M

Bastet was my mother's name. She was a goddess of Gypte, and ruler of the Underlands. Gypte was a northern country on the continent of Carifa, my homeland. Heart was the name of my world in which all things dwelled. It was a beautiful and terrifying place where magic and creatures of all kinds existed. During my vagrant travels I had already slain half a dozen beasts using strength, wit, a steel cutlass, and my trusty flintlock pistol. Although both weapons had gotten me out of a number of unfavorable situations, a weapon far superior was high on my list of things to acquire. It just so happened that that very weapon belonged to my mother.

The golden Blade of Bastet was forged by my mother, and subsequently stored safely away in the Underlands where it was guarded by two very intimidating jackal-headed demons. The blade was said to be the only weapon capable of neutralizing any creature conjured by Bastet; a fail-safe for disobedience. As my mother was very possessive of her domain, gaining passage into the Underlands while still alive was impossible even for me. While it was true that we both shared a certain desire for things that did not belong to us, my mother yearned more for domination and to be worshipped. I simply wanted to plunder riches like any respectable thief. Mind you, I was quite a dashing thief, too.

My dark leathery attire certainly flaunted my disreputable profession, and it also attracted the eyes of many stunning ladies. Of course it was not my clothing alone that drew women near, mind you. I kept myself quite fit, as one does for stealth and the occasional skirmish. My chin-length black dreadlocks were as thick as the coat of an arctic musk ox, and my beguiling brows were thicker yet. My eyes were as dark as the evening's starless sky, and my rough skin was nearly as dark. While I did not possess any divine powers, I was instead blessed with a significant amount of charm; some might even go so far as to say arrogance.

During my travels, I had befriended a motley crew of comrades. The first was a young scholar by the name of Eli Goodfellow. He had studied linguistics, and dabbled in other studies regarding magic and creatures. Eli spent a great deal of time in libraries learning as much as he could about the world of Heart. He was by no means a fit individual capable of wielding weapons into battle, but that didn't stop me from taking him on my ventures. Although very much an intellectual, Eli was still highly entertaining with his candidness and quip.

The second to join us was a burly copper-haired bladesmith by the name of Rory Grant. He hailed from Toscland, and at times his Toscish accent was difficult for my ears to understand. Occasionally when Grant spoke, I merely pretended to comprehend his words with a simple nod or some kind of verbal response that undoubtedly confused everyone. Nevertheless, Grant was an excellent bladesmith and warrior, and I always trusted my life in his extremely calloused hands.

Finally, a ravishing siren chose to join our adventurous crew. She had saved Eli from drowning when he accidentally tumbled off a ship and into the ocean during a violent storm. Her name was Coral Reef. She had a bountiful bosom, lavish hips, and a face gifted by the heavens. Sadly, the only thing Coral did not possess was the sea nymph's alluring singing voice. Being the only siren in the sea who could not sing, Coral was an outcast among her kindred. And so using a bit of sea magic, she relinquished her tail for a pair of legs and chose to travel Heart with a demigod, a scholar, and a bladesmith. Whether she made the correct decision was still open to dispute, I imagined.

"Whit's the matter, laddie? Feart I'm gaunnae knock ye on yer bahookie?" teased Grant, standing opposite Eli and beckoning the scholar to attack him. Rory Grant had a fondness for tartan kilts and all other things immensely Toscish. He was a behemoth of man at an intimidating height of over 200 centimeters. A robust physique made him even more threatening in appearance. He had a thick head of copper curls that only just grazed his shoulder tops, and a beard equally as thick. His face was scarred, and his left eye was clouded over by cataract. Grant's right eye, on the other hand, shone a sprightly sapphire blue. Although Grant had been wearied by a number of skirmishes during his prime, he was still respectably tough even on the cusp of his middle-aged years.

"This is absurd," Eli sighed, lightly grasping onto a simple wooden staff. "It's not even physically possible for someone like me to best someone like you in a fight. I'm a man of letters, not a man-at-arms." Eli Goodfellow was a man in his mid twenties of average height and weight, but his intellect was much above the norm. He fancied khaki slacks, a taupe dress shirt, and a snug coffee colored button-down vest. His ash brown hair was always styled in a gentlemanly fashion. Eli's eyes were an intriguing soft bluish-gray, like the sky on a stormy day.

Eli dropped the staff down onto the main deck of the Shifty Sails: a rickety old ketch once owned by a perpetually intoxicated fisherman before he lost it to me in a card game. The ship had been docked and neglected for nearly two years. Many repairs had to be made, including the patching up of a curious number of reckless bullet holes. General filth had been purged, as well as other unmentionable things.

"No one's expecting you to win every battle, kid," I said, casually leaning against the mainmast with a crisp Ambrosia apple in my hand. After taking a bite of the succulent fruit, I added, "But a little training will prove helpful when you find yourself alone in an unfavorable situation."

His voice raised to a tone of disbelief, Eli said, "You're the reason why we're always in unfavorable situations!" Barely taking a breath, he continued with, "Just last week I almost got eaten by a manticore. A god. Bloody damn. Manitcore. And it was entirely your fault."

"You shouldn't swear like that, it offends me and my kindred," I said with feigned displeasure, my luscious Ambrosia popping as I took another juicy bite.

Following a thunderous belch, Grant declared, "Dinnae go embellishin' yerself, lad. We all ken yer're only half god; a rubbish one at thon." I could feel the wobbling of the Shifty Sails when Grant tromped his enormousness across the deck to lean against the railings while he admired the surrounding crystal waters. "So hae we a plan to defeat the Dark Wood Hag? Or just the customary dinnae get dead approach?" he yelled over his shoulder, reminding us of our journey to an island in the northern Tanlatic Ocean.

"Do you boys know any other method?" Coral responded with a smile, standing at the helm steering the Shifty Sails. Coral Reef was undoubtedly the most captivating siren I'd ever laid eyes on. She had pale skin with a vaguely iridescent shine to it, light blond hair that shimmered like silver, and her eyes twinkled like the blue-green ocean waters. She wore a billowy sleeved blouse with a drooping v-neck that exposed her cleavage. Tightly fastened below Coral's bosom was a decorative pale blue silk corset with golden trim. A pair of snug-fitting tan leather leggings were worn around her lower half and tucked away into a pair of sleek leather knee-high boots. Over the entire ensemble she wore an ash gray frock coat stained with grime.

The Dark Wood Hag was said to be an unsightly phantom that haunted the woodlands on the outskirts of a village called Driscoll. More specifically, the supernatural being was a banshee: a wailing spirit that warned the living of impending doom. Most banshees were harmless, but the Dark Wood Hag was a spiteful shrew. She had corrupted Driscoll and the surrounding woodlands with everlasting fog, and an unusual overabundance of toads. At night, her shrill cries could be heard echoing out from the woodlands. A handsome reward was offered to anyone brave enough to venture into the Dark Wood and vanquish the evil spirit. And so my crew and I intended to do just that. While we were not the most ideal questers in the world, I couldn't imagine myself traveling alongside anyone else. But, then again, one never knows what the future may hold.

A

Once we reached the bustling streets of Fearghaltown, it was a decent trek to the more remote village of Driscoll. My crew and I could have rented living mounts to take us the rest of the way, but we were all in much need of stretching our legs after being cooped up on the Shifty Sails for so long. Not to mention the fact no animal would even go near Driscoll, due to the presence of the Dark Wood Hag. Even traveling at a quick pace, we wouldn’t arrive until nightfall; so our first stop would have to be the inn for refreshments and rest. And a tall tankard of grog wouldn't hurt. Maybe two.

Following an uneventful hike from Fearghaltown, we could all feel the thickening in the air as we approached the cursed village of Driscoll. The fog became so heavy that it was nearly impossible to see which direction we were traveling. Eventually the village came into view as we wandered deeper into the wretched mist. A rusty old sign that read, "Harbinger's Hostelry" soon caught my eye. I directed everyone inside the tavern, and it wasn't long before we were all enjoying hearty meals alongside much welcomed spirits and upbeat music.

“Dinnae look noo, but I believe thon poor bastard’s just burped up a toad,” informed Grant, who was seated opposite me at one of the tavern’s rough old wooden tables. I did exactly as I was instructed not to do, and turned in my chair to gaze upon the fascinating sight. "Are ye an eejit, lad? Thon man could be workin' for the hag for all we ken."

Returning my attention to Grant with quite the doltish grin upon my face, I replied, "You mean he could be one of her toadies?" Before my ridiculous quip could receive a comeback, Coral had returned from the ladies room with a highly intoxicated barnacle of a man by her side. The drunkard seemed as if he had something very important to say.

"A lady---particularly one as gorgeous as yerself---should be wearin' a dress, not trousers like some bloke," urged the sot. After expelling a hiccup, the man continued on with his blather. While a woman in pants was a rare sight indeed, I had no quarrel with one's chosen apparel. Just when everyone thought the inebriated man had embarrassed himself enough, he spat one final insult. "Not even the homeliest of whores would be caught dead in such filth."

Standing beside her chair, her hands clenched tightly over the spindled backrest, Coral calmly replied to the drunkard, "Long have I disregarded the opinions of my own flesh and blood. What makes you think I'm going to give any degree of a shit about yours?"

"Well how fittin' that yer mouth should match yer clothin'," was the only response the man could muster before staggering away to drink himself into oblivion.

Watching Coral slump down into her chair, in a reassuring voice I said to her, "Don't let some drunken tosser get to you, love. He's just jealous because you're far more dashing in those clothes than he could ever hope to be." I dropped a few dolkas---a common currency used on Heart---on the table in front of her, insisting, "Now go get yourself a tankard of rum and enjoy it as if it were your very last, lest the Dark Wood Hag should turn us all into toads come the morn."

Not surprisingly, a number of rooms were available to rent at Harbinger's Hostelry, as the presence of the vile banshee tended to keep visitors away from Driscoll. But to save a few dolkas, I roomed with Grant, while Eli and Coral shared a room. The inn room had bit of a grungy feel to it, but it was one that I could easily afford. A half wall room divider displaying a row of extraordinary spindles separated the beds from the small dining area. Vintage wallpaper decorated the walls with a luxuriant pattern that appeared to move if one stared at it too long. The two double beds were comfortable and decently proportioned, I thought. Grant, who was the size of a woodland caribou, disagreed.

"Fuckin' bed's scarcely large enough for me cock," Grant swore, trying to situate himself upon the drooping mattress. There was an awkwardly quiet moment while Grant lay completely still and spoke not a word. And then, in a strangely calm tone, he said, "Think I've smashed somethin' betwixt the sheets. It's all squishy." Having no desire to pursue the matter, I pretended to be asleep. "Wake up, lad!" commanded Grant, tossing a pillow at my head. "I'm feart I'll mash it further, so yer're gaunnae hae to lift me covers and check for yerself. Could be one'a them bed buggles."

Sighing, I replied, "A bedbug isn't large enough to make a squish, Grant." Pushing up the sheets to my own bed while rolling to my other side, I unconcernedly suggested, "Could be a rat."

The sound of human girth collided with the floor, followed by Grant hollering, "I hate rats!" After climbing his way off the floorboards, Grant pulled his bed sheets off the mattress with such force that it hurled the unidentified squish directly into the wall spindles. "The fucker's loose," he said in a solemn voice. "Fetch the lantern, lad. Let us hae a keek at the foul beast."

