Memoirs of Hysteria-A Terrible Decision is Made.

Taking this story back to where in the timeline it was before, the last two Hysteria posts were out of order and later in the story.  For the posts in proper timeline order, please refer to the order in the menu. This occurs after Memoirs of Hysteria, Wherein a Cat Speaks Very Fast.  Thanks for reading! Please feel free to share if you enjoy.

-Perplexing

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Out of breath, red faced, dripping sweat, smelling like a man desperately in need of a bathing, Lord Antoine Lua, Lordling of Hysteria, prideful protectorate of the Lily Dynasty, collapsed and sunk into the multi cushioned seat beside the giant-sized gilded throne. Why beside it? Less anyone forgets that none are above the greatness of the Flower Emperor. Except if one were a god or goddess.

A tall, lanky court herald enters through the extravagantly carved throne room doors. Pi has a perpetual smirk on his face, sharing a private joke with himself, though he’s unaware of this.

“Lord Antoine, I announce the arrival of Lady Kaliana, who comes in response to your request for an advisor.” Pi bows, and scurries to a corner of the room to be forgotten for the next eight or so hours.

Cue the arrival of such a being to challenge the rule of the Flower Emperor, though all present knew not. Trailed closely by her foul-tempered compatriot and stoic manservant, Lady Kaliana appears to hover a mere inch above the tiled floors. This alarmed the two knights that flanked the empty throne, Knight Captain Roas and Knight Mentor Kanti, though they showed no sign of their inner turmoil. Having risen through the ranks during Gilgamesh’s reign, the two had seen enough oddities that compartmentalizing the unreal had become second nature.

Ji, upon its perpetual black cloud, suddenly speeds ahead of Kali and Tin Fiddle, stopping directly in front of Antoine. It leans its head forward, black-skinned snout sniffling loudly as it deeply inhales Antoine’s salty fumes. Before the pair of knights can respond to any perceived threat, Ji has spun around on the spot, nods towards Lady Kaliana, and zooms out of the room, slamming the doors behind its exit.

Tin Fiddle, his perpetual scowl upon his face, his storm-cloud eyes focused on nothing, yet taking in everything, sees no threat to his mistress (although he notices an oddly patterned feline chewing on paper among the ceiling beams). He bows deeply to Lady Kaliana, completely ignoring the lordling and his knights, then takes his place to her right, arms crossed, hands hovering over hidden pommels.

Lady Kaliana flashes a ridiculously white smile towards the sitting nobleman and bobs a slight curtsy. She then offers a perfectly manicured hand, palm down, to Antoine, who stares down at the proffered hand, confused.

“Um.”

Tin Fiddle’s head is now on swivel, regarding everything, and speaks from the side of his mouth, as he stares up at the cat sitting in the rafters. “A nobleman kisses a lady’s hand, given the opportunity.”

Antoine gulps nervously and manages to blabber out, “But I’ve never even heard of her! And who are you to even make demands of one of my stature?”

The manservant goes still, then growls. “Her Lady Kalinia, Blessed of the Maker, graced with His Wisdom, of the Autumn’s Embrace, has traveled a distance greater than you can fathom, to answer your call for advice worthy of your ’empire’.” Tin Fiddle’s suddenly flat and almost lifeless eyes now bore into the Lordling’s. “Show some respect.”

The lordling, sweating even more profusely than before he sat down, stands and approaches the lady. As he reaches an arms length away, Lady Kaliana pulls back, and sniffs in disdain.

“Sir, you wreak something terrible. I would suggest next time you run your ten laps that you bathe before entertaining a guest.”

Antoine mutters something indistinguishable.

“Pardon?”

“Twenty.”

Lady Kaliana arches a thin eyebrow. “Twenty what?”

“I sprinted twenty laps around this bloody city, I’ll have you know!” Antoine exclaims, then points an accusing finger at his Knight Captain. “This vile soldier ordered me to, and then demanded I greet you right away!”

Slowly shaking her head, Knight Captain Roas frowns. “No, sir, I told you to bathe afterwards. You said that you were ready to meet your guests.”

Antoine stamps his foot down in frustration. “Damnit, Captain, I will do as I please! I rule this protectorate!”

