Jimox shoved the woman in the closet at the sound of the approaching boots and jumped into his seat just as Pierce walked through the door. At first he didn't recognize the warrior without his armour and was a bit confused by the fact that Pierce was carrying a wood chopping axe instead of his customary sabers.

"G'day Jimox. I was in the neighboorhood and I thought I'd just stop by." Pierce smiled knowingly and glanced at the closet as he sat down across the desk from the rogue. He poured himself a drink of red wine and smelled it first. "Elven?"

Jimox shook his head and for once smiled. "No. I'm afraid you talents as a wine connoisseur are incorrect. That's from Cormyr."

Pierce tossed the glass against the wall where it crashed beside the last one. The bottle followed soon after with a louder crash.

Jimox swallowed, having a vague idea that Pierce was a little annoyed at Chev becoming a god and everything.

Instead Pierce smiled that same annoying smile. "I was refering to the poison. It's dark elven. Made from the glands of giant spiders."

The rogue's thoughts went to the throwing dagger in his boot as Pierce stood and hefted his axe.

"You know," the warrior said with annoying smile. "I've always hated your desk." His axe came down in an arc and left the desk a splintered wreck.

Jimox grabbed at his dagger and threw it deftly towards Pierce's unprotected heart.

It landed smoothly in the veteran's deft hand and he taunted the rogue with blade. "I've never liked this dagger either," Pierce said as he dropped the axe and took the dagger in both hands, twisting the dagger until it was bent at a ninety degree angle. He tossed it aside and it landed beside the broken glass.

Jimox held up his hands in defense as Pierce came around the wreckage of his desk and stood before the rogue.

"I've always hated your shirt too," Pierce said with his annoying smile as he grabbed the greasy, food stained tunic and ripped it right off the rogue.

Jimox just stood there, stunned.

Pierce walked back around the desk and scooped up his axe. "Have a nice day!"

The rogue waited for the warrior's footsteps to disappear down the hallway before letting out his breath. He stood there for a moment shaking.

Aza Brooke stepped out of the closet. "What happened?" she purred seductively.

Jimox shook his head. "I'm not sure, but I think Doctor Pierce just stopped by."

"Today has certainly been interesting," muttered Martinez. His face was even more haggard than usual and he had the distinct look of a man who hadn't had any sleep last night, was hungover, or both. He sat down across from Pierce's father and looked about the empty cafeteria with distaste. Whether the distaste was for the lack of people or bile rising in the back of his throat and threatening to overflow was debatable.

Hiram looked up from his meat and potatoe casserole. He planted his fork down and looked about the empty room with a smile. "They're all out in the city. Who would stay in here when everything is so much more exciting out there?"

"I don't live here and yet I came for your cooking," Martinez stated, defending his right to be here right now.

"I'll take that as a compliment for my cooking," Hiram replied with a shrug and shoved his plate across the oak table. "Have at it before it gets cold."

"Cold casserole? Ugh!" Martinez grimaced and grabbed the fork and started shovelling greasy food down his throat. Ignoring the hot spices, he made a face and swallowed.

"Well? What do you think?" demanded Hiram.

"It's better than anything I can cook," Martinez muttered between a mouthful.

"No, I was talking about this whole Chev being a god business?"

"Oh!" Martinez stopped and pondered, actually chewing the food for a moment. The spices set in and he coughed and swallowed. He immediately grabbed a bottle of drow vodka from a pocket and twisted the cork out. Leaning back, the bald warrior poured the liquid down his throat and washed down the spices.

Hiram waited patiently throughout the tirade and picked up the bottle when Martinez set it down with a thunk. He took a quick swig, remembering the old days when he had drank the stuff like water in between the fights to calm his nerves.

Martinez sat and pondered and finally shrugged. "I really don't know what to think. On one side I think Chev should be hung for killing all those Harpers, but at the same time I can't help but admire him for taking on a god and then becoming one. It takes a lot of guts to go up against a god."

