It has been a long, convoluted route to get to this point. The Korv Reaper, Mortimer, has not followed a straight line, instead insisting that there was importance to the order of the sites they visited; a sort of Reaper pilgrimage trail. All that Alptraum really noted about the places was that they all included the words 'forbidden' or 'of death' in their names.

Now the pair perch on one of the branches of the Tree of Woe, facing into the bog. "There," Mort says, using the handle of his scythe to point to a shadowy bulk within the murk of the fog. "The Belly of the Beast. You must pass through it in order to reach the Throne of Bones, where Azrael lives." Bits of shadow flicker and crawl along the wooden handle: Mort's shadow-wraith minions.

"These are such happy places," Alptraum remarks in a wry tone. "There are probably people lurking in the mists to watch and laugh at those foolish enough to pass through the fog." The Eeee taps his chin, then is compelled to add, "Or going by its name, the fog will stink like the gut of some flatulent demon. Either way, you're not going in there, are you?"

"Nope!" the Korv admits cheerily. "It's a test for being a Reaper, and I've already passed it. See, you have to depend on your Reaper abilities to get through. Oh… and there was one more thing… uh… it'll come to me in a moment."

Alptraum tilts his head to the side and arches his brow. "And that would be what, exactly? Those forgotten things have this habit of being important," the Eeee remarks dryly.

"Was it eyeballs?" the Korv mutters. "Tea? No… ah, fire! You can't use any flame or spark in there. It'd be bad." Mort looks pleased with himself for remembering, and uses the tip of his scythe to scratch his cheek.

"Oh, yeah, it's not a rule, but… try not to bleed either," the white-feathered bird adds.

"Like I said, it is going to stink. Swamp gas," Alptraum notes. "Good thing I don't use fire. And … it is not as if I try to bleed when I go places."  There's a pause from the bat and he then asks," So … how long did it take you?"

"Oh, well… total time or just how long it took me the time I actually made it all the way through?" the Reaper asks.

"Both," Alptraum answers.

"Well, my sister only took a half hour I think," Mort notes, rather than say how long he took.

"And what about you?" Alptraum prods.

"This isn't a competition," Mort notes, brushing down the feathers where he was poked. "There's no sense in setting some silly goal for yourself that will distract you from being cautious."

"It was over a week, wasn't it?" Alptraum remarks, "And something embarrassing happened to you."

Mort puffs out his feathers, looking like a poodle's wig for a moment. "This isn't about me, it's about you! Now, do you want to see Azrael or not?" he retorts.

"I would see him faster if we bypassed this silliness," Alptraum points out, "But since you seem determined to make me go this way, I had best be going. I'm certain the age old rules of don't trust what you see all apply. Just remember that if I die, I'll haunt you for the remainder of your days. No more free meals for you!" The bat finishes off his declaration with a raspberry, then releases his toe claws from the branch.  The Eeee glides down to the muck below.

"He wouldn't see you if you hadn't gone through this," Mort calls out from the tree, before the mists close up behind Alptraum again. The Belly of the Beast is some sort of earthen mound rising above the bog. The entrance becomes easily apparent as one gets closer; a vast overhang carved into the shape of a dragon skull. Or at least one hopes it is merely carved stone or petrified wood. The detail is very good, from what Alptraum can tell. He's had some experience with close-up examination of giant dragon-maws after all. There is a faint blue glow emanating from deep within the mound's throat.

"Delightful. I'm sure Vorgulremik would love this place," Alptraum remarks as he approaches the jaws. He doesn't enter just yet. Instead he takes time to examine the maw up close, looking for chisel marks or similar, as well as feeling along its surface,

The surface is rough from weathering, which means it must be pretty old. It's nearly impossible to tell what it's made out of though, but stone wouldn't have weathered like this, probably. It could be petrified wood, or maybe even actual bone.

Ever the nosy one … Alptraum decides to see if a tooth comes loose when pulled on. After all, if it was solid, a tooth wouldn't have a socket…

The socket, if it's there, is crusted over with lichens and the tooth doesn't move. It does still feel sharp along one edge though.

Alptraum dusts off his hands using his worn jacket. "Fine. I guess I get to be swallowed by another dragon. I hope it's an enjoyable as it is with Melusine," he retorts to the stuck tooth. After following up with a rude gesture, the Eee snaps his wings about himself and enters the mound.

The entry is dark, but before long tiny blue stars appear on the ceiling of the tunnel, getting denser the further one goes. They don't provide a lot of light, but enough to avoid walking into things for people without sonar.

Alptraum stops for a moment. He looks upward at those small lights and hmms to himself. "Do these actually have any pattern to them?" he wonders out loud. "Perhaps a picture… "

The lights seem to be placed at random, clumping in areas a spread out in others. Some look like they're moving, but then… any point of light in the darkness is likely to look like it's moving.

Alptraum tries to actually reach out and touch one of the lights.

It's a stretch, but Alptraum's fingers brush something below the lights, which then pulls away.

