2016 January Vignette

[Christoph]

Your character encounters an old assumption in a new light, and must work through this contradiction to either redefine their assumption, or reaffirm it.

I am looking for entries that contain conflict and resolution in some form. The deadline is February 3rd at 11:59 PM EST.

[Fez_The_Kid]

A thick blanket of clouds hung low over the wide banks of the Niema river, its gray color suggesting rain. Upstream, the river led to the heart of Corone, where the faint skyline of Radasanth brushed against the overcast firmament. The other direction, where the waterway eventually flowed into the eastern seas, was met by a dock and its supporting workshop at few-leagues intervals. Boulevards rimmed both of the river’s edges, the footfall of citizens--horsemen; merchants; monks; children, Merka Ralem and Anubis of Skavia sounding over the wet cobbles. Someone shouted ahead, “The earth is plagued!”

Huddled together in attention, a crowd had gathered around the voice’s fountainhead as the two warriors advanced downstream. “Not our business,” Anubis said. The ex-Bladesinger narrowed his eyes on the gathering, and slowed his pace as they neared it.

“You’re too impatient, Anubis. Need to learn how to give a damned chance,” Merka grinned. “Come, we’ve time. Let us see what's happening.” The Salvarian sighed, following the elf in his wake.

The congregation centered a robed geezer, a pale beard the length of Anubis’ forearm hanging off his chin. The old man held on to his cane, gesturing with long, slender fingers as he spoke. “Beware, good people of Radasanth, Minas Teradryn has appeared! It heralds the death of a certain land; an army once expired has risen again--and indeed that very death has yet transpired.”

Anubis frowned. What death? More importantly, what land?

“Xem’zund has emerged, but fear not, for he is now dead.” The priest sighed. “Unfortunately his Corpse Horde
remains, rabid and ravenous, it bites, and bites away…” he paused. “It has eternally wounded Raiaeran soil, and before long will destroy--”

“What?--” Merka cut in, gazing at the druid wide-eyed, “--what did you just say?”

Anubis twisted his mouth in warning. Shit.

“Yes, Xem’zund’s army still remains, scattered all over Raiaera.” The crowd gasped, sounding a string of curses and helpless prayers.“Worry not, we still have a chance of saving our world--and ultimately ending this threat.”

“Wait a minute,” Anubis said, palm raised. “Last I heard, that turned out to be a rumor, raised only to unsettle the nations’ monarchs, to spread turmoil. This man is talking bullshit,” the swordsman decided, forefinger accusingly pointed at the priest. “Don’t listen to him, people. I’m certain Raiaera is fine.”

The old man had fixed his gaze on him, eyes narrowed. “Who in Khal'jaren’s name are you?” he druid hissed.

Same should be said for you, but if you’ll be the one to ask questions… then fucking ask away. “Not in Khal’jaren’s name,” he said, “but in shadows. I am Anubis of Skavia, at your service.” The Salvarian’s gaze locked with the druid’s in a contesting bout, a pending exchange of cold stares. “And you are?”

“High Priest Maverick, librarian, Valley Library.” He jerked a tight nod. "Now in the gods-damned ruin of a city called Beinost."

“Valley Library ... That used to be in Eluriand,” Merka whispered.

“Aye. That is why I am here. To send a message--a forewarning to the people of Radasanth, Corone and the entirety of Althanas. There has been many a thousand lives lost in neighboring Raiaera, unbeknown to many...” He pointed to the crowd. “Like you people.”

Anubis frowned. “All right,” he said, tone considerate, “say that I’m wrong, and you are speaking the truth--how do you plan on spreading the word to people thousands of leagues from here?”

The priest scowled. “I have my ways, kid.”

“And where is your god?” the Salvarian questioned, his brows furrowed. “Why don’t you call on him to save the high elves and their lands?”

Maverick said nothing.

“There’s something to think about, folks,” the swordsman muttered, eyeing the faces that now suddenly groaned in dismay. Yes, turn away. Leave.

“This old man’s been jabbering all along. Move on, people,” one of the spectators said, breaking the crowd. Only a few people remained, the looks in their eyes betraying a persevering faith.

The Salvarian sighed. “What are you--?”

Anubis felt a gauntleted hand grip his shoulder, and turned. Merka gazed at him, face crumbled in sorrow. “Anubis, please, let him talk. A chance, for the gods’ sake.”

The swordsman blinked, then motioned a subtle nod so that only Merka could see. The ex-Bladesinger smiled and motioned a nod toward Maverick. “We’re listening, High Priest.”

“As I was saying,” the druid continued, gaze returning to the remaining crowd. “We must spread the word, tell anyone and everyone you know, people. Raiaera, no, the world needs you.” Silence ensued, then Maverick realized that the residue of the now dispersed crowd were but peasants, as old as he, some even older. These won’t do anything, Maverick. You’re helpless.

The insect-god priest sighed, where now only he and the human elf duo remained.

Silence ensued, then the priest spoke. “These people won’t listen--I need your help.”

Our help, Anubis mused.“With what?”

“You need to see something first,” the druid said. He raised his cane, and waved a gesture. “This will ensure you that I speak the truth. Elf, if you wouldn’t mind…” he muttered.

Merka nodded. Anubis glanced curiously at him as the elf rested a hand on his back. “Wha…?” There was a pause.

