Its often rare to find a best of both worlds. When that of having regerts to keep hold of but feeling no burden for having them. Accepting that some changes were always going to be, like it or not.
These higher nobility among shadows tend to hold true to themselves to the point of mirroring what they held in life and little need to feel for hunger of negative emotions. They are often the types of strangers that any wandering soul passes in Sigil or cross ways of other realms.
Most of all, they tend to be the very mentors to those whom lingered for to long without progression. Not every soul is out for themselves, these shades are a prime example.
Currently around the a old worn table, wood bent out from the years of cold beers resting its top. A few of strangers from many cultures come to speak softly of any stories that often need spreading. They speak as friends in a cold language dead language and play it as a group of uncomfortable mix characters. The sly commentary of insults were simply a way for nosy outsiders to be misdirected. Most of the conversations were between preferred personality types with a leading larger conversation all of them inputs into as a whole.
"Sure was a nice job helping that hero with a thread. That pup would have never made it out the abysmal maze." Seems a cheery cheek drunk in ragged coat bumping elbows with a Athenian lass. Her clothes suits being a merchant daughter, an anybody in a market setting. The drunk a unsavoury sort on any cobbled road would be ignored for any strange comments a walker by would get.
"It is not as bad as that little lass with steel alloy plate that passed you by. A God's off spring walking around like she owns the place. Took her down that peg with that sass." Teenager in punk Gothic style, would would be ignored in any sort of pub and restaurants setting around Biker stops along highway routes. His helmet hides everything about his face, if he had one left. His always hanging around biker troupes in the countries that have passion for motorcycles. His a small ghost myth of his own, not the biggest deal here. Modernised headless horseman.
"Look folks! All that aside a moment. Do we have any information about the missing pages?" A ender from a broken thread line, his no one by a literary sense. He isn't exist to this world around them. No soul name in any written record. A stranger from collecting lost broken tomes of souls, sentient enough to flex awareness of him on others.
"Taken care of by the right beings." The Athenian lass gives a smooth hand flutter as while everyone else is at agreement. The creaks through the clay mask crackle with worry. A light smile that was any damned frown. Dotting eyes that inspected the laze of how comfortable everyone else is of this fact.
"Chill my ghost from no where. It's being tracked down as we speak. The many others like you are busy bodies. Many Enders are around this time stream, in a sort of treaty agreement." The drunk snickers with taking out a shot glass and pours out a strange liquor to it... sliding it over, "The hunters of oath have a lot of them. Hidden among the ranks."
"And you're not worried about a imposter Ender among them?" They all seem to be snickering at the poor fool. He might as well take the self report option.
"What a ball of suspension?" They all howling in near death tears. The laughter was putting other patrons of this small pub on edge. Even bar staff had to cross by collecting empty drink glasses, eyeing over them each.
The roll of conversation moves to the places and how they are in other time zones. As each being around this table are from far and wide, each to talk of how things are for the veils they interact with.
Passing a few occasional stories that were sweet and sad. The disconnect touching distance of living beside the spirits of the dead. The ones whom have wishes heard or wishes needed to be passed. It often these strangers whom speak for that distance feel less there.
The shot glass was empty, a out cold fella sleeping it off. The smirk of a plan well done. The few more quiet ones sitting at the table, hidden in after light shadows.
They help the lost out with taking the fool to a oath hunter, to be assessed for name placement in the tomes and for life thread reading with the suitable time space. Another one to please the many Enders of lost soul tome pages.
Themselves afraid displeasing such titles or from time spaces where the a ender could no do the job it was meant to. Hellish lands that should have been lively and safe. Ate away worlds that were now voids of empty dust clouds and vague floating bits of torn land chunk.
They had unmeaningly moved topics to worlds they once knew. Reminiscing of what should have been. Comparing each others homes and making the connections of what ideas were shared for all universes. The subject of working out what were the natural idea of law that allows them to be here now, doing this finding lost pages stuff. It would seem they concluded this talk as one was snatched away by the powers of summoning.
Disbanding out the small time dream crawls tavern. Flexing back to lingering in their most suitable blending areas. That to prevent sorrow or find tome pages. Until they can go back to where they belonged.
The motorcycle biker makes any adjustments to his leathers and helmet. Gas check with slapping a correct area license plate. He revs up for a while with checking the motor. Turning it off and at light bow to the one watching him closely.
"This is going to help you. Stay safe, horseman." The fleshy ink tendril puts a jar to the bikers hand. A concoction of disappearing dust... for becoming ghost in worlds of spirits. Put away gently.
"How much is left to find?" Being hopeful to ask. Never answers his questions normally. He settles with being ready to move.
"Not long..." As the engine gears up and the track through a doorway of pulled shadow is lifted. Onto dusty forest roads and fresh smells of life. Miles difference from what the bar was like. It felt good, emotionally. Not being alive or physically among life has draw backs.
"Pardon my intrusion." The motorcycle skids in to slide with stopping short of running the thing over. A wandering god, always around places of exholy grounds. Making mess of things they don't understand or should interfere with. Even if horseman spoke, his aware that the true God will not hear. So... a god whom is lost of power was a potential problem. To much sorrow to weigh a god on.
"I am looking for a headless guy that I had beheaded." The engine is back to light with dust cloud donut. Leans just enough to prevent touch or collar grapple. Speeds far and fast. Shaking off this weirdo from the mirror sight. To find his way back without being insult by some lost god.
A game of cat and mouse has began across the highways.