February 2016 Vignette

[Cards of Fate]

It's the time of year! Your character has received a mysterious love note from a secret admirer(or their current lover, your choice) and is asked to meet for a date! How does this romantic evening pan out?

Go wild with this one and feel free to spin it any which way you want! Deadline for this will be the March 2nd.

[Raithwell]

On the eastern shores of Corone, tucked away in a small inlet, one can find a certain poor fishing village. And within that fishing village, a cracked and dying husk of the place it once was, one can find the remains of a burnt down shack. Even in its heyday the shack would have been nothing special to look at, but to someone who knew better, the echoes of warmth and happiness could be seen as fleeting glimpses in the shadows. Erik Raithwell, standing unseen in the center of these ruins, was fully immersed in those echoes.

As a spirit, Erik himself was nothing but the glimmering echo of thought and memory, tied to the world through bonds of emotion that he himself didn’t understand. Nothing in the cold, hazy world of the Anti-Firmament had given him any sense of purpose, and sense of comfort in the existence after life with which he was now tormented. When even death served no purpose, what was the point of anything? Why continue on? Why not let life and time pass by him like the flow of a river over a stone, gently, inexorably drawing the substance away from him until he was nothing but a forgotten remnant?

Erik sighed, or at least went through the motion. He had no lungs with which to heave, and the Anti-Firmament lacked the air to breathe even if he did have them. But old habits die hard, as the saying went. Something of which he was definitive proof. Besides, he knew, the heavy dragging thoughts of apathy which hung around him was nothing but the coaxing urge of his shadow. The whispered voice wrapped doubt and depression around him like so many chains, seeking to weigh him down into nothingness just as the roiling sea had all those years ago.

That’s why he had returned to this place of misery and decay which had once been a home. His home. Sometimes, when his shadow’s words became too unbearably real it was necessary to ground himself in the good things of his past. The golden vigor of his memories which drew down the spite, sealing it back behind a mental dam where the shadow’s work would have to start anew.

Erik no longer remembered how he’d been standing in his old home. Time didn’t mean much to him anymore and fatigue was, thankfully, a thing of the past. And it’s not like there was much else in the way of foot traffic through the charred corpse of this beaten hovel. Smiling at the thought, Erik walked around, passing silent and unseen through the rubble. He could take however long he needed to fight back his dark desires, and he’d be no danger to himself or others in the process.

It was then, as he was remembering the honey-sweet scent of his wife Anastasia’s hair, which somehow never seemed touch by the salty rot smell that permeated everything else in this Thayne-forsaken village, that his eye caught something amiss in the rubble. Bending down, Erik searched out the thing that had caught his eye.

Sure enough, caught in the mud beneath the cracked floorboards, there was something solid and tarnished. The sensation of catching his breath returned to Erik’s mind as he recognized what it was. A small brass locket which Anastasia had given to him, but that he always left at home when he’d gone out fishing. He hadn’t wanted the salt spray of the sea to tarnish it any more than the air of the fishing village already did.

And now it was here, right in front of him. It must have somehow slipped through the cracks and been preserved from the fire which had burned the shack by the mud beneath the floors. Now, time and the elements had given it another chance to come into his life. Or death. Or unlife, as the case may be.

Time once again faded into the background as he worked to free the locket, a blur of light and motion that meant little to the wraith. His ability to reach across into the Firmament was limited, and the process was arduous, but it’s not as if Erik had any pressing deadlines to meet. Finally, slowly, the locket slipped free of its muddy embrace and rose back through the cracked floorboards which had shielded it for so long.

Erik smiled to himself as he let it fall to the floor before exerting what effort he could to turn it over and about. He studied the thing, his mind easily brushing away the years of neglect to coax out the inner-beauty of the thing, the portion of him that was his love reacting to bring what little sensation of warmth to his incorporeal form that he could manage. Then, with a whisper of force, Erik pressed the latch which had opened the locket.

