ÿþ<HEAD> <title>Eric's Archive</title> <META NAME="description" CONTENT="Eric's Journal, the irregularly updated journal of Eric Lis"> <META NAME="keywords" CONTENT="eric, lis, emperor, aerica, aerican, journal, eric's head"> </HEAD> <left><font face="Times New Roman"> <font face="Monotype Corsiva,Bernhard Modern Roman,Unicorn,BellGothic,News Gothic MT"> <center> <big><big><big><big> Eric's Archive<br> Entries 681-690<P> </big></big></big></big></font> <I> Those who forget the past<Br> Are doomed to reread it.<p></i> </center> <a href="http://www.aericanempire.com/eric/index.html">More recent</a><BR> <a href="http://www.aericanempire.com/eric/601-700/691-700.html">Entries 691-700</a><BR> <a href="#690">Entry 690</a> February 6 2010<br> <a href="#689">Entry 689</a> February 3 2010<br> <a href="#688">Entry 688</a> January 31 2010<br> <a href="#687">Entry 687</a> January 28 2010<br> <a href="#686">Entry 686</a> January 25 2010<br> <a href="#685">Entry 685</a> January 22 2010<br> <a href="#684">Entry 684</a> January 19 2010<br> <a href="#683">Entry 683</a> January 16 2010<br> <a href="#682">Entry 682</a> January 13 2010<br> <a href="#681">Entry 681</a> January 10 2010<br> <a href="http://www.aericanempire.com/eric/601-700/671-680.html">Entries 671-680</a><BR> <a href="http://www.aericanempire.com/eric/archive.html">Archive</a><BR> </blockquote> <HR> <a name="690"></a> <U><B>The Koorivar With Two Brains Part 10 of 10: The Brains of Two Koorivar</b></u><p> <I>Wick, youngest of the Soulless, is something of a curiosity. Save for Wick, all of the Soulless were created by the Witch King himself using rituals which he never taught to anyone else, and in the tens of thousands of years since his fall, no new Soulless were thought to have been created, and it is widely believed that the secrets of their creation are lost forever. The secret was rediscovered, however, by the Soulless known only as the Left Hand, who was the Witch King's chief diplomat in ancient days and who has been imprisoned within the Endless Dungeon since his father's fall. At great expense and with tremendous difficulty, the Left Hand was able to give life to a new Soulless during the time that Gun'Mora was also in the Endless Dungeon. The boy returned with Gun'Mora to Shelezar, there to play some presumed role in the ressurection of the Witch King. As the Left Hand had never found it necessary to give the boy a name, Gun'Mora called him Wick, for reasons he has never shared. Today, Wick resides in the Oasis near Shelezar, under the eternally vigilant watch of the Bee Queen and her armies. It is hoped that in the Oasis, Wick can be given time to grow and mature without the factions of the godswar becoming aware of his existence, for there are many who would take the seventh and last Soulless and turn him to their own ends.</i><P> With a last mighty wrench, the warrior ripped the necromancer's head clean off of its shoulders. Cervical vertebrae scattered and fell to the ground, bouncing comically as black ichor sprayed from both ends of the severed neck. One neck bone slid to stop at the feet of the green-skinned, purple-robed figure standing off to one side, who ignored it entirely. Letting the body drop, the warrior lifted his glowing sword and, with a single great heave, hacked the skull-like head in two, neatly down the center, his sword cutting a deep groove in the frost-covered stone floor. Not to leave the job half-finished, the warrior cleanly bisected the halves, then the quarters, then kicked them apart so no two pieces touched. This done, he proceeded to do the same to the skeletal corpse before smashing all of its jewelry to powder and dousing it all with holy water. Gore-encrusted, wound-covered, the warrior raised his mad, bloodshot eyes to the heavens and laughed maniacally.<P> Wick, lying on his belly in the soft grass, luxuriating in a morning sunbeam, watched it all with wide eyes and open-mouth enrapturement.<P> The warrior's body blinked twice, then became translucent and faded. Along with it disapeared the stone chamber and the necromancer's body, leaving behind the pristine grasses of the Oasis. With the illusion gone, only the Koorivar who had crafted it remained. Pashel Jesond turned his gaze to Wick.<P> "This is how one might slay a dark wizard," Pashel said. His words were rapid-fire and staccato, without either inflection or emotion; Gun'Mora hadn't bothered to design Pashel to properly mimic his speech patterns. For a long time, there had been only one Koorivar in Shelezar... until Gun'Mora had seen fit to create another. Still, even a cheap copy of Gun'Mora/Neyrr could be numbered as one of the most brilliant living minds in the world and he made a fine teacher for Wick. "Did you notice any errors the warrior might have made?"<P> Wick screwed his eyes up tightly, a tell-tale sign that he was thinking hard, or else trying to make it look as though he was. Despite being the size of a six year-old human male, Wick was little more than two weeks old; his brain hadn't quite worked out what facial expressions it wanted to use for things yet. <P> "He cut up the body first," Wick said at last, opening his eyes and pointing at the patch of grass where the warrior had stood at the end of the scene. S'posing the real danger was one of those shiny things the wizard was carrying. I'da smashed those first, then cut up the body."<P> Pashel smiled, a gesture filled with paternal warm and approval which was wholly artificial. <P> "A good thought, young master. Recall, though, that many creatures have the capacity to heal grievous wounds rapidly, or survive dismemberment. Destroying the body might be necessary to allow time to deal with any harmful magical items."<P> "Oh, yeah," Wick said, looking down at his fingers. <P> "It is something that must be judged on a case-by-case basis. You will learn with time how to judge what is the highest priority target. What about the warrior's sword strikes as he hacked the skull?"<P> "Yeah! He cut right into the stone!"<P> "And?"<P> "Ummm... it took him a couple of seconds to pull his sword back out?"<P> "Exactly. We must always be careful to measure the force we apply to a problem. Too much can be as bad as too little."<P> Wick nodded with enthusiasm, apparently taking the lesson in. Pashel knew better than to assume, though. One of the first things Wick had learned, even as he mastered the common tongue, was how to make it look like he'd listened when he hadn't... one of the few "normal child" traits he possessed.<P> "Since this lesson is complete, you may go play for half an hour before we have lunch, and then we shall study another Elven philosopher."<P> Crying out in delight, the boy leap up and ran off towards one of the nearest ponds, pulling off his shirt and scattering a group of worker bees as he went by. Pashel watched him in silence for a few more moments and then said, without turning,<P> "You approve, lord?"<P> Neyrr stepped forward to stand next to Pashel. Gun'Mora had crafted the simulacrum before Neyrr returned to their body; it worried him somewhat that Pashel's mind was based on Gun'Mora's and not his own. <P> "I didn't think you knew I was there," Neyrr said. "My teleport spell was soundless and I know you were looking away when I appeared."<P> "Please credit me with the wit you would credit yourself, lord. I would be a poor servant if I could not spot a teleportation in my vicinity."<P> Neyrr chuckled. It was like the old saying went: to have an amusing conversation, sometimes you really have to speak to a like mind. "You teach him well. I'm pleased with the progress he's making. Which philosopher did you plan to cover this afternoon?"<P> "Ariraerthar of the Silver court. You will recall he postulated a system of ethics based on what would and would not anger unicorns."<P> "'To live an ethical life is to embrace all in life that is worth embracing,'" Neyrr quoted in Ancient High Elvish. "'Trust not your own judgement but seek always to test your code by outside judgement, for the individual cannot be trusted to decide what is just and unjust. Too many individuals are unjust.'"<P> "Precisely the passage, lord."<P> "I always hated Ariraerthar."<P> "I know, lord, but we must cover fundamentals of ethics if he is to grow according to your wishes."<P> "I only hope we'll have that kind of time," Neyrr murmured, watching as Wick splashed around happily in the pond. <P> They stood in silence for a few moments, two figures smarter than the gods lost in their contemplations of one young boy.<P> "Lord, will you speak to him before you leave? He would enjoy seeing you."<P> "I don't have the time," Neyrr said. He handed the other Koorivar a small, velvet-wrapped package, stamped with the sign of House Abu. "I just came to drop this off. I've read to him a bit from it already, but I'd like for him to have his own copy."