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(Author’s note: This is “fan fiction of fan fiction”, inspired by the storyline created by Triond author Leafygreens as based on the MMORPG EverQuest II. In this short story we see my protagonist, Chris Alan Starbright, *en apotheosis* – as something far greater than what he was when I first started writing stories about him here on Triond.)

**********

“Can I believe my eyes?” said Innoruuk as he looked upon the strange quintet which had appeared out of nowhere before his throne. “How did you get to the Plane of Hate without using the Guild Portal or a Fulgian Soulstone? And how did you get past all my minions?” 

“My companions are from another Realm, mighty Prince,” explained Kharm. “They are not completely limited by the mystical laws of our own Realm.” 

Innoruuk gazed with contempt at those he saw before him. There were (from all appearances) three Humans, a white-haired, white-robed man with golden wings who was somehow both more and less than a minion, and a traitorous Tier’Dal mage. The largest Human wore strange garb indeed: just a plain white T-shirt with dark belt and pants, socks and shoes (although Innoruuk had no words to describe the outfit precisely). Incongruously, he wore a magical sword sheathed in a rather archaic-looking scabbard at his left side. The woman wore a long dress covered with a fractal pattern of strange beauty (although again Innoruuk had no words to describe that pattern precisely). The Human that looked most like a Norrathian wore a simple hooded cloak of considerable magical power, so that Innoruuk could neither see his face nor perceive his thoughts. His robe’s clasp, his ring and especially his sword were likewise magical, in a way that Innoruuk didn’t understand – but mere ignorance of something never caused Innoruuk to be afraid of anything. 

“So, thou hast brought the life force of an Avatar of Hate before me?” Innoruuk’s voice reminded Amethyst of bare granite crags swept by an icy wind: stern, cruel and unyielding. “Verily thou didst not slay him with thy own power, traitorous mage. Who aided thee?” 

“*We* did, buddy, as we know you know,” said Slate, who glared at Innoruuk with his huge arms folded, “and we’ll take *you* on if you try to hurt this Elf here and now.” 

Innoruuk’s laughter reminded Amethyst of a sudden, hurricane-force gust raging across the crags of his personality – not the most elegant of analogies, she knew, but there was nothing elegant about this Norrathian “god” on any level whatever. 

“And who among you can defeat me? Not *thou* at least!” he mocked as he looked upon the cloaked Human at Innoruuk’s far left. Of all the races of Norrath, Innoruuk probably had the least regard for Humans as a matter of principle, and this one seemed not at all impressive even in size – even if he and his friends *did* take down the Avatar of Hate one weapon at a time. 

“He is not what he appears to be,” Kharm began, but was silenced by a gesture from the Human. 

“Well then,” said Innoruuk, “this small mystery on the far left can wait. Why hast thou brought the Avatar’s life force to me?” 

“To give it to thee in exchange for the spirit of Zaphyre, my beloved,” Kharm replied. 

“*Beloved*!” Innoruuk’s laughter was harsher than ever. “Thou *fool*! Love has no power in the plan of the Nameless. Behold what His will of Hate has brought into my power.” Innoruuk muttered an incantation and brought a series of apparitions into his throne room, standing in the air behind his throne. 

“*Zaphyre*!” Kharm exclaimed as he saw the apparition that was her spirit. But she was far from alone: the spirits of Zaphyre’s honored parents, and those of Kharm’s ancestors going back five generations at least, stood with her. 

“All who you see and many, many more walked the path of Hate and dwell here now,” Innoruuk all but hissed. “No ransom that thou couldst offer me will redeem a single one of them.” With a wave of his long, clawed hand, he forcibly withdrew the Avatar’s life force from Kharm in a moment, causing him to double over with pain. Quickly Slate and Amethyst grabbed his arms to help keep Kharm from collapsing. 

[He acts not according to his own customs,] Kharm thought in terror. 

“Hear me, traitor, before thou diest and art cast from my sight: I am Hate. The Nameless I serve is Hate. No one dwelling anywhere or anywhen can overcome us.”

“If I were to say *that*, then I should be a liar like *you*,” said the cloaked Human, speaking with a compelling tenor voice like none that Innoruuk had ever heard. “But *I* have seen His Face, *I* have heard His Voice, *I* have known His Love, and *I* wield His Light Without Measure at Need. He is Far From Nameless to *me* – and I owe my very life to *Him*.” 

