The road between the destroyed city of Brigh and Warton.

Dwarven kingdom of Hasandri.

15 minutes after midnight,

the morning of the 56th of Kielat, First month of Summer.

2290 years since the new gods came.

Maxwell looked at the assemblage of very surprised and angry gods, shook his head, and started speaking. “Look you lot of Idiots! I don't know why you all volunteered to come, but now that you're here, you are bound to listen until I am done.”

Ghondish and Sarah felt the words attempt to hook their souls, but barely catch in their skin. They looked at each other, and shared a smile, This was going to be good! The rest of the gods screamed. The mountains shook. The sky split open and wailed. Rocks and trees for miles around were thrown from the mountains. Then there was silence.

“Are you ALL really that big of drama queens?” Maxwell asked, staring at the assemblage.

Brandy took that moment to poke her head above Max's shoulder and whisper in his ear, “You chose the wrong ritual, you used the one for mortals, not demigods.”

Max looked at the assemblage, and hissed, “I'm NOT a demigod.”

“Sure you aren't. Better make this good.” Brandy hissed back.

Max faced the assemblage of gods, “Alright, I know some of you, and don't really care to know the rest. Now here is what I see from my little mortal perch: You lot haven't been doing your jobs.”

Gasps and sounds of outrage sounded from the crowd, and several angry gods started to move forward. “Stop your posturing, you idiots!” Max yelled. “There are demons all over! Where did they come from? Who didn't notice the demon lord show up? Because you had to know one would show up eventually!”

Several gods looked around for Narissa, the goddess of Tranquility, who's job it was to keep the demon threat at bay. She was standing in the back, looking a little sheepish. “I looked! He went to ground somewhere, and then disappeared! You think any of you can find him? Be my guest!” Several gods looked into the distance, casting forth to find the missing demon lord. After a few minutes, everyone turned back to Maxwell.

“What do you suggest, Mortal?” Asked Thaeyr, god of Miracles. “Do you have some grand scheme to fix the problem of demons? Is this the reason why you have so brashly summoned us here?”

“Actually, I called for you to ask what in the hells is wrong with you?” Max said. “Why can't Bjorn interfere with his church going to hell in a hand-basket? It's his hells damned church! Why couldn't Tranquility cure the injured people I asked her to help?” He tried to keep the anger from his voice, and mostly succeeded. “And what the hells is that Goat doing here?”

All eyes turned to Ghondish, who was chewing a can of tinned meat, and Sarah, who was in the midst of lighting a Llama cigarette. Ghondish spat out the can, “What? I just wanted to see what all the yelling was all about. And Sarah thought it would be fun to watch.”

Max groaned. “For the love of...”

“Mortal Maxwell, We, the Gods of this realm, owe you No explanation for our actions or inaction. It is not for you to know, or understand.” Aaroness of the Sea said. “We owe you nothing. Not respect. Not love. Not attention. Not answers. We will give you no satis---”

The revolvers, suddenly in Maxwell's hands, discharged. “Boom”. Aaroness fell to the ground, whimpering in pain. “Any more stupid comments?”

A hubbub of words and noise came from the gods, as they talked around and over one another. Finally, the voice of Esmeralda, goddess of Wisdom, was able to make herself heard over the angry crowd. “Everyone! Shut up!” Quiet soon followed.

Max nodded to Esmeralda, “Thank you Ma'am, I guess you're forgiven for the book.”

“Firstly, young man, a bit of decorum.” Esmeralda took on a lecturing tone, and Maxwell wilted a little under her glare, “Demigods are to ASK their elders for advice and wisdom, not summon them en-mass from their homes.”

“I'm not a demigod.”

“Yes you are. Suck it up.” Esmeralda said, then returned to the topic at hand. “An ancient contract set down by our ancestors blocks us from direct interference in the affairs of our followers, except in the most dire of circumstances. Second, it Also blocks us from directly interfering with each others followers. If you had actually studied the book I gave you, you would know all this, and wouldn't waste your questions on simple to find answers.”

Max's jaw dropped.

“Third, as your worshiper in Demonia told you, the demon lord contact was, through no fault of her own, lost to sister Narissa. Protocols demand the Demon Lord be active on the field to summon Heroes from the other realm for assistance.”

Max picked his jaw off the ground, and nodded. “Lastly, Ghondish answered you. You are out of questions. Now unless you have more to say, we will be leaving.”

“Actually, there is one more thing I wanted to tell you.” Max said, knees trembling, “All of this,” he waived to the mountains, “is the fault of the demon lord. I smelled his kind in the mine of Brigh. They brought it down. I also fought a demon who had disguised himself as a dwarf. Pretending to be a cleric of Bjorn!”

Bjorn growled, raised his axe, and buried it in a nearby stone. “For all that's... Damn it all! Protocol and contract be damned!” Maximilian 'Mil', god of War, and Narissa, prudently stepped away from their cousin. “I will cleanse that blight from my people!” Bjorn disappeared in a puff of forge smoke.

“Maybe I won't kick him it lefty after all...” Max said to no one in particular. “Okay. I'm done. Get lost the lot of you.”

Several flashes of light, bolts of lightning, and cracks of thunder later, Maxwell was mostly alone on the mountainside. Narissa, Mil, and Sarah stared hard at Maxwell.

