Seventh Interlude - Hell of a Night

Jacob Kilburn slept until nearly noon. He had a supplier to meet with at four in the afternoon, but his agenda was blank until then. He was in a rather nice accomodation in a hotel in Dunlin, a few days travel south of Ulgotha on a half vacation, half supply run on the Sons of Thunder's bankroll. Dunlin was Sardipa's second-largest iron smelting town, after Ulgotha itself, but without the capital city's heavy local industry. Hence, material would be much cheaper in Dunlin than it would have been in Ulgotha. Kilburn was glad for the change of scenery.

After he met with the supplier and negotiated an acceptable rate, he secured a delivery service. In the evening, he went out to dinner and danced with a few lovely ladies. He'd been spending so much time on the job lately, he'd forgotten how much of his life he'd been missing. Though he went back to his lodging alone, he went with a smile on his face.

The smile evaporated after he locked the door. He was certain he heard someone breathing.

"Who's there?" he asked the darkness.

"You will have your answer when you light the lamp." came a deep voice from across the room. "But know that it is not my mission here harm you."

Kilburn lit the lamp, and immediately wished he hadn't. The creature across from him was clearly not human; it was six-and-a-half feet tall, and wore what Kilburn couldn't tell was skin-like armor or armor-like skin. A pair of leathery wings came within inches of the ceiling, their tips splitting into three lobes. Movement behind the creature suggested a tail, but Kilburn couldn't see clearly it in the dimness. The head and shoulders were covered by a leathery black hood and cloak, but the creature's fanged mouth was visible. Just then, it opened its eyes, letting out a dim, red light from each.

"What the hell are you, and what are you doing here?" Kilburn demanded, feeling very vulnerable indeed.

"Tell me, what else could I be but a demon?" asked the creature, beginning to pace back and forth in the darkness. "Men call me the Reaper of Souls. As for why I am here, I propose a deal."

"Forget it. I've heard about bargains with demons before, and I'm not interested." Kilburn was terrified of the creature, noticing that its tail bore what looked like a stinger. At least he knew that if he resisted, he'd probably only end up dead; making a deal with a demon could bring him to worse ends.

"Nonetheless, I shall make my offer. There a place to the East of here, a long canyon called the Scar. You have heard of it, perhaps?"

"Get out."

The demon stopped pacing and looked Kilburn in the eye. "Answer the question."

Kilburn hesitated for a moment, then spoke. "Yes. It's hundreds of miles long and is straight as an arrow. No one knows why."

"Good. Inside the Scar is a door with but one side. This door is called Hell's Gate, and it is the link between Chona and Apollyon--your world and mine. It is at this place I require your services.

"The minions of Celestia have long since learned the location of Hell's Gate. There has been many a bloody battle as our ancient enemies try to wrest control of the Gate from us, its rightfully custodians. We require a stronger defensive position, which we have learned can be produced by artifacts you are capable of fabricating."

Kilburn stood for a moment, taking in the information. "You want me to build you cannons to fire at angels with?"

"Precisely. In return, I will grant you eternal life, and see to it that whatever else you need comes your way."

Kilburn shook his head. "My answer is still no."

"Think about it. You would have the whole of eternity to continue your studies--no question would need go unanswered. And it need not merely be eternal life--I can make it so that your body does not age, that your damaged flesh can repair itself with ease--"

"I said I'm not interested." said Kilburn. "Now get out."

What Kilburn could see of the demon's face sneered. "Very well. But should you change your mind, call out for me, and I will return."

"What part of 'get out,' didn't you understand?"

Kilburn felt a rush of air and then a blast of cold. The demon had flown out through the window, leaving Kilborn alone with the snow drifting in.

Chapter Seven - A Dish Served Cold

It had been eight months since Savant Viggo Helmsman had set foot in the city of Geon, and much had changed. There was the chill February wind, the lightly falling snow, the icicles hanging from the eaves. Of course, there was also the scattered debris, shattered city walls, and thirty foot burn marks crisscrossing the pavement.

"They say revenge is a dish best served cold." said Field Marshall Holland, standing to the Savant's left.

"Well, your men certainly burnt the hell out of 'em, but I'm not complaining." Helmsman replied.

