You read right folks! With Halloween getting closer and closer, we're hosting a story-creation competition. In short, you've until the eve of Halloween to write (and submit) a story in this thread.

The Rules

• The story must contain at least one element of Guild Wars.
  

• The story has no word limit.
  

• There is no restriction to the story except the GW-element.
  

• Only one story may be submitted per person.
  

• No single entrant will receive first, second and third prize.
  

• The story cannot contain images.
  

Tips and Hints

• Write, edit and save the story in a word processor until it's ready to be submitted.
  

• When writing a story, it can be tough to get the correct tone across, make full use of the formatting the forums offer.
  

• For those whose first language isn't English, feel free to ask for translations from those within the alliance who speak your language too to double check.
  

• Although judging won't be based on spelling or punctuation, it can help to make your point easier if ur nt spekin lyk dis, esp 4 ppl who cnt spek eng well, it cn b hard 2 transl8.
  

The Prizes

With the KoDR Prize bucket getting a thorough overhaul, who knows what prize you'll get? Rest assured, there will be a first, second and third place prize though

Get writing,

Alex  

--Last edited by Alex Eternal on 2008-10-14 16:55:25 --

Quote :

Although judging won't be based on spelling or punctuation, it can help to make your point easier if ur nt spekin lyk dis, esp 4 ppl who cnt spek eng well, it cn b hard 2 transl8.

Quote :

When writing a story, it can be tough to get the correct tone across, make full use of the formatting the forums offer.

I loled.

I may enter this also howd you do that with the fonts etc?  

--Last edited by Nightbringer Minion on 2008-10-14 20:37:52 --

When in full post mode (Not in the quick reply that appears at the bottom of the thread), highlight the text you want in a different font and choose one from the list. It should then be book-ended in {font=Georgia} {/font}, which will change the font within it. If that didn't make sense, just gimme a PM and I'll write up a more in-depth explanation when I've time.

Er...Alex...I'm mildly concerned my story will be too long to post. Or for anyone to read it. Meep.

post and ill read I#m sure people will read it unless its like 100 pages long. I;m always inclined to rea\ding brilliant stories

Well it's up to 9 pages so far and got a few more to go. It's a bit shoddy but I'm no good at short stories. So yes, this is why I've been inactive for the past week. I've been writing this >.< and er... playing Knights of the Old Republic a lot.

Quote :

Alex Eternal wrote :   The story has no word limit.

and I meant NO word limit

Is anyone else entering this? *Looks worried*

Yessum... you'll beat the pants off me though

((Meh, we shall see. It's all rushed and shabby and so long no one will wanna read it. And it ain't fair that the character isn't mine. At long last, here it is, I s'pose! If it doesn't work properly I'll just let you know when I've finished tweaking. Er...sorry guys, you know me and my pirate obsession. And Alex did say no restrictions. To add to my collection of PotC fanfiction...)))


Orr for One and Every Man for Himself

It was not what he had expected. Although it wasn’t as though he’d foreseen the events of the past few days either. Choosing to commandeer a ship in which most of the crew were still aboard and sound asleep had not been the best of plans, particularly when they had staggered groggily on deck to find themselves in the heart of the Atlantic. Naturally they had blamed the colourful stranger standing with a look of surprise at the helm. Mr Gibbs had managed to stow himself somewhere, perhaps under the cover of one of the longboats.

Lucky him.

It had been a crew of mystics. A weird-eyed band of red-robed men with silver bangles looping every morsel of flesh on show. They had muttered in tongues about their temporary wannabe captain, whispering maddeningly as they encircled him. Something had cracked across the back of his skull and he had awoken here. A jungle-strewn island with far too much rainfall to be considered amiable and every so often the ground gave an unpleasant rumbling not unlike volcanic activity. Miles he had wandered through the illimitable green and had at last settled upon constructing a shelter out of enormous leaves.

He had expected it to be uncomfortable. He had expected several parts, if not all, of the roof to cave in upon him when the rains hit. He had even expected that some large beastie in the vicinity might see him as an exotic meal. When he had laid down his head to sleep, hat skew-whiff on the side of his face in the light of impending roof-collapse, he had not been prepared for a patch of soil a yard away to propel itself upward like a whale’s blowhole.

A furry face with enormous brown eyes peered out from the pit. The creature had ears like a lop-eared rabbit, a tuft of darker fur mohicaning over the top of its head, and it appeared to be wearing a sort of headscarf.

Jack Sparrow sat up slowly, his tricorne tumbling off his ear. His moustache twisted into an expression of gormless disbelief. No sooner had the creature seen him, it stared unwaveringly. A few moments passed, and it let out a loud sigh. It looked downwards into the hole in which it was standing and muttered snidely between its unnervingly sharp teeth.

“I told Blarp he had the wrong trajectory. Who put that imbecile on the project?”

Another voice emitted from underground, decidedly female, “Oh quit your whining, Vekk, is he up there or not?”

The bizarre creature glowered and turned its gaze back to the pirate.

“What do you think, bookah? Are you of the material required to save Kryta from a tirade of warped evangelists?”

“’o’s Kryta?” Jack burbled.

Vekk shook his fuzzy head and glanced downwards again.

“Wrong trajectory. I’m going to strangle him, you see if I don’t. Why we didn’t use my idea and build an undergate I’ll never know.”

He winced as his feet were pinched violently.

“We don’t have time to alter course for another tunnel. Just get whoever’s up there and give him the bracelet.”

“Fine,” Vekk grated. “But I do this under duress.”

He stepped out of the hole. His attitude made him seem taller but in fact he was barely above the size of a large goose, wearing a tiny red smock-robe embroidered with blue, green and gold patterns.

“Looks like you’re coming with us, so just hold out your hand and we can get this all over with.”

A frown crept across Jack’s face. He placed his hat firmly atop his bandanna to quell the sensation that he was in fact dreaming and rose to his feet.

“Well isn’t this a nice fish-kettle I’m in? A warren of bunnies pops out o’ nowhere and invites me to some to-do in the ground. Sounds a lark, mate, but oh what a shame bein’ so big an’ human I can’t be fittin’ down that hole. My sincere apologies, if you’ll excuse me...”

He was stopped in the process of making his exit by a small bolt of flame that zipped out of the corner of his vision and reduced a curtain of lianas to ashes. Slowly he pivoted his boots so that he was facing the furry biped.

Vekk was aiming a dark-wooded wand towards him. At its top was embedded an amber stone that crackled with energy. The little creature’s expression was etched with boredom.

Jack gave an artful grin to hide his terror and offered his left hand. A metal bracelet, twinkling with all the grace of a traffic light, was slammed about his wrist. Vekk jabbed at a sequence of buttons so lengthy that Jack lost count and then made his way back towards the tunnel.

“Good luck, bookah, you’re gonna need it.”

