6.0

“One-hundred and fifty-two. Whoever said ‘The real treasure were the friends we made along the way,’ has never had to escape to the Fourth Circle because your ‘friend’ pissed off the Kenkou mafia.” - Excerpt from Elliot’s Enchiridion of Encounters

Noam spent the first thirty minutes asking the bell to give his swear words back.

When all he got was a stern ‘No’, he spent the next thirty begging harder.

When no response came, he started swearing at the bell, half his words bleeped until the sun went down.

And he decided to keep going, cause what was a single night staying up swearing at a god?

On the dawn of the second day, Noam decided to switch it up slightly,

“There once was a pixie as dim as grey,

She took away a poor me’s power to say!

When I begged sincerely in prayer,

She told me sternly I cannot swear!

So I say she is quite BLEEP- Oh come on, that isn’t even a swear word!”

And began composing limericks to insult the god.

When he began to run out of limericks, he switched to rap,

“Fairy of the Silver Bell,

I heard you’re a god of kids,

So amongst them your member must get quite swell!

And I bet you’re as slimy as a squid!”

And thus the second day passed with Noam displaying elaborate ways of poetry to insult the god.

On the dawn of the third day…

“... And thus you caressed the soft, slimy and fresh flesh of Squidward the Second. His skin is supple, yet underneath you can feel the hard toned…”

…Began orating erotic fanfiction of Tilt directly to her shrine.

“... Squidward held you softly but firmly, you are surprised by his assertiveness as he brings you away to-”

“What the fu- fungus,” Dustin quickly corrected himself, “did I just walk into.”

Noam turned away, his eyes sunken and the bags underneath clear. For three days and three nights he continually insulted the shrine to no avail. Yet nothing had broken his iron resolve.

“She’s going to give back my BLEEPS, I swear it!”

“So far she’s giving you no fucks back,” Dustin winced. “Sorry, I shouldn't have said that.”

“It’s a war of attrition!” Noam raved, his eyes wild with resolve like a burning forest fire. “One of us will give in eventually! Either I finally get on her nerves or I break, and I refuse to break.”

“You’re not going to get them back by insulting the person who took them you know. You could just make a minor change to your vernacular and make everyone more comfortable.”

“Never!” Noam answered, “This isn’t about swearing anymore, this is about honor!”

Dustin didn’t direct his next question towards Noam, but instead towards Greenie who was sleepily acting as his guide shroom, “Where’s the shrine?”

Greenie pointed him towards it.

Dustin bowed in its general direction, “I’d just like to say I am not associated with this man or responsible for his behavior and when he does get smote please ensure collateral damage is at a minimum.”

“Coward!”

The myconid shrugged, “On more serious business, have you seen Celine?”

Noam frowned, “No I haven’t, something wrong?”

“I’ve barely seen her for the past few days,” Dustin answered, “Utoqa tells me she comes in at night to help with his and Tai’s wounds but she’s gone like a shadow immediately after.”

“Is something wrong with her?” Noam asked, “She looked pretty pale after escaping the snake thing.”

Dustin closed his empty eye sockets, remembering how Celine looked for a moment. How her skin was a pure pale and hair appeared bleached, and how her appearance seemed to shift back to normal a moment when none of them were looking, “No, that isn’t the Accumulation’s doing. She’s keeping something secret.”

Noam shrugged, “Let her then.”

“I will, but regardless,” Dustin pulled out a bag, clinking with coins. “The townsfolk rustled up some money to pay us. I’ve divided it equally amongst all six of us. If she comes by, give her this. I’ve left similar instructions with Utoqa.”

“Got it,” Noam said, taking the bag.

“Oh, and we’re having a goodbye party tonight, if you’re done blaspheming then join us.”

Noam raised an eyebrow, “We’re leaving already? Isn’t it too early? What if something else comes by.”

Dustin frowned, then looked above him, “The chances of something happening dramatically decreases if we leave,” he carefully said, as if considering his every word. “Strength invites challenge, being here until now has been fine but… if we want Lake Bayt to recover the best we can do is take our weight off here.”

“Something you can’t tell me?” Noam asked.

