October Vignette

[Mordelain]

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


"Your character has been injured and is not permitted to leave their bed. What do they do?"

​Thanks to hoytti for the suggestion this month.

[hoytti]

Sorish laid in bed, unable to move. His exoskeleton had been completely destroyed which left his muscle exposed and limp. It will take months for my body to regrow my exoskeleton again, Sorish thought as he laid there. Worse still is that without my exoskeleton I have to be feed since my algae is also gone, this is the worst thing to happen to a coralian.

Sorish just laid there brooding till a knock came to the door. "Enter!" he called.

The door opened and in stepped Korra. "Hello Hun, I brought you some broth. It has special herbs that should speed up the healing process.

"Thanks dear," Sorish said as she sat down next to him and started to hand feed him.

"I wish I could do more," She said as she brought the broth to his mouth. Sorish opened his mouth, which had exoskeleton inside so that he could still eat and talk, and took the spoon in. "Sorish, how exactly did this happen?"

Sorish sighed as he thought back to what happened. "Let's just say that Parrots love coral and leave it at that."

Korra laughed then continued to hand feed him. After he finish his soup Korra left and Sorish fell asleep.

[Opposites]

Abrinano was as happy as can be. I should get seriously injured more often, he thought as he ate another plate of food i ten seconds flat. Piled around him was empty plates that almost reached the ceiling. He has been eating since he first entered the bed. Suddenly the plates all started to shake and fell right on top of him. "That didn't hurt!"

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

The veteran physician De Markesh wandered down the hallways of his small, but well-maintained hospital, popping his head in and out of the small rooms and checking in on his patients as he went. Most were adventurers, brought in by their friends, or by people who happened across them; everyone in the area knew De Markesh was the elf to go to when you were wounded, and none balked at the steep prices he leveled at them upon their admission.

With his blend of medical research, advanced mightily by his Aleraran patrons, and magical finesse, the doctor could heal almost any wound.. for a price.

He meandered down the stark, cold corridors, running a hand through his soft, white hair and readjusting the half-moon spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. Nurses passed him, smiling and bowing their heads as they went. He knew some of the younger nurses eyed him when they though he wasn't looking, but he didn't mind in the least - for four-hundred and eighty-seven years old, the graceful elf still looked not a day over twenty-five, white hair aside. He smiled at the thought as he popped in to a few of the small, private rooms, checking in on the adventurers, examining their wounds, re-applying bandages and most importantly making sure they had enough coin to pay their bills.

It was, in short, just another normal da--

A scream rang out from one of the rooms, shrill and piercing in the narrow confines of the corridor. De Markesh jogged up the hall, waving off some concerned nurses as he went. A nurse was outside the room, her face beet red and her breathing heavy. The elder physician noticed a thin wave of smoke edging out from under the door and panic raced through his chest.

"Nurse Blevins, what is it?" he demanded, laying a hand on the nurse's shoulder, "is there a fire?" he added, alarmed at the potential loss of money such a thing could bring.

The young nurse, a pretty little thing shook her head, trying to catch her breath.

"No, Sir. Not a fire," she managed, visibly shaken, setting her wimple right on her head. "It's the patient.." her voice trailed off as she glanced at the door of the room.

De Markesh looked up, his face dropping as he realised who was confined in the room. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, once again regretting his decision to admit the.. man inside. He had been brought in three days ago, unconscious and severely wounded, and after receiving the first purse of gold coins, the doctor decided he would heal the boy. He had lacerations, bruises, fractured bones, a few broken fingers, a nose that had been reset, burns... his body was a catalogue of pain. To Doctor De Markesh it was also a catalogue of profits to be made.

The trouble had started as soon as he regained consciousness.

"It's alright, nurse," he said soothingly, "just tell me what happened."

"Well, sir, I.. I w-went to check on t-the patient.." she stuttered, not meeting her employer's eyes, "and found him smoking again."

It was fast becoming a mystery how the fellow kept producing the foul smelling cigarettes. He nodded for the nurse to continue, patting her shoulder reassuringly. "Back to work," he snapped at the small group gathering to observe the commotion.

"Well, I told him to stop, that he wasn't allowed to smoke, and he.." she swallowed. "He put it out, but a few minutes later I went back, you see, and found him with another.. and.. and I.." once again her voice trailed off, her delicate hands nervously wringing the edge of her apron. "I found him engaged in," she said, so softly even the sharp-eared old elf had difficulty hearing her, "amorous activity with--"

Doctor De Markesh had heard enough. "I expressly said no visitors for that man! Well, he thinks he can smoke in my hospital, that he can flaunt my rules and have a woman in his room? We'll see about that!"

Nurse Blevins turned her face to her employer as he headed for the wooden door. "No, sir, you don't understand! He was doing it--"

She sighed as the doctor shoved open the door and stormed inside, a moment later his voice crying out in dismay. "Dear Gods above, man!"

"-- with his hand," she finished, shaking her head.

[Gold]

Timothy just huffed, he was sick in bed with his yearly flu. How he caught it in his own dimension was beyond him. He was sure he made it so that sickness was removed, but apparently it did't help when it came to the flu. He coughed and hacked. Maroon seemed immune as every year he caught it yet she never did. So she sat next to him with a bowl of chicken noodle soup.

"Here is your soup dear," She said as she held the soup out to him. He gladly took it.

"Thank you Maroon," he said weakly as he started to eat.

"You know, I noticed something," she said as she watched him eat. "Each year you get sick and each year it gets worse. I think I might call a doctor and have him come here to check you out." she then got up and went to do just that.

Timothy coughed again then looked at the liquid that had come out. It was red. "Maroon, don't call the doctor call the hospital!" He then promptly passed out.

[Amber Eyes]

”Sei! The girl stretched lazily In the silk sheets, rolling her head from side to side to work out the kink that was threatening to cause her greater discomfort. Within moments a loud bell rang throughout the castle, and footsteps could be heard in the stone hallway. ”Thank you!

