Quaraun set about to pour himself more tea. The water in the tea pot was no longer hot, so the old mage gathered up a kettle of boiling water from the fire and refilled the teapot, before returning to the table.

"Are you certain you want no tea?" He called back to Ghirardelli without looking up from his work.

"How can you think of tea, at a time like this?"

"A time like what?" Quaraun asked as he settled back down into his pink silk pillows and orange fox furs once again.

"You're Quaraun the Insane."

"Yes," Quaraun answered, not looking at her, instead focused on pouring himself more opium tea from his pink china set.

"That's why everything is pink."

"Yes. It is."

"You're The Pink Necromancer."

"That's me."

"The Elf Eater's lover."

"Yes. He's dead now. Killed himself. Driven to suicide by your little group and their anti mage laws."

"We didn't cause his death. . ."

"You did. And one by one, each and every one of you will all die for it."

"Why?"

"Karma. It comes back to punch you in the ass. For seven generations."

"You're the one who's been murdering all the Guild members, aren't you?"

"I am. Though I murder no one. I execute murderers who evade the law by lawmaking that favour themselves and cause real criminals to walk free while the victims take the blame for the crimes of their attackers. And I'll execute you and Finderu as well. You are both high on my list of people in critical need of being executed."

"Executed? For what?"

"For BoomFuzzy's death."

"BoomFuzzy?"

"Yes. BoomFuzzy."

"Who's BoomFuzzy?"

"It was Finderu and his Guild of Wizardry what produced the regulations against necromancy and forced him into hiding. You sent Justice Mages to hunt him, when he did none of you any harm. And you drove him to a pit of depression so deep he couldn't see away out of it other than to get himself. BoomFuzzy's death is your fault."

"You're the evil sorcerer no one has ever defeated."

"Yes. No one. And you've sent thousands of little groups of adventuring parties to kill me. Warriors, paladins, druids, little mage wannabes, archers, rangers, assassins, even some lunatic bards who thought they could defeat me by singing to me. Fucking bird brained idiots."

"The Guild employs the best bounty hunters. . ."

"The Guild employs incompetent idiots. They expect to poke me with their swords and have gold pop out as a reward. If they were so desperate for gold all they had to do was ask. I have plenty."

"Are you wealthy?"

"I am a silk merchant, what do you think?"

"You seem to be well stocked on supplies."

"I am. I have everything I need in here."

"I think too, you are a homeless hermit, living in a tent."

"I am that as well. Can one not be wealthy and live in a tent too?"

"If you could afford a house, than why don't you live in one?"

"I've lived in several, but you know how it is. White, Christian, American Humans can't even tolerate none-white Christian, American Humans, hate far more non-Christians, white or otherwise, and nothing boils their blood worse than two men in bed together. Here I am not white, not Christian, not American, not even Human, and I bed with well, anyone willing to bed with me regardless of their gender."

"What does that have to do. . ."

"With me not living in a house? With me living in a tent? I'll tell you what it has to do with it! You do-goody little white assed, Christian Americans burned down every one of the last five houses I've had!"

"Because you. . .."

"Because I'm not white enough. Me! An albino! A fucking, pink eyed, white haired albino, with skin so white, I can't go outside in daylight without my skin burning off me. And they have the nerve to say I'm not white!"

"Well, you're not Human. . ."

"I''m not a white Human, I know. Therefore I don't deserve to live. I am outcast. Unloved. Unwanted. Unwelcome. Every where I go. Every town I set foot in. You white jackasses are insufferable! Your arrogance! Your racism! It's deplorable! You make even the most raciest of the Elves look inclusive!"

"So, why do you live in a tent? Why don't you just find a town that'll except you?"

"I would. If I could find one. Do you think I haven't tried? I've spent the last seven hundred and fifty years looking for exactly that! I walked across Asia. I walked across Europe. I walked across Africa. I walked across America. I walked across Mexico. I walked across South America. I've walked from one end of this fucking, Human infested planet to the other and you Humans are all alike. Hate filled racists, every one of you. I even went to isolated regions where no Humans had ever set foot and within a decided your creatures invade and run me out of my home, because you think your fucking superiority, gives you the right to shove every settler or native you find off their land to make way for more of you fucking bastards!"

"So, you are saying that you are forced to live in a tent against your will?"

"Yes. Though, seven hundred and fifty years and I've come to prefer the tent now. So now, I'd just like a place where I can set it up and not have to worry about being chased out by you dirty Humans."

