Vignette Contest: June

[AdventWings]

It's here~ It's here~ June's Vignette Contest is here~

And of course, the rules are as follows:

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

And this month's theme is...


A chance meeting with a familiar face you haven't seen in a very long time.

I wonder who could it be? Remember to be original and interesting! This could also be a chance to re-explore some backstory you had on the shelf, waiting to be told to the world.

OK~ Minna wa ganbatte yo ne!

[Unlucky]

C'mon people, post.

Sylvia stared at the window of one of the shops she passed whilst in Corone. She didn't know why she was staring at stuff she couldn't get, but that was the way things were.

As she was through the glass, her eyes just happened to notice, due to the reflective properties of the glass a tall tan-skinned man with blue eyes and black hair walking towards.

"Sylvia? Is that you?" The man asked. This confused Sylvia to no end. Everybody she knew was either dead or trying to kill her.

"Um... Do I know you, Mister?"
The man looked at her strangely before finally replyinng.

"I suppose you wouldn't remember me, would you. I'm your father."

"But I thought you died."

"By all rights, I should have, but when on my deathbed, an odd preist asked me if I'd like to live a longer, fuller, life. The only thing I could think of at that time was you, so I agreed, Despite it costing me..." Suddenly a beam fell on Sylvia's dad's head in such a way that it instantly killed him

"Damnit, dad... You should ask for a refund." Sylvia said before running off to cry in the corner.

[Alydia Ettermire]

It's been a long time since I've been home...

The streets of Ettermire had been Alydia's first playground and first hunting ground. She'd learned all her first and best lessons in these dark streets and in the dark halls that the local police force called home.

It wasn't the safest place to return; anyone from law enforcement or organized crime could recognize her at any time...and that would spark a highly dangerous chase with no rewards for the risk. In other words, no fun at all.

Tilting back the brim of her hat, Aly looked up at a statue she'd made fun of every time she'd ever seen it. Crude and lumpy, the grotesque shape spread up like a cancer for fully twelve feet. She had no idea what it was supposed to represent, only that there was nothing it was more fit for than the coating of bird crap that had covered it.

It would be a public service to dump it in the sea. H'mm... Alydia's eyes slid from side to side as she contemplated her next course of action. It'd be all too easy...

"It really is an ugly statue."

The voice caught her by surprise, and she smiled, turning around and pulling her hat back down. "No defense for it this time, Chief?"

"I didn't defend it at all." The older man shrugged. Like his one-time protegé, he wore a trench coat and fedora, only his were a conservative brown, his coat less voluminous and thrown on like an afterthought, and the brim of his fedora didn't obscure his face. "I just said that a raw cadet had no business commenting on public monuments."

"And I'm not a raw cadet anymore." A soft hint of something entered Aly's voice. It may have been regret or remorse - the Chief had saved her from the streets and jail, had taken her on as his own personal project...had raised her almost as though she were his own daughter. He'd been proud of the fact that she was the most brilliant mind in the force. And she'd repaid him by turning right around and becoming one of the most brilliant criminals ever unleashed on Althanas, with an insider's knowledge of law enforcement.

"No...you're not. And maybe it would have been better if you never had been."

"That's not entirely f-"

"Fair my ASS, Alydia!" The Chief had never raised his voice to her before, and the thief flinched. "I thought of you as a daughter, taught you EVERYTHING I know, and THIS is what you become? A hardened criminal."

She grinned, masking the pain that hit her briefly as she was called on her betrayal. "Hardened criminals kill people. That's a bit messy for me." She took out a pad of paper, starting to write on it. "Hey, Chief, I haven't actually done anything here yet. Want to go grab a bite to eat? Reminisce about old times?"

He sighed. "You know you have outstanding warrants. Unfortunately, you're under arrest."

"Well, that's too bad. I have no intention of heading to jail." She dropped the piece of paper, tapping the statue gently to pull it into her little vortex, and then was gone in a flash of darkness.

"That Aly," the Chief grumbled, going to pick up the clue she'd left. On the paper was a watercolor of a port city and a brief message. I thought of you as my father, too. I just...didn't fit in with the family business.

It was signed with a bright red fedora.


~*~*~*~

Her ship had set sail not a moment too soon, for Aly could see law enforcement officials swarming the pier that had berthed the vessel not three minutes before. She chuckled, waving at them. "It wasn't a fun chase...but narrow escapes are always nice."

Unfortunately, she didn't plan to drag this chase out long at all. Closing her eyes, she focused for a moment on the image of the big ugly statue sliding out of the air and landing with a splash in the sea. A moment later, the sound of something big hitting the water rewarded her ears.

"And next time, gumshoes" she murmured to herself as she ventured below, "you can get a better monument for your money."

[Flames of Hyperion]

Four in the morning.

The words "predawn stillness" took on a whole new meaning in times like these, Ingwe thought to himself as he scurried furtively from one patch of cover to the next. The sun had yet to rise, heralded only by a gradual lightening of the eastern seaward horizon. Only a thin band of ruined, abandoned buildings - once family homes in a prosperous merchant's quarter – stood between him and the forthcoming new day. As a result, he knew that it would be a swift and unhindered daybreak; good news to mind and body wearied by yet another night of guerrilla warfare against the evil creatures of the undead legions.

At least they only sent spectres against us this time, he murmured in his mind, keeping even his thoughts stealthy lest an eavesdropping necromancer home in on his position. He'd learnt that the hard way on his first night out, when the sight of a black rider had caused an involuntary gasp to escape his lips. He had only been saved by the fact that Telchar had been alert and with a spell-eating rune handy.

