Jack Daw Part Eight (Conclusion?)

Madame Brevity’s burned with a jaunty yellow flame, as if the flames were having a good time at their work.
The whores looked less amused.
They had been rousted out of their warm beds in the wee hours of the morning, told to get what they could carry, and hurried out of the building as the first flames started showing on the outside. Now the whole first floor was consumed, and the few people who had roused to help were incapable of stemming the blaze. Fortunately, there were no houses close enough to catch as well, but Madame Brevity’s was doomed.
At the beginning, the man who had rousted them up (an evil-looking one, to be sure) had dug like a madman, throwing pails of dirt to the girls, who had feebly shaken them out on the very edges of the flames. In fact, he had dug so vigorously that there had been a minor collapse near one of the foundations in the back, and he had ceased shortly thereafter.
He had also run inside, to get a few things out for the girls, and they had heard him banging around inside, only running out when the fire got so close to the door that he had to leave or burn. His fierce beard had been steaming when he came out, and the scar on his cheek was livid in the hot firelight. But he had been grinning, and he handed the stuffed doll he carried to a grateful whore with a nod.
And then he had stood and watched, for nearly a half an hour, while the house collapsed with shrill noises that sounded almost like screams…
*******
“That’s all I saw of him, Inspector Bentley. He had a big scar and a bushy black beard, just like I said. You couldn’t miss him. He was about your height, and he looked nice enough, before… before- ”
The whore couldn’t finish the sentence, and Bentley nodded distractedly and waved her out. She clutched a stuffed doll, half-soaked in blood, and it dripped a trail on his clean floor as she left. There it mingled with the mud and blood of 6 other whores and 4 concerned citizens that he had seen before her.
There was no doubt. All of the stories matched, and it had to have been the work of Jack Daw. Bentley smiled a grim little smile inside, but no trace of it showed on his face. Ludovico had taken him in once, but he would catch him, and there would be a reckoning. A reckoning, and then a hanging.
*******
Ludovico ran like he had never run before, but he could never run fast enough to escape his mind, and that was what hunted him now.

Flashes of it kept coming back to him.
Sneaking into Madame Brevity’s to set the fire, he had listened carefully and heard the very soft murmur of voices below. He had hidden bottles of oil in appropriate places, then set fire to the curtains that covered the back windows. There it would take a while to catch the rest of the house, if no one helped it along, but it would look impressive. He ran up to warn the whores and move them out, and on the way out managed to kick a few of the bottles over, towards the back wall.
Outside, he had made first to collapse the entry tunnel, knowing that what dirt he gave to the whores would be ineffectual. Once that was done he ran back inside to cover Sam’s Seaside’s internal exit, sliding a heavy couch over it, then nailing the couch to the door with a few well-placed swings. Then he had knocked over the rest of the oil and beat a hasty retreat as the whole place blazed up.
He knew that there was no way out for those below, and the thought gave him pleasure.

As he ran tree limbs beat at him, whipping him across the face and arms, but they had no more effect than would the punches of an underfed whore.
He ran, but the screams followed him.

When the roof started to collapse he knew it was over. There was no escape, and he knew the screams for what they were, coming from the trapped men below. But they were muffled, and he told the crowd that wood made strange snaps and noises when it burned. They soon enough cut off anyway.
After a few minutes more he decided that it would be good to leave before anyone started asking awkward questions, and he started to ease back through the crowd, but he was halted dead by a faint movement in the flames…

He no longer knew where he was, or cared. He couldn’t get the voices out of his head. The shadows around him grew longer and longer, and he stumbled, exhausted, into the deepening night…

The man with the cane stepped from the flames, and Ludovico’s eyes widened. He was untouched by the furnace around him, and his mask gleamed oddly in the light. He paused at the edge of the building, as timbers tumbled behind him and sparks blazed high into the air. His clothing was immaculate, as Ludovico had last seen him, and finally he stalked forward out of the fire… straight towards the part of the crowd where Ludovico stood.
Ludovico started to speak, to deny what was happening before him, he knew not what, but he was interrupted before he even started, as other figures stalked from the inferno. There was the one who had held his arms, there the one who had chuckled at his struggles. The man who had warned them all to the presence of Bentley’s guards held a nasty-looking hook with a bladed inner edge.
“Jack Daw,” they said, and nothing more.
“Jack Daw.”
Jack drew his blade, his short sword that had served him so well in so many fights before, but he could barely raise it against the terror that stalked towards him.
“Jack Daw.” The chant grated at his very being.
They surrounded him, mingling with the crowd, the too-silent crowd.
‘Magic,’ his mind gibbered at him, and then fled, shrieking.
Instinct took over.
He swung, wildly, at the figures around him. They were hazy and indistinct, but he swung nonetheless, and felt his blade bite into flesh.
Finally, there was shouting, and screams, but the chant continued.
“Jack Daw.”
He cut them down, and down, and down, but the chant continued.
“Jack Daw.”
He saw a doll, drenched in its former owner’s arterial blood, and he checked his swing at the last second.
Around him lay bodies, so many bodies. Whores, and civilians. But the criminals he had been trying to kill still stood, untouched... Indistinct. And the chant continued, though no living mouths formed the words.
“Jack Daw.”

He fled, into the dawn.

He fled, into the darkness.

Jack Daw Part Seven

It took four months for Ludovico to fully heal, and each day the inspector (whose name was Bentley) came by and talked to him for a while, about his life, and his plans, and each day he left with the same admonition:
“If you remember anything, anything at all, about the men who tried to hang you, you let me know, you see?”
But Ludovico held his silence. He told the inspector about his young life on the wagons, about the wolves who had attacked the Romany family, and killed most of them, and he told how his mother had swam with him in the frigid water of a river to a small island, with the wolves on the shore until dawn, when they had fled, whimpering. He told of the strange and probably crazy old man who had taught him how to fight, and more importantly, WHY to fight.
And he told an abbreviated version of his capture of Slate Jack Arell, the man who had stolen Clayton Danziger’s pearl-handled Parthian rapier, and his daughter’s virtue at the same time. He told how he had used Jack Daw’s reputation to smoke the man out, and then poisoned him into unconsciousness and brought him to Danziger for the reward.
But he didn’t mention the woman and her boy, and he didn’t say what his plans were once he had recovered.
His dreams were filled with faces, and vengeance.
He saw the other faces, the woman and her son, almost every day now. He would look out the window and they would be looking in, or he would see them in the mirror standing behind him, or just as a glimpse out of the corner of his eye.
At first he had nearly jumped out of his skin, but the faces faded quickly if he noticed them, and he became almost used to it by the time he had recuperated. He knew it was his guilty conscience, but he banished it from his mind. He would have time for regrets when he had dealt with his attackers.
When finally the day came where he could make a full stretch without pain, and he could talk without problem, though his voice was a little huskier than it had been before, the inspector visited for the last time.
“I know there are things you have told me, Tiger,” (the inspector had taken to calling him tiger, for the similarity to his last name, but he disliked it intensely) “and despite my wishes, I can’t hold you any longer in good conscience. So let me just say this.” The inspector braced his back slightly, and a grim expression came over his face. “If I catch you involved in an illegal act, I will have to hang you, and this time for good. Any affection I may have for you will not sway me in my duty.”
Ludovico realized that the inspector actually had a tear in his eye, and started to say something, but he was interrupted.
“No- that is all I will say. Good bye, sir.” And the inspector walked out.

