#i just mean i agree that its sad some more obscure anime get the short end of the stick in these kinds of tournaments | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bornfromscarletcords · 7 years

Text

Unfortunate Fate (Reigning Dragons And Peculiar Circumstances)

Now it should be said that Roger wasn’t much of a somebody, or at least not by the average human's standards. He was kind of a scrawny guy, not all that physically imposing. Not exactly well groomed either, he had that careless “just risen” vibe which seemed to cling to him at all hours of the day. And not in the good way. No, Models, and movie stars, and those pretentious (in a good way) hipster lover boys can pull off this look no problem. On Roger, it just looked sad, sad and aggravating. If his poor grooming wasn’t enough you had to take into the account the sheer monstrosity that was Roger in conversation. He was not at all confident in the way of speech, lots of stuttering stops followed by groans and moans that were more or less incomprehensible. Really, it was usually not at all pleasant for anyone involved, even those just barely in earshot. Words like “Could someone put down that dying frog already” would not be uncommon responses. You couldn’t really blame people who said things like this, interactions with Roger were confusing at the best of times, and if you met him, you would probably understand what I am talking about.

Many were uncertain about the nature of Roger’s intelligence, no one could deny that he was surrounded by a rather obscure aura of luck. For all his incompetence (real or imagined) he had a stable income, a house in good order, and a rather fortuitous relationship that didn’t seem to be in the way of ending anytime soon. That being said, he was a scatter brain if there ever was one. Always misplacing things, losing time, and finding trouble wherever he could. It always worked out okay, I suppose, in a way these circumstances even bettered his rather odd livelihood, but that wasn’t always easy to see, especially if you were Roger.

Roger was an Architect, and was more or less decent at his job. In his youth he dreamed of being a great explorer and charting wonders unimagined. He sold this dream to his parents as, “I want to be an Archeologist”. Well, being parents (creatures subject to odd whims masked with the self-legitimacy of “education” or a martyr like outlook towards “future interests”) they told him to choose another profession starting with the letter “A”. So an Architect he became, though occasionally he wondered how serious, or more relevantly, how right his parents had been with their suggestion.

Roger lived on the countryside surrounded by plains and mountains, and a sea breeze that could guide you to wondrous beaches and an ocean forged of salty dreams. It was all in all a good place to live, that is if you excused the people who also resided there. Roger’s house was located near the top of a hill that was not all that treacherous, but still very impressive. Roger had built himself though he was a bit unsure about who had helped him on this endeavor. He was pretty sure that it was some of the construction workers alligned with his company, but no one was claiming responsibility. Not that it was a bad thing to claim, in fact in many ways it was a marvel of the ages. Roger’s sporadict mind and ignited passions (certain activities could bring out a typically dormant side to him) gave way to an ode to ages lost and yet to come. Here or there you would see a homage to victorian england, Moorish Spain, an ancient and uncolonized Africa, Native tribes of America’s eastern coast. It was like a totem in itself, a harolding of miracles hidden between the lines (so to speak). But Roger was not only interested in the agreed histories of the world, he was interested in the contradictory realities of obscure and persecuted beliefs. Here or there you would see a nod to paganism, animism, Christianity, Islam, Bhudism, and so on and on. But Roger could be forgetful as we’ve said so, although sometimes he remembered certain things standing tall within his hall (so to speak) from one moment to the next they could be “gone”.

Roger suffered near crippling migraines and nothing set them off worse than when something he thought was there no longer was (But don’t get me started about when something he thought was there but no longer was decided to be there again, oh boy, were those migraines the worst). In fact it wasn’t until he stumbled on his rather fortuitous relationship that he discovered a pure and loving cure to his pain.

Alessandra (Alice for short) Starcatcher was a beauty if one had ever been born. Her existence in Roger’s life was an anomaly to say the least. Roger was not what you would call, a casanova, if anything he was a casanever (at least as far as most humans were concerned). Seeing the fair Alice soak in his presence and even embrace the pure enigma that was Roger inspired a disturbing sense of dread in many when they weren’t in the throes of Jealousy or an embittered sense of annoyance at this thwarting of the status quo. Alice didn’t mind though, in fact she may have enjoyed there rather contradictory emotions towards a person they’d rather forget more often than not. Roger could tell you best that Alice was unlike most things he had ever seen (or that anyone had ever seen). People were just drawn to her, but most simply bounced off the way a moth might to a light bulb, the only one who could be consumed by her fire was Roger himself. It was hard to say whether she was conventionally attractive (Whatever that means) all societies and peoples had different conventions but even in her flaws (if she had any) Roger found an intoxicating appeal. If her characteristics had to be summed up, you could say that she was average height, with startling blue eyes, palish skin, and a crown of rambunctious scarlet curls that could almost reach her waist. Roger liked her lips especially when she was smiling, which she did often around him, and he liked her laughter which seemed to inspire sunshine even in the dead of night. He liked her words which were always warm and eager and spontaneous. He liked the way she sang into his ears when he was sleeping. Of course there were other choice attributes that he was more than a fan of but perhaps those are a little too personal.

If people were in the way to speak to visit Roger, it was usually only so that they could love Alice while simultaneously hating the waste that Roger was on her charitable and bountiful heart. Both emotions came easily. Roger didn’t mind. Although he was painfully aware of his standing amongst the citizens for the countryside Alice and him would often make games of their odd obligations in the lives of others. Roger would often wander out of sight, or at least out of mind of most and Alice would make a habit of Posing in flattering if erotically ridiculous positions usually augmented by some tongue wagging, or long very wide yawns (miraculously no one seemed to notice her behavior). Needless to say the two were often in the way of cutting out early, or at least disappearing for an hour or two.

After escaping to a nearby haystack (they had been invited to a party by some local farmers) and tossing about in a sweaty display of passion, lust and somewhat misplaced humor Alice looked down into Roger’s eyes and said “I love you more than time and its sorrows” which inspired an explosion of activity causing the depth of the words to be appreciated at a later more relaxed moment. Said moment was when they returned to the party. Specifically while many of the other guests admired Alice’s apparent “glow” of sorts and condemned Roger’s aura of grime and what they mistook to be shame. In reality he was just very confused. Alice’s words held beauty, which wasn’t uncommon, but there was a certain sadness, a foreboding anchor of despair that put him in less than a great mood (but still pretty good all things considered). He was afraid, afraid because Alice had been afraid, and Alice didn’t seem to be afraid of anything.

With time, Roger lost this sense of dread like he lost more than a few things and I would like to say things were simple and good for our unlikely pair after that, but then we really wouldn’t have a story.

So it was that Roger came home one day and things were not quite right. He heard some noises in the kitchen and began undressing for what he assumed to be a standard (yet lovely) midday, mid-dweek foreplay-luncheon (set for two of course). You could imagine how embarrassed he was when he found not Alice in the kitchen, but four men garbed in what was more or less intimidating black suits (though they weren’t intimidating because they were black…). Roger thought there might have been something wrong with his eyes because he couldn’t tell if suits of armor, business suits, suits of cards, or the suits of a federal agent. It was all very confusing an emotion compounded by his own sense of nakedness (physically and mentally, though the mental aspect was, more or less, just his state of being). Roger looked from man to man to man in such a compelling order that even a few of the suits began to look at one another as well. All very comedic (quality slap-stic)

“Who are you?” Roger said.

“That’s your first question? Not where’s my wife? Is she safe? What are you doing in my house. Or better yet ‘get the fuck out’. No. Its ‘who are you’ as if you’d all like us to wank you off over a cup of tea.” Said one of the men in suits.

“They aren’t married sir.” Said another.

“Oh do shut up, this shithole has me tired enough without all your corrections.” The First man said.

“Perhaps a better term for him would be flesh toy.” Said the third man, looking to Roger as if he was honestly trying to help. Roger felt compelled to nod/shrug in agreement. The first man just gave the third a look.

“Uh...why are you here?” Roger said.

“It’s too late now, you’ve already disappointed him.” The second man said.

“Right, sorry about that.” Roger said. The first man gave him a look before peering out the window. It was a look that summed up most of the fatherly abandonment/strife/disappointment that Roger had experienced in his twenty-something years of life. Oddly enough it instilled him with a sense of familiarity.

“To answer your first and poorly crafted question. We are the Scales. Consider us as something like honored vassals to your lord and lady Alessandra.” Said the first man.

“We watch over her, you know, make sure she’s safe, well fed, gets a dog every once in a while. Ya know.” Said the third man. He had a pleasant smile.

“So you’re Alice’s baby sitters?????” Roger said. They could sense the extra question marks.

“Did you...did he just call us babysitters.” The first man said as if he had a gun he should have been reaching for.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve never sat on a baby, not for money or fun, and I’ve lived a long time.” The second man said pointing a deadly finger at Roger.

“Sorry, you’re like her guards???” Roger said; his question marks decidedly less audible.

“Yes, we’re ‘like her guards’”, The first man said in a somewhat hurtful imitation of Roger’s voice “we are the line in the sand that stands between rule and ruin. Before her enemies can even witness her form we will be their to pluck out their eyes.” The first man said. The third man nodded along like it was an awesome set of stories from an epic road trip.

“So you know where she is?” Roger said. The Fourth man nodded yes (he was the only one wearing a helmet, or were they just really extravagant shades. “Will you tell me where she is?” The fourth man nodded no.

“Strict orders you see, it’s on a need to know basis” Said the second man.

“I’m her flesh toy...I mean partner, I deserve to know.” Roger said.

“If she wanted to tell you she would have.” Said the First man.

“What makes you so sure of that. For ‘honored guards’ I don’t know why this is the first time I’m even hearing about you.” Roger said. The second and third man gritted their teeth and moved towards the corners of the room. The fourth just looked to the first who was all but fuming. Roger was almost certain he saw steam rising from his head.

“That’s a bit of sore subject.” The second said looking to a wall for safety.

