September Vignette

[Mordelain]

Vignette will be open until September 31st, midnight. Rules and guidelines available here (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25691-Vignette-Rules-amp-Rewards).


Someone hires you to be a contract killer, but the mark is not all they appear...

[black shadow]

It was a dark and stormy night, heavy rain battered the windows. The room was cool and dark, with one candle lighting a mahogany desk. The room was silent, a pin would be heard if dropped. Papers were stacked neatly in piles, with only a few layed out. A man sat in a leather black chair, reading and filling out these papers.

The man heard a knock at his door. He looked up from his work and said, "Enter."

The tall doors creaked open as a woman peeked her head around the doors. "We have found him sir." she said.

"Well bring him in, I need to speak with him." The man said urgently. The woman left, and returned moments later with a man dressed in all black, not an inch of skin showing. He had a black yew bow, with Steel tipped arrows on his back, and a steel sword at his side. "So I hear you are willing to kill those who have done wrong to others." The man said, looking at him. The other man just nodded. "Come take a seat, I have a special job for you." The man in black walked over to the desk, and took a seat. " This guy here, his name is Hadvar. He stole something from me, something very valuable. I want him dead. You can do that can't you?" The man said as he handed the man in Black a slip of paper with a picture of Hadvar, and information on how to find him. He took the paper and studied it, memorizing the mans face. "Black Shadow, please, help out an old friend." The man said. Black Shadow clutched the paper in his hand and stood. He nodded, and walked out of the room.

8 Hours Later

Well here I am, The Great Dock of Grace. It says that Hadvar can be found on here. Black Shadow said as he pulled out his bow. The docks were surprisingly empty today. There were very few people if any, and those who were there were sailors. Black Shadow scanned the area, finding one man that looked like his target. He started making his way towards the man, but quickly realised he would not be able to get his target in open daylight like this. He stopped hoping he would go into the inn he stood outside of. Black Shadow watched for a few minutes, hoping he would give him a chance. Soon enough, Hadvar entered the inn. Black Shadow swiftly followed suit.

The inn was cool and refreshing. Black Shadow almost wanted to spend the night there himself. He searched for Hadvar, and just saw him close the door. Black Shadow walked over to the room and entered.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" He said as he Black Shadow pulled up his Bow with an arrow ready to strike. "Hey man, I didn't do anything to deserve this." Black Shadow looked the man in the eyes. He's seems serious. Black Shadow lowered his bow and pulled out the piece of paper, and handed it to Hadvar. "Jordan. Of course, that's why you're here. Jordan stole the jewel from me, I took it back." Why am I believing this? Black Shadow thought to himself as he put his bow away, turned around, and exited the room.

8 Hours Later

Black shadow re entered Jordans office. "Ah, Black Shadow, The deed is done is it not?" The man said as Black Shadow entered. Black Shadow pulled out his sword and placed it against Jordan's neck. "Wha-Why?" He said as Black Shadow pulled the sword to the side. Slitting his throat, and killing him within seconds.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

The bald man before me smelled like old people; that awful mix of medicine, offal, and a hint of lavender perfume trying in vain to mask the former scents. His skin was tanned and wrinkled like a burlap sack, his lips curled in a snarl and displayed withered gums holding onto shards of teeth blackened by decades of substance abuse. From the very moment I stepped into the dark room in the back of the secret gambling establishment, the old man never turned his gaze in my direction. He was blind, you see, his eyes clouded over and his vision failed him ages ago due to disease. And yet, he was able to survive well into his eighties without much trouble. Possibly due to the assistance of his dozens of enforcers who roamed the halls of his many gaming rooms to make sure the operations were running smoothly.

One such enforcer, a tall, muscular man with a clean-shaven face and a jet-black ponytail, quietly closed the door behind me as I stood in front of the semicircle of padded velvet chairs that sat in the middle of the room. Across from me was the old man, lounging on what appeared to be a very comfortable dark red sofa. His wiry frame was wrapped up snugly in a silk evening gown. His spidery right hand held a cigarette, which he lifted to his lips and took a lingering drag on before exhaling a puff of smoke. The scent was awful--as much as I had become accustomed to many kinds of drink, tobacco products always sickened me--and it mixed with his own bodily odors to create a cocktail of stink so powerful that it forced me to breath through my mouth during my time here.

After several moments of silence, the old man croaked, "Are you the Freebird?"

"Yes," I replied flatly.

The old man cackled softly. "I figured as much; none of my associates are much for bathing, let alone wearing perfumes of any kind. Please, have a seat; I wish to discuss a business matter with you." With a wave of a weathered hand in the general direction of the chairs between us. I picked the middle one to sit in. It was rather comfortable; I sunk right into the stuffing, and wiggled around a bit to get just a bit more comfortable. The old man continued, "I, ah, seem to have forgotten my manners. I would offer you a drink, but I plum forgot to have a bottle or two brought in with you. Things happen to your mind when you get to my age, eh?" He laughed at his little joke, and I obliged him with a soft chuckle of my own.

