Servants took away the plates. Suunak leaned back in contentment. Over the centuries of relations between Feldauris and Da'ak, both Kingdoms had learned how to cook for the other. Humans preferred their meals well-cooked and seasoned with different spices and flavors; notable chefs often boasted of their skill, as well as the many exotic flavors they'd import from Shan-tai or Bishapur. Orcs had a very different sense of taste. They preferred raw meat and all different kinds of fruit; in fine cooking, their meat would often be mixed with chopped roots and dipped in traditional sauces. Although human stomachs were not adept at handling such food, Versa admired the simplicity of it.

Versa's household chefs prepared a raw goat dish for Suunak, something that visiting orc dignitaries in the past had often complimented. Suunak did so as well by the expression on his face. Versa finished her own plate. She'd noticed her manners had not lessened throughout her travels, when they were needed of. The proper behavior of a Lady was drilled into her repeatedly during her youth. As a young girl, she detested the strict lessons, but they came to her aid many times in life. On numerous occasions, she'd eaten at the court of Kings and noblemen, some even in her honor. She was appreciative then.

Doors clanged a few rooms over, and Versa's father walked into the dining room. His eyebrows lifted in surprise, not realizing they were here. Suunak stood, "Good evening Councilor Talseen, nice to see you again." Versa noticed her father's hair was now entirely gray, having been brown the day she left. It bothered her this was the first time she'd seen him. And that it was by accident on his part.

"Oh. Hello Suunak," Talseen said. His voice lacked the ardor of his youth, becoming dryer, a politician's tone. He continued, "Versa. Your home. That's good." Versa had conquered many difficult encounters in her life, vanishing foes and preforming great feats, but she was entirely defeated now, unsure of how to respond to her father. She felt they should embrace, as that's what fathers and daughters did after long periods apart. But they didn't, and indeed a simple hug seemed inappropriate. She settled on the thought that if something was going to happen, it should come from him, "Hello dad."

Suunak anticipated the possible tension, well aware of her thoughts on him, and immediately began conversing, "How are the council chambers these days? I heard there was considerable debate on the recent tax changes." Talseen replied, "Yes, I swear some of those blasted politicians have gone insane." He spoke with frustration; clearly the recent arguments had been something weighing heavily on him. For a moment, Versa entertained the thought that perhaps he'd gone to the chambers this morning for good reason, that he hadn't done so to avoid her. Her rational mind knew better.

Talseen continued, "They wish to give even more taxes breaks to the Mining Guild! And I'd hardly call them a Guild. More like a few men who bullied through way into controlling the quarries. Hmph. I've been trying to strike those out, even undo some old ones if I can." "Ah, the Mining Guild. Versa and I were talking about them not too long ago." Suunak had laid a verbal trap, obligating Talseen to speak to his daughter. Versa noticed what Suunak had done; he'd been around humans for far too long. Talseen spoke to her, "I see he's catching you up on local affairs. Does this mean your staying long?" His tone was bland, and Versa couldn't tell whether that something he did or didn't want.

"Not too long," she replied ambiguously. "It's been some time since I've been home, so I want to enjoy it for a little while. But eventually, I'll be heading south, to the Isles of Mercia." "I see," Talseen said. Versa noticed a slight frown on the fringes of his mouth. Was he upset to see her leave? Or simply disapproving? . . Perhaps both.

"Everything's been largely the same here. Some new servants now. Not much has changed really." "I noticed a few new faces," Versa responded. After a slight pause, her father said, "I need to return to work. You'll be here for dinner Versa?" "Yes." "Alright. Farewell Suunak." Suunak bowed as Talseen left down the hall. When he was gone Versa glanced at Suunak, "Don't think I don't know what you did there." The orc smiled, donning his pleasant look. He knew what he did was right, and so did Versa. That agitated her for some reason.

Versa brushed her long red hair. Her eyes were unfocused, lingering thoughtlessly on the mirror. The curtains in her room were wide open, unveiling a clouded night sky. Although the morning rains had passed, a heavy gray lingered on, and now, it blocked out the stars. Earlier that evening, dinner had gone as she expected. They talked of recent events and the welfare of distant family members, but little more – father took no interest in her travels. She'd spent the remaining hours in the library, reading from the books and tomes she'd often perused as a child. Without brothers or sisters or a mother, childhood had its share of loneliness; during such a time, the heroes named in song became her best of friends.

Servants had prepared the fireplace in her room. Versa took comfort in the blanketing warmth, while the fire crackled, popped, and lit the walls with dancing shadows. She set down the brush and searched the cabinets. In the past, she'd owned an ivory comb, encrusted with gold, but felt it best to leave behind. Something like that was never meant for the hard road of a warrior. The cabinets were empty. No surprise, Versa thought. It had been fifteen years since she'd been in her room; it may have been stored by her father, stolen by a servant, or simply placed elsewhere beyond memory. She couldn't expect things to remain the same.

An unexpected voiced rasped, "Don't worry, you look lovely already,". Versa abruptly stood, turning sharply. A hooded man walked from the curtains, a second one following, climbing in through the window. Their faces were veiled like bandits. "Looks like we stumbled on something extra," he said to his companion, who simply chuckled. "What are you doing here?" Versa spoke. Her voice was commanding, strong, though the intruders regarded it humorously, as they would any threat from a woman. "We're all here for the old man. No one told us he had a fine mistress though." Versa decided to play on their ego a little further. She spoke in her best whimper, "How many of you are there?" Predictably, he reveled in the sense of dominance. "Heh, enough. Lucky for us, we got the best window. . ."

The hooded man drew closer, his hand resting of the hilt of his sword, sheathed at the side. That was enough information. Versa smirked, "Lucky huh?" To their surprise, she stepped towards them instead. "Sorry boys, but I think I'm out of your league." He replied, "We weren't giving you a choice." "Actually," she continued, "I meant that in more ways than one." They glanced at each other in confusion.

The gardener was just outside, wondering who'd trampled a patch of his flowers near the windows. Needless to say, he was quite surprised when two men fell from sky, obliterating whatever was left of the flowerbed. Their bones made an unpleasant sound as they thundered to the ground. The gardener glanced up in shock, seeing Versa leaning outside her window several stories above. She yelled, "We have intruders! Call the guard!" He nodded feverishly and ran off in direction of the guardpost. Versa hastily stepped back inside. On the bed lay her sword. With no time to change out of her nightgown, she pulled her sword from its sheathe and dashed through the door. They were coming for father. . .

Versa ran through the halls, cold on the bare soles of her feet. Sprinting in full, she took the stairs to the upper floor two steps at a time, just in time to see her father, who was bound, gagged and carried by three other men. "You'll be coming with us Councilor Talseen. I don't expect you'll be coming back," one said cruelly. Versa shouted, "Unhand him!" They looked at her, short swords drawn; only their eyes were visible but they were stupefied and humored by the command. Admittedly, Versa did not look very threatening in her lavender nightgown.

She continued, "I am Versa, Servant of the Goddess, Savior of Cormont. By fear of wrath divine, you shall surrender, or face justice." One spoke to the others, "Oh shit guys, that's Versa." "Who?" replied another. "Versa! She's a paladin of Sophia." "So what, she's a woman." "We'd best run for it." "What!? You're out of your mind. I'm not running from some bitch! Draw your sword fool, we get rid of her." They unceremoniously tossed her father on the ground, a muffled moan of pain escaping. Versa would not forget that. They charged.

Versa rapidly spoke beneath her breath, "I am Servant of the Goddess, Wisdom gives Herself to all. But She is unstained and chaste and people are through Her transformed into Wisdom. Thy soul embrace, and truly one is union with holiness, and purity." They arrived. Without honor or respect for the fair fight, all three came upon her. She lifted her runed blade and parried each with ease. Overhead followed a furry of blows. For each strike they attempted, Versa thwarted, handling all three attackers. Versa swung over her shoulder in an arc and found her target. The edged slashed across his chest, leaving a streak of red through his black leather armor. He collapsed to the ground.

Another made a sweeping cut, missing Versa's side, but grazing her arm instead. The sleeve of her nightgown was torn, and red stained the silk edges. Such clothing made for poor armor. Versa spun around her foe, ignoring the cut, and kicked his legs out from under him. As the sword was flung from his hand, fallen onto his side, he quickly replaced it with a dagger destined for her leg. She severed his arm with a second stroke. Fluid, elegant, moving to perfection - her sword glowed as she plunged it into his chest; light traced the runes along the side, dancing through the lines from one end to the other. It always radiated light when putting evil to rest.

The third and final attacker dropped his sword. "I surrender! I surrender to you, Lady Versa!" She watched him fall to his knees, hands lifted, and she lowered the blade. Never would Versa slay an unarmed opponent. More footsteps echoed up the stairs, but these were welcomed, for guards spilled onto the floor, as well as Suunak. "Versa, are you alright? What happened?" Hastily she said, "They were after my father." "Councilor Talseen!" Versa glanced toward the survivor, "Arrest him. He should be promptly questioned."  As guards seized and shackled the assailant, Versa ran further down the hall, to her father's side. Pulling off the gag and cutting the binds, she could see the bruises on his face and neck, implying even more across his body. "Father! . . Daddy!?"

He opened his eyes, his voice struggling, "I saw you fight." He coughed. His mouth curled into a weak smile. "I was afraid. . . " Eyes closed shut, and he fell unconscious. Versa laid across him, her red hair sprawled across his chest. She began to pray. Her hands glowed. . .

Several days had passed. Versa ate breakfast in the dining hall this morning, the table adorned with flowers. Apparently, some of the flower gardens had been uprooted and needed to be put to immediate use. The splendor of colors brightened the chamber, as though each meal was a grand occasion. She poured herself a glass of taranian juice from the pitcher; the sweet yellow berries grew everywhere in the Kingdom of Feldauris. Footsteps echoed near the door.

Talseen, her father, stepped into the hall. Versa smiled, "You look so much better now!" His faced still had a few cuts, but they were nearly mended. The doctors had been astounded at how quickly he recovered. Almost as if it were magic. "Yes, much," he replied. Talseen seated himself across from Versa, and servants promptly placed a plate of warm food in front of him. "May I join you," another voice spoke. Suunak entered, respectfully holding his helm to the side, looking pleased with the upturn of events. "Of course Suunak. We invited you after all!"

As he took his seat, Talseen asked, "So any word from that prisoner?" "Yes councilor," Suunak replied. "They were indeed sent by the Mining Guild as we suspected." Talseen scowled, "Those bastards. Kidnapping me from my own home?!" "Apparently, they were trying to make an example of you and intimidate those who'd oppose their legislation. But with the testimony of this prisoner, we may finally be able to bring their actions before a magistrate and put their corruption to an end." "That'll be a grand day," Talseen spoke while nodding, "I'll be giving my full support to the matter. Not to mention increasing security around here!"

Suunak chuckled, "I think you have little to fear with Versa here!" "Yes, I'd think so, but. . ." Versa pleasantly continued for him, "But I won't be staying." She'd told father of her plans beforehand. They had a long time to talk while spending the recent days at his bedside. Suunak raised his eyebrows in surprise, "Really? Where are you going?" "I'll be going to the Isles of Mercia." He chuckled once more, "That's quite the distance! What's so important down there?" She took a brief sip of taranian juice. "In short, I'm needed. People you may not know – Veloth, Daedrok, Nerkyl. . ." Suunak shook his head, not recognizing the names, ". . . have all migrated to the Isles. I'll be needed to stop whatever they're planning, for destruction always follows them."

For a long time Suunak had lived in Kaudos while Versa adventured the world; he had no intention of sitting this one out. "A noble quest. And when I finish what I started here and bring the Mining Guild to justice, I intend to join you!" Versa placed a gentle hand on his arm, "That'll be nice. I'll see you there. I'm certain you can find me." She turned to her father, "I'm sorry I have to leave again father. . ." "No, it's ok," Talseen replied. "If this is what you think you were meant to do. . . I'll get used to it. Though you'll always have a home here." "Thank you Dad."

Versa gazed upon her father. He still wasn't happy with the idea of his daughter as an adventurer, born a noblewoman – something she could understand. It was clear that he'd never believe it was the best choice for her. But after his near-kidnapping, for the first time he was forced to think about death, as it stared him in the face. . . Pointless grudges and disagreements - these things fell away, and all that remained was a new sense of value, of what's truly important. Talseen knew that his daughter, Versa, was important. Versa looked into his eyes and no longer saw a lingering disapproval or distance between them. Instead there was trust. There was faith. And that was enough for her.


End of Beneath the Spires, 5/5


This message was last edited by the GM at 15:22, Sun 16 Nov 2014.

Blue sky peaked through the canopy. The leaves formed a mosaic of green shapes above. Sidd spoke, "You said it was this way?" "Yea, an old ruin on the hill," Brynda replied, breathing heavily. Sidd pushed a branch out of the way, Brynda following close behind. "Saw it when we entered the valley." "I think I've heard of it actually," Sidd added, "Back in that village a few days ago. Old timer said it was an ancient church or something. . . I think he also said some other adventurers passed this way just before us. Maybe they already cleaned the place out? Might not have anything worth our time." Their legs had grown sore from the uneven and inclined ground. Without a path, the two made slow progress, branches and underbrush constantly snagging at their clothes. Brynda ducked beneath a low-hanging limb, "Maybe. But we have pass through the valley anyway, so we might as well take a look."

Together, they marched forward, hoping they hadn't gone off course. Getting lost would cost more time than they had to spare. A welcomed relief followed when the forest dissipated into a clearing, a stone ruin visible on the ledge above. "And you doubted me." said Brynda with a playful smugness. Sidd replied, "Hey, it still might be empty and a complete waste of our time." She laughed, "Odds are we'll get lucky; it's been long enough since our last find." "I believe that's called false hope." "Oh shush." Sidd smiled at his small victory.

Facing a steep slope, largely covered with thin grass, they dug their boots into the side and got started. With hands, feet, and knees, Sidd and Brynda climbed toward the top; chunks of grass and dirt fell below them, easily crumbling beneath their footsteps. By the time a drop of sweat formed on their foreheads, they stepped onto the top of the ledge, viewing a small flat spans of land on the side of the valley. A plain of treetops matched the level of their feet growing out of the valley basin. Built on the ledge, abandoned long ago, was half of an ancient building. The other half was merely piles of broken stone, scattered around the terrace. Moss and vines grew across the crumbling gray walls, as though only the plants held it together.

"Come on," Brynda said, leading the way. The entrance was still intact, an open archway in the front. They walked through. Most of the roof had collapsed, and the upper portion of one wall had fallen away, the remains spewed on the ground outside where vegetation slowly buried them. Sunlight brightened the interior, a bland stone room, empty aside from scattered piles of rocks from the collapsing roof and a large boulder near the back, cut into the shape of a primitive altar. Sidd peered into a heap of nearby stones and pulled out a clay pot. He held it for Brynda to see. "Oh wow, look at this valuable artifact," he said sarcastically. "I'm sure clay pots make a fortune these days." Brynda rolled her eyes, "We just got here. Let's. . ." the ground suddenly vibrated, followed by the distant sound of something breaking; the sound echoed through the old ruin, as though it come from a cave. Brynda gasped, not expecting that in the slightest. "What was that?" she asked. Sidd wandered toward the rear of the church.

Sidd spoke in a hushed but excited voice, "Brynda, come over here. Quick!" He gazed downward at something she couldn't see. With soft footsteps, she joined him. Behind the altar stone was an opening in the ground, leading to a hallway beneath the structure. Apparently, the boulder had previously covered this hole, hiding the square-cut opening, but it had recently been pushed aside. Torn moss and freshly moved dirt made the disturbance obvious. Sidd whispered, "I think something's down there, a something at least strong enough to push this rock, altar-thing out of the way." "Perhaps," Brynda replied, "But hey, hidden tunnels beneath the church! Usually that promises something valuable." Sidd lightly chuckled. It was usually true that people only hid things worth hiding. And there was no way they could leave such an interesting mystery untouched. Sidd smirked at Brynda,  "What are we waiting for?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:25, Fri 28 Nov 2014.

Sidd eased himself onto the floor and dropped into the underground hall, landing comfortably on his feet. There weren't any stairs, but the low tunnel was an easy jump down. Brynda followed, accepting Sidd's helping hand. Sunlight breached into the underground hall around the opening, casting a diffused light further down. The hall only traveled in one direction. "This makes things easy," Sidd said. He had no taste for mazes. The air was stale, dry, with a peculiar smell. Brynda closely followed Sidd as they crept through the hall. After a minute, slowly stepping along the dim passage, Sidd held out his arm, preventing Brynda from going forward. He glanced cautiously at their feet. "Look," he said. Several steps away was a pit, as though a section of the floor was simply missing, and it cut deep into the ground. Brynda peered into the blackness, "I can't see a thing." She squinted, measuring it five or six feet across by eye. "At least it's short enough to jump over." "I'll light the lantern. We'll need to lookout for more things like this anyway." Sidd pulled the lantern from his pack and lit it. He held it above the pit, and both looked curiously for the bottom. Shattered rocks reflected from the base, at least the height of three grown men deep. Dust from broken stone clouded the depth.

Sidd figured it out, "Looks like this pit was a trap, covered by a false stone tile. . . Recently sprung too. I bet this is what we heard upstairs." "Traps don't spring themselves," Brynda added, "There may be other people ahead." "If there is," Sidd smirked, "Maybe we can team up with them." "Would if they're not friendly?" He shrugged, "We can handle ourselves." Undeterred, they hopped over the pit and continued. The further they traveled from the entrance, the older the air became, leaving an odd taste in their mouths. Many of the walls were cracked from age, though it was in much better condition than the ruin above. Only a stone throw from the pit, they caught the sight of a room just ahead. Abruptly, the sound of voices started from it, reverberating off the walls, though too muffled to understand. Their pace slowed to a silent crawl.

Sidd & Brynda moved closer, hoping for a better look at their company. Suddenly Sidd's foot struck a small rock which slid noisily across the ground – the voices from ahead ceased. Brynda's face scrunched up in disapproval, "Oh Sidd. . ." After a moment, someone from the room called down the hall, "You! Come here!" Brynda sighed, "So much for stealth. Well. . . let's go say hello." Sidd's hand rested on the hilt of his sword. He knew the value of asserting their strength. As always, he'd let Brynda do the talking, for she was admittedly much more likable than himself - even moreso when they were men, and she could use a hint of seduction. They turned the corner. And whom they saw was far from expected. Indeed the two adventurers before them were men, but Sidd no longer thought that'd make a difference. Sidd suddenly felt on edge.

Crouched on the ground was a heavily-armored warrior, clad in charcoal-colored platemail, and his face completely hidden by a horned helm; he was the largest man Sidd had ever seen, and held a massive, double-edged axe to match. Next to him was a goblin who did all the speaking. Although he was bald and half the size of the warrior, the goblin's green skin and yellow eyes gave him a frightening countenance. A torch had been propped on the wall, casting tall shadows across the room. The goblin nonchalantly spoke to the man, "Excellent timing, this'll make things a little easier. . . or be entertaining at the least." The hulking warrior nodded in silence. "Now, we'll let them go ahead, and afterwards. . ." "Uh. . . hello?" Brynda said, tired of being ignored. "My name's Brynda. Who are you?" "Silence girl," snapped the Goblin. He immediately resumed discussion with his companion, but Brynda continued, "Wow. . . rude. We were going to ask if you wanted to team up for this dungeon, but now I'm starting to reconsider."

The goblin glanced at her with a twisted smirk on the corner of his mouth, "Actually, you're going to go inside for us. There's something we desire past this room, further down the tunnel. You are going to get past the traps and bring it back to us. . . Alternately, you'll spring the traps and die, letting us pass safely. Either way works for us. . ." Sidd grew angry, "Just who do you think you are?" "I am Nerkyl, and this is Daedrok. And you WILL do this," he said with a clearly threatening tone. "And if we refuse?" Sidd asked. Nerkyl coldly replied, "Then we kill you, and you die anyway." Defiant, Sidd continued, "How about you taste my steel? . ." Brynda hastily grabbed his shoulder. She whispered, "Wait! I've heard of these guys. We might be out of our league here." Brynda's eyes pleaded with Sidd. He whispered in response, "If we get them whatever it is they want, they'll probably still try to kill us. You know that, right?" Brynda responded, "I know, but. . ." "Shut your yaps!" Nerkyl interrupted, "See that hall across the room? Go! If you survive, we'll instruct you further."

Sidd whispered frantically, "Die if we fail, die if we succeed – these options aren't favoring us are they?" "No," Brynda replied, "No they aren't. . . time to run. . ."

Brynda whispered, "Run." "Alright," Sidd replied, "When?" "Now!" "Are you-" "RUN!" she shouted. They bolted at a sprint back down the hall. The goblin laughed maniacally back in the room, his voice reverberating after them through the tunnel, haunting their steps. Sidd & Brynda ran in stride, as fast as their legs could go. Sidd felt chills from the goblin's laughter, knowing that wasn't a good sign. After only a few seconds, the tunnel began to shake. Small grain-sized rocks broke off the ceiling and landed on their heads, and the stone tiles around them seemed to shift. Suddenly, dark tendrils burst out of the cracks, flooding the hall like water through a broken jar, a scene from a nightmare. They were tree roots. And they grew and grew to the size of beastly limbs, lashing at them with malice. One slithered around Brynda's ankle, curling around it like a snake. "Ahh, get it off!" Sidd pulled his sword from the sheathe and slashed at the root. He severed it from the ground, but another instantly grew in its place. A massive root wrapped around Sidd's waist from behind; this one had the girth of a human thigh. It squeezed – Sidd let out a groan as it pushed the breath out of his body. It didn't stop squeezing. If Sidd had the breath, he would have shouted. He felt his bones fracture.

"Sidd!" Brynda screamed, overcome by panic. Sidd gasped, "Lea- eeave. GO!" She never had the chance. More roots climbed around her hands and legs, ensnaring her in a spider-like web. Despite the futility, she struggled to escape. The malevolent plants merely tightened around her limbs, cutting into the skin. Sidd's sword dropped to the ground as he fought the pain. Suddenly the roots ceased moving, trapping them in place. Brynda writhed in her bonds, but they refused to break free, hardly moving at all. Heavy footsteps approached. Daedrok walked through the hall, casually and unbothered by the roots, catching up to the adventurers on his own time. He stopped arm's length from Brynda. "Let us go," Brynda cried. "We'll get your damn treasure. We'll do what you want." Daedrok stepped even closer to her. From this distance, she could see a single red eye faintly glowing through his helm. It watched her, unblinking, inhuman.

Daedrok stood before Brynda and lifted his hand, gently stroking the side of her face with his gauntlet. She shivered at the cold metallic touch. She gathered her confidence, "You have us. We said we'll help you. Just let us go." Daedrok silently stared at her, listening to her plea with dispassion. Slowly, he set down his axe, leaning it against the wall. Sidd saw the slightest relief cross Brynda's face. Daekdrok lifted his freed hand to Brynda's other cheek, holding her head with both hands. Daedrok spoke, his voice like the crackle of embers and deep as the ocean, "Too. . . late. . ." He squeezed. Brynda had only a few seconds to scream. Daedrok pressed both his gauntlets together with Brynda's head forced between them, crushing; her skull buckled beneath his strength with a gruesome crunch.

Sidd's heart plummeted to the darkest reaches of the world, his eyes wide, incapable of comprehending what he just saw. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't supposed to happen, not like this. Daedrok removed his hands from Brynda, her body hanging lifelessly in the tangle of roots. He approached Sidd, his gauntlets soaked and dripping with red. Sidd had nothing to say; his mind was a blank, empty, overwhelmed. His sanity was rent asunder. Daedrok wasted no time and gripped Sidd's throat. The roots ensnaring him unwound, releasing him from their grasp. Daedrok lifted, holding Sidd above the ground with arm outstretched. Sidd couldn't speak, breathe, nor think. Daedrok walked a few paces further down the hall, roots making way for him as though they feared to touch even his armor. The red eye gazed steadily at Sidd, without the slightest hint of compassion, empathy, or humanity. He stopped.

Sidd glanced down, seeing himself held over the pit they crossed earlier. He remembered the heap of broken rocks waiting at the bottom. Decisively, without a hint of hesitation, Daedrok muttered, "And you. . ." He released his grasp, and Sidd fell straight into the hole. No thought nor fear entered Sidd's mind during the fall. He had ceased to hold on to anything; anger, despair, revenge – all of it fell away with Brynda's death, his mind plummeting into an empty dream. Daedrok watch Sidd's body crumple up on the rock, dying swiftly.

