. Aod gave a small smile, and held up a bottle.

“Care for a toss? I borrowed this from Lord Brekringe.” Aod took out his dagger – Horonz was glad that the other man had started wearing loose clothes that disguised its presence – and used it to extricate the cork from a fine bottle of very expensive wine.

“Borrowed, eh? Like that ’84 Scottey from last week? Or the Redgrr Fine from the week before that?” Horonz produced two glasses, and held them out to be filled. “I wonder, does our fine Lord know you borrow from him so often, or does he just decide that bringing up the matter would be unwise?”

The only response was a smile, which to Horonz’s mind, was good enough. He settled back in a chair (no couch for him; Aod wouldn’t let anyone else use it). Seemingly as one, the two men glanced toward their leader.

“Today was rough.” Horonz took a small sip of the wine. “I know that Death decreed that Kharghus leave, but without him here… it’s hard.”

Aod gave a nod. “I know. You don’t have to tell me. What’s more, I’m sure that the Big Man knows too – perhaps he’s just decided it’s Adam’s time. It’d be a blessing, Death knows…”

“Perhaps to Adam; not to the rest of us.”

Another nod. “True. Again, I’m sure the Big Man has it under control.” He adjusted his glasses, and Horonz got a glimmer of the gray eyes beneath them. “And perhaps we’re underestimating our esteemed First Man. He held up before we came along, and he’s still an Elder Shade. Or ‘dying’, or whatever we’re called now. Point is, they’re a tough breed, and he’s the best of them.”

“Perhaps. Personally, I think we showed up because we were needed. He was losing it, Aod. You know that.” Another drink, and the glass needed a refill. It got one. “Between the three of us, we almost had him right again. Then Kharghus was sent off on that fool mission, and everything we did seems to have been for nothing.”

“Trust, mate.” Aod gave a swig. A pity – he always got such fine drink, but he had no idea of savoring it. Of course, Horonz then had to keep up with him… “Look, Death won’t push anyone harder than they can take. He’s not particularly cruel, no matter what others may think. He knows a person’s limits, and once they’re met, he graciously relieves them of their burdens and takes them home. That gets lost in the translation a bit – mostly because the Big Man loves his irony and beyond that, has his own limits. Still, when it comes to Adam, Death knows what he’s got, and will do whatever he can to keep it.”

That soliloquy got a period of silence. The two friends and followers sipped the wine together, and ensured that their leader got the peace he desired so much.



Adam heard none of this. He was once again thinking of the past. Blood, disease, and death greeted him in his daydreams, and he perversely welcomed them as old friends into his daydreams. He saw and heard nothing of his current surroundings – so he missed the knock on the door, and missed seeing Horonz leave to answer it while Aod casually armed up to stop an intruder.

He did, however, begin to slowly return to the proper timeframe when Horonz returned with a half-dozen other servants. He knew that Horonz wouldn’t normally allow anyone to enter unless it was damn important, but still, the larger motivation was the anger Adam felt more than any sense of duty. Just as he began to truly see what was happening, Aod sauntered up to the throne. For once, he appeared… flustered.

“Uh… Adam… we seem to have acquired a visitor. A permanent visitor, I’m told. One that it would, perhaps, be good for you to meet.”

Adam peered at the other man, but even he couldn’t truly see through the glasses. “Is this truly important?”

Aod… blushed? Dear gods, what was this apparition? “Well… uh… Horonz and I both deemed it so. If you would rather not, we could perhaps arrange for you to meet later… but really, now is probably best.”

More staring. Even a dead man could wilt, apparently. “If you two are certain… then I will allow it. Just who did you say was appearing?”

Aod, relieved, stood straight once more. With a new confidence, he spoke again, “An artist, from across the sea. A very, very good one – her name is Björk.”


A week later, Horonz and Aod had a third to drink with once again.


There is no greater curse than to live forever, even that of not living at all…

Canta 4, verse 33, Proverbs of Adam

“Priest!”

He turned. He might be new at the job, but he knew that when Adam called him that he’d better pay attention. Of course, he wasn’t entirely sure that Adam even knew his actual name, since all he ever called him was “Priest”. Kharghus hadn’t minded.

“I have a job for you. Go put on some boots.”




That had been three months ago. Kharghus hadn’t seen Adam since then, but by the same token, he hadn’t seen Darkvale either.

He’d put on those boots, and been met by Aod. That fellow had only him the directive to “start walking along the Shroudane road”, and left. Not exactly helpful, but better than nothing.

