February Vignette

[Revenant]

Waking up after passing out wasn't an experience like the bards and storytellers told. One did not jerk awake, suddenly aware of what had transpired and with a perfect recollection of events leading up to the incident. No, waking up after passing out was a slow, stuttering affair, like waking up from a deep sleep in the middle of a dream.

William's eyes fluttered open, one after the other, in a jerky, repetitive action. Unable to focus or think clearly, the revenant inhaled deeply, trying to force some oxygen to his addled brain. Unfortunately, this only served to fill his lungs with a cloud of stinging dust that grabbed his body and crushed it in a convulsive grip of a coughing fit. This, of course, only served to inhale and expel more dust, wracking William's body with writhing convulsions. Acting on instinct to preserve his life, William rolled over onto his back, giving his airways access to free, unclouded air. A minute and a half passed before he could consciously draw free breath.

"What in the pyre?" the demonic warrior groaned, slowly letting his eyes focus on the sky above. Instead of the expected blue, all he saw was a rolling field of sickly red clouds. The thick blanket covered the entire sky, parted only occasionally by a flash of dark light. It was a completely foreign, and highly disturbing sight, and was something that caught the monster hunter completely off-guard. Where was he? And more importantly, how had he gotten here?

William lay on his back, breathing heavily. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what was going on. Nothing particularly clear came to mind. All he could recall was a hazy memory of walking from his room to the training center in the Ixian Castle when ... that was it, something about a black abyss and murmured voices. Then he was coughing up dirt under a blasted sky.

"Great," he muttered, "what magic assery has happened this time." Rolling to his feet he added, "I'll bet Sei's involved somehow." William dusted himself off as he stood, feeling a dozen aches and pains that his regeneration were already starting to clear up. Satisfied that his filthy cloak and travelling clothes were as good as they were going to get, he straightened up, cracked his neck on either side, and set to examining his surroundings with a serious eye.

Not that there was much to see.

Surprisingly, William found that he was in the center of a vast, featureless plain. No rocks, plants, or anything even resembling a sign of life could be seen as far as he could see in any direction. There was only a seemingly endless field of cracked earth and tumultuous skies.

“This can’t be good,” William muttered.

“It’s really not,” said a voice from behind him.

William spun, already halfway through his demonic transformation and ready to defend himself. Surprisingly, there was nothing there but the lonely sigh of the wind.

“Where are you?” William snarled, flexing his talons. Then, after thinking about it for a second, he added, “who are you?”

“I’m not the one you should be worried about,” the voice replied. “In fact, I’m really not much of anything anymore. He’s the one you should be worried about.”

“He who…” William trailed off, suddenly noticing that the angry roiling in the sky was not, in fact, a field of odd clouds. What he saw was an enormous, turbulent mass of flesh and fire, constantly tearing itself and everything around it apart while at the same time reshaping it. Order and existence were so anathema to it that it couldn’t even seem to touch itself without bloating into a chaotic mess. “What … what is that?” He muttered in horror.

“That,” the voice explained, “is Belesavius.”

William marveled, staring at the mass in shock and amazement. It took a few second for the voice’s whispered words to reach his mind, but when they did the revenant felt a chill creep across his skin that no icy wind could account for. “Belesavius is the demon within me.”

“That is correct. His power has grown, as you can see.”

“Then you are …”

“What is so small that it can’t even be seen anymore? I’m your humanity, of course. Or what’s left of it since you’ve let him take over.”

William stared at the demonic creature, saying nothing more, until the vision faded and he woke once more in the relative safety of Ixian Castle. The vision had been a glimpse into himself, a last ditch effort of his soul to retain a semblance of itself amongst the growing power of the demon within. Staring into the darkness above him, it was a long time before William rose.

[Of Two Minds]

The thick root seemed to leap at Jeren from the underbrush, appearing almost as if from nowhere to grab at the exhausted warrior’s foot.

“Watch it,” Syrian yelled, grabbing onto Jeren’s wrist to keep the exhausted warrior from falling.

“Thanks pal,” Jeren smiled a weary smile back at his companion as he shook the root from his foot. “I guess I’m just a little out of it.”

Syrian’s look was uncharacteristically dour as he watched Jeren struggle to right himself. “You shouldn’t be pushing yourself so hard with that wound.” Syrian gestured at the ragged hole in Jeren’s side, still wet despite the layers of clot that had formed over the leather. “You’ve been going for almost a day since those thugs got the drop on us.”

