Heroes of Myth: The Black Forest IC

[Kaiser Omnik]

Chapter the First, in Which Some Things are Lost and Others are Found (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=goeBFfW9NLA&feature=related)

Come! Come closer. Hear me out! I know the most wondrous tale. Of witches and sorcerors cruel and deceptive, monsters seen and unseen, gremlins and other meddling fey, haunting spirits and cursed trees too... It's also a story of heroes big and small who stood defiant against all odds and tamed the dark woods. But even the mightiest of warriors and the wisest of mages were children, once. Follow me back to that time. You'll see that nothing was predestined, that there was potential for both greatness and mediocrity...and that at the heart of every story, there is a choice.

Once there was a happy and loving family. She was the Earthmother, who made the world whole by weaving a song. He was the High Father, who brought the Monsters of Old to their knees. Together they ordered the primal chaos, and in that new world they worked to build a paradise for their children and their children's children.
But it did not last. They were lost. And that day, the paradise was lost.

Once, they say, you looked to the horizon and you saw splendors beyond imagination. Today, there is only a boundless forest of crushing despair and hungering shadows. The Black they call it.

Once, they say, merry men and women danced and played games all day around the altars of the Gods. Today, vile beasts in the shape of men, made ignorant and violent by the ways of the Lords and Ladies of the Black, wander the hills and valleys searching for scraps. All the majesty of the Creators is forgotten in them.

Once, they say, the crystalline waters of the streams and lakes granted eternal life. Today, there has been so much blood spilled on their banks, and so many goblins and basilisks have practiced their foul art of poisoning, that what remains of the sacred waters is utterly polluted. Most of the Black has not seen purifying rain in more than a hundred years...

Once, there was a modest, yet comfy longhouse, which was built in the middle of a grove, around a sacred fire that provided warmth, light and most importantly safety to its inhabitants. The children - the last true children in the world, about twenty of them - lived secluded, but satisfied. They worked hard, most of them anyway, yet still had time to play games and fight with sticks and even collect bark and leaves for study. And when night fell, they listened to their big sister and all gathered around the fire to listen to a good story, like we do. They lived a very gentle and forgiving existence, mostly free from fear, for as long as they could remember...
But no more. For there can be no story without a meaningful choice.

One night, the quiet lives of the children were disturbed by a horrifying crashing and tearing noise, followed by streaks of white light scattering all over the starless sky. The ripping of the heavens only lasted a few minutes, but it was like nothing they had experienced before. Soon everything seemed to return to normal...but the first sighting of lightning and the awfully powerful thunder that had preceded it had left their mark on the godlings. They gathered once again around the fire, this time to voice their concerns. There was no denying it: things were changing. And the most worrying for them was not the dance of fire in the sky, but rather the weakening flame in their own home.

They were all there. Even the cheerful Garian, who knows alone the secret of a masterful stew.
Even silent Ionas, who collects insects and lizards all day long.
Even the dreamer Lethen, the odd brother who likes to fish in the pound...where there were never any fishes, despite his claims.
Even pleasant Lily, who is known for her witty riddles and word plays.
Even hot-blooded Sophia, who lifts even more firewood than her taller brothers and is a fierce grappler.
Even charming Gloria, the younger sister who has always gotten the others to do her chores for a million reasons.

They were all there... Really, all of them?

---

Then what?

They prepared to meet their destiny...

[White Blade]

It is often said by the old warriors, "There must be those who go out on starless nights," and we know that this means going out into great danger, for the sake of others. That those words should gain such significance where they did, in a little assembly of lost children, is almost unimaginable.

Fire had thundered in the sky and a little boy had looked up with awe-struck eyes. This was a new night, the discussion was loud and heated. And he looked up at his sister's eyes to catch a glimpse of unmasked fear from the place where he had first seen strength and kindness, that he remembered anyway.

He clambered up as the group grew larger, every last one of the family was here tonight. And the discussion began. What had caused this? Why? How will we fix the fire? What is wrong with it? He moved towards the edge. He did not understand his siblings' questions. He was far too young to understand, or to know the answers to these questions. And he knew it.

He worried, he fretted, and his eyes flashed to the side, noting the swaying of the leaves in the wind, and feeling (for the first time in a long time) the touch of cold on his skin inside his house. The winds were blowing, catching his bones and his form, even here near to the fire and within the walls, amidst this assembly. To see this assembly of frightened children, one could not have known. To see this little boy, one could not have imagined.

But Haeleth rose that night from being a little boy, and he found his way to the door of the family home. Then to the edge of the clearing. And then, when he was near the edge of the clearing, he took off in a hard sprint. He promised himself he would not come back until he had found fire to keep his family warm and safe.

[Raz_Fox]

The Merchant's Tale
Being A Story Concerning Rahn, Set Within The Black Forest
Part 1

Our story opens with the tears of a child. She is lost, though she vehemently denies this fact to herself, partially because she is too proud to admit that she was wrong, that she was wrong to enter the dark forest after her little brother, and partially because she knows that she has lost the path, that there is no way for her to return to the dying embers of the fire that kept her safe and warm. It is not warm in the forest like it was in her home, but for the flaming scratches on her arms, courtesy of the briars and thorns that she pushes herself through. The trees above her are tall and imposing, far too tall, and it is too dark for her to see for more than the length of her arm away in any direction. Still she stumbles along, half-running, for there is something behind her.

It is dark, and it can only be heard when she stops her frantic breath and halts for a moment, her ears twitching - and then its sound is the crack of twigs underfoot, and the slow, heavy breath of a predator. (Don't worry, child. It doesn't eat her. Even though she's been such a naughty child- just listen.) She does not know what it looks like, but she can almost see before her frightened eyes its wet, hot mouth and wickedly sharp claws. Hadn't her sister warned her about these things? Indeed, she had, many times, sitting before the fire, and this naughty child had merely laughed and mocked her for her wise warnings. But now - now, she knows that the forest was not a open mystery, a darkness just waiting for her revealing light. It was a mouth, and now its teeth had closed about around her.

Now, this might be a very short story - she looks back, and it's gone, and she turns back around to see its grin and its long, evil fingers, and snap! She's dead. But that's not the story I'm telling today, I'm happy to say. Because instead of turning around, letting it circle about her, she looks to her left, and to her right, and sees - there, dark on dark, a crack within a tree's trunk. So she wriggles inside, holding her stomach tight to make room, and then scrambles up inside of the trunk, as far up as she can go. She waits, and she hears the crack of twigs, and a long and horrible snuffling and sniffing, and she can feel it sticking its nose into the tree and searching for her, and she holds her breath as long as she possibly can - and then it's gone. Oh, blessed day, it's gone. But she still waits, for a very long time, because she's clever and knows how sneaky monsters can be. Eventually, she drops down onto the leaves, and she decides that she's going to just sleep here, because if she goes back out the monster will find her.

She curls up on the leaves, and she rolls about, until she cries out in frustration - and then slaps her hand over her mouth, because she doesn't want anything outside to hear her. But there's something under the leaves, and it keeps poking into her back. So she crouches up on her haunches, and she sweeps away the leaves, and digs and digs into the soft loam beneath, getting the dirt underneath her long nails, until she sees it softly glowing and pulls it out of the earth. It is round, and white, and warm to the touch - just enough to stop her shaking, but not enough to burn. It is roughly the size of her balled fist, and perfectly smooth. She taps on it. She shakes it to see if there's anything inside. She tries to eat it, for she is very hungry. It doesn't respond. She shrugs, tucking it into her handkerchief and tying a knot about it - there, now it can hang by her side, by her belt. This tires her out, so she rolls over on the leaves and goes back to sleep. She has peaceful dreams.

In the morning, it's lighter outside, enough so that she can see the path – what little there is of it. There are terrible tracks all about the tree, and she shudders with fear to see how deep the claws are imprinted into the earth. She turns and runs in another direction, until she can run no more, and then she walks until she can walk no more, until the thorns turn into holly-bushes and the tall pines turn into ash trees - but she does not know what they are, only that they are so different from the foliage she is used to. As she walks, she begins to hear a strange sound, and she recognizes it for what it is: singing. It is a lone voice, a dancing voice, now high and clear, then low and growling, and there are no words to the song. Why, even her oldest sister knew how to sing with words, she thinks! Who is this then, she wonders, who doesn't know any words to his song? So she adds words to the song, not caring who hears them, for she is so hungry that she would spring upon a opportunistic wolf and eat it whole, and then have a bear for dessert, and besides, anyone who sings so well must be a good person who wouldn't mind a bit if a poor little girl slunk up to him and asked, oh dear sir, please give me something to eat. In this - well, we shall see.

The singing stops, and for a terrible moment, she thinks that she had offended the singer by adding her words to his song. Oh, how her knees tremble at the thought, and how her eyes well up with bitter tears! But then there is a far-off laugh, and then the song begins again, and she follows it at a brisk trot, singing out her words. And so it was that she came upon a most singularly strange man, a-sitting at the roots of a great old tree. His arms were bare, and oh, how hairy they were! Lean and lanky and orange-red hairy. And though she could not see his face, she knew by his long nails and his long legs that he was not like her brothers.

"What's here?" he asks, and his voice is so sweet and welcoming that she cannot help but tumble out before him, out of the bushes, uncaring of the scars along her arms and the dirt upon her face.
"Food! Please, sir - food!" She cares not for formal introductions at this moment, but she is so hungry, we must excuse her for her impropriety. "I am so hungry, and have run - oh, run so far! From terrible beasts, too, with long claws and huge jaws - you are not a monster, are you?" He laughs at that, not in a way that her brothers laughed at her, but in a way that was friendly and nice.
"No monster, I hope. Mayhap I am. But little has I, and cannot give aught without gift returned." He looks at her from under the brim of his furred hood, and licks his lips. "Give me your head, my little maiden?" And at this the child blanches, reaching up to her neck.
"Why, sir - that is too high a price for any meal! How would I eat, with my head gone, anyway?" At this the man laughs again, pounding his knee, and the child felt that she had missed the joke completely. (And 'twas probably a good thing, too. No, don't ask, child.) "But I can give you a song, if you like."
"With words? Good words - whereabouts you learn them?" At this, she beams, and holds out her hand.
"I shall tell you once I have something to eat. A fair trade?" He laughs again, this making her feel so clever, and throws to her a piece of meat. It is quite raw, as she felt when she picked it up, but she ate it all the same (which is something you should never do, child), and then said, "My sister taught me, when I sat on her knee about the fire."
"Fire?" He says, questioning, scratching his chin thoughtfully.
"Yes, fire," she says, nodding. "I'm questing for it now."
"You seem lost," he says, with an arched brow.
"I decided not to stay lost," she says, proudly.
"Clever girl," he replies. "Ah, and pretty, too." And at this, she blushes, for she was short and all-a-gangly, and no one had ever told her she was pretty - or, at least, would look so in the future, which was quite close enough for her. "Whatabout you give Leis for directions?" he asks, holding out his palm in return. She starts to reach for the thing that she found beneath the tree, but then she hesitates, feeling that it is her special prize, and to give it away too quickly would be nothing short of disastrous.
So she says, "I shall give you a song. It has a great many good words for you to learn, sir, and it goes ever so well with your voice." So he nods with a smile, and the deal is struck, and she sings and he sings back, relishing the words though his rustic tongue trips over them. Then he rises, and his legs are so very long - and he points to the right, and says, "This way is fire, or so I hear." And then, gesturing off to his left, "But this way is treasure, beyond measure, or so I hear." Poor child, she starts off to the right, and then stops, looks at him, looks back to the right, and then - ah, child, you know not how lucky you were - she darts off to the left. And as she runs off, he yells after her, "Achance we meet again, you give me a name? Tell bird Leis sends you!" Then he turned away, and walked down on the right path. We'll meet him later.

She travels in that direction for all the day, and as the sun falls and the shadows droop back over the path, she begins to look around her, and wonder if she is lost again. This part of the forest is thinner, and wetter, and she thinks that perhaps this treasure beyond measure must be under a lake, or within a swamped cave. But then - ah, but then - she notices for the first time that around her is the gleam of many dark eyes, watching her. "Hullo," she cries out, fearfully, "Who's there?" And at that there's a great whispering, and some of the eyes retreat, and some edge closer. She simply stands, and waits, and watches, and presently a small creature scutters out of the forest onto the path. It is lean, and wiry, and hunched over, long-eared and dark of fur and hair. It moves in spurts, quick jumps and skitters, hesitantly coming towards her.

"You are not Mhegap," it says. "What are you?" Its voice is high, and scratchy, and youthful. The child kneels, so that it will not feel threatened, and the creature starts to dart aside - but then it stops itself, seeing the kindness behind her action, behind her nervous smile.
"I am..." She stops for a moment, thinking, and then shrugs her shoulders. "I am one of me, I suppose. One of the children of High Father and Earthmother."
"Are there more like you?" it asks suspiciously. She turns her head for a moment, seeing many more of the creatures creeping out of the forest about her, quietly, stealthily. For a moment she hesitates, but then she thinks, how will anyone ever trust me if I do not trust them? She shakes her head.
"No. I'm lost, and far from home. And there were only - oh, a few, a few of us about the fire. I suppose that I am truly alone here."
"Follow, then," it says. It turns, and she follows it off the path, trusting foolishly in the grace of strangers. It leads her into the wet undergrowth, down a long slope, and to the mouth of a cave. It ducks into the darkness, scuttling away, and so down she follows, into tight small burrows beneath the earth which make her get on her hands and knees to squeeze through. This culminates in a larger hall, where she can sit and eat with her legs tucked beneath her and her head bowed, which seems like the biggest thing in the world to her now.

Presently they come to her, with small presents of food and drink, which she devours hungrily, with the occasional thanks as she surfaces for air. She does not notice two of these people speaking in a corner, quietly and intensely. They look at her, back at each other, arguing, making restrained yet passionate gestures. Finally, one wins out - the one with the white in his shaggy brows, the one who leans upon a crudely-carved stick. He orders the servers to bring her a most special drink, and they rush away to do so.

He comes up to her, bowing his head. She smiles, and asks him who he is, and who these people about her are. He is Teki, he replies, and his people are the Ana, children of The Black Rabbit With Ten Thousand Young, who was slain by Wolf in the beforetime. He tells her of how his people are enslaved by the Mhegap, children of the terrible Lord Magpie. Here, he stops, to let her accept a carven wooden bowl, filled to the brim with sweet water. He waits until she has finished drinking, which she does, gulping it down. He is sad, for he can see the bones of her arms, and he knows that he could see her ribs, were she to remove her shirt. But he is Taki, leader of the Ana, and he must protect his people.

Lord Magpie, he says, enacts a terrible tax upon the Ana. He is free to do this, for the Ana cannot leave their safe burrows, move the women and the weak mewling litter-children, without being caught by the Mhegap, and then they would all be killed. And so the Mhegap come now and then, and they demand Ana slaves to serve Lord Magpie, in return for the generous use of the Lord's land. Some they will devour, for the Mhegap are eaters of flesh, and some will be forced to serve the Mhegap on their journeys, and some will serve in the keeping of Lord Magpie's treasure, of which there is much. And her eyes would widen at this horrible news, but for the fact that they are drooping so very much, unable to stay open any longer. And as her head sags down onto her chest, the cup falling from insensate fingers, Taki sadly thanks her for coming at such a time.

The Mhegap come to the burrows of the Ana three days later, and there is waiting for them Taki, and seven youths of the Ana who are ready to give of their lives selflessly, and the child who had trusted him, sobbing, writhing in her bonds to no avail. Taki says to them, here is a wonder that we have found - a thing that will please your Lord Magpie. Have you ever seen a thing like this before, he asks them, is it not worth many Ana youths? No, they answer to the first, and after deliberation to the second they say yes, but we must have five more to even the transaction. And so he bows his head, and orders for five more to be brought forward. The Ana are forced into tall cages, which the Mhegap carry upon their backs, and they throw the child into a cage of her own and carry her off.

(The moral of this story is simply: beware the kindness of strangers.)

[ArlEammon]

Toraealas, Wise Oak
Toraealas, one the eldest of the Children, in fact, twin to the other eldest, long-loved the children their. Even his twin, which he bickered with. Toraealas said his final fairwell and told them that he would be living with Grey Mantis The Old. Torael, as others sometimes call him, ventured long, from his garden, and the Grove, sad to see it go. He planted a special seed, very resilient, and able to endure, which had a special taste. It wasn't as sweet as some of the others that needed better conditions, but perhaps there would be something for the children there if they were desperate enough to return.

The oaken one had special abilities over plants, both as a great herbalist, but he could also walk, unlost, through very thick places of the forest with ease. Occasionally a predator would threaten him, but wise Torael would only need to carry the right herbal concoctions to create special, pungeant odors that would frighten the beasts away. Once, Toraealas had come across a viscious, unusually large bear. No, it was not "The Bear." It was just a unusually huge bear.

Toraealas had noticed as he was running that the Bear couldn't keep up with him. Toraeal, backed onto a cliff's edge, however, turned to the Bear, which smiled. "I have you now, plant man." Toraealas was unusually surprised to notice that the Bear could talk. "Bear, why do you speak with me?" The wise man asked. . . to which the Bear responded. "Because I can. What manner is this, that you question why I play with my prey?"

The Bear lunged towards Toraeal, who helplessly was knocked off the cliff. Toraeal was grabbed by the Bear, as they were falling from the cliff, Toraeal stretched forth his hand, grabbing onto powerfully enchanted roots that grew out of the rocky mountain-side. The mysterious Bear fell angrily, wounding it'self as it crashed with a thick, bone crunching thud.

Later, Toraealas had finally found Grey Mantis. . . The Mantis had seen the children once, some time ago. This Animal Lord was truely old, although he loved the spirit of youth that was in Nature.

"Young Toraeal!" The Wise Mantis exclaimed.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Marwaen
The Fire, with her siblings

The night the disturbance had come, Marwaen had been awake, sharpening her stick-sword against a rough bit of rock. It was not the first stick-sword she had made, but she liked this one the best for the moment...

The noise that split the heavens had so startled the young godling that she had broken her sword when she dropped the rock on the middle of it; at the moment, she didn't notice, staring up at the split heavens with the rest of her siblings. The light had been so bright it was nearly blinding...and even when it faded, it left imprinted streaks on her vision.

She did not like this thing.

And she did not like her broken, useless sword; with a cry, she hurled it away into the underbrush and stalked to the fire, frustration in every step. The siblings gathered, and the temperamental teenager folded her arms over her chest and stared about the circle, challenge in her face.

Anghau was not there. Yet. He would be soon, at her side the way he nearly always was, her opposite and yet more similar to her than any other; as the voices rose in strident argument over what to do about the flame--to go, to stay, to watch, to flee--the young demigod grew ever more annoyed.

"You are all boring!" Her voice cuts through the chatter, as she flings a rock at the dying flames. "What is the point of arguing arguing arguing, over and over, saying the same things when no one is listening? You cannot even hear yourself! Foolish! If you're going to talk then talk, don't chatter like a bunch of pebbles rattling through leaves!"

The young woman sits down on a log with a "hmph" and folds her arms again. Where is her brother...? No matter. He will be there.

[TheDarkDM]

Anghau
The Fire

There came the snap of a twig in the darkness, and suddenly Anghau was amongst his siblings, his pale eyes positively shining in the eldritch sky. He was tall for his apparent age, but as he slid onto the log beside Marwaen he displayed an uncommon grace. To a casual observer, he would have seemed at ease, but when his arm draped about her Marwaen could feel the tension running through his body, and his face was as grave as always.

Looking down at Marwaen, Anghau gave one of his rare smiles to dull the edge of his words.

"Shush Mar, you're not helping."

Anghau turned his attention to his gathered siblings, his gaze intense and piercing.

"She has a point though. We've been watching the fire die for years now, and it's time to admit that something needs to be done."

[OverThoughtName]

Afein
The Fire

Reason isn't the word to describe Afein. But, now that Anghau was here, she knew she could speak her mind, "I say we need to go get the fire. And I should get to go, too. I am the one that put the pieces together and figured it out, right?" This whole time, while everyone had been arguing, she had been trying to convince them all that the fire had obviously been escaping into the sky and now it was strong enough to run amok. A fanciful tale to be sure.

In truth, she just wanted to see what was in the forest. It held so much wonder to the little girl that it outweighed her sister's threats of what's in there. Now was as good a time as ever to get out past Brisanne. "Besides, I'm the one that can jump highest. I'm the most likely to catch it."

[daelrog]

Bran
The Fire

"The fire will not bring us back our sanctuary. The lightning has heralded change, and we must either adapt, or perish." Bran's deep baratone came as a surprise to more than one of his sbilings. As of late, he had gone for his longest stint of not speaking, almost the passing of all four seasons. Now he spoke though, and they were not words of comfort.

[Exthalion]

O divine mistress, sister and companion to my lord,
You sang first and always your skill was greatest.
Move in me, Lady of song and she who hears my cry,
Tell through me that story of your divine brother
Who left the fire and returned ten years aged,
Philognos my lord and lord to my lord I invoke.

--------------------------------------------

There was darkness over the whole face of the earth,
In no place did Night not stretch out its hand
for there were no stars.

In blackness there was light, the lightning of the gods,
O fearful night when rang the thunder through the black.
Came the many, the sons and daughters to the hall
Before the fire they came, the holy children, together.
They were afraid, and their hearts were uneasy,
for the fire was dying.

In the fire light they held counsel, and spoke with words.
They asked, “What shall we do? Where are the gods,
Our blessed High Father and revered Earthmother?
Where have they gone, and to who can we cry out?
Are we truly forsaken in this fearful night?”

Philosgnos who loved knowing was there, and also;
Brisanne the eldest and Afein the sky mistress,
Marwaen and Anghau, ever near together,
Mornd the order giver and Rafe the cunning,
Matapa you little one and Bran who knew the earth,
Toraealas self-named Wise and many others,
Vivienne, Lupani, Harlan and also Ionas, Garian
Lethen and Lily, Sophia and Gloria also
Rahn was not there, nor Haeleth the first gone.

Long they spoke of dark things in the flickering light,
Ill news and troubling council they took all together.
But Philos lord was silent, and with himself spoke,
With open eyes he dreamed of things distant and near,
and in his eyes beheld the world.

He saw the forest and the terror, the creeping black.
The world was the fire and the fire faded,
Into ruin and despair would the children go down,
And they would be not more.

Philosgnos farseeing knew his ignorance,
And among all those there he resolved to go.
Long he had meditated on heaven and earth,
He resolved himself to travel south, far away
To the lands of the sun and the heat yet still,
The dark of night endured yet in that place,
And he had not comfort.

From the Hymn to Philognos - 36 Inception, Canticle 1

Philo was not happy. He had left the morning after the night was broken, and had journeyed south for many weeks. His beautiful clothing had been ripped to tatters by the branches that the animals who had sought to hunt him. It was raining, and hot . It was always hot and muggy and sometimes it just rained, apparently because it felt like it.

Or does it? After it rains it doesn't feel as sticky, and just before it rains it feels really oppressive. Wouldn't it make sense then that one follows from the other? This is humidity, how much water is in the air. When there is too much water it rains.

But it feels like there is more rain then there is humidity. I shall have to ponder this...

He was doing a lot of that recently, thinking about things. Trying to figure them out. It made it easier to bear all this wilderness.

It had started to get worse when the trees started to change. The firs and oaks and maple and all the trees he had learned about from Toraealas. These were shorter and had all there leaves up near the top and ones with huge twisted roots and all kinds like he had never seen before. He had taken his time, learning about the new trees, finding little ones and looking at big ones. Even now he was desperate to understand.

For the last several days he had been going up. The ground became steeper and steeper but all he could see were the trees. Even here there was only forest. It had been getting brighter though, and the trees had been thinning.

He thought he saw a clearing ahead, maybe he could rest there...

What he found was no clearing. The ground stopped going up, he had reached the top. The bare head of the mountain was beneath his feet and the forest was all around and below him. In the far distance he saw a great lake, so huge he couldn't even see the other side. Its shore stretched all around, embracing the land as far as his eye could see. Above him the sun hung in the sky, and he was warm.

"Here I think, here I can learn much."

He sat himself down and began to think. His legs were folded under him and his hands set in his lap.

"This is a lot to take in. It might take a while. I had best be prepared for a long wait."

[ArlEammon]

Mantis And Toraeal

Toraeal sat with Mantis. The surroundings of Mantis'es home was much different than the Grove where the Children lived. A massive Hall, where others undoubtedly once lived, was now Mantis and Toraeal's home. Toraeal looked to Mantis and listened as the Grey continued to speak,"And that is why the last family moved from these Ruins. The Daghdanaan ruins have been here for much of my long, long life."

"Much of what you see here would astound Lupanu." Mantis thought out-loud. "Why don't you bring Lupanu here once I am gone."Grey Mantis asked. "These Ruins are actually ruins in only some of Daghadaan. Some of this city is naturally preserved, although no one has lived here for a long, long time. The people who manage to find me and this city typically leave, too terrified to have a little chat."

Toraealas wondered why they would be afraid of Mantis. . and then realized that he was a giant Mantis. "Mantis, why would they be afraid of the City its'elf? There is much here that would provide shelter." Mantis thought for a moment before looking, and smiling at Toraealas, if a Mantis could smile,"That is for another story, young one."

Year 3
Toraeal was gardening in the massive Temple that he occasionally visited. He was unable to read the writings on the walls, and there were pictures painted onto other walls in some parts of the Daghdanaan temple as well. "I wish I knew what these writings meant, I wish Philognos was here." He complained outloud, but he knew that Mantis had told him that he needed to earn knowledge. Toraeal had planted his finest crops into the fields and gardens, spending nearly all of his time with Mantis gardening, farming or talking and listening to stories. Finally, in the last day of the third year Toraeal had wondered about his family. "Mantis, I miss my family, even Marwaen." He lamented. "I feel like I am missing much without them. Like I am missing a leg, or arm."

Mantis blinked for a few moments. "I'm happy to have you here Toraeal, but do you think that maybe this seperation was for the best? You are, after all, immortal, and you are no longer children. I sympathize with your sadness in missing home and the others." Tears fell from Mantis'es eyes. "I do. . . But we must learn to strive ahead. . . What I"m trying to say, dear Green Toraeal, is that we all have our destiny. We must embrace it, and make our mark on the world. I have raised you for the past three years to realize that you are special. Never forget that."

[hi-mi-tsu]

Marwaen
The Fire

To lean into her twin's side is instinctive, like breathing, and she thinks nothing of Anghau's arm draped over her shoulder, just as she thinks nothing of her own arm going around his waist. He was her half and he knew her, more than any of her other siblings; she loved them, all, but it wasn't the same.

"The fire...it is about the Fire. We can't live like this any more, clustered up together, as though we are afraid...maybe the fire's change is good."

The young woman's voice is ruminative, as she looks into the low-flickering flames of the sacred hearth. "Maybe it's good. Maybe it's telling us to grow stronger by not depending on it...but we need to be careful! We are family..."

As she glances around the circle, she notices faces missing. Haeleth, Rahn, Toraeal (but hadn't he said something about leaving, before? She doesn't remember, he was never much fun to speak to)...gone already.

"The family is separating. Finding the fire, it brings us back..." Her voice is uncertain, almost lost; she loves her family, and she does not like the missing ones, does not like knowing they are out there.

"We must find it and bring it back. Only if the fire is here will everyone be here again..."

[Nefarion Xid]

Around the Fire

The bump on the log nodded with silent, absent minded approval. Beneath the hood there was a glimpse of a sly smile outlined by blond juvenile whiskers. Rafe had a way of smiling that made it seem like one side of his face was a bit quicker than the other. It was lopsided and a little off-center. This talk, this implication of leaving the glade sat well with him. He fancied the idea of adventure and exploration. But, he was also prudent.

“You mean… leave?” It wasn’t really a question. He was soft spoken and used it to his advantage to garner attention. To listen to him at all meant quieting down and leaning in. “See what’s out there and find another way to get by, or a way to keep the fire going?” The hood bobbled up and down. “We’ll need to go in groups though. Splitting up, we cover more ground. But, it’s dangerous. You need someone to watch your back.”

[TheDarkDM]

Anghau
The Fire

As Marwaen leaned into his side, Anghau's arm tightened imperceptibly about her. Even here, among their family, Anghau and Marwaen instinctively withdrew into each other.

"Rafe is right. No matter how essential it is to reignite the fire, we cannot go rushing blindly into the unknown. Those of us who choose to leave should do so in pairs - after all, two can travel near as fast as one, and with considerably more security."

Anghau's voice was a deep tenor, and though he fought to restrain it Marwaen could detect the excitement in his words. How often had the two of them sat at the edge of their little clearing, dreaming of the world that waited beyond? Now it seemed fate or destiny was conspiring to see them face the reality behind those dreams, and while terror was the natural response Anghau felt something more akin to joy.

"But the question remains, how many of us are willing to go. I know I will undertake the search if Mar is willing, but what of the rest of you? Will anyone remain to watch over the young ones? Wait, where is Haeleth!?"

[OverThoughtName]

Afein
The Fire

She sulked after her idea was so yet again casually discarded, but at the mention of pairs, Afein began to look around more seriously. If she had to go with someone else, she wanted them to at least be entertaining. Taking in a quick head count, a frown crossed her face. Her first pick was missing.

"Rahn's not here either..." she pouted, oblivious to whatever danger those words might imply. "I guess they've got a head start on us. Well, I'm not staying, even if I have to go with someone boring." She began to look around a second time, evaluating her choices. Hopefully, one of the more fun ones would speak up soon.

[Raz_Fox]

The Merchant's Tale
Being A Story Concerning Rahn, Set Within The Black Forest
Part 2

Imagine a child who had never seen a cat. Never heard one's meow, one's purr, never seen one's tail, one's gleaming eyes. Now imagine the awe of the betrayed child as the Mhegap return to the mighty palace of Lord Magpie.

When the world was young, it had been a nameless terror, one that stalked the forests in peerless power, greater in stature than the Lords of Nature themselves. But one day, Lord Magpie had come upon it, and had hopped straight-away into its mouth, and wriggled down its throat, and stolen its heart, and - though his own heart was steeped greatly in greed and the love of precious things - had hidden the precious heart safely away, where no one would ever find it. Now the cat lay by the shores of a dark lake, its cavernous jaws held wide open, its tongue a set of stairs into the great hollow body. Windows were set into its sides, high and empty on its yellowed flank. It was tied down with many ropes threaded through its sides, its sixteen paws, its ears, simply to disgrace it and mar its majesty. And the worst part - the worst of all of it - was this, which even the child could see: its eyes, its unmoving glassy eyes, were filled with pain. And dust, and the leavings of birds, and the stain of ages, but pain swam beneath them all.

(And if this seems wonderful, and fantastic, and mad, then brace yourself, child, for what is revealed within.)

Past the massive teeth, down the long tunnel of the throat, and into the court of the mad king they come, and straightaway some of the Mhegap walk away to the left, and none of the Ana they carried were ever seen again, and some stride away to the right, to fasten shackles upon their Ana servitors. But the Mhegap who carry the child continue on, for what seems to be at least a mile, leaving the child time to gaze about her in mixed wonder and disgust. For the belly of the great cat is filled from wall to wall with everything that could be imagined. A great deal of it is junk, broken things and rotting things, but here and there there can be seen the gleam of something valuable. This is the lair of the great thief, who demands tribute from every tribe that has the ill luck of crossing through his land.

And as they come up to the mighty center of the hoard, the nest of gold and stone and brass, the Mhegap release her from the cage, and slice away her bonds, and lead her up to the nest. Several days of hunger have left her weak, her limbs trembling, and she can no more flee from them than she could slay every Mhegap within the belly of the beast. So they come up to the lip of the nest, and as they approach Lord Magpie pokes his head out of the nest, looking down at her. He is so large - like unto the size of one of the Mhegap, and then twice that. So large that the child falls to her knees in fear, her terrified eyes almost starting from their sockets.

"What is this?" He asks in his screeching, arrogant voice. "Does not shine, is made of flesh and dirt. Already dinner, perhaps?" He spreads his wings wide, and lowers his giant, stone-hued beak, and the child screams out in desperation:

"I am unique!"

This stops Lord Magpie. He hops from his perch and begins to inspect her from every angle imaginable. The Mhegap step back carefully, reverently, giving their god-king room to stretch his legs. "What, then? Shine you? Strong you? Skin a trophy? Mount upon the nest I? Why not devour, or hang from roof-top?" And the Mhegap begin to whisper among each other, what if this mewling babe is but a shaved Ana - her skin is too pale and her ears too round, but her hair is dark, and her eyes are dark, just as an Ana's are.

She thinks desperately, casting her mind back to her childhood games, for something – anything! - that could save her, some useful trick or clever talent. How could she persuade this terrible thing to spare her life, she wonders? Then, she remembers Leis upon the road, and she says, in a frightened rasp, "I can sing." Then she gulps, and starts to sing, and then falters, the words dying on her tongue. No, she thinks, no! To falter here would be death. Her eyes clenched tightly, she begins again.

Listen, and imagine - one high note, soaring up to the very spine of the great cat. Then, a ripple of notes, falling down like a stream running down the side of a mountain. The child's voice rises, descends, as smoothly as silk and as precious as gold. She sings of home, and the warmth of the hearth, and of the safety of light and family, and everything that she misses so much and fears is lost to her forever. From wall to wall, the Ana stop to listen, and so do the Mhegap, turning their heads to the nest of Lord Magpie. The great bird himself stands stock-still, enraptured by her voice.

Finally, she stops. "Lord Magpie," she says, slowly, hesitantly, "If you leave me alive, I will sing for you every day."
"I decide!" Magpie roars at her, and he stalks about her, and then nods his great head. "Now, think - yes, let live, sing for great Lord Magpie." So saying, he hops back into the nest, and the child breathes in sudden relief. She has bought her life well, with the one thing that she had. But then Magpie returns, the blast of his wings threatening to bowl her over. Hanging from one talon is a chain, seemingly woven from brass and silver serpents. He holds it out to her. "Wear," he says, "Or Magpie eat all up!"

She tries to put it around her wrist, to the laughter and jeers of the Mhegap, and the amusement of Magpie. So amused is he that he rolls about the nest, guffawing and cackling. Attempting to put it on the knee elicts the same response, and so also to the shoulder, but as she attempts to pull the chain away for a third attempt, the snakes slither out of her hand and wrap about her neck. She feels the sharp points of a serpent's tooth, sharp as a poisoned thorn, poised above the blood-line of her neck, and she shudders. Magpie nods to himself, delighted at his own cleverness. "See? Gift, from long time ago. Kill-dead, whenever Magpie want! No running, sneaking, or krawww, no more singing! Then slow, slow, ice-frost kill!" She nods, out of fear and exhaustion and resignation, and Magpie picks her up, far more daintily than you might think with his massive claws of his, and drops her within his nest. So begins her servitude for Lord Magpie.

By my best guess, a thousand and one days pass before the tale really begins again. By the end of these days, still her song rises up to the heights of the roof, but there is a deeper tone to the songs by the end of her servitude - ah, I have said too much! (Hush, child, and listen, and I shall tell you how this came to pass.)

Over the course of these days, she is not permitted to leave Lord Magpie's nest, on pain of most horrible death. But still she speaks with the Ana who come to bring Lord Magpie his feasts, and clean the scraps from his nest, and bring her scraps of food as well. She trades with them morsels of the food she is given, and so she grows to be lean and hungry, but she learns from them the shape and knowledge of her prison-hall. She learns them by name, each one, and learns the mind of each one, so that they love her as much as they hate Magpie. They bring her new clothes, as her old ones rot from her back, and she learns from them stories, ones that she can tell to Lord Magpie as she grooms his feathers. And one of these she finds most interesting - the story of one treasure-keeper by the name of Kzei, who tells her of a strange thing he found during his duties: a hollow in the gut of the beast underneath Magpie's nest, throbbing with twisted muscle, with a hole the size of a clenched fist ripped into it. And this story she keeps to herself, and ponders over until she believes she understands it.

Sometimes she sings to Lord Magpie, and she creates many songs during her time there - enough so that she never repeats a song, but at his request. And sometimes she tells stories to Lord Magpie, enthralling him with her voice, and she creates so many that she never repeats a story, but at his request. And once, she asks him what she could do to buy back her freedom, and he allows the Mhegap to lash her so brutally that blood is drawn all across her back, and she never asks again. I will never ask him for a thing again, she says to herself, for he does not give, he only takes and takes and takes. He is a thief, a brutal master, and I hate him. This she says silently to herself at night, to stop herself from going mad.

One day, Lord Magpie declares to her that he is going to take to the sky, and that when he returns he shall speak with the emissary that the canny Lord Fox has sent to him, for he is a great and mighty lord. He instructs her that she is not to leave from her place until he returns, on pain of unbearable pain. So she sits in her squalid hollow in his nest, and she plots, for today is the thousand-and-first day of her slavery, and she believes that nearly everything is in place – but, alas, but for that collar around her neck. You see, deep inside, she knows that all her plots will not avail her, for she is a coward. She plots because it keeps her sane, allows her to believe the false hope that one day she will be free of Magpie, even though her own heart is lost. So on this day, she dreams of freedom, until she hears a sound that she has not heard for a very long time: it is a song, deep and resonant, with words that she traded for a scrap of raw meat.

She scrambles up to the lip of the nest, not caring for the briars that cut into her hands, and sees there waiting for her - in much finer furs than he was wearing in the forest – Leis. "Hello, pretty girl," he says with a smile as he sees her. "Entertain me?"
A thousand words come to her lips, fighting to get free, and as she stands there, incapable of letting just one loose, he pulls himself up onto the nest and smiles at her, and waves away his Mhegap escort. "Been a long time, hasn't it? You enjoy this treasure?" He slaps his knee and laughs, and the laugh is crueler now. "You be treasure now!"
"I am willing to make a deal with you," she says quietly after a moment, and she catches his chin, smearing blood on it. "You wanted my head, didn't you? On that trail?" He tries to shake his head away, but her grip is iron. "I know now what you meant. And now I'm ready enough." He grins, and says nothing, and her heart jumps a beat. I have him now, she thinks. "I want my freedom from this place - and I am willing to give you what you want."
"Collar of S'kesh," he says. "Kill you dead, ice-cold poison, if you escape. Only one cure." He reaches into his furs conspiratorially. "Carry it now."
"How?" She asks, eyes wide, and then they narrow in anger. "You knew. You knew I was here. You weren't surprised at all."
"Heard stories - they turn this world. Pretty singing girl, Magpie's pet. Girl wants escape?" He leans in closer, closer, so that his whiskers tickle her ear. "Or revenge?"
"Both," she says. But I know I won't get either, she thinks to herself. "What's the catch?"
"Lord be angry with Magpie. He keeps... "special thing" himself, and most esteemed master desires it. Sends me to... change things." He partially removes a polished stone knife from his furs, letting her see the runes enscribed on the gleaming black blade. "Both are yours. At one price."
"Swear by my name," she says in a fit of boldness. She sees the cowardice in Leis's eyes, and his self-assurance, that he is clever beyond everyone else, just like her young eyes. "Swear by Rahn, daughter of High Father." There is power in those words.
"This one swears, Rahn, daughter of Highfather, that I give knife and cure in return. Let this one never rest if this be not so." The girl nods, and she takes him in her arms, and kisses him, and pulls him into the nest - but here we must draw a veil over the two. Some mysteries should only be learned in the dark. (No, child, you may not just turn out the lights. That's not what I meant.)

(The moral of this story is simply: you always have something of worth to others.)

[Kasanip]

Matapa
Around the Fire

The discussion of her older siblings made Matapa sit quietly. She leaned up against Brisanne for comfort. Because it was a little scary. Already some of her family went away, and now the discussion and the talk of the Fire was darker and serious.
Maybe she could find life for Fire?
But next to Rafe, she was not so smart. Marwaen and Anghau were much stronger. Afein could jump high and had such enthusiasm. Bran was focused and had his own ideas.
Would Rahn find it? Surely Brisanne would stay here and she could continue?
Matapa didn't know. She wanted to help, but this wasn't a simple chore she could do.
What could she do, but to go out with the others? Would they take her?
So as she leaned up against big sister Brisanne, she spoke softly and hopefully.
"I want to go help find life for Fire."

[Exthalion]

Behold I am a pitcher, and my water is lore,
I pour myself out and am spilled over the ground.
Become empty I wait now, wait to be filled,
By you Song Singer, that I should be once more,
Able to tell the tale of my Lord.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Three in single whole was he, Philognos god sired;
Mortal flesh to immortal born, to be made anew,
Psyche triune how like a god, able to choose all,
Genius imperishable the god spark, seed of infinity.
One he was yet three became, each becoming new.

‘Neith heat and cold and damp and dry did was his trial got,
By his hand were garments spun, now before the sun to rot,
Naked flesh the sun did burn, and naked hair made pale.
Mortality like chafe consumed, his dying flesh did fail.
Death the serpent slowly starved and his heart did release,
The thread of life was respun from golden fleece.

Mind unbound flew far and wide and sought the Mountain true,
How cedar like did stone become as by his will it grew.
Every rock and every tree did his thought embrace,
Into accord did each he bring, reshaping with a subtle grace,
And to the sun did it reach as to the sun he sought,
A think like no place before his boundless mind had wrought.

Yet on spirit wings his soul did fly and view the world far and wide,
In endless sea and forest strong did many a bestial lord preside.
And as he flew his Art profound, his mind was moved to move,
The mountain top it did raise a temple of thing no more to prove.
Roundabout, betwixt between, from deeps to highest air,
Did he at last come to the place where Eagle King made lair.

From the Hymn to Philognos - 39 Inception, Canticle 11 (Attributed to a later author)

Phi had no name for where he was. It was a place between places, like the twilight between day and night. He could see the sun in the sky, if sky it was, but its movements were strange, sometimes fast and sometimes seemingly hanging still for days. There had been a time when night and day had alternated like the flapping of a bird’s wings so rapid had it been and the sun had been a bright line from horizon to horizon. He had forgotten the count of days, which meant little after the skewed flow of time anyway.

Being honest, he was lost. He had sat down on the top of the rise in the ground and had tried to take it all in. The strange trees, the many colored stones, all of the mountain he had tried to ‘know’ as he had known the cedar tree. He had imagined himself getting up, though he had remained sitting, and walking over the mountain, up and down it.

But from the ground you cannot know as the birds know. So he had imagined using magic and taking the form of a great bird. Then he had flown over the mountain and seen it as one thing, yet his mind held in it the many things which composed it. In the upper airs he had seen a thing like a river across the sky, though he knew of no such thing with open eyes. It had called to him, and he had followed it.

Farther and farther, through a thing like the great lake he had seen, save filled with motes of light like little suns. He had grown tired and hungry, but he could see no land and so he had continued on. At last the rushing of the great flow had ceased and he saw far below an island. On it was a great depression so wide he could just barely make out the far end. Scattered all over the rest of the island were tiles, there were dozens of kinds and each was one of four colors. A voice that was very familiar yet not known to him said from the sky, “With these stones fill this space, let it be whole and without gap. Suffer no repetition of pattern and let no color touch itself.”

For a year he toiled, laying out the tiles. When at last he had placed the last one nothing happened. In frustration he walked over and surveyed his work, yet to his anger he saw repetitions. There were places where the colors touched when he had slid completed sections together. Thus he started again. For what must have been tens of years he worked, at last completing it. Still nothing happened. Again he looked over his work, yet when at last he came to the beginning he looked up and saw a new island. With his magic he assumed again the form of a bird and flew around, but he could see no other island so he landed on the new one.

On it three pillars of diamond stood. On the center most were sixty four golden disks, each higher one smaller than that which supported it. The voice from the sky spoke again. “No larger shall be set upon a smaller, move all from one to another.” Philo tried to lift the first few but with all his strength could not. He tried fewer and fewer until he tried to lift only the upper most. It was large, but he lifted it with ease. He set it down and tried to lift another but could not. Thinking for a moment he placed it on another spire and went back to the first. The next largest disk lifted easily now.

“This is going to take a very long time…”

[ArcaneStomper]

Mornd
The Fire

Mornd listened to the arguments of his siblings and considered. He did not want to go into the forest it was a treacherous place. And yet maybe this was an opportunity. And there was the fire as well. He eyed it's dying flames and then finally made up his mind.

Clearing his throat he said, "I will go search for fire. And I do not think that the question is who will go and who will stay." He nods at Matapa, "If even our younger sister wants to go I think in the end so will we all. Haeleth and Rahn already have after all. The question then is how do we make sure everyone is safe while they search. The forest is a dangerous place"

[White Blade]

Haeleth,
The Edge of the Obsidian Jungle
Four Days After Thunder Broke The Sky

Haeleth had been running for four days, to the west (as it had turned out) and the setting of the sun. It was just as the light began to set over the horizon for the fourth time that Haeleth wondered how many days he had been running. His breath was heavy and his eyes drooped low, and he couldn't exactly remember. Sleep, he thought, would alleviate matters.

So he settled down beneath the pale wood of a tree with black leaves, the first he had seen of it's kind, and drifted gently into sleep. If he had known the lore of the place, and the legend of those near by, he would know that the trees which bore leaves that were black were from the Obsidian Jungle, where Panther, the Prince of Jaguars, lived and where his three tribes, yes three, dwelt.

It was a hard place then, before the tribes had learned kindness to go with their valor or cunning to match their strength. But it was not cruel. Vipers and snakes, hunting and stinging predators, fruit that was bitter and often poison, yes. But nothing hunted to hunt, and nothing killed to kill. This, also, the Jaguar Clans learned because of Haeleth, though not from him.

As Haeleth rested his eyes and his feet, which had grown callous and sore, he heard rustling in the land about him and stirred in time to see a spear, with a thin obsidian tip, placed at his neck. There stood a hunter, clad in gray-scale skins, his eyes large and fierce, like a cat's, and his face was covered in speckled fur. His nose was bestial, though not snout like, and his ears were tapered and stood off from his head.

Haeleth had never seen such a creature and so it was fitting that he matched that strange man word for word, "What are you?" he asked, at the same time as the man said, "What are you?"

Which caused Haeleth to laugh, "I'm a little boy," he replied simply.

"Well, I am a man," the hunter said, not at all convincingly, "And I was never tiny and furless like you," he finished with much more vigor.

"I've never seen a man before, Haeleth replied, generating a curious tilt from the hunter's head, "But my big sister said my father looked like me, only bigger and stronger and different... I think she would have said if he had fur though."

"What ill tribe do you come from," the hunter asked, "That there are no adults to teach you to hunt, to eat, to live?"

"To the east of here, sort of, if you do not tire easily and the wood does not make you lose your way, is a house. That is our house. We have lived there for many years. Our parents have been gone for centuries."

"Centuries? But you are little, and you claim to be a child! A pup of my people lives only nine years before he is grown."

"We are a very long lived folk then, for even my biggest sister has lost count of the turning of the sun."

"What was your father's name?" The hunter asked, intrigued by the little one's tale.

Oh, we just called him father. He had a bigger title though, High Father, which I figure is because he was so tall.

"The High Father? We have... heard tales of him, and the covenant that Panther made with him. Panther is very mighty, but it is said that your father and his wife, your mother I suppose, were able to capture him together, and wring a promise to watch over us from him and the other kings of the beast."

If Panther is mighty, than how is he able to be beaten?

"My Papa told me that it is because two is better than one. I did not understand then, and I do not understand now."

Well, Haeleth said, thinking he dearly missed his siblings and wishing he had brought one along, How about we be two, you and I. I am a very old child, and you are a very young man, so we are both very strange people. And then we can be greater than anything we see.

"The tribe is already many more than two, and you are not a woman, so I think that might not work out so great," the hunter said, "But if you can hunt, you can come and join our many, I think. If your father and mother were mighty enough to handle Panther, you are no doubt good as well yes?"

Yes! Haeleth replied enthusiastically, glad to be compared to his father and mother, though he had only a faint idea of what hunting was.

"Come then," the hunter said, "I am Slataen, of the Black Dagger tribe, we shall go see my elders."

[nysisobli]

Vivienne

The Fire

Vivienne watched the sky, as the light ripped across it. Mesmerized by the sudden change in the air, she shivered.

The skies are being torn asunder... The fire is fading, there will not be much here for us left soon.

Without saying a word, Vivienne walked to her secret hiding spot, and picked up the Wooden Spear, the mirror, and the suit of hides she had prided herself in making.

In order to feed the family and find fire I will have to venture farther then the normal hunting grounds, I will need to go into the deep forest. She thought with dread.

Walking cautiously but quick, she soon found herself at the entrance to the deep forest, the cold emanated from this place, the wind seemed to scream her name, and the ground seemed to try to pull her into it with each step, She felt heavy and tired, and felt fear for the first time in a long time.

(to be continued in the morning after i wake up)

[Kasanip]

Matapa - To start a journey, last leaving

For a long time after her siblings had all disappeared into the dark forest, Matapa watched through the window. She was curious, but afraid. Only in the room was her eldest sister who watched the flame.

But here there was nothing that Matapa could do to help. She wanted to be brave, and she wanted to be strong like her brothers and sisters. She didn't want to be a burden here. Maybe she could solve the problem herself! That would be a good way to repay them, for so long they had taken care of her.

So at last, Matapa also went out of the door. She did it almost on a whim. Quickly she went, into the dark forest. If she had gone slowly, maybe she would have been caught by her fear and turned around. But now she was alone. And that was a great fear for Matapa, because she had never experienced the feeling of 'alone' before.

The dark forest was filled with strange sounds, and at first Matapa listened to these with curiosity and surprise while she walked. But the shadows and eyes that followed her as she traveled- those made her afraid, and so she began to run.

She ran for days through the forest. She had run from the sun, veiled in the trees. She had run from the moon, pale in the clearings. She had run from the shadows and the darkness behind her, but it had followed. She had run from the grass and the warmth, and now was in a land far from it, where it was just a pale ghost of itself. She didn't know where she was going, and by now she had long been lost in her path. Her sandals had long been lost, and her feet ached. The dark forest was dark, and it seemed endless. But the eyes and the shadows were always just behind her, and she ran with new desperation, even as she gasped for breath.

Then at last she could run no longer. Around her the dark shadows and eyes came. Crying out, Matapa turned and threw her arms out.
"Go away!" She cried. "I cannot give you anything!"
The voices and cries of the beasts about her were not the language of her family. But they sounded dark, like an evil laughter. A glee of a beast which had finished it's hunt.
And as the mass of shadows and eyes came upon her, Matapa closed her eyes and whispered a lullaby her sister had sung before to her. A song of safety and warmth.

And that song began to wrap about her and echo among the trees and the darkness. A song that beckoned for calm, and soothing. A restful song. The beasts of shadows and eyes slowed and became dull. The song Matapa sung was pure and innocent, desperation did not touch it, though it was in her heart. And yet the song was a song that surrounded Matapa too and comforted her. So that she also felt her fear fall away, and her exhaustion felt heavy.

And the many eyes of the shadows around her closed, leaving her in the dark forest. And Matapa fell to her knees, as the weariness of sleep became her too, and she fell to the leaf carpet ground asleep.

[Shades of Gray]

Harlan
The Fire

Harlan had been playing his wooden flute as his siblings argued. He seemed to be distant from the conversation at hand, which held little to no interest to him. Amazing that what keeps us alive is so fragile. Maybe I should write a song about that. Hmmm, who would sing it? For the first time in a while he looked up at his siblings, no longer preoccupied with his music. He saw arguers, complainers, and even some who had left. Is my music that bad? He asked himself with a small chuckle. Eventually, he decided that the constant bickering was not very constructive nor was it entertaining; Harlan would not have that.

"If we stay as a group we'll be safer. Or get lost as a group, but at least we'll have each others' company. And if some sort of beast comes along, all but the slowest will be able to escape." He laughed, such was Harlan's sense of humour. "If we find life for the flame then we will be able to carry more of it back here as well."

[hi-mi-tsu]

Marwaen
The Fire

"Gone...he's gone. They've left us, they're out there alone..." Marwaen's hand grips her twin's knee, tightly, hard enough to hurt, and her crimson eyes stare into the fire for a moment. Then she stands, abruptly.

"They are not safe out there." Her eyes skate over to Rafe. "We are safer in groups, yes, though some have left alone, fools that they are. Impetuous, running off with no plans, leaving with no defense."

Then that unsettling gaze falls on Harlan. "But all as a group? No. We cannot even come together as a group here, in safety; what makes you think we'd be successful out there? I do not agree with my brothers and sisters."

Her smile is lopsided, as she glances around the circle. "Love them, yes. I love them. But agree with? No, no no. We do not get along, not all of us, my family and I, and I cannot travel with all of them. With all of you. It would be a trial that I do not think any of us are strong enough to overcome. Small groups. At least two would be best. I will go with Anghau...we see each other and understand. Others should also go together."

Would Brisanne try to stop them? Likely. She does not care.

"I need a new sword..."

[ArlEammon]

Toraealas And Mantis
Toraealas had returned from his duties in gardening and sowing the seeds. Over the years he had learned to work very hard without over-exerting himself. When he had returned to the Longhouse, he saw Mantis once more. "Mantis, is that last tale you told me about you and Lady Spider true? You actually beat her?" Mantis had turned to Toraealas and laughed. "It's true. I had won that riddle long ago, and that's how I gained the staff, and the power to transform into other shapes." Toraeal thought for a moment and said,"I wish I knew how to do that."

Grey Mantis taught Toraealas how he learned how to shape change, and also how he gained the Staff Of The Black. The Staff Of The Black enhanced the magical powers of plants, and gave the staff bearer control over the plants. Toraeal had wished to earn the Staff, but he never asked Grey Mantis if he could have it. However, the years had gone on now, it was now four years since Toraeal had left the Grove. He was heartsick once again, if only for a moment.

10 Years
"Mantis, please don't go." Toraeal asked. "You have years ahead of you yet."

The Mantis had begun to walk towards the Daghadaanan caverns. "Toraeal. I must. It has been far too long since I have seen my family. My old friends, my lovers and children. I have outlived them all. Except you, Toraeal."

The tearful Toraeal asked once again. "And yet I am here, why can't you just wait a little longer?" The Mantis knew that Toraealas had loved him like family. When Mantis saw the children once, he offered his assistance if they ever needed his help. Few if any of the children trusted the Animal Lord. For some reason, Toraealas trusted him."

Grey Mantis turned to answer Toraealas,"It's not just missing my people that I must go for, Toraealas. As long as you are here, from now on you will be in danger, unless I am gone. There is no where for me to go. The powers of this City of Daghdanaan may protect you once I am gone, once the Hound knows I am gone."

Toraealas had tried to argue, although Mantis had silenced him with an outstreched pincher. "The Staff Of the Black is in my chambers. You may keep it now. It's yours. Before I go I must tell you something I have revealed to no one. Long ago. There was a Great War. A Great War that threatened to tear The Black Forest and it's world apart began. Powerful, wild and terrifying magic was used by all sides. Even The High Father and the Earth Mother were nearly powerless to stop it.They have done something desperate in order to save the world. I don't know what it is, or where they are. I do not know what has happened to their souls. Or even what started the war. All I know is, perhaps maybe their children may find out someday, and perhaps you, and the others may discover the secrets of Dark Days."

Toraeal found himself magically unable to move, as Mantis marched into the Caverns. There, somewhere inside, Mantis waited for Hound. All Toraeal heard was the beying of a great Hound. . . And then he saw a mysterious flash of light, and he knew, that Mantis was gone.

[nysisobli]

Vivienne

Entrance to the Deep Forest

Vivienne stared into the deep forest for a long time, she was frightened which is easily understood.

She walked slowly keeping an ever vigilant eye open. She felt a sharp pain in her side suddenly, and looked over and saw that she had impaled herself on a tree, the thorns on this withered tree were sharp, and caused her to ooze a green fluid.

Then came the hallucinations.

After many long minutes, the ground started to move underneath her, and the trees moved towards her, her skin burned and was cold in other places, shadows looked like great beasts, and light felt like a smothering gas.

Small animals moved around her and she jabbed with her spear wildly, when in became stuck in the side of a small bear, no matter what she did however the spear would not come free.

She sighed in frustration, as she screamed at this unmoving bear, she punched at it, hitting rock.

The echoes of her scream did not go unnoticed though, As an ancient beast that slept had been awoken by her presence.

Through its eyes however it watched a strange woman stumble through the woods, and swing high at trees and yelling the whole time, until she struck a tree in rocky cliff with her great jab embedding the Spear into the side of the tree so deep he doubted he could pull it free.

[Jair Barik]

What Sin has he,
Who is yet to live?
What fault has he to give?
My friends this tale here shall tell, the sin of vanity

He did not linger long in pain before the empty fire. He did not sit and wonder there what should be done to relight the hearth, to bring back warmth to the home. No. Such things were the concerns of those whose minds were filled with dreary sorrow and fears of the future. Lupani, Lupani cared for things of beauty, sights unparralleled, emotions unexperienced and dreams...dreams undreampt.

"For I dream of skies of purple grey,
Of flowers clear as glass,
Of trees of water,
And lakes of sky,
Of stars forgotten,
Of a sun untouched,
Of oaks whose roots shall touch the clouds,
And leaves shall touch the earth"

He was an odd sight to see, content in his own skill and 'art' that no mortal danger may befall him he skipped through the forest and danced upon the stump of a sundered tree his feet tapping at the ground and his eyes wandering upon his surroundings. For despite the danger the world now presented some souls desire to forget the present, to indulge in the past and to sing of wonders and the fantastic. Such was his state of mind he did not notice the figure lurking in the shadows as he wandered down to the edge of the pond. His hair trailed long behind him, a robe of perfect white that seemed to repell dirt and form a prisitne cape that followed behind him trailing from his head down to the floor. He sat by the pond and stared into its rippling reflection infatuated with the image he saw, long white locks of hair, perfect brown eyes and a skin unblemished by age or by nature. The visage of a God.

"Hail merry wanderer!" The voice echoed harshly through the trees, kind in its tone but whispering of cruelty, of ill will and malice. Starting at it sound Lupani jumped up from the ground and turned to face the speaker, his eyes wide and his brows raised. Moving out from the trees he spied a figure dressed in robes of brown whose cowl hid his face.

"I know not who you are and I think I desire not to learn. Go stranger and leave me be for I am a being of power and might and may well harm you if we were to come to blows!"[/orange]

"Oh come now! What sin have I committed to be greeted in a manner such as this?"

[color=orange]"Your voice is ugly and your words sound false! I refuse to believe that such a creature so vile in tone may hold any good inside!" Lupani watched the figure, wary of any sign of danger, ready to flee should the need arise.

"Oh but you have me wrong noble sire! I have simply come seeking the kin of the Highfather and the Earthmother to rid the land of a grave affliction that grips it. As I made my way I spied your form through the trees and knew that one with beauty such as yours must be one of those kin!
These words of flattery gripped Lupani. Perhaps there was some value in a creature such as this afterall? Who can appreciate the beautiful without the ugly things of the world to compare them to?

"Very well then sir. I am Lupani. You are indeed correct as to my lineage. Speak your piece and tell me what it is that troubles you."
At this the cowled figure smiled. Though his face was hidden his smile was not for his teeth glittered in the darkness, great flat teeth that shone with hunger and longing, with dreadful meaning lost to Lupani who was fast becoming lost in his thoughts of beauty and magic.

"Oh wise Lupani, beautiful Lupani, brave Lupani. There is, not far from here, a river. Across this river there is a bridge, a fallen tree that connects one bank to the other. Though once deep the river is no more for it has dried up, but such is its depth that one may cross but by the bridge. Now upon this bridge dwells a fearsome beast who preys upon the creatures of the forest, a mighty Troll. Odious in scent, vile in voice and repulsive in appearance he forbids any to cross without his consent. Now on the other side of this bridge is a valley, filled with much beauty and many peacful things, but this trolls brother holds it in his grip and preys upon those who live there. I would have you best this brother."

The tale of the valley filled Lupani with glee. It sounded a place of great beauty, a delight to behold, a place of....of... magic!

"This does indeed sound dire. A task that truly only those of my kin could tackle. But tell me, with what did you seek to pay my family? For though we are kind and generous you could not have known this task would be accepted without pay... What boon did you intend to grant them?"

The man smiled his wide smile once more.
"Oh generous Lupani! Oh wonderful Lupani! I do not expect you to go unpaid in this task! Indeed I have many things of value that intended to grant to those of your family for aiding me, each gift fitting he who helped me.
Barely concealed excitement raced across Lupani's face. His lip quivered and his eyes did not blink. One foot tapped up and down upon the ground.
"And what gift would you see fit for me?"

"The forest is a dangerous place. I do not have the gifts upon me. The gift for you though... Well I posess no thing to rival your beauty for in looks you are unsurpassed! However to you I would give a stone, a stone whose surface was without flaw but in which you could see an image on which to compare yourself. One faulty and flawed, imperfect, a counterfeit of true beauty, an image that would let you think of your own image and your own beauty by comparing one to the other.

Lupani was taken aback by this offer. It was almost as if the strange cowled figure had read his mind earlier! How could one appreciate true beauty without something more vulgar to look upon in comparison?

"I accept your offer good sir! I shall seek out this troll's brother and put an end to his terror, I shall gaze upon the magic of this valley of which you speak and then I shall return to report upon the success of my mission!"

"No need good sir Lupani! You shall not find me, I shall find you."

And with that Lupani danced off in the direction the man had pointed, towards the bridge, towards the valley, towards his own despair.

It is by day that snares are set,
To catch a rabbit, catch a prey,
But in these hours they do not net,
Not till night rises and conquers day

[Nefarion Xid]

The Fire

Rafe's somber voice was lost over the din and Marwaen's manic speech. He rose and extended a pale hand carefully bound with black wrappings to quiet the rest of his siblings before gesturing to the twins. His eyes never left the fire, or rather they stared just beyond it.

"You two go and find the little ones and bring them back; they can't have gotten far." It wasn't a request and Rafe never felt the need to explain himself or ask politely when he had a plan. And his plans were always good ones. Anghau was the best at finding things and Marwaen wouldn't let anything happen to her brother.

"... and we'll all be waiting here for your return." The folded arms and the cross look around the impetuous lot made it clear who he was addressing.

"Brisanne and I can look after everyone."

[Raz_Fox]

The Merchant's Tale
Being A Story Concerning Rahn, Set Within The Black Forest
Part 3

Our story began with the tears of a child. But sorrow often becomes fury, does it not?

Rahn stands before the hollow within the cat's gut, the Ana Kzei by her side. Leis is nowhere about now, gone off so that Magpie will not connect him to this, and she doesn't care a whit. She reaches into her ragged deerskin clothes now, pulling a dirty handkerchief from her belt, and she unwraps it. She examines the stone within, and then examines the hollow, making sure that they fit.

Kzei asks her what she is planning, but she is quiet. Now she knows that her plan will defeat Magpie - but already, his cry fills the belly of the beast, from wall to wall. He has returned! So she seizes up the stone, and before Magpie can strike her down with poison from afar, before he can guess where she is and what she is doing, she forces the stone into the hollow. For a moment, there is nothing, and her heart sinks from apprehensive elation into the deeper waters of sheer despairing terror. Then it pulses, and the heart shines brightly, thumping out in a dull, deep beat. Then there is a terrible quake, like the earth itself tossing from side to side, and a roar that seems to echo from wall to wall. Rahn is thrown about, and so is Kzei, and for what seems to be a year everything shakes and they are battered about, and there are crashes and booms and cacophonies all around them. And then there is silence, and Rahn pulls herself from the ruins of the foot of Magpie's nest, gulping down air, listening to her heart hammer inside her chest.

She looks towards the nest which has collapsed, and now she walks towards it. Occasionally, she loses her footing, due to the thrashing of the cat, but her feet are sure and steady. Everything is chaos, and the ground underneath her is no more solid than water, and she must continue to run or else she'll drown. Soon, soon, she looks upon the mighty Lord Magpie, who is pinned beneath his mighty nest, his neck twisted to one side.

He sees her approaching, and he lashes out at her in pain, crying out in spite a word which I will not even try to reproduce for you. Suffice to say that it was dark, and hateful, and powerful, and there is no other word like it. That is when the cold fangs pierce her neck, and the ice-poison seeps into her blood, moving as slowly as ice. She smiles, still, and pulls out the cure that Leis had given her, and she drinks it.

It is water.

Her heart sinks. It is nothing but water, spilling down her chin, making her shiver even more. So he lied to me, she thinks, and in a fit of anger she flings the waterskin aside. Lord Magpie laughs as he sees her face, the sudden horror of knowing that one is mortal and that death is so very close. "Krawww! Foolish song-bird! Try to hurt mighty Lord Magpie, with your skulkings and-"

She draws the knife, and Lord Magpie's words die in his throat. Even his arrogant eyes can see the madness lurking beneath hers. She smiles, a furious and crazy smile. "Shall I sing you a song, Magpie?" She asks, advancing upon him, her hands trembling from the poison but her fingers caught tight around the knife's hilt. "My mother taught me this one."

"One for sorrow-" He screams, but it becomes a sick gurgling sound with the first strike- "Two for joy-" Rahn's still smiling, singing as if she were entertaining him as he gorged himself on his dinners- "Three for a girl, four for a boy, five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret that must never be told-" Lord Magpie's throat is open and crimson, now, but still she sings- " Eight's a wish, and nine a kiss, and ten is a bird you must not miss!" She does not know why she does this thing, this thing that she does as she drops the knife to the floor. She dips her fingers in his blood, anointing her eyes, her brow, and her lips. And at that, the Collar of dread S'kesh falls from her neck, and the poison running through her veins halts for a moment, confused and afraid, much like she is.

She stands, unsteadily, picking up the knife and holding it tightly in frozen fingers, as the movement of the cat stops. She can feel its breathing, though, and she knows that this is only a temporary respite. And she can hear, from wall to wall, the sound of bronze on bronze. The slaves of the Mhegap rise up, as Rahn had instructed them through her loyal Ana. This moment had been prepared for, though she had never dreamed that it would be. She descends, knowing that every moment could be her last.

Kzei follows her, holds her up when she stumbles, quietly loyal still. Even so, the mile is the longest that Rahn has ever run. And the cat begins to thrash and scream all the louder as she nears the throat, almost sending her crashing to the ground. She does not believe that she could rise if she fell. "Quiet," she says, again and again, stroking the sides of its throat, desperately hoping that it will stop. "Quiet," she says, in a voice hoarse with fear and yet still beguiling, and it stops - for a moment, at least. She descends down the tongue, and closes her eyes – she must go past the teeth. If she does not leave, she is dead. If the cat bites down on her, she is dead. Either way, she must simply hope. Please, father, she asks silently. Please watch over me.

It allows her to pass, and she turns to look at it. Its face is full of anguish and fury, and she knows that its durance has been so much harsher than hers, even if the scars on her back will not fade. So she says, simply, "Hush. Mag is dead, your heart is yours. I - we shall release you, and if... if you allow me, I will make sure that no one ever takes your heart again."
She strokes its fur with her cold fingers, what little of it she can reach. It closes its mouth to help her, purring hesitantly. Her heart burns with pity and love intermingled. "If you will let us live within you," she says, "I will keep you safe. I swear by my name - Rahn, daughter of High Father. If you help me now, at this moment when I need you most, and serve me in days to come, I will protect you and soothe your pain. Do we have a deal?"
It nods, slowly, gingerly, and she steps from one rope to the other, each one coming loose with a single strike of the black knife - but now, she finds, it is dulled. She has used it too many times, she guesses - but twice more shall it sting, she swears. She can feel the poison creeping across her, and she can but pray that her guess is right. She returns to the face of the cat, limping, every step feeling like an unbearable agony. Twice the length of the mighty cat she has walked, and now her legs feel so weak, like water being forced to bear the weight of solid stone. "Cat, dear cat," she says to it, "I need you to take me... take me to my sister. She smells of this-" She cuts her palm with the knife, letting him smell the blood. "But without the ice-cold poison running through my blood. Please, take me to her, that I might live."

It opens its mouth again, and she steps within, and it chuckles, the sound like hammering drums, like the roll of thunder across the sky. "LITTLE SISTER," it says, and leaps away, all sixteen of its legs moving in an elegant pattern, now weary from many long year's rest, now smoother, more sure, the knowledge of running and wind returning to it. There is hardly any movement up and down now, for the cat is sure of foot and careful of its passengers. Kzei comes to her side now, touching her cold shoulder.
"What are you planning, songbird-dear?" He asks. She smiles, but it is a rueful smile, for she hates her plan – and yet sees no alternative, but to die, and she fears that more than anything else. No! She will not die here, she swears! She will live!
"If there is any who has fire enough to melt the ice in my veins, it is little Mata," she says, slowly, wishing the words were not coming out of her mouth. "Surely, she would trust me, she would always trust me," she says, laying her head against the throat of the cat. "How goes the battle, Kzei?"
"Bloody," he says, "And dearly bought. But Rekee tells to me, the fox is caught, the Mhegap lie dead. Many more there are, in the forest, searching for trinkets to add to Lord Magpie's treasure. Lady Sky smiled on us today."
"Bring the fox forward, then," she says. And so it is done, within the passage of a sun's footstep, as Rahn almost falls asleep due to the hypnotic rise and fall of the cat as it races through the forest. The Ana - and those of the other tribes who stood with them, but of them all the Ana stood proudest - bring Leis before her, bound with the slave-chains. For the Ana know as well as any other that Rahn, slayer of Lord Magpie, is of the other-world, being one part man and one part spirit.

"Why?" She asks.
"You be dangerous," he replies. "Kill you, Magpie, rid of both dangers."
"Well, I'm not going to die. Not yet," she says, feeling the poison course through her veins. She is strong, she tells herself. And her anger at Leis burns bright enough to halt the ice. "I've decided not to die."
"Clever girl," he leers. She brandishes the knife, and she sees the cowardice in his eyes again. Good, she thinks. The Ana watch silently, as she says quietly, "Leis, servant of Fox, I find you guilty of breaking an oath sworn upon your name." They nod as she delivers mercy to him, and as she quietly says, "I release you from your oath. Rest now." She lets him fall back gently, looking almost noble with his eyes shut tight. She did not love him, but they had been one, and to hate such a person is to hate your own body. (To release hatred instead of letting it fester inside is good, child. Remember that.) And then she drops the knife, and it becomes just an ordinary stone again, bereft of its magic.

Presently, they come before the place where Matapa slept, in the cold forests. And Kzei goes out and returns, and tells Rahn that Matapa is asleep, and the ermine guards her. To the Ana, then, she says, "Go, and gather up the food that was to be given to Lord Magpie, and prepare it before the cat." They obey swiftly, dashing away. And Rahn sits within the cat's mouth, praying that the smell of food will lure her sister out of sleep, and wishing that there was another way, that she had time enough to think of another way.

"I'm sorry," she says, and her dreams are troubled.

(The moral of this story is simply: do not betray those who have dealt with you.)

[Shades of Gray]

Harlan
The Fire

"Oi, Rafe. Last I checked nobody put you in charge." Harlan said, twirling the flute between his fingers. "Last I checked you have no authority. It is our business if we choose to stand up and go." He said with a yawn, his tired and disinterested tone did not fit his protesting.

He turned to address Marwaen. "Of course you are right. You said groups of at least two... though that goes without saying, because you can't have a group of one Two or Three would be best." He took on a kind voice, despite his mutterings.

He turned his head back to Rafe, stretching. "I don't want to sit still while my siblings are torn to pieces by who knows what. You can sit here and rot by the waning flame if you wish, okay?" "Okay" is not how most people would take this offensive statement, though it was delivered with a light tone. "I am leaving now, anyone else is welcome, no, encouraged to join me. The more the merrier."

With that Harlan stood up and threw the wooden flute into the flame. It crackled and burned. He turned around before walking toward the forest's edge, confident in his speech.