“But-.”

The pirate captain cut himself short for he had noticed the bracelet begin to glow. Fairy-like blobs of light began to figure-eight about his wrist. Panicked, he tugged at the metal band, his dirty fingernails scrabbling about in search of a clasp to release himself. The lights broke off and began spinning about him. He tried to shoo them away, snarling at them, but to no avail.

He could feel the tug of elsewhere.

“Oh bug-.”

Jack Sparrow winked out of existence.

****************************************************************


In a land far, far away, in a small camp between a cluster of low mountains was a pick-and-mix gathering of adventurers. Some stood to attention, others lounged about on the grass or busied themselves with the local merchants whilst a uniformed soldier bellowed out to them from a podium.

“The time has come to strike against the Mantle! Too long have they tormented and oppressed the citizens of Kryta. Too long have they waited in their towers, worshipping their Unseen gods, forcing us to play along with their elaborate ruse. They come into our villages and take our children; our brothers; our friends, claiming they will be trained in the arcane arts. But we're not stupid. We know what they do to those they take away. Evennia has called for you all, whether it is because she trusts you or because you are too foreign or stupid to know of the Mantle’s affairs, I implore you to help us with this mission. It has had to be secret, for there is a traitor in our midst.

They are the reason we lost Denravi. The Mantle have taken what is important to us, now we must take what is so important to them. If anyone desires to aid us on this perilous task, please step forward now.”

Having homed in on the delicious scent of irony, the air between the crowd and the podium bristled with a tinge of blue. Like the turning of a contrast button, a man flickered into view and staggered solidly upon the grass.

“-ger,” he said.

All stared at the man in the red bandanna, at his braided and dread-locked hair with various threaded beads, the charcoal rings about his worried eyes.

“He’s an Elonian corsair! Kill ‘im!” someone squeaked.

“Don’t talk rubbish, look at that coat, he’s Kurzick.”

“He most certainly is not! He’s far too filthy and common-looking. I’ll bet he’s Luxon, you mark my words.”

“Does it matter what he is? He just zapped in like that…like magic. He’s one of them, he’s White Mantle!”

There was a loud murmur of assent from the rows of men that were dressed in the same garb as the one on the podium. Jack whimpered.

“I don’t know anyfing about a white mantle. Honest! I don’t know where I am, who you are, why I’m here, except for some little rat thing came out of the floor and did sammink to me...and now I’m ‘ere...” He played for time as his brain caught up with the concepts these strange people were throwing at him. The fear of being torn apart by an angry mob was working wonders for his thought processes. “Oh you mean the White Mantle,” he continued at last. “Me? One of ‘em? Nah. Can’t stand them pers’nally. I was just snoopin’ about nearby, found this thingy -,” he brandished the metal bracelet, “got it stuck on me arm and Bob’s-your-uncle, I end up here. So seems to me someone planted it so’s they could get back. If it wasn’t me…you’ve got yourselves a problem, ladies and gents.”

Jack was not sure how he’d managed to come up with all that, particularly when he had no clue what this ‘White Mantle’ group were, nor predicted how much paranoia he had managed to spread. It was no skin off his nose, so he slunk off amongst the camp whilst the rabble surged towards the podium and began a loud bout of arguing, shoving and protestation.

He bumped into something sturdy and metal-clad. The pirate’s eyes rolled upwards to perceive the daunting, visored face of a man in full platemail.

“Apologies -,” Jack began, but there was no response. It might as well have been a suit of armour. The lesser-statured pirate then noticed with bafflement that if he looked very closely, he could see a faint symbol hovering above the armoured man’s head. It read: ‘W/Mo18’.

“He’s eheffkay,” said a voice alongside him.

Jack turned to see a stern young woman who was wearing a less than modest amount of leaves and twigs to satisfy as clothing. In her overly perfect hand she carried a longbow that was equally tree-orientated.

“That’s a strange name,” he remarked, not yet able to lift his gaze to her face.

The loose-haired girl sighed irritably, folding her arms across what was drawing his attention.

“It’s not his name, it’s just what he is. What armour is that you’re wearing?”

Jack blinked. “Armour? I don’t...have armour.” It became apparent that she also had a wispy trace of lettering above her head, this one ‘R/E20’.

She laughed derisively. “You’re going to take on the White Mantle with no armour? Good luck getting a party. I see you have a weapon though.” She pointed to the cutlass in his belt. “What mods does it have?”

“Mods being -?”

“Upgrades...an inscrïption even?”

Jack flushed and clutched the hilt of his sword protectively. “’S fine as is, thank ye. Good day, love.” Somewhat affronted, he wandered onwards, absently poking at the buttons on his wrist in the vain hope of reversing its effects.

“Noob!” the ‘R/E20’ scoffed.

After venturing about the camp for a good quarter of an hour, and having been hindered in escaping the area by the sight of what Jack could only describe as a giant-white-swirly-thing, he resigned himself to traipsing back to the crowd. The commotion had died down now, most of the inhabitants conversing about their wares, a few buying drinks and ... one somehow able to turn himself into a bespectacled gnome at will. The soldier from the podium, dressed in his uniform of black and gold, caught his attention with a wave.

“Hail, friend,” he called, brassily. “Are you going to brave the task we, the Shining Blade, have set?”

“What task’s that then?” Jack asked wearily.

“We have need of someone able to sneak into the Temple of the Unseen and retrieve the object that those foul followers of the White Mantle consider so divine. It is our intention to steal the Sceptre of Orr.”

The pirate’s eyes glazed. “A sceptre you say?”

“Yes.”

“Valuable, is it?”

“It’s much more than valuable, it -.”

“I’m your man,” Jack grinned, splaying his arms wide in theatrical style.

The Blade Warrior observed the pirate dubiously. “You would need to have the utmost stealth, fleetness of foot too. There are several watchtowers. The party to perform such a dangerous duty would need to have with them someone of incredible discretion.”

Sparrow fiddled with the twin prongs of his beard. “I see.”  He stopped and held up his index finger for pause. “Just a tick.” He reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a piece of fruitcake, which he placed delicately on the rail of the podium. Patting at his side pockets he produced a green-striped candy cane, a thin golden scroll, an old green book, a small bottle of orange liquid, and finally pulled out a purple flower he had stuffed inside his hat.

“I think you’ll find that each of these things belongs to someone in our general radius, but I’d appreciate it if you kept mum as to how I might have acquired said items, savvy?”

****************************************************

What in Hell’s name am I doing?

It was needless to say that Jack had impressed the authority figure for the Shining Blade, but he hadn’t counted on being bundled together with a band of intended heroes quite so soon. They stood in the darkness upon a hill that sloped down towards the large base of the White Mantle, watchtowers striking up towards the clouds. He glanced doubtfully at the group, each of them harbouring a plastic sense of the immaculate.

