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Chalon did as it was requested of him. Together they walked towards the graveyard. There were about 4 graveyards in the city. There were about 6 others in the outskirts as well. As was to be expected of a growing city, space had become somewhat of a premium. Those that could afford it had their families buried within the protective walls. Meanwhile, the others had to bury the dead outside the walls or in their back garden. It wasn’t illegal to burry your dead in the garden. It still wasn’t encouraged either. Whenever a family moved into one of such houses, it was common that the priest of Arasa would move both the families and their headstones to the outskirts of the city.

The graveyard Chalon was visiting was located to the west of the palace. To the east was the main barracks. This was the only graveyard that had heavy security. The Kings and Queens of Sassari were buried there, in addition to other people of noteworthy history. There were plenty of other graves, but the names were faded. A few only had very small plaques, instead of stone monuments.

Chalon came to the entrance. He noticed that both guards were sleeping standing up. Henri did too notice and was about to wake one up, when Chalon placed his finger to his mouth to urge him to be silent. Chalon placed his hand on the iron bar of the door. As it is tradition with all cemeteries, the door creaked. Chalon started opening it very, very slowly. Each time, he stopped to make certain that the guards had not woken up. One gave a big snore and woke himself up. He mumbled something, and then returned to sleep. He was half reclining against the bars, half reclining against his halberd. It wasn’t the most comfortable way of sleeping, but it worked just fine for a quick nap.  

Henri whispered shaking his head sadly, “I swear one of these days they are going to wake up dead.”

Chalon did not inquire why Henri had said this. He was still busy trying to silently open the door. When he did manage to slip in, he breathed in a sigh of relief. A couple of years ago, there was a douche who was in the habit of stabbing sleeping nightguards. He would only target guards who were alone. Ever since then, nightguards only bothered to let their guard down, when they were in pairs. Henri did have a partner, but he was visiting his little lover girl. He would not return to his patrol for another 2 hours.

This particular graveyard had climbing vines of many different types. The most prominent of the climbing vines were the blue crown passion flowering vines, the climbing hydrangea, the trumpet vines, the moonflowers and the sweet autumn clematis. As for the entrances, they were marked by bougainvillea flowers. The only spots not overgrown were the doors themselves. There was a third entrance door that led to the castle grounds. It laid hidden behind some overgrown hedge plants. The trimming in the gardens was done sparsely. Aside from the flowers, the graveyard had about eight paved paths. They all originated from the central house. All the graveyards faced the central house. Every so often, there was a tree, here and there. Some families who worshiped Ortisa had planted trees over the graves of their family members. They had grown with time. The trees varied in nature and design. The tree which usually called the most attention was an arbitrary palm tree. It was not native to the continent and it was the only one of its kind there. It was 100 feet tall and about 200 years old. The resident of that grave was unknown because the writing was not in English. We do know of the fellow. He came from the North, with one of the Silver Dragons. He went by the name of Philter Alby, and he introduced many herbs that are currently cultivated for the purposes of making potions. The palm tree was planted by his dragon master when Alby died of old age.

The grave keeper lived in a small manor in the center of the graveyard. He went by the name of Viktor Fodere. He lived in this house with his blind wife and youngest daughter. While he worked, the youngest would look after the wife. Since the lady was blind, she would from time to time be seen talking to people who were not truly there. This is not to say that she was unique in her perceiving dead people ability. This power was quite common in Saturnastra. About 1 out of 5 people had second sight. Still, most people chose to ignore the ghost. With enough willpower, they became unable to see them all together. If one was not in the necromancy business, talking to ghost was more of a burden, than an asset.

The manor itself had only one floor. It was a perfect square, with a flat roof, and six windows, with four doors all about. This design decision made it easier for Viktor to get around the graveyard. The doors of the house were flanked by flat, decorative columns. The burying of the dead itself was usually done by the family members, and other hired hands. Viktor’s job was to keep the monument’s clean and to fight off any would-be grave robbers. To this end, the aging Viktor was gifted a muzzleloader rifle. Rifles were not mass produced as of yet, only the bullets. The manufacturing of process of such weapons was a well-guarded secret in Veragerung.

Viktor did not take it out all the time. Instead he preferred his trusted crossbow. He was perusing the graves with his short crossbow strapped to his back. He saw Henri and he waved. Henri smiled and waved in response. He stopped a moment to look at his father’s grave. The monument featured a bust of the man. He was a marble reflection of Henri’s face. The main difference was that Henri did not sport facial hair of any kind.

Over the grave, there was a mort safe. Mort Safes were a type of iron cage that was designed to keep grave robbers from digging into a corpse. They were usually rented for some time till the body finally decomposed. Mausoleums were not in use in the Kingdom, though crypts were well regarded in some parts of the Kingdom. Veragerung had a crypt under the castle. The crypt was built like a labyrinth, and there were many fake rooms designed to trap trespassers. It was common to find dead graverobbers in those fake rooms from time to time.

This is not important for our current inventory. It just seemed like useful information. While Henri the nightguard analyzed his father’s grave, the undertaker studied Chalon. Viktor half remembered seeing a weirdo like Chalon from time to time in the market. Still, this was the first time had seen him with such a ridiculous outfit. The bold colors did not match the somber mood of the cemetery. Still, Chalon did have red in his clothing. Red was considered the color of mourning. The pike and shovel did not inspire Viktor too much confidence either.

