January 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 January. 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


January brings a clean start! Your character has the opportunity to go back into the past and change one event. What event do they choose to change and how does their action effect the outcome?

[SirArtemis]

The sun's glow as it set after a long day's work filled the people of Trireen with a deep, warm feeling; they accomplished much during the long summer days and the satisfaction at the end of such days filled them with pride. Trireen, a small town, remained a hardworking town: so small in fact that no map knew of its presence.

A young man with ruffled dark hair walked quietly down the dirt roads. His black leather armor making him stand out in a crowd, especially under the bright daylight.

"Hi Jill," he smiled, nodding at a woman passing on the left. She didn't react, as if she didn't even notice his presence. "I suppose she's worried about Bobby," he rationalized, mumbling under his breath. After all, Bobby was supposedly ill.

He made his way toward home, walking down the same path he walked every night, back from the forge. The routine let thoughts often distract him and he would ignore others as well, so he supposed it must happen to others. Life in Trireen was quiet and often boring due to the repetitiveness.

"Hey Frankie," he smiled again, waving at the man, "did the new shipment of grain arrive?"

No answer again. Not even eye contact. Even if life really was the same shit, just a different day, it did not warrant being rude, did it?

With each failed greeting, sorrow welled deep in his heart, a profound loneliness - the reminder of the life that he had chosen to live and choices made. Guilty isolation seemed the worst life to lead, though he did not know why he felt guilty. Who would blame a child for their mother passing while giving birth?

Still, he had no memory of his mother, or at least he did not think he did. Distinguishing between dreams and reality could be difficult for the mind. A motherless child would surely dream of a world where his parents were still together, still alive, still loving him. Does not every child want a happy life? Is no life better than a miserable one?

Artemis did not bother asking such questions any more. The questions were as thoroughly exhausted as he and as thoroughly worn as his well-traveled boots. His journey took him all through Althanas, from the northern chill of Salvar to as far south as the well-known spires of The Citadel. Somehow, he had followed his feet home, and so he stood before the door to his home now. Stepping inside, already thinking of his nightly routine: where to place his boots, how to fold his clothing, where he left off in the book he currently read. Yet as the door swung open, a man and woman lay on his bed. The shock, though initially due to strangers being in his home, now stemmed from the recognition of the man.

"Father?" Artemis asked, though again ignored as the woman giggled, the man playfully kissing the woman's neck. "What are you doing?!" Artemis roared, the fact that his father was more than two decades younger not registering at the time. The man's large figure blocked most of the woman's body making it impossible to recognize her. As emotion boiled deep within Artemis, the acts of his father set him over the edge. As his father began to raise the woman's dress Artemis charged toward him, ready to push the pair out of bed and his father off this woman.

As Artemis' body lunged forward, the moment his hands reached the side of his father's large torso trying to interrupt the act of the pair, the world lost its solidity. The figure of the man and woman seemed to waver, like heat rising from a paved road on a hot day, and Artemis fell forward through the pair and the bed. As he hit the ground, the world around him changed.

Suddenly, Artemis was laying on the ground of his room at The Bearded Gnome, an inn located in Knife's Edge. Apparently fallen from his bed, Artemis lay on the cold floor, face down and acclimating himself to the real world. A few quiet seconds passed before he lifted himself up and sat upon his bed, taking the glass of water he kept on his nightstand and sipping the cold liquid. The stink of the icy water as it rolled down his throat reminding him that he was truly awake, and that the dream was over. He then reached for his dagger, Virtue, and let his thumb run across the engraving of the blade's name upon its hilt; the strange habit brought comfort to the vagabond, though unaware of doing it.

His face fell into the open palm of his free hand as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, knowing he would not be able to fall back asleep. Starting his day a bit earlier than normal, two words replayed in his mind as he dressed himself.

'I'm sorry.'

Even if he knew it wasn't his fault, at least logically, he couldn't help but feel guilty. Artemis began to realize how much guilt could follow you and it left him with an odd desire.

'I wish my past would just go away.'

[Duffy]

Duffy stared at the shimmering portal, and took stock of all the opportunities he had squandered through his life until now. He could simply not believe his luck, the very fabrication of a dream before his eyes was his one opus, his final gift to the world.

"It comes at too high a cost," Ruby muttered, wiping the tear from the corner of her eye, the tell tale signs of the waterworks and emotional surcharge to come. "Do you really think it is worth it, Duffy, worth the loss despite the gain?"

He cast his head over his shoulder and stared, equally as weary eyed at his bester of friends. Ruby, Blank, Pete...the orphans from Corone, Lisa, Minella, Astrakhan the Quartermaster...all of them, survivors of a war in which they had played their parts wondrously. All of them, except Lillith, all of them except the one person the woman in red and the man in black needed most.

"She would have wanted it to end this way, she would have wanted freedom for all of us, not just that selfish grasp of her own survival."

Ruby hung her head, hiding the flow of salty tears as they came freely and without further restraint. It was a sign of acceptance, of no regret, of diminishing return. Her sister, this time, was truly gone.

"I will not be long, though it may seem an age on the other side." He looked back at the portal and swallowed back his fear. It cast an eerie glow of silver over the chamber, and gave the impression of light on the other side, through time and space and aeons themselves.

"Bring him back..." Her voice trailed after him as he stepped into the limelight, and vanished into nothingness. The portal cracked shut with a zip of air and a rush of incandescence, and then it too was gone, leaving the heart broken Tantalum Troupe alone in the world, given freedom from the tyrant and the oppressive restraints set down by the royal houses...

But utterly bound without their leader.

Ruby's hair shortened before their eyes, and she felt younger.

Blank found himself short of breath and silent once more, but unburdened by the horrors of Blood Magic and his father's legacy.

Pete stayed just as he always had been, a cheeky little scamp.

Dresses and pinafores and waistcoats sprang to life, dust fell away and hearts rekindled the distinct hope that tomorrow would be better, brighter, longer, stronger.

Nobody dare speak, until Ruby cleared her throat and triumphantly declared Duffy's success. "He did it, he actually did it!"

Even as the memory of the young Duffy Bracken faded from their own, and history unravelled itself so that the young thief never crossed paths with a young Ruby, somewhere, in the web and helix of Wainwright Jone's master plan, the young soul would meet the troupe eventually...

Fate had a funny way of defying even the bravest of sacrifices, after all.

They scuttled from the room to a life free of the regret of the war with Lucian, but emptier than they could ever have imagined.

[The Assassins Creed]

This takes place at a later date in Creeds story line, when he is much more powerful...
Blood dripped from Creed's hands as he stared down at the corpse of his mortal Nemesis. He had suffered years and years due to the actions of this man. He would never forgive him, and his death did not take his pain away. His father would remain dead, his mother alone, his brothers would still be nothing more than memories and corpses.

At last until it happened. A flash of lightning scorched across the sky, thunder boomed destructively. Creed was blinded, all around him was white. When his vision returned he gasped. Below his feet was not the hardwood flooring of Lord Leon, the man Creed had sworn to kill. Instead he found himself standing ankle deep in sand. He was home.

Something didn't sit well with him. The heat on his skin and wind felt eerily familiar. He strode forward, seeing nothing but sand. In front of him was a large dune he could use to get a better view of where he was. He scaled it with an increasing sense of dread. What was happening?

He reached the top and gasped. His hometown was burning in the distance. He had returned to the point in time when his fate had been decided. He saw the soldiers and the townsmen still locked in combat. Creed charged forward, but realized he would not be able to stop the destruction of his hometown. But there was one thing he could stop.

He sprinted as fast as he could, hellbent on stopping the most tragic part of his childhood. He would stop the man in black from blinding his left eye. He didn't stop to let his memory recall the mans appearance, he hated that man. He hated him with a passion. Finally he reached the spot where he had encountered the man who had stopped his mother and him. No one was there. Panic struck him, was he too late?

