Two divine figures reclined on grass too vibrant and lush to be in the mortal realm. Their respective powers coiled underneath them to provide them with comfortable places to rest, almost like they were resting on divans. A still pool spread out before them, showing them the mortal world. The divine realm breathed peace. It wasn't that nothing was going on, merely that nothing was at odds.

            Morgunstjarna sat up from the brilliant light he had been reclining on and pumped his fist in the air once, "Yes!" His skin was like burnished bronze and he wore a white, plated shendyt kilt around his waist embroidered with golden runes. A golden belt rested above his hips. His hair fell down to his shoulders like gold and scarlet fire.

            Blíður Vindur patted his hand, continuing to rest on her couch of pleasant white clouds, "That's wonderful dear. You've been trying to get through to that boy for years." Her skin was the color of a cool breeze and her hair was the sable of night. Her beauty was devastatingly lovely. She wore a shear slip of a dress, it was the color of a clear day. The dress was modest in length, however, whatever modesty it possessed it more than made up for in transparency.

            "Finally!" He grinned broadly at her, his teeth brilliantly white. Concern flitted across his face, "I don't know what's wrong with that place, but everything we send down there keeps getting jumbled." Morgunstjarna sat up and stretched.

            Blíður Vindur nodded, frowning. "I know what you mean. It makes no sense why Katrina has to struggle against so much storm. I'm almost never storm." In a mockery of her words her dress, began turning cloudy and grey. "I didn't know there was an creature in all of creation that could prevent us from communicating to our chosen."

            Morgunstjarna reached over and took her delicate hands in his large ones, "We'll figure this madness out. Whatever is preventing the others from coming and heeding our warning, will come to light soon enough, everything does." They sat quietly looking into one another's eyes until at last Blíður Vindur pulled away with a sigh. "We shouldn't leave them alone for long. There is no telling what trouble they could come up with."

            They looked back into the still pool just in time to see Kegar push Strozazand to his death. Blíður Vindur's jaw clenched. She saw Katrina's chain lightning kill the orcs in the room and before it dissipated, she changed its nature from death giving to life giving. She wrapped it around Strozazand's body.

            Morgunstjana's pantheon didn't include weather, so he couldn't see what exactly she did, though he could see her working. "What did you do?" he asked.

            She shook her head harshly, "They need Strozazand. I'm not letting that idiot ruin our plan to save their world. More is at stake than their island." She sighed, "I wish I could be more direct. I had hoped to resurrect him... but this interference... it stopped me. All I could do is preserve his body till someone with a stronger connection to me than Katrina does, asks for him back."

            Morgunstjana's rested his hand on her shoulder, as they looked at the would-be-heroes mourning Strozazand's death. "They aren't going to get the truth while that dwarf has the others gripped in fear." His words were punctuated with the sudden appearance of a young blue dargon beside the still pool. "We should try to let Cole and Katrina know what happened when they sleep tonight."

            Blíður Vindur nodded her agreement before turning to address the dargon. The dargon was looking at his claws in wonderment. His belly scales were the color of a cloudless sky at high noon, his spine the bluest black of the night's sky. "You weren't supposed to die, Strozazand, but don't worry. Katrina and Cole will have you back alive in a week's time."

            Strozazand was fascinated by his new hands, they were almost like a memory of human hands, covered in scales with talons instead of nails. They were dexterous enough that he could have held a fine crystal glass without breaking it, while strong enough that he could crush a boulder in one claw. He looked up from his hands in wonder, his eyes truly seeing the two divine figures for the first time, "I... I'm a dargon?"

            Blíður Vindur smiled gazing at him like a proud parent, her dress changing to the blushing pink of sunrise, dargons were her favorite, "Yes. Through your mother and her father before her, both you and your half sister are dargons." She reached out and gently touched his face, "Since your true nature is that of a dargon, that's what you look like here. No one can hide their true nature in this place." She gazed lovingly at Morgunstjana, "Especially, not in front of the god of the sun, whose light reveals all truth."