[Prophecy Without Measure at Need,] Amethyst thought. [In spades.] 

“And who art *thou*, bold one?” 

The Human pulled off the hood of his cloak and looked right into Innoruuk’s eyes. “This Realm once knew me as Alain Harper the Undying Singer – and as the Herald of the God of Many Names, whom you falsely call Nameless. Now I am called the Hooded Man, and Nicholas’ Bane as well.”

Innoruuk clacked his thumbnails against his fingernails as he considered the Human. It would be cliché to say that he was everything that Innoruuk was not (for their personality types shared some common ground, even if their characters did not), but his Elf-like beauty alone made Innoruuk seethe with delicious hatred. And he still seemed so very weak compared to Innoruuk. 

“I know thee, Chris Alan Starbright, thee and Raphael Goldwing thy minion!” Innoruuk exclaimed suddenly. “Long hast it been since thou treadest the paths of Norrath, harming none and harmed by none, until thy hour of battle against the Dragon Prince came. So it was *thou*, then, that destroyed the Red Lord of Chaos and his minions?” 

“And that worthy Avatar of Hate, too,” said Chris Alan with a soft smile, “with the equally worthy help of my friends.” 

“Don’t be so modest, Blondie,” said Slate. “It was *your* sandbox; you only let us play in it.” 

“Why, how poetic, Slate,” said Amethyst admiringly. “After your fashion, that is.” 

“It was also my ring that enabled Zaphyre to find me and that protected her from you, until she took it off,” Chris Alan went on. “*Not* the best move she could’ve made – begging your pardon, Kharm,” he added with a wink. 

“Thou art a *fool* to appear before me so boldly!” Innoruuk shouted. “Have I not heard thy words and seen thy plots from afar? By all that is terrible, it is *thou* that art weak and arrogant! Now thou shalt taste the torments of the Prince of Hate!” 

[You have no idea what my plans are,] Chris Alan thought sternly, [and I cloaked more of my words from you than you’ll ever know. Watch out, Innoruuk – my queen’s about to put your king in check.] 

“If you’re counting on your minions to come storming in here and kill us,” said Chris Alan, reading Innoruuk’s mind, “*don’t*.” The glyph on Chris Alan’s ring sparkled with catalytic power, and with a wave of his right hand, he dismissed the apparitions. “I assure you, your slaves and your minions on this Plane, every last one of them, are completely helpless now.”

With a shriek that reminded Amethyst (in her quirky Visionary way) of the sound of thousands of fingernails scraping thousands of chalkboards pumped through a distortion guitar’s amplifier, Innoruuk gathered the life force of the Avatar in his right hand, and used it to trigger a spell of truly awesome power. It was a spell such as Kharm had never heard of, combining the power of every blessing and every miracle that Innoruuk could give his servants in one blistering bolt of violet lightning. To Kharm it seemed the total negation of Chris Alan’s first “spell” on Norrath, and perhaps even more powerful. If it reached the quintet, Amethyst and Raphael would survive it, and possibly Slate – but Kharm would not. 

Raphael’s n-dimensional force field, projected as a pane, might’ve stopped even such a spell as this – but Chris Alan was making a point. The lightning bolt arced toward his extended left hand (which was now glowing blue) and was absorbed effortlessly. A moment later, Chris Alan pulled in his left arm while contracting his left hand to a fist, even as he extended his right arm palm-forward; his right hand glowed white as he did so.

By some invisible force, Innoruuk was batted across the throne room like a mouse being batted across a kitchen floor by a broom. He crashed against the back wall spread-eagled, then collapsed face-down on the floor. 

“Hey, not bad, Blondie,” Slate said with a grin while clapping his huge hands. “That use of Strength at Need was almost like my Willbreaker.” 

“It was many times more powerful, Slate,” Chris Alan replied seriously. “It *had* to be. Innoruuk sent his best shot at us.” 

“And thou sent nowhere near thy own in return, I warrant,” said Kharm in awe. 

“Just for the record, Kharm: Innoruuk’s spell just now wasn’t even *close* to what I unleashed on the Daimonae, let alone on Nicholas. I had to pull my punches a bit against the Daimonae, in order to keep from killing Zaphyre and many others – so much of my attack’s power was directed toward self-control.” 

