Vignette Contest: October

[Arsène]

October is here. Since you're all members of Althanas, I'll assume none of you has anything more interesting to do in this party-tastic month than to join in on this Vignette Contest.

Let us review the rules very quickly:

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 September). 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.

This month's prompt:


It is that ungodly hour when no decent man would dare step foot outside of his home. You wander through with not a soul in sight; there is no trace of the day's activity to comfort you. Mist rolls in and embraces you like a fat, soggy lover, and every step you take fills you further with a feeling of dread and fright.

To your horror, you realize you're not alone. Off in the distance is a shadowy figure that comes closer to you. With the barest light upon them, they introduce themselves. To your relief, they're not a specter or a monster, or even people handing our religious pamphlets.

They introduce themselves as a celebrity. From Earth.

They could be anyone famous from Earth, from any period in history. And you could be anywhere on Althanas.

But if you meet Hitler just to beat him up, you will fail.

[I Am Zee]

The fog rolled in with an unmistakable fury. It stampeded through the streets of Radasanth like an invading horde. None could hide from it. None could escape it's weightless embrace. Even the amber glow of the street lights was obscured by the chalky mist. Zee found himself in the thick of it.

The night was cold, as it always seemed to be. From the very moment he had crawled out of his own grave, all the young undead could ever feel...was cold. The majority of the townspeople had already scurried away to their homes. Those who had no home, as well as those with ill intent, remained on the streets.

Zee had grown accustomed to spending his time in the company of society's dregs; he very well could have been considered one. Pickpockets, drunks, hobos and madmen- the young undead counted himself among them. His attire was fit for the part.

It was a rare occasion indeed to meet a member of high society wandering the streets at such an hour. That is why Zee's eyes perked up when the scent of cologne filled his nostrils. Followed by the smell, the sound of shoes- fine shoes -echoed on the cobblestones. Click click, click clack, click click, click clack. They echoed for eons.

The fog did well to conceal the source of the fine smells and the fine sounds. As they drew nearer, the feint tap of a walking cane became more distinguished. The approaching figure was high class indeed. Nearer and nearer they drew, the fog remaining steadfast. Not only until the stranger was but feet away from Zee, was he able to discern that it was a man.

The stranger wore fine clothes: a dark coat, a fine red under vest, perfectly tailored slacks, a golden chain likely attached to an equally golden time piece, and a top hat that rivaled most mountain peaks. As the man strolled by ever so casually, Zee felt his curiosity boiling from the roof of his cranium. What was such a man doing out in the streets at such an hour? Before Zee's thoughts could catch up to his tongue, he spoke aloud, and perhaps out of turn.

" Excuse me, sir? "

The man stopped in his tracks, taking not even a step more. Without turning, he replied to the young undead with an articulation that could well be considered perfection.

" What can I do for you young man? "

Zee fumbled for words. He was a bit confused with himself. He usually wasn't the type to go prying in another man's business, but there was something about this man...

" I-I'm sorry to bother you. But I was just curious...what is a man like you doing out this late? It must be almost four by now. "

At first there was only silence. Perhaps the man wanted Zee to feel the tension of uncertainty as punishment for prodding. If that was the man's intent, he had achieved his desire. The man turned in a single motion with the fluidity of water. He made two short steps towards the undead and spoke again.

" A man like me, you say? " He chuckled, taking another step towards Zee. " I am just a man. Just as you are a man. "

Zee looked him over once again. Surely the man was toying with Zee.

" B-but sir, your clothes...you-"

" Does a man's attire define the quality of his character? Do your rags give you the right to wander the streets at night? And do my silks and linens prevent me from such? "

The young undead was dumbfounded. Here all he had wanted was to satisfy a legitimate curiosity, and instead he found himself on the receiving end of a philosophical lecture.

" I...meant no offense sir. I was just curious is all. " Zee kept his head low, but his eyes up as the stranger spoke.

" Hah! Think nothing of it young man. You are free to indulge your curiosities, just as I am free to turn them against you for a spot of fun. " The stranger drew closer, striding smoothly towards Zee, talking all the way.

