I moved the piece to the designated location on the game board. The ivory figurine landed on the black tile with a gentle clack, a sound that was calming to my ears. With a glance up, I looked to the individual sitting across from me. It was an individual wreathed in shadow.
"Are you enjoying the game?" I asked, quickly gesturing to the pieces arrayed across the black and white squares of the board. A warm smile spread across my features. I intensely enjoyed the contest of wit and skill, despite not being the best at it. Many of my other brethren were far more suited to such games than me; however, his current opponent seemed to enjoy the company far more than the game, and that made it better for him.
From beneath a hood, a deep pit of black, came a cool voice that caressed the air, "Indeed, your moves have improved throughout many games. It is impressive." The dark robes the figure wore rustled as he moved to leans over the board, examining the miniature field of battle. "But your moves are still are unpredictable as ever."
A loud booming laugh escaped from me, "To be predictable would be boring. As you know, the word boring does not describe me!" I waggle a finger at my friend. With another hand, I reach for a silver goblet nearest to me on the table.
Taking a deep drink of the golden liquids within, I savor the mixture of fruit and various other spices as they fill my mouth.
The hooded figure nodded, "Yes, this is true. There never does seem to be a dull moment around you, it makes the passing of time much more enjoyable."
"And we have plenty of that, might as well make it enjoyable," I say, gesturing with the goblet.
"As always, your wit is sharp and ever-present in anything you say or do." A slow and raspy laugh emanated from his companion. The sound always reminded him of the soft rattling of bones, almost musical but at the same time eerie.
I smile, "If it wasn't then I'd need a new title!" A roguish grin crosses my face.
A piece, appearing to have been carved from the darkest colored glass, was moved by long pale and slender fingers. It loudly clinked into one of my pieces, a figurine with a long lance, and knocked it over. It fell over, shattering with the soft sound of glass. Its pieces vanish from the board in small flashes of light.
For a brief moment, a frown crosses my face. Currently, I found myself at a bit of a disadvantage.
"Per the usual, I am in a bit of a bind." Taking a moment I surveyed my pieces, brow furrowed in concentration. My mind raced with various placements of pieces, trying my best to come up with some form of a comeback to the skilled tactician sitting across from me.
"While I attempt a means of regaining some form of advantage, what are your thoughts on the current events? Especially with what happened only a few days ago?" I mused, continuing to look over what options were available.
"In regards to the others?" The darkened figure scoffed, seeming to become annoyed at the very mention of what I referred to. "I think now more than ever we find ourselves embroiled in senseless conflict." With a gaunt hand, his friend motioned to the game. "At one point we all played by certain rules. All put into place to ensure some semblance of balance; however, some of us now blatantly disregard them and seek more means to gain power." The black robes his friend wore rustled softly as his arms crossed.
"You ask me about the events that transpired only a few cycles ago?" A slight pause ensues as it took a moment to sort through certain thoughts. "What I saw was a clear call for conflict, and what I heard are words born from those who would manipulate everything to fit their vision." The words dripped with disdain, each uttered in disgust.
-
The hall echoed with a loud consistent bang. It reverberated through the very stone of the walls and floor.
It was a siege engine crashing into the large wooden entry doors.
Dalthos sat upon the old throne that occupied the room. He was the sole occupant at the moment.
All those who were loyal to him left once they saw that his reign was coming to an end. They abandoned him, with good reason he mused.
He had been nothing more than a tyrant. A cruel master to those who pledged their service to him.
And now all of his misdeeds were coming back to issue his punishment.
Yelling could be heard amidst the assault on the doors and the crunch of wood as it gave away.
A sigh escaped him.
"For so long, I reveled in the pain that I wrought. Only now, only when everything is falling apart around me, do I feel regret." A cynical smile crossed his face as he spoke aloud along with a slight chuckle. "I could have done so much better."
With a slow movement, he clenched his gauntleted hand into a fist. Dalthos looked down at it, he could imagine the blood that dripped from it. The countless lives that he took, mercilessly, and without any cause. He knew that death would walk in from the shattered remains of those doors. And he would do nothing to stop it from coming for him.
The long weeks spent trying to fight off the attacks weighed heavier on him than the plate armor he donned. Across his lap was a sword that saw many military campaigns and shed more blood than he could probably recount.
He slowly closed his eyes. Dalthos could resist and probably give his attackers a fight they would never forget. But at this point, both his body and mind were beyond exhausted. He already felt as though he was dead, a husk of a man. Nothing more than a walking corpse.
This was not him giving up; rather, he chose to accept the consequences for what he had done.
A loud crack shook the air as the doors ripped open.
Countless boots pounded into the hallway followed by the familiar whisper of steel being drawn.
Excited yells echoed throughout the chamber.
