"Put them down!" Ania said, straddling me and struggling to pull the swords out of my hands. Normally, Ania would be stronger than me, something I freely admitted, but thanks to the ring of ogre strength I was easily holding her back.

"It's not what you think," I said, annoyed.

"Now kiss!" Jon said, calling from the side.

I glared at the bird. "Jon, please."

"Move your thighs around his neck!" Jon said. "You can pull off the Black Widow neck snap then. He has a magic coin; we can resurrect him!"

"What the hell, Jon," Ania said. "I'm not killing him."

"Trust me, it's the way all men wish to die," Jon said. "Certainly, better than being burned to death by dragonfire."

"It is a very quick way to die," Sparky said, walking into the room. He was in his human form and accompanied by Bloodstorm. Behind them were three Sisters of Mokosh, including the Great Mother.

Sparky in his human was a brown skinned young man with short black hair and a winning smile. He dressed in a Tom Sawyer-esque style of cloth pants and a white linen shirt. Since his skin was still as hard as dragon scale even shape changed, he didn't need to wear shoes but sported a pair of sandals for the sake of propriety. He looked about fourteen years old and had improved a bit in his human-to-dragon communication. Even so, I was pretty sure he'd been on the spectrum before his "curse" and that had been aggravated by living in a swamp for almost twenty years.

With only his mother for company.

Yikes.

The three Sisters of Mokosh were fantastically beautiful women that basically looked like the women you would hire to play 'all-female order of sex witches' in Hollywood. There were men who served the Sisters of Mokosh, quite enthusiastically, but the organization's spell casting ranks were restricted to women.

The Great Mother was older looking than most of the others but not exactly old, old. Well, depending on your definition of old. Like, Nicole Kidman in her late fifties was still Nicole Kidman. Jon had used the word GILF, a word he used way too often, to describe the Great Mother and he wasn't wrong. She was blonde with crystal blue eyes as well as milky white skin with a blue hooded cloak over low-cut form-fitting white robes. She had a staff of ivory that was tipped with a gold pair of entwined lovers.

The two priestesses beside her were a South Asian looking woman in her forties and a thirty-something dusky-skinned curly-haired woman with black eyes whose ethnicity I didn't recognize. Maybe Arabic? Both were wearing elaborately tailored red robes with glowing magical patterns. I didn't question the unexpected diversity of Fantasy Poland and put it with how things were just plain different here. The Southern Kingdoms had been populated by literal gods committing the Medieval equivalent of alien abduction. Besides, it was none of my beeswax.

Agata walked into the bedroom after the other three priestesses, bowing her head and looking like she'd rushed here from somewhere else. Her hair was mussed, and I had the suspicion she'd been 'renewing her vows' with some of the men. Bloodstorm didn't seem to mind, at least, and had certainly sample several of the priestesses favors himself.

"Hi," I said, trying to stand up but Ania was still pressing me down. I should have been able to push her off, but her STR score was around 16. Which, yes, meant she was probably as strong as some Olympian men despite being the size of Alyson Hannigan. That was another thing I didn't question when in a mile-tall tree that carried a city in its branches.

"He's got the Blades of Chernabog," Ania explained. "They're probably mind controlling him!"

"They're not," Bloodstorm said, simply.

"How can you tell?" Ania asked the ogre dhampyr.

"Because he's not slaughtering everyone around him," Bloodstorm said. "All berserkers tap into Chernabog's power when they go on their murder sprees, at least the ones who aren't devotees of Thor. We worship Thor in Rus lands instead of Perun, even though that’s more a Pepsi versus Coke thing. Aaron is one of the calmest men I've ever met, and I've killed monks from Qin."

"You mean met monks," I corrected him.

Hopefully.

"Hmm? What did I say?" Bloodstorm asked.

"The Blades of Mokosh have driven many good men mad," Ania said, reluctantly letting go. "The Black God often gave them to warriors seeking power and gradually drove them insane. Some were destroyed instantly."

"Really?" I asked. "They seem fine to me. I mean, I hear worse on Call of Duty's multiplayer."

"That bad, huh?" Jon asked.

"I mean they're far less racist and sexist," I replied, waiting for her to get off. Not that I was uncomfortable with where she was at present.

