#6 Joseph of the Bog

There are only three colours visible to the human eye. Red, green, and blue. The million or so hues we can perceive are produced from the combination of those three colours. White is their absolute unity and black their absolute absence. These three colours make up a tiny fraction of all the possible colours that may exist – cooler colours being x-rays, gamma rays, ultraviolet; warmer being infrared radar, and so on. The same is true of emotions. All human emotions are made up of a few big core feelings, blended and mixed together to produce a unique feeling. You can enjoy a cup of coffee, but have that pleasure tinged with disappointment that it wasn’t stronger. You can be disgusted by a fart, but also amused. Talking about these feelings as separate does them a disservice, but as a most likely human reader you have an innate understanding of the fluid combinations they can produce. Also true is that what human’s can experience is not the full possible spectrum of emotions. For instance, Gulliver Weighs could actually feel an extra emotion, which was part of the reason he seemed so different from the rest of the characters in this story. A feeling unfathomable to our human minds (not because it’s beyond our intellect, but because it is literally outside of it) was common to him in the same way that anger, or sadness, or joy might be to you.

Now imagine that you still had the same colours, the same emotions, but you couldn’t blend them. What if all things in the world were either red, green, blue, white, or totally invisible? If you lived in a city where this limitation was accounted for: all signs were lettered clearly in blue and white, doors were red and walls were green, and so on; you’d live your life just the same, but if you suddenly came out into the real world everything would seem so fast and confusing. A sign with blue and teal lettering would be unreadable, if a red brick building had a beige door it might be totally invisible to you, and cross walks would be suicide. The people around you who could see the variety in hue would seem condescending, elitist and mean. Like they were making up the rules as they went along, it would be worse if they made fun of you.

It was for this reason that Ba’Tok Oad’Vet was seriously considering returning to the Surhk Conclave, where he would direct his people in a Holy Jihad to purge Poset of this disparity.

Ba’Tok only had three emotions: Passion (sometimes labeled aggression), fear, and pleasure (specifically lust). To wit, his inner reasoning would look something like this. Fear: I do not understand how these people think. They can say things which are untrue, therefore; anything they say should be assumed untrue. Passion: therefore they are predators. Fear: If I am surrounded by predators, am I prey or am I part of their pack? Passion: it is irrelevant. Fear: I will always be able to become prey, even if my companions do not view me as such. Passion: The wise hunter takes a pre-emptive strike. He asserts dominance, making himself master of events. Lust: after which he is viewed by females favorably, and is able to fertilize many egg clutches. Loosely translated into common, Ba’Tok Oad’Vet’s name meant big water, many father (or in better English: father of many from the ocean). Fertilizing many egg clutches was his primary desire, it was the ultimate purpose for his existence as a male, and the fact that leading his people in a holy war might enable him to pass his genetics on to the next generation in greater numbers appealed to him more than the other two emotions.

Lacking lips or the muscles to smile, Ba’Tok did no such thing. That said, you could be forgiven for seeing a hungry sort of glee in his yellow diamond pupiled eye as he patrolled the left flank of Madam Carpenter’s Imaginarium. No one told him to do this, but his fear reasoned that the caravan (and therefore him, and therefore his testis which would be needed to produce more offspring) needed even protection on all flanks. Twig, the towering bugbear and buke, always took the front, and Rushan Al Farooq, the turban-wearing mercenary, always took the right. Without communicating this, Ba’Tok found himself closer to the back when Rush was at the front or vice versa. It was the same way that a pack of Surhk would operate. None was taught to flank and encircle prey, they just did.

Reaching the front of the column, Ba’Tok saw Twig holding his position. He wasn’t exactly in front of the first wagon, but instead tended to orbit the first three. A couple others were following along on foot as well, so a passing bandit wouldn’t immediately identify Twig as the threat. Of course, he was a solid two foot taller than the next largest person (now Ba’Tok, as he drew up), but Twig’s almost intentionally random patrol did something to shift focus. Getting closer, Ba’Tok caught the latter half of his conversation.

“… sick of your sanctimonious bullshit, Twig.” Zora Astria said. She wasn’t following him, per say; but the natural increase and decrease of her pace always put him within earshot. “I didn’t ask for a lecture, just your fucking opinion.”

“That you have opinions which may only be expressed with brevity is an indication that you require a lecture.” Responded Twig. Even his soft muttering echoed with verbose smugness.

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. You could’ve stayed quiet and then we’d be fine, but you have to go throwing shit like that around.”

“The ocean will always crash on the beach: it is as fruitless to count the waves as it is to count the sand, though for opposite reasons.”

“What does that even fucking mean!?” She lit a cigarette, tossing her previous cigarette. “You can’t just engage with me in normal conversation, it has to always be this pseudo-poetic bullshit.”

“To engage in discussion with somebody who hasn’t read Ethimere… scintillating.”

