٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ 100 Themes Challenge Challenger: Captain Devonin Count: 12 / 100 ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ Foreword I've been mulling over giving this a shot for some time now. I think it was the whole 'I didn't want to start something else I likely wouldn't finish,' but I decided... screw it, let's give it a shot, and maybe I can break that streak. There's a lot here, I'm not sure I am going to get to all of them, but I'm going to give at least doing one a week a try. We'll see. I hereby challenge myself to write 100 pieces. The vast majority of what I post will likely be short stories or 'RP samples,' just because I'm rubbish at anything else, but who knows, maybe I'll try to branch out a little. If you wish to comment on anything I post here, a PM is the most likely way I'll see it. Open to comments, or criticisms if they're constructive. Fair warning, I can be pretty verbose at times, so you'll probably run into some instances where I just lose you. Also, since I'm pretty 'OCD like that,' all the entries will be following the same format as this opening post. I'll probably include a 'foreward' with any entry I feel needs some explaining, or just background I want to include, maybe at the end too depending on the written piece.. This will certainly take a backseat to my games, entries into the SSC, and any other project I start on this site though. Here's my list, with links to the post each piece appears in: 100 Themes Prompts 1. Introduction 2. Love 3. Light 4. Dark 5. Seeking Solace 6. Break Away 7. Heaven 8. Innocence 9. Drive 10. Breathe Again 11. Memory: Scared Little Girl 12. Insanity: The Writer's Rhyme 13. Misfortune: Sick Day 14. Smile 15. Silence 16. Questioning 17. Blood 18. Rainbow 19. Gray 20. Fortitude 21. Vacation 22. Mother Nature 23. Cat 24. No Time 25. Trouble Lurking 26. Tears: The Coward 27. Foreign 28. Sorrow 29. Happiness 30. Under the Rain: Dancing with Fireflies 31. Flowers: Coffee with a Friend 32. Night 33. Expectations 34. Stars 35. Hold My Hand 36. Precious Treasure 37. Eyes 38. Abandoned 39. Dreams 40. Rated 41. Teamwork 42. Standing Still 43. Dying: The Fading World 44. Two Roads 45. Illusion 46. Family 47. Creation 48. Childhood: Hunter's Clock 49. Stripes 50. Breaking the Rules 51. Sport 52. Deep in Thought 53. Keeping a Secret 54. Tower 55. Waiting 56. Danger Ahead 57. Sacrifice: The First Flame 58. Kick in the Head 59. No Way Out 60. Rejection 61. Fairy Tale 62. Magic 63. Do Not Disturb 64. Multitasking 65. Horror 66. Traps 67. Playing the Melody 68. Hero 69. Annoyance 70. 67% 71. Obsession 72. Mischief Managed 73. I Can't 74. Are You Challenging Me? 75. Mirror 76. Broken Pieces: The Keeper 77. Test 78. Drink 79. Starvation 80. Words 81. Pen and Paper 82. Can You Hear Me? 83. Heal 84. Out Cold 85. Spiral 86. Seeing Red 87. Food 88. Pain 89. Through the Fire: Repeat Offender 90. Triangle 91. Drowning 92. All That I Have 93. Give Up 94. Last Hope 95. Advertisement 96. In the Storm 97. Safety First 98. Puzzle: Temple Gate 99. Solitude 100. Relaxation
٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ Scared Little Girl Theme: Memory ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ Foreword This song is sort of the 'tune' for it, and how I imagined her singing it. This is a bit of a cheat--I wrote this awhile ago, but it was both very spur-of-the-moment, and was when I was considering the 100 themes challenge the first time, and likely would have been my first entry had I started it then, so I think it still counts. It's the first time I'm posting it anywhere outside a private thread. Be warned--I don't write songs, I don't know how to write songs (well, I was aiming more for ballad here) so this is the very first one, and probably last one I'll ever write. x.x This was essentially something my character in the game--a pirate lady named Katrina Reyals--was going to 'sing' at some point, as singing was something she liked to do, it was comforting, and reminded her of home. And she was at a point where she was dwelling on the past, so... For the song, I know it doesn't go along exactly, mostly because I started it with the 'scared little girl... ' line near the bottom, and expanded it from there. Ignore the exclamations, they're for my own reference if I ever go back to it. Scared Little Girl A long time ago I was a different girl, Young, naive, with short brown curls. [!] Your tales of adventure tell me did she insist, [!] But it wasn't long before she ceased to exist. So taken she was by such stories she fled, [!] Away from her home, and cozy little bed.[!] Down to the nearest port she went, [!] Not understanding what her parents warnings meant.[!] A ship seeking crew is what she found, but soon learned none would have a woman around. To board dressed as a man she tried, [!] once on deck with content she sighed. Enraged, the Captain steered them to battle, [!] Little did he know they would be slaughtered like cattle. [!] As the shore grew distant her tears she dried, Knowing she must hide her fear inside. Scared little girl ran below deck to hide, How she wished that her mother had lied. Only one thing that they want from you she said. Make sure when they come it ends with you dead. All around her the cannons they did roar, Drowning out screams of men craving war. Cowering behind some crates the girl she cried, Twas' back then that she had no pride. [!] It wasn't long before the silence set in, Some men came below seeking to celebrate their win. With shaking hands the hilt of her sword she grabbed, A man found the girl and through his heart was stabbed. Trembling, outnumbered, she knew her fate was sealed, In that battle her true strength revealed. In that battle she had to die, She never intended to make her parents cry...
٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ The Fading World Theme: Dying ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ "A great scar lay in the planet to the south of our village, one remnant of a battle fought long ago, one of many. That sprawling desert just outside the town, that is another. Once it was a great field of green, full of life, now little more than a wasteland, and there are many other places changing in much the same way. The world is dying, an inevitable decline that cannot be stopped. In time there will be no green left here, only brown, the sea will turn to sand, and the last of the people who inhabit it will fade. The only thing that people can do is survive, survive as long as they can, but we are determined to destroy ourselves it seems. Dream chasers run out into the sands, seeking treasure and fortune, only to return with ancient relics of a bygone age--firearms. Hunters seek out the now corporeal Guardians, to destroy them for their power, not knowing with each one that fades this world takes one more step to the grave. Lawmen try to enforce justice, to bring peace to many towns, but the outlaws--many dream chasers themselves--far outnumber them. The same men who stand behind the great rails and trains turn around and create weapons from the lifeblood of the planet, and they call it progress. Farmers travel, hunting fertile land, and try to bring some green back into the world only to have their lives taken, and cattle stolen. The frontier is a relatively lawless place, these men know that, but they have little choice. I can only imagine what any of them might do if they should stumble across a temple of memory, or worse, a golem. Artifacts not meant for our hands, but the Guardians are too weak to stop us. People kill for petty reasons, and the weapons stored in these archives can be used for little else.. Sadly, in the end, our people will be the first to go. We are the last of the pureblood, the last of the people who can sense the planet's decline, and we are rare. Then the world will belong to the descendants of the aggressors--we call them demons--and the blessed, those born of a union with a Guardian. I firmly believe that when we are gone from this world, a new war will begin, and whatever time the planet had left will be gone in the blink of an eye. As my son, you must study our history, and you must keep the traditions going. We must continue to believe in the Guardians, to spread a message of peace. You must learn how to tap into the world's energies, to use magic, in order to protect, not harm. To use when you need it, not because you can as some do. To keep hope alive that in the future, one of our Shaman, or a Guardian, will learn how to undo what has been done and stop this decline before it cannot be reversed. It is my belief this is a false hope, but without it our people will stop trying, they will die off, and the minuscule chance this world has left will go with us... like this world, we must persist, we must endure. We must survive." - Shaman Gosheven to his son, Tawa. Afterword A little fluff piece for a game concept I'm considering in a sort of 'western fantasy' setting, with some light sci-fi elements. I'd hoped this would give me a better picture of it, but I think all it did was tell me I might still be borrowing too heavily from the inspiration source. Ah well, it's still pretty early... and for something I wrote up randomly after looking over the themes, and because I'm having trouble sleeping and don't have much else to do, it isn't entirely awful.
٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ Coffee with a Friend Theme: Flowers ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ Julia paused for a breath, a deep, relaxing breath. There wasn't any reason why she should feel so nervous, but she did. If her friend hadn't wanted to give this a try, then the answer would have been no. The girl gingerly looked down at the flowers she held, blue eyes focusing on red petals, now second-guessing having picked them up. The shop they were supposed to meet was only a few blocks away, and when it had been several, they seemed like a good idea. Now, not so much. It'd make her intentions clearer then they had been when she asked her friend to get some coffee with her though. 'Okay, just relax,' the brunette told herself, 'Don't act like this is the first time you've ever done this or anything. Even if it is. And the last person you were interested in had no interest in you. And... ohhh... this isn't going to end well... I should just go home... ' Despite her thoughts, Julia continued walking. Taking the nearest corner brought the shop into her sight, and it only made the knot in her stomach worse. She'd rather be back at her motel tinkering with her little 'universal translator' project. Worse, she knew how she looked right now, she knew what her friend would say, and Julia's face was already turning red from the thought of it. She started going over in her head all the possible ways the conversation could start, trying to come up with the best 'comeback' for every possible thing her friend could say. Then when she set foot in the shop a minute later--her entry accompanied by a faint jingle from the bell over the door--she practically forgot every single one. Julia caught sight of Tamara immediately, her dark-haired friend had chosen a seat right across from the door. What's more, she'd dressed up a little--make up, clearly had her hair done, and was even wearing a cute black skirt with a sleeveless top. The sight caught Julia off-guard, she hadn't seen Tamara in anything other than some jeans and a t-shirt before, let alone anything else! Tammy looked great. "About time, you know you're late, right?" Tamara's voice had just the slightest hint of annoyance in it. Her own blue eyes narrowed for a moment as she stared at Julia, then softened, realising something was up. "What's wrong? Why are you just standing there?" "N-Nothing's w-wrong! I'm f-fine." Julia stammered quietly. Tamara grinned at the reaction. "You're cute when you're nervous," Tammy commented, and Julia felt a warmth coming to her cheeks as they turned a light shade of red. Julia hurried over to the table, took a seat, and placed the bouquet down on the table. Then she picked it right back up again, and handed it to Tamara, quietly uttering: "F-For you." "What?" Tamara raised an eyebrow. She took the flowers, but Julia could see that confusion in her face. And the moment of realisation Tammy had right after. "Oh. Ohhh, I get it. That's why you wanted to hang out with me, you like me, don't you!?" "What!? I-uh, there's, you, when-uh... " Julia fumbled with her words, trying to think of something to say. The question was so sudden, and direct, she had no idea how to answer it. Had she got it wrong? Had Tamara not actually been flirting with her all those times, and it'd just been friendly joking? The flowers were such a bad id--Julia paused mid-thought, her mind going blank, noticing the biggest, most mischievous smile she'd ever seen Tamara have. "Like I said... " Tamara murmured, "You're cute when you're nervous. I knew you liked me." "Th-that obvious?" Julia asked. She could remember asking the same question to that nurse who helped her awhile back. Then the nurse told her that 'girls aren't exactly her type.' The girl couldn't help expecting the same from Tamara. "Come on. I caught you staring at me the first time you saw me. Don't you remember? I'd thought you were just trying to get your nerve together to come challenge me, but I'm not stupid. I had you figured out by the time you ran off with your friends." Tamara leaned back in her chair, smirking. "Well, a lot happened, the sub wasn't even the half of it," Julia said quietly in her defense. She frowned at the memory, then very nearly jumped out of her seat when Tamara lightly booted her in the shin. "Ow-hey!" "Forget about that," Tamara said with a shrug. "Why do you think I dressed up? And it looks like you did too. That's an enitrely new outfit, isn't it? The pants look good on you, but I'm not so sure about the jacket." "Th-thanks... hey, wait, what's wrong with my jacket?" Julia pulled her eyes up from the table and stared at the other girl, locking eyes with her. She couldn't help fiddling with the jacket because of the comment, thinking maybe it'd gotten a little twisted. Tamara waved her off, then turned and motioned to someone behind the shop's counter. "Nothing, just think it might look better if you took it off. Hey, can we get some service over here or what?" Sheepishly, Julia slipped out of her chair and took off the jacket while Tamara took care of ordering their drinks. Once it was hung over the back of the chair, she paused before retaking her seat in order to look around. For some reason the thought that people might be staring at them got into her head, but none of the few people in the shop were paying her or Tamara any attention, except for their server. 