A Play On History (Closed)

[Duffy]

The Day Of The Play

“Weeks of planning leading up to this golden moment,” Duffy said longingly.

After what seemed like an age to the Empyrean army, the play was finally ready. In just a few precious hours, the curtains would rise, and with it, if all went to plan, the spirits of a country. Duffy could only stand, silent, and wishful. When he had departed Corone weeks before, he had been sceptical that he, or indeed, that any of the troupe could really make a difference here.

“How wrong I was…,” he whispered, careful not to let slip his doubts to the troupe.

“Sorry?” Ruby turned on a quick heel, her ears burning.

Duffy looked at her, smiled, and rested forwards on his cane. He did not attempt to hide the fact that he had said something.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he said wistfully. “I was just thinking aloud.”

“No time,” she snapped.

She ushered him to the stage right stairway and down into the changing area. She moved with such speed and force that the moment Duffy came to a standstill, his leg burst into metaphorical flame. He limped, with anguish, to sit on the edge of a packing crate. When he sat, he felt a sudden release, and then it dawned on him he had not stopped since the sun had risen some nine hours prior.

“There’s always time, Ruby. Just give me a,” he stopped mid-sentence when he caught her glare. She had stopped mid-stride and her nostrils were flaring. “Forget I aid anything,” he continued.

“Everybody in the stage area, please listen to me!” she roared. A minuet of echoing melody filled the courtyard. Golden threads of light fell from her lips as ancient power gave her command levity.

Silence fell across the wooden palisades, the empty stalls, and the sunny skies of Emprea’s hearth. Birds scattered, winds ceased, and potential turned to gold in the moisture-laden air.

“Curtains up in one hour!” This fact caused panic amongst the stagehands, tailors, and actors alike.

“Oh good,” the bard mumbled.

He produced a hip flask from within the folds of his jacket, and with far too much relish, even for an alcoholic, he tipped some of the contents onto his tongue. Oak, smoke, and bourbon mash gave him meaning again.

“I can sit down for five minutes,” he mumbled, making sure this time Ruby could not hear his discontent.

In one hour, Duffy’s part to play in this debacle would be over. It was the director’s role to oversee production, casting, and the rehearsal. The split-second the curtains rose he could rid his hands of it. Whatever went awry after that would not be on his head. No broken nail or stumbled line could diminish his accomplishments.

Ruby appeared at his side, seemingly in tune with his misery.

“Duffy, you've done a fantastic job here.” Which was an understatement, but Duffy knew Ruby’s praise was short lived at best, “So for Thayne’s sake, go and fucking relax!” Duffy looked up to smile. He let his cane drop to his side. It rolled against the edge of the crate.

“The show must go on…,” he said hoarsely. He was beyond hope.

He tipped the rest of his flask onto his tongue with the sort of genius borne anguish that tended to find its home in the world of dramaturgy. Ruby gave him one last trusting look before she flew away to her stitches, songs, and soliloquies.

[Viola Conda]

“If one could trace their lineage of a long ago history; root it through the ebb and flow of time, through the stream of life, and let its rapid waters grow your family tree, then the whole of Emprea could possibly trace itself to the roots of Heroes long ago: From mighty Fenris, to cunning Pavonis, to lithe Aspen, to stoic Caliban, to sly Cadia; a legacy of heroes who stood before the precipice of the darkness and cast forth a light so bright it extinguished the flames of the demons, routing them from these lands forever.

“Emprea’s History is a lesson of strength within oneself, and faith in the hope of a new day; a brighter day! And through these tales one truly may, if they find the courage, learn they too can aspire to be a hero!”

The audience of the Emprean theatre remained silent as Duffy captivated them with words, his oratory as the Narrator giving him the due respect of the honored role. The royal court, sitting upon a raised dais protected by several house guards and royal knights, was elevated to be at equal level with the thespian. The lower and middle class all shared the same seats with the nobility, and no seat was reserved in advanced, but tickets had long sold out. It was agreed upon by Duffy that in order to truly make the audience see their own virtues then they had to sit as one regardless of rank, title, or heritage, the strength of Emprea was unified by its people; all of them. They looked down upon the stage, the lights focusing upon the man as he lifted a hand upwards, drawing them in.

