#of summoning One Thousand Skeletons or raining fire from the sky

[herearedragons]

pillars of eternity chanter thoughts

fighting a group that has one chanter is tough. fighting a group that has two or more chanters working together is a nightmare. the power of a chant grows exponentially the more people are contributing, and the more complex it becomes musically (with harmonies, overlapping phrases, etc), the stronger the magic is

a group of chanters casting together is called a choir

however, you generally don't want to rely on chants that are too long or too complex in combat, because even one chanter falling leaves the others struggling to compensate for their absence. when armies make use of chanters, the optimal choir size is considered to be three to six (in rare cases it goes up to ten), with multiple choirs present on the battlefield

phrases from old lore make the best components for chants because they evoke concrete and intense imagery/feelings, but technically any combination of words can become a chant if it's appealing enough to the souls floating around. depending on the location, even a single spoken word can make a powerful chant if it carries meaning for the local spirits

sometimes a new chant can be created by a chanter composing it and then chanting it over and over for a time period somewhere between months and years, essentially teaching it to the spirits around them. there are rumors of chants that have been created overnight or in a matter of weeks, but whether that's actually possible is debated

[tinyblips]

She appeared in the middle of the forest clearing. The full moon was high in the sky and a white fog shrouded the cloaked figures all around her. She was on her knees bent over herself, the earth clenched tightly in her hands. The back of her white gown shone bright in the moonlight, and the skeletons of the trees waved calmly above her in the inky night as the fog continued to flow over the scene.

The robed figures were singing around her, chanting in an unknown language that was declared dead long ago. No one chanting really knew what they were saying, they only thought they knew. She turned and glared at the leader, her normally soft brown eyes now glowing a bright dark red and yellow with a flame of hatred. They would dare to summon her, with words they could not hope to understand? They would rip her away from her husband, from her home, back to this horrible place she had so desperately sought to escape?

The cloaked figures continued singing, though they swayed slightly in excitement. They had succeeded in summoning her back! After thousands of years, they had at last succeeded in meeting the conditions perfectly right. If only their old professor was still alive to see this. But they didn’t know that their lady had changed. They did not know a lot of things. They had forgotten, and she was different now.

The clouds gathered over the trees, and covered the moon. It became dark, and the rain started falling upon the scene. The candles flickered wildly in the wind, and the chalky pentagram that had summoned her was beginning to wash away. Her golden hair was becoming drenched and darkened strands stuck to her face. She glared at her hands, tasting the rain for the first time in a very, very long time. This body was not hers.

Glancing at her freshly manicured fingernails, and her soft supple hands as she let go of the dirt, she understood what they had done. The ceremonial dagger covered with ornate jewels was laying at her side, covered in blood that was washing away in the rain. She grabbed the handle tightly and held it in her hand. Blood was on her beautiful white gown, and she turned to the cloaked figures with a wrath they had not anticipated.

Lightning struck the tallest tree above them. Zeus was crying. Catching fire, the trees spread the flames with a delicious thirst, and the druids broke the chanting and screamed as they ran for cover. She shrieked with inhuman rage and threw the dagger straight into the leader’s heart. The forest caught fire and despite the thick sheets of rain, the fury of the fire refused to be dampened. She stood, calmly among the flames. Looking up, she cursed the world. That an innocent would be killed at the beginning of life, to rip her from her husband was too much to bear, and she fell to her knees in anguish.

The pain ate away at her. Slowly, she lay down on the earth as the thunder rolled across the sky and she watched the fire framing her view of the dark cloudy sky. She knew the enchantment well enough. She was not to die. She was not to join her husband again so soon. Laying in the leaves of the dead trees, she wept. She wanted to go home. She wanted so very much to go home.

[katsukikitten]

Hollow

Katsuki didn't want to believe the rumor until he saw what it was for himself.

The news had a bad habit of spreading lies like wildfire more often than not.

And truth be told, he wanted this one to be a lie too.

But as he stands in the liminal space of the park long forgotten in the late hours of the night as his scarlet eyes watch the tall grey building across the street, he begins to wonder.

And wonder deeply, if the rumor is more truth than lie as he sees the familiar pattern falling into place before him.

The string of robberies, all at banks or jewelry stores.

The same punctual hour of three am, or 'witching hour' as someone *once* dear to him called it.

And lastly the unmistakable reports of the lingering, unmistakable smell of death.

*'I marked him...Suki...'*

He swallows as he watches a slim silhouette slip into the building before him.

The clouds overhead compete with the thundering roar of his heart as lightning darts across the sky. He wishes he could blame dunce face for the light show but he cannot. Again he swallows his displeasure as he watches.

As he waits despite being ordered not to follow up on this case.

Despite being begged by his close friend Kirishima and his good rival, Deku, to lie low.

To leave it to them.

Which he almost did, what with having to leave the country for a collaborative mission over seas and all.

But as he packed his extra hero suit neatly into his black backpack the news just HAD to mention the most recent robbery that reminded him too much of his last and only failed mission.

The news just had to describe the perpetrator in detail from first hand witnesses on scene.

The news just *had* to remind him of the anniversary of that tragic death of someone he held in his incapable arms as they pulled their last breaths to them.

Of your tragic death.

The thought pushes his feet forward towards something he knows he shouldn't see.

Something he doesn't want to see.

Still the ash blonde is sure to keep his swift steps silent as he seemingly polevaults across the haunting child's playground as more lightning stripes the sky. Rain threatens to erupt from the sky with each roaring shake of the clouds.

He slips into the cold lobby, eyes darting to every shadow to be sure the perpetrator is alone. His heart thuds harder into his ribs than it has ever before.

Harder than the league of villains appearing out of nowhere in the training gym.

Harder than being tied to a chair in front of those fucking fools that had kept him hostage years ago.

Harder still than the first time he grew the balls to kiss you, unknowing of the change you would inflict upon him.

When he was younger all he saw was black and white. Good and Evil.

That was until you showed him the world was painted in more grayed tones than he'd ever care to admit.

That most of them were people too, with jaded pasts, and maybe they just needed help healing.

The ones that *could* be saved anyway.

He was convinced you were one of them.

But Mother Death took you before he could ever find out.

Stealing you away from him as you took a blow aimed for him.

A blow you never would have taken for anyone else, nor even dreamt of it as you walked the fine line of grand larceny and petty theft.

Even now he can feel your last moments.

The awkward weight of your body going slack as the last of your fight comes tumbling out in a croaking, heart wrenching exhaled breath.

His retinas burned with the image of your eyes dulling in a matter of seconds, no longer sparkling with curiosity, with fire.

With love for him.

An image that he sees every time his long blonde lashes kiss his soft cheeks, reminding him of how weak he was.

An image that drove him to this bank tonight.

An image that he has fought himself over, knowing he will lose to the call of his revenge.

There will be no grey tones to paint the scarlet eyed man with not when he gets his hands on whoever hurt you.

No they will paint him in the blackest of blacks. The hue so deep it swallows all of the light in his heart.

The sound of a safe clicking open brings him crashing back to the here and now, his gloves groan from the force of his clenched firsts.

The sickening sweet smell of rotting fruit wafts his way as the perpetrator makes a sound of delight. Deft hands work quickly, before Katsuki can turn the corner he hears the satisfying click of the grated door opening inward to the vault. He exhales slowly, attempting to withhold his rage as he really isn't sure who or what will be on the other side of this corner.