The roots slithered back into their cracks, retreating from the hall, leaving empty new holes in the wall and shattered blocks of stone. Nerkyl walked toward Daedrok who stood over the pit, silently gazing at the corpse below. Nerkyl glanced down into the hole, losing interest in the whole affair. He said, "Was a fun break, mildly entertaining. Come – I want to finish this dungeon before the day's out." Daedrok grunted in response, following Nerkyl back toward the room. The goblin muttered, "Some adventurers are useless. They don't belong in the wilds." Daedrok consented with a nod. He continued, "Can't believe I had to waste a spell this early in the day. Meh, I suppose it's fine. Did you see that girl's face after? And I thought humans couldn't get any uglier!" He cackled with laughter. Nerkyl and Daedrok soon disappeared, delving deeper into the ancient dungeon. . . leaving behind two young adventurers, who'd never again see the sun rise.


End of Temple of Clades, 3/3
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:34, Mon 01 Dec 2014.

Name: Imbellem Tueri
Class: Cleric
Age: 23
Key Characteristics: Oh boy, where to start...
Normal clerics: short hair, passive temperament, rarely cause trouble, strong build, but not necessarily bread for war if you catch my drift. Me? Longer hair, I cant keep up with it. Passive? I suppose I can be at times, some things can set me off, but if I see wrong being done to those undeserving of it - I will intervene. Rarely cause trouble? Hah. Good thing my Lord is Forgiving.. Because we all have our share of wrongdoings. Not for myself of course, but to help others as best I can. I have a bit of an anger issue and at times I don't always make the best choices.. I'm a rough looking guy, not very big, but certainly not cleric material. My manners aren't the best. Now I'm not saying, I don't try to be a good man; I do my best, but sometimes, the law of the land takes too long, and its people need help swiftly, and with a strong arm. I'm a traveler, taking work as I find it, healing, blessing, getting cats out of trees that sort of thing. The most common thing I hear is, “Well you don't look like a Cleric..” yeah I know. I get that a lot. Its probably because I was a convert, not a pure bread cleric, but one of choice, by parents who wanted the best for their child in a cruel and violent lifestyle I started with. But I get ahead of myself, lets start from the beginning.

My mother and father have an odd past.. They don't talk about how they met. But from what I can remember, my father was a high-ranking crewman on a ship of pirates pillaging between the isles of Mercia and Bishapur. My father, in the past, was referred to as "The Wall". A fitting name really, for he was very large, and exceedingly strong. Not one for words though, he spoke with fists and force over conversation. My mother was.. I'm not sure really. She was just kind of... On the ship? I think she was a "prize" claimed by the pirates, but I don't know for sure. She doesn't talk about it. Bibbidy bobbity boom, I was born. Originally on the ship, the "Hull Piercer" I think it was called, but my mother was taken off the ship and brought to a large city as an act of the "good hearted" captain.. the bastard...

Father would never show up, leaving money on the stoop for assistance for the living conditions of me and mother. She tells me she used to be a skilled huntress for her village, gifted in agility and speed. I took my fathers body and short fuse to anger, but the clever mind of my mother. She was gifted with a sharp, silver tongue, finding ways to get deals at local markets, or get out of trouble is she had to steal to keep us fed. She never stole for herself, and always told me never to do the same, and that she should be ashamed of her. How could I be? She was my mother, I loved her no matter what she did.

My father rarely spoke. And if he did it was grunts or groans, I believe he was not well educated and was embarrassed in his lack of knowledge. Mother was very smart. This made him feel like he was less of a man or something, and always left in a hurry, if he ever stood in the doorway to see me, never speaking.. Just kind of, looking at me. It made me feel strange.

One day, around my eighth birthday, Mother and I were eating a small cake she made for celebration by candlelight. It was dark out and raining heavily. I couldn't have a party, but the small cake and smile of ma was enough for me. In a sudden, shocking moment, the front door swung open, hitting the side wall. The wind from outside blew out the candle so it was hard to see, but that body was hard to misplace, it was my da. He opened the front door, without knocking, and just stood there, hunched over, beard and long hair covering his stone like face. My mother, fearing for what he might do stood between the two of us. "What do you want, what are you doing here?" she asked, raising in volume and intensity as his demeanor didn't change.

And then he took a step into the house, soaked in rain, and reeking of alcohol
mother pushed me back and drew a small blade from the sleeve of her gown, telling him to get back, swinging madly. This did nothing to stop his advancement toward us. He stopped just out of her arms reach, and looked up for the first time since he came there that night.

And there, for the first time in my life, had I ever seen my father cry, or speak more than three words. "I'm so sorry for what I did to you. Forgive me?.." he said with hand outstretched. A small wooden cross charm dangling from his wrist.

Needless to say, he was forgiven, and allowed to visit more often than just dropping off money for my welfare. Even getting along with my mother better. I could wake up at night to hear her teaching him to read, and after a month or so I learned that he found the error of his ways when he drunkenly stumbled into a temple. And they spoke to him. Well, not just him, more like his soul. It pierced him in a way no blade ever could, and he turned his ways. Even changed his name to Walt. A play on speech. keeping his Wall like origin, and the temple welcomed us with open arms. I have never been shown such kindness. The children there were.. for lack of a better word, babies. They didn't know how to joke around. I was in trouble a lot.. I couldn't understand how you couldn't have fun and learn about Grace and Eternal salvation and protection at the same time

A few years passed and.. well.. this is where my life took a rather unsatisfactory turn.

The group we were with were mostly evangelical. Meaning they would travel and help spread the word of the Lord. No weapons were brought, only the means to grow food, or scare off wild beasts. I was 18 years old, and we were at Noanatu, the jungle lands of the more tribal goblins. We had set up a semi-permanent temple in a safe location and I was instructed to begin creating a garden.

I heard raised voices, things breaking, glass, wood, valuables. I took a peek from behind the barn window to see a group of goblin natives who claimed we had invaded on their land. Father Albus insured them he meant no disrespect and that we would leave immediately. A shimmer of metal, blood, and the last wisp of air in his lungs leaving his body was all I could hear or see. The commander had stabbed Father Albus for interrupting him, leaving him on the ground, blood beginning to stain the green grass.

Fear struck me, I hadn't seen violence like that sense the beginning of my life on the ship. But that memory is foggy and probably misplaced. Mother was hidden inside with the children and other mothers, but my father Walt stood amongst the monks, not saying much, for fear of angering them on accident. I couldn't hear well from my distance, but they were yelling at the other brothers. The brothers were pacifists, not using weapons, only there to serve, heal and provide what services they could to help the locals. One spoke, only to be cut of a suckerpunch, knocking him unconscious. It seemed as if anyone spoke, they would be hurt.

Some of the other brothers had already begun to heal Father Albus, but his bleeding was becoming too intense to be able to stop. The goblins began to kick them away from him, decreasing the healing capabilities and laughing. One healer left. A goblin, low rank I would assume based off of his lack of armor, laughing, took a running jump to kick the last healer away from Father Albus.

His laughter was short lived.

Da had enough. He was silent, praying for peace of mind to not kill all of them himself. He caught the leg of the goblin, setting him cautiously back on the ground and taking a step forward, saying, "Please stop, we are men of peace, we mean no harm." I had moved closer at this point, still clutching the hoe I'd been using to create the fields for farming with white knuckles, fighting my rage the commander thought this was not okay, punching him in the stomach, intending on him falling to his knees, but father held his ground, exhaling slightly. That's when the beating started. With a nod to the others, they all jumped atop him, punching and kicking wildly as father knelled, in prayer for peace, not even defending himself.

Their cackling laughter still keeps me up at night. The sound of their shrill laughter and the sounds of beating my father were unbearable, and I will never be able to forget.

I saw a shine.

One of the goblins from behind had drawn his sword and began walking toward him, intending on killing him in front of all of us.

You know how they say that, “The apple doesn't fall far from the tree?" Well its true.

Rage overtook me, I ran from my cover, rake in hand swung as hard as i could at the goblin's head, sinking all of its short prongs into the helmet, flinging him though the air like a ragdoll, crashing into the wall beside me.

All eyes turned to me, fists up, eyes full of tears from fear and anger. "You know what you did boy?" said the captain. "You just prepared your people for war." In their nature, acts of violence against one of them, means violence against the whole tribe. "Life must be taken in repayment for life," he grinned. A groan bubbled from the goblin with the rake in his head. He sat up, taking off his helmet to inspect what happened. The prongs were just short enough to not pierce his skin, but only send him flying due to the impact on his helmet

"Well looky who lucked out!" cackled the goblin chieftain. "Payment must still be given,” saying with a demented grin. He nodded at two goblins to his side, and they immediately grabbed me, on on my left arm and one on my right. "What'll it be boy" he said, drawing his rusted, poorly made sword. “What are you talking about?.." I asked through my teeth, still struggling with the guards. "Your arms? Which one do you like the most?"

My eyes widened, and I heard nothing. Fear overtook me, and I was in shock. In their culture, "eye for and eye," is very well-practiced, and seeing as I attacked with my hands, one must be taken from me in payment. "But you-I- I don't understand- that's not fair- you cant do this!" I said, fighting through the lump in my throat. "Oooh but we can though," he said smirking with both my arms held level on stumps from trees I had only cut down not two hours ago. Ironic.

"Now pick!"

I was frozen with fear, unable to speak. What could you say in this situation? "Ah, both seems fair eh boys?" Followed by a chorus of cheers and agreeable goblin-y sounds. I hadn't moved. My life was over. How could I survive this? I would bleed out for sure.. and what about work? I would be invalid for my whole life.. What about- My thoughts were cut off.

"Right," a deep voice said.

A look of shock and confusion overtook the goblin chieftain, who spun around violently "WHO INTERRUPTED ME THIS THIS-" My father, Walt, The Wall, stood towering feet above the small goblin.

"Take my right arm."

They all laughed and argued about how that was not the agreement, but I was still in too much shock to hear what was happening. I was told most of this after it had happened.. When my father knelled down beside me, rolling up his sleeve showing the tattoos from his life on the sea, they laughed at him, called him names, and it had finally occurred to me what was happening. I was tossed aside, no longer deemed a threat.

"Da?.. what are you doing? This is my fault, don't be stupid! I did this, I want this! Not you!" I shouted at him, the words beading around him like water off of the back of a duck. "I've had worse," he said. "This won't kill me. It's okay boy," he said sternly. "But this isn't fair, I brought this upon myself! I should pay for it!" I argued but he would not hear it.

"I brought you into this!" he shouted, his voice sharp. I was taken aback, for I didn't understand. "I was a bad father," he confessed looking down at the small cross in his hand resting in his lap. "I missed out on most of your life, and I wont let a something stupid ruin your future. You need to be better than me." The rusted sword rose above his arm as the chants began to grow in volume..

"Promise me boy. You'll be better than I was. Help people. Don't hurt people for selfish reasons. Defend the defenseless. Make something of yourself."

"I.. I promise da.." I said, as the sickening chop of bone, flesh and steel collided.

His arm was gone, and my self worth was gone along with it..

He didn't cry out in pain, or hardly even flinch. It was quickly wrapped by the fellow brothers and the bleeding was kept under control. I had nothing left. I sat feet away from my father, and an arm that he used to use to pat me on the back when I helped him, or would point at me if I disobeyed mother or himself. Apparently though, the goblin chieftain didn't find this enough payment.. If I were in clearer mind, I would have killed them with my bare hands.. But I was broken. I agreed, and I did as he said. A super heated piece of metal was shaped into a cross, the symbol of our Lord, crudely, and as a joke. Laughing in unison, one held my hand on the bloodied stump next to where my father was currently laying, unconscious at this point.

“This is your gods sign eh?” the goblin chieftain said with a notably obvious overtone of sarcasm and mockery. “It goes like this right?” he asked, holding it upright, the way it was supposed to be. Tears in my eyes, I said nothing, simply nodding. “Well that's dumb, it's used like this when its made as a joke,” he said, spinning the red hot brand upside down. “Your god doesn't like being mocked does he?” his face contorting into a fully-sharp toothed smile. Nothing I could say would sway him - he was right. The upside down cross has often be used as the symbol of the anti-god, worshipers of the absence of him, as mockery, or just plain spite. The mark of the devil they say. I felt something fall on my lap, and through  tears I looked down to see a small wooden cross. It was my father's. I looked over, and saw him barely conscious looking right into my eyes.

“Its okay” he said softly, barely clinging to consciousness. His now stump of an arm had stopped bleeding, and they were now pulling the skin so it could heal properly. “He wont think any less of you, it's not your fault. You didn't do this, it's okay,” he kept trying to reassure me.

The searing pain and smell of burning flesh and hair overtook me and I cried in pain. They cursed my body with the sign on the devil on the back of my hand. Throwing the brand while it was still red hot at the women and children, luckily missing them and hitting the post of the doorway, he mocked, saying how my worship would be in vein, how I would never be allowed into heaven. And I believed them. I had done terrible things that day.

The brothers didn't allow me in the temple for the next few days while they decided what to do with me. My body was impure, marked only with mockery of the God I had devoted my life to. Mother gave me a black leather glove to cover my hand, after she had seen me outside, staring at it for hours. I contemplated cutting it off, just to be forgiven. She would sit with me for hours, not speaking, just holding me and keeping me from looking at the inverse cross on my hand. It was my fault. the temple agreed that violence is unforgivable, even in an act of defense. What i did was wrong, and the pacifism of the order, and I was removed. Forced to leave my home and all i knew, I had to find my own order.


Then I heard word of a dwarven artisan. He makes limbs. Not like, real flesh and bone limbs, but arms, legs, hands and feet of metal, that can greatly assist the lives of those who lack them. Most of my money goes to help local temples I find on my travels, or people in need. But I will find this man before I die and give my father at least some part of his life back.

I was taught by traveling holymen different ways to control my rage (to a point) and to not hold a grudge against an entire race for the fault of an evil few. Yet goblins still bring out the worst in me. I was taught to heal, to call on miracles, to assist the helpless. Im not allowed to see my family anymore, or the ones I grew up with, but I send them money as often as I can - always anonymously, so it wouldn't be thrown away on account of my shame.

I am full of rage, I distrust most people, questioning their reasons for any action, and often react un-accordingly.. But thanks to the Lord above, and the teachings of fellow faithful, I believe I can defeat my demons and meet with my father again. I owe him a great favor I could never hope to repay.

So now I travel, taking work where I can find it and helping all those I can help. Often alone, I've found myself in troubles I had been lucky to survive, but I can't continue this by myself.. I need people I can trust to travel with. Or maybe even become friends with someone again.. at least until the dwarven artisan, and I can thank one who deserves it. This is my story.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:43, Sun 08 Feb 2015.

My blood.. Its taste fills my mouth.. iron.. Not to be confused with the barrel of the gun held in my mouth by this blurry figure standing before my broken and kneeling body.. I think I hear laughter, but with the beating I had just received, I'm surprised I am able to string together a sentence. The cool sea breeze, accompanied by the cleansing mist of ocean water as it strikes the side of our vessel on this cold, dark night is the only thing that relaxes me.

The barrel of the gun is cold, and hurts my teeth, or what few teeth I have left as the natural shift of the boat changes the its location in my mouth. Something is bitter.. Gunpowder I assume. It is difficult to get a reading on things outside my own mind at the state in which I find myself, though, last I recall, my ship was on patrol off the west coast of Perdane. Unfortunately, my thoughts  are a little foggy at the moment.

I hear mumbling.. Someone trying to speak to me I think. It must be me, since most of my crew is dead, and all of my lieutenants had been executed before my eyes while my legs were broken, keeping me from rushing to their aid. The barrel is removed from my mouth. Thank the Gods, that was getting old. Suddenly, my head is knocked yet again leaving all I can hear to be best described as a bee buzzing; my vision darkens and quickly comes back into focus. A man stands before me. He's not exceptionally large, but I recognize him. He is the one who almost singlehandedly slaughtered all of my men.

“Aye, maybe I hit the small doll-boy too hard eh boys?” he says, followed by a chorus of chuckles and laughter. “I hear you, ya bastard,” I say in retort. My life is over anyway - why not throw a bit of sass his way before I go.

There it is again, the gun barrel in the mouth. This time, he isn't nearly so gentle, tearing at still fresh wounds and broken teeth. The blood mixed with metal and soot; it doesn't taste so bad once you get used to it. The familiar click of his flintlock pistol carries its vibrations up to my skull. It tingles.

“Watch yer tongue Mr big hat,” he says, seemingly in a full rage at this point. He was right about the hat thing though, Captains of the land of Perdane did have ridiculously large hats. "Ya musn't have a clue who yer conversing with, aye?” I look up through my blackened eyes, pushing the gun barrel aside with my tongue so words and blood can fall from my mouth. “Ahm asshuming itsh no-” I stumble. "Oh right, sorry mate," he laughs, pulling the gun from my mouth, “Couldn't understand ya there, try again please.” More laughter from the filthy sea rats, as if anything this man says is just the funniest thing they've ever heard.

I cough, spit and clear my throat to speak proper language to these unschooled ruffians. “I'm assuming” I say, with emphasis, to make sure I was heard, “It's not the captain I'm speaking to. You're awful small to be called a lord. Unless it's the lord of the ships day care center for your bastard children,” I say, smiling, secretly bracing to be struck again.

Good gracious was I right. Without missing a beat, the man takes a step back, beginning to spin to kick me in the chest with fearfully well mastered technique. This man, who I can now see more clearly, not more that 5'5 wearing a bright red coat upon his shoulders, arms free to wield both sword and pistol at the same time. Not to mention those lovely boots he wore, black leather, gold straps. Must have cost a fortune. I only noticed those because that's what struck me with shocking force as he quickly turned to kick me with the heel of said lovely shoes, sending me flat on my back.

Current assessment: Broken arm, both legs, cracked ribs, perhaps punctured lung, missing more teeth than id care to count.. overall, great shape. Oh look, its that gun of his again, pointing in between my eyebrows this time.

Click. “Game over, big hat,” he says with a smirk.

“Did I say that was allowed Anshil?” a voice calmly asks from my quarters. The gun lowers, but the frantic, psychopathic look remains on the face of the man. “My apologies ser," he states stepping off of my shattered ankle as he makes room for the man. “Nice shoes by the way,” I cough in laughter, “What do those pumps give you, an extra three inches?” I didn't bother to look at his face, but I could hear by the exhales and puffs of rage that I hit a nerve. Sucker.

“You'd best forgive my friend here, he's a bit 'short' on patience.” says the man, crew now in an uproarious laughter. The man leans over me, kneeling down, hands on his knees to get closer to my face. I know this man. I've seen his face in posters. We use it as the bullseye mark on the practice targets for the trainees. “I know what you're thinking,” he says, tilting his head slightly to the side with a smile. Dressed sharply in a black and blue jacket with gold trim, I notice he has no weapons on him. “Why all of this trouble for something so small? If you'd have simply given me what I'd asked for, all of this could be avoided." “I am the captain of the Ship ser," I reply boldly, trying to sit up, only to be reminded of the the current 'rib' situation - I decide laying on my back is the best option. “I do not make deals with rats.”

The man stands up, a look of shock, and sarcasm emblazon his face as he playfully puts his hand up to his mouth “Rats?” Turning to the bodies my men, some dear friends. “Rats are filthy creatures,” walking toward them he continues, “Spreading filth, disease, and most of all disorder. I hate rats.” He continues on as his serious, yet rather playful tone of voice beginning to darken, spinning on his heel to look at me again.

One of my men, still alive, slowly reaches for his sidearm, out of view of the captain halfway through his speech. “I simply wish to create order. There is no need for such violence.” My crewman solidly grips his gun, trying his best to take quick aim in his weakened and shaky state. Noticing the subtle movement out of the corner of his eye, the man leaps in the air, twirling his jacket in the process. The height he reaches is almost inhuman, as well as his agility, as he directs himself above my crewman, twisting and contorting his body to land harshly on the gun wielding forearm of my friend, breaking board as well as bone beneath the heel of his boot causing a scream of pain to be cast upon this forsaken dark night.

Giving a nod to the small man who has a thing for putting guns in mouths, the strange man removes his foot from the broken arm and begins to walk away, never to turn back. His lieutenant smiles, laughs deeply and begins stomping over to the man, with a now shattered arm and drawing a small knife from one of his (tall) boots. He takes a lick on the blade as he crouches over the man, now in a trance of horror as the deep laughter from the small man intensifies,and at the climax of his laughter, he begins to stab wildly at the chest, neck, and whatever other body part he saw fitting of his small knife.

I could not watch. The man had shown far too much bravery to be murdered so horrendously.

“Anywho,” says the man, stepping away from the stabbing massacre mere feet away from him. “Will you please give me the new trade route map so I can be on my way?” he asks, ringed fingers extended toward me. I laugh.

“I recognized your ship. You have a bit of a reputation as a cruel man, Ser Ishtal. One of the pirate lords.” A smile creeps upon his pale face, hair cut back, neat and precisely. He could pass as a noble if not for this thirst for power and lack of a normally functioning brain. ”The map has been lost to sea. I threw it over myself. Better to be lost forever than to be in the hands of a monster like you."

“Pity,” he says as he begins to make way back aboard his ship, leaving me among the wreckage. “You seemed like quite the jokester; could have made a fun prisoner out of you.” One of the his men hands him a bar of soap, which he quickly uses to scrub his hands and then proceeds to throw into the ocean beneath us.

“Anshil,” Pirate Lord Ishtal says calmly, barely turning his head to face this crazed lieutenant, soaked in blood, still currently stabbing the man who dared to stand against his lord. “Shoot the captain. He's been though enough.”

A sigh can be heard from the insane lieutenant as he steps off the corpse of my once good friend. “Aye sir..” Pouting like a child, he steps before me. “Any last words?" he says cockily while raising one of his guns toward me, pulling back the hammer on his pistol.

I look at the ship across to see Lord Ishtal turned to face me, with a straight face, and arms crossed. “I do,” I say, voice strong, and unwavering. “..Well what is it then? I ain't got all day ya know.”  I lean forward, pressing the barrel of the gun against my head, “I'm fairly sure your boots are a women's make.”

Lord Ishtal smirks, as Anshil's face contorts with rage “Why you filthy sack of sh-” Click.


This message was last edited by the GM at 23:37, Wed 31 Dec 2014.

Words fail me. I had nothing to say. No questions, nor any logical reason for why a man I once deemed my friend lie before me. Its strange, seeing a man with no body, head impaled on a pike larger than any human man could wield and see him look back at you. Unable to speak, due to lack of according body parts, like a throat or chest I'm assuming. He is in a state of undeath, but completely aware of his surroundings. We lock eyes for what seemed like days, and finally I leave again, following this dead trail of leaves framed by wilted black trees. No light ever shines here. I place my hand on his forehead as I wish him farewell, and sorrow fills my heart. I feel no happiness here. No positivity. Only pain, sorrow. Lacking all comfort such as light, warmth, the presence of another being to share my woes with.. but I digress. Something is indeed here with me, and after what feels like months, I feel I am coming close. I can hear the dripping of blood and deep metallic breaths through the mouthpiece of a helmet. A large helmet indeed. I turn to see what this is that torments me to be met with the most unholy sight a man should ever have to witness.


***********************************************************************************

“Ive done it!” A guard shouts, “Ive taken down the great Walben Tigersoul!” The cheers of his group begin to echo, dull and fade as I feel myself dying. The bastard. I'm not dead yet. If I could.. just swing my damn.. sword I'll chop your knees off. Ah well. I had a good run. This was peaceful. I heard no more, I saw no more, and I felt no more. It was as if I was floating, or submerged in water, with that weightless, near comforting feeling. All this was okay, I never worried about the afterlife. Didn't care much for religion. If its like this forever I suppose I could get used to this. A smile began to creep along my face, or should I say soul, for I knew for certain I was now dead. All this was short 'lived' however. I began to feel again. I did not particularly like what it was I felt either, It was as if something brushed against my back, and followed along to the back of my leg, only to submerge itself again in this floating purgatory. My eyes opened. It was dark, but being deep beneath the water was the best way to describe it, my long black hair was floating with arms and legs spread. Far above me I saw feint light, but it was as if I was so deep in the water, light could no longer penetrate it. I felt again, this time I saw what it was, long, unearthly arms leading to hands with fingers with far too many knuckles to be any being I had ever seen. There were two this time. Simply brushing against me, my legs, chest and one along my face. I did not like this, I began to panic, trying to move, to 'swim' up to the surface of whatever it was I was in only to be restrained by a cold, strong hand. One by one, my limbs began to be clutched tightly, feeling as if my bones were breaking beneath their grasp. And then the scratching. It was as if there were angry rats inside my lungs, cutting though and scratching and biting at my ribcage, hoping to gnaw their way though. I could not breath. All I felt was pain, constriction, and fear. Suddenly, thousands of arms shot up from the darkness. Long, almost tentacle like in appearance, I gazed in confusion as they all turned and directed toward me. All hovering mere feet above me. Just sitting there. Motionless. Until suddenly, all at once, they shot down to my body, many shooting though me like spears, dismembering me, ripping off my arms, legs, ripping out whatever was inside of my chest and pulled me, screaming in agony into the abyss beneath me.