" Regarding your inquiry, my business is my own, and I must, with no ill will, neglect to provide you with an answer. However I am not so ignorant that I cannot sense the sincerity in your voice. As such, I shall tip my hat to you and humbly request that you tell me your name. "

The young undead was impressed with the man's lyrical speech. He was no doubt born with a silver tongue. If only Zee had been blessed with such a gift.

" Well uh, my name's Zee..."

Cane in hand, the stranger spread his arms wide as if conducting a symphony.

" And what a fine name it is. I am grateful to have had the pleasure of your company, Zee. However, " The stranger paused as he opened his jacket and reached into the inner pocket, removing his watch. " If I stay any longer I will be late for my appointment. I am afraid I must bid you farewell. "

As the stranger placed his watch back into his pocket, Zee spotted several small knives, as well as a scalpel lining the inside of his coat. Zee felt an unsettling chill crawl up his spine. Zee was hesitant at first, but decided to ask anyway.

" Are uh...are you a surgeon? "

An eerie grin crept across the stranger's face.

" You might say so... Cheerio. "

The stranger turned and began, once again, striding away. Even though he had said he was running late, his pace did not quicken. It stayed the same, and continued echoing just as it had before.

Just before the man was out of sight, Zee had a sudden thought and called out to him.

" You never told me your name! "

Without turning, without stopping, the strange man responded to Zee with a sentence that only served to confuse him more.

" The papers call me Jack. " Click click, click clack, click click, click clack.

[Koran]

The cyborg frowned, his paper thin lips drawn tight across his ageless face, his cold blue eyes unblinking as he glared into the encompassing gloom. He had seen many types of fog in his long life time, from the calm rolling bulges of a serene early morning fog along some long distant coastline, to the cascading plumes of death that swallowed man and machine whole and spit out nothing but ruined husks and splattered guts and blood. Many types, but none quite as mysterious and foreign as this.

It had come from out of nowhere, on a clear night with the moon hung high in the star studded sky, rolling in and surrounding the walking cyborg before he could even have thought to move indoors. It felt cool to the skin and hung death like still in the air. Foreign, but distantly familiar. He stopped, the frown still present on his face but the glare fading fast from his eyes, and looked about.

It was a thick gloom, his line of sight having been reduced to no more than six feet at the most, and he could only just make out the black and gray blotches that represented street lamps, store fronts and various other objects and items that had been strewn across the street side. His frown deepened and twisting around, his hands coming to rest on his sword hilts, he looked cautiously back up the way he had come.

Nothing. The frown suddenly vanished and was replaced by an almost idiot like grin, and the cyborg laughed aloud. "Ha! Tis nothing but a gentle, fog, no harm in that."

"No friend," a calm, deep voice said from behind him. "It is far from that."

"Holy shitsonuvabitch!" The cyborg nearly yelled, his eyes seeking freedom from his face as they bulged out, as he twisted around to confront the person who had spoken. He distantly registered that one of his blades had slid free of its scabbard and was now clutched tightly in his right hand, but all his attention was now focused on the man standing just to his left.

He was of medium build, with a well built physic, sun red hair and calm, ice cold blue eyes. He was dressed in a plain enough looking trenchcoat of brushed leather, a wide brimmed black hat resting loosely on his head, with various types of odd nick-knacks strewn across his person from belts of various sizes and thickness. Some of them had the rough edge look of weapons, gruesome in their trade but precise in their purpose. While still others simply resembled charms or other forms of luck trinkets, possibly of some religious or superstitious importance. Two such objects stuck out prominently on the man, the first being the finely carved silver and gold cross that hung from a two foot leather cord tied about his waist, the second behind a wicked looking crossbow of sorts, but none unlike any other the cyborg had ever seen before.

There was a moment of silence between the two, before the cyborg found his voice long enough to speak. "Who are you?" He applauded himself in having such a calm sounding voice, -the gods only knew he was far from such!- and he felt himself stand a little straighter as he did so. It helped when the man smiled, instead of smirked, and nodded respectfully toward the cyborg.

