Delivery Man

Cover image courtesy of wix media and unsplash.

This is a "Chapter 1" Short story, meaning that it could be used as the start of a new adventure set up then asking, "What happens next?"

“Your pixies are here.”

The orc woman in the door was stampeded by a horde of tiny goblins. They plucked the mischievous things from Reman, yanking them from his coattails, ears, sleeves, and pockets as they cackled. The goblins cheered collected their spoils and bolted back into the safety of the house to enjoy their snacks.

“Thanks for the five minute nap.” The orc joked, passing Reman his payment. He stuffed it in his pocket. A small green pixie poked its head out and swatted him away.

“Pesky little--come out of there!”

He wrenched the creature out and passed it to the woman.

“Same time next week?” She asked.

Reman nodded. “Make sure the boss gets the order.”

She grinned and shut the door gently. The orphanage echoed that visceral chew the pixies had. Gods, goblins were messy. Reman dusted himself off, glaring at the pixie’s useless cage. So much for reinforcements on the bars.

“Buggers bit me…” He grimaced, looking at the small tooth rinds in his finger tips. May as well have been from tiny sharks. He shook his head and took out his appointment list, crossing off Ankle Biters (20) - Reding, orphans with an emphatic slash. He scribbled a reminder on the cages, then looked to the next order.

Sparky Juice (3) - Paelfor, Green Boy

Reman put his list back in his pocket and sighed at the quiet streets of Reding. A tiny port town, muddy streets, bustling produce, just out of sight of the orcish capital. A pocketful of countryside. Charming, rustic, all those things city folk say before they get their boots into a pile of gnome feces.

Reman took out his pocket navigator, willing it to activate.

“An’death Pael for” He said, summoning his will. Making a gesture in the air, the portal cracked into existence. Reman tucked away the navigator and stepped through.

The other side winked into view, materializing from the darkened portal into a fire lit hallway. It was a humid summer night. Lanterns and small magical lights hung in the air, casting deep shadows into the stone walls. Within a few moments of stepping through, a figure emerged from the far hall carrying a large spear.

“Ah, Boris, my favorite.” Reman said, throwing his arms up. The guardian emerged into the full light, a creature of stone and summoning runes carved into special fire parchment. It inclined its head towards the courier but stood still.

“As vocal and warm as ever… Anyhow. Delivery for him.”

A gruff, distant grunt emerged from the stone. Boris turned and led Reman through from where he came.

The ruins had been spruced up since the last visit. Piles of excavation rubble had been removed, tables had been laid out, as well as tents to form a rather homey campsite. The main cavern also had more lighting in place. The once sprawling void now yawned into a series of high walkways overlooking old sarcophagi, lovingly cradled by plants and other stones alike. Boris led Reman down towards the lower levels where Sturk was writing in a notebook, knelt by a sarcophagus.

“Ahhh, Reman. I hope the road wasn’t too dangerous.”

“The road? Oh no. I spent the past dozen portals trying to prevent a pixie prison break.”

“Pixies, eh? Mischievous things.” Sturk peered above his spectacles, analyzing some broken down runes before writing some more. “I’m surprised Telana has managed to make cages to hold them.”

“She hasn’t.”

“Ah.”

“When I lose a finger, should I replace it with a dragon tooth or a razor?”

“Personally I would go with a small, dulled hook.” Sturk chuckled and stood. “Perfect for an itch.”

“Tempting.” Reman smiled and offered his hand to his friend, who gave it a vigorous shake. “How’s the excavation coming along?”

“Well. We’ve made some room hereabouts.” He replied, moving to a nearby supply table. “Cleaned out the worst of things, gathered some names and some parting words. We would have been farther by now if the Council hadn’t chewed off my ear about respecting the dead.”

Reman clutched his bag strap. “That wasn’t unexpected was it?”

“No, of course not! What was was the Council pulling back most of my assistants due to other ‘pressing projects’.”

