thanks a ton for reading! i always appreciate reviews if ya have something to say, and please enjoy! ciao

17. Insufferable

"Escaping was… less difficult than I expected," Fane said as he shook an unidentified glob of sewer slime from his left sleeve. He was tempted to collect a sample for further research, as the viscous quality was different from anything else he had studied on this miserable world populated by mortal facsimiles of the Seven Lords from his time.

Fane gazed at the slime for another moment. He decided he did not want to touch it again. There were other things to study.

"Yes, we have had practice," that masked Undead elf said as she dipped a bare hand into a large pool of the green slime. "This feels bloody disgusting!" she said with an eager grin on her face. "Disgusting!"

"Lorelai, I know you can't get sick," the bearded human man said, "but touching that slop seems… unwise."

"When did you become the voice of reason, Ifan?" the Undead replied as she stuck her other hand deep into the pool of sludge.

The human paused for a moment in thought, then grinned. "Shit," he realized. "I don't think I've ever been the voice of reason before. I changed my mind," he said boisterously. "Eat the slime; I dare you."

This human had sharp teeth. Fane barely resisted the urge grab the human's face and inspect his teeth to see if such a thing was natural or manufactured. Fane had noticed that, though the orcs, imps, and lizards had pointed teeth, all the humans had flatter teeth characteristic of omnivores. Therefore, this human demonstrated an anomaly of either genetics or personality. Both were worth noting.

On the other hand, Fane had noticed that few of these creatures reacted well to being grabbed and examined. He restrained himself. Reluctantly.

"As you are the voice of reason," the Undead said with a large grin, "I shall follow your sage advice."

Without a beat of hesitation, the Undead tipped her head back and dropped the glob of slime into her mouth. She blinked and smiled brightly as her companions watched her with traces of horror in their expressions. The Undead snorted with laughter and licked the remaining slime off her fingers.

"I cannot taste anything, dear ones," the Undead reminded them. "I seem to have epidural nerves, but not others."

"You would have done the same if you could taste, darling," the scarred elf said lazily. "Do not attempt to play innocent with me."

Fane had gathered that the elf's scar was a slave mark forced upon her by the lizards. Fane was not surprised that Zorl-Stissa's look-alikes had enforced slavery, as the Lady's irritating arrogance had been unparalleled. He felt some sympathy for this elf but was more intrigued by how the mark seemed to enforce the will of whoever was the Master. Fane had attempted to ask the elf about it, but she had threatened to gouge him with that little needle of hers if he spoke of it again. The concept of the elf managing to kill him was amusing, but Fane accepted her reticence.

"Dear one," the Undead cried, "my innocence is not play! I am quite honest in my pure intentions."

The Undead was the most forthcoming out of the trio, but it was difficult to determine her sincerity. Her tone was incessantly amiable, so much that most of her words sounded sarcastic. She treated Fane with no discernable suspicion, unlike the other two did, but she seemed almost amused by Fane, perhaps even condescending. That fact was supremely irritating, but Fane would try to take the high road. She had done Fane a service, after all, and she seemed to be the leader of this group. Unfortunately, she also felt the need to initiate conversation at any moment. That was even more supremely irritating.

"Elves, sorcerers, and Undead don't have pure intentions to speak of," the human said, but his smile indicated he did not mean his words.

"Perhaps the fact that I am all three negates the impurity of my intentions," the Undead offered. "The mathematics do not support it, but magic can warp logical conclusions, yes? Both Source and the Undead are rather magical, so my true intentions shall remain an eternal mystery—which I hear is a very alluring state of being."

Fane felt a small jolt at the word 'eternal,' but he repressed it as soon as it appeared. This was not the time to be absorbed in the past; for that, he would need to return to the Blackpits.

