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Short Story Contest #5 - Dual Perspective Partners

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Level 20
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lol...I could totally enter this contest with my roommate type up 5k words in a couple hours, spend a couple hours editing it and enter, xD

But same IPs aren't liked by Py.

Proxy. *rolls eyes*
I DIDN'T SAY THAT ;)

Hehe...

No really, I think the point is that he has his own account... it's a bit unfair if a non-regular-hiver wins a contest, gains rep and or/icon and doesn't come on again, isn't it?
 
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You mean we only have four hours to finish? I find that hard to believe - it's not even the 15/12 here.
 
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I just have to re-touch it and work it up, which I'll do tomorrow. Overall I think it has turned out very nice. The pair-part of this contest really forced me to actually start working and not quiet very early. 'Twas very fun, and I'll submit with Baassee the finished piece tomorrow. Good luck to everyone else!
 
Level 17
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I wasnt able to finish last night due to certain issues.... ill post a WiP to show you guys what we have before the ended, so i dont spoil it for you until the time comes =p

Please when reading, dont point out obvious spelling errors, i havnt run it through spell check

Edit: Now i spell checked it so find everything you can! you perfectionists.

Chapter 1

The sun began to shed its light on the farmer’s field, making his flowers glow and his pond sparkle. It made the air warmer and everything glow with a weak light. His eyes slowly opened to the beautiful sunrise, after another sleepless night. He could not remember how it was like when he wasn't burdened with these nightmares. These are the nightmares that haunted him every single night since he was a child, but they never made any sense. He sat there trying to ponder at what he dreamed of, he shuddered when he remembered. A man who resembled a corpse was strangling a girl who he had never seen in his lifetime. He stood up walking while mesmerized by thoughts as he recalled his dreams. He could remember only three. The strongest one was of a girl beckoning him to follow her. One that rarely came was of what seemed to be the same girl sitting across from him. But the recent week a certain dream came up a lot, the girl being killed. He wondered what these dreams meant, has he finally lost it like his fore father did? His mother would tell him stories of a long relative who went insane, it started with nightmares. He was then determined to stop these dreams. He grabbed his hoe and went through the rows and finished his daily tasks. When he finished he realized how long it had taken him. He would have to go into town the next day.

He awoke with a gasp. He grabbed his throat as if he couldn't breathe. He calmed down and began to breathe normally. This was the worst dream he has had; now he knew if he didn't fix this problem, he would surely die. He had never had such a vivid dream. A chill went down his spine when he thought about it. He got up, got dressed, and grabbed a piece of bread and headed off to the town. It was just before sunrise so he didn't know if the healer would be awake.

He finally reached Galeria, the nearest merchant town, he helped the healer once, and still hadn't (a synonym for "cashed in" like what you would do with a favor) that favor. He walked up to the store and began to pound on the door of the healer. After a few minutes with no response, he heard a voice beckoning to him.
"Come closer my child, and I will tell you a story." said an old woman shrouded by darkness. He had no other choice but to pass the time until the healer awoke. So he subdued and went to her. "Yes child you are filled with dark, but you shine brighter then the sun!" the woman said.
"What do you mean?" he replied.
"You are on a thin path, the dark wants you, but the light protects you." She said. It was then that he realized what she meant; the nightmares that are trying to kill him.
"You know about my nightmares?" he asked.
"Yes your burdens of foresight, such a tool of evil, but you don’t know of it."
"Please tell me how I can get rid of them." he pleaded.
"Such a gift, past down by generations, only the son of the eighth son has this gift. You should be proud!"
"Proud!? I am a simple farmer; these dreams of death are no use to me! How can one be proud of this!" he argued.
"When the time comes you will head my words. And you will understand." She said as she fell back into the shadows and disappeared.
"What do you mean!?" He yelled.



Chapter 2 - A Memory

"One day child, you will be the greatest heroine of this land....." as a dark but familiar voice echoed to her. She awoke frightened; she reached for an old book and hugged it like it was a child. "Oh father..." said the hooded girl with an agonizing voice. She sat still and recalled haunting memories of her childhood. She withdrew the book from her grasp and set it on her lap. She fingered the spine feeling the rough symbols of a language she didn’t know. She thought about her father, their last moments together. She shut her eyes and the memories came back...
"Give us all yer goods and we’ll letcha go!" sneered a bandit, pointing his sword at the men and women who had lined up along the grass. Nobody moved, or even flinched to this man, they only stared to the ground with dead eyes. The girl was only a child in her mother’s arms but she knew what was happening, this wasn’t the first time the bandits came to plunder her village. A man on a horse came riding in; he was recognized as the leader of the bandits. "Now, now, you aren’t giving my men a hard time now, are you?" the bandit leader said as he trotted along the line. He came up to the child’s father and pulled a sword to him. "Is that a silk shirt? How could you have possibly afforded that? Did we not clean you out last time?" He said as he scraped his sword up his chest to the man’s neck. "Why don’t you hand over all that money you have?" He signaled his men to go inside the obscure house.
A man came out carrying a book with strange markings on it. "This is all I could find, he’s dead broke." said the bandit. The leader took the book and when the father realized what the bandit lord had taken he was suddenly sparked to life. He sprang toward the leader, knocking him off his horse latching onto the book with all his might. The bandits rushed over and managed to pull him off their leader. "If you’re so passionate about this book, you can have it." He said as he threw the book into their house. The bandits rounded up all the people and lock them in their houses as they burned the houses down. The father went up to his child "Do you remember what I told you?" he asked, as the little girl nodded. Her mother opened a small latch and wrapped a piece of bread in a cloth. "Here Shinozu, now run off!" said her mother. The little girl took the bread and started to climb down the trap door. Before she could run down the tunnel her father came to the entrance, "Here take this, it is meant to be yours." He said as he handed her the book. She ran down the tunnel and heard the scream of her mother....
She awoke back into her reality, heart racing, she looked around and decided it was time to move on. Enough of the past, she had to let go of it. She read the book, but she could only understand its illustrations.
She got off the grass, and exited the small rock wall that enclosed and protected her. She took her knives, fixed her long, draping cape, and put her hood on. It was time to restock on supplies in another area. She pulled out a crudely drawn map and pointed at a spot on it.

Chapter 3 - The Meet

Johan stormed out of town, outraged at the old woman who told him such madness. He walked back to his farm his head down trying to make out what she had said. Johan was so detached from the surroundings he almost ran into a guard. He stopped him and pulled out a flier.
"Sir take one of these, she’s a deadly criminal and has a large bounty on her head, be careful she goes for small isolated places." the guard said as he walked into the tree line. He took the flier without a reply and glared at it with no intent to see what was on the paper; he was still in his own world. Johan had walked for a while and the sun began to set. He looked at the flier once more while there was still light, and it was then that it struck him. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head to make sure he was awake, then he looked back at the flier; it was the girl in his dreams.

Johan finally reached his farm but something was odd. His herd of sheep was in their pen, but one of them was tied to a tree near the cellar door. He went to investigate. The lock on the door to the cellar was open, so he pulled the door open and proceeded inside with caution. He heard something deeper in his cellar so he grabbed a shovel, and walked deeper. He noticed a shadowy figure rummaging through his provisions; he took his shovel and swung it at the figure. A loud clank and sparks came from the spot he swung at, the recoil of the hit knocked Johan off his balance. The figure took the opportunity and kicked in his legs. Johan toppled over but stopped his fall with the shovel and managed to strike back at the figure with a jab. The figure took out a knife and cut his arm as she dodged the punch. She kicked him at his chest causing him to fall back into a stone brick. A loud thud was heard and everything went silent.

Chapter 4

After an hour of walking through the trees, a small farm appeared on the horizon. The tree line ended suddenly and the ground sloped down into a steep hill. Shinozu steadily slid down the hill throwing up dust. She hesitated and waited a few minutes to see if anybody was inside. After a while, the girl circled the farm to look for anything she could find. There was a small herd of sheep inside a wooden pen. She opened it pulled a short rope from her side tied it around the sheep's neck, brought it out, closed the pen door, and brought it to the back of the cabin.

"Baaaah!" "Shhhush you dumb animal, someone might hear." Shinozu said angrily. She proceeded to the cellar door of the cabin, and bent over to look at the lock. She smirked and lowered her hood. Her hair caught the sunlight and it caused the thin blond strands of hair to light everything up, she had a soft appearance, but her ice cold blue eyes showed no kindness. She fingered her hair, and then pulled out a bobby pin. She worked the lock for a few minutes and then "Click!" "Gotcha!" she said.

She opened the cellar door, and it creaked. She walked down the stairs and entered the dark and gloomy cellar. The stones were covered in vegetation, and a lot of the bricks had broken loose. She entered the main part of the cellar and started looking through barrels, and chests. She started stuffing her pockets with potatoes, corn, and small items she could sell, and then steal again.

"Urgh" said a strange figure. She looked back for a second and saw a small glimmer coming from the shovel, dropped to the ground and crawled behind the figure. "Clank!" the shovel made contact with the stone wall, the figure stumbled backwards and hit the ground with a thud.

Shinozu saw the perfect opportunity. She put her hand over his mouth to check if he was still breathing. The hot breath hit her hand. She grabbed his arms and dragged him out of the cellar and to the front door. She searched his pockets and took out the key to open it. She pulled him inside and somehow managed to get him on a chair. She found some rope and tied him up. She sat across from him and finally got a good look at the figure that attacked her.

The man was strongly built; he had been a farmer all his life. He was sharp, and had smooth jet black hair. She looked at him, studying every detail, but couldn’t help but to doze off. She laid her head on the table and let her dreams envelope her.

Chapter 5

"Here take this, it is meant to be yours" a voice said. The hatch closed and the two figures lay frozen as the blaze enveloped the house. A support beam broke and separated the two. The women screamed as the fire closed in on her.
Johan awoke, still dizzy. His vision was still blurred, but he tried to remember what had happened. He turned his head to the window; the sun had just come out. He looked forward. He saw a blue figure sitting in front of him. It was a person sleeping. While trying to get up, he realized he was tied down. He struggled with no luck.
"Hey wake up, untie me!" he yelled at the figure. No reply. He hopped forward with the chair and he hit the table up. She woke up quick and stood.
"Who are you!" he yelled. She sat back down and leaned her head on her palm and eyed him. He noticed this girl. But he couldn’t remember. "I’ve seen you before..?" he said confused.
"I wouldn’t be surprised," she replied "There are posters of me in all the big cities." He then remembered; she’s the thief on the poster the guard gave him. But more importantly he remembered; she’s the girl who he has seen in his dreams for the past three months.

He recalled his recent dream, about the two parents being killed. "I’m sorry about your parents." he couldn’t resist saying, the sadness of losing his own parents in a fire over took him.
She stood up and said "You knew my parents!?" Johan replied "N...No... I...” he thought about it and figured the truth wouldn’t hurt. "I saw them in a dream, a fire over taking them as you ran to safety."

Chapter 6
“How exactly are you having these dreams?” Shinozu asked.
“Truthfully; I don’t know either.” Johan answered.
“How long have you been having these dreams?”
“These dreams have haunted me for about 17 years, at first I thought it was my diet, but after a while the dreams became so vivid.”
"17 years..? My parents died 17 years ago..." They both stopped talking for a moment.
"That book, what does it say."
"I don't know, i cant read it. Its written in a different language."
"Can i look at it?" He asked. She reluctantly pulled the book out from under her robe. She set it on the table. "You mind untying me?"

