These stories have evolved through my Sims 4 gameplay. After getting Realm of Magic, I was inspired to create a fantasy tale of legendary beings living in an epic world. The backstory below was played out in my first save, which unfortunately died with my old computer, so there are no screenshots. I relate the story here as a retrospective, to set the stage for my current storyline, which is ongoing in my current save. I hope you enjoy it. If there's interest, I will continue to post self contained Myst stories in this topic.
Tales From The Myst
It was a cold, dark evening in Glimmerbrook. Ordinarily, the weather had little effect on Mage Morgyn Ember. But, on this late autumn day, he found himself lost in a reverie, his mood matching the gray skies over his ancestral home at Glimmerbrook Watch. Gazing from his tower window, he could barely see the soft glow of the Portal in the distance, and his thoughts returned to the time when he first arrived in this place, his mystical powers freshly manifested, wide eyed in wonder and bound for the Realm of Magic to learn the secrets of the life he had inherited from his ancestors. A lot had changed since then. Some things for the better. Many not.
It the years since he first entered the Magic Realm, Morgyn felt he had lived a lifetime. And on this gray and drizzly day, he was feeling particularly alone. Outwardly, he looked exactly the same as he did in his more carefree days. Barring a catastrophic event, he was basically immortal, as were all of his people. But catastrophic events did occur, had occurred, and could certainly occur again. The race that made the Realm their home, the race that shared knowledge of magic with the Spellcasters, the race whose very presence kept the world in balance. That race. Morgyn’s race. The Ancients... were no more.
Morgan sighed a bit as he descended to the second floor. At the bottom of the stairs, he paused to listen to a familiar sound emanating from his study. It sounded like a soft, singing bowl calling to him. He smiled, knowing he was being directed to something of significance. On entering the room, his attention was drawn to the side table, where an ancient tome seemed to be the source of the soft hum. Morgyn approached it, cautious, but ready for whatever wisdom it might impart.
The book was large, bound in weathered leather with a key attached by a silken cord. Morgyn picked it up, his fingers tracing the rune etched in the cover. It had been given to him by his stepmother on the day his powers first began to manifest. A gift. A relic of his people. Of his past. Of his future.
Hugging the volume to his chest, Morgan made his way downstairs to the living room. After fixing a pot of tea, he lit the fireplace to ward of the chill and curled up on his couch. Smudge, his cat and favorite familiar, joined him at the fire and his attention returned to the book. Once again, he reverently traced the ancient rune with his fingers. The book had already taught him so much and still had much to share; but stubbornly, it refused to yield its secrets until the time was right. Inserting the key in the book, Morgyn leaned forward as it began to shimmer and levitate, the scenes of his past passing before him in the golden glow of its pages.
His childhood. Cloistered and hidden away by gypsies who feared for his destruction during the First Magic Purge. Living a nomadic life with these humans as the only family he would ever know. Discovering who he truly was: an Ancient whose race was neither male nor female*, neither human nor spellcaster.
His youth: Living on his own in Mooncrest at a cottage long ago prepared for him by his people as he first began to clumsily explore his powers. Finally finding a place to call home and making lifelong friends among the collection of fairies, elves and spellcasters who lived there and welcomed him into their world.
His training: Arriving at the Magic Realm, wide-eyed and eager. Yearning to know as much as magic could teach him. Learning all branches of magic. Training with Tess in the ways of the untamed. Content to be the student, until one day the student became the master.
Sage of Untamed Magic: Imparting his own knowledge of magic to other eager spellcasters, alongside Simeon and L. Faba. Even though the second purge would eventually claim them, their memories live on in Morgyn’s thoughts and the joy of their friendship continues to grace the pages of his book.
The Second Purge: On the run. Forced into hiding as fear of magic gripped human society, propelling them to ever increasing violence and destruction. After many attempts at reconciliation and with the disappointment of many betrayals, the outcome finally became obvious and inevitable. Coexistence with humans would not be theirs.
The Myst: A new land. Their land. A magic land created by the association of all magic beings. Fairies, merfolk, elves, gnomes, and others, living in relative peace with sympathetic humans, separated from the human world by a mist that cannot be penetrated by human effort or science. Even so, they, the humans, continue to try.
