Life ends in a wooden casket beneath the earth. Her pale face was a fleeting memory of the times Daryl would have spent with her. No child should have to bear the burden realizing that death is cold, callous, and unforgiving in whom it takes. Whether one meets their end by the barrel of a gun or a tumor in the chest, it comes for all. Daryl was only seven when he lost his mother. His father, in his grief, descended into drunken madness and fell into a deranged state. Life was as harsh as it was turbulent. Every day there was an incident in his father’s place of work because of his anger and inbreation. As for Daryl himself, there was a void. A child aspiring to be a doctor like his mother before him, Daryl dreamed of helping people who were sick and dying. Now, she was gone. Daryl turned his attention away from the conventional side of medicine to an entirely new field. He declared a war on death, and he would ensure he’d conquer it through any means necessary, even if doing so required he turn to more esoteric measures. Twenty years later, and Daryl was so close to the answer. So close to finding what he sought. The man knew not of sleep, nor dream, or comfort, or even companionship. His tools' allegiance was all that he required. Death taunted him at every turn, but he would not falter. Daryl dreamed he was at the center of a grand stage. His work was art. He saw himself as an aspiring celebrity: The Man Who Beat Death. But he did not want the world to look upon him with reverence for his ego. No, he wanted them to look upon him as the god who unshackled the oppressive bonds that death held over their souls. For Daryl believed, no, he was certain that there was nothing after death. No voice from the grave would sooth his aching heart. No tears were shed upon the burial. Only the silence, and the quietness of the world an indication of the light he had lost. But here, up on the stage, he would show the world that the light would never be lost again. Death would tremble within his very presence. For the world was his play, the hospitals were the stage, the patients were his audience, he was the leading man, and death was his antagonist. Death’s will would crumble, his power will fade, his darkness will fall: these were not possibilities; these words were the future. His patients would applaud; all clapping in sync. They waited for that moment to come when Daryl would take the final plunge into the still beating heart of his villain, and patient, death.This, he vowed. Though he was blind to most of the faces, one stood out from the back of the theater. A tall, bipedal owl creature simply known as an olid, was clapping. The audience faded into silence though they still stirred. But the olid’s clapping could Daryl hear. The spot lights turned from the man and shone upon the well-dressed owl. “A smashing performance, young Daryl. Very well done.” He said with a bright smile stretched across where his cheeks met his beak. “I would not expect anything less from the marvelous, genius thanatologist himself. Though the play itself means little to the actual fight in which you’ve engrossed yourself in for these past twenty years.” Daryl stepped down from the stage to bow before what he knew to be the director of the theater. As he straightened back up, the olid was standing right before him. “Pray tell, Daryl, does reality appear as though it is a play to you?” The owl asked the human. “It is a play for everyone, I am just an actor amid the grand scheme of things. I just play my part like everyone else.” Daryl replied. “Ah, but your part is auspicious. For battling diseases and illnesses is not just what you seek. No, you seek a means to cultivate and extend the very essence of life. You seek immortality, young doctor.” “Immortality is not a word I would use to describe it. For faiths and religions weave this notion that immortality is the prospect of life existing after death, when I know for certain it doesn’t. I could never hear her voice, no matter how hard I prayed for her to give me a sign she was watching over me. Every night, before I went to bed. But all I was met with was silence, fear, and longing.” The olid let out a gentle hum and tilted his head to the side. “Ah, so eternal longevity or invulnerability? Whichever works, they would mean the same for you in the end. An end to death.” Daryl turned aside to look upon where the body of death laid on stage. It was gone. A testament to the constant stalemate Daryl faced with the real death. The victories were always temporary, and fleeting. “Though what role will you play in the future, I wonder? So far from home, so far across the seas, a backwater town along the coastal regions of Slavask, where the air is brisk and the food is dry and sustainable.” The lights vanished with the resounding click of the spotlights. With it, so too did the olid vanish. The theater was dark, but as Daryl turned his head aside as he followed the next loud click, the stage had changed from a hospital room to the backdrop of what looked to be a small town. And there, a young corva, a raven girl, stood solemnly amid a great open field of wheat. And behind the backdrop of the town, a great figure loomed before it, the shadow being a silhouette of a mighty whale. “The town you seek, bears a great and rich history. More culturally distinct from the rest of Slavask. It is