A tribute to Lenard Lakofka

By Drew Griffiths

Edited by Thomas Kelly

They all had felt the summons. Whether they wanted to or not, one by one, it compelled them to make their way to that place gods alone could go. They arrived in a colossal room without walls, with views through windows where there were no windows. One among them looked out on a solitary pathway, into a void where no god dared go.

Phaulkon, Master of Birds and Wind Archer looked to red-bearded Kord. He saw his own heartbreak reflected back in Kord’s face. Nearby, one of the gods softly wept, perhaps Lydia, goddess of music and daylight. It took a moment for Phaulkon to notice—Wee Jas, mistress of magic and steward of the dead, had managed to remain absent. A brief moment for hope? But then Lendor appeared before his progeny. “It is time,” the god of time announced.

“No!” a hollow voice echoed back from planes beyond the room but not beyond the enveloping void.

“Wee Jas, it is time” insisted Lendor. He looked to Phaulkon. “Stop helping her.”

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