I'm Sorry, Sir, The Butler Didn't Do It.

[Moonbird]

There are several different opinions on the causes of hysteria.

Some say it is a psychological condition caused by stress, grief or pain. Others, and these are the more traditional ones, say that it is all down to demons possessing the mind, enslaving the body, and as for what it does to the soul - one doesn't want to know. The exceedingly patient Mrs Bradley did not particularly care, as she was busy dealing with a fairly young girl, who was also pre-occupied. The girl's name was Rhia Blackwood; she was dressed sternly in a steel-grey gown, her face was made-up perfectly, and she was shrieking and hitting the wall with a chair.

"Ahhhhkkk!"

Mrs Bradley had seen hysteria several times in her longer-than-she-would-admit life, and knew how to deal with it. Two ringing slaps left crimson handprints on Rhia's cheeks, even through the thick powder, and a bucket of icy water smeared her mascara round her eyes, black tears dripping down her nose and mouth. She closed it, placed the chair gently on the floor, and sat down. Her hands folded into her lap and her eyes blinked, before she returned her gaze demurely to the floor.

The shocked people in the half-full tavern stared at her. It had been quiet that day, very quiet indeed. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened. People had come, bought drinks and food, chatted awhile, and left. This was how it always went; until Rhia Blackwood had decided to disturb the peace and ruin the wallpaper. Murmurs began to go round, and a few nervous chuckles.

"What the hell?"
"We could prob'ly get her for disturbing the peace..."
"Look at that wall. Just look at it."

A blush rose on her skin - all the way from her high neckline to her ringlets. Quite courteously, Rhia rose, curtseyed, and glided from the room. Mrs Bradley returned to her place beside the bar, where her son, now grown-up and bearded, poured the drinks. A few minutes passed. Quite loudly, as minutes go.

---

Perhaps now would be a good place to describe Rhia; as I'm sure most do not know her well yet.

Let us start at the bottom – with the overly-shiny black patent shoes. Be careful. They can blind in bright sunlight. The oversized lacy black flowers on the toe only make them more extravagant. Then the stockings – lace, lace, and more lace, in snowy white drifts that unfortunately bunch up around her ankles – they’re still a little big. The dress, of course, is a miracle of creation; it’s a wonder such a ghastly shade of greyish blue exists, let alone that they’ve managed to capture it on mere cloth. But what cloth! Silks, satins, crocheted lace and that must be velvet on the bodice. The skirt is edged with that white lacy material that looks so mysteriously like dandruff, or that bit on the edge of the milk-mug that solidifies…. The bodice is covered with frills of satin of an even more loathsome shade of muddy grey, if that’s possible.

An outsized, tacky jewel completes the creation – her parents liked to say it was a diamond, but Rhia knows better. It’s probably some of that green-shot glass goblet she smashed accidentally-on-purpose several years back. Then of course, the sleeves are puffed like huge watermelons, edged with more of the mysterious snowy lace that must have taken weeks, if not months, to crochet into elegant patterns. It is a fearsome structure and not to be attempted unaided, so Rhia has enlisted the help of a strong whalebone corset. The skirt is as round as an orange, as if eager to escape from the tight bony confinements, helped along with stiff, wire petticoats.

But where would a true aristocrat be without jewellery? Rhia has wound thousands of pearls around her neck – sickly, pale pink things they are – and more around her arms and wrists. A string goes around her waist – not a long string, the corset has done its job admirably – and more in her unattractively rust-red hair. Her parents were very disappointed with her hair. Blonde and dark brown are the colours right now, and red is undesirable in the extreme.

Hideous as the dress may be, it could be...well, not nice-looking, but tolerable, if it weren't for the girl wearing it. She's not ugly. Nor is she beautiful. She's fairly pretty, in her way, but her way is not the dress way. Her face just doesn't seem to fit in the snowy drifts of lace, the endless sea of steely blue. And the freckles don't really help either.

---

There was another silence. The small crowd in the tavern seem to have silently agreed that beer was a lot more important than lasses, especially ones like Rhia, and surely a painting would cover up that tear nicely. They had just decided to resume their drinking when there was another . This time, it was the crisp sound of smashed glass. The scent of wine filled the room, sweet and full.

"I just can't take it any more!"

Colin Bradley, the barkeeper, drew a deep and shuddering breath before continuing in a mindless drone. "I pour the drinks, I take the money, I give out the refreshments, I even laid out peanuts -"

A couple at the bar guiltily snatched their questing figures away.

"- and every night something has to happen. It's all these damned adventurers. All of them looking to kill, be killed or just get rich quick - none of them just come for a drink. Darts weren't enough for'em, so I set up the chess set, and that weren't enough for them, so I set up the 'hit-the-villain' game that was damn expensive too -"

The loud clinks of arrows hitting the patchy 'Count DRACOOLA' stopped.

"- but they still just want to start a tavern brawl, and tha'girl was a good customer and now there's a hole in the wall and..." His words now ran into each other, like a wave swallowing up droplets, until he quieted. His eyes were shut tightly now. Not one person in the bar took another breath; until finally he opened them, stood up, and ran from the bar.

And once more, there was an awkward, stifling and rather thirsty silence.

Mrs Bradley cleared her throat. "I'll just be goin' out then, boys. Just...carry on." And she left, as well, leaving rather a lot of drunk and half-drunk men alone in a room with barrels full of alcohol.

---

Rhia was sitting on the bed, in the small, cramped room that she had been renting from the tavern. She had changed extremely quickly: practice. She was clothed now in a plain dark-red gown, the colour of plums and centaur-blood, and her make-up had been washed thoroughly from her face. When the door opened, she looked up rather absently, innocently, as if she was blameless and had done nothing of interest at all.

Mrs Bradley glared at her, silvered bun quivering from anger.

"You, lassy, you know what you've done? You've just driven out my Colin, who was allus a bit...changeable, like, and oh, God knows what he'll be doing now. If he don't come back, it'll be on your head!" she hissed, ending with an ominous growl.

Rhia pursed her lips. "Well, Mrs Bradley, of course, I would do anything to oblige you. Do you desire me to go and fetch the good sir again?"

The elderly woman nodded, and flounced from the room as only an elderly woman can.

Rhia turned back to the mirror she had been inspecting herself in, paused for several seconds, and then said, very quietly, "fuck."

INFORMATION
This quest is open to all, as it is my first one, heh. It probably won't be very long, either. Please join in wherever you like; another room in the tavern, in the tavern, in the street - if it helps, Colin is currently just outside the door feeling sorry for himself. Thank you!

[The Prophet]

“You shouldn’t curse like that.”

