Nanny Shank came to my rescue. Well kinda. She was still the judge and in theory in control of this trial. She pounded her.. Gavel… that was the word. Well I think those are mostly ceremonial and made of wood. Nanny Shank had a claw hammer. Eh, not important.

“Bailiffs, remove anyone involved in the brawl.” Nanny Shank ordered. When the crowd muttered discontent, she continued, “One more outburst and I will clear the court! I want this done open and publicly. However I am not going to expose anyone else to violence.”

Oddly enough that shut the crowd up. I also noticed that the jurors had slunk away to the corner of the Court between me and the crowd. That was probably for the best. Sunit and Philp struggled to remove the bad actors from the crowd. This was more labor intensive than normal. Part of it was the total volume of people they had to move. Another part of it was that a good number of them were grievously injured. That did lower the risk of dealing with them, but it did mean they needed to literally be carried out of the court.

“Shouldn’t the Dwarf heal everyone?” Someone asked.

“None of you are going to die,” Brunhilda called back.

Nanny Shank nodded, “If she heals you, you won’t learn.”

“My knees!” the guy that shot me yelled as Sunit chucked him out into the snow.

This was less than kind… by my reckoning anyways. I really needed to figure out the standards of this world, and then decide if they were worth holding to.

Angelica frog marched Madigan back to the front of the court.

“Let’s get this done,” Nanny Shank pulled a small piece of paper out of her pocket. “This is the sentencing recommendations. They were provided by the surviving family. Before I read them out do you three have anything to say?”

Waldo was still crying. He wasn’t sobbing but the tears kept pouring down.

Chet watched this for a beat and then said, “I take full responsibility for my and Waldo’s actions. Do what you need to do to me, but please let Waldo go. For what it is worth I am sorry.”

Waldo gazed at Chet for a long time, “Chet-”

“Don’t talk to me,” Chet cut him off.

Waldo flinched away from that, he looked up at Nanny Shank, “I am sorry.”

Nanny Shank looked down at Madigan. Angelica let him go but was ready to… intervene should something happen.

Nanny Shank sighed, “What do you got to say?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Madigan snapped. “The sentence was made before the trial began. Since you are going to kill me, drop the damn charade.”

A lot of muttering was going around in the crowd again. I was starting to get a sense for the mutterings of the crowd. This was not exactly good muttering. A lot of people seemed to worry that Madigan had a point. That said a lot of them hated the guy.

“Alright,” Nanny Shank unfolded the paper, “The sentencing guidelines are as follows.” She read a moment, “Any of the accused found guilty that apologize or show some signs of remorse should be turned over to the Mandir. Let their people handle any punishment. Please ask that those in charge consider mercy in any decisions.”

This set the crowd off again. Apparently it was surprising to a lot of people. I wasn’t exactly shocked. I am not going to pretend like I knew Ticky, but I spent enough time to get a read on him. He was sad. Who could blame him? The loss of loved ones is a catastrophic pain. I could try and put it into words, but you either know or you don’t. For some reason, a lot of people believe survivors of crime or suffering want retribution for their pain. The truth is the overwhelming majority just want the pain to stop. They wish to be made whole. Ticky may be young, but he was wise enough to seek closure.

Good for him.

Nanny Shank her gavel/hammer. “Quiet! Chet Adams, and Waldo Seevers you will be handed over to Sunit Patel’s custody after the trial is adjourned.” She picked the note back up, “Any who do not show remorse. Make them come with us to the tower and fight the demons. If they survive they are free to go.”

Aw shit. God dammit, Ticky. That is a hell of an ask.

“I am not going to that tower,” Madigan declared.

“It would be best if you went along with us,” Grimset said. “The path is not yet set, we may not actually go to the tower. You would likely be released in that case.”

Madigan kicked Grimset. The goblin went flying and crashed to the floor hard. Madigan clearly wasn’t done, but he didn’t get any more opportunities. Angelica hit Madigan with a vicious palm strike to the throat. Next, she then knocked his block off with a right hook to the back of his head. Not given him a moment’s reprieve, Angelica then kicked Madigan’s legs out from under him. He went down hard and the iron floor was not forgiving.

“How about this Madigan, I offer you a pact. You agree to come with us to the Tower and follow the orders of the chain of command. I will give you the stat boost and health regen. Like they said once we are done with the tower. You are free to go,” I kneeled down so I wasn’t completely towering over him.