It still worked, much to the wraith’s surprise. The two halves of the brass snapping apart to allow a small folded piece of paper to fall to the floor. Surprised, Erik’s attention wavered and the locket slipped to the side, once more sliding down a sloped crack in the burnt wood. Cursing, Erik reached for the locket only to have his hand stop in mid-air, only a scant bit from the paper which now lay exposed to the world. There hadn’t been anything in the locket when he’d left it at home, he knew that. The small etching of Anastasia that he normally kept inside was always taken with him when he left the locket at home, riding safe in his pocket. At least as safe as something now on the bottom of the sea could be, he supposed. What then was this paper that had been inside his locket?

Exerting the same fraction of effort that he’d used to retrieve the locket, Erik opened and flattened the folded parchment. His eyes scanned the parchment and for the first time in ages he was glad that he had no breath, for fear that he’d have lost it at the sight of the words on them. It was a note from Anastasia.

“My sweetest love,” the note said in Anastasia’s achingly familiar hand-writing. “Celeste and I do so miss you every day that you are gone. When you next you return and read this, remember always how much we think of you. Celeste has been going on and on about the picnic that she has planned for you. I won’t tell her that I told you if you don’t.”

Erik’s ethereal body jerked hard with the phantom echoes of lost grief, and only the fact that he lacked tears kept the yellowed paper from being dissolved under an avalanche of sobs. Seizing the opportunity, Erik’s shadow pressed against his consciousness whispering dark, satin words. Only this time Erik found it easier to ignore. The shadow hissed an oily hiss and redoubled its efforts, only for Erik to take hold of his grief and brush it aside, slamming the doors of his mind’s cell closed upon the darkness.

Erik was a creature of pure thought and emotion, after all, and grief was one of the purest, strongest emotions. Feeling the waves of grief and love and loss wash over him, Erik stood, once again filled with the will and vigor to continue his existence, and departed his ruined abode. Behind him, the worn note caught in an errant breeze and drifted away, off to sea, to be once more with its love.

[Flames of Hyperion]

Come to me, the note read, in characters from the far side of the world. I wait for you.

He’d recognised the graceful script, a bittersweet pang of nostalgia stabbing his heart. He’d recognised the trap. He hadn’t cared.

Now an avalanche of solid white thundered down upon his head. Tonne after tonne of Berevaran snow hammered upon his gaunt form, pummelling him deeper into the darkness at his feet with every torrential wave. The scrap of fibrous parchment tore from his grasp, just another fragment of soul wrenched from his body and cast aside like so much rotten refuse. Held helpless in a coffin of frigid white, he could do nothing to save it.

The weight of a dozen years of solitude and forlorn hope pressed down upon his chest. Buried alive in the latest of a long line of failures, he couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe.

With every contorted spasm, tendrils of chill invaded his limbs. With every failing heartbeat the invidious anodynia numbed his thoughts and suffused his spirit. Give in. Let yourself go, it whispered, reassuring, sympathising with his pain. She waits for you, it promised, willing him towards the only warmth he would find in these wastelands: his dreams.

Don’t be ridiculous, he sighed back, the words like a flanged flail through his fading thoughts. Why do you think I’m here?

In his mind’s eye he remembered her as she bid him farewell at the markets of Naniwa. Her hair spilled silky-fine and straight over her shoulders and upon her elegant robes. Her eyes glimmered with kind intelligence. The hint of a sad smile played around her lips.

An oriflamme of white fire erupted from the snowbank, shattering the stormy night. In a single brilliant stroke it sundered the obese clouds overhead, exposing to the naked eye a sprinkling of bright stars and a veil of coruscant aurora. The young man climbed from the hole in the ground thus created, rising through a cloud of hissing steam into a field of flash-frozen crystals. Where once gale winds had howled, driving before them needles of biting snow, now only a deafening silence reigned.

Until broken by slow applause.

“Impressive,” a daemon spoke, rolling its many tongues around sarcasm that bit as deep as the winter chill. Each and every thunderclap of its house-sized hands set the mountain peaks to shivering at the risk of further avalanches.

“A fool,” said a second, indicating its prey with a dainty flick of its bejewelled wrists. Who but a fool would waste such arcane potential on creating crystals? Who but a fool would travel Berevar alone in the depths of winter?

