The priest of the man with the sunset shadow...
And the fall of the Cerrulean Empire....

The universe has this extreme power to call upon its own; and in times of need, can and will do just that. Necessity will often war with entropy, a true yin and yang, all in the name of Cosmic balance. Nothing heavy taken lightly, nor shouldered burdens to light, the encompassing trek to a better cosmic divide. When it calls, this primordial force is not one you may hear individually, but a force none the less which grips you, molds you, changes you, to suit how as needed, as the need needs. It is a primal force, one with no complete characteristics, only such that it is as transference, or butterfly taking flight, a subconscious indecision.

These are the reasons we live, so this fight, may one day conclude, to embrace a light, or a dark, or a twisted twilight, where even gods die, the blackened whole that is the Oversoul. Who can say why or how it happens, I know not. I know that I understand magic, and science, and yet I can put no name on it, hold it to no single dimension, at least one that I can interpret. No, its something else entirely, and though I long for its embrace to return, I know it shall not, grace my prescience again, like bliss rescinded, vanished, vanquished, only left to interpretation of a memory which grows stale over time, a bitter taste.

Seasons change, entropy prevails, winter melts, the serpent, entangled, slowly crushes itself. We watch, whimsically, as it withers, constricting on its target. The creature in its grasp, the target, but the self destructive snake, finishes the task.

Bones crush, like a glassy sand.

Life taken, spit up, bland.

When your done, and this presence passes, your left hollow, empty, a cruel dark place where no light might shine. Where is the glory in that I asked. But none would answer. The battles in the day, transcended into a waking nightmare in the sleep time, the dream rhyme, which was people speaking in tongues I never heard, nor could comprehend. Their pale yellow eyes, looking, questioning, scorning. The the bugle would sound, and we would awake, to war again. Happily I would do war, if only to put off the dreams from when I slept. Happily would I use my halberd, or any weapon at hand, on those ghosts, who haunted my dreams, a bitter land, of no food and water, only torment, a prelude to purgatory.

When our enemies lay vanquished and lifeless on the ground, then I began to know fear. I know not what drove their armies, all I know, is that we defended our lands, to the last we would. Our leaders encouraging, our foes undaunted in their ability to continuously assault our keep. Their attacks kept me from sleep, and so that I would not mind as much. I wonder if they knew they were doing me a favor, but for them, would I need it I asked myself. Had our normality remained, what would it encompass. I know that my old self, wouldn't like my new self, ahh but I would say, that old self didn't survive, now did he. Is it the conscious evolvement of thought which drives people to preclude?

I know not.

Deformed have I become, at least how I feel.

The plagues have begun. A green mist embraces the battlefield.

I feel my dreamland now waking with me. It is now that we have to kill some people now not one, but ten times. It is revolting, their flesh, a hypocrisy, one burned and still wanting, unrelenting, sheer madness. It was now that I cherish my dreams, for this was a curse worse then thee. This was a curse worse for me.

I fought with all my heart, for I didn't not wish to become like them, their hollow eyes, forlorn dreams. I begin to curse he, who would send these here, to die, only at his request. A man king god, who ruled, from faraway, and held the world within his sway. An emperor, one who tarnished life. His world was far away, I wonder, if he, had to see what we see, to see the dead return, aghast, a foul of nature, to die, and die, and die again. Would that he could survive such a torment, or would he delight in it. I questioned again, the rumors of he starting the plague, this king god of death.

And still they came. We withdrew. We castled inside, the windows barred and boarded up. We waited out the storm, for the dead walked the streets, more then we could ever hope to kill. We, so tired as to barely stand, stood our ground, as the souls of the dead wailed in the street.

This was the end. We watched, as the world began to dry up. Our Saviour a passionate ghost, trapped in a dimension, powerless. Our lone light in the dark, the dream endured, the dead walked the worlds, and the lands died.

Though of us with magic, endured as we could, our crude water and mushrooms of which we could summon. It seemed time has stopped, the wheel turned no more, and the plague endured, on that brink of twilight which the dawn could never achieve. We were lost, in a place of no escape, a legion of hungry souls at our doorstep. My doorstep I reminded myself, my damned doorstep, the stones, I laid with my bare hands, one find day, many years passed.