He looked at the cover of the book examining it thoroughly. He opened it to the first page and he noticed something.
"This book is written in Latin."
"Can you read it!?" She said excitedly.
"When I was younger my father forced me to learn Latin, I could never grasp it, but i may remember a few things." He flipped the page and looked at it confused. "This may take a while."

Chapter 7
He flipped another page, he couldn’t seem to remember anything he had learned. He picked up his mug of coffee and started drinking. "Any luck?" said Shinozu walking down the stairs wrapped in a towel, her body was more vivid then before, he could see her features more clearly, he coughed as he choked on some coffee. "Well I can’t really find anything...." he said as he turned the pages and glanced down at each page of the book, but something caught his eye. He turned back and saw it.

Shinozu dressed and walked up to the table, leaning over looking at the book. "Find something?"
"Yeah, I think, this right here, it reads Where the earth touches sky, the truth will be seen" he said looking up at her puzzled. Shinozu sat down and rubbed her head. She took out her crudely drawn map and looked at it.
"Are you sure its sky? Could it be the clouds?" she asked. "Clouds? Yes it can translate to the sky or clouds." he said confused. She took out a crudely drawn map and pointed to a region. "Here"

Chapter 8

Shinozu readily packed her things; whilst Johan was hesitating to leave his farm unattended. He was thinking of either ending these dreams; or simply live a normal farmer’s life. He rummaged through his pockets and he felt a paper. He pulled it out and remembered what the guard had told him. This girl had a bounty on her. He read the flier, one thousand gold coins. He thought to himself "With this money I wouldn't have to work another day in my life."

He decided that the best choice was to see where this book lead, and if he could get rid of his nightmares. He went into an old room and opened a cabinet. It was full of old junk, he rummaged through it and pulled out a small knife with a sheath. He put the knife on his belt went back to Shinozu.

"Are you ready?" She asked Johan.
"Define ready..." He said frustratedly.
"Lets go, the mountains get cold at night, so its best to leave now so we arrive at the base in the morning."
"Lets go then."

Chapter 9

Shinozu and Johan were walking down a dirt road, every few hundred yards there would be a poster of Shinozu, she would tear it down. She tied up her hair and wasn't wearing her shroud, so the picture didn't look like her very much.
"So what did you do." He eagerly asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Well you have a thousand coin bounty, you had to have done something horrible."
"I was set up.... I stole from the bandit lord and he set me up, I don't know what he did, but ever since that, Ive been hunted by the guards." There was a long silence as they walked, rested for a drink, and walked some more.
"Mind me asking, how old are you?" Johan asked. Shinozu smiled, "Its not polite to ask a girl her age." They walked on until the sun set.

!Chapters 10 - 12 under constructions!

Chapter 13

The sun set and they made up camp in a clearing. A fire was going, but it was very dim. Shinozu threw flier by flier in the fire. Johan lay back looking at the stars. He sat up and looked at Shinozu, the fire highlighted her soft features. She looked up at him and her eyes were different, they had a shade of green around the rims.
"What are you staring at!" She exclaimed.
"Your eyes, I didn't notice how beautiful they were." Shinozu looked away trying to hide her red cheeks from him. The conversation ended there because no one wanted to comment.

"22," Shinozu said out of nowhere.
"What?" Johan asked.
"I'm 22"
"You look much younger then 22." The conversation again cut off.
 
Level 17
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1,603
Yeah and I didn't fail either :p Now I can finally work on SOE after really putting myself into this contest.

And that is a very good thing. ^.^

Ours might be a tad late, but that's due to stupid timezones on my part. I don't live in Europe. v.v
 
Level 13
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I know I'm such a fail. Took me like forever just to write a few sentances. Sorry Peper I let you down :(
 
Level 17
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How late am I? Damn timezones. Nobody has posted their entries, so I hope not.
 
Last edited:
Level 17
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Thirty minutes? Oh no. I'm sorry Drag, but if you had plans to do editing, I'm putting a stop to them and submitting it when I'm finished.

Grey - you can do it! Don't let us down! ^.^
 
Level 20
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11:59 not 23:59

It's due, right about now.

Here's ours, I'm not amazingly happy with it, the second perspective is very obviously rushed but considering the time we spent on it I think me and TWIF are at least satisfied.


I smiled gently and closed the girl’s eyelids in mute respect.





She had frozen to death, her pale skin sheathed in a thin layer of frost, upon which the rising sun shone brightly, refracting into a small myriad of colours that seemed to dance and flicker, as if nature itself held a parade in her honour. Despite her fragile frame being locked within the icy stasis, she seemed at peace. Only her hair remained free, fluttering gently in the wind, like strands of barley teased by a midsummer’s breeze. Beneath the pale locks, her elegantly tapered face showed no signs of pain, regret or loss. Yet she was young, not ready to part from this world. Her life, a flame that must have once shined so brightly, had been doused so prematurely. I’d seen many tragedies in my time, but none such as this. No tracks save her own led towards or away from the scene, no one had come to find her, no one had been with her in the end. No one had held her hand and said everything will be alright. She had died alone. I swallowed, wincing at the lump abruptly caught in my throat; I shed eighteen tears one for every winter she had been fortunate enough to see.





“Fourteen tears for fourteen years. So may my essence guide you, to wherever you may rest. So in death you may find that which you missed in life. Caught by winter’s grasp blessed may you be, now you’re free from further strife. Go... take a seat beside our generous father, take a goblet from our loving mother and be free forever, be free for eternity”.





Smileg gently I rose and inhaled deeply, letting the crisp clean air of the Karthek Range cleanse my heavy heart. Looking up, I met the sun’s glare as I squinted far out to the east, jaded eyes flicking from peak to peak, looking for some sign of life. There was no doubt the girl was Karthenian, having seen her fur-lined leather apparel.

I wasn’t unfamiliar with the people, I gritted my teeth. They were tribal; they lived for the hunt, facing blizzards, frozen lakes and the treacherous heights - of this most ancient part of Destra - together. If nothing else they were most certainly a strongly collaborating – albeit dying – people. The harsh lifestyle seemed to be taking its toll, refusal to leave the range and their ancient traditions, to embrace the new world of technology and science... had inevitably caused their numbers to dwindle.

Perhaps she had run away? I considered. No.

Her peaceful expression and calm demeanour said otherwise.

Sighing softly I strode toward her, booted feet breaking the silence with a crunching beat as they compressed the freshly fallen flakes beneath. I ran my bare hands through a matt of jet black hair, feeling the cold, sinewy strands and exhaled heavily. I was getting weak. I had tasks to fulfill, masters to please. Why should I care what happened to some poor Karthenian girl?

“What’s happening to me?” I trembled, raising my hands. “I’m shaking?” I laughed half-heartedly, as if it might dispel these new-found feelings. Yet my gaze was still drawn involuntarily towards the deceased child. With a pang, I realized there was no denying it, I felt something for her, but what?

Snorting, I tore my eyes away. Golems never had feelings, Golems didn’t need feelings!

Urak, what are you doing? Are you just going to leave her there?

A sharp drop in temperature accompanied the windborne voice.

“Who are you?” I snarled, startled as I whirled around to face the newcomer.

“What-?” I gaped, seeing only the girl’s stiff corpse framed in the ever drifting light.

She needs your help.

I frowned, narrowing my eyes as I surveyed the scene, emerald eyes sweeping the partial landscape laid out before me.

“Show yourself” I growled, lacing my tongue with venom.

Urak, time is short. Help the girl... quickly now!

“She’s dead!” I retorted, voice beginning to carry irritation.

If Golems can take life, why can’t they grant it?

I froze, jaw dropping. Realisation dawning.

The voice, it was my own. My mind, I was rationalising, thinking for myself.

What is this? How can I...? Am I free, No longer a slave to the will of the god’s?

Leaving the questions unanswered I stole across the cleft, edging towards the child.

If Golems can take life... surely they can grant it?

As I raised a rugged palm, for the first time in my life, a tear rolled down my cheek, a glistening ball of all that was good in me, finally breaking free .

I’m such a fool. I placed my palm upon the coat of ice, above the girl’s... still beating heart.



They come. I see them. They come to claim her. Why? I sense... anger. Hate. They mean to harm her.

They cannot, they wouldn’t! Her own kin? What must this girl have done to deserve their malice? It matters not. For I, Urak have done worse by a thousand fold. Urak the Tyrant, the Betrayer, the Deceiver. I am the one who should be hunted not her, not some... girl. The feeling is alien, but it’s... right. I will protect you; I will guard you until I no longer draw breath and for once trust me. My word... is my own. I am free.




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





Faint veins of blue lined the heavens, gentle tones of warmth and brightness that had been long since concealed. A trace of pink became more prominent amid the frothing clouds as the drifting sun announced the coming of dusk, painting the mountains in a poignant, greying light. Winter now oppressed the Karthek Mountains, shrubs and wild flowers that once studded the summer slopes lay dormant in seeds, blanketed by a fresh drape of frost. A white shroud silenced the rugged landscape; every stream, tree and rock seemed bound to a phantom death, a false life of servitude under its ever-present standard. Fine crystals of snow shivered atop glazed ice, each eagerly awaiting the pristine torrents of air which would inevitably carry them away. Rock and earth towered upwards in a thousand fractured facets, extending to the horizon in every direction; a string of successive sentinels.
Deep within the bowels of these imposing, guardians, a small cluster of dwarf pines was growing timidly from a rocky shelf; each thin tree huddled beneath snow and pressed tightly against a formation of stone. The medley of minute evergreen needles piercing through their glittering garments. The group was one in a handful that remained standing in the high reaches, after the ravages of the month's most recent blizzard. In the valleys below, larger cowards of trees grew in abundance, giddy with the white caps that concealed their rich greenery.

Somewhere near, a raspy voice unfolded over the glacial air, chasing wisps of the speaker's pale breath. “The signs are clear - she is not far now.” His words were uttered in Nithean – the Karthenian tongue - they were brisk and clipped. A sheaf of snow split from its cold moorings and plunged into the clear air, disintegrating into a white mist as it fell.
A gradual terrace of rubble and time-moulded stone lay against the mountainside. Gradually, with barely a sound their feet merely skimming across the uneven surface, eight or nine men climbed upwards. White, frost-painted fur clothed their bodies, bulking them to nearly twice normal size and concealing them in the milieu. Elk-hide wrappings and gloves barely outlined their figures. They were heading towards the lonesome, diminutive grove of pines. Each man crept cautiously and softly, like wind-blown plumes. A staggered trail of faded footprints lay in their wake, winding down the rugged mountainside, disappearing in the distant contours. The man at the procession's head was taller than the rest, and dark bands encircled each of his wrists. He was quickening the pace - hands and feet moving in graceful patterns of precision as he navigated on. He dexterously clambered up a sheltered slab, surmounting the step. With a bear's strength, he helped his comrades to ascend - and one by one they knelt along the stretch of rock. Then, their leader left them to catch their breath as he trudged to the pines. With a strong arm he thrust a snowy clump of branches aside. His gloved finger pointed into the shadows. White flakes drifted lazily down.
“Wounds tell tales.”
Some of the men stood. A browned, flaky smear stretched across the grey rock. Scattered flecks of the dried blood trailed away, into promiscuity. The climbers approached and carefully scrutinized the sign. A man's voice, unaccustomed to speech, uttered a hoarse whisper. “Three nights?”
“It is all but certain”

As the leader drew away, the branches snapped back with a flurry of frost. His fur hood masked a rare smile. At last, their hunt was close to an end. Their quarry would be no more than a stiff corpse, a broken trophy to return to the tribe. They would find her in some sheltered cave, or lying crumpled at the bottom of an icy crevice. She would be mangled, maimed by nature's wild ravings and the wounds they had inflicted upon her. It was three days ago - seemingly longer - when the blizzard came to spirit the girl away, halting their search. Once the winds had abated, the inept scouts stalled for two days, vainly searching for her elusive trail. The task demanded their leader's adroitness and knowledge. Already he vowed that when her body was secured, when the scouts were no longer needed, they would feel the lash.