"When you say you have plenty of gold to buy off the bounty hunters, how exactly much gold are you talking about here?"

"More gold than you've ever seen in your lifetime. I guarantee you that."

"Just from selling silk?"

"No. I also sell potions and do hoodoo rootwork work for hire, plus I read cards and crystals for people looking to learn of their future."

"Can you see the future?"

"Yes and no."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, you wouldn't be able to understand. You I can see the future, in a sense, but not, not in the way you are thinking. I don't exactly read cards or crystals, I just let clients think that is how I do it."

"And what is it you actually do?"

"I serve them drugged tea. And while they are asleep, I use portals, to visit the future, see what it is that will happen to them. Come back here. Wait for them to wake up. And tell them what I saw. And because I am one hundred percent accurate, they pay me huge amounts of money."

"You're a charlatan."

"No. I do see the future and tell hem what I saw. I'm just a time traveller so, I don't see the future quite in the way you think I do."

"Is there good money in this?"

"Being a wizard for hire?"

"Yes."

Quaraun shrugged his shoulders.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ghirardelli asked.

"I can't count."

"You. . . how do you know you are wealthy if you can't count?"

Quaraun reached into his pocket and pulled out ten large coins, made of gold. He handed them to Ghirardelli.

"Every time I buy a bottle of wine, waitstaff respond in shock over how much money I give them, when I give them this. They always say, it's more than they would ever make in their lifetime.

Ghirardelli took a gold coin from the Elf and turned it around, flipping it over and over again in her hand. She couldn't tell what the writing on it said, nor did she recognize the king's face.

Quaraun handed her another coin. It too was gold, but smaller, the writing different, and the image was of a castle. A third coin, from a third country. As she examined each coin, she realized that each was from a different country.

"Do you have any idea how much money this is?" Ghirardelli asked Quaraun.

The old Elf shook his head, than replied with: "I told you, I can not count. I do not know math. And my people, the Elves, and the Thullids, we do not use yellow and silver metals for currency."

"No one paid you for silk or potions with coins like these. Where did you get these?"

"From Fire Mountain."

"Fire Mountain? The volcano?"

"Yes."

"But a drag. . . a. . . dragon lives. . . oh." Ghirardelli fell silent for a moment, as she stared down at the ten gold coins in her hand, then back at Quaraun. "This is dragon's gold, isn't it?"

"Yes. It is."

"You killed the dragon of Fire Mountain didn't you?"

"I did."

"And this is from the dragon's hoard."

"Yes It is."

"You. . . you ki. . . you killed a dragon. One of the last left in the world."

"Yes. But, I felt guilty about killing her. . ."

"Her?"

"Yes. The dragon was a she. And I felt guilty about killing her. I didn't mean to kill her. I was frightened. She was startled. The energy around me reacts to my emotions. My fears. My aura materialized into, I don't know what. Some kind of jinn I think, a ghul perhaps, a polter spirit, and it killed her. I killed her. My emotions, my fears, made manifest, killed her. I'm not sure how it happened. But it's not the first time. The Di'Jinn died the same was, except, they turned to ash. The dragon of fire mountain though, her body lay still in front of me. Massive. As big as humpback whale. Dead. I didn't mean to kill her. So I brought her back."

"Brought her back?"

"Yes."

"You mean, an undead dragon?"

"Yes. She's a lich now."

"A lich? A dragon lich? You made a DracoLich?"

"Yes."

"Those things are dangerous! Where is it, now? What did you do with it?"

"She lives in my pocket. With her hoard of gold. She is Pocket Lich."

"You have a DracoLich in your pocket, siting on a dragon's hoard of gold?"

"Yes. As I said, I have way more gold to give the bounty hunters than The Guild would ever give them."

"You did say that."

"And if they refuse to take my gold, I have Pocket Lich to gobble them up."

"Pocket Lich?"

"Yes. She'll swallow them whole. Bounty Hunters. Big dreams of killing me than having a dragon's hoard of riches and jewels. Their lives are on your head. You know that, don't you? I don't like killing the innocent retards you pay to hunt me down."

"We don't. . ."

"Of course, I get to keep all the gold you gave them. Not that I need it. But it funds my mulberry trees and rose bushes, so I can raise more silk worms and sell even more pink silk."

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"You kill everyone Finderu sends to arrest you and bring you in."

