Mirror Mirror (Closed)

[Duffy]

Mirror Mirror

2550

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h8GUCQQZS64)

Closed to Enigmatic Immortal & Cassandra Remi.

Set 300 years into the future.

All events and locations in said future are canonical to the participating parties.

I look into the mirror,
And gaze at what I see,
I see a child oh so familiar,
And a man I want to be.

I must make my choice, or so it says,
Scribed onto the pane of old,
If I push aside the past I miss,
I’ll find myself and rage so bold.

If I choose me, the life I lost,
Become the person I started out,
To capture the genesis of my soul,
I’ll shear the chains and scream and shout.

I look into Fate’s mirror,
At what lies beyond the shroud?
Still there he stands an apple for eye,
And the boy still screams out loud.

This dream I had, I realise,
It’s a warning for all to resist and to rise,
But now I’m old and I do think,
That the child’s dream sold is full of lies.

My reason, treason and my crimes,
Is that I’ve not let go - just yet,
I hated losing innocence so soon,
You’d like yours back to I’d bet.

Cydney Oliver.

[Duffy]

Prologue


The world had changed since Duffy had been away, hiding in his illusory world and tinkering with the last words of his latest opus. Scara Brae was free, though instead of the Empire there was a new tyrant to quell the masses. He tried to mouth the word over and over as he walked along the cobbled streets. Hisses of steam and crackles of electricity rattled his nerves as he ploughed on towards the east end of the city.

“Elec-elctri-electrickery,” he bit his lip in case anyone heard. When he realised he was alone, he let out a sigh of relief.

He had only been in hiding for three weeks, yet so much had altered. What had been called lightning only a month before was now electricity, a new-fangled way of channelling the magic of the world into the machines that had broken out from Alerar and spread like a plague of innovation across the globe. He had fond memories of trying to steal some of that technology centuries ago, before the world had decided it did not need heroes.

Something in his pocket vibrated, and he could only roll his eyes. The soft tinkle of a waltz concerto accompanied it, which told him all he needed to know about who was ringing him at this time of the morning. He pulled the small device from his trousers and flipped open the protective cover which concealed the communication crystal from accidental triggering.

“Hello Ruby, what do you want?”

“Nothing demanding,” her voice sounded tinny and crackly, which made Duffy giggle silently. He was not yet used to the concept of a ‘telephone’, least not a portable one. “I was just wondering if you’d finished the play, since you’re roaming around Corone looking like a lost lamb.” Duffy paused, as still as a statue and deader still.

“Don’t worry,” she chuckled, “I’m not watching you. I just had Lillith on the phone saying she had seen you pass the baker’s on Lombard Street. We’re very keen to hear what you’ve got for us.”

Duffy rolled his eyes with an endearing sort of charm. He turned a corner and walked out onto the flat of Market Square. There were several smartly dressed individuals on similar devices, stood amongst the vast pipe work that jutted out from where long ago an ancient and beautiful fountain had shed crystal water for the market merchants to drink on a hot summer’s day. They vented from the sewers now, and Duffy could not remember when the last time a market had been held here was.

“I’ll be there shortly; can you put the kettle on?” He was parched, and he was still intricately fascinated by the application of this new electricity to the ancient past time of making a cup of tea. It sped up the process, so much so he could drink two cups in the same time it used to take to drink one. It was resplendent, luxurious, and I would never cease to make Duffy giddy.

“It’s already boiling,” she said sharply, before the familiar click of the receiver going dead ended the conversation.

Duffy pulled the device from his ear and flipped it down so the case closed over the dimly lit crystal. It sparked as the metal touched the surface, before going dead altogether. Ruby had insisted the troupe invest in these strange devices thirty or so years ago, to keep in touch when they went their separate and respective ways onto pastures greener and adventurers grand. Ironically, the furthest any of them had been away from the island since the Ixian Knights had been disbanded in the absence of having a knight to their name was to the Brokenthorn forest for a long Sunday picnic.

“I guess we used to be somebody once,” he mumbled, before he dropped the device back into his pocket and stormed across the square with heavy boots scraping the cobbles and thoughts racing.

Three centuries was a long time to be burdened by the mistakes of the past. Duffy had done everything in his power after his last resurrection to ensure that he did not fall for the same trappings of his former lives, and so far, he had escaped the depression of what once was. He had remained focussed on the here and now. Things had gone well until the people he loved and cared for started to die all around him. Though Ruby, Lillith, Blank and his blood brother Jensen had remained eternal in their immortality, others had not been so fortunate.

“Kyla, Emma, Sei, Pete,” he named the first ones that sprang to mind, but felt himself welling up so he stopped.

The soft sound of industry rang out over the square as he fell into silence, unable to continue with his remembrance. Though the skyline of the city had changed, he could still make out the various landmarks of antiquity that reminded the bard that he was still in his homeland, still by his hearth, still in the Scara Brae he had loved for so many centuries he had forgotten why he loved at all. People had faded into time, and he wondered where they had gone. Jensen was here, somewhere. He had found immortality the hardest thing to deal with, and Duffy could only ponder what it must have been like to have lost Stephanie.

“You told me once,” he mumbled as he turned the first corner of the route from the square to the troupe’s playhouse. “What it was like, but it’s been so long…”

The brawler had left long ago, leaving the troupe, who had not changed their appearance or lives in so long Duffy thought Jensen had grown jealous. They, unlike Jensen, were only immortal in a strict sense. Whenever they died, they received new bodies, new physical attributes, new lives to live, new homes to hold dear. They got the chance to love again, to be friends in new circles, to cry on shoulders unfamiliar. Jensen remained ever constant, ever present, carrying the weight of all his mistakes with the same old plucky smile and daemonic cackle.

Duffy looked up into the morning sky and sighed. Overhead, airships of every size, purpose and colour trundled noisily yet softly through the skies over the city. There were ships of every design imaginable, from Alerarian schooners to big, clumsy and cobbled together junkets peddling their wares to passing merchants and sky captains. Though there was only twenty or so over the city at any one time, it was a big change to witness, a big stomach turning alteration to the way things are for Duffy to come to terms with. He remembered the trouble he had gone to trying to get one for him nearly three centuries ago…it had not turned out well.

He scraped his feet with a heavy burden pressing down on his shoulders. He had just finished a play, which was tightly wrapped in cloth and tucked into the black satin wrap he kept about his midriff. It would no doubt bedazzle with spectacle, but there was a harsher audience to fight with for approval before it ever reached the stage, a harsher group of critics to appease before it even got to the rehearsal stage.

“My family,” the words seemed terrifying to say, but Duffy smiled to warm his heart. He knew whatever they said in response to his title, synopsis and presentation, they meant well.

Through all the change they had witnessed, the one thing had remained so painfully the same was the Tantalum Troupe. The faces of Ruby Winchester, Lillith Kazumi, Arden Janelle and Duffy Bracken were eternal and ever present. Their hearts kept the city alive as electricity changed politics, as finance and war became one and the same and as kings and queens rose to prominence and fell from the lime light of old age and poison daggers. In peace, the troupe had finally found a purpose – they had obtained their dream – royal ascent, and in that, they had rediscovered their creativity.