The siege of Geon would have been incredibly difficult, due to the anti-siege engines Helmsman had been hired to install the previous fall. With the Savant and his knowledge of the devices' weaknesses on their side, the Sardipan military had made short work of the engines. King Rarc had drawn his own forces in from the outlying provinces, but Bellaraphon was barely a tenth the size of Sardipa, and Holland's force had trounced the defenders with ease.

Not much of Geon's exterior remained, but Rarc's palace still stood and had been converted into the base of operations for the Sardipan occupying force. A Sardipan flag flew above Geon now, and the paperwork for the official annexation of the entirety of Bellaraphon had begun. A single city in the South still stood against Sardipan interested, but the King's crushing defeat at Geon had inspired compliance on the parts of the remaining feudal lords of Bellaraphon.

The Savant, Holland, and a few officers stood on the balcony outside the throne room. Inside, the tribunal was being prepared. Two men were waiting to be tried: King Rarc II, and Hector Antilles. They waited in chains.

"By the way, Field Marshall, I appreciate the effort you went to to track down that damn assassin." said the Savant.

"It was hardly trouble. His fellows sold him out in exchange for mercy rather quickly." said Holland.

A soldier stepped out onto the balcony. "Sir, we are prepared. You and the Savant need only take your seats, sir."

A clocktower across the city chimed three times as the Field Marshall took his seat. The time was just after two in the afternoon--the tower was being tested to see how much damage it had sustained by errant cannon fire during the assault.

"This military tribunal is now at order." said Holland. "To be tried are Hector Antilles, on charge of homocide, and former King Rarc Desamides II, on charge of conspiracy to commit homocide, and obstruction of justice. We shall begin with Mr. Antilles. Mr. Antilles, how do you plead, guilty or not guilty?"

"Not guilty!" said the less dejected of the two chained men.

"The defendent has plead not guilty. Let this tribunal commence with its first witness, Savant Viggo Helmsman."

Helmsman stepped up to Antilles. As he did so, he felt rage overwhelm him. When he came close to the bound man, his vision became clouded with the pure hatred coarsing through him.

"Savant Helmsman, is this the man that killed you?" asked Holland.

"There is no doubt in my mind." spat Helmsman. "It takes every ounce of my self-control to keep from wringing his neck right here and now."

"But how can you say that?" called out Antilles. "You were shot from behind! You don't have any idea what your assassin looked like!"

Helmsman looked Antilles straight in the eye, and Antilles drew back. "You filthy cur. You have perhaps never heard of Taximification? I know I hadn't heard of it until a few months ago, as I carried out research about my condition. Taximification is what happens when a man is killed under the most unjust of circumstances. His need for revenge becomes so great that he crawls out of his tomb and seeks bloody satisfaction against the man who wronged him.

"Mr. Antilles, I am a Taxim. I don't need to know what my assassin looked like, I can feel it. And I've never felt anything stronger than what I'm feeling from you right now. If you didn't shoot me through the heart with a crossbow bolt last April, may any god listening strike me down!"

The court waited for a few stunned seconds.

"The prosecution rests." said Helmsman, stalking away from Antilles.

"You are certain of this feeling, and it is documented in previous cases?" Holland asked Helmsman.

"I have all the relevant documentation waiting in your office in Ulgotha, Field Marshall. And yes, I am certain."

"Then I, with the power vested in me by the State of Sardipa, declare the Savant's testimony to be sufficient evidence of guilt."

Antilles tried to cry out, but a soldier gagged him before anything comprehensible came out.

"Now, then, King Rarc." said Holland, turning to the defeated king. "You are aware that, as a conquered king, you have no rights here. I will ask you only once, did you hire this man or any other man to kill the Savant in the hopes of keeping the secrets of your defense engines' weaknesses from leaving Geon?"

Rarc said nothing.

"A refusal to defend oneself can be interpreted as an admission of guilt under tribunal procedure, sir. Answer the question, and I may be lenient. I will not ask you a second time. Now is your only chance." said Holland.

Rarc sighed, utterly defeated. "I did."

"Evidence stands. King Rarc, you have admitted to your role in the murder of the Savant Viggo Helmsman. In addition, you are a conquered king and are not required mercy under Sardipan law. In light of your crimes, I sentence you and Mr. Antilles to death, to be carried out immediately." said Holland, cold as ever.

