[Writing] NaNoWriMo - Chapter 20 {Mild Language}

[Inumo]

Well, NaNoWriMo starts as of Monday. Aside from being curious as to who else is participating, I'll be posting up my progress in the story here. Maybe I'll actually reach that 50,000 word goal for once... (Un)Fortunately, I have a setting ready, and nothing else. Plot has been determined! I'll be working by chapter, rather than word count, so I probably won't be exactly at the goal word count each day...

Current Word Count: 35208

Plot Synopsis:

Part 1: Wolsk, a Reikan Rieka, is a sailor that is turned Undead in the Tafean capital of Qira. After surviving a shipwreck, he becomes an alchemist's apprentice. After a few years, he survives an explosion caused by an experiment, which kills his mentor and blows his arm and leg off. Deciding that Undeath is a blessing, he goes to Damasque, a nation of Undead, and joins the army. After serving for two years, he leaves the military and heads south to a port city, where he constructs a snow-brig of his own design. The snow-brig is crewed by people that helped build the ship, and he becomes a wealthy merchant. A few years into his business, an accident involving a popular piece of cargo kills half the crew, forcing him to hire on sailors that were still alive, one of which is a chef by the name of Manni Coron. Manni displays an interest in the process of running a merchant ship, so Wolsk grooms him to be his protege. Years later, the ship becomes a fire trap for Wolsk and the Undead portion of his crew, burning them alive.

Current Chapters:

Part 1:

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14

Part 2:

Chapter 15
Chatper 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20

[WhiteFox]

...I think I might just go for this.Sounds like fun.

[Corgatha Taldorthar]

I've toyed with the idea, and while I'd like to be doing this, I doubt I'll have the energy to put something together on this scale. Who knows though......

[Inumo]

Chapter 1 ((This may be undergoing revisions later on, to get our protagonist's past life a bit better established.))

   The work day had long since ended, and I had had a few drinks too many. Not all that odd, considering the reputation of beaver Rieka. Stumbling through the streets, I searched for the ramps that led down through the earth to the Naked Eel. I drunkenly sang my favorite shanty, supporting myself with my webbed hands from wall to wall. The ship had docked in Qira enough times for me to know a couple of shortcuts through back alleys, if I could only find a reference point... Like the statue of Lady Waters I'd just thrown up on. Relieved to find a recognizable landmark, I lurched off into the dark side streets, so inebriated I ran into at least five walls, slipped in four puddles of dubious substance, and nearly tripped over ten creatures of unknown species. It was only thanks to my large, flat tail working as a counterweight that I didn't kill myself. In the end, it ended up being part of my death.
   The quiet clack of my murderer's boots was the only warning I had before he'd jumped me. He landed on my tail, causing me to unexpectedly lose my footing, hitting my head against my assailant's shins. I heard a slight sigh before I suddenly couldn't move. The weight removed itself from my tail, and I saw that the person attacking me was openly Undead. In his hand was a knife. The blade was made of jade, the hilt obviously of Bloodstone. "Don't worry," my murderer said. "The paralysis will wear off by the time you've risen." With that, he plunged the knife into my heart.

   I woke some time later, after the sun had risen. Now sober, I saw that the knife was still in my chest, though the hilt had disappeared but for a slight stub at the base of the blade. Resurrection, such a costly magic, I thought as I slid the blade into my belt. Damn Damasquen fanatics... Swinging up onto my feet, I left the alleys out onto one of the major streets, orienting myself towards the nearest ramp down to the ship I worked on, the Starry Glen. I arrived as one of the recovery parties was leaving. "Hello," I said as I passed.
   "Wolsk! Good to see you, you bastard!" Rudin, the search party leader, was a black-skinned human. He wore a brown vest and had a bang-wand tucked into the belt of his rough linen pants. "Some of the boys were worried when you didn't show up at the Eel last night."
   "Sorry to get you worked up. I was busy getting converted by a fidem Damasquen, as you can see by the shirt." I turned to give him a better look.
   "By Ridok, you look like shit," he said, letting out a low whistle. "Go get cleaned up before you let the cap'n know what's happened."
   "What do you think I was doing?" I said as I started going again. I crossed the gangplank and headed down to my cabin, pulling out a new shirt and pair of pants to replace the bloodstained set I wore. In a fresh outfit, I left for the captain's cabin to make my report. I knocked on the door.
   "Enter," the captain responded from inside. I opened the door, saluting as I stepped inside. An energetic Melorin, Captain Olan looked up from some sales report he'd recently made. "What is it, Wolsk?"
   "I need to make a report, sir," I said while assuming an at-ease position in front of his desk.
   "What's happened?"
   "I've been converted by a Damasquen."
   "There's a fanatic in the city?"
   "Apparently so, sir."
   "I'll alert the authorities, then. Dismissed, Wolsk."
   "Sir." I turned around, exiting the room. I could hear him tapping his message stone, murmuring the alert to the Qiran military. Returning to my cabin, I tossed the knife blade into my footlocker before heading up on deck to help prepare for the upcoming voyage.
   Rudin's search party was returning with three disheveled sailors in tow. Behind them were some local merchant's carts, carrying goods to be loaded into the hold for sale at our next port of call. Lifting a crate off of one of the carts, I started unloading the boxes onto the cargo net, pausing when the net was loaded to help it get lifted down to the deck below before resuming the process. By high tide, we'd gotten the trade goods loaded up and shoved off.
   "We're off to Reik!" Olan shouted to the crew.
   "Sir, would that be the best idea, considering my recently acquired state?" I asked from the rigging.
   "The Haskal family never trades with us anyways, Wolsk, and the lesser families don't care about Omasi like Dylan does! Now focus on your job!" He gripped the wheel as a gust picked up.
   "Aye, cap'n!" I worked the rigging until a few hours after midday, when my shift ended. As I climbed down, I passed by my replacement. Or rather, he passed me. He was a lean cat Rieka, ears and tail flicking in the steady wind as he nimbly scaled the rigging. "See you in a few hours, Tati!" I shouted as he whizzed by.
   "You know I hate it when you call me that!" Tatiago responded over his shoulder.
   "Yeah, but your threats of death no longer work now!" I chuckled as I went below to get some food.
   In the kitchen, the chef waved at me, ladle in hand. "What're you down here for?" He asked as I approached.
   "What else? Food!" I responded.
   "Why would you need that?" It took a moment before it registered in my head.
   "Right. Undeath. I forgot." Smacking myself in the forehead, I took a seat at one of the bolted-down tables, starting to idly chat with the rest of the crew. The days passed, turning into weeks, then a couple of months. Nothing had really changed from my normal, daily life as a sailor by becoming an Undead; I just didn't need to eat, sleep, drink, or worry as much about injury, so long as I could recover the body parts I lost. It was surprisingly easy to get used to.
   One day, a few hours before dusk, the lookout shouted, "Land ho!" As one, the entire crew turned to look at the approaching shore.
   "We'll be in port by sundown, lads!" Captain Olan shouted to us all. With a cheer, we returned to our jobs. Sure enough, within a few hours, we'd landed. The sun had nearly gone below the horizon, so we had no chance to do our trade for the trip that night. Instead, the crew went ashore and found rooms in various inns close to the docks. We reported our lodgings to the captain so we could be found the next day. I found entertainment in some of the seedier bars, gambling and winning drinking contests thanks to my acquired iron stomach. My purse heavier than before, I spent the rest of the night checking out the Glen for damages and acting as guard, thanks to my not needing sleep. A boring job, to be sure, but it was something to do to pass the time. I'd started trying to teach myself how to read and write with all the spare time I'd gained. Eventually, though, I got bored of that, so I started to carry some of the cargo up onto the deck.
   When dawn finally lit the sky, I'd brought up probably close to half of the trade goods we'd gotten from Qira and other ports. The city streets started to come alive, and the crews of various docked ships came out, making their way to the ships they manned. I helped finish bringing up the crates while Olan made the first sales of the day. Goods were unloaded, loaded, bought, and sold. Whenever I got off-shift, I went into the city searching for books, paper, ink, and quills, so that I would have material for the long nights on future voyages.
   The work day ended, and the captain announced, "We'll be leaving for Zhia tomorrow, so don't drink too much tonight!" The crew waved their acknowledgment. "This means you, Pappi!" he said, pointing to the light-skinned Human. We laughed as Pappi turned beet red. I spent the evening gambling again, though I didn't participate in any drinking contests. When the common rooms emptied out, I returned to the ship and started to read a cheap book meant for the nobles that wanted their children to learn how to read without hiring a tutor. I practiced copying each letter once I felt like I had mastered recognizing it, working my crude handwriting into something at least slightly like the squiggles in the book.
   The sun lit the sky a dull gray when I finished with the letter "F." Shutting the book, corking the ink, and giving the sheets I'd written on one more blow to help them finish drying, I went below and tossed them into my footlocker, before returning to the main deck and assuming my post. We shoved off a couple of hours later, off to Joreh and the country of Zhia.
   The ship wouldn't arrive intact.

((Comments appreciated! I expect that I'm going to need to explain a lot of stuff... Let me know what you want to hear about, and I'll explain more, hopefully eventually working it all into the story itself, though that may require a change to 3rd person veiw...))

[WhiteFox]

Chapter 1 ((This may be undergoing revisions later on, to get our protagonist's past life a bit better established.))

Save the editing for December. 

Interesting start. Wolsk seems awfully cavalier about, you know, being killed. Everyone else, too. Of course, if this is the sort of thing that happens on a regular basis, there's no reason they wouldn't be. With all the extra time and lucre, it certainly doesn't seem to have done him much harm. Kind of a fresh take on Undeath.

The writing is very blunt, and moves quickly. In a few places it gets confusing: I thought the characters name was Rieka at first, I don't have an idea of what the locations are like, and only snapshots of the supporting characters. I'm not sure what time period this takes place in. I like concise writing, but I still need a certain minimum of details.

   The ship wouldn't arrive intact.

This sounded ominous for a moment. Then I remembered:

With that, he plunged the knife into my heart.

And thought, "Yeah... I bet whatever happens to the boat, they'll be just as blase about it."

...

Okay, I know this is going to be an incredibly loose connection, but I find it curious that both our stories put focus on A) Ships and B) Writing. Great minds, et all.

"Fidem." Inventing words is fun, contrue.

[Inumo]

Chapter 1 ((This may be undergoing revisions later on, to get our protagonist's past life a bit better established.))

Save the editing for December.  

I was thinking more if I needed the added words, I can add a scene or two before the current starting point.

Interesting start. Wolsk seems awfully cavalier about, you know, being killed. Everyone else, too. Of course, if this is the sort of thing that happens on a regular basis, there's no reason they wouldn't be. With all the extra time and lucre, it certainly doesn't seem to have done him much harm. Kind of a fresh take on Undeath.

This is something that's rather special about this world... Damasque is a country that is made solely of Undead. Not only that, but they are of the belief that Undeath isn't a curse, but a blessing (more on that through the story). Periodically, they'll go out on "conversion raids" from their homeland to "bless" as many people possible, and they'll also send fanatics (usually initiates) all over to convert even more people. As such, they're kinda seen like cutpurses (except replacing "stealing your money" for "making you Undead"), in that people know they're there, but they're only really a minor fear, since in the end there is no permanent physical damage (aside from what comes with Undeath).

The writing is very blunt, and moves quickly. In a few places it gets confusing: I thought the characters name was Rieka at first, I don't have an idea of what the locations are like, and only snapshots of the supporting characters. I'm not sure what time period this takes place in. I like concise writing, but I still need a certain minimum of details.

And this is why I'm not sure I'm going to be doing 1st person perspective by the end... It is probably the hardest one to get descriptions of the narrator and introduce setting in, since the narrator already knows a lot of it. To be quick, the Rieka are a race of people that look like a Human, but have two physical features from another animal race (Wolsk has webbed hands and a beaver tail, Tati has cat ears and a cat tail, a dolphin would have a dorsal fin and tail, that kind of thing). Because of this diversity, Rieka are also commonly the most accepting of races, as they are used to seeing a wide variety of people that can look completely different from themselves. Tafea, Reik, and Zhia are all countries (on a rising peninsula, in a delta, and on a grassland peninsula, respectively), Qira being the capital of Tafea. And don't worry about the supporting characters, they'll disappear soon anyways.

"Fidem." Inventing words is fun, contrue.

Of course.

[Inumo]

Chapter 2

   The sun was setting as we dropped anchor halfway through our journey. It had been a month since we'd left Reik. We went to the galley for dinner, bantering about who did their job the worst that day. As the chef was finishing serving the last plate of food, the ship suddenly shuddered. Everybody fell silent as we heard the timbers start to groan. "Someone go up on deck, find out what's happening," the captain said into the silence. I got out of my chair and slipped out of the room, climbing up the ladder out onto the deck.
   The waves were softly lapping against the hull as I looked overboard, searching for the source of the disturbance. I felt the ship shake as whatever was below brushed past once more. The dark waters dashed any hope of seeing what it was. "I can't see anything!" I shouted over my shoulder. I peered down over the side, trying to make out even a shadow of the creature below. Is that it? I thought as I watched, my senses on hyper-alert. Or is that..? No, maybe that... Wait, there! The shifting shadow was small, blurry. I saw it grow and become more clear as it got closer and closer... I realized what it was just as it pierced the surface.
   "Blood kraken!" I cried. The tentacle rose over the railing, gripping the deck. Another one rose opposite as I sprinted down to my cabin, grabbing my scimitar. The crew flooded out onto the dock, drawing their weapons and starting to hack at the appendages that had come over the side. We could hear a great rumble from the depths as the blood kraken bellowed in pain. Four more tentacles latched themselves over the side, and we felt the thud as it slammed into the bottom of the hull. I slashed at the nearest tentacle I could reach, watching as fluids started to seep out of the wound. Despite our efforts, the suckers on the ends wouldn't let go. Another of the kraken's arms burst from the deep, slamming onto the deck and sweeping back and forth. At least a fourth of the crew was thrown overboard, while an eighth tentacle came up from the opposite side. The two spasmodic appendages wrapped around each other, suddenly still as they lay on the deck. The timbers started to groan, and we realized what the beast was trying to do.
   "It's trying to tear the ship in half!" Olan shouted. "Focus on the linked arms!" The deck boards were starting to crack. We hacked and slashed as hard as we could, but we weren't fast enough. The entwined tentacles broke through the top deck, using the momentum it had to break through all the decks below. Crates dumped from the hold into the water, sinking from the weight of food, textiles, Bloodstone, and whatever other goods we'd picked up. Sailors started sliding down towards the massive rent in the center of the ship. What tentacles were still attached to the hull released there grip as it became clear that the Starry Glen was well and truly destroyed. Before long, the ship had sunk, sucking us all under.
   Underwater, it was as dark as pitch. With the sun below the horizon, there was no light to see anyone around. All I could do was swim up to the surface. The other people of the crew that could swim burst up close by, gasping for air. Hearing their heavy breathing, I realized that, as an Undead, I had no need for it. Too late, I thought. I realize, but too late. By now, those that hadn't saved themselves would be dead by the time I brought them back up, and I knew no magic to resurrect them into Undeath.
   Dawn broke to reveal our numbers. Fifteen, all told, though it seemed like that wouldn't last long. Many of the others were shivering from the cold water that had soaked them through. Sure enough, before the sun was fully warming us, two of us had slipped into the deep. Someone softly sang an incantation for their souls. I sent a prayer to Batea for their salvation. With nothing else to do, we started to talk. What we'd do once we got back on land, what we'd eat, who we'd spend time with, the things we'd make. When night fell, the others tried to get some sleep, sitting atop their pieces of driftwood. Morning came to show that we'd lost another five as they fell off of their spars in their slumber. More prayers, more incantations. The others' voices were raspy as they tried to keep talking, to take their mind off of the predicament we were in. Soon they fell silent, their throats parched. One of the thirstier people tried to drink some of the seawater. We tried to stop him, but he was too desperate. He ended up falling head-first into the ocean, too weak to swim back up. Prayer, croaked incantation. Next morning, we found we'd lost another three, the one that did the incantations among them. Prayer. Four survivors left.
   Days started to bleed together. Before long, I was the only one left floating along. I was so alone. So very, very alone, with naught by my thoughts to keep me company. I knew why I was the only one to survive. I was Undead, and they were not. I did not need to worry about the cold that would freeze a man to death. They did. I did not need the sleep that slackened the grip on a floating timber. They did. I did not need food or water, did not need to worry about losing my strength, didn't need to worry about my survival. They did. I was tempted to try and commit suicide, but how could I? If I plunged into the depths, I would just be blind and nibbled on by fish; they couldn't break through my skull to truly kill me. I couldn't stab myself, I had no knife. The water was too heavy to let me bash my skull in with the spar I floated on. I tried anyways, with expected results. I had no blood with which to attract sharks, so that idea was out of the question. Eventually, I just started swimming in what I thought was south. The constant rhythm of stroke after stroke took my mind off all the dead that rested on the ocean floor behind me. My problems, my desires, everything started to fade. Just stroke... stroke... stroke... stroke... stroke...

((I'm going to try and get another chapter out by the end of today so I'm not so far behind. No idea if I'll make it, but it'll at least get started.))

((Edited to keep from having "ejaculated" in my story more than once.))

[Inumo]

Chapter 3 ((Warning, this one's a heck of a lot longer.))

