Lost in Glory

They were in the Chamber of High Lords. It was a special room for the Emperor to meet and consult with the High Lords about the most important decisions. If he bothered. The last Emperor didn't and neither did at least four before him. Therefore the High Lords were in the Chamber of High Lords for the first time in their lives.

Dust and cobwebs had accumulated in the chamber over the years. The Master of Ceremony had decided that a bit of cleaning would certainly be needed. Unfortunately, according to the Codex only the Emperor himself could order servants to enter. It seemed unlikely that he'd do that, given the fact that he was quite dead. Luckily, a loophole was discovered. The Codex specifically said that no one but the Emperor and the High Lords can see the interior of the Chamber of High Lords. Because of such a strange wording, the Master of Ceremony decided that servants could be in the chamber if they were blindfolded. As a result of his creativity, the chamber now was looking exactly as if it had been abandoned for about a century, and then cleaned by a bunch of irritated, blindfolded servants ordered around by an old, short-sighted man whose only area of expertise was protocol.

The Master of Ceremony was standing in front of the chair technically belonging to the former Emperor, and the seven High Lords approached their places. Six High Lords and one wife of High Lord Who Is Kept Away From Highlordly Matters to be exact. One of them was dragging a chair.

Duke Thinoak's place was the furthest from the entrance. Since he wasn't going to entrust his extra large custom-made and exquisitely ornamented chair to some blindfolded servants, he ended up dragging it behind him. He wasn't the fittest man around and the chair was dreadfully heavy, therefore he wasn't moving too fast.

The Master of Ceremony waited patiently. He would stand there and wait until the end of the world if the protocol required that. The High Lords weren't that patient, but not impatient enough to help Thinoak. The Duke himself was too proud to ask. So they stood around the table and watched the fat man sweat and gasp and struggle with his chair. Some were yawning, others were sniggering. The Marquis had that absent look of his. Even the annoying sound of the chair scraping the floor didn't get to him.

"Hey, Thinoak, hurry up, will you? I don't want to stand here till you start dropping acorns!" Philigree taunted the Duke, who just muttered something angry and intelligible in response and continued on his way. "What was that? I'd swear you said that you're practicing for the annual chair-dragging contest!" The Duke didn't respond. He usually did respond when someone made fun of him, but this time he was too focused on not passing out. Philigree's singing followed him. "Drag, drag, drag your chair, gently down the floor!" he sang, rather off key, but nobody minded. The other lords were enjoying the show. They were all perfectly capable of hiding their amusement, but there was no need for that. No onlookers here. No need to be civil to each other.

The Duke finally reached his place. His face was red and his breathing was heavy. Too bad it wasn't time to sit down yet. Nobody present would mind seeing him drop dead. Perhaps with the exception of the Master of Ceremony, because a High Lord dropping dead before the election proceedings had even started would surely pose some protocolar challenges. Getting blindfolded servants to carry out the fat carcass would be a challenge too, a logistical one for a change.

"Let's get along with it, shall we?" the SemiViscount hurried.

"Very well. Now we shall check whether all desired, required and allowed are present and ready to take part in the proceedings to ascertain the matter of succession after our late Emperor Cessorius the Thirteenth, may he rule for a thousand and three years, who tragically died without leaving a lawful successor and left us like those orphans in a burning orphanage without door nor window to get out, having to rely only on their wits and wisdom to come out uncharred from the predicament cast upon them by a cruel and unrelenting fate."

"Apologies, but isn't adding the traditional 'may he rule for a thousand and three years' to the name of a deceased Emperor a bit rude?" Earl Blazingtree pointed out.

"Well..." The Master of Ceremony started to reply, but the Count cut him off.

"Yes, and that ridiculous orphanage metaphor! Why did you think that we really needed to hear that?"

"I love the smell of burnt orphans in the morning," Philigree remarked.

"When I was young, the orphans burnt mornings," the Marquis said.

"Young man, it is not about what do I consider rude or not, out of place or not. It is a matter of protocol," the Master of Ceremony lectured the Earl, ignoring the other distractions. "The proper way to do this was written down long ago, and as the Master of Ceremony I am responsible for upholding this way. If it means I have to use ridiculous orphanage metaphors, then I shall use ridiculous orphanage metaphors. The election proceedings are very important and have to be done correctly. Therefore we will do them correctly." Everyone groaned, some visibly, others only inwardly. Everyone apart from the Marquis, who didn't care. "Let us proceed. Duke Bartholomeus Theodoricus Angus Thinoak, High Lord of the Empire, are you present?"

The Duke was still catching his breath after his ordeal. Just his luck that he had to go first. "Yeah."

"Duke, please, the formal response," the Master of Ceremony insisted.

The Duke stared at the old man. If looks could kill, the Master of Ceremony would be turned into sausages and eaten. They couldn't and the Duke got nowhere. Outstaring someone who wasn't seeing him all that well was an impossible task, and the Master of Ceremony was ready to wait for the proper answer till one of them died.

"Oh very well. I, *wheeze*, Duke Bartholomeus Theodoricus, *gasp*, Angus Thinoak, *wheeze*, am present, *gasp*, well in mind, *gasp*, and body, *wheeze* *wheeze*, and ready *gasp*..." He paused, because of lack of breath.

"If you're gonna puke, please do it outside." Philigree just loved kicking the fallen. In the head or in the private parts preferably.

"...and ready to participate in these proceedings! *gasp* *wheeze* *wheeze* *wheeze*"

"I recognise Duke Bartholomeus Theodoricus Angus Thinoak, High Lord of the Empire. Earl Gevenarius Theosopius Leocadius von Blazingtree..."

