Apostles of Doom

Iskerus blinked. A dual intercession with avatars of both Tiernon and Torean? What was going on here? What had he stumbled into? Iskerus briefly closed his eyes. Experience told him that this Teragdor was simply trying to be reassuring and helpful; however, the net effect was anything but. This was not good; he was so far out of his depth that he felt at a complete loss as to how to proceed. He hadn’t felt this way in decades.

Nysegard: Lunch Break

Tom sat back on his oath-swearing chair, twisting his neck to get the kinks out. He had not slept well last night; he had had another one of those dreams where he remembered things he had no way of remembering. Although this one was a bit more bizarre, so it was likely, or so Tom hoped, that it was simply his own overactive imagination.

He looked to his right where Darg-Krallnom was sitting, whittling on some wood during their lunch break. Neither he nor Darg-Krallnom needed to eat, of course. One more day was all they had left. They were hoping to finish everyone up tomorrow, perhaps with a long day.

Darg-Krallnom noticed Tom glancing at him. “Everything okay?” he asked Tom.

Tom frowned. “Last night, I had another one of those dreams with people I could not have known.”

Darg-Krallnom perked up and grinned. “More memories returning? Good!”

“Perhaps.” Tom tilted his head, indicating he was not so sure. “This one was bizarre. A group of us — you, me, Arg-nargoloth, Tizzy, Völund and Phaestus — were hanging out in this strange cave. The person I think of as Loki was there, as was Vosh An-Non, and we were all smoking pipes very similar to Tizzy’s.”

“Good. That seems reasonable,” Darg-Krallnom said, much to Tom’s dismay.

“Well — here’s where it gets weird — there was also a talking monkey there.” Tom laughed and shook his head. “Or maybe I was just really wasted and thought there was a talking monkey.”

Darg-Krallnom grimaced and shook his head. “No, the fraggin monkey was probably there. Only creature in the multiverse more annoying than Tizzy is his damn monkey.”

Tom’s jaw dropped slightly. What? Darg-Krallnom actually knew a talking monkey? And it belonged to Tizzy? This makes no sense! How much did he not know about the people surrounding him?

“Tizzy has a monkey?” he asked weakly.

Darg-Krallnom shrugged. “No, and don’t tell the fraggin monkey that I referred to him as being Tizzy’s. That’s just what Arg-nargoloth, Vosh and I used to refer to him as behind their backs. They were, and presumably still are as far as I know, close friends. When Tizzy, the monkey and Loki would get together we called them the Triad of the Trying. They were excessively annoying.” Darg-Krallnom frowned menacingly at the memory.

“So you all hung out with this talking monkey?” Tom asked, feeling his grip on reality slipping.

“Well, don’t get me wrong. He is incredibly annoying, talks in riddles, laughs and giggles incessantly, runs around playing tricks on people — but he is a very clever monkey. Way too smart if you ask me. Certainly too clever for his own good. But, I admit he can be helpful.” Darg-Krallnom looked around them at the sky and mountains. “Particularly here in Nysegard, in pitched battle with the Unlife, having him stop by with a basket of peaches can make all the difference.”

Tom shook his head from side to side, trying to comprehend what the D’Orc commander was saying. “I’m sorry, but you are really losing me.”

Darg-Krallnom chuckled. “Singkûn, which is his name, is an extremely formidable warrior. Certainly the best hand-to-hand, hand-to-foot, foot-to-foot and foot-to-hand warrior I have ever encountered. And his stick is pretty wicked, too; however, if you get seriously drained of animus by the Unlife, one of his peaches will more than restore you, or even a D’Orc or demon. They are basically animus bombs.”

“He’s what? A martial artist?” Tom asked, trying to understand what Darg-Krallnom was saying.

Darg-Krallnom shrugged. “He calls himself a monk. But, yes, I guess that’s one way of phrasing it. There certainly is artistry in his movement. Never seen anyone leap like he does. Covers leagues at a time.” Darg-Krallnom shook his head in amazement.

Okay, so maybe this monkey monk was real, or had been. “So where is he now?” Tom asked.

Darg-Krallnom shrugged again. “No idea. Half expected him to show up to the oath taking; he’s probably locked up somewhere by one of the gods. He’s always pissing them off. Pisses me off, too. That’s actually how we got to talking about building Tartarus. We were smoking demon weed and complaining about the gods locking up everyone they didn’t like, so we came up with this half-baked idea to build a prison to lock up the gods.”

Tom blinked in surprise. “You were planning to lock the gods up?”