The popping and crackling of logs on a fire woke me from my slumber. Groggily, I righted myself from where I lay on mats made of woven reed fiber. Though I wanted to lay back down and continue resting, some nascent sense of urgency prompted my better judgement into forbidding five more minutes of rest. The night was dark, and the stars shone brightly, each of their number unobfuscated by moons, although I could not recognize any constellations. It was such an unnatural sky, one without the normal celestial bodies I have been used to all my life. The "Four Guardians", as they were known, were Ubwenge, Uongo, Isfet, and…

My head started to hurt while thinking about it. The lack of moons was a clue that some part of my mind was screaming about, but the fog of my previous slumber had not lifted enough for me to focus on it. Clearly, things were wrong, and I couldn't exactly remember what I had been doing prior to waking up on this mat, and so, that seems bad. Like, "real consequences will accompany my next few moves" sort of bad.

Looking around, I saw a few primitive huts, yurts, shielings, tents, and other such temporary dwellings of nomadic peoples. I could see people near them, but their features were indistinct, and focusing on one individual only blurred my vision of said person. However, each one was clearly like me in form. That is to say, they were all trolls and thus of The People.

"Would you care for some wamja, young one?"

The voice came from my right, and as I looked at the speaker, I noticed the scars earned from encounters with ferocious beasts and from ritual practices to adorn the body with marks of achievement. He wore a "lecha'ka", or an "extra face" if translated literally, which was a mask around the outside of the face that was painted with more teeth and eyes so as to make the wearer appear larger and more imposing. Such a relic had long since fallen out of fashion, and yet, those of the faithful could not mistake his appearance.

He could be none other than Rakka the Pursuer, god of The Chase And The Hunt. It was said that in the earliest of days, trolls used their nearly indefatigable stamina and regeneration to walk towards their prey until exhaustion claimed one or the other. Usually, my ancestors won that wager, and through it, they thrived. Such persistence and unwavering conviction in staving off starvation birthed one of the eldest of my people's pantheon.

"Yes no?" He asked again as He jostled the bowl that He held out towards me.

With proper decorum, I grabbed the bowl with both hands while His free hand readied the unleavened bread that would be eaten with the "wamja", a thick sauce of meat and berries that is sometimes diluted into a drink.

"Gratitude, Honored One."

"So polite, this one," Rakka the Pursuer chuckled as He handed me the accompanying flatbread. "Well, that may change once you get your wits about you. Most quickly become angry or distraught."

His words knocked something loose in my noggin. Houses from all cultures of my The People, distant individuals who are familiar yet fundamentally foreign to me, a literal god beside me, a village that could be anywhere and yet belongs nowhere. Oh yeah, it's all coming together.

"I have found my way to The First Village," I declared with a wan smile. "I guess I messed up somehow."

With nothing more to add, I decided that I should at least enjoy the offer of food. The flavor was perfect, the freshness unparalleled, and the texture captivating to the senses. At least the afterlife has good food.

"If that is how you wish it to be, then let it be so," came another voice to my left.

This speaker slowly walked over to sit down beside me. He was wrapped in rags and bandages all over his body, none of which were applied with any professional experience, nor did they display any signs of being cleaned or changed recently. All of it was soiled with dirt, blood, and pus alike, and yet, his body radiated vitality above what his apparent wounds, real or long since healed, would suggest. The parts of his face that I could see were kind and filled with youthful vitality, yet his countenance and posture radiated patient wisdom and calmness.

He could be none other than Lakapanaka The Refuser, the pantheon's god of Death. Legends say He was the first mortal troll to discover how to regenerate His wounds, and though He lived a brutal and unfair life, He ascended to divinity because He refused death time and time again. I could not say if such legends are true or not, but before my very eyes, I see the god Himself in the flesh… or at least what is left of it.

"What do you mean, Honored One?" I made sure to swallow my food before asking, as speaking with one's mouth full is generally impolite. My gods prefer directness over flowery words, but that is one thing when in prayer, and much harder to commit to when being in Their presence.

"Tell us your story, [Memories of the Flight]. The People have always loved their stories, and oral tradition has been a foundation of our culture," He explained as he picked up a bodhrán beside Him and began tapping out a slow beat. "You have mastered dance, which is one expression of stories, but now, We call upon you to master your oratory skills as well. Embrace your inner storyteller and weave us a narrative of how you came to be here, and, if you are so inclined, how you intend to get back. Unlike most that find their way here, it need not be your time."