The scarred elf rolled her eyes at the Undead and the human clapped the Undead on the shoulder. The Undead laughed brightly before peeling off her mask, becoming a heavily-tattooed skeleton with grayed bones. Fane wondered why she had removed the mask. Even if they had escaped Fort Joy,—through a disgusting sewer, no less—there was danger from these closed-minded mortals everywhere. At least the other two mortals did not seem bothered by the prospect of skeleton people wandering about their dismal world.

The Undead turned to face Fane, and he braced himself for more inane conversation. Instead she stuck a hand between the buttons of her tattered cloak and pulled a small satchel seemingly out of her ribcage. She flicked it open and shoved her whole arm into it, which was impossible. Clearly, the bag was magicked, so Fane watched closely as the Undead scrounged around for a moment before letting out a small gasp. She held up a mask covered by a human face and offered it to Fane.

"As promised," the Undead said cheerily.

Fane eagerly snatched the mask from her hand and pressed it over his skull. His body shimmered with gold, and then he felt the wind. He found himself smiling slightly at the sensation, realizing how he had missed his sense of touch. The Undead seemed to notice, as she laughed softly.

"Rather pleasant to be able to feel after so long," she said.

"Yes," Fane said distractedly while he inspected his new body. "How long for you exactly?"

"Some four thousand years or so," the Undead replied, "which has delighted many a scholar and the like, as much of that history has been lost. Unfortunately, I hardly left the forest in those days, so I remember little of import. That has disappointed people severely, but I do think the time involved many warring sorcerers and some dragons flying about."

As always, the Undead offered far more information than necessary, but she was older than Fane had expected. She was still far younger than any Eternal, but only the elves' mortal lifespan of over a millennium rivaled her age. Perhaps she knew something of the Eternals without being aware of the information's importance.

"Now, allow me to explain how I hope you may aid me," the Undead continued, so Fane paused in his musings to give her his attention. The Undead dipped her head slightly and gestured he follow her. He obliged, and the other two did the same. "I remember that you were interested in the Seven, correct?" the Undead began, and Fane instantly gazed at her with deep interest. The Undead chuckled. "Yes, well, I met one of them. I poked a statue and was promptly deposited into the Hall of Echoes, where Amadia was waiting for me."

"Lady Amadia?" Fane asked eagerly. "She is truly alive?"

The Undead shrugged. "Alive is difficult to define," she said, "but she did manifest herself to me and claim to be the goddess. The extent of the power she wielded encouraged me to give her the benefit of the doubt."

"Why would she summon you?" Fane inquired with narrowed eyes. He looked the Undead up and down. Perhaps Amadia had noticed the same thing he did, that this creature was old enough to at least garner some attention.

"I hardly know," the Undead said airily, "but I wish she had not. She calls me her Godwoken and desires to promote me to Divine. I would refuse, but she is holding some information that encourages me to play her game for now."

"Blackmail?" Fane supposed. He was not surprised. The Seven Lords would have no issue resorting to such means.

"Not exactly," the Undead replied. "She implied that she knows what became of my family from my mortal life, but she refused to tell me more unless she was able to meet you. From what you said, I assume the reason is because you are of the same race, correct?"

"Perhaps," Fane mused. Amadia could shed some light on his people's fate—and the fate of his own family. He could somewhat understand the Undead's willingness to perform a small task in return for such information. He looked intently at the Undead. "Well?" he asked. "How do we meet her?"

The Undead shrugged. "I have not the faintest idea," she replied with unnecessary cheer.

Fane sighed with irritation. "Of course you do not know," he muttered. "How could you? Returning to such a place is beyond your limited means."

The Undead laughed loudly. "Yes," she said cheekily. "Yes it is. Is it within your means?"

Fane blanched and glared at the unconcerned Undead. "It could be," he snapped, "if I knew where this Hall of Echoes is."

"Mm," the Undead hummed. "A shame. That would have made things far easier." She turned to her companions. "Any ideas?"

"The Seekers seem to be collecting Godwoken, so they might have some idea," the human suggested. "As much as I don't want to return to their camp, we do need to deliver the weapons. Might as well see if we can get Leya to take off the new-blood's source collar while we're at it."