<P> "As you wish, lord," Pashel said, but Neyrr was already gone. Pashel gave it no more thought and started walking towards the grove, to perpare Wick's lunch. As he walked, he began to unwrap the velvet from the freshly-scribed copy of the Book of Gun'Mora. <HR> <a name="689"></a> <U><B>The Koorivar With Two Brains Part 9 of 10: The Prince And The Queen</b></u><p> <I>The Oasis, not far from Shelezar, is the largest body of water in the whole of the great desert, or at least the largest which can be accessed from the surface without a well. Shaped and augmented by forces unknown, its intricate system of seemingly-natural waterways, channels, and irrigations allow for miles of forest and jungle to grow and thrive in the vicinity around the main lake. Today, the Oasis is controlled by a race of mutated bees of great size and variable sentience. Thanks to the legal maneuverings of Neyrr Jesond, the Oasis is legally an autonomous city-state ruled by the Bee Queen, and as such, the many would-be plunderers in the various human cities have been unable to gain access to its wealth of natural resources. Those who would not be disuaded simply by threat of reprecussions at the lands of the law are, by and large stopped in their tracks by fear of reprecussions at the hands of Neyrr himself. Those few who are not stopped even by that are dealt with quite efficiently by the bees themselves.</i><P> "You can't possibly be serious."<P> In actual fact, the buzzing created by the bee soldiers hovering nearby made the words somewhat difficult to make out, but Neyrr would have known exactly what the Queen was saying even without the ability to deceipher language and speech that came with his rebuilt body. He smiled warmly and spread his hands at his sides in a gesture of innoncence -- and the bee soldiers, meant to be flanking him, hovered back several inches by reflex.<P> "Entirely serious, your Majesty," Neyrr said in his very best "you can trust me, I'm a merchant" voice. For all his monsterous appearance -- all the more so without any of the illusions he normally used to conceal his abberations -- his voice was silk and honey. It had to be; for all Neyrr's plans, this one step would be vital. There were too many unknowns to this godswar, to many unobservable variables, and the bees presented one way to compensate for that. "I wish to rejoin your hive mind."<P> The bees' hive mind: a magical link, via the Queen's own vast power, which linked the minds of every one of her bees, from the intelligent humanoid soldiers to the large but instinct-driver workers. Each bee could see everything that every other bee saw, could potentially know everything every other bee knew. It was not restricted to the bees, either; before his death, Neyrr himself had voluntarily been made part of that hive mind, as had his long-lost companion Sunder... though he had always shielded most of his thoughts from them. When he had died, Gun'Mora, who had not been part of the hive mind, saw no reason to re-establish it, but that was no longer his decision. Neyrr needed more eyes in more places and the bees were those eyes.<P> Of course, while he had been out of the link it had been Gun'Mora who controlled his body, and though the Queen knew only a fraction of the things Gun'Mora had done during that time, it was enough for her to mistrust him. The buzzing of the bee soldiers grew a shade quieter... not because they grew less agitated, Neyrr knew, but because they had landed on the ground, the better to have leverage in case they needed to strike him down. <P> "We need each other, your Majesty," Neyrr continued. "I know you believe I have done questionable things, but you can attest that Shelezar has ever prospered for my actions."<P> <I>If only because some of those actions failed,</i> Gun'Mora offered helpfully. The Bee Queen, fortunately, couldn't hear him.<p> "The gods war will begin in less than two days, and we both know that there is every chance it will be fought here, either in Shelezar or else in your own woods. You will need my knowledge and my eyes, and I will need yours to find your enemies and protect your people."<P> that was it, Neyrr thought. Don't make it about trusting me, make it about protecting her children. And don't forget greed, of course.<P> "And never mind that. You know the kind of knowledge I hold. You know the kind of knowledge you could possess, joined with me. How far will I advance your experiments in mutation and abberation? A decade? A century? Several centuries, in all likelihood."<P> "Can I trust you?" the Queen countered. "You have done... dark deeds. Dark, at best. I do not know if it is you that does these things, or the Plaguebringer inside you.<P> <I>If you only knew,</i> Gun'Mora murmured. Neyrr ignored him.<P> "All the more reason to ensure that you can watch me as closely as possible," Neyrr retorted. "You and Angelos both, though he vouches for me, as I'm sure you know."<P> The Queen's face was inscrutable. She was becoming well-practiced at hiding her feelings, at least on her face. There were other tells, however; around him, Neyrr could hear the buzzing sound fading as the bee soldiers relaxed, began to feel less threatened, an outward manifestation of the Queen's own emotions. One last card to play to seal this bargain, Neyrr thought. One last fear to exploit.<P> "And then there's Wick," he said. Some fifty feet away, the young boy -- the last of the Soulless, a wild card in the godswar which most factions as yet hadn't learned about -- played happily, climbing trees and rolling in the grass. "I need hardly tell you the importance of raising him with the correct values. You hold the right ideals, but you know you cannot teach him. I can. And when our enemies come to claim him -- and they *Will* -- I will need to know it. We will not be able to afford the minutes or hours it may take you to contact my allies in Shelezar."<P> The buzzing sound had died away now; the guards stood relaxed, no longer ready for trouble. <P> "So be it," the Queen said at last, sounding at once resigned and, somehow, relieved. "Come with me. As you recall, it shall take much of this day to welcome you back among us."<P> Neyrr followed her into the depths of the Oasis. <HR> <a name="688"></a> <U><B>The Koorivar With Two Brains Part 8 of 10: Who's The Boss?</b></u><p> <I>Abu's Refreshing Tonic is thought by many to be Shelezar's chief export. As the only cheaply-available non-alcoholic flavoured beverage in the desert city, Abu's Tonic -- sometimes known as "spiced water" or "Bu's" -- is one of the city's single most profitable enterprises and for the last three years has earned more annually than the city's next two biggest industries (jewelry and prostitution) combined. A big part of the drink's success can be attributed to the fact that the general public is entirely unaware that the drink is actually an invention of Neyrr Jesond. It is a testament to Neyrr's mastery of alchemy that even after three years, no one outside of House Abu has yet contrived to create an identical recipe. In reality, Bu's is actually quite simple, consisting primarily of water, vanilla, cinnamon, coriander, and nutmeg; the true reason for the drink's success is not its recipe, but simply the persuasive power with which it has been sold. As both Neyrr and Abu of House Abu know well, true power in life often comes down to marketing.</i><P> The two cups of spiced water sat on the table, untouched. Condensation had formed on the outside of the thin clay -- a testament to Grims' effort at keeping the interior of the Temple of Shesh in Shelezar comfortably humidified despite the dry desert air outside. Neyrr toyed with the cup idly, enjoying the feel of the cool surface under his fingers... enjoying any sensation, actually, after four years as a ghost and a day as a zombie. For his part, Mister Grims', guardian of the temple, had barely touched his drink either, but for different reasons. <P> "I don't understand what you're saying. Where is Gun'Mora, now?"<P> Neyrr smirked. Grims was no fool -- was probably one of the ten smartest people in Shelezar, though a long way down from Neyrr himself -- but even after five minutes of trying to explain things, the gray elf still seemed confused. Neyrr supposed that he might be, too, in the elf's position.<P> "I am Neyrr," the Koorivar eununciated carefully. This was in part for clarity, but in part because he was still enoying the feel of his own name on his lips once again. "I have returned to my body and retaken it from the usurper who wore it. He works for me now." Somewhere deep in his brain, Neyrr could feel Gun'Mora's small voice protesting, but he ignored it. <P> "But *where* is Gun'Mora now?" Grims asked again.<P> "We are Gun'Mora."<P> Silence. Koorivar and elf exchanged a glance -- some unspoken thought that there should have been a strike of thunder as he said it.<P> "I've spent two years working it out myself," Neyrr continued. "The Soulless... think of the Soulless as ghosts. They move from body to body, inhabiting them. They might spend years, centuries in a single body and only move out when the body is somehow destroyed. They're shaped by each body they inhabit, taking its memories for their own. The Witch King probably shaped their personalities by controlling the lives of their first few hosts... putting Gun'Mora into the body of a plague demon, for example." <P> Grims nodded. He seemed about to interrupt, then thought better of it and remained silent.