Intertwined Travels

[Breaker]

Closed to Ataraxis. All bunnying approved.

The brass key spun like a child's toy top, flashes of gold flickering from the tavern's torches.

Even with the considerable force I had used to spin it, the unbalanced object soon fell flat. The numbers engraved on the skeletal key's handle filled with shadow, making them look black in the Peaceful Promenade's dim interior lighting. "Room twenty-eight, last door on the left of the second floor," the inkeeper had told me, his many chins jiggling as he passed me the key and hastened to help another customer.

I had seldom seen an inn as busy as the Promenade was that night, and yet every other hotel in Underwood was packed from the cellar to the shingles. What caused the small town's tourism to skyrocket I could not fathom, but the cigar smoke hung as thick in the air as the layered conversations. It annoyed me, being crammed in a room with so many other people. For one thing, I hadn't secured a table with my back against the wall, so I stared pensively into the smudged blade of my butterknife, watching my back. Additionally, I couldn't enjoy my usual barroom passtime of eavesdropping on the conversations of complete strangers. Picking a single voice out of that cacaphony would have been like dissecting a human brain, and I was no surgeon. Instigating a brawl was so far out of the question, even my superhuman vision couldn't see it. I had no problem with a few harmless tavern fights now and again, but with the inn at such capacity, people would get trampled in the inevitable riot. So I sipped cheap ale and studied the smeared reflection of myself and the space behind me.

I wouldn't have visited that sardine-can tavern if I didn't have to, but I the day before I had received a letter at my comfortable, cozy inn in Radasanth. I had a challenge to answer at the Dajas Pagoda, and the Ai'Bron council required my presence as soon as possible. Bastards. If everything aside from the monks wasn't so perfectly ideal about my job, I would have ditched it like a bad date. But I enjoyed the work, the combat, and I especially enjoyed the paycheck. The fact that I had to deal with a bunch of imperious, bald-headed, robe wearing megalomaniacs was the only drawback. I gulped coarse ale and scratched at the two day's worth of stubble on my chin. My boots bumped the four legs of the small table I sat at, bored out of my mind. I couldn't bear to go to bed so early; the hands of the grandfather clock behind the bar told me it was just past nine.

"I should have just trekked through the night and caught the morning ferry," I berated myself for the upteenth time. But I had spent solid, hard-earned gold on having room 28 for the night, and I intended to use it. I couldn't explain my bizarre miserly nature, even to myself, but when I paid for a service I liked to use it. I sighed and drained my tankard, looked around for a waitress but they were all busy so I dropped it on the scratched surface of the table. A clean-shaven kid passed through the thin reflection my butterknife showed me, no threat there. I would have almost welcomed the sight of a garrote sliding over my head, or a knife diving for my neck. Something to make the hands of that damn clock spin faster.

I leaned back in my chair and tried to imagine what my impending Pagoda opponent would be like. The oh-so-mysterious monks hadn't even given me a name in their stupid memo. They crooked a finger, and I came running, regular as the turning gears of that god-damn clock. I tried to stare into the depths of my mug but there was nothing to look at save for the droplets speckled across the grainy molded pewter. I sighed and pushed the mug away, then set my room key on its point and spun it again.

"Numbers or blanks?" I killed myself with my cleverness.

[Ataraxis]

The forest of Concordia was always slow to wake, each morning’s breath a deep yawn of spices and resin. The same, however, could not be said about the town that lulled at its heart. All year round, no matter what the season, Underwood awoke before the morning larks and their cheerful songs, before the sun’s very ascent. Carts and carriages whirred and clicked on the South Road amidst fretful neighs, the tap of riding crops and the dry crack of whips. Crossing into the foresting town were countless merchants from Radasanth and Serenti, though an influx of visitors and travelers also came on the West Road from the shores near Jadet, where took harbor most of the ferries from the distant island of Scara Brae. And even when the darkness came at last, there had been no lull in its activity.

In truth, the town had always been a place of convergence: even more so on this particular night. Sober festoons were hung up in front of houses and various stores, earthen colors tipped with the occasional flares of red and yellow. A new ruckus spread above the hubbub reigning in the town plaza, that round expanse of grass and used cobbles split by a stream that ever rushed and frothed. This new sound was that of clouts nailed and planks sawed, and it had been loudening with every bell. Elven shipwrights, hailing from various baronies of Corone or even from beyond the seas, had come to craft their boats in preparation for a memorial day of mourning.

“The yearly burning of a ship to remember the Eledhwe, the great vessel that once carried the Elves from fabled Quessiria to the shores of the known world… where it crashed and became naught but a smoldering wreck, a memory in ashes.”

Lillian had long ago learned of this sorrowful day, nose dipped into a score of historical scripts. To see it unfold with her own eyes, however, was something else entirely. The people of Underwood seemed driven by pride in remembrance of their ancestors’ determination rather than burdened by the wistful knowledge that they were all severed from their past, that even if they chose to cross back the ocean, they would only return to the remains of their roots, black and scorched.

Through the open windows of the households, she could hear blocks of wood being carved and shaved, the townspeople now contributing in their own special way. She never liked being the maverick, and as such the librarian felt a need to join in as well. Unfortunately, the voyage from Scara Brae had been exhausting, and the winding road to Underwood had pulled her to the very edge of deathly fatigue. ‘Maybe tomorrow’, she thought wearily.

‘Maybe tomorrow, just before heading into the forest to start my little investigation.’ The girl was almost dragging her feet on the paths, arms swaying from side to side with every weary step. When she saw those plain letters on the sign for the Peaceful Promenade, her mind cried salvation. For once, she wanted to rent a quiet room in a quiet inn, and take full benefit of a quiet night of sleep. Just for now, a break from everything even remotely adventurous – especially after the fiasco in Scara Brae. “Hopefully, no giant spider deity and its army of spawns will attack this town.”

In the tavern hung a yellow yet light atmosphere. Drinks fizzed and dripped. The music of merriment drummed on the walls and tables while the diabolical wail of a violin played some obscure folk song. Early celebration, it seemed. With a grin that reflected the general giddiness, she went to the counter in search of the proprietor. There were two men behind it, but one of them had left as soon as she’d come near the high stool. Still, she only recognized the last one as an innkeeper in charge when he took an old rag and began scouring a dirty mug.

“Well Hal’s taking his break, but I can book you a room. How’s…” he paused, reaching down behind the counter. The jingle of metal rattling against the wooden bottom of a drawer. “There you go. This room’s still free apparently,” he said at last with a wide yet worn smile, puffing as he straightened and released the pressure from bending on his protuberant paunch. Lillian handed him a handful of crowns in exchange for the key, nodded, and hared up the stairway as fast as her frail legs could take her.

