Happy.  Happy.

Adoring unhappy is the worst part.

“I don’t miss you at all,” she sings.

 Something for a moment then nothing again.

“I felt your heart,” she sings.

Forgotten.  Forgotten.

Adoring memories and a sick heart.

“Lass mich dich halten,” she sings.

Remembered for a moment then forgotten,

the end.

 

…just like that.

 

Like the wrapper around a candy bar.   The part that gets torn off right before the candy is swallowed.  It’s no good. It’s just a flimsy outside layer, toss it out and forget about it.

Yesterday’s news is not interesting today. The avatar is almost out of sight.

Next it will be sitting down there beside the others– not seen anymore. Next.

I’ll scroll down and feel a nostalgic tinge of sadness.

…

 

 

Baron Zorzi accepted Lucius into his house when the boy was but nine years old.

Lucius would be a Knight one day the old Baron figured, “whether or not I take him in, and if he is disciplined and completes his training, then I will promote him along with his whole family”, he thought as he signed the adoption decree.

Then once the document was signed and sealed inside an envelope, he sent another Page, Baron Zorzi’s youngest son Mateo, to fetch the lucky boy and bring him into the graces of his new life. It was to be the first of many times that luck smiled on  Lucius.

Thus Lucius was accepted into Knightly training at age 9– but by the age of 13 he was already an exceptionally impressive athlete– and very often showed it on the calcio field with grace and humility, and a surprisingly deep understanding of how lucky he was.

He was a boy with a grateful heart who new he was lucky and couldn’t help but beam with love for his Baron and faithful companion Meteo. Those two were thick a thieves and spent nearly every waking moment together during the early years.

At 13 he was given his own horse.  It was after 4 years of tending to 25 or so of them.  Brushing, leading, training, washing, caring, curing, shoveling– and dealing with life and death was his praxis.

Lucius named his horse Sunshine.

And the boy grew in wisdom and stature, and learned prowess, loyalty, courage, faith, humility, largess, and nobility.

 

I am Sasur-amen, Archivist at Apepthys, and it is I who remembers and records the great exploits of those who call themselves The Fangs of Set.

When I beheld the glorious Black Pyramid, completed after many days, and after many cracks of my whip, I could not help but cry tears of joy as I remembered what I had written before it’s completion on this barren desert plain in the west:

To whomever might read this, I write it and hope that one day I will be able to send it past the ghost wall.  I am Sasur-amen, Chronicler and Archivist at Apepthys, now the only one of my fallen Order…

…And so now I, Sasur-amen hold the whip to drive these faithful slaves to construct the Library of Sobek as the foundation of Pharaoh’s glory at Apepthys.

Within the Library the many cultures and nations are invited to behold the marvel that is Stygian culture!  And also to read scrolls and books, bathe, and or be comforted by one of those devoted to our mother Derketo. These things and many more luxuries will the Pharoah of Apepthys stoop to bless upon not only his subjects but upon the whole of the exiled lands!

Thereby the Prince shows his divine wisdom and merciful kindness!

So says I, Sasur-amen, Archivist at Apepthys

And so I wrote it.  And now it has come to pass that Apepthys stands as a glorious display of the marvel that is Stygian culture– and as it reaches into the sky it further calls for us to grasp and tremble before the might of Father Set. 

How wonderful now that the Festival of Set will be held at Apepthys!

Prince Setnakhte has decreed it as lawful to invite all of the exiles to come and enjoin his graces on that day.

Come then! all you who revel, stop your toils for a moment and enjoy a comfortable, splendorous display!

So says I, Sasur-amen, Archivist at Apepthys

“Infidelity burns like lava.  When it burns too hot it utterly destroys what it can consume, and when it cools it turns to stone.  My heart is a stone. It was on the day that I found my wife with another man that the lava burned within me.”

“For when I saw it I drew my blade and challenged the young man to a duel, as is our tradition of honor. I do not second guess my rage nor my honor but I have paid a hefty price for allowing hate, and with it rage, to burn so deeply within my heart.”

