Raiden's Great NPF RP Contest: Story Thread
 

Post your Story entries here.

Keep in mind that you must place an entry in both the Fight thread and the Story thread in order for your entries to be judged.

If you haven't signed up yet, but still want to compete, sign-ups are still open.

Ready? Write!

Pale light filtered through the graying trees as night slowly passed into early morning. The full moon slipping below a hill, ending it's night long game of hide and seek with the sparse cloud cover. The east was beginning to glow like the still hot embers of a fire ready to reignite the inferno at any moment. The scene would have been absolutely perfect just one morning ago. Just yesterday there had been a peaceful hamlet nestled against a vibrant growing forest. Recent growth in the fields had created a sea of gold stretching across what parts of the valley floor not covered in the forest foliage.

This morning bore witness to unspeakable destruction, trees lay newly fallen their stumps still wet. Large sections of fields lay in waste stalks or grain bent like the farmers that had once worked the fields. The village itself was completely deserted save for a stray dog or cat and the occasional corpse of an unfortunate villager. Most of the buildings stood intact silent witnesses to the battle that had been fought. Others moaned and creaked painfully in the wind, gapping holes in their sides more evidence of the occurrences of last night. Still other buildings lay in heaps with dust slowly rising into the air like the very soul of the village reaching for heaven.

On the outskirts of the village just inside the edge of the forest two men slumped on opposite sides of a large tree. Their vacant stares and rigid motionless postures made the seem as dead as the village. These men, however, were far from dead at least on the outside. In fact one of them was the direct cause of the state of the village. The other was the one sworn to end his rampage of terror.

"So it's come to this has it? It's almost ironic," half whispered half coughed the rather large man on the left as he watched the moon sink below the horizon. He was well muscled and lightly armored. Clad in the traditional armor of a samurai red in color from more then just blood. The armor, now torn in several places hung loosely from his six foot frame. Blood flowed freely from several open cuts, one or two of them deep enough to cause real damage. Jet black hair lay matted on his forehead thick with blood and sweat. His right had covered in the scars of battle gripped the hilt of a sheathed katana tightly. "I still can't believe how much you've improved Walker. It's almost as incomprehensible as your past."

The other man simply stared at the brightening east silently for a few seconds before closing his eyes. "You never did think I'd amount to much did you Jerle," Walker stated as a fact. His appearance stood in stark contrast to his companion's. Blond hair fell loosely about his shoulders. He also wore the tradition armor of the samurai on his slight five foot seven inch frame. The signs of battle were clearly visible on his black armor, but not nearly as badly as on Jerle's. Here and there blood seeped through but no serious wounds were immediately visible. "I suppose we should end this," he finished quitely.

Jerle laughed at this statement, "No matter how good you become I will always win. It's simple really; you can't take a human life. That will always give me the advantage." Slowly he stood up one leg at a time his hand resting on his sword. Jerle began to draw his sword slowly and started, "Now it's time you..." A look of absolute shock and betrayal crossed his face. He looked down slowly to discover a large piece of metal sticking out of his chest. He crumpled back to the ground blood seeping out of his wound.

Walker, who had already stood up, walked away slowly. Turning just enough to look over his shoulder at the dyng man he stated coldly, "You ceased to be human to me a long time ago." Turning forward once more he walked towards the sun and away from his old life.

OOC: This is a sequel to the fight post, but its written so it could be read independent of the other.

Five people walked down the hall. It was like the inside of a large cathedral, only made entirely with stone. The room was illuminated by the blue crystal lamps, gathering there power from who knows where. The walls were decorated with reliefs of angels and demons fighting, only it was strange, because no angels had wings, and no demons had horns. They were the hopes and fears of the world, battling on earth. At the very end of the hall was a huge double-door, with an opened lock laying in front of it. When they were done looking at the magnificent yet deserted church, the leader turned around to the other four. "This is it. This is the great barrier. Beyond this is a whole other world."

The dwarf with a long red beard brandished his giant hammer and asked, "Aaron, are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure we can find her there?"

The gargoyl said to the dwarf, "Does it matter, Samuel? We came this far, and lost so much. Whatever is beyond this door is what Aaron has been seeking. I say we go forward."

The twin children said in unison, "Have faith in yourself, Aaron. Even if Rachel isn't there, we can keep looking. Its only over when you say its over."

