William struggled up the last of the ninety-nine steps to the throneroom
of the Dread Spire, his wheelchair left back at the bottom.  Dark overlords
tended to ignore things like the Americans with Disabilities Act.  At least
William's legs more or less worked, and the stairway was empty.
     He looked into the throneroom and was briefly taken aback by its
terrible beauty.  Pure, white crystal was everywhere, but carved into the
darkest of forms.  The vault of the room was a giant ribcage, with emaciated
figures struggling to find their way between the ribs.  The throne itself sat
in the palm of a tremendous skeletal hand, with more human-sized crystal
bones forming the arms and back of the seat.  And this was all lit from
everywhere and nowhere at all, so that every last horrifying detail was
clear.
     In that throne sat a pale figure dressed in the brighest of red hues,
his hair not so much flowing as dripping like heart's blood.  The Gentle Gift
of Crimson, he was the new master of this city.
     William staggered into the room and bent to kneel.
     "No," the Darklord waved a hand.  "You were bold enough to seek an
audience unbidden, it pleases me to do you the honor of letting you stand."
     Of course it did, William thought.
     "So...you seek to enter my service, young William?  Attain the power of
death that will let you overcome your poor lot in life?  Understand this
before you agree: you will NOT have power.  The power will have you.  You
will be merely an extension of my will, no more capable of disobeying me than
one of my own fingers is," he held up his left hand with a flourish.
     "I don't know, what fingers I have tend to disobey me once in a while,"
William held up an arm that ended in a single gnarled digit.
     The Gentle Gift of Crimson smiled indulgently, "My fingers are always
obedient.  As you will find out."  He lowered his hand and continued.
     "As one of my Exarchs, my tools in this world, you will be hated and
hunted by those who once pitied you.  You will get much of what you desire,
only to find it a hollow victory.  You will give me your utter loyalty, but I
will cast you aside with no qualms should it suit me.  Death will come
someday, but your service will never end.  Do you understand?"
     William paused, wishing he dared lean against something, or even sit
down.  The shaking in his legs was becoming almost uncontrollable.  "I
understand your terms, o Gentle Gift of Crimson.  But why tell me this now?
If you're trying to scare me off, the fact that I made it past those murals
in the stairwell should tell you that won't work."
     The Darklord laughed, and for all his bravado William felt his blood run
like icewater.  "Why do I have need of deception?  Lies are tools of the
weak, the cowardly.  I always tell the truth, because I can.  Because the
truth is always a more powerful weapon than any lie, in the right hands."
     He stood from the throne and walked over to where William swayed in
place.  
     "William, there are many souls in this city.  Why trick any of them into
my service when there are those who will enter into my bargain with eyes
open?  And if I desire a particular unwilling soul as my servant, mine is the
power to bend it to my will.  I have no need for subterfuge or deceit,
because of a very simple truth."
     He placed his hands on William's shoulders, and the weakness fled the
mortal man's often traitorous limbs.
     "Death always wins in the end."


@>-`-,-`-,-`-,`-,-`-,-`-,-`-     \\   //       -'-.-'-.'-.-'-.-'-.-'-.-'-<@
 .|,Coherent Comics Presents      \\ //        #5 - Stan et Stannum
--X-------------------------     E }X{ ARCHS      copyright 2002 by the
 '|`     A Superguy Tale          // \\        Dvandroid (Dave Van Domelen)
@>-`-,-`-,-`-,`-,-`-,-`-,-`-     //   \\       -'-.-'-.'-.-'-.-'-.-'-.-'-<@