My eyes opened. I was.. What? I quickly sat up and looked over my body, all parts where there were supposed to be as well as my swords and clothes I was wearing mere moments ago as we decided to raid a caravan that just so happened to be guarded by some elite bastards. The memory of the darkness flooded back to me, filling me with dread and causing me to grab my swords and quickly stand up, to check for the unholy abominations. As I looked frantically around me, I noticed I was in a wooded area, there was a thick trail, covered in dead leaves, and lined with wilted, dead black trees. It was strange, the path before me was clear, but outside the line of trees, It was raining heavily and incredibly foggy, I couldn't see more than a few feet in it. But the sounds. The sounds hit me like a cannonball. Screaming in the distance, the skittering and crashing of creatures in the fog, I could not see what they were, but they could see me. I stood, ready for a battle for hours, until I realized that there was nothing to be done simply by sitting in one location, so I began walking the dead path. I remember very little, deeds of my life flashed before me. Everything I had done, every murder, every piece of gold I stole, every woman I took advantage of. It felt heavy in my head, and I could remember nothing other than the 'evil' things I had done.

The trail began to broaden. I heard dripping onto the dead leaves from behind me, I turned quickly to be greeted with nothing. Perhaps this place was getting into my head.. there is nothing here I thought to myself. As I walked along the path, I began to see strange things. Weapons, bits of armor, a limb or two, but everything was destroyed. As if an intense struggle happened, and ended fruitlessly for those wielding the instruments strewn upon the ground around me. I still hear the skittering and crashing through the undead woods next to me, but I no longer care. I wished for something to come after me. Give me something to do, a fight, at the least kill me and end this torment.

It feels like I have been walking for months now. My body screams for food and water, I want to die. I can find no solace in this unholy place. My body aches due to this constant movement. Surely, there is no comfort in a place like this. I had my swords, I tried, countless times to end my own life, piercing my chest, slitting my own throat, I felt it all. The pain, I saw the blood, I felt my lungs fill with it, only to blink or avert my gaze and have the wounds vanish. Truly, there is no hope in this place. This is my torment. As I walk, pieces of armor, limbs, broken weapons, even bodies are a common sight. Bodies, some torn apart, some still in one piece, just lie there in the dead land as more screaming can be heard echoing from the fog. As I walk I begin to notice heads of warriors, common folk, even nobles on speaks, huge pikes. At first it didn't bother me, until I saw them look at me. I drew my sword and pointed it at the head. I walked closer to get a better view. The eyes were not grey and dead like the common corpse have seen through the course of my life. They had color, and as I lowered my sword, I noticed the eyes follow the blade down into its sheath. All these heads, as if in a line to watch me walk past, were living. Unable to speak, unable to end communicate, unable to do anything but stare in whatever direction the pike deemed they look. The first good thought entered my mind sense my entrance to this awful place. “Well, at least that's not me.” Swiftly however, that happy feeling was gone as I was reminded of the sounds I had heard, and worry filled my chest as I now realized that at any moment, that could happen to me. I clutched my swords tighter from that point on.

I have learned to simply keep walking, there must be a point to all this. Many times I heard breathing, slight laughter.. and that gods forsaken dripping noise behind or next to me. At first I turned quickly, ready for battle, but now I care not. I turn slowly, if at all. It seems whatever the master of this land wishes of me  is being fulfilled, I am tormented. I wish for death. I cannot have it, anything. Even the constant rain that is just out of my reach reminds and taunts me as I continue to die of thirst. I tried to eat the arm of a man I passed at one point. It took almost no thought at all, I simply knelt down, and took a bite out of the dead forearm, only to have its flesh turn to ash in my mouth, causing me to cough and throw the limb in anger as a deep guttural laughter was heard. Damn be who created this place, and damn be the gods who put me here.

More days spent walking. It is impossible to tell how long I have actually been following this trial. There is no sun, no moon. No way to tell time. Everything stays the same. Everything except pieces of bodies and their weapons or armor increasing in number as I continue walking. “Psst” I hear from behind the one large tree in a very open area I happen upon. It has been some time sense I have had the pleasure of speaking. “H-hello?” I say sheepishly to the familiar voice. I see a head peek from behind the large tree. It is a face I recognize, it is my cousin who had passed before me months ago. “Hows it feel?” he says curiously. “..What?..” I say beginning to slowing walk toward him. “Hows it feel to be damned? Or no wait, even better, knowing that everybody you know or love will be here suffering someday as you suffer?” he says as a smile creeps along his dirty, pale face. “What are you talking about?” I question, “I don't even know where 'here' is. What the hell is going on?!” I shout as I close some distance between the two of us. Laughter begins to gurgle from the throat of my one family member. As I round the tree to get a better view I notice something awful. He has no body. I stand, grasping my sword. I notice he is being held up by his hair by a hand, an inhumanly large hand, covered in black iron. It seems as soon as I noticed this, the dismembered head was thrown at me, rolling at my feet, eyes gazing up at me, tearing up at the sight of me. I look up at the tree and run around the to the back side, drawing my other sword. I see nothing.

An awful laugh begins to resonate the fog, the dead trees, even my head. I feel a something hit the ground behind me and turn quickly, looking down, seeing another head. “Who are you?” I shout into the distance “Show yourself you damned coward!” “Damned” A deep, guttural voice rattles though an unholy body behind me. I turn. “Lovely word choice, Walben.”

I drop my swords. This creature, this.. Thing. Stands at a towering height above me, holding heads of fallen men in one hand and a large black iron sword in the other. It has human qualities, two arms, two legs, one head. My eyes are drawn to its face. Eyes glowing like the embers of a fire, and fangs that creep along what seems to be the entirety of its face. Its armor is black, covered in skulls, bones, corpses, held together with chains. This is the creature that bumps in the night. This is fear incarnate.



Flicking a forked tongue at me, colossal monster takes a swing at me with his incredibly large sword, I believe it was intended to remove my head, like all the other poor men I saw strewn about that awful place. Using my two swords, I managed to redirect the swing, missing me entirely and having the large weapon crash into the ground next to me. “Oh my dear boy” Said the being, lifting that ton of iron from the ground and resting it on its shoulder “You shouldnt be surprised, you asked for this.” “This?” I asked, voice raising to a shout “I dont even know what 'this' is! Tell me whats going on!” A quick swipe was all I saw and my right leg was gone, below the knee, I screamed in pain and fell to the ground. Unlike my past self inflicted injuries, this one did not heal. “Watch that tone.” Rumbled the voice, tongue angrily flicking in the air, “You asked for this. You soul asked for this.” It leaned closer to me as I writhed on the ground “Your soul is as black as night” steam crawling from its mouth. “Thats not true, If id have known this was waiting for me.. Things would be different!” I shouted in fear, realizing now that my actions led me to this cursed place.

Another motion, simply too quick to notice removed my left leg, this time below the hip, causing me to scream again in agony, normally wounds like this would cause blood loss to numb pain, but there is no comfort here. It continues to laugh, as if this is all a game to it “Ive kept my eye on you boy, ive seen what you choose to do with your free time. There is no redemption for you. This is where you belong.” “You're wrong!” I shout, tears beginning to fill my eyes as fear overtakes me, “There is good in me, I dont belong here!” as soon as those words left my mouth, my head was gone. I felt it. I felt it all. They say when your head is removed due to the spinal chord, you feel nothing. They lied. I screamed louder than I had ever screamed in my live, to my surprise I was able to make sounds and speak, even due to lack of body parts. My head lie on the ground, as the creature lumbered over toward me, “Im not sure about that one” it says jokingly “You may be getting a little a 'head' of yourself there” “Go to hell..” I growl at the beastly creature. His head lurches up in uproarious laughter, deep and hearty, only to suddenly stop, crouch down and look me directly in the eye. “But my dear boy,” He says, forked tongue flicking my face, “Do you  not realize that is exactly where we are?”

It picks me up. “Hows this.” It says swinging me around by my hair. “I see your soul, you are full of evil, nothing good will come of your life. This I promise” It stopped spinning me, pinching me between two monstrously large fingers to look me in the face. “I dont do this often.” it said, “But im tempted to give you a second chance. Watch you squander your life again. Prove to you that this is where you will always be drawn to, no matter what you do in life. You are a black soul. Damned to be with me forever.” I look at the creature. Not saying a word. For a moment we stare at one another “What the matter” I say “Not much of a betting man?” Its uproarious laughter fills the air once again and he throws me, throws me beyond the trees above the fog, I cant see, im spinning far too fast. However, I hear in my head, as if he were directly next to me. “This I promise you” it said “i will see you again. Soon Walben Tigersoul. You are just as damned as I. Tell your father I say hello..” My head hits the ground and I roll, finally landing against a rock gazing up at the sky. The damned moonless, starless sky.

Oh my dear father.. Please dont end up like me.. Please dont come to this horrid place I think to myself as tears begin to flow from my face. I wipe them off with my hand and continue to lay on the ground.

Oh now hold on.

Shock hits me like lightning. I look down, My body. My whole body lay on the ground, I leap to my feet and quickly look around. I am next to the wagon I tried to take outside the city before I.. before I was.. Fear overtakes me again as I run into the city as fast as I can. I see a building with a cross, the local temple and make straight for the doors. Opening the doors as hard as I can, I see a few brothers of the following look at me in shock. It is late night. I think they assumed I was there to rob them. I stumble up to the nearest one I see. “You..” I say, pointing at the young man. He stumbles backward, slightly tripping on the rug in fear as the other brothers begin to follow up behind him. I grab his cloak. Filthy, soaking wet, cold, covered in blood and now grabbing a Christ follower in a manner such as this. Must have been quite the sight. “Y-yes?..” Says the man. “Help..” I begin to say as a lump overtakes my throat and I collapse to the floor in tears “Help my soul! Please! Dont make me go back!”

It seems like so long ago. I told the brothers everything. Every filthy detail. The fed me, clothed me, gave me a blanket as I refused to leave the alter of the temple for days. They believed me, and assured me my soul could be saved if I believed in the Lord, which I did. Immediately. After a few services of the church, and many, many worried stares from strangers, the kind men of the temple allowed me to join them, giving me a change of clothes and a purpose in life.

That happened twenty years ago, and I remember it like it was yesterday. No longer living in fear, I teach the good news of a kind and loving God, so no other mortal man may ever set foot in those dead, damned woods again.


This message was last edited by the GM at 18:20, Sun 08 Feb 2015.

Pt 1

The morning light fills my room. In my half-asleep state, it seemed almost like an explosion. After I realized what day it was, I would have rather that it was..

“IT IS PAST 0700 HOURS!” A deep, roar of a voice reverberates though my head. I sit up in my bed, hair a mess, its best not to disobey him. “ARE YOU AWARE OF WHAT DAY IT IS?!” “I know dad, im sorry I just-” “IM SORRY WHAT DID YOU SAY?!” The large authoritative figure at the foot of my bed bellows. Large man. Bloody large. Elite guard, Yuki Buldor. Bald head, glistening with sweat from anger and whatever foul thoughts brewed in there, large handlebar mustache covering his mouth, which I would assume was always scowling.. His large eyebrows hung over his piercing eyes awaiting my response. “I SAID IM SORRY SORRY SIR.” I shout in response. Loud house over here. “TIME ESCAPED ME SIR. DO I HAVE PERMISSION TO PREPARE FOR MY DAY.” You also have to ask permission for everything in my household. “PERMISSION GRANTED. YOU HAVE TEN MINUTES TO PACK.” He turns, as always at a perfect 90 degree angle and marches out of my room, stomping as he goes. Who marches in the confides of their own home? I sit in my bed, legs off the edge collecting my morning thoughts. My room a mess, what can be expected of a teenager. I always wanted to be a painter, but I was born in the wrong family for an artistic career choice. “IM NOT HEARING PACKING BOY. DO YOU NEED AGGRESSIVE ASSISTANCE?!” He shouts from my doorway, he must have just shut it and been standing waiting for me to start moving. “NO SIR” I shout as I leap from my bed, stuffing all my essential things I will be needing for my year long boot camp. Today is the day I join the ranks of the city guard you see, to make the family proud.

Bags packed, boots tied as instructed by father, hair slicked to the side, standing up straight, I open my door to my father standing, arms crossed looking down at me. “Stand up straight boy,” he says in his ever loving tone. “They are here to escort you to the castle for your training.” As the youngest of three, I am the last child of the home, leaving my mother and father to be.. grumpy or whatever they do. I speak harshly, my mother is a very loving woman. She feels the need to put on a strong face for the sake of my fathers name. My small body barely makes a creak in the stairs as I walk down to my front door whereas my beast of a father make the stairs sound like they could break at any moment under the colossal weight of his body. Rounding the corner I see two city guards, dressed in their full military uniform awaiting my arrival for escort. Thats how they do it here. Its a big deal to be accepted into the guard. I shouldnt have made it. I barely passed my physical exam. Mother sat at the table watching me walk down the stairs, as straight as I possibly could in front of my father, as if I were his puppet. In a way, I was. I didnt want to join the army. I didnt want to fight, to kill.. I wanted to create art, and make people happy. But it wasnt up to me. I was a Buldor. “TSYUO BULDOR REPORTING SIRS” I shout in military fashion followed by a salute. They salute in return. “PERMISSION TO BID MY MOTHER FAREWELL” I ask. A simple nod is all I get from the two men as I turn to face my mother, still sitting on her chair next to the table. I walk up to her. “Im going mom. Ill write you if that's okay.” She nods, standing up, brushing dust off of her dress as she pats my shoulder. Mother was raised christian, as you could tell clearly by the cross she wore constantly around her neck. She was taught that killing is wrong, and father was taught the most effective ways to kill a man. Conflicting upbrining if you ask me, but hey, Im no child psychologist. I could feel tears begin to swell in my eyes. “Look at this you messy boy,” she says, “You didnt lace up your pack all the way” she says reaching over and tightening the strings on my bag. “You'd sure look a fool to get all the way there only to lose all your things." I stand firm, I want to hug her goodbye so bad, This could be the last I ever see of her. I look up, her eyes, dry as a bone, simply nods me to the direction of my father standing behind me. I turn to him and look him in the eyes. “Goodbye sir” I say to him, as I extend my hand to shake his hand as a final farewell. Secretly hoping for a hug or some sort of affection. “Farewell boy. Do us proud.” He extends his hand as well and shakes my hand. I should have expected as much from a father whos proudest moment he had of me was when I.. No wait I cant actually think of an example. He was a very.. He was my dad. Lets leave it at that.

It was a long walk to the castle, I could notice people, other trainees looking at me and whispering to each other. “Thats a Buldor” they'd say. “Oh crap, this is going to be awesome” I would hear. I kept my head down until a door was open. “This is your quarters” one of the escorts explained. “Come down the the main courtyard in thirty minutes for roll call.” “Yes sir” I say as the door shuts behind me. The room is small, a bedroll, closet, chair and desk are all I own now. The closet is already full of full fitted uniforms and equipment for my training. I set my things on my desk and in my closet as an unfamiliar item falls to the floor. It is a letter. Puzzled, I pick it up. It is unmarked, and simply held together with a wax marking, no seal, just wax. I open it up to see familiar handwriting, it is my mothers, She must have set it in my bag when she tightened my strings on my bag. My eyes widen as I fall to a seated position on the edge of my bed.

Dear Yuo-yuo,
Today is your big day huh? Its okay, basic training is only a year, and they allow you to send letters so I expect at least one a week you little rascal. I know this isn't what you wanted, but it wont be forever, just get thought it and you will be okay, besides, after training you only have a required two year contract before you can leave before they call your absence AWAL. By the way, don't try to leave. They'll kill you for sure. Bad idea baby boy. Be strong. You are half Buldor after all. Be brave my son, you'll be okay. I love you.

P.s. I didnt have time to make you a cake, but hopefully this will do.
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday my dear Tsyuo
Happy birthday to you.

I Love you baby boy, be good.
Love,
Mama

My head falls forward, I cant see though the tears anymore. I let them flow. Its just a year.. I can do this. Ill make it back mama. I'll be fine.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:24, Sun 08 Feb 2015.

Pt 2

“THREE CHEERS TO THE BULDOR ON THIS THE DAY OF HIS BIRTH!” I stand smiling, extending my arm toward my fellow initiates, and our superiors, it is my birthday, a  year after I was taken to this place. I have grown, mentally and most of all physically. Like wow, I must have gained a hundred pounds in this place. The second cheer echos though the large halls of the dining area, other guards are on patrol. I have grown efficient with a blade, not quite to the level of skill as my father, but someday perhaps, I will spar him, and earn his respect. This is graduation day, we gain our official guard uniform and begin with whatever tasks they see fit for us underlings. The third cheer is shouted and all men clap and suddenly the room falls silent as they all beginning drinking heavily from their grogs. Moments of silences later, laughter can be heard followed by belches and chatter.

This is the first afternoon of my patrol, and I am to look after the wall. Its a simple job, they gave it to all the new guys, we just walk along the top of the wall.. back and forth.. and scream if we see something. Its a very short distance from one of the towers to the other, so if there were an emergency I could make it to one of those. Of course with all our training, Im sure we could take on just about anything. I haven't gotten in a real sword fight yet, aside from sparring, but I like to think I'm pretty awesome. Boy its quiet today. The usual hustle and bustle of the town not far away can usually be heard, but today I suppose they're keeping it to themselves. Also the gate beneath me is closed.. Seeing as this structure serves as a half sort of separation between locations, its odd to be keeping people away.

*Thck*

I turn my head, a curious sound catches my attention. I look down, oh silly me, my buckle from my boot slipped off. I gotta remember to tighten this crap down better. I bend over, tighten the strap, and continue walking my path. I hear a small rustle over the edge of the wall, and peer over the edge.. Some  deer can be seen running into the distance. Come on man, its your first day. Nothing ever happens on your first day. Especially not on your birthday. Baby.

*Thck*

I hear that sound again, this time from the other side, where my friend Ladfik was posted. “Oi Lad!” I shout, “Everything okay?” I hear no response. My heart begins to race and I run toward his post, turning the corner oh high alert, with hand held on the hilt of my sword, I am met with a most unsettling sight.

“BOO”

Lad shouts at me as he leaps from around the corner into my face, causing me to instinctively punch the side of his helmet, sending him to the ground in laughter. “What the hell lad!” I shout at him as I release the handle of my blade, “I could have stabbed you, you bloody idiot..” “And I am eternally grateful you did not my dear sir” he said, coughing though his laughter as he gets back to his feet, helmet now knocked off next to his feet due to my right hook. “C'mon you ass, we just got started. I dont want to get in trouble on my first day” I say as I turn to continue my rounds.

*THCK*

I hear again, directly behind me as a hear a large thud. I turn around quickly to see lad laying on the ground. “Come on dude. Im not in the mood anymore. Get up.” I say kicking his foot. No response. “Lad. Come on” I say to him as I bend down to grab the collar of his garb, picking him up and bringing his face to the light.

I make eye contact with grey, dead eyes. Blood pooling from beneath his head, an arrow pierced though one side of his head and out the other. I cover my mouth and try my best to not scream. From my location, I am crouched beneath the stone wall, so anyone on either side couldn't see me. This is the first dead body I had ever seen. Shamelessly enough, I threw up, next to him. He was my friend, we just had spoken, and now he lie dead.. I need to make my way to a tower I tell myself. The other sounds I heard. Must have been other people being shot. “I-Im sorry Ladfik.. Ill come back for you I promise” I say as I begin to crawl to the right tower. I see smoke begin to rise in the distance, in the streets of the city below me. What is going on.. I think to myself as I pull myself up to look into the battle. It was chaos, and I didnt know what to do. Suddenly something catches the corner of my eye. A man, sword raised above his head as if to swing down on me had snuck up behind me though the now open door where sounds of battle can be heard. Out of sheer instinct, I grabbed the mans arms, wrestling him to the far side of the wall trying to make him drop his sword. With all the swinging and motions, i had not noticed how close to the wall we really were. Swinging him with all my might, I accidentally pushed him over the wall. I fell back down to the ground in shock as I hear his scream trail off as he fell only to suddenly fall silent.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:52, Sun 08 Feb 2015.

Pt 3

     I sat, frozen. What the hell just happened? Did I just kill a guy? Suddenly one thought pierced my mind like the arrow that just pierced the skull of my good friend Lad, “Tower!” I shouted, as I scrambled to my feet, beginning my sprint toward the nearest tower. I had to get somewhere safe, and to tell people inside what was going on. I saw the forms for people, in my frantic state, I wasnt even quite sure myself what I was seeing. the enemy was on the tower, and three or four of them stood in my path, im not sure how, but due to my thick studded armor and large body, I simply curled my head down and lead with my shoulder bowling many of them over the edge and others crashed along  the edge of the wall. I jumped for the door and begin to bang on it with all my might yelling, while still crouched on the ground to not be shot, that the tower, and streets below us, were under attack.

I waited for what felt like years... Nobody came to the door. I turned to face the other tower, it looked to be miles away due to my state of fear and shock. I stood up trying my best to show courage in the face of this, my first battle. I extended a shaken hand toward the hilt of my sword. “I am a guard of this tower.” I recited to myself as the a light creak of an opening door whispered behind me. I was still far too afraid to hear it. “I will defend this place and its land with my life” I say with a lump in my throat. A cold sharp object at the base of my neck stopped me in my tracks. “You damned guards” a voice said, full of malice and purpose. “This land belongs to the people, I will kill all of you if it means the liberation of this ci-” the voice silenced and the object at the back of my neck disappeared. Coated in sweat, I turned slowly to see the decapitated body of the man who drew his sword in purpose of killing me. A fellow guard stood motioning to me to fun to the left tower, seeing as the invaders have entered this one already. I handn't realized that I couldn't hear anything due to shock so I turned and began to run. Every now and then, I turned to see if my protector was alright, my eyes were met with quite the sight. The man, running and chopping down the enemy left and right, like some madman. He was more than capable of defending himself. I felt like a burden, him doing all of this just for me. I stumbled in front of the sword wielding maniac to an open door and he begins to shout, telling me to get in as fast as I could. It is a barred door that leads into the barracks, a safer location that this to be sure. I nod to the the man and turn from his gaze to begin my entrance to the tower. As I turned to escort my knight in shining armor in behind me, I was only met with the pale face of a man who had lost far too much blood. He smiled at me, and yelled at another man in the tower to bar the door. He turned, and thats where I saw he had be shot. Many times with arrows. He stood on the wall fighting as the door shut in my face. He had done all that just to protect me.. I felt so worthless.. Other men are in here, protected by our superiors, cowering in fear, some injured.

I look around in shock. I as I hear screams and sounds of battle outside the tower. The door I had just dove though was barred, but there were also stairs leading to the ground level. “Buldor right?” I hear a quivering voice peep from the far side of the room, I turn to see a young man, it must be his first night too. “You're a Buldor right? Help us.. Please” he says to me arm outstretched. I look around. All men look at me as if I am some sort of hero. Im no hero.. Im probably not even the main character of my own story I thought to myself. I closed my eyes for a moment, and an image of my father flashed before my eyes. I was reminded of him, and how I wanted to prove to him that I was indeed a man. And then my mother. My sweet, sweet mother. I had to make it home to her. I stood, knees shaking. Grasping my sword, I began to walk toward the stairs, only to hear the enemy speaking, they were in the tower. “These damn guards, dont they know everyone hates them? Theyre ruining the lives of the people. They all need to die. Ill kill em all myself” There were many voices, I couldnt tell just how many, but I did hear one specific whisper “There are some upstairs. The fledgelings.. Easy pickings. World'll be better without em.” I stood at the base of the steps as I see a few men walking up the stairs. They see me.