I scanned my Inn, or what was left of it. We were a stout crew. The rogue, a brash lad, with no concept of fear, peeked through the cracks in the walls and windows at the undead which walked the streets, remnants of lives former past, specters, revenants, zombies, vampires, liches, wraiths, skeletons. They walked the streets, whilst we, we hid in fear, for we had not the power to fight them.

The mage, he was a recluse, he cared not, his principle his alone, his was a disgust at being trapped here, against his will, though his powers were strong, still he hid with us. He levitated, his legs crossed, by the fire place, the heat of which licked off the edges of his bright white shield of chaotic energy which encircled his body. He was truly a master of the elements, and kept a demon inside a pouch inside one of the folds of his robe, whose material was fabled oscurite, not the cheap obscurite. His hat, lime green, was funny to look at, but the clash, how ever comical, was mine alone, for I had seen what that hat could do, a weapon, nay, an entity in its own right, that lime green hat.

Originally, we had a pair of ninja, who, calmly disappeared after we barricaded ourself in my house, or what was left of it. We were left with acrobat, while though young, was a promising fighter, though his obvious monk-like disdain for the two ninja, probably accounted for them leaving. I still dont even know how they managed to get out of my house, isn't that odd, I kept coming back to that question, which proved unanswerable each time.

The man who could have saved everyone laid on the bed, crying his eyes out for the past two weeks hence, in obvious personal turmoil. A cleric, of a faith, renounced by he who whom he served, cast out, a bastion, scourge.

His overseer now, the sorcerer, a man of whom the mage had no regard for what so ever, but I figure that has to do with the teachings of a mage and a sorcerer, and not the obvious hate schism between the two men, both of which acknowledged each a master in the arts.
If my squad and I were good, why did we hide like rats in a wall from the cats in the street? The cleric was unfuntional. His mind warped.

The rogue with no scruples mocked him so, the atheist to the theist, the theocracy fallen, we were in wayward times now.

The cleric cried, a blind mans cry, at the light being taken from his soul, the flames candle snuffed.

From what I could see on the street though, I even understood the plight of the man.

Dwarf I reminded myself. Dwarves were a different fold then man, or amazon. We were a collective of races, and each survived for their own reasons, we never asked, we just waited,hoping against hope that the undead outside would just, fall over and die maybe.

Time stood still, and we waited. The faithless cleric cried.

In the skies over head, still the errant dark moon, Oscuro, fled from Starfire, the eternal Phoenix, who would never rest until he had avenged the cosmic with the death of the tragic, wayward son of Argent, scourge of Lumina, the immortal ghost, the last specter of good, in a long forgotten realm somewhere in the finite depths of the cosmic.

The gears, at war with, unmoved, held in sway, a force, insane, that of entropies entropic nature, madness reborn, sutured back to health, for no reason, other then to feed the void. Time stood still, chosen survived, and the fabric of the universe tore with them. Warped fabric, spinning and phasing, glancing, opening threads, in places best left unknown. The gears in the wheel of the cosmic, cracked, and moved, not but an inch, but with force.

Astral winds became hurricanes of gases. Windows of the soul, unleashed, pent up force, expressed by exaggeration. They encompassed our land, and all lands I imagine. The gears struggle to move, but fail, and their eternal stone grinds.

A pale green mist, it seemed to steal the oxygen; it hung in the air. Misogynist misery.

A lowly rider entered my dreams this night. He still believed, or so he said. He believed in the sky, mercy for those about to die. His horse, standing in front of my Inn, unphased by the evils around him.

He kicked down my door, and I awaken, to see him standing there.

The setting sun at his shadow, this lonely rider, passing for the one.

The mage sneered, the sorcerer scoffed, he stood there, with his hand extended, offering sanctuary so, but more.

The faithless cleric, cried no more, that least tear, a crystal in his eye, which did trickle blood. The man with the sunset shadow, took it from he, and fastened it to his ear. His gift, a smile, upon one who, left forgotten, wanting, saw as hope.

He placed us all within his globe, and we walked outside.

