Resheph

A tower of white fur looms before you, peers down with curious and friendly eyes. Its voice booms in greeting: “Why, hello hello. Who would you be?”

You were not expecting the rat to speak. Maybe it’s opposite day… because you barely manage to squeak out your name.

“My, my, you’ve gone whiter than me–and I’m just about a transparent sheet. What, rat got your tongue?” He chuckles at your apparent fear. “Guess I’m glad to be a mouse, then.”

You gawk a bit longer.

“I suppose this is a rather strange day for you.” He blinks, a smidge taken aback. “Can’t say this is too different from my usual.”

“W-wha-what are you?” You stammer out, still dumbfounded.

“A mouse.” The creature chuckles to himself, fully amused. “I mean, that is an answer to your question… but I suspect the answer you were wanting might not fare well with your state of shock.”

You don’t quite know how to respond to that. “What?”

“Ah, little human…” He tut-tuts at you. “I’m Resheph, a god of the Underworld. Bringer of plagues and whatnot.”

This is getting ridiculous. A mouse, bigger than a building… a god?

You scoff. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“Oh? But I am, deadly so.” Straight-faced, the colossal mouse materializes a seemingly empty bottle into his paws, gives it a good shake. “My finest brew of Black Plague, right here.”

“It’s empty.” You remark flatly, stating the obvious.

“Why yes, it would seem so… but there’s a virus inside–a pretty serious one at that.” Resheph, the bottle freshly disappeared, cocks his head at you in concern, his massive ears flopping slightly with the movement. “You… you do know those films with the colored foggy viruses are movie magic, right?”

“Y-yeah?” You say it a bit uncertainly, still a bit bewildered. You muster up a bit of reckless courage and bluster, declaring, “Well, I’m not sure I believe you!”

“Oh boy… you’re a few years short of a well-aged cheese, huh?” The god blinks slowly as he pulls himself to his full height. He undignifiedly scratches behind his ear with a hind paw, musing. “I suppose I could have a lil fun with this.”

“Excuse me?” You seemingly shout it up at the skies.

“Because you aren’t taking me at my word,” The god cackles to himself, “we–yes, we–are going on a bit of an adventure.”

“Hold up, wha–?” You barely eke that much out before–

You’re scooped up by Resheph’s paw, hearing a faint popping sound in your ears.

The two of you land right outside of Port Plunder, a far cry from where you swear you were just standing.

Blast, guess your plans have gone out the window. Maybe there is some validity to what the big mouse was saying…

He’s placed you onto his back, slinking through the locale on all fours; he’s careful where he steps–a gentle giant making his way through.

A little awestruck, you watch the port town bustle about below. All the while, he’s happy to chat, readily answering your questions.

So why here?
“There’s plenty of little beasties here who’ve gotten a bad rap on my part: rats, mice, roaches, the like. I have a soft spot for ‘em; they’re little foot soldiers of my plagues… it’s nice to check in and see how they’re doing. They got dealt a rough hand, so I do what I can to make it easier.”

He takes a soft right turn, loping right along the backstreets.
Any favorite places?
Ooh, sit tight and you’ll see.

Best drinks around?
Just wait till you get to Rathskeller’s. Babette serves a quality cocktail without raising an eyebrow at you, whether you’re rat, mouse, or something else; she’s a gem.

He swerves past an alley of rough and tumble searfarin’ kiddos chasing each other with ramshackle wooden daggers and make-believe cutlasses.
What’s it like being a plague god?
Mmh, it’s one of those jobs that kinda does itself! I only really have a hand in making ‘em, not as much as what they actually become. They’re fun to brew up, but honestly? I only really release them when I have to; I’ve seen enough mass death for several lifetimes–it’s just not as exciting anymore, y’know.

Do you got some kind of plague army to do your bidding?
I do have quite the small army at the ready; they’re just an assortment of plague-bearing creatures: mice, rats, roaches, the like. I can summon ‘em anytime, but I’d rather let them go about their business. No use to rousing up a ruckus unless you have to, I like to say!

The worst plague you’ve ever unleashed?
You can feel his rumbling chuckle beneath you.
Bahahaha humans! You’re all the biggest pests the world has known.