“We showed them though, didn’t we,” Jeren smiled through white lips, his pale face twisted with pain. “Not to mess with us.”

Syrian’s look was so concerned it was almost heartbreaking. Jeren ignored it and pushed forward through the foliage. “We sure did,” the normally cocky youth whispered, watching his wounded comrade lurch forward with a detached air. He looked down at the blood staining his hand, Jeren’s blood.

“Did you say something?” Jeren muttered, turning his head weakly and in doing so catching his foot on another trailing root. One step forward and a great yawning blackness rushed up to meet him.

Jeren’s eyes fluttered open weakly. Where was he? He had been taking a shortcut back to town after … what was it that had happened? Why was he out here?

A sound drew Jeren’s attention and he was surprised to see a worn figure stumbling through the underbrush, one hand clasped over a deep wound in his side with a side sword trailing weakly from the other. The lone figure was familiar somehow, though Jeren couldn’t quite remember why. It had something to do with … the war? Yes, that was it, he recognized the man from the war. A swell of pity welled up in Jeren’s chest as he watched the man fumble his way through the growth.

The man had lost everything in the war, Jeren remembered. He had lost his family, his friends, his enemies, all of them washed away in a horrifying tide of blood, fire, and cruel steel. But why was he alone? Jeren wondered. Wasn’t there someone who had survived that awful battle with the man? Wasn’t there someone who had travelled with him, the only companion that had never and would never leave him?

The man let out a ragged chuckle, as if he could hear Jeren’s thoughts. No, of course not. He was alone, had always been alone. He had lost everything and would wander that way until he died, alone an forgotten in the middle of the brush after being stabbed by some highwaymen when they had found nothing of worth in his beggar’s pockets.

“Get up Jeren.”

Jeren blinked. Was someone talking? Wasn’t he alone out here?

“Come on Jeren, you’ve got to get up.”

Jeren groaned. “I thought you said I needed to rest.”

“No rest for you yet, I’m afraid,” Syrian said, helping his friend to his feet. “You’re almost there.”

“I can see lights,” Jeren muttered, his body hanging limply off Syrian’s.

“That’s the town, Jeren. Come on now, you can make it. I’ll help.”

Jeren stumbled, half dragging behind Syrian’s insistent pulling.

“Thanks for sticking with me Syrian,” he whispered, not even conscious of his words anymore. “I wouldn’t have anyone without you.”

No reply came from the dark foliage around him.

[The Phoenix]

“What dark sorcery is this?” Elisdrasil hissed, seeing the corridor of bright energy cascading around him like droplets of rain in the middle of a lightning storm. He had been wandering the side streets of some human settlement whose name he hadn’t bothered learning when the world had spun violently about him, as if reality had just been sucked into a whirlpool.

Instinct kicked in the instant before his mind registered that his feet were once again on solid ground. A light whisk of steel on well-oiled wood was the only sign that the Raiaeran’s curve blade was in motion before sliding effortlessly through a solid mass behind the sword mage. “Flash,” he said, his tone calm and emotionless. Without his warmask in place, the only way he could do to avoid the pulse of blinding light that his sword emitted at the command was to blind himself by closing his eyes. Even so, the flash was intense enough to leave spots dancing behind his eyelids.

It would be a poor warrior who was weakened by his own attack, however, and Elisdrasil had experienced this sensation enough times to block it out without letting it overcome him. Sensing the danger without seeing it, Elisdrasil moved like a graceful phantom, a whirling dance of razor steel surrounding him from all angles. The pulse lasted only a second, but by the time it faded, there were three more bodies heaped on the ground around him. The world around him was still and quiet, a moment frozen in time, until a slow clap shattered it. “That was most impressive, elf.”

The last of the spots faded from Elisdrasil’s vision and he opened then to see Kraan, the rogue wizard whom he had been pursuing for the last two weeks. Kraan stood in the shadows of what appeared to be an old warehouse, unprotected save for the runic circle that glowed on the dusty floor around him.

“I didn’t really think that little trap would really catch a Raiaeran blade singer, but it didn’t hurt to try.”

“Tell that to them,” Elisdrasil said, nudging one of the bodies with the toe of his boot.