'Maybe everything that's happened just has me a little paranoid... ' "Julia?" Tamara's voice snapped her out of it. "What would you like?" "I'll... just have what you're having." Julia shrugged, then eased herself back into her seat. "Right, another one of those then," Tamara said as she pointed to a menu. Julia hadn't even noticed it in her hands, the server must have brought it over. The man nodded, scribbled down the order, then took the menu before heading off. Tammy's eyes turned back to Julia, "Yeah, you look way better without the jacket. Much cuter." Julia blushed. "Y-you l-look good too." "Just good?" "Great." * * * By the time the drinks had arrived, Julia had managed to slide Tammy off the topic of how she looked and on to talking about herself. In truth, Julia hadn't gone into the little get together knowing much about her friend, they hadn't had a chance to really speak. It was nice learning a few things about her, including just where she might be able to meet up with her once both of them had finished traveling around, and seeing the world. Julia shared a bit about herself too given Tammy knew just as much about her, and she wasn't ever asked about what'd happened in the last few weeks to get her into the trouble Tamara saw first-hand. That was probably the nicest part of it all to Julia, just a chance to relax, and forget the craziness of the last few weeks. The time passed quickly, before Julia knew it, it'd been and hour and Tamara was getting up from her seat to leave. The girl had a big smile on her face, and the colour in her cheeks had finally faded. "Tammy?" "I've got to go," Tamara replied, "You know it's been an hour, right?" "What?" Julia's disbelief made her check her watch, surprised to see Tamara was right. "Oh... " "Where are you headed?" Tamara asked when she saw the disappointment on Julia's face. "Home, I think. I think I'm a little done with all of this, I'm not sure I want to go back and meet up with everyone else." Julia got up as well, grabbing her jacket. When she turned back to Tamara to say something else, she was caught by surprise to find Tamara standing right in front of her. "Uh-" "I'll be heading int the opposite direction for a bit, but once I'm done I'll make my way back over here. Maybe we can do this again." Tamara said while staring closely at Julia. There was something about her face, Julia couldn't help thinking she was up to something. "Really? Y-you mean... " "Do you think I'd have dressed up if I wasn't interested, Julia? You're cute, but I'm starting to think you're not too bright." Tammy teased. "I'm smarter than you!" Julia shot back, pouting slightly. "Oh yeah?" Tamara narrowed her eyes. "Let's see if you're smart enough to get out of this one." "What-" Her words were cut short as Tamara leaned in and gave her a quick kiss--on the lips. Julia took a step back, and flopped back down into her chair. At a loss for words, she merely stared up at Tamara with wide eyes, while once more her face took on all shades of red. Tamara just grinned, then silently left the store with the flowers Julia'd given her, leaving the girl just sitting there looking like an idiot for a short while. When she snapped out of it though, a thought occurred to her. 'Wait, why would I want to get out of that?' "That'll be $24.71, miss," the server from before said as he walked back over with the bill. Julia's face went blank. She glanced toward the door--Tamara was long gone. 'That--that... ! She--I can't believe she... !' "Yeah... okay, hold on," Julia answered him, then hung her head in defeat. 'I'll get you back for this! And next time you'll be the one staring like an idiot... '
٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ Sick Day Theme: Misfortune ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ A faint groan escaped Caitlyn as she laid on her bed just watching the time tick by. Six-past eight, seven-past eight, she was supposed to be in school now, but she'd not been feeling very well today. A headache, little lightheaded, queasy. It happened a lot--her not feeling well--she wasn't ever sure why, but a lot of other people were pretty quick to blame her like it was her fault. Maybe it was all in her head sometimes, but not today, she very nearly didn't keep breakfast down. Still, getting blamed for being sick, it's probably why she hadn't said anything. Instead, Caitlyn had just taken a walk around the block--which wasn't easy--until everyone had left, and returned home. If only she knew she couldn't have picked a worse day, she might have been willing to try making that half-hour walk to school. Her blue eyes drifted closed as the clock changed to eight-past, and when she opened them next, despite it have only felt like a few minutes, it was almost nine. Caitlyn drifted in and out like that for the next little while until, close to ten, she lazily reached over to get the remote for her TV. Flicking it on, she casually started going through the channels, hoping to find something to help take her mind off things... when she suddenly heard a loud thump at the door. In an instant she bolted upright from her bed, and glanced around, tossing about her long light brown hair. The sudden rush made her cringe though, and she felt back whimpering onto her bed, while rubbing her head. She must have just--'Thump!' There it was again. It came from downstairs--was someone home? No, it was too early, maybe someone fussing with the mailbox? Perhaps subconsciously, Caitlyn knew something bad was about to happen, and that's what made her get up--more carefully this time--and leave her room, heading down the nearby hall toward the stairs that led to the front door. Or she could just have been curious--usually it was curiosity that got you into trouble though. When she reached the top of the stairs, she peered down through the blinded window below. She could see two figures outside, maybe three. Odd, she thought, but shrugging it off she turned to head toward the bathroom, one hand rubbing her head. 'Crrr--aack!' The noise was loud enough it made her jump, and she spun around to look down toward the front door. She could just barely see the top of it, and it was open; someone was coming up the stairs. For a moment, panic overwhelmed her, she stood fast just down the L-shaped hallway between her room and the kitchen, unsure what to do. Something, likely her instincts, told her to move--to get the phone, to hide, and she didn't hesitate to listen. Caitlyn scurried into the kitchen, and started around the table in order to get through the doorway where the living room was on the other side, and the only landline in the house. However, she heard the people in the hall reach the top of the stairs--the old floors creaked, and she'd lived in the building long enough to have a fair guess where someone was in the hall by the noises. If she went for the living room, they'd see her, and worse, the phone annoyingly made loud beeping noises whenever a key was pressed, they were close enough to hear it. The girl glanced toward the stove where a small set of stake knives were, looking for some kind of weapon now. The house was small, if they started searching it, she was sure they'd find her. Caitlyn didn't want to be found. The problem? Anyone in the hallway had a straight, clear view straight through the half of the kitchen where, well, everything was, all the utensils, plates, knives. All Caitlyn had on her 'secluded' side was a fridge, and milk probably wouldn't help here. Hide. She had to hide. There was only one place she could do it, and when she heard the floor creaking, getting closer, she hurried into the nearby bathroom, and leaped into the shower, hoping the solid-burgundy curtain would help hide her. It might not have been the best decision, but it was hard to think clearly. Caitlyn's heart was pounding in her chest, she was short on breath, and it didn't help that her head was aching. She huddled down in the tub, hugging her legs, and listening. The last creak of the floor put one of them standing right in the doorway to the kitchen, or so she figured. If they took a right as they entered, the door to the bathroom was only two or three steps away, and there was nowhere else for her to go. A second-story apartment didn't offer a whole lot in ways to escape. 