Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

Pathosis had watched the old woman for weeks before finally introducing herself.

There were people, oh so many people, and they were all so vibrant and full of life that it was all Pathosis could do to avoid letting the joy overwhelm her. She who had been alone for so long was finally among those she could know.

“Why do you do it?” Pathosis asked. She had been invited to the old woman’s home, met her family, and lingered there new before returning to the bustle of stalls and scents.

The old woman coughed and wheezed. “Do what?” she asked.

“You go out there every day, but you are miserable,” said Pathosis. “In here, with me, you are less afraid and less tired even as you ebb away. Why do it, then?”

“I asked my mother that, many years ago,” the old woman said. She folded her hands, well-worn from a lifetime of toil. “Would you like to know what she told me?”

“I am a part of you, now, and you are a part of me,” Pathosis said. “I would very much like to know.”

“Mother told me that there are two things that you cannot change in life. There are always those who have more than you, and always those who depend on you. You can do nothing about the former, and if you do nothing about the latter, people will suffer. Your duty is clear.”

“Duty…” Pathosis found the word had an odd taste, for she knew very little of it. Everything she had ever done was for herself, to fulfill a need most primal and base. “What about yourself? You were not on your mother’s list?”

“The self can change,” the old woman said, weary. “And it is not important. Selfishness brings suffering.”

“Yet you suffer now,” Pathosis said, gently. “Do you not?”

“The self is not important,” the old woman repeated. “I have done the best that I can for those who depend on me.”

Those were her last thoughts; the breath left her in a dry rattle, leaving only Pathosis in the room.

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Dear [REDACTED],

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Dr. Whizbang’s School of Mad Science and Nutty Professery. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your acceptance no later than July 31. Please note that penetrating the cloak and finding the school to register is part of the admission process.

First-year students will require:
1. Three plain lab coats (white)
2. One pair protective goggles (transparent) for lab wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (unobtainium or similar)

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She has no name of her own. Many have been given, but they are not hers anymore than a borrowed coat is a new and tingling skin.

Pathosis will do, though, if you need a name to hang onto. It is not hers, no, but it is not others’ either. A clinical name, Greek on barbarian tongues, fit for a traveler that is unwelcome but curious.

She has no agenda of her own; no politics, no creed. Pathosis does not wish to die, but is unsure if she was ever truly alive. The question racks at her, sometimes, as she wafts about on the breeze, but it is only for a moment. For the curiosity, the need, the drive that animates her cannot be resisted.

She must travel. She must meet. She must mingle.

Every person Pathosis encounters becomes a part of her, as intimate as a sibling or a even lover, though she has neither. The only constant is her search, her yearning, and the people left behind.

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This item is an ordinary-looking T.35 gas mask of the sort produced in the millions during World War II for both military and civilian use. The filter canister, which once contained hazardous asbestos, has been removed, and the rubber is flaking and rotting in many places. The eyepieces, though, are brilliant and clear and seem to be resistant to any and all dirt, grime, and smudges.

Putting on an old gas mask is dangerous and uncomfortable, but the Mask of Fear is especially so: anyone who puts the mast on no longer feels fear of any kind. They are completely and utterly fearless. While this might seem a major benefit and boon to the layperson, one tends to forget that fear is a major element in preventing self-harm or sociopathic behavior.

The effect is similar to congenital analgesia, the inability of a person to feel pain, but is much broader: wearing the Mask of Fear means no fear of death, no fear of punishment or stigma, and no fear for the personal safety of others. Wearing the Mask, in effect, filters out fear the same way an ordinary mask might filter out poison gas. Everyone who has worn the Mask for any length of time has wound up injured for this reason, though they also describe a feeling of curious empowerment and euphoria.

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A smaller world
But a better one?

Birds outside
Singing sweetly
Nothing different
In their world

They gorge
At the feeder
Greedy, heedless
Until emptiness

Placards abound
Protests over
Smaller worlds
On capitol steps

The same greed
The same seed
The same gulps
The same fate

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Once the northern heartland of the Crimson Empire, Vacij is a kingdom in name only, its High King a monarch only in the sense that he or she is first among equals and casts the second vote in the election of the Sepulcher’s holy head.

In practice, Vacij is hundreds of smaller and practically independent principalities. These tend to take a few basic forms:

Petty Kingdoms
Many of the small states are ruled by nominal kings, and usually consist of only a few small cities or valleys. There are a large number of Dwarven-dominated kingdoms in the north of Vacij, as well as elven Dominates where elf retainers and functionaries have supplanted earlier rulers and attracted their kinfolk in numbers. The states of Goblin March are unique among the mainland kingdoms in being populated by and ruled by goblins, though nearly all are in thrall to or owe fealty to other states and are crippled by ruinous taxes and troop levies.