Almost unable to take anymore, she jammed the key into the lock and turned, exhilarated by the terse click of the unlocking mechanism. She rushed inside, eyes blurry yet directed to that white patch she knew to be a bed. Or perhaps a chair that was more beige than white. In all honesty, even if it were the dead yet fresh carcass of a polar bear, the girl could not care less. ‘Just as long as it’s soft and warm.’

Warm, indeed. Soft, however… something hard had jammed into her belly as she’d fallen, and her face had struck what seemed to be a pillow filled with padded rocks. A pillow that heaved up and down, then up again. What was even odder was that she could feel its snug warmth seep into her. Had it not been for the sudden realization of its nature, she might have fallen asleep right then and there. On that stranger of a man.

She threw herself back and squealed, focusing blue eyes on the darkening silhouette before her. “Who are you? What in the nine hells are you doing in my room?” she shouted, raising her key and angrily pointing at the coin-like, wooden numeral plate that hung from it. Only then did she notice that, beneath the number ‘28’, was etched the word ‘spare’.

Her expression was blank. “Well what do you know.”

[Breaker]

Sleep is overrated.

I lay on my back on the loosely stuffed feather mattress, one hand behind my head, the other dangling to the floor. It might have been a nice mattress, a few years back. But night after night of people laying, sitting, or loving on it, not to mention days of being beaten in the yard by one of the maids, had left it rather slack. A lighter person might have been comfortable, but my heavy frame compacted what padding there was, and I could feel the iron bedframe clearly, aggravating bars digging into my spine and skull.

I drifted in and out of consciousness, dreaming the odd dream here and there, never truly awake or asleep. I kept my eyes shut, mainly because there was nothing interesting to look at. A rickety wooden chair and a matching desk, and a wormholed dresser. I had chosen to lie down fully clothed rather than risk putting my garments in that decrepit antique. I must have fallen fully asleep at some point, because the sound of the rusted bedframe creaking shocked me awake.

Everything was blurry for a moment, and I smelled something clean, like soap, maybe one of those flower scented bars sold in markets throughout Corone. I didn't even feel the tiny girl on top of me until she jumped off, screaming banshee cries of bloody murder.

My eyes snapped open, and instinct took over. I pushed off the mattress, producing another angry creak from the frame, and propelled myself into the darkest shadows of the room, away from where the girl had jumped. I barrel rolled twice on the solid oaken floorboards, then stood up as I reached the spot on the floor where I left my boots. My right hand snatched a long azure bayonet from its sheath in my right boot, and pressed the blade against my forearm, concealed yet ready to throw. The prevaldia felt cool against my warm skin, and I listened from my new position as the girl finished her confused tirade. She was tiny, as I noticed before, barely as tall as my chin, and probably lighter than my legs. Eyes as clear and blue as a hot summer sky gazed at me, framed by downy black hair, ravens circling in the wind. Even in the gloom of that rectangular, boxlike room, I could read the number, and the notation on her key.

"Oh."

I dropped the bayonet into a sheathe on the back of my belt and pulled a key from my pocket in the same motion. Slowly, so as not to seem threatening, I held it out for her to see.

I said, "Looks like you're in my room, kid. But no need to tell me why; just get out."

Maybe not the most polite remark possible, but I didn't get much real sleep, and she had woken me up. Maybe I was a little grouchy, but maybe she could have been more careful to not jump on me. Hell, if I had been awake I might have killed her.

After holding the key out long enough that she couldn't possibly have missed it, I returned the heavy brass artifact to my pocket. Turned and sat down on the bed with my back to the girl as the frame screeched in protest. I figured I would listen to her leave and then get up, put the desk in front of the door since I couldn't trust the dresser not to collapse, and see about tricking my self to sleep again.

[Ataraxis]

‘The nerve of that man.’

There were few things in this world that could make her furious. Sleep deprivation was obvious enough, for one. Then, there was being treated with condescension as nothing more than a petulant child. And lastly, being refused what was rightfully hers. Though the stranger couldn’t be held responsible for the former, she could very well blame him for the rest as sure as eggs is eggs. “I paid for this room. The key may be a spare, but it’s still what the innkeeper gave me, after I paid him. Now I’m very, very tired, and I’m going to sleep here, regardless of what you say or what you want, since I’m as entitled to this god-forbidden room as you are, because I paid for it and I like to get my money’s worth.”

It was all a hissing string of words, as low as she could make it without changing her tone into something so shrill that only dogs could hear. She cursed that barkeep in her mind, using whatever mental might she could muster to imagine herself throttling the pudgy man for the mix-up. The girl could be quite vicious in the morning, being as far away from a morning lark as were dungflies from a peacock, but she was immensely worse when dispossessed of her hours of sleep altogether. Any other day and she wouldn’t have dared speak so forwardly to someone she’d just met, especially when that someone seemed so ridiculously immense that he could apparently crush her under his foot. Lillian shook her head then, trying to clear away the hallucination but only managing to give herself double vision.

Struggling to stay on her feet, she hobbled into the room and crouched inches away from the man’s creaking bed. One jerk later and she’d pulled out a spare straw mattress from under it, but the momentum was so strong that she’d lost her footing and had fallen backwards, the thump of her minuscule frame buried under the ruckus of the paillasse. She was lost under a low screen of dust, but coughed her way out from under the pads. Grunting sorely, she turned around on all fours and kicked the door closed, then fell soundless on a bed so old and noisome that no self-respecting peasant would choose to sleep on it.

Lillian didn’t care one bit. She’d slept in places far worse all of her life. What she did care for was that now, she couldn’t sleep at all. She was too riled up to succumb to the call, and that enraged her. Stiller than a possum, she quietly wept into the mattress.

‘And it actually does smell quite horrible too,’ she added, in between stifled whimpers.

[Breaker]

The diminuitive girl's vicious tirade slid off my back like waves on a breakwater. I didn't pay much attention to the words, but understood the intent. In the darkness I could see the dirt beneath my fingernails as I flexed my hands.

"If I tossed her out, would she leave me alone? Probably not."

The cagey little shrew heaved the spare matress from beneath my bed. I heard her grunt of exertion as her skinny back bent to the task, and the coarse slide of bedding over floorboards. I also smelled the reason why I had left that matress where it was, rather than adding its thickness to my meagre bed. The thing reeked like a corpse turned maggot colony. The way she sobbed into it, I thought maybe she would lose consciousness and then I could toss her out.

Lifting my bare feet from the floor, I placed my palms on the bed and pushed down, lifted my mass clear off the matress and rotated a hundred and eighty degrees. Resettling on the bed now sitting and facing the girl, I studied her.