You did say the dead you raised had lived on for months after you awakened them, that the ones that escaped your command for slumber would take on some of your habits.

But you also whispered through bloodied lips that you marked the person who killed you with the scent of death.

Either way Katsuki knew he needed to end this here and now.

It was just a matter of would he walk away a hero tonight?

Or a villain himself, hands dipped in the blood of someone who stole from him.

Who stole his one and *only* love.

He rounds the corner with ease but the explosion on his palm dies even as a fresh sheen of cold sweat coats his skin.

He cannot believe his blood red eyes as he stares as the perpetrator standing in the vault.

Humming a hauntingly familiar tune of a spell.

A spell to raise the dead.

The skeleton clinks as it moves unnaturally, pulling its calcified limbs with invisible muscles as it picks the lock to the safety deposit boxes. Throwing the contents into a labeled bag along with the file of the owner. Lightening flashes, illuminating the mouth of the darkened vault and revealing several sets of glowing, eerily beautiful eyes.

Or where a set of eyes should be.

But none as beautiful as the set that drags over the thick steel compartments that houses hundreds of thousands of yen.

Katsuki closes his eyes at first. Thinking the roaring thunder, dancing lights and the now pounding rain are playing tricks on him.

It all has to be. The anniversary of your death, the haunting nightmares he has had of late and surely the smell has him seeing incorrectly.

But when those scarlet eyes drink in the scene once more they are not mistaken as they rove over the familiar body.

No, he would never forget the shape of you.

This must be an illusion from some other villain to fuck with him.

It fuels a burning rage in his chest, so hot that for a sliver of a moment he cannot see.

Partially losing control as he sees red so deep it seems black.

But he comes to his senses when the first popping explosion on the bones sends calcium shrapnel into the air.

The sound making an odd addition to the hum escaping your lips.

You turn to face him, your features shadowed by the dark revealing on a malice laced smile.

"Katsuki-kun!" You sing song, as the hope of you being a cruel illusion dies in his chest.

"It...It can't be you, Y/N!" He yells, voice raw with unspoken emotion and untapped rage. Lightning strikes fast and close. Close enough that you can smell the smoke from the now charred brick.

Although the light show is the worst of Katsuki's problems as the rest of your hidden features are briefly revealed for a few short seconds.

That doesn't stop Katsuki from seeing something that will now haunt his every nightmare and possibly every waking moment as he is left with the unsettling color of your eyes.

As they are no longer a hue so gorgeously memzmerosing, no now they are a milky, filmed over white.

He notices too that your skin is no longer the right color, it has a sickly undertone, veins too deep in color from sluggish blood.

He tries to swallow the horror that tears up his throat.

He gets caught in his throat as he throws a few more explosions to the clinking and some rotting bodies to which you've awakened.

For every foe vanquished, you summon another, causing the stench of death to cling to Katsuki's clothes, skin, his very bones as he demolishes each animated figure one by one.

Soon the hot head is gasping for air, as your smile continues to be much too wide for his liking.

"Is that all you've got?" He gasps in angry ragged breaths.

"There will always be Dead, Suki." A phrase you had told him many as you pulled them forth.

Bending the afterlife to your unyielding will.

He dodges a fresh corpse turning in time to ignite his caramel sweat and launching himself into you at the same time. He slams you against the cold metal but the skin beneath his finger tips is colder.

Colder still is the heart that lies unbeating in your chest as his digits dig in bruising flowers on your shoulder.

"Who the fuck did this to you?" A mix of snarl and hurt. An emotion that Katsuki cannot place flashes across your features before twisting.

"Who do you think?" A laugh peels from your chapped, bluish grey lips, a laugh unlike your own. The weight of its echo causes Bakugou's stomach to knot as he slowly tries to place the pieces together.

When he cannot say one of the two conclusions he has come to you answer impatiently. A hint of a giggle clinging to your lips as mischief still somehow hangs in the white film of your muted eyes.

"It was me." This time you do giggle as Katsuki's handsome face contorts, reflecting the emotions that most be flooding his godly body, "Why do you think I used my dying breaths to ask a favor? It was my own blood in that vial that you poured into my mouth."

"Or maybe I could say it was you!" A cackle rings out, "You did this to me, Suuuukiiii-kun!"

His fingers dig deeper threatening to break paper thin skin that once used to be feather soft. Hot tears burn in the back of scarlet eyes but he blinks them away furiously.

Just in time as you spit thick blackened blood onto his face, little white larva crawl across his cheeks, threatening to push past his lips. He jumps back, gagging from the smell, from the sensation as he swipes with newfound anxiety at his face.

Another laugh echoes in the small confinements of the vault and in Katsuki's head.

"Why...why would you do this?" He hisses angirly, explosions dancing on his skin, "You always said you hated your quirk. You hated what you created."

"Necromancy has been unnatural and yet highly strived for since the first death of mankind." You say with a sugared voice as you shove him harshly against the unforgiving iron.

Hard enough that the vault gives way, bending beneath the force of Katsuki's weight.

"Do you honestly why I hated the things I summoned?" You lean close as shining scarlet eyes glitter from unshed tears, both from the stench of your rotting insides and the blatant hurt. When he does not answer you continue.

"I hated them because I *envied* them. They do not feel. They do not feel love, pain, sadness. They do as they are told. Plus if I had never raised myself from the dead how else would I get to have your whole heart?" You ask, shoving your hand deep into Katsuki's chest, holding his heart in your palm, fresh blood splatters your face to which to lap with your tongue. His face pales from the foreign object protruding from his chest and pales even further as you pull his beating heart from between his overly protective rib cage.

He slumps to the vault floor, the world quickly falling away from him.

He can no longer feel the pressure of your in his chest nor the icy cold vault walls.

He can no longer see your parted lips coming ever closer to his still beating heart.

He can just barely smell the rotting pungant stench that is you as he hears a sickening sucking bite.

As one does when they bite into a peach so juicy they must suck in to keep the sweet nectar from falling from their lips.

All in a matter of seconds before his conciousness blips out of existence.

"Not so fast, my little Katuski." You smile with ruby red liquid dripping from plump lips, "I didnt even get to give you a good bye kiss."

You lean closely pressing your glossed lips to his before pulling away.

Silence weighs heavy on the building of the bank.

Hell, the silence weighs heavy on the entire block as the storm begins to die after a short half an hour of gale force wind carried rain and lightning so fierce it fried the grid to the city.

A final flash illuminates the vault revealing a now two sets of milky unfeeling eyes with matching maliced lips.

[carbonitekisses]

I love you, I promise.

Summary: 

"We are the last Targaryens." She takes his face into her hands. "Stand by my side. And we will purge the world of all the evil, corruption, and pain that infests it. We will break the wheel. Together."

The air is thick with ash. Thick with death. Thick with hurt.

She bring her lips to his in a binding kiss.

In another world Jon Snow would have ended the kiss with steel and blood.

In this world he ends the kiss with an oath. It has become routine. Repetition makes it easier to believe. Easier to hide. "You are my queen now and always."

His lips burn in protest. 

They remember a promise he made to a woman kissed by fire...

"I'll protect you, I promise."

//

Tyrion is interrupted before he can convince Jon to kill Daenerys. What happens then? Sansa is summoned to King's Landing under threat of dragon fire for treason against the new queen of the seven kingdoms. Will Jon remember who he is and who he loves before it’s too late?