As The Undying God continued to produce a beat on His drum, I rose to my feet and approached closer to the central fire. The heat of it was inviting, but not overbearing, despite how close I had come to it. Instinct of a new power awakened within me, one that felt like an old friend that had finally returned after a long and arduous journey to distant lands. This Dual Blessing, [Memories of the Flight], whispered tales of forgotten places, offered tidbits of information about this and that, and promised to help me make sure I probably wouldn't forget anything along the way. The specific details are abstract, as if they are waiting for me to weigh in on them before they are finalized.

I had danced for the gods before, but that was during festivals or rituals. Never had I danced before them in person, and, as I looked around, more and more of the pantheon took their seats around the campfire. There was plenty of room between both myself and the fire and myself and my gods, so hopefully I would avoid being burned by one or the other.

And, despite my circumstances, I found that I was not nervous, as if I had done this a thousand times before around similar campfires. Indeed, as I dug deeper into that sensation, I could feel the connection, one between storytellers throughout the ages. We were, all of us, trying to guide the lost, entertain the downtrodden, and educate the ignorant.

We were the blind leading the blind, hoping that one day, one from the younger generation would discover something new and repeat the cycle by telling a better tale that clung closer to truth than our own. Generation after generation, story after story, our understanding of the world evolved, and the facts of yesteryear became the misguided myths of a primitive era. The journey was financed by sacrifice, and the legacy was written in blood, for discovery of the unknown leads to risk, and true comprehension only comes as the result of many failures.

Now, it was my turn, and I would be explaining myself to my gods in person. Many have dreamed of such an opportunity when gripped by anger, but I only found the desire to give a good account of myself so as to not embarrass The People.

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"This is a tale of betrayal and love," I started my story as I likewise began a gentle dance to help captivate my audience. "It is one concerning an Emperor and an Empress, both trying to save the world for their own reasons, and a humble troll caught between them. It-Has-Pockets is her name, and she climbed The Tower to reach the World Heart so that her world could be spared from a great evil. The Devourers, an amalgamation of misbegotten and corrupted races, had invaded her world in hopes of consuming it. The only salvation known could only be found at the top of The Tower, and when called upon to serve, she answered with devotion."

The summary and context may appear bland, but for The People and our many stories, keeping it all straight and delivered plainly at the start really helps to ensure that one story is not confused with another. The pause afterwards usually gives parents enough time to explain the details to their children before the story begins in full.

With a gesture, I summoned forth illusions of the others that had climbed The Tower with me. While I could tell one from another, the details were a bit embellished and exaggerated to make them larger than life in one fashion or another. Coolness, beauty, mysteriousness, strength, and other such descriptors were enhanced to make them more fantastical than strictly necessary.

"Many were the challenges they faced, but one in particular appealed to It-Has-Pockets, for she was skilled at dance, and the challenge of this floor was to dance in a way to match statues brought to life."

Illusions of the statues appeared on one side of me, along with an illusion of me and the Emperor and Empress that I danced with. My Skills helped them to copy the performance of the statues, for while I was the [Lead Dancer], they were temporarily my [Backup Dancers].

"All had been going according to plan. Her moves on the dance floor were impeccable. Victory was within her grasp, and yet…"

I created more illusions, ones of Alterez and Gambino, each of whom looked a little more hunched, deformed, and underhandedly evil than they should. The eyes were beadier, their grins greedier, their appearances… seedier.

"Hmm. The rhymes are starting to kick in. Maybe it is because I am talking about Gambino. Let's tone it back a bit before I become a [Bard] or some such base creature."

"Two of her compatriots conspired against her. For you see, she remained the final companion of the Emperor not yet bound to him by blood. They wanted her to join them lest she miss out, for she had until they reached the top of The Tower to do so."

"Really? I didn't know that. How do I know that now? Is this even true or does it just make for a good story?"

"However, such a bond of blood could not happen unless the recipient was naturally brought to death's door. And while they could not directly assault me to do so, they could manipulate circumstances to that effect."

"Really? What rat bastards! But also, good on them I guess. It would have been awkward and embarrassing not to have joined the club in time. Now I don't know if I should hug them or crush them. Well, maybe I shouldn't crush Alterez as he may enjoy that too much. Something to ponder."

"And so, what did these two do, you ask?"

I waited while I idly continued my dance. I then made circular motions towards the audience with my hand.

"WHAT DID THESE TWO DO, YOU ASK?" I repeated loudly.

