Disclaimer: Rohan Online is not mine, but YNK Interactive and -- I guess to a degree -- Level Up! Games let me use it as a playground. I am not making money out of this, so please don't sue me.

"The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make Heaven of Hell, and a Hell of Heaven." (John Milton)

He could smell it outside the hallways -- rank and rancid was its approach, like corpses rapping on the door. He never let go of her once during the night, letting her cry into his shoulder, calming a storm in her spirit as wrathful as the storm raging outside in the skies of Via Marea.

He himself was not crying. He was thinking, to be exact. Watching the door, waiting, and thinking. He was running his hands through her hair, green as summer's grass, smelling of lavender, whispering children's rhymes into her ear to soothe her unease. They stayed like this for most of the night.

He glanced at the window, at the greying of the sky. First light was upon them and the storm had passed, yet he dreaded what was to come. He looked at the doors again, at the light from under it peering into the room like a curious child. He shut his eyes at the vision.

He shifted his beloved to his other shoulder to have a good look at her face. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was calm. Was she sleeping? It is better if she were. He leaned close to her ear and whispered an ardent, 'I love you, I shall see you again,' in the sing-song whisper of the Elven tongue.

He kissed her softly on the lips, and then he broke her neck.

( Read the rest of the story. )

GWEN
So what's out there? [Suzie had just been resurrected and Gwen was asking her what it was like when she died.]


SUZIE
Nothing. Just nothing.


GWEN
But... but if there's nothing, what's the point of it all?


SUZIE
This is. Driving through the dark. All these stupid tiny stuff. We're just animals howling in the night. Because it's better than silence. I used to think Torchwood, all those aliens coming to Earth. What the hell for? It's just instinct. They come here 'cos there's life, that's all. Moths around a flame. Creatures clinging together in the cold.


GWEN
So when you die, it's just--


SUZIE
Darkness.



(Torchwood, "They Keep Killing Suzie")

There are days when I can hear myself breathing. When that is the only thing I hear. The world is rife with noise and riotous with sounds of things living, but there are days when everything is muffled to a background, discordant beat and all I can hear is the sound of air being inhaled through my nose.

It is during these days when I am afraid to lie down, as I fear -- yes, I fear -- I may never have the strength to get up again. It is during these days when all that tethers me to the world is the thin and frail thread of words I weave in panic and desperation, and I pray -- yes, I pray -- by the memory of all who have ever loved me that this thread does not break.

My tongue wants nothing else but the taste of overcoming, but its light has all but fled from my spirit. Breathing comes at ragged and dragging intervals now, and the sound of the passage of air throbs relentlessly in my ears. My lungs strain at the burden. It is during these days when all I think of is it is only a matter of time.

In my room, there is no ceiling. When you look up, you see the roof. And before that, wooden beams criss-crossing in a skeletal framework of angles and straight lines, solid and unmoving and blackened by the decades from holding the house together. At a particular spot near the window, I know the wood is strongest. When I look up there, I see a noose, and my limp, lifeless body swaying back and forth just after my final struggling.

Through a stranger's eyes, he would see someone tall, someone with strong legs and long fingers. He would be wearing comfortable house clothes -- a white cotton shirt and pair of shorts, maybe. It would be mid-afternoon and the house would be quiet. The children would be out in school, the adults going about their business downstairs. The stranger would wonder what this person, a young adult male, would be doing at home at this hour, and not be at work.

The possibilities will be too numerous to be able to rule out just one, to be sure. But within the millions of threads would be this: at some point in this person's life, his spirit died, and his mind and body only caught up just now. At some point in this person's life, he began to feel conscious of his inadequacies, perhaps at a very young and fragile age, that this became such an intense, strong singularity -- a black hole -- that pulled everything into its gravity and left only aging, brittle flesh to exist until its cells expire. At some point in this person's life, he stopped radiating strength and meaning and purpose, and began living on what others feed into him, like a doll or a machine. At some point, he died.

It is morning now. 6:00am, Sunday. I have been mostly awake at night recently, getting sleep when the sun is out. It's been a year since I've become unemployed yet again, and still, I haven't figured out which path to take. I don't even see a path. Sometimes I would get a glimpse, like curtains parting or fog clearing, but there would always be something else keeping me from moving. Fear? Maybe. Doesn't matter. I feel like I am back to being 16, life stretching on ahead of me, but always out of reach. I think that was when I died.

I get up and open the windows, and dawn's half-light softens the colors in my room. It is always so cold at this time. I move back to my chair in front of the laptop and look outside, at the wall and the electric wires running across it -- black on grey. A particularly strong breeze blows into my room, and the flesh in my arms shiver as the chill settles on my skin. I look up at the wooden beams as the corpse sways back and forth, back and forth...

Disclaimer: Rohan Online is not mine, but YNK Interactive and -- I guess to a degree -- Level Up! Games let me use it as a playground. I am not making money out of this, so please don't sue me.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appeares,
And true plaine hearts doe in the faces rest,
Where can we finde two better hemispheares
Without sharpe North, without declining West?
What ever dyes, was not mixed equally;
If our two loves be one, or, thou and I
Love so alike, that none doe slacken, none can die.

John Donne, The Good-Morrow

The night was neither cold nor dark, nor was it stormy as most tales of love and tragedy and triumph usually begin. It was quite warm, this particular night. And the moonlight bathed all it touched in a silvery, smoky phosphoresence at a clearing in the Hushed Forest where Rag was lying down and dreaming. Rag was awake, by all means, but one need not be asleep to dream, as Rag is oft caught doing. He was staring intently up at the full moon, head nestled on his arms which were tucked comfortably behind his head, his entire manner radiating openness and hope to the sky above him. Rag -- in each slight movement his body makes, and in each sigh, and in each blink of his deep green eyes -- was utterly and completely in love. Never mind that he could not remember the girl's name nor the girl's face; what matters is the feeling his heart was awash with, and he deeply believed it was indeed the sweet, sweet sangria of love.

Rag has been smiling at the moon for hours now as only someone in love could, trying to think of the net, the web that has ensnared his heart. But like a beautiful song he'd heard only from far away, or a rare bloom that grew only in hidden caves behind waterfalls, thoughts of the girl were both tantalizing and elusive. He remembered dark red hair, deepening into sunsets, but cut short, reaching only the chin. He remembered eyes, brown and gentle one minute, but blackening in rage in another. He remembered lips, sweet as sin and red as wildfire. He remembered a thin, lithe body, fragile as a little girl's, but deadly as a dagger plunging into your heart. He remembered all of these things individually, but he can never quite put them together. It frustrated him, but in greater measure, it drowned him completely. And tomorrow, 'Ah, tomorrow,' he kept on whispering like a prayer or a chant, 'Tomorrow, tomorrow, something amazing happens tomorrow.' Rag looked at the back of his left hand once again for the hundredth time since lying down, at the lightly glowing Guild Crest embedded on his skin -- a small silver star on circular field of midnight blue -- and kissed it. He slept with moonlight on his face and a prayer of 'Tomorrow,' upon his lips.