Life was good, or so they thought.

Duffy turned one last corner at the familiar sight of the tall and imposing guard house which once kept the slum dwelling poor out of the noble districts. It was a web of copper pipes now, its innards devoted to generating electricity to empower the street lamps, once gas, throughout the northern quarter. It’s heavily locked door had always stricken the plucky bard with a curiosity he had until now been able to fight off. One day, he would look inside, when electricity was just a fact, and not a new and strange curiosity.

The privet drives and long abandoned winter villas accompanied him along the long lane before he came at last to the grandiose spectacle of the Prima Vista. In recent years the troupe had been able to rebuild its front, and replace the stained glass dome with new panels and the stage’s dusty red carpet with a thick, comfortable shag pile. Its innards hummed with life, its lights, crackling with promise illuminated the once dark and saddened rooms. It had finally been restored to something closely resembling its first years, when the troupe had been famed across the lands and Wainwright Jones – the greatest bard to have ever lived rehearsed his lines in their company.

He ducked into the narrow alleyway that ran up the building’s right side and came to the dark door which hummed with energy. It was bound with a power greater than electricity, and far older. He tapped his knuckle on the worn wood and waited, counting to ten before turning the handle left, then right, then left again. With a long creak it fell inwards, and Duffy slipped inside from the chill of the alleyway into the stuffy warmth of the building’s lounge.

“About time you got here Mr Bracken!” Ruby’s biting voice dug into his heels and carried him to the centre of the room with great and careful attention to how he walked, moved and answered.

“My apologies everyone, I am glad to see you’re all here and gladder still to get straight down to business.” He undid the sash and let it drop to the floorboards. The manuscript garnered much interest as he held it in his shaking hands and more still when he turned the first page and read out the title.

“Of Ixian Knights & Sacrifice, a play of fantasy, fairy-tale and adventure – by the Tantalum Troupe.”

The silence was awkward enough even for Duffy. He smiled wryly, trying to decipher if this was a good reaction or a stone wall. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at Ruby, who leant against the doorframe that separated the lounge from the kitchen. She was wearing a red dress with leather straps around her waist as usual, and she continued to polish the decanter in her hands with shimmy leather as if housework were the only thing she knew how to do well.

Lillith and Arden were sat at the foot of the grand stairway which rose up into the heights of the house and came out at the foot of the stage. Both of them raised an eyebrow to their companion, before they both smiled with warmth that told Duffy he was on to something. Though the young troupe’s orphans and its recent acquisitions, its new performers, apprentices and stage hands would know of the Ixian Knights through the elder’s constant recollections – Scara Brae, indeed, the world had forgotten.

Though the world had changed, as long as the Tantalum remained – the past would be forever, it would be immortal, it would be a powerful reminder of humility in a turbulent time of telephones, electricity and something people had started calling ‘telegrams’.

“Gather around everyone; let me give you your parts!”

[Enigmatic Immortal]

I’m always alone.

Jensen Ambrose felt his shoulder bump against another man’s, his face full of irritation as he mumbled what could pass for an apology. When he turned back to walk towards his destination he felt another body collide with his. Looking up he saw a woman on her phone, giving him the rudest stare. She spoke to her companion on the other line to wait, lowered the thing, and gave him an ear full about looking out. His only response was a long, desperate sigh of impatience as he just stuck his hands in his pockets and walked onwards. She called after him, assuming his name was ‘Hey, guy!’ She shouted her given name over and over but he ignored her all the same.

I miss them all.

His feet turned towards Radansath park, now under renovation by the Imperial Army. A huge billboard that spanned the length of what they called a motorcycle nowadays beamed with the words hope, and other garbage. All he was able to read was “Giving birth to a new era of peace and prosperity.” Construction workers moved around in large mechanical monsters, hats made of hardened plastic on their head as if that would protect them from harm. He knew a thing or two about weapons hitting headgear. Not that anyone believed him anymore. Crazy Jensen Ambrose, the alleged immortal.

I want to be with them.

He crossed under the yellow tape that spoke of dangers and harm if one crossed them. He did not care. There was a slide he wanted to go down. Sand he wanted to touch. Grass he wanted to feel against his back as he looked up at the sun. Not that it would do any good. The sun was hiding itself behind the blanket of grey clouds that covered the entire island nation of Imperial Corone. Where children played Ranger’s had died. Where snotty fat cats drank their overly expensive coffee blood was spilt from the Scarlet Brigade. The only monument left to show off those old days was in the Imperial Palace, where the governing hands swayed to the corruption of paper cash and calls of power.

Funny how things turn out.

“Hey, you there!” Jensen smiled to hear his name again. He whirled his coat behind him as his eyes looked to the man before him. He was a portly man, but no less powerfully built from his years in construction. He jogged towards Jensen, pausing t take a deep breath before he turned red in the face. “You a god damn moron? Get out of here; this is a restricted area until the park is finished!” Jensen gave him an apologetic look, bowed in an exaggerated fashion, and moved onwards towards his destination. The man lifted a hand out to grab him, and with a stiff boot kick like a stubborn mule Jensen pushed him backwards. Seeing the man stumble from the attack several workers started lifting their heads.

Sorry, looks like I won’t make it this year, Azza. Happy birthday, kiddo…

Jensen lifted his hands out and turned in time to grab a short pipe that was coming for his left shoulder. He rolled forwards, his feet kicking the man in the jaw. The pipe grip went slack and Jensen freed it from its bondage, twirling all around his body as several construction workers started making a run for him. The weapon went low, hitting a taller man in his knees. He buckled, but managed to claw his hands and grip the pipe’s edge. Someone from behind tackled him and he collapsed with his face in the dirt. Several more workers ran forwards with their arms and feet punching and kicking the downed immortal. Blood started falling on the ground.

There was a feeling in his head, like a slight migraine. He felt his body get kicked and stomped over and over again. Yet the pain was not the feeling he was experiencing. No something else was growing within him, and at last the confused construction workers decided to just beat him to more than a pulp. The harder they hit him, the more it grew in intensity until at last they could do nothing to stifle the noise that flowed from Jensen Ambrose since the day he rose to find his hero’s betray him.

Laughter echoed in the park as the rain started to pick up, as if something within the heavens cried.

[Requiem of Insanity]

Patience was a virtue. Patience was what allowed a calm mind to overcome any obstacle, to see any angle. Yes, indeed a patient soul was far better suited to certain things. In the world of fashion, patience had to go out the window. Trends came and went like the wind, and what was popular one day could suddenly become a social blunder that evening. You could not have patience when several billion people worldwide awaited your next series of clothing. To handle the accounts and the clothing was a job well suited to only one human being. A woman by the name Catherine Remi.

She worked for the Scara Brae fashion juggernaut Soritas. Ran by an eccentric elf by the name Phae who grew up in that pampered lifestyle, Catherine had made her name well established that if something needed to be done, she could do it. Several other people had attempted to juggle what she could, and nobody knew how she could keep her nerves in control at all times. To be fair, the job was considered one of the top ten highest drop outs due to stress. So for fifteen years Catherine rose to this challenge, succeeding where others failed.