Three new recruits entered the chamber, their eyes scanning the room to see just what the young general might need. Kyla smiled patiently and sat up slightly, pulling her robe closed.
Unsatisfied with his assessment the tallest of the three cleared his throat before speaking. “Ma’am?”

“I’m booooored.” She drug the word out, making sure that it seemed just as frustrating as it felt. “I mean, I’m stuck up here all day and I have nothing to do.’

The men looked at each other in disbelief. “We were pulled off patrol at the west gate.” Kyla frowned, staring at the blonde boy who spoke. “Okay?”

“Well Ma’am, what I mean is….” He trailed off, looking to his comrades for support. Finally the third man, a rotund red-faced soldier Kyla had passed in the mess hall once or twice spoke. “He’s trying to say that we were pulled from duty protecting the citizens of this castle for a,” the man used his sausage fingers to emphasize his words, his arm fat jiggling with each exasperated movement. “Very important mission. We were told that if the bell rang you needed something.”

“I do, I’m bored.” The words were void of emotion, what part of this wasn’t the fatty understanding?

The tall one spoke again, stepping in front of the now extremely red-faced chunk. “What is it you would like us to do for you ma’am?”

“Hmmmm….” Kyla thought carefully, looking between the three carefully. “I’d like to see some training.”

“Here?” The blonde’s voice cracked as he asked the question.

“Well, I can’t exactly go anywhere now can I? I am bedridden Sir. I suppose that doesn’t mean much to you but trust me it is excruciatingly difficult to lay around all day feeling your muscles get tight and knowing that everyone out there is having so much fun while you just sit here, eating chocolate and gaining five pounds that everyone will notice, but no one will tell you about….”

“Okay, what kind of training did you have in mind?” The fat one cut her off.

“How about a fight? Blondie and giant-man against chubbs mc chubberson over here…” The mystic pointed with her finger just in case the men were confused about her nicknames.

”You are free to go. Kyla knew the words were to the entire room, and not just herself, and it disheartened her slightly. The men smirked at each other and the lard-butt even did a mock curtsy before leaving the room.

”You can’t make people fight to the death in your chambers Kyla, it just isn’t okay.” Sei’s tone was playful.

Kyla pursed her lips, thinking hard about what else she could do. ”And before you even ask, Jensen has refused to tell you anymore stories, he says you’re an incessant blabbermouth and he can’t ever get to the end without you interrupting.

“Damn it! What else is there to do?”

Just as she shouted the words one of Aislinn’s assistants entered the room. She quickly undid Kyla’s bandage and cut away at something.

“There you are mi’lady, that toenail should be good as new.”

[Musashi]

Every little garden
Is dreaming of the forest
That shall soon return.

That was pretty bad

After, what Musashi would only refer to as a 'mis-hap' (if you really tried you might be able to upgrade it to a mis-step but it would be accompanied with protests as he desperatly tried to downplay the situation.) He had been treated as best they cold and sent to a half-way house to rest and heal. Obviously if he was to be active too quickly then... well ok, Musashi was bed ridden.

He had-
Not a severed limb.
Not a merciful gaping gash on his chest

He had broken his ankle, And he was having trouble living it down with himself. And now the Ronin was trapped in bed or risk it getting worse. The Dr had been crystal clear.

"I'm sending you to a sort of half-way house. to recouperate... Just dont let it happen again."


The room wasn't too bad. Musashi had hopped towards the bed on arrival and lay ontop of it while a hostess lay his pack at the foot of it with his two swords in their rosewood scabbards. The space was rectangular. Along with the simple bed there was a side table, changing screen and a private washroom. Aside from a thick window and a bedside mirror, the room was bare. He asked it to be opened and, aside from a questioning glance from the hostess, it was opened. He was left alone, with the advice that he call on her when he needs attention like some child needing changing.

And then he just lay there, staring at the ceiling. Tempering his paitence and listening. The world outside the window, the hall across, the room behind the wall at his head.

They were making a hell of a commotion. Painfull. Sounded violent. Which is what got Musashi listening more intently instead of just passing the time. He pulled himself up straight, leaning against the headboard. There was a crash and silence, which only caused concearn. Hoping that either someone else heard and would investigate, or something else would happen and it wouldnt be so bad.

But all was silent.

Right until Musashi decided to check the room next door. There was a mirror along side the bed to make the room feel larger to any guests. It made the room feel sharp and pointy when he cracked it into large shards with a blow to the centre. Grabbing the largest segment the warrior crawled to the foot of the bed and streatched the three feet from the bed to the open window, bracing his upper arms on the windowframe, and his knees on the bed, being careful to leave his ankle out of play. His stomach tensing to keep himself straight.
The piece of mirror caught the setting sun as it spun, and the image of the next window over filled the glass like a piece of a different world. The scene was horrific, chaotic, the barbarous man in the centre of all of it. Musashi was revolted by the sight he held his brow creasing as he tried to decide how to act next without mobility.

The sun must have moved as the figure in the image snapped to the window and then towards it door. The Ronin realised what was about to happen, the mirror slipped from his hands and down to the ground a story below and he fell from the window, landing face first against the woodden floorboards as someone knocked against the door. The sound like someone was attacking it with a hammer for insulting their honour and family.

Musashi's fingers wrapped around his Katana and somehow managed a competant forward roll without using half of his legs. Climbing to his foot, bracing on the katana as the door burst open to reveal the sight that Musashi wouldn't forget no matter how much he would long to.

The Great bear of a man stood, surrounded by the remains of the wooden door, splintered to the floor. With only A beard and chest hair to protect his swinging modesty, the stranger, filled with a rage that his sins bared witness he charged the hobbling samurai, Who spun his sword point up, using the scabbard to joust the charge out of the way only serving to throw Musashi off balance, onto his bad ankle and-

Nothing.