Sepulcherates
Many parts of Vacij are controlled by the Sepulcher directly, though the priests typically delegate the actual ruling to local functionaries who are, for all intents and purposes, nobles themselves. Sepulcherates vote earlier in the elections for High King, and exercise undue weight in the selection of the favored Vaciji candidate to head the Sepulcher. Sepulcherates are also exempt from the High King’s troop levies and taxes, which are controlled by the Sepulcher itself, though the prince-bishops are usually more than willing to place their troops at the High King’s disposal in emergencies.

Free States
During the great Vacij Rebellions, serf throughout the principalities rose up in revolt and demanded meaningful change. After defeating the High King’s troops at Bloody River, they were granted a number of concessions–serfdom was abolished throughout Vacij, and the largest areas in rebellion were allowed to organize themselves as the Free States provided they took a nominal oath of loyalty to the High King. In practice, though, serfdom was replaced with peonage and the Free States soon came under the domination of merchants and corrupt “elected” officials. Once seen as a beacon of freedom and hope, the Free States are often seen as anarchic and unpleasant.

Royal Cities
The largest and most cosmopolitan cities in Vacij have attained self-government, usually under a local prince or king but sometimes an elected city council. They tend to be highly influential commercially, but are very vulnerable to sieges, boycotts, and blockades due to their lack of any agricultural or pasture land.

The Isle of Vacij
Usually simply called “The Isle” or “The Island,” this is the small (and non-contiguous) amount of land controlled by the High King directly. As Vacij has no capital, the royal court instead traveling between fortified cities regularly, the Isle is only loosely connected with the High King, though the best troops and fortifications are usually found there, to give the High King a base of power in the event of a not-infrequent civil war or dynastic struggle.

In the words of the most recent High King of Vacij, Saksa VII the Scholar, “If not for the tendency for the Vaciji to unite in the face of an external threat, they would have been conquered long ago. If not for their tendency to turn on one another immediately afterwards, they would have been the conquerors long ago as well.”

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No known person by the name “Vos” exists; rather, this is the best guess at a corroded and worn inscription atop the body of this cowbell. Likely made in the mid 20th century, it would be otherwise unremarkable among items in the Hoard but for its most curious property.

When struck, the bell will attract cattle from up to two miles away. The bovines will come peacefully, but if anyone or anything impedes their movement they will become violent. Smashing fences, kicking open barn doors, and even tramplings and stampedes have been known to occur.

Upon reaching their destination, the cows loiter about–as if waiting for something–for one hour. After that, they gradually wander off, with most returning to wherever they came from. An analysis of scratches on the surface of the Bell of Vos reveals marks from two different kinds of strikers, while only one striker–a metal rod of the same age and construction–survives. Striking it with another material might produce a different effect, but given the dire outcome of experiments so far, further research is unlikely.

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Judd Hogarth
The latest in a long line of hog farmers, Judd began his own farm with only two things: a plot of land and Squiggles the Wonder Pig. He has been devastated by Squiggles’ disappearance, and maintains that his prize sow has ascended to be matriarch of a celestial piggery owned and operated by the Watcher. Uncommonly neat and personable for a hoggist, Judd is a master salesman so long as he doesn’t have to deal with children, which he considers to be the true pigs of the world.

Dagny Hogarth
Judd’s bride, Dagny is new to the hogging trade, having come from a family of poulters instead. Despite initial hardships, she has remained steadfast and loyal to Judd, if less so to Squiggles the Wonder Pig. In fact, some attribute Squiggles’ mysterious disappearance (or ascension) to her jealousy. Her occasional bouts of pig-related melodrama aside, Dagny nevertheless wants to have kids despite Judd’s opposition, even if she does sometimes forget to feed the family she already has.

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“She’s the flower of our swamp” the orcs utter with pride
When Swampflower’s in bloom, best have caution on your side
Orcs from miles around will descend upon her wilds
To fight one another for the honor of siring her child
Win or lose it matters not for eight to nine months hence
A war raid for baby shower follows as a consequence

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The two small ornate daggers are in stiletto or “rib-slipper” form, each with a crossguard made of baroque finials and a handle that resembles an armed knight in a sentinel position. Both weapons are identical, though Dagger B has has its blade bent slightly over the years. Neither come with a sheath, though there are pictures of sheathes that have been custom-fabricated for them.

“P’theyj” isn’t inscribed anywhere on the daggers–indeed, they have no known markings at all, which has complicated any estimate of their age. Rather, they were given that name by a prior owner, Giuseppe d’Angelo, a silversmith in Venetia who bought the daggers as part of a scrap consignment from the Ubrezzi estate.

In letters to his colleagues and family, d’Angelo wrote a fanciful version of the daggers’ history, including possession by Charlemagne and other factors that are unlikely given the design and patina of the weapons. He further added that they had been forged for one “P’theyj” who would yet claim them, insisting that the name belonged to a future owner that had not been born yet and was of a species not yet evolved. His will insisted that “P’theyj” be given rights to the daggers, but they were instead sold at auction, passing hence into the Hoard,

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