   The sun rose and set, the moon rose and set. This daily routine was carried out innumerable times before I saw a dark smudge on the horizon. I almost didn't believe it when I realized it was land. "Land ho," I whispered under my breath. I started swimming with more vigor, determined to have sturdy earth beneath my feet. Over the course of a couple days, I watched as my efforts slowly made the distant shore come closer and closer. Before I knew it, I could clearly see the sandy beach. Before the sun had fully risen, I'd stepped onto dry land for the first time in close to two months. I shouted. I whooped. "Yes!" I ejaculated. If I could still cry, I would have. I had survived.
   After the initial exhilaration of having my legs on solid ground once more, I started following the beach in the direction I felt was west. If there was anything I had absolutely learned as a sailor, it was that, where there's shore, there's a port town. I started paying more attention to the days now that I had a goal in mind. After two days, I was starting to climb uphill. Two more, and I knew exactly where I was: Tafea, on the Qir Peninsula. I kept going with a spring in my step, which started to diminish as I thought, What in the Nether am I going to do with my life? I had no ship to work, no education, no interest in business. I was only half literate, and had no connections that I knew of. "Sonuvabitch..." I swore under my breath. There was nothing, really, for me to go back to. I had to find something to do, and fast.
   While I thought this problem over, I stopped and sat under the shade of a nearby tree. I'd heard there were some city-states looking for menial labor in the Lamea Confederacy, but I wasn't sure that I wanted to be stuck obsidian farming for the rest of my life. Rumors abounded in Reik that Goroesk was planning an attack into Jantiasco, but I didn't trust that. Besides, even being on the same continent as the Nahyakis would probably mean prejudice from a lot of people, thanks to their damn Omasi religion. It had been a while since I'd talked to people in Joreh, probably close onto half a year. Standing back up, I resumed my trek towards Qira. Whatever my future, it would be a good place to start.
   In total, it took me four days to get from shore to city. The sun was setting as I slipped in through the gates. The night was spent deciding where the best place would be to wait to find a ship going to Joreh. I decided on the docks, since I wasn't looking for work but transport, though I didn't doubt I'd have to work for my transport. As dawn broke, the morning routine comforted me while I wandered among the boats, straining my ears for word of a ship heading for my destination. In time, I found a merchant cargo vessel that was in need of extra deck hands to help keep the ship sailing with the rest of the fleet. I was hired in exchange for room and board until we reached the Zhian port of Bormana.
   I spent the night familiarizing myself with the rigging of the ship, named the Taunting Salmon. The flagship of the trade fleet, and the one we'd be following, was the Great Mackerel. We were due to be accompanied by two other ships, the Laughing Jackal and the Holy Winds. When high tide came the next morning, we set sail as a mercenary crew, comprised of whatever sailors the captain was able to hire. We worked tirelessly while the sun was up, then had dinner and chatted once the sun went down and we dropped anchor. I came to be friends with a Hidraki named Wolryo. He was young, evidenced by the rust-red color of his water, apparently having just recently left the Womb of Water and Kortage. His work on the ship was his first job. There was also a seal Rieka named Artar that helped with leaks that showed up below the waterline. He had a wife and child in the Tehuan Gulf, supposedly built their house by himself. Sounded like a real pleasant place, half-submerged and all.
   The month long voyage passed soon enough, and before long I was on Joreh. Bormana was as big as I remembered it to be, which was not all that apparently large. There were a lot of apparent warehouses, maybe ten inns right by the docks, an administration building, a temple for the local Kokea religion, and a barracks to defend the city. In truth, however, if someone entered one of the warehouses, the rest of the city was revealed. For some reason, the builders had decided to use an alternate plane to build, turning every warehouse into a portal to another part of the city. As a result, the busiest street was Door Street, named because of all the portals that opened onto it. A lot of people used it as a shortcut from one section of the city to another.
   I disembarked from the Salmon and headed to Door Street, wandering around with ears open. I heard a vast array of rumors, from an uprising in the Ey Range, to a new shipment of Heartstones from Heyata, to a Cimeshian noble that needed builders for some great theater, a tribute to one of the famous dance troupes that performed there often. Passing through a warehouse, I spotted a local jobbing board and stopped to look at it out of curiosity. All the chits for work were drawn out in basic pictures, so illiterate folk such as I, and probably the job posters too, could get the message. Shipwrights needed, mage needed, crystal miners up north, farmhands required... There were a lot of offers. One in particular caught my eye, asking for an alchemy assistant to go travel and gather up plants, animals, orders, and all sorts of things. Taking it from the board, I tucked it into a pocket before moving on.
   In time, the sun dropped below the horizon. I had three possible jobs in mind from the wanderings. First, there was that alchemist's assistant job. Then there was acting as a Makai University of Magic training partner, though it sounded pretty risky. Finally, apparently the Zhian Navy was recruiting, so I could return to my old life, in a sense. I spent the night weighing my options, in the end deciding to take the assistant job.  When the gates opened in the morning, I headed off to find the alchemist's home. Glancing down at the slip, it directed me to a mountain path up to the north, near a large, distinctly shaped boulder.
   It was a few days, even walking non-stop, before I reached the start of the mountains, another day before I found the path. It spiraled up the mountainside, ending somewhere on the far side. Sighing at how complicated this travel seemed to be, I started along the dirt route. Along the way, I passed the entrance of multiple shafts going into the mountain depths, a collection of charred pits, and probably close to fifteen oddly colored plants.
   When evening came around, I'd finally gotten to the front steps of a small manor. Knocking on the heavy wooden door, I waited, drumming my fingers on my thigh while I waited for someone to answer. Suddenly, I heard a muffled shout, followed by a dull thud, then a billow of smoke coming out from under the front door. Perturbed, I cautiously took a step backwards as the bolt rattled. A coughing Melorin, his arched neck shaking as he tried to knock whatever was in his throat loose, pulled the door open. Accompanied by a puff of smoke, he wore a once-white coat, now patchily covered with soot, over a pair of billowing pants and white shirt. In his hand was a pair of glass vials. "You here about the assistant job?" He asked between fits of coughing.
   "Er... Yes..." I replied warily.
   "Good, just in time. Come in, come in! Don't mind the smoke, you just caught me at a bad time. What I get for trying to experiment on the go." He pushed the door fully open, ushering me inside. Doors were placed periodically along the walls, while a grand staircase swooped up to a second-floor balcony that wrapped all the way around the inside of the room. On the balcony were even more doors. I let out a low whistle.
   "Sure must have a lot of rooms for all of these doors," I mentioned.
   "Yes, more than I know what to do with," the alchemist replied. "Honestly, even with all the gardens I've converted some into, I still have close to a dozen rooms that I don't use."
   "How do they all fit?" I had a hard time imagining how someone could build a place with more rooms than a warship had cabins.
   "The wonder of portals, my friend. Each door frame is enchanted to go to another room, much like down in Bormana with their warehouses. Only difference is that I need to carry around a Bloodstone around with me to power them all, though I've figured out how to make it work without having to leave it behind in the previous room."
   "Interesting." I paused for a moment. "Come to think of it, I don't know your name..."
   "Oh, where are my manners! I am Irman, alchemist of the Onta family." the Melorin declared with a bow and a flourish. "And you are...?"
   "Wolsk," I answered. "Former sailor, currently Undead and jobless."
   "Not for long, my good fellow," Irman scoffed. "As it happens, I have need of your services. Consider it a test of sorts. According to some of my friends over on Sari, some new type of plant's shown up in the Kor Range." He pulled a folded up sheet of paper from an inside pocket in his coat, handing it to me. I unfolded the piece of beige parchment to reveal the drawing of a plant. It looked a bit like a bush, but had growths that looked a bit like gemstones on the end of each branch. "They say it's about knee height for a Melorin. The leaves are blue, the branches are brown, and the growths on the end of the branches are green. See if you can get me a whole one so I can grow it in one of the gardens."
   Tossing a sack over to me, Irman continued, "Here's what you'll need to bring it back safely. There's also a Bloodstone for you to use, just take that door." He pointed at a door on the second floor, labeled Sari. "You'll come out of a mountain side, just make sure you don't get lost. Pop the Bloodstone into the slot on this side, take it out of the slot on the other." I climbed the staircase, pulling the red stone out of the sack and placing it into the hole in the door. "Good luck!" He called as I opened the door. "Make sure to get the entire root ball!" And with a push and a step, I was coming out of the side of a mountain.
   I pulled the Bloodstone out of the hole before I forgot, tucking it into the sack. Instantly, the portal fizzled out of existence, revealing a blank stone wall behind it. Working the spot into my mind, I headed off in a random direction. The scenery seemed normal, with trees, grass, berry bushes, an animal here and there. I wondered how something so plain could create something as extraordinary as the plant I was sent to find. It wasn't until I spotted a deer with bright red fur that I was able to guess at the reasoning: Bloodstone was in the soil, feeding the plants, which in turn fed the animals. Considering the lack of obviously spectacular things, I figured it must only show through in certain areas.
   After an hour or two of wandering around, I found one of the bushes I had been sent to collect. It was as Irman described, with blue leaves, brown branches, and green gem-like growths. I opened the supply sack I'd been given, pulling out a trowel and bucket. Kneeling down next to the bush, I reached underneath to start digging about an arm's length away from the base.
   Suddenly, one of the branches whipped about and wrapped around my forearm. I felt something spiky come from the branches and pierce through my skin. In surprise, I pulled my arm back, examining the punctures. It was starting to go numb as I sat there, though it didn't seem to be spreading to my upper arm or hand. Confused, I started to reach back under, slower this time. When I saw a branch rear back to lash at me, I quickly pulled back before I could get wrapped again. Well, directness won't work, I thought as I rocked back on my heels. Opening the sack once more, I discovered some rope in the bottom, and took a moment to think. An idea sprung to mind, and I laid some out in a wide circle around the crazy thing. After making a full circuit, I gripped the other end and pulled it against the base of the bush. From there, I started to circle more, slowly raising the rope I was spooling out so that it wrapped up the bush's branches. I had just enough to go up and back down again, tying a knot to keep it tight.
   With the bush disarmed, I knelt down once more with trowel in hand to start digging, this time without getting my arm turned numb again. I dug an forearm's length away, then an forearm's length down, so that I could be sure I preserved whatever the "root ball" was that Irman wanted. From there, I dug out the dirt the bush was resting on, then lifted it all up. Trimming down the dirt until it fit into the bucket I was supplied, I tossed the trowel back into the sack, the sack on top of the dirt in the bucket, and picked up the bucket. Whistling, I hauled the ungainly exotic plant back along the route I took to the door. Placing the Bloodstone into the slot, I pulled the door open, lugged the bucket through, then pulled it shut behind me. "Hey, Irman!" I shouted into the empty foyer. "Where do you want this thing?" I slid the portal's power source out of its hole and put it back into the sack.
   I saw the Melorin alchemist poke his head out of one of the lower doors. He looked as though he was leaning back from a stool. Pointing at one of the doors off to my left, he said, "Head through that door, then take the first door on your right. Plant it in there." Spotting what I'd done to the bush, he added, "And don't forget to take the rope off!" before pulling his head back into the other room and shutting the door. Lifting the bush again, I carried the crazy-looking thing through the indicated door which opened up to reveal a hallway lined with doors. Taking the first door on the right, I found a large room which  looked a lot like the Kor Range I'd just recently left. Finding an open space, and being careful not to get too close to any of the other plants, I dug out a hole as close to the size of the bucket as I could, then lifted the plant in and packed the dirt into the empty space. Taking the knot in hand, I slowly loosened it as I backed up. When I got far enough away, I finished untying the rope and started to unwrap it from the bush. It sprang back into its original shape, looking as if it had never been wrapped in the first place.
   I coiled the rope up as I made my way back to the central room, tossing both it and the bucket back into the bag. "Alright, Irman, it's planted in the room you wanted," I shouted as I started down the central staircase.
   "Wonderful!" I heard him shout in a muffled, but clearly happy voice. "Here, come into the Glass Lab, second door from the left. I need your report on how it went." Opening the heavy oaken door, I stepped inside the room. Shelves lined the walls, filled with various vials, bottles, and alchemical tools. A workbench sat on the far wall, where Irman sat hunched over, focused on something in front of him. "Anything I should know about the bush?" He prompted as I approached.
   "Well, be careful of getting too close," I started. "The thing has branches that'll wrap your arm up."
   "Interesting. Anything else special?"
   "Not that I can think o-- Oh! When it wraps around your arm it'll get these spiky things that make your arm feel numb. Not sure if it spreads with blood flow, since it's one thing I lack."
   "Good to know. I'll have to get a sample of that... But you aren't here to listen to the ramblings of a noble's alchemist, are you? You're here for a job. And I must say, you've done better than my last assistant."
   I anxiously fidgeted as he paused to deliberate. "Very well," he said after a few moments. "You're hired."

((Edited to clear up some confusion by replacing "cried" with "ejaculated." If you're wondering why I use "ejaculated," it's a school dare thing.))

[Inumo]

Chapter 4

   I spent the next month or so doing errands, going from continent to continent, city to city, mountain range to inland sea to lake and back. I gathered glowing fish of all the colors of the rainbow, grasses like colored glass, horses that looked like half their skin was burned off, crabs with pincers larger than their shells. Everywhere I went, Bloodstone was present, mutating animals into strange shapes and impossible forms. Sometimes a person would have the specimen in their private collection, sometimes they were out in the wild, sometimes they'd developed inside a city. There seemed to be no end to the things such a magical stone could cause, and Irman thrived on the results.
   In between errands, the alchemist taught me how to read and write, so I could take notes for him while out acquiring the things he wanted. After a while, he also started showing me how he did his work, mixing poisons with the juices from one plant to create an antidote, combining the ground horn of one animal with the spittle of another to make a healing balm. He'd send me off into the maze of rooms to fetch this or that material from one thing or another, and I came to know the layout of the rooms almost as well as he did. I became less of an assistant and more of an apprentice. I never noticed that even when I was nominally an assistant, he still didn't pay me, most likely because I no longer had anything I wanted or needed to buy.
   Periodically, Irman would leave for the Onta family's mansion for a few days, leaving a list of duties for me to complete while he was away. He would often return with a slew of experiments that he wanted to try out, assigning me to take care of the ones he felt I could handle. Through the variety of tests he had me perform, I learned the base effects of many of the materials that could be gathered in the alchemist's collection.
   The conversations we had were no longer from a master to an apprentice, but more between equals. Irman assigned to me more and more of the ideas he had, and I was allowed to try some of my own. Nonetheless, I continued collecting organisms that had been effected by Bloodstone until we could comfortably manage no more. At that point, I no longer was told to go out and gather.
   Then, one day, one of the animals in our care died. It was a variant on a bear, with bright blue fur that grew so that it brushed along the ground. We cremated the body, scattering the ashes in its original habitat, the area surrounding the Womb of Water. After a few moments of silence, Irman and I returned to the manor. He started talking to his old contacts, trying to find some new creature to replace it. It wasn't long before one of his friends said she'd found a rather fantastic ram variant in the area around Mayal, the head city-state of the Lamea Confederacy. According to the woman, it was living out of a cave in the side of the caldera. Its horns were constantly alight, and supposedly had no flesh on its head, leaving it with only a skull and two glowing yellow lights in its empty eye sockets. Intrigued, I happily left to collect the strange beast, taking a potion to resist heat, metal shield, and some rope soaked in a fire-proofing solution along to help.
   Irman's friend met me as I stepped out of the portal. She was a short mole Rieka, with long claws on the ends of her shortened fingers and small, beady eyes. She wore a simple linen dress over her stout figure. "I take it you're Irman's colleague?" She asked, gesturing for me to follow.
   "Yes, ma'am," I responded. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss...?"
   "Renna. You may call me Elizabeth."
   "Then you may call me Wolsk, Elizabeth."
   I followed Elizabeth as she walked towards the inner caldera wall. After maybe fifteen minutes, she stopped and pointed at a hole in the crater's side. "That's where I saw it go in. Thing looked like a beast from the Nether," she said in a hushed voice.
   "If you don't mind me asking, what were you doing out here?" I asked.
   "The local kids love playing out here among the boulders. I was playing hide-and-seek with them when I saw the spook."
   Nodding, I approached the cave, pausing to drink the heat-resistance potion before entering. I could see a dim red glow from somewhere down the way. As I got closer, I could feel the temperature rising, even with the concoction I had drunk at the beginning. If I were still alive, I thought, I'd probably be dripping sweat. Damn, is it hot down here. All the while, I followed the tunnel, getting ever closer to that light.
   I reached the end of the passage, turning a corner into a cavern with a ceiling lost in the darkness above. On floor level, there was a pool of magma large enough to support a decent obsidian farm. Sleeping next to the pool was the hellish ram himself. His skull of a head rested on the ground in front of him, hooves tucked under his body, the allegedly yellow glow of eyes missing from their sockets. Pulling the shield from my sack, I cautiously approached, shifting my weight slowly with each step. Crunch.
   There goes my chances at stealth, I thought as the ram's eye sockets lit up with an unearthly glow. Quickly, he rose up from his resting place as I pulled the shield in front of me, withdrawing the rope from the sack at the same time. While the ram started to scuff its hooves in preparation for a charge, I quickly tied a sliding knot to make a lasso. Suddenly, he dashed forward, slamming into my shield and forcing me back. I threw the lasso at the beast's head, but he ducked out of the loop before it had the chance to tighten. Prancing back to the edge of the pit, it reared back before leaping forward once more. Crashing into the shield again, I threw the loop once more, and it once again dodged.
   "This is getting me nowhere," I grunted as I worked a kink out of my shoulder. The ram was circling around, aiming back at me. Thinking fast, I waited for him to charge once more before dropping the lasso in front of the shield. By the time the hellish ram realized what I was doing, it was too late for him to abort. He threw his head straight through the loop before slamming into my shield. Pulling the knot tight, I dropped the shield in favor of coiling the rope up as he started throwing his weight around to try and break free. When I finally got close enough, I tackled the crazy beast and pinned him to the ground, tying up his legs to keep him from causing more trouble. Slinging him over my shoulders, I trudged back through the tunnel to where Elizabeth stood anxiously waiting.
   "Did you get-- Oh my!" she exclaimed as I came up. I looked quite imposing with the angry ram, his hellfire horns ablaze and yellow lights shining from his eye sockets. Gesturing with my head to lead the way, we walked back to the portal. Shifting my burden onto one shoulder, I withdrew my Bloodstone from a pocket and inserted it into the door, carefully stepping through to keep the door from catching fire.
   "Hey Irman!" I shouted as I shut the door behind me, removing its power source. "Do we have a room with lava in it?"
   "Yes," I heard him respond from somewhere far away. "I just finished adding it. Head to the Diaspo rotunda, I'll meet you there." Settling the ram onto both shoulders, I made my way through the manor to where he waited. Big enough to act as a ballroom, the Diaspo rotunda had thirty doors lining the walls, twenty-six of which were now in use including the new room. Irman opened the portal for me while I ducked under the frame, gently setting the now-subdued ram on the stone floor. The room was a platform of obsidian surrounded by some lava, and as hot as I remembered the caldera cavern. I stepped aside as the alchemist moved in to collect a few samples of fur, horn, hoof, and hide. As he withdrew from the room, I unbound the ram's legs before quickly following suit.
   "What do you think these things do?" I asked as we walked back to the Glass Lab. It was the first place experiments took place, so we could see any reactions.
   "Nether if I know," he replied with a wave of his hands. "That's why we experiment." Stepping into the room, he grabbed one of a duck variant's feathers out of a small jar resting on the nearest shelf. At the same time, he also took down a bottle of spittle which we knew to have dissolving properties. Sitting down at the work bench, he carefully started to mix while I took down a sample of some lizard variant's rainbow skin and an empty vial. I poured some water from an ever-fill pot into the vial before taking a seat next to Irman to carry out my own test.
   "Pass me the horn sample?" I asked, carefully placing the lizard skin into the water.
   I never saw the explosion that threw me against the wall.

((Death every other chapter! Whee!!!))

[Inumo]

Chapter 5 ((It starts with stuff that probably should've been tossed into chapter 4, but I'm too lazy to go back and fix it. Maybe in December. ))

   When I came to, I saw the Glass Lab half-destroyed. Vials were shattered on the floor. There was a small fire burning on the tile floor where some of the materials on one of the shelves had mixed together. Dazed, I tried to stand up, pushing off the ground with both arms. I sat there trying for about ten seconds before I realized that both my right arm and leg had been torn off in the blast. It was odd seeing them sit there, with no blood or serious-looking wounds, aside from the fact that they were no longer attached. With standing made, if not impossible, rather difficult, I instead pulled myself out of the Lab and into the Repair Room, shoving my removed arm and leg in front of me.
   The Repair Room had clearly been effected by the explosion one room over. One of the shelves had been knocked over, and there was twine and sand scattered about on the pine floor. I pushed my limbs off to one side while I crawled around, taking a heavy-duty needle, some sinew, and some leather  from the ground. Materials in hand, I wriggled back to my arm and leg. Sitting up against the wall, I placed a strip of leather behind my shoulder, halfway around the socket, before propping my arm up where it needed to be. I wrapped the leather around the arm, then carefully sewed it in place using the sinew. With function returned to my right arm, I set to reattaching my leg, wrapping the seam between hip and limb with leather before sewing it back together. When that was done, I carefully started to stand up, testing my stitching job before putting normal weight on it. I dusted myself off, then left the Repair Room.
   I prayed to Batea before opening the door to the Glass Lab, hoping that Irman might have survived the explosion. The Lab was still in disarray, the small fire still burning, some bark and sap spilled on the floor, glass shards sparkling in the light cast by the small chandelier, sitting in the middle of the tiling. Just past that, laying with legs on the workbench stool, was the alchemist. If the blood spatters told the right tale, his head and upper neck had been blasted off, slamming into a shelf before coming to a rest atop a rack of drying vials. The rest of his body was peppered with shards of glass, sticking out of the gory mess that remained of his neck, red with blood from the punctures that coated his chest. The crimson fluid had pooled underneath him, reflecting the scene with dark red overtones. I felt sick at the sight, quickly stepping out of the room and shutting the door.
   Shaken, I sat down, leaning against the sturdy oaken door. I tried to calm down, remembering how I dealt with my shipmates' deaths after the Starry Glen. Suicide was an option now, but I knew now that life was too sweet to give up, even with the loss of another dear friend. "Twice," I whispered, before continuing silently. Twice now, Undeath has kept me alive when all others died. Maybe... Maybe the Damasquens are right. Undeath is a blessing, not a curse. Standing up, I started to climb the grand staircase. What's to be done with the manor, though? I asked myself. I stood still for a moment, halfway to the second floor. Leave it, I decided after a moment. "These creatures have caused enough problems." Finishing my ascent, I powered up the portal to the Damasquen border. Stepping through, I turned around to get one last look at the place I was forever leaving, before shutting the door and removing its power source.