Dustin paused, his mind deep in thought, “I might be able to tell you, a select few can be told, but I need to Keep these things as much of a secret as I can. But maybe I can… I’ll try to tell you when we both get to log out.”

Noam nodded.

“Remember the party is tonight,” Dustin said as he began to leave. “Also it seems like you’re due a level up or two.”

He raised his eyebrow slightly at that. Because Dustin seemed sure something would happen. Then Noam frowned, his head hurt, and his thinking felt slow. No matter his own willpower, his body was just not meant to stay up for three days in a row.

Regardless, he turned around, “As I was saying, you are surprised by Squidward’s assertiveness as he…”

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The night was young when Celine left.

Bearing only the things she could carry, she passed the partying inn like a shadow. On a moonlit night, she walked towards the wall that separated this town from the wilderness.

For she did not belong, she never belonged anywhere. She made sure everyone was healthy because they were owed at least that much, but she did not belong here. She did not belong amongst people.

Yet as she walked alone on a dark road, the moon slowly became hidden by clouds. She stopped, looking into the orphanage in which the monster once made its den. Towards a single light where a person sat and told a story.

“...and thus you tie the knot. The priest declares your vow with Squidward eternal. You feel his embrace around you, and you know the emptiness that once held your heart is well and truly gone.”

Like a man possessed, Noam told a story, before him, sitting around that candle flame, was the silhouette of a young fairy. A young fairy whose wings glistened like silver, her features young and pure. And the fairy was silently crying, her tears soaking into a napkin, enamored as the tale finished.

“That was beautiful stupid horn head,” her voice rang like bells even as she cried crystal tears.

Noam exhaled, panting as if tired from head to toe, “Yeah that one surprised me as well. I just let it run away from me.”

“Tell me another one!” the fairy asked, “Actually… Tell me one every week! Everyday! Become one of my priests or something! Actually, you can be my next Incarnation, how about that?”

Noam yawned, “Incarnation? Wazzat?”

“It’s um, like um, well I sorta go wooosh then bumpfff, and suddenly you can use my power when you want or need!”

Celine felt a sudden lump in her throat. The Incarnation of a god? And one of the greater ones at that?

“Really,” Noam asked amidst another yawn, “that sounds cool, but can I get my swear words back?”

“Even better!” the fairy exclaimed, “Once you become my Incarnation you will never be able to use bad words! Not even your original can!”

“Original…” his voice slightly slurred, before they suddenly sharpened, “You mean I, as Matt Nguyen, would not be able to swear anymore?”

The fairy excitedly nodded, “Yep!”

“Then BLEEP off!”

Half in shock, half in sheer disbelief, Celine watched as Noam rejected the next best thing from godhood.

The fairy grabbed Noam by the ears, “Why do you care so much about some stupid bad words! They’re bad words!”

“It’s a matter of principle!” Noam yelled back, trying to pry the god’s arms off his ears.

Noam, one of the greatest players to ever grace gaming, so good that numerous forums of salty rankers called him a hacker, and Tilt, the Patron Goddess of Trickery, Freedom, Loyalty and Children, the Innocence Never Lost, the Girl of the Silver Bell.

The two, without any grace or skill, tumbled around the empty orphanage and fought like children.

But unfortunately, three days without sleep or rest, constantly swearing at a shrine, had rendered him rather weak, and so Tilt swiftly got the upper hand. Noam slipped on a banana that materialized directly under his foot, slipping and sliding directly out of the shrine.

“And never come back you purple stinky head!”

“If I never see you again it would be too soon!” Noam yelled back, his head still stuck in a bush. “What is silver but shitty platinum?”

The Goddess stuck her tongue out at the figure before her own body dissipated. Noam rose out of the bush, rubbing his head. His eyes glanced around, passing over Celine but not seeing her.

Yawning, Noam took two steps before he collapsed onto the dirt road in exhaustion.

Quietly and slowly, Celine tried to skirt around Noam’s unconscious body. Circling around him and getting on her way.

Then the first few drops of rain fell.

Celine continued walking, resolute in the fact someone should find Noam here.

Then a few drops increased to a downpour, and Noam remained firmly on the ground. Still and unconscious.

“... Someone will find you, right?” Celine whispered in the rain. Seeing Noam getting increasingly soaked, before she groaned. “Ahhh!”