A loud hum broke through the silence. The swordsman tensed as the world about them blackened. Sorcery! Anubis glanced down to see that they stood on no ground, but the void. Utter nothingness… Gods. “You know him?” Anubis asked, eyeing the ex-Bladesinger.

“No,” he said. “I’ll explain later. Watch.”

Anubis turned to the priest, who had set his gaze over the vacantly dark space next to him. A blinding flash of light prompted the swordsman to raise a shielding hand over his eye, then returned it to his side as they stood in a wholly different location.

This is… Blood-red leaves rustled ominously against a moaning Raiaeran wind. Instead of the usual sunlit ether, a portion of the nothingness that had been the vicinity remained overhead. The forest strip stretched for as far as Anubis could see. And we stand at its edge.

“Lindequalme,” Merka whispered, crouching down. The elf planted a hand on the ground. His homeland’s soil. “Why did you bring us here, priest?”

“Patience, Megilindir…” the druid paused, his wispy beard swaying in harmony with the red stretch of forest before them. “I forget, you are no longer a Bladesinger, aye?”

Anubis saw the ice seep into the elf’s heart. “Who the fuck are you?” the Salvarian demanded, tone suddenly authoritative. “And this time you’ll say the truth, or I’ll turn your skull into an abstract painting.”

“Anubis,” Merka said firmly.

“Unwise,” the druid muttered, “to threaten a High Priest of Khal'jaren in his dominion. You better not touch that sword, for your sake and his.” Maverick turned, a hand set on his lower back. He gestured to the scene. "Now pay attention.”

Stones on the ground trembled. The earth shook, as if booted by a the foot of a god. An earthquake…? No. Something’s coming. Anubis then realized that--as he turned with the others--an army approached. From within the forest. A line of soldiers entered their view. Their broadswords unsheathed, they approached on-foot.

The first soldier’s features were unsettling to the Salvarian. The mail hanging off his frame clanked with every heavy pace, the metal dented and rusted brown. The blade in his grasp was, Anubis noticed, affected by the same attributes. The iron helmet covering most of his face had a plain horn jutting out of the skullcap; what appeared of his face was through a horizontal opening in the middle of the helm. Anubis leaned in for a closer look, realizing that they were completely unseen. “They look… different,” he noted.

“Aye,” Merka said. “These are undead. They are Xem’zund’s Corpse Horde.”

Anubis detected the reek of death as the realization dawned on him. So, it’s true. Everything this old bastard’s been raving about has already happened. We weren’t transported, but actually set back in time to see past events. The Horde emerges from the Red Forest--a suitable location to make its first appearance--marching in Raiaera’s direction. I can only imagine what happened to every settlement in its way. The number of lives lost… gods.This must feel like a spike to your heart, Bladesinger. I’m sorry.

“Look,” Maverick said, pointing to the last soldier after the army had passed. He approached on horseback. The gelding’s skin was scarred, riven, like a tattered sail, revealing decayed flesh and bone. The scars over its jet-black hide suggested a veteran in ancient wars, dating back to the ones of The Tap. The rider was clad in the same color, face hidden in the shadow of his hood. Xem’zund… in the flesh. The undead lord--a man as dark as the abyss, tilted his head in their direction--and stared. Does he see us? No, this is only a vision. A pause, then Xem’zund drove his heels into his mount’s flanks and rode out of view.

“Now do you believe me?” the priest asked, turning to the warriors, their mouths agape. “Aye, your incredulity mutes you,” he smiled, eyeing both of them. The druid looked over to Merka. “Your country is in peril.”

“I am aware,” the elf replied, his indifferent tone betraying a bleeding heart behind that carved Bladesinger mail.

“What will you do?” There was no answer, only silence. “Your inner pain prevents you from uttering aught, for if you should speak--you’d curse the gods themselves, and for that reason alone you may remain silent.” The druid’s attention returned to Anubis. “You must help. This nation needs you--anyone that can cleanse this undying plague.”

“Why me? There are plenty, more capable people out there.”

“Aye, and they seek to cleanse the high elven lands from this madness as well.” Maverick hesitated, then, “But you… I’ve a different request for you.”

Anubis narrowed his eyes. “And that would be?”

The priest’s chest spread out as he sucked in the air. “I ask you to eliminate a certain monarch..." His gaze fixed on Anubis, two amber eyes the color of sand staring deep into the Salvarian's soul. "King Edar'xa must die."

Anubis blinked. He's officially gone mad, now. "What?"

"To defeat an enemy, you must target the brains first--the deciding constituent of any opposition. The dark elves have been an ancient thorn in the Raiaeran's sides, they sought the destruction of Raiaera. And to this very moment they still do. With the country brought to its knees, Alerar will soon have controlled the entirety of the high elves' land. With such an extension, and with the country developed as is, you know what that means... do you not, Salvarian?"

Anubis said nothing. Bastard.

"Aye. Salvar shall be in danger, and before long there'll be another Raiaera. Ed'arxa must be eliminated, to spread turmoil in its army. We must leave some breathing room for the hapless Raiaerans," Maverick said. "You must do it. The pay shall be a sizable one."

Silence ensued. Then Anubis sighed. “I am no hired assassin, Maverick.” The swordsman turned to Merka. "You've gone quiet suddenly."

