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Thursday, July 9th, 2009
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11:15 pm - Korlyn Wraith: Picking up the Pieces
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Chicago, Illinois
July 16th, 2008
They had been called heroes upon their return. The Primogen, the Prince, and the community at large had lauded the ragtag band of a Nosferatu, a Lasombra turncoat, an enigmatic "Tremere", and a host of Brujah warriors. They were the defenders of the Traditions, keepers of the peace.
The fighters who had stopped the greatest Sabbat threat ever mustered, by the hands of a diablerist and Sabbat madman simply named "Maul."
Maul being dead was certainly a very good thing. The air felt lighter without his corrupting presence all about, and life was returning to normal...as normal as 'life' was for the denizens of the dark. Dominic's business continued to boom, pulling in profits from humans for alcohol and lapdances and continuing its lucrative side business as a purveyor of vitae for their more...discerning customers. Mack had, after a period of mourning, gone back to his cage fighting. His brother by sire, Benny, was apparently going to re-open his shop. Celeste, the Lasombra whom Korlyn had saved when she had risen from torpor after a century of sleep, had been groomed to be the next great Sabbat hunter, and would clearly have no problem in that role.
And yet, with all of that, the praise and the politics and the ascendency in power aside, Korlyn found it meant little to his tired heart.
Farouk, the Nosferatu who had brought them together, banded them into a single force...was still dead. Dead at the hands of a laughing and insane woman working for Maul who had vanished into the night and hadn't been seen since.
Farouk was dead, and Korlyn mourned him.
This time around...The third time a friend and comrade of his died...
At least he did not blame himself for it.
That comforting fact didn't stop him from moving on as though he was just going through the motions.
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Maggie waved a hand in front of Korlyn's eyes. "You awake in there?"
He blinked and brought his attention to the present. He was relaxing on Maggie's couch, and she was leaning on him, her head on his shoulder. "What?"
The young woman sighed and leaned back away from him. "Caer, you've been like this for days."
Korlyn's face softened. "I'm sorry. I'm...I've just had a lot to think about."
"You said you stopped him. You stopped that monster."
"I stopped one monster." Korlyn explained with a shake of his head. "The one who killed my friend was something else." He paused, and refused to say the rest. Something worse.
"So what are you going to do about it?" She asked him. "What can you do about it? You can't bring your friend back to life." Maggie blinked, and a hint of doubt seeped in. "Can you?"
Her lover and truest friend smiled and kissed her forehead. "No. The dead stay dead, I'm afraid. I'm done doubting myself about it. There was nothing I could have done. My other friend and I...we were busy fighting Maul. My now dead friend was beyond my reach."
"So if you don't feel guilty about it, then why are you like this?" Maggie prodded.
Korlyn looked into her eyes for a very long ten seconds before he looked away, ashamed.
"I realized how tired I really am. And how I just want to go away. Sleep."
Korlyn didn't have to see Maggie's face to feel the hurt and shock that radiated from her.
"Not tonight." She whispered, and held on even tighter. She buried her face in his chest, and Korlyn felt her tears.
They were warm.
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"It's not unheard of." Erichtho remarked, reaching up to one of her multiple bookshelves in the secluded mansion she called home. "There's a historical correlation between Kindred that achieve Golconda and Kindred that seclude themselves. Take our mentor, for instance. We only know of her because she chose to make her presence known, and only then to guide us."
Korlyn lounged in one of the reclining chairs set up in the Tremere Golcondite's study, twirling a steel marble in midair above his palm to keep himself occupied. "It doesn't mean that it's the best option, though."
"We're given choices. Best or better depends on your outlook." Erichtho pulled down an old book and turned back for her desk. The sight was slightly comical; A grown man who seemed more like the slightly nerdy College instructor taking advice from a freckled black-haired teenager. "Rumor has it that the few 'normal' members of your clan reach Golconda only to offer themselves up for diablerie to the childe they sire. To be honest, it makes no sense."
Korlyn laughed, and let the marble drop in his palm. "Who ever said the Salubri made sense?" The small joke made Erichtho crack a smile.
Korlyn let out a sigh and pocketed the trinket. "You know, I've had a suspicion for a while that since your clan's magics came from taking our bloodline, Salubri would have made perfect blood mages in their own right."
"Really?" Erichtho raised an eyebrow. "And you base this on your own experiences? You do realize you're an exception to every rule. A noble spirit in a culture of violent, self-serving..."
"Let's not go comparing me to often imitated fantasy tropes, shall we?" Korlyn stood up. "Just give me a straight answer. Would I be in the wrong for wanting to get away from here? To maybe spend a couple of years in torpor?"
"Ordinarily, I would say no." Erichtho flipped a few pages. "Escaping vampiric society becomes a given when one achieves our state of enlightenment. Everything else...well, it becomes less important." She paused, expecting Korlyn to interject with a comment. When none came, she went on. A pleasing surprise, his sudden deference. "For us, a few years here and there, even a few decades is of little consequence. For you on the other hand, Korlyn Wraith...Your endless time is still measured in days and months. It is your attachment to the human life you once had, the human relationships you still treasure, that define your existence."
Erichtho pointed at him. "If you disappear, you're throwing all that away. That is a vital part of who you are, you know. If you lost that..."
"I might lose everything." Korlyn exhaled. He glanced up at the ceiling and rubbed his temple, just to the left of his third eye. "I love her. I don't want to hurt her."
"I know that." Erichtho answered quietly. "It's done my own heart a world of good to see that someone like you can still exist."
"A world of monsters would be boring without a unicorn every now and then to brighten up the place, wouldn't it?" Korlyn reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his familiar green scarf. It wrapped around his head with a thought and held fast, covering his third eye and once again turning him into a bizarre cross between a ninja and an herbal remedy selling beatnik. "I think I have my answer."
"Good." Erichtho flipped through the first few pages of her book. "And if I don't see you again for a while, thank you for allowing me to copy your first mentor's rituals."
"Magic is magic." Korlyn shrugged, bowing ever so slightly. "I don't barter in favors. I give them as I accept them; unexpected windfalls. You should have fun with some of those."
"Oh, yes." The elder Tremere hummed cheerfully. "Won't Nicolai be surprised the next time I drop in for a visit, and I can do all these marvelous tricks?"
"You sure that's a safe idea?" Korlyn asked, tilting his head to the side. "Some of those are clearly antitribu."
"You would think, wouldn't you?" She drummed her fingers on her desk and looked up at him with a grin like the cheshire cat's. "Yet you've gone all this time without exposing yourself as former Sabbat or Salubri. I think I can manage to disguise the source. In your case, I expect it was more dumb luck."
"Perhaps." Korlyn mused, turning for the door. "Or maybe people just saw in me what they wanted to see." His next remark came telepathically, directed into Erichtho's mind. The sudden thought, a willing of his sudden mastery of Auspex, surprised her for a moment. If it's natural for Golcondites to slip into torpor and leave the world behind...why haven't you, Erichtho?
Because, my young Salubri, perhaps there are those in this world that I still hold enough of an interest in to stay awake. Your diverting nature will be missed.
Not looking back behind him, Korlyn smiled and walked out of her study.
--------------------------------------------
current music: "Why so serious" -Super Mario Land OC Remix
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(comment on this)
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| Monday, July 6th, 2009
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9:58 pm - Graduate Classes and Starfox
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You know that the conversation's gone far from the topic of study (Or at least, has ceased to be interesting enough to write notes down) when you flip open your planner and start daydreaming about your Fanfiction.
The rest of this chapter is finally outlined, and the new stuff begins with Terrany crash landing.
Time for a close encounter of the third/furred kind.
-Erico
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Sunday, June 28th, 2009
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10:21 pm - End of June Updates
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Oh, look. The Bard's alive! Joy and festive occasions. I've been told I don't write enough on this, but eh, that's the breaks some days. I've been keeping myself busy.
Come the beginning of July, I will be taking two graduate level SPED courses simultaneously...One is SPED Law, which as most of you don't know, is all the quibbling little details nobody ever thinks about, yet misunderstandings serve as the basis for lawsuits and firings. I've been plugging away an average of a chapter per weekday to get a jump ahead so I'm not quite so overwhelmed, but it does cut into my summer fun time a skosh.
GRL Update: 57 pages. I'm seriously considering putting up what I have done so far and saving the triumph of SKYLIGHT for another chapter yet to follow. If I don't, I'm looking at another 80 page chapter, and I've got a silent promise to myself about limiting chapters in GRL to a certain limit.
I think I can spare to break it apart into three chapters. God knows my readers are probably starving for it.
Yeah, we'll do that. It frees up my time a bit to let me hyper-focus on these classes. I do love to write. It gives me a reason to wake up in the morning.
But becoming a better educator, at least in July, has to come first.
All right. Plan deployed!
EDIT: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3387678/14/Mega_Man_Guiding_Rainbows_Light
Enjoy.
-Erico
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, June 24th, 2009
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3:03 pm - Sex And Politics: We All Love Getting Screwed
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| Wednesday, June 17th, 2009
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11:04 pm - GRL Update
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41 pages in. This one's starting to pick up speed.
Tentative completion date: Early July.
-Erico
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Tuesday, June 9th, 2009
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8:58 am - Meet the Spy!
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| Thursday, June 4th, 2009
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1:28 am - Happy Reploid Independence Day!!!
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Working on the Holidays
Statue of Liberty
New York, New York
June 4th, 2123 C.E.
11:16 P.M.
Most Maverick Hunters didn't wear clothes, and that was because most were reploids who saw them as a useless add-on to their armor. Clothes could get caught on things. Clothes could catch fire. Clothes were also incredibly unnecessary for reploids, and in many cases, not an option. Armor recall, the ability to store their defensive plating, was one of the most expensive 'add-ons' available. Most factories weren't interested in luxury models.
Luckily for Zero Omega, he wasn't from any factory. Hazil and Old Doc Cain were both flummoxed on where exactly he'd come from, but the Crimson Hunter was willing to leave the issue lay. The past, he told himself, is never as important as the present. So there he stood, atop the green copper of Lady Liberty's flame with his brown overcoat tucked around him and his long blond braid whipping out behind. The wind was coming across the bay very strong tonight, which suited Zero just fine. Wind only made him feel alive.
His commlink chirped; incoming call. Zero blinked his green eyes, and a small window overlaid in the corner of his vision. He smiled to himself. X was calling.
He reached up and tapped an inlaid button in the side of his helmet. "Hey, X. What's the matter, too quiet down in Brazil? You had to call me?"
"The night's still young. Don't go relaxing just yet." Mega Man X admonished him. "To tell you the truth, Zero, I'm sick and tired of this bull. Every year, some idiot Maverick tries something to commemorate Sigma's First Uprising. It gets old."