<P> "The older Soulless have been in dozens of bodies. They've accumulated such a mass of memories that they gain some solidity themselves. They change a bit less with every body they take on. Gun'Mora was only in his second body when I first met him, and he'd spent the last thirty thousand years locked in a dungeon forming no new memories worth speaking of. When I died, mine was only his third host. In addition, before I died, Gun'Mora and I spent several month co-existing. In my studies of history, I don't think that had ever happened before, a Soulless sharing a body instead of usurping it. Gun'Mora gained all of my memories.. and I gained all of his, fragmentary as they were. To a significant degree, there is now more of me in Gun'Mora than there is of his previous hosts, which I suppose is why he was able to masquerade as me for so long.<P> "So. I am Neyrr... and we are Gun'Mora."<P> "And we do it so well, if we say so ourselves," Gun'Mora added.<P> "Neyrr could exist without Gun'Mora, though I would hate to lose all the knowledge and power that comes from our bond. I no longer believe, however, that Gun'Mora can exist without me. As we have seen, even separated, Gun'Mora acts not much differently from myself. If he were to pass through another hundred bodies, perhaps there would not be much of me left. But then again, if all my plans go well, mine will be the last body Gun'Mora need ever steal; what need will a god have to jump bodies?"<P> "I think I understand," Grims mumbled. "The old gods aren't going to like this plan, are they?"<P> Neyrr snorted contemptuously. It was a curiously Gun'Mora-like gesture.<P> "I have been watching Gun'Mora carefully and have seen every thought he has ever had, and I can tell you that there is only one thing in this world that Gun'Mora Witchprince fears."<P> His smile was more predatory than mirthful. It showed too many teeth.<P> "Neyrr Jesond."<P> "What is your next step, then?"<P> "That hasn't changed as much as you might imagine." Though I have been... away... for some time, Gun'Mora has been advancing many of the same plans I would have. How could he not, given his memories and beliefs? Gun'Mora still desires godhood, and though I do not, his godhood will serve my ends."<P> "And what are those?" Grims asked, somehow expecting he might not like the answer.<P> "The same that they've always been," Neyrr said. "I've always thought that the religion racket might be a lucrative one. Once Gun'Mora is up and about as one of the gods, I suspect there will be some job openings in his newly-created clergy. Just imagine the opportunities for trade across entire nations. Sales of the Book of Gun'Mora, of course. And Gun'Mora will need someone to play temporal politics on his behalf... which might not be as profitable but which will certainly be exciting. And then, once his chrcuh is growing nicely and our power is secure...<P> "That... is something that even the gods do not need to know, for now," Neyrr said, and lifted his cup to his lips.<P> The water tasted sweet. <HR> <a name="687"></a> <U><B>The Koorivar With Two Brains Part 7 of 10: The Power of Gun'Mora</b></u><p> <I>For approximately one week now, a supposed holy book known as the Book of Gun'Mora has been circulating in Shelezar, the White City, and several other places. Copies of the book have supposedly been turning up even in cities three to four weeks' travel away from Shelezar, where the book is known to be being produced in mass numbers by the scribes of House Abu. Although clerics of most major churches have been denouncing the book and the Dwarf Lords have announced that any Dwarf caught reading it for anything other than excpress military purposes will be executed, it has thus far been amassing a wide following. Those few who have read the book claim that it is one of the most beautiful works they have ever read -- every page filled with sublime poetry, masterful prose, and inspiring stories and parables. Critics of the book have thus far been at a loss to explain why the book, which claims to have been written by a being widely believed to be the god of plague and genocide, is filled with very pro-social lessons and preaches the importance of acting with honour, wisdom, and kindness. As factions which have stood opposed to Gun'Mora for millenia mill about confused and uncertain, the book's readership and influence continues to expand, and small numbers of pilgrims have begun traveling to Shelezar to hear the wisdom of the self-proclaimed Harbinger of Gun'Mora: Neyrr Jesond.</i><P> "'-therefore, hold in your heart always that sin follows from folly. Act with patience, act with thought, and your actions are more likely to be pure and good.' From this, Gun'Mora strives to teach us that most of the world's evils are committed in rashness and in selfishness. Can evil be found in the educated? Can the well-considered action still be cruel? Yes, of course, but without learning to think about our actions, it is ever harder to find the correct path."<P> The crowd murmured as people turned to the people next to them to discuss this. Some agreed, some disagreed, but all talked, which made Neyrr perfectly happy. As they muttered, he flipped a few pages to the next passage he would read. He had no need of the actual pages, of course -- Gun'Mora had memorized the whole text, which meant that Neyrr knew it as well -- but it was good for the crowd to see him reading from it. Human see, human do, as the old saying went.<P> There was only a small crowd gathered on the steps of the courthouse. Nine people had come to hear him speak, which wasn't bad given the fact that there had been no prior notice and the fact that there were only two copies of the Book of Gun'Mora within the entire city. He would need to bring more here once they were scribed back in Shelezar; the two-week journey was only a hop, skip, and jump via teleportation, after all. He was quite pleased that he had decided to use the front of the town's courthouse; the wide, white marble steps added a touch of grandeur and allowed him to sit slightly higher than the crowd, adding to the appearance of a teacher or preacher. A city guardsman had objected to the crowd gathering in the public place, but a few whispered words had convinced him that his future would be longer and happier if he chose to patrol elsewhere for an hour.<P> "Lord Neyrr!" called out a voice, and a hand rose up from the audience. Neyrr inclined his head and gave the human his most paternal smile. "Does this mean that non-thinking creatures are evil? Animals and things?"<P> "Naturally not," Neyrr replied. Consciously, he deepened his voice a touch, lending it the Sound of Authority he had learned back in the mages' college. "Animals who cannot think ethically -- and some of them can, you must recall -- are blessedly free of the burden of doing good and evil, according to Gun'Mora. As it is written, 'the lion which feasts does so without cruelty, as the disease which kills young and old alike does so without prejudice or malice.' But the fact that we are able to ask this question proves that we have a responsibility to put more thought into our actions."<P> The murmuring began again, and another hand rose. Neyrr turned his head in that direction; the arrow went cleanly through his eye and jammed in the bone at the back of his eye socket. Neyrr rocked back on his heels as the majority of the people in his gathering began to scream. He couldn't afford to lose his audience before hed finished his reading; he raised up both hands in a silencing gesture and, exerting a small fraction of his will, told everyone to remain calm. Each and every person stopped in their tracks.<P> "It seems we have a critic," Neyrr said into the ensuing silence.<P> "Damned mages!" The last hand-lifter shoved aside the two people between himself and Neyrr, the large hand-crossbow in his other hand now clearly visible. "You don't know to die when you're supposed to." He raised the bow for another shot.<P> <I>Diplomacy first,</i> Gun'Mora suggested. <I>We don't even know why he's shooting us yet.</i> Neyrr spared an instant to be amused at the idea that Gun'Mora was their voice of reason and prudence. <P> "Would you like to tell me what your objection to my reading is?" Neyrr asked. A second arrow hit him dead-center in the forehead and stuck there, cracking his head back painfully on his neck and tearing the ligaments. "You obviously have some major issue with me."<P> The would-be assassin gaped in astonishment as Neyrr grabbed an arrow in each hand and pulled them both out with wet ripping sounds. His damaged eye was already fully repaired, but Neyrr leaned forward an inch so that the assassin would have a good view of the forehead wound closing itself.<P> "Word is the Fat Man wants you dead," the assassin said, voice quavering. As he spoke he began loading a third arrow; Neyrr wasn't sure if he admired the man's courage and persistence or pitied the man's lack of adaptability. "Me and my boys are here to kill you. Bet the Fat Man'll give us a reward for your head." On cue, another three men detached themselves from the surrounding area and advanced quickly, drawing swords.