His death had arrived.
_
With hesitation, I moved another piece across the board and knocked down one of the darker pieces.
Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
"I agree. While some have been carefully maneuvering themselves in the shadows, others have chosen to become brazen. Many things are going to change and I fear as though our plans may have to come into effect sooner than later."
His companion nodded, seeming to consider his words then casually looked over the board. "That was not a bad move, Rolnan."
With a smirk, I puffed out my chest, "Thank you Thalos."
Thalos moved his hand over to a piece, it hovered above the figurine in a brief moment of thought. Deciding on the piece, Thalos picked it up but then stopped suddenly.
I gave him a questioning look, "Is everything alright?"
Thalos slowly placed the piece back onto the smooth stone of the game board.
"It would seem that our plans will be going forward regardless of what we want." Thalos rose from his chair, his robes cascaded around him as he did, they were like waves of black.
"What do you mean, and where are you going?"
"We both need to pay someone a visit, come." Thalos motioned for me to stand.
I stood with a goblet in hand, giving him a confused expression as he moved towards me.
Before I could realize what he was planning, the shadows of the room were wrenched from their places and suddenly pulled toward us. My vision was replaced with darkness as the two of us became engulfed in a sphere of pure black.
_
With a start, Dalthos snapped open his eyes. They were met with darkness. He had been laying on his back on what appeared to be dirt.
Slowly he sat upright, looking at his surroundings he saw a bleak landscape. The only feature being a lone campfire that was a few paces away from him. As if responding to his gaze, the fire crackled and popped.
Dalthos looked down at himself to check if he was okay. But why would not be? He felt as though he was forgetting something, his mind felt foggy and disoriented.
"Hi there!" A nearby jovial voice called out.
The sound jolted Dalthos into awareness as he immediately looked about for the source of the noise.
"You truly do know how to make your presence known." Another voice said, sounding cold and devoid of emotion. The sound of the voice reminded Dalthos of the creaking branches of a dead tree or old parchment paper.
Dalthos looked towards the campfire for the two voices that echoed from within the dark, it was not only a feature on the blank expanse but also the only available light. And sitting by the dancing flames were two figures who had not been there previously.
One of them was a man with flowing black hair and a welcoming smile. His garb reminded Dalthos of a street performer, a mixture of gaudy and extravagant. The man had an allure to him that was difficult to understand.
The other individual’s appearance was like a moving shadow. Their robes flowed around him, reminding Dalthos of smoke wafting above liquid darkness. From beneath a hood peered out a void of nothingness.
With a wave of a hand that held a goblet, the performer waved for Dalthos to sit with them. The motion caused some of the bright orange liquid contained within to casually spill over the dried ground.
He made a motion to stand, but before Dalthos could even get to his feet the ground shifted forward in a rapid blur of movement. The movement made his stomach tingle uncomfortably. Within seconds the fire was now before him.
Blinking with surprise, Dalthos decided to continue sitting on the ground.
The hooded figure spoke, “Hello child, how are you feeling?” Though the voice seemed cold, it also sounded ancient and filled with untold wisdom. The words that were spoken also seemed to resonate a warmth, one that almost felt paternal.
Dalthos blinked in response, unsure as to how we should answer the question. Despite feeling utterly lost, he felt a strange calmness about the situation he found himself in.
The man holding the goblet spoke again, “A moment Thalos, I believe introductions are in order.” Turning to Dalthos the man motioned to himself, and with a flourish gave a slight bow. “I am Rolnan, a pleasure to meet you Dalthos.”
They know my name? Dalthos thought to himself. How? Then again, Dalthos found himself questioning the entirety of the circumstances he was in. And for some odd reason both their names sounded familiar, a familiarity that he felt close to remembering. Unable to grasp it in that moment bothered him.
After speaking Rolnan turned to his companion, “My friend, sometimes your lack of finesse in social interaction is truly a marvel. You are tactless!” He exclaimed playfully, motioning to Dalthos before speaking again, “Here he is having just died a horrific death and you-”
“I am what?” Dalthos blurted out, looking at the two figures in astonishment. That was when he noticed that his heart, which should have been beating in panic, lay still and silent. He placed a hand over his breastplate, focusing on his chest for any activity.
None.
Thalos seemed to examine him for several moments before turning to face Rolnan, “Remind me to not bring you along on any further visits to the passing.”
Rolnan’s green eyes glinted with obvious mischief at the comment.
“As he said child, you are someone who has departed the realm of mortals.” Thalos’ voice softened for a moment as he continued, “You are no longer alive and did die quite violently.” Each word was said with a caring quality to it, they were spoken as if from a worried old friend.
“Your death matched how you lived, bloody,” Rolnan said with a slight grimace on his face.