Also on AO3

(thanks to @tragedyofromance​ for looking it over!) This fits in @jonsa-week​ prompt for King’s Landing!

Valar morghulis...

The thin edge of Valyrian steel cuts through the charred flesh with ease. Bloody and gargled relief seeps down from the gash across the woman's throat. 

...but not like this. 

Arya dutifully closes the woman's murky eyes. Everlasting darkness is a solace compared to the hell that surrounds them. She digs her heels into the ground, pushes herself upright, and swipes the catspaw on her sleeve. It is of little use. The sleeve is more blood than fabric, now; a trail of mercy and corpses lengthens behind her with each step she takes towards the Red Keep.

Arya had detested Kings Landing from the moment she first passed its gates with her father and Sansa. The only joy she had found here had been with the brave Syrio Forel, water-dancing and chasing cats, exploring dungeons and little nooks and crannies. Yes, she despised the foul-smelling capital but she finds no joy in the destruction and bloodshed that has fallen upon the city and its people.

It is quiet. It is unnatural. Occasionally the silence is broken by cries or whimpers, human voices begging for help. She knows she cannot help everyone in her path. 

Help... Is that what I am doing? Arya grimaces when she sees the young man whose wheezing caught her ear. He is pinned, almost completely covered by a collapsed balcony. His head, the only exposed body part, is partially caved in. There is no hope for him. Arya unsheathes the dagger once more. Surely there must be some mercy in death. There must. 

By the time the Red Keep and Daenerys' forces come into view Arya's right sleeve weighs heavy with blood. She seethes when she hears how the Dothraki cheer, and sees how stoic and unrepentant the Unsullied stand under the overcast sky. I shut one hundred and twenty two eyes today. Her dagger only met skin when there was no chance of survival—and yet.

Brown, blue, green. Some of them she found underneath rubble. Some she found with their intestines out in the open. But most, most of the lives she returns to the Many-Faced God come from bodies with burnt skin and boiling blood.

That could have been my fate.

An elderly man silently cradles the husk of a young boy. A Dothraki man with beautiful hazel eyes kicks the man. The man quiets evermore. The man does not cry. He simply stares. At nothing. There is nothing. 

It might still be my fate.

The beast that flew above the city and rained fire all around her now lies atop a pile of crumbling wall stones. It flaps its black wings and roars in unison with the dragon queen's armies as her speech approaches its end. From where Arya is standing she sees Jon. His head of dark brown stands behind the head of silver. 

He's alive. Arya's left hand shakes and she grips the catspaw pommel even tighter. Jon survived. She sprints to her right with a new goal in mind. The long corridors that run alongside the sides provide sufficient cover. Not that it would matter overmuch; the men are in a frenzy, their faces never straying from their violet-eyed god. She has to squeeze between a collapsed portion of the ceiling and the wall. A particularly pointy slab of stone manages to rip through both fabric and flesh. Arya grunts and pulls her leg free. Just another scar to add to her collection.

She continues onward, only stopping to witness through a window how Tyrion Lannister yanks something—His Hand pin!—from his chest and throws it down the steps before being promptly taken away. A sense of foreboding urges her to move faster, to be by her brother's side. If Tyrion has abandoned Daenerys she cannot think that Jon will stay by his aunt's side for much longer; he will need protecting from the dragon queen. Arya's lungs burn from exertion. The air gains texture and color. She struggles to not cough and purge her lungs of the ash that continues to fall and thickens the closer she gets to Jon. 

The corridor ends and opens to a set of stairs commonly used by servants and those of lesser blood. Arya remembers they lead to a side entrance close to the landing where Jon and the silver queen stand right now. Arya lays a hand on the wall to steady herself. She's tired. So tired. Her tongue darts out to moisten her cracked lips. She laughs. I have no water left in me. The fire rid me of it. I am a dry river.

By the time she reaches the top of the stairs the laceration on her leg is pulsing and her throat is scratchy from the wracking coughs she was no longer able to hold in. The darkness of the corridor and side stairs lightens, and she steps into hues of gray and blue.

The ash covered floor muffles her feet well enough as she walks forward. She comes to rest at his side and examines him.

He shows signs of battle though nothing of great concern. A few splatters of blood here and there but no wounds of his own. She is glad of it. Life has taught her to be grateful for small blessings. Arya is standing mere inches away from him and they both watch as Daenerys Targaryen strides into the skeleton of what once was the Red Keep. Jon doesn't seem to notice Arya is there at his side. Unawares, he continues to glumly watch his aunt walk away. Arya hates it. 

"You're lucky." Jon twists around at the sound of her voice. He gasps her name but Arya does not stop speaking. It is time Jon listen for once. "You live. You breathe. No body can say the same of the thousands that died today."

A little bean of a thought sprouts in her mind: perhaps even the House of White and Black would see what happened here as overindulgence. 

Her brother stares at her as if he cannot believe she is there. He grabs her by the shoulders and his eyes search her body for sign of injury just as she did with him. His eyes grow darker with each cut, gash, and blow he sees. His hand slides downward and he retracts it in fear when it comes away bloody. "Your arm—"

"The blood isn't mine." It's the blood of the lives I returned to the Stranger. A small mercy—it is mercy. it is. is it? it is it is it is it is—for the people who your aunt could not do the justice of killing properly. 

He doesn't look any happier by her assurance. "What are you doing here, Arya?" A girl hears the reproach. A sister tries to smother the hurt. 

"The queen was on my list. I came to kill her. Daenerys got to her first."

"You shouldn't have come. What were you thinking?" His hands had returned to her shoulders and he shakes her. Memories tumble round and over and under her skull. Shake me some more, a girl pleas and in the fuzziness she thinks of an older man with eyes of the same grey... No, not the same grey. These are duller. Unknown to the known of the girl whose body I own. Arya Stark emerges once more, He's not father. He doesn't have his eyes. "You could have died. I could have lost you in the fire and not even known it."

He is desperate in his condemnation of me and my actions, Arya dully thinks of how even the imp seemingly denounced the dragon queen, But I am yet to hear him condemn the silver queen. Not even now, after everything. He still stands behind her, an accomplice to this massacre.

"I heard the bells. The city had surrendered. She didn't care; she burned them all." Arya Underfoot whispers, loudly, "She nearly burned me, too. The falling buildings nearly crushed me. It was such a close thing, brother." Pieces, fragments of shameful regret on Jon Snow's face. 

Jon says nothing. His hands, however, speak. A clenching and unclenching of dirty and bloodied fingers. A nervous tick. It began when they were children. Arya remembers how the bastard of Winterfell would push his feelings to the tips of his fingers since his tongue had been tempered to a bastard's silence. Scratch scratch. She can hear his blunt nails dig in hard enough to scratch the dirt off his palm. Scratch scratch scratch. It is a mocking and damning sound.

I should have done it sooner. Arya Stark's stupid dreams and memories of a bastard brother have clawed my eyes out. I was blind. blind. blind.

"You knew," she realizes. "You knew what she was and still you said, and continue to say, nothing against her. I know we haven't seen each other in years but this...I do not recognize this part of you. Sansa," here, his pupils contract, "thought you were playing the game of thrones. That you were afraid, trapped by the reveal of your parentage."

I thought the same. I believed you to be caught in a spiderweb of your own making.

