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[h1]The Ferryman[/h1]
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[hr]
“I WANT MY MOMMYYYY!”

“O-okay, lil’ fella’, I understand that, but–”

“WUUAAAAAAAAAH!”

Hell had just been created, but the Ferryman had been living it for weeks now. Back and forth, back and forth to the Ghostel to drop off the souls of the dead. Of course, he had no idea that Hell was a thing. All he knew was that souls were appearing like flies - recently, the grass plains had offered souls by the score, with villages laying in ruins all around them. This latest shipment was its own horde of children, parents and smelly old people. The Ferryman could hardly muster the spirit to share tales with them on their travels.

As Wellington made landfall and the souls hopped off and into the grossly overcrowded Ghostel, the bell of death rang once more in his breast pocket. He felt his eyes roll back into their sockets and released a primordial groan. When the Ferryman groaned, it was always from the bottom of his soul - it was the one action he poured his entire spirit into. The sound was so powerful that living flowers died and passed into the afterlife all around. The souls in the Ghostel, so packed with cacophony, all fell silent. The Ferryman cast the building and its inhabitants an exhausted glance and sat down on the rim of Wellington.

Over by his side appeared a concerned shadow, mostly appearing the same as it always had except it now wore an apron and a funny hat. The Umbra, whom the Ferryman had named the Chef, patted his master on the shoulder and whispered, “The Chef senses the Ferryman struggles.”

“The Chef would be right,” the Ferryman concurred. Another two Umbra came out from the Ghostel.

The Janitor adjusted his shirt and offered the Ferryman a handkerchief. The Ferryman took it and dabbed his forehead. 

The Groundskeeper picked one of the flower souls and offered it to its master. The Ferryman took it and gave it a scenic sniff. He paused and sighed again. 

“My friends… I fear I may have grown overworked.”

“Should the Janitor fetch the Masseuse?”

“No, that’s alright, Janitor. My shoulders are fine.”

“Perhaps the Bartender, then,” the Groundskeeper suggested.

“No, I’m not thirsty…”

“Is the Ferryman bored, perhaps?” It was the Puppeteer who had come out of the house, and already he was playing around with shadows from the ghastly lanterns, forming pictures and dancing animals. From the Ghostel came light applause.

“No! I mean, yes, but… I’m sorry, Puppeteer, I don’t think it’s the sort of boredom that can be cured with shadow puppets.”

The Puppeteer shrank and got a shoulder pat from the Janitor. The Ferryman sighed for a third time. “Look, it’s nothing personal - not at all. I love your puppet shows. It’s just… I guess boredom isn’t the right word, either. It’s just… Work. A lot of work. And it doesn’t end. I pick up souls, take them here, and then repeat it. This is no afterlife, it’s just a Ghostel!”

“Not to mention the souls run off all the time,” the Groundskeeper added sourly.

The Ferryman blinked. “Wait, run off? What do you mean?”

The Groundskeeper shrugged. “The Groundskeeper has no idea. They keep saying they can’t help it and we have to escort them back and put them in the chest in the cellar.”

“The Janitor counted six souls down there last time he checked.”

The Ferryman felt a tug in his brain signalling that he had heard something like this before. However, he couldn’t put his finger on it just yet. His mind boarded instead his earlier train of thought and made him purse his lips. “... Well, uh, that’s odd. Anyway, I’ve been thinking I need to expand my staff somewhat.”

The Umbra looked his long rod up and down. “The Puppeteer thinks the Ferryman’s staff is sizeable enough as it is.”

The Ferryman blinked. “No, the–... Nevermind. What I meant to say was that I think adding another colleague to our party would be beneficial for future management of the Soul Business.”

“The Chef thinks a different name for the firm would be better…”

“Right, we can vote for the name later,” the Ferryman conceded witheringly. “Either way, we need someone, in my opinion, who can take over management here and (Homura willing) in our future branch offices while I’m out ferrying. Someone with a mind for numbers and efficiency.”

The Umbra exchanged looks. The Ferryman snapped his fingers. “Someone who fixed stuff like -that-, you know? Like a really good deputy manager.”

“The Ferryman speaks in riddles,” mumbled the Puppeteer.