[Kasanip]

Matapa - Sleeping child in forest wakes

How long had it been since Matapa was asleep? She only began to move when she felt the cold and wet feeling on her cheek. With sleepy motion, she opened her eyes a little to see a beautiful creature before her. It was a small creature, but cute and innocent in it's features. And yet it was intelligent and seemed to be trying to comfort her too.
"What's your name?" She asked softly to it, her voice soft from it's long rest.
"I am ermine. I am ermine white of the white ermine of the forest endless. I found you, forest child here and long you have sleeped." The small white ermine said to her.
Slowly Matapa sat up, and she took the creature into her hands. Feelings returned now that she was awake, and she was comforted that, at least here in the dark forest, she was not alone.
"Ermine white, I am Matapa. I have come from far away to find life for Fire." She said to it. She waited in discomfort for her legs to wake up.
"Fire?" Ermine white asked. "I do not know this one. He is not a friend of the white ermine. But you, forest child Matapa, seem trustworthy. I have watched you for many days and do not think you are dark like the shadows. I will trade with you friendship, so together we should go to find your friend." Matapa smiled and hugged the ermine to her, and set it on her shoulder.
"Thank you. I am happy to not be alone in this place." She said to the ermine. But standing on weak legs, she put a hand for support on the tree. As she became balanced, she looked around in thought.
"But when I fell asleep I was being chased." She asked with concern. The ermine wrapped his fluffy soft tail around her neck and spoke.
"The beasts of shadow and eyes are not here, forest child Matapa. It is the way of the forest for all to be eaten. So while child Matapa slept, they were devoured." Matapa felt some worry of this, for she couldn't imagine something more scary than the beasts.
"By who?" She asked.
"By the forest child Matapa's song, and the ermine who discovered the sleeping forest child and the beasts." Ermine white said with a voice of amusement. It reminded Matapa of Rahn, in her jokes and games. And now Matapa felt homesickness upon her. This was not her home. Ermine white looked at her with a questioned face.

"I am lost." She said simply.
"How do you stop being lost?" Ermine white asked.
"I guess I must find my way." Matapa responded dully. But she was warmed by this thought. A path could be found if she didn't give up. Some confidence returned, even as her weak body refused. But she pushed her determination and together ermine white and Matapa traveled for some time. Footprints long had gone away. From one tree to the next tree, it was a small goal, but Matapa endured for some time. At last her stomach and legs would not go. She stumbled and fell to her knees.
"I cannot walk very far." Matapa said. "I am hungry." Ermine white jumped to the ground.
"Do not eat me!" He cried in fear. And Matapa felt her heart sadden in horror by this, and she sat down again beneath the tree and pulled her legs to her chest.
"I would not eat you ermine white, you are my only friend here." She said earnestly. Ermine white paused, and watched her for a short while. She held out a hand for it to come to her. But ermine white then turned away.
"Rest here, forest child Matapa." Were the last words he said.

And Matapa was saddened again, because she was all alone now. Hungry, tired, lost, and alone.

[nysisobli]

Vivienne

The Girl, The bear, and The beast


The beast continued to watch quite amused. It climbed down the side of the rock wall, and its four scaly legs made a clicking noise as it moved down.

Vivienne heard this click, and turned suddenly, before her she saw a magnificent man.

The crocodile lord grinned, all of his teeth showing, looking at the wound on Vivienne's side, he thought to himself The poison must still be working.

"Why are you here? What brought you to this part of the forest.?"

Vivienne bowed to this man, "I'm sorry for intruding on your presence, I was looking for food for my family and some shelter."

The Crocodile Lord walked close to Vivienne, and slowly backed her into the cliff, You should come back to my dwelling, for a meal, and some heat.

Vivienne nodded, "That sounds wonderful." She said.

With that the Lord of Quadrapedal Reptiles, and The Lady Of Desire took off to the cave.

[OverThoughtName]

Afein
The Longhouse

When Rafe had started talking about everyone but Marwaen and Anghou staying behind, Afein had slinked off back inside. She didn't care who watched her, it's not like she was going towards the woods or anything. Instead, she walked in and grabbed one of the empty bags they used to carry things around. She filled it with food, mainly Garian's honey biscuits, and hid it in the folds of her robes. What if I get hungry in the forest? she thought. It might take a little bit to get the fire back, and I can't jump well hungry.

Running back to the door, she watched as Harlan got up and left. He would've been fun to go with, but if even Rafe thought the rest should stay, she wasn't going to trust anybody. Anyway, she was one of the fastest. She would just be slowed down if she went with anyone else. So Afein did the one thing that made sense to her at the time, waited until all eyes were on Harlan, and then dashed in the opposite direction towards the woods.

It was a few hours before she stopped running. By then she was tired, but felt that, just in case, she needed to keep moving. She wouldn't allow anyone to take her back now, not until she'd found the sky-fire and caught it. It'll be like catching a firefly, she thought, I'll just need something to hold it in. First, though, I gotta find it. Then they'll listen to me. Proud of her magnificent plan, she let out a loud "hmph," which was followed immediately by a snorting noise from off to her left.

"Child," said a matronly, yet harsh voice, "you're old enough for your first hunt, and here is a willing meal. Fetch it, my boy, the Black does not suffer fools for long, sucklings fools far from their tribe even less." Out of the shrubbery jumped... Something. Afein could barely make it out. It was barely humanoid, and had those horrible, foot-long teeth protruding from it's lower jaw that Brisanne had warned about. Shocked into action, she began to run once more. Fast she ran, as not one, but two spears soared past her, faster than she had ever when she was playing. Fast through the forest, jumping fallen limbs and debris. Faster and faster, but not fast enough, for the steps behind her were catching up. Just when she could almost feel a hand almost grabbing her shoulder, she jumped one last log, hoping her tormenter would trip. But he stopped. And her?

She fell.

It seemed like days that she fell, hours at least, even if it was only a few moments. It was exhilarating. At last, she hit the water below with a splash. The first feeling of cold she had felt in an eternity permeated straight to her bones. Swimming, a talent she didn't know she had, came to her almost immediately and she easily swam to shore. Crawling up on the bank, she wished she had taken some of the fire with her, but that would've definitely gotten her caught. Lamenting her sorry state, she ran a short distance in the woods and clambered up a tree. Hopefully, those creatures wouldn't follow her, but if they did they'd have to search every tree around. Crawling up against the the trunk, she tried to stop herself from shivering to death.

Back on the cliff, the boar-child was being chastised by his mother. He would not eat that night, she said, for he let his meal get away. The forest does not feed those who do not work hard enough for it. Better, she says, to learn that as a child with others to help you than as an adult when no one will help.

[Nefarion Xid]

The Fire

Rafe put his hands on his hips and shouted after Harlan, "Then go with Anghau and Marwaen! It's bad enough that Halaeth and Rahn have run off, we don't need someone else lost at night! Anghau is the best tracker and Mar is the best fighter. They'll find the little ones and bring them back."

He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair under his hood, clearly becoming more frustrated with every moment.

"Are we sure they're just not hiding in the house?" His voice cracked with desperation. Searching his memory, he knew Halaeth's bed was empty when he got up to follow the others to the fire.

"Once everyone is back we can sit down and come up with a sensible plan. The fire can wait one more night until we know they're safe."

[ArcaneStomper]

Mornd
The Fire

Mornd watched Harlan go while Rafe shouted and he sighed. For all their talking of going in groups there went another of his siblings alone. Sighing again he stood up and wandered away from the group, but he did not go to the forest. No he knew he would go there eventually but first he had preparations to make.

Moving around the glade he searched for the appropriate materials. One large hefty rock and one long straight branch. After he found them he walked back to the fire and the others. As he did he did he did another head count.

"Afein is gone now too I think more of us than just Anghau and Marwaen are going to have to search if we want to find them all."

With his contribution to the discussion complete he sat back down and seemingly ignoring the continued discussion began attaching the stone to the branch. In the morning he would leave to go find either his siblings or more fire, but for now he would build. The forest was a strange and dangerous place, but as long as he had a hammer he knew he would be alright.

[Raz_Fox]

The Merchant's Tale
Being A Story Concerning Rahn, Set Within The Black Forest
Part 4

Our story opens with the hunger of a child. Look at her, searching fruitlessly for food, listening to her stomach: get food, it says to her, or you will die. Look at the hunger in her eyes, the desperation of being alone in the wilderness, and the worry furrowing her perfect brow. For there is the whisper in the back of her mind, telling her that she will die alone out here, far from home and without the fire she had been sent to find.

And here, oh forlorn child, comes the wicked, tragic monster that wants your heart. Ah, beware! She steps out from behind the trees with a canny smile, her hands trembling like leaves in the wind. "Hello, Matapa," Rahn says to her little sister, warmly, lovingly. "You look starved." The child nods, her eyes filling with relief as she runs over, hugging her sister tightly, tightly enough to nearly knock the wind out of Rahn's body.

"Rahn," she says after a moment, worried, looking up intently into her sister's face. "You're so cold."
"Yes, I am, Matapa. But more importantly, you look so very hungry, and I happen to know where there is food." Rahn takes her sister's hand - Matapa gently caresses her sister's ice-cold fingers, making Rahn shiver with guilt - and leads her through the forest.
"You've grown, sister."
"Yes, I have. How young you still look."
"One day, perhaps I will be as taller than you."
"...Maybe. Oh, what am I saying?" Rahn closes her eyes for a moment, to keep herself from failing at the last, to stop herself from crying. "Yes, you will, Mata. You'll be even taller than me."
They step into a small clearing, where the Ana have laid out the food. It is raw, but the clever hands of the Ana have prepared it so that its scent still makes the mouth water and the tongue get up and dance for joy. Matapa starts for the food, but Rahn holds her hand fast.
"Mata," she says. "This food was gathered by my friends. They gathered it for me, and for themselves. I cannot give you the food unless you give me something in return, to make up for the work they have done. Those are the rules." Mata nods, so trusting, and Rahn's heart, beating so slowly, in so much pain, writhes. But her face remains beatific, and she says, quietly, her breath cold, "I need your warmth, Mata. The fire inside you."
"There's fire inside me?" She asks, confused.
"Yes, there is. But there's only a little, and you won't miss it." Mata hesitates for a moment, and Rahn's grip tightens. "Have you seen your fire? It's a small, flickering coal deep in your throat, that warms your kind words. That's all - and I'd like it, so that I can give you all this food in return."
Mata looks into her sister's eyes, wondering – could this fire within her be used to rekindle the fire in the home of the gods? Should she give it to Rahn? Of course, she thinks. Rahn would never hurt her, she must know what she is doing. Perhaps she will rekindle the divine fire with that warmth! So she nods, one hand pressed to her empty stomach. "Yes, sister."
Rahn says, "You, Matapa, daughter of Earthmother, will give your fire in return for everything set before you?" And Matapa nods again, her face trusting and warm. Rahn leans her head in close, resting her forehead against Matapa's for a moment, feeling the warmth of her skin. Then, she reaches her long fingers into Matapa's mouth, pulling forth the brilliant, burning coal of her warmth after a moment's search. It shimmers in the light like gossamer, only half-there. If Rahn were not kin to High Father, she could not have caught it at all. But an oath is an oath, and sometimes the merest bit of magic is enough to make a thing real. "Go," she says, quietly, her breath forming crystals of ice upon Matapa's eyelashes, "Eat your fill."

And as Matapa turns away, to obey her hunger - though it has strangely been blunted already, she thinks - Rahn brings the coal to her lips. And that is the moment in which her heart finally stops, frozen over completely by the ice, but there is just enough heat left inside her for her to force the coal between her lips and swallow it. It falls, descending into her body. For a moment, she quivers in that moment between life and death, and then Matapa's warmth burns brightly.

Matapa looks up from the food, startled, as Rahn screams in absolute agony. Rahn falls upon the ground, her knees buckling beneath her, blindly convulsing in pain, her young face twisted in pain. Matapa stands, concerned for her sister, already reaching out to her, but the Ana are there before she is. They bear Rahn up, six of them taking her frail body up and holding her tightly, carrying her away as water condenses upon her skin, steaming and hissing. To describe what the fire of Matapa is doing to her body would be far too gruesome for any story, so simply imagine this: a dark green-blue plain of poisoned ice, dark and empty and deadly. And then, slowly, the sun descends upon the ice, burning it away and churning up the waters, crucifying the poison and the pure water beneath, until sun and poison and water have all become one.

The Ana who have stayed behind speak to Matapa, telling her that the food is prepared especially for her. Eat it, they say. You have bought it dearly. Then they bow to her, their faces sad and solemn, and they turn and fade away, dark against the white snow upon the ground and yet vanishing with hardly a trace, until Matapa is alone again. The food they have left her is enough to fill her stomach, but not the gaping hole in her heart. Her warmth is gone, stolen away by her treacherous sister.

And this is where we leave Matapa again, suffering from a hunger that no food can sate, from a thirst that no drink could quench, and above all, concern for her traitorous sister. She is still Mata, kindly and loving, after all, and this is the worst thing that Rahn has done to her. She has made Matapa's heart sick with worry, and furrowed her brow with concern and anguish over her sister's pain. (That is not fair, is it? Surely, in any good story, Rahn would be punished and Mata would get her fire back. I'm sorry, child. I'm truly sorry. But that's not this story.)

Rahn doesn't get away with it, though – listen, just listen, and I will tell you the rest of the story.

[Exthalion]

O how bitter the long road; the test of the hundred isles.
Like iron wrought in the crucible was Philos lord remade.
How terrible that path to walk, strewn with godly ruin.
He cast off like ill-fitting garments, all his godling’s pride
And he was made anew

So is he called twice born lord, Philognos gods’ son,
Child it was who braved the wild, yet he was no more.
Phi reduced from ‘lognos’ whole, from child was made man,
Consort to Wisdom he became, and lover of my soul.
Even so come Philos Lord.

From the ocean of truth and ignorance he swam,
Coming to the shallows where dwell the spirits.
Many his tests, yet finite, each a jewel; time perfected.
Near to the immortal world he drew and his shadow,
It darkened the eyes of the dwellers; men no longer
Who wore shapes of ruin, monstrous and profane.
In eyes he was revealed.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Long was the road of the Philos lord, journeying home
He traveled through the shadowed sea and was bewildered.
Lost to himself and all others, alone and lonely had come at last,
To that far distant shore where first he had lain down to learn.
Yet he was not yet done.

In spirit shape he came, a shadow beneath the veiling waters.
In eagle form he seemed, snowy white made purer still.
Vast beyond the span of mortal flock yet little before their lord.
Terror was in the Eagle King, great spirit and primordial of that form;
Like none was his visage, in his talons the lightning,
And in his eyes the sun.

From the Hymn to Philognos – 149 Inception, Canticle 100d to 150 Inception, Canticle 1a

He didn’t know how long it had been, since he had flown into the river of lights. Ninety-nine, ninety-nine islands he had overcome. The maze where each correct choice led to a new question with yet more options, the endless ever changing dance where he had to learn every part, the great court room where the cases of mortals and spirits against creation were heard, so very many more besides…

It had grown lighter, with each one. He had set his course by the distant light of the sun and it had grown ever closer. Now it filled fully a third of the sky and blazed like a mirror of bronze. Something was auspicious about this new island, the hundredth he had encountered. He had flow toward it in the shape of a bird and seen a mountain. As soon as he had set down the vast ocean had vanished leaving only a great expanse of mountains. The little hill he had sat down upon was a little thing besides these, each crowned with ice and girdled with cloud. Unlike the previous times though his shape did not return; instead he remained a great bird.

He made to take flight, but his wings would not hold him. Something was different about this time, he heard voiced upon the wind, a low rumbling deep in the earth. Try as he might, he could not bring himself aloft nor regain his proper shape.

There was no voice to explain the rules, even more familiar it had grown with each test though he could still place it not. He was truly alone. The past islands, the tests he had passed, were no longer in sight.

“So I have failed then, and been placed here forsaken. My birthright I have squandered in inaction and so I accept my just condemnation. If this new life I must forge anew then let me cast aside my past and come clean before the world, a creature new and blind.”

So there in the shape of a bird he began to sing, and then to dance. With great sweeping movements he cast about, the beating of wings in place of the billowing of garments. His song was high and strong and carried far across the echoing vales. For many days he sang; of his birth and childhood, of the cedar tree his mother had told him to plant, of the dimming of the fire and of the lightning, lastly of his journey and his tests. So done, he resolved to speak or sing of it no more.

Yet as he fell still and silent a voice spoke to him, though he knew its words not at all. Yet its speech was comprehensible to him.

“Why did you stop singing little eagle chick? Your voice moved in me and I was pleased. Now it is gone and I miss it. Sing for me again little chic.”

“I will sing no more, not as I did. I know not this place or the shape I wear, and I have no name under heaven.”

“Of course you know these things not, such is the way of the newborn, far too serious little one,” the voice was musical, like the ringing of little bells and each word was a peal of laughter.

“But to be without a name is not good. There is power in names, for good and ill, yet without a name you are unclaimed by anything and are prey to all.”

“Why must I be named? Would it change me save to give a thing to ascribe which is not me? What do they serve save to drive the memory of a thing from thought to leave only its moniker? Would you not be as you are without a name?”

“Far too serious little chick, you know not of the ways of our people. I am Anathearisilaroah,” it was not like speech, but like the sound of rising wind which she spoke, “,the updraft caused by the heat of the sun between the mountain and the valley, but that is only a little part of it. If I were not named then I would die, and a new wind would take my place, blowing from some other place. It is all I am and what I am. As I moved ‘tween and over and around I would become a different wind, blowing in different directions and laden with new scents.”

“Would you not be as you are even if unnamed? You would remember the place you were born no matter where you may blow.”

“What is remember? I am my name and my name is me. If I pass from this place then I will not be Anathearisilaroah and would surly die. This is why you must be named, or else you will be no more. The names of the wind is their power, just as the name of your eagle mother carried within it the power to make you. Till you are named you will remain all spirit and must remain here or die. Eagle chick you are not even yet, for you have not eagle name and so no eagle body.”

“To remember is to carry where you have been with you where you go. I will not surly die, for I know my place and where I have been. When I have gone from this place I will carry this shelf with me and this mountain and will not die. But I will become more then I am, for I will take up the place I will be and so shall carry yet more.”

There was hesitation, uncertainty in the spirits voice when it spoke after a pause, “You lie little chick. You have not the strength to carry this shelf, and even if you could you would not be able to carry where you then went.”

“No, I could not lift it, it shall remain when I depart. Yet I shall carry it with me none the less. My spirit will be changed, and part of it shall become like the spirit of this place. So with each place I go and remember my spirit is made greater, for none is lost and much is gained.”

“Truly! You say a strange thing too serious chick. To gain without lose is in violation of the Law. You are not yet mortal flesh, being without a name, but in you I see truth. Give to me this magic of memory, and I will be your consort. It will be a little thing, for I shall become greater wherever I go with you and become a mighty wind.”

“I will not accept you as my consort, but I will make this covenant with you; I will teach you memory and you shall become a mighty wind. You will blow from the south, from the lands of the sun and you shall be named Austerasolus, the South Wind. In exchange for this you will give me a name from among the winds, and it shall be an eagle name so I might be clothed with flesh. I will be eagle and wind and so shall remain in kinship with you who are my friend.”

“What is a friend? I know not what this is, nor how to be one. Even so, to be wind and eagle is not possible, for they are not kin of flesh or spirit.”

“Are they not sky kin, going hither and fro beneath the immortal sun? A friend is someone you carry within you as a living memory. Part of your spirit becomes like them and part of their spirit becomes like you. You each carry each other and so are always together though you be miles apart.”

There was a long silence, and Philognos feared the wind had departed and would not return.

“Very well wise in youth chick. I accept your covenant. Show me this memory and I will name you.”

Without another word Philognos ran to the edge of the cliff and threw himself from the edge. His wings spread out and Anathearisilaroah embraced him. Like a young white eagle he appeared all at once and about and around him was a thing with the shape of an eagle made of cloud. Down they fell, nearly to the floor of the valley. With a single stroke of mighty wings they rose on the updraft and found the place of stillness at the top. The wind hesitated but Philos beat his wings again. As he had learned on the isle he held the valley and the mountain and the shelf in his mine all completed. Anathearisilaroah was not dispersed or slain, but held in his mind she lived and grew. With each stroke of wings they covered many leagues and with his eyes he beheld mountain and valley, cloud and blue sky, and all the things of the wind. A great speed carried them over the mountains and through the forest with its many trees. For the slightest instant Philos lingered at the cedars, and to this day the South Wind carries the fragrance of that tree even if just on the edge of scent.

At last they returned to the shelf and the smoke eagle released the fleshy one. It retained its eagle shape, though that was memory.

“Anathearisilaroah, I ask you to do as your swore now, to name me with an eagle name.”

“I am not Anathearisilaroah, though she is within me yet. I am Austerasolus, the wind which blows from the South, and I shall teach the winds this thing and they shall grow mighty also. Little eagle, you have done me a great thing, and I regret your terms now, for a name is a little things too such as I, though before it was a mighty one.”

“On what scale shall you weight your friendship? Not with all the stones of this mountain could you bring it to balance. Memory and name are small beside the bond of a friend.”

“Well said little eagle. I must depart soon, to complete myself and be ever renewed. Anathearisilaroah will remain here, ever part of me and I in she will love you ever. I name you Teyanrealis, which means ‘blessed of wing’ and many things besides. Fare well my little Teyanrealis, a mighty eagle you shall be I think, and ever beloved of the South Wind.”

So saying she departed Teyanrealis, who’s name among friends was Teyan. In a short time three eagles, servants of their lord, alighted on the rocks of the shelf. They had heard reports of a great bird all white like the mountain snow flying in these mountains and none who swore fealty to their lord of that description was known in these parts. Such trespass could not be allowed so they came to discern what caused the commotion.

“Who are you chick? You are a strange one, so large yet so awkward.”

“I am Teyanrealis, and I was given my name by the South Wind.”

“You are a spirit then? A messenger made to carry word to our lord who dwells on Aeriemount?”

“I know not what a spirit is, nor Aeriemount, nor if I am strange. I simply am.”

They conferred among themselves and at last said, “You must be a new born eagle who’s spirit was once a wind. Such has happened before. We will take you to our nesting rock and adopt you to our flight. You will learn our ways and become one of us just as any fledgling would. Though you were not born to one of our mates, you shall be raised by us as our own. Come then, onto my back for it is far to go and your wings will not carry you.”

“I can fly, for the wind will carry me.”

“If you can then so be it, but let us know at once if you grow weary, for your wings have not come into their full strength. We will be ready to catch you.”

Together they departed, and again a thing like smoke surrounded Teyanrealis. It was not as mighty as Austerasolus who’s pale wings had spread thirty fathoms across. Instead it shaped itself over Teyan and showed a pale outline of an eagle full grown and on such wings as the image he flew. He did not tire as the others had feared, but when they set down for the night the wind was sorry to see him land for it delighted to carry him.

So did Philognos, son of the High Father and Earthmother, begin his final trial. To this day, the eagles call him Teyanrealis, and by that name they swear fealty and to that name they cry out.

[TheDarkDM]

Anghau and Marwaen
Being the First Parable of Blood

At Rafe's plan, Anghau's face grew contemplative. Glancing down at Marwaen, he waited until the rest of his siblings were finished speaking before making a decision.

"What you say has merit, Rafe. None of us have ventured beyond the warm glow of the fire, and Mar and I can cover more ground than most. Mornd, we all fear for the safety of those who've gone, but sending more of us just increases the risk that we lose someone in the search. Mar and I will go, and with any luck we'll have found the others by sundown tomorrow."

Anghau looked down at his sister, crimson pupils meeting white, and she gave the slightest nod. Nothing more was said between them as they left the fire, gathering what few possessions they had and setting off towards the edge of the glade. Haeleth's passage had left abundant signs in the surrounding undergrowth, so with a sigh the twins shot into the wilderness, unaware of the trials that awaited them. They would not return on the next sundown, or the next, and thus the other divine children would be forced to forge their own paths.

But for now, let us return to the twin shadows speeding through the trees, tracing their infant brother's headlong flight. For hours they ran, all the while gaining on their target, and for a time it seemed the forest would pose less a challenge than they'd feared. Despite the dessicated ground, Haeleth's trail cut a straight line through the trees, and where the shadows had circled 'round the lone children, they withdrew from the pair of teenagers. Yet the blessing of uncertain shadows was a double-edge blade, and as the indistinct terrors of the night scattered before the pair a hulking mass of fur and fury caught their scent.

Eventually, Anghau and Marwaen came to a small clearing. Circling about the edge, Anghau endeavored to locate Haeleth's small tracks. But as he knelt amidst the yellowed grass, what he saw were the massive paw prints of a great beast. As he knelt in the dying moonlight to examined the clawed gouges, a deep growl came from the tree line. In the dim light of dawn, a boulder moved among the trees, and as Anghau and Marwaen whirled to face it a great wolf padded from its hiding place. Six feet tall at the shoulder, its massive jaws dribbled bloody spittle on the ground as it circled the twins, its glistening eyes sizing up its breakfast.

Suddenly, the beast pounced, and Marwaen and Angmar dove aside. As they rolled to their feet, their play swords leapt to hand, yet they seemed small and flimsy beside the beast's jagged fangs. Bristling in rage at being stymied, the wolf pounced at Marwaen, only to recoil as her blade cut a thin scratch across its nose. Then, Anghau was at its side, stabbing with all his might. Yet it was little more than a pinprick to the leathery hide, and Anghau's sword shattered with the impact. The beast whirled, teeth flashing, and Anghau could barely stumble back beyond its reach. Tumbling along the dusty ground, he clutched at his ruined sleeve as blood leaked from a shallow wound. There was no time for him to regain his feet before the beast pounced again, and only a desperate roll saved Anghau's throat from being torn out.

With a hungry growl, the wolf approached, only for Marwaen to leap upon its back. Gripping the loose skin at the nape of the beast's neck, she drove her sword into the wolf's left eye. Howling in agony, it bucked, and sent Marwaen flying into a tree. It whirled to face this new threat, it failed to see Anghau regain his feet and slam the remains of his sword into the hilt of Marwaen's sword. The shard of wood shot deeper into the wolf's skull, and with a shudder it collapsed. Yet Marwaen had lost herself in the battle, and she leapt atop the corpse, pummeling it with her fists until the skull had shattered into a bloody pulp. Anghau let her channel her rage, for he was entranced by the slowly spreading morass of black blood, the way the dawning light of the sun played on it's surface. Only the howling of more wolves broke the twin's mad trance, and as they turned they heard the movement of a great pack approaching the scent of their patriarch. A single glance passed between the two before they fled, their pursuit of Haeleth forgotten.

Had the children of the great wolf given chase immediately, Anghau and Marwaen would not have survived the night, yet the pack mourned the loss of their leader. Until the moon rose, the mournful howls of dozens of throats floated over the trees, and Anghau and Marwaen sped further and further north. Eventually, they came upon a dried river bed, and it eased their travels for a time. Indeed, Anghau hoped that the path would prove an adequate mask of their scent, yet as the twins progressed the river remained a barely-damp wound through the forest, and nothing more. Eventually, they stumbled back into the forest, pausing only long enough for Anghau to set a few snares along their path, sharpened sticks and bundles of rocks spelling death for an unlucky few of the vast horde behind them. That night, Anghau and Marwaen clung desperately to each other, their bodies the only warmth in the black night.

Thus began the savage times, for the twin gods had offended the honor of the great wolf's pack, and only blood could absolve the offense. For months they were hounded, forced into a tenuous existence, each day alert to the presence of the pack's scouts. Far too often, they slept with empty bellies, and when they did eat it was the raw flesh of a slain wolf, their thirst quenched by its warm blood. After scant weeks their fragile vestments had rotted away, to be replaced by steaming skins wrapped tightly about bodies that became lean and wiry. After a month, none of their siblings would have recognized the twins, and still they were pursued. Every night was marked by quiet terror, as Anghau and Marwaen wrapped shivering arms around each other and stared sleeplessly into the dark.

And yet, and yet, as weeks turned to months the constant traps and ambushes of the twins took their toll upon the great wolf's pack. And as they grew strong upon blood and flesh the wolves grew hungry as they passed beyond their abundant hunting grounds. After two months, the twins and their pursuers had abandoned the pine and spruce of the forest about the divine glade and entered vast tracts of sequoia and redwood. The air became cooled with each passing day, and as the ground began to slant upwards the twins were forced to slow as the wolves increased speed. For the pack was desperate, hungry and much reduced by the long months of pursuit, the closeness of their prey drove them to desperation. And thus it occurred that in the fourth month of their pursuit the pack that had once been great finally came upon the divine twins. Standing before a massive redwood, Anghau and Marwaen stood without fear, and blinded by bloodlust the wolves charged. Yet as they drew close, great pits opened in the earth, and strangling snares drew even more into the air. Of the pack that charged, less than two dozen reached the twins, and in their weakened state they were no match for them. For their long descent into fear had forced Anghau and Marwaen beyond the pale, and they fought without mercy. Bites that would have driven them to tears in the glade seemed little more than distractions as the twins tore the wolves asunder with their bare hands.

In less than an hour, it was done, and the land about the redwood was soaked in the blood of the pack. Their bodies lay broken among the roots of ancient trees, and for the first time in memory Anghau and Marwaen stood without the ululating howls of pursuit on their heels. Their burning eyes met, and without speaking they rushed into each others arms. Yet this time was different - this time, they were driven not by fear, or desperation, or necessity, but by blood that burned with the fires of intoxicating death. Before either knew what was happening, they had embraced in a long, heady kiss. Pulling back from the embrace after minutes that turned to eons, Anghau threw Marwaen upon the bloody ground and took her, surrounded by the echoing silence of the redwood cathedral.

The message here, young one, is simple. For though the wolf pack was mighty, in time they fell to the divine twins. By that same token, no matter their strength all beings will eventually succumb to death.

[Nefarion Xid]

The Tale of the Thief
Part 1: On the Bone Road

There was a great ugly scar in the land. The blanket of green and black stretched on uncaring on either side. But here, nothing grew. Death ruled here. The gap spanned a mile across and stretched on and on into the distance until it faded into the hazy horizon and turned out of view. The forest never seemed so immense when you stood inside of it, but this thing gave it an edge and distance, a place to look at the other half from the outside. The gash sloped down gently but the passage was gnarled with intertwining tree roots and smooth stones piled precariously atop one another. The earth was broken like jagged uneven tile with no mortar, each piece gracefully curled at the edges as if afraid of its neighbors. And all around were the bones, naked and bleached under the sun.

Remains weren’t long in the forest. The scavengers would take what was left when the killer had his fill and the crawling things after that. Nothing crawled here and no one disturbed the dead. Predator and prey alike lay down here and never left. All around and in between were the fish. They stared out from their inch deep graves with a look of horror and confusion permanently etched on their faces.

It was the look of betrayal, decided the big round stone among the dead. Then, he supposed that fish had the same look even in life; always bewildered and a little afraid, a look befitting such a stupid creature. The stone reckoned he’d seen the same look on the faces of his kin, wide eyes, mouth agape. No one ever saw a fish looking contemplative.

Fish also lacked the ability to backpedal, among other desirable traits. The stone decided not to delve into the analogy further. At length, he silently asked the great old trout next to him what had happened here. The fish’s white skull stared back as if perplexed, both by the question and the fact that a rock had asked a dead fish. The flat river stone continued its long meditation, pretending to ignore his unhelpful companion and his vacant expression.

Water flowed here once. As the river went dry day by day, the farther in animals had to venture to drink… father away from the cover of the forest’s edge. Stag and wolves both died here, the occasional broken goblin spear tip mingled with the bones. Everyone was desperate and everyone was easy prey.

The stone regarded the fallen logs along the edges of the dry riverbed. Tangled up in the tree roots, they all pointed in the same direction. They lay in the direction the water had left them. The river flowed to the east, deduced the rock, quite pleased with himself.

“Why didn’t you say so?” he asked the fish aloud. The trout gaped back, a look that meant that were he able to answer that he would have been far too busy with being a fish (a full time job) to care for the rock’s inquiries. And that he still couldn’t have answered because fish can’t talk. The dusty rock decided that he should let his friend off the hook, both because he was dead and because the pun was dreadfully appropriate. With a groan, the rock grew legs and stretched its stiff spine with a pop before following the riverbed west towards the source.

Fish lacked the ability to appreciate puns anyway.

Rafe, which was the name of the shuffling river stone, loathed feeling so exposed walking down this narrow stretch of desert. There was no shade either and he was boiling beneath his cloak. Unfortunately, his dusky brown cloak was the only thing that kept him from being spotted by any creatures looking down from the forest’s edge and the birds high above. The cloth mask over his nose and mouth caught his misty breath in the cold mornings, but now it muffled the sound of his ragged panting. He lacked the endurance of his kin and the sun was merciless and the stony broken road scorched his bare feet, impetus to move swiftly onward. It was faster going here at the bottom of the river, no trees trunks and roots to dodge. And however exposed he was out here, he was unlikely to cross paths with anything hungry; hunters had no reason to come to this dead place spare to cross to the other side of the forest and that was infrequent judging from the lack of tracks in the patches of loose silt.

This was why Rafe paused so long to inspect the tracks when he did find them. Little aroused him. But, after many long weeks he came to water and his heart leapt, if only for a moment. It was naught but a shallow stretch in the dead river, bubbled up from some unseen spring. He knelt to quench his thirst and wash the dust and oil from his face. Then he paused. Beneath the surface of the still water was the clear imprint of a sandal. Blood pulsed through his veins, he could feel it throbbing behind his eyeballs and twitching in his arms. He sat unmoving and barely breathing until the water settled again and the rest of the tracks were illuminated.

The sandals were long and the wearer took great hurried strides. Rafe wiggled his own toes into view. Yes, whoever made these prints was tall; his feet were nearly as big as his own, but he was longer in the legs judging from the spacing. He began to hope. Alongside were naked footprints, short and narrow with high arches. They belonged to a good runner. Rafe followed them down the length of the river, racing along the dry banks so as not to disturb the water. His blood went cold when he at last came to the claw marks. They gauged deep in the mud. They were at a run, so many of them. Tears stung his eyes as he looked around desperately to find a trace of the sandals or the girl with high arches, but the wolves’ tracks had blotted them out, running along the river for a ways before turning north. He prayed for the souls of Anghau and Marwaen, but put foolish hope aside. He would have followed them into the forest without thought, but not for anything would he have followed after the wolves.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Of Animal Lords and Enmity; Or, A Tale of Two Tribes

Let us pull away from this story, for a moment, of twins wandering the wood together, dependent on each other. Let us pan out along the path they are walking, and let us look up into the trees.

Once, the tribes of Monkey and Jackal got along. Once, the High Father and the Earthmother negotiated a truce, and Monkey and Jackal worked together, and Jackal's tribe gave Monkey's people protection while Monkey gathered food and shared it between the two.

Then the High Father and the Earth Mother disappeared, and Jackal remembered why he hated Monkey, on a day when Monkey insulted his long nose and his ungraceful hands. "You can't climb trees", Monkey chittered, and Jackal growled and bared his teeth, and chased Monkey up into his tree.

For thirty days, Jackal pinned Monkey in the tree. Monkey's people brought him fruit, and Jackal's found him meat, and Monkey flung rotten fruit at Jackal, and Jackal bit Monkey's leg when he ventured too far down the tree.

Now, Jackal's followers hunt Monkey, when they can, for the meat off the bones of the monkey-men is sweeter than anything else they can find. And Monkey's followers find rocks, and branches, and fruit, and anything else they can find, and fling them at the Jackal-men, and kill them when they can.

The enmity is brewing.

Anghau and Marwaen
Being the Second Parable of Blood

In blood was the rebirth of a new being, the child of gods who had woken that morning as a child and slept, that night, a woman. Sacred blood, brutal blood, the murder of a tribe and the union of two spirits.

She contemplates this when she wakes, to see that scavengers have already picked at carcasses, but stayed far away from the crimson-soaked strangers, entwined in the midst of their gory awakening. Idly, she glances over at her brother; dried blood flakes off her fingers as she reaches out, to touch the curling prongs now emerging from Anghau's hair. Interesting...her fingers go to her own hair, but alas, there is no difference there. Nor, when she looks at herself, is there a change to the rest of her body--at least, not externally.

And yet she feels the shift, when she looks down at herself, pale skin coated in the deep red of dried blood, naked as the day she was born (or so she supposes, she does not remember being born). It is a fundamental change.

She does not like being naked and coated in blood this way. There is little water, but they had discovered a nearly-dried up pool and she retraces her steps back to that. It is muddy, and tepid, and the smell isn't as clean as she would have liked; still, it is an improvement over the blood.

There are many rocks in this part of the woods; large ones, small ones, some that are sharpened flints, some that are rounded smooth. When Anghau awakes, it is to the crack of stone on bone, and the sight of his sister wrapped in the crudely-torn furs from one of the carcassess--rinsed in the same tepid water she'd used on her own body.

"No, no, no, no, no!" The god-child is seated crosslegged in front of a broad, flat rock, clutching another round rock in her hands; she has just struck the femur of a wolf, but is frowning at the remains. She must learn to strike just so...for there is a large one laid aside, from the leader of the remainder that had come after, and that is the one she most desires. But first, she must learn the proper angle, the best way to flake off the largest, sharpest piece...

It takes her eight femurs, but the last practice breaks off a clean shard of bone as long as her arm and she squeals in glee, dropping the rock and clapping her hands. Striking the bone of the female pack leader results in the same piece flaking off, but the animal was larger, and so the piece is longer...a good length, she thinks. Enough for a grip, and then another two and a half or even three feet of blade...she looks up, and her eyes were almost manic.

"Do you see? Do you see what I've done? This one won't break. It won't. Not the way the wooden ones did. It'll be sharper. Better. See?"

It will take days, she knows. To sharpen, to make sure it is sound. But those are days she is willing to take; thoughts of finding the children are far from her now. What would be the point of finding them, if she cannot protect them? No...no. Bloodlust sings in her veins, and pours through her fingers, into her scraping and pounding and sharpening of this blade on rock.

"Ahh...yes, my beauty..." She coos to the sword as she works. "Sing to me, my love, tell me what you want to be...you will be beautiful, yes, none will dare to contest you."

It is the first of many swords, child. No, she does not discard it; it is her first. The moral is this: things worth having take time.

[Jair Barik]

Lupani approached the bridge as the evening grew cold and dark. No stars shone high above to light the way but Lupani had long ago taught himself a trick for dealing with such darkness. He did not know how or why but he could draw light from the land in small amounts. This was not the limit to his tricks but at the moment it was the most useful of them in the given circumstances. He had heard before of magic, something scarce and valuable. But for what reason had he been chosen to bear it? It was not something he liked to dwell on to long at any given time. Such thougts bred worry and doubt, they were not something he enjoyed. Thankfully these thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of the gorge. It was indeed a mighty gash. Deep and wide its walls were steep and in places jagged. Holes in the walls hinted of strange creatures lurking beneath the earth. He could understand why the bridge was the more appealing option. The bridge was a sturdy looking thing. A mighty tree felled by age it breached the gap with ease. But upon the bridge lurked a mighty beast.

Its skin looked like that of a lizard, scaled and brown green, wrinkled and dry from a lack of water. It stood upon its hind legs and held its front limbs like arms around its torso, great claws extending from their ends. Its eyes were misplaced and many hanging from its ill formed face and drawing attention away from its jagged teeth. Taller than anything Lupani had met before it hunched itself over and its great filthy belly lay over the bones of the animals it had eaten that sat stacked upon the log.

Clearing his throat Lupani cautiously approached ready to run if need be.
"Hail friend! I am afraid I have business upon the other side of this gorge. Perhaps I could pass?"
At this the troll laughed, its deep voice echoing amongst the trees and its great stinking mouth opening wide.
"None may pass unless they bring me foods from the forest! A mighty banquet of animals, no two alike in kind!
Lupani frowned, wondering how the beast may be reasoned with.
"But good sir! I have business across the gorge with your brother in the valley ahead. We have much to speak of and many things to discuss. Perhaps you could let me pass just this once without pay?"
Again the troll laughed.
"My brother has me duty bound to this tree! I am not to leave it and not to let any pass unless my brother tells me to! I am no fool."
Lupani smiled a plan already forming in his head as to how he could outwit the foul beast. Stepping forward to the edge of the tree but not placing a foot upon it he began to dig, forming a spade out of magic he cut away at the edge of the trunk. The trolled looked on uncertain of what was happening until Lupani stopped and turned to him.
"Do you not know what I bare in my hand?"
"It is a tool. But of what it is made I cannot say."
"That is because there is no whimsy in your simple little life! You have no sense of wonderment, no sense of beauty, there is no magic in your heart!"
Here the troll laughed at Lupani a third time, and here Lupani vowed he would only be laughed at once more by the foul beast.
"I know what magic is little fool! It is not in the heart of any, it is something in the world, in the trees and the forest. You may use it but it is not in your heart!"
"Ah but there you are wrong! You speak of magic. I speak of Magic!
The troll frowned and rubbed his head, confused at the nonsense that Lupani spoke.
"You are a strange little creature, perhaps listen to your own words?"
Lupani sighed and buried his head in one hand.
"Okay listen. I will explain this carefully. There are two magics in the world. The first, the one you speak of, let us call it... Majik. This is trickery through changing something into being something it was not. Now second we have magic. Magic is whimsy, magic is beauty, magic is abything that can make a man stand in awe astounded that what he sees could be found naturally in nature or in the hearts of those who dwell in this world. True love, earthly beauty, moments of perfect clarity, these are true magic and these do not dwell in your heart. But from this magic you may make sleight of hand and such trcikery, the only natural Majik for it does not make something from nothing, it convinces that something has been made of nothing and once you master that art you are ready to master the art of the other majik."
The Troll listened carefully but from the expression upon his face Lupani could tell he did not really understand.
"Very well then.... allow me demonstrate my magics and my majiks..."

Raising the hand that bore the light Lupani held it close to the trolls face and closed his eyes, then, in a single motion he willed it to light up, a blinding flash emitting from his palm and into the eyes of the troll. Roaring in pain it held one clawed hand to its eyes whilst it swept the ground with the other clawing at the air and spinning around eager to not let Lupani pass whilst he was blinded. As his senses returned and he opened his eyes Lupani was nowhere to be seen. The troll roared in anger until a small pebble bounced off of his back. Turning around his eyes fell upon the white haired godling sitting upon the other side of the 'river'.
"You! Get back across this bridge now! I command you! You tricked me!"
With a smile Lupani walked towards the bridge.
"You are right. I have tricked you. And I will cross your bridge back to the other side but only if you swear not to harm me as I do so."
"I swear it."
Despite the Trolls pledge Lupani was fast in crossing the tree trunk. As he reached the other side he once more drew forth his spade of magic and began digging again. And now the troll laughed a fourth time.
"Foolish trickster! You could have gotten clean away but you agreed to my demand! Why? Why did you do so little fool!?"
What he heard next was a sound that chilled the Troll to his core. It was a laugh, shrill and high, nothing like his own. But in hearing the laugh of Lupani he knew something was not right and he was fearful.
"Look closely stupid, ugly, vile troll! Look at the banks of your river. Which side am I on now? Why it is the side that leads to the valley! It was not my majik that tricked you! It was your own simple nature! And now I intend to show you why you should not laugh at one smaller than yourself."
The troll raged but as Lupani expected he was bound by his oath to his brother and could not leave the tree.
"My brother will kill you little fool! You may have passed me but I shall keep this bridge and shall kill all who cross from now on!"
Hacking out the last of the earth from this end of the tree Lupani smiled and lightly kicked the tree trunk.
"What bridge?"

It's supports gone the bridge creaked and fell into the chasm, the troll clinged tight to it to the last as he came crashing down into its depths. As the cries of outrage echoed from within Lupani walked on towards the valley, a smile fixed upon his face.

[White Blade]

Haeleth had joined the hunt the day he met Slataen and, after a very small amount of coaching, had become a fine little hunter. Of course, it was strange to the Black Daggers that one so small could run so fast, that he tired seemingly not at all (he said simply that he found it hard to sleep without fire.), that he spent the night pacing the camp, looking anxious and worried. But it mattered little to them, for he cared for them already, and his kind heart had won much affection. Especially since he seldom failed to catch more than enough food for himself and several others.

Haeleth did not leave that little tribe quickly, for they were kind and treated him well and now, far from the fire, he had realized that finding the fire might take time and he had no idea where to start. So he spent his days hunting and his nights listening to the stories of the Black Dagger's shaman, hoping to find some clue in regards to that which he sought.

He heard the legends of the High Father, how he brought low the beasts of old, he heard tales of the Earthmother, how she healed sick and dying lands. He heard the tale of his parent's wedding, for the first time ever, how they had made a covenant together before there was any order in the world.

He heard tales of the Animal Lords as well, of Grandmother Spider, whose cave was never too far from those who were willing to treat with the old witch. Of Lord Wolf, who was the mightiest of hunters, of Mother Bear, who doted on her children but was also lazy, of Grandfather Elk, who was old and wise and strong, of Panther, who sat on his throne of whitewood amidst his obsidian jewels and watched over the Jaguars' clans.

And he heard tales of long ago, when the makers made the world, and of those mighty heroes who walked in those days. Of clever Sator, whose cunning met the Fox's but was swallowed by a sea serpent, of boisterous Tornalis, who won a draught of joy in a contest before the High Father, but drank it too quickly and became a giggling lump, of greedy Norsans, who stole the heart of a dragon but was swallowed up by it's greed to become a dragon himself. Of mighty Perun, who drank from the eternal waters and walked the world still.

He heard of monsters as well. Of an eagle with eyes for plumage, of a giant worm that brought rot behind it, of a monster that was all teeth, of a snake that wound around half the Jungle, of a unified horde of flies. And of a dragon that slept on a pile of burning rocks that he stole from the generous moon, who shared their light with all.

Haeleth was very interested in that tale. He had grown tall (well, taller) and skilled in his time with the tribe. And he desired to know in what direction the dragon dwelled. The shaman told him the stories of the path, and Haeleth set out to find it. He had been on a few wild goose chases already, but he hoped that this time, he would find what he was looking for.

[OverThoughtName]

Afein
Alone in the Forest

Ever since she was chased by the boar-child ten days ago, Afein had begun sleeping in trees. One couldn't be too careful, you know, and the best way to make sure you were safe at night was to be where nothing could get you. Imagine her surprise when she woke up to a sharp something poking at her face. "Who, who are you? You, you are who?"

Rubbing the sleep from her eye, it was obvious that the night was at its darkest. Dawn would arrive soon. "I'm Afein, why'd'ya have to go and wake me up? Wait, who are you?"

"I'm Hunting, I'm Owl. This is my tree. Your snores scared my prey and off they went. Recompense, recompense."

Yawning, she sat up. Odd for a creature to have it's eyes on the bottom of it's head. Stranger still when he turned his neck all the way around. She tried it herself, but barely even got a third of a circle out of her effort. "I'm sorry, I don't know that word, but if you want something to eat, maybe some of my bread will do."

"Yes, bread, give, give. You owe me! Bread makes even! Recompense!" Hopping up and down, it was clear he had.agreed to the deal.

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her last couple of biscuits. "Here, have one, take your 'recompense.'" Putting it down on the limb, he hopped over to it and began to eat. Strange little creature, pecking at the bread until it was gone. "There, satisfied?"

"Much!" said Hunting Owl. Cocking his head to one side, he evaluated Afein once more. "You're odd. Very odd. You sleep in tree? You obey Old King Fey or New King Jay? Are you Sylph? Never met Sylph, heard they're gone."

Scratching her head, she looked genuinely confused. Cocking her head to the side like the owl did, she hoped to show it better. "Er.. Who? I'm Afein, daughter of the Earthmother. I listen to Brisanne and Anghou, but I wouldn't say I obey them. And who's 'Sylph'?"

Turning his head and hopping for a minute, Hunting Owl seemed to be confused. "Don't know how to answer," he finally clicked. "Need to find Smart Crow, he knows, he talks lots. Tells me of New King Jay. Find Hawk, Red Hawk. He find Smart Crow. Come on, come on, let's go." Hopping upon her right shoulder, he continued to egg her onward in his short, screeching voice.

It seemed unfair to young Afein, having to start out so early, but, then, she didn't truly understand her new companion's nocturnal nature. It became more and more a problem over the next few days as they began to adjust to each other's sleep schedules. Eventually, they settled on a schedule of sleeping half during the night and half during the day. Afein couldn't wait to find Red Hawk. She hoped he wasn't another nightbird.

[Exthalion]

“Now young Teyan, it is time for your first hunt.”

It had been many years since he had met them on the shelf, but they were like fathers to him, far more clear than the High Father of so many years ago. Rentrion, Harmonsaur, and Enclethtoras; the three eagles who had found him were perched before him now.

Eagles mate in pairs, and are loyal throughout their lives. They raise eggs together, taking turns incubating and later finding food for their chicks. For three months he had lived like one of the chicks, being fed by the mate of one of the eagle fathers who lived near together. Each day had been an endless affair of flexing and strengthening his wings and playing with the other nestlings.

That he could fly was no concern to any. He taught the ways of eagles, and fealty to their lord just like the others. He learned their stories about the past and about the distant High Father and Earthmother. In every way he was raised like the other chicks. He had never known this kind of life, being a child and being raised by parents. In the grove the eldest had looked out for their younger siblings but they had had no direction.

He knew the names of the chicks in all three nests. They all called him Haransor, it meant literally, the one who flies ahead and breaks the wind, but informally it was ‘big brother’.

Now it was time to learn to catch prey, descending like lighting from the sky and grasping the prey with your talons.

“You are the strongest of wing of the chicks and so you will go first. After you shall help us teach your siblings. We are sure in our skill, but you will still be new at it. You may overcome problems that we have forgotten and so know how to advise them.” That was Harmonsaur, always trying to be serious and making everyone laugh good heartedly at him for it.

Rentrion broke in, “Don’t worry too much, if you fail we will be there to catch you. Just like on your first flight.” True him to bring up that day, he was the eldest and told the best stories.

All together they took wing. Teyan asked the wind not to bear him this time, so that only his own strength could carry him through. Unlike before no smoke eagle outlined him.

Up higher and higher they flew, and with eyes beyond the vision of humans they looked down over the forest. Ren was the one who spotted prey, “There, a little thing all alone. It must have been separated from its heard.”

With eyes keener then mortal eagles Teyan looked down and saw a very familiar form.

“I know that kind, and it is not good for eating. It has a sharp claw and there is another nearby who will protect it. ”

“Perhaps, but it would not be a good meal also, for there are wolves close behind them and they look to big to carry.”

Philos in him wished the twins well, but he was no more as they were. They were human, but he a bird. He hardened his heart and the four continued on.

En was the next to see something, many rabbits and another of the strange creatures tied up.

Again Teyan disagreed, “See the fox nearby, and the great cat? Those below are in the court of some other lord and I would not risk war.”

Then Har looked and spotted two turtles, one upon the other in a dry river bed.

A third time Teyan abstained, “They will have little meat on their bones, for the river is dry and they look to have traveled far. They will be all tough skin and shell.”

Har spoke up what the others had been thinking. “Are you afraid young one? Do you not trust the skills we have taught you? Or are you a coward perhaps?”

Teyan did not speak for some time, for his eyes had beheld a great expanse of water. He flew toward it but did not see the hill. Never the less he saw the flashing of silver fish upon the surface. Like a rushing wind he fell, and with a great dexterity plucked a fish that had been leaping, one in each talon. So done he returned to the others.

“I do not hold with eating the talking and thinking things. Moreover, there is difficulty beyond reward for their taking. But here are fish, who do not speak and have no voice. They are easier by far to get and better to taste and eat.”

They all four returned to the nests and the fledglings were happy at their meal. By the eagle fathers took note of all that had happened, and stored it up in their hearts.

[Raz_Fox]

The Merchant's Tale
Being A Story Concerning Rahn, Set Within The Black Forest
Part 5

Our story begins with the tears of a child, awash in a burning sea. She screams for help, but the water drags her underneath, filling her lungs with boiling water until they burst, her body withering away, twisting and curling as the heat rips her apart – (don't worry, child. This is only a dream).

Rahn awakes to the smell of death and rot lying heavy on her face. She is stretched out upon a bed of old cloth and planks of wood cobbled together, beneath one of the mighty windows of the cat. She leans over, her head spinning wildly inside her skull, and vomits. Some of what comes up is black, stinking bile. She leans back on the bed, letting her senses stretch out all through her. Her body does not ache, does not feel cold at all. No, it feels warm, almost burning, and vibrant, so much that she feels now she must stand - and she does. She leaps from the bed, laughing madly without any reason at all, dancing upon the rugs beneath her feet, doing a handstand and then jumping up into the air. But still the stench of carrion hangs around her.

"You are awake," Kzei says from behind her. His voice is quiet, and sad, even moreso than he usually is. She turns to look at him, spinning about on the spot so quickly that her hair goes flying every which way. Kzei sits by her bed with six other Ana, their dark eyes wide and solemn. "And alive."
"I certainly, honestly, amazingly feel alive!" She screams, and then claps a hand over her mouth, letting it slip down her chin after a moment. She giggles, hysterically, running her hands through her tufted hair, grinning from ear to ear, eyes wide and dancing. "I feel alive, so alive, so very very much alive - so much of it, all over, all over, like, like my cup's running over, as if three hearts beat in my chest all of them at once hammering the blood dancing capering running screaming through me all glorious and burning and alive!" She laughs, and laughs, and sobs, falling to her knees, fingers tangled in her hair, yanking almost to the roots, gritting her teeth. "Why? Why didn't I die? I deserved it, deserved, should have died there, not Mata, not her fault, mine, mine, all mine, should have should have just frozen and been gone coward stupid stupid cowardly mongrel, why me and not her, why me? Should have died! Should have died! But no, I lived. Everything I ever wanted, and a beating heart, and nothing to pay for it."
"You cheated the one who comes at the end," Izek the clever-fingered says, cautiously, as if afraid of setting her passion to a burning fury. "But he is not forgiving; he is petty and cruel, and he always has his own price. See, he has marked you as a cheater and a fraud in his books." He comes up to her, holding a bowl of water, and she looks-

She sees a woman. Not a child, round of face, short and lanky, but a woman, fully-blossomed, tall and honed. Sharp-faced, high-cheeked, possessed of a woman's pride, her father's daughter. She realizes now, only now, that she has been transformed by the fire which she took. Only then does she see the differences, the things that were not hers before she slept.

She sees hair, red as rubies, red as freshly-spilt blood. She sees eyes, quick and vulpine, golden like Mata's fire, like the fur of the cat. She sees skin, too pale-white - it should be darker, she thinks, like the heartwood of a tree - and she raises a hand to her face, seeing the mottled skin of her fingers and the scraps tearing off, black at the edges. And she knows, with the intuition of the damned, that the fire running in her blood will keep her, just like she wanted, even as the poison running through her bones kills her, piece by piece. She knows now where the smell of death is coming from, and this makes her she toss the bowl aside and vomit again, until her stomach is heaving and her mouth is dry. No, she thinks, no no no, I didn't want this to happen. Not a corpse, walking all a-gangly, rotting and festering.

There is a moment when you show who you are inside, beneath all the pretending and masquerading and play-acting. And this moment comes for Rahn, as she kneels there. For every bone within her wants to howl, and hang her head, and beat her chest, and tear at her rotting skin, and be alone in her misery. But that is what the child Rahn would do, she tells herself, and she is no longer a child. Those days are done. So she rises unsteadily, and she wipes away the vomit from her lips, carelessly flicking it aside with her long fingers, and she turns to Kzei. "The hall is empty," she says. It is the truth. There is only the scraps of Magpie's treasure-horde left, and the ruins of his nest, and the eight of them, in all of that great and empty hall.

"All else have fled, carrying what treasure they could find. They seek the four winds, or a quiet death in the forest, or perhaps their homes." He shrugged, his face impassive. "Few will find what they seek."
"You stayed."
"They said, she is dead. Smell her, they said. But we know you, Rahn, daughter of High Father. Your life is too bright to be crushed, not yet."
There is a sudden silence within the hall, as Rahn looks at the seven Ana who stayed by her, and they look to her. They are looking to her, and she knows this, and for a moment it seeks to overwhelm her. She breathes slowly, carefully, and then speaks, and her words are quiet yet powerful. "You stayed by me, and that is worthy of reward. So listen to this: I will make us great." Us, she says. They notice. "We shall not seek our fortunes like Magpie, self-satisfied and greedy, a thief and a bully, but like the clever rabbit. If you swear fealty," she said, a word she had learned from Magpie, now turned to her own ends – "If you swear fealty to me, I swear in return that I shall be a leader worth following, and that we will transform this rubbish into brass and precious stones, with a clever tongue and steady shoulders."

Kzei steps forward first, and then Izek, and five more besides. They kneel at her feet, seeming so small beneath her, and yet so strong. Caught within their wiry forms is more determination and strength than there ever was in the Mhegap, for it is easy to oppress and hard to survive oppression. Rahn places her palms upon their brows, and sanctifies their oaths with her own meager magic, and swears in return to be worthy of their trust.

"Come," she says to them, "Come, come merrily on. Let us go and speak to the cat. I'm honestly not entirely sure whether it will speak back, but it's worth the price of a few kind words." She makes her way across the ruin of Magpie's palace, followed closely by the Ana, down the cat's throat and there she tickles his tongue, making him halt his running, "Here," she says to the cat, "Wait, please, wait for me. I want to speak with you. Or to you. I'm not quite sure." So it opens its mouth, letting them walk out, and here she says to it, stroking its scarred fur, "There are only nine of us, cat, including your own august personage. And I would have you give me a name, to join to these-" And she gestures to the seven Ana, whose names were Kzei, and Izek the clever-fingered, and Twei the lucky, and Sele, and Meku, and Tzek the strong, and lastly Jeke the tall (for he was a full five feet in stature, a giant among Ana). The cat smiles, and ah, that smile – it stretches for at least the length of a full-grown ash tree, if not twice that. "That is, if you can."
"HAJAL," it says.
"I am Rahn," she says again. "The daughter of High Father and Earthmother, and heir to them. And I am honestly going to become powerful enough to protect you all, for your sakes. Hajal, I wish to make my court within you – but I shall not hurt you like the damned Magpie did, never ever never like he did. You will become – in days to come, if hope is to be trusted at all – famed from one end of the forest to the other, and they will rejoice at your name, for it will have all the power of my own. Is this acceptable to you? Please, please say yes, please? I haven't really got anything else, honest." The cat simply smiles again, and roars – the noise of it so vast, so great, that the trees shake and the Ana cover their ears to avoid being deafened upon the spot. And Rahn, for one brief moment a smiling child again, embraces its mighty neck. If her smell bothers the Hajal cat, it does not show it, for it smiles all the more.
"And how shall we seek our fortune, my lady?" asks Sele, hesitantly, unwilling to upset either the cat or the lady. They don't mind, but Rahn turns to face the Ana again, one hand still entangled in the cat's fur.
"The way that fortune is truly and readily sought, my dear: we shall give to others what they truly want, and always earn from the deal, and never give anything back. I know the myriad and powerful secrets of my parents," she says, lying through her teeth, "And you know things also, secret and moreover practical things that many would pay to profit from. Woven threads and many deerskins we have, courtesy of our former lord and master – those can become fine garments, with clever craftsmanship and some hard work. We have bones that can become workman's tools, and some little knowledge of the forest's magic that we shall expand upon. And this, this we shall multiply, and increase, and profit from, and never return. And soon," she says thoughtfully, catching herself, "Once I am powerful enough, I will be able to trade for things unseen. As I did with..." she chokes for a moment, then continues, "As I did to Matapa. But first, we must find the treasure which Leis's master thought worthy of death and subterfuge, and claim it for our own!" She says, clenching her fist tightly, already looking ahead rather than stopping to look behind her again.
"It would take us days to clean out Magpie's pit, and strength that we do not possess," says Twei. "Would we search forever for the treasure? We need water, and food to quench our hunger."
Rahn smiles. "We'll come to that soon enough, but thank you for bringing it up. Hajal? Can you seek out food and water?" Hajal stands up on the rear eight of its legs, sniffing at the air, and then comes back down with such force that it makes the trees quake and shiver in fear, and Rahn falls back and nearly cracks her head open. "Well, then," she says, with a manic, mad laugh, "Let's go and get it!"

But now let me tell you another story, a story that is within this one. It came from the Kretos, those people of the bull, who received the secret of wheat from the forgotten god:

How The Autumn Lady Gave Us The First Harvest

Autumn came to the people of Minea-oh-kes, and the wheat of the field grew golden, and the people did not know its secrets. So they continued to care for the fields, and wondered what they could do to feed themselves from it. The people said to Minea-oh-kes, find the secret of the golden grass, go out and commune with the spirits until they have given you an answer.

Minea-oh-kes entered the wilderness, and there fasted for three days, praying to the spirits for guidance. But his heart was heavy, for the forgotten god had promised to impart wisdom to his people upon his return; if he did not return, his people would starve, but if he returned and found the people listening to another spirit, he would curse the gift he had given them and leave them to starve – for this was the way of the forest spirits.

On the evening of the third day, a spirit appeared to him. It spoke to him, asking him why he prayed. When Minea-oh-kes answered that he prayed to learn the secrets of the growing wheat, it laughed, and jumped out before him. It was small and dark, a hunchbacked goblin with long ears. My mistress knows many secrets, it told him. Follow me, if you dare. No true leader of the people would deny such a challenge to his courage, and so Minea-oh-kes followed the goblin into the dark shadows of the forest, to the mouth of a cave lined with sharp rocks. The goblin leaped inside, and Minea-oh-kes began to follow. But his father's spirit whispered to him, warning him to beware, and he looked again, understanding that the rocks that lined the cave's mouth were teeth, and that it was the mouth of some great monster. Then he cursed the goblin, calling it a trickster and a malicious beast, for trying to lure him into its mouth. The goblin laughed, saying that its mistress did not accept the faint-of-heart to meet with her. So saying, it continued on, and Minea-oh-kes followed it, his heart fearful. But the jaws did not close about him, so he followed the goblin through the mouth and into a long hall. It was dark, but he could see that it was vast, and filled with strange things. The goblin was nowhere to be seen, but sitting in a throne of cast-together poles and shadows was a woman strange to behold, for she did not have the warm fur or curving horns of the people, but hair as red as the leaves falling from the trees and eyes like the eyes of a hunting fox. And the hair on the body of Minea-oh-kes stood on end, for around her there was the smell of death, and he said to himself, this surely must be a powerful spirit, one of the Gentry, and I shall have to court her well to live.

Said she, what brings you here, traveler, on such a bitter night as this? Said he, a dark goblin brought me here, claiming that his mistress knew the secrets of the grain that the lost god gave to us. Said she, perhaps I do, perhaps I don't, so tell me all that you know of it. So he told her what the lost god had told them to do with it, and she whispered to herself of Tor-eal-aes and the house she once had – then, she said, I know the secret of the harvest that will feed your people. But no secret is free. Tell me, do your people know of fire? His heart sinking, Minea-oh-kes told her that they did not. She shook her head, laughing to herself, and then said – tell me, are your people strong, and broad of shoulder? Yes, he replied, they are. None are stronger than my people. Then, she said, I propose this: my household and I shall teach you how to harvest, and assist you in culling the wild wheat. In return, you shall give us a tenth part of every field, and then assist me in preparing my hall for the goblin feast, for it has fallen into ruin and decay.

Minea-oh-kes agreed, and so the Autumn Lady bade him to depart, and so he did. He returned to his people, saying to them, I have met with the Autumn Lady, one of the spirits of the forest, and she knows the secret of the harvest. And so they waited for her, and as the sun was descending into the trees once more, a mighty creature with fur as gold as the grains of the field came forth, and the Autumn Lady and her goblins issued from its mouth, carrying long bones curved like the horned moon. These, she said, were the knives with which the harvest must be done, and so saying she gave them to the people and bade them to go out into the fields and cut down the stalks. Preserve the heads, she said, and keep them in these woven baskets. So they followed her instructions, and the goblins did rush about the field, mocking the clumsy and catching the wheat that they dropped.

But the Autumn Lady did not assist them in the fields, and they said among themselves, look, she does not work. Does she believe herself so much better than us? The god who is lost helped us more than she did! These words reached the ears of the Autumn Lady, and she seized up one of the crescent knives, and bade her goblins to follow her. And in the time it took for the people to finish harvesting a field, she did the same twice over. The stench of death followed her, and the people said to themselves, truly she is a god. But once that field had been finished, she returned to the beast, and the people said, we have offended her with our loose lips; we have turned her heart against us. So they worked twice as hard from that moment onwards.

When the harvest was done, the goblins showed them the secrets of taking the heart of the wheat and crushing it, and making thick food from it. And they laughed and made jokes, saying, this is good to know. The Autumn Lady showed Minea-oh-kes the secret of taking the hearts and keeping some safe, so that one day soon the people could once again use the secrets of the forgotten god. And then, when leaves turned red and gold, they would remember who saved them and taught them secret ways, and leave out an offering for dark goblin men.

Then, when the baskets of the people were filled, Minea-oh-kes led the people into the beast, and now he saw the great ruin, like the forest after a storm. For nine days the people did labor to clear away the great trunks and the rot, and the Autumn Lady and her goblins instructed them, what to keep and what to return to the earth, and they searched diligently for something unnamed.

On the ninth day, as the people finished clearing away the ruins, a child of the people found a witch-sign. It was black and heavy like stone, and scratched deep, and the child brought the witch-sign to the goblins, saying, look at this which I have found.

Straightaway they brought this to the Autumn Lady, who studied it from the moment it was given into her hands. When Minea-oh-kes came to her, saying that the task was complete, she did not answer, but gestured for him and his people to leave. So Minea-oh-kes led them out, and straightaway the beast leaped up and fled, chasing the sun. But it never caught it, say the sages of the people. That is why the Autumn Lady travels still, because one day she hopes to catch the sun.

This is still a memory of the people, and this is why we leave a basket out for her and hers after every harvest. Sometimes she claims it, and sometimes she does not. This is the way things are.

[Kasanip]

Matapa - Fireless Spirit


Rahn had been taken away. What had happened to her? Matapa stared into the forest after her sister, and shivered silently. Of course Matapa was afraid for her. The pain in her voice echoed a little. But the forest soon became quiet again.
Silence, as Matapa shivered again and looked at the food. There was so much, it reminded her of the feasts she had when they had been together. When she had been with her family.

Seeing Rahn now made Matapa worried. Because she had always yearned to see them again, and yet now it seemed things were changing. Rahn had already grown so tall and beautiful. And Matapa wondered if her other brothers and sisters had changed. And Matapa was embarrassed that she had slept for so long. How much time had it been? But Rahn had become cold and the pain she had in her was frightening. And Matapa remembered the beasts of the forest. There were many dangers here.

But... Rahn was beyond her. She had traded to Rahn for this food, and now if she ate it, maybe ermine white would not be afraid of her. Matapa thought this and tried to find comfort and hope.
She sat down to eat, and the food was delicious. All kinds of foods that she had never tasted, but the flavor was delicious. And she ate until her stomach was full. But then Matapa shivered again. Her eyes were sleepy too. After eating so much, she wanted to sleep peacefully.
But part of her also cried a warning of this. The snow was like a bed for her, but she was cold. She was alone again.
Matapa stood up, feeling some strength in her legs again. Ermine white had gone. Rahn had gone. Where could she go now?

She wanted to go to the ermines and thank them. She could bring the rest of this food for them and maybe ermine white would not be afraid of her. So Matapa wrapped the food in her dress to carry, and she started to walk again.

Matapa wandered through the forest for some time, and yet the whole time the forest grew darker and colder. Now she trembled and shivered and could not become warm. She couldn't feel her bare feet or her hands even though she embraced herself. She blew on her hands, but there was no warmth for them. She was so cold. So cold.

Was this what Rahn had felt like? Matapa wondered as she shivered. Rahn had been cold like this before the screaming. Would Matapa also feel that pain? Would Rahn be able to get better? She was afraid.

Matapa wanted to find Rahn again. But she did not know where she went. She wanted to find Brisanne who would comfort her and put her by the fire to be warm. But she was far from home.
And now she was too cold. Too sleepy.
"Am I going to die?" Matapa wondered again. Even of that, she did not understand the meaning. To be eaten- that was her fear. This was not the first time of this fear, but still she was afraid.
She didn't want to be eaten here. Matapa imagined she was at home. Her brothers and sisters were laughing together. One of them ruffled her hair as she hugged Brisanne. To be warm with her family. Safe around the fire. . .
Ah. . .
Ermine white could come with her too when she went there. . .
They could bring all of the ermines and have a warm and happy place together. . .

Warm. . .


Matapa fell forward into the snow with this last warm thought.

[White Blade]

Haeleth
Dragon's Horde Hill
Time Unknown, Haeleth Approximately Twelve

The road on which Haeleth had been set to travel was a long one, two weeks journey either way, even without rest or sleep. He went down the crooked ways of the natural paths of the jungle until he came upon the hill where the dragon was said to live. It was a rocky, barren thing, jutting up like an ugly sore over the Obsidian Jungle.

There were massive rocks strewn about everywhere, like a giant had tried to quarry the ugly thing. Haeleth stalked around the hill, watchful and quiet. He was not the sneakiest of individuals, and some in the Black Daggers called him Thunderfeet, partially because of the lightning that warned them of his coming, partially because of his complete inability to remain totally quiet. (To this day, Haeleth remembers that nickname fondly, but it is considered ill-fortune to say it nonetheless.) He reasoned, however, that his skills would be sufficient, since a dragon seldom looks for something as tiny as he.

Eventually, he saw the mouth of the cave near nightfall, and he watched it silently. He sat for hours, watching from afar, and then he saw the dragon.

It was taller than an elephant and wide as a bear, and its wings were portioned to its snake-like body in right proportion for a bird of the air. They created massive gusts of wind whenever they beat and they let the dragon soar high in the air. It had smoke curling from its nose and some form of beast, perhaps a hog, clasped in its claws. Haeleth was glad to have seen the dragon and now had high hopes that the dragon's hoard would be all that was claimed about it.

First however, he had to wait through the night. It was very difficult for him, when he felt victory was so near. But he had known before he had come that patience would be required. He had the thick skin of a bear, filled with water, and he would pour it out in the morning, leaving it wet and able to carry the hot coals all the way home, assuming he ran and did not get lost. He thought that likely. He was bigger and stronger and faster now, and far more sure of his footing in the woods.

In the end, he found the patience, but only just. As soon as the dragon had disappeared beyond the tree canopy, he ran out from his hiding place in the woods and into the cave, dashing down the whole way, the water sack jostling on his back. When he had only just entered the cave, he could see a warm, white glow over the whole of it. He felt it on his skin and he smiled, yes, these burning coals, they would be perfect! So he rushed down further into the cave, though it was not very far to where they were.

When he saw them, he was filled with awe. For there on the floor of the cave was what looked like a vast horde of glittering diamonds, each cut differently, each unique. All of them were beautiful and in their heart was a burning white fire. It was all he could ever have asked for. When he returned with them, he thought, he'd be everyone's favorite brother, a hero!

And so he reached for one of the diamonds and pulled on it. But it would not budge. And then he reached for another. And it would not budge. Soon, Haeleth realized the truth: He could not move the diamonds. He could not even make them shift at all, whereas he could push boulders with growing ease. It was then he began to suspect the truth, that you cannot take a dragon's hoard, without killing a dragon.

So, dejected, he turned and returned to the Black Daggers, for he knew he could not yet challenge the dragon he had seen.

Learn from Haeleth's wisdom child. Sometimes, there is prey too large for anyone.

[Nefarion Xid]

The Tale of the Thief
Part 2: A Brief Parable

Along the shallow spring fed river, Rafe soon came to the deepest and widest part where the water reached to the rocky banks on both sides. Here lived the mighty and numerous progeny of the crocodile lord who greedily guarded the only clean water on the old river. While the crocodiles slithered through the water and enjoyed their mud hollows, the goblins on the northern bank looked on and plotted. There were never enough stones or sticks or fools among them to take the watering hole. And the crocodiles lacked the ability and the desire to claw their way up the steep banks and kill the goblins. When an intrepid reptile did managed to do so, the goblins would run away, only to return and harass them later.

Rafe spent much time studying this situation from his hiding spot. He thought he might ally with the goblins and use his wits to drive the crocodiles away. Then he thought he might earn the crocodile’s admiration and be free to pass if he rid them of the goblin pests. He also pondered disguising himself as one of them and slipping through the water whilst floating on a log and paddling lazily as they did.