"Honestly I would have thought it obvious," he said in low, rumbling tones. "Most places now a days seem to know of me even before I grace their presence, but this place," he swept an arm around him, billowing the thick fog and acknowledging the entire town. "Seems to have escaped such preceding instructions." His smile was warm but fringed with the cold, calculated assurances that this mans humorous attitude was short lived and far from being often. He didn't say anything further though and the silence stretched between the two of them until once again the cyborg spoke.

"That still doesn't answer my question." He winced inwardly at the subtle angry edge to his voice, but there was nothing to be done of it, it was already said and done. The man didn't take it roughly though, only chuckled and wrapped one hand casually around the hilt of his bizarre looking crossbow.

"That my friend, is a question both of us need an answer for." He chuckled a second time, and extended his right hand. "For formalities sake, you may call me Gabriel."

The cyborg hesitated only an instant before gripping the other mans strong, callused hand, shaking up and down once, and found himself chuckling as well. "Well, Gabriel," the name definitely had a foreign ring to it, but it slipped easily across the cyborgs tongue. "You may call me Jordhan."

The other man smiled and released his grip of the cyborgs hand and shifted his gaze momentarily over the shoulder of the taller man, before shifting his heavily built shoulders and nodding toward the other. "Probably wondering why I'm here, in this place as this apparently God forsaken hour. All I can say is that, yes, it is and it's about to get more so."

The cyborg lifted an eyebrow then and was about to ask Gabriel by what did he mean 'God forsaken' but a stiff nod over his shoulder from the man halted his words in his throat and caused him to glance over his shoulder. His heart froze and the fog around him abruptly changed from simply cool on his flesh, to a cold so frigid he would have thought himself in the deepest winter in the Northern Wastes of Salvar.

In the fog, not thirty feet away from the pair, -how it could be seen was beyond the cyborg- was a black shape that could only be described as humanish in the most distant terms and yet still not quite so. It seemed to fade in and out of the fog, almost becoming solid one instant and then billowing out and flowing into the gray nothing that surrounded it like smoke. The cyborg felt himself gulp, loudly and slowly.

"What is that?" He asked slowly, his gaze drifting back to Gabriel. The man had unlimbered his bizarre crossbow and was now checking the various safeties and attachments on it, making sure it was in working order. He only glanced up though, grunted softly and then went back to his study of his weapon.

The cyborg shifted his gaze back over his shoulder and nearly jumped out of his skin. The shadowy figure had closed the distance between the two of them by approximately ten feet and to make matters worse, he hadn't even made a sound! Not that I had heard Gabriel approach me from behind. . . Still, the thought that whatever the hell it was in this fog could approach so quickly, without so much as a single sound, frightened the cyborg to his very core. And time long practice in the art of war as the cyborg was, he knew that very little would actually scare him as such.

The figure had stopped moving, or so it seemed to the cyborg, and as such, hadn't completely frayed his nerves. All the same, the cyborg couldn't help but take a step back.

"Don't," Gabriel said suddenly, quietly and in hoarse whisper. "If he senses fear he will attack and it will be the end of you." Truth to his words even before he had finished speaking them, the shadowy figure seemed to turn its head, its gaze, if it could be called as such, falling directly onto the cyborg. His word seemed to instantly turn to ice and he found himself frozen, unable to move, blink or even breathe.

I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die! His thoughts raced and the fear that had just moments ago been dormant in his chest, boiled up and threatened to consume him whole. It seemed like an eternity to him but he knew from experience that only a matter of seconds had passed by the time Gabriel reached up and touched his shoulder, filling his body with a warmth so foreign to him that the cyborg almost fought it out of spite. He quickly decided however that whatever it was, it helped to ease his fear and he embraced it almost as quickly as he had sought to reject it, savoring its warmth even as it granted him mobility in his limbs once more. Apparently it granted him his voice back as well, as he was quickly leaning in beside Gabriel, asking him questions.

"Again, what is that? Is it human, or a spirit? I cannot tell which, it fades in and out of the fog so much. Do you intend to shoot it, or are you simply trying to defend yourself?"

The other man chuckled lightly, holding up a steady hand to silence the cyborg. "You my friend, even in this dark hour, ask to many questions." He glanced at the shadowy figure. "Our time is short, prepare yourself."

