Mother sneered, looking down her silver nose with that muddled blend of love and disappointment that painted my entire childhood. I once tried to make up for things. I saw how much her pearl throne hurt her back, so I made her a new one, contoured and cushioned. Did making her a new throne improve her opinion of me? Ha! She doesn't even sit on it. It took me nearly a century of doing nothing else to find enough bones of the perfect shapes and sizes to make that thing. Ninety nine years, in fact, and it sits in her attic, gathering dust. She may have well have given it to the magister of the dustlands. At least that dust would enjoy the comfort of the cushion I crafted. Soft, silken hair is not commonly found on corpses, but I dug, and dug, and dug... And don't even ask how many bodies I had to sift through to find skin soft enough to wrap the hair in. The younger ones work best, and maybe nowadays they're not so hard to come by in the pits, but back then they were annoyingly rare.

Her cough, that stupid, deleberate cough she uses to interrupt my thinking. She should wait till my thinking is done, then speak to me. Now I'm going to be distracted and only remember half of what she tells me.

"... vital that you don't forget."

See! I missed that, because of her stupid cough! Oh, ask her to repeat herself? You ask her to repeat herself and see what happens.

"Are you listening?"

She hates it when I bow to her, so I bowed. "Of course, my illustrious queen." She hates it even more when I spread my arms out, so I spread my arms out. Ha, that look. She gets so angry sometimes that she sets me up to fail, to teach me some lesson, even though it means she'll fail too. I love getting her this upset, because when I ruin her plan, now it will be her fault for being impatient.

Allright, I will admit that when I found myself in Archimonde's forge I wished I'd listened. "Limo, my boy," he said to me, his white star eyes half mocking, half envying me, "it turns out your mother loves you after all." The gear he handed me... Well, let's go through the list.

Nurg the Infector; the spear that shrinks and stays, spitting its bile and coughing its blood into your bowels till you faint from illness. Nurg is an army, and when thrown she splits in two and returns to her master's hand while plunging into her victim's gullet. If we let her, Nurg will kill us all.

Oon Uir Mii Zhoo; the torturer's bow, who's arrow grows barbs upon entry, and drags a string of thorns behind it. Oon Uir Mii Zhoo hates himself, and only another's suffering can cure his sadness. This bow claims to have been wielded by the relentless shadow. Or was it his brother? Maybe one or both of them were shot by the bow? It's no use, Oon Uir Mii Zhoo is old and horrible, and forgets everything.

Sade the Grim and Dark; the greatscythe who bends time. When his blade finds flesh, time is held by the throat for the wound, but not for the wounded. The pain carries on even if the wound is healed. There is a note engraved in large letters along the weapon's haft; Vatoceous Nuroticul Aspo Docroctavarar Seponsuldairy Phet'Owchie (Don't Stab Yourself).

Leothayn of the Festering Vortex; she loves you, and you will never be free of her. Offer salutations to your new ribcage. This cuirass is hungry and you have the everlasting soul peculiar to the Mighty, radiance born or emanatory, it's all the same to this hungry girl. She will turn most blades, and it would take a fell hammer indeed to dent her. Wear her and fear no battle, but know she siphons your spirit.

Mud Furnace, an indomitable brain cradle; a helm so hideous, spears and swords and arrows and axe heads will flee from its sight. Certain women of certain species find it irresistably erotic. Avoid swamps and bogs. It bears a curious chinstrap, notably over designed.

Kharnhallevernandrir; a cloak of still warm flesh bound so tightly the motes of light passing through it are trapped. Be careful not to forget thou art wearing it, for it may get stuck in doors. The value of this item is not yet known.

I almost fell under the weight of it all. "Has the little wretch grown so lethal in the last few years?", I asked. Archimonde's laughter angered me, but I know my limits. The forge lords are older than me, and know how to cheat.

"Othomo is back."

He smiled when he said it, making me too mad to hold it in any longer.

"Would you be smiling, smith, if you were sent on a collision course with that thing?"

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Archimonde stopped smiling. He put a hand on his ivory altar and lifted himself to his full height. The forge lords are bi, if nothing else. They also have nice gear. I'd always been envious of Archimonde's silver helm with it's horned crescent. It looked like his helm had a beard, but I couldn't tell, as the forge lords looked to be made of metal, like Othomo. Othomo!

"Were I to encounter Othomo, he would greet me as an old friend," Archimonde said, trying desperately to sound like he believed it. I didn't.

"Before killing you."

He threw a small satchel by my feet. Later, I will wish I'd taken it.

"You want to prove all the ingrates and hypocrites right, attack Othomo with everything you've got. You want to learn the truth, give him the chance to show it to you."