The bulky tin can of the warrior in platemail was here, as was the scantily clad woman with the bow. Joining them was a short brunette dressed in white cloth; a lanky, sallow-faced youth with a glowing headband; and a haggard hunchback kitted out in garments Jack would rather have not described.

“So it’s been established by our man Derikk back there that we need to creep past all those guards, speak to some lackey called Dinas, nab the sceptre an’ leg it to the rendezvous point over the bridge on the far side. Any bright ideas?”

The man with the fire-trailing headband wrinkled his nose at Jack. “Who said you were leader? You don’t even have a green weapon, and you look like a glitch. What profession are you anyway?”

Annoyed at his inability to understand what his questioner was prattling on about, Jack chose only to respond to the latter part with as much sarcasm as possible. “Marine insurance.”

He then noticed that the small girl in white was staring at him with huge blue eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Somethin’ the matter, love?”

In a manner that startled the whole group she broke out into ear-splitting shrieks of laughter. “Ehehehe! Love! He’s so CUTE!”

Only able to assume that she was referring to the sharpness of his wit, Jack gave an awkward but appreciative smile before he began walking down the mount. The leaf-bearing ranger caught up with him.

“If we just hug the hillsides around the first watchtower and don’t get into any conflicts, we might -.” Her words were cut short by the crashing pan sound of the platemail warrior hurtling himself down the grass towards the guard-teeming base. There came from him a sound that was distinctly akin to ‘Lololololololololololol!’

The rest of the party looked on in disbelief as swarms of White Mantle knights rushed in from all sides and dispatched the suicidal lump of metal. Fortunately for them, they were still out of sight of the watchtower and the hubbub soon faded.

“Anyone else got the urge to do somethin’ like that?” Jack muttered. The general consensus was no. “Cam’ on then.” He crept on, keeping to the shadows, hugging the right-hand outcrop of the basin in which the first watchtower nestled. The others followed.

They reached the far side of the basin with a lot less effort than anticipated. Waiting until a patrol had passed, Jack eyed up a tunnel carved through the knoll ahead. He made a few gestures to indicate that the others should stay put and tiptoed into the cavernous interior.

It was as though he had set off a trap. No sooner had his boots trod into the tunnel, there was an eerie clattering from up ahead. Something was approaching – fast. There was a gruff snarling. Three shapes bounded in through the opening. Hound-shaped constructions of bone with gaping backless jaws scrabbled straight for him. In the few moments it took for Jack’s feet to get the message from his brain, he gawped like a fish.

“Not good.”

The waiting party members turned to see the pirate come bolting back out, screaming, arms flailing.

“Bad doggies!”

As Jack scrambled up the grass towards them, fire rained upon the oncoming pack of hellhounds. The fire-commanding beanpole held aloft his staff, his feet hovering inches from the ground, intelligible syllables muttering from his lips.

The pirate stood back, nibbling his fingernails, as he watched the adventurers spring into action. The ranger was already peppering the creatures with arrows, their points oozing a horrific green substance, and the hunchback was growling out curses with enthusiasm. One of the bone beasts leapt upon the elementalist with intent to savage but Jack noticed with amazement that every wound it inflicted sealed up almost instantly. He soon realised that the cause was an endless stream of blue haloes that propelled from the wand in the hand of the little brunette girl.

These people know what they’re doin’, I’ll give ‘em that...

After a short battle, the hellhounds were nothing more than a few piles of bones scattering the grass. Fortunately the White Mantle were somewhat lax in their guard standards and the whole scene passed unnoticed.

The band of five moved together into the tunnel. Someone was standing at the mouth of the other side. Hoping to redeem some respect after his previous retreat, Jack drew his cutlass and raised a hand to stay the others in their tracks.

“Leave this’n to me,” he said with an edge of smarm. He swaggered halfway across the tunnel. “Beggin’ your pardon, mate -.” He froze, teeth bared in disgusted shock. The person turned to him, armour clanking, revealing the horrible gap between chest plate and knee-guards. Jack swallowed at the sight of a human spine.

The skeleton archer roared soundlessly. Jack screamed. He brought his sword around and sliced into the breach beneath the monster’s helmet. The skeleton raised its bow, preparing to fire, but the damage was done. Its skull toppled from its perch and the animated bone creature crumpled to the floor.

As he breathed a sigh of relief, the adventurers drew up beside him.

“What was so scary about that?” snorted the elementalist.

“Bad memories...” Jack mumbled and stalked on.


Over the next rise, the party found themselves ducking behind a few convenient boulders in order to remain undetected by another watchtower that loomed just beyond. A greater number of White Mantle knights were guarding a gate, which coincidentally appeared to be the only pass that ventured deeper into the base.

“Since you like running so much, I suggest you act as bait to draw them off whilst we run through,” the lithe elementalist hissed, jabbing a bony finger into the pirate’s chest.

Jack scowled. “Suggest away, mate, but your legs are the longer. Why not let the nymph distract ‘em? Least she’s got camouflage.”

He ducked the arrow meant for his head. It glanced off the boulder behind and whistled up into the ether. The party cringed for a few moments, wondering if the Mantle had seen the projectile and were perhaps heading straight for the shifty-looking rock.

All clear, Jack ignored the hot-tempered ranger’s most recent action and whispered half to himself, “I’ve got a better plan.” He snatched the elementalist’s staff and before the lanky youth could protest, he brought the end down upon his head with a hefty thwok. Too shocked to react, the others goggled as the pirate dashed around the boulder and into the camp.

From between the crenellations of the watchtower, a guard had been on the verge of alerting the Mantle followers below of the curious man who had appeared in the open and was now turning a staff over in his hands as though he had never seen one.

Unfortunately for the guard it was at that moment that an arrow had chosen to return to earth, and that the best route to it was burying itself in the back of the man’s neck.

Jack hastily examined the weapon he held. It was a beautiful piece of work: golden in colour with diamond patterning, a red jewel at the sharp base and the head curled into the form of twin dragon faces. The question was...

How do you work this damn thing?

He supposed he would figure it out soon enough.

“OI!” he yelled in the direction of the gate guards.

All of them turned, most grabbed for their swords, a few began to glow worrying colours.

“’S up to you, lads...and ladies...” he added, noticing the two female Mantle who were attired in rather comical clothes. Apparently this season’s colour for jester outfits was bumblebee. “We talk this over, you let me an’ the lackeys through that gate, an’ I don’t set this lovely off.” Jack tapped the staff gently.

A few of the guards sniggered. The rest charged. With a snarl, Jack pointed the staff at them like a rifle and – willed it to do something. The dragons’ eyes sparkled at him, but did nothing resembling magic.