"What?" The cyborg as quickly, glancing up to where Gabriel was looking, nearly freezing in place again when he saw that the figure was even closer than before. "Ack, at least tell me what it is!"

Gabriel made a sound and touched his crossbow to the cyborgs still drawn sword. Oh! He had nearly forgotten about it; suddenly his earlier fear was banished completely, and he found himself squarely facing the strange figure with a great deal more confidence than he had had seconds before. It was amazing what a weapon could do to a mans morale. Gabriel only smiled and shifted his shoulders.

"Now, when it comes at us, for it surely will have no doubt, I want you to go that way and I will go this way. We need to distract it, keep its attention focused on one of us at a time, giving the other a chance to strike." There was a pause. "And maybe kill it."

The fear returned faster than the cyborg would have liked. "Maybe?!"

Gabriel showed no sign of fear, simply shrugging his shoulders. "That's hoping for the best, the least we can do is hurt it. Hopefully badly enough."

The cyborg gulped, loudly. Gabriel chuckled.

"Sorry to have dragged you into this, but you were here and I need the help."

The cyborg had almost had enough, his voice was literally dripping with doubt and fear. "Help?! With what? I still don't even know what that thing is!"

Gabriel blinked, and then, as if it was simply a clear day, blue sky with not a care in the world, turned back to face the shadowy figure and shrugged in his trench coat.

"That, is Count Vladislavs Dracula Walachiæ Weywoden, self proclaimed Fallen Prince of the holy order of the Seven Archangels, and the most feared vampire in all of Transylvania. I'm here to finally kill him."

At that very instant the world, which had moments before been nearly suffocating in a thick fog blanketing, was free of the fog and clear as crystal. The cyborg inhaled sharply, his fear beginning to slowly ebb at what little courage he had left in him, and his wide eyes focused on the place where the figure had been. Only, now it was different. Defiantly human, of sorts, and most definitely solid.

And it was smiling. So cold was it's smile that the cyborg thought his flesh was going to flake off. It's mouth opened, revealing a gleaming set of fanged, beautifully white teeth, and spoke.

"So, van Helsing," it said in an accent so foreign that the cyborg almost didn't understand it at first. "You bring me fresh meat in addition to your stale and begotten variety." It smiled even more widely than before, inhumanly wide; it nearly split it's face in two! "How kind of you." This was said in low, frigid tones that the cyborg was certain even the bravest of men would surely run from, he knew he would have!

Yet, Gabriel stood absolutely still, his crossbow leveled steadily at the creature that was faking humanity, his ice blue eyes glittering in the night air. "Your ploys will not work this time Vladislavs, I've already blessed this one."

The warmth from earlier abruptly refilled the cyborg and he was suddenly calm, his fear vanishing right before his startled eyes. He took a step forward, whether it was of his own accord or not he would never know, and he squared himself against the creature so aptly named the Fallen Prince of the holy order of the Seven Archangels. Whatever the hell that is.

The creature, Vladislavs Gabriel had called it, shifted its death like gaze back and forth between the two, it's smile slipping even as it raised a clenched fist. "You know just as well as I, Gabriel, that this fight is between us and us alone. You cheat and as a gentleman, I will not tolerate cheating. Meet me, alone, in single combat like it was prophesied to be, and we will then see who is the better of us." His fist unclenched and he took a step backward. "If I need wait another fifteen hundred years than so be it Gabriel! I. Will. Be. Waiting!"

Then, with a shriek so shrill and terrible that the cyborg had to close his eyes and cover his ears, the creature exploded and fog once again filled the air.

*~*

He awoke to himself screaming, clutching at his face with both hands, staring at the cobble stones gleaming dully in the misty night air beneath his knees. His screaming faded abruptly and he inhaled short, quick breaths as he looked around himself in confusion. After a few moments he scrambled to his feet, sword clattering loudly on the paving as he kicked it away from him, and spun in small circles, trying to take everything in at once.