"That's okay, sir. I was planning on stopping at your bar out on the floor here for a sip before I left."

The old man nodded. "Tell ol' Joffery that I'm taking care of you this evening, and help yourself. I would recommend Beard and Brimstone '85; 'tis a good year, and we just had it imported from Alerar two weeks ago."

"Thanks for the tip," I politely replied as I looked around the room. Despite its main occupant being blind as a bat, it was lavishly decorated. Copies of famous paintings lined the walls, as did pedestals with ornately-painted vases from all corners of the world. The wallpaper was a shade of red that matched the velvety fabric of the chairs, and a rug clearly designed in Fallien adorned the hardwood floor. Between the chairs and the couch sat a mahogany coffee table, creatively carved and free of clutter save for an ashtray.

My attention snapped back to the old man. "Now, you've gone through the trouble of inviting me here. What can I do for you?"

The old man sat up straight and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs and tapping the burning cigarette over the ashtray with surprising accuracy for someone so blind. "Ah yes, of course. You Freebirds; always quick to cut to the chase. As a man with his hands in many pots, so to speak, I can appreciate that."

I leaned forward in the soft chair, my pose and posture growing similar to his own. "I think as someone who is familiar with my family's name, such as you are, you should know that I long ago... left that life behind."

"Ah, but you're mistaken... Nobody ever truly leaves the business, am I not correct?" His cracked, leathery lips parted to show that the one or two shards of rotted teeth that I noted earlier were in fact his only ones. Poor dental hygiene aside, the man did have a point. Since I quietly retired three or four years ago, I have still been contacted and carried out several assassination missions... Mostly under extreme or very personal circumstances, mind you--and always, always for the right price.

He continued, "Anyway, I wish to pull you out of retirement because I feel that you have a particularly honed set of skills for the task I am about to ask you to complete. My target is of a very, very reclusive sort; a businessman, such as myself, but one terribly lacking in scruples!" His bony fist came down hard on the coffee table, nearly tipping over the ashtray in the process.

I nodded, entirely to myself. "Alright, tell me more about this person."

The old man leaned back on his couch, taking a drag off his cigarette while trying to cook up details I could use. "Well, that's just the thing, I'm afraid. This person does such a fantastic job keeping his identity and dealings so well wrapped up in secrecy, that I don't have more than a fistful of rumors. That is why I asked for your assistance--you were always the one who was really good at uncovering secrets and information; you were always the best of your siblings at turning a whisper in the wind into the very thread of information your family used to hang them high!"

Actually, my late brother Trevor was always the detective, whereas I was the brute force, but I'll chalk that up to him being an old fart with a fading memory.

I decided to move things along, as old people always love to dance around the point if they were given half the chance. "Can you give me a name? What kind of business do they run? Something, anything to go on?"

He leaned forward once more, taking another long drag off his cigarette and blowing a couple rings of smoke out. "He goes by the name Bookwyrm. That's worm with a "Y"."

Bookwyrm. I straightened up in my seat. Hearing the shift of weight in the musty room, the old man said, "Oh, familiar with him, are you?"

"Yes, I'm afraid I am. I know Bookwyrm--or of him, I should say. Deals in the acquisition and sale of rare, unique, and powerful tomes, if I'm not mistaken."

"That is correct. The rat bastard stiffed me on a deal!" The old man coughed for a brief moment, working to get the phlegm out of his throat. "I had placed an order with him for a certain book, and was willing to pay whatever it was worth to him, and a whole lot more to boot! But that asshole had the nerve to leave me standing there, playing with myself, and reneged on the offer, saying that the book didn't exist!"

I sat there quietly, politely listening to the old codger as he continued ranting about "kids these days" and "whatever happened to honor in business" and other geriatric go-to "back in my day" lines. When I finally sensed an end to his rant, I quickly spoke up to get a word in. "My one concern, sir, is that I may go through all of this effort in finding out who this Bookwyrm actually is, kill him, and then find out that he was but a single cog in the machine. What if there are multiple Bookwyrms, operating as a network rather than a single entity?"

He sat there, rubbing his bony chin with his thumb and forefinger, thinking about my point. "Hmmm, yes, that's entirely possible, I suppose... Well, I guess you'll just have to take out as many of the bastards as you come across, yes?"

"I expect to be compensated for each life I take, of course."

"Yes, absolutely. I want to teach these kids a lesson about respect! About honor in business! About how you don't cross Thom--"

I cut him off with a curt cough. "What is the time frame in which you'd like this contract executed?"

