The War of Power

[Lyle]

He felt lucky to have realised it's potential, and he rolled it round and round in his mind as he gazed upon his elegant script. The phrase was "Once upon a time..."

Yes! Julian shook his head in self-induced wonder. He had always been fully aware of how brilliant and special and cool he was, but occasionally even he was surprised at just how smart he could be. ‘Once upon a Time’ that’s genius! Ah to be or not be so bloody clever. His candles had all long since flickered out and he scribbled to the quickly fading light of the single, sputtering survivor. He grasped the lone illuminator and lifted it high that he might better survey his soon-to-be masterpiece. All of a sudden Julian Kell, artist extraordinaire was struck with the forceful impression that everything was not as it should be.

Ever since he was very young Julian had possessed a mysterious connection to the multi-verse and all its denizens through judicious application, and rigorous regulation of a highly tuned sense of paranoia. This feeling of intense fear and suspicion had been with him for most of his life. He did not think that everyone was out to get him. He knew it for true. So it was that upon intuiting that, at long last his numerous enemies had come for him Julian reacted with weasel-like speed. He threw down his tastefully expensive manuscript, the very work that would insure his name would be remembered for centuries to come, likely as a byword for ingenious word-craft, he threw it down and began to disrobe in the flickering gloom with near inadvisable haste. His pants came off quickly enough, draped around a pair of legs that resembled toothpicks as they did. His sweater was giving him more trouble and it was as he struggled with the item, surely knitted by sadistic hell-hags intent on strangling the unwary wearer that the lady innkeeper knocked on his door. “Mr. Barkley? Mr. Barkley, are you awake?” Julian began to swear very forcefully and very very quietly.

“Erm…no?” he quavered, endeavoring to sound as old and frail as was possible to sound, which as it turned out was not all that difficult to do. He applauded himself for his non-generic reply, coming as it did at this moment of horrible dilemma. A true artist indeed.
“Mr. Barkley, I’m afraid there’s been some sort of issue with the currency you provided us with on your checking in,” she went on, clearly not fooled by his canny ruse. Or either of his canny ruses, from the sound of things. “Why that’s dreadful,” he stalled, still struggling with his obstinate shirt “I don’t understand, Mrs. Kenly” his voice muffled from under the clothing. He finally got the shirt off and beamed triumphantly. Then, suddenly reminded of his perilous situation Julian staggered over to his wardrobe and began randomly throwing things out or shoving them aside. “It seems that the gold you provided us with has been identified as stolen, Mr. Barkley,” her voice drifting from sullen resentment and spite to a tone of doubt when she reached his name. “Oh yes? Good then, good,” Julian replied absently, grey head buried in clothing, books and various bits and pieces whose purpose or use was long forgotten. Finally his failing eye sight fell on what he needed; a small glass jar and he pulled it out hastily. “Uh, perhaps we could discuss this at a later date, Mrs. Keneely. I’m afraid I’m a trifle busy at the moment, you see.” There was no response from the cantankerous innkeeper and Julian only dimly heard her heavy footsteps receding down the hallway. Muttering to himself about etiquette and proper manners, and how in his day people answered other people in polite circles, Julian walked into the centre of his room. He opened the jar and liberally smeared the contents over himself, in runes and arty designs the likes of which a layman is never fortunate enough to see. He didn't recall the Magical Juice of the WakkaWagga clan being quite so lumpy when he purchased it but then he didn't really know all that much about dark rituals and the weird potions one needed to successfully perform them.
"Oh mighty Jackals of Twilight," he intoned in his reedy, fragile-sounding voice
"Protect me from mine enemies be they legion or alone." As he spoke, more or less making up the sacred ritual as he went along, he began to dance and cavort in a manner that he imagined was authentically tribal. He knocked over his candle in his enthusiasm but he never slowed in his spastic gyrations.
Like many people who had no natural rhythm, Julian fancied himself a fine dancer. "Hiya-hoa-Hiya-toa," he panted, the ability to form actual words having fled him after the third or fourth movement.

Julian Kell, sublimely convinced that his immediate future (and the likelihood of him seeing that future) rested entirely on the correct and artistic completion of the Sacred dance of the WakkaWagga tribe gave it his all. He remembered reading of this very ritual one summers day, in his now rapidly distant seeming youth. It was supposed to ward off harmful or malevolent forces. Also by some zaney coincidence, the ritual was meant to have very painful effects on any nearby tax collectors. Julian hated tax-collectors.
Finally, a good three minutes after he had begun he slowed then stopped, his heart beating frantically as though a small bird was trapped in his chest and was flapping its wings desperately. He huffed a mighty sigh and then listened intently. His raging sense of paranoia had eased and he took this to mean that his brilliant strategy of impromptu witchcraft and elegant dance moves had worked. He idly wondered what he was going to do about his pesky land-lady and her irritating tendency of knowing things she shouldn't.

He bent down slowly, still drained from his efforts and with some difficulty managed to light his candle. The new radiance revealed a very strange thing.
All around the centre of the room was a great mass of crunched up spiders. In his dancing he must have crushed the wee blighters! Julian was remorseful at his inadvertent slaughter and bent down to more closely examine the evidence of his carelessness. As he did so he happened to see the jar of Magical Juice, the sacred potion of the WakkaWagga tribe. Only that jar was full and sitting underneath his bed. Frowning, Julian lifted his candle to peer at his own flesh, the army of albino arachnids forgotten for the moment. He dubiously brought a dollop of the substance smeared on his gorgeous hide to his tongue. The Magical Juice of the WakkaWagga tended to taste a good bit like dirty water which made sense because thats all it really is. As a result of this the Sacred Juice could usually be purchased quite cheaply. Blueberry jam, however was not at all cheap and was what Julian had just covered himself in. He felt a rage unlike any he had ever experienced (that day) and he roared and threw his candle at the wall. Blueberry jam was his favorite spread! He had killed a family of friendly spiders! His land-lady was onto him! And most grating of all, most fiendishly aggravating was that due to some stupid, filthy witch woman, his eyesight was now so bad he couldn't tell a lowly vial of the Sacred WakkaWagga juice from that most precious of substances - Blueberry jam. He raced around in the newly-returned darkness, screaming in incoherent, impotent fury. He kicked something wooden and hard. He yowled in pain and hopped around on one foot. As that one foot tripped over an empty jar of sweetly edible jam, Julian Kell, artist extraordinaire had a small revelation as to the questionable wisdom of leaping about ones room in the dark, before his head crashed into the hard floor and he passed out.
However even blanketed as he was by unconsciousness, Julian continued to grimace, such was his awful and irate anger. His fingers curled and twitched as well, as though he were strangling an unfortunate tax-collector in his dreams.