“Excuse me, your high and mighty bukeness from the ass clan. Not all of us grew up eating caviar off marble plates in the palace of his royal highness dick weed.”

That got Twig’s attention. “You may insult me all you wish, but I shall hear no such talk of my house or my father.”

That got her to shut up, Zora stared up at the buke – the frosty anger chilling her in place. Ba’Tok was not insightful enough to see the wheels turning, but to anyone else she would clearly be considering how much she could get away with here. Eventually, she offered an anemic laugh and changed topics. “I’m just saying, I didn’t get the opportunities you did. You don’t have to patronize me just because we disagree.”

“We do not disagree.” Twig returned to his patrol. “I have no idea what your point is.”

That got her angry again – Ba’Tok understood that. Anticipating her to make an attack, alas; he was disappointed. Rolling her eyes (actually flickering her head in such a way as to give off the same impression, given that Dragonborn are unable to do that) she jumped in with “My point is that you need to stop acting like you have any say here. You’re not better than me, you’re not above me. You’re just a guy with a sword, no one put you in charge.”

“I do not intend to project authority.”

“Then why did you just fucking say I had to keep back!?”

“Because I am ensuring there is no ambush ahead of the caravan. If you walk ahead of the column, I cannot protect you.”

“I didn’t ask for your protection.”

“Yet it is my responsibility to protect you, as well as everyone else within the caravan.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Why.”

Around this point, Ba’Tok’s eavesdropping had become too prominent not to ignore. He felt fear. This conversation was beyond his understanding on almost every level. For a Surhk, one’s role in a social unit was never explained – it simply was. Twig, the protector and hunter, would gladly give his life for the sanctified female Zora Astria. In exchange, her role was to lead the conclave. She would be responsible for selecting the most eligible males to fertilize her egg clutch, as well as eliminating members of the ensuing brood which were non-viable. Following this, she would make decisions regarding the conclave’s relationship with neighboring tribes, vie for power among other females, and decide who would be sent out on hunting or war parties. Up until this point, Ba’Tok had assumed this was how the carnival was organized; both Twig and Rush appeared male, and they were the only ones who assumed menial guard duty. Conversely, Madam Carpenter was, most likely, a female. The fact that Zora, another female, would not accept her lofty position and instead expected to be involved in the unskilled labor of guard work and hunting seemed… regressive? Maybe she was indicating that Twig was an unworthy male, a liability to the conclave, and therefore; she must assume this task beyond his simple intellect. Deciding this was the only possible reading of the situation, Ba’Tok made his move. Stepping between the feuding two, he asked. “Is it your wish that I eat this one.”

Both blinked in confusion. Before Twig responded. “No. What?”

“That question was not for you.” Ba’Tok eyed Twig hungrily. The bugbear had him in height, but not in muscle. The creature’s willowy frame towered above, but seemed likely slow to react. If he targeted the trunk, Ba’Tok would make short work of this inferior male. “If you are not able to perform your role, it is the will of Semuanya that your flesh be devoured.”

“Is that a threat?” Twig’s hand gripped the hilt of his weapon.

“Staring at you fills me with fear.” Ba’Tok hissed with exhilaration. “It will be a good fight, and you will make a good meal.”

“Ba’tok…” Zora put a hand on his shoulder. “What the fuck ‘re you doing, bud?”

Back to fear, Ba’Tok turned to face Zora. How to explain what he thought he was doing. The routine elimination and devouring of an inferior male specimen as determined by the wiser female was so natural to the Surhk that it almost defied explanation. Like trying to explain the concept of humor. Eventually, he explained with a clarifying question. “You do not believe that Twig is an inferior specimen?”

She bit her lip – or whatever you would call the brim of her muzzle. Stifling it, she could not control herself and Zora began laughing.

“I do not understand.” Ba’tok did not understand. “What is this sound?” He was beginning to feel fear and lust. This was either reason to worry or a mating display, though Ba’Tok was unsure if this dragonborn and his anatomy was compatible. Eventually, he said: “There would be no purpose to our union, as I would be unable to fertilize your egg clutch.”

“What. The. Fuck.” She was laughing now, for sure. She clutched her gut and began to wretch a little. Eventually she wiped the corner of her eye and returned the gaze to Ba’Tok. “Look, Ba’Tok, there’s a lot of stuff going on here that you may not fully grasp, but I’d be happy to explain it to you.” She seemed genuinely warm, and Ba’Tok felt pleasure. “So let’s start with the basics. You think Twig and I are fighting because..?”

“He is failing in his role.”

“Right, so… that’s not how that works. Twig’s role isn’t to protect anyone, he just feels like doing it.”

“I do not understand.”

“No one’s making him do it, so he doesn’t have to.”

“I do not understand.”

“What way could I phrase this which would make you understand?”

