Vignette Contest: April 2009

[Lord Anglekos]

Although March's contest has not been judged yet, time waits for no one and April is well underway, so shall the vignette contest continue on. Don't worry, those who posted in March's; you shall get your well-earned rewards, soon enough!

For those new to this, what are vignettes you ask? They're (quite) short stories written in one post that relate to the given prompt. Everyone can post their entry in this thread and at the end of April the top three will be selected for prizes! But even if you don't win a prize, there's still exp in it for you just for posting.

Here's the rules:

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 April). 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.

Without further ado, here's this month's prompt:


Your character is caught in the middle of an embarassing situation.

Where, when, why, how--all this is up to you. Perhaps your character has a particular phobia someone takes advantage of, or perhaps they fall in the love for the first time only to find out that person is of the same/other sex, is in love with someone else, or perhaps even has a deep and darker secret? Who knows! Have fun with this, and remember to be creative.

You've got until the end of April!

[Nightstalker]

It was cold and foggy night at the Dancing Dragon, an inn, and popular gathering point for those with less than savory reputations. Thieves, spies, ninja, pirates, and others of this sort were all sharing a laugh over the story of one ninja’s job filled with comic misadventure.

It seems his job was to steal The Pink Panther; an incredibly large fist sized pink diamond. Everything went wrong from the moment he started it though. Bad information lead him to the salvarian wastes, instead of its actual location in Dheathain. By the time he realized this it had already moved to Istraloth and was on its way out to Alerar by ferry.

He finally caught up to it in a museum. It wasn’t just any museum; it was called “The Preserve” in the common tongue, and was quite possibly the most highly guarded museum in the world.

Using what he called his “elite skills” he scaled a metal staircase that was known as a fire escape, all the way to the roof. He thought it would be empty but it contained a large black and brown Raiaeran Shepherd, a particularly vicious breed of guard dog, and his best friend a Coronian Rottweiler. Neither seemed particularly enthusiastic about seeing the strange man on the roof, and growled their disapproval as they leapt to their feet and started walking towards him.

“Aww gee guys, give me a break, I would’ve brought the steak tartar, but I didn’t think you’d be interested.” The ninja said. Fortunately, there was a stick on the roof, picking it up he waved it at the dogs. It must’ve been one of their toys, of they immediately forgot about being guard dogs, and jumped around wagging their tails in excitement. He threw it off the building, and the dogs ran down the metal staircase after the stick.

He hoped that would be the end of his troubles, but unfortunately, right when he opened the door that was inside roof access, he came face to face with a very surprised woman who let out one of the shrillest screams the man had ever heard. Of course this brought everyone running over to see what happened, but the man had bolted into the museum to take cover by that point.

Hiding inside an ancient wooden chest, he barely lifted the lid to see what was going on. Night watchmen with enchanted lanterns swung them this way and that throwing light in every direction looking for signs of the ninja. As a light came over to his hiding spot, he closed the lid before the light could find him. Straining to listen, he heard the chink of metal close by.

“Better keep that chest locked, remove a possible hiding spot.” A male voice said.
Panicking, the man tried to lift the lid, but found it locked. The guard found it very strange that a chest should try to open itself after he closed it, and unlocked it to investigate. With a hoarse gasp of surprise he fell over backwards, as the ninja rose up out of the chest like a demon from a deep pit.

The poor watchman could only sit in stunned silence as the ninja approached him. It was only after the watchman himself was securely locked in the trunk that his wits returned to him.

The Ninja slunk through the museum like a shadow, prowling for the diamond. He found it guarded by the same woman that screamed in surprise earlier. He smiled and stepped into full view. The woman inhaled deeply to scream, but her scream died in her throat, as she suddenly found herself kissed by the intruding man. She let herself get lost in fantasy. It was a lonely job, and what would a moment’s indulgence hurt?

She smiled wistfully as the ninja bowed and began retreating.
“That was all I wanted, a kiss from the most beautiful woman in the world.” The intruder said, slipping around the corner.

“Yeah, then why do you have The Pink Panther?” asked the very guard he had locked in the trunk. Other watchmen had formed ranks behind him. They all pointed pistols at him. A bullet, the ninja new he could not possibly dodge, and so he held up his hands. He had been caught, and blushed with embarrassment at the fact.