"So what else is new?" Zero chuckled. "Relax, X. If anybody gives you trouble, kick 'em in the balls. They bring out a weapon, you blow their head off. You come across a few drunks blathering on, hand 'em over to the cops and let them sleep it off."
"Yeah, I guess. Take care, Zero. Remember, you're buying when we get back to base tomorrow morning."
"All right, X. Discom." His commlink shut off and Zero scanned New York again from the harbor.
"Nothing on the frequencies." He muttered to himself, thinking that this might end up being a quiet night after all...
And then an explosion rattled a Skyscraper and blew out all the windows on the 32nd floor.
"Spoke too soon." Zero growled, warping his overcoat away and marking the location.
A blur of red light took his place, and then streaked off towards the city.
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Zero reformed outside the entrance of the now burning building, and quickly dashed to the side to avoid a chunk of falling rubble from above. "Jesus!"
"What are ya, crazy?!" Someone shouted at him. Zero swiveled his head about and caught sight of a reploid in green and white armor ducking behind a vehicle. He had one arm converted into an older Mark 17 Buster, and a thin layer of a five o'clock shadow. On the side of his chevron chestplate was a police badge; Local authorities.
Zero quickly hopped over next to the man and ducked down. "What do we have here?"
The reploid took one quick look over the blond-haired warrior in red armor. "You a Maverick Hunter?"
"Zero Omega, Zero Unit."
The reploid whistled appreciatively. "Damn, you boys are quick. I haven't even had time to call in backup yet." He extended a hand. "Sergeant Wycost, MSWAT."
Maverick SWAT, Zero told himself. A step in between the regional Maverick Hunters and local law enforcement, MSWAT units only existed within the AmeriCanadian Alliance, and only within big cities like New York. The scars on his armor indicated Zero was dealing with a veteran, which was a surprise given the survival rates in their line of work.
Zero looked towards the building's entrance, and quickly picked up several Maverick mechaniloids moseying about inside. "What are they doing?"
"This building here's the branch headquarters for U.S. Robotics." Wycost grunted as another piece of rubble dented the car's roof only a foot in front of his face. "If I was a betting man, I'd put good money on the idea that they were gonna try and hack into the servers to get intel."
Zero's eyes darkened. "Well, that's just terrific. U.S. Robotics is pretty much all military models. They get their hands on that, we'll be looking at..."
"The Third Maverick Uprisin', yeh." Wycost spat on the ground. "Look, some of my boys had already gone inside without me. I've lost communication with 'em, and I'm afraid that they got wiped out in that explosion."
"And if they aren't dead already, they will be soon." Zero muttered. "Any idea on what's waiting inside?"
"My squad radioed in some mechaniloids, a handful of human types...and one Feraloid."
When it rains, it pours, Zero thought to himself. "I'll handle this. You hold back and call in those reinforcements."
"Yeah, like Hell!" Wycost protested. "Look, those are my guys trapped up in there," His New York drawl dragged the sound out to a theyauh, "And I'll be damned if some fancypants Maverick Hunter does all the work himself."
Zero clenched his right hand, and the arm flashed as it was replaced by a far more menacing Buster than the MSWAT Wycost had. He gave the reploid a cool stare. "Last chance to back out. You go in, don't expect me to cover your ass. I've got Mavericks to shut down."
"Wouldn't dream of it, goldilocks." Wycost countered, grinning.
Zero rolled his eyes. "Smartass." He dashed in towards the building entrance, and Wycost ran in after him.
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The 33rd Floor
The MSWAT task force had responded quickly to the building's silent alarms, but Laser Lynx's motley band had been well prepared. Only two of the six had survived the room-clearing explosive trap, and the both of them were lying helplessly in stasis lock for self-repairs. She had thought that would be the end of their troubles, at least until they downloaded the production logs and made good their escape...
What she hadn't counted on was a dedicated veteran MSWAT officer that would give it his all....
Much less the dreaded Crimson Hunter, Zero himself.
Over the cries and screams and noise of plasma shots and explosions, Lynx and her bodyguards could make out a few strangled lines of dialogue. "He's coming, we can't hold him, we can't..."
The radio went to static.
Lynx whipped her weapon-equipped tail furiously behind her and paced the room again. She glanced over sharply to Mazo, who was at a computer station trying to break the access codes. "Hurry it up!" She snarled, baring her metallic fangs.
Mazo paused long enough to glance up at her incredulously. "You think this is easy, Laze? The encryption on this system's ridiculous!"
"Do what you can." Laser Lynx snapped. "I don't want to be around when Zero Omega shows up to wipe the floor with us."
The door to the wide office they'd commandeered smashed in, and the powerful boot that had kicked it in retracted down to the floor. Stunned, Laser Lynx stared as Zero Omega calmly stepped through the shattered portal.
"I think it's a little late for that." Zero said calmly, raising his Buster towards her. "Seeing as I'm already here."
Laser Lynx slowly moved about, matching the Crimson Hunter's stare. "Well, well, well. I didn't expect you so soon."
"What can I say?" Zero shrugged with a calculating smile. "I'm a man who likes to skip through to dessert. So what'll it be, pudding? You care to surrender and come peacefully, or am I going to have to get crazy?"
"You are crazy, if you think I'd surrender to you, Maverick Hunter!" Laser Lynx howled. She crouched forward and aimed her tail over her head, firing a short and powerful bolt of photonic energy.
Zero ducked to the side at the last moment, and the shot took a sizable chunk out of the hallway's wall behind him. He managed a momentary glance at the damage before looking back at her.
"Nice trick...You a new model reploid, then?"
"Tiger class Feraloid. Laser Lynx." The Maverick boasted proudly.
"I can see I'm going to have to pull that tail of yours." Zero remarked, dashing towards her and charging a supershot.
"Oh, you can try...but this kitty has CLAWS!" Laser Lynx lunged towards Zero as well, and Zero watched in horror as her already sharpened Tritanium claws suddenly sprouted elongated arcs of focused plasma energy.
Well, that's new... Zero curled into a tumble at the last moment, and spared himself a quick and likely painful gutting from the horizontal slash of her plasma claws. She turned about as he came up from his quick roll, and aimed with her tail. This time, the laser bolt burned into his back armor and depleted a good twelve percent of his I.O.E...Internal Operations Energy. A few more of those would finish him off, and those claws would do him in faster.
She yowled and closed in for the kill, and Zero reacted with honed instinct. Catching her by the wrists, he quickly spun on the floor again and threw her over his head. She screamed the entire way and impacted against the wall, leaving a sizable dent with a spiderweb of cracks in the drywall. It solved the immediate problem, and gave Zero a chance to consider his options.
There was only one option, the Crimson Hunter realized. The old Three-Hit-Combo, the parting gift from Serges during his reconstruction in the Second Uprising. Two supershots to stun and batter, and a thrown arc of green beam saber energy to finish the job. The problem was, it took a good long while to charge up...and that was time he didn't have.
Laser Lynx recovered and came after him again, firing off a barrage of bolts to keep him unbalanced while she closed the distance.
A blue sphere of plasma crashed into her chest armor and knocked her backwards. Zero glanced back to see Wycost standing in the ruined doorway of the room. The MSWAT officer gave the Maverick at the computer console a steady look, then fired off a shot in his direction. The Maverick yelped and dove for cover, and the uncharged shot blew his console apart in a shower of sparks.
"What took you so long?" Zero demanded.
"Look, some of us ain't exactly packin' dash boots, ya know?" Wycost rebuked him.
Laser Lynx came to her feet again, letting off another feral scream that rattled the corner office's windows.
Zero quickly came to a decision. "Keep her occupied!" He shouted behind him, charging towards the Maverick. Wycost's eyes goggled.
"Excuse me?!"
Zero closed the gap, and the Maverick slashed at him. He caught her wrist. She flipped him around. He tried to recover. She knocked him to the floor. He raised his Buster up to fire, and she kicked him in the helmet hard enough to send him scattering across the floor, through the window...And out into the warm night air, screaming as he began to fall.
Triumphant, Laser Lynx turned towards Wycost. "And now, for you..."
"Oh, great." Wycost groaned. "Real nice plan there, Mister Maverick Hunter."
He fired wildly as she charged at him, putting his Buster through its paces. The floors, windows, and walls were soon covered in smoky, charred spots where his missed shots had impacted, and still she kept coming. He kept firing right until she knocked him down and pinned him to the floor, forcing her legs on his and one hand keeping his Buster pointed far, far away from her face.
The other claw began its descent down towards Wycost's face, and he quickly raised his only free hand to stop it. It soon became a tug of war...Lynx's claw struggling to inch towards his face, and the vital circuitry inside his helmeted metallic skull, and Wycost's hand on her wrist, trying vainly to keep the more muscular and militaristic Feraloid from ending his life.
"Just give up already." She taunted him, flashing her perfect fangs. "You can't win. Today is the Fifth Anniversary of our Lord Sigma's declaration of war on humanity! Mavericks all over the world are invincible underneath His banner!"
"Lady, you got problems." Wycost grit his teeth and struggled harder.
"So do you." She countered, lifting her tail over her shoulder. The barrel of the laser cannon pointed directly between his eyes. "You're about to have a lobotomy."
The noise of a laser discharge never came, however. It was the sound of unbridled plasma fury that shook the room again, and Laser Lynx spasmed in sudden pain and surprise. She went rigid, then still...
And when her body collapsed beside the now freed Wycost, the MSWAT officer realized that two supershots and a more focused blast of cutting plasma had burned through her back armor and her artificial spinal column, killing her instantly.
Standing at the edge of the broken window, Zero Omega calmly slipped his Z-Saber back into its recharging sheath and lowered his second Buster arm. "You all right?"
"Cut it a little close there, didn't ya?" Wycost complained, shoving the corpse away from him. He picked himself up and gave his head a good shake. "Christ on a cracker."
"Any kill you walk away from." Zero answered. "You didn't do too bad there, actually. I expected she'd punch your face in before I got my shots off."
Wycost walked over and stared up at Zero. It wasn't hard to do, given that the six and a half foot tall Maverick Hunter dwarfed the stocky trooper by nearly seven inches. "Well, boo frickin' hoo hoo. You got some brass ones, lettin' yourself get thrown out of that window just to keep her from paying attention to you."
In the background, the Maverick lieutenant called Mazo slowly crept towards the door, hoping to get away. Without looking, Wycost pointed his Buster behind him and slammed a shot into the wall a foot away from the Maverick's face. Mazo let out a yelp and went stock still as Wycost turned his head about. "Did I say you could leave, you piece of garbage? You just sit the freak down whiles I finish my discussion here!"
Zero smiled again. "You've got skills, bub. You've also got a lot of attitude."
"Comes with the territory." Wycost shrugged. "In the Maverick SWAT, we ain't got all your fancy gadgets and superpowered weapons. We got what we got, and the rest we make up with in guts." He poked Zero in the chest. "Remember that the next time you feel like showing off."