"Looks like another toad," I said with a yawn, holding the lantern up to the gooey mess splattered all over the spindles. "They'll probably clear up after we hunt that banshee tomorrow." Relinquishing the lantern over to Grant, I returned to my bed and suggested, "Now try to get some sleep."

Anger in his tone, Grant said, "Oh thon's easy for ye to say, ass-bahookie! Ye're not the one with toad entrails all over yer goddamn bed!"

W

From an opened window I heard the sounds of chirping birds and early morning shoppers visiting street vendors who were selling their wares. The husky voice of a baker announced his freshly baked bread, while a farmer spoke of his squash and potatoes. Amidst the bustle I could vaguely hear the sound of someone strumming a tune on their lute. Despite the spine-tingling presence of the Dark Wood Hag and her cursed looming fog, villagers still managed to carry on with their daily lives. Overall, the morning was a pleasant one, until a thunderous rumble from Grant's backside brought an end to the peacefulness. Quickly I slipped into my boots, pulled on my scabbard and holster, and departed from the room before succumbing to the malodor.

Returning to the tavern, I smiled when I spotted Eli and Coral both partaking in the breakfast omelet with a side of bacon. I rotated a chair nigh 360 degrees and sat down on the wooden seat as if mounting a horse, lazily draping one forearm over the spindled backrest. With the other hand I swiped some of Eli's bacon and shoveled it into my mouth, smiling when he only responded with a sigh.

"So did you two sleep well last night?" I asked with a sportive grin and a wink. A breathy chuckle escaped my lips while I observed Coral slide her gaze upon me in an annoyed fashion. Eli, who possessed such great intellect, was entirely clueless to my allusion. "Did you get any sleep at all?" I carried on, still amused by Eli's naivety. While Coral and Eli refused to acknowledge the tension between them, it shone like a beacon in the night to everyone around them. Changing the subject, I asked Eli, "So what do you know about this banshee; specifically, how do we kill it?"

Amused by my ignorance, Eli responded, "A banshee is a spirit, hence it is already dead. The more spiteful ghosts tend to be cases of murdered women, with the killer never confronting justice for the crime. So my guess would be: find the murderer, and Driscoll will be freed from the banshee's cold embrace. I imagine there is some form of legal archive where each unsolved criminal case has been recorded. All we need is authorization to view the records." Noticing my eyes had glazed over the moment he had taken in a breath to speak, Eli said with a sigh, "Or we could just trek into the woods with guns blazing, and hope for the best."

The fog had thickened even more as we approached the entrance to the Dark Wood. Despite it being midday, inside the woodlands it felt as cold and lonely as midnight. Toads swelling up and expelling their high pitched bubbly calls echoed constantly throughout the Dark Wood. Many of the amphibians skipped across our path, making it extremely difficult to avoid stepping on them. Occasionally I heard the unsettling crunch of a toad beneath Grant's heavy boots as he unconcernedly trudged forward.

It was a good forty-five minutes later when we came upon a clearing, where stood an old cabin that looked as if it had been neglected for a decade or more. A cylindrical structure made of cemented rock indicated that a well had once stood a few meters from the cabin. Almost every surface of the manmade structures had been claimed by moss and vines. The entire clearing seemed overshadowed by an overwhelming sadness that even words could not describe.

Through the mist I noticed the sky had begun to change. Clouds gathered overhead, sending a drizzle down upon the land. A few seconds passed, and the light rain had suddenly become a downpour. Lightning slithered across the sky like luminous tree roots, and thunder clapped like cannon fire. My crew and I quickly took refuge in the abandoned cabin, but the rain still found its way to us through the deteriorated thatched roof. Although she was in a panic to conceal it, Coral's wet skin shone with an even brighter iridescence, and tiny scales all over her body that I had never before noticed, had suddenly become visible. The rain was emphasizing her oceanic heritage.

"Dae ye hear thon?" inquired Grant, referring to a scratching noise that I also heard.

Entirely unfazed, Eli responded, "The sound of impending doom? Yes, yes I do hear that. It's something I often hear each time you imbeciles insist on bringing me along on your witless ventures that will one day result in my most agonizing death." Sighing, Eli concluded, "I just wanted to explore the world, not hunt monsters for money."

"Would ye shut yer geggie?!" Grant snapped. Frantically darting his eyes all over the room, he added, "Thon crone could be aboot, spyin' on us." Suddenly a rat came scurrying out of nowhere, causing Grant to jump and grasp the back of his kilt. "I believe I've just shit me breeches, lads."

"You're not wearing any breeches, Grant," I pointed out to him, a feeling of relief coming over me as I realized the rodent had been causing the scratching noises.

In a strained voice of shame, Grant responded, "I ken, and thon makes it even worse." Grant's expression transformed into utter terror as his gaze locked onto the ghostly figure that had manifested behind me. "Laaad..." he warned in an unsteady whisper.

A powerful force plunged through my back and out of my chest, which was followed by the bloodcurdling scream howling out of Grant's widely opened mouth. When I looked down, that's when I saw the apparition of a claw-like hand protruding out of my left breast, and I had a strong feeling that that simply was not normal. I charged forward, hoping that simple action would free me from the evil spirit’s hold. Instinctively I unsheathed my cutlass while spinning back around to face the banshee. The phantom had vanished, leaving behind the chilling echoes of her laughter.

"Whit the fuck?" Grant said, a look of horror fixed upon his face. "Did she just steal yer heart, lad?"

With arms folded very smugly so, Coral sarcastically said, "Oh don't they always?"

"Only one woman has ever stolen my heart, love," I replied with a roguish grin. It was obvious to everyone that I was referring to Coral herself, but my flirtatiousness was merely a guise to make Eli jealous and finally realize his own feelings for Coral went far deeper than mine ever could. Returning to more pressing matters, I said, "It would seem the banshee's trick was merely a scare tactic to send us off our guard. I'd surmise that she isn't as powerful as she wants us to believe she is.” Lightly tapping a small pouch tied around my belt, I explained, “I’ve brought some pepper seasoning, as I’ve heard that condiments work well at deterring evil spirits.”

With eyes closed and three fingers on his temple, Eli sighed, “That’s not even correct. Have you done any research on these creatures that you’re so determined to hunt? Salt is what you are referring to. Specifically, sea salt works best. Did you happen to bring any of that with you?”

“I did not,” I regretfully answered. “So do you have any bright ideas for us, mastermind?”

The blood vessels inside Eli’s eyeballs nearly exploded as he replied, “Do I have any bright ideas?! I seem to recall my idea being disregarded back at the hotel where it was first introduced. Someone was keener on their typical unprepared approach that results in everyone else being eaten by a goddamn manticore!”

In an annoyingly nonchalant fashion, I confirmed, “So that means you do have a plan?”

I

An hour had already crawled by, and Eli was still deep amidst his research. He was hunched over a splintery wooden table with over a dozen scrolls splayed out in front of him. While Eli thumbed through one document, Coral sat opposite him at the table poring over a scroll of her own. Grant was at another table with an unraveled scroll that he had already fallen asleep on top of, and I sat opposite him with my crossed legs braced against the table's edge, skimming through a document of my own. I paused long enough to take a sloppy bite from a pastrami sandwich I had purchased from a restaurant called Nimble Noms. Bits of melted cheese oozed out from between the bread slices and left splotches on the parchment I was holding.

"I think I may have something," Coral's calm and gentle voice ended the hour-long silence. We all listened very intently to her explanation, everyone except for the snoring Grant, of course. "According to this document, a woman named Muriel Cassidy had gone missing seven years ago. Little was known about Muriel, except that she was a loner and avid mushroom hunter." Coral paused and alternated a glance between Eli and me. "A defenseless woman who spends a lot of her time alone in the woods sounds like easy prey to me. I'll bet the killer even dumped her body down that old well." Eli was preparing to state his objection when Coral---somehow already knowing what he was going to say---was quick to add, "If we can bring Muriel's body up from the well, perhaps a medical examiner can find evidence that will lead us to her killer."

It took some convincing to gather a team of investigators to go into the Dark Wood and inspect the old well at the clearing. Despite being much anticipated by everyone, the vile banshee never did make an appearance. It was almost as if she quietly sat back, not wanting to interfere with the work being done on the well, which made me believe that Coral's theory may have been true. Perhaps Muriel Cassidy's remains were indeed down that well, waiting to be discovered. And after seven long years with nothing more than a piece of parchment documenting the mere fact she had disappeared, Muriel's spirit had grown bitter and transfigured into a hideous banshee.

Human remains were recovered from the Dark Wood well. The body was female, and roughly the same age and height as Muriel Cassidy. But after seven years submerged in the bottom of that well, it would prove a challenging task to find any evidence that would direct us to the killer. Unfortunately Driscoll was a very small village with one underpaid medical examiner who only had access to primitive equipment, compared to those in larger towns and cities. Those odds made it even more challenging to discover who had murdered Muriel seven years ago. So the alternative option would be for me to return to the Dark Wood and make some kind of contact with Muriel's angry spirit, as she and I had already developed something of a bond.

"Muriel Cassidy?" I said after entering the clearing. The sun had already vanished from the sky, and so it was due time for the banshee's nightly shrill cries. Only the bubbly calls from toads could be heard resonating throughout the woodlands. Logically knowing that my cutlass would have no effect on an incorporeal being, it still brought me comfort to keep a steady hold on the hilt sheathed around my waist. My hold tightened as I heard a nearby shriek. In a deeply sincere tone, I said, "I'm not here to hurt you, love. No one will hurt you ever again." Frantically I observed my foggy surroundings, keeping a wary eye on anything that looked suspicious. "I know that your life was stolen from you seven years ago, and it isn't fair. I want to help you find justice, so you can finally be at peace." My words were met only by silence, but I could sense the banshee's presence.

The evil spirit manifested in front of me, her body floating gracefully above the ground as if submerged in water. Her long black hair glided steadily from side-to-side in sync with the folds of her threadbare white gown. The banshee had a pallid complexion with a pair of solid black eyes that gleamed like smooth pearls. Her lips were as red as blood. Although transfixed by the haunting sight before me, I also felt bewitched, like unsuspecting prey drawn to the anglerfish's esca.

"You cannot help me. No one can," the phantom replied in an eerie voice, although her blood red lips never moved. It was as if she spoke to me telepathically; her words like scattered whispers inside a cathedral. I had to really focus in order to piece together what she had said. Eventually, her bone-chilling wail was the only sound reverberating inside my mind just before she disappeared like fallen raindrops evaporating on a hot summer's day.

Still sensing the banshee's presence, with a cocky grin I replied, "If I truly believed that, I wouldn't be standing here right now. Just tell me the name of the man who did this to you, and I give you my word that my friends and I will bring him to justice."

The banshee returned, saying to me, "The man is just as bodiless as I am now." With a lifeless look inside her pearl black eyes, the spirit added, "It would seem he has met his justice already. And yet I remain trapped here, neither alive nor dead." She quietly observed me as my expression fell sullen. For just a moment the banshee's appearance looked as if it had attempted to change into something benevolent, but was stifled quickly as it returned to its original horrifying form. "You cannot save me. No one can," she said, vanishing once again.

