Mick finished his meal while Neelan told his story. As he was used to the elven tendency to blather, he patiently waited for Neelan to make his point. While sipping his tea, he listened to the ancient elf with a wry smile on his face. ‘The old bastard can really spin a tale. I’ll give him that,’ thought Mick.

But hearing the end, he felt goosebumps pimple his skin, while his face lose its color.

Coughing lightly to clear his throat, Mick shakily said, “Well, that was an unexpected twist.”

Neelan hadn’t moved a muscle, or shown any real emotion on his face. He was still calmly sitting in chair, watching the plants in the courtyard grow. But Mick knew the elf was patiently waiting for his response.

Mick’s mind raced through his options. He tried to find a way out of the trap he had accidentally walked right into. But nothing was coming to him. And as the silence stretched, he started to panic.

He looked across the table to his old friend, and he was struck with a thought.

“How did the elf king know what was happening?” Mick asked.

Lightly frowning, Neelan turned his head to look at Mick, and replied, “What do you mean?”

Mick felt the metaphorical ground underneath him firm up, as he clarified, “You were there right? You heard the elf king diagnose the problem just by looking at it. And, I’m betting he is the one who explained how it happened. Am I right?”

Neelan wasn’t sure what Mick was getting at, and he cautiously responded, “Yes. It was Valerian who figured it all out. Why do you ask?”

Smiling, Mick said, “Because the only way he’d recognize what was happening was if he had seen it before. You can’t just look at a problem and know what’s happening without context.” Throwing up his hands to emphasize his point, he said, “That’s the entire basis for scientific study!”

Neelan took a sip of his tea, a deep frown marring his normally placid face. “And what does that realization mean in the greater scheme of things, Mr. Barclay?” he asked, his tone uncharacteristically cold.

Mick involuntarily gulped, but pressed forward with his argument. “I only bring it up, because it implies that it wasn’t the research that you object to, but the result. Without the study of necromatic principles, you would never have been able to close the rift. Granted, my goals aren’t so lofty. But I don’t think I should be punished for the actions of man who died before even my ancestors were born. Not to mention the fact that I’m not from anywhere near Mosria,” he said with growing conviction.

Neelan slowly nodded, then calmly said, “However, that only absolves you of any guilt concerning the events of Mosria. You still intend to repeat their mistakes, and brazenly admit that you intend to steal an elven body for your necromatic experiments.”

Rolling his eyes, Mick said, “You make it sound like I’m going to kill some poor bastard and take over his body.”

Neelan’s eyebrow rose in surprise, and he asked, “Aren’t you?”

Scoffing, Mick said, “Of course not! What kind of person do you think I am? I’ve known you for over half my life, and I’d like to think that you’ve learned what kind of man I am by now.” Mick crossed his arms in anger, and he was surprised how hurt he actually felt. He hadn’t realized how much he had come to rely on Neelan’s friendship and support.

Pensive, Neelan set down his teacup. Leaning back in his chair, he said, “For you, that may be a long time. But I still feel as though I just met you. Looking at you now, I can see how much you’ve aged. And I have to remind myself how different our perceptions of time are. I’m sorry Mick, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Taking a calming breath, Mick chose his words carefully. “Look. I understand how you might feel that way. But to me, you are the only one in this gods-forsaken forest that I actually like. Hells, you’re the only one I really talk to. Everyone else just drives me toward insanity with their inane chatter, and overly polite facades,” he said with repressed rage.

Mick’s face took on a pained look, and he pleaded with the elf, “Neelan, my old friend. I can’t stand it here anymore. I can’t just sit in my room and wait to die. I NEED to go.”

Although his face was calm, Neelan’s voice was filled with compassion as he asked, “And the body Mick? Are you willing to give up this madness?”

Gritting his teeth, Mick clenched his hand in anger. Doing his best to keep calm, he said, “Neelan, you don’t understand. I’m not going to do what that madman did. I’m not going to usurp a body. I’m merely going to take a discarded peace of meat, and prime it for life. Then I’m going to transfer my soul through spells that I have developed over a lifetime. At the time of connection, I’ll restart the body, and go about my new life with a smile on my face.”