“She kind of sent us a way. Freedom and all that.” The third said in barely more than a whisper. The first looked like he was going to speak, but just when he opened his mouth, the house began to shudder as if it wanted to break. He closed his mouth and left the room. The shuddering stopped. The others looked a lot more relaxed, even the fourth. The third walked over to Roger and placed his arm about his shoulders and guided him to a seat.

“You see its nothing personal, not really. Lady Alessandra was in the ways for a vacation, or something like that, I’m not really sure if there’s a word for it in your tongue. There was no real set time limit, but she’s been called back. Such is the way of things ya’ know.” Said the Third man.

“Well, when can I see her again.” Roger said, still a little stunned by the sense of dread permeating from the very nature of this scene.

“Uh, never...and mostly after that as well, but by then people start to forget some of the more important things” The second man said.

“Nothing personal.” The third man said.

“It feels very personal. Why are you doing this?” Roger said, feeling negative eleven.

“Orders.” The Second one said.

“Straight from the High Queen herself.” The third said.

“Who the hell is that?” Roger said.

“Lady Alessandra’s grandmother, she didn’t tell you?” The third said.

“She said she had money, but I didn’t think royalty...I think she said her grandmother was dead.” Roger said. The third and the second looked at each other for a moment as if discussing Kipling’s take on the dichotomy between man and beast.

“That was probably something like a hurtful jest.” The Third said.

“Lady Alessandra is very funny.” The second said.

“Don’t you think I know that.” Roger said, his stress was almost legible.

“I know this is a stressful time for you my friend, but sometimes stuff like this just happens, ain’t nothing you can do about. Ain’t no one to really get mad about either. Just the way it is.”

“I can be mad at you people.” Roger said.

“That wouldn’t do you much good.” The second said.

“Odds are you’ll never see us again, and my friend, listen closely when I say this, if you do see us again, it will be a very very bad thing.” The third said, and Roger felt something of that deep, almost instinctual fear that he felt when he first saw them and their shifting suits.

The first man stepped back into the room, looking calm-ish.

“We’re late.” He said and the fourth followed him out of the room.

“Well thems the brakes.” The second said before doing the same. The Third gave him a wave as he left.

Roger just sat there for a couple of hours drinking in the the sheer amount of dread that was escaping the pores of his home. It was around the time that the moon was high in the sky that he realized he should probably clothe himself, so he did that. Then he tried calling Alice’s phone. It didn’t so much as ring, apparently the number had never existed. He looked up a couple of her articles (she enjoyed life as an investigative journalist for one of the local agencies) and thankfully they were still there. Her piece on the symbiotic relationship between a forrest kitten and a nest of snakes was remarkable to say the least. That being said, the website said that she would be gone on an indefinite sabbatical, and had been since three o’clock that morning. Already she was getting comments of how dearly she’d be missed. It would seem that strangers were more on the ball about his relationship than he was.

It didn’t get much better after that. There was crying...a lot of crying. Roger decided to replace sleep with a compulsive need to search for signs of his lost beloved. He made posters, and opened chatrooms that might produce some clues. He got called a pussy in every third comment, and at first it was only one guy doing it, which Roger called him on, only producing an army of digital trolls ready to call him on his pussiness when ever they saw fit. To be honest that was not the most hurtful thing that was said. It was the honest question of thirteen year old Jane Fernman who said “Are you sure she didn’t leave you for someone else?”. There was a bit of interlude between this question before someone replied to it with a “Yeah dude she definitely left you for someone else”. It was not going well for our friend Roger.

The weeks came and went and it was still not going well. In his moments of weakness, shame and confusion, Roger took down one of the few remaining photos of Alice that he had left. He began to sob profusely and in between said sobs he attempted to pleasure himself. Not one of his best moments, no. He had already spent more than a few days isolating himself in his house. The streets were too full of judgement and nods from fate that told him that his beloved was probably being pleasured by a score of much more satisfying lovers (somehow, all bearing a resemblance to the people he had grown to hate in his life, not excluding his grandfather), that he was, in fact, less than nothing without her presence to give him legitimacy, and that suicide was probably the only redeemable effort that he could put forward at this point (not by much though, it was more of a service to the world than anything).

So, in his house Roger did stay with only his despicable circumstances to keep him company. Wanking and crying, crying and wanking; seemingly unseen. Now Roger planned to relieve himself into a sock or a napkin or something, but just as he was about to reach his conclusion he noticed that Alice’s picture winked and pursed her lips together at him. The mixed feelings of lust, hope, and fear must have confused him because he ended up just making a mess all over the place.

That night, after some cleanings and ruminations, he tried to sleep easy. He would ultimately fail, which wasn’t surprising in itself, only the reason behind it. Just as his eyes were beginning to close down into what would be about fifteen minutes of fitful napping, Roger saw a face. Roger saw a face, a body, and a tail descending from (or was it through) his ceiling. The creature (though a number of much more favorable and delightfully improper words could be used to describe it) wavered through the air like a serpent below the water’s surface. It landed atop our fair Roger here and nearly made him piss out his heart. The creature had eyes of pure black, an infinite night unlike any that had ever been seen, augmented by an iris of a gilded tourquoise. Its skin held the appearance of crystalline scales with a certain pale seduction stuck between blue and violet. It sported a crest of horns that curled about its head like a crown or a weapon made for gorging. It’s hair held a similar lilac hue mixed in with an impenetrable darkness, that made so much as brushing against it a feat fitted for titans. Its tail was long and from the way it swam through the air Roger got the odd sensation of man readying a dagger. Are you scared? To be honest I can’t tell you whether what you’re feeling right now is appropriate, I would like to say that the next couple of sentences should provide some clarity, but in truth, they might just make this more confusing.

Now this creature was a marvel, definitely assorted with the odd features of monsters, but then again you haven’t heard about some of its...other features. In Roger’s eyes this monstrous creature also sported the body of one of the most beautiful women he had ever had the gall to see or even imagine. With that said, it was not making any motion to free itself from the proximity of his skin. In fact it seemed to want to press itself against every inch of his body. As it cooed and sighed with sounds that seemed both animal and utterly desirable, Roger found himself assaulted by scents of delectable fruits and flowers and lusty machinations. The creatures skin did not feel like whatever Roger’s repressed senses thought a spawn of hell and evil incarnate would feel like (which was what he was expecting). It felt like a heart beat, like a fluttering flame that comforts a woodsman throughout his treks into the wilderness (like an old friend). It had an energy, a sort of calling and pulse that brought life to Roger wherever she (or was she an it?) touched. The creature was garbed in a veil that evoked the colors, or at least essence of blood, but it in no way hindered the rather generous view of flesh that Roger was becoming accustomed to. The tail whipped around, like a raptor who had scented its prey.

“Um, hello.” Roger said, after finally finding words. The creature stretched up his frame and slowly looked to his eyes. It groaned a peculiar and foreign sound that nearly had Roger in the throes of what could only be called, ecstasy.

“No, but not far off.” The creature said in a voice that seemed to echo with the voices of Roger’s greatest loves, becoming, in itself, something entirely new.

“What?” Roger said, he couldn’t quite recall five worded sentences.

“Not pleasure, not even love. Passion is my path, my cause. In it you will find my beginning, my becoming, and my end.” The creature said nuzzling beside his ear and sending his neck afire.

“So, Passion, that’s like your name?” Roger said.

“If names please you.” Passion said, toying with one of his hairs and breathing delicious scents along his face.

“What are you exactly?” Roger said.

“Why, does this form displease you?” Passion said, rearing above him with a look of doeful questioning.

“Not exactly.” Roger said, slowly recalling that feeling of winking photographs.

“Perfect.” Passion said, letting a smile that Roger couldn’t help to interpret spread along her face. Leaned in close again, her lips almost touching his. She placed a finger of a blackened and rather sharp looking nail to his temple.

Roger felt something squirming through his head, evoking something not quite good, and not quite bad. Something electric, a thing prone to ignition.

“What are you doing?” Roger said, his mouth a buzzing tool of nonsense.

“Searching for a word, this world is different from how I remember it. Things have changed. Oh...this one’s pretty, it should do.” Passion said.

“Which one.”

“Demon.”

“Why that word.”

“Because that’s what I am.” Passion said, and oddly enough, Roger felt that his life was finally beginning to settle into place. (Bear in mind, a wartorn family traveling about an apocalyptic wasteland might feel the same if, when the smoke cleared, alien invaders started walking about)

“You don’t seem surprised.” Passion said, her tongue slithering along the nape of his neck.

“Sorry, it’s just that I think my heart has gone into a coma. Is it still beating?”

“Yes, eagerly by my account. It’s so...fresh.” Passion said with a hunger that was no way lost on Roger. He might have thought of trying to move out of room. You know to get away from the demon that had invaded his home, but it seemed that his flesh was more or less glued to wherever Passion wished to touch him. For this reason he both thanked and lamented the fact that he had stopped sleeping completely nude.

“There is another on your mind. A creature more fair than, I. I couldn’t imagine it.” Passion said. Roger felt that squirming in his head again and he could see it trying to overtake his memories, and he might have let it, but then an image flashed in his head. An image of Alice standing on a cliff looking out to the ocean crashing on the rocks below. She was smiling as if the world began and ended with her on that cliff, loving him. Passionate demon that she was, the creature could not have the love of his life, not her face, not her soul, and not her life.

“Fairness has nothing to do with it. Life isn’t about fairness.” Roger said sluggishly, but with a strength that was usually lost in his more public interactions.

“What?” Passion said.

“I don’t know, it made sense in my head.” Roger said.

“Just relax my love, you are safe in my arms.” Passion said.

“No I’m not, I’m not safe at all. Outside of the fact that I’m beginning to think you want to eat my soul or something, no one is ever safe. Shitty things happen all the time, and just when you think you’ve found a perfect solution, the solution to all the BS in the world, it gets snatched away from you.” Roger said, sitting up causing Passion to right herself by straddling his lap. She looked at him with eyes that turned, almost contradictorily, predatory and cold.

“You know this isn’t very sexy.” Passion said.

“I don’t care.” Roger said.