Kraan shrugged, “Mercenaries, they make things so much easier and there’s always more just waiting to do my bidding for a handful of coins.”

Elisdrasil’s hand stealthily dipped into his belt.

“The only question I have is why a Raiaeran blade singer is searching for me. I guess I should be honored that I’m on your little notice list. Oh, and you needn’t worry about your sword. I took some precautions when I heard you were asking about me.” Kraan gestured to the runic circle at his feet.

A wry smile crossed Elisdrasil’s face as he watched Kraan. A slight twitch of his hand brought a muted snap from within.

“What, no bold speech, no heroic words of defiance?” Kraan sneered, “you hero types are all the same. Someday I’ll be powerful enough to sweep all of you underfoot with nothing more than a thought and a gesture.”

Elisdrasil exploded forward, curve blade pulled back. The expression on Kraan’s face was one of amusement, as if he expected no other action from the Raiaeran. He watched patiently, waiting for the elvish blade to bounce off of his magical protection when Elisdrasil’s other hand shot forward, propelling a cloud of silver dust towards the rogue wizard. Where the dust touched the runic circle, the glow faded, leaving no trace and no protection behind.

“What?” Kraan muttered, suddenly dumbstruck. “How?”

“I saw it,” Elisdrasil said, sliding his hand back and with it, pulling the skull-like warmask from his belt and placing it over his face with the same motion.

“L-listen blade singer,” Kraan began, holding his hands up as he frantically gestured the beginnings of a spell.

“I am no blade singer,” Elisdrasil hissed, bringing his blade around in a fatal arc.

“I am the Phoenix.”

[Herald of the Storm]

Vaahnzerekh felt his leg snap. His skeletal head pivoted to look down at the break, a jagged crack running through the obsidian-like living rock that formed his body. It didn’t matter that his countenance was incapable of emoting pain, worry, or anger, as the Kron’tyr construct felt none of these things. He simply gazed at the break with a detached analytical scan, noting it down as information. At the very least he would be able to report the number of strikes from the Irrakanian guard’s weapon it took to weaken a Kron’tyr infiltrator’s leg.

There was a commotion from further down the street. The guards were getting closer, and without the full use of the leg that had just broke, Vaahnzerekh knew he wasn’t going to be able to get away. His stealth was only going to be of so much use in this situation.

It had just been bad luck, being spotted by a patrol of guards while shifting from one skin to another. He had been sure that that no witnesses would come by the lot at that time of night. It had appeared quite abandoned when he had scouted the area earlier in the day. Still, one could not account for all the variables that went with being an infiltrator.

They were closer now, calling out in their broken tongue to warn each other to be wary. Vaahnzerekh raised a splintered arm, calmly examining the shattered stump where his arm had been. He had been forced to shed the skin he had just taken over when the guards had jumped him. And there was only so much that talons could do against four well trained opponents at once. Vaahnzerekh’s master had not seen fit to gift with the talents of a Kron’tyr warrior, and so the inevitable had occurred and he had been forced to flee.

It wouldn’t be long. He could see the shadows cutting across the mouth of the alley in which he had taken shelter. Vaahnzerekh straightened himself, taking stock of the damage that the humans had been able to inflict on his blessed form. Aside from the broken leg and missing arm he had lost three segments of his chest plate on the right side, exposing the glow from his power orb, a broken collar courtesy of an overhead chop, and a rather large gash that had been taken out of his head.

An angry voice began shouting hysterically as the first guard rounded the corner. There was no chance that his form would be given the chance to reform itself before being destroyed. Vaahnzerekh’s remaining hand flowed smoothly into the bladed talons that the infiltrator’s favored as their weapon. Steeling himself against the guardsmen’s oncoming charge, Vaahnzerekh took a step forward with his unfractured leg, only to find himself surrounded by a bright green light.

When the light faded Vaahnzerekh found himself once again entombed within a sarcophagus most familiar to him. He had, after all, spent an uncounted amount of time slumbering within it. The lid to the sarcophagus swung open easily at the Kron’tyr construct’s touch. A quick examination showed him that his body had been fully restored to working order by his tomb, a fortuitous event.

“Infiltrator Vaahnzerekh,” a voice hummed, buzzing with knowledge and power.

“Lord Khotemi,” Vaahnzerek answered with as much reverence as an emotionless construct could muster.