And so it continued, with a bit less wheezing. One after another they replied with the formal ceremonial response. It went more or less smoothly until there came a moment all the lords were dreading. Some had seen it coming from quite a long way away and some realised it only when it was almost in their faces, but everyone was equally horrified by this. Everyone apart from Marquis de Shaggysheep, obviously.

"Baron Regedulf Solthyron Asrius Oxrabbit, High Lord of the Empire, are you present?"

The High Lords waited for Lady Oxrabbit to speak. In a very rare occurrence, they were all in a silent agreement that she should succeed. At the same time, they were well aware that success was unlikely.

"I, Baroness Lumilla Sywinge Indolencia Oxrabbit, am present in place of Baron Regedulf Solthyron Asrius Oxrabbit, High Lord of the Empire, well in mind and body, and ready to participate in these proceedings."

"This is highly irregular," said the Master of Ceremony. "What is the reason of the Baron's absence?"

"He is... not feeling well at the moment." It wasn't entirely true, although he would certainly feel bad if he had to sit there. He hated important meetings. They were boring and made him feel like a caged tiger. A rabid and hungry one.

"He seemed all right at the funeral. He gave quite a rousing speech. Did some disease befall him? Where is he now? Is he bedridden?"

The Master of Ceremony wouldn't give up on the Baron's presence so easily. Lady Oxrabbit was tempted to lie, but it was too easy to check. She had a feeling that the old man would insist on checking. "No. He is somewhere outside. Running or something. He needs his exercise."

"So he should be able to participate in these proceedings."

"Oh no, he can't, because..." She didn't know how to argue that, but General Roseduck came to the rescue.

"Because his brain needs fresh air."

"It would get all damp and mushy otherwise!" the Hiwelthadt chimed in.

"We should allow him to recuperate and pray for his well-being," Earl Blazingtree added.

"Nonsense," the Master of Ceremony decided. "He has his duty to the Empire and he should fulfil it unless he is seriously sick. I do not believe he is. I am sorry, milady, but you are not allowed here. We shall continue when the Baron is present." The meeting was concluded by a collective groan.

-I-I-I-I-

"A Heroic paladin, a little bit less Heroic dwarf and a somewhat reluctantly Heroic self-appointed warrior-princess were crossing some nondescript forest on their way to the cursed haunted forbidden cemetery of PAAAAAAIN where they were hoping to meet their current arch-enemy, the fabled Valkyrie Wolf!"

"Alexander, please stop narrating!" Gaduria asked.

"The previous arch-enemy, the vile necromancer, is long forgotten, because it was concluded that the sole purpose of the small undead woodland creatures was to lead us to the rescue of the warrior-princess from the evil clutches of some guys wearing blackened potato sacks!"

"Stop narrating or I'll go warrior-princess on your head with my new dwarf-hitting branch!" Gaduria threatened.

"Sorry."

"So this is how this whole Heroism thing works? You just receive a random quest and then you go and fulfil it? No questions asked?" Over a week passed since she got Heroically rescued, but Gaduria still had problems with understanding the concept.

"It is not random," the paladin replied. "I have a goal that I am striving to achieve, and various quests are just steps to that goal. But yes, I look for quests and I complete them. Each one is there for a reason, even if we do not see it yet."

"Surprisingly, it works out for him," Alexander added. "If I tried that on my own, I'm sure I'd end up lost or killed or eaten or kidnapped by faeries by day two."

"Kidnapped.. by faeries?" Gaduria looked suspiciously at the dwarf. "Why would you expect such a thing?"

"Well, you know, it's like... There are these faeries. They hang around unearthly flowers..." Alexander began to explain, but Gaduria stopped him.

"Unearthly... flowers?"

"Yes, yes, unearthly flowers. You know, those that look like they are out of this world somewhat?"

"All right..."

"So, yes, they hang around unearthly flowers, and stone circles, and enchanted glades possibly. They lure unwary travellers by singing and dancing and card games and pine cone juggling and such. If an unwary traveller approaches, a fairy sneaks up behind him and stuns him by using a combination of fairy powder and a heavy mace. Then they put him into a wooden cage and annoy him with itchy leaves and however else they choose to. Until he goes insane."

"I think you have nothing to fear from them. You are already insane. And you, do you hear what he's saying?" Gaduria addressed the paladin. "There is something wrong with his head!"

"Yes, I do believe he is wrong. Unearthly flowers are more of a kobold place I think."

"How would you know?" the dwarf challenged him.

"I do not know. It seems to me that such knowledge is something that comes with being a Hero."

"And my knowledge comes from my dear old grandma!"

"You are both madmen!" Gaduria exclaimed.

"Oh no! I am a maddwarf!" the dwarf protested.

"Anyway, I have no idea why I am travelling with you!"

"Because it is your destiny," the paladin stated gravely.

"It's not!"

"You could have stayed with Deer Lord, you know," Alexander suggested.

"Yes, I know. His antlers made me uneasy. On the other hand, right now you two make me uneasy too, but it is a bit too late to go back."

"Why do we make you uneasy, oh enchanted flower of heavens?"

"Because you're calling me names like this, for starters!"

"Awkwaaaaaaard," Alexander chimed in.

"And because you are always acting so immature!" she turned to the dwarf.

"More awkwaaaaaard."

"I apologise for my vivid descriptions of your person. Unfortunately, your beauty is so overwhelming that I cannot stop myself," Arthaxiom attempted to explain himself.