( Read the rest of the story. )

Disclaimer: Rohan Online is not mine, but YNK Interactive and -- I guess to a degree -- Level Up! Games let me use it as a playground. I am not making money out of this, so please don't sue me. Also, the order of which the story should be read is as follows:

001 PROLOGUE: WITHOUT A NAME
002 CHAPTER 01: OF GODS AND MONSTERS
003 CHAPTER 02: AN UNLIKELY EMISSARY
004 CHAPTER 03: AN ADVENT TO SHADOWS
005 INTERMEZZO: WHITE NOISE
006 CHAPTER 04: SEEDS OF DESTRUCTION, THE BOY-AVATAR AWAKENS
007 CHAPTER 05: STORM ON THE CELESTIAL CASTLE
008 CHAPTER 06: THE PATH TO DECIMATION
009 INTERMEZZO: THE LAST PAWN
010 CHAPTER 07: EIGHT YEARS AGO
011 FINAL CHAPTER: THE WISDOM FROM FRIENDS


We are constantly at war. Gods and Monsters -- of which we are both. Divinity and mortal. It is a cruel jape, this thread the gods of Rohan has spun. Could Ohn have known of this before he disappeared? Is this why he has disappeared? Who could know, really. There are too many minds in this labyrinth, we have all but lost sight of where we came from -- and where we are headed. And perhaps it is better that way. Perhaps it is better if we merely lived life as it is, to take what we are given and make the most of it. Perhaps that is part of the wisdom I have yet to learn. I could almost laugh at the irony. I have always been proud of having undergone Severance -- being free from the shackles of Flox, believing in my own divinity. Never in the centuries that I have lived had I imagined crossing staves with myself -- and quite literally, too. I had been too proud, it seems.

"You will let me pass, Brother," a voice like mine -- but not quite like mine -- said. It was like looking upon a mirror, only the image I see is ghost-like. The paleness almost white, and the blacks are deeper than mine.

It was disconcerting, but I draw strength from one single thought: "You will not kill Alaric," I warned the specter, summoning a wall of hellish flame, wilder than I have ever summoned.

A wave of his hand and the inferno was gone. His casual impudence served only to fuel my rage. "You cannot conjure up enough flame to consume me, Zohariel. Nor can I defeat you," he said, walking towards me. "I see it now -- who I am, and what I must do. You must know it, too."

I do, to be quite honest. From the moment my staff deflected the killing blow the specter was about to deal Alaric -- no, Roha -- my mind exploded in a supernova of recognition. The specter was me. Or rather, the part of me that was taken away during the Severance. Several parts of me, as a matter of fact, as I had been reincarnated for centuries on end, going through many and many more instances of Severance, slowly and gradually building up enough power and magic until at last, it would be enough to rend the entire Weave of magic and destroy Rohan and all who dwell in it. A carefully laid-out plan by the Mad God of Blue Flames, which Roha had managed to intercept by Marea's intervention eight years past. I have been nothing else but a pawn my entire existence, and each Severance I have undergone has been nothing but empty, empty shells of what I thought were meaning. I was enraged. I released another torrent of flame to the specter that was myself.

He held out his hand and caught the river of fire. It snaked up his arms, circling his neck, his body, crawling into his mouth. "Yes, yes, Brother. Anger yourself more. It is maddening, is it not? It is intoxicating, is it not? Do you not feel the Weave bend and submit to your every thought?" His voice was melodious -- a sing-song chant to my ears, and I hear nothing else. Arcane spells lit up in my mind and my flesh was afire. At that point I consumed by pure destructive magic; I wanted to burn.

Somewhere in the chamber, I heard the crashing of steel, the pounding of rocks, and the roar of beasts. Alaric and the Guild Master, a part of my mind whispered. But it was quickly pushed away as I felt the breath of the specter on my neck. "This is what we were made for, Brother. To burn like suns and stars, to light up the Weave." And I felt the sensation of floating, of the ground falling from under my feet, of both ascending and descending. He took my hand and pointed to where Alaric and the Guild Master were crossing sword and zhen. "We must kill him, Brother. Roha. We must take the True Leaf of Ohn and cast our magic into it. Only then will All-Father awaken."

I looked at Alaric from where I was, and I felt the fire on my lips, down my tongue, and onto my throat. I remembered his insolence, deigning to walk the halls of my mind. His arrogance at appearing before me, assuming I would feel kinship towards one who was so terribly inferior. It was incredulous; it was maddening. I lifted a hand and pointed to where he was, feeling the fire singe by clothes, my skin, my bones. The pain was exquisite. For but a few seconds, Alaric's eyes met mine. "Do it," I heard my voice whisper. I released the spell.

( And a memory came unbidden. )

Disclaimer: Rohan Online is not mine, but YNK Interactive and -- I guess to a degree -- Level Up! Games let me use it as a playground. I am not making money out of this, so please don't sue me. Also, the order of which the story should be read is as follows:

001 PROLOGUE: WITHOUT A NAME
002 CHAPTER 01: OF GODS AND MONSTERS
003 CHAPTER 02: AN UNLIKELY EMISSARY
004 CHAPTER 03: AN ADVENT TO SHADOWS
005 INTERMEZZO: WHITE NOISE
006 CHAPTER 04: SEEDS OF DESTRUCTION, THE BOY-AVATAR AWAKENS
007 CHAPTER 05: STORM ON THE CELESTIAL CASTLE
008 CHAPTER 06: THE PATH TO DECIMATION
009 INTERMEZZO: THE LAST PAWN
010 CHAPTER 07: EIGHT YEARS AGO
011 FINAL CHAPTER: THE WISDOM FROM FRIENDS


The wind was warm and tinged with salt as it blew on my face. The merchant ship I was aboard sailed through Shamar River a few hours past noon as expected, and was about to dock at the Basin of Rebirth in but a short while. It was a rare chance sailing a ship in this place, as merchants very seldom take this route -- only when delivering supplies to the outlying bindstone. Otherwise, this area was generally avoided because of the specters and other undead lingering about -- not to mention Dhan assassins and mercenaries from less than reputable Guilds. This ship had little to worry when it came to such things, of course. I noted upon boarding two nights ago the well-armed and armored Guardians patrolling the ship's deck. They even had a Warlock on board, and couple of Priests. And then there's me, a Master of a notable Guild. But of course, the ship's captain and crew didn't know that. All they saw was an old Dekan robed in a cloak of drab with enough Crones to pay for safe passage through the waters.

I stepped off the port and walked on without looking back. I had paid my coin and that was that. I was not the type to chat about and linger. I had very few friends. One of whom I will be seeing again very soon, after years of being apart.

I surveyed the landscape as I walked. Not much has changed from when I was here last. The forests were as thick and the roads as unforgiving. My hand crept to the belt underneath my cloak to check for the hilt of my zhen, and I was satisfied to feel its worn length and grooves on my fingers. I quickened my pace and pulled my cloak closer to me despite the heat.

Eventually, I saw a pillar of blue light in the distance. The Armenes Altar Bindstone, no doubt. A figure stood up, the Bindstone Keeper. Blue robes unique to their Order billowed out about her as a particularly strong wind blew past. She looked towards my direction and raised a hand in greeting. "Well met, friend!" she called out, in perfect Draconic. I was only slightly surprised, as she did not have the blue skin my race shared. Then again, Bindstone Keepers are known to be masters of the language of all the free races -- among other things.

I raised my hands in response, indicating no ill intent. "Well met, Keeper," I greeted. As I neared, I noticed this was a new face -- not the Keeper I have known to secure this area many years ago.

"It is pleasant to see a stranger once in a while, good Dekan. The merchants and suppliers I meet are all good people, to be sure, and I welcome their company, but I have always believed that strangers are friends one has never met," she said good-naturedly.