She grabbed Noam by the legs, finding him dead still like a rock, and tried to pull, gritting her teeth in exertion.

She let go, huffing and puffing, before she whispered, “Nappy.”

Her cloak came alive, wrapping itself around her arms, becoming an extension of them as they wrapped themselves around Noam.

Tilt probably didn’t want him back, so instead, she found an abandoned house– slightly distressed by how many there were now.

Saying a small prayer to the house’s former inhabitants, she brought Noam in. Using Nappy, she put him onto an empty bed. Then touched his forehead, checking his temperature.

Noam was burning up, but she had a potion for this. Putting it to his lips, she gently massaged his throat so that the liquid made its way through properly. She made the mistake a few times when she was first learning potions, leading to some very annoyed forest fauna.

Finishing the bottle, she placed a blanket on the tiefling. Checking his temperature one last time and making sure he was stable, Celine moved towards the door.

“Wait.”

Celine paused, his voice was quiet, barely a rasp, “...You should be ok, Noam, the fever is light, and a night’s sleep will do you well.”

Noam groaned, “My mouth tastes like sunflowers. I didn’t even know what sunflowers tasted until now.”

She smiled slightly at that, “If that’s all, then I’ll be-”

“Going?” Noam asked, “But where?”

She hugged her cloak, Nappy, close. “I don’t know. Maybe someplace where I can set up shop, but I can’t stay here anymore.”

There was a shuffling behind her. “Why not?” Noam asked as he rose.

She gripped her cloak even more tightly around her, almost hoping she could disappear into it, but they saved her life. They at least deserved to know.

Celine turned.

She turned to face Noam, but as she did so, the color of her skin bleached, her eyes became pure white and her hair an unnatural pale.

“Because I am a monster, because I am a changeling.”

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In a small hamlet hidden between rolling hills and idyllic plains, there was a boy named Mason, born to a farmer’s family and the youngest of two.

“Mason? Where could I be?” his mother cooed. Mason looked around the house, pretending to look for her, but he already knew.

There was an aura, an aura bright and happy, hidden beneath the table. It thrummed like a rainbow as his mother heard his steps draw closer, until,

A pair of hands covered her eyes, “Found you!” Mason playfully said.

Laughing, the mother lifted her youngest into the air, the young boy, no older than three years old, laughed as his short arms reached for his mother. Pulling her ears as she brought him to embrace. Unlike his mother’s dark verdant hair and clear white skin, his hair was a mop of brown and despite his youth, his skin was already tanned like a farmer’s son.

In the evening his father and older brother would return from the forests, their day of lumber cut and sold.

“Hanton got to the northside before us,” his father said with an aura of disappointment. “Couldn’t cut much today, but Hanson’s a perfectionist, he’ll be in the northside for a few weeks getting everything.”

“We can head to the westside then, can't we?” Mason’s brother asked.

His mother quickly made the signs of prayer, while his father shook his head, “The witch lives there, we can't go near that place.”

“Both of you should avoid her, that thing isn’t a person,” her mother whispered, her aura dark and jumpy. Genuine terror.

“Let’s talk about kinder things,” his father had said.

His mother smiled and the darkness faded from her aura. Rubbing Mason’s head, she said, “Mason caught me again today. I don’t know how he does it.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

And Mason smiled, “Because I love you ma!”

“Oh you precious little…” she smiled as she brought him to a hug, and extended an arm to her husband, “Come one, everyone bring it in.”

The dinners they shared weren’t anything fancy. Vegetable soup and black bread, occasionally his father brought back the odd hunt they caught. It was filling, but the young boy simply enjoyed them all together, to hear them talk about their day, to see their auras change and flow like beautiful paintings.

And the boy wanted to spend days like this forever. To always spend them with others, to see their wonderful colors.

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Noam frowned, and Celine saw his aura go contemplative.

It was a kindness that he didn’t immediately flinch or draw a weapon. More than anything she’s ever experienced, regardless, she put on her hood and turned away.

“Wait,” Noam said again.

He left the bed, rubbing his head as he sat by the table in the small house. “Please sit, if you need someone that can listen… well, I’m here.”