Ba’Tok considered, feeling aggression he said: “There is no way, it is wrong for a male to fail his role.”

“But why?”

“I do not understand.”

“Why does a male have to have a purpose?” She didn’t directly angle her question toward Twig, but it was pretty clear she wanted him to hear it as well. “I’m telling you, we can do whatever it is that we want to do. There isn’t anyone telling us how to live our lives, all rules are made up by the assholes in power, and the only thing you can do is make the most of the life you have.”

“Semuanya’s will sets us in motion. A thing is her will, or it is wrong.”

Twig let out a snort. She returned the stink eye. “You waste words with this one, Ba’Tok. Such lofty considerations are beyond us mere beastfolk.” Though he spoke with a sense of humor, there was an odd element of truth to it. An element wholly lost on Ba’Tok, who felt passion towards his solidity in purpose.

“Yes.” Looking back at Zora, that confusing female who did not wish the authority her sex and the goddess bestowed upon her, he concluded by saying. “If you allow it.”

She shrugged. “Uh… sure, you don’t need my… permission.” Taking that as permission, Ba’Tok proceeded on his continuing patrol. Somewhere halfway up the path, he crossed Rushan. Like Twig, he stoically patrolled the wagon. Unquestioning, unthinking; simply following his purpose as prescribed by Semuanya. There was a simplicity in this passion; the knowledge that what you are doing is the way it must be, and that no other way is needed. Generations of Surkh lizardmen, extending back beyond when the secret histories began, had been living in this pattern. It was comforting, though Ba’Tok was incapable of feeling comfort.

Further down the way he encountered Vaughn, Egon Ward, and Gulliver Weighs sitting on the stoop of his wagon. They were playing a game which involved magically floating dice pinned under a cup and seemed utterly wrapped in it. Whenever one of them rolled, there were cheers and groans. The little pig (who had somehow not been eaten, despite the effort that went into hunting him) somersaulted lackadaisically around the wagon, and Ba’Tok felt fear. Fear of something which was so holistically outside of his ken, outside the will of Semuanya that he couldn’t even rationalize what was going on. These males were diminutive, physically impotent. In the Surhk Conclaves each would have been devoured by their siblings on birth to feed the growth of their overall tribe’s strength, yet in this strange world they were not only allowed to live, but profited off the labors of the more worthy.

“I’ve got a six, a four, and a three.” Egon said, with sly confidence. How could he possibly know that? Egon had not looked at the dice, he did not know what he had rolled, and so his statement was made fruitlessly.

That said, the others tried to guess if he was… lying. This increased Ba’Tok’s fear. Not only was Egon Ward potentially lying – literally inventing information, but the others were aware. They were aware, and in a way; were lying themselves. They were claiming that Egon was a liar or that he was truthful, but the fact that they were also not totally sure meant that they must also be lying too. They were lying about lying, did that produce truth? No, it couldn’t.

The little pig squeaked and squirmed in delight, running around the legs of his owners. It had not been eaten. This tiny, defenseless animal was nothing but meat and yet, none had eaten it. There was no reason to waste food on it, it was a lie. This pig was lying. It was lying that it had value, when its only value was its eventual breakdown in someone’s stomach. In his stomach. Afterall, Ba’Tok was one of the strongest males. His role was to protect the others, but he would be rewarded handsomely for his effort in the form of flesh and egg clutch. Ba’Tok looked at little Oliver with a hungry lust. Reaching over, he hoisted the pig and lowered him whole into his mouth.

CRACK.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Egon called out, having just sent Ba’tok flying thirty feet back – he would’ve flown further, but a tree splintering broke his fall. “You dare lay a finger on that pig!? What’s wrong with you, man?”

Gulliver rushed to the simpering animal and cradled it. “Are you ok, Oliver? Good pig, good pig. We aren’t gonna let the lizard dude hurt you. You’re ok, Oliver. I love you, don’t feel scared, no one’s gonna eat you.”

At a surprising pace, Egon had closed the distance between himself and Ba’Tok. Though he tried, Ba’Tok couldn’t get back onto his feet. That had been a meaty blow – a jet of magic with more power than a war hammer. Egon placed his foot on Ba’tok’s chest, looking down. Ba’tok recognized the odd combination of aggression and lust in Egon’s eyes as the magic orbited his extended fist. “You are nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing!”

It was several more hours before the Imaginarium reached the long house of Snori the Lean. Snori was not actually lean, rather; he was what you would call ‘average’ leaning heavy. His long house was, as the name would suggest, both of those things; but quickly it became apparent that all was not good in the hood. Approaching Twig and Rush (who happened to be standing next to Ba’Tok, Zora, Vaughn, and a few sundry others), Madam Carpenter had a grim expression. She’d just been in polite discourse with the aforementioned Mr. The Lean. “So, there’s a bit of a problem with our scheduled performance.”

