Sagiro
Rodent of Uncertain Parentage
Sagiro’s Story Hour, Part 329
It’s Blood
There’s a moment when no one’s heart is beating. Dranko breaks the silence.
“Why is he in the house?”
None of his friends answer right away, so Parthol himself does.
“Because I wanted to talk with you.”
Some in the party look at Eddings. No hostile creature can enter the Greenhouse uninvited, after all.
“He came down from the upstairs,” he says. “But he didn’t look like that at first. He looked like Salk.”
Aravis stares holes at Parthol. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“And are you a simulacrum?” Dranko adds.
“No,” says Parthol. “No. There are only so many of those one can make before one grows a little short of life force.”
“Are you a lich?” asks Dranko.
“No.”
Dranko tries to look nonchalant. “Because we killed the last one…”
Morningstar hasn’t said a word, but her face is a thundercloud.
“You don’t look happy to see me, Morningstar!” exclaims Parthol. “But I’m not here to fight. Which is good. I’d hate to damage your furniture.”
“Shut up and talk,” Dranko spits.
“My, you are rude for world-saving adventuring types!”
“How many times have you tried to kill us?” Dranko blurts.
Parthol smiles. “Zero.”
Dranko shakes his head. “What about your simulacrums?”
“Technically twice,” Parthol admits, “but I didn’t expect them to kill you. They were tests, which you passed quite nicely. I wanted to know how powerful you were, how worthy you were…”
The old wizard looks around, and raises an eyebrow. “Where’s the little guy, by the way?”
“Dead,” says Morningstar.
“I’m sorry to hear that. How did it happen?”
Grey Wolf leans forward. “You should be getting to the point more rapidly. We can replace the furniture if we have to.”
Parthol sighs, and gives a small chuckle. “I’m here as a show of good faith, to give you information that you probably don’t have. And, to let you know that I’m on your side.”
Over the mind-link, Dranko groans. “Oh God. He really is on our side. The cigar smoke! It said “not lying.”
Parthol continues. “Would you prefer that I try to kill you some more? Because honestly, I’d rather you stay alive, so that you can fix things.”
“How come you weaseled out and changed sides?” asks Dranko.
“Pragmatism,” answers Parthol. “My plans will not go so well if the Black Circle gets its way. Aravis, I’m surprised you don’t agree with this sentiment. You two as well, Kibilhathur and Grey Wolf. Wizards should be ruling things. The most powerful, most intelligent people should be in charge. It has been my intent all along to drag the other archmagi, kicking and screaming if necessary, to where they belong: on top, ruling the kingdom.
“In fact, if I and Alander and Typier and your current crop of archmagi had been running things all along, we’d probably be in charge of Kivia by now, which soon, I imagine, you are going to wish that we were.”
“And why is that?” asks Ernie, tight-lipped.
“Assuming of course that we solve the bigger problem, do you fully understand that Charagan is just a backwater compared to Kivia? How long do you think it will be before the Ocirians decide that Charagan would look good as a protectorate or vassal state? How long before an invasion fleet shows up on the shores of Charagan that makes the Delfirian force look like an army of child’s toy soldiers?
“We’ll sink their ships!” says Dranko. “Boom! Blub blub blub.”
“What about a thousand ships, guarded by their most powerful spellcasters? This is the kind of thing that wizards would be thinking ahead about. Power is the way to rule properly, and the wizards have it. But that’s neither here nor there.
“I’m here to earn your trust, so I’m not going to hide anything from you. It’s true that I was in communication with Naloric Skewn, and also his son Naradawk, because…”
Dranko interrupts. “How?”
Parthol smiles indulgently. “Magic. You wouldn’t understand.” He turns to Aravis, Kibi and Grey Wolf. “Frankly, you wouldn’t either. I’m a bit beyond you. But I don’t think I’m powerful enough to take on all of you, and all of the archmagi. Also, I’m not powerful enough to take on Naradawk and his cadre by myself. But if I get the two of you to fight, one would be destroyed, and the other weakened. Then I could probably defeat the winner. That was kind of the whole point, up to now. I still wouldn’t mind if it worked out that way. I think Charagan and the people in it would be better off if I were in control. But we have a bigger problem, as you probably know.”
“Yeah,” says Ernie. “A problem that’s twenty-five feet tall with purple skin.”