"Fair enough." Zero replied honestly. "You ever consider joining up with the Hunters? I think with the right equipment, you'd make a Hell of an impact."
"What, and leave all this behind?" Wycost joked. He lifted up his Buster again and fired a second warning shot, three feet to the right of his first one where Mazo had crept to. Again, the Maverick screamed like a woman. "Hey! You got a learning disorder or something?!" He sighed and looked back to Zero. "Every frickin' day, somebody's trying to bust my balls. So, thanks, but no thanks. I like it fine here. Besides, I've got a few thousand credits in my pension that'd go to waste if I bailed now."
"All right. You ever change your mind, though, the offer's on the table." Zero extended his hand.
Wycost considered it, then shook it. "Yeah, sure."
"You think you can handle things from here, Sergeant?"
"Yeah, now that backup's on the way. It's all just cleanup now. I expect you've got other places to be tonight."
"Story of my life." Zero chuckled. He turned around and jumped out of the hole in the window again, and allowed himself to fall towards the ground.
Wycost shook his head. "Man, what a freakin' showoff." He whirled about and started towards Mazo, who screamed again on reflex. "All right, Maverick! You can get those ears checked all you like down at the precinct!"
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Zero warped into Central Park and took stock of his surroundings again. All things considered, it wasn't a bad night so far. A good fight every now and then, in opposition to X's thinking, helped to keep him well balanced.
His commlink went off. Dr. Cain this time.
"Yeah, Doc?"
"Just thought I'd check in on my two star Maverick Hunters. How are things in New York?"
"All quiet here." Zero answered.
"Oh, really?" Cain remarked curiously. "Our intel operators tell me there was a Maverick skirmish at the U.S. Robotics skyscraper there."
"Like I said, all quiet." Zero chuckled. "Relax, Doc. This is what I get paid to do. You might want to make a note in the Maverick logs, though. We've got a new model Feraloid to watch out for. Plasma claws, laser blaster in the tail..."
"That does sound nasty, all right." Cain admitted. "I'll take care of it."
Zero pondered things for a moment. "Oh, one last thing, Doc. Think you could mail off a set of the newest Dash Thruster modules to a Sergeant Wycost at the New York MSWAT Division?"
"Well, sure, but why?"
"Let's just call it payment...for services rendered." Zero smiled and cut off the link.
He started a lazy walk through the park, enjoying the evening.
Yes, sir.
Not a bad "Reploid Independence Day" after all.
-Erico
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Sunday, May 31st, 2009
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11:02 pm - Lost Legion: A Home Called Brightwood
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The agreement for the Legion to remove their armor was passed through the network of animated Treants by the Halfling Druid Aram Earthtoes with little difficulty.
It was the reason why, as the caravan and the now unarmored Legion came together again, that left Captain Cross speechless for a very rare change.
He traced a finger along the gilded emblem of his breastplate, which was lying atop the pile of armor in the back of a small handcart offered by the townsfolk. His eyes took on a glazed quality, and he kept shaking his head.
The rest of his team did the speaking in his place. "I don't believe it." Dar muttered. "All this time, they've been spying on us..."
"I doubt it's just us." Meis added irritably. He pulled his hand back from his own and scowled. "It feels no different than any other piece of armor I've ever been in contact with from the Samaelean Vanguard. I would wager good money that this is a broad enchantment that the Bluestaff Guild and their military subsidiaries did for every suit of armor ever made."
"If that's the case, then it probably started out for benevolent reasons." August scratched at his chin. "Remember all the times we got in trouble on the front lines and reinforcements got teleported in right in the nick of time?"
"And all this time, I thought it was just coincidence. Fortunes of war." Seiryu sighed wistfully. "So much for that."
"Whatever the reason, they've been able to keep an eye on us whenever they felt like it." Meis shook his head. "They can't now, right?"
Aram glanced over to them as they plodded along and nodded. "Once the armor's off, the enchantment doesn't work. I guess your military didn't see the need in keeping a scrying sensor active when it isn't worn. The better for us, really." The Halfling offered a cheeky smile and picked up to a skip. "These woods are enchanted, after all...and they don't like people trying to look into it. Sarine's Woods minds its own business and expects the same. Without your armor, all those persnickity wizards'll see is a crystal ball full of fog."
"Good." Sergeant Dar smiled. "I was getting tired of fighting off teleported patrols. Right, captain?"
The Red Cross Legion turned to its namesake, but the red-haired Leslie Cross didn't even look up to respond to the question.
August nudged his shoulder. "Uh, captain?"
Cross blinked a few times and looked over. "Hmm?"
"Dar asked you if you were glad to be getting a break."
"Oh." Cross looked down at their abandoned armor again, shut his eyes, and stared on ahead.
The Legion saw the fire in his eyes die in that moment. "I suppose."
Unaware of the depression raging inside Captain Cross, Aram Earthtoes guided the convoy out of the woods and into an overgrown clearing. Rubble and old stone buildings, and several carved out of larger tree trunks stood protected under the cover of a looming forest canopy, allowing patches of sunlight to filter through.
"Here we are, then." The druid looked back to the refugee's mayor, Sandra Denen. "Dorman's Folly. Uninhabited for years, and in a sorry state. If you want to stay here, there's a couple of provisos...but it's yours for the asking if you agree to the rules."
Mayor Denen bowed to the short nature guide. "We accept your gracious hospitality. Whatever accolades you have, we shall abide by. For the time being, this is our home." She glanced over to Captain Cross. "And yours as well, if you wish it. It is all I can offer in thanks for protecting us."
Cross nodded distantly, hardly paying attention to their surroundings. "We'll consider it."
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"Dorman's Folly"
2 days Later
Captain Cross took a lazy turn about the mid-renovation ruins with August, Dar, and Seiryu walking a bit behind him. A full two nights hadn't eased his mind about the portents of the dweomer which had been instilled into each and every one of the Red Cross Legion's armor long years before. The ignoble truth had shut off every communication from their commander, outside of a short order here and there, and the men under his command knew the betrayal had hurt him worst of all. The others had fought and believed in Captain Cross, but stayed more open-minded about the purity of Samael's Lands.
Cross had grown up, been trained, and lived believing in the justice and purity of Samael's Lands. Their gradual transformation from heroes to traitors had removed all the power from him.
Gingerly, Seiryu nudged Sergeant Dar Voorhees. "Say something to him."
The bald-headed Dar glanced at Captain Cross who wore his cotton tunic like a broken shell. "What do you expect me to say?" Dar whispered back. "What could any of us say?"
His remark, heard or unheard, made Leslie Cross stiffen up and turn about to his teammates. The red-haired warrior smiled weakly. "I think I'll go for a walk in the woods by myself for a while. As much as it means anymore...you're all dismissed. Spend some time relaxing. Help out the villagers, if you feel like it."
"Shouldn't we begin training, sir?" August suggested.
Cross laughed, an empty and defeated noise that broke their hearts. Tears fresh in his eyes, he donned a stiff upper lip and shook his head. "No reason to, August. No reason at all." He left them behind and walked towards the fading edge of the village, where the woods proper began again.
Seiryu punched August in the arm. "Good job, August." The younger (and prettier) man scoffed.
The wincing engine of destruction rubbed at his arm. "What?! Whaddid I say?"
"You made him feel worse, is what you did." Seiryu slammed him accusingly.
"There are some days, I wish I could fix that faulty switch inside his head." Dar complained, switching the focus away from his two inferior enlisted's quarrel. "If I hadn't repeatedly been victim of an errant glance at his prodigious girth, I'd swear the Cap'n was a woman."
"I'll tell you what he needs." August mused. "He's lost all confidence in himself. We get him laid, we won't have any problems."
Seiryu blinked at the odd turn of phrase. "What is a laid?"
Both August and Dar facepalmed simultaneously at the gaffe, but it was the voice of Lieutenant Julian Meis that spoke up.
"How many times have I told you to watch what you say around him?"
"Lieutenant, sir!" Sergeant Dar threw a crisp salute, only to have it waved off. "Back from patrol?"
The long-haired master swordsman nodded. "There's still a few Homeguard seekers foraging through the brush, but nobody's close enough to find this settlement. I think that eccentric druid was right; the Forest didn't want us to be found, so we aren't."
"Not having that tagged armor on helps." August grumbled. "I wish I could say the same about the Captain's disposition."
Meis's face remained dispassionately blank. "Is he still moping around, then?"
"Hasn't stopped since yesterday." Dar mentioned. "I haven't seen him this bad since the day we all had our leave canceled."
Seiryu went wide-eyed and shuddered. "Didn't he try to kill himself?"
"If you count trying to drown yourself in a washbasin." Meis let off a sigh and glanced around. "I suppose I should go talk to him, then. I just hope I don't have to freeze three inches of water to keep him breathing."
Dar, feeling courageous in the moment, asked an old question. "Say, Lieutenant, how is it you picked up your cold powers?"
As always, "Icecross" Meis smiled his all-knowing smug smile and shook his head. "I'd tell you, Sergeant...but then I'd have to kill you." He turned on his heels, glanced at the soil around them, and located Leslie Cross's bootprints with supernatural accuracy. He took off walking, and Seiryu broke the stares of his two fellow warriors with a focus-switching repeat of his query.
"Will someone PLEASE tell me what a 'get laid' is?!"
Heads all over the reconstructed settlement turned to look at them, and a blushing Dar cleared his throat. "Perhaps we'd best explain while we walk along." With people watching them from all directions, the trio moved off towards the southern edge of the refugee camp. "You see, Seiryu, when a man feels the need to sow his oats..."
"Eh?" Seiryu interrupted, confused.
Dar blushed. "Umm...that is, plow a field or three..."
"Huh?"
Dar slapped himself in the forehead. "Sometimes, a man builds up so much tension that he seeks out a willing woman to find release..."
"Release what?" Seiryu blinked innocently.
As Dar groaned again, August didn't bother trying to stifle a chuckle. "You know, we could spend a year and a half talking about this before Seiryu got it. You sure you want to waste the time and energy, Dar?"
"I've got nothing else to occupy my time, and I'm not afraid of a challenge!" Dar Voorhees shot back. "All right. We'll start from the beginning, then. You see, Seiryu, when a man and a woman love each other very much..."
"They write poetry and look at each other and sigh a lot?"
August's laugh was louder than Dar's bellowing groan, but only slightly.
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Julian Meis and Leslie Cross were childhood friends. This was no secret to the rest of the team, nor were they offended by it. The model the two officers had meticulously crafted, that of an open-minded duo different in perspective, but united in purpose, had leaked down to the enlisted men. It was a model that Sergeant Dar had emulated with Seiryu and August to a degree, though he still had trouble managing the formality of rank Lieutenant Meis and Captain Cross played at.
