Year 1 Month 1, Week 3, 1st day of the week

Azrael

Azrael sat in the corner booth in Poseidon’s Parlor. It didn’t look like Eden was working tonight. Instead, there was a rather scrawny-looking human. Was his name “Larry”? Azrael couldn’t quite remember. All he knew was that the server on-duty was obviously not happy with his job. Not that Azrael could blame him for that, but it was especially noticeable to people who’d seen Eden work. She moved quicker and visibly enjoyed the people around her. This guy, well… His body language seemed to tell everyone that he didn’t want to be there. He’d make his way slowly from table to table with a pitcher full of beer and some empty mugs, and when he’d get done with that, he’d grab a pitcher of the house ale, and repeat the process; if someone had a specialty drink, he’d stop his round, mosey back to the bar, pour the drink, bring it to the patron in question, go back to the bar, pick up the beer or ale, and continue his round, as slow as if he was part of a chain gang. The whole process was fairly nerve wracking to Azrael, so he tried to focus on his borrowed books and hoped that his mug would get filled sometime this century.

He had all four books in front of him, but was currently going through Treatise on Demi-Godhood and Other Partial Grasps of Divine Power. Azrael hadn’t expected the books to be as interesting as they were. There was a ton of information in each of those books detailing the commonalities and differences between divine encounters, possible residual effects as a result, transfer or bestowal of power, and lists of corroborated divine encounters in the past two centuries from each of the pantheons: the Yggdrasillic pantheon, the Olympian pantheon, the Ma’atic pantheon, the Samsaric pantheon, and then a few pantheons that he hadn’t heard of before, plus many other topics, some of which were beyond him. In Treatise on Demi-Godhood and Other Partial Grasps of Divine Power, there was a concept covered called “the divine spark”. From what Azrael understood, there was a piece of fundamental power that made gods divine, as opposed to mortal, and it was one thing that born-gods and made-gods had in common that caused born-gods to recognize made-gods as fellow deities. Demigods were mortals that had a portion of a divine spark, whether they were born with it, or were awarded with it from a full god. The whole thing made Azrael’s head spin. Were there really people out there with a small share of godhood, just walking around like they weren’t the most dangerous thing for miles?

Azrael looked up to see if Larry had gotten any closer. Nope. Still shuffling around. What was wrong with him, anyway? Grenfert ambled through the doorway. Azrael waved to him and the dwarf walked over, set his bag down, and hopped onto the booth seat.

“I see you’ve been reading.” Grenfert said, matter-of-factly. “Hopefully nothing too last minute.”

“Nah,” Azrael dismissed the notion, turning a page, “I do have a few questions, though.”

“I thought you might. But, first things first, Azrael: who do I have to kill to get some drink in me?”

Azrael pointed to Larry. “Him, apparently. He’s been moving at that speed all day.”

“Well that won’t do at all! Hmm… Oh, look! It seems someone else is out and preparing drinks, now!”

“What?” Azrael turned to look at the bar and saw an older gentleman quietly preparing a tray and pouring pitchers of beer and ale. “Oh, sure enough. That’s Grant, the owner. Sometimes he leaves his office when he gets done with the managerial side of things, according to Eden.”

“Well, perhaps we can flag him down so he comes to us with the beer first!” Grenfert said, practically drooling. Azrael waved him down.

“Heads up, Grant is deaf.”

“Ah, not to worry, not to worry! I know common sign language.” Grant came over, smiled, set down the tray, and brought out his notepad. Azrael pointed to the beer and Grant scribbled briefly before refilling Azrael’s mug. When Grant turned to Grenfert, Grenfert made a series of signs, which prompted a joyful smile on Grant’s face. They signed back and forth for a few minutes, while Azrael sat, sipping his beer, watching the exchange. Grant set down a mug for Grenfert, filled it up, took the tray, and moved on to the next table.

“That’s a pity.” Genfert said, taking a big gulp of his beer.

“What is?”