Sarah spoke first of the three, “I know the demons dwell in the darkness under a western mountain. I suggest you start your search there.” The shadows rose around her, and she was gone.

Mil spoke second, “There will be a war between men before this is done. I will not intercede on any sides behalf.” Then he winked at Max, “And I would avoid the sea for a few centuries, if I were you.” The sounds of battle crashed across the gathering, and he was gone.

Last to speak was Narissa, “I will summon heroes three, for you to teach and lead.” She disappeared in a burst of dazzling lights.

“...well crap...” Max said into the dark night.

- - -

56th of Kielat,

I'm on the lookout for three 'heroes' from the other realm. I hate this. And the worst part? I brought this on myself. When will I learn not to mess with politics OR religion? That elf guy from Heretics hold showed up again. Turns out he had a marriage proposal for me. I'll read it in the morning.

I don't care what that witch said, I'm NOT a demigod.

3rd of Amsiel, second month of Summer,

I'm still worming my way through the marriage contract. Who in the hells writes 243 pages of contract? I think I'll write my own, and see how they like it. My only real question is why does the name look so familiar??

4th of Amsiel,

The elf has taken my one page contract to his employer. I'm still looking for the 'heroes'. I'm getting impatient. We are experiencing small earthquakes on a daily basis, and have slowed our pace to a crawl of five miles a day.

I still don't care what that witch said, I'm NOT a demigod. At least the people here have stopped worshiping me.

5th of Amsiel,

I dislike traveling in the rain. The first 'Hero' has been found. She's a dark beauty, and a handful of danger.

*-*-*

1879, southern Africa...

It had been thirteen springs since Nomvula had been born, and she was certain she would never see another day. The cursed English were at the gates. A tear ran down her cheek as she raised her grandfather's shield and spear and marched to the front of the village. She raised the oval shield and readied the spear, as the English marched up the dusty road. She regretted that she would never participate in her own Umemulo and become a woman. She wished the rain would fall once more.

She never saw the bullet that smashed through her shield. Never felt it as it pierced her heart. Never heard the screams of her fellows as they died.

-

She awoke, clothing soaked in blood. The first sensation she felt was the cold ground under her. The second was the rain on her face. She opened her eyes. The view before her was amazing, and terrifying. She saw the world stretched out in front of her. Tiny trees and rocks far away, and a road not far below. Above there were mountains, huge and majestic. The rain slowly died out, and the cold wind blew more harshly.

*-*-*

Curator V. L. of the 'Heretic Collection' here again to impart some information to the reader. In the beginning of the troubles, before they left, the Old Gods made it possible for “Heroes” from other worlds to come to ours when help was needed. Originally the Heroes were just dumped and given the occasional sign from the gods to direct them forwards.

The New Gods took the Old Gods designs and made up their own, 'new' version, that allowed the Heroes to understand things a bit better. The current system integrates itself in the Hero's mind, and is perceived in a fashion that most benefits the Hero. This works better in some situations than in others.

*-*-*

A piece of hide appeared in her vision, covered in black scratches resembling the marks a chicken left in the dirt. She ignored it. After a few moments it dissolved, and a friendly feminine voice spoke in her mind, “What would you be? A warrior who fights, a thrower of lightning and fire, or one who prays to the gods and receives their power? Make your choice.”

She arrested her climb, and thought for a moment, What sort of magic is this? Am I losing my mind?

“Choose.” The voice prompted again.

Nomvula spoke aloud, “Given the choice, strange voice in my head, I choose the way of the spear and shield. The path of violence.”

The world around her seemed to shimmer for a moment, then return to normal. “Very well.” The voice answered her.

As she climbed down she found a spear and a shield, neither of her tribes making, but both functional in their own way. She collected them and continued down the slope.

The road was a wonder. It lead along the mountainside, seemingly built out of it. She chose the left hand direction, and walked to keep herself warm. Several hours of walking had passed when she heard the sound of feet on the road, and around the nearest bend in front of her, she saw the conveyances of the English. Wagons.

-

Maxwell saw the girl standing in the road. Dark skinned like the northerners, and with the bones and sinew of a runner. He stopped the caravan, and walked forward. This. This is probably the first of the supposed heroes. Such is my life. As he approached, the young woman raised her shield, and pointed her spear at his chest.

-

As the dirty Englishman approached, Nomvula planted her feet and raised the shield and spear. “I will kill you, English. I will pierce your heart, and throw your corpse from this road!”

The Englishman stopped, removed his shirt, and pointed to where his heart was, “Lets just get this over with. Stab me here. Make it swift and powerful. I don't have time to waste.”

Nomvula's approach was rapid, just as she had been taught, her lunge was true. She speared the Englishman straight through the heart, then withdrew the spear. A perfect kill. Just then a curious thought came to her mind, I understood what he said. But that wasn't My language.

“Nice stab kid.” The man's voice spoke from the ground. “Should have been half a finger higher to avoid chipping the point on the rib, and two fingers to your left to get the center of the heart.” The Englishman stood up. “I give you a passing grade. You won't be so lucky next time.”

Nomvula stared at the man, at his chest, which while covered in blood, had no wound. She looked up and stared into the deep pools of his blue gray eyes, eyes that seamed to say 'I have died more than you ever will, and seen more than any should.' The stress of everything that had passed finally caught up to her, and she fainted.

-

“Well, that could've been worse.” Max said, as he picked the girl up and carried her to the wagon.