"Err, well, as soon as you possibly can, of course."

"Within reason, sir. I need time to investigate the identity and whereabouts of Bookwyrm before I can just off him."

The old man nodded. "I understand. These things can take time, after all..."

Within the next fifteen minutes, we hashed out all the details; payment upon completion of the kill or kills, methods of contact between the two parties, and so on. With a firm handshake, I saw myself out of the blind man's room Walking through the smoky, seedy gaming area, I did end up stopping off at the bar and taking up the man's offer of a glass of Beard and Brimstone at the bar (which, fittingly, was strong enough to burn your throat to ashes and put hair on your chest) before taking off into the starlit streets of Radasanth.

I made my way back home without incident, which was odd considering the part of town I was in. I found myself back in my apartments above the Janus Street Bookstore, and stepped into my bedroom. I lit an oil lamp and set next to it on the dresser a small stack of papers, which included our written contract and a page of notes and sketches on my target, dictated to a crony by the old man himself.

I stepped lightly across the dusty floorboards of my bedroom towards a chest against the wall. With a quick tug on one of the iron handles on the side, I moved it out of its place and revealed a secret compartment I had cut into the floor. I ruffled few a few things, and pulled out an enchanted porcelain mask. The majority of the smooth surface was a faded cream color, much like the hue of an old book. Inky black circles surrounded the eye holes. Underneath each eye was a half-inch thick line that trailed down to the chin of the mask. It looked strikingly similar to the sketches in on the papers that the old man had given me.

It was the mask that I wore when I was conducting business as the one--and only--Bookwyrm.

I smiled and laughed softly to myself in the dim light of the lamp. My plan would be simple: Crack the face of the mask with a hammer, procure the body of any of the innumerable homeless wretches that lived on the streets of this great city, smear his blood along the smooth porcelain interior of it, cook up some false evidence that this was the only Bookwyrm and that he worked alone, and receive my payment.

Easiest contract ever.

[Prophet]

Kyle Prophet walked into the small office, his leather armor and coat making no sound. He had a staff in his hand and banged it loudly on the floor, shaved and sanded oak, with a dark stain. The office and room itself, neatly made, with a polished desk, and a few archaic weapons on the wall. A man stood in the corner, thousands of floating screens of light surrounding him. He started for a second then waved his hand and the screens dispersed into light for a second before compressing into one orb.

"Kyle, welcome. I see you answered the summons...." Formed in the air above the mute. He flicked the words and they floated to Kyle.

Kyle raised his eyebrow and smiled at him with an air of grim certainty. He took a note from a screen that popped up above him, and it solidified into paper. It read.

"Your target is Krauss Von-Scraven, kill him and bring me his rings. You will be rewarded."

He sat down and let a strand of fire wrap it's way around his neck, forming a small necklace, of liquid fire, resting on his armor. " You do know Valash will have revenge for this?"

The man in the corner, namely Devyn Silvereye, nodded and wiped away a stack of Holo-Books, they disappeared and a small stool formed, Deryn sat down and hung his head in his hands. He glanced up as his words shone.

"He will have what he needs. But, this man. He killed m- my only daughter."

Kyle nodded and walked back out of the dim office as more screens popped into the air, and Deryn started waving wildly, and screens swirled and collapsed, as the data overloaded.

Some time later, in front of a nice house three miles out of the town, Kyle stood in the shadows of the night, his eyes glowing fiercely. He walked slowly, his steps making little sound as his studded boots hit the ground.

Kyle took out his gloved hand from the pocket and a small key formed in his hand as he pressed it into the lock and turned it. He walked into the house. The note had said he would be on his own in the den. And he was there, reading a book, his head obscured, his body clad in jeans and a skintight white shirt. Kyle walked up behind him, skirting the room, slowly creeping, and raised his head. In his hand a small streak of flame appeared, in the shape of a knife. He walked up to the land and was about to strike when he turned, and Kyle murmured

"Valash..."

Some time later
Kyle Prophet walked back up into the office space with the mute. He smiled and held out two rings. Deryn took them and his eyes widened as a few words skimmed a cross the desk.

"What the"

The roar of a firestorm echoed out into the early morning light.

WILL BE EDITED!

[SirArtemis]

Artemis ran a hand through the short strands of his dark brown hair, sighing heavily as he read the small note he found upon his nightstand when he awoke. The window was cracked throughout the night, letting in the crisp breeze of Salvar’s summer. The dew upon the panes of glass refracted the morning’s light and illuminated every crevice of the small room that the young man called home.