Celine looked outside, seeing the dark cobbled path, slick with rain. She could go without a word, to leave and live as she always had.

It was a lonely path, but it was a known one, even a straight jacket would feel comfortable when worn long enough, and she was tempted to go right then and there. But something about his eyes, his aura, how for the first time ever this jovial manchild finally looked completely and utterly serious.

So she sat, and she regaled her tale.

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The first expression on his mother’s face was shock.

Then horror, as her hands brushed against Mason’s face and hair.

Mason didn’t understand why her aura was turning dark, as he looked as his own hands, he saw them pale and pallid. White, but that was the wrong color, and he thought about what color they should be. The sun tanned skin, much like his father and brother.

And the skin turned browned and tanned, exactly like his father and brother.

Mason smiled as he made the skin normal again.

But his mother simply looked on in horror, as she grabbed his hand and looked it over. Up and down, left and right. Her aura changed slightly to hope, hoping that she just imagined what she just saw.

She brought Mason close, hugging him tightly and without a word. For it had to be a delusion, it had to be a lapse of imagination, what she just saw.

And she held onto that belief until night– when Mason fell asleep and his skin turned pale.

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“She denied it at first, afraid of what it meant when I started turning, but I think deep down she knew. She always knew.”

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Mason was no longer allowed to go outside anymore.

His mother told everyone he had a skin disease, how it blistered easily under sunlight. She made up a tale of how it was a curse by the witch of the woods and her husband added to the tale that he had accidentally chopped a tree a bit too close to the witch's woods.

For weeks Mason stayed inside his home. His father had left for a larger town, to find a priest who could cure his sickness. For a while, Mason believed the tale his mother weaved, but the sunlight that peaked through the windows failed to burn his skin, and every day, he looked out at the other children, at all the other people playing and living outside. He saw their auras, like beautiful splashes of colour just outside their dreary house.

And so, one day when his mother was out gathering berries, Mason left the house. And for a brief moment, when he was watching the people outside, enjoying the sun on his skin, he briefly turned.

And someone saw him.

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“It was my fault,” Celine admitted, “If I had just listened, if I weren’t so fascinated by the colors everyone had…”

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The colors were black. Black with hate and rage.

“I saw it!” the boy yelled. A boy that once played with Mason like a friend. “I saw the monster change form to look like a kid!”

The crowd roared in response.

Mason’s mother grabbed him, glancing out the window in fear. His brother held his ax in the ready, but he was unsteady, used to cutting only wood and not people, “Has pa come back yet?”

His mother shook her head, “We can’t wait for him to bring a priest anymore, we have to run.”

Outside, the crowd moved, and to Mason’s eyes they were a swirling black miasma. Their auras were so dark with hate and fear that even the torches he knew they held failed to pierce the smoke of their own souls.

Mason’s mother cradled him within her arms, “We need to go, now!”

And they ran out of their home. His mother held him as they headed towards the woods, his brother behind with an ax in hand.

“They’re running!” someone yelled, a pitchfork pointed towards the escaping shadows.

They heard it then, the neighing of horses and shortly the sound of galloping. They weren’t near the woods yet, and they couldn’t outrun horses.

“Keep running ma,” Mason’s brother said, as suddenly a pair of footsteps ceased running behind them.

And Mason’s mother kept running, with him held like a babe. A mother fleeing with her child no older than ten.

But the shouts kept following them, they kept nearing and the fires and hate kept coming.

Until his mother tripped and fell onto the ground. Her aura flared with pain, as her ankle looked broken.

But she gritted her teeth and held Mason tight. Pushing a small bag that clinked into his hands. “Run, Mason, you have to run.”

Mason didn’t know he was crying until that moment, holding tightly to his mother like a drowning man to a raft.

“Why ma? Why are they chasing us? Why do they want to hurt us? I just want to be with you!” he asked, he pleaded.

Mason didn’t need to see her aura to see the regret and pain that marred her face before she grits her teeth, her mind made up.

“Because you are a monster Mason,” she said. “Because you are something they fear and don’t understand. So you can’t be with me, you can’t be with us.”

“So take the bag and run,” she pleaded.

Mason stilled, his emotions warring across his face, confusion, fear, despair.