I could not help warming to this character. I relaxed my guard. "Wise words, Keeper. It is a pity someone as kind would be left alone in a desolate place as the Basin of Rebirth," I said, surprising myself with the sincerity of my words.

"That is true, I do miss the hubbub and noise of the cities..." she said wistfully. "But my Sister Keeper, that is, the one who used to guard this bindstone, passed on, and someone had to take her place."

Judging from her tone, this had happened recently. I had heard of stories of Keepers passing on to their final deaths. Their magic, although attuned to the Weave of Rohan, is still somewhat of a different nature. As I understand it, after years of training within their Order, they become beings of pure magic themselves, although I myself am quite skeptical. But it is known that when they die, their spirits are beyond recall by any magic. Perhaps the Elves and Sages would understand this more. I am a Knight and my strength lies in the steel I wield, not in the spiritual arts. "That is unfortunate," I said, empathy lining my voice, "both for you and for your Sister Keeper."

"Indeed. But duty is our most sublime ideal, good Dekan. Peerless it has been within our Order, and peerless it shall be. I daresay not even love can equal its calling -- love, which my Sister Keeper made the mistake of pursuing." She smiled enigmatically. "I am sure you understand, being a warrior of duty."

I smiled to mask my surprise. Keepers are not to be trifled with -- not this one at least; I sensed a thread of warning underneath her otherwise friendly tone. "There is no higher honor than fulfilling one's duty, Keeper, and I intend to keep mine," I agreed, and proceeded to state my business. "I have received a summons from a friend, needing help harvesting a rare herb that is only found in this area," I explained, my mind relaying to my lips the story I had concocted in case a stranger was curious enough to ask. "He is currently waiting for me near the Altar of Armenes."

She may have believed me, or she may have not, but she was polite enough not to press further. Their power is their great triumph and tragedy -- enough to move the histories of the entire continent with but a whim, but bound by duty to serve and not interfere with the affairs of the free races. I do not envy their station. "Quite understandable. The altar of the great dragon has been overrun by a grotesquerie of demons. It would prove wise to have a strong warrior as a companion. Very well, then. I suppose you would not want to dawdle," she said sagely.

"Yes, I must be on my way. But before I depart, may I know your name, Keeper?"

"Jasmine. Yours, good Dekan?"

And my mind relayed to my lips the name I had concocted in case a stranger was curious enough to ask.

( Onward to the Altar of Armenes. )

Disclaimer: Rohan Online is not mine, but YNK Interactive and -- I guess to a degree -- Level Up! Games let me use it as a playground. I am not making money out of this, so please don't sue me. Also, the order of which the story should be read is as follows:

001 PROLOGUE: WITHOUT A NAME
002 CHAPTER 01: OF GODS AND MONSTERS
003 CHAPTER 02: AN UNLIKELY EMISSARY
004 CHAPTER 03: AN ADVENT TO SHADOWS
005 INTERMEZZO: WHITE NOISE
006 CHAPTER 04: SEEDS OF DESTRUCTION, THE BOY-AVATAR AWAKENS
007 CHAPTER 05: STORM ON THE CELESTIAL CASTLE
008 CHAPTER 06: THE PATH TO DECIMATION
009 INTERMEZZO: THE LAST PAWN
010 CHAPTER 07: EIGHT YEARS AGO
011 FINAL CHAPTER: THE WISDOM FROM FRIENDS


I awaken once again. My vision clears, like curtains parting. I smell the ember smells of dusk and twilight, of fires dying. Where am I this time? I look around, trying to pierce through the haze. It is always like this upon awakening; I wonder when I will get used to it? Then again maybe I do not have to get used to it. Maybe all this will end soon. I sense it. I taste it, like wine swirling in my mouth. Like green crackles in the Weave.

Shapes begin to sharpen amidst the haze of burgeoning night. There. A vast rocky plain, lifeless and barren. The air stirs, not from things living, but from a haunt of banshees prowling the savanna. There. A bindstone and a merchant encampment; a safe pocket in this shadowy wilderness. There. Further into the gloom, melting into the darkening sky, a lake, reflecting fragments of the rising moon. And -- ah, there. THERE. Set upon the heavens like an ancient treasure. There I must go. This emptiness in my chest craves for it -- howls for it.

I lick my cracked, dry lips. And, without knowing how I knew, I whispered its name -- reverently, and thick with longing. "The Celestial Castle Rakhon." All at once, I begin my slow, silent ascent.


Demons plague the halls of this castle at every turn. So do mercenaries and thieves from all the free races, it seems. No matter. They will not stand in my way. They will not hinder me from the one who strums the chords of my emptiness. With but a thought, I sever their ties to the physical plane and send them to their final deaths where no magic, Elven or Draconic, can bring them back.

I walk -- slowly. At each bend, at each corner, I stop and close my eyes, feeling the strings tug at what once must have been a heart. I reorient myself, breathe, and then I walk again. I do this over and over, measuring the passage of time in sure, deliberate strides.

Eventually, I come upon it -- this wave of magic crashing into me. A foot steps back to accommodate its force, but my arms welcome it. I smile -- for the first time since I had been called into being.

I hear the song of steel on steel, of the hum of magic being cast. The emptiness in my chest growls in anticipation. I clutch at it absentmindedly. I step into the chambers.

There. THERE. Beside the Dekan. He is the one. The one who has the same emptiness as I have. The one who haunts me before I lose consciousness, and the one who plagues my vision as soon as I awaken. The one who gnaws at my mind and claws at my very existence. I must go to him. I must go to him. I must kill him.

Disclaimer: Rohan Online is not mine, but YNK Interactive and -- I guess to a degree -- Level Up! Games let me use it as a playground. I am not making money out of this, so please don't sue me. Also, the order of which the story should be read is as follows:

001 PROLOGUE: WITHOUT A NAME
002 CHAPTER 01: OF GODS AND MONSTERS
003 CHAPTER 02: AN UNLIKELY EMISSARY
004 CHAPTER 03: AN ADVENT TO SHADOWS
005 INTERMEZZO: WHITE NOISE
006 CHAPTER 04: SEEDS OF DESTRUCTION, THE BOY-AVATAR AWAKENS
007 CHAPTER 05: STORM ON THE CELESTIAL CASTLE
008 CHAPTER 06: THE PATH TO DECIMATION
009 INTERMEZZO: THE LAST PAWN
010 CHAPTER 07: EIGHT YEARS AGO
011 FINAL CHAPTER: THE WISDOM FROM FRIENDS


This is taking too much time. Jainus Une Roha is showing no signs of tiring, even after all the spells we assault him with. The Land and Fire Angels flying about the chambers are a nuisance at best, to be sure, but armadas at once can be quite vexing. And after all the destruction we have been unleashing in the chambers, Alaric still cannot locate the True Leaf of Ohn!

"It was here when the moon turned last, I am telling you!" he shouted from the other end of the chamber, dodging a jet of flame from a stray Fire Angel that might have immolated his entire left arm. Two heartbeats later, the Angel was reduced to a scattering of red light motes, Alaric's bastard sword gleaming dangerously in its wake. He ran to another corner of the chamber at once -- a corner which he had passed for the seventh time at the last counting.

"Then it is here, Brother Commander," the Evolved Sage roared in affirmation, as he unleashed a fierce stream of dragon breath on Jainus point-blank, burning the surrounding Angels as well to nonexistence. "And we simply must needs look harder."