"Does she have to sob like that?" The girl looked about sixteen, give or take a year, so I supposed she probably had a bit of a hormonal imbalance. I tried to remember what it was like to be that age, and more specifically, what girls had been like. The memories didn't come easily, and they were useless. The way the girl's shoulders shook as she whimpered into that gross feather stuffed fleabag told me there would be no easy way to manipulate her out of my room.

"Look," I said to her. I didn't really expect her to look up, but it was a decent way of starting a sentence. "Look, you can stay here, I guess, but be quiet." I took a moment to consider that. I had made it clear she still wasn't welcome, but at least alleviated the possibility that I was a complete ass. Not bad. A moment before I spoke again a droning voice bored through the wall, barely loud enough to be heard by normal human ears. Even I couldn't quite make out the words, so I ignored it and kept talking.

"But, listen, and I actually mean listen. You must have a damn angel watching over you that made sure you got the spare key to my room. If you had of entered any other, you might've ended up raped or murdered or both."

I'm not exactly subtle when it comes to teaching life lessons, especially when the pupil is irritating. I scratched abstractly at a rough patch on the floor with my toenail, my penetrating gaze never wavering from the midnight haired girl.

A second voice joined the speaker in the adjacent room, the two sharing an obnoxiously loud conversation. It was like having a pair of flies buzzing around the room, not to mention the mewling kitten on the spare matress. I reached casually to the back of my belt and stroked the hilt of my bayonet.

Tomorrow, I would leave Underwood, and ease my mind with a warm bloodbath at the Dajas Pagoda.

[Ataraxis]

That the man thought himself kind enough by permitting her to stay was one thing she could ignore without a fuss. His blessing or not, she damned well intended on staying until she could catch a few hours of sleep that were long overdue. That he then tried to portray himself as a magnanimous godsend, a savior delivered by the very hands of Providence or the chance protector of her innocence was something else entirely. Tears sponged dry by the woolly covers, she heaved her head from the fetid mattress, the motion sluggishly tired, and set half-lidded eyes on the stranger caressing his bayonet.

“Why, thank you for enlightening me on the ways of the world. I, being a brainless girl, have traveled alone for months through brick and wild, wholly unknowing of the true nature of men. Only now, through the wisdom of your teachings, do I realize I have only survived this far on sheer, dumb luck.” The sarcasm was as biting as she could make it in her world-weary state, enough that she wouldn’t be surprised if the hulk of a man decided to reassess his position and veer from savior to scoundrel.

Though a man of his build could wring her blood out as easily as water from a wet rag, there were ways to bring down any and all behemoths. Such had become her unintended specialty, and she had done so without straying too far from actions one would consider honorable. As she currently was, however, she would find no qualms in playing dirty. “Keeping with your hypothetical situation, if anyone had tried to make off with me, I would at least have a reason to throw them out and keep the room for myself.” Though spoken arrogantly, there was no conceit in those words, and if the man cared to listen, he would notice she had let out a dash of humor despite herself.

There was a long pause, one which she ended with a short sigh. “I am tired. I apologize.” It had taken her this long to realize that, even if this room’s occupant was less than amiable, she herself had done nothing to clear the cloud of hostility that hung between them. A part of her was trying to invite conflict, if only for the off-chance of getting knocked out cold and succumbing to sweet oblivion, but rationale had blown through the fog of her mind, revealing in the clarity a much simpler solution. “I would be annoyed at myself too, if I tackled and woke… myself.” Clarity of mind, perhaps, but apparently not of speech. She recovered. “I can’t deny the fact that I’ve been much luckier in being forced to share a room with you than you in sharing one with me. So… thank you, I guess.”

Having nothing more to say, she forced down the last ounce of her animosity, then set her head back down for a last ditch attempt at blacking out. The voices through the peeled and browning wall, however, had not abated in all this time – in fact, they had done quite the opposite, now so loud she could make out words such as ‘prosody’ and ‘synesthesia’. It was a decidedly peculiar discussion and, had she been of a sounder state of mind, one that would have proved interesting enough for her to join.

“They’re… very loud,” she murmured. Every time her eyes began to slide heavy, a surge of vigour from the adjacent room startled her back to wakefulness. She wasn’t sure, but it seemed the stranger was suffering his consciousness in very much the same way.

[Breaker]

I gazed stoically at the girl as she vented herself through nibbling sarcasm. Most likely she was embarassed, and the haughty demeanor was a biproduct of that. Most likely, she was a really nice kid but overreacted to the awkward situation. Hormonal imbalance.

I told myself this over and over as she prattled on and on. Eventually my hand stopped toying with the bayonet and rested warily on the mattress. If you just keep your cool and let a girl talk herself out, she will invariably realize everything is her fault.

"Apology accepted," I told her, "and you're welcome." I chuckled and arranged my face into a friendly expression. Awknowledged our noisy neighbours with a nod. I tried to ignore the crescendo of deep voices sweeping through the wall. It was quite a task, and since the girl wanted to talk I very responsibly turned the conversation back to life lessons.

"You're clearly intelligent," I massaged her ego momentarily to make sure she was listening. "But you're what, eighteen?" Teens like to appear older than they are, I remembered. "When you boil it down, your experience may be vast, but that doesn't mean you can toss yourself into potentially hostile situations. No one is invincible."

I managed to say it with a straight face despite the overwhelming hypocrisy. I had survived being skewered by a mythril arrow, watched bullets bounce off my chest, and survived numerous battles in the Dajas Pagoda. Undefeated as a Hierarch, never bested at the Citadel, many called me invincible. Sitting on the sagging bed in that room in the Peaceful Promenade, I felt the siren song of egomania enshrouding my mind.

For all you know, I berated myself, this girl could be tougher than you. Stranger things could happen.

I realized I was staring through the wood panelled wall, biting a little too hard on my bottom lip. Those voices were getting to me.

"But, I don't mean to tell you how to live your life," I added irrelevantly. Leaned back and swung my legs up onto the bed amidst a symphony of screeching springs. Tried to find a position worthy of sleep.

[Ataraxis]

Though unsure how her account of their neighbors’ rowdiness had become the cue for another easygoing lecture, Lillian was not in the least harried by this new direction. It was, after all, one way to deal with insomnia. “Clearly, I must not be intelligent enough to see through your flattery, sir.” She chuckled, albeit meekly, to let the man know she was not resuming hostilities. By now, she liked to think that this was how these sleepless hours would go, with him playing the part of the berating uncle and her faking susceptibility by picking at his every word. An unlikely scenario, but she had always been one to entertain a host of these, if only to add more colors to the world’s palette.