"No one is beyond saving," I said, looking up into the night sky to see the cold gray clouds gathering overhead. I smiled when the spirit returned. "Seven years is a long time. It's a long time of feeling forgotten, and questioning whether your existence mattered at all." Looking back up into the storming sky, I said, "Darkness looms over each and every one of us. We can give in to it, and allow it to transform us into the grotesque shadow of our former self. Or we can remember who we truly are, and fight against that darkness." Again I noticed a flicker of benevolence in the banshee, but once more it was snuffed out. "I came here expecting to face the vile Dark Wood Hag. But all I see is Muriel Cassidy: a beautiful young woman who, for reasons I will never understand, enjoys the very tedious task of hunting mushrooms. And I'll bet she even has a smile warmer than the sun."

A smile sneaked across Muriel's once blood red lips, now fading into a gentle shade of rose. In awe I watched her straggly black hair transform into thick auburn curls. Her pearl black eyes soon gleamed like blue topaz. Muriel's cool ashen skin became the color of soft peach. Her tattered white gown transformed into an enchanting forest green with a subtle golden pattern. Muriel's unusual floating effect vanished, leaving her standing upon the ground as if she were just as corporeal as me. The once endless fog finally dispersed from the woodlands, and the overabundant toads seemed to have quieted as well. Even the stormy clouds retreated to reveal a beautiful moonlit sky.

"Thank you," said Muriel in a voice no longer the eldritch echoes it once was. She spoke to me through her soft rosy lips now, and not her mind. "Thank you for seeing me when no one else did." An awkward look befell her captivating features as she timidly said, "I'm sorry for driving my fist through your chest earlier."

With one hand resting on the hilt of my cutlass, and the other hand in a careless wave, I replied, "Not to worry. It happens all the time." I smiled at the innocent giggle Muriel replied with.

Together we watched as a charming wooden door appeared in the trunk of a large old tree. A bright light could be seen through the door's tiny round window. A number of oyster mushrooms magically began to sprout from the tree's bark. Muriel and I looked at one another, both of us knowing the door was meant for her. I could tell that she was simultaneously excited and terrified.

"That is definitely a new one," I said, commenting on the appearance of the magical door. Noticing the light was beginning to fade from the window, I insisted, "Better get a move on, love. I don't think that door is going to hang around for long." Just as Muriel approached the door, it dawned on me to ask her something very important. "I get the whole ghostly fog thing, but what was with all the toads?" My response was met with Muriel's warm smile before she disappeared through the door, the oysters trickling away with her. Eventually there was no sign left that the door had ever appeared in the tree. "Well son of a bitch. I'll never know why there were so many toads now."

I

Muriel Cassidy's gravestone was highly adorned with the carvings of mushrooms and tree leaves. It was undoubtedly the most whimsical stone in the entire graveyard. One simply could not step foot in the Driscoll cemetery and not see Muriel Cassidy's headstone, I made certain of that. She would never be invisible again.

"Well lads," started Grant with an exhausted sigh and a stretch. "It's been a long few weeks, and so I think it's time we collect our handsome reward and skedaddle."

My arms folded, and with a nod to Muriel's headstone, I replied, "You're looking at it." I watched as Grant passed me a bemused look. "I spent our reward dolkas on a proper gravestone for Muriel," I clarified. While Grant's face turned crimson with fury, I nipped his vulgarity laden outburst in the bud by saying, "Moira would have approved of the gesture, don't you think?"

"Thon's low, lad," said Grant in a calm voice; his once strengthening rage seeming to deflate.

Moira Grant was an extraordinary woman, and certainly better than what Grant deserved. Despite Moira having to stand on top of a small pillar of books just to be eyelevel with Grant, she could still terrify him witless. She also had the biggest and warmest heart, and she always knew exactly what to say in order to cheer up a dreary soul. Moira had a charming way of making a stranger feel like they'd known her for decades. Some even said her soothing singing voice could rival that of the sirens. Well, most sirens, anyway. Sadly, Moira's beautiful soul was taken during the birthing of hers and Grant's firstborn. Aidan, their son, died two years later from an unrelated illness. Although outwardly a ludicrous character, Grant's heartbreak nibbled at him from the inside. Sometimes I caught glimpses of despair trying to snuff out the light inside his sprightly sapphire eye. I worried that Grant was all too willing to face danger, hoping it would lead to his mortal end so he could finally be reunited with Moira and Aidan in the afterlife.

Our purpose on the island of Reiland had come to an end, and it was time to stock up on provisions and return to the Shifty Sails. We were headed northeast now, to the country of Ornway. Word had spread about a villainous troll who dwelled amidst the steep cliffs along the fjord of Asgeir. When he wasn't busy gobbling down goats or other creatures he happened upon, the troll was occasionally spotted near villages, erecting signs with incendiary words carved into the wood. He was quite the nuisance, and no one would object to him being smashed by a large boulder. And so my crew and I were headed to Ornway to deal with the pesky troll, and claim the reward.

We hadn't been sailing long when an ominous galleon came into view. My stomach knotted when I recognized the wavering nautical flag to be that of the Paragon: a notorious pirate ship captained by a former noblewoman known only as the Widow Black. There were so many tales spun about the widow that it was impossible to distinguish fact from fiction. One story said she met a nobleman by the name of Edgar Black, and the two fell madly in love and lived happily ever after. Well, until Edgar wound up dead one day. Two very different theories surrounded the nobleman's death: some believed him murdered by his wife, while others viewed the Widow Black as an innocent who lost herself amidst her grief, eventually taking up her ruffian way of life.

Obviously my measly ketch was nothing compared to the widow's colossal galleon, ergo a sea fight would inevitably send the Shifty Sails to a swift and watery grave. But the Paragon did not gain its infamous reputation by showing leniency to the ill-prepared. And so the initial cannon fire echoed through the air, sending an iron ball splashing a few meters behind the Shifty Sails. As the Paragon gained on us, she fired another ball that nearly struck our port side. It would have been a laughable situation, were I not the one meeting the watery grave of Dusty Jonas' Coffer.

Coral stood at the helm, fiercely gripping onto the ship's wheel and guiding us safely away from the galleon's assaults. We all knew it was futile, and eventually the Paragon would defeat us, like a black widow subduing an ensnared fly. Cannon fire ceased as we became entirely cloaked amidst the galleon's shadow. The Paragon was close enough that I could hear the guffawing of her crewmen. I looked up to see a smug and captivating raven-haired woman leaning against the rails of the quarterdeck. Her attire was dark and lascivious, and I knew immediately who she was.

"Ahoy there!" greeted the Widow Black. "You must forgive my carelessness. Seems there was an obstruction in one of my gun deck's cannons. I had my gunner fire a couple of test shots once it was cleared. I'm afraid we didn't even see you down there." A wry smile crept across the widow's face. Her skin was lightly bronzed from many days spent in the sun. Dark eyeliner highlighted her alluring frosty blue eyes. She wore a silky crimson billowy sleeved blouse; the buttons were undone, causing the loose fitting shirt to hang down and expose much of her ample cleavage. An embossed black leather corset hugged the widow's midriff, and a pair of dark leggings fit tightly enough to show the shapes of her long legs. Her black leather boots went up the length of her calf and folded over at the knees. The finishing touch was a long ebony frock coat with an intricately embossed pattern on the pockets and folded sleeves.

"An obstructed cannon can be quite dangerous!" I yelled up to the widow, an impish grin on my face. I watched as she leaned more roughly against the quarterdeck's banister, her bonny cleavage rising higher on her chest as the rails pressed against her diaphragm. I couldn't help being hypnotized by the Widow Black's seductive gothic-like beauty and beguiling demeanor. "I suppose my crew and I should be on our way now; wouldn't want to take up anymore of the Paragon's time."

Smiling impishly herself, the widow responded, "Nonsense! You're welcomed to come aboard and stay for dinner; the cook has made his legendary moussaka. The Paragon is quite hospitable, despite her ill repute." Attention was diverted to the cries of a terrified man falling helplessly from the topgallant before hitting the main deck with a disturbing plunk, his broken limbs unnaturally splayed. "Bloody riggers," sighed the widow, her eyes closed. She left the banister and descended the stairs to the main deck where she began barking orders at her boggled crewmen.

That evening, I found myself in the company of the Widow Black in her personal quarters. The captain's cabin was very baroque in style, and surprisingly spacious. A rectangular wooden table with intricately carved legs stood at the center of the room. Beautiful bronze-framed chairs with velvety red cushions and backrests surrounded the table. A comfortable bed was built shelf-like into the wall just below the five diamond etched glass windows that looked out at the endless ocean. The adjoining walls were comprised of bookshelves and small closets.

"I assumed I would be joining my crewmates in the officer's mess?" I said, after I had been escorted into the captain's cabin by the largish and intimidating quartermaster himself. The widow thanked her officer and dismissed him. Returning my attention to the back of the room where she stood, I noticed two place settings atop the elaborately carved table. Both dishes had a serving of minced lamb with sliced eggplant, and topped with a cheese sauce. It looked much like something I did not want to eat at all, not even in the clutches of starvation.

"Moussaka tastes a lot better than it looks," the widow assured with a smile, noticing my hesitant expression as I stared at the layers of ground meat and eggplant. "But I've no objection if you'd prefer to skip the main course and head straight for dessert," the Widow Black said with a playful grin upon her attractive face. Her brow was raised in a flirtatious manner as she removed her frock coat and draped it over the back of her chair.

My arms behind my back in an authoritative manner, I said, "Are you trying to seduce me?" I watched as the widow only smiled as she approached me at the door. She was close enough to me that I could feel the warmth of her body beside mine. I gazed down at the widow's plump red lips as if they were forbidden fruit. "Because I'll have you know that I am very easy to seduce." She began twiddling the strings on my shirt. A flame swelled inside of me as I tried to resist her beguiling ways. Alas, my attempt was in vain. Our warm bodies drew so close that I could feel her heaving bosom against me. Submitting entirely to the widow's seduction, hungrily I joined my lips with hers. With a mischievous grin, the Widow Black clutched my hands inside of hers and guided me to her bed for an evening of passionate love making that I would not soon forget.

I

"Impossible!" exclaimed the widow with genuine disbelief in her voice. "No man has ever resisted my immobilizing bite," she hissed, her once frosty blue eyes fading to solid blackness. Cautiously the Widow Black approached me, the pistol still firmly in her hand. "What are you?" Fear and curiosity still managed to gleam inside her seemingly empty eyes.

My own eyes still trying to focus, I sarcastically replied in question form, "A fool who thinks more with the contents of his trousers, and less with the contents of his skull?" Lazily I held my hands in a defensive-like manner, trying to keep my adjusting eyes on the barrel of my own handgun. "I mean no indignity when I say this, love: you're not entirely human, are you?" As I was being rhetorical, I was quick to ask, "Has magic made you this way?"

"A curse," confirmed the widow with a nod. Her hand growing tired holding the pistol, the Widow Black swiftly placed the gun into her right hand, allowing her left to rest. A waggish grin upon her face, the widow explained, "I'm ambidextrous, so do not think you have an advantage now."

"Who cursed you?" I had to ask, ignoring her warning.