“I’m serious, I’m trying to take it easy here, it’s been a long time since I’ve had...what do you call it, a proper shoreleave, and I’m not trying to spend shredding your more complex bodily functions.”

“You haven’t even denied wanting to eat my soul.” Roger said. The demon scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“I wouldn’t start with your soul. Probably your heart or something, by the end it’s all rather painless.”

“That depends on what you say is the end!” Roger shouted. The demon started giggling with a look that was both patronizing and innocent.

“Well, yeah.” She said. Internally Roger gave the audience a look that said, did you just see what I just saw. (The audience being you...partly)

The demon began to move her hips along some rather choice parts on Roger’s lap, and she was not as uncomfortable with the idea of nakedness as he seemed to be. As sounds of carnal slickness invaded his mind, Roger felt himself slipping closer and closer to an edge he didn’t think he could escape from. But then somehow, and someway he was at the door to his bedroom and flowing into the hall away from the demon so rudely tossed onto his floor.

The next few days were not simple to say the least. These newfound strength of character came at a brutal cost for poor Roger. Passion was relentless, when she wasn’t trying to trap in reality warping scenarios of desire and debauchery, she was more or less trying to break his mind and spirit with an onslaught of annoyance and terror. His house was more or less a warzone, between bleeding walls, screaming spectres next to kitchens straight out of a torture chamber, and the occasional swapping of door knobs with gaping bodily orifices (and not always the good kind). Roger hoped that he’d find some reprieve at work but wherever he went Passion would follow.

Eventually he stopped responding when he drew, not water from the dispenser, but a strange thick green fluid. At worst he would shrug and down it, it didn’t even taste that bad. The photocopier seemed to be set on producing little except ghastly sights from what could only be brutal and malevolent massacres. Roger stopped caring, in fact he was even collecting some (he was thinking of making a mural out of them). Using art as a coping skill aside, it should not be implied that he was completely immune to the demons tricks, it was just that there was the strong case that they were both becoming a little weary of the exchanges. Once he went into one of the local cafe’s to unwind. He ordered a cappuccino with whipped cream, but before it was delivered he took a trip to the bathroom. Not three seconds into his loathsome glaring at his own reflection, the waitress walks in empty cup of cappuccino in hand, with the almost incorporeal imprint of a crown of horns hovering about her head.

“Your cappuccino is ready sir. Hot and Creamy, but there’s one catch, you’ll have to drink it out of me.” The waitress said. (I won’t tell you where she put it, but there are probably just some places where coffee shouldn’t go) Roger just squinted his already shadowed eyes.

“That’s just disgusting...and lazy.” He said before walking out of the restroom. He left some cash at the counter and left.

Roger started drinking tea after that which was fine because Alice and him had a lot stockpiled in case they got sick (he doubted that coffee would ever be the same to him). He thought it might actually have been working too because he remembered having a relatively good morning. Some laughs, a sense of relaxation, and some well needed pleasent conversation. He and his guest toasted each other until he remembered that he lived alone, and that, by custom, people did not like him.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Roger said tossing his tea away as the alluring woman before him melted away into the equally (if not more) alluring demon he’d been trying to avoid.

“No, you’ve got to be fucking me. Literally and metaphorically, like what is this crap?” The demon said standing tall as reality began to fluctuate and buck with her rage.

“How long have I been under your…” Roger said but words were not coming easily these days.

“Spell, illusion, womanly wiles. Get over yourself its only been like three days, and don’t worry. Nothing happened.” The demon said looking at him with a disdain he thought reserved for Stalin and the DMV.

“Three days! What about my job?” Roger said.

“Don’t worry, you went, and you played the proper little minion as always you overly complacent bastard. I figured a little bit of ease and relaxation might make you more...malleable. But no, the most amount of warmth I get from you is from this damn tea, which is shit by the way.” Passion said.

“That woman you were just now, who was that?” Roger said.

“If you’re wondering about that aching sense of familiarity and loss don’t worry about it. I modled her after your dearly departed, or at least you did. For some reason you don’t want me to replace her for you. Which I could do in like a fucking second, if you’d get that stick out of your ass.”

“I am fine with the proverbial stick, up my proverbial ass.” Roger said. The Demon just crossed her arms. “Words aren’t coming easily right now, kind of something you should expect, when you’ve been haunting a person almost non stop for...two months. Two Fucking Months!” Roger said as the true nature of his situation began to settle in. One could not count the amount of prayers he had sent off to sweet baby jesus (like Santa Clause, he has a tendency not to write back).

Roger started walking to the door.

“And where are you going?” The demon said.

“To get a priest.”

I will give a bit of forewarning, bringing the priest into the equation, may not have been the best idea. There are just some things you don’t wish to know about a person. Roger returned to the house with Father Clayne in tow. Father Clayne, was a short kindly looking man. He was balding but felt the need to dye his hair a dark silvery color as if to accentuate that he was old, but not that old. He was, in fact, that old but few were in the mind to tell him this. Now Father Clayne would not normally be in the mind to help Roger (just in general) but the young man had made a convincing show of his outreach and the severity of his problem. Plus wasn’t the job of a kindly Father to help out the untouchables of society.

Well, anyway, they get to the house, and Father Clayne starts mucking about, oohing and aweing, all the while prepared to hear some confession about what was the “real” root of Roger’s problem (probably excessive masturbation or some sexual harassment in the workplace, but then again Father Clayne had not heard any tales of buried bodies in a long time). The good Father was just about to declare the house clean and sit Roger down for a “real” talk when the demon reared her head. Well, in all fairness, Passion had always been there it’s just that strictly speaking she wasn’t visible to many people (unless she wanted to be). She appeared as the woman Roger had mistaken her for with long black hair, lucious curves, and an assembly of red paraphernalia (red dress, earings and ring). She reached out to shake the Father’s hand, and he couldn’t have reached faster.

“Yes and you must be Alice’s cousin, Roger has told me so much about you. It’s a shame that she had to go, she really was the life of this place, though you hardly fall short my dear.” And the two shared a couple of laughs, real chucklers that lot.

Well, needless to say Roger’s heart sank faster than an anchor through a vat of boiling butter. In a matter of seconds Passion had warped Father Clayne’s memories and all but embedded herself in the town’s past, if not its future. She began guiding the Father towards one of her doors, all the while shooting Roger vicious and suggestive glances. Father Clayne reached for the door but Roger put his body against it.

“Do not open that door, I’m pretty sure it leads to tartarus or some other depth of hell, and don’t listen to that woman, she’s a goddamn demon.” Roger said.

“Now son, I will not have you speaking the lords name in vain and to insult his kind young woman no less. You ought to be ashamed.” Said the kindly Father.

“Ashamed.” Passion said while nodding in agreement. She began guiding the father down a different hall. Roger tried to take off after them, but he tripped, fell, and landed in the basement. How exactly he couldn’t quite explain to you, but such is the way of a world without words. There is a funny thing about people who mysteriously land in basements, despite the nature of their arrival many look for stairs as a means of escaping, as if logic could help you out of that situation. For example what if the thing that put you down there is just waiting at the top.

Roger looked for the stairs for a moment, but then, for some odd reason, he thought one of the vents in the walls would serve as a better route. He put his hand in one and fell into his bedroom. He was too tired for surprise, and too angry to really be nervous when he started hearing the screams. All he did was burst into a stumbling run that took him towards the source of the sound which turned out to be the same room as his tea stores.

What Roger saw in that room will not be repeated, neither will what he felt and knew from looking. Moments later Father Clayne crawled out of the room, clawed, whipped and most assuredly broken (if not outside then inside). He looked to Roger with tearful eyes.

“You are a sick sick man.” Roger said, and he was right. When, or if, his own problems were settled, Roger would set out to try and right some of the numerous wrongs (the word being an understatement) that the kindly Father had committed in his lifetime. A gust of wind knocked the Father into the air and, from the sound of it, carried him out of the house and into the unforgiving night. Passion was in the room laughing, masked in human form and looking especially delicious.

“That was fun, we should have people over more often.” She said doing this odd clucking motion with her tongue that made her throat sort of constrict in a nostalgic motion Roger wasn’t prepared for. He closed the door and went back to his room to sleep, while Passion laughed herself silly.

In the morning Roger saw the eye of the storm. Passion was sitting in the living room, observing one of Roger’s carvings with a tentative care that had either gone unused or overlooked in the time that she was with him. She still wore the face of Alice’s “cousin” but Roger wasn’t deceived.

“I don’t sense the usual aura of fire and brimstone, you on your period or something.” Roger said.

“Technically I don’t have a gender, or a cycle of ovulation.”

“So...that a no?” Roger said, only half jokingly, (his brain really wasn’t at its best).

“Our little dalliance with the good Father Clayne,” Passion began.

“Please don’t mention that man’s name, I’m still trying to scrub his evil from my eyes.” Roger said but he was afraid there were certain things you couldn’t unsee.

“It inspired me, you could say. After all this time with you and no real headway, I thought I might be losing my edge. All the powers seemed to be there, but where was the effect. Where was the worship, the bouts of rapturous carnality, the despair, the proselytizing.” Passion said, waving her hands in a way that wasn’t un-cute.

“Proselytizing?” Roger said.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve been pretty sad since you’ve came here.”

“You’re just saying that. You don’t really feel it. Sure I’ve batted you around but that mostly just makes you angrier. Bitter too, but that just gives more bite to the bark. You’re all wrong.” She said in a way that was lost on Roger (he didn’t see that she hadn’t got the words quite right).

“I can’t say I’m sorry that I’ve disappointed you.” Roger said, for some reason there was a mug of tea in his hand and he felt in mind to drink from it.

“I decided to take a break, to be honest I thought about leaving entirely but I thought that’d give you some inflated sense of self, as if your little exorcism had succeeded. I went out and had a ball with these country faring folk.”

“What the hell did you do?” He said cringing.