Rarc said nothing, merely slumping forward. Antilles squirmed.

"Field Marshall, may I make a special request?" asked Helmsman.

"Speak." replied Holland.

"In my research regarding Taximification, I fear my condition may become irreversible if I am not able to obtain my revenge. As such, I request permission to kill these two men myself. It is reasonable to assume that, as the mind and hand that slew me, their destruction will free me from undeath."

"Your request is granted. Let the record show that Savant Helmsman has no previous recorded incidents of violence on his record, and this action can be considered reasonable within the context of the situation." said Holland. "Savant, you may dispense your justice."

Helmsman reached into his pocket and took out a large-calibre revolver. He stepped up to Antilles first.

"Ten months ago, you shot me through the heart with a crossbow." he said, gesticulating with the gun. "You're a Bellaraphonian, so you use a crossbow. Let me show you what Sardipa has to offer a man like yourself."

Antilles' eyes begged for mercy, while his mouth screamed behind the gag. Helmsman fired from twelve inches away--Antilles' heart was shattered, and his death was nearly instant.

The Savant strolled leisurely down to the stricken king. He said only one word before pulling the trigger:

"Checkmate."

Sixth Interlude - Declaration of War

Official Declaration
of Imperator Michael Meadows
Imperator of Sardipa

September the Eleventh, One-Thousand Three Hundred and Thirty, Sardipan Reckoning

Most esteemed King Rarc II of the Sovereign nation of Bellaraphon, this letter is to inform you of the grievances levelled toward you by the great nation of Sardipa and the consequences you have incured.
In previous correspondence, your government has denied allegations that it is directly responsible for the death of the Sardipan national hero, Savant Viggo Helmsman, on the fourth of April, One-Thousand Three Hundred and Thirty SR, in your capital city of Geon.
In addition, you have declined the following reparation demands:
25% of Bellaraphonian national income sent as tribute to Sardipa for twenty years.
Ceding of all lands from the Sardipan border to the Ersted River.
Abdication of King Rarc II and following trial for conspiracy and homocide.

Due to your refusal to meet the most reasonable demands of our great nation in the field of diplomacy, you shall face Sardipa on the field of battle.

From this point forward, negotiations shall only be conducted under the conditions of wartime parley. Do not expect our great nation to be as lenient at this time.

Signed,
Michael Meadows, Imperator
Nathan Cross, Chief Consul
King Henry XXVI

Chapter Six - Darkness Descending

Night fell on Ulgotha, in some places harder than others. Market stalls closed up, doors were locked, lanterns were lit. Elsewhere in the city, knives were drawn, skulls were cracked, and the dead crawled up from their subterrainean lairs. One particular Revenant had been in his lair for the past several hours and was showing no signs of going anywhere.

Viggo Helmsman's pocketwatch ticked away in his pocket while the wall clock did the same across the room. Behind him was a window that opened into Chimaera's interior, especially the gigantic clock that dominated the North wall. Helmsman's office had been constructed so that the desk lined up with the clock, producing an intimidating effect from the office door.

Though it was barely visible in the light from the small lamp on the Savant's desk, the room was as eccentric as its occupant. There was a raised portion in front of the desk that Kilburn had dubbed "The Bridge" for its resemblance to a sailing ship. The walls were mostly lined with bookcases, although there was a portrait of the Savant on the West wall, painted by his only son, Darien. Darien wasn't an artificer, he was a painter. While Viggo considered himself too dumb for art on the whole, he had recognised Darien's talent, and decided to support his son's career. Darien lived in a city far to the south, call Crown of Ri'Chess, where he'd gone to art school, but had come home to visit a year before, and painted the portrait as a gift to his father.

A few other scattered items were on the shelves, most of them old prototypes that had been of some note in their day. In a glass case above the door sat a mousetrap made of plywood and cheap pig iron--it was the Savant's oldest surviving invention, made more than five decades earlier.

The late Savant was going through his inbox, which was rather full after his long absence. He finished up the revisions on the schematic in his hand and moved on to the night. To his surprise, it looked more like a medical diagram than a mechanical plan.