It was not too uncommon for family members to raid their own family graves. This saddened Viktor, but necessity makes heretics of us all. This is at least what Viktor believed.

Henri eventually noted the flowers. They were all fresh. Henri was surprised by this fact. Visiting the graveyards was usually a family affair. It was done on his father’s birthday, and at the start of every month. Nothing invigorated the soul more than starting the month with a reminder of one’s own mortality. It was a sore spot for Henri, though he would never admit to it. Henri avoided talking about his father as often as he could.

This was not to say that his father was a bad man. He was the opposite. Henri eventually was compelled to ask, “Grandpa, you know everyone who visits the grave?”

“Yes,” said Viktor stoically. He was a short, somber man, with gray hairs, and a wrinkled face. His most striking feature were his clear green eyes. The way he spoke was part of the reason why people referred to him as Grandpa.

“Have my sisters or mother recently visited the graveyard?” asked Henri.

“According to the logbook, they come with you at the start of the month,” said Viktor.

Chalon vaguely remembered seeing a book prepped up on a stone podium at the entrance. He returned to it to sign his name and that of Henri. It was important to follow the rules of a cemetery before engaging in any necromantic business. This was part of the reason why all necromancers were known by name. If they worked their magic without gaining proper entry, then it was said that a Sphynx would attack them. This graveyard too had its titular sphynx. It was hidden away, surrounded by a couple of hedge bushes, and a baobab tree facing it.

The practice of having a Sphynx statue in the cemetery was a pretty ancient tradition. It predated the polar Gods. Nobody had ever seen the Sphynx in action, though superstition alone was enough to keep the necromancers in line. They could engage in their craft, under the condition of writing out their true name.

“Do you know the person who gifted the flowers to my father?” asked Henri.

“Yes, I know who is that person,” said Viktor.

“Well, tell that person thank you,” said Henri.

“You can thank that person yourself, Henri, for I am he,” said Viktor solemnly. Most people get in that sort of dour mood when being around the dead.  

“Thank you, Grandpa. Or should I say, Master Viktor,” said Henri bowing solemnly.

Viktor smiled and shook his head sadly. He said, “As long as I live, your father shall not want of flowers.”

“Did you know him?” asked Henri.

“Know him, he saved my life,” said Master Viktor, “I am forever in his debt.”

Henri felt a strong chocking sensation in his throat. He changed the subject by saying, “This weirdo is a gypsy, and he wishes to do some rites or another for his ancestor, or something. I don’t really get it.”

“Ah! A gypsy rite, you say. Well, I have not seen one in decades, may I observe?” asked Viktor.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” wrote Chalon.

“I am old, and do not sleep much, so no. I haven’t anything that peaks my interest at the moment,” insisted Viktor.

“Do as you will then,” wrote Chalon.

The trio walked among the graves. Eventually, they found a spot that had a small plaque. Based on the gravel before the plaque, it seemed like it had a monument a long time ago. The name on the plaque was faded away. Chalon using our past Observations knew the name of the dead fellow. He went by the name of Damian Wajs. The first thing Chalon did was remove his hat. He then took out from it an elegant monument. It was a perfect rendition of the man dressed like a Harlequin. On his hand, he had his signature weapon a rapier.

The ghost man was still not budging. Chalon adorned the statue with a bouquet. He then drew a pentagram using the animal bloods he had collected. The scent of it caused the nearby spooks to rise. They returned to their sleep when they noted that the attention was being offered to another. Like us, Chalon did not know too much about the dead fellow. According to stories passed down from generation to generation, Damian had fought for the rights of the homeless. He was part of the reason why in Sassari, the homeless population received such a mild treatment. In other holds, they were commonly bothered by the locals. Some unfortunate enough to be crazed, were even publicly humiliated, or even beaten to death. Sassari was one of the few cities were the killing of a homeless person was criminalized.

Aside from his social works which he was best known for, Damian was an actor. He spouted his message of political justice for the unfortunate on stage, while dressed like a clown. He eventually met his early demise in the same way as the people he tried to defend.

As for our information, we have scarce data of those old days. We only recently started paying attention to the happenings of this world and its locals. According to the auria master, Damian was registered as a Sleeper, and not as a dead person. Arasa had tried to make him pass on to the next life, but Damian had not budged. He was still active in the world, but only in the form of dreams. Sleepers tended to have a very tacit interactions with the physical world.

To try to make him rise, Chalon brought out a metal cup with some pennies. He rattled it a little to illustrate that he needed money. A couple of nearby spooks peered their heads over their graves. They frowned when they noted that it was the same douche from before.

Viktor rose an eyebrow and commented to Henri, “Is that supposed to do something?”

“Dunno. Aside from the blood, he hasn’t done anything all too awe inspiring,” said Henri somewhat disappointed.

Chalon levitated his chalkboard to writer, “Yes, yes, do go on and talk of me, as if I was not paying the least amount of attention.”

“We meant nothing by it, but what are you trying to do?” asked Viktor.

“I am trying to wake up a corpse. What does it look like I am doing?” wrote Chalon.

“Usually, one finds the graves opened, and the corpses mutilated. You could try that,” suggested Henri.

“Doing it like that way won’t awake the real deal, just their negative emotions. Sure, one can channel that to achieve a type of effect, but in the end, the real deal will always be more powerful,” explained Chalon.

“Mmm… interesting,” said Viktor folding his arms. He looked up into the night sky, but he was not truly looking at the moons, or the stars. Rather he was using them as a point of contemplation, for his meditation on the immortality of the crabs.