“More pressing than these ruins?”

Sturk’s brow furrowed. “I hear that sarcasm, and it rather wounds me. The Archon commissioned this job because like me, he believes there is something to be learned from the elder races. I know people worry about invoking ancient curses and necromancy and ancient burial treaties, but we’ve gone through all the proper channels.”

“I wasn’t trying to insult you, Sturk.” Reman offered.

He sighed. “... forgive me, then. Not too long ago I ran off Arnemus because he got another petition about removing us.”

“Who’s the caller this time?”

“Superstitious locals, nothing more. They’ve been a pain in my hide for the last year and a half.”

“What are they worried about?”

“What all common people worry about with magic.” Sturk’s brow heavied. “They don’t like the idea of a magister poking through abandoned haunted stones.”

“C’mon there has to be more than that.” Reman grinned. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have a job delivering to those people.”

The magister pinched his brow. “They believe this tomb to be protected by a dragon god. Zogathyyl, I think the name was.”

“I’ve heard of him. He destroyed half of the southern lands and kept humans as slaves.”

“Indeed. The locals believe my poking through here would provoke him.”

“Last I heard of that dragon, he was slain by Gillen the Red.”

“I heard the same.” Sturk sighed. “But they seem rather insistant so we’ve had to provide proof that we are not disrupting the sanctity of the ruins themselves. Between them and the Council I’ll be hairless by the end of the month.”

Reman eyed the ring of hair that crowned Sturk’s head, smirking to himself.

“You know Saer probably has a salve for that…”

The magister eyed him, then laughed. “Which reminds me…”

“Yes, your order.” Reman dug into his bag, brandishing the carefully packed vials. “Three bottles of lightning essence.”

Sturk’s smiled. “Good, good. The storms are still in full swing.” He took them gently and Reman saw the bits of the man’s hair crown prickle to stand on end. “Your gold.”

“Thanks… what do you need these for anyhow?”

“Ah. I’ve no special proficiency with storm magic, but small doses of lightning help to wear away at some of the gunk and grime that digs into these tombs.”

“What happened to not damaging the place?”

“Small doses, Reman.” Sturk said carefully. “Plus it keeps the air cleaner. The heaviness to this place can wear on the lungs.”

“That reminds me, when was the last time you’ve left the Pale Fort?”

“Months. I fear the locals might find a way to shut me out if I venture too far out of this area, even with Boris on guard.” He grimaced. “All of my supplies have been delivered since.”

“What about your navigator?”

“Broken. The useless thing shattered when I tried to use it to get beyond the rubble in one of the upper archways. I have been waiting on another.”

“When’d you order it?”

“Also months ago. I have a feeling the Council had a hand in the delay but I can’t prove anything.”

“Your work really doesn’t like you, does it?”

“No, sadly it does not.” He shook his head. “But someone has to make breakthroughs in this bloody environment, and the barriers to this place make me all the more convinced I’ll find something.”

Reman frowned. “Something that people don’t want you to find, though. I’d be careful were I you.”

“You’re not. And perhaps that is best. My actions led me here to begin with. I must see that through.” He donned his wider brimmed hat and walked back over to the sarcophagus with the lightning vials in hand. Uncorking one, he summoned some of his will to it and began to focus it on a particularly grimy set of runes. The lightning zapped and flared on it, making chunks of debris, moss, and other growths sizzle off. Sturk grinned, though his eyes remained stern.

“Now, forgive me Reman but I--”

“No need. I’ll see myself out.”

Reman chuckled and shook his head. For all the stress and barriers, Sturk did love his work. Uncovering old secrets was a large passion of his. Most mages looked to their shiny baubles, their positions of status, or were strict in their regulations. Sturk was a pleasantly malleable sort.

Reman returned to where his portal had opened up. Boris stood there, motionless, his helmet of stone facing the doorway that led to the outside world.

“Silent as ever?”

