Legion of Light Gaiden: Miracle on a Silent Night

[Flames of Hyperion]

Ingwe awoke once again upon the barren moor, shivering from the insipid cold and dreadfully alone. The tears had come at last, streaming relentlessly down his face like some unavoidable waterfall, soaking the arm of his tunic that had been pressed into pillow service. The young man sniffled once and attempted to dry his eyes, but the action was in vain as a fresh deluge of violent sobs wracked his slender frame.

The warmth on his chest slowly faded away, and he was left with only a desperate sense of loss and solitude that threatened to tear his very soul apart. Clinging to the remnant shards of the dream, attempting to gather them to him before they slipped loose from his grasp… he hugged his knees to his chest and buried his face in his arms, unwilling to let go. Perhaps it had only been a dream, rather than the reality that he wished it to be. But then, what a beautiful dream it had been. Bittersweet and heartbreaking… but breathtakingly beautiful.

Yuka… he whispered in his mind, remembering vividly the faint touch of her fingers upon his. Fresh tears started to pour from his tightly clenched eyes.

A remote rumble pulled him temporarily out of his melancholy reverie, and he suddenly realised that the heavens too were crying, a cold and dirty rain drenching his hair and running down his cloak in channelled rivulets. Thunder and lightning sounded in the distance above the Lindequalme, sinister clouds mustering above the crimson forest in a dark sign of the Necromancer’s intent.

And still yet he could not move. His cloak grew sodden and soaked, the wetness of the rain and the cold of the winter air combining to chill his body to the bone, though it was neither the weather nor the temperature that kept him frozen to the spot. If he left, he felt as if he would lose what tenuous connection with her that the dream had given him; by remaining absolutely still, he could yet imagine himself in the deserted Academy compound, talking with her in a way that he had never been able to do before.

The tears slowed, then stopped altogether as he focused on the gentle smile that she had given him, just before the end. The emptiness within him slowly but surely replaced itself with a stern resolve; warmth spread throughout his body once again as he concentrated on the kindness of her eyes. His rasping breaths grew less violent, his body no longer battered by the vicious sobs. He had no idea whether he could trust the dream to have been true… but he could at least draw hope from it, could he not…?

In the end…

It never ceased to surprise him how abruptly he seemed to recover from his fits of depression. Almost as if the release of emotion was a spring in his mind let loose, spontaneously allowing all the pent-up negative energy to escape before closing the gates once more. His eyes were clear now, his thoughts peaceful and focused, concentrating upon the beauty of her smile and the pure joy of her presence.

… nothing changes…

An abrupt nip on his fingers brought him back to his senses. Hayate was awake and staring out intently at the shadowy darkness. Following his familiar’s keen gaze, Ingwe felt a frigid chill, colder than anything that the elements could muster, travel down his spine. The shadows… the night…

They were moving again.

[Flames of Hyperion]

Rocky terrain that had taken him minutes to negotiate previously now flew past beneath his pounding feet. Heedless of the danger posed by the slippery rocks and soaked lichens, Ingwe hurled himself across the landscape, desperate to get back in time to warn his comrades. If the camp is attacked now…

Not once did the thought cross his mind of what would happen if he himself were caught.

Guilty desperation lent strength to limbs soaked by the cold rain, his mind galvanised by the possible consequences of if he didn’t run fast enough. Ignoring the pitiful calls for rest from beleaguered lungs and cramped muscles, he pushed himself even harder into the driving needles that streamed down upon him from above. Hayate cried barely audible encouragement from the darkened skies, weaving unsteadily on treacherous crosswinds that prevented him from pulling too far ahead.

An oblique incline stretched downwards before him, the last such valley before the rocks in which they had camped. Ingwe felt his legs give way from beneath as he tried to take the slope at a hurtling run. The grassy ground cushioned his fall somewhat, the rain-soaked bracken aiding him as he converted his momentum into a forwards roll. Head-over-heels he careened towards the bottom, trying to protect the spectacles that were still tucked away within his tunic pocket. A massive boulder loomed at him out of the darkness, threatening to painfully break his fall; his feet scrabbled desperately at the ground, seeking solid purchase, and they somehow managed to garner leverage just in time for his instincts to throw him out of the way. His entire body ached with bruise and cold, his vision blurry and star-speckled, and his lungs seemed fit to burst with the effort that had kept him going so far.

Must… warn…

“Ingwe, sir?”