“What didn’t I do, would be the question. Or, what didn’t they let me do? It was so easy Roger, like herding cattle, or lemmings. I saw their hatred of you, and I thought, finally, my kind of people, but they don’t even know why they dislike you. They just respond to whatever ingrained environmental response has been coded into them like moths to a...to a”

“A lightbulb.” Roger offered.

“Exactly!” Passion said, her eyes alight with a humor and warmth Roger hadn’t chanced to see in a while.

“Weren’t you just calling me overly complacent not a day ago.”

“Yes, but you grew complacent with something extraordinary. You’d rather mourn Alice for the rest of your life then accept that she could no longer be in it.”

“She is something special.”

“I know.”

“Some things you have to see with your own eyes.” Roger said.

“No, you don’t really get it do you. I know Alice...Alessandra. We’ve met a lot more than once.” Passion said.

“What the hell does that mean, you aren’t really her cousin are you?” Roger said.

“Um...perhaps the word rival would be more appropriate, but maybe you desire my familial relation to your lady love.”

“No thanks, and Alice doesn’t have rivals. She’s in a league of her own.” Roger said.

“I suppose I can’t argue with that, I’ve never met anyone like her. When I heard she had left her roost on this plane, I thought, hey why not screw with some of her stuff. I didn’t think I’d land right in her place of power on the first try, or that her plaything would prove so...sturdy.” Passion said with an odd sparkle in her eyes that would have put Roger on edge a couple of weeks ago. Instead he just sipped some tea.

“Yeah I’m getting like every fifth word over here. Stop Speaking Crazy, Woman.”

“I’m not crazy, and neither are you, which I know might be hard to believe after all this.” Passion said, which seemed odd to Roger because he was beginning to accept that this would simply be his state of being for the remainder of eternity, you know, until god graced him with death...or a coma.

“Does this change of heart mean you are finally going to leave?” Roger said.

“You aren’t that great of a listener are you? I’ve been inspired, revived. You are my mission. Alice chose you for a reason, and I will find that reason and more.” Passion said, a quiet flame in her eyes and almost reserved smile on her face. Roger just nodded, chucked his cup down the hall to hear it shatter and left for work.

“Tastes like Sin.” Roger said. One of his office mates had made a coffee run and Roger was almost sure that they had pissed in his cup. If they had, then he supposed he might have to use more piss in his drinks from then on, it was the best cup of coffee he’d had in awhile. Roger lounged about his office, thinking and such. It had been a while since he’d had a clear thought, but his break from words and sensible sentences had left him...fresh, if you’re willing to accept that word. Roger was an architect, but the life he had designed for himself was not quite what he had wished from the world. All this disappointment, annoyance, pain, sadness, corruption, it just didn’t seem very purposeful. The only good thing about heartbreak was that he knew there was something worth breaking his heart over, but he didn’t even know if he’d ever see it again. Was death and possible eternal damnation by, how did she phrase it, rapturously carnal demon sex the worst way to go. Who could say in this economy. All Roger knew was that the past hadn’t been too great. The current future he was looking down had the semblance of a shitstorm that threw up an abortion. And the present? He looked about his office, and he knew that so many things could go wrong, were currently going wrong. But what about all the things that could go right. The present was for possibility, and Roger didn’t think that was such a bad thing. He downed his coffee and decided to settle into something of a siesta (because irony).

It was late and Roger was almost sure that he was dreaming, so he didn’t mind that it was dark out, and that he was alone in a wilderness that was known to rear some pretty sizable wildlife. He just wandered, going where his feet took him, not really caring about anything. Not the world, not himself, not Passion, not nothing really. So it was that when he found a downed dear with a good portion of its stomach ripped out that he didn’t really put much mind to the fact that its eyes were still opened, and its lungs were still pumping air.

“Rough night huh?” Roger said, but the deer didn’t answer him. Roger shrugged and thought about moving on until he saw something move. He couldn’t place why, but it looked like a creature like no other (if that makes sense). In form it seemed simple possibly a big dog, but most likely a wolf. But a wolf of golden sheen, with eyes like an ocean at dawn, a celestial blue. It padded over to the deer, blood dripping from its mouth and sank heavy jaws into the creatures neck. It was fluid, and primal, as if a power incarnate, or a scion of nature. The deer was dead then, and the wolf continued to eat, never taken its eyes off of Roger.

“Well goodbye then.” He said with a wave, continuing on his way. By the end of the dream he hadn’t been made into some beasts dinner, so that was a plus. Besides that he had woken up in his kitchen, which had lost its torture dungeon feel, and had adopted something out of a suburban house warming kit. Roger walked up his stairs and went to his bedroom where Passion was waiting, which was not all that surprising. He figured that if his dream self had faced down a wolf without dying a real life demon shouldn’t have been all that different.

“I’ve been doing some thinking, this doesn’t have to be a completely terrible relationship. Perhaps some symbiosis, I’ve already fixed the kitchen, just think of what we…” Which was about as far as she got before Roger put his lips to hers. Some things don’t require words.

In the morning Roger was a little jittery, in the way that a man who diffuses a nuclear bomb might be a bit fussy during his victory bender. Passion wasn’t long in joining him, and when he saw her they instantly came together for yet another kiss, as if by instinct. She turned away from him in that unknowing way before taking a seat across from his. His jitters started to settle. He saw her notice this and they both started smiling, then laughing and they looked like proper idiots. Cute and magnificent idiots.

All in all things were pretty good for a while. Passion made navigating life oddly more enjoyable. Who knew that a union with an extradimensional entity could make people want to do the things you want them to do. Roger had never gotten more free stuff in his life. But of course, he never forgot the emptiness of life without Alice, and just as an icon must adapt to new media, Roger felt himself drawn back to center stage.

She had hair of gold and eyes that sang of oceans. And though Roger felt him drawn to her, as if by instinct or some equally inexplicable phenomenon (despite all things Roger was still only a novice in the romantic) her expressions held a certain disdain for all things soft and out of place. Like an open dismissal of the inferior. Roger was not sure what she saw when she was staring him down with the myopic guile of a pitbull gnawing on a rabbit, but he did not see much shift in her features.

“You, you are the one I am looking for.” She said. She was wearing brown leather over a standard blue shirt and black jeans. The picture of normality, but then again Passion had a way of looking normal sometimes too.

“I think you have the wrong person.” Roger said in the most honest way as possible.

“I know why I am here.” The woman said, stalking towards him, eyes squinting and becoming...something more than human.

“I really think you have the wrong person.” Roger said, pulling on that other portion of his brain where Passion had taken up residence. This mild tug could have sent a whole room of the townsfolk scattering to the wilderness, but it didn’t so much as phase this woman of gold.

“I have no time for your games,” The woman said, she looked him up and down, and seemed at a loss for words, and not in the good way, “Creature.”

“I just came to get some milk.” Roger said. There was nothing like having a surplus of cereal without any milk.

“Is that what you desire? Where we go there will be rivers of milk, if you wish. It seems like mild payment for what I require of you.” She said. He tried to think of a response, but he couldn’t fight the growing sense of despair and dread that seemed to be filling up the space between them. So much so that he didn’t see Passion rising to the surface. She began to leak out of his body and though his mouth moved it was not him speaking.

“Some conversations are best held over coffee.” Said the Demon. It reached out, past flesh and substance and in a matter of moments not, the woman and Roger sat sipping coffee in his kitchen.

“What in the name of Wolf, was that.” Said the woman, jumping to her feet, and readying herself into a stance that seemed to speak of death to the mind that Roger and his demon shared.

“First, why are you here?” Roger said.

“Because you brought me here.” The woman said, her voice leaking out something beyond human. Roger cursed his inability to ask the right questions.

“Well then why are you here in general, like this region?” Roger said.

“The answer is the same.” The Woman said, not necessarily becoming at ease, but somehow Roger was beginning to feel less and less safe within his own home.

“She’s a scary one.” Passion said, though Roger doubted the woman could hear those devilishly subtle and charming sounds.

“I severely doubt that I brought you here.”

“About a year ago, I saw a spirit wandering the woods near my kill. I thought it was a spirit of some kind, possibly seeking to heal what I had claimed as mind. I ended the creatures life, and it passed by without incident. That night left me with something to think about. Spirits can govern elements, regions, concepts even. They have power, but they are not things of substance, and shouldn’t be if balance is ever hoped to be maintained. Things of essence. So I thought to myself, what type of thing would force me to end the pain of a soul I had placed in torment, and yet still allow me to keep my meal.

“A creature of ambivalence?” Roger suggested.

“I think you meant, Indifference.” Passion suggested, kissing his cheek from an angle unseen.

“No, a creature of mercy, of charity, clemency even.” The Woman said, a sharp eagerness coming to her face. Roger wondered if that was her “joyful” expression, because if it was he’d rather her stick to bland humors.

“That sounds nice.” Roger said.

“Nice...yes nice and useful.” The Woman said, as if she had never used the word nice before and was willing to see if she could fashion it into a weapon.

“Did you ever see the spirit again?” Roger said.

“I’m staring right at it.” The Woman said. Roger and Passion did a mental stare at the other for a second.

“I don’t think that’s quite right. I’m human first of all, and a year ago I was pretty much nesting with the love of my life. We weren’t prone to watching nearly dead things. At least I wasn’t.” Roger said.

“Well, a few days after that night, I went looking for the spirit. I traveled to sacred grounds of my people, and something pulsed. Everything shook, there were colors I’d never seen and my head got assaulted with this strange influx of memories. I woke up in a place I’d never seen before, with a language I’d never used before, and I’ve been searching for you ever since.” The woman said.

“For a year?” Roger said. The woman nodded. “And you’re just showing up now?”.

“This world is a strange one. Odd people, odd customs, it took time to navigate but I made my way.”

“I’m just not seeing how this could make sense. It just doesn’t seem to line up.” Roger said.

“After everything you’ve seen you still don’t trust in what you can’t explain?” Passion said to him.

“I just want this woman out of my house, she looks like she wants to forge battle armor out of my bones or something.” Roger said with devilish subtlety.

