A Good Read

When selecting a novel to read there are some important factors. First of all is interesting, there are hundreds perhaps thousands of books to read out there, but if they aren't interesting there is no point in reading them! Second is accessibility, if you can't actually read the words in the book or understand them, how ever interesting it may be is lost in not being able to actually comprehend! And thirdly and most importantly for this story and my survival, the thickness of the binding and amount of pages is infinitely important, especially when it comes to stopping a bullet. I don't want to say I choose books specifically on how good they are about stopping a bullet, but it definitely factors in.

So yes I lived because the bullet stopped on page 347 of the book I was reading (the title in case you were wondering was the Execution of Bolivio Bolares, which doesn't sound like a comedy, but trust me it was). Thankfully the members of this particular cult weren't exactly stellar at checking to see if people were dead or even bleeding (I think they didn't check me because I'd gotten blood splashed on me from Shobogon, but it was still lazy!) They had removed me from their chambers and dumped me ceremoniously outside for some poor jerk to have to bury.  Now here is where I admit I waited until the guy had finished the hole before I killed him and knocked him in. I mean he in theory was disposing of my body so he's not a great guy, but I still feel kind of bad I played dead until he had done some manual labor and then deposited him into that labor.  I feel bad about weird things. By the time I got back to the barn the ritual was in full swing, which mean people were eating people. Not like to death or anything, but chunks of arms and legs were being cleaved off and consumed. A weird sort of magical aura was in the air as a half assed made up magical ritual had been performed (which was why I had gotten the vibe from the vase of a ritual being performed near it, but not what type). I drew my pistol and gathered magic in my right hand and then prepared to hopefully stop the madness.

"Stop you must stop." I shouted and they all turned, half eaten pieces of flesh in their mouths, blood running down wounds and cheeks.

"He has risen!" The old lady crowed and I have to admit it did look like I came back from the dead. "The ritual has worked!" I sighed and prepared for an overly long explanation while the cult member stopped eating to worship me as their resurrected god. Now you see the importance of a good book!

They Call Him Mr. Winslow

Seated in the back of a car, the blood of my former employer contained in a vase between me and the man who killed him, seemed a little silly. I mean I've been in a lot of weird situations, I've placed myself in places that are confusing, but this one, this one was the most awkward and at the same point insane. I mean this guy literally killed the guy I was working with, and then passively threatened me to come with him, and I didn't resist! Mostly because I was curious, and you know what happens with me and curiosity, it usually means it almost kills me, and yet I remain curious, proving that I truly never learn. Which is sad for someone who is hundreds of years old.

"I bet you're wondering whats going on." Winslow broke the silence and while it was nice, I was terrified of what we were going to talk about next.

"The thought had crossed my mind." The blood of Shobogon sloshing around next to me, also crossed my mind.

"We're on our way to a ritual, I'm bringing you as my guest." A guest at a blood ritual, how quaint. And terrifying. Suddenly I found myself tapping into my former masters long dormant memories. Instantly I knew exactly what ritual they were doing, and why they were doing it, most likely. To say I wasn't feeling safe after figuring it out, was an under gods damned statement.

"I'm not big on rituals, and I still have my luggage, perhaps I can make the next one." Winslow did not say anything in response, but the doors cars made a distinct kachunk sound that just said I was locked in. And so we traveled in silence. We left the city and made for the country, industry made way to farm fields and eventually a large barn, I did not like where this was going.

"Get out." The door was open other men in business suits were waiting around, they all had smiles like predators. Winslow grabbed the blood vase and walked behind me. I felt like a farm animal being lead to slaughter, probably because I was. When I stopped briefly before entering the barn Winslow stuck an implement into my back that was most certainly a pistol. Inside the barn were more men in suits, it looked like they came from all walks of life based on their hair, facial hair, and wrinkles, but this was just me judging.

"Mr. Winslow and guest, the last to arrive!" The lead speaker was a decrepit old woman, the rest of the people in attendance were men, just confirming the horrible ritual I had dredged up from bad memories.