“Half dead,” a third slobbered. Acidic drool hissed and snarled in the ice at its clawed feet, birthing curls of acrid vapour that solidified mid-air. Putrid fumes wafted from its amorphous form. Pustulent scabs burst with every ambling movement.

“Weak of body. Weak of mind. Weak of spirit,” spat a fourth, dispensing with the veil of civility projected by the first. Lacquered plate armour, as black as any abyssal void, swallowed whole what few snowflakes dared to stray close to its person.

A fifth and final shadow loomed over the rest, blackening the snow in malevolent presence. Once upon a time, its serrated talons had torn young Kenta limb from limb. Its horns of gleaming ivory had gutted Enishi and strewn his entrails across the flaming Academy courtyard. Its barbed tail had skewered Meiji through his wailing mouth and made him dance in his death throes for the amusement of its underlings. How many more young students had it slaughtered during the Night of Nefarious Flame? How many brave warriors had fallen beneath its wrath on the fields of Nenaebreth?

Natosatael din’Pholoris, the Unbound, Prince of Infernal Light, chuckled in tolerant bemusement. Its voice, molten lava cocooned in honey, moulded the very landscape to heady power.

“Now, now, my fellows four. Remember that he is but mortal, and thus prone to haste and ineptitude. Remember that he is but young, and thus fallible in matters of the heart. Remember that he is a hero, and thus cannot help but sally forth when his damsel beckons.”

The daemon prince smiled, baring filed fangs and forked tongue in a gesture of supreme menace. As one, its subordinates duplicated the gesture.

“For twice standing in my path, his life is forfeit and mine to claim. Let Ancient and Star and Thayne alike bear witness. We will throttle their champion, their dawnbringer, their chosen saviour, with the noose of his own meaningless love. We will--”

“... can’t... tell me...”

Battered and broken, frozen and forlorn, the young man staggered forth from his grave. Wisps of white flame blossomed into life around him, one after another, until the wings of the phoenix cocooned him from the cold wastes and the daemons that inhabited it.

“You can’t tell me that,” he repeated, his voice a hoarse rasp grating against the walls of his throat. Grimy nails, bitten to the quick, dug bloody pits into his frostbitten palms. “Harbouring feelings for somebody... whether they might reciprocate them... whether they might not ... there’s meaning enough... in that alone.”

Not bad for an excuse, wouldn’t you say?

His words rippled empty, hollow, a single raindrop in the Roiling Seas. The daemon prince’s smile only broadened.

“I hear the howling of a defeated dog, my fellows four.” Ophidian irises hardened, adamantine forged in Haidian heat but quenched in the depths of the Berevaran winter. “Show us, then, this meaning you speak of. Show us, then, your strength.”

Natosatael hissed its last syllable, a daemonic cry to arms. Its four subordinates leapt forth, defiling the pristine snow with their passage. At the edge of the crystal-strewn crater, in the midst of a snow-strewn wasteland, one young man stood his ground.

Out here, at least, he could cause no collateral damage.

Out here, at least, he could not hurt her.

[Breaker]

The Fallieni sands sparkled by the light of twelve torches set on long staves, each held by a nude woman tattooed to represent a phase of the moon. The eclipse had settled in absolute solidity and with it single combat began. A trial fought as Suravani conquered the sun could only be won by one noble of cause. The great shaman stepped to the centre of the ring first, slipping his finger through the knuckleduster grips of his long, heavy-bladed knife and sliding it from the sheathe. The Coronian, the man they called the Granite Phantom, stepped to middle to meet the shaman. He bore no weapon, but anyone in Suravani's Oasis who bothered to leave the tent knew that mattered nought.

Joshua "Breaker" Cronen stopped in front of the scarred and tattooed older man, who wore only a loincloth and a hardened horseleather codpiece. These people really don't like clothes, he finally decided. Most of the sixty or so onlookers, including the female chieftain and her retainers, wore no more than the shaman. Some wore less. I understand it's hot here, Cronen thought, but with the sun blocked it's cold as night, and I'd think the shaman at least would wear some armor. He wore only a lightweight pair of white kimono pants himself, but the accompanying jacket had been torn up in his earlier scuffle with the griffin. And he had armor in his bones, his muscles, and his skin. The shaman had only his knife and his codpiece.

