Holiday Vignette!

[Silence Sei]

A new month brings a new vignette contest.

What are vignettes you ask? They're single post short stories written about a given prompt. Everyone can post their entry in this thread and at the end of the month all entries will be judged and the top three will be selected for prizes! Don’t worry about not winning a prize however, as everyone will receive exp just for posting.

Here's the rules:

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

And here is your monthly prompt


It's the holidays! Simply show us what your character does to celebrate the Althanas equivilent to any of these winter holidays! This includes any holidays from November through December.

As an added bonus, I will be doling out double exp to everyone, to make up for lack of a November Vignette.

[Rahegalhoff]

Christmas time in Corone, snow covers the forgotten grounds that once bore life, and made a living for a simple farmer and his family. He sits there, on an icy tree stump, where once upon a time he would chop wood to keep his wife and only child warm through the winter. It was the only surviving relic of a time now passed for the friendless warrior.

He sat looking at a barren patch of earth. There a house once stood, humble, yet glorious when the winter snows painted an icy rainbow on its side in the morning sun. Now, there was only two small markers, two small granite obelisks, barely a foot high each. It was all the commemoration the poor fighter could afford for the memory of those who loved him.

His head turned, looking at what would've been the second story room, where his son would've been crawling out of bed in the early morning hours, roused as much by the smells of breakfast, as he was his own need to answer Nature's morning call. Corin had always had a little difficulty keeping his room clean, there was always a lost bear roaming the floor, a shirt that never quite made it into the laundry, a bed that had never been made since his mother stopped making it when the boy was five.

Rahegalhoff wiped away a tear, and looked away, towards the master bedroom on the floor, decorated with the delicate porcelain fairies his wife was fond of collecting. He had never understood her obsession with the figures, but it made her happy, every time he brought a new one home to her. It was one of the few things in the world he had lived for, Iola's smile. In his eyes, she was the most beautiful woman alive, and every time she smiled at him, it was as if life had begun anew all over again.

Guilt wracked his mind, and he closed his eyes as he stared at his lap, remembering the last christmas they had shared together. Iola had glazed a nice ham with honey that day, and as Rahegalhoff remembered, the scent of honey baked ham filled his nostrils. For just the briefest of seconds, he was certain if he looked up, the house would still be there, and Iola would be at the door wondering what he was doing sitting on the stump in the dead of winter. Corin, good boy that he was, would run and fetch out a blanket for his father, and pull him in to occupy his favorite chair by the fireplace.

Rahegalhoff stood, and sat between the two markers. The memories, the guilt, it was too much to bear. He drew his regular blade, a steel longsword that served him well. He put it to his neck, seemingly prepared to join his lost family then and there, but after several long moments, he put the weapon away, and buried his face in his hands instead.

“Forgive me, please. I could not fight to save you, when you needed me most. I did not fight hard enough, I was a coward, and now when I have the means to join you, having brought your killer to justice, I am still too cowardly to do what must be done and join your side once more.

I am a husband, a father, but worst of all, I am a coward, and I pray someday you might forgive me for that. I wanted to save you, I wanted so dearly to prevent your death, even if it meant my own, but I could do nothing. I journeyed, I walked the world and its planes to hunt down your killer, I faced horrors no man should face and went among demons. I did it, I brought him to justice, yet still I hear your voices crying in my sleep. I've done what I set out to do, I avenged you the right way, so why do I still hear you begging for your life in my dreams?

I thought of joining the Ixian Knights, but why would they take me? I am a weakling, a coward, too afraid to face the truth of what's been done. They seek to save people and right wrongs, but I could not even save those I care most about, how could they trust me to save another? I don't know, but I cannot bear this any longer. I have heard their leader is a good man. I will confess to him all my short comings, I will tell him how your voices still haunt my dreams, how I failed to bring you justice when I had the chance. He will do what is right, he will condemn me for my failure. I will be with you soon enough.” Rahegalhoff said.

He rose, and removed from his nearby pack, a single winter rose he had chanced upon earlier. The winter rose was a rare flower, hard to find, and it only bloomed in winter each rose having a different fractal pattern of white and gray on its petals. No two were ever alike, much like a snowflake. He laid the flower between the markers, and picked up his pack to be on his way.

“Yet, maybe I'm wrong, and there is a place for me in this world. Perhaps such a man as the leader of the knights would know where such a place is, a place where maybe you won't cry in my dreams so much anymore. Maybe I'll find justice, for me.” Rahegalhoff said, looking over his shoulder.

It was a cold and lonely christmas day that day, when the lone paladin set forth, intending to leave this place of so much torment and misery behind him, forever.

[Alembic]

When she was eight years old, Amelie Boehme woke up at dawn on St. Jule's Day and rushed from her bedroom with a grin on her face and butterflies in her stomach. The air tasted like chocolate and gingerbread as she charged down the spiral staircase and into her family's kitchen. There, the night before, she had left an old pair of boots out. She had carefully placed a radish in each boot, and made sure they were within sight of the window. As everyone knew, the Jule Goat would only bring you presents and candy if you left him delicious turnips and boots in return, and had been well behaved all year round! And Amelie had been especially well behaved, and she'd picked absolutely the plumpest turnips from the garden and the toughest old boots from her closet. She was sure to get something nice this year. She'd been looking forward to this day for months.

Her fuzzy socks nearly caused her to slip across the smooth tiled floor of the kitchen, and she had to flail her arms to keep from falling. She giggled, however, when she saw that the old boots had vanished and a little brown box sat in their place. Her present! For just a moment she wondered if she ought to wait for her parents before she opened it, but of course she was far too excited for that.

The box seemed awfully tiny as she picked it up. She'd been hoping hoping either for books or some new things to play with when her alchemy tutor came to teach, and this box was too small and light for any of that. Who knew, though—the magical Jule Goat worked in strange ways. She pried the lid off the box and dumped its contents into her lap.

A necklace. Amelie raised it up above her head and sunlight shone off the string of little white pearls. It was...pretty, she supposed. She undid the clasp and wrapped it around her neck, and then walked back upstairs to look at herself in the mirror. She turned this way and that, adjusted her hair, and tried to imagine herself as one of the noblewomen at her father's great balls. The jewelry seemed rather out of place over her pajamas. That amused her for a minute, but then she grew bored and frowned. The necklace just was not very fun. Certainly not as fun as books. Not even close to as fun as alchemy supplies. What had the Jule Goat been thinking? She left him nice turnips, so he was supposed to leave her something fun in return. That was how the deal worked! She felt cheated.

“Happy St. Jule's Day!” her parents said. They joined her in her room and put their hands on her shoulders.

Amelie gave them a weak smile. “Happy St. Jules Day,” she said in return.

Her father raised an eyebrow when he saw the pearls around her neck. “I see you've already found your present,” he said.

She nodded. “It's...nice,” she said. “I wanted an alembic, though.”

Her mother gave her father one of her typical worried, raised-eyebrow expressions, and then patted Amelie on the head. “That necklace is much nicer than a boring old alchemy toy! Why, those are the finest pearls fished off the coast of Akashima!”

“How do you know where they came from?” Amelie said. Her lower lip jutted out defiantly. “The Jule Goat was the one who brought it.”

Again the raised-eyebrow face from her mother. The noblewoman's eyebrows were thin, penciled in lines over face covered in blush and lips painted bright red. The Duchess Boehme always wore a large amount of makeup, even early in the morning. Only once had Amelie seen her mother without makeup, and then she'd barely recognized her. “Honey,” her mother said. “Your father and decided last night that it's time we have a little talk with you.”

The butterflies in Amelie's stomach turned to moths. When her parents wanted to have a “little talk,” it always meant something bad. The last “little talk” had ended with Amelie's cat, Gabbie, being buried in a small wooden box beneath the maple tree outside her window.

“You see, Amelie,” her father said. “You are growing into young womanhood, and it is time you throw away some of the trappings of childhood. One such trapping is this idea of the...ah, 'Jule Goat.' There is no such creature as a Jule Goat.”

Amelie wrinkled her eyebrows in consternation. “What?” she said. “B-but you told me there was. Everyone knows about the Jule Goat!”

“It's just a story, darling,” her mother said. “Something made up for children. You know, like the Cinder Girl, or the Three Hogs with Houses. Not real. Just a story.”

“Mmm, frankly the whole idea is ridiculous,” her father stated. His arms were crossed across his chest and his enormous mustache bristled with indignity. For some reason, he seemed immensely tall to Amelie, and his voice sounded louder and deeper than usual. She thought of the giant in the story about the boy and the beanstalk. “The idea of a magical goat delivering gifts to children in exchange for boots and vegetables is absurd,” her father continued. “How would such a creature travel about the whole world in a single night? How would it carry all the gifts? Not to mention that goats are, excuse my pun, notably capricious creatures, and hardly dependable enough for such a task. I am, to be honest, slightly disappointed that you didn't realize this yourself by now, Amelie.”

“I—I'm sorry,” Amelie stuttered. She stared at her feet and held back tears.

“Your father and I bought you that necklace, dear,” her mother said. “It would be polite to thank us.”

“Thank you,” Amelie said miserably.

Her father walked over to her window and stared out for a long minute. Outside, Amelie saw snowflakes drifting down from above. The gathered on the branches of the big tree outside her window, and coated the ground outside in a sugar-coating of white. While normally the prospect of snow on St. Jules Day would have excited her, on this day she just felt cold.

“Your boots are in your closet again if you wish to go outside and play,” her father said. He walked away from the window and towards the door of her bedroom. “I suspect Mrs. Verd is boiling the turnips as we speak. An early lunch will be ready in a few hours. Please prepare yourself.”

The Duke and Duchess Boehme left their daughter alone in her room and went about their business. For a long time, Amelie just stared out the window at the falling snow and did nothing at all. She considered throwing an almighty temper tantrum, as she sometimes did, but she knew that wouldn't work. Shouting and crying might get her toys, but she knew they couldn't bring the Jule Goat back to life.

She cried a little bit, softly and to herself, and then pulled on her coat and purple mittens. Her wool hat had her name stitched into it in bright yellow letters. Last of all, she put on her boots and did the laces. They still smelled like turnips.

Outside, the weather had taken a turn for the worse, and clouds overhead threatened to turn into a blizzard, but Amelie didn't care. She trudged through the knee-high snow across her family's estate, not sure where to go or what to do. She started building a snow fort, but that didn't seem like fun. Then she tried catching snowflakes with her tongue, but they tasted sour. She sighed. In the distance, she saw the squat form of Mr. and Mrs. Verd's house. On a whim, she started walking in that direction. The gardener and cook had always treated Amelie well enough, and occasionally she'd played with their son, Jeffery, even though she wasn't supposed to. Jeffery was her age, and it seemed to Amelie that all he ever did was play. Unlike her, he didn't have an endless retinue of tutors and lessons to keep him occupied. Amelie supposed he must be very bored.

From outside, the windows glowed and the cottage looked warm and cozy. Amelie peered in one of their windows. She worried about getting caught for a second, but found herself too curious about the Verd family's St. Jules Day to resist a look.

Inside, a little fire lit up a single room. Amelie stared in as Jeffery lurched back and forth on a wooden rocking horse and laughed uproariously. Mr. Verd sat in a old broken chair, and watched his son with a smile on his face. Jeffery fell off the horse and landed flat on his bottom, but he kept laughing. If anything, he laughed harder, and his dad joined in.

Amelie shivered. The snowstorm had picked up, and the chill wind froze her face and caused her cheeks to turn a ruddy red. Somehow, snow had gotten in her mittens and boots, and her hands and feet felt cold and wet.

She stomped away from the gardener's cottage and back towards her own house. When she passed the snow fort she'd built earlier, she kicked it and kicked until nothing but a formless lump remained. Then she took off her mittens and dropped them on the ground. She unhooked the pearl necklace from around her neck and threw it as far as she could into the storm. It vanished into the snow.

The necklace wouldn't be found again until spring. Not until after the snow had melted and all the St. Jules Day decorations had long since been taken down.

[Jack Frost]

The moans of N'jals undead army pierced the sky as Jack wandered through the forwards base. Master Lorenor was auditioning a new potential hire, and had left Jack at camp in case they were miraculously found and attacked. It was cold, and if Jack had counted the days right, winter solstice. He shivered involuntarily. Not as a reflex to the cold, he didn't feel the cold. He shivered at the thought of his father, captain of the Underwood watch, all alone on the most family affiliated of the Elvish holidays.

He also recalled that this was the day his father had found him, buried in a snowbank during one of Underwood's most ferocious snow storms. He had called him his little snow angel. The thought almost made Jack feel sentimental. Before he knew what he was doing he found himself remembering the important moments of his life in order.

The day he was adopted as an elf, the day his mother died, her funeral. The day his father remarried, he remembered the day his little brother was born. He recalled slowly being pushed out of his fathers life by those parasites. How soon his father had stopped loving him!

Rage boiled over onto Jacks face, contorting his calm expression onto a gruesome mask of hate. So much for feeling sorry for that man. He had a new family now. He had a father named Lorenor, and a mother named N'jal. He had siblings as well, a whole army of them. He stalked over to the command tent and strode inside. Several of Lorenor's councilors looked at him oddly. "Happy holidays." Jack said, his face returning to his usual composure. They smiled, the usually icy mercenary was in a good mood.

Jack grinned and created a shard of ice, that he promptly threw in the corner of the tent. It shimmered fro a moment, before growing into a large crystalline tree completely decorated in the customary elvish decorations. He found himself whistling a traditional elvish winter hymn.

I don;t know if this is a normal thing, but I'd like to ask for one teeny tiny spoil?
Its a skill, but a minor one.
Tis the season: Jack has discovered the ability to make holiday decorations, and will continue to make them each season. Looking at the beautiful ice creations will bestow the onlooker a strange sense of relief, as if a major burden has been dealt with.

[The Soulforged]

He stunk, that was for sure. He reeked of alcohol, and some form of food, though he couldn't tell which. At least he didn't have a hangover. Seed had done a rare thing, and cut himself off early last night. The lack of alcohol had given him a nasty nightmare, as well as the shakes, but at least he was sober. He had to be sober for today.

On his way to the bathroom, he shuddered as he opened the drapes. It looked cold out, as well as cloudy. Maybe it would snow later. That would be nice. She loved the snow.

Seed passed an almost completely clean mirror on his way to the shower. He didn't look at it, not yet. That part would come later. First he to had wash all the grease and filth away. Or, at the very least, he would wash away the filth upon his skin. The stains of his sins were another matter entirely. He instinctively felt the urge to drink; he had a cheap bottle of whiskey somewhere. He fought off that urge, and stepped into the shower.

He scrubbed at himself furiously with the soap. Every inch of his body was washed clean, he missed not a spot of skin. For his mangy red hair, he did his best with what he had. He built a lather with the soap, and ran his hands through his hair time and time again. Not a strand was neglected.

Out of the shower he stepped. As he dried himself off, he took a deep breath. This was the worst part. Steeling himself, Seed looked into the mirror before him.

How he hated mirrors. Every flaw, every failure, everything he had ever done wrong was reflected in that cold glass; he avoided mirrors like dragon fire. Such things were harmful to his health. But not today; the mirror could not be avoided today.

His face was pale, not much he could do about that. He had already washed the dirt from his skin, so he was clean in that sense. His long hair was still a bit wet, and hung about him like a wild forest in autumn. That wouldn't do today. Trembling, he took out a worn piece of cloth. Carefully, almost timidly, he wrapped his hair into a long ponytail. He took his time, and started over several times. But Seed did not deter, and eventually his red hair was perfected into a single long ponytail.

He rubbed his face. There was a lot of stubble there, that also had to go. He grabbed a bit of shaving cream, and applied it to his face. Then, with a care worthy of the most endearing mother, he reached into one of the pockets of the shirt that lay beside him. From the pocket he withdrew a fine razor, worth at least a few coins. The case was of silver, and the blade that Seed flicked out was as brilliant as any master sword.

"Like this, right Dad?" Seed whispered softly as he gently put the blade to his skin. With careful, precise strokes, he began to shave. Each movement of the blade was exact, each motion was practiced to perfection. The razor cleaved through the shaving cream like a shovel through snow. She would love it if it snowed.

Please snow.

His task finished, Seed dressed himself. He sighed at the fact that his clothes were worn and torn, but he simply could not afford to buy new ones. He did his best to hide the holes, tucking his shirt in and rolling up his pants. He then looked in the mirror.