"Arrest me? Ha! You call sneaking up on me while I sleep and stabbing a sword through my hip, arresting me?"

"You are difficult to catch."

"Yes, an elderly man, with a lame leg, who can't run, can barely stand, struggles to walk unaided, crippled hands, crushed fingers, can't grip old of anything, can't fight, is sooooooo damned difficult to catch. Your fucking retards attack me from behind. Stab me in my sleep. There's a hell of a big difference between arresting someone and sneaking into their room at night to stab them in their sleep. You might want to rethink both your methods and your words."

"You murdered them."

"Murder is pre-planning killing of someone who didn't deserve it. Like they do to me. You gather up little bands of heroes, always in groups of five or more, to pre-plan murdering, big, bad, evil supervision me, then spend weeks hunting me down, searching for me, plotting how you will kill me. THAT my dear sweet, Ghirardelli, is MURDER!"

"Are you accusing The Guild of murder?"

"Yes. I am."

"We uphold the law."

"No. You do exactly what my father did. You commit crimes, then cover your tracks by killing off the witnesses. Just like my father. And I elude you. You've killed so many mages. Wizards. Sorcerers. Why? They've done know wrong. They just the wrong kind of magic the wrong hour of the day, the wrong day of the year, and you kill them for it. While murderers and rapists in your own Guild, walk free."

"We do not. . ."

"People like you make me sick!"

"People like me? What about people like you?"

"Sit in your meeting lodges planning the deaths of innocent, because their hair is too long or their cloths too bright. And calling it laws. You are murders. Not me. The Guild is nothing but a band of murderers who pat each other on the back, calling themselves hero, for hiring blood thirsty bastards to go on quests to slaughter innocent dragons, kill entire families of Orcs. Wipe out entire villages of Trolls. And stalk us wizards to stab us in our sleep! And you call yourself heroes, questing parties, adventures? You ain't nothing but grave robbers, murders, and thieves. YOU are the villains, NOT those of us you harass, hunt, and kill. What I do is called self-preservation. Self-defence. Fighting back from my attackers. Self defence, is preventing yourself of being stabbed to death in your sleep. I'm not the murderer here, you and you fucking bands of adventuring parties of questing heroes are the murders."

"You are a villain."

"Ha ha! Villain. Listen to you! YOU are the villain, here Ghirardelli. Not me. You, and Finderu, and all your desperate, gold lusting, money hungry, filthy asses murderous, blood thirsty, heroes groups. YOU are the evil ones leaving trails of bloodshed every where you go."

"We don't hire murders and thieves. We hire warriors, brave men, war heroes. . ."

"Trained killers. Rouges. Assassins. Warriors. Archers. Paladins. Templar. Men trained to do what? Kill. Kill. KILL! Murders who can't satisfy their lust for blood because there is no war going on right now, so they hire themselves out as adventurers, hoping to get paid gold for spilling the blood of innocent men, women, and beasts, who did nothing wrong, their only crime is that they were not born white, Human, American, Christians."

"But. . ."

"Your so-called fucking heroes are the worse criminal thugs of them all, and they get rich off your coin. Rich off the blood of the women they rape, the children they enslave, and the adults they kill."

"They arrest criminals like you."

"Where you there?"

"No, but. . ."

"Yes. Well, then how do you know what they do and do not do to us, whom you send them after?"

"I. . . but. . . I. . . that's all besides the point! You're serial killer! And you killed every brave warrior we sent to bring you in."

"No. I did not."

"Yes, you did!"

"Where you there?"

"I. . . no. . . but that doesn't matter."

"Why does it not matter?"

"Because I know you killed them," Ghirardelli said.

"How?"

"How what?"

"How do you know I killed them?"

"Because everyone knows you did."

"How does every one know I did?"

"Everyone says you did."

"Ah! But which one of those every ones was actually there and saw me do it? Hmmm? Tell me that."

"I. . . uhm. . ."

"You don't know. And do you know WHY, you don't know? Because you, just like everyone else wasn't there and didn't see for yourself, with your own two eyes. You have no clue WHAT happened. You don't know what I did. You don't know what I did not do. Just like you also don't know what your men did or did not do, either. Did you know I faint at the sight of blood?"

"You. . . what?"

"I faint at the sight of blood."

"So?"

"Has that no significance to you?"

"No? Why should it?"

"It means, nothing?"

"No."

"You call me a serial killer. How is it that you say I kill people?"

"You slit their throats with the Elf Eater's dagger. You cut off their heads."

