Thing about a battle is, it's loud. And you know you're still alive because you can still hear it. Things get quiet all of a sudden, you're a dead man. As far as he knew, Dogberry has been a dead man twice in his life.
He stirred awake now to a dark room. His eyes tried to focus, but all he saw were vague shapes and shades of grey. No idea if there was someone in his room beyond him. Really, he had no sense beyond himself. His legs itched. He tried to scratch them, but they weren't there anymore. He rolled in bed, hoping that would help. It didn't. He buried his face into a pillow and screamed in frustration.
"Alright, y'bastard, let's talk," Dogberry said when he was last a whole man. A tentacle, or a whisker or a tail, or something too quick for him to perceive whipped up and pulled him from the deck of the Maelstrom's staging platform. This was the audience he sought with the Lord of the Whorl.
The encounter was too much for Dogberry to take in. Words were too simple things to convey the things communicated. Not with Leviathan in the state he was in, fading back into aether. Dogberry got only this impression: He was merely a piece of flotsam in the eye of a god. Nothing more, nothing less. Now, though, he had the Lord's attention. He was amused by Dogberry's arrogance. A lesson must be taught.
And with that, The Lord of the Whorl took Dogberry's legs below the knee.
Silence followed. Dogberry was, again, a dead man for sure.
Back on deck, he was oddly authoritative for what he had just been through. He didn't know why. Things just needed to be done. Chaos would surely kill him, so he had to make order somehow. Now, though, in his bed at night, was finally time to feel.
He screamed into his pillow again and again. He grabbed at the clean linens of the bed he was in and ripped at them in anger. He finally rolled on to his back, a more difficult task now, and stared up at the ceiling in the dark.
Silence now, and Dogberry wished he'd been a dead man for sure.
He stirred awake now to a dark room. His eyes tried to focus, but all he saw were vague shapes and shades of grey. No idea if there was someone in his room beyond him. Really, he had no sense beyond himself. His legs itched. He tried to scratch them, but they weren't there anymore. He rolled in bed, hoping that would help. It didn't. He buried his face into a pillow and screamed in frustration.
"Alright, y'bastard, let's talk," Dogberry said when he was last a whole man. A tentacle, or a whisker or a tail, or something too quick for him to perceive whipped up and pulled him from the deck of the Maelstrom's staging platform. This was the audience he sought with the Lord of the Whorl.
The encounter was too much for Dogberry to take in. Words were too simple things to convey the things communicated. Not with Leviathan in the state he was in, fading back into aether. Dogberry got only this impression: He was merely a piece of flotsam in the eye of a god. Nothing more, nothing less. Now, though, he had the Lord's attention. He was amused by Dogberry's arrogance. A lesson must be taught.
And with that, The Lord of the Whorl took Dogberry's legs below the knee.
Silence followed. Dogberry was, again, a dead man for sure.
Back on deck, he was oddly authoritative for what he had just been through. He didn't know why. Things just needed to be done. Chaos would surely kill him, so he had to make order somehow. Now, though, in his bed at night, was finally time to feel.
He screamed into his pillow again and again. He grabbed at the clean linens of the bed he was in and ripped at them in anger. He finally rolled on to his back, a more difficult task now, and stared up at the ceiling in the dark.
Silence now, and Dogberry wished he'd been a dead man for sure.
![[Image: BZneHYK.jpg]](http://i.imgur.com/BZneHYK.jpg)
No Gods and Precious Few Heroes