After a few moments of nearly making himself incoherently dizzy, the cyborg stopped and inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself. Calm down, calm down. It was just a, strange, dream, or something. Calm down. Abruptly he found himself laughing, with his arms extended into the air. "A dream," he shouted. "It was only a dream!"

Another laughter filled the air then, cold and menacing and before the cyborg could even think of what was happening, he was scrambling through the fog, a fear like no other he had ever experienced before gripping his heart and driving his feet forward.

Behind him a voice rose in the night, loud and clear.

"I. Will. Be. Waiting."

[Karuka]

The fierce redhead folded her arms, glaring at the scenery that greeted her. This had not been what she'd expected to see when she stepped outside. And that really made her mad. Did the gods think that they could toy with her simply because this was the eve of Samhain? With a gutteral grumble, she stalked down the wretched cobblestone streets. She would find her answers, and someone would pay for her inconvenience.


~*~*~

Karuka sat on the side of a fountain in the middle of sleepy Radasanth. If she didn't miss her mark, it was Samhain. Strange things happened on Samhain...so she was staying outside. Doubtless her companion would find her sooner or later. According to him, he didn't have a choice about it.

Suddenly a voice rang out in Gaelic, but the words were somewhat archaic and the speaker had a rather thick Britonic accent. Still, each syllable crackled with such force and command that the Irish redhead sat up and paid attention.

"What is your name, girl, and what is your clan?" The speaker had blazing green eyes, fair skin, and red tresses that flowed all the way down her back like a river of fire.

"I am Karuka O'Sheean, of no clan."

"O'Sheean? From Eire. I am Boudicca, Queen of the Iceni."

Karuka's eyebrows raised. The name Boudicca rang throughout the Celtic world, a mighty queen who for a long time had fought the legions of Roimh, beating them back, burning the cities they had raised upon her land and destroying them until the inevitable day that they had descended upon her like a wave and destroyed her.

"Wipe that look from your face and walk with me."

Boudicca's spear tapped along the ground as she dragged Karuka in her wake. "You are a druidh?"

"I was never trained as one, no."

"But you know their secrets? You know what this land is and how to get me back to my people?"

The Irish redhead shook her head. "If I knew, I'd have gone home a long time ago."

"You have no clan, you have no home, Eire holds no destiny for you. There is a destiny for me. So I will return."

"How can you say there is a destiny? You have a goal! I had a goal, too, before I was dragged to this -"

Boudicca brought her hand up, slapping Karuka hard. "You have no belief in destiny and yet call yourself a Celt? Foolish creature! Foolish, conquered creature! The gods give you a destiny, and you either fail them or they reward you with success. The Roman PIGS will not rape my lands and daughters, they will NOT enslave my people, and I will fight to the last breath to ensure that it does not happen."

The lass looked up at the woman, holding her stinging cheek. "If I am no longer a Celt, then what am I?"

"Lost." The mighty queen turned, walking away. "Maybe some day you will find yourself again and regain your pride as a Celtic woman...a Celtic queen. But you are nothing while you let doubt and defeat cloud your mind."

Ahead of them was a misty copse of oak trees, and Boudicca steeled herself. "Samhain tricks will not keep me from the destiny that I claim." With that, she walked in, disappearing into the fog.

Karuka turned, trudging back to the fountain and sitting down. If that was a Samhain trick...a ghost come to chastise her...or something else entirely, it didn't matter. It was a lot to think about.

[Ataraxis]

Forty minutes wasn't enough, Cory. Sorry if it's a bit late, and not as serious as the others.
“Is this the place?”

It was not every day that one was privy to such bizarrely vague questions, and so Lillian could not help but stop near the snowy sidewalk for a curious peek at the enquirer. He was a gruff man with unruly hair, long and blond and as dirty as the curb stone on which he was unceremoniously stretched. “I’m sorry?” she asked, timidly approaching the heaped mass, now close enough to notice the hollowed-in cheeks, as sallow as death itself.

“Was it Eden… or, maybe Shangri-La… But this is it, this is the place, yeah?” he asked again, his eyes suddenly aflame in their sick-blue fever.