The secret, which would have made the bald-headed defender laugh, was that it was just that: Play. In every respect, Cross considered Meis his equal. He might give his friend orders, but he made them either as requests, or because the task was better suited for the swordmaster's talents. In no case had Cross ever given an order he would not be willing to perform himself.
The red-haired officer had little trouble following his own order to dismiss and whittle about freely. He had probably wanted solitude, but Meis was his best friend for a reason. Leslie wanted to mope about, and Meis wasn't going to let him have the opportunity.
Moping was never healthy, after all, and though Cross might never thank him for it, a part of Meis still took his job as best friend very seriously.
To Meis's surprise, the tracks led him to a small glade of Sarine's Woods that the chilly warrior would have never found on his own. A feeling of familiarity went through him as he looked over the small tributary and sunken pond at the clearing's center. The overhanging trees let in tiny fingers of light, providing a dotted canvas for the scene.
A moment of reflection was all it took for Julian Meis to understand why Leslie would come here; it reminded him of home.
The red-haired commander that had once been called the fearless face of Samael's Lands' hidden corps sat at the edge of the ground overlooking the pond five feet below. His legs dangled over the side, and his eyes held a distant expression. In his state, anybody could have walked up and surprised him.
Meis settled for vanishing in a puff of shadow and reappearing behind his oldest and most trusted companion. "Nice little place you've found here."
Leslie straightened up a bit. "This place brings back memories of a better time in our lives, Julian."
"The old watering hole a mile outside of our village?"
"One and the same." Leslie Cross agreed, a smile in his tone. "You remember, we used to strip down to our undershorts in the summer?"
Meis closed his eyes. "Yes. That was a long time ago, though. We were eight years old when this war started. Why would you think about that now, when there's other things to bother with?"
"Because Samael's Lands was different back then." Cross argued. "Back then, it stood for justice, and truth, and the light." He bowed his head and shook it. "I don't know this country any more, Julian. It's gone up and changed on me."
"Samael's Lands didn't change, Les." Meis snapped. He'd been privy to nearly all of his friend's bouts of depression, minor and severe. This being a severe one, the best solution was to shock his mercurial comrade out of self-pitying complacency.
True to form, Leslie Cross snapped his head up as though Meis had screamed out a thunderbolt. "What?" He stammered.
Julian Meis folded his arms and leaned up against a tree. "The fact is, the Samael's Lands you idealized is just that; an ideal. Ideals are only as strong as the people who stand up for them. What you believed in, what you fought for inspired us."
Captain Cross set his hands in his lap. "Really?"
"Do you honestly think I would have joined up and fought in this stupid war if you hadn't dragged me into it?" Meis asked. "You know I have no love for the mages and rulers of this country. I was fighting because I believed in YOU. Your ideals made me hope that this kingdom wasn't as corrupt as I thought. You made me think that there might be hope to turn things around." Meis blinked. "Don't blame Samael's Lands for not living up to your standards. Your quarrel isn't with your country."
Meis nodded, turned about, and walked off.
He expected Leslie to absorb the tirade, silently nod his head, think about it, and come back to the village in an hour's time, ready to move on with his life. That was not the reaction he received.
"You're RIGHT!" Leslie Cross exploded.
Surprised, Meis froze in his tracks and looked back. His red-haired friend had jumped to his feet with a gleeful grin and a glint in his eye that took Meis's breath away.
"You're right, Julian!" Cross repeated.
"Of course I'm right." Meis agreed reflexively. "Err, about what?"
Cross stormed after Meis and passed him, heading for the village in the woods. Meis had to speed up to catch him.
"About Samael's Lands. About myself. Hells, about everything!" Cross waved his arms all about wildly. "The dream of a better, peaceful Samael's Lands isn't dead until we give up on it. And for that day to come, we have to take up arms again."
"We do?" Meis asked, suddenly wary of the conversation.
"The reason Samael's Lands have fallen from grace is because the people in charge are corrupt. They torment innocent civilians, send out Homeguard death squads, squander resources on this war when they should be fighting to END IT and forge a peace treaty!"
"Wait a minute." Meis argued cautiously. "Escorting a town's population to safety is one thing, Les. What you're talking about now is taking the fight to this country's leaders."
"And why shouldn't we?" Cross demanded, not breaking his stride.
"For one, they've got the whole of the military and the mages' guilds positioned between them and us. Did you take wholesale slaughter into account? We're good, Les, but we're not that good."
"They have bureaucracy. We have a chain of command that's barely needed." Cross was caught up in the swell of it. "They've marked us as traitors, but we've done too much for them to be able to mar our name completely."
"That's a matter of opinion." Meis remarked.
"Most importantly, they're still busy fighting a war. So let's think about this for a moment: Where are they going to concentrate the bulk of their attention and forces? On a single six-man unit that's fled into hiding, or the front lines?"
"The more trouble we cause, the more they'll start to throw at us." Meis told his friend. "We barely survived the last fight. Wizards and skirmishing parties, remember?"
"Oh, I didn't forget." Cross agreed, as they cleared the treeline and entered the clearing. "I learned from it."
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"Atten-chyun!"
Dar, August, and Seiryu spun about where they were standing at the confident and collected command. Captain Leslie Cross was marching towards them, and Julian Meis was fast on his heels.
Dar noticed it first: The fire was back and burning in their leader's eyes. All three came to attention after that first moment of surprise.
Cross didn't mince words when he met the line. "I hope you all have enjoyed the vacation, because we've got a lot of work to do."
"We do?" Seiryu asked, puzzled. After a sharp elbow to the ribs from August, he corrected himself. "Err, right. We do!"
"Orders, sir?" Dar asked, moving past the embarrassing moment.
"First things first...We've been getting out of shape. As well as we did defending these townsfolk on our retreat, we can do better." Captain Cross stared at them. "Serving in the Homeguard made us soft. To triumph, we're going to have to harden ourselves, in stamina, in power, and in finesse."
"For what?" August asked. "Sir, what are we going to be doing?"
"We're taking this country back." Captain Cross smiled. "We've always fought to defend Samael's Lands. We're still doing that, my friends. Only this time, we're fighting for the right reasons. This time, we're going to be sticking our necks out to make sure that the Samael's Lands that lives is the one we can be proud of."
The three enlisted men exchanged an unsure glance. August looked over. "Will we be fighting the corruption of the nobility?"
"Yes."
"I'm in, then." August quickly agreed.
Dar smiled. "Good to have you back, sir."
"Good to be back." Cross admitted. "It's a good thing I have such true friends to keep me on my feet."
"And what's all this, then?" Sandra Denen came over to them, calmly wiping her hands on her apron.
Meis motioned to Cross. "Our fearless leader's decided we need to take the fight to the elements of Samaelean society that have gone askew."
"Is that so?" The older woman, and mayor of the civilian population asked. She finally nodded and smiled. "Well, then. You'll be needing someplace to strike out from, I imagine. The offer still stands. Brightwood is your home, if you wish it."
"Brightwood?" Cross inquired, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, we couldn't rightly live in a place that had "Folly" in its name, right?" Sandra asked. "Besides, the village put it to a vote, and that's the name that stuck."
"Brightwood." Cross mused, smiling. "It has a nice ring to it."
"You'll be needing one for yourselves, I'd imagine." Sandra added, folding her arms. "Somehow, I don't think you can go around calling yourselves the "Red Cross" Legion anymore. That bloody name wouldn't strike the right tone for your new mission."
"She does have a point." Meis told Cross quietly.
Seiryu furrowed her brow. "But, without our name, we're lost!"
"Lost, huh?" Dar muttered.
"We might as well call ourselves the Lost Legion." August jokingly said.
Meis and Cross looked at August, then each other. Icecross shrugged. "Works for me."
"Works for me as well." Captain Leslie Cross smiled. "Very well, men. From this day on, we're known as the "Lost Legion." Never forget what we're fighting for."
"Freedom." Dar piped in.
"Honesty." Seiryu agreed.
"Peace." August said.
"Truth." Meis added.
Cross clapped his hands together. "All right, then. First things first. A brisk five mile run through the woods, followed by a short meal and some sword training!"
The team groaned, but followed through, and the Lost Legion took off running towards the woods, protected by the enchantments of the hallowed grove.
Meis glanced up as they left the village's edge. He saw Cailyn, their half-elf scout, watching them from high in the trees. She'd heard everything, Julian assumed. She mouthed a single word that only he saw.
"Home."
Meis smiled, lowered his head down, and ran on.
This was home.
-Erico
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| Tuesday, May 26th, 2009
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9:50 pm - A Call to all Mega Man Writers
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Very shortly, followers of the Blue Bomber, it will be June 4th.
This day means nothing now, but it holds particular significance 109 years from now.
June 4th, 2118: Reploid Independence Day. For those of you who can afford a PSP and didn't mind the nuclear fire induced retcon, you might also know it as the fabled "Day of Sigma." The day when Sigma went Maverick, declared war on the human race, and set the world ablaze for decades.
Whatever you prefer to call it yourself (I've been calling it Reploid Independence Day for years), the fact remains that every year, I try to do something to mark the occasion. Go ahead. Look into my livejournal archives on June 4th of every year going back to 2003.
You'll see stuff there.
That being the case, here is the challenge I issue to all of you who enjoy putting mind to word processor, or pen to paper as the case might be, in honor of Mega Man X and the vaunted heroes and villains of the 22nd Century.
I challenge you to compose a short story, a poem, or some other composition in honor of Reploid Independence Day. For those who prefer to draw, DRAW. I shall be writing a small story snippet myself, and it will be posted here on June 4th, as is my pattern.
Who knows? I might actually post it elsewhere, too.
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Real life update: I now weigh 243 pounds. Total loss: 34 pounds so far.
GRL update: Well, I've done it now...18 pages into Chapter 13, and I've once again succeeded in making a bad situation worse for the men and women of the Second Rainbow. Not that I'll tell you HOW, of course...
-Erico
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| Thursday, May 21st, 2009
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11:45 pm - Knights of The Realm: Lanterns of the Dead
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They had only made it a few miles into the desert before the shroud of night approached. The closer the sun came to the ground, the more nervous Byron's newest recruit became. Cassandra Nurien, a woman with sun-bronzed skin and sharp olive eyes, kept sneaking furtive glances towards the horizon. Both Byron and Archaon took notice of her shift in demeanor, but Arc was clearly not going to make the first move.
Byron cleared his throat when the sky turned orange and pink. "Are you looking for something?"
Cassandra snapped her head about, caught off her guard. "I...Well, watching out for something. We'd better make camp."
"You'll get no complaints from me." Arc dropped his heavy pack on their current sand dune and stretched his body backwards, making a loud crack as his spine realigned. "By the Founders. I'm not used to carrying this much in the way of supplies, and it's leaving me a right nasty crick!"
"When we reach the heart of this wasteland, you'll be glad you're lugging around all that water and dried meats and vegetables." Cassandra advised the brash yeoman. She glanced over to Byron and folded her arms. "Well? I suppose you have some glib remark?"