"The voice of reason again," the Undead snickered. "You are developing quite the unfortunate habit." She turned to the scarred elf. "Sebille, would you like to take up the responsibility?"

"Believe me, darling," the scarred elf said in a soft purr, "your pacifist ways would not agree with my concept of reason."

"Gracious," the Undead murmured, "we have a conundrum…" She huffed and glanced at Fane. "Would you be the voice of reason, my Eternal friend?" she inquired cordially.

Fane glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and she tilted her head to the side. "I doubt I have a choice," he grumbled. "…Must you speak to me, however?" he appealed to her in frustration. "Really, this place is bothersome enough without your chatter."

"Ah, a shame," the Undead lamented. "I suppose I can only speak at you, then, but it shall suffice."

Fane closed his eyes to suppress his exasperation, reminding himself that he needed the Undead at least until he could contact Amadia. Then, he could leave to do his own research, perhaps even with Amadia's help.

"You know," the human piped up, "we should probably talk about the fact that you're Godwoken."

"Is there much to talk about, really?" the Undead sighed as though it were nothing. "I met a goddess in the Hall of Echoes, she told me she expected me to replace the deceased Lucian as Divine, she incentivized me a tad so that I did not immediately reject her silly proposal, and now we have a new friend to rectify this!"

Fane rolled his eyes.

"Okay," the human acknowledged. "Maybe there isn't much to talk about after all."

"Then, how about we stop talking?" Fane muttered under his breath.

"Ah, brilliant," the Undead laughed, answering Ifan. "I am, of course, planning to find a different Godwoken and encouraging him or her or it to ascend as Divine—provided this Godwoken is not utterly cruel or incompetent."

"Whatever makes you feel better, darling," the scarred elf said indulgently.

The trio chattered among themselves like old friends, and Fane listened, occasionally recording the topic of conversation when it began growing metaphysical or incomprehensible. The Undead was the one who usually introduced strange philosophical musings, the human employed a method of worthless casual ribbing, and the scarred elf remained quiet until she felt the need to offer a careful sentence or two. It was interesting to note that the human and the scarred elf addressed the Undead but generally ignored each other unless to trade a subtle threat veiled with humor. The Undead seemed to lead the group, run the conversations, and mediate the tension between her companions.

From what Fane had read, the Undead were evil creatures of cataclysmic destruction, the elves were savage cannibals, and the humans were the heroes of every story—and often villains, but those humans were generally considered anomalies. These conclusions did not seem to hold true, which only furthered Fane's assumption that these mortals' books were generally worthless. How one came by any trustworthy information in this primitive world was a mystery.

"And we have arrived!" the Undead cried, interrupting Fane in the midst of recording the different walking styles among the trio.

Fane looked up to see a grassy cliff face covered by vines. "Charming," he stated.

Despite vocal misgivings from her other companions, the Undead ascended, still unmasked, and strode forward without waiting for the others to join her.

"Damn reckless girl," Ifan muttered as he scaled the vines with unexpected agility.

"After you, dear," the scarred elf told Fane demurely, a feral glint in her eye.

Fane gave her a withering glare but deigned to climb the vines. The scarred elf was right behind him but sneaked forwards the moment she reached the top of the cliff. This was likely because of a shout from ahead: "The Undead is back! To arms!"

Curious, Fane stepped forward cautiously and peered into a crude camp filled with armed humans as well as a few members of the other races. They were gathered in a ring around the Undead, who seemed unbothered by the aggression, her hood still thrown back.

"Did I not inform you all that I would return with your desired weapons?" the Undead inquired calmly. "Additionally, did I not already prove that I could take all your weapons if I pleased?"

"Stand down, Seekers," another voice called out. A mustached human man with dark skin pushed his way through the crowd to stand beside the Undead. "That is an order," the man emphasized, and most of the humans hesitantly sheathed their weapons.

"Gareth!" the Undead practically squealed. "It is a pleasure to see you again!"