Many had asked her what her secret was, and with an infallible smile, a confident wink from her hazel orbs and a swish of her midnight black hair her ruby colored full lips would respond in a husky, secretive manner, “my secret.” And it was her secret, a secret nobody else could understand. She refused to share it, for the burden was not heavy, but the nature of it was. Catherine had stumbled upon the best way to keep her nerves in check at all times: Violently torture someone.

A serial killer since she was fifteen, Catherine had found herself able to relax and focus far better after a kill, and a kill could sate her for months. Not that she waited that long. She tried to dabble I her hobby once a month when the full moon came to visit her. Sweet enticing lyrics sung only to her when she played in the dark. It was during these kills that she could feel the primal connection to her dark companion, her deluded darling. He was her true lover, the one she loved more than any other. Yes whenever her nerves even remotely seemed to get on edge, she would drag an unwitting idiot to her lair of knives where she would cut him and make them scream. Anybody would do, but particular people, those who were instinctively bad, somehow made her smile all the wider during her rampage.

And today she bagged a good one.

Dressed in her usual attire of silk black shirt and long skirt combo, her booted heels clicked across the cobblestone to the tiny backhouse behind the Sailor’s Rest tavern. She had learned long ago that this place was sound proof, and many executions used to be done here when a group called the Company ran the earth. She stalked the darkness and hummed to herself the theme from a cartoon she watched earlier that day, her smile reflected in the fillet knife. She licked her lips in anticipation as the body woke up.

Naked on a table, chained in eagle formation was a man who had been on the run and thought that Catherine would make a great victim. He pushed her down a dark alley, pulled out a gun, and told her to take her clothing off. Smiling she unfastened the cloak she was wearing, grabbing the syringe and holding it at the ready. With a flick of her coat at the man she charged, hit him right in the neck and within seconds he was all hers. Of course dragging him was a royal pain, but a nice young man helped her carry her ‘drunk boyfriend’ to the tavern.

People were so damn nice these days.

The man awoke with a startle, testing his bonds before he started to cuss loudly. Without even thinking he charged right into total panic and blind rage. She whimsically thought he was not the patient type. She stepped forwards behind him in the darkness, and when he calmed down long enough she stepped forwards. In that step a feeling washed over her, a sense of otherworldly dread suddenly filled her. She felt something within her own soul nestle deeply, and now, more than ever she felt the weight of her dark companion. There was oddness to it, and the man on the table froze, paralyzed by a sudden wash of fear.

She heard the faintest of whispers in the back of her mind, a soft encouragement to try something she had done so many times, but in a new manner. There was a certain charm to his urgings, and with a wide spread grin Catherine lowered her knife, and stepped forwards again.

“You’re probably wondering why you are here…” She said seductively.

[Duffy]

Part One: Tomorrow, Meet Yesterday


Present Day

Duffy was drunk, which wasn’t anything worth writing home about. Normally, if Duffy was drunk, or well on his way this often meant he was writing. Today however, he was propped up against the chimney pot of the Prima Vista’s east wing enjoying the sunshine. Spring was long gone, and summer had come to Scara Brae with the blistering force of a comet colliding into a once brisk and cool island. Whilst the children of the Tantalum played in the streets below, hoops and balls and skipping ropes aplenty, he could unwind and rest after a long adventure in faraway lands.

He shook the glass and watched the ice cubes stir in the fiery amber glow of the Ganister whiskey. It was a particularly fiery and sweet blend from the finest distillery in Corone, one he only broke out of its hiding place when he truly wanted to remind himself he was alive, and one he drank only when nobody else was likely to be around to ‘invite themselves’ to join him in a toast.

“Nothing like spending time alone aye Duffy?” He raised the glass and stared at the glaring sun through the dampening crystal. It burst into life and mesmerised the bard, who whilst not drunk just yet, was easily distracted by flashy objects and bright colours.

“You wish, Mr Bracken.”

Ruby’s voice ran up Duffy’s spine like a pair of stilettos tapping along a dark alleyway. He could picture her hanging out the skylight staring at his shoulders. He peered around the chimney and looked down at the largest of the openings which lead into the store room where the troupe kept its extensive literary library. The troupe’s matriarch was indeed poised in the skylight, red hair caught in the sun and giving her a smouldering visage that mirrored her barely contained anger.

“Oh Ruby, can’t I just get an afternoon to myself?” He said it with conviction but a lot of added school boy dismay. He slapped his thigh to add to the dramatics, and nearly spilt his drink as a result. He steadied himself before looking back at her.

“Take all the time you need, you just stay up there, in the sun, getting drunk again. The rest of us responsible adults will tend to the chores, stitch new fabric together for the costumes you want us to make, and look after the gaggling brood who are over excited because you promised them ice cream if they ate all their dinner.” She tapped the wooden frame with three heavy knocks.

It was her subconscious way of steeling herself.

“So you decide if spending time alone, today of all days is going to be a good idea Duffy.” She ducked back inside, but shouted up from the dusty floorboards of the library one last word of encouragement. “Just take your time!”

Duffy looked back out over Scara Brae’s resplendent sky line, biting his lip with a hump and a curse which even he wouldn’t have dared put into one of his scenes. It echoed and bounced over the red tiles, and rattled through the scaffolding which held many of the older noble houses together. A flock of gulls called out their longing for home overhead, and the bard watched them fly east towards the docklands before they headed out over the crystal ocean which softened the horizon of erratic architecture and virgin industry.

“I bloody hate it when she’s right…” he set his glass down on the small square flat that rested at the foot of the chimney. It had once houses a lightning rod, in the days before Duffy had really taken to drinking and tried to climb it. The box and shaft of the weather device now formed a crucial prop during the classic recital of Behemoth in Beige. “Always coming up ‘ere trying to make me act all responsible,” he pushed himself upright and swooned.

Apparently the subtle effects of Ganister had been absent from Duffy’s tongue for so long he forgot to rise slowly, preferably after food and with help.

“Oh fuck.”

His head cracked against the tiles with an impressive clatter.

It’s a damned shame, I rather liked this body, were the only words he heard at the back of his mind as he started to tumble and roll with impressive amounts of arm flailing, girlish screaming and gouts of blood. He descended the slope of the roof quickly, and slowed only briefly as he fell over the edge. That awkward feeling of flying did not last, as his weight remembered to drag his body downwards into the dark depths of the alleyway that ran up the right side of the Prima Vista.

A rush of cold air flared his nostrils, and he slipped into unconsciousness long before he hit the ground.

Only, he did not hit the ground.

“That was too easy,” a menacing voice mumbled from the shadows of the alleyway, fingers poised and shaking with the conjuration of a power older and stronger than anything the great bard could conjure.

“One down, two to go…” he turned and ventured out into the summer air to tend to the next order of business on his malefic agenda.

A black scarf and two silver daggers hit the ground seconds later, screaming and crying at the loss of their master.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen’s feet moved with a steady rhythm, his fingers neatly tying the last of the bow around a small white box. Therein contained was the gift he had found suitably appropriate for his little angel, Azza. It was nothing lavish or gaudy, but a sweet little memento he had forged for just her. It cost him a week’s worth of pay, but money to the immortal was like water to a sea: abundant, and never really knew what to do with it.