The Nipponese warrior-mage allowed himself a small smile, inching along in a crouch while his hands warily fingered the hilts of his shouldered swords. To his left, perhaps a hundred metres out, he could sense the venerable dwarf leading a handful of his compatriots through a small mountain of uneven stone that had once been an outhouse. They were not built for stealth, dwarves, but they certainly knew better than almost anybody how to silently navigate rock-strewn rubble. Even the ranger Selinde had been impressed.

Another brief grin, and this time Ingwe directed his attention closer to his right, where he knew Selinde, along with her hawk-eyed sister Nerdanel and the Anebrilithian bladesinger Glorfindel, was creeping along in a similar fashion as he. Together they were but one of many such small bands, tasked with stymieing the nightly undead advance through the ruined outskirts of the city. They could not in this way prevent the relentless attacks on the Harbour Wall, or even hope to deter a full-scale assault on the city proper. But they could certainly sap the enemy's strength, provide intelligence as to his deployments, and perhaps even give some advance warning of an offensive... should they, of course, survive to bear the news.

It was an unforgiving task – he had seen many of his new companions wounded, especially in the early days. Blessedly and almost miraculously though there had been very few deaths, and none of them had been in his particular area of responsibility. Such guerrilla warfare was all that Lord Turgon, with his considerable influence at the High Council, would allow them to undertake, for the elf prince remained contemptuous of the human and dwarven volunteers, and of those of his kin who would stoop so low as to ask them for aid. But both Ingwe and Lord Arminas had swallowed the pill with no objection, for they knew that there was no better way to shape their band of volunteers into a coherent and effective fighting force in the short amount of time they had available. Had they been asked to participate in a desperate defence of the city in the condition in which they had arrived at Anebrilith, neither man bore any illusions as to how long they would have lasted.

All the while these thoughts were running through his mind, Ingwe’s body was running through the deathly silent streets, a breath of hot wind swift and sure as it picked its way through the treacherous debris. Once, not so long ago, these very boulevards had rung with merry laughter and the cries of young children at play. Now, however, they were the haunt of ghosts and other, more dangerous creatures; the site of a stealthy, merciless war between one side who didn't know the meaning of retreat and another who would not be allowed to, no matter the cost.

There, he darted forth, objective now in sight. His navy blue cloak caught the light seaborne breeze and swirled about his shoulders as he fleetly scampered through the abandoned alleyway. Up a flight of stained marble stairs long since lacking a banister, around the corner of a chipped wall no longer attached to a roof...

... and then he froze, dead in his tracks, blood that had been boiling hot a moment ago suddenly turning to ice within his veins. Somebody was staring him back from the opposite side of the room, just as surprised as he was to see him there. Errant rays of light filtered through the open roof to illuminate the remnants of rotten furniture between them; there and then, both sets of eyes catalogued the possibility of a confrontation and their chance at victory, and both came up dead even.

His torso was wrapped in shadow, only the vaguest of outlines discernible to Ingwe's eye. Bulky and undefined... mage's robes, perhaps, or a heavy overcloak similar to what he himself wore. However, it was his opponent's face that most caught Ingwe's attention. Not only because it was, by some fortuitous chance, the only part of the man that the dim lighting allowed him to make out; not only because it was not the face of an undead warrior, not that of a wraith or a wight or a zombie, or even that of a typical necromancer.

No, Ingwe realised in that split second of thought he was allowed before his mind kicked in. I've seen that face before!

It was just slightly vertically elongated of a circle, its contours cleanly cut as if they had been moulded by magic. Not exactly handsome, for it was too round; forehead too lined, facial bones lost within the pleasantly innocent lines of his cheeks, nose unremarkable and indistinct with the exception of a large mole blemishing its left half. No, it was not a handsome face, although there was an undeniable childish naiveté about it that some may have considered oddly endearing.

Or, perhaps, they would have done, if at the moment it had not been extremely gaunt and weary. The scholarly chin, firm and delicate, was graced with unkempt whiskers; the small and somewhat sensual lips, so obviously used to thoughtful contemplation rather than bright smile, were cracked dry and tinged an unhealthy grey in the crisp predawn air. Besides the deep furrows in his forehead, there were dark hollows where his cheeks would have been and accumulated black gloom accentuating his gaze. His complexion was pale and ghostly wan, so clear and spotless as to be almost transparent. Tousled black hair, streaked with glinting hints of copper that danced in the dawn sunlight, was dirty and untidy, as if he was uncaring or unwilling or simply just unable to deal with its untamed scruples.

It was his eyes, though, that most caught Ingwe's attention. Sunk unhealthily into his face, they were nestled beneath thick bushy eyebrows that only emphasised the pools of shadow in which they lay. Dark brown, almost black in colour, carefully appraising as they studied him back, their pearly pupils bloodshot with concentration. Blank and nigh catatonic with exhaustion, there was nonetheless a forced flicker of interest within their large liquid depths.

A shame really, Ingwe noted. Wide and almond-shaped, they looked like they could literally brim with expression if only given the chance. Even now he could sense the warmth and compassion that they usually bore; at the same time, he could easily see them run the gauntlet of emotions, from piercingly insightful to sorrowfully morose. Emotive, sensitive, and powerfully conveying... it was too bad that his tired mind couldn't quite place where he'd seen them before.

All this and more raced through Ingwe's mind in the scant few moments after they made eye contact. He held his swords loosely at the ready, working hard to decipher that nagging feeling that they had met previously. The air seemed to congeal and coagulate with tension as the two warriors stared each other down, but he still couldn't shake that pervasive little voice in his mind that ate away at his concentration. Where...