“I’m… uh, I’ve never heard of those…” Lillian was feeling guilty for some reason, as if the simple fact of not knowing the answer to everything meant that she had failed, or somehow wronged this tired wreck of a man. Uncomfortable by the situation but already too involved to simply walk away, she tried her best to sustain the conversation nonetheless. “What, um, what does it look like?”

“It’s like I’ve told those reporter men before… it’s kind of beautiful, or nice and pretty instead of… instead of a mean, and raunchy, uh… raunchy, angry…” His voice drifted away, as did his eyes, so pale that they seemed to fade with the sullen colors of this Salvaran winter day. “You’re kinda nice and pretty, so maybe this is… yeah, it must be.”

It was not often that confusion could overwhelm her giddy shyness in the face of such bold compliments, but this broken pauper of the streets managed to induce that state with relative ease. The young girl stuttered in an effort to change the subject. “W-what are you doing here, in the cold? I-I mean, maybe you’re homeless and it’s rude of me to ask but… do you have a house or people to…”

“I haven’t had a home in so long… a home is a refuge, you see? I used to have a lot of refuges. I had music, but… not for years, now. All I have left,” he began, weakly pulling out a syringe from his pockets, “is this. Well, I bought a gun, too, but I chose this instead for the longest time…”

At the grim sparkle of that glass cylinder, the teenager decided that she had stayed long enough. “I-I’m sorry, but I have to– ”

“Leave, yeah.” The man chuckled hoarsely, coughing for a moment. When he recovered, he popped the cap off the contraption and poked the needle into his arm, sighing in despair and defeat. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just be taking up space until I don’t anymore.”

“If you hate doing that so much, then why do you do it?” It was too late when she recalled her previous urge to depart, but a pinch in her chest told her that she would regret leaving now, that she would regret being yet another set of cold, selfish eyes before a tragedy that had yet to unfold. “Can’t you find help?” she asked, biting her lip as she realized the awful and dismissive nature of her words. “Friends… or loved ones?”

“You don’t want to know what I think of friends. You look like you still believe in them: I won’t be the one to take that away from you.” The answer surprised her, and there was something almost compassionate in his warped worry. “And as for loved ones… well I’m rather hated, you see? There’s not much hope for help from there… but that’s not a bad thing.”

“What do you mean? It sounds... horrible…”

“Better hated for who I am, than loved for who I’m not.” The gruff man smiled, his teeth surprisingly straight and clean. “Now go, before you feel like you have to stick with me. Go, before you try and become my friend.”

The haze was quickly seeping into his eyes, now reddening with fiery veins. He gasped, witnessing something that no other could perceive, and something that Lillian decided she would rather never see for herself. She did as she was told, too flummoxed to complain: somehow, he had known what her heart was trying to tell her, what it was trying to make her do. However, a part of herself also knew that some people would rather not be saved by a kind stranger - by the ever-loathsome busybody. In that way, the two were very much alike.

As she left the pavement, she could only think of asking one last question. “Do you... remember the name of the place?”

“Yeah,” he murmured lowly, his body quivering from the torture of elation. “Nirvana.”

Wanly, she managed a smile. “That,” Lillian said solemnly, padding through the bed of snow, “is a word I know.”

In the cold of silence, she thought she heard him thank her; yet, she dared not look back. Her mind was still too focused on the disturbing picture of that hole beneath his jaw, still fresh and gaping, as wide and dark as a lead bullet.

[Arsène]

I'm sorry this has taken me so long. I'd been glancing at all the entries when they were first posted, but it was only now that it really kicked in that I needed to read and judge each. Ataraxis, I liked your entry a lot, but I cannot accept it in the running. However, I will allot the EXP, because I think it deserves it.

I forgot to mention how close this was, it was terribly difficult to come to a final decision.

The winner's for this months Vignette Contest are:

1.) Koran
2.) Karuka
3.) I Am Zee

The Awards are:

Koran receives 250 EXP and 100 GP
Karuka receives 450 EXP and 75
I Am Zee receives 100 EXP and 50 GP
Ataraxis receives 400 EXP

I will add my Vignette tomorrow. I just didn't believe I should make you all wait any longer.

[Taskmienster]

Exp and GP added!