Then he saw that there was a path up the southern bank and so he just went around and avoided the whole mess.

The lesson here is that not everything is a lesson, and not every challenge brings reward.

[OverThoughtName]

Afein
The Black Forest

Weeks had passed since they set out, and Afein's enthusiasm for this game was beginning to wear. They had found plenty of food together, Hunting Owl bringing meat and Afein finding supplies of tubers and vegetables while the other was asleep. Oh, how she missed Torealas. At least she had listened to him some, otherwise she wouldn't have been able to figure any of this out, but he had taught her well enough to pick the good plants from the poisonous. It seemed that, by far, the second was more common than the first.

On the thirty-third morning of their journey together, they finally stumbled across the meadow that Red Hawk was supposed to call home. Loathe as he was to give away his position, as any owl is during daytime, Hunting Owl told Afein in whispers that they ought first to climb a tree and wait for the hawk to find them. She had gotten quite good at this climbing business, twice as quick as when she had climbed the longhouse. They waited on the third branch, the owl taking the time to nap before Red Hawk found them.

Hours passed by in the early morning, and eventually, Afein herself allowed her eyes to drift closed. It had been a long journey, after all, and what was a bit of sleep, anyway? Surely, this bird would wake them once he found them. Her dreams, however, were fretful and nightmarish. She dreamed of the creatures Brisanne had warned were in the forest, some of which she had narrowly avoided with the help of Hunting Owl. She dreamed of searching forever and never finding fire anywhere. She dreamed of the boar-child chasing her, but the longhouse kept getting farther and farther away. It was right then, when he was closest to catching her again, that she fell once more and awoke with a start.

The sun had moved to the other side of the clearing. That in and of itself hadn't startled her, for her dreams had felt as though they had spent a lot more time than they had, but her friend, Hunting Owl, was gone! Looking around, trying to find where he had gotten to, she noticed another bird on a higher branch studying her, one with a much less inquisitive face. It kind of reminded her of her brother Philognos, except far more red. Her young mind jumped to yet more conclusions, missing the obvious once more, and she began to yell at the red-feathered bird, "You! Where'd Hunting Owl go? You ate him, didn't you?!" Cocking it's head to the side, though not nearly as much as her friend had, he let out what could be considered a chuckle.

"No, 'Afein, Child-Thing of Someone or Another', I did not eat our friend. He told me you were smart, insightful, and contained all his best qualities. In that, at least, he got the point across." Hopping closer, now that her fears had been visibly put to rest, he ker-chawed out the rest of what he had been told. "He said you were looking for Smart Crow to tell you if you were, or were not, a Sylph. Clearly, you're not, you're completely solid, but I assume there's more to this than that? You'll have to forgive Hunting Owl, daytime is not his best time, nor talking his talent."

"Oh, sorry, then you must be Red Hawk. Hunting Owl said you had the best light-eyes he knew of." She hoped her flattery absolved her early mistake, because she was tired of this search and wanted some information. "No, I'm Afein, daughter of the Earthmother, and I've come out of our home to find the sky-fire that escaped our longhouse. 'Lighten-ing', was what Hunting Owl called it. Then he asked something about these 'Sylph', an 'Old King Fey' and a 'New King Jay', but couldn't explain anything he meant. He thought highly enough of you and the crow, so I thought I'd let him bring me to you." She turned her head to the side, hoping that this bird also saw that as confusion to add to her point.

That same snort-screech that she took for laughter came from the bird again. "Fine, I owe Hunting Owl a favor anyway. He did once point out a burrow I had missed. I'll find Smart Crow for you, he and his kine are those that keep track of the goings-on in the Court. I, personally, care only for my meadow seen before you. In exchange, you are to watch it for me. Keep any other birds from taking it as their own while I'm gone. Clearings are few and far between in the forest, I would not lose mine for a favor." With that, he left. Afein hadn't even had time to respond. She did think it fair enough a deal. This meadow wasn't even as large as that outside the longhouse, should be easy enough.

[Exthalion]

There was a great disturbance among the eagle fathers. It had been over four years since his first hunt. In that time there had been over two dozen chicks born, and Teyan had taken over a great deal of responsibility in raising them. The others were still devoted parents, but they saw something in him, wisdom beyond their years, as if he had lived far longer than it seemed. They conferred together, the eagle fathers and their mates and concluded it was spirit knowledge. Teyan saw the world differently, perhaps free of some misconception they could not name.

Word had spread far and wide of the eating of fish. Eagles came from far away to be taught, humbling themselves before the white eagle. Yet he also flew himself long distances to teach those who could not spare any of their flight to come or who did not know the way. There he demanded none of their food, nor a place in their nests. He was in every way the perfect guest, respectful yet firm in his teaching.

So it was that his eagle fathers came to him as he was teaching that years children the technique.

He had been careful, making certain they first looked to see how numerous the fish were and to not all hunt in one lake for too long. Else the fish would die and there would be no more.

“We are one, the fish and eagles. If we did not take some to feed ourselves they would grow too numerous. They would eat all of the insects and they would have no food. Then they would die. If we take too many then the next year there will not be enough to feed us, for not enough will have been born.

We are family, the first and us. We take their flesh into ourselves and grow and become strong. All you little ones were born long after we began to seek the fish. Before your eggs were lain your mothers were of one weight, and after they were lain they were of that weight again. In that time they ate much fish. The bodies of the fish were taken in by your mothers and changed and your bodies were made of the same materials.

Always remember that we are all under heaven, all part of the great circle. When we die our bodies will go down into the ground. There the plants and trees will take them up and become greater. The things which eat the plants will then take the us in the plants in and become greater. So it shall continue till the meat returns to us. We are all part of the circle, the great spirit of the forest. Only one kind is above and apart from the cycle.”

“And who are those Teyanrealis?” That was Har, choosing to interrupt at this moment. He had been present when the first fledglings had learned these words. He had never seen a human, the eagles had not had much part in the works of the High Father or Earthmother.

“Man, the children of the mighty. Those who remain are the sons and daughters of the gods, and gods they are themselves. Many there once were, and fewer now then began. And let that be a lesson to you chicks; that even the young of gods may die. Be vigilant at all times.”

So saying he flew to a higher perch where the rest of his eagle fathers waited.

“I gather something has happened. You may be honest with me, truth lighten the spirits of the weight of lies so that it might fly better.”

“Please, no platitudes. This is a serious matter.”, said Ren, and unusually solemn for him.

“The Eagle Lord has called all the families to attend him. Normally only fathers of at least one adult chick attend, but word has come that you are especially requested. We know not what this portends. We think it has to do with the fishing, there has been word that that Eagle is not well pleased that we no longer hunt all kinds of things. You know will do not eat only fish, but that has become our principle food source. The traditionalists nearer to Aeriemount have not taken it up and still hunt all kinds of things every day. They say it makes us weak, and dulls our skills for battle.”

“If we are called, then we must go. There is no choice in the matter. The future holds what it holds, and none under the sun know the place of all under heaven. Let us be off then, and I think the wind shall speed our going. This colony is distant from Aeriemount, and it will be a long journey.”

“There is one other thing and this is why we are worried. We would take you regardless of our misgivings, but this issue requires advice.” En was the last to speak. The years had changed him, but he was still very quiet.

“We have been chosen to be among those who bring food. We do not know what it is we should bring, fish or some other kind of animal.”

“Was what we were to bring specified?”

“No, but…”

“Then it shall be fish. They are good to eat and we might catch enough to feed many others if we are careful to take only a little along the way. That some may not like it is no concern, for do children not like some thing or another which is good for them?”

So saying they began the long flight to the gathering of eagles, catching a few fish in each river and lake they passed. When at last they came in sight of Aeriemount even Philognos was amazed.

It was a great mountain, taller than any other he had seen or even dreamed of. Its crown was all snow and ice and it gleamed like a jewel in the sun. About its waste were clouds, and all the mountains around it were as though humbled. Drawing nearer they saw the great slopped and terraced sides, nesting grounds for hundreds if not thousands of eagles. Two shelves were higher the rest. The highest was set in the ice and there the Eagle lord perched, and none dared venture there. It was said he spoke with the sun from there and none dared land and see.

The other was the place of meeting, and it sat farther down the mountain beneath the icecap. They turned their course there and saw the flight of uncountable eagles all around the mountain. They were the last to arrive, being from the newest and most remote settlement. They set down the fish they had gathered, but they were the only ones who had brought fish.

The eagle fathers glanced around uneasily, for they had feared this would be the case. At least all settled and awaited their lord.

No bird past or present was like the lord of eagles. His top feathers were brilliant like gold and his bottom ones like diamond. His talons were iron and his beak like bronze. Twenty fathoms was his wingspan and his cry shook the mountains. When he alighted all were silent and bowed.

He looked over the assembled fathers and the food they have brought as well. Settling his gaze at last on Teyan and his fathers he saw the fish they had offered.

“What is this, a midden heap of stinking rot? Come, tell me, where is your offering? Remove this pile of filth from my presence, its odor offends me.”

Rentrion, Harmonsaur, and Enclethtoras made to do as he said but Teyanrealis was still.

“Ah, little thing, I had words for you. What is this thing you do? Talking of fishing and cycles and spirits? I am a spirit, and mighty besides and I see you are not. Cease this fool talk and recant here before all these and you shall have my pardon. Such lies are unbecoming of us, and especially from you who are not of us.”

“I will not. I said no lie, and if I was mistaken that is not malice.”

There was silence over all. None had ever done this, question their lord. He was the eldest, the first of all eagles. Surly he was beyond reproach.

“You are impudent little one! I say again recant and I shall forgive you this crime.”

“I will not. Nor do you have a right to command me to falsehood.” There was a sharp in drawing of breath from all present.

“Cur! You are no eagle, be gone!” The eagle lord let loose a buffeting of his wings and a tempest was raised and made to unseat Teyan.

Without hesitation he began to sing amidst the wind, “Austerasolus of mighty wind, friend I named you and a friend I need now. Let your mighty strength be still, and these winds be calmed.” The eagles knew not what he sang, though it moved in them a place in their heart they could not name. All at once the winds stilled and unfolded.

Teyanrealis there was, all white and shining but about him a mighty eagle made of cloud and smoke and dust. Though half seen it was beyond the size of the eagle lord thought its splendor was less.

“What trouble do you cause Thariontor, First Servant? From your youngling days you were proud and now you seek to move me to your will? None save the sun may bid me to motion.” The voice was like a rushing wind, and laden with the scent of cedar.

The eagles were shocked, for none knew the name of the great lord, for he would give no other power over him in that way.

Then surprisingly the great eagle vanished leaving only Teyan.

“If you are worthy of your lordship, then accept my challenge for it. By my name, Teyanrealis, and yours, Thariontor, I challenge you and swear to accept the outcome, come what may.”

The words were formulaic, but old. Thariontor did not answer but rose into the wind and Teyan followed him.

Then Thariontor began to sing a song of power and the mountain shook.

“See me O heaven and know my power, delight in me O sky for I am your king.
In the eldest days, when first rose the sun, I was wrought in a blaze of splendor.
The dawn came like lightning and struck the mountain top,
the crown of ice and snow.

To the sun I am a shining mirror, reflecting its glory to assuage its vanity and pride.
To the ground I shine like a jewel and all are enriched to see my broad wings.
Behold me, most noble of birds, there is none my equal,
And I stand uplifted and alone.

Strong and swift of wing am I, who among all bird kind would challenge my right?
I walk the paths of the sun, and to heavens heights none fly higher than I.
Surly my dominion shall endure for all days of the world,
For I am Thariontor most blessed.”

Then Philognos in Teyanrealis sang and the wind took up his voice.

“Without lineage I came, naked and empty, into the world of men and gods.
My heritage I cast aside for I proved myself unworthy of my birthright.
No claim did I make to anything, neither mountain nor sky I demanded bear me,
For I had humbled myself.

Nothing I had yet more I gave, to the wind I taught the magic of memory.
From nothing I created a new thing, and the old Law was cast down and broken.
Friendship among flesh and spirit I made, and I gave the South wind her name.
Austerasolus, laden with cedar and sun.

No crown of men or gods do I claim, and no place among the powers of the forest.
Beneath the sun I will be content, to accept my place among the turning of the Age.
In me I will suffer no falsehood, and before heaven I will carry no unseemly pride,
Teyanrealis first in service.”

There was stillness in all the sky, and all high flying birds were still. Bother eagles landed in the midst of the others and all waited with baited breath. For a long moment the two stared at each other.

At last Thariontor bowed his mighty head low and said in a soft voice. “Bless me lord, for I have sinned.”

From that day forward Teyan was lord of eagles, who’s first servant was their king.

[White Blade]

Haeleth,
The Obsidian Jungle
Time Unknown, Haeleth Still Approximately Thirteen

Haeleth found his way back to The Black Daggers with enough ease, though they had migrated locations in the weeks since he had left. He was disturbed to see them in abnormally thick hides for the warm weather, with thick sweat running over their fur, their faces frustrated and anger clear. Slaetan approached him and clasped him in a hug, which he swiftly returned.

"You have not been gone long, but I fear things have grown ill in your absence," Slaetan said, his words soft and fearful in Haeleth's ear.

What has happened? Slaetan, tell me, that I might help our people Haeleth replied, speaking of his adoptive people as his own, so dear had they grown to his heart. He had mentors here, who were wiser and kinder than any except Brisanne, and who were men besides, and could show him how to be one.

"The New Bones have sought our heads, for reasons we do not know. They are harsh to us, taking from our lands and our hunts, and hurting us when they see us."

This injustice will not stand, my brother-friend, I will see to it that it is undone. Haeleth said, his anger burning hot against the New Bones.

Staelan nodded his head in agreement, and he set down to work with Haeleth on a plan, which took only a few hours to make. Haeleth would fight the New Bones warriors alone, and then the Black Daggers would corner their children and women. This would be more than sufficient leverage they thought, little concern was given to the morality of child captives.

So the next day, Haeleth went about making a great amount of noise and provoking the New Bones with cruel, jeering words, and soon enough, their twenty warriors set down upon him as one.

There are a few benefits to facing a lot of warriors. It's hard to fight more five against a person at a time for example. That doesn't matter to most people. Five is a lot of people. It matters, however, when you are Haeleth. He began to thrust his spear with expert skill, taking down a warrior and then another. But the spears that drove against him were harsh and constant, slowing him, making him weaker. It is hard to fight with a spear in your chest, or so they say, and there was at least one there.

Haeleth felt the ache of his body and the blurring of his vision, but pushed on, trying to withstand the punishment when he heard a shout of "HALT! HALT!" from the New Bones' leader.

There stood Staelan and the warriors of the Black Daggers, the children and women bound and gagged, the faces of the warriors unpleasant and grim.

The New Bones leader was at the height of distress, and the horror on the faces of his men was pronounced. Haeleth began to feel guilty at this point. But the New Bones leader lamented, "Why have you done this to my people, to take our women and children captive before the war is done,"

Slaetan's anger caused him to shout back, "Why have you come to murder my brothers and sisters!"

"We were driven out! The beasts in our quarter of the forest have become organized, and they are lead by a monster far fiercer than any we have encountered before. Its fur is black, it's face like that of this one here, it's eyes are sharp like eagles and it hears like a wolf, it drove us from our land to here. We heard of this mighty warrior and knew you must be dealt with before he returned."

Wait! Haeleth said, his compassion for the children and women before him overwhelming him, If I can slay this beast, can we go back to living in peace?

The New Bone leader nodded, though some of his men grumbled of blood that needed to be avenged, "Do not be fools!" he shouted, "Do not shed the lives of our wives and children for blood that we brought on ourselves when there is peace to be had."

Then I will do it, Haeleth pledged, though he feared the beasts of the wood far more than any of the jaguar men, for he knew it would be for the best of all present.

[ArcaneStomper]

Mornd
Somewhere in the Forest

Mornd sat on the boulder and grimaced. He was hot, tired, and this morning his hammer had snapped off its handle for the fifth time. And to top it all off he was lost. When he had watched his siblings depart one by one he had been afraid this would happen. That was why he had stayed so long to prepare. But now despite it all he was still lost. Muttering under his breath about the forest and its numerous faults he hopped off the boulder and began walking. He needed some vine to conduct repairs and he wasn't going to find it by sitting around.

A few hours later he stood at the edge a small lake and stared at something amazing. For the lake wasn't a natural part of the forest. Someone had built a wall of some kind across a river and caused the lake to form behind it. Steeling himself he began walking down to the dam. The inhabitants of the black forest were strange and so far he had managed to avoid them all, but this was something the likes of which he had always wanted to do. He had to know who was behind it and how they had done it.

As he approached the dam he saw several strange creatures. He had never seen anything like them before. They were like him, but not like him. Short, covered in fur, and with great flat teeth they were in all a strange people to his eyes. Perhaps he could have discovered what they were, but he did not for the dam was the greatest thing he had ever seen. It resonated with some part of him deep inside. In awe he approached the dam and then he saw something, a small hole with water flowing out of it. And so he did what came naturally. He fixed it.

Meanwhile the Long Teeth, servants of the Beaver, had been preparing to kill Mornd or at least drive him. For they were a notoriously territorial lot even if they did not have the strength and ferocity of some of the clans in service to other lords. But when they saw him repair there dam they paused. The dam was their life and anyone who could repair it deserved to at least be heard out.

And so they tried to find out what this strange creature that had come among them was, but Mornd never spoke. He simply watched and learned. For months he helped them rebuild and repair there dam. So focused was he on learning the dam’s secrets that not once did he utter a single sound. And eventually the Long Teeth grew to accept the strange creature. After all he was quite adept at repairs. But as time passed however Mornd grew unhappy. He had thought that at last he had found other people who loved order just as much as he did. People that wanted to tame the Black Forest. But one day as he sat on a boulder near the lake and contemplated things he realized that this was not the case. The dam was something the likes of which he had never seen, but it was also wrong. A structure built of stone and wood held together by mud. It was a ramshackle thing and in need of constant repair. It was not what he was looking for. And he had long since realized that the beavers knew nothing of fire as well. He had learned all that they knew and they had nothing left to teach him.

And so he decided to leave, but he also wanted to thank the Long Teeth. It was true that they did not have what he sought, but they had taught him many things. So he decided that he would build a parting gift, a new dam that would not need constant repairs and rebuilding. So downstream of the beaver’s dam and working in secret he constructed a new one that was straight and true. Made of weathered stone and straight planks he knew that when he was done this one would not need repairs. For almost two years he labored over it. For others this would have seemed an excessively long time, but he wanted to make the dam perfect. So he worked on the same portions over and over again, setting the logs just so and resetting them when he realized that they weren't quite right, putting down stones in just the right area and then digging them back up when realized that there was a better way. He even created an entire set of new tools to shape stone and wood in just the right patterns. But eventually it was done, and so the next morning he left as abruptly as he had come. And without ever having said a word. He hoped that his dam would be of use to the Long Teeth, but he still had things he needed to find in the forest. Not least of all his siblings.

[Nefarion Xid]

The Tale of the Thief
Part 3: The Unlucky Troll

Passing through the shade of the high gorge walls, Rafe came upon an injured and limping troll looking for a way up to the forest. His cursing echoed for a mile and the careful rogue approached the creature and observed him from a distance. The creature yowled so that his brother’s my hear him, telling them that he had fallen and was injured and of the thing with long white hair who had tricked him. Rafe, who had nearly circled around the monster by slinking through the canyon’s shadows, paused at the description.

Clenching his throat and cramming a fist into his abdomen, Rafe did his best impression of a troll and bellowed into the rock wall, “White hair you say, brother!? Was it long, down to his feet?”

“Yes!” answered the troll to the echoing gorge. “He was a small thing, a whelp!”

Rafe beamed, at least one of his brothers was out here and doing well. He’d beaten a troll! “And how did he trick you?”

The troll snarled with embarrassment before relaying the story of how Lupani had passed his bridge and felled it.

Rafe nodded his smug approval. Unconventional, but effective; he liked it. “And so then he went south!?”

“Yes!... I mean no. North, he crossed the bridge north!”

“Are you sure, you fool!? You can’t tell your left from your right!”

The troll thought long and hard, looking between the walls of the canyon in turn over and over. “Ah… yes, he went south,” he called back softer on his way to the southern bank to begin looking for a way up there.

Rafe considered the northern way, but knew he couldn’t climb out and pursue his brother. At least the angry troll wouldn’t be after him any time soon. He wished Lupani the best and continued into the west, clearing the phlegm from his sore throat.

[Exthalion]

The years of Teyan had been good ones for the eagles. For five years he had ruled, and for five years their territory had expanded. The barren lands beneath their mountains were again filled with animals, for they no longer over hunted their prey.

Many animals forsook their lords and swore fealty to the eagles. They were not easy masters, but they were not capricious. The eagles drove out the night terrors, the savage monsters that were not part of the natural food cycle. In return the available food increased and the eagle population increased greatly.

Prey and predator came without fear to the court of the ruler of the eagles. His white feathers molted to be replaced by an all-golden plumage. He was great in size, though not so great of the Lord of the Eagles. Thariontor had remained at the side of his master, and when they did not call him by name the eagles spoke of Teyan as ‘the lord of my lord’. Those who took too much from one species or area were called to his court and punished, fairly if not kindly. The prey came and were informed that their numbers were increasing and a time of predation would come.

The old and the weak among the prey gave themselves up as food and in exchange the young were allowed to live and grow. Those who remembered the way of the forest were glad of this arrangement, for they no longer lived in constant fear of terrors and shadows. The young grew to resent the requirement of death, but their elders were glad of a swift death and security for their family. The forest granted no assurances, at least the eagles gave some.

One night Teyan was gazing at the curtains of rippling light in the sky. He had seen them nowhere but Aeriemount though Thariontor informed him that they were in other places as well. Thariontor alighted besides him on the high shelf of the mountain.

“You always look at them, every night they appear. Why is that Teyan?”

Teyan heard him but did not answer directly. "Why did they leave Tharion? My fathers?"

"Because you have surpassed them. You had become mighty and their ruler. While parents endure their children will always have them, as a means of support and protection. They must pass so that the young may grow strong. They could not be your subjects and your fathers, so they left."

Teyan's heart was cleaved in two at those words. Why was he bitter toward the High Father and Earthmother? Whey did he nurse the worm of right unfulfilled in his heart? Had they stayed he would not have left, nor come to where he was now.

“Would you know me Tharion? If I neither wore this flesh nor bore this name?”

“You have told me that there is a thing within each being; a thing that cannot be spoken because it cannot be separated from that being. You have told me that the name of a thing is the memory of that thing, which can be carried in others. I believe that I would know this thing in you even if you appeared different. You will always be Teyanrealis my lord.”

“Not always. Not always was I and not always will I be.” He was silent but looked at the aurora.

“I followed one once, when first I took wing. It took me far from home and only now do I think I have found it.”

“Yes, you have built a life here. I hope you will soon build a family.”

“I wish that was my path. Perhaps if things were different…

Take care of them Tharion, our people. You have learned much in these short years. It took me a long time to learn some of the lessons I taught you.”

Philognos looked away from the light and beheld the hundred isle. Aeriemount was the hundredth, the last of his trials. The most distant isle, where he had lain the aperiodic tiling and learned to keep the whole picture in mind at once turned to water and fell into the boundless shadowed lake. Then the isle of the three posts. Each one lost solidity, first the lower reaches, then the upper parts crumbled and fell with great violence. Each stone to touch the surface of the lake became water also. With each lost isle the lakes surface rose, covering Aeriemount quick. None of the eagles noticed or even moved as the water covered the lower reaches.

“Take care of them,” a single tear fell from Philognos’ eye, “when I cannot.”

With a rushing of wings he took to the air. As he did so his flesh fell away like smoke and ash and only Thariontor saw his lord’s spirit fly into the lights on that still and otherwise unremarkable night.

“Come back soon my lord, for I am not you…”

At last Aeriemount was covered by the lake. The voice he finally recognized spoke to him at last saying, “It is done.”

The land was changed to his spirit eyes. From his great vantage Phi saw the edges of the lake that had once seemed to reach forever. The hill he had sat down upon was no more.

Instead a mountain, a true mountain, stood in its place. It was tall, forests covered its lower reaches, the scent of cedar, nard, and frankincense rising on the morning air. The red brown rocks were no more, replaced by pure white marble veined with gold and alabaster. Circling lower he saw the hilltop he had sat down on so long ago. Seven great rings there were, equally spaced standing stones with the same placed horizontally upon their top.

He alighted at the foot of the mountain, were he saw the path he had first followed. Now it was paved with little stones. He climbed all day and just before noon came to the summit. At the center of the rings he saw… himself!

It was his body, that he had left behind so very long ago. He recognized it no longer. He had been a short, pale child. This man before him was none of those. His skin was like bronze glowing in the furnace. His hair was white, like a fire of terrible heat. His eyes were open and gazed upon the sun and they blazed like the sun themselves. He was naked, or so it looked to Phi’s eyes. But if he was naked he did not seem less adorned, and if he wore any clothing id did not disguise on him the massive grandeur of muscle and the radiant smoothness of flesh. His face was clean-shaven but seemed of no particular age. In later days some would catch glimpses of ageless-heavy thought in the face of an infant or of frolicking childhood in that of a very old man. His face was all like that.

His seated pose was no more, instead he floated a foot off the ground his eyes uplifted to the sun, his posture strait though his feat resting on nothing, and his hands outturned at his sides. He looked like one who stands in the sun and turns their whole self toward it.

“It’s the sun.” Phi look around and saw a shape like a man coming around one of the columns. It was a shape like a man, but it was without body.

“He sat there, for a thousand years he did not move. The clothing rotted away first. The skin became red and burned but still he sat there. But as he was burned away he didn’t wither. Mortality died in him, mortal flesh turned to ash. What remained was this, a thing all aglow in the glory of the sun. There is no flesh or bone or nerve left in him. He is but air, fire, breath, and power.”

“I see.”

“I though, I didn’t go through any glorious transformation. I was to know this place, know it utterly. But as I learned it I saw flaws. So I fixed them. I planted the cedar orchards. I paved the road. I built this place. I transmuted the base stone to marble and alabaster. I did all this,” it spread its hands to indicate the whole mountain, “in but a thousand years.”

“A great outcome for one working alone.”

“And where have you been? What did you do in all that time?” The voice had an edge of annoyance to it.

“I went out over the lake and become lost. I had to pass through one hundred trials to return. The last was especially bitter.”

“Especially bitter you say? Who are you to speak of bitterness! You had your hundred trials, but what of us? What did you think of us? Where were you when I laid every stone in the road? I did not have a hundred interesting tasks, I had to lay each one, and insure it was perfect. For years upon years I found the stones and shaped them. What do you think of a mind forced to do a mindless task over and over again!

And what of him?! He has been without motion, without drive, without even awareness for one thousand years! Who are you to speak of bitterness to us?” Had it had eyes it would have wept angry tears now.

“No one. You have endured much hardship. I have come to end it.”

“You have come to end it? Pah! Who are you to come and reap the fruit we have sown? You will claim this mountain and that beauty. You grew in your trials but what our growth? Are we not just as deserving of finishing it? We cannot all have some journey to enlightenment. Some of us must work, and be weary with toil, and still gain nothing.”

“I make no claim to your work or reward. I ask you to share in mine.”

“Share? Do you have so much to give? We had to stay here alone. Now you are not one of us anymore. You have worn a different name and a different body. You have no part in us anymore.”

“Be silent. I came not to affirm you, but to complete you. I came that there should no longer be any us but instead only I.”

The shape like a man spoke no more with rage but only grief now.
“How can it end? How can it ever end? We are so different now, no longer united in perfect accord like when it began. I despaired that you would ever return. That we could ever be whole. How can it be now?”

“You don’t have to understand, you need only accept.” Phi opened his arms and the shape like a man ran at him and they embraced. Letting it go gently Phi told it, “Do as I do.”

So saying, he looked at the sun that had just reached its zenith. To him it filled the whole of the spirit sky. He turned his spirit body toward it in a pose like the floating body. He closed his eyes as did the body. He imagined the warmth on his skin, the scent of the trees and flowers, the gentle cool breeze.

When Philognos opened his eyes he was not three but one. Gently his feat touched the ground and with immortal eyes he looked at the sun. He body fit as it once had, moving according to his will. It was as if he had dozed for an afternoon and woken up grown.

“So I am returned to the world. Philognos twice born I name myself, for I have died to myself.”

He knew now mentally what before he had only understood spiritually. They were able to unite again because mind and spirit did nothing. A good will was that which bridged the gap between the spirit and the body. It did not take upon itself power or action or alteration. Because they had not tried to bring each other into accord but let it happen it had been so.

Turn his eyes again to the sun, now its proper size, he saw its rays like robes of gold. Before his eyes they moved, and between them a river of rainbow formed. So mighty was the light that the air became like a prism, and a great ladder who’s rungs were the spectra of light reached from the mountain top to the highest heaven.

“Yes, I think I am ready now.”

So saying he set his foot upon the first step and, like an eagle made of gold and light and fire, he climbed the ladder to the very sun itself.

[Kasanip]

Matapa

How much time had passed now? Matapa slowly opened her eyes. She looked up at the sky in the branches. It was gray with clouds, she thought. The snow around her was heavy, but soft too. It was like she had gone to bed on a big pillow. And Matapa yawned and pulled herself up. How long had she slept? It could only been an instant. She couldn't remember her dreams. Actually, she didn't think she had any dreams at all. That was strange because she always had dreams. She lay and closed her eyes. What dreams did she have? Maybe if she went to sleep...

No. There were no dreams. Nothing like that. What is a 'dream'? She had started to forget, maybe. Or maybe that emptiness in her had eaten them? Everything must be eaten, ermine white had said. She opened her eyes again.

But her body didn't ache anymore. She wasn't cold anymore. She looked at her legs and naked feet, but they seemed fine.
It was a miracle! That was Matapa's thought of this. She was not burning of hunger. No, she wasn't even hungry. But there was something missing. An empty feeling in her throat. She wanted to swallow something to fill it, but she couldn't. She tried to eat some of the snow, and it was sweet like the food brother Garian made. But there was still that empty feeling. Matapa shook her head, and coughed, and tried to get it to go away. But it wouldn't.

She stood on the snow and did not sink into it now. It was fluffy, but as she walked in a small circle, she saw there were no Matapa's footprints of it. And as she stopped again, it seemed very comfortable now . The air was crisp and pure. So she started to walk again.

The forest had no leaves now upon it's trees as she walked. It was barren, but quiet. Snow was a blanket for it all. And Matapa touched a tree carefully, but the side of it became covered with frost. It was a beautiful kind of frost with many colors reflecting with the faint light of the forest. Matapa stepped away, and looked at her hand. Had she brought this?
She touched a branch and it glittered. She touched another tree, and it glittered. She jumped, and there were no footprints. The snow was soft on her bare feet. It was like walking on a cloud, maybe.

But she heard a small sound of feet jumping near her. It was loud to her ears, even though the snow should have made it silent. She turned, and saw ermine white as he hopped in the snow.
"Ermine white!" She called out to him. And the ermine stopped and stood up.
"Is it forest child Matapa I can see?" Ermine white spoke. "You always are such a sleepyhead forest child Matapa!" Ermine white laughed and hopped towards her. Matapa kneeled and put her arms out. And the ermine jumped on to her chest and she embraced him.
"Oh! forest child Matapa! You are as cold as ice!" Ermine white complained. Matapa held him away from her gently, and then let him sit on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry ermine white. I cannot tell, but you are warm and fluffy like always."
"Yes, but forest child Matapa, you are very cold! It is not normal!" Ermine white complained again. Matapa frowned.
"Isn't the snow normal?" She asked.
"Yes, but snow is not forest child Matapa!" He complained again. Matapa nodded.
"I know." She said. "But maybe we are not very different. I'm cold. Snow is cold, isn't it? I think. I don't know." She said. The snow was not cold she thought. But she wasn't cold either, she thought. Ermine white spoke again.
"And your hair! forest snow child Matapa had earth hair a long time ago." Ermine white said. Matapa stopped and looked confused. She took her hair in a hand to try and see it.
Now it was white. Beautiful and pure like the ermine fur, or like the snow. But Matapa did not feel surprise at this.

"Now we are not so different too, Ermine white. I have white hair too." She said. Ermine white hopped off of her shoulder onto her dress and then the ground.
"Then I will call you snow child Matapa. Because I now you are in the snow snow, and with snow hair, it is fitting. But don't become a snowman!" Ermine white said with a laugh. And Matapa smiled, because she was not alone now. She had seen Rahn had grown and changed, and now she knew she also had started to. Perhaps she would be as tall as Rahn when she returned! That was a silent hope.

"Ermine white, when we were together last time, you were taking me to see your family. Can you do it now?" She asked. Ermine white nodded and began to hop in the snow. Matapa followed easily as she did not sink, but walked on it like it was a road.
"Yes, but now Baron Badger has come with his kind. It is a difficult time for us because there is so little food." The ermine explained.
"I have brought you very much food!" Matapa said happily. Ermine white stopped.
"Snow child Matapa, you slept for a long time! Six birthdays passed for me before I saw you again. Any food you carried is eaten now by nature. Everything is eaten you know." Matapa nodded sadly.
"I know. I'm sorry." She said. But ermine white laughed.
"It's ok! Your gift is your thought of love and friendship, and that is as good as food!" Ermine white said. "I am sorry I ran from you snow child Matapa."
"It's ok!" Matapa cried. "I am happy you are my friend ermine white. It is lonely to be alone."

[The_Snark]

Once upon a time, there was a little house in the woods.

In this house lived two-and-twenty children. They had food to eat and water to drink, and a fire to warm them at night and keep the monsters away, and for a while they were content with that. But after a time they grew up, as children are wont to do, and became restless. One by one they left the house, driven by storms and the gathering dark, and went out into the forest to seek their fortune. There they found many wondrous and terrible things, and did great deeds -- not necessarily good ones, but certainly of impressive quality -- and some of them came to a bad end, for adventures do not always have happy endings.

This is not their story.

This is the story of the one that stayed behind.


The Hearth-Tender's Tale
Part 1

Our story begins with a storm, wild and furious. This is not a new thing to the children of High Father and Earthmother; what is new is the great light in the sky, the awful booming sound like the sky being cracked in two. In the old days, perhaps it would not have meant so much. The younger ones would have scurried to their older sister's skirts, and she would have held them and whispered comforting words til the howling winds passed.

But the children are not so young as they once were, and the storm brings all those changes bubbling to the surface. They gather around the fire—they must gather close, for it is an old fire and it burns low, and the dark creeps further into their home with each passing day—and by its dim and flickering light they argue, long into the night. And the eldest sister, who should have quelled the shouting and kept the family whole, is silent. She knows what she should say: no, do not go into the forest. It holds nothing that is good for us and much that is ill. These are wise words, and perhaps if she had said them everything would have turned out very differently.

But she doesn't. The words will not leave her throat, for her littlest brother is out there in the dark, dear Haeleth with his child's eyes and child's heart, and she cannot bring herself to abandon him. She cannot. Nor can she tell her siblings to go into the woods to search, such is her dread of them. Oh, her face! It is white as a sheet with fear. She doesn't know what to say, and that is perhaps the most frightening thing of all. If that seems strange to you, remember that while she is eldest, our heroine is not so much older than her brothers and sisters as any of them believes.

And so she says nothing, and her brothers and sisters leave the house, one by one: footloose Afein and fierce Sophia, mercurial Vivienne and fanciful Lethen and queer silent Ionas and all the rest. Rafe and Anghau and Marwaen speak loudest, and for a time it seems as though they may fill her shoes and bring order back to the house; but before long they too are gone. They leave with purpose in their steps, meaning to find their brother and be back swiftly—but what does that matter? They are not here, and they won't come back into this story for a long time yet.

Rahn is gone already, clever sullen Rahn, and the eldest sister suspects that this is her doing, one of her whimsical games with Haeleth gone badly astray. She prays that this is so. Even jackanapes Rahn is a better guardian than no-one at all.

Toraealas leaves with the dawn, saying only that he is called, and her face becomes paler still with anger. He should have stayed with her, she thinks. Anghau would never have left Marwaen. But leave he does.

One by one they all leave her, till at last there is only little Matapa. Sweet dutiful Matapa, surely she will not go; but when she turns around the door is swinging open and empty, and there's no-one else in the room.

And Brisanne (that is our heroine's name; remember it) is alone.

[Raz_Fox]

The Merchant's Tale
A Story Concerning Rahn, Set Within The Black Forest
Part 6

Any child can tell you that the children of the gods all spent ten years away from home, though for some it was long and troublesome, and for some it was short and swift. As Rahn spent three years as the slave of Lord Magpie, she spent five more upon the road, traveling from village to village, spreading the secret of sowing and harvest (for a price) and tales of her capricious nature and suspect benevolence, and everywhere asking for two things - the Keythong and the Crown of Briars. For every story about a village that was rid of a curse through the application of totems the Ana taught them to carve, there is another about stolen children or a deadly deal. This is one of those – to give you just a hint, just a glimpse, of those five short years.

The Story of the Hunter and the Jekki Princess, Part 1:

Marvelt was the first to meet one of the Smiling Men. It came to him at night, while he was out on the hunt, only its gleaming white teeth visible at first, for every inch of it otherwise was black as ash. It told him that the Hajal Market was coming, and when he questioned further, it told him that the Market was the Court of Dreams and Desires, and that it sold everything worth selling. Then it was gone with a haunting laugh.

They came to Parvet, to Staheril and to Aztan, who cut the tent-poles with his axes, and Rinkye who carved the stones. But Marvelt was the first, and so it was he who was first to come to the field that Staheril had said was the location of the market. Now, this field was but a small clearing within the forest, known for its lack of trees – but now it seemed to have a small mountain within its boundaries, golden-furred and long of tooth. There, waiting for them, were the Smiling Men, who led them inside the mouth of the beast that contained the Hajal Market. The man who guarded the door was long of limb, clothed in ragged ash-cloth, and sharp-toothed, his eyes covered by his greasy-dark hair, and every man of the Jekki agreed that they did not want to see those eyes, for fear that they would be wrong.

There was a dark tunnel, and then it opened out on a low hall, long and thin. On either side, and spilling out onto the path, were two tents, containing an abundance of stalls and merchants, almost all Smiling Men. Marvelt walked alone forward, and though his fellows followed they all turned away at one point or another, beguiled by offers of far-off herbs, a few exotic slaves, clever wood-crafts, and the secrets of coaxing food from the earth, and none of these things was without its price, once the glamour was stripped away. None of these things caught at his heart, for one thing only hung at it.

Now, one thing did – a most strange faerie, bedecked in the manner of the hawkers of the market, her face marked with dyes, moving like a raven on two legs. She smiled sharply, and said, there is something that worries you, my boy. He replied that he had heard that this place was the court of dreams and desires, but he saw none on sale. She returned that he was truly fortunate, for she was in the business of granting wishes and dreams, and draped her arm over his shoulders, steering him through the market-stalls, which seemed stranger the farther up one came.

What is your name, she asked, and he replied that his name was Marvelt. She looked him up and down, her cheap, gaudy decorations jingling. You are a young man of great fortune, she said, but there is one thing you lack. At this his voice caught, and she urged him to speak, and let out the words that had caught in his heart, like rocks damming a stream.

There is a maiden of the Jekki, he said, the daughter of our lord who speaks to the Great Weasel Who Digs Beneath. Her name is Sheka, and she is to be given to Etertin to be his mate. And he is not even half the hunter I am! Why is she given to him, and not to I? At this, she smiled, and said, dreams can be made real here, for the right price. She ushered him into a dark tent, and he could hear a slow and heavy hammering, like the sound of thunder far-off, but when he asked she just laughed and said not a word.

Is your desire that your lord will change his heart, she asked him, or is your desire that beautiful Sheka will change hers? Either can happen, but only one. Marvelt pondered this for a moment, and then replied, that the lord would change his heart – for I can certainly woo her to my side once his mind is set on me. What are you willing to give to make this happen, she asked him, for certainly you cannot believe that one can gain something for nothing. What can I give, he asked, and she replied, do you know of fire? He did not, so she said, disappointed, whatever is most precious to you. I am skilled with the spear, he said – and she replied, then are you willing to sacrifice that? Yes, he said. Said she, what then are you willing to give me for my services? At his protests, she shook her head, saying that magic and payment were different things, and that while one was necessary to fuel her magic, the other was simply a right payment. A wedding, she said with a cruel smile, should have a proper price. Promise me your child, a tithe of the fruits of the sown seeds.

Now, Marvelt had a sly heart, and he said to himself, I will simply cheat her when the time comes, for this is a moving market, and when they return I will be a powerful man. So he said, this I accept. So she took a sharpened stone, and scraped it down Marvelt's arm until the blood ran, and a weakness that he had never known entered into it. She took this rock, and drew a circle with the blood, and then put around the circle leaves of some strange plant, and two white bones carved into the shape of a bull's horns. Then she spoke in the tongue of snakes and whispering leaves, her eyes shining for a moment, and the rock shattered and a clear liquid ran from it. This she took up in a waterskin, and handed to him, saying, give this to him and have him drink it all.

And your payment, he asked. She replied, with a voice weary and weak, I shall claim it when it is ready. Then the light dimmed, and Marvelt fled, his heart suddenly fearful.

His people bought from the market the secret of making the earth give up food at their command, and so their people were able to sit in one place for longer times, and Marvelt and Sheka were made mates after Marvelt and the lord supped together. Their love was cold, for Sheka did not love Marvelt, but she was his, and so he was content.

The Story of the Hunter and the Jekki Princess, Part 2:

Four long years passed by. Marvelt, kinsman-by-mating of the lord of the Jekki, had a son at the same time that the lord died, and some cried, witchcraft, and others, that the lord of the Jekki was reborn in Marvelt's child, and so he should become lord of the Jekki while his son grew, though his hands trembled whenever he tried to pick up a spear. And Marvelt grew fearful, and ordered the men of the tribe to guard his son while he was away. He did not sleep at night, and his face grew haggard. So he turned to his mate for comfort, and she bore him another child, this one a daughter, the newest princess of the Jekki, and on this child Sheka doted, saying to herself – look, the son is his, but the daughter is mine.

Once, after his son had been born and his mate was full with child, the moving mountain with the long teeth returned. Marvelt went out to meet it, taking two hale young spear-men with him, and was away all the night, and returned only at the break of dawn. They say that the fur of the men that were with him had turned all-white, and they would not speak of what they had seen, or of why their spears were blood-tipped. But Marvelt smiled, and walked straighter, and from that moment on loosed the boulder that had been upon his back.

One harvest-time, Marvelt, young and hale lord of the Jekki, went out into the crops to harvest upon the mountain-slopes. He believed that Parvet, his loyal spear-carrier, was watching over his children. One harvest-time, Parvet went to meet with his mate for a time, weary of his duties. He believed that Sheka was watching over his lord's children. And Sheka did not know of the deal that Marvelt had made four years before, and so made a meal for her mate and went out to the fields to take it to him, leaving her children in Parvet's care.

When she came to the fields, Marvelt's face grew pale, and he commanded her to return, but she told him that Parvet was watching over her children, and so he ate with her, and then bade her to return. So she left the fields, and met Parvet as he returned. The two of them were filled with fear, and returned swiftly to the tents of the Jekki. They searched through every tent, about every watering-place, but neither son nor daughter could be found.

Parvet returned to Marvelt, carrying his spear. He said to Marvelt, your son is gone, stolen away, and your mate roars in sorrow. At this, they say that Marvelt closed his eyes, and said, damned am I, a fool among fools.

The Jekki spoke of a tall fae who had been seen on the outskirts of the camp, but they spoke of it only in whispers, and never when Marvelt was near. Soon, he became known as the Mourning Lord, for his mate- she had listened to his story, of how he had beguiled her father through magic, and how he had sold his child to the lady of the Court of Dreams and Desires, and refused her payment and sought to cheat her and chase her away, and so she had gone out and taken a stone knife and-

That's the end of his story. Well, it did go on, as stories do, but that was where his significance ended, and all the rest was just a tragic, meaningless tale about a barren lord who lived only in the hopes that one day he would be free to go join his beloved, letting his loyal spear-man take up his responsibilities. All because he walked into the jaws of the beast.

(That is why you must never seek to cheat the Tatterdemalion. Rarely does it end well.)

What? You are not satisfied? What meanness is this? What petty heart would dare demand more from such a storyteller as I?

Ah, well. You want more, then more you shall have. Another tale, perhaps, one that is not so dark in character? Yes, I know just the one - you will enjoy this.

How Twin-Souled Casir Escaped The Amestek

They say that sometimes, two children become one in the womb - a sister and a brother become a twin-souled being. Some say that such children are holy, and will become those who can speak with the fae and the spirits, for they are not restrained to the earth as others are, dancing from one role to another. But there are others who say that such things are abominations, sick creatures that bring disgrace upon their tribe. Often, these are war-tribes, but not always - the Amestek are one of these tribes. We do not speak with them, but we know a story about one of the Amestek, Casir the Twin-Souled.

Casir was, ashamedly, the son of Natek, one of the greatest hunters within the tribe of the Amestek. The tribesmen whispered behind his back that his mother's soul had been entwined with his own, for had she not died on the night of his birth? Now, many of the Amestek would have simply slain the child, but Natek saw something of his mate in his son, and so he could not. But neither could he let his son disgrace him. So he trained his son up in the ways of the hunter, and then in the ways of the woodsman, and then sought to exorcise the second soul through water and stone and wood, and thought himself merciful for keeping the boy bound within the tent while his injuries healed.

Now - as is often in these stories - Casir prayed, to the fae, to the great hunter above, for mercy, no matter how swift and final. But it never came. And he knew that one day, he would not bother to open his eyes again, he would just let the scraping rocks and the terrible bone-breaking blows destroy him.

One night, his father left him bound so in the crude tent they shared, to accompany the men of the tribe to a strange faerie place, carrying his weapons in case of a trick, some trap that the capricious fae loved to spring upon we mere mortals. And on this night, he spoke again, through the crusting of blood that spattered his lips, begging for whatever spirit had presided upon his birth to take back its gift, to take the cup of poisoned life away from his lips.

He did not expect a fay laugh to answer his entreaties. He opened his eyes, trying to focus through the pain to see what was before him, seeing only the wide glittering smile. It asked him what he was thinking, for all the things to ask, to request death. Death, it said, was never to be courted, but run from as swiftly as possible. Why, he replied, should I run any longer? I was accursed from birth, and I will bear this curse no longer; what curse, it asked, and he told her that he bore his mother's soul within his own, and that he could be neither man nor woman.

Well, it said, I know a place where dreams are made real. Seek out the Tatterdemalion before the crack of dawn, and tell her this: that you seek to purchase a more finely-made life. And then it leaped upon him, his bonds snapping apart like they were made of spider-webs and morning mists. Then it was gone, only its echoing laughter left for him.

He stood, his legs shaking like those of an old beast, and forced himself to walk. He did not have far to walk, for the training of a woodsman that his father had given him allowed him to follow them to their destination, where he beheld a beast of such immense size that it made him want to fall to his knees. Its jaws were open wide, and so he walked in, past a long man which smiled a wolf's grin at him, and into the chaos of the market.

He saw a multitude of dark goblins tending to the makeshift, woebegone stalls, each with dark fur and bright teeth, hunched over and clever of tongue - they called to him, come buy, come buy! But he only forged on past them, searching for the Tatterdemalion. Past goblins calling for him to appreciate their wares, their clothes that were not of long-grass and wool but of the finest cloths, their long knives made of the bones of some avian beasts, their forbidden foods and their secrets so fine to hear. To tell truthfully, the noise and darkness so overwhelmed him, with the strong scents of the market, that of dirt and perfume and sweat and misery - he could only put one foot before the other, seeking this Tatterdemalion.

And more than that, he heard the mockery of his people as they saw him. None moved to him, seeking to turn him aside, but they jeered at him, calling him to go back to his father. Still he pressed on, down the length of the market, until he heard his father's angry voice. Son, he cried, why are you here? Casir turned, only to be struck down upon the soft ground, rolling aside to avoid his father's foot. Why have you come to shame me, he cried - and then a second voice, laughing, asking who this fine fellow was. His father's apologies - my son, a mistake of the gods, I left him at our sleeping-grounds, allow me to take him back - and at this last there was another laugh, and the warning that dawn was close at hand.

Casir whispered a thing, and this second stood over him, bending down to ask him, what is this thing that you have said? He said it again, louder - I seek to purchase a more finely-made life. A smile, the jingling of a woman's decorations, and a reply: what have you that you would be willing to give for this? He could not reply, and disgusted, the second said to his father, take him back, off with the both of you. Wait, he said, weakly, I can give what of me there is.

The woman stopped, pushing Natek aside as he sought to pull his son up to his feet. That, she said, that is enough of a price. Come, she said, come and bear this one away. Then firm hands, strong if small, bore him up, and he was dragged away. He could hear his father raging, and the calm and whimsical replies of the woman who had bought him, saying that a life is the only thing that a man can give even when he has nothing of his own. All deals are final, and if you don't like it, you can leave.

So Casir awoke, rudely bandaged and prostrate upon a bed of wood and cloths. It would have been a perfect awakening, but for the fact that he was shackled to the bed. Ah, she said, nearly purring in eagerness, you're awake. Now, let's go over the details. What can you give me? She began to inspect him, teeth and fur and eyes, like a man would search his meal for some maggot or his spear for an impurity in the flint. No, she said to herself, not a slave, to be sold. Clever, this one. Yes, you'll serve me personally, twin-souled one. How did you know that, he asked frantically, but she just smiled her mysterious grin and unlocked his shackles.

You belong to me now, she said. I've always wanted a servant. Why should I serve you, he asked, angrily, and she replied - because I will not beat you. Because I will make sure that you are fed. Because I understand the dance inside your heart. Because I bought you from your father, and I always make sure that I make the most out of what I buy. Choose any that you like - and then she left him with a mad laugh and a swish of her coat.

(There is no moral to this story, but that the Tatterdemalion is capable of turning one life to another.)

[White Blade]

Haeleth and Ionas,
The Obsidian Jungle, New Bone Territory
Time still unknown, Haeleth approximately fourteen

Haeleth's heart raced faster and faster as he got deeper into the New Bone, the fear of the beasts he was facing growing more each step. They were many, and they came in hoards. To be a attacked by a bear is frightening, but to be attacked by a bear, a set of crows, and an ununusally angry snake is usuallly simply death. Luckily, Haeleth's skill carried him through. It was growing unpleasant, however, as he grew closer to the monster's apparent center of operation.

He walked through the screen of trees to see the beast. It did indeed have black fur and its body was like that of a bear, though its legs were longer and fit to run forever. It had a long, thick cord-like tale that seemed to catch whatever it wished. And, having good ears, it noticed Haeleth approaching. Rearing upward and turning around, Haeleth was shocked by what he saw.

Ionas? he asked, staring into the face of his brother.

"Haeleth!" Ionas said in a voice somewhere between a hiss and a roar, Where did you go to? We never found you.

I went to look for fire, why are you not at home?

You needn't worry. We are free now, just as you are. Ionas replied

Free from what? Haeleth asked, confused. He had intended to go get the fire and go home. It had never occurred to him that his sisters and brothers might chase after him.

"From Brisanne's lies!" Ionas thundered and Haeleth curled his fingers around his spear in anger.


"Brisanne doesn't lie,"

Yes she does Haeleth. You have lived in the forest, have you met them yet? Have you encountered Grandmother Spider, or Grandfather Elk? Mother Bear? Lord Wolf? Ionas queried.

I have had no traffic with them, Haeleth replied harshly, his patience for his brother's words lying thin.

They are wonderous, Haeleth, and wiser by far then we. I see you still have hands, though they slow you, and you carry a spear though you should never be able to be disarmed. Put them aside and come with us, I am sure that they will teach you.

What makes you certain, Ionas?

When I was lost, a little child like you are still, I was found by Grandmother Spider. I would surely have been devoured, but she took me aside and she and the greatest of the animal lords have taught me, shaped me into what I am now. No more am I a pale, weak ape, with neither claw nor teeth to guard me, and the beasts obey my will.

Haeleth considered this, and knowing little of the animal lords, merely shrugged it off, Ionas, do you know what has happened to the New Bones and why this land has turned against them?

Haeleth, Ionas said gently, They were throwing the life in this jungle out of balance. With three tribes, they would expand too quickly and upset the order of life. To keep them from threatening the branch and bramble and the beasts of the land, they had to be driven towards one another. Grandmother honored me with this high task, a task which the animal lords usually reserve for themselves.

What! Brother! Why have you done this thing, to these innocents who stand before you? Haeleth cried in rage.

Their lives are short, Haeleth, and no longer than the beasts I tend. If they were allowed to live, the beasts would die, and this imbalance I cannot allow.

Ionas, you scoundrel! Haeleth cried, his spear now firm within his hand, You would equate the day with the night, for they are of equal length, though one comes in glory and joy and the other is dark and hopeless! Turn back now, and leave this place, and I will not drive you back with my spear.

I had thought you sensible, Haeleth, but now I see you are no brother of mine! You are a brother of these men, and nothing more, you cannot see beyond them." Ionas shouted, leaping at Haeleth and trying to claw him down.

But for all his physical might, Ionas was not a warrior. He tried to strike but his claws would only injure Haeleth slightly, as the spear sunk deeper and deeper into Ionas' body, hitting his legs and his arms, breaking him slowly and then quick. In the end, the result was a foregone conclusion, Haeleth had achieved victory, and stood above his brother, his spear at Ionas' throat.

Have mercy on me! he cried, staring from the point of the spear, I will go away, and come here no more to trouble your people.

Haeleth stared down at his brother, his rage almost overcoming him, but he nodded his head and let Ionas slink away defeated. On that day, Haeleth began to grow afraid of becoming an animal as Ionas had. That, however, is a story for another time.

He returned to the New Bones and Black Daggers where they camped, and together they had a great feast. There was much laughter and joy amidst them, for they had reached peace, and at the center of it all was Haeleth, the proudest warrior and finest friend any could ever ask for. He enjoyed it immensely to say the least.

[Exthalion]

Heat…
Fire...
Light!

This place was like no place any other has seen. None who hear of it can truly envision it unless they have walked there themselves, and those who have done so are few indeed.

Triune Philognos walked on it like one would walk upon firm ground, yet the surface of the ground roiled and churned like a madly stirred liquid. Mighty columns taller than any mountain made all of burning stuff rose and with great violence fell back down again. Great gossamer arches so high the world would pass through them burst without warning and fell down just as unexpectedly.

And music! Everywhere there was music, slow and deep and timeless. The sun itself sang and the power of its song pierced the inmost being.

He knew that the time scale these events occurred on had no relation to how long he perceived them to take. Days or years might pass in his observation, for there was no day and night here. There was only the single endless day.

This was the sun, the eternal light. Had his eyes not gazed upon it for a thousand years they would have been burned out. Had his flesh not already been consumed it would have evaporated like smoke. Had he not learned to hold the whole of a thing in his mind he would see only chaos about him. But there was an order here, though hard to see at times.

He traveled a great distance, but it took only a single step. He came to the place of the Throne of the Sun, where the Solar Spirit was crowned in glory. He sat on a throne carved all of a single gemstone. It was like to an opal, but more brilliant then the most perfect of diamonds. The throne was all full of fire, the living light of the eternal sun, and returned it full of a splendor of light and color in great curtains and rippling sheets.

Though his eyes had been strengthened beyond the eyes of all mortal flesh he could not look at the seated sun for too mighty was the splendor of the mighty one.

“You come at last. Ten years you have sat upon my mountain, and your time is nearly spent. Do you know why you have come?”

“I come to drink the draught of light to become a god as I was born to be. And to receive my crown.”

“There is but one crown here.”

Philognos looked and saw the brow of the Spirit was naked, wearing no symbol of rule. Reaching up to his own forehead Philognos felt something there. Gently he lifted it, and bending down to one knee presented it to the Solar Lord. No sooner he held it out then it was gone.

When now he looked he saw a mighty crown; wrought of gold and amber, garnet and lapis, mother of pearl and rubies, and many other things besides. It seems at once a living flame and the radiance of rays emerging from the brow. Its back was like a wreath of leaves all of gold or gemstone and strands of gold woven into the hair. Its center was like one gemstone veined with gold, and the colors ever shifted and changed. It was not like the cloak of Rafe, but like opal and rainbow; though colors more vibrant then mortal eye could bear to look upon and more numerous than the worldly six and intermingled in ways the eye could not truly see. Bluish yellows and greenish reds there were and many colors which should make white yet so many were the colors of the Sun Crown that the earthly six together were but other, not complete as upon the base earth.

“Build for me a palace, worthy of my name. Then you shall have the draught of light.”

So began the final labor of Philognos. From the stuff of the Sun he wrought things never before seen by mortal eye, and of which even the gods know little. From a thing like limestone a thing like marble was forged, from a thing like marble a thing like pearl, from a thing like pear a thing like opal, from a thing like opal a thing like diamond, and from a thing like diamond a thing like a living star. So when it is said a thing like limestone what is meant a material like living stars; but the words of men are not made for things like the things he wrought.

In such a fashion he prepared material like gold and like marble and like amber and like to all kinds of gems. On the endless planes of the sun he grew the orchards of a tree like cedar and many other kinds of trees, though they were not like earthly trees, but things all of sun stuff.

Having prepared his materials he paved the Court of the Sun around the throne and raised high mighty pillars and buttressed them with yet more. Eight great wings he made, one for each cardinal direction, and each was like the others. The he made the eight wings of the secondary directions and the sixteen of the tertiary directions and the thirty two of the ancillary directions.

In plan the palace was like a starburst and its diameter was like the width of a province of the world. He raised the eight great towers where the greater directions met and for each other he raised two towers and the palace of the sun is mighty to behold for it appears as if the rays of the sun were fixed and made solid to look upon it.

He made it all of a thing like marble and covered it with things like gold and amber. He raised great domes and covered them with gold and windows many fathoms high and wide and filled them with things like colored gemstones and showed many and mighty things within them. The Court of the Sun was unroofed, but columns of a thing like steel and diamond support a might ring of lenses. The whole of the palace of the sun was like a jewel, made to take the light of the Sun in his glory and give it to the world as a thing all gold and colored.

He planted the orchards of the sun in which grow the golden fruits from which is made the draughts of hope and joy and wrath. From these orchards rises a great scent and in the heat and splendor of the sun they are turned to vapor and fall from the sun diffuse and rarified so that mortals are not aware of them, though they feel keenly their absence.

He wove the great curtains of things like silk and made them blue, purple, scarlet, and all kinds of colors. All like sails spilling over with fire they are and when the moon has covered the sun mortals behold their ends and are amazed.

In a single day of the eternal sun Philognos did all these things and came at last to the Court of the Sun. He saw none there, though the light of the sun was in the Court, for that Hall was made to illuminate its majesty. On the empty throne lay the Sun Crown, but the glory it had worn on the brow of the Sun was not upon it.

Then at last did Philognos understand what had been true since the day he was born, and the day when first the sun rose. Taking up his crown Triune Philognos the Eternal Sun assumed his throne and his godhood.

“It is accomplished.”

At that very moment upon the earth the light of the sun, which had until then been white and harsh and pale became as a blaze of gold, and to this day it has ever been such. The light upon the world did not change, but the sun shone down kindly upon the world and in that light was a hope and warmth which had before been absent, a promise of what might be.

Rising from his throne Philognos gazed upon the palace he had built with his own hands. With the eyes of the Sun he gazed upon the great burning orb, the excess of his power and spirit. Looking up he saw the world, and all the days of the sun before him. Knowledge beyond knowledge of things great and small lay before his gaze, but he turned away.

“Not yet, but soon...”

He left that placed, descending upon the great ladder to the earth. Like a shower of gold did Philognos Sun Lord come. In the shadow of darkest night he descended and behold it was night no longer. There was no shadow upon him, the light of the noon day sun ever upon him, for indeed he was the noontide, and no shadow could he cast for everywhere about him was light.

If he was clothed it was in great billowing garments woven of a thing like diamond and opal and bordered and embroidered with an ever changing pattern of gold. Yet as he had seen upon the mountain; such garments if he wore them did not hide the power and majesty of his form, and if he were naked then there was no less dignity upon him for it.

He was as he had been upon the mountain, though grown to a great height and fullness of muscle. Upon his brow was the blazing fire of the Sun Crown, which he had worn from the day of his birth yet had known not. Through toil and trials his eyes had at last become able to see the crown he already wore and only when he had cast off his entangling burdens could it be seen by others.

The shafts of golden light blazed through the trees and all around him the night was driven back. The flowers opened again, and the morning birds took up their songs. To the mountain of the sun he descended and began to walk as men walk back to his home in the glade.

Long had his journey been those ten years ago as mortals count time. He walked boldly, and in no fear of things hiding in shadows for there were none. When at last he approached near to the cabin a strange thing it was to behold, for on no other day had the sun risen from the south.

When at last he had finished walking the great circle of life and had returned to where he had begun he stopped, a little way away.

“It is accomplished.” And it was.

[Nefarion Xid]

The Tale of the Thief
Part 4: The Mountain's Bargain

Rafe was nearing the end of his journey, but was still far from the end of his quest. The scamp of a rogue had not yet been tested and, as he wished, the world had not known he passed at all. Swift and silent was he, and always careful.

Destiny, such as it is, has many ways of acting on a hero. Often it is subtle, tugging the hero down the wrong path at the right time, or perhaps the right one at the wrong time. Sometimes it is blatant and throws something in your path to be dealt with then and there. And sometimes, fate intercedes in the form of a giant impassable roadblock. It had been what Rafe was searching for all along, though he didn’t know it when he saw it. In fact, he thought it was just a hill.

At least he’d reached the end of the river. His fists clenched and he gritted his teeth when he saw nothing here that satisfied him. At least, there was nothing at first glance, no explanation for why the river had gone dry. There was a great hill in the middle of the river, gracefully curved with an ancient willow at the peak. On either side, unnatural mounds of broken logs and earth and this eased Rafe’s mind as he went to explore. As he guessed, the tangled mess had floated here, piling up behind minor obstructions and steadily forming a dam. The greatest obstruction was this curiously placed hill in the dead center of the river.

Clambering up the willow roots and tough grasses, Rafe came to the top of the hill and could finally look out beyond. The sight sapped the strength from his legs and he leaned against the old tree for support. To the west lay vastness. Clean clear water reflected the sky and stretched so far that the forest was barely visible on the far side, just a thin line of dark green. For its entire splendor, it was nary half what it once was. The banks on all sides stretched high from the water’s edge, wild overgrowth clinging precariously down and chasing the water as it receded over the years. Rafe eyes didn’t miss it. But judging from the wide earthen border between the blue and green, the water was receding rapidly, far too much too fast in recent years.

The rogue sank into the hollow at the base of the willow, wrapping himself tightly in his cloak and drawing his knees close to his chest. All at once he felt horribly small and useless. He couldn’t find the little ones and whatever mysteries this place held; uncovering them wouldn’t bring him any closer to restoring the fire at home. Were Brisanne and little Mata still waiting for him to return? Had anyone been successful in their childish searching or… had any even come back? No, it hadn’t been so long. The brash young ones vanished almost all in one night. Mar and Anghau weren’t back with the sun like they promised. More parties went out, to look for the lost and to retrieve Toraealas from his studies with Mantis. None returned.

Rafe began to despair. Even if it was foolish, he should have tracked the wolves to the twins. He could have climbed the canyon walls and hurried after Lupani or searched more diligently for a way around to the north. For all he knew, he was the only one left. For the first time he missed home. Through the tears he cursed the reckless children and the wanderlust that had taken him so far from home with nothing to show for the time away and the grief of his family. Picking himself up with a shove away from the tree, he resolved to hunt down someone, anyone, and drag them home kicking and screaming the whole way if he had to.

His shoulders slumped and he sighed, making his way down the hill towards the lake. He’d come this far, he might as well bathe and fill his water skin before he turned north to learn the fate of the twins and Lupani. He drew off his cloak with a shrug and left it across what looked to be a round mossy boulder while he unbound his wrappings. The boulder stirred and let out an exasperated, “Well, I’ve finally gone blind. Always expected I would. At least life holds no further disappointments from this moment on. Stupid universe.”

Rafe froze in the middle of untying the leather thong from his bronze hair, awkwardly poised on one foot with his pants nearly wiggled off his hips. Slowly, painfully slowly, he turned back to his cloak and let the strip of leather fall to the grass. The cloak began to pulse up and down as the boulder snorted at it.

“Now, now hang on! I’m not blind! Some stupid git has just draped a blanket over my head. Come… come back here you or I’ll… well I’ll insult your parentage. Not like I’m going to chase after you. Oh… oh! And it smells too!” With a tremendous snort from the boulder, the cloak fluttered into the air revealing an enormous turtle head poking out of the hill. It wasn’t a hill at all underneath the soil; it was only the turtle’s colossal shell!

Rafe had the good sense to yank his pants back up before throwing himself prostrate before the ancient lord of the earth. If he couldn’t hide, trembling and begging wordlessly for mercy was an appropriate backup plan. In truth, it was the old turtle that was most surprised and startled when he realized who he was talking to; the hill would have taken a giant step back if he were able. For all his countless years and despite everything he’d forgotten (far more than even the wisest creatures will accumulate over their short lives), he could not forget the visage of the gods. Rafe had his mother’s kind green eyes and his father’s royal countenance. The turtle muttered to himself, scrambling to think of what to do with the Earthmother’s son who was still cowering before him.

“I mean… um, yes! Yea that your journey has been arduous and em, have overcome many trails? To have well um, done well, to have arrived here, in one piece… you see. So congratulations on that, I mean, well done really and… oh stop sniveling I’m not going to eat you, not while I’m stuck in the dirt. No! No, not going to eat you at all. So, stop worrying and just pick yourself up. There’s a lad.”

Rafe did as he was instructed, though still a bit wobbly in the legs since he was not entirely sure he was wholly out of range of the turtle’s maw. While the turtle continued his speech, Rafe shuffled back an extra step, just in case.

“Where was I? Oh right, right. You have em, come to meet your destiny oh High Father’s Son. Yes, yes, you’ve been sent to me for a reason. Your destiny, you see. I lay before you this quest! In order to, well, get on with your destiny, and oh! Be worthy of your father’s exalted name! You must find a way to free me… from this great bloody hill!” The turtle jerked his head in its general direction as if there needed to be visual confirmation for which hill he meant.

Crossing his arms, Rafe considered the enormity of the task. Working by himself, he could never dig the turtle free, not alone and not with a hundred hands. Having composed himself from the shock of meeting the old lord, he calmly replied, “My father’s name has carried no worth so far. Why should I complete this trial to earn it?”

The turtle blustered, nearly calling Rafe a great many names he would quickly regret, not because of who was Rafe’s father, but because he was the only soul that could possibly help him.

“Well, all right, sure. If destiny isn’t your thing there’s loads of other rewards. I’ll uh… I’ll be your vassal for one, like I served your mother. Really, I mean, you can see the merits of having an enormous turtle as your bloody valet, can’t you?”

Rafe did. If he could not bring back fire or the young ones, gaining the loyalty of a walking mountain was at least a consolatory prize. And so he straightened and asked, “Very well. What must I do to free you? And… how did you get stuck like that in the first place?”

Lord Reku sighed with the ennui that only comes from being rendered immobile for an age and began his tale.

[Kasanip]

Matapa, Ermine and Anagumazuka

Ermine white and Matapa came to a small meadow of snow, and in the middle was a great hill of snow.
"This is Ermine hill, but it is now Anagumazuka, Badger Hill." Ermine white said as they approached.
"It is beautiful." Matapa said. Ermine white did not respond for a while.
"It is sad. The ermine do not come out to play now." Ermine white finally said.
"Why not?" Matapa asked.
"Baron Badger says these things, and so they must be. Baron Badger is bigger even than you, snow child Matapa. So to an ermine, it is to obey or be eaten." Ermine white said.
"That's terrible!" Matapa cried. "I want to speak to Baron Badger!" She said.
"Be very careful snow child Matapa." Ermine white warned. "He is not very friendly."

Together they came to Anagumazuka, and the badgers of the badger hill watched Matapa with curiosity. She came to the top, and lying there was Baron Badger. He was very large! He was bigger than any of her brothers, Matapa thought with surprise. So to her, he was a giant. And yet she was not afraid. There was awe and surprise, but no fear. That feeling in her was cool.

"Who are you? Are you a snow creature of the woods who is lost?" Baron Badger spoke with a thunder voice. But Matapa wasn't afraid. She walked up to Baron Badger and stepped onto his giant chest so she could see his face.
"I am Matapa! I have come from far away --!" She said in a loud voice. But she stopped. Why had she come? Why had she left home? She could not remember. Baron Badger looked at her lazily.
"You are cold Matapa. A snow child should not be here! Go away! We do not need snow child. This is Anagumazuka. If you are not Badger, you should leave." But Matapa did not move and crossed her arms in an angry pout.
"But there are ermine here! This was ermine hill!" She said loudly. Baron Badger shivered.
"You are very cold snow child Matapa. But the ermine serve us now as it must be. There is not enough food now. And everything is eaten sometime." Matapa shook her head.
She was tired. It was not like 'sleepy.' But a different meaning. She was tired to always hear this. The shadow creatures of many eyes, ermine white and the ermine, even her trade of Rahn maybe also, always must things be eaten?

"No, you should not! If there is no food, you should wait peacefully and rest! Sleep and dream until snow goes away." She said.

Baron Badger roared a laugh at her, and all of the Badger laughed.
"A little snow child is very cold on my fur. But Baron Badger will chase away the cold if he must. Go away and play in the snow, like a good snow child!" The badgers yelled and sang rough songs to send her away, but Matapa closed her eyes and began to sing. It was the lullaby she had heard her sister sing so long ago, and the lullaby she had sung to the shadow and eyes. And now the badgers and Baron Badger too began to fall asleep to the song. Matapa also became sleepy, but she was not going to sleep here! Matapa didn't want to sleep here. She wasn't the same little girl who would do that now! She wanted to save ermine white and the ermine. But the Badger could sleep! Rest! Rest! Go to sleep in Winter, because it is long if Matapa is near!
And the baron struggled and yawned as Matapa sang and struggled. Finally, the Baron closed his eyes and slept. With loud snores then, so Anagumazuka has such an echo in winter of the wind about it.

And when Matapa opened her eyes again the badgers were asleep. She stepped off of the baron's chest and looked around. There, the ermine stood listening and watching her. And ermine white came hopping to her.

"You are safe!" Matapa cried happily to them.
"Snow child Matapa thank you!" Ermine white said happily.
"Come white ermines! Let us warm Matapa to show our gratitude!" And the ermines all ran to Matapa with their high voices and cheers.

And Matapa laughed because she had friends.


And this is why many of those animals of winter go to sleep! It is good to rest your stomach and safely dream of warm times.

[daelrog]

Bran, The Fire

Bran remained silent. If their siblings were gone, they were gone. The Black Forest was no mere garden, it was a labyrinth. It was a wild, untamed realm where one could become lost not only physically, but by other things such as time and self. No, they were gone, and neither he, nor the rest of them could find the missing ones unless the Black Forest willed it. It called to him now, beckoning him to enter, and enter alone.

Of the Earth, Part 1 of 2

The storm raged on, the night sky lit up like day with each crackling bolt. The lesser beasts trembled under rock and bush, taking refuge from the pelting hail and cold, damp wind that ate at the bones. Bran kept walking, clutching tightly to his tattered cloak, hoping that the thin, frail cloth would gain warmth that simple wisdom dictated was impossible. He refused to stop though, for to stop was to yield to the Black Forest, and to yield would commit himself to the forest’s mercy, a mercy he would not gamble to take.

How long had he been gone? Lost in his thoughts, the fire seemed so long ago. Had it been a few days ago? A few years? Loss of time and self, yes, that is what he told himself at the fire. He no longer knew the passing of time, and he no longer was certain of who he was. He was the child of the High Father and the Earth Mother, one of twenty, one who was destined to return home, no? Voices… many tiny voices called to him from some unknown shadow that he was no child of the High Father and Earth Mother, but a child of the forest. The voices told him that he was meant to be here, to die here, and return to his rightful place in the soil of the Black Forest, to nourish the trees so it could expand, ever outward, ever upward.