Parthol shakes his head. “You mean Naradawk? No, that’s not what I’m talking about.” He puts his feet up on the coffee table. “Are you up on your religion? Do you know why the Gods came here in the first place? They were escaping, from the Adversary -- a God before whom all other Gods quailed. And now Drosh is gone. Corilayna is gone, too -- and if anyone understands the odds of this world surviving, it would be Her. Clearly, something very bad is about to happen. The Adversary is probably on his way.”
There is silence from the Company. Most of this they knew or guessed already,
“Do you know what the Black Circle is?” Parthol asks.
“A pain in our butt!” Ernie answers.
“No. I mean do you know, literally, what it is?”
After a beat of silence, the party admits that they do not. Parthol sits up again on the sofa.
“This is what I’m going to share with you. It may give you a better understanding of what you’re dealing with. How familiar are you with the Kivian pantheon? Yulan and Manisette are the Kivian Gods of Time and Creation. They created five Greater Gods, who in turn were tasked by Manisette to create the Lesser Gods. They were instructed to create one each, but one of them, Palamir, God of Magic, in his pride created four instead of one. And those four were imperfect, mere demigods.
“As punishment, Manisette unmade Palamir, and then recreated him as the God of Duty and Loyalty. But Manisette was a Goddess of Creation, not destruction, and apparently did not do a very thorough job. Some of the essence of that God of Magic never left the world, and it hovered above Abernia, waiting.
“That’s half the story. Now, the Adversary – there’s a reason he’s not here, wreaking havoc and warring again with the other Gods. He was trapped, and prevented from following the Travelers here. But a part of the Adversary, some piece of his body or his will, still managed to pursue the fleeing Gods through the reaches of time and space. It arrived some time after they did. It fell to the surface of Abernia, and just for a moment, an incredible pall of malevolence was thrown back and flung up from the surface. But it didn’t last long. A sliver of time later, it was reformed by the hovering essence of Palamir, an imperfectly unmade God of Magic. It gave the Adversary tangency, agency. Do you understand what I’m saying? The Black Circle is the Adversary, at least in part. It is a God of Magic, infused with the evil of the Adversary. All of the Black Circle adherents, from their lowliest neophyte to whomever was promoted to High Priest when you killed Cor Kek, are working, whether consciously or not, toward bringing the Adversary here in His entirety.
“Not you, not I – no one on this world wants that to happen. Honestly, all of my intrigues to get control of this Kingdom don’t really matter, if an insanely powerful God is going to show up and have things His way.”
Ernie pipes up. “So why are the Black Circle so obsessed with bringing back the Emperor?”
“Because,” says Parthol, “The Emperor has the best chance to bring the Adversary here. With him in charge, every resource of the Kingdom would be dedicated to finding a way to accelerate the Adversary’s arrival. Of course, the current crop of Black Circle followers may not realize that consciously; they may believe that the return of Naradawk is the end goal. But collectively, this is all about the God and His return.
“Do you know what made the Emperor evil in the first place?”
Grey Wolf answers. “The black goo.”
Parthol nods. “And have you figured out what the ‘black goo’ is?”
Ernie goes pale. “I just did. It’s from where the hand of the Adversary hit the ground.”
“Quite literally,” says Parthol, “it’s the Adversary’s blood.”
“So that’s what is in that crater…” Morningstar breathes.
“And it’s what the Black Circle has been using to power their rituals,” Ernie adds.
“Yes. So. Now you have a greater understanding of the scope of your problem. I will attempt to learn more; some of this information has only recently become known to me. Honestly, it hasn’t been my focus recently. I had other things to consider.
“It took me a long time to figure out how to get into this house. It’s very well warded. Abernathy showed all of the improvisational genius of Alander, his master. He’s probably even greater than Typier was at abjuration. But for all that, Abernathy didn’t take into account the vagaries of the eddies of Astral travel.”
Dranko squints, and realizes he can see a very thin silver line, like a shimmery rope, projecting out the back of Parthol’s body.
“Unfortunately,” Parthol continues, “it won’t last, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to do it again. Honestly, it was a great stroke of luck that I was able to slip in here when I did. I only have another minute or two. I’ve said what I wanted to say. Now I’ll go back to researching how we can take care of this problem. And when the Adversary is taken care of, one way or another, which wizards willing he will be, we can get back to the question of who should rule Charagan.”
