Chance

[Visla Eraclaire]

Closed to Kerrigan Muldoon

“Only the mightiest are chosen. While society at large sees it as the greatest of honors, those left behind are just as likely to view the distinction with sorrow or contempt. That which the gods approve of, they also take . . .”

Visla snapped the book shut and glanced up at an all too common looking young man who placed a still steeping cup of tea in front of her. She gave him the slightest of nods and watched him meander back to the maze of larger, more vibrant tables that took up the center of the establishment. Evidently, a sufficient number of the place’s patrons were the sort of brooding loners that would take a tiny table in the corner, fit only to hold at most a single drink.

She wasn’t quite prepared to file herself with the rest of them. Men in dark coats with sorrowful ancient eyes, strange creatures that were the last or only of their kind, abominations of mixed parentage despised by all, she had seen many of these things in the few years of her travels. Maybe she would sit like them, maybe if she told her story she might even sound like one of them, but she knew she wasn’t. They were the spectacle, and she was still just the audience.

The book she had dispensed with in favor of staring at the water in her teacup slowly darkening was much the same sort of thing. Religion existed only vaguely to her. Sure enough there were clerics, even on her isolated little island home, in the narrow minded academy she had absented herself from. Really, though, whatever they called their gods, it was all the same. A devotee invoking Tyr was just as well as an arcanist calling upon leylines or whatever structure they felt they needed. Both are just as powerful, but both are just as false.

Enough brooding, she thought, and took a tip of the still-weak tea. It wasn’t as good here as in Radasanth, but it was cheaper and she had yet to be pulled through any portals to the time-locked sanctums of madmen. All in all, a fair trade.

The real question was why drink it in public at all. Somewhere in the bundle of meager belongings sitting in the corner of the flop house down the street she had a cup. Tea could be bought in bulk from any of a thousand traders in dozens of towns across the world. Even her pitiful powers were enough to boil the water given a candle or similar. She might even get better if she did it enough, though every month without significant progress made the prospect more dubious.

Still, why pay a premium to sit in a place too dim to properly read, too loud to properly think, to sit at a rickety back table and drink sub-par tea? People watching had been the answer for a while, but eventually desensitization kicks in. Brushing against the feathers of an angel, casually crossing paths with soul-siphoning dark elves, and any manner of other ridiculousness rendered the whole world in a sort of bland grey. The fantastic was so commonplace as to be painful. People here were not worth watching.

She was here for the chance, she guessed. Of what, it wasn’t so clear. She was far from abandoning her whole life to chance, drifting on the winds of fate, helpless and without control. She wasn’t that far gone, but still she suspected that for all her study and travel, if she was not a feather in the wind, she was at least a gliding bird. No amount of flapping would oppose an unwilling gale, but neither would she get anywhere without at least spreading her wings.

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

It was ironic, almost cynical. The sky had bled dry of almost all its light, the last drops of hope slipped behind the horizon as the power of moon increased with every passing moment. As dark as the coming night promised to be as good as Kerrigan was feeling. It was not like she loved the twilight or the dual nature of the both protecting and threatening shadows. She was not fond of lurking about in dark alleys. But still, for an unexplainable yet convincing reason Kerrigan was in a fantastic mood. At first she figured it was because of the successful show she had performed last night, but afterwards she had felt empty and without purpose. Was it purpose, is it about having or not having a goal to fight and live for? It would explain why the addicting rush gained by standing on the stage and performing quickly vanished into the night after her last show, but could it explain her mood this evening? If purpose is the essence of our progression, what would be her purpose tonight?

Wandering through the streets of Underwood she pondered about the awkwardness of life, or more specifically: herself. While curious, Muldoon was not exactly the philosophical type, and it did not take long until her reasoning starting to bore her. It had been a long and useless day, she felt tired and hungry as he hadn’t eaten anything since this morning.
She recognized the mud of the street she just walked into. One would think she would have to be a commoner in these parts to be able to accomplish that, but it did not require a lot of experience to see the difference between just mud and the beer filled mud of this street. Kerrigan had been in this town for about a week, the fact that she had lost already count elucidated the point that it was a rather boring town altogether.

Deep inside her head she heard a familiar voice whisper to her. ‘Let us have a drink, my love.’ It was Jack, her freakish counterpart.
Years ago she had accidentally stumbled upon him, though Kerrigan doubted if it was pure chance or if Jack had influenced it somehow. From that moment on Kerrigan had always carried him with her. Maybe it would be more appropriate to say ‘it’ since Jack was actually a deck of tarot cards, but saying it to him pissed him off. Jack seemed to be pissed off a lot for no apparent reason, but she had no interest in encouraging his dreadful moods.
He possessed great powers but needed a caster like Kerrigan to be able to use them. She on other hand wasn’t all that powerful by herself, and hence a pact was created between them. Jack was used to communicate telepathically with her by creating visual and auditory hallucinations, which he also uses to jerk around with her, utterly irritating Kerrigan.
Kerrigan replied silently with thoughts: “Relax Jack, you already know I am about to.” The main reason why anyone entered this street was to pay a visit to the ‘The Peaceful Promenade’, a tavern visited by all kinds of people from this area. Or rather: all kinds of lowlife. The tavern was her purpose as well, for the evening being at least.

As Kerrigan entered the tavern she was greeted by the familiar smell of beer and customers who have never made a habit out of washing themselves or their clothes. Shady corners were filled with equally shady men and women alike. The sound of laughter, arguments and talk had trouble penetrating the thick, smoke filled air, but it still managed to overload your ears. Only a few noticed Kerrigan coming in; except for the owner none cared anyway.

It was busy, most tables were taken or missed chairs which weren’t either broken or too dirty for her to feel comfortable sitting on. As she scanned for a suitable place to relax and eat something, an awkward feeling seized her stomach and lungs. Sounds and the already dim light faded to the background as Kerrigan saw the most beautiful thing to have ever been in the tavern. A stunningly white pigeon took off from the darkness into the still air. Slowly, as if it was swimming through the air it purposefully headed towards some distant point. It looked so pure, radiating an almost angelic aura. Yet without warning it changed, devolved into something else, something more real. Feather by feather its wings turned into dark glass, its white head to a yellow liquid. Headed at a wall it accelerated, while some hidden force corrupted it into a mere physical reality, purposeless and vile. When it collided with the wall nothing but broken glass, a sip of beer and an angry shout remained of her pleasant dream.
“Curse you Jack; don't mess with me like that.” She whispered as the ever familiar sounds of the tavern returned. A soft but diabolic laughter filled her head. ‘Where is your sense of humor? You are no fun, hehe.’
“Shut up, go to sleep or something, just leave me alone.” She said more loudly though she knew thinking it would wilfully would be enough for him to know it. Jack was skilled in upsetting her and took pleasure in doing so.