“I was just borrowing it.” He said jestingly.
“Right, you don’t actually expect us to believe that, do you?” asked the guard.
“No, I really was stealing it. Some guy who calls himself the painter of Ell Eze, he hired me.”
“Well, why didn’t he just tell us he wanted his diamond back? You got proof?” asked the guard.
“Actually, yes, he insisted I carry a signed contract. I thought it rather stupid of him at the time, not knowing what I do now.” He said, pulling out a signed piece of parchment.
The guard sighed.
“We told mister Kraus that it wasn’t theft if he loaned us the diamond to show the world.” The guard said, and handed the parchment back dejectedly.
“Say, can any of you cast a spell to make a copy of this diamond and the gold chain it hangs on?” the ninja asked.
“Return a fake copy? How dishonorable!” the guard said, lowering his gun.
“No, keep a fake. A diamond like this is bound to attract more than one night time visitor like me. Put a sign up admitting it’s a copy.” The ninja said.
“Right, because we don’t want the real one stolen, genius!” the guard said. He immediately had a guard come forward, who cast a spell copying the diamond and gold chain. Unfortunatly, two copies came out.
“That’s alright, I’ll also take a copy, it’ll be insurance for if a highway robber tries to stop me. I’ll put it in my right pocket while the real goes in my left.” The ninja said.

When he finally returned to the painter, he stood there smiling.
“You got my diamond?” the painter asked.
The ninja pulled out the contents of his right pocket and handed it over. The painter fondled the diamond, and them put it in a safe and locked it.
“Here’s your money.” The painter said, handing over a bag of gold.

The Ninja leaned back in the chair, finished with his tale.
“Well Nightstalker, what about the diamond, and the gold, what happened with them?” asked one curious man.
“Well, as for the gold. Turns out it was fake. And The Pink Panther, well, trust me when I say it’s in a safe spot.” Nightstalker replied. He thought back to the orphanage he accidentally burned down a week prior to getting to the inn. The diamond must’ve earned them enough to rebuild seven times over. As it just so happened, it was sold back to the museum it was stolen from in the first place, and what they did with it, not even Nightstalker knew.

[Relt PeltFelter]

Concordia was, as ever, a moist and verdant place. In the middle of what could only be described as a sylvan glen sat what was, quite possibly, the largest bear Relt PeltFelter had ever seen. She had taken the head of one of the great cave bears, survivors from prehistory, back on her world; creatures with jaw muscles the size of tea kettles. This grand beast here clearly outclassed even those giants.

She wished that, for once, she had loaded her service revolver, but Relt had not expected to be dumped unceremoniously in a forest on some other planet that morning. As it was, this beautiful specimen would have to be taken down with nothing but a blade and a smile. Stowing her tea accoutrements safely in her pack, she drew the kukri from her hip and leapt on the beast's back.

It didn't put up as much of a fight as she'd expected; the creature was easily as fat as it was enormous. It flailed slightly, and tried to bite at her arms as she slit the bear's throat, but Relt had little trouble putting it down. It would make an excellent trophy, once she found a reliable taxidermist on this strange and pre-industrial world.

As she was cleaning the blood off of her weapon, the most bizarre music began to make itself evident. Relt looked up, planting one foot on the bear's massive neck; this produced a jingle. This was not a sound traditionally associated with a deceased bear. She knelt down to investigate the cause, and discovered what appeared to be some sort of...collar? The pilot knelt to look closer, discovering it to be a leather band with a huge, brass bell. How had she missed that? On the collar itself was printed the word "COCOA".

A sickly inkling was beginning to worm its way into Relt's head as she approached the source of the strange, jangling music. She peered through the underbrush to see an enormous, multicolored tent, bustling with people. A couple of wagons, similarly garish and with barred windows, contained all sorts of exotic animals. Worst of all, there was the billboard: "COCOA! WORLD'S ONLY TRAINED, DANCING DIRE BEAR!"

"Oohh...damnation," Relt whispered, a blush rising to her cheeks, and quietly backed into the glade. She hesitated a moment, thoughts racing as to how to sort this problem. Finally, she turned and ran, scarf flapping in the breeze; as she retreated, her burning ears just barely caught a man's voice saying, "Alright, Cocoa, enough free time for today, you're on in twenty minutes!"

"...Cocoa?"

"COCOA!"

[Requiem of Insanity]

"You're probably wondering why you are here." a seductive, cool voice glided along the cool breeze towards the naked body chained up on the table. A shiver or fear and comforting thoughts made the body squirm as it tested the chains. After a moment the body stopped, realizing it wasn't going to go anywhere.

A chilling primal-like chuckle escaped into the air, sending another wave of silent terror through the body, and after much tension a final throaty gulp produced enough courage to speak.

"W-w-who is there?" A frightened male voice called to the darkness. A deviant laugh, far more sinister than before it echoed against the walls. A slender, nearly god like beauty crept out slowly from the shadows, a form of whimsy as she walked, sashaying her hips belying a form of simple ease. Her lips were curled into a sweet, inviting grin. Her finger lifted up to her lips, where she bit at it playfully looking at the man on the table.

"I do believe we have met before, haven't we?" The man cursed loudly as his eyes blinked, recalling the woman before him with a rush of remembrance. He recalled the moment they met on the boat, the harsh words he had said, and her simple rebuttal. She was there almost all the time, making it impossible for him to enjoy his cruise, but now he realized the whole time she wasn't some simple commoner, but a vile, twisted person who had been following him the whole time.