The proverbial thunderbolt from the skies, and recognition struck them both simultaneously. As one they relaxed, the tense fatigue and suspicion in their features instantly disappearing as they dissolved into smiling crow's feet and dimples.

How could he have been so stupid?

For, by chance, he had stared into the remnant shards of a mirror mounted on the far wall. It had been his own face that had stared him back, not that of some evil stranger or a comrade from his past. And through the haze of weary paranoia that had clouded his mind, it had taken him so long just to remember what he himself looked like...

No wonder it had been so familiar, Ingwe wryly sighed to himself as he took up his appointed position overlooking the main thoroughfare. Hopefully it wasn't a bad omen that he barely looked himself any more. Hopefully, there would come a time in the future when he would be able to recognise his own face with ease once again.

The abandoned street seemed lonely and desolate in the gradual dawn, the wind howling inconsolably as it passed him by.

[Mathias]

"Some things exist, and some things don't. There are things that are, and things that are not. I always thought that seemed simple enough," I said, taking a drag on the cigarette. A wind blew past me, waving my hair to the other side of my head and continuing on down the beach. As it went, I exhaled the smoke and watched it stream along the shoreline out of the corner of my eye. I took in a deep breath of salty ocean air and closed my eyes, listening to the seaspray and gulls.

"It was simple enough, I guess," he said. "It's odd to think that you've always existed in one form or another, and you can't remember any of it. Yet, I can remember the entire time I didn't exist... isn't that odd?"

My companion held out his fingers in a sort of gesture that asked me to pass him the smoke-stick. His other hand moved up to address some of the silver locks that had fallen into his face, obscuring the vigilant perception of his crimson red eyes. "I always resented you for that, you know," he said, then taking in a puff. "I hated you for simply being you, and the fact that because of you, I'm me. Like I'm some inferior shade of you - a mirror or half-reflection. Maybe inverted or something. I don't know."

I shrugged. I drew my knee up to my chest and rested my arm on it. The sand was accommodating and was rather comfortable to sit on. It wasn't damp, as the tide had yet to lick this far up the beach. My companion and I simply sat in silence after that, for a long time, watching the waves make their laps across the shoreline.

"I guess there's always two sides to a coin, right? For this... like, reality, I mean, I guess it's that there is what is, and there is what isn't. You and I are simply personifications of something and nothing. We can't help but hate eachother, I guess. Or maybe, we can't help but talk the way we do," I tried to say. My explanation was much more eloquent in my head, and I guess I mucked it up. Nonetheless, though, he understood me and what I'd meant to convey.

"You know, Mathias. You need to stop trying to sound so intelligent with all your existential bullshit," Ramirez said, laughing. He flicked the dead bud of the cigarette into the wave that crawled up the sand. It snaked it back into the sea, almost hungrily, like the sea, also, wished for cancer.

"Yeah, Ramirez. But, then again, so do you. After all... you and I are pretty much the same person," I retorted.

Ramirez grinned. "So I'm not your evil twin anymore?"

"Nah," I replied. "I think we're just plain brothers."

With that, I got to my feet and took a good look around at Etheria Port, and took in all the damp rotten wood of the buildings that I couldn't quite remember. I tried to place it and overlap it with a faint memory that I had of this place, and I realized that it had changed a great deal in the few years since I'd last been here. Since I'd last fought with Ramirez... since I'd last seen Torin, or the rest of the Black Sails Armada. It had, indeed, been a while, and so much was different...

But I guess Ramirez and I stayed the same, give or take a bit of maturity.

[Jasmine]

It was a bright, sunny afternoon in Corone. Jasmine and Zerith Dracosius walked arm in arm over a low, grassy hill. They had been on their way to Underwood from Radasanth in a carriage, but had stopped to get out to explore a little. It had been almost a week since their wedding and Jasmine’s head still reeled every now and then at the thought that she was actually married and that she pregnant. At only two months into her pregnancy, it barely showed, so Jasmine was not entirely worried about it just yet. Looking around at the beautiful scenery, Jasmine sighed happily and leaned her head against Zerith’s shoulder as they walked.

“It’s a shame we have to go back when our trip is over. I’d like to go explore more of the ruins and such in the Concordia Forest.”

Zerith smiled, “True, but we have to follow the doctor’s orders.”

“Perhaps, but that’s no fun. I can think of a number of things that would be far more fun than sitting around the palace all day with nothing to do but talk with a bunch of airhead ladies.”

“Oh really,” he asked, a look of mock curiosity on his face.

Jasmine smiled slyly at him as they reached the edge of a small copse of trees. “Yes, starting with this...”

Stretching up on her tiptoes, she kissed him deeply, wrapping her arms tenderly around his neck. Then, suddenly, she broke away and ran across the open field toward another wooded spot about 150 feet away. It took Zerith a moment to realize what she was doing, but then he took off after her. Neither was aware of the figure that flew above them coming north.

Gliding above the treetops, another figure was making good time. He was on his way back to Radasanth. He disliked walking between the trees. Whenever he could, he flew above them for as long as he could. As he cleared the tree-line and started to prepare himself for a landing, he saw the only thing that mattered in life. Despite the fact that his wings and shoulders were getting tired, the figure put on an extra burst of speed and flew after the fleeing woman below him.

That must be her! It can’t possibly be anyone else! And there’s someone chasing her, I have to hurry!