And his mother’s face turned angry, “I said RUN!”

She slapped Mason’s face, “Run! Run as far as your legs can take you! Run into the west woods! Give the bag to the witch! You’re a monster and you’re getting hunted, so RUN!”

The light of torches ever nearer, as the mob drew closer, and finally, with tears on his face, Mason ran.

He ran deeper into the woods. He ran even when he fell and thorns tore his clothes. He ran through past streams, he ran until the sounds of shouting and the miasma of hate and fear disappeared.

Until he went deeper into the forest than anybody went.

And he stopped in the middle of a clearing, a moonlit night, the stars bright in the sky. He stopped to catch his breath, but as he did so, something rose.

A thing larger than a bear, its fur mattered with blood and eyes large and red. Upon its back, dozens of weapons and spears jutted out. The attempts of lesser men to kill the king of the forest.

It was a monster and Mason felt that he should’ve run.

But he didn’t.

He was a monster.

A monster couldn’t be with his family.

A monster was hated by the village.

A monster doesn’t deserve to live.

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“That is why I’m leaving,” Celine finished. “You all saw me unshifted. You saw the monster I was. It won’t be long before the rumour gets out and they raise pitchforks and torches.”

Noam was silent as she finished her story before he very quietly exhaled.

“I’ll give you another story in exchange for that,” Noam said. “About how I grew up.”

Celine was quiet, as Noam spoke.

“I didn’t grow up in the nicest place. It was common to hear maybe ten to twenty gunshots each day and find two to three fresh pools of blood outside. One year it was worse than usual and we didn’t have enough money for food. So one day I went out and saw a drunk collapsed between an alleyway and I took his money.”

“But the guy wasn’t quite as blacked out as I thought, he grabbed my arm as I tried to leave, so I kicked him, and threw his head into the wall, and he stopped moving as I ran away,” his eyes were closed, as he imagined the exact scene.

“When I got home, I left the money on the counter, but Sarah demanded where it came from, so I showed her the guy in the alleyway. The guy who had died by the time we got back. And you know what she did?” he asked. “She silently picked up the corpse, and together we dragged him out of the city where we buried his body under a pile of trash.”

“That was about the time I started calling her my mum.”

“What do you intend to tell with this story?” Celine asked.

“I’m not finished yet,” Noam added. “See, later on, I got good at things. I got a bunch of friends, I got rolled into the local gang because I was good at pickpocketing and picking fights alike. And I thought they were all my friends, until one day, another kid picked the wrong guy, and when the gangbangers came knocking they threw it on me and I was beaten within an inch of my life as an example.”

Celine was silent as Noam finished the final part of his story.

“See, I learnt then, there were a lot of types of people, but of ‘friends’, there were real ones, people who would help you out regardless of what, and there were people who wouldn’t. Who are more in love with the idea of you than what you actually are. And I can say, that your parents, your family, they were real ones. They were people who went with you through thick and thin.”

And Noam stared directly into her eyes and his aura flared.

“I understand what a good friend should look like, so you understand that I do not joke or lie when I say I will knock the BLEEPING lights out of any BLEEPING torch BLEEPING gremlin piece of BLEEP that tries to raise a pitchfork to a good person! Otherwise, my name is not BLEEPING Matt Nguyen!”

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Mason stood in that moonlit forest as the creature approached. A strange sense of peace and dread within his soul.

He looked across that empty clearing, of the stars quietly twinkling in the sky.

The finality of life was so serene.

And the monster raised its paw to strike.

Only that it didn’t, and instead thumped dead on the ground. Its head was gone and in its place was only a massive bite mark.

Behind Mason an old figure strode forward, her face gnarled like a tree and nose hooked like a hawk’s beak. She was chewing something before she swallowed.

“And what are you?” the witch of the woods asked.

“A monster,” the changeling answered

The witch chuckled, “If you are a monster, then I am Shadesmar. The evil god of horror!”

“But I am,” the child despondently answered. His tears long dried on his face. “They chased me out, ma told me to run, she told to go because I couldn’t be with her anymore.”

A thought arose in his mind, of one of the last things Mason’s mother told him. “She wanted me to give you this.”

And he raised the bag that clinked of metal.

