(DF) Avoiding the Inevitable

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Fleur Du Mal -> (DF) Avoiding the Inevitable (10/7/2008 14:56:01)
Avoiding the Inevitable Genre: Melodrama/Horror Description: This is a fanfic including characters, such as Zhoom, and events from the DragonFable. It plots out a theory of mine on what might have happened in the past in the realm of Sandsea and a totally fictional take on what repercussions those events would have in the future. Disclaimer: Due to the rules of this forum, the content will be PG-13, but that does not guarantee that you can not be distressed by some of the events described in the story, regardless of your age. The story has a fair share of innuendos, so read at your own risk. The Innocent, be ye warned! Comments? Do write them here Index: 1 Drifting Sand 2 Frozen Time 3 Partaken in History 4 Reunion 5 The Fate of Zhenneh-ra 6 A Brittle Moment 7 Into the Night 8 Bedtime Story 9 The Lost Sheep 10 Revised Future 11 On Hunters and Moonlight 12 The Sacrifice 13 Into Eternity

Fleur Du Mal -> RE: (DF) Avoiding the Inevitable (10/7/2008 14:59:13)
1 Drifting Sand Heavy clouds came flooding down from the skies, ready to wash the sins of the world. Their raging force pressed everything down, the plants, the mood, and Zhoom’s shoulders. Flushing all other sounds away, the sweeping water folded its curtains around him. Shimmering, cold droplets ran from his hood, then along the back of his horse, twirling on their destined paths until they hit the muddy path on both sides of the weary ranger. In this tormenting intimacy, an exhausted sigh escaped Zhoom's mouth, curling towards the watery sky. The cape he had bought just a couple of days before didn’t provide as much shelter from the rain he had hoped for. The soaked-through sleeves weighed heavily on his forearms, gradually sucking warmth out of him. To add to the agony of holding the reins, his horse was beginning to show a temper. Why had he taken on this journey? Nearly five years had passed since the cruel king of the Sandsea, Sek-Duat XV had been banished from the known world. The land had slowly recovered and started to prosper. Little by little, trade routes opened up, bringing about all kinds of curious collectors who coveted pieces of ancient ruins and artefacts that lay here and there along the Sandsean desert. But running after shattered pottery for the dubious tradesmen to sell wasn’t really Zhoom’s cup of tea. Neither was guarding the trade caravans. He yearned to hunt. Once again he wanted to feel the rush of blood, the complete exclusion of everything else from his mind but the goal, the contact, the capture. In a world smothered in peace and quiet, was there any room left for the hunter? Still, one had to earn a living. Between capturing the occasional thief and randomly acting as a bodyguard for some fat tradesman not capable of defending himself against ruffians but rich enough to hire someone else to do it, Zhoom went digging for the relics of the ancient Sandsean civilization in the barren wasteland. Dull, hot, and utterly uneventful days followed one another, until the Lord of Time decided to dust off the sands from a piece of history. As often happened, a searing sandstorm forced the ranger to take cover inside one of the ruins scattered in the desert. This time the storm roared the whole day, tearing dried plants from the ground and ripping the skin off of any unfortunate animal stranded on its path. Several long hours of waiting brought no signs of the storm settling. Finally, the darkness fell, forcing Zhoom to camp for the night. The temperature started to drop fast. Quickly, as his life depended on it, the ranger gathered some papers and pieces of palm tree lying around the ruin. One spark from flint against metal was enough to start a fire in the small pile of dry material. A couple of deep breaths later, the fire burned steadily, smoke raising towards the murky sky through an open roof. As he sat beside the small fire warming his feet, back turned against the tempest howling in the cold of the night, he began to think the rocky room around him more as a functioning shelter. With that thought, it dawned upon him that someone had used this desolate ruin as a residence in the near past. The wooden debris on the floor had most likely fallen from a palm roof, built in to replace an earlier, likewise collapsed, stone structure. Judging from the style of the walls, the stone roof had been the original one. There were also a few pieces of broken furniture that looked like they had been randomly scraped together wherever the resident might have found them. Who ever he had been, at least he was someone with education, Zhoom deduced from the amount of remaining papers littering the floor, all written in the same, neat handwriting. Why would someone, who’d probably get a job as an advisor in the palace under any rule, choose to live in such a desperate place? The ranger snapped out of his thoughts to a loud cracking noise. A quick scanning of the room soon revealed that one of the floor tiles had broken, most likely because of a temperature difference between the blazing fire and the cool ground. Out of curiosity, he pushed the broken pieces aside. To his astonishment, a pitch-black hole was revealed. After fifteen minutes of sweaty labour, Zhoom had moved his fire and lifted a couple of dozen tiles. The ones he had shifted seemed distinctively newer than the others set around the remains of the room. They were supported with a wooden grid that had been installed to cover the dark pit now revealed. Cold, dusty air poured through the grid like an evil spirit from an enchanted lamp. Taking a piece of burning wood from the fire, Zhoom inspected the pit closer. He wasn't quite prepared for what he saw: at the bottom lay a decayed corpse. Twitching instantly backwards, he gave himself a chance to balance his breathing before he brought the light back to lick the features of the poor creature. A few strands of grey hair still hung miserably from the body’s head. Despite the significant decomposition, the ranger could still see that the deceased had been a man of medium size and with elegant facial features. Now his clothes had turned into lowly rags, either due to the passed time or due to wear and poverty. The dirt beneath the man bore large reddish brown marks from dried-up blood. One of the hands lay chopped off half a foot apart from the rest; the wound’s jagged edges hinted at something abhorring Zhoom didn’t particularly care to know about. Thick, bluish ink still stained the severed limb's fingertips. The other hand still held an old decorated jar. Carefully, Zhoom took the earthenware pot out of the little crevice the man was lying in. Gently, he blew the dust off of it. It looked like a traditional Sandsean nuptial jar, still given to newlyweds, with a narrowing top and lavish decorations. Two people, a man and a woman, were depicted sitting on a magnificent throne on the container's widest part. The man was clearly a king, holding the golden sceptre of power. Under the figure, the ranger found an identifying text: To the High King of the Sandsea, Sek-Duat XIV and his wife… The rest of the scripture, along with the woman’s figure, was heavily stained. With a swift motion, Zhoom popped the lid open, to meet a dazzling sight of gold coins filling the jar up to the brim. Fire flickered red on them, reflecting light on his face. Calmly, he poured the coins on the floor to count them. One thousand pieces of gold… One thousand pieces of gold and a promise of a tiny bit of luxury… One thousand pieces of gold and a note. A fraction of a plea. To anyone who can find my daughter I promise these 1000 coins. Please, find her... To cover any tracks on the findings, Zhoom carefully rebuilt the floor, threw some sand on top of it to hide the cracked tiles, and collected the coins. After the sandstorm had finally settled at the break of dawn, he slipped silently towards the town, tugging the note under his dusty shirt. His face reflected nothing. As he had slid the last floor tile back to its place, he had suddenly realised that the corpse’s ears had been removed. That sight burnt his mind, sharpening his senses. His heart found its old rhythm, pumping now vigorously blood to his veins, making him feel alive again

Fleur Du Mal -> RE: (DF) Avoiding the Inevitable (10/12/2008 5:39:59)
2 Frozen Time Lux Alba sat down on a flat rock lying beside a road that slowly winded its way from Amityvale to Falconreach. The sun had risen only two hours ago and the bare rock felt still so cold that she shivered for a moment before her behind got used to it. Small patches of snow carried on melting here and there while the earthy smell of spring floated in the air. All around sounded the voices of little birds chirping like lunatics on a break from an asylum. In the midst of pale-green leaves, slowly opening like minuscule fans, the mage felt, however, dispirited. Her legs ached from the long journey she had covered walking way too fast. Reaching down, she slowly lifted the mud-stained hem of her robe up to her knees, revealing ghostly pale skin. Having removed her sandals and pulled of her socks, she took a look at the swelling blisters on her toes and ankles. “A bloody magnificent reward for my efforts,” she cursed silently while searching her backpack for ointment she had bought in the Amityvale Inn before leaving the town. Countless were the days she had wasted on tracking down Lord Frydae XIII. Roughly eighteen months ago, vampires had again started popping up like daisies in Amityvale. Certain that the infamous Lord deserved the blame for it, she had decided to confront him. However, the sinister creature did not only excel in satisfying his horrid desires by all means unthinkable, but also in hiding; he had been nowhere to be found. After striding up and down and all around Amityvale, blowing all kinds of apparitions into smithereens for a whole year, she had finally found herself screaming at the top of her lungs in the desolated guardian tower that used to be his home: “Show yourself, you insolent rat!” He had not. Well, what would you expect from a vampire? But who was she to judge; hadn’t she done exactly the same in the years long past? As she had stood in the vast, empty halls of the guardian tower, exhausted and red-faced from all the yelling, her own past circling around her ever closer and closer, she felt that it was her turn to flee. Her screams still echoing behind her, she ran from the tower as if the hounds of hell had pursued her. The next day she started on the road to Falconreach. The mage quickly banished the gloomy thoughts from her mind and focused on rubbing the ointment on her soaring skin. She turned her face to the warmth of the sun, waiting for the medicine to do its magic. It would only take an hour more to reach the Falconreach Inn. Well, maybe two hours, given her condition. The pain gradually dulled from scorching waves to almost gentle throbbing. She stood up, took the staff she had left leaning against the stem of an oak tree, and supporting herself with it, and continued to follow down the road, hoping that Serenity would have a vacant room for her. Luckily, the road went gently sloping downhill for the rest of the journey. Ninety minutes later she stood opposite the inn, mesmerised. A group of merry children ran past her, giggling, brightly coloured ribbons flowing in the air, but she noticed nothing. Although the brown mare tied in front of the inn wasn’t as perky as it used to be before, she instantly recognised it. She froze to the spot, unable to breathe, unable to count the beats her heart was skipping, only the name of the ranger in her head: Zhoom. Vivid images rushed through her mind like a roaring river bursting through a dam. How she had first met him; he had appeared out of nowhere, almost as if a glorious ray of sun had escaped from the Mighty Heavens and materialised in front of her, knocking down the unfortunate rebel she had been talking to. Hadn’t she admired the way the desert wind played in his hair, caressing his cheeks? Hadn’t she at the same time despised him for taking the blood money from the ruthless Emperor? And hadn’t she trusted him with her immortal soul when they fought fiercely together against the undead Anubis Knights and the Emperor himself in the tunnels deep beneath the palace? And hadn’t she surrendered also her mortal form to him on that dreamy night under the bright revolving stars, when she had felt all of her body breathing fire and he had certainly done nothing to quench it… Instinctively, she felt her purple hair as if grains of sand still lingered in it. Alas, they did not and suddenly she was wide awake again, standing in the middle of the Falconreach thoroughfare and feeling embarrassed as she realised that a group of giggling girls made funny faces at her. Blushing, the mage gathered the remains of her pride, crossed the thoroughfare, and stepped into the inn. It took a little while before her eyes adapted to the relative darkness inside. Nothing had changed; the same wooden planks covered the floor, the same homely fireplace warmed the dining hall, and the old and faithful chandelier saluted her. As she began to see more clearly, she noticed a young boy she hadn’t seen before approaching her. The boy was not yet in his teens, wore a wide smile and too big an apron. His most striking feature was, however, his hair, which had the colour of a dark-red sunset. Serenity had obviously hired help while Lux Alba had been vampire-tracking. “Hi! What can I do for you, Lady Mage?” the boy asked brightly. “Umm, the owner is not here at the present, I assume?” she answered with a question, feeling awkward looking down to talk to him as she was usually the one who lacked in height. “No, she left on an errand in the morning. But if you need a room, I can log you in. Pardon me, dear Lady, but you seem to be in a dire need of a bath. I can heat up some water for you in no-time, served and carried directly in a freshly cleaned bathtub in your room, ” continued the boy fast, eagerly, and clearly proud of the responsibility Serenity had bestowed on him. What a smooth talker, Lux Alba thought and looked curiously at him, pondering on the possibility of squeezing some information on Zhoom from him. It seemed impossible for the boy to be silent; he was already opening his mouth again when she thought she might as well get on with it: “Well thank you, I could really do with a bath. Do you have that room right above the stairs vacant? It is my favourite,” she said with a smile. “Oh, you’re a regular? You know Serenity then? Yes, the room is available. No wonder you asked after it, it’s our best room. Nice to meet you, Lady, I’m Crimson. Do you want me to carry your backpack upstairs? I’llstartwarmingthewaterrightaway,” said the boy beaming and breaking the limits of inconceivability by talking even faster. “Oh, please don’t go just yet, I’m in no hurry. Might I ask you something first?” said the mage, holding her laughter and stopping the boy by his elbow as he was already hurrying away towards the kitchen. As he nodded, she went on: “Do you know anything about the owner of the brown horse outside?” “Oh, you mean the ranger? He arrived yesterday all drenched up. Serenity would have him sleep in our room, since it is the warmest in the house, so soaked through he was, but he insisted on having a room of his own on the first floor. Actually, he wanted the room with the tree branches reaching quite near the window. My guess is, he wanted a second exit,” elaborated the boy, lowering his voice to a whisper as if he was talking with a conspirator. She felt relieved that the boy had the same love for gossip as Serenity and absolutely no clue about a thing called customer privacy. “Is he in his room now?” “No, he left two hours ago; said he was not coming back until late in the evening,” the boy replied and directed his eyes to the mage’s hand still holding him by the elbow. Thanking Crimson, Lux Alba pulled her hand back, gave him a silver coin, and collected the room key. She ascended to her room and sat down to wait for the water to be carried in, her blisters all but forgotten and her head full of twirling thoughts forming a massive knot she had no power to unwind.