"Perhaps it would be prudent to ask Jainus here of its whereabouts?" the Templar suggested, impatience lacing her gruff voice. She had been relentlessly pommeling the seemingly impenetrable shade with her enchanted mace, careening nimbly to and fro to avoid connecting with Jainus' own attacks, but the shade simply shrugs them off as a Giant would a gnat.

"This is getting us nowhere. Brother White Elf, how are you faring?" I asked the young green-haired Priest to the left and behind me, as I threw seven force blasts at once to push back seven Angels advancing at our direction. "Taunt!" I shout to the Sage.

I did not get a response from the Priest so I spared a glance at his direction to make sure he was still alive, executing arcane passes into the air at the same time with my free hand for the next offensive spell. He was standing, thank the Blue Flames, although he looked terribly exhausted, chest heaving and sword-arm hardly steady from the effort of healing all of us and recently resurrecting our Sister Warlock. He did manage a nod, so that will do. Alaric should have chosen a more veteran Priest for our Squadron, I thought, as I released my spell, charring the seven Angels. This stripling youth looks like he'd just been initiated to Priesthood.

"Apologies, Brother Wizard," the Warlock said, panting, taking her place once again beside me. "But it felt like my own spell backfired when I aimed at Jainus. The True Leaf must indeed be here." She started casting strengthening spells on herself once more.

( And the Weave sang an arcane melody. )

Rarely do I go spelunking in the dark, dusty, cavernous archives of my blog, but when someone else does -- and brings back unsavory remains of things dead and decaying -- I am compelled to put on my rubber gloves and do some serious spring cleaning.

I have been keeping journals for as long as I can remember. The whole lot of them in notebooks which I do not have anymore. In the advent of the Internet, I started jotting down my thoughts in the vacuum of cyberspace. Unlike notebooks, however, these do not get lost easily, and are readily accessible with but a few magical mouse-clicks. This may be a good thing for some -- and for most of us, this is NOT. Especially when one goes through a period in one's life which, oh, let's call it the Dark Ages. Unfortunately for me, a few remnants of my Dark Ages managed to seep through the Internet before I completely broke away from it, circa 2001-2002. And now that a friend of mine has most graciously pointed it out, I am finally purging myself of them. Thank the cosmos forgetting is just as easy with, again, but a few magical mouse-clicks.

To fragments of who I was -- fragments I grind to dust and cast into the wind -- I bid a most sincere adieu. Cross into the light, be at peace, and may you never come back to bite me in the ass.

Disclaimer: Rohan Online is not mine, but YNK Interactive and -- I guess to a degree -- Level Up! Games let me use it as a playground. I am not making money out of this, so please don't sue me. Also, the order of which the story should be read is as follows:

001 PROLOGUE: WITHOUT A NAME
002 CHAPTER 01: OF GODS AND MONSTERS
003 CHAPTER 02: AN UNLIKELY EMISSARY
004 CHAPTER 03: AN ADVENT TO SHADOWS
005 INTERMEZZO: WHITE NOISE
006 CHAPTER 04: SEEDS OF DESTRUCTION, THE BOY-AVATAR AWAKENS
007 CHAPTER 05: STORM ON THE CELESTIAL CASTLE
008 CHAPTER 06: THE PATH TO DECIMATION
009 INTERMEZZO: THE LAST PAWN
010 CHAPTER 07: EIGHT YEARS AGO
011 FINAL CHAPTER: THE WISDOM FROM FRIENDS


"I gathered the dead and burned them. Peering into their fear-burnt and lifeless faces, all I could think of was the paralyzing void of loss. There was nothing else in my heart. These people had families, people who loved them waiting for them somewhere. The overwhelming sense of it was packed tight into my 11-year old body. I could only imagine how Rosalind must have felt.

"I buried our parents last. Our father's sword, I laid on his chest; our mother seemingly asleep beside him. Her face was immaculate. Their bodies and faces both seemed to say they were ready to cross the veil. I was carrying Rosalind as I lit the pyre. She was silent now, her hands cold and numb, no doubt mirroring the chill in her heart. We stayed where we were until there was nothing but ash."

Alaric was looking at his feet, head reclined on the back of the couch, empty goblet of wine twirling on his hands. His eyes looked more distant than sad, as if he were reading himself a story from a book. He placed the goblet back on the table, let out a sigh, smiled, and looked at me. "Nothing much happened after that. My sister and I never returned to Ash Valley. We never went to Ehres Harbor either. We took a path and walked straight on it without looking back, living off the land. With my newfound strength and endurance, I could walk on for miles without needing food. Hunting game for my sister was not that difficult, and I almost never slept, watching over her during the night.

"Eventually, the path we were on led us to Einhoren. It must have been five days since the Festival, but the town was still talking about the devastation that happened at the Tranquil Forest. Me and my sister never said a word about it. Instead, I tried looking for honest work -- from the smallest fetching duties to apprenticing for one of the minor blacksmiths.

"It wasn't long before the Guild Master found me. Of course, I didn't know it at that time. All I knew was he was an old Dekan with the bearing of a hardened warrior and a battle light that reminded me somewhat of my father. He said he sensed an unusual resonation of power within me, offering not only to take me under his tutelage, but a roof for both me and my sister as well. I agreed right on the spot. By the following summer, I was elevated to Commander status, with Einhoren as my jurisdiction."

"And here you are," I said, with a slight flourish of the hand, reflecting his smile.

He mock-bowed. "And here I am. So..." his own smile widened, "... friendship?" and held out his hand.

I regarded it with an amused, if slightly bored, expression. I looked at his face again, fingers poised under my chin, feigning deep thought. I let him hold his breath for a while, and without warning, I stood up. "It is late," I declared. "You shall stay for supper, and I shall have the servant golems prepare your rooms for you." I started to walk to the door, expecting him to follow. "Your horse, if you have one, shall be tended to as well, and will be ready until your departure at daybreak."

I never saw the playful way he skipped off the couch, nor the victorious grin he had as we exited into the hallway and teleported to the dining hall. I smiled, despite myself.

( Seven days have passed. )

Disclaimer: Rohan Online is not mine, but YNK Interactive and -- I guess to a degree -- Level Up! Games let me use it as a playground. I am not making money out of this, so please don't sue me. Also, the order of which the story should be read is as follows:

001 PROLOGUE: WITHOUT A NAME
002 CHAPTER 01: OF GODS AND MONSTERS
003 CHAPTER 02: AN UNLIKELY EMISSARY
004 CHAPTER 03: AN ADVENT TO SHADOWS
005 INTERMEZZO: WHITE NOISE
006 CHAPTER 04: SEEDS OF DESTRUCTION, THE BOY-AVATAR AWAKENS
007 CHAPTER 05: STORM ON THE CELESTIAL CASTLE
008 CHAPTER 06: THE PATH TO DECIMATION
009 INTERMEZZO: THE LAST PAWN
010 CHAPTER 07: EIGHT YEARS AGO
011 FINAL CHAPTER: THE WISDOM FROM FRIENDS


A fortnight had passed since the siege at Siemech. Naturally, our guild had taken the stronghold. Before sundown on the same day, the banners of the opposing guild were taken down, replaced by our own -- a single silver star on the corner of a black field. During the festivities that came after, our Guild Master magnanimously bestowed Siemech to a lesser guild which had proven their allegiance to us for many a time.

