This 'entry' in the Monster Encyclopaedia appears to have been slipped into the book between two pages as an addendum.
Type: Humanoid Demon | Challenge Rating: Start running
One does not fight Lieutenant Death. One watches as a blur of movement puts one to the ground, a dagger to one’s throat and another to one’s kidney. Hailing from lands distant and savage1), the Lieutenant entered our society under the guise of a young woman, joining the ranks of the Royal Guard. There, her careful ploy began, to become the most fearsome warrior the Guard has ever seen. The mere sound of her name brings criminals atrembling, while the vibrations of her boots on cobbles causes even the most seasoned guardsman to straighten.
Only one individual has been known to walk away from any spar with her with dignity intact, and even still these rare victories are marred by accusations of bias and favouritism based on the wholly unfair sanctity of marriage.
In a different hand is scrawled the following: Sounds like sore-loser syndrome to me, Ted. Learn how to actually use that spear you treat like a club, and you might be able to keep pace with the Lieutenant as well.
In the Palace gardens, a lone soldier stands guard by a modest headstone. The moment would be peaceful were it not for distant whoops and cheers.
“I didn’t like you.
“Let me make that very clear. You nearly killed my fiancé; I’m not here out of any affection for you.”
Then why are you here, Officer Fisher?
“I… It’s not right, what they’re doing today. ‘Tisagday.’ They might try to vandalise your grave – I won’t let that happen.”
I see. Guilt. A performative display of guilt.
“I really did try to do what you wanted, but we never would have succeeded. There would have been a fight with Aina’s forces and…”
She pauses, frustrated.
“This is ridiculous. Why do I still feel like I have to justify myself to you? I made a strategic decision. I made the right decision.”
You may tell yourself whatever fantasy you want. That is all you are doing here, after all: talking to yourself and wasting your own time.
She’s quieter now. “I keep wondering if we’ve made a terrible mistake.
“I’m trying to fix things. I’m making a guide for when Ahmed is freed, to find a better solution: a world like yours, but with more checks on the Antagonist’s power.
“I think that’s where you went wrong. You needed someone to stop you from going too far: a counterbalance. That’s what I am for Rhys; he will never stop, so I can’t either.
“Maybe that’s why you didn't give me a role? Maybe you wanted me to find one for myself?”
She sighs. “I don’t know what you’d say next. I wish you were still here to give me answers.”
She pauses, hearing the mocking laughter from the streets.
“I won’t forget you. Not the Antagonist caricature from Tisagday, but the real you – the Head Scribe who defended our utopia until he died.”
Incredibly presumptuous of you to claim to know ‘the real me.’
She chuckles to herself. “That’s all I have to say. But I’ll return every year on this day – I'll tell you how the world changes.”2)
Marina flinches.
She can’t help it. That’s her little boy in the water and she’s desperate to grab him and take him far away.
Skimmer notices, of course. Still supporting Kai with one strong arm, he reaches out another and squeezes her hand.
Kai’s tiny wings, peppered with black and white feathers, flare in excitement. With one particularly energetic splash, he sends a spray into Marina’s face. “Come in – it's fun!”
Despite the shock, Marina can’t resist smiling. Kai – named after her fearless brother – is already so brave. As Skimmer begins to make an excuse for her, she interrupts, “Alright, I will.”
Her heart races as the water crawls over her skin, but she manages to appear calm for Kai’s sake. It's difficult, but as time passes, she remembers how comfortable she used to feel amongst the waves.
Afterwards, Skimmer turns to them both with a beaming smile. “I’m so proud of you.”3)
Marina Fisher,
The pen paused. It was held by a ghost, though he didn’t know that yet. All around, the shell of his former life draped itself to the walls like a haunting, soon to be written away. But for now the pen still moved, capturing the final effort to collect his thoughts.
Marina is an intriguing individual. Fiercely loyal to the kingdom and its people, she approaches problems logically and tactically, though retaining the ability to adapt on the fly. Despite this, she is not cold, possessing several close bonds with numerous other Royal Guardsmen, one her lover.
Words hovered on the tongue of a spectre too used to conjuring them, and sure enough, they soon materialised on the page.
Manipulable:
Unfortunately, all conversations between myself and her will be inevitably tainted by the priming I established in being willing to allow her partner to die.
There was a long pause.
It was a moment of callousness on my behalf, even if it was tactical.
The ghost looked inwards.
I regret it.
The taste of cake hovered on his tongue.
I would have liked to have worked with her. With others.
One more spectral brick of regret collected on his back. It sat amidst many, yet its weight was felt all the same.
Having said that, Marina is capable of big-picture thinking. If convinced of their necessity to saving the kingdom, I believe she would accept undesirable measures.
A new word now hovered on his tongue, something entirely alien to the ghoul.
Trustable?
To allow bad for the sake of good? To do so for the right reasons? To muddy herself with darkness without drowning in it?
She might be.
But one final thought came to him, unbidden, and despite the illogic of it, his hand moved again.
But the selfish part of me does not want her to have to do it. Just once, I’d like someone who deserves a happy ending to get it.
He sighed.
I will look for an alternative.
It was all he could provide for the part of himself he saw in her. One tiny kindness.
The ghost picked up the page and tossed it into the lit fireplace, its ashes joining the pile of many below the grating, the musings already solidifying in his head. He picked up a fresh sheet and began to write.
Eris Snuffsm
He’d tossed that one into the fire before he’d even finished the name.