The following thing Chalon tried was the nails on the chalkboard. This did fully wake up other spooks, but not for long. One did materialize completely in the form of a moody revenant. This spirit gave his angry intention flesh. Viktor and Henri did not seem too perturbed by it all. The ghost looked at the three with burning, eyes. It eventually landed its gaze on Chalon. It took the chalkboard and smashed it against Chalon’s head.

Chalon rubbed his head, and then he wrote in one of the fragments, “You are no fun…”

The spirit returned to its grave to continue its restful sleep. Usually to wake a ghost, one had to do so as one would do any regular fellow. The thing that used to wake the spook a lot while they lived, still worked when they were dead. This was part of the reason why nobody in Viktor’s house was allowed to slam doors. It always got the few remaining ghosts all riled up. Whenever this occurred by accident, it was common for books to fall, for furniture to levitate, and for the people in the house to get ghosts screaming in their face at inopportune time. It got old after a while. Like the wailing of a fat baby, Viktor’s family had learned how to tune it out.

Evil people rarely produced ghosts. They had fulfilled all their desires in life, and so when death grazed their doors, they usually died contempt, with a smile painted on their face. Those that did try to bother the living were usually exorcised by the priests of Arasa. In Arasa’s realm, they would wander about and become exhausted till they were weak enough for the Death God to consume their freewill. Without a freewill, the ghosts became powerless.

Chalon was thoughtful for a moment. He was looking through the list of things that normally awoke people up. It was then when Chalon struck upon and idea. He brought out a dagger and he released it from its satchel. It was this which caused the spirit awake. Despite the spirit being awake, it was not rising. It was just observing Chalon to see what he would do next.

Chalon reached into his hat and brought out an archlute. He then played a single note. The eyes of the spirit closed a little bit. Chalon played another note, and the spirit became more restful. To Viktor and Henri, it seemed like Chalon was playing music while looking at the ground.

Viktor commented, “Wouldn’t it be easier if you dug up the dead?”

“It depends. It might not make much of a difference if the person was cremated,” suggested Viktor.

Indeed, Damian had been cremated. The urn buried beneath the ground had his ashes, and that of four other fellows that had also been cremated while still alive. Chalon proceeded to pluck at the archlute, only that he played it with an emphasis on dissonance, instead of harmony. There was not a single cord that complimented the other.

The spirit closed its eyes. It was making a deliberate effort to tune out all the outside noises. It sunk a bit deeper into the soil, but not too much. Spirits who sank too deep into the earth, tended to fall into the Palace of Creation. That place was far too busy and mysterious in order for spooks to have a peaceful sleep. Chalon switched instruments. He tried this time using a citole. He plucked at the strings a little. This time he tried to have a little bit of a harmony.

The spirit instead of waking became more relaxed. Slowly, Chalon dug his shadow deep into the soil. His shadow then grabbed hold of Damian and brought him to the surface shacking him.

Annoyed, Damian spoke in a strange language. He was still not solid enough to be seen in the physical world. Still, both Viktor and Henri made an effort to see Damian, and so they were able to. They were not able to however to understand what Damian was saying. Chalon wrote a message in Damian’s native tongue using a new unbroken chalkboard. Before English became the norm, people in this region had their own languages. Damian spoke a language called Pazeh. During the terraforming period, the auria master of the world tried different projects per continent. The theme of this one was diversity when it was first initialized. When the project began, the locals spoke about 150 different languages, with some 150 dialects. Overtime, languages eventually died as people mixed and blended with one another. Before Berthame unified the continent, there were about 27 languages and 13 dialects. The language spoken in Sassari during the time of Damian was Manx.

This is not to say that languages remained pure, from their inception. The Pazeh spoken by Damian was a little odd. Damian asked, “Pray do tell, for what purpose do you disturb my peaceful slumber?”

Chalon wrote, “There is a war and we need you to pitch in.”

“Pitch in? I do not understand,” said Damian.

“Help out,” wrote Chalon.

“Out, with what?” asked Damian.

“With the war,” wrote Chalon sighing.

“There is always a war,” said Damian.

He grew a bit more solid and somber as he said this. He went from an amorphous spirit, into something a little bit more humanoid looking. His face was normal looking however, though pale, like the marble bust placed over his grave. He looked at his bust, and he frowned.

Damian then said, “Who is this man?”

“That’s you,” wrote Chalon.

Damian looked at the bust incredulous. His ghostly visage contorted into a frown. He was slowly appearing a little bit livelier. He then looked at the Henri and Viktor, before asking, “And they?”

“They are your relatives. Henri is a descendant from your niece and Viktor descended from your half-brother,” wrote Chalon.

I am not certain if this is true or not. Still, one can easily decipher people’s blood relations based on trace evidence. It was indeed that both these fellows were of gypsy descent. Still, the bloodline had gotten diluted somewhat over the past 200 years or so. Not everyone belonging to the gypsy folk were keen on the nomadic life, not that it was their choice to begin with.

Henri yawning, said to Viktor, “I am going back to my rounds. Holler if things get dangerous.”

“Before you leave, can you get the small chair in front of the back garden?” asked Viktor.

“If I must,” said Henri not too amused. He left toward the house to fetch the chair.

Meanwhile, Chalon was trying to reason with Damian. Damian had just said, “I am glad to see that my bloodline persists. During the purge, I was half afraid everyone had been rounded up and burned at the stake.”

