Of Gods and Heroes

Chapter 3: Decisive Action

It is one matter to decide upon a set course of action despite an inherit distaste for the means of the act, yet an entirely different matter to see to the execution of said course; such was the revelation I happened upon when our most recent ally, if one was ever capable of considering Reaver of all people an ally, appeared ready and even eager to begin our search for Lark in earnest, and thereby bring about an end to the threat which lay before the lot of us.

And so I found, despite my prior inclination to accept aid from this capricious fellow, a rising disquiet at the prospect of venturing forth with Reaver at our side. Yet for all my readiness to abandon our established plan, Wren's prior assessment of our dire need for Reaver's assistance still held sound; for this presently unnamed, villainous Hero who had made off with our daughter had already proven capable of finding and exploiting our weakness. And though it pained me to admit it, Reaver's assessment of said weakness, as well as his acknowledgment of not sharing in it, were also accurate. Indeed there could come a day when his ability to act rationally where we were unable could prove the difference between our collective lives and our untimely deaths.

Even still, the very notion of Reaver maintaining equanimity where Wren and I may fail was another sore point for me; one I was not yet willing to give over to completely at present, though for Wren's sake I felt it necessary to at least make a show of an effort. "I trust you have a plan then?" I asked with what was admittedly more sarcasm than honest query, unable to completely disguise my latent distrust for this man. "Because mine seems to have fallen short."

With yet another of those infuriating bows that seemed better suited for stage than court, and which held no place in our present situation to be certain, the one-time courtier resumed his gaudery where only moments ago he had wisely set it aside. "My objective is as it has always been; to trust in the sound judgment of our fair queen and act in accordance with her every whim."

Had the man offered an independent idea, even a poor one, my tendencies towards caustic rejoinders and the like might not have reared up at that particular moment; however it appeared that Reaver lacked either the wherewithal to recognize the mindset of those in his company, or simply the desire to stay his tongue for the sake causing upset, a trait I also seemed capable of possessing much to my subsequent regret. "So you're telling us you're about as useful to us now as you were when you turned tail and ran when the Crawler invaded, eh?" Undeniably this was not one of my finer moments, and yet this is a recount of the events as they unfolded, and therefore cannot be omitted or altered simply for the sake of my personal degradation.

It was the words this disreputable man spoke next which leads me to the firm belief that of the two possible motives behind Reaver's reluctance towards common courtesies, the latter of the aforementioned seemed to be the most likely explanation. For it was with a smile as condescending as any he had brandished during his more authoritative days that Reaver gave response, complete with the use of my full title; an honorific that was little used when addressing me directly for the pretentiousness I had announced it to bear on more than one occasion. "Ah, my dear Lord General Finn, once again I find myself reminded of the fact that aristocracy can be found cut from even the roughest of stock. My congratulations, good sir, on being living proof that breeding and civilities do not necessarily make the nobleman."

If Wren had been in possession of a single thread of patience for the exchange taking place before her it most decidedly frayed to ragged fragments, and a good deal later than I would have expected given the pettiness of the back and forth Reaver and I had engaged in, for when at last she spoke it was clear by the elevating pitch of her tone that the terror only a mother could feel for her child was once more taking hold of her. "Enough! I'll not sit here and listen to the pair of you bait and insult one another while Lark is out there in the hands of a murderer! Now either we put aside our differences and work together right here, or we all part ways and try out luck separately. Because I will not waste another precious second reining in the lot of you when you get the idiotic urge to have a verbal scrap. Are we clear?"

For those of you who bear a familiarity with my wife, either personally or through the perusing of my written accounts, you are no doubt aware of how unfailingly devoted she is to those she cares for. Truthfully I can relay to you here that I had never before heard her, in all of our struggles and hardships we had faced together through the years, threaten to toss a fellow to their lot and strike off alone for the sake of her personal agenda. Indeed her persistence in devoting herself to the aid of those she cared for had on multiple occasions quite nearly cost her life. And so, to detail in print the disgrace I experienced at her ultimatum will prove insufficient, for not only had I been the first to cause her to make such a demand, of all who had stood at her side it should have been I alone who would never have proven capable of forcing her into such an act; being both the man who had sworn to support her in all ways through the rest of our lives, and the father of the child she now feared for so desperately.