Byron pulled his overcloak's protective hood back from his face and shook his head. "I would normally see nighttime as the perfect opportunity to cover distance in a desert...but then, I imagine you have a reason why it's not safe to."
Cassandra nodded stonily. "No campfires. We eat dinner cold tonight."
"What?!" Arc exploded. "No cam...why not? Blast it, woman, we've been trudging in this shifting sand for hours! Is it too much to ask that we get a hot meal in us at the end of a very tiring day?"
"You were Byron's guide in the woods." Cassandra snapped, walking over effortlessly over the unstable landscape to prod the archer in the chest. "But we're in my domain now, and I can assure you...if you want to live, you'll suffer the lack of an evening cookfire as we travel through these dunes. No loud noises. No singing. Nothing."
Byron chose that moment to intercede between his two fiery companions. "All right, Cassandra. We'll heed your advice." He glanced over to Archaon warningly. "Besides, we didn't pack that much in the way of firewood and tinder...it would be best if we conserved it."
"I don't believe this." Arc muttered, turning away from them and grumbling curses under his breath. He stormed off about twenty paces and started kicking at the sand angrily.
Cassandra raised an eyebrow at the sight before looking back to Byron. "Why did you ask him to come along again?"
"The same reason I let you join us." Byron explained, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. "He had more hatred for the Sorceror Nobyr than fear of him."
"Hm." Cassandra closed her eyes. "He'd better learn to keep that temper of his in check soon."
"And his self-worship." Byron agreed quietly. "Still, he brings up a valid point. What would be so terrible that we cannot risk a cookfire? Does Nobyr have agents that go about at night?"
Cassandra Nurien glanced back towards the still swearing and fuming woodsman not far off and shook her head. "I'll tell the both of you when we set in for the night."
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Dinner was lukewarm water with salted deer jerky; hardly impressive fare, but certainly, Byron recalled, better than some of the rations that he'd had the last time he ventured into a desert...
The recollection brought up too many painful memories, and he shook his head to clear them as Archaon carefully stowed the leftovers away for later consumption.
Byron pulled his broadsword out, the one adorned with three emerald gemstones in the hilt that would have marked him as a Knight of The Realm in a different age. He had been careful to keep it sharpened and clean of rust and dirt, partly out of practice, but also for the more personal reason that it wasn't his.
He may have been chosen to carry it, but it always remained, in his mind at least, his father's blade. Falstam Beonis, the man whose past was tied in with the strange land he now traveled through.
The sun had finally set, and without a campfire, they could only barely make out each other and their surroundings by the pale light of the stars and the half moon from the cloudless sky. Byron carefully slid a whetstone along the edge of his inherited sword, creating only the barest scraping sound for his deliberate efforts.
Arc glanced over from his bedroll and realized Byron had slipped away from them. The swordsman was intense and introspective in equal measure, and seemed to walk with a constant weight on his shoulders. Whatever it was had only deepened since they'd broken through Nobyr's defenses at the desert entrance, but their quiet leader had done a good enough job of compartmentalizing his troubles to not affect the others.
The archer stroked his short red beard and looked to Cassandra, who was once again watching the desert horizon with brooding intensity. "All right then, Miss Nurien. Do y'mind telling us why we've got to be so quiet at night? And for that matter, what you're looking for?"
Cassandra took one last look about and nodded to a self-asked question before addressing Arc. "I was looking for lights in the desert."
Arc raised an eyebrow. "Lights? From sentries?"
Cassandra set her hands on her knees and shook her head. "No. From wandering spirits."
Arc blinked. "Eh?"
"These dunes have claimed more lives than you can imagine." Cassandra went on, adding a harshness to her tone that caused Byron to glance up from his work. "The stupid, the careless, or the exiled have all wandered and perished in this desert from exposure and thirst. Magic's in all things in The Realm, and it's no different here." She leaned forward, locking eyes with the woodsman. "After their bodies crumble to dust, their spirits remain. They carry lanterns with them, lanterns that burn with spiritfire and glow in the shadow of night. They cannot be reasoned with. They cannot be bargained with. Caught between this world and the next, they are driven mad until only one thought fills their consumed minds...Drink."
Arc's eyes widened a fraction of an inch, but he said nothing. It was Byron who connected the dots.
"They don't drink water...do they?"
Cassandra shook her head. "We call them the Parched. And no, you're right. Only one nectar can ease their suffering...a living soul, the sweetest elixir of all. Every victim they claim makes their lanterns burn brighter, but leaves them hungrier, more insane than they were before. That is the nature of their existence and curse."
"If these things are such a problem, how do we deal with them?" Arc asked irritably.
"We have no tribal shaman to erect wards that hold them at bay." Cassandra warned them. "There are no Knights to sunder them with magics. And there is no blade sharp enough to cut through them, for they are without substance. Every night, they rise in search of unlucky travelers caught beyond protection. So as for us, we are doing all we can. We hide and we wait for the heat of the day to come and banish them until the next moon."
"And what if they find us anyways?" Arc pushed the next question. "Suppose one wanders right into our camp?"
Cassandra leaned in farther, unblinking as she spoke with all the severity she could muster.
"You run." She told him. "You run, and you pray that it does not follow you, and that you get to live."
Byron set his whetstone aside, took one last look at his sword in the moonlight, and tucked it away in its scabbard.
"We have to live." He insisted, doing his best not to show fear at Cassandra's dire warning of the Parched. "You'll get us through this, Miss Nurien. I know you will."
His confidence apparently worked. She smiled weakly and turned in for bed, and Byron sat up for the first watch, telling Archaon to get some rest while he could.
The troubled archer couldn't shake Cassandra's eerie warnings as easily as Byron apparently could. He lay down, turned on his side, and went still.
But an hour into Byron's shift of the nightwatch, he was still wide awake...
Watching the dunes with watery, fearful eyes.
Three miles off, a pale blue light slowly floated around in a circle.
-Erico
current music: "Hyrule Field by Night" -Twilight Princess
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| Sunday, May 17th, 2009
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9:03 am - Vampire: Chasing Ghosts (Part 2)
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Demetrius balked when the two Salubri approached him. "Excuse me?"
"We know she's in your quarters somewhere." Korlyn said quietly to the Malkavian. Demetrius sat in the corner of Hundeuora's study, with Danika and Cret at the opposite end of the room and looking on curiously. The whisper was more for courtesy's sake; Anybody with a rudimentary knowledge of Auspex could tune up their sense of hearing to listen in, but assuming they respected Demetrius's privacy, the conversation could go on peacefully. "My friend here was visited by her projection out on the bridge. During the day, while you were all sleeping, I used my own talents and sought her out."
The old man scratched at his chin and cocked his head to the side. "And you found her, then?"
"Certain Tremere rituals were developed centuries ago that helped the forefathers of my contacts to track down and locate Salubri survivors." Korlyn explained. That made Adonai jerk his head about sharply and glare at how matter-of-factly the Salubri Prophet put it. "Combined with astral projection and..." Korlyn paused, then smiled as he caught the joke, "...a keen eye, I could find anybody who shares my bloodline. I felt her...the best way to describe it would be a pulse...and it emanated from somewhere buried in your chambers."
Demetrius pursed his lips. "I see."
"We made no secret of the fact that we came here for Mahtiel." Korlyn went on. "When I reached out and touched all the Salubri minds in the world, I felt her pain. Adonai has now seen it. We came here to rescue her. Helping all of you in your search for Golconda has been an unintended, but welcome secondary goal."
"She's not one known to take to company." Demetrius warned them.
"We're her clan." Adonai remarked. "Her brothers. We'll risk it. We've come too far and risked too much to turn back now."
Demetrius glanced between the two, seeing steel in Adonai's eyes and a quieter, more flexible resolve in Raphael Nightmade's. The wizened Malkavian threw up his hands and let out a sigh. "All right, all right. She's sleeping now...it's about all she does, really...But I'll take you to her." He closed the book of poetry he had been reading and stood up, reaching for a walking stick to support his rickety knees.
"Thank you." Korlyn smiled.
Demetrius guided them out of the study and trudged on, guiding them through the ancient castle's corridors. "I must say, having you two here has caused more excitement for us here than anything in the last ten years or so. I don't think you'll be able to save Mahtiel, though." The old Malkavian said sadly. "She never got over Rothriel's death."
"Tell us about him." Adonai suddenly piped in, interested. "She said his name last night...mistook me for him."
"That must have been because you are a warrior, like he was." Demetrius explained, smiling genially at the dour Sabbat slayer. "You would have liked him."
Huneduora was a mid-sized castle; walking at the slow hobbling pace that Demetrius was capable of, it took them several minutes to reach his quarters.
It was plenty of time for the two Salubri to hear the secondhand account of how mighty Rothriel, philosopher swordsman, had perished in defense of Huneduora and Danika Ruthven...
And how Mahtiel, his lover and bloodbound life partner had had her world ripped away from her in one agonizing moment.
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As it turned out, Mahtiel had her own quarters...They were just inaccessible without going through Demetrius's own abode first. As the Malkavian explained, Mahtiel had only wanted to have a place where she could sleep without being bothered by the others. For the last 50 years or so, Demetrius had gone on, she only emerged from torpor once a year.
Why only a year, however, Demetrius had been reluctant to say.
"I feed her every now and then, but I never know if she knows I'm helping her." Demetrius grunted and strained, trying to pull a bookcase away from his wall. Raphael and Adonai watched for a few seconds before the impatient Salubri warrior stepped up next to the Methuselah and pulled the shelf away with only one hand.
Behind the dusty piece of furniture, an old and well hidden stone door waited. Demetrius pointed at it. "Her room is through that door, just down the corridor. It's rather dark though, so..."
In response, Korlyn held up a small twig from a willow tree and snapped it between his thumb and forefinger. A whispered arcane word made the dried bark disappear and become replaced by a glowing ball of green light. Demetrius blinked and tilted his head to the side, smiling at the small display of magic.
"Well, that could be rather useful." Korlyn smiled back, and Demetrius assumed a more serious posture. "Are you two sure you want to do this? I was serious when I said Mahtiel doesn't like to be disturbed. The last time Bufo tried to spy on her on one of her sojourns, we found him lying catatonic afterwards. Stayed like that for several hours, actually."
"We don't have a choice." Raphael shrugged. "I can sympathize with her loss. Though I'm incapable of being bloodbound, I know the depth that that bond can create. I too, have lost loves in the past. It's my hope that I can rescue her from the shadows in her own mind, and bring her back to us. There aren't as many Salubri as I would have liked, though more than I had expected. Mahtiel is a rarity of our kind; one of the oldest surviving left. For our movement to succeed, we will need her by our side."
"Movement? What movement?" Demetrius asked, watching Korlyn open up the door with a wave of his hand and head down the corridor under supernatural green light.