Fleur Du Mal -> RE: (DF) Avoiding the Inevitable (10/12/2008 5:42:01)
3 Partaken in History By chance, the royal archive had survived the rebellion and eluded the fate of the palace. Demolished to the ground lay now the royal residence, not a single stone left upon another, whereas in the vicinity its remains, stood the library, intact. Indeed, the small unassuming one-storey building carried on hosting the literary legacy of the Sandsea, as if to stubbornly prove its impossible to wipe out knowledge. The library had been located in the inner courtyard of the palace complex, but as all the other buildings around it had been destroyed, one could hardly call it a courtyard anymore. In the middle of the open space, a lonely fountain still stood erect. Fed by a natural spring, lifting cool water to the surface from the depths unknown, it gave the area a strangely lush, green feel in the otherwise arid environs. During the last, fiery days of the rebellion, a random stone, sent flying into the fountain by an explosion, had clogged the outlet. Consequently, water had flooded from the source, forming a small river around the library and saving the books and scrolls from catching fire as the rebels were busy pillaging the other buildings in and around the complex. As Zhoom strolled towards the library in the morning light, he saw an old woman removing sand from the fountain, brought by the yesterday’s storm. It was an honourable task, since water run scarce in the deserts, and the woman seemed to take pride on the job. Spending a moment to rest, she straightened her upper body and noticed the ranger, who nodded hello. She gave no reply, only lowered her eyes again to the task at hand. Not wanting to trouble her, Zhoom turned his back and opened the door to the library. Inside, a meek-looking scholar came to meet him. He was even dustier than the ranger, his young age hidden behind dreary, red eyes, dry complexion, and a wrinkled cape. “Peace be with you! May I ask, what are you seeking from our little collection of knowledge?” he said, sounding more eager than he appeared, drawing his hands together, and raising them to a kind of salute in front of his lips. “Hello. Thank you for your offer to help, but can’t I just go around browsing by myself?” asked Zhoom. He did not like the idea of sharing any information just yet, without knowing the person he was talking to. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no, you can not. Unfortunately, that is completely out of the question, totally forbidden. We have many manuscripts that are too sensitive to be touched, they might just disintegrate if we would let anybody who walks through that door, go poking about them. Besides, most of them aren’t even labelled, so you wouldn’t probably even find what you are looking for. And that was not an offer,” the scholar said in a very serious, uptight tone, gradually moving himself between the ranger and the bookshelves. As if you could stop me, thought Zhoom. Not one minute had passed and the young man already irritated him. Dismissing thoughts about slicing the guy up into pieces suitable for making book covers, and maintaining a civil tone, he resigned and inquired whether the man knew about any records on Sek-Duat XIV’s marriage. “And why would that interest you?” asked the scholar, not moving an inch. Bright light poured into the room from the open door behind the ranger, causing the scholar screw up his eyes every time he tried to look at the visitor. “And why would my interests interest you?” the ranger shot back with a fiery look, taking one step closer to the scholar, who obviously started having second thoughts about acting superior to this dark-haired, tattooed ranger, now casting a menacing shadow over him. However, still keeping his ground, the bookworm dared to require an answer. “It is my duty to ask. There are heaps of wisdom gathered here with much difficulty. That knowledge could be used for both good and for evil. You yourself look and act like your motives are asking to be questioned,” stated the scholar, trying to keep up the image of an authority. The image vanished into the thin air faster than a sandcastle in a hurricane, as the ranger grabbed his robe by the chest and hissed, “Don’t make me use my current knowledge on sword-wielding. If you do, I promise that I shall use it for anything but good.” “I am sorry if I have insulted you. That was not my intent. Please, take a seat, I will go and fetch those documents,” the man wriggled himself out of the threatening situation and started backing towards the shelves. Gradually relaxing his tightened jaw and shoulders, Zhoom sat down to wait. The long hours of the previous night started to weigh on him and he had to struggle against drowsiness in the quiet library. As there was nothing else to do, he looked around him. The young man had been right, it would take him years to find anything from the masses of papers and books backed on the shelves bending beneath the weight of all that knowledge. Even the faintest breeze coming through the door lifted up dust and sent it floating around, filtering the sunlight pouring down from the windows located high above, just below the ceiling. He heard the scholar shifting papers somewhere in the back, but could not see him, as he had disappeared behind one of the massive book cabinets. After a couple of minutes more shifting and rustling, the ranger heard him shout, “Found it! Be right there!” The scholar returned with a self-satisfied expression on his face and four yellowish scrolls he spread out on a table in front of Zhoom. Still keeping his distance from the ranger, he pointed out some paragraphs on the different scrolls: “Here are the records of the wife of Sek-Duat XIV. There is not much written on her, though, as it seems that she died quite shortly after the marriage in childbirth.” Childbirth? That didn’t seem right. Apparently, the scholar hadn’t grasped the true nature of the Sek-Duat dynasty. Being a Lich, he had not only exposed his body to decay bit by bit, but he had also given away the possibility to procreate. So, there hadn’t been any children, just the same Sek-Duat reappearing over and over again, each time with a new ordinal number attached to his name. Smelling a cover-up, the ranger looked at the oldest scroll. The painstaking familiarity of the aesthetically perfect handwriting struck him. He pulled out the note he had found with the corpse. It was the same handwriting as on the scroll. As he bent closer to the text just to be sure, the young man slithered behind him and saw the note. “Where did you find that?” the scholar blurted out, incapable of controlling his curiosity. Zhoom turned quickly around, causing the man to jump backwards in fright. “Calm down, I am not going to hurt you. Do you know who the writer was?” inquired the ranger, trying simultaneously to quiet the man down a bit. His jumping around was getting absurd. I am not that scary, for Heaven’s sake! “Well, yes, of course I do. He was a royal archivist. This library is full of scrolls written in his style. I believe he started already during the reign of Sek-Duat XIII and continued in his post until quite late in the reign of the next Sek-Duat; he was a sandelf, mind you, that is why he could carry on so long. But I really don’t have to tell you about that,” the scholar said looking straight at his ears. “Would you mind telling me his name?” asked the ranger, hoping that the man would not start interrogating him about the ears, the survival, and whatnot. “He was called Djamun. Are you interested in Sek-Duat XIV’s wife because of that note you are holding?” the scholar asked, gradually more and more relaxed as he slowly realised he had the information the ranger sought after. “Perhaps. Why?” asked Zhoom, anticipating that the mystery surrounding the corpse and the jar was about to unravel. “Because the Sek-Duat XIV’s wife you are so interested in, was Djamun’s daughter, the beautiful Zhenneh-ra,” revealed the man with great triumph. Well, that would explain a lot. Except that if the man thought her daughter had died in childbirth, why would he offer a reward on finding her. And what had Sek-Duat been doing anyway, marrying a sandelf? Zhoom wondered. The scholar looked so disappointed the ranger hadn't given out any sign of astonishment that he risked a little smile, and asked him to point out the scroll where Zhenneh-ra’s death was documented. That particular paragraph was written in different handwriting. “You wouldn’t happen to know what happened to Djamun?” the ranger inquired. “I wish I knew! The only thing I have ever managed to find out, is that he stopped making any records a few days before the death was announced. I believe that he left the Sandsea for a while and never got the chance to come back. You see, it was only a week after losing his wife that Sek-Duat gave the orders for the … the genocide,” the scholar stammered out the last word, his eyes turning back to stare at the saldelf’s ears. She is dead then, thought Zhoom. But as soon as he had finished that gloomy thought, a ray of light fell from a high window on the smeared note he still held, and revealed a couple of faint numbers on the top of it. The markings formed a date. He looked at the scroll with the documentation of Zhenneh-ra’s death. Djamun had written the note half a year after her daughter had supposedly died. Had her father really known she was still alive or had he only been keeping his hopes up? Why had she disappeared? And what had Sek-Duat tried to cover up? Feeling the need to get answers to all of these questions, the ranger thanked the scholar, who now felt quite at ease near him, and left the library. Outside, the old woman had apparently finished cleaning the fountain, as she had vanished. Two dirty black scorpions were the only signs of life in the long-gone courtyard. Zhoom walked out of the palace complex and headed towards the oasis inn, trying to figure out the route to the next clue in this riddle that might just end up hitting him too close to home.

Fleur Du Mal -> RE: (DF) Avoiding the Inevitable (11/27/2008 12:14:50)
4 Reunion “Afryed, you said? No, there is no trader named Afryed in our records.” Kenthal slammed the book cover shut louder than he had indented. With an air of finality, the young guardian turned to lock the old records back in a safe, waiting for the raven-haired stranger to thank for the information and disappear. The sweet smell of coffee floating from the room next door challenged the blond's sense of duty in serving people who came to the tower in search of information. Darn, he thought as he turned around and saw the man still standing in the room, scanning a map hung on the circular outer wall. Built with sturdy blocks of stone and furbished only with the massive safe, a couple of drawers, and a wide mahogany desk, the tower office didn't have a particularly inviting feel to it. In fact, all those who had been ordered to service in the office, spent their hours of duty in the smaller, but a lot more comfortable cooking space next to it. As sounds of laughter carried into Kenthal's ears, reminding him of what he was missing, he grew more impatient and tried to get rid of the guest, “I am sorry that we couldn't provide any information. I wish you good luck for your search and thank you for your visit to the Falconreach guardian tower.” “And I thought you guardians built your towers not only for protection but also as headquarters for intelligence,” came the retort. The young guardian's short-cropped hair did an exceptionally lousy job in hiding his blushing scalp as the insult sunk in. Only the faint note of fatigue in the stranger's voice halted him from answering. Instead, he tried to focus on inventing a knightly way to send him away. However, he was shortly distracted by another guardian, Charia, who played him a cute little pantomime called 'Your coffee's getting cold' from the open kitchen door. Rolling his eyes to his older female collague, Kenthal straightened his posture and shot a glance at the visitor. Albeit the visible tiredness in the man's movements, an iron-hard determination shone in his features as he ran his index finger along the roads on the map that illustrated the locations and distances to other guardian towers. Maybe he's planning his next destination on his hunt for this Afryed character, Kenthal thought, hoping he would just decide quickly before the coffee would not only turn cold but also extinct. The visitor's finger stopped on Amityvale, his eyes narrowed. “Why is the Amityvale tower marked as unguarded?” he asked. “It was raided by overwhelming numbers of the enemy a long time ago. The enemy left but the tower was taken over by another kind of foul power, turning all the guardians into ghouls.” An inherited sound of hatred rang in Kenthal's voice as he told a part of the guardian history. Learning it belonged to the elementary education of his trade. After he had stopped, he noticed that the room next door seemed to have fallen silent. “I wouldn't find any records in there,” the man half said, half asked after he had apparently taken note of the sudden silence like Kenthal. “Not unless the Vampire Devil guides you to them,” the young guardian smirked. “Who?” “The cursed creature who took hold on our stronghold. Lord Frydae the thirteenth! The nerve of him, calling himself a lord! The lord of ghouls, bats, vampires, and yagas indeed!” Kenthal scorned, his eyes absentmindedly scanning the open door. As he tried to catch a glimpse if anyone of his friends would still loiter in the cooking room, he didn't notice the stranger's aroused interest until he returned his gaze and found himself looking straight into the green eyes that nailed him to his place. The blond saw the stranger's lips move silently, forming a word, “Anagram.” “Excuse me?” Kenthal asked, utterly confused. “Oh, nevermind, ” the other avoided the question. Then he broke into a smile, “But would he? Guide me to the records?” Seeing the baffled look on Kenthal's face the man realised that the young guardian hadn't quite grasped his indirect question, so he reworded, “Does the creature still keep his nest in the tower?” “Ah, you'd better ask that from Lux Alba, our local hero. She arrived from Amityvale this morning,” came the reply. The stranger's eyes widened, his face brightening as if he had just been slapped awake and felt glad for receiving the blow. Kenthal was about to add something about their agents being not totally useless for knowing each and every person leaving and coming into town, but realised that the visitor already rushed out of the office. Salty sweat ran down from smooth, pearl-grey forehead and mixed up with the bubbles in the bath as Lux Alba turned her head from one side to the other, battling in restless sleep. Little by little, she slid deeper into the tub, until the water reached her chin and her hair formed nets floating delicately around the curve of her neck. Indistinct words escaped her lips as she called for someone in the midst of her dreams. ”Dad?” called out significantly younger Lux Alba. Tears ran from her swollen eyes as she hid under her small table, in the corner of a plain room resting in the attic of the cottage she had called home aeons ago. “Dad! Why was it you? It should not have been you!” she screamed, holding a small fire wand with both of her hands, looking into a horrifying, twirling inferno that she had unleashed. No one had warned her that she was capable of creating such an annihilating force only with her insignificant amount of knowledge around the ways of magic. Aided with the sheer power of her anxiety, desperation, and desire for freedom, her power had wreathed her father in charring, destructive flames. The sickening smell of burning flesh filled the air. Only one soul-freezing cry of pain rouse from her father before he turned into a smouldering pile of ash. Lux Alba crawled on all fours from her hideout. Shaking in convulsions, she neared the black charcoal made of human flesh, and sobbed incomprehensible words. Suddenly, she could sense her mother approaching. “What is going on up in there?” she heard her call from the bottom of the stairway. Soon she would be there. Lux Alba felt the suffocating waves of motherly love, radiating, getting closer. In a second she had opened her tiny window and wriggled out of it, balancing for a moment on the outside, looking at the long drop below her feet. Her ears exploded as her mother's scream reached her; she had climbed high enough to see and smell the remains of her man. Lux Alba jumped… She landed in a desert, fifteen years older. The light of the sun flickered in the heat of the arid, yellow land, making it difficult for her to see anything. A strange, hot wind was blowing, accumulating dust in her lungs every time she drew breath, making her thirsty and hallucinating. From the corner of her eye, she saw a man approaching. He cast no shadow, left no tracks on the sand. The closer he came, the more she feared him. She tried to turn away and run, but her left leg was still broken because of the jump. It didn’t make any sense; that had happened years ago! She thought about defending herself but realised she had no staff. The man had reached her; he touched her shoulder, saying nothing. She turned around in hot sweat to face him and saw that the stranger had no face… The mage woke up with a splash in the bathtub to a loud knock on the door. She had no recollection on how long she had been asleep, but it had definitely been longer than just for a nap as the skin of her fingertips had thoroughly wrinkled. Pouring in from an open window, the chilly spring air had turned the water lukewarm and now it raised gooseflesh on her skin. She was exhausted and panting from the horrors of her nightmare. The knock repeated. “Who is it?” she finally managed to blurt out, water in her eyes, desperately feeling about for a towel. “It’s Crimson, Lady. May I speak with you?” said the newly familiar voice from outside. “Just a moment, please,” she answered, eventually grateful that her nightmares had been interrupted. She washed her face and stepped out of the tub carefully to avoid slipping because of the water her violent awakening had spilled around the floor. She finally found the soft and thick towel that had been laid on the bed. After she had dried off quickly and loosely wrapped the towel around her, she went to the door. This should be decent enough, she thought, considering that the boy was quite young and had probably carried his fair share of additional hot water to rooms where people were bathing. Slightly opening the door she saw Crimson waiting, leaning casually against the opposite wall, but at the same time looking slightly worried. “Yes?” Lux Alba made known that she was ready. As he heard her voice and saw the door ajar, he crossed the hallway and started, “You see, the ranger you asked about came back a little earlier than expected, and…” The boy was cut short, as the door was suddenly thrown wide open in one swift movement by Zhoom himself. He had apparently been standing in the hallway, out of sight, the whole time. The mage startled at the sudden motion and took a step backwards, almost dropping her towel. “So it is you,” the ranger started joyfully, “It is so good to… see…you…” and stopped as he came gradually aware of the fact that Lux Alba was staring at him, perplexed and wearing nothing but a towel, her hair all wet, forming a striking contrast with its purple curls resting on her pale collarbones. For a moment, Zhoom’s green eyes looked straight at her slender figure, admiringly. He then blinked and with what he made to be the most heroic effort known to the man- and elf-kind, turned his eyes to the floor. Crimson, who was still standing by the door, let out a muffled giggle. Infuriated by the embarrassment, the mage grabbed the door, and saying briefly, “Why don’t the both of you wait for me downstairs?” she slammed the door shut. Fifteen minutes later Lux Alba descended the stairs to the dining hall. Crimson had apparently disappeared to the kitchen, as he was nowhere to be seen. Chatting away, a couple of customers waited at their table to be served their late brunch. The mage’s eyes caught Zhoom sitting by the fire, with a mug of ale in his hand, staring into the fire. He hadn’t changed a bit on the outside. His hair was as raven-black as ever, familiar tattoos criss-crossed his muscular upper arms, equipped with biceps trained for battle but equally suitable for delight; even his posture had the same air of defiance as before. Before the mage could continue her musings, the ranger apparently sensed her presence and turned halfway around to welcome her with a smile and laughing eyes. Yes, the friendship had survived the separation. Lua Alba sat down beside Zhoom and scanned his face with her deep brown eyes as people often do when meeting an acquaintance after a while. The ranger followed the movement of her eyes with his own, waiting for her to draw her conclusions. Finally, arching her brow, she broke the half-comfortable, half-awkward silence, “So… Since we already went through that ‘Nice to see you’-part… How are you?” The ranger grinned, relieved that she had taken such a relaxed tone. Given the recent incident and their history being as it were, after five years or so, he had feared coming to meet a far more strained welcome. “Nothing to complain about. Following some cold tracks right now, but you know me, I love the challenge. And you?” he said, leaning slightly forward in his chair. “I’m fine,” she let out a lie. It was a white one but, nevertheless, a lie. No need for him to know right now about my last year gone to waste, she thought and continued aloud, “Is it the tracks you’re following that led you here?” “Mainly, yes. I needed to find some information from the guardian tower,” Zhoom told, all business-like. Then he leaned very close to the mage and continued, playfully lowering his voice to a whisper, “Do you want to hear the whole story? I have to warn you, though, it is not a pretty one.” Not because of me... Well, how likely that would’ve been after five years? Me and my foolish dreams… “Hey, something wrong?” he woke her up from her thoughts, still waiting for an answer. “Sure, do tell, of course I’m curious about what drew you from the Sandsea,” she answered, hiding her thoughts like a clam. There, beside the fireplace, they sat the rest of the day and the following evening. As the ranger's story unravelled, the mage became more and more intrigued, listening with a warm glow on her cheeks. Zhoom whirled the story around her, enchanted her, enlivening his words with the gestures of his hands and the shine of his eyes. Starting from the man reduced to poverty, mutilated, and buried under the floor, he guided her through the years, leading her through the fate of his daughter, her marriage to the man, or Lich, they both had known. Finally, when the ghosts of the past caught up with the present, Lux Alba found herself once again facing the vampire she knew just too well. The same one Zhoom had linked to the story of the beautiful Zhenneh-ra.