With a wicked smile, the widow answered, "When I died over a century ago, I begged the Lady of the Underlands to let me live again. She complied, under one condition: that I roam the world as a hideous eight-legged beast. But the Lady was kind enough to grant me the ability to conceal my monstrous figure, for a time. Once every thirty days I must drain the life force of another, and use it to retain my human appearance. I would have taken your life by now, but my drunk and randy crewmen were becoming rowdy with your siren aboard, and I was summoned to intervene. I had already injected you with my paralyzing venom, and so you knew nothing of the situation."

A sigh of disbelief rushed through my nostrils as I thought aloud with a crooked grin, "So Mother's up to her usual tricks again." Self-amused, I observed the utterly flummoxed expression take form over the widow's features. "A bit of advice, love: learn the name of the person you are bedding." With a sardonically raised brow, thinking of an erstwhile incident involving a very upset former lover of mine, I added, "I should probably heed my own advice now and again."

Fascinated, I watched as the Widow Black's right arm began transmogrifying into the spindly black leg of a spider's. Due to the transformation, she was unable to keep a hand on the pistol. I was quick to retrieve my handgun as it dropped to the floor with a thud. Intentionally I shifted our locations, forcing the widow to stand by the bed while I had my back against the door to keep her from escaping. I aimed the barrel of my flintlock pistol directly at the widow, part of me still hoping I wouldn't have to pull the trigger. Desperately she unsheathed my cutlass with her remaining unchanged arm. I smiled at the widow's perseverance.

"I will not go back to the Underlands," said the widow, her voice becoming an eerie rasp. "And you will not leave this ship alive!" she threatened, swiftly hurling the sword toward me as a distraction.

I avoided the blade's impact with a simple sidestep. The cutlass drove into the wall like a dart, stopping abruptly once it struck a stud. I lost my aim on the widow as she forced me against the wall beside the door, her surprisingly strong spider leg busting a hole through the wood of the door. Other parts of her anatomy began to change, with additional parts sprouting. I could hear the sounds of concerned voices gathering outside the cabin, drawn to the commotion the widow and I had caused. The Widow Black removed one of her---now eight---legs from the door. She had equal that amount of beady black eyeballs now, with a pair of intimidating fangs to boot.

Two of the widow's legs subdued me like ropes wrapped firmly around my torso, while another leg attempted to pry the pistol from my tightly closed fist. Just when I thought I had lost, someone with brute strength managed to shove the cabin door wide open. The Widow Black was forced to release me as the opening door pushed her away. Before another second could pass, I fired a lead ball dead center into the widow's eight beady eyes. She released a piercing screech before collapsing into a heap on the floor, her legs recoiling one by one.

"Gracious!" uttered Grant, who was now standing in the doorway to the captain's cabin. "Whit sort'a kinky shit have ye got goin' on in here, lad?" he added, stepping aside as the quartermaster made his way into the cabin, followed by a small handful of other crewmen. "And whit juicy bottomless pit did this dreadful thing crawl oot of?" inquired Grant, gesturing to the giant deceased spider in the room.

"Where is the captain?" insisted the quartermaster, staring at the spider with sheer terror in his eyes. "Was she harmed by this... thing?" he asked, genuinely unaware of his captain's alter ego.

Finally catching a breath, I informed the quartermaster, "That thing was her." I listened as the crewmen accused me of being a liar, and demanded I walk the plank for speaking ill of their captain. "Look at the size of it; how could something like that have sneaked onto the ship, unless it had some kind of magical ability to disguise itself as human? And don't you find it odd how the always-present captain is currently nowhere to be seen?" Returning the pistol to my holster and fastening it around my waist, I suggested, "Put two and two together, boys." Next, I yanked my cutlass out of the wall and sheathed it. Noticing everyone staring wide-eyed at the spider, I turned back around to gaze upon the creature myself. I caught the tail end of the arachnid transforming back into the Widow Black, who lay dead with a bullet hole between her two frosty blue eyes.

"Dammit, lad," sighed the dispirited Grant. "They just gave me this fancy pirate patch, and now ye've gone and slain their captain," he added, temporarily lifting the black eye patch to reveal his cataract. "They were even goin' to hae a getup tailored for me," he nearly whimpered.

Very nonchalantly, I replied, "I apologize for defending myself from a giant spider demon. I'll be sure to let the next one liquefy my insides for you."

"Promise?" said Grant, smiling goofily.

"Spider demon or not, you have bested our captain," began the quartermaster in a rigorous voice, and then pausing for an awkward ten or so seconds. "No other man here is capable of such a feat, not even I." After looking forlornly upon the body of his former captain, the quartermaster turned to me and said, "Therefore, it is now your duty to command the Paragon."

I

While gathering provisions, we also acquired thicker woolen garments to keep us warm from the bitter chill of winter. The first snow had already fallen in Ornway, cloaking the world in white. Erikfjord was a humble harbor town with wooden buildings of deep red in color that stood out amidst the paleness of winter. On the other side of the town there stood tall frosty mountains dotted with snow-laden pines.

Winter's Haven inn was our first stop at Erikfjord, as the day had already trickled into night. While Grant was inside enjoying his ale, Eli, Coral, and I remained outside to observe the vibrant northern lights doing a slow mesmerizing dance across the night sky. It was an enchanting sight to behold, and a reminder of how light could still exist even in the darkest of places. I watched Coral smiling euphorically; the lights of the aurora reflecting in her dazzling blue-green eyes.

"I never thought there could be anything more captivating than a sunset over the ocean," said Coral in a breathless voice filled with awe. I found myself smiling as she inched closer to Eli, joining her hand with his. As expected, Eli responded by rattling on about solar wind and the magnetosphere, entirely blind to the heartfelt moment Coral had initiated.

Suddenly I felt an unnaturally sweaty hand slide into my own, followed by the sound of a weeping man. I looked over to see that it was one of my newly acquired crewmen from the Paragon, also admiring the vibrant lights. His name was Barnabas, and he was a sensitive fellow.

"It's just so beautiful," whimpered Barnabas.

I pulled my hand free from his sticky grip as I said, "Aye." Wiping my hand a few times across my trousers to purge it of Barnabas' abnormal sweatiness, I declared, "Well I think I'll turn in early; we've got quite the journey ahead of us come the morn."

"Ooh, an adventure!" Barnabas yelped enthusiastically like a child. "Will we be pillaging as well, Cap'n?" With an unsettlingly wide grin, Barnabas mused, "I do love to pillage." He began reminiscing about the Widow Black's various raids in the West Dinies.

Mildly annoyed by Barnabas' general existence, I explained, "As long as I am captain of the Paragon, we pillage only from those who have too much, and never from those who have too little." A slap came to the back of my head. I turned to see that Coral was the assailant. "Moral Coral," I uttered with a sideways grin. "We're pirates now, love. Pillaging is in the job description. And taking from the rich isn't really stealing, anyway. It's called equal distribution." Coral's raised brow gave me the impression she was not convinced by my words. With folded arms, I groused, "Killjoy."

The next morning, I rented four capricorn mounts to aid my friends and me during our journey to Asgeir. Luckily, Grant was given the burliest capricorn of the tribe, but the poor creature was still mildly struggling with Grant's girth upon it. Capricorns were indigenous to Ornway, and they resembled Cashmere goats in appearance, but were substantially larger in size. Their coat colors ranged from white, brown, and black. Capricorns were well adapted to traversing the cliffs of Ornway, which made them a better choice to ride than horses. Although capricorns did have their drawbacks: the large goat mounts tended to be more temperamental than horses.

We departed Erikfjord long before Barnabas had awakened, and I was not entirely heartbroken about it. Much of the Paragon crew had fallen ill from crapulence, while the others simply showed no interest in questing after a bothersome troll amidst the cliffs of Asgeir.

My friends and I had been guiding our capricorns over the dirt road for a little over an hour before we encountered a pair of traveling merchants who were seated side-by-side on a fanciful gypsy wagon led by two immensely hairy beasts called reek oxen. Although they were surprisingly easy to domesticate, reek oxen were rarely used due to their excessive gassiness, hence the name.

The four of us stopped to greet the merchants and told them about our journey to Asgeir to slay the troll. Their names were Thaddeus and Victor Wayward, owners of the roving emporium: Wayward's Sons. Thaddeus, who went by Thad, continued holding the reins to the oxen while his brother went inside the wagon to fetch some of their goods to show us. It wasn't long before swearing could be heard through the wooden walls as the wagon began to shift back and forth.

"So you're going to slay the infamous Asgeirian troll, huh?" confirmed Thad, looking over his shoulder to check on his brother. "Victor and I have actually done some monster hunting ourselves. A very trying livelihood, that." A nostalgic tone in his voice, Thad added, "Indeed, my brother and I have been to hell and back a few times now." Suddenly, a repetitive high pitched sound could vaguely be heard from inside the wagon. Immediately recognizing the noise, Thad said with dismay, "Oh shit, Victor. What have you done?" Fiercely he tugged the reins, commanding the reek oxen to direct the wagon safely away from me and my crew.

And just like that, the gypsy wagon exploded, hurling Thad and the extremely flatulent reek oxen several yards away. Thankfully my crew and I were back far enough that we managed to avoid the impact from the larger pieces of airborne debris. Despite their temperament, capricorns were also known not to give a damn on occasion. Luckily, it so happened that an exploding gypsy wagon was one of those occasions, and so no soothing was needed to calm our capricorns. While there was a small chance Thad and his oxen had survived the blast, Victor had undoubtedly obliterated himself.

"Huh," said Grant, after we all gathered at the site of the demolished wagon. "Did anyone else get the feelin' those boys were gaunnae hae a larger role than thon?" Hearing groans coming from the location where Thad had been deposited, Grant said in an earnest voice, "I suppose we hae an obligation to put the lad oot of his misery. It would be the humane thing to do."

Disgust in her voice, Coral hollered, "GRANT!"

A

"It works, Thaddy!" said Victor from the tree, a wide dopey grin on his face. One arm and both his legs were wrapped tightly around the tree trunk, while his other hand held onto the helmet he had recently removed. Still in a state of disbelief, Victor elucidated, "This damn suit actually works!" Tossing the helmet down to Grant, who had dismounted his capricorn and stood prepared at the base of the tree, Victor slowly and carefully made his way down the evergreen. "I bet this thing could withstand a fucking apocalypse," Victor again referred to the suit of armor. "What did you say it was made out of, again?" he inquired rhetorically, now standing on the ground opposite his brother.

"Fetrine, Victor. It's made out of fetrine," replied Thad with a sigh.

With a child's maturity, Victor said, "Ha! It rhymes with latrine; that's a toilet."

"Yes, Victor, I'm sure they all know what a latrine is." Thad turned to me and my crew with a mortified look in his eyes as he apologized with, "Forgive my brother, he's had a few blows to the head over the years."

A defensive tone in his voice, Victor insisted, "Look who's talking! You get hit in the head as often as you blink! I'm surprised your brains aren't goulash by now." His armor creaking with each movement he made, Victor began explaining a particular venture involving him and his brother. "So we were up against this manticore, right?" he began the story. "I'm standing by its head, and Dum Dum is in the back about to take a hit from its tail end. I probably warned him a couple of times: 'Thaddy! Watch out! The tail's coming down!' But he's too busy smelling his own farts, or some damn thing. WHAM! The tail smacks him right upside the head. So I'm thinking: 'Well, that's that. He's dead.' But, as you witnessed just now, my brother can take a hell of a beating and still walk away intact; probably because he's part titan." Victor glanced over at Grant, remarking, "Although Thad's a munchkin compared to you. Damn. How tall are you, anyway?"