The Mantle knights were fast approaching, long-swords raised to cleave the fumbling pirate in two. Realising something was wrong, Jack cycled his feet backwards, swishing the staff from side to side, begging for the feeblest lick of flame to come swooshing from the end.

Suddenly the knights screamed as they were engulfed in fire. Sparrow made an inane grin of disbelief, before the horrid sight and smell panicked him into making a swift exit.

He ran straight into the elementalist. The fiery-headbanded man was less than pleased, nursing the swollen purple lump on his scalp. His hands and eyes were ablaze with white flames, sparkling with the essence of recent magics.

“You idiot! The staff does nothing without me, only enhances the powers I already have.”

Jack’s eyes feigned glassiness. “So, gettin' on your bad side wouldn’t be a smart move, aye?”

The elementalist roared. His staff dropped to the grass. The little pirate bolted for the gate, preferring to try his chances with the remaining Mantle troupe than the injured volcano. Hands clamped firmly to his hat, stooping where necessary, Jack weaved ... which was difficult to determine seeing that he rarely ran in a straight line on land anyway...in and out of hurtling blobs of gold and purple fire.

He noticed with a clutch of panic that the gate was closing. Gears clunked from somewhere nearby, informing him that this particular gate would rather the squashee be you than it. Chancing a glimpse over his shoulder, he saw the others racing after him, except the elementalist who, in his rage, had set upon the Mantle followers. The ranger tried to get his attention, but it was no use.

From the other side of the grating gate, Jack beckoned frantically. The healer girl came through, followed by the leaf-clad woman. Limping from an arrow-wound, the hunchback dragged himself through before the gate clunked shut.

Jack’s relief was short-lived. The palm of the ranger’s hand struck him a stinging blow on the cheek.

“You total noob!” she shrieked. “Because of you, now there’re only four of us. Our nuke’s gone and without him we’ll never take out the watchtowers.”

Rubbing his face to ensure his jaw was still attached, it was a beat before Jack caught up. “Take out the – we’re not goin’ anywhere near those things! We’re supposed to get in, quietly, an’ get out with that staff. Simple as that.”

The woman, whose leaves appeared to be gradually falling off throughout the quest, folded her arms huffily. “Huh! With that kind of talk it’s no wonder you’re so bad. No experience at all.”

“Experience is for hero-types. I’m not plannin’ on bein’ a hero, missy. Surefire way to end up dead.”

“Then what the hell are you doing in Tyria?”

“Tryin’ to find the way out as soon as possible...” Jack muttered, glancing over at the hunchback whose wound was being cleaned and bandaged by the brown-haired monk.

The ranger sighed. “Whatever. You can go the long boring way. I’ll cut past the next tower, give them the slip and wait for you at the temple. Anyone else is welcome to come along, if you can keep up!” With that she crossed her arms over her chest, glowed a sort of greeny-yellowy colour and zipped beyond mortal speed across the grasslands.

Jack pulled out the map he had been given before the mission from his coat pocket. He squinted at it, sizing it up against the surroundings, humming to himself as he pondered. Ravelling the parchment up once more, he turned to the only other route he could determine – a gloomy forest with no set pathway. After checking the remaining two were fit to continue, which he deemed odd considering the hunchback was now bouncing about eagerly on a perfectly healed foot, he set off down the grass slope ahead and into the shadowy woodlands.

Only a few minutes into the forest and the pirate was beginning to regret his choice. The shadows here were not so much the absence of light behind trees, more that the trees and visitors were blots on the darkness. And there seemed to be shapes lurking about. He seemed to be the only one on edge, however.

“Will you be my boyfriend?” piped the monk from beside him.

“Er...” said Jack.

Thankfully – I mean, unfortunately – they were both knocked flat. Jack looked up groggily into the glaring yellow eyes of a monster that was abyssal black.

“Oh.”

The little brunette screamed. More of the creatures surrounded them, dark misty beasts like reptilian monkeys, crawling on all fours with tails swishing behind them. Yellow markings gleamed at their shoulders and knees.

Jack jumped to his feet and drew his sword.

“Shoo!” he tried.

There was an interval of darkness in the nearest creature’s face as it blinked. It jumped at him, slamming a flat hand to his chest. Pain shot through the threads of his shirt and crept into his skin as a black cloud. Jack yelped. Grimacing, he kicked out and he realised with some satisfaction that they were solid enough to hurt.

The monk shrieked again and cast a palmful of white light before one could grab her. It made a gurgling screech and limped away. The others shrank back. Jack took this opportunity with haste.

“Move!” he yelled, grabbing the girl’s shoulders, shoving her through the forest with him.

They ran the full length of the patch of woodland, hissing resounding from every side, monsters stealing past ahead and behind, vanishing again when they got too close to the beacon of the monk’s wand.

At last they reached an open path of grass enclosed by hills. Keeping an eye on the trees, Jack caught his breath and asked of the girl, “And for what reason did those beasties find you so threat’ning? What you got in that stick?” He pointed at the wand.

She shrugged. “Holy rod.”

The pirate winced and took a few steps away from her lest he get burned. His attention shifted to the east at the sound of voices. Not far ahead stood two White Mantle knights, their backs turned, engaging in prime henchman duty of lazy guard-work.

“Last night I saw a bone dragon.”
“Really? A bone dragon? Where?”
“Down in the swamp. A couple of ghouls were leading it about on a leash.”
“Dang.”

Despite the protests of the girl and the hunchback, Jack crept up to the chuntering knights, a friendly smile pasted on his face.

“’Scuse me, gentlemen...”

“Eh?” they said in unison. They turned to find their helmets grasped and slammed into one another, which granted unconsciousness.

Dusting his hands, Jack strolled on around the rock-skirted hillside. He stopped in his tracks, the other party members almost running into him as they caught up. The pirate’s jaw dropped.

Tramping along the path that led up to the Temple of the Unseen was an enormous skeletal wyvern, torn leathery wings spread to balance its two legs, reeking of decay.

With the faintest trace of hope in his voice, Jack glanced sidelong at the hunchback and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “Do we know this thing?”

“That would be a bone dragon,” the rasping man in unspeakable clothes whined.

“Pity about that Man’le fellow. ‘E could’ve seen one and provided a distraction.”

The bone dragon settled its gleaming green eyes upon the humans ahead and gave a harrowing screech. Like a vast mutant chicken it bore down upon them, wings splayed in a battle pose.

“Regretfully, you two’ll have to do,” said Jack, stepping back between his companions and shoving them in the path of the monster. With only a mite of shame, he dashed off up the trail towards the temple.

Having reached the back entrance, the pirate was relieved to see that the briefing had been relatively accurate. It was very poorly guarded. Presumably he had the man on the inside to thank. However, the lone guard standing at the narrow pathway beside the great closed gates was starting to look a lot more imposing up close.