“Duty!” he roared, his hand gesturing to the mighty soldiers standing sentinel. “The tangible goals we set upon ourselves to ensure the betterment of ourselves. The knowledge and understanding that everything one does is with purpose to king,” his land lifted to the royal podium. “Country,” he lowered it to the masses. “And self!” he finished pointing to his own person.

“Honor,” he said with reverence. “It is the very definition of the ideal in the good of man. The affirmation to uphold oneself to a higher code of ethics despite the great troubles one must face. To look every obstacle in the eye and have the strength of self to overcome based upon their laurels. To act with humility, and grace, and fight with strength and courage!”

“Pride!” he shouted loudly to the amphitheater. “It is the word that describes the noble ideals of any man! His demeanor, his morals, and his very essence are defined in the convictions he holds true to his heart!” Each word he punctuated by hitting the small railing of his little podium, before grasping his heart, as if to rip it out and offer it freely to them to see his own mettle.

The crowd watched him with awe; no sounds came save the muffled sounds of shifting bodies. Everyone was captivated by the leader of the Tantalum as he smiled brightly to the good people of Emprea. When he felt the tension peak, he spoke again with the seriousness of a man who not only knew the truth, but would die to prove it.

“Duty, Honor, and Pride,” he said, suppressing the grin as several of the soldiers echoed those three words. He looked to the seal of the nation of Emprea, held aloft behind the throne of the King Horus. He was a giant of man with wild red hair, and his evening robes seemed to be too tight for his massive physique that put even the mighty Wolf Lord to shame. Duffy bowed to him respectfully, and lifted a hand for the king to finish the code of Emprea’s soldiery; the words each warrior speaks to transition from a citizen of Emprea, to a protector of Emprea. The king stood, understanding dramatic flair, or simply caught up in the theatrics of it all, but he lifted his hands up, his cape fluttering in the soft wind as his voice boomed over the crowd.

“THIS IS WHAT MAKES EMPREA GREAT!”

There was a roar of approval from the citizens of Emprea, cheers and applause as Duffy shrank and vanished from his podium to hide backstage. Viola looked to the man as he hobbled as fast as he could to get to the other side, the high of the emotions of pride masking his vanishing act and setting him up for the second podium where he would introduce Erissa’s character. The elf was already in her first of three outfits she would wear in the coming hours, and Viola nodded to her as she checked her outfit one last time.

She turned to see her heroes of Emprea all beam with pride, each one grinning brightly and eager to uphold the honor of Emprea and perform their duty to recruit as many people as possible. Viola smiled to them, giving them silent thanks for their efforts over the past weeks as she prepared for her spot to run in and save Rachel when the demon became too powerful for her.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Duffy roared into the crowd, whose voices raised again as the cheering thundered in the backroom. “The Tantalum and the Heroes of Emprea, in association with the Ixian Knights present: The History of Emprea!”

[Sagequeen]

I am the Lhamian Demon, terrifying and powerful, Erissa thought as she attempted to bolster herself in the face of horrid stage fright. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely read the lines carefully scribed on it. Though the people were quiet, the inevitable ambiance of a filled theater, coughs and shifting paper, babies’ piercing cries and the occasional muttering, filtered through to the wings where the high elf waited. She looked down at her costume, a few strategically placed strips of silk that, to her, seemed more fit for a bedroom than a stage. Her skin was somewhat covered in painted makeup to resemble a snake's scales.

“Imagine them in their underwear,” she mocked. “I might as well; so am I!”

“What was that?” Ruby asked, her demeanor completely changed. The woman was a tempest who somehow managed, in her harried presence, to order the chaos backstage instead of creating it.

“Nothing,” Erissa said, a weak smile on her face. Ruby readjusted the elf’s silk costume without regard to what it covered.