[Amos]

"Thank you sir." said Uni, "For your help." There would be blood aplenty tonight. She was going to attend a masque! Now it was to town to find a costume to wear.

"It is getting close to first light, Erip" she (Isobel) whispered suggestively. "Do you wanna come back to my place?"

Dawn was not long off. Isobel stopped just before they reached the edge of the woods, and Erip took another ten steps before he even realised; Isobel made so little noise when she walked that she seemed to weigh nothing at all. But that didn't make sense, he thought to himself, if the wind got up she would be blown away. On the other hand, it would explain why her tiny wings were sufficient to keep afloat when she was airborne. So how did she keep such firm footing?

"Magic," said Isobel, and Erip turned to see her sniffing the air. "I smell magic. It's that witch woman again."

"Which witch woman?"

"The witch woman which was in the bar. I mean, who was in the bar. You remember, we were fighting..."

"Oh, you mean the vampire. Gotcha."

Isobel's face scrunched up. "Vampire? I don't think she's a vampire, Erip."

"Sure she is. I watched her drink that other fellow's blood. Then it was like her hourglass had been tipped upside down, and she was instantly young again. And her victim became old for some reason..." Erip frowned. That didn't seem right.

"Oh I see. Well, you're still wrong. She's no more of a bloodsucker than you are She's using old magicks to make herself youthful again." Isobel paused to sniff the air once more. "She's headed into town. Should we follow her?"

"Why?"

"Hmmm, good point. It could take us a while to catch up, and we need to get indoors so you don't unspontaneously combust. Oh, I know. I'll just read her thoughts." Izzy closed her eyes, and held her hands flat at her side. It occurred to Erip that she was in a world of her own. She seemed to drift in and out of what he could only describe as Fairy-ness. One moment she seemed perfectly human. An instant later and reality seemed to warp both around her and inside her. It was strangely familiar to what had happened to him at the bar, and in the prison. Had she accidentally caused the two episodes? He had read a book once about Fairy Magic. Supposedly it was the rawest, most pure, powerful sorcery. The stuff that Gods were made of. Whatever was affecting her might be magically rubbing off onto him. He had felt different since first rescuing her. In a way that he couldn't quite comprehend, he felt as if he were splitting in two.

"Oooooh." Isobel was grinning. "She's going to a masque this evening. We absolutely must go along."

"Can we talk about this later, Isobel? The sun is almost up."

"Right. The sun. You know, it's not really fair that you should have to be stuck inside all day. How about I just fix you so you're not allergic any more?" She waved a hand airily, and Erip's whole body tingled in a way that made him want to laugh and scream at the same time.

[QuirkyTemplate]

Nadia could only stare as Quinn roared and grabbed his head. His eyes rolled up into his head and his stomach emptied. He fell in slow motion crashing to the ground and lay there shivering.

Pill was dreaming about stuff that didn't make sense. People were in it, but they didn't make sense, even when they talked to him. He was dreaming about that when he heard a noise that made him stop dreaming. At first he was awake but still dreaming a little bit. This is called dreaming lightweight, and Pill knew that. But the noise happened again, and he remembered that he was with Quinn-monster and the lady and the noise sounded like an animal, so maybe an animal got near them. He sat up fast and ran to the end of the cart. The lady was standing there looking really confused at Quinn-monster. And Quinn-monster was on the ground shaking. Pill's eyes went real wide when he saw that, and he didn't know exactly what to do. It was really scary to see Quinn-monster like that. He saw him get shot with arrows and magic and it didn't hurt him. That meant there was something out with them that made Quinn-monster like that. That meant that Pill was going to get hurt. And a blanket of fear swallowed him, and he couldn't think very well. Waves of darkness and terror began to pound in all round him, and he wanted to run under the wagon and hide, hide from everything.

But then he remembered when he was in a cage. He was really scared then, and Quinn-monster helped him, even though he didn't have to. And he remembered the wizard that Quinn-monster made go -poof-. And he didn't feel brave, but Pill decided that there was only really one thing to do. It was a brave thing, because he was scared and he was doing it anyway. It didn’t matter what was out there. Not really.

His little legs propelled him forward as fast as he could toward the two. "Lady!" he yelled at her, trying to sound loud. "We have to help Quinn-monster!"

[Darth Everhate]

He was falling now, somewhere, anywhere, neverwhere and the world came up to greet him.

MIDIAN: 15 YEARS AGO
"She'll receive, that is certain." Gallows growled as he waved one of his talons in front of Sephora's eyes, they did not follow. The baby’s hand reached out and grabbed Gallows’ finger just before he poked her with it, Gallows chuckled and looked at his larger cousin with glee.

Quinn sighed, the weight of the sky momentarily lifted off his shoulders. His daughter had been born blind and without sight her other senses would have to compensate. Among their kind weakness was met with death, "Those who fell behind were left behind." or so the ancient laws said. He would be damned if his daughter would be left.