‘How the hell did this get here?’ he wondered, lifting his bright blue eyes to the door. His room was small, bland, and located on the second floor of a small dwarven-run inn called The Bearded Gnome. He had made this room his own for years, though he traveled plenty, and left the furnishings to be minimal: his bed, a nightstand, a chair with a small desk to write upon, and a custom-made rack he had hammered out himself for his weapons and armor. Everything seemed as it had been the night before, and with the blacksmith’s meticulous nature, he would have noticed even the slightest shift.

“The one you seek has come to you…” he mumbled aloud, rubbing the papyrus between his fingertips as he reread the scroll. “Who could even know about that?” In that moment, though no one could have known, Artemis shifted his vision into the infra-red spectrum, looking for any traces of heat in his room that were abnormal. Disappointingly, though expectedly, there was nothing. He didn’t recognize the script, and the use of papyrus was strange under any circumstances.

‘Artemis, I sense magic here,’ Judicis whispered into the young man’s mind. The sentient spirit didn’t speak directly that often compared to earlier in their time together, as weapon and wielder, but the connection was stronger than ever. At times, it almost felt as though their minds had even merged. Particularly, ever since Artemis had learned to morph the bow into a bracer at his will, the item was never separated from his person – and thus the link grew.

“It seems strange in any sense. Maybe Daros will know something,” Artemis said to no one in particular, thinking of his eccentric wizardly friend. With that, he stood up and stretched; even after all these years his muscles still ached after too long a night of metalwork. He reminded himself again not to get too caught up in projects before donning his gear: his leather armor, a quartet of daggers, and his enchanted boots and armguard. His entire being would have passed for a shadow if not for his perpetually-tanned skin, as everything he wore otherwise was as black as anything. Admittedly, some had argued that his eyes, such a bright blue that they appeared to almost glow, would give him away in any circumstance.

He rushed down the stairs of the inn, striding quickly for the door. “Lad, what about yer breakfast?” Harki yelled, the old dwarf barkeep whose beard and hair were as black as Artemis’ gear.

“I’m in a rush.”

“At least take a roll ye dolt!” the dwarf yelled, tossing some fresh baked bread toward the young man. Artemis caught it with a smile, nodding his appreciation before taking a bite and heading out the door. Within minutes his feet had quickly traversed the familiar and old streets of Knife’s Edge to the over-the-top home of Daros the Wizard. He slid past the bystanders – which there were almost always some, given the ever-changing appearance of the eccentric man’s home – and strode inside the building without so much as a knock.

“Daros!” he yelled. “I need you to look at something! Where are you?”

“Why do you yell?” a voice spoke softly just a few paces to the young man’s right. There stood a man in his early thirties with a head full of messy chestnut hair that had a strange way of looking both tidy and messy simultaneously. He wore a fine deep-blue robe, as per usual, and delicately pushed up a pair of rectangular spectacles with a yawn. “You do know I can hear you fine no matter where I am in my home, yes?”

“Yes Daros, but human nature tends to lead me to yell. Call it a problem of normal folk,” Artemis said with a chuckle.

“Ugh,” Daros said with a grimace. “But normal is so terribly dull.” He took a sip of what one would guess was a cup of coffee or tea – that is, if they didn’t know Daros at all. The odds of anything he was consuming to be simply coffee or tea was slim to none. “What brings you here so early?”

“Daros…” Artemis said, taking a couple steps closer to the wizard and staring at him intently. The concern on his face had the wizard leaning back slightly, not to mention the proximity of the seemingly distressed young man.

“Yes?” the wizard replied hesitantly.

“Are you drinking… coffee?” Artemis’ bright blue eyes looked down at the black liquid, and as he leaned down to give the concoction a quick sniff, he was truly concerned. “What’s wrong?”

The wizard simply laughed in reply, relieved that this wasn’t something more pressing. “Sometimes I like to change it up. Variety feeds my mind. Besides, it’s not just coffee. It’s spiked with… well don’t you worry about what. It’s fine. But you still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

Artemis then reached into a pocket upon his armor, pulling forth the small square of papyrus that he had folded up and handing it to the wizard. Daros, with surprising dexterity, unfolded the square with one hand and began to read the document:

“The one you seek has come to you. Seek the man with dark skin and a wide-brimmed hat with a plume. You will find your target in the gardens by the cathedral. Take the hat as recompense for your reward, to show that the job is done. We will be in touch.” As the wizard finished, he turned his gaze at Artemis and lowered the small note. “Artemis, are you an assassin?”

The depth of the sigh that Artemis let out in that moment could only be described as exaggerated, yet somehow the truth of it was more sincere. “Daros…” he began.

“Are you?”