"I have nothing to say to this request," Merka muttered. "Where ever you go, Anubis, I'm right behind you."

Anubis smiled. Back to the priest, “Then you do it," he growled. Did you not just threaten us 'in your dominion?' Actually, why don’t you hire an assassin, Maverick? The Crimson Hand is infamous for their professionalism in the business. I'm even starting to think our traveling here has affected your sanity.”

The High Priest frowned. “The pay shan’t be only a thick pouch of gold crowns,” he then grinned, revealing yellow teeth. “Indeed... there’s more to it than that. But that shall be revealed only after the job is done.”

Anubis mentally shook his head, returned his gaze over the priest, noticing that the priest had been eyeing the elf ever since he'd gone quiet.

Maverick gave a curt nod, a wry grin plastered over his. “Aye. Back to the real world, now. Once it's done, you know where to find me, Salvarian.”

"What? No! Wait! I still have questions!"

A second flash saw the swordsman back at the boulevard. Somehow no-one seemed to even discern his sudden appearance. Sorcery, I suppose. You ask me to stain my hands with the blood of arguably the most powerful ruler in this god-forsaken world, High Priest. We’re but two wanderers with swords and a trifling use of magic. How could I even walk into the castle? In a disguise? With that bleached skin of his and the usual mistaking me for a barbarian, we’re as good as dead in Aleraran territory. He sighed. Wonder how Merka's doing. "Well, looks like we've got a country to save," Anubis said.

Silence.

"What, you going quiet on me now?" Anubis turned, a brow raised. Ice chilled his heart as he'd been speaking to his shadow, for Merka was not there. "Son of a..."

And neither was Maverick.

"BITCH!"

[jdd2035]

Cain was sitting at a make shift table in front of the Peregrine's ramp accepting new sailors to his crew most of which were able seamen or better even a few skilled landsmen that once they figure out what was what would make fine sailors. The process was a simple one he would ask their name, their skill set and then give them an assignment which would match their skill sets and what he needed for his ship and later he would sort them out into watches and teams later once the ship was under way once more.

Every thing was going on swimmingly up until the following conversation began Cain looking over his crew manifest asked "Name?"

A slightly high pitched nasally voice replied "Jonathon Kennith the son of ~Lord~ Kennith." Cain before looking up winced slightly he knew who his father was. Lord Kennith was one of Cains most wealthy clients and as a favor to him Cain had agreed to take his son on his crew. Cain was about to ask what Jonathon's skill set was (though according to his father he had none) but instead Jonathon said "I was to be rated midshipman." in a haughty tone.

Cain paused from his questioning and looked up at the noble child a child of sixteen or seventeen. He really did not mind nobles, quite a few of them were quite amiable and had their uses; but what he did despise and absolutely hated was the afluensic. The children of nobles who rather than learning how to manage their fathers fife, their fathers business or even how to wrangle in the political arena; they spend up their families money, abuse the power that their families title and fear of reprisal afford them.

Taking a breath Cain stated "You shall be rated a landsman, if you work hard and prove your self worth you might end up finishing this cruse a skilled seaman."

The nobles child was taken aback "No I am to be rated a midshipman. My father ~lord~..."

Cain interrupted Jonathon "I know your father and I am accepting you on my crew as a favor to him so that you may learn some skill and respect for the commoners and other non-noble people with in your families holdings." Cain paused before continuing "And your father knows me and knows that I am Master and Commander of my ship and on it's decks my word is law." Cain paused again before continuing further "now get on board landsman."

Jonathon was even more flabbergasted "Landsman!? Landsman! I am Sir Jonathon Kennith the son of ~lord~ Kennith and you shall address me as such!"

Cain visibly winced "Young master Kennith" (A title normally used for children before they turn ten years of age) "Step on board and get ready to make sail."

Jonathon now enraged at Cain shouted "You! You ignore my noble station and impugn my families honor?!"

Cain still acting in a business as usual manner stated matter of factly "I have impugned nothing. I have told you that your father knows me and knows what I am about and he still has sent you to serve on my crew. Now you are acting selfish and ignoble."

Jonathon really feeling heated finally made a potentially fatal mistake "You sir have presumed too much! I challenge you to a duel."

Cain shook his head to the negative "Well, I do not accept."

Jonathon shouted "I demand satisfaction!"

Cain remaining calm simply said "well, you're not going to get it. Do your self a favor and get on the ship."

Completely losing his temper Jonathon shouted loud enough for half of the dock to hear "Do you see! You captain is a coward and refuses to fight me in an honorable duel! I refuse to serve under him!"

That was the last straw for Cain standing from his seat said "All right if you insist. I accept your challenge."

Jonathon having his challenged accepted (something that had never happened to him before) held his breath and replied a little more timidly "You may choose when the time, place and weapons."

Cain smiled and said "Right here, right now and with daggers. Mr. Agon can I trouble you for your dagger?"

Taking his crewmans dagger he readied himself calling the spoiled nobles bluff he said it's your move.

Much to the haughty nobles credit he did attack drawing a dagger of his own and charged. Cain in one smooth motion kicked a near by bucket across the dock boards which connected with Jonathon's shins.

Jonathon tripped over the bucked and fell on his face. Moving rather quickly Cain stepped on Jonathon's wrist and said "Drop your dagger." Jonathon refused and Cain applied more pressure onto Jonathon's wrist. "Drop your dagger."