Among the sundries was Goodman Gray, who looked worried as he produced a pocket abacus and began to cook his books. “Don’t tell me he’s revoking our license, honeybun.”

“Nothing like that.” She reassured him with her words, but sounded just as worried. “Snori just explained to me that nobody wants to come to his party.”

“Oh, god, no, why!?” Goodman literally fell to his knees and cried to the heavens (read: arched longhouse ceiling). This did not make sense to Ba’Tok. What was a party? Why did Goodman care if nobody wanted to come? These were all questions Ba’Tok had learned not to voice in this backward, confusing land.

“Yup.” Madam Carpenter seemed to agree with him, so at the very least; she seemed to. “We might as well pack up now, there isn’t going to be a show.”

Nobody moved, eventually Zora took a step forward. “Madam Carpenter, it is so good to finally make your acquaintance. I am Zora Astria, I’m sure your…” Her eyes flicked to and back from Goodman. “Partner told you of the modest success I was able to demonstrate back in Jeh-do. A success which led to significant monetary gains for the Imaginarium as a whole, now –”

Silencing her with a gesture, Zora’s eyes met with a weary look. “If you want to talk to him, knock yourself out, just spare me the bullshit.”

“Um… I… right.” Zora seemed a little embarrassed but recovered quickly. She walked the length of the long house toward Snori the Lean, who sat on a throne covered in animal furs. He was a jarl, a word for nobility in New Radulfr, though it seemed opaque what responsibilities or powers came with that rank. He sat bored, maybe a little depressed, looking out across the empty great hall. Lazily, his eyes tracked Zora as she approached him. Turning for a second to the only other person who’d come to his party – a Shield Maiden. Her skin was painted in runes and tattoos, which Ba’Tok was ill equipped to identify. He assumed they were naturally occurring and forever dismissed them from his mind. “Oh Great Jarl of Greyhearth, Snori the Lean.” Snori was the Jarl (whatever that is, maybe like a king) of a place called Greyhearth (wherever that was, most likely here). “I am Zora Astria, one of the members of Madam Carpenter’s Imaginarium. I remind you before we begin that you did summon us to Greyhearth with the intention of having us provide entertainment at your party, event, .”

“Banquet.” He put in, awkwardly.

“Banquet, yes, of course. And may I ask, if this isn’t too imprudent a question for a lowly performer, in whose honor is this banquette.”

“Uhh… my daughter.” He gestured to the young woman standing next to him. While he was a little drunk, a little portly, and a little pathetic; this young woman was a lean instrument of death. Ba’Tok was filled with lust and fear. Lust at the prospect of potentially siring a brood with this young woman, fear at the prospect that she embodied both the superior female intelligence as well as the typically male hunter role. Like Zora, she seemed able and (more significantly) willing to fill both rolls. If this sort of female was common outside the conclave, it could give rise to a new era when males were used as nothing but mere breeding stock. Ba’Tok was afraid of this. “Today is Gudrun’s nineteenth birthday, today she is a woman.” He got up, sloshing cold ale on his chest – matting the hair. “She’s s’posed to pick a husband, wife, whatever; but look at this! No one came! How can she get married if no one’s here?”

The rhetorical question bounced off of Zora, as she continued with her own sales pitch. “My dear Mr. The Lean, it is of paramount importance that we resolve this crisis for you and your… lovely daughter.” Lust, Ba’Tok was sure of it. So it was true! These women had no use for males whatsoever, he felt deeper fear and passion. It would become his purpose to prove that males had some use, at least as simple hunters. That was the only life he truly wished for, that and to eventually have his flesh devoured by his children when he became too old to defend himself. Gudrun blushed. “Do you have any knowledge of why so many of your loyal subjects would snub you like this?”

“Oh, I dunno.” Snori said. “Maybe it’s the monster.” This filled Ba’Tok with fear. How could he not know, but also know? Was this a lie? If so, how could anything this man said be trusted?

“Monster?” Zora asked, the plated brow over one eye rose slightly.

“Joseph of the Bog!” He called out, his voice echoed around the room dramatically. “Every night he comes to my hall, he drinks all my mead, he eats my cattle. Occasionally he carries off one of the servants, no one wants to come to a party if Joseph will be here!” He flopped back down on his throne in despair. “Joseph is a terrible monster. Maybe like a troll or a giant? Something like that.”

“Hmmm.” Zora considered for a moment, “What if we were to slay this monster?”

Twig grabbed her shoulder. “A moment, Miss Astria.” Yanking her away from the Jarl, he and Rushan stared her down. “What do you think you are doing?”

“We need the money, right? I know we’re planning on crossing the sea for that Verayian tour, I also know it’ll cost a pretty penny to get us all on boats. Knowing how tight Goodman pinches a penny, we need every job we can get, well… this is a job.”

Twig and Rush looked at each other. It passed in the span of an instant, but clearly an entire discussion’s worth of information had been shared with a couple gestures. “It is unwise.”