“Your senses are trying to mask a truth they learned before you even knew your own name, let them follow a path only your imagination can track.” Passion said and he felt a violet and intoxicating fog bring life to the world.

The Woman was no longer a human fleshling of wasted breath. She was a hunter, moon bound fulcrum of the union between dreams and their antithesis. She was a Wolf, in soul and form. The fog began to settle, but Roger doubted that it would ever truly disappear.

“Yeah, I think I get what you were talking about now.” Roger said. The woman smiled, which was a terrible and beautiful thing.

“Then you will help?” The woman said.

“Look, I’m not a spirit. I still maintain that I am mostly human, though, I suppose, recent circumstances could call that into question. To be honest, I’m all out of charity. Most people just haven’t earned it.” Roger said.

“A human could not drag me to this realm, or to this kitchen in the way that you have. Charity is not about what you have earned, it’s about something that exists within everyone.” The woman said in the way a runaway teen might recount scripture she’d been forced to recite for years.

“There you see, not a spirit.” Roger said.

“Maybe, maybe not. This world is a strange one.” The Woman said. She walked about the room, sniffing, and from what Passion could tell, feeling out the memories of the foundation. “There was much strife here, and love, though it is carefully hidden. You have yet to provide an interpretation of your power.” The woman said. Roger looked to his demon but she only shrugged, trying the mask the slowly spreading smile on her face.

“My house was invaded by a demon, I settled the matter.” Roger said.

“How.” The Woman said.

“We came to an agreement of sorts. A seeing of eye to eye.” Roger said. The Woman shot him a sharp look, and Roger saw the beast within her glare in a way that had gone hidden throughout the majority of their conversation.

“Some things are not meant to be seen in such a way. Only slashed, burned, and forgotten for the good of all who endured and would endure it.” The Woman said, drifting closer. If Roger had hackles they would surely have been raised. “But you do not seem in the way of...evil. And if what you say is true, conquering a demon is no small feat.” The Woman said.

“The proper conqueror.” Passion said while running her hands through his hair.

“I have decided, You will follow me back to my world, and assist me in my endeavors.” The Woman said.

“I’m glad that you have made this executive decision.” Roger said but his sarcasm went unnoticed.

“As am I. It is a difficult decision. My kind do not enjoy the meddling of outsiders, but you seem capable for all your...uncertainty.” The Woman said.

“What is wrong with you, what part of I’m not going is not getting through.” Roger would have liked to have said but Passion hid his words.

“Think well, love of mine. This world has done nothing for you, only pain and sorrows. The light of your life was not born here, and even now she resides in realms far beyond your reach. Why not leave, and make a home of wilds untempered.” Passion said, and he was overcome with a flood of sights and wonders he dare not dream of before. Roger couldn’t help but lick his lips at the deliciousness that was waiting.

“I think that’s a swell idea, but before we embark, I must know your name.” Roger said to the woman.

“I’m not sure if there is an easy translation in this world, though I have tried to find one. I have gone by Sundew, or Heartstar, but they do not feel right.”

“Perhaps a new interpretation than” Roger said, and Passion was strong in his veins. The Woman smiled again but Roger was not so disturbed.

“A suggestion then?” The Woman said. Roger pushed a number of visions past that barrier called, the real, and he could see something like a somber delight invade the woman.

“Oceandawn.” Said the woman.

“Perhaps Dawn for short.” Roger said. The woman nodded.

“Now if we could be on our way.” Dawn said. Roger reached within himself, infernal depths waiting to be unleashed in lusty waves of violet destruction. Beside them, and within his home, he conjured a door, in every way a reflection of the power that bore it.

“After you.” He said. The wolf didn’t hesitate.

Roger found himself splayed on an unforgiving floor, and there was not a gold wolf in sight. He was too busy rubbing the soreness from his cheek to truly admire the images that had been emblazoned into the tiles but he assumed that they were the products of fine craftsmanship. At once he could sense eyes turning towards him, it was an ability formed from years of mismatched fight or flight reflexes. There were many folk passing by with scrolls, baskets, and garb that would have placed them somewhere in the eleventh century (though if we’re being honest many places did not change much give or take a couple of centuries). This was all rather fine and dandy, he’d been expecting something ludicrous like this, so he just sort of waved them by and started walking towards the largest set of doors he could see. Along the way he had the odd fortune of stepping in front of a mirror and boy, did he catch a fright. You see Roger finally saw why the people had been staring. Not counting the handsome set of roguish leather he was sporting, the impressive dagger at his hip, and the longsword strapped across his back, Roger had never looked better in his life. In truth he appeared, despite all sense of reason, honestly and thoroughly attractive. What were the chances?

“Passion, what the hell is going on?” Roger said in the subtle tongue of devils and demons alike.

“Shhhh. It’s best that we not speak long in a place like this. These people aren’t as dense as your folk, or at least, they’re dense in a different way. Find someplace secluded.” Passion said giving him a pat on the rump for good measure. Roger turned around to see if anyone had witness this display but those that were looking his way seemed to be more distracted by his smouldering features rather than anything. So Roger paced outside of the doors, and into the open air which smelled of dog and spices (though hopefully not a combination of the two). He passed by what appeared to be a marketplace of some sort formed by carts and buildings of thatch and stone and all manner of wood. It looked like the proper RPG, and Roger even thought of going to buy an enchanted staff or something, but then he thought that’d be silly. He walked down a secluded alley and gave Passion a mental tap.

“I suppose this will do, but you couldn’t have found a place that smelled a little less...plauge-ish” Passion said. She stepped out of the shadows as a woman of dark features with a dress of violets (the color, though she did have a few of the flowers tucked into her hair).

“Just tell me what’s going on.” Roger said.

“Well, you did it. You abandoned your world and jumped to a new one by embracing some of your more hidden...desires,” Passion said the last word as if she wanted to wink or something, “This place is well connected to forces that often go suppressed in your world. Magic, divine light, Curses all that jazz. As a magical being you’re naturally inclined to sort of absorb the supernatural energies in the air. I imagine that has something to do with your...alteration in complexion.” Passion said snickering.

“Magical being?” Roger said.

“What do you call holding a demon in thrall, let alone Alice.” Passion said, but Roger had a look like he didn’t know if he could claim either of those things.

“If this place is all about magic, then why would they care if I was talking to you?” Roger said.

“People don’t often respond well to the word demon Roger, at least not in most of the worlds I’ve visited, and the ones that do typically aren’t a great place for anyone. I have power here for sure, but there are others with power as well, and certain rules that are best manipulated with a little tact. For now just trust that we want to be a bit discreet with the nature of our union. For now I will play your humble servant, and you my master.” Passion said. Roger felt an odd set of memories laying lightly on his mind, surface things more fluff than any true distraction, but it still left him with a sense of unease.

“I saved your life?” Roger said. Passion batted her eyes and pretended to swoon.

“A young damzel in distress who was waiting to be rescued. People eat that shit up around these parts.” She said.

“Why a servant, why not my wife or something.” Roger said, but then he saw a wicked gleam in her eyes and instantly regretted the question.

“You asking?” She said.

“Wondering.” Roger said, slowly and unsurely.

“Wives cause too many problems, these society’s require a certain set of freedoms to navigate. Plus, can’t you just picture me in chains.” Passion said, flooding his mind with a graphic set of images, disturbing in their appeal.

“I thought you said servant not slave.” Roger said.

“Slave, servant, it’s splitting hairs as far as these people are concerned.” Passion said.

“Sounds like a great place.” Roger said with a bout of sarcasm.

“For you, it could be. I would love to show you more of this city, but we probably should go find that wolf. This may be her world but I doubt she’s used to the refinement of civilization.” Passion said. The two were distracted by the sight of a woman pooring a bucket of cruderies onto the street below. It was just a foul, foul sight.

“You got to listen to the energies. Everything has a voice, the streets, the air, the stone they’ll lead you to her if you try.” Passion whispered to him as they turned corner after corner.

“Sorry, I have years of not speaking to inanimate objects to un-repress right now.” Roger said.

“Can’t be too different from speaking to a conceptual voice in your head.” Passion said.

“Touche.” He said. And it was around that point that he spotted the golden girl herself.

Dawn was dressed in the modest garb of the peasant folk, and looked the proper and docile homemaker. This worried Roger more than you could imagine.

“How the hell are you doing that.” Roger said.

“Deception is one of the first tools I was given. It is how my kind survive these...people. Though your world did give me some experience in navigating the strange and impeded.” Dawn said softly before smiling and waving to some passersbyes , almost like a nice person.

“So they have no idea what you are?” Roger said.

“These people couldn’t tell their ass from their ear.” She whispered through her smile clenched teeth. Roger noticed her nose move. “You smell...better...very good.”

“What she means is more correct.” Passion said.

“I’m not sure how to interpret that.” Roger said.

“Do as you will, I don’t care.” She said starting to move. “Who is this one?” She said nodding to Passion.

“The friend I mentioned earlier, my servant of sorts.” Roger said. Dawn stared at Passion with the eyes of a able huntress.

“Yes well, keep your distance.” Dawn said.

Before leaving the city (which they moved through without incident...more or less) Dawn felt the need to “appropriate” a few items. She ghosted into a house and returned moments later garbed as what Roger would describe as “a barbarian woman”. She had on furred hide garments that left much of her navel, arms, and legs exposed.

“Didn’t have your size?” Roger said.

“Yeah i thought it was a bit big.” Dawn said adjusting the piece about her chest. After some thought Roger thought it was just fine.

After donning her new clothes Dawn seemed intent on leaving unseen so the three left through a blind spot in the city watches patrols, which was all a pretty simple affair. From there Dawn seemed to initiate a mugging of some sort, resulting in the gaining of a couple sacs of coin, some fruit, water, ale, and two horses. It was all a bit of a blur for Roger, and he found that he was still doing double takes more than a few miles after the fact.

“It’s not worth thinking about.” Passion said, nuzzling against his back. They didn’t stop until night approached.