Too stubborn to let a bunch of possessed cards ruin her night off she figured that the tavern of Underwood had its own beauty. Frustrated by the fact that she was well aware that it absolutely hadn't, she grabbed a cigarette and reached for the tarot cards hidden inside her travelling coat. With the cigarette in her mouth Kerrigan choose the 'devil' card, which seemed rather appropriate for the occasion. With a simple gesture and a wilful intend the devil slowly took on fire. While symbolically killing Jack she lit her cigarette with the burning tarot card. She knew destroying a card did not hurt him at all, but at moments like this she preferred to think it did. Apparently, Jack had understood the gesture and remained silent for now.

While inhaling the smoke of her first cigarette since the day before, Kerrigan carelessly threw the still burning card on the ground. As she suddenly got aware of the fact that she had standing at the same spot for some time now she quickly scouted the local area for a suitable place to sit. Luckily, the table right next to her was only half occupied by a girl staring at a cup of tea in front of her. A rather heavy looking book lied on the table, which is probably one of the only books in the entire building. She looked as a fragile young woman, somewhat out of place in the Promenade, but on the other hand: out of place was actually quite common here.

With a sigh Kerrigan sat down on a chair on the other end of the table, exhaling the smoke from her cigarette. Putting her small backpack on the table she started to mindlessly play with a tarot card.

[Visla Eraclaire]

The comings and goings of every person from the tavern were well beneath Visla’s notice, at least usually. When a young, otherwise normal looking human woman starts speaking to herself in the middle of the room and produces a flame seemingly from nowhere, it rises above the fascination of staring at a teacup.

Aversion was the immediate reaction, a reflexive one that had been with her since her childhood. See a person who stands out, avoid them. It was a system Visla had been working to revise for a while now. She wasn’t interested in being more open or sociable, though that was an acceptable side effect. No, it was just that keeping away from anything strange doesn’t lead to a lot of answers.

Still, fighting one’s nature is never easy, and in any event it was a work in process. Her hand still grasped for the hood of her cloak, as if one more shadow in a dark bar would do any good. No, her plain, pale face was the best disguise she could hope for. She wasn’t the sort of person that would be of interest to anyone.

Confident in her solitude she took another sip of her tea and reached for the book. Her fingers barely brushed against the fine leather binding when she felt a stinging pain shoot through her body. It was a familiar sensation, to be sure, but one she had thought herself free of. The crystal in her pocket was a willful little beast for the first few months after she acquired it, but it had been passive for so long…

“Aelva…” Visla scowled.

She hadn’t said the name in just as long. When first she left the island, she was certain that her former companion and teacher was bound up in the little green shard. It was her only thought and action for months to unlock her secrets, driven on by a persistent lash of pain from the thing itself. After the library in Salvar, it simply stopped. At first, she kept working, whether out of loyalty or habit. Eventually, though she came to believe she had simply failed. Whatever ember was in the crystal had burned out, or worse had simply resigned itself to its fate, accepted that Visla was a hopeless failure.

She felt bad about that for a day or two at most. Frankly, without the constant vile sensation, it became easier to forget the whole thing. If she thought about it at all, it was a strange coincidence, a fluke, or at worst an unusually persistent delusion brought on by loneliness. Whatever it was, it was in her past until this very moment.

So disturbed by the implications, Visla didn’t notice the young woman taking a seat across from her until the tendrils of smoke reached her nostrils. It took everything she could muster not to jump. Her mind swam with worries and questions, turning in on themselves, strangling her sensibility. Eyes narrowed she pointed her fingers at the cigarette and muttered to herself with a scratching unnatural tone.

Perhaps if she had practiced, it would have been a more impressive effect, a gout of flame catching the invader alight, throwing the entire bar into chaos. As it was, it was little more than a pathetic, spiteful gesture. The glowing tip of the cigarette brightened and burned through a quarter inch or so of the remaining length in an instant, nothing a deep inhalation couldn’t have done.

Visla let out a sigh and cradled her brow in the palm of her hand, letting her hair fall over her face in shame. Another jolt of pain coursed through her veins. It was almost comforting, a deserved punishment, and a hopeful sign that perhaps the feeling was still all in her head. It was also enough to force words to her lips, but not to raise her countenance. She spoke quietly with eyes still downcast behind a curtain of dark locks.

“I’ll buy you another, if you want. Just go put it my tab,” she muttered. Her words were much stronger and more confident than her tone revealed. It amounted to an offer to take her money and leave her be, and one she felt certain would be rejected, at that.

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

Tired of having lived for another rather pointless day Kerrigan was glad she could relax for the rest of the evening, to celebrate the ironic fact one has to rest after doing nothing.
While enjoying smoking she preferred to light one, max two cigarettes a day. That way every cigarette was worth more that she paid for it, and double if she had not. Smoking helped her relax; Jack’s little joke had caught her off guard, something she was not fond of. She had no intent to give in to him though, and as such she decided it would become an enjoyable night whatsoever.

Her eyes widened and she forgot to breathe for a moment a she watched the cigarette burn as if some invisible force or person inhaled deeply. ”Jack,” she shouted in her thoughts, ”knock it off!” Against his habits her companion replied quickly and dead serious, without any trace of sarcasm. ”That was not me, my love… the girl.” Yet his accusation was unnecessary as the accused betrayed herself and quietly offered to pay for a new cigarette.

Kerrigan was not sure whether she should be offended or amused. The young woman looked at her feet, hiding beneath a curtain of dark brown hair; as if afraid she would be beaten. While making an almost pitiful impression, Kerrigan instinctively knew there was more to it then the eye met. Lying on a regular basis grants you the advantage of being able to identify a lie more easily as well. She was hiding, yes, but what? Actually, it did not matter what she was hiding. Everything had something to hide, just like everybody seemed to posses at least some sort of magical power these days. Lies and magic had become more common then truth and… well, whatever there used to be before the age of the mage, if anything.

”Ha!" She laughed, half faking half meaning it. ”What’s this, some sort of a practical joke?” After taking a moments pause to size her up she continued, this time to reply to her offer: ”Nah thanks, it ruins my appetite anyway.” Smiling sarcastically she slowly reached out with her left hand. Putting it on top of the young woman’s fine book, she focused for a short but intense moment on the object. ”Literature on the other hand… literature leaves me aching for more.” As a book of her meagre yet well practised powers, Visla’s book vanished into thin air at the snap of her fingers. "Oops, " she said playfully, "was it expensive?"

Disappear and Appear was a trick Kerrigan practised on a frequent basis, but she still had trouble with large items such as books; the topic being religion did not make it any lighter either. She could not maintain the spell for more then three seconds and a bit and with a wink the writing returned at the exact same spot it used to be. Kerrigan hoped it was enough to prove her point. While having no clue yet as to what her point was, she felt pretty good with her handling. It was spontaneous, overdone and most possibly purposeless, what more could one do?

[Visla Eraclaire]

The sound of a sarcastic voice was strangely reassuring, and she lifted her eyes just in time to see a smile to match. Visla felt an inexplicable childlike joy as she watched the book before her vanish. It was a trick, barely even real magic, but somehow it was enough to lure her out from whatever dark place she had furnished for herself. Whatever impenetrable calculus Visla formulated to judge people, tricksters gained a special exemption.