Of course, the Guild Master never forgot the special mission our small unit undertook, although I was the only one to receive the honor at that time. Both our young leader and the Dhan were still at the care of our guild's healers (pretentiously calling themselves the Conclave of the Pure) and they would not be available until the morrow, I was told.

I was anxious to speak with our leader, but the icy White Elves did not permit me to enter his rooms, promptly slamming the door to my face before I even finished stating my request. I'd made sure to bow apologetically to the the offending door, careful not to let a few prissy White Elves get the better of me. The continents think Dark Elves arrogant, but the White Elves are actually even haughtier, pretending to like everyone. At least we admit to our arrogance. The guards regarded me with a perplexed look.

I spent the evening at Siemech, hoping to talk with the leader the following day. My patience was unrewarded however. In the afternoon, while I was exploring the stronghold's underground library, I was told by a young, nervous-looking Dekan novice from our ally guild whom I'd clandestinely hired the previous evening to keep an eye on our young leader that our quarry had left the care of the Conclave. I gave the trembling apprentice a curt nod and a pouch heavy with Crones and sent him on his way.

I was left in a conundrum. There was no way for me to know the whereabouts of our young leader. This guild thrives on secrecy -- names, origins, personal affairs of each member, even ceremonies are kept to the barest minimum. Only the guild crest magically embedded upon initiation at the back of each novitiate's left hand serves as a testament of affiliation. And even that, only our Guild Master and his commanders can activate.

I stepped out of the library and headed to the portal in the middle of the courtyard, trying to hide the tumult in my mind by looking purposeful and taking long, deliberate strides. There was no doubting we would meet again, of course. I simply had to shelf the idea as to when, else I'd go mad with anticipation. "Ignis. Montt," I said to the portal keeper, and in a breath, I was home.

( Portal Stone to Montt. )

... will get you sore feet that will not move for anything as soon as you get home in the evening. Yesterday's Manila trek with Chris and Ly was one of the most exhausting trips I've ever experienced.

It's not without good trade-offs, however. Got to try out Estero at Binondo for lunch, for instance. Food was really good and really cheap. Chris ordered a shrimp dish, and Ly and I got beef in spicy sauce. For rice, we had Shanghai fried. We barely scratched the surface of what Estero had to offer, so I hope we're be going back in the near future.

After our tummies were happy, we walked to Binondo church to say hi to the statues and, well, mostly get away from the heat. It's been a while since I stepped inside a church, so I felt the need to ask, "What do we do inside?" I had to convince myself we won't get struck down by lightning in divine retribution just by being there and looking at the murals. Growing up studying in a Catholic school has made me a bit paranoid about being inside churches, apparently.

After paying our respects to the Lynda Carter angels (Ly's fault) by the church's main entrance, we headed out for coffee to wait until the heat fizzles out. But as it turns out, our wait wasn't worth much since the heat was still pounding down on us by the time we decided to walk again.

Ly wanted to check out some craft stuff at Divisoria, which was... I suppose relatively near, so we thought it would be OK to walk. After twenty, thirty minutes of trudging through back roads and alleyways and streets of freshly-laid out asphalt burning through the soles of our shoes, we finally found Tabora. Up and down we went for more or less an hour and a half until Ly had his fill of things he doesn't need. (Hee hee.)

By 4:00pm, we started walking towards another destination. This time from Tabora to Reina Regente, where we were getting a jeep to take us to Recto and ride the D. Jose train to Pedro Gil. Amaryllis will be at the Level Up! Games event that was taking place at Robinson's Manila, and I said I'd dropped by to say hi and check out the festivities.

We got there by 5:00pm when the event was about to end. Good thing we still caught up with Amaryllis, tho. Chris had to go home by this time, so Ly and I went with Amaryllis instead to Walter Mart Makati where she'd be meeting up a friend at 9:00pm. We kept her company until around 8:00pm and then Ly had to get home.

I walked with Ly from Walter Mart Makati to Buendia where he'd be getting a ride to the Ayala MRT Station. I thought it was still too early, so I decided to keep him company until he got to Ayala. Arriving at the station and having nowhere else to go, I turned back to the direction where I came from and started the long walk home.

By the time I got to Dela Rosa, which was almost near my place, my feet were already begging for mercy. I almost took off my shoes to walk barefoot since there was no one around anyway, but decided against it. The minute I got home, I fixed myself a large tumbler of ice-cold orange juice, retreated to my room, put my feet up, and gave in to happy, happy, blissful exhaustion.

It feels good, having a renewed vigor in writing. It isn't much now, but at least I'm getting myself back into shape. Or, I don't know, was I "in shape" to begin with? Ah, well. I'm just glad I'm doing something productive with my time.

I owe this reincarnation to my most recent vice, Rohan Online. Sans the bugs and the rowdy community, the mythology is kind of cool, albeit (such an ugly word) suffering from a few loose details. Nevertheless, it tickled nerves enough in my brain to hotwire a revolution.

I started with one piece, and, without initially intending it to be, it is currently growing into something more. Enough, even, for me to draw out an outline (collective gasp). Yes, I have never been so formal with any work of fiction before, but the ideas just kept on gushing out that I felt I had to dam them in somehow else I might end up with something like this again.

Still. The prospect scares me. I feel I have bitten off far more than I can chew... but that has always been my problem. How do I know it's too much if I don't venture forth beyond the proverbial fog of war? I can do this. It's about time I do this.



____________________
PS: Too, I owe this hotwiring to someone I fancy calling my sister, Amaryllis. She gave me that little nudge which got me into role-playing my character in the Rohan Boards. Eventually I'd gotten to know other creative spirits, and even gods and goddesses. A deep court bow to the Mad God of Blue Flames, Flox, and his twin sister of white magic, Marea. This scribe hopes his words provide enough amusement to merit his continued existence.

Disclaimer: Rohan Online is not mine, but YNK Interactive and -- I guess to a degree -- Level Up! Games let me use it as a playground. I am not making money out of this, so please don't sue me. Also, the order of which the story should be read is as follows:

001 PROLOGUE: WITHOUT A NAME
002 CHAPTER 01: OF GODS AND MONSTERS
003 CHAPTER 02: AN UNLIKELY EMISSARY
004 CHAPTER 03: AN ADVENT TO SHADOWS
005 INTERMEZZO: WHITE NOISE
006 CHAPTER 04: SEEDS OF DESTRUCTION, THE BOY-AVATAR AWAKENS
007 CHAPTER 05: STORM ON THE CELESTIAL CASTLE
008 CHAPTER 06: THE PATH TO DECIMATION
009 INTERMEZZO: THE LAST PAWN
010 CHAPTER 07: EIGHT YEARS AGO
011 FINAL CHAPTER: THE WISDOM FROM FRIENDS


When our entire force arrived at the outskirts of Siemech three hours prior, our Guild Master wasted no time and called for a War Council with his commanders right away. Every one of them was present, although I wasn't made privy to their names. No one within my rank was, I suppose, as was customary. This is an old, strong guild with old, strong traditions. It still makes me wonder why I was recruited in the first place.

The Human youth was among them. I have seen him a few times before, sitting at the council table during fortnightly gatherings, but not everytime. He speaks when he is spoken to, but more often than not he is seen sipping on his goblet, lips a morose straight line, and eyes ponderous and thoughtful.