I turned and left, annoyed by the sound of Archimonde's gimp foot dragging along the ground as he went to his bunk to sulk. Right about then I felt hungry, so I went back to the mist flats to sink into my favorite valley for dinner. I'd been away long enough for the herds to return, which was fortunate. I didn't have any clue what food I'd find in uncle Arun's country, so I soaked up as much as I could before setting out. I want to state right now that I disagree with everything my mother sent me to do on principle, and cannot be held accountable for either my obedience or my defiance, as all my actions were the result of betrayal and confusion and if it were up to me I just would have stayed home. Anyways, as I was keenly aware of the mystery of Arun's lands, and uncertain how effective my gear would be, I felt I needed to do something no one would expect, to make sure I had a trump card up my sleeve, so I went to visit Death.

I ate again along the way, but I was attacked and had to stop before finishing. I swear, I get no respect; attacked in my mother's kingdom.

My sister was no different. She laughed when I approached Golgonooza, the Dreaming City. She cried for everyone else who came to her gates. At least she saw me right away.

"I just don't understand why you've come to me."

She said that over and over again for hours. I waved my hand in a half circle. We were alone in her audience hall, but she knew what I meant.

"Can't you make me invulnerable like all your 'subjects'?"

She sniffled. Annoying. "Limo, they're not invulnerable, they're dead. I don't expect you to understand. I still don't. But I do ask that you trust me. Outside Golgonooza, the dead will decay, just as the returned do. Only the speed of their decay is quicker, and, as I've told you a dozen times now, they are not reborn into future broods. If I make you as them, you will fade into nothingness some time after leaving my walls."

Does she seriously not realize that I'm the same sort of being as her? With even more of the spirit? She saw what I was thinking, and returned the anger. It's remarkable how much can be communicated by an irritated stare. Sometimes I wonder why we bother to speak to each other at all.

After a lengthy and one sided debate we settled on a compromise. She made some sort of in between state, where upon death I would rise, a little less together. Fully dead meant I would have to stay in Golgonooza for inordinate amounts of time. I wouldn't mind so much if the food were better. I tried eating there once and retched for hours. Not people, of course. I'm no Fiend. I found a pond to hide inside and a herd of, whatever, came by for a drink. They were one of those hoofed things with tree branch horns and spotted rear ends. I've heard their names, but they never made sense to me. Why would you name an animal after a bodily organ? Especially when it's their soul you eat, and not their flesh. Anyways, I couldn't eat dead food, and trying to fathom what death exactly was gave me angry fits, during which I broke things my mother wanted to keep. My brothers all used that as an excuse to imprison me, something they could never do for long. To be honest, the mystery of death was becoming bothersome, so I think I pressed my sister to give me a measure of it just to sate my curiosity. It beat dragging them out of her city to watch them fall to pieces. It was fun to do, but I really didn't learn much, and it was getting harder to hide it from Syl.

So now I'm halfdead, notdead, lessthandead... something like that. I felt different eventually, but it took a while. I asked Syl why she was crying after the 'procedure', which mostly consisted of her singing and me waking up in a glowing pond naked, save for, I found out when I kept feeling something wet dampening my robe, Kharnhallevernandrir. I already hated the thing. Reshki told me she was crying because I was her favorite, the only one who made her laugh. 'You might change so much no one will recognize you,' she whinged. Ugh. But, she just helped me, so I patted her on the back and promised I'd be alright, and I'd be back with the brat before she knew I was gone, with one dead Othomo laying in a hole for good this time. Then I left Silversong and ventured into the... space between our realm and uncle's. There was a big purple tear in the sky, and I thought 'Perfect!'. I hoped Archimonde was wrong, but he wasn't. I held Nurg in my hand and went to the Gate o' Gold and waltzed on in. Kharnhallevernandrir got stuck in the door as it closed. I opened it again and pulled the cloak out, then stood still. I heard a scream. I hate screams. I was startled, I'll admit, but not very much. The corpse I tripped over was a corpse anyone would trip over. It was the size of fable tree, and its armor had more flanges and flares than Arun's stupid crown. I dropped the satchel Archimonde's gear was in, then redonned the breastplate that somehow fell off while Syl was changing me. It stabbed back into my ribs and latched onto my now notquitedead innards. Fully kitted out, I set out to look for the brat, eat a few Fiends (for some reason there were way more of them in Uncle's territory), and hopefully not run into Mister Serious. But if I did, well, I'd already be half invincible, so it wouldn't matter if he killed me. One nagging thought remained; Syl kept telling me that mother only knew the half of it. Oh well. Half dead means half alive, so off I go.