The July Challenge

[Jenny (Reffy)]

The Beggar

His crusty hands beg and steal. Gurgling bowels break the silence; the inner workings of sludge and slime as it rolls, builds, and moves. His diseased lungs cough forth acrid, thick smoke. Lines criss-cross his frail skin and scabs push high toward the heavens. Queues doubled. To and fro, pushing and impatient. A hive of business and plague, rotting but not gone.

[Woeful]

In this City, it was the smell he remembered most. Years -- decades later. It was the smell.

In this City, he marched ten miles down Canal Street. Mansions, above ground cemeteries, hotels, restaurants, huge sky scrapers and the Super Dome lined the way. His feet were numb -- well beyond painful. On balcony was a girl, an exquisite young lady. Their eyes met -- she smiled -- his heart swelled -- he almost fell. The girl, an exquisite young lady, laughed and was gone.

In this City, a laughing young lady wasn't what he remembered most.

In this City, a woman in a long white fur coat performed. The balcony her stage. The street crowd her audience -- whipped into a frenzy. The coat closed -- the crowd booed. Loud music from a four piece band played nearby. "Twenty Dollar admission," the barker exclaimed -- "the real show inside." The white fur coat opened -- not a stitch of clothing beneath. The crowd ignited, the cheers deafening. The police looked the other way.

In this City, the coat, the woman, the music and the crowd weren't what he remembered most.

In this City, he was standing in line. Head down, handcuffs in his back -- jail awaits. Arrested for public intoxication in this City that celebrates Bacchus. A white van skidded to a stop. A laughing young lady and strong, friendly hands, grabbed the cuffs, and his shirt collar. The police looked the other way.

In this City, public intoxication, arrest, Bacchus and a daring escape weren't he remembered most.

In this City, outside of Pat O'Briens. There she was -- awash in a mixture of sweat, alcohol and perfume. She shouted "I found you!" Her words -- that smell -- his excitement -- that smell -- sense of amazement -- that smell -- still lingers.

In this City, her smell -- and the kiss soon thereafter -- that he remembered most.

[Injin]

The city had been destroyed during the Rending many years ago. The city groaned, shook, and fell apart as the disaster took place. Despite that, the children of the city hung on. Even when the number of beings inhabiting the city’s ruptured core shrank, it still found ways to take care of them. The remaining children held steadfast and survived. However, that survival wasn’t without pain. Disease and hunger struck the people of the city. Nonetheless, the endured the worst. The ground shook once more a century into the Rending Years, causing many of the children to fall below the city, and caused the city to further fall apart. Still, the children survived.

The city had been destroyed during the Rending many years ago. The city groaned, shook, and fell apart as the disaster took place. Despite that, the children of the city hung on. Even when the number of beings inhabiting the city’s ruptured core shrank, it still found ways to take care of them. The remaining children held steadfast and survived. However, that survival wasn’t without pain. Disease and hunger struck the people of the city. Nonetheless, the endured the worst. The ground shook once more a century into the Rending Years, causing many of the children to fall below the city, and caused the city to further fall apart. Still, the children survived.

Over time, the children of the city began to number more. The city no longer shook, no longer poisoned, or killed the crops of its children. The ailment it had been going through with its children was cured. Both the city and its children began to thrive. Other children from distant destroyed realms began to migrate to the city, and the city opened its arms to these new, orphaned children. Among the children, a leader of great charisma rose, proving to be the greatest of the city’s many progeny. He ordered the other children into action, and to action they moved. They rebuilt large swathes of the city, removing sores from the ancient grounds. The greenery that before had been hidden in patches throughout the city were revealed, and widened. The city, which had seemed healthy, but sad, began to glow in ambiance. As the greatest child grew old, he finished the last of the physical duties of the children of the city. He erected a large monument to the embodiment to the city, in the center of the oldest part. A great statue was placed to remind the children that their mother would never abandon them as long as they stayed loyal to their parent. The children never forgot this, and after the great child passed, his line was held in veneration.

To this day, the descendants of the great child guide the city with soft hands at peace, and closed fists at war. The city continued to grow, bolstered by the great child’s own progeny, as well as the growing strength of her other children. The borders to the city once more reach from the Wooded Vale in the west, to the Orange Shore to the south, extending to the Long Mountains to the north, and the Deep Waste to the east. The children created their own progeny in the vision and honor of their mother city, gathering orphans to help grow the influence of the city. The Empire of the city grew, and angel flying over every town in the greater valley that cradled the city. The vision of the city spread, and even un-orphaned children left their mothers to journey to the city. Even to this day, the children of other lands, other mothers, flock to our mother, the city.

The city had been destroyed during the Rending many years ago.

Today the City of Angels guards and guides its children to a new age of prosperity, an age where we do not need to fear another Rending. The children will not allow it. Tonight we head to battle against the fearful children of the City of Sin. They raid our trade caravans, and expect no recourse. Our city demands that we protect it and its interests. Tonight we shall break the children of the City of Sin. We will bring them into our mother’s embrace, and they shall work in tranquility with us, as they should have from the start. Men, I ask that you remember our origins, so as to bring the virtue of the city into your heart and stand stalwart against the enemy. Be brave, and remember why we are here. For the Rex Angelus, for our Mother! CHARGE!

[Inkdrinker]

The city had a dark gleam about it. Not just the skyline, but the residents. It lies behind the eyes of every police officer, every pigeons' blank stare. Most people did not notice. Those who did occupied their minds with something else. It was not necessarily a bad thing, nor a good one. It merely was. Those are the facts.

The man on the rooftops knew this, at the moment he was trying to decipher the cause, among other things. He entertained his mind with these thoughts, he entertained his mouth with pills, and he entertained his ears with blindingly loud music. Perhaps it is an aura of greed? He thought, no. Is it the city's way of communication? No. Its brand? Possibly. A tax? A food source?

His mind soon became disinterested. It thought of flying instead. Soaring. The man thought it was the pills kicking in. Athough he liked the idea of flying, he had no wings to speak of, but with enough willpower, he had a chance. Or maybe he didn't, either way, he had already decided. The man sauntered over to the edge of the smokey rooftop, enjoying what little night air reached his lungs. The city was a dazzling black diamond, a thousand shining disco balls. A brilliant example of casting away the darkness, and yet in doing so, embracing it. He could smell fresh fried samosas, red and greasy hot dogs.

The scent of coffee was the strongest, the city practically ran on it. All of this made his head spin and he lost his balance. The man's headphones fell from his ears, as he fell from the rooftop. He caught the edge, clutched it as you would an old friend. Now he heard the city too. It cried out with sirens and engines, political slogans and a thousand quiet conversations. His fingers were slipping. He would fall soon. That was alright though, he had made peace with it. He wanted this. To fly. No, to soar. The man let go of the building's edge and began a sharp plummet to the winding tangle of streets below. I'm flying! I've done it! The air was searing and frozen as it hit his face, rather like the city under him. Then an answer came to him. It's how I show my love.

[Lilam]

Foolishly, I had tried to run.

I was desperate, convinced that if I ran without pause, without looking back, the past could never catch up. Far too late I understood, but it’s all finally clear to me now. Back then, I had not realized that the more I pulled away, the more of her I took with me; the more I pushed, the more of myself I left behind. She was the one who bore me, clutched me close to her bosom and claimed me as her own. It was she alone who raised me, suckled me on violence, death and depravity. With eager hands I had reached out and drank deep, greedy and blind. Her poison was sweet and even as it killed me, I yearned for more.