I must be a fast healer.

Musashi tested his ankle, it was fine. good. The bear charged again. And the swordsman sidestepped and backtracked back around to beside the bed. Assuming poster, stance and holding his katana at the waist. blade pulled by half an inch. Radiating a warning to stay away, which was ignored.

There was a flash as steel reflected light through the room before returning to it's wooden scabbard.
The gut churning sound of loose flesh hitting the floor
And a piercing wail from the large man that filled the room, flooding out into the hall as he fell to his knees, hands held near the ground as the situation was so alien that defied reaction and the wail turned into chocked sobs. Attracting attention of guests and a practitioner.

Testing his ankle for the last time before collecting his things and leaving through the shattered door Musashi left, but not before telling the receptionist:

"Don't let any pets up there."

Back to feeling 100%

------------------

"Dear Gods above, man!"

The hospital was as it always was. Chaotic, but the nurse liked to check up on patients who had left. She was looking for the doctor who treated him, An old doctor that held a little magic and probably only a couple more years in medicine.

"Doctor, how did the man with the swords do?"

The doctor took a couple seconds to remember Musashi from the sea of faces that would check into the hospital on a daily basis, but it wasn't difficult to remember, no matter how simple it had been to reset the ankle with a spell or two.

"Fine, fine. Broke his ankle falling over a cat. So I sent him to a brothel to raise his spirits."

[black shadow]

OOC:
this post is in Black Shadow's future as if he is 75 years old, has earned his honor back, is called by his actual name, built his home, is married, has kids, had someone to take care of his home when he is away, and has a pet dog.

"listen to me. You can't go out there. They will kill you."

"I have no other choice. This is the only way to end this war."

No, there's alway a choice. You just have to make the right one."

"I'm sorry. But I must do this."

Ardon Firil felt someone touch his shoulder, causing him to awake abruptly, and his dream to end. His wife knelt next to his bed. She wore a blue dress, and had blonde hair. Her eyes were a bright blue, and her skin was as fair as can be. She was beautiful. Ardon looked at what she was holding.

"I brought you some tea, and a damp towel." She said as Ardon tried to sit up. "Here, let me help." She helped him sit up, and propped one of his blue pillows behind his head.

"Thanks love." He said, coughing three times. "Y-you're too good to me." He said as he took the tea. He then felt something lay in his leg. He looked down, seeing his dog Rolma laying her head on his lap. "You too Rolma." He said petting her head. "Rachel... I had another one of those dreams." Ardon said looking up at his wife again.

"The ones about a war?" She asked.

"Yes, only this time, I made a choice."

"A choice? What was it?"

"I don't know. I woke up before I knew."

"We'll I'm sure it's nothing. There's not going to be a war any time soon. And if there is, it won't involve you." Rachel told him." Now go back I sleep, you'll need your energy for this weekend."

Ardon layed back in his bed, and turned his head to the desk next to his bead. He looked at a picture of his daughter, Carla. "I'll see you soon." He said, as he closed his eyes, and fell back to sleep.

[Dissinger]

“Rule eleven should be never let ‘em see you hurting…” The groan of pain issued from the thief’s lips as he brushed stray strands of hair from his face. He hated these periods of inactivity but he couldn’t exactly deal with the situation in his normal way. He was hurt, and his body needed time to adjust before he could even think of using his magic to bail him out. Seth Dahlios the Lavinian Demon was turned into a crossbow bolt target by one of the sneakier members of the cult of blessed torture. Having pushed the bolts through his skin to try and break the tip and remove them he found they had been enchanted in some small way. The sigil done was similar to sigils he had seen in a poisoner’s journal in Ettermire long ago.

Without letting the poison have a chance to run its course there was no way he was going to use Gift of the Magi to simply heal his wounds. Not with the temptation to abuse his power hanging before him a temptation he was more than happy to give in to. He had to hold out a little longer, get a few more pieces on the board, then he could run rampant through the Cult of blessed Torture and destroy what was left of that bitch Cassandra Remi.

Grabbing his water skin he drank greedily from it as he carefully corked it back up and set it beside him grunting in the discomfort he felt from the myriad of wounds. No one wound itself was directly the cause of his discomfort, such was the thief’s tolerance for pain he seldom felt such things. It was the sheer volume, apparently is targete had thought it funny to use repeating crossbows and Seth hadn't managed to corner the Cultist till it was three clips down.

He was running out of people to torture for information that was for sure. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing, but the cultists he had been tracking down had gone to ground. Everything suggested an accelerated time clock. He wasn't sure, and he needed information badly. It was times like these that made him wish he could contact Sei Orlouge. Still he wasn’t sure the Ixian Knights were even safe anymore, after all his trust had gotten his daughter kidnapped. Still he remained in the hunter’s cabin, resting in the bed.

It was back to the old days when he would have to rely on his wits to get out of these nightmares.

Checking his bandages he was glad to see none of his wounds had actually opened up again, that was a start. He was beginning the think that the poison thinned his blood to keep him bleeding. If that was the case he would be able to use his magic, still he was unsure and the asshole who had hunted him didn’t carry the book he got the poison from on him. All he had was a few cross bow bolt heads, and the poison had already been injected into his system. He didn’t even have a sample to give to an alchemist now.

He reached into his pack and found what he was looking for, a small locket. Each half of the locket held but a clipping of hair, one from his wife Liliana, and one from his Daughter Samantha. He had taken them when they were living in Lavinya, and times were simpler. With the dawn of Samantha’s sixteenth birthday she had become an adult and Seth had insisted on her traveling the world, and finding herself. She had seemed so lost to him then, someone trying to figure out the weight she had been shouldering for so long, not even realizing its existence until it was pointed out.