He straightened his back, feeling a sore, bodily groan. The persistent throb of hunger had not faded since the great hunt, many a day past. He surveyed the slope that lay ahead - his vision was limited naught but a thin slit, he raised a hand to wipe away the accumulation of snow on his matted brow and with trained eyes, he found a likely pathway.
“Ramas, Horo!” he rounded, peering sternly into the meek group. “Hasten ahead. Climb to the plateau.” He flicked his wrist impatiently. “Tell us what you see. We will follow.”
Two men emerged from the pack, grunting in response - they were the smallest, yet their frames bulged with lean muscle, making them ideal scouts and climbers. Abandoning caution, they did as they were ordered, scrambling deftly towards the distant plateau. The loose rock, snow and ice of the perilous slope barely quaked as their nimble feet passed them by. After a savoury draw from the chilled air, the leader set off, his cadre aligned behind him. When they reached the slope, a sheet of sheer ice leered at them, eagerly awaiting a misjudged movement. With sharp eyes, the leader and his men analysed every grainy rock and thin recess. Hardened boot edges found unseemly grips. It was rare for the Range to betray their children, having nurtured them in the bitter elements since their mothers gave them life - yet, the group would go slowly, for one man's folly could bring death to all.

“Tarka!” A gruff voice called from below. The leader paused, wedging a toe in the nearest crevice.
“Speak.”
“Another sign.”

The man fingered a loose chunk of rock; a vein of dried blood ran over it. This assuaged the doubts any still had. The leader - known as Tarka - nodded in recognition. He could not comprehend why the girl had fled to these heights - the blizzard's terror must have dissolved her judgment, and it’s winds must have been at her back, driving her onward. The motion of limbs overhead softened; Ramas and Horo had reached the steepest incline of the slope. They halted for the moment as the wind pulled at them menacingly - then, with well-placed hands and feet, they pressed on. Just as Tarka immersed himself in some obscure reflection, the wind's vigour grew, blowing fiercely over the men’s’ now exposed backs - the keen stalkers gritted their teeth, focusing on the rewards they would soon reap. Shortly later, within the time-span of a dozen breaths, the two scouts drew near the lip of the plateau. They began to slow to a crawl, as if harbouring some fear of what they might find.

Tarka called out to them: “Don't steady - keep going!” His words were muffled by the mounting whine of the gale. Obediently, the scouts hauled themselves higher, labouring to circumvent thick, rounded loaves of ice. With their garments fluttering they rose up over the edge of the plateau, and dropped out of sight. The onlookers did not linger, climbing with great haste, eager to see for them if their long-sought quarry had finally fallen under their grasp. A tribal, ancestral power ran through their veins - stronger in some than others -just then awakening within, the frenzied energy rising to a nearly irrepressible level. A clump of snow and ice was kicked free from the cliff and caught by the wind. The seven stalkers were closing upon the prize.
Suddenly, a strained cry came from the plateau. “She is here, Tarka! But-” Horo's voice wavered, “- she’s not alone...”
The sun had passed beyond dense cloud, leaving the sky a bleak grey akin to worn steel. The climbers froze, bracing tensely against the gusts which now struck without warning. Waves of angst blended with Tarka's pulsing blood. What body heat he had not lost to the wintery day deserted him. Confusion blurred his thoughts and his thin frame shook violently.
“Explain, Horo!”
The reply did not come. In the distance, arching geysers of snow careened from the mountain peaks, born from the wind. Anticipating a fearsome gust, Tarka adjusted his weight, pressing close to the rock and gave rapid hand gesture signalling his men to follow suit. The howl came, the wind clawing fearsomely at anything loose and supple. One of the men lost his footing, crashing against hard rock. He was steadied by a firm hand, prior to the torment subsiding.


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


“Ramas, Horo?!”
The question was veiled by the air currents. I closed my mind to the prying voice and filled my ears with the messages of the wind. The two scouts were standing still. My gaze shifted from one to the next. No doubt a lurid fear had suffused their hearts. I was standing between them and the rigid body of the poor girl. They glanced furtively, first to her, then to one another, and then back to her. They sought her. I willed myself calm as a snarl came unbidden. I had thought I would never know the truth. It was almost soothing to see her kinsmen - her torturers - draw back with fright. The wind was speaking to me. Whispers were passing among the Karthenians on the slope. They sensed something was amiss - misgiving had been woven in their sinew since tender ages. Rock shifted as they resumed the climb. The fears playing through their thoughts would be devoid of a Golem… until death doused their squalid lives.

I summoned my breath, hushed words slipping from my mouth in their native tongue. “You shall not touch her.” I was observing two souls about to die. The freezing air grated their thin nerves. I sensed rocks shift as the climbers below drew near. “Your deaths shall be swift.”

These men had trained as hunters… and killers - I saw the blood of past lives sadistically marring their sight. But they were no warriors; they could barely wield the blades sheathed at their sides. They stood dumbly, as if in disbelief. The wooden staff moved with blurring speed, flying bird-like over my raw skin. The spiralling currents of air swept across my face. The scouts were precariously close to the edge as I advanced. Cold air wafted through my lungs in tandem to the rhythm of the staff. The knotted tip carried the momentum.
They scattered with impulsive fear as I unleashed the blow. The heft of wood struck, tearing fur and breaking flesh, but not where I had intended. The man's uninjured arm groped for his sword while the second scout scrambled to his knees, leaning over the rock ledge to signal his comrades. My staff struck a white-knuckled fist, disarming the first scout. With a free hand I seized his own blade's hilt and swung the glinting steel across his neck. Doused by adrenaline I ignored the mindless splutter of pain and terror. The disembowelled sight was a blur in the crook of my vision. Before the corpse struck the ice, I threw the blade – it spun wildly through the air – embodying itself with a sharp thud and accompanying scream. Both lay lifeless when my next breath came. A pool of bright, glistening blood saturated the white snow, causing it to steam with heat.

From below, unintelligible voices rang through the crisp air. I tore a bloodied strip of fur from one of the scouts and flung it over the edge for every fearful eye to see. Nervous, mystified hearts were easily overcome.
The coldness of the air had become unkind, and impressed upon the climbers. Whenever they made a free gesture its soporific effect slowed their movements. After a night to face the elements, they would be as lifeless as the girl. The leader was the first to see the bloodied scrap descending ominously over their heads. Worrisome cries and dark curses sprang from his men. He looked them over with a rending gaze.

“Kulo, go!” I heard him bark. “Make haste. See what has happened. The rest of you, keep on – carefully now.”

I needed no sight to see the scene, for the mountain told me all. A solitary white figure began to climb, passing the leader with a curt grunt. His stubby limbs pulled and pushed off the rock, all but without effort. His haste was impressive to say the least. Upon his cresting of the plateau, the leader drew in a sharp breath. The low evening sun shot brilliant beams through a gap in the clouds, and through the piercing luminescent light I watched the man ascend the rim.

As the blinding light faded, I dipped the end of my staff in the blood, lacquering the gnarled wood with liquid. The sour smell of death wafted through the calm air of the plateau. The men I had killed were fodder for the blood-lust singing its demanding song within me. I would defend the girl to the very last dregs of strength, though why I felt so inclined, I knew not. I stepped forward, noting the third Karthenian was both oblivious to my presence and preoccupied with catching his breath.
My fists tightened around the knotted staff. His pain would end as soon as it began. A droplet of frost-blackened blood slipped from the grooves of the staff and splashed upon the ice.

Alas, the fool raised his head, his line of sight revealing the bloodied corpses, and he seemed puzzled, stunned. He must have been no more than a boy - unaccustomed to wars and death. The imminent deed, which I'd seen many a man shy from in fear, soothed my soul and sent flames of passion through my vision. I unleashed the fury that coursed through my veins, swinging the staff at his proffered skull. It was then that his own shock took him, and he wrenched to the ground in a convulsion. My misjudged blow struck the side of his head uncleanly, ripping off the fur hood, leaving a red-smeared entanglement where his ear should have been. The boy staggered forward on hands and knees, dazed. Vomit spewing from his lips, excavating a rancorous trough in the snow.

The pulsating gusts of wind whipping around the mountain formed a protective halo, nearly visible against the dim evening landscape. I paced slowly forward, footfalls compressing the ice with the sound of a nightmarish presence – only fitting for a Golem. The Karthenian filth crawling on the ground spun around as he battled with dismay. I was perversely pleased that he looked me in the eyes. Those brown disks that must have witnessed the unimpeded torment of at least a handful by his own doing suddenly contracted in animalistic desperation, the mind within realizing it was on the receiving end now. If it had any acumen it knew its life was over, since the moment it scaled the ledge. Wielding the staff like an axe in both hands, my second blow struck the ice, slamming a disappointing finger's breadth from his flesh and bone, scorching a burning path down his cheek.

At the top of my lungs I roared belligerently, not withholding strands of spittle. “You will suffer far worse than she!” My prey's face contorted in heightened, vivid trepidation. Time seemed to slow while I once again envisioned her final day: stumbling, grievously pain stricken, beaten and berated by the foul Karthenians who shared the same mountains. This scout was one of them. “Die!”

The end of the staff struck his shoulder and I drove it deeper with unrelenting pressure until it seemed to sink through the wretched flesh and crush bone. The body's arms and legs flailed, the man twisting and writhing as he tried to be free. But there was no escaping the just retribution for his acts. I smiled cruelly, unable to deny the elation I felt at his life draining away.

“Tarka! Tarka!” He was yelling at a frenzied pitch. My right boot cut him short, driving down over his chin. Silently, I chastised myself for letting him live so long. The other two died far the quicker. I felt the sensitive, squirming face underfoot buckle and bend. The joints of the jaw slipped with a subtle pop. The man's eyes rolled uncontrollably, tilting into whiteness, gazing into the back of his head. He turned pale and I heard his hysterical breathing tainted by a trickle of blood that flowed down his throat. His hands and feet jostled, moving spasmodically. Any moment and the others would ascend the ledge. I twirled the staff from hand to hand, waiting. Wondering.

Why am I doing this? Why am I risking life and limb for her? What does she mean to me!

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?” I cried, leaping at the next Karthenian, breaking his nose with the staff’s tip and a sickening crack, sending him spiralling to his death before he even crested the rise.



It was with a ruthless conduct and bloodthirsty conscience that I dispatched the rest of the party, strewing their corpses upon the cleft and allowing their blood to stain the snow a dirty crimson.