Neelan’s stare could have melted steel as he asked, “And what of the hunger? How do you plan to address the disparity of soul size?”

Mick chuckled and said, “I’m not telling. The last thing I need is for my method to get out. I’ve spent my entire life working toward this goal, and I won’t let anyone steal my work.”

Neelan looked at Mick like a judge deciding the fate of a condemned man and asked, “And what if I make you tell me?”

He could feel the cold sweat pooling in the small of his back, but Mick kept his face stern as he replied, “You could try. But I’ve taken steps to ensure that even someone delving my soul wouldn’t find out my method. You’d kill me before I broke.”

Neelan nodded, then turned his eyes back toward the courtyard. Mick had been around elves long enough to know that Neelan was thinking over how he wanted to proceed.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

When Mick had come here, he had just bee looking for a teleport to the western front, but now he wondered if he might actually be getting a body. Under the table, he wrung his hands while forcing himself to be patient.

Without turning his head, Neelan asked, “Would you be willing to perform your experiment while under observation? Keep in mind, that if you show signs of the hunger, you will immediately be killed.”

Mick took a full ten seconds to think over his options. But, the prospect of a body being available without having to go through all that theoretical effort was too good a deal to pass up. Firming his resolve, he said, “Only you. And you have to swear that you will never share what you see while you are in the room with me.”

Neelan looked Mick in the eyes, and replied, “Done.”

Mick felt his stomach unclench, and he leaned back in surprise. Stuttering, he said, “So you’ll let me go through with it?”

Neelan cracked the slightest of smiles. “Mick, my old friend, how could I stand in the way of your lifelong ambition. You’re taking the proper precautions, and your reasons for wanting a new body are understandable. The only matter of concern is where to find a body that meets your criteria without offending anyone.”

Mick smiled, his heart-rate spiking with anticipation. Leaning forward, he said, “The western front. There are elves lost there every day. I’m not under any illusion that what I’m doing isn’t grisly, but I’m trying to think of it as re-purposing an unused meat suit.”

Neelan grimaced at the mental image, and said, “That’s horrifying. But I see your point. Let’s start with your requirements. What exactly are you looking for?”

Mick poured himself some more tea, and his face took on the look of a scholar mentally going over his notes. He said, “First, the younger, the better. It will reduce the amount of time I’m suffering soul sickness after the transfer. Next, it mu-”

Neelan interrupted, “Soul sickness? What do you mean by that?” His face was hard, and his eyes burned with intensity.

Mick was shocked. Elves NEVER interrupted someone when they were speaking. Cautiously, he said, “Soul sickness is the term I use to describe the after effects of the transfer process. In order to address the issue that you call ‘hunger’, I developed a way to alter the edges of a soul to fit a new container. The issue then becomes the soul’s altered density. Forgive me, but I will not be any more specific with the method. However, the ‘hunger’ you mentioned was a result of a soul being tethered to a body it was incapable of using. As a result, the body fell apart while the soul ‘withered on the vine’ as it were. To be honest, you should have just reached out and clipped his soul tether. I doubt he bothered to reinforce it. The mage-king kind of sounded like an idiot.”

As Mick spoke, Neelans eyes continued to widen. And when Mick finished his analysis, the ancient elf smiled wider than Mick had ever seen. In elven terms, the old bastard laughed out loud.

Mick returned the smile, and continued, “So, a younger elf would be preferable. Also, it needs to be male. Every time I experimented with crossing genders, things got wonky. Identity crisis’ are no joke, and I’m not going to want to mess with that. Heaven’s bless those who have to deal with that issue.”

He saw Neelan about to say something, but held up his hand to stop him while declaring matter-of-factly, “We’re moving on!”

Mick’s eyes lost their focus, as he went through his mental checklist. “Young, male elf. Healthy genetic disposition, not that elves usually have a problem with that. Also, the fresher the better. I’ll have to rebuild the body, and it’s much easier if there is latent mana still in the pathways. And, wherever we perform the transfer will have to be completely isolated. I need to set up a containment field, along with some wards. Preferably, a stone room approximately 5 meters in diameter. Then all I’ll need is about 3 to 5 uninterrupted hours, and I should be good.”