"Because the only other option was that you-you..." had betrayed us. "Seems Sansa had too much faith in you—and so did I."

He doesn’t defend himself.

Arya’s heart shivers and her right arm feels sticky under the congealing blood. The garment is ruined. Sansa will have a fit. No, no she won’t. She’ll cry. Her sister never liked death. Even for Littlefinger Sansa Stark shed tears, venomous tears. I can’t let her see me like this. “You knew and you still tried to make us believe we were wrong in mistrusting her. Tried to make us believe we were paranoid.” The words that follow are quiet and bleeding, “You knew.”

You knew and, still, you cast us and the world into the fire. Just so your lover could satisfy her hunger for power. 

Finally he speaks but the words that follow... "Dany did—she—she freed the city from Cersei. She's the queen of the seven kingdoms now. And the North is part of those seven kingdoms." ...show Arya just how much her brother has changed. 

This is not the brother she knew. This is not her Jon. His hands feel foreign atop her shoulders. Arya pulls his hands off her and puts much needed distance between them. It wasn't Sansa who would end up betraying the family. The prejudice of childhood had blinded her not just to the virtues of a sister but also to the flaws of a brother. I should have played the game of faces with him instead.

"Try telling that to Sansa."

He avoids the obvious implication, instead he orders her to wait for him outside the city gates. Has he forgotten there are no gates to herald her departure? They, too, have fallen. Her stomach churns with worry. She grabs him by the elbow before he can leave. Jon might be acting the lone wolf but he is still her brother, he is still part of the pack. 

"Jon. She knows who you are. As long as you live you will be a threat to her."

"She is my queen," he says again. "I believe in her. Please, just do as I say and wait for me outsi—"

Arya interrupts him with a hug. Physical contact takes many forms. She has tried to learn them, the old (embraces like this) and the new (passion entangled limbs).

That old man was also hugging someone he loved. 

She cannot listen to him any longer. Her arms wind around him painfully, and it is her that is hurting. "I won't wait for you. I can't." She lets him go. "I need to warn Sansa. She needs to know what happened here. I need to be with her. With Bran. Goodbye, Jon."

Jon's mouth tightens slightly at the corners but he makes no move to join her. Arya now understands. He has made his choice. Her brother is a man grown. She cannot force him to leave. Her time is wasted here. There are others she can warn and protect, others who will listen. 

"Take care, Arya."

His whispered goodbye nips at her heels and chases her well after she mounts a white horse and leaves Kings Landing behind.

It is two days of hard riding before she finds a rookery inside a small and modest keep somewhere north of the capital. It is obvious the Dothraki passed through. Hundreds of horse tracks stamp the surrounding fields. Bodies and debris lay strewn under the sun. Inside, everything of value is gone and only lifeless vessels are there to greet her. She picks the keenest raven, and looks it straight in its coal eyes, "Bran, I do not know what you have seen, if you have mastered your powers and already know what happened. I don't even know if you're here. I could just be talking to a stupid bird. If you're here, please, guide this raven's wings and make it fly true."  

It is only luck, Arya thinks as she releases the raven, that they didn't burn the keep down. She watches the bird fly away, a little scrap of white tied to its feet. She waits until she can no longer see it in the darkening sky before she slumps against the stone wall.

It is only now that she allows her tear ducts to wash away the horrors she saw in Kings Landing.

It doesn't work.

She had forgotten she was dry.

Walking corpses, burning flesh, tearless cries, burning blood. 

She relives it all. 

She shuts her eyes, eyelids covering the light.

It makes no difference. The memories have burned themselves into her head.

They won't come out. I have to get them out before they drive me mad. Stinging pain pinpricks her scalp. A reminder, cruel, that she is not invincible. Arya Stark is weak. Exhaustion and hurt have seduced the strength of her muscles and mind. She hadn't noticed she'd been clawing at her head. Out. Out. Out. Out. OUT. OUT.

A sob claws its way out her chest and into the night. The cry is a bitter child, scared and angry at a world it is afraid of because it is so big and the child is so small.  

Daenerys Targaryen.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Crack. Crack. Arya Stark. The head hurts. The wall does not. A widowed fisherman. Red. This body's blood. This flesh is weak. Lord Frey. The teeth tear easily into it. Faces. Masks. How many? An orphan girl, nameless to the world. Maybe if the mouth bites hard enough, makes the wound wide enough, this body can crawl inside. Devour itself. Seek out an answer inside. There must be an answer. No one. Who am I? What the fuck am I? Kill me. Kill me. Oh, gods. Oh, nothing. Father. Mother. Robb. Help. Help. 

Please.

There is a face she hasn't taken. A corporal being she has not tested her craft on. No One wouldn't wear the face. No One only wants to hide the face. Take its power and stifle it until the world is cleansed. 

I was trying to be good. I was. I was. I swear it. I was, wasn't I? Yes. Yes. No. Never. The world won't let me. 

A tongue, loose and thirsty, licks the blood on the hand.

  Daenerys Targaryen.

 Is it a list if it is only one name?

 // 

"A raven comes, Lady Stark."

"What have you seen? Bran—"

"There are moments I feel like Bran. They are precious, that I know." Eyes turn white. Silence. Eyes of her brother. "And there are moments I wish I didn't remember. 'Tis wicked, that they should come like a plague now when it would hurt most."

"I'm tired, Bran. Just tell me. I don't care. Not knowing how Arya and Jon fare... if you know, spare me nothing."

He speaks. 

She wishes he hadn't.

//

At this point in his life Tyrion thinks it is as good time as any to admit that perhaps he overestimated his cleverness. Here, in a store room of little importance, perhaps he can be honest with himself before he meets the dragon's fire. 

I wanted power. I saw the power in Daenerys and loved her for it, thinking she could make me powerful, too, if only I was at her side as she conquered the world. 

Tywin Lannister's ghost laughs at him from wherever it is souls like his go to rest. "You proved me right, Tyrion. I called you an ill-made, spiteful little creature full of envy, lust, and low-cunning." Tyrion fists his hair in shame. "But even I am surprised; you exceeded my expectations. With you the great house of Lannister will vanish. Everything I worked for destroyed."

There is no wine or mead in the room. Nothing to dull and drown the voices of those he has killed or pushed into the path of the Stranger. His father is the first but more are to follow. Joanna, his mother. Shae, his lover. Varys, his friend. Cersei and Jaime. Sooner or later, he fears, they, too, will come to remind him of his failures. And none, none, have been as costly as what happened in Kings Landing. 

I wonder if all the people that died today will come and visit me as well? His not so clever mind will have a trouble being host to so many guests. How many died because I thought I could control her worst impulses?

"You were right, Varys," Tyrion says through a cluttered throat. He imagines Varys laughing at his cheap expression of remorse. "But it's a hollow victory, isn't it?"

Time passes. He has spent less than a couple hours in his makeshift cell when he hears the echo of heavy footsteps. They are getting louder and he knows they are coming for him. He tries to settle himself into a position of calm while fighting the instinct to cry and vomit. I am dying today. I am dying. Dying. Dying. Oh! Be calm. Death. Death. Be calm. Be proud. But there is no escape. Be calm. Death. Death.

The door opens and in walks Jon Snow. It isn't death, not yet, and Tyrion swallows his relief. His pride rears its head once more, foolish little man that he is. An Unsullied guard closes the door and leaves them be. Tyrion's eyes flick to Jon's swordless hip. 