Love and hate for her warred and collided until they simply canceled each other out and I felt nothing. I was a hollow beast, a vile monster she created, tenderly swaddled in blood and pain. But she was the only one I had to turn to, who loved me as I was, for what I was. It was a twisted love, the kind that threatened to break me at every turn yet reveled in my defiance. Her embrace was a slow suffocation, endlessly dark and devoid of warmth. Yet there was this savage allure about her, a promise of tantalizing secrets eclipsed beneath layers of filth and sin. She filled my head with the Devil’s lullabies and I became the demon she had always wanted me to be.

And though it was she who had made me, the one I could neither love nor hate, I had tried to run away. I had forsaken her yet still, she called to me. I had given her my heart and soul, yet that was not enough. I was hers, wholly and fully, and she would consume me as was the fate of all of her brood. But I would not die by hands that cradled death so gently, damned to forever wander the bowels of her darkness. Running, crawling, dragging, I had slipped from her grasp once before. I would do it again. And this time, I would not run, but fly, free.

I had returned to this cold, dark city to find the pieces of me I had left behind. I was somewhere in there, trapped, lost. Waiting. This was the city that had spawned the monster in me and here, in her arms, that monster would die. Her shadows welcomed me, engulfed me, drowned me gently. She beckoned to me and I descended into that familiar darkness.

I was home.

[Bloodeye the Bai Ze]

"Daddy... I'm telling you!"

The little girls voice was frazzled and thin as she bounced her backpack upside down in the middle of the park. Every piece of odds and ends spilled out onto the ground. Snacks and juice boxes toppled one after another with each flop of the bag in her little caramel hands.

"Daddy!" she rasped in terror as she scanned to mess she had strewn onto the thick green grass that contrasted against the deep grays of the many towering spires in the background .

"He's not here!"

"Okay okay... he's not in your bag. Where did you have him last?" her father said, bending down. He raised a questioning, if not slightly irritated, brow at the pile of belongings and then to his child.

She gazed back at him with big brown doe eyes, pleading for him to make things the way they were. Her best friend was nowhere to be found and he was trying to be rational?! Now was not the time!

"I don't know!"

"Okay... just think... where did you take Toucan out of your bag last? Was it here at the park?"

"N-no-yes-no... I don't know!"

"How about when we ate lunch hmm? You set him on the counter next to you. You shared the pie remember?"

"Yes! But... he was sleepy so I put him in the bag for a nap!"

"Okay! You sure you put him in the bag?"

"Yes Daddy!" the girl stamped her feet, utterly sure her beloved stuffed toucan, creatively named Toucan, should most emphatically be in his nesting place within her backpack. And yet he was not! She couldn't wrap it around her head. There was no way that he could have wriggled free of the bag. And why would he?! She told him when Daddy brought them to the city that he had to stay close! Daddy said so!

"Alright... well let's start from the beginning." Daddy sighed, his face crinkled the same way when Mommy said Granmi and Granpi were visiting.

He took her by the hand and gently drug her back in the direction they came. The green of the grass soon disappeared into the dingy murk color of the dirty sidewalk. The sounds of cars being chatty and honking merrily at each as they passed filled her little ears as she strained against Daddy's hand. The ground was so filthy! There was dirt and icky, and those white papers everyone put in their mouths. Mommy hated those things! She'd yank her away from people with them and say they shouldn't do that!

Toucan had such tiny wings! He couldn't fly very long and he probably had to walk a lot! He'll be so dirty when they found him. Mommy will be mad she'll have to give him a bath. Toucan doesn't like baths either!

"Come on." Daddy said in his garbage day voice as he pulled her along after him over the white horizontal lines. Cars hummed at her on all sides. They were trying to be quiet so not to hurt her ears probably, but they'd start their honking again soon enough.

She looked over her shoulder once they reached the other side. The cars were rolling again. They were so fats! What if-

She could feel her little heart stop as she tugged on her Daddy's hand,

"Daddy! Stop!"

"What now?!" he grimaced.

"You said Toucan was magic!"

She pulled her little bag from her shoulders and forcibly shoved her head in as far as it would go. It was to no avail however.

"He's not here." She moaned.

"You already checked your bag. You know he's not there!"

"But this time he might be! You said he was magic!"

"Yes but..." Daddy sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair. "Look... magic is funny. Sometimes it doesn't work so good, okay? Besides... uh... Toucan is probably scared while he's waiting for us so-"

"He's scared!" she cried bitterly. Her eye's were locked onto Daddy's face, hoping he didn't mean what he had just said.

"Aww cr-" he stammered and cleared his throat like he does when Mommy says he's lying. "I uh... I mean he's in a different place and he's lonely-"

"Lonely!!!"

"Ugh... um... he's just having a hard time with the magic okay? It's easier for us to find him then for him to find us." He finally answered.

She couldn't retort when her lips were quivering in such a way. It was one thing if Toucan wanted to explore, even if he was bad for not sharing the adventure, but to be lonely?! And scared?!

Suddenly the big towers all around were pulling in and she felt like everything was pressing against her shoulders. She felt like how the ladybug she had caught two days must have felt... but she can't fly like the ladybug could. If she could, she'd fly over all the towers and find Toucan. Then they'd all fly home together.

But she didn't have wings. And she'd used up all her crayons to draw more.

The trampling feet of people traversing the sidewalk hounded her at every moment as they entered the cafe that Daddy and her had eaten lunch. It wasn't like this before. Before she felt nothing but excitement at eating lunch with Daddy. She was excited when the nice lady offered her and Toucan the pie! It was so good and Toucan was such a greedy little bird. But he said thanks too and... then she put him in her bag for a nap.

Now her heart sank again. The city was so big and so busy! What if Toucan was trying to get back to her, but some meany was keeping him! Someone who didn't tuck him in at night or kiss him or wipe pie from his beak!

"Well hello there!" The nice lady chimed from the other side of the counter. It was a pleasant voice, like Mommy's, but different. The girl tried to hop up and down to see better, but Daddy picked her up and placed her on the stool like he had at lunch. "And hello to you too, sweetiebell! Come back for some more pie?"

"Lady um lady... um..." the girl stammered hurriedly, trying to form a question out of her mouth.

"Miss. You wouldn't have happen to seen a stuffed toucan, have you? Maybe left on the counter or someone found it outside?"

"Daddy! Outside is dirty! If Toucan gets dirty, Mommy will-"

"Yes... I know."

The lady's face scrunched like Daddy's.

"You mean your little friend? The little bird you had sitting next to you?"

"Yep!" the girl said loudly. If the lady knew what Toucan looked like, then she must have seen him again!

"Oh... well hold on. I'll look and see if maybe one of the others put him in the lost and found."

The girl beamed a smile at Daddy. Toucan must be here! This was the last place, like Daddy said! Start from the beginning! Daddy was -usually- right about things... unless he was wrong, but Mommy was the right one when that happened. She felt like she was as tall as those gray towers and then some!

The lady came back... but the girl couldn't see Toucan.

"Sorry sweetie. No one's seen a little toucan in here or outside."

The girl suddenly felt small again. Small small. Smaller then the ladybug. Toucan made her feel big. He was her best friend! But now... this city was so mean without him. Everything was dark and bad. It was different when he was there! Like a big light was shining on everything. Even the dirty sidewalks were exciting when Toucan was around. But now... this whole place just big. So big and she was so small.

"Oh... okay. Thanks for your help anyway." Daddy said drearily. He picked her up off the stool, but she squirmed unhappily.

"Daddy! You said Toucan would be here!"