It was that same disgrace, coupled by another bout of that crippling feeling of inadequacy at having failed my precious Lark so utterly, which fastened my tongue securely to the roof of my mouth and my feet to the stone beneath me, thereby giving Reaver ample time to affect a suitable amount of humility and what could almost be considered an abashed expression, where it not for the ever present hint of superiority the man was seemingly incapable of setting aside. "Of course, Your Majesty. Please accept my humblest of apologies."

With an effort that seemed as nearly physical as emotional Wren found dominance over her equilibrium once more, focusing her attention back upon her analytical line of thought, and all without a glance in my direction indicating that she required my acquiescence as well; an act which I was not all together certain bode well for her present desire to have me at her side. "You said you had a run in with this Hero," she pressed of our most recent addition to our cause, "where? When did it happen?"

"Ah yes. Our would-be assassin met up with me as I was leaving Wraithmarsh. Quite the hair-raising experience, I must say. Ghastly red will markings glowing like open scars. Most unattractive. Not at all like your lovely blue adornments."

"Wraithmarsh," Wren mused, her arms crossing beneath her breast in what I recognized to be her customary posture of intense concentration as she struggled to pick the information of merit from the man's nearly conversational prattle. "What were you doing there?"

"Oh, just paying a visit to some old friends." The candid wave of dismissal Reaver brandished with the admission was as seemingly out of place as one waiving off the announcement that their trousers were on fire; an oddity that had not escaped Wren's attention, for the sudden increase to the intensity of her glower and her unwavering insistence on extracting more information from his indisputably unelaborated responses.

"Friends? Do you see them often?" It was abundantly clear at that point that our ally who had been all too eager to assist just seconds ago was becoming as rankled as my wife with the interrogation he was now being subjected to, for there was an undeniable hostility to his demeanor where only moments ago he had been the very picture of gracious cooperation; and yet Wren held fast to her intent, giving only the slightest clarification to what information she was endeavoring to glean from him with her current inquiries. "Could this Hero have anticipated you would be there and have lain in wait for you?"

Apparently mollified that his personal affairs were not being placed upon a pedestal for public scrutiny, Reaver's bristling posture eased as he considered the point Wren was trying to come to. "I daresay it is possible," he admitted. "Though not a trip I take frequently, it is one I make on a fairly regulated schedule. Be that as it may, my friends are not what you would consider outgoing. Indeed, they make dear Theresa seem positively gregarious! The likelihood this Hero knew enough of my friends to know to expect me there is-"

It is the incomprehensibly rare situation that will find Reaver at a loss for words; and so to tell you now that this was one of those occurrences should impart for you why it was that I was suddenly aware of, and admittedly alarmed by, the potential magnitude of the secret the man was withholding from us at that moment.

In keeping with her ability to exhibit diplomacy and an appropriate display of humility when the need arose, a trait which had earned her the respect of those who had fought at her side since she was barely beyond her teens, Wren's arms dropped to her sides in a gesture of surrender I'd not expected to ever witness her demonstration to this man; the scrutiny upon her features dissolving into that of utter desperation. "Reaver, if we're going to work together you have to trust us just as we're trusting you. We need to know what you know if we're to get a jump on this other Hero."

With a stare that quite clearly took stock my wife and I, weighing the merits of our assistance against the desire to keep his secrets his own affair no doubt, Reaver contemplated Wren's request in silence before at last giving over to a dramatic roll of his eyes and allowing the fingers which had lifted to stroke his pistol absently to fall back to his thigh. "My friends and I engage in regular dealings," he admitted at last, his tone as conversational as though it was not a closely guarded secret he relayed to us now, but a bit of news he had picked up from a town crier. "A mutually beneficial arrangement, one could say; and those benefits are substantial. I've never been one naive enough to believe that I was the only person they had such dealings with, however it has only just occurred to me that perhaps they have dealings with our adversary as well."

At last here was a font of information I was able to find use for, with a tangible target and a foreseeable benefit where there had previously been none. In fact the promise of action where there had been only doubt and worry had me eager enough once more to place a degree of faith in Reaver and the content he had provided. "Seems simple enough," I chimed, forgetting my prior self-reproach for having left Wren to bear our parental distress alone whilst I had hidden behind petty squabbles and ill regards for our companion. "So we pay a visit to these friends of yours and get them to tell us what they know about this blighter."