Arkham appeared behind Rhia like a phantom, clearly visible in the mirror she had been staring at so intently. It was a wonder she and Mrs. Bradley hadn’t noticed him before; he was standing in plain view, and there was literally nowhere he could have hidden in the miniscule garret. The ebon-haired prophet remained static as he spoke, having no desire to upset the girl any more than he doubtlessly had already.

“It’d upset your mother to hear you use such base language. No – no, she’s not your mother,” he mused, raising his hands to his face and idly brushing his fingertips across the day-old stubble on his cheeks. “You called her Mrs. Bradley. NO. Don’t speak. Let me finish,” he urged, continuing his irrational stroking. “I’m not here to hurt you. Call for help if you’d like, but no one but you will be able to see me.”

His hands drop to his sides, yet his fingers continue their mindless, mysterious motions on the folds of his robe. “My mother was much like that Mrs. Bradley. Conservative. Uptight. Stifling. She drove me to fits of rage not unlike your own. If she hadn’t passed when she did, I would have been driven to much worse,” he revealed. If he was aware that he was not welcome in the cramped attic, he either did not notice or did not care.

“We’ve been watching you, Rhia,” he continued, completely ignorant of just how creepy he was coming off. “Don’t forget that there are Ones out there who care for you. Mrs. Bradley doesn’t care. Colin doesn’t care. WE care. I understand that you weren’t expecting Us. I understand that you don’t know who We are. But you must understand that We want to help you escape this pathetic existence, consequences be fucked.”

What a hypocrite he was.

"Forget I said anything. Just consider me a..." a pause. "...a figment of your imagination. The outward manifestation of your inner turmoil. Yes, that sounds about right. Tell me, what caused that nasty temper tantrum you threw earlier?"

[Veatrix]

Veatrix Bane didn't expect her first time in a tavern be an unpleasant one.

One of the quieter-looking patrons, she looked normal enough despite the rather extravagant clothes, was violently attacking the wall with a chair. After a couple of slaps and an ice cold bucket of water, the girl demurely sat back down on her chair, leaving an evident hole in the wooden wall. Presumably because of stressing build-up of emotions caused by working in a fairly business-friendly pub, another outburst occured, this time from a handsome young barkeep. Looking at him Veatrix noticed how much potential this young man had, but he was stuck working in a family tavern with, what she assumed was his mother.

"Colin Bradley's finally gon' crack...," one of the burlier patrons whispered to his friends.

The whole tavern paused in silence, attention caught by Colin Bradley and the shattering of glass on the floor.

"I just can't take it any more! I pour the drinks, I take the money, I give out the refreshments, I even laid out peanuts and every night something has to happen. It's all these damned adventurers. All of them looking to kill, be killed or just get rich quick - none of them just come for a drink. Darts weren't enough for'em, so I set up the chess set, and that weren't enough for them, so I set up the 'hit-the-villain' game that was damn expensive too but they still just want to start a tavern brawl, and tha'girl was a good customer and now there's a hole in the wall and..."

Quite the speech for the handsome young man. Nobody took a breath until Colin stormed out of the pub, fuming.

Veatrix held on to her orange juice, the orange juice Colin had served her a few minutes ago, as he hurriedly passed her by. She tried smiling at him, a possible ray of light in that Thayne-forsaken tavern, but he just briskly walked away with a couple beers on a tray. Uncommon for her, Veatrix felt terrible.

Maybe somehow it's my fault, she thought, looking out to where Colin had run off. Taking a sip of her orange juice, she had to two choices. She could either stay in there and let the barkeep feel sorry for himself outside the tavern, in the cold of the night, or she could follow him and try to make him feel better.

Thinking back as to why she was even in Scara Brae, Veatrix took another sip from her juice, swishing the pulp around in her mouth. She did want adventure, she did want to see things, and she did want to help people. Maybe this was just another oppurtunity for her to help another human being in need.

With new resolve, she gulped down all her orange juice and marched outside, receiving a few stares.

"Is she going to talk to him?" one of the customers asked, staring at her as she walked out the door.

"...Good luck to her then. Colin's not the most pleasant of people."

As Veatrix stepped outside, she heard child-like sniffling from around the corner. Following the sound, she turned the corner and saw Colin, sitting down in a very dark alleyway close to the tavern door with his mother, Mrs. Bradley, who was consoling him as much as she could. She stepped forward in hopes that he would notice her there, that someone as random and unremarkable as her would take the time to talk to a complete stranger.

"Excuse me...," she said, bending her knees so that she was eyelevel to Colin. Mrs. Bradley turned to her with a confused and slightly irritated look.

"If you want more beer-"

"Oh no no!" Veatrix waved her hands incessantly. "I just wanted to see if he was alright..."

"He's quite alright," Mrs. Bradley shot, taken aback. "I can take care of my little boy just fine, thank you. Now you run along dear-"

"Oh... well, if everything's under control then...," Veatrix said, frowning. She really wanted to help him... or at least make him feel a tad better.

[Moonbird]

Rhia was not known for her powers of observation. She could analyse a relationship between a man and woman easily, just from watching them, but as from noticing something in her vision...well, don't hold your breath.

For a moment, she couldn't believe it, anyway. A man. In her room. Alone! It was indecent!

Rhia knew a great many things that were indecent. Skirts higher than the knee were indecent. Scarlet clothes were indecent. Unsupervised conversation between males and females was definitely indecent. And as for a man, alone, in her room, talking to her! Well, that was the most indecent of all; in fact, it was positively lewd.

So after he spoke that first sentence, she spent a good few seconds trying to find him in the mirror. When she did, she refused to make eye contact. Her body had frozen when his voice was heard, and only her hand moved now. Her fingers searched along the bed for something to throw, anything at all.

Eventually, her questing hand touched a small, cold, hard object, and she clutched it tightly. In one movement, she turned and flung it as hard as she could at the man. Her aim was off; it hit the pristine wall a metre from his head. There was the sound of tinkling glass, and several drops of sticky amber liquid began to seep from what must have been a glass vial. The sweet scent of flowers filled the room. Oh...sugar. Her jasmine oil. It had been expensive, too.

And that was two walls she had ruined in ten minutes.

She waited, stony-faced, until he had finished his little lecture, and then began to think what to say. The man was mad. He also had a curious ability to pronounce capital letters. He seemed to think she would believe he was a hallucination. Well, there was no turmoil in her mind. And she would not be sharing her little...incident with anyone for the time being.