"Some sort of insect?" Alptraum comments. His eyes narrow a bit as he tries to call up the 'wraith' vision to see if sheds any light upon the … uh … light.

When the cave is bathed in silver, things become clearer. Hanging from the ceiling are thousands of slime-covered cemetery worms – or their miniature kin. Ropy, mucous covered tentacles hang down from their mouths, waiting for something to fly into them. Some of the gaps in the lights become clear as well: bones, half-embedded in the roof of the tunnel and covered in slime.

"Well, now that is nasty," Alptraum remarks and then sticks out his tongue. He takes another minute to examine the bones in the ceiling … to see if they're just animal … or may have been people.

Sticking out your tongue is not the best thing to do, as a drop of slime hits it while Alptraum is looking up. The bones are mixed, but the skulls don't look like wild animals. There's no telling how long they've been up there… or if they started out on the top and worked down through the soil over the years. They could be the bottoms of graves, after all.

"Bleh, salty," Alptraum remarks and spits, reminding him of previous experiences with the worms. "Oh well, no point in lingering. Small worms are no threat," the bat notes. So … onward he goes down the passageway.

The footing shifts as he goes deeper, revealing more bones and other 'bits' that have supposedly fallen through (or else people came in, lied down and just never got up again). The blue worm-glow gets brighter, as they worms are packed in almost continuously on the ceiling now. It's enough to make one almost miss that the tunnel forks, since none of the worms extend into the right tunnel, but continue down the left.

"Well, this is just disgusting. Snow would love it in here," Alptraum remarks. He looks between the two paths and rubs his chin. Even though a lit path makes sense for those who cannot function in darkness … it seems too easy somehow. So … Alptraum goes right, down the dark tunnel.

The right tunnel is dark until the last of the blue glow has faded. By then, a red glow takes over, coming from around the forward curve of the passage.

As Alptraum continues on, he uses sonar pulses more and more to 'sound' out the passage. "Red, the color of blood and horror!" the Eee whispers dramatically to himself. And then he stops and sighs, "Okay … I just creeped myself out. Good job, there… " After a quick shake of his head, he continues towards the red glow … though rather slower now.

The problem with using sonar underground is that the echoes tend to… echo. The mix of dirt and stone in the wall further refracts things, providing a very hazy view of the tunnel, beyond that it does indeed continue on, and may open up more around the curve.

And onward Alptraum goes towards that curve. "Mortimer is going to get it for this. Somehow… " he mutters.

There's also an increasingly sulfurous odor from further ahead, until Alptraum comes across the source of the glow and the stink: the tunnel is flooded to an unknown depth with glowing, bubble-burping mud. The section is a good twenty feet long, and the tunnel is too narrow to try and fly over it… but not narrow enough to make reach from wall to wall with ones arms and legs.

Alptraum stops and kneels down before the bubbling mud. He holds his hand over it to try and judge its temperature without touching it.

The mud isn't giving off any great heat – it's warm, but certainly not enough to be glowing like molten rock!

"Hmm," Alptraum muses. He tries tipping just the tip of a claw on his left hand in it … and if it doesn't ignite or something equally horrible … he'll sniff it.

The mud ignites on contact and lets out a horrible stench, along with a high-pitched shriek that makes the Eeee's ears want to turn in on themselves.

"Gah!" goes Alptraum as he falls backward on his butt, then uses his feet to scoot backwards, away from the pit. He reaches up and pulls his ears down in pain. Of course it's about then he realizes to check his claw tip for damage … and does by reluctantly releasing one ear so he can look at the claw.

There's a slight oily film left on the claw, but no discoloration or burn, so the flare of flame probably wasn't actual fire.

"Hmmm," Alptraum mutters. Daring to risk another assault on his ears … he scoots close again and this time tries with a claw on his right hand.

This time… nothing happens! No spark, or flare, or stink.

"Interesting," Alptraum says. So … he tries to dip his right hand up to his wrist into the mud.

It isn't quite that deep, at least not here on the edge. The gauntlet only goes in as far as finger depth before hitting ground.

Alptraum draws his hand back out and peers at his fingers, just to be safe. "So, Barsunala, are you attacking a spirit in the mud?" he wonders.

The hand doesn't reply, which would have been weird in any case since the spirit dagger isn't inserted.

Alptraum tries to push the spirit vision back to the forefront of his eyes to see if it reveals anything telling.

In the now-silvery light, the mud glows with some sort of spirit energy, but not anything animate – it must be artificial.

"Is anyone, or anything here?" Alptraum calls out to the mud.

BLURP goes the mud, as another sulfur-bubble ruptures.

Alptraum rolls his eyes at that. Instead of a hand, he tries putting one of his feet in the mud, to see if he can walk across it without a shriek-fest.

The mud screams even louder than last time, and a cloud of miasma rises up to make the Eeee feel dizzy – and that's just the first step!

"Gah!" Alptraum complains again and hops backwards.