“Don’t want you popping out,” she said lightly, “though that might inspire more than a few soldiers.” She gave Erissa a wry smile. “Remember: you are an enchantress, a temptress, and there are none that can stand before you! Now, go break a leg.” And with that, the silver-haired actress was off again to make last minute preparations. Erissa looked apprehensively after her as she reviewed the blocking with a group of extras.

Duffy’s fiery narrative was drawing to a close, and Erissa took several steps forward, just out of the sight of the crowd. It was time for her grand entrance among the gently rolling hills, bespeckled with wildflowers, and lovely trees, green and thriving. Every last piece of it was made with painted wood, cloth, and thick paper, and she felt equally as counterfeit as the set. Regardless, Erissa stepped forward in the gait she had practiced in her room during the hours at night she could not manage sleep.

Each step was deliberate, beguiling in its painfully enrapturing slowness, and her head began a sonorous sway that undulated through her body with serpentine flair. A faint, dark mist wreathed the demon enchantress and languidly trailed behind her. She cast a haughty glance at the lands around her, then out across the audience, her eyes passing above them as if surveying a tranquil valley.

The demon grinned and raised a slender arm toward a tree nearby. To the gasps of the audience, it immediately caught fire, propelled by cloth leave that were soaked in a mildly combustible liquid.

“This land will burn, will writhe with glorious suffering at the hand of my master,” she seethed, her voice amplified and menacing. The land depicted behind her began to smolder and the wisps of smoke rose quickly in the cool evening air. The acrid quality of it as it drifted among the people gave substance to the effigy on stage. The enchantress began a spell-song, an eerie lay that evoked despair and fright in all who heard it, sending ripples of apprehension through the crowd.

“The Lhamian Demon approaches!” Duffy’s clear voice rang across droves of the enthralled, “She burns and kills in the name of corruption, without regard to gender or age! Who will stand against her might? Who, in the name of duty and honor, will rise up against this cruel threat to humanity?” On cue, a small cadre of soldiers charged onto the stage, weapons at the ready. Erissa faltered; the flames grew unexpectedly and the heat of them scorched her through the makeup that covered her arm. She glanced behind her, keeping in character as she bellowed with raucous laughter. In the wings, the elementalists quietly calmed the flames that threatened to spread to the curtain and create a very real disaster.

“Is this the best that this land can muster?” the enchantress demanded. The first of the heroes, dressed in shining armor, gave a fierce war cry before he dashed at her. The demure figure bent forward slightly, bringing her fingers to her mouth. She blew him a kiss, the flickering black mist enveloping it as it floated toward him. The miasma encircled his armored head like a dark halo, and he stopped in his tracks, just feet away from the temptress. The soldier’s sword and shield dropped to the ground with an ominous clatter, and he dropped to his knees, shuffling forth in pitiful supplication.

“Please, Mistress,” he cried, his voice a lament of desire. The Lhamian Demon caressed his cheeks lovingly, sending a shudder of enrapturement through him. A moment later, she gripped his head and lifted him from the ground. He thrashed violently, but his blows were nothing but an annoyance to her. A hellish scream tore from the demon's throat as her mouth gaped open. From his face, frozen in horror, a blinding light commenced, presumably the man’s soul. The temptress drank it in, then dropped his lifeless body to the floor.

“Great gods!” a man cursed softly from the wings, “how does she do that?”

“Pffft,” his fellow thespian replied. “It’s all smoke and mirrors.”

“No,” a third whispered. “She’s telekenetic, and she can control energy, or at least I heard someone say. That on top of healing that ‘Wolf Lord,’ or some such thing.”

“That’s unnatural,” grumbled the first man, and the second shrugged as they watched Erissa’s display with great interest.

On stage, Erissa spoke in a voice enhanced by her spell singing and raised her arms. At her malicious command, the energy around her become thicker, and it pulsed as she reveled in a seductive dance. The men, by ones and twos, were drawn to her dance of death as moths to a flame, and they were engulfed by her sickly-sweet aura. With her paper-mache claws, she dispatched each with a wicked thrash, the bloody scene augmented by bladders of thick red liquid, popped and sprayed at perfectly timed junctures.