Lady Kaliana smiles endearingly. “As we can all see, your Lordling, you rule with such grace. Like my dear manservant has said, I am here only to offer my services in guiding your protectorate to its fullest potential.”

Antoine returns to his seat, rests his chin in his hand, and stares suspiciously at the beautiful woman before him. “I see. And what do you require in return, dear Lady?”

The would-be advisor reaches into the purse tied to her belt, and pulls out a piece of parchment. (At the sound of crinkling paper, Annie the cat’s ears perk up.) “Please, sir, approve this document for me, and with your signature, I will be at your beck and call.” She winks, an obscenely flirtatious gesture.

Antoine blushes deeply. “A-a-and your pet monkey and manservant as well?”

Lady Kaliana’s mouth turns down in distaste. “Ji is not a monkey. Ji is a…diplomat of its’ people. Please refrain from referring to my associate as such.”

“My deepest apologies.”

“As for them being available to you, unfortunately that is not negotiable. But please, be assured that everything that they do is in my best interest.” She hands the parchment over to the lordling, who begins perusing over it. (Soft purring can be heard from above.)

Lordling Antoine produces a pen from the inner breast pocket of his robe, then hurriedly signs it. He returns the pen to its home, hands the document to Knight Mentor Kanti, then grins idiotically and claps his hands together. “I now pronounce you my advisor!”

Lady Kaliana’s tone turns cold. “Excellent, then I will begin with tasking your workers in building a residence for me across from the city cemetery. I will let you know when I am ready to begin the tasks of my post.” Neglecting to curtsey, she turns on her heel, and glides silently to exit the room. She stops at the doors, impatient, and yells at the herald, Pi. “Open the doors, cretin!”

Pi shakes himself from his daydreams, and scrambles to open the doors. Lady Kaliana then exits. Tin Fiddle, nearly glaring, shakes his head at the man in the chair, glances up at the cat, then follows suit.

Knight Mentor Kanti is staring in disbelief at the document in her hands, then shows it to Knight Captain Roas beside her, who chokes.

“You signed this?”

Antoine nods. “I did! My signature is right there at the bottom!”

“Do you even understand what she asks for?”

“Yes.”

Knight Captain Roas’ face reddens in anger. “Then are you insane?”

“The royal therapist may have mentioned something along those lines…but no, I am sound of mind. I appreciate your concern though!”

“But…but…”

Antoine taps a finger to his temple. “Although some of the wording was a little difficult to comprehend at points…”

Knight Captain Roas shoves the paper back into Knight Mentor Kanti’s hands, and rushes from the room, murderous thoughts in her mind. Knight Mentor Kanti looks down, unbelieving at the accursed thing.

“You know what this means, right, sir?”

“Not a clue.”

“Oh…”

“She seemed trustworthy.”

“You just met her!”

“So? I consider myself an exemplary judge of character.”

Knight Mentor Kanti represses a scream. “You didn’t even ask her qualifications.”

“Not necessary!” Lordling Antoine raises a finger in a victorious gesture. “She has an exquisite simian associate who rides upon a cloud and a terrifying manservant! Only important people have these!”

The soldier mutters under her breath. “I can’t see why this empire is sprinting towards dis-”

“Pardon? Speak up!”

“Nothing, Lord.”

Memoirs of Hysteria, THE GRIMDARK ONE

Did you ever meet the old Reaper?

No, not that young twit, the real one.

I stared into His eyes once.

Why? I wanted to die.

The story of that? Heh, you bard’s are scavengers.

He doesn’t have any eyes by the way. The Twin Abysses, that’s what I refer to them as. Infinite depths, blacker then the darkest caverns. The shrill screams of the fallen bled out from those empty sockets.

Hyperbole? Fool, I’ve been through the depths of this world. That’s how I found Him.

Aye, I went looking for Death, not the other way around.

I had heard the shrieks that fell from His face long before I met Him. Its what drove me to His altar.

I’ve done some wicked, evil shit in my life.

Well.

I guess Toernslaav of the Aranaea did wicked evil shit in his life.

Am I not that man? No, no after meeting with the Reaper I am not him.

No, I did not die, but Toernslaav, well he…ceased to exist.