It was, at first glance, a strange position to take for someone who openly sought truth and lambasted hypocrites, but in whatever experience she claimed to have liars and tricksters were almost never the same people. Liars bind the truth up in their webs and banish it to the dark depths forever. Tricksters might hide it behind a bit of cloth, might even make you think it’s gone, but there is always the reveal. Tricksters live for the reveal.

Her book reappeared in front of her and even as her inward delight glistened through her eyes, Visla laid as firm a hand as she could manage on it. She narrowed her gaze and pursed her lips.

“Under normal circumstances, I would let you make this drab little tome vanish forever, but as it does— augh”

It most certainly was not all in her head. The crystal in her pocket seemed quite instant, and she was reminded how difficult it is to obey the whims of something that can only communicate by punishment. It was a small wonder she hadn’t disposed of the thing long ago, she thought for but a moment. In reality, it would be perhaps the most difficult thing for her to do.

“Be damned,” she muttered, then tossed aside her stern mask and drew her hair from her face. She looked straight at the young woman across from her, as plainly as can be and spoke without pretense or plan. “I heard you speaking to yourself. I am in a unique position to suspect you are not simply crazy. I want to ask you some questions. Considering you just sat with me uninvited, it seems only fair.”

Visla reached into the inside pocket of her travelling coat. She winced, ready for another shock. The one thing that she had learned with near certainty would earn her one was producing it. After an anticipatory pause, she grasped it and felt nothing but the cold smoothness of its surface.

For a moment, she imagined slamming it on the table and announcing she would pay handsomely with a strange gem for any information. If only she could. The truth of the matter was, her excitement, wherever she was trying to hide it wasn’t due to some petty trick, or even the nature of tricksters that she was so enamored with. It was not even because she was speaking more words than business required to another human being for the first time in longer than she cared to remember.

It was because she was no longer a failure in Aelva’s eyes, or at least that is what she dared to hope. It was this thought she held dearly in mind as she placed the viridian gem carefully on the table without a word of explanation.

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

While Kerrigan had been part in quite some awkward conversations, those usually had a cause and effect relationship with a rather large amount of alcohol. Visla, however, managed to surprise her in a completely different way. Advancing from a mere guest in a moody tavern to a shy cigarette slayer to a bold inquirer, Visla must have been the most interesting person she had has the pleasure talking with for weeks. Consequently Kerrigan decided that she liked the young woman, for the moment at least.

As Visla stopped in the middle of a sentence Kerrigan could not help to somehow shortly feel acquainted with her. She figured it would be highly unlikely it was just because of their possible shared distaste for books. Whether it was because it appeared she was shortly listening, feeling to a for Kerrigan unknown source, or something else altogether remained to be seen. Rarely experiencing that kind of empathy with someone Kerrigan could not let it slip by unnoticed.

Behind the safety of her brown hear a pair of light golden brown eyes had been waiting to meet Kerrigan’s eyes. Doing so in a calm, purposeful way it only further polarized the changes in Visla’s behaviour.

Consciously not answering her newest object of interest’s question straight away, Kerrigan grabbed her backpack – which had been sitting on the table so far – and laid it to rest beneath her chair.
”Not simply crazy, ‘ey; so does that make me a dull bore or a complicated lunatic? At least I smoke my own cigarette and leave those of others alone.” she said with a wink. Kerrigan smiled, displaying a mix of scepticism, sarcasm and upright curiosity as she continued: ”But don’t let me stop you, ask me your fair earned questions.”

Kerrigan was still aching for food and it promised to be a long and interesting night. Without giving Visla a chance to react she signalled to the nearest waiter, who could not have been any older then 13 years. As the boy approached their table she redundantly asked: ”You don’t mind if I get something to eat, do you? I’m starving.”

Until the moment Visla carefully put a curious crystal on the table for no apparent reason Kerrigan had been mindlessly playing with a tarot card. Pondering the young woman’s latest inexplicable act, she suddenly got aware of the card in her hand. ”The Goddess of the Moon… tides are turning.” she thought. Whether this signalled a predestined tsunami, fruitful fields or a leaking roof – if anything at all – she had no idea of, but it did struck her odd.

”So, do you want a snack or something?”

[Visla Eraclaire]

“I’m not terribly hungry.”

Whether that was true or not was a matter of opinion. To be certain her body would occasionally prod her to eat. In moments of weakness, she even indulged it. She preferred to rely on her transference when she could. The flavor of most things was too strong for her, having eaten very plainly even before she left her noble house. With the exception of tea, almost anything more flavorful than a hunk of white bread was an assault on her senses.

She considered producing a bit of grass or leaves from her pack and withering them in her hands as a demonstration. The energy would certainly be welcome, as well as the spectacle. Still, she suspected somehow that if she were fully awake she might think better of the whole conversation. Perhaps even awake from the pleasant dream that the crystal was active once more.

“I’ll give you some options, while the food is coming,” she continued. “Would you rather answer questions about yourself, or me?”

She stared down at the card in the woman’s hand as she finished her question. It wasn’t quite right to say she was familiar with the tarot, but she could at least distinguish them from a deck of playing cards. Of the numerous books on demons, pacts, and summoning, among the most useless tended to make reference specific signs and cards. That didn’t bias her against them, per se. Most practitioners need a focus of some kind. Whether it be words, wands, runes, or religious relics, the effect was the same. The lion’s share of people, even arrogant wizards, couldn’t deal with the supernatural directly. Even Visla herself muttered words of Infernal when she tried to invoke her powers, even if the words themselves amounted to nonsense. Visla was beyond caring if someone wanted read her tea leaves or gut an animal, so long as she got results. And the tarot at least had the benefit of being less barbarous than those methods….

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

”Wha’cha want miss?”
The boy looked at the table; avoiding eye contact for a reason Kerrigan had no interest being aware off. It was Visla – an fascinating personality – she could not stop looking at, observing and scanning for hidden hints of what was happening on the inside. She ordered quite a meal; meat, potatoes, some vegetables and beer.

”Do it. Answer her questions, my love. Do it now, quickly”

Ignoring his voice but honouring his wishes – but only because she shared his – Kerrigan simply nodded to her tablemate and reached over the table for a second time this evening. The first time she had reached for the, now she reached out for Visla’s hands. Pulling them gently towards her she turned them so they rested with their backs at the centre of the dirty table.
Kerrigan enjoyed this part. The part in which the sounds of the surrounding slowly faded to the background, adrenaline rushed through her body and she could practise what she lives for: trickery. With Jack on her side Kerrigan felt more then confident even though fortune telling was her most neglected power.
Developing it would absorb too much of her time and patience, while tricks with cards where both easier and made her more cash.

As she smiled one card suddenly appeared silently on top of Visla’s left hand, face down. Another one appeared on her right hand, while a third one joined the first. In rapid fashion all of the tarot cards smoothly came to existence, all nicely stacked on top of Visla’s hands.

She could feel Jacks anger in her stomach and legs. ”Argh, stop showing off and get to busyness.” He was in a particular hurry this evening, which was out of the ordinary but Kerrigan had no interest to indulge his wimps.
Carelessly she replied aloud: ”Prick.” Noticing Visla’s surprised reaction she quickly corrected herself: ”Pick… pick a stack.”

