“Glory.” a voice rang through the Seething Deep.

  Such a realm lay beyond the scope of Man. Never claimed; only visited, and only bitterly, by the feet of Adam’s children. The Seething Deep belonged to the Yellow King. A shifting, writhing landscape of unimaginable shapes and sounds stretched on into that which outclasses human ideas such as Space and Time. Infinity itself was far too narrow a term, as the Seething Deep was both too large and way too small to be called infinite.

  Man had been permitted by the Old One to traverse a small section of the Seething Deep where something akin to real space had been formed. A meagre reservation to the denizens of this realm. But to the eyes of Man, it was magnificent.

  The Golden Reverie, a keep so massive that its size couldn’t be properly judged. Its towers stretched onwards into the sickly blanket of yellow clouds, and its feet descended into the darkness of the jagged ravines below. Such a castle seemed to be made of dull yellow bricks, though it really was difficult to be sure what substance comprised the bricks and mortar. Such details were irrelevant to the human inhabitants of the keep.

  Attendants lined the descending steps from the grand hall; each one a timeless human, a cultist who had been selected for eternal service within the great bastion. The best an acolyte of the maddening Yellow King could hope for was to stand by the walls, walk the halls, and dance eternally at the dazzling balls of the Golden Reverie.

  However, this day in June of the nineteenth and thirty-eighth year of the Gregorian calendar was a very special day. Incalculable numbers of the Kings faithful servants lined the steps to greet the unholy Prophet who had returned from real space and celebrate the Coronation.

  As the Prophet exited a winding tear in reality, stepping onto the yellow bricks, the great organ began to blare. The vast sepulchral roar of the organ brought the keep’s inhabitants to their knees. The Prophet, however, stood tall.

  He wore the boots of a Six-Gun, a member of Grady’s Posse. Sorcerers bent towards that fledgling school of magic made for especially attractive servants of the King; a number of them had fallen to His influence over time. This one was not made of coal, he walked in flesh and bones, his jeans bathed in the golden light of the unholy braziers. A cotton shirt waved lightly, open loosely in the front to reveal another of the haunting marks of the King on the bear flesh of his chest. The Prophet sported an ornate cloak depicting many wide eyes of all colors. Shining brilliantly across his waist, a golden Gellerite pistol sat in its holster.

  “GLORY!” He repeated in a shout, his voice wild.

  The crowd erupted in cheers, nearly drowning the organ’s crawling chords.

  Removing his hat, the Prophet revealed his face. A smooth black mask covered much of it, fixed from his left cheek up to his hairline. His right side had not been covered, revealing a smooth and tanned complexion. The uncovered eye shone bright scarlet, a once beautiful and lauded trait of his family twisted now into the demonic and obscene. A raw grin crept across his face, an unnatural number of teeth lining his gums.

  “This is a momentous day!” He thundered, starting up the steps.

  Throngs of servants reached out to him as he passed, each one desperate to merely touch the fabric of their beloved Prophet.

  “All the events lined up in favor of the King!” His voice carried a deep Appalachian flavor, “We’re just about ready to proceed!”

  The Prophet let himself sway with each step up to the Great Hall, his cloak alive behind him with the winds of the Seething Deep. His Resolve lit up the Keep like a beacon, immense and overwhelming. Many of the congregation either passed out or completely blanked, their minds hardly able to handle the gifts their King had bestowed upon the man in front of them. He reached the top of the stairs and stopped before an equally brilliant beacon of a figure.

  “Finally, our lovely Tawny Princess has come to be!”

  He stood before a beautiful young lady, clad in a linen travel dress and riding boots. Her arms remained folded in front of her, fair skin flushed as the Prophet addressed her. A thick tumble of wavy black hair hung down her back and shoulders. She looked up at him with wide, golden eyes.

  “Don’t be afraid, my lovely.” He grinned, “You made it! You pulled through the years of rituals and received the gifts of our King. I know how tough that really is.”

  He paused for a moment to let the roar of the crowd crescendo into madness, then continued with fresh vigor.

  “Today is the first day of your destiny. You are the Tawny Princess, Edel. Your crown…”

  The Prophet presented her with a thin golden ringlet for her hair. She stared at it for a moment, fearful, processing the weight of her calling. Edel had been captive to the Golden Reverie for years, enduring all that they put her through. To become this, whatever she was, it seemed to her like all there was left, the only choice she had. This was her fate; the roar of the mad crowd, the towering demonic gunslinger-sorcerer before her, and the golden crown in his hand. She took her crown and accepted her destiny.

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  “What is it I have to do?” She asked him in a soft voice as they went down the steps.

  All the servants of the king bowed before her, without exception, prostrating themselves. She found the entire ceremony peculiar, considering the turmoil of her last few years in isolation.

  “You and I are going back topside.” Grinned the Prophet, “You are too important, I’ll tell you that. I’ve been waiting for your ascension for a little while. In the meantime, I found your husband.”