I could see now the spirits in the streets, were crying now. Such was his force. We were beyond them, and it tore at them, in ways I could have never seen possible. This globe, rendered us immune, and away from them, though still there. We were in a phase light, with dimensions, either side, on a long ride. They followed us, and into the forest turned into a barren wasteland, did we travel, and still the moon could not rise, and the sun never set, they hung, up, in the clouds, higher, and closer then ever, yet they did not move.

It was so quaint, with each passing, to see oscuro, race along, across the sky, black flames in his wake, racing in his cowardice and fear from he who follows the light, Starfire. They would pass both the moon and sun, and the 4 of them, would pulse with light, but for a short time. In the absence of normalcy that was our green misty fog, these pulses were half therapeutic, and half scary, soul breaking spooky. Things were not as they once were, and the bounds of normalcy continued to shrug and break.

We walked, passing with us a broken world, a shattered place.

Ashes of the passing, blew in the window, scattering a false presence of time upon the misty, giving it a glossy, yet dull, dirty feel. Trees lie broken and withered, grass gone, skeletal bones of the fallen, those truly blessed by an after death peace, were the lucky ones. In the absence of everything else, those which continued to walk, were the hazard.

What was worse. These undead, would arise again, if even if you managed to kill them, their mortal coil would unleash, and the apparition of the soul would wake in this realm, and unleash fury. These intangible ghosts were a bane upon us all, and it was only due to the diligence of the sorcerer and the magi that we could pass through the canyons and mountains north of settlestone. undead creatures dotted the ground for as far as the eye could see, ravenous souls, whose undeath plagued them, and us. Soon we were buried in monstrosities, unable to move, and though they couldn't get to us they could hold us in place. Such was their adapting nature.

The man with the sunset shadow explained it all to us, while we could move no more.

Someplace, in a place which doesn't exist, the gears creaked and moaned, but the force holding them waned not, for its ilk was cosmic, and purposeful.

We palavered this night. Around a camp fire, filled by the scowls of thousands of undead horros which piled upon us, kept us. The walls of two realities merged, and our minds opened, to he, who was in fact timeless.

Deadsoul. I cursed him, but followed him anyway, openly, for I knew I had to. No choice had I, when even the gods had abandoned reality, and faced with survival, what choice has anyone. Tenacious is he who holds his life in value, and only a fool would seek to take it.

I saw it with the next passing, as least I sensed that I saw it.

The blink of the four square cosmic entities in passing, it happened with each passing of Oscuro and Starfire, and in that passing of light of our sun, and the dark of the moon, Lunat Zo; did the darkness kiss Deadsoul, or the form he had chosen for here. The man in the suit and hat, chosen his forms on his mood. His reality was much darker, more sinister, an astral dragon, unleashed from the prison of the minds eye. He was a beacon of chaos, a child of entropy, and his purpose. would be achieved.

Apparently, in some lucky places, other places in the realm, time flowed normally, and was not subject to the broken laws of normalcy, which plagues my city. It was a pruning of dimensions, and were to be transplanted, else where, where we had purpose.

A place where we would be taken, provided we could pass means of this horde of wastelandish creatures which piled upon us, trying in vain to break the globe around us.

This dimension was no longer plausible, and its existence was breaking, and would soon perish, a blip into nothingness.

Something unholy to behold, I assured myself. The other agreed. It was time we left our time.

But it was the deads prophecy, they would come for me. This they assured me, in hissing voices, when I slept. Our souls were theres, and those of this realm, warrants had been issued and signed in cosmic blood, we would be followed, to the ends of time, if need be, in order to assure the completion of the warrant. The grim reaper, his liquid black cape, and platinum and adamantium bladed sickle, swore to me, it was true, and proceeded to chase me room from room in my house.

I could see cracks appearing the in the gears of time itself, they couldnt move, but the force was shattering them now.

I awoke to watch the undead stripped away from the globe, stripped away and flung, in a storm of chaos and quantum energy, which tore across the already barren wasteland. The winds of chaos stripped away reason and purpose, and left only blackened sand in its awake, a glassy, dull sand, which glittered with the green misty haze that would blink white and black light, when the passing occurred.

The gears shatters, the wheel spins free. Like that of a dead appenage, the world rots.