[Visla Eraclaire]

When the woman first reached for Visla’s hands, she was ready to pull back. Despite her decision to cooperate, something in the back of her mind was ready to loose a volley of shadow bolts, drain the impetuous fortune teller’s essence, and storm out of the bar in disgust. Dark imagery like this was just the reason she was willing to be so open with a stranger. Clerics and crusaders marked Visla’s kind as corrupted, and she could now see there was more truth to it than she had originally given them credit for. It was likely the same with any manner of power, she assured herself. She took a deep breath and felt a gentle grasp on her hands.

How long had it been since someone had grasped her hand? In the city, human contact was almost unavoidable, but the crush of a crowd never clasped hands together. She desperately tried to restrain a blush, thankful that the dimly lit bar would help conceal it, but all but certain that her pale complexion would show even the slightest rosiness. It was pathetic to be so moved by such a simple thing. It was, after all, just part of the show. Still, the memories and conflicts churned within, behind a poorly feigned placid expression.

As the woman let go and set Visla’s hands into position, her palms quickly filled with two stacks of cards. Once again, even this fairly mundane display seemed a wonder. Manipulating essence, shadow, and flame, these ephemeral things, somehow seemed a lesser power than the simple trick of moving cards. These were things of substance, solid and real. Unaware of the voice that spoke to the woman, Visla thought how peaceful it must be to deal in such tangible things, not to meddle in dark forces that seem to seek suffering.

Given the choice, Visla stared at the two stacks. She grasped at the one in her right hand and looked up at Kerrigan with a faulty smile, “This one.”

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

Polar feelings filled Kerrigan’s heart. When she had touched the woman’s hand she had felt a slight tremble, a struggle against… something. The next moment it was as if she had surrendered, passively cooperating, subordinate to Kerrigan’s will. The feelings she experienced confused her.

It was her job and the cynical joy of her life to use people, manipulate them as if it is just a game just to throw them away when they start to bore her or run out of money. It was still her intention to use this woman for her own pleasure, but she was doubt and guilt ridden.
The young lady radiated this strange sensation of innocence and naivety, even though Kerrigan believed in no such thing. Still, she could not help to somehow experience empathic feeling towards the slightly blushing woman; a hint of responsibility, like towards a younger sister.

Who is she? What does she feel, think, know? Those and tens of other questions ravaged through her mind creating chaos and turmoil. Luckily, Kerrigan had the opportunity to maybe ask them or at least get glimpses of the answers through reading the woman’s possible pasts, present and futures.

When Visla picked the stack on Kerrigan’s left side, the fortune teller carefully placed the other stack on the far right side of the table. While the rejected cards slowly withered in a cauterizing fire, she first coughed from excitation and then said: ”You must now carefully but wilfully decide which questions you would like to ask,” suddenly aware of how vulnerable she felt, she hesitated but continued quickly ”about your past, present or future. Visualize them, then speak them out aloud. For best results please keep focusing on three or four questions max.”

[Visla Eraclaire]

The choice between two stacks of cards was a trivial one, all part of the show. While the pyrotechnics were a clever addition, Visla was fairly certain that it mattered little which stack she had selected. After all, as far as her understanding went, it was never really the cards that mattered, but the person reading them. Everything was ambiguous, open to manipulation and hedging so as to draw out a reaction from the audience.

Then came the questions. Her first reaction was to ask something absurd as a test, but that was soon dismissed. What point was there in testing one who bills herself as a trickster? What victory would it be to lie to a stranger? The whole reason she was doing this was… well, what was it, even? Her ironclad rationalizations and high-minded explanations had lasted only a few moments before she could scarcely even remember, much less believe them.

Her potential questions vacillated between painfully narrow and incomprehensibly grandiose. Both she viewed as useless. A narrow question gave nothing for the fortuneteller to work with. If it’s a simple yes or no, she may as well have flipped a coin and saved herself the theatrics. Likewise, something too broad would never do. Scholars, sages, and every self-important fop from here to the ends of the earth had pondered the great meaning of life for untold eons. There was little chance of finding the solution here from the mouth of a young vagabond.

Her eyes darted to the crystal sitting on the table. That was what she really wanted to ask about, but she couldn’t bear to. She simply would not allow herself to be the pathetic creature mewling over a lost loved one to a stranger. Even using the word love was too much, too weak. She had made it this far without knowing, and it would have to stay that way.

Will I always be alone? It still sounded too pathetic, but it had promise. It sounded like something a normal girl would ask, if she could cut out the melodrama. Yes, this one would do. There was no way to divorce it entirely from self-pity, but that emotion was inextricably linked to women her age. It would do little good to hide it.

“Will I be alone much longer?” she said, trying not to sound terribly sheepish.

The instant the sound left her lips, she was already dissatisfied with it. She needed another question to cut the bitterness, something sweet and innocent. The first thing that leapt to mind from those two words was her sister, though in truth she was neither. Still, it would do.

“And, is my sister well?” she added as quickly as she could. Her glance fell downward again, unwilling to see the reaction her questions would garner in the fortune teller’s eyes. Words were easier to handle, to bend and tailor to fit. A look in the eyes was often unmistakable and could never be taken back.

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

Only moments after Kerrigan had explained the procedure to her client her brain began boiling, or so it felt. Random thoughts and images, paired with confusing and sometimes overwhelming emotions bombarded her mind, mercilessly overloading her internal sensors.
The first part was always the most painful one and she relied on Jack to take over or she would probably pass out if it would continue much longer.

To channel the pain and the overwhelming illusionary input, she reached for the deck and placed the first card aside. She took the second one and with a slightly trembling hand she turned it face up right in front of her, it featured a dark rising tower with dead trees at the root. ”The Tower… a tower.” she mumbled just to be distracted from the searing but slowly disappearing pain.
After discarding the third and she put the fourth parallel to the other card on the table, face up but turned towards Kerrigan instead of Visla. ”The reversed Sky, sided by the Tower. It is a common combination those two, but this reverse is not witnessed a lot, nor welcomed warmly. Like… you.”
The card laying and the mere psychological guesses about her client’s characteristics shortly distracted the fortune teller of her pain, but not for long as she felt the cold sensations screaming through her body again, starting in her toes and storming towards her very soul.

But then, only peace… birds celebrating the bright light of the spring sun… two children sitting in the green grass, one playing the other reading… but nothing lasts, especially not this kind of tranquility.
"Dra’con, suns are desperate murderers, in’del rev’al!”
Like during most readings Kerrigan started to hear the familiar voices in her head again, sometimes her client’s, other times Jack, but mostly just her own voice twisted and dark.

“The servants bark… no, not the men but the dog… Ol’ fans, Alfons. Dances with fires, in circles, in circles, she sleeps with the nights, the NIGHTSS!”

When Visla asked her first questions the hallucinations somewhat eased. Instead of more intruding input the same images and sounds just repeated over and over again, every time slightly different deranging more and more from the original vision until their was nothing left but an echo.