Tears welled in his eyes and he closed the locket firmly. His hand clenching into a fist as he thought of the second war he had thrown himself into. It was one thing to fight against his bloodline and defy the Traitor Generals of Revan, quite another to fight the burgeoning Goddess of Blessed Torture. Cassandra Remi had struck the first blow, and he couldn’t leave it unanswered. Every day his little girl was trapped in that monster’s hands was another day he felt his hatred towards the woman grow. He fought back the melancholy that threatened to overtake him, knowing that to give in to that was the first step on giving up. Liliana had refused to give up on Seth, and he refused to let his little girl, someone he had died protecting, go.

He relaxed as the night slowly devoured what was left of the light and closed his eyes. It was time to sleep but even still he made the same promise he had made since the Night of Debauchery, a promise more for his ears than hers. The tears slipped down his face before he finally spoke, “Don’t worry Sam, Daddy’s coming for you…”

[Lye]

From what he could see between the canopies of leaves, tonight’s sky was clear and full of sparkling stars. Odd, for someone so obsessed with taking lives, but a faint smile cracked across Lye’s lips. He gripped the strange wooden object lodged in his lower ribs and coughed blood into the crimson scarf hugging his neck. The thick fluid camouflaged itself as it soaked into the fibers of the treasured garb.

“Tricky little tree f*cker,” he spoke through labored breaths towards the corpse that lie beside him.

Lye’s blade of ivory bone stretched forth from his right arm directly in the center of a fair maiden’s body. She could not have been more than twenty years, but a dryad’s real age is impossible to tell. Should they ever share, their victims wouldn’t leave the forest alive. She had lovely, platinum blonde hair with vibrantly colored summer flowers weaved methodically about. Her face could not be seen, buried into the dead leaves and mud of the forest floor. She wore an intricate green halter and skirt that were semi-transparent and crafted to look as though it was made of lace. Although undoubtedly beautiful, dryads are deceivingly deadly. The fair skin of her right arm twisted and gnarled into a crude, branch-like spear and lay buried into the assassin’s torso.

Lye tried to shift his weight against the trunk of the dryad’s tree to no avail, wincing in pain. Having been so familiar with his own bones writhing and twisting within him, feeling this caliber of discomfort was not as easily known to him. He could feel her weaponized arm stretching and growing within him. This only meant that tree she was bound to wasn’t entirely dead. It was, however, on its way to becoming nothing but future firewood. Its once viridian leaves steadily turned to ash raining down on the immobile pair below. Thick amber sap flowed from large gashes; a clear sign of a drawn out confrontation. Both Lye’s black, titanium katars and trusted chained sickle were driven deep into the bark, exposing the meaty floral tissue within. It was a slow death, but until the dryad’s tree perished from root to crest, her arm would remain within him, trying to steal away his life in penance for her own.

“Even this forest wants me dead,” he whispered to himself, delusional from pain and blood loss, “I can’t… even find a place to close my eyes anymore…”

It was sad to admit being blindsided, but the assassin was lucky considering the situation he got himself into. He had nodded off for some rest after spending most of the day wandering the Raiaeran forests for stragglers to practice on. As he slipped into a quick sleep, he realized himself to be dreaming unlike his typical nightmares. Instead of a agony and despair for a theme, he was greeted and soothed by the image of a tall, slender goddess. Quick to catch on to the deception, Lye was able to break his trance and found himself in an impromptu battle with the girl who now lay dying beside him.

All that was left to him was time, a cool breeze, and a rain of ashen leaves. This final injury would leave him immobile as it remained creeping within. He took a moment to look down at his assailant, then to her tree, and finally laid his head back against the rotting trunk, looking back towards the sky. He hated life… Not his own, no, but everything else that was possessed by it. Beauty turned his stomach, the sight of happiness strained his eyes, and cheerful music made his head pound. This place he would be calling home tonight, would be considered a serene retreat to any other unfortunate adventurer. To him, it was just another ugly obstacle in his way to finding and ending one man’s life. Once this hiccup in his plans was over, it was back to training, killing, and hunting.

“A man who fights with emotion falls short, a man who fights without goes far…” Lye breathed through bloodied lips before spreading them into a sinister grin.

[Simon]

"She is evil, I know it! I've seen her change form in the night. She takes on the wings of a bat, and a forked tongue that has surely known the taste of the devil himself! She... She-"

"Enough initiate. That's just the fever talking. The Radasanthian flu only lasts a few short days, and the hallucinations are passing. Rest now, and you'll return to your training within the week. Just do what the nurse tells you and your healing shall be swift. Rest now, initiate Simon. I'll hear no more from you," the Knight-Commander spoke with compassion and a stern tone. Even in his current state, Simon knew better than to argue. He laid his head back heavily upon his lumpy infirmary pillow and sighed louder than he intended to. His superior only smirked knowingly, and left the room without another word.

Simon could barely move, his strength sapped. It was all he could do to roll his head left, to gaze at the clock that for two days had been his only real company.

Eleven-thirty...

Some of the other initiates had come to visit in recent days, but left as quickly as they came, fearing exposure to the incapacitating sickness. At times it seemed as if the white-faced wall clock of the infirmary were singing to him, a monotonous and dreary tune. Other times, it outright mocked him. Once, he had crawled from his cot and slid along the floor with intentions of reaching the vile device and smashing it into oblivion, but Nurse Helga had caught him only a few feet from his starting spot and scolded him.

"Think of it as a metronome, and try to meditate upon your faith. It will make the time go by faster," she later told him wisely.

When she caught him doing it a second time, she only dragged him by the ear back to his bed.

Thou must think thyself oh so funny, he thought, gazing at the device with loathing. Mock me then, and I shall count thy wretched clicks. Just know that you only stoke the flames of my vengeance, and when my strength returns to me, I shall smite thee!

The clock continued to tick and Simon clutched his pillow tight about his ears which did little to drown out the din. Frustrated and exhausted, he beat his head back into the cot, half-hoping to knock himself unconscious, but he knew that he would not.

Eleven-forty-five...