You see, Toernslaav, he demanded the Reaper to take him. The Reaper did not deign to respond to such a demand. So Toernslaav became peeved. You see, dear bard, Toernslaav couldn’t handle the nightmares anymore. He couldn’t handle the wailing of defenceless mothers, the blank faces of the hundreds of dead children, the utter despair writ across the eyes of men who came home to the disgusting killing floor waiting for them.

Aye, you could say he finally developed a conscience. A guilty one. Not that it mattered. It only came about because of selfishness. He did not do seek to end his life out of a desire to right terrible wrongs.

So, he found himself in Death’s company. But Death was not cooperating. No matter how Toernslaav cursed, no matter how hard he struck the Reaper with his fists, Death would not abide. Only the deafening silent shrieks of those slain souls could be heard. It wasn’t until the coward Toernslaav whined, “Why Lord of Death, will you not take me?” did He deign to respond.

Did you know Death doesn’t have a mouth? What a crock of shit that ‘Death’s Smile’ is. It’s solid bone across where any man’s mouth would be.

What did He say? “Then take your own life, Toernslaav of the Aranaea, blackest of Gaoerslaav’s brood. For I do not take the unwilling. Are you so sick of it, to take it from yourself?”

That doesn’t make sense? Toernslaav thought that too. Here he was, begging Death to kill him, and He wouldn’t lift a finger.

Well, no I didn’t see if He had hands. His robes covered all the way down His arms. That’s besides the point.

No, I do not give a fuck about your story’s realism.

Toernslaav, was bewildered by Death’s pronouncement, but he had nowhere to go. So he sat with Death, and Death stood by his side. time did not stop, I daresay, but it definitely took upon a different pace. This whole time, Toernslaav thought about Death’s words, over, and over and over and over.

Until it…clicked.

No, I’m not privy to these thoughts, for I came to be the same time that Toernslaav gripped His hand. It’s the one memory of his I do not have.

This is just a prelude, dear bard, to the tale of how the old Reaper fell.

For when Toernslaav took Death’s hand, a young, opportunistic and twisted goddess took action. Through a tale that is honestly too long for me to tell, nor one I want to particularly give all details to, a curse was born through Toernslaav’s broken soul, and it became a conduit for this young goddess to siphon the power of the Death god.

She now carries the souls of the dead within her, to this day. She also refers to me as her manservant.

Yes, I know Selah has taken His mantle up, but her sister is the one with the real power.

Why do I serve her? You see these spider web tattoos? These are not clan tattoos. Why the fuck would I make myself out to look like a godsdamned bandit? These are the just byproducts of her curse upon me.

These are my chains.

I haven’t slept since that day, you know. I don’t dream. I close my eyes, and oblivion just stares back at me.

I still hear their screams. I was the conduit after all, an echo of Him in a way.

Why the iron fist? Well Toernslaav’s hand was the only thing to truly die that day. Kali didn’t want a one handed manservant so she had one cast of star metal for me. Aye, star metal, though it looks no different than iron. Sure, you could describe me as a man with an iron fist. Sounds better then star metal handed man.

Who am I now? Heh.

I am…biding my time.

For what?

You ever hear of the scholar Eyrksonn? No? Well, he had a theory that godlings do not just come from the pantheon recreating itself at Their whim. No, he believed that some men, and women, of course, could through pure, determined will become godlings. That they could Ascend.

So you ask what I’m waiting for. And to that I will say this:

Chains can be broken. And I can hold a grudge like no other. The day you see me with skin clear of these fucking markings, I advise you to make yourself scarce, posthaste.

The old Reaper wasn’t the first Lord of Death.

Selah will not be the last.

You should be scared, bard.

Or should I say, Lady of the Lute?

Spit

Aye, I know you, godling.

Memoirs of Hysteria, The Ogre Bride

Hi Bant

-Perplexing

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The deep aquamarine skies did not in anyway reflect Tin Fiddle’s mood. He sat under an old crab apple tree upon a small hilltop a few miles east of Hysteria. The ground was littered around with the sad shrivelled offerings from said tree, but Tin cared not, finding them momentarily amusing to splunch in the palm of his metal hand, wiping the remains off in the grass after every three or four that he murdered. He could tell that Autumn was in full swing, even without his personal knowledge of and acquaintance with the Goddess in the city just over there.

