It was fairly late by the time Clay made it back to the campsite outside the city. They'd picked a small spot tucked back into the woods, where travelers on the road might have easily missed it on their way to the capital. A handful of mules and carts formed a rough border, while the tents were scattered in the spaces between the carts and a grove of trees.

Lana was the one who was acting as the lookout when he came through the trees. She waved at him as he approached. "Glad to see they let you go!"

He smiled back at her. "What, did Olivia not tell you?"

"She couldn't talk without ending the [Chant], so we had to rely on handsigns. Not the easiest way to figure out nuance." The [Minstrel] shrugged. "The rest of us are just getting dinner ready. You hungry?"

"Starving."

She gestured for Clay to walk back. "Just make sure they don't forget about me here. I see better after I've eaten!"

He waved back to her as he continued towards the fire, where Andrew was handing out portions from the pan he'd been holding over the fire. "If it isn't our fearless leader! Welcome back!"

Clay grinned at him. "More beans today?"

"And bread. A life of luxury." Andrew scooped a portion into a wooden bowl and held it out to him. Clay accepted it and took a piece of bread from Scott Calmford, who was standing nearby. "Anything else we need to know about tomorrow?"

He shook his head. "No. Olivia probably already let you know the details of the trial. Just be ready to do your best, and it'll go fine."

Andrew nodded, still seeming a little nervous. Clay tried not to be amused at the fact that a man who had hunted down swinefolk and faced assassins months earlier was now worried about facing initiates and cadets in a mock duel, but it was understandable enough. The [Crafter] had never seen himself as a real hero, even when he'd already proved himself one nine times over.

Clay wandered away from the campfire, nodding to many of the other members of the group. Another of the Calmfords was there, doing their best to ignore the age-old feud between his family and theirs. Both of the Wheatrose siblings were present as well; after their initial squabbling, they had eventually come around and become reliable enough. Others from Pellsglade were sitting around the camp and discussing their plans for the next day. After all, none of them had visited the capital before, and Clay had wanted everyone but their leaders to avoid the Guild and keep a low profile.

He found the last of those leaders in deep conversation with Herbert. Mitchell had taken an apparent liking to Herb; their shared background as [Guards] had led to swapping stories and similar discussions about duty and honor. Neither had been enthusiastic about joining the fight against the Lairs, but both of their liege lords had encouraged it. Lady Janburg had practically demanded that Mitchell leave his home to help Clay, and Herbert had eventually been convinced by Baron Pellsglade.

They both looked up as Clay approached, both having to repress an apparently similar instinct to salute. Herb grinned at him a little uncertainly. "It sounds like we have plenty of work after tomorrow, Clay."

Mitchell gave him a slightly reproachful look. "Sir Clay, you mean."

Clay laughed. "He's been patching me up since long before I was a 'sir', Mitchell. I think he gets a pass."

Herb rolled his eyes. "No, no, he's right. I need to remember in case I do it by accident around some [Noble] who doesn't know any better." He eyed his fellow [Guard] skeptically. "Though it might be a little harder to remember with you, Mitchell. Especially after that story about the cow and the wheat."

The older man snorted. "Oh, you'll remember all right. Either that, or I'll find some grunt work for you to do. Maybe you'll get to dig the latrines."

As Herb made a face, Clay continued to chuckle. There was only a single level of difference between the two of them, though it was enough to give Mitchell the lead and apparently encourage him to take on airs. They had both been hard at work fighting the Undead over the past few months, as had all the rest of them. Mitchell, Lana, and Andrew were all at level ten, while the rest were at level nine.

There was one other exception, of course, but she wasn't present at the moment. Clay looked around. "Where is Olivia? Is she hunting again?"

Mitchell shook his head. "No, Sir Clay. She said that she was a bit further that way. She said she wanted a bit more practice." He glanced at Herb and smiled. "I guess she might be a bit nervous about those trials."

Clay gave him an incredulous look. Olivia was an even higher level than Mitchell and Herb were; she'd made twelve before they'd left Pellsglade, tearing a swath of destruction through the ranks of the Undead outside Sarlsboro. If there was anyone who was capable of passing the Guild's tests, it was her—and even if she wasn't, she was still officially Clay's apprentice, and therefore immune to whatever the Guild's plans were, anyway.