Fleur Du Mal -> RE: (DF) Avoiding the Inevitable (11/28/2008 10:18:13)
5 The Fate of Zhenneh-ra Zhenneh-ra never had a chance to escape. By Heavens, she did try. As soon as she realised she had been discovered, she sprinted to the window, feet barely touching the woolly mat. She reached for the precious freedom she was bound to lose. Her high cheekbones turned to an even paler hue as two imperial guards cut her off. Grabbing her by both arms, the brutes twisted and jerked her around until her long burgundy plaits came undone. The daughter of the Sun fell to her knees. Bourbon eyes dilated with fear as she faced Sek-Duat XIV. The Emperor had risen from his decadently soft and luxurious bed and replaced his mask, showing only the utterly emotionless shine of his eyes. But Zhenneh-ra saw right through this metallic shield; she would never forget his true face now that she had laid her eyes on the grimy, half-melted, and undead features of Sandsea’s ruler. Softly, Sek-Duat picked up a candle Zhenneh-ra had dropped on the mat and extinguished the flame with his elongated fingers. She watched the small twirl of smoke evaporating from the candle and imagined her life going out the same way. The Emperor turned his gaze from the candle back to the woman. There was something almost feminine in his way of carrying himself, one hip always higher than the other, his hands hanging down relaxed and following the movements of his exaggeratedly thin body. Smoothly, he slid across the floor. “My dear Queen,” he said stopping right in front of his oppressed wife, “you should have learned by now that I never, ever sleep unguarded.” Zhenneh-ra tried to turn her face away from him, but one of the guards instantly grabbed her chin and forced her to look the Emperor in the eyes. “My trusted guards have already seen me as I am. But they won’t tell the tale; I have made sure of that,” the Emperor continued as if he had felt some twisted pleasure in explaining all this nasty detail. “It is a sort of an initiation rite, if you like, a choice between death and silence. Dzinn, could you please demonstrate to your Queen what I mean.” The guard on Zhenneh-ra’s left side opened his mouth wide. She convulsed in horror as she saw he had no tongue, only a clean-cut end of the muscles the organ should have been attached to. The man called Dzinn was obviously amused by her fear. After closing his mouth, the guard smiled mockingly at her, as if he would have said, No one will ever doubt my silence. How about you? “But you, my Love, you have tried to spill my secret,” Sek-Duat continued, reaching for a slender cabinet nearby and taking out a small bundle of paper sheets. Zhenneh-ra felt her blood run cold as she recognised the letters the Emperor slowly unfolded in front of her very eyes. Those were the ones she had written to her friends and family, warning that something was awry with the Emperor. Not all of them were there, but enough to deduce whom she had kept correspondence with. Sek-Duat picked up one of the letters and held it only inches away from her. “This is my favourite. A letter to your dear friend Dzezira. Isn’t she a sandelf like you, my Love? Aren’t all of them sandelves? Well, I got to Dzezira before your letter did,” he said with a tone so full of malice it froze her soul. “One by one, I will get to all of them. Consider it as a promise, my dear Queen.” He continued to pour his words into her ears. “I’ll make all of them star in a magnificent play, played in our courtyard before the executioner, played everywhere around our beloved Sandsea before sword and bow. And you, my Love, you will be the obedient audience,” he finally ended, his voice booming in the bedroom where the air now felt so thick that it would have been enough to suffocate even the freest of spirits. As tears started to fall from Zhenneh-ra’s almond-shaped eyes, he dropped the letters on the floor. With his wretched hands, he reached out and stroked her face, painfully slow, cupping her elven ears for a moment. “You gave me great pleasure,” he said, lost in thoughts. Even if for only one moment, a hint of something akin to tenderness rang in his voice. Then he gave the sign to the silent guards to take her out of his sight and turned his back on her forever. As the men dragged her out of the room, she could hear him add, his face against the wall: “I will miss the sight of you, my Love.” Cries of desperation and pain grew louder with every step she was forced to take. The imperial guards neared the dungeon together with their captive. Only a few torches with flickering flames lit the shallow, low, and poorly ventilated underground passages beneath the palace complex. The tunnel carved its way ever deeper. They walked past the cells, a row of lidless doors on her left side and niches blocked with bars on her right. All the crying and moaning came from the left, behind the closed doors. Who would want to know what devilish devices of torture ground their way through flesh and bones there? They weren’t called investigation cells for nothing. In the niches on her right stood silent figures chained to the walls, some hanging upside down. Nothing could be read from their faces. Nothing reminded of humanity in those poor prisoners anymore. After a while, to the astonishment of Zhenneh-ra, no more cells came. She couldn’t understand where they were dragging her if not to be thrown into one. The farther away the passage winded its way from the prison cells, the further consecutive sources of light came apart. Finally, the three of them reached a sturdy iron door with strange markings on it. Dzinn released their captive and pounded on the metal while the other guard tightened his grip on her. A sudden silence had fallen on the passageway; no more cries for help, only deep nothingness, broken by the sounds of breathing by the unequal company of three. Soft steps came to the door. There was a quick turn of a key and the door handle turned down silently. Zhenneh-ra could feel that the guards had tensed now, trying to control their own breathing as if even they weren’t allowed to make a sound. The iron door opened as wide as it could in the narrow tunnel. Sharp spikes covered the inner side of the door, making it very difficult to touch the handle from within without cutting oneself. There were no more torches on the other side. Yellow eyes with vertical slits for pupils stared at Zhenneh-ra. For the first time, the sandelf saw a tombguard up close and personal. It was a creature not entirely devoid of magnificence; a man-sized lizard, with smooth scales, strong legs, an upright posture, and a keen look. Holding a spear in its right hand, the tombguard smelled the air with its two-forked tongue. Zhenneh-ra heard the silent hiss that resulted. Then, it stepped aside, making room for the doorway. Without a word, the imperial guards understood the meaning of this; they pushed Zhenneh-ra past the door and into the world of darkness before turning their backs on her just as the Emperor had done. The lizard pointed its spear to the forlorn Queen, forcing her deeper into the passage. With no sound, no words, no goodbyes, all light was taken from her. A week rolled by. Outside, the Sun circled the earth, scorching the soil during days and bathing the mornings and evenings in red light. In the tomb, the hours, the minutes, and the seconds followed after another in an infinite stream. Chained in a corner, Zhenneh-ra sat and counted her faint heartbeats; a weak, warm pulse hit the cold chain around her neck each time her heart dared to beat once more. The blinding darkness engulfed everything around the prisoner. All she knew about her surroundings was the mouldy surface she lay on, the dampness that crept under her skin and the two tombguards who minded her. Their hisses and steps sounded different and they smelled different, otherwise there would not have been any way to tell them apart. She had given them names in her thoughts, as this was sort of mental practice she needed to keep her sanity; she called the one who she’d met first Poker and the other who brought her water Patter for reasons she did not want to dwell on. Her throat felt dry. In her situation, it was a small wonder that she still hoped Patter would bring her water. She still possessed the will to live; her concern for her father, for Dzezira, and for her kin kept her from sinking to the bottomless pit of despair. Suddenly, she realised that someone was nearing. By the soft tapping of steps and the sound of the hiss she deduced it was Poker, not the tombguard she’d been waiting for. This variation to the normal scheme sent a shot of adrenaline racing through her veins. Poker detached the chain from her neck and lifted her up. As soon as she had found balance in standing on her own weakened legs, it offered her support and started leading her up the tunnels. Its scaly skin felt very cold, but at least it was smooth and dry, not at all slimy she had imagined. Soon, they were at the iron door. Are they taking me to my execution? she thought, not daring to hope for a pardon. The tombguard opened the door, revealing two unfamiliar imperial guards and a grim-looking man standing outside. Zhenneh-ra didn’t have time to relish the fact she could see again before she had recognised the grim man’s suit. He carried the symbols of a judge. Without those medals, it would’ve been impossible to think him as one, due to the scars crisscrossing the left side of his face, the threatening look in his eyes, and the evil smile on his thin, moist lips; he certainly looked more like a refined ruffian than a honourable judge. “There is something your Emperor wants you to see,” said the grim man. “Follow me, if you please,” he continued, bowing a notch, thus making mockery out of courtesy. Poker gave away her custody to the two imperial guards and vanished back to the darkness, closing the door behind him, ever silent. The guards dragged her up the tunnels, the grim man leading the way past the cells, past the entrance to the dungeon, until they were not under the earth anymore but instead in a small guard room by the great courtyard, also known as the Dead-man’s Square. The Sun poured its light in through a window, stinging her eyes. The guards sat her to a heavy chair beside the tortured glass and set their swords against her neck, promising her a quick end if she tried to escape. “The Emperor kindly asks you to take a look at the courtyard,” the sad excuse for a judge said. As her eyes finally got accustomed to the bright light, she saw twenty sandelves standing in a row, hands tied behind their backs, and two executioners sharpening their swords. Instantly acting upon a signal the grim man gave from the window, the executioners nodded and began the slaughter, each from his end of the row. With a brutal swoosh, the first pair of heads rolled to the ground, staring to the unrelenting sky, eyes solidified in a red gaze of terror. The beheaded bodies slumped on the yard like lifeless sacks of fava beans. In a split of a second, Zhenneh-ra comprehended that Sek-Duat had ordered a systematic massacre. All of her friends, her kin, her kind were doomed to die, just because the Emperor wanted to keep his secret. Or did he just enjoy having his revenge on her? Surely, the cruellest method of torture was being forced to watch your loved ones suffer and perish. Despaired, she shouted, “I’ll rather die than watch this!” and tried to get up from the chair, not caring if the guards would slay her down. But, to her surprise and horror, she was not slain; the swords were drawn back, only nicking her skin. Instead, the guards just pressed her firmly back into the chair as the judge walked idly into her view. Signalling the two men outside to stop right in the middle of finishing off the third pair, the evil man said, “The Emperor suspected that you might feel that way. To guarantee your gracious attention, he would like to inform you that your dear friend Dzezira is currently enjoying his hospitality and your refusal to watch this play he has organised just for you might lessen the courtesy your friend is receiving,” the man continued. Apparently, he could not help himself from adding, “Anything called ‘easing her passing’ is not included in the consequences of your actions.” Widening his mouth to a horrible grin, the judge showed a piece of her friend’s jewellery as proof that they had gotten to her. At the sight of that golden eagle, attached to a leather ribbon, Zhenneh-ra broke down crying. She forced herself to direct her gaze back to the courtyard where the execution shortly continued. She had been right; it was her death-sentence being carried out. Her soul lay somewhere on that blood-bathed courtyard, violated, hewn to pieces. Starting that day, there began a macabre routine. At alternating intervals, Poker would fetch Zhenneh-ra and bring her to the iron-spiked door where guards and the grim man waited to escort her to watch the genocide of her kin. Outside the palace, houses were burnt down, sandelves chased to death, mutilated, or captured to be put to death later. Zhenneh-ra didn’t know who orchestrated the executions; all she knew was that there were all kinds of variations to the show. Sometimes a torturous investigation took place before the beheading, sometimes the names of the damned were solemnly announced before the sword fell, sometimes not. The former Queen sat and watched, her soul dead, feeling nothing but registering everything. As time passed and the persecution had reached even the remotest corners of the Sandsea, the executions slowed down. Sek-Duat had run out of sandelves. Zhenneh-ra sat long consecutive days in the dark, praying that she wouldn’t see the light that day. Then they chopped her friend down into pieces and she started to pray for death instead. But the Emperor didn’t allow her to die. If she refused to drink willingly, the tombguards forced the water down her throat. In a state of malnutrition, she had even started to think of them as incarnations of the Emperor, and tried to bite them whenever they came close. Finally arrived the hour that changed it all. Zhenneh-ra woke up from a feverish dream to the sound of something new. The painfully natural reflex was to open her eyes to the moment of awakening. A dim, cold light flickered in the tomb. In that light, she saw a man cloaked and hooded in a cape that was darker than the prison she had been lying on so long. “I can help you escape,” the man said with a low voice. Continuing after a short break, as he got no response from the prisoner, “if you allow me to?” She nodded, not knowing why. Instantly, the chain around her neck fell of, clinging loudly as it hit the ground. She was sure that both the man and herself were doomed; there was no way that noise didn’t alert the tombguards. But they did not come. Not a sound was heard after the clang died away. The cloaked man walked to her with a small ball floating above his right hand. In a blur, she understood that the dim, blue light came from the orb. The man lifted her up and wrapped the cloak around both of them. Supporting her with his left arm as if she were a mere feather, he walked through the walls of the tomb and took her with him from this misery to another world of darkness.

Fleur Du Mal -> RE: (DF) Avoiding the Inevitable (12/7/2008 16:56:59)
6 A Brittle Moment Lying wide awake in the dark of the night, Lux Alba found no peace. Her eyes refused to do her a favour and just close. Over and over again, she measured the ceiling by the number of panels, until the sheer vexation forced her to throw the blankets away and get up. She quickly found out that her feet were just as restless as her eyes, leading her to an endless walk around her room like a frustrated feline. Finally, she stopped by the tightly closed window. Pressing her forehead on the cold glass, she reviewed all she had learned that day. Zhoom was probably right about Lord Frydae XIII. The ranger had came across an unknown trader's name jotted down in the guest book of the Oasis Inn around the time Zhenneh-ra had “died”. The stranger who went by the name Afryed, had reappeared six months later, and around that time, Djamun had written his plea. Diving deep into the annals of the royal library, Zhoom had found out that the same man had traded exclusively, and more importantly, in person with the Emperor. To his astonishment, the exact nature of the imported goods was left unspecified. In a nation where even the trinkets sold on the black market could be backlogged, such a thing as unrecorded items was totally unheard of. Smelling a rat, the ranger tried to follow the paper trail, but the records had led him no further. However, a man who had personal contact with the Emperor must have held some status, and therefore not without reputation in his home town. Where ever that had been. Zhoom had not dared to hope that the man himself was alive any more, but since finding that person or his inheritors was the only route to follow, he set out to hunt down this mysterious stranger. Travelling from town to town, searching after any trace of Afryed the trader, the ranger had finally arrived in Falconreach, where he learnt that the man he had been searching for was, in fact, Frydae the vampire. Once Zhoom had cracked the anagram, he pulled it all together in a single theory. Sek-Duat wanted to get back to the pleasures of the living, Frydae had probably been his original connection to the Yaga-sisters, and for reasons related to the spells the Yagas had provided, the vampire had visited the Emperor. Yearning to feel alive again, Sek-Duat had married Zhenneh-ra; it was clear that he needed to marry someone anyway, to keep up the appearances someone was bearing him sons. Perhaps he had chosen her simply for her beauty. To her own demise, the archivist’s daughter was too intelligent to be fooled, or too proud to lie to the people. If the Emperor couldn’t get her to play her part, or worse still, she had found out about his secrets, he had undoubtedly tried to get rid of her. And if she had managed to slip out the secret to her kin, this would’ve explained the doom commanded upon the sandelves. Frantically searching her daughter in the bloody waves of the genocide, Djamun had probably got into contact with Frydae when he was visiting the Emperor and learned something that made him to believe his daughter had escaped the fate of her kin. Before the doom caught up with him, he had written the plea. Lux Alba knew Zhoom would not stop until he would find Zhenneh-ra, alive or dead, for he had taken the money Djamun had promised for the finder. It was as good as a personally signed contract for him. Pondering all this, the mage walked another circle and a half in her room, finally halting by the door. Hesitantly, she turned the handle and peeked into the hallway. All candles had been blown out for the night, shrouding everything under shadows and different shades of grey. Still restless, she slid from her room. Something was drawing her along the hallway. Her brain tried to convince her to turn around, but her heart reached for another direction. She continued forward until she stood by a certain door; Zhoom’s. Laying her hands on the doorframe and her ear against the old, sturdy wood she listened for any sounds from within. It took a little while before her heart steadied and she could hear anything apart from the blood humming in her ears. The ranger was asleep, slowly, peacefully breathing, perhaps dreaming. For all the magic she had learned, there was no way for her to share the peace of his dreams! The mage let her head press against the door. Oh, she knew how to pick a lock; how easy it would have been to open that door! In the darkest hours of the night she wanted to be loved again, she wanted to have the security she had had when she was just a child, before she herself ruined it all. After running from away home with all those burnt bridges left behind, she had found her master; a wicked lady who taught her magic and used up all her trust. Once again, she had fled, to fight alone. There was no one to hold her in the middle of the night, telling she was safe, forgiven, and loved despite what she had done. Fearing to lose her mind, she longed for someone to convince her that the horrors waking her up in the dead of the night were just nightmares, nothing more, evermore. Five years ago she thought she had found love again. Five years ago she had trusted again. But she had fooled herself. It had been something less important for him. And now he was here for the hunt. Just for the hunt. As soon as she had told him she knew Frydae and the way to his former lodgings, he had asked her to join him. To help. Like a drowning soul, she had accepted. If I can’t have you whole, I’ll take whatever crumbs I can get. Her eyes were too tired to shed any tears. She reluctantly turned away from the door to encounter her nightmares alone. Zhoom woke up, happy as a lark. Stretching his arms and legs along with a lazy yawn, he strode to the window. A bright, clear morning greeted him with a fresh breeze and sounds of avian activity. The ranger picked up an early bud from a cherry tree outside his window. His mother used to read him stories from a book that had illustrations of cherries, among other things. He found it strange that he couldn’t remember the stories, only the pictures: gigantic, white-tipped waves on a vast ocean, witty princesses, ghosts of the desert, and cherry blossoms. Too bad it hasn’t opened yet, it would’ve looked astonishing in her hair, he thought, letting the bud fall through his fingers, all the way down, to lay hidden in the sprouting grass. He felt grateful he now had company for the rest of the journey. Company he really liked. Company, that was familiar with the prey, and on top of that, a pretty good fighter. So good actually, that anyone would regret to get on the other side of the battle with her; he himself had learned that the hard way in the past. He was happy to see that things had turned out so painless. She hadn’t accused him of anything, sparing him a lot of explaining. No need to dwell in that, really. Just better to relish the fact I haven’t ruined anything… Oh, I need to get her a horse… With that thought, the ranger dressed up, packed his weapons and descended downstairs for breakfast, whistling all the way. Serenity still hadn’t returned so he asked for the extra horse from Crimson while waiting the eggs to be boiled. He ordered breakfast for two, so that Lux Alba would have everything laid out when she would come downstairs and they both could have a quick start to Amityvale. She came, dark shadows under her eyes, but smiling bravely. Somehow Zhoom felt he would be better off not asking. Silently, they ravaged their breakfast, keeping up their appearances for casual comfort. The teapot was almost empty when Crimson came to announce he had found a horse for her. A grey stallion with a white-star on its head and a curly mane stood outside, pricking up its ears as the trio stepped outside. Lux Alba bribed the horse with a piece of sugar, which was good-naturedly accepted. Zhoom helped her into the saddle, then he swung himself into his. So they left, riding off side by side. “It’ll be my first visit to Amityvale, you know,” the ranger said just for the sake of starting some conversation. He hated to admit to himself that the prospect of the whole journey passing away in deep silence disturbed him. “Well, I doubt whether I can even count so far as to tell you how many times I’ve been there before,” the mage joked lightly, ensuring them both that the feared threat would not materialise. Crimson stood on the steps of the inn and watched them go, a pair of adventurers, wishing to be one. Little did he know how far away from one another they were, even when appearing to be in unison. Interrupting his childish dreams, a customer called for him, and the boy left the thoroughfare to bask deserted in the morning sun after all that deep-red hair had vanished inside the inn.