“Why us?” asks Morningstar.
Parthol looks thoughtful. “There’s something about you. I don’t know what it is. But Alander did, and Abernathy after him. I knew Alander very well. He was second only to myself in power and knowledge. He had prescience, as did Abernathy. They picked you for a reason, and I trust that reason. If anyone is going to save Abernia and everyone on it, I think that Alander thought it would be you.”
Parthol gestures to Aravis, Grey Wolf and Kibi. “Even you, who came on afterwards. Do you know how all of you were picked? Abernathy wrote your names on a scroll, but he didn’t know your names, or even what he was writing. He was merely casting a spell perfected by Alander centuries before. Originally there were seven names. The next day there were three more names: Kibi, Grey Wolf, Aravis. How did he know that? Your guess is as good as mine. I don’t have prescience. I merely have a towering intellect.
“I may not be able to Astrally Project here again. The Greenhouse actually accounts for it, just not in every case. It’s self-adapting. Next time, you may just have to invite me in.”
“How can we contact you?” asks Dranko.
“You won’t. I will contact you. I am not reachable. You see, while I trust you, I don’t know that the rest of the archmagi would tolerate me if they knew where I was.”
Dranko can’t help himself. “Do you have a lackey in Kynder Hold, or someone we can send a message to?”
Parthol looks surprised for the first time since his arrival. “Kynder Hold? Very good!”
“Oh, we’ve known that for years,” says Dranko.
“Really. I’m getting soft in my old age. How did you find out?”
Ernie gives Parthol a grim smile. “I’ll tell you this much: the information didn’t come from a wizard.”
Parthol chuckles.
“Before you disappear…” Dranko begins. But it’s too late. Parthol vanishes, leaving no trace.
Dranko fumes. “And like I said, according to the cigar, he wasn’t lying. He also had a silver tail. Did anyone think that was weird?”
Aravis explains about astral projection, and how that meant they couldn’t have really killed Parthol even in the best case.
/*/
With much to think about, the Company goes to sleep. That night, Aravis receives another vision from the Crosser’s Maze. It is a direct vision, witnessed through the eyes of his wandering fragment.
There are two people in a small but fancy room – probably in an inn. Light and faint noise come through a closed window.
You’ve seen these two people in a previous vision, though only in silhouette, and before they were armored whereas now they are not. You can see them plainly this time – a tall, muscular woman and an extremely short and stocky man. You don’t recognize their faces, though both are dotted with unsightly black lesions. The woman sits comfortably in a chair, while the little man paces.
“What’s taking him so long?” barks the man. “He said he’d be here an hour ago.”
“Are you in such a hurry?” asks the woman. “Personally, I hope he finds some reason to delay. I don’t know about you, but I enjoy sunlight and breeze.”
The man stops pacing and scoffs. “Pfah! I’m starting to think we can’t believe a thing the man says. Or even that he is who he claims to be. His story makes no sense. And on top of everything else, Annon Dun is a myth. There must be a way down that’s closer. Naradawk certainly thought so – or at least his father did.”
“Naradawk is no longer relevant,” says a voice in the doorway. The two others turn to look. A third person enters the room, a tall man, gaunt, with stringy black hair and sallow skin. “As if he ever was,” continues the man. “But his agents of orthodoxy have failed again, and he’s back to square one in his little prison world. No matter, I have... “
He trails off, then looks around sharply.
“Do you know that you’re being watched?”
“What?” the woman jumps to her feet. “How? By whom? I thought your abjurations couldn’t be....”
“Quiet!” orders the tall man, and the woman falls silent. The newcomer looks slowly around, almost like he’s sniffing the air.
“Ah,” he says, finally. It almost seems like he’s looking at you. “Fascinating. We’re being observed in a way I’ve never encountered. A wizard named Aravis Telmir is spying on us from a transcendentally overlapping frame of reference. He’s bypassing our protections because they don’t exist in his unique locus – in some sense he’s not watching us, but our spatiotemporal reflection. But I can remedy that. Aravis, since I owe you some small debt, I’ll forgive this rude intrusion into our private business. You can apologize in person when we meet, right before Abernia’s inevitable paradigm shift. Now, if you’ll excuse us...”
The man waves his hand dismissively in your direction, and the vision ceases abruptly.