“Daros… how long have you known me?” The wizard’s eyes looked to the top left, as though recalling some sort of memory as his face scrunched up trying to recall. Seconds passed and yet the wizard said nothing, and Artemis lost patience. “NO Daros!” the young man yelled, startling the wizard and causing him to spill some of his ‘coffee’ – though spill isn’t entirely correct, as the droplets suddenly hung suspended in midair as he composed himself, then floated back into his mug.

“You don’t have to be so dramatic about it. It’s not even seven in the morning. There’s no need to yell.”

“Daros, doesn’t this seem strange to you?”

“Well yes. As I said, I didn’t know you were…”

“It’s on papyrus Daros!” Artemis interrupted, seeing that the wizard wasn’t catching on despite his brilliance.

“Oh. That’s not that strange. People used papyrus hundreds of years ago to… oh…. OOOHHH!” It was as though suddenly the gears had snapped into place. “I see. Papyrus is a bit odd. And… well now that you mention it,” the wizard began, lifting the piece of parchment back up to his eyes, “I feel magic within the paper as well. That’s… bizarre.”

“It was on my nightstand when I awoke this morning, and my door was locked. Admittedly, my window was cracked, but it still seems strange. It was as though it teleported there. Would that explain the traces of magic?”

“In some instances yes, but not here…” the wizard began, letting go of his mug and pushing his glasses further upon the bridge of his nose. The cup hung suspended as he used the same hand to now hold the sheet with both hands, holding it just inches from his hazel eyes and squinting. “This magic…” Suddenly the wizard’s eyes opened wide. “No…”

The wizard rushed off, leaving the mug floating in the air and Artemis following, trying to keep pace. The blue robes tried to keep up as well, flowing this way and that as he rushed through the man doorways and hallways of his elaborate home toward only he knew where. “Daros, what is it?” Artemis asked, though knowing it was pointless given the man’s excitement. “What did you notice?”

As the pair entered one of the many laboratory-type rooms of the home, the wizard stuck the document onto a glass surface, standing over it and placing his hands at either end. The glass began to glow a bright cyan as Daros’ magic ran through the material in twists and turns, illuminating the papyrus and highlighting the traces of magic within. The papyrus slowly shifted in color to a bright green, contrasting the cyan surrounding it for just a moment before only the papyrus’ glow remained. The wizard grabbed at the piece and lifted it up with great enthusiasm, turning to hold it before Artemis with a bright smile upon his face.

“Time magic!” he exclaimed, his hazel eyes brimming with intrigue. “This note was teleported to your nightstand, I don’t doubt. But it was placed there from a different point in the continuum of time! This wasn’t meant for you at all!”

Artemis sighed again, placing his hands upon his hips and staring at the wizard, half wanting to strangle the man. “So then who is it for?”

Daros lowered the papyrus, his eyes still aglow with excitement that even Artemis’ bright blue ones would have a hard time matching. “A man who has been dead for nearly two centuries, and one who was renowned for the plume he wore in his hat.” Seconds passed as Daros let out a few cautious laughs, his mind afire with the possibilities connected to this one note.

“And who pray tell would that be?” Artemis responded, losing patience with his dear friend. He guessed some noble, or corrupt politician of old; maybe even a mercenary or renowned thief who had made a name for himself long ago – one you’d read stories about as a child. However, he would have never anticipated what Daros would say next. Not for all the mithril in the mines of the north.

“My grandfather’s grandfather!”

[Hysteria]

A gentle breeze falls,
I remember nothing of it.
Hands drenched with blood.

~ 69 ~

A cry. Cold. Scared. Alone. The moonlight baths the roof top with its silver glower. So cold. I moved slowly over the tiles, soft feet making no sound. The mark, my target, was a few houses down. I leapt across the divide between buildings. Far below the high roofs my shadow flashed against the ground for a second. I paused above the thin ceramic tiles. They were below me somewhere.

Moments stretched to minutes. The painstaking work of prying away the tiles without making a noise. I crawled into the hole after removing two and entered the roof cavity. Slowly, using the wooden supports to hold myself off the thin wood used as the ceiling, I reached the where I had been told the mark slept. I placed a small serrated nail against the ceiling and twisted. Thin tendrils of wood lifted up from the wood as it drilled a tiny hole. A pin prick of light shone through as I peered down into the room.

A child, barely four. His black hair was messy as he burrowed into the oversized pillow. My heart stopped. The heir to the Shen fortune was a child. For the first time I felt doubt. My training, my fortitude, did it now count for nothing? I didn't let myself think. Before I realised what I was doing I had cut a section out of the ceiling and was lowing myself into the room. I handed soundlessly next to the bed. My hand lifted, holding the dagger marked with one of Shen's enemies insignia. The resulting clan war would destroy the Shen family, and bring freedom to those stuck in the long Mafia war. But this was a child. Can one do evil yet achieve good?