Jack Daw Part Six

The inspector nearly fell forward over Jack’s shoulder as he finished his sentence, but caught himself and spluttered indignantly at the idea. “Preposterous! Here you stand before me, and no tricks will get you out of a trial, sir! Furthermore-, ” but he stopped and stared as ‘Jack’ slowly pulled the beard away from his chin. There was a kind of tacky substance holding it on, he saw, and its fierce bushiness had concealed the edges, where it might have been easier to spot as a fake.
Despite realizing that ‘Jack’ was a disguise, he jumped again when the man in the bed began to pull at his scar, which came off as well. It peeled up, leaving a red mark where the skin had been runneled up in a faux scar tissue ridge. When beard and scar were gone, and the former ‘Jack’ had rubbed the rawness out of his face, the inspector seemed to see a totally different person. Whereas the criminal Jack Daw was an obvious rogue, with an ill-omened look about him, as if he might suddenly knife you at any turn, the face now revealed showed only deep caring, hidden sadness, and obvious pain from his injuries.
“Good god, man… Ahhh, so who, I mean why would those posters be there…?” The inspector looked from the discarded beard and scar-glue to the face of the wounded stranger.
May I ask first how it is that I am still alive? I still remember… up to the hanging. And a knife coming out of me.
The stranger smiled his grim smile again, and for a second he looked more roguish… almost like Jack Daw.
“Ahh, yes, well, the men who had hung and stabbed you fled when we approached… We were out on one of the lord’s patrols, you see, and we heard the laughter from the road. But the blackguards heard us coming and took to their heels. One of them like to have stabbed you, though, and did a right job of it. Lucky for you we keep a healer along, and he was able to patch you up, else you’d have been dead for sure.”
The inspector looked discomfited for a second, then continued, somewhat slower and in a lower voice. “The fact is, sir, we’d probably not have done for your wounds, if a lad hadn’t recognized you and brought up there might be a reward.”
The stranger started to laugh and immediately stopped, his face white and pained. The inspector quickly grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back flat.
“Mustn’t exert yourself too much, you know, what with that wound in your chest, you see. And stay straight as much as possible, the more you bend the worse you’ll feel.”
The stranger looked around hopelessly for a way to write in that position until the inspector went and grabbed the guard’s shield and held it at an angle for him.
Thank you. So what now?
“First I’d like to ask what your name is. Your real name.” The inspector watched his face while he wrote, but he displayed no emotion.
Ludovico Taigur, of the Rom.
When the inspector glanced down at the parchment he almost dropped the guard’s shield. “Romany! But you’re not… But you’re disguised, aren’t you? So, maybe…” He looked closely at Ludovico’s face, “Yes, the bone structure, if you look closely… and your nose, now that I’m not looking at the scar and the beard.
“Well, being a Rom isn’t a crime, I suppose, though some might say otherwise.”
There is good and bad amongst my people, but I have committed no crimes here other than putting up some posters.
As he wrote, two faces swam in Ludovico’s vision, but he blinked them away.
“Well, if you’re telling it true, we don’t have anything to hold you on. We’ll check with his lordship, of course. But your disguise was pretty convincing, it was. Ahhh, and of course we’ll keep you here long enough to heal, you see. But after that you’ll be free to go.”
Thank you again. For now I think sleep will help me best.
“Ahh, yes, quite right.” The inspector gave a last nod to Ludovico, handed the shield back to the guard, and left, but Ludovico was asleep before the door had closed.

Jack Daw Part Five

Once again Jack was surprised to find himself returning to consciousness. But the burning ache in his chest and his inability to draw a full breath convinced him.
Reluctantly he opened his eyes. He lay in a clean-looking room on a white bed. Ugly-looking black candles burned on either side of him, exuding a pleasant sweet odor.
There was an armed guard at the single door leading out, and when he saw Jack open his eyes, he knocked on the door behind him. In a few seconds a man in an inspector’s uniform came in.
“Mr. Daw. How good of you to wake up.”
For a second Jack started, but this man’s voice was totally unlike the man with the cane’s, even if he had been disguising it. He shook off the memory and listened.
“I have been hoping to get my hands on you for some time, Mr. Jack Daw. You have been a very naughty boy, according to reports.” The inspector preened a bit at this and reflexively twisted the end of his long handlebar moustache. “But I warrant you’ll not be causing any more trouble in MY town, no sir.”
Jack thought he might want to stop this line of thought before it went too far. He started to speak, but gagged instead. He quickly discovered that if he breathed slowly it was no problem, but if he tried to talk he was in trouble.
“Ahh, yes.” The inspector looked slightly dismayed. “The healers told me you would have difficulty speaking for a while. It will make a confession difficult, no doubt.” He looked saddened at having to wait.
Jack made a flourishing motion with his right hand while holding his left underneath it. The inspector was quick to pick up on his meaning, and perked right up.
“Yes, you could write it down! Excellent idea, that! Let me just have this chap …” Here the inspector conferred with the guard and the guard left, coming back in a minute or so with some parchment, a quill, and a vial of ink.
Jack pulled the parchment towards him and uncorked the ink. He dipped the quill in the ink and gave it a quick tap on the edge of the bottle to clear the excess ink. With perfect calligraphy, he began to write as the inspector watched, fascinated.
On what charges do you wish to arrest Jack Daw?
He started to turn the paper for the inspector, but the inspector came around to his shoulder to read it.
“Ahhh, well, on charges of theft, extortion, and murder, of course. There are wanted posters for you all over town, you see.” The inspector seemed confused as Jack smiled grimly.
Who put up those posters?
The inspector looked at what he had written for a moment before replying. “Well, ahhh, the lord’s men put them up-“ here he checked himself, “But… well, they haven’t been around lately, you see.” The inspector frowned. This was not going according to plan. He leaned back against the wall in thought, then pushed forward again when Jack started writing once more.
Consider the fact that it was NOT the lord’s men that put up those posters. Consider the fact that the crimes of which they speak are fabricated.
Consider the fact that there IS NO Jack Daw.