Like most readings, the fortune teller had no clue as to what her visions mend. It could be the past or the future alike or just random thoughts or even remnants of powerful spells still lingering in the ether.
Now it would be the trick to translate the thousands theatrical thoughts into a mere words. What was unrelated? How should she filter? Does that actually mater or should she just lie? These questions were like a summer breeze compared to the storm of sensations she suffered during the climax of readings.

She exhaled deeply to enjoy the inner calmness she knew would be gone in a matter of moments. Feeling that Jack was ready to tell her his interpretation of the visions she started with her answers on Visla’s questions. ”Is not the sun alone? She burns with despair and false hope. Even the stars can be counted,” she stopped as Jack interrupted her: ”Dark, yes the night. Tell of her the shadows!” Somewhat confused she continued speaking: ”The stars can be counted, but shadows are like endless legions. When candles flicker, shadows feast.”
So far it made absolutely no sense at all to Kerrigan but Jack appeared content enough with the explanations.

Now there was the question about the sister. As far as she had interpreted the visions there was not much interesting to tell about that subject. Kerrigan was used to that though and had no trouble continuing without sufficient magical backup.
She just could not resist the urge to ‘tease’ the young woman, to punish her for asking such sweet questions in this bitter world, if not just for the fun of it. Pretending she was receiving more images she whispered as mysteriously as she could. ”Your sister… prays to the light… she’s in pain, burning, alone. They left her… no wait, you left her.”

Like drowning a puppy in front of crying children.

[Visla Eraclaire]

All the words and images, they were bereft of meaning or context. It would have been easy to dismiss them as mad ravings, a barrage of sound without direction. Still, just as arrows rain down on a battlefield, even without aim, some find their mark. The obfuscation only served to highlight the few bits of memory that struck her, burying themselves deep in her heart.

She could almost feel the soft white fur of Alfons, the dog she had raised from a puppy that still clung to her sister's heels. She smiled remembering him barking at her stepmother like a stranger, up until the day she left. The feeling was warm, but it was not to last.

The words of the fiery invocation, as the fortuneteller spoke them she heard them echoed in other voices, calling out from memory. Instructor Askelbert said it firmly with his shrill gnomish accent. The chorus of students followed, including the snide tone of the lone success. Finally, Visla heard her cry the words herself with anger, desperation, and futility. She still felt the sting of anger from that day. She could have been a simple sorceress, living an easy life. Perhaps the kindly elf girl Li'era could have been her friend instead of Aelva. Would it not have been just as well?

No, the words of shadow spoken by the fortune teller made that clear. Despite remembered assurances that she was no chosen one, no one special at all, she knew that the path she trod was one foisted upon her, not of her choosing. A despair gripped her heart as she remembered the horrifying dreams that had daunted her at the academy, and realized she was well on her way to fulfilling them.

Alis alone, abandoned, the image was enough to break the last barrier holding back the torrent of emotion from within. A rage and confusion, at the world, at the people in it, at whatever fates or gods spun the threads of this vile tapestry, was unleashed by the cruel recitation.

The boy waiter meandered aimlessly by the table taking no notice of the ritual, an occurrence too mild to raise above the background noise of the tavern. Visla threw her hand out toward him and clawed forth vibrant red tendrils of essence. Her eyes widened as the energy flowed into her, suffusing her with a vibrancy that stoked the flames of her unbounded fury. He fell to his knees, clutching his chest in shock, as the sweet life force drained out of him.

Visla rose ominously from her chair and glared down at the fortune teller, eyes blazing with newfound potence. "In'del rev'al dra'con!" She spat the words out with a mocking shout that devolved into cackling as the table erupted in flames.

The light of the fire danced within her eyes as she stared about the room. Few still had caught notice of her and so she returned her gaze to the presumptuous little fate spinner that had brought on her ire.

"You have seen my weakness, girl," her voice sang. "And saw fit to mock it. Would you like to see the legions of shadow? Would you like to watch them feast!?"

She lifted her gaze once more to find a suitable target for her wrathful demonstration, a cowering form in some corner, the sort of weak thing that she no longer wished to be. Instead, she caught sight of a long grime-covered mirror behind the bar. The light from her flames played on its surface, and even through layers of smoke and age, she could see the twisted visage that she now bore. Eyes wide with madness, lips pursed and spewing venomous words, and hands grasping like claws, this was a beast that had earned hatred. She beheld herself, fearsome and inhuman, befitting the name demon, owed the enmity that had robbed her of her friend, taken her from her sister.

Perhaps a weaker soul would burst into tears, admit the clerics were right, and fall down repentant. It was an idea that lingered somewhere in the back of Visla's mind, but she had gone too far. Essence was currency, neither good nor evil.

Taking a deep breath and still feeling the warming flow of power through her veins, she extended her hand once more to the boy, who had just now returned to his feet, still uncertain of what had happened to him. Even as she pushed out the essence she had reaped from him and returned it to him, she could feel the taint still pulsing within her. Nothing could truly undo what she had done.

The flames on the table died down and were snuffed as the essence departed from Visla. She was left sheet-white and trembling, clutching franticly at her own body as if searching for something, an addled and miserable figure who had only moments before held a terrible majesty.

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

Kerrigan could still feel the mystical energy of the precognitions and visions vibrate through her body, making it difficult to concentrate and separate reality from possible realities. When the woman in front of her reached for a wandering boy it took a moment before she realised what was happening. Before she could react the under aged waiter sank to his knees, obviously in great pain and despair.

When she saw Visla rose from her chair Kerrigan at first sight believed it was part of a hallucination, the similarities with the image of the dark rising tower were just too much to be real. It was not until the table erupted in flames and she instinctively backed up, falling with chair and all to the ground that she partly returned to her senses. Small burn marks covered her left hand as well as her travelling coat but she took no notice of it.

Shocked by the greatly unexpected turn of events she crawled backwards to create a more desirable distance between herself and the fire caster. Her first reaction to just get the hell out of there and Jack for once agreed with her this time. Normally she undoubtedly would have, if it were up to her Kerrigan was never more then a spectator to events like these and would only choose to fight if it would definitely be the other’s throat which would be sliced. For some vague reason she did not choose for egocentric safety this time. Unsure what to do next she just waited, franticly but fruitlessly trying to rationalize the sequence of events.

Before she could overcome her hesitations and fears the situation changed again as shortly after Visla apparently restored the boy the woman devolved from a fiery fiend to a basket case.The whole situation was too much for Kerrigan’s brain to handle and left her deprived of even the simplest idea about how to react.
As the main control centre refused to work the emergency system took over; Kerrigan’s instincts were left uncontrolled and boundless. She was in danger, a kid was hurt; both of these events triggered primal instincts, one of self preservation, the other of motherly protectiveness.

Fuelled by these basic but fundamental energies she got back up on her feet and stormed towards the now trembling woman. Confronted with so much chaos the only way the trickster could response was chaotic as well. Now it were Kerrigan’s eyes which were filled with anger as she screamed at the woman who had now twice assaulted her with fire. ”Burn you bitch!” With quite some velocity but lacking accuracy she took a swing at Visla’s head.

