Posts from Pursuit of the Sun 1.2

Amalia disappears into the maw of the stone, while Cassius remains among the graves. If he needs rest, a hole in the ground is at his service.

The mayor is nowhere to be found, but Voldemar nearly knocked the sheriff off his feet. The old man is clearly not in a good mood.
-- You may pass, -- he rasps, looking at Voldemar with disapproval, and leaves him alone with the only guard and the clerk, who is temporarily acting as mayor.

-- Sir... Voldemar, is it? What is your business?

He'll start charging rent for cutting down trees, the scoundrel...

The burden of will is heavy, for it obligates one to exist, but the burden of memory is even heavier, for it enslaves the form of existence, binds it, prevents it from disappearing or freely transforming in the whirlwinds of the Void, where images and concepts are free and mean nothing. Something in the Void has taken on a heavy burden, bound itself with the chains of the past, and since only this particle of Hargon now possesses will, the indifferent void obeys it unconditionally.
Having embodied itself, it must make a choice. A heavy, viscous shell has enveloped it, imprisoned it, cut it off from the extra-spatial diversity of the eternally possible and never actual, and now there are only two paths – back, where the threads of images associated with this charred being lead, and forward, where the unknown awaits, but already has a terrifying appearance – it cannot be otherwise in the personal prison that the distorted consciousness has created for itself – and threatens with the necessity of choice and struggle.

Well, why not. Some folks are raking in cash on tourists, some are carving up northerners, some get coins for pleasant seed-spending, and some just rent out basements. All fair and square...🤑

The main thing is not to turn into a woman

The entity once again falls into a vortex of disjointed images, losing the ability to dissolve, but gaining the ability not to act, for action is impossible in emptiness, but to relate to the images in one way or another. The first thing that leads to the charred medal turns out to be a sword. As long as chaos doesn't sweep her away again, she can seize it. Or refuse.

- That's right.
- Actually, I wanted to ask about the basement where that gang, with the abomination at its head, was carrying out their dark deeds. Now that the witch and her house are, so to speak, mine, maybe I can take the basement too? It's just sitting there, useless to anyone...

What if...

- I just had an idea... – Ottar suddenly perked up. – Just a moment, master. I'll go talk to our friend.

The Bloodsucker went outside, where his partner was supposed to be waiting for him.

- So, I talked to one of the smartest people in the capital, – Ottar announced happily. – Twenty silver coins? It's all yours. And I'll just take a small amount for medicinal purposes. You won't get a better offer today.

And you won't get one tomorrow either. To split the profit of twenty, you'd have to sell it for forty, and that's just a fairy tale.