He takes a quick hop to the side to let a crowd of Port residents pass underfoot; they shrug as if nothing’s out of the ordinary.
Any interesting sacrifices to you?
The first few times humans thought I’d want cheese… See, unlike entrails and meats, cheese doesn’t reconstitute well after being tossed into sacrifice pyre and popping out in Underworld. I couldn’t get the burnt cheese smell out of my curtains for weeks. Couldn’t bear to eat any for a few months after that!

He pauses in his tracks; you can feel everything come to a standstill below you. Off to the side, Carl is slumped on the roadside, presumably sleeping off a few too many drinks at Babette’s bar. The junkyard, dotting with waygoers’ trash, appears still for a second.

The rubbish piles seem to altogether thunderously shake for a second; soon enough, a veritable army of rats start marching out to greet the god.

Resheph offers his paw to the tiny rat for a thorough vibe check. After much investigative sniffing, the lil one scampers up and happily chitters; its little face boggle-shakes with contented bruxing. A train of rats march up his arm, more or less forming a packed section of seating to rub elbows with the deity.

The god raises the ratties up to his ear; the rats seem to… be taking turns while talking to Resheph? He nods along to their polite chatter. “Mmh yes, very interesting. Grandpups on the way? That’s exciting! Rill’s asking for some more nesting materials? I’ll bring some when I have a chance; there’s more than enough silk and satin bits down below. I’m glad that the roadside bits have been plentiful and tasty. Nick, you like the Lost Skel ale now? Oh, you mean the missus. Well, give her my greetings and tell the kiddos and the rest that Uncle Shepphie says hi. I’ll bring some sparkly bits for them to ogle next time.”

It’s a while before Resheph says his goodbyes to the junkyard rats, lowering them back to the ground and giving them a little wave to send ‘em off. In a flash, he’s back to running about Port Plunder and chatting up a storm.

Favorite place in the Port?
Hmm, tough one. I do like checkin’ in on the vessel Freyalise; quite fond of watching the sunrise from the crow’s nest, the ocean waves ‘neath my feet. The rats and buggies aboard are also a delight; there’s many a good adventuring tale to be heard from them! Though, I’d say there’s no love lost between me and the chef–a burly Anyu swashbuckler by the name of Angrybeard.

What’s up between you and Angrybeard?
Oh, you know–pirates aren’t too keen on having my ratties and roaches free-roaming below decks. They like to take rather… absolute housekeeping measures; Angrybeard, in particular, can be pretty zealous about it. Surprising, given the grime mucked behind those ears.

How’d you end up running into Angrybear, anyhow?
How ‘bout I just show you–a lil walk down memory lane, you and I? Just a few stops along the way, promise.

Whatdya mean?
The mouse gently slows to a stop, sagely nods without answering. There’s that same faint popping sound–

–and you alight onto the well-worn deck of a sailing ship, its proud sails rustling loud in the sea winds. The towering mouse seemingly disappears, a much smaller one in its place.

Gods don’t exactly… know how to ask permission, do they?

“Where are we?” You try to shout over the blustering gales and tumultuous waves, but your words are largely swept away in their racket. “Also, you could’ve been this size all along?”

“All aboard the Freyalise! Few years back at least.” The god, shrunk down to a more reasonable size–now standing at shoulder height–waggles out his legs to shake the water out of his pale fur. “I’ll have you know that it feels darn weird to be small after spending all that time in my normal size; it’s like I squeezed a whole lotta powerful god into a darn little sausage casing.”

“So we’re here for what… exactly?” You throw Resheph a withering look.

“Hey, if you want deets,” The deity stares back levelly. “Then don’t get prickly when you get the deets.”

“Alright, fair’s fair.” Sighing, you sit back and watch the show unfold.

Past-Resheph slinks through the hold of the ship, checking in on the rats and listening intently to their stories–they do have quite the tales, some taller than others. They talk of harpooning leviathans and befriending Islanders, of plundering far-off lands and raucously hawking their wares during Keel Hauliday.

He calmly whuffles his way to the galley–past First Mate Rita shining her doubloonss, Anabelle tossing her knives, Cap’n Fishbreath Jacques teasing his Polly minion with loving, high-pitched nonsense. Dirty Matty swabs the passageway to the kitchen, pays no heed to the god-mouse wandering through. He slides through the doorway, takes in the sights–

In his kitchen, Angrybeard has pinned down a rat in one hand, threatening the critter with a meat cleaver.