"How gracious of you to visit me. I don't suppose you have any wine on you?" Tyrion stands and picks up a chair he had thrown during a particularly useless fit of desperation. He offers it, almost mockingly, a touch bitterly, to his guest. "Sit, Jon Snow. Tell me, has your queen told you when I am to share Varys' fate?"

Jon Snow cautiously steps further into the room but refuses the chair. Everything, from his grinding teeth to the curled toes in his heeled boots, tells Tyrion that the queen's lover does not want to be here. He is a man of contradictions, this Targaryen prince who looks more wolf than dragon. Tyrion is a man starving for—something. He wants to dig and see who this man-of-many-names is underneath it all. A final puzzle to solve, to prove his cunning, before he leaves the land of the living. Aegon Targaryen? Jon Snow? Neither? Both? 

His guest says nothing of his execution, preferring to frown at Tyrion's marked detachment from Daenerys. "She was your queen, too, not so long ago." With very little feeling he says, "I'm sorry it all had to end this way."

"You're 'sorry it all had to end this way'?" If Tyrion Lannister were a taller man there would be nothing stopping him from slapping away the vapid, mournful look that dresses Jon Snow's face. Instead, Tyrion can only stare at the fool standing before him. Bitterness that has been simmering now threatens to boil over and burn all within its reach. Perhaps not burn. There has been enough burning in this city. But he's had enough of the cold, too. What bad luck to not like any of the options laid out before you. This fool—this blind, northern fool—why does he live while Tyrion must die? "Such a delicate, and empty, turn of phrase. I should know, I've used them many a time. You can't even let yourself say out loud what Daenerys did."

"I won't try to defend Daenerys but—"

"A good man, a smart man, once told me that everything before the word 'but' is horse shit. Did you not hear her mention the North as part of her righteous liberation crusade?" Not even I can defend what she is, what she's done. So why are you? Although. Perhaps I'll prove myself wrong, maybe I'll grovel for my life when the time comes. I am no virtuous man.

"—she saw her best friend murdered by Cersei." He speaks over Tyrion, willfully deaf. "She has lost so much ever since she stepped foot on Westeros. Her dragons, her allies. What happened today won't happen again. She'll recover from this. I know she will."

"She destroyed a city after it had surrendered. Tell me: how will the people of Kings Landing recover?" Tyrion doesn't wait for an answer. He lowers his voice and icily says, "They can't because they're dead. How can you—" He clamps his mouth shut in frustration and stands, tilting his head in disbelief. "You were there. You saw it happen."

"Daenerys saved Westeros at great cost to herself. If it weren't for her and her armies we wouldn't be here right now, alive and breathing. The least we can do is stand by her side and help her through this. It's easy to be judge and executioner. Who hasn't done something they regret?"

"Everyone has lost people they cared about. Me. You. The countless and nameless commoners that die by no fault of their own in wars they did not wage. Loss does not absolve cruelty. If it did there would be no crime, only some bastardized imitation of justice."

Grey eyes widen in manic fury. There is little sense in his reaction. Sense was not invited to this tête-à-tête. 

"I thought better of you, Lannister." His family name is spit and anger. "I don't even know why I came here. I didn't want to."

"I noticed."

"You're a hypocrite. Who are you to judge her, to judge me?" Tyrion feels small under the darkness that is the man before him. "You helped her on her quest for the throne. You pushed me towards her. Beckoned me to Dragonstone with false intentions. And yet," Jon leans down. Down some more. Lower. Until he is of a level with Tyrion. The beast has found a wound. It bites. "Jealousy does not become you."

  That hurt. The truth often does.

 "You cannot have her so you betray her. You will not convince me to do the same." Tyrion breathes again once he retreats. Jon says, "I love her. She is my queen, and I love her."

Love. An opening. 

"And what of the love you hold for your family? For the Starks?"

An opening that Lyanna Stark's only child cannot cover or stitch closed, surely.

"Even a northern fool, especially a northern fool, like yourself must know they will not bend." The fur of the northern cape that hugs the fool's shoulders bristle. "They will not kneel."

—:—

"Does she miss me, terribly?"

Frostiness. A lighthearted jape not well received.

"A sham marriage and unconsummated."

—:—

"My birds tell me of an altercation. Jon Snow did not offer a warm welcome to our esteemed ally, Theon Greyjoy. I believe the King in the North said, 'What you did for her is the only reason I'm not killing you.'"

"Not unusual." They are no Jamie and Cersei. " They are the only wolves left."

"Curious—the only thing that stayed his anger was Sansa Stark. Such a power she holds between two men with betrayal and a dead almost-brother king between them. She might as well be here for how often her name and presence is invoked."

—:—

"They will be loyal to the throne. They have no choice."

Jon Snow is present once more. He looks more man than beast. A chink in his armor. Suddenly, the darkness is not darkness. It constricts and melts and congeals into the purple half-crescents underneath worried eyes. That is the gaze of a man near the edge—and the edge is all around him. 

Yes, the demon monkey can still play the game. His life might not be forfeit, not yet. He can work with the tie between siblings cousins. On every person there are strings that one can pull. Tyrion just needs time to pull them taut enough for Jon to snap, to move where Tyrion wants him. 

To do what his lovesick heart will rage against. 

To save Tyrion. 

To kill Daenerys. 

If Tyrion Lannister were a noble man, a good man, the safety of the realm would be the only motivation needed. Alas, this insignificant little room has reminded how much he values his insignificant little body, ugly though it may be.

"Why do you think Sansa—"

An Unsullied opens the door.

He is interrupted.

The dragon queen's nephew and lover has spent too long with the prisoner.

Interrupted. 

A shadow of Jon Snow gratefully backs out of the room. Escapes.

Interrupted. 

The imp's honeyed words of family, loyalty, and kinslaying are left unheard. 

Interrupted.

The ghosts never left the room. Now that Jon Snow is gone they all clamor for a share of Tyrion's diminishing time. 

Tyrion was interrupted and he knows he is not long for this world. 

He wonders what could have been if he had only had a little bit more time. 

The ground is cold as stone ground is and always will be. He sits on it.  

Interrupted, thwarted, by a common Unsullied guard.

Tyrion Lannister, the demon monkey, the imp, the son of Joanna and Tywin Lannister, laughs.

And the ghosts laugh with him.

[darkpoisonouslove]

Nightmares

Gruvia week 2018 day 6. Late (as usually) because I kept procrastinating like crazy. Anyway, I hope you’ll like it.

It was a lovely sunny day and Juvia was surprised that there was no one in the park. It was usually full of people even on rainy days. She supposed that some people were not afraid of rain. And neither was she anymore. Her days as the rain woman were over. She could enjoy the sunlight now.

She closed her eyes and sighed in content, feeling the sun rays caress her skin. Yet, something seemed off. There was a tingling under her skin. As if something was crawling underneath it.

She was suddenly hyper aware of her surroundings. There was something in the soil. No, not in. Under. It was calling to her. She could feel it in her bones, flowing through her veins. It was urging her to let it out, allow it to roam free.

Her hands started shaking from the force she was using to contain the destructive energy and she clenched her fists. Her nails dug into her skin, bringing her out of her trance. She noticed that the sunlight was gone. She looked up and saw thick dark clouds covering the sky. They had appeared so quickly. As if she had summoned them. But that wasn’t possible. The rain that had chased her all her life had been banished when she had fallen in love with Gray.

