Slizvert

  Slizvert's leg hurt, and he didn't know why the pain was needed at all. I know my leg doesn't work properly, you don't have to keep telling me, stupid body.

  The centurion sat in his tent, his bad leg stretched out under a folding table:

  "You must understand that I am in charge, and therefore I need authority among you. And you're undermining it with your parodies of me. Ummmmm. Is there something you don't like about my office? Then talk to me about it. Ummmmm. And we'll work something out together. And we haven't even got to the point that it's not nice to laugh at the sick.”

  One of the subordinates kneeling in front of him couldn't stand it any longer and held his head:

  "Just beat us up in front of everyone! When we started, Dayorb was just rising, and now it's setting! By noon we realised we were wrong!"

  "Ummmm. How can I harm my good people?" Slizvert was surprised.

  "Please stop!" the subordinate began to plead.

  "Please stop!" Slizvert repeated absolutely not similarly. "Similar? I'm going to parody you in front of everyone. This is called poetic justice."

  A cursorius entered the tent, approached the centurion:

  "Prelate."

  "Ummm. Remind me, what is 'prelate'? Is it above a legate?" the centurion looked confused.

  But the messenger suddenly writhed, crouched down and froze in the pose of a dead tree. Smoke and bright light poured from his wide open eyes and mouth.

  "Yes, I am above a legate. And a centurion," the messenger's face said.

  "Ummmmmm. You must give warning when you take possession of a body."

  "There is no time. We are gathering. Frenzy is too strong."

  "Ummm. But I have a project, I told you. Slizvert hesitated. "I've also discovered a den of demon worshippers, you won't believe where. So..."

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  "That can wait. The war can't. We need you here, the three phalanges," the face said, and then it went out, and its owner collapsed to the ground.

  "Tough job, huh?" the centurion sympathised.

  "This is..." the messenger's throat tightened.

  "...our sacrifice. Don't go on. Are you still here?" Slizvert turned to the guilty ones. "Tell you what, go and bring me a prisoner, of fourteen winters. Ummmmm. And hopefully no more…"

  Unable to believe their luck, the Mourners ran out of the tent, overtaking each other.

  Valkali

  At night, after a small feast in the tavern, Wolves went out. He liked the quiet of the city at night. He was admiring the moon shards when Valkali stepped out of the shadows. She stopped in front of Wolves, a short distance away.

  "Quiet?" Wolves asked in surprise. "What are you doing here?”

  The heroine waved her head vaguely.

  "You've been gone a long time," Wolves said accusingly.

  The heroine nodded in agreement.

  "But you look even younger than before," Wolves praised her.

  The heroine waved her hand as if to stop him.

  "You should see Gloomeye. He's leaving tomorrow," the father chuckled. "After all, he's just like you. How ironic. But at least he said goodbye."

  The heroine waved her hands at her shoulders and eyebrows, as if to say, "Such is life".

  "But I don't blame you, I'm even grateful. I'm with Merchant now, and she's a wonderful woman, even if she likes to be bossy. It's like she's not from our world, huh?"

  The heroine quickly patted her palms together in front of her face.

  "Do you know anything about Regent in the palace? He's a demon," Wolves said, suddenly suspicious.

  The heroine nodded confidently.

  "That's how it is. You will take care of the son, won't you? I would do it myself, but my people need a leader."

  The heroine wiggled her fingers thoughtfully. Wolves sighed:

  "That's the best answer I can get. Thank you for that. It was interesting..." Wolves wanted to say "to talk", but that wasn't quite it, "...to get back in touch with you."

  The heroine nodded and stepped back into the shadows, disappearing completely into the darkness. Wolves went back to staring at what was left of the moon.

  Astoro

  Astoro rode on Zuzu's shoulder and played with his cane. His plan to enter Capital's markets had failed completely, but failure never bothered him. It was just a bad investment, and he was sure that his next attempt would be more successful, given the experience he had gained. A good businessman always allows for unforeseen circumstances in his plans. In this case, the boy who took his clothes.

  But the Humanist was not offended. Let him enjoy the one good thing in his life while he can. Every merchant had to take his goods seriously, and for Astoro all living things were goods.

  The orc carrying him stopped. The slave trader felt her muscles tense as she prepared for battle.

  "Attack, Master?" the slave asked.

  Standing in Zuzu's path was a gnarled man dressed entirely in black. Light and smoke came from beneath his headcloth.

  "Wait," Astoro ordered, tapping the slave on the shoulder with his cane to make sure.

  "Mr. Astoro, I have a business proposition for you," the broken man said.

  Unforeseen circumstances can be positive.

  Valkali is the heroine of her story, inspired by the Heavy Metal cartoon. There, the silent heroine is not a character, but an unyielding element to be reckoned with, a will moving towards you.

  Astoro = Apollo + his Christian re-qualification, the demon of wrath Astaroth.