A crab apple was launched from his hand, a zip through the air, and a strangled caw came from the tree above. A raven fell briefly after, stunned or dead, Tin did not care. Selah was keeping an eye on him for Her sister, and that only darkened his mood. He glared at the markings of the black chains etched upon his forearms. Another crab apple missile was deployed.

The missile was fired back at even higher velocity then thrown, and would have taken Tin right between the eyes, was its trajectory six inches lower. The man with the iron fist peered warily from the depths of his drawn hood. A minute later, his confusion was cleared. An ogre-sized troll approached him, its head clearing the hilltop long before the rest of its maple bark-skinned body followed.

The monster stood well over thirteen feet, its arm span easily matching its height. Wide of shoulder and hips, long of neck, torso, and limbs, the troll dominated Tin’s field of vision. The smell of the tasty liquid that hides under the bark of a maple tree was pungent upon the air. Its arms were not overtly wide, by ogre standards, meaning they were massive by troll standards. Both arms ended in five-fingered hands that were gnarled, both when closed resembled war mauls that had seen much use. It’s right hand at the moment was wrapped around the haft of an actual war maul that would of weighed more than thrice Tin’s body. Tin crossed his arms across his chest, resting them just above the hidden pommels of knives secreted in various places upon his torso. He took a breath to steady his suddenly nervous composure and waited for the troll to speak.

“My name is Bors Kylsmal and you killed my cat.” The voice was the crunching of dead leaves upon the forest floor. It’s ugly face was scrunched in a fixture of distaste. “You will die now.”

Tin snorted. “No, no I did not.” He also dove out of the way of the war maul that came slamming in his direction.

“Yes you did, you filthy pale skin.” The angered troll readied another blow, grunting heavily as it raised its weapon.

“If I recall correctly,” Tin began, as he moved to place the old, wide trunk of the tree between himself and his peeved guest, “and I do, I left the door to the hut open and your cat, who need I remind you never ever, and I’m going to stress this fact, never, left the house for any reason in four years, wandered out.”

The troll stopped its approach. A dumb smirk took residence upon its face. “So you admit it pale skin! You killed her. Stand still and die.”

Tin continued circling in the opposite direction of Bors. “Are you even sure she’s dead? Dammit, we saw her not even two months later just as winter took hold! She ate the food you left out and ran away as soon as you went near her!”

Bors spat at Tin’s feet. “I’m dead certain she’s dead.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Thump.

“Oh.” Tin tilted his head to the side as he observed the feline carcass at his feet.

“I want a new kitten.”

A strangled laugh erupted from Tin. “You strode out of the Storied Land, crossed eight oceans and four continents, terrorized, I’m sure, hundreds if not thousands of humans, to come find and half ass attempt to maim me, because your cat had a cat’s curiosity?”

Bors did not answer.

“You, by some unknown sorcery that I’m sure included sacrifice of a goat, bee hive and some poor terrified virgin farm girl , found me to request I produce a kitten in replacement of Cambria?”

The troll’s anger had dimmed. It stood in silence for a long time, considering Tin. Its breath echoed the rustle of Winter’s wind thru the debris of foliage left by Autumn’s path. When it spoke, all intensity had left its voice. “Well. Yes, that.” Tin relaxed for the briefest of moments. “And this.”

Smack.

A moment, please, as Tin gathers his wits and confirms that his swollen head is indeed still attached to his shoulders.

Tin sits up slowly, tentatively turning his head to the left, then right, making sure that he has range of movement. He then looks up at the troll now standing above him.

“You hate violence.”

A nod. “I do. I also liked my cat, Toernslaav.”

“Gods be damned, I don’t go by that name anymore, and there is more to this than that!”

Another nod. “Aye, well.”

Another bout of the proverbial cat catching a tongue began.

Sometime later found the two quietly lost in thought, one standing, war maul rested across its shoulders, the other sitting, nursing a terribly sore head. The glaring sun in the sky began its decent towards its destination of another place somewhere in the world.

Bors ventured a question. “Where did your dainty hand go, Toernslaav? And how was it replaced by the flesh of a star? Did you meditate for years on end? Did you scream for long periods of time, focusing your power?”

“Funny. Had a word with the old Reaper before He flew the coop. He took the hand with Him. Goddess gave me one back.” Tin looked up in Bor’s direction. “I heard you were dead.”