A drop of water fell on her hand, startling her. She hadn’t realized she had started crying. Her fingers brushed against her cheek but there was not a trace of moisture there. Another drop fell on her nose and her stomach got tied in knots. She outstretched her arm, her palm was turned upwards. Another raindrop landed on it. The water felt strange against her skin and was colored in a purplish shade that looked very familiar. Juvia’s eyes widened when she recognized it.

“This is my tale,” Keyes’ voice resonated in her mind.

Juvia shook her head in an attempt to shut him out of her mind. She tried to gain control of the rain but to no avail. Instead of stopping, it started pouring violently as if in confirmation of his words. Every raindrop felt like a whiplash against her exposed skin.

She tried to run away but something held her back. When she looked down at her feet, Juvia saw that her boots were entangled in the grass that was no longer green. It looked yellowish and ill, almost dead but not quite. Despite its fragile appearance it was strong enough to hold her down.

Juvia kept struggling against it but it only seemed to tighten its grip on her. It grew longer, creeping up her legs and snaking around them like tentacles. It was taking over the whole park as if nurtured by the rain, supplanting the healthy grass.

“What’s going on?” Juvia shouted but it was drowned out by the sound of the downpour and she barely even heard the words herself.

She received a reply inside her head though. “My tale only needs a little rain to blossom into its finest version.”

“No.” Her blood ran cold when she realized what he meant.

That was when she heard it. Despite the raging storm, she could make out the sound of something digging from underground. It didn’t take long for the first skeleton to show up. It was a tiny creature which she did not recognize. It must have been buried for thousands of years until Keyes’ magic mixed with her rain had brought it back.

Other skeletons started popping up too and soon there was a whole army. Most were tiny dead animals that must have lived in the park. But the rain was pouring over the whole town and who knew how many corpses rested beneath.

Keyes’ must have sensed her thoughts - or maybe even heard them since he was inside her head – because he spoke again. “Human beings are indeed such convenient tools. Thanks to you your friends will join my experiments.”

“N-No.” It came out strangled since his words had knocked the air out of her lungs. “Juvia won’t let that happen. Water slicer.”

The water blades cut through the grass that had already reached her knees and was squeezing her with almost enough force to crush her bones. Juvia ran as fast as she could but at every step the resurrected plants and animals were trying to grab at her and slow her down. She could not allow it.

“Water Cane.” The whip-like structure sliced through the grass like a scythe and shattered into pieces the skeletons it came in contact with, clearing a path.

After that initial obstacle she almost didn’t encounter any setbacks. The skeletons that had washed over Magnolia did not pay any mind to her. As if Keyes wanted her to find her friends and see the horrors he had in store for them.

When she reached the guild she was completely out of breath and could barely stand on her legs. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to keep moving despite the pain. She had to find her friends.

First she heard Lucy’s joyful laughter. She turned at the direction from which it came and her jaw dropped. Lucy was with a woman that very much resembled her. Or at least she would if she wasn’t a rotting corpse. Half the skin of her face was missing, her eyes were gone and Juvia could see her intestines through the hole in her stomach but Lucy didn’t seem to notice. She looked on cloud nine.

Juvia was uncertain of what to do. Her friend did not seem in danger and she had yet to find Gray. Lucy would probably be fine if she left her alone for a few minutes, just enough time to look for Gray.

She was about to turn around and proceed with her search but just then Layla opened her arms, inviting her daughter to hug her. Lucy did not hesitate even for a moment and sunk into her mother’s embrace. Her smile soon faded though when Layla’s arms closed around her like the jaws of a vise and her features contorted into pain. She was going to be killed by her mother’s affection which she had missed so much.

“Wings of love.”

Juvia’s magic pushed the two blondes apart, sending them flying in opposite directions. They both hit the ground heavily but the water mage was happy that Lucy was saved.

“Mom,” Lucy screamed in panic and dashed to Layla as soon as she got back on her feet.

Her mother met her with open arms and clutched her once again.

Juvia was at a loss. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t keep attacking them. While Layla was already dead, she could hurt Lucy. Besides, she had to find Gray.

She was still contemplating her next move when she heard Natsu’s voice. She debated whether it was a good idea to leave Lucy like that but she had no clue what to do anyway. Maybe Natsu would be able to help her.

She ran back outside from where his voice was coming. She froze in her place when she saw the enormous red dragon standing outside the guild. Natsu was standing in front of Igneel, looking giddy like a kid who just received an entire basket of candy.

The dragon looked a bit better than Layla but his jaw was now consisting of naked bones with no skin to cover them. However, that did not stop him from breathing fire directly at Natsu.

Juvia expected her guild mate to eat the flames but he did not do anything of the sort. He seemed too engrossed in staring at Igneel to notice that his scarf and his hair were already smoking. Even a fire dragon slayer could only take so much fire.

The dragon didn’t seem to agree though because it prepared to breathe fire again.

“Water bubble,” Juvia managed to activate her magic in time to protect Natsu from the fire. She had to find a way to snap him out of his state if she wanted to be of any help to anyone else. She couldn’t babysit him when there were other people who needed help. Like Gray. And Lucy.

A deafening roar made her jump. The source turned out to be another dragon which she recognized. It was Metalicana – Gajeel’s dragon. That was confirmed by its appearance and by the iron dragon slayer standing in his feet and looking like he might start crying any moment now.

This dragon was not in top shape either. His wings could no longer take him up in the sky in the condition that they were in. There were a few metallic pieces still jutting out from the bones but that was all. He had sure seen better days.

Judging by what had already happened, Juvia assumed that Metalicana would also try to kill Gajeel. She had no time to do anything though. The dragon lifted its front left leg and crushed Gajeel underneath it. The ground shook.

“Gajeel-kun!” Juvia’s desperate scream was lost in the clamor. She turned her back towards the iron dragon when he made a move, not wanting to see the crushed body of her friend.

Her eyes landed on Silver. He looked almost the same way he had the last time she had seen him. Except for the missing skin of his chest. She could see his heart that wasn’t beating. In front of him was standing Gray.

Juvia’s heart leapt in joy when she saw him. At least he was fine. But not for long.

Silver raised his hand ready to dish out some magic at his own son. And Gray probably wouldn’t do anything to protect himself. Which left her no choice but to do it for him.

“Water lock.” That wouldn’t hold Silver forever. He’d probably manage to escape just like his son had but Juvia didn’t want to hurt him. Not again.

“Juvia, what are you doing?” Gray yelled at her, his face contorted in both horror and anger.

“Juvia is sorry, Gray-sama, but I promised your father to protect you.” Tears sprang to her eyes and she gritted her teeth, trying not to crumble under his gaze.

“If you don’t free him, I will never forgive you.” Gray’s eyes were blazing with fire and she felt as if she would be burned alive.

Juvia shook her head, tears of helplessness and self-loathing spilling down her cheeks. She couldn’t let Silver go. She would keep her promise to protect Gray even if it meant losing him forever. But the hate in his eyes was too much to bear. She closed her eyes.

“What are you going to do now, water witch?” Keyes’ voice sounded once again in her mind, followed by his cold laughter.

It was coming from every direction, surrounding her. She was trapped in the whirlpool of his cruelty, unable to take a breath. Her knees hit the ground and a desperate sob left her mouth. She was shaking.