"Well it was nice being here, but you know I must be going." Winslow spun me around, I realized I was in the middle of the a large circle and this is never a good place to be. I could see the pistol in his hand and heard the gunshot before I felt the impact (which is weird because bullets travel faster than the sound, but I guess up close its a bit of a chicken and the egg scenario) he shot me right above my right pectoral muscle and I hit the ground (because when you've been shot you tend to do what comes natural). I didn't die (I told you that humorous book came in handy) but I knew the best way to live here would be to fake being dead, which worked out better for me. One of the few times playing dead actually worked! Hooray! Don't try this with bears though, it does not work, TRUST ME!

It's a Cut Throat Business

The lands to the North had changed a lot since I'd last been there (though my last trip wasn't exactly through all the civilized areas under the best circumstances). Industry and innovation was all over, I saw a lot of technologies the guard were very far behind on (street signals, better roads, actual authorities not corrupted by necromancers... that last one was of course a judgement on my part). I tell you the modern world is terrifying to me, it seems just as soon as I get used to one facet of it, another completely new facet pops up. Like in previous centuries when things moved forward it was at a slower pace, in the last fifty years the world is rushing around like its hair on fire. New fire arms technology, new cooking technology, new everything technology. Which just means more ways to die! (And I am so adverse to dying, so I find it important to stay up on everything). Shobogon didn't seem to care at all at the modern whizbang things around him (probably since he had grown up with them, where as I was just dealing with them as someone who knew simpler times.

We had caught a paid servant car from the airfield and the gruff drive offered some small talk as he dangerously drove us around the streets of a city whose name I either didn't catch or didn't pay attention to (shocking I'm usually so good about the details). We arrived at a warehouse in area full of them, I was about to ask Shobogon if he had the right address when he paid the hired driver and the guy drove off. Apparently we were at our destination whether I wanted us to be there or not. Inside the warehouse was mostly empty, just a table with three chairs, one of them occupied. I did feel out of sorts, I still had my stupid luggage with me since we had left the airfield without checking in at all!

"Gentleman come in." The voice was loud and seemed to fill the warehouse despite it being a fairly large, if empty, building. Shobogon ran to his seat and left the vase sitting on the table. I put my luggage at the front of the warehouse and took my time coming to the table, because I like people to wait for me.

"Mr. Winslow, sorry we're late." I wasn't aware we were late, we had arrived as soon as possible, but I guess Shobogon felt we were late.

"None sense you aren't late, we didn't set a time for this meeting other than today, who's your friend he looks a bit scrawny for a body guard." I have to admit I hadn't been getting my usual meals for a while, nor had I really been in the best of shape anyway, still made me sad to be thought of as not built enough to be a bodyguard.

"He's my expert."

"Ah I don't need that, but if you feel you do, feel free, greetings Mr?" He left it hanging but something in his eyes told me he already knew.

"Lorentino."

"Trezlan Lorentino?"

"Yes." I sat down with an uneasy glance, he extended his hand for a greeting, but as a necromancer I try and avoid physical contact for a variety of reasons, I politely declined.

"You must be a fourth or fifth with that name for as long as my group has heard it on lips."

"The sixth actually." It was a lie I used to cover up the necromancy, claim to be a descendant of myself, no one really buys it, but much like a lot of polite fictions, it makes things less awkward than the truth.

"I've always found it strange your family stick with Trezlan, such an ugly name." He dropped the shake he offered, and sat down. "Well authenticate Mr. Lorentino."

"Its genuine." He smiled.

"Fantastic, well then Mr. Shobogon would you like your payment now?"

"Of course, I want my cut." I should mention Winslow was dressed in a suit and didn't have any visible weaponry, I say visible, because at the mention of cut a blade extended from his sleeve and sliced through Shobogon's neck, Winslow angled Shobogon's death so as to spill his blood into the vase. And so ended Shobogon, a weird man who made a deal with people he probably shouldn't have.