'Please don't, please don't... ' Caitlyn thought, listening closely. "Where was it supposed to be?" One of them said, a male voice, it was deep. "In a closet," the other answered, his voice was a little higher than the first one. "You sure nobody is here? Oh, hey, look... " The sound of wood and plastic being knocked around came to Caitlyn's ears. What could--her eyes widened when she remembered the sports stuff for her brother was stored around there, near the door. Hockey sticks, baseball bats, that sort of thing. She couldn't stop a faint noise from escaping her, and afterward, the house went dead silent. Caitlyn pressed both her hands over her mouth, and held her breath. "... Over here," one said after a few seconds. Caitlyn closed her eyes. Did they hear? No. The footsteps that followed were moving away, further down the hall away from the kitchen. At one end of the L-shaped corridor was her room, at the other the kitchen, where the two halls connected was the stairs, and another bedroom. From the noises she guessed they had gone into that other room, and considering how noisy the hallway was, that meant running outside still wasn't an option. They'd probably see her before hearing her even, it was a straight shot between the rooms. All she had to do was sit tight, hide, and wait. Take slow breaths, keep quiet, just like the house had gone again--she wasn't sure what they were doing. Carefully, Caitlyn peeled back the shower curtain, peering out through the door. She could see straight into the living room from where she sat, and she could see the phone. It was right there! And if they were in one of the other rooms, then they wouldn't see her get it, and on the other side of the house they shouldn't be able to hear it. It wasn't an easy decision. 'Hide, get the phone, hide, get the phone.' Caitlyn bounced both ideas around in her head. For better or worse, it only took her a short time to make her choice. Carefully, and as quietly as she could, she peeled back the shower curtain more and crawled out of the bathtub. On all fours, she slowly made her way across the floor, exiting the bathroom, then pausing. Both her hands and legs were shaking, it made it crawling a little difficult, and her head wasn't helping matters any. Plus, all of a sudden this didn't seem like such a good idea. She wanted to go back. 'I... I'll check where they are first... ' Slipping over to where the hallway started, she peeked around the corner--nobody. She saw straight into the bedroom she thought they went into, and even could see the big mirror on the dresser, which rested against the far side of the room from the bedroom door. They were neither standing in plain sight, nor reflected in the mirror. She couldn't hear them doing anything, or even talking. For a moment she couldn't help thinking they had left without her noticing, which she didn't think was possible. "It's not here," one said as he moved right into Caitlyn's line of sight. She ducked her head back around the corner. "But he said it would be. Maybe it's in the other room?" The other answered, and she heard them moving out into the hallway. "You go check in that room, I'll go check over here." A momentary silence, then Caitlyn heard one of them moving toward her room, and the other one moving right toward her. Her eyes widened, and she nearly bumped into one of the chairs around the kitchen table as she scrambled to turn around and crawl back into the bathroom. She heard the man step into the kitchen right as she got inside the bathroom, she had a few seconds at best. Not thinking, she went to the nearest hiding place she could--she stepped behind the bathroom door, flattening herself against the wall as well as she was able. The man's heavy boots--which he probably wore because of the snow outside--made it possible for her to keep track of where he was even on the kitchen tile, which didn't creak nearly as much. Unsure if he would be able to see her if he looked in her direction, she tried to squeeze a bit further behind the door, but that only made her bump the door handle and nudge it closed a little more. Closing her eyes, she decided not to press her luck. He might have seen that--she tried to focus on listening, but once he was more than a few steps into the carpet-covered living room, she just couldn't tell where he was anymore. For all she knew he'd seen the door move, and was sneaking toward her right now. What would she do then!? Caitlyn clenched her fists, breathing shallow, and trying her best not to make a peep. "Hey?" The man in the living room called out. No answer. "Hey!" He said, raising his voice, sounding like he was getting closer. Caitlyn kept absolutely still. "HEY!" "Yeah?" It came from the other side of the house, very faint. Was the first one calling the other guy, or... or was he calling to her? For a split-second, Caitlyn considered stepping out, putting her hands up, and just surrendering. "Find anything? I want to get out of here." "No!" Caitlyn let out a quiet breath, glad she hadn't stepped out. "It's not here, let's check the first room again!" "Be there in a sec." The intruder moved back into the kitchen, pausing for a moment to peek into the garbage room, before he went back into the hallway toward the bedrooms. Caitlyn didn't dare move now, though she was glad she hadn't gone for the phone. That guy would have walked on her in the middle of dialing a number, there wasn't anywhere to hide in the living room, not anywhere she could fit anyway. The house went silent again, it was only a few minutes, but each passed by agonizingly slow for Caitlyn, then she heard them step back into the hall. "Jesus man, he wasn't kidding," one said as they moved onto the stairs. "There's a few thousand there at least!" his buddy answered, raising a question for Caitlyn: 'What did they just take... ?' Slipping out of the bathroom, Caitlyn hurried around the corner, then carefully took a few steps into the hallway. Standing up on her toes, she caught sight of both men moving down the stairs. All one had to do was glance behind them and they probably would have seen her, she wasn't sure what she was thinking--maybe she just wanted to make sure they actually left this time. Once both went outside, she scurried through the hall and into the bedroom, in order to check out the window. The car both men got into was covered in snow, much like the rest of the driveway, and the moment the door was closed it started reversing. Caitlyn stepped back from the window, to take a seat on the bed, wanting a moment to breathe, to try and calm down. That--that actually had just happened, she had a little trouble accepting that two people had just broken into her house while she was home. Her house had never even been robbed before, let alone people breaking in while someone was home. 'I picked the wrong day to be sick... ' she thought as she stared at her hands in her lap. It wasn't for another ten minutes that she was able to get herself up in order to go get the phone, wondering the whole time just what they had stolen. It'd taken her mind of feeling sick, at least...
٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ Repeat Offender Theme: Through the Fire ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ < The church bells toll loud and clear. > < It signals the people to gather. > < They look on in silence. > < Three men stand on a platform. > < The wind blows and the noose sways. > < Its tiny shadow melds with the small shadow of a man. > < One voice speaks up soft yet firm. > < Three charred bodies lay in the grave keeper's care. > < A mother's blood stains a carpeted floor. > < The saloon is full of broken glass and wood. > < The final words are spoken. > < Final words are given. > < "You can't kill an immortal." > < The noose is shifted and cinched. > < Tears of sorrow and joy roll down people's faces. > < The edges of some lips are turned up in the face of justice. > < A lever is pulled but what should be dead bursts into flames. > < The noose snaps and ensures no justice is done this day. > < An Immortal of fire. > < Known to some as The Phoenix. > < The flames grow steadily hotter. > < They spread and burn. > < The church bells toll loud and clear. > < It drowns out the people's screams. >
٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ Hunter's Clock Theme: Childhood ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ Tick-tock, tick-tock, the clock counts endlessly. Counting down the time you've left, until you meet your end. Tick-tock, eternal clock, just like me. Make your peace with your gods, cause soon you'll meet me. Don't talk, tick-tock, I can't be swayed. I'm the hunter, you're the prey, and this is how I play. Tick-tock, what a shock, that you're trying to run. I never sleep, never stop, you're only making it worse. A keyless lock, tick-tock, there's no escape from here. I'm not death, but you'll wish I was, he's far nicer than me. Tick-tock, tick-tock, the last sound that you'll hear. Now that I've got you in my room, I'll show you the meaning of fear. *Giggle.*
٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ The Writer's Rhyme Theme: Insanity ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ Once upon a time, there was a rhyme, so predictable and bland, it made people cringe all through the land. They jailed the writer to make her stop, but in the end all she did was swap, parchment and ink for walls and chalk, was there nothing to induce writer's block? Twas when she stared singing though, that they realised she needed to go, so out to the stocks locked in chains, in hopes some rotten fruit would fix her brains, little did they know that was her plan all along, for a wider audience with whom to share her song. After the first fruit which made her spit, the writer started grinning like a twit, so unnerved were the guards by this, the subtle signs did they miss, of magic blending with spoken word, that entranced all those who heard. The weak minded were the first to give in, and all around they started to sin, for it was the power of Lydia the mad, to make all others around go bad, tearing their own town apart, starting from its very heart. Fires blazed and people screamed, while the mad one stood there and beamed, but it was in those moments that she saw, her plan had one very big flaw, who would free her from the stocks, as gone were those with keys to her locks. Thus ended the tale that had only began, with a great and masterful plan, left in the middle of town, with a smile turned upside down. There are some who say her ghost lives on, searching for a willing pawn, to continue the work that she started, right before she departed. Thus should you ever make a bad rhyme, you'd best apologise for your crime, lest you draw the spirit's gaze, and fall under the spell of one so crazed. ... I'm so very sorry.
٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ The First Flame Theme: Sacrifice ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ The firstborn of Hallowhill Keep. How when you were born our lady did weep. Each day spent calling your name, starting to think her efforts in vain. Kyshara, of the first flame. Every sacrifice to your name. Efforts made with blood and sweat. Procuring piles and piles of debt. Ends that justify the means. Rise up and take your place amongst the Queens. On this day, the seventeenth of the eighth moon, Fires up to the heavens mark the end of our enemies soon. How long until you can spread your wings and take to the skies? A sight I wish to see with my own eyes. Lovely scales of copper and gold. Laired deep in Hallowhill hold. One day your flame will be known by all. When your Lady looks so small. How your loyalty will be tested, In service of one so contested, Love should be what keeps you together, Less' your hate is fanned at the end of leather. Afterword In the game I'm playing, hatching a dragon takes -a lot- of time and resources; yesterday I finally succeeded so I thought I'd write something for the occasion while also giving her a name. This actually started much differently, much more similarly to the above stuff, but I decided to go and try something different and a quick google search brought me to this type. Regardless, I decided to include the partial I started with as well below for your amusement! Kyara, of the first flame, spread your wings and make your claim, upon the piles of silver and gold, that lay beneath Hallowhill hold. You are the firstborn of the keep, and when you hatched our lady did weep, for so long she thought her efforts in vain, as your egg failed to hatch again and again.
٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ Dancing with Fireflies Theme: Under the Rain ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ I close my eyes and breathe deep, holding that breath as I take a few small steps forward. The cool wet grass upon my bare feet draws a shiver as a chill runs up my body, but it's nevertheless refreshing, just like the gently falling rain on my head, face, and neck. To me, it's as refreshing as a cool breeze on a warm summer's day, even if I can't say I know many who would share that sentiment when being caught out in a downpour-turned-drizzle. More refreshing is the silence--the dirt path I walked along is barren, and there's nobody in either of the grass fields that flank the road; I'm glad to be away from the hustle and bustle of the city. A little smile comes to my lips as I realise I don't even know where I'm going. I took the first road I saw out of town, and just started walking. One small step, then another, and my small steps turn into longer, and longer strides until I'm practically leaping with each movement. The bottom of my raggedy little brown dress billows outward as in the middle of one leap I chance a twirl, and manage to land, only to stumble a second later. Wobbling in that awkward stance where one is losing one's balance and desperately clinging to it for a good minute, gravity eventualyl wins out and pulls me to the ground right on my butt--it stings a bit, but I can't help bursting into a fit of giggles at my own silliness. Falling onto my back, I lay there and stare up at the gray skies, inhaling the wonderful scent that oft comes with the rain around here. Petrichor it was called, if I recall correctly. In fact, there's a lot I remember, it's a gift, and a curse. I pick up things easily, and I remember, both good, and bad. An odd gift for someone who is no more than a farmer's daughter, but then, it isn't the only odd gift I have, is it? Sharply, I rise, sitting up with a huge grin. My long platinium-blonde hiar has gotten everywhere, and I'm forced to take a moment to push it back behind my ears. It's soaked, just like the rest of me, but who cares? My mother might be a little fussypants about the rain, but it's only water in the end, isn't it? Or the tears of angels, if you believe that melodramatic nonsense spouted by the local cleric. "Serinade? Sorenus?" I mouth the words but don't actually say them while attemtping to recall the name of the town's local diety. Ah, right, Serinus. The righteous flame. I don't like her very much, I don't like the temples either, their rules and I don't get along. Shuddering as a memory resurfaces for a moment, I push it back down, and turn my attention to the plantlife beside me. Clear your mind. Focus. Feel that little tingle from the top of your head down to your toes--I repeat these lines in my head like I'm a beginner again--draw it together, manipulate it, annnnd... ! A violet light pulses from beneath the dirt under the grass. I lift my hand, urging it up through one of the longer blades of grass, and the light listens until it reaches the tip, where it forms a small marble-sized ball of light. The light fills my pale blue eyes as I lean in close to it, almost touching it with my nose. "Hello, little firefly," I say softly, my name for them. Another deep breath, and I tilt my head, staring at another point in the dirt, where a second violet light appears, rises up, and forms another sphere. A third, then a fourth, I continue until there's almost a dozen before me, casting me and my surroundings in a soft light. Offering my hand, I ask: "Care to dance?" Magic--one of the other gifts. Even if, as the man who instructed me as a little girl said, my magic amounts to little more than "cheap parlor tricks that are frivilous wastes of time and talent." I can't help mimicing his words quietly, mockingly, as I recall them. Crossing my arms, and taking on the tone of one talking to a small child, or a pet: "You aren't wastes of time, are you? Mm?" Turning eyes skyward, I notice it's stopped drizzling. Ah well, that was fun while it lasted. Mmm, well, actually, I'm not expected back for a few days--why let the rain leaving to come again another day turn my mood? Plus, I made an offer... ! Hopping to my feet, my hands come together in front of me with my fingers going in opposite directions. Eyes closed, I take another breath, this time I do really need to focus. One-by-one more little lights appear in the ground surrounding me, forming a large circle with me at its center. Each rise up through the grass, and form little buds at the tip of each blade; there's at least a hundred, spaced half a foot to a foot apart each. Exhaling slowly, I take another breath and hold that too; I didn't need to see any of this. I knew I could do it, and more, I could feel it. The energy within my body, the energy around me, all those little spheres of magic--fireflies--as they are my spell, we are connected, I wasn't done yet though, I didn't just want to make them this time. My brow furls as my cheeks flush a little red, and I press my palms a little tighter together. Concentrate, concentrate, concentrate. The word repeats in my mind. Each little sphere around me cracks slightly, then opens, blooming like the little buds of a flower--from the opening comes a small little pair of wings, little ones, like those of a fairy more so than a firefly. The wings flutter, and if the gods were looking down on me scornfully, they would see the waves of movement starting from those closest to me, and moving outward. Then again, each wave coming more quickly than the next until there was constant movement all around me, wings flapping rapidly. However, being little conjurations of magic, the only time the grass moves is when a little breeze blows, and the wind is almost nonexistant today. "Now flyyyyyy.... " I muse softly as each firefly lifts from its grass perch, "flying" into the air around me. My eyes finally open, and I exhale again, letting my breath come normally now. It's the start of the spell that is the hardest part, I found, but I found once I got it going it was much easier to maintain with only a thought. And my first thought? To dance, of course! Giggling, I watch as the fireflies begin to move around me, moving erratically, yet in a general circular motion, swirling--twirling--like a pair of dancers moving to a more energetic song. That right there too is what I realsie I need to do next: I need to learn how to sing! Or at least make music, whether with an instrument, or my magic, what fun that would be. I could put on such... performances... in... absolutely nowhere... I stare blankly ahead as my thoughts trail off, a happy thought being smashed by reality. No. I shake my head. Not today. Today I'm alone out on the road, and I'm going to enjoy my gift, even if nobody else will! I take a few small steps, and the mass moves with me. I'm their anchor, the center, and they'll always move with me--how fast could they fly though? "Can you keep up?" I ask playfully as though there's actually someone else there, and like before, each small step turns into a longer stride, and soon and I'm dashing, and leaping through the grasslands. The fireflies follow, dancing around me--with me--as I chance another twirl here, and there, while managing to keep my balance this time! I move in a wide arc, doubling back toward the road where I started, humming when I'm not giggling or laughing. All good things must come to an end though, that's reality: this time when it hits me, it's like someone froze the very air around me with cold magic. I freeze. The fireflies freeze. Everything stops. Even the breath in my chest catches in my throat. I don't blink, but I can't take my eyes away from the sight before me. To most? A harmless one, but for me, for what I'm doing? Oh god. There, standing near to where I'd left my rucksack and sandals, is a pair of people. Not from my village--I don't recognize them, but the looks on their faces tells all without the need