“Oh, I did some inquiring as to our service. Grant asked that we give Larry a bit of extra compassion, as Larry had to bury his mother yesterday.” Azrael stopped sipping and turned to look at Larry, his heart sinking into his stomach. The dwarf continued, “Apparently she had been sick for some time and he had been taking care of her. She passed yesterday morning. Shame, that. Larry insisted on coming into work today so he could keep busy.”

“I didn’t know.” Azrael said, returning his gaze to the dwarf. He felt guilty for not giving Larry the benefit of the doubt.

“How could you have known?” Grenfert asked, sympathetically. “On a brighter note, Grant said that he’d be keeping our mugs full while we are here.” Azrael didn’t really feel thirsty anymore.

“So, on to business, then.” Azrael said, eager for a change in subject.

“Indeed. Starting with the question that was left unanswered at our last encounter: can you speak the language of angels?”

“Yes,” Azrael replied, “yes, I can. You study this sort of thing; you should probably already know that all elavis are born with the ability to speak that language, much like dragons are born with the ability to speak theirs.”

“I ask, because you say that you’ve never had a guide. I’ve no idea what else may be different.”

“That’s fair. I’ve got three major questions about what I read.”

“Go ahead, my elaven friend.”

“First question.” Azrael started, as if he were going to continue. Instead, he took his mug of beer and started pouring it on the book directly in front of him, both men watching as the beer magically disappeared upon contact with the book. Grenfert stared at it for a moment, and in that moment, for a brief instant, Grenfert looked angry, but the look was gone so quickly, Azrael wondered if it even happened.

“Oh,” the dwarf chuckled, reassuringly, “Yes, that’s a wonderful bit of magic that some of the more important texts in my circles have suffusing them. Numbered among the enchantments on those books are also spells that teleport the books back to the libraries they are a part of if they are out for too long. It’s funny, my mates and I in our younger years used to have drinking contests against the books, to see if they’d ever become full, but we lost every time, and the books never overflowed.”

“That sounds like a fun time.” Azrael admitted. “Next question, then. In Universal Boundaries and Deific Reach, it talks about there being places the gods can’t go. How is that? I kind of thought the whole point of being a god was that a god can do anything.”

Grenfert tutted, “Close! Technically, gods can go anywhere. But there are different universes.”

“Yeah, that book said that. I’m still not sure how that differentiates from planes of existence and other things that Boundaries mentioned.”

“Okay, so, the heavens are generally described as upward from here, right, Azrael? Somewhere in the sky?”

“Generally, that seems to be the consensus.”

“Well,” Grenfert continued, “what if one of the exotic birdfolk that come to town from time to time were to fly upwards and just keep flying?”

“I think,” Azrael surmised, “that the air would become too thin to breathe, like on really tall mountains.”

“And if air wasn’t an issue?”

“I don’t know, Grenfert.”

“Based on what we know from great inventions like telescopes, one could reach the stars, yet never reach a heaven.”

“That’s a bit strange…” Azrael said, frowning.

“It gets better. The hells are typically described as ‘down’ from us, yet if we dug for miles, all we would find is rock and maybe some cave systems with lots of nightmarish, but by definition not infernal, creatures, and certainly no forsaken souls. So where are the heavens and the hells?”

“I don’t know, Grenfert, where?” Azrael asked flatly, sipping his beer.

“In a different plane of existence. Think about it like this: the black between the stars is empty space, real estate of the gods, should they want to make another plane, like the one we live on.”

“So you’re saying that the heavens and hells are points in the empty black, and transportation to and from them by magical means has been achieved.”

“Exactly, Azrael.”

“So, universes?”

“There is a great nothingness beyond the black, that allows the black to expand as much as the gods need it to. So, your question is halfway answered.”

“Halfway?” Azrael asked, incredulously.

“Halfway.” Grenfert confirmed. “The universe, as we know it, is it’s own plane of existence sitting in black, eons from other universes sitting in their points in the black that is ever-expanding.”