The witch took it, sniffing it slightly before her face and aura turned quiet and contemplative.

Then the witch made a decision.

She chuckled, hand descending to ruffle Mason’s pale white hair, “I suppose I am an evil god now!”

The witch’s hand gently, but firmly grasped Mason’s own small hand, “And what is an evil god without her minions?”

“Minion?” Mason asked.

“My minion,” the witch answered, “which means I will protect you, for any harm to you is an insult to me, the evil god, and I will teach you, for you must be able to wrought terror in my name.”

“And what is your name?” Mason asked.

“I am the Witch of the Woods,” she answered, “I am Ni Kakoph.”

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Celine did not realize she was crying until the tears dripped down her chin and onto the wooden table.

“Oh…” she said, raising her sleeve to wipe her face, “...I’m sorry…”

Noam simply brought out a napkin for her to use, to wipe the tears that suddenly appeared.

“It’s fine to cry,” Noam said, “everyone needs a good cry every now and again. So just let it out.”

Celine kept apologizing as she cried, for what she wasn’t sure. Only that she kept trying to wipe tears that just continued to stream. Hiccups and snot fought their way out of her face and she needed to wipe those as well.

After a long time, when Celine’s tears started to slow, Noam spoke.

“Hear me out,” he said, “stay for one more night. We’re having a party and you should join in.”

She was about to raise her objections before he cut her off. “Don’t worry about getting away, I can solo any flash mob that appears! And Dustin can keep them sneezing for long enough to get away, and Utoqa is your gecko when you need to survive in the wild…”

“How are you so sure they will help?” she asked.

And Noam smiled, “Like I said,

“I recognise a friend.”

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“Minion!” Ni Kakoph called. “Minion, we have a problem!”

“What is it?” Mason called out. They were much taller now, tall enough to stir the witch’s cauldron as it bubbled and boiled.

“We have a severe problem!” the witch repeated as she barged in, carrying in her hands an old and faded dress. “I can’t graduate you without a proper uniform! I don’t have a men’s uniform for you!”

“Is that it?” the changeling asked as they glanced skeptically at the dress.

It was old, but recently cleaned, the smell of sunshine was still fresh on it.

Already, Mason’s skin and hair flashed through different colors. Their figure shifted to a more feminine appearance before suddenly Ni Kakoph bonked their head.

“You aren’t just shifting into some random ass girl for this!” the witch yelled. “It has to be something important to match the occasion!”

“Important?” Mason asked as they rubbed their head.

Ni furiously nodded.

And Mason thought deeper and deeper, but already, their hair was turning into a deep shade of verdant green, their skin a healthier shade of pale.

Before long, Mason appeared like their mother once was, but at the same age they were currently.

“Are you alright with this?” Ni asked, her voice quiet. “This won’t be like a normal shift, a mage’s graduation marks their existence for as long as they live.”

Mason looked over themself, and shrugged, “It’s fine, being a guy isn't important and… they would be looking for a tanned skin boy named Mason.”

And the witch nodded.

The next day, the young woman put on the faded but clean witch's uniform. She made sure every bit was prepared as she stepped out of the house.

Ni Kakoph was sitting on the porch as she stepped onto the grass below.

And the girl bowed, “Thank you for everything, Baba Ni.”

The old witch rubbed her head, “That reminds me, I never asked for your name did I, minion?”

The young witch raised her head, “I was named Mason by my father, and I now take my mother’s name, Celine. I… want to be Celine more, but I don’t want to abandon Mason, so I will use both when allowed. I don’t have a surname, unfortunately.”

The old witch smiled as she rose from her seat, “Stone worker or heavens. A fine duality.”

The old witch stared at the sky, then at the earth.

And the world was still as she made a declaration. “To all who will listen, I am Ni Kakoph, and I grant my Name to the young genius that stands before me. May she be as I once was, a great Cacophony that shakes both heavens and earth!”

Celine Kakoph felt the power that rippled through the world. She felt the black cloak behind her tighten, as if in a warm embrace.

“You give me your Name baba?”

The old witch smiled, “I said my minion will wreak terror in my name didn’t I?”

And Celine smiled, “You did.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence, before Celine turned to leave, “Thank you for-”

“Oh!” the old witch interrupted, “Before I forget.”