There was the smaller glitter of magic from within the stone husk, but the golem merely stood there, clutching his fire spear. The eternal guardian.

Fire spirits always had unsettled Reman, especially in this bound form. There was an unknowing unease around them. Their stillness especially was creepy. Their runed parchments which bound them moved over the cold stone and pulsed with the glow of their element. Flimsy paper chains to cage the pure things. Most mages had one. They were good guardians.

But Reman didn’t like them. Too many things could go wrong before, during, and after the ritual. Entropy was a magic best left untouched.

-

The portal cracked and spun, whirring a flurry of papers. Telana placed her hands on the nearest stacks. Her gaze was unmoved from the small contraption in front of her.

“Smooth trip?”

Reman stepped through and placed the half-mangled pixie cage on the desk. She blinked a few times, her brow bent. After a moment she stood up and peered through the bars. The magical runes had been chewed through and the locks destroyed.

“...I see.” She said. “Well. Always next time. I’ve gotten a new idea for a shock barrier?”

“If it can shock me too count me out.”

“It won’t!”

Reman arched a brow.

“Well, maybe a little. But that’s gotta be better than being bit.” Telana pointed to his hair. “You’ve got a little spit wad in there too.”

He groaned and fussed with it. “Is there anybody else who can do that delivery? The time before this I had one of the kids bite me. There are entirely too many teeth at that stop.”

“You can always ask.” She laughed. “What about everything else? Anybody give you trouble?”

“One tried to stiff me on coins, and another tried to claim I didn’t deliver everything. And another… threw this at me.” Reman dug through his pack and pulled out an old sock.

“What, no shoe?”

“Not this time.” He unknotted the cloth and opened it up for her to peer inside.

“Ugh, no.” She shook her head. “No no whyyyyy…”

“He said we sent him the wrong ingredients so he decided to share his own.”

“He pulled out his teeth for that?”

Reman arched a brow. “He’s a surgeon Telana. I doubt those were his.”

She grimaced and shook herself off. “Give that to Midge. I’m sure he can make something out of it.”

“Can you actually…?”

“What?”

“I have a meeting with, uh… The big guy.”

She blinked at him, then down at the tooth-filled sock, then back at him.

“Please?”

“Fine. Fine…” She looked over her desk and found a pair of tongs, which held the article enough of a distance away. “But you owe me, Reman Landerfel.”

“Thank you!”

He flashed a smile before backing away and past her work area. It was always the nicer place to re-enter Zenith. At the main gate one dealt with reception, angry customers, and long lines. In the workshops there was too much to knock down. Telana always kept her space relatively clear. Besides, her sarcasm was a welcome debrief after a long day of persistent deliveries. In the beginning, Reman had teleported by much less forgiving people. Telana had nearly flayed him the first time for scaring her.

She worked in one of the outer corners of the office out of preference. She wasn’t shy, but she liked the quiet. Reman made his way through the other stations as dwarves bustled between metalwork, mages caged their own energies, and elven tinkerers imbued magical runes into different objects.

“Hey Giff!” Reman waved.

“Oh hey Reman!” The animal keeper smiled, waving up from his checklist which a monkey held on his shoulder. “How’d the deliveries go?”

“Same ol’ same ol’.”

“I can relate - hey, hey! No! You can’t eat that!”

Giff raced towards his young pet griffin, shooing him away from some cats. Reman chuckled and shook his head.

Same old, same old.

He made his way towards the big boss’s office, who’s station was the largest and the most open. It wasn’t closed off from the rest of the tower, though it certainly felt like it had its own space. One had to descend a staircase away from the hustle and bustle of metals, animals, and spells into a large cave system. Braziers lit the way as the warm stone chilled with the depth of the caverns. Safes adorned the lower levels containing special delivery items, or dangerous magical sources. Golems roamed freely. They were the ones most able to tend to the sources without too much damage. At the bottom of the lowest path stood the boss’s chief golem, Arrus. Stone golems were the hardest to tell apart, though Arrus fortunately had an axe chunk that rusted in one of his shoulders - a present left by a very unlucky thief.