Fleur Du Mal -> RE: (DF) Avoiding the Inevitable (12/12/2008 14:15:58)
7 Into the Night Silver clouds committed sacrilege hiding the fullest of all moons on the night Zhoom and Lux Alba arrived in Amityvale. The duo decided to come unannounced, riding straight towards the old guardian tower without stopping in town. One day, the unholy creatures of the night would tell tales to their offspring about the two travellers slipping away from the prying eyes and escaping through all the spies’ nets. Riding under the thick shadows of the fern trees, mute as moths, they managed to reach the vampires’ former lair before the first raven fluttered high into the air, crying an alarm and abandoning her eggs, scared by the sudden appearance of life below her nesting branches. The horses grew restless near the tower, so the travellers decided to leave them on the other side of the open field that stretched itself in front of the decaying tower. Bracing their ankles, fresh-grown grass swayed softly in the wind as they covered the small distance by foot. They stopped by the door for a brief moment to exchange the last few words before stepping in. The building lurched above them, as if it tried to eavesdrop, its windows staring at them like empty eyes. “We can go in there, but the last time I looked, he was nowhere to be found,” Lux Alba said in a soft voice. “It doesn’t matter whether he is there right now or not,” the ranger replied, lighting the night with a confident smile. “If he has visited this place recently, I’ll have all the tracks I need to hunt him down.” An emptiness familiar to the mage but foreign to the ranger engulfed them both when they entered through the rusting door. As deserted as ever, the rooms gathered nothing else but cobwebs and echoes of the wind that raced through the halls mourning for its former tenants. Apparently, no one had been in the tower after Lux Alba had left the previous time and the only tracks Zhoom could find were from moss growing its way up the walls. After they had descended the stairs to the last room on their odd tour of the house, Zhoom halted and pointed at a door. “Where does that lead?” The cellar! Why hadn’t it ever occurred to her to look into the cellar! the mage thought. Because it was locked? Because she had forgotten all about it after she had found Lord Frydae and the tombs upstairs? Feeling like an idiot, Lux Alba stated shortly what she knew about that door; the darkness orb had been kept locked behind it a long time ago. After a short conversation, they agreed that they should try opening it and search the cellar. The obstacle in their way was made of thick planks of wood and metallic bars jammed in a stone frame and sealed shut with sturdy locks. Running her fingers along the uneven surface of the wood, the mage scouted for any magic traps that might have been set on the door. After all, it had been used to guard such a horrible power of darkness. However, there were none that she could sense. At least they could now focus on the physical obstacle without worrying about any twirling infernos of hellish ghouls attacking them. Measuring thoughtfully the locks and the metallic bars embedded vertically into the door, Zhoom thought aloud, “I believe we could squeeze ourselves through those bars if we just could get rid of the wood between them.” The ranger stepped to the door and scratched the surface before turning to the mage, “This should burn down easily. Could you cast a fire spell or should we go collecting some dry bark from the trees outside?” As much as Lux Alba would’ve preferred the latter option, she realised it would waste too much time and started preparing for the spell. She waved him to get out of the way and with a fluent movement brought her staff in contact with the wood, chanting out the magical words. A small flame ignited the wood, devouring the material in an ever-growing pace until the mage ordered it to stop by casting a minuscule ice storm on it. Zhoom kicked the door twice, sending the charred particles raining down and exposing two bars standing bare, a crack between them. The mage squeezed through first, holding her staff steadily, with a resolution to smite down anything that might hide in the darkness. A crescent, golden moon forged on top of the staff showed the way, radiating cold light. The ranger followed on her heels to the steep stairs starting right behind the cracked door. After descending for a moment, a strange light with a hint of silver, faint at first but growing stronger by each step, started to illuminate the passage down into the belly of the Earth. Finally, arriving at the bottom of the arduous descent, they found themselves standing in a vast, strange, and airy hall with high pillars reaching in vain for the light that had been denied from them. Hanging from the ceiling, a pair of sleepy bats used the mighty arcs that connected the pillars to the ceiling as their temporary nesting place. Broad, luminous silver lines, oozing magic decorated the floor and walls. Along with other singular objects, a thick and peculiar-looking mat lay rolled up near the entrance. A few old ceremonial goblets were scattered around the floor, some of them whole, some broken into a diversity of cut-edged shards. Simultaneously, the mage and the ranger became aware of a sweet smell floating around the space. Their eyes followed the silvery lines on the floor, until they fixed on in a certain spot in the middle of the hall. Covering the area from clear view, circling shrouds of mist left only shadows to be discerned. Both the mage and the ranger felt drawn further, towards the silent call. Some faint old memory of similar enchantment sent Lux Alba’s heart pounding in dreadful anticipation. For Zhoom, no fear existed anymore. He felt the braids of mist, now reaching all the way up to him, tickling his skin. A whispering, lustful voice called to him, to him only; no one else could satisfy the needs of this angelic being. Longing to comply with every request and command, he took a step forward. With persistance, the mage fought against the force that was blurring her senses. She saw the ranger already wavering on the edge, ready to abandoning reason, but felt herself hindered to take action. Finally recognising exactly the particular type of allurement, she managed to battle it off. She took one step backwards and halted Zhoom by grabbing his arm, thus saving him from falling into the seductive calls of a vampire, who’s shadow she now saw through the haze. “Wait,” she said in a very low tone to the ranger. Awoken from his distracted thoughts, the ranger shook his head to regain his senses. Preparing for the worst, he laid a hand on his faithful sword. The mist grew thinner, as if the vampire didn’t have enough strength to keep it from dissipating. Little by little, delicate outlines of a female vampire were revealed, until only her face remained in the shadows of her own making. Sitting on cushions and leaning on a pillar in a middle of a full square drawn in silver, she turned her head to welcome the visitors to whom she was nothing less than an enigma. Revealed by the wide neckline of a perfectly fitted violet-blue velvet dress, her bare shoulders were circled by an abundance of hair running like a waterfall down from both sides of her neck, later dividing into countless streams of soft curls reaching all the way down to her hips. The mage tried to increase the light, but her spell was fought back, causing the light of her staff to flicker for a moment before stabilising back to its former strength. The vampire looked a little strained after the sabotage; clearly the vicinity of all those silver lines she was surrounded by had had an effect on her power. Lux Alba thanked the Heavens for those lines. After a moment’s silence, the vampire opened her mouth, “Welcome to my humble home,” she greeted the two with a hint of irony in her eloquent voice. “Do forgive me for not getting up to meet you, I am feeling somewhat weak tonight.” “Who are you and where is Lord Frydae?” blurted Lux Alba, suspecting the vampire’s portrayed weakness to be just a decoy, and refusing to let her guard down. “Ahh,” the vampire sighed, sounding disappointed. Graciously inclining her head to face Zhoom’s direction and softening her voice a notch, she remarked, “I always assumed that at least elves would have the courtesy of exchanging salutations before demanding a name; especially when it is they who are not invited.” To his companion's surprise, the ranger bowed a little and, still holding on to his sword, introduced them both. Getting up, the vampire bowed back. “Zhoom? I am not quite sure if I have heard your name before,” she replied slowly, as if she contemplated on some distant memories from another life. Then, turning towards the mage, her voice changed its tone from cordial to icy, nearing the frontiers of civility, “Lux Alba, your name is certainly known to us.” Staring at her, the duo felt uneasy, not sure of what she meant with 'us'. Secretly, the two bats detached themselves from the ceiling, fluttering away before the mage dared to ask again for the vampire’s name and why she refused to show her face. “My name means nothing to you. Do forgive me if I retain from you any information on myself to be used as weapons against me in my current, deprived position,” replied the vampire and sat back down, as if the exertion of standing up had exhausted her. Sighing as she leaned her back against the pillar, she continued, “What do you want from Lord Frydae?” “We have some questions of our own for him. How well do you know him exactly?” inquired Zhoom, eyes fixed on her, trying to see her through the mist and shadows still shrouding her face and caressing those beautiful shoulders like some overly possessive lover. “Why, yes, our acquaintance runs way back…And he knows my mind, lest he wouldn’t have locked me in this cage,” the vampire answered, playing with her hair as if she was relating to some mundane affair. Then she let her curls be and struck up an offer with so sweet a voice that even honey would’ve turned into bitter ashes in comparison, "Maybe you could release me from my prison in exchange for information? What do you want to ask from the honourable Lord?“ “Zhoom, I wouldn’t trust on anything a vampire says, let alone make a deal with one,” Lux Alba said, causing his eyes to divert momentarily from the prime example of materialised temptation. Infuriated by the fact that the mage disturbed her from tightening her nets of seduction around the prime example of temptation of another kind, the vampire hissed, “Lux Alba, I wouldn’t talk about a person, who is present, as if she were not. Didn’t your mother teach you that?” The mage blushed, and the light of the crescent moon started feeding from her anger. Now it was Zhoom’s turn to grab her elbow and hinder her acting on a full-grown rage. Calming the situation, he kept a polite tone while stating their business, “We know that Lord Frydae has information on the disappearance of a certain royal person from the Sandsea. She is a sandelf like me and goes by the name Zhenneh-ra, if she is still alive.” After a short pause, he added, “I’ve made a resolution to find her or her grave.” “Zhenneh-ra, you say?” the vampire said, sounding interested beyond measure. “Yes, the Lord did influence on her fate,” she continued her musings with an air of absence before returning back to business. “The information you’re asking for is very valuable to you, I deem. And I doubt that Frydae will tell you anything, willingly or forced. How high do you value this information?” “State your price and I’ll decide whether it is too high”, Zhoom answered, keeping his cool. “My freedom will not be worth anything if I die from weakness before reaching the front door of this confounded castle,” the vampire said. “In addition to my previous request of you releasing me from this prison, I’ll require a goblet of your blood to recover my strength. Give me those and I’ll point the way to Zhenneh-ra.” “That’s sheer lunacy,” Lux Alba said, “Don’t take an offer that is, to all its intents and purposes, a hoax.” “How do we know that the information you’ll give us is truthful?” asked the ranger, to the mage’s utter disappointment. You should be asking yourself if she’ll really confine herself to just one goblet, she thought and attempted an assessment on whether the vampire was devouring Zhoom with her eyes only because of her thirst. The mist nullified all her efforts, though. Had she her full strength, she would surely be the bane of every man. As another whiff of sweet perfume stroked her senses, almost melting her brains before she managed to fight it off, the mage added, And woman. “If you’ll give me the blood, I’ll give you the directions. After you’ve followed my advice and found out I’ve told you no lies, you come back and free me,” the vampire said, sounding convincingly honest. “With this bargain, you cannot lose.” Zhoom hesitated. He didn’t want to overlook his friend’s warnings, but he had begun to doubt that Frydae would give them any answers at all, ever. “Are you sure that giving her the blood won’t make her strong enough to just step over those lines and force us to linger here so long that she’ll be joined by some reinforcements?” Lux Alba whispered. While the mage and the ranger kept on debating and pondering on taking the offer, the vampire waited impatiently. Looking at the ceiling, she suddenly saw that the two bats that had watched her for days, had disappeared. I don’t have much time before a report about this has been delivered, she thought, turning her eyes back to the ranger. I have to speed up his decision somehow. Now, where have I heard his name before… Suddenly the answer dawned upon her. With a newly found strength, she stood up and walked to the edge of the silver line departing her from the duo. “I have heard your name before, ranger”, she said, her eyes flaring yellow light. Dropping the debate, both Zhoom and Lux Alba turned to meet those glowing eyes that were now horrifyingly close. Anticipating a new trap of enchantment, the mage prepared to fight it off, while the ranger held his breath, trying to understand why he would have forgotten a previous meeting with this creature. Demurely, the vampire uttered the words, “I heard it from your mother.”