“Your body was damaged beyond outside repair and was recalled to your tomb. Two hours have passed. Do you have anything further to report?” Vaahnzerekh gave a detailed recitation of all events that had occurred since his last missive to Khotemi.

“Seek out your partner and continue with your mission.” Khotemi’s voice commanded. Vaahnzerekh nodded once and turned to leave when Khotemi’s voice stopped him once more.

“And be more careful this time.”

[Herald of the Tempest]

Vyrabron was at one moment fully aware of his surroundings, then the next he was not when he took a step forwards. There was something he recalled as his glowing green eyes opened again, a hit detected to his cranium. The Kron’tyr moved his hand to the back of his head, noting the spilt blood and the concussive damage to the skin area from the impact. He felt the hole in his back panel, analyzing exactly what had caused it and how. A clean swing forwards to cause penetration, and a very messy exit that caused tearing and folds in his obsidian frame. With a soft nod he knew he would need further repair work, not to mention the bump left in the warped metal would make his skin walking harder to pull off. It was very unnatural and the one thing he learned of the people who walked upon the Storm Herald’s earth was that they noticed things that were different. This meant he had to hide for a few days. He made a report to his commander instantly.

With a last check of his body he noted no further wounds. Complete with his assessment the infiltrator made to stand when he detected a threat from behind him. With a roll he jarred to the left, a military grade pick striking the cobbled stone of the floor sending impact shards floating in the air like tiny butterflies. He could see a robed man, eyes filled with confusion and panic as he ripped the earth up in a rush to free his weapon, bringing it back in both hands for another deadly, but highly readable swing. Vyrabron rolled to the side, and when the pick impacted the ground his hand latched out, crushing the wrist of his aggressor.

“Zombie! Demon!” He cursed in his dialect, Fallien, common, no denotations of heritage from particular areas. It was as thick as the native island people were known for, but lacked the pride he detected in many of the others he had studied. The Kron’tyr stood to one knee, but his chest was kicked in by a massive strike to his rib section. The flesh he wore offered cushioning, but he reacted as a normal human would to being hit by such a powerful strike. The force, the weight, and the angle all were in accordance with a fractured rib. Vyrabron instantly released the foe and clutched his chest, rolling back.

He could hear the scraping of the metal pick moving on the ground back to his hand. With a double handed strike born from desperation the wind heralded the attack. The blow knocked Vyrabron off his knees, sending him sprawling along the sand littered stones and hitting a wall with a thud. The Kron’tyr’s eyes flashed green but once, and the infiltrator looked to his body. At the current moment he noticed with a detached care that this body had suffered irreparable wounds, and was thus useless to his skin walking needs. He felt the wet shlop sound as the skin peeled away, the crazed man screaming the name of some goddess on his lips like it would deter him. Calmly he tapped into his orb, and sent another report of his assessment on the current situation.

He watched as the man came at him, and Vyrabron studied the human with his eyes, waiting for orders on how to proceed. He noticed the man looked like he was poor, but he had distinctly nice things. A fine gold necklace, made of ten percent the real thing. His pick was obviously a higher grade than a commoner would have, and he denoted that this had to be what people referred to as a ‘Bandit.’ There was a flash of green that passed through Vyrabron’s vision.

As the bandit made his last step Vyrabron stepped forward, just his metal frame and glowing green eyes and orb. His hand lifted up, talons the length of his forearm extending in a glittering manner as it caught the moonlight off them. In a split second the pick shaft was cut into two, the wood snapping like a twig. Vyrabron brought up his other hand and slashed it across the bandit’s throat, hitting a deep wound causing him to painfully spurt blood out the wound in a fountain. The Kron’tyr observed the way he died, noting how long it took until death occurred before reporting it.

There was a moment of silence before Vyrabron lowered himself into a kneeling position. He could hear the words of his lord speak to him of another who would shortly join him, a new partner. Vyrabron nodded as he was given the wait and hide command. With a nod he stood, stepping over the bodies as he entered into the shadows, the ominous green glow casting a deathly frame over the ally before in a single step he vanished, all traces of him gone.

