Vignette Contest - February

[Karuka]

All right, the second Vignette Contest is here. The rules are as follows:

1) One submission per character. Multiple accounts by the same author are allowed.
2) Please make your posts during the duration of time allotted. Editing your posts is permitted so long as they are edited within the contest's month.
3) The moderator judging the monthly vignette contest will post a vignette at the end, but will not be eligible for a prize.
4) Only on-topic vignettes will be considered for the prize. The topics are meant to be broad enough that no character should be particularly limited.
5) PCs must be involved in all vignettes. How "canonical" you choose to have the events of the vignette is up to you.
6) All participants receive 5% of the EXP they need to reach the next level. The top three finishers get 100, 75 and 50 GP respectively.

I am the moderator in charge of this month’s contest.

The prompt for the month is as follows: You're walking through the Bazaar district of whatever town you happen to be in when some sort of street vendor flags you down. He's holding aside a tapestry door for you. "Enter, enter!" he calls. "It's free for travelers. It's magic," he says with a wink. "You'll find nothing more or less than what you want to find."

You have nothing better to do, so you decide to go on in. What do you find inside the magic room?

[Caden Law]

"Welcome, welcome! Welcome, one and all, to the City of a Thousand Journeys!" called a barker, "Welcome to the brilliant bustling business district we here call the Bazaar! More specifically yet, welcome to the most inconspicuous chance you'll ever have for a shot at true, honest-to-your-gods-in-all-likelihood-read-the-fine-print-please happiness! Yes folks, what we have here inside Tancred's Tent of Tantalization is a once-in-a-lifetime guarantee; one shot for everyone, with a modest price, and a true chance to obtain all the things you've ever wanted! And yes, for your curious berks 'n' bods, I am the one-and-only Tankred the Magnificent, deployed by forces discruptively delightful to uplift! To change! To grant to you, the traveller, that one thing you've always wanted!
"Happiness, gents. True, uninterrupted happiness."
...and he droned on, and the crowd mostly ignored him. All fine and dandy, except for the two or three dozen who didn't. They were the usual lot who got suckered in by things like this. Look at them. Take the time and really look at them. They're the poor and the dispossessed; the stupid tourists (there are always stupid tourists) getting fleeced and the bitter locals who have to pay their way into debt to keep the Scourge and its rivals out of their neighbourhoods. They're the face of the Peasantry, and they're a sorry lot, and Tankred is fencing them false hopes. Now take another look at them.
Take a look at the guy standing out like a sore thumb little left of the group's center. The one who's roughly half-a-head taller than most of them, who looks relatively well-fed, who could probably pass himself off as foreign nobility if he really put effort into cleaning up some more. Pasty pale and light blond, with eyes that fit the bill for disinteresting blue and an outfit that would've been downright badass on someone about three inches taller and with sixty years' worth of beard on them, as opposed to a scrawny 20-something with a few angry looking hairs on his chin. A pointed blue Wizard's hat, wide of brim and black of belt, worn in tandem with a blue longcoat, black pants and a barely visible white shirt. Tack on some heavy, awkward looking boots for the hell of it, and let's slap some glasses on his face too. Goggles hung around his neck, for reasons that God has yet to explain but presumably knows.
This is Caden Law. He's here on what can best be described as Serious Business. In the words of the Watch-employed forensics Wizard, Judd Eisenmas, People are going missing. Durris won't have anything to do with it because he's got his hands tied with recent Scourge activity and that whole Catacombs nonsense, nevermind the storm lighting up over the Temple of Y'edda. But it's not that he can't, Caden, because he can. It's just that he won't, until we get some proof. Watchmen've scoured the tent a few times now, but they haven't found anything more than a bargain-basement crapheap in a burlap tent. Your usual Bazaar setup, basically...but I've been by there, and something isn't right. The guy talks like a Wizard. I can't get anyone to believe me, but you? You're a Wizard. You've been trained. Maybe you don't hold proper guild memberships, but I can vouch for you. Go there, scope it out, and report back to me if you find anything.
That was the briefing in its entirety. Caden took Judd up on it because he owed Redscar a favor or two pertaining to a certain venture a few years back, before Judd found his cushy job as a member of the Watch. Suffice to say, it involved tentacles, magical napalm, and singing Akashiman schoolgirls.
Let's leave it at that, returning to the present via Caden's thoughts on the matter. Note how he listens.
Judd was right. He's talking like a Wizard. Pronounces the vowels for Tankred and Tancred the same, but the K's different and he's capitalizing and using hyphens and everything, Caden thought, and it bears mention that only someone trained in the oral acrobatics of Arcane Wizardry would've been able to think these things with a straight-face. Nevermind actually understanding them in full. The more Caden listened though, the more doubtful he grew. He talks like a Wizard, he thought again, but the mannerisms are off. If he's Working an enchantment with a Voice, he's doing a piss-poor job of it...and he's not even wearing a properly pointed hat, Caden noted, as if this was a sin. Because according to certain Salvic lores, it kind of is. It's certainly a regulation among a few of the more traditional Orders, at any rate. Tankred didn't look the part at all though; he was like a euphoric hobo clown without the make-up, sporting a beard in place of stubble and a nose big and red without the ability to honk and--
"You there!" Tankred shouted, pointing to Caden with the weight of the planet at his fingertip. Literally, in at least one sense, as Caden felt the strange power nudging at him with the motion.
"Me? Here?" he asked, playing along on instinct.
"Yes! You! There!"
"But are you certain I'm here or there or anywhere?" Caden asked, blinking twice.
"Absolutely, berk! Everywhere's the wind, and you move with it!" Tankred declared, and it wasn't quite the answer Caden wanted but it'd do.
Splinter Wizard, he concluded, for good or ill. That pass went out of use a century ago, but-- Tankred wasn't going to let him stand there thinking. Neither was the crowd, for that matter. He parted the ragged tapestry-styled door into the tent, then beckoned with his other hand. Almost as one, the crowd moved Caden forward. They didn't heave him about, as the people of Eluriand did. They parted, and then moved back into place, and it just so happened that Caden wound up at the front by the time they were done. Perfectly coincidental, really.
"Enter! Enter!" Tankred pleaded. "It's free for travelers!"
"Oh, good," said Caden, "I'm always on the move," note the vacant smile here, "Any snapping monsters or oddly uteran indentions I should know about?"
"Oh no, heavens no. It's magic." Cue the big smile, and Caden knew right then and there that he was going to die.
What he didn't know was why he stepped forward anyway; why he walked right into the tent and what waited inside.
It was hard to describe, really. It was a darkness, but it was the sort that's heavily populated by whatever you put there. It was stagnancy forever, but change for the moment. He smelled the scent of roses and ice, and felt the whole of infinity spread out around him. Any moment, the end would come...
Caden just didn't expect it to arrive in the form of a spotlight from nowhere, shining all around him with no source and no shadow. It was like a full-body highlight in some ways, but always just soft enough that he didn't need to shield his eyes. It came with a dreadful silence and the feeling of billions of eyes rolling into focus on him from every possible angle -- and more than a few that weren't possible at all. Eyes looking into him as much as they looked upon him. Then they blinked out. Caden felt them blink out. Then there was a snap, and another light, and at its center stood a woman. Oh, it had the outward appearance of a man. Short and plump and balding, its remaining black hair slicked back and the spot hidden by an elaborate tophat. It wore a tuxedo too, and pin-striped pants that wouldn't come into fashion anywhere in the known world for more than a hundred years. A monocle should've been in place over the right eye. It just should've been there.
"Well, well," said the woman, grinning a wonderful grin even through the glamour. "Caden Law, I presume?"
"You're not fooling me," Caden pointed out. Time to go through the motions. "Point in fact, I'm pretty sure this is a great big metaphysical stomach and I'm being digested in exquisite agony and you're actually some kind of succubus from Hell. How right am I?" he asked.
The woman looked at him. A lot of unseen eyes did the same. Then she shrugged, and just like that...
Ah. There it is.
Off came the glamour, and in its place was a succubus of the (im)proper Old School, complete with the draconian leather wings and the curves to die for, tucked away under a barely-there bikini fashioned of gems and gold. Her teeth were sharp, there were bony horns stubbing from her forehead and a pair of batty little wings from either side of her head. Her hair was an inhuman shade of violet that constantly transitioned to other colors, and her eyes were a lusty green -- one of which was tucked behind a monocle. A gold-framed, crystal lensed monocle.
Caden smiled, tightly. "And this is the part where you make this shrill evil little laugh, turn ugly and gut me. Right?"
She laughed, yes. But it wasn't shrill. It was deep like a lake and smooth like velvet on skin, and had the general effect of hitting the male libido like a sledgehammer. "Oh, no no no, Dear," she said, hiding her mouth behind a dainty hand tipped with violet-shifting fingernails. "Nothing so crude as that. But I'll give you points for seeing through the facade, at any rate. You're the first in a while to do that."
"Comes with being a Wizard," Caden dimly answered. "So, you're Tancred. Which is probably an abbreviation for something that'd give me an orgasm just saying it aloud, right?"
"My, you catch on quickly." Witness Althanas' first Succubus Golf-Clap. "But--"
"Here's the part where you try to swerve me," Caden interrupted her, "You're good. Oh, you're really good and you're just dying to show me."
Tancred stared at him. Then she shrugged. "Cynic."
"I've seen too many tentacles to be an optimist," Caden explained.
"...I've seen more than you ever will," she replied.
Caden would've smarted off at her, if he had a decent comeback. Really, he thought about it. No, really, he thought about it.
"Exactly," Tancred said, presumably because she could. "Now then...Caden, can I call you that? No? Blueraven. I've seen into you, you know..."
...and here is where it all changed. Ignoring Caden's sense of dread beforehand, because he's always got that in this kind of situation, the first sign of Tancred's display was a sound. Like chimes in a crisp breeze. The temperature dropped and rose; cold without, warm within. The light folded in and spread out in turn, and suddenly he found himself walking...
...walking...
...through the snow around Lake Beord, in the midst of an Evernorth spring snow. It never really thawed that far north, but the spring had always been Caden's favorite time of the year. The frostwoods turned crystal green, and the skies occasionally cleared enough to see the sun and the blue space surrounding it. He was a little older here, Caden knew in his gut. Older here than he really was now, and he knew it deeper still by virtue of the three or four children running circles around him as he shouldered a day's catch home with fishing rod in hand. The Hat was missing, but for once, Caden didn't feel naked without it. It was snowing, yes. He loved the spring snows.
"Almost home," he heard himself say, and this was Right. He wasn't a traveler here. He was merely a family man, heading to his family home, where his wife and his eldest daughter were throwing together a dinner to welcome his future son-in-law into the family. Old Greyspine would be attending, and Cadence and Clarity would both be there, and--
This isn't real, Caden thought with jarring suddenness.
The next thing he knew, he pushed open the door into his home. It was three floors, the tallest dome-shaped building in Evernorth, exceeded only by the local Church. Caden and his wife, Veshua, shared a room on the third floor. Shared a bed in that same room. Shared a lot of memories on that same bed. He remembered her, in a somewhat detached way, as that girl I'm gonna marry one day, but she was different here. She moved more like a dancer than a pit fighter, but the grace was the same, the looks were the same, and the smile had only grown more alluring to him with age.
He even had a beard.
This isn't real, Caden reminded himself later on, even as he and the wife went upstairs to bed. They talked the whole way up; about their future son-in-law, about how big their youngest was getting, about how it was almost time for another...
This isn't real, Caden thought one last time, after he'd given his best and been given hers in turn.
The next thing he knew, Caden was back in the black; back in the spotlight, and Tancred stood in front of him with a look that bordered on sympathy. There were tears coming down his face. Not the solitary, stoic tears of storybook heroes and legends alike. He was crying. It took him a few seconds to come out of his stupor and realize this, and by then he'd taken a sleeve to his eyes and was already putting the brakes on.
"You're not as desperate as I'd thought," Tancred noted.
"What the hell was the point of that?" Caden asked.
"An abstract answer to a simple question," she answered, "How do you buy salvation, Blueraven?" He had no answer, and she continued. "I am a succubus. My very existence is a sin, and for it I have decided to do penance. Tankred is an incubus, but he shares my feelings."
"How is this penance?" Caden snorted. "People are dying, aren't they?"
"No," she answered. "Not at all."
He didn't want to, but Caden believed her in spite of himself.
"They're all alive, Blueraven. All living with the same happiness you turned away. We single them out, Tankred and I. We read their souls, just as we read yours. The hopeless, we take in...and we give them hope and joy and happiness. Oh, they die eventually. You mortals always do. But while they live, they are happy, and really...
"What have they got to go home to?" she asked. "Poverty and defeat, abuse and slavery. Nothing worth living for in the first place. Even a false hope can sustain and redeem, if you believe in it enough."
...and in the way Wizards can, Caden connected the dots while wearing a proverbial blindfold.
"Your salvation isn't in the act itself. It's in the mechanics behind it," he decided. "You're not using them to fuel what you're doing. You're using yourselves."
"Exactly," she said, with an unregretful smile that men would kill for. Caden wiped his eyes again.
"You idiot," he muttered. "What if you run out of power while they're still in the illusions? What then?"
"I don't know. I'm a demon of hells, Blueraven. I'm still getting used to this whole Do Good thing. But riddle me this: How long do you think that will be? We are Immortal after all."
Caden stared at her. Stared through her, and saw Veshua and his children and his home and the life he would not have.
Saw the beauty of it all. He could've said ten million things then, across a hundred different languages, but he didn't. All he could do was give voice to the decision that he knew would cost him sleep, "I won't tell the Watch."
"Thank you," Tancred said, and that was that. No deep understanding, no mile long explanation, nothing.
Caden stepped out of the tent a few seconds later. He had no recollection of turning around, let alone opening the tent flap-door. The crowd stared at him with something like marvel, and he pushed straight through them. A day or three later, he met Judd again. At some point in the conversation, it came up.
"What did you find?"
"Magic," Caden answered, to the glare of an afternoon sun and the screams of pedestrians against horses. He hefted a mug of ale in an informal, unreciprocated toast to nothing. "Just magic, Judd."
Not my best by a backwards long shot, but hell. Canonicity is wholly reliant on the outcomes of various RPs I'm currently involved in.