Adonai stepped past the old man and winked at him. "I'm still trying to understand what it is myself."
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Down the corridor they went, guided by the pale green light from Korlyn's Will' O' Wisp. Neither one spoke as they closed the distance between themselves and the elusive, enigmatic Mahtiel. Both Salubri kept a watchful third eye down the way, reading a dim aura through the stone that trembled with grief and barely subsumed rage.
To Adonai, it seemed as though it had taken but a moment to pass into the next room. He blinked, and there she lay in the same white shift he had seen her spirit wearing. Adonai stared for several moments, caught off guard by how beautiful she was. The young woman had short-trimmed wheat blond hair, a few freckles here and there, and a quirky little nose. He could not tell the color of her eyes, as they were shut.
He caught himself and glanced over to Raphael, expecting his counterpart to be looking at him with that goofy smile Raphael had whenever the Salubri Prophet saw Adonai do something anathema to his more bitter tendencies. To his amazement, the ever watchful sorceror was similarly captivated.
Korlyn swallowed, broke his gaze, and turned to Adonai. "That's her. She's quite the looker, isn't she?"
"If you're into farmgirls." Adonai harrumphed, putting up his gruff attitude. "All right, we've found her...but the Malk was right. She's in torpor. How were you planning to wake her up and talk to her? Feed her some blood and see if your supposed blessed state snaps her to life?"
"The thought did pass my mind." Korlyn mused. Adonai glanced back down at her, and found himself drawn to her beautiful eyes.
Her green eyes.
Adonai blinked. "Uh...Raphael?"
"Yes?"
"Were her eyes open before?" Adonai asked.
Korlyn glanced down at her, and the two men found Mahtiel, unmoving, staring up at them with seething hatred.
Everything went white.
-Erico
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(comment on this)
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| Saturday, May 16th, 2009
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8:36 pm - Vampire: Chasing Ghosts (Part 1)
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Huneduora Castle
April 3rd, 2014 C.E.
8:15 P.M.
Adonai's eyes snapped open, but it took the groggy warrior a few moments to remember where he was.
Still in the drafty old blasted castle, in the dark heart of Eastern Europe, and...
Was that tea?
His sense of smell, kept acute through rigorous use, picked up the faint bitter smell of wet tea leaves. He glanced around and saw Raphael Nightmade sitting nearby. The quiet Salubri blinked twice before his eyes focused in. Raphael smiled and nodded. "Morning."
"Huh." Adonai pulled himself from the first bed provided in their guest quarters and rolled his head to stretch his aged tendons. "How long have you been up?"
"I never slept." The brown-haired prophet remarked. Adonai gave him a surly stare and climbed out of his bed.
"And you're drinking tea. Where'd you get it, anyhow? Did you conjure it up with some more of your Tremere magics?"
"No. During the day, I spent my time talking with the castle's servants." Raphael answered calmly. "A very old fashioned bunch...I frightened them half to death at first, but I was able to learn some things while you were asleep. Oh, and it turns out they make a rather good cup of tea. Honeyed, naturally...It helps to stave off anemia."
"So suddenly you're a physician as well?" Adonai questioned him.
"When the need calls for one." Raphael smiled enigmatically. He set his cup aside and pointed to a larger goblet. "Hungry?"
Adonai stared at it. "Yours?"
His traveling partner shook his head. "No, I know your paranoia. It's not mine. It's none of our host's, either. This is from the local stock tonight."
Adonai yanked the goblet up and gave it a quick taste. Human. Satisfied, he drained the rest. "So what did you talk to them about, might I ask?"
"Oh, this castle. The Inconnu here. What they know about Mahtiel." Raphael went on casually.
"And what do they know about Mahtiel?"
"Nothing." Raphael exhaled. He glanced up at the ceiling and shook his head. "The other Kindred here haven't exactly been too forthcoming with the truth, either. All they've told us is that she's here, and she's sleeping in torpor. Your account of what happened last night led me to believe she had created a more...tangible...astral projection of herself."
"I take it that's something you can't do?"
"Oh, I can have an out-of-body experience like anyone else, but what you described is a step or two beyond that." Korlyn looked at Adonai for a long time. "I don't suppose you recall any older Salubri from before the Purges doing anything like that? Any old stories?"
"Hardly." Adonai scoffed, rolling the empty goblet in his hand. "I was born in the beginnings of that chaos. Only the Healers would have kept such talents alive. Samiel's line would have had no need for them."
"Rayzeel made the Healers. Samiel made the Warriors." Korlyn muttered, narrowing his eyes. "I've heard scraps here and there of the Watchers. Do you think that perhaps Mokur...?"
Adonai glowered at him. "You don't talk about them. Ever."
"The Watchers? Why?"
"If they were real, they were traitors to their own kind, for standing by and doing nothing when we were wiped out. Better that they never existed at all."
Korlyn thought about it, nodded, and then followed up with a displeased wag of his finger. "That rage of yours, Adonai...It's your weakness."
"It's my strength. When an enemy appears before me, I don't hesitate." Adonai threw the goblet at Raphael's head.
It froze inches away from striking his counterpart's nose, held transfixed in midair by the Salubri Thaumaturges' gaze.
"When an enemy attacks me, Adonai...I don't flinch." Korlyn countered crisply. The goblet wavered, then clattered to the floor harmlessly. "I haven't been ignoring your impatience. Last night, I entertained our hosts out of courtesy...and also because they did need a hand to point them in the right direction."
"You're not going to give them some more tutoring tonight, then?" Adonai pulled his armor back on and strapped his sword to his waist.
Korlyn shook his head. "No. I went walking about tonight...physically and incorporeally. This castle had many stories to tell, most which it kept hidden from me. Tonight, Adonai, we will find Mahtiel."
"Finally." The elder Salubri growled. "So where do we look first?"
"I know exactly where we need to go." Korlyn stood up and walked towards their door, opening it.
Adonai followed after him as they stepped out into the hall. "You know where she is? Why didn't you go there during the day?"
Raphael the prophet smiled. "I didn't think Demetrius would be particularly pleased if we barged into his chambers uninvited."
-Erico
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| Thursday, May 14th, 2009
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10:07 am - Wii Fit Update
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Today, the talking balance board said I weighed 248 pounds.
This is a sustainable 30 pound drop since I started the day after Christmas.
230, here I come!
-Erico
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, May 13th, 2009
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3:20 pm - Neil Gaiman: You, Sir, Win the Chocolate Cake
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| Thursday, May 7th, 2009
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11:27 pm - Wild West Wizards: Sidewinder in the Saloon
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The Town of Gulchmore
Visayan Frontier
There were two kinds of people who came into Seyka's Saloon; The locals who were just looking for a place to sit down and mull over a drink while they complained, and the out-of-towners who were just "Passing through" and usually had larger orders, but ended up breaking more things. The grizzled Half-Orc, more human than Orc in appearance, ended up bunching the both of them into his "People that piss me off" category and offering very little besides the drinks required.
Most people weren't smart enough to notice when he watered them down, but there were a couple of exceptions, Seyka reminded himself...
The swinging chest-high shutters across the entrance slammed in, and a man standing five foot eight came trudging in. Sand poured off of him, sifting out of the crevices of his patterned cloak. More came off the top of his hat, a wide-brimmed duster that lived up to its name.
Seyka didn't know much about the stranger, but this was the first time he'd come back in three days. Unfortunately, he'd also proven to be one of the few individuals who could tell when his alcohol was diluted.
The hole in the wall behind the counter, at head level, was proof enough of that.
The fellow collapsed onto a barstool and hunched forward. He coughed, and Seyka could swear he saw the man choke up more sand from inside his lungs.
"What happened to you?" Seyka worked up the nerve to ask. "Did you walk into a twister or something?"
The man reached under his uncharacteristically festive cloak and slammed a few gold coins on the counter. He lifted his head up, just barely allowing the bartender to see seething brown eyes under the rim of his broad hat.
"Whiskey. Glass. Bottle." The stranger growled.
It took Seyka less than ten seconds to slam a glass down in front of the man, uncork a fresh (And undiluted) bottle of whiskey, and set it down beside the container. The dust-covered stranger poured himself a large glass of the amber liquid...
And then promptly chugged half of the remaining bottle without regarding the tumbler for a second.
Seyka raised an eyebrow as the man slammed the bottle back down. "Feeling better?"
"I'm not parched now, at least." The stranger grunted. "Glad you remembered to leave me a pure bottle this time."
"If you're planning on drinking the whole thing, it'll cost you another ten of these." Seyka retorted, holding up one of the gold coins. "Good booze isn't cheap out here in the frontier."
"Heh." The man snorted, finally picking up his glass and taking a more acceptable sip. "Nothing is, sport."
In a back corner of the saloon, a chair scratched against the floor as it was pushed away from the table.
"Sidewinder Tephram?" Came a gruff voice.
Seyka's eyes went wide at the name, and he took another look at the stranger sitting in front of him.
Under his hat, the brown-eyed man pursed his lips and clenched his jaw. It made the scar on the left side of his face stand out all the more.
"Except death." The named stranger mused, setting his glass down. "Death's cheap."
Tephram set his drink down and turned about, glad that the idiot had the good sense to accost him right at the beginning of his visit. The alcohol hadn't had time to set in yet. One glance at the man said it all.
Loose garments. No armor. A hand down at his waist, fingers poised.
A wanted poster sitting on the table beside him.
Bounty hunter.
"Who's asking?" Tephram snapped. He pulled his hat off and set it down, shaking out his dark blond hair.
"Oh, just somebody aiming to collect the bounty on your freak head is all." The man scoffed.
"Tell me, how much is that bounty these days?" Tephram suddenly asked.
The man blinked in surprise, then narrowed his eyes. "You're worth ten thousand."
"That's it?" Tephram mused. "I'm not trying hard enough these days."
"Enough." The bounty hunter snapped. His hand gained a dark blue glow around it as he started to channel a spell. Tephram scowled, and his scar stood out even more. "You've got two choices, spell-slinger. You can agree to come quietly, or I go through the hassle of dragging your corpse 200 miles back to Cyrek for processing."
Behind the bar, Seyka cowered a bit. "Go with him quietly?" He begged. "Please?"
"Now, that just wouldn't do." Tephram said. He stared at the bounty hunter, and made it a point to glare hard. Sure enough, the man stared back, and didn't pay attention to the slight twitch of his pinkie...the buildup of his own magic. "I'll give you a counter-offer, fella. You turn tail and leave, and I won't have to blast you apart."
"Not biting." The man shrugged, raising his hand up. The blue tinge of magic about his fingertips grew more. "End of the line, Sorceror."
Tephram smiled. "Hey, Seyka?" He called back to the barkeep. "I'm putting another hole in your wall. Just thought you'd like to know."
"Hole? What hole?" The bounty hunter asked, glaring.