Ania noticed where she was and stood up, letting me turn the blades downward and stand up. I didn't let go of the blades' hilts, instead keeping my fists clenched around them.

"The Blades of Chernabog cannot control Aaron," the Great Mother said, using my real name. "Not only is he a demigod but he maintains an equilibrium of the soul that prevents his casual domination."

"What now?" Jon asked.

"I have a +2 WILL bonus from my 3rd level Grey alignment," I replied. "Combine with the saving throw bonuses, I'm probably good."

"Probably is not good enough," Ania said. "Even if the weapons are designed for smart people."

"Of which he is!" Jon said. "When he's not being stupid."

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I was getting sick of all the hazing from my friends. "Strange thing for a Balrog's weapons to be enhanced by."

"Chernabog was always the cleverest of the evil gods. Excepting Veles himself," The Great Mother said. "Either way, I believe you can prove their lack of danger by using the Wise Man's Mark."

I blinked then realized what she meant and called up the equipment descriptor.

THE SWORDS OF CHERNABORG

Epic Level Weapon

Scimitars

Requirements: 16 INT, 12 STR

Attack Bonus: +5 (Scales to INT)

Damage Bonus: +5 (Scales to INT)

Effects: Bleed, Vampiric

Penalties: The swords will induce a cursed Berserker state if a WILL saving throw is failed during combat. This effect will not affect demigods, maximized alignment, or those who have the Barbarian class.

"Huh," I said, looking at the description. I hadn't paid as much attention to it as I should have. I'd been more interested in how the blades made me feel. "Maybe you should wield these, Bloodstorm."

"Hell no!" Kragen said. "I have a careful equilibrium of bloodlust, homicidal rage, and alcohol induced stupidity as is. I don't want to go disrupting it."

That was hard to argue with. "Fair enough."

"Besides, I have Valentin's big ass maul," Bloodstorm said, conjuring the giant hammer that would have done Shao Kahn proud. He held it in one hand as if it was made of Styrofoam.

"I know because I gave it to you," I said. "Anyway, I'll take my chances."

It was uncharacteristic of me to ignore the dangers of, well, anything but I'd gotten of power since coming to Ledziania. A taste that had been enhanced tremendously by absorbing divine energy. Even if it was the wrong kind, I wanted more of it and was barely able to resist absorbing the mark this past week.

Ania wasn't happy, I could tell.

"Good," the Great Mother said. "I have important news to share with you."

"Which is?" I asked, finally forcing myself to put away the blades in their holy rune covered sheathes. The writing on the sides basically saying, WARNING - DO NOT DRAW THESE BLADES in like five languages.

The Dragon Queen is dead," the Great Mother said, gravely.

That was a sentence that shouldn't exist. It was roughly equivalent to, 'Princess Zelda is dead', 'Princess Peach was eaten by Bowser', or 'Princess Leia is no longer with us.' The latter of which being something that made the real-world suck so much harder. Celetyne Van Piast-Jagellion was one of the protagonists of the novels and arguably more popular than Garland himself.

People named their kids after Celestyne and cosplayed as her with Garland. Fans still derided the fifth season of the TV show for having the suggestion that she might go evil after killing her sister. Celestyne was the granddaughter of the Old King of Ledziania, back when it was united, and the world wasn't upper crap. Born a few minutes earlier than her identical twin sister, Celestyne had been the heir apparent after all the other claimants had exhausted themselves in civil war. Not the present civil war for the crown but the previous civil war for the crown, which kind of summarized everything wrong with Ledziania.

The young Celestyne had been a shy, bookish, and innocent teenage girl who had been the opposite of her fierce magical prodigy of a sister, Apollonia. Lord Tomas Rose had planned on marrying her to the then-exiled heir to the Eastern Empire, Constantine the Black, and to bring peace to the land. Apollonia had hijacked that plan by seducing the future Eastern Emperor while pretending to be her sister then arranging for House Poppy to massacre House Rose. Apollonia had called upon the ancient magics in Dragon Keep cursing her sister into becoming a dragon, ironically causing Mokosh to punish the Poppys with the same fate. No, I don't know why Apollonia wasn't cursed. Divine punishments are beyond me.