Kharm nodded; he was getting used to Chris Alan reading his mind at unexpected moments. “Thy words spoke truth: Innoruuk did not accept my offering. Now what do we do?” 

“Assuming you didn’t kill the Court Jester of Hate, that is?” chuckled Slate. 

“Trust me, I didn’t, much as I’d like to. Had I used Light Without Measure at Need just now, I *would’ve* killed him.” Chris Alan nodded. “We’ll go according to plan, that’s what we’ll do. See, he’s getting up now.” 

For the first time in his long existence, Innoruuk knew existential fear. Even in the face of Nicholas’ invasion of his Realm, he had maintained his monomaniacal focus on eventually conquering Norrath through Hate to his own glory. But *this* personage was unlike anything he had ever encountered. He was not a god – he was a *slayer* of gods! 

How could such a one be motivated by Love, as he so obviously was? It seemed now to Innoruuk as if Chris Alan’s very *persona* radiated Love throughout the Plane, defiling everything it touched. It would take weeks for the Plane to be decontaminated, assuming that Innoruuk lived long enough to oversee the process.

“What dost thou want?” Innoruuk croaked out at last; he was still on his hands and knees. 

“A life for a life,” Chris Alan replied. “My life in exchange for Zaphyre’s – and with it, the freedom for Kharm and Zaphyre to choose their own paths without interference from you.” 

First a chuckle, then a laugh, then a maniacal cackling emerged from Innoruuk’s throat. “A powerful fool indeed thou art, O Hooded Man, yet still a fool,” he said at last. “Thou darest to parley with me for what thou couldst take by force?” He cackled again as his worldview began to reassert itself in his mind. “Verily Love is only for the weak, and for those who know not how to gain what they desire.” 

“On the contrary, O Court Jester of Hate,” replied Chris Alan with a wink and a thankful grin at Slate, “even my weakness is stronger than you, and even my foolishness is wiser than you – ‘like Father, like Son’. Believe me, I know *exactly* what I’m doing.” 

Innoruuk stood and considered his foe again. In truth, Chris Alan seemed to be many things, but being naïve didn’t seem to be one of them. It showed not just in his words and in his inflection, but in his eyes, in his facial expressions, and in his stance. The combination was unnerving in a servant of Love. What did Chris Alan stand to gain from all this, *really*? 

“What terms dost thou offer, then?” 

“In the Realm from which all other Realms have sprung,” Chris Alan replied, “the Lord of the Realms died and was resurrected so that all Humans everywhere in that Realm could be redeemed from death if they wished it. In these Realms the offer of redemption has been extended in a fashion to all created beings – even to yourself.” When Innoruuk scoffed, Chris Alan went on (with just a hint of Prophetic voicing to arrest Innoruuk’s resistance), “*Now hear me out!* It is this redemption that enables me to offer my spirit in exchange for Zaphyre’s.” 

“And what is *my* part in this exchange?” 

“The blood of redemption has already been shed; no further ‘magic’ is required to seal our agreement. You need only take my life, when I am prepared to offer it.” 

“And thy spirit will be mine to possess? How will this be done?” 

“Raphael here will return to Rest Mode and become inert. He will appear as a crystalline sphere, invulnerable to magic of any kind. Within him, my spirit will be in safekeeping, and he will be in yours. At the same time, Zaphyre’s spirit will return to her body, and she will revive.” Chris Alan paused. “But if ever you break our agreement and try to take Zaphyre’s spirit back against her will, then the One you call Nameless will take your life.” 

“Thou mockest me,” said Innoruuk. “The Nameless will not betray me – and lest thou thinkest to keep thy treachery against Him forever, know that He will not resurrect thee either.” 

“Your faith in Hate’s unwillingness to betray itself is tragicomic,” Chris Alan replied. “But if the ‘Nameless’ really is driven by Hate and not by Love, then you’ve nothing to worry about, have you? Believe me, once I’m dead I won’t have any power to revive myself – and no one else in these Realms will be able to revive me either, if the ‘Nameless’ doesn’t do it.” 

Innoruuk looked at Chris Alan carefully as a long thumbnail stroked his chin. “And if I refuse thy exchange?” 

“Then I’ll take what I want by force, as the Logic Behind All now allows me to do,” said Chris Alan coldly, “and one day I’ll return to this Realm and *kill* you as easily as I killed Nicholas.” 