Jack crept towards the muscled, armoured giant of a Mantle knight in his rag-tag cloth garments, his mouth dry. Gingerly, he picked up a thick branch that lay amongst a pile of firewood. He brought it high over his head, ready to swing at any fleshy part of the man he could find.

The knight turned and sliced with his sword. It narrowly missed spilling something vital of Jack’s as he jumped backwards. He was ready for the next attack, or at least his arms managed to instinctively counter the blade with the branch. It broke a split second later. Remembering himself at last, he drew his cutlass and, allowing himself a quick fencer’s bow, got on with the dance.

Much too quick for the armoured man’s lumbering swipes, the pirate was almost enjoying himself as he wheeled in circles, jabbing here and there, never with enough malice to do much harm. He preferred not to have to kill people. Dead men could only be robbed the once.

Sadly someone else did not harbour his sense of decency. The knight gave a sudden unpleasant burble and keeled over, an arrow sticking out of his neck. From around the gate the ranger appeared. Apparently travelling at high speeds had not been kind to the leaf embellishments of her attire.

Jack smacked a hand over his eyes despite himself. “Oddsfish, lass, put some bloody clothes on. I’ve known strumpets dress with less candour.”

“Where are the others?” she demanded, ignoring his comment.

“They...er...fell behind. It’s jus’ you an’ me now.”

She sighed. “Not for long. Come on, Dinas is just inside.”

Daring to part his fingers in order to see where he was going, Jack followed her quietly across a courtyard and up the grey-stone steps into the Temple of the Unseen. By the time they had reached the centre of the structure, he was taking full advantage of walking behind her, his lewd gaze drawn only by the sight of the temple’s interiors. A towering blood-red shrine streamed light upon a stone carving of a down-turned sword, which loomed upon a plinth beneath a moss-painted archway. There was no roof of which to speak.

A man dressed in robes that reminded Jack of a cross between a half-peeled banana and a starfish loitered beside the flip side of the sealed gate. He was holding a heavy-looking staff with a head that coiled upward into winged cusps. In the centre of the clawed wings was a glowing blue jewel, pinwheels of extraneous light hovering between the head’s points.

As Jack approached, greed ignited in the face of the shiny object, he found himself unable to move. Frowning, he tried to step forward. Nothing happened. Teeth gritted, he reached down, gripped his leg and pulled. Some unknown force kept his feet fixed in position. He looked to the ranger. She was also motionless, but for some reason was unfazed.

The pirate jumped inside his skin (which was a considerably painful act what with being so rigid) as the forms of his previous team-members reanimated alongside him, miraculously unscathed. He was relieved to see that they, too, could not move, but pulled a puppy-face under their murderous glares.

“My friends!” Dinas beamed. “It is good to see you again.”

“But I’ve never-,” Jack blurted, immediately becoming drowned in the undercover agent’s continuing speech.

“I didn't think when we met off the D'Alessio Seaboard that I would be giving you the Sceptre of Orr. Come, you must not linger here. The Zealots will be back soon. I will show you the quickest escape route. To the east is a bridge that will take you over the Ullen River to safety. Stay off the beaten path, and whatever you do, avoid the watchtowers! Many men have died for this. Guard it with your life.”

That said, Dinas stepped forward and placed the sceptre in the gauntleted mitts of the platemailed warrior. Whatever spell had held them released its grasp and Jack stumbled. Nervously he backed away, the angry adventurers advancing.

“No ‘ard feelings, eh? Where’s the sense in it? You’re back, ain’t you? Before you mash me into mince, would you care to enlighten me as to ‘ow you managed it?”

Flames crackling about his crown, the elementalist growled in reply, “Cutscene, fool. You must’ve triggered it. It brings everyone back to carry on with the mission.”

The pirate smiled brightly. “So I saved you. That’s got to count for something?”

The fiery youth’s hands burst into flames.

“Parlay?” Jack whimpered.

His impending experience of ashes was interrupted by a series of shouts from the temple entrance. A torrent of Mantle poured from the valleys towards them. Throwing down the lever for the gate mechanism, the adventurers, much to the pirate’s relief, dropped their torturous thoughts and fled the temple along the path that they had come.

With horror, Jack realised they were heading straight for the rotting monster that guarded the route. “Abandon path!” he yelled and dove over a hedge. The elementalist, the monk and the hunchback followed suit. The dimwit warrior blundered down the slope…and somehow ran straight past the beast before it could get its dead brain in gear. The yodelling tin can hurtled on and disappeared around the corner, leaving a fairy-trail of staff light in his wake.

It was not long before the crowd of white-garbed fanatics charged down the hill, decorating the air with their screams as they plunged into the wrath of the alerted undead reptile.

There came the sounds of whirring steel, explosive magic, and a bone-like crunching so hideous that Jack did not dare look out to settle the argument in his brain over whether it was the noise of lives being quelled or merely the movement of the beast itself. Someone shouted for a retreat. A considerably lesser amount of Mantle raced up the slope to the safety of the temple, the rancid monstrosity in pursuit.

Not wishing to tarry long enough for the elementalist to once again come to the culinary decision of roast pirate, Jack picked himself up and dashed along the path after the warrior. He veered inelegantly around the corner and, at the point of choosing which way to turn, noticed the unconscious guards groan and begin to rouse. Tentatively he pivoted about and ran off in the opposite direction over open grass.

There was a worn path running parallel with him and he vaguely recalled some advice about avoiding a track. Up ahead he saw another watchtower, and a little closer was the speeding form of the metal-clad warrior.

Jack slowed and cupped his hands in order to call out, but stopped himself just in time. A cluster of quite foul and very dead creatures rushed from southern swamplands into the flank of the unsuspecting suit of armour. With a burst of lightning from a grey-cloaked spectre and a couple of swipes of the claw by two knobbly little ghouls, the warrior was once again put out of his vivacity. The Sceptre of Orr dropped in the centre of the undead mass, casting out a harmless wave of distress.

The pirate’s feet were already begging his brain for the favoured ‘runawayfast’ command when he observed a horned creature gallop in amongst the monsters, riding upon a demonic, skeletal steed. The rider waved a glimmering red wand over the dead warrior. After a revolting tearing-of-flesh sound, a horrible skeleton thing waddled out from beneath the dead man’s armour. It looked rather like a headless dinosaur.

The other adventurers, who had caught up, stampeded in before he could stop them. Once again battle ensued and Jack found himself dodging varying bolts of light, fireballs, electric flashes and projectile rib bones. He gave a quiet snarl to give him the gall to move and bowled over the head of a ghoul that had just decided it would like a nibble of him. Keeping low, he made straight for the dormant staff.

The fiend of bone that might have once been the mushy stuff inside the warrior’s suit was blocking his way. It stood defiantly, shifting its toe bones, staring him down with its open neck. Jack made a grab for the sceptre at its feet but had to jerk aside when the creature spat a bone past his ear.