Azza was talking about eventually wanting to leave the nest, and the short time she was there had blessed the immortal. However, being a sort of vagabond himself he knew her desires would eventually become too strong to resist and her feet would carry her off. It would be a sad day, but that was why he got her the specialized chain memento. So she always had a picture of her family near her heart. Jensen had also procured one for himself as well as his soon to be wife.

He whistled an old tune that Duffy had taught him before the thespian set sail and wandered back on the Prima Vista to Scarae Brae. It was a drinking song, a rather lewd one at that, and they were both very drunk when he taught him the lyrics. He made a mental note to send the man a letter when appropriate. He rather did miss his brother. Still, first thing was first. Party for Azza. It was not every day that someone completed their training in swordplay.

He strolled down the beaten path, a long wide road that led to Ixian Castle. Sei had started the renovation process of fortifying his keep from harm with the influx of new recruits. This meant the passage to Ixian Castle was filled with carts being drawn full of supplies that one of the Nine generals would organize. Sei had asked for the immortal’s help, but he shrugged his shoulders and declined. Manuel labor was for someone else. He just wanted to kick some ass. He was after all a highly trained warrior.

“Excuse me sir!” A voice called from his left. Jensen paused as he angled his ears, turning towards the voice. “I could use a bit of help. I seem to have gotten caught in a nasty trap a hunter carelessly left and…well I’d rather not say the predicament I’m in.”

The immortal let out a chuckle of mirth as he figured he could spare the five minutes to do a good deed. He turned towards the woods, pushing aside the brush as the low tree line filtered the sun like a kaleidoscope. He searched everywhere for the voice that called to him. Slightly annoyed he had no clue where to look he pondered his way into a small clearing by a tree. He turned left, then right, then back around.

He had not the time to even think right before his vision flashed white and all became dark.

“You see, I have bent this tree branch enough to knock out an immortal and I couldn’t find one,” A voice mused from behind the tree. “I do appreciate you volunteering…” The footsteps got closer as it moved on the unconscious immortal, shaking his head in glee.

“This makes two, now for the final one…”

All that remained of Jensen now was his coat and the little white box with a red ribbon half tied.

[Requiem of Insanity]

“I do not know how much more of this suffocation I can take!” Cassandra muttered as she entered into her private sanctum within the abandoned mansion forty miles off Ixian Castle deep within Concordia forest. She lifted a hand to her temples and rubbed them irritably as she sighed; dropping herself onto the mattress of her four post bed, yanking the curtains shut and grabbing a pillow, screaming into it.

Once again, her Cult of Blessed torture was starting to fall apart. If it had not been for the hell she went through to get the ritual to become a goddess, she would have run away and gone back to her usual tricks and lifestyle. Alone, travelling with only her dark ambitions and desires. Now there was a family, kids, a lover, a Cult, and an entire organization she was plotting to overthrow. She had no time for her own personal hobby, and the moons calling was going on deaf ears at this point.

Where? Where did this all stem from? Why was she suddenly in this precarious position? The normally stoic and ever watchful Cassandra Remi was not one to ever affiliate herself with…anyone! The idea was as absurd as making out with Jensen Ambrose. And there was nobody in this world she despised more than he. She was not the woman who would involve herself in the events she had participated in the last three years. Yet she had.

So the question was, Why?

She sighed again, her mind slowly drifting as the answer rolled to the fore of her mind like a tide at sea. With a heavy heart she placed the pillow over her head, letting the darkness calm her nerves as she thought about. The answer was simple, and she hated herself for it. Cassandra Remi had gotten bored. It was the same thing, always. She hunted, found a prey, did her research, overcame some obstacles, learned a thing or two, and then had her playtime. Even the attentions of her Dark Companion started to resonate her bland style.

Joining with Sei Orlouge as one of his idiotic Nine Generals was her way to find new challenges and foes worthy of her dark attentions. Yet the goodie too-shoo Mystic never sent her out to handle anything of value. In fact, he let it leak that was living in the Ixian Knights and the world soon turned against him. Like a false knight in shining armor Sei had staged her death and then stuffed her in a cave. He hid her, never used her talents, but insisted on personally making her life a living hell.

Then the asshole fired her.

She supposed that should had been a light at the end of the tunnel, but instead she bit off more than she could chew. She could never go back to her old ways, not with all these plans set into motion. Long will it be before Cassandra can go on the hunt again. If ever…

With a depressed sulky pout she moved the pillow off her face. Looking up at the banister to her bed she sighed again. There was nothing she could do to change this fate, for she was now walking her own path she chose. She was just impatient, that was all.

Her thoughts were soon interrupted when she felt the guiding hand of her twisted lover move her head to look. Somebody had thought it wise to enter her own personal sanctum uninvited, and with casual ease her fingers deftly snatched onto the blade hidden beneath her pillow. She remained quiet, listening for the heart beat of her new comer, but was curious not to hear anything.

Her feet slid softly towards the front, a powerful wave of dread washing over the room as her dark companion hissed his intent of what he would do to whoever wished her harm. Then, suddenly she heard something click in place, like a purse being shut or a box being closed. The rooms tension vanished and Cassandra felt a sudden displacement as her own deluded darling was nowhere to be found.

Angrily she pulled the curtains aside, eyes narrowing as she looked to the small hole close as a bookshelf slowly rotated shut.

[Duffy]

Duffy noticed two things as he hurtled through the ether. The first was that, quite contrary to where he should have been at that moment in time, he was hurtling through the ether. The second was that he felt oddly at ease about it. You would have expected somebody who was falling off a building to a certain sticky end one minute and flying through time and space the next to be a little, well, less candid.

“This is going to be a lot of hassle,” he grumbled as he span around and around and around once more.

The long tunnel of light continued to rush past him as he travelled into the unknown. The murky memory of those last seconds before he had fallen remained murky, and they only flashed to life when he remembered Ruby’s chiding voice dancing up and down his spine with far too much enthusiasm for bringing the bard down to earth. This, whatever this was, was to be Duffy’s punishment for daring to want five minute’s peace.

The smell of violet, sandal wood and a scent closely resembling pomegranate’s filled his nostrils as the tunnel went black and he felt himself stop spinning after what seemed like a day.

---

Ruby, Lillith and Arden all flinched.

The rest of the troupe, blurry eyed orphans and starry eyed apprentices from all quarters of the city leant back. The trickle of vomit down Duffy’s chin was not quite the opening line they had been expecting.

“I don’t recall Sei ever doing that,” Lillith chuckled, with a somewhat more Akashiman expression and accent than Duffy remembered her having.

“Are you okay?” Ruby’s voice sounded deeper, darker, and older.

Very slowly, Duffy examined the sheets of paper in his hands. They were covered in immaculate handwriting, the sort he used himself only when a life depended on it or a nobleman was paying him good money to present a play that more than slum runners and drunks could understand. His digits were the same, and he followed his lanky arms up to their shoulders to check he was still who he had been moments ago.

“I’m...fine...I think.”

He examined his surroundings in the opportunity of the awkward silence, and found comfort in the familiar sights of the Prima Vista. It was, different somehow, but he could not quite place it. The battered green sofas were still at the centre of the lounge, and the stairwell leading up to the stage and the doorway to the kitchen were both were they had always been.