Hiram nodded. "What about Pierce? I have a feeling he's pretty confused right now. Last I heard he went down to the docks to let off some steam. You haven't seen him since this morning, have you?"

"Me? Nope. I haven't got a clue where he is."

"What a mess!" shouted Draque and kicked over the cauldron. The silver had tarnished to the point that it was paper thin and it crumpled easily under the elf's foot. "Years of hard work went into this project! I spent a fortune in silver and now look at it! Magical residue staining everything and destroying everything it touches!"

Szymon bent over and picked up a blackened mushroom that had grown up through the floorboards and then died. "What happened here? The boards grew bark and leaves and everything!"

"And now its all dead!" Draque shouted and kicked a dead branch that had grown out of the floor. "The magical energy from the lifesyrup was corrupted by the sword exploding. Chev said that he drained the cauldron dry but what he didn't realize was that he had also drained the life energy from everything else in the area. He sucked it dry like some overzealous vampire who drinks the sap of plants!"

"They can do that?" Szymon asked.

"No, but it is theoretically possible," Draque consented. Taking a deep breath, the mage sat down and tried to light a cigar with a cantrip and failed. He threw the cigar down with disgust

"Couldn't we use this place for something?"

"Firewood?" muttered Draque. "Nope, not even firewood. Wood has life energy in it and thats what gives fire its power. This stuff isn't even wood. Its more like the ashes left after the wood has been burnt away.

"No, I meant for magic-"

"Its dead. There's not even magic here. I can't even light a cigar. Chev even drained the magic out of here until even that is gone."

"Does that mean magic doesn't work in here?"

"That's cor-" Draque looked at the apprentise sharply. "That is indeed right! I can use this room for storing magically unstable things! After long periods in here, the accursed things power will eventually die out!"

Szymon beamed proudly. "Now what?"

"Now we go get all my magical experiments I hid in the basement and stick them in here. Who knows? Maybe in a hundred years the power in this room will have transformed and we can conduct some more useful experiments to see if we can finally use it!"

Szymon paled. A hundred years? This sounded like a lot of work.

The first thing Chev learned was that gods has duties to fulfill to their people. This included preserving those who belonged to him in life, or should have belonged to him had he only been a god before hand. This was only one of myriad duties as he spread his consciousness across the cosmos and took up conversations with every god he came across.

They all wanted to talk to him, to make sure that this powerful warrior was on their side. To Chev however, he wanted only to talk to Kelemvor, the Lord of the Dead.

Called by some the Justice Bringer, Kelemvor had replaced Cyric as Lord of the Dead and brought justice to the realm of unliving. It was here in Hades that unwanted souls gathered and continued their existence. Before Kelemvor had come, those poor souls, mere shades of their former selves, were tortured for not being pious enough to be admitted into the home of their chosen god.

When Chev arrived in Hades, he expected a vast turmoil of darkness filled with souls who would have to be sorted through to find which ones were worthy of Chev's home amongst the stars. What he found instead was a barren wasteland with neat, orderly lineups of souls all waiting their turn to be judged before the Lord of the Dead. One of these lines, a long one stretching past eternity called out his name.

They shouted with one voice, a loud, commanding voice so much like his own. They spoke bravely and honourably. These were the duelists who had died defending their honour, the bodyguards who had died defending others, and every warrior in every shape and form who fought with honour and loyalty. Good and evil meant little to these people as they had lived their lives by the sword and died by the sword.

Chev rode over them, tossing down an infinity of whips which were grasped and pulled upon as they were carried upwards towards their saviour.

Two shining beacons flew down to meet Chev and they followed alongside him as he collected his faithful. Chev knew these two to be Mystra, the Goddess of Magic and Kelemvor himself. He did not stop for them, but continued on his way, collecting the warriors who swarmed up to follow him in a huge growing army of souls.