Excitement rushed through Romis’ veins as the realization that his personal mission was finally complete. After many years, he had finally found Princess Jasmine of Moriah. Now, at last, with rightful heir to the Sapphire Throne found, the evil lord that had slain the king would be deposed. Just as he was preparing to dive, she darted into the trees. Cursing he circled around to land and dash in behind her.

Zerith was not very far behind Jasmine. Truth be told, he could outrun her without working very hard at it at all. However, he liked to oblige her in these little games of hers. As she darted into the trees ahead, he piled on more speed. Just as she got properly into the trees, he tackled her, pinning her to the ground.

“Gotcha!”

Jasmine laughed and gazed up at him, “So you do, what are you going to do with me now that you’ve got me?”

“Hmmm, slow torture sounds about right after that stunt you just pulled,” he answered mischievously.

Suddenly, Zerith found himself hauled into the air and tossed several feet. The figure that had been flying stood between him and Jasmine. Unfortunately, he had not heard the whole conversation or Jasmine’s laughter. All he’d heard was “slow torture” and that had greatly angered him.

“Run while you’ve got the chance, boy, and I may let you live. You won’t lay another finger on Princess Jasmine.”

Zerith got to his feet and walked cautiously back toward the stranger and Jasmine. Jasmine was standing as well and trying to get around the stranger. He smiled inwardly. Jasmine was fairly brimming over with anger. It made him very glad that the anger was not directed at him.

“Just who do you think you are?” Jasmine nearly screamed as she darted around the stranger. She stood in front of him with her hands on her hips, wishing that she had her sword. “And how do you know that name?”

The stranger was baffled, but he tried to answer her quickly. “My Lady, I would recognize you from almost any distance. You are undoubtedly Princess Jasmine Matrino of Moriah, rightful heir to the Sapphire Throne, niece to the late King Odan.”

Jasmine stood there, speechless as Zerith came up behind her and put his arms around her protectively.

“What’s the problem here,” he asked in a flat, decidedly unfriendly voice.

The stranger bowed and then straightened up. “I am Romis Heartsblood, one time Captain Commander of Moriah’s military, advisor to the king, friend of Princess and Jasmine and her brother, Prince Eric.”

“But you’re dead.”

“No, that man was the best crossbowman. He couldn’t have missed if he had tried. When we get back to Moriah, you should reward him. Now, perhaps you could explain what you’re doing in the middle of Corone?”

Jasmine smiled up at Zerith, and hugged him. “I’m on my honeymoon. This is Zerith Dracosius, my husband. Zerith, this is the man that protected me those years ago on my sixteenth birthday when Montego was taking over. Would you walk with us, Romis? I have a lot to tell you. First of all, though, stop referring to me as “princess” or “my lady”. We’re friends. I’m assuming that since you’re still looking for me that you haven’t been home yet.”

At his nod she continued and began walking slowly back toward the carriage. She told him of her adventure in returning home and then of meeting Zerith. For his part, Zerith rarely spoke. He spent most of the walk observing Romis and adding little bits of information here and there. Several hours later they came to the carriage. Before getting in Jasmine hugged Romis tightly.

“Go home, at least for a little while. Eric will be thrilled to find that you’re still around. Zerith and I will be back in a few weeks. We’ll probably be in Moriah for at least a year or so before heading back out for more adventures.”

Romis smiled and returned her hug, “I’ll do that, Jasmine. It will be good to be home again.” He paused and turned his attention to Zerith. “It was good to meet you, Zerith, he said, stretching out his hand, “take good care of Jasmine and I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

Zerith shook the offered hand, “It was good meeting you as well, Romis, see you soon.”

Jasmine and Zerith waved as Romis took flight once more, then climbed into the carriage to continue the trip to Underwood. As they sat in comfortable silence, Jasmine cuddled up close to Zerith. She had not been expecting to ever see Romis, especially not alive. The whole encounter still seemed like it might somehow be a dream, but then she looked up at Zerith. The thoughtful look on his face as they sat confirmed, at least in her mind, that it had not been a dream, and that was all that mattered.


((OOC: Although Romis is another one of my PCs, I want all the reward I get to go to my Jasmine account. The use of Zerith was approved by his owner via MSN))

[A Nony Mouse]

“My leave ends tomorrow,” Travis told his second-in-command. “I must return to the Pagoda now.” The two had met only yesterday, but already the red-haired adventurer could tell that Riley Finnegan was an upstanding fellow. After building a hasty lean-to for his newfound Society, Travis had been burgled by a fedora-sporting drow. In the chase that ensued, the traveler had stumbled across Riley’s smithy in the outskirts of Radasanth. The stocky blacksmith had assisted Travis, aiding him in capturing the drow and retrieving his treasure. After the excitement had ended, Riley had decided to stick with Travis to get the entire story. Now they stood near the headquarters to Lucht du Sol in the depths of Concordia Forest, ready to part ways.

“I’ll have the base ready in no time,” Riley assured him. The pair had decided to add some security to the structure after the burglary attempt. The blacksmith would reinforce the walls, set glass in the windows, build a proper door, and seal the roof. Once the building was ready, then Travis would begin the quests to fill it with treasure. Until then, he had an obligation to fill.