"So don't look at me if you can't stop yourself from calling me things like a rainbow-haired aether-nymph!"

"Even when I am not looking, I have an image of you in front of my eyes."

"That's probably the one where you have unicorn legs, alabaster hands, rainbow hair, eyes filled with stars..."

"Shut up, you!" Gaduria interrupted Alexander's list of her body parts. He just grinned.

"You should be glad that he didn't say you have mermaid legs, unicorn hands and hair of the majestic bald eagle."

"Very funny. But seriously, Arthaxiom, please try to contain yourself. Your compliments are creepy. I know you mean well, but you sound as if you were hit on the head with a brick."

"With a wooden beam."

"I'm sorry?"

"I was not hit on the head with a brick, but I was with a wooden beam," the paladin said.

"That explains so much!" Alexander exclaimed.

"Don't be silly, it was a metaphor. People don't get stupid from a hit on the head," Gaduria said.

"Actually, it was that hit that made me realise I'm a Hero," Arthaxiom explained.

"It had to be the Holy Wooden Beam of Heroism!" the dwarf exclaimed again.

"Really?" the paladin asked.

"Of course! It is a legendary artefact! And you left it behind, didn't you?"

"Stop pulling his leg!" Gaduria said. "He wouldn't recognise a joke if one fell on his head."

"A joke did not fall on my head. A wooden beam did."

"My point exactly." Gaduria and Alexander both laughed. Arthaxiom didn't see what was so funny.

"This conversation has no sense," he said. "Let us continue on our quest!"

"Excussssse me," something hissed, "but did you sssssay ssssomething about quesssssstsssss?"

They stopped and looked around. There was a huge serpent coiled around a nearby tree trunk.

"Are you a talking snake?" Gaduria asked warily.

"Ohhh, you are a ssssmart one! Yesssss, I am indeed!" the snake replied.

"So what is that quest of yours?" the paladin asked.

"Yessss, the quessssst. You sssssssee, I have ssssssome mussssshroomsssss. A mussssshroom farm. And there are thesssssse badgersssss there, ruining my musssssshroomsssss. If you were to kill, let'sssss sssssay, twelve or thirteen of them..."

"Most certainly not!" Gaduria interrupted. "We are not going around slaughtering badgers!"

"But... but it is a quest!" the paladin protested. "Quests should be fulfilled! This is a job for a Hero!"

"I am a princess and I declare badgers off limits!" Just to be sure, she used her ultimate weapon. She pouted and stomped her foot.

"You sssssstupid woman!" the snake hissed. "Can you not sssssee I'm trying to do sssssome sssssslaughtering around here?"

"I'll crush your head, you slithery bastard!" and advanced menacingly towards the serpent. It hesitated for a moment.

"Might I appeasssssse you with an apple? It will make you sssssee the thingsssssss my way." The offer didn't seem to interest Gaduria. The snake took a good look at the snake-hitting branch she was waving around and slithered away, hissing in irritation.

-I-I-I-I-

This time the Baron was present, much to dismay of five other lords and indifference of the sixth one. The Baron himself didn't seem too pleased either. Only the Master of Ceremony was satisfied. The protocol was maintained.

General Roseduck knew he should be happy. Lady Oxrabbit didn't like him too much, which was nothing unusual. He was unworthy of the title and all that. The Baron on the other hand didn't have such prejudices. Not bright enough for them. Also the Baron's sheer presence would most likely severely slow down the proceedings. Yet, somehow, even being assassinated sounded more appealing to Eneumerius than spending a lot of time around Oxrabbit. He concluded that the damage was already done, so he might as well try to benefit from having the Baron around. Unless his brain explodes. Being in the same chamber with other High Lords already was hard to bear, and now it was going to get worse. Probably much worse.

"I, Baron Regedulf Solthyron Asrius Oxrabbit, am present, well in mind..."

"Doubtful," Philigree murmured.

"...and body, and ready to... do... how's that thing I'll do called again?"

"Participate."

"Right. Thank you. I knew it has something to do with partridges. Participate in these proceedings. Achoo!" The Baron sneezed powerfully. He was a big man, and his sneezes were equally big.

"May the Lord of Light bless thy nose," Earl Gevenarius blessed him.

"Thank you."

"I recognise Baron Regedulf Solthyron Asrius Oxrabbit, High Lord of the Empire," the Master of Ceremony formally accepted his presence.

"Yes, that's me," the Baron said cheerfully. "Achoo!"

"May the Lord of Light bless thy nose," the Earl blessed him again.

"Thank you. I think all this dust doesn't agree with my nose," the Baron observed. "Couldn't some servants clean up this chamber a bit?"

"Servants cannot enter this chamber unless the Emperor orders it," the Master of Ceremony explained.

"I hate to break it to you, but the Emperor is dead, you know," the Baron leaned towards him and whispered conspirationally. Obviously, everyone else heard that anyway. Philigree sniggered.

"Another one?" the Marquis asked sleepily. Nobody answered this one, but the Marquis didn't seem to expect an answer.

"That is the whole point, young man," the Master of Ceremony explained. "The Emperor is dead, therefore nobody can order the servants to clean here. Unless they are blindfolded, but they are rather clumsy and useless in that case."

The Baron didn't seem too happy about that. Having to spend a whole day in a room that disagreed with his nose didn't seem appealing. He also was vaguely aware that the proceedings probably would take more than one day. He wasn't going to give up here. Perseverance was one of his strong points. "Maybe we could vote on that?" he suggested. "Achoo!"

"May the Lord of Light bless thy nose," the Earl said yet again.