“Nope, just you. The rest decanted, and they got to live,” explained Chalon.

“And what happened afterwards?” inquired Damian.

“They all lived happily ever after under the yoke of Blood Red,” wrote Chalon, “He brought order, made roads, unified the coinage, made temples, hospitals, public baths, the works.”

“Huh!?” said Damian thoughtful. He sat down on the floor as he remembered. In the end he said, “I guess you cannot believe everything you hear.”

“Only fools do so,” wrote Chalon.

“How do I know you are not lying to me?” asked Damian.

“Because ghosts are immune to lies,” wrote Chalon. This was indeed a big lie. Even in death, people can still lie to you. The only way to be immune to it is to have the Curse of Berserk. The curse is an endemic problem in this continent. It is passed on through the blood and spirit. Telepathy also helps. Still, telepathy doesn’t work on magic users. The curse does work on them, however.

“If you say so,” said Damian not too convinced.

By now, the Henri had brought the chair for Viktor. Viktor sat down on it, and he rested his head on his hand. Henri said to him, “Try not to fall asleep. You may just as easily die from exposure out here, Grandpa.”

“Perhaps,” said Viktor, “You better return to your shift, otherwise Robert will give you a serious talking to.”

“Yes, yes,” said Henri yawning.

He looked at the night sky and noted the time. It would soon be midnight. Chalon too looked up, but not for the same reason. He missed seeing his little brother Ahi perched up on the Titan moon. The thought of him up there made Chalon feel closer to home.  

He turned to Damian and wrote, “You must help us. The King is dying of old age, and there is going to be a power struggle. It will be nomads like your family that will be the real victims caught in the middle.”

“I certainly do see your point, but couldn’t they just return home?” asked Damian.

“There is no longer a home to return to,” wrote Chalon sadly.

“What became of it?” asked Damian.

“What become of every place over the course of two centuries. While some places thrive, others fade away. Others change till they became unrecognizable. The point is, does it matter?” wrote Chalon.

“It may not matter to you, but it matters to me,” insisted Damian coming closer.

Chalon thought a moment. The Ultimate Weapon said to him, “Your guess is as Good as mine.”

One of the Observers messaged to Chalon, “Ask him were the town is located?”

“Were is your town located?” asked Chalon.

“It is up North. By the foot of the Tower of Zuberus,” said Damian.

“Oh, that old place. It’s been abandoned. The Tower is the only place that is still occupied,” wrote Chalon.

“I see,” said Damian looking down. His spirit lost some of its willpower, and thus it became more less solid. He added, “Other than the wizards, has nobody else tried living there?”

“Well, the mages tend to ward away any visitors. Magic is no longer cool. Even as a fishing town, it is not viable. The reefs bleached and died. So, there are barely any fishes there to be caught,” wrote Chalon.

“I don’t understand, there must be a way for the wizards to get supplies,” insisted Damian.

“Caravans and teleportation magic,” wrote Chalon.

“More the pity,” said Damian taking a few steps back to face his own bust.

“Will you help us?” wrote Chalon.

“If I must, but first I wish to know if you are worthy,” said Damian growing completely solid.

In his revenant form, he sported a Lamellar like armor one top of a red overcoat, with black pants and iron boots and gloves. The sword he used was a scimitar. Chalon shook his head sadly. The fool was already onboard, and yet he wanted to do a duel. Chalon blamed it on bad influences from the other corpses. It was common among summons to require a duel as part of the contract. This failsafe was done to prevent being compelled to work for an evil doer. Depending on the affinity of the summons was the effort they put into the battle. If Chalon wanted to get the strongest affinity, he had to force Damian to take things seriously.

Before accepting the duel, Chalon relieved himself over Damian’s grave. Viktor did not see this because he had indeed fallen asleep. Chalon then spat on the false idol of Damian. He then took some paints and decorated the man like a clown. Damian watched this display somewhat bemused.

Finally, he said, “Is this an insult? Or are you just a crazy person.”

In response, Chalon removed his glove and swatted at Damian’s face. Since the display had removed some of Damian’s battle lust, he was no longer solid. Chalon wrote, “I am trying to raise your affinity, by increasing your anger towards me. This will make our bond stronger, and it will make you stronger when you decide to throw us a bone.”

Still bemused, Damian said, “There are better ways to anger a person. Your method just seems, infantile.”

“What do you suggest?” wrote Chalon.

“A couple of decades ago, I saw a similar stunt done to another fellow grave dweller. The necromancer butchered a bunch of animals on top of the gravesite, that got the fellow in a fit. Especially when it came time to put the cat to the sword,” said Damian.

“I don’t want to hurt a cat,” wrote Chalon, “I rather pester you using inanimate objects.”

“You could try to insult me,” said Damian.

“Not really my thing,” wrote Chalon.

“This is all very silly,” said Damian a little bit frustrated.

“You could just sign the contract, and we could call it a day,” wrote Chalon.

“No, the ritual must be done correctly. Otherwise my powers will be limited,” said Damian, “I have seen this happen before.”

Damian came to the sleeping Viktor. Shacking him by the shoulder, Damian made the old man awake. The poor man awoke with a start, somewhat disoriented. He swiftly punched Damian in the face, as he normally did whenever a spook was doing the jump scare thing. Damian was taken aback a bit. Somewhat confused he said, “Is it supposed to hurt?”