He heard panicked breathing, and turned to see his past self and his mother staring at him. A sense of terrible realization hit him. He was the man in black. He had gouged his left eye for a reason.

Fate had brought him here to cripple himself. He gulped and quickly thought about what he would do. Had he not been blinded he would never had set off for revenge, he wouldn't have gotten stronger, he wouldn't have really lived.

He hissed under his breath. He would have to live out his new role. He was now Raven Crowe, and he would have to blind himself. Fate left him no choice. As much as he wanted to stop what he was about to do he knew what was right. The boy version of himself drew a dagger. He himself drew his sword, Vengeance. They lunged at each other, and so the viscous circle continued.

[Jasmine]

Jasmine muttered softly in her sleep as she lay curled up next to Zerith. In identical bassinets near the bed lay her twins, Zevernus Josiah and Aidan James. They were about six weeks old and for the moment, both were sleeping soundly. Her eldest child, Siela, slept in her crib the next room. She too slept soundly this night. All was well in the princess’ world as she dreamt.

In the hazy world of dreams, a voice came to the princess.

“Princess Jasmine.”

The voice was soft and sweet. Jasmine looked around, but couldn’t see anyone. Puzzled, she looked harder, trying to see who spoke to her as the voice called to her again.

“Princess, you have led a most interesting life and through your many hardships, you have made a good life for yourself. Have you ever wondered how your life would turn out if certain events had come about differently?”

The mage was silent for a moment then nodded, “Yes, about many different events. Why do you ask?”

“I am here to offer you a chance to see how your life would have been if one event had been different. You may choose whatever event you wish to see changed. However, you must remember that this is only a vision of what could have been. It will in no way change the way your life is now.”

“I understand. I…I would like to see how my life would be if my parents had not been killed.”

“Very well…”

The voice disappeared and many bright, dazzling colors swirled around Jasmine. When the colors dissipated, she found she was in the nursery in her mansion. She watched as her mother, Lady Maria walked slowly around the room, rocking a small bundle of cloth. The Lady had long blonde hair and was dressed in blue. She sang a soft a lullaby to the infant she carried.

Tears came to the adult Jasmine as she watched her mother. I guess that’s where I get my love of blue…

As she watched, a young a boy came in wearing a short brown tunic. All though the lad was only about seven, Jasmine recognized him at once as being Eric, her adopted brother. She listened as he asked if he could hold the baby and Maria instructed him to have a seat, then carefully laid the baby in his arms. Unseen by either Eric or Lady Maria, Jasmine moved closer to get a look at herself.

Wow…I look just like Siela. Or rather, she looked just like I did.

Eric soon passed the baby back to her mother as he scrunched up his nose. Apparently, it was time to change the diaper. While Maria tended to that task, adult Jasmine went to the window overlooking the courtyard. She saw the soldiers moving into position and realized that this must have been the day her home was attacked. She looked back at her mother, who had just finished putting a fresh diaper on infant Jas.

A knock came at the door and a guard announced that the estate was under attack. Quickly, Maria and Eric left the room. Maria held baby Jasmine to her chest as she moved quickly down the halls. As they passed a window, adult Jasmine paused to look and saw that thus far, the attackers had not yet gotten in. When she glanced back, she got a just a glimpse of Eric rounding the corner and hurried to catch up. She remembered from what Eric had told her that this was not how things had happened. No one had been ready for Scar or Montego as he was really named, to attack.

When Jasmine saw that her mother, Eric and her infant self had gone into a safe room, she walked on out of the mansion to watch the battle. It was short-lived. It would seem that most of Scar’s attacks had been successful due to the element of surprise. When met with forces that were ready for him, he soon retreated, but not before he was recognized.

As the soldiers cheered about their victory, she saw her father storming across the courtyard. In his hand he carried the sword she now carried. His shoulder length black hair was neatly pulled back into a tail at the nape of his neck. Like his wife, he favored the color blue. His eyes flashed amethyst as he entered the mansion and headed straight for the safe room. Though he was angry at the discovery of Scar’s true identity, he had to be sure his wife and newborn daughter were safe. He composed himself before opening the door, relief filling his face when he saw his wife calmly holding Jasmine with Eric at her side. The new father hugged his family tenderly, telling his wife of what he discovered and making immediate plans to tell the king.

The dream world spun again and when it settled once more, Jasmine was watching her 16 year old self laugh as she chatted with Romis Heartsblood. She’d had a crush on the soldier of immense proportions. However, nothing would ever come of that. She was a Lady and he just a common soldier. Ladies did not marry commoners. A lady married a noble. In her case, this was extremely important. Her uncle had never married and was childless. Thus, she was next in line for the throne. This meant that she had to be betrothed by her 16th birthday. Through the prods of her parents and a secret talk with her uncle of how he had gotten around that law, the young princess had formed a plan.

She had chosen a suitor though she knew that this suitor was in love with another. Her plan, which her suitor and his love were in on, was to simply announce the betrothal, but before the wedding date, they would decide that things would not work out after all. The law did not say that she had to stay betrothed or that she even had to go through with the plans. The plan allowed for the lovebirds to still get together and gave the princess more time to decide on a suitor.

The betrothal announcement went off without any problems. Jasmine now realized that something must have been done about Montego before this. The vision had not dealt with that, but she assumed it must be true. Otherwise, she did not believe that her choosing of another suitor would have stopped his coup.

Time moved forward in bursts for the princess. She watched as her brother married Melody. At some point in time in there he was still adopted and made her brother. She watched as she was called by the Goddess of Magic and met Zerith. Bemused, she saw her parents browbeat Zerith into attending the ball where she’d met Prince Raelyse. She frowned at herself as she saw the effect of Rae’s smooth charm on her. She danced with the prince and with her warder. The look in her warder’s eyes as they danced surprised her.

Even then he already loved me…and we hadn’t even been around each other very long.

Under the watchful eyes of her parents and uncle, there was no excursion to the garden with the prince in this dream world. In fact, he disappeared from the ball with another young woman.

Time moved on again. Hamasha was still attacked and the same drama that had unfolded for Jasmine and Zerith did so again in this vision. Under the direction of King Odan though, Hamasha was soon rebuilt and with Zerith’s help the country’s defenses were vastly improved.

Over the course of the next several months, Zerith subtly wooed his mage. Though she was still bound by the law forbidding her marriage to a commoner, she found herself wishing more and more that she not bound by said law. Wondering what this other self would do, Jasmine followed as her other self went to have a talk with her uncle.

“Uncle, I have something of a dilemma.”

Odan smiled at his niece as he motioned for her to have a seat in his sitting room. “What’s the trouble, Sweetheart?”

“Well, you see… there’s this guy…”

The king smiled knowingly. He was not blind to Zerith’s overtures toward his niece or her reactions to them. “Zerith?” He chuckled at she blushed, “You needn’t be surprised that I know, Jas. You aren’t very good at hiding how much you enjoy his company. On a more serious note though, I think I understand why you’re here. I’m sorry Sweetheart, I can’t change the law just to suit your heart.”

“But Uncle! Surely there’s something you can do?” she asked clearly distraught. “Uncle, I love him! I’ll…I’ll run away if I have to!”

“Now, now, don’t get so upset. I said I couldn’t change the law. That doesn’t mean there aren’t other avenues available. You’ve been studying hard; think about it, what else can you do?”

The princess fell silent thinking hard. “Well, I suppose I could step down, but then there’d be no heir and that would result in war of succession when you you’ve passed on. I have a brother, but he’s adopted and would not appreciate being given the role regardless.” Her sapphire eyes lit up as she hit on an idea, “Could…could you grant Zerith a noble title? He’s done so much for Moriah already. I’m sure you could find something that would be worthy of being granted a noble title.”