The passings were always at the same time, we noticed, and even though we walked in no time, it was how we kept track of the time. We were in a land, forgotten by gods, forgotten of anything, except us. We walked towards a blackened sunset that never set nor rose, hung there, hauntingly, taunting us, as if to laugh at our very souls.

We followed the astral dragon, across the black scarred sandy wasteland.

We saw new horrors these days. Great Bone dragons in the skies over head, foul beasts with burning lightning hearts, and scarred leathery wings which flapped with a whap sound. They fought in the skies over head, paralleled against a land of black clouds, which hung in the air, and only dreamed of a time to which they could once again rain.

The clouds, which hung stagnantly, bred things, we never named them, we could not think of names to fit them. These scourge were small winged devils, which were black, and contrasted by pale green eyes and teeth. Over time, the green mist eventually thinned out and we left it behind, we walked now, across a white desert sand, covered in the bones of the fallen. A veritable graveyard to a million souls, of which I had never seen the like. Maddening to see such death, and care not any more.

We walked the never ending day, every day, safe in the globe, which protected us, and near as we could tell, gave us life, for every where we walked, we only saw death, or the sour grim face of something after death. We were in a land which had lost hope, had succumbed to the chaotic entropy, a land where all that was good had died, and was fed on by the forces of evil, a land which was all but dead, drained of everything nature had to offer.

With each second of time not passing in this time of no time, it felt wrong to watch the dark kiss of the light dieing against the sunset mans shadow, not merely absorbed, but taken, accosted, the darkness killed the light, devoured it.

I and my fellows, the survivors from that long forgotten town, traveled on, immigration dimensions, or so we were told.

We traveled, a caravan, within our sacred bubble, we walked, we were so used to it. We passed a river, stagnant black, oil, sludge, which bubbled, releasing foul gas ever so often. The sunset man told us, this was the divide, a flood of entropy, which cut through the life vein of our time, our dimension, and killed it off. Once past this unholy boundary, we would return to a normaler world. Or so we had been told.

It was not long that we waited, on the very brink of this sea of sludge, that a lone figure on a boat approached us, and docked at the feet of the sunset man, the one who had taken us away from the land of no time, and unholy zombies, into a realm, which we could barely recognize as anything we had ever seen.

The sunset man, paid the boatman in gold coins. It was quaint, as each of the coins had our faces on them.

Our oarsman, a form in a black cowled robed, merely rowed, across the sludge ocean, he rowed, and he could only stare out and this foreign land and try to comprehend the nature of this malfeasance of which we passed through.

On the third day, we sighted land. But the oarsman kept rowing. His smile was in denial, creepy, chilling.

The sunset man was making lots of jokes to us now, trying to keep our spirits and humor up, but it wasn't working.

Sour looks did those of us pass between each other.

We were lost in a land of doubt, and the oarsman rowed anyway, content in his past enough to move on with us into the future, though from here, it didn't seem like much. We watched colossal squids fight against an army of bugs, not bugs but they had about 100 claws, and only showed up thousands at a time. They made quick work of the squid. We watched a whirlpool pass by, which spewed chaos into the air, and spit out creatures from the sludge, or their remains, like a grinder, but for the souls of departed. We were content to know that we were crossing to the wake of Anubis, the sludge of the over soul itself. The over soul, that which is all purpose, the puppeteer, for all creation. The gelatinous goo, of which primordial essence evolves.

Our looks between one another began to grow desperate. What had been truth, had been lie. The boat paddler, the skeletal frame, under his black robe, now apparent, only smiled at us more, and we keenly noticed the sharpened teeth his grin. The sunset man didn't even bother to joke any more, he just cast unapproving looks at that which we rowed towards. Eventually we docked, and disembarked. We stood on the wooden dock, not knowing what, we stood there, like sheep, questioning. Then with a flare, Charon paddled back out to sea, all the while, the sunset man, the man we followed, was waving at us, laughing, as he floated away. When they were almost out of range of the dock, the Man of the Sunset shadow, threw a book which flew with purpose to his new Priest, whos robe changed from a dull red color to a schintilating white, orange and black. The book had a orange cover, and black pages, the letters were orange and white, in a text none of us could comprehend. It was glowing majestic purple.