"Now you're just hateful," Alptraum complains. He debates turning around and going down the other hallway … and then an idea hits him. He decides to try extending his shadow cloak now to cover his lower half. It takes time, as always, to begin the process of extending it … but eventually he does feel the strange squirminess of the shadow oozing outward.

This time, the mud stays quiet. There are a few moments when it gets deep, and Alptraum nearly slips (since the shadow skin doesn't have traction ridges on the soles of his feet) but he eventually makes it across to the other send of the puddle.

"Hah! Take that you noisy, smelly, pile of mud!" Alptraum taunts the goo. Still, he does have to wonder if it was the Barsunala attacking the muck … as wouldn't it also do the same for others. And if so, then why didn't his right hand garner the same reaction. Still, no reason to ponder too much on it, he's through the yelling goo and his ears are grateful.

The passage continues on into the darkness, with the glow at the Eeee's back now.

"Mental note, scream in Mortimer's ear," Alptraum tells himself as he heads down the dark passageway. Onward he goes, wondering what torments the cave will offer next.

The walls are still dimly limned in silvery light as Alptraum maintains his Barsunala-vision. So it's quite a surprise when he suddenly walks into something squishy and foul that he can't see!

The barrage of gypsy-accented expletives that come from the bat would make most sailors blush! He tries to back up and blink to clear his vision to normal so that he can see just what he walked into.

It takes time for his eyes to adjust, but before then Alptraum can detect the scent of decay that was masked by the sulfur. Sonar works fine at close range as well, and lets the bat figure out that he walked right into a dangling corpse. The impact has set it rocking, which disturbs more hanging bodies. The tunnel ahead is filled with an obstacle course of the dead, like some macabre meat locker.

"Oh ugh," Alptraum gags and takes a few steps back as one hand comes up to cover his nose. "That is foul," he hisses between his fingers. He then pokes the swaying body with his free hand and tries to guess how, uh, old and rotted it is.

Poking a dead body is often a gamble. Alptraum feels the skin briefly before his finger breaks through and sinks in up to the 2nd knuckle. Stuff oozes out of the hole, and… well… things are wiggling across the fur of his hand now.

"Oh yuck!" Alptraum says as he jerks his hand back and shakes it up and down vigorously to get whatever those were off!

Most of the bugs or whatever go flying off. A few go up and land on other parts of the bat though.

"Ew, ew, ew!" Alptraum complains as he goes about a dance of 'get these the hell off me!' Still, he guesses he understands the point of this … having to get through nasty rotting things is the job of a reaper.

After throwing a thorough fit, Alptraum can't feel anything wriggling on him anymore – and can also see why Reapers do this alone. It'd just be too embarrassing if anyone else was there.

"I'd insult you if you weren't already dead," Alptraum retorts at the hanging corpses. Once more he goes for the shadow cloak as a means of covering his entire body, head included, from creepy-crawlies, since he has to go through that mess. He'll have to keep his eyes closed, but short range sonar ought to work well enough…

There doesn't seem to be an end to them, and even through the cloak he can feel bits rubbing and bouncing against him – and occasionally falling off and hitting his feet. And then it happens – he trips over a corpse that was on the floor, and falls forward!

"Aie!" goes Alptraum as he starts downward. Realizing he'll probably regret this … but his wings snap out as much as they can and he tries to use them to catch onto the corpses hanging around him, just to keep him from ending up face down!

The wings catch… and drag a pile of corpses down with them. At least Alptraum has a soft landing as a result, although there is a nasty squelching sound when he hits.

"I hope there's a waterfall to wash off under before I leave this place," Alptraum inwardly prays.

Trying hard to not think about what is squishing … the bat tries to get back to his feet. "And I am going to kill that Korv," he decides.

He luckily doesn't slip while getting back up, despite having what might a liver stuck to his knee. The shadow-skin keeps out any moisture at least. A bit of blind staggering reveals that the obstacle corpses are behind him now.

Alptraum doesn't dare drop the shadow skin for several more minutes … and even then he doesn't drop it until he tries making it shake and squirm violently to shed off anything stuck to him.

There aren't too many horrific sounds, but at least one clinging hand shakes loose. The screaming mud is far behind now, so there isn't any glow at all to abate the darkness. But there is a slight breeze ahead.

Alptraum clicks a burst of sound in the darkness to try and sound out the passage again. He also sniffs at the breeze to try and guess if it is the outside air or just something deeper.

It's certainly fresher smelling than the air in the mound. And this time, the echo that returns is familiar: wood! A flat vertical wooden surface, probably a door.

"Oh thank goodness, I'm done with this place," Alptraum tells himself. He presses onward, trying to find that door to the sweet-smelling air of the … er, swamp.

It isn't too far before he reaches the door. It's hinged on the inside, and has an ironwood handle along with cross-post supports for barricading it, but no sign of a locking post.

Alptraum tries to open the door slowly and carefully…

The door doesn't budge much. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with the hinges – it just opens a fraction of an inch and then stops.

Alptraum grumbles. "It's never easy, is it?" the bat mutters. So … he tries something; he tries to remove the hinge pins and just remove the whole door.