Innoruuk laughed. “Ah, Hooded Fool, I see thy stratagem. Thou thinkest that by thy self-sacrifice, exchanging a God of Love for a Priestess of Hate, thou will reform me?” Innoruuk laughed even harder. “And thou offerest a drawn sword at my throat as an alternative, in defiance of the Nameless Himself. Very well: I will accept thy exchange, and make thy sword drop from thy hand for all time!” 

“Then stand ready while we prepare. Raphael, open the otherspace closet. Kharm, step inside and carry Zaphyre’s body out.”

Soon Kharm was standing before Innoruuk, carrying Zaphyre in his arms. She still seemed to be resting in a very deep and peaceful, if breathless sleep. Amethyst bore her staff, which had likewise been stored in Raphael’s closet. 

Chris Alan momentarily vanished, then reappeared. Innoruuk and his friends alike perceived the change in him: he was now truly subject to death, although still (as he once was) *potentially* the most powerful created being in the Realms. 

“Yea verily, thou art now as thou was long ago,” Innoruuk said nodding, “and now I know better than to stir thy hidden strength through torment. I watched thee carefully in those days, and thou wert a force to be reckoned with, even then. Very well,” Innoruuk went on as he gathered his full strength to himself and extended his right hand, “*DIE!!!*” 

As the word came out of Innoruuk’s mouth, Chris Alan’s body crystallized into ice. 

“*Oh!*” Amethyst gasped involuntarily. 

“*Ouch,*,” Slate muttered. 

[Another unknown spell,] thought Kharm in shock. 

Within seconds, the flash-frozen corpse that had been Chris Alan Starbright grew bright, then shattered into thousands of points of white light. Even his Starblade, ring and clasp vanished in flashes of light. At the same time Raphael coalesced involuntarily into Rest Mode and dropped to the floor with a loud *thud*. 

Zaphyre stirred in Kharm’s arms. “Beloved…? Where are we?” 

“In the Plane of Hate,” Kharm replied as he lowered her feet to the floor. In the next moment he was embracing her, crying helplessly for joy and astonishment. Zaphyre pressed close in his embrace as he stroked her hair and her back. 

Slate bent over to pick up Raphael’s now-inert form. “Here’s your bauble,” he growled as he pitched it like a softball at Innoruuk’s head. Innoruuk caught it easily. “Keep it – and may the One you call Nameless curse you every day and every night you possess it!” 

Innoruuk laughed again. “Were it not for that ring on Zaphyre’s finger, I would possess her spirit again along with that of thy friend.” 

“Nice job if you can get it, ugly,” Slate scoffed. 

“Be warned, O impudent one,” Innoruuk growled, “the Hooded Fool’s spell on my minions has ended.” 

“But our ability to evade them has not,” said Amethyst, and she and the rest vanished from the Plane of Hate in a flash of pale blue light. 

********** 

“I thank thee again, Slate Rockmire, for going hunting in these woods with me these past days – but if thou wilt forgive me, thou dost not compare to the beautiful huntress that usually accompanies me.” Kharm grinned at the large man. “Not that her skill is superior to thine, sir, ‘tis just that…” 

“Heh, heh, say no more. I know what you mean. You haven’t been married long, have you? It shows,” Slate laughed and gave Kharm a friendly slap on his back. “It’s great, isn’t it? And it keeps one’s mind off the waiting.”

Once Amethyst had taken herself and her friends from the Plane of Hate, she had taken them directly to the Portal of Twilight, in the secluded area of Mystic Lake, known as Direvine Woods. There, she had split into two forms (one a violet-haired cat, one her usual Human female form) and got on either side of the Portal’s mirror, so that it might remain open. The violet-haired cat remained on the side in the Covenant Realm, while the female Human remained on Norrath; both remained ever watchful. So guarded, the Portal constantly showed the mountain on the Covenant side to those on Norrath, and Norrath to anyone standing on the Covenant side. 

“How much longer, Amethyst?” asked Zaphyre. 

“Less than ten hours, if I keep the Portal open that long,” Amethyst said. “After that…we’ll see.” She was very careful not to mention anything about Chris Alan’s real strategy that Innoruuk might somehow overhear, as was Slate.