"Teysa Orzhov..." He whispered. The woman nodded in a half accepting way, her eyes flashing as if hiding a deeper secret. She giggled before she brought her arms around her chest, just below the curve of her breasts as she wondered the area with a subtle curiosity.

"That's just my stage name," she corrected as she walked, her heels echoing in the stillness of the dark. "My real name, cretin, is Cassandra Remi." The name echoed in his mind as he thought about the woman before him, and then his eyes buldged outwards in open panic.

"I've heard of you! You're the one who goes around killing people who do wrong as some sort of vigilante!" he looked to her carefully, and she seemed annoyed at his words.

"Your homework is only a third complete, you fool." She seethed. "I am the one who stalks wrong doers, but not for the sake of good or protecting the innocent. I do it because you bastards can scream so loud it moves the devil to cry." Cassandra looked to him with fiery eyes, but shook her head and trembled as if something had touched her shoulder, and she cooed like a newborn before looking back at the man on the table, a look of seduction on her features.

"Wh-what are you going to do to me?" he asked, looking as she turned her back to him. She chuckled to her victim as she walked back into the shadows, and he could hear her as she searched for something. His fear began to manifest as cold sweat as he waited. After what felt like an eternity she screamed louder than a banshee a howling wail of frustration and anger as the sound of something being knocked over filled the silent void.

"You have got to be kidding me!" She shouted again, this time a long stool flying into view as she stalked out of the darkness, murderous eyes matching her clenching teeth. He steeled his nerves as he found his voice again, daring to speak to the avatar of murder.

"What's wrong?" he whispered in fear.

"I forgot my knives." she seethed walking away.

[the Tainted]

The streets of Scara Brae were ripe with sounds, a healthy bustle of people jostling to reach the stalls, each overflowing with produce of every shape, size, and colour. As weather went, it was hotter than usual, the sun glaring down at the people braving the heat to peruse the market. The sky was almost a ridiculous shade of blue, not a cloud marring it's smooth canvas.

Trinquity stared despondently at the fruits and vegetables overflowing from a table, her neck prickling with sunburn and her mouth salivating uncomfortably. She had run out of money a day ago, and hadn't yet eaten today. The smiling faces around her seemed to taunt her own misery, but they took no notice of the pale girl in their midst. So caught up were they in their own lives, that their orbits didn't even touch hers, two parallel lines that would never meet.

There had to be somewhere or someone she could work for to get food!

She spotted the man out of the corner of her eye. He was sitting at a stall, dressed plainly in a black cloak and brown swathes of clothing underneath, his eyes hidden by a white fedora. She never would've seen him if it hadn't been for the fact that he, just like her, didn't seem to belong here.

Squeezing through the crowd, she moved under the shade of his stall's umbrella and read the sign on the table.

"WANTED: ONE THIEF WHO WON'T ASK QUESTIONS. WILLING TO PAY LARGE SUM"

Trinquity's stomach instantly swapped places with her brain. Earning money meant food!

"I'm a thief," she said to the man. "What exactly is this large sum?"

He smiled, a strange, haunting smirk of a grin. "Enough to eat for a year at the prices in this market," he said shortly.

"Done," Trinquity said quickly. Saying she was a thief wasn't really a lie. Besides, she could learn fast. "So, what do I have to steal?"

********

The house was silent in it's slumber, the darkness of the night stealing through the walls. It was empty, poised as though waiting. A small creak from upstairs made the orange cat prick up an ear where it lay it's bed, but a moment later and it rolled over, snores rippling the expanse of it's distended belly.

The window cracked open and two pale fingers peeked over the edge, the others following slowly, crab-like. A face appeared, than a leg swung over the windowsill, landing on the plush carpet with a muffled thump. Trinquity slipped into the bedroom, leaving the window open behind her. She raised her head, trying to remember what thieves always did in movies. when she smashed her shin into the side of the king-sized bed.

She bit her lip to smother her scream of abject agony.

Downstairs, the cat gave a snort.

Trinquity stumbled to the doorway and flicked on the light, cursing under her breath. She was lucky that the man who owned this house lived alone and wasn't here tonight, otherwise the jig would already be up. Whatever she was going to be when she grew up, it was not going to be a thief.

The room itself was fairly sparse for a master bedroom. There was little furniture save for the bed, a dresser, and the closet in the far corner. The carpet was pink, and was so deep that her feet sank into it, her shoes almost disappearing. Strange choice of a carpet for a grown man, she thought to herself. Still, each to his own.

But this was no time to be standing around. She had a job to do. The man would be back soon, and she definitely didn't want to be here when he arrived. Deftly, she crept back across the room, only tripping once on the barbells strewn across the floor. With all the finesse of an elephant, she managed to yank open the top dresser drawer, the wood scraping open in a less than quiet way.

What she found wasn't exactly what she had been expecting. The man who had hired her had told her that she would find a baseball card wrapped in a pair of underwear at the bottom of the drawer, but this....