“Take care, friend,” Travis told Riley. The ferry to Scara Brae would soon leave and he had to be on it.

~~~

The city of Scara Brae was quite the sight, but it paled in comparison to many of the other cities across Althanas. What at one time would have amazed the traveler now simply filled him with the warm feeling of being home. He pushed his way through the crowds, angling across the street to where the Dajas Pagoda loomed over the road. Gripping the massive door handles, he heaved against the weight of the doors and entered the ancient building.

“About time you decided to return,” one of the monks quipped as he walked toward his quarters. “You’re sixteen minutes late.”

Travis rolled his eyes at the overly punctual monk and brushed by the robed man. Upon entering his room, he saw a scroll lying on his desk. Striding over, he grabbed it and unfurled it to read its contents:

Next challenger: Aiphos the Ironclad, female, 19 years old, uses a claymore ambidextrously, wears heavy armor.

“Another girl,” the Warrior sighed, dropping the scroll and pacing his small living area. The Pagoda saw roughly fifty challengers every day and of those fifty, usually less than ten were females. By the time the monks had sorted through the dross to find worthy applicants, three or four females were allowed to challenge a Hierarch. In the past few weeks, it seemed as though Travis had fought most of those females.

With a heavy sigh, the Pagoda Warrior dropped to his hard mattress and quickly fell asleep.

~~~

Early the next morning, Travis finished up his training regimen and then made his way to the hall where his arena was located. The weather-worn wood of the door belied the fact that the arena had been recently created. However, if one knew anything about the magic worked by the Ai’Bron monks, then it wouldn’t be at all surprising. The monks controlled spells more powerful than any of the other mages in the history of Althanas. Travis shook his head as he stepped through into the forest; their magic always amazed him.

Content that everything was to his satisfaction, he strolled to the far edge of the large flat area and dropped down under a nearby tree. Closing his eyes, he fished in a pouch at his belt for his hand-carved rywanwood ocarina. Soon melodies that he remembered from his childhood filled the forest around him. He allowed the notes to wash over him, drowning him in nostalgia and clearing his mind for the battle ahead.

“I remember that song,” came the voice of his challenger after he finished a tune. “My mother used to sing it.” Travis’ eyes opened and he saw a slender figure encased in iron armor standing before him. She carried a large claymore slung over one shoulder and her face was completely covered by her ornate helmet.

“As did mine,” responded the redhead. He rose from his place below the tree and swung his Akashima redwood spear into his hands. Taking up a defensive stance, he waited several paces away from his opponent.

She acted immediately, lunging faster than he thought possible in all that iron and striking toward his chest with her massive sword. Travis barely had time to sidestep before he was forced to let the brunt of the attack slash across his chainmail. The force was enough to knock him a few steps away, but he quickly regained his footing. The steel point on his spear glinted in the sunlight as it lanced forward to strike her unprotected neck. However, it never hit its mark because the ironclad warrior decided to duck.

The tip of the spear struck her helm, sending it flying from her head and likely tearing a few hairs along with it. With a shriek, the woman fell to the ground, her claymore clattering beside her. Travis closed to distance quickly, kicking the sword away before moving closer. What he saw under her helm surprised him.

“Maeve!?” he said incredulously. The face looking up at him was that of his sister, two years his junior. “What are you doing here?”

She chuckled before struggling to sit up on the ground. Eventually, she used her sword to pull herself up and face her older brother. “I got tired of being at home,” she offered as an explanation.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he stated, anger evident in his voice. “What were you thinking?”

“I’m not a little girl any more,” Maeve answered him, her breath still coming in short pants. “And where did you learn to fight like that?”

Travis realized that his sister had grown up since he’d left home nearly three years ago. If she wanted to travel the world under a false name and do battle, that was her business. Holding out a hand, Travis helped his sister to her feet and summoned the return portal. As the siblings left the arena, Maeve asked, “Will I get the entrance fee refunded?”

The shared a laugh as the portal closed behind them.

[Lakin_of_DpN]

(Savion Inn (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=13440) This vignette is a continuation of this thread.)



“Me? Marry again?” Marcus stumbled, almost falling flat on his face as he strode out in the mid summers air, his frown increasing with each step. “You’re back in Savion just briefly. By chance we meet again and in just-over a week you have me married off to some tedious Akashiman aristocrat. I have to protest Lakin, I really do,” he groaned, his expression a heavy sigh of upset and his eyes awed by her audacity. Marcus could feel the tenseness claim his body as he thought of his beloved Isobel and the life they shared.

“No, I don’t think I shall ever choose to marry again,” he said in a harsh cold voice. “Let’s not waste this beautiful day with such pointless conversation. I say we enjoy the peace and quiet of the grounds and forget any attempts at matchmaking. These gardens have always been a sanctuary for me; let’s not ruin its tranquility.” Marcus led them along a winding path, huge buds, bright orange, peeked out with extraordinary liveliness amidst dark scalloped leaves and thorny cohorts. The scent was exhilarating and ripe, mocking and arousing the senses. The sun felt warm and soothing against her neck and back. Summer in Savion, Lakin thought, was truly magnificent. She had returned to fulfill a promise she’d made two years ago—honoring the dying wish of a courageous woman. Accompanied by her father, the Duke of East Akashima and Naomi her Nekojin chaperone, who had become more like family, rather than her fathers most trusted servant, Lakin’s mission had transformed into some-what of a holiday.

“Come—there is something just up ahead that I wish to show you.” Marcus said brimming over with excitement.

“I am only thinking of your happiness Marcus; do you not see yourself with anyone else?” Lakin inquired as she vaulted in beside him. Her tone was gentle as she curtailed his objections. “I am merely asking that you consider all your options, that’s all.” Marcus was tall and narrow with thick shoulders and widely known for his honor and courage. Indeed, it was sometimes whispered that he had fought and won entire battles with only a handful of men. Even at nearly Six-and-sixty he was considered handsome and the most distinguished of men.