The [Guards] shrugged, and he sighed. "Which way was it?" Mitchell pointed, and Clay sighed. "I'll be right back, Goodmen."

"Sure you will." Herb's skepticism was thicker than mud, and he chuckled to himself as he scooped another mouthful out of his bowl. "We'll hold our breath."

Mitchell nudged the other man, but he looked like he was trying to restrain a laugh himself. Clay rolled his eyes and headed into the forest, bowl still held in his hands. It might be a little longer before he could rest yet.

As Clay walked through the forest, he heard a sound rising over the sound of the pattering rainfall. It was faint at first, barely audible between the dull impacts of droplets cascading down from the thinning leaves above. Each step further into the forest, however, brought it closer and closer.

It was the sound of a blade cutting through the air, a low, reverberating howl that seemed to pierce right through to his bones. Clay shook his head and sighed as it continued, walking a bit faster to reach the source.

He found Olivia a short while later, moving through a small clearing in the forest. She spun and lunged between the roots of a half dozen trees, her war scythe seeming to tear the very air she moved through. It was another of David's creations, meant to replace the fairly normal weapon that she'd started with. Like his spear, it had become something a bit… more under the leveled-up [Smith]'s attentions.

The haft, created from the same oak that formed his spear, was shorter than his weapon, something that allowed Olivia to pivot and slash more easily. It was topped by a crescent blade, one that seemed to be distilled violence, like a sliver of a deadly moon. He couldn't see it clearly, but the same waved pattern marked the steel, giving it the strength and sharpness needed to cleave through a solid breastplate—something which Olivia had practiced doing on multiple occasions.

Her practice was somewhat different at the moment, however. He watched as her hands shifted on the haft, allowing the spinning blade to lash out at near-full extension or shrink back to a quick swipe at near-point-blank range. She had never been trained by the Guild, but Lady Janburg had visited Pellsglade once she had the chance, and the [Noble] had been full of training suggestions for Olivia's growing skills. Combined with her practice against the Undead, she had become a combatant that could sometimes even give Clay a hard time.

As he watched, the blade kept flickering out to snatch raindrops from the air, shattering each bit of water into fragments. Remnants pattered across the fragments of leaves that carpeted the ground, many of which showed edges that were suspiciously clean. Another leaf twirled down from a tree far above, and Clay watched with a feeling of anticipation and amusement. He had a suspicion about its ultimate fate.

His feelings were confirmed the moment the leaf got within reach. Olivia caught it with a slash that bisected it. A follow up cut turned the halves into quarters; another halved one of those fragments, and another caught two others just before they reached the ground. By the time the last of the fluttering pieces reached the dirt, they were barely recognizable as having come from the same leaf.

Clay snorted and clapped his hands, giving her a bit of applause. For half a heartbeat, Olivia's eyes locked onto him. Her gaze was filled with a mixture of annoyance, pleasure, and satisfaction, all combined in one burning, emerald glance.

Then a drop fell behind her, and Olivia launched herself back into her self-assigned task, cutting it from the air before it managed to strike the root below it. The wind from the move scattered sodden leaves away from her, and she resumed her whirling dance of cuts.

He raised his voice as she continued. "You know, you don't want to wear yourself out before the trials. They aren't going to give you any second chances, at least not for some time."

Olivia took a moment to respond. "I know. I just…" She paused to catch two drops as they fell together. "I want to be ready. We can't falter."

"You won't." Given what she was already doing, Clay didn't think that anyone below journeyman would have a chance against her, and even then, he wouldn't bet on her losing. "It will go well, Olivia. I know it will."

Olvia whirled around in one last broad slash, her scythe whipping out in a wide arc that intercepted a drop that had fallen two strides from her. She finally stopped, her weapon held in one hand at the very end of its haft. He watched her hold the pose, breathing hard. When her breath slowed, she straightened up and let her grip slide into a more normal place. The butt of the weapon grounded itself as she leaned on it slightly, still obviously tired.

They exchanged a quiet grin, and then Olivia sighed. "They are still plotting against you. You know that."

He nodded, his grin widening a little. "I know. You've certainly reminded me enough." She grunted and walked over to where she'd laid a waterskin, along with a handful of other items. "I don't think they are planning on a direct attack, though."