“Handily I killed the youth, only later to discover that I’d killed the son of Baron Hadrianus.  This Baron, not mine, was a close friend of my own liege. And so my act of rage led to this grim slave galleon to sit beside you, my lovely friend, that is all there is to it, all the rest is details.”

“What about you?”

The curious and overly talkative Zamorian salve woman remained uncharacteristically silent, and then only stared at the former Knight of Poitain as her arms moved with the rhythm of the oars– but not doing much, rather merely riding along… until the dignified Sir Fons gave the lady a gracious exit from the topic by adding, “But so many tales are not as neat as I have it my privilege.”

The slave then continued to ramble on until their shifts at the oars were long over and when they dragged themselves to shared bunks just previously occupied, they shared one and made love in that dirty place in a bid to lustfully numb their longing for some kind of comfort inside of a deep and abiding misery.

When they finished their lovemaking Sir Fons asked the woman, “What is your name?”, but she had already fallen asleep.

These are the chronicles of the men and women bound to Father Set in exile at Apepthys.  I, Sasur-amen, Archivist at Apepthy, pen these words as an eye-witness to the glories of Set and his mighty chosen ones who are living in exile under the banner of The Fangs of Set at Apepthys. 

One such chosen of Set is Tay-Neseret, formerly of Luxur, now of Setnakthe’s mighty Serpent Guard.

One evening as I, Sasur-amen, and Mamusa of Khemi, were reclining in the throne room and discussing subtle and arcane mysteries of Our Mother Derketo, a clamor of horses and wagons was heard traveling from the Unnamed City, passing by Apephys and heading further east.

Upon hearing this, Tay-Neseret emerged from his quarters and shouted down to Mamusa and I saying, “Call out the watch, a mounted party approaches!”

Once Tay-Neseret had said these words he departed our company and set out to discover who or what was driving the horses east.   He then followed the noise, the dust and the tracks until he came upon the Worldly Pleasures Tavern and discovered that the Necromancer had finally had enough of the Tavern and was determined to destroy it with a massive force of walking dead.

Now Tay-Neserat was greatly alarmed by what he saw and said to himself, “This is a grim sight, I must return to Apepthys at once and assemble the Serpent Guard!” And then the mighty warrior Tay-Neseret returned to Apepthys and assembled Mamusa, Theodora the Vendhyan, Setna Apophis, and I, Sasur-amen.

The Serpent Guard, thus assembled, rushed back to the Worldly Pleasures Tavern and gave battle to the minions of the Necromancer, following closely to the orders of the High Priestess Setna Apophis. 

But then a wight of exceptional strength, and with glowing eyes full of corruption, spotted and rounded on mighty Tay-Neseret! The foul creature spun and ran in quick motion and circles around Tay-Neseret until at last it enjoined him in battle. 

Now the wight was a glowing and fearsome blue, and it said, “prepare thy body to be consumed by the fires of Xaltutan!” Saying nothing, Lord Tay-Nesseret fearlessly rounded on the creature and crushed it until it was no more. But alas, despite his victory over the blue wight, Lord Tay-Neseret was wounded in the following chaos of battle.

And when the warmakers were finally put down, the entire company of those who stood against the Necromancer there retreated from the now ruined tavern and went up to into Lord Faust’s keep to seek refuge– and for the priests to offer their ministrations to the wounded.

The Necromancer in his fury then sent giant bats, and one of exceptional size and strength, into the keep, and for the purpose of grabbing Lord Tay-Neseret, and any others they could get in their dark talons for the purpose of carrying them off.

Bat and talons, leathery winds and shimmering eyes– the bats landed again and again as the company of heroes, not mentioned here but valiant, gave battle to the foul bats and kept them from the wounded.

Thus the cries of the bats were silenced as Lord Tay-Neseret regained his strength when Father Set provided this respite against the terrible future that was to come for him.

So says I, Sasur-amen, Archivist at Apepthys.

And so, the deed having been done… and done again, Pan packed his things and snuck away into the night… he was leaving the tavern for now, maybe forever.

“I mean, maybe it was my fault?”, thought Pan, letting his emotions cover him for a moment.

Pan then cried in a silence of his own making.