“Well, the spirit does reside inside the body. With enough intentionality, a physical being can empower his spirit to harm a ghost,” explained Chalon.

“Huh,” said Damian genuinely surprised.

Damian said to the old man, “Do you understand what I am saying?”

In response, Viktor ignored Damian. In part, because he did not speak the language. Viktor settled in his chair to tune out what Damian was saying.

Annoyed, Damian said to Chalon, “Tell me. Does this man speak as I do?”

“Nope,” wrote Chalon, “He speaks…Angles.”

“Angles you say,” said Damian thoughtfully. When he was small. Damian had learned the language but had forgotten most of it from lack of usage. Language is an innate ability of ghosts. Gathering his power, a bit, Damian was able to conceive himself speaking English. Back in the old days, English was known as Angles.

Damian shook the old fellow. This time he said, “I wish to partake in a rational, civilized conversation, if that is only agreeable with you.”

With such a polite introduction, Viktor was compelled to answer, “I do not make it a habit of talking to my tenants.”

“How so?” asked Damian.

“You speak to one, and that encourages the others. Given enough time, and the tenants will spend more time bothering you, than going about their business. First and foremost, this is my livelihood, not my vocation. IF you wish to converse, then go to the temple grounds,” suggested Viktor.

“The priest do not wish to talk. Rather, they would rather we get taken away, lets we pollute the world of the living with our petty woes,” said Damian.

“Make it brief then,” said Viktor.

“We are trying to build my fighting spirit. Tell me of an injustice in the world, so that I might be inspired to tear this fool, limb from limb,” explained Damian.

Viktor was thoughtful for a moment. He then said, “A prostitute is the ruler of our great city.”

“That’s terrible. Never in all my centuries have I heard such a disgusting thing,” said Damian pacing up a bit.

Chalon meekly wrote, “My people have nothing against it. If people want to pay for her services, what does it matter? It is not as if the money she makes goes to waste. The lady built public housings and reformed the justice system. And those, who are mean to homeless people receive a swift punishment. The lady you have the gull to judge is a just ruler.”

After reading Chalon’s reasoning, Damian deflated somewhat. Shaking his head sadly, Viktor said, “I thought you wanted me to anger your silly ghost friend, so that he could kill you? Frankly, there are easier ways to commit suicide.”

“I am not trying to die. I am trying to fire up his spirit. It won’t do if he doesn’t give it his all in this duel,” wrote Chalon.

“I frankly do not care,” said Viktor, “I just want you to finish your business, and be gone. I miss the days when you could arrest people for being mildly bothersome.”

“Did this injustice really occur?” inquired Damian.

“Yes, La Imperia’s mother was a real loon. People had to walk on tiptoes around the court, lets they suffer the wrath of the queen. She was quite unlike her daughter, a real regal lady,” said Viktor.

“What was her idea of a punishment?” asked Damian.

“Since she saw her courtesans as a type of commodity, she would punish them by having them suffer cold or heat,” said Viktor.

“How does that work exactly?” inquired Damian.

“I do not know. I was a child back then. This is just what my father said to me,” said Viktor.

“For heat, they put you near the fire to make you sweat till you pass out. For cold, they put you in a cold room without clothing, and then they throw cold water from the well to make you shiver,” wrote Chalon.

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” said Damian stoically.

Chalon obtained some memory fragments from when we were slaves. He analyzed the sensations of our forefathers. He mouthed the words, “You are an ass!”

Instead of saying this, he wrote, “How do you feel about dogs?”

“Indifferent,” said Damian.

“Cats?” wrote Chalon.

“They should all be destroyed,” said Damian chuckling. He had already switched back to his native tongue.

He turned to say something else to Viktor, but he noticed that the old man was pretending to be asleep.

It was by this point that Chalon had realized that Damian was not in the mood for contracts or affinity. He just wanted to chat, like some attention starved fool. As far as conversation went, Damian wanted to talk for the hell of talking. This is something we do not do. All our conversations have a purpose. If not, we go on with our life. There is like a billion of other activities more amusing then chitchatting.

It was then when Chalon had a most singular idea. He started writing as thus, “You see that old man over there?”

“Yes,” said Damian.

“What would you do if he suddenly dropped dead on you?” asked Chalon.

“I would look for a healer to fix him up,” said Damian flatly.

“There is a limit to how much a healer can do for you. Healers cannot cure old age,” wrote Chalon.

“I suppose,” said Damian somewhat deflated.

“What if I told you that there is already a cure for old age?” wrote Chalon.

“Alright, go on,” gestured Damian.

“What if I told you the cure was in the hands of the creators of this world,” wrote Chalon.

“The Gods giveth, the Gods taketh away,” said Damian philosophically.

“You are not understanding me. I wrote creators, not Gods,” wrote Chalon, “What if I told you, that you were a little monkey inside a cage too stupid to realize that you are in a zoo.”

Damian was silent for some minutes. He was letting the information Chalon had offered him to sink in. Telling key information to spirits doesn’t really matter too much. Nobody takes the dead seriously. Even if he were to reincarnate, memories do not pass on from spirit to spirit. The new persona builds up upon the old one, like adding a new layer to an onion. This is why ghosts only remember their previous life, not all the other ones that came before.

Chalon noticed an interesting effect on Damian. Part of his face peeled back a bit. The eye beneath was a different color. The hair had changed to blonde as well. When he spoke again, his voice was that of a lady. The spirit said, “This is no more idle chatter…and how do you know so much.”