"I give you one last chance," the shaman roared, more for the crowd than for Josh, "beg Suravani's forgiveness and leave this place at once and I will spare your life!" Veins spasmed in his cheeks and spittle sprayed from his lips.

"I came here to recruit an army, and I must have them." Cronen replied simply. "And I'll take all volunteers!" He roared for the crowd. They responded with a cheer even louder than they'd given the shaman's threats.

With a scream of rage and ferocity the shaman leapt and struck. He swung high-to-low across a forty-five degree angle, aiming for the bridge of Breaker's nose.

Josh stepped backwards and bowed his spine, feet digging into the sand as the blade passed overhead. His core muscles responded like steel springs and sucked him up in the knife's wake. His forearm struck the shaman's shoulder, sending the blade flying. His hands encircled the arm and he stepped past and reaped with a leg, and sat the shaman down in the sand. He raised an empty hand for a finishing blow, and the moon let a sliver of sunlight free.

It lasted less than a second. There was light from above and then only darkness, and then light again and then dark, a rapid flickering that set the onlookers in a frenzy. No one had seen nor heard of Suravani behaving so erratically, and they attributed it to the duel at hand.

Cronen paused with his fist drawn back, his other hand and one leg pinning the shaman by his neck and chest. The flickering was not entirely erratic. It followed a sequenced code Cronen had used to communicate with certain Ranger sympathizers in Radasanth during the Corone War. Within ten seconds it had spelled out thirteen letters; I still need you.

Breaker struck, and the shaman fell dead in the sand.

Lightning flashed and thunder crashed and rainclouds appeared to deluge the oasis.

The crowd went mad; most of them had never seen such a torrent rainstorm. They raced about, embracing one another or weeping for the loss of their shaman. The chieftain was conferring with her counselors, no doubt discussing the merits of the shaman's apprentices as replacements.

Ama'leh appeared for Breaker's eyes alone, the figure of a woman carved out of air by plummeting raindrops.

I cannot stay here in Suravani's land, she spoke hurriedly in his mind, as breathless as a Goddess could be, but I can take you with me. I need you now, come home...

"I can't," Breaker said to no one. Ama'leh was already gone.

[SirArtemis]

Meet me at Daros’ tonight after work. I have plans for us.

Yours,
Jay

The letter still smells of lavender and it drives me mad. I have been with her for years and still she makes my heart flutter and my lips curl up in a smile. Seeing her face is one of the most pleasant things I can think of, and yet it is such a simple thing. It’s already late afternoon, so I arrive at Daros’ lawn as she asked. I pocket the letter and look around. “Hi Daros,” I say, noticing him sitting on the steps with a transparent mug of multicolored liquid within. “What are you drinking?”

“Oh nothing,” he says. “Believe me, you wouldn’t want to try this no matter what I tell you. This stuff is vile.” He brushes the hair out of his eyes and stands up, the brown strands falling back down to frame his glasses. “Waiting for Jay?” he asks.

“She told you?” I say looking over at him.

“Well her plans wouldn’t work without me, so yes.” He winks at me and gives me a knowing smile. I just shake my head. This can’t be good; it never is when Daros is involved. Jay arrives soon after, wearing a lovely fitted floral dress and a pair of boots with an attractive heel. Her silver hair is pulled up in a pony tail and a touch of makeup lines her eyes. The lavender skin contrasts sharply with the silver streaks, bringing out her vibrant blue eyes. I shake my head again, but this time instinctively. I still can’t believe a woman as lovely as her has fallen for me. However cliché it may be, I feel like one of the luckiest guys out there, and I’ve fallen for her. And underneath that beauty is both an incredibly loving person and a dangerous fighter.

“You look lovely, darling,” I say to her. She walks over to me and we share a kiss and embrace. The lavender again. “So what is this plan you have for us?”

