Date: Tenth of March, year 810 Post Seminal War (810 PSW)

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Job Arseoth sat on the bench beneath the Druid’s temple-tree and waited. Explaining to Head Archivist Innoch what had happened had been hard enough. The discovery of Mevada, the SiDiabolo Deck, Index drawing The High Priestess card and transforming into a full on livingwood warforged emissary, The wolves, waking up amongst his dead friends, drawing the Knight of Pentacles, and getting hit in the head with a bag of black pearls…

Job shook his head, “I know I’m forgetting something important, but it’s like my mind won’t let me remember.”

“Suppressing trauma perhaps?”

Job jerked upright where he sat in surprise and stared at Princess Miara, “how? I didn’t even hear you approach!”

“Owls fly quite silently, even in broad daylight. You should talk to the priestess of Kuko about that hole in your memories. I can get you a letter of recommendation to HIgh Priestess Telenna. She helped me through a lot of shit leftover after…” she just shrugged, unwilling to say what it was.

“Have they agreed to…?”

“After speaking at length to Head Archivist Innoch, discussions to which I was not privy, the Druidic Circles have agreed to at least try. Only one attempt for each soul, and there is some doubt that all four will answer.”

“That I can understand at least.”

They sat for a long time, each letting the other be the first to break the silence.

“Not going to ask when the Circles are going to try?”

“No point. There is nothing I can add to their Druidic magic that I know of. And if they need me then they know where to find me.”

“And If I said that they were waiting for you?”

“Again, why? There is nothing I can add to their power or their knowledge.”

“They wish to speak to you, to ask why you desire them to be brought back, why you would spend every last piece of coin you own on what might be an utterly fruitless endeavor.”

“Because I would never forgive myself if I didn’t at least try. We found this… black ghost... when we were leaving Mevada. A lost soul, twisted by hatred of the living, unable to move on because of some unsettled or unplayable debt. If any of them have something that they still need to finish… I’d like to give them that chance.”

“Care to say that all again for them?”

“I’m going to have to, aren’t I?”

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Baar’Miin felt her name and soul being called back to the mortal plane of existence. She looked up at Bahamut’s Herald, the one who had taken her aside.

“”

“”

“”

“”

“”

“”

Baar’Miin turned and dove after the twisting call. Transcending the planes of existence, she felt herself being drawn to a still body. It was not her old body, though she felt that it was her new home anyway. She slammed her soul into her waiting flesh and erupted in radiant light.

Baar’Miin opened her eyes and looked down upon her hands. They looked human, but she could feel Bahamut’s power, just beneath the skin, waiting to be unleashed. She flexed them, marveling at the lack of scales and the pale white marble texture of her hands. Baar’Miin stood, and found she stood as tall as the humans and elves about her. No longer condemned to skulk about the knees of the other thinking races, she punched her hands to the sky and cried out her rebirth as a scourge aasimar of Bahamut, only to sputter as her waist-length silver hair fell wild across her face.

“”

Baar’Miin tried to take a step forwards, only to fall to her knees as they bent the opposite way that she was used to.

“”

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Sly Malon woke up to the sound of chanting. She didn’t remember falling asleep, which worried her. Nor did she understand the language being spoken, which worried her more. She opened her eyes and stared up at the giant elves surrounding her.

“The fuck is going on here?”

Sly jumped nimbly to her feet and glanced about the wooden room. Three elves, leather clothes, animal fetishes. Druids, probably. She felt tiny, light, and just a faster then she remembered. Seeing an opening she dashed through the legs of one of the elves and out through the curtained doorway.

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“Why the hell is everything so gods-damned huge? Or am I just small for some reason?”

The sight of an extinguished fireplace set into what must be an exterior wall brought her memories crashing back. The night, the wolves, her lover’s screams, drifting in a lightless place, being asked if she wanted to come back to a new body...

“Did I get Reincarnated as a freaking Halfling?”

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Enra Thallia looked up at the huge wooden gates set into the stone walls. She had read about these gates, just like every other high elf in Althiem: they were the gates to the afterlife. Walk through them and be judged by whichever God or Goddess you followed. For most high elves, Enra included, that Goddess was Kukko, she of life and love. As Enra looked at the gates, she felt that something was missing from her past life. She would have liked to finish her thesis, officially marry Sly… There were many things she wished she had had time to do.

Enra looked about. The old texts all told of a path, a campsite, just outside the gates. An adventurer's resting place where one could stay for awhile if they wished to perhaps go back to the land of the living. It was not a place without risk: stay too long and you would be cast back into the world as a ghost or worse. She found the little side path and started down it. Soon she found the campsite, and the handful of elves living there. A set of glowing circles marked where Heralds of the Gods or representatives from the mortal realms could appear with on offer of Resurrection or Reincarnation. To her surprise, there was an elderly Druid she somewhat recognised waiting there.

The ranger by the fire perked up, “Princess Enra of Althiem? Druid and Reincarnation for you.”

“Thank you ranger.”

“Not a problem, I’m just marking the time till my friends show up for me anyway.”