   With the past safely behind me, I turned south and started walking. If I remembered my maps right, the capital city, Dekadhe, was a ways away. There weren't any Bloodstone sources on the Kahst Peninsula, so I had never been this far south. Still, I tried to remain unperturbed as I made my way deeper into the country. After a while, I found a road that seemed to be a major thoroughfare. Following that, I eventually ran into a foot patrol.
   "You there! Halt!" I heard the lead man shout as I approached.
   Raising my hands to show that I was weaponless, I asked, "What do you need, sir?"
   "What race are you?" He demanded, sword drawn and pointed at me. An odd question, to be sure, but I answered it all the same.
   "Beaver Rieka, Undead," I answered. Slowly unbuttoning my shirt, I displayed the stitches that kept the stab wound that had killed me closed.
   "Good." The leader sheathed his sword. Now that he was so close, it was obvious that he was Undead. The Bloodstone jutting from the shoulders of his tunic indicated that he was an Eyas, and I could see the stitches from a wound across his throat where it was slashed. "We've had... problems... with the still-living trying to attack our country out of some foolish sense of revenge. What brings you to our realm?"
   "I came to learn more about my condition, and how to show others just how wondrous it is. Twice, this blessing kept me alive while those around me died, first in the aftermath of a shipwreck, and second after an alchemical experiment gone explosive. I have come to believe in the principles that caused my conversion, so, here I am." I ended my little speech with a half-shrug, dropping my hands to my sides.
   After a moment, the resurrected Eyas nodded. "Very well," he stated. "Come with me." He turned and started off at a sprint along the road, the rest of the patrol following suit. I surged forward, legs going at full tilt to catch up before matching their pace. We ran pell-mell for around thirty minutes, far longer than any living creature could have sustained, before stopping outside a pair of heavy stone gates.
   "Open the gates!" The patrol leader shouted through cupped hands up at the ramparts. After a few moments of waiting, there was a great grinding sound as the huge slabs of rock were pushed wide enough for us to slip through. Looking back, I saw the two burly Humans start to pull on a pair of ropes attached to the gates to pull them shut. Facing forward again, I observed my surroundings. There were great stone structures to my left and right, stretching down the street and twice my height. Beyond them, I could see a collection of buildings, structures I identified as shops as we got close. There were all sorts of things in the shop windows, from fanciful stitches to gold filigree apparently designed to decorate an Undead's wounds, fine clothing to suits of armor.
   Passing them by, I turned back forward, hoping to spot our destination. Ahead was a dilapidated monastery, the rubble from its once-walls surrounding the grounds. Holes were clearly visible in the evening light, through which I could see rotted timbers and the glitter of broken glass. "Why here?" I idly asked of my escort.
   "Just as Cha stole our souls from Death," the Eyas intoned, "so too did we steal this monastery from the hands of destruction."
   "Cha's work must be remembered," the patrol chanted. "Thus do we bare our marks of Undeath." Their unity in speaking scared me a little as I returned to facing the front of the party.
   Inside the rundown building, I could hear the quiet sound of incantations in the distance. The Damasquens lead me through hallways to a courtyard in the center of the monastery. There, a warlord in full battle regalia knelt before the statue of a monkey Rieka, holding a glass ball in one hand. Light shone onto the orb, causing it to look as though it were alight with an inner fire. The patrol leader waved for us to halt before continuing forward, bending down to whisper into the great warrior's ear. After a hushed conversation, the Eyas backed up before kneeling down. The rest of his group did the same, and I followed suit shortly after. A few moments later, the soldier rose, turning around to speak to us.
   "Who has come to announce their rebirth?" The warlord said in a deep, booming voice.
   "It is I, m'lord," I answered.
   "What is thy name?"
   "Wolsk, m'lord."
   "Very well," the warrior intoned, drawing a knife from behind his back. Stepping forward, he handed it to me hilt first while declaring, "Fulfill thine duty to Cha, and sate his need for purpose. Return when you have done this, and thou shalt be accepted into Damasque."
   Taking the blade, I slipped it into my belt and said, "I shall not fail." I followed as the rest of the patrol stood up and left, before realizing I had no idea what the man had meant. Slightly nervous, I heard the patrol lead call for a halt as soon as we were off the grounds.
   "Dismissed!" He shouted at his men. Suddenly, the soldiers surrounding me relaxed and started talking, lightly punching me in the shoulder in congratulations for something. The Eyas that had lead the group approached me casually, saying, "Nice job not fucking that up. A lot of the new guys don't understand what the hell they should do when Kra hands them the dagger." Shaking my hand, he continued, "I'm Nackata. If you have any questions, just ask."
   "Wolsk," I replied. "If I'm free to ask any question, I need to ask what the hell I'm supposed to be doing now. And who was that Cha dude he mentioned?"
   "Cha is the divine thief that stole our souls from the hands of Death when we first died, returning us to the realm of the living. However, he does not live without purpose, and so we must give him a reason to stay alive by converting those that are still alive to Undeath, passing his blessing on."
   "And how do I do that, exactly?"
   "Just do as the one that converted you did: stab them in the heart and leave the knife in. The enchantment'll do the rest. Helluva lot easier than learning magic just to let them be resurrected after a fall, which they might not realize they've even died from." Taking a look at the sun, he let out a small yelp before hurriedly saying, "Look, I gotta go report to the barracks, let 'em know you're here now. Have fun with your first conversion, and don't limit yourself to Diaspo!"

[Inumo]

Chapter 6 ((This'll eventually get appended to chapter 5, but I'm now determined not to change anything until December.))

   I left the city, thinking of where to go. Drawing the dagger from its sheath, I saw that it was almost the same as the one that originally converted me. Bloodstone hilt, jade blade. I was tempted to try and convert someone in Nahyak, but there was too much a chance of being found out as undead, especially with the leather I'd wrapped around my shoulder and hip. Reik was an option, though I didn't want to go home to turn someone Undead. So, Goroesk, Jantiasco, Zimarta, and Apaista were the possibilities I was okay with on Sari. Yet, I hadn't seen that many Rieka among the Undead, and most Rieka were on Diaspo. I'm not limiting myself, I rationalized, I'm making a decision. After a few more moments of thought, I turned north and started running, heading towards Tafea.
   I ran nonstop on the way to the Qir Peninsula. Day turned to night turned to day turned to night... I counted around five days before I started up the slope to Qira. On the way, I passed by the Womb of Water, a few hermit shacks, even a village, though thankfully I ran through when nobody was awake. I ran for another day to get to the Tafean capital city. I would have made it sooner, except that I had to skirt around a small town in the daylight part-way through my journey.
   The sun was just starting to rise when I arrived. The men working the gates were pushing them open, the heavy wood creaking slightly as they hinged out. I remembered something that Nackata had said about showing Undeath marks, so I unbuttoned my shirt, baring the stitching that held my killing blow shut. It was an odd feeling, like I was exposing some secret thing. I wandered the streets for the day, mind far from the conversion I needed to enact while I was here. There was little to be offered to me from the local merchants, as they were all designed for those still alive.
   Night fell, and I kept walking around. Periodically, I'd find a drunk sailor stumbling through the back alleys, but I didn't want to create a repeat of my own conversion. Instead, I continued until I overheard some people conversing in a back alley. As I approached, it became clearer that the two were having a rather philosophical discussion about whether the normal lifespan was long enough. I climbed onto some of the shop roofs by way of a stack of crates to get a better look at the duo. One was a thin Human, and seemed to be taking the side of life being at just the right length. The other was an eagle Rieka, with sharp eyes and wings folded against his back. He was taking the side of life being too short, and looked to be honestly worried about the matter.
   "I'm just saying, how can you enjoy everything in life if you only go through fifty years or so?" The Rieka asked of his companion. It sounded like it was a major point of his argument.
   "And how can you remember everything when you live more than fifty years or so?" The Human replied. "You can only remember so much, Pont."
   "The Melorin live for a couple hundred years, and they deal with it just fine. What's so different about them compared to us?"
   "They're Melorin, that's what! We've been over this! They've got some special thing about them, and they've had generations to get used to it."
   "But if the Melorin never had that first generation that lived for those hundreds of years, then when would they get there?"
   "Does it matter? What's past is past. Everybody's lifespans fit what they can handle. Just deal with it and stop worrying."
   "But–!"
   "Look, friend, it's late. It's already almost too dark to see the streets. Let's just go home, and forget about this issue, okay?"
   The eagle Rieka sighed. "Fine, see you tomorrow. Good luck with getting that window made."
   "And you with that suit of armor Gonta commissioned," the Human replied. "Good night."
   I swung down from the roof, landing just past the exit Pont was heading towards. This is going to be awkward, I thought, trying to decide on a way to start the sales pitch. I leapt forward as I saw him pass by me and into the cross street. "Excuse me, sir!" I said, flagging him down. "I couldn't help but overhear some of your conversation..."
   "What of it?" He returned. He seemed pensive, fidgeting as I got closer.
   "Well..." I trailed off, gesturing vaguely with my hands. "As you can probably see, I'm an Undead, just came from Damasque where I applied for citizenship, if that's what you could call it..."
   "And your point is?" The man demanded in a tone that clearly said I had maybe fifteen seconds.
   "I was told to convert someone, and I don't want to do it against their will. I was thinking, since Undeath means that you live until your brain gets wrecked, plus having a lot more time to do stuff since you don't need to eat, drink, or sleep, you might be interested." It all poured out of my mouth, until I could only stand there and wait.
   The eagle Rieka paused for a moment before responding. "And how do you 'convert' someone, exactly?" He asked after a time. It seemed like he'd just gotten interested in the talk.
   "Well, here's the awkward part..." Drawing the resurrection knife from my belt, I said, "In order to convert you, I need to stab you in the heart with this. You'll wake up the next morning an Undead." A short silence followed this statement.
   The man sighed, shaking his head. "Alright, let's get this over with," he muttered, barely audible. Moving over to the nearby wall, he took a seat and spread his arms wide. "Make it quick," he said in a louder voice.
   Nodding, I stood in front of him, placing the knife point in front of his heart. "I'll stay with you for the night so nothing gets stolen from you," I guaranteed, before leaning into the jade blade. His arms fell limp and he let out a shuddering breath, his head lolling to one side.
   I watched over his body, keeping track of the resurrection process by how much of the hilt remained. When it was little more than a nub, I saw the Rieka's eyelids flutter open as he regained consciousness. "How're you feeling?" I asked when his eyes seemed focused.
   "Surprisingly... normal," he responded. "By the way, I don't think I ever got your name..."
   "Wolsk," I supplied. "Thanks for helping me deal with that. Maybe we'll meet some day in Damasque. Farewell!"

[Inumo]

Chapter 7

   After a long run, I returned to Damasque at night and started walking through the streets, wondering where I was supposed to report to. As I passed through one of the well-lit shop areas, I spotted Nackata, apparently off duty. I ran over to him, trying to get his attention. "Hey! Nackata!"
   He turned as I got closer. "Wolsk! Nice to see you back in the city! Did you already do your conversion?"
   "Yeah, an eagle Rieka up in Qira. Who am I supposed to report to, though?"
   "Head to the monastery and wait around the entrance for someone to pass by from inside. Tell them that you just came back from your first conversion, they'll tell you what to do."
   I nodded my head, saying, "Got it." Waving goodbye, I turned and jogged to the old building and waited by the front gates. After a few minutes, a bare-chested Human walked past, his black linen pants making a small skff noise with each step. "Excuse me," I asked, slightly raising my hand. "I just came back from performing my first conversion... Where am I supposed to be going?"
   "Ah, a new citizen of Damasque!" The monk exclaimed. "Come with me, we shall talk to Kra." He turned and started walking, beckoning for me to follow. We passed through hallways I half-remembered before entering the courtyard from before, torches burning from wall sconces around the perimeter. This time, Kra was standing, his armor hanging from a stand close by. With his protection removed, I could see that he was a muscular otter Rieka, with characteristic webbed hands and thin layer of fur on his torso. The two of us knelt down before the monk announced, "We have a new citizen, m'lord."
   Kra's deep voice rumbled like distant thunder. "Cha hath been sated once more, thanks to your deeds. Rise, brother, and be assured of your repayment to the Divine Thief." As I stood, he held out his hand. In a less grave tone, he said, "Welcome to Damasque, Wolsk."
   "Thank you, m'lord," I replied, grasping the warlord's hand. It took me by surprise when he pulled me close, pounding me on the back.
   "Don't worry," Kra said when he saw my slightly stunned expression. "You'll come to learn when to be formal and when we are all equals. Now then, I'm sure you're wondering what happens next." At my nod, he continued. "You're being assigned to Karlemane's squad in the north barracks. Head in and ask for him through one of the civil workers, they'll get you together. Report to him, he'll tell you what you need to do from there. Our next raid's in a few days, so you have some time to get acclimated." And with that, he waved farewell and knelt down in front of the statue of Cha. I turned back towards the monk, who was now standing, gesturing for him to lead the way. He started through the monastery, taking me back to the front gates, at which point we exchanged goodbyes and went our separate ways.
   I made my way through the streets, passing by some shops with a few items that struck my fancy, though I'd earned no money since I lost my purse during the wreck of the Starry Glen. Looking up to the night sky, I found the Snake of the South and started making my way to the north end of the city. Once there, I circled the great stone structure, finding a ladder on one side that let me climb to the roof. In the center of the roof I found a hole large enough for me to fit through, letting me drop down into the building.
   As I landed somewhat hard on the floor of the barracks, I looked around. The room was a decently sized work of mortared stone, with passages shooting off in eight different directions. A female Eyas approached me, wearing a sleeveless dress that had a patch cut out of the bosom to reveal her Undeath mark. "Who are you here for?" She asked in a lighthearted tone.
   "Karlemane," I answered. "He's my new superior."
   "Ah, a new citizen, are you? Well, welcome to Damasque." Gesturing down one of the hallways, she continued, "Head down that hall, third door on the right."
   "Thank you," I said as I started down the passage she had indicated. One... Two... Three, I counted as I walked past the rooms. Knocking on the heavy oak door, I stepped back to wait.
   "Enter," I heard from inside the quarters. Pushing it open, I saw a dark-skinned Human sitting on one of the stone bunks, a sword across his knees and a whetstone in his hand. "I don't believe we've met... The name's Karlemane. What do you need?"
   "I came to report, sir," I said, closing the door behind me. "I've been assigned to your squadron."
   "A new citizen, eh?" Karlemane said. "Well, glad to have you aboard. Your bunk'll be in the room four doors down with Jaque and Donoa. You'll get your arms and armor when we start training in the morning. Until then, enjoy yourself for the night." He turned back to his blade. The soft scrape of the whetstone on metal accompanied me as I exited the room.
   Shutting the door, I turned down the hall and walked over to my assigned quarters, hoping to meet some of my roommates. I found the door already half-open, a Melorin woman clearly visible. She lay flat on her bunk, apparently idly scratching something out on some sheets of paper with a quill. As I pushed the door fully open, she looked over from her work. "You need somethin'?" She asked idly, her chin in one hand.
   "I've been assigned to this room, it seems," I replied. "My name's Wolsk. I'm guessing you're Donoa...?"
   "Yep," she answered languidly. Corking a bottle of ink, she set the quill into a small hole she'd carved into the top. Sitting up, she stretched her arms and legs out before offering a hand. "Nice to meet you."
   Taking the extended hand, I responded, "Same to you." I paused a moment, before continuing. "Which bunk is Jaque's?"
   She slapped a hand over her head, hitting the bunk above. "This one right here. You've got your pick of top or bottom on the other side," she said, gesturing to the opposite wall. It looked almost the exact same as the other side, save for the change in sides that the bunks attached to. I took a seat, leaning against the wall and swinging my legs a bit.
   It was a few moments before the thought struck me. "If we don't need to sleep," I began, "why do we have bunks?"
   "Better sense of home," Donoa replied. "If you know you've got a bed to return to, even if you don't need it, you feel more comfortable than if you didn't." There was another short pause before she asked a question of her own. "What'd you do before you came here?"
   "I was a sailor when I got converted," I answered. "Kept doing that for a month or two, until a blood kraken took out the ship I worked on, leaving me the sole survivor thanks to my condition."
   "You make it sound like it's a bad thing."
   "For a time, I felt like it was. Losing the people I'd worked with for so long, if I'd had a knife I'd have stabbed myself in the head to be done with it. Anyways, after I got back to land, I made my way to Joreh and worked as an alchemist's apprentice for a five years or so."
   "Alchemy? After being a sailor? Sounds like a rather odd choice."
   "S'not like I had much else to do. I'd lost the ship I worked on, and after dealing with one blood kraken, I didn't want to risk a second encounter."
   "Didn't you just say you were feeling suicidal?"
   "I'd had days, maybe even weeks to work it out before I got to land. I was over it."
   "Fair enough. Go on."
   "Well, I helped collect various animals that had been effected by Bloodstone in their environments so we could use some of their stuff for experiments."
   "You took the animals' eyes and flesh and things like that?"
   "No, no, no! Just stuff like fur, or horns, or hooves, or leaves, whatever we knew would regrow. After a time, I'd brought enough animals into the manor that we couldn't manage any more, so I stopped going out to find them, instead spending more time on conducting my own formulas."
   "Did you find the Elixir of Life?"
   "I wish. Closest thing we ever got to that was a potion that granted some enhanced regenerative abilities. For a day, cuts would seal themselves within seconds."
   We spent the night like that, me finishing my story before listening to hers. When morning came, Karlemane came down the hall clattering some pans to call us to training. Sharing a small hug, we left our quarters. I still haven't met Jaque, I thought as I followed the rest of the soldiers down the passage and up the hole, out into the morning sun.