"Giant enough thon I could flatten ye into extinction with a single bahookie cheek, lad," Grant replied with a wide and ridiculous smile. "Sounds like ye and yer brother lead quite the excitin' lives as well. We could probably swap stories until the snow melts and the leaves grow anew. But I imagine ye need a lift to wherever ye're headed, whit with yer oxen dead and yer wagon blown sky-high."

Thad was collecting the wagon's remains as he replied, "I appreciate the offer, but my brother and I will be alright on foot. We'll salvage what we can from the wreckage first, and then head to Holger; it's a small village not far from here. This isn't the first time Victor has destroyed the wagon; he just didn't set an explosive off inside of it the last time."

"In my defense, you told me to distract the Cyclops that last time," retorted Victor, his ridiculously heavy armor clanking loudly as he slogged his way over to the debris with the intention to help his brother. Unfortunately Victor's armor made it impossible for him to bend or kneel, and so he just stood there helpless.

"I didn't say to drive the wagon off a cliff!" Thad exclaimed.

In a totally casual manner, Victor said, "Well, it distracted him."

"Haven't you wondered why we only use reek oxen to pull the wagon now?" Thad stood up and gave his clueless brother an annoyed look. "The reek ox is the cheapest beast of burden, namely because its flatulence smells like a heaping pile of corpses stacked on top of a heaping pile of shit. No one wants to use a reek ox. But since you and your idiotic tendencies have killed every god damn other animal that we used in the past, replacing them was drastically eating into our profits. Not to mention the materials to build a new wagon. Damn it, Victor!"

While the brothers began to argue, Coral calmly and quietly said, "They put me in mind of some other gentlemen I know." Her arms folded, Coral alternated her gaze between Eli, Grant, and me. Returning her attention to the once feuding brothers, she noticed the two were calming down and exchanging kinder words. "I take that back. They're actually apologizing to each other."

"Disgustin'," muttered Grant as he mounted his capricorn. Suddenly he recalled something important he had previously meant to ask the brothers. "Touchy-feely time's over, lads. We've got important matters to discuss. Exactly where did ye acquire so much fetrine for thon suit'a yers?" inquired Grant in his typical insensitive fashion.

Following a breathy chuckle, Thad answered, "To the west across the ocean is a country called the Divided Territories; treacherous place. From there you'll have to travel further west until you reach a mountainous range called Mount Death. There are some ore deposits there that contain fetrine." His tone very solemn, Thad warned, "Be very careful if you go to the Divided Territories. Everyone there is armed, and they tend to start gunfights as often as they breathe air."

W

The cliffs became steeper as we made our way further into the fjord of Asgeir. The troll's large and poorly carved signs were beginning to pop up everywhere. The first sign was an interesting one. It read: Hoomans so fat, they use there fat rolls as blankits for there fat baybees. Another sign read: Hoomans so stoopid, they theenk planit rownd like Dag-Dag's big hairy bollox. We could only assume that the troll's name was Dag-Dag. And for the unexpectedly clever grand finale, the last sign read: Hoomans so uglee, they turn gorgon monstir to stone.

"That is horrendous spelling and grammar," noted Eli, also reading each sign we passed.

With a sideways grin, I said, "Trolls aren't exactly known for their intellect, kid."

"They're spineless creatures with a diminutive vocabulary," Coral chimed in. "They take great pleasure in provoking others with false and offensive statements. One way to defeat a troll is by ignoring it; proving that their words have no power over you."

"Or by smashin' its skull in with a boulder," suggested Grant, giving his pits a quick whiff. "Gracious," he muttered, his nose scrunched for a moment. "So how dae we intend to kill this giant fuckwit?" Glancing over at me, Grant added, "Yer cutlass and my claymore would inflict naw more than wee parchment cuts to a troll, I'd imagine. We're gaunnae hae to prepare some kinda boulder-tossin' mechanism in order to take it down."

An irritatingly pompous tone in his voice, Eli remarked, "Surely you know by now that we don't prepare for anything? It's all about charging in ass first and hoping for the best, right Si?"

How I yearned to render Eli toothless, but the sound of heavy snoring soon distracted me from the desire. We came upon a cluster of trees at the foot of the cliff bordering the Ornwegian Sea. A group of felled pines lay in the center, with the terrifyingly large and infamous troll resting on top of them. Unfortunately it was too late to turn back now, as Dag-Dag's large troll nose had already caught a whiff of us while he slowly returned to consciousness.

"Fie, foh, and fum. I smell the blubber of a human," Dag-Dag's deep voice gurgled out between two very large tusks projecting up from his lower jaw. His thick skin mimicked tree bark, with moss growing all over him like body hair. Small branches grew from his eyebrow region. A ragged old breechcloth concealed his loins. In his left hand, Dag-Dag gripped an extraordinarily large club constructed from the trunk of a tree. He was ready to do some damage.

"I'm big boned, ye numpty!" insisted Grant, taking offense to the troll's statement. Eli began to berate Grant for revealing our presence to Dag-Dag. "Well whit was the plan, exactly? We huvnae time for the boulder mechanism now. Were we to silently stare him to death?" Grant dismounted his capricorn and drew his claymore. "If I'm gaunnae die, I can think of naw better way than by becomin' mashed tatties at the hand of a troll."

Very casually I replied, "I can think of so many other ways, personally." I dismounted my own capricorn and unsheathed my cutlass. I watched as the monstrous troll trudged his way over the fallen trees while knocking down standing pines with a fierce fist. My hands began to sweat as I tightened my grip around my sword's hilt. "If anyone has any bright ideas, now would be the time to execute them."

As I was preparing to face my end by way of a painful encounter with the world's largest wooden club, I caught glimpse of a crossbow bolt whizzing passed me. The bolt managed to slip between the troll's bark-like outer flesh and puncture the softer interior skin of his left foot. As Dag-Dag howled in agony, I glanced over my shoulder to see Coral still holding the crossbow in an aimed position. I returned focus on the troll, watching as he stumbled and yowled before collapsing in a heap, bringing down the last of the standing trees with him. Dag-Dag was dead.

"But... how?" Eli finally asked, ending the stunned silence.

Resting the crossbow over one shoulder, Coral said, "The thing about trolls is: they're very adept at spreading hatred like a thin layer of butter over bread. Their outer skin may seem thick, impenetrable even. But inside, their true skin is as thin as that very butter. They're not as strong as they want you to believe they are." And after her concluding statement, Coral walked over to the deceased troll and retrieved her crossbow bolt from his foot.

"Shameful, really," mumbled Grant, shaking his head. "Damn thing was a terrifyin' troll once, and then he took an arrow in the foot."

U

"Mind if I join you?" inquired the soft voice of my siren comrade, her warm breath turning to steam in the frosty air. Coral stood beside me, resting her arms atop the railings and peering off into the endless waters. The light of the moon shone brightly, creating an almost divine glow to Coral's silvery hair. I could tell that something incredibly deep was weighing on her mind, and she was still determining how to express it in words. "May I ask you a personal question?" she finally said, nervously tracing a finger over the rough surface of the railing.

My arms stretched over the rails, I clasped my hands while gently replying, "That troll was your first kill, wasn't it? And now you're questioning whether you've done the right thing or not?" I noticed Coral's mouth open slightly, but I chose to speak over her. "I assure you that you have done the right thing, love. That troll didn't just erect awful signs that revealed his lack of intelligence, but he had also been consuming livestock like candy." With the side of my index finger, I gave a soft and endearing tap to Coral's chin. "Those villagers would have lost everything if it weren't for you, love." I returned my focus to the sea. "I'm proud of you. And you should be, too."

"Actually," Coral finally began, ending the silence that had befallen us. "That wasn't what I was thinking about at all." She smiled when I responded only with a wide-eyed look of embarrassment. Setting her gaze on the sea as well, Coral asked, "Have you ever considered ending your adventures and settling down with someone?" Knowing all too well what my response would be, Coral was quick to add with an amused grin, "Not with me, but with someone."

A playful lopsided grin on my face, I inquired, "By chance, does this have anything to do with Eli?" Even though her cheeks were already red from the bitter cold, I could still tell that blushing had reddened her soft pale flesh further. "Have you told Eli how you feel? Because the gods know he'll never confess his feelings. In great length he could tell you why the sky is blue, but he'll never utter a word when it comes to love. That's not to say he doesn't care for you. He cares for you a great deal, love; I've known him long enough to know that." I gave her a crooked and reassuring grin in conclusion. With a joyful sigh, I said, "As for me, adventure is my one true love. Until my body grows weary, I will sail the seas, seek treasures, battle monsters, and drink dry the ale from every tavern along the way." A devilish grin on my face, I added, "And, of course, lie with every beautiful woman who will have me. I'm a scoundrel through and through."

"I know you, Osiris Helwan, and you're no scoundrel," said Coral, smiling knowingly at me. "Underneath that roguish guise of yours, beats the gentlest heart I've ever known. True love will find you one day, and it won't be glittering amidst the jewels of a treasure chest."

Suddenly Eli joined our company on the main deck, squeezing his way between me and Coral while candidly admitting, "My nipples feel like spearheads."

"I'm sure there must be a reason why you would brave the winter chill and risk the wellbeing of your nipples?" I said, scooting down in order to make room for all three of us to stand comfortably at the rails.

In a conceited voice, Eli responded, "Yes, actually. I came to tell you that I may have figured out the vexing ingredient to that spell you asked me to look into a while back."

"Spell?" said Coral, looking at me bemusedly.

With an unconcerned wave of my hand, I answered, "It's nothing, really."

"Is that why you've had me researching it in secret all this time?" insisted Eli. He turned his head to focus on Coral, explaining, "Si urged Grant and me not to tell you, because you'd think it dangerous and riddled with stupidity. And subsequently you would try to stop him."

My voice raised, I demanded, "So why the bloody hell did you just tell her now?"

"I... I don't know. Seemed like the right thing to do," Eli answered timidly, his eyes nervously darting back and forth. He yelped when I smacked the back of his head. "She was going to find out anyway!" he said in his defense.

"Alright, enough!" insisted Coral, trying to silence our quarreling. "What is this spell?"

Sighing, I replied, "It's supposed to open a gateway into the Underlands. The ingredients required are: Blood of the Divine and an Element of Everlasting. Blood of the Divine obviously refers to my mother, Bastet. Blood that also courses through my veins. Ergo, an ingredient simple to come by. The element, however, has us all puzzled."

"Until now, that is," Eli chimed in, smiling with self-satisfaction. "The Element of Everlasting," he pompously began. "Naturally, my first thought was fire, as the Underlands have been depicted as a place of fiery heat. But water can extinguish fire. Thusly, fire cannot be everlasting." Eli paused to examine mine and Coral's expressions. "While I do realize the absurd coincidence, I have reason to believe that the Element of Everlasting is in fact the fetrine that Grant so badly wishes to acquire for his bladesmithing. We all witnessed Victor Wayward withstand an explosion that would have otherwise killed him. The fetrine in his armor protected him. I believe the fetrine may be indestructible, thusly everlasting."