“Because I am a zookeeper. We care for the animals and their little habitats. We take recordings of them and sell them to other planets for our own profit and amusement,” wrote Chalon.

“Recording,” said the spirit not familiar with the word. The face peeled back completely. A smile painted on her face. The language she spoke now was now  Spanish, “Ah, yes, recordings for the internet. I remember…that I, yes…it seems almost like a faraway dream.”

“Do you wish me to continue explained your situation?” inquired Chalon.

Damian did not respond.

“Yes. We have a cure for old age, and most diseases, but we do not apply the cure because it is not beneficial to us,” wrote Chalon.

This statement caused a decent amount of layers to peel back. He was saying the nasty version of what we were up to. If it were up to us, we would have everyone live till doomsday, but that would deplete the natural resources and create stagnation, as seen within the elf society. It is important to keep things fair and balanced to have a healthy normal world. This is at least what the auria master thinks. He is the true foreman of our little factory project. The truth of the matter is that mass producing magic users is easier said than done, even with all our advances in Eugenics.

I suppose it is an uphill battle to try to science magic users into being. The next thing the spirit said was done in a child’s voice. It said, “Is there no way for us to leave this zoo?”

“You are welcome to try,” wrote Chalon, “Just go to the forest of beginning when the Titan and the Hyperion moons are aligned. When this occurs, the veil opens. You can either dig down or fly out of the planet. If you fly out, you will probably get kidnapped. IF you dig down, you will probably get eaten. The outside Universe as it is now is not a place for the weak.”

The face peeled one last time. It was by this point that Chalon was genuinely surprised, and the little Observer child making the recording was amused too. The face the spirit chose to manifest was no longer human. He was one of our good Draconian pals, with the cute dragon face, the gecko eyes, the horns, and the minute wings, and the short tail. The Draconian brought his hands to his face and emitted a low moan that echoed through the graveyard and the world of the living.

“Why? Why did you make me remember? Why, when I only desired to forget?” asked the draconian.

Chalon forgetting to write things down said with his psychic powers, “I did not make you remember anything. All I wanted was for you to sign this summoning contract. How was I supposed to know you were an Earthling?”

Draconians, Reptilians and the Humans all came from planet Earth. The latter two had to head for space because of a meteor. According to their records, it was summoned by the only magic user in Draconian society. Other records claim it was the doing of a Reptilian. The entire incident caused a friction between the two super advanced races. Middle, middle, middle. They left the Solar System and moved to a nearby System that had two Earthlike Planets. It was only later when the Draconians got curious enough about Planet Earth and they returned to find the humans going about human business.

This is all ancient history that requires no further elaboration. The Draconian made a face that resembled a smile. He said, “Contract you say?”

“You know, for summoning and battles, and all that sort of nonsense,” said Chalon.

“We must battle first them, as per the rites of this ancient ritual,” he added, “Are you not afraid?”

“There is no reason to be afraid anymore,” said Chalon, “Cancer is no more. Life can finally be allowed to exist.”

“My people abandoned magic. They thought it would be enough to bury the craft, forever. To live under the yoke of Cancer,” said the spirit, “I never would have imagined that one day, it would all be over.”

“Meh…Nothing lasts forever,” said Chalon, “Though given that it took an eternity or two I can see why it felt like forever.”

The rest of the pieces of the spirit peeled off. There was no more pollution from the previous lives. He was his original self again, his true self. The spirit that was formed to go inside the vessel of a draconian. The draconian extended his hand. He said, “Shall we duel little one?”

“Yes,” said Chalon shacking the scaly hand.

Chalon felt the rushing of water. He saw the distortion of the lights, as he was taken inside the inner world of the draconian. Inside, he saw the world that the draconian imagined. It was Earth back when the draconian was alive. There were the dinosaurs as well, but in the middle of the jungle shone a spire obelisk. It was common for draconian and reptilians to build upwards, in order to limit the amount of damage done to the nearby environment. All in all, there were about 57 Obelisks all over the world. Their heights varied, depending on the solidity of the ground, and the age of the construction. The one Chalon was looking at was about 3312 meters. This measurements were provided by the little Observe trailing Chalon. His name was Wendigo. He always showed an interest in architecture. He was roaming the cemetery when he saw Chalon being taken into an auria. It is protocol that at least two people enter aurias. Since Chalon lacked a pair at the moment, it fell upon Wendigo to follow.

The Reptilian structure was almost as tall as Red Slate Mountain, from Sierra Nevada. Why am I using as comparison a mountain that no longer exists? Well, because it is quite a photogenic mountain. A lot of auria masters use this mountain for their little worlds. The eastern side has a very nice-looking lake. Now back to the auria. The building itself was made of a magnesium alloy. The alloy was composed of magnesium, silicon carbide and palladium. The foundation and lower levels were forged out of lonsdaleite. According to ancient records, lonsdaleite had to be acquired in the asteroid belts. This mineral was not natural occurring on planet Earth.

Just from the blue exterior of the tower alone, it looked like quite the impressive structure. The Draconian was not there, however. His home was located in a dense jungle. Chalon flew over the Cretaceous landscape. From time to time, he stopped to admire the dinosaurs. While there, he saw the Aegyptosaurus, the Velociraptor, the Tanius, the Shuvuuia, the Nomingia and the Citipati. Chalon was already familiar with these creatures. The Reptilians and Draconians had a lot of digital records from the old days.