“I’m sixteen, actually.” Lillian gave the statement no inflection, her attention set on strange musings and old broodings. Faint as it was, the momentary scowl on her face was a sign that their conclusions were anything but encouraging. “And you’re right, no one is invincible – and knowing that is precisely why I’m still alive today.” She turned on her back, feeling that each lungful had become restrictive and that her craning neck was beginning to ache. There was now distance in her eyes, as if she saw scenes beyond the rafters of the ceiling, beyond the dust and shadows. “Bad people try to prey on me because they know I’m not. I’ve only survived this far because I know that neither are they.”

Her tone had dropped. Lillian suddenly felt cold, both in body and mind. The same kind of cold one must feel when abandoned to die in a bank of snow, out there in a world devoid of life. The image frightened her. “I never tossed myself into this. I wasn’t given a choice. And now, I can’t go back.” It startled her then, when she recalled that the first time she had felt this chill was upon the docks at summer, looking over the deserts of Fallien that stretched so serenely beyond the Outlander’s Quarters. Upon turning her back to the only world she had ever known. Upon her exile from her home. “A girl of sixteen doesn’t have a lot of options when she’s forced out of her country.” Back then, she had only thought of three. Refusing to die, she was then left with only two.

“What would you have said if you had seen me behind a windowpane? If I were just another living painting of depravity, lining one of those human galleries down in the slums of Radasanth?” She closed her eyes, contending with the rising disgust for her own words. “Why, only one of two things. ‘I wish these pictures would stop looking at me’ say the good men. ‘How much for this one?’ ask the others.” Her voice was laced in revulsion. Lillian remembered being accosted while running an errand, remembered the offers. Maiden Harlots were the life and bread of whoremongers. Such girls could hold on to the last piece of their innocence for years until it was sold off to the highest bidder. All that, for a life in a glass cage, only to be taken out for a few hours as a slave. “To lead a life of risks or to become a soulless doll... I chose. Can you tell me that I was wrong?”

Feeling vulnerable, impossibly exposed, she said nothing for a moment. Still, in the end, she had no intention of letting the man torture himself by answering. “How’s that for going on a tangent?” she laughed. “I’m just surprised I haven’t bored you into oblivion yet. Here’s my life lesson to you: never humor a girl by talking about life lessons. Chances are you’ll have more luck in tales of battle or, gods help me, bedding.”

Lillian reflected on that, then a seedling of an idea found root in her head. Men always fell asleep when they did so, though a few helpings of mead and ale might have been a determining factor in that. “Got any?” she asked, sheepish. “Of the former, that is. You can save the rest for your drinking partners.”

[Breaker]

Propping myself up on one elbow, I rolled to my side and quirked an admonishing eyebrow at my roomate.

"I'm not looking for luck, kiddo. But I suppose I should save the life lessons for someone willing to learn." Her lips parted, eyes widening, fortelling another tirade. I flashed a half smile to show I was joking and restlessly swung to my feet, leaving the torturous bed behind.

I paced the length of the room, touched the furniture as I went past, felt the wormholes that dotted the dresser like swiss cheese and the creak of a loose floorboard beneath my foot. Passed the girl's mattress and again smelled the flowery scent of some savory soap. Obviously, she was doing well for herself in the world. Perhaps I should just leave her to her own devices and pass the midnight hours with a story.

Choosing a battle yarn to spin presented me with a bit of a problem. Tales of my Pagoda battles probably would have bored us both; they were an endless string of superior technique overcoming lesser challengers. I thought about my time in Salvar, but just recalling Kristina's face put a lump in my throat I couldn't even whisper around. Besides, I lacked the charisma required to tell those legendary battles as anything other than implausible fantasies. Finally my mind settled on something... proper. I strode back to my bed, wrapped one wide hand around the frame and dragged it closer to the girl's mattress, then sat down facing her with only a few feet between us. Closing my eyes, I breathed in and ran a hand across the spiky stubble on my chin.

"I spend a lot of time in Radasanth," I began, not elaborating on why. "At one point I became so bored I joined a fitness club called the Gargantuan Gym." I smiled, recalling the massive stone structure with its smell of stale sweat, new sweat, persevearance. "It was my kind of place... full of hardworking people looking to improve themselves. First day there, I stayed so long I thought everyone else had left. But there was one girl left, a breathtaking blonde named Allyson, practicing in the archery range."

"I had given her a few fighting tips earlier that night, and she offered to teach me how to use a bow in return. Only, when I went to retrieve my arrows she shot me in the back."

The time had come for my story to evolve beyond simple words. I undid the top two buttons of my shirt and pulled the fabric taught, baring just enough skin to display the small puckered scar high on my right pectoral.

"I remember seeing the arrowhead poke through my chest and being confused," I told the girl as she reached out two pale fingers to trace the healed wound. Girls can never just look at scars. "Everything's a little fuzzy, but I recall being led into a carriage. She told me she was taking me to a doctor, that it was an accident. Bouncing around on the floor with my life pouring out... it was all I could do to keep breathing." My tanned hand envelopped the teens, and moved her fingers up to feel the pulse pumping through my carotid.

"Then I stopped breathing," I said, and watched her azure eyes expand as my heart stopped beating. Her fingers pressed harder into my neck, searching for a pulse that wasn't there. I smiled, breathing carefully, controlled.

"Allyson and her driver were kidnapping me; they needed to keep me alive. When they thought I was dying they stopped the carriage and got the arrow out of me." I smiled as I allowed my heart to resume beating, and the girl jerked her hand away as if burned. "They did everything right, but got beaten by a parlor trick they'd never seen before. I lived to tell the tale, and now I carry this with me as a reminder."

I dug in my hip pocket and drew out a mythril broadpoint arrowhead suspended on a leather cord. I hung the trinket that had almost claimed my life around my neck, allowing the snow white metal to dangle on my bare chest next to the scar it had left behind. I stared straight into her eyes, the pupils like cyclones amidst clear blue sky.

"And that's my story," I finished, flexing my shoulders and cracking my spine. "If you liked it, I suppose you could return the favour."

Next door the voices grew louder still, but they no longer bothered me. Perhaps the girls arrival was a piece of good fortune after all.

[Ataraxis]

“That was monstrous, by the way.” Lillian was still thumbing her index in an attempt to forget that absence of a beat to his life. It was as disturbing as any duality that had lost its other half: a morning without light, a dance without music, a world without color. She considered adding ‘a cake without icing’, but the image made her more hungry than perturbed. “Also, this is just my opinion, but Gargantuan Gym is a silly, silly name.”