“Youre going to die guard.” One says “Youre hated by all,” another chimes in, “We're doing the people a favor, youre a plague unto us.” I look around the room to see the other guards, covering their heads in fear, clearly not going to fight. The men now begin to run up the stairs.

“Tsuyo means strength.” I hear in my head as a memory returns to me. “I named you this so that you can be strong for those who cannot be. You are a Buldor. A stone for others to lean upon when they are to weak to stand for those who cannot. That is our duty, to protect those in need son.” My eyes widen as I remember more vividly. “I love you my son. Do not forget this” There it was. The first good memory I had of my father. It was so long ago.. I don't even know where it came from, but courage surged though my body  and I stopped shaking and my eyebrows, now resembling my fathers in their bushy-ness began to frill with rage. I took a step back, only to quickly sprint and hurl my body feet first at the intruders now charging up the stairs, hitting one square in the chest and causing the others to fall behind him. We all tumbled, but due to my location, most of the blows were off of the bodies of the other men, as their bodies hit the stone stairs.

We all landed with a crash as they stumbled to their feet, I; already on mine, began to slash and stab frantically, at the men, I now recognized as rebels, villains of the state, meaning to overthrow the government. I stand, covered in blood. I was reminded of my mothers cross necklace, but I had no time for this now. I look up the stairs to see my fellow guards standing, looking at my blood soaked sword and the corpses of my enemies. I turn to the door to defend the gates, only to notice that I had taken a dagger to the knee. I felt no pain, I was far to enraged and full of purpose to feel pain. Pulling out the dagger, I threw it to the far side of the room and opened the door to the chaos that was the front gate.

Much time passed, and many men had died. I was wounded, but nothing to seriously I thought to myself as I pulled the blade of my sword out of the chest of a rebel fighter. The vision of my mothers cross burned into my mind. “Thou Shalt not kill” That's what it taught. Am I wrong? What am I doing? While I stood in thought, a horrible sharp searing pain seized me. I look down to see the tip of a blade appearing from the middle of my chest. Laughter is heard behind me “Good riddance. One less rat. Nobody needs you. We need no government like this.” As it was pulled from my back I felt a strange feeling. No pain. My vision began to blur. I spun quickly, extending my blade to remove the head of the one who wounded me. The two parts of the man fell. What happens when we die? I thought to myself. Where will I go? Ive killed.. I. Am I hated? Am I damned? My body weakened as I fell on my back, falling amongst the corpses of those slain before me. Staring at the sky. It was like I was unable to die. I could feel life draining, but I was full of fear, what if the teachings were true? Is there a hell? Thats where murderers go.. I don't.. want.. to go... there.. My body went numb and I saw nothing.

I heard voices. I opened my badly wounded eyes to see a man talking with other strange looking individuals, I noticed a cross hanging from the wrist of the one man. I tried calling for him. I couldnt speak. My lungs had now almost filled with blood. “priest.” I tried saying. Not loud enough. Say it louder. “Priest..” I say again.. he turned his head slightly, but not enough. One more time. Please hear me, I'm afraid to die. “Priest” the mans body turns frantically, he heard me. Thank God. I could see him scanning the area for me, I use what little strength I have left and move so he sees me, and black out again. I awaken again to hear him slide on the ground next to me. “Priest?” I ask again, not sure if this is the same man, my vision blurs. “Yes sir, I am, what do you need?” He says. He sounds very kind, like he actually cares. Unlike all the other men I saw this night. Hatred. That's what they had spewed at me. “Do you hate me?” I ask, blood filling my lungs, fear filling my heart. “No I do not hate you, people make bad choices, ill bet you're a nice guy” says the priest. I like him, he seems understanding. I feel death clawing at the back of my rib cage, like claws beginning to draw me to hell. “I'm afraid..” I say, “what will happen to me?..” I tried to say more, but my lungs wouldn't allow it. He understood what I meant.

“Anything you have done” he said “that you believe was wrong, you can be forgiven for. The Lord God will forgive you, and allow you to enter into his paradise.” heh. This guy sounds like my mom trying to convince my father. I was shocked, and rather confused. I thought God hated murderers. “Your god.. Will not forgive a man like me” I said.. ashamed of what I had done. “My God” Says the priest, drawing my attention from falling into the abyss. “Will not look at your past, all you have to do is ask for forgiveness, and accept him as your own.” Forgive me huh. Accept me? I like this guy. This cross he is holding.. It comforts me. “I'm not sure why,” I tell the priest “But ill trust you. Please let me see your God.” “Just reach” says  the priest “Ask for forgiveness, believe him, as the one and only true Lord and trust my friend. He will forgive and accept you” I try to reach for the cross, but my body is dying, I cant make it, fear overtakes me again. The man holds my hand, leading it to the small holy symbol and sets his forehead on mine. And for the next few moments we pray. I ask for forgiveness, the lives I took.. the wrong I had done. I was sorry, I don't want to be punished forever, I want to see my mother in paradise again. And then light.

Such bright light.

I smile. As I feel again, it is warm. I smile at the man as he begins to fade from my sight.

“Wow” I say, blood streaming from the sides of my smile. “If only I had known sooner”
This message was last edited by the player at 20:47, Sun 08 Feb 2015.

The clouds have parted and there’s a quiet now. The ocean has died down to a soft roar and the warm breezes have begun their slow return. There’s movement on the wet sands, caked by a thick layer of tropical flora that sway gently with the post wind. The movement is that of a gull, clumsily swooping in to the shore, feathers soaked from the previous storm. It’s male, white capped and yellow beaked with the tiniest fleck of red. The avian sounds its obnoxious call at the sight of an old blue claw, its carcass left just out of touch of the tides. The bird pays no heed to the position of the food source. Hunger is the drive here. The gull lazily flaps a few feet above the ground, then swoops down upon the blue claw, drawn by the twisted scent of decaying crustacean. It drives its yellowed beak with greedy snapping motions. Others will be here soon to join the feast. The bird continues on its meal, unaware that is studied. The eyes that lay upon it are blue as the brightest flowers, quiet and unnerving. But the gull does not meet with them. The gull is an animal, and it has failed to be aware of its surroundings, driven too strongly by the hunger. That is the lesson of the day that sinks in behind the blue eyes. In the blink of an eye there’s movement. A crack in the air. The gull stumbles, head twisted, a small jagged stone beside it and the corpse. It shrieks and quakes a bit, attempting to move its wings, command them to do what they are made to do but the connection to the nerves is crippled. The only response the wings give is a sad, half-hearted flop. A moment passes and the bird stumbles some more. The others have come, and harbinger their entrance with calls. They do not land. Another is upon the beach now beside the blue claw, not a creature of feather but of sinew and muscle. It’s Blue Eyes. He approaches the wounded gull, a long rod of bamboo in hand. The gull panics, calling for the others to come, but they do not answer the cries. Instead they circle about in the bright sky, bickering amongst themselves in an obnoxious chorus. The rod breaks the air with a crack and the gull is still, wings spread out in a calm and twisted fashion. It’s a good sized one. Blue eyes crouches down. The name his mother called him is locked away, buried along with her. He will not use it until years from now in a faraway place very different from the island. But blue eyes does not think upon the future. He is in the now, the only time that truly matters, and is only occasionally plagued by the time before. There is not time to think on future things.

The youth squats in the sand, unburdened by the scent of the rotting crab he placed nearby. As he does so the belt and pelt he wears squinch ever so slightly. There is nothing else on his form. His greenish skin has long been tanned by the sun to a darker shade then most of his kin. Blue eyes extends a strong hand and grasps the webbed feet, bringing the gull up with himself. An easy meal for an easy day. The crab has done its job, and can give him nothing more. Blue eyes approaches it deftly and clasps the main pincer before hoisting it back to the sea from whence it came. The carcass whisks through the air, nearly set upon by the flock overhead before splashing down into the gentle blue surf. Blue eyes stands still now, watching the other white birds swarm over one another. He picks up his stone, relishing its touch on his fingertips. He unfastens his pouch, placing the stone back in its familiar home.  A bow rests on his back, string tugging against his chest. He saves the arrows for bigger game. They break some times.

The wet sand absorbs his green footfalls as blue eyes makes his way down the shoreline. This is home but he is not the master of it. Things lurk in the jungle. The others lurk in the deep jungle and that is their domain. There he does not tread. The leaf man said the time has not come yet. Blue eyes stops thinking about the jungle and more about the bird in his left hand. He’s hungry. Some time passes, but it goes by quick for the young one. The days bleed into each other now, his passage of time is not like that of civilized creatures. There is only day and night. Numbers do not matter to him. Soon the sand ends and jagged rocks begin, standing before him slick with surf and the previous rains. The storm has not made things easy for him. With a quiet pride, the youth strings the gull to his belt with a single thong of leather. The wet feathers against his outer thigh do not disturb him. With practiced motions, blue eyes extends his arms and begins the careful climb. It is not too high. Maybe five hims. That is how he measures things. The rain has made things slick, and his hands grasp stronger than on previous occasions. In due time, blue eyes is atop the stones, grass beneath his feet and wind in his long and coarse hair. He’s started to sprout a beard now and think on strange things, but there is no one to guide him or tell him what to make of it. Not anymore. Up here on the rocks he is safe from the others. The bigger things that own the deeper jungle. They know his scent as well as he knows theirs. The trees up here are safe. He has seen to that. This is his grove. Blue eyes takes the gull from his belt and heads to his safe place. He brushes through, feeling the leaves touch his bare legs. It is a comforting greeting coming home. Inside he comes upon his shelter. His house. It’s smaller than the one before. But he cannot go back there. Only ash remains. The burners are gone. He has seen to that. The house is built of bamboo rods and thick leaves bigger than his body. He only goes here to sleep or escape the sun on the hot days, or too look at his special things. Some trophies decorate the area. The skull of a face peeler hangs over the doorway, bony fangs wet with the morning rains. Once it ruled the roost up here, but no longer. There are other trophies upon stakes in the ground, skulls of beautiful beasts that he has treasured and cleaned. They are his protectors now and watch the house for him while he is away.  The burner is among them too. His skull is not that of an animal but of a creature called man. The eye sockets are dark and hollow, and stare dreamily off into the jungle as if thinking on better things. Blue eyes remembers him. Once he had a shiny tooth, but blue eyes took that to keep with the other special things.

He’s tired of glaring at the vigils now. Instead he goes to the fire pit and lays the gull out. It will be a long time prepping this, but time is the only currency he has to spend. He does not know minutes or hours. Only night and day. Time passes and the bird is plucked and cleaned. The bad parts are thrown from the jagged cliffs to be washed into the sea below, and a fire has started.  The bird is spitted and the hunter waits patiently, watching the flesh seer to a dark color. Sometimes it is hard for him to look at fire. He remembers the first home and a pain appears in his chest. The scar. He always remembers the scar. But the man who gave it to him is a vigil now. A watcher that serves him. Still, as he watches the pink become dark he remembers her. She was beautiful and had eyes like his. Her feet were bare but white like clouds. She would walk beside him along the sands when his toes were little and his legs were short. She smiled and held him. But that was many nights ago. Too many for him to care. She’s gone, just like the gull, her spirit watched by the leaf man.

The flesh is cooked and his belly is groaning. It’s time to eat now. Eagerly he takes the foolish gull and pulls it slowly apart with his hands, relishing each bite. It is not a big meal, but it is an easy meal. As soon as his sharp teeth tear the flesh he forgets about the one called mother and lets his belly tell him how wonderful it is to eat again. The gull is done, nothing but bones and stringy tissue. These will be of use to him. He takes what is left in a greasy jumble in his green hands and lays it out in the open. The sun is highest in the sky now. A good time to rest.

Blue eyes lays down in the soft grass smiling, naked and full. His eyes lull over and soon he’s fast asleep, bathed in the warmth of midday. Darkness overtakes him and everything is black for a while. Then there is light. It reveals the thick leaves of the jungle, the trees twist and spring from nothing forming a Parthenon of greenery. A temple. A quiet place. He’s standing there in the place between places. The dream.  Things are silent in this jungle, not even a bird makes its call. There’s movement, and the silhouette of a horned figure appears amongst the columns of old growth trees. It looks at blue eyes, and out of nowhere and everywhere comes a voice, shapeless and yet full of form. It’s him. The voice sounds.

“Adwonus.”
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:50, Mon 23 Feb 2015.

The Chapel of Corpses

   I couldn't help but smile and hum a tune to myself as I worked out in the garden on such a lovely day. The sun was at its peak, and the younger children ran and played their games, while some found a soft patch of grass to lie on and point out what certain clouds looked like. Many of the younger ones look up to me as their sort of 'older brother' as I am the youngest of the clerics in this small, peaceful town. A few weeks ago, I would be considered a member of their childish ranks, but I just gave my oath and am now a fully fledged cleric, though I have yet to do any priestly duties... The town where our temple is located is very small, and nothing ever happens around here. That is, until the frantic knocking of the large front door shattered my sense of peace. I stood up from my hunched position over the flower garden and wiping the sweat from my brow with my sleeve, I could see a man almost collapse onto the stone temple floor, as some of the elder clerics aided him to a seat as another fetched some water for the weary man. Many of the children peeked in from the open door on the side of the building, myself included. Force of habit I suppose, I was still getting used to the fact that I was at the same rank of the men in the room. “Brother Jure!” One of the men shouted at me as he must have seen the glare off my recently shaven head. “Y-Yes brother?” I stammered embarrassingly as I popped out from my hiding place. I stood at attention as I waited to be scolded, I was the type of person who was unable to hide their feelings by facial expressions. They could tell I felt bad about eavesdropping and was horribly embarrassed. At the young age of 17, I was the youngest cleric to be appointed, I was never quite sure why, nothing about me was special. Very common look, I wasnt large, or stong, or very good with words like many of the other brothers. When it came to any sort of interaction, my intentions were always transparent, and I always wanted to to my best to help, even if I were too weak or lacked the proper words.  “Come here at once, this man has a message for all the clerics.” He boldly stated, and turned his attention to the weary man. As I made my way over, I couldn't help but notice the state of the man, clearly exhausted, full of fear, also the fact that he was a cleric from a distant village who wore a messenger badge on his shoulder.

    It took for what seemed to be hours for the man to finish drinking the water a fellow brother gave him, he must have been on the road for a while. “Something... There's... You have to...” He began, still clearly distraut, face pace and soaked in sweat. “Take deep breaths,” Father Baour said to him, “Just be calm, what do you need from us?” he continued in a soothing tone, placing an understanding hand on the mans shoulder. After a few deep breaths, he finally seemed to have exited the state of hyperventilation. Taking one more deep breath he looked up, eyes full of dread at the father. “There is something...” He began, not sure what to say, “Something... Strange happening, our people believe it to be of an evil nature.” Father Baour looked intently, and simply nodded to show his support and belief in the man, giving him time to collect his thoughts. “I am from the temple in the village of Erast, and as of late... Strange occurrences have been happening. Only when we were sure, they sent me, but we need to hurry!” Shouted the man, clearly overflowing with dread as his pale face drew ever closer to Father Barour, grabbing his collar and pulling him closer. “Slow down son, there is time, Erast is only a weeks travel away, please tell us what sort of occurrences you have seen.” Father Baour insisted as he rested his hands on the mans who grip loosed and hands fell, supported by the Fathers. “Well...” The messenger began, “It started with our animals, you know, like chickens and goats. We found them one morning all dead, couldn't tell why... But then during some nightly services, we heard strange sounds from outside the temple, first like a wolf or something, but then it began to sound as if there was tapping on the glass windows, or scratching along the walls. Sometimes we even noticed some person staring blindly out the window and simply walk outside, without saying a word... As if they were under some spell or something... Its been days, and they haven't come back.” The clerics all looked at each-other, as if to put together a puzzle with a few missing pieces. “The father is missing!” The messenger shouted at the clerics, startling them all, “Hes been missing for almost a month!” Suddenly beginning to chuckle, in a slight hysterical sort of way, “But me... I've seen him... Nobody believes me, but I see him some evenings, along the trees, looking over at me with his head turn a little...” The messenger tilted his head slightly sideways, as if to mimic the motion he was describing and began to laugh again, “Ive even seen him late at night, walking along the town only to enter a house, and simply leave a few moments later, followed by whoever it was he visited...” Father Baours calm face suddenly became more stern and serious. “These events,” he began, hand still resting on the mans shoulder as he sit in the pew, body shaking suppressed laughter, “Began with the disappearance of your head father... Answer me this...” He asked the man, who raised his shaking head and looked deep into the eyes of our seemingly worried father, “Do these things happen only at night?” The frightened man frantically nodded, holding a clutched fist up to his mouth, suppressing more insane laughter, sweat falling from his face and hair. “He... One night... I saw him rip the arm off a man, as easily as if it were made of straw.” He said as his laughter erupted and became more and more insane. Father Baour stood up. “Children!” He shouted to the children of the temple. The small clip clop of sandals on granite floor could be heard as the younger ones came to his call. “Give this man a meal and prepare a bed for him, he is weary from his travel and deserves a safe place to rest his head.” Then turning to the man he said, “Do not worry my son, everything will be okay, we can take care of this for you. Rest easy my friend.” The man began to laugh harder as he was lead away by the children who tug at his overcoat, “Safe?” He said, laughter sounding more like that of a madman as he was taken into the dining hall, “No place is safe! We're All going to die!” his ramblings continued as his voice traveled into the distance. The Father nodded at two of the clerics motioning for them to follow the man, whereas not to scare the children. The bowed and made haste to the frantic messengers location. I was confused as to why I wasn't asked to go, but there I stood, with Father Baour and five other of the older clerics. He then nodded to brother Joseph, who was always  intimidating to me as a child, due the large scar on the top of his head which gave his small rounded area of hair toward the back of his head followed by braided ponytail a silly looking hairline. He also had very muscular body almost as if bread for battle, like many of the stories I have heard of warriors. He was not born in the same land as made apparent by his darker skin, and more almond shaped eyes. He always had a bit of a scowl, I dont think he meant it, some people are just cursed with a resting face that looks angry, he was a good man who worked very hard keeping things running around the temple. Father Baour gave a simple nod to brother Gabriel as well, who hardly ever spoke and was often sent out of the church on tasks nobody was informed about. Gabriel was a very average sized man with fair, soft looking light colored hair that was slightly long, able to cover his eyes when not properly kept. He rarely removed his hands from the sleeves of his coat, in fact the only time I ever saw his hands was when I was reaching for a sack of flour in the pantry on the top shelf and the shelf I had climbed upon broke beneath my feet. I didnt even know he was there, I simply opened my eyes after the tumble to see my head caught by his boot, inches from the ground, broken shelf held up in one hand, and sack of flour in the other. It was a feat that amazes me to this day, and he simply shook his head as a sign 'not to worry about it.' The two men bowed in acceptance and swiftly made way to their rooms, and then the Father turned his attention to me. “Prepare a torch, medical supplies, as well as one of these" he said, making a motion for me to turn around. There stood brother Gabriel, with a short, thick, polished sword.

    “Im sorry, what?” I said with a blank face. Father Baour turned to face the door and slowly walked toward it. “I realize you have never held a weapon my son,” He said as he continued to the open doorway and stood looking to the sky, “And I pray you never have to use it.” He said turning to face me. I simply stood there, completely lost as to what was going on around me. “I-Im sorry father, Im very confused... What is happening?” I questioned as a bag was placed on my back. Im assuming it was either Brothers Gabriel or Joseph, I was simply to confused to care at that point really. “Im afraid the temple of Erast may be in danger, simply as a precaution, I would like the three of you to check in on them." I stood between the two imposing clerics only able to raise an eyebrow. “Woah, now father,” I said as I stepped forward to him, “If something is dangerous why not take Michael? Or even Zealo? Surely they are more prepared for something like this than I am, I've never even blessed a newly married couple yet” I stated nervously. “That is exactly why you are going” Said the father, causing my hands to drop and confusion flood my mind. “You are going with two of the most experienced clerics this temple has to offer. Worry not, they will protect you. Perhaps you will learn something about yourself along the path as well. You have more potential than you realize, my son.” Brother Joseph hastened to the doorway, long black braided ponytail bouncing behind him, looking up to the sky and fully packed for our quick journey to the town. “We dont have long, we wont beat sundown. We need to get there with the least amount of moons possible” he stated to the father, stone-faced and slightly worried. “Go now,” Father Baour demanded, “Those people may be in grave danger, and I worry what may happen if they are left unprotected. Quickly, prepare the horses.” As those words were spoken, brother Joseph began to jog down the road toward the barn where the horses were kept. Suddenly I felt my backpack get slightly heavier as I turned to see the handle of a sword now sticking out as brother Gabriel tightened the straps and gave me a smile, followed by a pat on the back, as he too began his jog down the road. This was too much for me to take in, I stood frozen, slowly turning to the father. I had so many questions, so many excuses to not go, but before I had a chance, he spoke. “The reason our temple was called upon in a time of danger is because of our members.” He told me as he walked up to me, something in his hand. “Those are two of the strongest, bravest and most fierce members we have, you'll be okay. This is a learning experience for you.” He held out his hand. In it lie a very elaborate cross, made of sold silver, and a bright gem in the middle. All I could do is look up at him, mouth agape. “Go now, before they leave you alone in the darkness of the night that claws upon us.” There was no arguing with him about this, his decision was made, and I began to quickly back-step out the door. “Do me a favor?” I asked quickly before I turned around to catch up to my brothers. “Pray for me!” I shouted as I broke out in an all out sprint to catch up, I had a fear of the dark sense I was a child, and I quickly rushed to the comfort of my two brothers and friends. “I will my son...” Father Baour said under his breath, head down in prayer, “I pray for the safety of you all...” The suddenly weary Father turned an sat in the pew, looking outward though the open doors. The remaining brother, who had no specific tasks to perform at this moment, walked up to the father confused, “Why did you sent that young one?” He asked, almost at a point of anger, “You know what this is, he has no experience, I doubt he even knows what it is that he may find there!” “Faith” The father clearly stated without turning to face the concerned cleric, who was caught off guard, anger turning to confused interest. “I've had visions of this youth ever sense he was a child. He will be fine.” Father Baour added, turning his face, with a smile to the brother behind him, “This is his life's purpose.”

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    The leaves of the bush rustled as brother Joseph moved branches aside so we could see the small village church. It was a small building, nothing as exquisite as our temple, but the small town did its best and converted a barn into a temple many years ago, and its structure looked near the same, except with the addition of a new floor and cross atop the building. The sun had just set by time we made it to the town, not a soul in sight as we quickly made our way to the temple on the far side of town. Which made me feel slightly disappointed and afraid... I had made small iced cakes to hand out to the people of the town, but not once have I ever seen an entire town completely barren... “No lights inside” He said to us, not turning his head as he stared intently at the small building in the distance. At that moment, he pulled back the sides of his long tan cloak revealing two large blades, which had a handle and a curved blade that followed the underside of his forearm shaped much like a letter 'f', the curve on the top being a cover for the knuckles and the handle placed rightly so. I had never seen anything like it before in all my years. He grabbed the handle of one and made a motion to brother Gabriel, who sat behind me, still not saying a word. He nodded in response and took me a few steps back away from brother Joseph. “Light your torch and hold your weapon.” He clearly stated to me. I had never really pictured his voice sounding quite like that... Deep and authoritative, almost intimidating in tone alone. I always imagined it a bit more feminine and maybe a little mo- “Now” he said in a harsh voice. “Right sorry,” I said as nervously and clumsily struck the flint to light the torch as the illumination from the flame brightened up the area. I noticed that beneath brother Gabriel's cloak he had a long, coiled up whip with a bright silver blade at the end. He quickly reached down and grabbed the handle of the stubby sword and shoved it in my free hand. “Stand between us so we can see everything and make sure you are not left alone.” Brother Joseph said in an authoritative tone as he drew his weapons and stood up slightly hunched over and began walking toward the building. Sweat began to bead down my forehead. “Why do we all have weapons, what is going on?” I asked timidly. “Could be nothing” Gabriel said, uncoiling his whip giving me a gentle nudge to follow Joseph, “But could also be a vampire. Aim for the head or the heart” he continued, just as blankly as the first half of his sentence, no fear in his voice. I did as I was told and followed Joseph, Gabriel close behind, until it finally stuck me what he had said making me stop in my tracks, stand straight up like a dummy staring into the distance with a raised eyebrow,

“Wait I'm sorry, what?”