“A surprise” she says, giving me one more kiss and releasing me. “Daros, the preparations?” With her comment, Daros steps into his home and comes out with a picnic basket, setting it down on the stairs. She walks over, picks it up, and comes back over to me, looping her arm through mine. “Alright, ready!” Meanwhile, I have no idea what’s happening and stand there as Daros sets down his mug and waves his hands. Next thing I know, I’m experiencing the ever-familiar bodily warping of teleportation magic and a moment later we’re plopped down who knows where.

Jay lets go of me and sets down the basket. As she opens the lid, a magical transparent dome surrounds us. I kneel down, grazing my hand along the ground and recognize the familiar sand of Fallien. “Where are we?” I ask. The air was crisp and cool a moment ago but now tastes a bit warmer. I imagine it’s due to the magic.

“We are atop Graxis’ lair on the Zaileya Mountains. After your recent escapades, I had this small flat patch of rock cleared out by Lord Davian and filled with the softer sand from the desert. I had this idea for us that we could come here one night and just be alone, away from it all, beneath the stars.” I watch her reach into the basket and pull out a rolled up sheet. With a flick, it rolls out and inflates into foam that’s a few inches thick. “And now that I have you all to myself . . .” As she finishes I watch her fingertips wrap around the edges of her dress, peeling it up and revealing the majestic physique below.

I know every nook and cranny of her body. I know every pore, every wrinkle, and every curve. I know the taste of every inch of her. And even with the warm air within our little dome, I still get the chills. “Leave the boots on,” I say quietly with a smirk.

She walks over to me, lowering me down onto the foam pad and beginning to kiss my ear. “I was planning on it,” she whispers, starting to undo my clothes. I look past her, for just a moment, and far above I see the vast glory of the starry skies encasing us with their watchful eyes. Her warm breath mingles with the dry air. Her nails will dig into me soon. I feel the foam envelop my back, softly caressing me as gently as Jay does from the front.

As she crawls on top of me, after peeling away the layers of my armor and underwear, we lay there together in a tight embrace. Her smooth, soft, and yet immensely strong thighs tighten around me as our lips press into one another. Her hair falls against my chest and tickles me softly. I close my eyes, letting the mix of the galaxies above and her celestial face stain my eyelids with divine beauty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, I lay here thinking. I remember when I was told by a dear friend that to be present was the greatest choice one could make. That to enjoy the moments of your life was the key to happiness, rather than waiting for all the right circumstances to fall into place. Jay is my anchor to the present. She reminds me to cherish the day, and I do. I cherish her, my friends, my life, and each breath I take. With each moment I share with her, our very essence mingling, I know I’m exactly where I belong: by her side.

[orphans]

Dear miss,

Ever since I saw you step off the mysterious white ship with black sails in Radasanth Harbor I could not stop thinking about you. Alas, I find myself at a loss for words whenever I imagine myself speaking to you face to face. Perhaps my courage would be more willing to aide me in a place of familiarity. If you are interested, the address is written upon the small card included inside this envelope. It will also let the service know you are welcome.

Forgive my selfish request especially to such a fair lady,
~R. K.

It was the third time Azza read the note as she stood before the Citadel with the sun circling high above. In front was the usual gathering of travelers and adventures from across the realm to prove their might or simply for the fun of it - a luxury that Azza couldn't afford. That and memories of prior experiences within made her shudder. Shaking the thought away, she slipped the small ornate address card out from the envelope and reviewed the delicate handwriting in gold ink.

Third Street off East Main Road by the Citadel. White building between Basket Bread Bakery and Amy's Armory. ~R.K.

A nagging suspicion told her that it would be a place of ill-repute as the establishments around the area tended to cater to the various needs of the Citadel patrons. Still, curiosity got the better of the girl and she set to wandering the busy streets. Azza was surprised at how quickly she found the white building between the bakery and armory despite the directions; being away for two years in Seoyruun had made the girl accustomed to streets arranged in grids.

Nothing outside indicated what sort of place it was aside from the heavy iron door with a bolted viewing slot. Drawing in a deep breath did little to calm Azza's nerves as she raised a fist to knock on the door. The slot immediately ground open and a pair of irritated, serpentine eyes roved around before settling on Azza's form. They lingered on her brown robes as a voice hissed out, "What do you want?"