“It was a lot my fault,” he continued in his thoughts, sometimes barely holding back tears and at other times letting them flow, “I will miss her, and everyone, but I need to go, I have to go…”

Pan crept on through the night past the aqueduct, he thought he might head West and camp somewhere near the pyramid that Natsuki and he had seen on one of their many adventures.  Perhaps ironically, the pyramid was a comforting sight to Pan.

But Pan didn’t really have a plan, he just knew that it was time to go– it was a time for him to become stronger on his own, a time for him to be brave, and a time for him to morn.  None of these things he felt he would be able to do at the Worldly Pleasures Tavern.

He did plan on going back to the tavern one day!, i.e. if Faust lets him and, “if the Necromancer doesn’t turn everyone into skeletons!”, thought Pan, “who’d want to go back then anyway?”.  /me giggles

And then Pan, being Pan, began to tear up thinking, “how awful to think about my family being harmed…”, and then just as quickly, he remembered Muirne and Faust, “they will keep us safe!”.

/me smiles brightly and nods confidently

 

Every minute Pan waited his anxious heart beat. But every minute that passed he felt less fear and more confidence about his decision.

It was a decision he had made in the silence of his heart, and it was in the face of all his boastings about love, and of all his joy and torment, and of his butterfly– his sweet butterfly.

Would she break down in tears? Pan hoped she would but he had began to suspect that her tears might have been locked away for good– locked away even before he met her!

He imagined that she would not cry, that she would not faint, and that she would find another to love her before he had fully packed his bag.

He waited, he wanted to get it over with! He waited to start planing what he would do next without this weight on his mind, and heart. He dreaded the wait.

The tavern had been his home for a while but now that was over. He would not be able to live there. Not with her, it would be too painful. Instead, Pan would strike out on his own and see what he could make of himself in exile.

Pan waited, and waited, and began to realize that with every moment that passed he gained a greater longing for, and a peace about the thing he was about to do.

He loved Natsuki deeply, so much so that he would let her go. He wanted her to be happy, and so he would set her free from the tyranny of his love.

And so he waited.

Pan found himself motivated.

His love for Natsuki moved him and caused him joy and torment.

Joy because he loved her and she loved him.  And torment because Natsuki was stubborn and Pan knew that she would face Roble again! …and the next time it might be his butterfly who was taken… “I will die before I let that happen,” thought Pan.

And so Pan was motivated to practice his archery with renewed vigor, and with renewed enthusiasm.  He was determined that he would face Roble if he had to: “I will be brave!  I will be strong!” he thought to himself as he fired arrow after arrow in smooth successive shots.

“I am afraid, but I am brave!” he said out loud.

Then with sweat dripping down his face, he kept firing his arrows and filled up the center of his straw target, some 100 yards in front of him.  The arrows split and cracked in time as they pilled up in the center of the target…

…And then hours turned into days and days into months…

Motivation caused Pan to grow stronger, and wiser, and braver–   And all for love. 

To whomever might read this, I write it and hope that one day I will be able to send it past the ghost wall.  I am Sasur-amen, Chronicler and Archivist at Apepthys, now the only one of my fallen Order.

Now let me tell you what is happening! A tale of wonderment unfolding before my own living eyes.  I, Sasur-amen, saw how happy the slaves were to prostrate themselves before the divine Pharaoh of Apepthys.  And as I live now in exile among my brothers and sisters of the Stygian nobility, the true worshipers of the Great Serpent of the Waters, I have witnessed and smelt the divine order of his reign.

And so now I, Sasur-amen hold the whip to drive these faithful slaves to construct the Library of Sobek as the foundation of Pharaoh’s glory at Apepthys.

Within the Library the many cultures and nations are invited to behold the marvel that is Stygian culture!  And also to read scrolls and books, bathe, and or be comforted by one of those devoted to our mother Derketo. These things and many more luxuries will the Pharoah of Apepthys stoop to bless upon not only his subjects but upon the whole of the exiled lands!

Thereby Pharoah shows his divine wisdom and merciful kindness!

So says I, Sasur-amen, Archivist at Apepthys