The “Island of James”.

1st of Kusha, The month of Harvest.

2138 years since the new gods came.

Hello Master,

I hope my letter finds you well. Time fly's when work is being done. The tower is more than complete. The circle is polished. The gateway arch over the circles center, is also complete and the runes transcribed. I hope you can come and observe the final project.

I found a strange insect crawling through the door today; to the tower, not the gate construct. It had a long, thin segmented body, with legs on each segment except the first two. The first segment had large pincers for a mouth, and eyestalks. The second segment had claws, similar to the mantis of the central plains of the western continent. Unfortunately, my knee jerk reaction when I first saw it, was to step on it.

Your student,

James

- - -

30th of Kusha,

2138 years since the new gods came.

Dear Mr. James,

We regret to inform you that your master has passed away. He talked about you fondly in his last days.

Be well,

The Family

James read the letter for the third time. As the tears started down his face, he crumpled the letter, and threw in into the lit fireplace.

*-*-*

My Dell, the real western wilds.

16th of Kusha, The month of Harvest.

2138 years since the new gods came.

It will be time to leave for the coast soon. Brandywine has been scouting for another town, but no luck so far. Nothing within at least 50 miles. Didn't know she could see past the horizon! Her range from head height is about 10 miles, give or take. Something about the magic running out past that. I don't understand it. She and Ivan have decided to stay behind while I go and meet Mike.

*-*-*

The basement of a bar.

20th of Kusha, the month of Harvest.

2138 years since the new gods came.

Three gentlemen of repute, sat at a round table, covered in green cloth. In their hands were rectangular cards with pictures of items or people on them. Some looked like jewels, some were swords, some scepters, others blood splatters. They were playing a game, brought to the world by the Bard of Rio.

In the middle of the table was a large pile of coins, and a few gemstones. One of the gentlemen was in the middle of tossing down a card when his eyes, and the eyes of his companions, glazed over. For a long moment the three looked at everything, and nothing. Then the moment passed.

The three glanced at each other, and one spoke up, “Well that's a rub, ain't it?”

“Yes, Mr. Gem. I believe you are right.” Said a second.

The third man, an elf of old age, shook his head, “Mr. Scepter, Mr. Gem, I believe we need to pick up Mr. Blood.”

As the three men walked up the stairs and into a nice, well attended bar; that was connected to the best, and arguably most popular bakery in the city; Mr. Gem spoke again, “I believe we need to call a meeting.”

“I will get us a coach.” Mr Scepter stated. “Mr. Sword, would you get the word out?”

“Of course, Mr. Scepter.” Mr. Sword replied. “We will need Everyone.”

The three men nodded and exited the bar, followed by no less than a dozen other individuals.

- - -

Mr. Blood was late for the weekly bards game. His grandchildren had insisted on another tale of the once and future Godfather. And like any grandfather, he obliged them. His daughter didn't appreciate the stories, as she had grown up during that time in the city, but she did grudgingly admit that her godfather, Max, had given the best presents.

He stepped out into the well cobbled (and clean) street, and his eyes glossed over for a moment. Just for that one moment, he saw everything, and nothing. When it had passed, and he could see properly again, he was already running for the bar.

Mr. Blood was halfway to his destination when a coach pulled up, and blocked his path. Before he could even bring his cane up to defend himself, the coach's door was thrown open, and Mr. Gem was hauling him inside. He sat, looked at his associated and spoke, “You saw it as well?”

Mr. Sword looked up from a book, “Yes. I have put out the call for a meeting. A full meeting. I have even called Them.”

Mr. Blood smiled a bloodless smile. “Good.”

The group of four opposed leaders, gathered in the Godfathers name, rode in silence to the old cathedral. The only place in the city large enough to hold all of the criminal element within the reach of the Godfather.

- - -

Gentle reader, I will avoid the tedium of titles, names, and positions of all in power who attended the meeting, but let it be said that it wasn't just the organized and unorganized criminal elements that attended. Nor just humans. As the meeting took place in the catacombs of the cathedral, the ratkin (or ratlings, as some call them) provided the security, and refreshments for the meeting*. I will also avoid the machismo shown, and threatened. And the whole decision making process.

The domed underground 'room' sparkled, with jewels, gems, and gold reflecting the light of hundreds of magical torches. The criminals; even the newest, most stupid of them; touched nothing in the sacred space. When the four suits took the dais, all conversation ceased. They told of a vision. One that terrified them. Then the oldest of ratkin, the Shaman who had dealt with The Heretic, confirmed the story. And chaos ensued.

Many hours, many speakers, and many near lethal confrontations later, a group of 13 left the meeting. Seven men, of 'great standing' in the community, five hunters of the wolf clan, and a newly blooded ratling shaman. By horseback and wolf, they left the city, and loaded with provisions, they headed west.

*If they had ever been part of a census, the ratlings would have doubled the population of the city. Also, because more than half of them had been 'blooded' against the undead and worse during the ongoing battles for territory in the depths of catacombs, they were very good bouncers.