"I cut off ONE head. Gibedon's. And it was in self defence. He caught me in bed with his former lover. He dragged the both of us out of bed, stabbed my partner in the belly, mortally wounded him, and as about to slice MY head off, when I forced the knife back on him. The knife that was in HIS hand on MY throat. I killed him by accident."

"Accident?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes. I stabbed him in the throat, with the knife that was still in his hand, I stabbed him, by trying to push him back off of my. And didn't even realize I had stabbed him until the next day, after he was dead. I cut his head off in a panic, and cut up the rest of his body. Diced him up, dropped him in the neighbour's stew pot. The town folk eat him the next day. I still have his head."

Quaraun pulled Gibedon's head out of his bag.

"I don't know why I kept it. But, every time I look at it, it reminds me, NOT to kill any one ever again."

"You're a monster. . ."

"No. I'm not. I was asleep in bed with my lover, and we were both stabbed in our sleep, by a deranged drunk ex lover who planned to kill his ex, me, and himself. They both died. I lived."

"You chopped a man up and cooked him!"

"Yes. And do you know what I spent the rest of the week doing?"

"No. Tell me."

"Vomiting my guts out."

"Why?"

"Because I can't stomach the sight of blood. I can't cope with the thought of death. And there I was not only with his blood on my hands, but, his entrails all over the room, and his head sitting on the table staring at me. I don't know how I did it. I don't know why I did it. I don't know how I got through the week, the year, without killing myself afterwards. Perhaps, in a way, BoomFuzzy saved me."

"What do you mean?"

"The knife wound, Gibedon gave him."

"What of it?"

"It became infected. Septic. He wouldn't have lived to end of the winter."

"Wait, was he murdered? I thought you said he commit suicide?"

"Both."

"Both?"

"Both. He was stabbed in the belly. The wound got infected. He was suffering and he wouldn't have healed. He would have died either way, but things would have been different, had he not taken his own life."

"You don't know that."

"I do know that. I went back. I stopped him. It was worse. It was a lot worse. He suffered for months and than he still died. Some things are fixed in time and can't be changed. His death was one of those things. He doesn't matter how many times I go back. He always dies that same winter. Always."

"Always?"

"Always."

"What do you mean always?"

"Always. Every time line. Different days. Different ways. I made things worse by trying to stop it. So I went back to the original."

"What are you saying? What have you done?"

"Never mind. It doesn't matter now. What's done is done. The fever took hold of him. He was suffering. In agony. He made a poison and drank it. Killed himself rather than suffer for endless weeks in agony, only to die any ways. Decided to die n his terms, laugh death in the face. I became obsessed with healing him. Bringing him back to life. I started studying necromancy, in order to resurrect BoomFuzzy. It over powered my revulsion over killing Gibedon. When Gibedon died, I wanted to die too, because I couldn't live knowing I had committed such a horrible crime and than that same week, BoomFuzzy died and, I forgot about Gibedon and focused on resurrecting BoomFuzzy. If BoomFuzzy had not killed himself, I think I would have killed myself over what I did to Gibedon."

You didn't have to chop the man up after killing him. Why would you do that?"

"I don't know. I wasn't thinking. I panicked. I did not plan any of that. I wasn't thinking. The man attacked us in our sleep. I wasn't trying to kill him. I was just trying to push him off of me. He fell on his own knife. I didn't even know I had killed him."

"Why did you cut him up, than?"

"To hide the body. I told you, I panicked. I wasn't thinking."

"And you're saying that was the only time you ever killed any one."

"No."

"Who else did you kill?"

"My wife. A few years later."

"So you are a monster."

"No."

"Really?" Ghirardelli challenged. "Explain to me, how a man who murders his wife, isn't a monster?"

"My uncle was king. He was sick, dying. I'd be king in his place. I planned to not accept the crown. I was already a merchant, and I was content with that. I did not want to rule a kingdom. Never thought it was even probable, I being the king's nephew, I certainly wouldn't be next in line, but circumstances ended up be being next in line."

"What's that got to do with killing your wife?"

"My wife wanted the crown. She wanted to be Queen. I said she could have it. I didn't care. I didn't want it. But she said laws didn't work that way. She became obsessed with the idea that the only way she could become ruler was if I died the same day as the king. She spent months planning how she was going to kill me, bragged about it constantly, and on the day the king died, she tried to kill me and I killed her instead."