“Juvia,” Gray’s voice reached her and her heart clenched in her chest when she noticed how worried he sounded. She had failed him. And his father too. Her body was shaking even more violently.

“Juvia,” Gray said again but it didn’t matter.

She was slipping into darkness. At least she wouldn’t have to live with the shame of her failure.

“Juvia!”

Her eyes snapped open and she saw Gray’s concerned gaze. He was looking at her with so much love that she wanted to cry again. She must have gone to heaven.

“Thank God you woke up. I was starting to panic.” Gray managed a little smile even though he was still visibly worried.

“Wake… up?” Juvia finally put two and two together. “It was a dream.” Great burden fell from her shoulders when she managed to tell the dream apart from reality.

“Try with nightmare.” Gray brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Do you want to tell me what you saw?”

“Keyes’ necromancy had merged with my rain when I had taken in a part of his magical barrier particles and he used it to bring back the dead.” Her lower lip trembled at the memories.

Gray hugged her. “Keyes is gone and so is the rain.”

“I think it came back because of his necromancy. It revived that part of Juvia,” she whispered and her eyes watered just at the thought of going back to that life when she didn’t know the sunlight. When she didn’t know Gray.

“It’s alright. It’s gone now,” Gray said and put a kiss on the top of her head.

Juvia pulled away. “Juvia had to hurt Gray-sama’s father again.” The tears started flowing just like they had in her dream. “Juvia didn’t want to but it was the only way to save Gray-sama.”

“It’s fine, Juvia,” Gray wiped away her tears and pulled her close again, prompting her to rest her head on his shoulder.

“Gray-sama lost his father because of Juvia,” she said and the self-accusatory tone stabbed him in the heart.

“That’s not true,” Gray said and before she could argue, he added, “I haven’t lost him. He’s right here with us.” The devil slayer tattoo on his hand became visible. “And he’ll always be here to protect us both.”

Juvia’s fingers tentatively brushed against the tattoo. The tears had dried and a faint smile was tugging at her lips. She had been right. Nothing could sever the bond between humans.

[im-invisible-erased]

Alzaria

A short Fantasy Story

By Ashley

           It was a clear night in the land of Alzaria.  The howl of the wolves rang through the night as the ranger jumped through the trees trying to keep the high ground to avoid the ravenous beast that were after him. He was almost near the village where he would be safe from the beast of the night that plagued the forest of Delzura. The ranger could see the village’s outer wall coming up in the distance, but the wolves were gaining.  The closest of the wolves jumped into the tree behind the ranger.

“By Varkstra!  I’m nearly there; better do something to get these wolves off my tail.”

The ranger turned to face the growing number of wolves up in the trees.  The ranger pulled out his bow and notched three arrows back and took aim. The arrows sink right between the wolf’s eyes and blood gushes forth from the wound. More wolves appear to avenge their fallen comrades.

“I don’t have time to deal with you foul beasts! May you have a swift death.”

The ranger reaches into his quiver and pulls out a shining arrow that makes his hand glow with power as he draws his bow aiming for the biggest wolf in the pack.  “Good Night, filth.”

The arrow flies into the wolf pack leaders head and the light grows bigger and brighter until it explodes showering more shinning arrows down upon the other wolves of the night killing them all.  The ranger turns to face the village and takes a second to look into the sky; it was only a waning crescent if it had been a full moon that would have been a great deal harder.  

_____________________

 The tavern was lively on that clear night many of the usual patrons enjoying their ale and mead.  There was also a band of people that the tavern had never seen before.  A bunch of mysterious folk come in and out of the tavern in Selistine but this had to be one of the strangest of them all. It’s as if they were gathering for some quest that would shake the very nature of this land. The group was muttering to themselves and keeping a low profile.

“Finally, the last one has arrived now, let’s get down to business,” said the thief in a bored tone.

“Sorry, I got held up in the surrounding forest some wolves picked up my scent and tried to make me into dinner.” The ranger chuckled as his own joke.  “My name is Loki of the Slyverfox clan, from Baristaka way in the north Retisar Mountains.”

“My name is Yuki, of the Oda clan far east of this land.”

“Azeri, of the Black Talon clan.  I think that’s all that needs to be said.”  The other party members looked towards the last member sitting at the table he said nothing.

“So, why have you brought us here?”  said Loki.  The old man was silent, then took out a black tome and flipped to a blank page and wrote on the old parchment.  My name is Izan, I have gathered you all to this place to offer an opportunity of great fortune, if you choose to accompany me. I need all of your help to defeat a great evil that has been unleashed.  The black rider has risen once more.  

“Well, what do I get out of this deal my time does not come cheap old man,” said Azeri.  Izan wrote again.  Long ago when the black rider was at his height of power he amassed a great fortune and hid it deep within the Kristal Mountains guarded by his faithful dragon Chrysophylax who has been guarding his treasure for nearly twelve thousand moons.

“But that can’t be, the treasure of Chrysophylax is a myth,” exclaimed Azeri.  It is as real as you or I.  “Why do you only speak through writing Izan,” inquired Loki.  My words are a burden, I can not utter them lightly without grave consequences I am a Necromancer.  I have a map.  We shall take this path to the Kristal Mountains, first we need to navigate through the Blackwood forest, then across the Chasm of Delintri then up the staircase of perpetual darkness into the Kristal Mountain.  Once there, I shall explain further.  “Well, we better be off, while we still have the cover of darkness, if we are caught by the Ruby Order we’ll never hear the end of them,” said Loki getting to his feet and adding under his breath “A member of the Black Talon clan, they may be the best thieves, but every officer of the Ruby Order is on the look out for them. What is this Izan guy thinking.”

The legends were going to be tested, the quest of all quests was about to be taken by this group of strangers; a hawkeyed ranger, a thief who’s reputation is known far and wide, a mysterious claymore from the east and a necromancer who uses no words.        

The party exits the tavern and heads out of town under the cover of the night.  The streets are barren as most inhabitants have turned in for the evening.  The only thing piercing the night guiding the party is Izan’s flaming skull staff. This journey is sure to be a long and treacherous one, a quest that may have no survivors.  The party travels southwest from Selistine towards the Kristal Mountains sticking to the back roads until they reached the heavily wooded area ahead of them.  It was nearly mid day when the party stopped to rest having traveled a fourth of the way to the Kristal Mountains.  The party sets up camp in a well sheltered area in the Blackwood forest beyond which lies the Chasm of Delintri.  Loki leaves the camp in search of food.  The party welcomes the chance for a rest and to refuel.  Azeri stretches out next to the fire and rests her eyes for a moment. Yuki crosses her arms and stares blankly into the river where she has set up a fishing pole.  Izan stays alert in case of any sudden attacks and has slipped into a meditative state that heightens his sense to near superhuman levels. The party awaits the return of Loki.

_____________________

 Loki returns baring a monstrous sized boar on his back and the party dines on roasted bass and boar meat while Loki tells of what he has scouted while out hunting.

“For the time being we are safe.  The nearest village or town is several leagues away from this camp site,” the ranger takes a long drink of water from his stein. “However, I did spot some Urugalt tracks half a league away. We might want to consider moving after we have finished the meal.”

“That is probably the best course of action, the Urugalt tend to travel in massive hunting parties and would slow us down if we are discovered,” said Yuki.