“Been here before?”

“Not often, but yes. Should’ve never taken that contract to gather cryohydra blood.”

“An ambush of wolves, and I accidentally put the campfire out on my companions.”

“Yeah, they’re a lot more dangerous than people think. Go on then, don’t keep the old one waiting.”

Enra stepped forwards and took the Druid’s hand. Instantly she was enveloped in a crystalline cocoon and felt a sliding sensation as her soul was slipped back towards a mortal body. As is slid however, Enra could feel that the journey wasn’t completely smooth. At the same time, she could hear voices arguing from beyond the cocoon.

“...one of mine and I’ll not have her in the body of…”

“... let you just cast one of mine into oblivion...”

“That thing doesn’t have…”

“It does, or at least enough of one, hence my offer…”

“Agreed.”

Enra felt the cocoon stop for the smallest fraction of a moment, tilt slightly to one side, and then streak onwards back into a mortal body. She opened her eyes and looked around. Everything seemed far too bright, almost blindingly so. Enra brought her hand up to cover her eyes and noticed her wine-dark purple skin. Startled, she felt for her ears and found the familiar pointed elven shape. Curious now, she pulled her hair in front of her eyes and found it to still be a sun-bleached shade of yellow, though now it was far more white then yellow.

“Am I a dark elf now? I guess I’m right out of the succession then, and thank Kuko for that!”

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Index activated her optical receptors and beheld a smooth, curved surface. Idly, she noted that it encased her from head to foot like a giant egg. She reached out to touch it and felt it vibrate just a bit. She pressed one ear to the inside of the egg to listen, but the voices faded away. There was a sliding screech, like a crystal tumbler being skidded across a glass tabletop, and then silence. Curious, Index rapped one had against the inside of the egg and found it to be made of some sort of stone. She couldn’t see clearly enough to tell what it was, so she tried to lick it to find out more. The stone egg cracked open, leaving Index to poke her head though the opening with a cute little blep expression.

“Ahh, so you did make the transition.”

Index pulled her tongue back into her mouth. She didn;t see anything, but could feel something watching her. “Who...?”

“Just the Patron Ascended Outsider of humans, knowledge, and now artificial beings I guess. Call me… Black Cloak. No, it’s not my real name, nor is it a true name. I don’t want to shatter your precious soul.”

“Can you at least tell me what’s going on?”

“Well… you friend managed to convince a Druid to attempt to Reincarnate you. The catch was that another Druid was Reincarnating one of your other friends, and her patron deity decided that your body-to-be was better suited and butted her nose in. She was just going to toss you adrift in my realm, but I managed to work out a better deal.”

“So I’m getting Reincarnated, but a God butted in?”

“Goddess, yes. But if she gets to meddle, then so do I. Here, you’ll need these.” Twelve black pearls appeared before Index. “You had a pseudo-mortal body for a short while, but your body-to-be is fully mortal and needs things like sleep, food, breathable air… all of those biological concerns you’re not used to thinking about. These pearls, and I’m indulging in a bit of ironic symbolism, will give you the instinctive muscle memories and subconscious bodily function commands you need to make your body-to-be work properly.”

Index reached out her hands and took the pearls. To her horror, both the pearls and her arms seemed to dissolve into nothingness.

“Ah, right, artificial soul. My mistake, I’ll fix that for you. It’ll leave a mark on your body-to-be, but at least I can make it a familiar one…”

Index watched with detached horror as her arms reformed out of nothingness. Where once there had been smooth spirit-stuff, now there were lines and the faint impression of creases. The twelve black pears reformed, and swirled into two star-shaped sets of six, one for each arm. Index flipped her hands palms-up to catch them again, and was surprised when her fingers formed an odd fist: the middle and pinky fingers folded down, covered by the thumb, covered by the ring and pointer fingers. She was even more surprised when two familiar panels popped open on her arms.

“You gave me my integrated calligraphy kit back?”

“Yup, and that’s the new activation method. Make that fist and fold your wrist up to open the matching panel, and down to lock it closed.”

The pearls slid into place against the ‘bones’ in the center of Index’s arms, and she shut the panels on them.

“Alright, that’s all settled, time to get you to your body-to-be. Duck back inside the ‘egg’ for a moment, we don’t want your soul to actually end up in the places between realities.”

“How do I find you again? How do I worship you, to repay these gifts?”

“Fate, such as it is, will determine if you find me again. As for ‘worship’, just keep being the Index of the Trebor Library. Patron Ascended Outsider of knowledge, among other things, remember?”

The stone egg closed back up, leaving Index in darkness once more, and slid free of is resting place. She closed her eyes and braced for Reincarnation. Index felt the thump of a hard landing, a flare of pain in her arms as they reformed in flesh, and gasped, choking on her first breath as a creature of flesh and blood. Even before she opened her eyes, she could her the panic in the Druids voices as they looked upon her arms.

“So, I guess I’m a human now? What did you expect, some sort of mindless husk of a golem? Been there, done that, not going back thank you very much.”