"What the..." he muttered, looking it over in detail. Sure enough, it was filled with valves, gears, and cogwheels, but it appeared to be embedded inside a man. Confused, he looked at the summary box in the lower right.
PART NAME: Endoskeleton
DESCRIPTION: Artificial organ, augments heart, liver, guards against disease.
DESIGNER: Jacob Kilburn
"Well, that's a bit..." muttered Helmsman. He stared at the diagram long and hard, then passed judgment.

A good twenty years ago, a religious zealot named Winston Chandler had become Imperator and begun scouring Ulgotha for anything "impure." To keep some of Chimaera's more unconventional designs from being subjected to the witch-hunt, Helmsman had had one of the top floor room reinforced with iron walls and a vault door, christening it "Chandler's Vault." Chandler himself had been assassinated a mere eight months into his reign, but the vault had been kept on as a repository for potentially controversial designs. Helmsman believed that there were no bad ideas, only bad times for certain ideas to see the light of day.

He rolled up the Endoskeleton design and walked across the catwalks, taking his lantern with him. He entered the combination to Chandler's vault, slipped the schematic onto the Yellow Rack (Yellow Rack--Acceptable in Times of Great Need), and sealed the door behind him. Kilburn had left Chimaera visibly downcast around sunset. Helmsman felt sorry for his assistant, but there was nothing he could do--as long as he was upright, he belonged here.

Helmsman lingered a moment, staring down at the blackness beneath him, where the prototype had fallen through the floor. The mason's guild, like Chimaera's own employees, had all gone home for the night. Sadly, the driver, Robert MacKenzie, hadn't survived the fall, but no one had been surprised. Rainsford had gone out to see his family earlier in the evening. The hole to the abyss had been sealed, at least.

Helmsman shook his head. It was difficult for him to believe, but he had more in common with the wretch that Kilburn had torched today than he did with the rest of his workforce. This would take some getting used to.

Behind him, the Chimaera clock struck two.

"Dammit! Is it that late already?" he went back to his office and locked up. He should have been home hours ago. Without the need to sleep, none of his usual cues to return home had triggered.

This would definitely take some getting used to.

Fifth Interlude - Life and Death

Jacob Kilburn walked slowly down the dark, rainy street. If he hadn't had an appointment to keep, he would have gone straight home.

Earlier that day, he'd lost his future. The Savant had made an announcement to all of Chimaera's personnel about his current status. He planned to retain control of Chimaera from now on. With a boss who would never die off, Kilburn realized he had lost his status as Helmsman's heir-apparent. He seriously wondered what he was going to do with his life--apparently, the last fifteen years had been for nothing.

By the time he pushed open the door to the Golden Drum Saloon, his hair and clothing were soaked. He made his way to the agreed upon booth in the back.

"You're late." said Edwin Rass.

"It's been a trying day." said Kilburn, sitting down. Only then did he notice the third man in the booth. He had a long, shaggy beard and a face full of lines. He didn't look old, but rather like he had many years of hard labor behind him. His teeth were so white that they sparkled, even in the Drum's dim light. He wore a dark, heavily embroidered coat that Kilburn recognised as being from the Worldspawn Mountains in the North. Kilburn guessed the man to be about forty years old. "Rass, who's our friend?"

"This is the gentleman I told you about. Jacob Kilburn, meet Doctor Viashislov Shuisky." said Rass.

The two men shook hands, and Shuisky spoke with his mountain accent. "Mister Kilburn it is a playsure to meet you. Mister Rass has told me much about you."

"I haven't much about your skills, Doctor. All I know is that you're a biomancer with some unorthodox ideas."

Shuisky laughed. It was the thick, loud laugh of a bearded, heavyset extrovert. "I suppose 'unorthodox' is a very polit-ical way of putting it, Mister Kilburn. To put things simply, most biomancers only heal. They restore what nature has built. I, on the other hand, am willing to improve upon the first draft provided at birth."

Kilburn looked sidelong at Rass. "Is he for real?"

"You'd better believe it. He rode here on a six-legged horse that's as smart as a man. It's not tied up outside; it's gone for shelter and will be here at midnight." said Rass, smiling.

"Well, how will it know when it's midnight?" asked Kilburn.

"Why, he will use his pocketwatch, of course." said Shuisky, not even a glimmer of sarcasm in his voice. "If I am going to make an intelligent steed, I will make one that is punctual, of course."