What a sight. Gone was the vagabond. Gone was the drifter, the drunk, the thief, the murderer. What Seed saw was something else, completely different from his usual self. He saw a young man, clean shaven and dressed as best he could. His hair was well done, and he was proud of that. His eyes were hard though. Too hard. Seed closed them, and took a deep breath. They opened with a much softer gaze.

Only one thing was missing now.

It took all of his willpower, all of his strength, and a good fifteen minutes of his life, but he did it. Seed smiled a soft smile, not one of hate or madness, but a true smile. Oh, she would be so proud of that smile.

Time to go.

"Uh...good morning Mr. Vicious," The innkeeper offered as he walked down the stairs. With a kindly nod, Seed waved back at the man.

"Good morning Mr. Sol!" Seed said happily as he fought through the haze of memories to find the man's name. "Merry Christmas!"

"And to you as well!" The man named Sol responded as Seed gingerly stepped out of the door. To say that the innkeeper was surprised would be an understatement. Seed Vicious had done nothing since his arrival but drink, and occasionally mutter a few foul words. I guess the holiday's do bring out the best in some people. The man thought to himself.

"Let's see," Seed muttered as he played with what few coins he had. "What do I need? I've already got a small bag to carry stuff. I guess...flowers? Yeah, a flower will do just fine. A flower and... incense? That seems about right."

His path decided, Seed ducked into a small shop. It didn't take long, he knew the flower he wanted. A simple rose, nothing extraordinary. He paid the shopkeeper, but on the way out, Seed turned his gaze to a flower in the sun. It was flower of dark blue and white, but it didn't seem to be doing that well in the light.

"You're doing it wrong," Seed muttered softly, a hint of darkness creeping back into his voice.

"Excuse me?" The shopkeeper asked. Seed gently pushed the flower into the shade.

"It's a Viola. Viola's need some shade to grow," Seed whispered softly. He then smiled brightly, and looked at the shopkeeper. "After all, not everything can bathe in the light! We've got to save something pretty for the dark, right?"

"I suppose we do. Thank you much," The shopkeeper said as Seed left. The man then shook his head. How had he missed something so simple? No matter. It was fixed now.

Where could he find incense? It couldn't be that hard. Sure enough, after two tries, Seed managed to find three small sticks of incense. When lit, they promised to fill the air with the scent of cinnamon. That would do. But, on his way out of the store, he felt a sharp tug on his hair; he involuntarily let out a yelp.

"I'm so sorry!" A woman cried out as she yanked her son away from Seed. The woman had her hands full, to be sure. As she pulled one of her boys to her side, another ran about frantically.

"Jacob! Apologize to the man!" The woman barked. "Ralph! Get back here! Again, I'm really sorry!"

"No worries!" Seed grinned as he patted the head of the boy who had tugged on his hair. "Like my ponytail?"

"Yeah!" The child shouted enthusiastically. "It's like the horse's tail!"

"The horse's tail?" Seed asked with a puzzled look on his face.

"Yeah! There was a red horse I saw yesterday, and it had a red tail that..." The boy went on and on, until he was interrupted by the other child.

"I can't remember the last part Mom!" The young boy shouted. "It goes 'it's so sweet to see you care.' What comes next mom?”

“Brother there, won't you please take me to the fair.” Seed said softly.

"Yeah! That's it!" The boy shouted as he began to sing. The mother gave Seed a grateful look, one that he returned with a polite bow. One more stop now. A candy store. No, not candy. Cake. He needed a small slice of cake, with candy on top of it. It had to have both, but that wouldn't be too hard. Surely there was a small slice of cake out there with candy on it. At worst, Seed could always add his own.

When he finally found a bakery, he also found the perfect slice of cake. It was a small chocolate cake, decorated with tiny mint candies. It was so perfect. But the lone shopkeeper was a young girl, and she had her hands full with several boxes that teetered dangerously as she walked. That wouldn't do.

"Let me help," Seed said softly as he grabbed a few boxes. Taking a deep breath, the girl looked at him. She was young, maybe eighteen? Perhaps this was her first job? She was a hard worker, that was for sure.

"No, no. I couldn't ask a customer to-" The girl began. Seed cut her off.

"I insist. You're stacking them here, yeah?" He asked as he set the boxes down next to several other ones. The girl hesitated, but then nodded. At worst, she could tell her boss it was just another customer flirting with her.

But not once did Seed flirt with her. Not once did he look at her in a perverted manner, not once did he chance an inappropriate touch. In fact, he was down right gentlemanly. The girl was surprised.

"Well thanks a lot Mr...ummm?" The girl began. Seed smiled happily at her.

"It's Seed! Seed Vicio-" That wasn't right. He wasn't Vicious. Not to today. Never on today. Today he was...

"Northwind. I'm Seed Northwind. It's nice to meet you..." He offered his hand as his words faded out, the question asked without being asked. The girl gripped his hand tightly.

"I’m Jenny! Jenny Grindel! Can I get you anything, Mr. Northwind? Or shall I call you Mr. Helpful?” If the man wasn’t going to flirt with her, then perhaps she would flirt with him. Just a bit. He had earned it.

“You may call me whatever you like,” Seed said in a tone of utter politeness, “And I would very much like that piece of cake there.”

“Coming right up!” Jenny offered with a smile. The man was cute, she decided. She really liked his eyes, they were the darkest of blue. Very pretty.

“Here you are Mr. Helpful! Or, maybe Mr. Savior? You did save me from a sure fall, after all!” She said enthusiastically as she handed Seed his cake.

“T‘ was my pleasure Jenny. Pretty young woman should always be helped. No, everyone should be helped, regardless of who they are,” Seed added in the last part very softly, his bright smile faded just a bit. But, it was soon back again. “But I hope the gods will forgive me if I helped a pretty woman anyway!”

He then turned about, and with the happiest of faces, left the store. He walked through the town, smiling all the while. He offered a “Merry Christmas” to anyone he passed, and waved at each child that stared at him. He did this until he reached the outskirts of town, and although there were no more children to wave at and no more people to wish well, he kept his smile up anyway.

Eventually, he reached the top of a small hill, with a lone tree. It was an old tree, to be sure, but that was all right. He had forgotten to buy a small table, so a bit of bark would have to do. The sky was even more cloudy now, and it was even colder. There was a good chance it would snow.

Please snow. Just a bit. A tiny bit. Please? Seed prayed as he reached his destination.

He kneeled beneath the tree and, with the best piece of bark he could find, opened his bag. He took out the flower, carefully preserved, and placed it in an old cup he had found the other day. He then stuck the incense into the ground, and slowly lit each stick with the matches he carried.

The smell of cinnamon tickled his nostrils as he reached into his shirt and withdrew an old picture.

It was a well-done picture, but time had placed its curse upon it. It was wrinkled and faded, but still clear enough. No background, just two people. A man and a woman. He placed this picture open the bark, and like a child afraid to look his parents in the eye, began to talk.

“Umm. Umm. Umm. Hi. I...uh...it’s good to see you,” Seed began. His hands shook terribly. “I...I know it’s been a while. I’m sorry. So sorry.”

His entire body shook as he stared at the picture. A man with red hair and a woman with black hair, arm in arm.

“I had a job! A real one! For a whole month!” Seed talked animatedly about it for several more minutes. His voice then died to a whisper. “But then I lost it. I...I drank too much. Showed up late one too many times. Sorry. So sorry. Really sorry. I know you taught me better than that.”

His entire body was convulsing as if it were in pain.

“I remembered how to shave! I did! I did!” Seed exclaimed like a young boy, eager for his parents' approval. “Slowly, and with the grain. That’s how it’s done. And I remembered to always brush my teeth! Always! Didn’t forget a single day this year!”

He stared intently at the picture.

“I know that’s not good enough to make up for it. Not good enough to make up for anything. But I...I shared my last meal with a beggar! Help the needy, just like you taught me!”

All of sudden, Seed began to cry.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry! Sorry sorry sorry sorry! I killed people! I stole! I did lots of bad things! I’m so sorry! I messed it all up! Just like last year! Just like every year!” He buried his face in his hands.

“I’m so sorry Mom. I’m so sorry Dad. Please don’t hate me. Please. And, for what it’s worth, Merry Christmas.” He leaned forward and kissed the picture twice, one kiss for each parent he had lost. “I miss you so much. I love you. I really do. No bullsh-”

He shook his head violently. He couldn’t swear today. He had to be good today.

“Hugs and kisses,” Seed whispered as he moved the pictures slightly to the side. If his body convulsed in pain before, in was now certainly in agony as he withdrew another picture.

This smaller picture was of a young girl, and despite the fact that it was drawn by a child’s hand, it was extremely well done. Seed took pride in that. She had loved this small picture that he had drawn so long ago.

The girl was young, not older than eight. She had black hair, like her mother. In the picture she smiled; her white teeth shown brightly. Although this picture was as old as the other, for some mystical reason, time’s wear and tear had done little to it. It was still fresh. Still young. Still perfect. Just like her.

More gently than the grip of a newborn baby, Seed placed the picture upon the bark. He did not offer words to this one, he did not beg forgiveness nor talk of what he had done. Instead, he placed the chocolate cake before it, and stared at the little girl in the picture.

“Why?” Seed asked of this simple picture. “Why couldn’t I help you? Why couldn’t I save you?”

All of a sudden, emotion over took him. Had he sense of mind, Seed would have been surprised to learn that tears were pouring from his face. He clawed at his skin with his nails, he lashed at his tongue with his teeth. His entire body was no longer under his control. With a scream he looked up at the sky.

“FIR!” Seed shrieked the name of his dead sister. “I AM SO SORRY!”

He slammed his face into the dirt, ruining all his hard work to keep himself clean. He grinded his teeth and clenched his fists, if he could have, he would have ground himself to dust. Then, with a shudder, he began to sing.

Little baby boy, playing with a toy.
Little baby girl, shining like a pearl.
Little Sister, I see you there.
Putting pretty flowers in your hair.
Older Brother, I see you there.
It's so sweet to see you care.
Brother there, won't you please take me to the fair...

Reverently, Seed bowed his head before his family. He closed his eyes, and prayed for their forgiveness. He prayed for them to forgive his sins, and prayed for them to help him in his time of need. He prayed for peace for their souls, and prayed that they were happy in the afterlife. And, more than anything else, he prayed that his little sister still loved him, despite the fact he had let her down when she had needed him the most. He prayed she did not hate him for failing her, he prayed she did not despise him for being helpless as the building collapsed upon them. He prayed that she still loved him despite the fact he had survived and she had not, for he loved her more than life itself.

Back in town, one of the young boys Seed had met earlier shouted with glee. The child pointed happily up at the sky.

“Look Mom! It’s snowing!”

[Enigmatic Immortal]

It was white. Perfectly white with that newly fallen snow. Not a patch of earth, not a speck of stone was untouched by father winter. A new slate, a new picture, the gift to start over a new portrait. Winter was, and will always be, the most beautiful time of year to Jensen Ambrose.

It was also the time of year he hated the most.

That portrait was never white, the slate was never cleared, the picture was never perfect. The snow covered all but one solitary area, one grim reminder of his past as a rocky alcove covered the land from the elements of the gods beauty. A stoic, sentinel clearing of such insignificant proportions, yet it meant all the world to the immortal.

It had taken three weeks of hard traveling to get to this location on time. Stephanie and Azza were at a small town visiting her parents, letting their adopted daughter meet her grandparents for the first time. Xavier Sigma, his only parental figurehead had promised to meet him, but that all mattered so little to him. Today wasn’t about what Jensen had, it was about what Jensen lost.

His friend, his family, his love.

Crunching the snow underfoot he made his approach, arms freezing as his jacket swayed in the wind. His teeth chattered, a small headache forming from the constant gnashing of teeth. He despised the cold, he truly did, but he promised never to be warm again. Not when the jacket he wore killed three people. A self ordained punishment, an atonement, a reminder. He felt the stitching on his inner back piece scratch against his shirt, like tiny demons clawing against his skin on his trip to Salvar. He left that coat at the inn. That relic of remembrance. No laughter boiled within him, no joviality. The mask was removed, the truth was revealed and Jensen became who he always was when he visited this site.

He approached the alcove, the tiny lip of land that created a serenity of false hope against the baleful winds. The immortal’s feet brimmed the edge of the snow, but he didn’t step forwards. He instead looked, staring at the spot as he watched ghostly visions pass before his eyes. A child like Jensen held tightly the blanket he wrapped himself in, a young woman with long, beautiful black hair talking in a soothing voice. The child Jensen shivered, making his older self shiver as well.

When the girl stood up the ghosts were banished from his mind, a small drip of sorrow escaping his eyes. He sniffled, loudly, wiping his arm across his face and wiping away the tears as he pulled himself together, looking to the spot with venom and despair in equal measures. His heart beat, but not to the tune in his soul. That beat was slow, somber, and macabre.

Another ghostly image appeared, three children, two boys and the girl from before all remained still as a tree branch. They didn’t breath, nor move a muscle, faces a shade of blue around their cheeks and sunken in eyes. Lips were a deep red, a soulless red and fingers curled to the blankets wrapped tightly around them, the flesh beneath the nails as white as the snow around the immortal’s feet.

The child Jensen ran forwards, touching each body and shaking them violently. Words echoed in his mind, powerful wails of fear and desperation. Get up, get up, get up! They continued to bounce back and forth as he shook involuntarily. His body was growing numb, just looking at the scene, and at last his own lips parted, a soft voice speaking as if in a deadly trance.

“Get up,” The mantra continued for several repetitions, each one slowly losing their steam as reality set in. The sleeping children did not wake. The child Jensen collapsed into the snow, sitting right next to the older Jensen, bobbing back and forth on his haunches. Jensen felt an unbearable wave of guilt stab his heart, a blade so sharp pierced the inside of his sanity, and the immortal buckled to his knees, stupidly looking to the spot he vividly remembered for so many years.

“I was such a coward,” Jensen mumbled, his voice akin to that of a small boy. It was full of innocence, full of longing, and emotions the immortal hadn’t felt anymore. When his lips moved, the ghostly child spoke with him, creating an echo like effect in his mind. The mental trauma of the event unfolded in his memories just behind his closed eyelids. A special theatre production held only for Jensen Ambrose, cowardly boy!

Minutes passed as he whispered his apologies, bending over and collapsing his forehead into the dirt, sobbing uncontrollably. He dug his fingers into the dirt, breaking his skin and causing blood to softly trickle out as he gripped the rough terrain and let out a howl of frustration and sadness. He lifted his head again to the gods in the sky, feeling their gaze upon him and their uncaring emotions for his pain. He let out a bawling whimper, feeling his tears line down the sides of his nose to the tip of his nostrils, congregating before like dew on a leaf in the morning hours.

The sun slowly rose over the horizon, casting a brilliant glow to the surrounding snow. It illuminated with such brightness that the immortal had to avert his gaze. Yet there was one place the light didn’t shine. It never shined on this patch of land, however. This memory couldn’t be salvaged, this memory couldn’t be erased by the snow. The loss of his friends, his cowardly actions, these reminders of his weakness. Nothing could scrub the stain on his heart out, not even the will of the gods.

He collapsed into himself again, feeling the pain of loneliness seep deep within his bones. Each muscle group lost feeling. His toes and fingers had lost function, and the gripping chill had a stranglehold on him as he twitched involuntarily in a spasm of motion.

As he sobbed softly, he felt something drape across his shoulders. A sudden warmth filled his bones as the familiar weight gave him a measure of comfort. So lost was he in his personal hell that he didn’t hear the approach of soft feet crunching the fresh wet packed ice. The black leather draped his sides and back, but not his arms. He remained prone on all fours, still shaking as he bit back the urge to rip the jacket from his body.

Warm arms wrapped tenderly around his shoulders, a body pressing against his. Red hair draped down his left side, and a little nose nuzzled against his face. She said nothing, spoke nothing at all, but the silence screamed the love she felt for the one she held. Jensen, shakily, lifted one hand up and wrapped his freezing digits around the woman’s, feeling her grip it back tightly.

“I miss them,” Jensen whispered between sobs, tears still dripping from his nose into the puddle forming under him. “I miss them so much,” He spoke, hearing the echoing words of his past self next to him.