…to be continued…
It’s Blood
There’s a moment when no one’s heart is beating. Dranko breaks the silence.
“Why is he in the house?”
None of his friends answer right away, so Parthol himself does.
“Because I wanted to talk with you.”
Some in the party look at Eddings. No hostile creature can enter the Greenhouse uninvited, after all.
“He came down from the upstairs,” he says. “But he didn’t look like that at first. He looked like Salk.”
Aravis stares holes at Parthol. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“And are you a simulacrum?” Dranko adds.
“No,” says Parthol. “No. There are only so many of those one can make before one grows a little short of life force.”
“Are you a lich?” asks Dranko.
“No.”
Dranko tries to look nonchalant. “Because we killed the last one…”
Morningstar hasn’t said a word, but her face is a thundercloud.
“You don’t look happy to see me, Morningstar!” exclaims Parthol. “But I’m not here to fight. Which is good. I’d hate to damage your furniture.”
“Shut up and talk,” Dranko spits.
“My, you are rude for world-saving adventuring types!”
“How many times have you tried to kill us?” Dranko blurts.
Parthol smiles. “Zero.”
Dranko shakes his head. “What about your simulacrums?”
“Technically twice,” Parthol admits, “but I didn’t expect them to kill you. They were tests, which you passed quite nicely. I wanted to know how powerful you were, how worthy you were…”
The old wizard looks around, and raises an eyebrow. “Where’s the little guy, by the way?”
“Dead,” says Morningstar.
“I’m sorry to hear that. How did it happen?”
Grey Wolf leans forward. “You should be getting to the point more rapidly. We can replace the furniture if we have to.”
Parthol sighs, and gives a small chuckle. “I’m here as a show of good faith, to give you information that you probably don’t have. And, to let you know that I’m on your side.”
Over the mind-link, Dranko groans. “Oh God. He really is on our side. The cigar smoke! It said “not lying.”
Parthol continues. “Would you prefer that I try to kill you some more? Because honestly, I’d rather you stay alive, so that you can fix things.”
“How come you weaseled out and changed sides?” asks Dranko.
“Pragmatism,” answers Parthol. “My plans will not go so well if the Black Circle gets its way. Aravis, I’m surprised you don’t agree with this sentiment. You two as well, Kibilhathur and Grey Wolf. Wizards should be ruling things. The most powerful, most intelligent people should be in charge. It has been my intent all along to drag the other archmagi, kicking and screaming if necessary, to where they belong: on top, ruling the kingdom.
“In fact, if I and Alander and Typier and your current crop of archmagi had been running things all along, we’d probably be in charge of Kivia by now, which soon, I imagine, you are going to wish that we were.”
“And why is that?” asks Ernie, tight-lipped.
“Assuming of course that we solve the bigger problem, do you fully understand that Charagan is just a backwater compared to Kivia? How long do you think it will be before the Ocirians decide that Charagan would look good as a protectorate or vassal state? How long before an invasion fleet shows up on the shores of Charagan that makes the Delfirian force look like an army of child’s toy soldiers?
“We’ll sink their ships!” says Dranko. “Boom! Blub blub blub.”
“What about a thousand ships, guarded by their most powerful spellcasters? This is the kind of thing that wizards would be thinking ahead about. Power is the way to rule properly, and the wizards have it. But that’s neither here nor there.
“I’m here to earn your trust, so I’m not going to hide anything from you. It’s true that I was in communication with Naloric Skewn, and also his son Naradawk, because…”
Dranko interrupts. “How?”
Parthol smiles indulgently. “Magic. You wouldn’t understand.” He turns to Aravis, Kibi and Grey Wolf. “Frankly, you wouldn’t either. I’m a bit beyond you. But I don’t think I’m powerful enough to take on all of you, and all of the archmagi. Also, I’m not powerful enough to take on Naradawk and his cadre by myself. But if I get the two of you to fight, one would be destroyed, and the other weakened. Then I could probably defeat the winner. That was kind of the whole point, up to now. I still wouldn’t mind if it worked out that way. I think Charagan and the people in it would be better off if I were in control. But we have a bigger problem, as you probably know.”
“Yeah,” says Ernie. “A problem that’s twenty-five feet tall with purple skin.”