As the pages of the tome closed and it gently dropped into Morgyn’s hands, he thoughtfully leaned back into the cushions of the sofa. The Myst now had a government, but in its young state it still needed to grow and did not yet represent everyone. The Spirit World was petitioning for separate representation and some of the cursed citizens of Forgotten Hollow were interested in annexation into The Myst. Debates and opinions on all sides were strong. As a Mage, the last of The Ancients, Morgyn had the privilege of position. But, along with privilege and power comes responsibility. Something the Mage was feeling very strongly these days.
Morgyn leaned forward to pour another cup of tea. As he cradled the cup in his hand, the steam slowly circling above the rim, he thought about the images the book had shown him. So much was lost in the past. But so much of the future of The Myst was yet to be realized. Silently, he banked the fire and made his way to bed. As sleep settled like a blanket over his mind, he began to realize the wisdom the book was trying to impart.
It was simple, really. In the end, you can never forget where you came from. But you must always remember where you’re going.
*In these stories, Morgyn can be considered androgynous and asexual. I believe this maintains some consistency with his programming in game. I do use the gender reference “he” however, because my Morgyn does lean slightly masculine and I don’t think Morgyn really cares, one way or the other.
Oh, hey! Thanks for commenting. I haven’t quit on this. I just haven’t had a chance to play or write much since this chapter. With the holidays, a death in the family, and me coming out of retirement for 3 months, time has been short. I am working on the Forgotten Hollow part of the story and hope to have it ready soon. Glad you enjoyed it.
The night was growing frigid and Caleb Vatore was growing tired, impatient and hungry. The cold and damp of the snowy night seemed to be seeping into every bone and fiber of his body. He wiped his hands across his eyes and squinted into the frost ridden forest, sure that his last several miles had gained him absolutely no ground. The flickering lanterns that represented his destination seemed just as far away as they had four hours ago and it would be only a few hours before sunrise would catch him out. The vegetation was dense, thick and suffocating, and no matter how Caleb chose to travel, he was certain the inn he was trying to reach had deliberately moved beyond his grasp at least three times. It was as if it was taunting him.
Caleb sank to the ground and rummaged in the duffle bag he had packed for the journey. With a curse, he realized he had consumed his last bag of plasma hours ago. He had been on this journey for three days, traveling by night and sheltering from the sun by day. It shouldn't have been this hard to navigate this forest on the outskirts of Windenburg, and yet, he was no closer to his goal than he was when he started. Obviously, this was no ordinary forest. But then, his destination was no ordinary inn.
Caleb stood up on wobbly legs, his nocturnal thirst taking on an edge he didn't want to acknowledge. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to quell the hunting instinct as he stepped forward, only to plunge, face down in the snow, tripped by his own weakness and a trailing vine. He groaned as he rolled over on his back, his frustration beginning to sink all hope.
“Welcome to The Blue Moon, Mr. Vatore.”
Caleb spit the snow out of his mouth and scrambled to an upright position as he fixed his gaze on the smiling woman standing before him. She was young and lovely, with a strange mix of innocent youth and provocative charm, and an appearance that seemed to subtly shift and change even as she spoke. Looking around, he saw his destination nearby, windows aglow with the promise of warmth and rest on a cold evening. With a gesture, she turned to lead the way as Caleb shook his head in astonishment.
“But...no. I mean, how? It wasn't here...”
The young lady turned back, a faint smile tracing her lips. “Are you coming, Mr. Vatore? Oberon is expecting you.”
Slinging his duffle across his shoulder, with heavy feet he followed his captivating guide. With any luck at all, Caleb Vatore hoped he would finally find the answers he sought at The Blue Moon Tavern. ***** After a couple of Plasma Janes, Caleb felt more like himself. The young hostess, whom he discovered was named Anaya, had directed him to a table and provided the necessary nourishment. With his thirst sated and his head clearing, he was able to give some attention to his surroundings.