"So, you are saying you are NOT a serial killer?"

"Yes. I'm not."

"You are a horrible person."

"Do you think I like the things I did? Because I do not. There isn't a day that goes by that I do not regret what I did. I destroyed lives, I know that. I stopped someone's heart from beating. I stole their life. I know what I did was wrong. I can't go back and change what I did. I would if I could. I live with the guilt every day. I'm not proud of what I did."

"You are a horrible, violent man."

"No. I'm not."

"Really?"

"I'm a rather peaceful person. I keep to myself. I stay out of trouble."

"Trouble seems to have a way of finding you, though, doesn't it?"

"Yes. It does. Mostly because people make up lies about me, which causes other people to attack me. People see me as they want to think I am, not how I actually am. They WANT me to be evil, so they can feel justified in beating him, hitting me, stabbing me. They tell themselves what they do to me is good and just and right, because they convinced themselves I am evil. And I am not evil. If they would only see the truth, they would know that. But they are blind to their petty lies, their viscous gossip."

"But the bounty hunters you killed. . ."

"I didn't kill them."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Well, if you didn't kill them, than who did?"

"Pocket Lich."

"What?"

"Pocket Lich killed them."

"Pocket Lich?"

"Yes."

"What's a Pocket Lich?" asked Ghirardelli.

"It's a Lich that lives in my pocket."

"You have a Lich who lives in your pocket?"

"Yes."

"And, this Lich who lives in your pocket is the one who killed the bounty hunters we sent to arrest you?"

"Yes."

"Could you explain that more?"

"I didn't personally kill them my self. You see, like the evil necromancer that you think I am, I have armies of undead minions to do my killing for me."

"You have armies of undead minions?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"In my pocket. They protect me."

"In your pocket?"

"Yes."

"How. . ."

"I can't stomach the sight of blood, you see. I faint.

"You fai. . ."

"I faint at the sight of blood, yes," the odd necromancer said, cheerlessly. "I deeply dislike death. And blood. The thought of either sends me into pits of ultimate despair."

"But you‘re a necromancer. You do blood magic with blood sacrifices on the obsidian altar. . ."

"The Obsidian Altar?" Quaraun laughed.

"Why is that so funny?"

"I've never used it. I own it, yes, but that was BoomFuzzy's. He used it, not me. He's the one who did the blood magic and blood rituals and blood sacrifices. I've no head for blood."

"Than what do you do?"

"I resurrect dead roses."

"You what?"

"I resurrect dead roses."

As he said this, Quaraun pulled a long-stem rose from the vase on the table, and touched it with his wand. The rose immediately started growing long tendrils and thorn covered tentacles, as the rose blossom itself grow several feet tall and evolved into a massive, snarling, snapping, thorn fanged monster.

"You just turned that rose into a demon!" Ghirardelli exclaimed.

"Yes. And I do the same to dead trees."

"Dead trees? What do you mean, dead trees?"

"Dead trees. Rotten logs from out of swamps. Dead weeping willows toppled over by hurricanes. It's why I'm here. You have a hurricane ripping through this region, killing all the plants, all the flowers, all the trees. And you Humans rely on the apple orchard of this region to supply all the apples for your entire country. But once this storm is over, there'll be no apple trees left. They'll all be uprooted and dead out there in GooseFare Brooke Gully, where the ocean will spit them up, and where I will go and resurrect them."

"Why would you do that?"

"As much as you Humans are convinced I am on a hunting spree to kill you all, doesn't change the fact that what I ACTUALLY am doing is trying to find a way to save you."

"Save us?"

"Yes. If this hurricane destroys this year's apple harvest, the villagers here will be destitute. I know. I was there. I saw it. Now I'm back to make sure it doesn't happen this time."

"This time? I don't remember a storm like this here before or apples being destroyed. When did it happen before?"

"It hasn't happened for you yet."

"What do you mean it hasn't. . ."

"I'm from the future. I'm a time traveller. rust me. I was here before. I know what's going to happen and I don't want it to happen. They'll starve to death. They need those apples to live. Some they eat and store for winter, but most they sell to out-of-state merchants. Without the money they make from those merchants, they will not be able to buy the supplies they need to survive the blizzards that will arrive in a few more weeks."

"You're wealthy. Why can't you just give each one of them a gold coin. That'll feed them for the rest of their lives."

Quaraun shook his head sadly. "No. I tried that way already. This ain't my first time trying to save this village."