“I know you do, baby.” Stephanie Odara, his best friend, his lover, his soul, said in the softest of whispers kissing his neck. Jensen shook more, feeling warmth flood his body as he saw a small pair of boots stand next to him, shuffling awkwardly. Jensen looked to the little feet, and smiled to himself forcing his body to stand back to his knees looking into the gorgeous maroon eyes of his little daughter, Azza. He lifted his arm out, and before he could wrap it around the girl she ran her body into him, hugging him tightly. Her warmth and love, combined with Stephanie’s made the ghostly image of his child like self vanish, and the pain was alleviated.

They hugged for a long time, Jensen squeezing his family tightly as Azza nuzzled her face just under his chin, Stephanie’s slender hand stroking his hair. At last the immortal stood, his fingers still holding their’s as he smiled to them. “Thank you guys,” Jensen said.

“Why were you crying, dad?” Azza asked innocently. The knight took a moment before he looked to the spot.

“Daddy lost some dear and precious friends a long time ago, and he misses them very, very much. Every year daddy comes back here to remember them, and appreciate the warmth he has in his life. Like you and mommy,” He leaned down and kissed his daughter on the forehead. She giggled as he scooped her up into his arms, laughing lightly feeling a spark of his old self returning.

“Let’s get home, sweetie.” Jensen turned to Stephanie, looked into her blue eyes and melted on the spot, pressing his lips against hers as they kissed. Azza awkwardly looked around for something else to do, but Jensen just grinned turning to back to his daughter. “Come on, Grandma and Grandpa don’t like me being late. Makes me a selfish prick,”

“What’s a prick?” Azza asked. Stephanie sighed loudly, giving Jensen one of her famous ‘I’m going to kill you looks’, but smiled despite herself.

“Tell you later, kiddo,” Jensen replied as he walked with them back towards the town. As he felt the snow beneath his boots, he looked back to the alcove one last time, feeling the coldness etch into his heart.

“Say goodbye, dad,” Azza whispered in his ear, hugging him. Jensen looked to her, then to the alcove again.

“Goodbye Chanelle, Denzel, Miguel,” Jensen spoke with such reverence that he teared up again. “I miss you guys, and I hope your well.” With his words said he turned from the alcove, and went home with his family to celebrate the winter season.

And in the alcove, three ghostly children looked to the family, smiling brightly as the child like Jensen dangled his feet on the top of the rock, waving goodbye.

[blackdog1]

Milo chewed the last of the meat off of the wing bones from the grouse that was his dinner and tossed them by the door. Mouse trap, his house cleaning weasel, would leave nothing behind for the smaller rodents. As he lounged in the heat of his small fire with a full belly, dry and warm, he wondered how other people faired during the darkest, coldest days of winter. Did they all have stores of jerky and smoked fish in their little dwellings, guarded by a crazed and psychotic weasel? He didn't think so.
He took another sip of his overly potent homemade wine and let his thoughts wander to this last summer when he was drifting around the outskirts of Underwood. He remembered the afternoon quite well, the sky was growing dark with an approaching storm and not wanting to be caught in the open he changed course toward a barn or outbuilding he saw in the distance for shelter. When he drew nearer, he knew he could not ask anything of the family that settled there.
The farm wife took in thread bare clothes from a line while her husband attempted to tend to his small plot of failing crops. She was obviously pregnant and run ragged from herding her other little ones, no older than five or six years old. He was thin and sickly, nursing what looked to be a lame leg. Even the animals gave off a sense of desperation.
Milo drifted back into the forest and the storm, not knowing what to do for those poor folks. Most people don't except open charity very well, it hurts their pride or makes them feel shameful. It nagged him that the little ones would suffer for no fault of their own.
As he came back to the here and now, he emptied his cup, threw another log on the fire and settled in for a long winters sleep. A sleep that just wouldn't come until his plans for the next day were all worked out in his head.
The next morning was clear and cool as he set out to find the perfect gift for a young and hungry family. At this time of year, some people celebrated their Gods, others the sun or stars. Trisgen taught that hard times were about survival, and to celebrate only when the worst was over. As Milo set up an ambush blind close to an active game trail, he hoped that his luck would hold and someone would have an occasion to celebrate soon.
As the afternoon shadows lengthened, he watched as a small group of female deer passed on the trail in front of him, and waited for the young buck that he was sure would follow them. The buck did come, and after long minutes of waiting, Milo delivered a clean, short range bow shot before the light finally failed for the day.
Milo dined well on fresh heart that night in camp before setting to work on his winter gift by bonfire light.
The next morning, Milo waited for smoke to rise from the chimney before hiding himself with a good view of the front door.
As the door creaked open he saw the man stand still for a moment before calling into the house, " Honey, come look at this."
His wife appeared at his side, she too was silent for a moment, then," Kids, come see."
The children gathered around their mothers skirt, looking at what lay on their doorstep.
The deer hide was scraped clean and laid before them. On it was a mans weight in meat. Enough to see them fed into spring. Roasts wrapped in fat and herbs, ribs like baskets, holding every cut of meat imaginable, sweet meats in there own cluster with wintergreen berries. Every edible morsel was cleaned, cut and ready to use or store. It was enough to bring a tear to a carnivores eye.
The father broke the silence " Look what we have been blessed with children."
Already exuding the pride of ownership, taking what was given without shame.
Milo smiled a real smile and slid off into the forest, wondering what that little weasel Mousetrap was up to.

[Caden Law]

Somewhere beneath the city of Scara Brae, a man was wondering, "How long've we been down here now?"

There was a long pause in the cold, eerie dark. Fire crackled in the middle of a long, ancient hallway that Time had, quite literally, forgotten. Four men, including the first speaker, sat around that feeble little flame. They were tucking into rations packed what felt like a day or two ago, at most. One man had a hand by the fire, balancing his food on his other wrist and holding a cantine of water at the same time. Another huddled in his coat and armor, thin blue lines lighting up and fading out on every visible inch of skin. He was the one the question had been addressed to. He didn't answer it immediately, choosing instead to let the silence hang a while. The fire danced between them all, like an absent woman who would have livened things up and improved morale just by being there. It moved at the behest of a wind only barely tangible on the skin; it blew stronger in the soul, and the longer they were down here, the weirder it felt.

"Take a guess," he finally ordered.

Rowan, the first speaker, stared at him for a second before asking, "Can't you just answer a damn question?"

"He could, but it's funnier to watch you squirm," a third speaker joined in. He had a heavier beard than all the rest of them put together. Even the half-orc's facial hair was thinner than his. Like Rowan's target, he was a Wizard. Of them all, he was the closest to the fire and the one who looked most like he wanted some kind of actual shelter or safe haven to crawl away and hide in. He kept looking over his shoulder, into what he knew was hungry darkness leading to a dead end that they had already sealed off.

"I'd say you're the one squirming, Savas," Aeraul finally said, his voice rumbling like an earthquake even though he struggled to speak softly. His eyes glowed in the dark of the Catacombs. He still looked as if he was recovering from the things he had seen on the other side of that dead end.

"Least I'll admit it," Savas replied. "Though I am kinda curious too. How long have we been down here?"

Caden, the fourth man in this merry little band, took a bite out of his ration and said, "Time has no meaning here."

"Tell us anyway."

Caden waited. Then rubbed at the bridge of his nose, beneath his glasses' frames, and answered, "Four months, give or take a few days."

Aeraul looked unsurprised. Savas looked as if someone had slapped him. Rowan's expression was utterly unreadable.

"Should be...well. It would be close to the Festival of Lights back home in Salvar, or at least in Evernorth. What part of the country were you from, Savas?" The lesser Wizard didn't answer. Caden resumed talking. "It's week long holiday where we're from. At the end of each year, the whole village gets together and everyone holds up a lantern and all the younger people dance; especially the unattached ones. It's mostly so that everyone can get a running tally on who's not dead at the end of the year, but you can use it to count who's dead just as easily. It was an Ethereal holiday back when I still lived there. I don't know if they've changed it or not since the fall of Denebriel and her Church. The Wizards always followed it with about a week of straight ritual and prayer."

"My Order did that too," Savas finally said. "Usually involved White-Eye and Starwind symbolically duelling each other. Whenever they tired out, they'd get one of the other seniors to take their spot for a little while. Same strategies every single year, same effects, same everything. If there were any differences from year to year, I was too young and stupid to see them. Always ended in a draw."

"Weird," Caden replied. "Mine always locked us all up in a room for most of each day, making us pray and recite passages of Ethereal scripture. I think it was scripture. I'm pretty sure it was. Only rituals the seniors ever took part in involved getting drunk and hitting on the prettiest married folks they could find."

"Successfully?" Rowan asked.

"Never," Caden and Savas both said on reflex. The two men looked at each other and something unspoken passed through the fire between them. They nodded. It fell to Caden to clarify, "Wizards might get lucky in love from time to time, but that's the exception. And it's usually a pretty epic one."

"Heard about one chick who managed to win over a guy by tearing out a succubus' essence and weaving it into her own," Savas cut in. "The only reason she stayed faithful was pure love. Burned the succubus parts right back out of her the moment they concieved."

"...how'd that end?" Rowan asked.

"Messy," Savas said with a warped grin.

"There's also the story of the Wizard who proposed to the same woman seven times a year for seven years in a row," Caden added. "Forty-eight times, she said no."

"And the forty-ninth?"

"Her new husband shot her through with an arrow before she could answer."

"Wizard romances are depressing," Rowan concluded. "You guys need to get laid more."

"Toast to that," Caden said. All four of them raised their drinks accordingly. "What about you two? Either of your peoples do anything special near year's end?"

Rowan and Aeraul looked at each other. The half-orc nodded. Rowan took that as a cue. "Coronian holidays never held much interest for me. It was always King blah's favorite whatever or Yay let's celebrate traditions nobody follows anymore. Only real stand-out was Saint's Eve, and we imported that one from Salvar if I'm remembering right."

"That's the big day for the Ethereals," Caden said. "The night that the big saint bitch was born. Never been too fond of it, myself."

"Right. Well, in Corone, it's an excuse to dress up like an idiot and run around doing stupid things. Pranks, very light gift giving, the occasional drunken fling in somebody's bushes; stuff like that. Growing up, that was the only real holiday I liked from Corone. Lost my virginity on a Saint's Eve, in fact. To an initiate nun. And her twin sister." This was met by one Wizard whistling and the other doing a slow clap. "Totally worth it. Aside from that, I didn't really get into the holiday spirit until right before my sixteenth birthday. That was when I left home, joined a dojo in Akashima, and really started immersing myself in the place I'd actually been raised in. They have a holiday over there, right about this time of year, practically tailor-made for someone like me. Shaowa Kal Sul. It's basically a week-long purification ritual.

"It starts and it ends with a hot springs bath. They take down all the walls separating men and women for this, and everyone is equal. Monks hand out towels and robes as people get out of the water, nuns give out soap and snacks, so on and so forth. After the first bath, people are expected to go find a stranger -- someone they really do not know at all -- and just...live with them. Their hosts are expected to basically adopt them, giving them a new name for a week, and treating them like family. The guests are free to do whatever the host's family would normally be allowed. The only people exempt from this are the old, the very young, and the rich. The very young are expected to stay with their grandparents, or some other trusted elder if they have to. The old are supposed to be hosts. So are the rich.

"It works out because it means the old folks get to meet new people, learn their stories, and for just a week, have a family even if they don't really have any blood relatives. It keeps them occupied and gives them a chance to talk, you know? And the rich get to meet the people they're pretty much lording over, knowing them as people and being reminded of what those people have to live with. Everyone else gets wisdom, social contact, and the chance to kneecap a corrupt local out of it. I've known a few friends who met longtime lovers this way too."

"Do marriages survive that kind of thing?" Caden asked.

"Easily. Akashima's big on reincarnation and soul mates. If a love is real, you know what they say? It'll hold together even after you become someone else. There's no real prohibition on messing around during Shaowa Kal Sul, but most committed people just won't do it. They'll actually seek each other out and start their relationships back up from scratch; nervous introductions and awkward first kisses and everything. It's crazy."

Talk gave way to quiet for a while.

Eventually, Aeraul said, "My mother's tribe just gathered everyone up at the end of the year and counted who was still breathing. Then they went out and killed something big and ate it."

Silence.

"Good holiday," Caden said.

"Very simple," Savas added.

"No worries about gift-giving or clean-up, I'd bet," Rowan chimed in.

"I guess I could claim some Coronian holidays too, but the truth is that I've never really been in one place long enough to feel truly at home. Father was an advance scout for the Deccan Adventure Company. Didn't really see him often, mostly grew up in boarding schools and a monestary. Did some work as an adventurer myself, then eventually ended up here. Still don't know all the local holidays, but it's hard to keep track of them anyway. Scara Brae has so many blasted peoples living in it..."

"That's part of the charm," Caden pointed out.

"It is," Aeraul agreed without a moment's hesitation. "I love it here. Well, not here," he gestured around to the tunnel they were sitting in. "Screw this place. But the city? I've been all over the world and this is the only city where nobody stares at you for being a big green guy dressed as a scholar."

"Or for wearing a pointy hat and goggles," Caden said.

"Or being a vicious cannibal," Savas added.

Caden backhanded him without a word. Savas fell over and sputtered something obscene into the dark.

"Can't say I sympathize," Rowan admitted. "I've been here almost two years now. Seen the top of the city and the bottom too. Bedded enough of its women to have a good sample of the local flavor. Seen better."

"You do realize you're bragging about sex to at least two guys who haven't been laid in the better part of a decade, both of whom can tear out your soul and set it on fire." Savas mumbled something about just eating said soul. Caden ignored him. "Right?"

"Right. Know what else I realize?"

"What?" Caden asked.

"I'm spending Shaowa Kal Sul with three weirdo bastards in an ancient crypt full of godsawful monsters and abominations trying to kill me."

"Good holiday," Aeraul replied, raising a toast.

All four men raised their drinks by the fire's pale light. For the most part, they wouldn't have it any other way.

[Ganlon Martel]

He felt the crush of the frozen ground under his feet. He watched the air escape from his mouth and the vapor freeze in little smoky puffs. The world was bright with the reflection of the sun on the snow. Small flakes fell and hit his cloak. They melted with the warmth that came through from his body. Why was it that when it snowed the world got quiet? Ganlon thought about it and in made him stop to think harder. Was sound unable to move through snow? The birds didn’t sing. He heard no moving squirrels in the trees. Maybe everything slept when it snowed. No, he was awake and he had seen deer just behind him in the glade. His sheep were awake in the pen and the pigs were eating their slop, but he couldn’t hear them.
Ganlon said something to hear if he was still alive, “you’re an idiot.” Yup, he was still alive. He had a strange thought. Maybe the snow screamed as it came down. He knew he would scream if he fell from that high. Hey snow is frozen rain. He knew he would scream if he was that cold. Thought of cold brought him back from his daydreaming.
He took a step. He took a breath. He took a breath. He took a step. He took a breath. The snow was deeper here than he remembered; no that wasn’t why he was going slowly. He had hot apple cider and a warm fire going in the cabin that was his home behind him. He thought of going back. He took a step. He took a breath. He was closer that before. Okay, time for the trick his Dad had taught him. He picked a tree. Walk to that spot then pick the next thing to walk to. The trip was short this way; at least his mind believed it was shorter.
The dell looked different in the snow. The trees looked more like crooked guardians of a fairy world than the warm resting place he remembered in the spring. The markers he had placed were still there, Dad, Mom, and Genove, one marker for each. He had brought the silly hat that Dad wore ever Saint’s day, and the green dress that Mom had worn. It was the one with the children running on it. He laid them over the markers. This wasn’t what one was supposed to do on Saints’ day. He knew he should be celebrating running naked or something through the village like an idiot.
Ganlon laughed out loud, “You are an idiot.”
He closed his eyes. Mom hadn’t been around for much of his life but Dad was there. Cooking hot apple cider and wearing this ridiculous hat. He had had that hat on the night the knock on the door had come,
“Who is there?” The hill and forest were they lived were relatively safe but still it was uncommon for a knock to come at four candles of the night. His father grabbed a wooden staff from near the fire place. Ganlon eyed the sword hanging over the fire place.
“They said in the village that this is where the healer lives?” the voice was quavering, shaky.
Ganlon’s father said, “Ganlon behind the cupboard.” He did as his father instructed. He moved behind the cupboard and peered out. Ganlon’s tongue played with the hole where he had just lost his baby tooth.
“I am Davon Martel, the healer. Who requests entry to my home?” His father still had not opened the door.
“My wife, she is with child. The pain is there but the baby will not come.” Davon opened the door and Ganlon felt the cold blow into the room. A man of bull stature carried a bundle of what looked to be dirty clothes rushed into the room. Davon pushed his and Ganlon’s dinner from the table top and on to the floor.
“Lay her here, “ Davon pointed to the table and Ganlon could see the woman’s face a Red headed face with freckles that stood out like stars on her pale white skin as the Bullman placed her on the table.
“Has she had the show yet? And if so how long ago.” Any fear of who was outside was gone in an instant as his father became all work. His pouch was open and in his hand and he had put on the apron he used to milk the sheep.
“Yes, about four candles ago as we came through the small town.” The Bull man’s hood fell and Ganlon saw a red beard and blue eyes. The woman moaned and tightened on the table.