It wasn't long before the Council adjourned and the commanders dispersed to their respective squadrons. I was surprised to see the Human youth walking towards me. "Brother Dark Elf," he called.

"Brother," I said in acknowledgment.

"I have special orders from our Guild Master. I am to choose among the force three individuals to create a special squadron." He paused for a response. I nodded for him to go on. "While the rest of the force is assembled throughout various points around the Siemech stronghold for the siege, our squadron will stealthily infiltrate their walls and take down their Captain of the Guard."

"My magic would mainly serve as support, then, rather than assault."

"Yes, and transport." He produced a ring from a little pouch slung on his belt. "Here is a summon ring. Two more Dhans will be recruited to complete our party. I shall activate it once our squadron is complete. Be ready."

I nodded one last time before he turned away. It was rather odd, taking commands from someone significantly shorter, but the inert power the youth possesses is undeniable. Any doubts I might have from him being in the council have been adequately dispelled just by a few moments of being in close quarters. I returned to my meditation.

It wasn't long before the summon ring was activated. In my mind's eye, I received the exact location of our leader, and in a few moments, I was there. Two Dhans were present as well, and both were donned in the light leather armor of assassins -- although these were in the deep midnight blue of our guild, and enchanted, no doubt. Both were lithe and moved with the fluid grace of wild cats, and both were taller than our leader. They both glanced in my direction at my appearance, and I immediately felt the effects of the cloaking magic unique to their race.

"I have briefed all of you as to the objective of our mission," he started without taking his eyes off the enemy guild's stronghold. The banners were waving furiously in the morning wind. "Brother Dark Elf, you shall provide magical support and teleportation. Brothers Dhan, both of you will be our eyes and ears as we penetrate the stronghold. None shall stray during the operation. I alone will face the Captain of the Guard. We rendezvous with the rest of the guild in about three hours."

And with but a word, the die was cast. There was never any doubt we would complete our mission. The entire stronghold was on alert, but by sheer number, our victory is assured. This is one of the minor guilds who will not yield to a merging with ours, and yet still dared raise a challenge. Their conviction is admirable, but they are as foolish as they are brave.

One of our Dhan comrades fell, but the Captain of the Guard was cunning as he is strong, proving his tactical skills by killing an invisible assassin before he himself was struck down. Our leader retaliated and rushed to him in one wide swing of his blade, cutting a swath in the middle of the hall, leaving the Captain with nary a moment to breathe from his fresh kill.

That was about an hour ago. Our mission is complete, and we have paralyzed a major arm in the enemy guild's forces. We are supposed to rendezvous with the rest at the frontlines, otherwise, the siege will start with the assumption that we are dead.

The hall was littered with the bodies of fallen soldiers belonging to all the free races. And at the apex, the Captain of the Guard lay still and unbreathing yet dignified and proud, the battle light of warriors fading slowly from his person. Before him, Roha. Sword thrust upon the ground, arms spread, youthful Human face twisted in an ecstatic smile of sated bloodlust and rage too beautiful and terrible to behold.

"The Human body is a wonderful thing," the boy-god said in between ragged breaths. "Soft and pliant and deliciously fragile. And the blood!" he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, the expression on his face a perfect blend of reverence and pleasure. "Just the scent of it is intoxicating. So thick and rich and red... It has been millennia since I last bled."

I was immediately at the defensive but I felt each nerve and muscle nailed to one spot. My legs had the weight of leaden stones and my staff seemed oceans and oceans away, even though the skin on my hands knew I was clutching it all too tightly. And for a few seconds, the despairing thought of the Weave abandoning me crossed my mind. That alone was unbearable.

Pushing against the raging torrent in my spirit, I willed my voice to existence. "Speak your intentions, Roha. Otherwise, strike. You will not take us down easily." Immediately I felt the soothing calm of solid words, of biding time.

Roha turned his gaze towards me. My body shivered involuntarily. "Brave little Dark Elf, child of Flox," he folded his arms across his chest. "I believe you have just uttered a perfect blend of bravery, foolishness, and hopelessness in one fell swoop. So perfect with words, just like your creator."

I felt a slight shift in the air. Movement so quick and precise, it was beyond mortal bounds. All at once the Dhan was behind Roha, katar poised to paralyze... but not enough. The god spun just before the Dhan can complete his thrust, and in another second, sent him flying at hellish speed towards the other end of the hall. His body crashed at a wooden arms locker, sending splinters exploding all over the place.

"Arrogant Dhans." He spared a wistful glance towards the limp body of my comrade and turned back to me. I saw what seemed like pity and compassion in his eyes, but only for a flicker. "They are as much my children as the Humans of Einhoren are. Yet they are very much like you, Dark Elves. Beneath your thick carapace of nobility and honor lies a pounding heart that is headstrong and quickly enflamed. It is a wonder how the Dhans can be such unparalleled assassins. Or how you can be such... politicians."

His talking more or less relaxed me now. I can feel my staff and my connection to the Weave seeping into my fingers. I can get through this. "You have something to say, Roha. If not, you would not have bothered with the charade of this mission and you would have killed me. Speak, please."

The god regarded me with what he must have intended to be an indulgent look. The round chestnut Human eyes had failed to impress the stern indulgence of a god, but instead had the disarming look of curious wonderment only a child is capable of. It was hauntingly beautiful, and it had me affixed. "I suppose you have no reason to trust me. After all, me and my siblings want nothing else but to see the destruction of all the free races -- for nothing else but the resurrection of our All-Father Ohn.

"However I am not blind, and am I not the god of justice? Who better to see the equilibrium of our universe other than me? And what I am seeing now is the treacherous hand of Flox, the Intelligent. The entire blanket of creation dances at his fingertips." He looked at his hands and an expression of what seemed like pain lined his face. "Even us, his beloved siblings. He is treading a dangerous path, and he seeks not only the destruction of the free races, but I fear he covets the power of Ohn himself. For millennia I have suspected, but never acted. No more."

He looked at me with eyes burning and all-consuming. "Before me, Dark Elf, named Zohariel, I give you this message." My heart skipped a beat at the mention of my undisclosed name. "Roha, the Eldest, has descended in secret, and these words in secret shall remain: Trust none save for the voice of this boy-child, whom I have anointed as my avatar. Flox suspects, but he is riddled with doubts. He will send his own emissaries; he may even make his presence known, but never relent. Remember your Severance, and you will overcome. I shall descend time and again as events unfold. Until then, grow in power and be wary."

Light motes began to dance around Roha's form, slowly at first and gradually increasing in number and intensity, until nothing but a pillar of yellow light enveloped him. I covered my eyes for what seemed like an eternity and when I opened them again, there was nothing but the after-image of the pillar and the body of our leader kneeling and holding on to the hilt of his ground-thrust sword. He was breathing heavily and rivulets of blood were tracing down his pale face. "Brother," he said hoarsely. "Attend to our Dhan comrade. He still lives, but he will remember naught of what transpired."

I quickly did as I was told. I knelt beside the Dhan and touched his shoulder. I whispered to the Weave a spell of movement, and in a second we were beside our leader. "I shall transport us to a healer at once." But not before dealing an icy gaze to the boy-child beside me. "And once you are well, you will tell me all that you know." And, as an afterthought, "Brother."