Something akin to a gooses’ honk resounded across the open air. “Stupid villagers only buried me six feet below. Mind you, they did make the grave long enough. But I just stood up and climbed out.”

“Lack of foresight, I see. Never thought through what would happen if the dead troll woke up did they?”

“Apparently hitting me over the head once with a hammer, while I slept, convinced them that I was dead.”

“Did you murder them all in their sleep in return?”

“No, just the ‘warrior’ who ‘slew’ me. Favour for a favour really.”

Tin chuckled, and Bors smiled a rare smile.

“Glut still around?”

“Isn’t the gravel inspiring around this city?”

“Point taken.”

“I heard you caught snake fever. One of the Weaver’s themselves?”

“She doesn’t understand a single of of my terrible jests. Yet she laughs all the same. I think I’m in love.”

“Love, Toernslaav?”

“Okay, fine. Infatuation.”

“That, I’ll believe. On the subject of infatuation, whatever happened with the priestess, the one with the lower half ‘akin to a horse’.”

“She cursed me to have Death follow wherever I go. Actually was able to get the curse to take hold, although not in the way she would of liked.”

“Ah, is that why one of Her crows follows you even now?’”

Tin muttered a curse, looked over his shoulder and spotted another of Selah’s damned crows. He scooped up a disposed crab apple and whipped it off into the air. A satisfying strangled caw, followed by the thump of its carcass made him smile.

“I saw your father.”

Tin’s smile suddenly dropped. “Oh.”

“As far as he knows, you’re still the craven firstborn son who abandoned the family to find himself.”

“So he still thinks I’m a failure.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Fuck him.”

“He’ll learn one day that that’s not the truth.”

“It is the truth, I’m as craven as the night is black. I just sometimes am not afforded the luxury of being a coward.”

“Cowards run. From everything I hear, you’ve faced some ridiculous odds, and not once have you fled.”

“Well when the Goddess who has you chained and enslaved starts wars on a whim, running is not really an option.” Tin looked off into the darkening sky. “What did my father say? His words, verbatim.”

“’Toernslaav left me. My firstborn, and only son left alive, left me. He is a stain upon our family’s history, and hated by all in our lands. But,’” Bors added an unnecessary dramatic pause, “’I miss him. I miss my son. Tell him he can come home, Bors of the Three. I forgive him.’ To be honest, I echo one of his thoughts. Its why I came all this way.” Bors looked pointedly at Tin.

“And which thought would that be, barkskin.”

“You left me.”

Tin blinked. “Oh.” Some sputtering before the words came through. “We…us…we were never like…you know…that.”

Bors sighed. “I’m well aware of that, Toernslaav of the Aranaea. But King Aryn disappeared, then Ben left, and Glut came back, and by the God’s, are you aware of the utter disgusting and vile mess that he leaves wherever he squats? Do you?”

“Aye, I’m aware. And I told you I do not use that name anymore.”

The troll barked a laugh and pointed a finger a foot long in length at Tin’s forehead. “Oh I’ve heard of the Goddess’s manservant, ‘Tin Fiddle’.” You abandoned me!”

Sudden understanding came to Tin then. “I missed you too, big guy.”

“Heh.”

“Yep.”

…

“I can come visit you, you know. Smash some mossy boulders to dust, like before.”

“Very well.” Bors offered his hand to his old companion. Tin grasped it and was pulled to and from his feet, but he landed softly, his balance easily kept.

A mischievous smile crept onto Tin’s face. “There’s a quarry half a mile out from the city. They’re supposed to be hauling for that bitch Goddess’s new temple, but She’s the gold to cover a delay in its construction. The foremen will just have to report an ‘accident’.”

“She’ll torture them.”

“Probably. She’s gone far past power hungry, and now borders on either side of insane and genius.”

“You will not lament the deaths of innocent men?”

“Have I ever?”

Bors signalled an affirmative. “When a man and a woman…”

“Aye.”

The pair began a lazy path down from the crab apple tree, a silence shared of many hardships and years faced together, a love shared only by the truest of brothers, though never use that word with their names linked together, unless a death wish is something one wishes. Of the worst temper, scholars still debate who’s is more terrible.