“Blane, he is coming.” The woman’s voice was clear but pained. The Bull man grabbed the woman’s hand.
“She is sure we are having a boy.” Blane, the bull man, looked at Ganlon’s father. “Can you help her?”
“Babies, usually don’t need any help they come when they are ready. I don’t want to give your , Wife?” Blane nodded, “Okay, Your wife any poppy to take away the pain it might make the baby’s breath go away. But,” Devon moved to the table near by, “here drink this.”
Devon Martel tipped a cup to the red headed woman’s mouth and she drank deeply. She seemed to release her tight grip on Blane.
“What did you give her?” Blane asked.
“Wine, just Red wine, she was thirsty, “ Devon reached out his hand to Blane.
“ Devon Martel, my boy Ganlon is over there.” Ganlon waved from behind the cupboard.
“Blane Wainswright and my wife Elaine, we were just on our way to her family for Saint’s day. She started to have the pains just about as we made the tavern, the Painted Jester is it?”
“Yep” Ganlon said from behind the Cupboard. The woman moaned again. Devon moved her legs apart and looked.
“The baby is coming. I can see the head.” Devon pulled Blane over to where he could see the baby’s head. The woman screamed and then Ganlon heard liquid hit the floor. A wail split the air and Devon lifted the new baby into the air. Devon passed the new baby to its mother. With quick movement of his hand he tied to knots of string to the cord from mother to baby and cut it.
“Welcome to the world, little girl,” Devon said.
“A little GGGirl?” Blaine said.
“What better gift could the Saint give on her day then a new giver of life?” Devon smiled,
“Happy Saints day.”
Ganlon noticed that his father had never taken the silly hat off during the whole thing, Happy Saints day indeed.
Back in the glen Ganlon looked at where he had placed the silly hat, “happy Saints Day, my family. I’m gonna go find a silly hat of my own.”

[TwinCast]

"Alright, I will admit it, the prospect scares me to no end," The words hung in the air even as the two figures left the confines of Ixian Castle. The first was dolled up in a heavy cloak that served to trap the heat of the body. Puffs of steam escaped into the air, even as flashes of red hair could be seen, and the jingling of many trinkets colliding under the hood continued on. The part in the cloak revealed that the woman must not have a winter wardrobe, for she was dressed in a simple outfit more fit for warmer climates.

Blue cloth covered her chest for modesty and prevent it from getting in her way, while a simplistic loincloth hung between her legs. If the cold bothered her, she did not pay it heed, only wearing the cloak to catch the occasional drift of cold wind as she looked down upon her partner in this walk, a small black cat with the bluest eyes anyone had ever seen. It moved darting in and out between the woman's legs even as it regarded her figurative master with a nod.

The first step to overcoming a problem, is acknowledging its existence. And when the festival occurs, what are you going to do? It's not like you can hide in the back like other years, celebrating while watching to make sure the family is okay, The words did not hang in the air, so much as linger in the back of the woman's mind. The cat was walking in the road, upon ground already trod and free of snow as they continued their march back to Radasanth.

"I will have you know I merely went out of reverence for the holiday, not in the least to check on the family that cast me out," Aislinn replied stiffly. A hand rested on her hip as she regarded the cat with a stern glare. The cat merely met her gaze before it shook its small head and sighed.

Once again you remind me that I'm the older of us-

"Only by mere minutes dear sister!" The words were as heated as the steam they sent into the air.

-and that while you like to pretend you are mature and grown up, you're still as much a brat now, as you were then, The words finished the cat remained at a halt infront of the twoman who even now stared in disbelief.

"Felicity Elizabeth Orlouge! What in the name of the Thayne has gotten into you? I have never seen you this confrontational ever! Why are you so concerned with my well being?" Aislinn's features were twisted in an angry frown before Felicity jumped at her sister and climbed up the cloak to her shoulder.

Carefully wrapping about the girl's hood she began to purr pleasantly before she replied, You need to seriously relax sister. You have cooped yourself up indoors for too long. I'll bet even Mr. Hawk would be ashamed with how much you've ruined your social life for this army.

"You leave Pierce out of this, the man has already expressed his happiness in my helping the Knights," Aislinn replied looking at the cat before moving forward. The two continued their journey as Aislinn was ill equipped to go to this year's festival. Every year the Dranaks celebrated the holiday that marked the birth of the Mystic race and its iconic protective spell Mystic Protection.

Every year since Aislinn had turned sixteen she had managed to sneak into the Dranaks, staying at the back and hiding her features from the watchful to partake, always at the fringes of the celebration but a participant none the less. Every year Felicity had to console her sister after they left, reminding her it wasn't her fault she was exiled, and that she should take the best of memories from this. It worked occasionally, but often seemed to fester in her sister and built up the wall she had put about herself to protect against such pains.

This year, was completely different. The day Sei Orlouge had stepped back into her life, Aislinn had gone from exile to reinstated, in all but name. The Orlouge name commanded much respect, and while she had not pressed the issue, she was more than certain that when she went to the festival this year (and Sei of course had insisted she attend) that she would not have to hide. Much to the younger Orlouge's surprise, unlike every other attempt to get Aislinn to be more a part of the family, she had readily agreed, having already made plans for the celebration.

This of course meant meeting her parents for the first time in years. That however, would be a story for another time.

The silence that had surrounded the twin sisters was that of a hostile friendliness. While they had often bickered over the festival, it was never to the point of open hostility. No, instead it was more of a heated debate that they both cut off before it could turn personal. Much like now, the two merely let their anger fade as they thought of what gifts they would bring to the festival, having made their first public appearance since their exile, they had many festivals to catch up. Moving through the bazaar Felicity let out a cattish meow and yawn before resting her head on her forepaws, already gently kneading the shoulder of Aislinn's cloak.

"Dare I say this might be harder than I initially thought, what do you get a family that has everything it could want?" Aislinn mused to herself.

"How about the gift of their daughters alive and well?" The words caused the mystic to freeze even as she narrowed her eyes. Carefully she turned her head before she caught the briefest of glimpses. Immediately her suspicion turned to joy before the hapless person who had spoken was pulled into a warm embrace.

"Pierce, I didn't know you would be here!" Aislinn's voice had immediately lost the formal edge as she seemed to grow younger. She was soon the fourteen year old girl that had found herself in the healer's home so long ago. Felicity even perked up as she began to meow frantically and jumped shoulders before nuzzling the elder man with great excitement.

Pierce Hawk, consummate parental figure to Aislinn Orlouge was a middle aged man. His hair was peppered a fine gray with the occasional black hair shining through, and his face was sharper and angular, much as his namesake. He was a taller thin man who seemed to have a knowing smile on his face, to the point of being almost sarcastic. He hugged the younger woman back before he spoke up, "Careful there Ais, you might get someone to think you're human..."

Aislinn carefully pulled back before she spoke, "You are of course right." Immediately Aislinn had calmed herself down to the point of returning to her more regal and formal tone, even as her eyes shone with a childish excitement. She continued, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I was merely looking over the wares here, during the winter sales tend to drop on items in the bazaar and prices get a bit cheaper than say the summer when adventurers are a dime a dozen. Seems even the villains like their mom, as no one is buying up all the swords they made en masse only five months ago," The man replied even as his tone took on a rather sarcastic pitch. Aislinn laughed hearing the words before she spoke;

"Surely you aren't here for components, they'd be of little to no use and you already far outstrip the contents of even the best alchemist's laboratory," Aislinn replied.

"You could say I was doing a little winter shopping for a friend. Picking up seeds and stuff for them to plant in the spring. Figured they'd get a kick out of the work," Pierce replied before he tapped her on the nose, "Now, you move along, I gotta finish up my shopping. You going to be in that drafty castle, or are you going to be a good girl and come visit me later?"

"Today's the festival Pierce, I can visit you tomorrow if you so wish it?" Aislinn replied firmly.

He seemed confused for a moment before he nodded, "Oh yeah, that thing. Fair enough, you have fun, don't break too many hearts!"

"Unlike you Pierce, I do not intend on leaving many children in my wake," Aislinn replied curtly. Pierce laughed before he hugged her one last time.

"That's my girl, now go on, I'm sure you don't want to be late for the festivities," Pierce replied.

[Jasmine]

Jasmine finished tying a red bow in Siela’s hair, humming quietly as she did. Tonight was the annual Midwinter Ball given by her brother, King Eric. This year, as last year, the holiday had a new name, "the Feast of the Ancients." It was a winter tradition brought to Moriah by her husband, Zerith. She, Zerith and Siela had been away from Moriah for several months now. When they got the invitation to come to the ball, Jas had insisted that they take a small break from the Ixian Knights and go home for the ball. It felt good to be back home with her family. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her new friends within the Ixian Knights, but there was just something about being home that warmed her heart.

She set Siela down on the floor, keeping an eye on the little girl as she started crawling away. Jasmine still had a few finishing touches to do on her own hair and face before they would be ready to go to the ballroom. However, it did not take the princess long to be satisfied with her appearance. She wore a capped-sleeve gown of dark blue trimmed in silver (her favorite colors) and wore her long black hair down and loose. A small section from each temple had been pulled back into a decorative butterfly-shaped clip to keep her locks from falling into her face. Smiling, she scooped her daughter up and nuzzled her face.

“Come on, let’s go get Daddy and then we’ll go downstairs.”

The 10-month old giggled at her mother’s nuzzling. She wore a knee-length dress of red with short sleeves and a white collar, white stockings and little black shoes. Her black hair, which was now finally long enough to do something with, had a red bow tied into it. The dress had been a gift from her grandmother. Thus far she had done anything to mess it up and Jasmine hoped that would last for the whole night. With Zerith in tow, the small family made their way down to the grand ball room.

Eric, king of Moriah, loved this time of year. The previous year, Zerith had convinced him to import a huge pine tree for the ballroom and to decorate it. Apparently, it was a tradition where Zerith came from. The young king had been dubious about the idea at first, but it went over so well that he decided that he would do it every year. Now, a huge pine tree filled one corner of the ballroom decorated with garlands of beads, decorate glass balls and a wide variety of other decorations. At the very top of the tree perched a magnificent gold star. Beneath it was a pile of brightly wrapped gifts.

The pillars that stood at the edge of the ballroom supporting the vaulted ceiling had holly garlands wrapped around them. Candles were arranged in various places giving the large room a homey feeling. He smiled as he watched his guests filling the room. Snacks would be provided a little bit later. For right now, he just wanted everyone to get in and chat for a bit. He looked down as he felt a pair of small hands tugging on his.

“Daddy? When do we open presents?”

Eric smiled as he bent and picked up his son. “You’ll just have to be patient, Dylan. Don’t worry, we will be having present time. Why don’t you go see if Auntie is here yet?”

“But she’s already here, look.” The four-year-old pointed as Jasmine entered carrying Siela with Zerith walking a short way behind them. “Hi, Auntie!” he called out as he waved and Eric set him back down. The little boy hurried over and wrapped his arms around Jasmine.

Jasmine smiled and returned his hug one-handedly. “Hello, Dylan. Are you having a good time.”

“I guess, can’t open presents yet though. Daddy said so.”

Jasmine laughed, “Don’t worry, Sweetie. Your presents aren’t going anywhere.”

Eric had come up to them by that time and neatly retrieved his niece from Jasmine’s arms. The tiny princess laughed at her uncle’s silly faces as he held her. Jasmine laughed as well, chatting with Eric for a few minutes before slipping away to find Melody.

An hour or so later, the ball was in full swing. Jasmine watched fondly as Zerith ‘danced’ with Siela. He held her hands as he stood her on his feet and moved carefully. As the song ended, the proud daddy picked his daughter up and kissed her cheek. She giggled at him then yawned. Jasmine slipped up beside them wrapping an around Zerith.

“Looks like someone is ready for bed,” she said with a smile as Siela laid her head down against Zerith’s chest. “Nancy can take her for us. She’s already herding Dylan that way.” Zerith nodded and the two parents walked over to where Nancy was trying in vain to convince Dylan that he really was tired. The boy was yawning and his eyelids were heavy, but he still refused to admit to being sleepy. Seeing the couple coming with Siela gave Nancy an idea.

“Well, I know you’re not sleepy, Dylan, but Siela is. Do you think you can help me put her to bed?”

Dylan’s eye lit up briefly, he loved doing anything with Siela. “Yeah, I think so. Can we read her a bedtime story?”

“Certainly,” Nancy told him as she took the dozy little one from Zerith. “Good night, Lady Jasmine, good night, Lord Zerith.”

Dylan looked up at his aunt and uncle and gave them both quick hugs. “I’m going to help Nancy put Siela to sleep,” he told them proudly. Jasmine bent and gave him a quick kiss on his forehead.

“Make sure you do exactly what Nancy tells you to then. Otherwise Siela might wake up again. Good night, Sweetie.”

The little boy nodded and hurried off to ‘help’ Nancy put Siela to bed. Jasmine watched as they moved down the hall and pulled Zerith’s arms around herself. “Mmm … now we have the rest of the evening to ourselves, love.”

Zerith smiled as he led back through the ballroom and out into the gardens. He had a special surprise for his wife. “Come, let’s go outside for a bit.” He led her to small area of the garden that was closed off by hedges for a more private space. “Close your eyes.”

“Zerith, what are – “

“Just close them, please?” he asked again, only leading her further when he was sure she was not peeking. Slowly, he led her into the small space. Their feet crunched softly as they walked to the center. “Okay, you can open them now.”

The princess opened her eyes then gasped lightly. The crunching she’d heard and felt was fresh fallen snow. A good inch or two of the pure white snow gleamed in the light of the moon, covering the few decorative statues in this area and dusting the hedges around them. “How did you…?”

“Very skilled weather mages,” he cut in smiling widely as he took her hands. The music from the ballroom drifted down to them softly. “It’s only for this section, and it will all melt tomorrow. But for tonight a winter wonderland just for us.”

Jasmine smiled as she stepped into her husband’s arms and they began to dance beneath the moonlight. As they moved slowly around the garden, Zerith led the way beneath an arch, at the center of which hung a small sprig of leaves and berries. He paused under it and looked deep into Jasmine’s blue eyes.

“I love you, Jasmine, Happy Feast Day.”

“I love you too, Zerith,” she rose up on her toes and kissed him softly. “Happy Feast Day to you, too.”

Smiling softly, the young couple resumed their kiss as they enjoyed the moment for all that it was worth.

[Requiem of Insanity]

“Oh now really, Aerith, your dropping the tree!” Cassandra chided angrily. Her adopted daughter, Aerith, sheepishly lifted up her end of the pine tree a bit higher and rebalanced it. She was having trouble as it was trying not to get the thistle stuck within her eye nor scrape it against the roof of the cavern ceiling. The artic like temperature bothered her as she felt a shiver once again crawl along her spine, the crunching pavement of the undisturbed dirt rattling in her ears.

“My apologies, mother,” Aerith replied quick enough, moving in tow with her mother once again. Like sure had changed for the red head since she joined up with her mother, becoming a certified member of the Ixian Knights to boot. She had met several other soldiers and met all sorts of new and interesting people, but her one true friend was always her mother, Cassandra Remi. She understood the beast within her heart, found the soft tender bits nobody else could see, and she loved her for who she was.

It also helped that she had a few skeletons of her own in the closet, physically and metaphorically. Both women were serial killers, though the art, the pedigree in which Cassandra operated was in a class that Aerith just couldn’t reach. Not yet, anyway. Her dark mother had promised to teach her, and she had kept to her promise with a diligent work schedule to keep the young mistress busy. Poisons, herbs, knives, veins, anatomy, these things she could label off the top of her head easily. She did use to own her own flower shop, and did poisons on the side. Yet now she had darker thoughts clouding her mind, a fog that didn’t incapacitate her or hamper her judgment, but shrouded a portion of her psyche.