Located on top of a mound overlooking a valley, the house of the Draconian spirit was an upside-down pyramid. The pyramid surface was made of glass known to us as SAM2X5-630. The material itself was good old-fashioned iron, zapped with electricity. It formed a glass sheet, instead of a dull type of metal. It has a certain elasticity to it. When dropped, it bounces. The glass was designed to reflect nature. Thus, the person in the exterior could look outwards, but those outside could not see within. In the garden, there was a collection of large round stones. Each depicted a constellation. The interesting thing about them is that the Constellation arrangement was the same used by the humans millions of years later.

It was the middle of the day, and the pyramid face the sun. Beneath its shade slept a utahraptor. They were the larger cousins of the ever-popular velociraptors. We have been doing polls to see if we put dinosaurs into circulation on Saturnastra. Their development has already been approved. All that remains is to terraform the perfect ecosystem for them. There are some ecosystem where they could thrive, but there are intelligent beings in the mix. The locals might actively wipe them out, if not careful or the latter might occur. This is all a work in progress.

Chalon saw the Utahraptor who regarded him with suspicion. At least Chalon imagined that the feathered dinosaur was suspicious of him. The window of the bottom of the pyramid opened. Chalon flew inside followed by Wendigo. Wendigo got for us some shadowy paintings. It was the interior details that were a bit sketchy. They kept changing nature as the Draconian tried remembering it. There were a few items that were permanently solid. Certain memories touch the soul, while others are ephemeral. It is usually the bad memories that scar the soul the most. One of those scars was a painting Chalon saw beside the entrance of the clear elevator. It had defined in grey orbs the constellation of Cancer. The rest were patterns of colors all in swirls. The style of the other alternating paintings reminded Chalon of the works of Joan Miro. Instead of a canvas, the paintings were done on reverse glass. The paints had a glistering nature to them, and the pigments were mixed with Casein, a type of milk protein.

The elevator took Chalon to the top floor. Along the way, he had a peripheral view of laboratory looking type of places. There was a room that had several hanging, clear glass panels. The rooms were all wide and open, with no clear delineation between each theme. There was plenty of plants near the windows. Those in the last floor seemed to have been producing fruits. Some of the plants had flowers. This room were the Draconian was waiting for Chalon was covered in bees. There were also some pretty nifty looking butterflies, with warm orange color, and large black eyes on their wings for decoration.

The draconian spirit was quiet and pensive. When he heard Chalon arrive, he said not turning around, “I have been thinking quite a bit.”

“I don’t recommend it,” said Wendigo to the draconian, “There is nothing to be gained from ruminating on the path.”

The draconian turned around and saw little Wendigo. Straining his memory a little, he said, “Ah, yes. You are one of those little recorders. You did not exist during my time, for there was no need. We each knew what the other was expected to do, and we acted accordingly.”

“We can’t all be tools,” said Wendigo.

Chalon pouted, noticing that the little observer was stealing the scene. Remembering his training, Wendigo moved back a pace to get different camera angles of Chalon and the draconian conversation.  The draconian asked the pertinent question, “What happened to Ilaya?”

Ilaya was the ancient name the draconians used for planet Earth. In answer to his inquiry, Chalon said with his mind, “It’s gone.”

“Because of the meteor?” asked the draconian.

“Nope. The Earth has historically been able to handle a lot of abuse. It even survived more or less in one piece when the moon was shot at the planet at the speed of light,” explained Chalon.

“How? Why?” asked the draconian genuinely curious. As a result of this little story, the exterior changed. It showed the moon crashing into the planet.

“It’s a long story, and it is close to bedtime. I do not want to spend my entire week telling you the entire history of our people,” said Chalon.

“Did what I did at least help?” asked the draconian.

“Who knows? Those things no longer exist. So, there is not an easy answer to your question,” said Chalon, “As far as the universe is concerned, you are a mad draconian who killed off all the dinosaurs.”

“Huh? I see. That is most unfortunate,” said the draconian.

Chalon reaching under his sleeve, he brought out a bone. He asked, “Is this you?”

The draconian looked at the fossil over the top. He said thoughtfully, “If I were to hand you human skull, would your ghost self be able to recognize it?”

“Yes,” said Chalon, “People can easily recognize all the clothing they have ever worn.”

“I do not know what I am supposed to do,” said the draconian.

“Whatever comes naturally for you,” said Chalon, “Though I must warn you. If you try to drop a meteor into this new world, it is not going to work.”

“I think it would be better for me to return to sleep. Regardless of whatever face I wear, at the core, I am still the same fool,” said the draconian.

“You will be a fool if you choose inaction. There are entire worlds filled with Sleepers who have turned their back on existence. I do not blame you, if you so desire to dream, as long as you do not force others to follow on your path,” said Chalon.

The draconian was silent for a bit. He then said with his face cracking a little bit, “Now I understand.”

“You understand what?” asked Wendigo.

“Nothing, it is no longer important,” said the draconian.

He held out his hand and a mask appeared. He placed it over his face, and it warped into the face of Damian. His body features regained some humanity to them. Though he kept the wings and the tail. As Damian he said, “My soul is ready.”