The Blue Moon Tavern was old. So old, that the story of its origins had long been lost to the mists of time. Caleb breathed in the warm smell of timeworn antiquity and noticed that a feeling of ancient enlightenment seemed to emanate from the patinaed woodwork. Stained glass windows and accents provided splashes of color against the dark wood, and artifacts from many human civilizations, as well as not-so-human ones, spoke to The Blue Moon's unique place at the crossroads of the natural and supernatural. Folklore said you could only find it if you needed to find it, and Caleb had certainly needed to find it. The Blue Moon was the stuff of legends, as was its proprietor, Oberon Lazuli. And, Oberon Lazuli was the one person Caleb was hoping to soon meet.
The patrons of The Blue Moon were a varied bunch. At a glance, you might not realize that merfolk, spellcasters, werefolk, fae, and a variety of “Others” were mingling with the random humans who managed to somehow wander through its doors. A Jukebox kept a steady stream of music going, and at the far end of the room, a large bar served up food and beverages. Caleb's eyes scanned the room, hoping to pick out his host. Not knowing what Oberon Lazuli looked like, he gave up the effort with a weary sigh and dropped his head in his hands.
The sound of tinkling metal made him look up. Anaya stood before him, a set of keys dangling from her fingers, a coffee cup in her other hand.
“He'll see you tomorrow,” she said, seeming to read his mind. “Downstairs. All the way down the hall. Your room is the last on the left.”
Caleb nodded as she dropped the keys in his hand. Then, following her directions, he made his way downstairs to a small, yet comfortable room and some much needed rest.
***** Caleb woke and stretched, the action eliciting a deep groan. His muscles were still aching from his three day journey. He had slept most of the day, and it was now late afternoon. Dragging himself out of the bed, he found the common bathroom at the end of the hallway. After a shower and some clean clothes, he was beginning to feel a bit less battered when he wandered back upstairs to the bar room. Only a few patrons were there during the earlier hours, but he had a feeling things would be picking up as the sun went down.
Caleb perched at a bar stool and smiled brightly at Anaya on the other side of the bar.
“You seem more rested,” she commented, as she slid a drink to a large bearded fellow at the other end of the bar. “Are you hungry? Why don't you take a seat at the fireplace, and we'll get you something.”
Caleb nodded gratefully as he moved to one of the large armchairs that sat in front of the crackling fire. He wasn't a flirtatious type, but he was finding this young lady to be quite fascinating. Stretching his legs out in front of the fire, he closed his eyes and contemplated if being a bit more forward would be to his advantage. When he felt a light tap on his shoulder, he decided he was ready to take the risk.
“Thanks, beautiful. I hope you'll be able to join me.”
“I'm sorry, Mr. Vatore, but I make it a rule to never eat with my customers. But, thank you for the compliment.”
The decidedly male voice, tinged with amusement, made Caleb sit bolt upright in embarassment. He whipped around to see a tall man with startling blue eyes standing before him holding a covered plate. His platinum hair was pushed back behind his ears, their tapered shape indicating something other than human lineage, and a sardonic smile played across his lips.
“Oh. I... you're...” Caleb stammered.
“Oberon Lazuli, at your service,” his host said. “And I have here, the absolute best plasma fruit salad you will ever taste. I stake my repuation on it. Please enjoy it. When I return, we'll talk.”
The proprietor of The Blue Moon placed the plate on a side table, along with utensils and seasoning and, with a reassuring smile, left Caleb to his meal. Activity in the tavern was beginning to pick up as night fell, and Caleb watched the patrons come and go as he ate. Oberon was not wrong. It really was the best plasma fruit salad he had ever had, and he slowly relished it like a delicacy. Just as he was finishing the very last of it, Oberon returned and motioned for his guest to follow him downstairs.
“I believe,” he said, “We would prefer to have this conversation in a more private venue.”
At the bottom of the stairs was the hallway leading to the guest rooms, but to the left was a large and heavy wooden door. Oberon unlocked it and motioned for Caleb to precede him into the room. It was a smaller version of the main bar upstairs, complete with a small but well stocked bar, jukebox and game tables.
“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Oberon urged. “This is the private bar. We will not be interrupted.”
Instead of seeking out a table, Caleb absently plopped himself down on a ancient wooden bench near the door. With a shrug, his host took a place beside him.
“So, Mr. Vatore,” Oberon began, his voice soft and rich. “Why don't you tell me what brings you to The Blue Moon.”