Fleur Du Mal -> RE: (DF) Avoiding the Inevitable (12/12/2008 14:20:00)
8 Bedtime Story Detaching itself from the magnificent arcs, a small piece of rubble fell to the stone floor and cut down the overpowering silence that had encircled the participants in this strangest of all gatherings. Taking the rustle for a cue, Lux Alba uttered, her eyes narrowing: “You lie.” The vampire ignored her, keeping her luminous gaze on Zhoom, who stood completely still, his posture slightly slumped as if he had received a powerful bunch in his stomach. All colour vanished from his face, giving it an expression of insufferable pain. Slowly, his right hand lost its strength; his sword gradually lowered, until it just hanged as an extension to his limp limb. With his mouth opened, giving away his shock, the ranger now stared at the vampire, forgetting to draw breath. Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, the mage saw the state he was in and took a couple of steps closer, worried, but still not daring to loosen her guard on the vampire. “Zhoom?” she said, trying to call him back from his trance. As a response to her voice, he started breathing again but did not turn his gaze. She continued, attempting to convince him to leave the vampire’s offer on the table, “Don’t you dare to trust her! We don’t know who she was in her previous life, she might have been the emblem of charity and truth herself, but in her current form she can not be trusted! None of them can! They are all creatures that do nothing but use and exploit others! I’m not giving her my blood and you shouldn’t either, she’ll slash your throat!” Through a blur, the ranger heard his friend, but could not move. Am I enchanted? Can I trust my thoughts to be mine? he asked himself. He looked straight into the vampire’s shining eyes and could not deny what she had said. I know the truth when I hear it, he thought. With his heart, he sensed someone smiling, comforting, loving, caring… Shall I read you a story? Which one you’d like to hear tonight? He twitched to the sound of his mother’s voice inside his head, sending walls of ice crumbling down and revealing emotions he had shut away many years ago. Now they stood bare for the vampire to strike. And strike she did, with words of doom, “I watched your mother die.” The syllables rolled off of the vampire’s lips, emotionless. “Wh-what?” came the ranger’s broken-down response as his body jerked free from the catalepsy. “If you desire to know more, I’ll just add details on that to the bargain!” she answered with a victorious voice. “But, decide quickly, as your time is running out.” All this time, Lux Alba had been keenly watching them both, suffering aside as she saw the vampire torture him. Finally, it turned too much for her to bear and she struck to exorcise the evil demon out of this world, out of his brains, sucking his memories, out of their lives. “No, your time is up!” she shouted, aiming her staff at the creature, preparing for the spell that would rip the spirit and the unnatural body apart, never to reunite again. She did not expect what happened next. The vampire turned her gaze away from Zhoom and defied Lux Alba with those gleaming orbs. At the same instant, the ranger hit the mage in her back with the hilt of his sword, pressing all air out of her lungs. Astound, she loosened her grip from the staff and he took advantage on this, twisting the weapon from her hands. Giving her no chance to re-attack, he pushed her against a nearby pillar and locked her hands above her head. Not that there were to be any counter-attacks; she was too stupefied by his. She had let her guard down, not suspecting any hostility from his direction, and now she could do nothing but stare at his face, her eyes widened and screaming betrayal, refusing to believe this was happening. The vampire was breathing heavily, watching the play from a distance and clearly enjoying it with her every slow heartbeat. “I can’t let you kill her. She has the information I need,” Zhoom said firmly, his grip tightening on her wrists as she gradually started trying to fight him off. “On your mother? She lies!” Lux Alba coughed the words out, her lungs aching. “On Zhenneh-ra. And she’s willing to share it. I can’t count on Lord Frydae to be so co-operative,” the ranger explained as if he was talking to a ranting child, adjusting his movements to the mage’s struggle. “In fact, judging from what you’ve told, he’s probably just the opposite. She may lie or she may not, but I can’t afford the risk of not listening to what she has to say.” Hurt and angered because he still refused to release her, the mage ceased to fight and said with a shattered voice, “You choose who you trust. Now let me go.” Keeping the staff as far away from her as possible to prevent her from snatching it back, Zhoom released his grip from her hands and took a couple of steps backwards, raising his sword between them. For her, this was the last insult. She couldn’t force herself to be in the same room with either one of those two: the man who had abused her trust and the inhuman vamp looking mockingly at her. She turned her back on both of them and started climbing the stairs out of the underground halls with the rapidity of a wounded fox. Fighting off the pain piercing her lungs she forced her thoughts to focus on a single mantra; I need fresh air I need fresh air I need fresh air. The vampire watched her go, with a malicious gleam in her eyes. The look was quick to vanish, though, as if it never had been there in the first place, by the time Zhoom turned around to face her. “I’ll give you the blood, but I’m not helping you out before you’ve told me what you know about the both of them, as we agreed, OK?” the ranger half stated, half asked, while letting the mage’s staff fall from his hands. It dropped with a clear, ringing clang that echoed for a while in the hall, reminding those still standing there of the one they had just driven out. The light of the crescent moon dimmed, dying together with the echo. The vampire nodded, following the ranger’s movements eagerly. Without hesitation, Zhoom raised his sword and let it slide across his palm. The deep cut incited nothing more but a quick flinch on his face. He picked up one small goblet lying on the floor and held it below the wounded hand. Small rows of ruby droplets ran down, forming a tiny stream he caught in the goblet. As soon as it was full, he placed it just over the line, into the drawn-up cage. After retreating quickly from the silver border, he applied pressure on the wound, and waited for the vampire’s reaction. “I could heal that with a single touch, you know,” she said softly, reaching for the goblet. She drank the nectar with the thirst of a stranded man until she had emptied the cup and let it drop on the floor. In the meanwhile, Zhoom had tightened a scarf around the self-inflicted wound. With his other hand, he held his sword cautiously, aimed at the vampire, “Your story, please.” “I am a vampire of my word. You could put that away,” said she, pointing at the bloodied weapon. The ranger did not move an inch. “Well, I guess not, then,” she said raising her shoulders and shifting her weight from one foot to another. The movement left her dress swinging and stroking her hips ever so smoothly. Clinging to the pain, Zhoom refused to be distracted and the vampire decided to drop the allure act. For now. “I learned something long ago”, she said and lifted her hand. She turned her palm upwards and let out few strange words. A small ball, radiating blue light appeared floating above her hand. As the light grew stronger, the mist and shadows disappeared around her head, illuminating her exquisite features. Then, she pulled her floating, burgundy hair back, revealing her pointed ears; modelled to match the ranger’s. She really didn’t have to say it; even before her unveiled bourbon eyes connected with his green ones, he already knew. “Nice to meet you, Zhoom, I’m Zhenneh-ra.” Zhoom sat on the cold, hard floor, leaning on the same pillar he had pushed Lux Alba against just a few moments ago. His head was hurting from all the questions that raced in circles inside him. Trying to calm down, he had decided to rest for a while. Now, all he could do was to watch the notoriously beautiful vampire, who used to be his kin, and try to pick up one of the questions crowding his brains in herds. The blood had brought new glow to Zhenneh-ra’s skin. She stood waiting for the ranger to say something, fearing that her demise would arrive any minute now. But, still, she refused to give anything away and warn the ranger, not even to speed up things. So she listened intensively, until her alert senses picked up the familiar sound she dreaded to hear. It approached fast, until she assumed it reached the top of the stairway. A choking feeling grasped her throat, but suddenly, to her surprise, she heard it stop and head for some different direction in a growing pace. Relieved, she let a hint of a smile play around the corners of her lips. Zhoom wondered what she was thinking and what voices she was listening to with that sort of twisted expression glued on her face. The blue ball of light flew in circles around her like a domesticated bird. Fearing to ask the question he most needed answers to, he simply started with, “What happened to you?” Zhenneh-ra directed her gaze back to the ranger, that peculiar smile still lingering on. There was no life in her eyes when she started her story, telling him about the letters and imprisonment. As her story continued on, a hint of fondness mixed with utter bitterness in her voice, “Lord Frydae gave me new life. When I woke up from that horrible nightmare that my imprisonment had been, I came to my senses in this tower. But not in this room, I think it was somewhere high above the ground. I felt very cold. Every inch of my skin throbbed, my thirst was killing me again, and, honestly, I couldn’t even see straight. My first attempts to rise and walk around were pitiful, as I had completely lost my balance. Finally, I managed to get up with my legs shaking and trying to orientate myself in a middle of a round room with a stone-arced window and walls covered with dusty old tomes. There was a bed I had laid on and a softly padded chair nearby. Oh, I suspect those have long decayed by now. I couldn’t quite fathom where I was and how I had escaped through the walls of the dungeons. All I could remember, was the sinfully soft touch of my rescuer’s cape, his strong arms, and mesmerising eyes. I tried to open the door to look around my new lodgings, but it was locked outside. I knocked on it, fearing that by some sick twist of fate, I had just been removed from one prison to another. But here, my knock was answered. I instantly recognised my saviour as I saw him standing at the door. Lord Frydae introduced himself to me and presented his wish that I would find it comfortable here. Not a single word was uttered during the short conversation with the Lord; I could hear his voice inside my head. Beside Frydae, there stood a small child, a sleepy girl in her night-dress. She followed the Lord as if in hypnosis into the room, and when ordered, she ran to me. The Lord asked very politely, if I could mind the girl for him for a while. Somehow, I felt full of happiness and joy. After I had agreed, the Lord took his leave and locked the door behind him. We sat down on the bed and she climbed onto my lap, quickly falling asleep, calling for her mother in the midst of her dreams, her arms around me. Slowly, I followed her. I don’t know how much time had passed when I woke up the next time. I felt totally refreshed; my thirst had disappeared, my eyes could see clearly, my senses were more perceptive than I could ever have imagined them to be, and my balance had returned. I peeked out of the arced window, admiring the bright moon that caressed my cheeks with its light. But then I noticed the awkward position the girl lay in. She had slumped in the chair near the door. Dried blood smeared her neck and right shoulder. Instantly, I ran to her and tried to revive the small, delicate being. But I couldn’t, because she was long gone. It was in that very moment that I saw her blood spread also on my clothes. In horror, I understood what I had done and kneeled down on the floor in agony. Obviously, the Lord heard my grief, because suddenly, he stood at the door, looking at me and the child so compassionately, that I felt immediately comforted. I was forgiven, the sin I had committed was lifted from my shoulders through the power of his words, ‘Be not afraid. You’ll learn to control it.’ And I did learn, “ she paused suddenly and smiled at Zhoom. “Does that young weapon smith still linger in town? Waiting for my visit every night with a window open?” she asked, with an expression of pleasure and harshness the ranger shunned away from. “You can inquire him if I have learnt to control it.” The vampire was clearly daring him to ask what she meant by referring to the nightly visits, but again, he refused to take the bait. Instead, he encouraged her to carry on with the story, “Why did Lord Frydae save you?” “I believe I was to be his plan B for taking over, ” she answered with a tone that left no other impression than that in fact, she was sure of this. “You know, he was worried out of his mind that no one in that offspring of his could be worthy of rising to rule Amityvale together and after him. Of course, I ruined that plan,” she laughed, “by turning against him. As my powers grew, I tried to take his place in mastering this tower and the powers that lay here. Unfortunately,” she continued, cutting her laughter short, “I had terrible timing and lost. After that he locked me in here. He took extra pleasure from telling me, after I had been defeated, that he had not saved me out of compassion or charity. He had bought me from my loving husband in exchange of some old spells. You might understand, that my gratitude towards him somewhat lessened on hearing that.” Getting a bit moody again, Zhenneh-ra wanted to change the subject and get out of the cellar she had spent the countless hours in. She was oddly curious why this ranger from her previous homeland had come after her, but decided to save that question for the last, “Now, our bargain is almost completed. Are you ready to hear what happened to your mother?” How could I ever be ready for that? Zhoom thought, remembering the chaotic time when the genocide started. One day, his mother saw soldiers approaching their home. Fearing the worst, she quickly sent her son away, carrying a bag of small provisions and with directions to his late father’s distant cousin. She had promised to join him at the Oasis of the Sickle, just outside of town, but she never came. After watching black smoke rising and poisoning the air with a horrible stench for two days, he finally left. He ran the nights and hid the days until the land he had grown up in was only a memory. But his new home didn’t turn out to be a sanctuary, either; the welcome his relatives gave him was far from warm. Now, forced to face those days yet again, all he could do was to say, “Yes,” hoping to cut away the pain at last. “Your mother was executed one month after I had been imprisoned. She looked famished as they dragged her to the Dead-man’s Square, so I expect they had kept her in the dungeons for awhile before that,” related Zhenneh-ra as if she were reciting an old history book she had no personal connection to. “They questioned her about her son, since he had not been found with her. That’s when I heard your name. Even after an hour’s worth of investigations on the scorching courtyard, she refused to tell anything about you. After that, her ending was quick. The executioner managed to behead her with one strike only, despite that she was the last one to go on that particular day and he was surely tired and his aim in a bad shape. “ The vampire scanned Zhoom’s face, contemplating, finally adding, “You have inherited her bravery.” Giving him no time to answer, she continued by asking, “Now, why did you want to find me if you didn’t know me at all? You didn’t know me having information on your mother, did you?” It took a little while before he could answer. Heavy-hearted he pictured his mother’s last moments before his eyes. Those flew away like a lightning, when he slowly understood the vampire’s words that she had probably been held in prison for some time before that. His brains shunned from imaging what they might have done to her upon the capture, on the way to the dungeons, during the imprisonment. He clenched his fist tighter and tighter, feeling angry that there was nothing he could do to heal the history, no-one to revenge to, until the wound started bleeding again and Zhenneh-ra had to repeat her question, with a hint of irritation in her voice. “Read this,” the ranger answered, pushing his thoughts aside for a while and sliding Djamun’s note into the square. She picked it up, read it, and threw it away, simple as that. “I know my father died years ago. His daughter died, too. This doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. Just pointless words on decayed paper, jotted down by a doomed person dreaming after a ghost,” she said, the tone of her voice so unbelievably cold. Then she looked him straight into his eyes and said harshly, “You should be caring for the living and not run the errands of those who are already beyond saving. Now, hold your promise and help me out of here,” she ended with a demanding voice as if she were yet again the Queen and Zhoom her lowly subordinate. “Where would you go?” the ranger asked, refusing to let her judging affect him. He tried to play time, because he was now doubting his promise to release this emotionless predator to the world. “I have some appointments to fill, some acquaintances to visit, some debts to pay and collect,” she answered vaguely, waving her hand expressively to tell him that was all the explanation he was going to get. “How can I release you?” asked the ranger. He found that he couldn’t take back his word, he couldn’t break his word even if his life would depend on it. He could not refute what he thought his mother had taught him, at least not now when her memory was so near. Right now, he just wanted the vampire to disappear, so that he could grief for a moment in peace. “You see that mat?” instructed the vampire, pointing at the strange object that he and Lux Alba had seen lying near the door. “It’s embedded with spells that annihilate the silver magic in these painted lines. If you roll it out for me, on the floor, from the stairs to this cage of mine, I’ll have a path I can walk on.” Holding to his end of the bargain, Zhoom stood up, rolled the mat and watched her walk away. For a goodbye, she directed that half malicious, half alluring smile at him one last time. “I hope we’ll meet again in different circumstances, my brave ranger. I’d love to answer to all the other questions you have for me but dared not to ask, ” she said licking her lips and taunting him one last time before disappearing. Freed from witnesses, the ranger hid his face into his hands and embraced his own failure in the hollow halls of the tower.

Fleur Du Mal -> RE: (DF) Avoiding the Inevitable (12/12/2008 14:22:50)
9 The Lost Sheep Through the canopies, against the clouded sky, two bats flew, circling around each other. A passer-by would hardly have noticed them, and even if he had, he wouldn’t probably have understood that they were on a mission. They frolicked in the air like butterflies, looking as if their flight aimed for fun only. Still, with each dive and turn, they sped through the ether to a certain direction, determined to deliver a report. Their shrieks were too high for the average man to hear, but on a hill slope few miles away from the disgraced guardian tower, stood a creature far from the mundane averages of the world, listening. Cloaked in a cape that absorbed all the light around him, the creature waited for his spies to arrive. He knew they would bring some significant news as he had instructed them not to leave the tower otherwise. Anxious from waiting, he had even released the poor girl he had met gathering berries in the wild. Well, not exactly released, since she still lay unconscious at his feet and under his power, with a basket full of deliciously ripe raspberries fallen nearby. The bats arrived and bowed before him, reporting that two adventurers had broken the door to the cellar and found the captive. Even more interested in the identity of the strangers than the state of his prisoner, he asked for a description of the duo. Judging by the reply, he deemed that the man was a total stranger to him. But the moment they told him the name of the female mage, a gorgeous grin slit his face into two. Handing the girl over to his servants, he shifted his form to an old grey-feathered owl, and flew with transcendental speed towards the tower. This time, I won’t ask. Full of indignation for the torture, humiliation, and pain his mother had endured before the gates of death had flung open to greet her, Zhoom reflected over the futility of everything. Now that he forced himself to think of it, he suspected that the time he had invested to find Zhenneh-ra, a mere stranger’s daughter to him, was just another search for excitement. Could he really believe that he had striven towards something honourable and heroic? After he lost his mother, he had been ever so eager to throw his energy into anything that was good for an adrenaline boost. In the dim, silvery light that still lingered on in the underground halls, he perceived himself as the guardian tower itself; the outside made of sturdy-looking stones that, in reality, were ready to crumble away around the emptiness inside. Did he hunt to catch something, or to flee from himself, his own history, and the heavily-weighing destiny of being the last one of his kind? The pain he felt inside grew fast. Trying to numb it, the ranger hit his injured palm hard against one pillar, causing the wound to open once again. Yes, this was the kind of pain he was used to deal with. For a short moment, the pressure in his chest seemed to ease a little. But the retribution was swift. Like a hammer, it shattered his precious morals into countless shards, each piercing his heart. He had hidden behind a self-made illusion, that holding one’s word, no matter the cost, was something to cherish. Surely, his mother had never meant that. If she had seen the genocide coming, wouldn’t her teachings have been totally different? Maybe she would’ve thought him something about surviving, a skill he had been left to learn by himself. She never told the truth about his father, either. He knew the name but not the why. Why had he left them? Would he have been able to save his mother? This quest of his, to find Zhenneh-ra, had ended in a gloomy cellar disgracing all souls in it. There had been no contract to be filled, no life to be rescued. To make it even worse, she had practically denounced her father. Djamun’s anguish after her had not meant anything to the ruthless thing she now was. Although it wasn’t her own fault that she had turned into such a creature -- and she surely didn’t deserve to be punished anymore that she had already been -- Zhoom still regretted releasing her. I’ve failed. Time to pick up the pieces and leave. Raising his head, he scanned the empty space around him and feared that he had destroyed the friendship between him and Lux Alba. He didn’t believe that he had hurt her physically; the trained precision of his attacks allowed him to only startle, nothing more, when needed. But what other damage might he have inflicted? He had hoped that after finding out Zhenneh-ra’s location and being able to safe her, or at least put her to rest by her father, the mage could have forgiven the rough treatment. Now that hope had faded. His determination, his ridiculous will to honour his questionable contracts -- whether they were with the living, dead, or undead -- had caused him to dishonour a friendship. Zhoom’s eye caught her staff lying on the floor. At once, he realised that she was out there alone, in the middle of the everlasting night, in the heart of a vampire-breeding area where he had just released one vampire more -- and she was there unarmed! Forgetting his pain, Zhoom picked the staff up and hurried to the staircase, shouting her name. With the speed of a hawk, he reached the broken door, squeezed through it, and headed straight for the main entrance. On the front yard, he saw tracks that hadn’t been there when they had arrived. Lux Alba’s footprints turned left, towards the nearby hills, but what really startled the ranger was an odd-looking feather that lay on those imprints. He would have interpreted it to having fallen from an owl, if it hadn’t been so huge. Further away, her tracks mixed with a man’s footprints. Following her trail for a few yards, they suddenly vanished as if the man had grown wings. After that, only she had continued on the path. The ranger ran to the horses, mounted his mare, and spurred it to a desperate gallop towards the hills. His heart throbbed with fear, afraid that he might soon lose all the tracks in the world. Striding up the hill slope, Lux Alba tried to shake off her shattered state of mind. She was oblivious to all around her; she hadn’t even made a cognitive decision about choosing this particular path. Instead, she just took the first route curving away from the vicinity of that cursed place. And now she felt stuck. She couldn’t find the power in her to turn back, though she knew that would be the right thing to do. If something went wrong, Zhoom might need her help. Then, remembering again every little detail of his attack on her, her thoughts burst in rage. He can go to hell! He chose his company! He can carry the consequences, since he’s already so eager to... Hurrying upwards for a while to stop the malicious thoughts, she suddenly found herself out of breath and leaned herself against an old fence. Curiously, she glanced about and saw that she stood beside a deserted sheep pen. The fence circled an ample area with short hay and the occasional clover growing in it. At the far end of the pen stood a crooked hut, probably where the shepherd had kept his watch in. Without warning, the clouds curled away in the sky, allowing the moon to bask the area with a haunted glow. The eerie beauty of the place touched the mage’s heart with sadness and melancholia. She realised that her own actions weren’t any more honourable than Zhoom’s. Let’s face it. Again, I have fled… Captured in this pattern of behaviour, in this exhausting flight from everything, she couldn’t, ironically, find a way out. Whether it was the actions of others or her own that caused her to end up rejected, she still reacted the same way; always running from the situation. When would she have the courage to face the chance of failure? When would she stop measuring her own worth by what others thought of her? The sound of a bird fluttering nearby caused her to raise her eyes. The divine light of the moon caught her attention, reminding her of a certain clear night in the past. She remembered her father taking her ice-skating to a lake surrounded by white snowdrifts bathing in the moonlight. In the freezing wind, her father had given her his mittens, as she had forgotten hers at home. Standing by the glimmering field of ice, he had followed her staggering attempts to keep her stance. After a while, it had gotten easier. He had gradually stopped worrying about her falling and drifted into thoughts of his own. Skating closer to her father, she had wanted to show how fast she was learning, but her smile froze to her lips as she noticed the deep sadness in his eyes. It had hurt like knives. All at once, her skates had turned heavier than boulders buried deep beneath the roots of a mountain and her movements came to a complete halt as she started to wonder, Why didn’t mother come with us tonight? Don’t be sad, daddy, I still love you. The thought had come to her mind, the words to her lips, and still, she wasn't able to utter them aloud. On the frozen lake, she had stood abandoned and silent, watching her father cry because of something she now suspected her mother was guilty of. She had remained still until the mittens that were too big for her gradually slipped from her hands and dropped on the ice. On the hillside overlooking the grim valley of the tower, she found out that she had finally run out of tears to shed. Sunken deep into thoughts, amidst voices gone-by, she didn’t even notice that a dark figure crept behind her, until long, bony fingers twisted around her neck. Too late she realised that her staff was left in the cellar with Zhoom, and there was no way she could fight the intruder off. Her hands whipped the air desperately, trying to grab the adversary’s arms, reaching to scratch his face, anything, but it was all in vain. Dizziness started to kick in. A question haunted her mind, Who are you? Almost as if the attacker could read her mind, she felt him bend over to her ear, his cold breath tickling her temple, whispering in a dreadfully familiar voice. “I heard you’ve been looking for me. Well, here I am!” Damn you, Frydae! was her last thought before passing out. Seconds stretched themselves to what seemed like hours by the sheep pen, as a cape black as a night without stars covered them from prying eyes. Finally, the vampire released his grasp from her pale throat, now streaked with red marks from his fingers. Unconscious, but still alive, she inhaled sharply as he made his sweet way to her neck. He certainly asked for no permission before his hands travelled south, ripping through fabric and knowing no mercy.