Wordlessly, she lifted a scrap of pink satin up into the air with two fingers, gazing from it down into the drawer, which was filled with more lacy garments. How odd, she thought to herself, her eyebrows furrowing. What would a single man be doing with all this ladies underwear? Not to mention, the size was far too big for most girls to wear.

She dropped the underwear as though she had been shocked, a blush racing up her face all the way to her hairline. Best not to wonder, maybe. Trying to ignore the increasing awkwardness of her situation, Trinquity glanced furtively around the room, then began pawing through the drawer, searching for the baseball card. Just think of the food you will be able to eat once you collect that reward, she told herself.

Her questing fingers brushed a hard edge. "Gotcha," she whispered, pulling a pair of blue frilly underpants up into the air.

"What on earth are you doing with my underwear?" came a harsh, male voice from behind her, sounding extremely ticked off.

Trinquity froze in a ridiculous tableau, She knew how this must look to the man who obviously owned the panties she was waving around, and she really didn't want to stick around to find out what the repercussions of her bumbling thievery was going to be.

"Er..goodbye!" she squeaked. She shook the underwear and the precious baseball card fell out into her outstretched hand. Using the underwear to shield her face, she sprang across the room in the general direction of the window. Sadly, since she couldn't really see with the cloth in front of her face, she tripped over something and landed on the cat, who had come upstairs to investigate.

It was really the cat that saved her. With a resounding screech, the cat leaped into the air and landed on the man, claws digging into the arms that had been reaching to grab Trinquity. He yowled and tumbled over backwards, trying unsuccessfully to dislodge the enraged feline.

Without looking back, Trinquity slid out the window, her black wings exploding from her back as soon as she hit the night air. Within seconds she was soaring high above the rooftops of Scara Brae, a baseball card clutched in one hand, and pair of underwear in the other, leaving behind the cursing man and his hissing cat.

********

"Here."

The man looked up at Trinquity in astonishment as she dropped the card on his table. He picked it up in trembling hands, gazing at it reverently.

"I hope you're happy with that, because it wasn't exactly easy to get," she said irritably, rubbing at her shin. The second day of the market wasn't as busy as the first, but the crowds were rowdier; she had been pushed twice, and had managed to bang her bruised leg twice. "Now, pay up!"

Her stomach roared in agreement to her last words. This would be the second day she hadn't eaten.

The man's eyes clouded as he stared at the card, "But," he stuttered. "This isn't the right card. You must have gone to the wrong house. I specifically said, the left house on the right!"

Trinquity's heart and her stomach plummeted. "What about the right house on the left..?" she said weakly.

He shook his head, hands fisted in frustration. "No, NO!" he cried. "You must do it again, this time with the right house!"

Trinquity almost fainted. Do it again. Ghostly images of barbells, cats, and underwear hovered in her mind. She slammed her hand down on the table, her stomach groaning in anticipation of her next words.

"Sorry, buster," she said. "But there's no way I'm doing that again!"

She turned and melted into the whirl of people, disappearing before the man could voice even the slightest of complaints.

Well, she thought to herself ruefully, looks like I'll be finding my food a different way.

********

As the sun crept down the horizon, the vendors packed up their stalls and wares, slowly dissipating to go to their own homes with their profits of the day. As the dying rays of the sun lit upon the empty tables, all that was left of the people who had been there was a tattered scrap of blue, frilly silk, stamped with countless footprints. A fat orange cat slipped forward, dainty paws skipping across cobblestones, and knelt to pick up the sad piece of fabric. With a glance towards the dying light, the cat's eyes flashed once before it meandered away, dragging the cloth with it.

And the sun gave one last sigh and dipped below the horizon, and the land was dark once more.

[Visla Eraclaire]

An event of debatable occurrence… but in any event one day before her departure from the Academy

The night sky was starless, lit only by a waning gibbous moon, its faint yellow glow barely piercing the rolling clouds of a storm front. Cutting through the usual peace of evening's silence there was the occasional shout or giggle of passing students. With curtains drawn and a veil of shadows choking the light from a single candle, Visla's room was much the same, including the occasional pockets of disorder. Piles of rejected brooches, alternative dresses, and possible shoes stood as testament to the social event that had drawn Allistia out from the room after significant and frantic preparation.

"You realize it's very dangerous to do things here," Aelva said, perched on the end of Visla's bed. Her eyes perused the room frequently and slowly, scanning carefully as a prudent young woman should, not darting around like a paranoid maniac. "The library suits such things much better."

Visla lay sprawled across the bed, bearing down on the back of her Elements text to copy infernal script onto scraps of re-bleached parchment. She sat her quill in the inkwell nestled in a bundle of blankets and looked up at her instructor.

"I'm aware. It's just much more comfortable here. And Alis is finally out because of that… ball, or whatever drivel it is that has the people shouting out there so often," Visla replied, keeping her glance on Aelva only long enough to assure herself that her tenuous friend was not genuinely upset.