Jack Daw Part Four

The rope burned, like a necklace of fire. His hands were tied behind him and to his belt, to prevent slipping them under his legs. The knots were both cunning and cruel, and he had been searched thoroughly to make sure he had no blades. The ones he had hidden on himself were piled on the ground in front of him as a taunt…

** The reward lay heavily in his pouch as he rode away from town. One moment of carelessness was all it took, to end two unknown lives. If he had only packed the ‘sugar’ up before he left, the woman and her son would have lived. One moment of carelessness.
Ironically, in thinking about carelessness he paid insufficient attention to his surroundings. He was watching the sky move behind the up thrust trees, and when he looked down they were all around him. Some he recognized from wanted posters, other were unknown, but all had the same feral look of the urban predator.
The fight was short and decisive, and his last sight before he bid farewell to consciousness was a cloaked and hooded figure with a mask… and a cane. **

If he swung a little, trying to ignore the pain in his neck, he could hit the tree behind him with his feet, but he could gain no purchase on the smooth bark. A man behind him and to the right laughed at his efforts.

** Jack was surprised when he regained consciousness, until he felt the rope around his neck. He was being supported by a tough on either side and one behind him, and the man with the cane stood in front of him.
“Ahhh, good day, Mr. Daw. We were waiting for you to rejoin us.
“I’m afraid you probably know what the penalty is for betraying a member of Sam’s Seaside.” The man smiled, a careful movement that had little to do with amusement. “It is, of course, death. And it will be administered by hanging, in this case, as a warning to any others who have similar plans. You will be left here to swing, and to rot, and cause fear.”
Jack tested his bonds, but there was no give in them. He looked at the men around him, and there was no give in them either. The man with the cane watched him carefully for a second, then continued, satisfied that he was not capable of escape.
“Well, then. I’m afraid it’s time for us to part ways, Jack.”
Out of sight to Jack, men pulled at the rope, and he was inexorably drawn into the air, his breath cut off… **

There was nothing he could do. His vision blurred, and two faces swam before his eyes. A woman and a child…
“Boss! The guard!” The voice seemed to come from far away, and it didn’t make any sense to Jack.
“Well, Mr. Daw will have to find his end without us.” This voice seemed more familiar, but it was too much effort to recall why. “But as a parting gift…”
Agony tore through his chest, banishing the fog of death that had begun covering his mind. His vision cleared abruptly, and he saw the man with the cane withdrawing a bloody dagger. He felt the bright blood pulsing seemingly straight out of his heart, and he barely heard the words the man said as he left.
“We shall not meet again, Jack Daw.”

Jack Daw Part Three

When he had covered the grave he jammed a piece of wood into the ground at the head, on which he had crudely scratched some words:


“They looked like drifters, or homeless,
and I didn’t know their names.
A woman and a boy.
They looked for some warmth
of a winter’s evening and found death instead.
I’m sorry, but I did it.
-Jack Daw”


Before he left, Jack made sure there was nothing to identify him at the scene. He poured the rest of the ‘sugar’ into a bucket of water, enough to dilute it past the danger level, and poured it on a rocky patch of ground behind the house. He wiped the tear tracks from his face with a lace handkerchief, being careful to avoid the scar and the edges of his beard. Finally he examined himself in a small metal mirror he produced from a sleeve pocket. Satisfied, he went to collect his horse.
Above, the trees stirred restlessly in the chill breeze, seeming to shake their skeletal fists at him. He ignored them and rode for town. He had a reward to collect.

Jack Daw Part Two

The grave was dug, and the man crawled out of the hole to the bodies. He took the taller one first, picking it up easily and placing near the edge. The smaller corpse seemed almost heavier, but he placed it on the opposite side. He knelt down at the foot of the grave and tears filled his eyes once more, blurring the grave to an earlier scene…

** “Nothing like hot sugared tea to take the chill out,” said the bearded man. In contrast to his bland garb before, he now wore a green flowery coat with a double row of buttons on the front, with lace dripping from neck and wrists. His vest was silk, and the buttons on it appeared to be solid gold. A fancy-looking short sword rode one hip, and a spiked buckler rested against the wall. His high leather boots were shined, and his tri-corner hat had a long feathery plume sticking from one side. A waxed moustache complemented his beard, and the scar rode up around his right eye in a wicked and jagged half circle.
The short man sitting opposite him at the lone table only grunted. He had a whippet’s lean look and a panther’s smile, when he chose to show it. Today was not one of those days. He wore loose red linen for the most part, with a sash of black velvet. A long knife depended from the sash, and he had a smaller version tucked into one boot. He had a number of pouches at his belt, and he restlessly fiddled with things inside them between drinks of tea. The clinks of small metal objects came from within.
“Can we get on with this? I have an appointment afterwards, and I don’t want to be late,” said the short man.
“Of course. More tea?” At another grunt, the bearded man poured the shorter man’s glass full once more, and then spooned sugar from the bowl on the table into it. Two scoops, and then he sat back and began to describe the job.
The smaller man listened attentively, and had the other describe in detail the buildings they would be encountering, with an eye for decorative stonework, ease of gripping, projection on which to catch a grapple and such. But as they talked, he found it harder and harder to concentrate, and had to ask more questions to figure out what their next move would be…was it the target building that had the stucco face? Was it the one next door, or did that one have the gargoyle statue on the roof?It was all … too …much.
The bearded man watched the other closely, and was ready to catch him when he fell. He eased him to the ground and quickly checked his pulse, then raised one eyelid and let it slide shut.
“You’ll be out for a little while, my rooftop crawling friend. Long enough, at least.” Grabbing the body under the arms, the bearded man dragged the body out into the cold. **

Eyes still red, but weeping finished, the man dragged the taller body into the grave. It thumped down with solid suddenness. He tried to arrange it as best he could, and then turned to the other body, and gently pulled it into the hole. He set it down next to the other, and pushed them close together. Then he slowly pulled himself from the hole for the last time. He said a few words, in a halting voice, but they seemed to go unheard amongst the pines and the cold, and he soon stopped.
The first shovel of dirt hit the smaller body, and the top of the sheet jerked down enough to expose a child’s face …