for words, or even actions. An older man, with a younger one. A son, maybe? I'm someone's daughter too, that might mean someth- My thought is cut off by movement from the older man, he reaches behind him and snags the crossbow attached there. I try to move--I try to run, but my legs refuse to work. As to my lips, though they move slightly, no words are formed, and no sound comes out. What do I say? What can I say? I can... I can try to--"Wait!" I choke out, stuttering: "I c-can ex-explain!" "Explain to Serinus when you stand before her in judgement," the man answers in a gruff voice, matter-of-factly. Faster that I'd ever seen someone in my village do it, he loads a bolt into his crossbow, and raises it. "I'm sorry, girl. I don't wish to do this, but the tenets of the Lightbringer are clear: no mortal is to hold the power of a god. Those thieves who have stolen her divine power are to be sent to her to be judged, where the power can be reclaimed." "Father, shouldn't we-" the younger man started to say, only to be cut off by the older one. "Quiet, boy. You'll understand too, one day." My thought is cut off by movement from the older man, he reaches behind him and snags the crossbow attached there. I try to move--I try to run, but my legs refuse to work. As to my lips, though they move slightly, no words are formed, and no sound comes out. What do I say? What can I say? I can... I can try to--"Wait!" I choke out, stuttering: "I c-can ex-explain!" "Explain to Serinus when you stand before her in judgement," the man answers in a gruff voice, matter-of-factly. Faster that I'd ever seen someone in my village do it, he loads a bolt into his crossbow, and raises it. "I'm sorry, girl. I don't wish to do this, but the tenets of the Lightbringer are clear: no mortal is to hold the power of a god. Those thieves who have stolen her divine power are to be sent to her to be judged, where the power can be reclaimed." "Father, shouldn't we-" the younger man started to say, only to be cut off by the older one. "Quiet, boy. You'll understand too, one day." The fear that grips my legs and holds them paralysed relents in face of the man's intentions--the lights around me wink out of existance, I turn, and I run. I push myself as hard as I can, I urge my feet to carry me far, far away from here before he... he... Tears forming in my eyes, I push the thought from my mind, and turn toward finding somewhere to take cover, somewhere to hide, but there's not really a place I can. No tall sturdy trees, the grass isn't that high, running and hiding is all I've ever been able to do in the face of Serinus' faithful, but this time? This time it doesn't look like I'm going to get away. It doesn't feel like I'm going to get away. Behind me I can hear the man reciting a short prayer, and in front of me? I see what looks like the a chain starting to encircle my shadow--the reaper of Serinus is coming for me. Please just let it be my mind playing tricks on me, or hearing the man recite the verse about the reaper with the chain who drags the sinful before the Lightbringer. That's when I notice the little ditch just ahead of me. A glimmer of hope, I push myself harder, but when I'm still dozens of paces away I hear the man go silent, and a few seconds later the mechanism of the crossbow releasing. I don't even have time to consider bracing myself--pain lances through my thigh, and my leg gives out. My hands come up as I go tumbling to the ground, smashing my face hard into the dirt. Reaching out, I grasp at the grass. I pull, trying to drag myself along. The grass comes free with little resistance, taking me nowhere. My mind focuses on a single set sounds: the footsteps of the two men as they draw closer. The sound of another bolt being locked into place. The man's voice as he asks Serinus to forgive my thieving ways. That's when I feel a familiar tingle in my hand. The urge of flight fading in favour of it's opposite: fight.
٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ The Keeper Theme: Broken Pieces ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ The Keeper flipped the old dusty pages, his green eyes hidden behind the reflection of the paper upon his glasses. So too reflected was the flame of the nearby candle, dimly illuminating the table and the books upon the shelf just behind him. One of many which lined the halls of the Keeper's Library. A lick of his finger, and another turn of the page. Immediately, the surface of the new page was awash with colour, twisting in a vortex for several seconds before settling upon the image of three: a young man with a large blade in armor, in the middle, with his arms around the shoulders of a woman in a fine dress, holding a staff, and another man in a blue tunic and feathered cap with a rapier at his hip. The same rapier that rested upon the table next to the Keeper's tome. Words scrawled themselves across the page under the picture. "On this day, the tenth moon of the fifty-second year, the three pictured here were honoured by the town of Granside, For they, heroes each and every one, had wrested control of the city back from the evil that had besieged it. For five-" After another lick of his finger, the Keeper turned the page. There was no colour upon the new page as the magic within the Record once more formed a new image. This one a monochromatic shot of a half-dozen robed figures -- covered too much to determine the identity of the wearers -- knelt before a stone grave. Words scrawled across the botom of the page, the content quite different: "The Record of this day has been lost.' "Never a moment's rest... " The Keeper uttered under his breath. He took his finger and placed it upon the frame that surrounded the black and white image on the page, and then trraced a pattern across it. Corner to corner, across, up, and down, ending with a small circle in the center of of the image. Which then rippled, as though a stone tossed into a pond. One final tap, and his finger pressed through the page. His hand crumpled like it had become paper itself, and then his arm, then his person. As if something had grabbed him, the Keeper was suddenly yanked from his seat, and pulled into that image on the page. Leaving behind little but dusty books, an empty chair, and a flickering candle. His other hand had snatched up the blade at the last moment. Now in the world of the painting, it took the Keeper's eyes -- and mind -- a moment to adjust. The world before him was bathed in shades of gray, quite the literal kind. Even his own skin had become a stark white, his eyes a dark shade of gray, and the violet robe he wore near-black. If nothing else, he now better matched the colour of his hair, a thought which crossed his mind and drew out a chuckle. He laid the belt of the blade around his waist and buckled it in place before slowly starting to walk his way through the town around him. Children ran passed him with mouths wide, and lips flapping, and the bell in the nearby church swung to'an'fro, but no sound reached his ears from either. An eerie silence stettled across the whole of the world, much as the colours had been washed out, and much as he had done many times before his objective was clear. To find what anomaly had beset this key moment in time, and quietly correct it. For a Keeper of Time's Record was not to meddle, or create history himself. Merely scribe, watch, and correct the issues created by those who sought to unravel it. What would it be here, he pondered to himself as he walked. Would it be as easy as the last? Merely pilfering an object out of time from a baffoon in a feathered cap, and replacing it with something from the correct place, or would he once more find a rift beast that he would need to slay? At his thoughts his eyes drifted to the blade. A new question came to his mind. Would he find the place the blade belonged, before the record became unrecoverable? The latest attack had left many places in time broken, and if not corrected soon, history would rewrite itself using the changes made...
٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ Temple Gate Theme: Puzzle ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ ٭ There are those who split the day in two to keep track of Time, and those who count each hour as they go passed. Regardless of which you do, recall that time flows in a line, and Yu will be neither the First nor Last. Time is but part of the key to the path ahead, the gods must also take their proper places, whether they are presently alive Ore dead, you must see and speak to their Twelve faces. The correct order lies within the myth of creation, from the beginning, until the end: damnnation. At Dawn on the first day came the stars, the moon, and the sun, and with the birth of the Heavens, the world was allowed to take shape. It twisted, turned, rumbled, and roared, and just before Midnight was done, with grassy fields, great mountains, An warm deserts across its landscape. Afterword This is unfinished. As it is months upon months old, and the original solution I had for the puzzle I believe is lost, I'm unlikely to finish it, but I'm going to cheat and throw it up here anyway (also as a means to save it in the event I do rediscover the solution and get sudden inspiration). This would be the start of a set of verses upon a stone door at he entrnace to a temple. Before the door a stone circle/clock, and twelve figurines--each with names. The idea to be using the verses to deduce where the correct place for each figurine was. Kudos if you can figure out the general placement of the few that are already written in. ^^;
The air was thick with smoke; burning wood and seared flesh alike. Black plumes rose above the canopy of trees, obscuring part of the otherwise clear night sky to the south. Faintly, screams and cries for help still could be heard--begging, pleading, and even prayers to whomever above might be listening. There were some who still fought for the village, despite the fact that it was lost, but many, like the young man by the river had long since fled. Weak. A coward. That was what many knew him as. Tears trickled down his pale cheeks as he sat huddled with his back against a tree. He hadn't proven them wrong tonight. As with the rest of the guard, he was woken by the alarm bell, and he scrambled from his cot to dress. Even now, his clothes were a disheveled mess, his armour half-falling off, all of it marred by muck and dirt from the times he had tripped and fallen as he fled. Between his tucked in legs was his blade, an arming sword, scuffed with a bit of dirt but otherwise polished and clean. Not a drop of blood on it. He had drawn it as he moved toward the front, but the sight of two other guards being cut down broke his morale and he turned tail before it was ever used. It was clutched in his shaky grasp, his fingers gripping tighter with each loud scream that made him cringe and whimper. It'd be over soon, and he'd no longer have to listen. It'd be over soon, and everything would fall silent. It'd be over soon, and he'd be safe. These were the lines he kept repeating in his mind, echoing over and over. Not once did the thought of returning cross his mind--it was pointless, if the people wished to treat him as a coward than he'd be one; there were many ways he tried to justify to himself that the choice he made was the right one, even if he condemned those who didn't deserve it. Hours passed. Tears dried. Silence fell. Day broke over the horizon. Splashing in the nearby river coupled with hushed, hurried voices woke the young redheaded man from his brief nap. He lifted his head and turned his sleep-starved green eyes toward the bank, where he spotted five bodies and a small cart stuck in the mud, struggling to get free so they could cross. Nobody had more than two decades on them, a young man like himself, a young woman, and three smaller children. Two males, one female, he guessed. Hunching down some so the brush he'd hidden near kept him out of sight, he just watched. Those his age he recognized--he didn't know them by name but he had seen them around. They tried to get the eldest of the children to help them get the wagon unstuck, but they weren't having much success. Each turn of the wheels, and tug from the single scraggy-looking horse seemed to render the cart stuck anew. The coward considered offering to help, for the briefest moment, but decided to just keep his head down and keep out of the way. He was sure they'd just call him a chicken if they saw his face. Several minutes after, his ears picked up the gallop of an approaching horse. At least, he thought it was a horse, someone else from the village, but soon the source of the noise rounded a corner and came out from behind the trees. Half-man, half-horse, with long dreadlocks and a bare chest, he was one who had been at the village. Frightened shrieks went up from the children, and the two his age pulled weapons from the cart while the centaur stared on in silence. A minute passed, then the threat advanced, and drew a large blade. The other young man went after it first, swinging with abandon, and being turned aside before receiving a harsh punch which sent him sprawling to the ground. Next was the eldest of the girls, and she, too, was treated as a mere stepping stone--she took a stab wound to the shoulder for her effort before she was hind-kicked to the dirt. His redheaded cowardly self just watched. The centaur allowed the eldest pair to get back on their feet, to come at him again, only for him to, again, turn them aside and batter them around. He was clearly toying with them, a wry, sadistic grin on his face. Those children had soon started to cry, and scream, and gods was it so much worse with them less than fifty feet from where he hid. 'Please just let it be quick,' he thought, over and over, but the game continued. Get up, get hurt and knocked down, the centaur laughing, repeat. Why wouldn't it just stop? Why couldn't it just stop, and go away? Why? He grabbed and pulled at his hair, ground his hands on the hilt of his blade. It wasn't stopping, that centaur wasn't going to stop--not until both bodies who came at him time and time again were too battered, too broken to continue. No, if it was going to stop, then--then--the coward would have to be the one to stop it. A weakling with a piece of steel. How could he against something as large as horse? Swallowing hard, the coward rose to a crouch, blade gripped in one hand. Between the crying and the wailing, his movements were nearly completely masked through the brush. Nobody heard him, nobody saw him, not until he emerged from the foliage of the riverbank on the centaur's flank, stepped him, and easily pushed his blade from tip to hilt into the beast's torso. Like the others, his cowardly form was tossed aside when a rear-kick from the centaur came, leaving him rolling on the ground clutching his chest in agony. This was it. He wanted it to stop, and he made a mistake. He was done for. He was a goner. He was--those panicked thoughts were interrupted by a loud thump. Freezing, he just laid out in the grass, and then, the eldest of the women appeared in his view, standing over him. She extended a hand. "Th-thank you... " she whispered. At first, he wasn't sure how to respond. He was sure one was just waiting to point out who he was--the weakling, the coward. Those words never came. Instead, he took the offered hand and got to his feet, then a moment later all three of the children were upo him. Wrapping their arms around him, profusely thanking him. "I... I.... " the coward stammered. The words 'you saved us,' and 'hero' were uttered, and he was taken aback. No, he was a coward. Nothing more. Wasn't he? He pushed the children back, attempting to slink away, back to his hidden little perch amid the brush, next to a tree when the other young man grabbed his arm. "Come with us, please," he pleaded, softly, "At least help us get our cart unstuck. I'm Endrik, what can we call you?" "H-Harkin," he answered, then paused for a moment. His eyes flicked between all three children, and the two his age, his mind replaying the request: 'Come with us, please.' Harkin the coward. He was Harkin the coward, not Harkin the hero. Why would he go with them? They'd just see his true colours soon enough, he knew his true colours. Despite his thoughts, despite that hammer pounding him down. He gave an answer that surprised even himself. "... Okay. I'll come." Harkin turned his green eyes toward the smoldering remains of the village. Harkin the hero did sound a little bit better than Harkin the coward, didn't it? "I ran... " Harkin's words gave the others pause, then Endrik gave him a little punch to the shoulder--the force making Endrik wince in pain from his own wounds just as Harkin winced. "We hid," Endrik said, "No shame in it. Hide, run, or die. Only way anyone will ever hear of what happened is from those who survived. And we survived, on account of you. You didn't run this time."