Both Kerrigan and Visla had no eye for their surrounding. While they first were mere strangers in a tavern filled with strangers they were well on their way to become the centre of attention. In a place like this attention could be a lot less then desirable. Most of the dark figures in the possibly even darker corners slumbered as of yet, but more then a few were alarmed by the sudden fiery tumult caused by the two woman.

[Visla Eraclaire]

Her act of contrition had left Visla weak and barely conscious. The essence she had funneled back into her victim was twice over what she had taken. Her limbs trembled and her head ached terribly. Her vision came in and out of focus in quick nauseating succession. The gears of her mind strained to turn, and she managed to think only in short tortured bursts. Despite her current condition, and her horror at the product of her rage, it still felt vaguely satisfying to lash out. In what remained of her mind, she had not attacked at undeserving stranger, but struck a blow at the world. Her thoughts were so brief and addled that there was no filter of self-consciousness to hold back latent melodrama and self-importance.

The world around her took on a hollow sound, noises of the background fading to a muffled hum. What sounds remained echoed with a haunting resonance. Colors likewise bled out from the faces and objects around them, leaving the bar a faded husk composed mostly of black and grey. Even as she strained to think, she could still observe this ethereal world with an illusory distance. She felt like the audience to a play performed just for her.

The color in the principle character’s face remained, despite the grayscale landscape all around her. Visla could see a rage welling up inside her, and yet held no fear. The woman reeled back and struck Visla cleanly in the temple. She merely smiled as she fell out of her chair, wishing the applaud the vigor of the actress.

As she tumbled to the floor, the murmur of the people all around her was the sound of the chorus, pondering the drama unfolding onstage. The pain in her head from the blow struck against her faded unnoticed into the background of agony she felt through her whole body. The curtains closed and her eyes fell shut.

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

Thump. The impact of Kerrigan’s hand against Visla’s head created nothing more but a dull sound. Pain pulsed through her right hand; she was not used to brawling. Another thump. Just too late she reached for Visla but the magician had already crashed to the ground. As she bend over the body to check her out it became clear that the woman had passed out.
First the woman was as fierce as an inferno but now she was out like a light. The pale girl had a soft face; she could probably pass as a child if she would dress like one.

The corruption of such beautiful beings was all too common to Kerrigan, but sometimes it still managed to hurt her own corrupted heart. Had the vision of the perfect pigeon shattering into a broken beer glass been a precognition to this event?

She could still feel adrenaline rushing through her body, asking for revenge and blood. She could simply cut her throat and run away, she had done it before, it would not be hard and like most people she already had nightmares anyway. But the danger was gone and with it her urge to protect herself. The kid was gone as well, probably serving other guests already, afraid that his boss might have seen him not serve for too long.

She seized up the damage of whatever it was what had just happened. Their table was ash black but it still stood, luckily. Her backpack had been lying underneath the table the whole time and was only partly damaged with burn marks and ash. The book of the young woman was burned beyond repair as it was almost completely incinerated in the short fire.

When she reached for her backpack she spotted the strange gem lying on the ground right next to her belongings – it was a mystery as to how it had ended there. The crystal almost seemed to invite Kerrigan to pick it up and she could not resist it. ”I might get a buck or two for it.” she thought. Figuring it would be hot from the fire she carefully picked it up but strangely enough it felt ice cold. Lacking the patience to explore its secrets she bluntly dumped it in her rucksack.

Ready to depart before more undesirable events would occur she took a last look at the young woman still lying unconscious on the ground. A big thug – followed closely by two of his minions – bend over the defenceless woman, checking for valuable materials and an appreciable physique.

Sighing she thought: ”Why do I care for that woman? I should not make a habit of this.”. Since Kerrigan was more the act-then-think type of person she quickly returned to Visla for the second time this evening and reached for one of her silver throwing knifes.
Without hesitation she stepped over Visla’s body, protectively placing a feet on both sides of her body and the knife firmly against the thigh of the surprised goon.
”Touch her and I’ll make you eat your balls.” she said hatefully. To help him make a wise decision she pressed the top of the small but sharp blade against his thigh, threateningly close to his groin. He grunted wrathfully but having no desire to loose his most precious body part he remained silent. ”Piss off punk.” she grunted back, and luckily the criminal and his two sidekicks slowly retreated.

Ever since Kerrigan stopped working under the protection of her employee she had been forced to deal with men with excessive testosterone. Besides bravery and boldness, bluff and blades where all a girl like her had in order to preserve, but she had managed so far.
However, staying her much longer would be suicide; leaving the young magician behind would be homicide, at best. She seized the unconscious body up noticing she should not weigh much more then 110 pound, but the woman also had a backpack with her.

While cursing at the stranger for being so much trouble she quickly threw a couple coins to a watching waiter, paying much more then she ordered food for. With a sigh she reached down to Visla and lifted her up in her arms. Though she was indeed as light weighted as she looked Kerrigan was not used to such a burden.

Everyone watched; nobody helped.

She managed to get out of the ‘Peaceful’ Promenade relatively easy but it was still slightly more then ten minutes of a walk to the little shack she hired. Shortly stopping to catch her breath the trickster got an idea. Not only could she re-locate her cards as she wished, levitation was also in the reach of her powers. Normally she only levitated small objects like cards and small books, but it would perhaps slightly decrease the burden.

Focusing on the warm body in her hands she pictured it floating gently in the air. While the effect was only barely noticeable and she had to concentrate the whole way home, it at least partly distracted her from the increasingly taxing load.

Having fell only two and paused three times Kerrigan was extremely grateful they finally reached her temporarily home. Carelessly she dumped the young woman on her bed and crashed down right next to her. They were both covered in mud from the troublesome journey, smelled to fire and ash and especially Kerrigan featured quite some small but nasty burn marks.

Only now she felt she was completely exhausted. Fighting to remain awake she thought ”The door… I should lock it.”. With her last energy she got up and with two steps she walked across her entire shack from her bed towards the door. Grabbing the key from a pocket she locked the door and threw the key in a random direction.

Then she again collapsed on the bed besides Visla, ready to rest for a while. While her eyes closed she thought: ”I’ll only take… a short… nap.”

[Visla Eraclaire]

Visla's regained consciousness with time, but at first she lacked the energy to even open her eyes. Her mind was surprisingly alert, seeking out sensations and scrambling to recall her recent memories. At first she could sense nothing, deaf, numb, and blind. She struggled to recollect what had happened before she passed out.

There was… pain. My head.

As soon as she recalled it, the pain returned, spurring her recollection.

Someone hit me… Was I attacked again?

She could see Kerrigan's fist coming toward her, perhaps more clearly than she had first perceived it through her mad haze.

No, I deserved it.

She could smell the ashen scent that pervaded her still-unseen surroundings. The rest of the events flooded back. The sight of her reflection in the mirror stuck in her mind, glaring at her. She forced her eyes open in an attempt to banish it.