“No,” Marcus countered. “I do not. My wife meant everything to me, as you well know, and I have little reason to marry again.” A wave of possessiveness washed over him, as he thought of his darling Isobel. Marcus refused to entertain Lakin’s suggestions.

Quirking a brow and reaching for his hand, Lakin gave him a polished curtsy. “My dear friend, if you don’t remember the rewards of wedded bliss, especially after knowing such complete and deep love. I feel it is my personal responsibility, however dreary...to help you see the value of nuptial glory again.”

Marcus laughed; he allowed one leisurely smile and drew Lakin carefully away. He was no angel, but he was hardly a womanizer either, parading about in front of a horde of woman was not his idea of amusement, theirs maybe, but certainly not his own.

“You are very kind my dear girl, but that would not be proper or necessary.” He replied.

“Propriety,” said Lakin, absentmindedly eyeing a nearby statue, “Is highly overrated at your age.”

“Be that as it may,” Marcus responded, gliding his fingers along an undulating wall of stones running beside them, “Isobel has been gone for such a short while and…”

“Two years.” “This coming June…” She reminded him.

He staggered, and his eyes became misty. “Has it been so very long?”

“Yes,” said Lakin keeping his gaze “It has.”

He turned toward her, taking her hand between his thick fingers, “but of course it has. My apologies; at times I forget. To me, it really doesn’t seem that long ago. I think of her every single day. Such a senseless loss…” Marcus whispered. “First my Isobel, then her beloved brother. His addiction to Black Lotus was fatal in the end.” Marcus squeezed her hand. “I shall never…”

“Here now,” Lakin cut in, she scooped his arm through hers, but allowed him time to collect himself. “Let us talk of happier things.” She gave him a full smile and turned her mind from grief. “After all you did want to show me something spectacular. Though visiting the royal palace for the first has been monumental in itself. I can’t imagine what else there could be…a three headed dragon perhaps?”

“Oh I assure you, the palace is just the beginning!” He announced. The palatial estate was venerated for its magnificent flora, its panoramic gardens and ancient statues. Not necessarily in that order.

“Well…” Lakin stopped as if pondering, then, “Oh yes—there is the matter of a companion for you. Whomever shall I choose?”

“My dearest Lakin, you’re being dreadfully repetitive, I must say.”

“I beg your pardon.” She drew back as if aghast, fanning long slender fingers across the crisp white of her freshly laundered gown. Her unbound hair hung freely down to her waist in waves of luscious raven delight. Her stature poised, perfectly groomed, and impeccably dressed.

He gave her a look, then skimmed his gaze back to the meandering path.

“Marcus your need for funds is common knowledge; there is no need for awkwardness between us.”

Marcus pulled Lakin to an abrupt halt. “Might you be suggesting that I find love for the gold alone?”

“No,” she said and gently tugged him along in her wake. “That’s not exactly what I am suggesting. But if the Lady is wealthy, all the better.”

“Well,” he puffed and stared into the unseen horizon as if injured by her remark. “That would be insulting to not only the lady involved but also with regard to my own character. My marrying for a ladies fortune would never happen, only the deepest love would entice me back to the alter and having already experienced that phenomena, it rarely happens twice to a man.”

“Well I suppose there are always the horses,” Lakin quipped.

“The Horses,” Marcus repeated. Sighing, he stared foggily into the distance, as if imagining them. “I admit seeing you manage each of the Grays so effortlessly made me want to strangle you in your saddle, my dear,” he shook his head and caught her gaze. “No offense, of course.”

“None taken," Lakin said, and smiled at the thought of owning his prize horses. Marcus had been given the team as a wedding gift. Matched weanlings and he alone had seen to their training. “They are an exquisite pair.” She admitted.

“You know the lineage dates back to the great Rogue himself.”

“Lakin’s mouth pulled down sharply at the corners. “Now you’re just simply being cruel.”

“True,” he confessed.

“I really would look after them; you have my word on that. Like I said, I would be more than happy to buy the horses.”

“Absolutely not,” he scolded. “I must implore you to please be serious; I would never sell the horses, they were a gift from Isobel. I imagine you’ve been talking to Lizzy, that girl needs to hold her tongue. Truly Lakin my financial situation is adequate. I am selling the Inn because I am too old and tired to deal with the daily running of the place, not because I need the gold.”

“Well if you ever change your mind, you know…” she teased. “But seriously, I find it completely unacceptable for a handsome man such as yourself to be alone in the world.”

“I am hardly alone,” he argued. “I have the Grays,” he smiled and gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “You were my rock I might add at the worst time in my life, losing Isobel was incredibly difficult. I searched for her murderer for such a very long time, but he seemed to just disappear into thin air. One day the letch will crawl out and when he does, I will be waiting, sword in hand to avenge my wife.”

“I know my friend,” Lakin replied.

He glanced down at a bower of Savion jasmine that graced the stone archway. The petals sprouted in barbs of pink and swirls of white, divinely fragrant and as abundant as the stars. “Then believe me when I tell you that I am completely content. I must insist we cease talking about my need for companionship. I’m certain if I ever did desire the company of a boring wastrel with gold as her only vice to lure and nothing else to add I would rather beg for a living. I am bored as we speak.”

“Perhaps it is your own disposition—“Lakin shot back.

“Maybe so Lakin,” Marcus relented. “But I must…” he began, but his sentence was interrupted by a gasp from the far side of the meticulously pruned hedge-line. Tensing, he hurried around the bend to find Lakin staring upward in silent awe. Marcus took a moment to ascertain that all was well, then fitted his gaze toward the soaring statue that had captured his friends attention so abruptly.