[Rayse Valentino]

The life of a planeswalker wasn't easy. There he was, standing on top of a cliff overlooking a gorge. A kilometer down, only jagged rocks awaited his squishy, human body. This was in contrast to those around him, standing at a safe distance from the cliff on the orange rock. They were strange, cube-shaped creatures with no hint of life in them, for they were completely clockwork. Two thin legs came out of the bottom of their cubes, and in the front side of the cube was this strange clay mold, which had human-like faces that stared at Rayse. On the sides of the cube were many slots, where as many as eight thin arms could come out at any moment. They were made of a material that was a combination of wood and metal, having a brownish-metallic glow. To them, Rayse was a biotic, a life form that didn't rely on gears and wheels to operate. In the plane of Mechvar, the only biotics came from other planes. The three suns in the sky cast down a mean glare upon the world, giving it a perpetual day but also a constant source of power for the mechanical beings.

He was blindfolded with bandages. More bandages were wrapped around his neck as well. A cigarette hung at the edge of his mouth. This was it. He took a step off the cliff, feeling his body drop against the wind pressure, the feeling of free fall overtaking his senses. The air was cold, cutting against his skin. The rocks below were tempting him into their clutches. Unfortunately, that wasn't in the plan.

The bright light that he could almost see through the blindfold disappeared, replaced with an everlasting darkness. His descent stopped, because he suddenly found himself deep in a body of water. Putting his hands on his neck, he ripped off the bandages to reveal several slits along both sides of his neck. The slits vibrated, and then in rhythm began expanding and contracting. After all, they were gills. He reached up to his eyes and pulled off the blindfold. As he opened his eyes, they were completely black from side to side. They were specially enchanted eyes designed to see in the deepest of darkness. The blindfold was there to keep him from going blind due to the bright light, as his new eyes were very sensitive.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw more and more of his surroundings: Huge, bulbous structures that looked like they were alive in the distance. They were like huge spore pods rising from the ocean depths, standing on a thin membrane. These structures clustered together, and most of them had thin connections between them. He started swimming toward them, unable to see anything else in any direction. As he got closer, he saw huge columns of seaweed-looking things all around him, seemingly coming out of nowhere, and the sight of the bubble-like structures took his entire field of vision.

That is when he saw them. Blue, scaly creatures with fish-like bottom halves, but humanoid upper halves. Well, fairly humanoid compared to the Mechvar. They had long hair that was twice the length of their slim bodies, and their faces were... Rayse blinked. His mind was being invaded, manipulated, and extorted. He started feeling sick to his stomach, and when he looked back at them they were human females with the same eyes as his. He was being made to see what he wanted to see. Even before he first saw them, his sight was being distorted.

"They have sent another biotic emissary to the sisters," one said, but with an echo that made it seem like they were all saying it. Thank the goddess for the All-Tongue. It was why the Mechvar selected him for this task. "A strange, squishy one, not with a hardened hide like the others."

Well sorry for being so squishy.

They lead him to the bottom of one of the bulbous structures, and despite his eyes everything was still very dark and colorless. He entered through a living opening that expanded to allow his form through, and inside was another human female. They all looked identical to them, proving the extent of their mental manipulation. Were their true forms too horrible to comprehend?

"The Mechvar want you to honor your arrangement," Rayse said, as if reading from a script. What else could he do? Well, there was one thing. "But I don't."

For a moment, the illusion faded, and he saw a creature with features that didn't make any sense to them: A mouth that saw, ears that sang, and a body that seemed to blend with the water, but the vision faded and the lovely face of a woman returned to him.

The many voices as one replied, "You take a great risk, biotic. Why should we listen to you?"

The Mechvar prized order above all else. Logic, perfection, but because of this their sense of time was skewed. They were not truly complete until their perceived perfection, and they based all events around it. They were a slow society, which explains why Rayse is their first emissary in over a thousand years.

"Here," said Rayse, pulling a small stone out of his pocket. "This is a piece of volcanic rock from the Plane of Haidia. It also doubles as a key to their plane from any plane in the multiverse." One of the females took the stone and looked at it inquisitively. "No more do you have to solely deal with the Mechvar; you have other options."

"Why do you offer this?"

"I want something, something that's only found in this plane. It's a key like the one I gave you, and I think you know where it leads." Rayse felt a moment of agitation from the women as they floated inside the dark bubble, their features shifting from real to illusion, too fast for the human eye to see.

"If it is your wish to visit... that plane... we shall oblige. Know, however, that none of our kind have returned from it alive."