The hinges are heavy ironwood, and Alptraum seems to have forgotten to bring a hammer or chisel to get them out. But then, Reapers aren't supposed to be fluent in breaking and entering – especially since this is the inside of the door.

Going to wraith vision for the third time now, Alptraum tries to see if there is something not normally visible blocking the door.

There is a locking bar clearly barring the door now. Or rather, the spirit of a locking bar. It even has a knothole visible on it.

So … Alptraum tries to lift it with his right hand first; in case the Barsunala spirit might attack it.

The bar lifts up. He can't feel it, and it doesn't have any weight (although it can bar the door somehow), but it's somehow solid enough.

The Eeee then tries to set the bar aside and now open the door. "I'm putting slugs in his robe. Maybe even in his nostrils," Alptraum then mutters darkly about Mortimer.

The post leans against the wall just fine, and the door opens without a sound. The bog is outside, down a slight slope. In the distance, obscured by the mists, is another mound – one with a seated figure atop it, although there's no way to tell just how far away it is or how big the figure might be.

Alptraum does a short burst of sound to try and 'sound out' the figure ahead. Just because it seems safe doesn't mean it is…

There's no echo. Either the fog has dispersed it, or it's farther away than the bat first thought.

"Oh well," Alptraum mutters to himself. He starts the slow march towards the figure. He decides he's less visible on the ground than he is in the air. Plus it gives him more time to ponder appropriate revenge to inflict on the Korv who insisted he take this route…

It takes time for the size of the figure to really become apparent to Alptraum, since distances seem indistinct in the misty air of the bog. But once the edifice is looming over him, there's no way to consider it just a trick of perspective. What's more is that the skeleton is clearly made of regular sized bones fused together to form each giant bone, according to the kind of bone it is. Between the legs, in the center of the throne, is a heavy looking door.

Alptraum whistles as he looks from foot to head of the rather impressive statue. "Now that is creepy. In fact, I bet it would creep out most Babelites," he says in almost awe. "I do have to wonder why someone would build that, though? Besides the fact if I were a bandit I would be terrified of it, that is." He doesn't approach just yet; instead he flicks his ears forward and listens to the structure.

Aside from the low, low sound of the mound itself settling under the weight of the thing, the structure itself is silent. The walls must be incredibly thick to support the weight of the skeleton.

"Figures. No extra secret information for me," Alptraum grumbles. So … he finally approaches the door between the legs.

"Ah, the second time I have been between a human's legs!" he quips as he reaches out and raps on the door with his right hand.

There's an echo that the Eeee can hear through the door, and then the slow shuffling of dragging feet. Several bolts are slide aside, and the door ponderously opens a few inches. A rheumy gray eye peeks out of the crack, along with the long whiskers. "Are you thelling enthyclopediath?" it asks in a lisp.

"Wrathbone?" Alptraum asks the likely hunchbacked Skreek. "And no, I'm not, I'm here to see Azrael regarding a matter of great importance."

The figure actually seems to bristle at the name. "I am Ysnor," the predictably hunchbacked Skreek says as he opens the door the rest of the way. Unlike an Igor, this one seems to be all original parts.

"Ah, of course, the competing family," Alptraum says and nods sagely. "My apologies. May I see your master? I am Alptraum Reisender. I doubt you have heard of me."

"Oh, you," Ysnor replies, and waves Alptraum inside. "The mathter ith in the thtudy," the rat notes, stepping aside so Alptraum can enter. Beyond the door is a long, unlit hall. Ysnor has a lantern though.

"Me? What does that mean?" Alptraum asks as he steps inside the strange structure.

Ysnor closes and bars the door, then picks up the lantern and leads the way in an annoyingly slow shuffle. "He'th been expecting you," the Skreek notes. "Not on a thcedule or anything, jutht that you'd thow up eventually… "

"Why is he expecting me?" Alptraum asks next as he follows slowly after the rat. "How does he even know of me? I'm hardly a famous hero or nefarious monster."

"The Reaperth likely told him," Ysnor points out. The hall ends in a pentagonal room with four other doors, and a spiral staircase rising up through the center. Ysnor points upwards. "I imagine you won't want to be following under me on the thtairs, right?"

"Ah, no," Alptraum comments, "In case of breaking of wind, I would prefer to be in front." The Eeee then grins and starts climbing the stairs.

"Keep going all the way up," Ysnor advises. The second floor is just like the first – a five sided room with five doors, and a small table to hold a dim lamp. The stairs continue up through the ceiling to a third level.

And onward Alptraum goes. His ears flick forward and slightly up as he tries to get an aural clue as to just what lies ahead. "I feel like I'm back in a temple in Babel," he mutters.

Up above, there are sounds: gurgles, whines, growls and hisses, along with flickering light. Breaching the third floor reveals a very different layout. And while Alptraum has never seen a mad scientist's lab before, he can be reasonably sure it would look similar. There are weird machines that spark and have spinning bits, a mile of glass tubing full of glowing goo, bubbling pots over gas burners and steam vessels hissing and moaning with strain. There is also a lot of junk left out in big piles. While this takes up most of the floor, there's still a wall with a door in it back towards the front of the building.