Those who were stronger-willed remained, and they charged the demon in full force. Her haze-like energy enveloped them and befuddled their senses. Two of the men began viciously fighting each other. Erissa twirled fleetly aside one of the blades in the thicket of them trained on her. She passed among them as water through river rocks and grabbed the hilt of the blade in her spin. Before the disarmed man could move, she was behind him. The demon relished as she cut across his belly and spilled his guts down to his thighs.

That looks entirely too real, Erissa thought distractedly as she watched the entrails of gods knew what animal leak from the ruptured pouch concealed in his costume. The soldiers wheeled around to face her again, and as they had rehearsed countless times, engaged in a melee that saw the elf parry with speed and skill exaggerated by their slow movements.

By the end of it, the demon had two swords, and a pile of bodies lay at her feet. She shouted her victory for all to hear. The crowd hissed and booed as she raised one of the dead by the hair and prepared to take his head.

“You will pay for these lives, demon!” The enchantress’ head whipped around to the fair source of the threat, and there she saw a figure that, to her eyes, was wreathed with the purity that was a direct affront to the corruption she harbored. Rachel, in the guise of the illustrious Lady Aspen, stepped forward, wielding both sword and bow.

“I shall have yours,” Erissa hissed, emulating the hatred a demon would harbor for one so pure and innocent. She charged the newcomer who, with arrow nocked, took steady aim and released a powerful arrow. The demon darted to the side, avoiding it completely, and raised her swords as she prepared an attack. Lady Aspen met metal with metal, and to the Lhamian’s fury, shattered one of her ill-gotten swords.

In almost all regards it was a one-sided duel. The demon was far quicker than the human and on the offensive, but Lady Aspen was capable in defending. The clatter of real swords rang out across the people who cheered for the valiant Lady Aspen. The hero fought repeated to put space between her enemy and herself. With every chance she had, Lady Aspen fired an arrow at the demon, but the scaly skin repulsed them as if they were of no more substance than hollow reeds.

The demon enchantress hissed and leaped back, dissatisfied with her inability to dispatch the hero. She began a terrifying song that saw the very ground tremble with dark magic. All around her feet, flickering black flames rose in the form of a rune. As the temptress gathered her strength, Lady Aspen nocked another arrow that was imbued with her own, unadulterated magic. The audience released a massive cheer as the ameliorated arrow streaked across the stage. The flaming arrow caught the unwary demon directly in the chest, knocking her back several feet. Erissa's dark aura evaporated as she lay stricken for a few moments. She had been a split second too late shielding herself, and the magic arrow hurt more than it should have.

"Back to the depths with you, demon," Lady Aspen said with finality. She turned theatrically, scanning the imaginary battle that raged just off stage. With the quickness of a striking serpent, the Lhamian Demon launched herself from the ground and at the hero's vulnerable back. Yet another warrior, clad in shining armor, leapt between them and brandished an impressive sword. The demon was taken aback and hissed venomously. Her eyes narrowed to wicked, black slits.

"We shall meet again." The temptress laughed wildly as she darted across the stage.

[Duffy]

With an edifice of chaos emblazoned across the stage, Ruby advance into David King’s guard. Whilst the drama of one scene faded, it erupted anew in hers. Her sword struck his, and hers recoiled to defend his counter blow. The fury of her speed, mixed with the aggression in his stance served to kick the audience into a new, and wondrous frenzy of adoration.

“You dare show your face?” King roared.

They heckled, booed, and cried with every motion. They screamed with disgust at the first blow, as it cut across the demon Ruby’s cheek to trickle flour and grape juice. To the crowd, she had suffered a grave injury.

“Your blade cannot harm me, Pavonis!” she bellowed.

“Foolish woman. Your corpse will be a thousand arraignments for a thousand debauchee festivals.” David’s words echoed through his mask, and slowly, man and beast became as one.