its own little world. It is called ‘The Town Over Shuldan’ by the coastal folk and town folk alike. Be you blind and deaf to it, a curious young creature with a heart as bright as the morning light, with feathers as dark as coal, would steal that which shines in you. “Call upon the town for the secret of eternal life, the one you seek would not be the one you meet. Your heart yearns for life, but not the life you know it to be. And your path will lead to a new role in this performance. I am curious to see how it will end.” Daryl was frustrated with the inane, cryptic riddles the director was spewing. Mostly because they gave the impression that his path ahead was predetermined. As someone who never believed in the concepts of spiritualism or fatalist ideals, Daryl only found his own vision and his own drive to be his self-fulfilling destiny. “I know my role, director. I played this part for twenty years. You’d sooner have me play an extra than the hero,” Daryl argued. “So you say, but this isn’t a traditional Idonian Dramatist play.” “My play is a tragedy?” The olid smirked at that, “That would be too predictable even for me, and I love tragedies. I’d sooner conduct a pantomime orchestrated by corvas adorned with masks.” “And this dream means nothing to me but to serve as a waste of time.” “Ahah! But for you to recognize this dream means there’s more to this so-called rationale realm, wouldn’t you think? What, pray tell, do you see where men of faith look upon the tapestry of the blue that encompasses the town’s history?” “I wouldn’t know, I haven’t been there. This is my first time to Shuldan.” The olid chuckled under his breath, “Think with your logic and reasoning then. Treat this all as one big hypothetical scenario.” “In that case, I see just a whale.” “The town would call you ignorant as they see there’s more to it than through simple eyes.” “Simple eyes give us a good view of the world. It can’t see the future, it can’t see a great spirit, and it certainly can’t see flights of fancies.” The olid smirked once more as he let out a tsk, “I never mentioned a great spirit, my friend. It seems you have more of an inkling about the secret world than you realize. With that, I must draw this show to a close. Go on and be on your way, I have another performance to attend to.” With that, the theatre went dark. --- The warm glow of morning light shone through the window blinds. A loud, long drawn out whistle blew from just outside of where Daryl sat. With his vision blurred, he forced his eyes to focus. He sat up and groaned as he pulled his arm out from the covers of his blanket to read the time; 8:26 AM. He was sure to arrive at the town at any moment. The dream left as it came; silent and unnoticed. Though bits of what he recalled were, at least to him, mere abstract nonsense of a man in a deep sleep. His dreams were nothing more than his mind stuck on theatre performances, like how he spent his time and coinage on them as he did in the waking realm. They were comforting, but rarely anything to interpret. His path of finding the means to combat death had brought him to this “Town Over Shuldan” where the skies were seemingly always gray, it rained like a flash flood, but the bread always tasted as though it was dry. There were many things he had heard about this town; much of what, Daryl reflected on, seemed like superstitious nonsense. Call it ignorance, for he cared not. The only thing Daryl Moriarto cared about was finally overcoming death. And an old man, the founder of this town some 200 years ago, might hold the answers he sought. And this was where he got off, and into an entirely new world. It was calm, quiet, and far, far from home. Away from the bustling city life, away from civilization as far as Daryl knew, there was this eerie sense of something… old. Old… and serene. There was a sense of calmness to it. The town housed 12,500 people. Though the town certainly wasn’t that vast, much of the townhouses had multiple living quarters, and a termitary district for workers. It was mainly a bunkhouse for one-thousand people at a time who worked for “Ishmael Enterprises.” Fishermen, whalers, and butches worked tirelessly to provide the town with the sustenance and materials needed in their daily lives. There were a large number of whales along the coastline of the country. Though in Shuldan, it was especially profitable. Along Shuldan’s coastline there were many, many whales. While the dietary balance of the townsfolk greatly favored their infamous dry bread, the taste left much to be desired and so it was supplemented with other goods.But let it not be said it wasn’t as nutritious as the whale meat. Perhaps that’s why the Shuldan people prospered out here for so long; their diet of fish and whale. Daryl found the prospect fascinating and curious. The realms of science had left him with many questions and in his field, those questions needed answering. However, he had a more important question to find the answers to: longevity. Whoever this old founder was, he would have those answers. The buildings were evenly and sparsely spaced along the roads. At least, the farm buildings were. It was a tiring endless walk toward the town that for the past ten minutes, Daryl spent his time counting the hay bails he passed by. He must have counted at least 26 of them. Near the edge of town, Daryl spotted