If there was a hell, we were there now, of this we were sure, but damn it, we had a priest, and we were alive.

Screams erupted all around us, primitive screams, carnal screams, terror, pain, agony, these screams seemed to echo across the walls, which were dark abysmal stone. The mage and the sorcerer talked fervently now, I tried to keep up, but the ideas they were screaming about didn't seem to make much sense to me. The rogue stood in the shadows of a corner, hands upon his daggers.

That all too familiar planetary blink would now disappear from the lights kiss, into the Priests robe.

We were someplace else now. A ground shaking roar ratted the stoned in the pavement. More screams followed. We heard the mash of booted footsteps, followed by a varied crescendo of gurgling screams.

The acrobat, a staunch lad, a glimmer of fear, wrapped his whip across his knuckles. He was impatient now. The mage and the sorcerer, stood with their backs to the darkened and oil sea of black slime which we had rode in on. Thumps from the shaking ground informed us something moving. I closed the gap between the cleric and the door way, and came face to face with horror.

I heard the crack of the acrobats whip, and saw the thieves daggers throw with unerring accuracy. The mages began casting, I raised my sword, and taunted the wretched beat before me. Somewhere off to our right, across a wall, someone shouted a legion dies, it does not surrender, and I heard more scuffling and harsh screams.

The black creature advanced toward us. Behind him, I noticed a tower in the distance. The mage and the finished their casting, their spells unleashed. The demon advanced towards me, I danced to my right, spryly, it was slow, and sought to catch me in its huge clawed hands. I danced back, out of reach, and and leaped towards the devilish creature, and forcefull smashed my shield into its skull.

The mage and the sorcerer vanquished the foul devil before us, with much bravado did they unleash their elemental spells, I felt the lightning make my heair stand up on end, I felt the rush of the flame, the cold of the ice, and the devil felt it too. We stood by the gateway, surveying the situation, we watched the huge devil fall to the ground, and land with a lifeless thump.

The priest, who had been the crying man, in what had been another age, a time long past, clutched the book close to his chest. The faithless one had been given faith, as a parting gift from the man with the sunset shadow, who even now, sailed back, with Charon the River master, back into the blasted lands of a faraway and forgotten realm. A dead realm, with more souls to extract before its collapse, a paradox.

The rogue said we were in the cerullean keep, on the far side, north of the castle proper, he had been here before, though he hadn't expected to return.

The cleric defied us to not meet the emperor, for he would have words with the man.

I could only harrumph, and lead on out into the street. I would see that tower in the distance, before speaking with any emperor or king.

Grimly, I led the way, and my company followed.

After so long, our passing through the desert wasteland, and the oil sludge sea of souls, it was but a miracle to see such a simple thing as grass, and simple laid stone work. Something so simple, and pure as grass, and clover, never mind that they were four leafed clovers, hundreds of them, no, such greenery had never before existed afore mine eyes.

Though many days had I seen, I would remember that simple tower, and those beautiful clovers of grass. This small serene grove, was the one cluster of sanity had I seen for what felt to my body like ages. My beard was huge, manly indeed, I rubbed the mass of tangled hair, purveying the tower, which stood in the circular bit of flawless grass. I couldn't help but wonder who lived here.

Ahem. A voice said from behind, one that I did not recognize.

"Infidel." The priest would scorn him so, "I would have words with your emperor, take us to him or perish."

Such a change in that one in such a short time, I wondered, for good or ill.

The captain, who he had addressed, with a platoon of men behind him, well armed, and well abused soldiers, cerrulean soldiers at that. He held his gloves hand up, holding the platoon behind him in sway, and good 20 men, two squads, not quite a platoon. The good man before us thought and pondered, before answering, "follow me."

The priest walked on, back onto the stone paved streets of the Cerruel Island, and headed south to the castle. We followed him, our troop, myself, the mage, sorcerer, the rogue, and even the acrobat. We headed up the stone street, to the castle proper, with half a platoon of angry soldiers behind us, and one very, very calm captain.

I could only marvel at the keep, gazing at this immense stone frame worked castle, which spanned hundreds of feet up and out. Home to a garrison of several legions of soldiers, extended by the grace of the emperors navies. A powerful, new found force, which had set out to rape the very realm, in the name of their emperor, who would have it all.