It was early afternoon. Slate and Kharm had returned to the camp, which the party had set up near the Portal, and they all had just finished eating what the men had caught. There were many creatures in the Direvine woods, and all over Mystic Lake. They had to travel into the Shadow Woods past enormous black and blue spiders, walking skeletal soldiers, malicious spirits, evil forest nymphsand flesh-eating fish. Unsure of what was safe to eat, the hunters caught a fat young beaver and (as luck would have it) a crippled fawn that together were enough to feed the party. The Elementals, like Chris Alan, didn’t *need* to eat, but they did enjoy fellowshipping over a meal with mortals.

“Beaver’s not our thing, Kharm, according to our law,” Slate explained. “If Blondie were here and saw us eating rodent, he wouldn’t force our law on *you*, but *we’d* never hear the end of it – so to speak.”

Zaphyre had something more to digest as well: all she had heard about how Chris Alan had dealt with the Avatar and with Innoruuk, and how he had revived her at the cost of his own life. The priestess stared at the campfire; her dark eyes reflected the flames that danced before her. However much she was glad to have been returned to her soul-bound, she couldn’t believe it had been done at such a terrible price. The only real and constant love she had ever known had been that of Kharm and her parents. Now these gods who had come to her world had shown her a kind of Love that was filled not only with forgiveness, even to those who weren’t repentant, but of sacrifice for those who could still be regarded as the enemy. And until she turned away from all that she had ever known or been taught about Hate, wasn’t she still an enemy?

On the other side of the Portal, the cat meowed in the direction of Norrath.

“What’s that? Oh! Kharm and Zaphyre, do you hear that?”

“We do,” said Kharm grimly; Elves of any kind had long ears and keen hearing. “They are taking little care for silence, which is most unlike them. They must think that surprise is not needed, given our lack of the Hooded Man to help us.”

The cat jumped back to Norrath and fused with the woman, sealing the Portal behind her.

“What are you doing?” Slate shouted. With the Portal so sealed, time had stopped in the Covenant Realm relative to Norrath – which meant that Chris Alan’s resurrection would be delayed.

“Reconnaissance,” she replied, and vanished. In a few moments, she returned. “Come with me quickly, Zaphyre!” she urged, and the two of them stepped hand-in-hand through the Portal. Once they had, its mirror-like surface vanished.

Before anyone else could react (for when the ring passed through the Portal, time stopped in Norrath relative to the Covenant Realm), the Portal opened again as Zaphyre and Amethyst stepped back through it. Behind them, a hundred and forty-four men in hyper-tech battle armor passed quickstep through the Portal.

“Lieutenant Rockmire!” one of the arriving soliders exclaimed. “What are your orders?”

“This is Captain Starbright’s game, Lieutenant,” Slate replied. Kharm and Zaphyre had never heard him speak so formally before. “Help us hold the line agains these goons until he can join us!”

“Who are these men?” Kharm shouted at Slate.

“Deep Space Fleetmen. Special Forces. They’re all Elementals like me. That Innoruuk’s just bought himself a heap of trouble.”

“Slate, Kharm, Zaphyre, I need you and the Fleetmen to guard this Portal with your lives!” Amethyst shouted; she had returned to her dual form again. “Don’t let anyone get through to me! I can’t fight them off or keep them from invading our own Realm while I’m holding the Portal open!”

“You got it, honey! Bring ‘em on!” Slate shouted as he drew Lahavyor. With Slate at their head, the Fleetmen silently took up their positions. Their enemies (large, medium and small) came on, no longer bothering with any stealth at all.

Kharm summoned Fate and called upon an army of undead soldiers at his command. The fury and the necromancer cast their spells of protection and power in preparation for combat. Both prepared to magically root or chain down anything they could, if it was possible. Zaphyre had summoned her magic steed Enmity, while Kharm had summoned his magic flying carpet, so that both would have maximum speed during the battle. Attired in their most powerful gear and armed with their best weapons, they stood together, ready for what looked to be the fight of their lives, and perhaps of Norrath.

**********

Innoruuk was a suspicious sort, and something about this “parley” had bothered him from the moment it had been made. Above all, he didn’t like not having Chris Alan’s spirit directly available to him, as it were. He tried spells, he tried tools, he tried brute strength, he tried everything he could think of and everything he could force unwilling assistants to think of, in order to break through Raphael’s shell. Raphael remained inert and unharmed, as unbreakable as a cosmic law.