Each passing lesson brightened the black clouds that hid the secrets from her, and Cassandra continued to feed her desires and train her more each day. All save for today. On this night, a serene night that was blissfully starry and cloud free, Cassandra was in a rare mood. She was smiling, laughing, she even stopped to give a small holiday treat to Azza Ambrose, her most hated nemesis Jensen Ambrose’s daughter. The child naturally took the candy, then discarded it in the nearest waste pin, making sure to bury it deep.

Now they had a Yule time tree, and she was in a frolicking mood. She dragged the tree forwards with her daughter in tow, and at last they reached the tunnel exit, a swinging portrait hole opening up. Cassandra tilted the tree upwards, and Aerith had to compensate quickly as she climbed into the library. Dusty, forgotten books surrounded them as Cassandra shut the portrait and lifted her sneaking suits mask upwards to her nose and letting the fabric snap onto the bridge of her nose. Her eyes flashed with mischievous intent and Aerith did likewise, though the snap on her nose rid upwards and nearly took an eye out.

They walked through the halls in utter silence, both wearing nothing more than stockings on their feet. The cold stone floor sent chills along Aerith’s feet, her teeth chattering on the inside of her mouth. They walked to the outside courtyard, passing several guards along the way and darting into shady alcoves to avoid them. It took nearly half an hour but they reached their destination. Aerith was a bit miffed to learn they simply entered the mess hall.

“Really?” Aerith couldn’t help but ask. As she stepped forwards she saw something shift and her eyes narrowed in the dim light. Cassandra smiled as they dropped the tree off into a prepared tree holder. Aerith held the tree as Cassandra tied in the screws. Then she turned to the shadows in the room and let out a squeal of delight.

“Oh you did bring it! Thank you Laconic, that will be all! Go do some complex math equations or something. Whatever the hell it is you robots do,” Cassandra rushed forward and Aerith felt a bit disturbed to see the robot step forwards, his chameleonic armor plating reforming itself into its regular mode from the armor suit it once was. Cassandra lifted a tiny Obsidian box, gold edges lining it ornately in gilded demonic runes. Cassandra tapped the box lightly before setting it down, and then she turned to Aerith.

“We caught a spy a few days back, and I’ve been saving him for tonight. Tonight is special, and do you know why?” Aerith shrugged, shaking her head. “Do you notice something peculiar about this night?” Aerith took a moment and looked out the window. When she gazed into the heavens she found the moon softly being blocked by a large shadow.

“Well I’ll be,” Aerith said lustfully, letting herself get lost in her favorite pastime. One thing Aerith loved as much as killing was Astronomy. She knew all the constellations, the planets, the formations and the lore behind the demi gods named after certain planets and stars. It was what she turned to when she needed a break from everything in her life.

Cassandra was no different, encouraging her to develop more into her interests. The Gisela Reaper, most didn’t know, was a fairly decent actor. She loved theatre, where she could don a mask that allowed her to be anyone was so appealing she studied to great lengths much of the works of brilliant script writers. And she was also a sucker for romance novels.

“You’re probably wondering why you are here,” Cassandra whispered seductively to the man on the table. A spasm and a groan, eyes darting left and right. Aerith saw him gaze to her, and all she did was wave politely.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Cassandra took the box and opened it, laughing lightly as she rounded along the edge of the table, holding a fillet knife in her hand. The tip just grazed the flesh of the naked skin, making him squirm even more as the tip was dangerously close to breaking skin.

“You know what’s special about tonight?” Cassandra said excitedly. “The Winter’s Solstice. A Lunar Eclipse will shroud the moon, and the night will be at it’s coldest. It’s already freezing most of Salvar into nothingness, even the plant life feeling the cold nip of the frost. It’s on this special night of nights that one like me can be ever closer to the one she loves. Tonight I can be as cold as I want, for I have no audience to play for. I usually give my all for the moon, but tonight,” Cassandra gripped herself tightly and laughed again. “It’s all for myself.”

“Crazy bitch! Intel said you were dead! You’re not dead!”

“Oh my, what a powerful observer. Care not one bit about your fate, just how wrong it is that you got bad intel. Still, that’s of no concern to me. All I want is to hear you scream me into the winter season. You, are in effect, the first kill of a new year. Another notch to my belt, so to speak.”

The knife whisked up his side until it probed his face. His eyes looked to her full of fear, and with a snarling grin she stabbed the knife into his cheek, eliciting a scream so loud that Aerith was sure somebody heard. Yet when she looked outside she found two guards walk by not even perturbed by the wailing agonizing screams of Cassandra’s playmate.

She turned her head to the box, and saw it was open. When Cassandra stabbed the knife into one of his nostrils and pulled violently outwards, his screams echoed in the mess hall, before the box reached one ghostly hand up, black lines of eldritch energy sucking the screams deep into the box.

“Cool,” Aerith said in a daze. She felt the piercing hazel eyes of Cassandra looking to her and she turned to find something in Cassandra’s hand. A rolled up leather pouch of some kind. Aerith gingerly took the roll and unraveled it, finding a rather auspicious and finely crafted kitchen knife set. The roll, as it turned out was an apron.

“I know you hate getting the blood on your clothes, so I figured a new set of tools to replace the old rusty ones and an apron would be the greatest way to celebrate the new season.” Cassandra lifted up her paring knife and smiled like a mother would to a child who had just open the present they always wanted. Aerith was speechless as her fingers moved in a trance, tying the apron on. Cassandra sniffled proudly. “You look beautiful,” She whispered to her. Aerith lifted up the paring knife and smiled back to her mother.

“It’s the perfect gift, thank you!” Aerith managed to say finally. “Can we…do you think…we could share this one?”

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” The victim screeched, wailing in pain as he did so.

“Yes, yes we can,” Cassandra said taking her hand and guiding her to the table. Cassandra stood behind her, wrapping her arms lovingly around Aerith’s, guiding her blade to the man’s arm. “We must be careful not to hit any veins, otherwise the playtime is over,” Cassandra said lightly.

And so they cut into the flesh of their victim, his screams of anguish unheard by the castle who slept peacefully that night. The power of the box absorbed the screams, and there were very, very many. Yet his whimpering meant naught to the dutiful disciples of the dark arts. Aerith was happy to spend time with her mother, and Cassandra was happy to share her joy with another. All through the night the Midnight Monster felt her Dark Companion around her, advising her to tell Aerith where to cut next, and whispering sweet nothings into her ear. It was the perfect holiday, the best she ever had.

And to anyone looking inside, they would see a mother and a daughter, content with all the world.

~*~*~*~*~

“Yo, Sei, get up,” The door slammed hard to the mute’s room, and groggily he focused himself enough to open the door. He found Tobias and Jensen standing there, eyes looking rather irritated and uncomfortable.

“You remember that guy you thought was a spy?” Tobias said before the mute could even get a word in. Sleepily he nodded.

“Are we utilizing outside rescources again?” Jensen said, using the term to describe Cassandra Remi, as general knowledge was that she was supposedly dead. Only Jensen, Stephanie, and Sei knew the truth on the matter. Though Jensen began to wonder if Azza knew as well, for the child only had nightmares when she saw Cassandra.

“No, I was going to have Adolph and his Chaplains arrest him last night. I found plans to assassinate my daughter locked deep inside his mind. His violence towards mystics always sent mental images to my mind when I talked to him. He was a marvelous actor, but”

“He’s dead.” Tobias said flatly.

“And by dead, I mean…well…” Jensen hesitated. “Tobias can go wake Steph and Azza for me, I need you to come with me.”

It had taken a few minutes for Sei to don the appropriate clothing, but when he reached outside he found the Chaplains all forming a protective ring around the front gate. Adolph waved Jensen and his lord in, the two warrior’s passing grim looks. Sei felt a wave of dread wash over him and he sighed, deeply as he waited for the large wooden doors to open. When they were he felt the wind push against his skin, making Goosebumps rise up, but more notably a stench of something all to familiar. Death.

He looked forwards to find a pine tree covered in body parts complete with organ ornaments, intestine tinsel, and dangling unmentionables and eyeballs. The brain was the tip of the tree, a knife stuck through it. As the wind howled a small box would flap open, and screams whispered out into the air and made the group uncomfortable.

And sitting upon the center of the tree, wrapped up with a pretty bow in the Ixian Knights colors was a simple sign.

“Happy Holiday’s, Lord Orlouge, the Wetworks Team!”

[Flames of Hyperion]

Winter celebrations in Nippon differed somewhat from those held elsewhere upon Althanas. The system of time-keeping upon the far eastern isles was based upon the lunar calendar, the new year of which was heralded by the blooming of the plum and cherry blossoms. This was a time for family, for three or more generations of extended relations to gather together under one warm roof to give thanks to the old and to toast the new. The darkest, longest nights in the deepest reaches of winter, on the other hand, were traditionally a time to spend with one’s friends.

The notion was simple enough – when winter’s chilly grasp over the land was at its strongest, when the moon went dark and even the stars were extinguished by the uncaring pervasive frost, people would gather together in numbers and proclaim their defiance to the fickle gods of weather by making a big show of joyous riotous fun. The missing stars were replaced as twinkling illuminations by thousands of paper lanterns strung between rooftops, the absence of the moon was filled by the beat of festival drums and the thunder of bright fireworks, and the cold was fought through copious amounts of thick hotpot broth and the warmth of the accompanying fireside banter.

At least, for most of the population. A few grumpy souls barred themselves in their homes, refusing to partake in the frivolity; a few unlucky ones tended to their duties as watchmen or apothecaries, sacrificing their time so that others could have fun. And there were the one or two desperate individuals who found themselves ignored by the merriment as it passed them by, like the grains of sand left behind in the wake of an immensely powerful tidal wave.

The scholar that sat at his window desk, ensconced in his books, was one such person. He sat in the dark, no light upon the neat calligraphic texts under his perusal except a single flickering flame that danced to his will about his head like a frivolous firefly. He sat in the cold, for it cost a lot of money that he didn’t have to put wood on the fire, and the light blanket that he had pilfered from his bed was the best he could afford. And he sat alone, for he was of the solitary and studious sort, and those who knew him also knew not to ask for his company when there was still work to be done.

It’s amazing, isn’t it… just what a difference a few short hours can make, his lonely thoughts echoed throughout his mental labyrinth, a soliloquy of pain and regret with no means of escape. Only a half-day ago, you were so looking forward to spending time with them… now, you’re on your own. Again.

“It’s your own fault for getting your hopes up so high…” He allowed the words to slip sorrowfully from his lips, then slapped his cheeks with frozen palms in an attempt to cheer himself up. “Alright, c’mon…”

“… the work doesn’t do itself?”

Startled, the young man looked up. He found himself staring into the luminous eyes of a girl barely a month younger than he, her short black hair and entrancing smile barely a hand’s span from his face. There was a pause, a brief silence, as his surprised gaze met hers. Then he recoiled backwards, nearly falling out of his chair in his haste.

The young woman grinned widely, used by now to his reactions.

“We’re headed down to the onsen-gai,” she told him, indicating the group of friends who had formed in her wake. He scanned them quickly with a wide-eyed gaze – Yoshi, Thomas, even the reclusive Ai – before returning it reluctantly to the pile of papers in front of him. “… are you sure that…”

“Nah…” he pre-empted her, forcing his features into a grateful smile infused with warmth and regret. “I’d better get these done tonight, or there’ll be hell to pay tomorrow.”

She glared at him for a moment, prettily confused, attempting to divine the truth of his words. Then she relented and backed away, and he relaxed in turn, thankful that his bluff had been successful. He could not – would not – allow her to worry. It would not do for her night to be spoiled by him.

She waved farewell, and then left amongst the throng, happily chattering to her friends. Not one of them looked back at the solitary scholar buried amongst his books.


***

He woke up again later that night, long after the festivities had died down, still curled up in his chair as though hiding from the night. Heavy darkness cocooned him from all sides, bitter morning chill seeping through his blanket to freeze his fingers and toes. Not a sound echoed throughout the crisply frosted streets, not a soul stirring behind the tightly shuttered windows.

It was so dark, so cold… so lonely.

He couldn’t cry in front of anybody else, but alone was a different matter.

I… I can’t see the light any more…

[Wings of Endymion]

It was a weird feeling, she had to admit. A tingling in the bottom of her stomach, a flutter in her chest that throbbed in time with her heartbeat. She had to remain intently focused to maintain her concentration, but at the same time she was completely aware of every last piece of information that touched her senses. The gentle twinkle of the stars that illuminated the crisp black skies, the rhythmic song of the waves on the lakeshore not so far away, the wafting scent of the incense used by the Elven monks in their morning prayers; each and every sensation touched her bare soul with clarity and intensity unparalleled in the ‘real’ world. This was the first stage, the dream stage, yumemai.

Next came the difficult part, konpou, seizing control. Not many onmyouji ever attained the fine precision and purity of finesse required, and the scatted sigils and softly glowing pentagrammic wards that surrounded her attested to the long hours of preparation that she had put into this one moment. Preparation that thankfully did not end up in vain, for in a moment she experienced the gut-wrenching sensation of something tearing free from her corporeal form. Then she could see herself, still slumped in meditative slumber, strands of fine black hair cascading like an ebony veil over her delicate features.

A moment later and she exulted in her newfound freedom, soaring like a graceful swan to a height from which she could make out the curvature of the horizon. Poised, she held herself there, touching upon the multifaceted tendrils of mana that trickled this high above the clouds, beyond the sight of all but the keenest eyes blessed with the Sight. She let them flow between her fingers, as if attempting to divine something from amongst their depths, letting the joy and contentment that they carried suffuse her ethereal being.

Found you!

Like an arrow from a bowstring she was off diving down such that she was nearly skimming the snow-laden treetops before levelling out. Quicker than the eye could track her spirit flashed over the frozen wastelands, leaving only the bleating of startled livestock and the whisper of an outpaced zephyr in her wake. Her destination, a point unknown in the forlorn distance, nonetheless stood out like a guiding beacon in her mind.

Every now and again she flashed over a small collection of lights in the darkness, huddled together against the cold. Some blazed brightly and defiantly, in celebration of their victorious struggle and in exultation at their hard-won survival. Others simmered in quiet contentment, relieved and relaxed that they had survived. A few were quiet gloom, and she knew that these had suffered great loss at the hands of the Dread Necromancer and had yet to recover.

Beneath each light, around each hearth, she knew that a family of Elves celebrated the traditional Raiaeran midwinter festival, with solemn song and warm food and gratuitous prayer. She smiled once as she passed overhead, happy for them, but did not slow down.

Wasteland soon gave way to rolling hills and distant peaks, all smothered beneath a thick layer of shimmering white snow. Still the beacon in the distance, the destination that she seemed so fixated upon, remained far away and out of reach. The glittering flames became less and less frequent, and when they did appear, they were rigidly formed and present in great number.

These were the camps of the Alerarian soldiers, she knew, and the gaping voids in between contained the ruins of countless settlements lost to war and famine. Doubtless the Dark Elves too were celebrating midwinter, most likely in a manner not too dissimilar from their fairer kin, although she fancied that she could make out a raucous drunken cry or two even as she flit past with great haste. No matter how they tried, though, they could not make up for the emptiness and pain that emanated from the hollow darkness, and an involuntary tear flowed down her cheek as she continued onwards.

The towering heights of the Twilight Peaks, the narrow ravine that was Niadath Pass, and then with a breathless burst she erupted through unto the other side, Alerar proper. Villages and towns, threadbare treetops and vast expanses of ice-coated wasteland sped beneath her as she forged onwards, ever onwards, towards her goal. She could feel it drawing closer now, and her determination to attain it only multiplied manifold. As the clusters of lights began to grow denser, and a faint halo of crimson outlined the mountains behind her, she began to call out, reaching to it in desperate succour.

Hold on, she whispered, an echo on the wind. You’re not alone. You’re not alone!

In spite of all the joyous celebrating voices that she could have chosen to listen to, she had picked the saddest, the most sorrowful. Of all the heartbeats that she could have sought, she had chosen the loneliest, the one that struggled, even now, to hold in the tears. And though she thought it foolish for its refusal to cry in front of others, and though it hurt her greatly when she touched the surface of the bleeding soul… she could not let it be.