"Ooookay, getting a little nervous now," Alptraum remarks to himself as he takes a minute to look around the strange room. He also can't help but flex his right hand a bit and take a moment to focus on it to see if it is reacting to anything here.

There aren't any zombies hiding in the corners as far as Alptraum can tell, and his hand isn't tickling, tingling or itching in any way. But the low cacophony does make his wings itch.

"Hello? Is anyone up here?" Alptraum finally calls out. He does start heading towards the far door … but in a place like this, a door could be hidden anywhere.

The door luckily has the word 'STUDY' burnt into the wood, above 'Please Knock Loudly.'

"Oh great, he's probably hard of hearing," Alptraum mutters as he reaches and reads the door. He curls his chitinous hand closed and knocks loudly upon the wood with it.

"I'm not deaf, you don't have to hammer the door down!" shouts a raspy voice from beyond the door. "Come in already, it's not like I'm doing indecent acts on myself or anything."

"Pity, I would have enjoyed seeing that," Alptraum thinks, but at least has the decency not to say it. So without further ado, Alptraum opens the door and walks into the study.

Like most studies, this one is well lit with several lamps. They still have to struggle, though, given the many bookshelves that seem arranged specifically to cast shadows around. Next to the door is an umbrella holder full of old folded scythes, and at the far end is a desk covered in scrolls and charts, with a cloaked figure hunched over it.

"I'm not giving you any more booze money, Mort," the figure rasps without turning around.

"Reaper Azrael, I presume," Alptraum says as he approaches the hunched figure. "I am afraid … or perhaps, glad, to inform you that I am not Mortimer. I'm Alptraum Reisender; someone I am lead to believe you have heard of. I hope I am not here at a bad time."

The figure turns, revealing a hooded face that seems all gray and yellow patches of fur and sunken shadowed features. Incredibly long whiskers droop down from the Khatta's muzzle like moustaches, and quiver as the man says, "Oh… thought you'd come by eventually. Did you kill Mort?"

"No. He is likely still perched on the Tree of Woe. I think he is suffering from the memory of some horrible event in the cave beyond," Alptraum explains. He stops a few feet from the old Khatta and takes a moment to simply look at him. "If I may ask," Alptraum asks, "Why did you expect me to come by eventually… ? What do you know of me?"

"You're the Barsunala," Azrael says, with a slight wave of his hand. "The original Reaper. And because you consort with the Countess Draco and her pet blob. Now then… got any plums?"

"Alas, no. I was not aware you required plums," Alptraum admits as he crouches down for lack of a place to sit. "It is because of Draco's blob that I am here."

Azrael grumbles something about the problems with today's younger generation, and gestures to a chair carved to look like it was made of serpents with breasts. "Well, I imagine it's something complicated then, so you might as well sit down."

Alptraum moves over and settles down into the chair. "Simply put, her heart is damaged and she needs a new one. For circumstances I cannot go into, she does not not have full access to her link to the land for a time. I happen to have a heart, the one from the legendary Shadow of Amena … but it is contaminated by iron. You are the best hope for removing the contamination that I have learned of." He pats the pouch on his left side. "If you wish to examine it, I have it here."

A bony hand extends from the sleeve of Azrael's robe and makes 'gimme' gestures. "Hmmmm, so Muriavan is no more then," he mutters.

"Well … yes and no," Alptraum admits as he draws out the blackened heart from the pouch with his left hand. He leans over to offer it to Azrael.

The Khatta snatches the burnt looking lump from Alptraum's hand, and proceeds to roll it between his own bony palms… and actually licks it a few times to boot. "Hmmm, iron is the least of the contamination here… " he notes. "And what do you mean by 'yes and no'? That's a ridiculous phrase you know. Makes you sound like a philosopher."

"Muriavan's essence joined with me," Alptraum remarks and lifts his right hand, then waggles his fingers. "His mind is gone, but some memories and his abilities remain. So, my answer was accurate. He is, and isn't, gone."

"He's gone, his power isn't," Azrael corrects. "That's a big difference. Power isn't the person. Just ask the Light of Nala. Now then… you want this hunk of rock fixed for old Sissy, is that right?"

"She wouldn't appreciate that name," Alptraum notes, "But in essence, yes, that is what I want."

"Hmmmm, tricky," Azrael notes. "Did you come here through the Belly of the Beast, by the way? Aside from smelling like Mort you've got some sulfur and worm-spittle on you."

"You said other things contaminate it. Like what?" Alptraum asks. "And to answer your question, yes, I did. The screaming mud was annoying and the bodies were gross."

"Heh, Mort must like you then," Azrael says, and taps on the crystal heart with a claw. "Well, iron is iron, and that's bad enough for these fey-types. But that's nothing compared to the taint of Her. You know who I mean, right? Fancy hat, lots of spots, smug attitude?"