Rhia stood up, curtly. "I'm very sorry, sir, but I would be obliged if you would leave my room. I would prefer not to conduct business with gentlemen in such...intimate conditions. And I'm very sorry, again, but I do not share my private businesses with new acquaintances. I'm also rather busy currently. I must go and find Mr Bradley; I believe he is in some distress. You are welcome to accompany and continue explaining your...interesting topic." She smiled politely, but coldly, and pulling a long, charcoal-grey shawl from a hook, she swept dignifiedly from the room. It took practice to pull off a good sweep; and she was an expert at it.

---

Colin glared at both of the two women. "I don't need your help!" he retorted desperately, a sob slipping into his words. "I just want it all to end! And I don't need you - any of you!" His voice became higher and louder throughout his talking.

Mrs Bradley looked shocked and hurt. "But Colin, my dearest -"

"Don't talk to me!" he yelled, his voice cracking now. "I'm leaving! Forever!" Eyes wide, mouth parted and warped, he turned in a flurry of awkward limbs and began to climb the walls towards the roof. It was unclear, in the dim light, whether there was a ladder or some other device there; perhaps it was some untapped ability; but he was getting higher, and it was fairly clear what his intentions were.

[The Prophet]

Arkham wasn’t much of a sweeper; he was more of a treader or a strider, but on this particular day he chose to amble along behind the woman, the old floorboards squeaking beneath his shod feet. The ‘illusion’ was managing to maintain his stoic aspect despite his new acquaintance’s manic behavior. Most people would be a little perturbed if they had just been the target of a surprise perfume-assault, but the prophet’s face was a mask of calm. He had experienced much worse in his extended lifetime, and to him the shattered missile proved little more than a slight annoyance.

Rhia had been his own personal challenge. After catching sight of her in town a few days prior, he had received an irresistible urge to convert her to his way of thinking – some might call what he did corruption, but his much preferred the word conversion. Sure, he had managed to garnish a small following in Raieara, where all hope had fled in the face of dread necromancer Xel’Zemud and his invincible army of undead, and in Salvar the populace had been easy to sway due to the issues between the church and the state, but this woman represented a whole different sort of monster. She was proper, well-mannered, independent, and just a little bipolar.

She was perfect. If Arkham could convince a girl to throw her life away and follow the ancient and terrible Old Ones, there was nothing he was incapable of. He had battled horrors that the layman would only find in his darkest and most terrifying nightmares, yet the prophet considered this red-headed firecracker his most difficult opponent yet.

Arkham had trailed her for days following that initial encounter; watching, waiting, hoping. The voices in his head – what he called the Old Ones – constantly spurred him on with encouragement and advice. They wanted this one’s allegiance, and They wanted it soon. They would not reveal why They desired what They did, but it was very clear that the seemingly-harmless girl was vital to whatever their mysterious plans were. It was not the prophet’s place to question his masters, so he had done as the Old Ones asked, when They asked, exactly as They asked.

And now, he was trudging along aimlessly behind his target like a lost puppy. How sad.

“Mr. Bradley? He –“ There was silence for a moment. “He is less than sixty seconds away from jumping off the roof of this very inn. You’d best hurry if you want to save him,” he revealed, his cloud-colored eyes peering towards the scarlet-clad teen expectantly. Being a messenger of the Gods had it’s perks, and clairvoyance was one of the benefits the wicked saint most treasured.

[Veatrix]

"Don't talk to me! I'm leaving! Forever!"

An appropriate choice of words for one so suicidal. The idea of Colin leaving forever, and in not the most flattering terms, terrified Mrs. Bradley more than being attacked giant cockroaches rampaging from the Brokenthorn Forest. Especially since cockroaches were an absolute no-no in her eyes, because they were just disgusting little pests that needed to be kicked of the face of Althanas. Veatrix, being the morally straight girl she was, felt terrible for making such a bad situation even worse.

Maybe talking to him wasn't such a good idea after all.

The thought of having barkeep blood on her hands wasn't pleasant. She imagined all the nights she would have, waking up from bad dreams about barkeeps falling from the sky. She imagined the guilt and the shame she would feel for making something so terrible happen. Even though none of it was her fault, directly or indirectly, Veatrix just felt bad.

Veatrix and Mrs. Bradley tried to talk the suicidal Colin down from the ladder, since neither of them were experts at holding on to things, let alone climbing them. They threw the typical lines like "There's more to life than this!" or "You have so many things to live for!" or the all-time favourite "Don't do it!" But unfortunately, their shouts weren't enough to coax the depressed barkeep from climbing the ladder and standing sullenly on the roof of the tavern.

Turning to her angry face towards her son, Mrs. Bradley shouted at the top of her lungs. "GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW, MISTER COLIN LINDSAY BRADLEY! DO NOT MAKE ME COME UP THERE!"

From up above, Colin shook his head violently, defiantly. "No, Mom! It's time we got this over with!"

Veatrix called out to him, trying as hard as she could to save this stranger from suicide. "Come on, Colin! I'll do anything, just get back down here!"

"Why would I want anything from you? I don't even know you!"

Mrs. Bradley's motherly insticts took over, and facing her fear of heights, she grabbed on to the ladder. It was carefully hidden in the alleyway darkness, but she took a strong hold of it and began to climb, her lumbering mom-body looking very awkward on the fragile set of metal.

"I'm comin' for you, dear!"

[Moonbird]

Rhia would have cursed, and cursed gloriously, if she had not been a well-brought up young girl. The...incident...was bad enough, but now poor Mr Bradley was going to do himself a mischief and this idiotic madman was annoying her.

But, as she reminded herself, she was a lady; and therefore must be polite. So she didn't scowl and curse as she strode quickly along, and she didn't turn and shout abuse at the lunatic who was now following her. Instead, she smiled sweetly, and said; "So, Mr...? Tell me about this fascinating idea of yours..." Surely it didn't matter that the 'fascinating' was laden with a little too much exaggerationg, and that her fingers were clenched into fists.

And now she was at the door, and it was suddenly dark. Rhia blinked several times to shake the light from her eyes. A girl was staring up, her expression one of shock and dismay. Rhia had a sneaking suspicion that she knew what she was looking at.

And sure enough, there came Mrs Bradley's voice; "I'm coming, Colin! Hang on!" and the loud sobs of Mr Bradley. Was he already on the roof?! The crazy man had been right. Worrying.

But there was no time to think about that. Rhia was too busy craning her neck to see the dark figure of the poor gentleman. He was pretty close to the edge now. God, this was bad.

"Mr Bradley!" she screamed. "Step back! Don't...don't go forward; don't jump!" Quite possibly her presence would only excite him more, but there was always the chance that it might help; and anyway; it couldn't really get any worse now, could it?

And then it did.

Colin swore extremely loudly. Rhia would have been horrified, if she was not already shaking in fear and misery. "Fuck you all! I'm going somewhere you can't find me, not ever!"