"Not if it would cause enough noise, no." Olivia grabbed the waterskin and drank, tilting her head back. When she lowered it, she gave him a raised eyebrow. "Unless you think that confrontation with the sentries was going to be resolved peacefully?"

Clay shrugged. "We knew there would be some friction. The Council isn't used to dealing with us yet."

She snorted. "You mean, they aren't used to getting told to keep their hands off. They still won't be." Olivia shook her head. "These missions they're giving us are going to be some kind of trap. Either they're going to try and keep us too busy to actually fight Lairs…"

"Or they are going to be impossible enough that even we'll fail." Clay nodded. Richard had been cagey enough about the assignments that Clay had nearly started to regret accepting the responsibility, but they'd already made plans on how to handle the interference. "Either way, we'll just have to prove them wrong and get the job done, anyway. It won't work any other way."

Olivia nodded slowly before taking another drink. She fastened the plug to it and held it out to him. He waved it away, and she shrugged, dropping it back at the base of the tree. "I know. I just don't want you to forget what we're up against, or to start thinking you're alone in this."

Then she laid her scythe up against the tree trunk and paused. "Do you want me to come with you to see the King?"

Clay shook his head. "No. I don't think bringing you there will help the situation." Privately, he'd wondered if he should talk her out of going to the Guild, but that was always a doomed attempt. Abrasive and confrontational as her relationship with the adventurers might be, it was better to give her the legitimacy she'd need in case the worst happened. "Will you stay in the Guild while I talk to him?"

She shook her head. "No. It would be nice to plunder their library, but I suspect they're already ready for me there." Olivia chuckled to herself. "The Rector gave me something to take to the Great Rectory. I'll pay them a visit while you go and talk things out with the King."

He paused. Rector Semmons had mentioned sending a few letters along with them when they went to Crownsguard, but he'd refused to tell Clay what they were about. In all honesty, the internal workings of the Rectors were still something obscure to him, and a hint of curiosity filled him.

Olivia saw him start to ask a question and grinned. She waved a finger at him. "Now, now, Clay. You worry about ticking off the nobility and the adventurers. Leave the [Priests] to me."

Clay gave her a skeptical look. "I don't at least get a hint?"

She hesitated and then sighed. "The Rectory can sometimes act as a neutral mediator between the Guild and the crown. If things go badly enough, we might find some allies there."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You really think that they'll help?"

"Well, one of us keeps talking to the gods, so yeah." She chuckled at his uncomfortable expression. "And don't give me that look. Some people view those kinds of encounters with reverence instead of annoyance, you know."

Clay rolled his eyes. "You're just saying that because you haven't had to deal with them. The Rectory leaves out a little bit of their real personalities, from what I've seen."

Olivia laughed, the sound rising over the sound of the rain. "And you think the stories about us don't do the same? I'm pretty sure they don't mention the way you mutter in your sleep."

He blushed, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. "Not unless someone has been talking a little too much."

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She shook her head, still chuckling. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that." Then she reached out and tossed something at him. Clay caught the practice spear before he'd even really registered what it was. "Now, do you want to give me something a bit more practical to fight for a bit? I wouldn't want you to not be able to get a good night's sleep, after all."

"How considerate of you." He grounded the practice spear for a moment, setting his actual spear against a nearby tree. Clay stripped off his bow and knife as well, piling the weapons and armor against the trunk. "You sure you're up for a match? I wouldn't want to wear you out too much."

Olivia grabbed a practice scythe and gave it an experimental twirl. The grin on her face turned fierce. "Then maybe you should let me use [Chants] while you play nice. That should give me enough of an advantage, don't you think?"

Clay paused. Her [Experiences] had already given her a distinct and somewhat disturbing level of skill with [Chants], to the point that she wielded them with the same kind of focused intent that she did her scythe. It wasn't that she was better with them than he was, but it was close enough that it was a little intimidating. "All right, fine. Just try not to draw blood or burn me, all right?"

She smiled even wider. "No promises, Clay the Hero." Olivia fell into a fighting crouch, ready to pounce. "Let's begin."

By the time Clay reached a cot that night, he was fairly well exhausted. If anything, he was even more sure than he had been that Olivia would have no trouble at all at the Guild in the morning, but he was wondering if even his recovery would be enough to wake on time. The thought made him grin and grumble a little to himself as he settled down on the bedroll.