[Inumo]

Chapter 8

   A civil worker came by as we walked to the training field, handing me a suit of tough leather armor and a small box full of knife hilts, the blade replaced by a thin layer of some sticky substance. When we arrived, I saw that the field was a dirt square, fifty paces wide and long. I was told to stand on the sidelines to observe and understand the exercise. Karlemane stood on the edge of the field as the squad hung their boxes from their shoulders, resting it in the smalls of their backs. "Ready..." He shouted. The soldiers tied green or red armbands around their biceps before pulling hilts from their boxes, one in each hand. "Fight!" The two teams charged at each other, dust filling the air as the splat of knife hilts sticking onto people came from the mob.
   After a few minutes, Karlemane began counting down, bellowing, "Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Finish!" The mass of fighters immediately stopped shuffling, separating themselves back into two straight lines. Karlemane started walking down the line, periodically pulling a knife off of a person and tossing them into distinct piles. It took a moment before I realized that each stack had its own pommel color. As Karlemane reached the end of the second team, he stepped into the space between the two teams.
   "Fifteen converting strikes. Five lethal. The rest would hurt, but not kill a person. The winner of this match is Green team, the biggest converter was Toch." The side wearing green armbands let out a cheer, raising one of their teammate's arms up high. Turning to me, Karlemane asked, "Think you get what's going on?"
   "Practice battles, it seem," I answered. "Knife hilts to simulate the actual knives we'll be fighting with, targets are the heart or other lethal locations so that we can convert our opponents, but not the head so that they can be resurrected properly."
   "Close enough. Get in there," Karlemane said, handing me a green armband. As I tied the strip of cloth around my arm, I walked over to the green side of the field. Turning back to face the middle, I saw that Karlemane had tied a red strip around his arm. Removing the lid to my own box of hilts, I pulled out a pair and readied myself. I'd been in a couple of barroom brawls before I'd died, but I doubted too much of that history would be helpful. "Ready..." he shouted. I pulled the knife hilts into a fighting stance. "Fight!" I charged with the rest of my team. Careful to not accidentally stab any of the people on my team, I struck as fast as possible, sticking hilts onto any opponent in reach. "Five!" I heard over all the splats. I planted a hilt onto someones chest armor. "Four!" Another in someone's shoulder, straight down. "Three!" Someone behind me slammed me in the back. "Two!" I spun about, stabbing into the person that had struck me. "One!" I desperately threw one last hilt at the first red armband I saw.
   "Finish!" I pulled my hands away from the box hanging from my shoulders and started walking back to the side I had started on. Karlemane started by checking himself over for lethal strikes, pulling a couple hilts from his chest piece and one from his back. Then he walked down the red line, grabbing a hilt here and there and adding them to the piles in front of the line. Then he came over to our side, pulling knives and piling them up in front of our team. A good three or four were pulled from my torso. After finishing his count, he returned to the center of the field. "Twenty-five converting strikes, four lethal. Winner is Red team, the biggest converter was myself." The opposing side gave a small cheer. I started taking off the non-lethal hilts that had shown up during the last fight, tossing them into their corresponding piles. Glancing down at one of my hilts, I saw that my pommels were all black, so I gathered up the single black hilt and tossed it into the cache hanging from my shoulders. Returning to the Green side, I waited for Karlemane to announce the next fight.
   "Toch, Donoa, trade bands," I heard him command while he returned to the Greens. A pale Rieka with black and white stripes on his skin stepped out to meet Donoa, untying his armband and handing it to Donoa. Swapping colors with her, he made his way to our end of the field as Karlemane bellowed, "Ready..." Pulling a pair of hilts out from my box, I brought my hands up to guard my torso better.
   "Fight!" I leapt forward, trying to think of the hilts in my hands as actual knives instead of as just the hilts. I stabbed into one person, then slashed into another soldier's ribs, finishing with a small push forward to get it to stick. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an arm flash out, aiming at my arm. Raising a blade up, I instinctively tried to block with where the blade would be. It surprised me when I felt the hilt actually block something. Temporarily forgetting it, I took a stab at the person that had swung the hilt at me before returning my focus on the fight. Amidst the sounds of combat, I didn't notice Karlemane counting down until he'd already reached two. I got in one last stab before taking a step back, dodging another person's final swing. "Finish!"
   I tossed the pair of hilts I'd drawn into my box as I walked back to the Green's half of the field. Karlemane removed all the converting hilts from his armor, four in all. Then he walked the lines, tallying our scores. "Twenty-one converting hits, three lethal, Green wins, bee-cee was Nivan." We let out a cheer, though I saw one of the Reds, a Melorin with tattoos on his face and neck, shift a little bit and smile. Collecting my hilts, I saw that I'd managed to get three converting hits this time.
   We spent the rest of the morning in small five-minute fights, falling into a pattern of clash, stop, count, repeat. A rain storm came in close to halfway through the session, soaking the training field and giving us some practice fighting in the sucking mud. One guy lost his foot during one fight, thanks to a past injury and a poor stitching job. He sat on the sidelines for the next round while he reattached the separated appendage.
   As the storm started to clear and it became obvious that noon was approaching, Karlemane called a halt to the practicing and reorganized us into a small block, each of us two paces apart. In that formation, we practiced some more concerted maneuvers as a group, flanking imaginary opponents, retreating safely, and other tactics. As the sun reached its peak, Karlemane led us off the field and back to the barracks as another squad from the North Barracks passed us by on the way to the field.
   For the rest of the day I was given leave to do whatever. I spent some time meeting the other members of the squad, some more window shopping, and a last little bit flipping through a book on the Damasquen religion in one of the local shops. As the sun set, I returned to the barracks out of habit, before remembering that the city ran all day and night. With that in mind, I returned to the city, this time wandering through an unrecognizable district. It seemed as though the buildings in that area had been built for the sole purpose of living in, though it made no sense to me. At one house, I could hear a group of people chatting amicably, almost as if there were some dinner party inside. How odd, I thought as I passed by. Usually such things are reserved for the rich...
   I returned to the Northern Barracks as the sun was rising over the horizon. With no money, and as of yet no connections, I had nothing to do but lay in my bunk, staring at the ceiling. Donoa and Jaque were both off somewhere, so I remained undisturbed. I had no idea how much time had passed before Karlemane came down the hall, smacking pans together to call for another round of training. Nobody was missing as we climbed out the hole into the afternoon light and made our way to the practice field, following a similar pattern as the day before. Halfway through our combat practice, however, Karlemane stopped us between rounds and led us around the city walls to another practice field near the northeast gate. There, another squad was waiting, green armbands tied around their biceps. Karlemane passed out red strips of cloth to those of us that hadn't been wearing them before moving to stand next to the other squad leader, a tanned Eyas with a narrow chin.
   "Ready..." the other squad leader shouted in a steady voice. "Fight!" We charged at the opponents, Karlemane periodically shouting maneuvers at us from the sidelines while the opponent's squad leader did the same. After a few moments of hectic combat, I heard the Eyas start bellowing, "Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Finish!" Immediately we stopped, sorting ourselves back to our original sides. The Eyas walked through our line, pulling off conversion hits from our squad, while Karlemane did the same for the Greens.
   "Twenty-six!" He shouted across the field as he reached the end of the line. "Two fatalities!"
   "Twenty-eight!" The other squad leader returned as he reached the end of the line. "Three fatalities! We win!" The squad on the other side of the field cheered slightly as we all started gathering up our hilts. Returning to our own practice field, we did a few more rounds of combat practice before running through some maneuvers, ending our practice as night was falling.

[Inumo]

Chapter 9

   It was the middle of the night when the barracks were roused for the raid. The anticipation was almost palpable as all eight of the barracks squads filed into the central hub and out the ceiling. Sliding down the side of the building, we formed up into blocks by squad before all heading out the gates, pausing just outside the walls. Soon enough, the other thirty-two squads from the East, West, Southeast, and Southwest Barracks joined us. As we all formed up into one large block, Kra, in full battle regalia, came to the head of the army.
   "Tonight," he started shouting. "Tonight, my brothers, we go to give Cha his purpose en masse! Tonight, we share our blessing with any others we can find! Tonight, we pray that more shall join our numbers and understand just how much of a blessing Undeath is! We all know the risks of this venture. Ever since our first conversion raid three years ago, a year after we, the Undead, took this country from weak-willed and corrupt people, the government of Hidrea has sent more and more people to defend their southern border." With his visor up, the front lines could see the wicked grin that spread over his face. "That is why, tonight, we shall not be raiding their homes and villages."
   "Tonight, we go to strike at Mantakai! It will be a long march, to be sure, but I know that we can and will make it without being found. We are the Undead! Do we get tired when we run for days on end? No! Do we fear alchemical poisons? No! Does the threat of losing our limbs scare us? No! We are nigh invincible! We live far beyond the time frame of any other mortal in this world! So it is time to share our gift! Though some of our brethren may fall in battle, they may die knowing that they have helped Cha in his need for purpose!"
   Ending his speech, Kra turned to face the north. "To Mantakai!" He bellowed, starting to run. The combined forces behind him cheered, dashing ahead to follow, our boxes of now-bladed knives hanging from our shoulders. We fell silent after the first minutes of energy that the warlord had instilled in us, running for what felt like close to an hour before he held up a hand, slowing us down. He motioned for the forty squad leaders to come up front with him, spending some minutes talking with him, probably handing out orders. Dismissing the assorted heads, he stood patiently while Karlemane and the others doled out their orders.
   "Listen up guys," he began, gesturing for us to come close. "We're joining up with four of the other squads, one from each of the other barracks, to start our attack from the far side of the town. Once we've got it surrounded, Kra will head into the town and plant a boomer as close to the center as possible so we can raise the people and get them out of their houses, making it easier for us to convert. With luck, this should take no more than fifteen minutes, and we can all be back home before sunrise." Turning to face the direction Kra stood in, he started jogging forward. "Let's go."
   As a squad, we followed behind him. After we crested a small rise in the ground, I could see the dark silhouette of a small town up ahead against the moonlight that was faintly reflected off the grass behind it. It looked to be composed of maybe ten to twenty buildings, one in particular near the center having a second story. We circled around the outskirts, the only sound a quiet swish as our feet brushed through the tall grass. I could see the outlines of the other squads that were joining us close by. After a few minutes, Karlemane waved us to a halt before drawing a pair of knives out of his box.
   Let's get this started, I thought as I pulled a pair of the jade blades out of my own container. After a few minutes, there were close to two hundred and fifty Undead squatting down on the hillside, the moons to our backs. Time slowed down close to a crawl as we waited for the rest of the squads to get into position and for Kra to do his thing. When it was almost impossible to see any of our forces, I saw a lone figure head into the town.
   Less than a minute later, I knew what a boomer was through demonstration.
   As a whole, we silently closed in around the village, knives dully glimmering in the moonlight. As the townspeople came out of their houses to try and find the source of the noise that had woken them, we started planting knives into their ribs, some murmuring quiet blessings as they shoved the blades into flesh. The first four people I stabbed I took from behind, three men and a woman. After that, though, people started screaming as the surprise wore off. The peasants started running around, trying to escape despite the thick wall of soldiers that filled the streets. As one of the people on the front lines, I had to catch one or two that were screaming hysterically, holding a knife out in front of me for them to run into on their own. The warm blood spilling over my hand made my grip slippery as I pulled another blade from my box. With the low light and similar colors, it looked almost as if my hand no longer existed.
   My vision narrowed to carefully planting knives into the bodies of the commoners that were running about. Behind me I heard other soldiers kicking down doors to root out any others that tried to escape the blessing of Undeath. Time stretched out. Blade after blade I stabbed into the commoners. Men and women I converted, though I passed over what children there were. Every step, every scream, every strike, every laying down of a shuddering body took an eternity.
   Then suddenly, it was over. It was dead silent; not even the wail of a baby was to be heard. Kra stood atop a well in the center of town, the entire Damasquen military surrounding him, his face shrouded in shadow. Moonlight glinted off his polished helm, the only metal armor in the entire army. After a minute or two, he spoke.
   "Brothers," he said in a carrying voice. "What we have done tonight was gruesome and bloody. No doubt people that do not understand our beliefs will label us as monsters, as cruel creatures, less than people. But what we did here will benefit these people, this country, more than any other act. Without the need to eat, drink, sleep, or worry about injury, these citizens can work more hours, spend less money on daily necessities, go into more exciting situations without risking their lives, and live longer, allowing them to go and do more of what they want. We will doubtless be called unfit to be called people, but stay strong and be firm in your knowledge that, whatever everyone else believes, this was the right thing to do."
   The crowd stayed silent as he stepped off of the brim of the well. "Now, let us return to our homes in Damasque." We parted for him to make his way out of the ring, forming up into one long chain of squad blocks. As we passed the town outskirts, we started to jog, then to run. No one spoke. The light of the morning sun shone on us returning to Dekadhe, the gates grinding open. The squads separated into groups by barracks, going around the city and entering through whichever gates brought them closest to their barracks. Filing down the back street behind the North Barracks, I climbed the ladder and dropped down the hole, heading back to my bunk. Only then did the first sounds of frivolous chatter spring up.
   Laying back on my bunk, I thought about what I had done back in that town. Their death isn't permanent, I comforted myself. When the rise, they will be better off than they were before. The excuses seemed flimsy, but they were all I had. After a while, Karlemane went down the halls, tossing bags of coins onto everyone's bunks. "Here's your pay," he explained when he reached the room I shared with Jaque and Donoa. Smiling, he joked, "Don't blow it all in one place!" He moved on from the door frame, tossing more bags onto other people's beds. Looking at the small bag from between my knees, I eventually sat up and pulled it over to my side, unlacing the drawstrings. A fair number of coins of various denominations glittered back at me in the dim light cast by the torch hanging from the ceiling. Not a large sum, not a small sum. I could probably buy a book or two with this, I thought impassively. Maybe a piece of filigree for social times, or a couple sets of clothes. I could also use it to get some metal, or an instrument of some sort...
   I stood up from my bunk and grabbed the coin pouch, determined to lose my thoughts through shopping.

[Inumo]

Chapter 10 ((Yes, the "dry dock" isn't an actual dry dock, but it is Wolsk's understanding of one.))

   I grew used to the schedule of the military. Training rotations, periodic raids, and life in between. The squad filled, I earned some scars, and the rationale behind the acts of the country started to make more sense. After a while, though, my mind wandered, off the land and into the sea. I started to imagine a boat, a crew, the life of a captain. I still concentrated on my duties as needed, but in that time between, more and more of my spare time was taken up with sheets of paper on the stone floor of my room, drawing cross-sections of various ships. After two years of military service, Karlemane came to me while I was trying to sketch a to-scale mast for another ship design, this one with four decks, one of which was for rowing.
   "If you didn't know," he began, "your mandatory service is almost over. Two weeks, to be exact. I'm here to ask you whether you'd like to stay on or go elsewhere."
   Rocking back on my heels, I corked my ink bottle and stabbed the quill into the stopper before turning to him. Gesturing at the drawing on the floor, as well as a few rolled up sheets on my bed, I said, "I'll be heading to a port town down south to try and realize some of these designs. The service has been great, but it's not where I belong."
   "Fair enough," he replied. Turning down the hall, he moved on to the next room. Probably has to do that to everybody in his squad, I thought, smiling, before uncorking the ink and returning to my work. The two weeks passed, and I had five ship designs bundled under my arm as I headed south, my coin purse on my belt.
   In a few days, I reached the southern coastline, though I hadn't seen any port towns on my way by. Turning west, I started to follow the sandy beaches, hoping to find the sight of a stone wall soon. After a week, however, I recognized the curved shore of the border between Hidrea and Damasque. I turned around, heading back south to try the other direction. Eventually, I found the port city I was looking for on the southernmost point of the peninsula.
   The weathered gray walls stood tall as I arrived, the early morning sun starting to warm the chill air. Adjusting the rolls of paper tucked in my armpit, I walked up to the gates. When I got close, the heavy stone started to grind open, and I slipped in while the people manning the doors pulled them wide. Immediately, I headed for the docks, reviewing the designs I had made. I knew it would take a lot of time to make even one of the ships, so I had to decide which version I wanted to sail, in the end. The galleon with fake wings on the back was impractical, more a ship of whimsy than one grounded in reality. I wasn't entirely sure why I thought I could make it in the first place. The second option I had was a variation on a frigate, a design that a minor merchant might use. The biggest feature about it was the benches for rowers on the top deck, allowing for more consistent speeds. Then, there was a carrack, built with a focus on cabins and comfort more than cargo space. Impractical, but still a fun idea. Also in the collection was the design for a snow-brig variant, with a pair of sails that extended from the sides of the hull, and what I felt was a stereotypical ship.
   As I reached the docks, I noticed a distinct lack of dry docks in the harbor. Don't they make ships here? I thought to myself as I took a walk along the disturbingly short pier. No ships were docked, no trade occurred. It was eerily silent, the only sound the dull thunk of my boots stepping on the old planks. "They have a barracks," I murmured to myself, "but no citizens? What in the Nether is going on?"
   Easily apparent as the ghost town status was, I walked to an area of the docks where the pier didn't go, revealing a stretch of sand that ended in stone wall. Setting my plans against the wall, I considered my options. Turning back and rejoining the army was always open, but I had just left it. I didn't want to go again. I could also give up and enter the civil service, though I doubted it held anything worthwhile for me. There was also the possibility of building my own dry dock, though it'd be difficult to do, and time-consuming. I leaned against the cold gray stone while I pondered. After a few moments, I decided, Ah, I've got plenty of time, sure as the Nether burns. I'll just build a dry dock. With that in mind, I went into the deserted homes, a detail I missed for some reason as I was entering, and started scavenging around for the parts to make a shovel. Over the course of a few weeks, I dug out a pit large enough to house the design for the snow-brig, the most likely design to be sturdy. From there, I broke the small sand barrier I had between my pit and the water, leaving to gather up wood while the pit filled. I returned days later with all the wood and nails I could get from a single neglected house, along with a hammer some once-resident had forgotten when they left.
   With my dry dock constructed, or as close of one as I understood, I left to purchase pitch from the cities in the north, using all of my funds to get enough. Dragging it along behind me, I came back to my new semi-home and started assembling the lowest foot of my boat, coating it in pitch as soon as it was done. Months passed as I continued to nail board to board, slowly bringing my drawing to life around me. Stairs were built, cabins were constructed, hull was pieced together. Soon, I had the core of my ship built, though it still needed masts, sails, and ropes.
   Luckily, by then, all of my activity had brought the attention of a few other Undead as word of what I was doing spread through the military into the rest of the nation. They had decided to help out with my work, bringing along their own hammers, nails, and whatever wood or pitch they felt like bringing. As a combined force, we were able to chop down some nearby trees, shaving off the branches and bark until we had just the trunks. Then we carried them, one by one, back to the port town, coating them in pitch before raising them to be masts, prows, and booms. A few weeks later, after we had managed to find, purchase, or otherwise acquire enough canvas and rope, the snow-brig was complete.
   The stitched-together sails and flag, along with the rope and boards of various tones, made it look like some ship that had been brought up from the dead houses and other materials that had gone into its construction. It was almost like the ship itself was an Undead. With shovel in hand, I dug out the rest of the wall between what was once merely a simple pit and the open blue, climbing aboard as the rush of water pulled the ship from its resting place and out into the harbor. Climbing aboard up a rope ladder on the side, I tossed down a rope to some of the cheering people on the docks, sliding down one to help with the docking process. Seeing the ship, once just the idle scratches of ink on paper, turned into something real, I couldn't help but smile. This is my ship, I thought proudly. No, not mine. Ours, to be crewed by whoever is willing to come across the seas with me. As the last ropes were tied, I climbed back aboard, putting out the gangplank and letting the rest of the people, the newly-made shipwrights, come on and explore their handiwork.
   As the sun fell, we lit a bonfire with the wood we had left over, holding a party to celebrate our achievement. After all, there were no other Damasquen ships in the world; we had built the first. After a long night of having fun, the bonfire dimmed, then burned out, and we slowed in our revelry to decide where we would go next. Climbing up to the roof of one of the houses, I shouted down at the crowd, "We've done it! This ship, no longer my ship, not a ship belonging to any one of us, our ship, is built. The only question is, where to next?"
   "Reik!" I heard one voice shout.
   "Zhia!" Called another.
   "Zimarta!"
   "Heyata!"
   "Qira!"
   I waved a silence on the people still shouting destinations. "I suppose, in the end, our goal matters not," I chuckled. "Rather, the bigger question is, who's ready to start sailing?" The entire crowd cheered, and we made our way onto the snow-brig, off to start our own adventures and write a new chapter in our lives.