The plump figure of his mother was nearing halfway up the roof, still shouting incomprehensibly. Colin took a step forward - he was so close to the edge now - and it was windy -

Don't make him jump yet, I've written a post for it already.

[The Prophet]

“Arkham. Just Arkham. You’ve got Mr. Bradley to worry about now; we’ll talk later,” the lunatic murmured in that guttural, semi-hypnotic voice of his, fairly certain that his decision would please his new acquaintance.

The madman lapsed into silence as he followed his ‘target’ out of the room. Strangely, the odd couple didn’t receive many looks on their way outside. A few patrons who had witnessed Rhia’s earlier tantrum wore worried expressions as she passed by, but not a soul so much as glanced at Arkham.

As the unlikely pair crossed the threshold of the inn, the prophet’s focus was immediately transferred to the hysterical figure shouting upon the roof. After giving his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the permeating blackness, he squinted up at the barely-visible figure, making his features appear even more haunting than usual; was that Mr. Bradley? So his God had granted him the information he sought; at this point in his divine training, it was difficult to tell when he was viewing real events in his mind's eye and when he was merely imagining things, but the wicked saint was certainly getting better at discerning the difference between fiction and reality. Slowly, Arkham's expression of relative calm was replaced by a perverse, irreverent smile. His hands abruptly ceased their rubbing, caressing motions for the first time since he wandered into Rhia's life; now, they lay at his side, tranquil, as his attention was drawn away from his own person.

Every time Arkham witnessed a mortal put on such a ridiculous show, he was doubly thankful for the understanding his Gods had granted him. He was reminded of the first time he was made aware of Their presence -

Now was hardly the time for reminiscing. The buffoon was going to do it; he was really going to jump! And now the caring (but dimwitted) mother was climbing up to the roof, desperate to save her boy from his horrific fate.

What a glorious day this was turning out to be.

[Veatrix]

“I’m comin’ for you, dear!” Just you wait!”

Mrs. Bradley had made it to the roof, her knees weak and buckling at the amount of height she climbed and the amount of height she carried. She couldn’t remember the last time she had climbed up to something... there was that horse from a few years back… but that hardly counted as climbed as opposed to shuffling. Breathing heavily with beads of salty sweat dripping from her face, she turned to her suicidal son, arms wide open in a would-be hug.

“Come on, Colin! Mommy’s here to save you!”

“Leave me alone, Mom! You’re just making things worse, like you always do!” Estimating the distance between the roof and the stone street, Colin gulped. It was the sufficient height for a gloriously messy death.

Veatrix stood on the ground, dumbstruck by Colin’s persistence on this pathetic way to do. There were so many other, easier and more grandiose ways to commit suicide. For one, there was always the hanging, leaving the body in the inn for the customers the next day to see. That would have kept the stories coming for the next few years. Or he could have run straight on, bravely, into a battle, dying in the process. He would be proclaimed a hero, even.

Or he could have jumped from somewhere higher.

But now was not the time to wonder about different varieties of suicide.

Two figures walked out of the inn, both looking directly up at the screaming and sobbing Colin, who took yet another step towards the edge. The night was chilly and the wind blew strongly, hints of a storm to come in the next few days, but neither seemed bothered. Voice as loud as a waterfall, Mrs. Bradley continued her hollering. Noticing the two people that just came by, Veatrix’s mind reeled. One was a young girl, looking younger even than her. The other was a gnarly-looking creeper, someone Veatrix would be terrified to encounter in a dark alley, or even in a lighted one. For a moment, her mind danced around the two figures, producing images that were both inappropriate and positively shocking. And yet, neither seemed to be minding one another, as they both observed the events.

"Don't be a bother, Colin," Mrs. Bradley said, taking a wary step closer to him. Her arms were spread and legs awkwardly placed apart. Balance didn't seem to be a trait she possessed.

"I'm trying to make a point here, Mom! I'll jump if you come any closer!"

Desperately, Veatrix walked up to the two and pleaded. “Do something! He’s going to jump!” she exclaimed, her blonde hair reeling in stress and chestnut eyes trying to look on edge.

[Moonbird]

Colin was closer than ever to the edge now. Mrs Bradley was attempting to draw him away, but he was young and headstrong. Rhia clutched her head in her hands, being careful not to ruin her hair, and tried not to swear.

The blonde girl (lucky thing) was panicking. Rhia could only snap at her, telling her to be quiet or help, before she returned her rapt attention to the drama above. If he jumped, he might not die. It wasn't that high. The wind might slow him. He was slim, perhaps he would not be that heavy either.

Rhia was fairly intelligent and would usually try to formulate some cunning plan, but under this kind of pressure - what are the odds? There was nothing she could do in the small time they had left, except try to get him away from the edge, or persuade him not to jump.

So she leapt for the wall, and began clambering up. She was more agile than Mrs Bradley, though not by a great deal, so was more than halfway up when Colin, with tears in his eyes, whispered a few words to his mother and stepped away from the roof.

Stupidly, the girl put out a hand to try to - to what? Catch him? But he was only a blur through what Rhia suddenly realised were tears, and then there was a horrible sound, and then silence.

She didn't bother to look away when it happened.

The sobs of Mrs Bradley echoed along the empty street. Loud and unrestrained, they poured from her like the life-blood of her son. Rhia slowly returned to the ground, feeling a litle dizzy. The young Mr Bradley lay there, still, on the street.

It was have been nice to say that he looked like a broken rag doll, or calm and sleeping, but he was none of those things. His face had been downwards, and his limbs were splayed but didn't look broken. But his neck looked strange, as if viewed from a different angle than the rest of his body, and a splash of crimson blood began to spread.

Perhaps now would be the right time to swoon in a graceful faint; but there were no suitable young gentlemen nearby; unless you counted the madman. Instead, she wiped her eyes, unclipped her cloak and spread it over the body. Mrs Bradley was descending the ladder now, broken sobs tearing from her throat still, and her face was one of disbelief and disappointment.

When she saw Rhia, it changed into one of fury.

"You," the woman hissed. If words could kill, Rhia would be running like hell from that particular missile. "Your fault."

The door opened, and light and sound spilled out, along with several cheerful-looking men. Their expressions also changed when they saw the dark scene outside.

"What's happened? Is that -" asked one, staring at the cloaked body.

The others had already looked from the body to Mrs Bradley, and then to Rhia, and had formulated their own conclusion. They stepped forward, and their eyes narrowed. Honest men, kind men, generous men they were. Rhia would have liked to get to know them better. Unfortunately, this was not the best time.

"Oh...shit," Rhia said, and burst into tears again.