He did so alone, unfortunately. Rector Semmons had convinced Olivia that tongues would wag if she kept sneaking into his tent, and the knowing smiles and quiet laughter when they flirted were already enough to prove the [Priest] right. She might have tried sneaking around anyway, but the [Commoners] with them had far too much talent in keeping watch. It was both impressive and annoying, but such was life.

Clay spent a moment staring up at the fabric of his tent, listening to the last bits of rainfall plop on his shelter. Hadley Withers, who always had a good eye for the weather, had predicted that things would clear up on the next day, something that Clay was looking forward to. Just because he could walk through a continual rain didn't mean he wanted to. Besides, the wet stones would make for poor footing during the trials. The last thing he wanted was for one of his [Commoners] to fail because they'd slipped in a puddle.

He was still grinning over the thought as sleep claimed him, his consciousness drifting away into the realm of peaceful dreams. Hopefully, he'd get more than enough rest to face the coming day.

Clay opened his eyes and found himself floating in a bright and endless void. He sighed.

"WHAT IS THAT REACTION? YOU'D THINK YOU DIDN'T WANT TO TALK WITH ME, CLAY."

He turned slowly, his soul quavering with the force of those words. True to his expectations, the Trickster was waiting for him, a grin on her face and her arms crossed in front of her.

Her form hadn't changed much since he'd last seen her. She still wore the rough clothing, and her fists were marked with numerous cuts and scrapes. Others decorated her face and arms, small imperfections in her golden skin. He couldn't tell if they were actual scrapes, or just part of an image that she'd embraced. Things like that were difficult to predict with someone called the Trickster.

The goddess' eyes still glowed with divine power as she looked him up and down. He thought he could see actual pupils in the middle of the golden light, though it was hard to say for certain. Amusement was definitely still present in her face as she circled him. A false pout twisted her lips. "ARE YOU REALLY SO SAD TO SPEAK WITH ME AGAIN?"

Clay raised an eyebrow at her. "I guess I have a hard time forgetting that the last time we spoke, you nearly got me killed."

She waved away the comment. "THAT WAS NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN. I HAD THINGS HANDLED."

He snorted. "We only won that vote by one. If the Grim hadn't intervened…"

"OH, SUCH FAITHLESSNESS." The Trickster shook her head and spread her arms. "SINCE WHEN HAVE I FAILED YOU?"

Clay gave her another raised eyebrow, temporarily stymied. Technically, she'd never actually let him down, but at the same time, the Trickster had been willing to deceive her fellow gods and goddesses. Lying to him was probably didn't represent a flicker of difficulty for her. She gave him another broad grin, her eyebrows quirked as if inviting a comment, and he sighed. "So far you haven't, I guess."

"SEE? THAT OBVIOUSLY PROVES THAT YOU SHOULD ALWAYS TRUST ME, NO MATTER WHAT." The mischievous delight in her voice was almost worse than the self-mocking laugh that followed.

Clay winced a little as the divine sounds pounded away at him, and as it faded, he tried to sound appropriately respectful. "Is there something you need from me, goddess?"

The Trickster came to a sudden stop. She frowned at him, her expression seeming genuinely disturbed. "OH, THAT WON'T DO AT ALL. DID SOME PRIEST GET TO YOU?"

"Enough."

Clay blinked as the second voice slammed into and through him. Where the Trickster's voice was one of laughter, mischief, and chaos, this one was solid, unyielding, and bold. He spun to face it and realized with a start that a second deity had joined them without announcement.

This god was a familiar one, though Clay wasn't nearly as happy to see him. He wore shining armor tinged with a green light that seemed to well up from inside him. There was no helmet, revealing a bald head and a stern set of features. The armor showed small signs of imperfections as well, small scuffs and marks that Clay hadn't noticed before. A broadsword was strapped to his back, and his wide green eyes were locked onto the Trickster with more than a hint of impatience in his expression.

It was the Honored, the god who had advocated for Clay's death during the last visitation. He felt his heart pound a little faster as the gods faced one another. Before he could speak, the Honored spoke again.