The room around her was plain and unfamiliar, or at least the ceiling was. Her neck refused to turn and so her vision was restricted to a series of wooden boards above her. As she stared up fruitlessly, she felt a warm sensation at her side. The shock was enough to snap her muscles to motion. She rolled over and saw the fortuneteller sleeping beside her. Her slow breathing was the only sound to be heard, excepting the torrent of questions within Visla's mind.

Did she rescue me? Why would she do that?

She reached toward her chest and gripped the ring around her neck, then patting the coin purse on her right hip.

She didn't rob me… wait. Where is it?

Reaching frantically through her pockets she found no trace of the small crystal that had spurred this whole chain of events. She narrowed her eyes at the sleeping figure next to her. If she had it on her person there was no way to find out, but perhaps she had set it somewhere in the room.

Visla strained to get out of the bed and onto her feet. She steadied herself against a wall and looked around the room. She saw little more in the barren accommodation than the door and the two satchels next to it. Hobbling across the floor, she made her way to the one she recognized as her own and sat down to search it. There was nothing, no crystal at least, and the rest of the items would not have even garnered a raised eyebrow from Visla.

Reaching into the stranger's bag, she immediately felt the cold smooth surface of the gemstone. Clutching it tightly, she pulled it from the bag and held it against her heart. The relief she felt was followed closely by extreme exhaustion. With the adrenaline rush over, she began to tremble again. She managed to keep her grip on the stone and pull herself up against a wall.

I need to leave… I need to get out of here before she wakes up. I need to go back to Radasanth and forget all of this. It was all a terrible mistake…

Her knees wobbled beneath her and she knew she would not get far in her current condition. She pulled her cane from the leather loop on her pack but to no avail. Her body was simply too drained to support itself. She slumped against the wall and slid back down to the floor. Thoughtlessly her hand reached out toward Kerrigan's sleeping body. She pulled it back even as her body ached almost unbearably.

I can't do it again. I can't.

Visla stared down at the green crystal indignantly.

You know my thoughts. Tell me! Which is worse? Lying helpless until this girl wakes or draining the life from her so I can escape? I don't want to be helpless anymore. This power is all I have. I don't want to give it up.

No answer, of course. She didn't even really expect one. Looking closer at her potential donor, she could see a variety of nasty burns. Those were her doing and she knew it. She had already harmed this woman enough. Her callous words and arguable theft were not enough to sentence her to what could very well be death.

With the decision made, there was little else to do. Without an essence infusion, all Visla could do was wait and hope. She hoped the pride that she had not fallen but so far would be enough to carry her through it all.

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

As Visla slid down to the ground Kerrigan woke up with a shock, alarmed by the sudden awareness that she was sleeping. Awakenings like that feel like dying because you have realized you are living.

With a grunt she rolled on her back; a sigh companioned her getting on her feet. She spotted her trivial guest exhausted on the ground. Kerrigan did not feel fantastic either but in her line of work sleep always had been a luxury.
For a moment she just stared into the woman’s hazel eyes. Nothing made sense, everything was wicked. Tired and depressed her gaze dwindled to the ground; dim light carefully crouched through the dirty blinds illuminating parts of the mud covered wood and darkening others.

”You…” Kerrigan paused, unsure what to say or what to ask. Did it matter? ”I don’t even know who you are, what your name is.”
It was more of an accusation then a question. She considered sharing her own name, maybe even her background but she lost the will to do so after hesitating too long.

”I still haven’t eaten any.” she said, again more a statement then anything else. She walked to a table in a dark corner, one of the only pieces of furniture in the whole room. Buried in a relatively clean bag was a day old bread she took and placed onto the table. A tarot card appeared in her right hand, without changing in appearance it transmuted into metal by pure willpower. She cut off two lumps of bread with the reformed card, which vanished as soon as she was done as if it had never been there in the first place.

Without looking at Visla she walked back to the bed, dropping a piece of the bread on the woman’s lap as she passed by.
”You should eat.” she said, which probably sounded more as a direct order then a caring advice. ”There’s a bucket with water on your right but it’s almost empty. I can get us some more water at the Water ‘n Fire at the corner.”

Kerrigan sat down on the bed and ripped off a piece of bread with her teeth. It tasted awful; she hated eating anything so soon after getting up, again it was the necessarily lifestyle of her work which had conditioned her to do so anyway.

After she swallowed the dry piece of bread she whispered: ”You can call me Kerrigan.”

[Visla Eraclaire]

The solitude and the quiet were not bothersome by themselves, but her weakness nagged at her. Even in the few instants before Kerrigan was stirred awake by her movement, Visla wondered how long she would be able to hold back. Hunger, exhaustion, lingering pain, and dreadful longing were all facts of her life that she felt she managed well. Before tonight, she might tell herself that neither her body nor her heart ruled her, but now there was doubt. Even her revulsion and mortal outrage at herself were not enough to fully cover the abiding need she felt. Thirst was the sort of poetic word that a more sentimental soul might use, but it was far from precise.

Visla could best describe the feeling to herself as the sensation that everything she had, everything that mattered, was a fine dust that was slipping through her fingers. Her hands yearned to grip tighter around it, to claw at the ground for what residue remained, to flail as it drifted off into the wind. It was desperation and wanting, needing, beyond anything she had felt before, and she felt sure that for all her supposed resolve, a few more moments alone with it and she would have given in.

Mercifully, as she listened to her would-be victim speak, the yearning abated. Looking up at her, clear in the eyes when she could, she could not even imagine doing her further harm.

The piece of bread fell into her lap and she clutched it with her free hand. Reflexively, she brought it to her mouth, though she had not eaten in such a manner for many weeks. Her body knew its hunger well and another reflex took hold before the food reached her lips. The essence melted away from it and into her hand, leaving only an ashen husk. She sighed, neither content nor satisfied, but at least partially relieved. She let the grey crumbs fall back into her lap, and managed her way back to her feet. There were only meager bits of essence in the scrap of bread, but it was enough to steady her knees.

The woman, Kerrigan, introduced herself as Visla managed to stand. She could still remember the last person who had asked for her name and her stubborn refusal. The bandit that accosted her and then tried to play a friend, he seemed a little less mad to her now that she too had undergone such a sudden reversal.

"I owe you at least my name for not leaving me to die. Visla," she paused only a moment to ponder the use of the commoner surname she had assumed before continuing truthfully, "Eraclaire."

She hobbled a bit toward the door and turned the knob just enough to tell that it was locked. Visla turned back and swallowed her newly minted pride.

"Beyond my name, I will do you the favor of leaving you without further trouble. Whatever kindness motivates you not to do me harm, I cannot promise that I have the same. What you saw of me in the Promenade, I'd like to say it was outside my nature, but I can't be sure of that anymore. Whatever dark appetites have stirred, they should not be your concern. If your visions are genuine and your taste for trouble is unending, you can seek me out in Radasanth. For now though, I merely ask you unlock the door and let me leave you to rest."