Sea'Jai, Baphomet and G'Waign waited impatiently by the door, fidgeting, as children do, anxious to see if their sister was alright. Quinn turned and gave his children a smile. He waved them over and they ran as fast as they could leaping into his arms, squealing and laughing. After a few moments wrestling, biting and clawing they stopped to stare in awe at their new sister, her white eyes staring at nothing.

"You are fortunate, we haven't had a seer born in decades it seems." Gallows stood up and dusted off his clothes. "She will be revered." His smile was heartening "She has been found worthy of The Glimpse, the Powers smile upon her."

Quinn returned Gallows’ smile. Indeed she would be revered, seers were stations of honor; the Powers have blessed her with their divine vision. Gallows nodded and waved to the children, exiting briskly.

When Quinn turned to look at his children, Warren was all that stood there. Everything was replaced with a mist.

“You’re getting caught up again, this isn't how this happened!!” Warren said.
Quinn spun ignoring Warren, “Where ‘r my kids?!” he growled.
Warren sighed and massaged his temples.
“Baphomet, Sea’Jai and G’Waign were well into their tenth seasons when Sephora was born. You gotta remember correctly or these visions are gonna play with your head and…”

“I DON’T GIVE A FRACK ABOUT THESE DAMN GLIMPSES!!”
Quinn roared and went about calling his children’s names in the evanescent haze. Warren sadly shook his head.

“I can’t give you the answers, you have to come to these conclusions on your own, things have already started and you’re nowhere near where you’re supposed to be.”

“I don’t give a damn Warren, I defended you, I left my family, my home to help you and this is what I get!?” Quinn snarled in the dead wizard’s face.

“I didn’t choose the way Quinn, but I couldn’t finish this either and now it’s up to you.”

“WHY ME?!”

“Because you’re the only one I can trust.”

Warren faded from view and was replaced by a magnificent clock tower, one Quinn had seen before, or so he thought. He looked around puzzled and realized he was in a city. The bustle of people all around didn’t seem to pay any attention to the half naked beast man. They moved about like ants marching to and fro, he thought he recognized this place, he had been here before. He scratched his head as he stared at the tower trying to remember where he saw it. Both hands on the clock started to spin in opposite directions, he got dizzy trying to follow them, then the bells started to toll. He fell to his knees and covered his ears trying to block out the overpowering sound, apparently his heightened senses were as much a curse in the lands of the Blunt-Claws.
Between tolls he thought he heard a child’s voice

“Da! Da where are you?!”

He tried to stand but the bells brought him to his knees.

“SEA’JAI!! G’WAIGN…BAPH…” He roared but he could not shout over the deafening tolls of the clock-tower.

Ironically he could hear Warren’s monotone voice through the cacophony
“Time’s running out big-guy, the clock’s a tickin’ !”

[Curtis]

Bright morning sunlight made water-waves on the tall blowing grasses that nearly hid Aedai’s prey. A small fox darted into the thickest tufts it could find, hoping to gain some cover from the charging wolf, but Aedai’s nose led her when her eyes could not. The fox angled sharply toward a small copse of trees, and the wolf snarled, straining for more speed. It would be harder to catch her breakfast in those close quarters. The gap was shrinking, the fox was tiring.

The trees were almost overhead, Aedai darted for the fox. It abruptly dropped from her grasp as it descended a sharp drop in the ground that she had not seen. She landed badly on her left side and heard a dull click. Then the world exploded into pain. She thrashed, snarling, and it grew worse, so she became calm. A metal jaw, dully silver in the filtered light, clenched around her shoulder. Movement would only make the teeth bite deeper. Positioned as it was, she could not even gnaw her leg off if need be.

The sky fading in and out, and the air in her nose was thick with her own blood. She was no longer sure of the time of day, though it felt cold. An involuntary shudder ran though her left side, which she was laying on, pinned, and her muscles clenched painfully, arching her back. The trap on her front leg was horror, the cold iron freezing and burning. She tried to call out for help, though she knew there were no other wolves in this area, but her voice burned her throat and was barely a whimper, besides.

Desperately, she cast out with her mind, screaming a call for help with her fading strength.

OOC: Wolfie’s caught in a bear trap, anybody want to help her? No location, just somewhere vicinity of Ameloct.

[Apoc]

...and he suddenly saw...as the haunting ghost of a terrible sight always lingered on a troubled mind...he saw now, in those eyes...his sister.

Dainian threaded his way through Amelocts bustling streets. Like death he rode slowly amidst the milling crowds, a seething shadow of dark intent. From within the darkness of his hooded cloak, his eyes burned cold vengeance. A sharp pain clenched in his chest for a moment and his hand shot up to press against it, forcing a slow grizzled exhaltion of breath that misted in the cold air, he quickly realised the action had lifted his dark cloak for a moment, enough to make his blade visable to those he slowly rode past, he felt some eyes upon him and turned his face toward them, his stare challenging and grim, they looked away and he continued on his path...toward the estate of House Arturo.
***
What a city, thought the sergeant, the narrow streets choked with the detritus of humanity, a place of filth and painted women, a haven for thieves, smugglers, slavers and renegades.
A woman approached him, “lonely soldier?” she said, flashing a rotten-toothed smile. The sergeant looked at her once and her smile faded. She backed away swiftly as he walked out into the center of the street. The uglier of the twins came aloungside him as he made his way to stand in the path of the slowly approaching dark rider.
***
Dainian drew reign, his horse halting not five paces from the two men blocking his path. His challenging stare was returned by the larger and meaner looking of the two, with a crooked dumb smile, the smaller but not a great deal less meaner looking one gave a brief nod to Dainian and spoke with the hint of an order on his tongue,“follow me...” and then as if it where an afterthought, he added in a quieter but no less gruff tone, “...general.”
Dainian smiled darkly in the shadow of his hood, “ahhh...” he growled under his breath, “a Dogs Head.”
***
Beaten and degraded, Atheini lay cold once more in a pool of her own blood. Balthazar would never find her brother and she saw in his eyes that he was beggining to understand; that Dainian...would soon be the one to find him.

