Hirsu nodded. He took a deep breath, and focused his mind on the task ahead. He filled himself with calm, then lifted the pipe to his lips and inhaled slowly.

As Hirsu inhaled, he felt nothing. Nothing at all..

.. save the coldness. It was so very cold. Hirsu almost tore his hand away from the chilled, dead thing that belonged to the smoker of the sacred herbs. His bones hurt. The light seemed to disappear altogether, bathing the room in darkness.

Hirsu noted that he was standing up, knee deep in water. No one was next to him, yet he could still feel the hand. It was unpleasant. Perspiration drenched him.

A match was lit.

Hirsu saw the grinning face of the smoker of the secret herbs, he shuddered. The face looked like a skull..

"Welcome to death, my friend," said the smoker.

(Continue posting in the Realm of Rivers)

Hirsu was back in his realm, and breathed deeply of the vibrant air of this place. He clenched his fist around his bone chips, and carefully placed them in his bag. He would need to be watchful around those, and determine exactly what they were and what they could do. For now, though, he had more pressing concerns.

Hirsu approached the south wall, and examined the glyph, trying to make sense of what it might do, or what magic it might be related to.

Hirsu knew that this glyph was a doorway, of sorts, that would lead into Elan proper; otherwise, he couldn't quite tell how it was formed, what laws governed it, or how to activate it. The bone chips were safe within his leather pouch.

Hirsu turned around without touching the glyph, and walked across the room. He tried the door with the lock on it, testing to see if it was open.

It was open. The knob fully turned, the lock hadn't been set. From outside the small room, Hirsu heard a loud voice inquiring as to why the door was opening.

"Is it a member of the Royal Family that comes at this late night?" he called. "If it is demon or spirit, I abjure thee. The blood of the higher runs through my veins."

Hirsu chuckled to himself, and walked through the door. "No abjuration is necessary. I have not come this far to do my people harm." He strode towards the speaker, watching for movement from other directions as he did so.

The speaker was a young, rugged-looking soldier holding an exotic blade in one hand and a wooden rod in the other. He was dressed in dark red and green - not the colours of Christmas but vivid symbols of the Royal Family of Elan. He rose the blade as he saw Hirsu.

"Don't move, I'm telling you, stop," he said. "How did you get through the Wall? Only members of the Royalty should be able to access the glyph. Only they know the ways of walking. If you've been sent by one of the gutter-mystics.."

Hirsu narrowed his eyes and sneered at the man. His voice rose to just below a shout, his voice projecting clearly through the room. He spoke to the prince, and for the benefit of any hidden ears which might be listening. "You dare threaten me? Whatever power flows in royal veins only exists because I willed it so! Open your eyes, arrogant fool, and know me for who I am!"

He stood still, hands at his sides, but his eyes promised swift punishment for disobediance in this. He lowered his voice, but his tone still held an absolute authority behind it. Each word was clipped off, emphasized. "Lower. Your. Weapon."

"I, please, I mean to, that is, please, friend," said the bastard child of the Royalty, shaking with fear. "I cannot. You know, I know I cannot. That's .. they'll kill me. They told me. Not to let any through. Please."

The blade fell to the floor, clattered against marble.

Hirsu walked forward, his gaze more compassionate, but still resolute. He did not move from where he was. "No, they won't. I walk beside each and every one of you, and will not allow any to be punished for heeding me."

Hirsu studied the room, looking for hiding places and places where traps might be hidden by paranoid royalty so far gone they would deny their people access to them. A single guard seemed unlikely, though perhaps they were so paranoid those they could trust with such a task were too few.

"Tell me, what is your name?"

There were no traps, as far as Hirsu could see. The youth was obviously neglected, untrained. None save the smoking mystics of the common city could enter such a palace - and why should they? Retribution would be absolute. None would dare.

The room was bare, nearly unfurnished save for a single rug, a further door guarded by the youth, a small desk holding a crystal flask of wine and a tidy pile of papers.

"I am.. Yacuatol of the Royalty. Separated," he added, hastily. "I hold no - no claim, if that is what you are asking. I am simply a servant to my King and Queen. A guard. Please. Nothing.. nothing more."

Hirsu smiled, and crossed the room to stand before the youth. He knelt and picked up the sword by the flat of the blade, keeping his fingers away from the edge. He handed the blade back to the lad, hilt first. He looked him directly in the eye before answering. "There is something more. Always will be. Don't take the definitions of others as your limits."

Hirsu walked past him and opened the next door. He turned back. "I would like you to lead me to the sick members of the royalty, if you would."

The youth, Yacuatol, took the hilt of the blade, but he could not bring himself to smile even as his eyes were alight with hope. And then, suddenly, the fires were snuffed, crushed by tradition and by family.

"I.. cannot," he said, sadly. "Please - forgive me, Lord. I just.. it's that the Royalty, the King and Queen and my Brothers and Sisters that hold claim, since the plague passed - said to, um, be the work of the embittered Flayed Sorcerer to the East - they are suspicious of sorcerers, wise-men, medicine bearers.. their only aid, by decree of the King himself," and at the mention of this Yacuatol held his fist to his chest, "By the decree.. only our own Royal sorcerer, Pactsal, and the trusted servants and family of the Royalty are able to.."

He stopped, grimacing. He was obviously flustered.