            Stroz was having trouble processing what she said, "Half sister? Mary isn't my full sister?" Stroz's darconic face scrunched up and tears formed. All his life, his parents had been cruel to him. The one steady force in his family, was that he and his sister loved each other. Now that she wasn't even his full sister… What does that mean for us? Will she abandon me when she knows?

            Blíður Vindur scooped him up into her arms, he was the size of a kitten to her, "I'm so sorry, Stroz. Your mother is a bit of a slut. The man you grew up with isn't either of your father."

            Stroz sniffed, tucking his tail up over his belly and clutching it in his hands, "Is that why he didn't want me? Why he…" he looked away for a moment, "…why he hit me?" The tip of his tail flicked back and forth under his chin, displaying his anxiety.

            "What?" Blíður Vindur asked, "No, of course not, he's a terrible person. He believes that you are both his. He is just spiteful and wicked." She considered how much to tell Strozazand; weighing it in her mind for a moment before continuing, "The man that you called your father blames everyone for his decisions but himself. He hates himself for desiring men instead of women. So, to hide from himself, he married a woman and then abused and scorned her because she was a constant reminder of how he felt like a failure." She smiled sadly, "The thing is, if he had just accepted himself, he would have saved himself a lot of trouble. It's true there weren't any men for him in Pode, but there are lots out in the rest of the world. He destroyed himself and everyone around him because he was selfish, frightened and angry. He would rather stay miserable than risk happiness."

            Strozazand wept in her arms for a long time. He had so much pain wrapped up in him. He had chained away his emotions so tightly on the mortal plane; he had accessed his emotions so little there. Here in the safety of her loving arms, it was as if a flood gate had opened and all the anguish was being washed away.

            After a while he came back to himself. He scrubbed at his eyes with his hands. If this were on the mortal plane, I would feel so embarrassed right now. He acknowledged, But here… is this what freedom is? He was quiet for a time before he realized something, "You've been calling me Strozazand. I thought you would call me Tommy."

            Blíður Vindur smiled, "I told you, only the truth of ones nature can be here. Your dargon name is Strozazand the Dargonman. I sent that to you in a dream. I was hoping that learning your true name would help to alleviate some of the pain of growing up the way you did."

            He smiled, "It did. I always knew it was more true than Tommy." He laughed, "Even if people did think I was crazy."

            Blíður Vindur spoke gently, stroking his face like he was a small child, "That won't be forever. One day, your name will be spoken with reverence."

            He grinned, "As fun as that sounds, I don't know if I want reverence…" he trailed off, disappearing into thought, "Does Mary have a dargon name?"

            Blíður Vindur nodded, "Yes, she does and I sent it to her too." She looked away for a moment, "Your sister is far more concerned about what people, especially people in authority, think about her than you are. She heard her true name and became afraid that she would be scorned for taking it up, of course, she would have been. She worries that she isn't really a dargon at all. Her insistence on burying her true name has only made that fear grow inside her. When you experienced your parents rejection, you found a measure of solace with Ellen Masterpiece… your sister… she hungers so desperately for your parents' approval. It could be a long time before she takes her name."

            They talked for a long time. He asked about his father, but only received vague answers. The two gods taught him how to fly in his dargon form, he had thought it would be instinctive, and it would have been if he didn't have so many years of human clouding his dargon instincts. They taught him how to access his dargon magic and told him that he would have to practice relentlessly if he wanted to use it.

            "Magic is like a muscle. If you want to use it; you need to exercise it, practice with it, stretch it. Otherwise, it will be weak and you won't be able to cast anything but the smallest magic." Morgunstjana said, instructing him.

            Strozazand nodded, Damn. I don't really care for all this brainy work. At least I can ask Shandra for help. He opened his mouth to reply when he felt a tug on his soul, asking him if he wanted to return. "Looks like they are finally getting me back up." He waved cheerfully and disappeared.