[Nachtnoir]

1 stopped. Not stopped in one of those dramatic ways that you’d expect. It wasn’t at the last second and it was not a change of heart. 1 had no heart. One moment the blade was spinning and his arm was coming down, the next it wasn’t. He pondered the situation a moment. At some point the girl had seen her doom and simply crumbled to the ground. He was not sure if it was her loss of consciousness or just that he did not wish to kill her that stopped his blade. This is what he was pondering.

The sounds of his brothers and the Toymaker approaching the village made the fluids in 1's head move. Soon this child would be an orphan. 1 did not think that this would be an acceptable life for the child, so in one hand he thought that killing her would be for the best. However, she could live a very fulfilling life after this tragedy, this made him stop for the moment. Making choices had not been in 1's design. This would actually be his first, if that was he could make it.

For ones first decision 1 had gotten a very important one. Life or death was a very big thing. The biggest thing to be sure. 1 pondered for some time.

There were screams from the direction of the village, horrible screams of death and fear. The terrible sounds of structures falling and burning, and the terrible creaks of his brothers moving.

1 had no time for this. Making decisions was hard. And his brain hurt, at least the part that would be his brain if he had one.

“Maybe later this will be easier.” muttered 1 to himself, that is if he could mutter.

The Toymaker looked around the destruction of the village. Several of the War Marionettes were slightly damaged from debris and from pitchforks. Where was 1? It was his duty to repair the others after an assault.

From a compartment on his armor, the Toymaker produced a long metal tube with a string dangling from the end. Stretching his arm above his head, he pulled the string.

There was a loud report and a bright flash as a flare shot into the sky. All the War Marionettes would come now. The Toymaker crossed his arms and waited for them to report.

1 felt the report of the recall flare. He had run out of time to make this decision. The blades on his arms folded in, and he reached down and scooped the child up into his cold metal arms. She was still unconscious, which was good, because right now he needed her still and quiet. The breastplate that covered his chest, or at least the hollow space in his body where his chest would be if he were a man opened.

Inside there were wired and tubes and hoses that ran pumps and gears throughout his body. There was just enough space for the girl. Holding her in place, the chest plate closed.

The illusion complete, 1 moved. The Toymaker would not like him being late. His brothers must be damaged from the assault and he would be needed to repair them for the next. They were almost upon their final target and they would have to be ready for a real battle.

[Lyle]

"Thank you sir." said Uni, "For your help." She waved her hand at him, granting him the ability to always win at dice (though it would turn out he would never use it because he was firmly against gambling) and skipped off down the path happily. There would be blood aplenty tonight. She was going to attend a masque! Now it was to town to find a costume to wear.

Uni strode along the footpath, chin held high in her customary way. Despite her radiantly self-assured appearence Uni was vexed. Since when was finding something to wear such a hassle? In her royal days she had had teams of servants (filthy things, servants but a neccesary evil of the age) whose sole reason for living was to provide her and her sister with excitingly opulent things to wear. Uni paused and peered anxiously into the window she was passing. Ah good, her hair was still gorgeous. She continued on; then of course while she had been a horrible smelling, witch-person fashion had hardly been an issue. So long as her withered and decaying form was decently covered, that was the main thing. What kind of moronic irony, that for the first time in centuries having something nice to wear was important and yet she hadn't a single clue how to proceed. Where were all her servants now that she had need of them then? Uni thought about that for a moment. Probably all dead actually. Well thats something at least.

Uni's exquisite ankles were killing her so she swept up to a common park bench. She perched on it, like a peculiarly feminine hawk and peered about with upturned nose. She couldn't afford to waste too much time lolly-gagging as the masque was an event she musn't miss. So many saps there she could feed off of! It wasn't like she would be doing anything wrong either. If anything getting rid of some noblemen and ladies would be doing the world a favor. As a blueblood herself she knew exactly how useless the breed truly was. Uni snickered to herself about the monumental waste of space that most everything seems to be once you reach a certain age. That was the moment three shabbily dressed women stepped up to the park bench, all different in appearence but uniform in the mute declarations of emnity...

[Lyle]

One was- well she was neither small nor petite. Uni noticed also that she had very bad breath, such was the proximity of the three women. The other two were tall, skinny and of average height and weight – respectively. Uni opened her mouth to demand an explanation as to why she was being pestered by the trio, when the big, fat one spoke up.
“Thinks you’re better than the rest of us, dontcha just?” she rasped, liberally spraying Uni with her befouled oxygen emissions. Uni was quite at a loss for words. Of course she bloody thought she was better than these hags! Uni was better than everyone. She opened her mouth to educate them of this fact when the tall, emaciated one began screeching in a charmingly nasal voice. “You’re after our menfolk aren’t ya. You with your high-falootin’ ways”
Uni peered around to see who was behind this joke because that’s surely what it must be.
Even though she could care less who these women were or what they wanted – she nonetheless found herself wondering what the word ‘Falootin’ meant. She was shocked out of her contemplation when the third woman slapped her hard across the mouth.
“Too good even to speak to the likes of us, isn’t she Shirley?” The other woman growled in agreement. This had gone quite far enough. Uni prepared to unleash some witchcraft that would make these walking turds regret ever taking their first breath. She frowned in thought, trying to remember a curse that was foul enough. The spell brought to memory, she began muttering the forbidden words. But no! Her attempt at a hellish death-spell faltered and failed before she had even completed the enchantment. Her expression of dismay encouraged the street-alley aristocrats. “Hit her again, Mavis! Got it coming she has” Another slap this time from the left but Uni barely felt it. She knew why her magics hadn’t worked. There was no other explanation. The Dark Powers that she had invoked in order to regain her youth had changed the nature of their price. Her youth for her powers.
She tried again just to be sure. Nothing. Not even an ember remained of the once roaring bonfire that was her power. The fat one – Mavis? Grabbed Uni by the ear and hauled her off the bench. “We’re gonna teach you a lesson, hussie. One that concerns knowing your place in the cosmic scheme of things and humility but mostly about how horrible having one’s head shaved in public is!” Uni was dragged off kicking and screaming. She didn’t know whether the tears streaming down her face were for the loss of her powers or for the loss of her dignity. Why did these things always happen to her?