Our calm captain, was having words with a pair of lieutenants who guarded the entryway to the castle. Apparently they didn't like the idea of armed people inside the castle. While I might at one time, have sympathized with the pair of junior officers, as of now, they would pry my sword from my cold dead hand. The captain told them to goto hell, and had them placed in cuffs.

He led us inside now, where the wonders of this new modern age befouled our senses.

The cerruleans, were masters of many arts. Their smiths could make such metals as beautifully, meticulously carved from metal, as any but the greatest artifacts as I had plundered. Their jewelers could make such bedazzled gems, as to take ones breathe away, while their scribes, perfumed scrolls, which would hide all but the foulest of smells. They respected the arts, paintings, rugs, carpets, and other fineries. They had little in the way of thought or regard for outland barbarians, such as myself, and those of the newer continents, the Dwarves, Amazon. They only barely tolerated those citizens of Jahnesta. Cerruel was permanently at war with Pangor, and the cities of the Assurian lands. As a populace, they plundered as they saw fit.

The priest was getting impatient now.

I looked at the others, we agreed, we were just along for the ride.

Eventually, our full escort arrived, and we were allowed entry to the castle, though I was almost amused that they took us seriously for half a brigade of guards to follow us down the marble floored halls. The castle had a basilica, and we passed under it, like a massive glass chandelier, built into the ceiling, which astounded my sense, and took the rogues breath away.

The sorcerer yawned, he was cool like that.

The mage scorned the sorcerers lack of discipline, at all times, they were almost their own yin and yang. The sorcerer, carefree, and nearly callous to the ways of the world, versus the hard necked, perfectly disciplined mage, the pair of them were quite nearly a paradox, but in combat, I sometimes felt sorry for the creatures which had attacked us. in that time of what I would call joy, the pinnacle of what had been my life, before the wars, the plague, the no time spent in the inn, or the walk with the man with the sunset shadow.

Now I find myself, entering the hall of the Cerrullean Emperor, not alone, as in my dreams, but surrounded by my friends, my own squad. Sure we had nearly 500 soldiers waiting to impale us at any given command, but we were, cool like a winters night on the tundra under the stars. We were as ice. I noticed the mage playing with his celestite stones, little small chunks of celestite rock which he kept in a pouch in his robe. I knew then that he was preparing for battle now, he was a crafty one, always a trick up his sleeve. The sorcerer in turn, was juggling knives, and along side the acrobat who would snatch a knife out of the air, and then toss it back at the sorcerer. The rogue, he was calmest of us all. He stood back behind the priest, on his left, while I on his right. The soldiers were straining, all they wanted to do was attack us, and the sorcerer and the acrobat were not helping things, but I wasn't going to stop them, nope, not me, they were having fun.

The priest stood rigidly, impatient, the book he held still clenched at his chest and heart, it was his lifeline now, nay, that book was his life, and he knew it.

Even the captain was starting to show signs of nervous impatience, he removed his gloves, and was slowly working his knuckles in an attempt to revive the tension he felt. The strain in the throne room was apparent. We all waited for the emperor, who we suspected was going to make a grand entrance.

Instead, a small voice echoed from the doorway. "What do you want."

The priest spoke, "enter emperor, If I were to have you dead, that wall would stand not in my way. Enter so we may see he who would reshape the world in his flawed image."

The emperor of Cerruel entered his throne room.

The rogue broke, and laughed out loud. The emperor of such a land, who had caused such atrocities, was a mere five foot tall, and chubby, like that of an Eskimo, or a penguin. His robes were stately and gold, as was his crown. He walked on slippers, spun from bear fur. He obviously commanded the respect of everyone on the island, except us. He entered and walked towards his throne, which was platinum covered, and about three times as large as he, the emperor even had a footstool he could walk up to rest upon his throne. It might have been comical at one point in time, how ever now, the gravity of the situation kept my mirth in check. The rogue how ever, could not, and guffawed in laughter.

As he stood next to the priest, who now commanded us, not a single of the emperors soldiers attempted to shush him.

The mage how ever, was not so inclined, and snapped his fingers, the rogues laughter, silent as death, his voice taken.