“No. This is not so.”

The voices cried out, demanding him to accept their truth, a truth where humans were but a memory, and he would not transcend the cycle of life, or the wheel of fate.

“I choose my own path. Only a stronger will may make me stray from my course.”

Again the voices shouted, this time with anger. Why would he not submit? Why would he not yield? Did he not see how he looked to them? Terrifying, monstrous, unnatural? His very steps killed the soil. It was time to give back.

“Why should I heed those I cannot see.”

“But you can see us.”

The ground shifted, and churned in front of Bran, and up from the ground came forth the Great Worm. It wide maw opened up, large enough to swallow even the large man whole if wanted. Bran himself had no weapons, felt he needed no weapons, for knowledge was his sword and wisdom his shield. Bran could feel dozen of long, thick, wriggling worms crawl around his feet as the ground was soon full of the creatures, like a wet, slimy sea moving across the forest floor.

“Now come to me, child of the Earth Mother, child of the High Father, so that you may return to the earth.”

The man gazed up at the Great Worm, and new fear. What could he say to such a monster who already had determined his fate? How could he reason with beasts? He remained silent.

“No words? No parting wisdom to leave for the forest’s betterment? No plea for mercy to amuse us, and give us tales for our young? True, your body is strong, and full, and will give much to the soil, but that is not all it needs. Impart upon us your mind, give back to the soil reason, desire, progress, the things of the soul, for the soul is the one thing the earth does not keep for itself.”

The soul? Bran closed his eyes and listened, listened to the wisdom beyond wisdom that rested deep within the recesses of his mind. It told him to live.

“I will impart my wisdom when it is time for me to die, and no sooner Great Worm. Be gone from my sight, and let me reach where my mother lies.”

At this the ground shuffled with laughter and mockery until finally the Great Worm spoke up, silencing his lesser kin. “Foolish! The High Father and Earth Mother are beyond our sight, beyond our reach. It is the same for you. You will not find them like this in ten years, or a hundred years. Your vaunted quest will suffice in place of wisdom. Now return to me, return to the earth.”

“I accept your challenge and will decide upon the contest.”

The Great Worm stopped, its mouth almost around Bran now moved back. “What trickery is this?”

“None. Where I am from, the one who is challenged may dictate the terms of the contest not already established by the challenger.” Bran pointed to a far away ridge, illuminated by the constant flashes of lightning. It was forty, maybe fifty miles away. “I will meet you there upon that ridge. When we are there, I will specify the contest to determine which one of us is the victor.”

“It is an intriguing idea, but I cannot see the ridge you speak of for I have not eyes, and I need not play along with your contest.”

“You will adhere to the contest, for it is the wisdom I impart upon you. It is the wisdom to settle differences by skill, by thought, by game, not by simply devouring. As to the location of the ridge, you may follow me.”

The Great Worm stood motionless for what seemed like minutes. As the smaller worms moved about, the giant monstrosity before Bran moved not. After Bran began to question whether he had somehow turned the Animal Lord to stone, it spoke up once again. “I accept on condition that I may refuse your contest when you reveal it.”

“As you say.”

[White Blade]

Oh Black Dagger, come to me and remember your people, for the hand of the mighty has fallen on me and I have none to turn to. -Traditional Prayer
Haeleth,
The Obsidian Jungle
Time Unknown, Haeleth approximately fifteen
Haeleth stayed with his people the Black Daggers many days and many nights, training yes, but also taking joy. It is hard to speak of the tenderness which he enjoyed there, of the warmth of that time. In his house with his family, of course, he had been safe. But here, there was such satisfaction. For no longer was he a little boy, but a man, no longer was he a burden but extremely helpful. To provide for others, to have a fellow worker, and to have rest and love, these are the best things in life, for all things pass away in the end.

But in time, his thoughts returned to his quest and he decided to return to face the dragon. Going up the road at a run, it took him only a few days. He found the place where the dragon dwelled and marched forward with his spear, seeking to set upon the dragon. There, the dragon clambered out from its' den, an angry, furious howling poured forth words, "Begone! This is my home and my den!"

Foolish Dragon! I am Haeleth, son of the High Father, member of the Black Daggers, strongest of all foes! Haeleth announced in his pride, None have stood before me, and now I have come for you! he finished, charging toward the dragon with his spear in his hand.

The dragon tried to catch him with his fire, and Haeleth noted that with interest but utimately decided it would do him little good, it was not a kind fire as Brisanne's was, after all. It swept at him with its claw as he came into range and he grabbed onto it, pulling himself up the dragon's back. The dragon tried to shake him but found little success, though its thrashing increased.

"Foolish human, not even Perun challenged me!" the dragon announced as it took to the air, flying higher and higher as Haeleth tried to find some weak point in its' impenetrable, scaly armor. Then he had an inspiration and moved uptowards the neck, fighting the brutal wind and focusing, he would have it, he knew. "Even when he sought the path to heaven, he knew to treat with me!" the dragon continued with its rise. Haeleth was having trouble keeping hold now but the wind was incredibly harsh in his face. Every time he drew breath, it seemed to be forced down his throat and he was having difficulty making progress towards the head as he clung to the start of the neck.

"He gave me a necklace for my prize, which lets me fly so well and far, and makes me graceful like a cat. But a stupid one like you has nothing to offer me!"

Haeleth could not help but think that the dragon ought to have talked less. Dragons, you see, are not the brightest of creatures. Because there, not far from where Haeleth was, he saw the thin cord on the dragon's neck. He took the head of his spear from it's neck and strapped the wooden neck to his side, even as they rose higher and higher, departing from the earth.

He crawled up and reaching outward, cut the cord of the dragon's necklace and caught it in his hand. And then, they began to fall. The dragon flailed and flapped its wings, but in the end, this resulted only in its turning upside. Desperately clinging to the necklace, Haeleth lost his grip on the falling dragon and fell far to the north of where the dragon would land or level out. He hit the earth with a resounding thud, half of his bones breaking, and he looked about to see that he was alone.

Haeleth took many hours and days to recover, binding his wounds and sitting in the forest, guarding himself with chucked rocks and eating small animals. He thought that he had been foolish in his attack, that perhaps he should have prepared more. He had heard tales of some of his father's and mother's relics, perhaps he could find one of them. He knew Spider was supposed to have his father's winter cloak, which he used to guard himself against the darkness and the cold. Perhaps he would go find that.

Eventually, through much trial and error, he found his way back to the campsite of the Black Daggers, from whom he had departed almost a month earlier. But he was not prepared for what he saw when he got there.

There, amidst the tents of his people, were a hundred burnt skeletons, torn of meat by scavengers long ago. He looked about in despair, seeking any tracks that lead away, but he found none. He looked for his friend Slaetan's body next, but he could not tell one body from another. In his despair, he knelt down in the center of the tents and wept.

He wept for a long time. I could not tell you how long, for I do not know if he has ceased his weeping in his heart to this day. But in time, the flow of tears grew dry and he lay curled to the floor, head first. And there Haeleth swore an oath, in words punctuated by his grief and pain. He swore to himself that none would ever again be victimized by the stronger because of him nor would he allow the mighty to tyrannize the weak.

And that is why, when we pray to Haeleth to give us strength against the gods, we call him Black Dagger, to remind him of his oath.

[OverThoughtName]

Afein
Red Hawk's Meadow

It had been quite the task keeping other birds from claiming the meadow. Some she had to chase away, some she had to bribe, a few she could just explain the situation to, but, truly, that was only a few. For the first nine days she was left there, more than thrice that number of birds had show up, some in flocks even! But she kept her end of the un-agreed bargain and didn't let a single one stay longer than to rest their wings, maybe prune themselves a tad.

Eventually, though, one bird showed up that would not be shooed out. Clever bird, he hid behind trees so she couldn't see him no matter how hard she looked. When he tricked her with his cry on one end of the meadow, he would fly around and steal her food on the other, so she began to bury it before she left to find him. She would spend hours of a day trying to trap him, trying to out-think him, all to no avail. He would not talk to her, just make a tell-tale noise to say, "Over here!" and then disappear. Nine more days he stayed there in the meadow, nine days where, thankfully, no other birds showed their crest-feathers. Nine days of the most effort of Afein's life.

Then, finally, on the nineteenth day, Red Hawk came back. At his sight, Afein burst into tears, for there was no "snippy, black, sharp-beak crow" with him, nor had she kept his meadow safe. Oh, how she had tried, she told him, oh, how she had done her best, but it was still not enough. After hearing the entire tale, or, rather, piecing it together through sobs, the raptor screeched at her for silence.

"Afein, daughter of the Earthmother, do not despair, for it's clear that you did your best. You have done no wrong here, you've just found your limits. Besides, it's not you who owes apologies, it's I. You are younger than I thought, I have never known your brood, but, to have come this far in the forest, I had thought you more than a fledgling. Thus, I decided to see how far you'd go to keep up your end of an unfair bargain, and you did better than I would have. Crow, come out now. Your favor's been repaid." He settled in on his branch, and, if that it could ever be possible, a flash of shame crossed his face. Or, would have, had he not been a bird.

Afein's face was covered in shock. She didn't quite understand what he had meant, but, still, to be tricked hurt her. It always had. Even more so when the next voice she heard, the voice of the bird that'd been tormenting her, "Many apologies, Young Miss, many apologies. 'Twas only my idea, not his. He had already found me while you slept the first day you arrived, but I needed to see how robust of character you were before I could answer any of your questions, any of your inquiries." Out of the tree behind her flew a bird black enough to miss at night, a bird so dark of color it may have grown out of it's own shadow. "You seem a fine... example of whatever you are. I will answer whatever I am able, but my brothers, should you need their help instead, they'll probably demand payments."

Afein sat down. Today had been trying for the young girl, but it had ended on an up note. She thought carefully about how to answer this sharp-sounding creature, what to ask of him, where to start. She didn't know how long he was willing to stay around, but she had to get as much information as possible out of him in that time. Only partially for revenge. Just a little.

Fourteen days she was able to get Smart Crow and his murder to answer questions. The rest demanded a payment of a meal per question. They didn't mind making their answers cryptic, either, to force her to ask another, but she didn't mind. She was good at running through the forest now, she could find enough food for ten crows in one trip.

The crows said they knew all the stories of the world, all the faces of everything to have lived. They had been tasked at the dawn of time with remembering, and, while their Lord did it the best, they were able to remember most of what they learned. Their stories were wide and varied, stolen from campfires around the world. Sometimes they allowed payment in stories, they said, but they had to be new and it was only for rare occasions, which these weeks were not.

Of the Sylph, they assured her she was not one. They were the winged messengers of the Steward of the Heavens, the Fey Tyrant, who Hunting Owl had named as Old King Fey. Half beings of wind, children of the Tyrant and the spirits of the air, now the Lost. They had not been seen since they scattered from the Court of the Sky Ruler when the Fey Tyrant fell. Struck dead on the night of the First Lighten-ing, they said. She had asked where the sky fires had gone, but the crows knew naught about it. Apparently, it had appeared and disappeared at the same time, coming in going in all directions. They just knew it's touch was death.

Of the Fey Tyrant, she asked more. He had been placed there for time immemorial, to guard the skies until the next person to sit upon its throne appeared. New King Jay, or, as he used to be known, Blue Lord Voland, now claims the title of Prince of the Air, though all the creatures know he's a lesser ruler, not greater. The Fey Tyrant left a mark in their souls whenever he was brought down suddenly, yet Voland had yet to fill it even halfway with his power.

No, he may have been the first to jump on the Tyrant's corpse to take the crown, but it was clear he didn't have the interest of any one else in mind. At least the Fey Tyrant had tried to seem like a benevolent ruler, listening to complaints and taking them into consideration, even if he rarely acted on anything. He was, as he frequently pointed out, just the Steward. Once the Ruler returned, then they could seek redress. But Voland had taken to demanding from the other flighted peoples. It was rumored that the fey had already left the court, telling him he was no King to them, which had prompted him to kill as many as he could catch. Even for an Animal Lord, that was few, for the fey are tricky creatures. Besides, said the crows, the only stories from there are lies now. The jays were the only ones allowed in now, unless you brought ample tribute. But who that would bribe the jays could be trusted?

One more question she asked, one she eventually regreted knowing the answer to, "What has New King Jay done that's so terrible? Why do they hate him?" All nests are his, he claims. All food is his first. All birds serve him, and no bird may bargain with a fey. All birds must bring him food, and give whatever they have to his brood should they want it. And they do, for blue jays are not bluebirds, but creul and capricious beings. But the worst is the punishment, for should you even speak against the Prince of Air, the jays take you as their food. Alive.

It made sense to her. The only way to find the lighten-ing was to get the birds to help her. And the best way to do that was to become their ruler. Had it not been Earthmother and High Father who placed the Fey Tyrant in his throne? She'd make a better ruler, anyway, definately wouldn't eat anyone alive. So she asked the final question, "Will you show me the way to the Court of the Sky?"

Laughing as only a carrion bird can, the gathered host spoke as one, "Of course!" Smart Crow, Huginn as she had learned was proper, spoke up once more, "And no payment needed, not if you plan on doing what we think you're going to do. They'll be plenty of food for us when you take the crown of Blue Lord Voland!"

[hi-mi-tsu]

Marwaen
Being of the Third Parable of Blood

Rocks are inefficient tools at best, when wielded by practiced, self-assured hands. When wielded by hands that are sometimes clumsy and impatient, rocks are traitorous tools, and can destroy that which has been labored over for many days.

Marwaen was clumsy, and impatient, but she was also dedicated. Each strike on her blade was practiced a hundred times over on lesser bones; each tiny honing practiced a hundred more. For this sword, she knew, would be important. This sword was the sword, that would give her power, that would keep her and her twin safe.

Marwaen had never been good at thinking into the far-off distance. Her thoughts were of the immediate--there is danger in the forest, she thinks. With this sword and the other I will make, twin to this, I will be able to protect us.

It takes many days to make the first blade. To curve it just enough to give it a lethal edge, to sharpen it so that when she tests it it cuts open the palm of her hand smoothly, with no ragged edges to catch on the wound.

This is the first blood the sword spills, but it is not the last.

The second sword she makes, from the other femur--of course she has two femurs, child, does a wolf not have two hind legs?--takes much less time, for the god-child's hands have grown sure over the crafting of the first. And when she is finished, she binds the grip in strips of dried leather, and manufactures crude wrappings for the blades, to tie around her back. Not the easiest of access, but they do not hamper her movement there.

Belatedly, she wonders if perhaps she should give one to her brother. Perhaps it would be best for each of them to have one, she thinks, and so she unbinds a sword from its wrappings and lays it at the feet of her brother, Anghau, antler-horned, proud and strong. He has been patient with her, these many days, so it is only fitting that he should bear one half of a pair of blades.

When it comes time to leave the hill upon which they had their first great victory, Marwaen feels a pang of loss. After all, they had stayed there for many nights, and it was an iconic spot of their victory...though nothing much remained of the pack they'd defeated besides bones.

But they would not be able to continue on their journey through staying in one place...though Marwaen could not remember, exactly, what their journey was. Hadn't they come to the forest to find Haeleth and Rahn? But it had been so long...surely one of the others must have found them by now. So shouldn't they be returning home...? Only she didn't remember which way home was. They had come so very far through the forest, and taken so very many turns in their attempts to get away from the wolves...

[TheDarkDM]

Anghau
Being the Third Parable of Blood

As Marwaen labored over her first true blade, Anghau sat, lost in thought. The horns that now adorned his head were the least of the changes that had occurred after that fateful night, for something new had birthed behind Anghau's eyes. For his stillness, one could have assumed him to be a stone, the faint flickering of his eyes the only sign of life. So intent was Marwaen on her work that she did not inquire what disturbed her brother so, for she could not see the capering shadows circling the site of the slaughter.

When he'd awakened after that fateful night, Anghau had seen things moving at the edge of sunlight. So entranced was he by the vague motions that he had foregone food and water simply to trace their movements, to commit to memory the hazy half-remembered shapes and try and force some semblance of form on them. At first, it had been like trying to catch water in a sieve, but as day turned to night and back again to unrelenting day the spirit shapes began to take form. At first it was naught but a leg or a tail, spasming in pain with every strike of Marwaen's rock. Then, bodies began to appear, bodies that lengthened into snarling heads, until the wispy forms of ethereal wolves were clear before Anghau's eyes. Silently he watched them, the souls of the entire pack circling around their slayers, impotent to affect them but seething with rage nonetheless.

A quick glance towards Marwaen, and Anghau confirmed that he was the only one who could see the pack of spirits. Straining, Anghau began to hear the spirits as well, their voices drifting like the echoes of a forgotten storm. Another day passed, and the whispers had cleared, enough so that Anghau thought he could almost understand them. His head leaned closer, only for his reverie to finally be interrupted by Marwaen's proffered blade. Closing his hand around the unfamiliar texture of leather, Anghau slowly smiled.

"Thank you sister. Now, I think I may have something to show you in return."

Bounding from his position, Anghau fell upon one of the spirit wolves. So sudden was his movement, and so sure were they in their separation from the mortal world, that one of the spirits was beneath his heel before any of them knew what was happening. The spirit beast thrashed, but to no avail, and held as it was it slowly faded into view. Snarling, it spat profanities at the divine twins in the language of spirits, only to choke in silence as Anghau pressed the blade of his new sword against its throat. For bone and blood have a mysterious power, young one, and the bone and blood of kin are stronger still. Whimpering under the presence of its murderer, the wolf spirit could barely whisper.

"How have you done this, slayer of my clan? What witchcraft do you conjure to hold me as though I still moved with flesh and blood?"

To this, Anghau was forced to ponder a moment.

"I know not wolf, nor do I care. But I have mastery now, and you shall do as I say."

The wolf spirit howled for its fellows to attack, to tear the strange creature from it and devour Anghau's soul. Yet the spirit pack would not, could not, approach, for in Anghau's presence they felt themselves diminished, their pride brought low.

"Enough of that! My sister and I are lost in this vast land, wolf, and we seek a special power. Tell me, oh member of the great pack, do you know of a place that hold the light and warmth of the sun on earth?"

While Anghau and Marwaen may have failed to locate Haeleth, or indeed any of their siblings, the dying fire had flashed through Anghau's memory. Perhaps, he thought, the secret of the dying flame could be located in this second world that had opened before his eyes.

"I know not of any place where sun meets the land. Yet in death, my eyes have been opened to a great light against the horizon. Swear to let me go, and you shall have the location, slayer."

"First, swear wolf. Swear upon the names of the High Father and the Earth Mother that you shall fulfill this bargain, and I shall release you."

"I so swear."

Reluctantly, Anghau removed his foot from the wolf's throat. With a snarl, it scampered back to its feet and withdrew back to its compatriots. The pack would have abandoned that dark place if they could, but the names of the divine parents had bound them irrevocably to the bargain. Begrudgingly, the spirit wolf turned back to Anghau.

"Two days north of here, in a place that rises above the trees, there lurks a great light. We know not what it is, nor have any of our kind approached it and returned, yet it may be what you seek. Now go, and may you choke on it!"

And then, the pack was gone. Fading into the dark, they left no trace of their passing, save for the twinkle that now appeared in Anghau's eyes as he tuned to Marwaen.

"Mar, I think I might know where we need to go."

[The_Snark]

The Hearth-Tender's Tale
Part 2

Time passes.

That's an easy thing for us to say, isn't it? Two words, and we're free to skip ahead to the good bits of the story, past all those years of loneliness and worrying and waiting. But we're not going to do that. If you are looking for excitement and adventure, you had better look elsewhere. This isn't that kind of story.

Are you still here? Good.

The first day is the worst. She listens to the forest noises with bated breath, hoping to hear footsteps. Every snapping twig, every twittering bird brings her to the door to see if the noise heralds one of her siblings coming home, and each time she goes back to her chair disappointed.

Hope is a very cruel thing, sometimes.

The sun rises and sets once, twice, three times, and Anghau and Marwaen do not return, nor any of the others. On the second night she hears wolves howling in the forest, and shivers, and cries a little. All of her brothers and sisters are out there, one-and-a-score of them, and she cannot believe that all of them are still well. They might be lucky once, or twice, or even thrice; but twenty-one times? No. The Forest is a cruel place.

Days pass, and her desperate hope dies down to a dull ache.

She cannot help but wonder as she looks out at the woods: should she leave? All of her brothers and sisters have gone off to seek their fortune, and it is always strange to be the only one left out. But her fear of the forest is still strong.

Somebody has to stay here, she tells herself, or there will be no fire to come back to. What will happen if her brothers and sisters return to the house and found it cold and empty? They might walk back out into the woods, and she knows that if this happens the family will never again be whole. No, she cannot leave, nor does she wish to.

But it's hard to sit still and be afraid. Fear carried for so long without release ferments, and for a time her fear is mingled with with bitterness and anger. Was she so terrible a sister, Brisanne asks the empty house? Why did all her siblings leap at the chance to escape her? Even Mornd, who hated the forest as as she did, had chosen it. Even Matapa, who never complained at a task. Had she nursed secret resentment beneath that happy smile?

This, too, dies down after a while, though the shadow of it will remain for a long time yet.

Life goes on much as it always has, save of course that she is completely alone. Sometimes she finds herself going to the door to call the others inside, as she did every day at sunset for a long time, and weeps when she catches herself.

All of the chores are hers now. To Brisanne's credit, she does not resent her siblings for this. The work is a comfort to her, for it distracts her, and it feels good to do a simple thing after the terrible strangeness of that night. She cooks, and cleans after the meals (both are easier now that there is only one person living here). She tends and weeds Toraealas's garden, and fetches water from the pond, and does the washing, and a hundred other little things. And in between these things, she searches for firewood.

That has become a hard task since she last did it! She wishes she had not scolded Rahn so fiercely when her sister came back nothing but stories about how she'd looked and looked and found nothing. (How she misses Rahn! Even her excuses and sullenness seem a treasure now that they're gone.) There are no fallen branches left within the glade, and she must venture into the trees to find wood. She never goes far, and never by night, but it is further than she can remember going, and further than she would like.

And on one of these trips she finds something that is not firewood -- but that is a tale for another time.

[Kasanip]

Matapa and the Ermine Coat

But Matapa could not stay for long, and even though she had friends of ermine... To see them with their family made her homesick. She wanted to see her family again. She didn't know why she had left. But her adventures would certainly be nice to tell.
"Ermine white, I must go." She said at last.
"Then I will also go with you!" Ermine white said. Matapa shook her head.
"No, you are my friend, but you must stay here for now with your family! I have to go far away, and I don't know how long it will be. I know how much it hurts to be away from your family, so I cannot take you with me."
Ermine white complained, but Matapa was firm. It hurt her to tell him this too, but Ermine white agreed.
"Then we will give you our white fur as you go, so we will be together like this. And if you want us to come, just pull a hair of the coat and whisper my name! We will be together like this!"
And Matapa protested.
"I cannot! You will be cold!" She cried. But the ermines laughed as they took off their white fur, and their new color was brown. So they are always brown when winter is far away!

"Snow child Matapa is the coldest!" They said. And they gathered around her and took the rags of her old clothes from her- for they too had been eaten by the forest and time, and now the ermines. And Matapa was overwhelmed by their kindness. All together, they gave their fur to her, and she sat down and began to sew. Always she thought of her sisters who had taught her, and carefully she worked with the furs as the ermines watched. And finally, she put on the great coat and it sparkled white and pure, and the it fit her perfectly.
"You are beautiful in our coat, snow child Matapa!" The ermines praised. And Matapa sniffed and began to cry.
But they weren't tears, because she was too cold. And she took the tears as they froze and shaped them to be beautiful like diamonds. So these snowflakes were made. They disappeared quickly, but this is what tears are! Emotions of sadness may come and go, but their feelings are pure and beautiful. They are jewels for the ermine in winter, who give their fur as friendship and trust, and so they gather them and value them dearly.

"I will see everyone again!" She cried to the ermines, and wearing the beautiful Ermine Coat, she turned to leave.


So Matapa began to wander again to find her home. And she did for a long time. But now, Matapa had wandered through the forest many times, and while once she had been lost, now she knew many trees and hills and ermines and places. Wherever she went though, it would become cold, because Matapa was cold. She had no more fire like her family. And though she had hopes to see her family, when she slept she had no dreams, and there was always an empty feeling like loneliness in her.

She traveled deep into the Lost Forest, and there she put the angry sounds to sleep as the cold around her came. And so the Lost Forest became Silent with cold and snow, until she had found her way this time. She couldn't stop even if her legs were tired. But she wasn't hungry. And so then she traveled near the 3-Wave-Mountains Kawaradake.

[Jair Barik]

Lupani wandered along his way, a skip in his step and wonder in his heart as always. The valley had begun to grow about him. He was yet to see why it was that the valley was considered so much more magnificent than any other part of the forest that could be labelled as a place of beauty but he could feel its presence, the mountains growing up about it forming its sides and the trees thinning to give rise to mounds and clearings lined with flowers that filled the air with an aroma unlike any he had smelt before. The trees were not so wicked and haggard here, their bark was smooth and their leaves green, small ponds littered the ground with the branches of their neighbouring trees hanging longingly over their surface, a stray finger of the larger branch lightly caressing the surface of the pool so that when the wind caught it ripples were sent echoing across the water in wonderous patterns. Here and there the sun pierced the gaps in the canopy above and reflected across those same pools of water playing across the surface of stones in every colour of the rainbow.

The valley's inhabitants were in hiding though it seemed. From time to time he spied a rabbit peeking out from beneath its place of hiding but in general the trees were devoid of birds, the water devoid of fish and the earth devoid of animals. He smiled.
"Do not worry little ones, for I am come to save you from your fate."
Moving through the trees he at last came to a spot more open than any other he had yet encountered. A glade atop a hill in the centre of the valley from which he could see the rest of his surroundings with perfect clarity. He turned about looking north, east, south and west each in turn but as he gazed his disappointment grew and grew. Though he could make out many beautiful sights within the valley he could see neither the troll nor what truly made the place a place of magic. And so in his despair he turned to a rock that sat to one side of him and kicked it.

The rock did not move.
Cursing at his ill luck and a stubbed toe he kicked it again.
It did not move.
Twice cursing the ugly little rock he moved backwards and kicked it again, this time with a run up.
It did not move.
Thrice cursing this hated, vile, ugly, loathsome little rock Lupani carved his magic into the shape of an axe and struck the rock with all his might,
The earth moved.

Roaring in anger the hill rose up upon its feet lifting its long mouldy arms from about its face and shaking off the little man who sat upon its head. Lupani fell but nimble as he was he caught a hold of a ridge in the hill on his way down and, pulling himself back up, he stared into the great red eyes of the troll. Now trolls you see are not all alike. Ugly as they are no two can lay claim to the same kind of ugliness. That which guarded the bridge was a horrid beast made all of claws and teeth, this one on the other hand was a mighty tall monster of a Troll, its skin craggy and pock marked, its face craterous and its lips dribbling septic slime and ooze.
"Who dares awake me from my sleeping?! Which beast of the forest wishes death upon itself today by waking me from my nap?! The sun is not yet down from the sky, by waking me early you shall find my hunger less sated than normal foolish little creature! And now, I shall eat you first."

Scrambling up onto the top of the trolls head Lupani was in a state of panic. The beast swung its body about trying to disloge the little God, it waved its arms in frantic motion to try and catch him but Lupani gripped tightly to the grassy hair of the beasts head.
"Wait! Mercy! Mercy! I am not one of the animals of this valley, I am but a visitor come to see the fabelled beauty of your home!"
"A visitor?" the troll asked its voice rumbling slightly with curiosity. "Ha! Then you shall be a brand new taste for me to try, one I shall relish!" Once more it reached up and grabbed Lupani by his back lifting him up to drop into his mouth.
"Wait! You cannot eat me yet! I am not ready!"
"Ready? I do not care if you are ready! i am ready to eat you!"
"But...but you misunderstand! I am not yet ready to be eaten! Eat me now and you will only make yourself sick. Eat me in a little while and I shall be ready, and much tastier!" Though still panicked a little composure had returned to Lupani's voice and the troll hesitated in eating him instead lifting him to his eyes to have a closer look at the little man.
"What do you mean?"
"I have come here disatisfied. I seek a sight of perfect magic and until I see it I shall remain disatisfied. Now when it comes to food there is nothing more unsatisfying to the stomach than a meal that is disatisfied but wait a little and then I shall be thoroughly happy and much better for eating!" The troll mulled these words over in his head.
"What is it you are looking for then?"
"I do not know, but place me atop your head and I shall have a view much better to find it with." The troll paused in hesitation but ultimately complied, placing Lupani atop his head and looking about, curious as to what the little man was looking for.
Now as Lupani looked around for what made the valley so special thoughts ran through his head as to how he might escape. He was afraid as he had never been before, uncertain as to how he might deal with this foul beast. It was to great to drop into the crevasse and too tall to have any hope of drowning it. As these thoughts ran madly around his head the descending sun caught his eye. Falling from sight it crept between a gap in two of the surrounding mountains that made up the walls of the valley, and as it did so its scarlet light licked at the cliffs, its crystal beams bounced off of the waters of the ponds, a gentle breeze rippled across the canopy of the forest and for a moment it looked as if the trees gave out a collective sigh, a small flight of birds flew through the light and for a matter of seconds dark spots fluttered across the image of brightness. And as he gazed into this sunset all other thoughts fled from out of his mind leaving but a single one that he felt compelled to speak aloud.
"That. That is true magic."
For a moment there was silence but this was quickly followed by comprehension. The troll, realising what he had just heard reached up to grab Lupani and Lupani realising what he just said jumped off of its head. Hitting the ground he broke into a run, moving like a rabbit between the trees fleeing from the great thumping footsteps of the troll which, though he could not see, he knew pursued him. Darting through the darkness he moved to the mountains all the while knowing his hunter was catching up with him. As a great hand reached down to grab him Lupani leapt onto the cliffs, landing amidst an outcrop of jagged stones.
Roaring the troll brought a fist down upon the cliffs, smashing stones but giving himself a bloody hand in the process. Darting up away from the swinging fists Lupani crossed onto a higher ridge level with the eyes of his pursuer.
"Stop! I shall eat you little beast!"
Remembering his last encouter with a troll Lupani spread his hands making a dazzling display of light in his enemies eyes. Just as before the troll was blinded and lifted its hands up to its sore eyes but this time Lupani would not run. Leaping down he imagined vines and shaped his magic into a long length of rope. Running about the legs of the troll he tied it to one foot and then circled his foe again and again. The troll stumbled blindly about in anger and many times it almost trod upon little Lupani nearly crushing him beneath its great clumsy feet. As it regained its senses it became more and more aware that it was stumbling yet try as it might it could not correct itself, is legs being by now bound together by the ropes. As it stumbled to and fro its movements became more and more hazardous until finally it could stand no more and tripped falling face first upon the cliffs.

As the dust settled Lupani examined the form of his enemy from afar, keeping a safe distance lest the beast get back up. But, after a few minutes he became aware of a protrusion of rock that erupted from the back of the Trolls head. Mighty as the troll was the earth itself had maimed him with its fangs. The beast dead Lupani turned and headed back into the valley, wondering when he would recieve his reward from the mysterious stranger.

[White Blade]

Haeleth,
The Obsidian Jungle
Age Approximately Sixteen
For some time, Haeleth wandered the wood, testing himself against the beasts. He would fight them bare-handed, whether they were predators or prey, he would run down the elk, he would rend the wolves, and he fought increasingly dangerous fights against more and more monstrous creatures. In time, his strength had grown great as his will and he rose from his battles. He knew he needed an artifact of his parents, so he headed for Grandmother Spider. He did not know where she was, of course, but it was said that she found those who had need enough of her to seek her den.

He wandered a small way and came upon one of the rare oases in the Jungle and without meaning to he caught sight of his reflection. There, staring back at him, was a man with long hair flowing from the top of his head. He was frightened, however, by the hair which seemed to be growing all across his body, which he had never thought to notice till then. There was hair on the posterior of his arms and in the place where his elbows' closed. There was hair on his chest, thick and unsettling, and hair on his chin and face, also bright and blond. And he thought to himself, "I have become as Ionas, for I fight bare handed, and my skin sprouts fur. Surely I will become a beast as he has become, lest I turn back now and leave this place, and seek not the council of the animal lords."

And then he considered again, and reminded himself he would never stop the dragon from killing more innocents or retrieve the burning bright diamonds for the fire if he did not press onward. So he wrestled with the choice for a long moment before deciding that Ionas had gone wrong in his behavior, not his face. Truly, he resolved, it is better to be a good animal than a bad man. And so he marched onward in search of Grandmother Spider's den.

The walk was not too long of one, for blood and fear are the things which Grandmother Spider seeks. He found himself quickly in a wholey different part of the jungle, where the canopy of trees intertwined and he could not see the sun. He walked, though his feet found no place to put themselves by sight, and it took great trepidation to move. The whole of the place was silent, unnerving. It crept into the breadth of the place and Haeleth was sorely afraid.

And the he heard a voice, as harsh as daggers on bone, "Oh, if it isn't the little child that bested Ionas, why are you here, meddler in my works?"

Haeleth gulped at that, it had not occurred to him that Spider would be angry for his deeds, I have come seeking a possession of my father's which I have heard you have, at this he paused before saying, But I have not come empty handed, I have brought a gift, to give you for your aid in regaining my family's possession.

There was a long silence then, and Haeleth almost spoke before the spider replied, "And what is this gift, little one?"

A necklace, lovely spider, that will make you more agile than you are even now. Haeleth replied, his voice even, though he himself was petrified by fear.

"You are a brave little one, aren't you? Why have you not fled yet, I wonder? What makes you need your father's cloak so badly?"

Haeleth hesistated, should he tell her the truth? No. She might return to the house and devour his family. A half-truth then, he decided, though he was not clever with words as Rafe and Rahn, Oh, lovely spider, I have lived long with a tribe but when I went to slay a dragon, I failed. His claws were too sharp, his wings too mighty, and he brought me low. But he did not kill me. Instead, he hunted down the tribe with whom I dwelt, whom I loved as my kindred, and now, I fear he will do so again, should he see me amidst the company of mortals. So I wish to slay this dragon.

"Hmmm.... Hmmm... Well, I will be honest with you then, the cloak has little enough use to me, for I can barely lift it. Your father was cunning when he offered it to me as a trade. But you offer me a gift I can use, one that will make me mightier than I already am. Does this not frighten you? Are you not afraid?" the Animal Lady inquired, her rage seeming to increase.

Haeleth felt the cords of fear tightened around his heart, he almost trembled and fell to his knees in terror. But no. Haeleth was no captive to fear, No. he replied.

The spider wailed at this, and the fear shrank like cobwebs from his heart. He realized, then, that it had been an enchantment, a trick of the spider to drive him to weakness. Fear, he discovered, is not always true. "Fine! Fine, it is a deal. Present the necklace and you may have the cloak, you have my word."

So Haeleth lifted the necklace clutched in one hand, and his other hand was extended and open. He caught the feeling of a taught cloak, as he felt something grasp the necklace. He let go and grasped onto the cloak with both hands and it seemed impossibly heavy and burdensome. But it was his, now. He lifted it, and put it on, and went out from the place.

And when he came again into the light of the sun, he looked at the cloak. It was a heavy thing, built for the cold, and pitch black like the darkest night. It was heavy and prickly and thoroughly uncomfortable. And yet, Haeleth was certain nothing could surpass it. It would keep him safe against fire and against cold, against anything. And it was made for a purpose such as his, to hunt the most dangerous of beasts and to defend the sacred family. Yes. This was his father's cloak, and he was proud to wear it.

[Nefarion Xid]

The Courtship of the Earthmother, as told by Reku, Turtle Lord

When the world was still very young, long before High Father and Earth Mother had wed, she was known by her loving attendants only as The Lady. And she had many suitors. All spirits and monsters desired her, as did the handsome and cunning prince of the sky. And all fought bitterly for her favor. While she fancied the prince, she knew she must pick a mate who was not only the smartest, but kindest and most attentive. So, to end the fighting, she devised a contest and called all her suitors to her.

Many exquisite crystal vials she had created from the depths of the earth did she lay before her suitors, one for each. The contest was simple, she would marry whomever returned with the most precious gift for her in his vial. Such a tiny thing, wondered the suitors, how could anything good fit in there? But, they all consented and went to look for something that would impress the Lady.

Some returned with bits of food stuffed into their vials and the lady laughed softly. Sustenance was precious indeed, but not what she was looking for. Many returned with the blood of terrible and vile foes they had slain in her honor. She agreed that the world was better without these monsters, but their blood itself was scarcely off value to her. Vials came filled with fireflies and shiny stones and pure magic. But she desired none of these.

Guileful Fox dramatically presented his vial which contained nothing at all. He smiled and said that her errand was a trick and that nothing was most precious, and that she should marry him because he was the only creature sharp enough to know her game. She laughed hardest of all at Fox, who never quite recovered from the embarrassment, though few are old enough to remember his folly.

At least, the Sky Prince gave the Lady his vial which contained only clear water. He did not smile or boast, as he was not certain at all if she would like it. Curious and disappointed, she opened the stopper and to her surprise a geyser of water shot into the air and drenched all present when it fell back to the earth. She giggled and replaced the stopper, but was further surprised when she found that the vial was still full of water. She opened it again and again it rained on everyone. The vial yet remained full. Bashfully, the prince told her that it would never run dry and that he thought it was a clever way for the Lady to water her plants. The prince had given up his own power over rain for his love.

She opened the bottle again and they kissed for a long time beneath the rain.

To your beloved, give freely of yourself and neither expect nor demand anything in return. It also doesn't hurt to pay attention to her interests and hobbies!

Continuing Part 4 of the Tale of the Thief

"And that's why it hasn't rained since she vanished? The vial is missing?" Asked Rafe after obediently sitting through story time with the old turtle.

"Hmph! It hasn't been nearly that long, no." Reku scolded. "But somehow Gaba, that's eh, that's Gaba-gaba-ko-koro-ko, the Frog Lord's full name. Somehow he got his webby little fingers on it. Used to use it all the time, but now he hasn't in... well, since before I got stuck like this!"

"You mean you were sleeping in the mud when the river dried up and didn't notice?" Asked Rafe, having pieced together Lord Reku's predicament some time ago.

Staring daggers at Rafe, the turtle snapped back snidely, "Well, don't act as if you've never napped through something important! Least you only missed dinner. I'm the one with a willow tree sticking out his back, aren't I!? Least they tell me it's a willow."

"So aaaall I have to do," began Rafe, fixing the rambling turtle with his eyes, "Is get the vial from the frog and use it to wash away the hill and free you? And then you're my servant and I get to keep the power over rain?"

"Vassal! There's a difference you know! But yes, if you got your hands on the vial, it would be your birthright!"

Rafe was beaming, but hid his bright eyes beneath his cowl. It wasn't fire, but he could restore the river. It would be his river. And if he was riding a giant turtle, who would question that? No one, that's who.

"Questions?" prodded Reku.

"What does Gabagabako... what does the Frog Lord's name mean?"

"It means frogs talk an awful lot but say very little."

"That's true of most creatures," said Rafe thoughtfully.

"Yes well, no more questions? Get on with it then! You'd think I'd have grown quite patient being stuck under a hill. I haven't! I'm pissed off is what I am!"

Begging the turtle to be calm with upraised hands, Rafe retreated toward the lake and began his search for the frog lord and his father's betrothal gift.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Marwaen
Being of the Fourth Parable of Blood

And so it was that the god-child followed her brother, trustingly, into the woods; he had received guidance of the spirits of the dead, which she had seen when his foot bore a wolf low upon the earth. Though she did not understand why her brother saw these things, nor why he had such hold over he spirit to threaten cutting into it like it was flesh, she saw no reason to disbelieve her own eyes. And besides, Anghau had never steered her wrong before. Why would he do so now?

A day passed, and they slept, and were up with the rising of the sun. The forest had grown a bit more jungle-like in their travels, but Marwaen had thought nothing of it...not until mid-morning, when a sudden sharp pain on the back of her head and loud, chittering laughter made her swear and spin about, sword ready.

...Only there was no one there.

A moment later, she realized why, as a rotted apple struck her in the face; the god-child shrieked in fury and swept it away as she turned her eyes up to the trees.

"Who dares?!? Who dares to do such a thing to a child of the High Father?!?"

More chittering laughter. "Dares, dares, who dares, we do, stupid hairless thing, no child of the gods no, ugly and useless ground-walker!"

Another piece of fruit comes flying out of the trees, and Marwaen dodges with an ill grace. She cannot climb like Lupani or Afein; she is not clever with her tongue like Rafe. And anger fills her, anger at these creatures she sees now through the leaves, hairy and disproportionate with curled tails and their faces--oh! She could scream with rage at them!

...But no. To scream would be to give in to what they wish. They wish for her to be angry, they wish for her to rail fruitlessly against their nimble-bodied movements in the trees, to weary herself in a pointless battle that she could never win.

"Earth-bound, hide-bound, boring and pointless and worthless, what's the matter? Not like monkey-folk, tree-clan, just like others, can't come up! Give us your pretty things, give us your pretty white thing, give it to us!"

Her sword? These cheeky creatures desired her sword? She would never give such a precious thing to them! The god-child turns and leaves the path, and for once she does not care if her brother follows; the chittering of the monkey-people rings in her ears, and she breathes deep. She finds a place to hide, amongst the undergrowth, where she will not be noticed, and she waits.

For three days she waits, for another creature to pass this way. For surely the monkey-kind must harass everyone who traverses this path, and not just her. Cunning child! She thinks that everyone is connected, as she is connected to her family. All creatures have family, she thinks, a people, a place to go home to. If there are others being harassed by the monkey-people, why should she not find them? Why should she not offer up the secrets of tree-climbing, of ambush, of weapon-making, to destroy the monkey-people?

Three days the god-child sits in the dirt, hardly moving, never sleeping; at the end of the third day, her perseverance is rewarded, for a jackal-man comes prowling through the trees, and shouts curses up at the monkey-kind, who howl with laughter and throw fruit, and stones, and sticks. And she follows this jackal-man, child, and he is too angry to notice that he is being trailed, and he leads that vicious god-child straight to his village. He strides in, and she lingers on the outskirts, and begins to form a plan.

"I need spears..."

[OverThoughtName]

Afein
The Black Forest

"Lo and behold the kindness of the Black," whispered Huginn, intent on his vigil. During the long months of travel, the crow had taken her under his wings. She was an innocent thing, and such were easily broken in the corruption of the forest. His lessons were not meant to break her, indeed, why break when one can still mold? He knew he had to show her the truth of this world like the fledgling she was.

Afein moved quietly now, though still quite far from what Rafe. would consider quiet. Through the limbs and leaves of the branch she stood upon, it was easy to tell what Huginn had meant. Five poles stood in the ground, three of them which attended by snake-men, though only their faces and voices retained that manlike quality in them. Those poles had tied to them a man of the Reddest Song, a tribe of the Cardinals. Unlike the snakemen, these servents of the Animal Lords were still recognizably human, though the leftmost one was becoming less so as his feathers were torn out. Only then did Afein see what was next to the other two pillars, two more almost-serpents who had looked more like logs until now. Bloated with corpses, they were resting after their meal.

"See what the 'Prince of Air' does to us? See how weak he makes us? These men would never have been caught if they weren't half-starved, and now their nests will starve and wither, too. Know what happens in the Black, child, is not due to 'feelings' and 'morals,' but greed and hunger. Together, they make a poison strong enough to strangle the world."

"We need to save them," Afein whispered hurriedly, "They don't have long!"

"Us against three slithering beasts? What weapons do you have, what advantage do you hold over them, fledgling? We'd be torn apart. You must know your limits." She hated it, but his words were obviously true. Still determined to save them, she turned from the scene and thought.

By the time she turned back, there was but one cardinal left. She hurriedly told Huginn her plan, then jumped out of the tree and began stomping into the clearing. "Snake-monster!" she yelled, "Slithering abomination! Lowly beast of the forest floor! I, daughter of the Earthmother, say to you to stop and leave at once!" Grabbing a rock from behind her back, she lopped it at the snake, missing horribly, but at least getting her point across.

The snake, eyeing his skin and bones prey and the girl alternatively, one was vaguely dangerous to be left alone, the other looked far more tasty. Looking around the camp at his vaguely writhing companions, he decided on the tasty. Had he not been the best hunter? Did they not trust him to eat last? He could deal with the last bird thing whenever he got back from this meal. Thus began the chase.

After months of practice, Afein was much better at running through the woods. She dashed, zigzagged, jumped, and sprinted her way through the trees, all while making notes of her path in her head. She held her own with the snake, even if he knew the paths better than she, but he did not give up the chase.

Eventually, the pair circled back to the clearing. Afein rushed up a tree on the far side, and the serpent began to follow, that is, until she spoke, "Look behind, you, undulant fool! Look at your companions and how they squirm now!" Thinking a trick, the man-faced snake sneered at her and kept moving up the tree, until he had an epiphany. Why run through forest and brush to escape just to return from where you came? Glancing back, his eyes saw a gruesome sight.

Each of his tribe mates had been stripped of their heads, their bodies flayed and disemboweled. Their meals were neatly and ceremoniously placed in a line near the edge of the clearing. And his meal? Gone from the pole. Looking back up, he opened his mouth so as to speak, but what he saw next startled him out of it.

Where Afein had stood, there was now the hunter of the cardinal tribe. His weapons broken and trampled, he held only a stone. Not an overly large one, his starved state couldn't support one any larger, but large enough to make a satisfying crunch in between him dropping it and it hitting the ground.

The meal that evening was good. Afein partook, for Huginn truly had taught her this lesson. Eat or starve and be eaten. Stringing the extra slabs of meat up to dry, Afein went to the sole survivor of her rescue attempt, a man who was commending his friends' spirits onward on their path. "Vreis, are you okay?" Perhaps by listening like Bran, she could help comfort him.

"Child, if only you could understand. My friends have truly fallen from the sky now, my brothers will not fly again. I cannot even get them a proper funeral, for my flight feathers were torn. I'll have to run far to tell their families..." He shifted his talons and looked at Afein,

"But first, your friend told me of your endeavor. Strange for a crow to tell something so secret without payment, but I assume he realized we... I would hate Voland as much as the rest of you. I wish I could join you, child, but it cannot be so. Instead, for the life you gave me, I offer to raise as many of my kind as I find on my journey, as many hunters that can be spared."

Such a sad man, Afein thought as she watched him depart. Turning herself and walking towards camp, her enmity for the Prince of Air only grew.

[The_Snark]

The Hearth-Tender's Tale
Part 3

You've been very patient with this story so far, and I think it's time to tell one of the exciting bits, lest you think that Brisanne's story is nothing but loneliness and humdrum melancholy. Here is a thing that happens not too long after her siblings leave.

It's night, and the moon is barely a sliver in the sky, like an eye almost all the way shut. Brisanne has long since retired inside to huddle in her little circle of flickering firelight, and its drowsy warmth is lulling her to sleep.

Sssssshhhhhffff—!

She startles back to wakefulness at the sound. Did she dream it, she wonders? It would not be the first time she dreamed of someone coming home. But she goes to the window to look anyway, just in case.

It is terribly dark outside. The shadows beneath the trees are thick as molasses and twice as opaque, but the sleepy moon sends down just enough light for her to see the glade. A great black shape stands there, big as a house, its gait hunched and prowling. Whether it is bear or boar or wolf or something stranger still, I cannot say -- Brisanne sees it only a moment before she jerks back from the window in fright. She moves swiftly to the fireplace and hangs a blanket in front of it to cover up the light, and then moves to the corner and keeps deathly still. The weak light through the window is blotted out as the Thing approaches the house. Her breathing sounds terribly loud in her ears, so loud she is sure it must hear. (She can surely hear its breath, snorting and snuffling as it circles the house.) Something scrapes against the wall, and she imagines its bulk pressed up against the house with fur all a-bristle. Oh, how terrible the claws she cannot see! How fearsome the beast of her mind's eye!

After a brief eternity, the Thing sighs, a great guffling sound that rustles the leaves on the trees, and soon its heavy footsteps fade away into the nighttime noises. It is out of our story and will not return, but of course Brisanne doesn't know that. For days afterwards she sleeps poorly and wakes in fear, and I do not think the memory of it ever really leaves her. She has always known that there are monsters in the wood; but it is one thing to know, and quite another to see it.

[Nefarion Xid]

The Tale of the Thief
Part 5: The Thief in the Court of the Frog Lord

From a distance, Rafe watched the life of the great lake and was long in study. When he had learned all he could of their movement, speech and form, he tugged on his the hood of his cloak and fashioned two dimples for eyes and made the brim into a wide froglike grin. No, it won’t work for you if you try, and that’s because you are not such a cunning rogue as he. Even his siblings wouldn’t have known he was not one of the big frogs of the lake, and frogs are not nearly so observant as the gods. And yes, the kin of the old frog lord where almost all as big as a boy and some quite a bit bigger. It is good that you ask questions like that, it means you're paying attention!

Paddling out to the island in the middle of the lake with long kicks, Rafe came to where the frogs congregated each evening. They crawled out of the water when the air grew cool and always came here with the fish they caught each day and the pearls they liberated from the clams in the deep. They yammered about their adventures that day and relaxed by eating and smoking on their long pipes, but most importantly, they came to play games. Oh, some played friendly games with stones on a grid, but most frogs had little patience for games like that. More importantly, frogs are greedy creatures. They crowded around the game masters and placed their bets while dice clattered into old clam shells and pearls vanished beneath shuffled cups. The winners bloated themselves up and croaked incessantly while the losers slunk back into the water to find something new to wager.

Moving towards the center of the island, Rafe helped himself to a few unguarded pearls from a fat frog who had far too many in a bulging sack. Here was an inlet where the biggest (and fattest) frog sat in the water drinking tea and smoking from his pipe while beautiful maidens tended to him, feeding him grubs and massaging his bumpy hide. The Lord Frog was as big as a wagon, and despite his tremendous girth, he appeared quite strong. Close at hand he kept his personal treasure piled high in a clam shell and arrayed around him where the best game masters who periodically presented him with his share of their winnings. Though his eyes could not catch them, Rafe knew at once that these game masters were also the best cheats.

Peering cautiously over the high edge of the stone table, a little frog pointed to the cup on the right with a quivering finger. The game master frowned sympathetically and shook his head before turning the cup over to reveal nothing. The little frog clapped his head and wailed as his friends dragged him away from the table. The last of his fish were snatched away and deposited in the game master’s collection.

“No one else today? You’re all losers! Can’t win if you don’t play! Why catch this fish yourself? This is the easy way! ” asked the game master while waving a shiny trout around before tossing it behind him to land in his master’s open mouth. Gabagabakokoroko croaked out a dark laugh and gestured to his servants for the slime to be wiped from his lips.

Rafe hopped up to the table while noisily rubbing the pearls together in his hand. If he guessed right, his mother’s vial must be in the treasure of the frog lord and thought he could easily win it by playing their games. The game master, knowing he had much to win, smiled warmly and turned over all three of his cups to remind everyone there was nothing suspicious about their design (there wasn’t) and implored Rafe to follow closely as he slammed the cups down with one pearl between them and shuffled them about the table… slowly. Rafe won, of course, and added two pearls to his stash. He won again the second game.

You see, when someone has something you want, they will give it to you readily if you have given them a little something first. Both Rafe and the game master knew this.

So, Rafe bet two pearls, croaking obnoxiously about how skilled he was while flashing a handful of wealth to everyone gathered around the table. The game master shuffled quicker this time. But, again, Rafe picked the right cup and the game master feigned frustration while the other frogs cheered on the rogue. “Five pearls!” “Ten!” they cried, hooting at the game master’s misfortune and praising Rafe’s skill.

“Ten it is!” laughed Rafe, dumping the lot into the wooden bowl on the table. The game master looked back to his lord who nodded slyly while puffing on his pipe. Round and round the cups went as quick as he could manage and in the flurry, faster than any could see, the pearl beneath skittered out and vanished into the game master’s big hand. Folding his arms smugly, the game master gestured to Rafe to choose. Quick as the frog, the 11th pearl in Rafe’s palm rolled into place under the cup in the instant he snatched it from the table.

“Ha ha, better luck next time friend!” squealed the game master reaching for the bowl. Then his eyes fell on the pearl on the table, and then to the one in the palm of his hand. With silent outrage he counted out Rafe’s winnings. What could he do but pay up? Rafe had cheated, but he had no way of exposing him without exposing himself.

Lord Frog roared with laughter from his pond. It had been a long time since one of his game masters had been beaten so soundly. “Come here young one,” he commanded mirthfully, “And tell me your name.”

Rafe deposited his winning safely on his person before hopping towards the great frog and bowing low. “My name,” he began with a grin, “Is… Pakapakamokumokurapakukokoro!” All the frogs assembled gasped in awe at the tremendous (and well practiced) name! Anyone with a name so long must be very important they reasoned.

[Raz_Fox]

The Merchant's Tale
Being A Story Concerning Rahn, Set Within The Black Forest
Part 7

There is a place in the tall mountains where the Makutakec live, the eaters of flesh. They are tall, and sharpen their teeth - all the better to eat disobedient children with! - and this is the story of how they die. (Yes, it's Rahn's fault again, child. No, they deserve it. Hush, child, and listen!)

We open this story as Rahn and Izek and Meku walk away from the village of the Makutakec. Izek is limping, and Meku has a strip of bark tied about his arm, blood matting his dirty dark fur, and Rahn has a beaten face and torn clothes.

Izek says, "Blessed be the spirits of rue and moly, that our lady be a songbird."
And Meku says, "That even the carrion-eaters of the mountains know the power of song and words."
Listen - the screeched song that now belongs to the Makutakec carries on the wind. "Keythong was a merry beast, its feathers all a-quiver; it did fall headlong in a pit, and now does serve as our dinner!" It goes on for several more verses, all along the same gruesome lines.
Rahn smiles - not the happy smile of someone who's glad to know their clan is safe, but the cruel grin of someone who's envisioning someone else's suffering in the future. "Come along," she says out of the right side of her mouth, "We've got to move quick, before they decide that keeping a deal is for people who don't eat travelers alive."

Sure enough, the Hajal cat is waiting for them only a few miles off, pacing back and forth, and the Ana cling to its sides and sit within its wide skin-windows. Twei runs out, embracing Meku, who grunts in pain as she jostles his injured arm.

"What do you wish us to do, Tatterdemalion?" asks Tzek - for that is the nonsense-name they have for her, one she made herself. She'd called herself the tattered lion, and then Tatterdemalion, and it fit the junk-market she'd been building, over the course of miles - but now, I'm losing track of our story.
"Nothing," she replies, "Nothing and naught. Ill fortune will come their way soon enough, if fate is any judge, though sometimes I doubt its virtue. No need to help them along, in any case."

So she hangs the twisted fetishes of the Makutakec from the ears of the cat, and as it travels up the mountains, nothing attacks it. Up it goes, until the bare trees turn red-gold-brown, and Rahn knows that what she's looking for is here. (What? You want me to just tell you what it is? No, that would be too easy, far too easy. Guess!)

By now, she's changed into a new coat of rotting deerskin and hung twisted oak-twigs from her ears, and anointed herself in the scent of the mountain-orchid. A long bone sickle is thrust through her belt of rusted bronze, and she carries tokens of carved bone. She looks like some queen of the junk-heaps, a lady of the exotic and the ruined, the Tatterdemalion standing proud with an artful grin.

So the cat comes to a brook, a clear mountain stream, and she scratches it behind the ears and asks it to stop, for she's got to cross the river alone. It's the rules - you have to do this alone if you want to truly succeed. She wades through the cold, fresh stream in her bare feet, and then waves farewell to the cat. If she survives what is to come, she'll see it again. If not- she doesn't want to think about it, and I don't think you should dwell overlong on it either. It's rather upsetting to think about the cat running free mourning forever, isn't it? (That's the kind of cheerful little story that bitter people call real, but that's not how the world truly runs, child. Remember that.)

She walks upwards, occasionally clambering up steep inclines, breathing in deep of the fresh, cold, living air about her. The world is quiet in this place, which is rare enough for her. And soon enough she comes to the gaping mouth of a cave, which is dark, grim, lined with yellow aged bones. She does not shudder, does not falter, but continues forward, without fear.

The cave is filled with shadows and light streaming in from above, the two mingling together to produce a brilliant chiaroscuro. Set within a pillar of light, on the farthest edge of the cave, there is a pedestal of stone, intricately carved into the shape of two hands. Held within these hands is a crown, made from twisted leaves and thorns, thin titian wood and glittering blood-hued rubies. A forgotten birthright, a lost treasure, hidden away in the high mountains.

Her hand drifts to the sickle's hilt as she walks forward, her rough boots leaving prints in the fine sand that covered the cave's floor, occasionally bumping against a fragment of bone which would rattle away. She knows that nothing is ever free, and that only a fool would leave something so potent unguarded. One word, derived from the map that Magpie had so jealously guarded: Keythong. What it was, she did not know, but her imagination supplies a host of vicious, misshapen beasts, and stealthy, shadowed assassins, living keys and outraged dragons. Her heart beats quick in her chest, which is why she almost screams when it lazily says to her, "Good morning."
She turns, seeing it lounging atop an outcropping of rock. It is massive - not the size of the Hajal cat, mind you, but still larger than any beast has a right to be. Its leonine sides are brassy, rippling with tightly-controlled strength and terrifying majesty, and its aquiline head is proud and brightly-feathered. Its talons are long and wickedly sharp, and its beak could crack boulders with ease. Its eyes are not cruel, but absolutely merciless all the same. "Not a conversationalist, eh? Well, of course, your typical thief isn't a man of many words, or, as in this ever-so-slightly interesting case, a woman of many words. I do my best, you know, but every conversation boils down to screams and pleadings for me to cease devouring them, which would unfortunately be a breach of divine contract, and I can't conduct a fascinating discussion on a variety of subjects all by myself, which I haven't truly had for a few centuries. Well? Speak up, girl! Something, anything other than 'would you awfully mind it if I removed the Crown of Briars' or 'please don't eat me', both of which became boring and, to be frank, disgustingly trite centuries ago."
She looks the beast in the eyes, thinking quickly, and then asks, "How long have you been here, Keythong? How long have you been stuck in this – well, apologies, but rather dreary and uninviting place? You can't really be made for this kind of environment."
The Keythong perks up at this, tilting its head quizzically and looking up to the ceiling. "Why, I do believe that is a question that I have never been asked before! Good girl. Now, the answer to that is simply: since the Crown was set here by High Father, who ordered yours truly to the express purpose of guarding it until he returned to reclaim it. Since then, I have remained here - I only need to eat every few centuries, thank heaven. So, please, don't think of your eminent demise as a burden, think of it as the gift of inner peace, given to me until the next foolish treasure-hunter appears."
Rahn thinks for a moment, and then asks it, "Do you want to go back outside? See the sunshine, chase some wild boars, splash in the streams, feel the wind beneath you again? Because, honestly, that must be a very, very long time to sit around in a cave."
It laughs. "Much as a fish wishes that it could fly! Unfortunately, I have been charged to keep the crown safe and secure until my employer returns. So I must rely on this second-hand sunlight and dream idly of the hunting on the mountain slopes and the splashing in the cold mountain streams. Such a sorrowful thing, isn't it, to crave only that which one cannot have. Wouldn't you agree?"
Rahn nods her head quickly. "Oh, indeed, it's a terrible thing to want only that which one cannot have, which is why I always set my sights on things I know I can get. Now, I believe that we can help each other - I want to stay alive, because, honestly, I'm quite certain that being eaten hurts, and you want to keep this crown safe while simultaneously obeying the call within the heart of every true hunter. Therefore, I propose that I would guard the crown for you for a few days, give or take a few, while you take the chance to go hunting and frolicking and whatever-it-is-Keythongs-do beneath a real sky. In return, you'd let me go free on your return, and we'd go our merry ways."
The Keythong thinks for but a moment, looking up again, and then laughs. "Oh, oh, you are most amusing! Really, that's the worst plan I've ever heard! What's to stop you from walking away with the crown while I'm away? Nothing! No, I think that I'd rather eat you, all things considered."
"Wait," she says, frantically, laughing nervously and smiling all the wider, "I can swear it upon my name and yours! There's power, you know, on both ends of the bargain." She holds out her gloved hand, gesturing for it to take it. "Here - I swear, upon the name of Rahn and that of the Keythong, that I will protect the Crown of Briars while you're away, and that I will not leave this place until you return, and further that I shall not touch the Crown while you are away on the hunt. In return, I ask only that I be allowed to leave this place peacefully and never return, or speak of its location to any, whether they be man or beast. Is this acceptable?"
Now, if you know what you want out of a deal, and you know what others want, you can attain whatever you want. That's Rahn's way. So the Keythong envelopes her hand with its talons, and agrees.

Seven days pass, in which Rahn variously practices her latent talents with magic, amplified slightly by the presence of the Crown of Briars – but still not enough to produce more than the smallest of effects – starving, running about the cave, going insane, deciding that it's not really worth her time to slip any further into insanity, and singing quietly to herself. She is patient. That's the trick to a good con, see. Patience. Even if your blood's afire and you can't sleep for long, disturbed by nightmares every time you try, patience is still key. But on the morning of the eighth day, the Keythong returns, its gut full and its fur and feathers shining. You can hardly see any of the blood anymore, imagine! And so it says to her, with what might have been a smile on any other face, "I see you've kept your end of the bargain, my dear, and so will I. Alas, I highly doubt that anyone so entertaining will pass my way again, but the deal must be kept. So, go ahead, run, skip merrily, flee from this place and spread legends about the guardian of the Crown of Briars, if you would be so kind."
And Rahn just smiles like a snake, and stands – brushing the sand and dust from her clothes – and carefully walks over to the Crown. The Keythong quizzically tilts its head, and then screeches, "What are you doing, you foolish girl? You swore not to touch it!"
Rahn's grin is sharp and wicked. "I honestly swore not to touch it while you were out hunting, if you remember." She picks it up, pricking her fingers on the briars as she wraps them around the wood, and places it upon her head.



She walks by the water's edge, illuminated only by the setting sun. Everything is orange-blue-black, even her. Her footprints are washed away behind her by the cold tide, coming in- out- in- almost silently.
It's cold. Sun's going down.
"Why?" She asks, and Rahn doesn't turn to look. "Why, big sister?"
"Because I was a coward," she says, without malice, without rancor. "I was so afraid."
They walk for a while, Rahn shivering in the wind, but looking straight ahead ceaselessly. She can't look back.
"Why?" She asks, and Rahn doesn't turn to look. "Why should you be like Father, like Mother?"
"Because then I wouldn't have to- so that I could get whatever I wanted." The lie rings hollow. They both know it.
They walk for a while, in long steady shadows. Rahn doesn't turn, but she knows.
"Why?" She asks, and Rahn doesn't turn to let her see. "Why won't you let me forgive you?"
"Because I don't deserve- I don't need it. I had to do it." The lie rings hollow. They both know it.
"One day, you'll walk out to sea."
"Yeah. Not today."
"They're waiting for you. Father. Mother." Rahn stops, letting the wind blow over her, the sea to lap up against her legs. "Will you make them proud?"
Now, at this, Rahn turns. Rahn's standing there now, all black-hair and arrogance, beautiful-skinned and perfect. They face each other, and Rahn says simply, "I could have been you. But I'm not. I can't- there's no going back. Can't change what's done."
"Then accept that. Why am I here now?"
"Because I'm selfish and foolish. Because I want things back the way they used to be. Because I'm afraid of what comes next."
She nods. "Then let me go, Tatterdemalion. Beautiful, oh-so-wise Rahn. Let me go."
"It hurts."
"Yes. It does."
"Is this the price of divinity?"
"This is the price of being grown-up. This is the price of your own making. Will you pay it?"
Rahn nods. "That's who I am, after all." She looks, sees smiling beautiful Mata, an unblemished Rahn, Father and Mother. She watches them, her, walk out to sea, until it swallows them up and everything's orange-black and silent. She doesn't follow. She lies down, and cries until her heart cannot wring out any more, then stands and wipes away a last tear, not angrily, but wearily.
"That is who I am, after all." And she walks up the bank, and into the shadows of the night, leaving the sun and sea behind her.


She looks the Keythong in the eye, her own lit from within. "And so our deal is happily and luckily concluded," she says, her voice – for but a moment – echoing strangely in the vast cavern. "I have kept my end of the deal, and you yours, to a satisfactory degree. I'll leave, and never tell a soul where the crown lay, and everything will be just fine."
"No!" It screams. "It belongs to the High Father, and it must be kept here! I swore!"
"Well, to be honest, when he comes back, I'd be happy to return it. But until then, I believe that it'd be much better suited for my possession." She laughs, merrily, mockingly. "So, until that day, farewell- farewell- and farewell!" Thus saying, she bows, and then passes it by.
"I swore, too, that you would leave this place peacefully," it says with unnatural calm after her, turning to follow her. "So I must ask: how fast can you run?"
"Oh, I'm fast," she replies. "And I'm far more clever than you. After all – where is 'this place', exactly?"
The Keythong thinks for a moment, looking up to the ceiling, before replying, thoughtfully, "That's an excellent question. It could refer to the area about my cave, in which case I would need to wait for you, or it could simply refer to my cave, in which case I would be free to devour you the minute you left. Upon reflection, when we made the deal, we clearly intended for it to be the second, and as such I'm afraid that I will have to kill you now." It looks back to Rahn – or, rather, the place where Rahn had been a moment ago.

It screams in fury at being tricked again, and gives chase.

As it nears her, Rahn takes up the white-bone sickle and cuts her hand open to the bone. She casts her hand over the banks of the clear mountain stream she crosses, and immediately black-red foliage begins to grow, briars and thorns and entangling vines, from one end of the stream to the other. That is why that stream is called the Bloody River to this day. So the Keythong forces its way through it, slowly and painfully, and then catches her trail again - for it is very swift of foot, and possesses a fine sense of scent, so that Rahn's perfuming stands out like a trail of blood.
As it nears her again, Rahn discards her wrappings, running bloody bare-foot down the mountain trails. And as the Keythong passes between them, the earth at its feet shatters and splinters, sending it falling headlong, incapable of regaining its footing until it claws its way out of the broken earth. That is why that mountainside is called the Shattered Foot to this day. So the Keythong forces its way out of the shattered earth, and continues on, following her down the mountainside.
As it nears her again, she runs through the dwelling-places of the Makutakec, who sing loudly and raucously the song that she had given them as payment. And as the Keythong hears their mocking song at its expense, it flies into a rage, and then it is too late for the Makutakec to run as Rahn is running. And that is why there are no more Makutakec in the high mountains, assaulting travelers and eating their flesh. By the time the Keythong finishes, its claws crimson and its beak bloody, Rahn is nowhere to be seen. It follows her trail until it finds the place where the trail ends, the ground marked by dozens of paw-prints.

So it follows as best as it could, but it's slower than the Hajal cat, and possessed of far less magic. Maybe one day it will catch up with her, but perhaps on that day she'll trick it again.

That is how Rahn, the Tatterdemalion, became a god, and the bearer of the Crown of Briars, wielder of potent magics and secrets whispered into her ear by the sharp thorns. That is how Rahn, daughter of High Father, took up her destiny in both hands, not caring if it made her suffer.

(That's what growing-up is, after all.)

[OverThoughtName]

Afein
Court of the Sky

It was a strange tree the crows led her towards. Every inch of it was made of stone, as though petrified suddenly, even the leaves. Stranger still were the leaves, however, as, while the wood seemed made of the blackest obsidian, the leaves were translucent, green crystal. Light enough to move in the wind, fragile enough to break in the hand. Strange, this tree. The crows flew to the top to wait, leaving her to enter from the ground. The way was obvious, half the jet-black roots bent towards it. She walked towards it and began to ascend the spiral staircase.

As she reached the top of the stairs, a massive door came into view. It didn't cross her mind as to how odd it was, for had she not just climbed a tree of obsidian? Had the stairs not twice been of the same material? Were the walls not living wood covered in bark and moss, like would be normal for the outside of a tree? Instead, she pushed the door open, caring not for the intricate designs and pictures that adorned it. It grunted, moving slowly, as though it had never been used. Of course, why bother with a staircase when you can fly?

A massive hall was set before her, with a pillar that blocked most the view set almost immediately in front of the doorway. She couldn't quite see the back of the room, but it was clear from the walls, made of live tree limbs interwoven, that it was at least a hundred feet long, maybe two. And the ceiling! It opened directly to the wonderous sky, above the very clouds themselves! The pearlescent, tiled floor made a clop as her sandals struck it. At the first step, all noise in the room stopped. At the second, whispered voices started up in the back of the room and, as she stepped a third time, almost rounding the back of the pillar, a loud voice rang through the hall. "SILENCE!" it demanded, coming from the other side of the pillar. "INTRUDER, COME FORWARD! NOW!" spoke the voice that sounded like twigs breaking.

Afein took her time. This was obviously Blue Lord Voland, self-named Prince of the Air, and her very presence must be enough reason to give him pause. Walking around what she now knew to be the throne, she composed herself, thinking of what she'd say, but the sight of what sat in the seat before her drove all those thoughts from her mind. Yes, it was a bird, if you could call something that large a bird. She had come to challenge something at least six times her size! Looking down at her, the crown around his crest was obvious to see, put there gaudily to show to the world. Silver, bronze, gold, and iron intertwinned beatufully and subtly, as though each a piece of the sky itself, wound it's way around the crown, each seeming to move so great was the craftmanship. "Who are you, PRETENDER?! WHO ARE YOU TO COME THROUGH THAT DOOR?!" screeched the head of the beast underneath that crown. That mesmerizing crown.

"I-My name's Afein," she said, breaking her gaze from the top of his head, "And I've come to challenge you for your throne, Prince of Air." She was becoming bolder, less beholden to the size of the monstrosity in front of her. "And for that crown. I've more right to it than you."

"Oh, is that so? Tell me, can you fly, small thing? Do you have wings I cannot see? Perhaps you can shake your arms faster than Lord of Humming? Tell me, what manner of creature are you that thinks you can take the responsibilities of the Prince of Air?" Each question was punctuated with much guffawing laughter in the background, each time mocking the girl louder and louder.

Afein did hate being mocked, she knew she wasn't as bright as Rafe or Philognos, but she hated for people to point it out and try to make her smaller for it. Neither of those had jumped as high as her, but she didn't think they were worse for it. "I told you, I'm Afein. You don't have any sort of 'responsibilities' to anyone but yourself. You've made others do your work for you! And I might not be able to fly, but I can jump and climb and run faster than you can!" Angrier and angrier she got, because now the laughter kept coming, still mocking the idiot child who dared challenge one of the Animal Lords. "And it's my right because that's my mother's crown! I don't even remember her face, but I know that's her crown!"

The lesser birds kept laughing louder than ever, but Voland became silent. Anger moved him now, and he was out of his throne quick as lightning. A sweep of his wing knocked Afein off her feet and into the wall, cushioned only by the bag on her back. It still hurt worse than anything she'd felt before. "WHO TOLD YOU TO SAY THAT, WORM?! WHICH ONE OF THEM BETRAYED ME?! WHICH LORD LED YOU TO THE DOOR AND OPENED IT FOR YOU?!" By the time she regained her sentence, his beak was right in front of her face, threatening to tear off her head at a moments notice.

"No one!" she squeaked, frightened but not backing down, "I came alone and I opened the door! And I said that because it's the truth! My mother, the Earthmother, wore that crown!" The whole room was silent at that point, even the Prince of Air seemed stunned by her words. Especially the Prince of Air. A look of pure hatred crossed his eyes, but, just as suddenly, he backed away to the throne and set himself on it again.

"Fine," he finally said, after what seemed like eternity, "I accept your challenge as the rules laid before me demand. One challenge of right, one of your choice, and one of mine, best two of three, as the rules decree. Give me a moment to decide my terms." The entirety of the court was shocked, Afein included, but she agreed. After that outburst, she knew she couldn't beat him physically. She prayed and thought of her own terms. She had to beat him.