a young corva woman treading alone along the fields. The weather was brisk, and she was wearing a buttoned-collared, brown shirt and a flower patterned shawl draped around her shoulders. Not the type of attire to brave the elements they were currently in, at least as far as Daryl saw it. He was never good at determining the ages of other beings. But corvas were one particular race that he was all too familiar with, given his fascination with crows and ravens. And corvas were related to ravens in such a way that the tint, the texture, and the structure of the face could easily discern their age. Daryl approached the young raven girl, and he could tell right off the bat that she was around his age or at most a few years younger. Her beak was finely tended to, cleaned, her feathers neatly groomed and she was sporting long hair that went past her shoulder blades. A particular quirk in corvas was their abnormal ability to grow hair from their heads rather than traditional feathers. The color of which matched her feathers but still stood out. Her eyes were clear blue like the ocean waters. “Excuse me,” Daryl called out, “may I have a word with you?” The corva girl stopped in her tracks and turned to face the young doctor, “Huh? I’m sorry, is there something you need?” Her voice was calm and gentle as she approached Daryl, soothing even. “Yes, I was wondering if you know of this town’s founder and where I could find him,” he replied. “Our founder? Oh… you mean Orgyn Daminski?” Daryl shrugged, not particularly sure about where he should go once he had finally entered town. “I am new here, so I wouldn’t know.” “Ah, then you should look for the building in front of the theatre; that’s the town hall. Look for the dome head, you can’t miss it,” her voice trailed off as though she had been meaning to ask something and eventually she worked up the nerve; “I can show you around if you want.” “If it wouldn’t trouble you too much, I’d appreciate that. Though I’m curious as to why you’d extend a helping hand so readily to a stranger like me?” The corva girl smiled and trailed ahead of the doctor for him to follow, “Around these parts, a helping hand goes a long way in building bonds and bridges. Community’s always important here, and we extend it to even outsiders.” There was something off about her tone though about that. As if this town doesn’t exactly have the most hospitable atmosphere than he’d like to imagine. “I’m sure it does. In any case, I think introductions are in order if we are to build this bridge. I’m Daryl Moriarto, the crusader against death.” “I’m Idaya. Most folks call me Ida. And it is very nice to meet you Daryl. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you. Even so far out here, word of your renown passes by the lips and beaks of my neighbors.” “Good things, I’m sure.” Daryl’s reputation was very divisive across the world. The people see him as a saint. The religious organizations, the medical practitioners, and a great many envious rivals thought very little of him. He wouldn’t be surprised they would go out of their way to besmirch his good name, let alone plot his demise. But that was the paranoia talking. “A great deal actually. The clans of Shuldan are particularly interested in you after hearing your research brought you all the way out here. No doubt they are aware you are here for Ogryn.” Daryl hummed at that as he shifted his shoulders, “So they probably want my allegiance?” “I am not sure. Our people very rarely bother with the high families here.” “What can you tell me about them?” The raven girl adjusted her shawl as a gust of wind blew hard from the east. “There are three of them. They go by the title of their factions rather than family names: The builders, the thinkers, and the mediators.” “I’m sensing a theme here.” The raven girl nodded and smiled, “There is indeed. You love theatrics and performances right? You know of the playUtopia?” “Who hasn’t heard of it? It even got adapted into a film. Quite a nice adaptation of the original play if I do say so myself.” “Yeah. The playwright actually adapted the methods, ideals, and customs of our town into his work.” Daryl had expected these backwater types of folks to be simple, oafish, and uncultured. The raven girl defied his expectations. On top of that, to hear the playwright took inspiration of this town only fueled his curiosity as to the history and way of life of Shuldan. Though it remained to be seen if this town was truly utopian. But it appeared it had some history and appeal to it. For now, Daryl was interested in the corva girl. There was something about her that was drawing him in. It felt as though there was a sense of familiarity to it at first. Surely it was naught but a trick of the mind for he never saw her before. Yet, there was something else. Something about her that stood out. Her stance, her walk, her calm attitude, serene, and kind it was a comforting curiosity that made him want to understand her, to know her. “As a lover of performance arts myself, I am already intrigued. I hope I can find out more about this town’s history as much as I can about the plays based on it.” “You love plays too?” There was that gentle smile of hers again. “The one across from city hall doesn’t exactly do Idonian plays but they do indulge in expressive forms of art in their own right.” “Well, I might be here for