[Chiroptera]

Eltarri’s heart was beating out a speedy drum roll that she hoped the grinning merchant couldn’t hear. She could feel his eyes on her, could sense his excitement at finally having found someone gullible enough to fall for his sleazy scam. Were there burly men with clubs waiting for idiotic tourists on the other side? Was there a pit of hungry lions and a bloodthirsty crowd waiting with bated breath for the next foolish victim to provide short-lived entertainment? Maybe there was a gang of evil slave traders waiting with manacles and chains for naive young women who sauntered stupidly into their doom. Every instinct told her to turn around and walk off, to cut the smelly man at the door a sharp piece of her mind before flouncing away from his devious hoax.

Only . . .

Nothing more or less than what you want to find.

It was just the kind of ambiguous offer that whetted the curiosity, that tempted without frightening, that promised answers to questions that she hadn’t even known she was asking. What did she want to find? Assuming the room behind the tapestry really was magical, what would be waiting for her on the other side? Perhaps her mother be there, whole and healthy and cured of the darkness that had blackened her skin and permanently dulled her eyes with sorrow and shame. Could walking through this door really save her?

The prospect made Eltarri’s throat clench in mingled hope and—to her surprise- dread. If her mother was rescued, she found herself wondering, what would become of her? Treya would certainly be welcomed back into her father’s home if the evil taint of the witch's magic was gone, and her half-breed daughter would no doubt be reluctantly allowed to live with them as well. Eltarri would settle down to a prim and decorous life as a noble of the Jordel household, living with her elven relatives comfortably— though no doubt at least a little ostracized for her human blood—with the great goal of someday marrying and having a docile life as a wife and mother of mostly-elven children. She wouldn’t have to travel around Althanas anymore, sleeping in flea-ridden beds and fighting all manner of strange monsters and disturbed hoodlums with a sword that was really too big for her anyway. There’d be no more boring meals of dried bread and muddy water, no blisters and rub burns after long days of hiking, no blatantly unfriendly welcomes and condescension from every new person that she met. She would live a normal and pleasantly boring life, reading all day long, wearing dresses and soft silk slippers, brushing her hair every morning, bathing more than once a week . . . No more aimless wandering, no more nerve-wracking adventures, no more waking up each day to the anticipation of eventful opportunities and the expectation of excitement. Life would be dull, perhaps, but blissfully so, surely, and her mother would be safe and cured, and life could go back to the way that it was supposed to have been from the beginning.

Eltarri bit her lip, unable to understand why that prospect wasn’t as enticing as it once had been. Wasn’t that what she was doing all this journeying for in the first place?

The girl drew a breath and forced herself to step into the darkness. She felt a wave of warmth rush out from her chest as she crossed the threshold, and she stopped walking just one step past the doorway, blinking quickly so that her eyes would adjust to the lack of light. She could see a crate in one corner of the room, a pile of hay in another. The smell of mold drifted out from the wooden walls and the only thing that distinguished the room from an unoccupied barn stall was an intricate design that had been painted with charcoal on the middle of the damp floor.

She couldn’t stop her eyes from welling up with tears. Nothing. There was no magic. Her mother was still as bad off as she had been ten seconds before. Disappointment quickly transformed into anger, but the real motivation for her ire was a confusing feeling that rose just as strongly in her throat as her frustration. Why did she feel so relieved?

The half-elf spun on her heel and nearly ran from the room, pushing through the tapestry and almost running into the surprised man who had just let it fall shut behind her.

“Done already?”

Eltarri balled her hand into a fist and threw it at the man’s face, tears jumping from her eyes at the pain the blow inflicted on her own knuckles. “I am not an idiot!”

The vender stepped back, fingering his red cheek with more surprise than pain. “What, it didn’t work? Everybody else said it gave 'em just what they. . .” His voice trailed off as he stepped around her and poked his head under the tapestry.

Eltarri clenched her hands at her sides to keep herself from attacking him again. A dozen hot retorts sprang to her mind, but she pressed her lips tightly together and held herself still, quivering with anger and ignoring the curious looks of nearby shoppers who had seen the inexplicable blow.

“It’s worked for everybody else,” the vender said uncomfortably, reappearing from behind the hanging rug. “Do you have some kind of anti-magic protection or something? I mean . . . I’m sorry . . .”

She shook her head, shoulders slumping, suddenly abashed at her outburst and ashamed of her jumbled emotions. If the room had worked, she would have found her mother, she told herself. She did want Treya healed and free. She definitely was not comforted by the knowledge that nothing at all had changed. She was NOT glad that her mother was still . . .

Oh, gods.

Horrified by the torrent of emotions that raged inside of her, Eltarri turned away and darted into the street, quickly losing herself in the anonymous safety of the crowd.

[Chromanon Rockskin]

Chromanon stood outside of the tent for a few moments. It was nigh impossible for her to explain just why she didn't go barreling in, whooping and screaming and so amazed to be alive and confronted with the very object of her heart's desire. Instead, she let her eyes travel across the span of the tent's side, as far as she could see, wondering if the whole thing was a repetition of the design of the tapestry door or perhaps if each picture was a little different. A man in Ettermire had once spunt pictures around a wheel, each just a little different than the other, to show a single moving picture of a horse running across a vast plain. A sound from the man's throat kept her from running circles around the tent.

She couldn't see inside the open door, there were no windows to help her and the fabric of the place was too heavy to let in the colored lights she'd seen in other tents. She entered almost tentatively, letting her eyes adjust to the almost-dark, and she gasped when she saw what was before her.

Timing, however, is everything. As her heart welled with joy and she sprung forward, her hand outstretched, the vendor had chosen to try and be kind. Wanting to give the girl some privacy with her hearts desire, he'd let go of the heavy curtain over the door, letting it settle shut so suddenly that Chromanon didn't realize what had happened until several seconds afterwards.

No matter how hard she strained, she couldn't reach it. The sudden darkness in the room had brought about her curse. Muscles ached as the cool stone form slid along her skin, locking her stretching reach into place. She couldn't turn her head, move her eyes. Her gaze was cruelly locked on the point in front of her, where in the darkness she knew what stood there. Within her mind, she howled with frustration, her natural cheer disappearing immediately.

She really couldn't be blamed. After all, her fingers were stuck, trying desperately to reach out and just touch a small set of wooden figurines. They each had a name in her heart, and she missed them dearly. She wanted the little puppets more than anything, just something small to help remind her of the ones she'd left behind.

Ter'Thok, Snow, Molotov, Edgar... It was nearly cruel, the way fate insisted on keeping her good memories barely a handspan away.

[Molotov]

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Molotov replied. He smirked, surprisingly mirthfully given the situation. He had come to the Bazaar looking for a packet of cigarettes and hadn’t expected to have been accosted by a fakir trying to sell him a mystic chance at a portal where he would find only what he wanted to find. The mutant was certain that it was some kind of a trap, the more fantastic the premise of a reward was, the less likely it was to actually exist.

“But sir, travelers have it free,” the vendor shot back. “You should see what it’s like?”

“Free for travelers?” Molotov snorted. “So you’re bloody telling me that you have this sodding thing out in the middle of the Bazaar, and that you’re making your profit off all the wankers that come in here from the local areas to subsidize visitors? Now, I know I might look like the kind of guy you can take a piss on every now and then with the way I do my hair, but for bloody fuck’s sake, how dumb do you bloody think I have to be? There’s some sod on the other side of there isn’t it? He’s going to bloody chop off my head with a cleaver when I enter and then you’re going to rob me blind of everything I own. That’d be the kind of trick you’d play on a traveler, now wouldn’t it?”

The vendor adjusted his collar uneasily, seemingly stunned by the reaction he had gotten from the mutant. Molotov was somewhat surprised, he would have expected every stranger accosted by this vendor to have reacted the same way as he had. However, the fact that the vendor was so surprised made Molotov reconsider his suspicions. He had expected the vendor to respond with either violence or indignation, but since he had responded with shock, Molotov decided that he would investigate. Callously, he pushed the vendor aside and made his way through the tapestry.

The moment Molotov entered, everything around him had turned to black. He cringed, realizing now that he had been so concerned with determining the veracity of the door that he hadn’t even considered whether he would have wanted to go through. Small little rivulets of wind passed over his body, both exciting and unnerving Molotov.

He stayed in the room for fifteen minutes, but the whole time, nothing had changed. It was just him, the darkness, and the wind that was massaging his tired muscles. Eventually, it became clear to Molotov. He laughed out loud. “Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, laughing. “I bloody expected to find fifteen naked birds or Chromanon Rockskin promising to never bother me again!”

Molotov exited back out through the magical door, shaking his head with a combination of amusement and disbelief. He hadn’t expected that the only thing he had really craved would have been a moment’s peace.

