Welcome to Gaia! ::

::Shadow Island itself was home to no docks, though thankfully the shoreline was only a few feet up from the surface of the water. Most people could drift right up it and climb right on, but they'd run the very definite risk of their boat floating away. The only sure solution was to find a spot on the shore close to a tree or deeply rooted plant, or to perhaps just find a big rock and use it to pin down the rope.

Despite the time of day, the Lighthouse atop the island provided abright light to guide all seafarers by. The Shadow Island was not used to guests, but it didnt seem to be opposed to them.::

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::It was as if the man hadnt drank a drop for years. This of course was very close to being true. Still, for a moment Walter wondered wether at this rate Shadow Island would soon be upon dry land again. Much to his relief the quenching came to a stop, and as proper butler should Walter silently offered the man a towel.

The proper position of a man servant is to speak only when spoken too, and never to speak out of turn, or in interupt of another. And so the butler was quite silent and nodded as he was thoroughly reminded exactly how dead his Master was. It was true for a moment he began to wonder how this tied to the idea of Maximos being alive, but he was patient enough to wait. If this man had taken this long to speak, he most likely had planned exactly what to say. And true to the advertisement the annoucement did come as something of a shock. Walters eyes opened wide and his monacle nearly fell out. The very concept being discussed was one he was quite hopeful of, and yet also one he had tried his best to convince himself was impossible. Needless to say he had questions wanting to bubble forth like a child wanting candy, but he maintained that aire of formality as he spoke.::

You felt him...more alive than previous? And at the Leviathan...I thought that place had been destroyed. I'm afraid I dont fully understand. How can one be more alive than...alive?

::The Lighthouse itself was most unassuming. The black stripes swirling around the building lent no hint as to its function, niether did the twirling light above. The garden lay perfectly still in the bright night, it was primmed and very carefully treated. Each plant was manicured and at close inspection one would see it was manicured very frequently as well. Their were however a few noticeable locations. For example a small crater seemingly marking an impact point of some sort, and a few rather large crates which had dug themselves slightly into the surface of the island upon impact.

All and all the area seemed very inviting. Their were no warning signs, no wards, no attack animals/plants/spells or anything hazardous at all. This island seemed entirely peaceful which for some reason made it seem all the more suspicious. Island paradises hardly exist for no reason. And why would someone place a Lighthouse in the middle of the ocean? One might assume the lighthouse was present to ward of sailors from crashing into the island, but seeing as how the lighthouse itself was the only visible structure on the island it makes almost no sense as to why a lighthouse would be put up to ward sailors...against itself.

Never the less, all seemed perfectly well as the Sailor made his way to mysterious lighthouse.::

::Have you ever been victim to the feeling that something...or perhaps even someone unseen around you was directing you? Like how the wind suddenly chooses to blow a certain way. How the leaves and branches just seem to flow in a certain direction, or how about the shadows seem to all flow one way. And yet still that way seems to be toward the light of the moon instead of away.

Or maybe how that one bird chooses the exact moment when ones eyes are gazing up to fly over head toward the lighthouse and then never been seen again.

For the moment, the island itself seemed to be "speaking" to the wayward sailor. And the tiny wooden door on the lighthouse seemed quite inviting.::

Indeed...I suppose your right.

::Walter said in his usual formal tone. It wasnt that Walter didnt know, it was more that he wasnt sure how much this strange man knew, and he assumed it to be in his best interest to keep as many secrets, secret as possible. Not for his own sake, but simply because he had no idea how much of this information Master Maximos would want revealed to the public, and the Master was not currently present to give his discretion on the matter.

But still, he was beyond intrigued...though somewhat doubtful. He knew Master Maximos was delaying death by giving himself a sort of faux shell, but to be ressurected entirely...this was still something of a miracle. If it was true at all. He had to take into consideration that he knew more about the soil on the surface than he did about this strange man.::

Still, you'll forgive me if this all seems a bit...fantastic. I myself delay death in a manner similar to Master Maximos but...a complete ressurection...its rather difficult to imagine. Were their any hints or clues as to how? Or why he isnt still with us?

::Walter actually seemed to be intently listening to the ramblings. Granted, he was trained to seem like he was intently listening to whatever ramblings were being fed to him. But despite that he did infact seem to be paying attention. Walter always had a hunger for knowledge, it would only make sense that his hunger would lead him to pay attention when being "taught" about magics not listed in the Manor's large library.::

I see...