[Apoc]

Dainian smiled darkly in the shadow of his hood, “ahhh...” he growled under his breath, “a Dogs Head.”

A soft golden glow bathed the taverns cosy commonroom, its warmth a staggering contradiction to the icy violent winds of the outside, Dainians vision brightened and he relaxed, too long had this corrupted magic tortured his sanity with its violent veil over what was not supposed to be seen...no shadows here though.
He noted eyes upon him, not staring, but definately an acknowledgment of who he was, the Angry Boar mages clearly friendly to him, the barkeeps certainly not...a fool indeed should she attempt to apprehend him...especially with those of definate Nyrmidian military amoung her customers. Dainian smiled to himself, it had been too long, too much horror, he needed this short break from the magics chaos...
“You look like shit....general.” welcomed the Nyrmidian captain he had come to see, a scarred bear of a man, taller than Dainian but not as rocklike, a growled chuckle escaped as he motioned for Dainian to follow toward the back of the tavern.
Once seated, the captain leant forward and growled a whisper, ‘a force is approaching from the south, the mages picked it up not the day before last, it will be here by morning.”
Dainian looked back over his shoulder to the soldiers enjoying some free time, he could see in their eyes, they were savouring it...“and you mean to face them?”
“We have informed the city watch, yet they will do nothing...” the captain laughed that grizzled laugh again, “I think they mean to be occupied general, Reis knows this city is one of ruin, an occupying army could only do it good...”
“You do not believe its intent is occupation though, do you?”
The captains face grew grave and shadowed, he swallowed before he spoke, “we have tracked its progress only by the villages...dying.” he sighed heavily before continuing slowly, “they say...” he gave a nod toward the mages Dainian had seen upon entering, “that simply, it has been like lights slowly going out, ever drawing closer to Ameloct.”
A commotion rose behind Dainian but he did not turn, eyes lowered to the floor Dainian spoke slowly in a sad whisper, “I cannot ride with you against this foe...yet. I have business needs attending.” he raised his pained eyes to the captains, “it shan’t take long.” He finished with a brief smile.
Behind him a strong voice bellowed, “Dainian Noradeis, by order of House Arturo, the city watch of Ameloct hereby place you under arrest for the murders of the Lord Arturo, his courtesan Niarella Gavine, her brother Tomas Gavine, house guardsman Niall Thinwai, house guardsman Phillipe Noran, maids Arimella and Evon Magruder and the Lady Tyrines child...”
Dainain whispered to himself, “don’t say her name.”
“Arysa Naruto.”
Images blazed in Dainians mind, his blade breaking, the shards splintering, the corruption...the corruption of her black blood...her dying smile.
The Dogs Head captain rose from the table, “I don’t think you’ll be arresting this man today...” Dainian rose and cut him off with a simple hand gesture to remain silent.
“You dare!” screamed the city guard captain, but he too was cut off by Dainian who had now turned to face him.
There was quiet for a long moment before Dainian spoke, “You will take me to the Lord Balthazar.”
“He it is who issued the edict for your arrest, we are taking you to him.” it appeared to have dawned on the guardsman that he and his three other city guardsman stood amougst a dozen veteran Nyrmidians, he choked back his anger and simply nodded for his men to move forward to give Dainian escort to the Arturo estate.
As they did so the barkeep approached the captain, “the reward? she whispered within Dainians hearing.
The captain barked a laugh, “is mine woman, now piss off.”
As Dainian was escorted from the tavern, the Boars Head captain came up aloungside them, “village, league south of the city...we will meet them there.”
“Its name?” called Dainian as he exited the tavern.
“Whitestream.” came the answer.

[Nachtnoir]

1 moved through the woods, it grew darker as the day died and gave birth to night. His movements were sure in bright of day or dark of night. No eyes were housed in his head. The War Marionettes relied on the vibrations of fluids inside them to guide their steps. Never making a wrong move he ran through the labryntine forest.

The Toymaker figetted nervously as all the War Marionettes gathered around him. 1 was still not there. Without him, fixing all of those damaged would take too long and delay the assault on the first of the large cities. Ameloct was ahead of them. To his mind the decay there was allowed to exist too long. It was a rot on the side of the world that had to be excised.

As he neared the village, 1 was slowed by the large number of his brothers that were called by the Toymaker's flare. Mathematics and calculation were not an integral part of his design, but the numbers began to exceed his expectations. There were more here than he had seen before, many more. He did not know how this was possible, the Toymaker had disappeared for a few days periodically as they marched, but he had not left long enough to build this many. Something was not right, and again the part of him that would be brain, if he had one, began to hurt.

"Finally!" yelled the Toymaker. "You took a very long time to return. Was there trouble? You do not appear damaged."

The Toymaker looked over 1 to make sure he had not been hurt. This one was the first of his children and the most important. 1 would be at his side from this point til they reached the last city. All of his plans would be set in motion by programs already stored in 1's valves and gears.

"You know things that you do not know that you do." smiled the Toymaker as he lovingly opened compartments that 1 was sure he had never seen in himself. He felt valves turning that had never moved and gears that head never turned. "From here til the end you will guide your brothers, even if I no longer can continue the war must be finished."

1 did not know how, but suddenly he knew what was to come. There were Mother Marionettes on the road behind them churning out new brothers. They had been doing so for some time now. That was how there were so many around him. He even had brothers he had never seen, ones that did things that he had not seen yet, and he knew how to fix them when they were broken now. He also knew that the little girl inside him was no longer separate from him. As these new gears and valves moved they incorporated her into his design.