“I was just up on the ro-” he paused. He had seen Ruby’s expression.

“You’ve been reading from the play for at least fifteen minutes...” she folded her arms across her chest.

“Then you did that,” Arden’s cold, calculating voice dropped Duffy’s gaze to the puddle of amber coloured bile on the floorboards. It had already started to trickle down into the cracks, to join decades, if not centuries of spillages, dead rodents and dust.

“I really was on the roof!”

“Okay children,” Ruby rounded the rest of the troupe up with remarkable efficiency. “We will continue the rehearsal after dinner, if you wouldn’t mind amusing yourselves for a little while, that would be smashing.”

---

“Duffy Bracken this is your last warning!” Ruby re-appeared through the sky light, a pen in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other. Her hair was tied back and her cheeks were red with a sudden ascent from the depths of the stage house. She was not amused.

“If you do not get inside this very minute I’ll,” she craned her neck around the chimney pot and frowned. “Duffy, are you even there?”

Her questions were greeted with nothing but a soft breeze and the chorus of seagulls which circled and cried overhead day and night.

“When I get my hands on you Duffy, I’ll,” she wrinkled her nose, “use my heels on you!” She ducked back inside, leaving an odious malice in the air where a bard had once been, and where a bard should have still been, had someone not changed his plans.

---

“It’s what year?” Duffy flailed his arms, before he made sense of what had happened. Somebody had intervened.

“It’s...” Ruby counted on her fingers, “three hundred years since we last called you from the roof. If you were up there, you broke the Heidegger Barrier...” the matriarch sounded concerned now, her voice a scintillating combination of worry and bemusement. “Have you been drinking?”

The three elder members of the troupe gathered on the large sofa and sat in a row, all of them hands on their laps and staring dead straight at their budding patriarch. Duffy, or the man proclaiming to be Duffy Bracken stood opposite with his play still in his hands and a look of utter confusion plastered on his eternally cheeky face.

“That is beside the point Ruby, can you explain how I got from the roof to here with no memory of the in-between, and why I’m not currently at Azza’s birthday party?”

Lillith took a sharp breath through her suddenly clenched teeth.

Duffy frowned, “What is it?”

“Duffy...you know Azza died nearly sixty years ago...don’t you?” It dawned on Duffy that the biggest chance in the room was in the people that occupied it. Lillith had been reborn, she was a spitting imagine of a geisha now, returned to her true form as an Akashiman nobleman. Her freckles, Scara Brae attitude and pale as sunlight skin were gone. She still remained as sharp as a dagger and dry as sherry.

“No...No, this is not happening to me!” He dropped the play, which scattered to the corners of the room in a torrent of parchment and promises. “I only wanted one drink in the sun, and then this!”

Ruby looked at Lillith, who looked at Arden, who looked up at Duffy.

“Do you know what year it is?”

“It’s the year of the Lion; the troupe’s calendar puts it at the five hundredth and thirty fourth year.” Duffy said it so matter-of-factly he took several moments to realise the look on his friend’s faces was one of shock.

“No Duffy...it’s the eight hundredth and thirty fourth year...”

The room shook. Duffy stood transfixed by the revelation. It was only then that he realised something else was amiss. Whenever he moved, he felt hollow, faint, and distant. It was as if he were not really there, like he was in a dream. Maybe he was?

“This has to be a dream, it just has to be.” He stepped closer to Lillith and stooped in to draw his cheek near to her only too eager hands. “Please show me it’s a dream?”

She drew her hand across his face with the lightning speed of an oni touched. He stumbled backwards, his heavy boots causing the dusty pictures on the mantle and walls to shake on their nails and rusty screws. Though he still felt strange, he was most definitely not dreaming.

“Jensen?”

“We haven’t seen him for decades...” Arden said softly, his auburn hair still taking to hiding half his face like a shield of mystery.

“Sei?”

“Dead.” Ruby replied with candour.

“Pete?”

“Died centuries ago...”

The bard continued through a list of people he had once loved, worked with and cared for. With each new name becoming a memory, an obituary, he felt his heart sink lower and lower, until it threatened to drop through the floorboards to add blood to the ichors of whiskey and cobwebs that resided in the basement of the play house. Whatever had happened to him on that roof, he had been catapulted into the future.

“What day is it?” The bard asked all three at the same time, his eyes glazed over and teary, his heart beating, his thoughts racing.

“It’s the twenty ninth of the ninth month, it’s early morning.” Ruby rose slowly and approached her friend on his right side. She rested her caring hand on his shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. “It’s Azza’s birthday...”

Duffy smiled.

“Then I know exactly where Jensen will be...”

For some strange reason, though Duffy was in his own body centuries away from where he had been moments before, he felt strangely drawn to finding his blood-brother. If everyone else bar the troupe had died, heroically or tragically, then the one constant he could rely on to find answers as to why somebody wanted to do this to him was to be found in the contents of a small box and a length of red ribbon.

“Duffy?” Arden said curiously. He rose to join Ruby in her condolences, and Lillith sauntered behind them to do the same.

“I’m sorry everyone, but I have to get back to my friends...whoever did this to me has to know they can’t meddle with the Thayne...” he sounded confident in his actions and certain about his deeds up until he vomited for a second time, throwing carrot and potato and pork chop all over Ruby’s shoes.

“I’d send you back there if I could...” she said sharply, a grimace on her face that barely contained her anger. “I sincerely, severely hope this is not a practical joke Duffy...”

Duffy looked up with nausea rocking his senses. He severely hoped it wasn’t himself, given that come sunrise, he would die. He had read the contents of the Phoenix & the Bard...he had torn out his own pages, so that his fate would not ruin the last days of the troupe...when Ruby had said what day it was, he had instantly jumped to the conclusion that somebody wanted the Thayne Tantalus dead.

“I wouldn’t joke about missing out on three hundred years of teasing Jensen...”

Somebody wanted him dead...

[Enigmatic Immortal]

“Your name?” A voice rang outside Jensen’s head. There as a chord to it, an inflated yelp of a noise that made it sound like it was spoken only because air was forcing the words out. Jensen’s eyes blinked twice as he shook his head. What exactly was going on, he did not know. But the last thing he remembered was a sharp pain, stars, and nighty night.

“I asked for your name three times now. You going to answer me anytime soon?”

“Jensen, Jensen Ambrose, and not so loud. My head hurts.” The immortal replied lifting a hand to gingerly tap his nose. It was still in one piece, thankfully. He felt his face for the obvious bruise or bump, but was rather surprised not to find any.

“Well, four guys did just beat the shit out of you,” The disembodied voice chuckled. The sound of something scrapping against wood made the ears of the knight twitch, and he opened one eye to see what it was. The room was a dim grey color, a solitary light hanging above them. He looked up at the source, averting his eyes from the brightness. One tiny glass bulb was illuminating an entire room. Now that was some fancy magic. Second thing he noticed was he was in a large room, and his hands and feet were chained. No matter on that as he set his fingers to start working on the lock.