Long ago, it had shown her a sky free of clouds, a wind that did not herald heavy rains. And though she was still so powerless and it remained so far away, it was her turn now to return the favour.

Not long now, she promised, reassuring, to the curled-up figure huddled against the dark, the cold, the solitude. I’m almost there…

Spires of stone and battlements of steel. Faceless houses crammed together in the confines of a mighty fortress, and the narrow paved streets that saved them. A skyship silhouetted against the starlit night, basking in the growing dawn.

Ettermire, capital of Alerar.

Closer she came, closer still. The grand basilicas that seated the government and nobility. The fortified barracks that housed the bulk of the nation’s military might. And then the most imposing building of them all, home to the vast repositories of knowledge upon which the collected councillors of the country could draw. The Li…

“… Yuka!”

With a jolt she came back to earth, cursing the mind-pounding suddenness that always marked the end of soul projection. Instinctively she reached for the kodachi at her side, then almost collapsed as the strain of the past few hours took its cumulative toll. Still, only when she felt the reassuring roughness of Akiyoshi’s hand upon her back did she allow herself to fully relax, exhaling frosty tension from tautly poised muscles.

“You’re almost as pale as that paper,” he indicated gruffly, simmering anger just about masking his concern. “Don’t tell me that you’ve been at it all night…”

“… then I won’t…” was the soft, rueful reply as Yuka reached for her head, massaging her temples in a futile bid to exorcise the hot-blooded daemons that had suddenly taken root. Such was the price that she had to pay for abusing the limits of her powers, although truth be told, she was glad that it wasn’t any higher.

Sensing that her samurai friend had not simply joined her to rouse her from her slumber, however, she gently pried herself away from his support, steadying herself upright. Then she asked, “What’s up?”

“Kendal reported back,” he answered, his honest features unable to conceal a flicker of triumph. “We’ve found him at last.”

His lamellar armour, blood-red as the sun that was now dawning behind him, clinked lightly as he helped her to her feet. Her snow-white robes whispered a light thank you in the morning breeze, even as she turned to gaze towards the moon-touched western horizon.

“The capital of Alerar,” she finished for him, causing his dark brown eyes to widen in surprise. “The Library of Ettermire.”

Slowly he nodded acquiescence. A moment later he blinked in surprise as she reached down gracefully and handily tossed him his spear, saved from embarrassment only by his swift reflexes.

“Let’s go,” she said, and in a blink of an eye his face was wreathed in a wide grin.

“Let’s,” was his immediate reply.

[Zerith]

As a child, Zerith had always enjoyed the Feast of the Ancients. It was the day everyone in the village celebrated, a day that encouraged them to remember how close the community once was. Back then the village was small, and the families didn’t have much. Yet the people were close, almost like one single family. So one night some of the villagers decided it would be a good idea for everyone to come together and partake in a feast, but realized that there wasn’t a building large enough to accommodate everyone. Instead they improvised, deciding to have the festivities outside in the winter. Lacking the ability to decorate a banquet hall or something similar, some of the men went into the nearby forest and brought back the largest pine tree they could find. Once they returned they stood it up in the center of the village, and everyone brought what they could spare to decorate it. Old ribbons, a broken earring even some old material one of the older ladies kept from when she had a hobby of making art. The tree wasn’t exactly a beautiful piece of art, but it marked a collaborative effort of everyone bringing what they could and underneath it the people ate and drank in the cold, yet nobody really complained. Many even gave some of their possessions to others as gifts, tokens of how much they appreciated the other. Throughout the following years the day was eventually marked as the one where Zerith’s ancestors decided they weren’t just a community, but a single family unit.

Now it had become an annual tradition. Some of the gifts became more elaborate and the pine trees used to replicate the original always seemed to be decorated in lavish amounts of beads, glass balls and ribbons. Some were even topped off with stars, to help some remember what it must have been like for their forefathers to celebrate and be thankful for what they had out in the cold, starry night. Yet the sense of belonging and family never changed for the halberdier. Through the excitement over receiving gifts diminished now that he was an adult, he still always seemed to enjoy this particular holiday.

Well, all except this one in particular.

Sitting at one of the many tables in the grand ballroom of King Eric’s palace, the warder supported his head with his left arm as he leaned over the circular table. His blue eyes stared blankly at the inside cover of a book before him, while he absentmindedly drummed the end of a fountain pen on the delicate tablecloth. He knew what he wanted to do, to be able to write something appropriate for the recipient of this last gift he had to share. The only problem was that the words were coming out as easily as he hoped. Not to mention he didn’t just want them to sound perfect, he needed them to.

“If he weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be having this struggle,” he grumbled.

The words he said were referring to the real reason why Zerith wasn’t really enjoying the celebration. Not only did today mark the Feast of the Ancients, but it also marked the day that years ago one man made a prominent appearance in Jasmine Dracosius’ life. The Ixian Knight had heard the story a couple times, of how the arrogant Prince Raelyse danced with the Princess of Moriah, whispered sweet things in her ear and even went as far as to hand her a rose of ice so clear it could have been crystal. It was also the night that prince of pricks kissed her and quickly wrapped her around his finger. Just trying to remember the story made Zerith’s blood boil and teeth grind against each other.

Sure, Jasmine quickly forgot everything about Raelyse once her warder showed her what real love was like, but there was always that small part of Zerith that resented that man for what he did on that one day. Perhaps it was just a guy thing, but ever since he heard how the Myrusian wooed his wife’s heart back then, Zerith swore he would top it once day.

“Zerith,” a female voice finally managed to bring the halberdier out of the past and back into the present. It was Melody, Queen of Moriah and Jasmine’s sister-in-law that was speaking to him. Clad in a rich gown of a yellow and white, the monarch had always been supportive the foreigner than became a prince and general. She looked beautiful and formal, as always. Even to the point that she wore a small crown upon her head during this event. Taking a seat next to the noble, she looked out at the crowd and scenery. “Your customs seem to be a big hit here in Moriah. I didn’t think most of these people would accept them so well.”

“Huh?” Zerith asked as he finally looked up from the book he was obsessing over. When he noticed that Melody was referring to the scenery he took a moment to look at it again. While the pillars were wrapped with garland and candles served as a great way to make the ballroom feel more homey, it was the tree that dominated the scenery to the point where many of the nobles were standing just below it, admiring the work put into it and how new and different it was. The three, which Zerith decorated himself, was covered with reds and golds. Bright ribbons were tied into bows and certain places, while the class balls were decorated with rich details of both colours and came in a variety of shapes. It really was a work of art, and one that the halberdier took great pride in. “Well at least they’re not burning the tree down.”

The queen laughed, “Cute, though I suppose that wouldn’t be unlikely given how cold I know some of these nobles can be.” She turned around in a fluid motion, finally facing her companion. “So how are you? Enjoying the ball?”

“I’m fine,” the Ixian Knight grumbled as he went back to staring at the book on the table. “Just a little frustrated that I can’t think of the perfect thing to write in this book. Shame I can’t go around a make women roses of ice, instead I actually have to put work into things like this,” he spat out sarcastically.

“Are you really getting into all of that again, Zerith?” Melody answered with a look of disappointment. She had expected her brother-in-law would be struggling to let go of the past again, the look on his face as he was reminiscing earlier was more than enough proof. Though she didn’t really need proof anyways, somehow Melody was a woman with an incredible sense of intuition to the point where she was easily able to tell when something was wrong with someone. “Jasmine let it go years ago, I thought she said you did as well shortly after you got married.”

“I did! But excuse me if what happened back then still leaves a bitter taste!” the warder snapped back instinctively. “I’m better than him, Melody! It frustrates me I can’t prove it!”

After a few seconds of silence a gentle touch, so soft that Zerith barely felt it as the Queen place a hand on his shoulder, was given to help him calm down and feel supported. A warm smile covered Melody’s face before she finally said something quietly. “You are better than him, and you’ve already proven it.” Turning back around toward the guests, Eric’s wife stretched her arm outwards and pointed. “Look.”

Across the large room stood Jasmine herself, dressed in a sleeved gown of dark blue with silver trim and wearing hair mostly loose, though small sections were clipped back so they wouldn’t fall in front of her face. As she spoke to some other nobles the halberdier didn’t recognize, she carried little Siela in her arms. Their daughter was adorable, dressed in a red knee-length dress, white stockings and small, shiny black shoes. The red bow in her hair was used to just complete the outfit, though the baby would periodically try to pull it off her head only to be thwarted by her mother readjusting it. Once Jasmine looked away, Siela would be back at it again not too long afterwards. It was a constant battle between the two, and one that Zerith found quite amusing to watch.

Apparently the princess caught sight of her husband and the Queen looking at her from the corner of her eye and quickly excused herself from the current conversation she was involved in. Turning to face them, she smiled brightly and waved. She even brought the infant up to her face and pointed, trying to help the tiny princess recognize the family members Mommy saw. It wasn’t hard to tell when the baby finally saw what Jasmine was pointing at, as her face lit up with a rich smile immediately. The sight made Zerith’s heart melt, and that familiar sense of pride as a father come thundering back into his sense of self.

“Raelyse wasn’t there for Jasmine, or for the rest of us, like you have.” Melody started explaining. “Every time we had a problem, you always seemed to show up and help us get through it. Jasmine saw this, she even continues to see it, and she loves you all the more for it. It’s one of the many reasons she chose you. She married you and that’s your daughter she’s holding, nobody else’s. There’s your proof, Zerith. Now why don’t you start enjoying yourself tonight?”

Melody made a really good point, and Zerith wouldn’t get the chance to thank her before she got up from her seat and joined her husband and the conversation he was currently involved in. Sapphire eyes moved to look at the book that sat on the table once again, and as they did the warder thought about what the monarch said and how both his wife and daughter looked at him from across the room. It didn’t take long, perhaps only a minute or two before the prince rose to his feet, slammed the book shut and tucked it into his suit jacket before he left the pit he had been sulking in and took the first of many steps he would take that night as he enjoyed the evening.

The rest of the night flew by, and through the event the halberdier did things he had always wanted to do. He ‘danced’ with his daughter, and enjoyed it so much that he didn’t care what some of the other nobles thought. He even endured talking to some of the members of nobility he disliked, choosing to not voice things that would upset the other and taking comments that would generally bother him in stride. When asked by others, he explained the traditions he was brought up with enthusiasm and retold fond memories he had from when he was a boy. He even got along with his brother-in-law, King Eric, so well that neither Jasmine nor Melody would probably be able to think of a time prior to that could even come close to this one. Though both were probably hoping to see the two men getting along in such a way become a regular occurrence. For what it was worth, Zerith would at least try to do his share from that point on.

Eventually, Siela and Dylan were taken off the parents hands so the children could get to bed and the parents could have some time to enjoy themselves. So with his baby out of his wife’s hands, the Ixian Knight decided it was about time to make his move and finally give her the gift he had been preparing for this day. He smiled as he quietly lead her into the gardens, knowing full well how they played into that story between Raelyse and Jasmine. Yet that story was in the past, an old library book that nobody ever signed out and was now collecting dust. Instead Zerith would write a new one, one that his mage would tell over and over again to people like Melody and her friends. Every time she would repeat the events, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from smiling as she would recall how her husband went above and beyond all expectations.

Whereas Raelyse make a rose out of ice, Zerith changed the very weather. Although he wasn’t exactly him performing the feat, it did take him quite the amount of time pulling strings and organizing to have everything in place. While Moriah had a tropical climate, some of the kingdom’s mages excelled with weather. Zerith knew this, and requested the help of some of the best he could find. Now that he saw the final result, he was sure all of the work paid off. He did what he planned on doing, creating not only a winter wonderland for just him and his wife, but also a window that allowed him to finally show Jasmine what the Feast of the Ancient was like back where he grew up.

The two danced and kissed, savouring the moment and all of things that made it extraordinary. The bright moon, the gentle starlight and the rare sight of snow in Moriah made everything feel perfect and like something the princess would have read in one of her fantasy novels. The halberdier guided her by the hand, leading Jasmine to a small gazebo near the center of the garden. From there they watched the white snowflakes fall, the serene surroundings a very welcome change from the busy life they shared at Ixian Castle. Placing his arms on her hips, Zerith smiled warmly. “I have a gift for you,” he said as he reached into his suit jacket to for what he had tucked away in there earlier. “Afterall, it’s tradition to give gifts to loved ones where I’m from.”

Out from his jacket he withdrew the book he had been trying to write in earlier, but eventually decided against the idea. I appeared to be a simple novel; bound in black leather and the fine pages inside were trimmed with gold around the edges. As he placed in into her hands Jasmine stared at it with wonder before she quickly flipped through the pages, noting the eloquent style of lettering. “What is it?” she asked excitedly. “It’s untitled”

“It’s a purely original work, one that took quite the amount of time to get published,” Zerith explained, though a little nervous to explain what the story really one. “I had meant to give it to you earlier, but it’s just taken a lot longer than I thought it would. It’s the retelling of everything starting from when we first met and ending with Siela’s birth. Only it’s from my perspective.”

The first response the prince received from his wife was a kiss, but eventually she spoke. “Oh, Zerith. You didn’t have to go into all that effort to give me a gift,” Jasmine replied, though she sounded like she was absolutely stunned. Running her hand down the cover of the book, the princess spun around so that she had her back to him. “I’m sorry, love, but I don’t really have a gift for you.” She paused, thinking for a moment not only about her predicament, but also about what she had planned to do prior to the ball. “Well, I guess some could say that I do have a gift. It’s just one that I can’t really hand to you.”

Although he was a little confused at what Jasmine was saying, the halberdier was just about to tell her that she didn’t really to give him anything in return for the sake of the holiday. He was just about to go into the while speech his father gave him about how the Feast of the Ancients was really just about coming together as a family and being thankful for each others. Though before he could speak up, Jasmine had already spun back around to face him. Then, still holding tightly onto the gift her husband just handed to her, she said something that would remind Zerith just how important family really was to him and how exciting it could be.

“I’m pregnant.”

[Viola Conda]

Viola yawned softly as she stretched her arms up above her head, cracking her neck of the built up stress from pouring over the latest batch of her students homework. Half way through the course and she was already pleased that a majority of her students were looking like they would pass her test without any difficulty. Yet like all classroom environments, there were always the few apples in her crop of oranges.

“Hello, M’am,” A soft voice called from the edge of the room. Viola rose her gaze to see her personal retainer and closest friend, Natalie Boros, smiling to her. Viola waved her in and the lithe woman darted between the desks carrying with her a tray of dinner food. It had been a custom as of late for the Chief Counselor of Emprea to forget to eat, and always Natalie arrived with food. Viola shuffled the papers to the side, making room as the tray slid easily on the lacquered finished oak, and with a greedy grin Viola lifted her fork and began to eat at the peas.

“How goes the students from hell?” Natalie asked, taking a juicy bite out of an apple. A bit of dribble escaped her lips and she darted her tongue to catch it as Viola swallowed her vegetables and spoke kindly.

“I have no students from Hell, Captain Boros, just those that are doing well and those that need a bit more of a push,” Viola let her eyes flutter as she tasted the butter from the mashed potatoes on her pallet. Natalie shrugged indifferently, tossed her black hair aside as if it was an afterthought, and put on a sly grin like she was a hound onto a fox’s trail.

“Then what about your favorite student, Captain Donovan?” She spoke in a haughty tone, as if to tease her superior officer. Viola gave her a mere warning glance, but sighed as she thought about the man in question. Paul Donovan was one of the Six Heroes of Emprea. The youngest by a year, and the most fiery tempered of the group Paul was a symbol to the people of Emprea as the defiant one. He was also incredibly tactless and ended most of his strategies with ‘punch them in the face.’ Viola had the ‘honor’ of being assigned to train the young Captain and tame his berserker like mentality to become a disciplined facet to the Emprean War Effort.

“If you think because he’s a stubborn brute that he’ll fail my class, then try again,” Viola said scooping more potato mush onto her fork. “Thanks to Rachel he‘s learned how to conduct himself like an officer. Thanks to Jonothan he‘s learned how to solve more problems tactically rather than rushing everything forwards. And thanks to David he‘s learned to keep his temper in check. He’s passing the course just fine. His written exams are something to be desired, yes, but his practicals are always spot on. Give the man a little credit, Captain Boros.”

“Oh I never doubted his abilities, M’am,” Natalie said, her grin growing wider. “I just asked how your favorite student is doing.” Viola gave her friend an odd look of confusion before she realized what her companion was getting at.