    Our small party of three began our way to the small building. Nighttime had completely fallen upon us . Our footsteps made a subtle crunching sound as we made way up the dirt road, Gabriel behind me, Joseph in front. They were both hunched down, listening intently and eyes seeming to pierce the darkness. Meanwhile, me in the middle with a torch, standing straight up, arms held close to my chest in a childish manor, quickly whipping around and looking at every small sound or motion in the trees. I was out of my element. I'm a cleric, not a hunter, I thought to myself as Joseph made his way to the large wooden doors. “Light,” He ordered as I promptly skipped up behind him and gave him the light to see the door. What I saw, I will never forget. “W-...What is that?...” I said, confused and trembling as my mind ran wild. “Its blood, and thats a demonic relic symbol.” Gabriel dryly stated from behind. My eyes widened and I dropped the torch, causing me to quickly bend over to pick it up and frantically look into the darkness, fear completely overtaking me. The doors of the temple, which were very large in size, roughly fifteen to twenty feet in height, and a combined length of the same. I stepped back trembling and holding out the torch to get a better look. The light colored wood of the door was now stained with blood. It was a symbol that covered both doors, the ends were curved, much like a circle, but with a sharp turn equally on both sides, appearing to look like a letter 'M' only with the ends curved like a circle, and the pointed, lower section extending in length. As I looked closer, sweat soaking my cloak, I noticed it was applied recently as the blood was still wet and dripping, it was crudely applied. In some areas, you could see in fact that it was applied with a hand as fingers could be seen in some of the beginning and ending points. “Would you stop that please” Gabriel said, quickly and firmly grasping my wrist which held the torch. “There may be survivors, we need to make sure and then eliminate the damned creature” Joseph said in a hushed tone looking into the distance and sniffing at the air. At first it was to the side of the building, but as he sniffed, his nose led him to a gap in the door and he suddenly stopped. He turned to Gabriel with an intense glare, “We're far too late.” He stated. Suddenly I heard the whip of Gabriel from behind me uncurl and snap lightly on the ground as Joseph made a few quick hopping motions and swiftly with a powerful blow, kicked open the front doors which made a horribly loud bang as well as creaking of old wooden doors, and just as before, the silence was overwhelming, leaving me and the two warriors standing in the open doorway of an empty church. Suddenly the smell caught my nose and I quickly covered it with my elbow. “Good lord...” I said, voice quivering, “What is that stench?” “Corpses” Gabriel stated with his usual enthusiasm, extending out a cloth bandana to me. “Whats this for?...” I asked as I slowly grabbed the cloth from his hand, and turning to Joseph as he had one of the same and began to tie it over his nose and mouth. “Helps with the smell. Plus you dont want any blood getting in your mouth” He added. At this point, I just went along with whatever they instructed me to do at this point. Bandanna snugly tied on my face, I lifted the torch to get a view of the room. Unfortunately for my cowardly eyes, the temple was not as empty as we anticipated as the newly lit chapel reviled blood, body parts, and all sorts of unholy sights. These poor souls... What could have possibly done this?...

    I stood in the open doorway simply taking in all of the horror of the massacre before me, where as the other two clerics braved the darkness with no trouble. There were bodies of men, women and children, body parts... Blood... Oh God have mercy on their souls I said to myself, bowing in prayer as sweat began to fall from my brow. Suddenly Gabriel appeared before me, bladed whip fully extended before and making a figure eight motion on the floor, body rocking side to side, and his fair, light colored hair was now a mess which covered his eyes. I stood frozen as I gazed at the man I once saw as a man of peace look like a monster before me. “...G...Gabe?... Buddy?... You okay?” I stumbled over my words as the lump in my throat proved to be quite the obstacle for them. He began to rock side to side faster and faster, making a larger sweeping motion with his whip which kept raising in speed, he lifted his head slightly and our eyes locked, his piercing though to my soul. I began to step backwards out of fear when the back end of my shoe hit something. At that moment, Joseph appeared beside Gabriel. Eyes fixed on me as well, with an expression of intensity and rage.

Hang on.

If they're both there... Then who... These words echoed in my mind as I felt the being behind me breath, causing its chest to bounce off of my back. I slowly began to turn my head. As I turned, I saw one of members of the temple standing behind me, looking down towards either my rear end, or his shoes. I made a sigh of relief, and took a step forward, using my thumb to point at the man behind me, “Hey look!” I shouted with a tone of excitement, “Its not all bad, look he seems okay!” “Look again...” Brother Joseph grumbled as he extended his hand and motioned for me to walk toward him. With a goofy grin still plastered on my face, I turned around to get a full view of the man, who's front was made to look like a silhouette due to the bright moonlight behind him. I raised up my torch to see the husk of what used to be a man, and out of fear I dropped my torch on the ground. The man had no left arm, his skin was pale as the moon that glistened behind him, and as he raised his head, his eyes glowed a slight orange color as he began to breath heavily, sounding like a large dog or wolf.


Suddenly he let out a loud screeching, ungodly sound and began to sprint toward me. I stumbled backwards and tripped over what was probably the man – or I should say creatures dismembered arm. As I hit the ground I could only look up in horror as the creature began its full wild sprint toward me. Suddenly, I saw a shimmer of silver shine above my head. With a harsh snapping sound, suddenly the creatures leg was taken off, causing it to stumble and fall to the ground before me, arm still reaching. Again I heard a harsh snap as something was plunged into to feral things forehead, causing it to go silent for a moment, but still moving. I followed the of the mysterious object back to its wielder, Gabriel. He had used his whip to sever the creatures leg off, and somehow threw the small blade straight into the things head. But as I saw Gabriel, I noticed that Joseph was no longer there. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw tan cloth. Joseph had lept into the air above the monster and directing his curved blade that followed along his forearm, came down with a sickening chop, severing the creatures head from its miserable body. Gabriel quickly flicked his whip, removing the blade returning it to his hand. As Joseph stood up after his most violent feat, I stammered. “Okay what the hell, I'm sorry!” I shouted, apologizing to the lord after I cursed, “Was that damn, I'm sorry! Thing?!” Gabriel helped me stagger to my feet. “A thrall,” Joseph stated plainly, “A thrall was once a human, but after being hypnotized by a vampire, or fed off slightly without killing him, becomes a puppet to the master. We do in fact have a vampire problem” “They dont stop at one either.” Stated Gabriel from behind me. My eyes were as wide as they could humanly be and began to adjust to the darkness of the room, as I peered into the darkness of the chapel, I noticed forms begin to rise from the ground and orange piercing eyes looking toward me. I let out a small peep and simply pointed into the darkness, stepping backward, away from those creatures, those Thralls.

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    With shaking hands, I dropped my short, stubby weapon and fell to my knees and began doing what a cleric does best. I began to pray. I knelled with my head down and eyes closed, sweat cascading down my bald head. As I began to pray for the lords protection, asking him to keep the beings away from me and my friends, I heard the whistle of metal cutting though the air as well as the snap of a whip and sickening chops and thumps of what I can only assume would be body parts falling to the ground as my two brothers attacked the creatures, trying to free them from their cursed bodies. I clutched the Fathers silver cross tightly as I peeked as to the events unfolding before me. It was strange, seeing these two men I grew up with leaping around and attacking so many enemies without being touched, it was almost as if they had been though this before. Very few creatures remained, and I had noticed that the torch I had dropped was now fully extinguished. It was as if sound couldn't reach my ears for a moment. I sat in thought, why could that go out? It was soaked in oil and wrapped with multiple layers of cloth... the only way it could go out is if someone put it out. Suddenly I felt my hand being opened by another. I looked down to see a hand using its index finger and thumb to delicately pick up the cross in my hand. I looked up to see the Father of this temple who had gone missing months before. I felt relieved and let out a sigh, as well as a smile as I looked up at him. He looked down at me and smiled as well, but with one unpleasant addition; his smile was inhumanly large, extending from ear to ear, each tooth now appearing as long sharpened fangs. Cross in between his fingers, he averted his gaze to the holy symbol, exhaled quickly with a smirk and flicked the object through a nearby window, with amazing strength, just within those two fingers. The shattering glass brought the attention of my to companions as they looked over to see me kneeling on the floor, with a demonic father above me, showing his teeth in malicious laughter. Joseph stood in shock and stared at the two of us, while Gabriel quickly dispatched the remaining undead puppets.

     “Good evening my sons,” the frightening father stated, as his attention was drawn to the other two more warrior like clerics apart from the two of us. “Can I help you with something?” he playfully asked as his eyes flashed a sudden crimson red color. I sat frozen, looking up at the man as my companions walked closer to us. I lowered my head and began to crawl away, only to have sharp claws from the hand above me firmly clutch my shoulder, digging into my flesh causing me to cry out in pain. It was obvious, I was his leverage in this situation. “It was you.” Gabriel said walking to the far right of him, along the wall, causing the father to quickly, almost with inhuman speed turn his gaze to him, it looked like a blur it was so fast. He stood hunched over like some sort of animal, and smiled still flashing his fangs, as if he thought this was all some sort of game. It was clear that he was out of his mind with power. “The animals, the missing members. You sold your soul for the promise of eternal life.” He boldly stated, extending his whip and beginning to twirl it about on the ground, preparing to strike. The priest raised his head in a deep, cackling laughter. Even the sound of that send shivers throughout my soul. This man was no longer himself, he was a monster. “I suppose it was a bit drastic,” He said quickly and insanely stopping his laughter and switching to a more serious tone, keeping his tight grip on my shoulder. I could feel blood begin to drip from the wound. “I was very ill, had months to live probably. But now,” He added, hellish smile relieving itself yet again as he extended his hand, examining it and then quickly clutching it into a fist, turning to Gabriel with his head at a cocked angel. “I have all the time in the world.” Gabriel walked ever closer, still hugging the wall, “You forsake the Lord, You forsake the cloth, you even forsook your own people.” He said, this time with a tone of anger. This was the first time in my life, I had ever seen a spark of emotion in the man. “You will have no more time on this earth. This is the last moon you will see.” He clearly and boldly stated as the motions of his whip raised in speed. Suddenly and with no warning, the claws that had burrowed their way almost down to the bone had raised me from the ground almost effortlessly by the father, causing me to scream out in pain yet again. “Oh come now, you dont want you little brother here to join me in that now do you?” As he spoke, he raised his other had toward my throat, touching one of his sinister claws on it and pressing lightly, but still causing blood to begin to drip. I was beside myself, sweating, in tears, I didnt know what to do. “Do you think you're faster than me?” Gabriel confidently asked the priest, causing his smile to curl downward in confusion. “Try it” He said again, bending and the knees and snapping his whip as it swiftly moved along the ground, blade cutting at the ground at a frightening speed. The creature laughed, “Of course im faster than you boy,” saying as he slowly dragged his talon along my throat, beginning to cut it. My eyes widened and I looked in fear, begging for help with my eyes at Gabriel who looked almost like a monster himself. Gabriel smiled. “Probably,” he said, “But are you faster than him?” The creature stopped its claws movement along my neck as he tried to figure out what he meant, just then, a flash of silver severed the hand that had me suspended and separated it from it wretched master, causing me to fall to the floor, as I fell, it was as if things moved in slow motion, I saw Joseph as he dove from the darkness behind the creature, freeing me as well as its arm, and roll along the floor and leap one more time, blades extended toward the creatures chest.

     I hit the ground, causing severed arm to unlock its grasp on my shoulder and my eyes to shut instinctively upon impact, as I opened my eyes again, I saw Joseph frantically swinging both blades, unable to hit the creature who moved at a bewildering speed. It was as if each time you blinked he was in a different location. Suddenly a snap was heard and blood splattered along the far wall. Gabriel had seized his moment and sliced along the creatures cheek, causing him to stop moving and stare directly at the bladed whip wielding cleric. This was a stare of malice, and pure hatred. This moment of still gave Joseph the opening he was looking for, or so he thought. As he dove for the creatures chest yet again, a blinding movement caused Joseph to be thrown into a distant pew, weapons imbedded into the wall beside him, I looked over quickly, to see if he was alright, but when I looked over toward him, he was not alone. The vampire had already moved next to him and grabbed the top of his head, picking him up with his remaining arm before us as a display. Blood began to drip from where the claws had pierced his head. Joseph gritted his teeth and tried to clutch his hands into fists, but the blow from the creature had broken his hands. Suddenly one eye opened and looked at me. “Dont... Loo-” His words were cut short as the vampire quickly and almost effortlessly squeezed Josephs head, causing it to burst and blood splatter all along the area. I simply sat there, mind blank and eyes beginning to blur as Josephs body fell to the floor and collapsed into a heap at the feet of the creature who licked at his hand which was covered with my friends blood, now looking at me. His gaze was like nothing I had ever felt before, I knew I was about to die, just as I gave up all hope, a foot firmly placed itself before me. I followed the familiar boots up to Gabriel, who stood, bravely beginning to twirl his whip again. His cloak was removed, allowing me to finally see more of his body. His arms were wrapped in scars, and it seemed as if this continued on to his back. Perhaps he wore his cloak so often afraid of what others would think... His movements with the weapon this time changed, with blinding speed, cracking down on the creatures cheek, causing it to wince and move at ungodly speed again. This had no effect on Gabriel, who snapped his whip, tearing flesh and cloth from the evil father. I saw something drip before me from my protectors face. He was crying, he was enraged, each snap of the whip and tear of the blade inflicting more and more damage to the creature. It was obvious how much this meant to him now. The snaps and cracks raised in intensity and volume as I sat with my eyes closed. Suddenly there was silence. I opened my eyes to see the creature had grabbed the end of the whip, and showing his damned teeth again, pulled quickly, causing Gabriel to be thrown though the window behind the wreathed thing. The silence was deafening as the two of us locked eyes yet again, the crimson red of his eyes, only looked more and more like jewels from hell with the deep gashes along his body and clothes giving him a much more frightening look. “Now I have to” He gurgled. “With the blood of the living, it grants me their life. Your blood will heal my wounds and allow me to live, cleric.” He stated, harshly stomping at the ground as he quickly made his way to me. I clawed at the ground behind me, trying to drag myself outside without breaking eye contact when I bumped into something again. This time I knew better than to look up. “Ah dammit” I said in exhaustion as look of disappointment covered my face. Speaking of faces, as soon as that curse escaped my lips, a harsh slap struck my cheek. “Watch your tongue.” a voice said from above me. I looked up to see a man, dressed in a long black coat, miscellaneous buckles and pieces of metal shining from the moonlight behind him. His long white hair flowed over most of his face and over his shoulders. “Clerics don't curse” he added with a smile, that matched that of the fathers in its ungodly, fanged appearance as his eyes flashed a deep, blood red. Oh great, there's two now.


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     A demonic creature before me, and another who just appeared behind me. One of my brothers is dead, and the other is... I dont know what happened to him. I simply sat on the blood stained wood floor as my head drooped to the ground, simply overwhelmed with the circumstances that were happening. “Get up” the voice from behind me said, voice cold, eerie, and much deeper than I assumed. My head raised, as well as my eyebrow as I slowly gazed at the large man behind me, red eyes filling me with dread. Without saying another word, he curled his lip, and gave a motion with his head and shoulders as if questioning if I understood him. Completely lost, I looked forward at the evil father, whos eyes no longer were fixated at me, instead, he was locked with the stranger behind me, and though it was dark, I noticed that his regular playful evil expression turned to that of worry, and fear. I seized the moment and scurried to my feet, clutching my shoulder and stood in front of the stranger. I still didnt know if he was going to tear me apart and share me with the father, or simply eat me himself. As my mind ran frantically trying to make sense, his large hand began to slowly extend from his black coat, his hand covered in an elaborate polished metal gauntlet, finger tips pointed into claws. My eyes widened with dread as he moved his hand toward me, and out of fear and instinct, in quickly shut my eyes. Much to my surprise, the hand that I thought would end up violently crushing my head as easily as a tomato carefully set his hand on my good shoulder, and guided me to his side, and slightly behind him. My eyes opened as I now stood behind the second creature. Unable to speak, I began to stutter I stumbled with my own thoughts. “Its alright young man,” the white haired demon said to me “you are safe now.” Reaching into a small pouch somewhere on his person, he extended his closed hand toward me, eyes still locked with the frightened feral father. I held open my hands beneath the large metal gloves, and as it opened, the small silver cross Father Baour had given me before I left dropped into my hands. Before I could question it, the creature inside the darkness of the decrepit chapel screeched, “You are unwelcome in this structure!” He frantically shouted at the white haired man, who stood just outside the doorway. “What is the dog of the church doing here anyway?" I saw his head quickly bob up and down in a small chuckle. “You disgust me. You dare call yourself a vampire. You lost power over this structure the moment you forsook the cloth, priest.” The white haired man began to walk toward the father, leaving me standing outside. I saw a glisten of sweat begin to form on his wounded face. Taking a step back in fear, the father averted his gaze once again to me, a smile crept along his face. The stranger noticed. The wicked father bolted toward me once again showing off his inhuman abilities, it would take a  normal human at least thirty to forty seconds to reach me where I was, but due to his vampirism, it would only take him seconds. Oh yeah, this is going to hurt I thought to myself as I blankly stared at the blur of the creature to lunged at me. Suddenly, mere feet from my face, the metal gauntlet was seen again, this time grasping the creature by the face, stopping him mid stride causing his legs to continue moving, swinging up toward me as the stranger quickly plunged his hand which clutched the head of the creature into the ground with a crash, breaking the wooden floor under its immense power.

     As the impact from this powerful smashing attack caused the ground to break, I was bounced up into the air slightly. It was clear to me now, this stranger, this... other vampire was here to help me. He protected me just now. As my shoes clopped back to the floor, I noticed now weak I was as I fell to the ground, rolling down the dirt path me and my brothers walked up only a small while ago. I shook my head and looked up into the darkness of the open doors. I saw the two creatures locked in combat that was almost too fast for me to keep up with, it was clear that this new white haired stranger was far stronger, and the father was aware of this. His movements became purely defensive, as he must have thought of possible actions. Suddenly they both vanished deeper into the chapel. I heard the splintering of wood and shattering of glass as well as the the occasional thump and crash of a body being thrown to the floor or against the wall. I saw two piercing red glowing sets of eyes darting this way and that in the darkness. Suddenly I heard he sound of impalement, as if someone was stabbed and a loud thud echoed in the darkness. One set of eyes remained and turned to face me, walking out to join me. I smiled, this white haired man was a God-send, it was the most amazing thing I had ever been able to witness. As I rose to my feet, I locked eyes with the owner of the glowing eyes, and my mouth dropped; it was the father, limping toward me. “That... Bastard...” he began as he stumbled toward me, leaving me frozen in fear, “They sent a tough one... Those Temple Dogs... The Gods Devil..” Spitting blood to the side of him, he walked ever closer to me. I stepped back, and the father shook his head, “Dont even bother running, you'll just die tired.” Suddenly, he was behind me, and grabbed me by my cloak, leaving my feet to dangle as I felt his breath on my neck. I heard an excited breath as he opened his mouth behind me, I turned my head to see his mouth wide open, jaw opening far wider than any human would be able to do, causing him to look much more like that of a snake than a man. As his fangs grew ever closer to my neck I closed my eyes in prayer, and braced for death. A deep guttural laugh could be heard from the darkness of the chapel, causing the father to close his mouth sightly and look in shock as the white haired stranger walked toward us, broken wood stuck in his chest. “You missed,” he proclaimed with a smile as he pulled out the long piece of shattered wood from his chest, throwing it into the woods beside us. He pulled it out as easily as if he were removing a sock, or something of the sort, it was as if he felt no pain. I could feel the creature that now held me tense up in shock. “Drop the boy and accept your fate. The High Temple has allowed me the power of jury, judge, and executioner.” He raised his head, white wavy hair messily covering most of his face, save for one piercing, red eye and unholy fanged smile. Dear lord, what are these things? My thoughts were halted as a quick toss in the air followed by a firm gasp on my throat left me unable to breathe. I began to sputter and grabbed the hand had griped my throat. “This has nothing to do with you, let me leave and you can have the boy” proclaimed the father, voice full of dread and worry, as he battered once again for an extend life. The white haired man did not slow his walk, nor acknowledge the creatures request. Suddenly the grip tightened, almost collapsing my windpipe causing a strange sputter and cough sound to burst from my mouth. “I'll kill him!” Shouted the father as he took a step back beginning to shake with fear, “I'll take his head clean off!” The white haired man stopped a short distance from us, gazing downward slightly so the glow of his eyes were no longer visible. “Is your soul prepared?” he asked. The father snorted in a cocky way, “What are you talking ab-” “Not you asshole, the boy” he said, interrupting the father, I opened my eyes to see him look at me. I knew what he meant, there was no way to get to the creature without ending my life. I gathered my courage and looked at the man, a gave a simple nod. He vanished, and I felt my body be pierced.

     After my nod, the stranger burst forward at blinding speed, spearing clawed metal hand through my stomach, and though the chest of the one who held me captive. Blood was coughed over my shoulder by the creature who held me as his grip loosened and suddenly, the arm which had impaled us both was removed, causing me to collapse to the ground, look up at the father, I saw the white haired man holding him up by his throat in front of the full moon, I couldnt see colors, they seemed to be shadows or silhouettes. “Your time has come,” the white haired vampire stated boldly as a demonic smile creeped along his face, “And I am The Reaper.” In one swift moment, the vampire used his second hand and grabbed the upper jaw of the beast, and pulling almost effortlessly, tore the top of the forsaken fathers head off, and throwing it back into the dead church removing him from this world as his body dangled in the clutches of white hair, it became like ash, and blew away in the slight breeze, leaving him simply looking at his now empty hand. The creature stood for a moment, and turned his attention to me. “I am sorry I had to do that my friend,” he said turning and beginning to kneel beside me “The only way to the creatures heart was though you. We dont have much time left to speak im afraid. Can you still feel?” he asked. I felt myself beginning to fade, but the searing pain in my stomach was still very, very real. I nodded, as I had a hard time speaking. He smiled, “Good. Pain is your friend, pain is your ally. Pain tells you when something has gone wrong. But do you know what the best thing about pain is? It tells you that you're not dead yet.” He looked back to the church and continued, “Those creatures you saw as you entered, those thralls. They were drained of blood without consent, dying in fear as the vampiric curse consumed their body, causing them to be much like mindless puppets to the master who created them.” he explained to me. I made a face, as if to question why he was telling me this. “Blood offered however,” he continued as he brushed his hair aside, “Does something very different. If you offer your blood freely to a vampire, you become one yourself. A gift or a curse, it all depends upon those who receive it.” I understood what he was asking of me. “Do you wish to die tonight, or do you wish to continue your work for your Lord and protect those who fear what bumps in the night?” I sat for a moment looking at the moon. I saw what happened to my brothers, the two strongest, and bravest men I had ever known, and even they were powerless against this creature. I couldn't allow this to happen to others, I wish to protect those from creatures of the night. I was nothing special, just a young cleric to afraid to fight and defend his brothers; his friends. I looked at the white haired man who was now inches from my face, smiling crazily. “You wish to protect do you?” he said, it was as if he read my mind, “I can give you that power, do you give yourself to the night to receive this?” I looked at him, gave a slight nod. With my acceptance, the creature looked at me simply said, “They call me Erutrec. My true name is lost to time. What is your name.” “J-Jure” I stated bravely, choking on blood and death. “No longer shall you feel pain young Jure, You will be a weapon unlike any other but now I'm afraid, you must die.” Suddenly he raised his head, looking up to the moon and began to open his mouth, much like the priest, his mouth opened wider, and wider, it was frightening. His sharp fangs glistened in the moonlight, and suddenly, swiftly, they bore deeply into my neck. It hurt sharply at first, but after a moment or two, I began to feel warm, and my consciousness faded, and I faded into nothingness.

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    I sat up swiftly in my bed at the temple, breathing in deeply and soaked in sweat I looked around my room and covered my face in disbelief. It was a dream... everything is fine. A small chuckle was heard from my armchair across the room, “You wish,” said the voice. I raised my head to see Erutrec sitting in the armchair in the far side of my room my room sideways, one leg over the armrest while the other went down the center. He sat with head down and arms crossed, white hair draping over his face. I felt my neck, which was bandaged. It was real, I was bitten by a vampire... “No worries, your fellow brother Gabriel is alright, I collected him after our arrangement and brought you both back here. He is being healed as we speak.” I looked out the window, it was night time again. “How long have I been asleep?” I asked, still looking outside. “Two days,” I got in response, "And dead is a more accurate representation of what you were for these past few days by the way." my cloak was tossed at me which I somehow managed to catch without even thinking. I looked at the cloth in my hand and then looked up the the white haired vampire known as Erutrec who now stood in front of my doorway, arms still crossed. “Come my friend, the night is young,” he stated with a flashing red gaze and demonicly fanged smile, “There is much I have to teach you.”
This message was last edited by the player at 15:34, Sun 01 Mar 2015.