"No. I said we had to start from where you last had him. I -thought- he might be here."

"But but... Toucan!"

"I know. Look we'll just... *sigh* we'll just have to backtrace over everywhere we've been from here."

"But that's so muuuch!"

Daddy wiped his fingers through his hair again. "Tell me about it. Mommy's gone have my head if we don't find that bird soon."

She pulled on his hand. "Then let's go!"

"Alright," Daddy sighed again. "Let's see... we went to... oh great... the subway and went to-"

Daddy droned off his list of here's and there's as they left the restaurant. She didn't care. She looked up at the sky, hoping beyond hope that she'd see her little friend flying up so high. She'd call out to him and wave her hands. He'd see her and they'd be together again.

But all she saw were the dank spikes jutting inward and up into the blue. Like teeth on a big ol' dog trying to chew into a blue toy. A blue toucan.

She felt herself growing smaller and smaller. All she could do to save herself was to hold onto Daddy as hard as she could.

[Deleted]

It was burning.

Even from this height, I could just taste the acrid bitterness of the roiling smoke; feel the heat tenderly stroking my face. Huge swaths of the keep were in flames, the wooden frame of the newest tower crackling like a sinister bonfire. Screams echoed from below and above, faint and agonizing, as the bones of Highcliff Hold snapped in twain.

"We need to leave, Jonathan." My voice was hoarse from my efforts of attempting to contain the fire an hour before.

The Duke of Highcliff ignored me, the dancing light of his city's pyre reflecting in his eyes. Everything he had schemed, toiled and worked toward was falling to pieces in front of him, torn down by the very people he was supposed to protect. His finery was ruined, the rich ermine cloak in tatters on his shoulders and the surcoat covered with soot. The crown he had lost to the mob far below.

"Samantha," Daenzil growled from behind me, urgent and warning.

I started forward, leaning against the stone and laying a hand against his shoulder. "Jon. We need to go, now."

"Why?" His word came in a whisper around a snarling scowl. "They wish for my head, though they already have my crown. They've rioted and stolen, pillaged and burned my hold like animals. Should I not give them what they all wish for? One last act from their beloved Duke."

A billowing fire roared through the sound of splintering wood as another house fell to the flame. Whatever remained of Highcliff after this inferno would be ash and rubble, another grave of a dying world. Voices rose up momentarily in a victorious cheer from the rioters, fighting with the flame to be heard.

"Because you are a leader," I growled, frustrated at everything. "One with loyal men that I need, that this whole realm needs lest it be razed. Do you want to see more of this?" I waved my hand across the remains of the city below.

The tower behind us fell in on itself, splashing into the sea that Highcliff perched over. The stones grumbled as they, too, fell. We were running out of time; soon the entire keep would fall into the ocean.

Jonathan slammed his fist onto the battlement. "My city is in its death throes and you ask me to lead what little men I still have to die with you on some fool's errand? Look at this!" He mirrored my earlier gesture, pointing with one finger at the smoking frames of collapsed smithies and shops before slumping in defeat. "I cannot come with you this time, Sorceress Baun. Leave me and take the men clustered in the fort outside of the city. They are all I can give you."

"So you're just going to sit here and watch your world burn around you? Give up?" More screams came from below as the large church in the center of town collapsed with a groaning rumble of mortar and stone.

His lips fell into a disgusted sneer. "Get out."

I could see there was no convincing him, so I turned away. I didn't have time for this. "By your command, Your Grace."

Daenzil stared up at me with pain and sympathy warring in his eyes, yet he said not a word as I brushed past him and left the Duke to his brooding stupor. My footfalls sounded loud in my ears, punctuated by the roar of vicious revelry and panicked shrieks.

Highcliff Hold crumbled around me, dead long before the sweeping fire ever seared through its streets. This was just its last gasp.

[James]

REFFY:

Spelling & Grammar - 2/2
Ease of Read - 2/3
Use of Topic - 4/5
Entertainment - 5/7
Quality - 6/8
- 1 Point Penalty

Total – 18/25

Gah with the Flash Fiction! They’re so tricky to judge!

This, I felt, was considerable better than the last round’s one. I didn’t notice any mistakes in the few lines, although the second sentence felt a little cumbersome to read. It had a nice beat to it, but it felt a little too busy to it.

I enjoyed the use of topic. You did with what I wanted from people. You didn’t make it about the city. Instead, you made it about the affect that the city had on a person. That’s what you want from a setting. It has characteristics, but it’s not the main focus. Excellent stuff.

The writing itself was very strong; there’s some excellent descriptions crammed into so very few words. It really brought the scene to life. But, and this is the problem with Flash Fiction, it’s really hard for me to be truly entertained by it. I can’t get invested in it because there’s simply not enough of it.

But it was well-written and a good piece of work, Reffy. Well done!

WOEFUL

Spelling & Grammar - 1/2
Ease of Read - 1/3
Use of Topic - 4/5
Entertainment - 5/7
Quality - 5/8

Total -- 16/25

Well, it certainly wasn’t woeful. Ha! I’ll be here all week!

…

No, seriously. It wasn’t a bad story. The main problem with the spelling and grammar (and subsequently the Ease of Read) wasn’t incorrect spelling, run-on sentences or switching tenses. You just forgot entire words. There were words missing throughout the piece. Which got frustration. For instance:

“On balcony was a girl, an exquisite young lady.”

“On the/a balcony was a girl, an exquisite young lady.”

It just really affected the flow of the piece.

The use of topic? I liked it. When I saw the repetition of ‘this City’ I groaned because I thought you were going to really harp on about the city and miss the point that it’s important as the setting, not the story. But you tricked me, because you really did tell us a story that was centred around but not completely focussed on the city. Great job.

It was entertaining and I thought the writing was strong. I’m not sure I entirely liked the style, though. I’m not really sure that the “--“ really served any actual purpose actually. Also, perhaps a little more expansion would have served the story better. By fleshing out the events, it would have provided a better insight into the character’s mind. We don’t really know much except his one memory he remembers most. Which, yes, is important, I’d agree. But does limit the story a little.

Also, it was on the short side, but I felt that it at least read more like a short story than a piece of flash fiction, so you escaped a penalty this time. Overall, a decent story.

INJIN

Spelling & Grammar - 1/2
Ease of Read - 1/3
Use of Topic - 3/5
Entertainment - 5/7
Quality - 6/8

Total -- 16/25

I definitely feel like you’re improving, and I hope that you keep on writing. I think you were probably expecting a higher score but there were a few problems (and this is still an improvement on the last round).

I only spotted two mistakes, one spelling mistake and one occasion of missing a word. And that’s really pleasing to see. You’re wiping these technical errors out of your writing and that’s always a good sign. However, there was one cause of concern throughout the entire piece. The repetition of the word of ‘city’ and ‘children’ was too much. It suffocated the piece. The flow was severely hampered by it. It felt like every other word was city or children and I just couldn’t get into the story because of it.

Once we’re passed that pretty sizable concern, the rest of the piece was pretty good, Injin. There was some great descriptive work there and I loved the twist at the end that the story turned out to be a battle cry. I was a little worried that the story had no purpose until you got up to that point, but you made it come good. So well done there.

My one problem with the Use of Topic was that you didn’t use the city so much as a setting but the basis for the point of the story. The story wasn’t set in a city. The story was the city. But still, a decent effort.