Rayse nodded, and after a bit of negotiation he was sent back to his point of entry. In his pocket was a gear from one of the Mechvars, which doubled as a two-way key between their planes. Two-way keys were very rare in the planar multiverse, but their existence often facilitates communication and trade. As he came up to the point of entry, he swam upwards and put his blindfold back on.

Then, he was falling again, except completely soaked, but it was a short fall before he was caught by a net that spanned the entire gorge. At the end of a net was an opening in the cliff-side that lead to a stone staircase going up. He went up the staircase, feeling around the walls due to his current blindness, until he found himself back at the top with the many Mechvar.

After a few clicks and whirrs, he heard a monotone voice, "Is it done?"

"Yes," Rayse lied. It would take hundreds of years for them to find out he lied to them, at which point he would become a fugitive.

Lucky for him, humans don't live that long.

[Christoph]

Chill wind howled though the jagged peaks of Kalev, Salvar's highest mountains. The highlands rested like a grim grey crown on top of the world, and atop this crown sat Elijah Belov. Magic swirled about him, a subtle shift in the air as he focused his will and tugged at the threads of creation. The land was cold, harsh, and dead, but ancient power slept within. Dark magic. The setting sun flooded the frozen wilderness in a hellish crimson glow. The time grew near; the old legends were clear. "When the sky washes the earth in burning red, the path between Fire and Ice will open." His quarry would elude him no longer.

"You can chase me to the ends of creation, Elijah" the demon had taunted, leering at him over the smoldering corpses of his comrades. "You will not find me in this world."

At last he felt it, a sudden warm tingle across his skin and a pressure against his skull. The stirring of ancient magic. The sun slid down the horizon like a drop of blood, casting its fire across the endless ice. Eli reached out with his own magic, invisible arms clutching the mountain's awakening power. He stood and stepped to the edge of his high cliff, gazing out across the dusk-gripped landscape. Invisible energy ripped in the air. He closed his eyes. He stepped off the cliff. He fell.

He fell, not only physically but metaphysically. He felt the air change around him as he plummeted toward the distant ground. A flash of light; the crack of thunder. Then darkness.

Elijah awoke into a nightmare. Oppressive black clouds billowed overhead, veined with green lightning. The biting cold had vanished, replaced with oppressive heat that gripped his chest. Gone was the crisp mountain air; sulfurous fumes burned his lungs, strangling him with the stench of decay and misery. He coughed, pulling his heavy cloak over his face. Only the wind remained; though it now came in searing gusts that swept soot across a volcanic landscape, it still howled like lost souls.

Eli focused his resolve and pushed forward, one foot in front of the other, through the hellish wastes. Twisted shadows rose up from cracks in the earth, writhing creatures of claw and flame. They leered at the trespasser, and Belov glared back. His power swirled around him in a corona of golden light and the things shrank away. He was a creature of fire too, after all. Perhaps more at home here than in cold Salvar. The thought came unbidden, and he pushed it away.

In the distance, a mesa of pure, jagged obsidian jutted from the ground, a deeper layer of darkness amidst the scorched land. A ring of iron spires stood atop the mass of glass, like a bleak black crown in the hellish deep. He could feel the malign presence lurking within, as clearly as he could see the storm gathering above it like a great malignant eye. "You will not find me in this world," it had said.

Then I will chase you to the next one.

[Jasmine]

Alrighty, that's all folks! I will have results up as soon as possible given the large number of entries (YAY!!) and college homework. Thanks to all for participating!!

[Jasmine]

And the results are in! Sorry it took me so long. Congratulations to Enigmatic Immortal for winning first place! Congratulations to Wings of Endymion for a very close second!

1st place Enigmatic Immortal receives 1200 EXP
2nd place Wings of Endymion receives 480 EXP

Christoph receives 550 EXP
Revenant receives 500 EXP
Duffy receives 500 EXP
Rayse receives 450 EXP
Ruby Winchester receives 300 EXP
Atzar Kellon receives 300 EXP
Herald of the Tempest receives 150 EXP
Herald of the Storm receives 150 EXP
Of Two Minds receives 150 EXP
Les Miserables receives 150 EXP
Lillith Kazumi receives 150 EXP
Mordelain receives 150 EXP
Anke/Varg receives 150 EXP
The Phoenix receives 100 EXP

[Letho]

EXP added.