I stood for a while, inhaling deeply, admiring my handy work.

I felt no remorse for the men; it was just like any other kill, any other duty.

They had deserved to die, so died they had. Was it really that simple? Did I truly have the power, the right to decide their fate? Or did the gods control me still? Like a wolf held by a chain, teased with slack only for the yoke to be tightened once more. My blood boiled, my head span. Was it so much to ask to be free? To live a life of my own? To go where I please, do what I do.

Seething, I turned to the reasoning behind all this, the girl... What part did she play in it all?

Shaking my head I dropped the staff unceremoniously upon blood stained blanket of snow and joined her in a state of stasis, silent, still. Waiting, wondering.



***



My mind was bled dry, my memories drained like water from a sponge. The pain caused by the pressure had been excruciating, my mind had been squeezed of every last recollection. Nothing remained. I lay there, cold and broken, wounds to deep to heal. I was dead inside.

A sickness crawled beneath my skin, slowly moving towards my core – trying to take the rest of me away. I could feel myself suffocate, falling into nothing – I felt hopeless, I felt dead inside.



With time, I felt different. Something had changed, a shadow had been unveiled, a life restored?

My heart burned pleasantly, a deep, warm, whole feeling. I felt the sickness leave me.

I felt as if I could breathe once more, the warmth washing it away. I felt alive, rejuvenated... and awake.



The light was bright, dazzling. A ray of white that cut through my vision like a sharp blade through flesh, purging all the doubt, all the shadow, leaving me free to think, to see and to feel.

I tried to move but met resistance, a cold tingle, a minute restraint. Blinking madly I tried to focus, tried to make sense of my surroundings. Where was I? What held me? I blinked serenely and sat upright, composing myself. I saw nothing but shades of black and white, burry, half complete silhouettes of my surroundings. I glanced around cautiously, instinctively expectant. Something had happened, or was about to...

I whirled my upper body about, legs and arms still locked, squinting and desperately trying to make something out... anything. I inhaled deeply, calming myself. I felt the bitter chill, snatch at my hair with futility, gently tugging at the pallid wisps. It caressed my face, fondling me gently, almost like a mother would tend to a lost child. The breeze seemed to be rejoicing, welcoming, comforting.

I smiled gently as I raised a slender arm – all of a sudden –free from the phantom bonds. Mother Nature knows her own, she welcomes me home.

“Karthek” I rasped, voice soft, airy and laced with awe.
“It's very beautiful" a foreign voice agreed.
The abrupt speech startled me, it carried a rough edge yet retained a strangely soothing aspect that I couldn't quite place my finger on.
I turned to what I presumed was the source, one among many black blurs upon the frizzled white canvas laid out before me.
"I didn't go through alI that just to hurt you myself" it chuckled, seemingly finding my puzzled expression mildly amusing.
I forced a smile to my pallid face, suppressing an involuntary frown, but as I drew back he spoke again.
"You have beautiful eyes, a much richer blue than I have ever seen... and I've seen many" it was a statement rather than a compliment, the man - which I now presumed 'it' was - seemed content to speak in monotone.
I hesitated, unsure whether I should flee... whether I could flee, with my vision hampered so. I struggled to recall how I got here, even why I was here. Would he know? Could she trust him? Surely if he meant me harm he would've done so by now?
"Go through all what?" I asked timidly, recalling his previous comment whilst allowing curiosity to get the better of me.
The blob shifted, repositioning itself before waving a stubby little outcrop across my line of sight, indicating something.
"Hunters, six, maybe seven. They pursued you, I..." the man paused, obviously choosing his next words carefully.
"...dealt with them" he said stonily, betraying nothing.
I couldn't help but furrow my brow, deep in concentration, trying to remember...
"The name Tharka, was mentioned" the man offered, trying to shed some light upon the situation.
'Tharka' I gasped, understanding having dawned.
“It’s ok your safe now, he hunts you no longer”
Words were meant to sooth, made my eyes dilate and widen.
His voice, I recognised it, didn’t I?
“Is something wrong?” he asked gruffly.
I felt my jaw drop. It was him, it had to be. Surely.
My hands began to shake, my body to tremble.
This could not be, yet it could be no one else.
I reached out for him, flailing clumsily with my impeded vision.
I imagined he would fade away, blink out of existence or disappear into nothing, but he didn’t.
“It is you” I breathed, tears beginning to fall, pleasantly warm against my icy skin.
“You came back” I cried, letting the dam burst, allowing bead after bead to filter through my glazed eyes. Warmth flooded me, it enveloped me like a hot sea it drowned out everything else. The whole within me was gone, filled, sealed. I was whole once more.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about” the man replied coldly, edginess to his voice.
I ignored him, too overjoyed with the prospect of his return. All those years alone, all those years of wandering the world in a sick solitude, were they finally over?
“I do not know you” he growled, shaking me to my senses.
“What? Urak, that’s not funny, don’t play games with me please. All those years, you’ve no idea… Oh I’m just so glad your back”.
I reached to embrace him but to my horror, he backed away causing me to fall into the warm snow.
Warm… Sticky… I lifted my face and miraculously my vision began to focus, I could see clearly.
Blood. A lake of it covered the cleft, seeping from a mound of bodies stacked high in its centre.
My people lay there, piled high, without respect, without dignity. They lay mutilated, limbs missing, torn or crushed. Heads surrounded the mounds base, eyes grim and lifeless. I wanted to scream. To cry out. Who could do such a thing? I noticed Tarka, his body separate from the rest, strung up on one of the fur trees, at least I thought it was him. The body had been flayed, skinned, alive by the looks of it. I gasped and raised a hand to my mouth. I screamed, seeing it to stained with blood, the crimson fluid was everywhere, it stained the mountain, framed the cleft. I shook uncontrollably.
“Urak what have you done?” I screamed, turning to face the Golem, the son of gods.
“I did what I had to… To protect you” he shrugged, smiling, almost as if admiring his handy work.
I balked.
“They got to you didn’t they?” I sobbed, tears winning out once more.
“They took you away all those years ago, you swore to me; you swore you’d never forget!” I wailed.
“My masters are unaware of this arrangement” he muttered, defensively “but you… I do not recall”.
“You shouldn’t have come back Urak, you shouldn’t have returned. They’ll kill you now, it’s all they can do, and you cannot be allowed to live”.
“Who?” he growled in disbelief.
“Your children… Our children, you made them promise, if you ever came back… your life was forfeit”
 
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The Bone Wastes embraced the golden rays of the sun openly. It had been years since light had touched the surface, and the land had been starved of all life. It was purely barren, much like the hearts and minds of its now-destroyed masters. Upon a pile of bones, resting in the middle of this arid place sat a woman of elven descent. A beautiful emerald shroud caressed her delicate figure, hung together by a brooch of an obsidian raven on her chest. Her innocent turquoise eyes gazed out onto the desolation as a brief wind swayed her hair, splitting it into ivory strands that flickered like white flames. Beside her was Lichenbane, a long, shimmering violet bow, and in her hands, was a crude yet deathly looking hammer. Her face did not show any signs of aging, a trademark of her race, as she frowned with impatience. This woman was Sestina Lamente, a once decorated scout, spy and assassin amongst the high elven rank in the early parts of her life. However, she was unable to recall such events, as a violent battle had left her mind scathed and without any recollection of her early life. She wandered the world as an outsider, but then formed a bond with a group of adventurers. Now, she is once more a hero, not just to her people, but also to the thousands who inhabit the lands in and around these mountains.

She smiled, and looked up at the dawning sun. For the first time in many years, the Blackwind Mountains nested under the light of an omnipotent light. Once, this land was imbrued by the taint of undeath, but with partial thanks to Sestina, the necromantic tyranny that dominated the black peaks no longer haunted this rugged landscape. As she saw the heat slowly melt the rime from the dead trees, and tiny, transparent droplets of ooze disappeared as it touched the ground, joy filled her heart. She contemplated the events of the past few years, and slowly broke the illusion of reality and came to stroll down memory lane.

It was a magnificent autumn morning as the band of adventurers that slaughtered the impurities of the mountains and razed the necromancer’s fortress, Necropia, strode into the city square of Brenrok. The group had marched proudly up the steps of the town hall, greeted by the inhabitants of the entire Blackwind Mountains. They had noted that these masses exceeded the amount of homes this village contained. The group was delighted by the cries of joy emanating from the crowd for their efforts in slaying the Archlich of Necropia.

Amongst the peasants was Xall Planebreaker, a man that held power greater than most of the pantheon of gods. As he angrily weaved through the masses like a snake in the summer bush, silence fell upon the crowd. Like a storm, he paraded to the steps, and his gaze met with a powerful magus named Mourg. Xall outstretched his arm and unclenched his fist, and in his eyes fire danced passionately with fury. “Hand it over,” he demanded, pausing for a moment of tension. “Now.”

A smile came to Mourg’s dark green lips as the two gazed into each other. “No,” he said firmly.

The crowd murmured to each other, entertained by the suspense between the group and the massive man. Behind Mourg, the group’s hands slithered to the hilts of their weapons. Xall’s expression stiffened.

“Orc, you will give it to me, or I will be sure that you never get a closer look at it.” His tone was cold and dark, and did not invite disobedience.

“I am quite aware of what it is, Xall. You will not have the Planebreaker.”

The crowds quivered with shock as the name of the mysterious weapon resonated throughout the blackened peaks. The Planebreaker was a treasured legend amongst weaponry, a masterpiece of magical blacksmithing and enchantment. It held power that could sever any travel between planes and prevent the use of chronomancy. The Headmaster of Necropia forged the weapon to defeat Xall and ironically named it after him. However, Xall discovered the project and its rationale and was quick to destroy it and its masters. The Planebreaker, however, survived the tempest of magic and rage Xall let loose upon Necropia. Rather, years later, the orc sorcerer discovered it hidden deep within the shadowy depths of the necromancer’s keep.

As Mourg denied Xall the weapon, the hellion transmogrified.

His facial expression changed so suddenly that the closest serfs stepped away from the city hall. From his back sprouted two pitch-black wings. Xall roared as the rest of his body changed to the colour of his wings. In a matter of seconds, he was a living epitome of shadow – a winged demon as dark as the night. From his mouth, he unleashed another loud roar and the masses dispersed like sands falling from a curious child’s hands. The Blackwind Lords, as the group came to be known, withdrew their weapons rapidly. Mourg raised his hand and motioned for them to stop.

The shadow, now towering above them, raised its right arm to smite his challengers. As its arm came crashing to the earth like a falling star, Mourg closed his eyes and began to mumble silently. Then, faster than even Sestina’s hawk eyes could follow, he withdrew the Planebreaker. A flash dominated her view, and an indescribable sound thundered through the crisp, autumn winds. The shadow wailed and reverted to what little humanity he had left and lay there, unconscious.

Reckless as they were, the group had left Xall there. When he regained consciousness, he was furious. A mortal, a simple mage, had bested him. The mere thought caused him to, quite casually, raise a small army of undead creatures and violently destroy the nearest village. However, his stirring rage remained unquenched. It remained there, unsatisfied, for a mortal wielded the weapon that could very well result in his demise. Additionally, that same mortal despised him.

