My return to Langnet’s road was unceremonial. One moment I was back in my cell and a few days later found myself in a cart slowly rolling down the pitch-black road. All that time and effort to be back here is almost cruel, but I also can’t help but smile. For once, I have… grown as a person? Yes, that is what I am feeling. For the first time in a long while, there has been growth. What that is and what that means I know not, but from a seed will hopefully spring something good to hold onto. On the thought of seeds and springing forth, the Plane of Pastures is my destination. A magnificent place I heard, where apples grow the size of mountains yet have the same wonderful crunch and sweetness of the greatest crisp fruit available. It is a place where livestock grows thousands of times their usual sizes and have only the most premium meat. I have also heard that the plane itself is trying to consume the many farms that have sprung up there. Why? I am not sure. Each time I lack information reminds me of why killing is not the answer; I could have talked and asked questions to those I guided through instead of ignoring and killing them. Well, what can one do but regret and move on. Move forward. Move to goodness.
“Move to goodness? My dear Fa, what has happened to you?”
Ah, there you are, Watcher. I thought you were not going to show up for a moment! I was getting lonely.
“Oh, you make me blush – if that is something I could do anyway. I am not sure exactly how I would attempt blushing – anyway, don’t get me sidetracked like that. I am curious, where is your knife? Where is Savra?”
I… don’t know.
“You don’t know? How… interesting. I can’t imagine that you would just give it up unless… you did? There is something strange about you. Your legs seem to be quite damaged. You are pretty bruised up. You went on quite the adventure while I was waiting.”
That’s one way to put it. You really made me live a life that was… the same and yet different to someone else, right?
“Oh, that little trick, well I don’t want to be specific with it. That would not be fun. What makes it fun is you realizing that you can be anywhere in the world, free from my grasp only to realise that you haven’t even left. Your face was magnificent when realization hit.”
What is in store for me this time?
“In store for you? What have I done that would make you think I, the Watcher, would have anything in store for you.”
I cannot help but raise an eyebrow and scoff.
“No, really. I shall make this a nice and enjoyable trip. With a twist or two. Perhaps.”
The purple void ripples and shakes, melting away and leaving a magnificent landscape in its wake. It is… extraordinary. Indescribably vast and beautiful, yet haunting and deadly – an endless masquerade of beauty underlined with killing intent. The road does not change. The road cannot change. It will not change. It is an endless void of life, devoid of life. What is this place?
No response, huh? The Watcher must have returned to watching. What an annoying sentence, I should give it a different name. It is also a shame that we cannot talk, for while we talk, I know there is much less of a chance that something happens. It tends to want me remembering our conversations. I wonder what the purpose of this is? The endless purple bites into one's mind, forcing you to question if you have gotten closer to the end or if you are stuck in an endless circle of tragedy and fear. Well, regardless I can only go forward. Without Savra I am defenseless – well, not quite but if a monster pops up, I truly will be. I should check if I was given a weapon. Inside the cart is a box filled with supplies as per usual. That box is partially open and inside are two additional boxes. One labeled ‘daily use’ and the other ‘for emergencies’. Daily use seems… useful. Popping it open reveals a simple iron dagger. Sharp and well crafted. It looks… dull. Unbelievably dull in every sense of the word but I cannot help but smile. Such a knife would be better at sawing than cutting, but at least this way it will work as intended, as an everyday tool. I fear that Savra is in the ‘for emergencies’ box. That would make the most sense, so I should not open it at all, regardless of if it is an emergency. After all the work – no. I know you are watching there and I will give you nothing, Watcher.
I keep rolling forward, trying to clear my head. My horse is an old donkey this time. Bit of a temper. I haven’t seen a donkey before; it is like a horse but… strange. Different. Proportioned peculiarly. I like it. I like him. What is a good name though… Blissy? Blist? Bliss? Bliss. Silly but I like that. Bliss it is; for that is the emotion I need to keep with me and alive at all times. I should be blissful that I was given a second chance to live, and that the mob even listened to me. They did not have to do that, and I am truly grateful that there is at least the smallest of positive seedlings in their minds. Hopefully. Perhaps one day I can live like Statue, in blissful awareness that I was able to restart my life.
The cart bumps over something. I pull the reigns. I hop out. There is something on the ground. A person. A woman. She… is long dead. Somehow, she looks full of life but there is no doubt, those muscles and skin have not seen real movement in a very long time. It all just looks… odd. Different than what it should be. Everything is sunken and slightly green and yellow. She has a collar. A dreg collar. I pick it up and carved into its deep black form is the name “Gan’lia Galestrider”. Even I know this name. She is a war veteran and seasoned battle-hardened criminal. Her crime was running a criminal empire so vast and powerful that it scared all four planes into working together. Her capture cemented a treaty between every place in the world. I always thought she was just put to death after that but it would seem Langnet’s road is her final resting place. I wonder why her body is just… here. So well preserved too. I can see the anger in her eyes. Her face is pulled back into a grimace frozen in time. Her muscles are relaxed and scarred. Anger is the wrong word. She looks afraid. I know not what could cause such a powerful person to be afraid but… well, knowing Watcher, I am sure it has its methods. Hell, I was caught in its webs. As cruel and twisted as she is, I think… I think I should bring her with me to the Plane of Pastures. I don’t know where she came from per se, but she should be buried at least. She is surprisingly heavy with muscle. On her side is a sharp dreg sword. I lay her down in the cart, arms wrapped around the sword. Perhaps she had the same issues I did and couldn’t let go. Perhaps I am just projecting on a long-dead corpse. With a crack of the reigns I go. A bump. I stop. I get out. Another body. Another dreg collar. A man in his late 50s. White hair. Dreg musket by his side. A red feather in his breast pocket. Another legendary criminal, the Bloody Feather. Never missed a musket shot from what they say. Another person with a dreg collar. Another body to take. Another crack of the reigns. Another bump. Another body.