[Inumo]

Chapter 11

   After a few days of anarchistic sailing, I was elected to be captain due to experience. With a map in the navigation cabin, I plotted a course to the Reikan port of Mahalai. There, I could hopefully find a merchant family willing to sponsor me in my first transactions. I didn't want to go for the big folk of the councilor families, instead spending what time I had whenever I wasn't helping with the work or steering the boat deciding which house to ask after. In the end, I chose to ask the Lof family, a supporter of the Kytes. I was riding on the hope that they would share the same ideals as the councilor they supported.
   After a month of solid sailing, made possible by the Undeath of my crew, we made port in Mahalai just as the sun was rising. Tossing ropes down to the dock workers, we tied our ship to one of the piers and set out the gangplank. As the sailors I worked with went ashore, stumbling at times as they regained their land legs, I asked around and found my way to the local Lof manor, for whenever the nobility wanted to take a sojourn north of the capital, where the pressures of politics were farther away. As luck would have it, a brother to the head of the family, able to make investments of equal value to ten crates of Bloodstone, was taking a vacation while I was docked. After a short wait, I was ushered into a sitting room, where I met the man.
   Setting down a book onto a nearby side table, the man, a Melorin with graying hair and gaunt cheeks, looked at me over woven fingers. "So, I understand you are trying to get into the merchant business," he began in a gravelly voice. "What makes you so different from the merchants I have currently in my employ?"
   "Well," I began, "as you can see, I'm Undead. More importantly, I am from Damasque. This makes me the first Damasquen merchant currently sailing. Because of this, I can forge connections into the country economy and tap into a market hitherto unnoticed. Though as a people we may not require food, we are as vain as any other society, if not more so, as it is one of the few things we can occupy ourselves with. In addition, since we have no need for sleep, we can make journeys across the oceans in faster time than any other ship, and have less risk of drawing the attentions of creatures of the deep, such as blood krakens, great sharks, and other potential causes for shipwrecks. This means faster returns on your investments."
   "All good points," the Melorin said. "But how much of a return would I be able to receive? I doubt that, as the first Damasquen merchant, you had all that many workers helping you to build your ship, and are doubtless running a skeleton crew right now. With so few people, you couldn't have built a big vessel, and after cabins, even if you quadruple bunked, you'd still have very little cargo space."
   "You forget that cabins are only necessary if sleep is. With no need for sleep, there are no cabins on the ship, meaning the only space below that is used for crew is a navigation cabin and off-duty lounge. The rest is devoted to a variety of holds that can carry plenty of cargo. And to address your concern over crew, I should mention that there were, in fact, many ex-sailors in Damasque that were more than willing to help. In fact, we were able to build a snow-brig and fully crew it, even with shift rotations."
   Unclasping his hands, the Lof head's brother pulled himself out of the armchair. "Very well," he declared. "Return three days hence, and ask for Bik. I will have my decision made by then." And with that, I was ushered back through the halls and out the front door.
   With plenty of time before my meeting with Bik, I spent the intervening days exploring the market streets, searching for possible merchants that would sell their goods so that I could take them overseas. In the end, I had the beginnings of a partnership with some blacksmiths, a couple of enchanters, and a friendly inventor. Returning to the Lof vacation home, I met Bik, who told me that I was sponsored for five hundred silver, the equivalent to six crates of Bloodstone. Leaving to meet my contacts, I soon had a cargo of swords, dimensional bags, and some strange inventions that used a coil of metal to keep track of the time like a grandfather clock which the inventor had called "spring clocks." In total, it had cost close to four hundred and seventy silver.
   Gathering my crew, I set sail from Mahalai to Qira. As a crew, we traded stories of our Undeaths and how they had kept us alive during the three week voyage. After I shared my story of the blood kraken, some of the sailors who had previously blown off the tales as legend started to look overboard nervously, despite my assurances that they only appeared out in the deeps, which we weren't disturbing at all thanks to the lack of anchoring each night. Eventually, we made port in the great tunnels under the Qir Peninsula, where the docks for Qira resided. I sold off some of the crates of swords, two of the dimensional bags, and three of the spring clocks, netting a profit of fifty silver, which I used some of to purchase a few crates of iron bars, locally produced.
   Time passed as I made regular journeys from port to port, buying and selling my way to a decent profit, which I used to slowly pay off my loan from the Lof family. After close to two years, my debt was payed off and I had developed a circuit, sailing from Mahalai, to Qira, to Bormana, to the Damasquen port city which I later learned was named Kipim, and back to Mahalai, that gained me close to fifty silver every time I went through. This I spent on developing Kipim into a decent city more fitting of its location. Houses were occupied, proper dry docks were built, shops were opened, chapels were built for all the world's religions, and trade flourished in the untapped market. Though it was the only peaceful point of contact for Damasque with the outside world, its walls were expanded as the number of ships that sought to trade rose.
   With my business steady and profits flowing in, I tried to find something else to pass the time with. The few attempts at whittling I did told me in no uncertain terms that I shouldn't ever try it again. Later, my experiments with a lute proved interesting, but not enough to keep me occupied during some of the longer voyages. At one point, I constructed some stairs down the back of the snow-brig and started floating behind the ship on a plank of wood, safely tied to a post so I could make my way back, but I couldn't stand up and keep my balance for long, so I deconstructed the addition and thought of something else to do. Racking my mind for ideas, I remembered alchemy.
   It had been years since I had thought about performing experiments again. My memory of the problem the practice had caused brought itself to the forefront, but I tried to shove it away and recall all the times I had enjoyed the experience. I thought long and hard, and decided that, next time I docked at Bormana, I would allow for a week-long vacation so that I could see what remained of the manor where Irman had worked.
   When I arrived at the old manor, I found it falling apart. Stepping over the remains of the doorway, I climbed up the rotting staircase. The doors that had been used to hop around from continent to continent were in the same condition as I had left them, as if I had never left, despite the walls that were falling apart around them. Carefully making my way to some of the rooms I remembered to house singular animals, I found old corpses, skeletons that still had the occasional piece of fur or flesh attached. The fire on the horns of the ram I had acquired before the accident had gone out, the rainbow-colored panther was nothing but a skeleton, and the toothy fish hadn't even left bones after such a long time.
   However, in the rooms where plants had been, I discovered that some of the species the manor had housed had also apparently developed the ability to interbreed with certain other species. The plant-life had changed into whole different ecosystems, and the animals had evolved to live within them. I could see the ancestry in some of the creatures, like a small, shaggy thing with hoofs that had come from a deer and goat pairing, or a winged frog I found stuck on the side of a tree that had come from a dragonfly-frog couple. Pulling out a dimensional bag I had brought with me, I gathered up pairs of what species I felt would be able to survive at sea and made my way back to my ship over the course of a few days, feeding them periodically from the plants outside their original homes.
   After the long journey across Zhia, I returned to my vessel and gathered up my crew, directing some to build a new cabin that I could keep my animals in while we set sail. We returned to the trade circuit we had interrupted, falling back into our old routine quickly. Whenever I had spare time, I cared for the animals I had, finding out what things I could safely take from them to use in experiments without harming them. When we next made port at Mahalai, I purchased a set of vials and other alchemical supplies with which I started trying out mixtures of materials on the open deck. Trade remained steady, and I enjoyed the true calling I had found.

[Inumo]

Chapter 12

   At one point, my inventor contact at Mahalai sold me a rather interesting creation of his. They looked like glass cases filled with gears, metal balls, wire tracks, tiny chains, and all sorts of other shiny things that were mesmerizing to watch. He said it used a high-tension something-or-other, but I shouldn't worry about it exploding since it was perfectly stable, so I took on a couple crates and started selling them around the globe. They sold faster than fresh fish on the cheap. Before I had even made it to Kipim I had sold out of the device, and stocked up on four crates next time I docked in Reik. Those sold out halfway through my stay at Kipim. The inventor started making them as fast as possible, and I took on the six or seven crates he had ready every time I docked.
   The entrancing toys were a hit, and soon, I was earning almost a hundred silver every time I completed another circuit thanks to the thing. In time, the demand started to taper off, meaning the inventor could start focusing on other projects, but I still managed to make an extra twenty-five silver per cycle of my trade route. With the amount of silver that I was gathering, I eventually decided to keep one for the ship, placing it in the off-duty lounge as a centerpiece for the sailors that weren't doing anything.
   After a while, the inventor presented to me another decorative thing of machinery. This one looked to be a brass whirlpool-generator, a pretty piece of work that also turned out to be rather popular. Simple as it was, I didn't bother to purchase one for the ship, though it certainly entertained what crew that decided to get them for their homes ashore in Damasque. I found it somewhat silly that I was selling to my own employees.
   Invention after invention came from the guy, and his creativity brought me a lot of money. Still, I never replaced that first device he had created, more out of a feeling of memorial than a lack of more interesting designs. I once sold a rather interesting thing of iron that played metallic tunes from an interchangeable steel drum. The re-usability of that particular device made my profits flourish, since people started waiting for my ship to come in, hoping to find the latest tune that had been transcribed into machinery. Still, I didn't abandon that glass box of gears.
   With the popularity my snow-brig was seeing, I started to think about building another ship and running a small merchant fleet as opposed to a merchant vessel. I didn't trust my business with another captain, though. It seemed like there was too much of a chance for embezzling in the system. So, I made do with my singular ship, with the hold space it had.
   One night, a rather nasty storm blew in over our heads. Dark thunderheads blotted out the stars like some great inky stain, smothering all the light we had. The storm was nothing the crew couldn't handle on regular shift, so we kept sailing. Rain pelted down, lighting flashed, and some particularly strong waves hit the hull, occasionally hitting at almost the same time as thunder boomed. I was thankful for the set of guide ropes I had added to the top deck after one storm had nearly sent some of my crew overboard. Even the most sudden shifts in wind and balance didn't cause a sailor to fall off.
   The rough seas and pouring rain cleared up by morning, just as the shift was changing. Suddenly, from below, I heard one of the men start screaming, while another ran back up to the deck. "Sir," he said, a shaken look in his eye. "Something happened during that storm. The thingamajig in the lounge seems to have exploded. I could see gears in some... Oh god, the brain smears... The gears were lodged in some people's skulls, other people had glass shards sticking out of their heads... It took out maybe half the crew. The people that survived seem to still be in shock. They aren't responding to anything, but they don't seem to have any brain injuries. Just some smaller glass shards stuck in their arms and legs."
   I stood there for a moment, shocked at what had happened. "He said they were stable..." I murmured. Shaking my head, I replied, "Ready the gangplank. No one must know of this. Business would die, and hopefully this was a one-time problem. I'll try to gather volunteers to get the bodies overboard." Heading down the stairs, I steeled myself before rounding the corner on the scene. And what a scene it was.
   The remains of the device that were still in the center of the cabin consisted of a jagged square of glass, along with the small key crank that had been on the lower edge of the case. A small rod of brass connected to the key, ending in a wide toothy gear. Scattered about the room was a mixture of lifeless corpses and still bodies. The only way to tell the two apart was by the way they sat, either sprawled out on the floor or leaned against a wall compared to being curled up in a ball. Gray matter was splattered on the walls, on the ceiling, on the floor. Scratches on the timbers marked the passing of the gears from the explosion that had sent them flying. Gears and glass shards were embedded into the brain cases of many of my crew. It seemed like the estimate of half the crew dying was actually rather accurate. I didn't understand how such a small thing could cause so much carnage, but there was work to be done.
   Beckoning over a couple of the more hale sailors, I had them get those that were almost comatose out of their situation, hoping that it would help them recover. Then I heaved one body onto my shoulders and carried it above. There, I walked out onto the gangplank and threw it overboard, whispering a small, godless prayer as the corpse fell. Heading back down, I did the same thing for every one of the dead. I didn't, couldn't count the times I climbed the stairs, the weight of death on my shoulders. It was a sorrowful affair, one that I performed alone. It was my fault to take on that blasted contraption, I thought. I have to deal with the consequences. It was fine for so long... Why did it decide to fail now? Body after body I lifted, carried, and threw. For close on to twenty minutes I did this, until all that had died were in the deep.
   Pulling the gangplank back in and closing the railing, I returned to the navigation cabin and took a seat on the armchair within. There, I sat, before starting to cry. Damn it all to the Nether! I silently raged, slamming a fist into a chair arm. Why now, of all times? Things were going so well... I curled up onto the seat cushion, shuddering with silent sobs. After a time, I sat still, my mind blissfully empty of thought, oddly detached from my emotions. I'll need to hire some more people, I thought calmly.
   After close to an hour like that, I slowly uncurled my legs and stood. The next port is in Damasque, I slowly considered. Maybe I can take on some people there to replace those I lost. I'm going to need to rework the rotation schedule, though... Walking out of the cabin, I made my way past all the sailors at work to the lounge, finding it clean and the device gone. Must've thrown it overboard with its victims, I guessed after a moment. Shaking my head, I returned above to do my job as captain, helping with the work and making sure we were going in the right direction at all times.
   After another week, the ship docked at Kipim, and I found the local job board, posting up a request for sailors. I spent a few days there, gathering recruits while selling my wares. I only ended up hiring maybe five of the applicants, as the sailing industry had boomed with all that I had invested into the port city. The brief sojourn ended, and I called together my crew before setting sail to Reik. Ten of my previous employees had headed inland and returned home. I assumed it was because in light of the recent events.
   It was another month before we docked at Mahalai, during which we fell into a rhythm once more with shifts and work. After we docked, we waited another week or so to trade and recruit, hiring on thirteen more sailors with the help of our popularity. Heading to Qira, we recruited another eight people, then an additional six at Bormana. Making another more recruiting break at Kipim, five of the veterans disembarked permanently, but we brought on seven more to replace them, filling out the crew to two short of its previous numbers.
   The last two sailors to complete the crew were recruited in Reik. One, a ferret Rieka, contacted me through normal channels and was accepted aboard. The other, though, a youthful Melorin, came while I was in the market, purchasing supplies for the still-living portion of my crew. "Excuse me," he asked as I was browsing through some vegetables. He spoke with an accent I didn't recognize. "Would you happen to be Captain Wolsk?"
   "Yes, actually," I answered, not turning from the open crates of leafy greens. "Here, maybe you can help me. I don't have the tongue, nor the nose for good food anymore. Can you tell me if this crate seems fresh still?"
   "I assure you, everything here's fresh," the merchant selling the vegetables said over his shoulder, overhearing my question.
   "Yes, well, I like to make double sure," I responded, smiling. Gesturing to one of the boxes, I stepped aside so the Melorin could get closer to smell, then rummage through the greenery, pulling out a withered plant from deeper in the pile.
   "Everything's fresh, huh?" He said, a look on his face boldly declaring, "Oh, really?" The merchant turned eight shades of red, embarrassed at being found with old vegetables in his goods. The Melorin sniffed around some of the other crates, then pointed at one in particular. "Here's a good one," he declared. I haggled the man selling the leafy greens into selling me the crate at a decent price, then picked up the crate and turned back to the docks. I motioned with my head for the Melorin to follow.
   "So, what did you need from me?" I asked as we walked.
   "A job. I'm a chef by trade, but ran out of work when I moved here." Sighing, the Melorin continued, "Think you've got a spot open for me?"
   "Sure," I answered. "It'd be good to have a full-time chef aboard. What's your name, anyways?"
   "Manni Coron."

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

Hrm. Mental notes, then.

One of the running themes in this is the transmogrification of people from alive to undead. I note also that each undead should go make another one. Anyone who has done simple maths, and takes into account the length of "lifespan" of your average undead - and also notes that those that succeed in changing others are the ones who live longer (since anyone who fails will likely be the one killed by the surrounding countries) can figure out that this is not a stable situation. Heck, juding by the numbers, I'd say the undead country hasn't been around for more than a few years; certainly less than a hundred or so, most likely much less.

It's that sort of behaviour, on a global scale, that gets your neighbours worked up and teaming up on you. At this point, however, I'm inclined to think that it's far too late; by now, there's enough of them that they could take over just about anywhere and anything without trouble.

For example, if they were in the field, the entire company could bury themselves in the ground, as an ambush - and that's just the first thing that leaps into mind. Fielding a battle against them is a losing proposition.


Just my first couple of thoughts, there.

[Inumo]

They actually have only been around in this form for maybe fifteen years. Reason why Dekadhe seems so populous though is because the entirety of the population is there. So far they haven't proven to be more than a nuisance to their neighbors, like the Mongol raiders during the many of China's dynasties. Only difference is that the Damasquens aren't actually taking or destroying any physical goods, just converting the people.

By the way, I should mention that the Undead in this world aren't the same as the Undead in DMFA.

[Inumo]

Chapter 13

   Manni spent his time working in the kitchen, making food for the thirty or so people that needed it. The dishes he prepared were simple, but hearty. If those that still lived were to be believed, they weren't half bad. Every night, he went to sleep with the others that weren't Undead, and worked hardest in the early morning, midday, and evening. Whenever he wasn't working, he was in his cabin, reading a book he'd brought aboard with him. He seemed to be uncomfortable with the Undead, so one day, I asked him about it.
   It was a long moment before he started talking. "I grew up on a farm in Goroesk. We made periodic donations to the core city, but for the most part we were left alone. My father was Human, my mother Melorin. They were nice parents, taught me how to cook. After I'd made my first bean soup, I'd fallen in love with it. We started a small herb garden, grew some different herbs and spices so I could learn more about how flavors went together."
   "Sounds like it was going well," I replied when he paused. "Why'd you leave?"
   "Eh, I just got... bored, I guess. I only had so many things to cook with on the farm. Figured life in the city would let me try more stuff out."
   "Reik is a ways away from Goroesk. How'd you end up there?"
   "Walking. I left the farm in a random direction and kept going until I ended up there."
   "That's a long walk for a living person."
   "Not like I was doing much else."
   "So... What does that have to do with being uncomfortable around the Undead?"
   "I never saw them in the countryside. S'not like we lived on the Hidrean border or anything."
   Nodding, I murmured, "Huh," then shoved off of the railing where we'd paused to chat. I wanted to double-check that we were going in the right direction, and it was getting on towards midday, so Manni had to start working on lunch.
   Time passed, and Manni seemed to get interested in navigation in between his cooking. He started asking about how the compasses worked, how to use sextants, things like that. "What do the squiggles on the maps mean?" He asked at one point.
   "Funny squiggles?" I queried. "You mean the waves in the middle of the oceans?"
   "No, these things." The Melorin pointed at one of the city names, specifically, Dekadhe.
   "That's Dekadhe."
   "All the squiggles are called Dekadhe? I thought that was the Damasquen capital?"
   It took me a moment before what he was asking clicked. "Oh! No, no. The 'squiggles,' as you call them, are letters. They combine to form words or names. The one you pointed at was Dekadhe." Coming over to stand next to him, I pointed to the name Goroesk written out on the map. "This one's Goroesk, where you're from."
   "Wha... Oh right, yeah. Cool." He nodded once, quickly.
   Gesturing at each name in turn, I continued, "This one's Mahalai, where I hired you. This one's Qira, where we're docking next. Then there's Bormana, all the way over there, and Kipim down there."
   "How do you know those are the right ones?" The Melorin asked, curious.
   "Well, that's what the letters are for. They make up the names to identify what each place is. Did you ever learn your alphabet?" I asked after my short explanation.
   "Alphabet?" Manni wondered, cocking his head at me.
   "Right, you came from a farm, didn't you..." Pulling out some paper, ink, and a quill, I wrote a capital and lowercase "A" on one of the sheets. "Here, this one is the letter 'A.' It usually makes an 'ah' or 'ey' sound."
   "Why are there two versions of the same letter?" He asked after a moment.
   "Well, the big one, called a capital letter, is used when you're starting a sentence, or someone's name." Setting the piece of paper off to one side, I started to teach Manni the alphabet. The idea had sprung into my head that I might want to groom him to be my protege, and a merchant was nothing if he couldn't read. I spent close to an hour at least exposing him to each letter, each of which he seemed to pick up on fairly quickly. When he had to leave to get to work on the next meal, I handed him the stack of papers and came out on deck with him to check the ship's position.
   Another time, after picking up a new shipment of inventions from Mahalai, he asked how I knew how many I was getting. "Manifests," I replied. By chance, I hadn't put away the shipping manifest for this particular cargo yet, so I still had it in my hand. Showing it to Manni, I continued, "This sheet of paper has a list of all of the things that are in those crates, written down so I have proof of the fact that I purchased all of these things."
   "How do you keep track of it all?" He queried.
   "Eh, each merchant has their own way of doing things. Personally, I keep them all in one pile if I still have the items in my cargo, and put them in another pile after they're sold. It takes care of inventory at the same time, which makes things easier for me to keep track of what I have."
   "What if someone were to destroy all of the... what'd you call 'em? Manifests?"
   "Then I'd just take inventory and keep going. It's not like they're absolutely necessary for me; I don't loan money or anything, so I need no receipts. Plus, Undeath's blessed me with a better memory for things, so I remember how much I had to pay for things better than the average person."
   "You make it sound like Undeath is a good thing."
   "Well, it is! Think about it. I'll live to be much older than anyone else of my generation. I can remember things better, I can go into more dangerous situations, I don't need to eat, sleep, or drink, heck, I don't even need to use the bathroom! The only problem is the inability for me to procreate, and that's not really that much of a problem when you think about it. After all, when you're out at sea for almost your entire life, it's not like you have much time to get to know a woman, let alone have kids, get a farm, and raise them right. Make sense?"
   Manni didn't respond, heading down below. It was just after breakfast, so I figured he was heading down to his cabin to do something to pass the time. Eh, I thought after he'd left. Not like everybody gets how good Undeath is. I shrugged, then started overseeing the transfer of all the crates down into the hold.
   Questions like those would come up from time to time, and I hoped each time that they were improving Manni's understanding of the business I ran. In time, he learned the values of many of the goods I traded in, the process for loading cargo, how to navigate, the strengths and weaknesses of the snow-brig, and other pieces of knowledge that were needed to sail properly. He seemed to be interested in everything that I showed him, so I figured that it was all going through. He'll make a good merchant, I thought at one point, seated in my lab. Probably do as well as me, if he remembers everything I'm teaching him now. Letting out a small chuckle, I returned to my work, trying to find a possible way to simulate Undeath so that people could "try before they buy," in a sense.
   Time passed, and though I never found a potion that could achieve the effects I wanted, thus meaning I decided to drop it, Manni became a passable sailor. Periodically I'd have him look through the sextant I had, using him as a secondary source to check my readings, and would ask him small questions related to navigating the ship. He learned quickly, and I was happy to see that, should I ever tire of sailing, there would be somebody that could take over my business.