"It would be quieter there as well. Frankly, we needn't work tonight at all. It's suspicious for you not to attend the Provost's Gala," Aelva mused as she rose to her feet and paced slowly about what little room there was to walk. "You could likely still make it in time for a dance or two."

"I'll forgive you because you haven't known me for long, but if anything it would be suspicious if I did show. I've skipped more important events than this, and I'm sure I will avoid many more before my time is through," Visla said flippantly as she finished another page. She held the completed work up for approval.

"So you say, but none of these people have known you for long either," she paused and took the page, scrutinizing it for a moment before smiling broadly. "Honestly, further practice is just a waste of paper. You've progressed as far as you can by dutiful copying."

"Then show me more," Visla urged with a glee that was usually an anathema to her.

"All in due time, Vis," Aelva dismissed her, but her smile grew more sinister. "I think tonight you ought to learn a different lesson, no less useful to a shadow caster."

It didn't take long for Visla to see where her companion's mind was wandering, and it was an ill destination indeed. She sighed and looked as Aelva began rooting through her closet.

"You won't find anything suitable in there," she called. "I'd protest more vigorously, but I suspect you'll have your way in the end. Just grab the least gaudy things from the piles Alis left behind and let us be done with this."

"Ah, you're learning already. You're a quick study at everything, Vis," Aelva praised her with a thick sarcasm as she pulled the necessary finery from the floor. "Will this fit you alright?"

Visla looked down at her decidedly unshapely form and sighed again, snatching the clothes from Aelva's hands and throwing them on the bed.

"They'll do as well as they need to. No one will be looking at me anyway. Just pull the corset tighter and pin a few things," Visla said with a tone reminiscent of a common routine. She pulled off her first-year's robe and set it on the bed.

"You sound as if you've done this before," Aelva teased.

"I've recited the same phrases to the servant girls when father forced me down to the occasional ball," she said with an uncharacteristic and feigned haughtiness. Visla raised her arms and tilted her head toward the garments arrayed on the bed.

"Ah, hahahaha," Aelva gave an uproarious laugh before abruptly stopping and fixing a firm glare. She took a step closer to Visla, close enough that her unusually cold breath could be felt on the girl's face as she spoke. Raising a hand to grip Visla's chin just firmly enough to insist on her seriousness, she continued. "I will help you dress, but be clear that I am no one's servant."

The door to their left swung open and the bright enchanted light of the hallway streamed in, dispelling the shadows. Allistia was still looking back at her male companion when the door first opened. It was time enough only for shock to appear on Visla's face as her sister caught sight of her, all but naked, in the grasp of the emerald-eyed upperclasswoman.

It was a night never spoken of again.

[Tirame]

Tirame's first day in Althanas, her arrival on Fallien.

Wearing the spare clothes from someone's laundry day, Tirame wandered into the marketplace. She didn't see another single person with her red skin tone as she scanned the crowd of bickering souls. She noticed two individuals confronting each other and tried not to smirk. Bickering doesn't even begin to cover those two. She moved in for better hearing. Perhaps she could manage to learn something about this country.

"Hey, I already told you, I'm not cheating you! There is nothing left!" The male backed away from the woman.

"That's what you said last week, miserable guttersnipe, and I still found my jewelry under your bed." Her painted face sneered at him, and Tir wondered how much more jewelry she could wear without drowning in solid ground.

The brown-haired man seemed mostly plain like he could use the money from selling the woman's jewels, but the honesty in his face refuted any thought of that. "Says you. You probably planted it in order to get rid of me." And the anger at the woman proved his innocence as well, Tir thought.

"Get out of my face." She shoved him back.

He landed in the dirt and gritted his teeth as she walked away.

Tirame offered her hand to him. "Here, let me." She helped him up.

"Thanks. It's what I get for having tried to have a relationship outside my caste. Rich heiresses think they own the world and everyone in it, then are disappointed when they discover they don't." His green eyes met her blue ones. "I'm Peter."

She heard that and came stalking back. "you only think we don't. Just wait til you can't get work anywhere. And who's this? Your new little companion? Strange... I thought you preferred the girly ones who knew how to dress."

At that remark, Tirame looked her up and down. The woman's dress flared out underneath a tight top, and the sleeves followed the same example. "Did it ever come to your attention that perhaps girly won't save you when facing a Drow in the Arena? And I do have this dress on the right way."

The woman snorted and walked away again.

Tir couldn't resist one last jab. "And aren't corsets underwear?"

The marketplace went dead silent and heads whipped toward her and Peter.

He gave a small grin. "You know, we might want to get out of here before they start getting up in arms about weirdos."

"I don't know... surely she qualified." Tirame looked at the others and changed her mind. "Um, good plan. Which way's the quickest to getting out of here?"

[Yari Rafanas]

True Concordia.