Lakins breath caught immediately in her throat, for the sculpture overshadowed everything. Chiseled from solid marble, the statue looked as old as time itself. Moss grew up upon the stallions powerful hind legs, and stained the horseman’s armor, but the warrior’s figure was untouched. As large and unyielding as Concordia tree trunks, his legs were perfect; they hugged the steed’s sides effortlessly. Muscles hewn of ancient stone swelled beneath the enduring weight of his armor and weapon, honed with imposing strength. His teeth gritted in a struggle as old as life itself. But it was neither the statues towering size, nor its artist’s obvious flair that made her gasp. It was the sheer force of its charisma, for it seemed almost as if the warrior was a thread away from life.

“My Lord!” Lakin gasped, moving as though she was in a trance. “Or a King at the very least,” she continued.

“Finally!” Marcus stated with proud veracity.

“Let me introduce you to Ruben Letho, known to many as the savior prince of Savion and husband to the late Kristiniel Ravenheart, beneficiary to the precious diary in your care. History claims him to be Savion’s fiercest warrior and the reigning Kings father.”

“The Kings father! You knew who the diary belonged to all along, why didn’t you just tell me Marcus?”

“Now where’s the mystery in that my dear?”

[Kially Gaith]

Not exactly someone he hasn’t seen in a long time, but it’s the only way I could work it with my character, apologies if this is deemed off-topic, just the idea struck me, seemed adorable and quite interesting to write.

Young Kially found himself wandering a path he knew all to well, approximately seven miles from Corone. The sun was light and the wind heralded his presence with a light and gentle breeze which softly caressed the lads hazelnut hair from his fair pale skinned face, a deep breath contentedly received the fresh air and he exhaled a breath of sheer bliss. Not a soul in sight, minus a few bugs, which Kially was all very familiar to and had not a thing against.

His random musings of the world and what these people called technology had his mind distracted and it wasn’t long until Kiallys’ foot fall fell within that of a puddle of clear water, this was enough to have the young boy jump in surprise, the foot that had pressed into the drink quickly withdrawn as little curious eyes quietly watched the ripples move to the sides of the puddle into the shallow ditch of dry solid soil and then dissipate, and low and behold, an old familiar friend appeared, a small face peering back up at him, it even had a blue ribbon like his own!

A small hand waved down and in response came the same. Kially, although aware that this boy in the water was his own reflection, could not help but be somewhat entranced by the simplicity that nature offered in the puddle. A single finger pushed into the water, causing his image to ripple and distort, bringing a grin to the small boys face as his innocence decided to pay a visit.

When the ripples faded, Kially began making faces at the mirror image and the boy within also poked out a pink tongue from pale lips in response. Kially began to laugh, as did the puddle, although the boy in the small pool did so without sound, leading the real boy to grow silent in contemplation.

The light breeze brought a fresh element to the liquid, a leaf carried on the air landing upon the nose of the reflection in the water, once again shaking the water of stillness.
As to interact with the leaf, Kially knelt down on both knees, sitting upon his ankles, using a single finger tip upon the curled Oak leaf as a sailor, guiding the leaf on a merry voyage about the outline of his torso in the puddle, but alas, eventually, the leaf grew damp and sank into the deep, never to be seen again, a victim of Davey Jones locker…Or at least until the puddle dried up.

The water below, with Kially at closer range, stank heavily of stagnation, despite how clear it was, an effect of the soil, animal waste and minerals it lay in, thus causing the boy to wrinkle his nose until he slowly began to adapt. As a cloud moved, the child was temporarily blinded by a rapid flash of sunshine caught into the drink, flashing up into his eyes and blinding from him his view of his reflection, this caused him to look up to the sky, evening was approaching and the weather was gradually changing. He’d been sat longer than he’d perhaps gathered, but this would not stop him from continuing to admire his own self.

As the weather changed, and time passed, the wind grew in strength and the first real strong gust of the day caught a large handful of dust in it’s grasp, before setting it down in the water before Kially and the boy within, who slowly began to cloud away into nothing as the brown powder swirled within.
Kially would cough and sputter in response to the dust, rubbing it from his eyes, wheezing for fresher air, until such caught him as per his preference. Looking into the distance, the young aeromancer decided that he’d best find shelter lest this possible oncoming storm grow worse and damage his health past a rate even he could not recover, so with a wave to the boy whom had disappeared, Kially took quiet steps away, humming to himself instead of whistling as to prevent dust going into his mouth, leaving his friend for another day, another time and another place.

[AdventWings]

Great pardons for the long wait! I hope you still haven't forgotten this!

And~ The results are in! Let's hear it for the winners of this month's Vignette challenge!

#1 - Flames of Hyperion

Comments: Beautifully detailed atmosphere, ominous pacing and a wonderfully played revelation of your character's mind at work. A bit wordy, but they all had something to play in the whole scheme of things. Great job!

#2 - Where in the World?

Comments: This is what I was expecting to see from many writers when I put down the premise. A chance to revisit old times, rekindle or remind yourself of your purpose in living... Or just, you know, drop by to see your old man and make him chase you around for your loot. A short little writing that poked at Alydia's past as an ex-detective spoke more than just what was written in words.

#3 - Mathias

Comments: A nice little scenery where you reminisce on old times with a long-time friend. Or so I've been led to believe. Nothing particularly active, but in this prompt there need not be one. You took good advantage of this fact and had your two characters sit around thinking of old times, revisiting the past and personal emotions via well-scripted dialogues. Well done indeed.