[Nymph and Dragon]

Twyla’s mouth fell open. Her whole body trembled like a leaf on a tree, though no leaf would have had a good reason to be as deep underwater as she knew she was or to be as startled by the females that lay feet away from where she hovered in the cold depths. There they were, pale skin seeming almost to gleam in the darkness of the deep, with a new baby paddler to boot, her infant gills flapping against her ribs as she chased oysters across the sandy ocean floor. Twyla couldn’t look away, couldn’t believe what her eyes were telling her. It was her pod, her femmes, her gang, her posse, her clique, her group, her sisters!

Cool currents brushed against the nymph’s bare skin, purer and more refreshing than any water that she’d ever found on the surface. The hollow roar of thousands of pounds of swirling brine filled her ears with the dull music of the ocean and Twyla swallowed deeply, her heart aching as the water rushed down her throat and filled her lungs, relishing the salty aftertaste that lingered on her tongue and left her mouth tingling.

How had he done it? Had the vendor made some kind of portal that had transported her to the place where she most wanted to be? Could all of this be some elaborate dream? If it was an illusion, it was a damned good one! Schools of colorful fish weaved among the reclining Sirens, darting between the slim naked bodies like a thief’s hands through unwary pockets at a market. There were eight of them reclining on the deep-sea sandbar before her, dozing or daydreaming on their sandy dais as beautiful and careless as they had been on the day she’d left them. Their hair floated around their heads, undulating around their shoulders as they turned lazily towards her. Twyla felt a pang of indignation at their flawless faces; it had been a long time since she’d seen anyone whose beauty came close to rivaling her own. She’d forgotten how attractice they all were. Her indignation disappeared in a moment, though, and a small smirk turned up one corner of her mouth when she remembered that it was the most beautiful sister who was always the leader of the pod.

And that had always been her.

“What are you whores lounging around down here for?” she demanded, falling instinctively into the singing lilt she had always used to communicate underwater, an innocuous use of their hypnotic song that partially converted their communication to mental suggestion for more fluid transmission and long-range messaging. “What, you think men are going to be able to kill themselves off entirely without our help?”

Twyla’s authority had only been challenged a few times during her years as leader, but at the moment the Sirens didn’t seem to be listening. Their luminous eyes were fixed over her shoulder, some frowning with wariness, others merely gazing with vapid curiosity at something just behind her. Twyla didn’t move. She’d already fallen for that trick once in the last century.

“Nice try, ditzes, but I’m not kidding. I don’t know how long this little dream is going to last and I’ve got a lot of frustration to work off before I get dumped back in with—”

A troubled redhead interrupted her, even her singing voice tinged with curiosity. “What is that, sister? I thought eels didn't have legs.”

Twyla’s blood ran cold. She whirled with dread and almost screamed aloud when her spin brought her face-to-face with a red-eyed wingless dragon, its sinuous emerald form waving indolently in the deep-sea current like a banner on a windy day.

Twyla, the Elemental acknowledged congenially, sending a wave of dry laughter into her mind at the shock and horror with which she had flooded his own.

What the hell are YOU doing in my dream? Her face was hot with disbelief and outrage. This was supposed to be everything she wanted! How had the bane of her existence managed to sneak in and ruin even her imaginary perfect life?

His tail lashed in amusement. Maybe magic knows you even better than you know yourself.

“What is that, Twyla? Is it safe? Can we play with it?” A dark-haired Siren had glided over to float beside her, large purple eyes wide with pleasure.

Another blonde appeared at her other side, hands clasped beneath her chin as she gazed adoringly at the dragon. “Oh, it’s so cute! Can we keep it?”

Twyla choked back a scream and threw herself away from the Elemental—

—and tumbled out from behind the tapestry to land on her hands and knees on the dusty sunbathed street of the largest market in Scara Brae.

“Are you all right?”

Twyla ignored the vendor, letting her head hang as she gasped for air, her dry hair brushing the ground as the roar of the busy market and the people that populated it again filled her ears.

That bad, huh?

The nymph’s head rose, turning automatically to follow the Elemental’s mental signal until she saw his aqueous form beneath the table of the bordering merchant. She glared at him, shipping boatloads of hatred across their bond to distract him from her efforts to suppress the memory of the experience before he could get a chance to see it. He noticed.

You could just ask me not to look, he said in an injured voice. It’s not like my life's purpose is to invade yours.

Twyla didn’t know whether to scoff or cry.

[Dark Temptress]

It was not as busy as it usually was in the bazaar at Knife’s Edge. The streets were not bustling with bodies as they moved about their daily tasks buying ridiculous things they did not need in order to survive. The vendors did not shout their wares at those that passed them by, glancing from one cart and from one stand with greedy eyes and fat purses that never seemed to have an end to them. They place was not a cacophony of sound where one could barely hear the thoughts flying through their own mind, but it was not exactly silent either. Few was some and though the streets were not packed to the point that she could barely move without having someone touch her and utter no apology, there were still people about.

Few, they came and went starring in the window of one shop to another. Some of the stores lining this street were even closed, having no more wares to sell for the shipments of goods into Knife’s Edge had slowed to almost a stand still. Their windows were dark and their candles and fires gone cold. Signs were turned the other way, apologizing to the customer as they walked by hoping that it just may be open for only them because they needed what had lain within more than the others who had stopped by. Sadly, the world did not revolve around them and their needs and those doors would not mystically part to let them in, nor would the proprietor suddenly light their fires and turn the sign around. How sad really, that the great land of Salvar had been reduced to this because of some civil war. It may have been just this reason that the streets were not so busy, because much of what the proprietors lined their stores with was the same thing they’d had last week and of course the rich nobles had already bought it and the poor had already seen it.

A’rai, for one had not been to The Bazaar in some time. She spent as little time within these streets as she could and she did not frivolously throw her money around on the next fad and the next piece of furniture that every woman must have decorating her drawing room. Just because her family had money did not mean they had to throw it away as if it was garbage and they had an endless supply of it. Money was something that was earned through hard work, whether it was by physical labour or mental labour was up to the person. She spent it carefully and only when she needed something, her father doted on her enough as it was and bought too many things she had no need for. And right now she was here looking for a book.

Perhaps it wasn’t something she had particular need of, but in order to increase her growing knowledge of the occult she needed to buy more books about it. Sadly, so many of those books turned out to be a sham and a waste of her time. But the more she read those ones the easier it was for her to make some kind of distinction between them, and most shopkeepers did not realize the knowledge that their old and rotting books possessed. They were merely paperweights to them and useless to the general public.

Pressing on, the seductress carried herself across the cobbled streets, her black skirt skimming along the dirty stones as her feet carried her forward. The wind was a little chilled today, but she was used to the weather here and as such only had a simple shawl wrapped around her shoulders to keep her warm and a pair of black gloves to cover her hands.

As she passed by a stall draped in colourful materials that flowed and twisted in the wind, she was called over. Normally, she did not pay attention to the merchants and their annoying, squawking voices as they yelled at any who passed them by, but his words were rather intriguing.

“Enter, enter!” the man called out, his voice ringing through the street. “It’s free for travellers. It’s magic,” he added a wink in her direction, “You’ll find nothing more or less than what you want to find.”

She smirked at him, “I am clearly not a traveller.”

This did not appear to faze him in the least. “Perhaps not, but maybe the lady has some interest in seeing what she truly desires anyway.”

She sighed and crossed her arms over her tight fitting corset. Did she really have time for something like this? The collector she was going to see would be open for hours longer and this appeared as if it would only take a few minutes at that. What a curtain could tell her she did not already know was beyond her.

“Fine.”

He smile seemed to grow exponentially across his face, covered in a few days worth of stubble that made him look older than he most likely was. He was also clearly a foreigner considering his darker complexion and the amount of clothing he was wearing. It looked to be a few layers to her eyes and drastic colours that she would rarely see this far North.

Moving into the shrouded stall, A’rai gave the man a stern look as he moved his hand back and revealed the dark space within. If this was some kind of trick he was going to pay for it. Stepping passed the threshold and into the slightly warmer interior, the seductress sighed and waited as he dropped the curtain behind her, leaving her in complete darkness. It stayed like that for a moment. The room was void of any sight or sound save her light breathing that seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness. Not even the sounds of those few patrons outside carried within and somehow not a single speck of light filtered its way beyond the heavy curtain to light this darkness.

Then it all changed.

She felt it tingle across her skin at first, exploding bumps across her arms as everything around her sudden changed in a blinding succession. Gone was the darkness of the room, replaced instead by the darkness of night. Soft and gentle and leaving her standing upon an open land covered in snow with a clear sky above her and a million stars smiling down upon her. Each one shimmered like a crystal caught in a deep, dark ocean. But there was no moon upon the horizon to light the way, instead the intense orange light that bathed the ground and made everything seem so vivid and alive to her was coming from a building directly before her. The building her father had built; her home. It was burning. A fire raged throughout the large estate eating away at the wood, scoring the stone and destroying everything that stood in its path. All the tapestries and the paintings, all the furniture and gilded, ornate decorations that they had never needed, it destroyed it all.

As she stood and watched, dumbfounded and confused, the roof caved in creating a shower of sparks and flames that leapt towards the sky, licking at it with their deadly and life giving heat. Even from here she could feel the intensity from the flames dancing across her skin in the cold Salvarian night. But all it left in her mind was confusion. Why would she want her house to burn to the ground? Why would she want everything she’d ever known to disappear from the face of Althanas as if it had never existed and take with it the memory of her? Why?

Taking a few steps back away from the burning visage, A’rai was shocked back into the same cloth covered room as her back brushed against it. The darkness was not so absolute this time and she could hear the talking few outside in the cold, spewing nonsense as if what they said really mattered to them. Taking a few deep breaths, she composed herself and reached a hand out towards the thick curtain where light streamed in around the edges. Light that had not been there before. Pulling the curtain aside with a rough jerk, the seductress was momentarily blinded by the bright sun and hissed as she turned her face away and slammed her eyes shut tight. After a few seconds she opened them, the bright light of the day not so painful to her vision.

“How did it go? Enjoy, yes?” The accented words of the merchant filtered into her eyes the moment she took a step away from the freakish room he had ushered her into.

“I’m afraid your room does not work for the things I desire.” She said to him rather curtly as she turned and headed away from the stall as fast as she could while still maintaining her composure.

The merchant merely watched her go with a knowing smile.

[Lavinian Ambition]

Every now and again the town of Lavinya had a celebration. Loud and raucous the rivalries of the past were forgotten as the city celebrated its birth. Born from the ashes of a kingdom condemned to die, Lavinya was the shining beacon of hope in the darkness. It served as a reminder that no matter how much human greed and betrayal got, there would always be life. None knew this more than the Lavinians, and it was only when the other true Revanians showed up in Lavinya, that the story would be told anew.

It was a rare occurrence, happening only every ten years, for it took the Gypsies that long to traverse Revan, searching for their next embellishment upon the tale. To find the truth from the rumors that persisted. The story recanted thousands of times, each time reaching closer to the twisted truth of those days. It was a story of betrayal, of glory, of revenge. It was a story that shocked most of the world, for it was not one of victory, there could be no victor where this story was concerned. The story gave the Lavinians their pride; it kept the Gypsies aloft, despite the efforts of the vampires to kill them.

So, every ten years the Gypsies would return to Lavinya, to restock for the next decade, trading in information and artifacts, rather than the currency of Gold. They would sell wares stolen form the city of Kenth, long since under the control of the vampires. It was an exchange that the trade masters honored, for it had been set in stone with the first Festival of the Fall. Nothing could change the contract, and those who had sought to, would find that they would be met with the ruin of the country they claimed to love.