Caleb smiled. “Somehow, I think you already know the answer to that.”
“Perhaps I do. But, it's always best to hear things straight from the source, don't you think?”
Caleb began at the beginning. He told Oberon of his life before vampirism, his turning, living his undead life in the shadows, and how he eventually found himself banished from human society to Forgotten Hollow, along with his sister and a myriad of other cursed beings. He told about his dedication to proving that those who were afflicted with vampirism could provide for their needs in less violent ways, and how his work in that area had made him the enemy of Vladislaus Straud. He told him of his efforts to rally the other cursed folk into some sort of coalition that would fight against their supposed fate and bring hope for a better existence. And, he told him of his dream to have Forgotten Hollow annexed into The Myst, his frustration at not being given a hearing, and how, with the help of Mortimer Goth's extensive library, he had found his way to The Blue Moon. He talked until the clock chimed midnight, his host patiently listening to it all. Caleb needed help. If humanity could not accept them, certainly the supernatural should.
“But why, Mr. Vatore?” Oberon asked. “Why should the residents of The Myst accept Forgotten Hollow?”
“Because, we've all suffered the persecution. We need unity. The Myst is about unity for supernatural beings, isn't it?”
“Of course. But, I'm afraid, on this, you have skipped a little detail.”
“Which is?”
Oberon leaned in to make his point. “Come now, Mr. Vatore. You know full well what I'm talking about. No one, natural or supernatural, is going to voluntarily risk becoming... how shall I say it... prey.”
Caleb winced at his words. Of course, he knew that. That's why he was trying so hard to create this movement away from feeding on others. A movement that Vladislaus Straud was determined to quash.
Caleb sighed and slumped back against the hard seat. “I know. I know. I keep trying to convert others to my way of thinking. We're just so isolated from anything else, and I foolishly keep hoping there's a way.”
“Oh, I didn't say there's no way.” Oberon stood up and turned toward the door. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have to close up.”
Startled, Caleb followed him back up the stairs.
“Wait! You can't just end things like that!”
Oberon entered the main bar, Caleb in tow. Clearing his throat, he made an announcement to the guests.
“Last call, everyone. We're closing early tonight.”
As the patrons expressed their disappointment, Caleb continued to follow Oberon to the bar, where his host was mixing the final drinks of the day.
“What way?” he asked.
“I'm sorry, what?”
“What way? You said there is a way.”
“Did I? Well, Mr. Vatore. Take a look around you. We have all types in here: werefolk, vampires, faerie-folk, and even an odd human or two. And, so far, no one has had anyone else for dinner, tonight. Occasionally I have to break up a spat over a game of foosball, but my patrons rarely feast on each other, even though some of them could. The reason? They have found commonality in spite of their differences, and value their associations too much to endanger them. If you want the same for Forgotten Hollow as it relates to The Myst, you must do the work, Mr. Vatore. Annexation will not happen. I know this for a fact. Maintain your separateness, find common ground and create associations.”
“Separate, but allied? An alliance? With The Myst?”
“Yes. I dare say both might find such an arrangement beneficial. After all, there are many threats... ah reasons... to become allies.”
“You seem to imply some kind of common enemy. Allied against what? Who?”
“Well,” Oberon said, his blue eyes flashing a bit. “That remains to be seen, doesn't it?”
Oberon ushered his guests to the door, and with cordial parting words, locked it firmly behind them. He turned off the lights, then proceeded to bank the fire in the fireplace, Caleb still following close behind.
“Oberon, please,” Caleb started, but was cut off by his host.
“I think we've had a productive visit, here,” Oberon mused. “I wish you a safe trip home, tomorrow.”
“But, I'm not...”
“Oh, but you are. You found what you were looking for. There is no need to remain. When you have support among your people and have worked out a plan, if you need entry to The Myst, seek me out again. I might be able to assist you there.”
Oberon moved across the room, but paused as he reached the stairs. “Sleep well. And, do remember, an alliance is a powerful tool. Just be certain you clearly understand those with whom you are becoming aligned. Goodnight and goodbye, Mr. Vatore. I'll send your bill to your residence.”