Sidewinder Tephram finished his surprise spell, which had gone successfully unnoticed by his foe. A blistering array of powerful green missiles shot out from beside his waist and slammed into the man. Making it worse, the concussive impacts exploded as they hit, and sent the bounty hunter flying through the air...and through the wall behind him as well in a storm of wooden splinters.
Tephram picked his hat back up and set it into place. "I hate stupid questions." He stepped outside, and caught a chestful of magical missiles himself. They had substantially less of an effect, as they were all soaked up by the brooch holding his cloak together about him. The inlaid green glass flared brilliantly for a moment before subsiding, storing the arcane energies from the attack.
The bounty hunter, breathing hard and clearly in no great shape after Tephram's surprise volley, swore. "Damn it, a shielding brooch?!"
"I'm surprised you didn't have one." Tephram scoffed. "I thought those were a required item in your line of business. Of course, I bet it's not often you try going after another bounty hunter and fortune seeker. You're probably more used to chasing murderers, rapists, thieves...Easy jobs."
"Go to Hell!" The bounty hunter screamed, lashing out a powerful blast of lightning at Tephram.
The Sorceror clucked his tongue disapprovingly and swept his hand out in front of him, creating a cloud of shimmering light. When the lightning bolt hit it, the two spells nullified each other harmlessly.
"You're new at this, aren't you?" Tephram sighed. He pressed his index and middle fingers together and held them up in front of him. A glowing red bead of light began to swirl above them, and Tephram kept up its strength with a growl before he spoke. "Let's see you try this one on for size!"
The bounty hunter, to his credit, saw it coming and immediately went into a counterspelling motion. Tephram fired off the red bead and shielded his eyes, knowing what would follow. He could tell by the man's stumbling gestures he wouldn't complete the counterspell in time...
One fiery explosion and a choked off scream later, the charred corpse of the bounty hunter was proof of Tephram's prediction. The spell-slinger took another look at the fellow, considered scavenging his body for a moment, then dismissed the idea and headed back inside through the gaping hole in the wall he'd made.
The half-orc bartender inside was livid. "Was that REALLY necessary?!" He snapped.
"Probably not." Tephram shrugged with a smile. "But it felt good." He walked up to the counter and finished his drink in one quick swallow, then took the bottle. In its place, he left a small sack of gold coins. "That should cover the damages. And keep stocking this Orcish Whiskey, pal. It's pretty good stuff."
Without another word, or any hint of an apology for putting the lives of everyone around him in danger, the wanted Sorceror left the saloon behind and trudged on towards another town where he might find some peace and quiet.
Seyka wandered over and picked up the bounty hunter's wanted poster with a shaky hand. He read it, and realized how fortunate he truly was.
Kale "Sidewinder" Tephram
5'8, 175 pounds
Spell-Slinger wanted for crimes against the Cryek Marshals and other parties
10,000 gold coins dead or alive
Considered very dangerous, pursue with caution
-Erico
current music: "Go Go Cactus Man" -Cowboy Bebop
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| Wednesday, April 29th, 2009
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10:58 am - Busy Week...
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I'm subbing SPED tomorrow.
I have a job interview Friday for a SPED position about 2 hours away in the direction of Des Moines.
Immediately after that, I'm driving to Iowa City to meet up with the folks and my sister for a weekend of family togetherness and all that jazz. Also, hot tubbing. And Asian cuisine.
Also, this Friday night, there's an "Alara Reborn" release event being held in a gaming store in the Iowa City area.
Methinks I might have to try and catch it. Who knows? If they're doing Booster Draft, just IMAGINE the fun I can have getting HAWSOME cards!
Shall I go Green/White/Red again...
Or shall we dabble in the dreaded BLACK/RED?
Oooh, choices...
-Erico
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(comment on this)
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| Thursday, April 23rd, 2009
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10:18 pm - GRL: Updated
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| Monday, April 20th, 2009
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3:22 pm - Guiding Rainbow's Light Update
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Work on the most recent chapter has gone slowly, I will admit that...
Of course, that might also have something to do with the fact that I'm a man of many projects, and am known to bounce between them when the iron isn't hot. It's what I do to stave off writer's block, and sometimes it's unsuccessful.
For the record, along with GRL, I'm also working on 6 other stories and three RPG's. While GRL is certainly one of my favorite projects, it doesn't occupy every single waking moment of my time, especially considering my writing is not yet a CAREER...
It's a hobby. Updates may not always come as often as certain people may like, but they DO come. At their own pace. Patience is something I sometimes struggle with, but I do try to craft a respect for it in certain areas. My golf game. Other author's own updating schedules. Players getting back to me.
Now, then.
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Currently, Chapter Twelve of Guiding Rainbow's Light is sitting at 19 pages, and I'm rising over the hump of a very...very...dry segment. I'm a stickler for the small details that lend credibility, but it also does tend to make it so some days I can't get more than a paragraph in before the writer's block starts to kick in.
Given certain people's impatient desires, I've opted to split this chapter in half, much as I did for Remnants/Second Rainbow earlier on in the story. It will mean that you will have something to stare at within the next two weeks. (By Saturday, if I truly force myself...And we'll see.) It will mean, however, one of those terrific cliffhangers I so desperately try to avoid by writing longer, self-contained chapters. Well, you can't please everybody all the time, and you'd drive yourself mad trying to.
I'm estimating this first segment, which is titled "Keeping The World Alive," will be about 30 pages for update.
On an (un)related note, I will also be disabling anonymous replies to my livejournal. If you do feel that you have a valid remark or complaint, you can take the time to identify yourself and create a livejournal account. If you don't wish to...well, that's your prerogative.
I will continue to write as I please.
Because it pleases me.
-Erico
current music: "Deceitful Wings" Atelier Iris
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(comment on this)
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| Tuesday, April 14th, 2009
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3:33 pm - Lost Legion: Dangerous Lumber
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Sarine's Woods
7215 A.D.W.
With a battle mage backing them up, the squadron of Homeguard elites sent after Cross and the fleeing townsfolk were steadily having an easy time of it. Cross had conditioned body and reflexes beyond most other men, but the ability to deflect steel meant little when unerring bolts of magical force were slamming into your gut every few seconds. The stinging blows were like heavy-handed punches, each one able to blast through his armor with impunity.
Four more rattled through him, and Cross nearly succumbed. At the last moment, he spun his shield up and stopped two overhead slashes meant to carve his head in half. His merciful sword had blunted itself for the fight at his command, and had helped him to drop one of the five attackers. The townsfolk had run off screaming, so the attention of the Homeguard's chasers was solely on him and the hammer-wielding August.
The tea addict rushed in and caught one of the heavily armored troopers right in the breastplate. The heavy blow sent the man reeling backwards and in the air for a lingering moment before he collapsed back down. "You all right, sir?"
"Ghh...Get...the wizard." Cross hissed through grit teeth. He threw himself into a sideways dive to evade a stab, and came up with his shield in the nick of time. He forced the sensations of pain through his arm and came up with a ferocious swing that slammed into his nearest attacker's elbow like a club. The man shrieked in pain and stumbled away swearing curses. Leslie Cross's counterattack didn't stop the man's two partners from slamming their own maces across the traitor captain's back. His armor absorbed most of the damage, but the force of the blow left him winded.
"Sir!" August cried out, rushing in to assist. He froze up short as Cross retaliated again, a white hot fire blazing down his sword as he struck that seemed to wash away his fatigue. Whatever restorative effect Captain Cross's attack had ended quickly with another salvo of magical missiles streaking from afar.
Wheezing, Cross dove away from a thrown dagger, suffering only a thin line of blood from his grazed cheek. "Get...the...WIZARD!" He shouted, repeating his earlier command. August swallowed, turned, and charged towards the very relaxed war wizard firing casually away at his commander.
Unlike some others, August only needed to be told twice...once.
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Typical wizards dressed in robes, loose fitting garments that allowed for the complex arm and hand movements that came with spellcasting. Battle mages, however, had long since thrown away such unwieldy garments, as more than a decade of war had done a great deal to convince even the stodgiest mind that the long vestments were a danger. More than one novice wizard thrust into the frontlines of the Wars of Greed had tripped on the hem of their robes or gotten caught on some bit of debris or a dead body, and been cut down or riddled with arrows for the mistake. Cloth tunics and breeches had become the new standard for the teams stationed on the frontlines, allowing a more casual appearance that had, at the first, allowed the Samaelean battle mages a surprise weapon for a time.
Apparently that same method of dress was now being implemented in the Homeguard, and August didn't like the ramifications one bit. Descended from a noble house himself, August had believed in the conventions of honorable warfare. It was Leslie Cross's respect for knowing when to hold that line and when they needed to break it that defined the hammer warrior's admiration for his Captain. In his mind, wizards were just as much a living weapon of the state as any other warrior about. And warriors wore clearly identifiable armor. To have wizards, who could certainly be more destructive and more treacherous able to dress as commoners could only bring ruin...if they could travel about freely in society to ferret out traitors and malcontents. The country was paranoid enough, worrying about supporting the war and wondering how long they could hold out before the nations besieging them broke through and invaded. they didn't need secret eyes making them feel as though their every move was being watched.
And what does that say about this country's leadership...King Ron, the Council of Nobles...if they allow such a thing? He bitterly thought to himself.
The jerkin-adorned mage finally recognized the approaching danger in August's wild-eyed dash, and switched his focus away from the battered Leslie Cross. He was in his thirties; confident, but he lacked the fire in his eyes that came with serving on the front lines. A local recruit, more than likely.
His hand came up, and a short incantation summoned a crackling web of lightning about his fingers. August's eyes narrowed. Lightning bolt. A tried, but true spell he'd seen many times before. Of course, the mage would have hit him with it first...
"HUP!" August called out, bringing his hammer down into the forest floor with a mighty slam. Focusing the strike precisely, he channeled the shockwave from the blow into a single point. The resulting explosion of dirt and displaced air pushed the hammer, and himself, into a high leaping pole vault. The bolt of lightning sizzled a scant foot and a half underneath him, and turned upside down in his arc, August watched the spell blow a hole clean through the trunk of a mighty oak tree. He allowed himself a smile and continued the tumbling fall. "Not good enough!" He shouted out, and used the momentum of his spin to drive his lucerne hammer hard against the mage's forehead. Cross may have advocated a bloodless fight, but August had never been one able to restrain his fury.
Instead of the sound of cracking bone and flying bloody mush, the striking hammer sent a vibration up August's arm as though he'd hit stone...and a brilliant crystalline aura flared around the surprised mage as he backpedaled away.
August clenched his teeth against the pain that shot up his arm and stared down the interfering wizard. Stoneskin. It figures they'd come prepared to deal with brutes. There isn't a spellcaster in the Red Cross unit...they came prepared.
"How many more blows like that can your spell hold off, I wonder?" August snarled, whipping his hammer around him. "I guarantee it'll run out of steam before I do!"