A monster of a man was at his knees, blood oozing from a gash in his cheek and into the sickly fang-filled grin. (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=18643) The hideous maw opened to slur its final words and reveal the brute's name: Vincent Winterscar, the Violator. This was a man with a soul that hungered to commit every sin imaginable. It was a spirit that yearned for darkness and to spread cruelty. So strong was its resolve that it allowed this beast to wield a massive claymore—eighty pounds of blood-soaked metal. Unfortunately, the blade was no longer his. He was dying, well aware his sword would not accompany him into his Concordian grave. Instead, this blade fell into the hands of its new master and the slayer of its former companion, a young man by the name of Yari Rafanas.

He could barely lift the damn thing.

The handle slipped through the thief's fingers, landing with a heavy thud into the dirt of their battleground. He had been so accustomed to his two daggers as of late that the idea of holding such a large blade hadn't struck him as difficult at all. He was blinded by his arrogance and greed, simply yearning to take the weapon from the Violator for no other reason than to own it. Now he had killed this man over it. Though the thought of Althanas being a safer place (if only slightly) without another sadistic murderer prowling around in his forest was reassuring, Yari felt obligated to hold onto his new sword and was troubled as to what to do with it.

A trophy then. He decided. I'll start a collection...

Rafanas rotated his shoulders and shook himself loose. A sharp pain in his side and general complaints from his limbs reminded him he had just battled the brute and had exhausted himself in doing so. He collected his spirits as well as his lost gauntlet and knives, reattaching them to his person and taking a deep breath. Cracking his knuckles, the King of Thieves knelt low next to the blade and took hold of its handle with both hands. He lifted it to his waist with the blade portion pointing down, but at five feet in length Yari was forced to have the sword cut a trail in the dirt and grass behind him as head headed further into his forest.

It was only an hour or so into his trek back towards his resting grounds that Rafanas came across a dirt road—one of the many that led into the lumbertown of Underwood. As he crossed this highway, he unwittingly crossed the path of two young children barely in their teens. Pausing in his tracks, slouched low with sweat dripping from his scruffy face, Yari faced the children and attempted to muster a threatening snarl to drive them away.

You could see in their eyes that these boys were well-traveled, possibly even thieves themselves. At first they were cautious in posture. However, with Yari's failed attempt at intimidation, the both of them busted out laughing at the sorry site before them. This older man was tired, sweaty, and hunched over a sword he couldn't even lift. They weren't afraid, and their laughter proved it.

“Quiet!” Yari shouted, his face burning red. Instinctively he tried to lift the weapon and and point it towards the two, but he failed miserably and it slipped again from his fingers. His balance lost, the bandit king fell to one knee.

The mockery continued, their laughter bouncing off the trees and riling the birds and igniting their annoying songs. Together, all of the nearby woods of Concordia seemed to sway back and forth, joining in on the chorus of laughter directed at the King of Thieves. Humbled, Yari pulled his hood over his head and ducked even lower as he dragged the blade off the path and into the shadows.

[Karuka]

Non-canon. I think.

Karuka stretched out her weary limbs, shaking off the stiffness her muscles developed during long days of travel. On the occasions she could manage to hit a town near the end of the day, it always made the sunsets a little sweeter. Towns meant inns, which meant a hot meal she didn't have to make camp early for, and a bed off the ground.

This particular town was decked out gaily, with brightly colored streamers hanging from every building on the main road. Residents were just stepping back from their temporary stands, and if nothing else could confirm the festival that would make the little town erupt into life in the morning, the giggling of young children and the hushed whispers of young maidens would have told even the blind that the town was gearing up for a day or two of merriment.

The redhead made her way into the local tavern, where men drank and ribbed each other about things they'd done in years past. The barkeep was quick to pour her an ale and set a plate in front of her, and she sat down at the corner of the bar, watching the residents for a bit. They already seemed to be in a festival mindset, and when Karuka was halfway through the hearty beverage that was the local ale, she sat forward to participate in the conversation.

"What are you celebrating?"

One of the men looked at the lass with a grin. "I'd remember someone so easy on the eyes; you must have never been here before."

An older man smacked the back of the speaker's head. "Festival or not, we don't need you flirting with everything that moves. Probably why you don't have a wife yet."

The older man turned to Karuka, a softer smile making his eyes twinkle. "As to what we're celebrating...every year we take two days just to be glad we're us and live here. No other reason for it, and no better one."

"You should stay," chimed in the original speaker. "There's lots of food, fun stuff to buy, competitions...you'd be welcome to join in on the fun...well, gee. I'm sorry, stranger...what's your name?"

"Karuka." She grinned, pomegranate lips curving upward. It wasn't too often that working men took interest in a stranger - even if this one was the village skirt-chaser.

"I'm Kern. And now we aren't strangers anymore."

