Status Normal

“It feels like forever since you asked me to join you on a mission.”

“Four weeks is not forever.”

“I'm calcualating in all your away time.”

“Three months is still not forever.”

“So where are we going?”

“A gnomish temple to their god of mechanics.”

“A temple complex? Is your target their high priest?”

“No, their temple has a guardian.”

“... not entirely unexpected...”

“Khael wants the guardian.”

“Is he nuts?!”

“He's a mage. He figures fetch missions would be simpler than just killing people. He pays well enough for me not to correct that assumption.”

As the underground area widened, Michael squinted in the faint luminescence. “I think I see something ahead that could qualify as a temple.”

Morgan placed a hand against his brother's chest and pressed his ear to the tunnel wall. After a several minutes passed, he quietly said, “I sense something large ahead, but it's not registering a will.”

Michael frowned. “A golem, perhaps?”

Morgan groaned. Automatons were tricky. Besides minimal damage, there was little he could do against them. And he needed to bring it back intact. Voices bubbled in his head. Some were real, offering suggestions. Some were hallucinations, attempting distractions. Mother's contribution was a suggestion he give up. Tactical decisions could probably be made quicker if he had any peace and quiet in his mind.

“Morgan?” Michael prompted.

Morgan attempted to focus on Michael's mind. It was present and far more aware of the situation than the wash of voices in his head. He rubbed his forehead. “I'm trying to decide how to deal with this.”

Michael took his brother's elbow and walked towards the temple. “How about we ask them to trade for the guardian?”

“That might work if it's still actively maintained.”

“From its appearance, I'm going to presume it is.”

The two men continued forward silently until Morgan suddenly pitched forward onto his knees and grasped his head. His mouth gurgled. Michael caught him up and pinned his arms. Morgan thrashed uncontrollably while howling. Michael patiently waited out the cataleptic seizure. Afterwards, he carefully let all the vomitus drain before laying him flat and placing Morgan's head in his lap. Morgan exihibited waxy flexibility.

Michael started the ten-minute long cantation to take them someplace safer. Around the four minute mark, he realized a group of gnomes were staring at him. He kept his mind focused and despite their insistence on an explanation of why the were there, they soon were in the glade by the cabin on Scafira.

Hours later, Morgan showed signs of awareness. Michael patiently coaxed him toward normal functioning and, after another two days, he became reactive, then verbal.

“So,” he said, while combing out Morgan's hair, “do you have fits often when on mission?”

“N-no, not often... but sometimes.” Morgan still sounded throaty and dry. His mind also still seemed distracted, as if it took effort to form the words from thoughts.

“That isn't reassuring. You shouldn't be doing this if you risk...”

“Does not... really matter.”

“Does what I feel matter? Morgan, when you die, I feel like I've been ripped apart. Has dying become such a habit that you've gotten blasé about it? I haven't. I don't want you to be hurting and I don't like your catatonic moments, but I never considered that you had them while away and that's magnitude's worse.”

“Life... has to go on... it never ends... never stops... so I go...“

Michael suddenly hugged his brother and tears moistened Morgan's hair. “Just because death is temporary for you does not make it hurt any less for me.”

“Damned... emotive.. link..”

“No. Don't damn the most precious thing we have. Our lives are deep and meaningful and this...” Michael tapped a fingertip on Morgan's third eye. “... means the most of all. Would you prefer to live without me?”

“Never!” Morgan quickly responded with the grace of Frankenstein's monster. Michael heard the sincerity through the monstrous rasp.

“Then value your life as I value it and I will treasure myself as you treasure me.”