The Shadow screamed, and thus began his rampage. Village after village fell to the shadowy grasp of Xall Planebreaker His rampage was so fierce that it took three gods to prevent him from destroying creation itself. The gods charged the Blackwind Lords with eliminating him. After much deliberation, the Planebreaker came to the hands of Sestina, and she was to face the Shadow in a duel that would hopefully end his existence.

Thus, Sestina sat in the wasteland, waiting impatiently. She first attempted to lure the demon out into the open to do battle. However, he denied her, and thus she resulted to threats. In her hands, the Planebreaker thundered slightly, and she provoked him by saying that she would use the power of the ancient hammer, a threat she had no intention of following through. Yet, Xall could not take the risk, and so he appeared in the horizon.

Sestina gazed at the figure that slowly came into view. The figure was tall and masculine with long, athletic legs, and broad, sloping shoulders with two arms that dangled to his waist. The assassin’s lips arched to form a devilish smirk. As shadows parted, she could clearly see her opponent. His face was locked in a grim snarl. From his hand dropped a wicked kris dressed by a robe of charcoal barbs reminiscent of a whale angler’s harpoon.

The high elf stood tall, her hand clenched around the base of the legendary Planebreaker as an uncertain breeze crept through the wasteland. She grew impatient, indicated by her fierce expression. However, now was the time to prepare. Xall Planebreaker was notorious for the horrors that he unleashed with the flick of a hand. Sestina was the guest of a series of tales told by refugee villagers from the Blackwind Mountains. They told of skeletal armies, flaming balls of warped arcane energy, rivers of blood and shadows as black as night turning daytime into a living nightmare. Of course, such stories were embellished. However they were enough to make her shudder at the thought of facing this creature. She needed all the time she had to observe and get ready.

Sestina’s eyes then became empty – two pupilless voids devoid of all but white. The world, to her, vanished to nothing but a hazy black fog. White lines soon formed, outlining every mountain in the backdrop, every rock or barren tree in the Bone Wastes, and finally tracing Xall. His body was decorated with various red and green dots. Aim for the red, but green if desperate, she thought to herself. Xall stopped dead in his tracks, noting the sudden change undergone by the high elf from afar.

He threw his dagger to the heavens, muttering and clapping his hands together. As his palms met, a rune appeared on his forehead, radiating with silver light. As the dagger fell, Xall caught it and in almost no time at all, charged at Sestina with such immense speed and velocity that the action in itself emanated with arcane magic. As he hastily stampeded across the wastes, the winds cried in protest.

Sestina jumped at the suddenness of his charge, the red and green dots in her vision moved violently and changed constantly as Xall quickly came towards her, creating an array of puzzling red and green that spilt all over the black haze. She was quick to withdraw her soulblade, a dark metallic arrow, from her quiver and placed it gently against Lichenbane. Her arms were outstretched, both parallel with the arrow, as she raised her weapon to shoulder height. She adjusted her sight, fully aware that this shot would be a lucky one if it hit true, and unleashed the arrow as it divided itself into five. The darts sliced through the air, producing a sickly sound. Despite not yet having found a target, her arrow materialized once more in her hand in a black and purple cloud. Xall was unprepared for Sestina's swift reaction and leaped to the side in an attempt to dodge her attack. He succeeds narrowly, for one of the arrows had sliced through the leather straps that held the armour on his left arm together with his chest plate.

Sestina's eyes instantly tune themselves to the newly exposed spot, and a red dot appears on his left arm. Within seconds, the arrow that re-materialised left her hands and careered through the winds to its chosen target. However, Xall was prepared. As the arrows pierced the winds, he leaped off the hard, rocky ground and distorted his form backward, executing a backflip as if he was a master of acrobatics. His landing is flawless – both feet land parallel, picking up dust. Within moments, his soulblade rises to the azure void in the heavens once more and unleashes a flurry of daggers. Each dagger glistens in the spectacular radiance provided from the golden orb in the sky, giving the deathly manoeuvrer some level of beauty. Each blade approaches her at a lightning pace, tearing through the winds like lava through weakened rock. The high elven warrior merely smirks at the action, tossing her light bow into the air in mockery of Xall and weaves past the daggers, dodging each as if she is blade of grass swaying in a gentle wind. As Lichenbane descended, she raised her arm and caught it. To further anger him, she smirks.

“Anything you can do, I can do better.” The high elf teases, her eyes dead-set upon her opponent like a beast to its prey.

In response, Xall did not display any aspect of intimidation or anger. Merely, he chuckled, and to the surprise of his opponent, he does not catch his soulblade when it plummets to the barren wastes. Rather, it pierces through the solid ground and shatters it like glass. A tremendous booming thud resonates throughout the entirety of the Bone Wastes as a nova of free-flowing energy courses through cracks in the earth. Xall spreads out his arms as if to snatch the newly released energy mid-air and slowly begins to fill the space around him with magical symbols alien to Sestina. As if serpents bending over objects, his arms wave around these symbols, gradually increasing in speed and opening the web of cracks in the shattered lands, causing great fissures and engulfing Xall in complete and utter shadow. He became a giant, with great ebon wings sprouting from his shoulder blades.

The experienced high elven assassin feels the earth moan and quake with rage, preparing yet another strike against Xall. This time, she does not hesitate. Immediately, an arrow left the comfort of its mistress and began cruising toward its quarry. As it does, Sestina’s mouth acts as if it is whispering, igniting the arrow in dancing orange flames. As Xall looked on, he did not see an arrow, but rather a majestic phoenix hurdling towards him. It was evident that he was unsure of what to do as a small glimmer of fear appeared in his eyes. Sestina grinned at such a glimmer, but knew it would not last long.

Xall froze. For a brief moment, he is like a statue in complete harmony. However, as the arrow approaches, his eyes ignite with a familiar purple fire. He reaches out in an arc and snatches the arrow from the winds as if it was a dampened feather. He plunges it into the ground beside his dagger as green flames sprout from the growing cracks in the land, causing the arrow to disappear in a fiery mess. As more energy is pumped into the Bone Wastes, Sestina slowly withdraws a small crystal flask from inside her cloak. The container is filled with some kind of swirling, fiery substance.
She pops the cork with her thumb and index finger, causing the substance to drool from its prison and form a serpent that encircled her pale fingertips.
She guided the impatient asp to a new arrow. As she did, it slithered from her hand to the arrow, dispersing into an array of immaculate flames upon the tip of the arrow. She let the arrow loose, and within seconds, she withdrew with Planebreaker. The arrow hit successfully, but was consumed by shadow.

The blanket of shadows that caressed Xall’s form scattered around, revealing an expressionless face. "Try it, ‘hero’. I dare you." He said, his mouth twisting into a mad smile. "We will see who dies first." He added.

Sestina leaped across the battlefield as if she were an adult feline – lithe and careless of her landings, confident that she would always land on her feet. Her body sliced through the air, unaffected by the immense weight of the Planebreaker. Within moments, the high elf gracefully pounced on the rocky mass that Xall stood upon and with one massive heave; she slammed the powerful hammer into his massive, shadowy chest, unleashing a great thundering sound that resonated within the Bone Wastes. Sparks of foul greens, reds and purples flung like embers from where the weapon crashed into Xall. The Shadow gasped and hunched over. “I am no hero – I am a saviour.”

The shadows fell from Xall like a cloth from a table, slowly being siphoned by the great hammer. He fell upon his spine, welcomed by a fit of pain. The once-mighty Xall Planebreaker lay there, cringing and moaning, after a humiliating defeat. Once his frenzy ended, he adjusted himself to observe his victor with a baffled look.

“You… you used it. You used the Planebreaker!” He exclaimed angrily. He then mutters – he refuses to believe it.

Sestina, still entranced by the immense feats of power exhibited by the Planebreaker, smirked at her opponent. She treasured every look and sound that the daemon made.

Though in shock, he stands – his spine hunched over, and glares at the hammer. The high elf let Planebreaker fall beside her. The weapon’s power came at a great price to her. Her lithe body was not accustomed to such weight. Her preference of melee weaponry lied with light falchions and swords. She set her eyes on Xall as many red and green dots sprung up like blades of grass. He was vulnerable. “Quite ironic that the very weapon named after you will be your demise, is it not? Cosmic humour, I suppose.”

Xall growled at this remark and rage began mustering deep within his soul. Slowly, purple fire emerged in his hands and danced like nymphs in the crisp autumn twilight. He looked to the heavens and roared.

"For long I have played by your rules. For long I have left your pathetic 'balance' untouched! You say that I am bound by your order, by your systems! I will show you that I am not, for I do not hesitate to break oaths that I never made!"

With that, his expression tensed and raised his clenched fists towards the sky. The purple fire that danced across his bloody fingertips shot upwards like a reverse lightning bolt. As it collided with the clouds they slowly began moving in circles, creating a whirlpool of air and magic. Streaks of purple fire encircled the powerful rift in the heavens. Now, it was Sestina's turn to be baffled. She watched in amazement as magic met heaven and collided in a hurricane of destruction. The skies thundered with raw magic and frothy, amethyst clouds filled the skies. Those once bright rays of pure golden light that, until now, ignited the Bone Wastes in mesmerizing light dispersed into darkness within seconds. A ghostly purple strand of light shone from the great nether tornado, illuminating the Bone Wastes in an odd spectrum of colours. Where the light hit the ground, lines began appearing on the ground, as if a child was drawing on sand. As lines connected, the shape formed an enormous pentagram that crackled with magic, shattering the ground and disappearing into oblivion. In the rift that engulfed the skies, a monolithic calamity emerged. The scene thundered with all kinds of great sounds as the earth and the skies cried in pain. Xall let out a diabolic laughter that dominated everything else. “Dodge that, wench!”

The behemoth in the heavens came at an alarming pace. Sestina watched as the dubbed 'fist of the gods' punched through the clouds and ripped through the skies. Her mind raced with all kinds of scenarios. Would she die? Would she fail? What would she do to survive? But then, she remembered. On the night before she departed for the Bone Wastes, she shared a brief moment with her companion Mourg. His words came to her like a soft breeze, gently pulling at her hair.

"Do not let yourself be clouded - your potential is paramount."

She smiled and dropped the Planebreaker, causing a silent thud. This was insane, she thought to herself, but it was worth a try. Lichenbane came to her hands, and an arrow manifested in her hands. "Reflexes will not save me, or you, from this Xall."

“I am Xall Planebreaker – the Shadow of the World! I am the bane of life! My power is limitless! Do you hear me, elf? Limitless!” Xall roared at Sestina. "Everything is under control! MY control!"

"All," she shouted, raising Lichenbane to the massive calamity in the sky. Her eyes, though still imbued by the Warp Vision, became increasingly distorted as a gloomy green-blue light began to radiate from them and dance like flames. "But the power of justice." As she said that, she let loose her arrow, which ignited in the same aura as her eyes did. While the arrow was still in the air another arrow manifested in her hand, along with it a third arrow. She let loose once more, this time each arrow split into five, each striking the ground, the great being and the area around Xall. She repeated the process until she unleashed five arrows, which then split into ten additional arrows. She continued, her arms moving like gears in constant motion. The scene was a tempest of arrows and emerald flame, a testament to the power of Sestina Lamente. No demon, no man and no hellion would defeat her. She let loose more arrows, causing the winds to cry maniacally as her fiery darts cruised smoothly into the heavens and pierced the great fist.