The Blue Moon's proprietor ascended the stairs to the upper floor and his private residence, turning out the downstairs lights when he reached the top. Standing alone in the darkened inn, Caleb was certain Oberon Lazuli was hinting at things to come.
As he made his way to his downstairs bedroom, he thought about his conversation with the mysterious man. Things had not quite gone the way Caleb had hoped, but he strongly suspected they had gone the way they needed. Caleb had hoped for assistance in gaining a hearing in The Myst, but was leaving with the beginnings of a proposed alliance. And, as he sank into his bed and his thoughts returned to the lovely Anaya, he considered that alliances might be a good idea in many ways. Many very interesting ways, indeed.
This is purely a text story. I wrote it as a writing exercise to fit my backstory for Morgyn and the Myst in with the new lore from the Werewolf pack. As I've said, my goal is to develop this game story without deviating too far from the characters of the premade occults as they are in game and sticking as closely as possible to the in-game lore. I was pleasantly surprised to find that my backstory could fit within the new occult lore without many changes. Here is my attempt at reconciling the two.
Mooncasters, Mages and The Myst
Morgyn Ember took his bearings as he flashed into the entryway of The Blue Moon Tavern. Seeing that the “OPEN” light was turned off, Morgyn understood this meant the mystic business was not currently in the human realm. Situated in a dimensional and supernatural crossroads, with no fixed point in time or space, the Blue Moon Tavern maintains a habit of slipping in and out of human contact at the will of its proprietor. When it is open, it's available for all who can find it. When closed, it retreats into The Twilight. Luckily, Morgyn is one of the few who can always find it whenever they want. At least, until Oberon Lazuli decides otherwise.
Morgyn gave a slight rap on the door and waited for his friend and mentor to answer. He was surprised to see a young woman pulling it open, but he was not nearly as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
“Ummm... we're closed,” she said, her voice betraying confusion as she waved a hand toward the light.
“I see that.”
“We never see anyone when we're closed. I'm not sure it's even possible.”
Morgyn smiled. “Well, it's a good thing I'm not just anyone. And, for some people, anything is possible. Is Oberon in?”
The young lady seemed to be trying to decide between slamming the door in Morgyn's face, or making some kind of stand against this unexpected intruder. She drew herself up, preparing for whatever her next action would be, until a quiet voice from behind made her pause.
“Let him in, Anaya. It's fine.”
Anaya visibly relaxed at her boss's assurance, and standing aside, let Morgyn Ember enter The Blue Moon.
As Morgyn's gaze swept the familiar barroom, a wave of nostalgia flooded over him. Even before Morgyn knew him, Oberon Lazuli had been an instrumental force in his life, even to the point of keeping him alive in his childhood. It was Oberon who arranged for his adoption to human parents. It was Oberon who mentored him as his powers manifested and guided him along the path his ancestors had laid out for him. And, it was Oberon he sought out whenever he needed insight into hidden and dark things.
Morgyn found his friend sitting at the fireplace, reading. Oberon looked up from his book. His sparkling blue eyes met Morgyn's and he waved a friendly hand in invitation. Morgyn sank into the opposite chair with a sigh.
Oberon laughed softly and spoke to the young lady still hovering nearby. “Anaya, please bring Mage Ember something strong. I think he needs it.”
“A new companion?” Morgyn asked, as Anaya made her way across the room and disappeared behind the bar. “What happened to the other one?”
“Oh, Mau is still here. Still a cat who was once a Spellcaster.”
Morgyn drew a sharp breath. Something about the comment was causing him apparent distress. Oberon pretended not to notice.
“Poor Mau has an unfortunate propensity for skunks, though,” Oberon continued. “As you might expect, it severely limits his companion-ability. So, when Anaya showed up and wanted to stay, I was open to the idea.”
The young lady in question returned with a pot of something hot, strong and soothing, then discreetly disappeared downstairs. As Morgyn sipped the concoction, he felt his equilibrium returning, somewhat. Setting his mug down, he turned to his companion.
“So. What do I do?”
Oberon arched an eyebrow. “About?”
Morgyn frowned. “You know what I'm talking about. You know everything. The people of Forgotten Hollow are trying to establish an alliance with The Myst.”
“So I've heard.”