"I'm Waldron," the other man introduced himself, scratching his beard, "and as Kern was saying, the more the merrier at the festival. We have people come from miles around to be neighborly. We have a race at the end of the day; winner gets boasting rights and one of my wife's famous apple pies."


~*~*~*~

The next day broke bright and clear, and before the sun was high, the citizens of the town were already caught up in their revels. Among them was a young woman whose long, aimless travels had taken her all over the world. It had been a long time since she'd attended a festival, and she was absolutely charmed at the joy people could find in simple pleasures.

Maybe someday, after her feet stopped dragging her all over the world in search of answers she didn't like to questions she wasn't sure she knew, she could settle down and just enjoy being alive, like they did. She hoped she could. If she lived long enough.

Her coloring and the spear she kept at her side marked her as something completely different from anything they were used to seeing, and so she was almost as much an attraction as some of the actual events. The people that flocked to her to hear her tales weren't disappointed when they left her - even the ones that believed more than half of it to be fiction.

By the time the end of the day arrived, Karuka was feeling invincible. Who else had wandered the dangerous wilds of Althanas with so many fearsome people and come out of it strong and victorious? Who else had faced the great Cat of the Liviol Sanctum as a mere slip of a girl and brought it to heel? No one in the entire world. Who else had coaxed out the gentler, friendlier natures of some of Althanas's most notorious dark souls just by sheer charm and brass? Very few.

She was lithe, she was fast, she was KARUKA O'SHEEAN! And she was going to win this race.

She walked up to the starting line, waiting for everyone else to be ready. Kern looked over at her from the midst of some enthusiastic stretching.

"Aren't you going to stretch out? You don't want to be running cold."

Karuka just grinned. "If I have to run, most of the time it's cold. I'm not too worried about it."

"It's a quarter mile race, Karu. You'll pull a muscle."

"No, I won't." The call came for the runners to get ready, and she dropped into a crouch alongside everyone else. "Besides, a quarter mile isn't very long."

The gong sounded, and the runners took off. Karuka looked back after a few seconds to find everyone far behind. Her long Irish legs and years of developing her speed and agility were making the race no contest...at least until the quarter mile mark.

The flag that marked the halfway point had just flashed behind the redhead when a stabbing pain lanced through her left leg, making her stumble. It came from all over - her shin, her thigh, her calf. She staggered along the course, watching other, slower, runners pass her by, and she crossed the finish last of all, hobbling along like a cripple.

Instead of laughing at her well-trounced hubris, Kern took her aside and sat her down. "What happened back there?"

Karuka looked down, letting a few deep red curls fall into her face. "...leg cramp," she grumbled.

[Bevel]

I really should get to work on these things earlier.

Bevel hurried the last of the women, a dumpy country-looking type with overly large breasts nonetheless dolled up in a clingy red dress, towards the docks. She was unusually short, and her gait was a noblewoman’s, or at least a courtesan’s, which limited the time they could make through the streets.

The plan was simple, really. Lord Welbourne, an old acquaintance of Bevel’s, fancied himself quite the ladies’ man, and engineered himself a rotating stable of no less than a two and a half dozen fair maidens according to the lunar cycle. It was a complex operation to pull off, Bevel had to give him credit, and the fact that he ran the machination himself up until now (and under the nose of his overbearing wife) earned him the dark elf’s respect for audacity alone.

Of course, it had been a doomed situation from the beginning. One of Welbourne’s housekeeping staff, a maid named Ivey (and a close personal friend of Lady Welbourne) had wised up and threatened to blow the situation wide open unless the lord came clean. With his hands understandably tied from one end, and the prospect of having a certain other part of his anatomy tied as an alternative, Lord Welbourne took a third option: he called on his old friend Bevel to provide “emergency vixen allocation,” as he put it, as well as document and, ah, ‘equipment’ disposal.

This should have been a simple operation. For once, there was nothing technically illegal that should have hampered them – simply an act of goodwill (and profit) to an over-amorous nobleman. For another, Welbourne was sitting on loads of cash. For the emergency help, the lord had offered to pay him exorbitantly well.

That was all well and good, however, except that trouble struck where Bevel was least expecting it. Lord Welbourne and some cheap looking broad in a similarly expensive dress to his escort were, by complete coincidence, standing directly in front of them on the sidewalk.

Damn, he could see his ship’s smokestack trails from here. This was the last thing he needed, Welbourne finding some new hussy to enchant.

“Wait, what are you doing here – aren’t you supposed to be finishing up with the castle instead of fiddling round here with her?”

The woman gasped. The man shot him a look that could only be described as “volcanic.”

“Allison here is,” he replied, “in fact, my wife.”

Bevel froze. It occurred to him that he hadn’t ever, in fact, seen the Lady Welbourne.

Hm. Apparently, the lord was a little unimaginative with the dresses.