[The Prophet]

As Colin fell through the empty air, long-neglected memories swam through Arkham’s mind.

Visions of a woman falling from a castle, viewed from below. There is a noose around her neck. The rope goes taught –

A group of men are running. Running away from him. They pass through some underbrush and find themselves on the precipice of a hidden cliff. The three of them jump without hesitation. Not a scream escapes them –

A dog is laying lifeless upon the dirt. It’s head is split down the middle. Arkham did this to the dog, but he could not for the life of him remember why.

Blood, blood everywhere -

The memories ceased as abruptly as they began as a sickening thud resounded throughout the area. Colin Bradley was dead, and now his mother, friends, and acquaintances all stared accusingly at a sobbing Rhia.

For the first time in a long time, Arkham was not sure what to do. He could interject and quite possibly ferry Rhia away from this place safely, but to do so would be dangerous; the patrons of this particular inn could turn on him just as quickly as they had turned on Rhia. In the end, he decided to simply watch and wait. The lunatic would interfere if his potential protégé required support, but the prophet had a hunch that the redhead would be just fine. If she truly could not handle herself here, she was not as suitable for the plans of his Gods as he had believed.

[Veatrix]

Something within the teenaged Butterfly Elf died, a simple, unwilling virginity stolen.

When Colin soared through the sky, arms flailing and legs searching for safe ground, Veatrix thought that it was going to be a splatter. Or a crunch. Or a painful cracking sound. Some blood would have been a nice touch, too.

It sounded more like a dull thud, like a blunt weapon against a shield. And no blood.

And to think, she always believed suicide was flashy and colourful.

Colin’s body lay still on the ground, looking awkward. A second ago, he was screaming to his hysterical mother about going to a place where nobody would ever find, being all emotional and sensitive about living in a tavern hellhole, while admittedly isn’t really that bad. Maybe it was that hormonal disproportion that drove him to insanity – it appears that too much estrogen in a guy can kill. Much to his possible disappointment, Colin was still… there. He didn’t really go anywhere. He just ended up on the more agonizing side of the Scara Brae streets. Only without the struggles of living. From rooftop to street corner, his life literally flew over the edge.

He looked like a body, not a person. People have a certain “people-ness” about them, a humanly glow that signified life. The body didn’t have that. It had everything else, but that, although everything else seemed to all be bent in the wrong places. The legs were splayed gratuitously on the cold stone like wiggling pasta and his arms looked very excited to be finally meeting the shoulder, bone to bone. The head was appropriately lifeless, although the “what the fuck” look was pasted on it like a kindergartener’s afternoon crafts project.

“You don’t know what you got till it’s gone,” Veatrix mumbled cryptically.

Unsure of what to do, she stood aimlessly beside the precariously thin girl, who seemed to have the same look Colin’s body sported. Tears brimmed at her eyelids and flooded through the floodgates of female emotion, while the creeper-of-a-man stood there watching. For some odd reason, the urge to faint gracefully washed over her, falling in a manner so polite that her dark olive dress wouldn’t get wrinkled, but she couldn’t bring herself to do something foolish. Instead, Veatrix’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened, then closed. She tried to make out something consolidating or comforting, or at least something, to say. No words could express the emotion that Veatrix could not express. It was her first death, after all, and really, there are no words to say to that.

Maybe a pat on the back will do.

Reaching out a quivering hand, in hopes that it would prove much-needed comfort, the girl muttered beneath sniffles. “Oh… shit.”

Tearing her eyes off of Colin’s body, avoiding any tears to get stuck in her ominously thick silver eyelashes, Veatrix saw a handful of jolly, old alcoholics, laughing and joking their way out of the tavern. One of them was still sipping on a large beer bottle, until they saw the scene splayed out before them. The glass bottle tinkled on the stone, breaking into a thousand pieces. The men stood there, mouths agape and eyes wide and alert.

And judging from the way they stared at the three strangers, Veatrix knew that the conclusions forming in their heads weren’t the most logical, but it did involve chasing, rioting and possibly even flaming torches.

Stepping forward tentatively, Veatrix shook the shock off her face. Unobtrusively, she addressed the burly men, as they looked from the body, to Mrs. Bradley on the roof, to the three strangers looking astonished and hopeless.

“There was nothing we could do,” she began, the girl behind still weeping quietly.

“Young Colin,” one of them gasped.

“He was such a great boy!”

“Why would this happen?”

“It was THEIR fault!” Mrs. Bradley roared from the rooftops, pointing a trembling finger at the three of them. “THEY made him jump!”

Veatrix took a step back. “No! It was an accident, he wasn’t–“

“YOU MURDERED COLIN BRADLEY!”

[Moonbird]

"YOU MURDERED COLIN BRADLEY!"

And with that shout, that accusation, Rhia realised that nobody was getting out of this unscathed.

Still, she tried. "What on earth are you talking about?" she asked, matter-of-factly. "Can't you see that he has fallen from the roof? And am I on the roof?" She spread her thin arms. "Really, now. You mustn't jump to conclusions."

Mrs Bradley let out a laugh, that turned into another sob. "Oh, I think you were a moment ago, my dear."

Rhia let tears well up in her eyes before she answered, as if trying to control her weeping. "It was...it was not well done. He was - depressed, crying out, I don't know." She stuttered deliberately over her words. "I-I didn't know what to do. I tried to climb up - to stop him - b-but he -"

Her words tailed away, and she turned, and collapsed into hapless tears. Perhaps a faint? No, that would overdo it.

One of the men looked a little sympathetic, but the rest had the same expressions on their face. Ale-clouded eyes stared at the girl, who gradually, awkwardly, stopped her crying to look up at them again.

The biggest and least-wearing of the men growled. It was a good growl. He had probably practised. "All I see here is ol' Colin, dead, and you lot here. You know what I think?"

Rhia didn't reply, but he continued nevertheless. "I think that you lot killed him. And you're not going to get away."

And as he stepped towards her, more people spilled from the door, blinking from the dim light. They seemed to understand the situation. It was now - what - thirty against three? Not good odds. Not good odds at all.

But Rhia was familiar with circumstances like these, and knew exactly what to do. She glanced at the other two. Hands behind her back, she gestured quickly. The meaning was clear -

"Run!"

[The Prophet]

Despite the odds against him, Arkham wore an expression of absolute calm. He had encountered his share of angry mobs during his travels – most parents were not thrilled to learn that their children were following Arkham’s ‘heathen’ gods, and it was not rare for entire towns to rise up against him.