“We can't do that.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not.”
“Ah, yes. That whole Spellcaster/werewolf war with the vampires thing.”
“It's hardly just a thing. It's history. The vampires have always been the enemies of the Spellcasters and the werewolves. We have a fairly strong alliance with Moonwood Mills. They will never accept Forgotten Hollow, no matter how sincerely Caleb Vatore tries to convince anyone otherwise. And neither will the Spellcasters in The Myst. But, to directly turn them down risks antagonizing an already touchy situation.”
“And, why do you bring this to me? Is this not a matter for The Myst, and especially the Spellcasters, to resolve... Maestri Ember?”
Morgyn started. Very few people knew his true title, and no one ever used it. No one.
“What?” Morgyn's tone was defensive as he perched on the edge of his chair.
Oberon leaned in, fixing Morgyn with an intense gaze. “It seems to me the Spellcasters created this mess. I don't look to them to repair it. At least, not any time soon. But I have to ask, how does this involve the last of The Arcanes?”
Morgyn gripped the arms of his chair as Oberon continued.
“The Spellcasters created a bit of a problem, overreaching with their limited knowledge of magic, creating both vampires and werewolves. The rivalry has existed for ages and is undoubtedly violent and intense. It will not be easy to resolve. But what about you, Morgyn Ember? You who are the Last of The Arcanes. The Arcanes, who are the progenitors of all magic. The Ancients. You, Maestri Morgyn Ember. You are not a mere Spellcaster. So, what does this all mean for you?”
Morgyn's voice became strained. “When my people knew they were a threatened race, they imparted magic to humans. The human Spellcasters... made... mistakes.”
“I would call that an understatement. Their inability with Untamed Magic resulted in vampires who attacked them. Their need for defense resulted in werewolves who have difficulty controlling their animal instincts. And on top of all that, they destroyed the Magic Realm... originally the home of The Arcanes and the source of their own magic. Yes. I would say they made some mistakes.”
“If we had not given them magic, none of this would have occurred.”
“True.”
“But then, the magic would be dead.”
“Also true.”
Oberon refilled their mugs, then sat back in his chair, thoughtfully watching the steam drift above the rim of his cup.
“You are in a unique position, Morgyn Ember. You are Arcane. You are not a Spellcaster, even if your strongest alliance and identification is with them. If the Spellcasters in The Myst can't accept Forgotten Hollow, then that is certainly their privilege. And, if the residents of Moonwood Mill never accept the people of Forgotten Hollow, so be it. But never forget... you are not one of them. Never forget who you are.”
Oberon took a slow, careful sip of his drink before continuing.
“Besides, a position of neutrality from someone with great power can be a great advantage if all involved should collectively face a uniquely different threat. Then alliances become much more desirable.”
“Threat? Like what?”
Oberon smiled. “As I told a certain ambitious vampire, that remains to be seen.”
Morgyn was about to press Oberon about his visit with Caleb Vatore, when a strong odor assailed his nostrils, making him gag.
“Oh, my...what?” Morgyn choked, his eyes watering.
Oberon cringed. “Mau.”
As the Spellcaster turned servile cat proudly traipsed through the room to his supper bowl, the rancid smell of skunk wafting behind, Oberon and Morgyn retreated to the outdoors for some fresh air.
“I should work on a reversal for that curse,” Morgan commented, between coughs.
“I wouldn't bother. I have a feeling he likes it this way. Besides, I'm not sure it would change his affinity for skunks, and I'd much rather bathe a cat. But Morgyn?”
“Yes?”
“A very supernaturally strong deodorizer would be greatly appreciated.”
This is a short resolution to a story that started months ago, but I played it out several ways, and like this one the best. Please excuse the lower picture resolution. I had to move my whole game to a new save due to a corruption and forgot to reset the graphics before doing the play through.
Spirit Rights and Other Things
Guidry gingerly made his way through the thick brush to a long-forgotten section of the Mooncrest Havens Cemetery. This was the original graveyard, now abandoned, ancient and crumbling. As Guidry drifted through the remains of Mooncrest's history, he was mindful of the damaged and broken memorials of long forgotten citizens scattered through the brambles and vines that twisted and wound through the fenced in sections. There was a sadness here, a sense of sorrow and lost potential that made even the usually chipper Guidry feel a bit blue. Guidry shuddered a little, hoping he would always be able to maintain a connection with the living that would keep him relevant to the new world. Death was one thing. Being forgotten was something else, entirely.