"Thank you."

"No, young man, it does not work like that," the Master of Ceremony explained patiently. "You only can vote on the new Emperor."

"The new Emperor is more important than cleaning this chamber. Therefore I should be able to vote on cleaning the chamber too." This was an impressive feat of logic. The other lords watched the duel with interest. An unstoppable, yet somewhat blunt force against a rather aged unmovable object. Sympathy was on the Baron's side. He wasn't liked much, but lately the Master of Ceremony became rather intensely disliked. Letting the Baron in was only one of the reasons. Another one was that nobody really enjoyed sitting in a dirty chamber. The High Lords were used to nice, clean chambers.

"Unfortunately, the Codex does not agree with you, young man." The Codex was the old man's ultimate weapon. The Codex contained the laws. A bit of it contained some silly laws concerning murders or thievery. The vast majority of it contained the laws concerning protocol. Many suspected that the Master of Ceremony knew it all by heart.

"And how about... achoo!"

"May the Lord of Light bless thy nose," the Earl said yet again. The Baron's constant sneezing and the Earl's constant blessing him quite irritated the other lords. The SemiViscount was the first to get annoyed enough to speak up.

"Do you really have to bless him every time he sneezes?"

"Of course I have to. You may ignore the religious mandates if you wish, but I most certainly will not!" The Earl got quite agitated. "The Holy Book says: thy shalt bless the one who sneezes. It does not say 'unless he does that too often', or 'unless it doesn't irritate some SemiViscount'!"

"So do you say that every time one of your servants sneezes?"

"Are you out of your mind, man? Why would I bless a servant?" The Earl was shocked that the Count would suggest something so ludicrous. "They aren't allowed to sneeze around me anyway. They get whipped if they do!"

"Right. Sorry. That was silly of me," the Count apologised in a rare instance of self-criticism.

"So maybe we could partridge the proceedings somewhere else? Achoo!" the Baron returned to trying to provide a better world for his nose.

"May the Lord of Light bless thy nose," the Earl repeated. The Count only growled this time.

"No, we could not," the Master of Ceremony replied. "The Codex clearly says that the proceedings have to be held in the Chamber of the High Lords. This chamber is the Chamber of High Lords, therefore the proceedings will be held in this chamber."

"How about we tell the blindfolded servants to roll around on the floor... achoo!"

"May the Lord of Light bless thy nose."

"Thank you."

"And you," the Count decided to get irritated at the Baron this time, "must you really thank him every damn time?"

"I am being polite, you know," the Baron explained. "You could use some politeness too."

"Arrrrrgh!"

The Count's angry noises apparently brought back the Marquis back to reality, because he looked around and asked "What is happening?"

"Oxrabbit sneezes too much!" the Count complained to him.

"Ah. May the Lord of Light bless thy nose, then," the Marquis blessed the Baron.

"Thank you."

The Count got up from his seat, his face red, his fists clenched, his eyes bulging. Clearly he had enough. Before he managed to say or do anything, the Duke, who meanwhile got his breath back, exploded with anger.

"May the Weasels of Doom defecate on thy face!" he shouted, banging his fist on the table.

"Now that was rude," the Baron remarked calmly.

"Rude is forcing me to listen to your constant sneezing, him blessing you every time and you thanking him!" the Duke continued his complaining.

"Indeed," the Count seconded and sat down again. The Duke got angry enough for both of them.

The Baron didn't take the bait. Instead of arguing with them, he single-mindedly pursued his argument with the Master of Ceremony. "Therefore, as I was saying, we should have the blindfolded servants, like, roll around on the floor to gather the dust and stuff on themselves."

"The Codex does not have anything against that," the Master of Ceremony admitted.

"Hilarious, but impractical, I'm afraid," Philigree remarked. "It won't be too precise. Also, we would have wrap them in the drapes and wipe the walls with them and..."

"All right, I get the point," the Baron interrupted. "The servants are useless. Achoo!"

"May the Lord of Light bless thy nose."

"Thank you. So maybe... you declare some other room as the High Lord Room?"

"Only the Emperor can designate another chamber as the Chamber of the High Lords. I could do that only if the current one is damaged beyond repair."

"Like, burnt down, maybe?" the Baron asked with a smile.

"Yes, for example. Mind you, burning down the Chamber of the High Lords is high treason."

"Weasel damn it." Oxrabbit sighed heavily. "It leaves me only one option." He stood up, put one leg on his chair and posed dramatically with outstretched arms. "I will clean this chamber myself!"

The Duke and the Count got up from their chairs, startled. The Hiwelthadt's opened his mouth in surprise. The Marquis' did too, but perhaps it was only an accident, because he seemed absent from this world. The General swore under his breath. Something about ermines. The lords silently wished all the worst upon the other lords, like being torn apart by a vicious horde of baboons for example, but nothing so cruel as having to clean!

"Are you out of your mind, man?" the Duke scowled. "You're a noble! A High Lord! And a High Lord is a High Lord... because he is a High Lord!"

"Because he is higher than an ordinary lord?" Philigree suggested.

"Damn right!" Thinoak slammed his fist on the table. "And even an ordinary lord doesn't clean his own chambers!"

"Unless he's retarded a bit," the Count interjected. "I had one uncle, who..."

"Shut up!" the Duke shouted. "The point is, he cannot clean! He'll give us all bad name!"

"Achoo!" Oxrabbit sneezed again while still holding the dramatic pose.

"May the Lord of Light bless thy nose."

"Thank you."