"Feh!" The wizard narrowed his eyes. "Is that supposed to frighten me, traitor?"
"In a perfect world, yeah." August shrugged and charged again. "But I'll settle for beating your brains in!"
The wizard smirked at him and spoke another incantation. Just as he had done with Cross, the mage launched a salvo of unerring magical missiles. August swore and braced himself for the numbing impacts before plowing on. They all hit, and stung just as August knew they would. The trick was, he didn't stop.
To the surprised wizard's amazement, the juggernaut kept coming.
August built up a roar inside his chest as he closed the final steps. The wizard frantically started fingering the motions for another spell, but could not complete it before the most destructive member of the Red Cross Legion had reached him.
His hammer came up and swung about, and August released all of his power and momentum into the swing. It was a strike he had not thought he would ever need on home patrol, but thankfully, he had kept it prepared out of habit. Now the hammer, strong enough to cleave the mountain stone without losing its power, slammed deep into the offending wizard's stomach. His protective enchantment flashed to angry life, and cracked as it stopped the damage.
The one thing the wizard's Stoneskin spell could not stop was the force of the blow, which sent him flying through the treeline as a screaming human missile.
August leaned his hammer up over his shoulder and held his hand flat out over his eyes, watching the man fly. "Good distance on that one." He mused to himself, amused how easily the dangerous situation had become one filled with levity. The mage finally struck the trunk of another tree hard enough to stop himself, although at the cost of his magic shield finally collapsing apart in a storm of disappearing shards. He slumped to the ground, groaning in pain...and that was before he noticed the cracking noise of splintering wood.
August stared up at the top of the trees for one wide-eyed moment, then wisely stepped aside. The wizard had only taken a few scrambling, screaming steps before the broken trunk of the damaged tree fell on top of him and crushed him into the dirt.
August winced. There was the sound of cracking bones he'd come to expect...and then a quiet silence after. August shook his head and turned back to Cross and the rest of the attack force sent to plague them. He wasn't surprised in the slightest when his commander, bloodied and certainly bruised, but alive, staggered out of the circle of unconscious troopers.
"Good work, sir!" August piped up, flashing a grin to the Legion's leader.
The red-haired Leslie Cross sheathed his blade and took a look at the chaotic aftermath of August's own short duel. He shook his head and sighed. "I can see you and I need to have another talk about collateral damage."
The sound of screaming villagers broke them out of their reverie, and the two took off running deeper into the woods. The Gyldfichs, not to mention the others, sounded terrified and in trouble, and there were thundering vibrations rattling along the ground.
"Lightfell aid us, they've sent more help!" Cross swore angrily. "And it sounds bigger!"
"Bigger they are, sir, the harder they..."
August's boast staggered to a sudden halt as they drew nearer and saw what exactly had the nearest batch of fleeing townsfolk cowering on the forest floor. It was no band of magically enlarged warriors from the Homeguard, as Cross had suspected. Instead, an entire tree, slithering along on its roots, was towering over the frightened vagrant population. Empty black eyes stared at them angrily.
"Whoooooo dares venture into these woods?!!" The mighty living tree bellowed, stretching out branchy arms and earning a scream from the demand. "You have trespassed upon SACRED GROUND, and now retribution is demanded!"
August swallowed. "Oh, cowpies."
The color came back to Cross's face a little quicker than his comrade's. "And then some." He patted his friend on the shoulder and trotted out, placing himself between the villagers he had sworn to protect and the menacing Treant. "Please! We do not mean to blaspheme in our trespass, mighty oak."
"I'm an ASH, you dundering sack of flesh and bones!" The tree thundered. "Explain yourselves then, or I shall split you all apart to splinters and use your blood to nourish the roots of my brothers!"
If Captain Leslie Cross was afraid of the mighty Treant, he did not show it. August watched in amazement as his commander stared down the supernatural guardian of Sarine's Woods and kept his composure about him.
"My name is Captain Leslie Cross...formerly of the Homeguard in Samael's Lands. My team and I have come to these woods in search of sanctuary. These townsfolk behind me, and the rest in other parts of the woods are fleeing certain death from elements of our government beset upon us." He motioned behind him. "Further on back, you shall find one of their raiding parties lying dead or asleep."
The tree absorbed the news calmly, and the bark above its hollow eyes went from a narrowed glare to a more understanding posture. It was far from welcoming, however. "Be that as it may, you are not welcome here. We have no need for war or warriors within the woods of Sarine. This is a place for reflection, for life. Leave now, and I shall spare your lives, leaving you all the luckier for this encounter."
Cross glanced over his shoulder to the cowering townsfolk. Mr. and Mrs. Gyldfich, their children, and several others. He looked to August, who was tensed and ready to attack, but clearly not comfortable with the idea. Then he looked inside himself, and found the resolve to re-define himself.
"There is no going back." He told the giant tree quietly. "Their town has been ordered destroyed. They've been wrongly branded as dangerous malcontents, and all the hounds of the Samaelean Homeguard will be after their heads...and ours." He shook his head, and frowned at the Treant. "If you want us to leave...my men and I? Fine. We will. But I made a promise to these people to protect them on their travel to Dorman's Folly, and if my word as an officer means anything, I'm honor bound to keep it."
The Treant tilted its trunk to the side for a moment, and a shower of leaves fluttered down over them. "Dorman's Folly? What's that?"
"Ruins of an old and abandoned settlement said to rest inside Sarine's Woods." Captain Cross told the tree. "Please. If you want us to leave, promise me you will see them safely to it. They've nowhere else to go now."
"You presume much in thinking I care at all about the plight of a few scrabbling humans in this protected place." The Treant grumbled, though his tone softened. "Still, if they're to go someplace, it might as well be there. And you speak for all of these people, then?"
"I speak for my men. As for these townsfolk, there's an older woman farther down the line...Sandra Denen. She's their mayor, their chosen speaker."
"Her, I know." The Treant chuckled. "A heart of Ironwood in that one. Her and that smithy she was with put up quite the struggle against some more violent rabble rousers before they were put down. And oddly enough, she said she spoke for the village, but not you."
Captain Cross widened his eyes. "You've saved them already?"
The Treant shook his head. "No. My Keeper did." The Treant paused for a moment as if in thought, then returned his gaze on the warrior Leslie Cross. "The terms are as follows. You shall cut down and burn only the wood from dead trees. You will grow food only where we permit it. You shall not wear that armor in this sacred grove, for this shall not be a place of war. If you can agree to these terms and be at peace with this forest, then you and the rest of this caravan shall be guided to these ruins you speak of, and Sarine's Woods shall forever shelter and protect you. Agreed?"
Cross didn't even need to think about it. It was the only choice he had where he could fulfill the oath he had made to himself, his men, and the deposed villagers. "Agreed."
"It is done then." The Treant rumbled. "My brothers shall inform the others we have found who claim allegiance to you and the caravan. Now then, my Keeper wishes to meet with you."
Cross nodded. "Of course. Where do I need to go?"
The Treant chuckled and stood upright. His roots dug back into the forest floor, and a gentle creaking highlighted its receding features as it returned to just another simple Ash tree. If that surprise wasn't enough, Captain Cross and August won another as a humanoid shape suddenly stepped out of the wood, dressed only in furs and leathers, barefoot.
The rustic fellow gripped a staff over his back and behind his neck with both hands, and raised an eyebrow up at them...he had to, as he was only four feet tall. "Aren't you all a mess of trouble." The Halfling sighed. "I'm getting soft in my old age, letting in refugees."
"A Druid?" Captain Cross questioned.
"A Halfling Druid?" August added, earning a stern frown from the mysterious protector of nature.
"Aram Earthtoes, bub. But I think we can settle on Master Druid for now, until I get to know you better." He waddled over and swatted Cross across his hindquarters. "All right then, people! Get up. We've got a bit of a walk ahead of us, and your dear Captain Cross here is going to give me a damned good explanation about what's worse than risking the curse of this forest."
"There isn't really a curse though, is there?" August asked, already pouring himself a cup of tea from his thermos as the villagers got back up and followed after the Halfling druid and the red-haired Captain Cross.
Aram arched an eyebrow and smiled. "Sure. Sometimes, I don't stop the trees."
-Erico
current music: "Death and Transfiguration" -Hancock
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| Sunday, April 5th, 2009
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10:54 pm - Another Reason This Country is Doomed: Stupid, Angry People
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http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090406/ap_on_re_us/pittsburgh_shooting
So let me get this straight.
The gunman was afraid that he was going to lose his guns...
So he straps on a bulletproof vest he SHOULDN'T HAVE...
Pistols, rifles, and an AK-47 WHICH HE REALLY SHOULDN'T HAVE...
Blows away a handful of cops...
Tries to kill nearly a dozen more...
And all of this started because he was a deadbeat 23 year old sponging off of his mom, who was fed up with his dog that urinated in HER HOUSE and was kicking him out after an argument.
Well, I guess we know what he was spending his money on instead of important things like College or a place of his own or A LIFE...
So here's a quick summary.
What are we seeing a rise in?
Stupid, disillusioned IDIOTS who somehow have access to guns and other lethal weapons. Collector's item, my ass. Nobody in this country needs to have a Kalishnikov stashed away ANYWHERE.
People get killed in Von Maur in Omaha during Christmas shopping by a braindead twenty-something moron. No good reason.
People get killed in a church. No good reason.
Father kills his family. Again. No good reason.
And this is the latest.
Gun-happy Conservatives (Read: Warmongers) are afraid that the new President and administration will remove their guns.
Well, GUESS WHAT.
I am sick and tired of reading this in the news.
I am sick and tired of hearing that more people who are just going about living their lives got gunned down by some fanatic who was 'depressed' or 'scared' or 'bitter'.
I am sick and tired of being told that the weapons used in these despicable acts are weapons that are not only outlawed, but have NO PRACTICAL REASON FOR OWNERSHIP. Are they taking their hunting 30-.06 to do this? No. They're taking automatic machine guns. Machine guns exist for one reason and one reason only. To kill a lot of people very quickly and with extreme prejudice.
So here's my thought.
This was always one issue I was never very vocal on. Freedom to bear arms in self defense is a tricky issue, but this one's pretty cut and dry.
It's become quite clear that we're now suffering a generation (Or two) of people who have given up on all rational means to solve their problems. It may only be a small percentage, but it's noticeable. They are turning to violence to do it, and in their wave of self-destruction, they harm all those around them.
If they want to kill themselves, fine. Let 'em do it. A few less worthless deadbeats in this world's no skin off my nose.
But don't allow them to keep, or have access to these weapons of war that have no purpose or utility besides ending human life in seconds.
These people obviously have no self-control of their own. In practical child-rearing terms,
Take their toys away.
Take ALL these 'toys' away.
It's obvious humanity, at least in this country, isn't responsible enough to have them.
-Erico
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