Fleur Du Mal -> RE: (DF) Avoiding the Inevitable (12/30/2008 6:50:17)
10 Revised Future Smothering, velvety darkness rolled gradually away from Lux Alba’s eyes, now slowly opening to meet a foreign sight: the dark interior of a wooden room. Bewildered, she lifted her upper body slightly, and let her eyes wander around the bleak walls until they caught the first shape she recognised: Zhoom, sleeping. She opened up her mouth to call to him, but before any sound reached her lips, a wave of nausea rushed through her body. Instinctively, she rolled on the other side of the damp mattress she lay on and threw up. For a while, she stayed immobile, letting her breathing become steadier while taking in the surroundings. The old mattress she lay on had likely been removed from a shaky-looking bed-frame nearby. Steady beat of rain hit the windowless walls of the wooden shack. She heard a horse outside; its movements spoke of unrest. The animal’s audible restlessness set the mage's nerves on edge as she tried to remember how she and the ranger had ended up in this run-down cabin. When the first faint image of recollection flashed in her mind, she immediately twitched and pulled a hand to her neck. Her fingers met a raspy surface of dried blood, which caused her to vomit again. So much blood… Forcing herself to sit up with some difficulty, she prepared to examine the wounds, but got distracted in her intentions when she realised she was wrapped in a dark cape that was not her own. Breathing in the familiar scent on the fabric soon relaxed her; undoubtedly, it belonged to Zhoom. Never before had she forgiven anybody this quickly. With a swelling heart and warm affection in her eyes, she glanced at his direction. But the blissful affection was destined to turn into sadness when she saw his pale complexion, the dark shades under the closed eyelids, and the white streaks on the cheeks. Inch by inch, she drew herself towards the heat she sensed radiating from the resting ranger. Halfway across the room she suddenly noticed that this was no normal sensation.. The revelation unsettled her enough to make her halt before going further. Then she felt her skin tingling all around. Carefully, she opened the cape hugging her ever so tightly, and looked down. No. Anything but this. Through the shears in her robe she saw that her skin had transformed to perfectly smooth, paler than the moon, almost translucent substance, and every imperfection, every battle scar had disappeared. Bringing her hands back to her neck she searched for wounds. She found none. Even disturbed to the core because of the hunger she felt for the warmth radiating from Zhoom, she now understood it all. I need to get out of here before... The horse grew more restless outside when she started backing towards the door. As she pushed it open, she came to meet the enlarged eyes of the beast. Seeing her, the mare bolted and started kicking into the air, trying to hit her in full-grown panic. Strays of water flew from its hooves and splashed cold against her face as she ducked away from the attack. Little did the horse understand that the mage was even more afraid of herself than the animal could ever be. The mare’s neighing finally woke up Zhoom, who saw a pale figure standing at the door against a steady stream of rain. “Lux?” he asked, his voice full of hope, disbelief, and wonder, all at the same time. But he never got an answer, as the figure vanished like a ghost behind the ever-folding curtains of rain, and leaving the door swinging on its hinges. The empty mattress and the purged stomach-contents on the floor spoke volumes to the ranger. Relieved that he hadn't just imagined the pale figure he had just seen, Zhoom rose up in the crooked shepherd's shelter and made haste to the door. But outside, he only found the shaking horse and the continuously sweeping rain. Lux Alba had disappeared somewhere far beyond sight. The ranger wavered by the door, uncertain if he should go after her. He couldn’t understand why she had run away from him again. Unless she blames me, he thought. Immediately after this uncomfortable thought, an even more horrifying possibility dawned upon him. What if Zhenneh-ra had something to do with this? If it is so, I can never forgive myself. Even the sole remembrance of finding her near that pasture filled him with desperation. The sight of her slumped body by the wayside had felt like his heart had been ripped out, chopped to pieces, and all veins shred viciously from it, sending a spray of blood to cover his eyes in blinding red. Dozens of crows had flown away from nearby fern trees as he had jumped off his horse and ran to her, the scream of despair parting his lips, “No!” He had seen the marks on her neck. He had seen the shredded robe. He had touched her cheek only to find it so cold, so utterly devoid of life. He had wrapped her in his cape; the last protective action he could ever make for her. As he had lifted the body to his arms, the brightest of all moons had been clouded once again, turning her skin colour to a morbid grey pallor. He held her and cried, refusing to believe that she had parted and left him alone. But she hadn't breathed, she grew colder by the minute, and the clouds had taken a darker hue before the heavens joined to the wake, opening up. Carrying her body, he had started to walk towards the fragile-looking cabin. Silently, the mare followed him, butting its head occasionally against his shoulder blades, but he refused to give the mage for it to carry. Why would he have done that? His heart had weighed way more than she did. A shivering suspicion dawned upon Zhoom. Was she really alive? Or was she only not dead? He looked into the darkness, knowing that he had to find her, if only to apologise his part in this. It took frustratingly long before he managed to calm down his horse and leave the sheep pen. Her tracks were already quickly dissolving into the rainwater, but with perseverance, he continued to follow them. The speed of her movements astonished him. Nevertheless, setting his mind once again to succeed, he refused to give up; this hunt was to claim salvation to his heart. Feet barely touching the ground, Lux Alba ran through the forest. As she gradually merged together with the wind in this speedy escape, she sensed her physique changing. The mage was both unnerved and exhilarated that this horrid new form of hers felt currently so liberating. Eventually, she arrived at a creek. Wet from the chilly rain but not affected by the cold, she took the cape off, and gently folded it to her side. Then she reached for some water, cupping it with her hands and starting to wash off the dried blood from her neck. The raindrops created enough ripples to the lazily running creek's surface, kindly shielding her from her own reflection. As the questionable charm of novelty run off, she found out that she still had some tears to shed. They mixed up with the fresh water and with the blood. And along them came the memories. Jennie opened her tiny window and wriggled out of it, balancing for a moment on the outside, looking at the long drop below her feet before she jumped. Fracturing pain hit her left leg as she landed on the dried grass below. For a moment, she held her leg with both her hands and bit her lip, fighting against crying. Inside the house her mother continued screaming. Then she heard her little brother yell. Her dear little brother. They never did get along. He had always been mama's boy just as she had been daddy's girl. And now he finally had to grow up...too fast. She stretched her hand to grab the fire wand that had fallen nearby. The setting sun stung her eyes as she gathered strength to crawl. “Jennie did this! No one's taking my family away from me! Especially no wanna-be magic-junkie unworthy to clean a mercenary's boots! I'm going to avenge Dad for you Mama, I'm going to kill her!” she heard him shout through violent sobbing. “No, don't go!” her mother pleaded with broken voice, but her words fainted away. A moment later, Jennie could hear her brother rummaging into his own room. She knew what he was searching. The uncalled-for will to survive gave her the needed strength to pull her body across the lawn and under their wooden porch. Her father had built their home on a wide stretch of grass, a half a mile away from the nearest forest, and hence there was no place to hide in the immediate vicinity of the house. So, she set to wait for the dark under the porch, accompanied by the little worms and spiders that kept their colonies in there. Her brother stomped out and looked around, but didn't have the imagination to search her beneath the platform he stood on. “When the night drives you back home, sister, I'll be ready for you!” he yelled at the surrounding empty vastness. Through the wooden planks she could see her little brother waiting with a bow in his shivering hand, an arrow in the other, ready to shoot it through her miserable being if he would catch even a glimpse of her. Tears ran down on his face and rained on the porch. From there, the salty drops withered their way all the way down through the cracks in the platform, finally ending up to be absorbed in her clothes. It took eight hours before he gave up and his mother dragged him inside from the cold night. Jennie waited for an hour more before she dared to crawl out. She couldn't stand, so she crossed the open space on all fours until she reached the edge of the forest. There she towed herself up against a tree, her clothes a total mess. She couldn't bear to turn around for one last time. Dragging her left foot behind her, she advanced from tree to tree, leaving her family and her name behind. Now, Lux Alba shivered amidst the tormenting memories. She shifted her weight a little to grab the cape. Doing so, her position altered, and an arrow coming from behind missed its target, flying past her cheek and plunging into bushes a little farther away. As she heard another one slicing the air, her eyes flew wide open. She threw the cape around her and ran, leaving the second arrow to hit the ground on the exact point she had just sat on. With haunting speed she fled farther into the forest. A fraction of a second later, she was hiding on the branches of a big maple tree on the other side of the creek. Directing her eyes to the estimated origin of the shooter, she discerned one man, cloaked and aiming with a crossbow. By the smell, she sensed yet another man nearby. She shifted her gaze a little to the left and saw that the other man was, in fact, only a boy, carrying a quiver full of arrows and a tiny sword. The hunters approached. The man knelt by the creek to pull the arrow from the ground. As he placed it back on the bow, Lux Alba noticed that its tip was cast in silver. Unaware that their prey still lingered around and eavesdropped, the man whispered to himself, “Missed that one. Too bad. Long time since I've seen a white one 'round 'ere.” The hunter shot a harsh look at the boy and continued a little louder, “Well, I guess that one's gone 'yond our reach for tonight. Your next lesson in smiting those un'oly beings must wait for another time, Sonny-boy.” The man turned to his young companion for an answer. His worn-out clothes matched Sonny-boy's, whose drenched coat and trousers had more patches than original fabric. Still silent, the boy looked up with an earnest expression on his hungry face and nodded obediently. Then the two turned away and left, directing their path towards the town. The white, new-born vampire descended from the tree and walked deeper into the forest till she came to an old linden with large branches forking from the trunk. She climbed up a few branches until she found a spot she could safely rest on. Sighing and leaning her back against the trunk, she contemplated, Is this how my so-called life shall be like? Fleeing from the arrows, stakes, and swords aimed at me? Hiding from the sun, pretending to be alive at night? Attacking and seducing my former kind for food? The last thought brought about a memory of Zhoom sleeping in the shepherd's hut and her closing in, hungrily. She pulled the cape tighter around herself and shivered. Denounced from the humans, denounced from the vampires. The first ones would do exactly what the hunter had just tried if she dared to make a contact. The latter ones would surely rip her apart if she had the courage to show her face around them, after sending so many of their kind to meet their ancestors in long-delayed family-reunions. Starting with the creature who had lived in her master's attic. The memory of the countless human bones littering the dark floors forced a bitter laugh out of her. Ironically, she was now one of the race she had despised ever since those defining months, long-gone but still not buried. To how many dances she took me to bait the young men? Always in flirty dresses. Always asking those who fell for it to come in secrecy for the sake of protecting her protégé's honour. Lies! No, it was for the sake of supplying her lover with blood when the needy little boys came to call... Lord Frydae's revenge was far more devious than she had realised. Thinking of the infamous Lord and his brethren angered her to make a grave vow; she would hunt her new kind starting from that confounded creature that had forced her into this form. Maybe, by doing this, she could convince people, her friends at least, that she was still the same person inside and not a mere monster. But, she did realise, it was only a fool's hope. Lux Alba had no idea if she could survive being exposed to the sun, but as long as she was in Amityvale, that really didn't matter. Planning her next move on the road to revenge, she dozed off to a dreamless sleep. Perhaps, this time, she was pardoned from having nightmares because none of them could rival the horrors of her very existence.