  “Husband?” Her cheeks flushed. Barely sixteen, Edel hadn’t even considered such things, “I’m to be married?”

  “Yes, in a manner of speaking…” He continued on next to her, “Your power is immense, but with the proper mate at your side, you may be able to mother a true incarnation of the King. A perfect being. This is something our King is eager to pursue. I have found this mate.”

  “That’s my destiny? To mother the King?”

  “Among many other things, yes. You turned out to be a perfect vessel; you’ve cultivated an Aspect of the King. We’ve tried for years to no success, until you. Your power will allow us to overcome all adversaries, alongside your husband.”

  The two reached the bottom of the stairs, stopping before the tear. A gloomy fog obscured the view beyond it.

  “He’s not just a man, you know?” The Prophet told her, “He’s a prime vessel, just like yourself. We thought we’d lost him years ago, before we started with you. He just turned up again, and our enemies are doing all the work to prepare him for us, for free.”

  Edel lowered her gaze, still adjusting to the whirl and churn of power within her. She didn’t have too much time to think, as the Prophet took her hand and led her through the tear in reality.

  The other side proved far more beautiful than she imagined as she started to step out. She found herself halfway through the tear, half standing in a field of endless green grass. Rolling hills lay out before her, the winds making them appear to shimmer. A clear blue sky stretched into the horizon.

  “We have others.” He told her, pointing to a car parked along the lonely road, “Servants of yours and mine. There’s other knights of the King; one of them is out now making his way to your husband. We’ll bring him to you, I think you’ll like him. He has good genes.”

  Edel perceived just a bit of bitterness on the voice of the Prophet. It was subtle, but she sensed just a bit of loathing at the mention of her estranged husband’s genes. Connected to this gunslinger via their King, she could feel his deep frustration towards the father of the vessel in question.

  As she stepped out of the portal, both feet on the ground, everything changed. The immense presence of the Tawny Princess in real space served as a herald all its own. Like Gabriel’s trumpet, it marked a new era. The land, the skies, the currents of magic in the universe all streaked with yellow but for a moment as she arrived. This shift had proven so monumental, it could be felt half the world away. It could be felt by the stronger Resolve sorcerers across the continent.

  ^^^

  In his office, Deadeye Rand momentarily lost control of his pen hand. The ink he had been using to sign off on official documents streaked across the bottom of the page. He looked to his hand, breathing in as he felt the shift. His moustache curled as he pursed his lips. Something deeply concerning had just happened. He reached in his drawer to pull his stock for a new letter. The header was pre-marked ‘Urgent’.

  ^^^

  Old Sage Crickett, watching the new trainees flounder about unpacking their horses, felt the winds change. Every tree, every mushroom, every blade of grass communed with the Sage, spelling out the change on the currents to him. He remained silent, as the others hadn’t felt the shift. Inaction was the course, while he consulted his mind. The energy of the shift appeared to resonate with that witchless pistoleer, Crickett could see the likeness in the magic.

  ^^^

  “Louis, you aren’t even touching your food.” Madeline raised an eyebrow.

  She and her husband sat at a lovely eatery on a quiet Gatlinburg street, eating fresh roast chicken and potatoes. Her husband had apparently lost his appetite, staring blankly as if some unknown force had hit him.

  His eyes traveled back to her, searching for an answer he would not find. Dread perched upon his shoulders like some massive bird finding an adequate roost.

  ^^^

  A sickly whistling filled the air as the Coal Man continued his lonely march East. The Yellow magic had inflamed the mark on his hand. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, letting the arrival of the Tawny Princess wash over him. Letting out a long exhale, he blew out jet black smoke onto the sand before him.

  “Right on schedule…” The Coal Man snickered.

  ^^^

  Three shots rang out into the Canadian wilderness, each one tearing through a horrid appendage of a Wendigo horror. Lotus Rounds ripped through its flesh and annihilated the magical pathways within. A smooth flick ejected six spent casings onto the crisp forest floor. New rounds inserted and fired from a Gellerite pistol before the previous cases hit the ground.

  Two more of the Wendigos fell limply, another crashing through a tall pine sending splinters onto its prey. The prey in question was far too slippery for it. A gunslinger-sorcerer weaved effortlessly through wide attack after attack, avoiding horrid scything claw and gnashing bloody maw. The repeating delta pattern danced about in the low light of the Northern forest as the Six-Gun’s poncho waved behind him alongside his blonde hair.

  As the last of the Wendigo pack crumpled, the Six-Gun planted his boot atop his kill. He grinned for a moment, feeling pride in the fight. His smile faded as he lamented the ease with which such a feared pack of depraved monsters was dispensed. It didn’t quite satisfy.

  Then he felt the shift in the currents. This was not the emergence of a nearby foe, some other Wendigo he had missed. This was a fundamental change in momentum, a heralding of enemy forces, the kind which demanded his attention. Cocking his head to the South, he felt something just a bit familiar about the energy. His grin returned as he holstered his pistol.

  The feeling was unmistakable to him. A storm was gathering.