He mused to himself about how he came to be sick in the first place. The bag-lady with the hacking cough he had carried grocery bags for... The local urchins who gathered around him as he publicly read the scriptures of the faith. It was probably them. Their leaking noses, to which fingers frequently found themselves, and later delivered the cocktail of germs to their own mouths. He loved children and thought them full of wonder, but now, he delusionally cursed them for the little disease carriers they were.

Eleven-fifty.

Nurse Helga learned at the start to keep the infirmary door locked from the outside. Escape by that route was not an option. Perhaps at his full strength he might have broken it down, but currently he stood the same chances of success as a kitten. Simon groaned miserably, and for a moment he looked to the infirmary's second-story window some thirty feet above the ground, weighing his options. He shifted his bleary eyes back to the clock.

"Eleven... Fifty... Five," he said aloud, coughing wetly in between numbers.

The cotton hospital gown he wore felt embarrassing, only loosely tied in the back and often riding up above his hips when he wiggled uncomfortably. It was only the scratchy, maroon wool blanket that provided him any measure of dignity, and he had long since cast it to the ground when the fever made him feel as if he were on fire. He desperately wanted it back now, but the paladin did not have the energy to reach for it.

"Ding-dang-ding-dong... Dong-dang-ding-dong!" the chapel bells chimed, and Simon did not need to look at his new-found enemy to know what time it was. There came a jingle of iron on iron, and a grinding sound as fingers with skin stretched tight turned the key in the infirmary door's lock. Simon straightened his gown and tried to quell the panic raging inside him. The door creaked open, and an elderly woman with a hard face pushed through the door, closing it behind her for privacy.

"I am pleased to find you still in your bed, my strong-willed initiate. Have you and the clock made your peace, I wonder?" she asked the paladin with a chuckle. Her words rang cruel on the young-man's feverish ears. His mouth drew to a tight line as the nurse fumbled in the right pocket of her nurse's apron. Simon paled.

"Right then, lets check and see if that fever has gone down at all, shall we?" The nurse asked rhetorically. She was going to check. She wasn't presenting an option.

Simon's lips slowly parted. They were dry and cracked. He swallowed noisily and raised his tongue to the roof of his mouth to allow access for Nurse Helga's thermometer.

"Nice try deary. Now flip over."

[Ashla]

OOC: My cat catches rodents all the time, the last one was a very big mouse, that kind of was an inspiration for this. Ashla's sickness/ injury was something I came up with off the bat.
Ashla was bored out of her mind... And hungry too.

Camping out in a cave due to a leg injury; the girl was beginning to feel sick too. She was also fighting some kind of flu, and she felt miserable. She had a small bed of a couple dusty blankets and a pillow that was a poorly sewed cloth bag stuffed with feathers from a bird she had caught an eaten a week before, Ashla was at home... but still bored, and still feeling sorry for herself.

Ashla groaned as she laid on her hands and knees, her mouth open hanging over the bare, cold, cavern floor. The cave was still lit with sunlight from the world outside. To Ashla, the beautiful landscape of the bright forest of Corone was all a blur due to the vast sunlight coming in on her. For once, Ashla had her hair pulled back in a (sloppy) pony tail in case she would barf. Ashla had her head hanging as the side of her make-shift bed; she just knew she would be nauseating soon enough, but it just wouldn't come up from her stomach and she was feeling even worse! What I need is something to gross me out!

Then Fireleaf bounded into the cave with something in his mouth. He stopped right in front of her and dropped a dead animal right in front of her. Ashla's loyal cat was obviously trying to get his mistress to eat something since she hadn't eaten in three days, however, the meal he had chosen for her was a black-haired rodent, (whether it was a mouse, a rat, or something else, Ashla couldn't tell) that was half as big as Fireleaf was.

That was all Ashla needed to trigger the vomit to finally come up.

...

In a few days, Ashla had gotten over her stomach bug, but found she had an infection growing in her wound. She sighed and dragged herself out of the cave into the bright and sunny forest to get a remedy for her leg. Fireleaf trailed behind with his now half-decayed rodent still in his mouth; the dumb feline was still trying to get his mistress to eat up... The whole thing simply made Ashla feel sick all over again!

[Skie and Avery]

He had left her in the cabin in the woods. Skie's recovery from her brother's brutalization was moving more slowly than she would have liked. The sunshine that seeped through the lace-swathed window, golden and warm, was the same that woke her day after day now. Leaning forward, she strained against the ache in her abdomen and the feeling of rock and fire along her back where bruises were fading and skin knitting itself back together. A wave of exhaustion overcame her, blanketing her vision so that she only saw spots and flashes. It wasn't time to stand just yet, then. She let herself sink back down against the mattress, stuffed with straw and fragrant grasses. Her eyes closed, and after a moment opened again. The warmth of the bed, her aching limbs soothed by the blue quilt and the soft bed, wasn't enough to send her back to sleep.

Her hosts were gone, the elf and the boy out scavenging for fruits and nuts in the forest likely. If they'd been in the garden tending to the vegetables, she would have heard them, voices cutting in through the background of birdsong and the rattling of leaves in the trees. Instead, she was alone. Was it the first time? While she never thought of someone who depended on the company of others to amuse herself, now she was bored. The light swish of curtains from the breeze through the open window was almost as maddening as the scratch of mice in the cupboards.

She felt full of energy, but with no release. If only there was a way to soothe her tortured soul so that she could sleep, she thought. If only there was a way to exhaust herself without leaving the confines of her bed. A brow cocked, her eyes staring at the door. If the man and his son were on their way back to the little cottage, she would hear the crunch of boots against the stone path, laughter as they joked under the speckled light through the canopies of the trees. The silence told her she had plenty of time.