“I apologize for this part of the process. Your memories are a bit scattered.” Thalos gave Dalthos a small nod. “Give yourself a moment, your memories will return.” The dark figure said reassuringly.
Dalthos’ head erupted into a sudden burst of pain. His head flooded with a variety of memories, flashes of an entire life lived. With each passing memory came a burning sensation followed by a creeping sense of despair. Gasping for breath he braced himself as recollections of atrocities committed by his own hands flooded into his mind. It was a deluge of mental anguish.
His death now came to him with startling clarity. The countless blades being thrust into him. Each of them dripping with the hatred their owners held for him. Dalthos recalled the release he felt upon death embracing him and everything faded to black. It had been a release from his suffering.
Except he did recall one thought filled with regret. If I could, I would want to live a life I could truly be proud of. One filled with honor.
Clearing his head as best he could, Dalthos looked to the two individuals who looked at him intently. He said, “Why am I here if I am dead, is this the afterlife?” Then motioned with his head to both of them, “And why are you both here?”
Rolan begun to speak, excitement was painted across his face, “Well, you see-”
Thalos raised a hand to stop Rolan, his fingers appearing like a stark-white bone in the dim firelight.
“Before either of us say anything else to confuse him further, allow me to truthfully introduce myself,” Thalos said, his hooded visage regarding Dalthos.
Glancing over the two of them, a slow sense of recognition began to enter into his mind.
“To some of your mortal kin, I am called The Shroud.” He spread his hands outward and tilted his head, a gesture that appeared to be like an embrace. “To most, in many different languages, I am more commonly known as Death.” Thalos nodded his head to the surrounding area, “And you are within a portion of my realm.”
Slowly raising a hand he pointed behind him, “Normally you would proceed through those doors to finish with your journey.”
As if responding to the statement an odd shimmering effect appeared in the air as a door slowly appeared nearby.
Dalthos’ mind took several moments to process the massive amount of information given to him. It was too much for him to truly understand. He turned to face Rolnan, who was smiling at him in anticipation.
“Then you are Rolnan the Laughing God? Patron of Revelry?” Dalthos said, his mind struggling with the realization of being in the presence of two gods.
The man stood abruptly and raised his hands triumphantly in the air, “In the cosmic flesh!” His smile widened as he continued, “The god of laughs, revelry, and overall good times at your service, good sir.”
“Why did you not tell me you were gods or that I was dead?”
“It would not be as exciting if we told you, now would it?” Said the God of laughter like he was stating the most obvious fact.
A loud exhale escaped from him as he examined the two gods who now sat with him. And out of anyone, it had to be him, a tyrant who was killed by the people who served him. Why would they have a need for disgrace such as me?
“And to what do I owe the pleasure of being in the company of gods?” Dalthos asked, wary of what their response would be.
From his childhood he recalled fables being told to him and other children about the mortals who had dealings with higher powers. Those stories often led to the mortal finding themselves in situations that were beyond complicated.
While he had never been one to show any form of reverence, he still had respect for the divine. On the eve of battle, Dalthos would find himself praying to the God of War, Beltron.
“Before we answer any of your questions, allow me,” Rolnan said to Dalthos, he held out an empty hand which in a few seconds materialized a goblet similar to what he drank from.
Still feeling wary, Dalthos slowly took the cup from the god. A light brown liquid formed within it. It had an intoxicating fragrance that smelled strongly of fermented fruit.
Cautiously he took a sip. The alcohol burned as it went down his throat, followed by the familiar and pleasant tingling that came with it. Dalthos drained the contents of the goblet with a satisfied sigh.
Dalthos motioned with the cup to Rolnan, “Thank you for the drink.”
“It is my pleasure.” The god responded then motioned with his goblet to Dalthos which caused liquids to cascade back into his goblet. Then raised his drink in a toast before taking a deep draft of it.
“You want something right? So, what is it?” Dalthos asked, keeping his voice stoic. He looked to each of the gods.
“Ah!” Rolnan exclaimed, he pointed to Dalthos, “To the point! I like it.”
“We do require your help, even as Gods we are not truly all-powerful. We have our issues, and while I would rather not involve mortals in the dangerous affairs of gods...” Thalos sighed deeply, then continued, “There are things we cannot handle.”
“Saying we have issues is a bit of an understatement.” Rolnan chided in with a giggle.
“Yes,” Thalos said flatly, glancing at his fellow god who simply smiled under Death’s silent gaze. After a deep intake of breath, Thalos raised a hand and pointed to him, “We have a proposition for you Dalthos.”
Dalthos leaned forward and took a swig from his goblet. What did he have to lose? He was already dead. “I will not promise anything to you gods.” He looked at the goblet in his hand, then back to the divines sitting with him, “ But I am listening.”