DBrentOGara

Somewhere between ten and twenty thousand Servants-In-Death mill about, chatting with one another as we stroll through the Mists. At this point, Antediluvian humans and Sea Folk almost match the number of Ozcura in the crowd. If you add in all the modern humans she’s murdered, it’s likely that various subspecies of H. sapiens are her most numerous victims, but I’m not a God of Math, so I’m not sure what the numbers actually are. “What you thinkin’ ‘bout Donald?” Amphy seemed lost in thought herself, so I’m a bit surprised to hear her speak. “Oh, you know, just wondering if you’ve killed more humans or Ozcura or Sea Folk.” I am truthful to a fault. “Oh hail, Donald, you knows I kill’t more hoo-mans than anythin’ else!” She grins up at me, but it’s forced. I’m about to ask her what’s wrong, but the Mists swirl apart before us, revealing a long-lost memory of Amphy murdering… some tall, almost aristocratic, if primitive, human woman. She’s older, with a rather severe look to her

The whispers of more than a thousand dead hang at our backs. They’d been talking aloud until Amphy had rounded on them and threatened to re-kill them if they didn’t “Shut the hail up.” There was something eating at her, something more than the growing throng of goblins and orcs and humans and elves and (much to Amphy’s chagrin) mostly Ozcuras following along behind us. Amphy seemed distracted as I introduced her to her newest Servant-in-Death, another Ozcura, this one an angry young outcast who had foolishly challenged Amphy to a duel in the forlorn hope of proving herself to her mocking peers, and had (of course) lost her life for her pains. “What’s the matter, Amphy?” I asked as I led us all through the Mists. She seemed at first disinclined to answer, but after two more stops (both Ozcura) she sighed deeply and glared at me. “Donald… I don’t like this none, but I must allow as how I did, in fact, choose to kill each and every one of these fools… not that they didn’t deserve

“Did you ever see such bull-shit?” Amphy demands. The Mists swirl and thicken around the bodies at our feet, swiftly blocking them from view. All the world is reduced to a grey-white infinity in the time it takes her to ask the question, which I don’t really need to answer, being, as I am, one of the bodies in question. “Well!” she huffs. “So much for honor.” She shakes her head, still incensed over what she quite naturally sees as an underhanded move by her stronger, faster, and æons-younger opponent. I take advantage of her distraction to stand up to my full height, cracking my neck this way and that, stretching my back and shaking out my legs. Mortality is such a parade of indignities and accommodations, and my recently discarded guise was an evil that is necessary no longer. It’s good to be back, and I’m naturally excited now that Home is our final destination, although there will be a few stops along the way. Well, several stops. Many of them, if I’m being honest, and I’m