[Jair Barik]

It did not take long for Lupani to meet his friend. From out of the trees he stepped as before, silent as the night with a smile that glittered in the darkness. He left no tracks where he stepped and no damage to the forest where he passed.
"You have done well Lupani! Truly the reputation of the Godlings is well deserved. And now...for your reward."
Slipping one hand (if hands they were, for Lupani could not see them in the darkness) into his robes the man drew forth a round object wrapped in a cloth of seemingly perfect black. Specks of white gripped to the surface of the cloth like the stars once did to the sky but otherwise it was a material utterly devoid of any colour but that strange colour of the abyss which dwells above. He did not know how long he spent staring into that seeming void of nothing. It was an object of such immense beauty he could not believe this was the gift promised to him. No....the gift, the gift must be what was hidden beneath it.

Shaking himself out of his fascination Lupani smiled and accepted the gift from the stranger in brown.
"I thank you kindly. It was no easy task defeating the trolls that much is true. But I now come to wonder...what name should I call you by?"
"Name? What name to call me by. Well a title is as good as any name and a title I shall give you seen but for a name call me Onis Tentatio."
Lupani arched his eyebrows at this for never before had he heard a name such as this.
"Oh? It is a pretty name. It is not one I would have expected to belong to one such as you."
"Ah but not all appearances fit the name! For you see my name fits me a great deal more than any physical body might and my title fits me better than any name. I am of a lost royalty you see. A king once banished from his own lands."
"I am sorry for your loss sir. What shall become of you now then? Will you live out your life within this little valley of wonder or do you have some other place which you deem worthy to call home?"
"I have a home. It is a place to which I intend to return soon, but enough of me, I thank you for your assistance in this task and I hope you enjoy your gift."

At last Lupani could resist no longer. Carefully unfolding the parcel he felt a stone of sorts within. Perfectly smooth without any chip or flaw, flat without any bend or bump in it. Removing it he held it before himself and, startled, almost dropped it. His eyes wide in utter horror, his hair rippling behind him out of fright his words caught in his throat almost causing him to choke.
"What...what is the meaning of this!"
"It is that which promised you. A point of comparison, accurate without rival, an ugly little truth that no river, no pool of water, no well polished rocj could ever hope to show you. In short, a mirror."
His grip tightened upon the object thick rivulets of blood running along its edges and dripping to the ground where it began to dig deep scars into his fingers.
"No...no.... it is a lie! A lie I say! That is not me. That has never been me!"
The strangers smile widened then turned to a lopsided grin.
"Really? Is that so? Or perhaps the perfection you have long sought is something you have refused to accept in yourself. Think Lupani, to what end would you go in search of something of perfect beauty if you truly believed it could be found in yourself? You are not as ugly or wretched in appearance as I, though maybe in your soul you are, but your beauty that you prize above all else is fraudelent! A falsehood that you have to long prized! See now every imperfection of the skin laid bare, roundness in the face where you desire a straighter figure and a rigid expression where you desire roudness! Lengths of hair untamed or imperfect in that blankness you praised yourself for! You are not ugly Lupani, but you are no sight worthy of praise! The spite grew to rage and the rage to unbridled hate. There was venom in that voice that pierced the air and wilted the trees that surrounded them. From out of the air a bird fell, slain in its flight by that man's voice. Water dried up and rocks cracked.
"Why? Why would you do this to me? Why would you destroy that which I hold dear?" tears ran down Lupani's face at the realisation that he was not that which he had so long aspired to, perfection.
"Do you still not see you vain little fool?! Do you not realise that all I have broken is an illusion? You should thank me really for showing you the truth that you have so long denied! And now...now I leave you to your precious Godhood and retire from this place.
"Who...who are you?"
And now he laughed. How foolish this Godling was, how easily played and tested, how simple it had been to steer him where he could be used.
"My title. Is the Troll king. And now I shall leave you to your present misery." The King moved off into the trees fading into darkness and leaving Lupani to his sorrow.

A year and a day he sat staring into that mirror, despising those flaws he saw within it but unable to bring himself to break its surface. At long last he placed it upon the ground and suddenly realised how deep the gashes ran into his hands. Cleaning them within a nearby pool he realised they might never heal. Another flaw in his broken perfection. Returning to the mirror he realised for the first time that the Troll king had left behind the cloth that had held the object of his desire and his misery. Lifting it up to expect its surface he found that it had remained perfectly clean, devoid of dirt or any other sign of contamination. Turning it over in his hands he marvelled at its mysterious fabric and spread it out to its full length. It was about the size of a travelling cloak, fit for one such as him, an object of extraordinary beauty. Where once it had seemed to show a stary sky though it now showed a different picture. Rivulets of waterseemed to run down its back with incredible speed. Still it held the appearance of the nights sky but it was as though it was leaking! How novel! But wait, the cloth changes again! Now it showed the sky as though lit with a great unearthly brightness.

What wonderess material was this he thought to himself, what was it that could show such marvelous things, such wonderful magical sights! Indeed it was truly worthy of a being such as he. Wrapping it about his shoulders he felt its silky touch upon his skin as he let his hair run down the back of it. Performing a few spins he marvelled at its lightness, its mysterious nature... From it he felt invigoured as though those magical little secrets of the universe were his to find, his to look upon, his to touch. And the magic of that ancient cloak flooded into his vains, though he was unaware of this at the time.

All that was left then was the matter of the mirror... He couldn't bring it home, nor for that matter he could he leave it here where it might be discovered and he still couldn't bring himself to break it. After much searching he found a little cave within that great valley and within this he hid the mirror beneath a pile of leaves being careful all the while not to tarnish it. In time he would return to deal with it better but for now it was out of sight even if it was not out of mind.

And so Lupani, whose heart longed more than anything for beauty and for magic in the world, began the treck back home to see his brothers and sisters, to speak with them of what they had all done and what they were yet to do. But as he skipped off he did not notice that cloak change as it trailed behind him in the winder. For the briefest of moments it changed from its beautiful images of an unkown sky to something more sinister. To images of pools of blood, of trees aflame, of wounds that no medicine could hope to treat bar the embrace of death itself. Only for the briefest of moments though, for these images were not meant to be seen by any eyes, neither mortal nor divine, not yet at least.

So ends the tale of Lupani,
He who set out to find magic and magic found,
But heed children for this is key,
His demons he did not slay
And for himself he made an enemy.

[Kasanip]

Matapa and Kawaradake and Echo and echo. . . . echo

Kawaradake, the 3-Wave-Mountains was a dangerous place. It was home to many animals and things that always were hungry, and always wanted to eat. But when Matapa came to them, it became silent. Ermine were not here to sing and dance and hop in the snow. Only the sound of Matapa's feet touched the ground softly. She was searching for 'Home' and could not find it yet. In the forest there were many small tribes of strange creatures, and yet Matapa's coming drove them away. Cold would silence plants and trees, and so she would hurry along to avoid hurting them. But here at 3-Wave-Mountains, there were no villages now. Perhaps if she climbed to the top of first mountain, she could see. Where was the way to home? Matapa climbed to top of first mountain and sat down. Great forests were around, and so much. She had walked in a lot of it, but where was the way to home?
Maybe if she climbed second mountain. So Matapa climbed from first mountain to the top of second mountain and she looked around. There were forest and meadows below, and clouds above. But she could not see home from here.

Maybe if she climbed the third mountain. So Matapa climbed from second mountain to the top of third mountain and she looked around. Where were her brothers and sisters? She wondered. Homesickness took her, and Matapa sat down. She didn't want to cry here. She sniffed. But she did not cry. She wanted to be strong. So Matapa stood up again. She covered her mouth with her hands and took a deep breath, and then yelled into her hands "I want to go home!!".

And she caught these words in her hands and stepped to the edge of third mountain. And with her hands, she threw the words down as hard as she could! And as she listened, her word "Home!" returned to her, but softer! And then from second mountain it came. And then from first mountain it came.

Matapa climbed to second mountain, and then to first mountain. And then she yelled into her hands again and threw the words down as hard as she could. And there was a gust of air, and the words turned to snowflakes, because they were emotions too, like tears. And they floated south gently. And Matapa went south from Kawaradake.

So does Kawaradake always have snow at it's top, and you may throw even your voice here if you climb. But be careful! To throw your voice like Matapa is not to make a wish true. The words returned to her because of a different reason. "Home" did not know where it could be. Because Matapa had no fire in her, so where could Home be found? Do not trust mountains to find your way!

So did Matapa not realize her word "Home" only returned to her. And yet it was still true because of her heart, even if it was cold.

[White Blade]

Haeleth
Dragon's Hoard Hill
Approximately Ten Years After The Thundering (Haeleth appears approximately eighteen)

Haeleth had wandered some time longer after his journey to Spider's Den, and his eyes were sharp and ready this night, as the moon was but a sliver in the heavens and the sun had only at last begun to set. The dragon returned to his den that night and, Haeleth hoped, slept. He steeled himself and began the difficult preparation work of moving the boulders.

The plan was actually a relatively simple one: Trap the dragon in its' cave with the boulders scattered around his den, so it can't fly or breath fire and lacked full mobility, sneak in and try to kill it. Okay. It wasn't the absolute best plan ever, but it utilized Haeleth's strengths and mitigated his enemy's, it allowed for some margin of error, and it was the best he could come up.

So he positioned boulder upon boulder and as he worked, he built it so that there was only a medium sized hole for him to slip into and pull a boulder to plug it behind him. He began to fear the dragon would awake, however, as the dawn began to peak over the hill. But the seal on the cave was nearly clamped shut, so he pulled the last of the boulders into place behind him, trapping himself in the cave. He had one of those moments then, when he desperately wanted to turn back, but knew he could not.

He began to walk forward then, slowly down the thin, tiny cave and wondered to himself why the dragon had picked here, this place. But he walked on toward the light of the glimmering, brilliant diamonds. There he saw the dragon, curled on its' bed of stars, sleeping on the richest hoard that any dragon would ever have. He drew near and reached out his hands to blind the dragon's eyes.

It was at this precise moment, as his hand reached out to blind, that the dragon's eyes snapped open. One can only imagine how this felt for the dragon, of course, because he is dead. But Haeleth, it terrified to the bone and he almost failed, he almost tried to flee. If he had done so, I assure you, he would have surely died. Sometimes, courage is better for survival than cowardice. But he jabbed for his foe's eyes instead of fleeing and he caught one, but not the other, as the dragon roared up its' head and bit at him. He rolled out of the way, his father's cloak following him perfectly never seeming to get in his path.

The dragon's eye shed blood and it roared in pain. It bit and flailed its' tail and kicked and clawed at Haeleth, but he caught the dragon's paw in his cloak, and rolls it tight around the beast's paw. It deadened the force of the blow and proved immune to the dragon's brutal swipe. Yes, he thought, getting the cloak was a good plan. He pressed the full of his weight onto the claw and he heard a multitude of tiny cracks as the dragon once again began to screech.

He pressed his advantage now and tried to climb onto the dragon's back but then the beast did something he did not expect. It turned its' head towards him and let loose a stream of dragon's-fire. Throwing the cloak in front of himself, he feels the fire hit its' toughened form, the warmth spread down to his skin and grow more scalding by the moment as the fire dissipates into smoke that grows increasingly thick in the air. But why? Doesn't the dragon know that his den is locked down, that there is nowhere for the smoke to go?

He does not, Haeleth realized in horror, quickly adapting his plan as the smoke grew increasingly thick and the dragon tried to lumber into a better attacking position for its' claws. He had smaller lungs, and he knew that it was coming, so he began to take deep breaths, filling his lungers with air and his body with energy. He continued to do so, the cloak draped in front of his face and body with regards to the fire, even as his skin began to burn and char beneath it. The pain was great, he wished to scream. But he could not and he knew it, he needed the air the dragon is burning as fuel for its' wrath.

Moments passed and the smoke grew incredibly thick. Neither Haeleth nor the dragon could see much of anything anymore, so Haeleth dropped low to the ground and crawls forward beneath the smoke, taking the last of the air as he approaches the dragon's neck which he can only see from beneath. The dragon was only then beginning to realize its folly and beginning to look around in fear, losing sight of his goal. A terrible mistake for any, especially when your foe is a god. Haeleth leapt to the dragon's neck and pins it between his legs and to the ground, holding the head up into the smoke with his hands even as he crushes the neck beneath his feet. The dragon writhed and screamed in agony and Haeleth focused himself, steeling his will and forcing the dragon to remain in place. And then at last, as the jaw of the dragon slackens beneath his hands, he places one hand on the top of its' jaw and one on the low jaw and rips the dragon's head in twain, slaying at last and forever the beast that stole the stars.

But there was not much time left for him, he realized, if he did not hurry to the front of the cave. He ran, in reckless abandon, and began to push out the last stone he pushed into place. He shoved it with his remaining strength and it topples out and then he climbs up to the edge of the cave and breathes fresh air. He heaves deep breaths and leans over, truly tired and exhausted from the fight, the burns on his arms forgotten as air is tasted, sweet life. And though he did not realize it, Haeleth had become a god in that moment.

That is how Haeleth slew the dragon and reached the culmination of his courage. And what of the stars you ask? Another time, I think. Tonight, you must rest.

[ArlEammon]

Toraeal
Toraeal ran to Mantis'es body after the paralysis ended. He arrived to find Mantis in pieces. Only Mantis'es head was connected to his body. Mantis turned to Toraealas and spoke his last words. . . "Toraeal. Live well, learn well, as you always have my apprentice." Toraeal somehow knew that Mantis didn't fight back against Hound. There was no battle, no struggle. Mantis suffered and died. "Why Mantis? Why?" Toraeal didnt know Mantis intended to die this way. Only that he intended to die, "You said you were going to die in peace. . ." Toraeal had begun mourning. Within a day, Mantis had been buried. "CURSE YOU, HIGH FATHER! CURSE YOU, EARTHMOTHER!" Toraealas remembered all the things that he had done with Mantis, and wept bitterly.

3 Years Before

Mantis sits on his throne, in human form, weeping. "Mantis, why do you weep?" Asked Toraealas, with tears in his eyes. Mantis turned to him. "My lovers, my children, I miss them. And where are they?" Toraealas made him his special brew of herbs. "Grey Mantis, please, these herbs will make you feel at ease."

2 Years Before

Toraealas was busy working in the Gardens one day, digging soil and planting new things for Mantis and himself. Mantis, in the form of a human being, came to him. "Mantis, what is the special occasion?" Mantis smiled. "Toraealas, I have had apprentices before. None of them were as hard a worker as you. I have a gift for you." Toraealas cocked his head, waiting, before Mantis spoke again,"Torealas, I have prepared the finest feast that I have ever prepared in centuries. Not since have I stood against Father Scorpion has anyone had this privilege."

1 Year Before
An infant was found abandoned on the outskirts of they city to die. It was deformed and weak. Mantis had found it. Toraealas was confused. "Why would they let this baby out to die?" He asked. The Mantis shook his head and stated sadly, "They leave their weak to die. They have no use for just another mouth to feed." Torealas was grieved by this. But as he did so, he noticed that the baby's spots, and lip had healed. The skin was no longer grey. "Mantis? What is happenig?"

The Mantis turned to him and smiled, (if a Mantis could smile) and nodded as he spoke. "It likes my special recipe."

6 Months Before
The baby had grown strong. . . For six months Mantis and Toraeal took care of it. One day a couple came to the edge of the City. They walked, unafraid, to the High Temple. Mantis nodded, and smiled. "Your wife is barren, you cannot have children. Here is one."

[ArcaneStomper]

Mornd
The Forest

For quite a time Mornd had wandered the forest. He no longer knew for quite how long and he know longer knew in which way lay the glade. He had tried to keep track, to carve paths and markings through the forest, but almost he watched the forest reclaimed them. Tree marks were covered in bark almost before he finished carving them, paths were overgrown almost as soon as he stepped off them. It only reaffirmed his opinion that the Black Forest was a strange and terrible place.

And so Mornd continued on quite lost. But despite all this he was pleased. He had not discovered fire no, but he had discovered many strange creatures and they had taught him many things. A colony of moles had taught him how to move earth and by watching them he had learned to craft long flat stones into tools for digging. Watching a flock of woodpeckers had taught him how to craft strong thin branches into tools for making holes and breaking apart rocks. And those were only two of the things he had seen. Where once he had only a hammer now he had many tools all crafted for their specific purpose. And he had put them to good use. Over the course of his travel he had run into tribes of wild creatures that were much like him, except not quite. And he had passed on the things he had learned to them. Teaching them how to build and craft better. He never stayed and helped each tribe long. As he had first started with the tribe of the Long Teeth he would learned all they had to offer, build them a parting gift and move on. It had become a very familiar process to him.

But lately however something had changed. He no longer found groups and tribes. Instead he found only a few scattered survivors, and instead of camps he found scattered ruins. He tried to learn what he could from the survivors, but he was not like his siblings Rahn and Rafe. He was skilled at fixing things not people. All he could get them to say was that the strange beasts with many arms had come and taken all the others away. And so he traveled to find those who had done this.

And eventually he did. It had taken many weeks and he had gotten lost several times, but now he stood at the edge of the forest and watched a great hill, the home of the strange creatures. And strange they were too. They had fat bulbous bodies and large insect like jaws, and strangest of all not two arms but four. He couldn’t see many of them, they apparently made their homes inside the hill, but he knew this was it for he saw a long line of creatures dragging a new group of beast men into an opening in the hill. Some of his more impulsive brothers might have rushed in right then, to try and save the prisoners. But Mornd had never been one to be impatient so instead he watched and waited. And eventually he came up with a plan.

Mornd did not go to confront the creatures. No, that was not his way. Instead he dug. Through dirt and rock he tunneled striving to breach the strange creatures nest through an entrance they didn’t even know they had. It was arduous work, he had to do all the work alone, and mask the debris he dug out carefully so as not to arouse suspicion, and all while avoiding the many many patrols. But finally after many months he succeeded.

When Mornd finally broke into the ant men’s tunnels, for these were indeed a tribe blessed by the Ant Lord, he reeled in shock. For the tunnels of the nest were nothing like the straight and clean tunnel he had carved for himself. No these tunnels curved in strange ways and twisted. Brilliant blue moss lit the tunnels with an eerie and alien glow. Strange flickering shadows filled the tunnels ominous clicking and hissing. And so Mornd was afraid. It reminded him of his first experience with the Black Forest, terrifying and alien.

In a panic he withdrew, hurriedly sealing the breach behind him. And in the comfortable silent darkness of his own tunnel Mornd waited. For days he simply sat and thought as his pulse raced and when he eventually calmed down he realized what he had to do. He had planned to simply free the prisoners and perhaps discuss with the ant men the situation. But it was clear he could not do that. They were a blight and both they and there terrible nest needed to be destroyed. And Mornd would do it. He would destroy them and then rebuild a better more orderly structure in its place. One that would be useful. It would not be an easy task. But it was one he had to do.

With trembling hands Mornd unsealed the tunnel and after steeling himself walked into the strange alien light.

[OverThoughtName]

Afein
Court of the Sky

"The first challenge is simple, worm, close and reopen the door you entered in," said the Blue Jay, only a hint of hatred spilling over into his speech. Simple enough of a task, the birds watched as she did it. This time, however, she did look at the carvings. Strange, they depicted this exact thing happening before a tall, lanky figure with the crown on a pillow, handing it to the man who did what she was doing. The next was a picture of a gift of another item, a scepter of sorts. He stood later with the ciclet on his forehead, the yellow stave in one hand, and his other arm was a birds' wing. Putting oddities out of mind for now, she finished the task and stepped before the Animal Lord. "Tsch. Fine. The challenge of right is passed. The challenger's choice is next." Was that fear she heard tinged in with his disgust? Afein couldn't tell.

"Okay," she said, looking her tormentor in the eyes. "Mine is simple, too." She walked over beside the throne now, her footsteps echoing in the silence yet again. Odd how quiet these birds were when they were waiting on her to speak. "We run from here to the other end and back, no flying and no touching each other the entire time, nor interference from the crowd. Victor decided by thigh, not by head, and you have to kick the back wall, too." She thought herself clever for once. She had almost left the last parts out, but she realized he wouldn't be fair about a race she could win.

"Decent rules, I accept," he said, contempt almost lost from his voice, but that twinge of fear gone, too. "I will not forfeit nor lose." Calling over a lesser blue jay, he gave it instructions to count the start for them. It didn't cheat and Afein flew off the starting point. The Prince of Air, however, waited a second, hopped forward, turned around, and used his wings to create the largest gust of wind he could. It easily knocked Afein from her feet, as did the next when he hopped forward again, and the next. Due to the interference, she had barely touched the back wall when he crossed the finish. She felt hopeless.

"Second challenge, that of the challenger's choice, has been FAILED!" he said, in as mocking a voice as he could, "Last and final challenge, that of the imperative of the Steward!" he spat that word out fast, as though it was poison to his tongue, "I challenge you to fight by combat! My host against your own!" More guffawing laughter, this time filling the entire room. "There is no point to forfeit here, child of the Earthmother. Failure of the challenge grants death for blasphemy, so I won't allow it! You will either die by my talons, or that of my brood, and I so detest having to clean my talons. Here's the rules to make it more interesting, either your death or first blood drawn from me decides your fate. Thus was spoken by He who Came Before, thus it shall be!" She knew she couldn't get to him, she knew she had no way of harming him if she did, so she just sat there, closed her eyes, and waited to be torn into, torn apart, and eaten alive. That moment didn't come.

Instead when she opened her eyes, crows were attacking the lesser jays. She immediatly noticed Huginn, though any other would be hard pressed to note any difference in the morass. Looking towards the Animal Lord, she saw him fighting the cardinals who had sworn their help. Twelve were there, and they were fighting bravely, but they were losing. The fight was clearly one-sided.

Afein, remembering that all she had to do was get one drop of blood to fall from the Prince of the Skies, rushed in as well. She tried to jump in, to get one nail into his flesh, but instead, he pushed her away with one of his wings, sending her against the door. Strange, she thought, her vision turning red, maybe this door is true? Maybe this was the plan? Perhaps, one day, this tall man will come and free the birds. Then, maybe... The darkness enveloped her. The last thing she saw was one of the cardinals thrown, broken, towards a hole in the left wall. She really had thought she could've won.

[nysisobli]

Vivienne and the Crocodile

Into the cave she walked, down down down into the depths.

After walking for what felt like forever, the beast looked at her.

Glancing between a pool of stagnant water, and her, he slowly maneuvered the young maiden towards the water.

Vivienne was starting to make sense of the situation as out of the corners of her eyes she could begin to see what was really happening rather then the hallucination to which she had grown accustomed.

She noticed one second to late. With a swing of its mighty tail the young godling slammed into the wall and slid deep into the depths of this stagnant pool, feeling leeches latch on, and tasting a metallic tang in her mouth, the light began to fade from her eyes, as she sank into the depths of the dreaded lagoon.

[Nefarion Xid]

The Tale of the Thief
Part 5 Continued: The Thief in the Court of the Frog Lord

On the Frog Lord’s insistence, Rafe joined him in the pond for tea and a game like checkers. The tea was bitter and earthy, steeped in the sun in clay pots all day and served cold. Lord Gaba’s attendants were exquisite creatures. The Koi Maidens looked human enough from the waist up, but they bore long, delicate looking fan tails and fins down the length of their arms and backs. Their hair, like their scales, came in a dazzling array of mottled colors, usually red, white and black. The one silver and blue maiden danced lazily at the bottom of the pond, refusing to draw near Lord Gaba until ordered.
“Undine!” grunted the frog lustily, “Our friend Paka has finished his tea. Refill his cup!”

There was poison in her eyes as she darted up from the surface and haughtily snatched away Rafe’s cup and swam away to refill it. On her return, and for the briefest flicker of a moment, Rafe nudged his hood up and met Undine with his real eyes. Her mouth hung open for an instant before she snapped it shut. Instead of returning to the depths of the pond, she lingered by Rafe, subtly trying to steal another glance of his green eyes and feigning attendance all the while by offering up dried fruit.

“It is your move, Master Paka,” reminded the Lord Frog, tapping at the game board with his pipe before offering it over to Rafe, a long strand of mucus clinging to the mouthpiece. Rafe took a long, grateful drag and expelled the smoke through the “nostrils” of his frog disguise. His head buzzed and the game became steadily less important. He puffed again while studying his pieces, finally nudging one over before returning the pipe.

“You play a dangerous game, Master Paka,” hummed Undine knowingly while exploring the curious things that were toenails at the end of Rafe’s outstretched leg. He stifled a laugh and kicked and wiggled his toes free of the prying woman before catching her with his real eyes. They said, you’re going to give me away and that tickles you tart!

Lord Gaba made his move and snapped up two of Rafe’s pieces in a flash. “Age is the secret, you know? You young frogs just don’t have the head for this sort of thing.”

Rafe, seeing that he was losing despite his best efforts decided to shift the conversation to buy him enough time to plan. Beating the old frog in checkers wouldn’t bring him any closer to his mother’s vial, but it was a matter of pride! Though, part of him consented that it would be better to lose and let Gaba thing he was the smart one here. Unfortunately, Rafe was developing the nagging suspicion he might be. “Your many treasures are without peer. How did you come by them?”

“They are the daughters of the old Carp,” said Gaba, stretching out his arms and settling in for story time, “Oh, he still dwells at the bottom of the lake, mad with the suffering of the ages, little more than a beast now.” He wound a finger around his temple and screwed up his eyes in case Rafe hadn’t caught his meaning. The ancient fish had just gone bonkers. “Turned on his own people and swallowed many of them whole. In my beneficence, I rescued the girls and gave them a home here.”

The inlet to the pond was cut off by a pile of stones holding in place what had once been a metal grate. Rafe couldn’t have guessed that beneath the layers of green stone, the thing had once been beautifully wrought copper.

“I’ve eaten a few frogs myself, of course,” continued Gaba, “but that was the old days! We’re civilized now.” The Lord Frog swallowed another fish in one gulp.

Rafe nodded his head, rather, his hood, in agreement and made a cautious move on the board. “Oh, of course. It is much better to resolve things with a battle of the wits than bloodshed.” Gaba roared with laughter, pleased to be entertaining such a smart frog and one who thought just like he did. “But I was referring to your baubles, not the girls. Each piece there must have a tale as well.”

The Frog Lord sifted through thousands of pearls and showed off each of his favorite trinkets in turn. Gems and patina covered goblets and broken bits of armor passed before Rafe. And while he was genuinely interested in how the frog had stolen and connived the beauties away from others, none of these was what he sought. “So many,” he beamed falsely, “But which is your favorite?”

At last, when Gaba dug up a fist sized pearl, Rafe spotted the flask Reku had described. Rafe bit his lip as he was forced to endure the story about the big pearl, but waited patiently to ask about the crystal vial. “That one there,” he pointed to the blue bottle, “I fancy that. Would you put it up against a wager of twenty pearls?”

“This?” asked Gaba, holding the vial up into the fading light. “Twenty is generous. But, you’ve already lost this game. Shall we play again?” Rafe’s few remaining stones were in a sorry state. He had only a few moves left before inevitable defeat.

Rafe agreed hastily and they reset the board while Rafe put up his twenty pearls against the crystal vial. They played slowly and each turn Rafe distracted the frog by imploring him to talk more about how great and clever he was. Undine helped by scrubbing the mud out from Lord Gaba’s toes. At last Rafe was triumphant, trapping the last of Gaba’s pieces. Unperturbed, the Lord Frog declared he was retiring for the night and bid ‘Master Paka’ a good night. Rafe scooped up his pearls and finally set his hands on the vial. To his distress, it was empty.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Marwaen
The Conversion of the Jackal-men

With her new sword, the trees bent easily to her will--and she ignored the warnings that niggled at the back of her mind, tales of vengeful tree-spirits or, worse, the trees themselves--as she sliced away strong young branches. A dozen or so were enough to start with; she sharpened them first with the bone blade, carefully shaving away little pieces of wood at a time until she had a point. Once that was done, she set the spears in the sun to dry and harden a little; when the moisture was gone, the points would be firmer, more solid.

For a day and a night she labored over the spears, and another week was spent for their drying and for testing them to ensure their accuracy and lethal capabilities...then she scooped them up in her arms and strode, boldly, into the camp of the Jackal-men.

The move could have very well gotten her killed. Warriors picked up crude wooden clubs, women and children retreated into the ramshackle huts built of the detritus of the woods around them. They were too afraid to venture far enough for better materials; the monkey-kind had already murdered two of their children this year.

"Peace!" Marwaen drops the spears and raises her hands, a universal gesture of openness; the Jackal-men pause, then look at each other, conversing in their own language. Impossible for her to follow...more a series of sharp barks and growls and body posturing than anything else, but fascinating, and as she watches she resolves to learn it. After what seems like forever but is actually only a few minutes, the lean Jackal-man she'd trailed through the forest steps forward and attempts to speak in the common tongue shared by all the creatures, a language established by the High Father and Earth Mother before their disappearance.

"What brings you to this place, creature? Strange creature...you have the stink of blood and death on you, but call peace. Not peaceful, to have such a scent..."

Marwaen nods a little, pleased. So they're astute...that's good. "You are right in suggesting that I am not peaceful, not to my enemies. But for you, I come with a suggestion, and I come wishing to avoid any violence. My name is Marwaen. May I know who it is I'm speaking to?"

A pause, and then the Jackal-man inclines his head. "I am Ab'malek, the...new leader of my tribe."

"What happened to the old one?" Marwaen tilts her head, and watches a myriad of emotions flicker across Ab'malek's face; fury, resignation, grief.

"Those damned tree-swine killed him, and the two younglings with him. They have much to pay for, much, much they have done from the cowardly safety of their leaves where they know we cannot reach them. Someday they will pay...someday we will get revenge!" The jackal's voice is full of restrained passion and fury, and the god-child smiles. It is not a kind smile, but a pleased one, as she looks at Ab'malek.

"How...fortuitous." She gestures to the pile of sharpened sticks before her, then taps her lip for a moment. "What if I were to tell you I could help you rid yourselves of these 'tree-swine', as you so call them? What if I said I could teach you to craft deadly weapons, agile and true, to fling into the trees? I could teach you the art of climbing, though I myself am not as skilled as some, so that you could hunt these creatures and bring them low...? And the art of fire...to force them out of their trees, should they not wish to come."

She had the full attention of the tribe, now; children with hungry eyes stared at her from behind the strong legs of their mothers, standing in the doors of the crude huts. Too afraid to venture far from the relative safety of their small ring of homes, the tribe was slowly starving to death; Ab'malek had been on an attempted diplomatic meeting to another tribe, but they were far away, and had had a difficult winter. They had nothing to spare, and were wary of attempting to go against the monkey-kind; after all, Monkey's followers had the advantage of the trees, though they did not have the teeth and claws and killing power of Jackal's people. On the ground, they would be slaughtered...in the trees, where Jackal's people could not go, they reigned supreme.

"What do you say, hm?" Marwaen's eyes glitter in the light of the setting sun, and Ab'malek steps back to confer with the other fighters. Another series of growls and barks and posturing, and he steps forward again.

"What is it you ask of us, stranger...?"

The goddess grins, and it is positively gleeful. "I ask for little, Ab'malek. Trust and loyalty...for now. When we defeat the tree-swine, we shall discuss further. But for now...trust me. Trust me to lead you to victory against these monsters that have killed your children and destroyed your way of life and your rightful status as hunters and warriors of these woods. Be loyal to me and follow the instructions I give, and you will be sucking the brains from the skulls of monkey-kind with relish before two cyclings of the moon have passed."

Several of the mothers yipped at that, and Ab'malek glanced at his warriors; as one, they lifted their noses to the sky, and their eerie, haunting cry of agreement echoed through the woods.

[ArcaneStomper]

Mornd
The Ant Nest

Year One

It took some time, but eventually Mornd got used to the strange environment of the nest. And for the most part he didn’t spend much time in it anyway. He explored it just enough to know where all the tunnels were and then he started carving his own. He tried to do so as stealthily as possible to avoid detection, but inevitably the ant men eventually found him. And of course they attempted to capture him, but Mornd had prepared for this. Using his hidden tunnels and a variety of traps he managed to elude capture time and again. It helped that he was considerably faster than they were as well.

And so he dug, and hid, and planned. It was slow unrewarding work but he was confident that eventually his plan would succeed.

Year Two

By the time Mornd’s first year in the nest of the ant’s had passed he completed a massive web of tunnels underlying the ant’s own, and with them he began to put his plan into motion. It was not a very complex plan. He would tunnel into a prisoner’s cell, free them, and give them directions on how to reach the surface. No it was not complex, but it was difficult. He had long since perfected his skills of evading the ant men on his own. But the prisoners were guarded and escorting them out through his pitch dark tunnels slowed him down. So every time he broke some free he ran the risk of capture.

And eventually it happened. Cornered in a dead end with none of his own tunnels nearby Mornd grimly watched the advancing ant men. As they chattered to each other in their strange incomprehensible language Mornd thought back over anything he had ever learned. And eventually his mind settled on the mock sword fight he had watched his siblings have in the glade that seemed so very far away now. He didn’t have a sword of course, but he did have a shovel. Readying himself Mornd waited until the ant men were within range and then he swung it as hard as he could. Now of course Mornd was no warrior, but he had surprise on his side and tunneling him every day had made him quite strong. With a sickening crunch the shovel embedded itself into the lead ant which doubled over keening. As the other ant men flinched back in surprise Mornd didn’t waste any time trying to wrench his shovel free. He simply dropped it and ran.

Later as he was constructing a new shovel in his tunnels Mornd considered what had happened. He had never killed before. And thinking on it now he found that he did not like it, but if he was going to continue his plan it was likely that he would have to kill again. Sighing Mornd contemplated the future and wondered how he gotten so far from the things he had used to know.


Year Three

Many things happened in the year following Mornd first violent encounter. He had completed his tunnels. Most of the imprisoned beast men had been freed. He still was not comfortable killing, but he had been forced to do so enough times to escape that it was no longer so foreign a concept to him. And now he was running for his life. Yes his plan was indeed nearing completion.

As he ran through the tunnels Mornd could hear them shouting behind him. Mornd had learned enough of their chitter to get the gist of what they were saying and it seemed like not only were the majority of the ants chasing him, but their chief herself was involved. Mornd grinned, he must of really riled them up this time.

Rapidly turning around a corner Mornd found himself in a dead end. Taking a deep breath he swung his largest hammer off his shoulder and turned to wait for the ant men. One way or the other his plan would end this day. In just a few moments the ant men turned the corner as well and Mornd could hear their excited chitters as they realized he was cornered at last. Eventually the crowd of ant men parted and the largest ant that Mornd had ever seen stepped through. He grinned, this must be their matriarch. Using the ant men’s own language he spoke.

“Greetings, I am Mornd. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

“So at last you dare speak invader of the nest. I am Solenopsis, and I would know why you have intruded all these years.”

“I seek to free the many creatures that you have captured. You have imprisoned them and I cannot let that go by.”

“And why can’t you let it go by strange invader. We have never captured any of your kind. I would remember such a strange thing.”

Mornd pauses, he had never actually considered why he was helping the other beast men. He shook his head. It was too late to go back now, but he would definitely give this some more thought if he survived.

“I simply free them from those that have no right to capture them in the first place.”

This clearly enrages that ant chief and she practically shouts her reply, “Rights you speak to me of rights! We saved them from the Great Devourer, and in return we asked for rightful payment, but they refused. And now we are simply taking what is ours. Just as we shall take your life in payment for all the death you have caused us. NOW DIE!”

And with that last shout the ant chief lunges forward clearly intent on decapitating Mornd with her mandibles. Mornd however had expected that and as he jumped back he hit the wall causing it to crumble and revealing a chamber with a large stone pillar in the middle of it.

“No, no I do not believe I will be the one to die today.” Turning Mornd swung his hammer and struck the pillar once, twice, and three times. Causing it to crack and crumble to the floor. And as the central support pillar crumbled so too did the rest of Mornd’s carefully designed tunnels. Intricately laid out they mirrored each and every ant tunnel and so as they collapsed so too did the ant nest. And as they did Mornd turned and ran ignoring the bellows of the ant chief. This time he was not baiting them on. No this time he was really running for his life. He had designed a single reinforced tunnel that would not collapse, but if he did not make it he would be crushed just as surely as the ants. Several times Mornd was nearly crushed by falling debris, but as he lunged into the secure tunnel and ant nest collapsed behind him, he breathed a sigh of relief. His plan had worked. Smiling he began walking towards the surface it was time at last to continue his search.

But suddenly he heard a crashing sound behind him. Whirling he realized he had been to quick to judge success. For Solenopsis was not dead. She was dying yes, numerous rocks had fallen and crushed her body, but she had managed to follow the invader who had led to her tribes doom. As she lunged forward Mornd dodged back, but he quickly realized that she was not aiming for him. No as he had collapsed her nest so too would she collapse his tunnel. As she struck the support columns Mornd watched in horror as the ceiling cracked and groaned. Then he ran. But he was not fast enough. In mere moments the tunnel collapsed and Mornd was trapped under tons of earth and stone.

Later

The sun was shining on the collapsed ruin of the ant nest when suddenly the ground beside it began to stir. And suddenly a hand broke through the surface. It had taken him weeks, but with not tools Mornd had finally clawed his way to the surface. Dragging himself out of the ground Mornd assessed his condition. His legs were broken, he was starving, and he was very very tired. But at least he had made it and in time he would recover. And then Mornd looked up and he realized his predicament was much worse. For in every direction he looked there was no green. The once verdant forest had been stripped bare. Every leaf, every blade of grass, and every weed gone. And listening he could hear no animals either. Sighing Mornd rolled over. In time he would deal with this new issue, he would find what had caused this and he would fix it. But for now he would rest. And so he did.

[Nefarion Xid]

The Tale of the Thief
Conclusion: The Thief in the Court of the Frog Lord

“Not quite what you were hoping to win, son of the Earthmother?” Undine crawled up out of the water and alongside Rafe who lay unsleeping in the cool night some distance away from the snoring frog lord.

Rafe held the empty vial at arm’s length. “Lord Reku said that Gaba used to have the power to call the rain. Was this not the item he used?”

“Ah, I heard the same tale, when I was young,” she mused. “As you’ll recall, you mother created a flask for each of her suitors. And she had many.” There was a mischievous glint in her wide blue eyes. “The Fat Frog did possess your mother’s vial of rain, but the greedy fool swallowed it, thinking the powers would be his. It made him stronger, but ever since he has been unable to call the rain. That is why the lake suffers and the river beyond has gone dry. Murder him in his sleep and retrieve the vial from his belly!” Undine hissed in his ear while raking her fingers over Rafe’s chest.

Gaba had done many wicked things in his long years, but Rafe knew he had not the authority to snuff out a great life like his. His father might have been able to pass such judgments, but Rafe was not he. It would have been easy, he conceded, but to betray his host in such a brutal way?

“I will return the rains and I will set your sisters free.” Rafe swore quietly to the darkness, “And I’ll do it without blood on my hands. Now listen carefully…” He passed his instructions diligently along to Undine who relayed the plan to her sisters.

The sun rose the next day and all the frogs went to their daily rituals. Rafe bade his time gambling lightly with the game masters until Gaba rose in the early afternoon and took his tea. After a while, Lord Gaba entreated Rafe to play games with him since he had been long without a worthy opponent. Rafe indulged him all afternoon and they both drank and smoked the day away. Rafe had won many pearls that day and Gaba was growing envious of the young frog’s growing wealth.

“A final game before we retire!” said Rafe in a clarion voice so all could hear while producing the vial he had one yesterday, now filled with a brown liquid. “I have here the foulest poison known to the world. I wager my life and all that I own against yours, Lord Gabagabakokoroko!”

The Lord Frog snorted angrily with this unpleasant turn of events, but could not refute such a challenge from a prestigious opponent, so he folded his arms and listened. Rafe called for a tray with two cups of tea and swiftly it was brought to him. As a show of good faith, he took a sip from each before continuing with his challenge.

“In one cup, the poison goes.” And he added the tincture, every drop, to one cup. “And then we drink! If you are poisoned, your title and wealth and all you possess are mine, Mighty Gabagaba! If I drink the poison, then all my pearls belong to you… and there is one less cunning frog to worry about!” Rafe gestured smugly to the tray.

Yes, yes, you’re dreadfully clever for asking. No, Rafe did not switch shuffle the cups behind his back. Yes, the poison went into only one cup and no he didn’t build up an immunity to the poison beforehand. What kind of dumb trick is… never mind, just let me finish!

The Lord Frog shared the same concern. It must be at trick! No creature would be dumb enough to poison just the one cup in plain sight. He nodded to the challenge with grim determination and eyed the tray. Obvious though the choice was, he began to dread. For an hour he looked back and forth between the cups and at great length he made his choice and lifted it to his lips and waited for Rafe to do the same. Rafe lifted his cup high and they both downed their cups with a single gulp.

Several tense minutes passed and both stared intently at each other. Gaba threw his cup away and was about to declare he was feeling fine when his stomach rumbled. Rafe raised his cup again and wished the frog lord good health just as he crawled away to vomit horrendously. Between his retching he screamed at Rafe, “How!? I watched you pour the poison into your own cup! How have you done this! NGHAAA!”

The Earthmother’s crystal vial clattered to the ground in a puddle of sick. Rafe took it gingerly at arm’s length saying only, “I am the cleverest here. Leave my lake and never return. If you hurry and eat some clove and mint, it may save you from death!”

Gaba’s angry words were cut off by another torrent of vomit before he turned to flee and seek out the antidote on the far shores. Washing the vial clean in the pond, Rafe could see the pure rainwater inside and feel the power within. Cautiously, the other frogs gathered around their new master; Gaba had lost the game and the wager was fair. They croaked their praises and chanted the name of the successor as the skies darkened and brought rain for the first time in an age. Only Rafe and Undine knew that his “poison” had been naught but bitter tea itself… and that Gaba had consumed a sickening amount of chamomile over the course of the day.

[The_Snark]

The Hearth-Tender's Tale
Part 4

I have spoken already of the difficulties of finding firewood near the sacred glade. It had been a long time since the children first settled here, and they have scoured the edges of the clearing quite clean of twigs and fallen leaves to feed the hungry fire. So when I tell you that Brisanne one day happens across a rather sizable fallen branch, you will understand that this is not an everyday thing. It is half-sunk into the ground and quite covered in moss, which is perhaps why her brothers and sisters never brought it back with them, but these days the fire is always hungry, and she does not want to go any deeper into the woods than she has to. So she sets her feet and begins tugging it out of its hollow.

"Here, just what do you think you're doing?"

Brisanne starts backward and drops the log. This is the first time she's heard anybody talk to her in years, you know; I expect you would be startled too.

"I beg your pardon?" she asks, looking around cautiously. It is not a cruel voice, only mildly irritated, but she can't see who it belongs to, and this is after all the Forest.

"I said, what do you think you're doing with my log?"

This time she looks down, and espies a little red-bellied salamander atop the log, peering up at her and looking most annoyed.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she says, a little flustered at being addressed by a talking animal. "I didn't realize it was your log."

"Well, it is," the salamander says crossly. "And you still haven't answered the question."

"I'm sorry," she says. (Again.) "It's just that I'm looking for wood for my fire, and this is the only one I've found today. There's hardly any fallen logs left around here."

"What is a fire?"

"It's..." ... what is a fire? It just is. She doesn't know how to explain the concept to someone who hasn't grown up with one. "It's a thing that needs wood," she finishes, since that's the most important thing about it right now.

"What does it need wood for?" the salamander asks suspiciously.

"To burn up," she admits, but the salamander doesn't know what this means.

"Is it warm?"

"Yes, very," she says hopefully, but next it asks "Is it wet?" and her heart sinks. "No, not at all."

"I don't see why it's so important to you, then," says the salamander, "but this place is awfully dry too, and I don't much care where my home is. If you like, you can carry me and my log to your fire."

"Oh, I couldn't do that," she says, horrified -- for the salamander may be a beast of the forest, but it is small and not at all fearsome, and the thought of casting it into the fire alive is too ghastly to contemplate. "You would be burned to ash and die if you went into the fire, and so would your log. That's how fires stay alive -- they eat wood," she explains in a flash of inspiration.

"You want your fire to eat my home!?" It hunches over its branch protectively. "Well you can't have it! This is my log and I'm not going to leave."

"No, of course not," she agrees sadly, and that is that. Of course Brisanne is more than big enough to take the log away from it, but it seems terribly cruel to her to steal another creature's home, and her heart is too gentle for it. Perhaps there will be wood a little further into the forest, she tells herself hopefully.

There is not, and the fire must be content with meager meals of twigs and grass.

[White Blade]

The sun is not yet too high in the sky when Haeleth returns to the inside of the cave. The boulders are pushed away now and the way is clear. He walked down into the cave, one final time for the sake of the glowing stones he had seen below. He walked onward, the cave having cleared of smoke. He stepped across the sundered skull of the dragon and then at last laid his eyes upon the stars, lying about in a pool.

They are bright, the fire in their hearts burning white. But whereas they had glowed beneath the dragon, how bright they were now! To look at them and their shining heart, to gaze at the silver-bright stars in their glory. They are glorious to men, child, when they are hung in the sky, so far from our hands. But when they are near and when they are free, they are so beautiful, that alone one star is of greater beauty and better value than all the wealth of all the mortal kings and shamans that have ever dwelt upon the earth.

These are so wonderful, Haeleth thought, The foolish dragon thought he could take them for himself! But here they are, far better than when they had been beneath his greedy heel.

He reached out his hand to grasp one, and it paled in his hands. The fire within it grew dimmer and less marvelous, less pure. He shook it worriedly, and it seemed to moan. What has happened he wondered? And then his eyes flickered to the dragon's broken corpse and he thought, Is this what I have become?

Was he the dragon, caring only for himself and his own, for his stupid, vain quest, for his selfish folly that had brought an end to his family's home? Would he take these stars home against their will, though he thought they could hardly think, being stone. Would he crack them open and steal their hearts to preserve the fire for a few more moments? A few more days? Even for an eternity?

It is not good to be selfish, little one, but Haeleth was never that. Stubbornness also is foolishness and sin. He was that. His stubborn heart drove him to heft the diamond and he lifted it up to crack it and capture its' fire in the folds of his cloak. But he could not. He looked at it, and all its' gorgeous kin, and he knew he was only very little beside them. To keep them for any reason was folly. He carried it to the edge of the cave and asked it where its home was, the feeble diamond jumped and jubilated, pointing upward. He sighed. He asked if it could find its' way one its' own and the star bobbed up and down. He hefted it, he steeled himself, and he hurled the star to the peak of the sky.

How it flew, leaving a trail of silver behind it, before it disappeared behind the rays of the sun. Then, as it disappeared into that bright, eternal light, Haeleth sighed. There were many stars to go. Each was just as hard as the last, each wished to be returned to its' place. By the time he was done, the sun was setting. He could still not see the stars in their glory and he was swallowed up in the despair of defeat.

But as he sat, contemplating this thing, he said to himself, I shall return again to the place of my youth, and if any there return or remain, I shall fall at their feet and say, 'I have sinned against you!' And I will admit the full folly of my task. Perhaps they will receive me and accept my grief, perhaps they will reject me. I do not know. But it is better than doing this stubborn, this foolish, fruitless task forever.

Had Haeleth given into the weakness of his heart, he would have wandered the forest forever, unable to find the fire he so desperately craved, till the forest swallowed him whole. But he had already placed the oath of his heart beneath the good of the stars. He had mercy, where it would have been easier to be harsh, and he had given into the better portion of himself.

So he rose, and turned down the road, and began the journey home. And as he walked, the stars began to shine from the eastern edge of the world, seeming to beckon him home. And so Haeleth returned to the long house in awe and beauty. Because sometimes, the greatest courage is admitting you were wrong.

[TheDarkDM]

Anghau
The Taking of the First Soul

Anghau had followed Marwaen in her crazed pursuit of the jackal-men, silently content to watch her as she prepared for battle. Had it simply been them, Anghau may have raised some concern, perhaps protested the time they wasted in seeking the undoing of the impudent monkey-men. But the twins were not alone in their pursuit - as they ocntinued on, more and more spirits appeared before Anghau's eyes, going about their existence without a care for those still among the living. Once, a massive herd of ghostly deer crossed their path, so swift and sudden that Anghau reached out to shield Marwaen, only to realize she could not see them, that indeed they passed through her like mist. It was a terrifying sensation, walking through one world while observing another, and thus with every passing day Anghau's pale eyes grew more and more troubled.

When Marwaen entered the ramshackle village to address the jackal-men, Anghau kept to the periphery, confident in her ability to defend herself should the mongrels grow hostile. The pathetic condition of the village confused Anghau - for the first time, the endless parade of spirits had ceased, the ghosts of the forest disappearing into the trees quickly if they came into sight at all. Whether it was due to the half-remembered fears of mortality or some aversion to the beast-men, Anghau could not tell. But then, at the edge of vision, he caught the flickering glow of ghost light, drawing him forward like a beacon.

Pushing through the brittle door to one of the huts, Anghau beheld a collection of ragged bed mats, each holding an old and starving member of the jackal tribe. Most could do little but moan in aching pain, but one in the shadowed corner of the hut could not even do that. Half emerging from the body was a spirit form, bearing a striking resemblance to the body beneath it had it been years younger and far better fed. Desperately, the spirit struggled, though it seemed to vacillate between pulling itself back into the body or tugging itself free. Nothing within the hut responded as the horned shadow passed over them, and the struggling spirit paid little heed to the bloody-eyed stranger that came to a stop above it. But then Anghau's hand was upon the spirit's chest, pushing it back into the decayed body, and its head snapped up with an expression of pure terror.

As the spirit was forced back into its body, the jackal-man's eyes flew open, revealing the sightless white orbs beneath. The mouth creaked open, revealing the dessicated tongue within, and a long shrill cry echoed through the hut, carrying through the entire village to interrupt Marwaen's war cry. Fingers that had already begun to decay scraped at Anghau's arm, sending gobbets of flesh and flakes of bone raining to the ground, and long unused legs spasmed so hard that their bones shattered like twigs. In horror, Anghau recoiled, yet he did not release his grip on the tortured spirit. As he withdrew, there was a sound like-unto the tearing of silk, and the spirit was torn forcefully from the writhing vessel, sending the body to a heap upon the ground. In Anghau's hand writhed the fiery spirit form of the jackal-man, now realizing it was free from its earthly bonds yet still terrified by the creature that somehow held it.

With an ululating cry, one of the jackal warriors threw open the door to the hut, only to stagger back at the sight of the great shadow holding a ghost in thrall. Slowly, Anghau emerged into the light of the jackal village, the spirit still firmly in hand. As they saw him, the jackal-men fell back, some whispering wordless prayers, others gripping hard at their primitive clubs. Sighting Marwaen, Anghau seemed to awaken from a trance, and with a heft released the writhing spirit upon the ground. Yet, unlike the spirit of the wolf, this ghost did not fade. Instead, it prostrated itself before Anghau, seemingly enthralled by the strange being that had freed it from its mortal vessel before its appointed time. Mustering his courage, Ab'malek stepped towards the tall stranger, brandishing one of Marwaen's spears.

"Who are you, stranger, who conjures spirits? I warn you, if you seek to test us, we shall not fall easily!"

Anghau swept a contemptuous gaze over Ab'malek before turning his attention to Marwaen, who seemed to be stuck between curiosity and wicked amusement at the scene unfolding before them.

"You certainly have chosen a brave tribe to take under your wing, Mar."

[Nefarion Xid]

The Tale of the thief
Epilogue

And so, Rafe kept his word. Undine and her sisters were freed and the ancient copper grate that trapped them in the pond was dislodged and cast into the depths of the lake. Rafe used the power of the vial to free Lord Reku by washing away the ancient mud and dissolving the hill. The willow tree remained, too firmly rooted to the turtle’s shell to ever be removed. Dismal Reku downplayed Rafe’s success and chided him for letting Lord Gaba live. In truth, he was more grateful than he’d ever let on and Rafe’s refusal to claim a life reminded him of the Earthmother, an admiral quality. The Frog Lord, lived on of course, hiding in the dark of the forest and plotting his revenge.

Among the treasures of the Lord Gaba, Rafe found the hide of an enormous eel. In addition to being remarkably durable and flexible, it was also entirely waterproof. Knowing his duties would demand he spend most of his time and about the water, Rafe implored Undine and her sisters to fashion the hide into lightweight, utilitarian armor. They did so gladly and made for him regalia befitting his station. Cunningly, the boots included short webbed toes reinforced with bone, though Undine jested that Rafe would never be as quick in the water as the creatures that were born there. There was, after all, still the matter of not being able to breathe. The frogs called him brother despite his nature and fashioned for him a painted wooden helm made in the likeness of a frog. He wore it gladly when he attended court.

For years Rafe held court on the island at the center of the lake and entertained the representatives of all the creatures of the lake and river. Though he was Frog Lord first, the turtles called him friend (and their master was his vassal) and the koi maidens were eternally indebted to him. The crocodiles had yet to send their lord and the goblins and kappa adamantly refused to acknowledge such a creature as lord of anything. Monstrous Lord Carp still dwelled in the dark depths of the lake, but Rafe lacked the ability to deal with him for now. When much was set right Rafe and his cadre embarked down the river (which was slowly returning to its former glory thanks to the constant rain). Rafe napped in the shade of the willow tree on Reku’s back until they came to the bend in the river where his journey had begun in earnest nine years prior.

Bidding Reku to await his return, Rafe ventured into the forest again and hurried towards the house in the glade. He hadn’t found fire, but he had found peace and power. Hopefully many of his siblings had returned after the long years. And then… well, best to see if any remained.

Vial of Elemental Water
Though it is the symbol of dominion over the element of water, the Vial contains only one real property: it contains an infinite amount of water. At the user’s will, the water can be poured out slowly or gush out with the power of a mighty geyser, hard enough to knock most creatures off their feet. Even when set to the highest rate of flow (a whopping 300 gallons per second), it would still take a century to create a small lake. Only used in lending its magic to water domain focus powers does the vial become truly useful. The vial is carved from blue crystal and fits in the palm of your hand. The stopper is also crystal and though held in place by no apparent means, it can only be opened by the wielder.

[nysisobli]

The water, and the cold


Vivienne sunk to the bottom of this pond, her sight fading, and lungs burning she had given up hope of ever making out of the lagoon alive.

But then something happened, something unexpected, she could feel the bottom of the lagoon giving her strength. She pushed off the bottom and launched out of the water and landed on the ground just outside the lake.

"So you have survived child?" The Crocodile lord sneered.
Turning from cheerful to cold and calculating, Vivienne glared at this reptilian threat, "You have made the greatest and last mistake of your life."

The crocodile lord charged and swung his mighty tail, Vivienne at the last second dodged it and grabbed the great tail and sent him hurling into the wall.

The cave shuddered from the impact, The crocodile climbed out of the new crater in the side of his cave.

Circling each other the crocodile lord snapped, barely missing Vivienne's face.

Realizing how close she came to death just at that same moment, She felt fear for the first time in a long time.

The lord had the advantage for sure, and he pressed it, the fight going towards the top of the cave now, he forced her outside the cave and the fight lead to the point where he saw the girl for the first time.

[ArcaneStomper]

Mornd
The Forest

It took several weeks for Mornd to fully heal and while he did he contemplated his next course of action. Eventually he decided that the most beneficial thing to do would be to gather supplies. If the forest had been stripped as thoroughly as it looked it would be hard to find food, but fortunately he knew where to find some.

When he had collapsed the ant nest he had never intended to leave it in ruins. In fact he had fully intended to rebuild it, and so he had left several of the chambers intact including a few that had been used for food storage. So he set to work digging back down into the nest. And as he uncovered the food stores he found a surprising number of ant men still alive as well. At first he was concerned, but after cautiously talking with a few of them he realized that with their chief gone they were willing to take orders from him instead, and he soon became quite excited over the prospect of what he could do with the remnants of their tribe. Putting them to work he began digging a new complex in the ruins of the old nest. Eventually however he was satisfied that the ant men could continue without him and he left. He was still concerned about what had stripped the forest bare of green and he wanted to see if he could find the cause.

The forest had already started reclaiming the barren areas, but by following the trail of leafless he was eventually able to find the culprit. And when he did it was like nothing he had ever seen. A vast swarm of locust covered the forest, each one as wide as his hand. At first he considered simply leaving them. He had no love of the forest and watching it be stripped was not altogether displeasing. But then he remembered what he had seen on the way here. The forest would survive and reclaim what had been lost. There would be no true change and thus this wanton destruction was pointless. And more ominously he had found several skeletons of animals that had apparently not been fast enough to escape the swarm. And so he determined to stop the swarm.

It did not take him long to come up with a plan as he traveled back to the ants. Under his direction the ant men constructed a tower of stone, which they filled with leaves and grass. When it was completed Mornd then led an expedition loaded with more leaves and grass back towards the swarm. The swarm was moving quickly, but after an arduous trek Mornd was able to cut in front of it And from there he and the ant men cut a break in the forest around the swarm, removing anything that they might be able to eat starving it. Next he laid a trail of food to lure the swarm back to the tower. This was the dangerous part as the now starving swarm was literally snapping at his heels the entire way. But finally he made it and after dodging to the side he watched with satisfaction as the swarm did as he had predicted and flew into the tower's open doorway. A door which he then blocked by dropping a pile of rock and dirt in front of it. However his satisfaction quickly turned to frustration however as he saw first one and then two and then dozens of the locust crawled out of cracks he had neglected to seal and fly away. Despite everything he had done soon the swarm was assembled once more and all his work had been for naught

Groaning in frustration Mornd considered the tower again. When he had built it he had been impatient and that had been his undoing. So he tore it down and built it anew. Except this time he took great care in placing each and every block of stone inspecting it over and over again for cracks. And when the final inspection found no cracks he smiled at a job well done. However the time he had spent meant that the swarm had traveled quite some distance away. So the trek to catch up to them and deprive them of food was even more arduous than before. And the run back even more dangerous as this time the swarm managed to get close enough to strip some of the skin from his back in their desperation for more food. But still he managed to dodge away in time, and after sealing the tower with a carefully placed slab of stone he knew that this time he had succeeded in sealing the swarm away. Of course Mornd being Mornd he still watched for a full day just to make sure.

Still even as he celebrated the defeat of the swarm his success was tempered by what he had learned from the ant men. Others had gotten rid of swarms in the past. And yet they kept returning. Looking down the original path of destruction the swarm had carved and which was now almost fully reclaimed by the forest he realized that there must be a source. And that he would have to find it.

[nysisobli]

The Strong, The Brave, and The Scaly

The Lord lunged once again and caught the forearm of the young godling, and threw her hard at the stone cliff. The cliff crumbled down upon her. She struggled, and struggled hard and after moments the Lord was on her once again, biting and clawing and thrashing.


The girl would have died had she not been so strong, and with that she pushed him hard, the force threw him by shear luck, onto the top of the spear that was stuck in the tree, for the tree was now laying sideways.

Vivienne looked at him as he thrashed on the crude spear she had created, and strangled him to death. The scales had chipped off and broken upon the stranglation, and underneath the scales was a beautiful necklace, she once remembered her father wearing long long ago.

She smiled putting it on, and doing that realized she had made a grave mistake.

She screamed in agony as silver scales erupted out of her skin, her teeth grew sharp, claws grew out of her nails, and she sprouted a long spiked tail.
The only thing that didn't change was her eyes, still as vibrant as ever.

[picture]


for a picture
http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs9/i/2006/143/9/8/Half_Dragon_Elf_by_LazarusReturns.jpg






Later that evening or 10 years later?

Vivienne walked to the longhouse, in a daze, scales still forming, she shattered her mirror long ago, as well she was still beautiful even in the eyes of the other gods, she thought herself hideous. She brought back a single log and threw it into the fire.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Marwaen
The Conversion of the Jackals; Also: The First War

The god-child's smile grows, and she steps up to her brother;her hand lifts, to trace over his cheek, before falling. "But of course. They must be brave, to do what needs to be done. And none are braver, nor fiercer, than these Jackal-men; they have agreed to follow me wherever I lead, so long as where I go is towards the obliteration of the tree-swine."

Marwaen is not wise like Torealas, nor clever like Rafe or Rahn or Lupani. She is not steadfast, like Brisanne, and she carries not the innocence of Matapa nor the skills of Afein nor the focused order of Mornd. But she is single-minded in the pursuit of her goals, and she wishes every last one of the followers of Monkey--and, indeed, Monkey himself--laid low before her feet, crushed beneath her heel through the use of her warriors. She desires this tribe's loyalty, the warrior's loyalty, to her and not to Jackal or another nebulous god...

It takes months of preparation and planning, working in the safety of the jackal-men's village. Marwaen organizes groups of warriors to head into the forest in the darkest of nights, moving silently as they can and finding supplies; the first group carries with them the spears the god-child had brought, and return with a spitted monkey-child, that had been foraging for mushrooms on the forest floor and was caught unawares.

The tribe ate well, that night. Ab'malek and his warriors agreed it was a good sign, that Marwaen's presence--and that of her brother, they said, though they were still awed by him--was bringing them good fortune. What else could it be? And gradually they turned to her, more and more often bringing her their requests, their concerns, as opposed to praying and leaving offerings for their absent Animal Lord...and that was what she wished it to be.

Three months after Marwaen had first set foot in the village of the jackal-men, she deemed them ready; each had two spears, one to fling into the trees and one to carry. Ab'malek and several other warriors had their clubs slung through the primitive weapon-belts they wore; she had also shown them how to file their claws on rocks, to give them traction in the springy bark of the trees. No more would the tree-swine have the advantage of height and protection, no...she had brought new weapons, and would force them from their tree-homes.

The ululating cry of the jackal-men echoes for three days and three nights as the warriors took shifts; it was Marwaen's first tactic, to scare the monkey-people and make them restless. And she whispers in their ears as they howl: Remember your children, she murmurs. Remember your leader, brought low to the earth. Remember your women, your power, remember.

And the cry grew louder, as the warriors stomped the earth with feet made for running, as anger burned fierce in their hearts, a desire for revenge.

As the sun began to rise on the fourth day, Marwaen judged it was time. She gave her own cry, and it was eerily similar to that of the warriors; one of the women had been teaching her the language, these three months, and to see her, throat vibrating, bone blade raised to the air, was to be filled with awe and fear. Their plan was set; the first group of warriors would run to the monkey-kind's village and fling their spears up into the trees. It was understood that not all of them would strike...but as long as some did, the first assault would be a success. Their purpose was to spread terror in the first light of dawn, to make the monkey-kind, already exhausted and on edge from the howling, completely lose their heads. If they were successful, the tree-swine would be disorganized, and easy prey.

The second wave had a dual focus; half would climb into the trees, using the skills Marwaen had shown them, and half would stay on the ground, to join with those of the first wave, and fight any tree-swine that dared leave their homes due to fear.

And the god-child's eyes gleamed, in the darkness, with a blood-driven pleasure.

The monkey-kind were disoriented, tired and on edge from the howls that had emerged from the jackal's village; when the warriors began to fling spears into their trees, they were beside themselves, and the first part of Marwaen's plan worked beautifully. Some ran into the forest, through the trees; those fighters that had climbed up into the branches gave chase, though it was not as graceful. Some fell to the forest floor, to be met by the fighters there; in the first minutes, monkey-kind were slaughtered.

But then, the warriors of the monkey tribe got their bearings and their weapons, and the fight settled in to be a real thing; Marwaen exhorted her warriors to remember the injustices committed against them, to battle these tyrants of the woods and reclaim their proper place. But then, oh...there were whispers in the ears of the monkey-kind too, sibilant and sweet, reminding them of eaten children and being confined to the treetops.

For what good was a one-sided battle?

The Jackal-men were winning the fight; Ab'malek howled to the air, and throughout the woods the others echoed his cry. The battle raged for a day, and then the night, and then the next day. Some of the monkey-kind surrendered, defecting from their own people, and were taken in by Ab'malek and his warriors to become the basest of slaves; some begged the hospitality of other beastmen, but were turned away. None wanted the war brought to their doorsteps.

And now, the third group was fulfilling their end of the bargain...the women and children left in the village began to wail, setting up a clamor at the shrine to Jackal, crying that they were starving, that Monkey was killing them, that it was all his fault.

The cries of the tribes were heard, and not just on the battlefield. Monkey and Jackal arose from their slumbering, their disaffection for their own people crumbling; each held the other responsible for this battle, this war that twisted amongst the trees and sent blood and death through their leaves. And their cries were heard by their fellow tribes, jackal-men and monkey-kind alike, aroused from their villages by the fierce sounds of battle and the pull of their Lords. And so the first battle explodes into a war of the tribes, and Marwaen's mad laugh echoes as she fights by the side of her chosen one, Ab'malek, and his arm is strengthened by her support, and his warriors fight strongly for her favor.

Three months of planning, three days of establishing fear, and three days of war; on the fourth day, the first fight was won, and victory went to Ab'malek and his fighters as he held aloft the head of the monkey-tribe's leader. But the victory is bitter-sweet, for several bold warriors were lost in the battle, and several more hovered on the brink of death, wounded and in agony.

Marwaen stands there, once-white blade glistening in the blood of her foes, the monkey-kind she had cut down in the support of her chosen tribe; she lifts her face to the sun, and her cry of victory--and mourning--cuts across the sudden stillness of the air. There is only hers, for a moment...then the remaining warriors raise their own heads, and their cries echo hers. Still, there is no time for rest, only time to carry the bodies of the dead and wounded back to the women for tending and burial. Marwaen knows not where her brother has gone, but the sounds of battle still ring through the forest, and her blood runs hot.

"Come! We must support the brother-kin! Call out your support for them, the other jackal-men, your tribesmen!" And their howls change, to the high keen of victory, the sharp growl of bloodlust, and fear races through the monkey-kind as that cry echoes in the trees. Ab'malek and his warriors are coming, anointed in the blood of their enemies, their victory pulsing in their hearts. Marwaen the god-child is coming, her blade stained with her foes' remains, and she cries out with her fighters. This is War, and she will win it.

[OverThoughtName]

Afein
Court of the Skies

It had been quite some time since that fateful day, when Afein had claimed this throne. Now she sat on it, for the fifth year. Odd that she had actually grown accustomed to ruling the birds. For the first year, when all she had was Vreis and a few of the survivors of that fight with Voland, she had thought she'd never grow accustomed to ruling from here. Actually, she hadn't, she'd learned to just tune out the petty arguments that arose. One day, she'd need to form a proper judge to deal with those. Right now, another such "crisis" was just about to wind down, so she let her mind wander elsewhere.

Still, her few aknowledgers searched for the lost Crown of the Skies. Even as his blood was drawn, Blue Jay had cursed her to never rule perfectly in his stead, tossing the circlet into the air and wishing it away with his very life. Without the crown, this place was dying. Whatever fey magics had been placed upon it seemed to maintain the very tree the court was built into and, now, those crystal leaves were beginning to rot.

When she had questioned those few who were left to her about the prophecy on the door, they had acted confused. "What door," they said, "Surely not the one behind the throne? There's no prophecy there. Just stone, strong, cold, gray stone." She had even tried to explain it to them, and, while a few of them said the tall man reminded them of the Fey Tyrant, none could say who the other figure was. It had become practice to speculate on the meaning of the "Invisible Tapestry" that she described, the most common agreement that the winged arm meant whoever the person pictured was, they were leader of the birds.

Letting out a sigh, she turned her attention back towards her courtiers. Another argument was brewing among the small group, about hunting rights of all things. The first decree she had given was that none may forcefully take another's food, but that didn't stop these squabbles. No matter how much she ruled on a matter, birds always thought they could find a way to wriggle out of the intent. Just about to make her judgement, that the aggressor of the case needed to stand down, a small bird, a whip-poor-will, alighted on the arm-rest of her throne. "What is it, little one?" she asked, intent on the bird that looked like a twig, "Can't you see I'm adjucating a very important case?" After just a few years, she'd already become jaded to the more boring duties of her rule.

Chirping musicaly, and loudly, the bird halted the rest of the conversation in the room, "They found it! They found it! The crown! They found it!" Twice this had happened before, each with a strange bird with a stranger circlet, both made solely from leaves and twigs. Afein held no hope for this time to hold out either, almost resigned to her court of ten complainers. She waved the two groups down, though, for she had to always show preference to those searching for her. Otherwise they'd stop.

Entering the dying room was a small band of four Cardinal women. Each held their head high, as she had taught the Cardinals to do. They had, after all, given seven hunters to death for her. Inside their circle stood a youth of the same tribe, holding something she couldn't quite see behind his back. Coming forward and bowing, she waved them up and beckoned them to speak. "Greatest Afein, we are those who were wed to the hunters with Vreis, and our sole surviving son has a gift he wishes to bestow upon you for your respect to his fathers." A small nudge pushed the youth forward. It was, indeed, her mother's crown that he carried!

The child walked up to her shyly, offering her the crown without saying a word. Waiting until he looked up at her, which took a while, she spoke, "Tell me how you found this, child. The best gift is a story, and no one tells me any interesting stories anymore."

Looking up at her, the child took some measure of confidence from her kind smile and started to talk, "Well, uh, you see... There was this tree. Big tree, all alone in a clearing, sorta like this one, but normal. It was an oak, it hadn't made acorns in five years. We thought it was dead and thought we'd start to take it's limbs for our homes. Well, there was fruit on it. Strange fruit made of wind. Me and my friends plucked a few, they're hard to find, ya know, and I bit into one on a dare. Blew like a storm, it did.

"Well, when we figured out the fruit wouldn't be worth anything, because it couldn't be eaten, we started to look around. The tree had a hollow in it, kinda like this one, but harder to get into. Plus there were odd noises coming out of it. So I went inside. A dare again, ya know? But the hollow kept on going and going and going and it felt like I wasn't getting anywhere, but then I felt something metal, the crown. So I went back and then we came here." The child puffed his feathers up at the young woman on the throne, obviously proud of what he'd done. She ruffled his crest feathers before taking the crown, odd praise for a bird-fellow, but he seemed to get the gist of it.

Turning the crown over in her hands, it mesmerized her like it had when she had first been in here. Soon enough, though, she took it and placed it on her head. It felt like the item was probing her mind, alive itself, making sure she was worthy. Truly, at first, it felt like she had been rejected, but then it latched on, and every fiber of her being felt pain, pleasure, warmth, and cold at the same time. A voice ringed in her head, a voice that spoke not in words, but meaning.

"With this, the Fey Tyrant is released. A child of Earthmother has the crown. Glory to the Sky! Glory to the Storm!"

The crown, it's duty fulfilled, began to melt. Half of it did, at least, and Afein began to change. Where the drops of molten metal touched her skin, feathers sprouted. Where the gold and silver poured oh her back, wings grew. Without color at first, then with all colors, but finally settling on the hue of her hair. As red as the cardinals that watched her in awed silence, she began to take her place in the world.

Recovering after a long moment, Afein became aware of the world around her in a different light. She felt those who were in her court, knew their very souls. Yes, her court, not Jay's, or the Tyrant's, or her Father's anymore, but her own. And she knew her own soul was tied to theirs, too. But with this final awareness came something else, a feeling of loss.

The whole of the sky was broken. To be complete, she needed dominion over lightning; the lightning she now felt in her soul someone, or something, else owned. Or they needed her hold on the birds. She hoped whatever it was didn't need her as she yearned for it. Seven years ago, she had left looking for sky-fire. Now, that need was part of her, not just a childhood fancy. Thanking her attendees, she quickly told Vreis that she had to leave. She had to find her family. First she needed to make sure none of them held her other half, then she needed to warn them.

Holding what remained of her crown, she spread her new wings and took off. First she'd head for the longhouse. Maybe some still remained. She hoped they all did.

3 Major Acts: Claim Divine Sanctum (Court of the Sky)

[TheDarkDM]

Anghau
At the Dead Court

In the first month of Marwaen's preparations, Anghau remained in the shadows of the jackal village. After the initial shock of the spirit that seemed bound to Anghau's will, the jackal-men had settled into an uncomfortable pattern of giving Anghau a wide berth. Still though, some of the younger pups gathered behind huts and under rushes in hopes of sighting the horned stranger and his ethereal attendant. Eventually, a few of the braver ones mustered the courage to approach Anghau, in the middle of the day, of course, to ask how he's achieved the feat of communing with spirits. Those few jackal children were treated to an amused smile. For you see child, Anghau's heart was not as wicked then as it is now, and he could still marvel at the pups' terrified wonder. So he sat with them, and talked of spirits, how they surrounded the village on all sides, moving about existence much as they had when they lived. And the jackal pups quailed at this, for who wishes to learn they are surrounded by ghosts? Yet, even as they scampered back to curl next to their mothers the pups touched by Anghau imagined the silent motions of the innumerable ghosts beyond their hut walls, and grew fascinated with the idea of life after death.