Memoirs of Hysteria, Wherein a Cat Speaks Very Fast

Twin brown-furred caterpillars arch in perfect unison. Slowly, they lower themselves, excruciating minute movement by movement. These critters rest above two mismatched colored orbs, one a deep aquamarine, the other a foggy grey. These irises are currently deeply focused upon a checkers board carved from rich mahogany wood, its precious ivory black and ebony white pieces splayed out across its surface.

Across from the man with the bushy eyebrows and unalike eyes sitting in his overly cushioned seat, rests a white furred tabby cat upon a black, straight backed wooden chair, this constructed of oak. The cat’s back is riddled with purple spots of fur. A yawn dominates its tiny face, before this is replaced by a blank blue sky stare.

The cat tilts it head to the side, sitting at a forty five degree angle. Its word spill out in a jumble. “Areyougonnadosomethingorwhat?!”

Lordling Antoine Lua continues to stare upon the playing field. He replies not.

“Icouldbundleasmallchildthriceoverwithnothingbutthehairfromyourbrowsyouknowright?”

The aforementioned eyebrows slowly rise along with the rest of Antoine’s profile. “I will have you know that I spend two hours every morning, an hour in the afternoon, and three hours before I sleep grooming these beautiful specimens.”

“Itsamiraclethisregionhasnotfallentoutterchaos.”

“Hysteria faces no such chaos! Although had I an advisor to assist me, this wonderful land of our dear Emperor of Flowers would clearly flourish!” The lordling snatches up a piece of parchment with his itinerary upon it, something he had clearly forgotten to read. “Why, if I had such a person to help me guide this glorious protectorate of ours, an age so golden would begin that it would go-What are you doing?”

“Uhnothing. Couldyoucontinuecrumplingthatpaperthough?”

Antoine stares at the ruined itinerary in his hand. “What? Like this?”

Crinkle crinkle crinkle.

Purrrrrrr.

A bristled caterpillar slowly stands. It’s twin flattens even further. “You, Annie, are a very odd cat.”

Annie hisses, and spits. “DIDISAYTOSTOP?”

Antoine jumps to his feet and tosses the paper to the floor. “I’VE NO TIME FOR THIS! I’ve a protectorate to well, um, protect!”

The iron door to Antoine’s office slams open. In strides a soldier. Her armour shines ridiculously bright in what little light reflects off of it. She stands no more then 5 feet, and if one were to catch a glance under the metal, an inch of fat they would not find anywhere upon this soldier.

Knight Captain Roas instills utter terror in Lordling Antoine.

The Lordling sits instantly back in his seat. “I do not have a protectorate to protect. I forgot I have this important document to read, and reply to! Im searching for a new advisor, I’ll have you know!”

“ATTENTION.” The Knight Captain’s booming voice sends Annie scurrying out the office’s window. Her lung capacity would put a wailing infant to shame.

“I will not be doing any circuits of the city this day, Knight Captain! You’ve had me run no less than ten laps a day! Madness! No more!”

Roas snaps a crisp salute. “You will so, sir! The exertion shall keep your heart pumping much longer than those other’s who lounge around each day, milord! But that is not why I am here!”

Antoine warily glances at the knight. “Oh? Then why are you reporting to me, Knight Captain?”

“A travelling woman, accompanied by a monkey with red fur who rides a black cloud and a manservant with of a fist of iron has arrived at the keep’s gate. They seem quite normal, nothing out of the ordinary. The woman says she’s here to offer her words of wisdom to you, as an advisor.”

“Excellent! Take me to her!”

“Of course, milord. After you do twenty circuits of the city!”

Antoine sputters. “Twenty?”

“Yes, Lord. I informed the lady that you were partaking in your daily twenty laps of the encircling walls. We cannot have our guests thinking we are lazy here in Hysteria!”

“But-”

“No ‘buts’, sir! ATTENTION!”

The Lord of Hysteria takes off through the door, rabbit-like. His Knight Captain swiftly follows after him.

Annie pokes her furry face back into the room. Hop, skip and jump, the feline lands upon all four feet, for that is what happens everytime a cat takes to the air and allows gravity to catch up. She pokes her nose around the floor of the office, until she finds what she’s looking for…

Crinkle crinkle crinkle.

“Ohyespurrrrrr.”