I offered a hand.

Madigan slapped it away. He coughed, unable to talk. Eventually he was able to get up to his knees. He glared up at me, “You… won’t control me.”

“I can’t have you running free,” I admitted. “You literally had someone killed.”

Madigan had to struggle to breathe. “Never.”

That was inconvenient. “Be reasonable. Will you at least promise to not cause trouble?”

“I will find…” Madigan had to take a labored breath between words, “every way to hurt you.”

“Why are you like this?” it made no sense. I kept giving him every opportunity.

Madigan spat bloody phlegm on me, “you’re a monster.”

“I am trying to help you,” I started.

“You’re not trying to help, you just want to control,” He rasped.

Willpower Check …Failed.

Now those words probably don’t sound that impressive to you, but to me they were a white hot knife to the nerves. I-the titan-no- I loved Marnie. She completed me. She gave me a daughter. I planned to spend the entirety of my life with her.

That isn’t to say we never fought though. Most of them were pretty inconsequential. Apparently I loaded the dishwasher wrong. One fight though was… life shattering. After the cancer diagnosis Marnie fought. It was hell, but she won. Then six years later. It was back.

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

Marnie wanted to talk about other options.

I wouldn’t listen.

Of course she needed to keep fighting. We had a daughter. I loved her. She couldn’t leave. I just kept pushing her. Needling, at times even berating. All the while claiming that I was helping.

Eventually she snapped and said those words.

After that we never were as close as we were before the fight. Things got worse.

I could still see the blood pouring from the cut in her wrist. She was so cold.

It was my fault.

All of that crashed through my mind in an instant.

I wasn’t thinking. I manifested a layer of ablative shell and backhanded Madigan.

Attack Successful. Travis Madigan takes 27 points of damage.

The impact lifted him off his knees. I seized the front of his shirt and surged forward.Then I slammed him into the wall. The iron groaned and bent.

Attack Successful. Travis Madigan takes 41 points of damage.

“Take the fucking pact!” I roared.

Madigan laughed. Blood bubbled out the corner of his mouth. “You’ll have to kill me.”

I could sense people moving to stop me.

Expend Free action? Yes/No

Note: you must select the total number of seconds spent before activating.

I tossed my entire pool into it.

Part of me realized I had literally lectured Rachel about this exact thing. Madigan’s words hadn’t hurt me. I felt angry because of what he said. Not even his words, but because they lined up with something Marnie had said to me- the Titan- long ago.

Everything froze with the thrum.

Attack Successful. Travis Madigan takes 36 points of damage.

I slammed my fist into Madigan again. His skin split, teeth were knocked loose, and blood pooled. None of that wiped the smug smirk off his face.

Knowing that this outburst was basically my own doing, and being able to stop seemed to be too different things. Two thoughts existed simultaneously in my mind. The first was I should stop. The Second was something sharp would take the grin off his face.

Mother of Snow Lions Corpse -3 (Demigod Scale)

This is the body of a dungeon final boss. Three McGuffins have been removed from the body. Any further attempts to remove a McGuffin from the body will have a 75% chance of destroying the body.

Due to removal of McGuffins this body cannot be broken down.

Attempt to collect McGuffin? Yes/No

The yes button got hammered.

I don’t think I pushed it. Don’t get me wrong. I was angry. I had lashed out at Madigan. If this had just been mindless pummeling, I would have to admit it was my doing. This though, was calculated. Even as I moved, my mind considered using more complex free actions.

Craft Check Successful

Mother of SNow Lion Bones consumed

Ablative Ice Knife consumed

2000 mana consumed

You have Crafted Frigidus Mortis

Frigidus Mortis

One mistake is all it takes. You can do everything right, but one mistake and it all turns to shit. It doesn’t matter how hard you work or what you give, it will never be enough. The dumb whore who baby trapped you with that useless thing everyone calls your son will just keep taking.

They never stop. I am hungry. Its cold. I need new shoes. If you don’t work overtime we can’t make rent. No, I am not in the mood. Dad, look at my drawing. Stop buying cigarettes! I hate you! You’re hurting me!

And the crying. The constant fucking crying! Neither of them would shut the fuck up!

You had dreams. You wanted to do something with your life. You barely heard the stupid bitch as she said she was leaving. She planned to dump the whiny crotch goblin with you. The selfish cow!

As you grip this knife, you know what needs to be done.

