Meanwhile: In a swamp.

Arthur’s tail twitched. Normally the cats of Ulthar stayed out of the affairs of men, except Laylia was not a man or indeed, technically human.

“You’re annoyed,” Arthur said.

“Am not,” Laylia snapped, fifty feet away a charging Stygian cultist froze on the spot, his limbs jerking in spasms as voltage tore through his flesh. His muscles fused by the current, he toppled stiffly backwards, his blackened skin making him look like some macabre ebony statue.

“Riiiiiight.” Arthur nodded, unconvinced.

Three more cultists had started forward, feet splashing in the shallow puddles of the swamp.

Laylia looked down at the cat. “Truly I am not annoyed…. It’s impossible, completely alien to my nature. Am I not eternal? Are not the foibles and idiocies of man the mere scrambling of insects? Far too insig….”

“Ahummm?” Arthur interrupted, nodding towards the closing cultists.

Laylia blinked and dragged her attention back to the charging trio. She threw a hand forward, her fingers wiggled in a complex looking way. Then suddenly out of what appeared to be a clear sky, a thunderbolt struck the center man. He died instantly, burnt to a crisp, while the discharge sent the other two to the ground, mortally wounded.

By now her attention was shifted to two more cultists, both holding spears, who were screaming and charging towards her.

“I do his laundry….” Laylia said, her brow creased in concentration as her extended hand ran rapidly through some complex symbols, “that is the degree of dedication that I have shown him. I have entire islands in the great southern ocean that worship me ….. entire islands…. Have I mentioned that?”

“Only twelve times so far,” Arthur said. “Not that I am counting,” he added hurriedly, “that would be rude! And I wouldn’t want to do that while you are … NOT annoyed.”


She made a final, rude gesture and there was the sound of imploding air and a bright flash that caused Arthur to look away. When he looked back he couldn’t see any sign of the spear-wielding cultists.

“A lizard,” she said, looking down at him. “He once tried to replace me with a lizard… did I mention that?”

“No comment,” Arthur said.

She placed her arm across her forehead in a melodramatic pose. “Oh Laylia how useful it would be if only I had a shield maiden to protect me in all the stupid places where I must walk.”

“He actually said that?”

“It was heavily implied. So I get him a shield bearer… it’s even GINGER. And what happens? He doesn’t like it… claims that it crushes his sex drive….”

On a nearby outcropping of rock a Stygian cultist was casting a spell, his voice calling on the Great Serpent for assistance.

Scowling Laylia made a gesture and the man found himself struck dumb.

“Do you mind?” she yelled, “ADULTS are talking here!”

Arthur looked over at him. “Basically, run… as fast as you can while she still isn’t annoyed.”

As the man turned to do just that, the rock on which he was standing started to crackle with energy. Arthur winced. “Too late!” he said.

The cat turned his attention back to the apprentice.

“So having established that you are definitely not annoyed, because that is of course impossible. Why exactly are we in a swamp waging war on a group of ignorant savages?” he asked.

Her attention was fixed on a larger group of cultists now closing on their position. Arthur could see perhaps a half dozen and as he watched her hands moved through a long and complex set of symbols.

“This isn’t war,” she grunted, “this is pest control!”

Arthur looked up at the sound of the rumble. In his experience the thunder usually came after the lightning, which meant that whatever was about to happen was probably very bad.

“Look away,” she said.

Arthur closed his eyes tightly and buried his snout into the thick black fur of his shoulder. There was a flash of light and heat around them and bits of blasted wood and torn up plants flew past. Afterwards, there was an eerie silence. If any of the cultists had survived they had understood the message by now. Be someplace else.

Looking back Arthur saw a circular area of the swamp laid waste, the charred remains of humans and animals testament to an event of monumental violence.

“Pest control?” he asked, momentarily awed.

“This is the Ma… HIS land, these people are Stygian exiles……squatters.” She said, “I asked them to pay rent to help with the households expenses but would they? No!”

“Right,” Arthur said, looking around, “because you should pay rent to live in such a nice …. Swamp.”

“If they had said that I might have let it pass. I DO have a sense of humor, but they mocked me! They mocked HIM. Well if they were expecting me just stand there and take it they chose the wrong day.”

She started walking towards the closest of the fallen. Arthur followed. Mindful of getting his paws dirty he jumped from rock to rock and log to log.

Laylia squatted by the first body and started riffling though the clothes. A heavy bag fell into her hand.

“Aha,” she said, pleased, “this seems useful.” She opened the bag and looked inside.

“Is it gold?” Arthur asked excited.

She raised one eyebrow. “Powdered desert glass,” she said. “I ask you? What kind of imbecile walks around with a bag of fused sand? Seriously? What was he thinking? Did he wake up this morning and think “you know what? I want to spend today hauling a couple of pounds of glass around? That sounds just dandy!”” She tossed the bag to one side and went to the next body.

“My hope is that I can scratch together a few gold.” She said, “He’s talking a dowry and with all the tithes and expenses we’re not exactly made of money. He’s such a dandy… spends more on clothes a quarter than it would cost to equip a ship.”

She picked through the remains of another well-cooked corpse. “Here we go,” she said, finding another purse. She untied the top and peered inside.

“Is THIS gold?” Arthur asked.

She frowned and licked her finger dipping it into the bag. The fingertip came out coated in red dust which she tasted.

“Ground Hematite,” she said with a shrug, “about two pounds of the stuff. Apparently our boy here woke up this morning and wanted to paint the town red….. literally.”

Rapid searches of a couple of other bodies yielded similar results.

“Well now we know why they were exiles,” Laylia said, “they were idiots. Either that or powdered rock fetishists.”

“Well you seem, less NOT annoyed,” Arthur said, “and that has to be a good thing. Let me ask a question though? You don’t need him, he doesn’t respect you and seems to have no idea what you go through for him. Why do you stay? And don’t tell me about how nice your room is.. that story never sounds convincing.”

She looked down at him a moment her face unreadable.

“He makes me laugh,” she said, “I feel different when he’s there, lighter somehow, happy I suppose. I don’t know how to explain it, I spent a few months thinking that something was wrong with my body but I’m coming to the conclusion that it’s normal. When he was buried alive that time I felt awful… my stomach was all knotted, I couldn’t even haunt dreams properly… I mean…. “ She looked down. “I don’t really understand it, so I’m at a loss to explain it.” She kicked one of the charred corpses in thought.

“I best go,” she said at last, “I have to get this bridal contest back on the road.”

Arthur looked back at the devastation. It was probably best that she found a distraction.

“So what first?” he asked brightly.

“First we find the Crier," she said.