"Then lets go. " Aaron said. And with that, the five walked up the final steps. Everyone grasped the handles and pulled. It took all the strength they could muster, but the doors slowly slid open. A brilliant light slipped through the space between the giant stone doors, and as they opened, the chamber grew brighter and brighter. When the doors were far enough apart to get through, the five walked in the next room. First went the gargoyl, and he disappeared into the light. He was followed by the dwarf and then the twins, who were each dissolved into the blinding light. Aaron soon followed.

Aaron was immersed in light, then was blinded for what seemed like hours. During that time, he was not only surrounded by and absorbing the light, he was absorbing the knowledge of the heavens. Then, everything went dark. He heard a voice coming from far off, like an echo. "You came. I thought you'd stop when you learned the truth. I'm glad you found... here. I'm glad you found me."

"Rachel... Wha... How... Is this... Where are we?"

"Open your eyes! You're so close to finishing your journey. Don't... Don't fall now..." Rachel said, this time it sounded much closer. When Aaron willed his eyes open, he was floating in the sky, above the clouds. Behind him were his sleeping friends, bobbing up and down. And in front of him, was the girl with long curly red hair and brown eyes and freckles and everything he ever knew. Rachel was floating a mere ten feet away. She turned her back to Aaron, then looked up to face the stars. "Its so beautiful, but it doesn't mean anything. We are all just a dream, a figment of someone's imagination."

Aaron floated closer and said, "So what if we don't matter to some world that we've never heard of. I know that right here, right now, you matter to me. And even if you think that nothing from our world matters, I know for a fact that I matter to you."

Rachel turned around, grabbed Aaron's hands and looked him in the eyes. "Don't you get it? Our existance is negligible. We don't even know at what point everything began, and at what point everything ends. Our memories are just part of this dream. In a moment it could all be over!"

"We're just a dream. I got that. But how does that change anything? We aren't going to live forever, no matter what we do. And if its true that our dreamer could wake any moment, then why don't we live any moment as if its our last? Come. Lets go back to the ephemeral world we know. Lets make this dream worth dreaming again." Aaron said, hugging her. The four sleepers woke at the end of the speech. And with that, they descended to the ground, to return to the imaginary world below them. To everything they ever wanted and always had.

(here goes nothing.)


"We did it Ethan!" Nakia smiled, practicing with her newly reclaimed angel wings, her feet lifting off of the ground, still as gracefully as they had before, "Ah it feels good to fly again." It had been 30 days since she lost her angel wings and became human because of a bet between her and her brother, Jacob. The bet? Nakia would give up being an angel for 30 days, and wander on the land as a human, subject to all human emotions and hardships, and she had to find one human who had pure intentions, and travel with him to the top of Mt. Osocia, a mountain of the Angels. If she could do all of this in 30 days, she would be rewarded her wings back, and have proven to her brother, an angel of darkness, that humans have good in them. It had been a close call, but they had finally made it. Nakia had arrived at the summit of Mr. Osocia, with Ethan, her pure-hearted human friend.

She turned around, "Thank you Eth-" Her breath got caught in her throat as she turned around to see none other than her brother, Jacob, floating over the edge of the impossibly tall cliff, his black wings keeping him suspended in the air, with Ethan dangling from his grasp.

"Jacob!" She moved forward cautiously, "What are you doing?"

Jacob smirked, which was far from any sort of smile Nakia had seen on earth, "Congradulations, dear sister." He spat, "You found your innocent human," He gestured to the human in his hand, making a face like it was a vile thing to even touch, "And now that you've proven me wrong, we can all go back to the way things were. You, an angel of goodness, me, an angel of darkness, and... this human... nothing more than dirt." Nakia could see that Jacob was about to release his grip on Ethan.

"But why? Leave Ethan alone!" She shouted at him, her mind racing.

"Why, dear sister? Allow me to ask you the same thing," His gazed burned a hole into Nakia, "Why do you care what happens to this human? Humans die every day, they kill each other every day. What is one more life? Why does this one matter so? After all, once you're in heaven again, it won't matter, you won't even remember him over time." Nakia's eyes turned to the ground and Jacob barked out a harsh laugh, "You care for him, don't you. I had a feeling that when you were turned human, you might give into human emotions too, like... Love." He sneered, "You know as well as I do that a union between an angel and a human is unheard of... impossable! And a human would never be allowed to know about the heavenly bodies the way he does..." He finished, then Jacob's face turned ever so softer, his glare not as piercing, "Nakia, dear sister, this is for the best. This is the only way." He said, relaxing his hand, Nakia's eyes grew wide as she saw Ethan slipping from Jacob's hand, suspended over a vast chasm. Nakia moved forward, her eyes filled with concern for Ethan, "Nakia...." Jacob said sternly, "If you follow him, you can never return to how it once was." Nakia stopped for a moment, thinking. Ethan looked up, looked up at Nakia and gave her a sad smile. He moved his lips to form the words, 'Don't forget me.' before he relaxed his hand, slipping into the vast beyond.

