Ongoing Adventures #0

This "early bird" instalment of Ongoing Adventures fills in some missing information before the end of Search for Dastardly.


Loss of Face

Not long after the man who called himself Dastardly Medieval died, the woman employed as Death was having doubts about her apprentice's fitness for the task at hand.

'I promise, Master. Nothing will happen to it.'

Death walked to the freelancer's cold body and sighed. 'This is very important, Orticia. Dastardly will want his face intact when he returns from his mission, and the Ces need that leverage.'

'Why do you call this freelancer Dastardly?' the apprentice wondered aloud. 'As Death, you would know that he's really called –'

'Listen,' Death said. She placed her hands near the body. It would be an hour or so before the undertaker returned, and another hour still before Waory was contacted by Sir Adrian the Knight. As Death's hands touched the pallid skin, a ball of light – like a parody of a lens flare in spherical form – erupted from the freelancer's empty head. The face then flattened out and the corpse was seemingly devoid of identity.

'Take it to the river delta Skim,' said Death. 'The vault in that city has a place already set aside for it.' Death knew that she would look at another body in the future and wish that Orticia could have completed the task. However, events progressing exactly to plan was not required and this course of action was still valid. Death passed the glowing light – what remained of Dastardly's identity now that his soul was elsewhere – into her apprentice's hands.

Orticia bobbed her head in obedience and looked at the freelancer's “face” between her palms. 'I will not fail,' she said. Death, having seen her failure, did not nod but disappeared to attend to other matters.

***

'How do I get out of here?'

Orticia had blundered into another dead end on her way out of the plains capital. Often, people will ignore death unless it has some bearing on themselves, so almost no one noticed the frantic woman holding a glow between her hands – until a pair of voices came at her from behind, clearly intent on noticing her.

'What have we here, Fred?' said a raspy voice. 'Is she a witch? She's hard to look at, this one.'

'That's coz she doesn't want to be seen,' said a deeper voice, presumably Fred. 'Where are you going in such a hurry, young miss?'

Death's apprentice tried to remember the rite of nothing. 'Everything crumbles,' she mumbled.

The two muggers encircled the transfixed Orticia. Fred, the bigger one, looked at what she was holding.

'Something of value, little miss?' he said. 'You hand it over, and we won't be quite as rough.'

'Nothing is really there forever!' she said, and ran forwards. The bigger thug gasped dumbly as the woman ran straight through him. He collapsed as a strange light shone out of his mouth.

To her horror, Orticia saw that the freelancer's face had gone, but she didn't stick around to see the results – instead she stumbled blindly through walls as if they were mist until she had beelined outside of the city, several metres under a mound of dirt.

'Fred, what's wrong Fred?' said the shorter of the two thugs, the one with the raspy voice. On the ground the bigger thug stopped clutching at his face.

'I'm not Fred,' he said as he stood up.