It was a time where peasant and thief, guard and merchant could stand side by side and enjoy. A week of enjoyment, it often took the city a month to recover from the gallantry. No theft would occur, no crimes committed, as was the tradition. As so it was these stories that sang in Jared's head as he moved through the city. The gypsies abounded everywhere, speaking with an accent not to unlike the Lavinian one, if a bit more brusque. As he walked down the streets he enjoyed himself, for this was the one week of the decade that he could act freely.

The thoughts of Kyosku drifted through his head, as he pushed them down. While going crazy in the city he had no time for such delusions to come forth, instead he pushed forward to main trade district of Lavinya. Ale would be poured out until there simply was no more, and he was old enough to appreciate such things now. As he moved through the streets he stopped as he heard a man shouting out. Jared frowned as he turned to see him, wearing the silks and clothes of the Gypsies.

"Come my friend come! There is much to say to you!" He spoke as he gestured to the tent. Jared chuckled at the demeanor, not quite convinced of the sincerity of the words, but taken by them none the less. As he moved himself through the area he made way to the tent before the man opened a flap and spoke grinning jovially, "Enter, enter!" he then moved to gesture Jared inside, as if to usher him into a secret. "It's free for travelers. It's magic. You'll find nothing more or less than what you want to find." He added a wink of knowing, as if sharing some great secret with him.

"You sure about that? It looks like an ordinary tent to me. What makes it magic?" He replied chuckling as he looked the tent over. Brightly colored its heavy fabric had seen many seasons. The fact it was held bright might have attested to the fact it was in fact magical, but he figured it might have been recently re-dyed with part of the Gypsies purchase.

"My friend, you seek much in this world, the same as anyone else. I offer you a glimpse at your heart, to know your truest desires, and have them laid bare before you," He spoke as he gestured inside, "I guarantee you will find what’s inside here interesting."

"How much do I owe?" Jared asked as he fished out a few gold.

"Free! For you it’s free!" The man said.

"I can't possibly accept that, I'm a local, you yourself said free for travelers!" Jared said as he began to push the money forth.

"You've been to Radasanth and the border of Akashima my friend, you have traveled, and are therefore a traveler, its free, I assure you." A bow underlined the statement as he gestured inside. Sighing, as Jared knew better than to argue with the gypsies. He moved inside as the tent flap shut behind him. The only illumination came form a single candle.

The light if this candle came from a table in the center of the room. A crystal Ball sat upon it, refracting the light of the candle to the greater area. As he narrowed his eyes, he began to turn back before he heard a voice speak, "Do not go yet, if you do, you may destroy yourself young Cesarino."

Jared stopped as he turned; moving in from a back flap of the tent a woman emerged. To say she was beautiful was to exaggerate. She held a simplistic beauty that seemed to charm many a man, but while her dress was plain, concealing her curves, he was drawn more to her eyes. As he looked into the stormy blue depths of them she smiled at him as she gestured him forth.

"Destroy myself? I haven't even begun drinking yet, I doubt I could destroy myself till my third pint," Jared replied as he moved forward, still entranced by her eyes. She smiled as she placed a hand on the crystal ball, placed upon the table. She then moved swiftly, flinging the ball free form its position and sending it to the floor with a crash.

"I never did like the thing, but the others said it would add authenticity to the act. Not that I ever acted," She began as she moved slowly about the tent, Jared got the feeling she was a predator, and he was the prey she sought that day. As she moved closer she spoke, "As for your rather rude brushing off of my warning, I think I shall forget the slight, as the Seer of my band, I am constantly shown distrust by those unfamiliar with our ways."

"Alright, I'll bite; you obviously have something important to tell me. You aren't asking for payment, so it has to be something related to you, what is it? I'm curious now," Jared replied. His stomach had butterflies flittering about it as she smiled and moved forward slowly her hips sashaying with each step.

She then moved and placed a single finger to his lips as she spoke, "Do not speak young Jared Cesarino. You have much to listen to, much to learn, and only a few scant minutes to learn it." Jared opened his mouth to retort before she firmly took her fingers and pinched his lips shut, she then grinned as she said, "Silence my young one, much to learn indeed."

She moved about the room before she bade him towards the table. When she spoke her voice was serene, placing him almost in a trance, "You my friend are a mixed blessing. Touched by another's curse, yet born to redeem you both. You will know triumphs and defeats, and find the price of greatness. Perhaps you will find love from the lands of Akashima, but know this Cesarino, you are cursed to betray those you love, truly and wholly. Any who you love will come to hate or distance themselves from you. Do you think you could live with this fact?"

Jared shook his head as he spoke, "No, that’s hogwash. I'm not capable of that. I wouldn't do it, not if I have a choice-"

"But Fate is a rather harsh mistress; she sees your defiance and laughs. The more you speak of it, the harsher your fall my friend. You have the blood of traitors within you, and perhaps after tonight, you will realize your destiny. I can speak no further of this, for its damage has been done. Know you will love so dearly, yet hate so much. Find the balance Cesarino, or who you wish to be shall be erased under a tide of anger and regret. Do you know the three greatest sins?"

"Can't say I do," Jared replied.

She laughed as she spoke, "You do, you just never suspected them. Fear, for it drives even the most honorable man to despicable action, desire, for it makes one unable to act, wishing for more when they already have enough. Regret however is the greatest sin..."

Jared raised an eyebrow at that as she grinned more. He finally spoke, "Why regret?"

"For it is the most deadly of these sins. Regret can stay the hand of a man destined for great things, only to have himself destroyed by its two brothers. When one succumbs to regret, he succumbs to the others, for he fears his path, and desires absolution. A story you know all to well, do you not?"

The name slipped from his mouth before he even realized he had said it, "Seth Dahlios."

She nodded as she moved up and gently tailed a finger across his chest, a coy smile crossing her lips, "Remember the lesson well. One day you will understand Seth Dahlios, but until then, you will forever be in his shadow. Remember this, my young one, remember this well..."

She had intoxicated him with her proximity, lust creeping up. Before he could realize what had happened she was gone, and the fog that surrounded his mind cleared. Closing his eyes he shook his head as he left the tent. The man clapped him on the shoulder as he spoke, "I told you my friend, everything you wished for!"

Jared wasn't so sure, but he realized that the sun which had been high overhead was already touching the far end of the King's Tomb Mountains. Had the day truly come and gone so swiftly? He did not know, but as he moved on, he only hoped to get lost in the revelry of the night, and forget the mysterious words of the woman.

[Unlucky]

Sylvia was walking along the road in Radasanth when she suddenly heard somebody yelliing something. At first she thought it was just the result of bad luck radiating from her body, and she cursed herself repeatedly, thinking somebody had fallen through some thin ice. Sylvia was about to leave the yell again. This was not a yell for help like she originally thought, the person who was yelling seemed excited.

"Come one and all, whatever your wish, you shall get it here in this tent." The man yelled out in delight. Sylvia thought it was a hoax, but decided to play along, after all, it could be fun.

As she entered the tent, she looked around in confusion. It was a hundred times bigger than what it appeared to be from the outside. The floor was made of black marble tiles, The ceilng looked like the night sky. The walls were so far away that they were not visible. Other than that, nothing remarkable was in the room.

It was at this point that she realized she did not know what it was she wanted. Her stomach began to growl as she tried to figure out what she wanted most at this time. A plate of food appeared in front of her, and she began to feast on turkey, ham, peas, grapefruit, and all the other food that had appeared in front of her. It had been over a year since she last ate a good meal, and the food kept coming until she was stuffed.

As she exited the tent, she realized with a smile she really did get what she wanted. The meal wasnice, but that was just background noise compared to her true wish. She had gone for an hour without any bad luck interfering. As she realized this, she fell through the ice herself, a cruel reminder that she was back to her old life of bad luck.

[Nekoprincess]

It was a bright and sunny day in the markets of Radasanth. The weather was pleasant and mild, all around her the young cat-girl could smell the scents of freshly cooked food. Curry, sweet breads and fresh herbs were the strongest in the air. However, Rainee was not lured by this delicious smells, she had a goal in her mind today. She had come to buy a silk tapestry, one that she was going to use to brighten up her bedroom back at Grace Manor. She felt that her home needed more color, while it was beautiful with its neutral tones, the half cat still felt that it needed something more.

However, despite Rain's resistance to the delicate smells, the small hand that tugged on hers was not. In a whiny voice Mylie Rivfader begged "Please mommy! I'm hungry! Just one rice ball? Or curried chicken? It...it smells yummy! Pweeeeeeeeese!" she then gave her mother cute green eyes as her tail wagged along with her pleading voice.

Rainee let out a soft groan as she squeezed the little hand that was wrapped in hers, knowing her daughter's stomach though, she knew that she'd have to shell out at least a portion of the money she had brought along. Nodding, Rainee said in a soft voice "Al right, you can have ONE stick of curried chicken. That is all I can afford."

Mylie pouted a bit, but sighed as she said softly "Fine...but then I want something to eat when we get home!"

Rainee smiled warmly as she ruffled her little angel's hair. In a jovial voice she murmured "That is fine darling!"

Mylie gave her mother a tight hug. In a happy voice she squealed "Yay! My mommy is the best mommy in the world!"

Rainee grinned as she patted her daughter's head and said softly "My little angel..." she then searched some of the food carts. She could see that two were made from oak wood, the smells from them were wonderful, but the third cart, which was made from dark maple wood, was giving off a rich and exotic smell. Figuring that this was the highest quality cart, Rainee meandered slowly towards it. She saw a few other carts as she passed, and one bright purple tent that seemed to be ushering people in and out of it quickly.

Ignoring these other carts for now, she approached the maple wood cart, which apparently was named "Exotic Samplers". Seeing fresh chicken breast being sprinkled with curry, Rainee felt she had made the right choice for her little girl. Smiling at the young human girl behind the cart, she softly made her order "I'd like one of those curried chicken sticks your making..."

The young girl with her blue eyes and bright blonde hair smiled, in a squeaky voice she said "Sure thing ma'am!" she then placed the bright pink pieces of meat on the grill, and instantly they begin to slowly turn white and get brown marks on them from the grill. The girl smiled as she worked and soon a kebob was assembled that had curried grilled chicken, grilled onions and peppers on it. She then handed it to the cat-mother and smiled once Rainee had paid her.

Handing Mylie's snack to her, the mother then said softly "Lets go look at tapestries honey!"

Mylie squealed as she begin to devour her snack. With chicken in her mouth she mumbled "B..but..m..m..mom..my! I'm curious about that pu..purple tent!"

Rainee sighed at her child's lack of manners, however she had no time to reprimand her daughter. She would however scold her little girl when they got back home, but for now her goal was tapestries. Shaking her head Rainee said firmly "We don't have time for that dear, we need to go to the tapestry cart!" Which was right after the mysterious purple tent. Smiling as they neared, Rainee's heart gave a little pitter-patter. She felt a strange sense of energy from the tent, as if some sort of magical source was being used inside. But, despite her string of curiousity, she still needed to finish her job.

Moving past it, she nearly collided with a little old man. His ears were pointed much like an elf's and his eyes were opaque almost a milky white. As the two collided the man said in an overly excited voice "Come traveler! Come inside, its free! Its magic!"

Rainee groaned at the man's advertisement, shaking her head as she pulled her daughter into a protective hug she hissed "No, no I have no time for such drivel and nonsense!"

"Ah but little lady! This is not nonsense! You'll see whatever you desire! You will see much happiness! "Moving behind the pair, he gave them a gentle push towards the tent. In an excited voice he pruned "You'll like what you see miss! Now come!"