** By the time the bearded man returned to the house, now scruffy from travel and wearing a stained great cloak over his nicer clothes, it was far too late. The son was dead already, and the woman was in convulsions that would soon lead to madness, if not death. It took only one look at the sugar bowl, next to now knocked over mugs, to see the culprit … Or a look in a mirror. They had come in from the cold and taken a drink to get warm, figuring that no one would begrudge them that small favor. The woman was injuring herself as she thrashed, and her eyes were wide and bloodshot. Her tongue had swollen and her fingernails were ice blue.
He held the woman down and cut her throat to end her pain…there was nothing else he could do. **

Jack Daw Part One

The legend of Jack Daw started on a blustery grey morning in the transition from fall to winter, in a cottage on the edge of the woods. The trees still tried to hold the fading remnants of their colorful crowns to the sky, but their skeletal limbs brought to mind dripping bits of rotted flesh instead, and the crows made a gruesome spectacle as they flew amongst the standing corpses.
The only sound to be heard in the chilly air was the crunch and swish of a shovel. The ground was frozen hard on top, but the man working had broken through with a pick and was down to his chest now, no longer cold from the work. Runnels of grey dirt trailed from his red-rimmed eyes, and he shook occasionally with more than cold. Next to the hole lay two sheet-covered bodies, blood stains visible at the throat of the taller one. The shorter body was small and thin, surely no more than a child.
The shovels of dirt hit the ground next to the cottage with clockwork precision, and the man in the hole couldn’t help but remember…

**“I’m Jack Daw. I’m looking for a second-story man.”
The man speaking was dressed much like the other patrons of Sam’s Seaside Bar, which is to say ‘all in black’. He wore the same anonymous black domino, as well, and his hair, assuming he had any, was concealed by a bandana, a muffler, and a black floppy hat. The only thing that marked him was a large ferocious beard and the edge of a scar peeking from under the domino.
The one he spoke to was dressed similarly, but rough shaven and scar free, at least to outwards appearances. He carried a natty-looking cane of polished mahogany that almost certainly concealed a blade, and his domino had a certain mark at the edge, just to the side of the right ear.
“Might be I know someone. What’s the pay?” The man with the cane kept his voice low, despite the hidden nature of Sam’s Seaside, requiring two tunnels and a search to get in. The clients of Madame Brevity’s Brothel, through the thin floor above, sometimes had sharp ears, after all.
“The pay’s 3 large in advance, 2 after, with a 10 percent bonus of the take if the job’s quiet. It should add to maybe 800 all told if it goes well.” The bearded man raised a finger in warning. “But no amateurs, you hear? I understand you have at least one good topper around, and I need talent for this job.”
The cane twitched slightly at the total, but the man who held it stayed impassive. “I know a guy,” he said cautiously, “but he’ll ask for more than that, even with the bonus. He’ll want maybe 5 up front, 5 after, plus the bonus.”
The bearded man scowled under the domino. “13 large? I can get 20 scags and roust the house for that.” He scratched at his chin under the beard and spat at a tin on the floor, hitting the edge.
“You can’t get this quality for less, though. The guy I got is good, and worth it.”
The bearded man grunted a laugh. “How do you prove it before he drops a dagger into my foot while he’s up?”
“You hear about the Danziger job?” The man with the cane studied the other man’s face and seemed satisfied with what he saw. “I thought you might have. That’s the guy.”
“Him, eh?” The bearded man seemed to be trying not to appear impressed, but having a tough time of it. “Alright. 5 up front, 5 behind, and the bonus. I’ll drop the front at Brevity’s in an hour. The job’s two nights from now, but I want a go-over tomorrow to set the plan.”
The man with the cane nodded, pleased. “I’ll have him meet you at…?”
The bearded man thought for a minute. “The old Borgman place in the woods. It’ll be secluded enough that we can talk without interruption.”
With a flourish of the cane, the marked man got up and nodded, then left towards a side room. The man with the beard finished his drink and then went to begin the crawl back outside, unremarked by the other customers. **

Meetings (Amrocar 6)

Aston was waiting outside for him. And the Knight Commander had said that Aston could introduce him to the Adept.
“Aston,” Joshua said, “can you tell me about the Adept? The Knight Commander said I might want to talk to him.”
Aston was nodding before he finished. “Yes, yes, the Adept can help you if anyone could. I should have thought of it myself.” He started to usher Joshua through the camp once more, and kept a stream of patter going as they walked. “The Adept is a master of many disciplines. He normally teaches at the university in Amrocar City, it’s lucky he was along for this trip. He doesn’t come out on these very often, you see. He’s really very powerful, and most of the time the Paladins don’t need someone with his, er, experience, to help them.”
Joshua nodded and looked interested, but inwardly his mind was seething with possibilities. Perhaps the Adept had come here to retrieve a demon? Those who sought knowledge were well-known to the lower world. Many of the demons who had been summoned had gone to serve such.
Aston kept talking blithely, unaware of Joshua’s thoughts. “I understand he did a viewing, and determined it would be a good idea for him to be here.” Aston’s voice held great respect on this point in particular, as if the Adept’s viewings were well-known to be accurate. “And, of course, we found the prisoners, and you as well. So I should have thought of him immediately when we found you.” At this Aston seemed truly sorry, and his face was so hang-dog that Joshua couldn’t resist speaking, despite the turmoil of his inner thoughts.
“No harm done, Aston. I didn’t suffer any ill effects, and I hardly see how the Adept could have taken better care of me than you have. Besides, the Knight Commander told me he had been in to look at me, so he was notified.”
Aston looked absurdly pleased by the compliment, and Joshua felt warmed that he could have made the poor man’s day. He really had done a good job, after all, and been very helpful.
Aston suddenly stopped short and said “Arestides’ tent.”
Joshua gazed at him blankly for a second and he blushed. “Um, the Adept’s tent, I mean. The Adept’s name is Arestides.” Aston twitched the tent flap aside and leaned his head in. After a brief exchange, he leaned back and waved Joshua forward. “He’s not busy, said to come right in. I’ll wait out here for you.”