To everyone who entered, thank you for your participation and for entertaining us with these great vignettes!

Flames of Hyperion receives 150 EXP and 100 GP
Where in the World receives 150 EXP and 75 GP
Mathias receives 100 EXP and 50 GP
Unlucky receives 100 EXP
Jasmine receives 300 EXP
A Nony Mouse receives 200 EXP
Lakin_of_DpN receives 100 EXP
Kially Gaith receives 150 EXP


Thank you for your participation! And to end this little run, here's my little prompt:

~~~

“…Kzzzfff… kKvenshff…

Odd noises filled my ears as I laid on my back, half-dreary eyes staring off into the darkened skies littered with little white sparkles that seemed to dance to their own little cosmic tunes. A firefly flew by my nose, its light whispering in the moonlit air in its search for a lover lost.

“…kkKom….fff…

I rolled my head against a lump on a tree, eyes wandering towards the nearby town with all its bright candle lights cutting through the darkness around them. As primitive as this means of illumination was, the mere sight of its amber lights warmed my heart even more than the familiar neon white I was used to growing up in. I guess this feeling was what the old war veterans called “homesickness.”

Hah. I wanted to laugh.

“…ksffoureaffmm… thssSs…chhhhhHHHh…”

“Well, as long as I’m stuck on this rock, I might as well get used to living in the woods. No human village is going to take in an alien, after all.”

Yep. That was the truth.

Who would have thought that Lieutenant Raven Adventwings, an ace fighter pilot (or was, at least in the future) of the Battlecruiser Pride of Felasia, would end up blowing his starfighter’s engine and crash land on this backwater, superstitious planet where everyone apparently believed in magic and the impossible. I nearly gave up and laughed when some villagers gathered around a hawker selling “sticks that lights itself on fire” just by saying the magic word and strike their thumb against a lever.

I just could not bring myself to believe that none of these nincompoops had never seen a lighter before. But suffice it to say, after having burst out laughing at the merchant for showing his little magic trick to lure in customers (which apparently worked to great effect) I had to hightail it out of the village without even time to scout around for cheap food to stock up on. I was pretty sure the guy had a stun gun hidden somewhere in that gigantic sleeves of his, because he shot what seemed like bolts of lightning in my direction. I was pretty sure it was a stun gun, though. There’s no such thing as magic.

“…krrrrramit, Ravennnnsh… …ssser ME!”

I jumped on all fours when my name suddenly rang through my ears, eyes darting uselessly in the moonless night forest. All I could hear was the chorus of nocturnal insects playing their instruments to the invisible conductor with all of the night listening to their performance. But, no, not me. That little startle was enough to rattle my sense of attentiveness.

Seeing no one in sight, I sat back down against the trunk of a sturdy beech and tried to recollect what had just happened.

…Wait, hang on. Couldn’t be.

Frantically, I searched the pockets of my slightly oversized coat and found the item I was looking for.

It was a slightly worn device the size of my hand, colored matted black and slightly cool from the air. But it could be nothing else except for my personal communication device.

I immediately flipped it open and responded.

“This is Lieutenant Raven Adventwings, designation Feris 8 of the Feris Katena fighter squadron! Requesting identification from sender, over!”

My heart pounded like two miniature drums, anticipating the reply to come through. Or rather, hoping that my answer at least broke through the impossibly random static. I had tried using the device to contact the Pride of Felasia for many weeks, but no response came through.

This was the first sign of hope… And hopefully not the last.

“..kfsh…”

The static became clearer and my heart soared with each little bit that disappeared. Finally, after nearly five minutes of silence, a familiar voice rang clear through the communication channel.

“…Raven! Thank the stars, you’re still alive!”

I almost had a heart attack.

“K- Karen!”

“Where the hell are you?! Why aren’t you following the Standard Protocol for emergency landing on unidentified planets!”

Oh, yeah… The Protocol.

“I, ah…” I hate to admit that I had not been touching up on my rules and regulations, but that was exactly the case here. At the first moment I had to make contact with the locals, I darted headlong into adventure and abandoned my crashed starfighter. My guess was the Landing Team finally found the one-wing wreckage.

Just my luck.

“…Wait, Karen. How did you manage to link up to me? I’ve been trying to contact the ship for ages but it’s not going through.”

A short burst of static ran through my channel, nearly severing my hopes of returning home.

“ksfff… ‘m with the Landing Party and they’ve modified a ComPad. Apparently, the planet’s atmosphere is interfering with the signal. Anyway, we’re sending down a Pelican to get your ship outa here and get it repaired in the Bay. You stay put, alright?”

I gulped.

“…Um, yeah. Sure, I’ll stay put as long as I can…”

A shiver ran down my back when the village I spotted earlier seemed to quiver.

“What do you mean, ‘as long as you can’?” I could hear Karen’s mounting anger rising in her voice. “Stay put, that’s an order. I’m still your superior by one rank, lieutenant.”

I wanted to explain to her what was happening, but there was no time to stop and chat. A dark wave washed over the tiny village, which suddenly bursted into flames and screaming voices of the hapless townfolks.

“…Well, let’s just say you get the Valk out of there. As for me, I’d better keep on running or else I’d end up as food. See ya.”

“Hey, Rav-!”

As much as I wanted to talk more about my experience here in this strange world of Althanas, to speak with Karen as much as I wanted, I had to get moving.

After all, this is Elfie-land.

Why, oh, why…

I lamented as undead ghouls chased at my heel, the only thing keeping me from being eaten alive were my legs, my will to keep on living and sheer terror.

~~~