Her lips tugging up at the corners, Skie closed her eyes as her hand, resting on her stomach began to travel south along her anatomy. Under the shirt, the skin of her tummy was warm. But as her fingertips delved under the waistline of the thick cotton pants she'd been given to wear as she recovered, she found a place even hotter. Her teeth gripped her bottom lip as a small mutter of pleasure escaped, her toes curling and hips rolling. Above, the rafters shuddered from the wind as if in time with her hurried breaths.

[Dionaea]

Deep in the woods, far from prying eyes of the noisy two legged creatures that crowded the stone paths and structures of cities, I lay on the forest floor. I breathed in the heavy moist sent of freshly disturbed earth and slowly wriggled my body deeper into the rich black soil. Pain and comfort mixed sweetly as trickles of dirt cascaded down my torn, crystallized-sap-encased flesh. Gradually, it settled in around my body once more.

Looking at the branches high overhead, I watched the leaves of the trees glow emerald as sunlight spilled through. A light breeze tossed the branches, creating momentary dancing shafts of light that speared down to where I lay. For a small time, I lost myself to the light and the comfort of nutrients that slowly trickled into to me from the giving earth. Almost, I could reach out and touch the little cousins all around me that waited with a patience only outdone by the earth itself. Waiting for the sun to fall upon them, waiting for the skies to darken and release its water. Waiting for the warmth to return during the long winter sleep. Almost, I could become one with them as I lay there. I listened to their whispers and mummers of long sleepy days of good soil, the bountifulness of animals and insects that spread their seed wide.

A quiet rustling nearby pulled me from the warm drowse I had fallen into. Turning my head slowly, I spotted a doe wander out from the underbrush. Her velvety brown muzzle rose into the soft breeze, scenting the disturbed ground, the little cousins all around, and the sweet scent of my flesh that undoubtedly had first caught her attention. Unlike the lesser kin, hunger bloomed through me at the sight of her. A vicious satisfaction coursed through me at the fluttery sensation of my body opening just a bit. The nectar scent of my body grew a bit heavier on the air, tempting and teasing the simple creatures that could and would become my source of strength. Red eyes bright, I watched the doe. I would wait, as patient as my lesser cousins around me did season after season, soon enough my need would be met.

The beginnings of a smile tugged at the corners of my lips, soon enough indeed.

[Flames of Hyperion]

“I wouldn’t try that, if I were you.”

The voice came from nowhere, startling him so badly he pulled a muscle in his neck. Involuntarily his gaze snapped upwards above the fireplace. Coarse coal-like eyes glared at him via the broken glass, sheltering beneath a brow stern enough to command respect from any truculent soldier. He immediately noted two things about his host: straight dark hair and accented Tradespeak indicating an eastern heritage, and the vicious overgrown scar stretching from chin to temple left behind by a life of violence.

The same motion gave him the first good look at himself for months. He didn't know what he expected to see. A gaunt skeletal caricature of what had once been his face, perhaps, a stranger reflected in the mirror before him. Instead he found himself, hair bleached copper and skin slightly tanned from the wintry sun, but not completely unrecognisable. Surprised, he reached up to touch his face… and then realised in wonder that even his fingers showed no sign of frostbite.

It should not have been possible. He’d spent far too long in the unrelenting blizzards…

“… a… ai…”

His throat refused to unclench. What shreds of voice that forced their way through emerged as a barely cognisable croak. He choked, breaking down into hacking blood-stained coughs.

“You’re nowhere near strong enough,” his host’s gruff voice continued, turning away from the mirror. The movement emphasised signs of life in the room through the open door: a portly woman doling broth into an earthenware bowl while rocking a baby cradle with her foot, and a young girl doing her best to conceal her curiosity as to the strange man currently inhabiting the bedchamber. “I don’t know what you survived on out there.”

I'd like to know myself, he realised, sinking weakly down upon the duvet. It made no sense that he could survive for so long in such a hostile environment. He might not have been in his right mind when he began the journey, but he certainly had been prepared for death. So why…

Magic, came the unexpected response in his mind. Pure, undiluted magic. This northern tundra is raw with the stuff.

He recoiled, blanching. Bruised sprained muscles gave way beneath the reflex, and he fell back upon the scratchy straw rushes with another faint croak. Rising dust mingled with the earthy herb-rich warmth of the stew on the main hearth, causing him to break out in a second bout of blood-tinged coughing.

You’ve metabolised so much of it, in fact, that I’m now able to speak to you directly. Like so. For the first time in thirteen years. But you’ve been rather out of it for the past couple of weeks. Only now are you in any condition to actually hear me.

Thirteen years? First time?

Somebody willing to speak to him…?

Hayate?

A dignified knock at the frozen window. The faintest hint of white feathers in the frozen night. The presence of the snowy gyrfalcon in his mind faded almost as suddenly as it had appeared. But it left behind a subtle touch, a warmth telling him that for the first time in long months, in long years even, he was truly not alone.

Not alone.

From his fallen vantage, the angle of the mirror prevented him from keeping an eye on his host. But he could still catch glimpses of the young girl as she worked to set the table for her parents, one arm wrapped tightly around a floppy doll stuffed with spare rags. She could not have been more than ten years of age… the same age his sister had been when he left Nippon. Only a couple of years younger than he himself had been on the Night of Nefarious Flame, or on the day not so long afterwards that he’d began his path of lonely exile. All so long ago now.

So long…

His eyes grew wide. Adrenaline flooded his veins. The festering scar on his chest, inflicted by Xem’zund during his final confrontation of the Corpse War, throbbed anew in pulsating agony.

Hayate. I have to leave now. We have to get out of here. Before… before… Natosatael!

Relax! the gyrfalcon retorted calmly, and he could almost imagine the bird preening itself comfortably amidst the thatched rooftop. You’re in no condition to travel. They’re not here yet. You have to…

I can’t bring any harm on them, Hayate! That man’s a former wako, a pirate who’s given up his previous life. He’s settled down with a family now. This is his home, his life. I can’t repay his kindness with…

Small hands tugged insistently at his feet, returning him to the present. His eyes fluttered open from the despairing darkness, drawn unerringly to the innocent face of his host’s daughter. She flinched at the panic and the terror written within his pupils, her fingers trembling upon the clay tray that held precious portions of food and drink. But she did not turn away.