With a cocky grin, I said to Eli, "Kind of like this explanation of yours, huh?"

C

The water's stillness evoked an awkward combination of optimism and pessimism within me. Perhaps the creature had grown weary and left? Or maybe it was beneath the surface contriving its final strike that would leave the Paragon in shambles? It was moments like these when I would not have minded a user of magic on my team. Although Eli had dabbled in such studies, the ability to actually cast simply was not within him. A powerful magician was most desperately needed; perhaps I would meet them one day during my future ventures.

The water began to churn all around us. The enormous sea creature was circling several meters beneath the ship, forming a strong whirlpool that would surely pull the Paragon under. Steering the galleon away from the creature's vortex was proving to be an exhausting task. Coral would not maintain her strength for long, and so I tracked down Grant and ordered him to the helm. I would have enlisted Eli's help as well, but his unconscious body was already rolling back and forth across the main deck; flecks of vomit appeared to be on his cheeks. I had only one dreadfully insane idea left.

"Whit the hell are ye doin', lad?!" shouted Grant when he spotted me climbing the ship's starboard rails. He and Coral remained at the helm, both of them fixed on me with worry in their eyes.

With a stupid grin on my face, I shouted back, "Just something unwise that will probably get me dead!" I dove into the water and was forced directly into the vortex. Everything was spinning faster than my mind could comprehend. I fought against the current until I managed to swim free into calmer waters. The kraken continued the rotation; its tentacles sweeping behind it like dark ghostly trails. I smiled when the creature's speckled golden eyeballs caught sight of me floating calmly outside of its rotation. It was that moment when I realized---despite being part god---I could hold my breath no longer than the average mortal. Well, slightly above average, perhaps.

In sheer panic, my throat constricted as I desperately tried holding onto what little air I had left. My heart was pounding so heavily I thought it would burst out of my chest. Suddenly my body began to convulse, and I knew that my demise would be soon. I took my first breath. A highly claustrophobic sensation overcame me as the ocean water began filtering into my body. A blinding white light was the last thing I saw before losing consciousness.

I awoke on the main deck of the Paragon, soaked from head to toe and coughing up ocean water. Coral and Grant were knelt beside me, both of them concerned and bewildered. As I attempted to stand, my friends were quick to aid me to my feet. Coral then explained to me that an enchantress with considerable power had saved me from drowning, and she even vanquished the kraken for good measure. I found my mysterious savior leaning against the starboard rails of the Paragon. She was tall and thin, and dressed entirely in black robes embroidered with crimson thread. Her swarthy arms were tattooed in golden ink. She smelled very much like my Gypte homeland.

"Mother," I casually greeted as I joined Bastet by the banister. My arms folded over the rough wooden railing, I added, "My friends tell me that you saved my life." I kept my eyes fixed on the calm ocean waves as my mother just silently looked at me. With a crooked smile, I said, "I'll admit that taking a kraken head on was not my finest hour, but I was going on the assumption we were all doomed no matter what." Curiously I looked at Bastet, asking, "How did you know I was dying?"

After clearing her throat, Bastet answered, "I am the goddess of death. I would not be doing my job properly if I did not know."

"You cannot possibly keep track of every death happening all over the world," I replied with a skeptical grin.

"I can when it is my son," said Bastet, a stern and sincere look was in her eyes. "Despite what you may believe, I do care about you, Osiris. Unfortunately I have not always been able to express it, as my responsibilities in the Underlands can be very demanding."

Turning around, I braced my elbows over the rails and casually crossed one foot over the other as I sarcastically said, "You don't have to explain yourself, Mother. I understand that sitting on a throne judging other peoples' life choices takes precedence over your own disgraceful half-bred accident. It's understandable why you would leave me to be raised by a sex-obsessed lowlife. I've filled his shoes quite nicely, don't you agree?"

"You are nothing like your father!" Bastet fired back, glancing over her shoulder with embarrassment when she realized how loud and angry her tone had become. Calming herself, she continued with, "It is true that you were tainted by Idir's mortal blood, but it is my blood that courses through your veins much thicker and stronger than your father's ever could. It is my blood that makes you the just man you are today."

With an exhaled breath fueled by disbelief, I said, "My, aren't we modest." Shoving myself away from the railing, I said, "Well I'd hate to occupy any more of your time, as I'm sure you have actual important matters to attend to." Just as I had walked away from my mother, I paused to say, "I do appreciate you saving my life today." Turning back around, I saw that Bastet had already vanished, leaving behind a cluster of sand quickly swept away by a wind gust.

W

I was relieved to feel the softness of soil beneath my feet once again. I noticed a few glares and questionable stares from passersby, and so I was quick to return them a lopsided grin. The Paragon had sailed amidst nearby waters when the Widow Black still captained her. It wouldn't surprise me to learn she had also done some pillaging in these parts. Pirates were not thought of highly, after all.

My crew and I walked through the swinging wooden doors to the first roadhouse we came across. Sweaty men dressed in dirt-stained garments were gathered at round old wooden tables; some of the customers were enjoying hearty meals while others engaged in card games. I counted eight men in all, and about ten teeth among them. And from the way they all seemed to behave, I'd guess somewhere around three to four brains in the room, and those belonged to the barmaids.

The four of us made our way to an empty table in the back, none of us ignorant to the fact that every set of eyes in the room was boring into us. I was about to take a seat when one of the severely unwashed customers hollered in a gruff voice.

"Yer kind ain't welcomed here!" insisted the angry man.

Delightfully feigning ignorance, I looked over at Grant---who was freshly dressed in his custom tailored pirate getup, eye patch and all---and with a sigh, I said, "I told you that outfit made you look like a ruthless freebooter. You should have stuck with the kilt." Grant looked at me with confusion in his sapphire blue eye.

"It ain't yer friends we got a problem with," another man chimed in. "It's you."

My hand resting over the hilt of my cutlass, and a crooked grin on my face, I replied, "I didn't see a No demigods allowed! sign on the way in." The room roared with laughter, but I was too distracted by a lovely barmaid who looked my way with a bashful smile on her face.

"Demigod! Ha!" a third man shared his skepticism over the laughter. "Do yer people even believe in a god?"

A breath of disbelief expelled from my nostrils as I replied, "Well I guess we're done beating around the bush then. Tell me, sir, do you believe in the necessity of bigotry? I'm going to assume I already know the answer to that question, but I'm happy to still define the term for you."

"Seems we got ourselves a clever inkpot," declared another man, clearly making a derogatory reference to the dark shade of my Carifan skin tone.

My hand remaining on the sword hilt, I replied with a quip, "Explorers, philosophers, and artists were all given a voice because of the inkpot. For without ink, what use is the quill? So I thank you, sir, for that tremendous compliment. It really made my day."

"Ya want me ta shut that mouth o' yers with a bullet?" insisted another man, fiercely standing from his chair and pulling out a revolver from his holster.

Noticing the man's wobbling aim, I answered, "Are you sure you have enough ammunition?" As my unruly arrogance had taken full possession of me by that point, stopping it was out of the question. "What makes you think bullets will have any effect on a demigod, anyway?"

In a stern voice, Coral alluded to me, "As your friend, I really must insist that you return your genitalia back inside your pants before it gets you killed. You have made your point. There is no need for bloodshed, Osiris."

"Relax, I'll just bruise them a little," I replied, speaking loud enough only for my friends to hear. I watched as the man holding the revolver grew furious and pulled the trigger. The bullet was halfway across the room when it suddenly froze in midair. Everything froze, everything except for me. "Oh come on!" I hollered with disappointment. "That bullet isn't even going to hit me, and you know it!"

"Why must you always be so reckless?" insisted Bastet, manifesting from a whirlwind of sand. "You are smarter than that, Son." My mother glanced around the room she had rendered motionless. "You know how angry and intolerant some of the people can be here in the west? Are you trying to get yourself killed? You know that your immunity is only to magical assaults." Bastet turned her attention to the unmoving bullet. "That is no magic."

Wearing my typical crooked grin, I answered, "That isn't even going to hit me." Nodding toward the frozen man who had fired the revolver, I added, "Two Teeth Timmy there can't hold a gun steady enough." I continued smiling when I heard my mother sigh.

"I don't even know why I bother," concluded Bastet. She raised her arms in the air, vanishing inside her signature dramatic sand swirl while simultaneously returning motion to the room. Much to my surprise, Two Teeth Timmy's bullet grazed my temple before implanting itself into the stucco behind me. As the other seven men all reached for their own weapons, I was quick to forcefully drop my heel over the table surface, upturning it to use as a shield. My friends were already out of their chairs, each of them seeking cover behind the table. Bullets began to fly.

In an unnerved holler, Grant said, "I see Thad wasn't kiddin' aboot the gunfights over here!" Watching clumps of splinters fired free from the wooden table, he added, "I dinnae ken how much longer this cover is gaunnae last us, lads." Grant looked over at me, suggesting, "Hae ye considered callin' on yer divine mother to help us?"

I passed Grant a deadpan expression before rising from the protection of the table and unsheathing my sword. Moving quickly, I performed a sequence of parries with the cool steel of my cutlass. Every bullet rebounded off the blade of my sword. Some of the bullets found immediate residence in the walls, while others shattered drinking glasses, and a couple even lodged themselves into their shooters. From below, I saw Coral firing her crossbow while maintaining cover behind the table. Yelps from the assailing men confirmed that she did not miss her targets.

"Somethin' doesn't smell right, lads," said Grant while struggling to keep all of his monstrous body hidden behind the table.

In an angrily candid fashion, Eli admitted, "When a man shits his pants, it doesn't exactly smell of roses, now does it?!"

"Damn it, Eli! Not again!" said Grant, feigning annoyance.

Defensively, Eli fired back, "Excuse me?! Who shit themselves over a rat? At least a shootout is a more justifiable reason to shit one's pants."

"It is never justifiable to shit one's pants!" Grant declared.

Sheathing my cutlass, I said with a sigh, "Are you two done talking about bodily functions yet? Everyone's dead now, if you hadn't noticed."

"Not me! I never die!" insisted Two Teeth Timmy with a wide grin exposing blood and all manner of mouth rot. He was braced against the wall with a crossbow bolt in his chest.

With a disgusted look on my face, I said to my friends, "He may very well be right. Severe gingivitis, gangrene, and incurable stupidity haven't done the trick yet. We could be dealing with an immortal fuckwit." To test my theory, I acquired my flintlock pistol and fired a hole into his cranium. I watched as Two Teeth Timmy slumped to the floor and died. "Nope, guess not."

I

"She's got the devil in her, lad," warned Grant. He looked over his shoulder at the swinging doors to the roadhouse, adding, "Eli's doin' all he can to calm her down." Returning his attention to me, Grant suggested with a grin, "It'd be wise to mount thon horse and leave this place before she kills ye."

Smiling, I responded, "Moral Coral never lets her temper get the best of her." I watched as Grant only replied with the uncertain lifting of his bushy brows. My attention was soon drawn to the roadhouse entrance, where Coral had burst through the swinging doors. I could almost feel the heat of her boiling blood warming the coolness of the night.

"Osiris Helwan!" Coral hollered loud enough to stir the horses, and quite possibly the dead as well. She tromped over and stood in front of me, furiously staring into my eyes. In a calm, yet fear-inducing voice, she said to me, "Men are dead because your ego is larger than the goddamn sun." Before I could reply, Coral silenced me with, "One of those men was killed in cold blood by your very hand, Osiris Helwan." Strong detest flooded her eyes.