What did she want? Other then sating her curiosity of who invited her, Azza had no other intentions. Not knowing what the establishment offered certainly hampered her ability to figure out if there was anything else she might show interest in. "I was invited," Azza replied finally as she held up the small card bearing the flowing script. The eyes narrowed for a moment before the slot slammed shut. Metallic scrapping and the sounds of a chain lock clacking made Azza wonder all the more about what she was getting into.

The door opened to reveal a rather well-dressed man that resembled more snake than human. He motioned to Azza then waited until she stepped in the small space. It instantly became more cramped when the door closed, barely fitting the two of them. After replacing the locks, the man was finally ready to look her over in the glow of the single light crystal overhead. His thin tongue flicked out briefly before he indicated for Azza to sit on the only chair she could see. As she did, the man opened another door leading further in and slipped through, but not before he yelled to her, "Stay right there!" The order made Azza frown as a cursory glance around the dimly lit chamber showed no other exits. Thankfully the wait was short and the second door opened fully as the snake man motioned for Azza to enter.

What Azza saw baffled her as she entered what looked to be an office of sorts. Non-humans of various types, all dressed in the same immaculate fashion as the snake man, chatted or played cards. Others were sorting through files and papers. As she was taking in the sight the snake man returned to his post and shut the door behind him. "Over here." Looking to see who had spoken, Azza caught sight of a minotaur motioning for her. She obliged. "Welcome to Creature Club, put this on," he grunted as he handed a small luminescent bracelet to Azza. "Once you're through the door behind me, someone will bring you to your inviter."

"Thank you," Azza began as she rolled the bracelet onto her wrist, "But what kind of place is this exactly?"

The minotaur laughed and jerked a thumb behind himself. "Why don't you see for yourself?" Azza frowned at the minotaur who only gave what seemed to be a smile. With a sigh, the girl shrugged her shoulders and strode for the door. "Oh, I almost forgot, no fighting. That's our only rule."

To say she was perplexed wouldn't even begin to describe how Azza felt. A multitude of different races mingling, most of which Azza had never seen, greeted her eyes as she stepped through the door. As it shut behind her, Azza watched a crowd some ways away dancing wildly to the overly loud music a band was playing upon the raised stage. The music itself carried a strange electric twang that Azza figured was due to the efforts of the singing mage upon the stage. At least she hoped it was because of him, otherwise the arcs of lightning lashing over the crowd from his body was extremely disconcerting.

A light tap on her shoulder brought Azza's attention to a lithe woman sporting a fan of antennae and four arms dressed in similar style to those who greeted her. "Follow me, please!" Despite the woman shouting, Azza could only vaguely make out what she said and returned with a nod. Allowing Azza to take one of her hands, the woman led the way to a room off to the side where the sound outside was dampened. "Here's your guest, Miss Kim."

"Thank you Ki-zi. I'm afraid I must bother you once more to fetch a drink for my visitor."

The fan of antennae danced atop the server's head as a giggle rippled through the air. "I'll getcha double the usual then."

As Ki-zi left, Azza found herself staring at her inviter in shock. A smile appeared on the woman's face as she flourished a hand to the seat opposite of herself. "Please sit. I had hoped you'd accept my offer, but I didn't actually think... well, you're here now." Azza took the seat but continued to stare, noting the elaborate details of the woman's long flowing dress of blues. Timid laughter rose from the woman. "Please, I'm not used to someone looking at me so intently."

"Oh- ah, sorry," Azza blurted out as she looked about the room they were in. Had she not known better, Azza would have guessed herself to be in the side booth of a high class restaurant of Radasanth's upper crust. The muffled sounds of music, cheering crowd, and the subtle vibration of movement told otherwise. Yet as Azza's gaze returned to the woman across from her, she couldn't help but say, "It's like looking into a mirror."

Rue chuckled softly. "I hope you don't think me too vain, calling you a fair lady then. They say that we all have a doppelganger somewhere." Another smile and the woman reached out with a hand. "A thousand apologies! My name is Rue Kim, might I be gifted yours?"

"I'm Azza o- uhm," the girl began but froze as she wondered how to proceed.