"Though I am known to be fairly persuasive, and can see where this would be an ideal plan in theory, regrettably I must advise against such a course of action. My friends are not sort who would respond to persuasion or threats; otherwise I would find myself benefiting far more than I presently do from our arrangement. Confront them if you must, but know that if you do you'll not be expected to walk out of Wraithmarsh alive."

I continue to find it astounding how one can move from feeling utterly incapable of proving to be of any use, to being absolutely confident in one's own abilities in the course of a conversation, no doubt an indication that my own mental faculties were in a similar state of upheaval to that of my wife's; and it was with such a sense of assurance in my abilities and the abilities of Wren, coupled with a first-hand knowledge of the perils we two had overcome in the past, that I spoke next. "Bah! Your friends against three Heroes?"

"It is not my friends directly you should concern yourself with. It is who they deal on behalf of that should still your hand this time." Reaver intoned, displaying a severity coupled with a concern that, oddly enough, appeared to be uncharacteristic genuine. "I am not one for preaching the virtues of restraint, General Finn, but you'll raise more trouble than you could manage at present if you attempt to go beating down that particular door."

"It doesn't matter," Wren sighed resignedly, pinching the bridge of her nose in what I had known for years to be her telltale gesture of frustration as she spoke, "from what you just told us, Reaver, we know enough. This Hero is familiar with us and, if what you say is any indication, we're being studied. It seems that we'll be hunted wherever we would predictably go in any given situ-"

And it was here, in the midst of her own musings and plotting over our course of action, in which Wren stumbled upon a realization so terrifying to her that, for the first time since the previous night, finding our daughter and her kidnapper were not at the fore of her concerns; for without warning that Wren's eyes snapped open and her jaw dropped in terror as she cried out a word I had not anticipated hearing her use in our present conversation.

"Jasper!"

XXXX

I am inclined to disagree here with the old expression that one cannot appreciate what they have until it is gone, for it was in the midst of the blinding white light of Fast Travel that I came at last to understand how I'd taken to considering the elderly butler as a friend; perhaps not as dear to me as to Wren, but a friend nonetheless, and could therefore only hope as we journeyed to his aid that we were not too late again.

And so it was that with fear for Jasper's safety firmly rooted within my mind that I hesitated only long enough to substantiate the existence of solid floor beneath my boots before at last bolting from the arrival platform and through the first door to my left, allowing Wren to make for the right side of the primary chamber of what was now our Sanctuary as we searched in earnest for the man we now believed to be in imminent peril, our voices reverberating against the walls and ceiling with that Heroic tenor that could clear the din of battle if applied with enough force.

Thus I had only just entered the armory when a familiar cry of alarm beyond the doorway at my back had me turning on my heel and returning to the main chamber where, to my relief, the old codger had emerged from the room he had converted from a lounge into his personal apartment, clutching the Heroes tome to his chest and clad in his rumpled pajamas; an equally disquieted Pip at his side.

"Good heavens! You nearly scared the life out of me! What is all of this ab-" To Jasper's blatant misfortune Wren was in no particular mood at that moment to pay him any more attention beyond that of sending the man flailing across the floor until at last he collided bodily against my chest.

It was with wild eyes and a clearly acute knowledge of the dangers we presently found ourselves within that my wife then turned her attention to me for the first time since my blunder within the spire; all prior anger at my transgression as distant as the place my berating had taken place within. "Ben, get Jasper and Pip out of here now! Take them anywhere but the castle and meet me at the Fort. Reaver, stay with me!"

"Just make it fast, pal," I growled, intensely disliking the idea of leaving her here and yet aware that to argue with her in her present mindset would serve no purpose, "there's nothing here that's worth your life." At those instructions the object of our thus far successful rescue righted himself and turned rapt attention to the woman he had spent a significant portion of his years in service to.

"Your life? My word! Madam, what has happened?"

"Come on, Jasper," I grated into the man's ear as I wrapped one arm about his person and stooped to clutch Pip's collar with my free hand, "let's get you out of here."

Belatedly, I recalled Jasper's inability to cope with the effects of Fast Travel, an unfortunate disadvantage that had never truly eased despite his near constant association with Heroes, or with inhabiting a place that was accessed solely by the Heroic ability; for the man instantly tensed against my person when the white light and noise encompassed us utterly, and then nearly collapsed when our feet at last came to find solid soil.