Disclaimer: Rohan Online is not mine, but YNK Interactive and -- I guess to a degree -- Level Up! Games let me use it as a playground. I am not making money out of this, so please don't sue me. Also, the order of which the story should be read is as follows:

001 PROLOGUE: WITHOUT A NAME
002 CHAPTER 01: OF GODS AND MONSTERS
003 CHAPTER 02: AN UNLIKELY EMISSARY
004 CHAPTER 03: AN ADVENT TO SHADOWS
005 INTERMEZZO: WHITE NOISE
006 CHAPTER 04: SEEDS OF DESTRUCTION, THE BOY-AVATAR AWAKENS
007 CHAPTER 05: STORM ON THE CELESTIAL CASTLE
008 CHAPTER 06: THE PATH TO DECIMATION
009 INTERMEZZO: THE LAST PAWN
010 CHAPTER 07: EIGHT YEARS AGO
011 FINAL CHAPTER: THE WISDOM FROM FRIENDS


Another three fell before me. I lowered my staff and whispered an incantation of dispelling of psychic threads to the Weave, and exhaled. Looking to my right, it seems that my Dhan comrade has just ended his little frolic with two of the enemy guild's numbers as well.

The leader of our squadron, a Human male no more than a stripling youth, is hard-pressed on his battle with the Captain of the Guard. The singing of steel on steel rang on through the cold, crisp Siemech dawn, with no telltale signs of breaking.

"Do you think we should help him out?" said the Dhan, who was suddenly, stealthily beside me. I have long stopped being surprised and amazed at how silent and agile the Dhans can be. The culture and the ways of their people might be a mystery to the entire continent, but the fact that they are all trained assassins is no secret. Chilling to think about what they go through before they are given leave to explore the walls outside Kowarre, their home country.

"He will not allow it," I said without taking my eyes off the fight. Although I must admit, there is a faint scalding in my throat of a spell of empowerment threatening to be let loose. But our leader made it clear before our assault that he alone will face the Captain of the Guard, and he will brook no interference from any of us. Young he may be, but the potent power in his voice reserved no place for contention.

The battle is mounting. Both warriors have discarded their shields and most of their armors. The glint of their swords in the morning light was a divine sight in itself. It seems they are talking, but their words are lost in the distance.

Quite unexpectedly, our young leader eased his stance and thrust his sword to the ground. His opponent, in contrast, crouched low and brought his sword up. I reached into the Weave in a fit of curiosity and silently spun a spell to sharpen my vision.

The Captain's face was, to say the least, fascinating -- every muscle was stone-still and ice-cold, like the crags of a lonely, desolate cliff. Life has drained from his eyes, as if he'd want nothing more than an honorable death. And, glancing at our leader, it seems he will get it.

"That's it, I'm helping him," the Dhan beside me spoke urgently, clasping the hilt of his katar.

"Stand down, Brother," I said, crossing his path with my staff. "It is almost finished."

And it is indeed reaching its crescendo. The Captain broke into a dash, his sword boiling blood red in the sun. The undulations of the Weave were maddening even from this distance, yet our young leader remained calm. He raised his blood-marred arms at the approach of his opponent as if in welcome, and at the second of impact, there was nothing but pure, white light.

The etheric affinity of Dark Elves to the Weave enabled me to anticipate the onslaught of dissonant magic and I was able to raise a barrier both for me and my Dhan comrade. Even so, it took most of my psychic energy to constantly reinforce and adjust the barrier to the right size and strength every so often to prevent it from shattering prematurely. I ought to talk to our leader about this. Powerful he may be, but the reckless use of force may very well put our squadron's mission in jeopardy.

"Brother," my Dhan comrade said, through the ringing of magic in my ears. "That power wasn't..."

"... human, I know," I finished, through gritted teeth.

And as quickly as it sparked to life, the waves and waves of energy just... vanished. Gone. Like the side of a mountain exploding, leaving a gaping, yawning hole, so did the sudden release of power leave a gaping, yawning hole in the Weave. Yes, it will heal, but with the strain it went through, it will take time.

I lowered my staff but I kept the barrier up. Aside from protecting us, it served to dampen the ambient magic, preventing any other Dark Elf or anything else tied to the Weave from sensing the dissonance that just occurred. I let out an incantation to hold the barrier indefinitely until the Weave manages to heal itself.

Me and the Dhan ran towards our leader, not waiting for the smoke to clear. I knew we weren't really expecting to see him dead; that wasn't our cause for hurry. What we wanted to know was -- and at this point we've reached the epicenter of devastation where our leader was standing, or rather, stood -- why Roha was in the form of a stripling youth, smiling at us.

Disclaimer: Rohan Online is not mine, but YNK Interactive and -- I guess to a degree -- Level Up! Games let me use it as a playground. I am not making money out of this, so please don't sue me. Also, the order of which the story should be read is as follows:

001 PROLOGUE: WITHOUT A NAME
002 CHAPTER 01: OF GODS AND MONSTERS
003 CHAPTER 02: AN UNLIKELY EMISSARY
004 CHAPTER 03: AN ADVENT TO SHADOWS
005 INTERMEZZO: WHITE NOISE
006 CHAPTER 04: SEEDS OF DESTRUCTION, THE BOY-AVATAR AWAKENS
007 CHAPTER 05: STORM ON THE CELESTIAL CASTLE
008 CHAPTER 06: THE PATH TO DECIMATION
009 INTERMEZZO: THE LAST PAWN
010 CHAPTER 07: EIGHT YEARS AGO
011 FINAL CHAPTER: THE WISDOM FROM FRIENDS


We are at war, that much cannot be denied. I have learned so many things, and I have been made privy to so many secrets since the Ceremony of Severance opened my crimson-cerulean eyes. I, and a great number of my peers, have been thrust in the middle of an ancient and cruel game of Gods and Monsters: Flox, the creator of our noble race whom I have been taught to respect my whole life, his twin sister Marea, and the rest of their wretched otherworldly kin, plan to kill us all.


Dark Elves have neither Mother nor Father. Rather, our concept of a "Mother" or a "Father" differ much greatly from that of other races. We are all of us, quite literally, born of flame. The molten, volcanic rocks of Ignis are the framework from which the ethereal spirits of flame and shadow coalesce into pale corporeal flesh. Our distinctly mismatched eyes represent the dual command we have over both the Crimson Fire of Life and the Cerulean Weave of Magic. Any other Dark Elf whom we refer to as Mother or Father are merely our mentors in mastering the arcane arts and harnessing the power of flame. Kinship therefore, for us, encompasses all Dark Elves in existence -- yes, including the murderous, scheming, incestuous Flox.

The Ceremony of Severance does exactly what it says it would do. It severs our ties from Flox, the madness he represents that taints the Weave, and the kinship embedded into us from our time of emergence. The Severance reveals that each Dark Elf, after being ensconced for a specific amount of time within his or her own corporeal form, develops an ethereal spirit akin to, putting it simply, Gods. Indeed, each individual Dark Elf possesses the inert potential to create life -- to create worlds -- as Flox had done with us, and as Ohn had done with Flox and his siblings.

The Fire and the Weave that mature together inside our pale forms will be the twofold key to unlocking the mystery of creation, and it is this exact same mystery His Grand Majesty George Lyonan had been working on his whole life.

The Academy of Blue Flames, before its fall to the plague of monsters, was dedicated to this research -- to unravel the various secrets of the Weave. Fortunately, the fruits of research have been well-preserved, even after the Academy has been overrun by the aberrant Worms and Golems. Flox's one great mistake was that he made us too much like him -- meticulous, down to the very last hair's-breadth detail.

