For My Lord

Head down, just keep on walking, keep moving nobody will bother me. I keep my head down and continue down the badly cobbled cart path towards the small town. Normally I wouldn’t be this close to people, but I am running dangerously low on food and need more leather for thicker boots. Winter is coming up fast and my worn ones won’t do me much good. I can only hope that my visit doesn’t draw too much attention, like it did in Arden. I don’t have time to evade the town watch and lose trackers again; I must get to My Lord as quickly as possible.

Get into town, find a trader or store, get what I need and get out. No small talk. No lingering. No inns. No taverns. As much as the restrictions hurt, especially that last one, they were necessary. Shopkeepers and traders don’t remember much about nobodies who don’t buy much, this I know. Tavern keepers and inn owners tend to remember much more than they have any right to and for the right price they will tell anyone everything they want to know, this I learned the hard way.  I wasn’t sure if this town was actually large enough to have store or trader, if it doesn’t I will have to take what I need from the surrounding farms and leave town as quickly as possible.  I hate stealing; it makes me feel horrid, odd considering my chosen occupation, but true none the less.

The path winds between the fields, coming within shouting distance of each home. Most likely a remnant of the Years of War, when runners would be sent to all the towns to call the men to war to protect some lord or another, usually one the people had never heard of.  But went to war they did, I was never really sure why. It was a rougher world back then, now we have the Justice who rules over all of Finsted equally. All the lords are united under him and are submissive to his rule, or that’s what we are told. United or not, the wars are over. Now the lords have more refined ways of dealing with their little disagreements. That is if one considers poisoning and assassins refined.

“Hello.” An even voice connected to an admirable amount of unruly black curls startles me from my thoughts.  Glancing up the small rise to my left I discover that atop the short wall there is face under all those curls. A small, round face with an unusually large mouth and what I believe is normally described as a “button” nose. Button and curls aside, it is the eyes that cause me to pause. Grey. This boy has grey eyes. Not only are they grey but they are big and wise, wise much beyond the fourteen years of this slim boy.  It was clear he hadn’t been trained; his eyes didn’t narrow at the sight of me. To be untrained with grey eyes indicated that this boy had potential, great potential.

In that moment my plans changed, My Lord would understand my delay if I succeeded in convincing the boy to come with me.  Involving his parents would only endanger the boy’s potential, it had to be his choice to follow when I left town. This meant I had to stay in town long enough to give him a taste, just a few tricks to show him what he is clearly capable of. My thoughts raced as I attempted to construct a believable story for my presence in the town, details of Lord Rison’s death will have reached this far by now and the people will be wary of any strangers in town. Being the man responsible for Lord Rison’s death, wary town’s people are something I want to avoid.  Settling upon the idea of working my way north to visit my brother, I focused once again on the boy and noticed that I had been staring, for quite a long time.

“Hello,” I rasp my voice rough from disuse. The roughness doesn’t appear to startle the boy, if anything it intrigues him. He cocks his head to the side and squints his eyes at me while he studies my features. I can’t look like much, after nine weeks living mostly in the woods and running from various town patrols nobody really looks that great. His eyes flick from here to there along my body, never resting in one spot for too long. A small frown pulls at the corners of his lips and wrinkles his forehead, he is clearly not impressed. I straighten to my full height, the little that it is, and attempt to smooth out my travel worn clothes.

“That’s not really helping much.” He tells me raising a single eyebrow. I glare quickly at him, which elicits a small smile and a bark of laughter. Sighing, I run my hand through my closely cropped hair as I nod in agreement.  Smiling broadly now he sticks out his hand, “Name’s Pell, pleasure to meet you, mate. How about coming up to the house for lunch? I’m sure ma won’t mind much and the store will still be open by the time you get into town. The store is why you are here, right? Mr….?”

“Finebeck, Cob Finebeck. Please call me Cob. And actually I was hoping to find some work here for the winter.” Shaking his hand I hope he can’t read the shock easily on my face. Without thinking I had told him my real name, a name I hadn’t said aloud in almost five years. Why did it come out now?

“Well Cob it is then,” the slight tilt of his head indicates that he can clearly see the shock but isn’t sure why it is there. This kid not only has potential he has talent, raw unshaped talent. He could be one of the greats if I can only get him to buy into it. This kid, this Pell, is just what My Lord needs. He could tip the whole thing in our favor.

Lost in my thoughts of glory and achievement I didn’t notice Pell straighten from where he was leaning on the wall before me and wander down a ways to a gate. “Cob? Cob!” he calls, holding the gate open, “Lunch?”

“Oh. Sorry, that would be great.” Ducking my head to hide my slightly flushed cheeks I join him at the gate. Pausing to glace at him I notice that he is older than I had guessed, nearer to seventeen or eighteen than my original guess of fourteen. I must be getting old, either that or my skills are a little rusty after nine weeks on the run. Either way if I can get Pell to follow along and learn the craft then I can get old and rusty, it won’t matter. The look of bemusement on his face tells me that I have spent too much time staring at him again and I quickly drop my eyes and trudge up the small incline and through the gate.