[Inumo]

Chapter 14 ((Warning - this is freakin' long! 3484 words, to be exact...))

   After some time, I started having Manni come with me to meet my trade contacts and understand how cargo was ordered, loaded, and the like. He met the inventor in Mahalai, the enchanters, the blacksmiths there and in Qira, the glassblowers, anyone that I traded with regularly. Often he would hang back for a bit, talking with them, something I took as a good sign. Whenever we docked, he started disembarking regularly. I often saw him talking with various merchants in the streets. Making new contacts, I thought whenever I noticed his meetings. Smart move for him.
   Later, on the ship, I frequently found him down in the hold and on the deck, exploring the corners and examining out-of-the-way places. He's learning all he can about this ship, I thought. It's not a perfect substitute to building your own ship, but it's better than nothing. I remembered all the spots where we'd had to compromise in the snow-brig's construction. The spots where the wood wasn't soft enough to bend properly into shape, so we just put on a bunch of nails and sealed it with pitch. The loose joint on the prow that could cause it to fall off if too much weight was put on the end. With the supplies we had, it was almost a miracle that we got the boat to come together. The fires and pots of water that we'd used to steam the wood into flexibility were a common sight at the dry dock.
   After a while, Manni slowed in his investigations of the ship and the merchants ashore. It had been close to a year, so I figured he'd made his contacts and was simply waiting. With that, life continued, until he started investigating once more a few months later. How odd, I thought.
   "Hey Manni," I began once while he was getting off. "Didn't you already make all your contacts?"
   "Yeah, but I'm checking in on something," he replied. "I'm trying them out with little projects for them to see how worthwhile they are."
   "Well, aren't you a thorough one?"
   "Wouldn't have it any other way."
   Nodding, I left to speak with my own contacts so that I could restock the hold with food, water, and trade goods. After making my purchases, I returned to the ship and helped unload all the cargo into the hold. The physical labor consistently reminded me of the work that the rest of the crew had to do. With the last crates placed down into the hold, I did a cursory inspection of the ship for anything falling apart or otherwise needing attention, then went back ashore to waste time between now and the next morning, when we'd be leaving.
   When dawn broke, I was waiting on the ship, taking roll as the crew came aboard. When all were accounted for, a somewhat miraculous thing considering most sailor's tendency to get drunk and have a nasty hangover at this hour, I drew in the gangplank and signaled to the dock workers to untie us from the moors. After close to ten minutes, the port was behind us as we left for the next stop in the circuit. At each port of call, Manni disembarked and talked with his contacts. There was always something he brought with once he returned, whether it was a delicate package of some sort or a bottle of some clear fluid. The things were intriguing, but I didn't ask as it would be impolite.
   A few days into the voyage, and I had nothing to experiment with in my lab. There were some new animals growing in my lab-cabin, but I had already experimented with everything the current small beasts could offer. With nothing else to do, I went to the off-duty lounge and talked with some of the people not working at the moment. A few Undead, a Hidraki, and Manni were standing around in the cabin, mostly leaning against the walls with eyes closed, though the Hidraki and one of the Undead were quietly chatting in one corner.
   Taking a seat against one wall, I idly half-doodled on the floor with a finger. In my mind's eye, I could see the poorly drawn fire-breathing lizard attacking a gray stone fortress, a hero clad in shining steel on the ramparts. Pantomiming a movement of the invisible page, I continued the scene, the hero charging the lizard with shield raised and sword drawn, before suddenly realizing how ridiculous I looked. Glancing around to see if anyone noticed, I leaned back against the wall and tried not to crumple up the nonexistent sheets of paper and throw them into the corner.
   The room was dead silent, apart from the quiet conversation in the corner, and in time, even that quieted. I stopped thinking, and sat there, silent and blank, for a long time. Eventually the shift ended and people started moving around, at which point I got up and headed to the upper deck. Heading into the navigation cabin, I retrieved my sextant and took readings from it. Returning to the navigation cabin, I replaced the sextant in its resting place and removed a pin with a paper ship on it from the chart on the wall, sticking it in again at our current location. Two and a half weeks to port, I thought, but the eggs will have hatched by the end of the night.
   Clucking my tongue in thought, I walked out the door, across the deck, and into my office-cabin, where I took a seat and looked over my current inventory. Ten crates of food, fifteen barrels of water, three of alcohol, six crates of cloth from the Heartplains, four crates of assorted dimensional bags and sacks... The list went on and on over the eight or ten manifests that I had retained. After taking full stock of my cargo, I got up and returned to my lab, planning on watching the incubators while the latest batch of variants broke through their membranes, shells, or whatever they were being born from. One set in particular was coming out of a white blob of pudding-like material, something I was quite interested in examining for special properties.
   Time passed obscurely in the box of a lab I used. Without portholes to let in light, there was no way to track how long I had been inside the cabin. After a wait of indeterminable length, I saw the first signs of movement inside the various eggs. Out of a dark blue sac of fluids came what looked to be a newt variant, despite having no newt variants among my small collection. Pulling out a small journal, I started taking notes. The white blob split open to reveal a frog, which changed into a dragonfly, which changed into a legged fish, and on to various strange forms. As I quickly scooped up both the blue sac and the white blob and carefully place them into vials, a more solid egg sundered open, releasing a legless lizard that floated around, a finger's breadth from the table surface.
   Egg after egg hatched, split, burst, or otherwise opened to release a menagerie of different creatures. Even animals that came from the same set of eggs were often different in some way or another. Furiously taking notes, I moved them into dimensional bags that I had built habitats inside of. There, they had plenty of plants to live off of if they were herbivorous, as well as some chunks of refreshed meat I had placed inside to feed the carnivores. Observing them through the small openings, I noted down the dietary preferences of all the creatures before tying them closed. Turning back to all the egg remnants that were stuffed into the vials standing on one edge of the table, I started experimenting with the items, capping each vial to seal the reinforcement enchantment before the samples made contact so I could prevent any disastrous explosions.
   After ten experiments, I left my lab and climbed up to the top deck, taking new readings using my sextant and marking our new location. Waving at some of the crew members that were on duty, I leaned against the ship railing and took a moment to enjoy the open air. The sun was just setting on one side of the horizon, a crescent moon hanging halfway up the opposite side. After a few more moments, I returned below to inspect the hold.
   Everything seemed to be in order as I wandered between the stacked crates, not wholly focused on any one thing. With nothing special about the check, I headed to my office-cabin and dug out a book from one of the desk drawers. I kept it for such times as I was in when I had done enough alchemy for the day. Reading was one of the few pastimes that could survive the open sea for long, so long as the books weren't dropped overboard or otherwise submerged. I was halfway through the story, a Qiran tale of a knight that had went off to save a princess that had been taken to an underwater city. The knight was, at this point of the tale, searching for a legendary Bloodstone that never was used up so that he could power an enchantment on his helmet to let him breathe underwater.
   More time passed, and I found a decent stopping point in the story. Placing a bright red ribbon in the pages to be used as a bookmark, I put the book back in its drawer and exited the cabin. Over the days between then and port, I experimented, read, sighted, and occasionally drew until we reached our destination. There, I spent most of my time trading goods, periodically spotting Manni speaking with even more of his contacts, none of which I recognized. After a couple days of remaining docked, we shoved off to our next destination, Kipim.
   As we docked in Kipim around sunset, Manni sequestered himself into his quarters, still uncomfortable around so many Undead despite the years he had been aboard, sailing this same route. I brought out my current manifests and disembarked from the snow-brig, walking to the markets as I had many times before. I bought, sold, and otherwise traded through the night, exchanging the raw materials that I had brought from other places for silver and finished products. With the sun rising over the horizon, I collected my manifests and returned to the ship to supervise the last loads of cargo that were still being lowered into or out of the hold.
   While I waited for the crew to collect themselves at the docks, I sorted my manifests into their appropriate places. Cargo that had been sold completely in one section, others that had been obtained or only partially sold in another. I stepped out of the cabin to see many of the crew aboard. I did a scan of who was present, sending out four of the crew to retrieve the few that were either too tired or too occupied to make it to dawn call. Production of alcoholic beverages had become a popular pastime while I was at sea, and the people that lived in Damasque could make a rather strong brew, if the sailors in my employ were to be believed.
   Once the crew was gathered, we continued sailing. After another run of the circuit, Manni seemed to finish with his testing on his contacts. Happy to see that he was prepared for when I decided to retire, I thought nothing of the matter as I continued plying my trade. I continued making a profit, simultaneously performing a variety of experiments using the eggs' remnants, as well as some of the parts of the animals that would easily regenerate. One potion, a mixture of the white pudding-like egg and a toenail of the legged fishes, was a sticky waterproofing that worked better than pitch. I tucked in one of the drawers to apply it to some of the spots where we'd had to compromise in the construction of the ship.
   One afternoon in the lounge, out of boredom, I asked Manni what his family was like. "Well," he began, "my father was your average farmer, managed three fields at once. One grew a variety of wild grasses that we were actually quite useful, if not the most flavorful. Another field grew a mixture of vegetables, mostly lettuce and potatoes. They usually provided the taste of whatever food I made. The third field he kept fallow, so the ground would have the chance to recover. My father rotated the crops around, so we were always growing something. My mother, meanwhile, was the one that made the tributes to the core city, and went to market with our surplus food to sell it off. We used the money she got from there to buy seeds, make our donations, and make the occasional renovation. I was the one in charge of keeping the house clean, putting food on the table, and all of that stuff."
   "You were essentially the housewife?" I asked, somewhat incredulous.
   "Not like there was much else in the area that I could do. We lived a few hours walk from the nearest village, so I couldn't exactly go out and play with people my age. There are only so many games a kid can play alone before he gets bored of them. None of us could read, so we didn't have books. All that I really could do to pass the time was cook and clean."
   "Well, that must've sucked."
   "It wasn't all that bad, actually. Gave me plenty of time to make dishes that took longer to make."
   "Like what?"
   "Spiced breads, meat for stews, that sort of thing."
   I nodded slightly in understanding, dropping the subject as I left the lounge to return to my experiments. I was still trying out some last tests with the old batch of materials while I waited for the new eggs to mature and hatch. I spent the rest of the evening working in the lab before heading up to the main deck to take a new sighting on the Eye of the North. The pupil of the eye was the star that navigators used to navigate in the northern half of the world, like where I was. Moving the little marker pin on the charts inside the navigation room, I noticed that we were slightly off course, so I took the helm and made a small adjustment to put us back on track.
   One night, when I went up to sight the Eye, I found Manni still awake and inspecting the lifeboats that hung over the side by a few feet. "What are you looking for?" I asked him while he was stooped over, looking underneath a bench.
   "Provisions," he answered. "After all, if we end up wrecking for some reason, what about the living crew? They'd need food and water to be able to survive the trip back to land."
   "Hm, good point." I made a mental note to purchase some extra preserved food and some way to get water while out at sea next time we docked before taking my sighting and moving the ship pin. When we made port at Mahalai, I bought a couple barrels of salted meat, and talked with the enchanters I knew. They had apparently already developed a canteen that purified water at a low Bloodstone cost. Purchasing a few, I also got a small box of Bloodstone from one of the local Bloodstone gatherers that worked in the Great Delta, so that the canteens could be powered. Stowing the barrels underneath the end benches, I tucked the canteens down one side and put the box of Bloodstone under one of the center benches.
   Then, one evening, I finished up an experiment and opened the cabin door to find a dark line along the floor. Something had apparently soaked into the wood. I followed the line and passed by the off-duty lounge. Looking in, I saw the entirety of the Undead crew sitting inside, amiably chatting. "Hey," I called in to get their attention. "Anyone see where this came from?" I gestured to the dark line that ran down the middle of the hall.
   "No idea," one answered after a short pause. The other responses were all variations on saying the same thing.
   "Alright..." I responded slowly. "Thanks anyways." As they turned back to their conversations, I continued to trace the dark line. It ran all through the halls, up the stairs, around in the lower hold where most of the food, water, and lighter crates of cargo were stored, then up the stairs again into the upper hold. There, the dark line wove in between the stacked crates of armors, weapons, enchanted items, and other, heavier goods. It ran all the way into the far side of the hold, doubling back and connecting back through the doorway before running further up the stairs. As I continued to follow it, the stairwell started to get brighter. Looking up, I found out why.
   "Fire!" I started shouting. Dashing down the stairs back to the off-duty lounge, I kept shouting. "Fire! Fire! Fire!" The Undead crew members came out and ran up to the stairs. When it seemed like all of the decks had been alerted, I came back up to find that it had already spread to the doorway of the upper hold. One Undead was running down, clothes and flesh aflame.
   "The door won't open!" He shouted while frantically trying to put out the flames. Some of the Undead came up with barrels of water and were splashing it on the fire and on the Undead. They seemed to put them out for a moment, but the fire sprang alight once more as soon as there was no constant stream of water. Flickering light was cast on the walls as we brought up barrel after barrel, to no avail. Soon enough, we ran out of water, and the flames had spread halfway through the upper hold and was just entering the lower hold. We can't put it out, I thought rapidly. There's got to be another way to the upper deck, so that we can get out into the open water... Sprinting up the stairs to the upper hold, I spotted the loading hatch.
   "Guys!" I shouted down the the Undead that were hiding in the lower decks. "The loading hatch! We might be able to slide it back and get out that way!" Climbing up a pile of crates, I started tugging at one end of the door, hoping that it would open. After a few moments, more joined me as we struggled to pull our last hope of escape open. Suddenly, as the flames started licking at the bottom of the crates, a great boom sounded from over our heads, and a part of the mast fell through the loading hatch, pieces of burning sail and wood filling in any space that we could have escaped from. We tried desperately not to panic as we started tearing at the rubble, hoping that we could clear a hole in time for us to escape while the flames were halfway up our last safe haven.
   When the flames were licking at our feet, we had barely gotten a hole wide enough to see daylight from when it collapsed, cutting off all hope for escape. Despairing, we looked back down at the floor of the hold. Fire had burned holes in the timbers, revealing that it had already spread through the lower hold as well. The ceiling had long since been covered in flames, and thick smoke had left it barely possible to see.
   This is it, I thought silently. This is the end. I am going to die here, on this snow-brig, burned alive. Slowly, I stood up from my seat on the pile of crates, the flames licking at my boots despite being as far away as possible. It was almost as if it were a dream as I took one step, then another, and another, walking into the heart of the fire. Better to die by your own choice, I decided, than to perish from the inevitable. I started screaming as the fire burned through my boots, my clothes, and set my very flesh alight. Still, I kept walking, until I could be fully engulfed. Then I slowly lay down and screamed as my hair caught, the flesh on my face slowly melting off, the fire burning through my eyes, through my skull, and set my brain on fire.
   My screams died as I drifted off into that final sleep.

[Inumo]

Chapter 15

   The burning ship set my shadow dancing as I sat alone in the lifeboat. The rest of the crew had been set on their way before I could give them the chance to be a hero and try to save the Undead captain and crew members. "The Cycle is closer to wholeness," I ritualistically intoned. "May it turn as one." With the rituals complete and the breakers of the Cycle dealt with, I withdrew from a pocket the sextant I had taken from the navigation room before planting the packet of explosive powder. I had memorized the chart long ago, and took a sighting on the Eye of the North. Picking up the oars and putting them into their locks, I started rowing my way west towards Sari. I rowed all through the night, chewing on preserved meats and drinking from the purifying canteens whenever I got hungry or thirsty. As midday approached, I pulled the oars from the water and curled up in the bottom of the lifeboat, closing my eyes to sleep.
   When I woke, the sun was halfway to the western horizon. Grabbing the oars up once more, I resumed rowing while I broke my fast on more of the stored food. For close to a week and a half, I slept through the day and rowed through the night. Finally, I was able to beach the craft on the shore of Sari. Taking one last sighting, I found that I was in north-eastern Apaista. If the charts are right, I thought, I should be able to reach the capital within a day. Taking one of the canteens from the boat, along with whatever provisions I could fit in my pockets, I got one last purified fill of water, then set off for the capital, Ileos.
   I reached the wooden gates as the sun finished clearing the horizon. Wagons were slowly filing through the city walls, loaded with various kinds of produce. Market day, I concluded. Slipping by an ox that was drawing a cart full of pumpkins, I asked a guard for directions to the Omasi garden. He pointed me in the right direction, whereupon I thanked him and set off for the place of worship. When I arrived, I asked to see the priest of the garden. Taking a seat in a patch of long grass, I waited a few minutes for the druid to arrive.
   "The Cycle is closer to wholeness," I informed the squirrel Riekan, standing up. Dressed in a shirt woven from willow branches, freely given by the tree, and pants of sewn leaves, he looked every bit the holy man he was.
   "May it turn as one," the priest responded. "It is good to see that another ardent disciple has come home."
   "Yet this work will never be done," I stated sorrowfully. "Each day, the plague of Undeath spreads, splintering the Cycle apart with each selfish stretch of their lives."
   "Be at peace, brother. The day will come when the Undead have been eradicated. In time, the Cycle will be whole once more."
   "I understand, tree-brethren. I only wish that this day would come before this passage of time on the Cycle has run its course."
   "And what if it does not? It shan't be long after your time in this Cycle finishes its pass that you shall be reborn to continue this most holy quest. Fear not if you don't complete the Cycle this time; by its very nature, you shall have an infinite length of time to attain this lofty goal."
   "Yes, tree-brethren."
   We reached the center of the garden, where tree roots grew above the ground here and there to be used as seats for the Omasi. Taking a seat upon one, the druid said, "Now then, tell me how you repaired the Cycle."
   Nodding, I replied, "They worked aboard a snow-brig, a captain and a third of the crew. Merchants, they were. I acted as their chef, to feed the sailors that were still going through their time on the Cycle. Convincing the captain to teach me as his apprentice, I learned the weak points of the ship, as it had been constructed from salvage from their sole port city. Using that knowledge, I contacted the Omasi alchemists and gathered explosive powder, an unbreakable glue, and a fluid that would burn no matter what. After collecting the necessary materials, I caused the captain to properly prepare his lifeboats for living survivors. Then, I sent what crew that lived off towards Qira in two of the lifeboats before pouring the ever-burning liquid through the halls and setting the ship aflame. Sealing the door and loading hatch with the glue, I used the explosive powder to collapse the mast, ensuring that there could be no escape for those that broke the Cycle. Finally, I took the final lifeboat and made my way here."
   "And how long did you stay aboard this ship, brother?"
   "Close on to two years, tree-brethren."
   The priest bobbed his head, thinking. "Very well, brother. Return to Nahyak, and ask the Tree for purification. When you are clean once more, you shall be given your next task."
   I bowed low in acceptance of the druid's orders before making my way out of the garden and to the city gates. Exiting Ileos, I began my journey to Nahyak. I stayed at inns along the road whenever night fell, paying for my food and shelter by helping to cook and paying in blood to grow crops. Though I deceived the captain in many ways, the fact that I was a chef was not one of them.
   After three weeks of travel, I arrived at the Drakenwoods of Nahyak. The Tree of Life towered over its brethren that surrounded it. Using it as my guide, I finally reached Omea at sunset, whereupon I headed to the Tree. Entering the sanctum in which it grew, I knelt down next to its trunk with others of the Omasi faith. Great Tree, I called to it silently. I have spent nigh upon two years in the impure surroundings of the Undead, those who break the Cycle. What do you wish for me to be pure once more?
   I sat there, within feet of the life force that I could feel flowing through its core, while I waited for an answer. My long lost child, the Tree asked after a time. Are those that tainted you removed from the Cycle?
   Yes, great Tree.
   Then simply wash yourself in morning dew and you shall be pure once more. There is no punishment for spending time in the presence of taint, for to heal the wounded Cycle, one must touch the wound, understand it, and repair it.
   I slowly nodded, leaving the city to sleep outside for the night. Closing my eyes, I fell into a peaceful slumber, waking to drops of water coating my skin, beading in my hair and lashes, soaked into my clothes. Rubbing my hands over my face and body, I rose from the ground, purified of the uncleanliness that spread from interaction with the Undead. With my soul cleansed, I returned to the city interior. Passing between the great wall of trees that provided protection for the city, I climbed the nearest ladder and rose into the true city.
   Omea was built around the sanctum of the Tree of Life, with catwalks and bridges crisscrossing over the ground below. As a zealot of the Omasi faith, I headed to the closest office that dispatched the ardent followers of Omasi around the world to help repair the mangled Cycle of Life. It was said that the Cycle had once been whole, and with its wholeness had created peace across the lands of people. But when an discontented magician went searching for a way to return his wife to the living, all that was wicked in the world had sprung forth to create the Undead.
   The Undead were a foul mockery of life, powered by the raw magical energies of the earth and sucking the life force of all that lived to fuel its selfish desire to continue living. This cruel power stretched, distorted, and broke the Cycle, disrupting the calm that had rested over people for centuries. Amidst the chaos of the first break, the Cycle revealed its anchor to the world, the Tree of Life. This anchor brought the attention of people worldwide, and became a conduit for the Cycle's needs. It taught the first lessons of Omasi, and told its listeners of its plight. Thus was the Omasi faith born.
   Opening the door to the dispatch office's interior, I spoke with the clerk working inside. She handed me the assignment of guarding the Hidrean border, to prevent more Undead from further splintering the Cycle apart. Calmly accepting this charge, I spent a few days recovering from my travels before heading southwest towards the closest Nahyaki port. There, I took a boat to Hidrea, then went to the closest settlement and stationed myself as guardian of the village, with toughened wood armor and magic-slicing glaive as my equipment.