"WHAT DID THEY DO?" came the chorus of response from the gods amid goodhearted laughter.

"Why, they-"

And then, the true power of my Dual Blessing came to bear. Though this story had already come to pass, small parts of it were malleable to my whims. While it was seemingly a paradox, I could guide the events that had already happened, or perhaps, that would happen. While Nabonidus can see the future and manipulate events to change it, I can choose an immediate future, even if I don't know with utmost certainty what results my choices will yield. This feels like a freebie that I can change something that already happened, so I intended to make the most of it.

As a story shapes a child into an adult, that person shapes the world with his or her choices, which in turn creates more stories. The cycle continues again and again, often with the same general story being retold in new places and with new characters. Armed with that knowledge, it was my turn to tell my own story and to force the world- no- the World Heart, to accept my version of events.

Now, while my Blessing gave me Skills, and Skills in turn gave me some of my Abilities, that didn't magically give me decades of experience. Being rather put on the spot, I scrambled to weave together a series of events that could be both believable and entertaining.

"Hmm, now to destroy the red orb or the blue orb."

Gambino puzzled over how to proceed. He had spent the last 10 minutes crawling through tight spaces to finally arrive at a mechanism that either controlled what happened on the dance floor or surely played a key role in regulating it.

"Well, it is probably safe to smash this shadowy black orb. I feel like that one will keep Skull busy."

Without further ado or contemplation, he did just as his real and totally-not-manipulated thoughts guided him. A convenient projection of the nearby room showed nothing amiss, but an even more convention and even more nearby projection showed the Shadow Path suddenly becoming a riot of activity.

"Well, that was easy. Now, how to sabotage It-Has-Pockets for her own good?"

As he touched the red orb, a small booklet dislodged itself from inside the control panel in which he had been fiddling around. The booklet was titled "How To Sabotage A Troll Dancer Without Killing Her".

"How useful! And since it said 'Dancer' and not '[Blade Dancer]', this surely must be a happy coincidence and not some strange manipulation of circumstances simply to drive the plot forward in a timely manner."

Now, one may think that Gambino's mind cobbled together some rather sarcastic thoughts, but if you somehow knew how kobolds think, then you would understand that he found everything to be above board. After reading through the booklet, he reached out to pull the green lever labeled "The other green lever you idiot!".

Taken aback, he reexamined the instructions, his eyes glancing back and forth from the booklet to the objects in front of him, and then sheepishly pulled the green lever labeled "Yes, this one. By the gods, this is like herding cats!". One thing led to another with levers being pulled, orbs smashed, parts switched around, and general actions taken that made the machine operate in a manner that was not intended nor approved by the manufacturer. It even started smoking, but then, any machine smokes if you use it wrong enough, so it may or may not be an intended feature.

The nearby projection showed a second set of dancers becoming active while the beautiful and elegant It-Has-Pockets was busy flawlessly mimicking a different set. Naturally, as good a dancer that she may be, she cannot be in two places and positions at once. The second set became rather peeved, then cross, and ultimately irate at not being followed correctly. This resulted in them attacking the innocent It-Has-Pockets violently. She had been stabbed all over and nearly decapitated, which may seem excessive, but it was rather important to inflict such catastrophic damage that not even a troll's natural regeneration could ultimately save her.

Now, with that squared away, he wondered what could have possibly distracted the Emperor and Empress in the same room with It-Has-Pockets from intervening. However, a vague and unsettling impression came over him that there was not enough remaining space for such an exposition, and so his instincts prepared him for one of several possibilities.

As he crawled his way back out the way he came, the floor of the pipe beneath him suddenly collapsed. With quick reaction speed, he clung by one hand to the edge, his body dangling precipitously over a pit of spikes. And upon further review, he realized that his body probably dangled "precariously", so maybe Bossman was getting his expressions mixed up again.

Now, he could have pulled himself up with little effort, but where would be the drama in that? For good measure, a tentacle from the pit below crept up the wall and curiously started to encircle one of his legs. Upon closer inspection, he noticed the tentacle was on fire, and upon even closer inspection, he observed that it was covered with poisonous spines and also oozed out some acidic goop. And it was very muscular, with rippling abs and biceps.

With no one around to save him, his situation dire, and the strong sensation that The Story would soon stop focusing on him, he finally, FINALLY, found himself the perfect opportunity to activate an Ability that he had been waiting for so very long to showcase.

[Cliffhanger]

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