Finally Jonathon relinquished his dagger and was very nearly tossed onto the Peregrine by Cain.

Cain slipped the ornate jeweled dagger that once belonged to Jonathon into his belt he said "welcome aboard."

Jonathon shouted feebly "you did not fight fair!"

Cain merely stated "you will find a lot of things are not fair. You can either learn how to accept this or you can get your ass handed to you." With that Cain had his crew make sail and stepped into his great cabin still despising the afluensic children of good nobles.

[orphans]

"How long have they been at it?" A familiar voice drifted to Sakuya and Azza above the shouts of the two combatants and their clacking of wooden sparring swords. Azza managed to look away from the battle in the training circle to see the approaching form of Pell. His short chestnut hair didn't appear to be brushed yet while sleep still clung to the lids of his eyes. Despite all of that, he was already dressed in his usual black uniform, signifying him as an officer in the Seoyruun army. It was quite plain until compared to the simple full body robes that Azza and Sakuya were wearing.

It was still early morning with the light of the rising sun having just barely burnt away the damp and fog. Sakuya offered a polite nod to the man while Azza smiled. The two shifted over their spots on the spectator bench to make more room despite there being plenty. "About an hour now," was Azza's reply as Pell took a seat beside her.

A sudden shout had all of them turn their attention to the training circle in time to see one of the combatants misplace their footing on the slick grass. The other quickly advanced on the opening and crushed its wooden blade into the armored shoulder of the off-balanced fighter, sending the defeated sprawling onto the ground. Both Azza and Pell winced while Sakuya snickered into her mug of tea. "I believe that is match point, yes? Holly's five, to Mara's zero."

Holly was the first to pull off her helmet, revealing her familiar hazel eyes and long brown hair with streaks of grey to Azza. There was a small teasing smile on her face as she reached out a hand for her opponent to grab. Her opponent, Mara, did so then followed in Holly's example and took off her helmet as well after she was standing. The woman's sea-green eyes held a tinge of agitation as sweat glistened upon her brow and black hair. "What happened to going easy on me?"

A laugh drifted from Holly as she shrugged her shoulders. "I'm sorry Mara, I was going easy. It would have been faster and a lot more painful to five points otherwise."

Mara groaned as she worked and rolled her bruised shoulder stiffly. "Noted. I'd better clean myself before I'm expected on the throne. Thank you again Holly for indulging me in my wish. Are you sure you can't stay longer?"

"I'm sure. I'll be leaving on the same ship with Artemis." Holly then turned towards the three sitting on the bench and looked to Pell. "I'm guessing that's what Erieai sent you to tell me, correct? The ship is ready then?"

Pell nodded. "It is, but we won't be casting off until another two days or so. Ships ready, crew is still being put together."

"Well at least we'll have two more days to see one another, Holly," Mara said as she with a slight grimace as she tried to massage at a sore spot on her side. She gave up with a sigh as the layer of armor impeded her efforts. With a wave to those on the bench and a quick embrace with Holly, Mara left for her quarters, not even bothering to leave behind the training armor.

When the woman was out of earshot, Pell was the first to break the silence while Holly collected the training swords. "I'm guessing you and the Queen know one another, Holly?"

Sakuya simply snickered again into her mug of tea as Azza blinked her eyes and looked down the path that Mara has disappeared off into. "That was the Queen?" Azza asked after a moment.

Holly laughed again as she came over to the benched. "Yes that was Queen and yes Pell, you could say that. When she was a girl she and my daughter..." Her expression clouded for a moment before another smile quickly brightened her mood. "Well, that was then." Tossing the extra training sword to Pell, she grinned at him. "Fancy a round or two?"

Pell caught the handle, stood and began to make his way toward the training circle. "Do I get to ask you to go easy on me too?" he wondered out loud as he donned a spare set of training armor and helmet.

Holly only laughed and pulled her helmet back on.

While the two fought, Azza could only shake her head with a small sigh. "What's wrong, Sister Azza?" Sakuya asked with a curious glance.

Azza shrugged her shoulders and smiled some. "It's just strange to see Mother Holly- erm I mean Holly, like this. I grew up thinking she was always just a kind orphanage keeper. I never thought she'd have another life and definitely not one that was so violent. It feels like I don't even know her anymore."

Sakuya mused and hummed into her cup as she took another sip. Both Azza and Sakuya looked up as Pell crashed onto the ground. He rolled quickly to avoid his opponent's blade and was able to spring to his feet in time to keep up with Holly. "There are surprises everywhere, Sister Azza, but Holly is still the same person as you've always known. Now, you just know another facet of her life, yes?" The frown upon Azza's face told Sakuya that the girl wouldn't be so easily convinced. Offering the girl a smile, she continued on. "You have changed much as well in the eyes of Holly."

"I suppose..." Azza answered as they watched the match between Pell and Holly.

The young officer was struggling more and more with each passing moment on the defensive until suddenly Holly slipped past his efforts. A quick twisting strike from Holly and Pell found himself disarmed. Before he could react, Holly tapped the center of his chest plate with her sword. "That's five to two."

"That fast?" Azza asked in astonishment.