“Oh, sorry, the corporate lingo comes all too easy to me.” He snapped his fingers again. In an instant, a ghostly man in strange clothes appeared. Lacking significantly more colours than the rest, the white and black gentleman adjusted a tie about his neck and combed his hair back, sticking the comb into a small portfolio suitcase in his opposite hand. He then stuck out that hand, palm open and welcoming in the Ferryman’s direction.

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[i]“Afternoon, Mr. the Ferryman. Name’s the Bureaucrat.”[/i][/centre]

The Ferryman blinked and shook the hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bureaucrat, but you can drop the ‘the’.”

“Oh, apologies. My bad.” With lightning speed, he reached into his suitcase, took out a form, crossed out a tiny word and filed the form back in its correct folder. The Ferryman clapped in brief awe. The Bureaucrat grinned and pulled out a different form. “By the way, I trust you will fill this out at your earliest convenience.”

The Ferryman took the form and scanned it briefly. “Terms of employment?”

“For the archives, you understand,” 

“... ‘The employee reserves the full right to spend divine power to’... Wait, what?” 

“Why yes! It’s in my contract.”

“What contract?!”

The Bureaucrat produced a separate document. “The one you signed by summoning me, of course.”

The Ferryman scanned this document as well, discovering that, indeed, someone or something had signed [i]The Ferryman[/i] in neat little cursives at the bottom of the page. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“You won’t, but your passengers sure will,” chuckled the Bureaucrat and filed the contract under the correct folder once again. “Well, circa 59.2% of them. You have collected a considerable number of sinners. You would want to ship them to the Hellforge right away.”

The Ferryman blinked. “The Hellforge? What's the Hellforge?”

The Bureaucrat nodded with infinite patience. “That would be the afterlife, sir. Well, one afterlife - I’m certain someone will make another once they read the reviews for it.”

The Ferryman could hardly believe it. An afterlife had been made. A real, proper afterlife! A place where he could take the souls - well, at least sixty percent of them! The ecstacy boiled him to the core and he hopped into his boat. “People! Gather all the souls headed for the Hellforge!”

“But how will the Groundskeeper know–”

“Not to fear, my solar urticariatic friend,” said the Bureaucrat and popped out a list. “I have a registry right here.”

[hr]
Aldion and Zylana walked the streets of Hell, pondering new ideas.

[color=orange]”Hellspawn,”[/color] Aldion said aloud, before shaking his head. [color=orange]”No. Forgeborn? Ehhh…”[/color]

“Aldionites?” Zylana offered.

[color=orange]”Tempting, but no. Hm. The Fallen? The Reborn? No, no. The Convicted? The Wardens? Such names will only convey a part of their role.”[/color]

“Have you settled on a name for the larger island around us?” Zylana asked.

[color=orange]“Hm? Oh, yes. I have. Infernus.”[/color]

“Hellcast Infernals,” Zylana proposed.

Aldion stopped, and his eyes widened. That was the greatest name he had heard yet! Unfortunately, it had not come from him. He shook his head. [color=orange]”No, too long. Let’s keep it simple. Hm. Made from the souls of the damned. Damned. Damnen. Damnon. Damon.”[/color] He snapped his fingers. [color=orange]”Demon! Yes, demon. That will do nicely. Rolls off the tongue easily, and it is its own word.”[/color]

“You are truly clever, Your Infernal Majesty,” Zylana said in a tone that sounded sincere, but definitely wasn’t. Aldion allowed it. It may not have been intended as truth, but it was the truth. And besides, inferiors should always be prepared to flatter their betters.

Then, a presence. It was hard for Zylana to sense, but to Aldion it was as tangible as a touch. Another deity was approaching, and the black flames of Hell boiled hungrily as though sinful souls were near.  

Aldion looked up. [color=orange]”A visitor?”[/color]

Zylana shook her head. “An invader,” she corrected. “They bring an army of sinners with them.” She extended her claws and licked her lips, eagerly anticipating bloodshed. “Perhaps even using their souls to track us.”

[color=orange]”Well, that won’t so,”[/color] Aldion remarked. [color=orange]”But it would be best to determine their intent first. It could be an offering of tribute, or perhaps the Trade Goddess making her first shipment - she is the only one I told, after all.”[/color]

Zylana looked disappointed. “That may be so,” she reluctantly conceded.

[color=orange]”Still, best to be on our guard. Here in our Realm, we hold the advantage. Let’s not squander it.”[/color]

And with that, Aldion and Zylana returned to the top of the tower, where they awaited the newcomer’s arrival. Though the colourful smoke emitted by the Forge might make it hard for a mortal to see, for a divine it was clear enough. 