Fear came to him. 1 had never felt anything before, not really, now he did. He had to run, to hide, but knew that he couldn't. The Toymaker beamed at him as he was reconfiguring. His body knew what it was doing even if his mind did not,

"We march tonight! The next village is not far, and there are already War Maionettes on the road. They will attack even before we arrive. Soon we will be to Ameloct and you will see the power that we will bring to bear on the decadence of rot that inhabits there. And when we have destroyed that place we will march on the next city all are wiped off the globe!" ranted the Toymaker.

1 almost reacted to the speech. But in doing so he knew that the Toymaker would suspect that he was not the same as his design should allow for. He made himself still until it was over and the Toymaker began the march to the next village. The last of the small assaults before Ameloct. Already he could see the lights on the horizon of the battle beginning. The reports of the explosions caused ripples in his head. He almost flinched like a little girl scared, but she was silenced and he kept control.

[Apoc]

As Dainian was escorted from the tavern, the Boars Head captain came up aloungside them, “village, league south of the city...we will meet them there.”
“Its name?” called Dainian as he exited the tavern.
“Whitestream.” came the answer.

Balthazar thought of the woman, the murderers sister, down in the dungeon. “You held out for so long, you didn’t break...” his mind whispered to him as he paced in the main hall, “the days and nights of torture and degradation suffered...was all for naught”.

“Brave...but foolish” he had told her, “your brother is now mine.”, he crouched down onto the cold floor to stroke blood drenched hair from her face, “Dainian will die this night.” He recalled now in this memory not even an hour old...that she had smiled.

After pacing for a short while, Balthazars thoughts became restless, were where those guards, they should have been here with the murderer by now, his mind was a tumult of excitement mixed with nerves, taking a seat in the vacant lords chair he got comfortable...the House was his for now, all the other lords and ladies of House Arturo having departed hours ago to the fete, he smiled wickedly to himself...waiting...waiting...vengeance for...

...his thoughts jumped suddenly as a cold wind fell about him, the hairs on the back of his neck rose...slowly, ever so slowly, he turned his head. No more than an inch had he turned when suddenly, as if it had been there all along, his neck came to a halt on the cold steel edge of a blade.

“Where is my sister?” ordered a voice, cold and threatening.

“Sister? I don’t know wha...” the blade pressed and cut slowly up into Balthazars jaw...”the dungeon!” he cried out, the blade having drawn blood already, lowered to rest on his shoulder.

“Take me there.”

~
Atheini whispered a prayer to herself whilst lying naked and beaten on the cold cell floor, the prayer interrupted at times by fits of coughing and breathing trouble...her ribs where broken again, having been healed twice already, she did not believe now that she would be healed again.

As she wheezed the last of the prayer she heard the door to her cell open. Either Balthazar was going to show her her brothers head or a guard had gotten bored again...either way, she had come to learn by now that the door opening was never good...Dainian did not know she was here, could not know...he could also not be dead, she knew him too well to know a simple lord like Balthazar could not kill the once champion and general of Numenial...he must have escaped...slowly she raised her head to see who had come.

Standing in the doorway, slightly in shadow was Balthazar...she almost broke...breathing heavily and with great pain she pushed herself up further from the cold ground, her vision seemed blurred yet not, like she was seeing double...and then she noticed...from behind Balthazar stood someone...a spray of blood suddenly covered her face, she could taste its sweetness upon her lips..it all seemed so strange, she did not understand what was happening, her mind was lost...before her eyes, Balthazar shook once, the glint of a blade flashing in the candle light as it withdrew back from his neck...and was gone...her torturer fell to the floor and spasmed in short jolting bursts as he gurgled and choked into death, the wound in his neck emptying his life onto the cold cell floor to cover her now dried stains.

She could not tear her eyes from his dying, as if in a dream she simply stared, she knew her brother was now by her side, but for some reason she just could not respond. She felt his hands, warm and reassuring on her cold bare flesh as he gently rapped his dark cloak around her, she knew he was speaking to her but her mind could not piece the words together...at last, as Balthazars corpse finally settled, she turned and looked upon her brother...”Dainian” she whispered.

“I’m here...its over, we’re going home.”

~
Dainian carried his sister unchallenged to the stables. The cold night bringing a tear to his eye that froze upon his cheek, his fingers burned numb as he pulled himself up into the saddle of a fine bay stallion. Then reaching down he drew Atheini up behind him. To the south concussions akin to thunder rumbled with bright flares, lighting up the night sky, and echoing throughout the city, the Angry Boars had engaged their enemy...but they where just one company of the old Dogs Head Brigade...and from the sounds of the violent magic pounding in Dainians ears...they had engaged a force of some size.

Turning in the saddle, he looked upon his sister, her head resting on his back she looked on the border of dreams...a pain burned within him that made him want to weep, he had done this to her...she slowly opened her eyes and looked up into his, a weak smile and a firmer hold around his waist...she was safe for now...he would not take her into a battle and nor did he wish to leave her...but he had to go...

~

The Angry Boar sergeant rode swiftly, to either side of him rode others who had managed to get out. The wind in his ears and the sounds of the twenty odd horses at full canter muffled his hearing, but faintly someway back he could still hear the mages covering their break for the city.

A rider ahead and off to his left broke across the sergeants path, at his tail, through the tall grasses of the open plain, moved two of those things. They moved at great speed and gained on their target, herding the rider from the fleeing group, he suddenly banked left again, breaking from the riders and dissapearing into the darkness of the night. With blades on each arm, stretched out behind them, those things followed, leaving a faint mist in their wake...

A flash lit up the night sky for a lingering moment and in those brief seconds the sergeant saw, ahead and far off to his left, the rider with those two things at his heels... and from out of nowhere a third hitting the poor bastard head on, leaping high and taking the rider from the saddle as the other two took down the horse...then darkness returned.