Fleur Du Mal -> RE: (DF) Avoiding the Inevitable (12/31/2008 6:21:03)
11 On Hunters and Moonlight From the very first moment Zhoom laid his eyes on Amityvale, he hated it. The occasional lamp post illuminated the place just enough to reveal its dismal look, but not enough to light it up. The cheerless houses loitered around in small groups, and from the few people he saw on the narrow streets, he couldn't tell if they were humans, vampires, or werewolves in disguises. The ranger was very well aware that the circumstances that had led him there had a significant effect on his perceptions. Hence, he decided to stop the negative judging and focus on catching his game. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he could not get rid off the disturbing feel that hung over the whole town. The feel of being watched. After losing Lux Alba's tracks on the creek, he had followed the trail of two humans who had been at the scene. Now he silently cursed as all footprints got entangled on the main street. He raised his eyes from the ground and scanned the surroundings, searching for the two: a grown man and a child. Based on a silver-tipped arrow he had recovered from the bushes on the opposite bank of the stream he assumed that at least one of them carried a bow. Half of an hour passed as he stood in the dribbling rain, waiting. A mother trudged past him, pushing a squeky baby carriage with one hand and guiding her older child with the other. She paid no attention to Zhoom, nor did the handful of other people, who were scurrying from building to building trying to stay dry. Farther away, the ranger saw a young man enter the town smithery, but no one who would match the pair he searched for roamed the muddy streets. Tired, and feeling his stomach would soon start to eat itself, Zhoom cast a hungry look at the inn located on the same street. A good spot to make inquiries as well, he thought, directing his horse towards the establishment. As the ranger strode into the dining room, his eyes caught a middle-aged man and a shaggy-haired boy in his teens sitting in a corner table with a crossbow laid on it. Finally, a stroke of luck! While he waited for the bartender to acknowledge him, he took his time observing them. There were no more vacant tables in the dining room, but by the table the man and the boy sat, was one empty chair. After he had at last succeeded in placing his order, he used the rush as an excuse to join the hunter's party. Greeting them both with a simple, “Evening,” he sat down. His food, an aromatic stew of spring lamb and pumpkin, followed him shortly. From what he had seen so far, he decided that with this particular man, it would be better to compliment his weapon than his son to start a conversation. Hence, he took a fork in his hand, as if he were ready to eat and nothing else. Then he suddenly turned a little and pointed the man's crossbow with the piece of cutlery, asking, “That's some quality work, your crossbow I mean. Is it a composite?” “Ahh, you 'ave an eye for bows, don't you? ” responded the weather-beaten man, while his son followed the sprouting conversation as intently as any young lad stuffing his face could possibly manage. “Oh, yes, I have one of my own, but not a crossbow,” Zhoom answered, waving towards the mentioned curved weapon he had laid leaning against the table. The man glanced at it, commenting briefly, "Looks like a reliable companion." Before he had time to return to eating, the ranger shot another question, “So, who's your weapon-smith or did you assembly that yourself?” “Myself. 'Ere, take a look if you want to,” the man answered, and quite proudly handed the crossbow to the ranger. The boy's eyes followed as Zhoom took the undrawn bow and weighed it appraisingly in his hands. Then he turned it upside-down and felt the surface of the tiller. Seven wedges nicked in the wood covered one third of the length. The hunter looked at Zhoom with acceptance and said, “Glad to see someone able to appreciate the handicraft.” Returning the weapon back to its owner, the ranger asked, “What's the story behind the dents?” With a grim expression creeping onto his face, the man looked straight back at him and answered, “One for ev'ry vampire I've slaughtered.” Then he turned away to his food and the boy mimicked his example, lowering his gaze back to the plate he had already cleaned. Contemplating for a moment on his chances to lure out any information considering the past hours, Zhoom fiddled with his food for a while in silence. Then he took a very casual tone, and baited the hook, “Dangerous business. I ran into one yesterday.” The man kept his gaze on his plate, but the ranger could see his left eyebrow arching, as he replied between the mouthfuls,“You did? Male or female?” Acting as the subject would have no more value to him than a mere trifle, he answered, “Female.” The man stopped eating, and scanned Zhoom's neck. Then he smirked and retorted, “Man, she 'bviously didn't like you. Your lucky night.” The boy raised his eyes quickly to see if the ranger's expression would have changed, but it hadn't. His father went on, quite relaxed now, wiping some gravy from his lips with a hankie, “You know, I almost got one near a creek. But she manag'd to flee. Tell me, was the one you ran into, dressed in white?” “No, ” the ranger answered, still keeping his eyes on the food and shaking his head slightly. “Oh, there are more than one going 'bout then, I guess,” the man said, with a strange, feverish gleam in his eyes. “Have you finished, Sonny-boy?” he asked, poking his son on the arm. As soon as the boy nodded, the man gestured him to stood up, as he himself did, and collected their belongings. He then bid goodnight to Zhoom, “We'll be leaving now. Time for the boy to get some shut-eye. Thank ye for the company.” The ranger watched them go without touching his food anymore. After the two had disappeared through the door, he waved to a barmaid and asked for information about them. As an answer, the bored-looking young girl with freckles to spare leaned a bit closer to the ranger and shoved an opened hand in front of him. A couple of coins set her tongue free and the ranger soon knew where the odd family lived and that, after a nameless vampire had desanguinated Sonny-boy's mother, his father had lived only to smite them all down. His son followed him everywhere, silent and much deprived of love, having no other purpose than to act as an armour-bearer to his father. I'll need to find Lux before they do, Zhoom thought. Deciding to keep an eye on the two he asked for a room in the inn and retired upstairs without much hope for sleep. A fortnight passed. In desperate need of rest, Zhoom got more and more worried and irritated each day. Every night he feared that he would witness the weather-beaten man cut another dent into the tiller of his crossbow. Returning from the day's search, he scanned the inn's clientele, but didn't see the odd pair in there. Tonight, only a young couple smirking at each other over a generous helping of pumpkin-pasta, and the old town-doctor, relaxing with a pot of tea, sat in the dinner room. Too tired to eat anything, the ranger stomped straight up to his room and secured the door behind him, No way of knowing who's who in this wretched place. He took his sword off and hanged his bow and quiver on the coat-rack. A candle flickered on a writing table, sending shadows to dance around the small space. Reflecting the light, Lux Alba's staff leaned against the wall near the fireplace, where he had left it on the first night. He shot a melancholy look at it and wondered, if he would ever see it in her hands again. Just as Zhoom thought of crashing into the bed, a fluttering noise reached his ears. The weariness vanished instantly from him as he grabbed his sword and listened. A knock broke the brief silence. A knock on the second-floor window. He doubted his senses for a minute and then blew the candle out. The silver-rays of the moon cast light on a white figure outside the window. The moment he recognised the face peering in through the glass, he dropped his sword. Before it hit the floor, he had already reached the window. With trembling hands, he jerked it open and watched mesmerised as Lux Alba stepped onto the sill and into the room. Was it the awkwardness of the situation or her new form that electrified the whole room? His thoughts deteriorated to a mere blur as he laid eyes on her. Didn't she look better than ever, her skin glowing in the liquid moonlight, her eyes alluringly bright and embedded with such depth they would surely be capable of drowning all sorrows imaginable? But yet, her voice sounded so shy, when she finally closed the window for him, when she re-lighted the candle, saying, “Hello, Zhoom.” After waiting for an answer in vain, she continued, “I'm sorry...” When the ranger heard her apologising, he came to his senses and cut her short, “No, I'm sorry for everything that has happened to you. I'm the one to blame for your being...” He gulped at the word, unable to utter it aloud, because doing that would make it final. He tried to continue, “If I had listened,” but was cut off as she lifted a finger in front of his lips, motioning him to stop. “I don't hold this against you,” she said gently, before pulling her hand away and smiling. Then something happened, that hadn't occurred in several days; the ranger found his heart soothed, responding to that smile. He lead her to be seated in one if the chairs pulled near the writing table. He sat on another one and pleaded her to tell what had happened after she had run out of the dark guardian tower. “I need your help,” Lux Alba said after a long silence that had followed her finishing relating how she had been spying on Lord Frydae. “I can't take him on my own. After he turned me into this, he can sense me as well as I can sense him before I can get close enough. Something to do with the blood-sharing.” Zhoom looked into her eyes and saw all the hate and loathing she felt against the infamous Lord for stealing her life, shutting her off from the sun, and making her doubt if anybody would ever see her anything other than just a vampire. Her determination to get her revenge, no matter the cost, made him utterly sad. He thought about the bowman dedicating his life to slaying vampires but never getting his wife back, only depriving his son out of love. And here she was, offering herself as another meaningless sacrifice on the altar of vengeance. Such a beautiful sacrifice. He knew he couldn't talk her out of this, so he just nodded, asking, “What do you want me to do?” “I need you to distract him. If he focuses on you, I'll have a shot in surprising him,” came the sure reply, “I've watched him enough from a distance to know that he crosses a certain path every time he leaves his hideout to feed.” Zhoom feared it was going to be a reckless mission, but he still couldn't find any argument inside of him that he could use to convince her to lay it aside. So, he asked when would they leave for this vendetta. She smiled, somewhat relieved, stood up, and promised she would come to pick him up after he had gotten some sleep. The ranger stood up, too, a protest escaping his lips, “But don't you understand that I can't sleep, if I don't know where you are?” Sadness rose to her eyes as she replied, “I can't remain here. For your own good. I might not be able to... keep away.” With these words, she tried to move closer to the window, but surprisingly, the ranger had surpassed the vampire in speed and now blocked her way to it, pleading, “Please, stay.” She wavered. But she knew, that it wouldn't be right. Could she be certain that he wanted her to stay because of her or was it because her new form? She shook her head and diverted her eyes from his face but couldn't bring herself to move. “At least, look at me,” he continued entreating, “I've been searching for you so many days now, not knowing where you are and now you would again leave me here, afraid of who's gonna go after you this time. An angered vampire, perhaps. Or a vampire slayer, on his own mission to retribution. Stay here for the night. I need ...” Hesitating, he paused in the middle of the sentence. He meant to say that he needed to be sure she was safe but it came out differently. It came out revealing what he was really burning inside for, “..to hold you.” Those words draw her gaze back, to meet his eyes. She trembled a little but fought still. No, her reason gave her the same answer yet again. However, her heart refused to accept it and so she remained where she was, at arm’s length from the ranger, not able to back away. The last remains of her shaking resolution were ready to crumble. Zhoom watched the woman in front of him, yearning. He didn’t know if this throbbing desire was the result of the new powers she might have unconsciously used on him or of some older origin, rooted deep and now finally matured. Frankly, he didn’t even care. In slow motion, he reached for her hand and raised it up to his lips, kissing every fingertip. Looking in her eyes, he saw the torturing battle she was going through, but still he refused to let go. Reason lost the fight when he gave it the final blow, guiding her fingertips on his neck. Still tingling from the kisses, those over-sensitised fingers felt his pulse, inviting, alluring, and leading to the irreversible answer: Yes. It was the only answer he ever needed. Before she could take the required step to close the gap between them, he already lifted her up in his arms and pressed her hard against the wall in heated embrace. Surprised by the intensity of all his movements, her heart started to flutter with pure joy, and her lips professed everything to him. There was no time left for words between the burning caresses and hungry kisses that made it very unclear who was devouring whom. Amidst his blurred thoughts, heartbeat by heartbeat, he came to understand that his longing for her went way beyond fleeting desire. Heavy breathing clouded the air as the last strings of hindering chastity were torn apart before pleasure and buried beneath the bundled fabrics on the floor. In this fervent battle, there would momentarily be only winners, but her bite would remain forever for him to bear.

Fleur Du Mal -> RE: (DF) Avoiding the Inevitable (1/2/2009 16:17:33)
12 The Sacrifice Careful not to wake Zhoom, Lux Alba pulled herself from under his arm. For a moment, she stood in the middle of the room, feeling dazed as sorrow mingled with love inside her. She glanced at the ranger's sleeping form, at the adorable mess that his hair was, hiding his gorgeous face. The naked moon poured its rays through the window, wreathing him in platinum glow. As she turned away to look around, her attention was caught by her trusted weapon: the staff that leaned against the wall. She remembered all the spells she had cast on it to make it stronger, all the battles it had saved her life in, and all the darkest places where it had been her only guide. Yet now she hesitated to touch it. Until that fatal day two weeks ago, she had thought they would be inseparable. In the end, the need to know won, and so she reached to grab the rod. At first, nothing happened. She weighed the staff in her hand, before risking for a simple spell. Whispering enchanted words, she called for light. As soon as the ornate moon started to glow, she felt that something had gone wrong. She smelled burning flesh. Her arm cramped, her hand twitched open, hurting and releasing the staff to fall on the floor. The shimmering waned. Turning her palm up she saw a hideous red burn with smoke still rising from it. Not because of the pain but because of the reason for it, she dropped to her knees and hung her head in grief. Her own weapon had turned against her, her own protection spells had attacked her as if she were the monster the staff needed protection from. If I can't command my light spells, what chance do I have against Frydae? The question floated in her mind, while she stroked the edges of the gash close with her fingers. During the past two weeks she had spent countless hours learning to master her new skills on her own. It would have been so much easier had she been like any other new-born vampire, who had its creator near, helping through the first steps. For her, the only reason to contact the Lord was to fulfil her own revenge. Little by little, the wound contracted to a faint scar. The pain lingered only a moment longer, and she couldn't help but to be proud of her skilfulness. In a few days, the scar would be gone as well. Healing of severe wounds wasn't, however, the only thing she had taught herself. No, this was a welcomed bonus, the other ones horrible necessities: to satisfy hunger, using the skill to seduce humans... A recent memory she had tried to forget made her stomach turn. Her gloomy mediation was disrupted by a gentle touch on her shoulders. Zhoom had woken up and watched her ponder on the floor for some time. She turned around and let him help her back up from the cold floor. Even after she stood solid on her own two, he refused to let go of her. Safe again in the warm embrace, she smiled, her forehead pressed against his shoulder. “What were you reflecting about so seriously, Love?” the ranger asked her. Her smile disappeared fast. Turning her head away to hide how much it really affected her, she told about the staff and the spells betraying her, leaving her with little means to challenge the infamous Lord in combat. Soft touch on her chin guided her to look back into his eyes. “Is there no way I can talk you out of it?” he whispered. With every inch of her body, she confirmed him that there indeed was no way, and that she considered the suggestion to be as good as blasphemy. Pushing his hands away, she backed off, her wrath and frustration seeping to the surface. Zhoom sighed, giving up. He had expected that much, which was why he had intrigued a plan to give them a better chance to overcome Frydae. “Do you still remember, how I taught you to master the bow and arrow?” Lux Alba calmed down as her thoughts wandered off to bring back memories from the desert, now so far away. Under the warming sun, in the gaining wind, his breath on her neck, his hands on her hands, she had drawn the bow and aimed for the palm tree at distance. After the arrow had finally hit the target, she found herself disappointed. Disappointed because he stepped back and broke the contact. And what did I just do? She blinked and cut off the memories. “Yes?” she answered, eager to understand what he was getting at. “I've shared my dinner table with a vampire hunter during the past days,” he started to explain. “From him I've learned that for mortals, the silver tipped arrows are the best weapon. You can keep your distance to your game and lessen the possibility of getting seduced and wounded before you can even draw your sword.” “So, you would give me your bow?” she asked. “Yes, if I'm going to be your decoy, I'll confront him with my sword and you should have a chance of returning the favour of sneaking up on him,” he presented his plan for ambushing the monster. “However, I don't know if he's going to respond to my challenge or how long I'll be able to fight him, so I hope you can keep your aim.” “You are not afraid that I'll miss and shoot you?” she asked, amazed that he would simply surrender his life into her hands. “Too late to worry about that any more,” came his reply before he pulled her close, guiding her wounded palm on his chest to feel his steady heartbeat. “I sure as hell wish that shot wasn't a miss,” he continued, his lips touching lightly her ear as he whispered the words that swept her off her feet. A couple of much treasured hours later, Zhoom found himself standing in the smithery, negotiating over the price for a set of silver-tipped arrows. Since Lux Alba dared not to show herself around the town, they had agreed that he would collect the supplies they needed before meeting with her just outside the settlement, along the path to the guardian tower. Though the weapon smith shivered in his thick pullover, desiring for a drink and some rest, he was a tough haggler. He might have been in a state where his estimation of the weekday went wrong, but he sure knew the value of his works. Between each round of bargaining, the man poured water from an earthenware can to a small glass and drank it with audible gulps. Glancing around him, Zhoom marvelled the weapons the smith had forged, but kept on his patented expression of indifference. One particular sword had required at least thousands of turns between the anvil and the furnace. For his obvious dedication to weaponry and for his friendly stubbornness in refusing to lower the price, the ranger took a liking to this man. That, in its turn, finally lead him to decide to pay almost two thirds of the original price the smith asked for. After all, the arrows were of superior quality; the silver cast was even, and after the smith had offered him a chance to test them, he found out that they cut the air very silently. At least, that is what the ranger reasoned, trying to explain to himself why he had acted so out of character as to give in while haggling. What he didn't realise, was that when he left the shop, a shadow descended downstairs from the smith's private quarters, and trailed him on his way to the meeting point and beyond. If there ever was a geographical formation more suitable to the name depression as the valley Zhoom now stood in, it had surely vanished from the annals of time. All the trees had died long ago, some of them struck down by lightning, some of them rotten to the core, and some rooted evil and walked away to plague the people of Doomwood and Amityvale. Tussocks of ashen-grey flowers lulled in the wind here and there, filling the air with the smell of decay. Apart from the gushing, cold wind that howled in the leafless branches, a complete silence reigned the area. Zhoom shivered, waiting on the spot Lux Alba had directed him to. The wind grew stronger by the minute, tearing his hair back and forth while he kept his gaze on the almost indiscernible narrow path. It descended along a practically vertical ridge until it hit the bottom of the valley, rolling gently the last few yards to his stand-out. The ranger hoped that Lux Alba would be fast enough when the time came. She had remained lying low further away, ready to start advancing the instant she heard sounds of struggle. Were it anybody else than this infamous vampire, Zhoom would've thought this ambush to be below him but as Frydae had sneaked on the mage, the mage had every right to sneak on him. Another gust of wind threw his hair in front of his eyes, blinding him for a second. After the ranger had regained his vision, he took a quick step backwards. He had arrived. A dark figure, strolling along the path and staring straight at the ranger. How can a Lord look so casual? Zhoom thought as he watched him taking his time. “Ahh, have we been introduced before?” the vampire started, having arrived close enough to avoid raising his voice. While he spoke, he continued his slow advancing towards the stranger. “Zhoom, and I can't say that I'm happy to meet you,” the ranger answered. “I see. You're one of the two who mingled with my business. Then you probably know who I am,” he said, chuckling. “So, do tell me, did my darling Zhenneh-ra hire you on this job or are you hoping to avenge the mage you came here with?” he inquired, coming finally to a halt dangerously close, but still too far to be reached with only one swing. Waiting for the vampire's next move, the ranger refused to reply. An amused smile rose to the creature's lips. “Either way, I don't understand you. You are no match to me. If your contractor is Zhenneh-ra, she has sent you to your death. If it's your own decision, you have doomed yourself.” The vampire stood still for a moment, evaluating the ranger before he started weaving his charms around his mind. “I have no grudge against you,” he said, the soothing notes of his voice stroking the mind of his prey. “Just lower your weapon, walk back where you came from and I won't hurt you. Fighting me is utterly futile, you know it already,” he continued, pouring out words that seemed like reason and worked like poison. Zhoom had already suspected that the vampire might be right about the futility of fighting, but he knew he had to try. For Lux. Keeping his ground for now, he tried to shut the ensnaring voice out of his mind. His efforts were n vain. The adversary went on and on, soon enticing him to the point he was on the verge of apologising the Lord for crossing his path so impudently. However, the Fates chose to have it otherwise; the enchantment fell off due to a dire miscalculation, as the Lord chose the exactly wrong words, “Why die today? Better to live forever. Think of all the lucky ladies that you could call upon.” To call upon? Those words sank into his mind, bringing up the image of Lux Alba's ravaged body by the sheep pen. Aroused by rage, his senses cleared, strength returned to his arms, and his hands gripped the sword. Ready to kill, he rushed towards the Lord. The vampire was so utterly taken by the surprise of his victim-to-be's sudden mood-change, that Zhoom almost got him with the first strike, hadn't it been for the vampire's supernatural speed. The curved sword hit only air. Startled for a blink of an eye, the ranger corrected his stance by turning, and swooshing a horizontal cut at Frydae. The vampire responded by dodging; the sword whistled over his head as he dived towards the ranger, his nails thrusting forward like two quintets of daggers. A quick jump backwards and an instinctive block saved Zhoom but caused him to lose track. The vampire had momentarily vanished from his sight. I hope Lux has heard us by now, he thought as he became painfully aware of how quick his prey was. Or am I the pre... Frydae took him by surprise, suddenly tackling him from behind. They both hit the ground, the vampire launching for his neck. The ranger managed to turn himself to face his adversary and thrust his sword, cutting edge upwards, in between them before the creature reached his goal. Again, the vampire backed away, out of sight, and left the sword still hungry for the cursed flesh. Panting, the ranger rose up and waited for the next onslaught. He heard the Lord teasing him, “So, I need to know. Please, tell me, what did Zhenneh-ra give you to make you so fierce an opponent?” Zhoom gave a bitter answer as he turned to face the predator, who obviously took this as a mere game that served to amuse him for a while, “This is not for her.” The Lord burst out in laughter, “So, this is your personal revenge? I didn't know that the mage was worth anything. If I had known this, I would've done the exact same thing. Oh yes. Twice.” Drawing new power from the sheer enrage, Zhoom made another quick attack on him. His sword sliced the air as he simultaneously threw a dagger to the direction he was compelling his adversary to move. Again, the Lord avoided both weapons with demonic speed. The ranger heard him laugh once more, behind his back. How on earth am I going to wound him if he's that fast? In the meanwhile, his companion had arrived near the battlefield. She lay low in the rotten hay, behind some leafless bushes, holding Zhoom's bow in her hands and an arrow ready, keeping the silver tip as far away from herself as possible. She came in time to see the fierce onslaught, but did not hear the Lord's words. The ranger's attack was so reckless, that she began to fear for him. While he and the vampire danced faster and faster around each other, slicing and ducking in turns, she never got a good aim. So, she was forced to wait for the next pause. It did not come the way she hoped for. Thrusting straight forward once again, Zhoom was prepared to miss and block the responsive attack. Unfortunately this time, the adversary stepped aside to his right side and past the weapon. He grabbed the ranger's hand, twisting his wrist with his bony fingers so that the ranger ended up pointing the sword towards his own stomach. As soon as Zhoom felt the creature's grip on him, he knew his time would run out the moment he lose against the vampire's wrist-wrestling. All he could do, was to play time, and hope that Lux Alba would strike before that. Deprived of luck, the attack had frozen Zhoom straight in between Lux Alba and the Lord, and therefore, she kept on waiting for the right moment, unaware what gaining that moment would cost. Frydae released his grip suddenly, throwing the ranger off balance. Before he could recover, his adversary had struck an open gash to his side with his sharp nails. The pain in his right side loosened his hold on the sword, and the vampire ceased the chance by flinging the weapon away. Another slash hit home. With a kick straight onto the wound, Frydae sent him flying to the ground. One swift sting, and he had nailed Zhoom down with his own dagger he had picked up sometime during the fight. Hovering above his prey, the vampire readied himself for the final strike, aiming for the arteries, while his victim's blood continued to bleed out from the wounds. Finally, Lux Alba had a clear aim. She drew the bow, sending the first arrow flying through the air. It never hit its target. A swift shadow rushed from behind a rotten tree trunk and caught the wasp in the mid air. Frydae turned around as he became aware of his children. Blinking his eyes, he took in the sight and showed the first sign of fear in years. An ample sixty yards from him, stood Lux Alba, with a bow in her hand, drawn ready to launch another silver lightning at him. Between him and her was Zhenneh-ra, breaking the previously launched arrow in her hands, flinching as the silver tip brushed against her palms. “Move aside, you wretched vamp! Or the next one is for you!” he heard the younger one shout. “No, I won't let you kill him!” answered the other, burgundy hair flowing loose in the tearing wind like she were an angel of wrath. Another arrow flew through the air, this time directed at Zhenneh-ra. She caught it easily and cracked it in half in her hands as she had done with the first one. Taking advantage of the disruption, Frydae left the ranger to bleed out in his due time and fled. Sure as all the damned souls roaming in Amityvale and Doomwood, he wouldn't risk fighting against two of his children. Zhenneh-ra noticed him exiting and turned to follow, while Lux Alba ran to Zhoom. With each beat, his heart bumped out more blood. Venting her fury at Zhenneh-ra, she yelled, “Why do you protect him? What good has he ever done to you?” The intervened vampire gave a riddle for a reply, “I don't protect him, I just can't let you kill him. There's a difference.” And with that, she vanished to chase down her creator. Standing beside the ranger, Lux Alba wavered. With his waning strength, Zhoom grabbed the hem of her dress, and whispered with a hoarse voice, “Let it go.” He didn't know which option she would choose; would she follow her revenge or would she lay it aside and rescue them both. The last thing he saw before his eyes closed, was her standing form, her head turned to gaze after the two vampires. Slowly, the fabric slipped away from his bloodied grip as his mind turned black.