::Was his only response. But he took a moment to honestly think about the question posed to him. Would someone do that? Perhaps one of Maximos's old traveling group...? No no, none of them were powerful enough for spells of that size. As for enemies...Maximos's only powerful enemies were never enemies of himself but rather enemies of others, and Master Maximos simply helped...Even Nocturne was too far away to influence life and death. And then it came to him...::

No, the Master usually kept to himself. He had been known to help a close friend in a tight spot, but nothing that would draw so much attention directly onto himself but...

::Walter paused for a moment, he honestly wondered wether he should share such a secret with a complete stranger. But...in the interest of finding the Master he continued.::

...The Master was getting visions, in his final days. He saw death, or at least what I percieved to be death. It was a figure in a dark hooded robe with a large black scythe. What was odd was the massive amounts of said Reapers he claimed to see. Thousands on thousands of said beings...he even claimed to have conversed with Death himself. I believed the thin threads of the unlife he lived were beginning to unravel...but I do not know. Perhaps the two events are related?

[You know, from sailor tales to sailor tunes, storm and adventure, heat and cold, buccaneers, burried gold, and all the romance retold and retold alike; but none so forthcoming as a double take over one's left shoulder and catching a glimps of what appeared to be a simple wooden door.

Casca stood for a moment in awe at his own senselessness, rubbed the hair under his lip, and walked to the door and put his hand on the knob...


Truely the lesson is our adventures are what we make of them.]

Hearing Walter's testimony, Joshua muttered quietly to himself: "Then I was right from the beginning..."

"...I'm sorry that I didn't explain everything, but there were questions that needed answers. From what you've told me, though, it seems he's gotten himself mixed up in something big. The Reapers do that... the 'grand machination' of life and death, they're the ones who keep it flowing.

"When something dies, the soul comes unbound from the body. When that happens a Reaper is there to take the soul to the other side... that is how the process is supposed to work. But nothing is ever that easy, is it? Sometimes there are clogs, or kinks, people who just refuse to let go, or try to cheat the system.

"It could be a necromancer who's lived a few centuries too long for his own good, or a soulsmith who has stopped too many of the dead from crossing over. Or it could be a shadow that's devoured far too many in his time...?"

He took a short pause before continuing.

"...there are two kinds of Reapers. One kind takes the souls of the dead, without a mind and without a feeling... they're nothing more than mechanical vessels. The other Reapers... the other Reapers are still alive. They have a body and have a soul, and they use them to get rid of these clogs. They murder. A duty to murder handed to them by the one constant in this world.

"This is the deal I believe your master had agreed to."

::Walter and Maximos shared many a thing. A perference for darkness was one, a shadow body was another...and being deceased was yet another. Walter was deceased and judged as the Arian Pantheon saw fit. But he hadnt seen any Reapers, perhaps Nocturnes eagerness to snatch him caused the god to do his own dirty work in the warrior turned butlers final moments.

Needless to say, a view point such as this turned Walters opinion of life and death on its head. Death was seen as a natural force of life, faceless, mindless, it simply was and will always be. This man who had done nothing but sit in a room for more than seemed physically possible, this man had twice now turned Walters view of existance over onto itself. First revealing the possibility that Master Maximos might still be alive, and now with this view of death as a cold...vicious machine, without hope or release. A machine which "deals with" all those that dare go against its will. Needless to say, it was a bleak outlook. And that partial feeling of loss did creep onto Walters face.

Walter paused, his mind trying its best to file this so that he may continue. But one question stood out demanding to be answered. Walter kept his tone and manners in check, but he wasnt going to keep his curiousity in check as well. He looked this odd man directly in the eyes and asked...::

Who...are you?

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::And yet attackers their werent. The door flung open with a loud creak and a warm gust of air rushed up at our hero. The air smelled strangely of cinnamon. But more than just a random spice, it was cinnamon mixed with the scent of freshly baked bread...perhaps a pastry of sorts.

As the brave sailor pushed forward he would be hit with yet still more homely and familiar scents. Freshly baked pie...sweet rolls, corn bread, and some sort of unspeakably sweet smell that seemed to just slip through the other scents in a grand olfactory orchestra.

Before him, the sailors boots would rest of creaky wood. And yet the wood was safe, a second step forward reveal an actual dip downwards as he landed on a lower step. And should he continue he would find himself descending a set of very slowly spiralling stairs toward what could only be described a baked bliss.::