Endgame

"Random question, Karie... Are you content with how things are going for you?"

"The clothes on my back. Everything I own I have on me right now. I've been through oblivion once... When my time comes, I won't be afraid to do it again. Make no mistake: I don't want to do it. But I know it is inevitable, and I've come to peace with the reaper over my shoulder. I'm going to try to do as much good as possible before the end."

My eyes are downcast, trying to avoid the sight of my hand. "Thanks, Karie. ...You know..." I sigh. "I've realized that I'm a relic, someone who has long overstayed their welcome on Olegaia. So I've come to terms with it. Come to terms with death. Is that... strange?"

Why are we questioning the biology of a vaguely humanoid character of mine when I created PROGGS? The young ones in 70 even said they ate bricks whole, for heaven's sake!

He once was almost a perfect mimic of humanity, until he began to decay. I figured that my roleplaying for him would be more important then his biology. Also, Mummy's Rot is just a weird ailment, maybe?

Revenant. Certain parts of him have more skin then others... His hand has managed to hold onto some of it, but other parts not so much. There's a reason why he chooses not to show his face and why he always wears several layers of robes - he's hideous. ...

"A certain herb - a Sunshine Shimmer, found in forests near Eubric. I may have to set off to find it soon if I can't find someplace that serves it." I sigh. "I doubt it, Karie. You need alchemy for issues like this, I think."

"I wonder if you two share the same thoughts on foreign politics?" I jest. "Hey, he was steadfast, loyal, didn't require much uptake, and shot glow in the dark string. What's not to like?" My gaze shifts back to my mutilated hand, scarlet-caked shards of glas still poking out from the flesh. my mood once again turns somber as I remember Costello's grim diagnosis. "...Infected. As you predicted. May need amputation if I don't find the cure fast enough."

You went to an island with the word "Doom" in the title. You totally deserve it for being so un-genre savvy.

I felt the same thing too, but maybe it was because they were certain I was scum. Who possessed the other Topax, by the way?

I chuckle. "Like you've ever met another 428 year old who has fought cosmic dinosaurs. Anyway, back on subject. Once upon a time, when dinosaurs ruled the earth and your grandfather was only 5 years old - I cared for a pet of my own, a gift from my father. A spider. A three foot long Wladurkian Gigaspider. I named him Fuzzy." I note.

Soon, a disease that his plagued humankind for centuries will sweep the hall...

I pet the cat, the feline hazarding a lick of my hand. It gives a small cough before returning to its water, this time more rapidly. "Undead hands don't taste too good, apparently. Hershey sounds like a great name for the little fellow." I chuckle. "Well, you're now the proud owner of Hershey here, I suppose. A lot more domestic then the pet I had, at any rate."

I fail to catch the catsuit in time, the outfit instead landing squarely on my head. "So the old man has old man reflexes. Who would've known." Shaking Syntax's chiding voice out of my skull, I pick the leather outfit off of my head and hand it back to Karie. "Uhmm. Let's try not to repeat that stunt again, okay? "Anyway, the cat seems to have eyes for you, not your clothing. What do you think you'll do with it? Stray cats typically don't last long in Eubric..." I neglect to mention I killed a few of this cat's siblings.

I stop taking a sip from my drink when I hear the meow from underneath the table. "No, not that I know of. Dragons, bats... but no cat owners in here. the only cat owner I've met during my Heroica career was..." It was then that the significance of the cats colors struck me. "...Your sister." I look down at the feline, looking more closely at the breed. I raise my eyebrows at its multicolored fur; it was the same breed. "And this is the same breed she used on the night of the Ball. ...Do you still have the Catsuit, Karie? Maybe it's smelling it on you?"

"He still in the vigilante business, or...?" I crane my head to look at the questboard. "Let's see. Giant crustaceanorpions needing help, a newspaper needing help, some gruesome Hinckwell event, Hinckwell crates being robbed by the Shadeaux, dark prophecies from the veterans... The usual."

~The Sign-Ups for Quest 81 have been pushed back to September 29th!~ "Hm. Well, I suppose that is a rational as anything else us humanoids do, huh? We're an odd bunch, if not tenacious. So, have anything else to do besides talk to your undead ancestor?" I chuckle. I pen my name under 85.

I take another sip, my shoulders sagging bit - relaxing. This banter was getting slightly less awkward. "Em. Good gentleman - quested with him. Masson... Your significant other right now, right? Can't say I've heard of Octavyn." "My childhood was likely a lot different from yours. I grew up in a community of Necromancers, way before the Orcish Wars - deep in the heart of the forest. It was quite the eccentric community. Some of the jolliest people you'll ever meet, despite being masters of the dead. Need a pot of water for soup? Take it outside, make it rain, then carry it in and set the thing on fire with your hands. Those who weren't necromancers either became master craftsmen or warriors. I trained and fell into the third option." I look at Karie, a bit surprised she unmasked herself. I look down at the black mask in the palms of her hands. "Why the mask, may I ask?"

"Well... I've been told by Althior you faced down some pretty nasty demons. That takes a fair amount of skill, right there. As for being weak-hearted. We all are, in our own ways. I spent 400 years searching for a way to save my father - I don't even know where he is now, or if he's alive. All I know that, in time I spent acting like a lost child, I failed to realize I was getting old. very old. Now, I'm weak hearted in the literal sense; every day I wonder whether or not my heart will give out... But enough of that. But enough of that. The important thing about being weak hearted is that you have someone to lean on about it. Do you have anyone like that, Karie? Friends, family, close ones?"

I take a sip of my drink, mulling over my response. "Weak... In battle? Or weak-hearted?"

"Yeah, a bit. Meads and Nostrums aren't exactly the most filling of beverages, and they're pretty essential to the Hero business." I cork the remedy, placing it back into my cloak. A single word drifts through my mind - "Hammerspa-" Shaking off the random musing, I decide to focus back on reality. "Are you okay, Karie? You look a bit... pensive, that's all."

Huzzah! Thanks for hosting, Sandy! i can imagine this being among the most exhausting hosting experience yet in Heroica, so hats off for pulling it all off. Your photography and story telling were even better than usual, and I had an absolute blast playing - Byblo's riddles were the icing on the cake. Only problem I had: the Heroicans were never really in danger of losing. The only thing I'd recommend is to axe magnifying glasses and Phoenix Essences, next time around.

I look awkwardly down at the bucket. "Uhh... Need a remedy? Anyway, went on a quest. Involved some mind-altering chemical and some sort of Order Imperial."

Seeing your great times 17 grand daughter walk into the same establishment then you and promptly about to vomit is... odd. I simply wave half halfheartedly, trying to see if she'd respond at all.

"Need I remind you Heroica has already fought 2 gods, Althior?"