Smoke swirled around his face. Holding the tip of the pipe to his lips, he inhaled deeply and exhaled out the nose. Two billows of smoke blew out his nostrils like an angry dragon. Ming Lo lowered the pipe and let it rest on his lap while he lounged back in the tavern chair. "So what are we going to do now?" he said, feeling at ease again. His companions were mostly silent, for they'd just heard the news. Ming Plus, his older brother, paced by the windows in contemplation. Ming Lo continued speaking, "Our boss is dead. I mean, what are we supposed to do now?"

Mink drank from a mug of ale and droplets trickled down his beard. People often mistook him for a dwarf due to his thick black beard. Always, they were surprised to learn he was a halfling. It was rare enough to see a halfling for they almost never travelled far from their villages, but to see one who could grow a beard (and let it do so) was unheard of. Among other halfings, Mink would have been scoffed at for having facial hair, but the past few years had been spent entirely in the company of humans. And Mink grew annoyed with constantly being mistaken for a child.

"We could go back home, to Shan-tai," Mink proposed. "It's been a long time since I've seen the jungles and rice fields and green mountains. We came to Herrod in search of riches and glory. Well, with the boss Larlben gone, there's not much chance of that happening any time soon. We're practically back where we started, penniless and clueless. So why not go home?" Mink finished the rest of his drink and was already looking around for the barmaid, seeking a refill. And most of his companions intended on doing the same, now that their fortunes had vanished once again.

Ming Lo passed the pipe to Takki who set down his mug. Takki was older than the others by far; most of his hair had already turned gray and left only a few streaks of black, visages of a strong youth. He puffed the pipe, releasing small clouds to drift across the table. "Perhaps," Takki agreed, giving the pipe back to Ming Lo. "I haven't seen Shan-tai for far longer – decades now. But there's not much back there for a man save a small rice farm and a modest wife, if that's what you want. I think there's more in store for us in the Isles. We could travel to Terrignis Mare, where a man is measured by his sword alone?" Mink nodded his head, considering the idea.

"We shouldn't go anywhere yet," Ming Plus interrupted as he returned to the table. "Not until we pay our respects to Larlben's widow first. It's the least we can do for her." Ming Plus sat back in his seat with the others. The barmaid had refilled his mug while he was away. He was thankful for that. After taking a swig, he continued, "The Larlben's have paid and fed us since we arrived in Herrod. We at least owe the family a visit."

"Not really," Mink contested. The others looked at him. "Sure they paid and fed us, but we worked for it. We pulled our weight, risked our necks on a few raids – we earned what we got. It's just a shame Larlben had to slip up and get killed, or we would've gotten some real riches and glory when he gained the Lordship. Would've made a good Lord for this awful city too if you ask me. Pirates, civil wars, and politicians all trying to stab each other in the back - good riddance to this place I say!" Mink shrugged and let his hands fall on his lap. "Let's get on a ship to somewhere and leave this whole mess behind."

The others watched Ming Plus, who tended to make most of the decisions, the informal leader of the group. Ming Plus placed his hand on Mink's shoulder, "You know Mink, you're absolutely right." Mink started to shake his head already expecting disagreement, but suddenly looked at Ming Plus with a mixed expression of shock and skepticism. Ming Plus continued, "This is a dangerous city, and we definitely had to work to survive. And I think you're right that we should take a ship elsewhere as soon as possible." Nodding, Mink looked pleased that his suggestion was being taken seriously. "After we visit Larlben's widow anyway. Cause frankly, you're all forgetting something"

Mink groaned and looked away, "And what are we forgetting exactly?"

Ming Plus smiled and said, "Well first, you're forgetting good manners, the proper way to depart from friends. Don't forget the customs of our people. And second. . ." He glanced around the table as they waited for him to make his point. "We haven't picked up our last paycheck!"


"Sonfred, it's good to see you again." Dressed in a black suit, Sonfred had walked out to meet them at the gates. The sun reflected off the steward's bald head which he always kept polished. Ming Plus walked through, followed by the others, and the gates slowly closed behind them. Once shut, private guardsmen of the Larlben family locked and bolted the gate from the inside. Ming Plus continued speaking, "We heard what happened from one of the outposts, and again from the town criers. We've come to pay our respects."

"Of course sirs. I'll escort you to the Madame," Sonfred replied, his voice stiff. As he led them down the main walkway to Larlben Manor, he further said, "In truth sirs, the Madame Larlben has forbidden most visitors at this time. But the Madame was persuaded to make an exception for you."

Ming Plus raised an eyebrow and briefly glanced at his companions. "Why not allow visitors?" he said to Sonfred.

Moving at an even pace ahead them, Sonfred responded, "Because the last time we did, the Master was killed. . ." Even Mink kept silent in response. "Master Marcus is home as well. It was he who persuaded the Madame. They'll want to speak with you." The group looked at each other inquisitively, curious as to the reason, but they didn't speak of it as they continued toward the estate. Verdant gardens grew on both sides of the walkway, flowers of different colors shaped into patterns across the lawn. Trimmed trees dotted the borders. Larlben Manor itself was a palace compared to most homes in Herrod; three stories high, the beauty of the stonework and the luxuriousness within were both well known. But both the house and its gardens were hidden from the city, for the estate was enclosed within tall, guarded walls that the Larlbens had paid to be built themselves. Despite this, death still found Celus Larlben, the wealthiest businessman Herrod had ever known.

Entering through an ornate wooden door, the group stepped into the main hall of the manor, and Sonfred led them further through a far door and into a small room. Two couches faced each other in the center, separated by a large fire place and a low polished table. The room had been styled as a lounge. Already a tray of tea and snacks were on the table. And sitting on a couch were two people: Larlben's widow, Elizabeth, and his only child, Marcus. Their conversation with each other ceased as Sonfred and the others entered the room. Sonfred announced them, "Madame Larlben, Master Marcus – the Shan-tai adventurers are here. They say they wish to pay their respects."

Elizabeth Larlben sipped her tea and said, "Please sit." Although Madame Larlben was now aged into her forties, she still bore a strong semblance of beauty. Auburn hair would nearly touch her waist if it fell straight, but they naturally curled and so seemed shorter than it was. Wearing a lavender dress, she sat with her son. Marcus looked incredibly like his father. He had dense dark brown hair, and he even styled his short beard the same way his father had. The only differences were that Marcus grew his hair to shoulder length and his eyes were very different. He had his monther's eyes. He too drank some tea as Takki was the last to seat himself on a nearby chair. Ming Plus, Ming Lo, and Mink crowded on the couch across from the Larlbens and waited to be spoken to, as was polite.

"It's good to see you fellows again," Marcus spoke. His tone and words were polite and formal, but Marcus himself appeared grim. In several places his clothing was torn, and the rest was dirtied. He'd clearly been through an ordeal this day.

"And to you," Ming Plus promptly replied. "We'd heard of Celus' passing. We figured that marked the end of things, and we wanted to give our condolences before we moved on. Celus was a father to us all. And there's the matter of our last payment for the month-"

"Do you mean that?" Marcus calmly interrupted. Ming Plus fumbled his speech as he tried to discern what Marcus meant. Marcus solved it for him. "Do you mean that Celus was a father to you all, or are you just saying that?" Spoken calmly while taking another sip of tea, it seemed Marcus was leading up to a point.

Ming Plus looked at the others and saw a general nodding. He then met Marcus' eyes and said, "Yes of course. Your father had done quite a lot for us since we first got here. We've all been through much together."

Marcus replied, "I'm glad, because I'd like to hire you to do one last thing. You've heard that my father was mysteriously killed in the night and the unidentified culprit had escaped. Well that's changed. . . I know who did it." As he spoke, Madame Larlben's eyes hardened and she concentrated instensely on her tea, as though speaking would crack the dam to her fury. "I want to employ you one last time to avenge my father's death."

Looking to his companions, Ming Plus seemed at a loss. He knew what the group's answer was, but he didn't know how to say it politely. Ming Lo stepped in and casually answered, "I'm sorry Mr. Marcus but we were actually planning on leaving Herrod soon. I understand the need for vengeance, but it seems like an awful lot of work and risk for something not that important. I know it's an important personal vendetta for you, sure. For us and most people though, a vengeance kill won't accomplish anything, and pointless assassinations aren't really our style. When we fight, it's always for a real goal, and we don't usually consider personal justice a real goal."

Marcus considered the response for a moment and said, "I know it's not quite aligned with your philosophies, but you were my father's best men. You were always his first picks for the most difficult raids on Delcor's outposts or Steyus' government stashes. And our family needs you one last time. Do it to honor his name. More importantly perhaps, you'll be paid well – better than any quest you've undertaken before."

The promise of hefty payment caught the group's attention. Mink nudged Ming Lo in the side and grinned at him. After a moment of thinking, Ming Plus replied, "How much?" Marcus took out a bank note from his shirt, already prepared, and slid it across the table. The others leaned over to read it. Mink whistled.

Takki finished examining it and spoke, "That'd be enough for a ship of our own. We could do quite a lot with that." A ship fit enough to cross the Isles wasn't a cheap purchase, but the group knew what potential it could hold. They could travel to distant islands, make the lucrative trade run to Olseen, or even sail to Saari and walk the marble streets of the elves. Fantasies started to swell in their minds and take them to far away places.

Ming Lo chuckled and chimed in, "Well, I suppose that's a real goal after all. Eh Brother?" He glanced at Ming Plus.

Ming Plus looked at his companions who all nodded their consent. Ming Plus smirked and said to Marcus, "Ok, we're in. So who killed your father? Who are we putting in the grave?" Marcus was about to speak but was suddenly interrupted by his mother, Madame Larlben. She spoke the names on her lips as though they were poison.

"An elven woman named Pyrra. . . and Adwonus Swillman."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:18, Tue 10 Mar 2015.

by Ryan Persha

Plumes of smoke rose in the distance. Higher in the sky, they separated into thin wisps and were carried away by the wind. Aside from the charcoal streaks, the skies over Herrod were a crisp blue as though the sea itself stretched beyond the horizon. Herrod was known to be a great city, one of the largest in the Isles. But today, it looked- “It looked like there was a battle over there. What’s going on in this city?” Hendemir asked, watching the dark clouds. “Who gives a fuck.”

Nerkyl didn’t even glance at Hendemir when he responded. “Cities burn. It’s what they do. Now help Daedrok with the chest,” Nerkyl said in his harsh goblin voice. Hendemir turned his back on the smoking cityscape and walked across the deck of the ship. Approaching the chest, he pushed a strand of golden brown hair behind his long ears, the ears of an elf, and positioned himself across from Daedrok. “I’d heard some of the sailors talking about a rebellion and factions fighting each other. Pirates too, or something like that.” “Nothing we have to care about," Nerkyl repeated. "And certainly nothing we can’t handle. Just focus on what you’re doing. We didn’t fight our way through that wretched ruin and drag this thing across the Tigryn Sea for nothing.”

Daedrok didn’t say a word. This surprised no one, for he rarely spoke. To Hendemir, the most astounding fact about Daedrok was that he’d never seen his face. For all the months Hendemir had traveled with them, not once had he witnessed Daedrok remove his armor for any reason. He’d often wondered how the warrior slept, or ate, or shit. After a while, he realized that Daedrok did none of these things. Hendemir knew better than to ask how or why.

Wearing charcoal-colored platemail and a horned greathelm, Daedrok seemed to move unimpeded by the armor. Dark stains patterned the metal. Hendemir grabbed a handle on one side of the chest and lifted while Daedrok did the same; unlike the Hendemir, Daedrok showed no sign of strain from the weight. They carried it to the gangplank and off the ship while Nerkyl walked ahead of them.

For an instant, Hendemir felt bitter that Nerkyl did so little physical labor, but he couldn’t blame him. As short as a child, the goblin was incredibly old with many thin wrinkles over his green face. If Hendemir remembered right, Nerkyl had mentioned that he was the oldest goblin alive. Whether that was true or not, he couldn’t be sure, but Nerkyl was certainly the most elderly he’d seen. Of course Hendemir was far older, by virtue of being an elf. Most goblins die by their 25th year while it’s not uncommon for an elf to see his 500th. But experience was different matter, and Nerkyl exceeded Hendemir on this account.

Nerkyl leaned on his staff as he walked down the pier and the others followed, hulling the chest between them. “When Daedrok and I reached that port in Kabariya, we were expecting Veloth to meet us. But no - he sends his cousin!” Nerkyl spat. Hendemir narrowed his eyes. “Well here I am. Prince Veloth is busy, so he sent me.” Nerkyl chuckled. A goblin’s chuckle sounded like falling gravel to Hendemir. “I didn’t say that because I dislike you. But where we’re going, well, you may very well die.” Hendemir hesitated to respond, uncertain what to make of that statement. “I can handle myself,” he finally said. “You think one of these humans could kill me?” Nerkyl looked back at him with a dark smile. “Nobody said anything about humans.”

Hendemir waited for Nerkyl to elaborate. When he didn’t he asked, “You had said we were going to Herrod. Now were here. Where are we going exactly?” “You’ll see. We’re going to a special place,” Nerkyl replied. “I’m sure we are. But where?” Patient in his response, Nerkyl finally spoke, “You Galians know it by a different name. But most races, they call it. . .’

‘. . .the Old Kingdom.”


This message was last edited by the GM at 00:05, Mon 09 Mar 2015.

Part 2

Her eyes were so gentle, compassionate. Unmoving, she gazed downward at those who would ask for her guidance. Bernard looked upward at her watchful eyes. He treasured the warmth he felt during prayer, for he always felt that she heard him. The statue of Sophia, the goddess of wisdom, had been carved for the temple from pure marble nearly a century past. Its majesty was only amplified by the complete silence. Arms wide open and welcoming, the statue of Sophia was twice the size of any man and stood in the center of the circular domed chamber. Benches surrounded her feet on all sides where the faithful would come to pray and ask and be thankful. For many people of Herrod, this was their spiritual refuge.

Bernard placed his hand on the bench and pushed himself off his knees. He brushed the traces of dust from his brown robes, the robes of an acolyte. The time for prayer was at an end. Father Tylister walked by, his footsteps reverberating off the quiet stone. “Brother Bernard, I hope you are at peace this day.” “I am Father.” Father Tylister softly chuckled and said, “I envy your youth, to able to rest on your knees before the Heavenly Mother. My body can no longer handle such strain.” “You are still young in my eyes Father,” Bernard reverently replied. Despite the light wisps of white hair, Father Tylinster indeed carried a youthful face, a lightness that could only arise from living in serenity and peace. In this way, he was blessed.

Father Tylister then asked, “Tell me, do you know if the crypts were locked by those last visitors?” “I’m not sure,” Bernard responded. “Do you want me to go see?” “Yes. Later we can-” Suddenly, Father Tylister ceased speaking and his face emptied of expression. His eyes lost focus on Bernard, and he simply stared into voidness. Bernard grew concerned. “Father?” Father Tylister’s countenance darkened. After a few moments, he looked at Bernard, “Quickly, lock the doors to the temple.” Confused, Bernard asked, “Why? What happened? I thought our doors were to always remain open, to welcome all who beckoned.” Father Tylister grimly replied, “The goddess sent me a feeling, cold and frightening. The thought arose in my mind that we must close the doors. I think it’s best we don’t ignore this.”

Bernard didn’t answer but listened and nodded. He understood the significance of divine providence. At a hastened pace, he walked toward the wide wooden doors to Sophia’s temple and lowered the metal latch to lock it. No longer than a few seconds after the latch had clicked into place was there a heavy knock on the door. Bernard began breathing heavily; he glanced back at Father Tylister who motioned him to back away. Then came a second knock. “Open up,” a harsh voice called from outside. Bernard stumbled backward. Turning to Father Tylister, he said, “What do we do?” “Just keep calm,” he replied. “Here, we are-” Bang. The third knock sounded as though a metal fist had clanged against the door. The wood shivered.

“Don’t make us put this down,” the voice shouted. Bernard heard the sound of a muffled sigh through the door, then someone speak, “Alright Daedrok. Go ahead.” Bang. The door thundered and shook. Bang. Wood splintered off the center of the door, and chips scattered on the stone. Terror crept into Bernard from somewhere unknown. His mind raced to refocus his thoughts on the Heavenly Mother. But the pounding of the door shattered his clarity. Bang. The latch broke off the wood and clamored to the floor. Both doors flung open.

Through the entrance came three figures, led by an elderly goblin in front. “Rude to not answer your door,” the goblin muttered. Bernard shouted, “Father Tylister!” “Hurry!” Father Tylister cried. “Get Lady Versa in her room!” Following the goblin came a hulking armored man and an elf. Carrying a chest between them, they set it down on the floor of the temple. Bernard turned and ran to a door at the side of the temple and banged on it frantically, “Lady Versa! Are you there?!” Glancing back at the intruders, the goblin was glaring at him, a glare that became chilling after his cry for help. Bernard shoved open the door to Lady Versa’s quarters. Her bed and chamber were empty; she wasn’t here.

“Father! She’s gone! I think she went this morning to the libraries at the castle!” Bernard said as he scrambled back out the room. He was met by the goblin who pointed his staff at him, inches from his nose. Bernard froze in his tracks. Nothing had happened, but Bernard could feel a tingling in his blood, as though moving another step would set his insides on fire. The goblin stared at him. Fearful, Bernard met the goblins yellow eyes. Father Tylister called out, “Please, don’t hurt him.” The goblin remained still, pointing his staff in the acolyte’s face as though it were the arrow of a bow. After a few moments the goblin spoke, “What name did you say? Who were you calling for?!” Bernard looked at Father Tylister who warily stood before the statue of Sophia; Father Tylister nodded, “Go ahead and answer Brother. You have nothing to fear.” The goblin’s gaze intensified. Bernard suddenly felt nauseous, though whether it came from fear or the goblin he couldn’t say. He replied, “The noble Lady Versa. Paladin of Sophia.”

The goblin lowered his staff and snorted. He turned to his companions. “I can’t believe it. She followed us all the way here.” The elf spoke, “Who?” “No one you’d know. Versa, some human woman. . . If she took residence in this temple, that means she somehow knew what we were after. She knew she couldn’t catch up to us in Kabariya, so she came to the one place where we’d eventually have to take it. Must’ve been here for weeks! Crazy woman.”

It was either stupidity or courage that led Bernard to speak, but he said, “The Lady Versa is a hero among common folk. She’ll return to the temple soon. Then she’ll stop you!” The goblin swung his staff around and hit Bernard in the gut, knocking the breath from him. “Kids these days,” he grumbled. Father Tylister, calm and soft spoken, said, “What is it you’d like? This is but an ordinary temple to the Heavenly Mother. We have no wealth or things to take.” The goblin hobbled away from Bernard and approached the priest. “Oh, we don’t care about this place you got here. We just need the keys to your crypts.” The goblin held out his hand expectantly.

Though he furrowed his brow, Father Tylister otherwise remained serene; his eyes fell on Bernard then returned to the goblin’s. “Very well.” He reached into his white robes and pulled out a ring of keys, placing it in the goblin’s hand. The goblin didn’t retract his hand, continuing to hold it outstretched. “And the other one too.” Father Tylister’s eyebrows lifted; he was surprised that anyone knew about that, let alone a stranger. After a moment he reached back into his robes and plucked out an old, strange looking key. Made of brass, the end of it was not flat but circular, cut in the shape of a gear. He dropped it in the goblin’s hand. “Thank you very much,” the goblin said in a bored tone.

The goblin turned and walked away. Returning to his companions, he said, “Alright, let’s go.” Father Tylister stood silently beneath the marble statue, watching. The golden-brown haired elf then stretched and cracked his fingers, preparing to once again lift the large chest they’d set on the ground. Next to him stood the armored warrior, patient, waiting. Leaning on his staff the goblin hobbled toward a door at the rear of the temple, behind the statue of Sophia, which led outside into the graveyard and the crypts beyond.

Suddenly, Bernard ran out of Lady Versa’s chamber holding a spear. “For the light!” he cried. Lowering the tip, he charged at the hulking warrior from behind who all but ignored him. “Bernard, no!” Father Tylister shouted. It made no difference. Bernard rammed the spear into the backside of the warrior and it pierced him, the tip shearing into his armor and popping out his chest on the other side, straight through him. The goblin and elf stopped and turned toward Bernard, watching. Standing, towering in height, the warrior slowly looked down at the spear tip protruding from his chest. Bernard released the shaft of the spear and backed away. The spearhead was perfectly clean, bloodless, as though it had pierced only air. . .

Horrified, Bernard stumbled a few steps away. Without so much as a cry of pain, the hulking warrior grabbed the spearhead with his metal gauntlet and pulled, pulling the entire shaft of the spear through his chest until it came free and undamaged out the other side. He examined it with a strange curiosity, rotating it in his hands. All in silence. Seemingly bored, he finally tossed the spear aside where it clamored on the stone. He didn’t even glance at Bernard who almost violently shivered with disbelief. “What?- What are you?” he managed to say.

The warrior didn’t respond. The elf beside him abruptly laughed and grabbed a handle on the chest. The warrior did the same. Together, they lifted the chest between them and carried it out the rear door of the temple where the goblin waited. Disappearing through, they casually closed it shut. Then they were gone. Father Tylister put a hand on his head and wearily sat on a bench. Bernard fell to his knees. And he prayed.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:51, Mon 09 Mar 2015.

Torchlight danced on the walls. The crackling flame seemed loud among the dead, where there was only stillness. Dried and abandoned cobwebs crowded the corners of the ceiling, and Hendemir could feel them clinging to his hair. Hands burdened, he had no time to free one and wipe the strings and spiders off his face. So he ignored them.

Nerkyl walked in front, leaning on his staff in one hand and holding a torch in the other, something he complained bitterly about. “I thought elves were supposed to have good eyes!? Well what good are they if they can’t see in the dark! Now I have to hold this damn thing all the way down.” Hendemir waited until he was finished and stiffly replied, “Elves have the best eyes. But we weren’t made to live in filthy holes, nor would we want to.” “And then one day you’ll walk into a cave and have your head ripped off by a bear,” Nerkyl sharply rebuked, grouchy from the long walk. He snorted. “Elves think they’re so damn special. They’re ignorant of nature, that’s what they are.” Hendemir knew not to retort when Nerkyl was in this temperament. Although he was considered wise by goblinkind, he was still elderly, and like many elderly people he became easily ill-tempered.


Their voices and footsteps were perhaps the first real noise the crypts had heard in centuries. Entering through a mausoleum in the vine-covered graveyard far above, the three had descended deep into tunnels. After they would traverse a level of the crypts, always they’d be met by a thick metal gate at the furthest end. Nerkyl would then take out the key ring and unlock it only to reveal another flight of stairs, going deeper below to another level. It seemed endless. With each level they passed through the stone became older and more wretched. Hendemir counted five flights of stairs thus far; the sun was a distant thing now. He soon realized that there was no way the Temple of Sophia above was built before these deeper parts of the crypt. This was far older.

Hendemir’s mind wandered as he walked. The ancient stonework had grown too mundane for his attention. After some time had passed, he muttered, “How long are we going to have to carry this annoying chest.” His hands ached.

“Not far now,” Nerkyl replied. Hendemir lifted an eyebrow, “You seem to know where we’re going.” “Of course! Do you think we’d just explore down here like a bunch of idiots!?” he snapped. “Veloth was very specific.” Like the steady beat of a drum, the end of Nerkyl’s staff struck the stone as he hobbled along. Grasping the implication of what he’d said, Hendemir then uttered, “The Prince! How would he know?” Nerkyl chuckled, humored by the question. “Because he’s been here before.”

He didn’t elaborate, and they continued to walk in relative silence. Behind Hendemir, the metal plates of Daedrok’s armor grinded against each other, a low screeching. Hendemir felt uncomfortable so far underground. This was suitable for dwarves and goblins and low creatures, not a Galian. It was nothing like the green, lush forests of Galia nor the waterfalls and majestic spires of the elven cities. But he decided to complain no more. It would not do to shame the trust his prince placed in him.