"I've seen memories of her, thanks to Muriavan, and the portraits in the warped castle," Alptraum says with a nod. "I know of whom you speak. Not someone I have much desire to deal with."

"Well, you'll have to get rid of that too," Azrael says. "See, there's this… " he starts to say, only to be interrupted when Ysnor appears carrying a platter with some mugs of glowing green beverage with mist spilling out over the edges. "Your tea, thir."

"Dammit, Igor, I told you not to just show up like that!" Azrael yells.

"It's Ysnor, thir,"says the Skreek

"I don't care if you're Betty Bazooms, start wearing a bell or something!"Azrael retorts.

"That doesn't look like tea," Alptraum remarks. "And tell me why is it that the Ysnor and Wrathbones have this uncanny ability to interrupt at a bad time?" he asks the Skreek.

"Selective breeding or something," Azrael says as he shoos the rat away. "And what do you mean, it doesn't look like tea? It's the best kind of tea!"

"Tea doesn't glow and fog," Alptraum notes, "Well, unless it is made by Gorphat … and you really do not want to drink that."

"It's green tea," Azrael notes, and takes a swig from one of the mugs. After he finishes coughing, he says, "Puts fire in yer blood. And piss too, but everything has a price."

"So does drinks blessed by Gorphat," Alptraum points out. "So, as you were saying about the heart … if she contaminated it, then my Muriavan joining with me have I picked up some of that contamination?"

"Doesn't work that way… well… " Azrael says, and looks over the edge of his mug at Alptraum's right hand. "Maybe some. Doesn't look like anything to worry about though. Anyway… uh… what was I saying again about the heart?"

"Something about contamination," Alptraum remarks, "And the shell isn't him, that's Vorgulremik, a rather nasty fellow … dead now, thankfully."

"Dead isn't gone though," Azrael notes. "So… contamination. Oh, right… you need to take it first to the Promethean, Dr. Twig, at castle Sturmundrang in the west. He can get rid of the iron. And while you're there, tell him to give you my Reliquary of St. Gorm."

"Twig … wait, the Twig? The one who had a crush on the Countess?" Alptraum asks, aghast. "He might try to kill me! Or something!"

"Twig? He'd fall over if you sneezed hard on him," Azrael says with a snort. "All of the Prometheans are skinny geeks."

"Being weak doesn't make someone less dangerous," Alptraum points out, "Usually more, as they have to be clever about it. But, on the other hand if he knew it would help the Countess to fix the heart, well, hm. I guess I have no choice, either way."

"Are any of those ear-bobbles of yours metal?" Azrael asks pointedly. "You kids, always sticking bits of jewelry into your skin… "

"No, just ceramic and bone," Alptraum answers, "Why do you ask, by the way?"

"You don't want to have any exposed metal on you when you go to Twig's castle," Azrael says. "Anyway, after you have the iron sucked out or whatever it is he does, you need to head east, towards… uh… Gromit. Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's called Gromit."

"Oh dear Gods, not the cheese place," Alptraum groans and covers his face. "And why not metal? What about my hand? The shell is shell dragon blood… "

"That ain't metal, is it?" Azrael asks. "Just cover it up and it should be fine. Now once you get to Gromit; you want to follow the river Pantsu to… uh… well, one direction or the other, I'm not entirely sure. Somewhere along it there's a sacred spring of purification. That should get rid of the necromantic taint. There's also something there you should grab if you find it; a little clay jar with a dragon-head stopper."

"What is in the jar?" Alptraum asks, "And does it somehow relate to the, ah, floating undergarments of the river?"

"The floating whatnots?" Azrael asks, giving Alptraum a curious look. "What's in the jar is what I want to find out, so don't go opening it yourself if you find it."

"Do you think it is that dangerous?" Alptraum asks. "And yes, the floating underwear in the river. We saw it the last time we crossed over it."

"Underwear? Someone lost a clothesline in the river?" Azrael asks. "As for the jar… just don't open it! It's sealed up, and if you open the contents might spoil if there are any."

"Fine. Can I watch you open it?" Alptraum asks next.

"What's with you and looking into jars, anyway?" Azrael asks. "You haven't asked about the big skeleton or the stuff in the lab that looks ready to explode… but mention a clay jar and you're all 'Ooooo, what's in it?'" Azrael says, making a weird face when he gets to the 'Ooooo' part.

"Because it isn't obviously dangerous," Alptraum says rather pointedly. "Things that look terrifying and evil … well, aren't going to kill too many people easily. Something that looks peaceful and happy lures you in, and then attacks. Much more devious."

"The jar has a demon in it, probably," Azrael says. "Or wine. Possibly vinegar… "

"And now that you have brought it up, why the big skeleton?" Alptraum asks and grins widely.

"That skeleton is Dr. Ralphenstein's Necro-Titan," Azrael notes. "Old Ralphy was a Necromancer Lord, you see. He hit on the notion that if a thousand zombies were effective, then a giant one made from a thousand zombies would be unbeatable."