Parthol shakes his head. “You mean Naradawk? No, that’s not what I’m talking about.” He puts his feet up on the coffee table. “Are you up on your religion? Do you know why the Gods came here in the first place? They were escaping, from the Adversary -- a God before whom all other Gods quailed. And now Drosh is gone. Corilayna is gone, too -- and if anyone understands the odds of this world surviving, it would be Her. Clearly, something very bad is about to happen. The Adversary is probably on his way.”
There is silence from the Company. Most of this they knew or guessed already,
“Do you know what the Black Circle is?” Parthol asks.
“A pain in our butt!” Ernie answers.
“No. I mean do you know, literally, what it is?”
After a beat of silence, the party admits that they do not. Parthol sits up again on the sofa.
“This is what I’m going to share with you. It may give you a better understanding of what you’re dealing with. How familiar are you with the Kivian pantheon? Yulan and Manisette are the Kivian Gods of Time and Creation. They created five Greater Gods, who in turn were tasked by Manisette to create the Lesser Gods. They were instructed to create one each, but one of them, Palamir, God of Magic, in his pride created four instead of one. And those four were imperfect, mere demigods.
“As punishment, Manisette unmade Palamir, and then recreated him as the God of Duty and Loyalty. But Manisette was a Goddess of Creation, not destruction, and apparently did not do a very thorough job. Some of the essence of that God of Magic never left the world, and it hovered above Abernia, waiting.
“That’s half the story. Now, the Adversary – there’s a reason he’s not here, wreaking havoc and warring again with the other Gods. He was trapped, and prevented from following the Travelers here. But a part of the Adversary, some piece of his body or his will, still managed to pursue the fleeing Gods through the reaches of time and space. It arrived some time after they did. It fell to the surface of Abernia, and just for a moment, an incredible pall of malevolence was thrown back and flung up from the surface. But it didn’t last long. A sliver of time later, it was reformed by the hovering essence of Palamir, an imperfectly unmade God of Magic. It gave the Adversary tangency, agency. Do you understand what I’m saying? The Black Circle is the Adversary, at least in part. It is a God of Magic, infused with the evil of the Adversary. All of the Black Circle adherents, from their lowliest neophyte to whomever was promoted to High Priest when you killed Cor Kek, are working, whether consciously or not, toward bringing the Adversary here in His entirety.
“Not you, not I – no one on this world wants that to happen. Honestly, all of my intrigues to get control of this Kingdom don’t really matter, if an insanely powerful God is going to show up and have things His way.”
Ernie pipes up. “So why are the Black Circle so obsessed with bringing back the Emperor?”
“Because,” says Parthol, “The Emperor has the best chance to bring the Adversary here. With him in charge, every resource of the Kingdom would be dedicated to finding a way to accelerate the Adversary’s arrival. Of course, the current crop of Black Circle followers may not realize that consciously; they may believe that the return of Naradawk is the end goal. But collectively, this is all about the God and His return.
“Do you know what made the Emperor evil in the first place?”
Grey Wolf answers. “The black goo.”
Parthol nods. “And have you figured out what the ‘black goo’ is?”
Ernie goes pale. “I just did. It’s from where the hand of the Adversary hit the ground.”
“Quite literally,” says Parthol, “it’s the Adversary’s blood.”
“So that’s what is in that crater…” Morningstar breathes.
“And it’s what the Black Circle has been using to power their rituals,” Ernie adds.
“Yes. So. Now you have a greater understanding of the scope of your problem. I will attempt to learn more; some of this information has only recently become known to me. Honestly, it hasn’t been my focus recently. I had other things to consider.
“It took me a long time to figure out how to get into this house. It’s very well warded. Abernathy showed all of the improvisational genius of Alander, his master. He’s probably even greater than Typier was at abjuration. But for all that, Abernathy didn’t take into account the vagaries of the eddies of Astral travel.”
Dranko squints, and realizes he can see a very thin silver line, like a shimmery rope, projecting out the back of Parthol’s body.
“Unfortunately,” Parthol continues, “it won’t last, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to do it again. Honestly, it was a great stroke of luck that I was able to slip in here when I did. I only have another minute or two. I’ve said what I wanted to say. Now I’ll go back to researching how we can take care of this problem. And when the Adversary is taken care of, one way or another, which wizards willing he will be, we can get back to the question of who should rule Charagan.”