Odan chuckled once more very proud of his niece. He’d already discussed this idea with Lord and Lady Montego. They had agreed that if Zerith were made a noble, then they would allow him to openly court Jasmine. However, the king had wanted Jasmine to come up with this solution on her own. After all, she was to be queen one day and figuring out such workings of the law would be part of her job. He smiled broadly as she hugged him and thanked him. He would talk with Zerith later that day about a title and what it would mean for him and Jasmine.

Time moved again and Jasmine watched as her wedding unfolded. She still wore the same dress the real Jasmine had worn. The only difference was that it was her father that walked her down the stairs to the waiting Zerith instead of Eric. She looked closely at herself and realized that she was not yet pregnant.

I guess my parents were more strict and watchful about such activities than Zerith’s parents were.

As Zerith kissed his bride to the cheers of the onlookers and joyful tears of her mother, the vision faded away and the voice returned sounding somewhat amused.

“The rest, as they say, is history, Princess Jasmine. As you see, some things would have remained the same; others would have changed for the better. Regardless, your life is what you make of it, Princess. Remember that always.”

The voice went away leaving Jasmine to her usual dreams. In her sleep she cuddled ever closer to the man it seemed destiny had set aside for her all along and smiled.

[Hysteria]

“Please reconsider! Please!” The girl fell to her knees, tears running down her face, “please...”

I turned from the sight, my heart breaking as much as hers. I could feel it, like my stomach was being ripped out. I needed to go, to leave and enter that place where no one like me had been before. I needed to go into the light. Any other way and I would have stayed. I would have stayed.


~ The Choice ~

This world is empty. The lives of those around me dance to the tune of nothing. Past silence into that thing that permeates you're soul and quietens the flame of life until you are nothing but a shadow, a husk of true living cast out and strung up. Living as if a puppet that dances to the tune it cannot hear and never once feeling the joy of the music it is forced to play to. I need to leave, to take those few steps into the light and feel life for the first time. Those around me are not like me, they lack the ability and the will to take those steps, to enter the light and not be burned by its glory. Like lambs they march one by one to the slaughter and never realise, never experienced one true second of life. One second like this. With her.

Their black bodies float and play among the dark as if living, but I know better. Their forms, empty and worthless are nothing! Shadows! Shades of misfortune on the other side of the mirror and never dancing in the light. I want to dance in the light. To be free and there, within that home of glory and truth. To play, dance and be free with those too worthless and incomplete to realise just how good they have it.

But then... there is her. The girl. The woman. Her. I have never known such love, such truth on this side of the void. Can I truly leave her? Can I walk into the light and leave those closest to me in the darkness to suffer alone? What then would I be? The solace granted to me by those few steps seem then unfair, but is it fair of her to make me stay? Words echo back and forth through my mind and I cannot answer them with sense. Logic is gone, there is just the cold harsh madness of my mind. What do I do? What do I do? The the question haunts me as one that haunts the life they wish to lead but cannot.

Symphony of horror! I cannot see past this cold question. I stand on a knife edge of decision and there is nothing there for to to save the cuts from that hideous blade. My wounds are open to the world as I am then open to her. She is my everything! Would I give up what I have to experience life away from this cursed shadow? To risk never seeing her again? To risk everything?

No. The pain of the answer cuts through me. The black bile of my hope drains away and I am left, withered and in the dark. No hope, no light, no life. But I have her. I have her.

[Yari Rafanas]

He was young again, barely eighteen, hands gripping his old weapon, his brow covered in a mix of sweat and muddy water. It was a time long forgotten—an era before the reign of Gild Sorrain, before the bloody Bazaar Wars engineered by the mighty Ithermoss' Red Hand... a time before Yari had paid the ultimate price, only to cheat death and claw his way from the afterlife—simpler times belonging to a very young thief on the brim of discovery. Though just a boy to most, Yari Rafanas was on perhaps the greatest quest of his life today, nearing the end of his journey with just a short walk to go.

“Here again?” he pondered, thoughts of his efforts spent studying control over the ages and time itself swirling about in his head. “Did I finally turn it all back on itself? Have I gone back?”

He stood on a natural bridge on one of the largest lakes in Concordia. The narrow strip of land connected the rest of the forest to a mysterious fortress that rested at the center of the body of water, built of large palisade walls and housing magnificent treasures. The greatest prize to be held within its walls was not an artifact of mysterious nature or jewels that would weigh down the sturdiest of crowns. No, behind the sturdy gates of the abandoned fort, Yari Rafanas and his friends were going to find refuge—a home and safehouse for the Bandit Brotherhood where the group of thieves and brigands could finally make a stand. It was to be where their leader, the great Rayneer Clearan, was to build his throne as King of Thieves and shout over the treetops proclaiming, “This is where our free souls live, Mindless atrocities be damned!”

Sadly, the Mindless had little regard for the dreams of the bandit leader and his ragtag throng of men, women, and elves. To prove dedication to their dark cause, they had enslaved a beast of the lake to do battle with Rayneer and his men. It was a monster, in the truest sense of the word—a gargantuan reptilian, built bulky and round at the center, layers of grey scales covered by a thick black shell over its back. Dozens of tree-sized tentacles extended from the bulbous body, waving wildly about, thrashing from the waters surrounding the bridge and battering relentlessly against the Bandit Brotherhood's finest warriors. Rayneer stood true against the beast, wielding the King of Thieves' signature weapons the Shark Daggers. Toe to tentacle, the brave man tested his might to save his people.

Joining Rayneer and the bandits in battle was darkly-garbed illusionist, mastering the light and air around them into colorful distractions to confuse the monster. Effective, creative, and out of the ordinary, the schizophrenic man fought for his friend. His name was Shadar.

In the air above, dancing wildly in flight and fight against a never-ending barrage of fleshy appendages, there was a woman. She was certainly not of Althanas, wielding a sword of pure energy, but fighting its injustices all the same. Her name was Lunitari.

Old friends united in battle—the birth of Yari's Bandit Brotherhood was staring right back at him. At this very moment years ago, the young brigand claimed victory over the monstrosity before them with a single strike of his spear. In doing so, his mentor and leader, Rayneer Clearan was sacrificed and passed the leadership of the Brotherhood to Yari. Many know the new King of Thieves' rise to power over Concordia and Corone's economy, the defeat of Glyce Deliton and the Mindless, or his legendary exploits across the Cell and other reaches of Althanas. All of these feats, made possible by his reckless charge against this monster.

“Yari!” Rayneer shouted, breaking Rafanas from his recollection of events. “Do something! Kill it!”

This scenario was not unfamiliar to Yari. He had played this exact moment over in his head countless times. Many a night he lay restless, torn by his decision to act and save his mentor. The responsibility and life he had led after that moment were all the result of Rayneer passing the torch, thrusting the Brotherhood onto Yari when he was not ready. Was this his chance to make things right? Was this his chance to turn away, run into Concordia and escape his destiny as the new King of Thieves—escape his fate and burdens that led to his initial demise? Could he let the Bandit Brotherhood die? Why not? Yari had been a coward up until this moment. Why now, of all the days, did his sense of loyalty and family spur him into action and spiral into a life of power, greed, and holding the weight of the entire forest on his shoulders.

“Run,” he told himself. “You do not want to be king.”

His blue eyes met the fierce, aged face of his leader, and with half a heart he whispered an apology. Then, Yari Rafanas fled into the woods.


~*~


The months and years to come were described by Radasanthia's historians as the Grey Years. Without Yari's influence, the Bandit Brotherhood failed to muster the outside strength and power from Althanas' greatest warriors and the Grey Menace known as the Mindless Army rose from underneath Concordia. Unchecked by even the mightiest the forest had to offer, the Manipulator and his servants enslaved Concordia's population, turning the forest black in their wake. With the fall of Underwood, the slow, politically-motivated armies of Corone finally mustered the manpower to combat the Mindless army. They obtained victory, but at the loss of one of its most precious territories. Concordia... once a haven for beautiful and the criminal alike had fallen. The forest was forever stripped of its ability to grow, its darkened, lifeless bark a constant reminder of a menace that threatened all of Althanas.