“Are you here to see Niermyrrus?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Follow me.”

The golem turned and lumbered forwards, leading Reman down towards a more open portion of the underground system. It yawned into a wide expanse too vast for the braziers to stretch their light into, and thus it was like the dark hung as a black impenetrable cloud.

Reman peered up into it, straining to see any figure. Though he didn’t know why he bothered. He felt that wisp of shifting air, then the quiet footpads of worn boots. The feet appeared first, slowly revealing the immaculate figure of Niermyrrus. He stood tall, his suit smoothed and his hands folded together.

“You know you should really get some chairs around here… Some lanterns… torches…” Reman said, offering a smile.

“I find them rather uncomfortable.” His boss replied. He returned the smile, though with the sharp teeth it looked more like he was baring them.

“Ah… right. You asked for me?”

He tilted his head. “I received a complaint. A rather loud one at that.”

“A complaint? Who sent it in?”

“The Council of Embers.”

Reman blinked. “The Council? I haven’t dealt with them directly…”

“They said you delivered faulty goods to some of their mages, including your esteemed fellow Doctor Charles Sturk.”

“What goods?” His brow furrowed. “The only orders we’ve had from the Council were some alchemy ingredients, some elemental essence… For Sturk I just delivered lightning essence today--” Reman paused. For a moment his brow furrowed, thinking about the mage’s delays on his work. “The deliveries before this were ages ago. Why now?”

“That is why I wanted to ask you.” Niermyrrus replied. “Have you turned in all your delivery receipts and navigator charges?”

“Yes, Heymon should have them.”

His boss nodded, pacing around after a moment.

“They complain about something else?”

“Nothing too concerning.”

“So there is something else?”

He shook his head. “No, they more put a strain on our deliveries. But I doubt it will last long. They rely rather heavily on our services.”

“A strain? You mean they tried to halt us?”

“Briefly, until I reminded them of their alternatives.” His boss chuckled. “That is it really. I wanted to make sure that we had all of our information in order before I responded to their latest complaint… Thank you, Reman.”

Reman nodded slowly, watching as his boss moved back into that enigmatic shadow. He felt a strange twist. Could the Council be that determined to stop Sturk’s research that they cut him off from Zenith? What was so damning about his job? Something didn’t sit right. He frowned.

He followed Arrus back up to the main surface point and then continued on by himself, eventually making the quick stop to drop off the delivery payments and let his navigator be analyzed for his end of day clock out. A strange feeling had filled him. He hadn’t had a complaint against him in years. Sure, he’d had things thrown at him or been reamed a few times, but who hadn’t? Some complaints fell short with their customer service, and only the rare few made it to the big guy. It had certainly never been something Reman had been called in for. Perhaps it was why Niermyrrus had been so relaxed on it.

Once checked out, he stepped into the streets of Zenith. The lamp lighters were at work. Twinkling, warm fires dotted main street. Reman rather enjoyed the simple sight, though tonight his mind was elsewhere. He made his way a few blocks over on autopilot, his hands gripping the strap of his bag. A cool mist hung in the air. The prickle of energy promised rain.

The Dark Frog cast a soft amber glow against the increasing night. The owner, Ellis, had several boxes laid out on the tables and was piling materials into her arms. Reman grinned a little and moved inside.

“I thought shipment day was two days ago.”

Ellis blinked from behind a sack of flour, grunting with the effort of it with the other baking materials. “That was ‘Tweak ‘em Day’. Today is shipment day.”

“Ah.”

Reman stepped forward and took one of the large bags, which was enough for her to move the others to the kitchen bar.

“They didn’t send their full supplies last time so they oversent now…” Ellis sighed, wiping off her hands. She looked over at him. “Why does this always seem to happen with deliveries?”