“Why us?” asks Morningstar.
Parthol looks thoughtful. “There’s something about you. I don’t know what it is. But Alander did, and Abernathy after him. I knew Alander very well. He was second only to myself in power and knowledge. He had prescience, as did Abernathy. They picked you for a reason, and I trust that reason. If anyone is going to save Abernia and everyone on it, I think that Alander thought it would be you.”
Parthol gestures to Aravis, Grey Wolf and Kibi. “Even you, who came on afterwards. Do you know how all of you were picked? Abernathy wrote your names on a scroll, but he didn’t know your names, or even what he was writing. He was merely casting a spell perfected by Alander centuries before. Originally there were seven names. The next day there were three more names: Kibi, Grey Wolf, Aravis. How did he know that? Your guess is as good as mine. I don’t have prescience. I merely have a towering intellect.
“I may not be able to Astrally Project here again. The Greenhouse actually accounts for it, just not in every case. It’s self-adapting. Next time, you may just have to invite me in.”
“How can we contact you?” asks Dranko.
“You won’t. I will contact you. I am not reachable. You see, while I trust you, I don’t know that the rest of the archmagi would tolerate me if they knew where I was.”
Dranko can’t help himself. “Do you have a lackey in Kynder Hold, or someone we can send a message to?”
Parthol looks surprised for the first time since his arrival. “Kynder Hold? Very good!”
“Oh, we’ve known that for years,” says Dranko.
“Really. I’m getting soft in my old age. How did you find out?”
Ernie gives Parthol a grim smile. “I’ll tell you this much: the information didn’t come from a wizard.”
Parthol chuckles.
“Before you disappear…” Dranko begins. But it’s too late. Parthol vanishes, leaving no trace.
Dranko fumes. “And like I said, according to the cigar, he wasn’t lying. He also had a silver tail. Did anyone think that was weird?”
Aravis explains about astral projection, and how that meant they couldn’t have really killed Parthol even in the best case.
/*/
With much to think about, the Company goes to sleep. That night, Aravis receives another vision from the Crosser’s Maze. It is a direct vision, witnessed through the eyes of his wandering fragment.
There are two people in a small but fancy room – probably in an inn. Light and faint noise come through a closed window.
You’ve seen these two people in a previous vision, though only in silhouette, and before they were armored whereas now they are not. You can see them plainly this time – a tall, muscular woman and an extremely short and stocky man. You don’t recognize their faces, though both are dotted with unsightly black lesions. The woman sits comfortably in a chair, while the little man paces.
“What’s taking him so long?” barks the man. “He said he’d be here an hour ago.”
“Are you in such a hurry?” asks the woman. “Personally, I hope he finds some reason to delay. I don’t know about you, but I enjoy sunlight and breeze.”
The man stops pacing and scoffs. “Pfah! I’m starting to think we can’t believe a thing the man says. Or even that he is who he claims to be. His story makes no sense. And on top of everything else, Annon Dun is a myth. There must be a way down that’s closer. Naradawk certainly thought so – or at least his father did.”
“Naradawk is no longer relevant,” says a voice in the doorway. The two others turn to look. A third person enters the room, a tall man, gaunt, with stringy black hair and sallow skin. “As if he ever was,” continues the man. “But his agents of orthodoxy have failed again, and he’s back to square one in his little prison world. No matter, I have... “
He trails off, then looks around sharply.
“Do you know that you’re being watched?”
“What?” the woman jumps to her feet. “How? By whom? I thought your abjurations couldn’t be....”
“Quiet!” orders the tall man, and the woman falls silent. The newcomer looks slowly around, almost like he’s sniffing the air.
“Ah,” he says, finally. It almost seems like he’s looking at you. “Fascinating. We’re being observed in a way I’ve never encountered. A wizard named Aravis Telmir is spying on us from a transcendentally overlapping frame of reference. He’s bypassing our protections because they don’t exist in his unique locus – in some sense he’s not watching us, but our spatiotemporal reflection. But I can remedy that. Aravis, since I owe you some small debt, I’ll forgive this rude intrusion into our private business. You can apologize in person when we meet, right before Abernia’s inevitable paradigm shift. Now, if you’ll excuse us...”
The man waves his hand dismissively in your direction, and the vision ceases abruptly.
…to be continued…
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