He continued to laugh, and fell to the floor, uncontrollably, silently.

The emperor set, taking us in, perceiving us in some empirical way, before stating, "The colors of your robe priest, whom do you follow, for I have not seen them before?"

"It matters not, Scourge, for I serve a purpose now, unlike before." The priest said, coldly, almost venomously.

He hummed for a moment, and just to prove he could, the Priest healed everyone in the room.

Gasps and jeers arose, before officers hushed their subordinates.

The rogue set in a crouch now, his laughter done, he stared coldly at the emperor. The rest of us stood there, waiting for something to happen.

Instead the priest rambled on now, directly at the emperor, and he was not nice about it.

"I have read it so, that in ones years time, your body will fell over, and become what you feared most, that which you unleashed, you and your magical workers beneath these stones. I bequest this sentence upon you, by nature itself, which you have offended. Your cities will rot, just as that entropy which you unleashed cause so many to suffer."

The priest damned and cursed the emperor, who only rolled his eyes, in disbelief. "So, that book on your chest says this priest?"

"Priest I don't even know you name." The emperor demanded.

"Demand me nothing, I would kill you now, for even the seeds now sit in your body, waiting to unleash, and I mean to be no where near them when they release with your death. Know this only, we are survivors."

The Lord Protector spoke up, his brawny, rumbling voice was questioning the priest, “The emperor would know your name, knave.” To reinforce this point, he cracked his large, sausage sized knuckles out in front him.

The priest, who had once been the crying man, glared at the Protector, and unleash an avenging curse upon the Lord protector, who fell to the floor in agony. A scintillating 'S' branded itself upon the forehead of the Protector, who writhed upon the crystal floor of the emperors chambers in agony. The S feverishly changed colors between a void-filled black to a white, which was always devoured by the Black; In between the black and white colors, would meet and join to a fiery orange blaze, which would revolve back as white or black.

Gasps of Heretic and Hersey erupted from the around the courtroom. I and the others tensed now, ready for combat, but it never arrived, the Priest had things well in hand, this was his show. Instead, he spoke of the mad man of the sunset shadow, who had showed him the light, and exposed his soul to illumination, which he was so kind to share with the Emperor this day. The man whose task it was to relocate souls off of dieing worlds, souls which shouldnt be dieing before their appointed time. A man whose job was much, much more difficult by meddling magicians who broke the weave of magic, and their over lords who made them do it. A job which didn't need compounding difficulties like zombie plagues.

The sunset priest was on a roll now, he was giving a sermon to the emperor, he was shouting at the small king, because he was stark raving mad, and he was delivering a vengeance upon thee, which would haunt he and all of his kind for eternity.

The almanac of sunset, which was always clenched against the priests chest, began to glow now. It released itself from his grasp. and floated in between the priest and the emperor. IT began to unfold its tail; proceeding to call out names of soldiers, present in the room. IT released them from service, telling them to leave, and never return here. They fled, probably wisely.

Those soldiers who remained was damned to never leave, and to walk, hauntingly as ghosts, in their passing. Their biological plague which they unleashed, was theres have back, a gift, so it might be, to the rest of the realms, for the troubles they had so wrongfully caused.

The book reserved a special spot for the emperor. IT told him so.

We saw all of this through the book, or it allowed us to see. Those who remained had obviously seen service in the emperors wars over sea, I noticed that only the very young were called out, obviously having few transgressions. I noticed the captain who had escorted us in, was pale now. He looked very afraid, I cant say as I blamed him. This was a lesson in vindication, some what of cosmic karma.

IT, the almanac, finished its sermon, and floated back to the priest, who graciously accepted it with open arms. The priest finished with a glorious, “AMEN!”.

"We will leave now", the priest spoke to us.

"Fine by me." I spoke. We walked back out the way we came, passing through the basilica, again, probably the last people to exit this land. Others were fleeing now, as news of the book spread to the populace of the isle. I headed back towards the tower by the dock, encircled by clovers. I was let down though, as that tower was no longer there. Nor was the ring of of green grassy clover. Like everything else here, it was dirt, once more, the beauty taken from it.