“Hey don’t look at me. Unless it’s a magic donut, its not my domain.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “Oh… help me get the rest of this away, will you? You want your usual?”

“That would be wonderful, thanks.”

Soon the baking supplies were carefully tucked away, and he was sitting at the cafe’s counter, nibbling at the free candies she left out while she worked.

“You should really get some new preservation chambers.” Reman remarked. “They’re how old?”

“Ages. And they’re sentimental.”

“Sentiment that could get pests inside… You could always get new ones and keep the old ones for yourself.”

“Do you deliver things in your spare time?”

“...no?”

“I don’t bake in my spare time either.” Ellis grinned back at him. “Don’t your workshops have a way to fix them up?”

“Probably… I’m sure Telana could find some way to reinforce it… Though I’m hoping her priorities are on the pixie cage.”

“Didn’t work out how it planned, huh?”

“Nope. You were right.”

Ellis made a gesture in the air like she was adding a slash to a tally. Reman rolled his eyes, though he was smiling.

“I’m sure I have a few chunks missing.”

“I noticed your hair was rather rattled, though that’s not too far off from your normal look.”

“You’re so mean.”

“Mmhm. I know.” She brought over his drink and a pastry, then pulled up a chair of her own behind the counter.

“How was business?” Reman asked.

“About the same. I had some Mevese people come in today. Loud ones. They ate about half my stock.” Ellis frowned. “One was a bit strange though.”

“Strange how?”

“Well you know how Mevese like to use magic instead of speech? This one didn’t do too much, but I caught him looking around and poking through things. It made me uneasy.”

“He didn’t take anything, did he?”

“Oh no. Not that I’ve seen… I felt he was looking for something, though I don’t know what.”

“Another snack?” Reman grinned, taking part of his own.

“I wish. He didn’t eat much. Left most of it for the others.”

“That’s almost insulting.”

“Almost? I’ve spent years trying to figure out all of these recipes.”

“And with some nudging from Mimi.”

“Yes, and some nudging.” Ellis shook her head, looking out towards the rain that had quietly started going on outside. “You know… I was thinking of expanding the shop.”

“Really? What would you add?”

“An alchemy station, and maybe sell some things along that line.”

“You miss that.”

“Of course I do. Plus I already use the materials and practices here, why not broaden that?”

“Why not?” Reman echoed, smiling a little. “We have supplies next door. It could bring in some more business too.”

“That’s what I was thinking. I’m already doing it… and if I get a more professional space, I could even rent its use as long as people clean up.”

“You know casual users aren’t very clean.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be for casual users.” She said. “Like a new mage who doesn’t have a work space, or an adventurer who just needs to brew for a bit before their next quest.”

Reman smiled at her. Ellis had such pure dreams. But they never were just dreams; she always planned that next step. He liked that. Despite such momentum, she had a very steady presence.

“I think that would be great. Really.” Reman replied. “In fact…” He dug into his bag and pulled out some money. “Consider it an investment.”

“You’re kidding.” Ellis snickered.

“No, I’m serious. Take it.”

She blinked at him, then down at the bag. After a small hesitation, she took it, and though he could see she wanted to investigate she simply held it close.

“...thank you, Reman.” She smiled.

“It might be a little self serving.” He joked, swirling his drink. “I rather enjoy these.”

“Its a good thing. There are so few vampires in Zenith. I’d never get the chance to make them.”

“Well. We’re not exactly… culinary beings.”

“Shocking.” Ellis snickered. A beat passed. “So. Enough about me and my business… How was the day’s deliveries?”

“Well… some of the same stuff. I got a sock of human teeth thrown at me today, that was a first…” She wrinkled her nose. “I know. There were also the pixie mishaps… By the way, if you lost a finger, what would you replace it with?”

“Well… if it was a pointer or a thumb, a tiny whisk. Something like a pinky I might go with a hook or knife for ingredients.”

“Sturk also said a hook, but for itching.”

“Oh that’s a good point…” She snorted. “Point?”