     "Thurvak, who are these people?" demanded a tall, battle-scarred woman
as the drawf led the Exarchs into a camp circle.
     "Relax, Elysia," the dwarf replied, carefully setting his crude minigun
down by one of the logs serving as benches.  "Newbies.  Found 'em fighting
the Mu flanking force, they saved us some trouble."
     Elysia narrowed her eyes.  "Where are you from?" she asked Kat.
     "Far away," she replied, meeting the steely gaze.
     The woman snorted.  "Damn straight.  So far away you're not even from
the Lands."  She turned to the dwarf, who was ladling some stew out of a
large pot onto a wooden trencher.  "Thurvak, these 'newbies' have an aura
that screams 'not of this world.'"
     Thurvak snorted.  "Magic.  Bah.  They can fight, and they seemed to
figure out who to point their weapons at.  That's good enough for me."
     "Are you vouching for them?"
     "I guess."
     "Fine.  Then you get to fill them in on the situation.  I don't want
them running at their first sight of a construct."  With that Elysia turned
and stalked out of the clearing.
     "Friendly sort," Stan mused.
     "Ah, under that gruff exterior is a heart of pure firepowder," Thurvak
said around mouthfuls of stew.
     "So, what *is* the 'situation' we're supposed to be filled in on?"
Sig.Lad asked.  "Assume we have no idea what's going on."
     "Heh.  I always do.  But first, names."
     There was a pause.
     "Your names," Thurvak clarified.  "You know mine, I wanna know yours."
     "My companions are Kat, Anna and Stan," Sig.Lad pointed to each in
turn.  "You can call me," he paused for a moment.  "Sig.Lad" wasn't really
appropriate anymore, since he didn't have his connection to the Sig.Force
anymore.  But something told him that "Richard" no longer exactly fit anymore
either, although he couldn't say for sure why.  "Call me Skysabre."
     "Name makes you sound like an elf," Thurvak spat out a particularly
tough bit of gristle.  "But no matter.  Pull up a log and grab some stew, and
I'll give you the short form history of these parts."
     Everyone sat down, but no one seemed too eager to eat.  Especially since
they still had flecks of gore on their clothing from when Thurvak sawed their
captive Muan soldiers in half with his minigun.  After a moment, though,
Skysabre decided it would be impolitic to refuse the hospitality, and grabbed
a trencher and some bread, plus a dollop of the meaty mixture from the pot.
     "We call this area the Lands, which just shows how little imagination
our ancestors had," Thurvak opened.  "For the longest time, elves ruled
everything with their magic.  First it was just the forest elves, then the
dark elves joined the game, and finally a bunch of elves from both sides
figured out how to make constructs and founded the floating city of Mu, using
their magic to rule the Lands.  For us dwarves, and the humans too, it didn't
really matter much.  Just another bunch of overlords keeping us enslaved.  We
couldn't really rebel, because dwarves stink at magic and so do most humans.
Elysia's one of those rare exceptions.  So we just got to watch as the elves
fought over who would get to stick it to us.
     "Then a decade or so ago, things changed.  One of us dwarves figured out
how to make firepowder, and the humans worked out how to turn simple machines
into tools of war...we got our own constructs, in other words.  And we
quickly figured out how to combine the two and get guns," he patted his
rotary cannon.
     "Since then, it's been a bit of a mess.  Sure, we rebelled, but all that
did was upset all the delicate alliances and balances of power and so forth.
We're not enslaved so much now, but we die in droves as armies march across
the Lands.  And every few months, it seems like some new faction or race or
dragon or whatever pops up out of nowhere, making a bid for power."
     "At least you're fighting for justice," Stan said, hopefully.
     Thurvak snorted.  "Oh, I suppose the initial rebellion had some justice
about it, but it was mostly revenge.  And hoping to turn the tables so we
could send elves to the mines to support our rich lifestyle-to-be.  Idealism
dies fast around here, Stan.  And idealists die even faster.  And then they
come back as zombies controlled by the dark elves...easier to bring back a
body if the soul burns with some sort of passion."
     Then there was a crack of thunder in the distance and Thurvak leapt to
his feet, the remains of his meal scattering.  "Damn, just like those Muan
scum to interrupt a man's lunch!"  He grabbed up his cannon and gestured to
the others.  "Come on, there's a fight to be fought!  Oh, spak, I forgot to
tell you about constructs.  Run as I tell ya!"
     Everyone put down their food, grabbed their weapons and followed the
dwarf towards the danger.  
     "Mu's got magic constructs," Thurvak explained as he jogged along,
making better time than one would think given the burden of his weapon.
"They make 'em out of softer metals so they can shape 'em easier, then
enchant the things to be harder than iron.  So don't let the fact they're