Rue chuckled again. "My, what a unique name."

Azza couldn't help but laugh as well. "Sorry. A lot of changes happened in my life recently, so I'm not entirely sure what I should call myself." After a quick hum of reflection, Azza reached out and took Rue's hand into her own. "I'm Azza Ambrose."

"A pleasure," Rue answered and let go as she settled into her seat again. Azza did the same just as Ki-zi returned with a large pitcher of amber liquid packed with ice and two cups. It took but a moment for Ki-zi to serve both their drinks while placing a small stack of napkins upon the table. With her task complete, Ki-zi gave a satisfied nod then took her leave. With a small sip to wet her lips, Rue then continued, "Now then, I'm sure you're curious as to why I invited you here." Azza nodded as she tasted the cold drink carefully. "I'm a little embarrassed to say, but I simply wanted to meet you."

Azza choked suddenly and sputtered on her drink. Rue swiftly rose and rounded the table to pat at Azza's back. A few coughs later and Azza was able to gasp out, "Thanks..."

"Did I say something strange?"

Azza shook her head as she looked up to the woman. "Just surprised."

"Oh?" Rue questioned with a small tilt of her head, letting her white hair slide across her shoulders.

A nervous laugh left Azza. "I mean, aside from a few details, it really does seem like I'm staring into a mirror when I look at you - even our height. Well, except you're much more elegant and, what's the word..."

"Developed?"

"Yes." Azza's eyes dipped for just a moment to Rue's chest before they bolted back to the lavender ones of her hostess. "No! I mean-"

But Rue was already giggling softly as she returned to her seat. "Well, there was one other reason. I thought you might have liked a place to feel welcome."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm sure you've noticed that no one here is what society at large would consider normal. Take me for example: the taloned wings of a dragon and horns sweeping back do not make most in the city comfortable."

It was Azza's turn to giggle. "It's a bother, isn't it?"

A dejected breath left Rue's lips. "I can't tell you the amount of pillows I've gutted while sleeping, how many innkeepers complain about torn sheets or bedding, and don't even get me started about my tail!"

----

Hours passed as the two women shared laughter and stories with one another. Before long, midnight arrived and the patrons of Creature Club left one by one with some going their separate ways, others in pairs, while a small boisterous group made for the Citadel. Azza and Rue continued their private conversation down a quiet street as the two strolled slowly towards Rue's residence. When the two stood outside the gates of the small house, Rue turned her gaze to Azza and took the girl's hands into her own. "Thank you for indulging my request to meet and then staying when you might have preferred to be elsewhere."

Azza grinned with a bit of bewilderment before shaking her head. "It's fine. I'm happy I decided to follow my curiosity and I certainly enjoyed myself."

There was a sigh of relief from Rue as she moved a step closer. "I'm glad. Excuse my forwardness, but might I invite you in for the night? It is rather late."

A spread of crimson colored Azza's cheek under the moonlight while her words fumbled in her mouth. "I should head back to my room at the inn..."

Disappointment tinged Rue's expression as the woman nodded in understanding yet moved closer still. "I see. Then, please forgive my daring." With the last word whispered Rue took another step towards the blushing girl and brought their faces closer. There was a moment of hesitance or perhaps Rue expected Azza to pull away, but she never did. Their touch of lips was brief and just as quickly Rue stepped back. "Good night, Azza."

As Rue's warm hands began to slip away from Azza's grip, she suddenly squeezed and tightened her hold. "I-it is a bit late, isn't it?"

Rue smiled then opened the latch to the gates.

[Cards of Fate]

Closed for judging

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Apologies for the wait in judging. I will be posting up a final decision on the winner by tomorrow. Let me tell you now - you have all been outstanding. It's going to be very hard to choose a winner!

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

I apologise for the wait in coming to a decision. It was a very close call!

Onto the results!

First place: SirArtemis

You start brilliantly with your opening paragraphs, bringing in all of your senses and using simplistic – but effective - description which hit with some quick emotional impact. I felt you also used the correct amount of dialogue in all of the right ways – everything flowed and really brought Daros and Jay to life, and nothing ever felt forced or out of place.