<P> <I>Are you satisfied that diplomacy has failed?</i> Neyrr thought. <I>Or shall we allow him to shoot us a few more times and get bored?</i><P> <I>No, no. You've obviously got your heart set on this. Deal with them as you like.</i><P> "My friends," Neyrr said, sweeping his arms wide. "See how people come to ensure you do not hear the word of Gun'Mora. See how their actions, performed without sufficient forethought, lead them to evil and run. See how the power of Gun'Mora protects his faithful."<P> "What the hells are you-" began the assassin. He stopped in mid-sentence, all colour draining from his face. <P> In one smooth motion, Neyrr had risen to his full height. From the scabbard at his sides, he drew forth a sword in his right hand, and brandished his wizard's staff in his left. From the layers of cloak and robe that shrouded his torso, his two mechanical arms emerged, one holding a dagger and one hefting a great-axe. He took two quick steps forward and, before the assassin could react, buried the axe blade four inches deep in his belly. Letting his momentum carry him, Neyrr swung around the assassin and jammed the dagger, to the hilt, into the back of his head, and finally brought up the longsword and severed his head in one smooth motion. <P> The remaining killers in the crowd had stopped in horror. Neyrr gestured to the nearest with his head-on-a-dagger.<P> "Are you going to want this back?" he asked. <P> The crowd, still held by the magic of Neyrr's staff and his last command to "remain calm," watched in shocked silence but remained calm.<P> The three killers seemed for a moment to be on the verge of losing their will, but apparently deciding that they were still a match for one lone wizard, even armed, charged. As Neyrr moved to meet them, he heard someone laugh, and thought it might be himself.<P> The first killer got within swiping distance and took a swing. With a thought, Neyrr vanished from where he stood and appeard five feet behind the assassin, letting the sword swing through empty air. Flanked by two of the killers, Neyrr swung two arms, running through the one behind him with his sword and catching the one in front of him a shallow cut on the arm with his dagger. The one with the single cut slapped one hand to his wound, cried out something about burning, and collapsed to the ground. <P> One killer remained standing, though he was white as a sheet and looked like he was about to cry.<P> <I>Ooh, let me have this one,</i> Gun'Mora thought. Neyrr considered it for a moment, knowing that in part, Gun'Mora simply wanted them to exercise a non-lethal option. It was against Neyrr's instincts to let an assassin live, but the stories he might spread of this day could be useful.<P> <I>Very well,</i> Neyrr thought. <i>Enjoy him.</i><P> <I>Joy! Ooh, so many choices... Laughing fever? Viral pneumonia? Ah, I know: Kaleshian eructative vertigo.</i><P> "Gun'Mora's mercy and blessings be upon you, human," Gun'Mora intoned. He reached out and tapped the last assailant gently on the head with his staff. There was a moment's stillness. Swiftly, the assassin's colour changed from pale white to a sickly green; he belched mightily then turned away, staggered a few steps, and began to vomit violently into a gutter.<P> <I>Will that last long?</i> Neyrr asked.<P> <i>The nausea and dizziness, about fifteen minutes. The burping, a day or so. It might even win him friends in the right kind of tavern.</i> Gun'Mora chortled happily, inside their head.<P> "Have no fear," Neyrr said to the crowd around him, sheathing his weapons and concealing his extra arms once again in his robes. "Gun'Mora protects his faithful and is merciful even to his enemies. There is no need for any of you to recall the specifics of this battle, just the outcome." He channeled a bit more power through his staff, compelling them to obey that command; none of them would report having seen his mechanical arms, and if the last assassin told people, it would likely be dismissed as embellishment. "Still, I think we have done enough reading for today, and I have other places I must go to spread Gun'Mora's word. I wish you all peace and comfort."<P> As his teleportation spell returned him to Shelezar it occured to him that he hadn't bothered to clear away the three bodies he had left in the town square. Ah, well, he thought. I'll remember them next time. <HR> <a name="686"></a> <U><B>The Koorivar With Two Brains Part 6 of 10: The Rebirth of Neyrr Jesond</b></u><p> <I>Since its reanimation by Gun'Mora, Neyrr's body has existed in a curious state, balanced in the middle of the triangle between life, death, and undeath. Animated by Gun'Mora's own force of will rather than either positive or negative energy, Neyrr's body is more unique in the world than ever before. The return of Neyrr's soul to his body is not sufficient to change this. Be that as it may, in most respects, he is close enough to being undead that most people would not be able to tell the difference. Neyrr was ejected from his body by death, and is now, in effect, a ghost possessing his own old body rather than a soul inhabiting it and giving it life; it is still Gun'Mora's power that keeps his limbs moving and his lungs working.</i><P> "Nice place you have here," said Tchort, turning his head in all directions in his perpetual curiosity. "Have you got a lot of these safehouses?"<P> "A handful," Neyrr responded, setting down his staff in one corner, resting it against the bare stone wall. "When I moved to Shelezar, it took less than a week for several factions to try to kill me. I thought it would be prudent to have a few secret places to go to."<P> The simple chamber was somewhat cramped between the two of them and the bench covered in glassware off to one side. Tchort had been reluctant to conduct the ritual in Neyrr's usual sanctum in the temple of Shesh -- no doubt some deific form of professional courtesy -- and any of Neyrr's other known holdings would be far too public for such matters. This hiding place was nothing more than a rough-hewn chamber beneath one of Shelezar's taverns, accessible only via teleportation and warded against scrying magic. It was the closest thing to a guarantee of privacy to be found for a ritual to be conducted between the god of Fate and one of the most eagerly hunted creatures in the world.<P> With some fumbling, Neyrr unbuckled and removed the stiff leather armour that protected his body. Gun'Mora had fashioned it to be a maze of buckles and attachments, ingenious as well as stylish but cumbersome to remove, and this was the very first time Neyrr was removing it. Gun'Mora sighed in exasperation at Neyrr's clumsiness and took over their arms to speed the process. Neyrr busied himself instead with removing his various magical devices and protections using his lower set of arms.<P> Naked for the first time since his release from the Tower of Disquiet, Neyrr paused to look down at his body. There were scars there he didn't remember receiving... trophies of battles at which he hadn't been present. He ran two fingers delicately over the thick ring of scar tissue that encircled his left shoulder, where, according to Gun'Mora's memories, his own arm had been severed and replaced with that of a troll. Just the most obvious scar of many.<P> "I took care of it as best I could," Gun'Mora murmured, sounding sheepish but amused. "It does regenerate now, after all."<P> "It's fine," Neyrr said. "It doesn't look how I remember it, that's all. It's a strange feeling."<P> "You think that's strange," interjected Tchort, "you should see what you look like when you talk to yourself like that."<P> Neyrr's body chuckled. Neyrr wasn't certain if it was himself, Gun'Mora, or more likely, both. Drawing himself up to his full height, he looked to Tchort and nodded.<P> "You're sure you want all of these modifications?" the god asked. "If you don't recognise yourself now, you're really going to feel like you're in the wrong body once I make all the changes you asked for."<P> "It's all in the name of improvement," Gun'Mora said, smiling.<P> "And it would be a shame to miss this opportunity," Neyrr added solemnly.<P> "Do it," they chorused.<P> And they died. Neyrr's body exploded, bursting apart at the cellular level, showering the laboratory in green blood and scales and flesh.<P> The problem, Neyrr had pointed out to Tchort an hour ago, was that he was, effectively, undead. Never mind the fact that this made him vulnerable to various inconvenient magics of botht he arcane and divine variety. Never mind that this meant that he set off alarms and wards when he crossed into churches, protected buildings, sometimes entire cities. Never mind that he could be instantly destroyed if he came face to face with a powerful cleric, or even if some of his own companions aimed one of their spells in the wrong direction. No, the real problem was that Tchort was one of the gods of light and life, in his own fashion, and it was massively inappropriate for his Champion, his vessel and voice on this world during the godswar, to be one of the undead. As part of his payment for being Tchort's Champion, therefore, Neyrr had demanded that Tchort use his godly powers to retore him to full, true life before the godswar began.