A welcome sound in the dark, drizzly night. Moments later Ingwe came face to face with the young sentry whom he had conversed with earlier that evening. Aeneon frowned unsurely at the dishevelled state of the Nipponese warrior-mage, thoroughly uncertain of what to think. Then, dismissing his confusion in favour of something vastly more important, he turned back to the darkening horizon and the gathering storm clouds and whispered,

“What’s happening, sir?”

“I don’t know,” was Ingwe’s succinct reply as he picked himself up from the rocky floor, thoroughly soaked and breathing as if he were pumping the bellows of Telchar’s forge. One hand patted the inside pocket of his tunic, retrieving from them a miserable-looking pair of glasses that were thankfully, almost miraculously, still intact. The young man breathed a small sigh of relief before continuing. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

He clasped a trembling hand upon the sentry’s shoulder, not quite realising that he needed the support as much as Aeneon did. “I’ll warn Lord Arminas and call for reinforcements for the watch. Keep good guard, Aeneon… I have a bad feeling about this.”

Aeneon nodded a firm response, then slowly backed away from the darkness as Ingwe took off once again.

[Wings of Endymion]

Nenaebreth had been one of the first towns to fall to Xem’zund’s onslaught. Sandwiched between the mystic forest of Timbrethinil to the north and the black desert Tel Moranfauglir to the south, the hamlet was almost equidistant from the ancient capital of Anebrilith on the coast of Raiaera and the newer inland capital of Eluriand. Little more than a logging village that had grown fat off the trade between the two cities, Nenaebreth had not only been ripe for plunder as the Necromancer’s forces had marched north to Trenyce, but it now served as an ideal staging point for the patrols that swept the surrounding lands for stragglers, refugees, and bands of Rangers.

As such, it had fared far better than many of the other cities, towns, and hamlets that had fallen under Xem’zund’s dominion. The need to house and feed the thousands of human mercenaries in the Necromancer’s employ meant that many of the buildings had remained intact and inhabited. One of these, the tavern that had once formed the backbone of the community, had now been opened up for the pleasures of the mercenaries and the inevitable train of riff-raff – peddlers, merchants, ladies of the night, etc. – that followed in their wake. It was not a pleasant place…

… but it’s far better than any other alternative.

Yuka Kanamai had woken up half an hour ago, huddled under a bristly duvet in the small attic room claimed in her name. Drenched in cold sweat and clutching tightly to her breast a small silvery pendant that was supposed to have been tucked safely away at the very bottom of her haversack, it had taken her a few panicked moments to regain her bearings. The dream had seemed so real; the words that Ingwe had spoken, the blinking of the fireflies amongst the starlit night, even the brief touch of his fingers upon hers. Now she was only left with the pounding of her heart within her chest, still resounding in her mind long after she had opened her eyes.

Wrapping the sheets around her slender shirt-clad frame, she stepped out of bed and tiptoed over to the window, finding herself an uncomfortable seat on the narrow wooden sill. The cold nipped through the thinly crafted glass and at her body, but she ignored it entirely, so refreshing did it feel after the relentless heat and humidity of her underworld existence. In the streets below, there was movement; the flash of a thrown blade, and a man fell dead, prey to an unseen assassin. Such infighting was not uncommon amongst the mercenaries, although there was admittedly a fair share of more professional troops as well. The fair-faced necromancer had blithely assured her of her safety, and with her association with the daemon Natosatael by now well known, she doubted that anybody would attempt to harm her. But it never hurt to be on her guard, did it?

She could tell that she was in for a long night.

Reaching out, she drew her staff towards her, savouring the sensation as her fingers traced the smooth yew. A sorrowful rain pelted off the dingy windows, leaving streaks of grime where it travelled; the sky beyond was dark and grey, no sign of moon or stars. The elegantly crafted buildings seemed somewhat stained, not only by the inclement weather but by the very presence of the Necromancer’s forces.

Somewhere out there… she told herself, once again her soul going cold. Just… please, just don’t come here…

She remembered earlier that evening, when the summoning ritual had completed and she had stepped out into the overworld again for the first time in over a year. There had been four others present; the daemon Natosatael, the obese necromancer who was now Natosatael’s nominal master, the dark death knight that he served, and the androgynous spellcaster who had been forced to retreat from Anebrilith. The last of the four had been the one to tell her to take up lodgings here, dismissing her with barely more than a quick briefing. Natosatael had laughed obsequiously, and the obese necromancer had grovelled at the feet of his dark master, who in turn had been impassive and unmoving. She had obeyed without question, knowing that her life would hang in the balance for the remainder of her time under Natosatael’s thumb.