What I do not understand however, is the reason why His Grand Majesty decides to hide this from the fledgling Dark Elves. He keeps them in the shadows and lets them mindlessly mouth exultations to Flox until he decides it is time to wrench them from blissful ignorance.

Perhaps his wisdom is beyond my understanding, but now that I have gone through The Severance, I am speculating it was necessary for us fledglings to completely understand our divine origins first and foremost. Perhaps he meant for us to understand this divine bond we had with Flox, and in turn, Flox's divine bonds with us, and how those selfsame bonds were painfully severed in rage and madness. Perhaps he meant for us to understand that as Flox, a God, severed himself from his children, we, logically, can sever ourselves from him.

This understanding, coupled with the knowledge that we are ourselves divine, catalyzed by our innate powers over the Flame and the Weave, both evolving over time and memory, in effect, turn us into Gods.

But enough philosophizing. Us Dark Elves might have been created with superior intellect surpassing any and all the other races, but overestimating could yet be our downfall. That is a mistake which should never happen. What I do understand is yes, my power is my own, and Flox, Marea, and their equally disdainful siblings, are raising hell on my home. Ohn must have seen this -- which makes it unsurprising why he decided to leave without a trace.


The Gathering Hall at Ehres Harbor was quiet, or at least, as quiet as it could get before first light. Nevertheless, I awoke from my reverie. My staff was humming with resonant, ambient magic, signaling my brothers-in-arms nearby. I stood up from where I was seated, dusted myself off, and lightly tapped my staff to the ground twice to dispel the magical cloaking I cast on myself the night before. I strode silently and leisurely through the closed stalls, past the cargoes being unloaded from the port, past the wounded, the sick, and the dying, and onto the nearest bindstone.

An unmoving form, silhouetted by the mana-blue light pillar before him, stood in response to my approach. "Brother," the silhouette voiced. Sharp and clear as the zhen it bore, the voice pierced through the dawn mist.

And in response, countless shadows moved in every corner of the forest, stepping into the light of the bindstone. To those I knew, I gave a nod. To those I did not know, I rendered the same courtesy. These are my brothers and sisters. These are my kin. Dark Elf I may be, noble and proud and esteemed of all races, but in a war of Gods and Monsters, us Gods must belong to one side.

The strongest among us, the Dekan silhouette, raised his zhen. The first dawn light seemed to split in two as it kissed the edge of the ancient draconic blade. "Dark Elves!" he shouted. His voice a deep, booming war drum rumbling the earth we were standing on.

I and my Dark Elf brethren raised our staves as one, channeling a mounting light from the Weave, portal spells ready to be cast at a word from our Guild Master. We are at war, a single mantra, a prayer, marched through my mind.

"To Siemech!" And before the radiant blanket of light engulfed the entire assemblage, I figured out who I was praying to. I smiled. We are at war. "And we will win," I breathed.

There is no great wisdom to be gleaned from this, I realize now. Nothing sage-like or poignant or moving. "Complex" doesn't even resonate well with it. As I stretch the creases out from my folded-up blanket and pat my pillows back into shape, I knew that the best thing I like about sex was the cleaning up after.

This epiphany, minor as it is, is one of the best ones I've had in this lifetime, honestly speaking. Used to be I'd curl up into a shallow cubbyhole of melancholia for a few hours, thinking about how very lonely I am, needing to have sex with complete strangers just to validate my self-worth, pretending to feel loved even for a few muscle-controlled minutes... But NO. Not really. I really just needed to get off, and there just so happened to be someone who was in the same vibe as I am, and messing around with that person seemed like the right thing to do at that time -- so we did. I can validate my self-worth all I want while we're madly grinding against each other, flesh on flesh on flesh, and oh yes, yes, whisper my name lovingly into my ears as our passion culminates into a steaming, sweaty, sticky crescendo, but as soon as we get our breath back, I'm hitting the showers, baby.

And if this had happened at a place other than my room, I would have actually kept my clothes on. About three months ago, I hooked up with a guy in his office. He asked me why I wouldn't remove my shirt and jacket. I told him sex with clothes on gets me really hot. Sure, that was part of it, but really, I just wanted to be able to dress up as quickly as possible as soon as we finish so I can get home right away and take a bath. Heh.

He just left, this latest trick, and all I can think of was, "WOO. Now I get to bathe and make my bed again." The flesh in my arms feels cool and taut as I pull the mattress back into position, and the scent of soap arcing through the air feels rejuvenating as I toss the pillows back into their places at the head of the bed. I feel clean and, very much like my blanket, crease-free and stretched out in all the right places. Nothing feels better than cleaning up after a quick tussle in the mud.

Bravely, I look further than I see.
Knowing things I know I cannot be, not now.
I'm so aware of where I am, but I don't know where that is
and there's something right in front of me, and I --

Touch the fingers of my hand
and I wonder if it's me
holding on and on to Theories of Prosperity,
someone who can promise me.
I believe in me.


Believe, K's Choice

I can't deny it anymore. I am one lucky, sorry-ass bastard. Ten years ago, I never imagined I'd live up to where I am now. (Although where I am now isn't exactly far from where I was ten years ago.) Still, here I am, just as clueless on what it is exactly I am running on and where I am headed as I was when I was seventeen. I barely made it out of high school, and all that was on my mind was -- well, there really isn't any delicate way to put this -- how to end it all. What it was that pushed me towards that point, I can't remember now.

By sheer force of will, I picked it all apart and scattered each little piece in hundreds of secret pockets in my mind. It took a fairly long amount of time, and networks and nodes of interlocking mental walls were built, but I got it done. Precariously held together, but still, done. Occasionally I would remember one piece, but never as a whole, leaving me wondering why I ever thought about killing myself in the first place, "Oh well," and then I'd move on with what I was doing at the moment.

The effort had its trade-off, however, and I'd felt it only the past couple of years or so. I was too intent and focused on forgetting and moving on that I'd never really paid much attention as to where I was headed. Now that I'm dusting myself off and pretty much done with the past, I'm left in the middle of a vast open field with nothing but the clothes on my back and a "What next?" text bubble floating above my head.

BUT. Strangely. I am not afraid. Like I said, I am one lucky, sorry bastard. I used to be less aware of it, but now I think a major reason why I am still here is because... YOU PEOPLE FEED ME. Many, many times I've felt like crawling back to the muck from whence I came and just will myself to stop breathing, but every time -- EVERY~TIME -- something happens and my plans of a quiet curtain-fall are disrupted. Sometimes it's a simple "thank you" from an acquaintance. Other times it's a major booze-fest with close friends. But each time and whatever it is, it pulls me back and I get voices in my head telling me, "This is worth it. You can handle a few more bruises," and they push me back into the ring.

So that's where I am. Twenty-seven, unemployed, purpose-free, clueless, wandering, but still breathing. I have learned to trust in whatever the Universe throws at me by now, be they people or circumstances, to dodge and-slash-or roll with the punches as deemed necessary.


Of course I won't leave out the usual Birthday bitchin'.
There is always a nanosecond of clarity before the jump, or even before impact. Everything I have ever learned from everyone I have ever met adds little dots of clarity in my eyes, for which I am very, very thankful. Here's to life, and all its beautiful messes.