Rainee groaned as she and Mylie stumbled into what could only be called a spiritual tent. Inside their were clear crystals shaped like moons hanging from the cotton cloth of the tent. There was a silver table spread with a purple table cloth. The chairs were backed with purple and silver mats and inside the tent, the half-cat could clearly smell sandalwood incense.

Wrinkling her nose at the strong smell, Rain asked the elven like man curtly "What is this thing that you want me to see?"

Gesturing for the mother and daughter to sit in the two chairs, the man settled behind his own chair as he pulled out a deck of cards and shuffled then. In an exuberant voice he exclaimed "Your future! I shall show it to you!"

Resigned, Rainee settled into the chair, her mind however thought So much for the silk tapestry...if I don't get out of here soon...the shop will be closed..

Mylie however was transfixed as the little man begin to lay out nine cards in a peculiar pattern. Surprise was evident in the little girl's eyes as she saw that the man had laid out three cards on top, then one in the middle, then three on the bottom. Blinking at this she asked "What are you doing sir?"

"Reading your mother's future little one!" The man said happily as he begin to flip the cards over. Eyeing them his eyes widened before he exclaimed loudly "The lovers! You have happiness in your future missy! Happiness that involves trials!" He then flipped up the middle card and his eyes creased "The fool...you started a new beginning missy. You'll need to focus on your goals to retain your happiness!" He then flipped up the last three cards, his mouth formed and O as he said lightly "You've struggled in your past, I see the reversed justice card, you've had a tough time haven't you miss?"

Rainee was shocked, his reading had predicted her life perfectly. Shaking her head she asked "How-" her words were intercepted when the man came close to her. Putting a finger on her forehead he whispered "Now that I've read you your future, your present and your past, let me now SHOW you your future!"

Rainee's vision began to get fuzzy, soon though shapes begin to appear. Soon she saw a different house, much different from Grace Manor. It was warmly decorated and sitting at a table, that was being set for dinner was Jame, Mylie, two young children that she did not recognize, and one teenage boy whom she did not know. The two youngest had Jame's and her appearance. One had silver hair and bright silver eyes, the contrast was stunning along with the white cat ears and tail that the girl child possessed. The boy had her blue hair and his father's bright red eyes, the watching Rain held a hand to her mouth as she saw herself entering with a large roasted turkey. Setting it on the table, she heard Jame say "Thank you dear." He then smiled as he said "Lets dig in!" The vision then dissipated, leaving the present Rain shocked in the violently purple tent.

Turning to look at Mylie she murmured weakly "Lets go darling." she then grabbed her daughter's hand to lead her out, as she exited the tent she heard the man's warm squeaky voice shouting "See! Very happy future!"

Rain then stood in front of the exotic tent, sunlight pouring down at her as she thought about what she saw. Was it true? Was Jame and her going to have a family. Turning to look at her daughter she said softly "Lets go home dear."

Mylie shocked by her mother's change of thoughts said "But why mommy?"

"Lets just say...that mommy saw something shocking today..." Without letting her daughter respond, Rainee begin to lead Mylie towards the bazaar exit, her mind was steeped, her thoughts wondering if the future she saw was really true.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

"So, let me get this straight. I step into the darkness, and I'll find only what I want to find."

"Yes, that's the basic gist of it." The rather rotund and lavishly decorated ("dressed" isn't the proper term for this) magician pulled aside an ornate blue, yellow, orange, purple, and red tapestry woven from silk. Multicolored tassels fluttered in the air as I stood as still as a statue, my arms crossed and eyebrow raised in defiant disbelief.

"There's no fucking way I'm going to believe that crock of horse shit." A couple of other people who were meandering around the bazaar district of the city of Scara Brae glared at my claim with no small amount of disgust.

The man's eyes narrowed while a sleek grin parted his lips, revealing a set of teeth that were almost too white to be real. "Well, if the lady doesn't believe, what would it take to get her to?" He paused for a moment, putting a sausage finger to his chin in an overwrought display of thoughtfulness. "How about this? I'm so confident that you'll find what you're looking for in this tent, that if you don't, I'll close up and leave town."

"That's quite the bet you're making." I looked around. The rotund magician's overly loud presence and my disbelief had drawn a small crowd--it was as if part of this guy's act was publicity, and I was the unwitting assistant. "Alright," I hesitantly said to him, "you're on."

"Step right this way, ma'am." With a simple wave of his hand, he led me into the darkness.

At first, there was nothing. But as the seconds went by, a dim light filled the space, giving it shape, color, and definition.

My heart sank when I immediately realized where I was--it was my family's manor deep within Concordia. The third floor to be precise, which was occupied by myself and my three brothers before Trevor was killed and I was kicked out. I began trembling uncontrollably. This was a location I often found myself whenever I happened to fall asleep.

I recalled my recurring nightmare as I stood at the end of the foreboding hallway. Almost every night, I'd systematically open each and every door, finding nothing but the mangled bodies of every single person my family killed over the years. Their haunted stares all turned towards me, their gazes filled with sadness and anger. I would slam the door and move on to the next one, only to get the same result with the next wave of corpses that retained the wounds that did them in.

I would reach the last door of the hallway after what seemed like an eternity. It was my old bedroom. However, as I would throw open the door, I would hear the sound of a crossbow--my brother Trevor's personal crossbow, to be specific--release its heavy wooden bolt. Before I could get out of the way, the plynt-tipped shaft would drive itself through my chest, leaving a gaping hole where my lung would've been. As I would stumble backwards into the wall, the door would swing open, revealing the grinning visages of my brothers; Justin, Michael, and... Trevor, complete with the oozing slash wounds across his throat and face that did him in. I would cry out weakly, though I'm not exactly sure what I was trying to say. The three would respond with another crossbow bolt, this time aimed at my face.

Every night, I would wake up just before the bolt burrowed itself right between my eyes.

I clenched my eyes shut as the I tried to shut out the memories of the horrible dream. A small tear streaked down my face. I was not prepared for this; this was not what I wanted. I didn't want to die. For once in my life, I wanted to live. I knew it was nothing more than an illusion, but it was still all too real for me.

As I turned to leave, I heard a scream come from the end of the hallway, a rather manly scream. Then, there was the unmistakable sounds of flesh and bone tearing, alongside the splattering of what had to have been an awful lot of blood. I paused for a second, wondering whether or not I should bail while I had the chance, or go and investigate. As silence filled the hallway once more, my feet slowly carried me towards the end of the hall, seemingly against my will.

Before I knew it, I was standing in front of the door. Silence hung in the air like a sickness. I could also smell the metallic stench of blood--lots of blood. My trembling hand inched towards the door, eventually wrapping tightly around the cold iron knob. The mechanism clicked as I turned the handle and pushed the door in.

Even after the audible foreshadowing, I was by no means prepared for the sight before me. Blood covered the walls of what was my old bedroom in thick, running lines. Severed limbs belonging to two unrecognizable men were scattered on the floor, saturating the beige carpet with thick, dark liquid. While the faces of the unlucky guys were slashed and torn beyond all belief, I instantly knew who they were: My two remaining brothers, Justin and Michael.

In the middle of the massacre stood a figure wearing a dark cloak, their back turned towards me. Several long lengths of sharp, blood-soaked wire were slowly retracting into the mysterious person's outstretched sleeves. I slowly backed away from the scene, overcome with shock at the state of my old room. A small thunk shattered the quiet as I hit the wall. The figure suddenly snapped to attention slowly turning to face me after a few seconds. The killer's face was obscured by a bone-white clay mask that was decorated only with two small eye slits and two blood red waves that adorned the bottom half.

By now, I was shaking uncontrollably. The shock of finding my family dead, no matter how much I hated their rotting guts, was overwhelming. Another tear streaked down my face as the killer slowly reached up and removed the mask.

I was even less prepared for what was under that mask.

It was me.

However, something was terribly wrong. The entire right side of my face was horribly scarred, perhaps by fire or some sort of sorcery. The cracked, darkened skin transformed me from homely to downright terrifying. The other me's eyes, while still bright blue in hue, seemed hardened by sadness and wrath.

Our eyes locked for what seemed like hours. My mouth felt dry; my knees, weak. I wanted to talk, to say something, but I couldn't. It was just too much for me. I collapsed to the floor, bracing my back up against the old walls of my family's manor.

The other me slowly replaced the mask and bundled herself in the dark silk cloak, moving like a ghost away from the bloodbath. We said nothing as she passed by me, quickly leaving the manor as if she never even existed.

It was then that the words of the man who ran this magical distraction ran through my mind. "You'll find nothing more or less than what you want to find."

I wanted my family to die for what they've done to me, that much was true. But, was I destined to be the one who carried out their ultimate fates?

Is that woman in the cloak really what I'll become?

I sat in the hallway for a long time contemplating that notion.

[Flames of Hyperion]

Well, the idea started out small. Then it grew, and it grew, and I didn't have the heart to prune it. Now it probably doesn’t count as a vignette any more. Still, I post it in the hopes that perhaps somebody will enjoy the read...

It was not often that the streetside vendors singled him out from the market-going crowd, for he wasn't exactly the conspicuous type. His clothes and features were a tad outlandish to be sure, and he still carried himself with the uncertainty of one who had not been in these lands before, but that was no different from the average adventurer passing through the streets of Scara Brae and of those there were many. Furthermore, he didn't give off the confident, almost greedy aura that always went with those heavy of coin; his purse was light and his possessions few, and he did not hungrily scrutinise the stalls around him looking for his next buy.

Two things thus caught his attention when the small bucktoothed man flagged him down and indicated the tent behind; chiefly that he'd been flagged down in the first place. The other aspect was slightly more subtle, related to the words that the prancing vendor had flung at him, practically in a secretive whisper...

"You'll find nothing more or less than what you want to find."

Nothing more, nothing less... than what I want to find...

Somehow the words seemed to strike a chord within his soul and his mind. Just what did he want to find, anyways? Did he want to pass through the invitingly open tent flap only to be clubbed into oblivion and sold in some distant slave market as mine fodder? Would the very fact that he was thinking such thoughts make them true?

Or was there some deeper, more philosophical meaning to them? Did the heavy tapestry veil the secret of life? Would he find inside something simple, something profound, something that would change his life forever with its unostentatious purity?

It's not as if I must be anywhere soon...

Very well, he decided, his mind made up. The offer had been sufficiently tempting, sufficiently ambiguous - and besides, it was free to travellers, was it not? The scholar within was hooked, intrigued as to what magic the vendor spoke of, what enchantment had been placed on the tent... or on whatever lay inside.

The little man bowed and smiled wide, revealing broken yellowed teeth as he ushered Ingwe forwards. Ingwe in turn had little time to prepare himself, before the curtain came crashing down behind him, and he was alone with the darkness within.

***

Well, almost alone.

He sensed her long before he saw her, for human eyes were notoriously bad at adjusting to the darkness, and wizards learned to compensate somewhat via other means. Her scent was a delicate bouquet that tinted the air just so, and the soft rustle of satin against satin was recognisable even in the pitch-black. Ingwe stood stock-still, wary and cautious, eyes closed as he silently probed his surroundings.

To his surprise, he could perceive nothing but a single bed about five steps in front of him. Nothing else showed on his mental map... not even the entrance supposedly just behind him.

A soft, sensual giggle sounded around the chamber. It seemed to come from all directions at once, and yet Ingwe realised with some consternation... there was only one, and she sat on the bed in front of him. Slowly, carefully, he opened his eyes.