But there was no lock. He was cuffed, and the he lifting the chain that ran between his hands and looked at the bindings with a studious eye. The metal was shined and polished, and he tested them a bit to get a feel. Weirdly enough, these were high caliber stuff. He tapped the metal on the desk, the only thing that looked normal to him, and listened. His eyes took a double take to find the metal a solid one piece system. The cuffs were of such masterwork quality that he was unable to wriggle his fingers in a manner that would grant him access to just pull out.

“You…you okay there?” The voice asked. Jensen poked his head up and looked into the shimmering eyeglasses of a man who looked to be no older than twenty something. He had a blue out fit on, his right shoulder had a patch on it denoting he was a Ranger of Corone. He also had a tiny golden medal on his right breast, a little shield looking thing that had numbers of script on it.

“Fancy badge,” Jensen muttered looking down upon the water. He wondered if that was going to be high quality stuff. With a nervous look, he lifted his fingers and drank it. The liquid went down smoothly, and it was heavenly in its coldness. Not to mention the drink was smooth as ice! It tasted amazing! “What in the Thayne’s name is this stuff?”

“Um,” The man looked around like there was some practical joke going on. Several people sat at desks that looked just like this man’s, but they paid him no mind as they dealt with their won paperwork, people, and tapped away at…what the hell was that thing? It was a boxed contraption with pictures. And she touched tiny runes on a board to make little letters appear. Jensen observed the man had one to.

“Ouu! What’s that!” He said lifting his hands to touch things he knew he should not be. The man let out a sigh, swatted Jensen’s hand away, and poured him more of that heavenly liquid. It came from a weird bottle that looked like it was made of flimsy glass.

“You okay?” The man asked again. “This behavior is a little weird, Mr. Ambrose.” Jensen gave him a shrug as he looked around. More bulbs, more boxes, and it looked like everyone was carrying a very small hand gun. This must have been Alerar he concluded. Always ahead of the curve those filthy bush humpers were, referring to the Elven scientists.

“Me? I’m okay, but I was walking the road back to Ixian Castle. Where I live,” He paused to let that news sink in. “When I heard a person got stuck in a sticky situation. Being nice (though not sure why, never really was a nice one.) I decided to help out and the next thing I know I’m awake here. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a daughter to meet.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” He spoke the words rapidly as he lifted his hands to his face and deeply sighed in frustration. “You got living arrangements in Ixian Castle?”

“Yup,” Jensen said matter-of-factly. There were a couple curse words, followed by papers shuffling as the man tossed a newspaper on the desk. He looked to the fancy script and the pictures, eyes widening as he looked at the detail they had. He lifted his fingers and began reading the page over and over as the words suddenly started confusing him. Imperial Corone, Radansath renovation park underway, Akiv Orlouge plans to celebrate the founding of the Nine? Akiv was a baby! How the hell could that kid do anything than poop and giggle?

Shamelessly, he grinned as he thought about the people who thought the same about the adult immortal.

On a more serious note, however, he read on about Donovan Orlouge being in and out of court houses, The Imperial army recruitment drive, and other things that wholly did not makes sense. The man tapped a few runes, then placed his hand on some strange apparatus that rolled around on a mat, looking to the screen. Jensen could see the reflection off his glasses and it made him look rather nerd like.

“I’ll have to call registration, make sure your claim pans out cause currently Mr. Ambrose you’re not in public records as being affiliated with the Ixian Knights.” Jensen sighed.

“That must take a few hours.” He did his best to lean back as he rubbed the back of his head before yawning. “Wake me when you’re done.”

“It’s not going to take more than a few minutes. I do have a phone you know.” To prove his point, he glared to the immortal and lifted up a hook that had previously sat in a cradle. Looking to the screen he seemed to look something up, before he tapped the runic buttons. Within seconds he started talking. “Archival registration, please….Hello? Hi this is Sergeant Andrews with the Coronian Rangers, yes, thank you, how are you? That’s good to hear. Yes I need you do to me a look up. Archival Registration, checking for clarity. Ambrose, J. Yes I’ll wait.”

“Can I have more of this drink?”

“Water?” He mouthed stupidly as he angled the hook between his ear and neck. Jensen shook his head.

“That isn’t water,” he pointed to the pitcher. “Way to good to be water.”

“Never had filtered water before, huh? Sure, here’s the pitcher. Try not to spill.” He managed to move the pitcher and Jensen thanked him silently as he poured another glass and drank greedily. He looked to his surroundings and something was very off.

“Hey, who’s in charge of this island currently?” Jensen asked. The man looked to him, like he was a parasite, and responded in a harsh, dry manner.

“The Imperial council, you dolt,” He mumbled that last part. “Alright, yes I am here. Really…Really? There is a reference to him, and he’s selected as active? Well that can’t be, it’s been three hundred years if that information is correct. No, no I’m not questioning your competence. I’m thinking really hard about it, but not openly saying anything-No mam, I would never insinuate your mother was a whore- what, what? No forget it. No, that’s classified information…Oh, yeah that law. Every Ixian Knight knows that law…Fine, yes he’s freed.” he said slapping the table and slamming the hook back in the cradle.

“Okay Mr. Ambrose, who’s apparently still considered active despite being missing for three hundred years, you’re free to go. Though this is a first strike violation! One more and we’ll be able to detain you for twenty four hours until corrective services from the castle arrive. You were told to report back to your base.”

“Yeah…” Jensen mumbled in confusion, half paying attention. He felt his wrists lift as the man took a small key and opened the cuffs. Instinctively, Jensen rubbed the soreness away. “Maybe I’ll do that after one last pit stop…”

Jensen let himself be escorted back to the streets where he looked around at all the changes. He had thought of many things to think, or say, but nothing could really make heads or tails on the situation. Shaking his head, he decided to go with what he knew, and asking the nearest person for the date he nodded, thanked them, and headed back to Radansath park.

It was his daughter’s birthday after all.

[Requiem of Insanity]

“You seem to be in a much cheerier mood, Kitty Cat,” A voice melodically sang.

Catherine shrugged her shoulders indifferently to the comment, typing in a few more numbers before removing her glasses and swirling her chair to face the CEO Phae Foreststrider. He fashioned a goofy smile before cracking into a slight chuckle at the quizzical look her superior gave her. The elf strode into the modest office room, making sure not to let her torn jeans get caught on anything. Fashionable ripping was all the rage for the past week. If anything, Catherine was surprise it was still being used I her newest set of clothing. The elf was rather fickle and it was not her style to do the same thing for more than a few days. The tunic she wore was nicely portioned around her slender waist line, making sure to show off her curves correctly, but it tightened around her bust line to emphasize a trait that Catherine did not share with her. She did not bother to look at the stilettos she wore, for Catherine was not poised enough to walk more than a few feet in anything higher than two inches.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Phae?” Catherine said lifting her coffee and sipping it gingerly. The elf gave her a bored expression, her hands dancing upwards as she searched for a proper word to explain her situation. That was a trait about the elf she never could really understand. Her CEO insisted on the use of broad hand gestures to explain the smallest of things, but as she signed her paychecks with a few extra zeroes on a whim, who was she to complain.