When fate called upon Yari Rafanas, he looked to his future and dismissed his duty, selfishly wishing to avoid the heartache, burden, and pains of leadership, only to die in obscurity.

[Revenant]

I was growing restless, finding the pop and sizzle of my blood in the iced chalice no longer cool and calming to the vibrating edge of my nerves. Spilling my own blood had become a common, if somewhat macabre, pastime for me since the downturn in activity that the Ixian Knights were going through. The monster hunting squad in particular hadn’t been called to duty for over two months. There were only so many “big scaries” to kill, I reminded myself, but this was different. This was a winter slump.

The onset of winter, I’d noticed, always seemed to bring a lull to our business. I don’t feel any reason to be shut in during the cold months, given my demonic nature, but if given the choice I would definitely choose the warmer climates. Sighing, I ran my hand down the blade of the Storm Herald’s warscythe again and dangled the resulting wound over the ice-rimmed frost cup that Duffy had gifted to me. A plume of smoky steam rose as the superheated blood poured into the ice-cold blood which already filled most of the frosty artifact until my healing ability sealed the wound.

It was an action that I’d been repeating for longer than I cared to think about, long enough for my room to grow as hot as the sauna in the Radasanth Gym, and well past the point where every square inch of my quarters was covered in my own vital fluid. The janitors who scurried through the Ixian Castle to keep everything maintained to Sei’s exacting specifications had long since learned to avoid my room when the doors wept blood, and since no one else really seemed to want to inhale a heavy dose of William Arcus, I knew that I wouldn’t have any distractions for the foreseeable future.

Which was exactly what I didn’t want.

As much as I loved the scent of the blood tinged air and how lightly it played across my tongue while it cooled, there was only so much of it that I could take. I thought about reaching over to grab Libra, the Zodiac twin of Sei’s Gemini Blades, to curb my mounting agitation, but knew that such an act would be temporary at best. Libra allowed its wielder to separate his emotions into a neat little bundle that he could call upon or dismiss as needed and had originally been created with the purpose of helping mages work through complex rituals without breaking their concentration. I had found it equally as useful in the situations when my demonic rage threatened to overpower my willfulness. This wasn’t one of those situations however, and right now Libra would only be of use to let me watch my agitation slowly build up from an impartial distance. It was certainly not the solution that I was looking for. What I needed now wasn’t a way to hold my mounting restlessness at bay but a way to release my nervous energy.

Having made up my mind, I rose with the grace and speed that my demonic power granted me. I was far faster and more powerful while in demonic form, but even the human body that I currently wore could boast some additional benefit. I grabbed my newest cloak from the hanger at the back of my door, shaking it out once or twice to get most of the trickling blood off, and pulled it around my shoulders as I stepped into the corridor beyond. Sure enough, I found a nice sized pool of blood spreading from the crack beneath my door. Oh well, I thought as I walked away, trailing ruddy footprints in my wake, at least the janitors will have something to keep them busy tonight.

A few heads turned to watch me as I passed, though most turned deftly away. An uninformed observer might think that they did this because of the fearsome stories that the Ixian regulars told about me, or the ill-tempered reputation that I had garnered in my time as Captain of the monster hunters. But while I would be flattered by either of these assessments, I knew that the reactions I was getting were most likely caused because I liked to enjoy my blood sauna in the nude. Given that the only thing I had between the blood-soaked gift that the Thaynes had given me at birth and the outside world was my gore spattered cloak, I could understand the reactions.

My proclivities, I had found, had been the cause of quite the ruckus throughout the castle when I first started my newest relaxation ritual. At the time I’d even managed to draw a wide-eyed look of surprise from the normally unflappable Cassandra Remi, though I hadn’t seen her since to gauge any further reaction. As far as I was concerned, until Sei found the time to descend from his golden throne and tell me to knock it off personally, I was going to keep ending my sauna time with a blood-covered, and quite nude, stroll through the halls.

I did this mainly, of course, to get past the boredom rut that I had fallen into. There was nothing like causing a little chaos and mayhem to help me vent some of my mounting irritation. As I thought about this, I found that the path of my current stroll had taken me past the library and I paused momentarily to glance inside. Most of Sei’s enormous library had already been brought to the castle from Sei’s Tomb, the cavernous network of tunnels that had previously housed the Ixian Knights. Though the rare and more dangerous volumes remained behind, there were still enough volumes in the castle’s collection to bury the Buffalax (which it would need since I killed it not too long ago). As my eyes wandered over the worn, well-read spines of the various titles my thoughts quite unwillingly plunged back to the months of free time I had spent pouring over these each and every one of these tomes in the hopes of finding a translation for the ancient writing and runic symbols in the Tome of Kal’Necroth. The Tome housed the ritual that the Kal’Necroth had used to bind demonic essence to my soul, and unlocking its secrets was the reason I had initially joined the Ixian Knights in the first place. Despite the promise that such a massive library brought, I had learned nothing for all of my time and effort, a wholly depressing fact. “What a waste of time,” I mumbled to myself, wishing that I had never set foot into Sei’s library. Still, it had been the catalyst for my current position, I suppose.

I shrugged and pried my attention away from the library so that I could resume my stroll. I walked the twisting corridors of the Ixian Castle for some time, ignoring the random passerby’s who did their best to do the same for me, until I was stopped by the chatter of a dozen voices at the bottom of a nearby stairwell. From the sound of things, it was dinner time in the Ixian dining hall and, for the briefest moment, I thought about the uproar that I would cause by heading downstairs and asking the Soup Nazi for a bowl of his soup-of-the-day.

From everything that I had heard, the Soup Nazi’s meals were the pinnacle of delicious flavor, but as I understood it the chef’s manic neurosis meant that it was only on the rarest of occasions that anyone could actually get a bowl. I myself found this to be humorous as the Soup Nazi practically begged me to try his latest concoction every time I entered the dining hall. This, I knew, was only because I had never paid the slightest attention to the bubbling vats at his soup station, something which apparently galled the man to no end. Unfortunately (for the insane soup master at least) I hate soup. Even the tiniest bit of soup reminded me of the poorer days in my previous life. We’d been forced to exist on watery gruel day after day because money was thin and my affectations, and tolerance, for the food as a whole had worn away. No matter how many variations were put in front of me, or how delicious it was supposed to be, I had sworn never to eat another bowl of soup in my life. I really, really hate soup.

All the thinking about soup had fouled any pleasure that my appearance in the dining hall might have caused. With nothing left to entice me, I set off, once again on the move. It took me several laps through the various floors and wings of the castle before I found the perfect way to break me out of my funk.

Jensen Ambrose.

I hated Jensen more than anything on Althanas except Kal’Necroth himself, purely on the basis that I couldn’t kill the twerp. Sure I had actually killed him more times than I could count in a variety of interesting and painful ways, but Jensen had this annoying habit of refusing to stay dead for any significant length of time. Things had actually gotten worse since we had mistakenly awakened the ancient evil known only as the Storm Herald (the guy who I’d gotten the warscythe from) as the Herald’s gift to Jensen had been a quicker resurrection time. I had done my best to test the limits of Jensen’s undying nature after that, until Sei had actually found the time to show up and order me to stop killing Jensen for no good reason. I had thought the entertainment value alone was a good enough reason but Sei had remained firm on his mandate.

Mystic bastard.

Jensen sounded like he was in a really good mood at the moment, which annoyed me to no end. But I had a plan which would (assuming everything turned out correctly) turn the tables on my immortal nemesis. Word had been going around the castle for some time that Jensen had been having sexual dreams about me for what he claims was some unknown reason. Given the speed with which his insults always devolved to crude, homophobic spatter, I had an idea where hid dreams were really coming from, and decided to play on that angle. I chose an advantageous position around the corner that Jensen would be rounding at any second, tossed my cloak over my shoulders, and posed to reveal the fullness of my “talents” to him.