Fleur Du Mal -> RE: (DF) Avoiding the Inevitable (1/3/2009 19:05:56)
13 Into Eternity Through the dead forest, up the hills, down the slopes crashing into valleys, on soft meadows where the wind whispered tales of grief, she shadowed him. He fled, but each time he thought he had lost her, her presence protruded back into his mind. If she was determined enough to chase him until death, what was the point of delaying the confrontation? The time had come to face her in battlefield. Lord Frydae XIII stopped in a lush grove and turned around, ready to face his pursuer. The wind moaned, moths fluttered near the ground, searching for the odd flowers that bloomed for the moon, and a million stars turned around their axes above. He sensed all present, he remembered all past, he regretted nothing. Like anything outside the petty norms of humans, she had intrigued him. In the palace, he had seen her standing in the auditorium, against the window, gazing at stars that shimmered in multitudes like the ones above him now. The light of the torches set her hair ablaze, her skin glowed in hues of honey. Regal. Defiant. Strong. Only this one look had he gained before passing the doorway as the guards had ushered him forward in the shadows, to meet the Emperor. Later, he had wondered if she knew exactly what her husband was. He had hoped the answer was yes. Next time he visited the palace she had already been hidden from sight and the tempest was roaring at its peak. Amidst all the small-talk, he had asked straight on how he had disposed of his wife. The Emperor had responded with a smile and the ruthless truth. Frydae and Sek-Duat, they spoke the same language, bereft of useless moralities. The deal was made, the Queen moved to one torture to another. He knew she was a survivor. He had burned with the curiosity to learn just how much she could take, how to wield her. So, he took her to his lair and started to mould her. I guess it's impossible to completely force one's own will on another person, regardless how broken in she... A high cry cut his thoughts. Upon seeing the grace of the hawk that landed in the grove, the Lord bowed his head. Even though she was far away from her land and her past, Zhenneh-ra still paid homage to her roots. In a flash of eerie light, the magnificent bird transferred into the familiar form of the female vampire. In silence, the two creatures of the night, bound by ties of blood, stood estimating each other's strength and tried to deduce which way the upcoming battle would turn. All words belonged to the past, no syllable could have rendered the need of spilling blood. Tired from eating nothing but lousy flies for weeks, little flesh-eating plants rose their heads up in anticipation. The Lord's black, loose cape flew around him, hiding his pose from Zhenneh-ra. She couldn't see his stance clearly, leaving her to half-guessing his intentions. Slowly, she drew a knife that was attached to a brown leather belt, wrapped around her waist. Armoured to the teeth, she had five more knifes to spare, all hanging from the same holster. In response to this direct threat, Frydae's lips curved into a crooked smile. If she hadn't turn against him, would he have recognised her the same person that had caught his eye in the first place? Let's see how far your strong will can carry you, my dear. Frydae whirled his cape. Like a giant bat, it flew to wrap around her, intended to tie her arms, but she outwitted his attack, jumping high to avoid the hit. She has grown fast indeed, the Lord thought as he ducked away from the first knife hurled at him. Last year's dead leaves rose flying from the ground as the two damned ones circled each other like deserted boats in a twirling maelstrom. Each of her attacks was followed by his block and countering swipe at her throat, which she in her turn avoided, diving in with her knife for a cut. Sometimes she faked an attack, attempting to hit the him by throwing one of her reserve knifes, but without success. So here we shall battle until eternity swipes the ground from beneath us, the Lord thought ironically, only a moment before he was distracted by a faint rushing the careless wind brought to his ears. As his head instinctively turned to find out what caused the noise, he lost contact with Zhenneh-ra for a fraction of a second. Oblivious to the surroundings, she concentrated on hurling two knives, which he didn't manage to avoid this time. The first one pierced his left upper arm and nailed him to an old sturdy oak. The second one, aimed for his heart, missed by a good five inches, diving into the same tree but not without going through some loose fabric near left armpit. Before he had time to pull the knives out, she had already raised another one against his throat, in her eyes a promise to cut his head off if he tried to move. Frydae knew that even if he didn't move, she would still finish him off. Either way, he decided to wait, while she kept her knife steady on his throat and moved herself closer and closer, until she stood right beside him, her side against his. He felt the blood running down his other arm and her tensed body leaning against the other. Before the strike of mercy, she whispered the last words she would ever speak to her sworn enemy, “Consider this returning a favour, my Lord.” There it was again; the silent rushing sound, but this time it was accompanied with the whistle of a flying arrow. Before Frydae's eyes, a silver arrowhead plunged through Zhenneh-ra's chest, leaving her fighting for breath as her pierced lung emptied. The Lord ceased the opportunity by pulling out the two knives that had him nailed to the tree. Upon releasing the one dug into his flesh, a crimson spray splashed onto his dying adversary. Without even blinking, he kept his gaze on her until a second arrow came whistling through the darkness and impaled her neck. As she fell, he sought for a hideout to clog his wound and to spy on the new players in this twisted game of chess, ready to annihilate a couple for pawns. Patiently he waited for them to be lured into the trap by the destructed queen, leading them to a fatal mistake. After gaining too much unjustified confidence, two humans sneaked to the scene; a haggard-looking man holding a crossbow and a timid boy with no other protection than the small sword he held with both of his hands. Standing on a tree branch above the site, Frydae tilted his head like a vulture as he followed the two to approach Zhenneh-ra's body. Death had carved a horrible look on her face: her mouth left open to elicit a shriek her lungs had no power to support, her eyes staring solidified into eternal oblivion. The man ordered the boy to watch out for the other vampire he had seen, while he himself took measures to ascertain that his victim was dead. As response to a kick, the lifeless body only swayed. The hunter took a quick look around, but saw nothing alerting: the place seemed deserted. Because he had just witnessed the two vampires fighting, he suspected that the other might have taken this kill as the opportune moment to flee. Still keeping his bow drawn ready to shoot, he turned back to the corpse, expecting to find some answers on such uncommon behaviour. “This ain't the one we saw couple of weeks ago,” he muttered to himself. Then the form of the vampire's ears sunk in, and he spat on her. “Well, what do ya know, Sonny-boy! Nowadays even the fair elves turn into 'onourless bloodsuckers!” While the father mocked the fallen one, his son witnessed a dark figure descending right between them. A cry died in the boy's throat long before reaching his lips. Staring straight into his soul, the creature's eyes promised him endless pain if he dared to look away or to make a sound. His hands started to tremble uncontrollably, making him to lose control on his weapon. His feet paralysed, his mouth glued shut, the boy watched as the monster slithered behind his ignorant father. The hunter kicked Zhenneh-ra one more time. He didn't know that he would soon have to pay for his pointless cruelty. His snorting turned into gurgling as Frydae slashed his throat open. Unconcerned, the vampire watched him die clutching his throat, trying in vain to make the arterial sprays stop. The man's body slumped beside Zhenneh-ra's. After witnessing the last sparkle of life vanish, the Lord shot a glance at the boy, making a mocking advise, “Now, be a good boy and run home before your mother gets too worried.” Like a rabid hare, the boy fled. But no matter how fast he ran he couldn't escape his own mind, filled with the horrors he had seen: the cursed eyes that flung him to the pits of Hell for what he had wronged; the look on his father's face as he drowned in his own blood. Oh, he ran until his lungs burned and he fell on the ground. Delirious, he saw bodies crawling after him. The bodies of the vampires his father had left dead at their wake. He stumbled up and continued to run, mad beyond the point of return. Behind the child's retreating back, Frydae bent down to close Zhenneh-ra's eyes with a single gentle stroke. He lifted her body in his arms and directed his path towards the desolated guardian tower. Whispering, “Let me take you home now,” the Lord carried the forsaken Queen into eternity. The veiled darkness ended with a sudden flash. “Mom?” asked a small green-eyed boy, as his mother tucked him in under a soft blanket. In the cramped room burned a fireplace, warding off the cold of the falling night. “Yes, my dear?” she replied, taking a seat by him on the bed, and swiping her hair back from her shoulders. “Another story, please, Mom? I'm not tired yet,” the boy pleaded with a hopeful expression on his face. To his mother his weary eyes told he would doze off any minute. Yet she knew how he liked to fall asleep while listening to some of his favourite bedtime stories. “Which one would you like to hear?” she said, humouring him with a smile, and picking up the story book again.. “Tell me about the hunter, and the lady of dreams. You've never told me how the story ends,” he said, smiling.. The mother's reply wasn't the one that he hoped for: “Oh, you're still too young to hear the ending, my dear. I'll tell it when you're older. How about the fable of the fox and the lion?” The evening passed into night, sending the boy to drift off to sleep before the fox found the lion's cave. For a moment, the mother listened to his steady breathing. At the sight of the son's peaceful face, she felt her shoulders relaxing, her heart filling with bliss. One moment turned to several as she sat by him, guarding his sleep. Only at the wee hours of the night she closed the book and tapped his nose lightly to bid him good night. “Sleep while you can,” she whispered from the doorway. The desert wind continued to howl outside as the night turned into emptiness, swallowing the room, the fire, and the boy. His right side felt piercing cold. Freezing. Wet. An angelic being, surrounded by the intoxicating smell of thousand blooming flowers, descended from the Heavens and bent over him. “Give that to me, now!” the robust man yelled as he grabbed the boy by the arm. Beads of sweat ran down the beast's forehead. Hearing the demand, the boy held the small piece of golden jewellery even tighter in his hand, trying to keep it as far away from the drunken brute as possible. “You son of...” the boy couldn't hear the end of the too familiar curse, as a loud smack deafened him; the man hit him with two blows, straight on the temples, using an open palm. Still refusing to surrender the treasured object, he curled, trying to shield his stomach from the kicks that started to shower on him. “Hadn't it been your tramp mother, my brother would've married an honourable woman,“ the brute continued to rain his accusations on the hapless kid in between the kicks. “Weren't it for your mother, my brother would still be alive!” A kick followed each curse and a curse followed each kick until the child, bruised and battered, couldn't hear him any more. White hands sliced his blood-soaked shirt open with a curved sword. Touching his injuries, the same hands made him twitch in pain. An old man prayed for his daughter, but the hunter turned his back on him, dragging the helpless girl with him. “Please. Please! Take me in her stead!” he heard him shout after them, but he hardened his heart, marching on. The girl stayed silent, glancing him sideways at times. She never said a word to him. Not even when he handed her over to the prison guards. Holding her head high, she ignored the rough treatment they gave her pushing her on the other side of the iron grate. Just a moment later, she had vanished from his sight forever, like all the others. Wiping away the pain, a hand rested on his forehead. Deep brown eyes looked at him, filled with images of infinity: an endless ocean swallowing him into its warm embrace, while above the sky burst into light. He knew those eyes. In twinkling candlelight he saw those beautiful eyes close, long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. His heart beat faster, feeling warm like never before. Her lips parted to meet his. She... Zhoom's eyes flew open. He lay on the same dead grass he had fallen on, his shirt cut open and Lux Alba's hands on his side, radiating warmth and stroking away the pain. Her dress, forehead, even her hands, were all smeared with blood. When she realised he had come to his senses, she smiled, not only with her lips but also with her eyes. Tears of joy rushing down her face, she started to weep. Zhoom tried to lift his hand to wipe away those precious pearls, but he found that he was too weak. Lux Alba reached for a small bottle and brought it to his lips. Supporting his head with her other arm, she helped him stomach the drink which left him coughing. “What was that?” “Oh, a potion that should ward you from infections. An old recipe of mine,” she explained, still smiling, still pouring tears from her eyes. “You've lost a lot of blood. I need to fetch you some water. Can you hang on in there for me for five minutes?” she asked, with a lot of pauses in between the words, as if she had to continuously patch herself together. The ranger nodded. To stay awake he started counting the seconds, backwards from three hundred. Oblivious to the eternal beauty of the sky bending above him, he shivered in the cold breeze, impatiently waiting for her to reappear. Carrying a heavy-looking wet cloth, Lux Alba returned to him around the time he had counted to fifty. She knelt beside him and with a gentle touch on his lower lip directed him to open his mouth. A hefty twist released streams of water raining from the cloth. “Where are they?” he asked after the dizziness started to settle. Placing the cloth aside, she answered: “I don't know. You were dying... I couldn't let you go.” Her hands trembled a little when she continued to mind his wounds again, “I have enough people dead on my account. If you were to join them, I...” She bit her lip, turning her head to the side, “I'll have my revenge on Frydae some other night.” Feeling already somewhat more in control of his body, thanks to the water, the ranger struggled to lift his left arm. With a shaky stroke, he turned her head back, saying, “What good would come from that? Yes, he's a monster, and trust me, I hate him with all the powers invested in me. Maybe the world would indeed be better without him. But what good would you gain from it? You would still remain a vampire. Just with another death on your conscience.” His hand dropped back to the ground, but he hadn't finished yet, “And after that? You would continue killing vampires until you were the only one left, completely hollow inside from all the death you would've dealt only to revenge? Don't lose yourself to that.” This time, the tears that flowed from her eyes weren't of joy. She tried to hide her face again, but he would have none of that. Extending his arm once again, he pulled her to lay beside him, her head on his chest. “What else do I have left besides my revenge? My past life is lost.” Hearing that almost broke Zhoom's heart. Knowing that he had to find the answers to steer her off from this path to self-destruction, he pondered for a while in silence. “You could build yourself a new life...Or you could build one for us?” The sobbing stopped. The ranger felt her move her head a little, as if she wouldn't allow herself to believe she had just heard that. “I can't live under the sun, nor can you live eternally in the night. Your blood draws you back to Sandsea, to the desert. My blood drives me to...feed, and that's just the beginning of the list, ” she argued. “Even in the Sandsea, there are still nights. And you'd need blood if you stayed here, too,” he continued defending his case. Then he tried to lighten her up, joking, “And who says you would need to go out when the sun is up? It's too freaking hot in there in the middle of the day, anyways.” She didn't laugh, but he felt her hand search for his. Still hiding her face, she gave it a squeeze, thinking. Perhaps the time for sacrifices had finally come to an end. She had learnt by now that time never healed anything, but perhaps he could? She hugged him tighter, breathing in his scent. While she was still buried in her thoughts, the dreary day and the wounds started to kick in; Zhoom dozed off. He didn't hear her whispering, “Yes, take me with you.” When she got no reply, she moved a little and found him sound asleep. Having no heart to disturb his slumber, she decided to lay beside him, warming him with her body against the cold. I'll never let go of you, she thought and watched the moon and stars that followed their set routes in the clear sky as the world turned beneath them. To the sound of the wind, she too fell into deep, deep sleep, at last in peace.

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