"So...why are we here, Rass?" said Kilburn. "What do the number two man in the premiere facility for mechanical innovation and a miracle-working biomancer have in common?"

Rass rubbed his moustache. "I believe that we may be able to create a partnership between the three of us, to defeat an opponent no man has ever stood against."

Shuisky and Kilburn looked on expectantly.

"It is my belief," continued Rass, "that, between magic and machine, it may be possible for us to defeat death itself. I have been able to secure a grant from the Sons of Thunder to found a facility dedicated to the integration of man and machine. I believe that Mister Kilburn's gadgetry can be installed in the human body, with Doctor Shuisky's skills keeping the patient from rejecting those devices.

"All that I need is your participation, gentlemen. So tell me, are you ready to change history? Are you in?"

Thunder rolled outside. History was born.

Chapter Five - Collapse

Though Chimaera Estate was Helmsman's official residence, it was Chimaera Laboratory that he thought of as home. The building's name had originally been a joke describing the country of Sardipa itself--ugly, mean, and made of leftover pieces, but something that no one wants to be on the bad side of. The building had taken on its namesake; originally little more than a large warehouse, a dozen odd spires and balconies had been constructed, with two sub-basements reclaimed* since Helmsman had moved in.

Helmsman sighed as he walked across the threshold and made for the stairs to his office, a large glass-and-iron construction hanging from the ceiling. He made it halfway there and found the stairs blocked off, with a handpainted sign reading "use elevator" in front of them.

"What the hell?" growled Helmsman. He looked at Rainsford, who shrugged.

"Sorry, Viggo, I forgot to mention that. Kilburn and Bowerston finished the elevator design and implimented a prototype while we were in Bellaraphon. It's just past the staircase, I'll show you how it works."

Rainsford led Helmsman to a steel platform beyond the stairs and threw a switch on a panel built into it. A compressor hummed, pressure valves fire, and the platform began to rise.

"Ingenius, eh?" said Rainsford.

"Not bad, not bad." replied the Savant. "But why aren't the stairs available?"

"We've been meaning to reroute them for a few years now, to make room for another forge along the West wall. This elevator also solves the problem of getting prototypes to and from Heavy Vehicle Testing on the third story. We don't have to use the taskmages anymore."

"Ah." Helmsman thought for a moment. "Bill, why is Heavy Vehicle Testing on the third floor? Wouldn't it make more sense on the ground floor?"

"I don't remember specifically...I think we put it up there because we needed the floor space for the old master lathe."

"Which we scrapped six years ago. We should probably relocate Heavy Vehicle Testing to the ground floor sometime soon, before there's an accident." This was probably a good idea; everything except the ground floor and basement levels had been added to the building's original shell by mechanical engineers, machinists, and day laborers, with varying results.

Sardipa itself was hardly a bastion of magic; this was traditionally the domain of Palosia, and so anything enchanted was viewed with suspicion by the average Sardipan. Ulgotha, however, was a city so large and so crowded that its accumulation of a magical field was inevitable. Magical fields will allow for some unusual events, such as rains of fish, electrical storms amid snow, not to mention the city's disproportionate population of undead.

That said, sometimes strange coincidences have nothing to do with magic.

Just as the elevator clicked into position at the top of its track, there was the sound that everyone in Chimaera Laboratory feared most, coming from the ceiling--metal creaking, bending, and breaking. As Helmsman and Rainsford watched, the bottom of Heavy Vehicle Testing ruptured, dropping a wheeled vehicle through the breach and onto the laboratory floor below.

Because of Chimaera's piecemeal construction, there was no second floor besides a steel framework beneath Heavy Vehicle Testing, but the Executive Lounge lay directly beneath it on the first floor. Sputtering steam and spilling burning coals as it fell, the derelect machine crashed into the Executive Lounge and kept going, crashing straight through the concrete floor and into the basement below. At this point, Helmsman and Rainsford lost sight of it, but heard it smash through another floor, and then another.

Helmsman's shock passed faster than Rainsford's. "Bill, get this thing back on the ground. Now!"

The elevator descended slowly, picking up passengers during its descent through Chimaera's five levels. Below, workers were swarming around the holes the falling vehicle had created and rushing down in the lowest level, making their way to where the heap had come to rest.

"How many do you think were killed?" asked Helmsman.