After a short whiles hard riding the sergeant bridged a hill and came in sight of Ameloct, and some twenty paces ahead those of the Angry Boars who had been ordered to withdraw with him and had been ahead of him had drawn reign before a lone rider...no, not alone, a girl sat behind him...the sergeant looked back whilst regaining his breath, those things hadn’t followed, returning instead to the battle at Whitestream...

[Amos]

Horatio was not a religious man, which is uncommon in priests, and generally it is frowned upon by the religious authorities. Certainly, a number of parishioners on the panel that appointed him had been uncomfortable with the idea of having a heretic conduct their daily services, but that, his proponents had firmly stated, was not the issue. The issue, they said, was the recently uncovered trend of sexual misconduct among priests of the faith. The vows of chastity a priest took, they said, were behind this, since few men were equipped for abstinence. Or rather, they were equipped for anything but. Raising a man who had no commitment to the harsh strictures their god had set forth for His priests effectively negated any chance of said priest's performing misdeeds in His name. Also, Horatio was already widely known as a rake and a womaniser, and thus his actions would come as no surprise to the members of the public who had been outraged by the recently uncovered trends. They would expect no less of him, and would probably be impressed by his ironically conservative preferences. Anyway, they added, ninety percent of the priest's duties amounted to reading aloud obscure holy scriptures and performing antiquated rituals, none of which anybody other than their god seemed to understand or particularly care about. The young girl in town who herded geese for a living could do the job as well as anyone, seeing as she could presumably read and spill water from a chalice at the same time, unlike the half-blind senile old men they usually elected. They would have hired the geese girl, they said, the geese girl had been their first choice, only it had turned out that nobody else was qualified or willing to herd the geese and she was considered irreplaceable.

Horatio himself had pondered the sense of serving somebody he didn't believe in. As it turned out though, the question of whether this god did or did not exist was a trifle less interesting than the reality of how much money his worshippers had. Plus, the hours were short, the duties simplistic, and Horatio had always considered himself a fair public speaker. The official garments of the priesthood were nice, too, their gold trimming set off his turquoise eyes wonderfully, he thought. No doubt he cut a handsome figure standing on the dais, gesturing splendidly, a beneficent smile on his face as he recited, and he took every opportunity to wink suggestively at the attractive female churchgoers. He held the position for ten years, though by the end of that time he only had a handful of followers left, having slept with, cheated, cheated on, lied to, lied about, and physically, verbally, mentally and spiritually assaulted every parishioner he'd ever preached to, to the point where they lost their faith in their god's ability to protect them from Father Horatio, and stopped coming to church. He might have actually continued that way indefinitely, as the few who still turned up were responsible for both paying him and having elected him in the first place and thus felt obligated to put in an appearance, but the god to whom the church was dedicated grew angry at His followers for their lack of faith, and
He wiped them all out with a plague of death (an unimaginative sort of plague, but hugely effective, death being invariably fatal, and far more efficient than the increasingly unpopular plague of frogs). Since he didn't believe in or worship the god he had been lauding, Father Horatio was spared. His fate was much, much worse:

Unemployment.

Luckily, that only lasted a few years, during which he lived off a wealthy duchess he'd met in a bar while the mini-apocalypse was wiping out his congregation. Then came along a splendid opportunity, perfectly timed in his estimation, seeing as the duchess had been practically beggared by his gambling arrears. Reading the morning paper he frequently stole from his neighbor's mailbox, he come across an advertisement for a position at the wizard's school at Onimas. It was similar in it's way to his last job. The wizards were looking for somebody to govern their illustrious and powerful academy, but frankly considered wizards to be a sly and untrustworthy bunch, not to mention incompetent. Selecting a leader from their own number had resulted in several unpleasant incidents of mis-management, fraud and abuse of authority. Magic, for all of it's supposed purity, brought about a lot of corruption and idiocy in it's practitioners. Probably not because of any defect in magic, just because it's practitioners were mostly human, and unworthy of handling anything purer than second-hand bath water. Horatio leaped at this chance. Unemployment didn't suit him. He needed routine and purpose in his life, otherwise he could barely find the motivation to get out of bed in the morning, let alone drink heavily and carouse with barmaids, or any of the things he enjoyed. The wizards were impressed by his background as a member of the priesthood, which spoke of wisdom and discipline, and hired him immediately.

Horatio did not anticipate a lot of difficulty when he took the reins, but was soon struggling to maintain any semblance of authority over his charges. Wizards, he discovered, were not only evil and lazy, but argumentative, sneaky, anarchistic, and self-indulgent... and that was just the professors, the students were savages in comparison. In short, they were a lot like Horatio himself, but with magical powers and snazzy hats. He found himself becoming strangely envious of them, especially their hats, and so found the drive to put almost inhuman effort into subduing them. The first few months were the toughest. The wizards argued his every point, refuted his decrees, publicly denounced him, decreased his salary, transmogrified his writing desk into a giant black beetle, and put salt in his tea. Somehow, though, as time wore by, his shouts and threats and blackmailing began to have an effect. The pranks dwindled in number, and he gained such a reputation for ferocity that the back-chatting ceased, and his orders were being carried out more or less efficiently. The wizards were depressed, but remained sanguine on the surface to avoid any personal embarrassment. They might be beaten, but they still had their pride, and their inflated sense of self-importance. Speaking to a close friend one day, Horatio remarked how proud he was of himself for getting "those slippery, decadent weasels" under his thumb in such a short time.

"Why Horatio," said his friend, Lucien, a struggling artist and successful alcoholic, "you sound like any man of business, or an army corporal. And I've hardly seen you since you started working there, so you can't have a lot of time for your regular... activities. Perhaps you are maturing." He practically spat the last word out, as if it were a rotten peach, and promptly took a swig of brandy to get rid of the aftertaste.