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

While chewing bread Kerrigan failed to be surprised by the quickly deteriorating bread in the woman’s hand. It reminded her of what the woman had done to the boy, almost as she had stolen the very life of him. But she did not care much for the bread though, nor for the magic. These days everyone seemed to possess – or be possessed by – some sort of twisted form of magic.

When Visla talked about leaving it took a while before Kerrigan emotionally registered her intend. She simply nodded, put the rest of the bread on her bed and silently started to search for the key. ”The key is here… somewhere.” she muttered. Visla’s coming departure was nothing more then logical. Heck, it would be the only logical event since the moment she walked into that damn bar the night before. Still, it made her feel sad.
For a moment Kerrigan considered asking the young woman to stay for a while. This was one of those moments where sharing a room with an unpredictably dangerous person felt better then sharing a room with nothing but yourself and a lunatic for an imaginary friend. The idea was quickly regarded as she figured that she would either wind up dead or disappointed, and the woman already had expressed her wish to leave as soon as possible.

”Ah! Here it is.” she said while trying to smile. Because there was not a lot of room in front of the door she just passed the key to Visla instead of unlocking the door herself. ”Here you go, Visla. Don’t worry about last night, let just say we’re even. My visions are real, one way or another.” Kerrigan hesitated for a moment, but continued after gathering enough courage ”Yeah, maybe I’ll visit you sometimes. For my work I travel from one place to another, so I will probably end up in Radasanth one day or another.”

For a moment she looked Visla in the eye, then her glaze dwindled to the ground. With a soft voice she greeted the mysterious woman. ”Goodbye, Vis. Take care, all right?”

She sighed, and yearned for a cigarette.

[Visla Eraclaire]

Visla stared at the key for a moment and looked back at the woman who handed it to her. Kerrigan presented to her a tantalizing link to knowledge she claimed to seek, but the closer she got to those answers, the more Visla’s determination was overcome by fear. Exhaustion and a healthy reflex of repression had already driven the events of the events at the Promenade into a murky half-remembered state. They were more poetry than prose now, indistinct ideas adrift in a sea of memory.

That uncertainty was her respite in many things. As much as she touted her search for truth and knowledge, uncertainty gave her somewhere to go, something to strive after. Questions might keep her awake some nights, but they would also get her moving in the morning.

Answers could never do that.

That’s what she told herself. This was something about truth and mystery, a life lived in shades of grey. It certainly wasn’t about a maniac who flew into a rage, set fire to a table, siphoned the life from an innocent boy. It wasn’t about a dangerous power and the inability to control it.

If she truly accepted the reason she had to leave, it would cripple her worse than any disease or injury. She was too perceptive not to realize her own conceit, but it was something she would leave to linger in the back of her mind, knowing full well that at some future moment of weakness it would raise up against her. She could only hope that she would be stronger then than now.

She slid the key into the doorknob and turned it with a feigned determination. The portal swung open and Visla took a careful step out onto the street. This was the time to say something meaningful, the sort of words that she might be remembered for in lieu of her destructive outburst.

“Don’t… I won’t forget.”

Butchered and pathetic, a result she found was far too common when she needed to make a swift decision. Unwilling to turn back and see what she imagined would be a puzzled reaction at best, she hustled as best she could away. In truth she wasn’t even certain if the way she was walking would lead back to Radasanth.

[Taskmienster]

Chance :: I was asked to give commentary, minimal commentary except where necessary. I want to add that I know the premise of the background of Kerrigan, that English is not your first language, and I’d like to congratulate you on your ability to write the way you do. You express yourself through your writing in a way that most people that write can’t quite grasp, and you do it well. There are a few times when what you write is difficult to understand. I would suggest that you take the time to read over your posts. After you write them it serves you best to read over the post and make some edits, and then after a little bit of time you can go over it again and made further edits if you would like. If you take a little bit of extra time to read over things, you will get a good look over your writing and able to make edits that you may have looked over originally.

Of course, if you are interested only in writing and having fun I would not worry too much about it. However, in the interest of writing well on this site and in the English language, I would suggest simply being conscious of your writing and editing what you can.


Continuity 6.5

Continuity is the backbone that drives a story. You have to truly know your character and where they came from in order to really add to all the other aspects of the Altahnas rubric. Your setting can be something as simple as a smoke filled room, but how it affects your character and why adds to that and comes from your background. Also, continuity is a placement of “goals” and what goals you have and how you try to accomplish those. In this thread you had the goal of just going to a tavern and sitting around, but the purpose of that is simplistic in nature.

You can always expound upon anything in the nature of goals that are attempting to be accomplished, but what should be explained through your writing is background. It helps setting, as I said above, but also assists the reader in understanding your character’s persona and dialogue as well.

Setting 5.5

Other than the general atmosphere of the tavern in the initial posts, I really did not get a true feel for where or what the place looked like. Also, outside of the tavern, I really did not get a feel for the city of Underwood or the small place that Kerrigan took Visla.

Pacing 7

Dialogue 6

Kerrigan: When you write dialogue it’s not necessary to bold the spoken words, but that’s just a small note really, nothing to be concerned about. If you’d like to bold spoken word that’s fine, just saying it’s not necessary.

Writing dialogue for multiple entities or people is difficult sometimes to understand when both people are talking in the same paragraph. It’s best to have dialogue at the beginning or end of a paragraph, or set it apart completely. Also, try and make it so that only one person is speaking per paragraph.

Action 6.5

Persona 7

Persona that was displayed was continuously the same, and well done. I enjoyed the interaction between the two, as well as the personal display for each of your characters. I’d suggest that you take the time to put a little more in than what I was given, but I liked it nonetheless.

Technique 6.5

Mechanics 4.5

Kerrigan: Just a few things to note. I’ll put up quotes and which post they came from so you can refer to them.

“The sound of laughter, arguments and talk had trouble penetrating the thick, smoke filled air, but it still managed to overload your ears.” [Post 2] :: When you are writing in a third person, past tense be careful about using words like you or your, since those are second person and a change in tense.

“As she suddenly got aware of the fact that she had standing at the same spot for some time now she quickly scouted the local area for a suitable place to sit. [post 2] :: There are just words missing at some points, this is just an example of that. In this sentence you wrote “…the fact she had standing…”; it would look better if you had added the word “been” so it would look like this: “…the fact she had standing…” or you could change “had” to “was”.

“which is probably one of the only books in the entire building.” [Post 2] :: the world “is” implies present tense, which is another tense change. Change that to “was” and it would easily stay in third person past tense.

“an fascinating personality” [post 8] :: The difference between “an” and “a” can catch a lot of people, but it’s a simple thing to get after practice. “An” is used before words that start in vowels, whereas “a” is used before words that start with consonants. This should have been “a fascinating personality” instead to be correct.

Clarity 5

Kerrigan: When you write, make sure to clearly put space between paragraph so that they aren’t clumped together. When they’re not spaced out it’s hard to figure out where one ends and the next begins.

Wild Card 5

[b] Score:

59.5!

Rewards:

Visla: 1475 exp | 275 gold

Kerrigan: 555 exp | 200 gold

[Taskmienster]

EXP and GP added! Congrats!