Yuka sighed, her thoughts once again returning to the young man who had been in her dream. Not for the first time, she compared him against Thomas, the person who had offered her the chance to study in Haidia, the escape from her trapped existence in Nippon, in the first place. Both were strong-willed, determined men, blessed with power, but the resemblance ended almost there. Where Ingwe was modest and sensitive, Thomas was arrogant and brash; where Thomas was cool and calculating, Ingwe was moody and emotional. Both were important to her in their own respective ways, and yet neither seemed to be able to stand the other. Fine dark hair spilled over her forehead as she snuck a glance at the gleaming pendant, blue gem resplendent against blemishless white skin.

As the long night wore on and the darkness above continued to mount, Yuka Kanamai remained motionless at the window, peering out into the far distance. Praying… and hoping.

***

High in the heavens above, an angel smiled.

Her job was done.

[Witchblade]

Storyline

Continuity: - 8.5 This is not the first time I have read one of your threads—and I certainly hope not the last since I enjoy them so immensely—but even though I have a brief understanding of events and characters, some kind of backtracking would be useful. It does get tedious and annoying to remind readers of past events, but it’s definitely helpful, especially to those new to the character. Even a simple sentence or two, straight to the point, could really help. Beyond that, the story here was very enjoyable and easily followed.

Setting: - 8 You do have a great way of describing the setting your character walks in, but at times it seems like nothing more than a backdrop. Perhaps try to describe the setting as Ingwe himself sees it instead of all at once. Also, have him notice things that seem out of place, something he finds odd or just can’t take his eyes off of. It’s a very human way of looking at the surroundings. There’s nothing wrong with how you describe things mind you.

Pacing: - 8 Most of the thread had an odd, languorous slow pace to it that was quite enjoyable. A reprieve from the tension of a war going on around the characters. The only time it ever really picked up was at the end, during the dream Ingwe experienced and the events that happened afterwards.

Character

Dialogue: - 9 Ingwe has a lot more internal dialogue than he does external, but that is an integral part of his character. Both of these forms of dialogue give a reader a great kind of insight into who he is and how he acts in certain situations. His uncertainty when he spoke to Yuka that changed to easy determination. Great job with the dialogue.

Action: - 8 It was not an ‘action’ filled thread in the way most people look at the word, but action still took place in it. All of Ingwe’s actions seemed true to his character and the brief actions of the others throughout the quest were very true as well and gave simple, NPC’s real life and breath.

Persona: - 10 It’s an easy thing to breathe life into your main character, because there’s attachment to him. A real trick, when telling a story, is to give those NPC’s that appear throughout the thread the same kind of life and dedication. You have certainly done this and done this very well. Instead of just telling a tale focused solely around Ingwe, you have intricately wrapped the tales of others in there along the way, truly making this a real story. I don’t hand out anything above a nine when I judge, not because I’m mean, but because most people just can’t reach that high for me. Well, congratulations, you’re the second person to ever receive a ten from me!

Writing Style

Mechanics: - 8.5 Well, you certainly know how to use the English language and use it well. I didn’t come across any spelling mistakes and unless some grammar mistakes slipped by my, you didn’t have any of those either. I will say that you have a tendency to write very long sentences that get dangerously close to run-on sentences. I would try to break these up if I were you, not only because they could become run-on’s, but it would make your writing flow a lot nicer if the reader wasn’t reading something three lines long without a break in between.

Technique: - 8.5 Your technique and your wording are fine, allowing the readers to almost seamlessly flow through your story. Just work on those long sentences, and if you’re unsure of something, read aloud to yourself. If it seems awkward to you, it’s awkward to the reader.

Clarity: - 9 Clear and precise. The only time I had to slow down was when you used words I hadn’t seen before, like ‘bespectacled’, which though not a bad word, is kind of odd. But that could just be my own personal opinion.

Wild Card: - 7 Hmm, let’s see. Anything above a 2 is going to give you an 80 in this quest and give you the possibility of getting a Judge’s Choice. Do I think this is good enough for a judge’s choice, I think... yes. Witchy’s stamp of approval!

Total: 84.5

Rewards:

Flames of Hyperion receives 2,750 experience and 350 GP!
Wings of Endymion receives 200 experience and 50 GP!

[Taskmienster]

EXP/GP added!

Movement pending JC acceptance.