a while so I might as well give it a chance. Though enough about the town. I actually want to know more about you.” The raven girl stopped and turned to face the young doctor. “Me? Why, what is there to know about a little ol’ townie like myself?” “Like, what do you do for a living? How come a ‘townie’ like yourself is so knowledgeable about the outside world? Do you have any relatives?” The young raven chuckled as she shifted her hands into her shirt pockets, “Didn’t know you were so inquisitive. Well, I run a general store in the town. Specifically the one to the west of the central plaza. I live with my mother who runs the shop herself, but I decided to take over.” “Sounds like you have a great deal of responsibility.” “I do. During my spare time I used to read a lot of books and attend the theatre. Nowadays, not so much. Since my mother fell ill, I have been doing everything I can to ensure the shop stays afloat.” A sense of duty swelled within Daryl as death already appeared to have set his boot upon this backwater little town. As he stepped onto the cobblestone road leading in the Shuldan, the chill of his presence lingered even here. He sensed him. He was here. “Is your mother’s condition serious?” Daryl asked, “If you need a doctor, I can help treat her if need be.” “I appreciate the gesture, but no. It is not serious, and I am fine with the circumstances. She’s been working herself way too hard and the flu’s the least of her worries.” “How long has she been sick?” “A few weeks now.” “Then she should have recovered by then. At the very least, let me check on her. I will do it at no charge.” Idaya smirked at his offer and cocked her brow, “The great Daryl Moriarto offering medical services for free? Truly?” “My services are cheap because I am good at what I do.” “That doesn’t sound very capitalist.” “Nobody says you can’t be both an altruist and a capitalist.” “Obviously you are a very strange man…” the raven’s smile grew warmer and gentler, “I like it. It has been so long since we actually had such a kind-hearted individual from the outside.” Daryl hardly considered himself kindor even considerate. He never allowed himself to get emotionally involved with anyone regardless of whether they were patient or not. Bonds tend to break too easily with death peering right around the corner, ready to further his tally of tragedies. But then… Idaya brought out something in him he had not felt in such a long time. “Kind folks and altruists are indeed rare. And I am not entirely altruistic to the core, despite my statement.” “Well, I’d say it is the selfish kind of selflessness. But I was hoping you’d be selflessly selfish of yourself.” Now she was just speaking in tongues that he was not comprehending. What an odd girl she was. “I am sorry, but that doesn’t seem to make a whole lot of sense to me. What were you hoping?” She shrugged, “I was hoping Daryl Moriarto would at least be concerned with his own well-being for the benefit of others. A selfless kind of selfishness.” “I care for death’s defeat, not my well being. That’s also a kind of selfish selflessness.” “Yet, you do this for the sake of others. But it's a selfish matter.” It was at that point Daryl lost his nerve, “By the gods woman! Why do you speak in circles?!” Idaya was in a laughing fit now as the look on her face said how she expected such a response. “I apologize, Moriarto. The rumors are true to what I expected, and it is rather humorous of me.” “I care not to be mocked in such a matter Idaya,” he said.She had touched a nerve there that she didn’t mean to hit. “I do apologize, truly Dr. Moriarto. I really honestly find you fascinating.” The feeling was mutual though it took Daryl a moment to compose himself. She was a product of her kind after all; intelligent and witty. “You need not apologize. My colleagues say I’m too high strung these days. Perhaps they are right.” “Well in that case, perhaps you should take a break.” “From what?” The corva gestured to his person and smiled gently, “You are a doctor who never rests. Perhaps you need to collect your thoughts and just enjoy some recreation.” He looked at her as though she were mad. Daryl Moriarto on leave? Taking a break? Enjoying a lap of luxury? His only luxury was by the operating table, awaiting his next patient. His breaks were three cups of coffee past midnight and his only means of recreation was denying death his ‘claims’ on the living. “My dear, you ask what is impossible of me.” “Well, you haven’t exactly come here to operate on anyone. I don’t see why it would be an impossible task.” “Considering you mentioned your mother is ill, I have half a mind to find her myself before death’s tendrils seep around to whisk her of her ‘mortal coil.’” “Maybe if I have need of it. For now, I beseech you to leave my mother be. I rather you not trouble yourself and I do implore you to take precedence with pleasure over business first.” Idaya seemed insistent. It was amusing and curious to see how concerned she had for the well being of a stranger, an outsider. Few had the luxury of this kind of hospitality. For Moriarto, it is a rarity that he never sought out. “Fine then. Ogryn and your mother can wait. I still have to feel the layout of this town after all before I can get anywhere.” Idaya smiled and chuckled once more. “I appreciate your selfish selflessness my newfound friend.”