"At this time of day the sub-basements are mostly empty, and you're the only one with a key to the Executive Lounge, Savant--" said one of the workers behind Helmsman. Helmsman realized he had no idea that he'd had the key to the Executive Lounge. "--so if the pilot's all right, the damage might just be structural."

"How likely is that?" asked a voice Helmsman recognised.

"When was the last time you saw someone fifty feet through four floors and walk it off, Jones?" he replied.

Just then, there was a bloodcurdling shriek from the hole, followed by screams. The upper levels went silent. The first shriek hadn't sounded human.

"Well, they've hit the Abyss, then." muttered Helmsman. "Wonderful. Simply wonderful."

Once on the floor, Helmsman jostled his way to the ground floor opening. Once his voice was recognised, the workers moved aside. Helmsman peered over the edge at the scene below; unpleasant didn't begin to cover it.

The creature standing triumphantly atop the ruined prototype was certainly undead and certainly female; anything else was pure speculation. She might have been a Wight, or perhaps just a badly decomposed Revenant. She was howling like a banshee and trying to pry the cockpit open.

Helmsman was about to bark an order when he heard another voice already doing so. He recognised it as belonging to Jacob Kilburn.

Kilburn pulled his goggles over his eyes and fastened the buckles the machine he was shouldering. Two glass tanks were mounted on his back, each one containing semivolatile chemicals. He lit a match and held it to the wick at the end of the pipe in his hand, a tube connecting it to the tanks on his back.

"All of you, take the rope and lower me--now!" he yelled. He slipped over the side, dangling from the rope around his waste. The team holding the rope lowered him to the ancient floor. Very little light filtered through from the floors above, but Kilburn planned to brighten the area very shortly. To his left Angus MacGregor was lowered by the same means, equipped with an identical device.

"All right, you!" he yelled at the screeching creature. "Get the hell out of here, or Turash help me, there will be nothing left of you to bury!"

The creature looked up, and deemed Kilburn to be a better target than what was left of the prototype's driver. She leapt toward Kilburn, her claw-like hands spread wide.

Kilburn raised the pipe and squeezed the trigger. The chemicals mixed in the tube, creating a flammable gas as they combined. The pressure of the reaction shot the gas out at high speed, across the burning wick. The result was a twenty-foot column of flame. Kilburn raked it over the lunging undead.

The burners had been developed a decade ago for use in mine shafts to ignite gas pockets that proved lethal to miners. They had taken up use in Ulgotha as a means to control those undead who were less civilized than the members of the Alliance of Extended Humanity. They'd seen brief military use, but had too strong of a backdraft to be effective outdoors.

The banshee cried one last time as the sheer force of the torrent of fire threw her across the ancient room. MacGregor turned and engulfed a creature skulking in the corner, behind Kilburn. This place hadn't seen the sun in a century; Chimaera's burner's made it a new one, if only for a brief moment. What undead remained ran from the flames, retreating into the darkness of the Abyss.

"Jacob!" called the Savant's voice from above.

Kilburn looked up, pulling back his goggles. "Boss, is that you?"

"None other! Well done, Jacob!"

"You bet! We fried those rotwalkers good!"

The Savant hesitated for a second. "Get yourself cleaned up, I need to speak to you personally! The rest of you, get to work getting this place back in order!" he turned to Rainsford. "Send a messenger to the Mason's guild, tell them it's urgent and we can pay up front. I'll be in my office. See to it that Kilburn gets up there as soon as possible."

Although, thought Helmsman, I have to wonder if this is the best time to break the news.


*Ulgotha had been around in one form or another for more than two thousand years. The city had originally been built on the muddy banks of the River Leshrac, but had burned down and been rebuilt so many times that it was largely built on its own ruins. In some areas of the city, primarily the older districts such as the Upper Barrens and Ralston's Ferry, hard work and decent structural reinforcement could lead to the reclamation of as many as seven sub-basements by refurbishing the ancient architecture beneath the streets, though this was generally discouraged. It was said that one could move from the Marble Gate at the Northernmost edge of the city to the Bridge of Sighs that crossed the southern end of the River Leshrac without coming within twenty feet of the surface. The ruins of the undercity were referred to as "The Abyss" and rumor had it that the Abyss was filled with malevolent undead and other creatures who found a complete lack of sunlight hospitable.