INKDRINKER

Spelling & Grammar - 0/2
Ease of Read - 2/3
Use of Topic - 3/5
Entertainment - 4/7
Quality - 5/8

Total -- 14/25

I’m going to be honest here, Inkdrinker. I didn’t care for this one. I felt your first round piece was quite good and you were merely found wanting in spelling and grammar. This time, you still had a problem in that area, but the story was also lacking as well.

I can’t help but think that another proof read might have fixed a few of your errors. For instance the fact that you had not a single space between ‘thought,no’. There was also a missing ‘l’ in ‘although’ and a few other mistakes.

The Use of Topic? I’m not sure to be honest. I liked the fact that the city was truly the setting and didn’t dominate the character of the story. But it felt quite tame. The setting didn’t scream out to me. I didn’t have a vivid image inside my head.

You occasionally switched tense at the start. And the story was so short, I couldn’t really gain any connection or understanding with the main character that hurt the entertainment of the piece. I was left with a feeling of ‘yeah, so what?’ at the end. But I did enjoy some of the writing scattered throughout like: “The city was a dazzling black diamond, a thousand shining disco balls.”

So there were some positives to take from this piece. But I definitely preferred last round’s entry from you.

LILAM:

Spelling & Grammar - 2/2
Ease of Read - 3/3
Use of Topic - 3/5
Entertainment - 5/7
Quality - 7/8

Total – 20/25

Good, decent story, Lilam. And I don’t think there’s going to be much for me to say.

I didn’t notice any mistakes (well, not if I grudgingly consider American spelling) and it was a breeze to read. It was a nice flow, good sentence structure, a real ease to read. So excellent work there.

I took a couple of points from the Use of Topic, though. For two reasons. Firstly, like a few others, you really took the city as a focal point of the story rather than the setting. But, then again, you did that well. My only other complaint was that I saw pretty early on what you were doing here and I realised the ‘she’ was referring to the city.

The writing was excellent. I can’t really say much more than that. There were some great descriptions and just all-round excellent writing. However, the story itself didn’t quite capture me. I didn’t really have a connection to it. It was well-written but it didn’t quite draw me in.

But really, good stuff, Lilam. I’m glad to be reading some of your writing again. It’s been too long.

BLOODEYE:

Spelling & Grammar - 0/2
Ease of Read - 2/3
Use of Topic - 5/5
Entertainment - 7/7
Quality - 7/8

Total – 21/25

Oh man. That was excellent, Blood.

In fact, the one weak spot in the entire thing was that your spelling and grammar was actually pretty bad, man. It was only little mistakes, but they started from the second sentence with a missing apostrophe and just kept on wracking up. It was frustrating because everything else was going really well. I’d recommend at least one more proof read next time around. Also two other things, I’d stay clear of ‘!?’. It looks untidy and there’s an argument it’s grammatically wrong. And, dude… did you *sigh* in a story? Did you do that? I almost want to give you a penalty for that. I almost did. Don’t do that again, man!

But finally! I got one where the city was well and truly the setting! That was what I wanted. I wanted the city to have character, to be well-described, to feel alive, which is what you did. But I also wanted it to just be the setting. I didn’t want it interfering with the plot too much. You showed me that you understood exactly how a setting should work. Just excellent.

You’re also a bastard. Because I felt really emphatic for the poor girl. The word choice was excellent; the narrative really had a youthful innocence to it. And that only compounded the fear and sadness of the piece. I was reading through the whole thing hoping there was a happy ending and you didn’t give us one. You bastard.

Just a really great piece of work, Blood. With some tidying up it could have been pushing at the 22-23 score, which we don’t often see.

CROSWYND:

Spelling & Grammar - 2/2
Ease of Read - 2/3
Use of Topic - 4/5
Entertainment - 5/7
Quality - 6/8

Total – 19/25

Oh you must be enjoying this, Tam. No longer perpetually stuck in fifth place.

I didn’t notice any errors throughout the piece and there was a nice flow to the narrative that made it easy to read. But I want to pull you up on something. I nearly did it last round, but I decided it actually met the tone of that story perfectly. However, this is now twice in a row and for this story, it felt a little out of place.

I feel like some times you’re trying to show off with your vocabulary. Do that in everyday conversation. Don’t do it in your story. And don’t do it right at the start of your story. I think I’ve heard the word ‘acrid’ once in my life and maybe seen it only a handful of times. Furthermore, it was a bit redundant, because you then said bitterness right afterwards (they imply the same thing). So either trust your audience to come on this merry trip of under-used words, or don’t do it at all.

Use of Topic? I liked it. Like Bloodeye, you managed to make the city the setting and not the whole point of the story. However, there was something missing. I think I wanted a bit more life from the city. You described it burning well-enough, but you could have really brought it to life with smells and sounds.

The same with the central plot of your story. I think there was one moment when I genuinely felt “whoa, things are urgent, these guys best get moving.” The rest of the time I was patiently waiting for the conversation to finish. Add a bit more drama to it. Make the scene come alive more.

But it was another strong piece from you, Tam, no doubt. You managed to build the scene and plot swiftly even if I’d like a little more exposition from you to really bring the story alive. The captain going down with his ship, so to speak, should have probably had more of an emotional effect on me than it actually did.

Scoreboard

1st Bloodeye – 21pts
2nd Lilam – 20pts
3rd Croswynd – 19pts
4th Reffy – 18pts
5th Injin – 16pts
5th Woeful – 16pts
7th Inkdrinker – 14pts

Round Two Winner is: Bloodeye

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[James]

ROUND THREE

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Topic: Genre: High Fantasy
Deadline: 11:59pm EST - 19th July[/center]

[JMDavis ((Silver))]

“Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown,” the words were softly spoken in a quavering voice. Rheumy eyes looked upon the gathered court as the king sat on his granite throne. King Aomar was a withered husk of his once vibrant self, a skeleton draped in layer upon layer of thick furs, despite the heat outside. His golden gem encrusted crown shifted with every wet rasping breath the frail creature drew.

“And troubled of late have my dreams been,” a hacking cough interrupted his flow of words. Thick bloody phlegm dribbled down his chin into the dirty wispy beard that barely clung to his face. “Each night I have slept, I have seen my death. I have heard the dark cries of despair of a thousand souls as they are brought down into ruin. This is why I have called you. Each of you has shown to be the greatest heroes of our time.

“Aellanorn the Swift, an elven archer without peer, a fierce enemy to evil and a dear friend to all who fight for good,” Aellanorn bowed his head and smiled, revealing perfectly white teeth. His pale sculpted features practically shone in the wan light that entered the keep. His blonde hair was like spun gold as it trailed down his mithril chain and dark leathers. Quiver and bow rested across his back and twin curving swords were close at hand at either hip.

“Karag son of Karod, greatest of the dwarf warriors and High King of all the clans. None but you can be trusted to charge into the thickest of the fight and come out unscathed.” Karag turned to Aellanorn, giving him a smug look through the thick tangle of his black beard. Almost every inch of the dwarf was encased in rune-etched golden armor that pulsed with its own power. A massive battle-axe was clasped in his gauntleted hands and pressed head first into the ground.

“And finally Ilara, a sorceress whose powers are known far and wide across the lands of man and elf and dwarf, whose name is spoken in hushed frightened whispers amongst the Dark Lands.” Ilara inclined her head just slightly, her platinum hair barely moving with the motion. Her slender fingers were wrapped tightly around the silver haft of her staff.

“You three are the only hope our world has of avoiding the ruin that may soon befall us.” He fixed his gaze beyond their eyes, sorrow filling his own. “Which is why none of you are leaving this keep alive.” Before a single word could be uttered, quarrels rained down to spit the three champions hundreds of times. Each bolt pierced armor as easily as flesh. Aomar watched as they fell wordlessly to the ground. The skeletal king slowly pushed himself from his throne to take shambling, stumbling steps toward the pooling blood of the heroes.