"Thou Knowest That We May Not Interfere Further. Every Choice Thou Hast Influenced Robs Them Of The Life They Might Live. Art Thou Attempting To Puppet This Man, To Rob Him Of The Life Thou Hast Demanded He Continue? Worse, Thou Art Neglecting Thy Duties To Be Here. What Mischief Could Possibly Merit This Foolishness?"

The questions were delivered in a harsh demand, one that made Clay wince. He glanced at the Trickster, half-expecting her to be cringing at the accusations. Instead, he saw her smiling in sheer, triumphant delight.

"G----! I KNEW YOU'D BE HERE!"

Clay saw the Honored recoil. "Thou Shouldst Not—"

"YOU WERE A LITTLE LATE THOUGH. YOU SHOULD WORK ON THAT."

The Honored stared at his fellow deity for a moment, clearly as baffled as Clay was. "Thou… Hadst Expected My Arrival?"

"OF COURSE! WHY ELSE WOULD I BE HERE?"

Clay looked back and forth at the two deities. The Honored looked at him, and Clay shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just here."

The Honored snorted and looked back at the Trickster. "Well?"

She gestured to Clay. "I KNOW YOU'VE BEEN FEELING A LITTLE BAD ABOUT THE WHOLE 'WANTING TO KILL CLAY' THING, BUT YOU'RE ALSO TOO CAUGHT UP IN OUR CODE TO BRING HIM HERE YOURSELF. SO I DID IT FOR YOU! NOW'S YOUR CHANCE TO SET THINGS RIGHT, AND THEN YOU CAN SEND HIM BACK."

Clearly dumbfounded, the Honored stared at her, his mouth slightly open. "Thou… Canst Not Be Serious."

"SO I'VE BEEN TOLD!" The Trickster grinned and gave him a little wave. "SO, GET TO IT AND TELL ME HOW BRILLIANT I AM AFTER. FAREWELL, CLAY!"

Then she was gone, without even a hint of motion to herald her departure. Clay was left there, standing next to a god who hadn't been his biggest fan in the middle of some kind of divine void.

He'd had more comfortable audiences in recent memory.

Still, it wasn't like he could get back on his own. Perhaps the Honored would just send him back without saying anything; the god seemed rather fixated on keeping their dictates, for obvious reasons. The God of Order and Honor could be expected to follow the laws fairly closely.

When he turned to face the Honored, however, the god was still staring at the spot where the Trickster had been. He glanced at Clay briefly. "I Have Never Met a Being More Rough, Uncouth, Uncivilized, And Less Respectful In All My Long Existence." Then he paused and sighed. "And Yet, No Truer Friend and Companion. Knowest Thou My Meaning, Sir Clay?"

Having the god use his title felt truly odd, but Clay nodded slowly. "I… think I do, yeah."

The Honored smiled at him, a half-grin that seemed almost no more than a twist of the lips. He gestured for Clay to walk with him through the lightened void. "If Thou Wouldst Join Me Then, I Would Be Grateful."

It wasn't the type of invitation that he could refuse. Clay nodded, and they walked together through the light. Beside him, the Honored was silent for a time, simply keeping pace with Clay as they moved.

An indeterminable amount of time later, the Honored spoke. His voice had grown a little more brash, though it didn't compare to the Trickster's usual tone. "Though I Didst Not Appreciate Her Deception, The Trickster Was Not Wrong, Sir Clay. I Have Been… Displeased With The Way Things Ended. Though I Didst Believe My Feelings Held Merit, I Didst Not Wish For Us To Part As Adversaries."

Clay tried to measure his words before he responded. After all, he was talking to a god, someone who could probably obliterate him without even using the sword on his back. "I'm glad to hear we aren't enemies, Honored One."

The Honored gave him a wry look. His lips quirked in another amused half-grin. "Yet Thou Dost Not See Me With Any Less Fear, I Wager. Or Resentment."

He fell silent for a few more moments. "I Hope Thou Wouldst Know That I Didst Not Oppose Thee Out Of Personal Distaste. It Is My Role To Maintain The Honor Of Our Cause, And Hold Us To Our Laws. It Is A Part Of Me, Now, The Same As The Trickster's Mischief Is A Part Of Her."

Clay raised an eyebrow. "If it wasn't, would you still have wished to kill me?"