<P> And, since this would necessitate Tchort recreating Neyrr's body cell by cell in any case, here was a list of improvements that he thought the god ought to make while he was at it. Together, the minds of Neyrr and Gun'Mora pooled together a greater knowledge of alchemy and biology than even Tchort had, after all, and there were so many little ways that the humanoid body, as designed by the gods at the dawn of time, might be improved with a bit of intelligent redesign.<P> Slowly at first, then increasingly quickly, gore and viscera unsplattered itself from the walls of the laboratory and began to whirl about the center of the room as Tchort stood, gazing at the bloody cloud and peering down to the subatomic level.<P> First the brain, Neyrr had been clear about that. Some small changes to the structure of the synapses and a mere one-tenth increased in the number of neurons wouldn't make anything too big to fit back into the skull, and there would be room for extra glands here, here, and here. Nerves a nanometer wider and more conductive to propagate signals faster. Bones next, to support the nervous system; Gun'Mora had suggested a slight change to the crystaline structure of the calcium and phosphorus, incorporating iron and carbon, to harden and thicken the bones. No marrow spaces, since those weakened the bones (the entire hematopoietic system would henceforth function out of a globular organ below the spleen), and by the way, could the sternum possibly be hinged to allow it to swing open? Once the skeleton was completed, muscles and tendons to attach into them, with thickened fibers and a more efficient system of energy storage to prevent fatigue. Then the organs -- lungs with improved toxin filtration, a smaller and more efficient heart with a secondary backup pump, digestive system with some additional enzymes to allow nourishment to be gained from grass, wood, and rocks. Skin to cover it all, with some new glands to secrete a fire-retardent and acid-neutralizing bicarbonate solution. Quadruple the speed of cellular replication at this stage, to improve wound healing and minimize scarring. Next the scales, so fine as to be nearly invisible but with a molecular structure not unlike steel. The extra organs and tissues needed a bit more space, of course, but an additional foot of height and few inches of girth left ample room for all that. The troll limbs, restored as they had been before, but now fused seamlessly to the body. No unsightly scars around them now, and the trollish tissue reaching throughout the body, boosting its regenerative properties to be faster than any actual troll. The mechanical lower arms now mergins so perfectly with the skin and nerves, it would be hard to imagine they hadn't been there when he was born. Finally some cosmetic changes... image can be everything in politics, after all.<P> He drew in a breath. Deep in his chest, there was a flutter, as of a muscle that didn't quite remember what it was supposed to be doing. Then, forcefully, almost with the certainty of purpose, Neyrr's heart beat for the first time in over three hundred years.<P> Neyrr opened his eyes and looked down at himself. If anything, it was even farther from looking like his body now than moments ago, but now, at least it looked like a body worthy of a young god. He looked to the corner of the room and flexed his brain; his armour rose seemingly of its own accord and began to unerringly buckle itself into place.<P> Tchort, god or not, looked somewhat unsteady on his feet.<P> "Harder than I thought it would be," Tchort croaked. "How do you feel?" Neyrr thought about it for a heartbeat.<P> "Alive." <HR> <a name="685"></a> <U><B>The Koorivar With Two Brains Part 5 of 10: A Seller's Market</b></u><p> <I>Unknown to the world at large, war has been brewing between the gods for centuries. After countless years of maneuvering and covert actions, the gods have agreed that the time has come for war to be waged between Champions selected from among the mortals. With the godswar scheduled to begin in less than one week's time, the gods search frantically for Champions worthy of their power. Among all the beings of the world, few have attracted as much attention as the Soulless -- entities capable of moving from body to body who have existed down through the ages, powerful and unkillable. The Soulless exist outside of the weave of destiny and no god can foretell their future, making them attractive Champions. Those gods who have Soulless Champions stand to have a powerful strategic advantage in the godswar. Gun'Mora, one of the Soulless himself, has been receiving messages from many of the mightiest gods offering him power and strength in exchange for serving as their Champion. As yet, the gods have been puzzled by Gun'Mora's stubborn refusal to agree to their bargains, as he presses them for ever greater concessions, bargaining like a merchant prince rather than a hal-mad plague demon. It has not yet occured even to the gods that this is because it is not Gun'Mora with whom they are truly striking a bargain.</i><P> "Unacceptable! You know not what you ask!"<P> The vague glowing light that represented the messenger of Heironeous, god of Valour, paced back and forth across the chamber. It was an oddly human gesture which gave an illusion broken only by the fact that it passed through, rather than around, the plush armchair near the roaring fire. Neyrr gazed at it as it reached the far wall, hovered in place for a moment -- having neither a front nor a back and thus no need to turn around -- and paced back the way it had come. Over steepled fingers he watched it. One art of his mind was calculating the value of Heironeous' offer as compared to the offers of Azure, Lolth, Hextor and the others who had appeared to him. At the same time, another part of his mind was measuring how quickly the light moved back and forth and how quickly it would be able to strike him if he pushed too hard. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth and his mechanical arms twitched unconciously as Neyrr decided that, if he had to, he could probably destroy the angel in a fair fight. Gun'Mora, for all his foolishness, had done a superb job of upgrading Neyrr's body while it had been in his care.<P> Not that Neyrr had any desire to fight the messenger... quite the opposite. The dancing cloud of light was so agitated, however, that Neyrr had to assume that it might attack first. When it had appeared before him, it had nearly struck him immediately, when he said he would listen to Heironeous' offer rather than, as the angel had clearly expected, simply agreeing outright.<P> "What you ask for is impossible. Wholly impossible. That you even ask is blasphemy of the highest order!"<P> "What part of it is so unreasonable?" Neyrr asked quietly.<P> "What part? You are mad, mortal! Bad enough you make demands of Heironeous, but you demand that He make you a god yourself! Mortals shold be slain for such insanity!"<P> Its voice became higher pitched and even cracked as it became more and more agitated. Neyrr suspected it was sinful to enjoy the show, but continued to do so.<P> "The gods are already offering demigodhood to other champions, are they not?"<P> "They are, but-"<P> "All I ask for my price is that I retain my spark of divinity when the godswar ends."<P> "UNACCEPTABLE!"<P> "The semi-divinity of the other champions is temporary, is it not?"<P> "Of course!"<P> "Do any of them know that?"<P> The light ceased pacing and loated in place for a moment. The clean white pulsed once with a bloody red and then a sort of purple-green which Neyrr took to be embarassment.<P> "Most of those who have become champions... did not think to ask," the angel admitted reluctantly.<P> "You may tell Heironeous that if he would have Gun'Mora as his champion, then my ascension to godhood will be permanent, not temporary," Neyrr said levely, no different than he would if he were discussing the price of a bolt of silk. "If that is not on the table, then out business is concluded. You may also tell the Valourous One that I prefer not to deal with intermediaries. Azure had the good grace to visit me in person."<P> This, it seemed, was too much. The angel shrieked once in holy rage and simply exploded, and when Neyrr opened his eyes he stood once more in his laboratory. The candle under his alembic hadn't burned down perceptibly; like the other visitations, the subjective half-hour he had spent uselessly speaking to Heironeous' messenger had taken up mere instants in real time. At least, Neyrr thought, the massive waste of time hadn't disrupted his experiment.<P> He bent down to adjust the placement of the flame and became aware that he was not alone in the laboratory. Unwilling to be rushed by anyone who hadn't already attacked him, Neyrr finished the minute correction and turned to look.<P> "I'm told you prefer to be met in person," croaked a voice.