“My muse has deserted me, and flown out of my gilded cage.” The way the elf sighed at the end forced Catherine to stick the cup to her mouth in order to stifle the giggle. Phae was rich, and therefore any of the crazier antics she pulled was viewed as ‘eccentric.’ Had the serial killer attempted to act in such a manner she would have been wrapped up in a nice white suite and headed for the ballroom dance at the mental ward. She turned her chair to look at the paper on her desk, rolling her eyes as she knew this was nothing but a prelude to a one act. Now Phae would bore her to death because she was bored to death.

“I seem to have lost the embers of passion to ignite my genius. I know for a human my dearest Kitty Cat that you cannot begin to understand this burden, but I assure you…” She droned on and on for hours and Catherine just nodded her head, added in the occasional words or two, and for the most part ignored her as she ranted. It was really impressive how she could coup herself up like this for hours at a time, but she did it.

Usually during these times Catherine would read the paper and muse about her last kill. This time however the thoughts raised tiny hairs on her arms as she shivered in delight. Her boss had assumed she was cold and closed the window. She smiled, thanked her, and recalled the particular bond she felt with her little voice in her head. It was almost as if her companion in the darkness had come out of his shell and held her hand, guiding it like a lover as sweet nothings were whispered into her ear. The feeling itself was surreal and the victim she played had sent a thrill down her spine that deadened all her tension. That last kill was perhaps the best kill she had ever had.

No, that was wrong to say. It was the best kill she ever had. Her hobby time had never been so fruitful, and the feeling she had never was so…so…blissful to say it simply. But the nirvana she had achieved in the ecstasy of blood was indescribable. She smiled to herself, wide as her finger rimmed the coffee cup. It was so damn fun she was already thinking of doing it again. Her passion for the kill had intensified, and she wanted that rush again and swiftly.

With dramatic flair the elf had fallen into the seat in front of her, a hand above her forehead as she sighed deeply. Catherine shook herself back into the real world as she narrowed her gaze to her boss. There were several stacks of papers all about her desk, and quickly before it was too late she started to file them. Too late. With a harrumph the melodramatic elf collapsed onto the desk in a heap, pushing her arms out sending the papers swooping. They danced in the air all around as Catherine lips pursed out in a pout watching her morning reports and quarterly financing drift before her. This would take an hour to resort.

“I am bored, my dear kitten!” The elf looked up with pleading eyes. “I need something to awaken me! I need something to really rattle my cage and shake me out of my element. My superior intellect has mastered the arena of fashion to its fullest extent, but I firmly believe my truest potential has yet to pique! There is something out in the world I have yet to try, and I must be the first one to go where no designer has dared to go!”

Hell would be a nice start. You could send me a postcard since I’ll have real estate there, The serial killer thought dryly. She looked to her boss and saw that unlike any other time before she truly had a pleading look. Something within her stirred to see the elf’s plight. She looked around her desk for a solution because no matter what happened next, the elf would stay until she heard what she wanted. She had skipped over to her desk, muttering loudly about an idea and Phae gave her a hungry look of someone who had been starving for days. She passed the newspaper and was about to hop on her computer when she felt a soft chuckle deep within her soul.

Her skin once again rose to hear that delicate chord, and she softly felt the gentle touch of the dark companion from her midnight rampage force her to look left. She did so, slowly and her eyes narrowed down upon the paper. She read it, slower this time, and her mouth widened in a sinister grin.

“Ixia,” Catherine said bluntly. The elf narrowed her eyes.

“Ixia? That’s the Ixian Knight’s city on Corone.” Phae lifted a hand in confusion.

“Well, there’s a celebration of the saving of Radansath. Many heroes will be there. Imperial officials of the government. This is an opportunity for you to rub elbows with a whole new crowd.” Catherine explained. And a new arena for me to sink my knives into. Phae looked to her, and then shook her head.

“I do not want to involve myself in some stupid charity host ball.” Phae looked ready to leave and Catherine pouted. The idea seemed good to her, what was she missing? Another soft whisper in her ear, another thought that was in the writing she refused.

“Phae?” She called. The elf paused turning her head to look. “What if we just went as regular people? No cameras, no media, just two girls living it up on a night out with people bigger than we are!” Phae immediately retorted.

“I am bigger than anyone!” Catherine had expected this response, and sinking to her level she rose in a dramatic huff reaching for her.

“Yes you are! So imagine being smaller than everyone?” Catherine waited, and Phae looked to her, a bit perplexed as to what to do. Catherine waited for the appropriate amount of time, and with soft encouragement from her little friend in her head she spoke seductively. “This is the experience you waited for. To be treated like trash, like garbage. Like you don’t matter. A darker image, a new direction never before realized by top designers because they won’t dirty their hands.”

Phae placed her head in her well endowed chest. She lifted a finger, tapping her chin in thought before she grinned savagely.

“Yes, I see it all now perfectly!” Phae grabbed Catherine and began walking with her speaking of great ideas and grand plans. Yet all Catherine could think about was sea of new playmates and the dark amusement of her new companion.

[Duffy]

Every year, or at least, every year Duffy had remembered Jensen Ambrose travelled to a specific cave to spend his daughter’s birthday alone with said daughter. The memory of the little box and the ribbon was strong enough in the bard’s mind to guide him on instinct across oceans and fens to that exact same cave, in the hopes of finding the immortal there. He could only guess what had happened in the last three centuries to drive the man underground, but he fathomed a few ideas all the same.

Guilt was usually the primary cause of such things…but what had Jensen to be guilty about?

“A lot of things…” he mumbled, strolling across the buoyant and dense grass and reed bed of the field that surrounded the cavern. It still smelt of sweet oats and rolled peppermint cakes, which Duffy had helped Jensen make one year for a birthday picnic. He had of course been forbidden from eating any, but the memory gave him hope that his instincts were right.

Whoever wanted Duffy to see the future, if that had been their intention all along would have to ensure no ties with the past could be accessed. Duffy’s limited understanding of magic, of time itself told him that to uncover the truth in this mystery, and he would have to find someone just distant enough from his own life that had survived all these long years to give him some answers. He was nervous at the possibility this scenario implied, and all the many outcomes it could lead to.

The mobile communication device was bad enough for him to deal with, but the rise of industry in Radasanth and the changed landscape of Corone was an altogether different reality. The smog clogged the atmosphere, and the woodlands he had travelled long ago in search of Lysander and the strange raven spirit Brandybuck were cut back and plundered of all their worth. Privet fences and farmlands had given way to vast agricultural meccas to mass consumption; a thousand cows for a thousand hungry mouths lined up in close quarters in vast temples of carnivorous greed.

Radasanth Park had changed just as much as the countryside surrounding the city. It was a provincial dream in Duffy’s own time, a network of winding pathways spiralling through rhododendron mazes and rows of statues depicting heroes long dead and long buried. He passed the very same stone depictions slowly, until he came across a new section that was almost a mile long running up the western edge congruent to the docklands that ebbed to and flow with ships from distant lands. Heavy plumes of smoke rose above the horizon, reminding Duffy of his place in the strange world, even though the reliquary of legendary people humbled him into a strange, dream like state.

When he turned a corner and came to the newest row of statues, he paused to catch his breath. On the left hand side of the long rectangle of gravel in the corner of Radasanth Park that had once been a languishing slum – demolished in the interim period between past and future Duffy, there was an entire courtyard dedicated to an organisation woefully familiar to the bard.