She was beautiful, even he had to admit that. Lustrous dark hair spilled over finely boned shoulders, skin of silky snow accented by skimpy clothes of dark sapphire. Her face was youthful and very, very pretty; long eyelashes, perfectly shaped nose and chin, the high cheekbones and refined forehead so prized by the connoisseurs of beauty. And the curves so cunningly revealed by the clothing (or, perhaps more accurately, the lack of it) were enough to drive any man mad with desire. She held herself with the poise of a dancer and the grace of a panther, an innocent-seeming flower seeking her prey… the instant he laid eyes upon her, it was obvious whom said prey was to be.

"Come..." she beckoned, outstretched hand tempting him forth. Her voice was low, throaty and fulsome, and it took all of his resolve to remain rooted to the spot.

"My lady, I cannot," Ingwe replied, bowing low. Every fibre of his body begged to be released, even as every synapse in his mind screamed of the dangers. He averted his gaze for as long as possible, fearing that if he looked at her once more, no amount of discipline and control would keep him in line.

"Why not?" the girl twittered, and he found that he had not the words to reply. Courtesy demanded that he hold the bow no longer; he was forced to meet her gaze again, if only for an instant before he wrenched his head to one side. That instant was more than enough, however, for the charm of her pout and the prettily puzzled wrinkle in her forehead to brand themselves into his mind. "Very well," she laughed, and the rustle of cloth warned him of what was to come. "If you must be so shy... then I must come to you..."

Barely had she said the words before she stood close before him, and Ingwe had neither the time nor the resolve to protest. She giggled again, low and seductive, and reached out to touch him. The sound flooded his ears, her perfume overwhelmed his resistance, and her very proximity threatened to drive him insane. "Come," she whispered once more, the words tickling his mind. "Relax... let yourself go..."

"My lady, I must not."

It took every last shred of strength, every last ounce of will, for Ingwe to twist the words from his soul. Of a sudden, he found himself staring into her luminous eyes, losing himself in their silky depths... drowning... drowning...

"Why not?" she breathed lightly, leaning close until her presence filled his sight and he could think of nought else. "I can make you happy beyond all your earthly desires... I can make you famous, your name known beyond the borders of all lands... I can make you beautiful, handsome and desirable beyond any other mortal on Althanas. I can give you everything, Ingwe... why do you refuse...?"

She stared into his eyes, and her sight seemed to pierce the very core of his soul. His vision blurred, the scene shimmered... and for just an instant, her face was not hers, but Elerrina's.

In that one instant his heart wavered, and he almost gave in.

In that one instant his mind resolved, and he knew not to.

"Because I must," he replied, and his words sounded from the very depths of his throat. "I do not desire happiness for myself, nor fame, nor vanity. My lady, I thank you for your offer, but I must decline."

A deep, shuddering breath. How he managed to gently push her away he didn't know, but push her away he did. It took all of his willpower to banish her from his sight, but banish her he did. When he once more met her eyes, his composure somewhat restored, she was glaring at him with undisguised fury.

"Fine!" she screamed, and suddenly she was beautiful no more. Her gaze flared with her anger, her countenance now skeletal and grim, and her skin shone not with youthful innocence but with ethereal power. "Cursed you shall be, cursed forever to walk the world alone, shunned by all and loved by none. Cursed you shall be, never to be happy, always to be ugly! Cursed you shall be!"

Something surged from her outstretched palms, and Ingwe doubled over in agony, only the lack of air in his lungs keeping him from screaming at the images that seared his mind. Tears flowed unrestricted down his cheeks as the vision of his future played itself out, always alone, always seeking, never finding. Was he truly doomed to such a meagre existence, truly damned to such a pitiful life? Was there no hope? The visions gave him only the negative in reply, and the only comfort was in the darkness that rushed to claim him, merciful salvation from the nightmares that wracked his mind.

***

He opened his eyes to find himself standing again, refreshed and alert and surprisingly whole. His muscles seemed to ripple with suppressed energy; he felt tensed and relaxed, strong and supple, a hunter readying himself for the hunt. His mind was calm, peaceful - the hellish scenes that had played themselves out within still there but locked beneath a mirror-like serenity.

The bed that had stood in front of him had been replaced by a rack of weapons, well stocked with swords, pole arms, and other more outlandish weapons of all descriptions. Every blade, every axe, every spear gleamed bright with meticulous workmanship; a few even stood out to his magically attuned senses, arcanely enchanted to enhance their already formidable qualities.

"Warrior!" came the call from behind him, and Ingwe spun around on his heel, instinctively dropping into a defensive crouch.

She was similar to, but not quite the same as, the girl who had tried to seduce him; slightly older, perhaps, and more athletic. A corslet of shining mythril molded itself to accommodate her curves, greaves and vambraces sheathed her long lanky limbs, and a silver helmet decorated with the swept wings of an angel adorned her comely face. But at the same time Ingwe could not help but notice that she brandished high a long spear, a second planted head-down in the ground beside her, and that the shield strapped to her left arm only partially concealed the exquisitely decorated scabbard underneath.

"Choose your weapons," she continued, eying him with disdain… the disdain that a confident predator held for the prey unwary enough to fall into its trap. "Choose wisely, and if you defeat me, you may still walk free."

Ingwe did not bother to turn back to the assortment of swords and spears on the rack. "I have no wish to..."

He never managed to finish his sentence, as she took aim and hurled the spear like a lightning bolt. Ingwe barely managed to duck his head out of its path, sensing rather than seeing the wood behind him splinter and shatter beneath the tremendous impact. A trickle of blood from the fine graze on his cheek spoke of how close his head had come to a similar fate.

"You have no choice, warrior," she stated flatly, reaching down and ripping free her second barbed shaft in one smooth motion. "You have no choice..."

A leap, a bound, and she was upon him.

"... but to fight!"

Taken aback by the sheer ferocity in which she pressed home her advantage, it was all Ingwe could do to dodge her spear as it sang its song of death. Crescent arcs and driving plunges were nigh invisible to the naked eye save for as hazy blurs of movement; the young man evaded on instinct and training alone as thought was left behind. A thrust here barely missed his twisting midriff, a sweeping stroke threatened to break his back on the metal shaft until he danced backwards out of reach. Somehow he managed to scramble away from the next forceful stab of the silver blade, breathing heavily but buying himself some time as it embedded itself in the soft earthen floor.

"There is always a choice," he murmured, and still his hands did not reach towards the only means of defence he had upon him, a pair of hiltless short swords strapped to his back. His opponent eyed him steadily, almost as if sizing him up... before in the blink of an eye the spearhead was free once more and whistling through the stale heavy air.

This time, however, Ingwe was ready.

A swirl of cloak, a twist of the arm, and unexpectedly the shaft was wrenched free of the warrior-maiden's grasp, landing heavily in the dust along with the tattered remnants of most of the blue outer garment. Heedless of its loss she reached for her sword; in one swift movement it was unsheathed and arcing down in an overhand stroke towards Ingwe’s exposed shoulder.

But now he did reach for his own steel, and they whispered lightly as they whisked free of the silken saya.

The first flicked out to deflect her blade, and metal sang upon metal as he guided it downwards and away. Quicker than thought, the second flashed, slipping under her guard, past her shield and towards her slender neck...

It stopped there, a finger span away from drawing blood.

Time stopped, freezing the two warriors locked in combat. She, with shield held high and sword buried low, legs splayed midstroke. He, footing sure, one blade parrying hers whilst the other rested lightly between her head and her guard.

"Why do you not kill me?" she invited, and Ingwe could not help but notice that despite the fact that he held a naked blade to her throat, her voice remained as cool and as composed as ever. In stark contrast to he, she didn't even seem to be breathing heavily. Marvelling at her skill, her aplomb, he carefully withdrew from her proximity and re-sheathed his weapons.

"Because I have no desire to," he replied, bowing courteously, albeit understandably not quite as low as before. She remained rooted to the spot, giving him a funny look...

... and suddenly all strength seemed to seep out of his veins. It started with his legs, calves growing weak and liquid, feet frozen and unable to support his weight. When he tried to find his arms in an attempt to ward off the lethargy, he found that they too would not respond to his pleas. To his knees he collapsed, unable to prevent the fall; backwards he toppled, his mind screaming frantically, helplessly, every numbing second of the way.

The darkness above was but a blur; his vision dim and distant and slowly slipping from his grasp. Vaguely he managed to make out the figure of the warrior-maiden as she stood above him; the point of her sword was the lone glimmer in a rapidly fogging world.

"Which is why you shall fall, here and now, no cause at your back, no justice on your side, nobody to see you die." The words echoed hollow in his mind, the bells that rang to signify his doom. "Remember... life is never that merciful..."

He had not the strength left to scream as the sword entered his flesh, inexorably, relentlessly, driving downwards as if fate. Only the pain remained to suffuse what remained of his world... only the darkness came to claim him once more.

***

When he opened his eyes for the third time, he found himself standing in a pulpit, an ancient tome spread out before him upon a well-worn bookstand. The flowing script he recognised as an archaic form of Elven, one that was often used for magic and the forbidden arts. Around him he could sense, rather than see, the presence of many other such tomes; literally, he stood in the midst of a library of knowledge awaiting his perusal.

For a moment, his heart leapt to the skies. Here, he would be able to find the answers to what he sought. In this, the repository of all knowledge granted to the world, he could determine the nature of the spell that had spirited Elerrina away. He could study the land called Haidia, and deduce the motives and the powers of his erstwhile friends. He could...

Then he froze, and his countenance grew grim.

"Why do you hesitate?" The voice that spoke was familiar, as was the figure that slipped out of the shadows to his left. The sound was undeniably more mature, however, and the girl and maiden of previous encounters had blossomed into a sensual woman in her prime. Dressed in the flowing black robes of a master mage, she eyed him intensely from behind a pair of half-moon spectacles. "That very book contains the answers to what you seek, all that you claim to wish to know. Why do you not read from it?"

Ingwe turned to face her, and though the disappointment and the strain that held him in check were both evident, his words as he spoke were firm and true.

"I have no wish to read cursed tomes, my lady, not even if I were to find within all the answers that Althanas could offer."

She frowned, an intellectual frown quite different from that of her younger sisters. For that was what they were, Ingwe realised, as the nature of the tent and its trials suddenly if belatedly dawned upon him.

"Why not?" she further pressed, seeking to attack the weakness in his argument, the chink in his armour that would push him over the edge. It was there, plain for her to see... the difficulty that he was having in holding to his moral code. "Do you care for her so little? Did you not swear upon your life that you would do anything to find her again? What harm can the knowledge do, when put to a purpose as just as yours?"

Ingwe bowed low in response, for the third time since entering the world beyond the tapestry. Only his darting mind kept pace with his heart as it beat a drummer’s roll deep within his chest, but his self-possession was such that you could not quite tell just by looking at him.

"My lady, I will admit that I am sorely tempted," he acknowledged, the tremor in his voice not faked. "But still I must decline, for the price of knowledge found so easily is invariably far greater than anything I am willing to pay. The cursed tomes have a way of collecting their debt in the most gruesome manners possible, and I have no wish to die before I am able to put the knowledge thus acquired to proper use."

He paused for a moment as he straightened once more, before continuing.

"Rest assured that I will learn the contents of this tome." His gaze grew gentle, seeking understanding, seeking recognition. Then it hardened once more. "But I will do it through my own tears and sweat, through my toil and my blood... I shall not seek the easy way out, for there is no such path in life."

Her gaze towards him turned thoughtful for a moment, appraising and pensive. A subtle gleam in her eyes told him that something in her estimation had changed; whether for the better or for the worse, he had no idea. Not for long, however.