<P> The chubby creature stood some five feet tall, hairless and pot-bellied. Scales of green and blue covered its body. It wore no clothes, but a multitude of pouches and satchels hung all over it from various belts. Its head bobbed up and down as its eyes rolled in their sockets, taking in the whole of the room and lingering, Neyrr knew, over every object of particular value, as well as over every object which was merely shinier than those around it. Neyrr recognised the creature; though he had never seen a true Geckonid in life, this particular creature had been present alongside Azure, Gredge'Slorth, and Senden when Neyrr had returned from death.<p> "Some mortals bow down when they see me," Tchort, god of thieves and fate, croacked mildly. <P> "Some," Neyrr agreed. "Shall we discuss business?"<P> "Love to." Tchort smiled. "Let's talk about your destiny. I'm told you want to become a god." <HR> <a name="684"></a> <U><B>The Koorivar With Two Brains Part 4 of 10: Azure Does Something Stupid</b></u><p> <I>Azure, god of death and murder, is considered one of the "young gods," having held power for a mere three million years. Even among gods, for whom eccentricity is inevitable and madness is almost expected, Azure is considered dangerously unbalanced. Azure's impulsivity and general failure to think things through are considered legendary both among gods and mortals. Perhaps nowhere is this better exemplified than in the Tchortean tarot deck, which depicts fifty-two gods of greater and lesser standing. When the deck is used for games of chance, the Azure card is inevitably a wild card, one which can strengthen a losing hand or bring a winning hand crashing down. When used for divination and foretelling, the Azure card instead reflects change, life moving off in a new and unforseen direction, and not uncommonly, disaster and catastrophe on a grand scale.</i><P> The dungeons of any fortress, by and large, can reasonably be expected to be places of misery and suffering. Rare exceptions exist, such as the Perfumed Donjons of Johan where guilty sinners thought capable of redemption are held in relative comfort, or the Holiest Punishment Shrine of G'Dank where heroes who have lapsed or erred are brought, roughed up mercifully until they see their mistake, and then honoured at a feast in commemoration of their having learned a lesson from it all. Far more common is the dank, dark dungeon, where prisoners languish for years or decades, chained up against cold stones and competing with the rats for their food. The dungeon in the lower levels of the Tower of Disquiet was the latter. A minor god, Shesh wielded power among the gods by carrying out the eternal tormenting of fallen souls for those gods who considered such work beneath them. In the Tower's dungeon, tens of thousands of souls who had been damned to various degrees were subjected to the torture of unending, continually evolving fear and horror. This terrorizing was carried out by the souls of Shesh's own worshippers, many of whom had been talented at causing fear in life and many more of whom had become masters of terror after their deaths. No mere monsters-jumping-out-of-the-shadows here; in the Tower of Disquiet, the evocation of fear was done carefully, methodically, and artistically. <P> The tormenting of the young druid currently in the care of Neyrr Jesond consisted of nothing more than one hour per day of Neyrr reading aloud to him from the cookbooks of various nations across the world, though by next week Neyrr had various ideas on how to escalate his work.<P> "Next," he read, "mix the egg yolk with the finely chopped onions. Add mustard and spices and beat lightly with olive oil for a few seconds. Take your ground beef..."<P> In the corner of the cell -- cold stone walls, of course, but the single faded painting of a dafodil high on the wall was a touch Neyrr was particularly proud of -- the druid moaned faintly and tried yet again to press his hands harder against his ears. <P> "...cannot be preserved for more than two hours," Neyrr continued, "even in an ice-box. Do not serve uncooked ground beef if you have any doubts that it is still good. There are always more cows ready to be ground up..." Sometimes, of course, Neyrr did take some creative liberties with the recipes.<P> He had just reached the portion on which parts of the animal not to include during grinding when he noticed the faint shimmer in the air. Such effects were not unheard of within the Tower of Disquiet but were quite unusual; the deceased within the Tower were generally incapable of using their magic within the walls except as part of their duties, and thus Shesh was the only entity typically responsible for any alterations to time and space. This felt different from that, however. Rather than more of the gray Outlands light, Neyrr could swear he saw sunlight, true hot yellow sunlight, through the tiny pulsing rift. And, if he strained his hearing, he could just hear... a voice?<P> "Hey, now that's a great idea! Hang on a sec!"<P> Neyrr frowned, puzzled. On the surface, the voice was cheerful, almost manic. It bore a strange undercurrent, though... somehow, despite the happiness of it, the lighthearted tone, it evoked an image of terrible, terrible cold. The voice was a void, an emptiness... each sentence ended in a peculiar finality, as though it didn't merely hit a period but was suddenly killed by it. It was not the voice of Shesh, that was certain. Rising from his chair and inching towards the cell door, Neyrr couldn't imagine who might be speaking. This was the domain of Shesh, god of fear; the only creatures who should be capable of breaching its walls like this would be another god of greater power.<P> Like that, Neyrr knew whose voice it was, but by then it was took late. The rift dilated suddenly like a new-torn wound and a black-gloved hand reached through and snagged his neck in a soft but unbreakable deathgrip. Bodily, Neyrr was yanked out of the cell and, for a fraction of a second, into the blazing desert sun. With the sound of a door being slammed shut inches from his face, Neyrr slammed to a stop, with the curious sensation of being buried in a pile of lukewarm meat.<P> Before him stood Azure Deathgod, grinning insanely. To the deathgod's left, a figure who could only be Gredge'Slorth, god of Magic. Staring at him in shock and puzzlement, the mortals that Neyrr recognised, from his recent scrying on the prime material plane, as the traveling companions of Gun'Mora. And all around him, the horrid cold meat feeling that assaulted his senses... <P> He could feel the sand beneath his bare troll foot. He could feel the blazing sun beating down upon him. He could smell unwashed human bodies, the mingled odours of dust and sweat and the spilled blood of enemies.<P> "Well," said Gun'Mora, and Neyrr felt his own mouth working. "This is certainly a bit awkward."<P> <I>I'm in my body</i> Neyrr thought, and heard his thought echo. He knew that sensation; it was how Gun'Mora's thoughts had sounded to him when they shared his body. <I>I'm alive!</i><P> "Well, not alive exactly," Gun'Mora responded, sounding somehow sheepish. "Look, I never expected this to happen, but-"<P> <I>You didn't? Funny. I always thought it might, somehow.</i><P> "Neyrr? Are you okay?" someone asked.<P> <i>I'm okay,</i> Gun'Mora mumbled. <i>Just a sudden headache. I... why do I sound all echoey all of a sudden?</i><P> "I'm just fine," Neyrr said, holding a hand up in front of his eyes. "Everything's under control." <HR> <a name="683"></a> <U><B>The Koorivar With Two Brains Part 3 of 10: I'll Be Watching You</b></u><p> <I>Shortly after Neyrr's death, Gun'Mora, the self-proclaimed god of plague who took over Neyrr's body, vanished into an ancient undeground complex known as the Endless Dungeon. Created by the gods as an inescapable prison, the Dunegon was magically sealed and opened only once every hundred years, for twenty four hours. Although hundreds if not thousands of brave adventurers and hapless travelers would enter the Dungeon on those days, as far back as recorded history, no one had ever been seen to leave again. Due to the magic of the Dungeon, time flows more quickly within it; although Gun'Mora was inside the Dungeon for less than one month to his own perceptions -- plus three and a half centuries spent outside of the flow of time entirely -- just over three years passed outside. Three years has not been enough time for those outside of the Dungeon to forget Gun'Mora, nor for them to stop watching for his return.</i><P> "He's alive!"<P> Neyrr dropped his cup, which shattered loudly on the floor. Hot, fragrant tea splashed across the books scattered around him, which bothered no one; in the Library of Shesh, a god had decreed that books and paper would never be damaged by anything so petty as spilled food and drink, and thus it was so. Even if the ancient, priceless books had been ruined, Neyrr wouldn't have noticed. <P> "He's alive," came the cry again. The plumach servant had attracted the attention of nearly everyone in the library with his cries, but the few who hadn't already turned to look did so at the sight of Neyrr leaping to his full height and moving quickly to follow the plumach into the corridor.