He might have been saved, there and then, by the youthful trust in her face.

“Eat up, if you can,” the gruff voice called from outwith his vision. “It’s not much, but it’ll warm your stomach.”

The ambrosial aroma did the rest. For the first time in long months, in long years even, he savoured before him a warm dinner. Was it condensation or perspiration that formed on his cheeks… or simply tears?

He ate, a little.

He drank, a bit more.

He slept, fitfully.

Then in the dead of night when nothing but the wind stirred, he slipped back out into the frigid wilderness, leaving behind only a grateful handwritten note and a hefty pouch of gold as thanks.

[Brand]

Insanity… That was all that was left for him in that cage that was existence… He had shed horrible century after century, imprisoned under the shackles of a man known only as the Battlemaster. He knew only a life of fighting and riddled his “Men” with everything he had. All had died. Except for one, who had stood, he eyes flickering, dancing in the firelight of the large chamber. The one who had not cracked, he had known only one thing in his life, which was a few words from the men who sculpted him into the being he was.

“Know nothing but the rock in the sea. Stand in the storm…”

This echoed in his head a blade flew into his hands. Breaking his skin, and letting his odd silver blood flow out. He smiled as he went in with a return stroke of his own dancing blades, slicing the neck of his foe, who fell to the ground with quite a thump, which directly after, Brand fell down too. He coughed, and looked at his hand, where speckles of silver were dotted around. He grimaced and got to his feet, walking out of the puny chamber, laced with little bars and chains, otherwise known as his personal training room at the Citadel.

“You seem hurt”

Was all he heard before the world spun and he collapsed to the ground, and was dragged to a small house, where he lay, aching. When he woke, it was to a little girl, who the promptly proceeded to question him.

"Who are you? Where did you come from? What happened?" This went on for a few minutes. She then got to a point which was, more interesting.

"Did you know you talk in your sleep? You did, and then moved, and Mama's nice clock shattered, and her dress got cut somehow!"

At this, his eyes widened and he tried to get to his feet to find that when he moved anything, extreme pain shot up like a blazing fire. He smiled at the pain, and then lapsed back into his corrupted sleep. He tossed turned and then smiled as the pain dissipated, and he was left with only a dull ache, as the eighth hour passed and he was left with his slow repair of the body. The pain nulling herbs kicked in and he smiled in his bliss. The kind woman walked in, wrapped new bandages around his chest and arms, then gave him a bowl of soup, he nodded his silent thanks then ate, before pulling various increasingly large objects out of nowhere before settling on his book, and laid back to read his newest edition of Encyclopedia Insanity-The Newest Guide to Living in this Cursed World of Pain and Horrid Souls.-By Laku-Laku Silvertongue (Warning-Anything is this book is not to be held upon the responsibility of the author or the printing company. That is only your fault...)



Yea, this is a tribute to a friend, the infamously epic, bags in video games, which can hold pretty much anything, from spears and the such, to sniper rifles. From the Staff of Herding, to some dudes stash of 200 books, 19 swords, 13 maces, and various spell tomes, not to mention a few dragon scales, and the couple warhammers in there

[Hysteria]

I cannot lie here,
Among the fallen leaves.
The sea calls me back.

~ ~ db ~ ~

Wisps of smoke. Tendrils of darkness lifting skyward. The moon rises and the sea roars in the night air. There is light, a soft flicking flame dancing for the enjoyment of vacant eyes. Sadness sits in the air, thicker than the smoke, thicker than the last thoughts of the children. Moments play by, falling as they would to the ground without deserved remembrance. Panic. Sullen madness held back by a parents protective desire. The last of the thoughts spared are insignificant, carried as they were down the river of fate towards the endless sea of death. There was little then but the cold hope that settled against the harrowing truth that ran across the logical mind like a scared mouse.

Knock knock

“Answer the door woman!” A gruff voice and a man stood suddenly from his chair. His face was drawn, dark patches under his eyes and a haggard drawn out expression on his face.

A priest stepped through the door, removing his hat and nodding to the man and woman without a word. His face was tight, his attitude serious and tense. They didn't speak as the three of them moved through the house and up the stairs. The man gestured towards the door, his hand shaking. He noticed, bring it back quickly to his side.

“Do not enter.”

The priest's hand gripped his hat to his chest a little tighter, the look on his eyes cold, scared. He reached for the latch and pushed open the door. A wave of cold air rushing past him, causing a shiver to run down his spine. He entered, his breath visible in the air in cold. The room was sparse, a chair, a small desk and a bed. The priest's eyes were focused on the bed, upon the sheets, tired to all four posts was a child. His eyes were closed, the soft sound of breathing coming from his mouth. The priest walked forwards. His hand was shaking as he lifted it up and touched the boy's forehead. It was icy cold.

The boy's eyes flicked open, green piercing eyes. The priest stumbled backwards, the boy screamed. A long harrowing siren call, reaching a final fever pitch. The priest regained himself, reaching into a pocket he pulled out a small bible. Like a shield he lifted it in front of himself and started chanting. His voice bounced through the howling child, doing as best he could to force his will upon him.

The child's voice cut short, the priest stepping forwards and placing the book on the boy's head, continuing his fevered chant. The child convulsed on the bed, shifting and squirming under the weight of the chant. The ties holding down the boy strained with each movement, slight tears appearing along the length. The priest reached behind his back with his free hand, still chanting as he pulled a dagger from his belt. As if on cue the binds broke and the kid launched himself at the priest, knocking them to the ground with his hands wrapped around the priest’s throat.