After two days, Innoruuk found a nice ring-shaped stand on which to put this strange crystal ball. It made for an interesting decoration.

On the third day, he considered that odd shift in the space-time matrix of his Realm (he called the shift a magical alignment, but by any other name it felt just as bizarre), which had happened just minutes after the strangers had left the Plane of Hate. Being preoccupied, and thinking he’d made more than a fair exchange, he’d not thought the shift worth considering. But now as he looked down on Norrath, he saw that Kharm, Zaphyre and their new friends were encamped near the otherworldly Portal – and he perceived that the Portal was being held open, synchronizing his Realm with another Realm.

Why? Were they waiting for reinforcements, somehow? But what would be the purpose? Surely there was nothing strong enough on the other side of the Portal to reclaim Raphael by force?

Well, this was one detail that Innoruuk didn’t intend to ignore. He sent every servant and minion he could spare to the Portal: Tier’Dal of every fighting class, mages, and heroic and epic monsters. His fears were justified when the move was countered by the arrival of hundreds of Humans (as they appeared to be) with almost-magical arms and armor.

Innoruuk quickly inferred that these “Humans” were actually beings of Slate Rockmire’s class, if not quite as strong as he. In that hour, Innoruuk realized that he’d been had. Whatever Chris Alan and Raphael had up their sleeves, Innoruuk was certain that no amount of distance between them and himself would save him from it. Backed to the wall in his mind, Innoruuk wasted no time trying to dispose of Rafael, but poured his volcanic hatred into his servants to the very limits of his ability, urging them to kill their opponents before Chris Alan’s still-unguessed trap was sprung.

The battle that followed was truly epic. The “Humans” – Fleetmen, as Innoruuk perceived they were called – were precise in their fighting, preferring to take on the monsters while their winged servants kept the more sentient creatures from approaching the Portal. Yet every time one of the Fleetmen’s hyper-tech weapons pierced a monster, the monster died, no matter how powerful he or she was. Soon there were no monsters left, and the Tier’Dal and their allies were facing the combined and formidable might of the V’naes and the Fleetmen - and Slate and Lahavyor’s Seven Winged Lions Mode with them.

Zaphyre and Kharm had never seen anything quite like that battle, and they’d seen furies, mages and Shadowknights mix it up often enough. The couple fought with everything they had. It was not the first time either of them had to fight their own kind. They fought only the minor attackers and minions they thought they could handle. Zaphyre showered the area around herself with thunderous blasts of fire and lightning, killing off anything that came close to her and Kharm. She charged after Fate, keeping him healed and protected while the two of them cut down the Dark Father-sent creatures all around them. Kharm controlled the mobs by casting magical chains to bind everything he could and then followed up his attack with hundreds of fighting bats, goblins and imps while also commanding his army of undead to destroy as he willed. The fury and the necromancer fought in unison, watching after each other to make sure they got the help they needed. If Zaphyre or Fate needed more power, Kharm was ready to give it to them, draining enemy creatures with his vampiric orb and giving that power to his life mate or his minion. If Zaphyre sensed than Kharm or Fate needed healing, she would turn her horse and ride at full speed casting her healing spells on them, rooting the attackers to the ground, blasting them with lightening bolts and smashing their heads with her staff. And thus they fought together, doing their part for what seemed like hours.

It was just when the V’naes and Slate had almost agreed (reluctantly) that truly deadly force was needed against the Tier’Dal and their allies that another being stepped in.

“John Barnabas!” exclaimed Amethyst as a tall man in a tan hooded cloak approached the Portal from the Covenant side. “What are *you* doing here?”

“Acting in my capacity as Realm Master,” he replied good-naturedly. “If I can’t act as a *deus ex machina* on behalf of some old friends once in a while, then what good am I?”

Quickly Amethyst stepped out of the way and coalesced into her female Human form as the Realm Master grasped both sides of the Portal’s frame. Immediately time began to speed up in the Covenant Realm, relative to Norrath. Hours passed within seconds, until three days and three nights had been completed at the Heart of the Sphere in the Covenant Realm.

A few seconds later, a shrill, harsh voice screamed bloody murder from the sky overhead.

“*AHHHHH!!!*” It was Innoruuk’s voice! He was being dangled helplessly by the ear, high above the ground, by a radiant being in Human form whose face shone like the sun. A golden-winged man, resplendent in glory as well, was with him, wielding two drawn blades.

