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It’s difficult to quietly hack away at the chitinous armor of a giant dying crab-god, but Silas was doing the best he could. In his hands was a small hatchet, taken from his car’s glove box. He wore long rubber gloves, and by his feet was a bucket. He knew what the blood could do- would do- if it made contact with him. But he did need some, and that was why he was at the Crabitat at close to two in the morning. Hastily, almost cheerfully, hacking at the Olde One’s shell.
He barely had time to react when he felt the presence of Sabel behind him, and heard the quiet tapping of cer legs on the floor behind him. He turned to face cer, arms raised apologetically.
“So that’s why you did it.” Sabel remarked, looking at him, the crack in the shell that had begun to weep a crabby ichor. The bucket, the gloves. The hatchet.
“Did- right, nevermind. Yeah, I got that other guy killed. Is that going to be a problem?” Silas replied, wondering if Blasebal’s protections included interactions and curses between players.
“Not necessarily. I knew all of these people when I was younger, and we undeniably grew apart afterwards. Some of us gained a new perspective on life, and death. Others, not so much.” Sabel replied, sliding cer mask off for a moment.
“Do I need to explain myself?” Silas asked.
“It would help.” ce replied.
“This god’s- that is, the Olde One’s- soul, spirit, whatever you want to call it. It’s not going to leave this place when the body dies. It’s going to haunt the body, the city, maybe even the state. And that means it’s going to be around to guide the new one.” Silas explained, arms now lowered. Hatchet still gripped tight.
Sabel nodded, “That was an assumed possibility. I’m surprised how well informed you are, however. Continue”
“With the right kind of magic, ritual, spell, you could bind her soul instead. Make sure the new one grows up without her supervision. And, in the process, profit off whoever gets bound to her.” Silas said, “You’d want a strong host, though. Someone who can bear another voice in their noggin without bowing to it. Someone who can hold another soul without having a heart attack. Have you ever seen that happen? It’s- nevermind. Not relevant.”
“Who were you planning to bind, Silas?” Sabel asked, cer face hard to read despite the mask’s absence. “Yourself? Or someone else?”
“Gods no, not myself. No, I know what kind of man I am. I was gonna bind Finnegan, if it’s all the same to you.” he replied. “Guy’s big, uncomplicated, and easy to lead by the nose. And there’s no love lost between the rest of the sea and the Olde One, you know?”
“Hm. This seems agreeable to me. In truth, at least some portion of my role here, as the organizer, was to find ways to limit her presence after the death. The fact she has a child is certainly complicating enough, but my order would find the idea that she lingers untenable. And personally… I believe Deborah wants to rest. She’ll sleep better in a body than in a grave.” Sabel said. Ce slid cer mask back over cer face, turning to leave, and pausing for a moment.
“Who do you serve, Silas?” Sabel asked.
“A more… independent organization.” Silas said, lying as the bird-skull brand on his arm throbbed under his shirt.
“I see.” Sabel replied. Ce left the way ce had arrived, quietly and without hesitation.
Silas wiped the sweat from his brow, and got back to it. The blood wasn’t going to collect itself.