I pushed the thoughts out of my mind again. I place a hand on the boy's mouth and sliced his throat. His eyes opened for a second. Shock. Pain. Fear. They all gave way to death. I moved with practiced speed back into the roof space and then out into the night air. As I darted along the roof tops I threw the bloody dagger away. In the morning it would be found and the war started.

I made it one more building before I stopped. The boy's eyes flashed in front of mine. The look of fear. I felt my own soul eviscerated before me. Crafted and cut, mauled and bent. What had I become? What was this feeling that hung around my heart?

It was too much... the boy was not evil. He was placed in evil. I was evil. I turned and looked out across the roof tops. The silent city was going to have a brighter future if everything went to plan. But the boy. Dear god the boy. I stood near the edge of the roof, peering down at the cold pavement below me. I couldn't do it. I couldn't go on. I lifted my hand out and let my self fall forwards. Please, please forgive me.

[Merboy]

Jaliban Mor Galidon, a ten year old merboy, swam through the toxic green trunks of the Seatrees in Silbanor Forest. He was having a great day. No sharks had attacked the forest and all his fishy friends were safe. The only thing that would make it better would be if on of the coralian children were to visit. Suddenly, Jaliban heard a cry come from behind him. He turned around and saw a coralian girl. She looked tired as if she had ran all the way here.

"Jaliban!" She yelled again as she ran up to him.

"Malin! It's good to see you. What's up?" Jaliban asked.

"Jaliban! I finally found you! The others, they need help! A shark is keeping them in Falinora Cave! I barely escaped! Please Jaliban, you gotta save em!" Malin cried as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

Jaliban's face hardened into a scowl. "No shark hurts my friends. You stay here Malin while I go take care of this scum."

Malin nodded before she let him go and he swam off. 'I have to give him something for this,' she thought then ran off towards the village to get him a reward.



Jaliban swam as fast as he could towards Falinora Cave. As he got closer he noticed the lack of fish. 'There is definitely a shark around,' he thought as he activated his camouflage. He then continued forward. Once he got to Falinora Cave he spotted the great white as it swam back and forth in front of the cave.

Jaliban swam right below the shark and was about to stick him when he heard the shark talk to itself. "Why are they afraid of me? I'm not a shark, I'm a filido. I may look like a shark, but that is because that was the first fish I saw. Why can't they accept me for who I am?"

Jaliban sighed with relief. 'It's not a shark,' he thought then swam in front of the Filido before he deactivated his camouflage and startled the poor creature and feigned Ignorance. "Shark! You dare to trap my friends in a cave?" He asked with force behind his words.

All the coralian children peeked their heads out of the cave at the sound of Jaliban's voice. "Jaliban! Help us!"

Jaliban looked over at them then back at the "shark"

The Filido shook with fear. He had heard of Jaliban from the rest of the shark community. He was known as Jaliban the Merciless for he killed any shark that entered his woods. "N-No sir, I j-just wanted a fr-friend. I-I'm not even a sh-sh-shark, I-I'm a fi-fi-filido.

Jaliban smiled but continued to play his part. "A likely story. If you really are a filido then let me see your mark."

"M-my mark?" the poor filido asked.

"Yes your mark," Jaliban deadpanned, "All filido have a mark on their right fin that is shaped like the first sea creature they saw. If you really are a filido, then you should have the shape of a shark on the underside of your right fin."

The filido nodded then flipped it's right fin over and showed the mark of a Shark on it's fin.

Jaliban nodded the said loudly, "It checks out. He is indeed a filido." All the coralians ran out of the cave then started to climb all over the filido.

"Thank you so much," the filido cried.

"No problem," Jaliban said. "The names Jaliban by the way."

"Klin," the filido said. pleasure to meet you Jaliban the Merciless.

"The Merciless?" Jaliban asked.

"Yep, that is what all the sharks call you," Klin said.

"Well, I guess that's why few sharks come near my forest," Jaliban said. "By the way, want to live with me? I can get you something to distinguish you from the other sharks."

"Can I really?" Klin asked.

"Of course. I need a friend to play with when the other kids are at home." Jaliban said then headed off to get Malin.



Jaliban arrived with Klin and the rest of the children at the place where he had left Malin. But she wasn't there.

"Malin!" he called.

She walked out of the bushes but froze when she saw Klin. "Jaliban! Lookout! There's a shark behind you!"

Jaliban chuckled. "Don't worry Malin, Klin here is a filido. we have nothing to fear from him. In fact, he will be staying with me from now on.

Malin walked up to Klin then touched his snout. as she rubbed it she started to laugh then hugged Klin. "I'm so relived," she said with a smile. "I was afraid you were lonely when we were home." Jaliban chuckled. he had been many times but now he had another friend to play with.