"Pity," she replied, her tongue clicking in a gesture of regret. "I would have so enjoyed the spectacle... I guess, thus, that I must instead do this myself..."

A snap of her arms, arcane words forming upon her lips, and her entire body seemed to glow with power. So similar to her sisters before her… and yet so much more domineering, so much more potent. The eyes that glared upon him now held no sympathy, no mercy... only a singular sense of impending doom.

But this time, Ingwe was prepared.

A murmured chant, and a spell of his own rolled off his lips. Like a musician directing the octaves on his instrument, he plucked upon the winds of magic that gathered around her, seeking out the mana she drew upon and disrupting its flow. She screamed as her power began to seep away, slipping through her fingers like water through a sieve.

Then laughed in triumph as a swell of fresh magic rose to replace it, nullifying Ingwe's counterspell in a flash of thought. Lightning surged from her fingertips, setting the air ablaze with its crackling intensity; the electric bolts rose high into the air before arcing down to where her opponent stood.

Ingwe didn't hang around to greet them, throwing himself out of the pulpit with all the agility he could muster. Barely he made it away, the tips of his hair tingling with static as the charge passed him by; he transferred his momentum into a swift roll before coming to his knees to face her, right arm outstretched palm-first while his left held it steady.

"Kaendan!" he whispered, and a fist-sized ball of fire shot forth from the flat of his hand. The flame hastened unheeding through the pillars of lightning that sought to impede its progress, blazing towards its target straight and true. But she laughed and waved her hand, and the fireball seemed to just disappear, extinguished by what seemed like pure thought alone. Another graceful flourish of movement, and more electricity raced towards his new position, annihilating the ground he’d kneeled upon as he just about managed to dart free.

Within moments, the chamber stank of singed leather and burning paper, and the entire vicinity bore the scorched consequences of her spells as they chased him around the room, toying with him like a cat toyed with a mouse. The difference in skill between Ingwe - a mere apprentice even in human years - and the master arcanist who opposed him was as clear as the sky on a cloudless day... but the young man hadn't given up quite yet.

"Reppudan!" came the cry, and another sphere of elemental energy shot towards his foe. This, unlike the first, was composed not of flame but of compressed air, and instead of dissipating harmlessly upon her nullifying counter, it cut through the invisible shield like a chainsaw through wood. A veritable wall of lightning was directed to rise to greet it in response, and the wind-ball disappeared amongst the electric barrier like a ship swallowed up amongst the typhoon swell...

... but Ingwe was now nowhere to be seen.

Above! she realised, and indeed there he was, where he had used the distraction of his first spell and the smoking remains of the pulpit to jump high in the air overhead. Both palms now glowed with fire as he leapt upon her, and she realised belatedly his reasoning and his intentions; his puny spells could not penetrate her magical defences from afar, and thus he sought to manoeuvre close to where he could not miss.

"Don't underestimate me!" she screamed in turn, and a new set of lightning bolts formed above her even as she spoke. They tore into his flesh, charring muscle and singeing bone...

... yet still he came on, refusing to be repelled, roaring a battlecry in a foreign tongue as he forced his way through.

She barely had time to shriek before he was upon her, the twin fireballs in his hands launched at nigh point-blank. He could not miss, and indeed he didn't. There was a fiery explosion, shrapnel-like shards of shattered stone witness to the sheer spectacle, and when the dust cleared she was nowhere to be seen, a shred of charred clothing the only sign that she had once stood there.

Abruptly the library was restored to quiet, an illusory serenity punctuated by the laboured breaths of the young man who stood within. Eyes of bronzed brown swept the room as an exhausted mind reached a single conclusion, and the fatigue that wrote itself onto his face aged him by many years.

"Don't play with me," Ingwe murmured, collapsing to his knees as injuries took their toll. Laughter rolled from behind him, and he knew his instincts to be true.

"You shall pay for that," she whispered in sadistic glee, shimmering into existence mere steps away from his fallen form. "The fires of hell shall eat away at your soul for all eternity, and you shall never know release from the torment. Though you may beg, though you may cry for mercy, you shall find none, for I am a harsh, harsh..."

"Just do it," Ingwe muttered darkly, staggering weakly as he tried to force himself back to his feet. Perhaps, if he could...

Too late.

"Burn."

The sibilant syllable had barely reached his ears before he felt an unpleasant tingling sensation start at his lower legs. It spread upwards, inch by agonising inch, increasing in intensity as it went. By the time it reached his waist, he was screaming uncontrollably as the very skin seemed to flake off his limbs; as it travelled further to his chest and beyond, the excruciating torment only grew, as the dark flames ate away at his body one tortured cell at a time.

And this time, there was no comforting blackness to claim him. There was only cruel light, and ruthless pain, and...

***

His eyes flickered open for the fourth time, the various sufferings that he had endured carved freshly and harshly into his psyche. But his body seemed surprisingly whole; he flexed his arms and they responded with no ill comfort, and the tingling sensation in his legs was not dark hellfire but a simple case of pins and needles. Even the cloak that he had thought he’d lost in battle was comfortingly wrapped around his body. With an uncharacteristic groan he rose to his feet, shaking his extremities vigorously to rid them of their lethargy. It was almost as if he had been asleep for a long while, and yet...

"Ingwe Helyanwe," a voice sounded, and he started. For more reasons than one, since even his magically attuned senses had not registered any other presence in the immediate vicinity. His reply was thus wary and tentative, his mind redoubling its efforts to penetrate the darkness around him.

"... aye?"

A sudden light shone, the first to reveal itself since he'd entered the tent. Blinded by its unexpected intensity, Ingwe took one step back... and, to his surprise, came up against the weave of the very tapestry that he had entered by. It seemed that he had returned to his original surroundings... wherever that may be, whatever that meant.

Blinking rapidly in order for his eyes to adjust, he peered into the centre of the light-source. Vaguely he could make out a shadow within, but the outlines were fuzzy and unrecognisable, beyond his limited ability to divine. The voice, however, was not too hard to categorise; it was that of a woman, aged and wise, and it resounded with power that extended far beyond mere magic.

"I suppose that you know why you are here?" the formless voice continued, and indeed, Ingwe supposed that he did. If the three young women had been the trials - of the spiritual, of the physical, of the mental - then he deduced that this was the final stage of the judgement. Which, in turn, implied that he had either succeeded in passing the tests… or had failed miserably. As if to confirm his suspicions, he sensed three forms materialising just at the edges of the light... no particular inference was required to deduce that they were the three sisters of previous acquaintance. He gave them a courteous nod, wary yet respectful, and they smiled in return, each in their own special way. But his attention never fully wavered from the being in front of him, and he sensed that he too was being appraised.

"I think so," he replied, choosing his words carefully. One burning question, however, demanded to be given form. "If I may ask, yaaraer… what would have happened if I had chosen differently?"

The title that he used was elvish for “ancient one”, a moniker of great respect that he felt was appropriate to the situation… and one, he noted, that did not draw any sharp retort.

"Your choice would have been granted," was instead her answer, seemingly slightly surprised by the question. "Whatever you asked for would have been bestowed upon you, whether it be fame and beauty, or martial prowess, or knowledge, or any other of your heart’s desires. You would have walked free with gift in hand, to make use of as you wished."

Ingwe frowned slightly at her words, and again for more reasons than one. For he found it a difficult task, talking to disembodied voices, especially since such a great part of intelligent conversation was done by gesture and expression in addition to the spoken word.

"But... the catch would have been..."

"There was no catch, young one," soothed the voice, modulated specifically to assuage his fears. "There was nothing to fear from us… nought to fear except whatever consequences would have arisen from the usage of your new gifts."

"The cost would have been paid in full, later..." Ingwe murmured gently, and from the satisfied silence that followed, the warrior-mage knew that he had guessed correctly. The gift would have been given, and in good will, but sooner or later human nature and the quirks of fate would have doomed him to pay a price far beyond its worth. For the rich and the famous were always the ones that had the most to lose; the strong and mighty always came up against one greater than they. And knowledge obtained without corresponding payment was often followed by an early death.

"Tell me, young one," the disembodied light mused, and if it could have stroked its chin in thought, it would have been doing so now. "What do you fear so much, that you were persuaded to make your choices as so?"

Ingwe paused, and contemplated. Long and hard he contemplated, for somehow it was clear that there was no rush to answer. When at last he responded, his words carried a wondrous note that suggested that even he wasn't sure of their meaning.

"I fear naught... but fear itself."

If a voice could nod, again it would have done so now. But the being was not fully satisfied with his answer. "Perhaps," it chided, as a wise sage to a young child. "But I see three great fears within you, three dreads that you should do well to heed."

Ingwe stiffened, his pupils registering not outrage, but shock. Could it really be that she saw deeper within him than he did himself?

"You fear being alone, having nobody to love and nobody loving you. You fear the solitude and the heartache that assaults at the depths of the night, and thus you harden your heart and forge forth alone."

The youngest sister giggled.

"You fear being weak, having somebody or something to protect, but being unable to carry out that mission. You fear failing that precious somebody in the time of their greatest need."

The shield-maiden smiled.

"And most of all, you fear yourself. You fear that you will give up; you fear that you will succumb to desire or become overwhelmed by regret. This is what you fear the most."

The eldest, the mage, met his gaze and held it. And as Ingwe caught his reflection within her tawny brown pupils, a sudden chill ran down his spine.

"It is true," he admitted in reply, slowly, but not unwillingly. "I fear all of those things."

He could not hold his head high any longer; shamed, he averted his gaze to the ground. Only the silence of acceptance greeted his words, echoing, accusing.

Then he looked up again, and the fire in his spirit was rekindled.

"But I fight. I fight against my fears, so that they do not drive me to dishonour. I discipline my desires, so that I am not overwhelmed by greed, lust, or gluttony. And I learn from my regrets, seeking to right them, seeking that I do not make them again." He breathed deeply, and continued. "I do not believe in an entity called fate, my lady. My destiny is my own, mine to shape as I will."

Another pause as he released the air from his lungs, allowing all the pent-up anger and frustration to dissipate alongside.

"If you ever meet a Lord Fate, my lady, please tell him this... that Ingwe Helyanwe will fight him every step of the way."

Marvel at the nigh supernatural strength in his voice, the discipline and the control that he exerted over his raging emotions. Was it profound respect that touched her next words, or mere amusement at the vain struggles of a mortal spirit? In any case, it seemed that he had passed some form of test, for all three maidens relaxed subtly.

"Johannes Hrothgar, son of Will, of the golden forest..."

Ingwe started. He hadn't heard his true name for a long time now, even if she did insist on using it in such a roundabout fashion.

"What de ye seek?"

He pondered a short while, but the answer was clear.

"My friends."

"And what de ye hope to find?"

Again he was careful with his reply, but again there was only one to make.

"Answers, my lady."

"Then hearken to my words, young one... hearken, and remember well…"

***

It was to his great surprise that when he emerged from the tapestry, it was almost as if the outside world had not changed at all. The sun was still at its zenith, albeit largely obscured by the scuttling grey clouds and the constant threat of drizzle. The market-going crowd still passed him by, mostly ignoring the young man swathed in dark blue cloak. And the prancing "owner" of the tent was still smiling at him with yellowed teeth, although this time with a hint of expectation and satisfaction.

"What you find?" was the quick-fire question for his latest customer, and Ingwe smiled gently and graciously before bowing in reply.

"Magic," he said, causing the vendor to grin even wider. "Magic... and a little bit of truth."

The warrior-mage smiled again, this time in farewell, as he slipped once more into the steady stream of shoppers and runners.