[Inumo]

Chapter 16

   The first day in the settlement I spent creating weapons for the villagers to defend themselves with. Though the trees of Diaspo were only very, very distantly related to the Tree of Life, with the help of the villagers and their blood donations, I was able to connect one tree to the Drakenwoods across the ocean. From Nahyak, the Tree of Life taught the tree of this land how to be strong, as well as how its sacrifice would save more of its brethren. After a few minutes, the Hidrean tree toppled itself over, donating itself to the creation of arms and armor for the settlement's citizens.
   "Peace to you," I thanked the tree. "May your sacrifice heal the Cycle ten-fold." Taking up a hatchet, I sheared off the branches, setting the special wood off to one side while I broke the trunk apart into multiple suits of armor. Thanks to the tree's planning before it felled itself, the pieces were already worked into the grain. I merely had to split them apart and hand them out. Then, taking the branches, I turned the wood into blades like my glaive, able to cut open the veins of magical energy that flowed through an Undead. Knife blades, spear heads, sword blades, I used as much of the sacred material as possible. The blacksmith worked some hilts into shape for me while I carved, so that once I had finished he had the hilts necessary to complete the armaments. With the weapons finished, I distributed them to the soon-to-be-militia. By then, it was almost dark, so I was given rooms at the inn and fed a filling, if not flavorful, meal.
   The next morning, I woke, ready to turn the civilians into a decent militia. Donning the armor and wielding sticks found on the ground, they gathered outside the village in an open space. I patiently stood in front of them while they slowly quieted down enough for me to talk.
   When the field had finally gone silent, I began, "By now, you probably know who I am: an Omasi zealot sent here from Nahyak to help defend you from the Undead that cross the border periodically to go on 'conversion raids,' as they call them. They may believe Undeath is a blessing, but that is a lie. Undeath is nothing to be happy about. As the Omasi believe it, the Undead break the ability for peace to exist. As such, we do all we can to eliminate those Undead that already exist, as well as prevent more Undead from being created against the person's will."
   "In order to do this, we Nahyaki have started to go on missions like this to teach the villages that are close to Damasque how to defend themselves should the need arise. You may have been guarded at times by the Hidrean military; I am here to make sure you're safe even when they aren't about." Raising my own stick, I took on a fighting stance. "Start by trying to copy this," I directed. When the twenty-odd people stopped shifting, I relaxed my posture and walked among the men posed in the grass. A touch here, a shift there, a fix of the legs, a twist of the shoulders... I corrected everyone's stances, then turned to scan over the field. A few of the trainees had shifted since I had passed by, so I went back and fixed their postures before calling out, "Relax!"
   I repeated the process a few times, hopefully ingraining the feel of the fighting stance before moving on to basic strikes and blocks, then to light sparring. The toughened wood armor prevented any bruising with its stiffness, though it made a resounding clack with the sticks whenever a strike went through. Periodically a stick broke from an overzealous strike, at which point I simply told the wielder to use the shortened piece of wood as if it were a knife as opposed to a sword; in other words, blade coming from the pinky side of the hand as opposed to the thumb side.
   Over the course of a few months, the militia trained and improved to the point that they were worthy to be deemed a fighting force. It was just in time, too; within a day or two, a watchman sounded the alarm in the middle of the night, calling the soldiers to arms. Filing out of their houses, they grabbed their true blades and formed a line to meet the incoming enemies. The Undead, foolish as they were, impaled themselves upon the spears and swords of the village force, expecting to be able to simply blast up to the wielders and convert before moving on. Some may have even thought to bare what they thought would be a unique battle scar when they returned home. I laughed as I saw the face of one Undead on my glaive as he realized that the blade wasn't ordinary, that it not only pierced his physical body, but broke the magical energies that kept him alive.
   Kicking the sudden corpse from my weapon shaft, I strode forward, swinging my weapon about and cutting a swath through their forces. When the others of their military saw that their friends weren't rising up from the wounds the villagers doled out, many turned tail and fled. Other soldiers, either braver or dumber than the rest, continued forward, trying in vain to stab their weapons through the magically reinforced wood that we wore as armor. As their jade blades glanced off of our breastplates and greaves, we retaliated with our own swords, spears, and knives before even the most stupidly courageous of the Undead soldiers had retreated back to their home country.
   The villagers let out a cheer as they watched the fleeing Damasquens disappear over the horizon. Raising my voice to be heard, I shouted, "Is anyone missing? Did anyone fall in the heat of combat?"
   It was a moment before I heard a platypus Rieka reply, "Joshua got taken down! Looks like he got a knife through his jaw and into his brain."
   "Then may he be reborn on the Cycle in honor for his deeds today," I intoned. "Remove the blade and bury him with honor. Do as you wish with his armor; let it be reused by the next generation, or bury him with it. You know how to train; simply perform the exercises I showed you twice a week to keep you ready. I will make sure another envoy is sent here within four months with more weapons and armor, as well as to supervise your training for some weeks to ensure that you are using optimal technique."
   "Remember that this was the first attack where the Undead met resistance. After more than fifteen years of unimpeded raiding, this is the first night where their pickings weren't just difficult, but impossible. They will only get more intelligent, more strategic, and more ready to fight you as time goes on. Be ready to adapt to their fighting, and never fall into the trap of complacency. And with that, I must bid you farewell."
   Waving goodbye to the villagers, I used the stars to guide me back to the Hidrean port city where I had come to Diaspo. I arrived at the heavy wooden gates as the dawn was barely breaking. The wood creaked as it started to swing open to let me through. Slipping through the crack, I headed for the docks and found passage to Nahyak aboard a vessel named the Floating Tree. The captain, a Nahyaki Human, showed me to a spare cabin, offering me room and board at no cost due to my position. Thanking him, I accepted and settled in for the trip.
   After a month and a half at sea, the Tree finally docked at a southern port in Nahyak. Thanking the captain once more, I returned to Omea after close to five and a half months away from home. I made my way to an outer sanctum of the Tree of Life, finding a druid that I could report to. Patiently, I waited until one of the priests took notice of me, striding across the small lawn to come speak with me. "Yes, brother?" The priest, a fox Rieka, asked when he was close enough to be heard.
   "I return from my latest assignment," I answered.
   "From where?"
   "Hidrea, tree-brethren."
   "And what is the result of this assignment?"
   "Success. After three months of training in the Nahyaki fighting style, one of the Hidrean border villages has the militia with which it can defend itself from the ravages of the Undead. The training was completed in time to repel a Damasquen conversion raid for the first time that I know of. Numerous Undead soldiers were slain, while the living forces lost one man. By now, he has been given an honorable burial. With the incursion repelled, I returned from Hidrea to Nahyak."
   "Is there any further action necessary?"
   "I have promised that, withing four months, another zealot will be sent with more arms and armor, resupplying them as well as remaining for two weeks to ensure that their technique is still functional."
   "Very well. Thank you, Manni. Dismissed."
   Nodding, I said, "Yes, tree-brethren." Turning around, I exited the outer sanctum and made my way to the tree-house that I owned. There, I washed myself with a wet rag and hung my armor upon the stand against one wall. Changing into civilian clothes, I exited my home and went to the nearby market, purchasing food for the next couple of days while I relaxed and reduced any pent-up stress from my last assignment.

[Inumo]

Chapter 17

   When I next headed to the dispatch office, I was handed an investigation assignment. They were relatively common through the border as Undead tried to "show us the error of our ways" by trying to convert border villagers. Of course, in such a dangerous situation, many times the Undead would take their time about their job, allowing zealots like me to reveal them and fix the wounds in the Cycle they composed.
   I left the office, heading to my home to pick up my arms and armor. With my equipment in hand, I exited the city and aimed for the eastern border. I walked for two weeks, sleeping in the inns built along the road. My destination was a border village that had recently gained a new villager, one that they didn't recognize and professed Omasi faith, but didn't seem to know how exactly to go about being Omasi. Last blood collection, he had been out in the fields and had missed the priests that had come by to gather the donations.
   After two weeks, I arrived at a small village composed of a central grove, an inn, an open dirt square for market days, and about ten houses. The local druid came out to meet me as I got close. "Hail, brother," he began. "I've been waiting for you. The villager that we require you to investigate is out in the fields, at the moment. He calls himself Vati; he's a Melorin, stands at a bit over six feet tall. He has tanned skin, a pair of bright orange eyes, and a lean frame, though he can do a lot more work than it seems like he should be able to with such small muscles. I hope you can get this issue resolved soon..." The priest trailed off.
   "Do not worry, tree-brethren," I assured. "I will find out if this man is an Undead, or merely an uninformed but living person. If he is a recent convert to the faith, then it would be natural for him to not know the traditions of the followers of Omasi, such as us. In truth, I would be more worried about someone that seemed to already know everything if he professed that he had only recently converted."
   I started walking in towards the town. "Of course, brother," the druid said. "You have the experience here." We entered the town, and I was given rooms in the inn for the duration of my stay, as well as any food or drink that I might need. I heard the innkeeper mutter slightly at how he expected me to drain his resources, but I ignored it. It was a common sentiment among some of the border villages that zealots weren't as important as the priests made us out to be. Which, in the end was true, since the priests often hailed us as some great organization to be worshiped, almost.
   I started my investigation by asking some of the local villagers what they thought of Vati and why they did. The opinions ranged from an avatar of a foreign god sent to convert the villagers to his faith, to a normal Melorin that had had his clothing enchanted to let him do the level of work that he did. The most extraneous ideas I eliminated quickly, slimming down the possibilities ever so slightly. Next, I asked after directions to the field Vati worked so I could observe the actual person at work.
   At the field, I stood off to one side as he tilled the soil, planted and watered seeds, and all sorts of other work. Sweat glistened on his bare back and shoulders, a piece of evidence for him being alive. However, the druid of the village grove was understating his frame; it wasn't just wiry, it was practically skin and bones. Still, he seemed to be working hard without a break. It was a piece of evidence for him being Undead.
   When the sun started to set and dinnertime came, I followed Vati as stealthily as I could to the house where he was staying, an old abandoned house that was near the open fields that he was working. He had some bread soaked in a broth for dinner with water to drink. As soon as he had made his first swallow I watched even closer than before, peering between slats on a shutter over his window. If he was Undead, the water he'd just finished drinking would soon be emptied from his stomach, since Undead didn't need to drink, and the water would simply flush through his system within minutes. If he was a person, though, he might need to empty his bowels, but that would be it.
   After finishing his dinner, he moved to a parlor room. I circled around the corner of the building to keep observing him. Vati took a seat on an armchair facing away from me and picked up a book from a side table. The cover and spine was blank, and he opened to somewhere near the middle of the book, so I didn't know what book it was. He started reading, or apparently reading, turning the page every few minutes. From time to time, he would stop, put his finger on the page, and sound out a word. Occasionally he would also turn to his left to where I couldn't see. I heard him make a loud thud before a lot of sounds of page turning whenever he did.
   As night fell and the light of his lamp became the only light left, he shut his book and set it back on the side table before heading upstairs. I couldn't follow him without revealing myself, so I instead quietly crept away into the dark back to the village, my stomach growling at the late hour with no food. Luckily, the innkeeper had saved a portion of dinner for me, a hunk of bread with a slice of meat in gravy. By now, the gravy had gone cold and congealed slightly, but it was fine for me. I slowly ate the food despite my hunger; it wouldn't do to have an Omasi warrior represented as brutish and bad-mannered, even if some of them were. Fighting is what makes you a zealot, I thought with a chuckle. Not knowing how to function properly in society.
   With my food finished, I climbed the stairs up to the room I was given, removing my armor and placing it in an organized pile next to my bed with my glaive and knife. Lifting up the sheets, I climbed under the covers and settled onto the thin mattress. The under-stuffed pillow barely kept my head elevated. Hope there's no bedbugs, I thought as I shut my eyes, drifting off into sleep.

   The next morning, I woke while it was still dark out. After donning my armor, I searched through the surroundings of the village until I found a thorny bush, which I cut some branches from, whispering, "Peace to you. May this sacrifice further the repair of the Cycle." Carefully, I carried the branches to Vati's house and laid them out in front of his door. Peering around the corner, I waited until dawn when he walked outside, stepping on the sharp thorns. He hissed as the points pierced his skin, examining his foot. "Serves me right for not wearing boots," I heard him mutter. As he returned to the interior of his house, I quickly gathered up the branches and carried them away so I could examine them for blood once the sun rose high enough in an hour or two to shed enough light.
   Returning to the inn, I arrived in time to eat breakfast while it was still at least lukewarm, if not hot. Plain oats served in a wooden bowl made for a filling meal, though it lacked in flavor. When the sun finally shone down enough for me to be able to see, I took the branches over to a window and searched the thorns for blood. After two passes, I found the spot of dried blood on one of the thorns, which came close to proving his living state.
   With evidence in hand, I retrieved my knife from my room and went to Vati's farm, this time openly. As I walked up the road, I found him working in a field of a grain of some sort. I called him over, readying my knife as he got close. "What can I do for you?" He asked once he was within arms reach.
   "I am an Omasin," I began, "a zealot to be precise. I was asked to come here for an investigation on one of the villagers to see if they were an Undead or not."
   "And did you find out?"
   "Maybe. Could you please raise your arm?"
   Vati lifted his right arm. His shirtsleeve fell down to his elbow, baring his forearm. "Like this?" He asked tentatively.
   "Yes–" I struck out with the knife, making a cut around a quarter of an inch deep in his outer arm. "–thank you." Red blood started to flow out of the wound, more than an Undead could properly fit inside their veins.
   "Wha– Fidem!  The heck was that for?" Vati exclaimed as he tried to stem the bleeding with his other hand.
   "Isn't it obvious?" I asked him. "You were the one that I was sent to investigate."
   Vati paused. "Why?" He asked incredulously.
   "How long have you been an Omasin?"
   "A month, month and a half, why?"
   "Do you know about the blood collections?"
   "...The what?"
   "Exactly. The people here are Omasi and know what they're supposed to do. You, however, as a recent convert, don't. You missed a rather important event."
   "What? When?"
   "It's a monthly thing. Speak with the priest of the grove, he'll teach you about it and anything else you don't know." I turned and walked away while he stood there stunned. "With this resolved," I continued, "I must return to Omea. Farewell!" I went to the village grove, reporting to the priest there that Vati was alive, but uninformed, then left for Omea.