Nakia waited a split second before her eyes turned from despaired to determined. Shooting one look at her brother, she angled her wings, shooting down after Ethan, as fast as her wings could carry her, just a white streak across the sky. Her brother's voice echoed to her vaguely as she fell, "...Nakia... you can never go back..."

As his voice spoke, Nakia felt her angel wings start to come apart. First, feather by feather. Then tufts of the feathers would come out, soon leaving her just a human, plummetting towards the far-away ground, following Ethan. A suprising revelation occurred to her as she entered freefall; rather than fearing the vastness of the great beyond, she was... comforted... more serene than she ever had been, even during her eternity as an angel in heaven. Falling, headfirst, arms outstretched feeling nothing but the wind, rushing past her, and the vastness of the great beyond, Nakia closed her eyes, flying for the first time.

OOC: This story is a prelude to the fight scene that I'm going to post in the Fight Thread.

BiC:

Darkness.

Everywhere he looked, all Garreth saw was pitch black and darkness, except for the shifting movements of the barely discernable shadows in the corners of this prison - the shadows of his fellow inmates.

How he hated this place. How he hated the rank smells of sweat and feces that assaulted him from all directions. How he hated the feeling of being chained and helpless in a dark and damp dungeon such as this. Garreth was a warrior. An assassin. A brutal killer that showed no mercy to all that stood in his path. But here he was, trapped and chained under the walls of the Coliseum. For truly, this place is the holding cells for gladiators, both slaves and those unfortunate enough to be caught for heinous crimes committed in the past. And it was such a fate that brought Garreth the assassin to this place.

A failed attempt on the life of an important nobleman resulted in the capture of one of the greatest assassins in the world. Garreth remembered the events clearly, as clearly as if it had been only yesterday. Garreth remembered how and why was it that he, a professional killer who had always completed the tasks that was set before him, failed. Only one name and one act came to his mind.

Jierdan Nighthawk.

Betrayal.

Suddenly, the great doors to the prison cell burst open. Pain assaulted Garreth’s eyes, as for the first time in three months, light flooded into his eyes. A guard dressed in chainmail armor stepped into his cell and unlocked his chains.

”Follow me,” The guard told him, his hand reaching for his belted sword threateningly. ”Now.”

Garreth almost laughed aloud at the guard’s foolish actions. He knew he could have easily grabbed the sword and slew the obnoxious guard where he stood. However, Garreth wisely kept his hands to himself. Killing the guard, though he rightly deserved to be killed, would only draw unwanted attention to himself, and Garreth knew that, despite his skills, it would be impossible for him to escape this hell of a prison. And so, the assassin grudgingly followed the guard to wherever he lead him.

After a few moments, Garreth was brought into a small, private chamber where a short and richly dressed man sat on an ornate chair by a large stone table. A large, bulging sack lay atop the table. Garreth recognized the man as Dignitus, the “proprietor” of the Coliseum. Dignitus was bald man, with a curly moustache lining the top of his mouth, a trend common with the locals of this land. A wide smile greeted his face when he saw Garreth walking into the room.

”Ah, Garreth,” Dignitus wryly said. ”So good of you to join us.” He slyly winked at the guard who brought him into his chambers. The guard respectfully bowed and stepped outside, leaving the two of them alone in the room.

”What is it that you want?” Garreth bluntly asked. Whatever is it that he wanted, Garreth did not like the look on the man’s face.

”My, my, wasting no words, are we?” Dignitus said. ”Well, since we’re already so heated up, I might as well tell you what I have in mind for you.” He paused, as Garreth tensely waited for what the man to say.

”I heard that you were an assassin of the Shadow Guild,” Dignitus asked seriously. ”One of the best, I hear.”

”Yes, you have heard correctly,” Garreth replied proudly, though he knew he shouldn’t even bother to entertain the man. However, he was quite curious to why Dignitus had brought him here. ”Many great warriors and nobles from great houses of many kingdoms fell to my blades. But I’m sure you’re not here to ask about my “work”.” He paused, setting his tone more seriously. ”I ask again, what is it that you want?”