“Never!” Ruby screamed. “Lay it down now, to save the moon from witnessing such weakness.”

Pavonis snarled behind his mask, releasing a vial of spit that sprayed over his opponent.

In the wings of the stage, Lilith hopped up and down with joy. Every part of the costume was working perfectly with Duffy’s props. When the hushed rumour that someone in the crowd had fainted at the realism, her excitement reached fever pitch.

“I will kneel to no man as weak, as feeble, and fetid as you, Pavonis.” Ruby stepped sideways, dodged the well-rehearsed blow, and brought her sword down onto David’s arm.

She twisted it at the last second, as Viola had shown her, and slapped his wrist with the flat edge of her sword. Though it was blunt, and she pulled her blow, the contortion of the demon mask was real enough to tell Ruby that David would find bruises come the morning. He snarled, retreated, and rolled his sword arm in a full loop.

“The weak are forced to grow stronger,” the demon smirked.

Stage direction told Ruby to duck. A hail of arrows whistled overhead. On cue, a trio of minions emerged stage right, left, and up from the floor. The roars of surprise drowned out the clunky rope work of the hastily prepared lifts.

“The metaphor implies,” she spat, “that one grows stronger by oneself.”

She held out her blade and span slowly. Her head was beginning to hurt from trying to recall the overly ornate choreography. As per Viola’s wish, however, Duffy had gone beyond convention to make every scene of the play as real as possible.

“You lured me here, knowing I would not refuse your cry…” She smiled with a cruel malefic.

Her cheeks connected with two small switches inside the mask. This caused her costume to whine, smoulder, and dance with fire. She came alive with her fury, like a comet falling to earth.

“Is this all you could muster, ‘demon king’?” she cackled.

Pavonis replied only with a wave of his sword. As he moved it through the air, the trio of minions began to advance. The crowd booed.

“What more do I need to do away with you?”

Heavy boots padded across the planks and splintered the supports in convenient places. One of the minions stomped hard on a square switch on the stage’s surface, triggering something that would fall perfectly into place in due course.

Ruby turned. A sword strike to her left, right, and behind snicker snacked with Vorpal precision. Two minions fell in the first barrage. She ducked, rolled, and spiralled through a medley of skinless attempts to end her life.

“An army grander than this!” she roared mid-spin.

With every blow against her armour, Ruby’s costume danced with inner light. The choreography connected blade with ribbon, so that chunks of her costume fell away with every movement, revealing ichor and gemstones that mirrored the demon’s otherworldly nature. To the crowd, she looked as if she were being beaten black and blue.

Ruby pretended to stumble. When her two enemies advanced, like hyena on a fallen prey, she lunged. She pirouetted through a hellfire flourish to embed her sword so deep into final minion’s spine it protruded from his back.

“An eternal, gibbering, iterant horde!” she screamed. She leant in along her blade and kissed the corpse’s cheek with a lolling and serpentine tongue.

In reality, she had severed only paper, and cut through empty air. Each blow, with Duffy’s guidance was placed just so. The crowd oozed and aahed with wonderment. The bodies hit the floor, leaving one minion and the demon king to stand against her fury.

“I under estimated you,” Pavonis mused.

He advanced slowly, each step a thunderclap through the sudden silence. The legend of this play, after all, was into the citizenry since birth. They knew the ebb and flow of everything that happened, but somehow, blind devotion had erased it temporarily from their memory. The coming twist and turns were new to them, and it enthralled them utterly.

“Enough of this. I am done toying!” Ruby roared. She levelled the sword to David’s neck. He shook his head. “I will not stop at your minion’s neck, mark my words.” On cue, her dress smouldered a little more, releasing a plume of red smoke from beneath the sweat-riddled hem.

With a flash of fire, two balls of searing fire flew from the tip of her sword.

The spell served only to knock Pavonis and his minion to their feet. There was a good deal of showmanship, well-timed tumbled, and mocking groans to give the impression the wounds were fatal. Pipes woven through the crowd released the acrid smell of burnt flesh (over done sausages) to bring them one-step closer to the hell-fire.