The tale had felt surreal in a way she could not quite describe. The narration had been twisting left and right, as if to avoid answering the question that was burning on the librarian’s lips. Why did they kidnap him in the first place? Lillian had a few theories about that, her favorite being that they considered selling his organs, picture of health that he was. The others were either too plain or too fantastic to be plausible.

A close second was that they planned to make him a gladiator, to make him kill for his freedom. That situation reminded her of the Pagoda, yet another grim business that used honor as a front and death as a currency. Perhaps he was a warrior there; he even seemed built for that singular purpose. But no, she would not ask. Who was she to pry any further? He had told what he had meant to tell, no more, no less.

“Return the favor, you say?” Lillian sighed, lying spread-eagled on the fetid mattress as she considered. Was there any tale to match his? ‘Well, plenty, but he’ll never believe me.’ The teenager settled for one of her tamer ordeals, deciding against sharing the hours of madness she had spent in the Obsidian Spire, fighting undead and slaying their queen, or her many brushes with haywire teleportation and mass-kidnappers.

“I used to be a librarian, back in Fallien,” she said at last, beginning the weave of her tale. “Ancient texts and mysterious ciphers had fed my mind when nothing else would my flesh. Thus, it was only natural for me to eventually include the enigmatic lands of Dheathain in my travels. I found companions there, alongside which I fought – and ran. There was Aiden Darkstorm, a tall man, taller than you, in fact. Dark and brooding, with a mop of hair as thick as ropes! Then there was his son, Chance, a little devil that I terribly miss.” Not much could be done to hide her sorrow then. She would spare the man the details. Aiden was dead, and his murderer had kidnapped his son. She looked for months, turned every stone in Dheathain, not twice, but thrice. Yet nothing. The boy was forever lost to her.

After a while, she continued, her voice composed once more. “Chance read a book about Synthesizing, the process through which Faes create sorcerous items out of a number of components. Dragonscales aspected to certain elements, crystals with mythical properties, teeth, guts, brains, eyes. It fascinated him, and so we set on a wild hunt. Trapping Algoras, finding insects and leaves, spelunking for gems.” Wonder laced her words, as if she could see the events unfold in her mind’s eye with such clarity. “But our last target was one of the Cailpis Wyrven – primitive dragons with vestigial wings, so tall that they could grab onto the Promenade’s rooftop with a single short hop.”

“Our plan was to trap it, as we had everything else,” she said lowly, her tone hinting at disappointment. “But we had never thought it could trap us first. The books had described it as mind-numbingly stupid, so you can guess my horror when it came up behind us on the sly. It shattered two of my ribs with a single swish of its tail – no I’m not going to show you which!” she exclaimed, crossing her arms to modestly hide her chest. “Aiden had nearly been crushed by its stampede. Chance had fought to defend his father, calling upon powers I had never suspected in the boy. He speared the beast with a great jag of ice! The damage, however, was minimal, and he could do so little to protect himself against another lash.” Lillian made a noiseless gasp, eyes dilating as the scene played in her mind. That sickly crack, the screams, the helplessness. “His arm… it shattered his arm.”

“I got up. The wind had been knocked out of my lungs: I couldn’t even breathe yet. But I was mad.” Lillian lifted her arm, then drew out the dirk at her side without a warning. The man jumped at that, clearly trained in reacting to such acts, but he did nothing as she watched it with listless interest. He regretted his inaction when she slashed a line on the back of her own forearm. “A hundred cuts like these from my fall, but I still got up. Had it not been for this, I would have died.”

Passing middle and forefinger over the wound drew black smoke across the red smear. The smoke then seemed to thin into a filmy substance, made of innumerable crisscrosses that glittered weakly in the half-light. A net, or rather, a web. As if it had a mind of its own, it snaked its way into the wound, where it settled darkly and, in front of their very eyes, began to knit the torn flesh. Within a few seconds, there was only a scar on her skin, and it too was already beginning to fade. “When I recovered enough, I set out to kill it, and…” she rummaged through a pocket, then threw an off-white object into the man’s lap. It was a tooth, as big as a knife, though dulled for safety. It was her charm. “I did.”

“At that time, I did toss myself into something I wasn’t ready for. In that sense, you were right. Fortunately, I learned from that mistake.” She let him wonder what moral lay behind her ordeal for a while. “When it comes to children, know when to say no.” At that, she laughed. In truth, she had learned to better size the things she could chew, but what she said bore a hint of truth as well. They had almost died on the whim of a little devil.

When her laughter abated, she looked up at the man. His features must have been just like hers when she first heard his tale. As he had never told her why, she had in turn refrained from telling him how. ‘Yes, how did a girl slay a hulking beast almost thrice her size?’

Lillian only grinned, giving the faded scar on her arm a knowing look.

[Breaker]

When the girl drew her short blade, I almost killed her.

My subconscious registered the potential for attack an instant before the point of the dirk left the sheathe. I mentally rehearsed three different spine snapping techniques before I realized it was just a dramatic prop. I barely paid attention as she cut herself; I was too busy berating myself to calm the fuck down. With insomnia came paranoia, and it had made me as jumpy as a toddler on a sugar binge. I wondered for a moment if she was going through a phase of self-mutilation. Hormones.

What really caught my attention was the spiderweb healing magic she used. For a moment, a silver halo seemed to shine all around her, and when it faded her flesh had knit back together like a woolen winter scarf. Cute. I wondered if the scar on her arm would fade, or if she intended to keep it around for party talk.

"That's a good story. Did you get it from the fiction department of that library you worked at?" She practically sputtered in indignation. "I'm teasing," I added casually, and got a haughty 'hmmph' in response. Plucked the dragon fang from my lap and spun it lazily on the palm of my hand, then on the back, then across all five fingers. Then, perhaps out of restlessnes or childish desire to one-up the teen, or perhaps just because I felt like showing off, I threw the fang. In the same movement I dove and rolled, arriving at the foot of the dresser just as the fang struck home.

Knowing the dulled tooth might not pierce even weak wood, I had aimed for a large wormhole, and the spike struck just so, wedging itself to a stop. I grabbed it before the muted smack finished echoing off the walls and reversed my roll, ending up back on my bed.

"Nice balance," I commented, and tossed it back to her.

Chuckling, I leaned back on the bed and cracked my spine. Got an unorchestrated screech from the frame in response. As the high pitched grinding died I realized that an opera house silence had fallen over the room. Our neighbours had finally granted their debating a recess.

"Knock on wood," I gestured at the wall with my head. The girl returned my smile.

Well, what do you know.