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            Blíður Vindur and Morgunstjana smiled at each other and looked into the pool, "What in the hells?" They exclaimed together.

            Before they could investigate what was going on, Alltaf Vöxtur the goddess of nature suddenly appeared in their midst with a burst of myrtle and saffron sparkles. She had wide hips and full breasts, her nipples were barely concealed by the creeping vines that made up her négligée. She had the same burnished bronze skin of her brother, but that was only resemblance they shared. Her hair was dark and sultry, with jade highlights gleaming through the darkness like ivy in shadow. She was all smiles and laughter, "One of my druids asked a boon and I granted it before I noticed that you two had tags on some of the people…" She registered the furious faces of Blíður Vindur and Morgunstjana, "…what?"

            Morgunstjana ground his teeth, "We told them! We told them all they had to do was find and kill the orc chieftain and then a priest from Capita could resurrect Strozazand!" He growled, "So what happens? They ignore their time sensitive mission to do it in the worst way!"

            Alltaf Vöxtur looked like she had been slapped. "Hey!" she pouted, "I thought I was helping you out… don't insult me."

            Blíður Vindur waved Alltaf Vöxtur to the mirror, "My dargon just woke up in a dwarf body after living his life in a human one."

            The nature goddess frowned. She liked growth, seeds coming back to life. She did not like being told she should have left something dead. "At least he's back up?"

            Blíður Vindur, goddess of weather, shook her head, "No. Actually, this way took longer, a week longer to accomplish and two weeks to get back to where they belong… not to mention the orc chieftain is still alive."

            Alltaf Vöxtur raised an immaculate eyebrow, "Brother, Blíður Vindur, it isn't like you two to get so involved in the lives of mortals. What do you care if an orc chieftain lives or dies?"

            Morgunstjana moved the focus from the travelers far to the north, to the southern end of the kingdom. He focused on the burnt out corpse of one of the outlying towns of Capita. He shifted the focus to a town currently under attack. The orcs were butchering the townsfolk. The sun baked roads had turned to mud under the weight of spilled blood.

            A mother used her body to shield her child from the bloody axe of an orc. The orc's fuchsia skin would have been comical against the backdrop of blood and fire if the scene wasn't so horrible. The heavy downward swing cleaved her spine in two. She fell forward onto the child, pinning it to the street. From the angle the gods were looking from, it wasn't clear if the child was trampled to death under the feet of its' mother's murderer, or if it drowned in the rising tide of blood.

            Alltaf Vöxtur recoiled in horror. "Just because mortals do terrible things, doesn't mean I want to see it!" She flicked a hand at the pond they were looking into and the child was swallowed into the earth. A few miles outside of town the earth opened and the child crawled out, terror naked on its face. She glanced at the surprised faces of the other gods, "I don't like interfering… but… it was a child…"

            Morgunstjana nodded in understanding, he liked to save children too, he added sadly, "You know the little one will just die of exposure in the open like that."

            The child's clothes were soaked in its mother's blood. Its blond hair was plastered to its face, framing its terror. The child clutched its knees and rocked back and forth, sobbing. Its tears washed rivulets of blood away.

            She shook her head, "Not so. I have one of my chosen in the area. I'll have it come and get the small thing." Alltaf Vöxtur's eyes grew shiny with unshed tears, "Why didn't those fools just they just finish what they started?" Under her breath she murmured, "All those children…" She wasn't just the goddess of nature, her pantheon included new growth and children fell squarely into it.

            None of the gods could look away from the trembling small form until Alltaf Vöxtur's champion, a humanoid bee creature covered from head to toe in platemail, arrived and succeeded at convincing the child to come to "her". She was a noble bee, which meant she was a hermaphrodite, allowing her to breed with both a queen or worker bees. The armor had openings on the back to allow her wings to function without impunity. Her wings hung behind her like a cape.

            The gods could see the psionic energy swirling around the bee girl. Morgunstjana raised an eyebrow, "Is that natural?"