"Pell certainly wasn't holding back so I saw no reason to either," was what Holly answered as she took off her helmet, her heavy breaths misting in the cool morning air. "He's certainly quick with lots of power behind his strikes."

Pell returned to the group after fetching the training blade, slightly out of breath as he too removed his helmet. Azza stifled a giggle at the sight of him looking even more disheveled. "Hah, if this been a round of first touch, you would have won in the first few seconds." Stripping off the practice plates and armor Pell then waved to the group as he made for the way he first came. "I'm going follow the Queen's example before I go meet Erieai. Thank you for the bout, Holly."

"How does breakfast sound?" Holly asked as she began to take off the different pieces of her training armor. "I don't know about you two, but I'm hungry after that."

Sakuya looked to Azza for a moment and then nodded her head. "I could nibble on something. How about you Sister Azza?"

"Yeah, breakfast sounds good."

"Well let's get going and don't forget to wash your hands this time, Azza." Holly chided.

Sakuya giggled as she got up while Azza followed with a small guilty grin dancing at the corner of her lips. I guess some things never change.

[SirArtemis]

I find myself sitting atop the Bearded Gnome, an inn owned and run by a dwarven friend of mine named Harki. It’s the place I call home now. Here upon the roof on a relatively warm summer night in Knife’s Edge, I can’t help but think back on some of the things I’d seen in my life.

It seems silly, I know. What sort of twenty-eight year old sits back and reflects on their life as though they’d seen something? But looking up at those countless stars as the warm breeze gently kisses my cheeks, it isn’t the scars I’ve collected that are on my mind; it’s the mindset I’ve been secretly living in for so long.

I never knew my mother really; or at least I have very little memory of her. She died when I was just a few years old and the fragments of that youth come and go. It all feels so fleeting that I don’t know what memory is and what is fantasy that I’m filling in with. All I have left to remember her now are these marks that lace my arms. After that whole debacle on Se’lutia, they’ve spread. Now both of my arms and a part of my face are covered in these strange markings.

I was born of magic. So I was told. But how can I even reconcile what that means? The words were spoken to me, explanations were given, but feelings are something that I can’t access so easily.

So many years spent questioning my worth, wondering if I’ve done something wrong. At times I’ve felt like my father, Gareth, blamed me for her death. After all, it was her desire to have me that lead her to make her sacrifice. And it was her dying strength that sealed my magic away long enough for me to start to gain control.

I can’t shake that feeling though. That feeling that I don’t deserve to be loved. That deep down it is my fault. That it is my curse to bear and that I’ll never be good enough. Maybe I should have saved those people in Vardta. Maybe I could have done more to protect Jackal and Maybel in Se’lutia. Maybe I should have done more to stop Victor Callahan and his murder spree.

Who gets to decide? Who gets to tell you if you deserve love? Who has the final say on that verdict?

I’ve been struggling with these questions for years, and at times it feels like it’s getting even harder to answer these questions. My life has changed so much since growing up in that small village outside of Underwood. My boring life and daily routine seem so far gone. Now I find myself traveling, sent on wild missions, magic pouring out of me and bodies falling along my path as I do my best to leave a virtuous mark on the world.

Growing up I had my father and Hawk, a dark elf mentor who taught me to fight. They were my family and all I knew. There were the others who lived in our village, but I was a shy kid and never really got along with them.

Now I have people who actually feel like family, beside my father and Hawk. After reconciling with my father, I am at least glad we found peace. I hear too many stories of regret of those who go to their graves with vengeance in their heart; all those things left unsaid.

I have Harki, the barkeep whose rough hands have been at work for over a century. He’s probably polishing mugs right this minute beneath me. I can’t help but smile at the thought. He is a good friend to have, and I always wonder what secrets he keeps. His thick black beard almost seems like a vault filled with secrets, and not just from his last meal.

I have Bazzak and Nalin, the Norlond brothers whose forge has become a second home for me and whose tutelage helped me master skills of metalworking that my father had begun.

I have Daros, the most eccentric and creative wizard I have ever met and a man who is likely as dangerous as he is helpful. His home stands within the city like a beacon of all that is different, and it is a place I adore.

And most of all, I have Jay, my love, the dark elf woman whose lavender skin and silver-violet hair absolutely light up my world. She is my heart and I would do anything for her. She is the biggest beacon of hope for me to answer these questions I carry with me. She is the hope I have that maybe, just maybe, I do deserve to have wonderful people in my life and to be happy and loved.

And yet I still fight this battle. I still struggle every day reconciling the choices I have made and continue to make with the desperate fear that I am only meant to suffer and to lose those closest to me. I have to believe that loss does not mean I am being punished, and that not all the mistakes I’ve made and the people I’ve seen die are my burden to carry.

But damn it all, it’s hard.

The air tastes crisp and cold, and lying down upon the patched roof of my home my thoughts feel like fireworks bursting in front of my eyes and mingling with the stars. My short hair and trimmed beard of dark hair are starting to get grays. I’m still young by many measures, but I feel so drained and old. My limbs feel like they creak, and my breaths sometimes feel heavy. My eyes, glowing bright blue as they do, sometimes feel dull and dead despite the obvious. And this Gade suit Daros made me, keeping me comfortable in any weather, somehow makes me feel numb at times to the world around me.