“And from your blood I shall be reborn anew,” he knelt amongst them, wheezing, glancing furtively, as silent shapes pulled away from the shadows. The still forms of his benefactors stood about him in a tight circle, spidery fingers gripping heavy crossbows close to their chests. They parted as their master stepped forth, swathed in pure shadows and moving with the same silence as its guardians. It was to this terrible creature that Aomar now looked to with hope.

“You did well, King Aomar. Your kingdom has been put to the sword. Your crops lie fallow within the fields. And you have delivered unto The Dread just what was asked, the deaths of the greatest heroes of this Age.” A limb extended forth, shadows retreating to reveal a bloodless, three-fingered hand with curving nine-inch talons in the place of normal nails. The cold hand pressed its iron-hard flesh against the thin skin of Aomar’s skull. “Rejoice as you gain your own eternal kingdom. No longer shall King Aomar be, but in his place shall reign King Drak’then, the Plague of the West.”

The blood beneath the ancient king swirled up and around the shadowy form, slowly extending along its outstretched arm, turning into a bloody mist the closer it came to the kneeling Aomar. Thick pulsing veins of purple energy speared into Aomar, causing him to cry out in pain as they tore through the weak flesh. The poisoned spell of the Herald oozed into the king’s veins.

The thick stench of the decrepit king soiling himself hung in the air as the transformation began in earnest. Flaking skin took on first a supple firm look before growing swollen with muscles and veins and completely draining of color. Rotten brown teeth fell from shriveled gums to be replaced by three-inch long serrated fangs. His hair fell away in clumps and tangles as new growth took hold. Thick and coarse was the hair, the color and luster of coal snaking from scalp and jaw.

Aomar screamed again, the sound half a roar, as he thrashed across the ground. His bones snapped as his body sought to grow larger. His back arched. Furs burst from his body. Thickened muscles ripped his clothing to barely clinging shreds. He scrabbled at the ground. He roared in bestial agony. His eyes were seared from his skull and ran in jellied trails down his cheeks. Dark flames filled the empty sockets.

There was a long silence after the echoes of the last roar died away. The darkly armored figures stood unmoving during the entire transformation. Slowly, the hulking form that was once Aomar rose on wolf-like hind legs. The neck of the once-man was gone, the muscles of its body having become too swollen to allow for such a thing to exist. Slaver caused his fangs to glisten in the darkening light of the evening sun. The undead raised one of its massive arms to exam the large hand with its wicked talons. “Sssuch power,” a six-inch worm-like tongue hissed through his fangs, its tip sliding against the cold flesh of the monster’s chest.

The circle spread outward as the warriors drew away from the creature within their midst. The Herald the only remaining close to Drak’then, “Every great king born of blood and death deserves armor befitting his station.” Its fingers curled, drawing forth more figures from the shadows. These, though, were undeniably humans despite their wasted appearance. The hunched figures shuffled toward the monstrosity that was once a benevolent king. Blackened armor, etched with baleful symbols and lined with cruel spikes and barbed hooks, clutched in their shaking hands.

The attendants stepped forward buckling straps of sinew with clasps of bone before driving thick rivets deep into the armor and flesh of Drak’then. Helm, gauntlets and greaves were brought forth. With a snarl, Drak’then slashed his claws through the air to sever the head of one attendant and rip the face away from the other. The rest quailed at the sight, eyes wide with fear.

“No! To hide me in armor is to hide Fear. Let the mortals look upon my face. Let them look upon the glory of my rebirth!” a cackling howl left the tortured throat of Drak’then at the thought.

The Herald banished those fear-filled attendants with a flick of his wrist, allowing the last two to step forth. “Then your weapons, great king,” cloth was drawn away to reveal a tainted, mithril blade. Plagued pus oozing from the very metal of the abominable sword to drip and steam on the stones below. “Gaegen’yar, the Poisoned Sword,” the other shawl was removed to reveal a curving sickle, the inward blade of the hook glistening in the now moonlit keep, “Akkr’ma, Flesh Carver.”

Drak’then reached out both of his massive hands, wrapping long fingers around the hilts of the vile weapons. The putrid flames of his eyes examined his gifts, causing that horrid grin to spread across his pallid face. “What deaths may come shall be glorious and bloody…”

~~

This is a dark and evil time. The Dread, Master of the Dark Lands and all that dwell within its accursed borders summons forth the vast armies of darkness that seethe and cry out to be free. His voice, the mysterious Herald, moves throughout the lands of Man to sway their easily corrupted souls to the side of its master.

Already King Aomar has fallen, and taken with him the greatest hope of defeating The Dread. Armies marshal for what could be the end of all things, but the lurking fear has tensions raised high. Men, suspicious of their neighbors spend their numbers in pointless civil wars that slowly exhaust their resources in flesh and crop. The dwarven clans, leaderless, debate amongst themselves to march and stand beside ancient allies, or to weather the storm within their holds. The elves, ever aloof, have withdrawn from the world entirely, no trace left in their glowing cities and sacred groves.

A dark and bloody age descends upon the world. A time when heroes are needed, but none are to be found. A time where the very nightmares of our sleep now trouble us in the waking world.

This is the time of the ending of the world.

[Jenny (Reffy)]

The hand-painted posters went up mid-morning covering countless others. Unsteadily an old man moved to read it. Another girl gone in the night: believed to be alive. Searches, it proclaimed, were due to start at midday in the Highlands and caves to the north as usual.

Turning away, the old man shook his head. He knew it was already too late for the girl. So many young had been taken by the Arachnida. All the search would find is broken bones; they always did. A heavy sigh expressed from his thin lips. Gone were the heroes of old days; Lord Glucrous had made sure of that during the Great Wars and oppression of Magi.

[Woeful]

King Zi III, the ruler of the Maoria Kingdom for more than 250 years was dying. Juniper Grace stood beside old pallid king’s bed side. His once handsome features now eaten by the consumption, his cheeks were sunken, the grey stubble of his bread thinly veiled the sores and puss pockets. King Zi’s breathing was shallow and raspy. Juniper Grace put the back of her hand against his old creased forehead. The fever had broken, his skin was once again cool, but his strength hadn't returned. A tiny line of blood rolled down his chin. Juniper Grace’s face bore a grim expression while she wiped away the blood. She was careful not to tear the skin and afraid that he might not awake.

King Zi's eyes fluttered open and then focused on Juniper Grace. His boney hand shot out from the covers and grasped her hand. His grip was surprisingly strong at first, but then rapidly weakened and finally his hand fell away. When he tried to speak, Juniper Grace whispered. “Shh, no Sire. Look at me, and say what you will.” Juniper Grace pointed towards her head and then peered into King Zi’s eyes.

Juniper Grace held a tiny mind speak spell, under King Zi’s nose. Her thumb flicked across the tiny spec of sulphur, the spell burned in an instant, the wisps of acrid smoke touched Juniper Grace’s nose. Instantly, she caught the strength of King Zi’s soul, the depth of his spirit and his indomitable will. “Sire, speak to me in your mind. I can hear you.”

“There is something seek.” King Zi’s mind was still vibrant and powerful. His thoughts echoed through her mind, in contrast to the weakness of his body.

“Aye, sire there is, your lineage is false.”

“My lineage can kiss my royal arse.”