“That… that it? It’s unwise.” Zora seemed put out.

Stepping up, Ba’Tok was surprised to hear himself say. “I agree with the she-dragon. This Joseph makes me feel fear, I wish to hunt him.”

“See! Crock’s on my side.” She returned a toothy grin. “That’s two to two.”

“Eh, three.” Everyone turned to see Vaughn, who’d been awkwardly orbiting the group until this point. “Zora’s right, we need the money. How hard could killing one giant be?”

“None of this makes any sense, and I am afraid.” Ba’Tok had been holding onto this fear for some time, but now that the group was knee deep in titular bog he had to mention it.

“A lizardman scared of a swamp? That’s rich.” Vaughn scoffed.

Zora wilted him with a look. She, Vaughn, and Ba’Tok were bringing up the rear while Rushan and Twig cut through ahead. They were probably just out of earshot, but knowing them it was likely they’d engaged in a hearty discourse of grunts and fluttered eyebrows. “What’s got you scared, big guy?”

“I fear what I do not understand. I do not understand any of what is happening here.”

Considering for a moment, Vaughn remembered. Snapping his fingers, he grinned at Zora. “This is the lying thing. He’s still on the lying thing.”

“You really don’t have a concept of lying?”

“A thing is or it is not.”

“Yet here we are.” Zora offered an expression proximal to a smile. “Let me explain, do you know how money works?” Ba’Tok’s confused expression answered. “Ok, well; you hunt. You hunt for food, and you do that so you can keep living. In Poset, we do things like hunting for coins, we use coins to buy the things we need, and that’s why we’re working for Snori.”

“Why can we not just take what we need from him?”

“’Cause he’ll kill us.” Vaughn said, a little too casually. “He’ll kill us or someone else will. You see, we’re all following this thing called the social contract and –” Another concerned look from Zora made him slow down. “A little advanced?”

“He doesn’t know what money is.” Zora was annoyed, another emotion Ba’Tok had no frame of reference for. “Ok, Ba’Tok, we hunt for Snori, so he will give us food. We can’t take the food from him, because if we did and people found out they would hunt us. Does that make sense?”

“It… does.” It almost did. While Ba’Tok could not see the value in things beyond food and shelter, he accepted the words of this revered female. “Then we are hunting for him, so that he will hunt for us.”

“In a nutshell.”

“How could he fit inside a nutshell?”

Zora waved her hand at Vaughn. “That’s a metaphor.” He cooed defensively.

“What is?”

“A metaphor.” Zora responded sharply. “You say one thing, but you mean something else.”

“It is a lie.” Ba’Tok snarled, he felt aggression toward the whole concept of lying. If lies were a thing which could be hunted, Ba’Tok would do so to their extinction. It seemed that unlike other fauna, lies bred and multiplied in the minds of humanoids. It was then with aggression that he realized what the Surkh would do if a particular swamp became the spawning ground for such a deadly predator. They would burn it to the ground. “Lies are evil, they are not of Semuanya.”

“I think I’ve heard you talk about her before.” Zora said, doing her best to sound genuinely interested. Unfortunately, she did not sound lustful, and so; Ba’Tok was unable to read her tone. “Is she your goddess?”

“She is the goddess, the mother of all Surhk. She gave us the Trinity of Survival.”

“What’s that?”

“There are three pure things a Surhk may feel. Aggression, Fear, and pleasure. Aggression is the fury of the hunt, the knowledge that a thing must be destroyed. Fear is the anticipation of the hunt and of death. Pleasure is the lust for something, usually to fertilize a female’s egg clutch.”

“Sounds like a pretty full life.” Lucky for Vaughn, sarcasm wasn’t part of the Trinity. Because of this, Ba’Tok did not read any variation in his tone as he spoke and so took it earnestly.

“My life is full when my belly is.”

“Huh…” Zora mused, looking at the two fighters leading their little expedition. “I’ve never thought about it that way before.” Rush held up a hand, which brought the party down to a slow crawl. “What’s up?”

Turning his head, Rush stuck out his jaw a little. Twig nodded. “We should proceed with caution. There is something ahead?”

“What’s ahead?” Vaughn asked, the slowest of the five he was literally trailing.

Beyond a thin canopy of vegetation was a little wall made of mud, a little wooden gate held in place like a sluice seemed the only way through. From this distance, maybe a hundred feet away, it was hard to tell; but it seemed as though there were a handful of small animals standing guard by it. “I got this.” Zora hooked a thumb at herself, before taking a few steps out of the undergrowth toward whoever’s gate this was.

“Wait!” Twig hissed, but this time she was too fast for him.

Walking up with her hands slightly raised, she called out. “Hello! I’m Zora Astria, this is my band of adventurers. We need to get through here.”