As Pavonis crashed onto the stage, he let his own magical blade come to life.

It darted at her exposed chest as she recovered. One final prop, carefully stitched into the erratic peaks and droughts of her breastplate by Erissa triggered. A small blade tip, a pop-up of paper and foil, erupted from her spinal cord. To the untrained eye, Lord Pavonis had simply shot his blade straight through the hellish scales of his enemy. Ruby cried, whelped, and screamed with the fury of ages, just to put the point across.

The crowd flinched. Still she rose, full of pain and hatred.

“You have bested me, witch,” he spat. He slouched, gargled, and writhed. “End it, lest you wish to torment me some more?” His wry smile sent a shiver down Ruby’s spine. The mask and its intricate workings were a little too real for the matriarch to bear.

With her sword raised, she placed one foot on one chalk mark, and her other on the cross next to it. She leant on the cross, and felt her weight give when something beneath the floor panel clicked. She roared, to cover the sound, and made to end the man’s life with as much dramatic flair as she could muster. The crowd, audibly silent, held on to the moment with baited breath. In the play, and thus, in the legend that gave birth to their lines, this was a pivotal moment.

In Ruby’s history as a performer, she would remember this as a moment for an altogether different reason. When the arrow struck her in her right side, it was the most painful sacrifice she had made in the name of art. It felt, quite literally, as if her ribs had cracked. Erissa had promised to temper the blow, and Duffy had told her only superficial wounds would result at worst. When she flew sideways, their promises meant nothing.

The crowd roared.

Pavonis, gobsmacked, pushed himself upright.

“What trickery is this?” he asked, directing the question over the stage through the fourth wall.

“Here comes Rachel, run!” the crowd roared.

Ruby span on a heel, clocked eyes with her rival, and brought her blade up to split her mask in two halves. The right eye glowed with red flame, and the left flowed with blue lightning. Eldritch power coursed through her veins, and something impossible with mere stage misdirection lived through the troupe’s magical heritage.

The crowd, in disbelief, dropped their collective jaws.

“We have to work together, for the greater good!” the archer roared at Pavonis.

Ruby took a deep breath. She wavered to the edge of the stage. The tips of her toes hung over the planks and she hovered for just long enough to cause the crowd to doubt their knowledge of the scene.

“I will not become a memory,” she whispered. Her magical mask projected her voice so that it whispered into everyone’s minds, saving her the need to bellow it through the air. The sun danced, the lights dimmed, and with a flash of overly dramatic smoke, she vanished from view.

The uproar was thunderous.

[Viola Conda]

The enraptured crowd cheered as the scene ended, Pavonis joining the group of growing human resistance. The smoke cleared by carefully planted magi of the wind, their fingers weaving away the smoke and lowering it to a misty like state. The stage lights turned a murky red and green fitting for a swamp. The hushed whispers of children and adults alike created a sense of wonder as Erissa’s character returned, rising upwards from the clouds of wonder like a banshee, shrieking.

“Those foolish mortals!” She cried to the audience. “All of them shall be destroyed by my hands! I have lived far too long to be outdone by a mere human! I will shatter their frail bodies and feast upon their souls!” Her hands created a glittering ball of white light, the orb slowly morphing and contracting in size, the perfect representation of a the psyche of mortals. She absorbed the light with a slurping motion, her tongue licking the air when she finished, eyes fluttering in ecstasy. As she looked to the rising moon, her arms reached outwards, as if clawing to the sky.

The demoness’ body began to change, smoke rising around her form obstructing Lillith as she sped across the stage in a low crouch. Her hands held the pins to clamp on the second outfit for Erissa’s demon, and her mouth clamped down the final touches of the robe. With speed she moved in the darkness, the rising smoke pushing a stage elevator up. With practiced ease Lillith knitted the garment to Erissa’s dress, hooking up the final pieces in place before falling backwards with her arms crossed to be caught by Donovan and David underneath the stage as Viola and Ruby shut the door quickly.