Juniper Grace chuckled. She would have loved to have seen this man in his prime. Even near death, and covered with sores, he was handsome.

“Where are the articles--the true articles lineage? Where did you hide them?”

“Briar is my son.”

“We both know your falsity. Don’t carry the burden to the depths.”

King Zi tumbled through a gambit of sharp and painful emotions. Juniper Grace could sense his resolve was weakening.

“The wizard said he would never be found.”

“What’s the name of this wizard?”

“Her name was Abatharue, she promised to purge Aaron.”

“And she did, but you hid something from her. Didn't you, Sire?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“You wanted this day when you kept the true articles hidden.”

“You're telling me.”

“No, Sire. I am humbly asking on behalf of your family, people and land. Aaron is destined for greatness. Your son Briar will always be sore that will never heal.”

Sorrowfulness swarmed King Zi’s mind. Repressed emotions broke through the carefully constructed dam. Tears of regret filled the old king's tired eyes streaking down his face.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have done it. We fought so often--I was constantly angry. Aaron defied me at every turn. He needed to be exiled. He deserved to be cast out. I am the king. Aaron would have betrayed me.”

“You banished him, you obliterated his memory, you took from everyone who ever knew him, even his mother. You took him from everyone, except yourself.” She paused for a few moments and gauged his mental status. “I have seen Aaron. You would be so proud. I won’t say anything more.”

“Can you show me?”

“I can sire, I can make you see, but only after you tell me of the true articles of lineage – that what you hid from Abatharue.”

“Blackmail and treason, I say.”

“Convincing you to do what’s honorable and just, I say. Juniper Grace interrupted and smiled.

“You are spinning an evil born of half-truths and sweet tasting lies. You prey on the pride of a dying man. The destiny you seek is false.”

Juniper Grace remained silent. The old king took a deep breath and held it for many heart beats. He was considering, thinking through his options. Juniper Grace became a little concerned until he released his breath, and opened his mind fully to her. Juniper Grace flashed picture of Aaron to King Zi. He was handsome and tall with broad shoulders and a smiling face. He looked regal, just like a younger Zi.

“I am taking you at your word, child, upon your honor. I want to see one final time.”

“Upon my word and upon my honor, the grand scroll shall erase me. My children shall fall as rotted fruit from a dead tree. Maggots shall eat the roots of my family. We, I and they shall never be.” Juniper Grace repeated the curse of the oath breaker that she had read from one of the old texts of this realm.

“In my study, upon the top shelf, behind the ancient tomes.”

“Thank you, Sire.”

Juniper Grace scurried out of the bed chamber and down the hall to King Zi’s study. The guards were asleep from the potion she had slipped into their drinks. In the study she rearranged the furniture to build a platform high enough to reach the top shelf. Sliding the books to the floor she found the hidden compartment. The lock was magical. Juniper Grace panicked for a moment, Aaron, ver Zi ver Ylee. 1-26-25. A rolled up sheep skin was inside. Juniper Grace re-entered the King’s bed chambers.

On a table lay the articles of succession. Inside the dozens of decrees and formal proclamations was the phony articles of lineage. Juniper Grace removed the fake, folding it and sliding inside her bodice of her dress and slid the original neatly into the stack.

There was nothing left to do but wait. The chancellor would read the documents aloud. Upon reciting the name of Aaron, the spell would break. Destiny and the fates would decide the rest because Aaron couldn’t exist in two worlds. Juniper Grace could only imagine the difficulties that were forthcoming.

Juniper Grace put her hand on King Zi’s forehead. His eyes were near death, his body was failing, but his mind still clung stubbornly. Furious intensity lay just beneath the surface. Juniper Grace looked deeply into King Zi’s eyes and held his conscious mind for a few more seconds and wove the vision of the Aaron she had witnessed:

Aaron, stood alone, his wife had passed away. He was strong, noble, respectful and regal. Tears formed but were never shed. Aaron the king deserved respect.

Aaron’s deep baritone voice was booming off the walls. His face was the personification
of wisdom -- confident knowledge. Aaron looked like a king holding court.

Aaron was then resting comfortably on horseback. Thousands of soldiers were spread across the fields waiting expectantly his command to charge. Aaron looked like a king at war.

Aaron was with his family, his manifold sons, and daughters, their children and grandchildren were spread all around. Aaron looked like a father at peace.

Tears formed in King Zi’s eyes. “A glimpse of that you can’t see.” The soul of King Zi departed. His eyes barely closed.

“Your last thoughts should be private. You old bastard.”

Juniper Grace felt the tug as her body condensed into a pin prick of light and evaporated into the ether between space and time.

[Injin]

“Fire.

That’s all I really remember from the battle. Those men with golden wings on their sigils slammed their supposedly righteous horde into our ranks, while simultaneously their magus’ sent balls of fire into our ranks. It wasn’t really a battle. No, it was a slaughter. Like their usual tactics, they had asked to parley with our leaders. Julius had always been head strong, milord, and he ignored my advice to disregard those conniving angel worshippers’ attempts at diplomacy. You cannot blame yourself. They had used the same tactic against the Knights of the Sacred Meadows in the north, during a peaceful expedition to figure out why pilgrims headed to St. David’s Cathedral had started disappearing. The men of Angelosa, my lord, are not to be trusted. I am sure they will send emissaries, secretly assassins jumped up on their angel dust that seems to sprout from their foul and accursed city, and they will kill you if you accept an audience.”

King Vega, feeling old from the loss of his son and his advanced age, nodded as his remaining general explained the situation. He had not expected a complete loss when he sent his son with a large portion of his army to find out why a large portion of the merchant traffic coming from the south had stopped arriving. He had simply thought that perhaps bandits had blocked the route, or at the very worst, goblins had begun raiding the area again. The King of Los Virgos, formerly Las Vegas in the days of Light, rose from his throne and began to walk towards the exit of the room, suddenly with purpose. His general, Varas de Leonis, walked with him, as did several guards. Soon they arrived at the war room, and within were joined by several faces floating from the table.

Each of the faces held a crown on their head, a visage of a far off King or some other ruler from another land. The image to his right bore the image of an ancient woman, crowned with fire. She spoke first, “I told you not to send your troops King Vega. I told you that the omens boded poorly, “

King Vega briefly looked away, having disbelieved her last time she gave him an auspice, “I know Circe. You seem to always be right, even when your claims sound insane. I should have learned that by now. I assume Reno is with us?”

Circe nodded, “Yes, Reno is with Los Virgos in its time of trouble, as it always has been. You should not be asking me this; I made a promise to your father that I would always do my best to protect you, my old Friend.”

The elderly king briefly flashed a smile, before the memories of the last few moments flooded back, his temporary glimpse into the past turning back to grim reality. “What say you, oh wise Chief?” he said as he turned to his left, the youthful face of the Lord of the Biblos Valley showing anger and rage.

“What do you think my ally? Your son killed by these vile demons in the form of false angels? I would be damned to see your loss not avenged. My people are with you, as they shall be until these fiends wearing human skin are naught but a memory of the winds.”

Smiling, the King turned his head to the group of floating heads across from him, the look on their faces varied with the emotions of disgust, rage, and sadness.

The one to the furthest left began, “I cannot help you, oh King of Los Virgos. Three days have my holdings in the border at Claritas been besieged by the Angelosans. My men cannot aid you in but keep the soldiers of the False Angel away from your front”

The second head, wrenched in its own agony, also responded, “I cannot as well, dear King, as my doors at the great Ox Head are being barged down as we speak. Their magus’ were able to block my sendings until but hours ago, but by then it was too late. They shall be in my chambers within the hour. I hope you will be able to turn back this foul threat, before any more people have to suffer under its yoke”.