It was a tense and silent moment, but Dignitus finally answered him.

”I wish to set you free……..”

Garreth’s eyes widened in surprise at the proclamation. However, before he could say anything, Dignitus raised his hand to cut him off.

”But,” There’s always a but. ”There’s a price to pay.”

Another moment of silence followed.

”What is it that you wish from me?” Garreth asked suspiciously. He didn’t trust Dignitus, though in truth, he never trusted anyone at all. ”As you can see, I am but a slave. I have nothing of value to give you.”

”Ah,” Dignitus interrupted him, a knowing smile pasted on his face. ”But you can fight, can you not?” Suddenly, Garreth knew what the cunning proprietor of the Coliseum had in mind for him.

”I wish for you to fight in the ring,” Came the expected words. ”One fight, one battle. That is all I ask for, and you shall be free!”

”But why? Why do you need me to fight in this precious Coliseum of yours?” Garreth asked, still suspicious of the proprietor’s intentions.

”That is strictly none of your business.” Dignitus firmly told him. ”The
offer still stands. Will you take it? It is no matter if you refuse, I could always find another." Dignitus reminded him smugly. "There are many here who would willingly take your place.” And as if Dignitus knew his would-be answer all along, he poured out the contents of the sack on his table before him.

The sack contained his equipment. And his prized twin blades, Painkiller and Entropy.

There was a long pause, but Dignitus already knew the answer he would recieve. He knew the offer was too great for a Garreth to resist.

”I’ll do it.”

I'm sorry...soo sorry, but I don't know what I did...
You dirty little bastard. YOU KILLED HER!
WHO? Who did I kill? I'm just a fucking insurance salesmen. Just a fucking...
Stop crying. Thats what really pisses me off, you're so high up you can't even see the people you hurt.
Stop it, please, just stop it...put the gun away...please...do that at least...
I'm afraid I can't. But I'll compromise with ya. I have six-oops, sorry, five, forgot your security guard-bullets in the chamber. I'll just make it one bullet. Guess what game we're gunna play.
You killed Gus? You're crazy. This is crazy, this can't be happening, YOU'RE CRAZY!
You shut your mouth. The insane have no reasoning capacities. I am being quite sane and calculating. You however are begining to get a little irrational.
Fine, fine, just, just get the gun away from me...let me go...please...
[FONT=Garamond]No. Like I said, we're going to play a little game. I hope I don't have to explain the rules. And what a fair game it is, equal chance of winning, equal chance of losing. Now, do you want to go first or second?/FONT]
Stop! Look, I know you're not crazy, just, get the gun away from my head, let me go...please.
Like a goddamn broken record aren't you. Fine, you can have second if you really want. But if the bullet goes out on turn two, boy oh boy will your face be red.
*Click*
Ohgodohgodgetitawayohgodididntmeanitstopgoawaynotr ealnotrealshitshitshit...
*Click*
So antsy. You survived, relax. Have a drink. Think about what you did. My turn again. See? I've got a gun to my head, not even breaking a sweat. Just roll with it.
*Click*
Ok...look, I'm calm, just put the gun away. I'll do whatever I can do to help you, really, just, just stop...
*Click*
See? I knew it wouldn't go. Life is full of climaxes. A turn 4 end, not very fun right? Nah, we HAD to go to the end. Makes a better story. Everyone loves the climactic ending. If you just cut it off, how fun is that?
*bam*

I have a place for my Calvinballer origin! Multitasking, hoo!
 

A golf cart swerved down the pathway, clipping a water cooler and skipping one turn by running over a hill. Phil slammed on the parking break and squealed to a stop, leaving two parallel stripes behind him. He was not happy. Golf never made him happy. He would just quit, the game had come with his hotel room, so it wasn't like he'd be losing money. However, his last swing had sent not only his ball but also his five-iron into the bushes. Pulling out a sport drink to combat the Fort Worth sun, he hopped out of the cart and, leaving his clubs behind, went in search of his derelict iron. The weeds scratched his hairy legs, sometimes leaving curved, bleeding stripes. Long pants weren't an option that day, so he didn't lament wearing shorts. Cursing and swigging his drink, Phil continued through the underbrush to a shade of trees. They offered little help in the heat. "Where did that stinking club go? It's big and shiny, why can't I see it?" His question was answered when he stepped knee-deep into a lake of sludge. He hadn't seen it coming -- the weeds had obscured it -- and he fell face first. Slowly pulling his face from the ooze, Phil saw a rubber grip poking out of the muck. Cursing the day, Fort Worth, the game of golf, and whoever invented muck (worthless loser), he grabbed the grip and prepared to pull it out.