[Inumo]

Chapter 18

   For the next year and a half my assignments consisted of assisting researchers and escorting certain religious figures, all within Nahyak. I learned from one person I had to assist about magic theory, alchemy from one of the religious figures I had to escort, the process of thought from a third person, marketing, food production, mechanics... It never ceased to surprise me just how much the Tree of Life was interested in. Finally, after so long working through Nahyak, I was given an assignment abroad, to Kukoreh.
   Apparently, the people of Kukoreh were having some troubles keeping their border safe. The Damasquens had allegedly assumed that, since they were a nation in a forest, they were Omasins. In truth, while they held similar beliefs, they couldn't care less about Undead existing or not. So long as they weren't bothered by other nations, they were content to stay within Romai Forest and ignore the rest of the world. In return, a large number of the countries of the world forgot they were there, so much so as to occasionally forget to put them onto their maps. The fact that they were asking for outside help was a big deal as a result.
   It took a month to sail to the southeastern port of Kukoreh. There, I met up with a liaison, bringing enough suits of wood armor and Undead-fighting weapons to equip a fair sized army. "Hail, foreigner," the liaison, a female Eyas, said. Brown hair fell past her shoulders, and her deep red eyes glowed faintly from the Bloodstone that coursed through her veins and sprouted from her shoulders. Bobbing her head, she continued, "My name is Kili. I understand you're here to help us with the Undead harassment?"
   "So I've been told," I replied. Gesturing at the crates being unloaded behind me, I went on, "This should be enough to arm your own military force. I'm afraid there are no zealots that are here to assist as well, though. Nonetheless, if your personnel need training in the use of these weapons and tactics against the Undead forces, I assure you, I will certainly be able to help."
   "I'll ask my superiors." Closing her eyes for a moment and arching her eyebrows, Kili reopened them and said, "Yes, please." Turning away from the docks, she headed into the wall of trees that made up the Romai Forest.
   So that's the connection everybody talks about after coming here. I followed my guide, thinking, I expected something a bit more impressive, really. It's surprising just how much the stories distorted the truth of the situation.
   As I wove my way between the trees, my eyes had to adjust drastically to the darkness beneath the canopy. The sun was wholly blocked by the branches overhead, and time seemed to disappear. I didn't know how long we had walked by the time we reached a wall of canvas wrapped around a collection of trees. In between two trees there was a long slit in the cloth, with a length of rope keeping the stretched fabric from tearing apart. Kili slipped through the flap, and I did the same.
   Inside the enclosure, sound sprang forth at my ears. After so long walking through the quiet of the forest, the sudden assault on my ears nearly deafened me. Hawkers wandered around selling their wares. Merchants at stalls called for attention. People walked along the beaten paths amicably chatting. Beasts of burden hemmed, hawed, and complained while pulling heavy loads. Kili patiently waited for me to recover from the sudden overload before leading me on between the tall trees towards a covered pavilion near the center of the enclosure.
   As we slipped through another tent flap, the great din disappeared, leaving a ringing in my ears. I shook my head, trying to settle myself in the abrupt silence while following Kili. All these enchantments, I thought to myself. That's the only way this could be possible. But all the Bloodstone it would take... Where do they get it all? I straightened as we rounded a tree and came upon an open space, where a large map of Kukoreh had been laid out.
   The map was dotted with various landmarks. Most of them seemed to be boulders or uniquely shaped trees, though there were a couple of other things noted on the map. In addition, irregular shapes filled with colors seemed to mark out the enclosures that were equivalent to cities everywhere else. Scanning the map, I found the enclosure that I had entered, nearby the docks. Further inland, there was one immense enclosure that was most likely the capital, a ways away from the one I was in.
   A Human, seated cross-legged at the far end of the map, waved as we entered. "Welcome to Kukoreh, foreigner," he said by way of greeting. "I trust everything so far has been to your liking?"
   "Mostly," I replied. "The transition from outside to inside and then into here was jarring, though. How were you able to achieve that effect?"
   "Simple alchemy. Some of the local animals have a saliva that catches the sounds of their breath, leaving them silent as the night. By soaking the canvas in their spittle, we achieve the same result without needing Bloodstone to fuel enchantments. But! we did not call you here just to talk alchemy with you! You're here to help in training our soldiers how to use the arms and armor you brought to fight against the Undead forces that are harassing our border, if not actually converting any of our men."
   "Indeed. Where do you need me to be?"
   Gesturing to the map, the Human said, "North, of course, though there are specifics to go over." Withdrawing from his belt a twig, he pointed to the map as he talked. "Most of our forces are stationed here, in Tacai. That's where the major distribution center is, as well. Meanwhile, right now, the Damasquen military is harassing in this portion of the border, around Kita, Paro, and Cahua. There've been no conversions reported so far, but I doubt that will last long. Our treatments are only effective for so long, and we only have so much of the potions in our stores."
   I nodded thoughtfully while he talked. "Don't worry," I assured when he finished. "The wood will last for much longer, without being a burden upon your soldiers." Starting to pace around the map, I asked, "What weapons are your soldiers currently trained with?"
   "Swords, bows, knives, spears..." The man shrugged. "Any weapon that we can make, we train our soldiers in."
   "Alright..." I put my chin in my hand, thinking. "Well, the only way that I'll be able to teach your soldiers will be if I get on site. Can you lend me a wagon and beast of burden to carry the crates of arms and armor to the north border?"
   "Of course, it will be no problem." He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow for a moment, then ushered me back out into the cacophony outside where Kili was climbing into a wagon loaded down with the crates I had brought along with me on the voyage.
   "Crazy Kukori," I muttered under my breath while I climbed into the passenger side of the wagon. I expected it would take me a while before I got used to the idea of the connection that all the Kukori shared. As Kili snapped the reins, I leaned back on the bench, settling in for a long ride. The noise immediately cut off as we passed through a larger opening in the canvas surrounding the enclosure, one that was obviously designed to let such carts and wagons through. With the surroundings quiet, I closed my eyes and started to meditate, feeling the life force of all the trees around me. In silence, we rode between the trees towards a goal I knew not.
   After some time, Kili broke the silence. "So..." she began, "I don't think I ever caught your name."
   "That's likely because I didn't say it," I replied. "The name's Manni Coron."
   "Last names already? But we just met, Manni." She smiled flirtatiously at me. I looked at her dubiously, and she burst out laughing. "Sorry, my friends wanted me to try that old joke out. I must admit, I've never seen that reaction before whenever a merchant came in. Most are much more incredulous."
   "I've never been one to be gullible, I'm afraid."
   "So I can see. Well, with that little prank out of the way, what do the Omasins believe, exactly?"
   "Well, about what? The Omasi faith is more than just any one single belief."
   "Then how about the core beliefs, the ones that a normal person would think of when they hear 'Omasi?'"
   I sat up a bit as I thought about the question at hand. "Alright... The Omasi believe in something called the Cycle of Life, usually just referred to as just the Cycle. The Cycle consists of four phases, referred to as growth, life, death, and recovery. The Tree of Life is the best representation of this; leaves grow in the Spring, flowers blossom in Summer, leaves fall off in the Fall, and it prepares for the next year as dead as can be all through Winter. When this cycle is allowed to occur naturally, the world is peaceful and everybody may enjoy the greatness of life. However, when a selfish mage wanted to keep his wife within the life portion of the Cycle longer, he created the Undead. By stretching the life portion, he started to deform the Cycle, and the more others mimicked this mage, creating more Undead, the more it stretched and cracked. Everywhere those cracks appeared, evil was let through and coated the Cycle, creating all that is wicked in this world. Soon enough, wars happened, people wanted, not just needed, and life became what it is now."
   "Is that why your nation is so willing to help against the Undead?"
   "Essentially, yes."
   We continued on in silence until it was too dark to see, then pulled over. Out of the back of the wagon Kili pulled out a roll of the treated canvas that the Kukori used for their enclosures, wrapping it around a few trees to create a small enclosure where we could sleep for the night. Laying down on the soft forest floor, I closed my eyes and drifted off into sleep.

[Inumo]

Chapter 19

   We traveled by wagon for two weeks. Most of the time, the only sound that could be heard was the breathing of the horse we had been given, maybe a snort or two. Occasionally, however, Kili or I would break the silence for some reason or another. Sometimes she'd suddenly laugh, sparking a momentary conversation that provided a short distraction. Often it was simply that one of her friends had said something through their connection that she found funny for some reason or another, though sometimes it was some memory, or just a strange, spontaneous need for her to laugh.
   Other times, when she started a conversation, it was to ask about something of Nahyaki culture or the Omasi religion. "Are zealots allowed to marry?" She asked once.
   "Yes, though we rarely ever do because of our job. Either the zealot doesn't want to hurt the woman that he might marry, since his job would result in neglecting her, or the woman can't handle how often the zealot's away and ends up breaking off the relationship. We aren't like the Mantakai nobles, tethered to one place. Rather, we are like sailors, traveling abroad and unable to spend much time with family."
   "But what do you do to replace the affections a wife could give you? The love, the children, the support?"
   "Those things you name are unimportant to be experienced in our current life. We can always be wed to the woman of our dreams in another pass of the Cycle. This pass, however, we devote to healing the Cycle so that, when our next pass comes around, we might live in a peaceful world. Our work may not be completed in this pass, but that is not to say that it is impossible."
   Another day, she asked, "Are all zealots men?"
   "Yes," I replied. A simple answer for a simple question.
   "But why? Women can do plenty of things that a man could do. Why would you keep them from being able to?"
   "We don't, but no woman has gone through the training for being a zealot. As such, there are no zealots that are women as of yet."
   "Seriously? No woman's tried to become a zealot yet?"
   "Correct."
   Kili seemed rather surprised at that, turning back to looking through the trees and guiding the horse along the twisty path we followed. By then the sun was starting to dim through the forest canopy, so we set up the enclosure after a few minutes more and set up a campfire. We ate some packaged meat that Kili had brought with her, then turned in for the night.
   After the two weeks of riding, we finally reached a large enclosure. I assumed it to be Tacai, as we slipped in through one of the tent flaps. Thankfully, this enclosure only rang with the noise of practice scattered among the trees, much quieter than the racket in the previous enclosure. We pulled the wagon up next to a portion of the enclosure where crates had been piled before entering the central enclosure. Inside, I was led to another open space with a large map of Kukoreh sprawled out on the forest floor.
   "Finally, you're here!" An Eyas woman said as we approached. Her blond hair was cut short, revealing ears that were pierced with three small stones. She stood a bit taller than me, dressed in a dark brown uniform that caused her to blend in with the trees whenever I wasn't looking. "You know why you were called here, I trust."
   "Of course," I replied. "Training your troops in tactics against the Undead, though my training may have since gone out of date, as they have started to face resistance along the Hidrean border."
   "They still try and barge in, knives stabbing, if that's what you mean."
   "Ah, not much of a change at all, then. Good to know. And how do you train your soldiers to attack?"
   "Strikes to the heart and severing of the limbs. To mar the head would be to dishonor the soul inside."
   "And that would be why they haven't left by now. Since they cannot die from such strikes, they will continue to harass you. Luckily, I have brought with me weapons that will let such strikes kill the Undead, reducing their numbers and hopefully causing them to flee. They are only bold so long as they believe themselves to be invincible."
   "Good to know. Now, when can you start helping us out?"
   "Tomorrow, if you please. The light is already getting dimmer, and I need to unpack the crates to distribute among your military."
   The officer sighed at that. "Very well, we will await tomorrow eagerly." Thanking her, I bowed myself out of the enclosure and went to the wagon. Pulling a flat metal rod from the side of the wagon, I pried the crates open and started withdrawing the stacks of breastplates, greaves, and helmets out, along with any weapons or boots. By the time night fell, I had all of the arms and armor taken out of the crates, ready to equip the military of Kukoreh. With my task finished, I found an empty space between the trees and laid down to sleep.

   The next morning, I woke early and sat in the back of the wagon, waiting for the first soldiers to come and retrieve their gear. It started as a trickle, a person every few minutes, slowly picking up speed until most of the army was lined up behind the wagon, waiting for their new equipment. I made sure to tell each person to also get a decent sized stick for practice as I handed out the gear. By the time the enclosure was as brightly lit as it was going to get, the entirety of the forces there were practicing with sticks and wood armor.
   With the equipment doled out, it felt to be about midday before I was asked to lead any training exercises. Thinking, I had the soldiers gather round before beginning a lecture on how to fight with the weapons I had supplied them with. For the most part, I reinforced their current practice of strikes that would cause a lot of bleeding in a living person.
   "You must understand, they live in a similar way to any other person," I explained. "They may not have blood, but with the right weaponry, they will still bleed." Near the back of the group, a person raised their hand. "Yes?" I asked of the person, a Human male.
   "How can they bleed if they have no blood?" He asked. "Isn't that part of the definition of bleeding, that blood flows from a wound?"
   "True. However, there isn't a word to describe opening a hole in the seals holding their raw magic energy in place to keep them alive. As such, we use bleed, since it implies the most similar effects. You see, when an Undead is brought to life, the mage reviving them isn't so much replacing the corpse's soul and returning the functions of life. Instead, they are retrieving the soul from beyond this portion of the Cycle and replacing the functions of life with raw magical energy, leashed under control by the soul. Since most weapons cannot cut magical energy, the only way to kill an Undead with mundane weaponry is to destroy the holding place of the soul, the brain. The weaponry I have brought, however, aren't mundane. The Tree of Life, through some manipulation of the material, has made it so that the wood will slice through magic as well as physical objects. As such, we can kill the Undead in much the same way as we kill any other person. Granted, there is no heart to kill faster, but magic flows much faster than blood ever will. Even a small cut on the arm could be fatal to an Undead within thirty minutes. If you open a decently sized wound in their torso, they're dead in less than a minute."
   Another hand was raised in the back. The person holding it up, an Eyas, asked, "So, aside from focusing on core strikes and opening wounds, is there anything special about fighting with these new weapons?"
   "Not particularly," I answered. "The key is just to break the seal on their magic energy as much as possible. Otherwise, how you fight is up to you." With that, I set them back to sparring among themselves, walking among the lighthearted matches and occasionally taking up a pair of small sticks to fight against some of the soldiers as though I were a Damasquen.
   After a long while, the sun started to set, and the training broke for dinner. Campfires were lit as darkness fell over the enclosure, and the soldiers gabbed over their bowls of soup. I sat alone by the wagon, eating a simple meal of vegetables cooked over boiling water. Finishing my food, I washed my plate off with a bit of water then put it away with my supplies, falling asleep next to the dying flames.

[Inumo]

Chapter 20

   Since the soldiers were already trained to a good degree, it was only a week before they were deployed. For three days, Tacai was devoid of soldiers as those that had been training traded places with those that were still out patrolling the border. After that time, the forces that were still armed with mundane weaponry were rearmed with the wooden arms and armor, then set to training using similarly sized sticks. With such a more developed force, the variety of weapons that the soldiers used became much more apparent. I saw a few people using long sticks as spears, others as glaives, while some soldiers with slightly shorter sticks were swinging them about like greatswords. Still other soldiers were practicing with longsword technique of sword and shield, and a few here and there were using sticks no longer than the length of a forearm and working their double-knife technique. The menagerie of preferences was quite interesting, especially their reactions to my mimicking of the Damasquen's fighting style.
   It was a month before the forces rotated once more, then another month before the last group came in. When they had finished their month of training, I was told my job was done and I should go home. With the wagon full of empty crates and Kili once more in the driver's seat, it seemed a longer two weeks before we finally reached the port. Conversation was sparse, never about anything more interesting than the weather.
   After getting dropped off at the port enclosure, I walked to the port. Breaking out of the trees, a brisk wind greeted me. Winter already? I thought, tucking my hands into my armpits. Surprising... I walked to the docks and found a Nahyaki vessel that could take me home. Given a normal sailor's room and board, I spent the month long voyage reading through the Omasi scripture, the Teachings of the Cycle. When I finally set foot back in Nahyak, I went to the port's grove and made my report to the priest there.
   "How fared your assignment, brother?" The druid asked when he came to meet me.
   "It fared well, tree-brethren," I answered. "The Kukoren are armed and armored for their fight against the Undead without any lasting influence caused by my presence, letting their own nature continue to guide their course."
   "And of their fight? What can you report of that?"
   "Nothing, tree-brethren. I'm afraid that they told me nothing of the status of their borders, only that I should act as a tactics adviser for them for the duration of my stay."
   "Well, the soldiers you trained must have said something on the topic of their borders while you worked with them."
   "No, tree-brethren, they didn't."
   "How odd. Well, the way it is is the way it is. Have you anything more to share?"
   "No, tree-brethren."
   "Very well. Dismissed, brother."
   Bowing, I made my way out of the grove and spent the last of the daylight finding an inn in the city to spend the night. I eventually found myself in a decent inn named the Heartwood, where I was given a room and a meal, along with the promise of breakfast in the morning. The dinner was a simple meal of some stewed meat with a side of steamed lettuce. Using the lettuce leaves to scoop the soup into my mouth, I simultaneously ate my soup and leafy greens. Setting the bowl atop the empty plate, I thanked the innkeeper and chef before going up to my room. I took my armor off and stacked it at the foot of the bed, then removed my clothes and folded them atop my breastplate. Finally, I took a rag and soaked it in the bowl of water set atop the dresser inside the room and wiped myself down, removing the worst of the grime from my skin. I slipped into the bed and closed my eyes, slowing my thoughts until they stopped so I could sleep.

   Over the next two weeks, I made my way back to Omea. Once there, I relaxed for a few days at my home before heading once more to the dispatch office. There, I was told to head to an area just outside of town to rendezvous with other zealots that were awaiting assignments. I made my way to the designated meeting place and found another seven zealots waiting. One had found a stick that had fallen on the ground and dug a small furrow into the earth when I approached.
   "Good," he stated. "Only four more. Hopefully we can get them before the day ends."
   "Four more for what?" I asked, climbing onto a low-hanging branch and taking a seat.
   "Our squad. We're to be a strike force, dealing precision strikes to Damasque. Take out some of a squad, book it out and hope they don't catch us."
   "I've seen some of Damasque from when I worked with an Undead captain. I'd been assigned to take him out, along with any other Undead crew aboard and destroy the ship as I left. It's all rolling hills. How're we supposed to outrun them so we can get away if they can run infinitely longer than us?"
   "Damned if I know. Guess we'll figure it out once we get there."
   We spent the next couple of hours lounging about around the meeting place. I went from my perch atop the tree down on the the forest floor, then up into the treetops, then back on a branch, then back up, then to the forest floor... Eventually I found a place where I could comfortably nap while we waited for the rest of the zealots to get their assignments to join the squad.
   The light was fading when I woke up to all the necessary zealots being present. Sitting up, I worked out a couple of kinks in my back and neck, stomping feeling back into a foot that I'd left a leg on. "Took you long enough to wake up, sleeping beauty," one zealot said in a derogatory tone.
   "Hey now," the one that had greeted me when I first arrived admonished. "You haven't been stuck here waiting for hours. Now that we're all gathered, we'd better get going if we want to reach an inn before nightfall."
   "Wait, we're leaving now?" Another zealot asked, sounding slightly incredulous.
   "Of course, why would we wait? We've got everything we need to get going: our weapons, our armor, and field supplies. Now come on, let's go."
   We started off towards the nearest road, then spent the next two weeks making our way to the Nahyaki port. There, we took a ship to the waters off the coast of Damasque. We took a lifeboat ashore and made our way inland while the sailors that had come with us started to row back to the main ship. We wandered in between the hills, careful to avoid the torchlight of the rare patrol walking along the roads. Eventually, we spotted a large city in the distance. Outside its walls were groups of Undead alternately lining up and clumping together.
   We made camp far enough away as to be able to safely observe the distant city using an invention that had been imported from a Goroeskan inventor. We couldn't risk a campfire, so we made do with bread and water before falling asleep under shaggy green blankets, supposedly designed to help us blend in with the grass.
   We spent the following week observing the routine of the Undead squadrons. Four squads of twenty regularly rotated through the practice fields every six hours. Patrols were sent out from the city at four-hour intervals, returning four hours later as another patrol was sent out. Occasionally and without pattern a wagon would arrive from a southern road that we'd camped out nearby, leaving the next day unburdened. We assumed the wagons to be merchant's wagons, entering the city to sell whatever goods the Undead wanted from the southern port, Kipim.
   After spending all that time observing the city, we started trying to figure out ways to harass the Damasquens. Laying out a parchment with the schedule we'd observed in the center of our camp, we gathered around and started quietly talking. "We have their routine," the squad leader, a Human named Iksha, started. "Now, where do we go from here?"
   "Take out one squad while their training, then take the others down as they rotate in," one zealot suggested.
   "Too risky, and they'd catch on soon enough. Then we'd be overwhelmed."
   "What about taking out the patrols when they're far away?" I asked.
   "Not enough damage. Those patrols are only six people at a time."
   "Could we sneak into the city and start taking down people from the inside?" A third zealot queried.
   "According to some zealots that tried that in the past, all the newcomers are recognized quickly and sent to some monastery where they're told to convert a person to the Undead. Besides, we can't taint ourselves so heavily by being so much in the presence of the Undead."
   There was a long pause while we all thought about what we could do to solve this problem. "Why not just take out a squad and run before the next shift comes in?" One of the squad members, one of the few Eyas zealots, eventually suggested.
   "It'd be too obvious that we were around," our leader declared, shaking his head. "There'd be search parties sent out quicker than you could say 'may the Cycle be healed.'"
   "Well, we don't need to do it when they're just doing maneuver training," the Eyas continued. "What about when they're doing those practice battles? If we can get a cut on their arm or something, then they might think nothing of it until they start feeling tired. So long as we're careful, we could probably get out before they even realize they had extra fighters in the mix."
   The entire squad started to murmur their assent at the idea. "Alright," the squad leader finally agreed. "We'll split into groups of two, and leave one group here to make sure our camp isn't discovered while we're away. Go in, put in a few cuts, then get out before they finish their sparring." As we all nodded, he continued, "Make sure to take a patrol schedule with you. We don't want you to get spotted running from the sparring match by one of their number and having them sound the alarm." Clapping his hands, he said, "Let's do this."
   "May the Cycle be healed by our deeds here," a zealot intoned as we gathered up our own supplies.
   "Amen to that," I muttered under my breath.

[Inumo]

So, in addition to being two days behind schedule, I discovered today that OpenOffice was adding around 500 words to my word count. With the already-troublesome work of getting the inspiration to write the chapters, it was the final nail in the coffin, so I'm not planning on finishing this within November. However, I'll still be trying to write a chapter a day (using the 1667 words as a guideline for that) until this story's finished. The question is, do you people that are reading the story want me to keep putting up the chapters as I write them, or should I just let this fade into the Tower's later pages?