made of tin or lead or whatever lull you into a false sense of security.  We
gotta make ours out of iron, so they don't look as pretty, but hey.  Most Mu
constructs are just close combat fighters, but lately more of 'em have been
fitted with either magic lightning guns, or even firepowder weapons...too
many damn traitors willing to sell our secrets for gold."
     They broke through the edge of the woods and saw the plain of battle.
Ragged formations of gunners on both sides were exchanging volleys, but the
humans were falling back before the advance of brass figures that flailed
about with huge mechanical fists.  They seemed to be moving too slowly to
have reached their current positions, though.
     The answer to that puzzle came soon enough as a monstrosity made of tin
hurtled through the air, landing on a knot of dwarven pikemen and cleaving
into them with a tremendous axe.
     "Spak on a stick!" Thurvak spat.  "They brought a war-lock!" he pointed
at a man at the rear of the Mu forces.  His skin had a golden hue, he wore
crimson robes and carried a golden staff, and a green gem pulsed on his
forehead.  "He's throwin' constructs like dice!  As long as he's around, we
can't just outflank the constructs."
     "Leave that to me, then," Skysabre pulled out his sword and summoned its
blade.  "Stan, pin down that cluster of gunners between me and the war-lock!"
     "You got it, boss," Stan hefted the fulminating rod they'd captured in
the previous skirmish.  "Let's see, how does this thing work..."  He was cut
off as a burst of greenish lightning spat out of the rod in response to his
thoughts.  "Ah, telepathic."
     Skysabre leapt into the air, bounding over half the battlefield in a
single arc.  Enemy gunners started targeting him, despite Stan's covering
fire.  They didn't seem surprised to see an enemy flying over them.
     He jumped again, and an arrow narrowly missed him.
     "That was fired from the woods!" Stan shouted.  "Kat, I need a
distraction so I can go after that sniper."
     "You got it," Kat extended her claws.  "That tin soldier looks about
right," she ran at inhuman speed across the field towards the axe-swinging
construct.  Apparently, someone trying to take on such a monster on her own
was more notable than a flying man, and the Muan gunners paused to look.
     Stan took advantage of this pause to race towards the small copse he'd
seen the arrow coming from.  He could hear the rending of metal as Kat tore
through the magically-reinforced construct, as well as the sizzling sound of
magical bolts hurled by the war-lock attempting to fend off Sig...well, he
was Skysabre now.
     Another arrow shot from the copse, creasing Skysabre's shoulder and
eliciting a gasp of pain.  The war-lock saw the opening and blasted the
Exarch with mystic flame.  No one else seemed to even have an idea where to
shoot in the trees to hit the sniper...which was probably a good thing at
this point, Stan realized.  He didn't really need random minigun fire raking
the woods while he was IN them.
     Stan fired his weapon, hoping to at least force the sniper to duck for a
moment.  Maybe he could set fire to some of the trees, too.
     He almost didn't manage to duck the arrow that came out of the woods at
him.
     "There you are," he snarled, spotting a bit of movement between the
trees.  He still couldn't get off a clean shot, but he was close enough he'd
be able to kick in the sniper's teeth in a few seconds.
     And then he was face to face with the man.  Well, elf.  The sniper wore
armor with plates formed from wood, which helped him blend into the trees.
He was hastily setting down a bow that seemed to be made from living wood,
and was tugging on a sword hilt, trying to clear it from the sheath.
     Stan smiled and pointed the fulminating rod at his opponent...who also
smiled, clearing the blade and disarming Stan in one smooth motion.
     "Such a gullible human," the elf chuckled, bringing the crystal blade
around for a killing strike.
     Stan desperately dove out of the way, reaching out and trying to grab
the elf's bow as he fell.  He knew he was too far away, but something about
it called to him.  More than just his desire to be armed.
     Then the bow moved of its own accord, slamming firmly into Stan's hand
as the crystal blade whistled overhead.
     "No!  You foul the sacred bow with your touch, stinking human!" the elf
shouted, swinging at Stan's legs.
     He rolled out of the way and came up in a firing crouch, an arrow from
his quiver already nocked.  He pulled and released, a sharp cheez arrowhead
piercing the elf's wooden armor both in front and in back.
     And then things got freaky.

     HOW FREAKY DID THINGS GET?

     WHAT HAPPENED IN THE REST OF THE FIGHT?

     WHERE'D ED GO?  [Sorry, out buying furniture. - Ed]

     CAN I HAVE SOME OF THAT STEW?

     Answers to some of these questions, and to questions that weren't asked,
and maybe shouldn't be asked, on the next...Superguy!

=============================================================================

Author's Notes:

     Hi, Alex!