The interior of the tent was a marked contrast to the organized neatness of the Knight Commander’s. Cases lay about in grand disarray, with vials both unmarked and marked covering several camp tables. There were cloths covering a suspicious lump in the corner that might have been a bed, and an odd contraption hung from the ceiling that appeared to be designed as a candle-holder, but instead had strips of paper hanging all over it.
Aside from the mess, the Adept sat on a small folding stool in an area of less disarray in the corner. He wore a sparkly purple coat that Joshua decided must be sequined. Lace poked out at the cuffs and collar, and perched on his head was a neatly brushed top hat. Below the knife-edge seam of his slightly longer than knee-length pants were high silk socks disappearing into oiled leather shoes. All in all, the effect seemed totally out of place in the room. The Adept himself, aside from his clothes, was middle-aged and handsome, and his smooth brown hair appeared to be pony-tailed back.
“Good morning, Joshua.”

Questions (Amrocar 5)

Joshua realized that they had reached their destination when he nearly ran into a tent post. He noticed that Aston was watching him solicitously.
“Is the sun too much? Don’t worry, we’ll get a shade of some kind for the return trip. Oh, I do hope the Adept lets us travel at night. Maybe we could rig a travois? Mm. Too uncomfortable. Well, the Knight Commander is inside, I’ll be back before you come out.” Aston scurried away before Joshua could reply.
Joshua thought quickly about what kinds of questions the Knight Commander might ask, and replies for each of them. For a moment he thought about avoiding this meeting entirely. After all, this was a Paladin he was going to see. Could his disguise hold up? But to run would only give him away for sure. Besides, he felt confidant enough in himself and his Summoner that he was actually looking forward to the challenge. Without questioning this odd feeling, he squared his shoulders and walked into the tent.
It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the comparative dimness within, even though the tent was well lit with lanterns hanging from each post. An older man sat at a camp table, writing in a neat hand what seemed to be columns of figures. After he had finished the entry he was on, he raised his head to look at Joshua. His eyes were a striking blue, and held steady on Joshua as he spoke.
“You’re the wanderer. My healer says you’re from Chalcydon?”
Joshua just nodded. The man’s presence was amazing. He seemed to fill the tent, and though he was a good foot shorter, he made Joshua feel small next to him.
“Well, then, do you need shelter for the trip back?”
“No, no shelter.” Joshua thought quickly. He didn’t want to seem like the sun wasn’t a problem, since ‘Chalcydonians’ obviously didn’t like it. “Perhaps a light cloak that would cover me but not be too hot?”
The Knight Commander nodded. “We can find something. Good. Now. Why are you here?” His eyes searched Joshua’s face, and Joshua resisted the urge to give anything away. He used his recently-prepared answer.
“I was captured by a small group of demons. They were trying to bring me back and interrogate me for information about Chalcydon. The demons didn’t seem to know much about my homeland,” (true enough, as Joshua knew) “so their questioning wasn’t very effective. I managed to slip away in the night.”
The Knight Commander snorted. “I’ll just bet you did. No, don’t get all in a huff, I know the tricks you folks can do with shadows.” Joshua wondered again what natives of Chalcydon were capable of. “Well, we’re leaving tomorrow morning. Talk to Aston about a mount and a cloak. You’ll ride with him.”
Joshua couldn’t conceal his surprise. Was this it? One simple question, the answer accepted immediately?
The Knight Commander saw his expression and laughed. “No, the vigilance of Amrocar is not as over-rated as you seem to think. I had you thoroughly examined by the Adept.” At this the commander had looked down to turn the next page and so missed Joshua’s flicker of fear and shock. When he looked back up Joshua was again controlled. “He gave you a clean bill. Human variant, basically good moral view, memories of torture.” The Knight Commander’s expression softened. “If you want someone to talk to, I suggest Aston, if you don’t mind him. Otherwise, talk to the Adept. Aston can introduce you. It must have been a tough time.”
“Th- Thank you, sir. I’ll think about it.” Joshua managed. Torture? Maybe his time in the sun?
“Do that. If you need anything else, let me know.” The Knight Commander returned to his work and Joshua started to leave the tent. “Oh, yes. We have some prisoners in the red tent, try and stay away from them.”
Suddenly interested, Joshua stopped in the opening. “Prisoners?”
“We caught a Haglarite trying to summon a demon at the pit. He had a girl with him that he insists is his apprentice, but we think she was supposed to be a sacrifice. She isn’t talking.”
This could be his Summoner, thought Joshua. He tried for casual. “Haglarite? Is that some sort of dead-walker, or will-adept?”
“One of the crazies from the Theocracy of Haglar. We don’t think he has any particular powers. Just the insanity of the power-hungry. But he could try to hurt someone, so we keep him chained up.” The Knight Commander looked at Joshua and misinterpreted his look of speculation. “Don’t worry, he’s guarded day and night, just in case he does have some ability. He won’t escape.”
“Um, excellent. I’m sure you have it well in hand. Well, I’ll see you later.” Joshua exited the tent with a cheery wave.
Well, this was a lucky turn of events. With his Summoner here! But Joshua stopped. Was this man, this Haglarite, really his Summoner? It sounded like he was merely insane, not powerful. Granted, insanity had a way of strengthening the will past normal human limits, but how could Joshua have been examined by ‘the Adept’ and remained disguised? He couldn’t believe that someone talented enough at his task to be called an Adept could be fooled by a madman. A thought struck him. Was it possible that the Adept himself was his Summoner?

History (Amrocar 4)