"No time for a rest, friend," I muttered, releasing the dog so that I might heft the slight butler to his feet without mercy for his discomfort, "I've got to get you to safety and go after Wren. Come on. Up you go."

"Where," the unfortunate man's query was broken with a sound quite close to retching, and without slowing our pace I removed the tome from his grip, angling him away from me in the event he was not able to maintain control. "Where are we?" He managed at last through no small effort.

"Bloodstone," I admitted, all too aware that his opinion of the place matched that of my wife's, and yet in my haste to have my charges away from danger, I could think of no location more unlikely for us to visit than the site of my premarital dalliances. "Look, I wouldn't have brought you here if there was anywhere safer to go. I'm taking you to someone I once knew. I just need you to keep quiet and stay out of sight for a bit. All right?"

Yet if there was one thing the old butler had proven time and again that he was not, it was a man who would allow himself to be pacified with partial answers and, true to form once more, he dug his heels in, both literally and figuratively. "What precisely is happening? Why is that deplorable man with you? And where is Lark?"

I must have at at that moment given some visual indication of my emotional response to the last question, for without hesitation Jasper took me by the arm and turned me to face him, or rather I allowed him to turn me bodily, so that he could peer up into my eyes and repeat the question with a careful whisper that somehow seemed to know the answer before it had ever been given. "Where is you daughter, my boy?" And it was that affectionate monicker that undid my restraint.

"She's gone." I admitted, finding my voice becoming increasingly difficult to use while at the same time feeling my chest empty out in that sickening way I had become so familiar with these past few hours. "Taken. Someone... someone took her. We don't... we don't know who. Reaver thinks it's another Hero. He thinks this person wants us dead. I couldn't..."

At last something began to fill up the void within my chest, though not the something I had hoped, for when next I opened my mouth I felt that strange sensation break free of its constraints, and a noise the likes of which I had not uttered since childhood accompany it. To my horror I realized I was breaking down at the worst possible time, and yet I found myself powerless to stop it.

Someone took my little girl.

Yet before anything more than that singular gasp of misery could pull me into the depths of despair, a set of hands I had thus far taken to be frail set upon my shoulders with a shake sturdy enough to jostle me, if only marginally. "Here now," Jasper's command form my attention was absolute and, like a man clinging to the rigging in a ship all but lost to a storm, I latched on to his voice as though it was the only thing that would save me. "If there is one thing I am confident of, it is that you will find a way to bring her back. You, of all people, are far too stubborn to simply give up and let someone you care for fall. You're far too much like your wife for that."

"But I let her be taken in the first place," I argued, unwilling to allow myself the privilege of being released from blame for my daughter's abduction. "I couldn't catch them up."

"Just because you couldn't prevent it doesn't mean you won't be able to save her. You're prepared now, or at least you are preparing. Soon you'll be ready to face this villain on your own terms. And heaven help the one who comes between our fair queen, our good general, and the ones they love the most."

It was a small measure of comfort to know that Jasper, for all his cumbersome worrying, had found cause enough to believe that I was capable of retrieving my daughter, whom he held great affection for, as he did her mother. And while I was not yet confident enough to believe in my own capabilities against this Hero who had displayed an aptitude for speed I had failed to match, I at least now knew that there was someone in the world who held to that belief for me. And for now, that would have to be enough.

"It still holds true, I see," I said, managing the barest smile for this man who had so vehemently proclaimed his faith in my abilities, and feeling the hole within my chest diminish, if not disappear completely, "sometimes even a Hero needs saving. Thanks."

And thus, before Jasper could utter something sentimental which would no doubt undo my resolve, I gave a sharp clap of my hands meant to drive off the spell of melancholy which had befallen us and willed myself back to the state of competence our current predicament demanded. "All right then, let's give you your first taste of a whorehouse."

XXXX

Having deposited my charges with a former acquaintance, and leaving explicit instructions that if any part of their person, effects or morals were compromised during their time in the facilities I would see to the building's re-purposing into an off site prison, I at last swore a prompt return to Jasper and vanished into the familiar vortex that would speed me to my wife's aid.

True to my intent, when next my feet found purchase it was with the slippery muck which lay beneath the surface of Mourningwood's fetid swamps; my boots well acquainted with treading through this hazard, I found passage a simple enough matter as I began my sprint for the fort in earnest, hoping against hope I would find her there ahead of me and no worse for wear than when I had left her.