Dawn gathered firewood, and Passion made a fire out of them with some hocus pocus.

“So why are you dressed like Ghenghis Khan’s grand niece?” Roger said.

“I’ve spent enough time around your people to know that is probably a racist statement of some sort.” Dawn said. She was right on the money. “Many people hate my kind in this world, but they enjoy mimicking or even flaunting stolen aspects of our culture. I scented something marked with our essence, my wolf thought it prudent to reclaim what I could before rejoining my pack.” Dawn said.

“Your pack?” Roger said.

“You seemed aware of my wolfness, was there some miscommunication?” Dawn said.

“It’s just, I pictured you as more of a loner or something.” Roger said.

“Ah...your sense of character needs work. I was second in my pack before setting out on my mission.” Dawn said.

“And just how large is this pack?” Roger said.

“It varies. Great hunts and disasters can dwindle our numbers but its usually in the range of 20-98 members.” Dawn said.

“That’s oddly specific.” Roger said but she just gave him this annoyed expression that was undercut by rosy cheeks.

“Your name, I require it.” Dawn said.

“You got this far without knowing my name, what were you doing?” Roger said.

“My wolf tracked your essence.” Dawn said.

“What the hell does that mean, are you just hiding some big ass creature somewhere I can’t see.” Roger said.

“In here,” she said pointing to her head, “and here” she said grasping her chest with her hand. Roger was sure that it was supposed to be a show of strength and grit, but it evoked quite different response inside of him.

“She is using the word ‘wolf’ in a context I believe you are unfamiliar with. She in no way thinks herself seperate from that inner beast that can become quite outer. I can’t say the same for all of her kind however. In this case the wolf is a general range of instincts, emotions, and...spirtual beliefs that exists far outside your current ability to comprehend. More time amongst her and her people may correct this.” Passion whispered in his ears without a sound escaping the two.

“Right, so yeah, my name is,” Roger began but it seemed that time was brought to a standstill. The rhythm of the world altered with violet vibrations. Passion dawned before him in the form that she had first appeared, producing an odd sense of clarity.

“A little note on names. In any place they have power, hell its how you know yourself from a rock half the time. In this place I would be cautious of giving out your true name so easily. It is from another world for one thing, so it could cause some...discrepancies that we don’t need on our backs right now.”

“There are no people named R***r in this place.” Roger tried to say but oddly enough there seemed to be something masking the sounds of his name.

“There are no people carrying your perception of that name, with all of its ‘your-world-baggage’. All its memories, all its faults, all its repressions. Its a dangerous thing to invoke at this time. Best to try something slightly different. Like a middle name or a nickname you haven’t gone by in a while.” Passion said, caught in a ray of light that might never change. Roger thought of something and whispered it to her. She smiled a truly terrible and beautiful smile. “That would be perfection.” She said. Time resumed and Passion took to her servant form as if nothing happened.

“My name is, Regor.” Regor said.

“Why’d you say it like that, like you skipped a beat or something.” Dawn said.

“Don’t worry about it.” Regor said. Dawn shrugged and bit into an apple or something, it was some kind of fruit.

In the morning Regor was greeted by a rather large and golden beast. Part of him wanted to jump right of his skin when he saw it, but the other part was just way too tired.

“Good doggy.” he said in that half dream haze, that Passion tended to leave him in. The wolf didn’t rip out his sockets but to its credit, it only leaned into his petting slightly, he knew how to scratch behind the ears.

Passion worked as something of a go between Regor and the wolf, though he pondered the accuracy of her translations (she was a fan of mischief). It seemed that Dawn wished to go hunting, something she would have done the night before if she hadn’t been so tired. Regor didn’t mind, he was in no real rush. Hell, he doubted he’d ever be in a rush to do anything ever again. Regor minded the horses and the supplies as they traveled through the more woodland terrain. Dawn usually ranged several yards ahead, but Regor thought he might be getting the hang of the whole many voices one world thing that Passion had been chatting about. The trees and the breeze seemed to want to keep him well informed about the whereabouts of the golden wolf.

“I thought werewolves could only transform on the fullmoon.” Regor whispered to passion.

“Werewolf is kind of a racial slur here so I’d avoid using it if you want to keep that pretty face. Besides that these wolfened folk don’t always adhere to standard b-horror movie rules,” Passion said, though Regor thought of them more as classics, “The term Warg is accepted though tends to be more regional, Wulfing is good, Wolfenkinder is probably going to be your best bet. Touchy folk, don’t want to get on their bad side.” Passion said.

“And you called me racist.” Regor said. Passion just licked his face. “Why do you know so much about these werew...wolfenkinder anyway. I know you travel dimensions and all, but aren’t their like infinitely many.”

“I mean sure but whose counting. We aren’t measuring our dicks here Regor, we’re talking about the chaos of eternity. To answer your question, I’m a demon so I think it wise to be well informed on any potential…” Passion looked at Regor like she had caught herself from saying something potentially and crucially damaging. “friends,” She finally said. “Plus I’ve been catching a bit of her thoughts every now and then, she dreams very loudly, would be distracting if it wasn’t so entertaining. She’s a lot less wordy than you.” Passion said.

“What does she dream about?” Regor said.

“It’s a lot of sound and scent and pictures, not coherent unless you adopt a certain style of living I believe you are still unaccustomed too. I’ll show you them sometime, but as a warning I would suggest that you do a bit of hunting, or at least recall your impression of that tiger in the zoo that you saw when you were five.” Passion said. Regor nodded.

Regor found that he could tell when Dawn had made a kill, a chill of sorts would settle through the air followed by a feverish heat as if the forest itself had morphed from preyful terrain to converging predator. She didn’t eat everything that she ended, instead waiting for Regor to collect and carve up the corpse so that they might have food and materials for their travels. He was thinking of joining in on her games himself that is until he heard a more than unsettling sound.

Imagine a room of first graders who have just been denied lunch, recess and have been given a surprise math test. Now pair that with the wailing of death itself. This was more or less the type of sound that Regor had heard. His horses started bucking and whinnying so he had his demon subdue them. He took to foot and it seemed as if the world had slowed down quite a bit. In no time he found Dawn, as well as the unfortunate beasty that had made the noise. It was easily ten feet tall, built like a clawed rhino with opposable thumbs and what appeared to be a capacity for bipedalism. Its face was a mess of sharp teeth and horns without much sign of eyes. Dawn didn’t necessarily look small next to it, but it seemed that the predator prey relation had been severely altered since he’d been gone. Her mouth was curled back in a blood snarl but her eyes just glowed with that terrible terrible focus. As if she were more than wolf, or woman. As if she was a divinely ordained spectre of hunters come and gone. The arrow of artemis herself. Oddly enough, Regor started feeling bad for the creature.

“It’s a troll. Don’t use the dagger, that’s mostly for things of darkness, and trolls are more misunderstood than anything. The sword will do, it is blessed by carnage.” Passion said with the cadence of someone eating sugared popcorn. Regor drew the blade like it was second nature, a mere extension of his body that he could sheath at will. It’s hilt was black, and its edge clear and unmarred steel, but it always seemed to catch the light at an odd angle, as if it wanted to burn red whenever possible. Perhaps it was just thirsty, he thought. Regor and Dawn moved together, circling the beast and hacking and slashing, with claw, teeth and blade. Regor found himself blessed with a fluidity and grace that he had never known as Roger, augmented with a capacity for destruction that was refreshing in the moment but would probably grow disturbing in his less wakeful hours.

Dawn clamped down on one of the trolls hind legs and sent it tumbling with its own weight. It landed in in armored heap along its back. Regor was quick of feet and took to the air. Perhaps the glory of the moment inspired him because he let loose with a battlecry that would scare fate itself back into its lonesome chambers. His blade plunged into the creatures bucking mass, and after a twist or two a certain light left its eyes and its form went still. Regor felt powerful. Dawn came to nuzzle against his leg.

“It was wounded and frightened.” Dawn said inbetween bloody mouthfuls of rabbit meat. She hadn’t bothered to cook her portions.

“What could frighten that thing, let alone wound it.”

“You two I imagine.” Passion said sipping blood in the shadows.

“Ogres probably. Trolls are important to their culture, like totem animals or something. They hunt and capture them frequently. Ogres are brutal, but they tend to employ gentler methods of interacting with trolls, you know, by troll standards. This thing was terrified.” Dawn said.

“How do you know that?” Regor said. Dawn seemed surprised by the question, not because of the words but because of that other something that was tone, scent, soul and things that couldn’t be explained.

“My wolf told me.” She said, and Regor nodded as he was beginning to understand.

“Perhaps they are feral Ogres.” Regor said

“That borders on racist, but only slightly, they are ogres after all.” Dawn said, while Regor now suspected that his words had gone farther than border racism. Dawn yawned, “What ever it was we probably shouldn’t face it a lone. I scented signs of my pack, they should be close, I’m sure they’ll be interested in our findings.”

“I suppose we’ll find them in the morning then.” Regor said. Dawn just nodded with a glazed look in her eyes that made her look...well, adorable. She got up and dissapeared into the shadows of the night. A wolf returned in her stead with some furry hides skins in its mouth. The wolf dropped the hideskins and made its way over to Regor’s side, pushing him to the ground as it settled beside him. She was asleep in moments.

In the morning the wolf was a woman who was very eager to continue on with their travels. They didn’t have to range far, in fact they were only three miles or so into their run, that they were stopped.

“Ho, there wolf. By who’s fangs do you claim rights to these terrains.” Said a giant of a man. He seemed to be more muscle than flesh and dressed in similar hideskins as Dawn, both lacking in what would have been an appreciated modesty.

“Have you forgotten my scent already brother. I could not have been gone that long.” Dawn said.

“By Ocean’s Dawn it is you sister. We’ve been looking for you for almost a month now, we thought you were dead.” The man said. Dawn and Regor exchanged glances.

“No, not dead. A month, really?” Dawn said with notable but not involved confusion.