I hear him chuckling softly and turn to find him shaking his head with a small smile on his face as he closes the gate. I was about to question as to what he thought was funny when he grasped my arm and led me away. “Come on, this way. If we don’t hurry the twins will eat it all and then we will have to make do with cold leftovers from breakfast.”

Much later that night I find myself sitting on the bed in the other half of Pell’s family’s loft. After telling me several stories of the twins on the way to the house and talking his mother into feeding another male without any prior notice he then tucked into his own meal and left me at the mercy of his mother’s questioning gaze. I attempted to eat the wonderful stew as I answered her questions and explained my fabricated story to the family. The only pause I had was when his father asked my age, it had been so long since I had even thought of my age as something that mattered I had to do the math. I was shocked to discover that I was not much older than Pell, nineteen and turning twenty this winter. With a grin one of the twins had confirmed my suspicion by declaring that Pell and I could be long lost twins born a year apart, what with our eyes and all. Pell was eighteen and hadn’t been snatched up by one of the nearer lords yet, how had he avoided detection? I was four when I was recruited to be trained, my eyes didn’t even change until last year.

After lunch was finished I negotiated staying on as an extra hand through the winter, Pell’s father was getting along in years and he wasn’t able to help much with the morning chores or any heavy lifting. Sealing the contract with some warm apple pie I was ushered out of the house with the rest of the males to start on afternoon and evening chores. The work was hard and seemed never ending, but when we were finished we were all treated to another filling meal and then I was ordered to bathe. Pell’s mother said she was pleased that I was willing to help around the farm and keep her husband from killing himself but unless I bathed I would be sleeping in the barn where my smell wouldn’t offend anyone, except maybe the pigs. I happily agreed.

The next few months continued in much the same manner. I helped with chores and was rewarded with meals and a place to sleep, so long as I bathed often enough to keep the smell away. Pell and I became good friends I dreaded breaking into the things I needed to tell him. About me, about him, about what he could do, about what I can do and have already done.  I didn’t want to ruin this family, I had become close to them. I didn’t want to lose them.  

I found other ways of letting him know something was different about me. I would silently walk into the barn with bales of hay, catch things that the twins had dropped at the last minute, light candles without flint, taste my meals for poison, make my knives appear and disappear seemingly without effort. These and other things drew attention to my skills and soon Pell was watching me constantly out of the corner of his eye and evaluating the things I did. Shortly after I began showing off I walked into the barn to discover Pell mimicking my knife skills. I stood silently behind and watched him, Pell has talent. With no training he managed to reproduce my sleight of hand seven out of ten times, a feat that took me four months of rigorous training with harsh punishments upon failure.  Within days of honing his knife skills Pell makes noticeable improvements in silent walking. By simply observing Pell had managed to cover nearly nine months of training on his own. Pell was very talented and left alone he might have figured it all out on his own, but now that he knew I was like him he wouldn’t be able to resist the desire to know more.

I knew it was only a matter of time until he approached me about the things he had noticed, any normal man would just write it off thinking that their vision must be going. But Pell was no normal man, Pell was far from normal and he was starting to notice this about himself as well. I figured it would only be a few more days until Pell approached me when things came to a head. 

It was the Winter Festival, a day of celebration and cheer, winter was half over and spring was on its way in. I had nearly forgotten about the business with Lord Rison and had certainly forgotten about the fact that I was on the run from his son’s personal guard for his murder. I had become comfortable in my life with Pell and his family and had let down my guard. “Letting down your guard is the first step to ending up dead,” that is what my teachers had always told me. In this case it was the beginning of the end of the life I had grown to love.

Without thought for my safety I accompanied Pell and the family into town for the celebrations of the day. Pell and I had broken off from the rest of the family and were meandering through town square when I caught a flash of something odd out of the corner of my eye. Pulling Pell into a nearby side street I crouched down to find the source of my unease.

“Cob what is go-“ I cut Pell off with a glare over my shoulder then returned to my vigil. I had seen something that I recognized, and coat of arms or a sigil. Something that turned my blood to ice and made my heart pound faster, something that I knew was bad.  Keeping my eyes on the square, sweeping from side to side in a steady motion, I reached behind me and pulled Pell down into a crouch.

Eyes still scanning the square I leaned back so Pell could hear me, “There is something here, or someone. From my past. Something bad, I am not sure exactly what it is bu-,“ my throat closed as I caught sight of what it was that spooked me. The Rison coat of arms on a blood red cloak, a cloak that was clasped about the shoulders of a rather large, extremely angry man, a man who was looking directly at me. The look in his eyes could only be described as pure hatred, a look of pure hatred for what he considered to be pure evil.

Leaping to my feet I grabbed Pell’s arm as I spun about and headed in the other direction, gasping “RUN!”

“COB FINEBECK!” the rather large man roared as he began to pursue me. Sparing a glance over my shoulder I watched as his comrades, spurred into action by his growls as he attempted to race through the throng of people, came to his aid and joined him in chasing me. I counted twelve men, twelve large well-armed men.  Turning blindly down streets I led Pell away from Rison’s men and, through extreme luck or some instinctive magic, back to the crowded square.