Overall, your writing was clean and tidy with no obvious spelling or grammatical errors. You used some excellent descriptions without ever going overboard. Great job, there. If I was going to nitpick a bit here (and it would be nitpicking), I would say that there was too quick a transition between the picnic and getting down to the dirty which made the end of the piece feel a bit abruptly arrived at. Perhaps it could have been a little more drawn out given the effort Jay went to in order to get you guys to the top of Graxis’s lair?

The one thing I give you the utmost credit for was sticking to the vignette theme – something that I felt others in the thread had fallen short of and something which you nailed from start to finish. Well done.

Second place: orphans

I enjoyed your opening very much and I felt it established a classic “anonymous admirer” situation and drew me into the story. The first few lines of dialogue were a little slow and threw the pacing off but made up for it later on in the piece when Rue introduces herself to Azza.

Again there was lots of nice description here; for instance, “Shaking the thought away, she slipped the small ornate address card out from the envelope and reviewed the delicate handwriting in gold ink.” Very few of your literary devices felt overwritten or unnecessary, and I think your only shortcoming was really the length of the piece – unlike SirArtemis’s, which I felt could have been longer, I believed yours could have been a little shorter. It does feel like a bit of a harsh criticism though as it was a very enjoyable piece nonetheless and was refreshing to read.

As with SirArtemis your piece stuck to the theme very closely and I have to give you maximum credit for that. It was very difficult to decide between you two and I feel that I would have been doing either of you an injustice for not awarding first place. Well done on a great piece.

Third place: Raithwell

You set a great scene in your opening lines and use good literary devices to paint a wonderful picture of the environment. This piece relies on hitting the reader with some emotional cannonballs – Erik being a spirit in mourning and trying agonisingly hard to reach back into the physical plane to grab that locket jerked a few heartstrings, I can tell you. However, I found the tale was too bittersweet (given the theme of the vignette) and whilst I have the utmost appreciation for the tale you weaved with Anastasia, I felt it was slightly “off base” for the given scenario.

Overall, your writing was excellent. I found that everything was in order with spelling and grammar. You used some rather excellent description, especially when portraying Erik’s efforts to reach through the anti-firmament. Well done here.

I get the idea of what you were going for in this piece and it was difficult to give you third place given the strength of your piece, but I felt you swayed too much away from the vignette theme to merit second or first place. If you work on sticking to the given scenario in future I see absolutely no reason why you can’t place first!

Flames of Hyperion

Two things you absolutely excel at are your command of the English language and being able to paint a picture of a scene. I cannot stress this enough. You bring to life settings in a way that I have rarely seen on this site and this piece is no exception; “Now an avalanche of solid white thundered down upon his head. Tonne after tonne of Berevaran snow hammered upon his gaunt form, pummelling him deeper into the darkness at his feet with every torrential wave.”

My biggest issue with your writing in this instance was that it almost completely ignored the vignette theme. Whilst you stayed true to Nanashi and deserve credit for the way he was determined to be exiled away from her to save her from pain, it simply didn’t feel like it adhered to the principle theme laid out in the first post. A big opportunity to do something a little different with Nanashi was missed here for you, although the scene itself was actually a great read.

Breaker

Almost exactly the same points that I mentioned in Flames’s judgement above apply to you too. You possess a fantastic writing style that instantly paints a vivid picture of everything around you, and your use of literary devices is almost masterful, but when it came to moulding your writing around the vignette theme I felt you failed spectacularly. Don’t get me wrong; as an individual piece of writing I actually found it compelling and entertaining, and would love to see more of that sort of stuff in a more appropriate vignette, but sadly it felt way off base given the scenario you were tasked with. A real shame but I still enjoyed the post!

Rewards

SirArtemis receives 1000 EXP, 200 GP and 2 AP
Orphans receives 640 EXP, 150 GP and 1 AP
Raithwell receives 100 EXP and 1 AP
Flames of Hyperion receives 650 EXP and 1 AP
Breaker receives 800 EXP and 1 AP

Thank you all for participating!

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

All EXP, GP and AP have been added!