“Finally, the end of the crypts,” Nerkyl spoke. His goblin eyes saw it before Hendemir himself could, but torchlight soon flickered upon the metallic surface. At the end of the dark, decrepit tunnel was a door, seemingly made of brass and iron. It looked out of place compared to the gray stonework. Patterned across the center of the door was a large gear-shaped symbol, etched into the metal. This was not made by those who built the crypts. Nerkyl continued, “This is an entrance to a very special part of the Old Kingdom. Here’s where this comes in.” He pulled out the strange brass key he’d taken from the priest.

Hendemir and Daedrok set down the chest. Walking next to Nerkyl, Hendemir appreciated the feeling of relief in his arms. He glanced at the key and then at the door, seeing there was indeed a small indent in the center for it, identical to the circular end of the key. Warily, Hendemir said, “That priest seemed surprised when you asked for it.” “No doubt. Those priests must’ve held onto it for nearly a century, passing it down. Veloth didn’t fail to mention it,” Nerkyl answered. He wiped some dust off the indent in the door and inserted the key. He turned it. A click resounded through the door followed by the sound of mechanical pieces unlocking and falling into place. A moment later the edge of the metal broke free, and the door opened.

“I still don’t understand,” Hendemir said. “How would have Veloth known about that key, that the priests would have it?” Nerkyl grinned as the door unlocked, stretching the wrinkles in his green skin. “Because,” he replied, “It was Veloth who gave it to them.”


This message was last edited by the GM at 17:13, Wed 11 Mar 2015.

Versa watched the smoke while she walked. Far to the south, dark wisps lingered in the sky. It was on the opposite side of the city; it’d take her hours just to reach it. Taking a deep breath, she slowly sighed. The city of Herrod was going through a troubling time, a rebellion, but what pained her the most was the fact she couldn’t get involved. Her mission had perhaps many more lives at stake. “I have to remain focused,” she told herself. “For the good of all.” With tremendous difficulty, she looked away and fixed her eyes on the road.

Nearly the entire morning had been spent in the castle libraries, pouring through countless books and scrolls. She desperately searched for whatever could be found on the Old Kingdom. There wasn’t much. But since the time she’d left for the castle, the streets had become barren; where the streets could usually be found crowded with merchants and commonfolk were now empty and bleak. Some wagons had been left abandoned on the cobbled stone. Undoubtedly, it was because of the smoke and word of battles breaking out nearby. Nonetheless she forced herself to ignore it and hasten back to the Temple of Sophia, her latest residence.

Red, wavy hair sprawled across the shoulders of her armor, an armor she could never risk leaving behind. When the time came to act, she’d need to be ready. Nor would she want to risk it being stolen, for its beauty would tempt any thief. The steel shoulders had been shaped into the heads of lions, a gift earned from her past deeds. Polished well, the remainder of the platemail glistened beneath any source of light, expertly crafted. She’d accumulated much from a lifetime of service.

Turning the corner, the Temple of Sophia came in view, the temple of her goddess. She’d seen many temples, but the one in Herrod was particularly elegant. Nestled between two unremarkable buildings of the city, its white stone and domed roof reflected the sun overhead like a diamond. At least that’s what she compared it to. Sophia was her world, the source of compassion which fueled everything she did, her livelihood. After all, she was a paladin.

Versa drew near the temple and saw its doors; a sudden blackness erupted in her chest. The wooden doors were broken open, splintered by the handles. “No!” she cried. Bordering panic, she bolted toward the entrance and shoved the loosely hanging doors aside. She frantically searched about the chamber and felt some relief when she saw Father Tylister and Brother Bernard unharmed before the statue of Sophia. They turned and saw her. Brother Bernard nearly leapt to his feet and hastened to her presence.

“What happened?” she quickly asked. Brother Bernard wasted no time in answering. “My lady! Not an hour ago, three men came through here. A goblin, an elf, and an armored figure.” Versa shook her head in frustration, “No. . .” Her nightmare had come to pass; she wasn’t here when they arrived. The shame surfaced in her heart. But it wasn’t too late.

“Tell me, were they carrying anything with them?” Her anxious tone and the acuteness of her question seemed to unsettle Bernard. Father Tylister, slower in his age, caught up with them and replied, “Yes. A chest. Do you know what it is my lady?” Her eyes drifted to the floor, contemplating. “Then they did find it. . . And they brought it here, as the old writings said they must.” She looked up at Father Tylister and Bernard who stood silently, almost fearful. Briefly she considered the fact time was running short, that she didn’t have time to explain. But then she realized, if she didn’t come back, someone had to know what happened here.

Decided, she began to divulge, “A thousand years ago, long before Herrod and the kingdoms of Perdane, was another civilization. We know it only as, The Old Kingdom. They were humans who became incredible engineers, building machines of metal and gears that surpass anything we know today. Jealously, they guarded the secrets of their science, obsessively even. But after a couple centuries, their enemies finally managed to steal something from them, one of their most valuable objects in fact. We don’t know what they themselves called it, but the old writings refer to is as. . .’

‘. . . The Heart of the Old Kingdom.”

Brother Bernard looked worriedly at Father Tylister. Versa continued, “Losing the Heart of the Old Kingdom eventually led to the civilization’s downfall, and after several centuries, the Heart itself was lost.” She shook her head and strands of red hair fell out of place, “I must confess I don’t know what it does. I’d never heard of the Old Kingdom nor the Heart until I learned by chance that these men were planning an expedition for it. I have a long history with them, and I knew that such undertakings could not be ignored. I then began to research it. The old writings I could find vaguely spoke of powerful weapons the engineers of the Old Kingdom would create, and they were only capable of doing so because of the Heart. My research then uncovered the most probable resting place of the Heart, a ruin called the Temple of Clades in the Kabariyan mountains; the people there worshipped it as a holy object, not knowing its true origin. And the descriptions of that object and those of the Heart matched exactly. I also discovered the entrance to the part of the Old Kingdom where the Heart is supposed to be placed, surprisingly from the writings of a long-dead priest from this very temple. The entrance lies directly below us. . . at the base of the crypts.”

Father Tylister sighed, “That much I know. The knowledge of that entrance to an ancient ruin has been passed down from priest to pupil in this temple for generations. But I never thought it was important. There are many remnants of the old civilization beneath Herrod; this one seemed no different.”

“Unfortunately it is,” Versa said darkly. “During the last days of my research, my suspicions and fears came true when I heard my enemies had already set sail for Kabariya. I didn’t know what they planned to accomplish with the Heart, but I couldn’t make the mistake of waiting to find out. After they left, I knew I could never catch them in time. So I came here instead, to wait for them in case they succeeded. . . and I’m failing.” “There’s still time,” Father Tylister insisted. “They would have been slow traversing down the crypts with their chest. You can catch up to them.” His words were firm and full of conviction. Versa heard them and refocused her thoughts on Sophia; she once again felt emboldened, renewed. “You’re right. And I must leave now!”

Versa dashed into her room, just through a door at the side of the temple hall. Moments later, she stepped out with her helmet donned. Although the winged helm was inlaid with gold, it was no mere decorative piece. Her greatsword was slung behind her back. She was ready.

Versa looked at the others and said, “Pray for me.” She then hastened toward the door to the graveyard. “Wait!” Bernard called out. “That armored man with them. When they came, I pierced him with a spear and yet he did not die nor bleed! Be wary of that creature of evil!” Versa paused at the door. For a moment she stood in silence. Not even turning, she finally spoke, “They say he was human once. . . But that’s a story for another time.” Versa then swiftly opened the door and sprinted through. The chase had begun.

He’d never seen anything like it. Gears the size of a wagon’s wheel were visible around its shoulders and legs. The rusted face gazed back at him, long dead. It was a man, or at least it looked like one - a man made of iron. Most of its smooth metal body was marred by rust. It’d been here a long time. Hendemir slowly reached out to touch it. “Don’t do that!” Nerkyl instantly snarled.

Hendemir let his hand fall back to his side. “Why not? It’s dead.” “You don’t know that,” Nerkyl snapped. He angrily struck the ground with his staff. “Away from it!” Hendemir shrugged and walked back to the center of the room. Nerkyl hobbled in front of him and said, “Don’t touch anything while you’re here. The engineers of the Old Kingdom were experts at building things. No doubt many of their machines still work. . . their traps too for that matter. So watch where you’re stepping!”


Grudgingly, Hendemir nodded. Although he didn’t appreciate being scolded like a child, he had to admit the Old Kingdom was impressive thus far. The hall that took them to this chamber had stonework which rivaled the royal palace in Galia. The gray stone blocks were perfectly cut to a degree Hendemir thought beyond the capability of human craftsmen. Tiles along the base of the wall were etched with swirling patterns that continued into the next like a dance, no tile seemingly the same as another. Eventually the hall led them to this chamber, a square stone room. Arches spanned across the ceiling above; each of them was decorated with notches along the edges. As if someone would bother to look up and notice them, Hendemir cynically thought. Then he laughed, for he realized he’d done exactly that. But perhaps the most impressive feature were the two metal men, one of which stood to the side staring at the opposite wall. It held a sword in hand, planted in the ground, as though it was once a guard for this chamber. Now, it was rusted and covered with spiderwebs, but it was no where as wretched as its counterpart, which had apparently fallen over and broken into pieces a long time ago.

“Come on, let’s get going,” Nerkyl said to the others. Daedrok had also been casually looking around the room from a stationary point. What he’d pondered about, Hendemir could only guess. They returned to the chest and lifted it once again; it was becoming routine now. Nerkyl beckoned them toward the only hall which continued forward.

Leaving the chamber, they steadily walked. The sound of Nerkyl’s staff against the ground had become a kind of rhythm to march to like a military drum. Aside from the sound they themselves made, the ancient ruin was still and silent. And then the silence was broken by a low humming from ahead. Nerkyl spoke, “Sounds like. . . water.” Hendemir focused on listening. Indeed the humming gradually became the sound of trickling water, the babbling of a creek. As they got closer, Hendemir was slightly surprised to see the walls of the tunnel deteriorate and begin to crumble. Eventually the ground was littered with piles of rubble and fallen stones. Finally they stepped in water, which trickled down in small waterfalls from several places along the ceiling and walls; the water pooled and became a narrow creek that flowed down the now cave-like hall.

Nerkyl reached down and put his finger in the water, and then on his tongue. “Freshwater. We must be far below a broken aqueduct. I doubt the city of Herrod even realizes what they’re destroying. Oh well.” He chuckled to himself and continued onward, feet stepping in and out of running water.

Hendemir and Daedrok followed behind, still carrying the chest. Daedrok’s steel boots made a loud splash each time he stepped in the creek. Suddenly, Hendemir’s heel slipped on wet dirt! Momentarily weightless, he stumbled and fell to the side, forced to catch himself on the eroded stone wall. No longer gripping the handle, his side of the chest instantly dropped to the ground and noisily crashed. His thoughts froze at the sound. Nerkyl and Daedrok stood silent, staring intensely at the chest as if waiting to see if something would happen. A few moments passed, and nothing did. Hendemir straightened himself out, “Sorry.”

Nerkyl was furious, “Sorry? Sorry!? You clumsy fool. You sorry excuse for an elf! Do you realize what you could’ve done!? Bah!” He waved his hands and staff wildly as he spoke. Hendemir got angry as well, an anger that had been stirring for some time. “Actually no. I don’t know what I could’ve done. Why? Because I don’t know what the hell it is! Damnit, I don’t even know what we’re doing here! You won’t tell me! Am I unworthy of knowing this ‘secret’ knowledge? The Prince, my cousin, himself sent me. Well I’d be a lot more useful if I knew what the hell we were doing!” Hendemir cut himself off; he knew that outburst had been a mistake, even as he said it. These men were allies of Veloth, not subjects. He was supposed to be making a good impression.

Nerkyl shook with anger, but after a few moments it ceased. To Hendemir’s shock, Nerkyl suddenly started laughing, buoyantly. Even Daedrok gave a low grunt which Hendemir could only assume was his laugh. Nerkyl spoke, “So you do get angry. Good. For awhile I thought you were just some elven palace stooge.” He grinned, “Fine, I’ll tell you. But while walking! We’re not going to waste any damn time.” Hendemir nodded and picked up his side of the chest once more; carefully they moved forward. Nerkyl briefly glanced behind, “Oh and don’t drop it again. Or else.” Although he said it lightly, Hendemir didn’t doubt the sincerity of his statement.

Nerkyl hobbled along the tunnel and spoke, “Now, where to begin. . .”

Ashes. Versa traced her fingers along the ground, staining the tips gray. They’ve been here. The descent through the crypts had cost her too much time. Again and again she’d taken a wrong turn and was confronted by a dead end or the tomb of some ancient person. But eventually she found her way, owing much help to the fallen ashes of those whom she chased and their new footprints in the timeless layers of dust.

She stood up from crouching near the metal door and briefly admired the large shape of a gear etched in its center. For months she’d read about the Old kingdom, but now for the first time, she was going to step inside its ancient halls. “I cannot linger,” she whispered to herself. Tightening a loose strap on her armor, she then jogged through the gate and into the forgotten realm. The ground sloped downward like a ramp. Pillars whose edges were decorated with metal and artful patterns supporting the smooth stone ceiling above. Soon after, the floor leveled out and continued down a long, barren hall.


She pried clinging cobwebs from her armor as she moved; the strings seemed invisible in the hall until she was mere inches from them. Her footsteps echoed down the tunnel. Desperately she hoped she was as far behind as she anticipated. If they heard her, she knew there’d be an ambush waiting. Luckily when the hall ended and she entered a square stone room, it was empty.

This descent into the world felt something like a dream. The surrealness of the grandeur and stonework made it seem as though she’d stepped back in time; if it wasn’t for the dimness and cobwebs, the illusion would be convincing. Her attention was then caught by the metal man. For a brief moment she thought it was a person but soon noticed its stillness at the side of the room. Constructed of gears and iron, it stood rusting as the ages passed, eternally holding a sword planted in the ground. Versa walked near it for a closer look. She’d seen the goblin machines of Cliffshore, but they’d never built anything quite like this. “Remarkable,” she murmured.

Suddenly, a stone momentarily scratched the ground behind her followed by a squeak of surprise. Reflexively and swiftly, Versa gripped the handle of her greatsword and sharply turned toward the center of the room, her heartbeat quickening. She turned so quickly that her elbow scraped against the iron man, producing a loud screech. The rat across the room became frightened and hastily scurried along the edge and down the hall to the crypts. Versa ungripped her sword and exhaled. She chuckled at her own tenseness, but she knew she needed to be quick when it was the real thing. Then she heard a stranger sound. It was a clicking that wasn’t there before, constant and clear. “What is tha-”

It felt like a sledgehammer struck her in the back. It hit so hard that her feet left the floor and threw her across the room. She had no idea what was happening as she crashed onto the stone and skidded into the wall. Pain rushed up her back, much pain. Forcing through it, she lifted her head up to see. The iron man’s arm was now raised. Then the unthinkable happened as the metal creature lowered it, and with both hands pulled out its sword from the ground. Its rusted legs screeched terribly as it took a step from its post, then another. Versa couldn’t believe her eyes. Gears around the shoulder rotated as it lifted the sword. The blank iron face turned and stared directly at Versa strewn on the ground; it stomped toward her, the joints screeching with every step.

Versa’s heart thundered in her chest as she scrambled to her feet. She pulled out the greatsword sheathed on her back, exposing the thin and elegant runes carved along its broadside. Composing herself, she assumed a stance. “Come hither!” she shouted in a battlecry. She gripped the handle with both hands, her steel gloves side by side. This was not her first battle, and she determined it would certainly not be her last.

The iron man charged. Its heavy metal feet shook the ground as it approached, and the visible gears of its arms spun as it lifted the sword high. When it neared Versa, she readied her sword. But even then she was caught off-guard. Something mechanical triggered in its arm, and the sword came down as fast as lightning. Versa didn’t have time to think; automatically she threw herself to the side to dodge and tumbled on the ground. The iron man’s sword collided against the floor where she stood and sundered the stone tile in half. Grains and dust rose in a cloud from the broken tile.

Stumbling back on her feet, Versa glanced at the shattered stone and her chest sank. She could feel her heart beating which was now as loud as the machine’s gears. Versa lifted her sword and swung across in a flat arc. The sword struck the metal body causing sparks. She brought back her blade and was stunned at how little damage it left, with only a small dent to show for it. But she had little time to think about it as the iron man turned swinging its massive sword with it, destined for her waist and to sever her in two. Versa ducked as fast as she could. The blade clipped a wing of her winged helm, and Versa watched the tip of it shoot off like an arrow. Better that than her head. A ringing from the helm filled her ears, but she couldn’t wait for it to cease.

Versa spun around the iron man to get behind him. Pointing her greatsword downward, she thrust with all her might into the creature’s metal leg. It sounded like a blacksmith’s hammer against an anvil. Although it caused little more than a scratch, the power and angle forced its knee to buckle, and the machine suddenly dropped on one knee with an earth-shaking thud. Versa hastily backed away expecting a reply and was surprised when it didn’t come. Instead the iron man slowly, very slowly, used its sword to push itself back on its feet; it looked strained beneath its own weight, almost like an old man using a cane. Watching, a realization struck Versa in a moment of insight. The machine was heavy and imbalanced!

The iron man once again stood on its two feet and turned to face Versa. By then she knew what to do. It was risky, and the cost of failure was great. But her intuition was convinced, and circumstances gave her no time to think it through. Versa sheathed her sword and abruptly sprinted straight at the machine. If is was human, it would’ve been unquestionably caught by surprise, but Versa earnestly didn’t know if a machine could be surprised. She hoped it would. And apparently it did, for she then tackled the machine at its legs, before it could prime its sword to strike. Off-balance, the iron man’s body weight and gravity overpowered the gears in its knees, and it collapsed straight onto its back. The resulting fall sounded like thunder. As Versa fell with it, she rolled off its chest to the side and onto the floor.

Hastily, Versa got back on her feet and stood over the fallen machine. Its arms moved back and forth beating against the ground, as did its legs. But it didn’t get up. Exactly as Versa had hoped, the machine was too heavy and uncoordinated to pick itself up again. And its sword had been flung from its grip, out of reach.

Versa unsheathed the greatsword from her back once more, looming over the metal creature. “By the purity of Sophia I stay true, She watches over me. By union of the Spirit doth guiding light shine.” As she spoke, a light glimmered at the hilt of her sword and began traveling down the carved runes of the blade. Like a firefly at night, it danced along the steel. Versa then concluded, “In the name of the Heavenly Mother, I sentence you to Oblivion.” Standing at the iron man’s side, Versa raised the greatsword high above her head; she could feel the heat it now radiated, searing. She brought it down with all her strength, upon the iron man’s neck. The sound of torn metal filled the chamber as the metal head was sheared from its body. Small gears from within were broken off and forcefully scattered in several directions. The arms and legs of the iron man immediately ceased moving. And the clicking finally stopped.

Eyes lingering on the still machine, Versa slowly re-sheathed her sword. Once again, the chamber was silent, unmoving save for a single small gear on the floor spinning on its edge. After a few seconds, it too stopped and settled on the ground with a brief ringing. Versa took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. The sound of her heartbeat lessened, and soon disappeared. Turning, she stepped away from the body of the iron man and toward the hall which continued forward, deeper into the ruin. At the threshold, she took one look back, and only one. It was over. She resumed facing forward and took her first step into the hall. Before long she’d disappeared into the hall and the chamber was empty once again, silent.

Stillness.

“Do you know your own history elf? The history of Galia?” Nerkyl asked while his feet splashed along the creek. The tunnel did not improve much. In fact, it seemed to do the opposite as the walls eroded into bare rock and dirt. Although Hendemir could still feel the stone floor of the hall beneath him, it was now covered with a layer of damp soil and debris. Watching his feet he answered, “Mostly. Elven children are taught as much.” Nerkyl leered back at Hendemir from the front of the group. “And what about Estraeus?”

Hendemir met his eyes and lifted an eyebrow. “Of course. There’s not a Galian alive who doesn’t know that.” “Enlighten me then. I want to see what you know.” Nerkyl returned his gaze forward, listening.

“Estraeus,” Hendemir started, “Er, the Isle of Estraeus, was home to the Estraen Empire. Elves. Both our neighbors and most vile enemy.” Nerkyl nodded as they walked. The sound of his staff against the ground was lessened now by the muddied floor. Over the sound of trickling water, Hendemir continued, “Galia and Estraeus were at war for three centuries. Then a peace treaty was signed. Yet no longer than three months after the treaty, the treacherous Estraen Emperor tried to assassinate Prince Veloth in his bedchamber. Thankfully the Prince fought them off, but not before they had killed. . . killed his bride, a then Princess of Galia.”

Despite being common history, Hendemir felt a heavy feeling behind his eyes, the beginnings of a tear. He blinked it away. All Galians felt a close bond with the royal family. And for Hendemir it was even stronger, for the Prince was not only his older cousin, but his idol. Hendemir continued speaking; he hoped his companions did not notice the sentiment but he didn’t dare doubt their perceptiveness. Regardless, they said nothing. “Then Prince Veloth led us to war, the last war. And we achieved total victory in seven days, a testament to his glory. The Estraens were wiped out, and he ushered in a hundred years of peace and prosperity for Galia, lasting still to this day.”

Hendemir waited for Nerkyl to respond, but he remained silent, still listening. After a few seconds Hendemir finally said, “That’s about it.” “Is it now?” Nerkyl quickly retorted. “The two elven isles fought for three centuries, absolutely unable to kill each other. And yet Veloth destroyed Estraeus in a mere seven days. How do you think he pulled that off!?” Hendemir replied, “They say the gods themselves felt so much sorrow for the Prince’s loss, that they smote the armies of Estareus in a great fire-” Nerkyl cut him off with chuckling. He looked back over his shoulder at Daedrok and said, “Elves always make these things sound so poetic don’t they?” Daedrok responded with the low grunt that was his laugh.

Drops of water from the damp ceiling had landed on Nerkyl’s bald, green head. He ignored them as he said, “I can say that’s pretty close to how it happened. But there were certainly no gods involved.” “How else could it be?” Hendemir stiffly inquired. “Watch your tone,” Nerkyl rebuked.

“You see, after Veloth's little wife died, he knew that an invasion of Estraeus would never work, not without some new advantage. Something they never had before. So he sought out and quested for a weapon of some kind. His search brought him here.” He lazily waved his staff at the tunnel.

“The Old Kingdom was known for building powerful machines. But what Veloth found was more than he could’ve ever hoped for. . . Ancient and already-constructed, he found a device here in the depths of the ruin, the chamber where we’re headed now. That device. . . was a bomb.” Hendemir gave a confused look toward Nerkyl. All the bombs he’d seen in his lifetime could cause some harm to person or set fire to a ship, but nothing that could go so far as to decide a war. “A bomb,” Hendemir repeated. “Like the fire bombs the goblins make on Cliffshore?” Nerkyl smirked, “Yes, in a way. But imagine one with flames so great, it could engulf an entire army. . . and leave nothing behind.” Hendemir’s eyes widened; he was beginning to understand. “That’s amazing. So Veloth found this?” “That’s right,” Nerkyl replied. “The only one ever known to exist.”

Water from the creek had soaked through Hendemir’s boats and chilled his feet, but he paid it no mind. His attention was rapt on Nerkyl who continued, “When Veloth and the Galian army landed on the shore of Estraeus, the Estraens predictably sent their full army to repel them. Fools. Tens of thousands of elves, all in one place. But then again, Veloth didn’t truly know if the bomb would work or not, being as old as it was. He took a chance. And it worked. Before a single Galian fell, Veloth wiped the entire Estraen army from the face of Tel’Gia, burned to ashes in the blink of an eye.” Nerkyl giggled, “I would’ve loved to have seen the look on that emperor’s face. Needless to say it was an easy slaughter from thereout.” Hendemir walked in awe, both at the scale of the achievement and admiring how much Veloth had done for Galia. That weapon alone spared the lives of countless Galians; without it, a war would’ve dragged on for decades, or longer.

A realization struck Hendemir, “Wait. You said that was the only one known to exist. So why are we going back to this ruin? And with this thing?” He nodded back at the chest he and Daedrok so endlessly carried. Smirking, Nerkyl glanced at Hendemir, “That thing you’re carrying is the key. . . the key to creating another one. . .”

Everything was clear now. Hendemir looked at the chest with a new sense of reverence and purpose. This will change everything.

