Winter Slice

It is a rare Day of Rescue here in the Zone. Today's Prime Manifest brought forth an outpost of the Empire of Ildrun, a civilization facing its apocalypse. The Ildruni priests, clad in red glass armor, were already singing their final dirges. They spoke of a dying world, of a comet blazing brighter every day, of a sky raining down ash, and of a land that trembled with fire and ruin. Salvation took them in their last moments, when the Orrery of Worlds drew a 30-mile circle of their doomed land into the safety of the Zone.

I had the unexpected duty of throwing the Steel Spear Gate wide open and letting the refugees through. The Khan herself came down to administer the "Oath of Shelter". I'd never seen her out of full formal dress before, but there she was, wearing silk pajamas and her hair in a wrap, shouting orders like a drill sergeant. It was good to see her pitching in during an emergency.

As the crowd milled through, I spotted a familiar face skipping the queue. A half-man, like me, breezing through the Gate like he owned the place. I stop him with the haft of my spear across his chest.

"Wilovar Zinnalore, I know that you bear the ident-a-hedron, but even half-blood diplomats have to wait their turn."

He flashed a grin. "Corporal Ghost Queller, looking dashing as always! I'm on a diplomatic mission for Sarge and Ambassador Denev!" He flashed a paper with an official seal. His half-elven ears quivered with amusement. "You'll have to inspect me yourself!"

I snorted, "You half-elves, all charm and trouble."

He smiled wider, "And you half-orcs, all muscle and trouble."

His papers were in order, of course. I performed the Ritual of Souls to make sure that no dark spirits followed him out of the Manifest, then waved him through.

Corporal Gaggog Ghost Queller by Chris L

I came to my old stomping grounds in the Bastion to witness the Day of Rescue for myself. We hadn't had one for a few years, and I had to see the warriors of Winter's Horde playing babysitter with my own eyes. It was strange, but good, to see we could do something other than glorious destruction.

From the ramparts, I had a bird's-eye view of the inner bailey, a sad procession of refugees, their rough gray skin, stained with ash and shock. Duty officers bound their weapons in peace cords and collected the tolls. We were rescuing them, sure, but shelter in the Zone isn't free.

A familiar voice interrupted my observations.

"Sergeant Kill Flayer! Has anyone told you that you're even more handsome when you're pensively observing a line of interdimensional refugees?"

I didn't have to look to know who it was.

"Zinnalore," I growled, "Remind me again how you started working for the Horde?"

He slid up next to me all smiles and cologne, "Ambassador Denev makes great use of my particular set of skills!"

"Of course, Torga always had a weakness for little twinks."

"I can assure you, Sarge, that our relationship is completely professional!" He leaned on the parapet next to me. "Call it what you like, everyone in the Horde loves me."

"The Horde tolerates you," I said. "Same as me."

"First comes toleration. Then comes adulation. Then comes adoration, Sarge! Give it time."

I snorted, "I think you mean constipation, bard!"

Below us, a group of Ildruni priests in red glass armor knelt in prayer, their voices echoing in the courtyard. For a moment, even Wilovar fell silent. I remembered why I came, proof that the Horde could also save people.

Wilovar spoke, a little softer. "Regardless Sarge, it's good to see you!"

I smacked the little bard in the shoulder, almost knocking him over. "Good to see you too. Careful with Torga! She'll eat you alive if you let her!"

Sgt Kill Flayer Talks by Chris L

The polite chime of the bell announced my newest visitor. I slid out of bed and slipped into a silken nothing that felt divine on my delicately scaled skin. Lastl, I donned my mirrored sunglasses, careful not to catch a hint of my own reflection.

The snakes of my hair stirred and hissed as I adjusted them. "Quiet darlings." I whispered. "Didn't I just feed you?"

I glided down the marble stairs past statues of former conquests and nodded to my attendants. "There's a visitor in my bed who needs taking care of. I don't recall if he paid for a restoration, or if he wished to join the collection. See to it, will you?"

The maidens in white silk swept up stairs as I entered my drawing room. The half-elf was already there, sitting in my chair, drinking my wine, and eating my grapes.

"A-hem."

He looked up, unsurprised and quipped. "Now there's a sight for sore eyes!"

I lifted my hand to my glasses in warning. He only grinned, stood, and poured another glass of wine.

"Your report, Zinnalore."

"As rumored," he said, "the refugees are stone-skinned and partially silicon based."

"Stone-blood." I breathed, smiling. "At last! An entire population immune to my gaze! Immune!"

"Most likely" he replied, swirling his glass. "So... are you planning to recruit them, or bed them?"

My serpents hissed, "Perhaps a bit of both. I need soldiers who can meet my eyes. And lovers who don't turn to stone in my bed. The last so-called maedar I encountered was, unfortunately, a fake."

"Ah, the legendary man-dusa. A fake?"

I gestured to a statue in the corner. "Yes, a fanatic with a death wish. My snakes smelled him out immediately."

"Speaking of fanatics," the bard replied, setting his glass down, "one of the Ildruni priests has agreed to meet with you."

"You do good work Wilovar." I tossed him a full pouch. "And my other offer always stands."

He weighed the pouch thoughtfully before tucking it away. "Oh, I'd love to climb that mountain, Madame Ambassador. But something tells me that's a one-way trip."

Ambassador Torga Denev, Gorgon by Chris L

Larera of the Bekiskapan by E. Christopher Clark

I've traveled to scores of worlds. I'd flown to the Shattered Moon and fought the spawn of the Tambanokano. The last place I expected to settle down was the famously desolate Outer Ring of Winter Slice. But Larera said the red rocks reminded her of home, and my home was wherever she was.

I arrived at our little house, carved into the side of a red cliff, hung with hides and relics from the worlds we had visited. She stood outside, wearing almost nothing, grilling meat over an open fire, the only dish she ever cared to make. The flames licked her painted skin, and her red hair glowed in the sunset. There was a chill in the air, that she didn't feel at all, despite wearing only a chainmail bikini.

"Wil! How was the Day of Rescue? This is the first one since I washed up in the Pit right?"

"Yes, love!" I murmured as I held her from behind, marveling at how she was soft and hard in all the right places.

"Food first, Wil!" she smacked me right where Kill Flayer had left a bruise. "You'll need your energy. How were those poor refugees... and the Ambassador?"

I sat at our bench, enjoying the view. "There were a bunch of death-worshipping zealots in the Manifest. They're looking forward to death-by-comet. I couldn't convince them to save themselves. But there was another lot happy to be rescued. Torga's thrilled, she might get troops she can't petrify."

She set a steaming plate in front of me. Then sat across the table.

"We only have tonight." she said, cutting into the roast. "The Horde has called me to battle tomorrow."

I tossed Torga's payment on the table, "I made plenty of coin today, love!"

She laughed, "I don't fight for the money, Wil!"

I frowned. "You don't have to fight at all. You could just live here in the Wastes with me!"

"You say you love me, but you don't understand me at all! Now smile, and sing me a song. "