The third head, pointy-eared and thin, centered at the opposite end of the table, spoke, but with a rage unseen by even in the many years the wise King of Los Virgos had reigned, “They are burning down my forests, Vega, and I intend to drive them back into the hole they came from, “ the elven lord began, “but my intentions are to destroy them utterly as well, I shall add my forces to yours, if only to destroy these foul usurpers of land”

The last two looked at each other with resolve, and spoke as one, “We shall also lend our arms to our friend, the King Vega. The cities of Bakersfield and Lancaster are with your cause.”

King Vega nodded and clenched his fists, “While we do not have the numbers at the moment to turn back the tide utterly, I know of a several groups that will send troops to our cause if only we asked for it. Many people have lost much to the Angelosans. I shall speak with you all tomorrow, and by that time I should have gotten the aid we all desperately need in this time of terror. My the gods of the stars be with you all”

As he walked away, he shed several tears. He knew that the suffering caused by the false speaking Angel Men of Angelosa would be only beginning. He hoped that the forces of good would be able to triumph, if only to save the innocents not already harmed by the lies of the men who claimed that they were guided by Angels. With his general by his side, as well as several attendants, he walked to another room, this time with sigils instead of faces. The sigils glowed as he entered the room, eager for interaction with his mind once more.

He closed his eyes slowly and deliberately as he got into the correct position, and shouted. He glowed with the magnificence of a millennia’s worth of stars and spoke, “Gir Ohm La!” and lights erupted all around him. The several sigils began to float around him for several minutes as he communed with and the men at the other end. At the end of the discussion, he opened his eyes once more, and as they radiated the light of his soul, he said, “Al Mho Rig!” and the sigils returned to their positions. He had gotten the reinforcements he needed. They would be true, as they were not the lies espoused by the Angelosans. Soon, his men would be guarded not only by their armor, but the servants of the true gods above.

Real Angels.

Among the other allies he summoned, word came from each. The Knights’ Guard of the Nevada Aerie sent word affirming that they would aid him, as did the Knights of the Sacred Meadow. Two mercenary groups that had ties to Los Virgos also agreed to send their support. Around the Kingdom of Los Virgos, men and women alike rallied to the cause. If the evil emanating from Angelosa was to be stopped, it would be now.

[Orombur]

“You’re a damned fool, Greywater.” The sailor’s eyebrows furrowed as his lips drooped into a frown. “As damned a fool as I’ve ever seen.”

Goosebumps rose on Eduin’s skin as cool air flowed over his arms. He could taste the salt on the ocean breeze as The Rose made her way over the flat waters of the Golden Sea. Shimmering water stretched out around them in all directions as gulls cawed overhead. Eduin watched a pair dive into the stillness and broke out in a grin. “Are you sure about that, Will?” he jested. “You have met yourself, correct?”

The bearded man looked as though he were about to throw the adventurer overboard, but then a booming laugh erupted from his lips. “Aye, you may be right!” He rubbed his stomach as he chuckled and gave Eduin a firm pat on the back. “We’re all bloody fools for agreeing to this.” His green eyes scanned the horizon, constantly on the search for any form of danger. “Us the jesters and you the king.”

Eduin did his best to look taken aback. “Oh, come now. At least have the decency to call me a jester as well. King Dullard would count himself lucky to be half as smart as one.” This brought about another laugh between the pair, ending with both watching as one of the gulls resurfaced and snapped a bright blue fish down its gullet.

Since the Rose had begun her journey, Eduin had really taken to Will. The older man had proven to be a loyal companion. He had been one of the first to throw his support behind Eduin’s idea, crazy as it had been. He had helped him gather sailors to his cause, and had even tracked down Alys for him. Sure, Will had a bit of a paranoid side to him, but who could blame him? No one had slept easy for days, and none of them would until New Portland was a distant memory.

“I’d expect the King has half the royal Navy searching for us by now,” Will said grimly as he spat into the waters below.

“He’d have to be quite the fool to do that.” Eduin recognized Alys’s voice as she emerged from below deck. He and Will turned away from the water to greet her.

The dark-haired sell-sword walked toward the two of them. Alys was the unofficial leader of the tiny force the expedition had brought with them. She was shorter than the two of them, though Eduin doubted he could match her in a fight. He was no fighter. Will probably could, but the sailor had spent his life amongst the docks at New Portland. She had slanted eyes and a large nose. No one would call her easy on the eyes, but he had heard rumors that some of the men desired her.

Eduin didn’t care. It wasn’t her beauty he had wanted her for. She had earned a reputation amongst the sell-swords in the city. She was good with a sword; men had seen her make eunuchs of her suitors; she was insane, fighting with all the ferocity they had seen out of any man. Alys was well respected by many of the men he had talked to, and they had all ended their conversations with the same thing: only she was crazy enough to go with him.

“Don’t forget the fact that he is quite the fool,” Eduin said jokingly. “Our most beloved King!” He raised one his hands in the air, faking a toast. “Long may he reign!”

Will looked at Eduin. “That reign may not last long, if the rumors are true. You know them as well as I do, Greywater. Rebellion’s brewing in every alley of New Portland. These rebels, they say, have a weapon the likes of which men have never seen before. They say it makes an awful, ear-splitting noise and has enough force to blow giant holes in stone walls.” Will glanced back at the water quickly. “The King has much to fear these days.”

“You fear too much, Will,” Eduin said. “The rebels are no trouble of ours. In fact, we might inspire them!” He put one arm around the sailor. “Think about it! The intrepid explorers, daringly snatching one of the royal Navy’s ships right from their grasp! They’ll be singing songs about us by the time we make it home.”

“If we make it home,” Alys said. She pointed out over the water. “Sails out there. Growing fast.” Eduin spun around quickly and Will swore.

“How did they catch us so fast?” Will ran down below decks and started shouting for the men to prepare for battle. Royal sails were flying on the horizon, and growing in size at an alarming rate. Eduin stared at the sails, trying to make some sense of it.

“That could only be the Kordoba,” Alys said grimly. Eduin swore. She was right.

“Why would he send them after us?” Eduin didn’t understand. The Kordoba were the elite in the royal Navy. They were a sea-faring race of people who had been overtaken by man long ago. One of their kings had agreed to serve men if they let his people live and they had been a part of the navy ever since then. They still held their secrets, and could sail a ship faster than any human ever could. It was rumored that they had some control over magic, though many believed that to be no more than a fairy tale.

The ship was moving faster than Eduin had ever seen any ship move before. Staring at it this close made him think that there was more truth than fiction to those claims.

Will came back with the rest of the force. Men stood on the hull of the deck, weapons in hand and anxiety clear on their faces. Eduin couldn’t blame them. The Kordoba were bad news. The rumors of magic had never endeared them to the population, and many men feared what they were capable of. The King was serious in hunting them down.

Eduin could see the ship clearly now. It was one of the triremes, the fastest ships the King had at his disposal. Three oars jutted out from either side of the ship and large white sails caught the wind behind them, propelling the ship forward at a speed Eduin had never seen before. It took him several seconds to realize it was happening, but Will saw it instantly.

“They’re not slowing down!” the sailor shouted. He ran for the wheel of the Rose and turned it hard to the left. Men struggled to keep their balance as the rudder violently shifted, but it was too late. The Kordoba were upon them.