"Where do you stand?" Mystra asked. To Chev's eyes she was almost pure magical energy. What little that was matter was linked magically to Kelemvor. The warrior recognized this bond as a strange form of communication between the two.

Chev recalled Mystra and Kelemvor's religious war against Cyric. "I stand everywhere that my avatars place their feet. At the moment I am neutral to your war against the God of Strife. I do however seek a minor mage I believe belongs to one of you."

"You speak of Kipriana?" Mystra stated more than asked. "She took her own life. The old Mystra refused her entry into my domain. She is Kelemvor's-"

Chev ignored her and turned about to face Kelemvor. The Lord of the Dead only smiled and pointed to the horizon where a single speck against the dull brown sky rose and raced across the sky.

"She never was a warrior or worshipped any war-god. Still, I'm sure we can break the normal rules and allow her to go with you. She loves you more surely than any warrior in the ranks behind you." Kelemvor glanced at Mystra, exchanging a smile.

Chev paid no attention to the two greater powers. He released magically energy in an explosive blast that sent him hurtling across the sky towards his love. When he neared her, he pushed magically to prevent a collision. Kipriana did the same and the two beings spiralled together in a churning spiral of magical energy. At last they embraced, energy flowing over the two in a cyclone of power

Pierce returned to the Academy late in the evening, his limping stride carrying through the gates past tired guards. They only nodded and went back to their game of cards. He nodded in return and kept going.

The heavy bronze doors had been left ajar, and Pierce didn't bother to close them as he passed between them and down the dark hallway. He could hear crickets outside and he wondered how long Rambertz was going to maintain this enchantment which kept the Academy in autumn when it was winter outside. He didn't really care if winter ever came.

He entered the dome and looked about. Nothing. No Chev. His imagination must've been playing tricks on him again.

Then he saw the statue. There on the far side of domed amphitheatre was Chev. The god was carved out of white marble and he stood there plainly, hands in pockets, staring back at Pierce. His face was both noble and evil, a strange yet familiar look Pierce had grown used to.

The Doctor strode across the marble floor and stood before the statue which stared back at him. "Well Chev? Is this all you have to say for yourself? A statue?"

"No, not exactly," the statue muttered and winked.

Pierce looked twice and blinked. "I must be getting senile," he muttered and hefted the axe on his shoulder. Walking south, he paused at the bronze doors and looked back at the statue. He turned about, seeking the solace of his bedroom.

"Talk about impatient!"

The Doctor paused in his tracks but did not turn. That voice was not the voice of Chev. It was a voice filled with experience and undeniable brotherly love.

Pierce turned slowly and met the eyes of the warrior who stood before the adamantite column.

He was tall and broad, with short brown hair and sharp curled moustaches. He wore simple riding leathers and boots with silver heels and toes. He smiled out at Pierce from under those moustaches and gave a quick nod as a salute.

Pierce nodded in return, openmouthed as he took a step closer.

"What's wrong Pierce? You've seen ghosts before!" The warrior waited impatiently.

The Doctor swallowed. "Never one that was my friend. How long can you stay?"

"Not long," Witter admitted. "My goddess will want me back shortly. Chev pulled the strings that got me here, of course, if you're wondering."

"If you see him, thank him," Pierce whispered.

"I already have and he hears you better than I do at the moment so speak up!"

The warrior blushed and walked forward slowly, approaching his friend with uncertainty. "Does it hurt being dead?"

"You know that feeling when your leg falls asleep? It's kind of like that. It doesn't hurt and it isn't enjoyable. It's just kinda numb. There are some plus sides however!"

"Like?"

"Old friends you get to see again, along with new ones you make. The pleasures of the flesh are gone, the pleasures of the mind and soul remain," Witter replied. He peered at Pierce, studying him. "I hear you've been picking your fights with gods lately?"

"The rumours get around even up there eh?"

"They do. I have some advise for you though before I go."

"Which is?"