As that month passed and a few jackal-men were infected with the first seeds of Anghau's dread order, another change took place. As it tended to him, the spirit Anghau had bound began to change, ever so slightly at first, but soon all could see it. Where there had once been a tall, proud jackal warrior, the spirit's back began to hunch, and soon it walked on all fours like a beast of the forest. Its body and limbs lengthened until they were like unto some great canine creature. And though the intelligence never faded from the thing's eyes, its skull lengthened and distorted into a frightful visage. None could tell what malefic force had altered the spirit so, least of all Anghau, but its monstrous presence weighed on his mind as the days dragged on and his nights of passion with Marwaen grew fewer as she tended to her nascent army.

But more pressing than all of that, beyond the taint his binding had inflicted on the jackal spirit or the cautious conversion of children was the knowledge that fire might be close, so close Anghau could almost taste it. For as he communed with the spirits of the forest he too grew able to see the shining glow in the distance, the flaming beacon that could spell success for his and Marwaen's mission. Thus it was that on the first day of their second month among the jackal-men, Anghau bid goodbye to his sister and set out to uncover the mystery of the spiritual light. He ventured into the forest with naught but Marwaen's gifted sword and his spiritual companion, and in his passing left the first traces of what we now call the Hysbryd Hela. Now, come out from under your covers child, it wasn't the true thing, for Anghau was not yet the great enemy of life he is today. Oh, at his approach spirits fled, but that was more due to his hound than any power of Anghau's.

It took Anghau many days to traverse that steaming forest, until the trees began to thin and he emerged onto a broken hill. Rising above the forest, its summit was crowned in the broken menhirs of an ancient ruin, far older that any of us can now say. It was from that stone circle that the great light erupted, and so Anghau climbed the shallow rise for hours until he reached the ruin's broken walls. Now, none know exactly who left those ruins behind child, though it is said that Anghau believed it to be an ancient court of the High Father and Earth Mother, but whatever its origin it was rife with spirits. From all corners of the Black they seemed to have come, every species of every size congregating in small groups throughout the ruin. And there, at the very center, was the source of the great light - a pair of thrones, carved from the living stone, seemingly untouched by the passage of time. Anghau stepped spellbound into this spirit court, only for the assembled mass to stop and stare and him. Who was this mortal interloper, who dared to defile the sanctity of the barren hill? And what monstrosity had he brought with him, so twisted and deformed they could not even tell from which species it originated? A ripple of anger went through the spirits then, child, and they advanced menacingly on the god-child. Anghau drew his bone blade, but he knew in his heart that he could not fight off the entirety of the horde. But then came the terrible, howling cry we now know so well, and Anghau's hound leapt at the approaching spirits. So great was its ferocity and its rage that it took a great bear by the throat and threw it down, causing the other spirits to flee in unaccustomed fear.

Standing alone atop the summit, Anghau saw the light from the thrones dim, the surrounding illumination robbed from them. Yet, the thrones still shone, and Anghau began a desperate search for something - anything - that might help fuel the fire of a home he barely remembered. For two days he searched, delving deep into the narrow passages carved into the hill, and for two days he had naught to show for his labor save scrapes and bruises. But on the third day, while delving into yet another lightless passage, Anghau hit upon something of value. Forcing his way though a flimsy stone wall, he found himself in a rough-hewn tomb, thin windows carved deep to send columns of light down upon a set of skeletal remains. To Anghau's amazement, the corpse appeared human, so it was so long dead he could tell little else. But while this discovery, that there had once been humans besides himself, may have satisfied Anghau's siblings, it was the corpse's treasures that caught his eye. Standing in an alcove was an elaborate set of armor, gauntlets, breastplate, and pauldrons emblazoned with the symbols of the Earth Mother and High Father. They were princely items, matched only by an ornate hilt whose blade had long since rusted away, weighted down by a great bloodstone.

Anghau took up the items of the dead before retreating to the surface, clutching them to his chest like a thief. For even then, child, was Anghau aware of his parents' greatness and the transgression he committed. But transgress he did, though for necessity or greed who can say, and his future searches proved fruitless. At the end of a week, Anghau grew angry, and driven by frustration and despair he raged into the dark heavens of the night. Why, he asked, why had he and Marwaen been put through such trials only to find nothing of value. No child, he received no response, but in that thundering silence it seems Anghau found new purpose. He returned to Marwaen then, two weeks after his departure, clad in the armor of the forgotten warrior and presenting the jeweled pommel to his sister as a gift. That night, he took her aside, and told Marwaen of the great ruin, on the empty waste in the middle of the forest, and how they might turn it to their advantage. For to gain dominance over the jackal-men and their monkey enemies, they would need to slay the great lords Jackal and Monkey. And so Anghau and Marwaen hatched a plan in the dead of night, for that is the time for guile, and set in motion the first movements of Jackal and Monkey's downfall.

One week prior to Marwaen's great war, Anghau left again, taking with him what few artisans dwelt among the jackal-men. As Marwaen launched her preliminary assault, they set a great labyrinth of traps among the shattered stones of the ruined hill. For if their plan worked, Jackal and Monkey would move against each other, and the sole battlefield those great Lords could clash was that great hillside. When they came, Anghau and Marwaen would be ready.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Marwaen
Winning the First War: Or, the Ascension to Godhood

The pommel-stone Anghau had given her had been placed in the hilt of her sword, before the first battle; Marwaen had worked at hollowing out a space for it, then had wound leather about the hole so that the stone could not fall out. She liked it, for it added a weightiness to the blade that she could certainly appreciate. And as she fought, it glowed, with a dim light that pulsed as though it were a beating heart.

Jackal and Monkey had not come to blows since before the High Father's decree had been handed down; now, seeing this wild god-child leading the jackal-men in battle, hearing the sounds of blood and destruction on both sides, the Animal Lords could no longer bear standing aside. Only one place was large enough for the two to meet without further destroying the sacred Wood, and that was the ancient and hallowed court; it was a restricted place, but they cared not for the old rules.

And so, as their followers battled--and the jackal-men came together, under Marwaen's command--so too did Monkey and Jackal battle, and fall prey to the traps and pitfalls that clever Anghau had created. Again and again did they struggle free from the pits; again and again did they shake off wounds that would have brought a normal creature low.

But even an Animal Lord as clever as Monkey is not immortal, and even an Animal Lord as strong as Jackal can only cheat death so often. And so it was that a final trap collapsed beneath the fighting Lords, and they did not emerge again.

No, child. No one knows how long the battle raged. But that part of the Forest is called the Bloodplains, for much blood was spilled, and it is said that the scent of it hangs on the air to this day.

No, I have not been there. Stop asking questions and listen, or the ghosts will get you for disrespect.

Marwaen, the god-child, was more clever than she gave herself credit for, or else more cunning, or else simply devoted to her brother's will. Ab'malek's tribe had suffered heavy losses, but it did not stop them from joining with the next tribe, and then the next, and then the next, and at their head was a bloody-eyed goddess, who urged them towards the open hill and promised them it would be the best vantage point for their battle.

What happened next is disputed amongst all those who have tales handed down from families on the battlefield. Some say the soul of Jackal rose up from that defiled sacred ground and killed the still-fighting monkey-kind in an instant; some say no, it was Anghau and his fearsome spirit-beast, that so struck terror into the hearts of the monkey-kind they either fled or died.

And some whisper of darker deeds, where Marwaen and her brother slipped away to the pit where the Animal Lords lay dying. Some say that day that the god-children committed the most heinous sort of murder, on Lords which had done them no wrong.

They say that Marwaen slit the throat of the Jackal Lord with her bloodstained blade, and that as his life gushed over her hand and her sword the stone she had received as a gift pulsed with an unholy light, awoken by that spilling. And they say that she emerged from that pit a changed woman, child, somehow taller, eldritch, and they say that blood-tattoos played across her skin.

But they say many things, child, and not all stories are worth believing. It is true, though, that the jackal-men won the battle, and became the Myrangh, the chosen people of Marwaen and Anghau; it is true that they are still chosen of the War-goddess and Death-lord today.

The Death-lord, child? You wish to hear of him? Well, that is a story for another telling.

[ArlEammon]

Toraealas, Ascension

It was there Toraealas made the Daghdanaan city a massive shrine to Mantis. The vines of the plants and vegetation began to over grow everywhere. Everywhere in the city seemed to be green. In Daghdanaan, the city was a monument to Mantis. Toraealas held a lonely memorial for him, in order to finally say goodbye. He would be the last to reach the Grove once more, as he wondered what had happened to his siblings. It was not until several days after Mantis'es death that Toraealas had decided to brave the wilderness once more, and attempt to reach home.

As soon as Toraealas had left the wards of the city, The Hound greeted him. "Ah, if it isn't Toraeal, the little brat that Mantis has been raising? Did I break your heart when I ate your Master?" Toraeal stared into the eyes of the Hound. "Get out of my sight, you filthy mongrel." Toraeal demanded. But The Hound would not do so. "No, I will torment, and then I will kill you."

And so the fight began. If it could be called a fight. The Hound lunged after Toraealas with great speed, by Toraealas was resilient. As the wounds healed quickly, The Hound marveled. But Toraealas retaliated by emptying the contents of one of his pouches into The Hound's eyes. . . The Hound screamed in pain and blindly slashed at Toraeal. Safely out of The Hound's reach, Toraeal raised his Staff. The Staff of Mantis glowed green as vines tore out from the rocky ground and covered The Hound in thorn vines, cutting into his flesh. Toraealas slammed the staff on the ground, and the vines took Hound away. Toraealas would not see the Hound again for some time, but he had thought he was taken care of.

A strange spirit smiled on Toraealas from above, and gave it's approval.

[daelrog]

Of the Earth, Part 2 of 2

Bran took his time, the journey to the ridge lasting a full week. He ate, slept, and walked with the worms all around him. So many were listening, so many were waiting. It gave him little comfort but he did not let his trepidation show. He did not see the Great Worm as he travelled, could only feel it shift the earth beneath him from time to time. The day came when at last he was atop the ridge, and he could see the monstrous worm make its up way, now in full view, at least its front half.

“So human child, what is this contest of yours? How would you best me, and save your life?”

And Bran only laughed, much to the Great Worm’s confusion.

“Why do you laugh? Is this another thing you did with your wretched siblings? Laugh an inopportune times?”

“I laugh because I am free now, free of fear, free from life. I have no contest. For a week now I have tried to think of a contest in which I could win in which you would accept, but I could think of none. For three days I tried to consider this, for one day I despaired, and the last three days I was at peace with my self. If nothing else, I have made you waste a week of your existence blindly following me for the sake of some perceived game.”

For the first time since the worms had come to him Bran heard complete silence.

And then the ground began to shake.

The worm bellowed in rage. How dare this mere mortal mock him so. Its great body lurched back, and its maw opened wide to swiftly end Bran’s life. Worms as tiny as a hair to as large as a full grown man began sprouting from the ground all around Bran, and the earth began to crumble beneath them all. The wise, quiet Bran backed up to the very edge of the ridge looking down at the deep vault below. The Great Worm lunged forward, and the earth gave way, the animal lord, the man, and thousands of wriggling animals full into the deep blackness below.




Is this what Bran wanted? To die, trapped in the earth, his enemy broken and shattered with him? Is this his fate, to slay but one animal lord and to die peacefully in the darkness, his family never knowing his final breath? No, this was not his end, this was not meant to be his final day. The day would come, but not this time, not this way.

Where was up? Where was down? There was no light here, trapped beneath the surface, in a world that saw no sun. He could move his arms, he at least had that much room. A tiny bit of saliva rolled down his forehead and dripped off the top of his crown. He was upside down apparently.

Slowly he began to climb. How many feet, how many miles he was from the forest above he did not know. All he knew was that several of his bones were broken, and his entire body ached and bled. He should be dead, but he was not, and he would continue to survive.

Days turned to months turned to years as Bran worked his way back to the surface. Some days he dug upward. Some day he traveled across great caves that seemed larger than the world itself. Other times he climbed up rocks and sheer cliffs. Living off underwater river channels, and the beasts below the surface, Bran learned to survive in pitch black.

He changed greatly during this time. He kept his eyes closed, almost all the time now, and his skin grew pale. His body became harder, and tougher like stone and his voice became to hold the very weight of the earth in each note until his own words could make the earth tremble and rupture, letting him pass.

And then one day he reached the surface.

Rain was pouring down and all around he could see worms, leaderless, directionless move about, trying to breath and escape the soaked soil. Bran cared little, for he knew where he had to go. Eyes opened that were now a feral red that burned bright. He would see his siblings again, at least those who had survived this time in the Black Forest.

[TheDarkDM]

Anghau
On the Murder Divine

Ah child, you return? Come to hear of the Death-lord, have you, and what truly transpired in the dark pit that held the feuding Lords Jackal and Monkey? It was a frightful clash, we are told, the great toothed bulk of Jackal clashing against the bludgeoning mass of Monkey again and again. Even the worst of mortal traps were little more than inconveniences to them, for they were animal Lords child, and far beyond our ken. But by the time they fell within that last great pit, their clash had taken its toll, and as they continued to fight it was in the muddy pool of their blood and the parched earth of the sacred court. With every pass, the earth shook, and as the screams of pain began to outlast the howls of rage Marwaen slipped away from her Myrangh to join Anghau at the lip of the pit.

There, far below the two, crouched Monkey and Jackal, panting in exhaustion and bleeding from a multitude of wounds. Yet they were still fearsome prey, for Monkey's height rivaled that of one of his people's vaunted trees, and Jackal's maw held fangs the size of daggers, and could devour one of his kin in a single swallow. So clouded were the eyes of the enraged lords that they did not see the twin shadows drop within their battlefield, did not even take their eyes off each other until Marwaen's blade cut into the flesh of Jackal's neck. Yet the flesh of an Animal Lord cannot be so easily pierced, even by Marwaen's sword, and while the wound bled it was far from fatal. Jackal snapped down at the tiny thing that dared to cause him such pain, only for Marwaen to dance aside, dodging his fangs to strike another shallow cut. Had he been at his full strength, Jackal would doubtless had caught up Marwaen in his jaws or brought his mighty paws down to trample her, but within the pit he was restricted, and his days-long battle with Monkey had taken grievous toll on his speed. And so Marwaen ducked and dodged about the great beast, slowly whittling away at its leathern hide.

Meanwhile, Monkey capered and laughed to see his old foe humiliated by so small an opponent. So entranced was he in the combat that he did not see the horned form climbing the pit behind him, did not hear the scrape of metal on stone as ancient gauntlets dug into dessicated ground. But then, in a flash, Anghau was upon his shoulders, stabbing down upon his massive skull with all the force he could muster. Shrieks of laughter turned to roars of pain, and Monkey's head spasmed, trying to shake loose the godling. But Anghau kept a firm grip on his thick fur, and even as Monkey's flailing grew more frantic he continued his assault upon Monkey's scalp. So consumed was he by the shower of blood and flesh that Anghau did not see the great fist that sailed through the air towards him until it was nearly on him, and though he tried to dodge he was thrown at last from Monkey's shoulders with a sickening crunch. Anghau skidded along the slick surface of the pit, his blade flying, the ancient breastplate he wore left in tatters, leaving him with naught but gauntlets and his divine blood to face the oncoming Animal Lord.

Now, Marwaen's battle-lust is legendary child, but even she noticed her twin's reversal of fortunes. Sliding beneath Jackal's scarred belly, she grabbed up Anghau's fallen sword and made to throw it back to him. But Jackal had been waiting for just such a moment, and with a kick sent Marwaen and both blades into the wall of the pit. Dazed, it was all Marwaen could do to avoid being engulfed by the Lord's oncoming jaws. But oh, how cruel fortune is child, for so intent was Jackal on a quick kill that he lost his footing in the bloody much and collided whole-sale with the stony earth, throwing him from his feet. Still slightly dazed, and bleeding from the razored stones, Marwaen seized her chance, leaping upon the great Lord and driving her blades deep into his neck, all the way to the hilt. Yet still Jackal refused to die, his flailing head pulling Marwaen from her feet and nearly crushing her before she regained her footing. With a primal cry, Marwaen forced her blades apart, calling upon the last reserves of her strength. The ancient pommel stone flashed a brilliant, bloody red, and with a sigh the Jackal Lord's flesh surrendered to the bony blades. Marwaen was bathed in the arterial spray of the Jackal Lord's slit throat, and as he lay twitching she stood victorious.

Hush child, I'm getting back to the Death-lord. Now, Anghau was in a perilous position, deprived of both weapon and armor and with an enraged Monkey bearing down on him. Another god would have fled, or dodged, or tried to reason with the raging Monkey. But Anghau, even then, understood death, and so he charged into Monkey's path. So surprised was he that any being so small would dare challenge him that he slowed only so slightly, yet it was enough. With a leap, Anghau was on Monkey's thigh, digging the metal fingers of the gauntlet deep into his flesh. With a howl, Monkey slapped down on Anghau, but he was already gone, bounding to the beast's side and climbing with laborious, bloody steps back to Monkey's neck. Reaching the summit, Anghau beheld the slick atrocity he'd made of Monkey's head, a massive portion of skull exposed to the light of the sun. Without thinking, he plunged his hand towards the exposed bone, sending the clutching metal into Monkey's brain. He howled then child, oh how he howled, but his fate had already been sealed. He collapsed into a shuddering pile, and when Anghau withdrew his hands the gauntlets glowed with a ghostly black light. Raising his palms to his lips, he drank the life's blood of his enemy, and so attained divinity.

All about Anghau, his perceptions exploded, the rush of death and violence threatening to overwhelm him. He collapsed to his knees, and when he looked up his gaze was filled with the luminous spirits of Jackal and Monkey, each staring balefully down on the strangers who had brought them low. In the flickering majesty of their spirits, Anghau suddenly saw the clear success of his and Marwaen's original task, and reaching out he took hold of their immortal souls. Jackal and Monkey struggled then child, oh how they struggled, but their spirits in Anghau's hands were like unto air, weightless and soothing. Dragging them back towards the corpse of Monkey, Anghau thrust the spirits within the skull of the fallen Lord, evicting blood and brain in a shower of gore. Instinctively, Jackal snapped at Monkey, and Monkey struck at Jackal, and as the two began to war anew a great light and heat emanated from the skull. As Anghau watched, the skull began to broil in the radiant heat of their hatred and conflict, and as the skin flaked away in ash the skull grew smaller, confining the great spirits ever more and intensifying the soulfire of their war. Eventually, what had once been a hut sized monolith was reduced to little more than a blackened human skull, and as Anghau knelt to take it up he was amazed to feel no pain. For the fires of the soul can no sooner burn he who controls all spirits as the heat of the sun could burn its noble lord.

And so, when Marwaen emerged from that pit as a newly risen angel of war, she was accompanied by a horned god with barbed hands, clutching a flaming skull. And, though they were feasted for thirty days and thirty nights by the Myrangh, both Anghau and Marwaen felt a strange pull to the south, a compulsion to return to the home of their childhood. Thus, at the apex of the celebrations Anghau and Marwaen departed to bring fire back to the home of the gods. That is the story of how Death and War gained their place child, the place we venerate to this day. Now, off to bed with you - we're teaching poisons tomorrow, and there are some fresh Ana to experiment upon.

[The_Snark]

The Hearth-Tender's Tale
Part 5

Time passes, and the world begins to grow cold.

The sacred glade is now barren of grass, stripped to feed the fire, and the earth beneath it is hard and dry. Only the seeds which Toraealas planted before he left still flourish within the grove, and they alone keep Brisanne from the edge of starvation: their leaves are bitter but filling, their nuts are good to eat and grow often, and they are hardier than any weed. Now she realizes how much she truly misses her twin; she will not forgive him his negligence, but the years and the proof of his care have softened her anger.

And the others; ah! She would give much to hear Rahn's singing again, Matapa humming as she works, the sound of Haeleth and Marwaen playing at sticks outside. Silence and loneliness wear at her like waves on a rock, and more and more she stares into the hearth, losing herself in memories of warmer days.

The leaves turn brown and red and eventually fall from their boughs to earth, and for a brief time the fire feasts.

The little longhouse molders without Mornd's hand to care for it. Wood grows soft, and the door hangs crooked when she leaves it open, and the creaking noises which all houses make at night become groans and shudders. One night a furious windstorm blows a great branch down and into the roof of the house, and that is the house's deathblow -- for it is then that Brisanne realizes there is wood yet left in the glade.

The branch burns first, of course, and then the fallen rafters; but soon these are gone, and she makes the choice to feed a piece of their home to the fire. She makes that choice once, twice, thrice, a dozen times and more. The hole in the house threatens to reveal her to the night as it gapes wider, and she fears that the fire's unveiled light will draw some monstrous beast to her; but she fears the thought of sleeping alone in the dark and cold more.

So the hole grows, and grows, until there is more hole than house, and then no house at all. The chair she sat in for so long goes for kindling, and the blankets that her brothers and sisters used to sleep in, and everything else that they owned. She weeps over it, for it feels as though she burns their memories, but the fire must burn.

[ArcaneStomper]

Mornd
The Forest

After preparing for several weeks Mornd led a group of the best ant men he could assemble in the direction from which the swarm had come. It was not easy to track the trail. Where once the tress had been stripped and the ground barren there were now fresh growths and a covering of underbrush. The only clues were the occasional patches that had not yet regrown and the occasional dead tree that had not survived the passing of the swarm. Still even as he scoured the forest for clues Mornd was struck by the fact that there were clues at all. When he had passed through the forest his own markings had been grown over almost instantly, but here he could still see traces even months later. For now though he had a mission to complete and so he decided to consider the implications later.

And eventually Mornd and his expedition reached a portion of the forest that differed greatly from the surrounding forest. The trees here bore the signs of repeated passages of locust swarms and the ground was completely bare. Leaving the ant men behind Mornd pressed further looking for the source. And it was not long before he found it. The swarm was far far larger than the one he had seen before. As it moved the sun disappeared behind its shadow. The wind from it’s wings almost blew Mornd over, and the noise from the multitude of locust filled the forest with an indescribable screeching. And in the middle of it all flew the largest locust that Mornd had ever seen. Not just bigger than his hand. No this one was bigger than Mornd itself. Mornd had never seen one before, but he knew that this must be one of the fabled lords of the forest.

Shaking his head Mornd retreated and considered. This would be far more difficult than he had thought it would be. In fact he was not sure what he would do. No mere tower would contain this swarm. But then as he turned his head he saw it. Towering above the surrounding forest was a massive cliff. Quickly Mornd made his way to it and he was impressed with what he saw, a natural tower of granite solid and unbroken. If he were to use this not even the locust lord itself would be able to break free. But still it would not be easy. In order to contain the locust he would have to bore out a passage into the mountain and there the very solidness he prized it for would work against him. And even once he was finished the task remained to lure the locust into it and he doubted the Lord would fall for the simple tricks he had used last time.

And so it proved. Mornd and his ants labored for a full year to bore into the mountain. They could not use a natural cave for there was always the chance of cracks that would lead to the outside. But yet Mornd could not dig the simple straight tunnel he preferred as the locust lord might realize something was amiss. So Mornd dug and carved and painstakingly created a cave system crafted to exactly resemble a natural formation. And when the year was up and the caverns were complete Mornd knew that he was only halfway done.

For the next step Mornd moved only under the cover of darkness when the swarm was dormant. Working swiftly he and the ant men would strip al the edible leaves from the trees and the plants from the ground leaving nothing for the locust to eat. When the swarm awoke it found nothing to eat all around it, except in one direction. In one spot only Mornd left the forest untouched. It was a slow process. The swarm was so large that clearing enough forest every night was an extremely arduous task. And Mornd knew that the Locust lord was not like its lesser kin. It knew someone was working harm against it. But still if it wanted to feed it had no chance and so slowly ever so slowly Mornd led the swarm.

And one day when it was close enough to the mountain the swarm awoke to find that the even the customary patch of forest was nowhere to be found. Only barren trees in every direction and in front of it stood Mornd waiting. Knowing that he was likely in extreme danger from the angry swarm Mornd called out as soon as he saw the Lord awake.

“Oh great one I come bearing news. The creatures of the forest have risen up against you. They knew that you are too powerful to beat in fair combat, so they have stripped the forest in hopes of weakening you. But I know of a great store of food that the creatures have hidden away.” Mornd knew that he was perhaps laying the flattery on a bit thick, but he wasn’t as skilled a talker as Rahn and he hoped that immediate and heavy flattering would lead the Locust Lord to believe him.

“And why should I trust you strange creature. How do I know you aren’t in league with my enemies.” As the Lord screeched out its response Mornd barely kept himself from flinching. The Locust Lord’s voice was almost painful to hear.

“Because I know that they are wrong. You are a great and wise lord worthy of service. The animals fear your greatness. They fear that you will so far overshadow that they will be nothing beside you. But I am a mere humble servant and so I do not and have come to help you.”

For long minutes the Locust Lord considered and Mornd feared that his ruse had been seen through. But then Lord screeched again, “Very well, I will follow you to this food, but if you betray me I will rend your flesh from your bones and give your remains to the swarm.”

Sighing in satisfaction Mornd turned and led the swarm to the mountain cave he had tunneled. “It is in here great one.” And indeed it was. As part of his plan Mornd had stored a portion of all he had harvested deep inside the cave. Eager to feed the now starving swarm streamed inside, but the Locust Lord did not. Instead he turned to Mornd, “You will go in before me to prove that this is not a trap of my enemies.”

Mornd had expected this so he nodded and headed in. As he proceed down the entrance corridor Mornd watched the Locust Lord out of the corned of his eye. And once the Lord had gotten far enough down the tunnel Mornd whirled around and shouted. “NOW” This caused several things to happen. First the ant men who had been waiting for the signal outside the tunnel released a land slide of large boulders that sealed the entrance, almost simultaneously the lord realized that it had indeed been a trap and bellowed, “TRAITOR PREPARE TO DIE,”] and finally Mornd turned and ran.

He knew that he would probably die. He had specifically crafted the caves to have no way out after all and so he knew that eventually he would starve with the locust. But he certainly didn’t intend to die by being ripped apart by an enraged Animal Lord. There were tunnels that were too small for the Locust Lord too follow and so he ran. But he was not unhindered. Anywhere he could go so too could the swarm and so as he ran deeper and deeper into the mountain they harried him. And eventually he ran out room to run. Backed into a dead he listened to swarm approach, and he knew there was nothing he could do. Still Mornd was not prepared to die without trying to fight and so when the swarm landed on him he struggled. Even as they gnawed at his flesh he smashed countless hundreds against the walls and floor. And then something unexpected happened.

As he threw himself against the wall for the hundredth time hoping to crush yet more of the swarm he felt it crack and break under him. Losing his balance he tripped and fell backwards through the new hole. Tumbling down what turned out to be a rather deep shaft he eventually landed in a shower of rocks. Lying in pain on the ground he waited for the swarm to finish the job, but they did not. And as the minutes passed he eventually realized that the swarm had chosen to leave him alive. Pulling himself up he wondered why and then he looked up and his short lived elation at still being alive turned to horror. For the shaft continued upwards and far above him he could make out a spot of daylight. The reason the swarm had left him alive was because they had escaped his trap.

Groaning in equal parts pain and frustration Mornd looked around. If the swarm had escaped then so too must he. So that he could try to capture it once more. The shaft was too steep for him to climb, but for once luck was with him and he saw that there were several corridors leading away. Grimacing Mornd started towards the nearest tunnel, but almost immediately he tripped. Looking down as he righted himself he was intrigued to see a small package bundle of parchment lying on the cave floor. Looking up he realized it must have fallen all the way from the top of the shaft. Curious despite his wounds Mornd bent and picked it up. Once he escaped he would take a closer look at whatever it was.

What followed was possibly the most painful experience of Mornd’s life to date. For weeks he wandered through the tunnels. Heavily injured and barely sustaining himself with by eating lichens and licking water from rocks, Mornd stumbled from tunnel to tunnel. Time and again he ran into dead ends and nearly gave up. But always he picked himself up and tried another route. And eventually as he limped out of the cave and into the bright light of day, Mornd laughed. The cave had not beaten him and neither had the swarm. He was still alive and he would try again.

Exhausted he sat down on a nearby boulder, and as he did so he felt the package of parchment he had retrieved earlier. Remembering his previous curiosity Mornd pulled it out and starting unrolling it. And he was amazed at what he saw. It was a map, but not like the crude things he himself had drawn in the dirt before. No this was far more detailed. Almost he could make out the individual trees and streams. And in his excitement at finding such a thing he did not notice as power flowed into him. For though Mornd did not know it this was the Map of Creation created and lost by the High Father and the Earth Mother long ago. And so by the time he finished looking at the map and put it away Mornd had become a god.

Epilogue

Mornd searched long and hard for the swarm that had escaped, but he could not find it. And so his fight with the Locust Lord was a draw. The swarm had escaped, but the Locust Lord himself was too large to fit through the tunnels leading to the shaft. And although Mornd could not find the greater swarm, neither could the swarm devour everything in its path as now it had to carry food back to its trapped Lord.

To ensure that the Locust Lord never broke free Mornd resettled the ant tribe by the mountain. He had them erect a great slab across the entrance to the mountain. And when that was done he had them expand. Between the swarm and his own work much of the surrounding Forest lay desolate. It quickly regrew of course, but under his direction the ant men maintained a clearing. The largest he had ever managed to keep from the forest. He did not know what exactly he would do with all the space, but he was sure he would think of something.

But even though he had become a god and won a victory over the forest Mornd was dissatisfied. For godhood had not come without its price. When the locust had attacked him in the tunnels they had eaten quite a large portion of his left arm and leg and even part of his face. And although the power of the Map had revitalized him it had not healed him fully. Much of his left side remained skinless and exposed. Mornd had taken steps to correct this and crafted wooden armor to protect them, but the lack of healing left him uneasy. His travels had not been so hard nor his foes so dangerous, but even so he had been left injured. He was afraid for what might have happened to his siblings. And so he set off once more, this time to the glade that he had left so many years ago. He had not found fire, but maybe one of his siblings had.

[Kaiser Omnik]

***
The Desperate Plea of a Broken Lord
***
Theme of the Well (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CH5Fk9iFsGs&feature=related)


Alone. Smelly. A forsaken wretch, cursing loudly as he slid his obese body in the mud. That's what had become of Gabagabakokoroko. Once the mighty Leader of all Frogkind; now, nobody. The deposed lord still retained some of his strength, and immortal and ancient he still was! But he lost a lot more than an enchanted vial the day Rafe won their contest. That day, Gaba lost his dwelling, his station, his loyal worshipers AND his beautiful servants, and, the worst of all, his ability to inspire fear and respect. Oh, sure, since then the deposed lord has bullied small animals and even made a few weaker beastmen his slaves...before they found a way to escape while Gaba was asleep. How many moons has it been...how much more wandering aimlessly could he take? At first he had made sense of it all, for to design a good plan of vengeance takes time, he told himself. Yet the more time went by, the less coherent thoughts he actually came up with.

A freezing downpour caught Gabagabakokoroko by surprise; the mere sight of rain clouds intensified his anger, and he accelerated his pace down the hill. That day Gaba had finally taken a decision. He did what he did best, which is to ask that somebody else acts in his stead. The deposed lord of frogkind thus approached a stone well. It was an old but sturdy well, relatively wide and impossibly deep - as far as he could tell. Gaba had come across this site in his youth, you see, and he had never forgotten about the curious thing. It existed long before the first tribe of beastmen moved in the region, he recalled, thus it must have been built by the Earthmother herself. An impossibly deep well placed in a secluded valley by one of the Elder Gods... To Gaba it could only mean that the myths about HIM were true. So he laid the bloody animal corpses he had brought with him to the side of the well and, stretching his neck to gaze in the pit, spoke thus:

"Um, hello there! Terribly sorry for intruding! Not that I could really be disturbing anything important. And there's a good chance you can't even hear me - do you even have ears, and if so, how do I know where they are? But I digress. I am Gabagabakokoroko. I am the TRUE Lord of the Frogs. You may have heard of me! ... No? Awkward silence there. Um, nevermind that. You see, I'm in need of assistance, and I figured that I could try going to you. With what they say about you, what you, um, are capable of... And your people seem to be doing pretty well even though you're in this position, if you are even real...um, I should probably not insist on that. But what I mean to say is that we amphibians have always been very good to your people and since we're basically natural allies..."

Shaking and breathing heavily, Gaba rapidly lifted the carcasses and threw them into the devouring darkness of the well. He didn't hear anything more from below...yet after several long seconds, the fat frog realized not only did he tremble, but the gound beneath his feet did, too. And although it did not last long, the quake was felt in vast regions of the Black.

[The_Snark]

The Hearth-Tender's Tale
Part 6

Here are two things that happen while Brisanne tends to her fire in the waning years of the childhood of the gods:

It is twilight, and the house is not yet wholly burned, though its gutted corpse lies open to the sky and to the Forest on one side. The smell of a vegetable broth wafts out into the trees along with the light from the fire, and is quickly swallowed up by the gathering gloom. The woods are always watching her now, through the gaping hole where a wall once stood, and Brisanne is careful to keep her back to it so that she will not have to see. (It would be wiser to do the opposite, perhaps, but we all must make our peace with our fears, or else go mad.) So it is that she does not notice the stranger's approach til she hears the soft crunch of footsteps on hard earth.

Then she whirls around swiftly, clutching the stick she uses to tend the coals tight in one hand, and on the threshold stands a tall stranger with gaunt cheeks and a sharp nose, clad in ragged furs from his shoulders to his toes.

"Good eve to you, sweet lady!" cries the stranger with a sprightly bow.

"And to you," she returns cautiously, lowering the brand so that she can see him better. Their eyes meet, and he sees the fear in hers, and his own wariness melts away. He smiles.

Three long strides carry him to the fireside opposite her, quick as a wink, and he sits. "Ah! Your light is warm as well as bright. What is it, I wonder?" He leans forward and sniffs at the soup pot hanging over the flames. "It smells good."

"It is called fire," she says coolly, "and it is considered courteous to ask before you sit by it."

Up he springs at once, and sweeps another bow, doffing his fur cap to hold by his breast. "But of course! Beg pardon, dear lady; this humble traveler has seen no courtesy in many a year, no, not for many a mile neither. Is there a seat by your fire for one such as he?"

She grants him leave and he sits. Brisanne does not trust him, but he is polite and does not seem to bear the forest's mark too heavily, and it's been a long time since she had someone to sit with. She is weary of silence as her only companion. "What is your name, traveler? What brings you here?"

"Why, your fire, of course! Can it be that you do not know, kind lady? Tonight is the night of the new moon, and everyone knows that is a time for darkness. The light shines a long way through the trees -- it's caused a terrible fuss among the night-beasts and moon-birds, you know! So when I caught sight of the glimmering, why, I took a fancy I'd go and see what all the fuss is about, and here I am." But the first question he deftly ignores, and such is her distress that she does not notice.

"Well, I am sorry I have caused a bother, but I do not see how I can stop the light from escaping, and I must keep the fire alight."

"Oh, indeed!" he agrees at once. "'Twould be shameful to extinguish such a warm and pretty thing for the sake of a few chattering beasts." And he grins, showing sharp little teeth and a quick pink tongue, and slides a bit closer to her.

In this vein they keep one another company for a little while. The stranger wheedles a bowl of soup from her, and the names of her parents, and even a few stories of her siblings. In return he tells her snatches of news from the Forest, always too disturbing for her to want to know more. He has seen none of her brothers or sisters in his travels (or so he claims), nor heard of them. He is unfailingly polite, all smiles and bows and pretty words -- but she cannot help but notice that he never turns his back to her, even when she rises to go and clean the pots.

Soon, curiosity and suspicion get the better of her. She pretends to hear something outside the house, sitting up straight all of a sudden and opening her eyes wider. He twists around to see what has frightened her, and his secret is revealed: a great tail snakes out from beneath his shirt, like a long-furred serpent! So shocked is Brisanne that she swats at it with her brand. The silky grey fur catches fire at once, and the stranger jumps to his feet with a shriek -- as would you, if somebody carelessly set your tail on fire -- and flees into the night.

And that is why rats have no hair on their tails.


Now we look ahead a year or so. The house is gone, and Brisanne and the fire are naked before the eyes of the Forest; the black is all around them, thick and deep and dark. It is a moonless night again, for the stranger spoke truly: a fire shines brightest when there is no other light.

From the wall of midnight black slinks a low shape. It prowls around the edge of the firelight, lean and rangy, hungry eyes glittering as it circles closer and closer -- a wolf has come to the sacred glade. Her heart quails, for there are no walls left between her and the beast's yellow fangs, and nobody to keep her from being eaten. She lifts a burning brand from the fire, determined at least not to die cowering.

But when the light falls on the wolf it reveals patchy fur and skin stretched tight against bone.

Perhaps you have been imagining a great black-furred beast, high as a man's shoulder, with huge slavering jaws and red eyes? Well, don't. This is not one of Wolf's favored children. Its belly clings to its spine, and its hide is riddled with vermin and mange. It hunches and slinks where its fiercer brothers would stalk and leap. Most telling of all, it is alone -- and even Brisanne knows that wolves come in packs.

There is something pathetic about a wolf all alone. Moved by some compassionate whimsy, Brisanne lowers her brand so that it is no longer threatening. "Come," she says to the beast, inviting it with a gesture. "There is room for you by the fire, if you wish it."

The wolf eyes her outstretched hand mistrustfully, and then turns and lopes off into the darkness. He is out of this story, as is the stranger (though both will return in later tales).

One of these things was well done, and the other poorly; and in years to come Brisanne will be reminded of it. If you cannot tell which is which, I suggest that you think for a time on the meaning of hospitality.

[Kaiser Omnik]

***
What the Black Seeds, It Can Reclaim
***
Music (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eM5teooTBdE&feature=related)


Under the baleful gaze of the new moon, a monster gnawed at the bone of a freshly severed arm. Its teeth dripped with blood - the blood of what you ask? Even it didn't know anymore, crouching over the unrecognizable remains of so many people... Things usually happened like that, after the Frenzy. It returned to that spot, always, often bringing a victim who was still alive along. The beast's nest was a strange place. It did not dwell in a cave protected from the elements, nor on the canopy of a tree far from any potential predator. Instead it had adopted a small glade, and most curiously, had gathered in its center branches that it arranged to ressemble a house. A crude shelter, full of holes, too small for one more than one inhabitant of its kind, but one house all the same.

The night was rather silent until loud steps - fast approaching the grove - suddenly brought the monster's attention away from its feast. Despite all its fierceness, it still knew fear; despite being at the top of the food chain, it knew there existed beasts capable of crushing it under their foot like a vulgar fly. The monster retreated towards the small house and listened carefully. The clomping only intensified, and it seemed to come from all sides. And at last they appeared, six towering shadows emerging from the woods. The monster relaxed as even in the faint light of the new moon it could now discern the traits of the Lords and Ladies of the Black. There was Grandfather Elk, in his grey and white cloak, whose antlers were said to pierce any hide. Then there was Mother Bear, severe but really loving to her children. There were also the eternal rivals, Wolf and Panther, one bulky and the other somewhat more elegant with his slim figure and obsidian jewelry. Father Owl came also, said to be the most perceptive and far seeing of the animals of the Black. And finally there she was, Grandmother Spider, weaving darkness around her like a second skin, she who had saved the monster several years ago. She gently played with the new, shiny necklace hanging around her neck as she addressed him:

"Child formerly known as Ionas", said Grandmother Spider with a mix of pity and resentment.

The monster jumped to his feet and walked nervously, meeting the gaze of all the Lords and Ladies present.

"It is a honor for me to welcome all of you to my modest dwelling, kings and queens of the forest. I am your humble servant, as always... What task do you have for me? Ah, there is still much to be done..."

"Silence!", shouted the Wolf.

"Your brothers and sisters have wrecked havoc in the region, and even beyond", explained Father Owl. "Did you only know?"

"More lords of the forest have died in the last few years than in the last century!", growled Mother Bear.

"Now, death is a natural thing, even for us. The weak fall and the strong survive, that is our only law", added Panther licking his fangs. "Still, the threat your civilized siblings pose to the balance of our forest is great. Not content with wielding objects of power from your forsaken parents in their cursed glade, they seek to impose an unatural order on our world! And in doing so they are ready to humiliate and torture our children."

"I...I assure you that I am as appalled as you are by that situation, milords, miladies! I knew some of them didn't have much respect for the woods and its creatures, but never I would have thought they would go as far as upset the balance in this way... But I assure you, they are not my family anymore! I have nothing to do with them, Haeleth viewed to that. And I wouldn't want to go back to them and their ways!"

"BUT OF THE SAME BLOOD, YOU ARE! YOU HAVE A RESPONSIBILITY, AS PUP OF THE EARTHMOTHER AND HIGH FATHER!" The authoritarian and loud voice of Grandfather Elk sounded like an avanlance to Ionas' very sensitive ears.

"Then...what can I...?"

The Lords and Ladies of the Black took a few steps towards the monster formerly known as Ionas. Grandmother Spider dropped to the ground of the glade. "Ah, that is the question. What could you possibly do now? After loosing to your little brother and thus failing to completely achieve your task. Hmm, let me think...there IS something. A final test. Come here my dear child, we'll share a secret with you. Few ever have the chance to experience it..."

And in an instant, all of them were on Ionas.

[The_Snark]

The Hearth-Tender's Tale
Part 7

There is little life left in the glade. The leaves fell from the trees some time ago and were subsequently fed to the fire, leaving a forest of grey skeletal branches reaching towards the sky. The earth is bare of life, save for two of Torael's hardy nut-bearing plants. Soon even the light will be gone from this place, for the fire is dying at last. It's been dying for a long time, but now it is plain to the eye that it has little life left in it. Only glowing coals remain, and those are slowly fading in the cold.

And when even those are dead, Brisanne fears she will soon follow. She does not think she can live utterly alone in the dark and the cold, with no-one and nothing to care for, no hope to cling to.

Is it any wonder that she weeps at night?

One eve a voice calls to her from the Forest. "Ho, fire-maiden!"

She looks, and there at the edge of the glade is the little salamander she'd met years earlier. "Oh," she says, "it's you. Hello." And because impending death is no reason to forget one's manners, she adds, "I hope you are well?"

"No, not really. Is that your fire?"

"It is."

"It's smaller than I expected."

"It used to be bigger, but I haven't been able to find enough wood for it for a long time," she confesses. "I'm afraid it will go out before very long."

"Oh? Well then, you are in luck," says the salamander. "I'm here to tell you that you can have my log for your fire, if you still want it."

"Oh! Well - that's very kind of you," Brisanne exclaims, caught between relief and manners, "but - what will you do without your home?"

"Oh, I shan't be leaving it. I know, I know: you say your fire will eat me too if I go into it. Well, we'll see about that! It doesn't look so fearsome to me, and anyway I am getting old. My log isn't as cozy as I remember it used to be, and the nights are only getting colder. If I die, well, at least I'll die warm."

"... are you sure?" she asks. She would give anything to have the fire brought roaring back to life, but this is a steep price, and not even hers to pay.

"No. I'm only a salamander, I'm too small to be sure of anything in this forest. Surety is for the great and powerful. But I know I don't want to die cold and alone, and that's sure enough for me."

She nods, for she understands this. The salamander leads her back to his log, and there he perches while she pulls it free from the earth. He sits on it as she drags it back through the forest to the sacred glade, and he sits on it as she wrestles it upright to topple into the flames, and looks her in the eye when she hesitates and says "Go on, then!" And he sits atop his log as it falls into the fire. The ancient moss-covered wood is slow to burn, and for a minute she fears the fire will be smothered beneath its green bulk—but then some probing flicker of heat finds the salamander, and all at once it roars to life, taking hold of the log and blazing with renewed warmth.

For fire, you see, lacks a life of its own, and it craves that above all else. Wood and flesh and other dead things hold the memory of living, and a fire can survive on these scraps if need be, but a life willingly given is a true feast.

Brisanne stares at her merrily crackling fire, and knows she should be happy, but her heart is uneasy. She can see where this story is going, and I think you can too.

[The_Snark]

The Hearth-Tender's Tale
Part 8

A life near its end only burns for so long. Night turns to day, day turns to days, days turn to weeks, weeks turn to months, and at last the log begins to crumble to ash. Of the salamander no trace is left, save perhaps for a coal that, from a certain angle, could be said to resemble a lizard, its back grey and its belly red with heat.

And Brisanne must watch her fire begin to die once again. Often she fancies she can hear voices coming the flames, begging her plaintively for food, over and over and over. They tear at her heart, but she has no wood left to give it. It sinks back into its coals frighteningly fast, shrinking with a speed born of absolute starvation.

I'm hungry, the fire pleads, and one night she can no longer resist the urge to reach out to it. The flames lick her hand lovingly, gently, so gently that she almost does not notice the skin starting to blacken and peel.

She withdraws her hand, cradling the burns. "I'm sorry," she whispers to it. "I can't. I would if I could. But I have to be here in case my brothers and sisters ever come back."

Then I'll die, says the fire, and hunkers down miserably over its bed of coals.

"No," she says, and now it is her turn to plead helplessly. She can't let the fire die, she can't. If she has failed in every other way, if all her siblings have wandered off and been killed when it was her duty to protect them, in this one task at least she will not fail. Her life is long beyond measure, and with it the fire might never go out, she thinks, but -- what then? Will it blaze alone in the empty clearing forever? Who will tend to it? Who will tend to her brothers and sisters if they should someday return?

Yet she cannot choose to fail, and condemn herself to living in the dark and the cold.

"No," she says again, stronger, and kneels before the fire. "You won't die. We will share a long life together, you and I. I will cherish you and stay by your side through cold and dark, fever and famine, sickness and health. I will care for you to my last breath, and after; on that day we will be one. This I promise you."

And she breathes her promise into the fire, and feels her life leave through her lips to join the coals. Their heat blossoms within her, a dull ache that spreads through her body and fills it with warmth, and this is good. Up springs fire from the ashes, true fire, hot and bright such as Brisanne has not seen in a long time, and the darkness flees back to cower beneath the trees. She sits back, and for a while she is content.

That is the end of this story.

[White Blade]

Haeleth,
The Grove, Ten Years Later Within The Wood
After a while, I cannot say how long, a tall man enters the glade, wearing a long blue-black cloak and firm expression. He has the hood up, because the wind blew hard at one point on his journey, but beneath it in the light of the fire Brisanne can see sharp blue eyes and a thick blond beard. He carries no weapon and he is human, or appears so at least. His hands are callused and his walk is centered, planted, like each step sends roots like a mountain's into the earth. His presence is a rushing heartbeat, making everything tenser and grander.

He stares for a moment at the woman before him and the word exits his lip without him meaning to, Brisanne? he asked, pulling down the hood of his cloak to reveal a length of blond hair. She is different now and the house is gone (Of course, Haeleth thinks, why would there be a house without its' occupants?). But the fire? The fire is very bright tonight. Someone succeeded. But it wasn't him. That pressed down. But for now, Brisanne. For now, he would pay attention to the reason for his quest.

[The_Snark]

The world changes, and not all for the worse. In the night sky a thousand tiny lights appear, paler than the moon but far more constant. Cold still grips the world after sundown, but by day the sun's light shines down golden and warm, a balm to the skin. The little dry brook at the edge of the glade flows more freely than it has in years.

The woman by the fire looks up as something approaches -- no, this is not a something, it is a someone. A stranger in a fur cloak, tall and fair-haired with a full beard. Brisanne holds a stick in front of her, not quite threatening but wary. Visitors are welcome, but only a fool would trust them completely.

Then he speaks her name, and she lowers the burning brand a little. "Yes," she says, an unspoken question lodged in her voice. She peers at him, trying to place that bearded face. It shouldn't be so hard -- she knows less than a score of men's faces. This isn't one of them, and yet... "Have... have we met?"

[Raz_Fox]

So you want to know how the Tatterdemalion returned home? Well, that's an easy story to tell.

See - dashing through the trees, the golden-furred cat, its legs long and silent. And within its throat, a motley of such people as had never gathered together before, not in all the history of the Black. Here, stretched out against the dark red skin with a careless ease, there is a scaled man who bears a long stone knife at his side, and there, leaning against the damp walls, a youth of the many-eyed K'zanti, and, huddled up alone, a man in rags, covered in boils and sores. A green-eyed youth, having sold his heart for a song; a broad-shouldered warrior with long teeth, who had been on a spirit-journey and was certain now that she was throughly mad, and beside her an elderly woman, bearing an old slave-mark.

They aren't allowed to go any further, not while the market is closed. They find themselves fortunate that they have bought travel to wheresoever the cat travels next, and that the god who rules the market finds them more useful as heralds and customers, rather than merchandise. (Truth be told, she only uses those who break the market's rules in such a manner, but given that the only way to find the rules is to ask one of the hawkers, with their bent backs and malevolent grins, well- we must not laugh at them for being thankful for her benevolence.)

Voices echo down the long red hall, and the boil-man looks up fearfully at her laugh. She comes down among them, to a response of careful bows and how-d'you-dos, and when she walks it is with the drum-beat of the night-market in her half-dancing step, the glitter of precious things in her eyes, for she is both human and something utterly, terrifyingly inhuman, and the humanity makes her all the more madly alluring and terrifying. It is one thing to look at a one and say to yourself, this thing is so far removed from me that I could not hope to understand it, it is of Faerie and the spirits beyond - but this thing, this thing before me, feels like a human, breathes, is jealous-loving-greedy-scheming, is capable of the same things that I want to do beneath the shallow mask of my face but it has no reason to be afraid of anything else when it acts upon its whims. But then she smiles, and those interjections, those oh-so-wise thoughts, are pushed all away. No-one, not even death himself, could look so fair and be foul, says the beguiled heart. (Is it right? Perhaps, child. I don't know myself.)

She brushes by the green-eyed singer, urging him beneath her breath to sing that song till the day he dies. He nods, coldly, and she passes him by. "Next stop ours," asks the old woman, and the lady of the market laughs, not mockingly but warmly. "No, just mine. You might want to be gone before I get back," she adds, casually, and every one of them resolves to leave at the next market, because the thought of what if is more terrible than any overt threat. All but the man with green-yellowed scales, because he fears neither god or man.

The smell of river-roses is everywhere now, as she stands, painted-woodringed-nailbitten hands thrust in her pockets, in the middle of the room, as if daring any one of them to call her out on it, to tell her to watch her step as the cat comes to a stop. There's a feather tucked into her hair, like some stray lock of hair that hates the confinement of every-day hair, all purples and reds and golds and blue-green-shining, and it seems to drink in the meager light, a different color every time the light catches it, and it transforms her painted face into a mask thrust into shadow by the sunlight. Certainly, not one of them could tell you know what her face truly was, though they all saw the smile, ivory framed by flawless ruby, and those golden fox-eyes, ringed 'round by black.

The doorman jerks upright, long limbs flopping about and everyone braces themselves, all but the smiling Tatterdemalion. "Next-stop-Home-of-the-Gods-all-hands-ready" he yells, and she cannot help herself - she laughs, mad and wild and joyous. "Home!" she cries, and then the cat slows, shaking, lowering itself and opening its jaws, extending its red-wet tongue. She walks down them, looks back to wave, calls out, "Kzei, I'd better see you back here in a day," and then the cat, still smiling, says "BE SAFE" and then it is gone, leaping through the trees.

Rahn turns, looking through the wild trees, squinting her eyes, to where she can still see the open grove. She restrains herself, does not run wildly towards it, but simply walks, singing an old song that had been taught to her while she was still so young, and oh so innocent. Her coat catches in the wind behind her; she runs a leather-sheathed hand through her hair as she approaches, her heart hammering like the booming calls of an Ana drum.

The yard looks so much smaller now. She has seen wild oats growing in the tiny pastures of the Amestek, and golden corn in the fields of the Jekki. What is this place, she asks herself, this place that seems so small compared to the great yawning hall of my cat? Was my childhood this small? She sees herself running through the yard, watching Afein climb up so bravely on the roof, sees her brothers counseling her, her sisters mothering her, sees a young dark-girl, so confident in her own intelligence. Ah, to be young, and innocent, and foolish.

Rahn stops at the edge of the clearing, hesitating. The longhouse is gone - she can still see the foundations, but the planks have been shattered and are gone; the grand old house is gone. Is this really the home she had left, she asks herself, is this small, broken place really my home?

No, it's not, she says, quietly. It was. Now her home's with her people, the Ana-folk, the market that makes her blood afire, the cat whose heartbeat lulls her into sleep on the rare occasion when she cannot keep moving any longer. The marketplace is her home; this was Rahn's home, but it cannot belong to the Tatterdemalion.

But she cannot leave, either. Let her siblings believe that she was swallowed up by the forest, even though she was. She was devoured, but she came out all the stronger for it, and today she will not run, she will not turn aside and take the easy path. She needs to say her farewells to her siblings, let them know that she is so near and yet so far from them, and so she steps forward, into the grove, brushing the tree-branches out of her face as she does so, looking at the two already there - a tall, gold-haired man, and Brisanne, who seems older now.

"Hullo," she says, with a wry smile, "I'm back, big sis. Miss me?" The girl who left was dark, short, spoiled, clad in the finest cloth, but the one standing now in the grove is pale, ruby-haired, tall and long, wiser, dressed in deer-skin leathers and ragged furs. But her voice is unmistakably Rahn's, that lilting, musical voice, now tainted by mania but still beautiful. She steps forward, looking only to Brisanne. "Did you miss me?"

[White Blade]

An expression of hurt flashes across the man's face, but then he shakes his head and chuckles. Of course she wouldn't recognize him. It had been so long and he was so, so much older now. This is not a difficult trial, he reminds himself, he need only expand, "Its' me, Haeleth," he says in a soft voice, trying on a smile that is indeed warm and friendly.

He looks at Rahn on her arrival and tilts his head, shocked by her presence, "Hello Rahn," he says, almost sarcastically at her failure to acknowledge him.

[The_Snark]

"Haeleth?" she exclaims, shooting upright to search his face again. Yes, those are Haeleth's eyes, only in the face of a grown man; and that is his hair, though Brisanne remembers it lighter, and of course it never used to cover his face. He is taller than her now, taller even than Anghau used to be, and strong to match -- oh, when did he get so big?

"Haeleth," she repeats, as if savoring the word, and darts forward to embrace him tightly. "Oh, you're back, you're finally back. And you're all right! I worried -- I thought you'd all been eaten or lost. I'm so glad to see you're alright. You are back, aren't you? Truly back? I used to dream that someone came back, and then I would wake up and realize, and wish I could just stay asleep... ah, but I never imagined you like this, so I think it must be real." She steps back to get another look at him, keeping a grip on his shoulders. "You're so tall," she says again, and suddenly finds herself fighting tears. It's absurd to cry over something like that, she tells herself, but your heart rarely listens to what you tell it.

Then a song comes from the woods. The woman who steps into the clearing seems almost a stranger: she is tall and pale-skinned and crimson-haired (a shade Brisanne has never seen before), she smells of rosewater and rotten things. But Brisanne knows that song and she knows that voice, and with Haeleth standing there before her there can be no mistaking her. "Rahn," she says. "Yes, I did. I missed you all."

She holds open her arms to her younger sister, who no longer looks so young at all.

[nysisobli]

Vivienne walked into home camp, reptilian features and all, and looked at her siblings, and smiled a very sharp toothy smile.

Its been ages!!!!

[Raz_Fox]

Rahn hesitates for a moment, looking to her older sister with her arms outstretched, afraid of getting too close, for fear that the perfume she bought from the clever-folk of the river will not mask the sick-sweet scent of rot and decay- but she is here, and she sees within Brisanne's eyes the same suffering that had created the Tatterdemalion, that could only be soothed by those you love.

The sisters embrace - Rahn's bone-thin stature masked by the layers she wore, her regret masked by a laugh. "It has been too long, Brisanne, but I found fire for you, I did, in the Court of Shallbeleyh Masked-" And here she removes the feather from her hair, places it in Brisanne's palm and curls her fingers around it, looking for all the world like a little girl wanting to be praised for performing her chores; she repeats it softly, that she brought back fire, because that means all is well- all is forgiven- that her siblings will praise her for being clever again.

Then she looks to Haeleth, reaching out to touch his beard (though she can barely feel it through her glove, child). "And who is this? He can't be Rafe? No, not him - then Philognos? No, Toraealas? No, Anghau? You cannot be- you cannot be Haeleth! He was young, so small - but I suppose now we are both tall. The beard, though, the beard - no, you must shave. I don't know what possessed you, brother, but that bush on your chin must go! Now hold still-"

Haeleth's beard is saved, however, as a silver-skinned thing with sharp fangs enters the clearing; the bone razor Rahn had been fishing for in her pockets is forgotten instantly. Rahn holds her head up high, just as she does when brigands threaten her market, and her lyrical voice takes on a sharp edge. "Indeed - and the age of darkness is over. Tell us: who are you, to come here so?"

[Exthalion]

Philognos
The Grove
When Philognos was still a long way off those still in the grove knew it. The day had been getting, the light fading in the west. However, from the south shafts of light burst through the trees.

As the sun walked closer the angle of the shafts began to shift and their intensity increase. When at last he walked from behind the final tree they beheld no great blaze of light, for indeed it was already at the brightness of noon.

He was tall, of a height with Haeleth though it was hard to be sure. If he was clothed or naked not even he could say though in terms of both modesty and openness it mattered little either way.

His short white hair blazed like the hottest of flames, crowning a clean shaven face with serious features. His eyes were like the sun and on his head was a crown made of light and and something like fire intermixed.

In every way, he looked like a fragment of the golden sun come down to earth.

With his sun bright eyes he surveyed the destroyed house and the strange people who had gathered here. Then he did something unexpected, he bowed at the hip to them.

"Long have I been gone from my home. I am sorry to have worried you Brisanne."

[OverThoughtName]

Afein
The Sacred Grove

Afein had nearly passed the clearing. She had been searching for one with her home, not the near empty one that she saw before her, but it was clear this was where she was supposed to be; Brisanne was down there with four others. Well, if she could grow wings, she assumed the silvery thing would be another sibling, as well as the glowing one, while the other two weren't so hard to believe. Couldn't quite figure out who yet, but so long as they were brothers and sisters, the names didn't really matter.

Alighting from her perch on the top of the tree, she slowly descended into the clearing. Her long, red hair cut short on her journey, she still looked like Afein in the face, even if she had grown from a child into a young woman. "Brisanne," she sheepishly muttered, "Sorry I didn't say bye." She glanced at the other three there, but figured until she knew their names, she wouldn't talk to them. Fingering the half-circlet around her neck, she thought about how to phrase her warning. "And, sorry, I haven't found the lightning yet, but I think I can find it now. I just have to find the person that has it."

[Jair Barik]

He barely recognised them, his brothers and sisters, but judging by the words they spoke he assumed they must be them. And so, slowly at first, he moved into their midst a dance in his step and his long lengths of brilliant white hair flowing behind him, brushing along the ground when he moved too slow for it to pick up into the air.
Whilst many of his kin had changed he had not. In appearances he was no different from the man who had left the grove bar that was the brilliant black cloak that hung about his shoulders.
"It has been too long! Brothers, sisters! I know it is you I see before me, I just know! And yet...I feel much has changed since last we all met and this reuinion will be nought but the start of us all saying goodbye and farewell once more..."
His permanent smile drooped for a moment into something sadder but quickly it perked back up as he moved amongst his kin.

[Kaiser Omnik]

The Reunion -
Gods Victorious, Touching Moments and Depiscable Treason (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wbfpks4V9dA)

And soon two more joined them. Much like Lupani, Garian and Lily didn't appear fundamentally changed by their experience in the woods at first. Except unlike the Lord Wanderlust, neither of them displayed an aura of divinity, nor did they brought with them relics of power.
Garian was still his cheerful self, although anyone with a bit of sense realized the sadness and remorse in the corner of his eye. One of his arms was gone, also, having been apparently ripped from his shoulder. He would neither speak of this nor of his time alone in the Black Forest.

Lily was a shadow of her fomer self; once the most talkative and witty of the children, she had been rendered completely mute. She merely sat on a flat stone, fixing the flame with her gaze and barely listening to the stories of the siblings.

And what of the others, you wonder?
Well, Ionas, Harlan, Lethen, Sophia and Gloria never arrived at the reunion.

[White Blade]

Haeleth hugs his sister back tightly. She is still very precious to him, even these many years later. The years have dulled his memories of the others, but Brisanne's images remained sharp. His earliest memories were with her, after all, and his last before he left the Glade. And then she begins to quiver, like she is on the verge of tears, and Haeleth worries. It has been so long since he has seen another cry, a decade at least, more than that since he can remember. And the last time he wept was terrible indeed.

He does her the kindness of not noting it, is that kindness? He doesn't know. But plainly, she is hiding it, so he'll not note it, especially now that Rahn is there, making a fuss over his face hair. "Rahn!" he whined as she complained of his hair, noting that she smelled, not bad but strongly. Like perfume. A lot of perfume.

And then more and more pour into the glade. The scaled woman does not bother him or scare him. He is more than prepared to kill her with his bare hands if it comes to that, and till she acted ill towards his kin, he needn't worry. The shining one came next, and he couldn't really see him. He guess that he was a kinsman, because he was man-shaped and not hideous and probably not a fey (they preferred elegance and evening, after all.). Afein was recognizable, and Haeleth smiled broadly at her, speaking calmly, Afein! Its' good to have you back.

But her words bring up an awful point. He had delayed, because he had been happy to see Brisanne. He is about to speak, about to apologize- And Lupani arrives! It is so convenient, so easy to forget. He nods his head and speaks, to fill the silent tension of Lupani's words, It would be unwise to part ways, Haeleth says, Our father and mother bound this world in the strength of their union, will we do it alone? I believe we have seen enough of the results of our shattering. And then two more kinsmen arrive. Defeated, alive. Powerless.

Haeleth looked grim at that, his heart weighted and now seems as good a time as any, I have shattered this family once already. I am sorry. I went out, looking for fire, and when I thought I found it, I could not take it. I destroyed our family. I destroyed our home. I am sorry. I beg that you forgive me. I beg that you listen to me. We have returned here, because we remember. And the forest beyond this glade is vast! There are enemies in it that will destroy us, that will swallow us whole if we go alone.

There were enemies with that might when our Mother and Father stood in power. They did not drive them back alone. We are blood and family, the children of the covenant that made this world. I will stand beside you, to guard this world, to shape it if you can stand to stand beside me, or if not, I ask that you will stand with each other, at least.

[Raz_Fox]

Some, with secrets to hide, would have turned away from the sun who entered the clearing, golden and white, would hide behind Brisanne or turn their faces aside, or bow in return to show their respect to the glorious lord.

Rahn, however, was fearless in the way that only the fey and death-touched can be, the arrogant and the charming who will allow no fear to mar their beatific smiles, and of these all inter-mingled there was no room for fear or honor. "Philos? You may have swallowed the sun, but you can't hide that stuffy voice of yours! Come, join us! The house may be ruined, but what use is the nest when the birds have flown?" When he looks at her, she does not look away, but stares directly into his eyes.

To Afein - she rushes the winged goddess, embracing her. "Ah, darling sister! You seem to have acquired some pretty plumage abroad! Oh, you are still so bright - so alive!" And Lupani too she welcomes, though now she towers over him, making it awkward for her.

And she prays, silently, for Matapa to appear, though her arrival might cost Rahn everything. Spoiled, beloved Matapa, the one black mark on Rahn's soul; she would give anything now to make amends, to care for her sister. Rahn is, after all, not heartless yet.

And so it is that when Haeleth speaks, she does not laugh, she does not admit her faults, ask the family to forgive her for her pride and foolishness. She says softly, "This place is no longer my home - but you are still family. I will stand by you, Haeleth. I do not have spears or arrows to guard against the wolf at the door, for I am merely a merchant, a hawker of miracles and secrets. But what aid can be given, I will give - and what can be sold, I will sell. My tents are always open for those of my blood."

[Jair Barik]

Lupani is all smiles and cheer but his words are not necessarily what his kin wish to hear, Haeleth especially from the sounds of things.

"United we stand divided we fall, yes yes such talk is predictable and expected but what then do you propse would be done? Some of our kin have craved out little empires of sorts it seems, Rahn has said as much and I have heard rumours of similar such cases.

He skipped up onto a stone to give himself some height to make up for his diminutive form and put him at eye level with his fellows.

"And we could never truly hope to idle away the rest of our lives in this little grove when there is so much world out there to explore! Mountains Haeleth! The depths of the forests, lands unseen before by our eyes and so many wonders that any mortal being could never hope to taste a small portion of their greater breadth in its lifespan! Though happiness can be found in ones family and friends there is so much more to life than simply being alive! Surely you must see that!"

[White Blade]

Um... Well... I wasn't really suggesting we stay here forever... But we are kin! That is important. he says, fumbling for words. He really isn't good at speeches, though. He wishes this were a battle. He is good at battles. We just need to decide... I don't know... Like a policy. And all agree not to let anyone else get killed... Maybe thin out the animal lords, if Ionas doesn't come back. It is clear he is flustered. He never meant that he wanted to just stay in the glade.

[The_Snark]

Brisanne turns Rahn's gift over in her palm. The feather is a beautiful thing, iridescent and ever-shifting, and when the light catches it right it flickers, as though it were a tongue of flame caught and somehow transformed to bird's plumage. (That bird must have been wondrous to see.) But it is not fire. Fire burns; that is the truth of it.

Ah, well. Had she not said to herself that she would treasure even Rahn's excuses, if she could have them again?

So she looks up and smiles, and says, "Thank you, Rahn."

Then come others. She smiles at the woman with fangs and silver scales; the face is unfamiliar, but on this day she will not doubt any who greet her as kin, not after seeing Haeleth and Rahn so changed. Besides, she has an inkling that she will continue on as she did that day when she offered a seat at the fire to the starving wolf. Nobody will be refused that much. "It has. I am sorry -- I think you are my sister, but your face and voice have changed so much. Is that Sophia I see before me? Vivienne?"

To the shining man she nods, reserved; his words have reminded her of old buried bitterness, and while she cannot bring herself to become angry at them, there is too much of it to let go all at once. "Done is done, and you are here now to show me you are whole," she replies. "I can be content with that." And Rahn saves her the trouble of asking this one's name: Philognos. He has grown, she thinks. The old Philognos -- which is to say, the young one -- would have found it very difficult to apologize, for that would have meant he was wrong, and he hated that.

Lupani and Afein come, who are blessedly still much the same as they always were (give or take a pair of wings); she'd started to wonder if all her kin would return wearing unfamiliar faces. Brisanne goes to embrace them, but her smile takes on a brittle quality at their words. Are they really only here to say a proper goodbye properly? Back for a day, then gone again, leaving her to watch over an empty home for people who no longer needed it?

You promised, the fire reminds her.

And then Garian returns, still smiling but with a hollowness to his cheer that had never been there before—she hugs him carefully, for fear that the reminder of his missing arm is painful—and poor Lily, who will not even speak. Not all of her kin have grown up and left behind the need for a safe home, it seems.

And then Haeleth speaks, and proves that he is grown up in more ways than mere height. "You didn't shatter us, Haeleth," she says softly from her seat at Lily's side (though in a way he did). "Everybody here left of their own will."

"I don't say that to cast blame; you all felt you needed to be elsewhere, and I don't think I had the right to try and stop you. I still don't. I'm very glad to have you back, all of you, and I would welcome any of you who don't want to be parted again so soon. But I won't ask you to stay anywhere you don't want."

[Nefarion Xid]

"It is a curious magic," Rafe, or, as it seemed, the broad shouldered frog sighed while pouring sparking water from an even more brilliant crystal vial into the diminished pond. "Ten years pass and everyone arrives on the same day?"

Though the stream from the bottle is a gentle one, the pond quickly swells, returning to its former glory before the figure speaks again. Hunched over the flat rock on the water's edge, he returns the stopper to the vial an the vial to his belt. Whatever glamor surrounded him was a strong one: a mix of luck, skill beyond measure and the clinging love of his mother with his father's blessing and pride. The simple painted wooden mask and the tattered green cloak should not have afforded him so excellent a disguise. It was unclear how long he'd been there, though he'd stayed hidden long enough to hear much.

Seeing Halaeth and Rahn causes a catch in his throat and he can feel his blood warm. Impudent brats, he thinks, not maimed nor scarred. No, rewarded for their rashness! Rafe had stayed long in the glade, begging some to stay, wrapping his arms around Brissane each night when they'd refused to listen. He was gladdened to see them alive, yes, but resentment lingered. They'd dashed off and others have followed carelessly or went off to have their own adventures. What great fun the Black Forest must be! Not in the belly of a wolf, no, rewarded in equal measure for foolishness. Through his own journey, he'd been scared at the sound of his own breath. So much for prudence. Beneath his mask he scowled; his eyes did not miss broken Lily and Garian.

"Many are here, yet more there were. The Black is dangerous, but not so much as it seemed. Cruel though, to wound the strong and spare the child."

[Exthalion]

"Cruel perhaps, but not so malicious as you might think. It is it lords who seek to do harm. The black does as it does for no reason other then it is its nature. Much must change first before that Black becomes benevolent."

Philognos smiled, and his smile was like the dawn, full of open joy and unrestrained hope.

"It is good to see you again Rafe, I have missed you. You are due your pain, but for my own part I will rejoice in those who have come home before I weep for those who are lost. Life is of more value then death, and to hold too strongly on to sorrow is to deny the worth of happiness.

There will be time to grieve, but let us do that as a family, for all of us have lost much and suffered."

[Jair Barik]

He tittered then at the remark Rafe made. Magic, oh....magic.
"Why brother, if brother you are for your current visage I find most unsettling. It is the most natural magic of all that brings us together at this time! I do not claim ownership of knowledge or a fullness and completeness in my understanding but does not the bird recognise each season and know when to make its nest from that? Do some wild beasts not manage to return by their natural tendency to the same place every year? Well then it is only fitting that the children of the Gods should find themselves drawn back to the nest all as one! It is the most natural magic of all you see!"[/color]

[Raz_Fox]

Siblings can be such fools, Rahn thought. Empires? She spoke not of these; her market is hers, but even she must admit it's meagerness. Haeleth cannot speak for his life, and Rafe's cynic-wit is as cutting as it ever was.

So she rests her hand upon Haeleth's shoulder, squeezing it as if to say: do not worry, I am here by your side. Then, she speaks again - "The Black is indeed cruel; perhaps it does not mark all in the same manner, but don't presume that it would spare anyone. Honestly, Rafe - today is not a day for bitter words! Is it not enough to know that we are alive, that the forest can be overcome? Yes, and that the Lords and Ladies can be vanquished?"

She looks aside at*Garian and Lily as she says this last, but she does not address them. Some wounds simply run too deep to be casually assuaged. No, her words are for age-worried Brisanne, for doubting Lupani, for grim Rafe, for those who have lost and cannot see their gain yet.

[nysisobli]

So what do you think has become of our family?

[TheDarkDM]

As the divine siblings gathered about each other, another song began to carry through the trees. A deep baritone, it was the accompaniment to Rahn's song, one of the old songs the family had sung together in the long dark nights around the fire. Coming through the trees was a great red light, like unto the fire in the first days that were lost forever in the murky sea of memory. At first, there was only the light, but as it came closer two figures grew from the shadow at its heart, one hugely tall and horned, the other smaller, but with streaks of ruby running along its body. Thus did Anghau and Marwaen re-enter the sacred glade of their childhood, carrying with them the prize that so many had quested for.

At first, the two stood at the edge of the forest, examining the motley gathering of divinity that appeared before them. A tense moment later though, and Anghau's face cracked open into a wide smile as he spread clawed hands wide.