Malin continued to hug Klin till she remembered something. "Oh Jaliban. I bought you something to thank you for helping us. Please take this, I believe it's called a compass. It is suppose to tell you which direction you're going. I hear that the red side of the needle is north, whatever that means."

Jaliban took the compass then hugged Malin. "I love it thank you." he then put it in his bag. Jaliban then looked up and noticed that it had started to get dark. "Now I think it's time for all of us to head home. Come on Klin. I'll show you where we live." He then swam away with Klin on his tail.



Requesting Compass as an item & addition of Klin as a familiar

[Les Misérables]

Phyr sat in the shadow of the Capital city's namesake, the state of the high elf Radasath. It was a warm evening despite Autumn's creeping touch, and he sat upon his cloak away from the sun, counting the coins his panhandling had spoiled. Not enough, he told himself, but he counted them again, long fingers spindling through the mess of linty copper and scarce silver. The bustle of daytime shopping had only just faded, but curfew would soon be enacted and the streets were clearing. Phyr sucked a deep hopeful breath and leaned back against the statue, eyes closed, trying to look hopeless and pitiable. It wasn't difficult, with his skeletal frame and missing arm.

He could hear a group of heavy footsteps approaching. A group of miners on their way to a pub, perhaps. If they'd already had a few pints of ale at a previous pub, they might be the giving sort. Phyr opened his eyes just in time to duck away from a large rock.

Crack!

The stone - actually an uprooted cobble from the streets - cracked in two against the statue's base. Phyr hurriedly pushed up with his arm and twisted to his feet, tracing the source of the projectile.

A young lord - human, short of hair, garbed in styled silk finery - stood whirling a sling and wearing a smirk. Three guards with smallswords and bucklers backed him, their armor gleaning in the fading light.

"Surprised, Sa'resh?" The lordling called, face contorted in rage. "You look enough like a beggar to be one, but my men can recognize the Captain of the Underwood Watch!" Spittle flew from the lad's mouth as he bent down and uprooted another cobble, red-rimmed eyes never leaving the one-armed drow. "And no matter how many Imperial soldiers you may have slaughtered in the forest... my men and I will avenge them tonight!" The soldiers took their cue, advancing and baring blades as they brandished bucklers.

Terror gripped Phyr's heart, but he knew the only way to overwhelm such superior force. He let loose a roar like rusted chains breaking and rushing toward them.

Shadows form the corners of the street gathered to his will and clung about the faces of the guardsmen, who cried out in shock and reeled about as they attempted to dislodge ethereal tendrils.

Phyr slammed into the first one, driving the tip of his dagger into the man's heart and tripping the man to the ground.

The lordling came in swinging with his laden swing, the weapon every bit as dangerous as a maul to Phyr's bare pate.

The old drow thrust his right arm - the stump that remained - out from the depths of his cloak and activated the mechanism on his biceps with an arcane flourish. The smell of cayenne and black pepper erupted in the night air as a cloud of grey-brown smoke struck the lordling flush in the face.

"ENOUGH of this MADNESS!" Roared a new voice.

An older version of the lordling in much classier clothing and intimidatingly glinting armor entered the square, backed by a score of troops who cut off the escape roots before coming to attention. Damn it, Phyr thought, I'd hoped it was his father I'd slaughtered in the war.

The lordling was sobbing on all fours, thrusting his face into a mud-horsepiss puddle in futile attempt to clense his eyes.

"Father!" He wretched, "He killed my brother. Hector is dead because of him!" The little sot vomited copiously before passing out facefirst in his own bile.

The lord sighed. "Yes, you killed my eldest son you piece of shit." He backed Phyr phyr up till his spine struck the statue, standing uncomfortably close, hand on the pommel of his sword. "But I've use for you. There's a nuisance I need taken care of, whom only one such as you may duel." The lord leaned in so close Phyr could smell which bodily fluids his cooks added to his morning eggs. "One of you will die, and I'll be happy either way. Sword!"

One of the guardsmen - the one who had almost scratched out his own eyes attempting to thwart the shadow blindfold - stepped up and offered Phyr his smallsword, handle first.

Shocked, Phyr accepted, feeling the balance of the slim iron blade. Even without his dominant arm, he was deadly with such a weapon.

"And now..." The lord pulled a small sack that glowed with power from his tunic and pitched it straight at Phyr. It struck his chest in an eruption of shimmering, clouding, strangely sweet powder, knocking him against the statue. But stone had become liquid in the effects of some strange enchantment, and he pitched backwards into oblivion.


~ * ~

Phyr regained his senses on a small spit of land lapped by endless waves. Semi dark with on horizon stretched in all directions, and a simple wooden bridge two paces wide led into it. Without any other choices, Phyr gripped his new sword and stepped onto the planking.