She rummaged through her own cloak, pulling an old bag that clinked of metal when drawn. Whose edges frayed from time.

And Ni tossed it at Celine, who barely managed to catch it.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Something that is yours now,” the old witch answered.

Celine recognised it as the bag her mother told her to give to the witch. Quietly, she drew open the strings, finding what was inside.

A few coins, mostly coppers and silvers but there was one gold, and two rings.

Wedding rings.

The wedding rings her father gave to her mother on their wedding day. “They… they gave up their…” she tried to speak, but her voice croaked, as tears streamed down her face. This was likely all the wealth her family had had.

“Your education has been paid for in full,” Ni Kakoph said. “That is your salary for stirring the cauldron and collecting herbs.”

Celine smiled even as tears streamed down her face, “What a horrible payment for years of free work.”

Ni chuckled, “Well, you didn’t pay for me teaching you either!”

Finally, she turned around, away from the moving house, clad in a living cloak blessed by the old woman that saved her, in her pouch the rings of the people that raised her.

Celine Kakoph went into the world to see if she could find her parents again.

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When Celine entered the partying inn, helping a half-delirious Noam walk, Dustin was playing Age of Wonders with Corvian, the wisps and Utoqa, who was severely missing the point of the game.

And when the myconid turned to look at his friend, seeing him leaning on the witch for balance and support, he let out a sharp bark of laughter.

“I don’t know what else I expected,” he said with a smile. “Fucking extroverts,” he muttered before Corvian slapped his head.

“Language!”

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The next day, as people were still recovering from hangovers a small group of people piled their luggage on a cart gifted to them by the town.

One of them, a tiefling, was vomiting last night’s contents onto a tree as a young woman with verdant hair patted his back. A lizardfolk and elven swordswoman were hauling the bags of rations and foodstuff they were given. And finally, a myconid stood talking with a gnomish priest.

“I wish you luck in rebuilding the town,” Dustin said.

Corvian nodded, “It won’t be quick, but it will happen. Lake Bayt will recover from this. But…” the gnome’s eyes slid towards a child, a child carrying a ghastly doll.

Strange looks swept this child, and Corvian beckoned him forth, “Johnny, come meet Dustin.”

The child came, his eyes empty and listless.

“I’m not sure what to do with him, but he wants to go with you guys.”

Dustin raised an eyebrow. “Why so?”

The child’s head hung. “I don’t want to be here anymore,” the boy said. “I see them everywhere, everyone that died. They’re still here, I don’t want to see them anymore.”

Corvian grabbed Dustin’s arm and dragged him close, “He’s carrying a symbol of the Weeping Child, Dustin,” Corvian whispered. “His life won’t be simple or easy, for people regard the Gestalt as a dark god.”

“You think something will happen?” he asked, for though the child’s Scales were in balance, he knew it was something that could be changed in a moment’s bad decision.

“Perhaps, and until then, I want you to protect him. Keep him safe to grow up happy. I…” Corvian gritted his teeth, “I alone can’t provide this protection. So please, maybe find a temple to Gwaina in one of the greater cities, somewhere that can take him in.”

Dustin thought about it, and he nodded. He didn’t really need to talk it over with Utoqa or Noam, since one wouldn’t care and the other would accept in a heartbeat.

Then he knelt, his gnarled hand on the child’s shoulder, “I am Dustin, who are you?”

“I am Johnny Joymoon,” the boy replied.

----------------------------------------

Corvian watched as they left, a slight pang of regret that he could not save that child, but he would be safe in their care, he was certain of it.

Instead, he felt Wundull tugging at him, the first of two gods he devoted himself to.

The first copy of every single card of the Age of Wonders was created by a follower of Wundull who had witnessed the wonders of the world themselves.

And Corvian Diluvian Medudian Himotonana Farraday the Middling had seen much.

He raised his hand, and within them, six cards manifested from divinity and power.

Chosen of the Weeping Child.

Gnari Family Swordswoman.

Wandering Witch.

Tribeless Survivor.

Traveling Skald.

And finally, the only card that was named.

Dustin the Thrice Blinded.

Corvian smiled as he drew the final card. They Met in a Tavern.