If Phil had ever made a bad decision (he had), it was that one.

Instantly, he was unaware of the muck, heat, game, or world. Pain burned from his bones through his flesh. Blackness surrounded him. He had a vision of Kenneth Copeland blabbering in gibberish, demanding a "leader for the new era." Satan, in the pits of Hell, washed past Phil and shrugged his shoulders. A burst of light in colors he'd never seen before blinded him, then all was nothing.

Phil awoke in the dark. His skin was cold; his eyes wouldn't open. He tried to sit up, but hit his head on something that didn't give but sounded like wood. He felt it, but it didn't hurt. H'okay, don't panic. You seem to be numbed and locked in a box. If you yell loud enough, someone will hear and let you out. He inhaled to scream, and the smell and taste of formaldehyde filled his mouth and nose. Almost vomiting from fear and revulsion, he thought That can't be. It's just silly. If I were embalmed, I'd die. He felt his arm. It was spongy, a certain kind of spongy that he'd only felt once before. He was a corpse. Panic should have surged through him, but he waited for it and nothing came. Resigned to the fact that he was the living dead, Phil spent what could have been an hour or a week thinking about what he was. He was corporeal, so he wasn't a ghost. His teeth weren't pointy, so he wasn't a vampire. Well, maybe he was the kind with retractable fangs, but he didn't know how they worked if they were. He decided that that left zombie. Phil hated zombies. He tried thinking about delicious brains, but they had no new appeal. After this very productive period, he fell asleep.

He dreamed about his funeral. Somehow, he knew that it was based on some kind of out-of-body memories. He saw the normal stuff: people crying, black clothes, uncomfortable shuffling. He learned that he'd died of sunstroke. He also saw Copeland again. What the hell is he doing at my funeral? He saw his corpse. It looked thinner than he remembered. After seeing his burial, he saw Copeland yet again. He had the golf club. Again, what the hell? Kenny checked that no one was looking, dropped the club in the coffin, re-closed it, and walked away.

Phil woke up to find he had a lot more room in his coffin. He felt around and found the iron. Immediately, he felt a rumbling and heard a grinding. Suddenly, his coffin burst open and he was flopped to the grass. His eye caps popped out and he could see again! "Hmppy dmy!" He'd meant to say, "Happy day!" but his mouth was sown shut. I'll cut that string later He looked back at his grave to see something awful. He had been pushed to the surface on a pillar of fused and mangled corpses. He looked at the five-iron, and it glowed with a fading black haze. He then noticed that the club was twice as tall as he was. His final shock of the night was that he had, more horribly than being turned to a zombie, he'd been turned into "A F***ING CHIBI!" The string holding his mouth shut tore as he screamed his horror into the inky night.

"Yes, that is unexpected." Phil turned around and, not surprisingly, saw his most despised televangelist, Kenneth Copeland. "God works in mysterious ways child" Phil figured that Kenny didn't know the real origin of his transformation to a zombie, but knew not to correct such an as, err, upstanding man. "You should come with us, no one knows yer alive here. We can teach you to use that stick."

Having no other choice, Phil went with Copeland.

Prelude to the fight thread, I present to you:

Demon's Narrative Entry: A Night in the Lonesome December.

For all you fan boys, and girls, out there that have been asking for it, this is for you!

OOC: This precedes my fighting post.

IC:
A noise. Kaivir paused, his boots crunching dead leaves as he shifted his stance warily, longsword ready. He looked about him, but the trees hindered his view, their thick boles easily capable of hiding a man each. Red-gold leaves drifted gently down from the boughs above. The sound did not repeat. Another man might have doubted that he had heard anything, but long experience had taught Kaivir to trust his instincts. He turned slowly, examining each shadow for movement or a human shape, ears listening carefully for any sound of an attack from behind. He saw nothing out of place, heard nothing untoward. He was justifiably surprised then, when, on completing his circle, he found a woman standing not a metre away from him, her pale silken dress fluttering slightly in the breeze. She stood watching him calmly, a faint smile on red lips, seemingly amused at his caution, although he noticed that she eyed his sword with caution, almost distaste. When she spoke, her voice had a musical quality that Kaivir found vaguely familiar, although he couldn't quite place it...