This Divine Scale knife inflicts 30 + Power Attribute damage per hit. A successful hit inflict the Death Marked condition. A successful hit allow a free Eitrkaldr action

Death Marked.

This condition heralds the end of most bearers lives. Any being below Divine Scale cannot heal while this condition is present.

Note: Condition lasts for a number of hours equal to the number of steps difference in scale between the attacker and recipient of damage, minimum 1

Eitrkaldr

The cold that poisons. On a successful use of this skill the user may spend a number a mana points. For each point of mana spent inflict [damage dealt] Cold damage onto the target.

Note: Note beings that are immune to cold damage will not be harmed unless damage is higher scale.

That description…

I -The Titan- often wondered about the thoughts going through the mind of my biological father that night. That summary was basically word for word what we came up with. I could see the knife. Despite being made of ice and bone it was a plain steel boning knife, with a black handle. The slightly curved blade was about as wide as my thumb at its base and quickly narrowed to a relentless point.

The thing radiated malevolent cold. Even as I held it, icy pinpricks bit into the palm of my hand.

I felt my arm draw back.

This wasn’t me.

I realized the point of the willpower skill and my fingers tightened around the handle of the knife. This Narrative thrived on drama and violence. A skill that allowed people to brute force control their emotions and their actions seemed counterintuitive at first. Now though it all made sense. Willpower rolls were the mental equivalent to my ability to Ignore conditions. Nothing went away. It just built up, with the difficulty of the roll going ever higher. Like a spring tightening. More and more energy building up. Right until it snapped.

The purpose of Willpower checks was to create the opportunity to fail Willpower checks.

I felt the gentle but implacable touch of Celeste’s fingers on my arm. She held back the strike. Strong as I was, she was stronger. Maybe I could have broken free, but I did not want that. This was the failed Willpower check, not me.

I could see Madigan's battered but still smiling face. I could see the flickered light of the lamps-locked in a static moment- reflect off the wall. I could see Philip reaching out to me out of the corner of my eye. I don’t know if he meant to help or stop me. Either way he was frozen in the moment. I saw my reflection in the window. Semi transparent, a hulking umbral brute wrapped in stars and flanked by an Angel. I could see the look on Celestes face as well. She was determined to stop me, but in her features there was no anger, disappointment, or event judgement. Ever aspect of her was simply full of love. Not romantic love, but universal love. The uplifting and humbling love that comes from acceptance and kindness in all things.

May as well speed run through the rest of this. I felt Celeste hand holding my arm. I felt the cold of the knife. I felt the soft fur of the lining of my armor. I felt the solid foundation of the floor. I could hear the hammering of my heart. I could hear the thrum of stopped time.

I heard Celeste say, “This isn’t you, Doug.”

As I lowered the knife I could smell the acrid stink of the smoke from the lamps, and the pungent reek of people pressed together.

Tasting the enamel from my teeth, I turned to face Celeste, “I… I failed a Willpower roll.” I am more than any of my emotions, but in that moment…

Before she could speak a prompt flashed.

The eyes of a god are upon you!

Tread carefully

Somehow I knew to look at the Knife and in the mirror-like surface of the blade I say the impassive eyes of a woman gazing back at me.

I stepped back. Celeste stepped forward.

The impassive eyes reflected in the blade stayed where they were. The knife moved, but she kept watching impassively. I realized the woman, goddess, had materialized. She was thin, her face almost skull-like, her flowing black hair was adorned with flowers. Her slender form was wrapped in a red cloak. The woman looked at her painted white hands holding the scythe. “This isn’t quite right.” she spoke with a dry and dusty voice.

Suddenly she was wearing all black. A wide brimmed tall black cap sat on her head. A black jacket covered her torso and hung down over her black pants. Her feet were clad in black boots. Her face was still impossibly white but the skull-like quality changed. A pipe stuck out the corner of her mouth and a large iron hammer rested in her hand. “Hmmm, still no.” Her voice now lost the grit and now had a stern foundation to it.

Again her form simply changed. She was now a young woman. Her black hair was cut in an erratic explosion of back hair that somehow still looked deliberate and styled. She now wore a sleeveless black t-shirt bearing the name ‘Otep’. Her artistically tattered black jeans showed off a lot of pale skin. The makeup on her face included that egyptian curl under her left eye. “This feels right,” she said, her voice perky and pleasant.

“Who are you?” I asked

She smiled, “Call me Debbie. I am the Goddess of death.”