Every sensation has so many layers and angles. One deep breath can feel fresh and invigorating, and the one immediately after feels like it burns and stings on its way down. That’s what every day feels like. And it’s impossible to know what each moment will bring.

It’s been a while since I’ve taken the time to reflect on all that has happened. Perhaps it’s strange to find time to be with my thoughts with a sentient weapon strapped around my wrist. But thankfully Judicis knows that right now I need my space. I’m grateful to have him, guiding and nurturing me to ensure I stay on my path. But after just getting home from this trip to Se’lutia, I feel like so much has changed.

Sakuya has told me everything about my mother. She has told me about my mother’s life, about the ritual that birthed me in detail that my father simply would never know, and her love for me.

My mother loved me so much, and she wanted me to know. I held a small memento in my hand now. It was hers. Sakuya had it. It seems strange for this half dovicarus half wulven to be carrying around a treasure of my mother’s, and one my father never knew about. But somehow, holding it now makes me feel at ease.

My whole life I’ve lived in fear that I don’t deserve to be loved and it all started with the absence of a mother. It all began with the fear that deep down she wanted to leave me, and that it had been my fault. It never had to make sense, but it sunk deep into me like a blade piercing the flesh. And now I lay here, with a new story swimming in my mind and a piece of her in my hand.

Can I still live my days feeling like I don’t deserve love? Am I insulting my mother's deep and sincere love for me, and the extent she went to give me an opportunity at life? Can I ignore all those whose paths I’ve crossed, the tears I’ve shed for those I’ve lost, and the absolute joy those who I still have bring into my life every day?

I still don’t know the answer to these questions. I truly don’t. But I feel like the scales have at least tipped. If someone were to ask me a few years ago whether or not I deserved to be loved and to belong, I would say no without any hesitation. Now, I’d say I don’t know. And that’s true. But I think I do. And that’s true too.

I think I deserve to be loved.

[Three]

Slithered and split, Three watched from the gap in between. That's where Three existed, in the cracks between dimensions. Everywhere was visible to it. Every time too, no moment was unavailable to Three. All the time, all the space, all the dimensions, all the worlds and all the realms; everything was Three's voyeuristic wonderland. Three wasn't a god. Three had no powers and no worshipers to boot. Three was just a miserably self-aware notion enthralled with the lives of mortals.

This story is about the kind of mundane shit that Three finds fascinating. This is a story set on Earth.

2015's Christmas Day in Boones Mill was the time and place for Three's entertainment. Three joined a family driving from their suburban dream-come-true to the done-to-death rural town so many gen y-ers call "back home". The people in the car were unremarkable, but that's what got Three off. A thirty-something woman was at the wheel; she let her 1950s style retro peepers do the talking. A mad hip fountain dress was the backup act and a pair of shiny pumps sealed the deal: she was adorbs. More than what she wore and how she looked, she was a poet. In her youth anyway. What she wrote and posted on Angel Fire and Geocities was beyond incredible. It was never appreciated. Now she was more than her magnificent musings, she was a mom. Paris was her favourite vacation, she was smart enough to avoid the touristy stuff. A lottery ticket the night before a big jackpot let her dream. And she dreamt of her apartment near a monument, or a tower, or a river, or something. For her favourite city, she sure wasn't sure where abouts in it she'd live if she was a sudden millionaire. "Shut the hell up," she snapped in a long lost country accent, "we'll get something to eat on the way!" Next to her, the impotent passenger, the man. His widow's peak wasn't the attractive kind, but curiously his hair hadn't receded any further for years. It was a family trait. His eyes were his best asset, they might have been deep set, but they were blue. Three hundred million people have blue eyes though, why were his so special. Well, they were just kind of crazy. They made him look crazy. Nirvana weren't his thing at the time, he was a hint too young when they were around, but he did like him a flannel shirt. This one was black, red and cream and cost a meagre seven dollars over at the Wal-mart! He bought two of 'em. Shirts from Bangladesh, but he was American made. BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN. Bruce Springsteen came on the radio. He claimed, "Oh snap, this is my jam," over a gruff line about a daddy being home. Or all alone. Or something. For his jam, he sure didn't know the words. In the back was the bundle. Of joy that is! A child. A dear, sweet child. Two years old and already so deeply lodged in their hearts that not even Jules Verne could journey deep enough to undertake a dislodgement. Her favourite things were the little details: animals she knew the name of sitting anonymously in the background of pretty photographs, looking out the window to watch wrens land inside the window's frame looking for bugs and, more than anything else, toys. Not just any toys. Little toys! Toys so small that they suited her miniature hands, fingers and fingernails. With things so small (people, fish, horses, dragons, monsters, dinosaurs), she could act out every dream. And that car seat, it was like a maximum security, high technology, supremely comfortable ... ... ... PRISON. And it was out of their price range. They got it anyway, because she was the most precious thing the universe had ever seen come into being. And then they hit a squirrel. Thud. "Jesus! What was that?" the flannel shirt patchy beard man asked. "I don't know, I didn't see" the cute wife answered. "..." said the baby. "Was it a squirrel or something?" asked the husband. At this point they'd come to a stop, of course. It wasn't a busy road at the best of times. On Christmas Day, the road was completely dead. "It hit the back wheel on your side. Have a look," instructed the wife. The husband obliged and whimpered at the sight of it, "Oh god, I think it's still alive." "..." said the baby. No, the wife said that. No, both of them. No, all three of them. Nobody said anything. Then the squirrel twitched and the husband said, "We're gonna have to back over it or something." "I think they twitch when they're dead, you know how like a chicken keeps running around like crazy when you chop its head off?" explained the wife. "I don't, but sure," replied the husband. "Well, what should we do? I don't want to back over it from here--I can't get it. Let me drive around the block and get it from the front." And so they drove around the block, back passed their house when the husband said, "Hold on. Stop, stop, stop. STOP!" He jumped out the car, ran up the driveway and into the shed. A Tom & Jerry-esque tumble and fall sound effect came from the shed and then the husband came leaping out of the darkness with a baseball bat. Down and the drive way first, and then with a big old hop he was back in the car and holding the bat. "I'll get it, don't worry. Just drive up ahead past the squirrel and I'll take care of it." She, the older she, nodded acquiescence. The younger she was still oblivious and content. Once back at the scene of the accident, the husband stepped out of the car and looked down at the rodent while the wife pulled up a bit. Crouching, the man could see that the squirrel was mangled in an obviously terminal way (it was gruesome). It was still breathing though. It was shallow and fast and its eyes were wide, glassy and terrified with pain. Thinking of the fear the squirrel was feeling, he covered its eyes with his granddad's handkerchief, an important memento, and then stood up strong and slammed the fucking baseball bat right into the little guy's tiny skull. He didn't hesitate or feel bad about it, because he did it with anger. Anger about the deaths of loved ones in the past. His grandparents. His dogs. The deaths his loved ones would one day endure. The rest of Christmas Day was pretty much ruined by the squirrel's death. Everybody couldn't stop thinking about it. Things like: did it suffer, could we have saved it and took it to a vet, what did we do wrong, how could we have avoided it.