“Yes we double checked, you know how time can escape us.” The wolf said as if keeping track of the hour was a daily chore that no one wanted to manage.

“Him and me both.” Regor said to Passion.

“Opening doors can open possibilities, some more confusing than others.” Passion said.

“And who’s that pretty bitch over there.” The man said.

“I mean she’s not a picnic but you can’t…” Regor began.

“He’s talking about you Regor. Try not to look so bitchy, please.” Dawn said. Passion laughed.

“I am Regor, of house…” To be honest he was blanking.

“I don’t care about houses and titles I need to know if you are friend or dinner. Or have you not yet decided sister.” The man said to Dawn.

“No I’ve decided, he’s friend more or less.” She said, though Regor sensed an exchange that went over his head...more or less. The man gave a giant grin, that did nothing to reassure Regor of his chances of surviving this whole ordeal.

“Well, that’s good. Breaker will want to see you.” The man said but Dawn started frowning.

“I do not answer to him.” Dawn said.

“Things have changed sister.” The man said.

“In a month?” Regor said. Both wolves just shot him intense glances. He threw up his hands and went back to minding his horse.

“Perhaps I should see for myself.” Dawn said riding ahead of the man.

Regor soon learned that “brother” and “sister” were just a general colloquialism used by most wolves of the same pack. For a second he had a more disturbing idea after seeing the large size of the pack but Passion assuaged his fears. They seemed to have settled in a small plain but his senses told him that their were a stretch of similar encampments scattered throughout the forest and other more obscure locations. Dawn did not so much as mingle with her kin, but intensely subdue them with the commanding presence of a warrior queen on a road to conquest ( you could either get on board, get gone, or get dead). Even so Regor could sense a certain sense of enjoyment coming off of both parties. That was until Dawn met Breaker.

The man, well wolf, wolf seems more appropriate, that would Regor would know as Breaker was just a hair shorter than the giant of a man that they first encountered, but he looked about a thousand times deadlier. Passion had been teaching him how to sense magic, and from what Regor could tell, Breaker was all but made of the stuff. It was like his muscles were built for its mass production. He was a man of dark hues be it his skin or His hideskins of some dark-green color. He sported odd bands along his arms and ankles, as well as a necklace of sorts.

“What is this farce that you have devised, Breaker. Are so irresponsible that I can’t leave you be for ten minutes.

“A bit more than ten minutes Dawn of Oceans. Quill was weakened without a second to keep him afloat. Old and half mad, you should have claimed the right of alpha long before me, now your chance has passed.”

“What has happened to Quill?” Dawn said. “I killed him.” Breaker said. Dawn spat into the dirt.

“Quill was worth a hundred of you. You have fine magic and pretty words Breaker but you are no Alpha.”

“Yet here I stand, and there you wait to be welcomed as pack or as traitor for slaughter.” Breaker said. Many of the wolves growled, and though more than a few were in human skin there seemed to be no trace of humanity in those sounds. Breaker raised his hand and Regor sensed the magic burst in a wave, there was silence all around.

“What have you done to yourself?” Dawn said as if struggling to see through a persistant and annoying haze. Regor knew the feeling.

“Nothing that concerns you, She Who Is Not Quite Pack. You will have to prove yourself if you even hope of regaining your rank.” Breaker said. Dawn grit her teeth and turned to Regor and he heard what could not be spoken. If they fought now, they would die. Regor was a fan of not dying.

“I’m with you.” He said to her, and it seemed that something within her soul had settled. She turned back to Breaker.

“What would you have of us, Alpha.” She spat out the last word. Breaker smiled the type of smile Regor thought he might see on Father Clayne in his darkest hours.

“You’ve noticed the odd Ogre activity in the area?” Breaker said.

“We’ve seen signs. They appear to be agitated, possibly sick.” Dawn said.

“That and more. We believe a vampire has taken up residence here with its Noch. It may have corrupted the local Ogre band as a source of border defense. Wipe out its forces and bring me the master’s head, so to speak.” Breaker said.

“Then so be it.” Dawn said, turning her horse around and heading towards the outskirts of the encampment. More than a few wolves followed.

Passion explained that a Noch was a vampires retinue full of familiars, thralls, and lesser vampires. She also explained that what Breaker was suggesting was more or less a suicide mission, though Dawn seemed confident enough in their chances in that, I’ll eat death before dying, type of way. She wouldn’t allow any of her packmates to accompany them on their journey. Passion seemed to think it had something to do with her presence.

“Perhaps she does not want me corrupting some of her weaker willed kin.” Passion said.

“Tell your demon to mind its place vampires are tricky. We don’t need numbers of brawn, we need tact.” Dawn said.

“Plus you aren’t sure who is still loyal to you. Last thing we need is a coup in the last leg of our mission.” Regor said.

“You aren’t wrong.” Dawn said, and he could sense that the idea of betrayal by her own kin pained her.

They treked on foot leaving their horses within calling distance at one of checkpoints closer to wolf territory. Dawn was had a suspicion that the local vampire wouldn’t fully turn all, if any of the ogres. He would want to keep them at least partially diurnal so that his terrain could be monitored during daylight hours. Dawn figured that the best time to strike would be well, in the dawn. The vampires would be settling for sleep and the Ogre’s would probably be just rising and still a bit groggy. She was right more or less. The first ogres they saw were a male and female pair and they were still lounging between a couple of large boulders.

“Their magic, it feels solid and jagged.” Regor whispered to Dawn but she didn’t respond.

“Ogres use their magic instinctively, they have their shamans, but many warriors and scouts go their whole life without organized training. Works out fine of course, the forests love them and they are proper berserkers.” Passion told him. The ogres were large, though mostly humanoid in appearance. They sported deep green skin as well as horns of varying styles. There hair seemed to be dark, almost black but it could easily have been blue or purple. They were large as well, the female may have been seven feet to the male’s eight, and it appeared that their forms had been battle honed to use every portion of their mass. Regor sensed something like respect leaking off of Dawn.

“You can taste the corruption if you try hard enough, it is faint but I imagine that is all he needs to push these pieces across his board of wicked games.” Passion said. Dawn loped downhill in such a fluid blur Regor doubted that his eyes alone could have tracked her. From one second to the next the males neck was snapped and the female’s neck was bleeding out soundlessly. She lingered only for a moment to sniff at the blood.

“If we can kill their master we might be able to free them of his hold without unecessary losses.”

“I take it you know an entrance.” Regor said.

“Now, yes.” Dawn said.

The three made their way around a convoluted bend of rocks and trees that nearly sent them tumbling to their deaths on more than a few occasions. They reached a thicket of oddly arranged branches that looked more than a bit ominous. Dawn walked right up to them and placed her hands to them. The branches moved, digging into her palms slightly, but in many places. The blood didn’t drip, but flow into the wood. The branches parted and they walked forward.

“The forest wants its children freed. Had this been night I doubt we could gain entry so easily, but today the sun favors us.” Dawn said. They looked down the large tunnel that they would have to walk. It was pitch dark.

“Yay for us.” Passion said

Regor swiped up and around with his dagger, gutting the Ogre as he simultaneously slit his neck. Dawn had been slightly more cautious with her slaying.

“Too much blood will rouse the vampires. Show restraint.” Dawn said.

“I’m not as confident in my neck snapping abilities.” Regor said.

“If you strike the heart at the correct beat you can cause it to burst and they will bleed out from the inside.” Dawn said.

“Thanks...I’ll try and remember that.” Regor said hoping to keep his heart beating at as random of a pattern as possible. So far they had killed seven of the ogres but Dawn was sure there were at least 35 more wandering about the territory. The tunnel had led to a cavern of twisting paths. It could have been an underground city if anyone had been awake to use it. They suspected that it had been the ogre’s nesting grounds before the vampire had augmented it.

“We’ve spent too much time down here, we need to find the heart of the lair and quickly…” Dawn began, unfortunately she was interrupted by an odd burst of shadows which carried her out of sight. Regor wanted to scream after her, stealth be damned, but he didn’t get the chance.

“This is pretty rude you know, to attack a person in their own home, while they’re trying to enjoy a good snooze.” Regor turned to identify the voice and he was not a fan of what he saw. The man was dressed in dark robes with red covering hanging about his waste (it looked to be armor of some kind). His skin was deathly pale, almost grey. He wore his hair long and brown, almost as if its main purpose was to curtain his face. In his hands were twin sabres. Regor drew his own blade.

“I take it you’re the vampire king or whatever.”

“Please, king, no mild nobility, I don’t aim above my station. Hard to when your forces are comprised of savages and women.” The vampire said.

“Sexist and racist, my dagger’s going to love you.” Regor said

“Is that some type of innuendo because I’m the vampire here, blood sucking and oddly placed sexual remarks kind of come with the territory.”

“He has a point.” Passion said giggling to herself. Regor leapt at the creature and they danced to and fro bashing steel against steel, and rending magics against magics. For a moment it seemed like our hero had the upperhand, until the ogres came. There were at least ten of them and the vampire did not waste time evading when his creatures could fight for him. There’s no shame in losing as a concept but Regor did have to endure the ass whooping of a lifetime, or at the very least, a decade.

When he came to he was bloody, bruised, naked and straped to a spike in the ground like a sacrificial offering. The vampire was staring at him, and so were other creatures from the looks of it, though he couldn’t focus.

“So I’m going to sacrifice you. I’ve already mixed a bit of my blood with yours so even if you come back after you die, which is highly unlikely, I’ll still get to fuel off of your pain and torment.”

“What did you do with the wolf.”

“Oh that one, yeah she’s definately a keeper. She’s been fighting those ogres almost nonstop for like two hours now. She’s not really making any headway, but its entertaining to watch. I plan to have lots of fun with her.” The vampire said as if he were making weekend plans.

“I’m going to gut you like a codfish.”