“Everything fit okay? Yes, yes, looks good.” The healer walked around him, looking at the way the clothes hung. “Excellent! We have few items that would fit someone as tall as you. I’m glad they worked out.”
Joshua realized that the people he saw going in and out of tents in the camp weren’t ducking the way he had. In fact, they had a comfortable space above them. Looking down at the Healer with new eyes, he had to readjust his age estimate up by almost a decade. He had unconsciously assumed that the healer was an adolescent, having only height to judge by, but in fact he had probably reached his full growth a number of years ago. Joshua overtopped the tallest man in camp by a good eight inches. He snorted mentally. Maybe it wouldn’t be as easy to fit in as he had first thought.
“We could go see the Knight-Commander now…?” The Healer left the words hanging as an invitation. It was the last thing Joshua wanted, but he guessed it would be seen as suspicious if he refused.
“Sure.”
“Great!” The healer seemed pleased, and Joshua felt warmed that it was so easy to make this fellow happy. Again he felt that the people in this camp, especially the healer, were friendly folks.
“I’m so glad you don’t mind, being out in the sun and all. It must be horrible for you, so hot and dry. And- Oh!” The healer stopped dead. He turned to Joshua and stuck out his hand. “My name’s Aston.”
Joshua looked at Aston’s hand for a second before cautiously taking it in his own. “My name is Joshua.” It surprised him again that he was possessed of a name, maybe one of the first in hundreds of years among his own kind.
Legend had it amongst the lower worlders that the first demons had had names. They had been powerful and fearsome creatures, considered near deities, and frequently worshipped as such by the credulous upper worlders. At that time, of course, there had been no Shining Nation of Amrocar. The lower worlders thought of it as the golden age of demonkind. But the old demons had grown greedy, and had asked for more and more from their upper world worshippers, until at last the upper world had risen in revolt. Led by legendary heroes, like Burak the Everbright, Lord Dalton, and Vendire Greystorming, and commanded by Prince Amrocar the Dawn, they fought back the demon hordes until at last they had forced them to the edge of the Pit. No mercy was shown to those of the lower world, and they were killed one by one until the remainder of the once proud demon army leapt into the unknown of the lower world. Barely one in a hundred survived, and that only because the same ripple effect that prevented a mass assault from the lower world to the upper spread the change barrier so wide that it crossed the fission layer below and the fusion layer above. The breach made it possible to survive the crossing, but made the time spent in the Barrier considerably longer. It saved demonkind from total destruction, but at the cost of their original forms and worse, their names.
The surviving heroes of what was later called the Demon Wars had continued to make their mark on the upper world. Prince Amrocar had formed a company of knights and built a military outpost near the Pit. He was joined by Burak and Sharburne the Second King, and the outpost eventually developed into the Shining City, and then the Shining Nation of Amrocar.
The six noble houses that followed Lord Dalton’s banner set up kingdoms in the central lands and lived out their lives in feudal bliss, marred only by the raids of Fygur Desert nomads to the north and poaching from the wily fen tribes to the southwest. Dannis Dalton himself built a grand castle on the top of Beheaded Mountain in the very center of the world, despite the advice of his councilors. When it was finished, (despite delays due to persistent ghost sightings and a constant stream of exorcisms performed by weary priests) it was a display of modern convenience, with flow-through jakes and ‘showers’ fueled by huge cisterns on the roof. However, the first night of Lord Dalton’s residence, he and the closest 199 people to him (by dead reckoning in distance, not emotion) were spectacularly rended apart by a chill wind that hurricaned through the royal quarters. The castle was abandoned and the new Lord Dalton (a nephew) built his city prudently far from the mountain.
Lord Dalton’s advisory council, disgusted with the whims of nobility, struck out on their own and settled across the inland sea, forming a small society where intelligence and research were valued over brawn and noble birth.
Lich Master Sebastien, first and greatest of the human dead-walkers, took his disciples and his army of the dead to the Pallidus Islands in the Great Western Sea, the free-willed dead on Greater Pallidus, those controlled left on Lesser Pallidus. The practice of dead-walking was immediately outlawed anywhere else.
Laric the Channel, healer and confidant of Prince Amrocar, tried to live in seclusion, but his ability to ease the suffering of others warped from disuse, and he began to draw strength from pain. He became Laric the Bloodletter, and he and his followers fought several wars against Dalton’s 7 Kingdoms before finally crossing the Inland Sea and settling far to the north.
Vendire Greystorming had disappeared, some said because of fatal wounds suffered at the pit, but others maintained she had gone to study her arts of self-discipline and mental prowess in secret.
Evan Blessing, Evan the People’s Vision, had dropped out of the Demon Wars early. In a large battle he had suddenly called on all his troops to march south, leaving Prince Amrocar and Burak the Everbright’s forces holding off a vastly superior demon army alone, with no reinforcements expected. Only the surprise arrival of Lich Master Sebastien (who had previously been neutral) and his undead army tipped the balance. The other heroes referred to Blessing as Evan the Traitor, and several times had tried to get Prince Amrocar to mount an expedition to bring him to justice, but the Dawn refused them. Evan formed his own nation, across Greenwater Moor from the 7 Kingdoms, and never gave an explanation for his actions. Eventually their descendants forgot, and trade was initiated between the nations.
Historians were in debate about the last of the Heroes that had survived. Some believed he shouldn’t be counted as a true ‘Hero’, because he participated in so little of the actual fighting. But demonkind knew better. The very first demons had been named before language was developed, and of them, only one had survived to the beginning of the Demon Wars. His name was Gaw, and He was as powerful as whole armies in His own right. He had masteries of lore that had disappeared centuries before, and it was very likely that His presence would have tipped the scales and won the war. But He was instead the first casualty. A single person, Maladuan of Tefiyar, Protector of Treehaven, and self-styled King of the Smiling Mountains, Maladuan the Base of the Pillar, met and destroyed Gaw in a week-long fight on Beheaded Mountain. The upper worlders were barely cognizant of his act, and no one really knew why or how it had been accomplished, but the lower worlders held a special hate for Maladuan and his descendants, and blamed him for their life of exile as much as they blamed Prince Amrocar.
And now, Joshua mused, a descendant of the demon lords of old walked the upper world, and he once again had a Name.

Awakening (Amrocar 3)

Again the dreams came to him. His master had decided that their residence was dirty, and He had been set to cleaning it, using only a small brush and rag. He knew that His master was growing more and more power-hungry and insane, but was unable to do anything about it. He tried once to tell a kindly looking stranger what was happening, how His master had committed several murders, but His master had seen Him talking to the poor man, and the stranger had been killed. He had been beaten severely after that, and His memories of the next few days were hazy from pain. He scrubbed at the wooden floor angrily, with tears in His eyes. It seemed there was nothing He could do.