<P> "Where?" Neyrr hissed as he fell into step with the servant. "How?"</p> "I don't know, sir," replied the servant. "I was working on the frescoes outside the Chamber of Nightmares when one of the seers commanded me to seek you, quick as the Lady's Blades."<P> The Chamber of Nightmares, Neyrr thought. The god of fear who ruled this tower had something mortals might recognise as a sense of humour; the Chamber of Nightmares was the vast series of scrying pools by which Shesh's servants watched going on in the mortal world, the prime material. Though Neyrr had never himself asked Shesh, rumour had it the name came from the god's decree that 'the things which mortals inflict upon themselves are far more terrifying than anything I might create.' There was only one reason why one of the seers scrying on the prime material would send Neyrr a runner with the message that 'he's alive.' They reached the door to the Chamber and the plumach immediately turned aside and returned to his work; having brought Neyrr, his task was apparently completed and as quickly forgotten.<P> Bromus, a grey-skinned seer of indeterminate gender, raised its head and waved for Neyrr's attention. Though a talented seer and a fine teller of tales, Neyrr disliked Bromus; in the centuries since its death, Bromus' shade had forgotten nearly all of its mortal life and, with those memories, almost all features which had once distinguished its body. To Neyrr, this was a powerful reminder of the consequences of allowing himself to forget who he was and why he was here. It would be so easy to lose himself, to become one of the countless faceless and identityless ghosts around the Tower of Disquiet. So easy, and yet anathema to everything Neyrr was and believed in. <P> "Show me," Neyrr said by way of greeting, all but shoving his way past the seer to gaze into the scrying pool himself. "Show me everything."<P> "Calm yourself," Bromus said, something akin to a smile splaying across its blank features as it turned back towards its pool and gestured for Neyrr to come closer. "We do not rush here."<P> With an effort of will, Neyrr calmed himself. That he was here at all was a great favour from Bromus and the other seers. Officially, most of the dead souls within the Tower were forbidden from seeing the goings-on in the mortal world they had departed, and only those who had lost most of their identities were permitted to be Shesh's seers. Neyrr's fame -- or infamy -- as well as the popularity of his scholarly pursuits had earned him some extra leniency from the seers, but only unofficially... and only so long as he minded his place. <P> All other thoughts were soon forgotten, though, as Neyrr stared into the scrying pool. He could see nothing except the figure in the murky water. Six and a half feet tall, it was -- seven feet if you measured to the tip of the spiraling horn rising from its forehead. Green skin, covered by delicate scales, fading to black with flecks of orange towards the human-like face, around eyes that glowed with an evil blood-red light. Rich robes of purple and red worth a king's ransom seemed almost to flow across the great body, a body which held itself with the perfect poise of one accustomed to being obeyed. Upon the face, a sneer of cold command that spoke of endless arrogance and boundless confidence with at least some measure of the power to back them up. In his right hand, a long and gnarled wizards' staff capped with a gem that could pay for a palace even without the magical fires which flickered within. His left hand... his left hand, Neyrr saw with horror, a green shades darker than the right, and nearly twice the size, covered by thick elephant-like skin and ending in great rending claws. The left foot, the left hand's match, making the normal right foot seem almost dainty in comparisson. And from the back, two great angelic wings, stretched nearly twenty feet across as they splayed in the golden desert sunlight. <P> It took Neyrr a moment to identify that the feeling which filled his heart was awe.<P> "Gun'Mora," Neyrr whispered, and Bromus, though he scarcely rembered such things from his life, sketched a quick gesture against evil in the air with his hand. Despite himself, Neyrr almost did the same.<P> "I imagine that Shesh will permit me, if I ask, to watch him full time," Bromus suggested. "Not for you, you understand. For all of us. We have all been asked to watch for signs of this one. The war of the gods draws nigh." The faceless seer stared at Neyrr's body, planes away, and looked back up to Neyrr himself. "What would you have me do?"<P> Neyrr's mind whirled. All of his plans, all of his preparations, had been for this moment. Against all odds, against all assumptions, against all *possibility,* Gun'Mora had escaped the Endless Dungeon, and to all appearances, even more powerful than ever before. If he could be seen, he could be reached. Neyrr might be forbidden from leaving the Tower of Disquiet, but there were ways to control one such as this. There was, after all, no creature living or dead who understood Gun'Mora as well as Neyrr Jesond. Somehow, he would turn this situation to his advantage... and soon.<P> Shesh, after all, could not possibly be the only god to have been awaiting the return of the Witch Prince.<P> "Watch him," Neyrr whispered. "Every moment, watch him. Assume that he knows he is being watched, and follow him closely, for his cleverness is without compare. My moment will not be long in coming." <HR> <a name="682"></a> <U><B>The Koorivar With Two Brains Part 2 of 10: Letters to Angels</b></u><p> <I>Two and a half years have passed since Neyrr Jesond was assassinated and his soul went to its eternal reward in the Tower of Disquiet, afterlife of those who worshipped Shesh in life. For two of those years, there has been no trace of Gun'Mora or the other "heroes" of Shelezar. On the outer planes, many assume Gun'Mora has been somehow destroyed, or at the very least, locked away forever in the inescapable dungeon which he was seen to enter years ago. Some, Neyrr among them, know better. Visits to the Tower of Disquiet have increased a hundredfold as agents of powers from across the planes come to exchange information about the Soulless. Slowly, quietly, without the major powers quite noticing or realizing what has been happening, Neyrr has become the keeper of some of the most valuable secrets of the multiverse.</i><P> The hard part, in the end, had not been getting a letter sent to Mount Celestia. The hard part had been doing it in such a way that the Celestials wouldn't know who had written the letter.<P> Celestia, home of the gods of Good, was not a hard place to find. Out of every possible plane in the multiverse, it was perhaps the single best known, certainly one of the most visited, and without a doubt one of the ones, if not the one, with the highest traffic. As the soul of a deceased mortal, Neyrr, of course, could not leave the confies of the Tower of Disquiet, but, as it had occured to him quite early in his afterlife, there was no need to. Once his unofficial "institute for the study of the Soulless" had become known and outsider visits to the Tower had become regular, finding someone who would be willing and able to carry a letter to Mount Celesia was easier than finding someone in the Tower who was able to brew a decent pot of coffee. No... the hard part had been concealing that it was he who had written the letter. Strictly speaking, in fact, he hadn't; anyone paranoid enough to use magical means to discern who had written the letters would find that they had been penned by the hand of a deaf scribe in the city of Sigil at the center of the Concordant Domain of the Outlands. It would take a most paranoid person indeed to backtrack from there -- the scribe who recorded the letter as recited by the githzerai cleric of Oghma, who himself assembled his dictation based on notes given to him by a figure who would appear to magical detction as only a swirl of shadows. It was Neyrr who fed information to the scry-proof Halfling Loremaster, Kanim Dwarffriend, at every meeting of the study group in the Tower, but anyone short of the god of magic would be hard pressed to work the chain back that far. From the deaf scribe, of course, the actual written letter changed hands another six times before being delivered, by air elemental, to Shelezar.<P> Overkill? Perhaps. Paranoia? Defintely. But then, it wasn't every century that a dead mage sold the secrets of Gun'Mora the Deathless to the Battleangels of Mount Celestia. Neyrr was quite confident that his precautions had been, if anything, barely good enough. Shesh would know the truth, would know everything that happened in the Tower of Disquiet, but was even less likely than Neyrr to share such secrets with Mount Celestia. The god of Fear, much like Neyrr himself, knew to aid the forces of Good from a safe distance.<P> "A reply to your last missive from Captain Angelos," Dwarffriend said, sipping her coffee and chuckling. "He thanks you for the last series of letters and writes that he has begun to see how Gun'Mora was able to function in Shelezar for so long."