Suddenly, Innoruuk dropped from the sky, crashed on the ground and lay still.

The Hooded Man and his Guardian descended between the two armies to stand by the prone form of Innoruuk. A sapphire-blue pane of force appeared a palm’s breath off the ground; the Hooded Man and his Guardian came to rest on it. When the Hooded Man spoke, his voice rolled like thunder through the hills.

“Behold your Dark Father!” the now-literally-star-bright Chris Alan shouted at the Tier’Dal in formal Thexian. “Three hundred years of torment he used to twist the King and Queen of the Light Elves into the forebears of the Tier’Dal race. Three hundred years of like torment he has now experienced in his mind, even as a moment has passed on Norrath around him. I am not allowed to kill him, here and now – but in justice I have done to him what he has done to others.” With a wave of his hand, Chris Alan returned Innoruuk to his own Plane, still unconscious. “Now take your leave of this place, before I *force* you to do so.”

Druidic portals appeared here, there and everywhere as the Tier’Dal and their allies fled. The rest ran or flew away terrified in every direction.

Chris Alan’s “magical power” (as Zaphyre and Kharm now realized was a wholly inadequate phrase) returned to Human-normal, and his appearance with it: Starblade, ring and cloak, with the cloak’s hood drawn down from his head. The Fleetmen, and Slate and Amethyst with them, bowed the knee on every side as he and Raphael approached the Portal on foot. Even Zaphyre and Kharm dismounted and knelt in reverence; the steed and carpet, no longer needed, slowly disappeared from sight.

“John!” exclaimed Chris Alan as the Realm Master stepped through the Portal into the Realm of Norrath, and he embraced his old friend. “Rise, my friends!” he shouted at Kharm and Zaphyre. “This is John Barnabas the Realm Master, another of my kind,” he explained as they drew near. “‘John’ means ‘The Eternal is Gracious’, and ‘Barnabas’ means ‘Son of Encouragement’.”

“Yet another loving god such as thyself?” Zaphyre lowered her eyes in humility. It was bad enough (so to speak) to have *one* such being around, but *two*…

“I still do not understand, milords,” said Zaphyre, who looked very troubled. “Why would you take such trouble for me, a Tier’Dal and a priestess of Darkmoon?”

“Have you ever heard the saying, ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’?” Chris Alan said, and smiled. “So you have been to me, and so I have been to you. But there’s more – as Kharm here has been trying valiantly to show you. You are worthy of Love, you are learning to show Love despite yourself – and now both my ring and my covenant with Innoruuk will protect you while you decide whether Love is truly the path you wish to follow.”

“And that too is Love, Priestess,” said John Barnabas, “enabling people to make their own choices, whether for Love or against it. But it is also advising which way is truly better, whether the advice is believed or not.” He held Zaphyre’s gaze with his own, and Zaphyre found she could not turn her face away. “Choose Love, Zaphyre,” he said gently.

“I chose Love and Hate to soul-bind with my husband, but maybe, in time, I shall only need Love,” Zaphyre responded fearfully. “I have learned so much and now need time to make sense of it all. Hate has been the focus of my life and it will cost me much to give it up. Nonetheless, thank you so much, milords.”

“It cost Chris Alan and myself *everything* to follow Love, Zaphyre – but now you know what a Human who does so can become. Your destiny as an Elf will be different from ours if you follow Love, but if you do, then in due time you will fulfill the purpose for which you were created, beyond the plane and the laws of Norrath, in ways you cannot now imagine. Of this Chris Alan and I are not permitted to speak more here and now.”

With that, John Barnabas nodded and turned to walk towards the Fleetmen. A brisk series of orders caused them to assemble into military formation. Quickly the Fleetmen quick-stepped through the Portal as John Barnabas held it open for them. Waving goodbye to Chris Alan and the others, he stepped through the Portal into the Covenant Realm.

“And now we must take our leave of you as well,” said Chris Alan. “We’ll miss you both – and it’s been an honor and a pleasure serving you.”

“Oh, come on, Blondie, what’s the rush?” cried Slate. “I mean, the Lord’s just raised you from the dead, for pity’s sake! And *you* saved Zaphyre, and taught that Innoruuk a thing or two on top of it. Can’t we have a proper celebration somewhere?”