“So, scaled up, then.”

“Yes, quite. So to answer your question, the gods can go anywhere they want, even to other universes, and some do simply wander off to them. Most don’t want to, being content to rule in what is already effectively infinite. Now, sometimes other gods or things come into our universes, as shown in On Strange Gods And Extraplanar Horrors. Other universes are often as different from our universe as one of the heavens might be from one of the hells. Now, that is a lot of variety. Now, looking at Cosmic Ripples In A Mundane Pond, whenever something comes from another universe into ours, sometimes the differences are so stark that they have mind-breaking effects on mortals.”

“Well, I don’t have any more questions about the books, for sure.” Azrael said, realizing he was developing a headache.

“I thought you had one more?” Grenfert asked, genuinely curious.

“No, no, you answered them all and more. Now, perhaps to the topic at hand?”

The dwarf opened his mouth, and then closed it again, then said, “Yes, yes, lets.”

“So what do you think happened to me with Odin’s Raven?”

“I think she tried to speak to you without words and it didn’t work. Not only did it not work, but I don't think the raven even realized that it didn't work.”

“...wouldn’t a god know that already?” Azrael asked.

“Sure, a god would.” Grenfert said. But I have a couple theories as to why that raven wouldn’t.”

“You don’t think the raven is a god?”

“Close. The raven, if I had to guess, is likely not an individual entity, but instead an extension of the god, Odin. So, if you’re not familiar with Odin’s lore-

“I’m not.”

“--Odin exchanged one of his eyes for wisdom, and took two ravens to replace his eye; the ravens report to him all that is going on in the realms, and so he can ‘see’ everything. I’m thinking the ravens aren’t gods themselves, but rather extensions of Odin that continually do whatever it is they do if Odin’s not paying attention.”

“Not paying attention?”

“Yes. You breathe automatically, but if you think about it, your breathing becomes a voluntary function. Same idea. And since Odin is a god of prophecy, among other things, Odin unconsciously breathes prophecy, and that extends to the ravens.”

“So what happened to me?”

“Elavis are supposedly descended from angels, and angels are uniquely designed to bear messages of gods; elavis to a lesser degree. So the raven is flying around, doing what it’s doing, and decides to head to one of its roosts, which is, in this case, the temple. The raven sees an elavis, specifically the elavis closest to her, and bang, prophecy, because Odin radiates prophecy, again, among other things, and, by extent, the ravens do, too.”

“So why didn’t I retain any of it?” Azrael asked, his head throbbing.

“My best guess is that it’s a combination of two things: first, your fallen state. You have no guide, and it appears that, for all practical points and purposes, you are exactly what you appear to be: fallen, even though you’ve never committed any act that grieved the elavis guide; the second is that the raven used the wrong medium. If Odin had used the raven to physically speak to you, everyone would have heard it, and it would have been fine, but instead, Odin wasn’t paying attention, and the raven just transmitted the message directly to you as it would an angel, causing some minor damage to you, due to you not having a guide to help filter that.”

“That’s an oddly specific theory.” Azrael mused.

“I’ve had a week to think it through, and that seems like a likely option. It’s still a lot of speculating, though. While I’m not comfortable with that much speculation, I do think I picked a poor field of study for that sort of complaint to be valid. Azrael nodded at this, his headache worsening. “Are you okay, Azrael?” the dwarf suddenly asked.

“Yeah, just got a headache. Sorry, I’ll think through it.”

“No, lad, rest up for a bit. Here, let me go to the bar and get you a cold cloth for your head.” Azrael nodded, barely hearing.

He sat there by himself, rubbing his head for a minute. His headache suddenly stopped throbbing, and as it did so, he heard two familiar voices at the doorway. He looked up and there was Eden and Sael. Sael’s two anakim bodyguards lumbered in and sat down at a table by themselves, one facing the door, and the other facing Sael as she walked, causing the chair to creak as he rotated.

“There he is!” Eden exclaimed, as green as you please. “I told you he’d be here.”