The party finishes their meal and packs up the camp dowsing the fire as well as Izan casting a masking spell as to not be tracked as easily.  The party continues onward urging their horses to gallop at a brisk pace.  

The party reaches the farthest most edge of the forest thinking they have made it through safely when in the distance a band of Urugalt blocks the parties’ exit.  The party quickly dismounts. The Urugalt were snarling at the party and one lets out a roar that caused the party to cover there ears trying to block out the terrible sound. “Guess there isn’t a way out of this,” Yuki said.  

The Party drew their respected weapons and braced for the Urugalt assault that would be coming any second now.  The first of the Urugalt comes charging at the party roaring its battle cry bearing a notched blade the size of an adult tree and a shield that looked the size of a castle gate.  The party is quickly surrounded by the Urugalt, Yuki is the first to strike back at the Urugalt diving straight into the heart of the army hacking and cutting with the speed of a person possessed.  Loki climbs into a high up tree with the aid of Azeri’s cloaking amulet and assumes a sniper position picking off Urugalt far in the distance piercing through the Urugalt flimsy armor with ease.  Izan summoned a small army of skeleton to protect him as he cast spells of fire and shadow, melting the Urugalt insides.  Azeri sneaked her way to the Urugalt army flank and was eliminating them one bye one; forcing the Urugalt to split into several smaller groups to face each individual enemy.  Yuki having dived straight into the giant Urugalt army was surrounded by what seemed like an endless sea of enemies, took out her second sword and lifted the protection spells from the cursed sword by saying its name “Zetsubou” causing her eyes to change into those of a demon as the rune 絶望 etched on the blade shines a bright red to match her eyes; shadows from the sword enveloped her entire body so that only a faint outline of Yuki is visible. Her demonic eyes like pin prinks of blood in a sea of black.  Yuki cracks her neck and with an amazing speed increase starts to obliterate the Urugalt surrounding her.  Loki having taken out a good chunk of the Urugalt army starts imbuing his arrows with light magic shooting four to five arrows on one draw of the bow having them stick in the giant foes and exploding into showers of more light arrows that rained down on the Urugalt.  The Urugalt army begins to thin out and sensing defeat the remaining Urugalt retreat.  The party takes a quick breather and continues onward into the Chasm of Delintri.

A Dense fog surrounds the Chasm of Delintri.  The party reaches the aged bridge that spans the length of the massive chasm.  “Are you sure this bridge is safe Izan, this looks like it might collapse at any time.”  Flame letters appear above the party’s head that read, Of course Loki; this bridge is not what you need to be worrying about it is the monsters that hide within the fog that you should be on the look out for. Azeri scoffs, “Show off.” Izan takes the lead on the bridge the flame of this staff not even visible after only taking a few steps into the fog.  The rest of the party follows Izan into the fog.  

The party travels across the bridge cautiously trying to hear for any sudden ambushes that may come out of the fog.  Around half way through the Chasm a high pitch screech comes from somewhere to the left of the bridge.  Loki shoots some arrows blindly into the fog.  The screech comes again closer to the bridge this time.  “Damn, I can’t see anything in this place.”  The party quickens their pace across the bridge. More screeches can be heard from both sides of the bridge as the party attempts to get to the other side of the chasm. The assailant collides with Loki pinning him down on the bridge.  Azeri quickly turns around and shoves a dagger into the harpy’s back.  Loki tosses the dead corpse off the side of the bridge and gets back up.  “Thanks.” The party takes only a few more steps when more harpies ambush them from the cover of the fog.  The party faces back to back and continues slowly across the remaining section of the bridge while repelling the onslaught of harpies.

Once out of the fog the staircase of perpetual darkness is in sight.  It seemed to stretch for an eternity.  The party starts climbing their way up the side of the mountain following the stone staircase.  Up, up, up, up, up the party goes, when the moon and the stars disappear and all light is consumed except Izan’s staff however the light can not penetrate the darkness that has engulfed the party.  Suddenly a light appears ahead of the party.  It appears to be floating just above the party a few levels higher on the staircase, the party goes up to the light Izan touches the light with his staff.  The light goes inside the eyes of the skull on top of the staff.  The party continues up the staircase.  A scuttling sound can be heard coming out of the darkness, followed by the clicking sounds.  Izan bangs his staff on the stair and light suddenly reveals; spiders, multitudes of them. The light starts to dim.  The party draws their weapons and waits for the spiders to make the first move.  Izan sits down on the stairs and closes his eyes taking a deep breath. The light suddenly becomes bright and gives the party just enough light to see about four feet in all directions, the rest of the party circles around the now floating Izan who has become the beacon of light.  The spiders attack the party swiping at them with their front legs and snapping their pincers.  Azeri and Yuki start slashing, stabbing and hacking a path forward up the staircase while Loki covers the rear attacking any spiders attempting to attack from behind. The light from Izan dims as he writes another message in the sky.  Cover your ears and close your eyes, quickly. Izan opens his mouth and speaks one simple word “Lux.”  A wave of light comes forth from Izan’s staff burning the spiders into dust.  Izan suddenly coughs up blood and collapses to the ground.  Loki opens his eyes and helps Izan to his feet.  The moon and the stars return to the sky bringing an end to the intense darkness.  Izan shakily continues up the stairs with the party.  

Finally, the party reaches the top of the staircase and enters the opening to the lair of Chrysophylax.  The party makes their way through the ancient city that had once been home to the king of Kristal Mountain many moons ago. The party quickly navigates through the city and finds a stone bridge leading further into the mountain.  A shadowy figure stands on the opposite side of the bridge its flaming eyes burning brightly.  “A shade!” Gasped Yuki.  “Sure!  A shade, what else could possibly be preventing us from getting to this treasure, Loki yelled exasperatedly.  “Wait, what is a shade?”  “Be quiet you idiot,” snapped Azeri.  The shade spots Yuki who had drawn both her swords; “Zetsubou,” Yuki stands in the middle of the stone bridge Azeri by her side both waiting to see what the shade will do.  Loki and Izan remain on the stairs.  The shade extends his arm out and an axe appears, it has runes all over the blade that burn just as the shade’s eyes do.  The shade hovers over to where Yuki and Azeri stand on the bridge, Yuki and the shade stare down each other.  The shade raises its axe and swings it down, Yuki parries the blow and starts slashing at the shade.  The clang of steel on steel echoes throughout the mountain.  The shade catches Yuki across the shoulder with the axe and grabs her by the neck.  Azeri sticks a dagger into the shades side but it does no damage.  A bright blue arrow sticks inside the flaming eye of the shade; it stumbles back and drops Yuki.  Azeri quickly grabs a hold of Yuki and they both vanish into thin air.  Loki keeps the shade busy by shooting magic arrows into its body.  Yuki and Azeri appear back by Izan and he starts healing the wound.  The axe had left a very deep gash in her shoulder severing the collar bone.  Izan worked quickly to heal the wound as the shade approached the party.  Yuki gets to her feet and rushes toward the shade they collide on the bridge and a shock wave is sent out.  The shade looks down at Yuki her sword protruding out his back. Yuki slices up with the sword and cuts the shade in half from the stomach up.  The shade lets out a howl as the shadows disperse leaving nothing but a skeleton and the flaming axe behind.  Deeper still within the ancient city, in the lair of the black rider Chrysophylax’s eye opens awakening him from his slumber.