"You will not need that with me, friend. I want to help you..."

Kaivir watched her suspiciously. How had she approached without being heard? Was she a sorceress? If so, why need she fear his sword? A sorceress accomplished enough to approach unheard should be able to disarm a lone warrior...

"Who are you, and what do you know of my errand?"

"I know that you are Kaivir of the Cold Pass. I know that you seek the Iron Amulet to aid your people in fighting the invaders. I know that I can help you attain it..."

Kaivir scowled. His mission was supposed to be secret; someone would pay when he discovered who had let it slip.

"Again, who are you? How do you know so much, and how can you help me? And more importantly, what do you want for your help?"

The woman smiled sweetly. "I know many things, Kaivier of the Cold Pass. I know that you must take the amulet at night, for its guardians are stronger in the day, and you must wrap it in cloth, or it will burn you. I know that the first guardian cannot touch water, and that the second cannot touch fire. And I know that you must remember the word 'Truth.'"

Her smile widened slightly. "And I want nothing from you..." she said, and Kaivir thought that he heard a slight emphasis on the last two words.

Kaivir's distrust deepened. Not only did she know of his mission, but she was avoiding telling him her name. "A third time: Who are you, woman?"

The woman paused, a flicker of anger crossing her eyes, gone almost before Kaivir had noticed it. She hesitated, but after a moment lost whatever internal battle she fought, eying his sword with open distaste now. "My name is Auvain." She said coldly.

The gentle breeze picked up suddenly, in moments becoming a gale, picking up leaves, whirling them into a red-gold tempest. Kaivir held a hand to shield his eyes from flying debris, but as quickly as it had started, the wind died, leaving Kaivir alone in the forest...

The valley was beautiful. Vast swathes of grass, a shade of green closer to emerald than plants should be, ran up against groves of trees green and lush and full of fruit no matter the time of year, for winter never came to the valley. Animals ran through the trees, squirrels with fur so soft and sleek they seemed to swim through the tree tops, birds whose plumage outshone the fruit of the trees, even foxes, whose sleek red fur blended in perfectly with the rich red earth and the shadowy green undergrowth. The river, sometimes deep and blue other times peacefully clear in shallows, leapt down wondrously sculpted rocks at one end of the valley, laughing as it chattered through fantastic spires and arches, even sculptures that look almost like people, molded by the elements. Leaving the rocks, it passed through an especially grand grove of trees, the father of the valley, with trunks a withered gray and gnarled branches nonetheless unbent by massive age, ever drinking by the banks of the valley’s mother, the crystal blue lake. So deep and clear was the lake that on a clear day, it seemed a mirror for the whole world; on a cloudy day, a hole to the depths of the earth. There were those who looked on this place and called it Eden.

In stark contrast to the valley, a lone man stood on a ridge, looking across the lake to the valley. No one would call him beautiful. Balding, with a haggard and scarred face beneath a tattered brown hood, he had several fresh cuts evident, on his cheeks, one even crossing his left eye, still occasionally dripping blood, like a single red tear streaking down through the sweat and dirt on his face, to drip onto the shredded rags of what had been armor. Hanging in some places by only a strip or two, the remnants of leather armor could not hide his chest and arms, well-muscled but criss-crossed with scars and burns and fresh wounds, only the most serious hastily bandaged. The two-handed longsword at his waist was scarcely in better condition, even the sheathe having gouges that revealed a chipped and battered blade, notched in a dozen places and cracked almost in two at the end. Those who saw him would say he didn’t belong in the valley, and few would guess that when he, the guardian of the valley, had first come there, his beauty had outshone even that of the valley.

No one else was evident on the ridge, but still the guardian spoke aloud. “It is done. I have protected this valley through the years, from those who would turn its beauty to their own ends, or destroy it. But now, I can no longer stay here. I feel my life slipping away.” As if to emphasize his words, another blood red tear streamed down his face. “But I cannot leave the valley unguarded. Is there no one who can take up this mantle?”

A voice, deep as thee earth itself, yet light as air, answered. “Another will be found. You have protected this valley as no other mortal could. Come home now, and rest.”

There was no reply, for the ridge was empty, but for a few foot prints and a battered sword. Across the ridge, opposite the valley, the land was devastated. Corpses littered the ground like flowers in new spring, among hundreds of tents that only the day before had been teeming with life, the life of an army on the move. Their object had been the valley, and their broken corpses testified the fate of those with evil in their hearts who crossed the last guardian. But perhaps he was not the last...