Xall looked like he was about to cry as the great hail of arrows rained down upon him. He stood there, motionless as the arrows ripped his body apart, until one of them struck an artery close to his heart. Blood burst from it like a fountain of crimson beauty. He looked down upon it, eyes wide, and muttered a single word: "Damn."

As the thunderous barrage ended, Sestina reverted back to normal, exhausted. Her arms quivered with resistance as she put away Lichenbane and brandished the Planebreaker. She checked on the giant entity that once threatened her. Her eyes shone with bliss as it slowly withdrew into a purple rift surrounded by cloudless blue sky. She leaped toward Xall, smiling faint heartedly, and spoke. "And so it is, Xall Planebreaker falls, to the hands of a woman."

Xall fell backwards, landing once again on his back. The fire in his hands died out, and with it did the fire in the sky. Just as fast as it had appeared the hole in the sky slammed shut, roaring in protest, but also cutting the gigantic hand off whatever it had been connected to. The sky turned back to normal, and the sun shone again. Xall looked up at Sestina as his eyes slowly stopped glowing. Beneath the glow, a pair of sapphire-blue eyes looked up at her. "You... killed the spectre. You killed me, you killed the Black Spectre." For a split second, a look of relief flashed across Xall's face, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

Sestina's face was expressionless. "And, to your credit, it was of great difficulty."

"No. That is not to my credit." Xall said his facial expression stiffening. "It was supposed to be impossible."

“Your mind has blinded you from the truth, Xall Planebreaker. This was inevitable. Somehow, you knew it.”

Xall could not help but agree with Sestina. Many times over his life, he denied that his demise would be coming. Somehow, he always knew. However, he will not accept it. Weakened and crippled, Xall slowly stood. His armour, torn by the otherworldly forces he attempted to invoke, fell from his body to reveal torn brown cloth. Sestina watched attentively. This man, once omnipotent and feared, had degraded into nothing before her very eyes. The globes of ocean water that were her pupils gazed deep into his ashen eyes. She saw nothing but a rainbow of emotion.
Sestina interrupted the trance that they shared. “I will leave you now, Shadow of the North. Once more, the clouds that once gave darkness to these lands have been lifted. No longer will shepherds of the heavens worry for their great flock – for you, the wolf who so greedily took from the flock, is soon to die.” She paused, bathing in her own esteem. Xall collapsed on his knees to the hard, sandy rock. He lowered his head, anger gathered deep in the void of evil that dwelled within the Black Spectre. He muttered to himself silently. “I refuse defeat…” Like a feline, Xall pounced toward the departing high elf and grasped at her ankle. Sestina quickly turned, making as if she was going to kick the desperate man away from her. She expected to see nothing but depravity and loss, but rather, she saw something completely different. Xall’s chest was now bare, revealing a large rune on his chest that radiated with a sickly mossy green. Strands of purple light escaped the tight clutch that Xall had on her leg, dispersing into the skies. Sestina glared at Xall, grabbing Planebreaker and preparing to make one last strike. However, she was a moment too late. The desperate man distorted into nothingness as the rune on his chest seemed to devour him slowly from inside. However, that was the least of her worries. She looked around ominously – the Bone Wastes appeared to be twisting and stretching into oblivion as shadows mustered and seemed to destroy all fabric of reality for the high elf. She closed her eyes, hoping it would end soon.

When she opened her eyes a few seconds later she thought that they were still closed. However, it then dawned on her that she was indeed in a place where darkness ruled supreme. She found herself looking around desperately for a source of light, a glimmer of hope, anything that she could hold on to in this black void.

She found nothing.

As the vigilant heroine realised her situation she crumbled. Curling up in a big ball she slowly started to cry silently. As she wept she felt something enormous slowly move towards her. Something warm touched her skin, and slowly something scaly folded itself around her as if to comfort her.

Amidst the great black voids of Darkspace, she felt welcome.


4,182 WORDS - I present to you Team Wolfanson's Submission "As The Shadow Screams" by Dragonson and Wolfe.
 
Level 19
Joined
Mar 16, 2009
Messages
3,681
Wait.. it's not on midnight?

....

I hate myself

Zander is written by me, Eric by baassee



‘Twas a quiet day in London, as it was still early in the day, with the breeze, trying to chill you to the bone and the wind holding you back from reaching your destination. The morning was dark, but that was normal around this time of the year. The days were getting shorter and the sun wasn’t as powerful as it used to be in the summer, an ancient cycle that had been repeated since the beginning of the earth. Nonetheless, the streets were busy, even very early, and people went to their jobs and work. Winter or not, life continued as always, for silly Mother Nature could not hope to stop the routine of life – get up, go to work, go sleep. However, some men don’t follow this cycle, and this makes them different. How much different, actually? Those people are usually either lazy bums or strange people -- outcasts of society. However, for one to understand those 'outcasts', one must be them, feel what they feel and know what they know. This, is the story of two of these people.

Outside, Zander grabbed a newspaper from the rack that stood in front of the door of the shop, and as he read the title, he seemed shocked. He had expected to merely read of something boring, but this was just.. he was speechless.
He stared at the newspaper, in disbelief. Slowly, he repeated the title of the first page in silence, the only parts of his body that were moving were his shaking hands and his lips, which kept forming the words, the words that stood on the paper. Never had words such a deep effect on him. Now, his feet also started to shake and his head became as red as a tomato. ‘’I…’’ he whispered to himself, stunned by what he just had read, for he simply could not believe it. Bypassers looked at him, worried if they should get a doctor, as his current condition didn’t seem very healthy to them. Blagh, what did they know of him, peons, he thought as he noticed the people looking at him... Nonetheless, he suddenly straightened his face and looked around, smiling at the people surrounding him, and as they noticed he seemed to be fine, they moved on, busy with their lives. Zander grabbed the newspaper from the rack and walked away with an emotionless face, yet, his eyes were betraying his rage. He was holding it firmly in his hands, as if he was strangling it. Oh yes, he wanted to, he simply wanted to tear the paper apart and burn the pieces that were left of it, for that was the only fitting purpose it served to him. Walking through the streets, he tried to relax again and loosened his hold on it before he stopped in front of one of the many houses that all looked the same. Zander simply walked forward and grabbed from his pockets his keys, opening the house. All that could be seen was darkness inside, and it was illuminated by the light it was exposed to, even though the day was dark and gloomy. He looked around in paranoia and walked in, quickly closing the door, disappearing into the darkness that had been contained by the walls of the house. What had been received would be given, was the dark thought that dominated his mind.

Eric walked through the dark alleys with a black leatherjacket and with a hood on and a pair of stale jeans. Small red spots were visible on his arms and shoes. What he had done was done and it had to be done as they say an eye for an eye. It was worth it due to all that he had been suffered through his lifetime, just a flashback of him standing there, cruel as it was, watching father’s bursts of his gathered anger that he kept inside during the days.

To be honest, many of those outcasts are driven by something. One does not suddenly become crazy, now does he or she? For every misfit of society has something that actually made him or her a misfit. Want to guess? It’s a past. Their deeds are usually nothing compared to the evil deeds of their parents or relatives. Yet, this isn’t always the case, for also minor things can shape and mold a child’s pure soul. Just for an example, imagine pure milk. It’s completely white and also beautiful. It smells lovely. Someone then decides to pour some water in it. Blegh. Followed by this, the person also accidentally allows some salt to mix with the milk. Another person joins in and finishes the act by pouring coffee in it.
What’s left of the white milk? Exactly, nothing. It’s corrupted by outer influences and no longer will you be able to drink it.

Zander wished he had balls. He really did, yet, he didn’t, and due to this he cursed his own cowardice every day and at every opportunity he got. It tore him apart and his brother hated him, always with his look… a look which would truly madden you at the first sight of it, a look that went as deep as into your soul. He had never understood how his brother had managed to get this glare, but he hated it, and he knew he would once more receive it as he watched in horror, like now. In front of him, in a room of white walls and with merely one table, his father and brother were screaming at each other in what could be recognized as pure and true rage, risen to unmountable amounts. It had been like this for days, for weeks, for months – yet, he wondered how they managed to keep it up. Nonetheless, he merely watched in horror as his father raised his arm and landed it's fist on his brother’s face, followed by his other fist. Eric tried to hold it off, but he had no success. He was merely a boy versus a man. Very unfair, in his opinion. Yet, he could only watch as his brother went down and his father got blinded by a white flash of anger. His brother glared at him, with a last flair of hope, but he didn’t move, he didn’t have the balls.
As his brother noticed nothing was going to happen, he gave him the look. Bleak and disgusted by himself, Zander simply left the room, fleeing up to his room.
''I wish mom was here..'' he whispered to himself in an agonized tune.

As the night passed by, Eric had been driving around, never knowing what would come up next. The night had been a pain, trying to get some sleep after the horrible deeds that he had done. But even the darkest nights has its own light, the hobos found him a nice piece of carbon to lie down at although they did not say a word, not even a sound of a whisper. Wonder if they had seen the red spots? Perhaps they had, perhaps they had not, what words could come out of a hobo? What should he do, call the cops? Eric guessed that he didn’t have any cell phone. That’s so obvious he thought, they’re addicts, all of them! Just like dad, that horrifying person, addicted to alcohol of all sorts. It is not that alcohol is a greater deal than narcotics but anyway. His so called “issues” were not the only issues he had. As their mother had said, don’t judge him so harshly, you don’t know what he has suffered threw out the years. Suffered?! You say that he suffered?! Eric clenched his fists in all the madness of this statement, suffered? He wondered what mum had said after she died, wonder if she had seen what he did to us or us? Me! Gosh that is indeed something that Zander had to pay for.

He struggled to stand straight, shrugged and jumped a bit, up and down, breathing the fresh air of the suburb’s industries. He looked around for potential treats as the cops and maybe his own brother but it was all empty. No hobos, no drug addicts, not a single human being out there. He looked a bit more at the environment knowing that he was safe for the moment. There were tall skyscrapers around him but they didn’t seem to have any lodgers. Few windows were broken and there were neither furniture nor tapestries on the walls. They were empty as corpses although as this was the suburb he couldn’t expect something else. He walked through the alley again, back to the main street. Empty, just a few cars parked along the sidewalk. How did he even get here? As he tried to retain some clues from the last night, a car showed up, far down at the crossing driving towards him. He ran out on the way and waved with his arms. The car stopped, fortunately and a black man came out of the vehicle. He was athletic or at least it looked like it and then he walked to him. Suddenly without saying a word, he drew a gun and screamed:

-What a hell are you doin’ cracka?! , the black man said.
-I just wondered if you could give me a ride or at least tell me where I am, Eric said.
-Well kid, you’re not from these neighborhoods aren’t you?
-That’s kind of the point why I’m asking.
-You have a filthy mouth cracker, and he aimed his gun again.

That’s when Eric made his move. They were not far away from each other and why not risk even more than he had done before. He somersaulted forward, kicked the man in the stomach and he dropped his gun, picked it up quite swiftly in the same move and rose up. Without a word, he shot the man at his knees and said:
“Better die on your feet than live on your knees.”
He walked towards the car again, hearing the man’s screams behind him, and stepping into the car. As it was never turned off, he drove away.