"Family! We have returned! And we bring with us fire!"

[ArlEammon]

Toraealas

"I have not come with fire. I have come with hope and tears." Said Toraeal behind them as he walked solemnly with his staff. "Everyone is here, I hope. Let us hope that." Toraeal wished aloud that everything would be as it had been. But it had been ten long years. "I hope that is it possible." He reiterated. He had nothing else to say, as he held his arms wide for anyone to embrace him. He beared the mark of someone who had aged in wisdom far beyond his years, but he smiled with the hope that his family was still there to love.

[Nefarion Xid]

Rafe drew off his mask and ruffled his shaggy blond hair while pulling down the piece of cloth that obscured his face from the eyes down. He stands to his full height, shrugging off his cloak and revealing the blue-black eel skin armor, the regalia of the lake king. An aura like a cool spring shower enveloped him, shielding him from the heat of the sun and allowing him to remain comfortable despite the heavy leather. His arms were bare from his shoulders down to his fingerless gauntlets, intricately layered with whirling patterns of blue over black. The cuirass fit tightly and had the design of a simple tunic with an ornamented vest worn over it; it looked incomplete, like it was waiting for a finishing touch. The boots were tall and thick and his knees well guarded. The toes turned into short, flexible flippers. It was the flippers that put the punctuation on the theme. If you had seem the rest of the armor, you'd have been put in mind of a creature, but perhaps know not what until you set your eyes on the frog feet. He'd grown stronger over the years and the armor fit him well. Though still rugged, still human, he was unquestionably a creature of the water now. His bristly chin, unkempt hair and calm green eyes were stark against his lordly, aquatic countenance.

He waggled the mask in the direction of those gathered, asking how they knew him with his eyes before fixing the frog's visage to his belt. "Supplanted," he said, correcting Rahn, "At least in my case. Overcome the forest? Perhaps not. I have enjoyed a peaceful existence these few years because not because I carved out a place for myself. I took my place in it. It is folly to think you can master the forest, defeat it."

Rafe turned to look to the edge of the woods, hoping another lost one would join the gathering. His mind wanders. "I am glad to see so many, more than I expected. Though, I am wounded to see so few."

Regarding Rahn again with a fatigued look he said, "I'll be the first to lead us in song if we all return this day."

Rafe never sang. Though, it was at that moment when three more emerged from the darkness beyond the glade. He smiled in spite of himself and called to Anghau, "I saw your tracks and those of the wolves! I thought you two least likely to return!"

[ArcaneStomper]

For some time the sound of crashing had been coming from beyond the edges of the clearing, and now at least it's source was revealed as one of the trees at the edge of the glade fell inward to reveal another figure standing with axe in his hand. Despite it being no longer necessary Mornd had not abandoned his old habit of marking his trail, except now he used entire trees instead of simple branches.

And that was not the only thing that had changed about him. He was still Mornd, still recognizable as the serious young man that had left so many years ago. But only on the right. His entire left side was now covered in wooden armor. Each piece of which was carefully crafted to flex and interlock so that even at his joints none of his flesh was ever exposed to the world.

Stepping into the glade Mornd looked around and for a moment he was confused. Where was the house he had taken such care of. And who were all these strange people. For a moment he almost reached for his map to check that this was indeed the right glade. But then he spotted the fire and knew that he was home. It had not been him, but at least one of his siblings had succeeded, and so the side of his face still capable of it split into a broad smile as he called out. "Greetings brothers and sisters. Has everyone returned yet."

[Exthalion]

"We wait yet, for there is yet family to return. But we shall morn yet, for only one more shall come."

The Eternal Sun look down on all the days of the world. When he had briefly sat on the throne of the sun he had seen much. Most had passed away, but his heart had been rent for he had searched out the days of his siblings and seen those who had gone down into shadow...

[hi-mi-tsu]

Marwaen had entered at the side of her brother, and her eyes gaze 'round the circle. Philognos is so bright he is blinding, Afein has gained wings. A broad, strong young man with hair the color of Haeleth's is next to Brisanne--could it be him, truly? How he'd grown--and there is Rahn, who they had gone after at the beginning.

What is this small, broken-down clearing, she wonders. That all the family should gather back together--or at least, most of it. This place, which once seemed to be the entire world...how sad it was. Not like the holy grounds they'd found, nor like the village of the Myrangh...no, this place was not "home", not any more.

At Rafe's flippant comment, the goddess of War throws back her head and laughs, long and loud.

"You think us so sad as to be felled by a pack of wolves, brother? And here I thought you had a measure of us! To doubt us so...such impudence!"

Her gaze goes around the circle again, and her lips form a lopsided grin.

"So strange...now that we've all grown up, we seem almost to not fit in this little clearing. It's so very strange...but pleasing, to see so many of the family surviving. I am glad...I am glad so many have returned."

She steps forward, then, for she has always loved her family, and she pulls her eldest sister into a warm embrace.

"Hullo, Brisanne. Sorry for being away so long."

[Nefarion Xid]

Rafe started absently after Marwaen, reaching out to touch her pelts as she passes and chiding, "Silly of me. I counted near twenty, perhaps... em, by the way, what is that?"

Cut off mid thought, he gestured to the macabre thing Anghau carried in his clawed gauntlets. Rafe shrank away, giving the twins a wide berth.

[White Blade]

Haeleht grips against the air as Rafe's harsh words leave his lip. He was maimed. He had suffered. The foolish toad! He was on the verge of racing at him, but he relented. Rahn had the right of it. And this? Was ridiculous.

I do not know of you, Rafe, but I prevailed against the forest through blood and grief. Ionas tried working with it. He will not be rejoining us. Whether he is dead or not, I do not know. But he has become a beast and sold his soul to Grandmother Spider, choosing her above his kinsman. When he failed, I lost to a dragon, who slaughtered more of my kinsmen than most of you have. I slew him and placed those priceless white jewels in the sky because I could not take them from the world. his words are harsh, and sharp, and altogether uncharacteristic of the boy.

Marwaean and Anghau elicit a smile from their little brother, bright and kind from Brisanne's side, opposite to Lily whom he watches with worry, and he looks at them, What of you? Did you also make peace with the dark? Do you wish to shape the world with us? Or do you want it to shape you? he asked, a faint sneer upon his face at Rafe's arrogance and foolishness. He did not know how to win because he had not fought and he called it wisdom.

[TheDarkDM]

Anghau too came to embrace Brisanne when Marwaen had pulled away. With every step, the dessicated ground grew blackened and cracked, and what little grass remained wilted into ash. But Anghau's face was peaceful, and his embrace firm and welcoming. When they separated, he placed the blackened skull in her hands. It was heavy, and warm, though beneath it all was a terrible, abiding cold that only contact could bring. Then, Anghau turned his terrible glowing eyes to Rafe, the bloody pupils dancing in joy.

"Oh, there were far more than that many at the beginning Rafe. But perseverance and woodcraft can be formidable weapons. As to this, it is the object that so many of us have sought for so long. This skull holds fire, eternal and warm once it is given its place in a proper hearth."

Anghau flashed another smile towards Brisanne before a confused, infinitely amused expression spread over his face.

"I fear the years in the forest have addled you brother. What kin have you that did not begin around this fire? Either way, I can assure you that the dark of the forest does not claim rulership over us."

Anghau pulled Marwaen close.

"This talk of Ionas does fill me with concern though? How did you come upon our brother, and what transpired that would turn that gentle boy to violence?"

[The_Snark]

Brisanne returns the twins' embraces loosely, in something of a daze. It isn't that she's not happy to see them returned, though they are fearsome to look upon now. The stubs of horn on Anghau's forehead have bloomed into a great rack of antlers, and his gleaming grey garb is that of a stranger, but there is no mistaking who is at Marwaen's side. His sister is not so strange to look upon, but she is taller and more womanly than the rash girl who left the camp, her voice deeper and her skin streaked with crimson.

But no, it is the thing Anghau carries that unnerves her most, a skull that boils over with crimson tongues of flame. Instead of the gentle hum and childlike hunger of her own fire, this one screams, a cacophony of howls and cackling laughter and shrieks of pain, writhing as if trying to strangle itself and anything else that might fall into its grasp. Brisanne shrinks away as Anghau tries to place it in her hands.

"Put it out, Anghau, please," she begs. "How can you carry that?"

[Nefarion Xid]

Slinking further away from Anghau he faces Halaeth and folds his arms smugly. "Yes, congratulations on your good fortune. Everyone is lucky to be here today. You want praise for surviving? You want to stand by your family now? What about those who went looking for you while you ran off into the night?"

His eyes flash between Halaeth, Rahn and Afein.

"And those that stayed behind to protect what was left of our family? Whatever you've lost, whatever we've suffered... it's nothing compared to those who aren't coming back."

It hurt to say it aloud, but he knew it to be true. It wasn't just a nagging suspicion; many of his family had died out there. Wherever his thoughts were headed before crumbled beneath anger and resent and he snapped, "Stupid arrogant children! I hope you had a grand adventure in the forest because some of us died trying to find you!"

[White Blade]

Haeleth's eyes burn with offense. And then, just as quickly, the fire is gone. He reins himself in and frowns, tears welling in his eyes, I am sorry Rafe. There is nothing else I can say. Our kinsmen died. I am aware that I led them to that fate. Nothing will weaken the stain of that blood. But I will not make peace with the forest that ate them, just because I fed them to it.

He turns to Anghau and raises an eyebrow, "I have those who raised me. The Black Daggers, a tribe of Jaguar found me, four days after I departed here. They took me in. They taught me to hunt. Taught me how to live. And I made a covenant with them, I joined them, claimed them for kinsmen. They were all murdered. And now the tears pour forth freely, his heart aches and burns and he slumps to the ground, They all died because I fought a dragon I could not slay! They died because of my foolishness! I lost my fathers, my brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews... He is a wreck now, barely sparing breath to break from his flowing tears, uttering words incomprehensible. And you realize, though a beard grows thick on his face, it has not been long since he was a very little boy. And I won't let a forest that takes my family from me take another's! It hasn't been very long since he crumbled to the earth, and uttered his oath to his heart, and it hasn't been long.

He draws in breath, he stabilizes, and his eyes grow back to normal as he kneels upon the earth he has watered with his tears. Ionas... was found. Just as I was. But by Grandmother Spider, Lady Spider if you prefer, and she... taught him. Changed him. Roused the forest to anger against the Black Daggers. I drove him out. That is all I know of the matter.

[TheDarkDM]

A flash of hurt and confusion passed over Anghau's face as Brisanne refused to take the skull holding the dark fire. Had he not succeeded where all others had failed? Had he not returned with the one thing Brisanne had constantly winged about when they had huddled close together in the longhouse?

"How can I carry this? How can you ask that of me Brisanne? This fire is the prize that so many of us fought and bled for, the prize some of us died to attain. I do not care if you find it distasteful, or if the receptacle of the flames offends your sensibilities - you lost the right to judge us when you allowed Haeleth to run into the dark to assuage your fears. Marwaen and I left on the assumpton that you would hold this family together, and what do we find upon our return? That we have all scattered to the four winds, to return broken and bloodied or not at all, while you huddled around your fire. We trusted you to keep them safe sister, and you failed."

Anghau pushed past Brisanne to stand over the holy fire, burning not so differently from when he'd left so long ago. Holding the flaming skull before him, he dropped it into the flames, allowing the soul fire to mingle with the old magic. At once, the flames leapt up, strengthened tenfold by the endless fuel of two immortal spirits. It grew so large that it reached higher than any of the assembled gods could remember it, as high as it must have been when first kindled by the High Father and Earth Mother. A great roaring swept out from the flames, and layered over it were two distinct voices, moaning wordless tones of hatred and desperation. The light washed over Anghau, and as he turned he was little more than a shadow whose eyes were marked by two pinpricks of red light, staring towards the bearded man kneeling on the ground.

"And speaking of our lost kin, what do you mean you "drove him out" Haeleth? Please tell me you did not raise arms against your own flesh and blood."

[White Blade]

Haeleth's eyes flare now. His recently dead beloved adoptive family had been endangered, and he is so far from sorry there are not words. He stands, and Anghau finds himself looking into Haeleth's eyes, at equal level with his own. Haeleth is furious now, and it burns hot as his heart had laid broken."If by Raised Arms, you mean stabbed with a spear until he begged for mercy, that's exactly what I did, Anghau. He started it, of course. I finished it. I gave him his life. I am not sorry for fighting him. And I would not be sorry if I had killed him, either. I warned him. Tried to get him to leave. He attacked me. Now, he is not here. That is the sum of the story. He is not afraid of the damned deer-man before him. He will rip out his throat if he speaks much more. His every muscle shouts it, his every bone announces it to the world.

[Exthalion]

Anghau, I pray you think and consider before you speak or act. You have failed as have we all to return with fire. Please remove that thing before it forever undo the holy flame which Brisanne has tended.

Just as the working of the sun is not fire neither is the thing you have brought. The fire is a holy thing, who's light is peace and comfort and who's warmth is light. That is a mockery of it filled with sorrow and pain, which I suspect did not originate with it.

Give up your vainglory and you hope of praise for they provide nothing here. Fire we sought and fire we found, and it is to Brisanne that we owe thanks for this.

Do not demean her work or your own by calling that thing fire. We have grown, as we could only do if we left the fire's embrace. There comes a time when childhood must end, and hard lessons be learned. That it came for us is no evil. Delight in your own accomplishment and leave to Brisanne her's.

As Philognos spoke the intensity of the light about him grew and heat as though of the sun beat on Anghau though not too strongly.

"We have all of us endured much and done much. It does not lesson your trials that you did not find fire, for you have obtained something also of great worth."

His tone was gentler then, like the soft touch of light upon a seedling.

[ArlEammon]

Toraealas

"Wise Mantis, neither he had the Fire. . . I asked. . . I worked for it over these ten years. . . He had only the fire of the soul. Not this fire we sought." Toraealas looked sad for a moment. "I worked and toiled by the sweat of my brow to learn his secrets in order to fan the flames of this Glade. Happily, I found some things, secrets things that will help me to be of use to all of you. Sadly, I did not find the Fire. No. . . not the Fire we sought."

"And here I come to this very Glade, my childhood home, to find us in this sad state of affairs."

[TheDarkDM]

Anghau's posture straightened, and he stared down on his brother. Eyes narrowed, a sneer worked its way along his face.

"You chose a band of mortals over your own kin? What did those frail, transient beings offer you to gain your loyalty? I suppose it matters litte - if Ionas struck the first blow, then he took his fate in his own hands. Now get out of my face, brother. Unlike you, I have no intention of raising a hand against a member of this family."

Anghau turns to stalk away, only for Philognos to interject. Despite his radiance, the sunlight faltered before it struck Anghau, dimming as though it traveled through mist. Turning his attention to his radiant brother, Anghau's expression seemed split between annoyance and disdain.

"Spare me your trite philosophy Phi. However you appear now, you have some distance to travel before you know my mind. This fire burns, and warms, and nourishes just as well as the fires of our youth. What care have we how it was kindled if it offers our family safety from the night?"

[ArlEammon]

Anghau's posture straightened, and he stared down on his brother. Eyes narrowed, a sneer worked its way along his face.

"You chose a band of mortals over your own kin? What did those frail, transient beings offer you to gain your loyalty? I suppose it matters litte - if Ionas struck the first blow, then he took his fate in his own hands. Now get out of my face, brother. Unlike you, I have no intention of raising a hand against a member of this family."

Anghau turns to stalk away, only for Philognos to interject. Despite his radiance, the sunlight faltered before it struck Anghau, dimming as though it traveled through mist. Turning his attention to his radiant brother, Anghau's expression seemed split between annoyance and disdain.

"Spare me your trite philosophy Phi. However you appear now, you have some distance to travel before you know my mind. This fire burns, and warms, and nourishes just as well as the fires of our youth. What care have we how it was kindled if it offers our family safety from the night?"

"Anghau speaks the truth. But he speaks the truth hastily." Toraealas opined. "Anghau, we must all love eachother. IT is the Way of the Forest, the way to love our family that we must travel. It is the Way we must endure. This family is begining to lose it's mind. This is insanity. All of you, must shut up." Toraealas spoke mournfully. "I don't know what has happened to all of us in the past ten years, but have we lost our hearts as The Children? This village has been Home for us for our lives before The Journey. We must not let it become nothing but a refuge."

[Nefarion Xid]

Rafe rests his calming hand on Halaeth's shoulder, closing his eyes and shaking his head if he steps after Anghau. His little brother had earned his sympathies with the display of emotion earlier. Rafe forgave easily and he didn't want to see any more strife.

Reluctantly he acknowledged that the grisly relic Anghau brought did indeed have all the properties fire was supposed to, though the thing filled him with dread. Fire, however, was a luxury he didn't miss. Instead of comfort, he felt its sting; it stripped away at his cool aura and he absently longed to return to the lake.

[Jair Barik]

"Fire? Who ever spoke of fire? Was that the quest we all left upon or did we not leave because there was no point in staying? I for one never searched for any fire! Though a wonderous thing indeed if untamed it would devour all within its tongues and tails, eating forests and flesh alike. No. There are far more wonderous things than fire."

He then turned upon his heel, spinning about to face Haeleth once more and pointed at him with a single finger.

"Did I not say? Did I not warn you? These things that people say can never hope to be unsaid, words fan the flames of emnity and anger is quick to rise, though we are united once more the time for farewells is soon to come again."

[The_Snark]

Anghau's words bite deeply, all the more so because Brisanne has said them to herself many times: you have failed, you didn't keep them safe, all of your siblings are lost in the woods and it's your fault. You are not the elder sister they needed and should have had. She is angry, too, because what of his failures? Has he found and brought back their brothers and sisters as he set out to do? No. Instead he brings a fire she does not need and does not want.

But he is much taller than her, and his eyes gleam like a beast's. Anghau finds his sister almost feather-light as he brushes past, shaken and unable to muster a protest. He, and Haeleth, and all those who have lived as hunters these past years, perceive something about her that was not true when they departed; or perhaps it was always so, and they simply could not perceive it until now. Her wary eyes, her cautious way of walking, the way she shies at sudden movements -- their sister has the look of prey.

And then Anghau drops the baleful red-glowing skull into the fire, her fire. It leaps, roaring scarlet into the sky, and she can feel its character changing. The slow dull burn of her fire becomes fierce and hungry, tearing at her innards like a savage beast. She tries to scream, but her throat is choked with blood. Or possibly ash. She can't tell. It's not fair, she wants to scream at him. I kept this place for ten years, I waited and worried while you went off and had adventures, and now you come back and scorn all that I have done, push me aside and take away the only thing that was a faithful companion to me? No! Jackal and Monkey's spirits tear at hers as their endless quarrel is mingled with her life and spirit, but more subtle is their snarling fury, their snarling hatred for one another and the wretched god-child who slew them, and that too spills out into her soul. For a moment, she wants Anghau to burn. Conveniently, the fire wants the same thing.

Dimly, she can hear others urging reason -- Toraealas, Philognos, Lupani -- but pain clouds out the words. She struggles to listen. You can never unsay something once you have said it, especially if you truly mean it.

At last she leaps past Anghau with a wild cry, reaching into the fire -- it burns her, of course, but she does not care, she burns from the inside even if they can't say it -- to seize the skull, a cold black presence among the coals. She flings it aside (it comes to rest against one of the old foundations) and then stands there shuddering as the pain and loathing leak slowly out of her. The fire dies back to the size of a large campfire, yellow and merry once again.

Brisanne closes her eyes so that the others will not see the crimson flames still reflected in them, and lets out a long shuddering sigh, tears streaking her cheeks. "Your fire hurts, Anghau," she croaks, voice thick with emotion and lingering pain. "Look how Lily turns away. Hear how your brothers quarrel beneath its light. That is not the fire of our childhood. Please, sit and be at peace."

[TheDarkDM]

Anghau spun as Brisanne lunged towards the fire, his face contorting in horror as she thrust her hands into the burning flames to wrench the skull from its heart. He did not see where it landed, did not see the reaction of the other gods, for despite his pride Anghau was not willing to overlook the pain of his sister. He knelt by her side, removing a gauntlet to wipe a fresh tear from her face.

"I am sorry Brisanne, I did not see. I was so blinded by our original mission that it never occurred to me what you must have done, what you must have sacrificed to keep the fire alive. Please, sister, tell us. What use is family if we cannot help lessen the burdens of our siblings?"

Anghau smiled then, and despite his fearsome visage he was once again the serious, soft-spoken teenager of a decade ago. Arms that had slaughtered dozens wrapped around Brisenne gently as he sat beside her next to the flickering fire of their youth.

[Raz_Fox]

Though she is angry now, good and angry, Rahn holds her tongue out of respect for Brisanne. But the look she gives Anghau is not sisterly - it is contemptuous. How dare he, she thinks, how dare he come here with his poisoned words and mocking tongue?

When he speaks, she hears Magpie. Screeching, arrogant, self-righteous. Oh, she knows that she is a sinner, that she has done her sister wrong and that she was foolish before she was ever wise. But these new siblings - for they cannot be the old Anghau and Marwaen - they sicken her. Can they not see that Haeleth suffered as much as they did? That his words stab like spears, as he mocks Brisanne?

And then it happens - almost too swift for her to see - Brisanne leaps into the fire, pulling out the skull, sobs in pain. If Rahn were a warrior, a true warrior, she would have turned upon Anghau in an instant, for can't he see that Brisanne has cared for this fire while he was gone? Instead, she turns to him, says with a cruel grace, "Spoiled is spoiled, and not all fires burn alike; you choose poorly. But so did we all, honestly." She says this last sadly, wistfully. They all choose poorly, she can see now, even Philognos, even Rahn.

[White Blade]

Anghau. Had. Hurt. Brisanne. There is no other thought, no other idea, no other knowledge inside of Haeleth's skull. This is a sacred glade. That alone should stop him. But it doesn't. There is nothing in his bones now but fire and will. He moves quickly, thinks quickly. His brother is slow by comparison in motion. He is across the grove, he has the skull in his hand. He feels the fire lick him, burn him, and he ignores it as the wounds fade back to nothing. What can a pair of dead people do to him?

He strides across the glade now, faster than any of his brothers or sisters could stop him. There is a moment and now, he is so close! To strike, right now. NOW! Every inch of his being screams. But Brisanne is being held by Anghau. Not now, then. Not yet. He is furious now. No mere insult was this... His eyes glitter with rage.

He holds up the skull and hisses, "This! Is! Hate! How could you think to make a home on this! Haeleth shouts vigorously, shaking the skull in Anghau's face.

[The_Snark]

Brisanne sighs, resting her head against her brother's shoulder. With her eyes closed, she can imagine that he came back unchanged, can forget the great horns sprouting from his forehead and the ghastly cold flames he brought home... except that he is garbed in cold hard metal rather than cloth. But his voice, at least, is like the old Anghau just now. "You make it sound so terrible. I gave my life to the fire to hold, just as I hold its life. The loneliness was far worse than that."

"Haeleth, please," she says as her youngest brother leaps to her defense, too tired to raise her voice. "He is sorry, and that is that. Can we not sit for an eve without arguing?"

[Jair Barik]

"Evidently not."

Lupani's gaze falls upon Haeleth once more.
"What has happenned to you brother? There seemes something different about you I think. Or was that always there and I never noticed it before? I forget these things. Oh I remember the faces, the bodies the dress but the personalities... who has changed and who has not I cannot for the life of me tell. It is distressing, why any one of you could be a stranger wearing our kins face and I would never know. How strange. But I believe you all to be my kin and so that is that."

[White Blade]

Fine, he says, anger consuming his words as Brisanne asks for peace. But he obeys. He draws back, but it is clear that is not the end of that. He is furious now. He was furious before, of course, but this anger is making the rounds, burning hotter and colder and hotter again. He has drawn back. But he did not forgive. He remembers. And the look in his eyes makes it clear enough that he will kill Anghau, sooner or later. The skull is in his hand and he hefts it and hurls it to the east, hard as he hurled the stars. It arcs and lands somewhere beyond divine view, though Anghau could probably find it. And now he has drawn back and is perfectly still, vigilant, watchful. He does not trust Anghau. He will hurt her again.

How can he not? He's a monster.

[Raz_Fox]

Rahn is pacing now, can you see her? Pacing like a caged beast, like the blood in her is afire and to stop would be to go mad. She smiles at Lupani as he voices his concerns, slightly madly.

"Oh, we all did, Lupani. Why, you've become quite the philosopher, or have you not noticed? Children grow up, and they become someone quite beyond the child they were, especially when their maturation is fraught with suffering and hate. Though we have changed in both mind and body, is that reason enough to call them strangers? Surely, after all, they were children with you, no matter how far estranged they've come - and listen to me, aha, honestly, I sound like you now! What's it like, hearing your own voice come back to you? Or, at least, a simulacra of your words, an imitation almost perfect." She laughs, clapping a hand on his (to her) tiny shoulder. "If you promise not to tell anyone, I'll tell you - I think a few of us went mad!" Gold eyes glittering like sin, like the last rays of sunlight on an autumn evening. "But is it Haeleth or Anghau? Or both? Or neither? Honestly, it's enough to put one's head in a bind." This voice isn't Rahn's, it's the Tatterdemalion - the hawker-patter, the vestige of innocence and quiet slipping in the tension.

She dances back, running her gloved hand through her hair again. "But all's well- all's well- see? The deer lies by the fire, and the hunter steps aside. Maybe now we can make our allegiances to our brethren clear, neh? No more ranting and raving, no, no more measuring our suffering to throw into doubt another's? Honestly, let's act like siblings, not like enemies. The Black's not here yet, don't give it the foothold it wants."

[Kasanip]

Matapa - A Fireless Child returns to Home
The last quest ends. Or Begins?

Ten years it had been since the gods had started to leave. And it was on that last day of ten years that Matapa at last found the place that she called 'home'!
Or at least, there was a light in the darkness ahead of her. There had been a light overhead to guide her for a few days now. But this light, she could almost feel it from the dark.

So Matapa ran on bare feet faster as she could, through the dark forest. And at last, the final trees seemed nostalgic, and she felt her hope grow. She could hear the sounds of voices. She could see there was the fire, and it was bright. She was filled with joy and excitement because, even though she had not found life for Fire, she could see her family again. And they would hug her and admire the ermine coat, and she would tell them of her adventure and travels, and together they would sit by the fire, and together they would be together.

She stepped out into the glade and cried

"Everyone, I'm home!"

But she stopped immediately with wide eyes and open mouth. She was surprised, because everyone was there- she was last. The last one to come back. And just as shocking, there was no home left. The house was gone now... But the fire burned brightly in the center, where it had always been. The house was gone!

But more, Everyone had changed so much!

Big brother Toraealas had grown more like the trees, and taller even, she thought. And Rafe was... oh! She was surprised almost to not see him at first, but now she recognized his grim smile and he smelled freshly of water and rain. And there was Rahn, and she now was even more beautiful and taller than Matapa remembered, full of radiance that made Matapa feel small. And the others too! And the tall man with his beard...was it... who was it? It was- the eyes! Matapa, who always had been youngest with Haeleth would not forget his eyes. He had grown so tall and handsome! A great beard and athletic figure, he was nothing like before she thought. He had once been about the same size and age as her, but here now he was like Rahn, an adult, strong and powerful. Matapa could barely look at Philognos he was so bright, and Afein had beautiful red wings and feathers. Garian and Lily are here also, and of course Marwaen wore red and was beautiful and Anghau had horns! Mornd wore great armor of wood on his arm, and...and...

...And Matapa looked up at all of her family here and was surprised. Because though she now was a little more pale, and had white hair and the ermine coat, she was still exactly the same child that had left, and none of them seemed that way. They had all grown up, and the feeling of looking up at them was first of surprise and awe. And this feeling is why they are called 'gods'. And Matapa was embarrassed to have so little to show them. She had said to Rahn before that maybe she would be as tall and beautiful. But now, if she stood on tiptoe, she was still too short. Even if she jumped, she was too short. She was still just a child. They all had changed, except for her.

Or at least, so it seemed to Matapa then, because she didn't understand that she was cold, and that entering the glade, there had been a burst of cold and crisp air for a second. But the fire in it overpowered it. And Matapa walked between her siblings, bewildered as she looked up at them all. It was hot here.
Very hot.

It was so hot that she was panting for air, but she didn't know why. She wanted to endure it. Endure it because she was here with her family, and her joy and happiness at seeing them again allowed her to ignore it.

But even in her surprise though, Matapa was searching. She wanted to see Brisanne, because Brisanne was the oldest sister of Matapa, and who was most like a mother to Matapa, who could not remember her father or mother's appearance, but had only learned of them from Brisanne and Toraealas's stories. All of her memories of those nights falling asleep as Brisanne hummed lullabies or stroked her hair gently. Those were things that Matapa remembered, and when she had heard Brisanne tell stories, she had always imagined mother like Brisanne.

"Older sister! Brisanne! I'm home!" She cried out happily, trying to breathe calmly. It was so warm to make her dizzy and sleepy as she panted. But she could sleep later. Brisanne would hug her and scold her for going into the trees, and Matapa was very sorry! Maybe she would even cry here, but she was happy to be home. The house was gone, but surely together they could build a new one together! And Matapa would say she was sorry, but after scolding her, Brisanne would comfort her and admire the ermine coat and call her white hair beautiful. Then Matapa would ask if she could bring ermine white to live with them, and Brisanne would disagree, but Matapa would plead desperately and so Brisanne would rustle her hair and hug her and agree. And they would all live happily together.
Like before.



This was a last dream of hope like crystalized silver in Matapa's heart.
So Matapa in her joy ran to Brisanne and threw out her arms to embrace her.

And when Brisanne felt Matapa's hands, they were frigid and burned like nothing she had ever felt. There was no warmth in them. Matapa's hands were empty and cold- colder even than Anghau's gift. Matapa's hands were coldest, and spoke of a dangerous emptiness that would swallow fire. They tore at everything that Brisanne thought was good, and the image of a dark forest of cold, death, and emptiness that would swallow the whole family. It spoke of nightmares and a flame that was gone completely.


And when Matapa touched Brisanne, Matapa's hands burned and were grilled terribly like nothing she had ever felt. Pain of fire and horror and fear of her sister's radiance she had never felt before. Fire that engulfed and ate at her inside and outside, like her hands were being eaten. The pain of her hands entered her voice, and Matapa cried in agony, as she pulled her hands away. The emptiness in her throat seemed to choke her now. It was so hot, it was so oppressive. She had screamed, but she couldn't breathe in the heat. The pain burned and burned and burned, and Matapa without a thought again now ran. She stumbled and turned from Brisanne and past Rahn and Rafe, Philognos and Toraealas, Marwaen and Anghau, Lupani and Mornd, and the others. She ran to the edge of the forest behind a tree there that could shield her from the fire, and fell to her knees alone, clutching her hands and whimpering in pain as she cried. She trembled and cried in agony as that crystal dream was shattered in pain and greater pain.

And she realized then, the truth of her being now, slowly with her thoughts searching for relief, but finding horror and shame.

Because Matapa had no fire in her, she was cold. She could not touch Brisanne or the flame in the divine glade. And now Matapa knew something was terribly wrong and different. But in her pain she could do nothing but whimper alone outside. A soft snow began to fall about her, as if the dark gray sky had cried with her. But it melted soon, because it was warm here, even though Matapa was cold.

"I didn't mean to do anything wrong!" Matapa cried to no one as she looked at her burnt hands and tried to cool them by blowing on them. They stung and ached. Brisanne had never burned like this before. She had never rejected Matapa or hurt her like this. And Matapa was afraid, because now she could feel how oppressive and strong the fire inside was. And she was afraid that all of those loving things in the past were just memories now, and nothing would ever be the same again. She couldn't go inside again. If she tried, surely she would be burned completely. Fire was dangerous, and she was afraid of it, where before she only had known it as a comfort.

How bitter, she had searched and become lost and chased after such a cure! Though she couldn't remember, the feeling was there. And now it burned and it would consume everything, and her too! Never could she sit for warmth near it, because it would bite. Never could she lay her head in Brisanne's lap, because she would be burned. Never could she hug her family like that without being hurt, because they had a fire, and it would eat everything, like it had eaten her home, and how also her hope.


Everything was always eaten in the forest. That's what ermine white had said.

She had no fire, because she had given that to Rahn, and now she understood why Rahn was so beautiful and full of energy. She had Matapa's fire in her too now because she had eaten it. And so Matapa realized the trick of Rahn had been a betrayal that was sharp to her. And Matapa was ashamed and filled with grief because she had no fire...how could her family love her anymore? She wasn't like them now. She was just a burden to them. And so she had been burned after being betrayed by two of her sisters that she had loved truly. But how could any of them love her now that she had lost such a precious treasure? Even Mother and Father, who she could not see clearly would be disappointed and hate her. Because what a treasure that fire in her was. She gave, but she had not known, and now it was lost forever! What if the others listened to Rahn? Surely they would all go away from Matapa. She was just a child while they all had grown into an amazing family of gods. She was alone!

"Mother...Father... Why?" She cried to the sky. But they wouldn't answer. Matapa couldn't see their faces, she couldn't feel their touch.
These bitter thoughts came now to Matapa as she cried alone outside, pure, white, beautiful, sad snowflakes.
Around Matapa, the trees froze over with ice, and the large oak tree cracked it froze. A gentle snow fell, and the soft snow on her hair was round like a halo ring.

Acts

Matapa's Third Start Trait: Fireless Spirit: Matapa has lost her divine fire. It has made her cold. But without fire, there is no need to eat, because there is nothing to feed. And yet, without fire, there is no way to grow. So Matapa is trapped in such a paradox- a child who is always a child, but one who is never hungry, and who is both the same as her family, and yet she is a stranger now. She is not an animal lord, and though she is a daughter of the Father and Mother, now she is not the same as her siblings. She stands on a strange border. If one has no fire, is one even 'alive'? That is a question too, to wonder.

[Jair Barik]

Lupani turned with a smile upon his face as at last Matapa arrived. All of them were returned now correct? Or at least all those he could remember but something wasn't right.

"Are you alright Matapa? Something seems...wrong."

He reached out a hand to help her, the first time he had opened them since returning and there, for any who would look were the changes that had happenned. A deep bloody gash on the palm of each of his hands. Before Matapa even had a chance to accept or reject the offer the palm was withdrawn in horror, hidden back within the folds of his clothes, such ugly, disgusting wounds.

[White Blade]

Haeleth is worried as Matapa screeches. He is worried, of course. He moves near to her side and kneels low, looking at Matapa worried. It is cold around Matapa and his breath fogs the air, but the cloak he wears is the High Father's winter cloak. It is made for the cold.

Of course, he is now freezing. It is very, very cold. He is not even very far from the fire, he thinks to himself. Mata? he asks gently.

[Raz_Fox]

Haeleth moves before Rahn does, because she cannot breathe, because she has gotten what she thought she wanted. She had smiled, had moved forward, as Matapa entered, and then- why had Matapa suffered so? She had embraced Brisanne, the fire-lady... no, she screamed in her head, no, this couldn't be right, this couldn't be happening. No. No!

She wanted Matapa to come back smiling, to say that she forgave Rahn, that despite her traded fire, she was still one of the children of High Father and Earthmother, strong and confident. Not like this. Not like this! Not screaming in pain from embracing her sister, panting in the heat of the glade - oh, she could see it, and she fears that every one of her siblings could see it too, no, don't let them see.

And now she is above Haeleth, looking down at Matapa's snow-white face. She can't feel the cold, though she sees Haeleth's arms breaking out in bumps, could see the grass freezing at her feet. She should pull off her coat and offer it to Matapa, but she does not. She places her arm on Haeleth's shoulder and gently pushes him aside, kneeling down by Matapa's side.

"I never got to thank you, Mata. When I tried to come back, you were gone." Lies. She never went back. But that's what Matapa needs to hear, what Haeleth needs to hear. "You saved my life, Mata, and I never got to thank you. It's all right, Mata, it's all right. Honestly. Your big sister is here, it's all right, I'm here." She places her arm over Matapa's shoulder, awkwardly, like she's unsure whether she should touch her little sister or not.

[Kasanip]

Of course, Matapa's hands are burned and she is curled up in pain. Lupani's voice first comes and she looks up fearful.

She's scared. And she sees the blood wounds on his hands and her hands are also burned from Brisanne. But then Lupani recoils from her, like Matapa feared.
He didn't want to touch her. Who would? Matapa sniffed and rubbed her eyes with her sleeves.

Haeleth's voice comes. But this isn't Haeleth she remembered...is it? No... Haeleth is a tall handsome man- he is warm, she can feel it even as he comes close. She hugs her knees to her chest. She doesn't want to hurt him. She doesn't want to be hurt.
"I-I'm sorry" She cries again, trying to answer to him. Her hands ache and she can't close them. Her heart aches- if she has one.


Rahn's voice comes now though, and Matapa looks up at her. She wants to believe Rahn, her beautiful big sister. But this close to Rahn, she can see into Rahn's gold eyes. And she sees her own reflection.
She wipes her eyes on her sleeve again. Her hands hurt so much.
It's easier to believe Rahn's words.

But Rahn's words confirm something now. She did not give Matapa's fire to Brisanne to help. She had kept it, and eaten it. There was golden majesty and energy in Rahn to make Matapa feel so small and helpless, but Matapa looked into Rahn's eyes, and she thought she could see herself.
A smile on her face, wearing beautiful clothes of red, gold and orange, carrying a basket of food to Brisanne and the others. But it was washed away in white and drowned in snow.
"So... you don't need it anymore?" Matapa askes hopefully.
"You can give me back the fire?"

My Fire she wants to say. But she can't say the word My Fire. It is taken from her, when Rahn had reached into her mouth.

Rahn's arm, if she tries to touch Matapa, becomes colder and colder too.

[White Blade]

No apologies necessary, Haeleth says gently, and he whips off his cloak. It is heavy and unpleasant, but it keeps out the cold. For him, at least. He takes the cloak and gently presses it till it is beneath Mata, cradling her like a very scratchy blanket, Do you need anything? Do you want to go anywhere?

[Raz_Fox]

Rahn hesitates again, and in that hesitation is all the answer that Matapa needs. It is in her very blood now, child, of poison and fire intermingled. No, she cannot give back the fire, not without killing herself. "...I'm sorry, Matapa. A deal's a deal." She pulls her arm back, fearing that the poison within her blood will freeze again.

She looks away from Matapa, shamefully. "You saved my life, Mata, and I saved yours. A deal's a deal, and what's done is done."

[Kasanip]

Rahn pulled away from Matapa, but Matapa knew. "Y-you tricked me Rahn." She said, her voice soft like snow.
"Fire was given because it was though to be used to save our home." "Y-you didn't save me Rahn." She accused. Matapa's burned hands are a sign too.

But when Haeleth puts the cloak around Matapa, it is a good relic of his father. She is not burned by him, and she is not freezing him too. The cloak is warm, and comforting, and she blinks sleepily at first. She wants to be angry at Rahn, but she can't. That anger is a hot emotion, of fire. Matapa's ice cold aura is muffled by the cloak some- she is still cold, and so is the air around her, but with this blanket around her then, it is more endurable.
Haeleth is so tall and handsome too- so strong he can easily lift her if he wanted to. Even Haeleth had grown so much. Matapa looked up at him gratefully.
"I want to go home." She says. "I-I want everything to be ok." She wipes her tears again with her sleeve. Because her hands hurt and hurt.

[Exthalion]

Philognos' eyes watched all this and he kept silent. He walked toward the little one but stayed behind the tree.

He suppressed his feelings for now, fearing his light would hurt the little one if it grew to great. He caught the tail end of the conversation. What deal?

"Rahn, please explain. Quickly."

[White Blade]

Haeleth stoops down and picks Matapa up, wrapped in the cloak, assuming she does not show any signs of discomfort. He holds her close to his chest, though his nailbeds show a very faint tinge of blue in them as he cradles her. I don't think any of us can do the latter, Mata, he whispers gently, But we can try going into the grove with my cloak around you, if you like.

He glances at Philos and looks faintly irritated.

[OverThoughtName]

Afein had backed away, more and more. This wasn't the family she left. They fought angrily, not even at the last argument around the old fire had they been so... terrible. When Anghau tossed the skull in, she was shocked. When Brisanne leapt in to get it out, she was scared. When Matapa came back, wholly unchanged like the rest of them, and touched Brisanne and screamed? Afein was terrified. This wasn't how family acted. It was like they were broken...

Afein wanted so badly to fix them. Shouldn't they... shouldn't they all get along? She just didn't know how yet, so she stayed silent. Moving back toward the fire, she saw Haeleth offer to carry her sister back. Stepping in front of the fire, she opened her wings to their fullest. She couldn't block out all of it, but what small comfort she could provide her little sister from the flames, she would.

She stayed silent, letting her actions speak for themselves. What had her family become? For a second, a minor, fleeting second, she felt glad she hadn't found lightning. Then the longing filled her again, obliterating that mad idea. She'd warn them soon enough, but Matapa's plight was more important now. The tiniest ember flitting through her feathers to her flesh reminded her of that.

[TheDarkDM]

Anghau moved away as Matapa came to embrace Brisanne. He was troubled by the apparent lack of change in his smallest sister, but there would be time enough for questions later. Or so he thought, until Matapa pulled away from Brisanne and ran screaming into the forest, the first blisters of terrible burns already visible on her little hands. Anghau almost rushed after her, but he stopped to ensure that Brisanne was all right before following. By the time he arrived, Matapa was already wrapped in Haeleth's cloak, dimming the aura around her enough that Anghau still hissed in surprise when he put his hands to her cheeks and felt the bitter cold. But Anghau was cold too, if no so gravely as his sister, and he endured.

"Tell us little one, what is wrong?"

Anghau peered deep into Matapa's eyes, and though she tried to avert them he saw enough to gasp. Peering past flesh and blood and bone, he could discern her soul, but it was mutilated, cold and inert and consuming. To Anghau, sensitive to the spirit world as he was, it was like staring into vast abyss. Pulling away, he turned towards the rest of his family, eyes passing over all of them before landing on Rahn. Anghau's nose crinkled as he tested the air, for though they'd all noted the perfume on her person Anghau scented something beneath it, something wet and putrescent and familiar. Coming to stand over his strangely garbed sister, he stared into her eyes, past the veneer of clothing and material form, and saw the awful truth. Her spirit strained against its body, held in place by bloody tethers that writhed with foreign fire. Taking a step back in horror, Anghau let loose a piercing whisper that carried to all ears in the glade.

"You've stolen her soul..."

[Exthalion]

Knowing the future is a strange position to be in. It was a powerful gift, but also a great burden. If you act on every bit of future knowledge you change the vision and the future becomes a chaotic mess that must sorts itself out again.

So for the most part Philognos moved in lockstep with his visions, only acting when he felt he must. Moreover, his visions were by no means all encompassing. However in this case he had had to wait for that revelation before he could act upon it. Effect should not proceed cause. Only in limited case could it, such as when light blossomed in the east before the sun itself had risen.

He had known this fact would be revealed to him, but not the means of it. Therefore his face was without surprise. He had seen himself right here, and he had said something. What was it again? It was,

"Brother, please define that term. This is no automaton in our sister's shape, but our sister indeed. I grant you can see more then I in this, but surely you do not mean soul as is the common use.

Or rather, I pray you do not mean it so."

That said he turned his gaze to Rahn and his light increased upon her as his attention did likewise. A foul stench will rise in the sun from a foul thing. Let it be seen if this was the case.

OOC: He isn't trying to make her smell worse, he is waiting for her to explain. That last bit means something like, "They shall be known by their fruits."

[nysisobli]

The Goddess Of Strength

Looking at her family, as Vivienne warmed herself by the fire, she made mental notes looking at each of them, They each had a great weakness, and she could exploit that one day if necessary.

"So it seems the forest has caused strife, hate, and hurt. It has brought forth the inner demons of ourselves, and has shown the rest of us in a different light."
"Some of us seem to have done things we are not proud of." The Reptilian Girl says, "But is it not important that we are together again?"

"We could rebuild, and stay together, for there is strength in numbers, and we have each felt the forests dangers in a different way."

Then with that unearthly charm that they have all experienced sometime in their lives, Vivienne says "Can't we all Just get along?"

[White Blade]

Haeleth is quick enough to save his baby sister from Anghau's hands. He almost kicks him in the gut, then and there, but he does not know if Matapa's condition will be harmed by motion. She squirms uncomfortably from his harsh gaze and Haeleth tries to flee Anghau, but he is uncomfortably pinned between him, the grove, where Matapa has not yet said to go, and Philos, who is rather bright and unpleasant to look at. He manages to pull away, to the side of the grove, without moving further away or jostling Mata. But it is too late, and divine ears do not wait to hear his brother's filthy, insulting words.

Haeleth is not yet so cold that he will put Mata down or let her out of his sight though his hands are beginning to stiffen as the cold seeps into his bones, but somehow, sleep is creeping in on him. Does I even sleep anymore? He wonders. It has been a long time... Weeks? Months? It could have been years, for all he knew. He had probably slept since the black daggers died. That would explain why he was so tired. Yes, that was probably it.

He shakes his head, waking himself up, and whispers to Mata, Don't listen to him Mata, he doesn't even know what a soul is... You are my sister, you have a soul, you're very... he yawns and shakes his head again, waking himself up, special. We all love you. Don't listen to Anghau, he can't tell love from hate...

[The_Snark]

The peace that falls over the glade is uneasy, but it is at least a peace. Brisanne daydreamed a dozen homecomings while she waited by the fire, but never one such as this, ugly words exchanged and dark things brought back from the woods. The Forest has left its mark on her brothers and sisters, and she fears -- no, she knows -- that this cannot be undone. You can't just go back to the way things used to be, no matter how much you want to.

And then she hears a voice, and opens her eyes, and there is Matapa coming out from the trees like a vision from that longed-for past, little Matapa who she'd hardly dared to hope could survive the perils of the Forest, not an inch taller than when she'd left. Her hair and coat are pure white, but save for those she is untouched, pristine. Brisanne could almost forgive the Forest all it had done to her family, if only it would return the smallest and most precious of them untouched.

She smiles, her face radiant in the fire's light, and reaches out to embrace her little sister...

Darkness Cold. For a moment, the fire is gone, and none of the others ever returned. She wanders through bare trees, a hollow shell filled with ashes and regrets, and never sees another living soul. There is only the gloom and the cold and the loneliness, forever...

Then someone screams and the icy hands tear themselves off her, and she reels away, back to the fireside. It isn't dead, she repeats to herself. The fire isn't dead. The chill in her bones is slow to leave, and she sits closer to it, closer than any of her siblings could sit comfortably, as close as it is possible to sit without burning, and gradually its reassuring warmth fills her again. Others go to see to Matapa, but Brisanne dares not leave the fire's side so soon, dares not approach . How could little Mata have done this to her?

She couldn't. Surely there had been nothing in Matapa that could have grown into something that cruel, not even beneath the twisting black boughs of the Forest. Nothing can grow without seeds, as her brother would have said.

"Matapa!" she cries to the edge of the glade, past Afein's sheltering wings (but sheltering who?), desperate for an answer. "What happened to you?"

[Kasanip]

Healeth, big and strong, picked her up. He was warm, she could feel his heat when he spoke to her. But his words were saddening. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be with the others by the fire.
But...
Maybe with the cloak...
But Philognos' light was so bright, and Rahn was...was...
Suddenly Afein's wings formed a shield and it was more dim- less hot. But Haeleth was hot, and Philognos and Rahn, they were warm, a more...restful warm... Not so hungry....
But then Anghau's hands touched her cheeks and she winced. Warm! And yet different too- they spoke with a different consuming burn. Something almost as scary as Brisanne's fire, but different. Not as hot. ... Just...warm...
Matapa didn't make a sound, though she winced. And his question was like a spear, she couldn't look into his eyes. Of course she couldn't! She was miserable and guilty. Surely Anghau would read there what happened, and they would-

But Anghau's words hurt even more than Matapa thought.
She knew it. She had no soul. That's why she had no fire now. Why she had not grown.
She wasn't anything now.

Haeleth was still holding her, but his voice seemed far away. Sleepy and like a dream.
But she didn't have dreams. She had not had dreams since she gave the fire to Rahn. Her last dream had been for a world that was shattered now.
She looked up at Haeleth. His hands were getting cold. He was struggling to hold her. That's what she was to him right now, she thought. He was trying to be nice to her.
But really

She was just hurting him.

And then, Brisanne's voice.
The horror, the pain and grief...
Matapa's hands burned and ached.
Matapa sniffed.

"I...want to go to Brisanne." She said softly to Haeleth.
"Please...put me down."

She wanted to walk to her sister.

[Raz_Fox]

It is at this moment, child, that Rahn should stumble back, face flushed with guilt, and run from the glade - or glibly attempt to talk her way out of it, as she had tricked the Keythong - but she does not. Her eyes flash, and she leaps up from Matapa's side, her hand lashing out. It is as weak and pitiful as a mouse hoping to fell a dragon in its prime, but it is done; Rahn strikes her brother full across the cheek.

"I - am - not - a - thief," she cries, in anguish and fury - "I only take that which is given in full exchange. Search me, know me - there is not one thing, honestly, not one thing that I have stolen! Never call me a thief again, brother. Never!"

She steps back, her rage subsiding, and says quietly, to Philognos - "She saved my life. She chose. Now both of us must live with the consequences."

[White Blade]

Haeleth reluctantly lowers Mata to the ground, looking fretful and saying, "Okay Mata, if that's what you want." He adjusts the cloak, but it is still very scratchy and it is not light and easy to carry, especially for Mata, but she is strong enough, for the moment. "Holler if you need anything, Mata,"

He wheels around and walks towards Rahn, Philos, and Anghau

[nysisobli]

After seeing all this, Vivienne had decided, that her family could never truly be like they were once before.


Walking back towards the forest she speaks, If you need me you will find me by the great cliffs, also Rafe and Toraealas, ill be in touch.

[Jair Barik]

Looking at Vivienne begin to depart Lupani shook his head, a sad yet accepting frown upon his face.
"And so the parting of ways begins. Though in truth I would have bet upon Haeleth or Anghau to be the first to leave."
He darted across the room to another rock away from the conflict that was brewing between the brothers.
"Now who is next to go? I think I shall wait a little longer still."

[hi-mi-tsu]

It would be unfair to say that Marwaen's sword rang free of its sheath, for neither sword nor sheath were metal. Instead, while everyone was congregating near Matapa--Oh, Mata, her heart cried out, for the young one had always been her favorite--the Goddess of War had quietly unslung her sword's fur-wrapped lining from where it had been crudely anchored around her shoulders and set it down, unwrapping it. Every movement was careful, deliberate; the whiteness of the bone and the blood-red of the pommel-stone seemed to gleam with a baleful light, when it was fully exposed.

The altercation, of course, had been loud enough for those within the glade to hear; you've stolen her soul, Anghau had said, and Rahn's reply was...

Unsatisfactory.

"Not a thief...?" The goddess's words are steel wrapped in fur, not-quite-hidden deadly intent in a cold softness. "No...for you could never steal something so precious...not from Matapa. Not from Mata...sweet Mata...willing to do anything for family."

She runs a finger along the edge of her blade, and the red of her own blood trickles down over the whiteness of the bone, and the goddess finally looks up. And in her eyes there is a hatred unlike any ever fully expressed, here in the glade.

"So, you did not steal it. Did you tell her, Rahn, with your sweet words? Did you tell her this would be what would happen to her? That she would not be able to hug the eldest of us, that she would flinch away from our touch? Did you tell her, that you would use it to save your own life...? Ah, but no...we already know from Mata's lips you did not. So you might not be a thief, but you are a liar!"

The cold anger is fading from Marwaen's voice, replaced by something altogether more wild and furious, and the Bloodstone pulses with a desire for vengeance. Her desire for vengeance.

"Liar! Willing to trod on anyone, are we?!? Condemning your own sister to this!"

Her sword raises, and a manic fury flashes in her eyes.

"I'll kill you where you stand!"

[TheDarkDM]

Anghau was swift then, swift to prevent a transgression he could not allow on that sacred ground. In a flash, his hand close around the wrist of her sword arm, unyielding as he stood between his enraged twin and the thing that had been his sister. Their paired eyes met, and Anghau's voice emerged as smooth and soft as when they'd all been children around the fire and Rafe had spurred Marwaen into a huff. But beneath that oh so gentle voice was a terrible, bitter rage that mirrored his sister's blazing fury.

"No Mar! We cannot allow ourselves to become as she is, sullied by a betrayal that has no words. This pathetic thing is not worth it, sister, for her death will not restore Mata's spark, and her blood would only taint this hallowed ground."

Slowly, Anghau guided Marwaen's hand down from its killing stance, and for a moment he shared a mournful smile with her. Then he was on Rahn, lifting her into the air by the neck, the hard metal of the ancient gauntlets pressing through even her many layers of cloth.

"A bargain made with deception is no true bargain at all, sister, but I cannot force you to return that which you stole. But know that even the greatest of fires will burn out, and when the day comes that your rotting shell can no longer contain the apostate soul within we shall discuss this enormity on my terms."

In Anghau's grasp, Rahn felt her spirit strain against the stolen fires that held it. Then came a heft of his arm, and Anghau sent Rahn flying through the air to land further into the forest, where light brush became the oppressive dark of the Black.

"This crime can never be forgiven Rahn. You have betrayed your family, and in so doing betrayed yourself. I name you Rahn the Kinless, for all the world to see. You are banished from this glade, may the light of this holy fire never again fall upon your face. Now, go."

[White Blade]

Haeleth steps in front of Rahn, fluidly, elegantly, wishing he still had his cloak. He grimaces, but remembers his words from earlier, and knows he must stand by Rahn now. There is a covenant between them against the dark, and Marwaen and Anghau are certainly the dark. He growls looking defensive.

Marwaen's ramble is hardly impressive, Haeleth finds Anghau even less so. Who gives you that authority you mad dog? She is my kinsmen, I am bound with her against the dark. And she may stay in this place so long as she pleases you hopeless, hateful wretch.

[hi-mi-tsu]

"So." Marwaen's sword lowers, as her gaze swings towards Haeleth. "My sweet brother, who always fought past his limit, is now siding with a traitor. The first to rush to Matapa's side...and the first to abandon it. Where do your loyalties lie, Haeleth? You asked us to help you fight against the Black, asked us if we defeated the Forest, asked us to shape the world with you. And yet now you choose to defend the one who is most broken, who hurt family, family that is still family and not the way Ionas was and is no longer."

Her eyes flare, again, and she shakes her head. "So this is what you have become, then? A defender of traitors, an abuser of the weak? To leave Matapa's side is to be against the family, Haeleth."

And it is now, only now, that she comes; she turns away from Haeleth, from Rahn, though the pulse of vengeance still beats wildly in her veins. She comes to kneel beside her sister, the youngest; she comes to bow her head.

"Tell me..." Her voice is a whisper, now, a grieving sound. "Only say what you desire, Mata, and it shall be done. I will slay this lying cur like the dog she is, if only you ask it of me..."

[Raz_Fox]

There is a time in every story, child, when our hero wishes to die. When it would be so much easier to lie down, to make the pain go away, when the weight of their failures is too much, too much for anyone to bear. This moment is now. Look, by the trees - Rahn, lying in a crumpled heap. Who stands to defend her? Only Haeleth, the brave, the tall. Her bones ache, and her heart is weary, bone-weary. Better to slink off into the night, to accept the title they have given her, because she knows that to rise and deny them is to accept pain, she says to herself, no matter who stands beside her.

But there is enough of the old Rahn, the impudent Rahn, for her to rise, slowly, painfully, looking the twins straight-on in defiance. She is Rahn, the Tatterdemalion, and she will not be treated so by these defilers, who caused Brisanne such pain, who mock her own pain and youthful foolishness. The sins of the child are not the sins of the woman! And the seat of the judge is not meant for usurpers!

She takes a step forward, and then another, silently daring them to defy her, to show their colors to the family. She steps into the glade, beside Haeleth, her eyes wet with tears, but blazing beneath them. She knows that she should say something heroic, something of such eloquence that Brisanne would weep and Philognos would hang his head, unable to match such peerless poetry. But she is merely the Tatterdemalion, and she does not give such speeches.

"Let me ask you a question, twins-mine, just one question before I slink off into the night into eternal shame," she says, her tone mocking, in that way that she always had when she was upset at her siblings and wanted to hurt them back and hide the fact that she wanted to curl up in the corner and weep the pain out, "Let me ask you a question. If Matapa returned - hale, whole, shining - to this circle, and told a story of how Rahn the dark had died in her arms, had frozen to nothing, and left her promises broken and unfulfilled, leaving her a ghost e'er to roam across these woods in misery at the oaths unmade; had told you of how she tore and devoured Rahn's unblemished flesh to survive in the place where there is no sustenance, because the desire to live and breathe and come home was so strong, too strong for morals swiftly broken in the Black - would you honestly throw her from your circle, at the betrayal she had sealed? Would you list her crimes, and banish her with ill-get authority, one that you have no right to hold?"

She's burning now, the fire in her veins flaring up, reducing the glade to a market-stall - and before the gods all, marked half-off, the honor of two gods, trampled in the dust, their hypocrisy on display for all to guffaw at. This is her place now.

"I tell you the truth - oh, perhaps a liar's truth, you say, but even a charlatan queen must speak truth o'er blood!" She digs her nails into her palm, till something gives, and opens her left for all to see. "Were it not for Rahn, Rahn the Kinless so titled, her gift of sustenance and the dimming of the fire that is blown to ashes by the cold north winds, Matapa would be a corpse upon the plains, her fine hair a crow's nest, her dull blue eyes a raven's meal, her traveler's garb unraveled to nothing, her dreams extinguished - or, if we are willing to give Rahn the Traitor more honor and nobility that one might attribute to her, a ghoul, one of the eaters of flesh, a wend-i-goh who stalks the night with long teeth! So let us despise her, the one who brought back your beloved sister - aye, beloved, I say, for there is no love in your hearts for the black sister, no mourning in your tears for her death or loss!"

There are only two ways to live - one is to be safe. That is to speak quietly, to never press the luck you have been given, and to accept the pain that others inflict. The other is death, but oh, what a glorious death, bright and shining! One day, it will catch up, but until then - oh, how Rahn shines! The hidden wall, the one between her and her kin, the one that says "wait until we judge you," is nothing to her. Neither is restraint, or caution.

"Who are you, Anghau, Marwaen, to cast judgement where Brisanne has not, where Toraealas has not given counsel, where Philognos who shines like the sun has not passed his knowledge?" She passes them as she speaks, with the cheek and arrogance of a cat, strutting along its path. "Your cunning is in swords, and anger, but there is not mercy in you, nor wisdom - come, get off the seat you have taken at the head of the table, to pronounce doom upon this one, whose sin was to choose life instead of death! Get, you dogs! You may be strong, but my tongue is all the more cunning, and Brisanne's seat is not yours, not this day, and not on the morrow!"

She stands near Brisanne now, near the one who has kept this place sacred, and she knows that she cannot keep this patter o'er-long, that the Twins will turn on her and rip her asunder if she were to continue, but what is that to her? She has already tasted death, and spat it back out - she has dealed with Fae, and with beasts, and she has always escaped. She is the market!

"Honestly, honestly, I have sinned, oh, I have sinned. I have sold my maiden-head for a stone-knife and a vial of water, I have bathed in the blood of Magpie-the-great, I made a deal which left both parties in pain, but alive, oh, how so mightily alive! And you would presume to judge me? Tales I have heard, ah, the tales I have heard! No, you have no right, no right a-tall, not in this place, you lustful brigands, you despoilers - Brisanne, who has waited, Brisanne, who raised you and I the same, she is the one who will be heard this night." She kneels at Brisanne's feet, laying her head against her sister's lap, speaking softer now, her spell of words coming to its close. So, to you, my sister, my mother-in-absentia, my betrayed caretaker, I give my head - and do what you will with it, whether it is to pickle it and place it upon the mantel, to sew its lips shut with faerie-twine and pig's-iron, or to keep it as a merry pet; whether this pathetic thing is to be banished from this place, or whether the dogs may take it as a bone, or whether it is to be kept sacrosanct- to you I give this, and none other, by the blood and bone within me!"

And it is done- her heart hammers wildly- and the blood within her palm hisses and fades into the air, silent witness to the oath. The wounds lie there now, white on white, merely furrows within her skin, so pale-white; her lungs beat time with her heart, for her words were not mere words here, not in this place.

[TheDarkDM]

Anghau stood beside his sister as they endured Rahn's tirade, letting her words pound against them like waves upon the sand. For despite their rage, Rahn was ever the charming one, the bright one, the one whose words were as honey. But throughout her declaration of superiority, there was one thing that prevented her rapier wit from striking home, one assumption so outrageous that when she laid her head upon Brisanne's lap Anghau could not help but laugh. It was a terrible sound, that laugh, a release of mirth that cut to the very soul and seemed to shake the very ground. Anghau reached out for support upon Marwaen, so intense were his convulsions of scorn. Yes, scorn, for beneath the mirthful sound still lurked the distinct undercurrent of disgust. Finally, Anghau mastered himself and stared towards Rahn.

"You act as though we'd care if she'd eaten you. My dear, ignorant, fallen sister, had news of your death been carried back by Matapa we would have mourned your loss and sung songs in your honor. Had Matapa admitted to devouring your dead flesh in a moment of weakness, she would have been forgiven, for you would no longer have had need of it. We would have commiserated the loss of one so beloved, and I would have found you and raised you up on a high place in the spirit realm. No, what you have done , my fallen sister, is far worse than simply defile Matapa's transient physical form - you have bisected her soul. The very thing that defined her, and you felt it fitting to tear it from her through trickery, all to prolong your doomed life. Do not play the pitiable wretch begging forgiveness, not now, for your great test of loyalty to this family has already fled. You could have chosen to die with dignity, to proceed into the spirit world a true daughter of the High Father and Earth Mother. Instead, you have maimed a sibling and you call it just. However grave and terrible your trials, they were yours to face, not Matapa's. As what authority we can claim, the duty and right to defend this family was passed to us when we were chosen to seek a spoiled boy who'd wandered blithely into the night."

[Jair Barik]

Lupani tittered at the edge of the confrontation. He laughed quietly to himself watching the fight seeming to be hearing some conversation altogether different to the one everyone else was listening to. Some private joke that only he was privy to perhaps. Whatever it was may well have been disconcerting to those who were paying any attention to him. Oh he knew they weren't too much focus on the feuding Gods and on poor Matapa.

"Oh, sin. What is that? What does it mean?"

He span about giggling to himself.

"Who named it such and with what authority? I recall no laws, no taboos or rules for how we might live our lives.

With one hand he pointed at Haeleth and Rahn with the other Marwaen and Anghau.

"Do you wish to leave this place or will the four of you be bloodying this glade with your conflict? Maybe you should ask one of us to judge this sad affair if you are all so firm in your belief that your cause is the righteous one."

[OverThoughtName]

Afein kept moving as Matapa walked, keeping her little sister shadowed as well as she could. It disgusted her, those siblings of hers at the edge of the clearing unable to stop arguing over whose fault was what long enough to actually help the only person here in need of it. Rahn's argument made sense, Marwaen's was just violence spewing forth, while Haeleth and Anghau wasted their breath on their foolish arrogance. Afein missed half the words, sweat pouring off her from so much heat, but she heard enough to know not one of them were the family she remembered. Not that it mattered, it didn't change the fact they were family.

Watching Vivenne leave, hearing Rahn say she was going to, Afein almost gave in to panic. What if they all left without her warning? She couldn't afford another soul gone without it. "I came here to deliver a warning," she spoke after Lupani, finally mustering the courage, "There are enemies out there like us, that command and order the world like we do. Lightning is held by one, the sky-fire I left to search for, and I think he wants to kill us. Me at the least, because I have half his power. He killed a member of the Fey Gentry on the night we left, the Tyrant of the Court. There are enemies in the Black, we shouldn't make more tonight."

[White Blade]

"I see that we have become people of many words." Haeleth says at Anghau's and Rahn's lengthy speeches, as if they count for enough, Lupani, if you paid attention to what Rahn was saying, you would know that that has already been done. Please, use your ears. Marwaen and Anghau flap their mouths and boast enough for all of us,"

He merely nods his head in agreement to Afein, who he has always been fond of.

[nysisobli]

Catching the warning as she was walking into the forest, she stopped suddenly, More like us? Dangers?

"How do you know about this?"

[Jair Barik]

"Done? The naming of judges or the naming of sin? I am sorry but I find these words muddling and confounding and lose track of what is spoken in jest and what is being spoken in seriousness."

The God of magic idley flicked his hair and smiled looking at his sister, the accused thief.

"Besides. I find my sister's speach to be very owlish."

[OverThoughtName]

Looking at Vivenne, she held her half-crown out, "This was part of a set, this one from Mother and another from Father. In the Court of the Skies, built by Father's hand, there was a prophecy of them both being handed to someone, but, more than that, I know because this crown told me." Not quite a lie, but she didn't want them to know everything, yet. Specifically how she lusted for lightning.

"Besides, someone killed the Fey Tyrant, who it's said even Father Owl feared. That was on the night the sky first saw lightning, too, it's all too much for coincidence. Somewhere, there's someone who had the right to claim an aspect of Father, and he's had years on us to grow into it." Rumors and conjecture, hopefully she'd presented them well enough to stand as fact. She doubted she could argue her position much longer, anyway, the fire was starting to make her light-headed. "In other words, a threat."

[Exthalion]

"ENOUGH!" and the blaze was most luminous indeed.

Philognos was not simply a shining one, he was the sun itself. The great orb was his ratified spirit which shone down on all the world. His eyes saw far and his gaze pierced deception.

"Veritas lux mea, truth is my light." and the light became softer, more wavering, but no less firm. It reflected off blades of grass and around trees and the smallest of shadows was filled by it.

The Sun was the light of the whole world. That truth could cast shadow upon the surface of the sun itself was great evidence of its power.

"What is done is done. Though mighty we have become that at least shall ever remain beyond us. We are all of us bound by blood, and to spill the blood of the High Father and Earthmother is a mighty crime. To Rahn we owed the debt owed to a sister, of this there is no doubt.

Many words may be said, but the facts are these: Though voluntary the agreement between Rahn and Matapa was wrong, for it took advantage of innocence and that is more precious then all power. She was compelled to do this by fear of death, which is common to all things even such as we are now.

I say let Brisanne judge, for she is eldest here and Mata but, just as we, endured only by her care.

For my own part I advise this: Let Justice be tempered by Hope. What has been done to Matapa cannot be undone. We must do all in this so that what is best for her is done. I say let Rahn be forgiven, and this crime forgotten. To forgive and not to forget is no forgiveness. However, all the allowance of blood she has spent. Nothing more will we accept from her, and she shall be to us as one of the forest.

Moreover, let her be forever in debt to Matapa, and compelled to protect the little one from the pain she has caused. Let her forever go before Matapa, and prepare the way for her. Let no great heat be set against her and calm the violence of the forest and its creatures. I advise this not as punishment for unfair dealings, but for exploitation of the trust of a little sister to an elder and failure of the filial duty.

This I advise for there is power in blood and atonement. We cannot by Rahn's death benefit Matapa at all. You all know just as I that she would mourn to be responsible for her sister's death even after all that has come about. Let us think first of Matapa and then of punishment.

I have no more to say in this."

[White Blade]

Haeleth sighs and stands, looking about the room, and speaks, for he has had enough of this multitude of words and will also say his fill, Shall we follow Anghau, he knows best, of course, how to torture our family, how to insult our kin. Already this evening he has cut Brisanne with his words and burned her soul with hellfire. And Marwaen is his equal. She has already this night drawn a blade to kill our kinsmen for a lesser sin, and is set on doing it still. Shall we give them their self-appointed crowns? Surely if we can even call such people kindred, Rahn has done little worse in her life than they have already done this night, and Rahn at least admits it. She does not glory in her sins.

He turns to Afein and bows deep, Lovely Queen of the Sky, I will stand beside you against this foe, I trust and pray that you will also stand by me if I am menaced by foes dark and cruel.

[nysisobli]

You have me as well against this threat, family needs to stick together.

[The_Snark]

Brisanne closes her eyes. So much fighting, so much shouting. She wants so very badly not to have to deal with this right now, to go to Matapa, to retreat from all this and find a bit of peace and quiet somewhere. But of course she can't. They are asking for her, they need her, and she will not fail them with her silence like she did on that night ten years ago.

At last they are quiet, and only then does she speak.

"Anghau. Do not presume to speak for all of us. The duty you assumed was to protect, not to punish. You may judge your sister for yourself, of course, that is your right, but I warn you that no joy will come of such a harsh sentence. Please, brother; you have ignored my words once already this day, to both our sorrows. Remember that, before you act rashly again."

"Philognos. Thank you for speaking calmly. Your words are wise, but I fear that we cannot put this behind us so easily. The heart rarely obeys the commands of the mind. And Haeleth, please, curb your temper! You act well, but it does none of us any good to hurl insults and accusations."

She turns then to Afein. "Thank you for the warning, sister. I hope you will stay a little longer, if only to tell me your tale, but perhaps that is best left for another time."

"Rahn." Brisanne strokes her wayward sister's hair, and grief and disappointment heavy in her voice. "Rahn, Rahn. What am I to do with you?" Her hand tightens around a lock of crimson hair, almost painful before her grip loosens again. It ought to be Matapa lying in Brisanne's lap, and it's Rahn's fault that it can't be so, and she can't forget that. She sees, too, how Rahn runs from a harsh judge to a more kindly one, and that is very like the old Rahn, making excuses and trying to wriggle out of consequences. Yet even knowing that, she cannot -- will not -- bring herself to be as harsh as Anghau. Cast out one sister to make up for the loss of another? No.

And then there are Matapa's feelings to consider, as well. No, it is not an easy burden her sister lays on her shoulders.

"You have made your sister unhappy, Rahn," she says, as gently as she can make herself. "Are you sorry?"

[White Blade]

Haeleth has the good decency to look ashamed. Of course, his shame is secondary to his anger, but he does not reveal that, not here, not yet. Marwaen and Anghau were strong, like the dragon had been, it would be folly to attack them without preparation... But he had time. Indeed, he expected that now that the fire was restored, he had all the time in the world.

He sighs and says, Sorry Lupani, Sorry Brisanne, looking truly regretful. He turns to Anghau and Marwaen in turn and says nothing, but locks eyes if they can bring themselves to look away from the whole scene. Then he turns back to Brisanne and Rahn. They were what mattered now. He could, would, spill blood later.

He sits on the ground in a kneeling fashion and awaits Brisanne's judgment. Of course, he is prepared to act, but his grace makes it less likely that he will be seriously injured before he is on his feet again, beating one of his two foes into a pulp.

[Raz_Fox]

It may seem a strange thing, child, but Rahn does not know what to say for a moment. "No," she could say, "I am not; were I placed there again, knowing what I do now, I would do it again - for to live is better, oh so much better, than to die and leave vows unfulfilled behind. I did not live for myself, but for the sake of those who trusted me." Or, perhaps, she could say "Yes, I am sorry for her sorrow, but all things will work out for this good - see, is not my worth so much greater than hers? I have done more - so much more - than Mata ever could." Rahn is too honest, at her core, though her tongue is as dangerous as a viper. She weeps for her sister, half-wishes that she had died in Mata's stead, but she cannot say that, even knowing what she knows, she would abstain from making the deal over again.

"I did not know, I did not," she says softly, "I thought it would merely dim, I did not mean to drain her so. I had not the strength to turn aside, to conquer fear, or the skill to take but a tithe. Am I sorry? Oh, thunders destroy me, my heart rip itself asunder within my breast, am I sorry? How can you ask that of me? Am I honestly so far estranged from the little girl, the foolish little girl, who ran out into the dark?

Do you need to hear me say it? Listen then: her sorrow is mine, her pain is mine, and my shame is my own. The betrayed should not become the betrayer, no matter how they are abused, how they are used and broken-" She repeats this last, softly, to Brisanne. There are marks on her back that will never, never heal, and she knows betrayal as well as Mata, innocence broken apart by cruelty - and there is pain in her voice, the kind of pain that comes only from such cruelty.