Ba’Tok remained hidden in the brush; Rush and Twig naturally did the same. “I do not understand.” Ba’Tok said. “Will she lure them into our ambush?”

“No.” Rush responded tersely.

Twig elaborated “If she is unable to convince them to open their gate, we will have to charge.”

“This is illogical.” Ba’Tok concluded. “We need to proceed, therefore; we should fight them.”

Rush shook his head. Twig nodded. “If Zora is able to persuade them to allow us passage, there is no need for bloodshed.”

“If.” Rush added, dangerously.

“If.” Twig agreed, before looking back over at Zora.

“What is meant by this word, ‘persuade’?”

“It’s when you say things to make people do what you want.” Vaughn put in, his tone of voice was helpful though his attitude was anything but. “It’s kinda like the verbal equivalent of what you’re doing right now. Hiding in the brush so they don’t see your numbers, if they’re hostile we’ll have the element of surprise which will help us win the fight.”

“The two are not the same.”

“Sure they are, but instead of having a literal band of warriors, Zora has misinformation, half-truths, and guile in her proverbial bush.”

“What is misinformation, half-truths, guile, and a proverbial bush?”

“Silence.” Rush’s steel gaze locked with Vaughn’s. In the dim, swamp light they looked like black pits of ichor – only aggression burned within. Deciding that discretion was the better part of not getting his ass kicked, Vaughn stopped talking.

“… the Lean sent us, offering no small reward I might add.” Zora added. “So the fact of your compensation will be well accounted for when we return with Joseph’s head. All that I ask is that you offer to me the tiniest of small favors which is temporary access to the gate which you have so excellently constructed.”

“No, you don’t understand.” The odd animal that she was talking to said. “This is a shake down.”

“Oh… fuck nuggets.” And so she sucker punched him with a crackling whip of dark energy. Taking that as a sign diplomacy had failed, the others leapt from the brush to her aide. Twig led the charge, drawing both swords he executed four swift, precise movements rendering three of the creatures dead. Ba’Tok lifted one off of his feet and chomped down. Not knowing what a gnoll was, Ba’Tok was baffled as he killed the squirming bipedal hyena man. Not knowing what a hyena was, he also lacked the words and concepts to describe a gnoll – and so; this was just confusing all around for him. Rushan’s wind clone was on the wall in an instant, blinking; he traded places with it. The man was a little slower than Twig, but his years of experience were demonstrated in refined technique. He and his clone stood back-to-back, kicking Gnolls off the wall one by one as they fought their way to the gate. Vaughn did nothing.

Surrounding herself with a cyclone of dark magic, Zora did her best to fend off the gnolls – but more and more sprung up from the slime around her. Apparently, they’d also been planning an ambush if diplomacy failed, but unlike Zora, had set up their ambush much closer to the gate. It was about all she could do to keep them off her, as the sword master got close.

One leapt through the air, she failed to catch him in her web of shadows; and his ax came crashing down on her. At the last second, a thin sword ran through its throat and slashed upward. Her shadows dwindled, as Twig flourished the blade. The warm look of relief on her face was quickly splashed with anguish when he chastised her. “This was reckless.”

“Yeah, well, I knew you had my back.” She shrugged, blasting another jittering bolt to one of the fleeing gnolls. “Besides, it works most of the time.”

The gate began to rise, Rush had taken control of the mechanism and hoisted it up as his shadow clone covered his rear. “You repeatedly put yourself, and our mission, in unnecessarily dangerous positions. Driven by a self-serving desire to be at the center of attention, you do not consider the consequences of your actions.”

“Is that… really what you think?” The group crossed the gate’s threshold, in a moment Rush had teleported down and it slammed behind. “C’mon Twig, that’s not funny. I know we’ve had our disagreements, but I’m doing this for us. For all of us, you know that.”

“This whole venture was an unnecessary risk, further; by engaging the gnolls without our consent you forced us to –”

“I didn’t force shit. I saw my shot and I took it. What the fuck is wrong with you – Oh, wait, I know.” For the descendent of an ice dragon, Zora’s blue eyes were burning. “You’re just used to shit going your way. Is that it? You think that because you’re the son of some buke, a noble, that we all have to beg your permission before you start treating us with a modicum of respect: well, I’m sick of your bullshit. Not all of us could grow up with a silver spoon!” She stormed ahead. Vaughn tapped his fingertips together, blushed and ran to catch up.

Twig looked at Rush, there was a moment of silent understanding which passed between them, and then to Ba’Tok. “We should keep pace with them, there is no knowing what will happen if they reach this Joseph before us.”

“Agreed.” Rush agreed.

For a long pause, Ba’Tok weighed his fear. “Was this a battle of words?” He asked, having no understanding of what that actually meant; but it was his purpose. The task he’d been given by the matron of his conclave was to solve such mysteries. What was the outside world like, what were the people of Poset like, and most importantly of all; what should the Surhk do about them?

