#just a bunch of referential stuff with some foreshadowing here and there asdkfjn

[fvaleraye]

The Boatman

ayyyyyy, new Scintillam thing asdflknj

this one isn’t very long, but it does kind of introduce the next protag. i say kind of bc his name isn’t rlly... said in the chapter asdflknj the main thing about this chapter is that i had an idea and i wanted to do it, bc i thought it would be neat, and it would tie nicely into this protag’s backstory asdfkljn

either way, i dunno how to rlly feel about it...? but i had fun, and i hope y’all enjoy reading it anyway

A flick of ash. The quiet moans of things better left forgotten. The footsteps of those on their way to places beyond. The gentle sloshing of the stream. The creak of the dock and barge. All of these things could be heard, upon stepping into the Bloodless Temple. A place in the Charred Lands where the walls between the mortal realm and the afterlife grew thin. What few rivers remained in the charred and ashen lands converged in this temple. Few among the living attempt to enter this place, fewer still have the ability to. And none who have come have left. Save for one. Though he does not exactly make a habit of sharing these visits.

Deep within the temple, when the dirty, ash-filled rivers turn blood red, and flame and ember begins to rise from the water, was a dock. A rather ordinary, if ramshackle dock, illogically made from wood, yet despite its surroundings, it was in no danger of failing any who stepped onto it. And there were many today. A long, long, long line, spreading from the edge of the dock to the entrance of the temple, was here today. Though, few could see it. All manner of people were waiting, but few could see them. Few could see the dead. Soon enough, a sole boat came onto the dock. It was a humble vessel, large, but not of fanciful construction. No sails, simply oars. The front decorated with only a mass of skeletons, reaching to the heavens. A board fell unceremoniously unto the dock with a loud thud, and one man stepped from the vessel. A tall, lanky, intimidating man, no less than eight feet. He wore robes of black and gold, tattered as they may be, and an absurdly wide brimmed hat, with a hood. His skin was blue, that of a corpse, and under the shade of his hat one could make out a beard, long, long hair, a dully glowing eyes, but not much else. In his hands was a gigantic, unorthodox scythe, with its handle extending to its head, with a circular grip at the top, and at the bottom, the head of an oar. He stepped onto the dock as the damned souls before him twitched and fidgeted among themselves. He let go of his scythe, letting it seemingly hang in the air of its own accord, and pulled a pipe from his robes, placing it in his mouth. He took a moment to smoke it, letting its purple smog fill the air around him. He held up a hand, and in a flash, a long, long, long scroll appeared in his wizened palm. He took the pipe from his mouth with his free hand, and took a deep breath, before placing it back between his rotten teeth. He then motioned for the line to begin moving forward, and so it did.

The exchanges were wordless. Lost and damned souls placed gilded coins in his palm, he crossed their name from the list, and allowed them passage on his vessel. This continued for a while, the only thing breaking the monotony being the occasional dead that didn't bring payment, forcing him to wave them away. The process went on for hours. Eventually, the sun vanished completely over the horizon, and the moon started to rise. As the midnight hour approached, the boatman set his list aside, causing it combust and vanish. He slowly took the pip from his mouth, and breathed a puff of purple smoke.

"Boat's full." He called, his voice low and raspy. "Come again tomorrow."

Those many still remaining in the line left, some more willing than others. When all the dead cleared out, one remained. Though, he wasn't exactly dead. The boatman breathed a long sigh at the sight him, grabbed his scythe, and stepped over towards him.

He was a pyromancer, clearly. A man resembling a tree, made of ever-burning wood, his feet roots, and embers and smoke randomly spitting from his split limbs. His eyeless face looked up at the other as he approached.

"You're here every day." He observed, holding his pipe between two, uncomfortably long and bony fingers. "But you're not dead."

"And you say this to me every day." The pyromancer responded, his voice ethereal, laced with cracking and hissing of flame.

"She isn't going to be here. The trip is one way." He took a long, deep smoke of his pipe. "And you aren't going to go to her, unless you're dead."

"And bring you payment." He cut in, his tone laced with slight annoyance, but mostly, he just sounded tired. "I've heard the stories and seen you work."

"Yet still you come here. And you sit there."

Silence drifted over the dock, as the boatman smoked, and the trespasser considered what to say. Eventually, as he brought his gaze to the ground, he broke the silence with more than idle crackling. "... I just. I have hope she'll be here. Eventually."

"Hope." He parroted, drawing his pipe from his mouth, and tapping it idly.

"Yeah. Hope." He raised his head again, his tone becoming a bit indignant. "You know what hope is, psychopomp?"

"I know the concept." He took another smoke from his pipe, and then took a moment to replace the... whatever it was he stuffed in it. "It baffles me."

"Does it now?"

"Yes. Life is but a fight for survival, one all mortals are destined to lose. It does not matter what you do, what you accomplish, how many remember you, what you have, what you leave behind. None of it. Soon enough, everything will die."

"I will." He replied, without missing a beat. "I will see her then, for sure. But until then, I have my hope that, perhaps, she will be here before then."

"I have ferried the souls of gods onto my barge and into the eternal abyss. And yet still you, a mortal, dare to hope."

"My hope is all I have."

He took the pipe from his mouth, his other hand leaving the scythe and reaching for his hat. He pulled it from his head, revealing his near skeletal features upon his blue, rotted face. "What a sad life you must lead, then."

There was no response. No words after that. Just silence. The rush of the river, and the crackling of flame. He couldn't exactly refute that. He simply heaved a long, tired sigh, as the uncaring boatman place his hat back upon his head.

"The boat must depart now." He said, stepping away from the sad scene in front of him.

"... hey."

The single word prompted him to slow to a halt, though he did not bother to look over his shoulder. "What now. You and your hope have wasted enough of my time."

"... you've really ferried gods...?" He asked, hesitantly, still sitting upon the edge of the dock. "Gods die?"

"Of course. Everything dies. All must have an end."

"What about you? Who will be there to ferry you?"

"No-one. I do not die. I simply leave, and find work elsewhere."

"Elsewhere...?"

"Gods have souls. Mortals have souls. All beings have souls. I do not, for I am not a being. I am a force of nature, a concept given will. I do not die, for if I did, all would cease to function as it should. But, eventually, I will have none left to ferry. My role here will be done. When that time comes, when all ceases to be, we'll be sure to lock the universe behind us when we leave." With that, he continued his march onto his boat. The plank was pulled back onto it, and the anchors were pulled. The boat sailed slowly from view, the creaks and groans of wooden oars fading into the distance as the river at the edge of the world took them.

"... we...?"