Without further ado, the prophet reached into the leather satchel at his side and produced a small, rather unremarkable wooden sphere. A few villagers watched him warily, not quite sure what this bizarre-looking stranger was up to, but it did not take long for them to realize what horrors the wicked saint had in store for them.

Arkham tossed the ball between himself and his accusers, and into existence sprang a creature so vile that a number of weak-willed bystanders fainted on the spot. Others began to flee with reckless abandon, their cries of terror echoing within the small, wooded valley.

“MONSTER!”

The hideous disc was three feet around and roughly a foot thick. It’s purplish, fleshy surface was covered with unblinking blue eyes of varying size and shape that restlessly roved back and forth, searching for some unknown prize. Small, stunted tentacles grasped uselessly at the night air, and a variety of thin, elongated feelers lightly brushed against the ground. Arkham stepped onto the nearby disc, and the platform immediately rose several feet into the air, emitting a few strange clicking noises as panicked villagers bumped clumsily into it’s lengthy antennae.

“Where is she?” the prophet mumbled to himself, his voice inaudible over the screams that filled the impermeable blackness. A few brave men and women had dared to remain behind, all clutching some form of weapon; two held swords they had apparently brought with them, three held silverware they had presumably gotten from the inn, and another held a rather frightened chicken in his meaty hands.

“Aha.” The prophet’s transport drifted quickly away from the crowd and towards his target – Rhia. As soon as he reached the ‘murderer’, he reached down, grabbed her beneath the armpits, and attempted to lift her onto his hovering transport. Oof. No luck; he was not strong enough to lift her weight. Without hesitation, the platform dropped to the ground, putting Arkham and Rhia on a fairly equal level. This time, the prophet approached his problem from a different angle; he stooped down and gave the girl a rough nudge in the midsection, then lifted her up and over his shoulder in one quick, fluid motion. Once again, the disc rose into the air and began to drift briskly away from the inn and towards the wooded countryside, darting from side to side to avoid any barbed bushes, obstinate oaks, or panicked people it encountered.

The screaming grew faint as the two acquaintances made their way into the thicket, leaving the ramshackle inn (and the concerned butterfly elf) behind forever.


Bunnying approved.

[Veatrix]

She'd seen stranger things.

Well, that was convenient, Veatrix grumbled as she watched the unearthly monster disc fly away into the dark night. Her chesnut brown eyes followed the disc, disappearing behind cotton clouds and merging into the night. No space for me?

Stunned wasn't as accurate a description for the villagers, jaws agape. Most of the people that had walked out of the tavern looking devilishly hungry for blood had run away, scared for their lives because of the mysterious disc contraption for the eerie man. The brave few that stayed didn't really have anything to say, or do, after a display like that. A frightened chicken dropped to the ground, running away feathers ablown.

But Veatrix knew better than to stay. An angry mob wasn't the smartest thing in the world, and as logic would dictate, dealing with an angry mob is tricky business. Standing there looking awestruck, the mob didn't seem to pose much threat, until one of them turned the fearful gaze to Veatrix, changing into a gaze of bloodlust. One by one the burly men looked at her, weapons at the ready, immediately and illogically forgetting about the magical disc. People remember what they want to remember, and all the villagers could remember that moment was the still body of Colin and a strange-looking girl standing right in front of them.

"I'm just going to-"

"GET HER!"

Veatrix broke into a desperate run, into the opposite direction of the mobilizing crowd. A collective roar erupted from the angry villagers, one that suggested animal insticts had truly taken over. For one, chasing after an innocent woman was a very animal-esque thing to do, although to be fair, they don't know the whole story. Perspective was a word to look up in the dictionary, in regards to the mob. Luckily for her, the streets were empty of any peddling merchants, busy shoppers or annoying little children. Veatrix had the wonderful and liberating freedom of running like hell for the sake of her fucking life.

Away she dashed, going through the smaller pathways a young cleric had showed her a few days ago. Jumping over railings, kicking away nasty garbage cans and avoiding the bloodthirsty dogs cruel housekeepers used as guards, Veatrix ran as fast as she could. Despite her efforts to keep away from the crowd, they always managed to find and catch up to her, since they did know the city better than she did. She'd only been in Scara Brae for a few months, and she had never been chased by an angry mob.

This is going to be a problem.

As she ran through a dank alleyway smelling of various kinds of piss and Scarijuana, she drew upon her magical energies, formulating, mulling over and executing a plan all in the span of a few seconds. Her legs were beginning to tire and her shoes were slowly coming apart at the seams - they weren't made for marathon running, let alone "angry mob" running. She focused her mind on her spell, pushing the magic from her deep subconsciousness into the light of the night. As it traveled from within her, Veatrix looked back to see the mob dangerously close behind. She pointed her hand towards them and screamed.

"PROTEGO!"

Unbeknownst to them, an invisible barrier appeared in front of the villagers. Still blindly running, they painfully crashed into the invisible wall. One by one, they fell, grasping at their bleeding face, some of them wailing of a possible broken nose. The few others at the back of the mob slowed their run, avoiding collision with the barrier, taking a hint from the hollering men on the alleyway floor.

Wonder and confusion painted their faces, just like it had with the magical flying disc. A couple of them curiously put their hand on the wall, feeling it to be slightly warm, like freshly cooked chicken, but very much solid, like rock. One of them knocked on it, testing whether or not it was actually there. There was something to be said about disbelief, and even though the mob couldn't see the wall, they at least knew it was there. It kept them from doing what their insticts were pleading them to do, and that made them very, very... not happy.

"What the hell!"

"What's going on!"

"Why aren't we going through!"

"She's going to get away!"

Their shouts of confusion satisfied her enough to run much, much faster. There was no point in staying to watch the ride, especially since her magical energies were draining faster than she expected them to. Maybe it was the sheer mass of men she deflected. Nevertheless, Veatrix ran, cursing her luck.

Damn creeper man... could have taken me on his stupid disc...

[Moonbird]

And then everything was a blur. Through the dimness of her disorientation, Rhia noticed a purplish creature, waving and crawling, a disgusting mixture of tentacles and slime. Instinctively she stepped away from it, lifting her skirts from the floor to reveal not-so-elegant leather boots - though they did have a few sequins sewn on by way of decoration.

The madman stepped on it and was suddenly gone. Rhia turned, but the faces were smudging over her vision and all she could make out was a bluish blob at about eye-level. She covered her hair with her hands, and stepped away.

What had happened so quickly? Mr Bradley - Colin - was dead, lying there like a sack of potatoes. She saw him, a white ghost - or was that a chicken? Everything seemed strange and peculiar, as if seen in an unearthly sunrise. Something bumped into her legs, scattering feathers. Someone else glared at her, and she was shoved away.