Hirsu studied the man, and decided not to push him further. He smiled, showing white teeth to the man. "Then I shall find them on my own. You have not failed in your duties, Yacuatol. Remember, no matter what comes, I walk with you."

He left the room, and shut the door behind him. Once on the other side, he examined the next room her was in. He dug through his pack, and took out some dried moss. He held this in his hand, and whispered words ancient and pure.

Hirsu felt the magic flow from him, drawn from the very thoughts and habits in which his personality, perhaps his soul, was encoded, and felt it release. There was almost an immediate response, and Hirsu a hazy vision of the map in his mind - saw that the palace was massive, with thousands of rooms and chambers, and, somehow, shifting. Changing. Rooms swapped, staircases floated away, baths disappeared entirely and feasting halls edged malignantly to the left.

Either his magic was off - in his educated opinion the likeliest scenario - or there were powerful sorcerers behind the palace, distorting the very space itself.

Hirsu felt a twinge of annoyance. But what could be affecting his magic here? Some type of mystical shielding?

Whatever the source of the error, he would need a guide if he wished to find the royal family, especially those that were ill. He began searching for a staircase, reasoning the family would likely be kept high in the building, and if the person treating them had any sense, in a room with windows.

Hirsu felt the magic be taken from him - not expelled, as was normally the case - and had a theory of his own: the emergence of the Flood was somehow causing a magical vacuum that was impairing his magical abilities. When the resulting crash would be summoned it would majestic.

Soon after leaving the nondescript room, Hirsu wandered through an elaborate stone hallway filled with tribal art and smoking lanterns. There were no doors, and he walked for the longest while until..

"You still have the smoke within you," said the smoker of the secret herbs, smiling at Hirsu. He had been sitting on one of the tables, unnoticed, smoking from his sacred pipe. "I am glad that you are alive."

Hirsu stopped, and smiled at the man, though his eyes were quizzical. "As I am glad that you are alive. Interesting that I should find you here, when the Ahemait sent you back. I don't suppose you could guide me through these halls, so that I might heal the sick?"

"He sent me back, yes," said the smoker of the sacred herbs, sadly. "To the land of the living. But I am not living, see. He took my life - the cost for bringing another into the Rivers, for bringing myself into that darkest cavern.. and now I wander Elan, tied as I am, forever restless, the restless dead. Never allowed passage Below. I suffer, Lord of Life. I suffer."

He seemed to ignore Hirsu; perhaps the God of Life's problems were minuscule compared to his own.

Hirsu frowned, displeased by this turn of events. "I see. You served me faithfully, smoker. Simply ask, and I will do what I can to help you."

Hirsu knows that the man is dead. His expression was pained, his eyes hollow.

"Send me.. below. Force me below. Force me to the darker, wet places, where I might be judged and destroyed, or given new life, or anything - anything but this. Please.."

Hirsu nodded. He closed his eyes to focus himself on the dark place, the destination where he wished to send this man. When he opened them, they had hardened with conviction. He channeled abjurative energies into his palms, and walked up to the spirit. "Begone from this place. Go to the rest you deserve. GO!" He laid his hands on the spirit, and attempted to banish him from the world of the living.

There was a ripple - a breeze, a chill wind colder than it should ever have been - and a sudden wail. The smoker of the sacred herbs was gone, replaced only by the distinctive scent of the smoker's herbs.

Hirsu sighed involuntarily, the act exhausting him. He'd used sorcerous means to circumvent the direct will of an Ahemait, and it was.. exhausting..

He blinked, and with the suddenness of the Realm of Rivers he was surrounded by ghosts. Some of them were murder victims, butchered or poisoned or mauled or strangled or drowned or hanged or set aflame, and they called softly for passing. Some were children, naughty children, struck down by the plague of yesteryear. Some were soldiers, killed fighting a battle on sacred ground. Some, Hirsu saw, were utterly silent, and wore beautiful robes made of gold and red. All were of their original colour, stained with pitch black and river-blue, and Hirsu was momentarily overwhelmed by them. Some were angry, but most had horrific sadness in their eyes.

They were the spirits of inbetween, cursed to wander the land.

Pass.. pass.. one cried.

Destroy.. body.. destroy.. my body.. yelled another.

Hirsu closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sadness of these spirits wash over him much as the exhaustion was. He reached into his satchel, and pulled out a small root he had previously taken a few bites of. He popped the rest into his mouth, and chewed satisfyingly. He swallowed the simple food, and felt a little better. He waited a few minutes, letting the spirits continue to make their pleas.

He let them continue speaking for a few minutes, before he opened his eyes. He stared at those in front of him, and spoke a single word, one of command reinforced only with his own quiet confidence. "Silence."

He waited a few seconds, let the word reach the walls. His eyes studied the spirits, before his lips moved again. "The man I just gave relief to served me well in life, and was killed for helping me. I expect the same from any I would help. I am not without pity, but I am not one to be taken advantage of.

"In time, I will call each of you. Serve me well, without complaint, without question, and I will grant you the release you crave. Betray me in any way, and I will make your existence worse than it is now."

He rummaged through his satchel, and took out his copy of Msonus's What We Learn Without Magic. He flipped it open to the the Sixth Chapter, already defiled by the scribblings of some trickster. He also pulled out a simple stick of charcoal. "Take turns telling me your names, which I will record on these empty pages, and I will use the names to call you when I have need of your service."