“Wait!” said a rasping voice.

The hunchback scurried over to the pirate and stood between him and the fiend. He glared at the bone mass, muttering, pupils widening into blue-green circles. The creature stopped pawing the ground and tilted its neck like a curious chicken. Its tail wagged.

“What in the -,” Jack murmured, pausing in shock as the disgusting animation trotted over to nuzzle his kneecap. “What are you?” he asked the hunchback, unable to disguise his distaste.

“I’m a necromancer, obviously. How clueless are you?”

“Time tells,” Jack said, glowering. He snatched up the sceptre and turned to see the battle’s progress.

The horseman had been dragged from his mount, the beast having fled back to the swamp. Of the few flesh creatures only one remained and was soon defeated with a swift fire bolt from the elementalist’s staff. The rest had vanished like the smoke they were born into. The adventurers were mostly in a sorry state. The monk lacked the energy to heal, the fire commander had been ravaged to near unconsciousness and the ranger had gone down.

With a considerable effort, the survivors managed to creep past the next watchtower by keeping to the shadows of the hillside, only alerting the guard once. Luckily he decided he had just seen a lynx and bobbed back down to sleep beside the parapet.

The final stretch lay ahead of them now, but there was some disagreement as to which path they should take.

“Look we can’t go directly where the map shows, there’s two watchtowers between us and the bridge,” the injured elementalist grumbled. “If we go up the mountain, we might find a way around.”

“But I’ve heard there are hill giants!” squeaked the little brunette. “I’m too hot to get squashed, and I don’t see any way round on the map.”

Jack lifted a black octagonal box that was clipped to his belt and flipped its lid open with his thumb.

“Our man inside said we had to go east. East is past those towers. That is our heading.”

The elementalist peered over the pirate’s shoulder, frowning at the compass whose needle was drifting about erratically. “That thing can’t even point north properly. There’s no hope of getting past the towers unnoticed. We take the hills. If you want to go upset some aggro ranges, you can do it away from us. Give me the sceptre.”

Jack let his compass fall to rest at his belt once more and turned to face the blood-spattered youth. His knuckles whitened behind his many rings as he gripped the staff. With deadly swiftness he brought the Sceptre of Orr around low and slammed it into the weak elementalist’s shins, tripping him over. Then he bolted down towards the valley that meandered between the towers.
By the time the others were fit to follow they could already see him as a faint silhouette shrouded in the blue glow of the sceptre, treading past a small knoll in the blind spot of the watchtowers.

“What a noob. He’ll take the sceptre straight back to them. We have to stop him,” the fiery-banded man hissed. Then he looked in alarm as the hunchback suddenly began leaping about in the air, punching with his fists and nodding his head in a ritual frenzy. The worst of it was that he was at least halfway down the centre of the slope into the valley and in plain sight of both the towers. Shouts erupted from both camps and lines of knights began pouring around the hill ridges.

“What the hell did you do?!” the elementalist yelled shrilly, darting forward to grab the hunchback by his collar. “Why...what...” His eyes blazed with rage.

“Sorry...” the necromancer said sheepishly. “I was bored. I couldn’t help it. I just had the urge to /dance.”

From the dip of the valley, Jack watched his former companions flee from the clanking swarm of knights. Seeing his opportunity, he broke into a run, scrambling up the other side of the bowl. When he was certain that the guards at the summits of the towers were otherwise engaged, he leapt from the valley’s lip and dashed headlong for the rope bridge.

As luck would have it, there was a man barring the route across. His robes looked like the Mantle but were black and green. A green so vivid it glowed like an out-of-depth jellyfish. His face was painted in the same colours, and in his fist he held a staff topped with twisted skulls.

“Bugger,” said Jack as the man grinned wickedly. “I don’t suppose you’d happen to want to move aside?”

“I will take the sceptre from your bloodless corpse!”

“As I thought.”

The green luminescent man raised his arms, mouth open to cast some painful enchantment. There was a bang. He jolted. Eyes boggling, the Mantle boss stared disbelievingly at the hole that had appeared in his robes at chest height. He raised his gaze to the smoking pistol in the pirate’s hand.

“You...cheated...”

“Pretty much.”

As the bridge guard flopped forward, Jack stepped over him and hurried across the precarious wooden slats to the grass verge at the other side.

Everything went black.

When a manner of light returned, Jack found himself standing on top of an earthen pillar about twelve feet in diameter. The edges dropped away into a river of something bubbling and molten.

“Is this one of those cut-scene thingies?” he wondered aloud, half-expecting the other adventurers to appear.

“Not as such.” The voice was booming and vaguely Romanian.

Jack swallowed and turned, his hands still gripping the sceptre. He looked up at the imposing figure of the Lich Lord, a grey-pallored personage with a great horned helmet; bat like wings; blood red-fading-to-orange robes; and long, sharp claws.
 
“It has come to my attention that you were interfering with the Flameseeker Prophecies. This is something I cannot allow. Although I could simply take the sceptre from you now and crush this puny land before the Mantle have a chance to stop me, I am not without a sense of fair play.”

Jack winced. “Is that good or bad?”

“That all depends on what you plan to do with the Sceptre of Orr,” the lich replied, flexing his claws.

“You can have it. What good is plunder without a ship an’ crew to share it with? I just want to get home. Not that I have a home as such, ‘cept the Pearl.”

With some surprise, the lich found himself being more than generous. “I will have the sceptre in time. Leave it on the ground and the others will find it. You, however, cannot remain here. Tyria is not your style, and I believe the locals would feel far better knowing that items were not going to disappear from their knapsacks on a regular basis. Let us not get started on your pocket cannon. You must consider yourself in luck. Normally I would just kill someone that got in my way, but I find your neutrality refreshing.”

Jack smiled nervously. “Ta.”

“Now put down the staff.”

Jack did so.

“And click your heels three times.”

Jack clicked his boots once, and stopped when the Lich Lord coughed suspiciously.

“*Ahem* Sorry, that wasn’t quite right. How do we do it again? Oh yes. Hold still.”

The lich put his palms together and strained with an unknown effort. Purple light eked from between his fingers. He snarled and drew his hands apart, the purple glimmer expanding into a huge orb. Thrusting his palms towards the pirate, he let loose the speeding globe.

Jack dodged too late and was enveloped in the light.

“Away with you!” the lich roared.

The Asuran device about the pirate’s wrist dropped to the floor, and –


Jack tumbled out of his bunk, landing with a heavy thud on the floorboards of his cabin. Not awarded the time to express his relief at being exactly where he wanted to be, he heard a commotion outside. The cabin doors burst open and a burly sailor barged in, sword drawn.

“Cap’n!” he cried. “By the hairs of me beard, where is it you got to? We sailed thrice about the Sargasso and found no trace of what became of ye!”