She stumbled, and was about to catch herself when two scrawny arms hooked her by the underarms and pulled from above. Rhia tripped, her feet tangling, and she placed a hand on the floor to stop her fall. Then she was standing, and someone had pushed her hard; she doubled over and was suddenly up in the air.

It was so peculiar, like a dream. She was soaring into the air, looking back at all the people who had the strangest expressions on their faces. Shock, and fear, and anger. Curiosity in a couple, and on the girl's was annoyance, and disappointment. She wanted to say sorry but she couldn't open her mouth.

She closed her eyes, and waited, and the jigsaw pieces of the world slotted back into place.

She, Rhia Blackwood, was draped over a madman's shoulder.
The madman was flying in the air.
He had pushed her and manhandled her.
He had touched her in the stomach - how indecent!

Rhia was so far out of her depth that her fingers couldn't reach the surface, but she clung on to her raft with all her might and main. She struggled, at first limply, but then with a little more strength. She was not staying up here with the crazy man. Everyone knew what crazy men did. That's why they were shunned, and rightly so!

But when she opened her eyes, the ground was either very far away or only inches, and she wasn't willing to bet on the latter. So she stayed still, and very quiet, except when she whispered to herself; "Now would be a very bad time to discover a fear of heights."

So she didn't.

Rhia stretched her legs, bracing her arms on his shoulders, sliding off his limbs until her feet just reached the - whatever it was. It was unpleasant, but not as undignified. She was about to take her hands from his shoulder when she looked down; so she didn't.

If you want to conclude/add anything/reminisce or whatever, do so now, as my next post will be the last. If nobody does so by Monday, I'll finish it without further ado. Thanks, everyone, it's been fun!

[The Prophet]

Arkham was thankful that the inn had been on the outskirts of the town; if he had been forced to dart through the streets on his floating demon-platform, his escape would have been made many times more difficult.

"Fools!" the prophet cried out as his platform gradually slowed to a halt. "You think you can turn against the servant of the Gods without consequences? You've got another thing coming. One day, I will return and watch everything you know and love burn to ash. I will bathe in your blo - Oh, you're still conscious."

The fleshy platform abruptly drops a couple feet to rest upon the grassy ground; apparently, the two acquaintances had not been up so very high after all. The light of the garrous moon sifts weakly through the dense branches overhead, creating dancing, random patterns of illumination on the emerald grass and giving the area a ghastly, supernatural feel.

"This is where you make a choice," he utters out darkly, unceremoniously dumping Rhia from his shoulder onto the soft, organic carpet. Not exactly a graceful dismount, but the redhead would survive the private humiliation.

"If you want to know the Truth - the Ultimate Truth - come with me. I will tell you how I wield such power and, in time, your strength will surely surpass my own. If you believe I am nothing more than a lunatic after what you have seen, you can stay here - don't look at me like that! Jindark is less than five miles from here - you could be in town by morning - and you can get nearly anywhere in Scara Brae from there. Be warned; once you have chosen your path, there is no turning back."

Arkham wanted to hear his potential protege beg for the primal knowledge his mind contained, but he had a hunch that she wouldn't be able to comprehend his words. He somehow doubted that she had accepted the existance of the fleshy platform he still stood upon; how, then, could she be expected to embrace a legion of formless Gods who dwelled in an alternate dimension? Perhaps she was not as suitable for the cause as his Gods had implied. Had this whole thing been a test - or worse, a joke?

[Veatrix]

Hands on her knees and breathing heavily, Veatrix stopped to look where she had ended up. Looking around, all her running had taken her just a few blocks away from where she was staying. Only, she was standing, looking very tired, in a grimy, dirt-filled dark alleyway, with rats feasting on that night's leftover supper, from the restaurant across the street. It smelled of urine, rotting food and illegal drugs, but at least, Veatrix thought, she lost the crowd.

Although she could still hear the screams of an angry mob running around somewhere in the city, their voices were very well-away. Nothing to worry about if they were at a distance. Besides, she thought, I don't think they'll recognize me the next day. Half of them looked drunker than I've ever seen.

The image of Colin Bradley's body still resonated in her mind, the focal point of all of tonight's events. She couldn't believe that somebody that looked so happy, so content with life, could jump off a building like that. The way his body thudded on the street, the way his neck cracked awkwardly, and the way he looked like a ragdoll, stripped of its strings and forced to stand on its own. Everything would embed itself into her mind, making her realize that the world isn't as innocent as she first percieved it to be.

She shook the image of the corpse from her mind, worried. The dreams would come, and she wasn't one to enjoy bad dreams. Disturbing things have revealed themselves to Veatrix, and as much as she loved living in Scara Brae, the darker side of life finally caught up to her.

Walking down to the Johns' house, she thought to herself gravely. What a night..

((SPOILS: None, except for the EXP and GP the judges grant. Thanks guys, it's been fun!))

[Moonbird]

Rhia stood there. Her feet were sore, and her boots rather muddy. She was tired, and a little thirsty, and she wanted - oh, how she wanted just to go home.

It had been so easy this morning. She had woken up, dressed, breakfasted on a small piece of toast, performed her daily morning ritual of make-up and washing and jewellery - the incident had been the start of it, and it had been no incident.

She had only been able to pick one. It was so hard, so very hard, but she had made a choice. Was it Rhia's fault if it turned out to be the wrong one?

Poor Fiona.

And remembering it was always difficult. Guilt is a terrible emotion, the most harsh of all, aided by Memory. It hangs upon us all in some shape or other. Fiona had hated Rhia's delicate ways and impractical common sense. And Rhia had made a very serious mistake, and now she was still the same. So she stood up, and hit Fiona with the book.

Well - Fiona had been a wall, and the book was a chair, and as soon as she had realised that she sat down very quickly. Nobody was fooled, though. You could see their eyes, see their mocking smiles and hear their gasps of shock and amazement.

And then Mr Bradley.

Poor Colin.

It was her fault, she could see that now. And Fiona's, too. And Rhia had deserved to be punished. With pitchforks and torches and - chickens.

So she stood there, amongst the grass and branches, with the moon above. The moon was supposed to be awfully symbolic - of birth, and death, and beauty - but she saw nothing inside its pale orb but blank whiteness. The grass was whispering with the branches, conspiring against her; everyone was conspiring against her; Mrs Bradley, the madman, everyone. And he talked of Truth with his capital letters when she knew that there was no such thing as Truth or Beauty, Love or Justice in the world, and that everyone died, and happy endings didn't come true; and even the most beautiful and graceful heroines made mistakes.