“For the love of god…“ Viola rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Please Natalie, drop it already!”

“Oh I think it’s cute!” Natalie protested. “The Wolf Lord of Emprea and the Chief Counselor. Brute force and unwavering discipline! You both complete each other like a circle!” Viola debated if she should stab her fork into Natalie. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of it. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. He’s got more than respect for you, Viola, he’s got the hots for you!”

“Commander Conda, to you, Captain Boros,” Viola growled.

“And you got the hots for him, commander,” Natalie continued slyly, leaning in close and poking Viola’s shoulder repeatedly as she lifted her eyebrows. “When you think nobodies looking, that nobody is around, you gaze to him with such longing it should be in a romance novel. You fondled one of his homework assignments for an hour!” Viola’s face turned red as she slammed food into her mouth.

“I haven’t the foggiest clue,” she gulped her food. “What you’re talking about, Captain. He is no more to me than any other facet of this army.”

“Uh, huh,” Natalie looked unconvinced. “He’s way more to you, you just won’t let yourself have fun! Come on, pull the knot out of your hair and let it down! Let him take you to the Ball,” Natalie lifted a hand up quickly. “I already know you don’t have a date, so don’t try and lie!” Viola waited to see if her friend would continue before smiling.

“To be perfectly honest, Captain Boros,” Viola’s face flushed red again. “I have considered asking Paul Donovan to the Anniversary Ball.” Before Viola was able to continue Natalie swung her legs over the desk and stood up.

“Good, than it won’t be to hard a stepping stone to say yes when he walks in to ask you! Courtesy me! Happy anniversary!” Viola’s face dropped open as she swiped for Natalie, who stepped back and turned, laughing before she stifled it into a giggle, coughing as she brought herself to regal height. She gave a quick salute forwards and Viola couldn’t see who was in front of her due to Natalie’s body being in the way.

“Captains!” She said happily. “I wonder why you are here?” She didn’t really seemed inquisitive, in fact Viola was certain that Natalie knew why. Still, who these people were was a mystery until someone spoke or her friend moved.

“Captain Boros, it would be my pleasure, nay, my honor, if you would give me the wonderful pleasantry of your company for an ice cream cone. I wish to discuss details for the Anniversary Ball with you.” Viola knew that flowery speech from anywhere and she smiled as she thought of David King, the most Charming Hero of Emprea and most admired by the woman.

“It would be my, uh…uh…”

“Try great joy,” Viola said dryly to Natalie.

“My great joy to get dessert with you!” Natalie lifted one finger into the air to accentuate her point as she stepped forwards. Natalie wrapped one arm around David’s waist, the Captain of the Guard stopping to greet Viola properly with a short military bow. Viola waved them off and the two walked out of the room, but something David mumbled caught the Chief Counselor off guard.

“Good luck,”

Viola looked to see a sheepish looking Paul Donovan looking back at her. His hazel eyes showed the softer side of his more hulkish nature. She had heard rumors, some stories, about Paul’s legendary rage. She heard horrible things about his temper being let loose more than once, and several times she had to sign papers about his house arrest for hitting a superior officer. Yet every time she saw him he looked like an innocent, good intentioned man. She just couldn’t see the hostile, rage filled man everyone else saw. All she saw was the goofy captain who had lost his ability to speak when around her, stood a bit taller, worked with a bit better posture, and opened doors for her and offered to take her coat or grab her things. She saw the man she had feelings for, and no stories were ever able to match up to that man she envisioned. God damn it all, Natalie is right! I do…like him. But just like! Viola thought to herself.

“Uh, Commander Conda, may I…uh…erm…nice weather,” The line officer said weakly. Paul stepped forwards, his hands fumbling behind his back before he produced a small wrapped cloth. When he reached her desk he placed it down and then opened the wrappings. “I thought you would like some dessert. It’s a cake from the Spero’s. It’s really good!”

“I can tell,” Viola said giggling as she pointed her fork to a large bite mark. “You already ate some.” She looked to him with a small smile, letting it creep across her face as she turned away from him, picking up the papers and placing them inside the desk, pulling out her spare set of kitchen utensils for when she packed her lunch. She took the fork and offered it to Paul, who thanked her as he sat down.

The two nibbled at the cake in silence. Viola took one bite, not expecting much until her eyes popped and her mouth watered. The cake was more than delicious, it was heavenly. They ate it until Captain Donovan put his fork down and pushed the little slice towards his commanding officer.

“I hear that you haven’t found a date yet to the ball,” Paul started the conversation with an earnest smile. Viola looked to him with a bemused smile, nodding. “Must be hard to find someone, huh?”

“It is a problem, yes,” Viola admitted. “Working as much as I do I have very few personal hours. I am afraid I haven’t utilized any of it to look for a date.” Viola stirred her fork in the crumbs as her cheeks flushed red once more. “What about….about you?” She asked, her tone akin to a whisper on the wind. Paul remained quiet for a moment, then answered just as soft.

“Nobody,” Paul looked to her and smiled. “Most girls don’t want a line soldier, and the others are already taken.”

“Ah the life of solitude,” Viola said dryly. Paul nodded dumbly, smiling before he began to fidget with his fingers. When he cracked each knuckle he looked right at his commanding officer. “What?” Viola asked, chuckling as he did so.

“About that,” Paul said rubbing his thumb and middle finger together. “I was, well, wondering if maybe you’d like to, well, erm…” Paul coughed and pointed to a glass of water on the table. Viola poured him a bit more water and passed him the cup, which he greedily drank the whole thing in one draught. The intake he did on the liquid was akin to inhaling the whole thing down like a hungry wolf. He was aptly named the Wolf Lord for his eating habits, at least the counselor mused with a whimsical smile.

“Better?” Viola asked. Paul nodded before he stood up, grabbing the cloth and wrapping it into itself, folding the edges in and tying it off into a ball. He then made a motion to leave her, waving goodbye with a soft grunt of thanks for her time and was two steps down the row of chairs before Viola sighed and spoke up. “Captain, you were saying something?” Paul froze, as if he had put his hand in the cookie jar and was caught. Slowly he turned, his eyes shifting as if thinking of something to say before he rubbed the back of his head nervously.

“I just, well, wanted to know if…” Paul swallowed the air in his mouth, squared his shoulders, stood tall and looked right at her. Aside from the gentleness in his eyes his posture looked like he was about to arrest her or shake her down for her lunch money. Either way Viola tried very hard not to laugh in his face. “Chief Counselor Viola Conda, it has come to my attention that both of us don’t have dates to the Anniversary of the Emprea’s founding. It is always customary that everyone who is to attend have a date. This is a tradition set down from the first Barbarian king of Emprea, and upheld by every King and Queen of Emprea since. I will be damned, Chief Counselor, not to uphold that tradition.”

“Very bold of you, Captain,” Viola said in her military tone. “And what strategy have you devised for solving your problem?” She smiled despite her tone, enjoying the moment of silliness with her Captain. Paul let out a sly grin and she saw felt the comfort in his relaxed posture as he eased back into his usual self.

“ Look Commander, this is really important to me. Every winter I have dreamed of going to such an elaborate event, and every winter I spent it playing Red Raze in the barracks with chumps, dancing like a jackass with the other linewomen. But once, just once I want to go with someone who’s…well, you.” Paul gave her a warming look and Viola felt her heart softly start to beat. “We both don’t have dates, we’re both comfortable around each other, and I think we’d have a great time. So…say yes and make me happy?” Viola lifted herself up and crossed the table to stand before him, leaning back into the desk and crossing her hands over her chest.

“Captain,” She said in a soft tone. “I would be lying if I didn’t say I thought of this, of…us,” She tapped his arm gently and let her hand rest on his wrist. Her fingers, without her knowing it, began to softly intertwine with his. The next words she tried to say were swallowed deep inside her when she looked into his eyes, feeling her heart race faster and faster. She gripped his hand, tightly, then pulled it away softly looking to his knees as if that would make the words she were about to say easier.

“I can’t,” She said at last, nearly choking on the words. “It’s unacceptable for a Captain of your level to date a superior officer. There are rules and regulations that must be followed.” Paul sighed heavily, and his intense look bore a whole in the side of her head. She could feel his disappointment between them and she contemplated hugging him. She knew she could use one.

“What about Jonothan Andrews and Rachel Leona! That’s got to be some sort of rules violation, but does anyone care? I’d pray to god not or they’d have my fists to answer to!” Viola lifted both her hands up and rested them on Paul’s, lowering them down to calm his growing anger.

“No, they aren’t in any form of trouble, but that isn’t the issue, Captain Donovan,” Viola said. She thought about what she just said and felt for the first time ever her heart disagreeing with her mind. Even her gut stubbornly refused her mental impulse to choose duty and pride over self interest. She was dumbfounded to feel so torn up over something so trivial and she just held Paul while they looked to each other. Follow her heart and instincts, or follow her Duty to her country?

“What is the issue, then, If I may ask?” Paul asked leaning closer to her. She felt her heart spark again to be so close to him and she had trouble thinking. At last she stood tall and looked him in the eye. She took in a deep breath and spoke in a forced calm.

“Captain Donovan, one of the things a Chief Counselor must be is a shining example to the rest of the army. I cannot bend the rules for myself and enforce them on others. I cannot break the conduct code of an officer and then expect people to take me seriously when I bellow out orders. What if you were with your newly formed wolves, and one of them is punished for punching a superior officer, but you are not?”

Paul actually let out a soft snort of laughter as he listened to her analogy. Yet he didn’t answer right away, thinking about it before speaking. “I’d be pretty upset, actually. I’d want to be treated no differently than my wolves when it comes to matters of discipline. I’d want them to respect me and see me as their leader, and the only way I can do that is show them what a good leader is in all things…” Paul looked down to his feet. “I understand, Commander Conda,” Paul lifted his head up and grinned to her. “I don’t like it, not one bit, but I understand it.” Viola smiled to him, and gripped his arm tightly. She really wanted that hug.

“Besides,” Viola said teasingly. “I am your instructor for your officer’s academy. Think of how much work and effort would be wasted in telling people it’s just for the ball?” Paul nodded, though half heartedly before he looked to the clock on the wall and popped his eyes open wide.

“I must excuse myself, M’am, I have to get to my wolves! If I’m late they get pissy at me and it’s a big mess of an ordeal to get them organized again. The joy of leading a berserker unit, I guess. Goodbye,” Paul waved to her with a smile as he turned to run off. Viola watched him go, waving as she suppressed a giggle, before turning back to her desk and sitting down. She looked at the papers she had to grade, but instead she just slammed the door shut sighing.

“Stupid Natalie Boros and her stupid being right…” Viola whispered hugging herself.

[Duffy]

It was Lucian's Call, and for the Tantalum, that meant one thing...

Celebration!

The square that was at the heart of Bakery, Lombard, Loveless and Holmsgrove Streets was a simple yet understated place on the edges of the docklands. A fountain was all that occupied it most of the time, with the exception of once weekly markets, where stalls of all varieties would congregate here from the poorer trade districts to share their wares, their gossip, and often their wives. Leaving the Square via Loveless Avenue, the way was book ended on the left by the Harbour Land Inn, and on the right, the much, much taller building, consisting mainly of rooms, apartments and various hovels of a poor quality, but much used and loved rooms nether the less. From here, Duffy could see into the top floor attic window of the Inn, and the faint trace of shadows running back and forth inside.

Every year they adapted I Want To Be Your Canary to suit the modern day themes and fit in recent events or changes to monarchy and the like. This year, a comet was being portended by the madmen on the streets. There was more than likely absolutely no truth in it whatsoever, but a good troupe, especially the Tantalum, knew how to milk controversy. The front of the apartment building Duffy was glancing down from held a great clockwork clock front, a hundred concentric gears turned and ticked and ticked and chimed away the days and night in plain view of all, he could feel the movements of it’s great pendulum reverberating through the roof beneath him…he used it to time himself. All he needed now was the sign, and then the performance would begin.

“Oh where are though, Cornelia, my Canary Grande - my sweet riposte!” he recited a random line plucked from his skull to break the monotony, he was most impatient, bubbling and desperate to be doing anything other than standing. A gentle breeze whipped up dust, and birds scattered from the sporadic trees on the edges of the square in a silent flock, their beating wings drowned out by the torrent of footfalls, conversations and haggling from below.

A little face appears in the fourth floor window, waving a small blue flag with a faint white symbol. Duffy beamed a broad smile of over-enthusiastic connotations and stoop upright, tensing his legs, stretching out his arms and bouncing once or twice for good measure. “Well!” Talking to himself might not be the surest sign of sanity, but he did so to re-assure his movements, and he runs towards the ledge with all his gusto. As he brought his right foot up onto the ledge he plucked a memory that caused him to push with the right force and pose to pounce upwards and outwards. He landed with both feet on the end of the flag pole and, somewhat comically found himself flung up even higher and forwards and ultimately down…

The plan was, to use the Tinder Gear prop to cause a trail of lingering flame in the air that went downwards, a bit like a comet’s tail. As soon as he brought his arms up and began a semi-bothered spin he felt…awkward. He was going down far too fast, weighed with the heavy flint gloves and fuel pipes. Still, he ejected the liquid in a light spray as he went and just as he crash landed onto the balcony of the fourth floor of the Harbour Inn, he let off an almighty clap - a single spark caught the vapour trail and flame licked up into the sky. Had Duffy been upright at that point, and not in the middle of a very awkward and flailing tumble into the room, across the floor and headlong into a pile of rather fetching pink dresses, he would’ve certainly heard people in the street scream with shock.

Getting straight to work the other performers of the troupe flung bags of flour off the balcony and out of the windows, some threw, very carefully trying to not hit anyone as they did so bits of wood and cloth out as well, to give the impression that something had fallen and crashed into the inn itself! There was a lot of coughing and mock screaming and crashing from inside as the younger performers slammed chairs down onto the floorboards and the youngest, Zack and Joe jumped up and down and ran to and fro to create a fake commotion.

Duffy came to his senses a minute or so later, removing a scarf and an umbrella from his belts and dusting himself off with a blush. “That dint go so well,” he chuckled, but could see everyone was too busy, except for Ruby, who was trying very very hard not to laugh - very unlady like! The silence outside drew them both very cautiously to window to peer out at what was going on. People from all over the square had dropped whatever it was they were doing, fish, apple, book, child (and apparently literally, from the faint crying at the back of the crowd) and slowly approached the dusty inn. The paranoia and curiosity was almost tangible in the air, the young scamp didn’t even need to look at Ruby, or anyone else that matter to see they all thought the same. This was it!

Twirling around on one foot he pointed at one group to his left and one to his right and waved them to the window. With some sort of wooden contraption they let fly two very long and wide blue tapestries out of the windows, each equidistant of the large entrance doors of the inn three floors down. Two on the roof tossed bucket after bucket of paper and cloth clippings, which came down like a rainbow’s glow, and the doors of the inn burst open and out came Pete and his young friends, skipping, jumping, whistling and speeding. They pull the tables off the inn together by the steps, and a great cloth hanging drops down over the front of the inn, hung from the loading cranes and rafters. In a split second, the inn was now a castle front, adorned with the banner of the Tantalum, fronted by a ramshackle makeshift stage and adorned with suddenly appearing fake bushes, trees and paper props.

The crowd stood, stunned to silence.

Duffy turned to Ruby and smiled with his cheeky little smile, “So, my Lady Cornelia, shall we?” He holds out his hand, tuts as she winks at Jack over her shoulder, and almost pulls him out of the window into a combined slide down a rope ladder.

Nobody seemed to recognise them as they landed with their backs to the crowd, but as she put on a crown of a dubious nature, and he drew a dagger and helf it aloft, they began whispering. Then two trumpets appeared in the windows of the ‘castle,’ and began to play the Scara Brae waltz. Duffy turns and drops on one knee, and mutters the immortal line to begin the tale of Marcus and Cornelia once more….

“I want to be your canary!”

The wave of cheers and applause drowned out the docklands, and news spread fast that the Tantalum where once more afoot!

[Hysteria]

“Deck the halls with blood and bones! Fa la la la lar la la la lar! Take your sword and kill some one! Fa la la la, la la la lar!”

The masked man kicked his boot into his victim's chest and tore his sword free. His hidden face turned up to the scared looking warrior's around him a feeling of mirth filled his heart. The holiday brawl in the Citadel was a better idea than the warrior had thought and he was finally getting into the holiday spirit. A flash of his blade and a spray of blood marked another man's exit from the fight as cackling laughter escaped the man's mouth.