Neelan was listening intently, and when Mick finished, he asked, “And just to be sure, you’re absolutely positive that you won’t be using the remnant soul for anything nefarious?”

Mick glared at the ancient elf, and said, “No, Neelan. In fact, if there is a hint of soul left in the body, the first step in the process is to release it into the outer planes. The body needs to be completely abandoned. Hells, I’ve already got plans to build a body at some point in the future. The problem is I’m not skilled enough in matter integration yet. Maybe someday, but not anytime soon.” Mick finished with some hope in his tone.

Neelan couldn’t help but ask, “How have you kept this knowledge secret from us? We tested you extensively concerning your magical knowledge. You would be considered an apprentice, at best.”

Mick snorted, and replied, “You guys do things weird here. You never let me read any spell books, and every time I carved a spell, you nit-picked it. If you ask me, you’re method of spell creation is incredibly limiting. You don’t allow for the will of the caster to influence the spell at all. It makes for

‘pretty’ spell-forms, but you lose a lot of versatility. And if you don’t mind me saying, you have an atrocious habit of taking things for granted. How can you know something, unless you test for it.”

Neelan listened patiently to Mick’s rant. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he liked the lively human. Everything seemed a little more pressing, a little more important, when he was around.

Apparently losing his train of thought, Mick paused, then asked, “What was I saying? Oh, right. So I’ll need a few days to get the room ready, but I already have the supplies I’ll need. How do you suggest we go about finding a body?”

Neelan took a moment to think, then said, “Intellectually, I understand that this isn’t body snatching. But I can’t help but feel uncomfortable with all this. And even if you succeed, forevermore you will be trapped in someone else’s body, wearing someone else’s face. Doesn’t that give you pause?”

Mick cocked his head curiously, and said, “Why in the hells do you think I’d keep the face the body was born with. I like my face. Is there something wrong with it? Do I look unattractive to elves or something?”

Neelan replied quickly, “Well, yes, I mean no. What I mean to say, is that you would be, in fact, an unattractive elf, but that isn’t the point. How do you plan to go about changing the face?”

Mick waved the question away as unimportant, and got back to what was important. “What do you mean exactly about my face? Is it my nose? It’s the nose isn’t it?”

Neelan had grown used to Mick’s peculiar bouts of intense focus, and did his best to get the conversation back on track. “Mick, let’s return to the plan. We’ll head toward the western front, I’m thinking Cloversreign would be a fine place to start. From there, we’ll look into getting a body. I’ll do that while you set up the room you will be using.”

Mick nodded along, but added, “Technically, it’s a ritual room.”

Neelan took a moment to process that, and asked, “Are you sure this isn’t dark magic?”

Mick glared at the elf, and replied, “I’d categorize it was restoration magic. Along with some pre-natal and enchantment magic. But yes, there are some elements of necromancy involved. And some good ‘ole soul magic too. But mostly, it’s restoration magic.”

While Neelan wasn’t sure he entirely believed what Mick was saying, he decided to give his friend the benefit of the doubt.

Sighing, Neelan looked around the room. He wouldn’t be spending his mornings here any more. ‘It really is a nice parlor. And the mornings were lovely here,’ he thought.

Reluctantly, he stood up. Looking across the small table to his curious friend, he said, “Stay here for a while. I have to make some arrangements. If all goes well, we’ll leave soon.” As he turned to leave, he heard Mick call out.

“Have I ever told you how much I appreciate your tendency to get things done in a timely manner?” he asked.

Neelan looked over his shoulder with a small smile, and replied, “Many times my old friend, many times. I hope you enjoy what remains of your morning.”

With those parting words, Neelan went to inform his council that he would be taking a sabbatical. And whether he wanted to or not, he needed to inform the ruling council of Mick’s plans. After all, the hunger of Mosria couldn’t be allowed to happen again.