“In a way.” Rush answered for Twig. “In order for a unit to be cohesive, each member must do their part. By attempting to correct her, Twig wishes to mitigate future risks to us.” He offered Twig a probing look, the Bugbear seemed embarrassed.

“I know, I let my feelings get the best of me.” He had not demonstrated fear, passion, or lust in that or any other statement. It was now that Ba’Tok first considered the possibility that those of Poset felt additional emotions. “Her selfishness is at times… stifling.”

“Yet, I think she is a good person underneath.”

“Are you saying her innards are in good health?” Ba’Tok was still baffled.

Rush let out a hearty laugh – which for him was actually a fast exhale. “That too, Oad’Vet, but I meant morally.”

“What is this morality?”

“Some behave with honour; some behave in callous self-service.” Twig said.

Chiding him, Rush patted his shoulder. “Self-service isn’t always callous. It only becomes so when one puts their needs above others.”

Twig nodded, Ba’Tok actually understood that. He was honourable because he did his role as prescribed by the tribe, Zora was not honourable because she acted alone. This was in line with the trinity in many ways, and Ba’Tok felt an odd kinship with these men. “Tell me what is honour.”

“Commitment to one’s vows.” Twig began. “Honesty and integrity.”

“Integrity.”

“Speaking truth.” Rush clarified.

Truth. The opposite of a lie. In the same way that these creatures could say something which was false, they could also willingly contend with this nature and intentionally be truthful. The Surkh were not thus afflicted, only being able to see the world as true or not true, they were pure. They did not need honour, because Semuanya blessed them to be above it. These people needed that blessing, Ba’Tok concluded. Though some could be honourable by will, many others chose not to be. This was a path in need of correcting, but there was still more for Ba’Tok to learn.

The group caught up to Zora and Vaughn a few minutes later, on the edge of the swamp was a clearing. A big sign reading ‘Joseph’s Bog’ had been posted a few yards clear of the mouth of a cave. Despite obvious tension, nobody brought up the fight. “So… what’s our plan?” Vaughn asked, hoping to cut through at least some of the tension. He was… middlingly successful, as it got the group to at least look at each other again.

“I say we talk to him.” Zora said, clearly looking to pick a fight, she eyed Twig probingly.

“He is a monster who has been raiding our benefactor.” Twig scowled. “I see no probability that you would be able to influence his behaviour with your words, far more likely; we would find ourselves on the back foot in another conflict.”

“Maybe.” Zora shrugged. “One way to find out.” Standing, she took a step into the opening and then turned back to the group. “With your leave, oh magnanimous leader.” Not waiting for his response, Zora turned and approached the bog, which presumably housed the eponymous and titular Joseph of the. “Oh, Joseph of the Bog. I am Zora Astria, adventurer from Trost on a quest from Snori the Lean. Would you be willing to entreat with us?”

There was silence. Twig clutched his sword, Ba’tok bared his teeth. This was it. The deep inhale before a battle. “Who dares enter my bog?”

“I… I just told you.” Zora said to the mouth of the cave, though now the outline of something big could be seen within. He was huge, clearly humanoid in shape, but as Snori had said; either a troll and/or ogre or a giant. Regardless of which one he ended up being, Joseph would also end up being a pretty deadly foe. “We have come from Greyhearth, hoping to discuss the terms of our absolute surrender.”

That got Joseph to pause, the rattling breath shook the teeth of the cave. “What is she doing?” Ba’Tok did not recall a discussion of their potential surrender. Was this… could this be…

“She’s lying.” Vaughn answered. Even though Ba’Tok understood nearly none of his comrades' emotions, he knew the rage on Twig’s face well. Fist clenched on the hilt of his sword, Twig was a viper. Rush gently glanced down. Twig slackened.

“Oh, he did, did he?” Joseph asked, his voice was the mud and the soil, the river and the bog. He seemed amused, an emotion totally beyond the understanding of Ba’Tok. That filled him with fear. Not excited, exhilarated, passionate fear. True, cold terror. “Finally seen sense, has he?”

“Oh yes.” Zora said, beginning to pace back and forth by the cave’s mouth. “We have been sent to praise you, and to say that you are always welcome at his table.”

“No, I cannot accept this.” Twig jumped to his feet, standing in the bush with his hand on his sword, Zora turned and stopped him with a glance. On the battlefield, he was a warrior poet, but here; when words and subtle intonation – manipulation and intrigue were the weapons, she was the sword master.

“If this is true, and he wishes to feed me, then I consider these acceptable terms to his surrender.” And so Joseph emerged from the cave. A troll, as it happened. About twenty feet tall with withered green skin. Like Twig, his arms were long and willowy – though a willow in comparison to his massive height was still the width of Ba’tok’s trunk. This creature would have slaughtered them all effortlessly. “Lead me to Snori’s.”