* * * *

“Got plans for the 'oliday mister?”

The tavern keeper's round, cherry-red face was painted with a wide smile as he asked a guest before he could leave. The man looked at the keeper, uncomfortable would have been an understatement.

“Just family stuff I guess.”

“Oh! That's the best, sitting around a fire, drinking eggnog and singing carols. That’s what the holiday is all about!”

The young man nodded and forced a smile on his face as he walked from the tavern. He suspected the keeper had been hitting the eggnog already. The man was Talen, and his age was one of the most confusing things to exist on Althanas. He was thirteen by normal standards, and generally looked so. He had however used a peculiar ability to grow, one he used primarily to hide his identity and assume his alter ego, the White Demon. This persona was ruthless and harsh and it was he that was brought out whenever he needed to do dirty work.

This ability was a secrete to all but three people, an none of them would ever betray his trust. The White Demon was making an appearance today for a number of reasons, the main one was so Talen could work off some steam. As Talen walked through the crisp streets of Radasanth he watched the shopping families with disdain. The parents walked hand in hand with children, all carrying presents and food, ready for the big night. Singing stretched through the city, permeating every space possible.

Talen pulled his cloak closer around his body, trying to ward off both cold and cheer as he approached the citadel. The mighty stone building rose up over all others and the boy grimaced in pain as he saw that the monks had decided to be as festive as everyone else. The building was covered in swaths of green and red, an eyesore for the youth if there ever was one. Talen walked up the stone steps and entered the familiar building.

“Happy Holidays!”

The screamed emanated from a female monk, with much more emotion than a monk should show. Her cherub face was red with excess mirth and.

“Yeah.”

“You here for the Holiday Royal Rumble? Twice the mayhem and three times the cheer!”

“uh... Yeah.”

“Its three doors down on the right! I designed the arena myself!”

“Oh.. great.”

Talen walked quickly away from the insane monk and followed the stone corridor to the room. He placed his hand on the door and noticed that it was cold to the touch as he pushed it open. As he saw the arena a sigh of disappointment escaped his lips.

The arena was clearly holiday themed, with a giant pine tree at least thirty metres wide and twice as high. The tree was covered with shiny directions and snow. The full arena was ringed with thick and impassable pine trees making it a full sixty feet wide. The massive tree had strong thick branches that created a perfect cone shape. On the top was a shiny gold star.

Just in front of Talen was a crowd of men dotted with women. The group were of at least sixty and were gathered around a monk standing on a box.

“GREETINGS!” roared the little man in a green and red cloak, “These holidays the Citadel is doing what it does best! Bringing you a holiday rruuUMMBBBLLLLE! The rules are simple. Number one, get the star on the top and pull it off. Number two, there is no number two! Anything else goes!”

The group cheered, but Talen pulled out a cigarette from his pocket it and lit it with an ember from the Bright Spark attached to his wrist. He took a drag and blew the smoke into the icy air as he waited for the speech to end.

“Well then! Ladies and Gentlemen, take you're places. Remember, last person standing takes home the golden star!”

The crowd dispersed quickly, with everyone spreading out around the giant tree. Talen watched with mild interest as the drugs from his cigarette worked their magic and caused his body go into overdrive. He dropped the butt onto the snow and stepped on it. He reached behind him and pulled his white mask from his belt and placed it on his head and felt the mask extend its influence across is body.

A few people had drawn weapons, and Talen did the same, pulling out his twin swords, the Ophiuchus blades. He moved his swords around easily, getting a feel for them. The crowd was eager, but as the warrior looked around. Most seemed to be either new to the Citadel or simply forgetting that the winner would most likely be the one with enough limbs left to climb the tree.

“On your marks! Get Set! GO!”

The monk's words rippled through the crowd spreading hysteria. Men and women focused their attention on the tree and charged forwards. Elbows, fists and legs were thrown in a cascade of violence. A few people broke ahead of the pack and reached the base of the tree and started climbing. Several arrows from the back line pelted the leaders and they fell back to ground to be crushed by the next wave.

One person didn't move in the swell. Talen stood still with his swords drawn watching the crowd. The young warrior had watched the intial movements of the crowd and picked his moment to act. The youth dove forwards, his feet carrying him swiftly across the ground, not towards the tree, but around the outside of crowd. His blades glinted in the light as he cut into the slowest competitors. Like a blur of fury he cut and tore into the men and women, regardless of their likelyhood of reaching the star.

The cries of pain and surprise caused people to spread out away from the masked swordsman, but Talen pushed on, cutting a diagonal swath inwards. People turned to fight and offered some resistance, but the super sped up youth cut them down as easily. Talen made it to the base of the tree and cut down those attempting to climb up the trunk. The youth turned and faced the crowd. His black cloak was covered in blood. It dripped of his sword, staining the snow red where he stood.

The youth lifted one of his swords into the air and darkness gathered into a ball and opened up, slowly blooming into a flower. Talen's eyes never stopped scanning the group in front of him. The scared amateurs had frozen in their tracks, waiting for someone else to make the first move. Several men charged forwards at once, brandishing swords. Talen calmly lifted his fist towards the men and focused his energy. Darkness surged to his hand, darkening the space around it and exploded forth in a thick black sticky liquid.

Talen moved his hand and sprayed the men as they approached, and then lifted is hand up into the air and sprayed into the branches of the tree. With a flick of his wrist the bright spark emitted a single ember and moved the stream of liquid into it. The liquid caught ablaze quickly, spreading to the branches and the men. The warrior's screamed in pain as the flames spread across their bodies.

The youth solidified more energy, spraying more people with the sticky liquid as fire started to spread to the branches of the tree. A smile spread across Talen's masked face as people screamed and ran before him. Despite himself the youth felt a song rising from his mouth.

“Deck the halls with blood and bones! Fa la la la lar la la la lar! Take your sword and kill some one! Fa la la la, la la la lar!”

Talen's swords screamed and blood answered as he tore around the tree as fast as his feet could carry him. The flames moved through the tree moving higher and higher as the youth twisted on the spot and surveyed those still in the contest. Of the original sixty there were about fifteen left. Despite his best efforts, the youth had not even taken out half of the competitors, but he was determined to do his best to take out the rest.

The youth bent low and charged across the bloody snow towards two men working as a pair. They were firing arrows quickly, showering the remaining competitors in death. Talen reached them quickly lifted up and bring his sword in a upwards slash and caught one of them across the back. Talen's other sword came down and cut into the man's shoulder with a sickening crunch. Talen opened his mouth and shadows spiralled inwards and sprayed out. The liquid caught the second man before he could act and Talen ripped his sword free and plunged it into the man's chest.

“Get the masked guy!”

During the fight another six people fell, leaving only seven, who were rushing towards Talen. The youth looked past the men to the flower he had created. The black flora burst, sending five petals spinning through the air and into the back of the charging men. Three fell and two staggered but continued towards the youth.

Talen stepped sideways and stabbed forwards into a man's neck. He garggled and choaked as blood gushed down his chest. The youth ducked into a wild swing of another man twisted on the spot to bring his swords in a wide arc around him to catch one of the men in the legs. The boy continued his wild movements, stepping and swinging, always keeping low as he moved around the men. Talen broke off and came up a few steps away from the last two men.

“Two left huh?”

The men looked at each other and then the carnage around them. They dropped their swords and gave scared smiles.

“Don't worry.”

The boy stepped forwards and stabbed a sword into each of the men's chests.

“It isn't permanent.”

Talen pulled his swords out of the men with a sickening slurp and walked towards the flaming tree. He looked up and waited for the fire to do its work. A minute past and the golden star fell from its perch. Talen walked over and picked it up and headed to the monk. The little green robed man had a slightly sick look on his face as Talen handed him the star.

“Happy Holidays.” Said Talen.

[Silence Sei]

“So what are we doing here?” Ella Orlouge asked her family. Sei, Kyla, and every Orlouge had managed to take a day off from Ixian Castle to return home to Chateau Orlouge. With them was none other than Sei’s best friend, Kylin Rouge. All around the young girl, her adoptive family was moving back and forth, making sure every window was spotless, every crystal glass clearly polished. Anything that was transparent was perfectly clean, with Ella and her older sister Emma watching in awe at the Mystic ritual.

“It’s called the Night of Glass,” explained Rehtul Orlouge, Sei’s nephew, who was holding a champagne glass and checking it for specks. “Every year for one day, the Mystic Race returns home in order to pay homage to the one who granted us such a wide array of abilities. It’s kind of a tradition to just come to Grandmother and Grandfather’s house in order to celebrate it. It makes sense, seeing as it is the largest house of the Orlouge family.”

Emma turned to look at her cousin, blinking at the explanation. “So, what exactly is this Night of Glass all about? I mean, we’re part of the family now, shouldn’t we get to know?”

“Of course you should,” chimed in Aislinn Orlouge, Rehtul’s sister. She was moving some of her red hair out of her face as she began to set the table. Grandmother Orlouge had asked for help, and in an attempt to get Aislinn back into the loop with her family, asked if she would do the honors. “Once, there was a great warrior by the name of Sabin Edgarson. He lived alone, and was a powerful swordsman and magician. Some likened him to a God. However, he knew that he was as mortal as any of us, so decided that, rather than have some of the unique abilities he learned in his travels fade away, he’d share them with two people, and only two people.”

Aislinn went about setting crystal plates on the white tablecloth. Luckily, the Orlouge family table was large enough to accommodate everybody, a good thing considering that most of the Orlouge brothers had at least three or more kids. Following Aislinn was Kylin Rouge, a man who loved to help people in any way he could, setting down sparkling clear drinking glasses behind her.

“He went all over Althanas searching for two worthy people. Naturally, his first thought went to world leaders. So he went to Corone’s King, Salvar’s monarch, and even the royal family of Fallien. He offered them one of the two most powerful magics he knew. They could choose either light or shadow magic.” Kylin looked over to Steppenwolf Orlouge, who was telling a joke to make the other Mystic children laugh. As all eyes focused on him, the giant took it upon himself to continue the story.

“However, none of the leaders wanted just one magic, they demanded both. Everyone knew Sabin Edgarson, knew how strong he was. They wanted all of his power for his or herself. Sabin was very displeased and began a trip back to him home in failure.” Steppenwolf’s attention was drawn back to a child pulling on his shirt, and he went back to being the entertainment.

“On his way home, on two separate occasions, he encountered a child. The first was a boy, who offered him shelter for the night on the way from Salvar to Fallien. The second was a girl, who broke half of her bread loaf and shared with Sabin when he was hungry during his stay in Corone. Remembering these kids, he located them once more, and decided to offer them the same deal. The boy chose Shadow Magic while the girl chose Light. No questions asked.” Kyla bit her lower lip as she tried to think of the rest. She had been separated from her family a good portion of her life, so she could not quite remember the full tale.

A hand was placed on the girl’s shoulder, belonging to Sei’s ‘first child’, Anita. She took off where her sister left off. “There still remained a problem. These children of innocence could grow up to taint the world with such greedy evils that he had seen from the world leaders in Sabin’s journey. What could he do to stop such a thing from corrupting one kid, and having them attack the other?”

A rough cough brought the attention of everybody to Ciato Orlouge. The man had a ceremonial crystal long sword in his hands, holding it as if he planned to use the thing for battle. Once he had realized that Emma and Ella’s eyes were upon him, he decided the story would sound better from his lips. “As such, Sabin purified all of the evils from the blood of the youths, causing the liquid to turn blue once exposed to oxygen. It’s a symbol of the Mystic’s pureness. It is also why if our blue blood mixes with a humans red, the blue takes over, in essence purging the human of its evils.”

The fact that Ciato was participating in the event caused the largest girth brother, Razak, to stop eating chips on the couch, and continue the tale. “He placed the evils in a large crystal, known as the Miasma crystal. While it was a normal transparent color at first, tainting it with evils like greed and sin caused the crystal to turn purple, and so when we touch miasma fragments, we get hurt. Regardless of light or shadow user. Anyways, he continued to train the children, asking them to build two monuments to the magics he had taught them. Those monuments are the Light and Shadow trials of the Mystic race now…”

Succed Orlouge was next to take charge, stepping in front of the girls and waving his hands. As he began to speak, it seemed as though the actions were taking place in their very minds. “He blessed the children with fertility and youth. This is why Mystics have a lot of children, and why at a random point in our lives, we stop aging. Anyways, the kids grew up, had families, those families had families, and those families had families of their own. Eventually, the human race did not like the fact that so many ‘blue bloods’ as they labeled us, were popping up. In an attempt to protect his people, Sabin had anyone with blue blood return to either the shadow or light monument, and cast a spell which hid the monuments in the shadows, or in the rays of the sun respectively. The various families built towns around the monuments, which marked the birth of Chateau and Orlouge Drantrak.”

“However, it did not stop the racist hate against us in that simpler time,” Niche Orlouge stepped out of the shadows, holding a bouquet of roses made of glass and placing them in the middle of the long table for a beautiful centerpiece. “They amassed several hate groups together, and tried attacking the two towns. Back then Mystics were pretty free to go as please. It was no problem locating a couple and finding out where they had holed up. They attacked in the dead of night, planning to slaughter all the Mystics who were asleep.”

A hardy laugh came from the kitchen, and stepping through the door was a rather large Tinerad Orlouge. The head of the family smirked to the girls. “But Sabin, who was still alive, albeit very ill, saw the attack coming from his tower, which is today the top floor of the Light Trials. He knew that the families weren’t bred for war, but he had to protect them somehow. As such, he casted a spell on each and every Mystic, making it to, if somebody struck at them, a glass shield would break and counter in some way against the foe. Once the men attempting the slaughter realized they could not lay a single blow on the Mystics, they fled in terror of the invincible race. Nobody had dared strike them a second time, for fear of something more powerful coming for them.”

Following Tinerad was his wife, the pink haired Armonia Orlouge, holding a platter in each hand, both of them holding a turkey in and of themselves. “All Sabin asked is that we never forget what happened on that night, the night that the glass shattered. He didn’t care how we honored it, but just asked that we did. As such, every year for one day, we pay respect to the glass that protects us the rest of the year by making sure it stays clean and pretty all night.”

Finally, Sei Orlouge stepped out of the kitchen as well. The mute Mystic was busy whisking up some eggs for the meal. However, since everyone else had put in their input on it, he figured he would as well. “Furthermore, during this Night of Glass, no Mystic has their Mystic Protection activated, with the exception of children who don’t know any better. For protecting us with the spell, we honor Sabin by showing him that times have changed, and hope there will be a day where no Mystic has to use the trademark spell of our people.”

As the family began to gather around the table, Emma and Ella blinked to each other. It was a fascinating tale, and explained almost everything about the Mystic Race. The older of the two girls smiled as he looked on, seeing her new family gather around for the meals Armonia and Sei were placing on the table one at a time. They were telling tales, being merry, and overall showing off every trait that was good in the human race.

“I think…if anyone can start making that dream a reality…” Emma looked to Sei, tears welling up in her eyes. “It’s you….Dad.”

It was the first time the girl had referred to Sei as her father. Normally, she would have been reserved about any endearing term such as that. Perhaps now she was truly seeing who Sei Orlouge was. Born from a race shut off from humans, trying to reach out to the darkest of them to find their good qualities. As Emma walked up to the table and sat down with her sister, the whole family seemed to fall silent on the elder sister’s words.

“Happy Night of Glass.”

(Judgement should be up tonight)

[Silence Sei]

Okay, I had this half way done, but then I accidentally clicked a link, so now you get the short version.

1 - Flames of Hyperion ( 900 Exp, 200 GP)
2 - Zerith ( 500 Exp, 150 GP)
3 - Hysteria ( 500 Exp, 150 GP)

Alembic, Jack Frost, The Soulforged, blackdog1, Ganlon Martel, and Viola Conda all get 200 Exp

TwinCast and Rahegalhoff get 300 Exp

Jasmine and Wings of Endymion get 600 Exp

Requiem of Insanity gets 800 Exp

Duffy Bracken gets 900 Exp

Enigmatic Immortal gets 1000 Exp

Caden Law gets 1100 Exp

Silence Sei gets 1500 Exp

Happy Holidays yall.

[Silence Sei]

Exp-GP added.

Seriously? All those entries and only Enigmatic Immortal levled? Damn....