Unbeknownst to Kharghus, “walk along the Shroudane road” actually meant “walk to Shroudane”. That had taken three weeks. Three weeks spent without a change of clothes, money, or packed food. It had been… entertaining. Or enlightening. Kharghus had never quite understood all the points of Sidaran humor, and he hadn’t been able to decide if the whole thing was just some odd joke. Actually, he still wasn’t quite sure.

He’d been met at Shroudane by Aod. He’d (wisely, he thought) decided not to ask how, and instead simply followed the next order of “walk towards Freetown”. By this point, he’d understood what hadn’t been said, and taken the time to acquire proper traveling equipment from the nearest Cult underling.

As expected, he had indeed been sent to Freetown itself. Another five weeks, this time through some of the thickest forest in Erebus. It had been a while since he’d been there – not in Shade terms, maybe, but long enough to be forgotten by most – and he’d been interested to hear how the Hallowed felt about their enemies-turned-allies. Surprisingly, the virulent hatred of a bare generation before had largely mellowed into a simple “we won’t bother them if they won’t bother us” attitude. Kharghus had still felt discretion was the better part of valor, and had forgot to mention to anyone exactly where he’d come from.

Again, he’d been met at Freetown by Aod. Kharghus had never used to mind the dead man’s habitual grin, but for some reason it had been… irksome… to behold at this particular instance. This time the order had been to go to the docks.

It took Kharghus less than a minute to understand what was really going on once he got there. The docks – a glorious name for what was no more than a rather sandy beach with some poles to tie boats on – had contained only a handful of boats, and one ship. The ship was Corbusian, and without further prompting from the glasses-wearing man beside him Kharghus had gone toward it.

A month’s slow travel by sea, and then the journey was over. Kharghus had finally got to the right area, and been immediately stopped by a avian-looking naval vessel. A well-armed ravenhead had questioned him.

His first response: “I am Adam’s ambassador to the Corbus.”




It wasn’t going well.

That much was clear. The real issue was to figure out how badly it was going, and whether he still cared. Those were both tough questions.

First of all, the Corbus were weird. Kharghus had no experience with nonhumans (or parthumans, whatever), even dwarves, and was still confused by how large a difference that really made. Corbus just thought on a different level; they had different priorities, different mores, a radically strange culture and even seemed to speak on a different plane.

Also, they smelled. Like a bunch of huge geese.

The worst part was what he’d learned outside the official meeting. Apparently, the ‘Al were not the only slavers of Erebus. The Sidar (and, for that matter, Kharghus) had no love for slavers to begin with, but he’d also learned a few specifics that were especially… bothersome. There were Shades kept as slaves.

So, at this point, Kharghus really couldn’t care less about what the Corbus thought of him and the discussions. Still, he knew that he had an (unpleasant) job to do, and he tried to do his best. He rather thought he’d managed to hide how he despised the ravenheads, and that the discussions were tanking merely because the two nations just didn’t have anything the other wanted. The Corbus didn’t appear to realize that he’d figured out their dirty little secret, which was probably why the discussions were still spiraling downward instead of simply ending with his death.

So no, the past four days had not been a great experience. It was time to leave, and begin the DAMNED three month journey back home. With nothing to give except bad news. Fun. He had a headache.




He woke. The boat was sinking; he could feel it listing, and even his scarcity of naval lore was enough to tell him what that meant. His first instinct was to run to the upper deck, but unfortunately this plan was foiled by the presence of Aod, who was calming standing next to him. Holding him down. With a damned pillow, on top of his face.

“I’d love to have a long chat, Kharghus, but I’m afraid the Big Man has decreed that you come back home sooner, rather than later. Sorry.” Aod smiled beautifically.

Come… home? To die? That seemed… inefficient, somehow.

Aod’s smile slipped a tad, and he looked at some point behind Kharghus’s head. His head cocked, as if listening.

“All right. Fine. Trust me, he can take it… although perhaps it would be more merciful to put him out, first.”

The smile was back. Kharghus gave a silent curse, just before the fist hit him above the right eye. Blackness.


The process of becoming a shade Dying is a long one. Everyone knows that. However, we still do not fully understand the process; perhaps, then, it is less intensive than it appears?

When we first discovered were given the Books, we did not know enough to experiment upon the process. Today, however, we have many more facts to work with, and I believe it is time that someone tried to see just what, exactly, happens to our souls to let us stay here forever...

From an Cult-edited copy of Angels, Devils, the Dead and the Dying, by Graeve.