A smaller past-Resheph, alarm in his eyes, quickly disappears and reappears right next to Angrybeard, shoving the knife aside. The god hisses at the Anyu as he ferries the little rat–whose little sides are heaving from their terrifying near-death experience–to safety.

“Oi rat, what fresh carp are you tryna pull?” The bear’s query booms in the kitchen; he doesn’t seem offended, just downright shocked. “I had ‘im right thar!”

“Oi bearhands, way to make assumptions: I’m a MOUSE.” Past-Resheph looks at the cook with contempt, hisses angrily at him. “Besides, rats are certainly cleaner than you are, no need to treat this little one here like some kind of miscreant!”

“Nah, yer a bloody rat alright.” Angrybeard looks a tad fussed. “Don’t ye go spittin’ in me cookin,’ rat–i’s supposed ter be goodly clean for the crew!”

“Oh, you seem to be listenin’ to jack all, Anyu.” The god spats the words with pure contempt. “Your cooking is more a disservice to your ingredients than my spittle.”

“Can’t say I’ve’nt heard the same from the crew.” The cook begrudgingly chuckles. “Still, the health of me crew is plenty important–ye can’t plunder right proper if ye feelin’ un’er the weather!”

Resheph bristles at the Anyu. “You leave my critters alone–you’re certainly not helping their health!”

“You seem a right ol’ chap, rat.” Surprisingly, Angrybeard takes it all in stride; he must be real boozed up with the good grog. “But I kin’t keep quite a promise ‘round me galley here, good matey. Vermin’s vermin, an’ they like to take nibbles outta me ingredients!”

At that, Resheph hurries off in an exasperated huff, the rat in hand; he sets the little one down in the hold, who scampers to tell the enclave of rats the tale of his ordeal.

Angrybeard looks on after the departing god, musing to himself. “‘Spose the problem solved isself, eh?”

The scene unfolded, Resheph looks to you with a you seein’ this too? expression on his face.

“Hated that bear’s guts after that run-in.” He seems to shake himself off with a kind of shudder-shiver. “Piece of work.”

You can only really shrug. “I mean… I gotta say I get where both of y’all are coming from–it’s just that you’re at odds with him, that’s all. Any chance of you and Angrybeard ever seeing eye-to-eye?”

“Likely not.” The god tip taps the deck impatiently with a hind paw. “What’re you gettin’ at anyway?”

“I mean, he does seem to like you…” You give the mouse an expectant look. “Maybe you could stick around to show him the wrong of his ways or at least find a sensible compromise.”

“I suppose you’re right that he seems right happy to see me.” The mouse sighs. “Let me show you something else; it’s quick.”

Angrybeard’s terrorizing the rats and roaches in the galley again, corraling them up into a rough enclosure.

Resheph angrily storms in, grabs all the critters and promptly disappears.

“Fancy that! I ent been drinking today, right?” The cook stares into space with a look of absolute wonderment. “The big rat again; he’s taken the pests, disappeared without a trace–all without a touch o’ ale.”

Back in the present, both you and Resheph are, once more on deck; the wooden deck seems to pleasantly roll beneath your feet. The sun is peeking up from the eastern horizon, its first rays warming the crisp morning air.

Angrybeard staggers up from below decks, already drinking. He sees you both, seemingly nonplussed. “Oi, rat!” He raises his tankard in greeting, his words slurred. “A game o’ cards?”

You turn, eyebrow raised, to Resheph, who has his face in his paw. “Well, what’s the call here, oh great and mighty god of the plague?”

“Maybe not today, Angrybeard.” The god sighs, rubs his jaw with both mousey paws. “Mayhap some other time, bear?”

“Sounds right good to me, matey.” The cook takes a swig. “To our good health, big rat!”

Resheph looks mildly perturbed, but returns the remark. “To our good health, swashbuckler.”

You’re soon returned back home–the day’s been real surreal, hasn’t it?

Was it even real or was it some bizarre imagining?

Did it even happen?

A couple weeks pass without event, but a well-groomed mouse messenger presents you with a crisp papyrus note. The handwriting’s not better than ratscratch, but you can make out that it says:

In the bottom corner, a small mouse pawprint faintly shimmers gold.