            Alltaf Vöxtur nodded, "I went through a phase where I made a bunch of half-human-hybrids."

            The child finally allowed the bee to pick it up and carry it off. The deities sighed with relief and returned to their conversation.

            Morgunstjana scratched his chin, "They knew Stroz would be able to be resurrected at Capita. Maybe… someone… convinced them that it would take a long time to find the orcs? If they thought it would take a while they could have felt guilty for not going to help him…" He felt that explanation was a stretch.

            Alltaf Vöxtur watched in silence for a long while before commenting again, "This is very clearly a complete mess, but why are you so concerned with this place that you both have champions in the thick of it?"

            A sense of fear crept up their legs, clutching their chests and leaving them momentarily paralyzed. "I believe" a voice like a thousand screams spoke, it was long and drawn out, "that I can answer that."

            The gods turned to face Ótti Framleiðandi, Viarte of Fear. His body, normally cloaked in shadows and darkness, was exposed and it was the stuff of nightmares. It shifted with bone breaking sounds from pustulous to monstrous. If Morgunstjana and his ever present light hadn't been there to chase away the darkness, they would only have seen shadows and heard the crunching, painful sounds of terrible things happening obscured by vile mist. But since darkness cannot stand against light, it was forced to flee, revealing his true nature. Clutched in one of his many talons were several adorable, fluffy cloud creatures, "I believe these are yours Blíður Vindur."

            The viarte opened his claw and the little clouds fled back to their mistress, who scooped them up into her arms and began to sooth them. "It's unexpected for you to be so bold that you would stop my messengers."

            The viarte tilted his head to the side, sound of broken bones accompanied his movement, "Is it? You are trying to foil my plan."

            Morgunstjana looked over to Alltaf Vöxtur, "That's why you hadn't heard of the situation here… we sent multiple messengers."

            Blíður Vindur counted the clouds at her bosom, "Some of them are missing."

            A terrible smile stretched across his face, it was grotesquely large, "I couldn't resist sampling a few…" Yes… I don't fear you or your power. What else have I done? How many got through at all?

            Blíður Vindur pulled her little clouds closer. The little, fluffy clouds tucked themselves around her like chicks under their mother's wing.

            "Why are you interfering with my plans?" Ótti Framleiðandi's body broke and bent in a thousand places. The grating sound of bones scraping against stone pierced the gods' ears.

            Blíður Vindur suppressed a wince at that wretched sound, she reached out a tendril of wind and softly touched the viarte's twisted visage with a soothing breeze, "Because you are trying to destroy what we love, Ótti Framleiðandi."

            Fangs stretched out from the viarte's maw, growing larger and larger before twisting into tentacles that reached for the gods. "Oh please, you think too much of yourselves. I don't want to destroy anything." Twelve hands reached out from his chest, thin, grotesque and hungry stretching to distressing lengths before sucked back into his body like noodles. "I just want to feed. I can hardly do that if I destroy your precious creations." A sickening laugh squelched from his maw, "After all… the dead know no fear..."

            "Twisting our creation with fear does destroy it." The nature goddess grumbled, "At the very least it corrupts it."

            Crippled wings burst out of the viarte's back, the wings beat a few times lifting Ótti Framleiðandi off the crisp green grass, "and on that note, I'll take my leave. Feel free to worry about what I'll be doing away from your presences. Worry may not be as potent as fear, but divine worry is so much sweeter than a mortal's fear." Secure in his perceived invincibility, the viarte faded out, leaving only his mocking laughter.

            The gods exchanged looks. Alltaf Vöxtur flicked her hand and a wooden divan grew from the divine earth. She threw herself dramatically onto her couch. "Once the child is taken care of, I'm sending my champion to keep an eye on things. That viarte has devoured many others of his kind… I don't know if even the three of us have the power to stand against him."

            Blíður Vindur nodded, "We can only hope we are able to gather more allies." She sent the pool back to the youths from Pode, "And hope these children do not give themselves over to the viarte."