"Ah, honestly, I am- I am-"

[Kasanip]

Matapa

Haeleth set her down, and Matapa felt the weight of the cloak. It was heavy and uncomfortable. It was scratchy, and she couldn't almost hold it with her blistered hands. But as she stopped to try and fix it a little, Marwaen came to kneel in front of her. And Marwaen, though Matapa was wearing the cloak that was too big for her, began to feel the cold of Matapa. It snuck and came around her legs and then on her cheeks as she looked at Matapa in the eyes, and Matapa's eyes had pain and grief in them, and maybe apprehension too.


"Marwaen, please don't...Rahn is... is..."

Matapa tried, and looking over Marwaen's shoulder, beyond Afein's shielding wings, she looked at Brisanne.
And Rahn's head was in Brisanne's lap as Brisanne spoke and comforted her. Brisanne wouldn't hate Rahn. Matapa, who had no fire couldn't feel the fire of hate. But she did feel emptiness, seeing Brisanne holding Rahn.

She had wanted to be there. Brisanne couldn't hold her though. As Matapa looked, a small hot breeze from the fire ruffled Afein's feathers, and pushed the cloak hood from Matapa's head, and she winced. It was hot. Even here. And Matapa looked up at Marwaen again and said pleadingly.


"Please don't...I don't want anyone to fight."

And as Anghau argued and the others talked about fighting, Philognos at last yelled, and there was such a bright light. Matapa covered her eyes with her hands.

And Matapa was silent as Philognos spoke, because there was wisdom in his words. Matapa didn't want Rahn to die. She thought maybe she could forgive Rahn, because she loved Rahn too.
But...

How could Philognos say to forget it?

That...would be to forget Matapa.
And if Rahn was to always go before Matapa...

...Then Matapa always would follow Rahn.

Rahn, who was being held by Brisanne.
What would Brisanne say?

Matapa was caught by this, and even though the fire and Philognos's light hurt her eyes, and the fire was hot on her cheeks, Matapa watched Brisanne and Rahn with all of her attention.

Would Brisanne take Rahn's side like Matapa had feared?


OOC: I am sorry, please think this post is before last The Snark's post please. m(_ _)m

EDIT: Thank you The Snark to move the post :smallredface:

[The_Snark]

It was a simple question and deserves a simple answer, but Rahn does not give one, instead twisting and weaving words so that it is difficult to tell what she is actually saying. Brisanne is disappointed; it smacks of evasion, of things to hide. But, she reflects, this is not unlike the old Rahn. It isn't malice, only weakness. And the scars on her back, the hurt in her voice: those things are real.

Brisanne waits patiently as Rahn struggles to finish, choking on the last word. The seconds stretch on, and on, and at last she acknowledges that her sister will not say it.

"I do not know any words to make this right again, Rahn. There's no judgment I can give that will balance the scales and let you go on as if it had never happened. You have to live with whatever you've done, and make your own peace with your siblings. I neither forgive nor condemn you."

A moment passes, and then she adds, "You are still my sister, and I will love you even if I cannot trust you. But if you wish to keep that love, if you are sorry at all, go to your sister and tell her so, not me! She needs somebody, and I can't go to her!"

She looks around at the assembled gods standing all around. "For heaven's sake, why are you all standing here looking at me when she needs you more?" she cries. "Go to Mata! Go!"

[Raz_Fox]

Have you ever had to laugh when everyone around you is sorrowing? It is an awkward, horrible thing, especially when it is mixed with tears and a throat that is already raw. Rahn cannot help herself, it is just too funny, too twistedly wretchedly funny.

"I was, sister mine, until some well-intentioned soul believed that I could do it just as well from the vantage of a thorn-bush." She laughs again, this one bitter, nearly spat. "Why is it that a simple command can transform a gesture of love into a cynic's self-preservation? That's funny, isn't it? If I had risen and done as I wished - before Anghau thought to pass his judgement - it would have been sweet, a bittersweet reunion. Now, it is just Rahn, the pusillanimous, scrambling to evade punishment again - that is what all will see. That's funny. Very much so. So much that it is almost not worth rising, so my family can see me, yet again, trying to prove that I'm not a bad person, honest." She rises anyway, trembling like a new-born deer.

There is shame in doing a thing before a crowd, when in truth it should be a private thing, like saying "I love you", or "I'm sorry", or "Your cup was poisoned this whole time, you fool". Have you ever felt this shame? This is what Rahn feels, walking past Anghau (who had been such a big brother, had been frightening but kind-), past Philognos (who looked at her now with contempt, she knew, with disgust-), past Haeleth (would he ever protect her again?), before Afein, Vivienne, Lupani (judging her, measuring her like the wheat and corn of the field-). She welcomes this shame. You see, sometimes, a person gets it into their head that they deserve pain, and so they welcome it, they believe that being hurt in such a way is what is needed to balance the books.
It hurts just as much as the whip striking across her back, as much as ice freezing in her blood, as becoming a woman all in one night. And so she welcomes it, because maybe, maybe if she hurts like this, they will forgive her.

She squats down in front of Matapa, eyes downcast, legs folded beneath her, as far from Marwaen as she can possibly get while still being next to her little sister. "Do you want us to begin again the apology, as if it were just the two of us, or would you rather I bleed myself dry in an attempt to distill your fire?" An uncomfortable moment, in which Rahn realizes that was not the right thing to say. Curse this tongue, she thinks, why can't it just say the right thing at the right time in the right place? "That was a joke. Because I'm still Rahn, and you're still my little sister. And if you want, I'll walk out now, and you'll never see me again- if that's what you want, if you hate me now. And honestly, I wouldn't hate you for it, it's what I'd do in your place.

And I can only apologize, for fear, for innocence, for this was not what I intended, this was not how I dreamed it- but that's over and done, and now all I can do is try to fix things, patch them up, because that's what the living do." She digs into the grass with her bloody glove, feeling the softness of the grove's soil. Elsewhere in the Black, the ground is harsh, and unloving, but here- here should be sacred.

And Rahn is realizing now that she can never come back, no matter what her siblings say. All she can do is try to set things right, to make it so that Anghau and Marwaen will not come hunting her, so that Haeleth and Brisanne will not hate her.

Then she'll go roving, all over dale and fen, with those she loves - loves now, more than her siblings, who have judged her and found her wanting, despite all that she has done for those who trust in her, for her cat and her people. She has given fools their heart's desire and she has brought respite to tortured souls, for there is no Anghau in the market to condemn her, no Marwaen there to cut her open if she speaks wrongly.

Yes, she resolves, she will leave, no matter what they say, and never return. She is no longer a part of this family (but Haeleth - she will miss him, and Mata too), no longer welcome here among them. They would ever look at her with accusing eyes, speak to her as a debtor. No, this is no longer her world. How did it take her so long to realize?

Hajal, she says to herself, I'm coming home, and this time I won't try to split myself between two families. I have already cast myself out of this one.

[Kasanip]

Matapa To make promises (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wBLjEuhmCAc)

Brisanne had refused to choose easily. So is fire unpredictable!
Rahn came at Brisanne's words, or of her own feelings.
And Matapa watched her approach and squat in front of Matapa.

It wasn't fair. She was so tall and beautiful. Maybe this one time Matapa could look down at her, if she stood on tiptoe.

But she did not have such a desire. Because a younger sister always should look up at an older sister.

No... If Matapa had not come back, then Rahn would not be suffering like this. That was Matapa's thought. Her hands hurt, and Brisanne was still shielded by Afein's wings- Afein, who by protecting Matapa had also made her realize it.

Haeleth's cloak had too. Matapa was separate from them. Different now. Anghau had said she had no soul after all. But something in Rahn's voice hurt even more. It hurt like the burning fires had. Because Rahn also felt like she couldn't be here. And maybe that was Matapa's fault too.

Matapa let go of Haeleth's cloak, and it fell around her. And it was cold- for Marwaen who was still close, there was a chill. But for Rahn, who had in her the fire of Matapa, it was cold, but not unbearable. And Matapa stood on tiptoe to touch her forehead to Rahn's.

It was warm. Was this what Rahn had felt before?

One more, tender moment maybe. Matapa wanted to hug Rahn, but Matapa's hands were burned.

"I'll always be your little sister." Matapa said. "I love you Rahn. Even if you go far away, I will always find you. Somehow."

It was a childish promise maybe, but under Philognos' light it was revealed in it's earnest truth.
And Matapa stepped back from Rahn, and struggled in the heat. It was hot without Haeleth's cloak.

There was Afein's wings, and beyond them was Brisanne.
It didn't matter to Matapa that this was as far as she could go. She would go to Brisanne.
One step.
Hot. It was hot.
Two step.
Burning hot and panting breath.
Matapa walked, and shielded her eyes with her sleeve. Blind with the heat she stumbled forward, past Marwaen, Philognos, all the others until Afein stood only between her and Brisanne. Wings like a shield, and a veil. Matapa knew that if she walked further she could not survive. Here she could not go any closer to the Sacred Fire, or to the eldest sister who she could not hold, or see. Here, Matapa stumbled and fell to her knees. Hot, and dizzy, but against it she struggled to endure it.
Because maybe, if she could look beneath those beautiful red wings to the halo of fire beyond, she could see Brisanne's face.

No...her eyes wouldn't let her. They were filled with water.
Here the tears that fell from Matapa's face were not like snow, but water because of the heat. Struggling with all of her might, Matapa made her burnt hands into fists and took a deep breath.

"Brisanne!" She called out as loudly as she could.
She wanted to say those words that she feared would be lost in her family this day.
"I love you!" She cried out.
"And even if I can never see you again, I'll always love you!! So....so... don't be sad!" She choked on these last words, and covered her face with her hands as she cried.

[Kaiser Omnik]

Chapter the Second, in Which Gods Walk Among Us
***Beginning of Turn 2***

Thus the heirs of the Earthmother and High Father gathered again around the renewed Fire, as it had been foretold long ago, although it was never known how much of them would survive the ordeal. For the first time in ten years, they enjoyed warmth and light in the glade. But they did return fundamentally changed; children no more, but Gods! Where none had walked the Black Forest since the Primeval War... In some ways they found family, kindred in power, but also strangers. For the divine scions each experienced a profound transformation; each traveled his or her own path in the dark woods. And none could remain unaffected, alone, facing the Black. The reunion, for some, further alienated them from their siblings. Would they succeed at working together towards a better world? Or would the treacherous Forest get the better of them? None knew at that point. Many important and painful choices still awaited them.
Meanwhile, far from the sacred glade, the Black was also changing in unexpected ways...


The Sinister Witch of the Black (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-2cHJ7FW8d4&feature=related)
At the center of the great forest, the most imposing, majestic trees of all Creation stand tall, reaching so high as to almost feel the heavens with the tip of their branches. These parts of the Black have not been touched by the seasons of the Gods, nor have they been apparently affected by the one hundred years drought. It is as if the ancient redwoods are frozen in perpetual automn, their leaves all gold, silver or copper. Hidden among the trees is a thing of wonder which I dare not speak yet. However, by the foot of those giants, was a magnificent palace so perfectly built it genuinely looked like it belonged to the landscape...as if Nature had actually grown to integrate it into its design without destroying anything of the structure. That day, like all the days of the last few years, a cloud of dark, diminutive fairies - all wings and teeth and claws - swarmed to the entrance of the palace trying to force their way in. Like all those days prior, the horde met overwhelming resistance. And as they always did, they charged forward, again and again, losing many of their kin, and replacing the fallen with as many more shortly after. But the night of the reunion in the glade, the mistress of the Fey returned to them holding a shining collar of beads. The Witch wore a simple tattered gown pierced by the elongated needles scattered on her overweight body, a cape with the hood pulled up to always cover her hairy face, and a pair of willow-wood clogs. She clinged on to the collar with one hand and held a twisted staff of bone in the other. As she raised both, the reality of the Forest rippled and finally...broke. The vicinity of the palace became filled with blood soaked great thorns and vines, phantom maws emerged laughing from black bonfires. The horde itself grew even more enormous in size. Then all at once, vicious giant vines, mad wraiths and infernal fey assaulted the locked golden doors.
CRACK!
Now, at last, it was hers to take.


Path of Blood (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=agFKs0MbXoY&feature=related)
In other parts, a dire procession advanced through the hunting grounds of Panther. You think them foolish, and normally you would be right, for the chosen jaguarmen of Lord Panther do not treat trespassing onto their most hallowed territory lightly. But those men and women, they let pass. Is it because it's night and the walkers are sneaky? Or rather because even the mighty jaguarmen fear them? That, I'll let you decide. The group was constituted of a small number of warriors marching alongside a line of prisoners. The warriors appeared in many shapes, although all had in common deep green or ochre scales, forked tongues and ritual body painting representing a coiled snake and drops of blood. Some were almost human in looks, while others were only distinguishable from snakes by their size and humanoid head. Among the bound and gagged prisoners were some sturdy Ana peasants, beautiful Ondines, and members of several more tribes. The procession finally reached a fissure, a very ugly wound in the earth. Long and narrow; one of a few cracks which had formed since the first quake a year ago. One after another, the capture beastmen were brought to the egde of the fissure. In a flash, all of their throats had been slit open, and dark blood gushed into the gaping maw, followed by the hollow shells of the prisoners soon after.
And the earth - or what laid below - feasted upon the flesh and humor of the dead. And it trembled furiously.


Silent Threat (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MnRpbVk2MoA&feature=related)
In yet another region of the Black Forest, there was a marsh. Near the marsh was a small village inhabited by beastmen of mixed heritage; a most peaceful community, a haven of tranquility compared to the neighbouring woods. Normally, the beastmen didn't dare approach the marsh; because it was putrid, so foul-smelling, and distinctively ugly, but mostly because of the stories of will-o'-the-wisps and wendigos which supposedly plagued the swamplands. They just couldn't shake off the eerie feeling about that place, like there was something deeply wrong with it... even though no actual monsters had been sighted in at least a generation. Yet, as there always is, there was one born without the fear of his ancestors. A brave little one like our Haeleth. Along with two companions, a boy and a girl, he wandered several times into the marsh. Each time, the hunters of the village brought them back before sundown. And each time they did, the three children only wanted to go back and see more of it. The marsh was only ugly in the eye of frightened adults; to them, it was rather magical. Furthermore, there was one very intriguing thing: it seemed that the closer the companions approached what they imagined to be the heart of the dreaded marsh, the less sounds they heard. One fateful night, the fearless boy convinced his two friends to follow him in their most daring escapade yet. The children walked deeper and deeper into the swamplands, despite all common sense, until they reached a pond around which strange flora seemed to thrive. They were greeted only by silence, complete and disconcerting silence. Where were all the animals? Even a wendigo would have left tracks behind. The familiar howling of the wind through the leaves was eeringly absent. Then, the children caught some movement in the corner of their eye. What was that? A mass of living mud sliding their way -very quitely might I add - becoming bigger and bigger as it came closer! The children screamed as they desperately tried to get away. Let all the air out of their lungs... until, suddenly! The screaming...stopped. The companions looked at each other, incapable of producing any more sounds.
And then the mud reached them.

The Lone Child (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XTFHogsXGG0&feature=related")
You wish for us to go back to the adventures of the heroes of myth? Patience. There is still one tale to tell. A very simple and short tale, trust me. Because you see, some things are often forgotten about; legends rise and fall, predators eat their prey or warriors claim their prize, and it seems like the march of history resumes. However, there are some left out altogether from the main story. A boy, for exemple. A human child appearing no older than ten years. He resided in an old cottage, modest but confortable. Behind the house, a small colorful garden enclosed by a wooden fence. The Boy was most lonely. Once he was a very lively child, but now, he seemed so low of spirit. How did he take care of himself all by his own, you ask? Well, the Boy did have some company. The Majordomos tended to him day and night, trying to fulfill his every needs. But while the Boy appreciated their presence...it just wasn't the same anymore. Whatever they brought to his attention, nowadays, he refused to even look at.
Ah, how horrible it is when the mind of a children is already clouded by ennui...

[hi-mi-tsu]

Still in the Grove

"Please don't...I don't want anyone to fight."

So fall the words of a wounded sister, and they fall like ice into Marwaen's heart. But she had always, ever, been about her family, before they left the Grove and since. The Black had changed her, had changed all of them, but she loves her family more than anything else.

And so, though her soul cries out for vengeance, for blood against this traitor, Marwaen stands when Matapa is done speaking with Rahn, and inclines her head, and her fingers brush over Rahn's fire-red hair.

"As she speaks, so shall I do..." The War Goddess's words fall to Rahn's ears alone. "Let there be no more battle between us, for now. We have hurt her, in our own ways, enough; I do not wish to cause her more pain."

When Matapa falls, Marwaen turns; she faces the brittle cold--only here, not so brittle, not with Brisanne's warmth--and wraps her hands in the furs once covering her sword. She cannot hold her youngest sister, no, and for that her heart breaks...but she comes to the ground beside her once more, and kisses her forehead softly. And oh, the chill is fierce, and Marwaen's lips go blue from the cold, but she must do this, she feels she must do this. To show Matapa that she is loved, to say it, to show that she is not a monster...

Though she is, and she knows this. But not for her family, not with her family, never.

"Beautiful Matapa...we love you, there is not a one of us who does not...I am sorry, I am sorry if my temper wounded you. I don't wish to cause you any pain, not ever...and you will always be welcome, always, in my halls. ...When I get them, of course." A soft laugh, here.

"You are precious to me, just know that."

And then she stands, and picks up her sword, and re-wraps it, and Marwaen goes to stand beside her brother. And she is silent.

[Exthalion]

Philognos remained by Brissane. He was like her, unable to go to Mata, for his light and warmth was also painful tot he little one.

"It seems my sister, that we shall ever be far from our sister whom we love. It is a cruel fate that we should gain so much be lack so small a thing... I will watch her as I can, but I fear when I do so I must be far way.

Concerning Rahn, forgive me if I sounded heartless. I do not hate her, but I cannot ignore how I feel about this. I am... disappointed by her, I thought we were all better then that. I also pity her, though I know she neither wants or needs it, to have been forced to make such a choice.

What will you do now sister? For my part I will try to unmake the black, and found a place like this grove, where there is safety and light and comfort. If it pleases you, I would like your blessing in this."

[White Blade]

Haeleth goes to Matapa and lifts up the cloak, looking at his sister with great sadness. He wraps it around himself, and he feels the cold leak off onto his back and remarks that it is very cold. He can do relatively little for Matapa now, even though the bitter cold does not infect him too harshly now. Like his sister and brother, Haeleth is very warm. He has done his best, and he gently touches Mata's shoulder, hoping not to burn her, "We do love you Mata," he whispers, before walking past Rahn and touching her shoulder, "Love you as well," he says, before continuing on his route. He looks at Marwaen and only shakes his head. She is a fool just like Anghau is. And their foolishness revealed the wickedness of their heart.

He stands beside Philos now and a touch of sarcasm reaches his voice, "Talking ill about someone who is right there? That aside, I am intrigued by this idea of yours, and would be happy to help, if I can. Tonight, though, I think we should eat and celebrate! We've been away from one another for far too long not to enjoy this reunion,"

[Nefarion Xid]

Memories are a funny thing. Had anyone searched there, and I mean really searched, they'd have known that Rafe crowded in with the others and gaped and awed just like everyone else, albeit lost in the crowd. And no one would have suspected anything to the contrary. After all, where else could he have been?

In truth (ah, there's another funny thing) he'd just vanished somewhere between or before all the yelling. Oh, he'd heard the shouts from the shaded edge of the glade and pieced together what had happen, even if he didn't want to. Any sense of duty or tenderness fled from him, completely overwhelmed by one two many emotions. Quietly he'd wished to himself that he were anywhere else or that he could just disappear and, as luck would have it, he possessed just such an ability. It wasn't magic, not with the big M at least, just an uncanny talent to go unnoticed and to not be missed. It was rather the opposite of being terribly charming or holding people in rapt attention, some sort of lucky or unfortunate knack for walking away without a single turned head.

He thought he might had told Rahn, in confidence, that he'd have done the same thing in her place. His life had never been in such jeopardy (and he intended to keep it that way) and as much as he should have liked to tell himself that he'd have died with honor... he wouldn't have.

He'd nearly worked up the courage to find Rahn on her way out of the glade, but that too fled him. Instead he took a stick and etched into the loose soil a map of sorts. A circle with a fire in the middle, the great river to the north and the lake with a happy smiling frog. He finished by drawing an arrow from the fire to the frog. Perhaps by the time Rahn payed a visit he'd have worked up the courage to say something to her, anything. Perhaps he'd have even worked out what to say. At least here it was, for what it was worth, an invitation laid neatly in her path. Of course it was in her path! Rafe isn't some kind of amateur! He had a very good hunch that she'd come to the glade from this direction.

Perhaps not. At least doodling had made him feel better. With the weary, defeated sigh of someone who's reluctantly climbing out of bed in late morning, he forced himself to return to the glade.

[nysisobli]

Vivienne drooped her head, looking at the ground, and said "I must be going, I feel that there is more to life then inside this glade, I shall travel there, and to that she points to a mountain in the forest to the east, if anyone needs me, you will find me there."

With muscles tensed Vivienne went on her short journey to perhaps finally find herself.

Little did she know that there was a great trial ahead, and she had left one of her greatest treasures behind.

The mirror reflected back the light of the campfire as it laid forgotten in the dirt.

[OverThoughtName]

Afein nodded at her siblings' support, conserving as much of her energy to concentrate on ignoring the heat. Odd how such a comforting fire can get to be overwhelming, she thought. Then again, I am holding the burden of at least four people. It's not that strange to think a stone that could be lifted by four would be too heavy for one. It came as no surprise to her that her legs began to wobble.

Listening to the squabbles around her, and with little Matapa close to her, she wanted to comfort her, but surely her touch would be as hot as her fire-souled sister. Words would have to make due, "Mata, sweet, little Mata, there is a place in the forest that all birds know of, that any will lead you to. A beautiful tree of blackest stone and greenest crystal. It's hollow inside, with a staircase that reaches far higher than it should. At the top is my court, built by our father, stewarded by the Fey, conquered by a Lord, and rightfully claimed by me. You'll always be welcome there, should you find the need or want. That goes for the rest of my siblings as well." She glanced at Rahn, a look of pleading to make sure she knew she was included in that statement. Afein still loved Rahn, she knew her sister wouldn't had done what she did had she known the consequences. She had just been scared.

Falling to her knees, the exhaustion was beginning to get to her. Putting on her kindest smile, she looked at Matapa again, "I'm sorry, sister, but I don't know how long I can keep this up anymore. We all love you, and I know you love us all at least as much. You might at least want to back up to the edge of the glade, now."

[Jair Barik]

The mirror stared at him from its place in the dirt. Taunted him, mocked him! He could not stand its presence. Looking once then twice, again and again till he was certain nobody was watching his hand shot out like a viper, grabbing the mirror and hiding it within the folds of his robes. Nobody must be allowed to see this strange stone. Nobody! It would be his alone, his secret, his burden to bear that vile mocking glass.

Though inside he was sickened he played the part of the cheerful man on the outside.

"I believe I shall be parting soon my kin. There is a valley of great beauty out in the forest, I intend to return there and explore it further. It is a saf haven of sorts as I left it... I cannot say for sure it will remain that way but I intend to make the best of it."

[nysisobli]

The Mountain

Vivienne had climbed the great mountain, and arriving at the top found what she had sought.

Solitude.
To create a place that was all her own, Vivienne focused all the strength in her body and punched the ground with all her strength, making a great crater, that one day would fill to be a great lake.

Spend 1 minor act to alter the terrain

With some time she took the rubble, and found a piece that she would use as an island, and placed it in the hole itself.

With careful punches she erected mighty pillars out of some of the rubble that would be used as stepping stones.

Vivienne looked at it with wonder, and decided that it needed a building, with much focus, she forged out of the earth itself, The Reflective Monastery, a structure made of reflective stone. Upon being created the sun shone off it like a beacon to all those who could see.

spend 1 minor act to create the reflective monastery.


With this, people came from all over to stare at this wonder, and in time began to worship the goddess of strength.

And with that Vivienne looked at several of the men, and said seek out the one in charge of water, and tell him that His sister the beserker queen wishes to meet with him.

[Kasanip]

Matapa

As Matapa sobbed, there was a warm feeling on her head. She was already hot, almost unbearable for as close to Brisanne as she was, but this warmth was different.
It was a little cooler, and it was a warmth that wasn't eating at her. It was a kiss.
Marwaen kissed her, and told her she was loved. That she was precious and beautiful. And that she would always be loved.

Matapa sniffed and wiped her tears away again.
And Haeleth said it as well to her, with a gentle warm touch on her shoulder- brave, tall Haeleth.

No...
Things couldn't go back to the way they were before.
Matapa had cried so much she couldn't here anymore.
Because with their love, if only that remained, then she would give up everything else.
She had, in love already for Rahn.

Her family was strong, and beautiful, and even if they went their own paths, she would love all of them and admire them for their love.
And she wouldn't forget the past, because it was when they were all together.

Matapa stood up, firmly.
But she had to be careful. She didn't want to hurt her family. This power she had, it seemed the worst curse. But if she tried to be strong like Haeleth, or wise like Philognos, or cunning like Rahn...
If she did this, maybe she could master her own power. And-

She would not hope for it.
She had been hurt too many times by hope.

But it was a goal. A promise to herself and her family.

"I love you Marwaen. I love you Haeleth. I love you Afein. I love everyone! So... I... I'm going!"

She couldn't stay here, it was too hot. She would collapse and sleep soon if she did. Maybe she was only a burden now. But she would become strong and beautiful like her older sisters and brothers.

Matapa stepped away from the fire. Slow at first, but a little faster with every step. She would go into the forest. She could find the ermine again. And she would find all of the secrets of this forest, and she would find her family again too. Maybe not like this, but they would still be in the forest. Or here. She could visit.

[Raz_Fox]

Rahn does not weep. Well, that is a lie. She does not let her siblings see her weep, that would be closer to the truth. It is strange, sometimes, for someone often hurt to see true kindness. Matapa's forgiveness, earnest and sweet - Marwaen's pardon, showing her how mistaken she had been in her assumptions - and everyone leaving again. She was not the only one changed, after all.

So her paint is streaked as she rises, the dark circles about her eyes running, and her cheeks are wet. Mata is already vanishing into the forest, she sees, and she flies after her, her feet pounding out an erratic rhythm on the grass of the glade. This is how Rahn leaves her former home, leaving behind Brisanne, Haeleth, Anghau, Philognos, Afein. She loves them, true, but there is something more important to her now, more important than her good-byes to them. Branches lash at her, roots trip her up, but there is one thing more she must do.

"Mata!" Long-legged Rahn, always fleet of foot - she places her hand on Matapa's shoulder, ignoring the cold. "Oh, Mata, I have no doubts that you'd find me, no matter where I went, because you're harder to shake than a hound on the hunt, but I'm a rover now, a wanderer, and me and mine are hard to catch. So, here-" She pulls a long bone from her coat, the thigh of some swift animal. Enscribed upon it is the mark of the sixteen-legged cat, and the diminutive Ana all about it, and above them all Rahn. "Call upon me, and I will answer, though I be a world away. Follow the path it leads you on, and it will lead you true to my doorstep, along winding forest paths." Rahn bobs her head awkwardly, her attempt at an honorable bow. "And, and- I love you too, Mata, I do, I was just so afraid, Mata, so- I'm sorry."

Rahn straightens up, shoving her hands awkwardly in her pockets, half-relieved and half-frightened to have said it. "Come and see me soon, Mata."

----

And now Rahn walks in the pale moonlight, back to where she'll wait for her beautiful cat, feeling all hallowed-up inside. You can't let so much emotion loose so swiftly, not without it burning up your insides and ripping them up on the way out through your lips and eyes. No, she can walk, she can just walk.

Ah, but what's this? Someone's scrawled forest-sign on the ground. She kneels, examines it, and grins. Well, only one person could leave sign like this, and sign it with the frog's mark.

Smiling wanly, she memorizes the way, and then continues on, waiting for Hajal to return. She knows that her children will be waiting for her there, and Kzei with the report of their earnings in the tribes nearby, and she'll finally be home.

[TheDarkDM]

Anghau stood incredulous at the scene transpiring before him. How could so many of them be so ready to forgive, after what Rahn had done? Did they not understand the depth of her betrayal? Did they think that time might mend the gaping wound in Matapa's soul? Even as he stood there, Anghau's eyes were drawn to the gaping chasm in her chest, the black void that spoke o fstolen innocence and amputated dreams. And yet Rahn was welcomed into Brisanne's lap, as though it were she who had been grievously hurt, as though she was the one who needed comfort and not the sister she had knowingly crippled. Every fiber of Anghau's being longed to scream, to rage to the heavens of the folly of his siblings, but he saw now that they were either incapable or unwilling to understand the immensity of what had transpired in the cold and dark.

Anghau pulled Marwaen close when she approached, his face stony as he watched the farce that Brisanne seemed set on playing. He made mental notes to seek out Afein after the fact to discuss this new threat, but he recognized that now was neither the time or the place for rational discussion. His smallest brother had become little more than a raving fool, Philogos was as caught up in his own version of wisdom as always, and Brisanne lacked the strength or the will to bind them together any longer. His fiery eyes caught the flit of motion as Rafe abandoned the glade, only to fall on Matapa as she proceeded into the shadows of the Black. Marwaen felt Anghau tense beside her, and though he hesitated for a moment he stepped forward before Matapa vanished from sight.

"Mata, hold a moment!"

Rushing forward, Anghau stepped aside for a moment when he entered the shadow of the trees. His hand flashed towards the branches, and when he brought it closer he held the ethereal spirit of a robin tight in his clutches. Bringing the spirit close to his lips, Anghau whispered to it, and though none but he would have seen it the spirit contorted slightly, the pattern of its plumage shifting to that of fire. Smiling, Anghau continued towards Matapa. As he hit the wave of cold surrounding her, he flinched slightly, but nevertheless knelt before her. Opening his hand, he revealed the robin, and under his influence it opened its mouth in a ghostly song that carried through the air like dying whispers, beautiful but unreal. It hopped about his palm for a moment before flitting to Matapa's shoulder, its flight unaffected by the cold it did not feel.

"I'm sorry little one, I have no balm to sooth your pain. But know that even after the loss you have suffered you are still the bright, beautiful girl that we knew so long ago, and I will seek a way to help you in the dark roads I fear I must walk. All I have to give now is this companion. She shall watch over you, and should you need assistance all you need do is whisper my name and she shall seek me out."

Anghau wrapped his arms around Matapa, and despite the cold he held her a moment before they parted. Returning to Marwaen, he gave a sad smile.

"Sister, I fear we have no more to say here. Shall we return to lands where we are more welcome?"

[White Blade]

No, Child, we can't just skip around the story to your favorite parts! You have to mix the good with the bad, the fast with the slow, the happy smiles and the breaking hearts with the quiet to let you know that our gods are also men... Oh all right, if you insist, but you mustn't tell your mother....

Haeleth wandered the world, slaying monsters and loving women (why? He was a young man darling! Now hush), defending the weak from the strong who sought to overpower them. And at the edge of his ears, hearing the cries of those in need. Always near enough the scent of the monsters.

When he was very young, the monsters had not yet learned to fear the light or the nearness of his hand. They thought themselves mighty and immune to the predations of such a thing as he. Once, he scented a monster near to a tribe on which it had preyed and he entered the village. Many of the villagers had never seen such as he, with a mane on his head and a smile on his face. They scattered and gathered together and looked up at him with strange, pale eyes. One approached him fearfully, "Ah, well, sir," he muttered, his voice tinted by a whining tone, "We have had monsters enough, if you might, perhaps..." he said, fishing for a way to politely reject Haeleth, and Haeleth thought to himself that this was truly the most cowardly, pathetic lot he had ever run across. But he supposed that was a thing when your whole camp stunk of monsters.

Haeleth just laughed, "I am a monster's monster, they live in fear of me. Tell me of what has happened, and I will see that it is no more.

"Ah, well," the man said, once again beginning to sound like a whining child, "There is a creature in the woods that is like a stag, but it is not a stag. It has a horn, true enough, but only one that grows from his face. It has fierce scales and a face like a dragon, a mane like a horse's but alight and bright red, it has a bright tail that is horse-ish. It is a thin, elegant thing, its' hooves are clad in a strange, foreign metal. It leaves no tracks in the earth..."

Fair enough, but what has this thing done?

"Ah, well," the man said, scrambling about for words, "Fine enough it was round here, till recently it began to eat our children! Just came in an gobbled them right up! See there's no children now? That's cause he ate them! Quite terrible really,"

Haeleth had the good decency to feel ashamed of his early judgment that they were cowardly. Wouldn't everyone be cowardly if they had no hope for the future (Sure enough, little one, if a monster ate you I'd be right useless for awhile)? So he resolved to hunt this monster unto the edge of the earth, lest it eat another pestle of children.

Outward he set and kept vigil three days and three nights beyond the edge of the camp. Bones scattered about the land, small bones and big bones, doubtless left by the monster near there. There, sure enough, was a beast like a stag but not a stag, with hair like a horse's on fire, hooves like a stag's and scales and head like a dragon's, just the one horn, long and straight. But it was not an angry looking creature, not just then anyway, though it seemed fearsome indeed. So he wandered up to it and looked it in the eye and it looked at him back. It growled fiercely and moved around him, even as he braced himself for battle.

It stood at the other side of him and growled at a man from the village, who stared at it with strange, pale grey eyes, "Go away, thing, we got no want for you here," the fierce creature growled again, its' anger grown hot, "Look, see, we've even got a man and we haven't killed this one yet, so best if you-"

Fast as lightning, the beast was on top of the man and the man transformed into a wretched, goblin thing only to have its' head ripped off. Very unforunate. Haeleth then realized that this was a village of goblin-men, the strange pale eyes the mark of a goblin's form, and he and the beast proceeded to drive the rest of the deceitful beasts out, for they were the beasts that had left the bones and devoured men and children alike.

That's the tale of how Haeleth met the Qilin, the bravest, fiercest of the beasts!

1 Major Act on the Qilin

[Raz_Fox]

It is an unfortunate truth that all cats hate water. They despise it, for it washes away their ability to see spirits and nip at their heels. And though the Hajal cat may be the mightiest cat to ever live, save for Panther, who - though smaller - is more cunning and powerful, it is a cat like all others. And so it is that when it comes to Rafe's lake, it does not jump in and swim to the island in the lake's center, though that is where its beloved Rahn wishes for it to go. No, it skims across, like a basilisk, its paws barely touching the water. And when it reaches the other side, a gust of wind hailing it - for it was moving very, very fast indeed - it shudders and lies down, curling its wet paws beneath itself with a miserable yowl.

What time is it? Well, I'd say that it is past summer, but before autumn; that it is after the fire, but before Rahn forged the Oneirus, that it is after innocence, but before strength.

This is the part where the Ana come out, their backs hunched much like a frog's, their smiles not to be trusted. Come, they say, come and buy, come and buy! Look at our wares, and know that this market will never come this way again (which is true of itself, for no market is ever the same twice), come buy, come buy! We have long-bone spears, we have men who speak your fortune, we have women who know how to mend your rags and make them fine, we have herbs and poultices and exotic cures, we have dragon-scales (they say they bring luck) and firry-feathers and a unicorn's hoof, and here is a lusty night's dream for sale, and a nightmare to spite your foes, we have goblets of finest wood and knives of tin, we have slaves from far-off tribes and we have dancers and jugglers and musicians to beguile the eye and the ear, come and buy, come and buy!

One - Etek, a young whelp of Twei's brood - goes and seeks out the Frog King, the wise Rafe. Our Tatterdemalion has received your invitation, his message carries, and would see you in the Black Tent. It's your choice whether or not to accept, but she's made the cat cross the lake despite itself, so it'd be rather impolitic to ignore her, sir.

[Nefarion Xid]

Market Day at the Lake

With a wide grin, Rafe leaped from his nest in the shade of the old willow on Reku's shell and race down his sides, hurdling over the twins who were tasked with watching the vial. Instead of going through the tedium of actually feeding the lake himself, Rafe just wedged the open vial in the tangled mass of roots and tasked the two frog boys with keeping an eye on it. A waterfall was pouring from the tiny bottle, and gushing with exceptional force. One could imagine that chaos it would cause if it got free.

Rafe splashed into the water and with a kick and an arched back, he was on the island in a moment, shaking the droplets of water free from his hair. Despite frequent trips in an out of the water, it never seemed to actually get wet. One would suppose that to be a perk of being the water god and all... no need for a towel. A pearl danced its way across Rafe's fingertips before sailing towards Etek, who managed to get both hands around it after a bit of fumbling.

All about the island frogs gathered with pearls and their catch of the day to barter at the Market. If they had one defining characteristic (besides being green) it would be that they were a greedy people. Which isn't to say that greed is all bad. No, greed goes along with shrewdness and the frogs certainly had a head for value. They'd been gambling for ages and trading shinies for yummies well before that. It was on this day that the people of the lake decided they were very fond of hats and scarves while the Ana found out that wasabi was delightful; a good day for all and everyone left happy.

Rafe pushed aside the tent flap, carrying a tray with his free hand. He smiled dumbly in spite of himself; it certainly was good to see family... and on much more amiable circumstances. No need to mention anything in the past, he'd decided. The tray held an assortment of lake delicacies: finely sliced salmon steak and oysters and wooden bowls holding pastes in various shades of green and yellow. He gestured to the tray with a can-I-tempt-you smirk before setting it aside and going for a hug.

Earlier that day, Rafe had encountered Vivienne's messenger and had insisted that he was far too busy with the day to day dealings of his court to go visit her in the mountains. While true (the river folk had constant squabbles and even among the frogs there were ceaseless accusations of cheating and theft), Rafe also loathed to idea of actually climbing a mountain. If his sister wanted something from him, she'd just have to come to him.

[Jair Barik]

Luopani left that glade and returned to the valley. His valley. And he would make it his! Yes!

Having checked the mirror was where he had left it Lupani continued to explore. After several fruitless days and nights he was growing tired but eventually he found what he was searching for. Caves! Empty caves!

Venturing into their hollow depths he began to work away at the walls with his magic. Carving, carving, carving away. Soon it would be done. Yes soon. Soon...

[The_Snark]

Brisanne watches as Rahn stalks off with stiff back and hunched shoulders, and wonders if she has judged rightly. Her sister has acted badly and she can't say otherwise, but it is not in Brisanne's nature to see pain and shame such as Rahn is suffering, and not feel a little of it herself. But what could she have said? She spoke truly earlier: she doesn't know the words to make all of this right again, if such words there are.

In truth she has little time to think of it: her mind is frantic with thoughts of Matapa. Tiny flakes of white fall from the sky and melt against her skin and the fire like little pinpricks, but she barely notices. Rahn speaks from somewhere on the other side of Afein's shielding wings -- honest words, she will remember later, but right now she pays them little heed -- but it is Matapa's voice she strains to hear, Matapa who she cannot touch or even look upon. Brisanne has never envied a living soul more than she envies Rahn at that moment. She would walk away from the fire, even, if it only meant she could go to her youngest sister and embrace her without causing them both pain.

Then the cold tightens around her skin, and soft footsteps announce Matapa's return to the grove. She stands a bare few paces away behind Afein, and yet they might as well be worlds apart. The chill in the air makes her feel hot, almost feverish; the fire is within her, just as she is within it, and she knows now that this fire is anathema to her sister. Brisanne weeps now, despite her sister's plea -- for it is no easy thing to cast aside grief, even when it pains those you love to see it. But there's joy mingled in her sorrow, and relief: her sister has come out of the Black whole enough to love and be loved, and Brisanne will find what solace she can in that. Her tears do not abate, but she composes herself as the others say their goodbyes.

"I love you too, Matapa!" she calls back. "Oh, Mata; how I wish I could see you! But I can't, and that's that. Be safe, Mata, and be careful, and- and be happy, if you can. I, I think I can bear being apart from you, if only I know you are content." She pauses to wipe tears from her eyes. This is not how she wants them to part, in desperation and sadness.

When she goes on she is a little quieter, a little calmer. "I'm proud of you, Matapa. It's not an easy thing you're doing, but you're facing it. I can't give you anything more than I have already, but remember that you'll always have my blessing, and my love."

[Raz_Fox]

Rahn embraces her brother warmly, though he might notice that her perfume's strong today, and she does not hold him tightly but gingerly, like she's afraid that she'll break. But she smiles at him, so all is well.

"Well, brother-mine, you've made something of a name for yourself, haven't you? Not as renowned as some, of course, but even I couldn't have done what you've done here, big brother." Is her tone slightly nervous? Perhaps.

She doesn't remember Rafe's reaction, you see. She doesn't remember him standing up in her defense, or to banish her from his sight - he was simply there, hanging about in the crowd. But he'd left her directions to this place, so he couldn't be that angry with her. So the undertone of nervousness was simply that, an undertone, masked over by delight and respect.

"Tell me, Rafe - how did you come by this place?"

[Exthalion]

After departing, a short time after that, Philognos stood at the summit of the Solar mountain. He surveyed the distant lake and the forest, still dark around the mountains shining white slopes.

"Well, this won't do at all."

So saying he looked in his minds eyes and beheld all the land to the horizon. With a bit of mental acrobatics he shifted it, seeing where all changes would be required.

As he did so the sunlight blazed bright from the sky and fell in columns so think they seemed almost solid. The ground did not shake, the wind didn't even stir. However, there was much going on.

The trees were dissolving into motes of dust as did earth and soil. The distant and massive lake began to evaporate. The great swirling cloud of dust and vapor swirled around the mountain which now stood in the center of a great pit fifty miles in diameter and all the way to the bedrock.

Then gently, ever so gently the cloud began to settle. Dust became soil, then stone. From the bedrock up the Foundations of Philognos, wrought of white stone began to form. Rivers that had intersected the pit where redirected and the water of the lake began to resettle.

So did Philognos lay the groundwork for his great city, equal parts canal and solid ground and surrounded by a massive lake to secure it against beasts and things of the dark. There was still work to be done, much work. But he would not do that alone.

OOC: Fluff related to the Wonder he is building.

[Nefarion Xid]

Rafe's nose twitched and he snorted as the heavy scent of perfume made his nostrils burn, accustomed only to the gentle fragrance of clean water and the lilies. He looked abashed briefly and took his seat.

"There is a danger in having a name that's too big for you." It was frog adage, a rather recent one. "I would rather be lord of simple creatures who understand me than be misunderstood by my own kin."

Rafe nodded slowly as if to say, one trickster to another, simply that he understood. And that he doubted the wisest and proudest in the family were so wise as they claimed not deserving of their pride. Or perhaps he was just concentrating a great deal on dragging a piece of raw salmon lightly across the wasabi paste since that is an awful lot to say with just one nod. He plopped the fish onto his tongue and chewed thoughtfully for a moment before again gesturing for Rahn to try the regional cuisine.

"I'd rather be the water bearer than a great big glowing firefly or... whatever's the matter with Anghau."

Before long he settling in to drink his tea and tell his story. It went precisely as each telling did. There was the long dry riverbed (which now restored, swelled to the tops of its banks), the meeting with Reku who swore to be his vassal when freed, and the games with Lord Frog and the final contest with poisoned tea.

"Neither cup was poisoned of course. But we'd been feeding him chamomile all day long! A little bit is good to relax, but a whole pot will tie your stomach in knots. When it finally took effect, combined with the stress of the long game and the worry (I was smiling the whole time you see) Gaba was overwhelmed and vomited from the nerves... nerves and toxic amounts of chamomile. Everyone still thinks I managed to slip poison into his cup then and there and that I'm so bloody clever I somehow knew which cup he'd pick. A myth I'd like to encourage so... if you wouldn't mind."

There was something fishy about the story. Surely it couldn't have been quite so easy for him to triumph and steal a relic of the gods and the realm of an animal lord in a day. He must be hiding some slimy detail beneath the veneer of his happy-go-lucky tale.

"Ah, but you've let me ramble all evening. It's your turn to tell me a story, if you like. Or perhaps some trading first or instead, if it pleases you."

All told it had been a pleasant visit: no accusations, no grudges, no cross words at all and certainly nothing sinister or ulterior about Rafe or his motivations. He delighted in intimate conversation and if anything in the past did bother him, he hid it wel.

Accounting. -2 Major Acts: Reku the Turtle Lord as a vassal

[Kasanip]

Matapa


The words of her sister, that she wanted to hear so much. And praise that was unexpected, and a gentle blessing. Words! They have great power!

And with Brisanne's feelings known, Matapa at last had this last relief. This little hope. Someday, maybe it would be better.


As Matapa hurried away, she started to run. Because if she was slow, it would hurt more. She didn't want to leave, but she knew she had to.

She couldn't stay.
So she ran on bare feet into the forest. Her hands ached and burned still. They hurt so much. But not as much as her heart.

But as she stopped, breathing hard, she heard her name called, and it was Rahn's voice. And Rahn had caught her- maybe not so easily for Rahn, but it was something of course that would happen. Winter cannot come before Autumn, it is said. So it was that Rahn when chasing Matapa, caught her easily, and put her hand on Matapa's shoulder.
It was cold, but endurable. And Matapa looked up first in surprise at her sister. She looked at the bone and reached for it slowly. But stopped. She accepted it awkwardly with her arms (her hands were burned!) and hugged it. She looked up at Rahn and nodded.

"Thank you Rahn. I love you." She said.
"I will come visit soon." Matapa promised, and watched Rahn go.


Anghau called out to her too, and Matapa turned to see him as he hugged her. He was warm too. But it wasn't an uncomfortable, hot warm. And Anghau's words were kind to her and Matapa looked at the bird in surprise. And the spirit robin landed on her shoulder. But even spirits can become hot or cold, and though the robin did not seem to mind, it was still a small feeling for it. Matapa looked at it in wonder, because she had not seen such a thing before. And she bowed her head gratefully.
"Thank you big brother. I love you too." She said. "I'll visit soon." Matapa promised again. To see her family in all of the places, she could do that. She did not have to be always lonely.


Matapa turned and started to go deeper into the forest.

She had not told of ermine white to her family- she had not mentioned the ermine at all. Maybe, a little because she wanted to protect them. Or just to keep something small for herself.

Now though, she was alone again.

[Kasanip]

Matapa - Winter in the north

After Matapa left her siblings, she wandered into the forest for a while. It was an aimless wander, so she could think. There was a lot to think about. The past was behind now. Matapa had wanted to be like her siblings, but she was not. She was different. As she walked on the snow, she thought about the future. She couldn't dream. When she slept it was empty and dark. A lot like the forest.

The spirit robin was kind, but always flying there and here because she was cold. Matapa had not gone to the ermines yet. She didn't want to bother them until they had grown new coats. But it is lonely in the forest, except for the animals that sleep when she is near. It is good to sleep in winter.

At last Matapa came to a river, and put her hands in it to heal her burns. And as her hands began to heal, the river also became frozen around her so her hands were stuck!

But Matapa didn't panic about this. She was more icy than ice. So, to pull her hands out it was not that difficult. But she pulled from it shards of ice like glass. For a time, these floated around her like crystal.
. It is said this river is called Matapet and the forest beyond it is a lonely place.

Though Matapa's hands were healed some and she could use them again, there were still scars. And when Matapa looked at the scars, she remembered Brisanne.
It was a sad thought, and bitter, but it was not Brisanne's fault, Matapa knew. So silently, Matapa hid her scars and sat by the river.

The bone that Rahn had given was kept safely with Matapa. And she took and wove a small necklace with ice beads to wear it with under her ermine coat. And even in winter, the spirit robin chirped it's whisper to her.

She treasured these things- even the scars- because they reminded her of her family when she was alone. And sometime Matapa had promised to visit her family members.

She crossed Matapet and into this tall forest she went. The trees here were tall and silent. Light only came through a little from high up. Only the trees grew so tall and thin.

And here Matapa walked for some time as it became covered in snowy winter. The shards of ice, which had been like wings for a moment, now began to fly away on their own.

And so born of the snow and ice, it is said the thing that is called 'fairies' came here, following Matapa's footsteps. They are not fairy, but more like butterflies you know. But butterflies do not live in winter. And these butterflies are like ice and glass, and their wings cut like knives sharply. If you wander in this forest, beware their faint glow. They cannot speak, but they can understand- and perhaps they can guide the lost from this forest. And yet, so easy it is to freeze or be cut by them.

So Matapa unknowingly had created these fairies- creatures of purity and yet dangerous in their simple way.

~*~

After Matapet and the forest, Matapa continued north. Now she had decided she would go to the ermine again to see Ermine White. And then perhaps she would visit one of her sisters.
Of course she could visit a brother, but she had a question and needed help that perhaps only Afein could give.
To wander barefoot on the snow, Matapa was not cold. But of course you should wear boots sometime if you are to walk long distances!


Matapa and the Ermine

At last Matapa returned to Anagumazuka and saw the young ermine hopping and playing in the snow. For the first time in a long time, Matapa smiled at this.

"Ermine white! Are you here?" She asked. And the ermine children saw her, and happily came to swarm her with warm bodies and fur. And she laughed as their fur tickled, but sat up when a familiar voice came.

"Is that snow child Matapa I see? How long it has been!" Ermine white said with a happy voice. The word quickly spread and the ermine all gathered to see her and she spent a long time telling her stories to them. But Ermine white was most pleased and she was most happy to see him.

"Ermine white. I came back because the ermine are my friends. But...this is a big world. And there are so many things to do. I must always travel if I am to see my family, and so I am worried I cannot come often." Matapa said. she had thought hard about this idea, and so thought now to propose her plan.

"So I want to help the Ermine to go far away. That way everywhere someday, there will be some ermine. So I will bless you and make you the best friends of all the animals!" Matapa said, closing her eyes and spreading her arms. Ermine white jumped into her arms so she held him gently.

"May it be that the ermine are closest, especially to snow child Matapa!" Ermine white said. And then he took a single hair from her head and tied it around his tail.

"There! Now I have some fur of Matapa! If we ever want to call you, now we can, like you with your ermine coat!" Matapa smiled.

"Yes, I will let the Ermine call me. But I don't know how exactly it can be done!" She sighed.
Ermine white hopped onto the snow.
"Of course we ermine are not as cold as you, but we have our own tricks and play. The hair about my tail, you can feel it?" Ermine white asked. Matapa nodded curiously. And ermine white began to dance and romp around like ermine do in their songs and dances. And the bouncing and hopping and singing resonated, and the other ermine began to do the same. And even if Matapa closed her eyes, she could still feel it- bouncing on snow and a small pull on her hair. And it is why ermine tails have a white band around them even in summer!

Of course, this is the ermine 'magic' of dance and songs. So can the ermine communicate desires and feelings far away. They can teach it to others, but truly to preform it, you must be an ermine! So it is best to make an ermine friend.


Acts

1 Major Act: Create Monster Race: Ice Fairies (Ice Butterfly Elementals)
1 Major Act: Create Magic - Ermine Magic
1 Major Act: Gain Trait: Ermine Magic Child (like magician)

1 Minor Act: Empower ermine white as Matapa's familiar
1 Minor Act: Increase population of ermine, sending them far and wide
1 Minor Act: Change terrain: Matapet (river), the Deep Forest

[White Blade]

"Monsters and beasts I will slay.
The weak and the lowly I will protect.
I shall not place my pride above what is good.
I will stand against the darkness and shall not fear it.
But the darkness shall fear me." -The Starlit Oath

It was evening. All the best stories begin at evening.

A grim crowd of thirteen were gathered in a clearing amidst newly felled trees, each a warrior, each a hero. They had succeeded where others have failed. They had slain monsters. They had protected the innocent. Some where a multitude of scars, others are fine-skinned. Which is a mark of skill and which of ineptitude is debated. They are many, for one to have found in such a clearing, or in any clearing at all. The youngest is very young, the eldest is very old. All of them are experts.

A god entered the area, his sweeping midnight cloak following behind him. And he began to speak. The speech he gave, I could not tell you because it is so embarrassing that Haeleth has deemed it a sin to recite it. I'm not sure if he was serious, but I don't test the patience of gods, I'm not that brave. One of the older warriors barked out a laugh and told him to remain calm and talk straight. So he did,

"I want to form a group of warriors, to teach them, and to work with them to keep the Black clear of monsters, to defend the weak. Are you with me?"

Each one of them agreed. He presented the Starlit Oath to them and they gladly swore it. So he began to teach them. And it was grueling teaching indeed, and much was learned by each of them.

They grew in skill and as they trained, they changed. Their hands felt stronger, their steps surer, their eyes sharper, their skill greater. They learned more in that one evening than any normal mortal would in a decade. And then, their fierce lord departed into the morning sun.

And thus began the Starlight Order, the Disciplines of the Thirteen, and the Thirteen themselves.

1 Major Act to create the Disciplines of the Thirteen,
1 Minor Act to create the Thirteen themselves, ought to think of them as twelfth level swordsages or about level ten Fighters in 4e

[Raz_Fox]

The Market: Being an unsubstantiated half-truth tale of rumors and shadows all intertwined, presented to a child before a fire and black-forest night, concerning the most magical market in all the world and its fae mistress, and the dark goblin-folk who serve her and sell hopes and dreams and fancies and all the world's possessions

So, you want me to tell you about the Hajal Market. Well, that's not easy. But I'll tell you what I can.

Everyone knows of the Hajal cat. It moves through the trees like a wraith, here one moment and gone the next, with bright burning eyes and more legs than a spider. It can dance over water, though it hates such a road, and it can jump from tree-top to tree-top where the ground is ill. When it comes to rest, it curls its legs beneath itself, and rests its head upon the ground, and opens its great jaws. That, you see, is how the Tatterdemalion keeps the fool and the fearful out of her market - those who are bold of heart will climb up past the long fangs, past the uncanny doorman, and down its throat, into the market.

In the first-days of the market, they say that it was a sparse affair, a few tents pitched in the yawning void of its belly. That was, of course, before the Tatterdemalion came into her true power. In those days, she, as Magpie before her, knew not the ways of becoming a place, of being so completely one with the beast that its form became mutable (for it was of the faerie-kind and capable of changing into a housecat or the lion that would eat the sun, some whisper, or a beast made by High Father in imitation of Earthmother's animals, only that he forgot to make the guts and bones inside out of carelessness, and so left it hollow-)

The time in the market isn't the same thing as the time outside the market, you see. Sometimes, while it is night outside the cat, the noonday sun shines down on the market through the windows in his skin; and conversely, while the sun shines on his fur, it is moon-lit within the market. Sometimes, it is dawn, and sometimes it is dusk, and sometimes his very skin within seems to glow softly, illuminating the market from below. This is the market; whatever it is, it is at the whim of the cat and the Marquis. And this is the market: a maze of stalls and booths. Many are closed, some are waiting for the proper vendor to arrive in days to come, but some are open. There are pedlars stretched out on furs in the middle of the path, and mountebanks and jesters who entertain and beguile. Most, and these are the truest merchants to deal with, are of the Ana-folk. They are honest, and their craft and skill is such that whatever they sell will be of the highest quality, and the highest price. But if you are poor, if you seek to deal secretly within the market, turn to one of the many strange creatures you will find within the market. Be wary, though, for not all of them abide by the Marquis's rules against fraud and theft.

If you want something that no one else can give you - not the dream-merchants, not the bone-workers, not the tailors or the brewers or the slavers, then you want to walk straight down the long road. If you turn aside, you'll never find it again, as the path twists behind you and leads you astray. Do not worry o'ermuch, traveler, for the exit shall always come to you if you seek it. But the long road is the way to the black tent. Come close, and you'll see that thin strands of red run through it, like thorn-vines; feel it carefully, and you might realize that it is not silk or cloth, but something other; a membrane, living, softly breathing.

Walk in, if you dare - and you'll see her, the market's Marquis. (It's an old title, and a man's. No-one knows why she took it, but I think that she's mad and wants all scholars and wise-men to know it.) She's dangerous, child, though she won't lay a hand on you without your permission. No, she can see hearts, or so 'tis claimed, and she can sell you whatever you want but never exactly what you need. So be careful! Do not lie to her, do not seek to cheat her, or else she'll eat you up and you'll never be seen again; some say she cuts you up and takes out your dreams and pickles your heart and feeds the rest to the cat - some say that she'll turn you into a stave or a sword or a chair - some say that she'll just give you what you want and let it destroy you, body and heart and soul.

She's younger than her words and older than her face, and she wears a crown of thorns and brambles. Her eyes glow in darkness and dance in the light, her blood's blacker than tar, her teeth are like a fox's and her heart's locked away in an iron jar. She's a virgin whose price is too high for anyone but the bearer of the Morningstone, she's a hag who steals the faces of young girls and bathes in their blood to keep a glamour on her with which she lures in innocent boys to be turned into her coal-black devils, she's the soul of the market given form by a black ritual, she's a cat who lived for a thousand years and stole away the crown she wears from the king of all foxes. She and the Hajal are one, and she can see through the eyes of anyone who steps within the cat, and her coats are made from the flayed skin of thieves. She seduces men who wake up within the coffles of her slave-market, she seduces maidens and steals their children away, she has never left the confines of her black tent, she often wanders about on autumn nights and places a hex upon those fools who kept her part of their harvest. She's nothing but a charlatan, she's the finest magician and conjurer in the world, she'll give you nothing except the three things you need at the dearest price available. She's the Tatterdemalion, and she says all the stories are true, especially the lies.

Of course, if you never come to the black tent, there's still a chance you'll meet her. She comes and goes as she will, always through the market, and sometimes she sells dreams half-price-off, and sometimes she accosts strange creatures and offers to tell them their fortune. Some say that if you have her heart, she'll grant your wishes, and some say that she'll do it for a kiss, or your voice, or your own soul. She can do anything, you know, except fix herself.

There are four types of currency in the market, if you're still fool enough to go. The first is barter - bring your meats, your woven blankets, your fruits and grains, your tools and trinkets. These will be accepted, food most of all, for the Ana do not sow seeds, merely harvest them. The second is bone-tokens - these are peddled at the market-door, and the Ana accept them without bargaining or refusal; the pedlars press them upon the traveler, telling them to buy many, for the next time the market comes. And if they are never used - well, they have a way of finding their way back to the market. The third is your body - many of the Ana will accept service for a time, if you wish to buy something that is very dear. Some tribes tell their young men to offer themselves up to the market for a time, so that they can see the multitude of wonders of the Black. If they keep themselves well, they can return with things for their people, bought with their sweat and craftsmanship. If not - well, there's always the next time around. (The Ana will take this from you, too, if you attempt to steal from them. They do not deal in many slaves, but if you know where to go, there's always a strong arm or a pretty face for sale-)

The last is blood. There is power in it, and magic, if you know how to take it, and this is one thing the Ana know well, and the Tatterdemalion even more. Be wary of giving it up, because there is more in it than even you know, but do not shy away when they bring the knife close. They know how to bleed without killing. They can do anything with it, they say, anything and everything.

This is the magic of the market: to buy that which is not real, and catch it in a vial. They can take dreams from you, and the memory of a song, and your skill with an axe or a bow, and they sell these things too. In their deals there is power, real power, and if you break faith with them, they'll know. Then they take everything from you. This is the magic of the Ana, for the Tatterdemalion taught them well, when the world was young and the child of winter was not burned.

What's that, you cry? Surely the servants of a god would not do such a thing? Well, perhaps if we spoke of Haeleth, or her darling Matapa, you would be right, but we are talking of the witch-queen of the falling leaves, the Marquis of the Hajal Market, the Tatterdemalion who tricked away her sister's fire. She had a good heart, once, but it was torn and shattered and beaten, and sewing-thread and needles can only do so much to repair a heart treated so. She is dangerous, child, remember this! If she loves you, then you must merely tread carefully, to ensure that you do not betray that trust - and then she will move heaven and earth for you, inasmuch as she can. But there is only so much room in that heart of hers, and Matapa is there, and the Ana-folk, and the Hajal-cat; how can there be room for the entire Black in such a heart? No, she deals well - if high - with the honest, and deals harshly with the liar, and that is all that one can ask of a merchant-queen.

If you remember all these things, child, and you keep time well, and you are not lured in by their market-patter and their temptations, and you speak honestly but reservedly, and you keep in mind that the Ana love fairy-stories and fables, especially the ones in which the greedy and stupid are punished, well then- you'll do well there, and tip the door-man on your leave, and watch the cat dash off into the distance until there is nothing left but trampled grass and a quiet wind at your back.

2 MA - The Hajal Market is now a Realm in its own right.
1 MA - Create Hawker Magic, the market-patter magic, the magic of the immaterial bought and caught and sold, the magic of a deal sealed.

1 ma - Increase the Market-Ana population. (They're rabbit-folk, you know, wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more.)
1 ma - Teach the Market-Ana Hawker Magic.
0 ma - Spread a thousand-and-one rumors about Rahn and the Hajal Market.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Marwaen

The Goddess of War inclines her head to her eldest sister, to the few siblings that remain in the glade, and then dashes into the forest with her brother. Back to the place where they belong, back to the Myrangh and their victory ground.

Jackal-men are carnivores, you know. They believe that consuming the flesh of their enemies makes them stronger, and consuming the flesh of their allies is a sign of respect. Taking a dead Jackal warrior into the body of the living ensures they, too, live on in their own way; consuming the flesh of a worthy opponent grants them the strength of the fighter.

(Monkey-kind were not considered worthy opponents; still, it is true that their flesh is sweetened by the fruits they eat, the young ones most of all.)

And time passes strangely in the Glade, and so by the time the twins return the bodies of Jackal and Monkey are picked clean, and their bones have been used to support the building of crude homes around the menhir of stones where the final battle was fought. And there is a growling sing-song from them, and jackal-children run about, unconcerned with the cares of the adults.

And there is care...some of the more superstitious among them have whispered that what they are doing is sacrilege. They believe in the power of the Twins--oh, yes! For the Twins saved them--but did not partake in the consumption of the flesh of the Animal Lords Jackal and Monkey, and did not clothe themselves in the leather stripped off the bones. Theirs are the homes made of bits of wood and leaves, the way they'd done before; theirs are the clothes made of monkey-fur and animal hide, unpainted with the vivid depictions of the battle that had allowed them to take back their forest.

(-1 Minor Act: Pictoral Storytelling. The Myrangh are learning to use berries, plants, and other materials to paint pictures onto hide, depicting the stories of their people. Most of the current paintings have to do with the fight that freed them from the Monkey-kind's dominion.)

The superstitious whisper that the other Animal Lords will be displeased with them; most of the Myrangh scoff at the small group, and say that the Twins will protect them. But a few listen, and change their houses, and are quietly doubting the true power of Marwaen's arm, the strength of Anghau's spirit-hound...

[Jair Barik]

There is a valley...

A valley more beautiful thana ny other in the world, or at least that is the belief of all those who have gazed upon it. The water pools in a manner that creates sights of wonder, the mountains that border it are not so rugged that they are ugly, they let the light shine upob the valey and make a firm border between earth and sky. The trees hang prettily here and there, the hills are exemplars of their rolling brethren and each rock seems to be placed perfectly in such a manner as to create order without uniformity.

Within this wonderous valley a cave was carved. Cut methodically into the mountain side it was itself a thing of beauty.
Each wall smooth and likewise each floor and roof. Pictograms and runes were carved upon the lengths of its halls and it was organised with a perfect sense of geometry. Some walls lay bare awaiting the pictures that would fill them. The upper caverns of this cave were nought but passages and rooms, beautiful in their own right but somehow...empty.

Delving deeper...
Deeper into the dark of that cave a man might comment that the light that filtered down made beautiful shapes reflected off of beautiful glass, played beautifully on the walls and in the water. But no mortal was permitted to come down into the cave. The air was chill and threatening, a menacing presence filled those halls whispering warnings, saying 'go back! go back! it is not too late!'
None were allowed into this inner place. Not but Wanderlust and perhaps his siblings. The walls of this place were covered, Strange discs and slabs of some material, stone perhaps were hung about but each was covered in a thick cloth or some fine material, hidden from all eyes so that none might gaze upon them. As the years went on more appeared, as the wandering God expanded his collection.


3 MA-Create sanctum, the cave of mirrors.
1 ma- Carve the caves into the mountain

[Raz_Fox]

There are two things you must always remember about faeries: they are wonderful, and they are soulless. Their eyes are not like the eyes of men, which merely reflect the world they see, or the eyes of unicorns, which reflect the souls of trees wherever they walk, but they are like diamonds, shining and bright and glossy. They do not reflect anything, not sun or moon or forest-trees, but the light of some far-off lantern, dancing and flickering in their perfect eyes. And since they cannot see the souls of things, like unicorns, and cannot see the reality of things, like we can, they must assume that everything is alike - that a man can no more cry at being cut than a tree, and that a hare is as delightful a hunt as a child. The only things that are different to them are the things that delight them, whether it be a mirror or a clever flatterer, and once the mirror becomes fogged and dull, or the silver-tongued mortal loses his novelty, they are nothing again but just things, to be discarded or forgotten or broken.

That is why, if you want faerie-craft, you find the Hajal market, for the Tatterdemalion is the most charming, devious faerie of them all, a mirror with a leaping flame caught within it, and there is not a faerie alive capable of outwitting her.

Well, that's what she claims, but everyone knows that the Tatterdemalion is the finest liar of them all when she's in her whimsy. They whisper about something behind her back, you know, about a witch with three teats and hair made of twisted iron, who rings the bells of Damme Clemen - when they are not the bells of Crom Cruan, or of Eberu the Sandhelmed - and has conjured up harpies, and pixie-flocks, and horned children, and claims to have once caught the serpent beneath the deep roots by its lip and only let go once the mountains broke and the rivers leaped from their banks. And the Tatterdemalion laughs, and adds her own tales to the mix, speaking of how once the witch was caught with her head in Horse's feedbags, how once she challenged the witch to a race across the world and back and won through the use of three apples, one gold, one silver, one brass; the faeries believe her as long as she is speaking, and when she is gone the stories grow like flashroots, like fire-weed in the summer.

Faeries only obey those who can bind them, or those who can beguile them. Rahn is of the second, though she must be quick, and clever indeed, but this witch - this devil-witch of the woods who once supped with Stag and got the best of him, who made Panther leap like a startled kid, who once caught the moon in a tin cup until it was stolen away by Perun, who leaps across rivers and climbs under mountains - this witch worries her.

Still, business is good, and stories are just stories. Any Ana-child could tell you that. So Rahn drinks, and laughs, and makes merry with the soulless folk, and tomorrow she'll be off with their most precious possessions and they'll thank her for it, and the day after that will be special, she's sure. All days after tomorrow are special, when you dance with the faeries.

[Kasanip]

Matapa - Winter finds Autumn and thinks it is beautiful too

The snow of the north had traveled far, and in it were the playful tracks of ermine as they went around and became many. They met the Ana, and while the Ermine did not care for trinkets, they did love stories and would share them.

So it was not so long before Matapa had heard from the ermine that there was a mysterious lady, who could find anything, and would trade it, for the right price.

Hearing this, Matapa thought of her family, and in them decided it must have been Rahn.

So, barefoot on the snow, Matapa hurried after these rumors, and it was soon that after the harvests came, and the trades were made, that the leaves started to fall faster, and snow began to fall.

So Matapa arrived in a village, but it was too slow. The caravan had already left. Matapa thanked the villagers and hurried away, because she did not desire to harm their village with so much snow.

It had been some time now since Matapa's hands had been burned, and since the family had left. And at last Ermine White went ahead and called back to Matapa that he had spotted a very strange animal.

It was a cat of many legs, and Matapa recognized it from her brief sight of it long ago at her family's house.
"I will go to see Rahn. Perhaps she can help me, or at least we can talk together like sisters." Matapa thought to Ermine white, who hopped down the hill before her.

Here as Matapa approached she pulled her feelings close, and so soon she could feel the warmth of the land.
It was still warm here. This was Rahn's domain of course, and so still though Winter was coming, Autumn was still ruler here.
So Matapa came to the cat and saw the Ana and the traders of all kinds here, and she was in awe and surprise. Autumn was a place of golds and reds and all things like leaves and money- which was it? So many things to be found, and all of them were treasures. Perhaps.
Surrounded by this warmth, Matapa was bewildered and distracted. But at last she asked a merchant.
"I am Matapa, here to speak to Rahn. Please let her know I am here." She said earnestly.

[Raz_Fox]

What's this? A little girl walks about the Hajal Market, a pale girl in white furs, with such innocent blue eyes. Like ice over the river in the winter. This is not her world - this is autumn, buy, sell, do not stockpile for the coming cold. She is lost.

Here, she comes over to a wily merchant - he is tall for one of the Ana, his back hardly bowed over, and his eyes are wide and dark. He smiles as she politely asks him about the market's Marquis - no, not asks, commands.

"My dear," he says with condescension (although he is only her height), "Everything is possible here, at least for the right price. The one you are looking for comes and goes as she will, and it is difficult to catch her ear - but I could do it, if I were given something for the work, hmm?" He holds out his paw with a canny grin.

[Kasanip]

Matapa - Lost child in the Market

Matapa looks at the Ana with her ice blue eyes, and a confused look on her face. She looked at his paw closely, and then showed her hand to him. It is a child's hand, but scarred from fire. And she shows it to him as he had showed his paw to her.

But this isn't a trade. The child of winter, lost in a world of autumn doesn't know this. The only trade she has known was of a sacred fire, and food.

"If it is too difficult for you, I'll keep looking." Matapa said with a distracted smile. It was still warm here, and she was feeling a little sleepy just from this place. "Thank you." And so Matapa continued to wander the market.
There were so many things here to see, but the one Matapa was looking for wasn't here so far.

So Matapa put her hands next to her mouth and started to call for Rahn.
"Rahn! Rahn! Where are you?" She called- a lost child in a market calling for her older sister.

[Raz_Fox]

Lost Child in the Market

The market is a labyrinthine place, and busy too; though there are many closed stalls waiting for a vendor, there are still enough open and enough customers to make the market chaotic and mad, not a place for a lost child. Some look at this lost child with annoyance, some with pity, but none approach her. This market is not a place for pity, after all.

But here, by a stall that smells of holly and jasmine and crushed cloves, Matapa calls again for her older sister to come find her, and is finally rewarded. One moment, she is nearly alone, the market's chaos receding around her, and in the time it takes to blink Rahn is there.

"Hello, hello, what's this? Do my eyes deceive me, or is this a little sister?" She crouches down, bringing her painted face down to Matapa's level - she seems long and gangly, as showy as any of the merchants in her bangles and rings. "What do you think of my market, Mata?"

[Kasanip]

Matapa- Not a Lost but a Child in the Market

Matapa turns in surprise to see Rahn here now. It was Rahn, she knew, even though she had changed some more. Vainly Matapa tries to stand on her toes to measure height- has Matapa grown? No, but the market has! But Rahn crouches down with a painted face, and clothes with bangles and rings- jewelry and everything. And for a second Matapa looks relieved to see her and holds out her arms to hug Rahn.

"It's incredible!" Matapa said. And as she wrapped her arms around Rahn, Rahn felt the cold ice of Matapa, and yet it was not as cold as in the grove. Maybe Matapa was slowly learning to hold it within her- or maybe here in Autumn's domain, winter was just a distant feeling.

But Matapa stopped the hug to hide a small yawn. She blinked and shook her head.
"It's also very confusing." She continued honestly. "I'm afraid I became a little lost. Maybe you can show me your market?" She asked curiously.
"I... am wanting to find something." She said.

[Raz_Fox]

Sisters in the Market

I'll tell you an awful truth, if you promise to never tell the Black at night. Rahn flinches away when her sister embraces her. After a moment, she embraces her sister in turn, but her first instinct is always to run away. But that embrace is true, just as the flinch away was true; she fears everyone, but loves her sister even more.

"If it can be bought," she says to her sister with a proud edge to her sweet voice, "It is here, or can be ordered here." She stands, and then extends her gloved hand to Matapa with a smile. "Come, and I'll show you everything."

Of course, the Tatterdemalion always lies - she does not mean to show her sister everything. The secret-keepers, perhaps, and the herbalists, the jugglers and the trinket-masters and the dream-weavers and the tailors and the black tent. But Matapa will not see the slave market in the bowels of the beast, or the bone-smiths who make such clever spears and knives for cutting and killing. Such things would only upset her, after all.