The human looked her up and down impassively. "I see that my first assumption was correct," he said. "You are an Undead."

"I bloody am," the Undead replied cheerfully. "I do apologize for causing such emotional distress to all of you, but my companions and I did find the weapons to defeat the Shriekers. I would warn you, however, that most technology from the time of Braccus Rex is rather unstable. Do be—"

"H-how d-d-do you know that?" a different human man stammered from nearby.

The Undead laughed. "Because I was there to see it, of course," she said cheerfully. That caused a great stir among the mortals, and many began whispering among each other. Fane made a mental note to research this Braccus Rex.

"Anyhow," the Undead said, again speaking to the least angry human, "since I was there for Braccus Rex's reign and subsequent ill-conceived resurrections and such, I beg you to be careful with these weapons and to not allow the magisters to continue to find and abuse his research."

"Your advice, my friend," the human said warmly, "will be heeded. I deeply apologize for my soldiers' reactions to your presence and hope that you will still join in the assault to take control of the Lady Vengeance."

There was another stir from the bystanders along with a few shouts of disapproval but, when the human raised his hand, everyone fell silent. This human was clearly a respected leader.

"Before I accept or deny your offer," the Undead said with a laugh, "I would like to mention that I have been named Godwoken." There was another series of exaggerated gasps. "It was rather disconcerting to converse with a goddess, but such it is," the Undead finished.

"…Godwoken?" the human breathed. He stared deeply at the Undead, then jerked backwards, a hand on his heart. "I can see it," he said softly. "Yes." He grinned widely and patted the Undead heartily on the shoulder. "We have a Godwoken again!" he called out to the others. "This is a momentous occasion!"

There was some cheering, but most voiced disapproval.

"Do we really want an Undead Godwoken?" a third human growled. "I'd rather have none than trust this thing as our… savior."

"If you try to get rid of Lorelai," the other human—oh, this was getting ridiculous; there were simply too many humans to address them as such—Ifan growled, "then you will have no life for her to save."

"Agreed," the scarred elf purred, flipping a dagger in one hand. "Think hard, kittens."

"No harm will come to Lorelai or you, her companions," the human named Gareth promised. He tossed a glare to the human who had contested the idea. "Isn't that right?" The angry human lowered his eyes and nodded stiffly.

"Ah, I am grateful for your peace and open-mindedness," the Undead replied happily. She bowed to Gareth with her hands clasped in front of her. "I would love nothing better than to escape this bloody swamp and all of the curses of Braccus Rex."

"Yes, of course," Gareth said. "Now that you have brought the weapons, we will begin the assault immediately."

"Brilliant!" the Undead laughed. "Let us commandeer a vessel." She pointed demurely to Fane's hiding spot, and he widened his eyes slightly, not having realized anyone had noticed him. "My sorcerer friend would appreciate if you would remove his collar like you did ours," she said graciously, and the entire camp turned to stare at Fane.

Fane cleared his throat and stepped into the main camp, joining the Undead and her companions within the ring of cautious soldiers. "Hello, mort—er, people," he said uncomfortably.

"And he looks to be human, just like most of you!" the Undead said without a discernible hint of malice. "Not a threat! Nothing like a scary, scary Undead!"

Gareth chuckled and shook his head. "We deserved that," he told the Undead humbly. "Feel free to send him to Leya."

"I appreciate your kindness," the Undead replied demurely.

"I apologize for not being here yesterday," Gareth added. "I could have prevented any hostility. I heard about your injuries; have you healed?"

"Healing is the opposite of what I needed," the Undead laughed, "but I have mended my bones and refurbished the damaged tattoos. One does not survive for millennia by being easy to murder."

"I can imagine," Gareth replied. He looked to Fane and smiled. "Come with me," he said, "and we'll get that collar off of you."

"My companions and I shall join you," the Undead proclaimed. "I would prefer for us to all stay together at this moment in time."

"Delightful," Fane muttered.