“yes , yes and the world is just a pearl within a metaphysical Oyster’s shell. Anyone can make an analogy.” The vampire said. He started walking away oddly jovial in his nonchalant manner. “Feed well girls, you got to keep your strength up.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Regor said but he didn’t have to wait to long to figure it out. They abandoned the shadows as if they were shrouds to be worn. Becoming visible from one moment to the next. They were dressed in all manner of dark clothing, from nightly garments to intricate dressware. Some even sported armor. All had flesh of utter paleness, from grey to ruddy porceline. They held eyes of ruby gems and hair of stark white horror.

“Kinda sexy though.” Regor said to himself, some of the creatures had the nerve to blush. The compliment was well earned though, they were all beautiful, in the way that wild tigers and anacondas are beautiful. The first to approach wore nothing more than her bra and panties (all black of course). She had a shaggy mane of white curly hair and there was a particular delight in her eyes that gave Regor an idea.

“Before you enjoy your delicious meal, so rightly earned, my dear, may I make a simple request?” Regor said as the vampire began to sniff at his skin, licking here and there at his wounds. She was all but purring, though it sounded more like a lions pleasure than a house cats.

“You may speak your words, and perhaps I will consider.” She said pressing herself against his more sensitive regions and evoking a rather distracting response. He practiced controlling his breath and keeping his thoughts on target. By then others had neared and began to grumble and lick.

“Sweet, ethereal creature of dreams. I wish only to partake of your blood so that you and I may be bound by the red elixir, through death and beyond.” Regor said. The vampire clutched him close and looked into his eyes, she looked very flattered. It was a good thing they couldn’t hear Passions laughter.

“If you wish it, my delicious thing.” She said and she craned the pale of her neck beneath his mouth. “Drink and be drained. You will have to use your teeth.” The vampire said.

“Gladly” Regor said, with Passion flooding his senses. His teeth sharpened for the nature of the deed and he dug in deep, drinking in as the vampires did the same, and there was much purring and moaning.

A note on blood magic. Blood freely given and lovingly given can forge some rather interesting properties which is often why some vampires favor seduction over coercion. Blood magic can also be slightly addictive in the way that potent power can spawn an almost arrogant need for sensation. Vampires often overlook their roots, or at least their common ancestry with other practictioners of blood arts, like demons for example. Now passion was not specifically a wizard with the blood craft but when the moment struck her, she could do some pretty amazing things.

So Passion flooded the room, this nest of depraved creatures of crimson nights, and not one supple form was left standing as a pulse of bloody ecstasy sweapt through their bodies, one by one. Well, all except Regor, who didn’t have much of a choice on two accounts. With his magic he was able to free himself from his restraints, but before setting off after the master vampire, he felt compelled to leave a very long kiss about his lady vampires lips. He had never heard such eager purring.

He reached through his demon and found his blades, as well as a shell of armor forged from the redwater of his own wounds.

“This should be fun” Passion said.

When they found one another, the vampire had Dawn caged in earthen crafts, painfully wounded. There were a few ogre corpse scattered about, but Regor got the sense that she had been trying to not hurt them in her own psychotic wolf way. The master was lounging in a bed of earth.

“Dude, you are so not chill, If you hurt too many of my girls I’m going to be so pissed, they don’t grow on trees ya know.”

“Just like your nuts.” Regor said.

“What?”

“The implication is that I will castrate you.”

“That’s dark dude, and I’m all for poetic justice, I mean we are in an underground cavern isolated from the light and all, and I am a vampire...but c’mon.” The vampire said as if I was really crashing his buzz.

“What is wrong with you?” Regor said.

“I’m desensitized. You would be too if you had to deal with these people all the time.” The Vampire said gesturing to the caverns in general.

“Somehow I think I know the feeling. Even so you still got to die.” Regor said.

“Oh no...stop...oh wait,” The vampire’s sarcasm was almost as pointed as the image numerous ogre’s popping up from the ground.

“Technical foul my friend.” Passion said rising as the ogres had done, she sent another pulse through the arena, this one more pointed in its purpose. The Ogres dropped to the earth unconcious.

“Well...that was dissapointing.” The vampire said. He grabbed up his blades and moved in to attack. He motioned with an almost newfound swiftness, it seemed that he did care about his un-life after all. The shadows sought to hide him as he swerved and juked with harrying swipes. Regor parried every blow; he could sense the creature’s blood, and it was weak. Regor reached out into the secrets of the shadows and off went the vampire’s arm in a burst of scarlet delights. He stumbled to across the ground but Regor lifted him up by the neck.

“As a last hoorah of sorts I will allow you a parting gift.” Regor said even as the creatures blood was draining into his palm. By the time he turned him skyward he was already little more than a withered moody corpse.

“Embrace your bane and only love.” Regor said to the creature as Passion opened a portal to the immortal rays of the sun. The Vampire turned to grinning ash.

“So best mission ever?” Regor said next to the campfire. Dawn had eaten a fresh kill which helped most of her wounds heal up pretty nicely. In fact, she looked great, so lively and...appetizing. She ended pushing Regor nearer to the ground so that she could rest on him, golden hair decorating his chest.

“I would say so, my delicious master.” Said the lead Vampiress. Though the others did chime in with similar notes. Killing the old master disrupted his bond to the ogre’s minds, but the rest of the Noch had been more thoroughly tethered, both to Regor and their master, though the former carried much of the latters blood in him.

“They’re a very noisy bunch. Are you sure you want to keep them.” Dawn muttered, half asleep, she had the cutest tones.

“It seems wrong to just abandon them.” Regor said as one of the vampires nuzzled close inside his arm.

“Of course it does.” Dawn said, too tired to really care.

“So you guys are just cool with following me around now, that seems a little strange.” Regor said. The lead vampiress, who seemed to go by Shell decided to explain.

“Vampires are instinctual, our hunger for blood is as much a necessity as it is an addiction. We are creatures of indulgence. You hold our masters blood, as well as our own, and you have proven yourself beyond measure.” Shell said.

“Plus you are very...desirable” Said another vampire almost at a lost for words.

“And merciful.”

“Generally extraordinary, our old master was not like this.” Said another. Shell gave a pleased nod as if they were discussing the theory of relativity.

“All these things.” Shell said.

“And more. Is what she would like to say, but she’s a predator by nature and too much vulnerability might leave her unnecessarily exposed.”

“That’s a lot of kind words for a person who might have killed them.” Regor said.

“They live in the present, or at least try to, the past holds too many sorrows and wraths. You should not underestimate the power of blood. You’ve provided them with years worth of instinctual trust and care. I doubt that another could replace this bond” Passion told him.

“I suppose I should thank you for that.” Regor said.

“No master, thank yourself for having an unconquerable will.” Passion said.

“Could everyone just be quiet.” Dawn said, a bit of her beast in her words. Regor was a little surprised but ultimately he decided it was probably a good time for rest.

“What should we do about them, I doubt the Ogre’s want us anywhere near their nesting grounds.” Regor said.

“I’m searching through the information coded in their blood. Their is a type of magic that could be useful, though it might feel a bit strange.” Passion said.

“If you think it will help.” Regor said. The demon just smiled.

In the morning there were no vampires to speak, though some of the thralls were still lounging about.

“Did they burn?” Dawn said stretching. She didn’t seem too bothered by the idea.

“They’re in here.” Passion said, tapping on Regor’s head.

“What does that mean.” Regor said.

“The vampires weave night and evil into their den’s. It gives them access certain abilities as well as tieing some of their places of power into one network. I made a slight alteration to the process. They are being housed in a mentalscape, where they can rest to escape the sun. You can summon them as you please, though I’d suggest staying well fed on redwater if you want to keep them all sated.” Passion said.

“That is...disturbing.” Regor said.

“No, it’s actually quite nice in their, they have a good sense of style.” Passion said. Regor got the vaugest sense of a number of lips pressing against the back of his skull.

“So what do we do about the thralls. I’m sure you didn’t put them in there for a reason. Besides the no burning thing.” Regor said.

“They aren’t powerful enough. Don’t get me wrong, they have skill, but they aren’t pure vampires. You could cleave them from your network, but that would probably hurt you a bit, and it might kill them. I would suggest finding some territory for them to settle down.”

“The pack has plenty of spare terrain, we’re a bit xenophobic but we don’t often turn down allies who can pull their weight. The wolf blood might even be able to remove their corruption.” Dawn said, though from the bared teeth and snarls it didn’t look like the thralls liked the latter part of the idea very much.

“I’m not sure if Breaker would enjoy that idea very much, and unless we’re going back to conquer It might not be best to bring any of the vampires.”

“Breaker will have his day, but I suppose not on this one. I will return to report my findings. While I’m with the pack, I will need you to go to SeaShore City. I have a friend there who can probably help us. It does not feel wise to give out her name freel, but commonly she is known as the Lunar Wizard. She is hard to...misplace. I suspect she can help you set up accomodations for your thralls, but more importantly I would like her to find a way to unweave Breaker’s enchantments.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with that bastard.”

“I’ll be fine, the pack needs stablity, needs to know why they’re fighting as much as what they’re fighting for. As I said deception is one of my specialty’s.” Dawn said, giving him a smile that would carry him through a thousand storms. “Passion, pass this on to the wizard please.” Passion reached out to touch Dawn’s fingers, there was a moment of passing light that Regor could not interpret. “And you,” Dawn said turning her full attention to Regor, her eyes of chrystal oceans cut an ultimate path through his soul, “You pass this on to your heart.” She said before pressing her body and her lips and her tongue against Regor’s more than willing form. She broke the kiss first pulling him by his collar like a ragdoll. She placed her forhead against hers as if she was in the midst of a titanous struggle. After a few moments she just licked his cheek and got up to leave. Regor only spoke when she was long and gone.

“I think I’m going to marry her.” He said.

“What about Alice?” Passion said.

“Somehow I feel like multiple wives would not be my worst indescretion. I mean they can only hang you once, right?” He said. “Right?” he asked again since he hadn’t felt as confident in his words as he probably wanted to be. The thralls thought about it, but eventually they nodded in agreement. For some reason, what he said just seemed to make a lot of sense.

#Dragons Strangeness Happiness Comedy Destiny

0 notes