[Ataraxis]

Hearing the silence settle in the adjacent room, Lillian could not stop herself from beaming victoriously. They had bested their neighbors, outlasted whatever discussion had elicited such heated responses on the other side of the wall. With this triumph, they could now let themselves slip into slumber, perhaps even bask in a river of dreams. Sleep, at long, long last. Due to her closeness, she stretched out a hand to reach a peel in the wallpaper. As a conclusion to their little joke, she quickly rasped her knuckles against the exposed wood. Two small, playful knocks.

And then the wall exploded.

Lillian had seen the wood bend, crack and fold. She was already leaping out of the way when it all burst open, dust gushing out like blood from a vein. Splinters and fragments sailed through the room with the fury of volcanic debris, shattering an unlit gas-lamp and a scuffed mirror. Two shadows drifted through the rain of dirt and dust, huge hulking silhouettes locked in a brawl of sheer madness. Their bodies thumped as boulders, the floors wailing in pain under the impact. Lillian had lost her balance when the ground shifted beneath her feet, and she even saw furniture skid and jump. Down on one knee, the librarian watched with frozen helplessness as the beasts wrestled, exchanging an endless series of blows so devastating they could have sent a man’s head soaring.

Then the girl noticed a mind-boggling peculiarity about the two. They were ogres, she realized after a while, but clad in plain robes of black and brown, often seen on scholars and professors. They snarled, heads snapping back and forth with each punch, gouts of blood like spilled ink on their mouths and knuckles, and there was frenzy in their eyes. Lillian listened, captivated for an unknown reason, until she heard intelligible snippets between the feral roars. One of the ogres had pinned the other’s arms under his knees, taking the opportunity to deliver untold pain in a most unexpected manner.

“How dare…” A disfiguring hook from the left, then a powerful jab to break the nose. “You mock…” Left hook, right jab. “The works…” Again. “of Win…” Again. “Terdell?” And again.

“Gods have mercy,” Lillian gasped, torn between sickening horror and admiration, “you’re beating the living daylights out of him in iambic pentameter.”

There was a break in the rhythmic pummeling as the ogre turned, the glazed shadow of wrath in his eyes clearing ever so slightly, as if seeing the teenager for the first time. The pulp-faced ogre beneath capitalized on this golden instant, kicking his legs for a furious wallop to the back of his assailant’s skull. Dazed, the would-be-victor could do nothing to keep the other from clamping his head by the temples with those dirty boots. A howl from beneath and the muscles flexed with unfeasible force, dragging the ogre’s head in a downward arc until it literally crashed through the floorboards. The disfigured one wobbled to a stand, speaking slowly, fangs gritted in a demented struggle.

“Morning spat-
Life is slipping


Through the cracks…”
They were mad. There he stood, looking down upon a groaning carcass, bestial eyes agleam with neither pleasure nor mercy. Grey fists like granite boulders trembled from an unrelenting strain, one hefted high for the coup de grace. How? How could two well-read beings, so conscious of their situation, let themselves be blown away by the rage in their blood? ‘And over an argument about the very thing that made them different?’ Then it hit her. He was struggling for restraint, saliva and spilled blood blending into a crimson froth at the corner of his lips. Red streaks ran through his eyes, the vessels growing darker and darker as if he had stopped breathing. Acting on pure instinct, Lillian dashed to meet the ogre, foolishly standing as an obstacle in his way. She would help him, pull him back from the edge.

“I know what you’re think-” Tides of frost ran along her spine, right before that inferno of pain broke against it. The one in front of her stood in transfixed silence, the surprise in his eyes when she came out of the blue fading as he saw her whole body quaver, then fold like a rag doll around the fist of his resuscitated comrade. The girl careened a short distance through the chamber before crashing into an armoire, buried under the broken oak and falling splinters.

Dust settled over the collapse, yet nothing moved beneath the wreckage. The ogre Lillian had come to meet bellowed, the roar a wordless keening. The rafters above shook, the floor beneath quaked. The last ounce of his sentience had snapped, and the beast leapt with a howl to tear apart his once-companion, having but one mind to bathe fresh in his victim’s blood.

P.S.: Haiku are 5-7-5 at most, but lines with fewer syllables are also considered haiku.

[Breaker]

The way a balloon overinflates and explodes if you leave the helium valve open too long, that's how the wall came apart. It seemed to swell, then the gunshot sound of breaking wood, the screaming of nails wrested from ancient boards, accompanied a heavy impact on my chest.

The lateral support beam that hit me was a solid piece of timber. It bowled me backwards off the bed and stayed on top of me. Spots danced in front of my eyes. In my nose, the smell of the dusty floor, the musty smell of mould from within the busted wall creeping into the room. Everything shook with the vibrations of two behemoths battling. I bench pressed the board off of me, felt a sharp pain was a warped rusty nail came out of my right pectoral. I tossed the thing away and back-rolled to my feet, caught my first glimpse of an ogre over the bed.

Two ogres, actually, fighting like nothing else mattered other than painting the scuffed floorboards with each others' brains. I crouched and looked for Lillian, saw her on the other side of that tangle of sasquatch limbs and scholar robes.

I stayed put, stayed ready, and watched. The best way to deal with fights you're not innvolved in is to stay uninnvolved, especially when both combattants are bigger than you. I figured I'd let them get tired, or let them kill each other, then get Lillian and my stuff and get out of there.

All that changed when Lillian tried to step in. The kid obviously didn't have my kind of experience dealing with bruisers. She tried to stop those senseless ugly bastards, and one of them hit her so hard I thought her spine would punch out her back and make an insect sized ladder on the wall.

All at once, the grappling brutes went from merely intimidating to a significant danger. Time to put a stop to it, in other words, but I had trouble figuring out how. They were built like stone statues in full metal armor, nothing but ripples of rock hard muscle and ropelike sinew. There was nowhere to hit them, even pressure points would be useless since I didn't know the anatomy of an ogre. Grappling was out of the question; even with my whole body pitted against one of those beefy arms, I wasn't sure I'd win. Even if I could get my arms around a tree trunk neck, how much squeezing power would it take to bring these animals down? The only tangible weak spots on them were their eyes, but I figured a blind ogre might be even more dangerous than one with perfect vision.

As the one on top reared back a turkey sized fist to punish his opponent anew, I slid in quick as a striking cobra. Grabbed one of those thick sausage fingers, the middle one with a jade ring on it, in both of my comparatively tiny hands. I jerked sideways and down, applied an excruciating wrist-and-finger lock that should have made the creature soil himself. Instead he just turned into it, broke his own finger as carelessly as a dead twig, and aimed a pneumatic knee at my groin. I twisted at the last second, took the blow on my left hip, and flew across the room to land in a heap on the floor.