Stolen story; please report.
This cycle continues for hours if not days. I have filled the cart to the absolute brim. There are a few things in common with each body. Firstly, they are all legendary criminals, many of whom I have heard much of. Secondly, they have a dreg weapon. Thirdly, they are all… petrified of something. What I thought was anger is actually an intense fear so powerful that they must have just dropped dead. Each dreg weapon is unique. I wonder… why do they all have dreg weapons? Of course, while in their primes, dreg is what they would have used for weaponry but there is so much money worth of dreg here that it doesn’t make sense. Wouldn’t someone want to use it? Wouldn’t at least one plane want to take the dreg weapon and have them travel with a simple blade? The craftsmanship of each one is extraordinary. There are people here who would kill me in mere moments when it would take me a few seconds. Yet they all met their ends here. In terror. I pull the latest body into the cart and there is little to no space left. There must be fifty bodies in the cart now. Poor Bliss is struggling to move but when we are rolling there is no issue. I crack my whip and nothing. Then a bump. I sigh. I look down. A body – but there is not just one. There are… thousands, covering the road. Distant thuds of bodies dripping off the road's edge echoes around me. Bliss whines and takes a half step back. I cannot take all these bodies. There are… so many. So many weapons. So many names. So many people. All left to rot yet are all pristine. Unharmed. Dead.
I get out the cart and… I need to help them. I need to transport them back. I need to give them salvation. Why? I should just dump them all. I could collect their weapons and return them to the planes for salvaging dreg but this goes beyond sense. I want to… I want to help them. All. Nobody should be left alone, regardless of who they were. What should I do? Burn them? No, that would never end. I cannot carry more in the cart. I… can only really push them away and let Bliss walk through with the few I have collected. I move to a body and push it to the side. Try to push it to the side. I can’t push it to the side. The head rolls to the side. The eyes are half open and staring deep into my soul. The fiber of my being is being unwoven. Unraveled by the eyes of one who hasn’t lived for decades. It judges me for being unable to help them, even though I helped so many. I need to help everyone. I need to make everyone happy for my redemption. But this is an impossible task. Please, let me roll this one away. I squeeze my eyes shut. The body gives way. It rolls off the road into the surrounding surreal colorful forest I find myself in. Looking around, this is no forest. It is but a single tree. Its roots roll up in waves. It has countless holes throughout the root system. Human-sized holes – ancient coffins. My salvation is there, then. I should not leave the road, but this is the only way to do right.
I pick up Gan’lia Galestrider’s body from the cart. If this leads to my death, let it be for the sake of one who, through their evil actions, created good. I walk to the roots. The ground is cold and soft. I walk up a root. It feels like a ramp that was designed for walking upon. Strange. Matters not. I place her body in a hole. The roots vibrate and move, rolling and twisted like a group of serpent mating. The roots turn from brown to red. The roots, like veins, must be gleefully pulling what it can from the body. Returning her to the wild where she belongs. This is the right thing to do. I can give each person a resting place. There are thousands of bodies, but at least this is merely improbable.
I begin.
Each body wobbles and flops around awkwardly. Each one is near impossible to move properly if one had no experience, however, I suppose this is the time to be happy with the monstrous acts I committed. Now, when most else would fail before even taking their first step, I am able to move forward swiftly and decisively. It takes a long while to get the fifty bodies in their respective wooden tombs, however, it is now done. Now comes the task of slowly moving each other body into the tree and letting it return the killers to nature. Let this be the final form of redemption – the blessing that one can become part of another living being and live once more. The more bodies I give to the tree, the more vibrant its leaves become. The more they glisten in the pounding sunlight. Sunlight? Here? I never noticed it before but there is indeed sunlight. Strange, this place should be in the middle of everything, away from blessings such as sunlight. Perhaps this is but an illusion, or a large ball of fire releasing heat and light yet is only here to torment me in some way? It does make it hotter. It does make me sweat more. I keep moving and picking up bodies. I give them to the tree. Again, and again. Endlessly supplying it blood, bones, and bodies. I pick up the next body and it smells. Strange. The first one that has smelt of anything. I return it to the tree and turn back. The air is thick with death's stench. Small bugs start buzzing around each corpse. I can only move so fast and each time I look back, decomposition has moved faster and faster. I pick up a body and its flesh is but a malleable sludge. The body drips from my hands, sticking to my clothes and blanketing me in a rancid brown honey-esk liquid. I look around and the bodies have devolved into a river of decomposed flesh. Bones and dreg weapons slowly slide along the road as it gently slopes down. I must move forward. The smell is unbearable. Bliss looks miserable. I feed Bliss. Bliss does not eat. I try to give Bliss water. Bliss does not drink. I eat food – I cannot swallow. I chew and chew and chew and chew until the food is a paste. A wet paste. A rancid paste dripping out of my mouth – I spit. The food is normal, but the feeling… is disgusting. All these bodies. All these people that I could not save. That I could not give redemption to. I pack away the buckets and try to move forward but Bliss won’t budge. I scratch Bliss’s side. Please, we must move on from this. And we do. Slow careful steps so as to not slip. The now deep, dark brown sludge filled with old bones and pristine dreg weapons rolls off the edge with sickening slaps. We move forward. The sunlight rapidly descends and the sky is replaced with darkness. Growling. Yelping. Screams. Footsteps. Sounds. Sounds surround us. An endless cacophony of misery, fear, and primal instinct.
I know not how much more I can take.
Fael save me.