The captain got up and dusted off his coat.

“Mr Gibbs, please just shut it and hand me the keys.”

The first mate looked suitably chastised. “Er…aye Cap’n. But-.”

“Keys now. Yap after. Savvy? Good. Give!”

Mr Gibbs fumbled in his pockets and drew out a bunch of keys, quickly depositing them in Jack’s waiting hand.

“Now, sir, now that we’re done in our quest to find ye, where might be our heading?”

Jack pulled a face. “Anywhere wiv a lot of water. Make port as infrequently as possible. I want to feel the insolidity of the sea beneath my feet. Now snap to, on deck, an’ leave me alone.”

He staggered out with a pompous air and made his way down to the galley, in which he locked himself. As he passed the dusty shelves, he pulled out a bottle of brownish liquid. He took half a step away, backed up, and selected an additional one before finding himself a place to lie in the much-needed quietude. These were the only friends he desired right now.

“That’s the way to do it,” Captain Jack Sparrow mumbled to himself after consuming a quarter of a bottle. “Soon it’ll all be another bad dream. Heh.”

He curled up on the galley floor, giggling to himself, oblivious to the whisperings of his concerned crew on the decks above.

“Do you fink he’s all right?”

“Can’t say for certain. But he’s on the rum, so that’s a healthy sign. For the Cap’n anyway.”

“But did you see that...thing...”

“The lettering?”

“Aye, what were floatin’ over his ‘ead! P-i – diageenull line – wiv an x...”

“Strange. I ‘ope it ain’t contagious.”

“Aye.”





((And there we have it. One story, done editing. Phew. My hands hurt...))  

--Last edited by Kit on 2008-10-30 15:55:23 --

What if the Beta Weekend ending really happened? Who would Gwen grow up into? Apologies if I disintegrated your character which would presumably prevent rez...

A Little Bit of History Repeated

I was 12 years old when Brother Mhenlo first told me the story. I didn’t believe a word of it – at least that’s what I would have told you then. It was a well known urban legend, though Brother Mhenlo claimed to have been there when it happened. I’m sure you’ve all heard the tale of The Searing (it happened in 1580CC, I was 10 years old but only knew of Tyria from school books and tales brought to Cantha by travellers) some of you were even there. But what you may not know is the other version of events; a version of events that is kept secret lest it reveal humankind as its own enemy.  After all, it’s safer for everyone if all our hate and fear is focused on the Charr and other so-called monsters.

The story Mhenlo told me was of a little girl called Gwen – he said if she was still alive she would be about my age. At the time, the small raven-haired girl had just turned eleven years old. If anyone had taken the time they would have noticed she was a very troubled young girl – instead of playing with other children her own age, she spent most of her time following training adventurers and potential heroes around. And Gwen lost her flute so often it had to be more than absent-mindedness. It was a cry for attention, a cry for help, it screamed notice me!

Gwen was obsessed with the idea of heroes and saving Ascalon from the Charr. But she was too little to take care of it all by herself, so she kept a close eye on all the heroes of Ascalon to comfort herself that they were up to the job. The girl’s hatred of the Charr was so very intense (and unexplained) that she would probably be capable of doing just about anything to stop them.

When the fateful day of The Searing came, Gwen did not focus all the energy she had built up on hating the Charr against them. Instead, she focused it on the heroes of Ascalon; the ones with a hope of rebuilding their former idyllic home. Mhenlo told me it was the first and only time he believes he has laid his eyes upon pure evil. “You have failed Ascalon!” the small girl snarled, tiny yet seemingly larger than life (or death) itself she continued to rant “our home has fallen and you are all responsible. Especially you!” hate shot from her eyes towards a young warrior. The energy was so intense he caught on fire and soon afterwards exploded. “Or” she snapped around one hundred and eighty degrees to fix her gaze on a mesmer who had single-handedly held off five Charr warriors “were you more responsible?” before she could protest, the mesmer was burning at such a high temperature than she too exploded. It went on like this until as far as Gwen was aware, everyone in Lion’s Arch was dead (a small group of monks had gathered out of sight and were protecting those they could). Her work done, the little girl collapsed with exhaustion and as the story goes, died of a broken heart.


So… I didn’t believe this story, and even if I did the little girl was dead, right? It’s probably why it took me so long to make connections between one thing and another. If only I’d realised sooner perhaps I could have stopped it. Or perhaps I’d be dead now too. Wait, I’m jumping ahead, forgive me.


Six years had passed since I first heard the story of young Gwen and The Searing. There had recently been a series of earthquakes conveniently close to the major ports in Cantha, Elona and Tyria. Despite my protests that no one would want to go anywhere with an assassin and that it was a natural phenomena meaning it was unlikely anybody needed assassinating and perhaps a ranger would be a better choice, I was among a group of Canthans the Emperor selected to investigate the phenomenon. (As I soon discovered, the Emperor had chosen one student of each of the eight disciplines taught at Shing Jea Monastary and it was a real honour that he thought of me above all the other assassins – though, in fairness most of them were only able to master maintaining shadow form and had little understanding of how to chain attack skills.)

I looked to the faces of my companions – a ranger so fierce he was known simply as Animal; a small, quiet necromancer by the name of Sai; an enthusiastic young monk who insisted we call her V; a ritualist whose clothes seemed to itch him so much he had constant need to remove them called Benjamin; a warrior with big ridiculous pigtails – Nanyasimonariorum, she said we could just call her Nanya; a tall, old elementalist named Grrey Dawn and a mesmer with the sparkliest pants I ever did see who introduced himself as Lo Sha. Some old and experienced, others young and enthusiastic, some with the courage to ask questions and others with the wisdom to keep silent we had a task ahead of us and all could bring something unique to the group.

Here, I must cut short the tale of our adventure (for want of a better word) under Cantha and through what transpired to be an Asura gate – that is a tale for another time. What we’re interested in here is not how we reached the far Shiverpeaks, but in what happened once we arrived. Particularly in what happened when we found The Eye of The North where The Hall of Monuments is situated.

As we reached The Hall of Monuments we were met by a young woman so defensive she was almost hostile. She introduced herself as Gwen of the Ebon Vanguard. Lo Sha was about to ask… something before Sai laid a quietening hand on his shoulder. Gwen went on to explain that “The Ebon Vanguard was originally made up of an official unit, the Ascalon Vanguard and now operates behind Charr lines. As the Vanguard moved north, it picked up human refugees, exiles, and escaped prisoners from the Charr work camps. I was one such refugee.”

There was a look of determination in her eyes that no one was going to bring Gwen down again. I couldn’t help admire it. She fixed her gaze on Benjamin and asked him to introduce us all. Benjamin swallowed and looked at the floor – it was almost as though he had never spoken to a girl before… despite there being four in the party he was working with. It fell to me to make the introductions, from that moment on Gwen looked to me for answers of what my companions and I were doing. Perhaps if she hadn’t put me in that position I would have seen her differently. Perhaps my friends would still be alive…

“So…” asked Lo Sha “what exactly is a Charr?”