"On the other hand... maybe let's let him clean?" the Duke said with hesitation.

"I would agree here," the Count said.

"Watching him clean might be quite funny," the Hiwelthadt suggested.

"May the Lord of Light bless his broom!"

"When I was young, the Lord of Brooms was blessing lights."

"There is nothing in the Codex forbidding that."

It looked like Baron Oxrabbit would indeed attempt to clean the chamber himself. That would stop his sneezing and relative peace and order would return to the proceedings. General Roseduck was not happy about this. Time to get creative with the protocol. "Let's not be hasty," he said.

"Shut up! We just managed to agree on something!" the Duke tried to quiet him, but the General ignored him.

"You cannot designate another Chamber of High Lords... but maybe you can undesignate one?" he asked the Master of Ceremony.

"What do you mean, young man?" The old man was rather confused.

"Well, does the Codex explicitly say that the Chamber cannot be undesignated?"

"No, it does not."

"Does it explicitly say that there must be a designated one at all times?"

"It also does not."

"Therefore, you can declare that this chamber is not the Chamber of the High Lords. Tomorrow the servants will clean it. Then you can designate it as the Chamber of the High Lords again, since it will be the same room, not a different one, and we can reconvene on the day after tomorrow."

"General, that's... wrong!" The Master of Ceremony used a proper title for the first time. He seemed horrified and impressed at the same time.

"Wrong? We do what is needed to do while still adhering to the rules. Unless you want to listen to..."

"Achoo!"

"Exactly that. May the Lord of Light bless thy nose."

-I-I-I-I-

Many strange and wondrous creatures can be met in the enchanted woods. This man, dressed in strange clothes, wearing a silly hat and armed with bow and arrows was certainly strange. Not so much wondrous, but that probably depends on the point of view.

Arthaxiom approached to greet the man, but he had only managed to open his mouth when he was shushed.

"Sssssh! I'm hunting foxes!" the man whispered.

The paladin remained silent and watched in bewilderment as the man moved in a grotesque way which most likely was supposed to be stealthy. He and his companions followed the hunter at the distance, curious to see what he would do. It didn't seem likely that he would succeed. Mainly because there weren't any foxes around. Amazingly enough, it didn't take him too long to spot a single one, sitting with its back turned.

The hunter didn't shoot an arrow at the animal. Instead he took a canvas sack out of his bag and slowly approached the fox, utilizing the same pseudo-stealthy movement. The fox didn't even flinch when the sack landed on it.

"I have you now, you fwisky fox!" he shouted, lifting the sack high to show his trophy. "This fox eluded me fow a long long time, but now I, Isidow the Explowew, have finally captuwed it!"

"Good for you," said Alexander.

"Yes, congratulations on completing your quest!" Arthaxiom had absolutely no idea what was going on here, but quests were one thing he understood. This man here achieved his goal by skill and perseverance, and therefore was worthy of respect.

"Thank you, thank you," Isidor the Explorer replied. "You have no idea how much it means to me. I'd like to dedicate this fox to my mom and my dad and a cewtain coyote..."

"Sorry to interrupt," Gaduria interrupted, "but your sack seems to be... on fire?"

"WHAT? NO!" Isidor watched in horror as his trophy burst into flames and the fox jumped out and ran away. In his shock for a moment he didn't register that the flames started to lick his hand too. When he did, he screamed, let go of the sack and stomped on it to put out the fire. Meanwhile the fox stopped, turned around, stuck out its tongue at the hapless explorer and disappeared into the bushes.

"Note to self: the fox can conjuwe fiwe," Isidor said to himself. "Get a fiwepwoof sack. Now back! To the labowatowy!" He departed without as much as a goodbye.

"What a strange person," said Arthaxiom.

"That coming from you means a lot," Gaduria replied.

"What do you mean?"

Gaduria sighed. The Hero's lack of understanding of common phrases was tiresome. "I mean that you are a strange person yourself."

"I am not!"

"Yes you are."

"No! I am a normal person, right, Alexander?"

"I'm with her on this one," the dwarf replied. "Unless by a normal person you mean an armoured madman roaming the countryside, slaughtering wildlife, using big words he doesn't understand, worshipping silly things, rescuing imaginary princesses..."

"It is called being a Hero!" Arthaxiom interrupted.

"Heroes aren't normal," Gaduria pointed out.

"That is true.. but you make it sound like it is something bad!"

"Not necessarily bad. I appreciate you rescuing imaginary princesses."

"And adopting stranded dwarves," Alexander added.

"But some things you do are quite silly."

"Like what?" the paladin challenged them.

"Like your speeches, for example," Alexander said. "These are the worst."

"I disagree," Gaduria said. "They are bad, yes, but challenging random wildlife to duels? Way worse. Not to mention him calling me names all the time."

"Oh. What was that rose thing yesterday?"

"Riveting red rose of Redhaven I believe."

"How dreadful! What's Redhaven?"

"How would I know? Sounds like some sort of city." They both looked at the paladin. He just shrugged.

"I still think his speeches are worse," the dwarf said.

"Maybe that's because he's not calling you a riveting rose."

"Maybe. Hey Arthaxiom, if you were to call me a flower, what flower would it be?"

"I do not know. You are not a fair maiden, therefore I cannot compare you to a flower."

"I see. Well, too bad you are a fair maiden, eh?" the dwarf asked Gaduria.

"Shut up, you rancid rhubarb of Redmond!"