On the Horizon, a small boat sailed swiftly on a magical river of light that formed before it and faded behind it. Aboard were, to the soul-seeing eyes, a veritable crowd of anxious dead, all gulping as one at the torturous purgatory designated as a forge. At the back of the boat, steering with a stick, a bald humanoid in a robe whistled joyously to soothe the situation, much like an ant attempting to lift a melon.

As the boat approached, the robed man waved and shouted from a distance, "Pardon me, sir, but is this the afterlife where all those mean souls are supposed to end upl?"

[color=orange]”That is one way to describe it, I suppose,”[/color] Aldion replied. [color=orange]”What is your purpose in coming here?”[/color] 

The boat stopped right at the edge of the tower and the pilot smiled from ambiguous ear to ambiguous ear. “Fantastic! You have no idea how happy this makes me.” He stuck a hand out. “I’m the Ferryman. I’ve been looking for places to take the souls of the dead for, oof, ages now. Heard from an acquaintance of ours, Miss Ashevelen, that a Mister Aldion collect the sinful sort. Are you Mister Aldion, by chance?”

[i]”King[/i] Aldion,” Zylana corrected. “To be referred to as ‘His Infernal Majesty’, and to be addressed as ‘Your Infernal Majesty.’”

Aldion waved her off. [color=orange]”He is a fellow god, Zylana. Some liberties may be allowed.”[/color]

Zylana bowed her head. “Forgive me,” she said, clenching her fanged teeth.

The Ferryman waved his hands apologetically. “Oh no, please don’t apologise! I confess, I only glanced over the contract (especially the introduction), so I only caught bits and pieces relating to titles and such. I’m in the wrong here.” He cleared his throat. “So, uh, Your Infernal Majesty - where’d you like me to put’em? Got about, uh, seventy in here with another two hundred or so back at the Ghostel ready to be shipped.” The souls aboard squealed and begged loudly for mercy and forgiveness. The Ferryman regarded them largely as a fisherman would regard dead fish in his hull.


[color=orange]”Into the Hellforge,”[/color] Aldion said, gesturing to the mass of colourful flame behind him, which was already hissing with the burning of screaming souls. [color=orange]”Cut them loose and the forge shall do the rest.”[/color]

“Yessir!” trolled the Ferryman and sailed off. Once over the sea of fire, he whistled a little jingle as he shoveled weeping souls into the gruesome pit of doom and destruction. It was brief, swift and professional, and the Ferryman had soon pulled up next to the tower again and offered Aldion and Zylana both a courteous nod. “Right, that was the first delivery! Say, Your Infernal Majesty - got a moment to discuss that contract of yours with Miss Ashevelen?”

[color=orange]”Indeed I do,”[/color] Aldion said, flipping open his Black Book. [color=orange]”If you would step off that vessel and come over here…”[/color]

The Ferryman nodded again, brought Wellington to the bank of its magic river, and stepped comfortably off the boat and onto the tower floor. 

Aldion gestured for the Ferryman to stand next to him, then showed him the book. [color=orange]”As you can see,”[/color] he said, [color=orange]”The terms of the contract are quite clear.”[/color]

The Ferryman nodded. “Oh, absolutely - and just to make this clear - I don’t intend on challenging any of these clauses and upset this very nice cooperation you’ve got going with Miss Ashevelen, cross my heart.” He paused to briefly regard the book’s pages. “Lovely handwriting, by the way.”

[color=orange]”Good.”[/color] Aldion nodded. [color=orange]”Then I suppose I must also inform you that it is not just umbra souls I will be claiming. My judgement must extend to all mortals who sin. In many ways, this contract is merely a formality, one I primarily agreed to because most of Ashevelan’s ideals seem compatible with mine - in letter, at least, and I find cooperation preferable to conflict.”[/color]

The Ferryman nodded politely. “Yessir. That soul business was actually what I wanted to talk about. If it’d be alright with you, I’d like to sign on as your main partner in shipping.” He supported his fists on his hips and equipped a smile.