"It is time you stopped and enjoyed your life Pierce. The Harpers aren't your thing, even if it was mine." The ghost looked upwards at the moonlight streaming through the ceiling. "Besides, you're a father now!" he said with a wink and disappeared like a snuffed candle flame.

Pierce found Nicole in the rose garden outside sitting under a huge maple. Upon first seeing her, he delved into her mind and saw that she knew nothing of her impending pregnancy. Indeed, she wasn't even pregnant. Yet.

She looked about when he stepped on a twig and smiled up at the warrior. Then she frowned when she saw the axe whirl past her head and thud into the tree beside her. She swallowed and looked back at Pierce. "Are you trying to impress me or kill me?"

Pierce shook his head. "Neither." He grabbed the hickory handle of the axe and yanked it out of the tree. "But I would suggest moving because I intend to chop this tree down."

"Might I ask why?" came a perturbed voice from above. "I happen to like this tree!"

"It's also going to make a great statue, so get down and introduce yourself to Nicole okay?" Pierce didn't wait for the drider to come down and immediately started chopping away at the tree.

The drider muttered from above and floated down to the ground below with a levitation spell. He landed in a bow before the stunned Nicole.

What happened next, Pierce didn't notice or care. He knew everything would fine in the end so he simply continued to concentrate on the tree. His foresight was working too frantically to worry about seemingly trivial things.

The axe thudded with a rhythm all its own as he continued to work out a huge wedge in the tree. He could see the statue unfolding before him as he pondered every detail right down to the curls of Witter's moustaches. Everything was so perfectly clear and simple.

The druid and noble woman sat down beside each other, content to watch the drama that was unfolding before them on the trunk of the massive tree. They were not the only ones who watched from afar. Only fifty feet away a dark shadow sat atop the Academy's wall and watched.

Finally he dropped to the ground below and collected the rope lasso hidden under a juniper. He took one last look at Pierce and then bolted skyward. Matter became energy, and his rising black star soared ever upwards.

Outside the tall walls the snow was a good half foot deep. Inside however the morning sun shone down on green grass still wet from the frost melting. The sap in the maples dripped merrily into silver buckets. There was a constant buzz of people and insects as the Academy churned with the excitement over the recent battle and the ascendence of a new god.

Things like that didn't happen every day but those who knew what to look for would have seen another history in the making: Doctor Pierce. The aged veteran stood at the base of a huge felled maple and chopped away with an axe. Five men could have wrapped their arms around the trunk and still not completed the circle. There he stood for hours, axe working away steadily at the trunk of the tree, envisioning the horse and rider that lay within.

In less than a week the statue would be complete and it would be a monument for all those who followed. The marble walls of the Academy and the limbs of its founder would be dust in the wind before the wooden statue lay to rest. Its hard surface would endure the elements for many generations of students at the Academy. It would bear graffiti and have to be scrubbed clean by the offenders before the century was done. Its colour would take on a classic aged look but still be just as strong. Much the same could be said of the artist when he was done for his grey hair had the classic look of a man who had grown wise and strong with his years. At the base of the statue, he inscribed in block letters the words "WITTER, MY IDOL, MY MENTOR, MY COMRADE, AND MY FRIEND".

The drow bard overlooked the vast city from the eastern cliff. In the distance she could see the sharp blue of the Swordcoast. She hoped this would not be the last time she saw the City of Splendours and yet at the same time she hoped she would never return. She loved this city dearly. It had been her haven for many, many years of exile. If she survived the next few weeks however, she could only hope that she never saw it's wonders again.

It would be awhile before Pierce noticed that his horse was missing, indeed he might never notice. Already Valeska had determined that Bartholomew was the most tempersome brute she had ever come across. She would need the huge stallion where she was going however.

She turned the horse stiffly and Bartholomew gave a great shrudder as he raced away from the city at gallop. The snow and dirt under his feet churned and left a muddy wake of chaos.