Celestyne had remained a near mindless force of destruction for several years before the newly minted Dark Undermaster, Garland of Nowhere had broken the spell by marrying her to a giant cursed frogman (that was a Mongol prince). Garland being Garland had slept with her on the wedding night before abandoning her to go on a mission to hunt demons. Thus had begun their whirlwind romance that formed the basis for the next two books.

"Princess Celestyne is dead?" I asked, shocked.

"Queen Celestyne," Agata said, showing surprising deference to the woman who had been widely considered the other love of her late husband's life.

"Such a shame," Ania said, her tone showing exactly the level of deference you'd expect from hearing about a lover's ex dying. "I'll be sure to send a card to her funeral. Do they have funerals for traitors?"

"They have cards for funerals here?" I asked, getting distracted.

"Yeah, you buy them at the print shop," Ania said, looking to where I'd stored the blades but not mentioning them. "They're what keep the ink alchemists in business as much as holy books."

"Huh," I said, not knowing that.

The Great Mother narrowed her eyes at Ania. "You should speak with more respect, Ania Rose. She was your rightful queen."

"She was no queen of mine," Ania said, her voice taking on a dangerous edge that seemed wholly unnecessary given our surroundings.

"Your father died trying to put her on the throne," the Great Mother said.

Ania narrowed her eyes. "And look how that turned out for him. Look how that turned out for all of us."

Agata looked both mortified and angry. "Ania, if you can't take this seriously--"

"I'm taking it seriously," Ania interjected. "I just don't care. The Mad Queen or the Dragon Queen don't matter."

"Doesn't matter?" Agata asked, as if she couldn't believe what was coming out of her sister's mouth. "The Mad Queen is a tyrant."

"So are all kings and queens," Ania said, sneering. "As awful as Apollonia is, this war is worse. It's dragged on for a decade and made fighting Veles impossible. All so Celestyne can put a crown on her head and claim to be the one true ruler."

The Great Mother and her priestesses remained stoic in their expressions. Bloodstorm and Sparky both looked uncomfortable, exchanging glances that told me they would have rather been anywhere else. Jon, by contrast, was ogling the Great Mother's cleavage. Never change, bird. Never change.

Agata's voice became icy cold. "Apollonia married me to her brother and when he tried to moderate her treatment of the nonhumans, she sold me to Radu the Impaler."

Ania looked down, clearly embarrassed. "It's not like I wanted the Mad Queen to win."

"Really?" Agata asked. "Because it sounds like--"

"Did she die in the siege?" I asked, trying to get the conversation on track. I'd never met the Dragon Queen, but she'd been a part of my parasocial history for most of my adult life. I feel like I should feel something.

Celestyne had an interesting history after her curse had been broken. Transformed into a weredragon rather than a quote-unquote normal human, she'd proceeded to decimate her husband's tribe after they murdered him for not allying with Veles' forces. From there, she'd served as a Robin Hood-esque bandit then gradually turned against her sister's regime once she'd seen how it oppressed the nonhuman peoples of the Southern Kingdoms.

Celestyne had become an almost messianic figure among the common folk of Ledziania, waging a guerilla war that had gradually become a people's revolution. It may strike you as odd to have a princess leading a populist uprising, but it worked for Julius Caesar and Napoleon. Given she could become a gold dragon, she'd been doing pretty well at the end of the third book.

That was ten years ago.

Time seemed to pass in "real time" for the Southern Kingdoms and Earth. As such, all those years that Weis hadn't been finishing his book, he'd been struggling with them because Garland was dead. Hence why he kept throwing imposters at the problem in hopes of resolving it. I hadn't exactly been able to do much research but apparently the war hadn't been going well for her in the past decade. Last I heard, she'd been under siege in the city of Kalizov with the last of her armies. That had been a week ago.

"No," the Great Mother said, staring down at me. "She's been dead for five years."

That caused everyone to pay attention.

"The current, uh, Dragon Queen is an imposter?" I asked, shocked.

"Worse," the Great Mother said, keeping her eyes affixed on me. "She's one of you."

"One of me being..."

"An Outworlder," the Great Mother said, making it clear she knew a lot more than your average Ledzianian. "An imposter of my son."

I blinked. "Son?"

"I am Lilandra Rose," the Great Mother said. "Mother of Garland, cousin of Tomas Rose."

Oh crap.