“All of this land will tremble at my wrath,” Erissa spoke, her mask amplifying her voice easily, her appearance truly monstrous. Her chest and arms were the same, face still fair and beautiful. Yet her hips were swallowed in robes and wraps, pinned together by scales of netting to make the appearance of a snake. The audience gasped at how truly real Erissa looked like a Naga of legend, and Erissa took her elongated nails, clicking them at the audience and enjoying her terror over them.

“Are you so sure?” A voice echoed in the mists. Erissa’s character looked confused, eyes searching as she turned. She closed her eyes, her tongue licking the air. She hissed loudly, coiling up to her full height, easily capping over seven feet tall. “Your performance earlier, along with the flame-kin’s failure has given me reason to doubt you.”

The audience looked for this new comer as well, Duffy excellently keeping to form as he too searched for who was speaking. Erissa at last let out a self-satisfied giggle, lowering her form and darting with lighting speed at a spot in the shadows, her clawed hands outstretched. There was the unmistakable pop of metal on metal, and a collective call of alarm shocked the audience as the smokes quickly dispersed revealing the herald. A pair of twin swords were locked in an ‘x’ form to keep the claws of Erissa away, a swath of red robes covering the face of the one who stood before a demon.

“And so the Demon King sends out his hound,” Erissa spoke, her words softly slurring the ‘s’ sound in all her speech. It wasn’t overpowering how she did it, but tantalizing and suggestive. Perfect for a second form of true transformation. Ruby had really done her work well.

“He has,” the man said plainly. “I, the herald of King Razial, have taken to the field of battle to alert you that the humans are massing. You and the Flame-kin are to return to the castle in Caliban. In the off chance the humans amass an army, you two will be needed there.”

“He is over reacting!” Erissa spat. “I can just as easily-“ her words, though hostile and full of venom, commanding in every aspect, had been cut off by a bestial roar. It’s fury had sent trapped birds into flight as the cages opened, giving the impression of a truly evil thing, and the Naga-demonette looked to the sky in a troubled manner.

“As you can tell, the King’s patience is running thin.” The hound said with little emotion. “I will keep an eye on the front lines that are forming. Return to him,” he said with finality, walking towards the opposite stage end, his smaller frame dwarfed by the Naga that coiled around him, but did not trap him. “Now.”

With a shriek of annoyance the naga sped off stage and out of the scene as the hound stood just at the precipice of the end of the stage. He let out a wolfish smile, lowering his hood to reveal a wolf’s head mask. “I cannot hide my elation at the prospect of hunting again. I will find the soul of the one they call the Berserker King, and take his head to my master as proof the human resistance is dead.”

The crowd booed at the thought of the main character being killed, and Duffy let them get their tension out before he spoke, the scene changing drastically in the dark as the light shown upon the thespian. “Trouble had been brewing for a long time against the first Berserker King. Rightly so I might add. For to challenge the Demon King Razial was surely to invite doom and darkness into your mind. And as the Hound proclaimed, he enjoyed his hunt, darting through the land, killing off anyone in his way as he sped off in pursuit of the only human who could challenge the king of the demon horde.”

The stage flashed reds as Arden’s shadow casted long against the white backdrop, illuminating the image of cut flesh. All along the stage the amplified sound of meat being cut into painted a grisly picture, and Arden’s laughter made the whole scene otherworldly and evil. Total captivation had been achieved again as Duffy spoke up, the backdrop changing yet again as the scene changed.

“It wasn’t long before the Hound found his prey. Off the Medusa River was a small clearing the Berserker King stood at, looking to his own reflection. He had left the company of Pavonis and Aspen after recently acquiring the aid of another general who fought against the demons. He was Lord Cadia, and the men he brought with the Berserker King created a resistance that could actually stand up to the Demon throng! Yet before he took the mantle of command, the Berserker King wanted to know if he was truly worthy of commanding all of these people. It was in this ravine the Berserker King met the Hound…”