The five statues on the left hand side as he entered were all male, and the five on the right, all female. In order of left to right, they were clearly and immutably Zerith, Letho, Artemis, Dan, Sei, and then Emma, Anita, Kyla, Lillith and Erissa. Duffy could not help but pause to catch his breath. In the midday sun, the appearance of people he knew to still be alive was startling. He had committed murder and theft in the name of the Ravenheart family…he had heard of the miner Artemis’s legacy through Lillith’s encounter with him long ago in the Citadel, and could not help but smile at the sight of the monster Dan’s statue, and the greatest Hero of all standing side by side.

“What have you done…” he tried to compute why a section of the park was dedicated to the Ixian Knights, when at every turn on his journey through the city he was reminded of their ultimate failure. Though resplendent and joyous in his day, something had happened in the meantime to tumble the might of the mystics into a shadow of their former glory. “Why now and why here? Heaven forbid, why bother bringing me here at all?” He could only shrug.

He walked on through the autumnal foliage which cast golden glow over the gravel path as it sloped up the large hill in the north western corner of the park. Every year, Jensen came here for a picnic with his adopted daughter, and he hoped that tradition had not changed. Though the immortal, his blood brother had withdrawn from the Ixian Knights and from the company of the Tantalum troupe he could not have left his daughter’s life – though Stephanie, through her mortal providence would be long dead, Azza was a strange and spritely creature who had powers benign but a future long and invincible to the turning of time.

With a heavy breath, he crested the hill and set his eyes on the large rocky outcrop that former the outer shell of the cave network which dropped into the earth beneath the park, and gave way to a vast catacomb of spectral tunnels and vast, crystalline chambers where many a lover embraced their calling in secrecy, darkness and beauty. At the mouth of the cave, Duffy could see several such couples embracing, ready to take the plunge into the long future of a happy or not so happy relationship. He continued to advance, despite his tired limbs and his sweating spine – which oozed salty liquor and stuck his shirt firmly to his back.

He could not make out Jensen, which gave him a stomach churning sickness.

If he was wrong, and Jensen was not here, then he was ultimately alone, fantastically forgotten, and in grave danger. For someone to so simply an easily eradicate a Thayne from the world had greater implications than the bard’s true death. If the Thayne of Scara Brae’s soul were destroyed, removed from the last three hundred years as future and past self-died in the moment of Duffy’s true death…then what horrors and what new futures could be written in his absence?

Azza’s maroon eyes flashed in Duffy’s mind, and he sighed as he sat on one of the many benches which edged the large circle of gravel that rested before the opening to the cave. With a heavy draw of breath, which was cool and pleasant and tinged with coal smog, Duffy kept his eyes fixed on the path that crested the rise of the hill in hopes of seeing his brother appear like a gorilla from the mist. Jensen Ambrose, though a rival and family member, was his only answer to the eternal conundrum…why was he here…why was Radasanth so electrifying, why were people wearing glowing spectacles that appeared to carry pictures of other worlds in their lens?

The bard shuddered, and for the first time in a life of many centuries, he felt mortal.

He felt very, very afraid…

"For once in your life Jensen...come on fucking time!"

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Time changes things. This was the immortal’s conclusion. The caverns he once called home were now renovated hallways that were considered a tourist attraction. Rooms he had slept in, places he trained in were now being encroached upon by people who were ignorant to why they were existing. He met a few members of the “Ixian Knights” who took the people around. They explained the sacrifices, but the immortal didn’t truly understand what it was that was off in their words.

Ignoring it for the moment he turned away from the pack and made a detour towards the living district. He easily slipped past the guards who were assigned to protect the areas from prying eyes. In the wide walkways Jensen marched towards his one room he used to call his with Stephanie and Azza. The temperature seemed to be consistent with outside, and he fixed his jacket to keep the warmth near his chest. He moved down the bend, walking with purpose when he suddenly felt his nose compress and chest bounce off a wall. Yet there was no wall. He tested a hand, feeling all the hair on his arm rise and he snorted in deference. Magical barriers, no doubt to preserve the rooms of Sei’s family from intruders.

Sighing he stuck his hands back in his pockets and turned around, walking back towards the area he always took his daughter on her birthday. It was nothing special, just the playground he used to take her for children’s care. There he had fought her to see if she was mature enough to become an adult. It was there that he had made a picnic in the rain with his soon to be wife Stephanie…

His heart stopped.

One arm slammed into the wall next to him, little debris flirting around his knuckles as a small strip of blood cascaded downwards. If three hundred years had passed, and this was no dream, then…

“No,” Jensen muttered darkly moving forwards with renewed purpose. “Not until I see it myself…” He refused on principle to think the one woman he had lived for was now gone. He ignored the looming shadows that covered the faces of the statues that line the halls. Friends he had all suddenly gone, just like that. No. Zerith Dracosius, William Arcus, Tobias, Sei! None of them could be dead! He began to jog with a sense of urgency, before with a tingle of fear down his spine he sprinted towards his destination.

He passed through the kitchens the soup nazi had cooked in. It was here he and William Arcus had fought tooth and nail for a baked potato. Now there was no line for food, no joy to be had in watching their rivalry grow to higher heights. There was no party to welcome the seasons change. The tables were titled over from age, cobwebs the only main course now being served. His heart began to beat within his chest with sudden terror. His lungs felt heavy as he jumped the last hurdle down the side path. He pushed the guide of the group aside angrily, snarling even as he rushed through the oldest training dojo that the Ixian Knight’s had. His father, Lilith, Na’Kah, Yogi, Ta’Gaz…no brutal trainer broke spirits and reshaped them into warriors now? Who would take up that legacy? Who would train the soldiers now?

He shifted his weight and slid out the door into the main hallways of the personal quarters. He pushed with his hands upwards, daring himself to go faster. The decay of neglect was evident everywhere. There was no sermon from Adolph, filling the people with fighting spirit.No Chaplains to stiffen spines! There was nothing!

Just like Jensen had when he started in this world, so was he in new world. Alone.

Tears streamed down his face. He screamed in loss as he feet pounded harder and harder towards the last bend, arms turning as his anxiety and sudden realization kicked in that everything he loved was now gone. There it was, the playground. Jensen's eyes went wide when he saw someone enter into the old familiar children's area. He ran as fast as he could forwards into the room…

…And took out the person who had just entered.

He tripped and rolled, body bouncing on the waist high grass that had not been cut in ages. His knives came loose and scattered all around as he hit the faded red wood of the sandbox. It cracked and tiny grains started to fall over his body. His coat had flapped over his head, covering it in a rather comical way. He stopped to think what happened, and crazily began laughing thinking what caused all this.

A body! A body! If it was his little girl’s birthday, and he ran into the room with all speed and hit a body, then he must have hit…

“AZZA!” Jensen screamed in relief. Yet when his jacket fluttered upwards, body standing rigid to greet his daughter he instead saw something else. There was no wings, no horns to denote his beautiful angel. There was nothing but a very human face. Eyes narrowing in confusion, he watched as the man stood up slowly, shaking the head clear from the impact.

“Duffy?”