"Ben!" The voice at my back immediately put to rest all of the worries of the horrible fates that could have befallen my beloved during our time apart, and it was with a supreme sense of relief that I turned to find my wife kneeling beside Reaver in the stale water, various weapons from our collection along with our packs laying fit to burst with gauntlets and smaller weaponry at their knees. Yet that is where my sense of relief died, for along Wren's shoulder, arm and thigh were a series of long slices, undoubtedly carved into her flesh with a blade of some sort, and still bleeding quite freely into the greenish water she presently occupied. Naturally I found myself rushing to her side before thought compelled me to do so, reaching down to help her to her feet so that I might inspect her wounds personally before pulling her into my arms, suddenly and terribly aware of the peril she had just faced without me and all the more confident that I could not bear to face what lay before us without her at my side.

"Are you alright? What happened?" It was of course a rhetorical set of questions, for with the exception of these few cuts she was indeed otherwise unharmed, and as to the cause, that much was obvious.

"We can't go back there," she choked against my vest, still panting through the exertion from her ordeal, "it isn't safe." That much was also obvious, and thankfully with our friends secured and the bulk of our weapons reclaimed, I saw no reason to ever return there if we were so inclined. After all, what sort of Sanctuary permitted a breach by any Hero capable of Fast Travel?

"Right then. Let's get you somewhere where we can patch you up." The expression of puzzlement I received in response to my declaration was promptly followed by Wren extracting herself from my embrace so that she might stare down at herself in astonishment, twisting this way and that to afford herself a better view of her injuries.

"I thought we got out before they struck." She murmured absently, prodding with filthy fingers at the tear in her silk stockings and the clean gash beneath it. With a careful hand I removed her fingers from the wound lest she invited further risk of infection, before bringing her back to my chest for as much my own comfort as hers and voicing my confusion over her use of the plural pronoun.

"Before what struck?" In spite of my inquiry having been directed at my wife, it was Reaver who supplied the response, pulling himself from his knees with all of the arrogance he might exhibit in any other setting while grimacing in disgust down at his ruined trousers and waistcoat.

"That, was Blades, if I recognized the effects properly. An old spell I last saw used by your own mother."

The confused shake of Wren's head at my jaw tangled fine strands of hair into my whiskers and brushed against my ear, a sensation which never ceased to cause distraction in me, not even here. "My mother? How is that possible? Mother hadn't fought-"

"And while we are visiting the topic of fighting," our companion interrupted, shaking his finger at Wren in much the same manner a teacher might reprimand an errant student as his voice rose in what I recognized to be barely masked irritation, "may I remind you, Your Majesty, that although your primary instinct to shield others from danger is commendable, it is not always prudent or necessary. Especially when the one you are attempting to defend may be better equipped to fend off the attack than you."

That admonishment delivered, accompanied by what could only be described as a rakish flick of his other wrist, and Reaver pointedly spun the pistol which had apparently been locked within his grasp the entire time; the hammer still cocked back readily. With one haughty brow arched in wordless assurance, the elder Hero let it be known that he was more than capable of defending himself when the need arose. Conscious of the fact that I was being watched, I afforded Wren a brief glance and found apprehension there in her features as she gazed at my eyes; an expression I had not anticipated following an outburst from Reaver of all people.

It was there that I came to understand exactly what had transpired, both in the Sanctuary and then here before my eyes. Given Reaver's nettled report and Wren's contrite reaction, I was able to gather that Wren had once more placed herself between danger and someone she had sworn to fight along side; an infuriating habit I had thus far been unable to assist her in breaking.

Even more astounding was the notion that Reaver himself had rebuked her for the same behavior; Reaver, who would sooner place his own comfort over the lives of children, had not only tried to defend my wife, but then proceeded to denounce her failed attempt at placing herself in danger to shield him as both dangerous and absurd.

Thus I found myself unable to treat our comrade with the causticity I normally saw fit to bestow upon him. Indeed it appeared that perhaps even gratitude might have been appropriate, though admittedly I was not yet prepared to venture so far into uncharted territory. Still, a certain degree of deference was undeniably called for and so it was that I released my hold on Wren to retrieve the packs and larger weapons, offering the weapons to Wren and one of the packs to Reaver with a tip of my head in unspoken appreciation.

"Come on then. Let's get out of here. Jasper's waiting."