You could tell the moment that Jensen rounded the corner and caught sight of me by the unnatural silence that ensued. Not even the most dire, painful experiences I had put him through had gotten the immortal to shut his mouth for more time than it took to take a breath and yet here I was, silencing him with ease. Stephanie, his lover and warrior companion, stood just as silently as Jensen did on the other side of him, but I politely ignored her in favor of wiggling around to exert my “power” over Jensen.

“Boy,” I whispered to the Knight of Apocalypse with my deepest, most guttural voice, “I’mma gonna butter your bread.”

For a brief instant I thought that all of the blood in Jensen’s body had jumped right into his head by how quickly and deeply he flushed. He turned, quicker than I would have thought possible and fled silently back down the corridor from which he had just come. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I was pretty sure that he was showing a bit of “power” himself.

My agitation broke like a cresting wave at the sight of the enigmatic immortal making tracks like a rabbit on fire. Truth be told, I wish that I had never entered the Citadel and run into the laughing jackass. But even so, I would be damned even more than I already was if I wasn’t going to make the best of a bad situation.

“Hey Stephanie,” I casually greeted the stunned warrior as I pulled my cloak back over my shoulders, flashing a pleasant smile as I did so. I knew that my incident here was bound to start a new wave of rumors flooding through the gossip-hungry Ixian Knights, but if I hadn’t been bothered to care about the rumors of me and Remi that I had heard, then I couldn’t be bothered to care about this latest barrage. Happily, I altered course and headed back for my room.

Unfortunately, my pleasant mood didn’t last as long as I would have liked it to as I was already grumpy and feeling the urge to kill something by the time I made it back. There are those who think that the power I gained from having a demon bound to my soul was worth the price I paid for it, but they have no idea what its like to exist as a creature who is never more than a hair’s breadth from going into a frenzy and killing everything around it.

I tossed my cloak into a pile on the sopping floor (the janitors hadn’t come by yet) and fell into my bed with a frustrated sign. Cursing, I found that sleep came to my fevered mind in a far less timely manner that I had hoped for. As I lay there, still in the darkness, I reminisced on all the things I wish I had never done. Wasted time in the library, foul soup, and meeting Jensen were all good things to never have done, but I knew, as the darkness of oblivion finally claimed me, that the thing I wanted to change most about my life was to not have gone to work the day the raiders came so that I could have died with my wife Rebecca and our unborn child in our forest home and thus be spared this miserable, violent existence.

And at that point I fell into a troubled sleep.

[blackdog1]

The place he chose to spend the night had been used in the past. He didn't know what for and didn't really care to find out. As with many older sites in the forest, it was best not to know

As he lay his head down to sleep, he could feel the presence of the ruin settle over him like a blanket. It was comforting, in a disturbing way.

* * * *

He found himself riding a horse, something he hadn't recalled doing in a long time, down a small country lane that seemed distantly familiar. His senses did not feel completely intact, but slowly revealed themselves as improving.

This is the road home from Jeter , I haven't been here in years.

A dream. He didn't have many these days so he should savor this one.

In his increasing awareness, he realized that someone was riding behind him on the horse, hands lightly placed on his hips. Twisting his head back and turning, he looked into a face that he knew very well. Anna, his twin rode peacefully behind him. Her serene face showing that she was alone in her pleasant thoughts.

A ghost then. Was this a dream or a nightmare?

In the dream/nightmare Anna gave the briefest of smiles when he looked back. No words passed between them as was often the case. They had what their mother called a "connection". The two were usually in agreement, didn't fight as most siblings do, enjoyed each others company and could work or play well together. There was no special ability shared by the twins, unless you counted the unease that others felt watching the two work in concert without uttering a word of direction.

Milo took stock of himself. Looking at his clothes, gear and hands. This was not the Me that He knew, it was him as a teen. He looked wider at his surroundings , the rutted muddy road that he had traveled many times before. The clear blue sky, full of gusting spring winds. He could sense his sister riding with him. Slowly the pieces slid together.

This was The Day. Dream or no dream, he didn't want to feel that pain again. Years of waking with the nightmares and dragging around the increasing weight of guilt. He was over that. The past had been left where it belonged.

This was the day that the gusts of spring wind would snap a branch on a large road side tree. That branch would crash into the mud of the road violently enough to make the mare stop short and rear up. Milo and Anna would both be thrown to the ground as the horse would lose it's footing and follow them into the mud. That's when the nightmare that would become Milos reality began.

Milo and the mare would walk away, Anna would never walk again.

Anna lay in the rocks and mud of the roadside, shrieking and howling in pain. She didn't cry, she was beyond crying the moment the horse rolled off of her. Milo crawled over to his thrashing sister whose body and legs were wrong, crushed from the waist down. He could do nothing for her but stroke her face and hair with muddy hands until their parents caught up with them.

That was the beginning of the end. She would moan and howl in pain throughout the summer as she slowly wasted away. Mercifully, she would be buried before the autumn leaves covered the ground.

The teen Milo reigned in the horse on the muddy lane. He wiped the tears from his eyes and cleared his throat before he spoke, " We should walk from here."

" What's the point in a pleasure ride if we're just going to walk anyway?", she asked with a smile as she dismounted. The concern that they not ride was enough for her, she didn't need or want an explanation.

Milos dream self was shocked at the pleasure of hearing his sisters voice after so many years. They continued to walk in silence until a particularly violent gust of wind sheared a branch from a roadside tree, smashing it down into the muddy lane. The same place, tree and limb as all those years ago. Once again the horse spooked and pulled the reigns in Milos hands causing him to lose his footing.

As he wallowed in the spring mud he heard the bells of Anna's laughter like he remembered it from ages ago.

" Are you happy to be walking now brother?" , she asked as she casually walked around the tree limb that changed her other life.

" Yes, yes I am." , he answered with a smile.


* * * * *


Milo was awake before dawn. He didn't feel overly rested. Something had changed, but he had trouble working out what it was at first.

Slowly, as he began his day, getting ready to be on the move again it struck him. He could feel Her. He could sense his sister out there in the world somewhere just like when he was young.

The jerky that was his breakfast fell to the dirt as his new reality settled into his sleep rusty brain.

" Does this mean it wasn't really a dream?, " he asked aloud, as if the ruins would answer." Anna, are you out there ?"

[Ganlon Martel]

It snowed again on his birthday. Ten years in a row it had snowed on his birthday. Ganlon had made a shelter from the bows of an Evergreen the night before and the snow covered it now. The small fire that he had made had banked down and started to smoke. The wind blew the smoke under the cover of the bows and filled his small shelter. Ganlon coughed unrolled himself from his bed roll and stood.

Well, he thought, at least in was warmer. The snow had been followed by a warm front and the chilly air had blown past. Birds chirped, and squirrels moved up and down the trees despite the snow falling lightly. Life continued on regular schedule Ganlon thought, whether you liked it or not.

He took wood from a pile that he had gathered and placed near the shelter. The first couple of pieces were covered with snow and he had to brush them off before he threw them onto the fire. He poked the fire and watched as it sputtered. He kept adding wood until the fire sparked back to life.

Ganlon leaned back on his haunches and thought about what he would have for breakfast. He couldn’t tell if he was hungry or just eating from habit. He often did this. He ate not because he was hungry but because it was it was time to do so. This type of thing broke up the solitude. It was often habit lead him on his day.
Ganlon was lonely wandering. He wondered where his life would have been if he had been stronger. He wondered if he had been able to handle the deaths, if he would have a different life.

Genove’s death he knew was a breaking point. His inability to healer her sickness had broken his resolve for his daily habit. His daily routine was broken by his misery. The pain was so strong that it had become physical. A sick stomach, a headache, and a constant chest pain followed him through the day.