My intervention had changed the tide of the battle once more. The ogre who was winning now, he clearly had something to prove. He jumped up and down on his enemy, and from his combined weight and stomping force, the victim should have died at once. He kept writhing and cursing though, bellowing in pain and anger.

I had seen enough; these things weren't going to stop, or get tired, or even kill each other any time soon. And I had a bad feeling about the way the floor was shaking, shuddering a little harder each time the top ogre trampolined his kinsman. I strapped on the Breaker Boots. Hard to be sure, with all the other noises, but I thought I heard a soft splintering below. I sprinted to the wall, up the wall and onto the ceiling, my enchanted boots letting my feet stick like a spider. I raced around the two sided war in the wrecked wall, my muscles straining from the effort of moving upside down. My hand dropped fingers stretched straight, until I could grab a handful of the collar of Lillian's shirt. One-handed, I deadlifted her until I could get two fingers hooked under an armpit.

The next time the nearly-victorious ogre came down from his punishing leap, there was a many voiced groaning of old wood strained too far. The ogres disapeared; the floor had given way.

I hope this works, bunny Josh for whatever if you want.

[Ataraxis]

Strangely enough, Lillian felt her body carried by waves of exhaustion upon seas of oblivion. Her consciousness hung deep in limbo, a place of gloom and silence that muted all sounds from the world beyond the numbness of her mind. The vast emptiness overwhelming the girl had deadened all her senses, replacing them with a most alien sensation, but one that felt unusually… wholesome. She felt herself growing more and more accustomed to this otherworldly feeling, for in it she could cast away the hardships that burdened her heart, the misery of living day-by-day only to achieve the ephemeral, and of that constant, lonesome mien she would never allow anyone to see. In it, she could drift to the gentle cadence of the waves and enjoy the relief of a dreamless slumber from which she had no desire to wake. It was the sweetness of acceptance, and the comfort of utter abandon.

Yet something roused in the heart of her serenity. Like a seed of rage in the pit of her stomach, it sent roaring shivers throughout her meager body, and as they coursed through blood and nerve, they became as dark fuel to a nightmarish machine. It roiled and swelled, spreading its grappling tendrils like a living infection, snatching at the threads of her fraying mind and pulling perversely hard. That transient tranquility was all but gone, tossed into the belly of that dreadful, waking beast as coal into a furnace; she could feel them now, the flames eating at the walls that partitioned this world and the next. Through the searing scorch marks, she now saw that dusty and broken room, saw through that gaping hole in the floor the falling debris and the two beasts locked in a deadly embrace.

Saw her feet dangle between heaven and earth.

Lillian spared herself a momentary glance, appraising the damage to her body. Various slivers stuck out of her arms and legs like quills from a porcupine, blots of pinkish red welling where flesh met splintered wood. It was then that she felt a creeping beneath her skin, a warm sensation not unlike the flexing of muscles... and one by one, the foreign objects were pushed out, almost as if spat from the rapidly closing wounds. Countless gashes upon her body vanished in such a manner, leaving behind nothing but fading scars and brief bursts of black mist.

Only then did she afford an upward glance, noticing at last the bulky shape of her accidental roommate holding her by the armpits, while he himself hung upside down from the creaking rafters, filthy from the falling dust. Ignoring what shady physics would allow such a ceiling-crawling feat, Lillian swung her legs up, using his sturdy arm as support until she could feel the soles of feet on a beam of dry wood. She remained still for a moment, during which she noticed the man give her the oddest of looks, as if he were witness to a ghost sighting, but she ignored it. The next instant, she was crouched in topsy-turvy world, one hand on the front of her dress and the other tightly closed around a third of the man’s burly biceps. At once, her thigh muscles cringed and strained, a sound most ominous.

What sound came next was as a tree snapping in half. Like a spring released, the power in Lillian’s legs exploded outward, almost breaking the beam apart under the sheer stress.

The topmost ogre only had a moment to look up and see that blur of black and white descend upon him like a meteorite, to see those blood-red eyes burning bright as her shoulder smashed into his sternum – and as his back smashed into his previous foe’s face as well. The floor below wailed in torture from the force and weight, screams and gasps from the Promenade’s patrons coming from every which way.

“What… in the hells…” One of the two innkeepers was looking onto to the disaster area with a gaping mouth, his mind sent reeling by the costs of repair. When the dust finally settled, the bystanders noticed a crown of black peak from the crater in the middle of the dining room, seemingly wobbling left and right in disorientation.

Hair frazzled from the dust, Lillian teetered to a nearby table, upon which she rested a while to regain her balance and find her bearings. When she finally made the difference between up and down, she plucked a pitcher from the wooden surface, figuring out its contents from the sloshing and rattling. “Ice… mostly. Lots and lots of ice. I can… work with that,” she said weakly with a pronounced slur, wondering if there might also be some sloshing and rattling in her skull as well.

With a few staggered steps, she made her way back to the creaking crater, then emptied the pitcher on top of the two groaning ogres, the chips of ice pelting them like a wake-up hail. “Are your heads cooled enough?” Lillian managed with a firmer grasp of tradespeak than before. “If not… I see another pitcher there that I can pour down the front of your trousers.”

“I... respectfully decline the offer… miss,” groaned the one buried below, dragging grey, sausage-like fingers across his bloodied face. He pushed the other away, taking note of his excessive wheezing: the air had been knocked dryly out of his lungs, and would require a few moments before returning. “I believe my… friend… is of the same mind. Our… our frenzy is over.”

“Good,” the girl said after a long sigh, her shoulders falling as her whole body loosened and the carmine shade of her eyes faded back to a periwinkle blue. She was feeling awfully tired, now, which was quite a thing to say considering how she was already in a state of deathly exhaustion when she first walked into the Promenade. Forgetting herself, where she was and her entire surroundings, she pulled the linen from the closest table and snugly wrapped herself in it. The girl gently dropped to the floor, rolled to her side and, after short bout of wriggling in that makeshift cocoon, eventually succumbed to the call of sleep.

Of the two innkeepers, one was by now rousing the constables from their fleeting sleep, while the other remained gasping for breath, less than satisfied with that conclusion. “I’ve not an inkling as to what in the gods’ names just happened here, but what I do know is that everyone at the source of this mess all better have deep pockets and be handy with tools!”

[Breaker]

As imperative as it was to make a quick exit, I couldn't quite tear my eyes away from the sight of an entire room crumbling downwards, as if hell had finally decided to swallow the noisy ogres. As wood and metal shrapnel from the disaster bounced harmlessly off my tough skin, my horrification changed to stupefaction as I watched the same debris pierce Lillian's skin over and over again, only to be pushed out by her uncanny healing power. The girl's next action was mind boggling; she firmly removed my hands and plummeted like a pro wrestler towards the ogres.