After driving a while he found a little nicer neighborhood. He drove around, watched the surroundings. There were a school, shops, a post office, a café and a supermarket. He pulled over next to the schoolyard, rolled down the window and watched the kids in all their colours. This was heaven although he never thought about having a kid one day. What if he could have one of these little things, running around, laughing, and bringing joy to him? Then it struck him. What he saw was the front page of the news. He opened the door and shut it behind him with a loud slamming noise, ran to the shop and picked up the first newspaper he could get his hands on. His hands were shaking and he started to perspire. It was the face of a girl on the front page. He recognized this girl, from where he could not remember. He quickly browsed through till he found the letters to the editor and there it was, in the middle of the page, signed “Greet Z”. He ripped the paper apart and ran to the car. This is not the end of this, he promised himself.

Zander looked into the mirror, his face bleak and his eyes as wide as possible. All he saw was the bathroom, the white walls, the slippery floor and the many drips of water spilled on the ground. He laughed bittered at the notion that he could fall, but then once more continued to wash his face… the taint on his face was gone, but he still felt dirty. Nonetheless, he didn’t care that much, as other things were wandering his mind, desperately seeking an answer.

What had he done?
Was it justified?
Had he now become a monster?


Yet, these were all minor questions, for Zander once more looked at himself in the mirror and asked himself the biggest question of all, a question that had been haunting him ever since he had read that accursed newspaper.

What had he done to his brother that this had happened?

All he could remember was their childhood and since then he had never seen him. Ah, the drunk father, the disobedient boy. The attacks of his father on his brother, and the stare of Eric, the one that had always crept him out. Once more he chuckled bitterly, as the stare still gave him occasional nightmares. Was his brother mad at him? Honestly, had he become such a psychopath that he would kill for his vengeance? These questions harassed his mind.

Though, if so, how was he any better? He had also now killed. In blind rage he had just gone… berserk. He had devoted many hours and days on finding someone equal as the loved one his brother had murdered. Yes, and when he finally found the perfect victim. The victim had been dragged into the darkest corners of the city and he had murdered. Right at the spot, with merely a knife. Zander remembered how messy it was. Blood had been everywhere, and his hands got all dirty, but in his stroke of rage he didn’t care. Perhaps he had learned too much of his father.

Zander looked once more down at the crane, and he looked with disgust at his hands. It was still red of the blood, and he felt the urge to puke over the crane and just… do whatever harm he could to himself.

I am a monster.

Zander’s eyes closed and as they opened, they seemed even more shocked than before. He desperately tried to wash his hands, but the blood just wouldn’t come off. His hands were so strongly rubbed against each other that it hurt, but it just wouldn’t work.
‘’Comeone… comeone..’’ he said to himself.

‘’COMEONE!’’ he shouted to the bathroom in a swing of rage, and he shattered the mirror with his fist, using all his strength. Thousand-and-one pieces fell to the ground and his hands were sliced open by the glistering glass. The floor now was filled with the former mirror, but Zander didn’t care. He merely fell to the ground and looked at the floor, tears streaming over his cheek, unchecked. As they would fall to the ground, they would merely join the water.

I am a monster now. The police will find me eventually. I cannot back down now.

Eric sat at some stairs in a filthy neighborhood in the southern suburb while thinking about his next move. The stairs were grey although they were dirty and had lost some color over the past years. That he could have done such a treacherous thing, which was indeed below Zander’s own imagination. The pictures in the newspaper, all gory and uncensored, you could actually see every single drip of blood. Now the cops will sure search for him. Wait a minute, him?! How about myself? With those thoughts Eric rose from his current position and started to walk away. Down the stairs on to the sidewalk he walked. The suburbs of this city are for sure freighting, with the dark blocks of flats which appears like a black wall that darkens the sun. And the streetlights with their dimmed electric light, lightning the surroundings up although this suburb distinguish from the previous one. There is people here, walking around, its elder men, pregnant women, children playing around. The cars are driving slowly, obeys the signs that say “Drive carefully, playing children!”. This is the real utopia for families. After those thoughts, Eric got all soften up and walked to a café to cool his mind off with a nice warm cup of chocolate.

He pushed the door and a doorbell rang, notifying the staff that a customer had entered. And then he saw it. Not it but her with the long blond hair. He remembered it like it was yesterday, felt disgust just thinking about it. What if this would be the perfect moment? You’ll never know when it will come up again. So he made his move, went right to her with heavy steps and suddenly she turned around and looked at him. That was sure not a part of the plan he thought. She looked and looked like she had the feeling that they’ve met before in another space and time. The sound of frustration echoed through Eric’s head maybe it was a good sign of something although he knew that it only could turn into the opposite direction. But this time he was lucky because suddenly again, she jumped up and down on the floor, ran towards him and jumped into his arms, saying very loud which made him deaf for the moment. After the whistling sound disappeared from his ears he heard what she actually said.

-Oh dear, you came back to me after all these years! Dear Zander, said the woman with an eager voice.
-I think you must been mistaken, I’m not Zander, that’s the brother of mine, said Eric with a voice which strangely had a bit jealousy in it.
-Oh my days, you?! Why are you here and not him?
-I was just pacing around the neighborhood and I got thirsty so I went in here and voila, that’s my story.
-Well have a seat, I’ll be back in a short moment with the menu or you might even know what you want already?
-Yes of course and you already knew that didn’t you? You still know me fairly well I suppose.
-It’s nothing I want to remember.
-Now that is not fair for an old friend, isn’t it? Have a seat.
-I’m on my work hours Mr. disrespectful.
-Now you’re doing it again, come on, I know you have the time for a small break, I’ll pay for your coffee?
-Well I suppose I could, with some sugar and milk. She said with a shy voice.
-Then you got your coffee madam! And he laughed about his internal joke which no one would ever understand.

After she went away, made some coffee for him and herself she went back, dragged out the chair with a tired sigh and sat down. She looked at him again, now a bit differently, it seems like she was not mad anymore but still she had this blink in her eye which told him only one thing, she was analyzing him.

-So what do you make your living these days? Do you have a proper job? , she said with a smile although it looked and probably was a fake one.
-I’m working in the industries ma’am, he said with a loud and dark voice.
-You?! In a factory?! I can’t believe it! That is not you, what happened with the dream of being the president, and she laughed.
-Now you are not fair again ma’am.
-Stop calling me ma’am for God’s sake. Oh my, I mentioned the Almighty’s name, I should really be ashamed.
-So you have been caught by the Christians?
-Caught? And she laughed.
-Yeah you know it and I know it.
-You seem to have a little sense of humor after all.
-That’s low for being you, you know? So tell me about yourself, not about your job but about life, husband, kids, you have anything of that? he said with a vicious smile.
-No I don’t have any of that, just my job and a cat, said with a darker and mean tone.
-It’s a joke don’t worry; you women don’t seem to understand the word irony.

Now she just got silent, silent as the wind in a graveyard. She starred with her eyes and some tears ran along her cheek.

-No no no, don’t cry, he said with a, strangely enough, distressed voice.
-You want to take a smoke outside?
-Yeah sure, but why you smoke? Isn’t that unhealthy? Haven’t the bible taught you anything? He said without knowing anything about what the bible actually said.
-I’ll tell you outside, let’s go out the backdoor.

They walked pass the counter and through the kitchen and last out the backdoor. The backyard was filled with boxes, all with different café fitting companies, all from cookie factories to coffee companies. She turned around, facing the opposite direction instead of facing him. She picked up her pack of cigarettes and picked one. After she lit her cigarette, just when she was going to turn to him, he made his move and hit her in the head with a pipe made of metal he had found on the ground. He covered her with the boxes and ran away towards the parking lot where he had parked his car.

Now things were good and even, where is your god now huh?

Zander looked outside of the window. It was cold and people probably were relaxing, as it was Sunday. He was one of the few people to work on Sunday, something which paid very good. Though, his job was fairly boring, mainly because it was work that could be done by anyone and was nothing special. To be completely honest, he hated it. Day in and day out he was commanded by chimps that were truly, the pinnacle of idiocy. Yet, he was stuck until he could find something that was more profitable. But, he had taken off for today. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to work after what… happened. For a moment he thought he would once again explode in a burst of rage at the mere thought of what had happened, but this time he managed to control his emotions. He sighed and took a sip of his chocolate-milk that had been in his hand all the time, something which greatly calmed him.
‘’Back to the window…’’ he mumbled to himself, but as he was going to return staring meaninglessly at the window; he was interrupted as he suddenly heard a newspaper enter through the hole in the door. Zander stood up and walked to the door and there he merely saw the Sunday Times. Ah, it was rather strange that this was delivered… as his normal delivery would be the Times. In his head, he began to worry and slowly paranoid thoughts crept over him. Was it his brother? No, that was impossible… An accident by the delivery boy? Yes, probably that. He shouldn’t worry so much, or he would become a paranoid loner. He chuckled at his own foolishness and picked it up, reading the headlines.

‘’DEAD BODY FOUND – MAPLESTREET’’

He didn’t even read the article, because as soon as he saw the picture he froze. A blond woman, with a lovely face. Her expression was recognizable – and so was everything about her. He simply froze in some sort of paralyzed state and whilst he would seem perfectly fine, inside of him screams, rage and terror would rule his mind.

‘’And so it continues..’’ was the soft whisper that came out of his mouth, filled with hate and despair.

He took the newspaper. He cut and pasted the letters of an article into a mere name.

‘’ALEXANDER’’ – would be the message that would stand in the newspaper next day.
His brother would know what it meant. His brother would know who would die tomorrow.
Oh, how would he suffer… suffer from the death of his best friend, the boy that helped him through his childhood. Nonetheless, he found it a fitting victim. The guy had always been an arrogant prick to him and his behaviour was tenacious, which made it even more justifiable in his eyes.
‘’My knife…’’ he mumbled.

Eric was at the backyard. He had not slept in a very long time, at least it seemed like it but the problem was that he had just waked up from his slumber. What had happen to him? He thought for himself. What could be the source of this misery he was feeling this day? Something was not right in the air, he could feel it. The air wasn’t the soft and cozy morning air that he’d usually be breathing. No, it was cold, dead and it crept him out. The chillin’ cold was crawling up on his spine, giving him goose bumps all over his body. What a joke, a grown man having goose bumps, he thought for himself in the dark. In addition he had hurt his back during his sleep. Now that was something uncommon as he never had a problem with his back during his whole life. So Eric started to look around in the old apartment. There was trash everywhere the eye could see, boxes of cardboard filled with papers of all sorts, dusty floors and an armchair filled with cloths that hadn’t been washed for years, it seemed like it at least. In the kitchen who was just a part of the two-room apartment, in the sink there were a lot of dirty dishes with all its rests of food on the side and besides all this, it smelled like crap. No wonder he slept at other places for the most of the time. Suddenly he noticed that the window towards the yard got broken by a rock with the size of a hand. It was all black or the parts you could see, other than that it was covered in paper. But not any paper, it was a part of a newspaper. The paper of today. Before he took a look he ran to the window to see if there were any suspicious persons that could have done this. There was no one there, it was all empty like the Sahara desert. Not that he had been there but what he had seen in movies. Though that he’s only at the third floor, a grown up man was needed to throw a rock this big up here and crush the window.