Near the end though, as he thought about it, he realized that he had come to feel normal only when he felt the pain. He would start to move through his day and work the farm. He would heal the sick and deliver babies. Though out all of it, he would bring her face up and would again feel the pain. He would feel normal again.

He stirred the fire and watched the embers float up and mix with the snow flakes. The different sides of life were like the two elements. Water and fire were the definition dichotomy and often people thought that pain and pleasure were a dichotomy but Ganlon knew this not to be true. The pain of loss often fueled people’s pleasure and when they tried to move on past it the loss they felt pain.

Ganlon remembered the couple that lived on the next farm down the Bayrards. The two of them often fought to the point were Mr. Bayard would sleep in the barn. When he was younger he could understand why the two of them would stay together. His father had said that they didn’t know anything else and that was why they would stay.

Ganlon started to put the pieces together in his head. They liked the fight. They enjoyed the different parts of their relationship. Now that he was older he understood that they must have enjoyed the making up part as well.

This human contact was what he missed. He longed for a relationship that would bring him the kind of closeness that he saw in others. If he could do it all again with a clean slate would he? How would he?

“Yes”, he said to the trees, the birds, and the squirrels.

“Yes, I would. I want to be loved. I want to give love. I want to fight with someone and make up with them. Why should I be able to have that in my life?”

Damn the Goddess, damn the dream, and damn the mountain, today he would be for Ganlon. He would go and find some one to spend some time with. He would start again. He would find the love that would fill the void.

He would just after he figured out what he was having for breakfast. Then he needed to find out where he was.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Four warriors, all draped in the livery of adventurers stalked softly upwards the crimson path of the dreaded Lich King, making their intentions known that they came to defy his ageless immortality. (You read that right.) The elven rouge, Selios the Boogeyman, a nimble creature that had proven to the group to be of little value, was still keeping the moral of the other three alive and well. The spell singing fairy, Justineous the Beaverous, waved a hand through his hair as he cockily looked over to the human female sorceress, assuring her if things became dour he would protect her.

“As if,” The human sorceress mumbled.

“I wouldn’t touch that creepy bitch if I were you,” the rouge whispered to the elf. In reluctance, he nodded, but his heart pined to feel her embrace. Before any other odd occurrences could happen to stop me, the Monk stepped forward, muscles rippling with energy and his physique as perfect as a god of battle. He peered into the shadows and easily saw the trap ahead, ordering the rouge to disable the trap.

“Physique like a god, only reason Sagat the unbreakable is so good is because he’s read every damn book,” The rouge chirped as he headed for the trap. Looking upon it he concluded that it was a fairly simple trap, the only complexity was that it was hidden in shadows. With a chuckle he flips out his kit and twirls the tool in his fingers before lowering himself and….

“Fuck this man,” the rouge shouted in defeat as the trap exploded in his face. The sorceress was there first to heal him of his injury.

“No I’m not,” she said stubbornly. Yes she was.

“No, I have only five prayers of healings I can do per day! If I waist them on the rouge that sucks at combat anyway, then the real warriors will find themselves dead in moments! I say let the idiot learn a lesson and we move on.”

“Agreed,” The charcoal like voice of Justineous the Beaverous added.

“Mmm Hmmm,” The monk added with a cheery grunt. “Sorry, Selios the Boogeyman, I’m in favor of the other two.” The monk patted the rouge on the shoulder as they moved on. “Simply put, rouges suck in a real combat.” The monk led the way before pointing to a creature that shouldn’t have been caught even with that retardedly good perception! Seriously? You actually found that creature?

“Yes, because of my Eyes of the Hawk I can perceive things twenty feet farther than normal, and I had the sorceress cast Infernal Vision on me so I can see in the dark and detect threats of infernal nature!”

“It’s true,” The sorceress muttered. “Didn’t know what the hell he wanted, but I did it. This is stupid by the way.”

“This is awesome!” Sagat the Unbreakable said rushing forward. “I can surprise the beast and deal twice as much damage, and since I’m half its size I can find the weak points faster and exploit them for added damage, and I have the Manacles of the Unfettered Juggernaut that allows me to deal twice the damage I would normally do, which is twice the damage for large targets! I‘ll be doing around eight or ten times the damage to this thing!”

“Oh my god, seriously?” Selios whined. “You got all those buffs? You’ll kill it in one punch! No, fuck this! HEY, BEAST, LOOK BEHIND YOU!” But it was to no avail, for the creature without name died as the Monk Sagat slammed one fist into its weak spot on the stomach, and did a fiery uppercut that ended its life.

“Hell yeah! That experience makes me feel like I gone up a level in the planes of power!”

“Ugh, do I have to be here much longer?” The Sorceress groaned.

“Hey, do we have any Lava-Dew?” This voice cried from the heavens, confusing the players as I turned and told him to can it for five minutes. The Monk and the Warrior Fairy sniggered. The Sorceress looked to her watch and grumbled about the time as the rouge played with his knife.

“Whatever, let’s just finish this adventure.” The rouge shouted. The group nodded in agreement.

“Don’t forget because of Infernal vision and Eyes of the Hawk I can detect even the subtlest movement,” The monk said to the sky as if the sky had somehow forgotten that. The four moved forwards into the crypt of the Lich King, and with a dark chuckle the voice began to grow as the skeleton rose from a grave made of pure brass and blood.

“I attack him,” Justineous said drawing up his sword. But he felt compelled first to hear what the Lich had to say.

“No I don’t, I don’t care,” Justineous argued. But little did he know, he did.

“I don’t!” The rouge shouted next, but found himself unable to move. “This is bullshit! Let me attack him!” But he was cowed by the power of the Lich.

“I’ll cast my Invitation to Darkness spell, which allows me to deal several points of Dark power to the Lich for every soul he’s corrupted. I’d assume as a Lich King he’s done a lot. Are we done now?” But as the spell came to her lips, she was silenced by the gaze of the all powerful Lich King. Worried about his companion, the Fairy warrior Justineous rushes to her side.

“No, no I don’t. I don’t care about her,” Justineous said angrily.

“Wow, this is sooooo cool,” Sagat trembled.

“No! NO FUCK THIS GAME!”

~*~*~*~

“Fuck it Sei! This was the stupidest idea I ever went in on with you!” Jensen shouted as he rose up from the table, tossing his player character sheet in the air with haste. “You’re just pissed that none of us give a shit about your stupid Lich King and what he has to say! Fuck’s sake you didn’t even let us pick our own characters! You assigned them!”

“None of you knew how to play, except Ta’gaz who studied up for tonight,” Sei said calmly.

“Can I please just agree with the immortal and leave!” Cassandra begged. “I think I gave into your stupid playtime session long enough. It’s been,” Cassandra looked to the clock before her eyes turned wide with shock. “SIXTEEN HOURS! I LOST SIXTEEN HOURS OF MY LIFE TO THIS STUPID GAME!?!?!?”

“Lava-Dew, do we have any?” An orange haired face poked out from the kitchen and into the room followed by the long locks of black hair. The Oracle of Fire and Wind looked in on the game session. Cassandra gave them both lewd looks before glaring at Sei.

“This is ridiculous. I’m not even having fun. My sorceress is far to weak for me to play. If I made her I would have far more sinister spells and I’d show my devotion to the darkest god in this world. Then, after heaping the rewards I’d kill Jensen.”

“My rouge was already better in combat than you!” Jensen said.

“Yes, but if I cast Coils of the Shadow Snake you can’t move, I get an attack to Coup De Grace you and your dead!”

“She’s right,” Ta’gaz said looking at the books. “You wouldn’t have a save either.”

“Shut up, the only reason your having fun is because you read all those books!” Jensen said pointing to the pile of Lemurs and Labyrinths. Ta’gaz shrugged indifferently.