"Ah, so he was also an idiot," Alptraum remarks, "One big target is easier to attack than thousands of small ones."

"We'll never know, since he died before it could be completed," Azrael notes. "Slipped in the bathtub."

"Now if justice exists, one of his minions put his remains into the titan," Alptraum jokes.

"No, I left them in the tub," Azrael claims. "Saved the soap though. Never underestimate soap. I know Mortimer is afraid of the stuff though… probably shouldn't have told him this story."

"And also since you brought it up and seem to wish to talk about it … what are you researching in the lab behind me?" Alptraum asks. "And you served a Necromancer lord … and the Duke of Blackshire didn't smite you when he wielded the Light?"

"He didn't go smiting the Igors and Ysnors, now did he?" Azrael notes. "As for the stuff outside, that's not mine. It's how Ysnor makes the tea," he explains, taking another sip.

"Never said I served old Ralphy neither," the Khatta mutters.

"Yes, you did. I asked if one of his minions put them in the titan and you said 'No, I left them in the tub'. By that statement, you identified yourself as said minion," Alptraum points out as he grins fangily.

"That doesn't imply minionhood, just 'no' a minion didn't do what you suggested," Azrael points out.

"I won't argue … or reveal your secret," Alptraum notes as he sits back. "Now then, it also seems you know a bit about Muriavan. What do you know?"

"Ralphy was one of my students, before he decided to go down the route of corrupted necromancy," the Khatta claims. "And I know Murray from way back. You wouldn't believe the dirty jokes a blob can come up with, especially when he would illustrate them with living people. What did you want to know about him?"

"Knowing Melusine, yes, I can believe the kinds of things they would do," Alptraum remarks. "Well, what were his strengths, for one? I know he made a lot of zombies."

"Oh, he didn't mess with zombies until after She got a hold of him," Azrael notes, taking another sip of glowing tea. "Before that, he was a typical Shadow Dragon. Had an odd fear of pickles though. Was his undoing. Big scary monster, driven off by peasants with pickles on pitchforks… "

"That's … sad," Alptraum admits. "A question about him after the change. What is the long term risk to me since I joined with him?"

"Hmm, well, demon-bonded folk tend to live longer than usual," the old Khatta says, with a bit of a grin.

"Well, that is true," Alptraum notes as he extends his right hand to the Khatta should he wish to examine it. "Who or what did you bond with?"

"A Khatta wizard who wanted easy power and knowledge," Azrael notes.

"So you're the demon inhabiting his body, then," Alptraum remarks. "I was about to ask … are you from Aeztepa?"

"Me?" Azrael asks, pointing a bony finger to his chest. "Don't be silly. I'm from Olympia, mostly. There's only one demon from Aeztepa – She doesn't tolerate the existence of others on Her turf."

"She's gone, though. Her line ended, so no way for her to re-assert herself," Alptraum remarks. "Learned that from Nala. Well, part of Nala, anyway."

"Heh, I'm sure Amena would like her sister to think that," Azrael says. "First rule of gods and demons, son: they aren't omniscient."

"For the most part, they aren't even particularly bright," he adds after a sip of tea.

"Well, then I'll just have to deal with Amena myself. I'd prefer she not remain roaming," Alptraum claims.

"Best get your Mother's blessing," Azrael says. "But the legends say Amenlichtli can only be killed by a weapon from another world."

"That should be easy, Amena is the enemy of Sunala as it is," Alptraum notes with a shrug. "And I happen to have access to someone who knows of other worlds and just might be able to help there."

"Your dead dragon friend?" Azrael asks. "The one who sent out the dark-skinned girl to look for… something?"

"No, the one who imprisoned the dragon; and he was hardly a friend," Alptraum answers, "A spell-creation made by someone named Kainudy."

"Don't know that name," Azrael admits. "I just know what the Reapers get around to reporting to me."

"You can meet her if you want," Alptraum offers. "And … what do you want in return for your help in purifying the heart? Just those two items noted I will find along the way?"

"Oh, you'll be the one purifying the heart," Azrael notes. "But if you want it to be useful again, that's what you'll need me to do myself. As for the price… that depends on if you get it purified and back to me in the first place… "

"I will. I don't give up easily and with the woman I love at stake, doubly so. And no, not Melusine," Alptraum points out.

"Ah love," Azrael says, leaning back in his chair and rocking a bit.

"You haven't stated your price yet," Alptraum notes.

"I don't know how hard it will be yet," Azrael points out. "Bring me back the purified crystal, and I can tell you then."

"As you like. Now, do you have any questions for me?" Alptraum asks.

"Prunes," Azrael says. "If you don't have plums, how about prunes?"

"No, and no," Alptraum answers, "I'm a vampire, so carrying fruit around is useless for me. It just rots."

"You could have had prunes," Azrael claims. "For slipping into Mort's meals."

"He smells bad enough as it is," Alptraum notes, "I do not see how you could stand him as a student."

"Student? I raised him from a chick," Azrael notes. "I trained him as a Reaper so he'd leave the nest. His sister was more pleasant. Made a mean cup of tea."