Who could it have been? My brother? He thought. No that cannot be true. Him, throwing a rock this big up here? He laughed for himself. But then it struck him, why was it a newspaper around the stone? To reduce the impact? Not crush the window at all? Now this was all strange and his thoughts were circling around, this might be why he had all these strange feelings about something unknown. Maybe this was it, this was what his unconsciousness foresaw and alerted him about it but he didn’t understand. He removed the paper from the stone and unfolded it. He almost fell apart when he saw the front page picture. He started to hallucinate and the whole apartment seemed to spin around him in circles both clockwise and counterclockwise at the same time. It merely said the word ‘’ALEXANDER’’, a word which was created by glueing letters on a piece of paper. The newspaper apparently had managed to capture the original in the newspaper.
‘’Alexander, poor Alexander!’’, Eric shouted and it all echoed in the apartment like it was going to echo in eternity. He cried while he cupped his hands and drew them to his face. Oh dear god, how could he do something like this? This was taken into a whole different level.

“YOU WILL SUFFER FOR THIS, DO YOU HEAR THAT ZANDER?! CAN YOU HEAR ME, MY WRATH, MY PAIN?! YOU ARE DOOMED ZANDER, DOOMED! NO GOD CAN SAVE YOU NOW, NOT EVEN ALL THE COUNTRIES ASSEMBLED ARMIES!”

He quick as he could ran to the closet, changed his cloths and picked up a pencil and paper. During his rage he cooled himself down for a split second and he wrote like no one had written ever before. He knew what his brother was going to think and it didn’t matter. It was not supposed to be a trap either way. He would take him here and now, not stab him from behind, Zander had to suffer. Suffer is not even the correct word to express this with neither is torment. It’s indescribable what he is going to do with him when he finds him. Eric called the newspaper and requested to send in an emergency letter to the editor. He would kill him… murder him, torture him! This had to stop and it could only in one way.

He had been driving for a few hours around a house and its neighborhood, he knew that this place was special and it was only used for moments like this. Especially after what he had suffered throughout the years. And then he found it, a local basement for sale. He didn’t care if it was for sale or not, he had to have it for any price. Or why not steal it? He opened his car, walked towards the stairs down the basement. Just a padlock with a chain, that wouldn’t be hard to crack up wouldn’t it? And he knew that he had a hairpin in his wallet. It was a matter of seconds before he cracked up the padlock or maybe not cracked but unlocked. A hairpin is the man’s best friend, he thought and laughed a bit about it. As he entered the basement and there was plenty of space for his mission.
“Great, let’s get moving”, he mumbled to himself.

Zander carefully walked around the strange neighborhood. He didn’t recognize this place nor had he been here before. It seemed entirely normal though, but still, this wasn’t a place to feel safe at. At least, for now. His brother had apparently invited him here, or someone else. He wasn’t exactly sure but he only hoped that it was his brother, so that he could slay the pig on the fucking spot. Hate began to boil up in him and he allowed it to run its course. No use in trying to suppress it, were his thoughts over this issue. Suddenly, he ‘awoke’ of his thinking as he almost walked into a street light, only narrowly being able to avoid it.
He focused on the path before him and grabbed the paper that had all the details. By this action he almost accidentally grabbed his knife. He had taken it with him for security reasons, but back to the paper. It was not very well preserved, but it would have to do for now. He silently read it, standing still and looked at the house numbers. He was close enough was his final realization before he continued walking again, counting number for number. Finally, he managed to find the right number.

‘’413’’

It was a basement surrounded by, softly put, shit. It was your average basement and it had one door, made of wood. Like the rest of it was. Zander sighed at this sight and moved forward to open the door. For a moment he stood still as his heart suddenly started to beat harder and harder. He could feel the sweat starting to appear and he swallowed deeply.
‘’I do what I have to do.’’ he said to himself softly and calming, before opening the door and descending down the stairs that seemed to be made of stone instead of the wood. A little nice variety would’ve been the thought normally but this time he merely walked down the stairs. Time seemed to slow down, just for him and his hand rested on his knife.

‘’Hello.’’ was the simple word that came out of his mouth. The man in front of him… Zander wanted to take his knife and stab him to death. He could see the scenario – his brother would lie dead on the ground and a triumphant smile would be on his blood-splattered face. He smiled at this thought and wanted to grab his knife before he saw his brother was also equipped with a weapon. To be more precise, it was also a knife. Besides that, he quickly glared at the room and saw a chessboard below a table and two chairs of brown color. The walls were painted white and the floor was painted black. Rather odd, but what did he care? Zander simply sat down as his brother stared at him, cold and harsh.

He hated that stare.

‘’Speak now.’’ Zander merely said to his brother.

‘’We play chess. Who wins lives – the other dies.’’ was the answer on his sentence. It was full of dislike and anger.
‘’Too many have died already.’’

Zander merely nodded in agreement and looked at the chessboard. It was already fully prepared.
He had never been good at chess, but neither had his brother been. Concentrated, he began to play the game... he had to win this. He would not die. He could not die!

They played for almost an hour, deeply intense and concentrated. Both were determined to win, and both were determined to live. Yet, they would not abandon the rules that had been agreed upon. Then, at the moment of judgement, one voice spoke:

‘’Checkmate.’’
 
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Level 22
Joined
Jun 28, 2010
Messages
3,336
It's damn right over 6900 words, i don't know if this is finished.
My grammar and english is bad.......
It was a beautiful morning, fresh dew still clung to the bright green branches of the trees, they glistened like diamonds in sun, decorating the whole forest.
Birds flew overhead, singing merrily in the warm beams of sunlight.

Two hunters figures made their way out from beneith the canapy, with them they carried their prize. It was a large brown stag, larger then any other stag they've ever caught before. Together using their hunting rifes, they had put a bullet hole right through its head, its colourless eyes gazed on forever, totally emotionless.
They were both proud of their kill, "A beast of this size would make a good feast tonight, eh Zeal?" joked Retch "Haha, now don't be getting ahead of yourself Retch, we still have the whole day before us"
"I wonder have good the meat is..." he continued. Zeal elbowed him in the gut "hey, I'm starving here" Retch gave Zeal a playful shove, "well so am I". In good spirts, the two began decending from the mountainside towards a small town, Moraine town was not very well known, but it was where these two men had grown up and they considered it home.
The surrounding landscape was almost untouched, great hills and snow-capped mountains rose all around them; there was a river that flowed from the west and ran eastward passing nearby the town. A vast number of trees covered the land, their green blanket went on far beyond what they could see, and the air was fresh. They continued downwards....
As they approach a building, they talked about their prey. So they enter the building known as Hunter's Guild.


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


"It's so hot outside and this day we don't even seen any single deer anymore. You got an idea, Zeal?" said the one which drinking coffee.
"Don't know It's up to you, Retch. That stag is the last thing I've seen." Zeal replies as a bird cling on the window, what a peaceful day.
Retch get himself up from the sofa, walking to the corner and take a newspaper. Suddenly a smile grows in his face, and he show the newspaper to Zeal. "Look at this article! It says 'The animals from the forest was dissapeared misteriously'.
Zeal take the Newspaper and soon he started to shaking his head. "So? What are we gonna do? Not so important eh?" Zeal asked, he seems don't know about Zetch's plan.
"Listen! We gonna hunting inside that forest! Why the animals are dissapearing? Because there are predators! Bear, Wolf, or what."
Retch explained about his plan as he take his precious gun from the box, with a smile. "We are going to the forest this evening, take all your equipments!"
He take all his equipment and place arrange them in his backpack, when Zeal is still taking a nap.

The sun was no longer shining brightly, the dawn has come. It's the time for the hunt. They have entered the forest, where the animals have disappeared misteriously. But with guts, there no turning back now. "Let's go!"

They are walking through the forest, without knows a pair of eyes were watching them. The forest was so dark, pitch-black. There are no lights except their flashlights. No one knows what is behind the peaceful forest. Yeah, so silent.

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

The dawn is rising, the shining golden moon aren't highlighting them anymore. The forest, or should i say 'jungle' is blocking the moonlight, luckily we brought a shiny flashlight.
"Hey Retch, you sure this is the right way?" I asked him, i was so confused.
"Of course! This compass is directing to the north, if it is not broken...." Retch replied while he was examining the compass, but suddenly the compass pointer spins quickly.
"What the...?! The compass!" Retch shouts as he give the compass to me. "See this!"

"Right, the compass was broken. No, it's not broken. It's like a magnet field exist near this forest." We readies our rifle as we hears roaring sounds. "Retch, it's not safe here. We're retreat and find a cave to hide." I asked him, giving him a knock. "Okay."

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

The sun was shining brightly this morning, it seems the forest no longer blocking the sun.
Retch woke up and ate the roasted stag, which is their only food they have roasted that night. He picks one slice and gives it to Zeal. "Wake up! Yours."
He admires the sky, the forest seems won't let them to escape, he talked when Zeal hae finished his meal. "So? We're search for 'it' this afternoon. Wash your face and get ready, this is gonna bigger than I thou...."
Suddenly, a tyrannical roar screams all over the forest. Retch pointed to the deep forest " This".
"It's the time for they to hunt the 'Predator'. We're splitting, you go east and I will go to the west" Retch points to the west and south.
"Be careful, Zeal. We don't know what are we are facing." Retch runs and make his way to the west. He know the 'predator' wasn't so easy to found. He examines every track he found. Until finally, he found a very big footprints and bloodtrails all over the ground.
"What is this thing?" Retch examines the track, it seems the animal is bigger and stronger than he imagine. Hell, his hands vibrates and won't stop sweating. He readied his gun and began to follow the trail trough a very steep mountainside....




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



Zeal fought his way to the east, the spiders in the forest won't stop. He keep slashing spiders until he find a endless cliff. "Hhh... I guess i'll start searching tracks..." But suddenly he stops as he heard a scream, again.
"What is...." He gasped, the glowing red eyes were watching him from the darkness. And it's not size of a bear, it's like a giant. The glowing eyes were staring him for a period, but mysteriously dissapears to the forest.
Zeal hesistated not to go, he still searching for it when the shadow misteriously appears behind him. But with trained reflexes he evades the attack and replied the 'greetings' with his shot.

The shadow stopped, revealing his true form. It's skin is Jet-black, slick but spiky. "Hell, it's like a combination of Bat, Panther, and Bear. I hope Retch will find me here..."
I readied my weapon as the creature sending another swinging attack, quick but deadly.
Unfortunately Zeal wasn't fast enough, he knocked to the hillside. When he thinks it's over, Retch come out from nowhere, putting a bullet right to the skull of the creature.

"Sorry, i'm late. Are you alright?" Retch asked.
I replied to him "No, thanks for saving me. Now we can proudly shows our kill to the others!" Yet another joke i made. "Let's bring this back to the Guild!"
So, that was our biggest hunt. No matter what happened, partner always partner. We brought this aproximately-800-lbs-weight-creature back to the guild, and I am happy to see the others gasped and suprised.

Lol, i know it's suck and crappy.
And it's basic vocabulary, just to let you know.
Am i little late?
 
Level 12
Joined
Aug 22, 2008
Messages
911
I thought we were going to win a technical :(
Anyways good job for everyone for finishing their stories on time! Paired contests are hard as hell aren't they?
I'll leave the reading of the entires to the poll, since I'm a bit swamped right now.
One last piece of advice is not to postpone things to the last minute - I fuck things up when that happens.
 
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