"Yes." The Honored's answer carried no hesitation. "The Trickster's Actions Were Beyond Our Laws. Your First Life Shouldst Have Been Enough To Give You Rest. Calling You Back To Face Another Life Of Trial Is Unjust. To Do So By Deception, And Weigh You Such Responsibility, Is Dishonorable."

He looked at the god with something approaching a grudging respect. At least he was consistent, even if he was still advocating for Clay's end. "You think life is that bad, huh?"

The Honored shrugged. "It Is A Necessary Fire To Pass Through—Once At Least." Then he shook his head. "Yet I Hadst Forgotten A Part Of Our Code When I Spoke Against Thee. The Choices Of Those In Thy World Are To Be Thine Own. I Shouldst Have Honored Thy Decision To Face The Enemy. Thy Path Is Thine Own, And I Misjudged Thy Resolve As A Product Of The Trickster's Manipulations. Please, Accept My True Remorse For My Doubts, And Know That I Am Thy Friend In This Fight, As Any Of Us Will Be."

Clay blinked. He struggled for a moment to fit the words back into the context he had known. Then he shook his head and laughed softly to himself. "I accept, Honored One, though I can't believe I'm even saying that. This definitely has to be some kind of dream."

There was a snort like a burst of lightning, and the Honored shook his head. "I Fear Not, Sir Clay. Thy Gods and Goddesses Are Not So Infallible As Thou Mightest Wish."

"Well, that's not comforting." Clay shook his head again. "Aren't you all supposed to have some divine perspective?"

The Honored smiled fully at last. "At Times, Such Perspective Reveals More Challenges Than Solutions, Sir Clay. After All, The Trials Of Thy Childhood Are Naught Beside What Thou Facest Now, Are They Not?"

Clay nodded slowly, his mind going back to the last meeting. "When you were arguing against me, you mentioned a war." The Honored nodded, shifting his shoulders in clear discomfort. "Did you mean between Crownsguard and Merarbor? Is there something I can do to stop it?"

To his surprise, the Honored gave him an incredulous look. Then he gave a croak of laughter, a hideous noise that Clay never would have expected to come from the man. "No, Sir Clay. Such Wars Are Of Concern, I Admit, But There Is Little Thou Couldst Do To Avoid Them. It Is My Chosen Who Tend To Lead Nations To Bloodshed, Whatever I, Or The Other Gods, Might Wish. If We Cannot Stop Them, What Couldst Thou Do?"

The genuine sadness in the Honored's voice nearly brought Clay up short. "Your chosen? You mean King John."

The Honored nodded. "And The Others Who Sit Atop The Thrones Of The World." He looked away from Clay, his emerald gaze searching the void ahead for something Clay couldn't see. "It Wast Not Meant To Be This Way, Sir Clay. The Nobles Were Meant To Be My Warriors, The Last Resort Against Our True Adversaries. Yet Now…"

Clay thought over the situation. He pictured the [Nobles] fighting against the monsters, often alone and unsupported, while the Guild flailed around, trying to help. If even the Honored saw the flaws in the plan… "They are doing their best."

"All Of Them?" The Honored's lips twisted again, his pain and disgust filling his features. He shook his head in clear refusal. "Or Do Most Stay On Their Thrones And Plot Against One Another, Whilst The World Burns? What Fools Would Plan War When The True Enemy Rallies Against Them? Who Would Conspire With Abominations To Grasp For Some Fragment Of Power Or Glory? It Is… Shameful To Me."

He laughed again, another hideous croak. "Would They Were More Like Thee, Sir Clay! But As With Thee, Their Choices Are Their Own. It Is Not My Place To Chart Their Course."

A stubborn thought wormed its way up through Clay as he walked. "Why not?" The Honored looked at him, and the god raised an eyebrow at him. "If you know they aren't doing what they are supposed to, why not make them change? You have the power to do it. Why wouldn't you—"

He fell silent as the Honored raised a hand. The green eyes blazed. "If We Would Do Such A Thing, Why Would We Even Build This World To Begin With? What Purpose Would It Serve, If The Only Choices Are Our Own?" The Honored shook his head. "The Trials Of The World Would Hold No Purpose, No Meaning. Better An Empty Wasteland Than A Place Of Puppets And Shells, Acting A Mockery Of True Life."