“Are you really as stu-” Gwen started with a sarcastic look on her face before quickly calming down “I’m sorry – you’re not from around here. It’s naïve of me to assume that everyone knows what a Charr is. The Charr are vile creatures – monsters with no qualms as to who they kill or enslave. To them, we are nothing but meat.”

“Right,” continued Lo Sha “they sound dangerous. So… if we want to avoid them we’d best know what they look like.”

“If you want to kill them” Gwen pulled a book out of her backpack and found a page of illustrations, “this is what Charr look like.”

“Aww, they’re kind of cute!”

Gwen glared at Lo Sha “They are not cute. They destroyed my home, they took my family from me and if that wasn’t enough they stripped me of my dignity. The Charr must pay!”

Benjamin leaned over and whispered to me “She’s cute when she’s
angry.”

“Keep your clothes on Big Boy” I whispered back “she’d eat you for breakfast.”

“Chance would be a fine thing.”

I shook my head at the lust-struck ritualist next to me and turned to Gwen “Thank you for telling us about the Charr. We are here to help however we can. Thank you for your hospitality as well, I’m sure each of us would be happy to take a watch while we sleep.”

“There is no need of a watch here. The perimeter of the base is completely secure against Charr. Enjoy your rest.”

“Ummm….” V chimed in nervously “it may be safe against the Charr, but what about Destroyers? Don’t they provide a bigger threat?”

“It’s safe, go to sleep.” Gwen replied shortly.

Somewhat nervously, we made camp and eventually all fell asleep. For a brief moment there was an intense heat and a faint smell of bacon. It wasn’t a comfortable rest, I didn’t want us to be on tense terms with our hosts, but we slept right through.


The following morning, I woke to the smell of bacon and eggs cooking. I stretched and bleary eyed, reached into my backpack for a jug and some tea hoping to share the Canthan favourite with our Tyrian friends. As I walked over to Gwen and her friend (Brave) Brent Poltroon in the hopes of sharing breakfast, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

I soon realised the source of my fear when Sai took me aside and asked “Where are they?”

“Where are who?” I asked confusedly “Please be very clear, I haven’t had my tea yet.”

“V and Lo Sha” she replied urgently.

“Gone for firewood maybe?” I looked over to where Lo Sha had been sleeping and saw Animal and Dawn crouching examining the grass and looking at each other with a worried look on their faces.

“He had a nightmare about the Charr. I’m surprised his screams didn’t wake you.” Gwen explained, “V insisted on taking him for a walk to calm him down. If the Charr don’t catch them, they’ll be back for breakfast shortly.”

“Rose” whispered Sai, “Lo Sha gives nightmares, he uses them when we fight, he knows what they are. When you know what a bad dream is, it doesn’t scare you. That girl is telling lies.”

Dawn noticed something strange himself, “If Lo Sha was having nightmares, why is the ground where he was sleeping burned?”

“It’s not” Brent replied, “grass always gets a little brown if you sleep on it.”

“If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s a liar!” Dawn announced “You’re lucky Ani is here” he looked at his friend who was looking curiously at a melted sequin that could only have come from Lo Sha’s pants “or I would do something about it.”

“Please! No idle threats.” I jumped in “V and Lo Sha will return soon enough and we’ll all enjoy breakfast together.”

Surely it was all a coincidence? Gwen was confused and it was V who had the nightmare? Still, I couldn’t help thinking back to the story Brother Mhenlo had told me six years earlier… could this be the same Gwen? I had to find out.

“Maybe a little music while we wait would calm things down?” I looked to Benjamin “Did you bring your flute?”

Benjamin grinned at the chance to show off. He proudly took his flute out of his bag and began to play.

Gwen sighed “I used to play the flute, back before The Searing. It was a little battered – I dropped it running away from the scale one too many times.”

Fortunately, Gwen’s gaze was fixed on Benjamin (and he was loving every moment of her attention) or she would have seen the colour drain from my face.

I took Sai and Dawn aside while Benjamin was playing, “They’re not coming back.”

“What happened to them?” Sai asked.

I told them the story of the young Gwen and what she had done just after The Searing.

“Lo Sha and V both upset Gwen ever so slightly last night. She is more controlled in her… abilities… now. Otherwise she would have killed us all last night. We have to stop her; but I can’t kill in cold blood – it would make me no better than her. Dawn, I need your help. I need you to goad her so much that she can’t remain calm. I need her to be focused on you – it could hurt a lot, so talk to Benjamin first, ask him to prepare some healing spells. But he has taken a shine to Gwen, so he won’t like hearing what you tell him. On second thought, Sai, you prepare Benjamin, Dawn, when I give the signal start winding Gwen up. And one of us should really wake Nanya. I’ll need her as back-up in-case I can’t finish the job.”

With breakfast over and no sign of Lo Sha and V (to nobody’s surprise) we asked Gwen and Brent which way they had gone walking and where we should search.

“You know the area” Nanya said helpfully “would you accompany us in our search please?”

We headed out into the Shiverpeaks under the pretence of searching for our friends who we knew had been incinerated in their sleep. We hadn’t been walking for long when Dawn got to work.

“Ani says he hasn’t seen any Charr tracks. Where are the Charr that would have eaten our friends then? V isn’t stupid, she wouldn’t go very far away from camp. So, where are all the Charr? I don’t see any Charr. I think everything you said about the Charr is a lie. I bet you made them up. Maybe some other monsters got V and Lo Sha, but it wasn’t any Charr because they don’t exist.”

A look of pure rage came over Gwen’s face, her gaze fixed on Dawn and the ends of his hair started to sizzle. Not missing my cue, I unsheathed my daggers and approached Gwen from behind. She was frighteningly controlled in burning Dawn, she wanted to make him suffer before he found solace in death. Just as his skin was starting to blister, I got in three quick, decisive stabs and Gwen was on the floor, lifeless.

Brent looked nervously from me to Gwen to the resurrection shrine 100 yards away. “I live in constant fear that she will one day kill me the same way she killed your friends. I pray that she will get better, release her anger at the world and find peace. She is not done here yet, I know that. Run, all of you. Stay together and find some damn good monks to help you. I hear good things about Brother Mhenlo, Gwen always speaks highly of him. Go now, and run fast. Don’t come looking for me – she will be back in the land of the living before too long.”

We've hit the deadline peeps, congratulations to our two entrants. If Miss Rosie wouldn't mind dishing out a coupla prizes to Kit and a pair for yourself, that'd be just dandy.

Thanks,

Alex

Brilliant work guys. Loved them both