<P> "Perfect," Neyrr replied. "When Gun'Mora comes back, the last thing that I want is for those idiot angels to incinerate his... my body. Do you think we've persuaded them that he's an ally?"<P> "Ally? Of the angels? They'd never accept a Soulless as an ally, no matter what stories you spin." She held up a hand to forestall Neyrr's objection. "Even if the stories are true. You know better than anyone what Gun'Mora did before his imprisonment. And after his release, for that matter."<P> Neyrr squirmed slightly in his seat as he visualized fields of dying men on a battlefield thirty thousand years ago. Even death hadn't spared him from having most of Gun'Mora's own memories in his head. Still, it was those memories which now gave him leverage over a captain of the Battleangels and the current ruler of Shelezar. That made them profitable memories.<P> "You don't actually think he can come back from the Endless Dungeon, do you?"<P> Neyrr waved his hand dismissively -- at both Kanim's disbelief and his own distraction.<P> "He'll get out. I don't know when and I don't know how, but he'll get out. Even if it takes until the doors to the dungeon open again in ninety-eight years, he'll find a way out. He doesn't age. He can't die. He'll get out. I can only hope he's still wearing my body when he does."<P> The halfling smiled. She knew what the answer would be, of course. It had become almost a game in the last year. When Gun'Mora ailed to emerge from the Endless Dungeon after one month, as Neyrr had said he was supposed to, most of the little group had assumed he was locked away forever, the same as everyone else who had ever entered the Dungeon. In the last year, Kanim and Neyrr had already had this conversation or one very like it several times. "How can you be sure?" she asked.<P> "Because I have his memories and his mind," Neyrr shot back with a tired grin, just as aware he was repeating himself. "And I have every reason to imagine that this means he also has mine.<P> "And even if it took me a thousand years, I would find a way to get out."<P> Dwarffriend laughed, as she always did when they had this exchange, and began to rattle off about some other question Angelos had asked. Neyrr half-listened and answered the questions. These tedious games were a necessity for the larger plan.<P> His memories, his mind... and his flesh. Yes, Gun'Mora would find a way out, even if the gods had to tear open the Endless Dungeon and drag him out. It was certain -- it was prophesied. Neyrr would be ready, and now so too would Gabriel Angelos of Mount Celestia. Just one piece of the puzzle, one part of the plan. Neyrr began to wrap up his meeting... there were other letters to write, and only Tchort knew how much time to write them. <HR> <a name="681"></a> <U><B>The Koorivar With Two Brains Part 1 of 10: Whatever Happened to Neyrr Jesond?</b></u><p> <I>When Neyrr Jesond was killed by an assassin's arrow on a cold desert night, his body was left under the control of Gun'Mora, the plague demon whose essence had been imprisoned inside it. Through a complicated series of events involving the intercession and interference of a mad god, nearly four years after his death, Neyrr's own soul was eventually returned to his old body, which had been running around without him. His companions, well-used to such absurd turns of events, took this in stride, particularly since Neyrr's -- or Gun'Mora's -- behaviour seems to have gone largely unchanged by the event. The question which no one has yet thought to ask is, while Gun'Mora had been running around inside a nameless dungeon... where was the soul of Neyrr Jesond?</i><P> As afterlives go, it wasn't so bad.<P> There are worse places to spend eternity than the Concordant Domain of the Outlands. There are also better. At the moment of his death, with the curiously long time that the dying mind finds it has to ponder such things, Neyrr had actually wondered briefly if his soul might ascend to one of the various heavens, based on his recent work in support of the forces of good, or whether he would be bound for a hell instead, since he had no illusions that he had done his share of dark deeds in his life. He was not surprised to find himself in the Outlands, however. For good or ill, for all his heroics and his crimes, Neyrr had lived and died a devout worshipper of Shesh, the god of Fear, and such such, at his death, his soul had come here, to Shesh's divine domain, the Tower of Disquiet, there to bask for all eternity in the presence of the god he had served. The name aside, the Tower of Disquiet was actually a rather pleasant place to which one might be damned. Each of the faithful had their own simple chamber (with larger ones for the clerics). There was simple but pleasant food, though no one in the tower had any need to eat. The library was remarkable and worthy of one of the gods of Knowledge; Shesh counted so many scholars as worshippers, after all, it was practically a necessity. And the faithful were immune to the aura of horror and despair which hung about the whole of the Tower, such things being in place for the benefit of souls being punished by other gods, gods who didn't do their own eternal tormenting but prefered to outsource such things. As long as each of the devout spent one hour per day frightening the damned, the rest of their time was theirs. Neyrr, a creature of habit in death as in life, spent most of his in the library.<P> It had taken him less than a week to attract a small study-group.<P> "Thank you all for coming," he said as he sat down at the table. The stack of books in his left hand, he dropped on the table with a clatter. The steaming coffee in his right hand, he set down with far more care. "I'm pleased to see so many of you with such an interest."<P> The half-dozen heads around the table nodded. Two, Neyrr noted, wore the anti-fear necklaces issued by Shesh's guardians to welcomed non-faithful visitors... meaning word of his research was spreading. Excellent. "Master Ironbeard, I believe you said you wished to present first at today's meeting?"<P> The Dwarven cleric rose -- at his full height, he scarcely came up to Neyrr's waist. Thurl Ironbeard -- who had been here and dead for over ten thousand years, if his word was to be believed -- had been the first to come see Neyrr and speak to him after his arrival in the Tower. It was Thurl who had given him the idea to form this group, however inadvertently.<P> "At Master Jesond's suggestion," said the dwarf, "I spent the last week reading the records of my people from the Dark Times. I've gone through only a fraction of them, but as most of you know, this was my area of expertise when I was alive as well. I've dug up everything I could on the foul beast Gun'Mora and his damned father the Witch King, and I've copied my notes onto these scrolls for you all. Now, as you'll see, the earliest mention we had dates from..."<P> And so it went. Around the circle, each scholar presenting what they knew about Gun'Mora and the other Soulless. Guess and theory made up the bulk of it; some erro4rs Neyrr corrected, and some he chose to let the others continue to believe. Even after having shared a brain with Gun'Mora for months, there was still much he didn't know about the demon, but now, with all the knowledge of the afterlife at his disposal, he could fix those gaps in his learning. He would be ready, when the time came. Dead though he may be, Neyrr was certain that he did not have eternity to prepare for his next meeting with Gun'Mora. He was certain that the prophecies which had entangled him in life hadn't let go of him yet, and although he hadn't yet begun to work out how, he was certain that he would be leaving the Tower of Disquiet and returning to Shelezar. When he did, he would be ready.<P> As the meeting ended, Ironbeard caught up his Neyrr, and handed him a small package.<P> "Here you go," the dwarf said. "I had ample time to craft it while taking breaks from the books."<P> "Thank you," Neyrr replied. Careully, almost lovingly, he unwrapped it and gazed at the gleaming bronze. "It's perfect. Just what I needed."<P> "Can I ask you..." The dwarf paused. "Can I ask you what you wanted it for? Most of us here, we try and let go of what we were before and just be. Why did you want-"<P> "I know how most of those here become more distant from who they were," Neyrr intterupted smoothly. "I'm not ready to lose myself just yet. I still have things to do."<P> The dwarf smiled in a manner that fell halfway between paternal and contemptuous.<P> "Whatever it was, I hope it wasn't too important, lad. You're dead. None of us leave the Tower once we get here, you know that. If someone was going to ressurect you, they'd have done it months ago."<P> "I know," Neyrr said, lifting the plaque so that it caught the wan Outlands light. "But then again, I've always had a knack for doing the unexpected."<P> Ironbeard shrugged. "I'll see you next week, then," he said, and walked off, leaving Neyrr to contemplate his own reflection in the yellow metal. <P> "I am Neyrr Jesond," he read aloud. 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