Guidry paused at the door of the ancient mausoleum. His friend and partner in the Guidry-Albert Plan for Spirit's Rights, George Albert, had recently moved his family from the modern section of the cemetery to this old, decaying portion. It was a move that baffled Guidry, especially as the Guidry-Albert Plan had been successfully presented in the Mystic Assembly and was able to secure better living options for all non-corporeal residents of The Myst. It was a point that George had been intensely adamant about, and yet, his response to the additional housing choices seemed to have been to actively seek out a decided downgrade. With a shrug, Guidry knocked on the door.
“Come in!” George's jovial voice boomed from inside.
Guidry let himself into the mausoleum and, finding the stairs to the basement level, drifted down to meet his friend. He had to admit that the Albert's new home was much less crowded and much better appointed than the previous home in the main cemetery chapel. There were more rooms, better furniture, and a nice baby grand piano sat in the middle of the parlor. But, he thought, even with all the niceties, it's still just a crypt. Why not take this opportunity to move into a real home? After a few minutes of small talk, the friends got to the point of Guidry's visit.
“So,” George said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation as they settled onto a sofa. “Tell me all about it!”
“You should have been there. You're the co-author of the bill.”
“Yeah. Well, I don't like to get out much. Besides, I knew you'd do fine. Did you get pictures?”
“Of course!”
“Show me!” George was beside himself as he broke out a dusty bottle of something fizzy and passed a glass to his friend. Guidry took out his phone and flipped through the photos. He hoped George could at least share some secondhand joy of seeing the Guidry-Albert plan go to the Mystic Assembly. As George studied the pictures, Guidry kept up a running commentary.
“I was pretty nervous,” Guidry admitted. “I spent a long time practicing that speech.
“I'll bet!”
“But, on the day of the vote, I met with Morgyn Ember beforehand. He assured me that the Council of All Magic was backing the plan.”
“Great!” George enthused. “So, they were in agreement? No changes?”
“Not many. Of course, then I had to make my speech to the Assembly.”
“How'd you do?”
“Not too bad. I guess. I don't think I looked too frightened.”
George leaned in to look at the picture. “Nah. You look great! I read that the vote was greatly in our favor.”
“It was. Several proposals were presented. Ours passed. Unfortunately for Forgotten Hollow, their petition for an alliance didn't.”
'Oooh,” George mused. “Is that a problem?”
Guidry shrugged. “I guess we'll find out.”
Guidry started to put his phone away, then abruptly remembered something else.
“How could I forget. This is the plaque that was made to commemorate our full inclusion in The Myst. Morgyn says it will remain in the main lobby for a while.”
“You should go see it,” Guidry encouraged.
“Yeah,” George said, nodding. “I really should. The kids would like this.”
Guidry switched off the phone and, leaning back on the sofa, gave his friend a long look. “I don't get it, George. You pushed so hard for equality, especially in housing, and now that we have it, you're still just hanging out in the graveyard. Why?”
George shrugged. “I like it here.”
“But, you could have a house.”
“I don't want a house. I just don't want others telling me I can't have a house, see?”
Guidry nodded, unsure. The rest of the day was spent in celebratory beverages, pleasant small talk and excited plans for the future. Noting that the hour had grown late, Guidry finally said his goodbyes and headed back toward his nicely appointed house.
Sitting in the dusk on a bench in the overgrown remnants of the Mooncrest cemetery, Guidry reflected on his visit. George knew what he wanted. He was content with the existence he now had. Guidry had been content until he moved to The Myst, but had been restless ever since. Until this. Until the Guidry-Albert plan. He had been having a hard time putting his feelings about all of this into words. But, now he knew why he had uncharacteristically gotten involved in the politics of The Myst and what the Guidry-Albert plan actually represented. For him, it was about having a meaningful existence. But, as George pointed out, it was also about freedom. Because, as Guidry was beginning to realize, none are free until we're all free.
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