She certainly holds a grudge.

Obviously the stress and fatigue had skewed her seemingly analytical thinking process. Or perhaps Lillian just didn't understand the workings of civilized Corone. I knew, however, that if one innkeeper was getting himself off berating the ogres and trying to place blame, the other would already be on his way to collect the authorities, who would start throwing people in jail and ask questions later. I didn't need the trouble of breaking out of prison, or having my face made up on widely dispersed WANTED posters. I swayed my torso from side to side to gain momentum, then tumbled in a ball through a closed door into the mercifully intact hallway.

Nothing more than a blur of arms and legs, I raced down the hall and leapt down the layered staircases. Paused in the corridor outside the tavern portion of the inn and made a split second decision. If Lillian was taken, and since she had decided to go to sleep she surely would be, I doubted the authorities would have to press her hard to give up what little she knew about me. Better not to leave any loose ends. Besides, I felt a certain kinship to the girl, as if by allowing her to share my room I had accepted responsibility for her, if only for the night.

As the innkeeper continued his tirade against the semiconscious ogres, I crept in like a wraith and snatched Lillian blankets and all. Then quick silent steps carried us both back to the hallway, down a series of dimly lit corridors which I navigated by guesswork, and finally out a back door into the night.

I opened up to the full power of my long legs, sprinted so fast that dust swirled in the moonbeams of my wake. The blankets Lillian was swathed in fluttered and snapped behind my shoulders like flags at full mast. I ran until were well out of town, then detoured off the dry road, far enough into the forest that trailing vines and leafy foliage gave us a curtain to hide behind. Chest heaving slightly, I deposited my cargo as delicately as possible on the ground. Leaned against a tree until I got my breath back.

"That wasn't the kind of thing you want to stick around and explain." I shifted awkwardly. If I went back to the road and ran all night, I could still make the morning ferry to Scara Brae. "Will you be okay for the rest of the night? There's a boat I'd like to catch at sunup."

[Ataraxis]

After she wrapped herself up in that linen cover, Lillian had let her mind wander to far-off dreamlands. They were dark and dreary at first, a phantasmagoria of greyish-green mists and purple blots until she was assailed by an unmistakable sense of vertigo. As if sprouting wings, she felt her body soar across this strange realm, and the sullen skies tore open in her wake, spilling bursts of color like regal jewels over the murkiness below. With the wind blowing softly against her skin, and she knew in that fleeting moment what freedom truly was.

That is, until something hard crunched against her jaw, jarring her awake. “Hngh?” she muttered, inhaling a whiff of sharp, cold air in the same instance. Eyes blinking open, she saw walls of evergreens flitting left and right, saw the forest canopies kissed by moonlight. Against her cheek was an iron-hard shoulder, which she guessed belonged to the man from Promenade. Why exactly he was carrying her like a sack of taters while stealing through the night, but that did not matter one bit: she knew she was safe. This was all she needed to fall back to sleep, though this time her slumber had been dreamless.

The next time she awoke, her back was propped against the coarse bark of a tree. She heard the man speak as her eyes fluttered open. “Mhmm… should be… okay. Left some things… back at the inn. Need to… get them back anyway.” After a short lull, she continued. “G’luck. Hope you catch… that boat.”

Pulling the linen tighter about her small frame, she readjusted herself where she sat, finding that the tree fit quite snugly against her back. She could hear twigs crack as the man began to walk away, and meekly, almost unconsciously, she let out something she should have said at the very beginning. “Name’s Lillian…”

He stopped, if only for a moment. After murmuring something, he dashed away, his silhouette almost unnoticeable in the distance.

“Good night to you too, Joshua,” she mumbled with a dazed smile, her mind drifting away one last time tonight. Indeed, Lillian would need the rest: tomorrow would prove to be a most interesting day in Underwood, to say the least.


This light little chapter is now completed. Thanks for reading!

Obligatory spoils, as noted in my profile: 2 to 4 spools of Dehlar-strength threads, as stated under the Seamstress of the Sinister sub-ability, and the Sitayamini item in the equipment list. Though four is the usual number I request, I'll leave the exact number to be determined by the judge.

[Taskmienster]

Hey, sorry for the delay for this one. I’m going to be taking it for you both. If you have any questions or comments feel free to PM or IM me and I’ll chat with you. Light to moderate commentary was requested, so I’ll be giving commentary on what was good or bad instead of indepth about everything.

Continuity 5
The background information was really only felt around the storytelling stage, otherwise before then I didn’t get a lot of what was going on during the thread, or what had lead up to it. Ataraxis gave me more through the stories told, but I didn’t get much of anything from Numbers. I’d suggest giving more in the beginning so that the reader knows more about who the characters are.

Setting 5
It was ok, but there wasn’t a whole lot of it. I saw it every so often, but not enough to consider it well done. The smallest bit was offered to the reader so they could know it was an inn… but after the first few posts there was nothing else really to make it stand out.

Pacing 4
The pacing was ridiculously off. The beginning it was smooth and continued on well, then suddenly it was multi-post storytime… followed by an out of nowhere a battle between ogre’s… It was just off, a lot. As the reader and judge I could not help but think that this was just thrown together.

Dialogue 7

It may be just me, but the nature of your speech seemed to change from the first couple posts to the 6th post Ataraxis. Like, the dialogue itself was completely differently worded.

Action 5
Like the pacing it was sudden and unexpected things that set the action up, and the action itself was like the pacing… off. The ogre’s speech pattern, the sudden destruction of the wall and floor, even to the situation between the two characters before that happened felt wrong.

Persona 7
The strongest area by both of you, and the best section for the story. I’d say that I’d like more through action though, since most of what I got by you both was from random narrative as well as dialogue more than why you did things you did.

Technique 7
Numbers: Your use of literary devices flows throughout your writing in a beautiful way. They not only add to the way you write and how much it draws the writer in, but also the way you chose to express different things adds to the way the setting is pictured.

Mechanics 7.5
Just a few mistakes a piece, ones that didn’t stand out that much but were still noticeable.

Clarity 7.5

Wild Card 5

Score: 60

Rewards:

Ataraxis: 2000 exp | 145 gold
((As for the spoil request… I’m not sure when or where you would have gotten the thread. The thread was set up for night, as far as I remember, and I saw no mention of thread at all. I may have missed it, but I doubt it since it's in your profile... though I don't like that since it's never mentioned you can still get it. Oh well. I’ll approve three spool.))

Numbers: 2425 exp | 145 gold

[Taskmienster]

Exp and GP added!