Chalon brought out the copy of the Death Scythe. He swung it at Damian who moved back a bit thinking it was a battle. He was a bit slow on the dodge, and so the tip of the scythe struck him right on the forehead. Since at that moment, Damian had his strongest willpower the magical duplicate of the Death Scythe resurrected him. This was not what Damian had it mind. As for Chalon, he was instructed to resurrect any magic user he could. The Death Scythe technically can resurrect any fellow. This being a sprite copy. It only has a certain number of charges. One would think that Chalon would have used it all up already. Despite being here for almost two decades, Chalon had not been able to make usage of the Scythe, not even once. Regardless, he initiated all the affinity battles by giving a good whack at the ghost with the scythe. In total, the Scythe had 37 charges left. It could only gain more by drawing power from the original. The original had been lost when the entire planet Earth went caput. It had first been discovered in the crater left when the moon was shot against Earth. It was found in an ancient graveyard, surrounded by ghosts waiting to be revived. Nobody knows who or what created this weapon against death.

As for Damian, the shock of the resurrection caused the auria to collapse. Chalon and Damian were back in the graveyard. Damian did not return in the flesh of a human. Rather, he was a binary fusion of a human and a draconian. His body was a mirror image of what Chalon had seen in the auria. Why he had returned as so was a matter of some speculation. There were plenty of records of the workings of the Death Scythe. Since his people were present oriented type of souls, there was not a lot of deviation when they were revived. It seemed that spirits concerned with the past tended to cause the most surprises.

Damian was most surprised indeed. As with most surprised revivals, Damian let out a hoarse screech. This awoke the undertaker Viktor. Shocked he fell back on his seat, and he dragged himself a bit backwards. He said, “What in the Gods is that?”

Chalon wrote, “Relax. It is just a dragon. No need to get too antsy.”

“Oh, yes. A dragon. Why wouldn’t there be dragons? He is a bit of a noisy fellow,” said Viktor chuckling. He regarded Damian’s scratching and rocking of his body with a bit of mild amusement.

Chalon did not know what Damian was thinking. And so, he smacked it in the head with his board. This naturally knocked Damian out. He sent a message to the Draconians down in the Equator. They were in a different continent all together, since they despised the winter. Chalon picked up the large Damian and started walking out of the cemetery. Viktor followed Chalon with his eyes till he was out of sight. The entire night had been rather strange indeed.

Chalon jumped over the fence to avoid the guards. He made his way towards the tallest building in Sassari. It was the observatory dedicated to the God Auno. Priestesses would visit there from time to time for the purposes of divination. The roof was a solid glass dome, of elven make. Sassari had originally been an elf city, till the humans had taken over it many centuries ago. Now, the only signs of the ancient elven past were the runes decorating the bars holding up the glass. From up there, Chalon waited for the rotating spiral to appear. It had two large hollow disks at each end. The ship that apparated with a cloud shot a beam that resembled moonlight over Chalon. It then picked up Damian.

With Damian returned to his people, Chalon returned to the gypsy camp to be with his own. When he returned, he smiled when he noticed Kay waiting for him. She said, “No luck?”

“No,” said Chalon using his actual human voice.

Kay smiled when she heard it. It had been quite a number of years since Chalon had chosen not to speak. She prepared a final bath for Chalon. While the bath was being made, he evacuated behind a bush. When he was done, he entered the hot bath. He did not linger there, as before. When he felt himself clean, he wrapped himself in a towel and went to his trailer. He prepared his bed and he laid out his dolls to sleep beside him. It was a little bit early for him. Normally, he would wait some hours past midnight to fall asleep, but he was tired, both physically and mentally. He laid his head on the pillow, and he closed his eyes. Within 5 minutes, Chalon was sound asleep.  

Addendum sent to Lady Godiva:

This brings into a close a day in the life of Chalon. After much interrogations, I must admit that we did not bother to spare resources to Observe Chalon. We may have overbudgeted with the little Ahi project. This report was at least useful for something. Chalon has already submitted his memory fragments to prove to the entire world that he lived an eventful life. After analyzing it, we concluded that this was a good day to represent the what Chalon did for his entire mission. He wasn’t as violent as Marduke, nor as interesting as Ahi. Still, he used his time wisely, and he was mindful and insightful and a pretty good person to be around with. I must add that I am writing this of my own volition, and I do not have a gun pointed to my head. If Lady Godiva would be so kind to pick up her son, I would greatly appreciate it. Thank You.

Afterthought:

It is truly a wonder why people take jokes so seriously. Truth be told, I thought that one could get to know everything there is to know of a person from one day. This all depends on the day. Most of the time, we act within our character, leaving our innermost self-hidden inside. I suppose this method would only work for Chalon. He stayed true to himself, and what he wanted to do for the entire duration of the mission, only making compromises for the sake of the people he wanted to help. In other news, it is at least good to see that the Carbon Copy of the Death Scythe actually works on magic users.

With any luck, we will get 37 new strong magic users. We will keep monitoring the actions of Chalon to see if his research on the Scythe shows any more positive results. As for Chalon’s movie, it is currently being made. We will remove a couple of things here and there to make certain it fits a 24-hour format. I doubt most people would be interested in seeing a fellow asleep in bed. Most movies we make followed the less than two hours format. Still, I always dreamed of making an Andy Warhol type of movie. It could be shot in black and white, for fun. Maybe I could have things only be in color during the Cretaceous period. The dance scene was fun, that could also be in color as well. I am considering a bit whether to add music or not. If I have ambience music, it could make the play scene less special. MM… I think I will go without music, and then make changes depending on the first screening of the movie.