-I-I-I-I-

General Roseduck was somewhat pleased. The first day of proceedings didn't accomplish much. The High Lords were recognised by the Master of Ceremony and managed to antagonise each other a bit, which wasn't any surprise. The Master of Ceremony wanted to do everything properly, Duke Thinoak wanted to get over with it, Baron Oxrabbit wanted to stop sneezing, everyone else also wanted the Baron to stop sneezing, and to get rid of the Baron too, preferably. Philigree threw jokes at everything that didn't run away. The Marquis didn't care. The General wanted the proceedings to continue fruitlessly for as long as possible and it seemed he would get his wish. An unplanned day of break was a nice touch too, and it even had earned him some respect from the Master of Ceremony, whatever good it would do.

On the third day of the proceedings they gathered in the Chamber of the High Lords once again. The Chamber was looking much better this time. The dust was gone, the drapes were clean. The potted plants had been exchanged for some that weren't shrivelled. The paintings were free of dust, so their contents could actually be seen. General Roseduck got interested in a one, which was portraying a big brown dog, probably a pet of one of the past Emperors. The really unusual thing was the dog's facial expression. Roseduck decided that the painting had to be called "A dog who swallowed a frog, got hit by a log, got lost in a fog and was contemplating suicide". It was a long title, but he felt that only this somewhat adequately described the contents.

"All right, last time we all made fools of ourselves, so be it," the Duke said before even the Master of Ceremony officially started the meeting. "But today let's all be mature and reasonable, let's select our new Emperor and let's get it over with!"

"Achoo!" the Baron sneezed.

"May the Lord of Light bless thy nose," Earl Gevenarius blessed him.

"Shut up!" the Count barked.

"No, you shut up!" The Earl wasn't going to allow the Count to bully him. Especially that in fact he was just a mere SemiViscount. "And stop oppressing my religious beliefs!"

"I SAID," the Duke rose, slammed his fist on the table and shouted, "let's be REASONABLE. IT IS CLEAN HERE NOW WHY ARE YOU SNEEZING?"

"It was a joke," the Baron said, gleaming with innocence. The Duke shook a fist vigorously at him, which in turn caused Philigree to start laughing hysterically.

"WHAT?" the Duke shouted again, "WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT?"

The Hiwelthadt pointed at something behind the Duke and kept laughing, unable to say a word. The Duke turned around, and the other lords left their seats to see better. What they saw was a painting of a cat in a hat.

"I fail to see what is so funny about this!" the Duke complained.

Philigree took hold of himself just for long enough to make a reply. "You were posing dramatically in front of this picture. When you lifted your arm, there was this silly cat peeking from behind you!" He surrendered to laughter yet again.

"What a dreadful painting," the Count judged. "The one who painted it must have been retarded."

"Ah, this must be the famous cat in a hat painting that my grandfather did," the Marquis spoke up. "Nobody knew what had happened to it, and here it is! By the way, Count, it seems you have insulted my dear grandpa. Prepare to die."

The Count was a bit flustered by the fact that he inadvertently insulted an ancestor of a fellow lord, but he quickly got over it. Being threatened had never agreed with him. "Bring it on, old man!" he growled.

"No! No killing! It is not allowed!" the Master of Ceremony shouted, while bravely positioning himself between the two. "Or at least wait until after the proceedings are over!"

"Heh. Don't worry," the Marquis said. "I was joking."

"Not funny," the Count said, looking at him nastily.

"Fooled you, eh? My grandfather would have never painted something that stupid."

"Well I should think so! It is unworthy of someone of this stature!"

"Yes, he painted only ferrets in berets."

"My point exactly, the whole point of being a noble... Wait, what?" The Count only now realised what the Marquis had said. He couldn't tell if he was joking again or not. The Marquis wasn't available for further inquiries, because he went back to his place, sat down, and his mind left this plane of existence once again. The other lords also returned to their seats, while pointing out various ridiculousnesses in the painting, and the Hiwelthadt was slowly running out of laughter.

When all was calm again, the Duke stood up again. "Now, shall we choose our new Emperor?"

"Not so fast, young man," the Master of Ceremony replied. "First I have to list all the eligible candidates, so that you know who are you choosing from."

"Very well, there can't be that many, eh?"

"Do not worry, young man, only forty-three of them."

"Now that is quite a few. Just list them quickly and we can start choosing. We don't have entire eternity, you know."

"The youth of today, so impatient. For each eligible candidate I need to summarise his biography, biographies of all his ancestors for three generations, and his closest connection to the Imperial Line."

"Three generations?" the Duke scowled.

"Why, yes, of course. You have to know ancestors of the one you choose, don't you think?"

"He doesn't even know his own," Philigree decided to annoy the Duke even more.

"Shut up, you spineless twerp with a stupid title!" It didn't take much to anger the Duke again. He was standing, red in the face, shouting and pounding the table with his fist. Philigree just shrugged and stuck his tongue at him. Now it was time for the Count to join in the fun. He stood up too, pointed at the Duke and started shouting himself.

"You shut up, you fat sack of whale lard! Who made you the boss here anyway?"

"Don't you dare disrespect me, you SemiViswhelp!" The Duke quickly redirected his wrath and got creative with the title. "I am the most senior noble here and you all know it!"

"The most overweight, maybe! I'd strangle you if your neck wasn't so thick!"

"A duel!" Baron Oxrabbit shouted and started chanting. "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

"I apologise, but duels between High Lords are strictly forbidden during the election period," the Master of Ceremony said.

"Nobody asked you!" the Count shouted.

"May the Lord of Light forgive your stupidity," the Earl chimed in.

"In fact, I am the most senior noble here," said the Marquis, as he returned to reality for a second, "but I don't mind. Please amuse yourselves."

