[quote]"I'm not experiencing any headaches of the like, good doctor!" he announced, "Whatever process you executed has succeeded with flying colours! Why, I don't believe I've ever felt this good!"

“I was dead for five  years,” he spoke to no one in particular, astonished that this technology existed so amazingly.

 "Say, good sir... what is the state of Sink? When I... passed away, the political climate was rather hostile, so to speak. Has it changed? Has the state improved? And more importantly... why are we back?"[/quote]

Doctor Kelodie grinned immensely, nodding to every reverberating word of praise from Aster's practiced voice -- though somehow he felt even more pride as Doctor Howell formed smaller words of astonishment.

[b]"Good, good!"[/b] He scribbled on his clipboard and hurried to check on the other pods -- there appeared to be at least two more who might yet wake, according to the readouts on the mechanical panels. Excellent, excellent! He flipped more pages on his clipboard and scribbled down a few numbers, then flipped a few switches on these promising pods to ensure they would alarm if and when there was movement within. Sometimes they needed a bit of extra time.

He laughed at his clipboard in response to Aster's quick inquiries. It was as if the actor were not surprised in the least that his personality had been too big for Death to contain. [b]"Those are loaded questions,"[/b] Kelodie said, and he looked up to point with his pen at the door beside Aster. [b]"I can confidently say that there is no more political strife to speak of -- but the reasons for political peace are not at all good. It's much easier to show you. Out that door and to the right is the stairwell up to the monastery's main hall. Pick up a pair of sandals on your way out -- we haven't exactly been keeping up with maintenance, I'm sorry to say."[/b]

Just outside the door, the hallway stretched left and right. To the left was mostly darkness, with the occasional flash of bluish light; more machines churning, thick liquids bubbling, and the faint sound of people murmuring and sobbing echoed from a room down the left corridor.

To the right was a dimly lit hall lined with soft sandals, many of which had been removed already; at the end of the hall, a stone stairwell was lit from above by a cloudy gray morning. It led up into a wide old hall littered with dust, scattered with ancient blankets and pillows, and pocked by weeds and roots. A bronze statue presided over it all: a great lion with three heads, three wings and wild painted eyes. The path between the stairwell and the open double doors had been cleared and scraped by repeated drag-marks. At each corner of the room was a blue-glowing device that whirred and spun: the points of an invisible barrier meant to keep something out.

Through the main open doors, the sounds of the forest and of shouting people echoed into the hall. A caravan was stuck in the muddy road not far from the monastery, and the traders were at this moment in the process of digging their cartwheels out of the muck.

The road, and the monastery, and the dilapidated buildings that were lined up beyond the trees, the clock tower at the far side whose painted face was poked through with branches and bramble -- all of it might seem very familiar to the newly-awakened. This was Remus, the capital city of Sink, and they were standing in the Monastery of Tula-Sing, an ancient landmark and pilgrimage site for followers of the old religion. Or, rather . . . it was.

Though they had only been dead for a handful of years, the city appeared to have been ruined centuries ago.