XXXX

Despite the current straits we found ourselves mucking through, it was nevertheless unnerving to admit to Wren where I had left her beloved butler and pet; yet if my wife had retained any of her one-time resentment towards my past affiliation with this unsavory town, she gave no hint of it when I escorted her to Jasper and Pip's location. Rather she seemed quite nearly relieved to have ended up in a place where no one wished to peer too closely at another's face, and even went out of her way to thank the proprietor of the house who had safeguarded her friends in our absence, assuring the former woman of ill repute that indeed her actions had been satisfactory to our needs, and that Wren held no desire to close the establishment.

Furthermore, Jasper seemed to share his queen's acceptance of the venue I had chosen as our temporary sanctuary; having secured a rough breakfast for himself and Pip and even convinced one of the working women to venture into town and obtain a change of clothes, though they were far plainer than his typical accoutrements.

And so it was we were at last provided use of one of the vacant visitors' rooms, and were thereby afforded enough privacy to debate our present situation in secret, though in truth there was very little debate involved in our discussions. Rather, once the details of the events which had transpired up through the prior evening had been relayed for Jasper's benefit, it was the elderly butler himself who took charge of the conversation, lending to our plight a bit of third person detachment we so desperately needed.

"First Lark, then Reaver's meeting, followed next by Theresa and the Sanctuary. It appears to me that this individual will strike at anything and everything you hold dear," our old friend surmised at last and with a fair amount of grimness, leaving little room for hope of a brilliant plan that would see Lark returned to our arms before the day was out. "And as long as you are providing additional weak points to be used to your disadvantage, you cannot guarantee Lark's assured rescue. Indeed it seems that if this so-called Hero feels you have too much to fight for he may raise the stakes, as it were, on your daughter's safety."

"Meaning what, exactly?" I asked, feeling not at all comfortable with the ends Jasper's insinuations were progressing towards, and yet unable to suppress the need to hear him out completely in hopes that some means to our daughter could be gleaned from such a pessimistic outlook.

"Meaning, my dear General," Reaver interjected whilst shaking his head, his hands lifted as if to display the conspicuousness of the point for all, "that if you don't give our adversary reason to believe he has everything you care for, he will begin narrowing down your reasons to fight back – beginning undoubtedly with what is on-hand."

It was this opinion I had feared rising to popularity above all others, despite having secretly shared it myself. Yet for all of the sense that their contention made, I felt compelled to argue against it, as if to do so would negate the possibility from existence. "No. Lark is the bait. Without her he has no leverage." With her hands cradling her face as she perched upon the edge of the bed, I found no support from Wren in my dispute, and when I turned to my next closest ally for reinforcement, I found unfettered sympathy visible in Jasper's eyes.

"He has plenty of leverage, my boy," the old man said gravely, "just as long as you continue to provide it to him. Do not forget that I was a servant in the castle towards the end of Logan's reign. I have seen the depths a man will sink to as a means to their desired end."

"What do we do then, Jasper," Wren voiced at last, lifting her face from her palms so she might turn imploring eyes upon her oldest remaining friend, the desperation in her features mirrored by that which was boring its way through my chest yet again. "How do we keep him from hurting our baby?"

With hands that trembled ever so slightly as they moved, Jasper reached out and took Wren's slender fingers into his own; and it was with this gesture that I understood, whatever Jasper was about to propose was both the most difficult thing he had ever relayed to his former charge and the most certain.

And we would follow his bidding, for he was the closest thing we had to an adviser; this man, who had striven and sacrificed for so long to see Wren not only grow up into a decent person, but to then rise up to become the noble queen and Hero he had found her capable to be.

"I'm afraid, my dear, that you must abandon everything you have ever valued. And everyone. Your allies, your friends, your people, even me.

"You must abandon Albion."

XXXX

Chapter three, everyone! I had previously written a draft where we saw Wren and Reaver's encounter with the Blades spell first-hand, but it was so hard for me to switch it over and have Ben relay events he didn't see while still maintaining proper emotional involvement that I scrapped that bit and replaced it with his time with Jasper, (which I had wanted in there anyway but initially left out.) So, yay for working things out!

Good lawd these chapters are long! Should I cut future chapters down to -4,000 words each? (This one is over 5,800.) I can if it will make easier reading for you all.

Hopefully now that all of the rewriting is complete I'll be able to bust out the next sections quickly. Going forward into plot points I haven't written before – FINALLY!