"Most absent-minded, too," Philigree commented.

"I am very grateful that my mind is able to filter out your silliness," the Marquis replied and phased out again. Meanwhile the Duke and the Count continued shouting at each other.

"Fatass!"

"Peasant!"

"Overweight pig!"

"Good for nothing buffoon!"

"Godless heathens!" the Earl joined in.

"Heatless god-hens!" Philigree mimicked.

"This is jolly good fun, eh Roseduck?" the Baron said, seeing that the General didn't participate in hostilities. "Say something, don't feel left out!"

"Unfortunately, I am not versed enough in lordly ways to fully appreciate the subtleties, not to mention to participate myself," Roseduck replied.

"Yeah, he's a lowborn bastard and he knows it, at least he has enough decency to be quiet," the Duke said, demonstrating that his attention could be split between insulting many people at once. "So be quiet and don't encourage him!"

"At least he can ride a horse." It was the most witty retort the Baron could come up with, but it was enough to infuriate the Duke even more. He got so angry he couldn't say a word, instead he was just shrieking.

"Shut up, Thinoak! Stop spitting on the table!" The Count didn't appreciate the Duke's spittle being all over the place.

"No, you shut up!"

"You both shut up!"

"May the Lord of Light shut up all of you!"

"May the ceiling fall on all of you!"

"Oooh, a bunny!" the Marquis exclaimed. That immediately shut them all up. Seven pairs of eyes were looking at him with horrified surprise. "Oh. Sorry. Don't mind me, gentlemen. Wrong reality."

The Master of Ceremony just sighed.

-I-I-I-I-

It took them quite a few days to reach the cursed haunted forbidden cemetery of pain. It was getting dark when they arrived.

"We're here," Gaduria said. "Any idea when the full moon is?"

"Tonight, obviously," Arthaxiom replied.

"How do you know?"

"I do not. It is logical that it should be. After all, would it not be somewhat silly and unheroic to hang around here for a week or two?"

"Stop it, you two! Aren't we supposed to be scared or something?" Alexander somehow thought they should behave appropriately to the place.

"I am a Hero. I am no good at being scared. Sorry."

"I'm against being scared before anything scary happens." Gaduria was way too practical to shiver in fear just because she happened to be visiting a cemetery. Even if it was a cursed one. "Let's find a good place to wait."

They looked around. The cemetery was potentially scary indeed. Slightly crumbling, yet still distinctly recognizable gravestones. Dead or dying trees between them. Tall grass in which untold horrors could be lurking. Ominous shadows created by waning daylight. A badly notched signpost.

"Keep out," the dwarf read.

"Makes sense. It is a forbidden cemetery after all." Arthaxiom's logic was infallible as usual.

"I am afraid to ask this, but does it mean that we will also find out why is it haunted, cursed and of PAAAAIN?" Gaduria asked.

"I think we may."

"This will be fun."

They waited for sunset. The paladin waited by posing dramatically in the last rays of sun. He posed in front of tombstones, he posed threatening the trees, and his posing was being ignored. He also collected a few morbid flowers for Gaduria, which she graciously accepted and a bit less graciously threw away a moment later. The dwarf quickly got bored of pretending to be scared and started walking around, looking behind gravestones and poking the bushes with his trident. The princess sat on a gravestone and was getting irritated, mainly by the paladin's stupid poses and by Alexander constantly jumping in and out of the bushes. The gravestone she was sitting on wasn't too comfortable and there were no alternatives, which didn't help her mood either. Finally, it got dark.

"We should be quiet now and wait for the wolf to appear," Arthaxiom said. "That also meant you, Alexander," he added. "Could you please stop whatever you are doing and come wait in ambush with us?"

"But I think I found an ermine den!" the dwarf protested.

"What are you doing with that den?" Gaduria asked.

"Ummm... I'm sticking my hand into it... AAAAH! It bit me!" he screamed, got up and started sucking on his wounded finger.

"Serves you well. Why on earth were you sticking your hand inside it?"

"Touching an ermine brings good luck!"

"And being bitten by one brings rabies!"

"Be quiet, both of you!" Arthaxiom got irritated. "We are supposed to be ambushing, not quarrelling."

"I'd quarrel, but I have no crossbow," Alexander replied.

"Oooooooh!" something wailed. "That was a hoooooorrible pun!"

"Zounds! A ghost!" the paladin exclaimed and jumped back.

"No no no," Alexander disagreed. "I think it is a spectre. Spectres go oooooh, ghosts go more like aaaaaah."

"How do you know?" Gaduria asked.

"My grandma told me. I know all about incorporeal beings. Wights for example go uwaaaaaah and sometimes clank their chains, and wraiths..."

"Sorry to interrupt," the paladin interrupted, "but there is a ghost scaring us right now. Or a spectre maybe."

"Yeeeees! Be pooooolite and get scaaaared, will yooooou?" it wailed.

"I was recently almost sacrificed to... something, I guess." Gaduria wasn't really sure what they had been trying to sacrifice her to. "Also I talked to a giant deer, a snake with badger problems, and now I'm visiting an old cemetery with a Heroic lunatic and his hyperactive sidekick and you expect me to be afraid of something wailing at me?"

"I wanted to be scared but I got distracted," the dwarf replied. "Sorry."

"Daaaaaamn," the spectre wailed sadly and floated into plain view.

"You look like a dead man," Alexander said. It did indeed. Apart from being bluish, half-transparent and floating above the ground, it looked like a peasant. Slightly decomposing one. It even had a rake.