"Did he offer you a cut Mr. Lorentino?" Winslow laughed and the blade recessed up his sleeve. Men were suddenly in the room that had not been their previously and I was escorted past the corpse of Shobogon outside and into a large car with Winslow. Shobogon was left behind. I did at least retrieve my luggage, because after losing some recently (due to a completely unrelated fire...) I wasn't going to leave that behind. And so my day got a little worse, because it always does.

Have I Mentioned I hate Air Travel?

"On edge?" Shobogon himself looked calm, calmer than I'd seen him, the plant on his head was at half mast and seemingly perfectly fine with flying through the air in a bag of explosive gas. We were seated near a window because the universe hates me. The flight was going to be the better part of a day I was informed, and so stuck in a bomb for a full day you could say I was on edge.

"I'm not a huge fan of flying."

"Why is that?"

"Its not natural." Shobogon laughed, it was a nervous little chittering thing.

"The world is not natural, take you clothes nothing in the world produces your clothes, they are a weave of several fabrics, some grown, some harvested, all put together by machines and workers who would not exist in the natural world, but you don't say your clothing is unnatural." He had a point, which was weird because I didn't think of Shobogon as a thinking man, I'll admit I judge people rather rudely if you haven't noticed.

"Well on top of it not being natural, the last time I was in one, it exploded." The person behind me gasped and then moved seats, which was stupid, its not like I caused it to explode you jerk!

"That is a more reasonable reason for not wanting to fly, may I ask why it exploded?"

"We were flying over a warzone."

"You lead an entirely more exciting life than I do Mr. Lorentino." I sat back in my seat and shut my eyes.

"Tell me about it." I tried to make it the end of the conversation but Shobogon kept freaking talking. Like about everything, it made the flight atrocious even worse than the flight would have been anyway. And the worst part I was still stuck with Shobogon on a long car ride. Because I make bad choices in life.

Completely Unremarkable, Only Old

The real vase Shobogon wanted me to authenticate was similar to the fake; except this one had a magical aura to it, not that it itself was magical, just that there was an aura of having magic been done near it or to it. Other than that there wasn't any kind of really interesting feature to it. Construction was kiln fired, but the materials were common, the painting on the outside of some kind of ancient ritual were poorly done and not very informative, and the color was ugly (a light shade of purple). To be honest other than being old I couldn't tell why anyone would want the stupid thing, sure there was the linger magic, but again it didn't make the vase magical, just gave it some lingering character. I'd be hard pressed to sell the stupid thing to even the dumbest of collectors, but Shobogon was more than pleased with my analysis (I edited out the parts that were subjective, because I'm not an idiot).

"So its completely genuine."

"As far as I can tell, I couldn't tell you exactly which group it descended from, the markings suggest at least two, but without language inscribed I can't narrow it down." How do you know all this Trezlan? You ask. Because of my former master, most of my knowledge of ancient anything comes from her, though I admit tapping into her memories is like reading a book full of horrible things. Like for instance the two groups this vase was associated with? Yeah she did horrific things to one to get something from the other, what can I say her memories are a treasure trove of regrets.

"That will do Mr. Lorentino, are you busy?" It seemed a strange question since I had pursued Shobogon from my office without a line outside, but Shobogon wasn't exactly Mr. Social skills.

"Well I do have a lot of pokers in the fire, but if you're willing to offer a retainer I can cool those down." I did not have any pokers in any fire, as if that wasn't bleedingly obvious.

"Done and done, we must hurry there is a flight to catch, pack your things, bring some weapons, meet me at the airfield by no later than five!" He shooed me out of the cluttered space I was in and I went back to my office to pack some things. I brought a pistol, some spare magazines, my swords, and a humorous novel I'd started reading (yes I read, yes people write books in my time). The novel would turn out to be the most important thing I brought, how novel right?

Optimism This Is Not

In a general sense the way to get me most interested in something is to tell me its none of my business. There is something inside me that says anytime someone tells me not to be bothered by something, I'm bothered by it. Its weird, if you ask for my help I drag my feet and kick and scream, tell me to piss off and I'm on you like stink on crap. Thankfully most people don't realize this approach works on me, so they don't use it. I had chased down Shobogon shortly outside of my office, it wasn't very hard he didn't move very fast, but still his odd ducking and darting spoke to some kind of social ailment I had not seen before.