“One must always be prepared for battle. It’s no different than-”

“Shut up,” William snapped. “You’re making shit up again,” He placed his face into his palm. “For the love of god, all of you, just, just shut up!” Immediately Jensen began to chuckle into his most hated rival’s ear. Before tension could get any worse Cassandra lifted herself from her chair and stretched like a cat.

“I am done with this silly friendship attempt, Lord Orlouge, goodnight,” She muttered as she turned and headed for the door.

“Hell-ll-o, Lava-Dew?” Nathanail Ambrose, the Oracle of Wind asked poking his head out behind the Oracle of Fire’s. Ta’gaz gave them both a glare to silence themselves. Jensen rolled his eyes and stood getting up as he walked away flipping everyone behind him off.

“For once in my fucking life, I agree with Remi, later ass hats.”

“Make that three people agreeing,” William’s charcoally voice grumbled as his chair was shoved backwards, the giant of a man standing up letting the heat wave permeate throughout the room. Ta’gaz looked saddened to see them go, but Sei remained oddly quiet, and oddly comfortable with the situation.

As Jensen turned the corner out of the room he found Cassandra stopped, standing perfectly tall and in military formation. Odd considering that she normally didn’t give two shits about such things, but her jaw was clenched as if fighting something, like a migraine.

Then the immortal also felt it, felt the inside of his mind warp his opinions and nerves as he rigidly stood up straight and at attention. The pain was unbearable the more he fought it, but if he just gave into the whims the pain faded quickly.

“This…is….” Cassandra seethed.

“Complete… utter…” Jensen continued.

“Bullshit…Sei…” William finished as he too was found under the influence of the mind warping technique. Within seconds they all turned about face and filed back into the room, sitting at the wooden chairs before their character sheets.

“We’ll finish this now,” Sei said with a smile.

“Seriously guys,” Nathanial whispered. “Lava-Dew…”

~*~*~

This was what it was all about, the coming together and camaraderie of friends and brothers in arms, fighting the common enemy! Everything they worked for led up to this moment, and it was high time to fight the Lich Master. As it prepared to raise the dead in the area, concentrating fully on his eldritch spell, the adventurers realized they had but few scant seconds to act. Selios, being the faster rouge turned to Justineous the Beaverus.

“I’ll sneak up on it, using my Shroud of Shadows Cloak to hide in the dark. Then with the attacks of opportunity I get we can at least deal some major damage.”

“Don’t bother,” The sorceress said calmly. “I just need Justineous to give me an idea how strong he is,” The woman began pouring through her books, looking up arcane lore as Justinous looked to his buldging muscles.

“I think on a good day I could lift a horse,” He replied.

“Excellent, grab Mr. Selios and throw him at the Lich, if you would be so kind,”

“Hey wait!” Selios cried out. To late. “BULLSHIIIIIIT!” Selios screamed as his body flew at the Lich Master! Without daggers drawn he wasted an opportunity to strike, and rolled just at the gnarled yellow toes of the dreaded king of the undead.

“Now, I cast Invitation to Darkness,” The sorceress through her hands upwards into the air, marking sigils in the sky and sealing a dark pact with a demon. The power surges forwards, but the Lich is immune to such spells! A powerful ring begins to glow, creating a shield of light that canceled the darkness.

“Knew that wouldn’t work,” Sagat said triumphantly.

“Who said I aimed it at the Lich?” The sorceress replied smugly. Confused, the Lich looked to see Selios struck by the lightening. Soon his body began to writhe in pain, but it did nothing more than create an upset stomach, for Selios hadn’t corrupted any souls, thus ending the spells effects.

“Uh…Actually…”

~*~*~

Jensen rubbed the back of his head as he pulled out a sheet of paper. “We visited five bars, each with several bar wenches. Well I have a twenty charisma, which means I’m more than capable of seducing common whores. I wrote a list of every single woman I came in contact with during down time, and corrupted them in the ways of sexual depravity. I mean, we’re talking A-T-M, the raging dragon, the hidden spider…All the goodies.”

Sei took the sheet and read it, and then his eyes looked back to Cassandra. “But the Lich is immune to dark damage anyway, thanks to his holy light ring.” He pushed the paper back to Jensen.

“That may be the case, but if the target explodes, it deals physical damage to everything adjacent to the target as the limbs, blood, and gore create a mini bomb. The bones fragments deal lethal damage. The Lich isn’t wearing armor so…” Cassandra let the thought linger.

“But…But…” Sei muttered.

“Yeah, and because he’s busy casting that stupid raise dead spell, he’s to busy to defend himself. Full damage with no saves.” William grinned ear to ear. “And you can’t pull bullshit out of your ass, cause Jensen’s antics just saved the day. True he’s dead, and I’ll remember to piss on his grave.”

“Same,” Cassandra said smiling and standing up. Jensen looked to Sei, then shrugged.

“Are we done now?” Jensen asked.

"But..." Ta'gaz looked royally upset that he didn't get to fight. In fact, he looked ready to cry or break something, so upset was he that he couldn't go all out on the Lich King.

“Yes, the Lich is dead, you guys can go.” Sei said sadly. Jensen sat upright and bolted out the door, squealing with joy to be free like a kid on his last day of school. He ran all the way back to his home, ripping the door open and straight to the bedroom where he found Stephanie reading. When she saw her fiancé she smiled to him, putting the book to her side as she patted the bed. Jensen leapt onto the bed, kissing her until she giggled and screamed, and then relaxed his tired bones.

“Man, I know we always talked about this, Steph,” Jensen said after a moment, feeling her hand resting on his chest. “But if I could take one thing, ONE thing in my life back, it would be to never, ever, play Lemurs and Labyrinths with Sei again.”

Stephanie laughed at the awkward comment, kissing her love as they prepared to get to bed, but before the last candle was snuffed out Stephanie looked to her soon to be husband one more time. “Hey baby,” She said in a soft whisper. Jensen eyed her and smiled. “Do we have any Lava-Dew?”

[Azrael]

The world was spinning, and when Azrael woke, he found himself in the dark, quiet streets of his hometown. The houses were familiar. At a distance, he could see himself—a doppelganger. His other self looked forlorn as he stared at a house. A few moments later, a woman came out of the door and said to his other self, “She’s asking for you.”

His other self simply smiled politely and nodded and the woman left. His other self looked tired and forlorn, and after a few shakes of the head, he left. Azrael recognized the scene from his past almost instantly.

For the century that he had lived, Azrael had only fallen for one person. Her face was pretty but very common, which was why Azrael saw her almost anywhere with different women. He passed a woman with her face, he slept with a woman woman with her face —for money, he even killed a woman with her face.

They met when she was as young as five years old, and Azrael played tag with her. He taught her a few things about alchemy by the time she was around thirteen. When she was seventeen, they realized they were in love. They never got married. Azrael’s face never grew older, and even she realized that at a young age. She hit thirty years old, and her body now looked older than Azrael’s. He didn’t leave her side. She started to get wrinkles on her forehead. She started to forget many things. Azrael was barely at her side at this point. He could no longer look at her. All he could remember was the ghost of her young self, and a small part of him—one he kept hidden deep inside his very existence—felt guilt that he let her life ebb away as he remained as the same person as on the day they met. And, up until now, his one regret was that he didn’t even visit her on her deathbed.

Azrael walked forward, and stood at the spot where his other self had been a few moments before. He knew what he had to do. He opened the door to the house, stepped inside, and the woman from before looked relieved that he had come. Of course they wouldn’t know he was decades older than the person from before—nothing had changed about his appearance. On a bed was an elderly woman who was trying her best to breathe, as if she was still waiting for something before she went.

“I’m right here, Selena,” said Azrael. “I told you I wouldn’t leave you.”

He could see the shadow of a smile on her lips, just before her soul left for the skies. Azrael knew that only one thing changed: that she didn’t leave the world thinking that he left her. And his past self would have to through decades of guilt before he found out he’d get a chance to fix his mistake.