"It was a mercy kill," I gently corrected. "The man's lung was punctured by the crossbow bolt. Had I done nothing, he would have drowned in his own blood." With a crooked grin, alluding to my own personal experience, I added, "Drowning is a horrible way to die, trust me. I did the man a favor." Coral only responded with a look that nipped at my conscience. "Well how would you have handled the entire situation? Tucked your tail between your legs and left?" Before I could stop my cruel mouth from opening, I added, "Oh that's right, you already did that." I was regretting having said such harsh words that alluded to her actions toward prejudices she had already faced alone. I could feel my conscience twisting a knot inside my stomach as I saw tears well in Coral's eyes. I considered apologizing, but no words could undo what had been done.

Calmly she said to me, "I once thought you possessed a gentle heart. . . I guess I was wrong." And with that final statement, Coral mounted the horse I had befriended, and together they travelled westward and vanished into the darkness of the night.

"You're a jackass," Eli muttered to me while attempting to mount a horse of his own. Somehow his foot slipped away from the stirrup and he fell to the ground. The horse nickered a response and slowly wandered away from Eli. "No one saw that," he insisted with shifty eyes. After success during his second mounting attempt, Eli guided the horse in the same direction Coral had fled.

"Huh, usually I'm the heartless bastard in these situations," began Grant, genuinely surprised. He gave me a congratulatory slap to the back, adding, "I must be rubbin' off on ye, lad." He chuckled when I only glowered my response. "For whit it's worth, I think ye did the right thing: standin' up to those small-minded shit weasels back at the roadhouse."

Sighing, I replied, "Yeah, well, it doesn't feel that way." Rubbing my fingers over my temple where the revolver bullet had grazed me, I reluctantly admitted, "Maybe I am a bit too reckless."

"A bit of recklessness is good for the soul," said Grant in a reassuring voice.

A gentle and knowing smile on my face, I replied, "Not everyone is happily racing toward their graves, Grant." I watched my Toscish friend pass me an agreeing look like I'd made a valid point. Returning my attention toward the direction Coral and Eli had vanished, I asked, "Do you suppose we'll ever see them again?"

"Well, they're travellin' west, and we're headed west. So I'm gaunnae say: naw, we'll never see them again." Grant looked at me with a waggish grin. "The major concern is: did Eli clean his breeches up first before mountin' thon horse?" he rhetorically said with a chuckle. Drumming his hands against his stomach, Grant changed the subject by saying, "I dinnae ken aboot ye, but me belly's roarin' like an angry beast. I'm bound to gobble up one'a these steeds any minute noo." Looking back at the roadhouse, Grant suggested, "Suppose they're still willin' to serve us if we apologize for the ruckus? Maybe even take a couple napkins and wipe the mess up for good measure?"

"Worth a try," I sighed, taking one last glance into the quiet darkness where Coral and Eli had vanished. I worried that our friendship had just been broken, and there existed no adhesive strong enough to ever repair it.

S

It was on a narrow ledge of mountain rock that I found myself carefully chiseling away at a small deposit. With my pickaxe in one hand, using the other hand I held out my shirt to catch the fetrine as it fell. At times my balance was questionable as I swung the iron tool using only the strength of my right arm. Dirt and pebbles crunched beneath my boots as I quickly shifted my feet to regain my balance. Sweat rolled down my forehead and collected at the base of my nose before dripping off onto the rock. I knew that it was curtains if I made any negligent steps on that mountainside, and I had the feeling my mother may not be there that time to save me.

I continued chipping away at the deposit, the sun mercilessly beating against my back the entire time. Desperately I longed for a drink from the water skin strapped around my chest, but collecting the fetrine took precedence. Once I had mined as much of the fetrine as I could from the deposit, I returned the pickaxe to the tool belt around my waist. Against my right hip rested a leather satchel, which I opened and poured in the contents from my shirt. It was time to begin my exhausting climb back up the mountainside.

I was not far from the top when, suddenly, I lost my footing and found myself grasping onto the rock for dear life. Hanging onto a small shelf in the mountainside with one hand, I quickly reacquired my pickaxe with the other hand. With all my might, I swung the iron tool and fixed it as deep into the rocky mountain surface as I could, using it as a makeshift climbing axe. Lacking the jagged edges of actual climbing equipment, the pickaxe held in the wall only long enough for me to secure myself on the mountainside once more. A grappling hook would have come in handy about now.

Shortly after resuming my ascent, I was whacked in the head by strong climbing rope that had been dropped down to me. Looking up to gaze upon my rescuers, I was pleasantly surprised to see the Wayward brothers peering over the mountain's edge.

"Have you come to steal my fetrine?!" I called up while gripping onto the rope.

Grinning, Victor yelled down to me, "You're welcome for saving your life, dick!" Looking over his shoulder, he instructed his brother, "Have you got a tight hold on that rope back there, Thaddy? Douchebucket's heavier than he looks." When there was no response, Victor worriedly said, "Thad?"

"Do you remember that stone elemental creature we encountered the first time we came to Mount Death?" Thad finally answered, somewhat distracted.

A flummoxed expression on his face, Victor answered, "I remember a boulder bitch."

"That's what you called it," said Thad with a breathy chuckle. "It's actually referred to as an elemental." He and Victor paused long enough to make one final tug on the rope, safely returning me to the mountaintop beside them. Gesturing a thumb over his shoulder, Thad casually warned, "Anyway, there's one coming to kill us now."

"The hell it is," Victor replied in a deep and confident tone. He reached for his tactical belt, unhooking a small device and hurling it toward the creature. The device went soaring at great speed. Four jagged metal legs emerged from the device and latched onto the rocky surface of the advancing elemental. "Wait for it. . ." said Victor, standing completely still with his eyes on the stone creature.

Now standing beside the Wayward brothers and observing the elemental very slowly coming toward us, I plainly asked, "And what is it that we're waiting for, exactly?" I smiled when I heard Victor say something derogatory under his breath. Following a clicking sound from Victor's device, the stone elemental disintegrated into a pile of sand and pebbles where it once stood.

"That," Victor replied, a smug expression on his face. Dust from the stony decomposition engulfed us all. Once the dust had settled, Victor gazed upon his victory. "That's what I'm talking about!" he hollered triumphantly. "Take that you boulder bitch!"

M

During my exhausting journey to the Divided Territories, I was again greeted by the uncanny Wayward brothers, and not a moment too soon. Having gotten myself trapped on a mountainside without any climbing gear to aid me, Victor and Thaddeus helped me to ascend back to even surface. Only moments after my rescue did we confront an unfriendly elemental creature. The stony brute was comprised of boulders ranging in all different shapes and sizes. I was fairly confident I could have defeated the monster myself, but Victor decided to step in using one of his unusual gadgets that reduced the intimidating elemental into a pile of lifeless fragments. I thanked the brothers for their assistance and bid them both adieu.

Eventually Grant and I reunited with Eli and Coral, although my siren friend continued avoiding me due to my inordinate behavior at the tavern shootout months prior. It was a long and tiring sail back across the Tanlatic to Grant's homeland of Toscland. My incredibly tall friend owned a grand smithy there, where he intended to forge the dagger, and add a few drops of my blood to it. Blood of the Divine was the ingredient second to the fetrine needed to open a gateway into the Underlands. That was the idea, anyway. While my goddess mother, Bastet, was the ideal candidate for procuring Blood of the Divine, I assumed my own shared blood would work just as well.

Eli and I stood beside one another, silently observing Grant working tirelessly in his smithy, forging the dagger needed to open the gateway. Grant was certainly in his element, sweating profusely as he wore nothing more than his trousers, a heavy leather apron, and gloves.

"An Element of Everlasting is, presumably, something that lasts forever, yes?" I finally inquired, with one arm tucked under the other while I cupped the base of my chin inside my palm. Observing Eli nod in agreement, I added, "The fetrine no longer holds its original form, now that Grant has smelted it. So, technically, it's not everlasting." I continued watching my smith friend perform his work.

Slight annoyance in his tone, Eli quipped, "It still exists, though, much like your own physical being does without a brain to maintain it." Before I could return a witty remark of my own, Eli explained, "Just because the fetrine has been reduced to liquid form, does not make it nonexistent. It will be reshaped into a sturdy dagger soon. A dagger that will, in theory, suck you into the Underlands so we can all finally be freed from your half-witted tendencies."

"That was a bit harsh," I replied, although the tone of my voice was apathetic despite the offense.

After separating the fetrine from the ore, Grant insisted, "If ye ladies are done gabbin', I'm gaunnae be needin' thon Blood of the Divine noo." He indicated to the cast iron smelting pot bubbling with excruciatingly hot liquid metal. "Make haste, lad," he urged.

"Right," I finally said, hesitance in my tone. "I don't seem to have any opened wounds at the moment. So I'm not entirely sure how to get the blood out of me and into that pot." There was scarcely a pause before Grant swung around and walloped me across the face with a gargantuan fist. "Bloody hell, Grant! I think you just broke my fucking skull!" I shouted, cupping a palm over my bleeding nose.

Forcefully holding my head at a safe distance over the seething pot of melted fetrine, Grant explained, "Sorry lad, but we huvnae much time noo. Let the blood drain from yer nozzle into thon smeltin' pot there."

"What about my mouth, ears, and eyeballs? I think I'm hemorrhaging from those areas as well," I growled my sarcastic response through gritted teeth. I could hear the sound of laughter rumbling inside of my behemoth friend, which indicated to me that he simply did not care.

Grant spent the remainder of the day casting, sharpening, and polishing the dagger. The following morning the blade would be taken to a local artisan for hilting. It wouldn't be long before the completed dagger would grant me access into the Underlands, where I would finally acquire the golden Blade of Bastet. After a quick tussle with two jackal-headed demons, of course.

M

"GURGLE-MURGLE!" echoed a bubbly battle cry far down the passageway behind us.

"MURKLETS?!" Eli hollered with utter disbelief. "How could you allow yourself to be spotted by murklets of all things? They're relentless!"

Gesturing to Grant, I replied, "I'm sure you've noticed the dimensions of this man are not easy to conceal." I looked apologetically at Grant and added, "You are a behemoth, no offense."

"Are we going to stand around babbling all day, or are we here to steal the Blade of Bastet?" Coral reminded with a sneer, as she was still very much against the whole plan. While she remained a bit sour about our heated discussion many moons ago, I could sense that Coral may be approaching the road of forgiveness. Eventually. No matter how arrogant of an ass I might have been, it was impossible for anyone to remain angry at me forever. At least, I hoped.

"AHHH!!!" came Grant's unexpected high-pitched utterance. "One'a them frog demons slipped in here and clamped onto my gentlemen!" he explained, revealing a tiny murklet dangling by its mouth from Grant's private area. "End me lad, dae it quick!" he pleaded, grasping onto my leather jerkin.

Trying to devise a gentle way to release the creature from Grant's genital region, I sincerely responded, "I would never kill you, Grant. Not even with a demon frog dangling from your groin."

"I'd dae it for ye, lad," Grant replied, his tone equally sincere. A tear rolled down his cheek, but I suspected that had more to do with the demon frog fangs latched onto his man pieces.