Forced to the end of desperation the man thrust the dagger into the child’s side. The kid screamed, with a final inhuman squeeze he snapped the priest's neck before rolling off. A surge of darkness erupted from the boy's mouth, twisting and taking shape.

“Father! Father! What is going on?” The words punctuated with pounding on the door.

The darkness took form, leaving a slightly bewildered looking Talen.

“What the f--” The youth looked down at the two dead bodies, “Awkward.”

With a puff of smoke he disappeared, reminding himself that next time he used his teleport to travel long distances he needs to make sure he doesn't accidentally enter someone.

[Robin]

Her head hurt. Scratch that, her whole body hurt. An aching, hot pain that streamed through her veins. With an effort of will she cranked open her eyes. She was in an unfamiliar rom, how had she come her? She remembered walking down the road feeling somewhat dizzy and then…
“Ah you’re awake” an unfamiliar feminine voice said.
“Where am I?” she muttered and tried to get up. A young woman in simple farmer clothes rushed to her side and pushed her down
“No no, you are in no shape to get up” she said with finality.
Robin just stared bleary at her, her head really hurt.
“You seems to have cached a rather nasty infection, nothing life-threatening as far as I can tell but you were lucky my father found you, passed out along the road as you were. Why in the world were you traveling alone?”
“Um” normally words flew past her lips in a far too great speed but her tongue seemed as infected as the rest of her body at the moment.
“Oh I am so sorry, you are probably dreadfully tired. Just go back to sleep. No need to worry, I am a healer and you should be fine with a couple more days rest”
Thankfully she sank back into the bed, soon fast asleep. She could use some days off anyway.

[Luned]

Not exaggerating at all when I say this month had some seriously fantastic entries, you all certainly didn't make the decision very easy. This month's winners are Aurelianus Drak'shal and Flames of Hyperion, but I've thrown in a little extra GP for everyone else as thanks for making this a particularly great month!


Hoytti receives 200 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Straightforward.
Creativity: Its simplicity worked for you.
Mechanics: Proofreading would do you well, I spotted a couple errors in punctuation and capitalization.
Notes: This is a cute little glimpse at Sorish and Korra's relationship.


Opposites receives 100 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Subtly ambitious.
Creativity: Effective use of the prompt to show an aspect of Abrinano's personality.
Mechanics: There are many mistakes for such a short post, proofread carefully. Also pay attention to verb tenses.
Notes: I'm a fan of packing as much meaning into as few words as possible, I liked seeing an attempt at working concisely.


Aurelianus Drak'shal receives 700 experience and 200 gold.
Use of Topic: Fun spin on things.
Creativity: Aure's such a charmer, this sums him up perfectly.
Mechanics: Good.
Notes: The alternate perspective added volumes to an already humorous situation.


Gold receives 100 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Simple and serious.
Creativity: I see an effort to build drama, some more development would give it more impact.
Mechanics: Proofreading needed.
Notes: The conciseness didn't work as well for this as it felt rather abrupt.


Amber Eyes receives 550 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Entertaining flair.
Creativity: Great glimpse of Kyla's strong personality and relationship with those around her.
Mechanics: Good, few errors.
Notes: The humor in her melodrama gives this vignette great punch.


Musashi receives 100 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Nice twist.
Creativity: Ambitious and imaginative, definitely stands out for that.
Mechanics: Needs a lot of proofreading, many errors.
Notes: Looking forward to reading more vignettes by you, sir.


Black shadow receives 200 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Simple, but with feeling.
Creativity: Interesting technique with the dream, I imagine it would mean more if I knew the character better.
Mechanics: In need of proofreading.
Notes: Good attempt at drama.


Dissinger receives 850 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Meaningful.
Creativity: There's a lot packed in there about Seth; it's a well-rounded look at an intense moment.
Mechanics: Few errors.
Notes: You ran with the prompt and gave it real impact. Nice.


Lye receives 250 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Creative.
Creativity: Nice imagery, Lye's definitely found himself in a unique situation.
Mechanics: Good.
Notes: Interesting attempt at doing something a little different with the limitations of the prompt.


Simon receives 100 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Amusing melodrama.
Creativity: Nice technique with your use of time.
Mechanics: Good.
Notes: You definitely encapsulated what being bedridden is like; I finished feeling for poor Simon.


BlueGhostofSeaside receives 200 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Cute!
Creativity: Somehow, you made being sick subtly adorable with the cat's attempts to help.
Mechanics: Few errors.
Notes: I look forward to reading more of Ashla and Fireleaf's adventures together.


Skie and Avery receives 500 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Simple and sweet.
Creativity: You get a lot of information in there about Skie and her predicament without weighing down how fun this vignette is; it's a nice, well-rounded glimpse of the character.
Mechanics: Good.
Notes: I almost blushed!


Dionaea receives 100 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Definitely unique.
Creativity: I appreciate the creative approach with Dio's equivalence to being bedridden, it makes me want to learn more about her character.
Mechanics: Good.
Notes: So saucy in such an unexpected, nontraditional way!


Flames of Hyperion receives 880 experience and 150 gold.
Use of Topic: Opens interest.
Creativity: Great impact in such a small space, wonderfully effective at engaging the senses and emotions.
Mechanics: Good.
Notes: This left me quite intrigued about the rest of the story.


Brand receives 100 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Outside the box.
Creativity: There's definitely ambition here; I see interesting pieces of potential story worked in.
Mechanics: Needs proofreading.
Notes: Clarity could use a bit of work here.


Hysteria receives 550 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Definitely creative.
Creativity: Talen's a curious sort of character and this vignette really shows it.
Mechanics: Just a couple errors.
Notes: Well-rounded little story.


Robin receives 100 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Straightforward.
Creativity: This is a straightforward scene at a sick girl's bedside; the confusion is clearly portrayed.
Mechanics: Needs proofreading.
Notes: A bit more fleshing out wouldn't hurt.

[Mordelain]

Experience and gold added.