He's right, realised Horatio. I have matured. But then, I hardly have the time for anything but work these days. Maybe when things settle down I'll be able to start having a bit of fun again.

Things did settle down, but somehow Horatio never got around to doing anything more exciting than smoking a cigar before bedtime. Worse, he moved out of his small place in town and into an even more cramped quarters in the school itself. His appetite for all things orgiastic had dwindled into a memory. Horatio felt almost as if he'd found his place in the world, so settled he had become. He felt he was as much a part of the wizard's school as the gargoyles on the parapets. So it came as a shock to him, of course, when he was fired. Somehow one of the senior wizards had discovered he'd been practicing magic in secret. He'd done it out of curiosity really, but it was one thing, the wizards said, for him to subjugate them all, but quite another to use their magic. It was akin to sleeping with their wives, had they of had any. For this breach of ethics, he was to be relieved of his duties immediately. The wizards, in one decisive cut, had freed themselves from tyranny and, and this part was most important, they had done it without any embarrassment to themselves. Horatio took his severance cheque, packed all his things, and walked out of the school and into the vacuum where his life had been.

[Amos]

Horatio took his severance cheque, packed all his things, and walked out of the school and into the vacuum where his life had been.

The first thing Horatio purchased with his severance money, a few hours later on the same day as his reluctant retirement, was a crow. He'd literally dreamt about one the night before, and it had etched itself in his memory. He drew on it now as a potent symbol, clinging to the only solid thing left over from his now shattered life, and pursued it's purchase in a kind of mad fervor. Later in life, a mystic would tell him that crows were generally considered a dark omen, and the fact that he dreamt of one had probably been a warning to him of the ill-fate awaiting him in the morning, but even had he known that now Horatio could not have considered it. Meaning had left him, and all that remained was impulse and a single-minded focus on recovering the crow. The crow had been there before he had been fired, an artifact from a disappeared past.. He had nothing now, and he needed something, so he would find his dream. He cashed his cheque at a merchant bankers, left most of it in a safe deposit, and began making his way to and through the various marketplaces, going from vendor to vendor asking if anybody was selling crows. The sun was high and in a nasty temper, the streets filled to bursting with sweaty, noisy people. After much uncomfortable searching, a few deliberate misleads and a confusing incident involving a dark-haired woman selling necromancy spell ingredients, he found his crow. It was scrawny and bedraggled, missing a more than a few feathers, and exorbitantly priced, but it was undoubtedly a real living crow, and not a budgie hastily painted with tar, or a tiny sack of brittle white bones. It pecked him on the hand, drawing blood, and he retaliated by wringing it's neck and almost killing it. This was to be the defining moment of their future relationship, a pattern doomed to be constantly repeating itself: the crow wounding Horatio out of sheer malice, and Horatio nearly murdering the crow.

Horatio next caught up with his friend Lucien, and they had lunch together at their favourite restaurant. The service at The Ruminating Dragon was never to their taste, but the food was always fresh, and there were shaded tables on the front deck where watching the mysterious activities of pedestrians filled the gaps between conversation and dining. As they picked leisurely at salted pork, olives, spicy bread and guzzled pungent black coffee, Lucien suggested that Horatio might want to first find a place to live, though he of course could stay at Lucien's home if nothing was immediately available. Also, he added after witnessing the violent interplay between man and bird, Horatio might want to buy a cage to keep the crow in. To constrain it, he said specifically, as if it were a tiger and not a skinny stick of feathers the size and shape of a banana. Horatio declined, and explained himself in a tone that contained more than a hint of his old style of preaching.

"You cannot put your dreams in a cage!" he declared. "What a terrible idea. No, you must keep them close, cherish them and follow wherever they lead you. This crow is my dream, the only one I have left, and I will not lock it away and watch it slowly die." As if it understood him and agreed, the crow stopped struggling and squawking in Horatio's grasp, punctuating his words with a silence and stillness that it would only ever show again in death. It stared at Lucien for a long moment, before resuming it's fight against Horatio.

Lucien shuddered. "Well, you can't hold onto it forever. Eventually you will have to put it down for something. No doubt it will take flight the instant you release it, and then it will be impossible to catch again."

Horatio did not answer this directly. Instead, he held the crow over the table and placing it down, let it go. Lucien shied back, expecting it to take wing. The crow pecked at the air between it and Horatio, and hopped from foot to foot, like a fighter dancing around a ring, shadow-boxing. It showed no sign of wanting to escape, and once it had tired of trying to goad Horatio into a fight it wandered around the table, pecking at crumbs and eyeballing the nervous waitress who kept returning to refill the coffee cups. Lucien began to sigh whenever he looked at it. It's belligerent nature was something that the artist in him could not reconcile with. Crows, as far as he was concerned, were meant to perch ominously in trees, their obsidian plumage resplendant and reflecting the darkness that lay in men's hearts, and if they seemed overly attached to a person, such persons were either corpses or sorcerers, not Lucien's close companions. As the conversation wore on he seemed to become so dejected by it's presence, that Horatio, out of sympathy for his friend, politely excused himself, took the bird and left.

[dark fuschia]

Wendy's character sat down on a log. She couldn't quite remember who she was, but she was sure she'd had fun. She pondered all the old friends she'd made, like the guys who wrote the funny posts, the other guys who wrote serious posts, and that other guy who wrote posts with alot of battles and gore. The evening light was falling slowly across her face, which was tense with thought. Where were they all? And can light even fall slowly? Wasn't it supposed to have a constant speed? She supposed that rules like THAT didn't apply here, for the light was definately moving much more slowly than usual, in fact, it was meandering! Suddenly she felt uneasy, this could only mean one of two things. She was either having an LSD flashback, or she was in the land of fairie. She didn't like this place... with a start she realised she'd been picking her nose... and she flushed and pulled her hand away... unable to shake the feeling someone was watching her...