[color=orange]”My Forge already draws all the souls I lay claim to on its own,”[/color] Aldion noted. [color=orange]”But I must confess it is a slow process. Another deity willing to transport them manually or introduce his own system will greatly expedite this process,”[/color] he mused. [color=orange]”And yet I must wonder what you gain from this. What are your terms?”[/color]

The Ferryman shrugged. “I suppose I gain the satisfaction of doing my job,” he reasoned. “Besides, seeing slow processes in need of effectivisation be unmanaged and unimproved makes my fingers itch.” He hummed as he looked down in the books’ pages. “I guess if I had any terms, uh… Don’t sign on with a competitor without consulting me, I guess? I don’t know how many are in the soul shipping business, but can’t be too careful, right?”

[color=orange]“That is a reasonable request,”[/color] Aldion decided. [color=orange]”I shall in turn put forth a term of my own. Should a soul qualify for two or more afterlives, and one of those afterlives is Hell, I have right of first refusal.”[/color]

“You’ve got it, Your Majesty,” jingled the Ferryman. He held out a hand. “Looking forward to a good and fruitful partnership!”

[color=orange]”As am I,”[/color] Aldion said, but he did not yet accept the hand. [color=orange]”Before we shake hands, however, we must first discuss the finer details of our cooperation, and also draw up a contract.”[/color]

“Oh, uh, right!” The Ferryman cleared his throat. “The Bureaucrat’s a bit sharper on this than me, but I’ll try. What do you need from me?”

Aldion quickly launched into an explanation of his ideals, and what sort of behaviours he deemed worthy of eternal damnation. He provided a few examples as well, in some cases becoming surprisingly heated as he described them. A few other minor terms were raised - things that should mostly go without saying, but Aldion thought were best to have in writing. He also included a helpful definition for the term ‘right of first refusal.’ As he spoke, he wrote all this down, and added the Ferryman’s own condition as well.

[color=orange]”Would you prefer your copy in stone or in parchment?”[/color] Aldion asked once he had finished.

“Uh, stone, I suppose. Nothing lasts like stone!”

Aldion snapped his fingers, and a stone tablet fell into the Ferryman’s arms. [color=orange]”Just sign your name there,”[/color] Aldion instructed, handing him a hammer and chisel. [color=orange]”Then sign the copy in my book,”[/color] he held up the quill.

Amateurishly, the Ferryman chiseled in his signature, then signed the book page in ink with similar green inscription skills. Evaluating his work for a brief minute, he shifted to Aldion and nodded. "That should do it, I think. This'd go nicely on the wall of my house… If I had one." He eyed the rest of the forgegrounds "You do real estate, by chance?"

There was a look of appraisal in Aldion’s eyes, as he signed his own name. [color=orange]”Why do you ask?”[/color]

The Ferryman waved dismissively. "Oh, nothin'. Just thinking out loud. Alright, got everything you need, Your Majesty?"

[color=orange]”I shall inform you if I require anything else,”[/color] Aldion said.

"Sounds good, Your Majesty." The Ferryman offered a polite nod and strolled over to his boat. Setting a foot aboard, he faced Aldion and gave him a thumb-up. "Well, I'm off to fetch another shipment! About a hundred-and-sixty-seven additional deaths have passed over the course of our conversation, so there's plenty to do." He boarded fully and grabbed his oar. "Farewell!" With that, he sailed off.

[hider=Summaree]
The post opens with a very overworked Ferryman taking even more people to the Ghostel. He shares his frustration with his Umbra colleagues for a bit and then makes the Bureaucrat, an avatar of extreme patience, efficiency and management skills. The Bureaucrat tells him to take sinful souls to Hell, so the Ferryman loads up and boats off.

Cut to Aldion and Zylana discussing what to call the Servants of Not!Satan. After a lot suggestions, Aldion suggests demons. After reaching this genius conclusion, the Ferryman arrives. After brief introductions, the Ferryman explains that he wants to be Aldion’s DHL. Aldion initially asks why, and the Ferryman says he wants to. This sounds good to Aldion and the two sign a contract - Satan gets the right of first refusal on sinful souls and the Ferryman gets to do his job. Afterwards, the Ferryman bounces.
[/hider]

[hider=Moight]
The Ferryman (5MP/5AP)
5MP - Create avatar: The Bureaucrat. The Bureaucrat is a friendly, organised and diligent paperworker with a knack for business and effectivisation. He carries around with him a suitcase of forms, applications and statistics which he uses regularly to support his boss the Ferryman and manage his soul moving business. 
End 0MP/5AP
[/hider]