“I know, I know.” Sael muttered, obviously bitter and shifting a large book from one arm to the other. “But we could have at least stopped by his house! I haven’t seen it yet.”

“You’d just try to give him a hard time about how much less money he has than you.”

“But that’s the fun of it!” Sael whined. As they approached the table, Azrael turned to check on Grenfert, but there was no one at the bar, except for Grant. Where did he go? The door to the restroom in the far corner was open.

“Did you see Grenfert leave?”

“Who?” Sael asked.

“I didn’t know he was in.” Eden replied. “I knew he was meeting you, today. Doesn’t he usually have a bag full of scrolls?”

“Yeah, they’re right–” Azrael stopped. There was no bag there. There were no books on the table. The entire table was empty, except for a puddle of beer. What in all the hells…? “Eden, ask Grant if he’s seen the dwarf that was right here.” Not missing a beat, Eden walked over to the bar, got Grant’s attention and started signing to him.

“What is going on, Azrael?” Sael asked, lost. “Wait a second, do you have friends?” Then she gasped, "Are they imaginary?"

“I’m beginning to wonder.” Azrael replied. His headache was completely gone, now. He’d like to know what was going on, too. Eden walked back.

“Well, you’re not crazy.” She said. “Grant says that Grenfert was here just a minute ago.”

“Who is he?” Sael asked, clearly feeling left out.

“Grenfert, clan… Stonekilter, if I remember right.” Azrael replied. Eden nodded, confirming he got the clan name right.

“That’s not possible.” Sael said, matter of factly.

“What do you mean?” Azrael asked.

“Sit down, sit down.” She said. “Er… Eden, be a doll and clean this up, please?” Sael batted her eyes at Eden, who turned orange, rolled her eyes and went to grab a towel from the bar. “I’ve been through most of this with Eden already.” Sael said. “We agreed that you need to hear this.” Eden came back with a towel, tossed it on the puddle, and sat down in the booth. Azrael and Sael followed suit.

“Okay,” Eden said, “what’s the Stonekilter comment about?”

“I think it’d be better if we start from the top.” Sael replied. “So, my father is paladin-commander, which means he’d come home with a bunch of tales about his adventures, but sometimes he’d talk about the city. One instance in particular comes to mind. He was telling me that the city is full of paladins, from top to bottom, guarding us.”

“Well, obviously not right now.” Azrael said dryly.

“No, but he meant in the sewers, too.”

“The sewers?”

“Ooh, ooh!” Eden exclaimed, green again. “Let me say the next part!” Sael nodded in response. “You remember a little over a week ago, when you said the city felt like it was built for the elavis?”

“Sure.”

“Well, I got to thinking, you might not be far off the mark. Almaz is incredibly clean, as far as cities go, according to all the patrons I’ve spoken to. New or visiting customers will mention how clean everything is compared to places like Valekenport or Thor’s Threshold. And keeping white stone clean is a monumental feat; even if you use magic, that’s a lot of power that is being used. Also, there are temples everywhere in this city! On every street a shrine to the divine is actively hosting worship sessions.”

“Okay, now me!” Sael almost cried. She opened the book she had, which was titled Almaz, Inside And Out, and flipped open to a place she had marked. “So in the history section of this book, which was published by the head of the noble’s senate about three-hundred years ago, it very briefly mentions this little gem, right here: ‘...the paladin corps maintain a presence in our sewers, yea, our very sewers, where there are carved holy runes of protection every twelve feet, that we may not only reap the benefits of such a fine force, but feel it as we sleep.’ And get this! The stone underneath Almaz, the stone in the sewers, is grey.” Sael positively beamed when she said this.

“Grey?” Azrael asked. “What’s the significance of that?”

“Azrael,” Eden interjected as Sael’s smile fell, her thunder taken from her, “when we came into contact with the raven, you, at the time, said that you had a vision of sewers with grey stone.”

“Ah, yeah, I remember you mentioning that to me the next day.”