The assumption Three had made about humans was that they didn't care about animals. Three had used its powers to visit slaughter houses, to watch hunters gun down animals for fun alone and to see rats poisoned by the million. Watching the death of the Christmas Day squirrel taught Three that not all humans are the same. And that not all animals are thought of equally by humans.

Three knew that it had a lot more to learn about Earth.

[Gum]

A young lady stepped onto the stage at the St. Santhalas Theatre of Radasanth city. She was blonde and braided, immaculately so. Her dress floated with tempered tones of royal, sky and navy blue. It was the perfect harmony. It matched her blue eyes. It looked good on her marbled skin. And when she spoke, her voice carried a charisma that was more than the sum of the parts. She was a noble spirit wrapped suspiciously in the childish lilt of a twenty-something.

"Please enjoy the story of the red kissing carp."

Chattering applause preceded a pin drop silence.

The Xangu's steaming soup of singing roaches and sweating pygmies was Gum's home. Gum, known by his people as a powerful shaman, was also just an old man who lived with the trees. After clearing a section of Dheathain rainforest, the aging mystic had setup home. That happened many years before this story. He dug pools. He crafted clay pots and filled them with water. He even travelled the world to find rare glass bowls. Gum did all this because he was a breeder of the Kissing Carp. For those of you that don't know, that's a fish native to the Xangu Basin. It was originally bred as a food fish, but various colour mutations meant it soon became an ornamental fish too. Standing over a bowl swarming with two week old carp fry, Gum squinted his ailing eyes at the little wrigglers inside. They were starting to show some colour. This age was typically the time to start selecting the best fish to grow on for their colour and vigour. And which fish to cull. Gum hated culling fish. He only did it for the deformed fish, and he sent them away with a melancholy prayer for a better rebirth. One baby shocked Gum. On seeing it, he groaned "Oxxad, you will have me one day. But not yet!" Gum had seen a red fish. One, single, lonely red fish diving and darting in a swarm of yellow and blue siblings. She was a shocking scarlet fish with a perfectly formed body. It was a new colour, too. And new colours were prized amoung carp keepers. A new colour represented significant earning potential at the town market. So why was Gum cursing Oxxad at the sight of the red kissing carp? Oxxad was a god to the Xangu people. This god was associated with the moon's shadow, autumn, shamans, death, curiosity, exploration, compromise, diplomacy, fishermen and fisherwomen, fish and other animals. And the colour red. The colour red. Oxxad represented the link between the Underworld and the Overworld. Xangu shamans were responsible for collecting anguished spirits and delivering them to Oxxad so that he could take them to the Underworld. Gum knew Oxxad. The colour red is forbidden, the only answer is to cull it. Gum wanted to wait and see if the fish was still red at four weeks. The colour might fade, the fish might be able to live, he thought. By the fourteenth night, the fish's colour hadn't faded. It was a living ruby, so bright that Gum had to face up to the growing consequence of its existence. He went to bed at dusk, addled with anxiety. He writhed in his sleep, oozing sweat at the temples and moaning with worry. He began to dream. In the dream world, his verdant surroundings were swapped for grey and black and Gum was lost in a bleak infinity of gravel and dust. There were no clouds on the horizon, not a whisper of rain for a million years before and after. Broken stone became lodged between his toes as he wandered. Everything became a panic. Had he died in his sleep? Why didn't he remember the journey from life to death? "Gum, student of Do U. I know you," the words rasped against his eardrum in the silence. It was Atataratzu, mother of Oxxad and Queen of the Underworld. She couldn't be seen, just heard. "..." Gum was stricken still. "Oxxad credits you for so many souls. So much good work." "Queen," pondered Gum, "if this is your domain then delivering souls to you certainly was not good work." "This is you. This is not my realm, this is your anxious heart come to life." "I..." Gum swallowed his sentence before he could finish it. "Am I evil?" she tried to tempt a mistake from her guest. "No," stated Gum. "Is Oxxad evil?" she tried a second time. "No," the reply was easy and certain. "Why kill the red carp?" she wondered. "..." Gum was stuck. "Why kill the red carp?" she repeated. "Red is forbidden," Gum explained, thinking of the rules. He knew people were afraid of it and of Oxxad. "And red is the colour of Oxxad," she completed the logic out loud. A column of dust span upwards and out of it came Do U, Gum's long dead mentor. He spoke, "If people fear death then us shamans have failed them. Oxxad isn't our enemy, Gum. Together, we complete a journey." "Master..." Gum was pleased to see Do U again. "Wake up, feed the fish the best food you can and grow it. Grow it big. And strong. Breed it. Make thousands of red fish and give every Xangu girl and boy a red kissing carp of their own. Tell them it is a gift from Oxxad and that when the day comes they will be welcomed into paradise," Do U's command comforted Gum so much. As the fish grew, Gum dreamt more and more of his old master. Soon he came to believe that the red carp was the reincarnation of Do U. Every child who received one of the red fish's offspring also began to dream. They dreamt of grandparents, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, friends -- they dreamt of their most treasured dead. Gum had once believed that Oxxad and Atataratzu only took people away. With the red fish, he learned that they could give back too. The Underworld's gods loved their children like any other gods. Gum learned more than that, he learned that while tradition was the core of his shamanic existence, it was also eternally dynamic.