Suddenly, Hendemir’s ears perked. He caught a strange ripple through the air, as though a loud noise had traveled from far behind. Something heavy falling perhaps. “I think I heard something,” Hendemir mentioned. Nerkyl dismissed it, “I don’t know how you can hear anything over Daedrok’s big feet!” Indeed Daedrok’s heavy metal boots seemed to cause a small vibration with every step, heavy enough that they dug through mud and scraped against the stone beneath. Hendemir decided that had been the source. Daedrok’s toe must’ve struck something.

Hendemir glanced back at Daedrok, and the armored warrior simply stared back at him, the handle of his greataxe visible above his shoulder. Hendemir had almost forgotten about that massive axe slung on his back, the warrior always being behind him. To carry that and the chest without complaint was a feat Hendemir could never do.

Hendemir’s thoughts were then interrupted by a new louder sound, the sound of falling water. At last, the tunnel finally ended and opened into a new chamber up ahead. Leaving the confines of the eroded hall, they stepped into the open, and the sight left Hendemir breathless. He never imagined something like this could exist underground; the cavernous room was immense. Not far from them, a great waterfall poured into the chamber and fueled a wide river below. Foam formed at the base. The creek from their own tunnel also carved its way to the edge and joined them. Like a sapphire, the water was a pure, untainted blue. Over the river spanned a short bridge, and across from that, Hendemir saw it - the gate.

“We’re here,” Nerkyl said in a hushed voice, as though he too revered the end of their journey. “That gate leads to the chamber we seek. Come. . .” He beckoned them with his staff.

“Let’s write history.”

It was unbelievable. The chamber stretched almost beyond view. Over a hundred feet high, the stone ceiling had begun to crack, and numerous waterfalls streamed from them like glistening pillars. Most of the ground was covered by a great plain of water, and ripples steadily danced on the surface. Massive pillars supported the ceiling from end to end, each perfectly spaced from the next with bounding arches between them. Of all the parts of the Old Kingdom, Hendemir cherished this one the most. It awakened something in him.


Hendemir gazed upward at the runes carved high above, remnants of a dead language long forgotten. Although he couldn’t read them, the strange shapes were mesmeric. He followed them to their reflections in the water where they were blurred by the shifting waves. Crouching, he cupped his hands in the lake and drank. His thirst had grown since their last rest.

Some pillars had broken away leaving stone and rubble behind. Pieces of the wall had also crumbled, creating many places where they could walk without being submerged. The ground of the chamber was raised a short distance away. There awaited their goal.

“Follow me,” Nerkyl stated. “I hope you don’t mind getting wet.” Lifting the chest to the height of their shoulders, Hendemir and Daedrok followed Nerkyl into the blue. Short, Nerkyl was forced to swim. For Hendemir, the surface came to his waist where they chose to tread. It looked deeper elsewhere. Water soaked through his lower clothes and felt cool against his skin, but he didn’t mind. He felt better here. The vastness of it all had removed his uneasiness from being underground as though he walked beneath the sky again.

Reaching higher ground they climbed onto a large boulder. Nerkyl muttered, “Well, that is impressive.” At first Hendemir didn’t know what he was speaking about, but then he looked down and realized they weren’t standing on a boulder at all. Instead they stood on the metal face of an immense head. “That’s one big statue.” The remainder of the fallen statue disappeared beneath the lake. Nerkyl climbed over its sculpted beard and became elated by the sight of something. “There it is.”

Chest between them, Hendemir and Daedrok followed him onto a heightened part of the chamber, a stone platform. Nerkyl pointed a gnarled finger toward it, but the gesture was needless. It couldn’t be missed.

Gigantic, the machine had both the shape and size of a lighthouse, a structure built of metal and pipes. The main body of it looked to be an impossible single piece of casted metal; gold-colored, it resembled an enormous, thin vase with a slight inward curvature. Overlaying the main body were a number of pipes which reminded Hendemir of a cage, for they completely encased the vase-like core of the machine. Mysterious levers and gauges surrounded the base.

“Come,” Nerkyl ordered. To Hendemir, nearing the machine didn’t provide any clarity to the layers of pipes. “Set down the chest. It’s time to open it,” Nerkyl said as his eyes studied the various parts. Hendemir spoke, “Do you know how to work this thing?” “I know enough, yes,” he replied. Nerkyl touched some of the levers, discerning the purpose of each from his memory. His attention then settled on a large opening through the mesh of pipes. Like a window, it was a shallow oddly-shaped slot, as though the machine was missing a part. He sharply turned, “Get on with it! Open it up.”

Lowering the chest onto the ground, Hendemir backed away while Daedrok undid the latch. He opened it, flipping the top back. Cautiously, Daedrok leaned into the chest and picked up a large object with both hands and arms, almost the size of his own torso. At first Hendemir thought it was a gem, for the edges were cut like a jewel. He quickly dismissed the notion. Green and orange, various streaks of color gently swirled inside the crystalline object, moving.

“It’s glass on the outside,” Nerkyl answered, seeing the elf’s bewildered expression. “Inside is a gaseous mixture I think. Don’t bother asking me what; that knowledge has been lost for a long time. Even the engineers of the Old Kingdom only managed to create one of these this size, so they say.” The colors moved almost hypnotically, like the push and pull of the ocean. “I could have mistaken it for a huge gem,” Hendemir said. “Many did,” Nerkyl immediately replied. “And many thought it was some magic thing. Hell, scholars centuries later called it a real fancy name, ‘The Heart of the Old Kingdom’. But none of them figured out what it really was. Idiots.” “And that is?” Hendemir asked. Nerkyl grinned, proud of his cleverness. “It’s a power source! The Heart is a goddamn battery! This alone could power the Old Kingdom’s most miraculous machines, their greatest weapons.” He waved his staff at the large, lighthouse-sized machine behind him. “Including this one! Once powered, it’ll create the essential component we need for the bomb. The rest of the device we can build ourselves, but without this, we have nothing. Let’s not waste the opportunity. Now, place the Heart into the machine!”

Daedrok, holding the large gem-like object against his chest, carried it to the opening in the pipes. It looked both heavy and perhaps breakable upon the stone, Hendemir thought. He was grateful Daedrok was the one carrying it, for the stoic warrior moved flawlessly without the slightest flinch. Daedrok heaved the Heart through the slot and it fitted into place, as though made for it. Aligned with the pipes, the Heart now fully looked apart of the machine.

As Daedrok rejoined Hendemir, Nerkyl walked to the base of the machine, seeming to savor the moment. He glanced toward his companions with a wide smile on his face, then placed one hand upon a lever. “Here we go.” He pulled.

There was life. The machine began to hum like a low, manly voice; dials on the gauges flickered and rose. Then the Heart itself seemed to vibrate. Activated, the green and orange colors started to mix and blend into a neon yellow, glowing. Nerkyl pulled another lever, and the entire machine suddenly pulsed with energy. Pipes rattled, gauges moved, and the main body shivered as it begun creation. “It’s working! It’s working!” cried Nerkyl, excitedly hobbling between the parts.

“Not for long!” a feminine voice boldy shouted, reverberating in the spacious chamber.

Nerkyl loudly groaned, “I can’t believe it. Now of all times.” They turned and saw her, standing not far behind them on the stone platform. Versa, the Paladin of Sophia, stood with her greatsword drawn. Water still dripped off the lionhead shoulders of her armor from the swim; her green eyes pierced through a damaged winged helm, hardened by determination. “I won’t allow you to fulfill your plans. This ends now!” she loudly declared.

“I think you need a hobby,” Nerkyl retorted. Daedrok pulled out the greataxe from his back. Heavily-stained, the axe looked as heavy as a man and sharpened on every side. Nerkyl hastily said to him, “I can’t leave the machine, for the process can’t be stopped. Handle her! And Hendemir . . Go stand by the wall!” Hendemir had already unsheathed his sword; he looked at Nerkyl incredulously. “I can fight! I-” “I said no!” Nerkyl snarled. “She is beyond you. Best thing you can do is not die. Now go!” Against his bitter resentment, Hendemir listened and retreated to the wall.

Hendemir anxiously watched as Daedrok slowly marched toward his opponent. The armor-clad woman warily approached him, sword at the fore. Hendemir had never seen Daedrok fight before, and his eyes were fixed on them. This fight he would never forget. They met at the center of the platform. Unable to delay, the woman raised her sword high and swung overhead; Daedrok met her above with his axe, clashing to a standstill in between. Sparks of broken metal rained on them both, frozen in stance. Battle ensued. And this was a battle to the death. . .

Versa stared at her gauntlet. Red was smeared across the metal, shining. Blood. The armor had been rent open, for she could feel the sharp, torn metal when she touched the wound. But the pain was distant. Adrenaline flooded her body and mind. The world oscillated between being blurred and extraordinarily focused, almost to the point it overwhelmed her.

The last exchange of blows had left her hurt. As the world returned into focus, she remembered a dire fact. She was on her back. Above her, Daedrok raised his axe high, preparing to end her forever. Reality snapped into place. As fast as she could, she grabbed and thrust her greatsword upward. The sword pierced into Daedrok’s stomach, screeching through the metal plates. He roared with agony, a voice that sounded like the crackle of burning embers.

Wrenching her blade free, she scrambled off the ground. She only made it to her knees when Daedrok clutched her arm, his metal gauntlet like a beast’s bite. He squeezed, crushing - Versa’s groan of pain changed into a scream. Suddenly, he spun his whole body while still clasping onto Versa, taking her with him and off the ground. He released and flung her across the platform, and she slammed into a pillar at the very edge. It was her back that collided against the curved stone, momentarily bending in an unnatural way. The pain was no longer distant. She collapsed at the base and her head hung off the edge, gazing at the flooded chamber below. Her reflection looked back at her from the shifting waters. Like a sunken corpse, Versa darkly thought. “No,” the word escaped aloud. Defiance arose within, determination that her fate would not end here, not now. She picked herself up and leaned against the pillar for support. Daedrok steadily marched toward her until he was little more than an arm’s length away, looming. Her timing needed to be perfect.

Nerkyl shouted from far away, “We don’t have much longer! Finish her!” Behind the goblin, the gigantic machine was fully functional, and billows of steam and gas furiously spouted from pipes.

Daedrok primed his axe for a deadly blow. With tremendous force, he swung in a flat arc. Versa swiftly crouched and dived past him, tumbling across the ground. In disbelief, Versa watched his axe collide with the pillar where she stood - and decimate it. Going straight through the solid stone, Daedrok felled the pillar with a single swing, and shattered rock spewed out the other side. As Daedrok took a large step back, the broken end of the pillar instantly crashed onto the stone platform. Like a great tree whose trunk had vanished, the stone support toppled in direction of the water, colliding with another pillar in the process and breaking itself into pieces. Boulders the size of wagons rained into the lake, leaving brief geysers of water where they sank. Some crashed onto the head of the fallen statue; a metallic echo rang through the chamber like a gong.

Wearily, Versa stood. She began to chant, “Light of the Mother, Union of the Spirit, with Holy Fire is the sin purged, within and without. Oh Goddess give me strength.” Lifting her greatsword, she lunged at Daedrok while he turned, unleashing a flurry of blows. He swung his axe back and forth, parrying them as they came. Faster and faster she attacked. Daedrok seemed to tire, for his last block came too late. The tip of her sword scratched across the cheek of his horned helm, leaving behind a scar in the metal and forcing his head to turn. Slowly, he returned his gaze to her. And she saw it. A single red eye flared from beneath the black slit in his helm, like a hot coal in a raging furnace. Hatred emanated from it. He poured his fury into a mighty swing of his axe. Versa blocked, and the clang of steel on steel was so sharp that it hurt her ears.

They stood face to face. As the echo of their clashing blades died in the spacious chamber, another sudden screech of metal followed, one that didn’t come from either of them. They backed away from each other. Both immediately glanced toward the machine where Nerkyl also looked perplexed, searching for its source. Another screech came, louder than the first. This time they realized the sound didn’t come from the machine at all - the echo had fooled them. It came from the water.

Then another sound, resembling the beating of a drum; low and bass, Versa could feel it in her chest. The mysterious beating continued steadily. She looked at Daedrok, uncertain whether to continue fighting - he shared her hesitation. Splash. Something broke the surface of the water. Nerkyl shouted, “Is the ceiling falling!?” Splash. Versa gazed out at the lake, and the realization slowly dawned, followed by horror. “No. . . nothing’s falling,” she said, her voice unsteady. “Something’s rising.” Splash.

A massive object suddenly burst from the water in front of them, rising higher and higher. Reaching half the height of a pillar, it stopped. Only it wasn’t a pillar. It was a sword.

The ground shook. Both Daedrok and Versa hastily backed away from the edge of the platform. Metal screeched as though a thousand rusted gears moved. And over the edge of the stone ground came two great eyes - the head of the fallen statue. Which also rose higher and higher. Versa soon realized the drumbeat wasn’t a drumbeat at all. It was clicking.

The golden-haired elf near the wall began sputtering, “The statue! It’s. . . it’s. . .” “That’s no statue,” Nerkyl interrupted. “That’s-” “A Colossus. . .” Versa finished for him. The head of the colossus finally ceased rising, almost near the ceiling itself. Shaped like a man, the machine was larger than the tower of a castle. Its metallic body had longed eroded to a dull, rough gray, giving it the appearance of stone; the head wore a giant crown, continuing into a short metal beard. Metal screeching with each movement of its neck, the expressionless face looked down at the adventurers.


“Maybe it won’t do anything?” Nerkyl spoke. The colossus pulled its planted sword from the ground and raised it above Daedrok and Versa. “Maybe not!” Versa cried. Like a falling pillar, the sword came down. Daedrok and Versa dived in opposite directions as the massive blade landed between them. It severed the entire platform, throwing up clouds of broken rock and dust and leaving a gaping chasm behind.

Versa picked herself up. Thinking she could use this to her advantage, to bring down her true enemies, she leapt across the chasm toward Daedrok. The moment she landed, she attacked. Her greatsword arced toward Daedrok who blocked with his own arm, swinging it outward and deflecting the blow aside. Before they even had a chance to continue, she looked up and saw an immense foot on the verge of crushing them. Once again they were forced to dive for safety. The foot landed where they were, and a violent tremor rippled through the ground.

Having already placed a foot, the colossus fully stepped onto the platform; the top of its head scraped against the stone ceiling. It lifted its sword high above and brought it downward with the force of a mountain. As the sword reached its highest point, the tip pierced the ceiling itself and a new waterfall poured from the hole. The sword missed Versa as she sprinted back toward Daedrok, hitting the floor once again. Trying to turn and follow its prey, the colossus clumsily swung its sword around in a wide circle; despite the distance, the tip reached past Nerkyl and hit the machine itself, leaving a gash through several pipes. Pressurized steam escaped from them, and Nerkyl seemed fearful as he frantically worked the levers, trying to keep them check.

Nerkyl almost screamed across the chamber, “Idiots! Both of you! Stopping fighting each other - kill the colossus!” Versa shouted back, “No! I’ll gladly die if it means stopping you both once and for all.” “Idiot, stupid, ignorant woman!” Nerkyl barked vehemently, flailing his arms in a rage. “Don’t you understand!? If that thing hits this machine one more time, it’s going to overload and blow! And not only will we be dead, but it’s going to take the entire goddamn City of Herrod with us! Tel’Gia itself will swallow every building, every fucking person. Get the point!?”

It was as though her heart stopped beating entirely. Somehow, she knew he wasn’t lying. Versa glanced once at Daedrok, then at the colossus. Everything became more difficult. Her words were barely a whisper, “Goddess, help us.”

Hendemir watched both Daedrok and Versa trying to lure the colossus further from the machine. He felt so useless. Not far from him, Nerkyl was on the verge of panic trying to keep the machine from gaining too much pressure - and exploding. The ground shook constantly. ‘There must be something I can do,’ Hendemir thought. He glanced again at Nerkyl whose attention was distracted. This was his chance. Pulling out his sword, Hendemir launched into a sprint across the platform and toward the battle.

Daedrok was swinging his axe at the foot of the colossus, the only part within reach. It seemed to do nothing, hardly cutting through the thick metal. Seeing the futility, Daedrok retreated while Versa took the giant machine’s attention.


Hendemir neared the fight and took cover behind a pillar, but still a reasonable distance from the colossus itself. “What am I doing?” he said disparagingly to himself. ‘What can I possibly do? If a great adventurer like Daedrok can’t overcome this, how can I?’ The doubts shouted at him in his mind, as though they were trying to talk some sense into him. Willfully, he ignored them. Hendemir searched his surroundings, attempting to figure out some plan, anything. His eyes lingered on a fist-sized rock at his feet. Quickly, he reached down and grabbed it; moving out from behind the pillar, he threw the rock at the colossus. Like throwing a stone at a castle wall, it harmlessly struck the metal body and fell to the ground. Although it barely made a sound next to the rusted screeching of metal and the trembling of the ground, the colossus noticed. It turned its head.

Almost frozen with alarm, Hendemir strained his neck looking upward at the unmoving, metal face. As though registering Hendemir’s existence, it briefly studied the elf with its gray and rusted eyes. Hendemir started to regret his foolish mistake when the colossus began to swing its giant sword his way.

Daedrok and Versa saw an opportunity and capitalized. With an unspoken and tense teamwork, Daedrok grabbed and threw Versa herself into the air toward the colossus - only this time she allowed it - and flew through the air like an arrow. Swinging her sword in flight, she flew past the monstrous man’s knee and slashed it from behind, as a knight would joust his opponent. She landed on the ground past it and rolled. The knee slightly caved, stopping the motion of the colossus in its tracks; it struggled to momentarily support its immense weight on one leg. Versa shouted back to Daedrok, “These things are imbalanced! We have to knock it down! Go and-” She didn’t have time to finish.

The colossus straightened out and immediately pivoted, swinging its sword in a massive arc toward Daedrok. Hurriedly searching for cover, Daedrok hastened backward between two great pillars. Yet the giant sword was swung too high. It either missed Daedrok entirely, or worse, planned on it. The blade collided with one of the pillars, and cutting through it, continued into the second one as well. Severing both massive stone supports, hundreds of boulders and rock poured from the sky like an avalanche. The sound was louder than thunder. Clouds of dust filled the air, and Hendemir was unable to see Daedrok’s fate. With few other choices available, Versa ran back toward the colossus.

The very motion of the colossus created gusts of howling wind. The obstructing dust was soon blown away, and Hendemir could see the wreckage. Piles of boulders as tall as houses laid in mounds like a mountain range; dirt and crushed stone spewed across the ground as their foothills. Suddenly, a metal gauntlet burst free from a pile of rock followed by a horned helm. Daedrok crawled out from the heavy stones that buried him and pulled himself into the open. He didn’t stand. Hendemir then realized, he couldn’t stand.

Hendemir felt anxiety burning in his stomach. Never had he seen nor imagined Daedrok in a weakened state, or being caught like this. Never. The colossus loomed over him. When Daedrok had fully pulled himself free, the colossus raised its sword high over his body, reminiscent of an executioner at the block. Daedrok gazed up at the blade, unable to move. This was it, Hendemir thought in shock. Daedrok was going die.

The colossus brought down its blade. If a machine could feel surprise, Hendemir imagined what happened next would’ve done it. As the blade’s edge neared Daedrok, it was blocked by another sword, and stopped only a woman’s height above him. Hendemir couldn’t believe his eyes. Like an ant holding back a falling tree, Versa blocked the strike, holding her sword over both her head and Daedrok at her feet. Light emanated from her blade.

As though it hadn’t fully comprehended what occurred, the colossus hesitantly lifted its sword. Versa grabbed Daedrok’s shoulder and lifted him to his feet. “Only cause I can’t do this alone. There are other lives at stake,” she said to him. Strength seemed to return to Daedrok as he started to move normally again. Versa continued, “We must knock it down. Somehow. It’s the only way.”

Hendemir listened from the other side of the colossus which was beginning to realize its foes were still alive. From there, he saw it - him of all people. On the back of the colossus at the height of its waist, Hendemir caught sight of a small metal panel, easily missed. His mind raced furiously as doubt, fear, and bravery all competed against each other. Foolishness won in the end. He knew what to do.

Hendemir broke cover from behind his pillar and darted toward the colossus. But this time, Nerkyl noticed, and he howled from across the chamber, “Hendemir! What are you doing over there!? What are you-. Get back here dammit!” Hendemir ignored him. He hoped he was doing the right thing. He reached the heel of the colossus which had begun swinging once more at Daedrok and Versa; they danced its blows and hid using the mountainous rubble that were once pillars. Hendemir didn't have time to watch. He climbed.

Having sheathed his sword, he scaled the back of the colossus’ leg. His fingers and toes barely found footholds among the large metal plates. Nonetheless, he managed his way up. For a moment, it reminded him of climbing the great trees in Galia as a child. But those trees didn’t move. His fingers clung desperately whenever the colossus moved its leg. Finally, he reached the waist of the machine and felt a deep satisfaction when he found his eyes hadn’t betrayed him. The panel was there. With one hand he latched firmly onto a metal handhold while he unsheathed his sword with the other. Having no time to spare, he shoved the blade beneath the edge of the panel and used it as a crowbar.

After several seconds it popped off, and the metal panel sailed to the ground. Hendemir hoped it didn’t land on anyone. And at last, he peered inside the colossus. Gears and axles and more gears rotated and moved within like the inside of a giant clock; he could see very little past the wall of moving parts. But within arm’s reach of Hendemir were also a number of thick cables that disappeared above and below. Like a spine, Hendemir thought. He also remembered what happens when a spine is broken. Taking his sword, he started sawing at the first cable.

The cables were extremely tense; Hendemir only needed to cut a small ways before it snapped and was violently pulled away. Hendemir cut another and another until he reach the final cable. Hurrying, he sawed with a speed that pained his elbows. And suddenly, it too snapped. The cable burst and lashed out; the end struck Hendemir’s face with a force greater than any whip. Terrible pain coursed through him. Dropping his sword he clutched his face and yelled. But no one heard him over the screech of metal that followed.

As the last cable broke, the legs of the colossus instantly became limp, as though they weren’t there at all. With the weight of a mountain, the entire colossus dropped toward the ground at terrifying speed. Hendemir could feel the air rushing past him. His body floated as everything fell, him falling with it. ‘This is my death’, Hendemir thought. He was surprised at how distant felt, a detached acceptance. ‘Veloth will be proud.’


The sound of crashing metal below was deafening. It was chaos.

And moments before Hendemir struck the ground, the strangest thing occured. It was as if the wind itself decided to suddenly change direction. A powerful gust overtook Hendemir in midair, a wind strong enough to pull him away from the collapsing colossus. With the strength of a hurricane it carried Hendemir away from the falling debris; instead of landing on mounds of jagged metal, he was flung into a shallow pile of dirt. The landing was still painful. But he was grateful to feel pain. It meant he was alive.

Hendemir glanced upward from the ground and saw a green, wrinkled face standing over him. “Your welcome,” Nerkyl tersely spoke. Nerkyl had left the machine, and even more shockingly, he'd saved him. Hendemir felt many things in that moment, but he had no time to speak them.

The colossus crashed mere feet away. The machine was so heavy that the ground rippled like an earthquake, and the sound of gears clanging against each other was like a thousand ringing bells. It sounded as the the interior of the colossus had ruptured completely, knocking its countless parts out of place. Pieces metal forcefully broke from the joints and were flung into the air with the incredible speed. Both Daedrok and Versa were running out from beneath the destruction toward the others, dodging flying metal which moved like crossbow bolts.

Then one shattered gear the size of a horse shot over them, over Nerkyl and Hendemir, and soared across the platform - toward the machine. Nerkyl’s face twisted with a flash of terror. It all happened too fast. The metal debris struck the machine with the force of a meteor and tore away an entire section of pipes, as well as ripped open a large gash in the core itself.

Steam whistled violently out the shattered pipes, and the entire machine seemed to shake wildly. Nerkyl screamed, “No, no, no! It’s going to explode!” Versa reached them, her face also overwhelmed with fear, “No, there has to be something we can do!” “The Heart,” Nerkyl said hurriedly, “Break the Heart!” Versa didn’t wait for him to finish. She took off at a bolt across the chamber, moving with all her strength.

The machine thundered and shook as she approached it. Hendemir felt frozen, watching. She sprinted to the pulsing Heart which glowed a blinding neon yellow. Gripping her sword with both hands, squinting through the light, she swung directly at it. Hendemir could hear the sound of shattering glass, but there was nothing more to see. It exploded. Fire and light swept over everything. And the world went white.


This message was last edited by the GM at 03:00, Sun 22 Mar 2015.