Chris Alan looked up at Slate and shook his head in amusement mixed with genial scorn. Whatever else seeing “Blondie” in glory had done, it hadn’t blunted Slate’s usual friendly irreverence toward him.

“What about your own bar, then? And what about the Wingfoot Hotel down the street, so that Kharm and Zaphyre can rest for the night in peace?”

Upon hearing those words Zaphyre’s countenance went from congeniality to bug-eyed terror. Kharm sensed the panic in her before he even turned to see her distraught face. She looked and felt exhausted, her hair was disheveled, and her leather armor was ripped and bloodied. Kharm smiled reassuringly at her, for he didn’t look or feel any better. After all, they were only Elves, not gods, and they had had enough for one day.

“Nay verily,” said Kharm, “we ask your pardon, but we respectfully request not to go with you. My lady wife has been through much these past few days, and I can tell the only place she wishes to go now…is home.”

[Blessed be the bond between us, Kharm,] thought Zaphyre. She looked up at her husband with a smile. “Aye, home indeed, if thou will allow it, milord Chris Alan.”

Chris Alan nodded with a smile. “Granted. And before you leave, there’s one more thing I’d like to do for you, if you’re willing to let me touch your heads.”

Kharm looked into Zaphyre’s eyes before answering. “We are,” he said.

With shining blue hands, Chris Alan mended and cleansed their clothes and their bodies in a sparkling moment. “As for the rest, I’ll let you recover on the *inside* by your own means at home. Not a word out of *you*, big guy,” he added with a gentle backhand to Slate’s stomach before he could invite Kharm and Zaphyre to his bar again. “Take a deep breath, relax, and let your ‘gut feelings’ speak to you, just as I’ve taught you to do. What do they tell you?”

“Uh…that it would be better just to let these Elves stay here?” Slate was slightly embarrassed; this should’ve been a no-brainer, for despite his “bull in a china shop” *persona*, he was keen about showing people respect.

“Exactly. But *I’ll* take up your offer, gladly.”

The couple bowed to their godly friends, not knowing what to say to convey their everlasting gratitude. Zaphyre found herself profoundly moved to tears over all that had happened; she was unable to speak further. Kharm wrapped an arm around her and made a hand-gesture of thanks to Chris Alan and his companions. He was also too emotional to speak, but knew that their feelings both of profound affection and of heartfelt thanks were felt by those that stood before them.

“May the God of Many Names bless and keep you both,” Chris Alan said with a wave of his hand. “Farewell.”

“Farewell!” Kharm and Zaphyre replied together, waving and bowing as they stepped back a few feet away from the group. Zaphyre raised her hand to Chris to show him that she still wore the ring, just in case. Moving their arms in up and down motions, they cast a mystical portal spell that turned their bodies into shimmering cloudy mists that drifted upwards and disappeared completely.

“Sometimes, Blondie,” Slate said in admiration after the couple had vanished, “I just don’t know how you stand yourself.”

“I thought that ‘if I was any better, I couldn’t stand it’ was the *Doer’s* motto, Slate.”

[Uh oh,] thought Slate, consummate Doer that he was, [I’ve just pressed one of Chris Alan’s hot buttons.]

“And as for *my* motto as an Inspirer?” Chris Alan went on in the same deadpan voice. “‘It’s a dirty job, but *someone* has to do it.’” Without warning, to Amethyst’s bemusement, both men (so different in personality in so many fundamental ways) bent over in laughter at the old joke.

“Come on, dear friends,” said Chris Alan, “let’s go have a beer.”

**********

N.B.: My final thanks go to Leafygreens for all her help in understanding her characters (Zaphyre and her husband Kharm), for all her excellent suggestions concerning the text, and for her beautiful screenshots of Norrath and her characters (which I’ve framed). Thanks also to Allakhazam.com for some excellent screenshots of the Plane of Hate (likewise framed by me). As usual, my character Chris Alan Starbright is represented (well enough) by British actor Alex Pettyfer. My characters Amethyst Bellatrix and Nicholas Blackthorn are inspired in part by various paintings by Jonathon Earl Bowser. The terms “Visionary“, “Inspirer“ and “Doer“ are copyrighted by The Personality Page. The “mottos” of the Doer and Inspirer types are taken (or else suggested) by the commentaries given by TypeLogic.com.