[Death's Apprentice]

“I do believe I have my back against the wall on this one,” The mutterings echoed in the room. At one time filled with furniture and various pleasantries, this room had once been a grand place, befitting the nobility that even now occupied it. Time, had been a harsh mistress, slowly forcing the young woman who even sat now on the bed to make rather harsh decisions. She was idly fingering the ring that hung from a small iron chain about her neck. Her long blonde hair hung freely about her as she shook her head slowly. While youthful and full of life, the young woman who sat upon the bed seemed to have aged quickly in the span of the three months since that horrible letter came.

Blue eyes looked around the room, drinking in the spartan details. Once it had been filled with rugs, couches upon which someone could sit. The fireplace used to have a fire going at all times. Now, the room was tidy, kept clean by the obsessive dedication of the young woman, who even now wished she was back home. However, even now she knew the truth…

…you can never go home again.

Perhaps one day she could, but the brutal act of her parents would change what relationship they would have. Never again would she be the idealistic woman who had been on the rise in the Radasanth nobility, even that had changed. The optimistic approach the young woman had had, was almost entirely erased after the month of hoping her parents would see the light, realize their mistake and once again bring her back into the fold. She had waited, hoping against hope for a change of heart, some small shred of mercy from her parents.

The truth hurt even more, realizing that she had been sacrificed in a political move, House Du’galle even benefited from her exile. She closed her eyes as another wave of grief washed over her upon that realization. She had tried so hard to ignore the signs, to pretend that she was better off without them, only to realize the exact opposite was true. There would be no epiphany that would see her from this wooden prison, no startling revelation that would see her in the good graces of her parents once more. She was to make her own way in a world that was malicious and cruel. Carefully she pulled her hair back to begin the braiding process, as she had learned as a young girl.

How simple time had seemed back then, when playtime and tea time were the only times that mattered. Of course she missed those years, being free to do as she wished, so long as she did not defame the name of House Du’galle. Even her time at the Radasanth Academy was nothing more than a fleeting dream. One day she would go back, but since her graduation from the academy, and her first blunder in the world of Adulthood, she had grown almost listless. Her desire to go out and do things was dwindling to the point she feared she was becoming a hermit of sorts.

Her hands carefully threaded her hair through itself, pulling it into the taut braid her mother had taught her to do. With that done, she sheathed the braid in the long sash of cloth, before tucking the end into itself, and leaving the braid to hang behind her. With this accomplished she moved to the closet, and sighed, seeing the same three outfits she had refused to sell to pay rent on this horribly priced jail cell. She looked longingly at the ball room dress before she shook her head and sighed, plucking the same outfit she had worn only yesterday. An appraising eye was given to the garment, a short skirted dress and the boots before she sighed once more in defeat.

With a simple gesture the small amount of dirt and spots that had formed on the gown from its wear yesterday disappeared, leaving her to don the garment once more. Slipping off the long nightgown she had worn to bed, she revealed her svelte form to the world before she began the process of dressing herself. One day she had prided herself on the ability to do so. Then she had allowed Servants to dress her in any number of outfits or garments. Finally at the academy she had learned how to dress in the school uniform, and was informed no servant should help her with the task of dress. With another gesture she had used her magic to clean herself in the rote routine she had adopted given the lack of money to properly bathe.

It was funny how even now she was careful in making sure not so much as a wrinkle showed in her clothes, making them appear as clean and pressed as when she had received them for the first time. She had no one to impress, no favor to gain in doing so. Perhaps it was her pride telling her she wasn’t stupid, wasn’t the fool who had nearly cost the House Du’galle their place among the Radasanth Elite. Still she nodded softly and continued the routine, before she looked in the small mirror. She had long since run out of make up to enhance her appearance, instead relying on her natural beauty to carry her. She didn’t even know why she was dressing, she had no where to go, no errand to attend, and yet she found herself unable to not continue the routine. Carefully she pulled the dress down, once again hiding her form, while hugging it, allowing one to see the curves she had. She was a beautiful woman, or so she had been told by many would-be suitors.

Were they interested in her? Or was it her body, or perhaps it was the power her birth had given her? Even now she couldn’t answer those questions, and it again caused her brief pause as she looked in the mirror, looking at the sorrowful stare in it. A hand braced against the wall as another went to her face, the morning routine continuing unabated as the tears fell. This particular part of the process had taken a month and a half to process, as her guilt and feelings of remorse coursed through her, reaching a frenzied pitch when she finally gave into her self doubt. That had been the first wounding of her pride, in realizing her parents did not even need her.

Finished with that particular part of the ritual she carefully cast clean once more, hiding the fact she had even been crying. If anyone heard her through the walls, they made no mention of it. For that she was grateful, despite the lecherous nature of some of her neighbors, they at least knew when to leave her be, and to let certain things go. There was a small amount of mercy in where she had been put up in Vorsport. While the town was on the southern tip of Corone, the town also was not so far from Radasanth that it was of a seedier nature.

Looking at the twin sleeves that even now rested on the small table she still had left from her move from her parents she carefully slipped one up her slender arm, giving the illusion of being attached to her shoulders. She then carefully gripped the piece of cloth that would hang over her shoulder and buttoned it in place. Soon the other sleeve joined it’s partner in keeping her arms warm, and giving the illusion of a complete dress. With both of these sleeves in place she looked back to the still open closet. She carefully went inside and pulled out a small box, filled with what little hosiery she had left. Some had gained vicious runs and had to be replaced, but with money running so low, she was finding herself more and more hard pressed to justify the expense. Pulling out her last set, she carefully rolled them up as she was taught as a child.

Moving them up her smooth legs she sighed, before carefully pulling on her boots, and looked once more to the mirror. She was almost complete if she truly wished to leave her apartment. Looking back into her closet she carefully picked up one of the only friends she had left in this damnable world. Originally intended for ceremonial purposes only, the rapier she had been given upon her graduation from the Academy was carefully taken in hand. The belt was wound about her waist, situated just as she had been taught in her fencing courses so long ago. While it had seemed like ages, she knew that she had been there only a scant few months ago.

Rapier secured, being rested and prepared for the day, Lynura Du’galle, former heir to House Du’galle opened the door. Pausing ever so briefly she muttered to herself, “One day, I shall remove that damnable stain from myself. Until then, I shall have to endure, as any proper Du’galle would.”

She regretted ever opening her mouth to that Fallien Noble, if she had just stayed away as first intended, she might never have misspoke.

[orphans]

Had I lived…

It’s been a couple of centuries since I’ve returned home and yet I don’t feel as such. I’ve been told that all those reborn anew, especially those such as I, have trouble settling down again. However, the other two former heretics have already moved on. Even their memories have returned in full, leaving me wondering why my thoughts are still clouded and scattered.

Nevertheless, what I can remember, I have trouble letting go of. I remember clearly a father named Jensen and a mother named Stephanie. Parents, something we Dovicarus had never placed much value on simply because we are all brothers and sisters…

Yet, I know as long as I hold onto this memory, I cannot move forward with my current life. And try as I might to let go, I know I can never forsake it.

Because… I’m afraid of being alone once more.


At the same time, I’m left with the desire to return to that foreign world. I wish to see the familiar faces that I can only see in my dreams. I wish to run free in the forest and streets of my Landbound childhood. I wish to laugh with other children for no other reason than, “we wanted to.”
…above all else, I wish I had been stronger to decline our Matriarch’s offer of a heretic’s life. It was never an order, now that I consider it, and I don’t think she actually expected me to take it.

Had I lived, I would never have had to lose my family…



takes place at an undetermined time in the far far future

[Silence Sei]

I would give my own vignette, but I am very busy, sorry guys, you'll have to wait another time to find out what Sei would change! ((Hint Hint: It involves the events in 'I Will Not Bow' ))

Ok, so winners!

1st Place: Yari Rafanas
2nd Place: Death's Apprentice
3rd Place: Enigmatic Immortal

Exp/GP added.