The storyteller smiled with a bow. When she straightened her back and the lukewarm applause subsided, she said, "I hope you enjoyed the story. You should all get a red kissing carp. You never know who it might bring back for you! And speaking of coming back, I'll be back next month to tell you guys another story!"

[Rayleigh]

Judged by Bard:

Let me begin by saying that I enjoyed each and everyone of these for differing reasons, and that scoring these and coming to a final decision was no easy matter. If anyone has any questions regarding comments below, or anything related to my overall judgement, please PM me.

JDD, it’s clear that the captains assumptions about the children of nobles was affirmed in this post, and yet, there was nothing here to show that they were challenged in any way. While Jonathan may have arguably had his assumptions challenged on what was fair and proper, there’s no indication that events resulted in an alteration of Jonathan’s thought processes or behavior of any kind.

Gum, your story was both entertaining and a fine example of the writing prompt in action, unfortunately, I had to do a line by line listen to it, and every time I came to a link, JAWs would tell me of such and it would kind of take me out of it. They also did funny things to your format, which made some sentences sound off, just a little. I know why you added them, although frankly I don’t think they were really all that necessary, as you explained everything within your text to a point that I didn’t have to click on any of them. It might be a good idea in the future to put wiki links at the end of your post, sort of like footnotes, in case your audience wants to go to the wiki to read further information.

Three, you also gave a very amusing tell of how a core assumption that Three had was altered. However, there were points where some of your sentences were structured in such a way as to make them become fragments, such as “bundle. Of joy that is!” you either could have added a semicolon to join these two statements, or used comas, and thus had appropriate pauses, and added to the other statements that follow as part of a sequence; also, some of your selection of certain words made parts a bit more unwieldy than I think you intended; lastly, it’s Gen Y ers, the Gen is capitalized since it’s an abbreviation, and the Y is capitalized as it’s a proper noun signifying a portion of the population born within a given time period.

Orphans, there are a few places where you left a word out, such as that in Holly’s remark “Yes that was Queen and yes Pell, you could say that.” It doesn’t feel that this is a normal part of her speech, as it seems very precise elsewhere, as one would expect from one whose speech as a high degree of hard diction to it, so the absence of the word in this example stands out all the more. Still it was all and all, a very fine effort.

Artemis, for a moment I thought I was listening to something by R. A. Salvatore. I mean that as a complement. It was a very fine peace, which summarizes a lot of information about your character’s background up nicely. However, there is a feeling of indecision that I can’t help but get out of this, as though he knows that he is loved, but not sure that he truly deserves it

Fez, you brought a number of elements together to demonstrate your character’s assumptions regarding both his view on the events related to Raiaera, but also his little regards related to the gods. There’s a real struggle taking place here, and I got a real sense of your character’s resistance to the events that were taking place. While a few places you have a few words and punctuation run together, it didn’t interfere with my understanding of what was posted.

Fez, first place; SirArtemis, second place, Orphans, third place.

[Rayleigh]

Congratulations to all participants! Rewards are as follows. All writers received an additional 25% experience, to thank you for your patience.

Fez_The_Kid receives 250 EXP, 200 GP, and 2 AP.
jdd2035 receives 190 EXP and 1 AP.
Orphans receives 500 EXP and 1 AP.
SirArtemis receives 1000 EXP, 150 GP, and 1 AP.
Three receives 125 EXP and 1 AP.
Gum receives 125 EXP and 1 AP.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

All rewards have been added!