“I get it, I get it…” He shook his head, then sighed. “... I’m a bit worried about him.”

“Sturk?”

“Yes.”

“This is the scholar sort?” Ellis asked, moving to grab another flask of Reman’s brew for him.

“Yeah, he’s been out on an excavation trip for a time. The Council doesn’t seem too happy with him. They’ve pulled people out, delayed some materials…”

“The Council isn’t exactly known for their cooperation though, are they?”

“No, I suppose that’s normal… and yet…” Reman’s brow heavied. “I got my first serious complaint today.”

“You’ve only gotten unserious ones?”

“Ellis, I mean I was called by the big guy to come in.”

She paused. Her expression turned more severe. “...what happened? I mean, who made the complaint?”

“The Council.”

“Have you done a lot of deliveries for them?”

“Not directly. Some of their mages, sure. And Sturk is one of them.” He said. “They claimed I delivered faulty goods quite some time ago.”

Ellis frowned. “A bit delayed now, isn’t it?”

“My thoughts exactly. Though combined with Sturk’s frustrations I can’t help but wonder if they actually want him to complete the excavation.”

“It does seem… curious.” She admitted. “It could also be some mages broke their goods before an inspection, and you’re their way out.”

“Perhaps…” He still felt that doubt. It was hard to not to.

“Well… you could always avoid those prior mages’ deliveries. At least, for a time.” Ellis said. “If that would help allay things.”

“Maybe.”

She shook her head. “Reman, you’ve started the maybes… You’re thinking too much again.”

“Maybe.” He grinned at her.

Ellis chuckled, pouring him another drink before cleaning up the rest of the shop. The Dark Frog still held its warm glow as he left; that last stop in his routine before settling down for the night. He needed no sleep, really. Nor the food, or the pastry - which tasted much like dust to his mouth, though he imagined it was rich and sweet to other beings. Reman instead made his way to the city’s cemetery and the tombs where he stayed out the evenings, reading among the peaceful sleep of the dead. The cliche amused him, and the stillness was peaceful. The living were so.... Twitchy.

From his small, private collection of tomes he began searching for the bestiary he had, which mentioned legendary beings such as the ancient dragons and the heroes who killed them.

Zogathyyl, the Black Dragon. Ancient blood, scorched scales. Chaos elemental, tyrant of the lowlands. Slain by Gillen the Red in 1234.

Reman nodded a little. Perhaps such a tome would be of use to Sturk and his research. If nothing else but to add context to the fears of the locals to what secrets the ruins held.

-

Reman felt the prickling of the sun before light dawned on the cemetary. He was walking the grounds, hands poised on his work satchel, reading the tombstones and listening to the crows. He had attempted a human sleep once more. Though it troubled him. Humans spoke so fondly of sleep visions. Dreams, even nightmares, was a source of pure curiosity. The mind at undisturbed natural thought. Instead of any tangible vision, he felt that distant call from his homeworld once more. A cool wind that resonated from the darkness of oblivion. Silent. Unwavering. Intangible and yet so close he felt it lingering in his bones as he walked.

Duran McGennan, 1262 - 1284. Beloved son, friend, and brother.

Reman tilted his head. A man of youth, with a name reminiscent of Zenith’s earliest inhabitants. A noble family perhaps? And yet the grave was overgrown, mossy, and largely crumbling.

He knelt to the dirt and placed his hand over the plot, making a sign with two fingers. A red mist pulsed up from the earth. Reman breathed deeply and closed his eyes. Long lingered decay, layered by perfumes and fine linen; only an echo of the body that laid there. The plot had been filled ages ago. Only the earth remembered.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

The grass crinkled with heavy boots. The scent of swampy earth, the harsh metal smell of armor, and the faintest hint of dried honeysuckle. Reman smiled to himself.

“Back from a funeral?”

“Sharp as ever.” Branduin walked closer as Reman stood and the two shook hands.

“From Englewood no less.”