The Honored shook his head, momentarily closing those roaring eyes. "Yet Not All Agree With Our Belief. There Are Others, Sir Clay. They Would Make Of The World A Very Different Place Than What Thou Knowest. Wouldst Thou See The Real War We Fight? A Glimpse Of A Perspective?"

As the Honored spoke, a portion of the void began to shift, like clouds dispersing before a strong wind. Clay looked from the god to that spot, feeling a twist of unease thread its way through him. It seemed to darken and flicker as the Honored continued to speak. "They Wait. They Watch. Their Power Waxes And Wanes As They Reach For A Way Into Thy World. Their Hunger Is Unending. Parasites And Abominations, They Would Gladly Take From Thee Everything, If It Might Give Them A Chance To Become More Than The Shadows They Are."

The Honored smiled, though there was no warmth in the expression now. "What Choice Wouldst Thou Have In Their Dominion? What Life Wouldst Thou And Thy Loved Ones Find? Thinkest Thou That Life Is Cruel? A Torment? The False Reflection Of It Is Worse."

Clay swallowed as the void began to darken ahead of him, forming like a thundercloud in the midst of the clear sky. "What is that?"

"The Future Some Wish For. Thy True Enemy, And Ours." The Honored's voice grew grim as the images resolved. "A Prison Unending. A Fate Unchanging. The End Of All Hope."

He saw it, in part. Some of it he could understand, half-glimpsed and shifting. It was the black sun above the world of the Dungeon near Sarlsboro, the shambling, despairing Undead in their massive fortress. Then it was a shadowed jungle, full of blood and slaughter and unending squeals. A heartbeat later, it was a world of webs and poison and shadowed assassins, death at every hand. There were dozens, hundreds more, all passing before his eyes in instants too small to measure.

Beyond them, above them all, was a presence of some kind. It wasn't the same one; each had a different thing lurking in the dark. His soul screamed as he caught a fragment of their reality, saw a portion of their essence reaching towards him. Clay recoiled, his eyes wide as fear tore at him.

Then he heard a laugh rise through his horror, bold and unafraid. His eyes snapped across the void, and saw a shining, burning star hurling itself against the dark. The Honored's voice was calm, almost amused. "And Yet, We Too Can Choose. Our Will Remaineth Our Own. And While It Does…"

The star hit the nearest of the things in the dark, and Clay saw them recoil amidst the Trickster's laughter. He felt his heart beat harder as the Honored's sword slid free of its sheath, shining with a light of its own as the god stepped forward. He paused, looking back at Clay with a smile. "Fight On, Sir Clay. Surrender No Hope, Give No Place For Despair. For This World Is Ours And The Future, Thine. Until The End."

Then the Honored threw himself forward, becoming a burning star of green in mere moments. Clay stared in shock, reaching out for the god. There had to be something, some way he could…

Clay snapped awake. His hand closed on the air above him, as if he was grasping for a weapon. His breath was coming hard and fast, as if he'd run the entire night. Air scraped across the raw flesh at the back of his throat as he panted, and a cold sweat covered him, soaking his clothes.

His heart was beating so hard that it took him a long time to realize that the sound of the rain had faded. Outside the tent, there were only the sounds of the forest. He could hear the wind brushing through the branches and rustling the leaves, heard the crackle of a nearby fire and the quiet stir of nocturnal creatures making their way through the undergrowth.

He listened to those sounds as his breath evened out, and his heart calmed. Clay waited, his mind whirling through what he'd just seen, his fist still clenched out above him. His fingers seemed to creak for a moment before he finally forced himself to uncurl them. Slowly, he lowered his hand back to his side, staring up at the darkness and trying to fit together the memories of what he'd just seen.

Those images, the things he'd seen… they had to be the Dungeons. The things behind the Dungeons, things that were actively attacking his world. Next to that fight, what mattered? What could possibly measure up against that feeling of horror he'd felt, watching those powers reach out to his home?

Clay shuddered, instinctively trying to shove those memories away from him. He couldn't focus on them, not now. Not when he had so much to deal with tomorrow. The Guild was waiting for him, and the [Commoners] were counting on him. Showing up with no sleep and a mind addled by whatever he'd been shown was not going to be helpful.

As much sense as that made, however, it was still a very long time before he finally slept again.

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