Joshua awoke once more to the inside of a cool tent. He was wrapped in loose bandages, and he could feel some sort of cool salve against his skin. Even his hands and face were wrapped, and he immediately developed a desire to itch. With an effort he restrained himself. With the amount of damage he remembered suffering, his skin might very well flake off if he scratched at it. But soon the desire was overwhelming, and his hand twitched to his side and scraped along it as best it could despite his misgivings. But instead of the pain he expected, it was merely the satisfying relief of an itch well scratched. Gratified, he set himself to scratching, and in a few moments felt better. Finally he looked about the tent. There were no furnishings except the cot on which he lay and one chair, and nothing to indicate who had rescued him, or what their intentions were. At the very least they couldn’t very well have locked a tent, so he rose and went to the opening. Pulling the flap aside a little, he peered out through the slit onto a busy camp. There were people cooking over small fires, people cleaning weapons, and people eating and talking in small groups. They looked friendly, was his first impression. It was early morning, and it seemed that the camp was breaking its fast. At the sight Joshua’s stomach gave a loud rumble, and he felt hollow inside. He weighed his options in his mind for a minute, but the lack of any obvious restraints seemed to indicate that he was not a prisoner. When he carefully poked his head out the door, there wasn’t even a guard. Emboldened, he ducked his head to clear the low opening and stepped outside.
The camp was large, but not so large that he couldn’t see the outskirts from where he stood near the center. And stationed around the edges were men covered in shining metal plates. With the sun low, they were tolerable to look at, but Joshua could see how the man who had found him had been too bright to see. These, then, were the Paladins of Amrocar. But why hadn’t they killed or restrained him? Were they so confident of their abilities that they had no fear of him? Joshua shook his head ruefully. At this point, without his Summoner unlocking or explaining his powers, he was little threat to anyone.
His line of thought was interrupted by an excited voice. “Master! Master, you must not move around!” Joshua’s first thought was that his Summoner had somehow found him, but a glance soon dispelled that notion. The young man who appeared from around the corner of the tent was only too obviously a healer, wearing the rising sun insignia of Amrocar on his tunic. “Master, you must stay in bed until you have healed!" The healer hustled him back inside and onto the bed, not touching Joshua any more than he had to. Joshua allowed himself to be fussed over, not knowing how to stop this bundle of energy from plying his trade.
“Now, these dressings must be-“The healer stopped himself. He had begun to unwrap the dressing from Joshua’s right arm, and encountered the healthy pink skin beneath. “But, what is this?” He looked at Joshua in surprise. “You were badly burned last eve.” Suspicion grew in his eyes, and Joshua cursed himself for a fool. Of course his Summoner would make his new form heal quickly. But his sense of disaster was forestalled.
“Ha! You are from Chalcydon, yes? You have healed in the shadows of night!” The healer seemed quite pleased with himself for figuring this out. “I have heard about your folk, of course, but never seen one myself. I will so inform the Adept. Perhaps he will allow us to move at night from now on. Well, no worry, I shall fetch clothes for you from our stores.” With that he hustled out of the tent and off into the camp.
Joshua looked at himself with some consternation. He had never heard of Chalcydon, nor of anyone who could heal themselves in shadows. In fact, almost everything the young healer had just said was incomprehensible, excepting one thing. The healer was going to bring him clothes. He was obviously not a captive, and with clothes he could perhaps ask around and see if anyone knew what might have happened to his Summoner. He seemed to have the features to pass as a native of ‘Chalcydon’, wherever that was. It occurred to him that his Summoner must be a person of great subtlety and intelligence, to have made him blend in so well. But why had the Paladins not identified him as a demon? His Summoner must have somehow protected him from detection, but he was sure it wouldn’t stand up to a close inspection.
In a relatively short time the young healer returned with an armful of clothing. He laid it out on the chair and Joshua rose and went over to look at it. It was mostly dark brown and maroon fabrics, of a loose and flowing cut.
“We didn’t have all of this in black, of course, but I got as close as I could within our stores. I know your folk prefer loose clothes over tight, so these are the largest we have. You may need to wear a belt for the pants, so I brought one. Oh, and I brought you”; here he pulled a long curved knife out from where it had been clipped behind his back. “Ta-dah! A Chalcydonian longknife. One of the Paladins had bought it for his son, and he said you could have it.” At Joshua’s blank look he said quickly, “Oh, don’t worry, he’ll get another one. We trade with Chalcydon regularly.”
Joshua essayed a smile and the healer seemed relieved. “Don’t worry, I would never try to indebt a Chalcydonian to myself.” With that strange statement he left the tent and pulled the flaps closed behind him, fastening them with a simple thong to indicate the occupant did not want visitors.
Joshua quickly started pulling off his bandages. His skin was completely healed underneath, so he wiped off the remnants of salve with the bandages and donned the clothing provided. Unfamiliar to clothing in general, it took him a few minutes to figure out exactly what went where, but common sense and some quick peeks through the flaps of the tent showed him where he had gone wrong. What he had originally thought was a hat with holes for his ears must be worn under the other clothes, then.
After sorting himself out he clipped the longknife to his belt and walked back and forth for a bit, getting a feel for the new restrictions on his movement. The clothing wasn’t as much of a hindrance as he had feared, so he opened up the flaps and ducked outside. The Healer was waiting

Discoveries (Amrocar 2)

He shot into the air, out of the Fusion Layer and over the lip of the Pit. He spread his wings to brake himself, but found he had none. For a surprised second he seemed suspended in the air, but then he was falling, crashing into the ground with barely an attempt to catch himself. He smashed his head into something hard and lay dazed under a blue sky. He thought he must be making a terrible first impression on his Summoner, but couldn’t seem to get himself moving. He smelled lavender faintly on the breeze. He could do nothing but lay there, and as he did he heard voices.
“Hey! You! Get away from there!” There was a loud clanking of armor, and then, “You’ll come with me, then. We’re going to see the Captain about this!” The tone seemed malicious to him, and he tried to raise himself to help, for surely this was his Summoner being caught by the Paladins, but the effort was too much for him, and he passed out. His last thought was that he had never heard of an unconscious demon before, and he felt a sort of horrified embarrassment at being the first.

He had dreams for the first time in His long existence. He had become the slave of a more powerful demon somehow, and was forced to do demeaning tasks for His master’s amusement. He tried to fight once, but His master’s power was much greater, and He had no chance against him. He was beaten, badly, and never dared to fight back again. But there was always a core of resentment in Him. He found a pet once and cared for it, but His master found out and killed it in front of Him as a ‘lesson’. The core grew.