"I wouldn't ask you to," I said, mildly offended.

"Widnae hae to; I'd dae it anyway," replied Grant. "Thon's how much ye mean to me, lad," he wearily added. Grant succumbed to the creature's hold and collapsed onto the cold cavernous floor.

Approximately 7,200,000 Milliseconds Earlier. . .

After an absurdly long time, Grant's dagger had finally been hilted. Had I known the artisan was such a perfectionist with his work, I would have taken the dagger elsewhere to hilt. It had taken so long, that I'd nearly forgotten why I had the dagger forged in the first place. Grant's dagger was created using the indestructible fetrine we had mined from the western range of the Divided Territories known as Mount Death. After combining that metal with Blood of the Divine---my blood---we were finally able to complete the spell that would open a portal into the Underlands.

I turned the dagger over in my hands. Although it was a simple design without any baubles and what have you, I still admired the craftsmanship. Grant, Eli, and even Coral stood around me as I mentally prepared myself for a descent into the Underlands: the land in which my goddess mother ruled. I held out my left hand, and with my right hand I slid the cool blade over my opened palm. I turned my hand over, allowing the blood to drip from my wound and onto the ground below. A baleful-looking dark whirlwind soon opened up where my blood had been deposited. The four of us all stepped back as the portal grew ever wider. I looked at my friends with a crooked grin.

"So who's ready for one last hurrah?" I asked.

After a surprisingly quick trip through the portal, my crew and I had made it into the Underlands, my hand now bandaged. We found ourselves inside a cold cavern, lit by torches built into the stony walls. I reached for one of the wooden torches and removed it from its wall mount. Cautiously the four of us moved onward, each of us ready to draw our weapons at a moment's notice. Even Eli had brought along a short sword to aid him during any potentially unfavorable situations.

A ghostly murmur drifted down the cavernous corridor, sending a chill down my spine. It felt like unseen eyes were all around us, watching curiously our every move. It was an unsettling place, to say the least. Eventually we came to an opening leading into a vast underground chamber with a dark pool directly in the center of it. The water began to churn as my crew and I approached it. Soon I realized that it was the Pool of Pain: one of my mother's malevolent traps used to ensnare those who tried to escape her realm.

"Don't look into the pool," I warned my crew. "It will show you someone you love in great pain, forcing you to dive in and save them. But it is only an illusion. Ignore it." I made my way beyond the pool, ignoring the pleas from various loved ones. I heard the voice of Eli's mother, begging him to rescue her. Coral's young sister was next. Finally, and most painful of all, was a toddler's bloodcurdling screams. We all knew it was Grant's son, Aidan.

While I assumed the four of us made it beyond the Pool of Pain, I continued leading the way through the next cavernous passageway. Eventually I discovered I was quite wrong in my assumption. Grant had been lured by his son's cries, and remained standing over the pool. Just as Grant was about to plunge into the water depicting an illusion of his son, a small battalion of murklets distracted him, sending Grant fleeing for his life. Murklets were short and extremely hideous demon frogs with razor-sharp teeth. They constantly belched forth the most annoying and panic-inducing battle cries as they chased their quarry relentlessly to the ends of the world and beyond.

Present Time. . .

Sadly, as was described shortly ago, Grant was wounded during the attack and rendered unconscious. Eli, Coral, and I fought off some of the amphibious assailants and escaped before the fallen demons had time to reassemble. The Blade of Bastet, after all, was the only weapon capable of exterminating my mother's creatures. After removing the initial murklet that had attacked Grant, the three of us worked together to haul Grant's enormous unconscious body down the corridor.

At last, Grant came to, and not a moment too soon. We had reached a pair of large golden doors inscribed with ancient hieroglyphs. Two jackal-headed demons stood boldly in front of those doors, each one wielding a heavily altered sekhem scepter. The rod of the scepter was nearly the height of an average-sized man, which was still considerably shorter than a jackal-headed demon. The head of the sekhem had been crafted from steel and sharpened into a dangerous point. It had clearly been designed for battle, and not as a ceremonial scepter.

My crew and I remained hidden in the shadows, so not to be spotted too soon by the intimidating demons. It was there we began to devise how to acquire Bastet's famous golden blade, and use it to defeat the jackal-headed demons. Obviously two of us would have to distract the demon guard dogs, while the other two sneaked into the chamber beyond the doors where the blade resided.

"Are you up for this, my friend?" I asked of Grant.

In return, he snarled, "Ye were supposed to kill me."

"Well, with any luck, one of the jackal-headed demons might do you the favor," I satirically replied. I watched as delight ignited inside Grant's sapphire blue eye. "I wasn't being serious."

Calmly, I approached the golden doors, the glowing golden eyes of the demons locking on to me as I did so. The demons simultaneously shifted their stances and held their sekhems in a threatening manner. I threw my arms up submissively, trying to prove I was no threat to them. I made certain to remain quite a few paces away, luring them toward me and away from the door. Next, Eli and Coral stealthily slipped by the distracted demons and toward the blade's chamber. What no one took into consideration was the fact that large golden doors tend to produce a loud sound when being opened. The fact they weren't even locked was a surprise in and of itself.

"Over here, ye dug-faced ninny bastards!" Grant bellowed his distraction, emerging from the shadows while unsheathing his claymore. "Come acquaint yerselves with my trusty steel!" he said with a snarl, clasping both his hands tightly around the hilt of his two-handed blade. Now standing beside me, Grant quietly instructed, "Remember noo, if I end up somethin' worse than dead again, dinnae feart whit need be done. I want ye to dae it. Hae I got yer word, lad?"

Unsheathing my cutlass, I calmly replied, "Your persistence to have me kill you, is really starting to concern me, Grant. I'm here, if you need someone to talk to."

"Dinnae ye gang all namby-pamby on me, lad," Grant spat, a repugnant look on his face. He returned his attention to the angry demons, insisting, "Noo let's slap these mongrels around a bit until the kiddos return with the blade, shall we?"

Unconcernedly, Grant charged after the first demon, colliding the steel of his claymore with the creature's modified sekhem scepter. It wasn't long before the second jackal-headed demon came after me, commencing a duel between us. Parries and the clashing of steel ensued, a few grunts, and even the much expected swearing spewed forth from Grant's lips. My own lips may have blasphemed a time or two before Eli and Coral returned with the golden Blade of Bastet.

With an atypical crooked grin rising upon her bonny face, Coral called out my name as she hurled the sword over to me. Kneeing my demon rival harshly in his unholy nether region, I tossed aside my cutlass and surprisingly seized the thrown sword by its hilt. I twirled the hilt in such a fashion that the blade flipped downward and upright again in a majestic display of total badassdom. It was shortly after that moment when I swung the golden blade and decapitated the demon who was still recuperating from his kneed groin. The smirk on my face abruptly vanished when I spotted the second demon pierce the sharp end of his sekhem deep into Grant's chest.

Fury erupted from me in the form of a primal cry. I battled that second demon until it, too, lay dead on the ground minus its head. Collapsing to my knees beside my fallen friend, I laid the Blade of Bastet gently on the ground next to me. Tears welling in my eyes, I clutched Grant's fist tightly inside my own. I watched as blood spurted from his mouth as he attempted to speak. Grant managed to form a cocky smile as he looked up at me with his sprightly sapphire blue eye. Coral and Eli were with us now, both of them shedding tears of their own. Soon, Grant's gaze became hollow as he faded from existence.

The all-too familiar whooshing of a sand whirlwind could be heard just paces behind us. Rage boiled within me as I reached for the golden blade and rose from the ground to face my mother. Bastet looked at me mournfully, and that made me despise her even more.

"See what your greed and selfishness have done?" spoke the Lady of the Underlands.

Tightening my grip on the sword's hilt, I growled, "Bring him back!"

"I have already granted him access into the afterlife, where he was lovingly reunited with his wife and son. You wish for me to take that away from him now?" asked Bastet, giving me no chance to respond as she continued on. "You would end his happiness, to regain your own?" Observing the solemn realization in my eyes, Bastet self-satisfyingly said, "That is what I thought." Outstretching her arm, my mother urged, "Now return to me what is rightfully mine, and you have my word I will let you and your remaining friends leave this place in peace."

Holding the golden blade, I gazed at it with pride, and responded, "I think I'll keep it." Sliding the Blade of Bastet into what was once my cutlass' sheath, I added with a smirk, "I'm sure you can always forge another one." Arrogantly holding up an index finger, I said, "Oh wait, I almost forgot. The golden blade was forged with your soul, and you've only got one of those."

Wearing an arrogant smile of her own, my mother replied, "Perhaps it will wear off on you one day." With the flick of her wrist, Bastet cast a spell and returned my fallen comrade from his demise. Or so I first thought. Grant rose to his feet and stood beside my mother, his once sprightly sapphire blue eye now entirely the color of the blackest night. "Meet the Black-Eyed Buccaneer; a demon I've not conjured in a long time. I think your friend's body will be a fitting host."

Not wanting the vile demon to parade around using the guise of my best friend, quickly I unsheathed the golden blade and attempted to strike him down. Unfortunately, my mother was quicker to engulf the Black-Eyed Buccaneer inside of a sand whirlwind, magically teleporting him far from the Underlands. Angrily I swore, and demanded to know where she had sent him.

"And spoil your next adventure?" Bastet replied with a wide and conceited grin. She enveloped herself inside of a small sandstorm and vanished out of sight, leaving me to stand in silence as my mind continued to absorb everything that had happened so quickly.

Clearing his throat, Eli interrupted my thoughts with, "Would now be a terrible time to tell you that neither Coral nor I will be joining you on that aforementioned adventure?"

"I'm pregnant," Coral straightforwardly revealed the news.

Sheathing the golden blade with a calm smile forming upon my face, I said, "I wouldn't want you to join me, anyway. My mother was right: my own selfishness brought us here. It's time I took responsibility for my actions." In a gentle and sincere tone, I added, "I truly am happy for you both. And I wish you the best." My expression again melting back into pomposity as I sarcastically said, "If the child is a boy, I presume you will name him Osiris?"

"I'm certain the boy's name will be Grant," Coral replied matter-of-factly.

Smiling, I said, "Even better." Exhaling a deep breath, I changed the subject with, "My father told me of a chamber down here that leads back to the surface. The catch is: it can only be accessed by Bastet." With a careless wave of my hand, I explained, "The whole blood thing again." In a more positive tone, I added, "So all we need to do is fight our way through the murklet masses and I should be able to open that chamber door. We'll make our grand escape."

"No need," said Bastet, after returning in her signature whirlwind. "Your admission was enough for me to still grant you safe passage out of the Underlands. I'm not about to let a pregnant woman fight my pesky murklets, anyway; they wouldn't stand a chance." Bastet gave Coral a playful wink. "As for my Black-Eyed Buccaneer: he is still your responsibility, my son." Smiling, she explained, "But I am feeling generous at the moment, so I will tell you this: being a buccaneer, my demon does enjoy his drink. And I hear there is no finer ale than what is served at The Dodgy Lodge."

Recognizing the name of that very tavern, I replied with a crooked grin, "You wouldn't be mistaken." With a sigh, realizing the distance I had yet to travel, I concluded, "So my next adventure begins in the town of Fairwynn Port."