Bane's laughter made Milko, the God of the Dead, uncomfortable. He sniffed his reddened nose and said impatiently:
"What are you contacting me for at a time like this?
"Wait! That's Mystra behind you! You actually captured the Goddess of Magic?
"Idiot! Why did you capture her? Do you know how many lovers that magic bitch has behind her? Our troubles were already bad enough!"
Bane merely smiled indifferently.
"Don't be in such a hurry. When we stole the Tablets of Fate, weren't we already allies? Shouldn't we show a little more patience toward an ally? Oh, I forgot to introduce her—Mystra is now our new ally, though she herself doesn't seem particularly willing."
"Only a temporary alliance."
Milko corrected him, then said dejectedly, "And haven't we already failed? Look at what we've become! Lower than deities, not human—we're monsters through and through now!"
As Bane looked at the bedraggled figure soaking in the stinking gutter, utterly disheartened, he secretly scorned him—but he still had no choice but to pull him aboard his own warship.
Because his next plan absolutely required the authority of the God of the Dead. Otherwise, once the new Netherworld descended, after all his labor, the greatest beneficiary would end up being this rat who had done nothing at all!
So Bane coaxed him patiently.
"This is only a temporary failure as well. Back then, on that road in search of godhood, had we not suffered enough defeats already?
"Are you truly willing to remain trapped in this rat forever?
"Don't forget—we are deities. We have rights bestowed upon us at birth.
"Milko, think about why we took the Tablets of Fate in the first place!"
Milko instinctively scratched his comical rat face with his hind leg, nearly making Bane burst out laughing again.
The God