When Joshua came to, the sun was shining directly on his face. Opening them in reflex he was nearly blinded by the huge orb seemingly right over his head. It was very hot, and he realized it was only a few hours to dusk. The sun had finished its transit of the sky and was getting ready to make its descent through the Pit into the lower world. Joshua rolled over and got to his feet. Despite his confused and already-fading dreams, he felt rather good, his enforced slumber having given time for his body to stabilize in its new form. He took stock of his new body, trying to determine the abilities his Summoner had given him.
At first glance it was relatively unimpressive. Well-formed and male, with above-average musculature and skin density. No wings, horns, or spikes. Flexing his fingers produced no claws, and a quick feel of his teeth revealed them to be human normal. Neither could he find any poison-producing glands in his mouth. A cautious spit yielded only a wet spot on the dry baked ground, with no fire or sizzle of acid. With regret, he supposed he must have been given more subtle gifts, and would need the assistance of his Summoner to work them out. Or it was possible that his Summoner had locked them somehow, to only be unlocked in his presence. Somewhat comforted by that, Joshua looked at his surroundings for the first time.
Dry sun-baked plain stretched in all forward directions, turning to desert in the middle distance. As the sun came down it would heat this area up to the point where nothing could live for long. Looking at his nude body, Joshua realized that he was in trouble. Despite the uniform tan covering his body, he would burn badly without covering. For a moment he wondered whether his Summoner had given him resistance to fire, but the burn of the sun on his skin made it unlikely. He couldn’t count on it, and so had to flee like a normal human. Sighing, he trudged away from the Pit, regretting the loss of his wings more and more.
An hour later Joshua was starting to realize exactly how much trouble he was in. His skin burned from the unrelenting sun, he was parched and dry, and his head was beginning to ache. He had several times seen scuff marks in the ground that indicated he was following a large group of people, probably with horses. He assumed that this was the Paladins, and had been intentionally following them so that he could later free his Summoner, but at this point he would be almost relieved to be captured if they would just give him some water and shade from the sun. He thought that the heat was starting to affect his mind, but he couldn’t seem to concentrate well enough to tell. He wasn’t sure why he kept going, but there was something pushing him to continue. He was seeing shapes in the distance for nearly half an hour before he realized it.
He tried to jog towards them, but stumbled and nearly fell. His legs were too tired to move any faster than he was already. He kept plodding on, his skin feeling incandescent and his mind wandering. He kept thinking he was back in the change barrier and chanted his name softly as he walked. After a time he heard the same clanking of armor that he had heard back at the Pit and before him came a glowing figure, too bright to look at. He swayed to a stop, and the figure approached him. Joshua tried to raise a hand to block the glow, but the motion was too much, and he fell. The hot sand was a bruising and burning agony to his tortured body, and he passed out once more.

The Barrier (Amrocar 1)

From where He floated on the thousand degree air currents at the top of the lower world He could just see the edge of the upper world. It looked insignificant, not worth the trouble He and His kind had gone to to try and re-subjugate it. But as unbelievable as it might seem, for thousands of years the residents of the cold blue upper world had beaten back His kind. He had never gone personally, of course. Those who left never came back. Shimmering in the air between Him and the cliff edge of the Pit was the reason why. The distortion was the Change Barrier. Where the Fusion Layer above met the Fission Layer below, the interaction created a veil of widely varying entropy. Anything passing through it was sure to be affected in one way or another, and the longer an object or being was within, the more they changed. In addition, every time something passed through it the Barrier distended, growing thicker at the point of passage and for some distance around. So passing any kind of force through it intact was nearly impossible. The beings of the lower world were limited to sending in small groups one at a time and hoping that they would be able to assemble into a coherent army. However, roving patrols from Amrocar soon caught most of them.

Amrocar was the Shining Nation, a thorn in the side of the lower world since the Demon Wars. It was those warriors, the famed Paladins of Amrocar, which He had been watching this day. Reputedly knowing no fear, the Paladins came to throw the corpses of those they had vanquished into the Change Barrier, to dissolve in the Fission Layer below. Almost nothing could survive the downward trip. When heading upwards, the lower worlders were already resistant to the Fission Layer. They would be then changed in the Barrier and the changes made permanent in the Fusion Layer. On the downward trip, they would be further fused, and then Changed, then ripped apart, with little or no protection or malleability left. So going to the upper world was pretty much a one-way trip.

There were only two passages between the upper and lower worlds, even through the Barrier. The Pit was the easiest if you were looking to get to habitation, but had the problem of Amrocar’s Paladins. The Abyss, directly across the world, was surrounded by impassable mountains, impassable ocean, and almost impassable desert filled with insane nomads with sharp swords. And so the lower worlders were kept quiescent. In the past some of the upper worlders had come to the edge and made deals with those below, to give one or a few of the lower worlders aid in escaping the Paladins, in return for aid against their enemies. He had hoped to find one such, despite the improbability, but with Paladins around, there was no chance whatsoever. No mortal dead-walker or mindleech would dare a Paladin camp.

Even as He thought of leaving, however, He felt a pull from above. Startled, He stopped. What was this? A trick? But only those with great desire and will could call to the depths. Quickly He focused his own great will and sent back the thought of His presence. Communication through the barrier was affected as well, and it was best to keep things simple to avoid misunderstanding. He tried to convey a measure of his power with the message, but in effect it was merely a great mental shout.

“I AM HERE!” he thundered to the Barrier, and from somewhere above He was answered.

“come to me…” The voice seemed small, but He reminded Himself that the Barrier would be altering it, perhaps unfavorably.

“WHAT CAN YOU OFFER ME?” he cried, and there was silence for a minute. But the answer, when it came, stunned Him to His very core.

“you will be…joshua!”

He floated, unmoving, for long seconds as His mind tried to weigh the possibilities. A Name! He was being offered a true Name! It was a gift both weakening and empowering. Those with the capability to grant a name to one of the lower world, who had no Names of their own, gave the lower worlder an unparalleled ability to cross the barrier. A Name was like a touchstone upon which the lower worlder could draw to keep their form from being as badly affected by the passage. With a swift enough transit, there would be almost no warping at all! In addition, the Summoner could impart some of his own powers to the demon, in addition to the demon’s own. And sometimes the fusion of powers was considerably more powerful than either alone. The disadvantage was that the one who gave the Name to some extent set the form and personality of the one who would bear it. However, for the ever malleable lower-worlders, who were used to many different bodies and styles of thinking over the ages of their lives, this was little bar. He realized then that he had already accepted. In fact, His major concern was merely if He had enough time to make the crossing before His form became unsuited to flight, leaving Him to climb up the cliff face and thus spend too much time in the Barrier, to His detriment.

He felt the changes beginning inside him and He had not yet started moving. In a heartbeat He spread his great batwings and clapped them together beneath His suddenly hurtling form. Faster and faster He flew, until the very air compressed around Him like a second skin and a huge noise echoed behind Him. He no longer had the ability to change direction, but in this, speed was more important than finesse. In a second he had entered the Fission Layer, and He felt the burning of entropy, but then He was into the Change Barrier. For one horrible second everything in existence seemed to be inside him. He struggled to chant his Name, and everything seemed to recede slightly. Then he was through into the Fusion Layer, and He felt His body calcify, no longer the fluid and malleable form He was so used to, but instead becoming something new, something set. Something called Joshua.