It was precisely then that the forces of the universe played their trump card in the realm of Bevel-hating: the maiden had let the long tail of her own dress slip from her grasp, whereupon it caught under the wheel of a passing carriage. The stocky woman catapulted forwards, Bevel stuck his arms out by reflex, the too-tight fabric of the dress exploded open and revealed…

…a black leather corset shoring up inhumanly large breasts for a human woman of her size, a bullwhip affixed to the belt, and impossibly high platform boots. The platform boots, at least, explained her odd gait and odd height. The Lord Welbourne clearly had…rather interesting tastes in women.

“Your, er, chest could use a wax,” Bevel told the dwarf maiden.

Now, here was a conundrum, and were Bevel human, his face would have been redder than the dwarf-maiden’s chest hair. As it were, his grayish skin settled for flushing drunken purple. The Lady Welbourne’s eyes shot incredulously between the dwarf in the fetish gear and the aristocrat, completely avoiding Bevel out of expediency.

“Justin,” she shot at the aristocrat, “exactly what is going on here?”

Lord Welbourne cleared his throat, while simultaneously shooting Bevel a desperate look from his eyes that read: do something, anything!

Bevel glanced at the dwarfinatrix, then back to his employer, and thought of the ludicrous amounts of old money the aristocrat was sitting on.

Welbourne, I’m going to make you pay triple for this, he thought, and at this, he hoisted the dwarf off her feet by the armpits, brought her close and delivered the most convincing, passionate kiss he could possibly muster through her chin stubble and halitosis. To her credit, the dwarf maiden wasn’t half bad on the lips, provided you could get past the scent of Old Granite Mug ale.

The improvised plan worked a treat: the nobles looked on in horror, carriages skidded away under urging from their drivers, and the Lady Welbourne fainted straight away.

“Smashing work,” said the Lord Welbourne, “I owe you one, Bevel.”

“Me too,” said the dwarf maiden, and he knew she meant it in more ways than one.

[Lord Anglekos]

The Results


1st Place: Bevel (the dwarfinatrix was brilliant!)
2nd Place: Requiem of Insanity
3rd Place: Karuka

Nightstalker gains 100 EXP.
Relt Peltfelter gains 100 EXP.
Requiem of Insanity gains 200 EXP and 75 Gold pieces.
the Tainted gains 100 EXP.
Visla Eraclaire gains 200 EXP.
Tirame gains 100 EXP.
Yari Rafanas gains 550 EXP.
Karuka gains 550 EXP and 50 Gold pieces.
Bevel gains 100 EXP and 100 Gold pieces.

Congratulations to everyone, and keep an eye for next months Vignette contest!


~+~


The door creaked open noisily, and every head in the Dead Pony raised up as if bidden by some silent signal. From the burning cold of the winter wind and snow came in a massive figure, an impressive eight feet tall in the relatively small door frame. It scrunched forward, hunching it's shoulders a bit as it stepped through the doorway, and shook it's head from side to side, brushing the snow flakes still clinging to it's mane. Under the light of the tavern, it's green skin almost glowed along with the orc's golden hair, and the warrior that called himself Gruulath stood up to his full height of eight-foot-four, surveying the rest of the room's occupants with an almost noble disgust.

"Where..." He grumbled, the deep voice rumbling through the stillness of the air. "...can I find the swordsman Eric Anglekos? He has a debt to settle."

A moment of silence greeted the orc's question, and his right hand drifted to the massive double-bladed axe at his back, grasping the hilt ominously. "I will not ask again."

Again, silence greeted the question, and just as the massive warrior began to pull the weapon from it's strapping the bartender spoke up. "Wait, wait! He's up in room nine-oh-two. We're not looking for any trouble, please!"

The orc nodded and released his grip on the axe, and the tension in the room lowered noticeably. "Nonetheless, trouble has found him." Gruulath thought for a moment before reaching into a pouch at his belt and slapped down four small gems, sparkling under the light before the bartender. "For any damages that may occur up above." He told the man before walking slowly up the stairs with ominous intent.

Gruulath's eyes paused at each door, and his nostrils flared, searching out his prey's scent. Finally he found the door marked with the 9, 0, and 2, and without further ado pushed the door open, drawing forth the greataxe on his back silently.

To his surprise, he found no one inside. He blinked: Eric was around here somewhere, the orc's nose never failed him. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, searching with his mind, feeling the little lights of prescence dancing here and there. No....no....no....suddenly one light flared above the rest. There. Following his nose, it led him to a little door in the side of the room, and without thinking what lay behind it pushed it open, axe held ready to strike within his hands.

What DID lay behind there, however, stopped him from doing so. Eric sat upon the toilet, holding a magazine in surprise in front of himself as he gazed up at the giant orc with an incredulous expression upon his face. For a moment both of them simply sat there, staring at one another in shocked silence, before suddenly Gruulath broke out laughing, shaking his head and walking away. Eric's face turned beet red, and he closed the door.

[Taskmienster]

exp and gp added!

Nightstalker is level 1!