"And now he wanders the land, mooching off of everyone. Are you sure you're not an evil monster bent on domination? You unleashed a horror upon us," Alptraum quips and grins.

"Good and Evil are such slippery concepts," Azrael notes. "I did form the Reapers in response to the Necromancer Lords, after all. Now, can I see your dagger? You know the one I mean. I can feel it from here."

"Will you give it back?" Alptraum asks.

"Of course," Azrael says. "Demon's honor."

"There's an oath no one should trust," Alptraum remarks dryly as he draws out the dagger. He flips it in the air and catches the flat of the blade in his right hand, then offers it hilt first to Azrael.

Even taking it by the hilt, there is quite a bit of frost when Azrael holds it. He taps at the blade with one claw, and sniffs at it. "Too cold to lick. But it does smell a bit of dragon blood," he notes, before offering it back.

"Why the interest in it?" Alptraum asks as he takes the blade back. Instead of sheathing it normally, he slides it into his gauntlet.

"It's a unique artifact," Azrael says. "And I used to have an exorcism dagger myself. No blade, of course, since what good is a blade when cutting spirits."

"It didn't always have a blade," Alptraum notes, "That came after it was used to slay and imprison Vorgulremik."

Azrael grins a bit. "Rare things, those daggers. Aelfin made, you know. The best enchanted weapons always are. Odd place to keep it though, if I may say so."

"Odd, yet useful," Alptraum remarks, "Feel free to introduce yourself, Kaira. Anyway, how old would you say this one is? And does it possibly have any history other than being wielded by someone as amazing as I am?" That last bit comes with a silly grin.

"Very old, maybe older than me," Azrael notes.

"Perhaps I should visit the Aelfin and ask them about its history," Alptraum muses.

The orb on Alptraum's gauntlet glows, and Kaira climbs out of it, becoming her full-sized anthropomorphic form. "Are you gonna drink that tea?" she asks Alptraum, pointing to his untouched mug.

"That isn't tea, I don't care what you claim," Alptraum remarks. Though for some odd reason he picks up the mug and takes a sip anyway. Perhaps latent dragon jealousy?

The liquid is the most bitter thing Alptraum has ever tasted. It nearly makes his throat pucker.

"Smooth," Alptraum claims in a raspy wheeze. He offers the mug to Kaira.

The dragon takes a big sip and makes a pleased sound. "Nice and strong. Most people put honey into cut the bitterness," she comments, then nods to the seated Khatta. "Azrael. I'm Kaira," she says.

The hooded Khatta nods. "Well met, fellow demon. Care for a biscuit? I can summon Ysnor."

"I keep her around to scratch my back. There are two places that are so hard to reach," Alptraum claims as he tries to force back a grin. Hard to do after drinking that stuff.

"I'm good," Kaira notes, and then leans over, using Alptraum's head as an elbow-rest. "So, was there a reason to call me other than to meet your new friend, Alptraum?"

"Oh, just to meet him," Alptraum notes. "And a thought crossed my mind … if he happens to live on and he's a demon, he might be able to help you do the same when the time comes."

"She just needs a way to possess and take over a body… " Azrael notes.

"I've already worked out something, thanks," Kaira notes.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure the dagger can help there. The problem is a body," Alptraum notes. Kaira's remark, though, surprises Alptraum. "You have?" he asks her. "Since when?"

"I'd think that by now you'd realize that dragons always have an escape plan, Alptraum," Kaira notes, and sips more of the glowing green tea.

"Except you've claimed to not be a dragon and dead set on oblivion," Alptraum remarks with a slight frown. "You've been concealing things from me again, I see."

"You'll just have to trust me, Alptraum," Kaira says, smiling sweetly.

Alptraum continues to frown at that. Looking back to Azrael, he says, "I suppose I've taken up enough of your time. May I borrow a room for a few hours to get some rest before I head to visit this Doctor Twig?"

"Oh, certainly," Azrael says with a nod. "I'll have Ysnor fix up one of the dorms." The Khatta then looks around, as if expecting the Skreek to just be there.

After a few seconds, Azrael just yells, "YSNOR!" and the Skreek pokes his head in through the door. "Yeth, Master?"

"Clean up a dorm for our guest," Azrael says.

Alptraum gently takes the mug from Kaira before remarking, "We'll talk later." The mug is set aside and then the bat starts pulling the dagger out of the gauntlet.

"Right away, Master," the Skreek says, getting a glimpse of Kaira just before she vanishes in a puff of smoke when the dagger is withdrawn.

Alptraum sheaths the dagger back in its ordinary leather sheath, then stands. "Thank you for your time. You are not nearly as unpleasant as Mortimer described you," he says.

"Oh, he said I was unpleasant now, did he?" Azrael asks, with a scowl. "I knew I should have had that egg for breakfast… "

"Among other things," Alptraum says as he heads for the door. "He said you were generally happy with and proud of him."

The demon's laughter follows Alptraum out of the study.