A regretful smile twisted Rhia's lips, still heavily red with a painted cupid's bow, and she looked down. How could she tell him that she didn't believe in Truth, Ultimate or otherwise? "I don't -" she said, with an uncertain stammer to her voice. "I thank you but -"

Why couldn't she say no?

Damned etiquette.

"It has been a pleasure travelling and conversing with you." She curtseyed, and smiled, just like her mother had taught her, and when she rose her smile was genuine. "It sounds fascinating, your - Old Ones, are they? I can't deny that it is very interesting and an intriguing concept..." How could she say no, after he saved her life? But how could she say yes?

She tried again. "All I have seen in a...pet of yours? A strange creature, a disc, flying through the air - you can buy enchanted objects anywhere, really, though there is a price - I have seen no miracles, so who can say there is anyone behind it?" Rhia hated turning people down. So she rarely did it. Perhaps it was lack of practise.

The poor thing looked malnourished. But mind you, so did she a little.

So Rhia did not choose, and Rhia did not say yes, or no, or even maybe - Rhia ran away from the awkward moment, from remembering, from 'Truth', and Rhia added another feather to her little burden of guilt.

Closing post, methinks?

[Raelyse]

Story

Continuity – 3 – From the first few posts, I could tell that this was going to receive a poor score. You guys wrote this story as if it was an interlude in all of your character's lives and not significant at all. To get a good Continuity score, you need to convince the readers that the story is an integral part in the overall part of your characters. Veatrix did not say much of anything except that it's her first time in a tavern and Moonbird barely touched on her past before this thread. Prophet explained why he was involved here but he only did so after his first few posts and when he did later explain, I found that it was rather strange that he'd devote so much effort to “corrupting” Rhia when she really wasn't that special except that she was a lady and it'd be a challenge. Maybe she was more special, I just didn't believe that she'd be worth all that time. For all 3of you, I wanted to know what state of mind your characters were in, what they had just been doing instead of you just immersing me in the story.

Setting – 3 – This was okay, but you really didn't describe the setting as much as I would have liked. The points that you did get here were from Veatrix's description of the area as she ran away from the mob. Other than that, you just told me that it was a tavern and nothing else. Brief descriptions here and there of the people that made up the tavern were here, but you never really gave the area life.

Pacing – 4 – The main blemish here was Moonbird's introduction, which I found was very strangely constructed and thus, very confusing for me. After that though, the thread flowed with each of your posts flowing well into the next one. If anyone disrupted it though, it was Prophet, who I felt didn't really impose himself in the storyline until the later parts of the story. As a result, his posts didn't tie in as well to Veatrix's and Moonbird's. Don't let the others shove you away and ignore you, stay in the lime light! I also felt that the 3 of you rushed Colin Bradley's suicide and I would have liked to know what he said to his mother before he jumped. If you had allowed me to learn more about him before he died, it wouldn't have made the suicide feel so hasty. I know that your characters only knew him for a short time, but I'm sure there were opportunities to reveal Colin's life more and you should have taken them.

Character

Dialogue – 4 – Nothing special here. There was nothing terribly interesting to hear from any of your character's thoughts or speech. The NPCs, like the Bradleys and the bar patrons, were quite cliché in speech as well. One rare interest on my part was Veatrix's thinking of various deaths. At first I thought it was strange that she'd suddenly start thinking about that in a situation like that, but I realized how well it fit with her character. Try to stir things up next time with stuff like that, make your characters say snappy or witty and interesting things or let their mind deviate to interesting tangents, otherwise they come off rather boring. I understand that it's difficult, but if you don't give me anything unique or different, I can't score you well here. A great example is the part when Arkham “saves” Rhia and tries to corrupt her to his side. He didn't seem very persuasive to me and I really didn't think Rhia would join him. This part of the story was pretty much make or break for Arkham, and I didn't feel that you stepped up to the plate as well as you could have. This is in no way putting you down, just work harder, get to know your character better and I'm sure you can do scenes like this better in the future.

Action – 5 – I didn't really get a feel for what your characters were like until after the first few posts. This is disappointing because the sooner your reader gets to know your character, the more they can develop feelings for them. Because I couldn't get into your characters straight away, I didn't know what to expect. When I did get to know your characters, I found that they acted exactly the way that I predicted. Veatrix as the inexperienced girl, Rhia as the lady and Arkham as the lunatic obsessed with serving his gods.

Persona – 6 – You all know your characters well and give their emotions life. Veatrix was especially good, giving an insight to almost everything which really let me know her character. Rhia and Arkham didn't really give many opinions on the events and simply reacted to them. Let me know what your characters think, let me get in their heads! That said, I really liked the way that you wrote your characters. Rhia never swayed from being a lady and Arkham was single-minded in converting her.

Writing Style

Technique – 4 – This was inconsistent. Rhia's description of her clothing in her first post was awash with good literary techniques but they became rather sparse after that. Try to add at least a few into your writing, but don't force them out if they don't fit. There were a few odd metaphors, which actually do more harm than good for your writing.

Mechanics – 4 – Veatrix did well in this catergory but Rhia and Arkham were a bit careless with sentence structure and grammar. Read through your posts before you post them and you'll eliminate mistakes and allow your writing to flow better. Rhia in the first few posts was especially confusing, which made it difficult to get into the story early on. There was also one post where Arkham shifted tenses, which is something that is really horrible for the reader.

Clarity – 4 – Like I mentioned before, Rhia had a few problems with sentence construction in the beginning that was confusing and it hurt this catergory too. In the later posts, you were fine, which is a positive that you can take from this thread. Veatrix did well here too and there was not any part that I felt confused or lost in your writing. Prophet, I felt that you did quite poorly here. Two instances stick out instantly. At the beginning, you just suddenly appear without sufficient explanation. If you had explained your abilities more, it would have made a lot more sense to me but you didn't and I was very confused. The second incident is the disc platform/monster thing, where I had almost no idea what was going on. I read over it a few times but it did not make more sense. Read over your posts a few time or ask a friend to see whether there is any part they don't understand and you'll see these mistakes instantly and be able to correct them.

Wild Card – 6 - This was certainly different from what I expected after reading the first post. I was thinking of a typical tavern that was the starting point to adventure, but you guys did something completely different by making the barkeep, someone who is usually a background character, the focal point of the story and turning the tavern into the scene for the adventure. Kudos for doing this original idea. The premise was good and the storyline was great, but I felt that you guys didn't tell it well enough to do it justice. That will come with experience though, and I hope to see a lot more of your names in Althanas!

Total Score – 43

Moonbird gains 321 EXP and 120 GP!
Veatrix gains 590 EXP and 115 GP!
The Prophet gains 295 EXP and 103 GP!

[Cyrus the virus]

EXP added!