“Well, it’s our opinion,” Eden continued, “That Almaz has something down in the depths below the city; something that is so holy that it causes the entire city to be affected, helps everyone feel a holy presence and want to go and worship.”

“That’s a neat thought. The dwarf I was talking to is still missing, though. Literally, he disappeared when I wasn’t looking at him, and his possessions disappeared when I had my head turned. Eden, Sael, I kind of feel like you two aren’t giving the situation any major consideration here.”

“That’s what I was saying!” Sael whined. Azrael and Eden turned to look at her. “Look,” she continued, flipping the pages in her book, “it says right… here, that the sewers themselves were constructed by the two Stonekilter brothers, Treyfert and Friegren, last of their clan, and they died seventy years after, having never married, nor produced offspring.” The three friends sat in silence for a moment.

“Eden,” Azrael asked, softly, “What is Grenfert’s wife’s name?”

“Treyfrie is her name.” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. Eden was a light shade of blue. Winter. Azrael felt much the same. Something decidedly strange was going on in Almaz, and what’s more, it seemed to be going on all around him, and that was very unsettling. He would much rather just be left alone to live a life without interference until he was ready to be a larger part of other people’s lives and willingly join in on dangerous situations. Now it appeared a strange, and obviously magic-laden situation was sitting in his lap.

“Let me settle up, and let’s go on a walk.” Azrael said. “I need to clear my head.”.

“Don’t worry about it.” Sael said, setting a stack of gold coins on the table. Azrael and Eden both stared at her. “Look with this strange stuff about gods and holy things, you don’t really think I’m going to risk being anything less than generous, do you? That’s a good way to get cursed.” Azrael agreed with that sentiment.

“Eden,” Azrael said, “tell Grant that the change is for Larry.” She scrunched up her nose at this and turned a heavy orange with red tinges here and there. Summer, Azrael recognized.

“What? Why?”

“He’s… Had a rough time of it, lately. Grant can fill you in, later.” Her eyebrows raised slightly, but her color didn’t change. She only nodded, waved to Grant and made a few signs to him when he saw. Grant nodded and smiled. Eden’s color went from burnt-orange-and-red to a more moderate shade of yellow-orange. Autumn. Much better than summer. They all headed out the door, with the anakim trailing not far behind.

***

They made their way across the city, turning left or right with no real direction in mind until they ended up at the fountain in the center of town. They all looked about. No watchmen around. Azrael spotted a manhole cover in the street. Eden apparently saw the same thing and suggested,

“How about we meet back here, tomorrow night, around the same time, and explore these sewers. Maybe we’ll get some answers.” Azrael just sighed in response to this and gave a defeated nod. Sael readily agreed, then bid her two friends goodnight, departing with her two bodyguards.

“Let’s head to the temple of Odin again,” proposed Eden, “maybe we’ll get some answers from the priest there, or, at the very least, he’ll let us use the library. It can’t be coincidence that Sael’s discovery lines up with your vision.”

“Agreed. What made you change your mind about going back to the temple of Odin, though?” They started walking again.

“Grenfert. I had someone else do a disappearing act on me a few days ago in the Parlor. Once is a novelty. Twice means that something strange is going on.”

“Someone else disappeared?”

“Yeah, a human. Just before he did, he claimed that alcohol had no effect on him. I don’t know if that bit’s related, but it can’t hurt to ask the priest if there are any Yggdrasilian entities that are cursed to never know the benefits or drawbacks of alcohol consumption.”

They walked in silence for what seemed like a couple hours, approaching the far end of the west side of the city, and as they did so, they heard a commotion ahead. It sounded like… screams? In fact, the longer he listened, the more he was sure of it. Rounding the corner, people in varied states of dress flooded the street, dashing in their direction. Eden turned an ice-blue with tips of white.

“RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!” Azrael heard one voice above the rest, all of whom were shrieking in terror.

“THE HELWOLVES-- THE HELWOLVES ARE HERE!”