And all that was left was her parting gift, words whispered like the zephyr breeze into his mind.

'Ware the falls of Mountain-Tear,
'Ware the paths to one held dear.
'Ware the ruins of Istien,
'Ware the Flames of Hyperion!

~ Fin.

[Bloodrose]

"You can understand my apprehension." Teric suggested casually, his arms crossed over his chest. He stood idly to the side of the street, in front of a gaudy yellow tent. The tent's owner, a scruff looking magician with a hand rolled cigarette, was nodding in agreement. "It's not exactly the most credible of claims." The veteran added.

"True." The magician was young, perhaps twenty and a year or two. His interesting wardrobe choices of blue and white checkered pantaloons, a frilly white fencing shirt, and a the rattiest tweed jacket seemed pretty much in line with typical street shysters these days, and his disheveled, unwashed appearance didn't do much to improve his appeal either. "Too many charlatans, alchemists, and gypsies selling snake-oil and fortunes. They've ruined the trade for us honest folk really." He stated his words in a very boring, matter-of-fact tone. The kind of tone a child might use when he's forced to stand in an uninteresting spot for too long.

Teric snorted softly, but managed to avoid rolling his eyes at the man. Honest folk my ass... The local bazaar was experiencing a mid-afternoon lull, and the magician had been utilizing the break in activity to enjoy a break from his soap box when the veteran had wandered by. Perhaps, had he been on the other side of the street, Teric could have passed the man by without incident. As it happened, however, he had been on the wrong side of the street, so even the 'on break' magician couldn't resist making a passing sales pitch at the elder as he walked within easy earshot...

"Well, I'll give you points for creativity then." The warrior bantered back at the magician. "It's not snake oil or a palm reading, but I still think you're pulling my leg. I mean honestly, how does your tent know what it is I want to find?"

The magician shrugged and flashed a mischievous, yet bland smile. "It's magic?"

"Ha!" Teric's spontaneous guffaw quieted a few nearby chatters and drew a half dozen or so stares to the yellow tent. "You're a cheeky bastard, you know that?"

"Maybe." That smile was still plastered across the magician's face as he took another drag on his smoke.

"Yes, well, I suppose I'll entertain your little fantasy here. Even if only for the laugh." The magician caught the coin Teric sent spinning his way deftly, not even looking up from the glowing ember on the end of his cigarette. The coin disappeared into a pocket, and the man stopped leaning against the nearby wooden post long enough to lift the tent flap for Teric as he moved to duck inside.

"You don't have any friends waiting to mug me inside, do you?" Was Teric's passing shot over the bow as paused before entering.

"You're the third person today to ask me that, old man." The magician shot right back in his bored, indifferent tone. "They've all come back out with their money intact, so I imagine you will too."

The tent flap dropped shut behind Teric as he made his way into the center of the small interior. It was dark inside, with only the light filtering in beneath the flap for illumination. It was musty inside as well, much like an old tent that's been sitting around for a while should be. All in all it seemed to be a fairly typical tent really.

"The only thing magical about this tent is the color." Teric whispered to himself, slightly disappointed in the fact that he had wasted even a single coin on this venture.

"It's time to cut the turkey." A familiar hand patted Teric on the back warmly, shocking Teric into a start. The old man almost literally leapt from his skin, whipping around only to be confronted by a very confused looking Rayse. "Calm down there, uncle." Rayse added. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"What are you doing...here...?" Teric heard his own sentence drift off at the end as he realized he wasn't standing in a tent anymore. The hewn stone floor beneath his feet was smooth and worn from the ages, and covered in spots with familiar crimson rugs. The stone and beam walls were decorated with the faded shields and blunted weapons of a dozen famous Salvarian warlords. Even the hearth, that great monstrosity of a fireplace where his father used to roast pig, was exactly where it should have been. Where a second ago had been nothing but a ratty old tent was now the living room and adjacent dining area of Teric's Father's familial estate in the Salvar...

"Who are all these people?" Teric asked Rayse hesitantly, indicating the small flock of men, women, and children milling about a dining table set for a Yuletide feast.

Rayse gave his uncle a puzzled, worried look that seemed entirely unnatural for the cocky, self-assured Contractor. "I don't know what you mean." His voice seemed to fade even as he spoke. "This is your family..."

A single step forward and the illusion was gone, shattered into the background as Teric found himself standing outside the tent. The normal hustle and bustle of the bazaar had picked back up a little, and the magician turned as he was preparing to mount his soapbox.

"You alright?" The magician asked, with all the worry and caring or a corpse. Without even waiting for an answer the young man hopped up atop his pedestal and launched into an almost comical series of shouts and cat-calls designed to drag passerby to the front of his tent.

I'm fine. You're fine. Breathe. Teric could only shake his head as if to clear a bad dream, and he ignored the chill shiver that ran down the back of his spine. Just a stupid tent. He continued silently, stalking off, away from the gaudy yellow tent and its visions...

[Karuka]

I found it interesting that so many of you decided to choose between what you really wanted and thought you really didn't want, what you really wanted and knew you could never have, and what you really wanted, but wasn't so grand. Let me just say it was really hard to choose between so many excellent contenders, but here are the winners of the vignette contest, in this order:

1) Flames of Hyperion
2) Chiroptera
3) Caden Law

Rewards are below, but first, here's my little contribution to this thingamawhatsit.


Another day, another town. Karuka had been traveling so long that she couldn't count how many towns she'd been through and how many markets she'd passed. It just wasn't significant. It was an average day for her, she'd walked a few miles that morning, gotten in in the afternoon, found an inn, set her stuff in a room, and gone to buy supplies.

Basic shopping done and plenty of light left in the day, she'd decided to walk through town more, and had found herself in the specialty Bazaar, where all sorts of high-end and expensive items could be found. There wasn't anything in particular that interested her, nothing she needed or really wanted. She supposed that she'd be going back soon enough, when a merchant she was passing caught at her arm.

"Enter my little room behind the veil! Free today for travelers, this little room is curiously enchanted!"

Karuka shrugged, throwing him off.

"I don't really need anything, especially when I don't know what's in there."

The man smiled from behind his grizzled beard. "What will you find, love? Nothing more or less than what you really want. Go on, go on," he said, guiding her in.

Karuka balked. Why should she trust strangers? Why should she trust at all? And why should she go into the dark little room behind a dingy tapestry? But why shouldn't she? She didn't have anything better to do, and no one would miss her if she just...disappeared. Even if the few friends she had ever stopped to think about her, Althanas was a big place. It wouldn't be unusual to never see someone again.

Putting her hands on the hilts of her daggers, the little red-head stepped through.

As the tapestry fluttered closed behind her, the merchant looked at a raven that had perched on top of the building. "What? Geez, I only got the kid in there. You know she dawdles like Hel." He then looked back toward the room. "Good luck, kid."


~*~*~*~

It was pitch black inside the room, and Karuka felt cornered, trapped. She kept her hands wrapped tightly upon the hilts of her daggers, listening for any sound that might tell her of an impending attack.

"Really now, Karuka, you should stop standing obstinately in the dark."

The voice sounded vaguely familiar, the accent sounding Fallien. It was a man's voice, and had pronounced her name "Kah-ROO-ka," rather than "Care-uh-kuh."

"I stand in the dark because there is no light. Who are you, and how do you know my name?"

There was a soft fissh as a match lit a few feet away from her, and a brown hand started lighting candles until the room was filled with brightness.

"Silly child, there will always be light for ones who can make it."

Karuka looked upon the face of the man who seemed to have been waiting for her. His skin was darker than her own, his eyes a clear hazel, almost gold. He had dark lips like she had, thick eyebrows, and most telling, a prominent chakra on his forehead. That was not a traditional Fallien marking.

"Apa? No. It's not possible. You can't be here."

He flashed a wide grin at her, sitting down at a table that she was sure hadn't been there just a second ago and gesturing that she should join him. She did not, although she did release her daggers to fold her arms over her chest.

"You're an illusion. None of this is real."

He laughed. "You have every bit of your mother's spirit in you. When I met her, she was bright as the sun itself, and spat fire ten times hotter."

He laughed, then his face turned serious. "Please, Karuka, sit. You were little when I left. Even if this is just an illusion, you're old enough now to have come to some conclusions in your own heart. What was it that the man said? You'll find nothing more or less in here than you really want. If I'm here now, then it must be what you really want, at least deep in your own heart."

Karuka slid into the seat across from the image of her father. An awkward silence hung for a few moments before she spoke, words coming cautiously from her, as though she weren't sure whether or not it was right to proceed, as though she wasn't quite sure if this was what ought to be said or not.

"Why did you leave us?"

Atid poured a cup of hot chai, and then a second, handing it to his young daughter. "It was dharma. I told you that when I gave you the sword you still carry around everywhere, despite the fact that you no longer wear it."

Karuka blinked. If this was some trick, it would have taken a lot of work to know that the bronze sword still rested at the bottom of her pack, despite being several pounds of extra weight. She was sure she hadn't passed through this town before, or seen that grizzled old vendor. Unless this place was reading her mind... Instead of standing up and leaving, though, she decided to press onward.

"Why follow dharma when you had a wife and child that you knew would be vulnerable after you left?"

Atid glowered at his red-headed daughter. "Faylinn was never vulnerable. She was more than powerful enough to protect the both of you, no matter what."

Karuka's blue eyes flashed. "My mother wept and wept after you left, and when she had no more strength to her for weeping, she was beaten that she might remember she was weak. We would have been left alone if you'd cared enough for the woman you told you loved and the child she bore you to be loyal to them. If it was your dharma to come to us, it was your dharma to stay, and to Hel with the religion you followed and the notion of dharma I believed in until I realized that it was just a way of saying that you only had responsibility for how long you wanted it. It freed you of commitment you didn't want. I hate you. I hate you. You have no sense of family or loyalty."

Atid stood up, towering over his daughter. "I left you for a better reason than that, and your mother knew it. It was your dharma to suffer and become strong. Look at you now. Look where you've been, what you've done, and who you've become. If you find your faith again, you will reach your full potential, and if not, you will still be strong and powerful."

Karuka stood up as well, letting her chair scrape against the floor. "Why should I have faith when there's no one worth it?"

"You blaspheme against the gods."

"The gods are dead." With that, she turned and walked out.


~*~*~*~

Moments after the red-head left, the vendor stepped in, removing his disguise and standing up into a tall and handsome man with strong facial features. He looked at the man that was again sitting at the table.

"How'd it go?"

Atid, as Karuka had known him in her infancy, merely sighed. "She's still angry, after all this time...and I really can't blame her. I don't know if it was right, making her and sending her to Althanas...it is said that suffering is essential to life...but I'm starting to regret inflicting so much of it on one so special to us."

The blond merely chuckled. "She'd never have risen above the sweetness and innocence of a five year old. Now look at her...growing up fast and beyond our control. It's healthy for her. Kids gotta grow up sometime."

Caden Law receives 100 EXP and 50 GP
Chiroptera receives 250 EXP and 75 GP
Chromamon Rockskin receives 300 EXP
Molotov receives 500 EXP
Nymph and Dragon receives 150 EXP
Dark Temptress receives 150 EXP
Lavinian Ambition receives 100 EXP
Unlucky receives 100 EXP
Nekoprincess receives 350 EXP
BlackandBlueEyes receives 200 EXP
Flames of Hyperion receives 100 EXP and 100 GP, and really should have made that post a solo
Bloodrose receives 300 EXP
and Karuka Tida receives 400 EXP.

[Karuka]

EXP/GP added!