An explosion of splinters and wooden boards erupted around Eduin. He could feel many tiny shards of wood burrow themselves into his skin, his arms and face stinging as he reached for his short-sword. The men on board the ship were thrown off of their feet, and several wound up in the water below them. He could hear their screams as they searched for any refuge amongst the waves.

Several of the Kordoba had jumped onto their ship, hoping to take advantage of the confusion. He crossed weapons with one, locking his stare onto the other’s small eyes. The small creature danced around him, and Eduin struggled to keep up. Blow after blow rained upon his steel, sending jolts up and down and his arm.

The jolts stopped suddenly, and Eduin’s vision cleared in time to see Alys drag her sword from the stomach of his foe. He heard something splash against the floor of the deck and then lost himself to the confusion again when the creature fell. Men were shouting all around him, fighting against the marines boarding their ship.

It took Will’s strong voice in his ear to break him from his trance. “Best get moving, Greywater!” his gruff voice rang through the cloud. “You’re as likely to drown as those men in the water if you stay here!” Will practically lifted Eduin off of his feet at the two ran for the enemy ship. The Kordoba were just pulling away from theRose as they leaped through the salt air.

As they landed, he saw Alys battling more of the Kordoba with another sell-sword at her back. Will’s axe cut swiftly through the air at the nearest foe, and Eduin once again found himself alone.

It took only several minutes for the battle to end. Eduin’s force found themselves victorious, though too many men smaller than when they had set out. Will and Alys both looked to him. “What now, Greywater?”

Eduin smiled, his usual toothy grin reappearing on his face. “Well, it’s not the most ideal situation, I know… Too many deaths, and we’ve really downgraded on our ship here.” He looked over to see the Rose sink below the waves. “But what can we really do? We’re going to keep going.” He looked to the West, waiting, hoping to see the lands that lay beyond that distant horizon.

Will gave him a firm pat on the back. “You’re a damned fool, Greywater.”

Eduin could only laugh.

[Bloodeye the Bai Ze]

A Treatise on the fine art of Necromancy amongst the Wolves of Subpar Arts.

Written in style by self-titled Erroneus, master of bone-conjuring and other vicious titles.

Herein, and henceforth, I write my full breadth of emotion.

In this world of squabbling armies and disposed rulers, of battered princes and heroes, of demons and monsters, and foremost amongst it all, of a very present population of illiterate slackjaws who will never read this nor should even attempt to without parental aid, I sit alone in my current quarters in the root cellar of the local inn to conduct flowing symphonies with my quill. As I have taken the liberty to write in a manner according to every word and motion I make with my body in lieu of being a schoolboy and writing without flailing about uncontrollably, I will start this mighty manuscript of an extraordinary magus such as myself by quickly stating that this bag of sweet potatoes is really doing a number on my back.

But all potato based problems aside.

Magick, or "magic" to the idiotic masses who fail to realize the "K" means the difference between unleashing unholy wrath upon your enemies and opening a flap in your hat to unleash a goddamn pigeon, is an art that both seems to be accustomed to the few and far between and yet still be prevalent enough for local wizards to compete like market stalls.

With market stalls. With big signs that say MAGIC FOR SALE.

These are certainly not the kind of folk I would rip the spine out of and then make said spine literally dance in front of their wives and children. Not at all.

While not the best place to insert this thought; I should probably save it for yet another manuscript; but placing a top hat and cane on a dancing spine does -not- actually give it the effect of being whimsical. At least not to crying children.

And so I have reached an opportune segue into my own illustrious art: Necromancy.

Now I'm certain that if anyone is capable of reading this, they are of the learned sort. And my opinion of the learned sort is that they are full of opinions that mostly disagree with my own. Case in point.

I've heard it all: Necromancers are unholy masters of death and decay, fornicators with demons and corpses, allies of everything dark and evil in this world.

I find it insulting. I've never once had relations with a demon, though my ex-wife was certainly no small step from one.

My wit is starting to take control of this piece. Perhaps I should start by talking perspective:

For the un-magi, magick of any kind is frightening. Fire whizzing through the air. Lightning pouring from fingertips. Even the occasional mishap that causes it to rain frogs is a terrifying experience for them. They are seeing their world being warped by single men and women. If I myself were one of those simpletons, I too might be obligated to chuck rocks at wandering vagabonds who just so happen to have a entourage of skeletal fiends by their side. It's a cruel verdict, but as I keep saying: These people are stupid.

As for the so-called "intellectual" magi, they take it upon themselves to keep that kind of thinking within their own ranks.

Necromancy sits at the top of the shit list of magicks. If a mage from any other school even hears word of undead, immediately a necromancer is to blame. Now, I'm good at raising a corpse here and there but when a vast legion of slathering ghouls ransack a village, don't expect me to raise my hand and take credit. My ego is huge enough, thank you. Besides, comet dust tends to raise zombies, not the controllable undead that we of the necromantic profession would raise. How many times have I been shunned from a tavern, tossed in the street, and had my coin purse pickpocketed just because I tried to tell a joke involving a moving severed hand? How many times have groups of knights chased me down a road, all the while screaming that I am "a servant of the Dark"? Too many times!

You'd think I'd quit, wouldn't you?

And here is the true flaw of being a death-dealing corpse flayer: You don't get to choose.

Most magi go to whatever school they choose. It mostly depends on their personality and preferences, but it's still their choice.

Necromancers don't choose to be necromancers. They just fall into it.

Literally.

You can't control the dead when you haven't been to their plane. You can't know Death without experiencing it. That is the unofficial code of the Necromancer. Not one of us haven't gone through it: The feeling of the color falling from your body. The tug at your soul as you depart. Those gates.

The gates.

What lays beyond is simply what everyone gets eventually. I've just... got a preview. We all did.

No Pyromancer gets so close to his flames. No Thaumaturge can be one with his ice. No Demonologist can live in Hell or Conjurer live in the Nexus. Even the dark old immortals of the Schism, their hearts blackened from the kind of horror that makes even the most heroic of men weep.

You have to be mortal to be a Necromancer. It's the only rule we have.

I apologize for the recent fall into somberness in this prose. To be at the heart of the matter, this may be my final verse. I can hear the heavy footsteps up in the main room of the inn. The hollow notes of the those boots that stamp the world with an unrelenting darkness.

That voice... yes it's them. Damn. I thought I had more time! My hope was to make this treatise my shining work. One that would reflect the arrogance of non-familiar schools of magick. Necromancy is the source of a power we will need very soon, but only if our afflictions are ceased. We need to be together! And I can't help but feel a twinge of ironic laughter cresting the back of my throat right now. Here I had sat to write with all my egotistical nature at my beck and call. Now I am suddenly humbled at both the nature of things to come to this world and at the thought of the end of my life.

To whoever finds this, I part only the greatest power of the Necromancer.

Knowledge.

That is the only gift that we Necromancers covet. Kings fall to it. Civilizations crumble beneath it. And dark lords fear it.

The other schools stare blindly at what's to come. Too absent-minded at acquiring power in their fields to see the storm of destruction. Perhaps even ignorantly misinformed of it. And no amount of magick can unmake this. This enemy can not be fought at the frontlines. You cannot stomp a shadow. I thought I could shine light on it in my own way but I simply ran out of time. I realize now that I'm trapped.

The only thought is that my death is a long time coming. I'll face it the same way I faced it the first time: with my chin in the air.

If you should find this. If you should end up on my path, either on your own or by chance, then remember these words I burn vigorously into this parchment as metal plate descends the stairs. My last will and testament as a man, not a monster.

The dead know more then you can imagine.