I would long to see that tower again, for the rest of my days.

I sighed, dejected.

"Relax, big guy." the acrobat spoke, "it probably had to go inspire someone someplace else, or when. just remember it. "

The rogue spoke now. "So how do we get off this island."

We stood in a circle, each facing each, as we had so many times before. Even now the screams from the harbor docks were chaotic. We could see smoke rising up. Apparently something was sinking their boats, all but one, which contained those whom the book released. Anyone who attempted to board the boat, was blasted backwards, smoking and charred. Soon, the crowd turned to near riot, as people realized the stark horror of being trapped, of being cursed, and damned; eternal damaged goods.

Our priest, and his good almanac, spoke then of an inn, "Theres a place, of good statue, near here. The one who can help us must also be relocated. His purpose is else where, as is ours."

It was getting dark now, so time actually did seem to flow here, though it felt off, not seeing the passing of Oscuro and Starfire. I asked the priest about this, but he just laughed, a boatful, long laugh. With that, we walked off west, towards the Inn, and the one we sought.
We found the one named Sebastion. He actually refused to leave, and he argued against it. The priest opened the book, and used a quill to write something off in a page. He questioned the Innkeeper, sebastion, no more on the subject, instead, mentioned something about arranging travel to Jahnesta. Sebastion, grabbed some goods out of his vault, and gave them to us. It was then that he motioned to the portal, in the back of the vault. He asked the Priest if he was sure about Jahnesta, who merely nodded.

He bade us farewell, and we walked through the portal with a pop.

I heard roaring laughter next, but I was dizzy, real dizzy. I wanted to throw up, my head hurt. I heard retching sounds from close by, I couldn't tell if it was me or someone else.

The next thing I knew, I was all wet, all of us were. A giggle of delight, followed by a gruff 'humrmph'. I looked around, trying to right my balance, and take in my surroundings. I had been here before, I think. Redbears Brothel, in Jahnesta. I could even now see the royalty faceplate upon the door to the best room in the house. A fine Inn.

One of his girls, giggled at us, and Redbear stood over us, armed crossed.

The mages lime green hat, steamed, heated up, and we dried up. Redbear looked impressed.

"Welcome Lords and Ladies." The red bearded giant said to us.

The priest bowed his head, to his host, who led us from the room, into one of the larger apartments in his house.

The priest thanked him, and asked what time it was. Redbear just laughed, sort of, said "time don't mean much here any more. The fabric has been almost torn now. TIME comes and it goes, at its own pace. One minute the sun is up, then just like that, dark, and your standing there, wondering what you missed, if indeed you missed anything. It leaves a man feeling lonely, yes it does."

He bid us farewell, and headed off to his bar, to fetch some whiskey for a pair of gnomes, who prattled at him intheireversofastastaslightningspeechthatonlygnomescantreallyunderstand tongue.

Ive never been a fan of gnome speech, like trying to catch a pair of humming birds giving you the finger.

The almanac was glowing green now. It was almost purple when it was around the emperor.

The next day, after a night of debauchery, the priest bade us all to deliver individual messages to different kingdoms. I never saw the priest of the man of the sunset shadow, or his almanac again, in my life. None of us did. Just disappeared, to his own diabolical nature. We heard tales, but it was just as well.

True to the word of the Almanac, a year to the day that we left, the Cerrulean Keep was eternally pledged to the observance of Anubis, who denied the dieing Cerruleans their Afterlife. To this day, the entire continent is permanently over ran with legions of Undead, who howl for their freedom and vengeance, and whose hatred for the living knows no bounds.

Sometimes, I sit on the docks under the Great Bridge, north of Thremiscyra, and observe the Cerrulean Frigate. I have almost stepped on board a couple times, in order to visit the Cerrulean city, but logic and reason persuade me to walk away, and that I do. If the tales were true, it would take many people to assault such a horror place, and I reminded myself, that I had seen enough of the walking dead already in my life.

Instead, I sit on the dock, and watch the racing shadows of Oscuro and Starfire against the orange sunset of the setting sun, and ponder what the dead had in store for me, for I had escaped their plan, and knew one day they would come calling.



Kelley Sims. 9.14.2010 -- kell.sims@gmail.com