A tall slim figure materialized in the distance, walking towards him. The bridge seemed endless, the distance between vast, but in two steps they stood toe against toe. There was no smell to the apparition, and barely any sound, and he moved with the boneless fluidity of the incorporeal. A ghost. The ghost of Radasanth, the fallen hero, and sheathed on his hip Starlight, the sword of legend.

"No one shall pass without besting me at blades!" He roared in a voice that echoed off the nothingness all around. In a blink he had retreated two paces and drawn Starlight. The steel sword shone with countless enchantments, and sought its opponent in an instant.

Phyr barely got his own dark blade up in time to parry, gritting his teeth as sparks flew at the impact. He pressed in and tried to bull the hero off the bridge, finishing his short controlled rush with a solid headbutt aimed for that elegant nose.

Radasanth ducked away like the spectre he was and responded with a triad of strikes cleaner than forked lightning.

Phyr leaned away from the first two, knowing the third would find his right shoulder and using the the opportunity to unleash a blast of pepper spray. Blood spurted from the wound and he grunted in pain but refused to tend to it, maintaining a high guard with his sword.

The ghost, unbothered by the mix of chemicals and soot, snorted derisively.

"I did not challenge you by choice, I swear it!" Phyr cried.

"Rubbish! All drow are as good as demons." Radasanth spat.

"By my life and the Thayne, I was forced into this place by some Lord of... er, Radasanth. Why are you here?" Phyr ducked away from a slow slash and sharply parried the following thrust, beginning to gauge his opponent's rhythm.

"This is my city!" The ghost roared, and seemed to swirl all around like a tornado in his anger. "But it has become infested with your ire! The dark elves will never be welcome here... so I ensare all that I may in this statue and give them a fair chance. They are nothing without their black powder weaponry!"

"But I was sent here to kill you!" Phyr responded, "I had no choice in the matter. Look at me, I've only one arm! Why would I challenge the might of the ghost of Radasanth?"

The spectre wavered, and Phyr slashed at its sword-wrist with all of his swiftness. The arm seemed to vaporize and reformed instantly, but the blade flew out into the darkness and into the water with a thop.

Phyr did not wait to see if Radasanth could retrieve his sword. He turned and ran for his life, back into oblivion.

((spoils request: iron smallsword))

[Mordelain]

Black Shadow receives 100 experience and 50 gold.

Use of topic: Simple, effective, crime drama use of the brief.
Creativity: You had a good opportunity to play with the death, but did not develop.
Mechanics: Paragraph and sentence structure errors, but otherwise competent.
Sensible: To the point, in character, and brief. Well done.



BlackandBlueEyes receives 350 experience and 50 gold.

Use of topic: Unconventional, but innovative.
Creativity: As ever, Madison’s quirky persona comes across in your writing. Ingenious.
Mechanics: Near flawless. You have come a long way.
Sensible: Humour was unexpected, but did not disarm too much. Outstanding vignette!



Prophet receives 100 experience and 50 gold.

Use of topic: Nice, effective, and direct use of the brief.
Creativity: Would contract killing be something a flaming demon would stoop to?
Mechanics: This showed a much stronger effort than your usual work. Excellent progress Kyle!
Sensible: Felt unfinished, as per the comment about editing.



SirArtemis receives 640 experience and 150 gold.

Use of topic: You have developed a simple idea into a cripplingly mystery, excellent.
Creativity: Hedonistic use of technique and character background
Mechanics: Virtually flawless.
Sensible: Thank you for returning with your precision, Artemis, entirely believable.



Hysteria receives 400 experience and 50 gold.

Use of topic: Forgiveness in this manner is a good twist on the typical evil. Interesting.
Creativity: Quirky writing as ever, but in a good way.
Mechanics: One or two minor, non-detracting errors. Strong effort.
Sensible: When is a shape shifting shadow illusionist ever sensible?



Merboy receives 100 experience and 50 gold.

Use of topic: Well thought out way of making the character fit.
Creativity: Perhaps a little too much creative license used.
Mechanics: Be careful with writing, and punctuation/speech marks.
Sensible: Well suited to Merboy, though the scene transition affected clarity.



Les Miserables receives 300 experience and 200 gold.

Use of topic: Character, setting, and drive brought the brief to life vividly.
Creativity: Interesting technique, dialogue, and description showed thought and flair.
Mechanics: Virtually flawless.
Sensible: Absolutely. Your character has the tragedy to go with the field. Excellent vignette.


The September Vignette winner is Les Miserables, with a runner-up to Sir Artemis!

[Mordelain]

Experience and gold added.

Les Miserables levels up.