The actual method Zora Astria utilized to convince Snori the Lean that it would be easier to keep Joseph in food and mead than fight was incredible. Verbal and mental aerobics which were as unfollowable Ba’Tok as the colour theory cold opening to this story. It worked though, through some miracle. Snori was so happy that he continued the party, and when the time of night came for Gudrun to choose a husband he selected none other than Zora Astria. The pair were married, and Zora became thane Zora. A title she invested no effort into learning about, as she quickly whisked her new bride back to their bed chambers.

Madam Carpenter’s Imaginarium got to perform, Goodman’s books were well balanced by the end of that night, and he could even be seen dancing a Northern Jig for the pleasure of all those in attendance. It turned out Joseph of the Bog played a mean bongo, and there was much rejoicing.

Night had long fallen, the flames of celebration burned to embers and ash. Ba’Tok alone stood at the door to the long house, none the wiser than when he’d started this adventure. The only thing that had changed was that he had become more aggressive. “You still up?” The voice belonged to Zora, who came out to stand next to him. Decked in a traditional Radulfrian wedding gown, a thane’s crown, and a crooked smile, she stood next to the Surhk.

“The Surhk require three hours of sleep. Another strength of ours.”

“No, no, I see that.” Zora yawned. She was probably a little drunk. A slow roaring snore picked up, Joseph had finally passed out after eating three whole cows and a steward. “This worked out. Everyone’s happy, no one died. Today was a good day.”

“Did you behave with honour?”

“Fuck off, Twig already gave me that lecture.”

“What is… a lecture.”

For a moment, Zora seemed to have forgotten who she was talking to. “You were literally asking if what I did was honourable?”

“I do not understand this: literally.”

Taking a moment to light up one of her cigarettes, Zora mused. “I dunno, honour isn’t one thing. You decide what’s honourable for you, and then you get to judge yourself by those standards.”

“The only standard I understand was written by –”

“By Semuanya, yeah, yeah, I figured.” She puffed out a thick cloud. “Twig seems to think that the ends don’t justify the means, I lied and so it poisoned the end result, but he can go fuck himself. I lied to a lot of people today, but after all that; no one died… except that one steward… but no one else died, everyone is happy, and everyone got what they wanted. Including us. For all his high minded sophistry, his version of this playing out would lead to us being broke, Snori being alone, Gudrun being unhappily single, and that troll somehow dead in the mix – him or us. If that’s honourable, maybe I don’t wanna be.”

“Is he… high minded because he is tall?”

She coughed. “No, it means he thinks too much.”

“You talk too much.”

“But look what it got us?” She smiled, letting some ash fall from the tip of her cigg. “Huh?” Grinning, she bit it between her teeth and took a long drag. “You’re afraid of lying because you don’t understand it, it’s not of ‘Semuanya’ so it must be evil, and today did nothing to change your mind? The single fact that it all worked out in the end isn’t enough to maybe open some wiggle room in that philosophy of yours?”

“If I do not follow the will of Semuanya, I would not be Surhk.”

“Let me tell you about my god, then. I’m Zelk… never heard of us?” Ba’Tok had not, though in fairness; he had not heard of almost all of Poset. “Well, White Zelk worship Zorinaith – a great white dragon who lived thousands of years ago. The thing about Zorinaith that made him worthy of worship, or whatever you wanna call it, wasn’t that he was the strongest dragon in Ivorox. He was the most cunning. For years, he would take human form and travel Ivorox and Poset – called himself Farrowind. And by doing that, he learned to understand people. How to get them to do the right thing. So, in a way, the will of Zorinaith is for us to learn from each other. Can you do that for me, Ba’Tok? Have an open mind and learn that maybe not all lying is always bad?”

For a moment, the great Surhk considered, and then he responded; “Semuanya is a goddess because she ate more than anyone else, she had the mightiest egg clutch and birthed the Surhk race. She taught them fear.” Zora did her best not to laugh, luckily mirth was also not in the Trinity. “I was sent into Poset as an envoy, to learn and pass judgment on your people.”

“And what’ll happen then.”

“Either the Surhk will commune with the world, they will leave them alone, or they will burn a bloody Jihad killing all.” For a moment, it seemed like Zora didn’t quite believe him. Then she flicked her cigarette and went to light another.

“Damn it, I’m out.” She shook her head, turning to walk back in. “Did you make decision yet?”

“No.” Ba’Tok realized, even as he said it aloud. There was some merit to this idea. Zora was right, through deception she had achieved great things, but were they poisoned by her lies? Only time would tell, he decided and so he proposed the following. “In a year, I will return to the Conclave. You have until then to convince me.”

“A year? Shit that’s loads of time.” Said the freshly adult, young woman. “Hey, if I can’t convince you that lying can be good in a year I’ll help you kill them myself.” And then she laughed.