"Becaaaaaaause I aaaaam a deeeeead maaaaan!"

"Ah. Right. Sorry," the dwarf apologised again.

"Youuuuu aaaaaare forgiiiiiiiven. Leeeeeet's geeeeet tooooo buuuuuusineeeeeess noooooow," the peasant spectre wailed again. "Whyyyy doooo yooou distuuuuuurb ooooour cemeeeetery, moooooortals?"

"We are on a quest to stop the Valkyrie Wolf!" Arthaxiom exclaimed.

"Joooooooy!" the spectre wailed sadly.

"You are confusing me," Gaduria said. "You sound sad but you say you're happy?"

"Youuuuu tryyyy soundiiiing haaaaaappy wheeeen youuuu're deeeeead! Iiiii aaaaam haaaappy becaaaaause iiiiit's thaaaat daaaaaamn woooolf thaaaat preveeeents uuuuus froooom reeeeesting iiiiiin peeeeeeace! Iiiiit iiiiis theeee cuuuurse ooof theee woooolf!"

"So now we know why it is haunted and cursed," Gaduria said. "Now only 'of pain' is left."

"It is of PAAAAAAAAAIN!" Arthaxiom corrected.

"Weeee're in PAAAAAAAAAIN!" the spectre wailed.

"Yeeeeeeeees!" other wailing voices confirmed.

"And that ermine bite is quite painful too," the dwarf added.

"Stop being lame!" Gaduria demanded.

"But it is painful! Have one bite you and you'll see!"

"I'm not stupid enough to get willingly bitten by an ermine, thank you very much!"

"You will chase away the wolf by your bickering!" Arthaxiom berated them.

"Doooooon't woooooorry," the spectre wailed. "Heeeee liiiiikes aaaaaaudieeeenceeee."

"SheeeeeeeeEEEEE!" the wolf jumped on a nearby tomb slab and sang. She was a magnificent animal, twice as big as an usual wolf. Her silver fur shone in the moonlight. On her had there was a small horned helmet with two blond ponytails coming from underneath it. "I'm a female wo-olf, short and stout, here's my horned helmet, and here's my snout!" the Valkyrie Wolf sang and grinned.

"Noooooooo!" all the ghosts and spectres moaned and floated away. Unfortunately for them, they couldn't float too far away, because they were tied to the cursed cemetery. They knew that all too well, yet they tried to float away every time. Nothing better to do, really.

"Ow! My ears!" Alexander complained. Gaduria wasn't as scarce with words.

"That was the most weaseldamnawful song I have ever heard, and there were only two lines of it!"

"Slightly off-key, but not that bad," the paladin stated. As a Hero he was immune to bad singing. Heroes have to be, just in case some musically-challenged peasants sing about them.

"Why thank you, sweetie," the Valkyrie Wolf grinned at Arthaxiom. "As for the rest of you, I'll let you know I'm still in training. Practice makes perfect, you know! Thank you for being my test audience! Especially the newcomers, I see you came from afar just to listen to me!"

"Don't you see that these poor ghosts can't take it anymore?" Gaduria pointed out.

"Oh, they're just teasing! See how they like it!" The Valkyrie Wolf made a few strange-looking moves that were probably supposed to be some sort of dancing and sang again. "Never gonna beat you up, never gonna chase you down, never gonna eat your face and digest it! Never gonna chew your leg..."

Gaduria and Alexander covered their ears. The ghosts as being incorporeal couldn't do even that. The paladin didn't really mind.

"Kill it!" Gaduria shouted. "What are you waiting for?"

"I cannot kill a wolf for singing," Arthaxiom replied.

"Kill it for being a wolf then!"

"It is not a good reason..."

"Wolves are evil!"

"It is a female wolf, female wolves are not evil."

"Aaaargh! You have a quest, don't you?"

"Killing is not the only method of questing."

Meanwhile the Valkyrie Wolf finished her song. The paladin considered his options and got a flash of divine inspiration, or so he believed at least. It might have as well been a completely random thought. "You know, if you want to get even better, maybe you should seek some magical help?"

"Oh, I would, I would, but where to find it?"

"Well, I know a certain hermit, who might know about a certain artefact... and he might be musical himself, you never know! I distinctly remember he unleashed quite a melodious shriek when I surprised him."

"Oh that would be marvellous! Marvellous!"

"He lives in a cave in the Northern Wilderness."

"Splendid! And off I go! See you, sweetie!"

The Valkyrie Wolf vanished into the night like a phantom.

"That was... surprisingly mature of you," Alexander said.

"Thank you, my friend. Heroism has many facets."

"But shouldn't have you given a bit more detailed instructions? The Northern Wilderness is sorta large, you know."

"You cannot expect me to spend all night giving directions! I do not expect the Valkyrie Wolf to get lost. She will find her way."

"All right. But why the hermit?"

"He told me he knows where the Singing Axe of Heavens is. I was not interested, but the Valkyrie Wolf might be. I remember it well, because it sounded like a quest hook."

"Ah. The Singing Axe of Heavens. It is a common mistake. It's really the Swinging Axe of Heavens."

"Oh." Arthaxiom saddened rapidly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. My grandma told me so."

"Even if it is singing, not swinging, how do you expect a wolf to wield it, genius?" Gaduria pointed out. "And what is she supposed to do with it anyway? Sing in a duet?"

"Must you depress me so?" the Hero shouted in desperation.

"Wooooooorst. Queeeeest hoooooook. Eveeeeeer," the spectre moaned.

"Quiet, you!"