“Aye. A drake nest gone bad, but an assassin took advantage of the confusion. The funeral was for the Mangrove King.”

“My condolences.”

“Appreciated.” He nodded, offering a small smile. “I had not seen him in many years.”

“Since Greta’s wedding, I’d imagine.”

Branduin chuckled. “Gods that makes me feel old…”

“You are old, my friend.”

“Says the dead man.” He returned. “How have you been? Still carting off spoils?”

“Most days. Other times I’m having new spoils thrown at me.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, just yesterday I got enough teeth to invest in the dentistry round here.”

He laughed. “Any monster teeth? I’d invest in that.”

“Sadly not. I might ask the man next time.” Reman gestured for them to walk. “It has been a fairly mundane time.”

“You goin soft? I thought I heard nostalgia in that voice.”

“Perhaps a little.” He admitted. “Not nearly enough to leave really.”

“Why not? You hardly need money to travel. We could do contracts like the old days.”

“It would not be the same. I’m afraid my trade is rather domesticated.”

“Domesticated? Even your hobbies?”

“Well… not completely.”

“Well, what’s next then? Marriage? A brood?” Branduin laughed. “What was a domestic vampire in your world?”

“Complicated.”

“Hrmph.” Branduin paused and scratched his beard. A large amount of gray had come into it since the last age had passed. His eyes were cradled by bluish pouches, and new spots had appeared in his complexion. An old warrior - a fearful thing.

“How is Renna?”

“Ah… she was in Vilmont last I heard… Competing in the arena there.”

“I sense avoidance there.”

The old man grumbled. “A little. The girl is brash. At least there its a more controlled battle. She is too eager for blood.”

“Reminds me of when we first met.”

“Perhaps.” Branduin grimaced. “Glory in battle is only found in Arenas because of the cheering. What accolades have we?”

“Respect?”

“Ha! You had teeth thrown at you.”

“Maybe I’ll need them someday.” Reman shrugged. “But the point stood still.”

He sighed deeply. “Ah Reman… I have bout as much bloody respect as you have heartbeats. What did the Mangrove King have, hm? A kingdom. A fecking swamp. People who loved him… People to bury him.”

“…I have found that the rituals of death are more for the living. A last send off for those now beyond our aid, as well as a reminder to those connected of their bonds…” Reman blinked at him. “Are you not reminded that you should go to your daughter? She may bury you, but wouldn’t you rather she do so proud of your life?”

Branduin was quiet. His brow was heavy with discomfort, appearing much like a scolded child.

“... for a dead man you are rather talkative…” He grinned at last, meeting Reman’s gaze.

“All your imagination, I’m sure.”

He laughed then. “Well… then. Drink?”

“Later, I’m afraid. I’ve got an errand to run before work.”

“Then I shan’t keep you. I’ll be staying at the Exalted Lemon for a few days before my next contract.”

“Your next Vilmont visit, you mean…” Reman teased. “You should see Ellis before you head out again. She will be furious if you don’t.”

“I’m old, not an idiot.” Branduin chuckled. “Later, then.”

“Farewell.”

Reman watched the man leave the cemetery. Branduin’s left leg still shifted with weight, and one shoulder was still lopsided. One ear was still half-burnt beside the scar on his neck, and he still wore the same armor he had nearly thirty years past. His stride was easy, slow, determined. He was as Reman had always known him; a man of purpose and values, and yet blind to one spot that reminded him of her.

Reman smiled a little to himself. The sunlight prickled his skin with it’s alien sensation. It was like tiny pinpricks on a canvas, teasing the tension.

Such strange light. He had always thought. But it was simply that he was not of Zenith. This light was not for him. He lingered in it regardless, watching as colors swept away the darkness of the evening with a painter’s stroke. Reman inhaled until he felt the clenching in his chest, closed his eyes, and then shift.

As swiftly as the sun rose, Reman’s form dissolved into a fine mist, and he spirited away.