"Mr. Lorentino I'm a buys man please do not hold me up."

"You didn't give me a chance to authenticate your little vase thingy." He had the vase wrapped in his arms and the lip of the mouth directly under his chin.

"You can't do it, I was told wrong."

"I just asked what you wanted authenticated, I can tell you where it probably came from, what its trying to emulate, and where it fails." He smiled and dropped the vase, it shattered on the sidewalk like the garbage fake it was.

"Mr. Lorentino!" His shout was a lot more exhuberant and happy, I was pleased my quick analysis of his fake piece could lighten him up.

"So you want me to check the real thing or was that an ill advised purchase."

"Well spotting a fake is easy, we'll see if how you handle the real thing, but yes yes come with me check out what I need checked out, running out of time, buyer is powerful and I need you to placate."

"Show the way." And so I went with Shobogon to his shop, and sadly for him this was the beginning of the end. I swear when people meet me their death is pretty much guaranteed, except for Hanlon, Valrym, and Morley, then again I'm sure given enough time I'll kill all of them one way or another!

Authentic Eccentricity

It's not all fun and games in my life I don't mind telling you. Sure I seem like I'm running from one horrible thing to the next, but thats because I'm speeding things up! There are days and days of doing nothing that is particularly boring (eat, go to the bathroom, sleep, accuse people of working for nefarious others). Especially in modern times. Like in the past there would be a good monster attack or witch burning or something interesting that happened. But now? Nothing. I practically have to invent horrible things to fix them! I swear the world moved forward and now its really boring (despite all the things I have chronicled here!) I mean I specifically created an agency to deal with the arcane, and no one seeks me out! Sure I accidentally burned down a town and they wanted to bill me for that (which is preposterous if they saw the contract I didn't have them sign, they'd have seen its completely not my fault!) So outside of dodging legal issues and eating you weren't missing out in much in the months since I burned down a town. I mean sure there were some discussions about what does and does not equate what death is (this was between me and a mouse that I trapped in my office, the mouse did have an interesting opinion that I gave it, but ultimately I didn't like its final argument of biting my hand and running off).

So it was nice when a real person arrived in my office. He was wearing a crumpled suit and smelled like the local food cart around the corner (and he was wearing part of his lunch on his shirt) not over fat, not especially thin, the only thing remarkable about him was the loose strands of hair on top of his head (he had very little hair but what was there was like a loose weed sitting on top of his skull it was comical, and when he got angry it seemingly responded to his anger). He came in with a vase and shoved it roughly on to my desk, thankfully there was nothing on my desk to disturb, but it was still rude. What if there had been something there? These are the questions that keep me up at night.

"Mr. Lorentino!" He started at a shout and I have to admit it seemed a bit weird, I have a fairly small office and I'm not hard of hearing.

"Mr?"

"Shobogon!"

"Mr. Shobogon, how can I help you?" I looked at the vase, it was clearly why he came, but I couldn't figure out why. Looked normal to me, no magical aura, or element of awful.

"I was told and I don't think its true, but I was told, and like I said I don't believe it was true and I told that person you couldn't possibly help me, but they directed you to me and I told them you couldn't do it but now that I'm here I might as well ask." If that reads confusing imagine what it was like being shouted at you.

"What?"

"Exactly, I knew you couldn't help."

"Its not that I can't help you, though I can't commit to helping you until I know exactly what it is you want my help with." He looked at me angrily and the weed on top of his head danced and I almost let out a loud laugh.

"This vase can you authenticate it?"

"Authenticate it for what?"

"I knew you couldn't help!" And with that Shobogon scooped up his vase and left my office. I was so mystified I almost just let him walk away, but I was also intrigued (and bored, and the mouse had bit me) so I gathered up my stuff (jacket, sword, wallet) and chased off after him.  What can I say I'm a sucker for a mystery.