Turning to Pell I hurriedly inform him that I have to be going now and that he shouldn’t follow me. I tell him that if he is caught by those men he is free to tell them whatever he wishes, that it is only important that he live whatever the cost to me. Ignoring the shock and hurt on his face I become the weapon I was trained to be and melt back into the crowd, seeming to disappear right before his eyes.

I do the only thing I can and leave the town. Without any supplies or any of my possessions I turn northwards and resume my trek back to My Lord. I use the skills that had been hounded into me for all those years, use them to confuse my trail and lay many false trails, placing traps along all of them. I walk for what seems like years but is surely only a few days, always heading northwards towards My Lord.

Late one evening, one of the few that I have managed to get a fire to light, I hear someone approaching me. Thinking it is just another traveler coming to share in the warmth I don’t hide or run, perhaps they would be willing to share some food. In the midst of my thoughts I notice something strange about the gait of the stranger coming towards me; it is barely even hearable, nearly silent. My breath catches in my throat with the hope that it might just be him, that maybe Pell followed me after all. I make no move to turn my head towards the light sounds, just as they seem to almost be upon me they stop. I force myself to stare at the fire and draw one of my many knives slowly with little visible movement.

“What made you think running off in the middle of winter with nothing was a good idea?”

“Pell,” I breathe turning towards his voice.

“Hello Cob,” he returns steeping into the light and moving to sit next to me. “I have a lot of questions that you WILL be answering before I give you any of this junk that I have hauled for the last two weeks to return to you.” I just stare at him and smile as he removes the several bags he has draped around his body. He hands me a blanket and some sturdier shoes as he stares at me hard.

“What do you want to know?” I ask my voice raspy with disuse and lack of water.

“You know what I want,” he hands me a canteen. I gulp greedily as I formulate the words to tell him everything. I return the empty canteen to him and stare into the fire, trying to make sense of my rushing thoughts. Pell doesn’t push me, but he also doesn’t back down.

“There is a rare type of human called a Lispin. It means “grey eyed one”, for reasons no one can comprehend the Lispin are especially good at killing. They excel at causing death in all its forms. I am a Lispin. Those men were after me because I killed Lord Rison by the command of My Lord.  Pell, you are Lispin.” I deliver this speech to the flames. Only once I have told Pell what he is do I look up expecting to see disgust. Instead I am shocked to see acceptance and, to my greater astonishment, relief. Pell is not surprised.  He gestures for me to continue and for once in my life I tell someone the truth of my life, the full truth.

The night is spent with Pell asking and me answering. Pell asks anything that comes to mind and I answer everything I can to the best of my abilities. When morning comes I ask Pell what he plans to do, he smiles. “This Lord of yours seems like a fair and just man. Do you think he would need the employ of a Lispin in training?” I nod with a smile and lead the way north. I shall return to My Lord much later than expected, but with a friend for myself and a gift for My Lord.

Head down I keep on walking. I can only hope My Lord is not angry.

Days

I have been told many times that in order for a marriage to last one must marry their best friend. Sadly for me polygamy has long since been outlawed and same sex marriage is currently in question.  Attempting to combine the two would get me a headlining story on the Today show and might just get me thrown in jail on top of that. If I lived in Britain I could just marry Jaron and then live with Austin and Chantry and nobody would bat an eye, but I do not live in Britain. I live in Utah. Highly religious, very set in its ways Utah. This means that I have to choose, make a choice as to which best friend I need with me the most. With no offence to Jaron or Austin, they are wonderful people and I love them, I would have to choose Chantry. Without Chantry I wouldn’t be alive today and I can’t imagine my life without her.

A little over a year ago my life fell apart in under a week. My boyfriend left me for a girl he had known for three days, I was failing four classes, and nobody cared about what happened to me. I wandered through my life without really living for nearly a month until Chantry saved me. It was one of the worst days that I had ever had to deal with on my own, nothing was going right. I missed my bus, forgot my wallet, and dropped my lunch on the floor; thus making it uneatable. After cleaning up the mess I had created by dripping pizza sauce on the floor and then dropping my whole slice on top of that I retreated to the bathroom to cry. My “friends” had been two feet away and hadn’t done a thing to help me clean up my mess; they simply glanced at me, turned their backs and snickered.  I was done with the whole idea of school. Why spend six hours a day, five days a week being forced to attend classes where I was taught nothing and made to do group projects with people who clearly hated me?  Sitting on the floor of that public bathroom quaking with the effort to suppress my tears, the only logical conclusion I could come to was to drop out and run away. As I lost the battle and my tears began their journey, my phone vibrated. Assuming that it was one of my “friends” who had witnessed my lunch tumble to the ground and was texting me to offer their “care and concern”, I pulled my phone from my pocket. The name and number on my phone was the last name and number I expected to see that day.

Chantry had noticed me. Honestly I am still not really sure how or when we exchanged numbers, I am very glad that we did though. Chantry is one of those people that you don’t really want to talk to because she is kind of scary looking. Her short hair is nearly always pulled back into a harsh bun and her newly added red streak draws attention. Her gauges, while not large, are noticeable, I think this is why her hair is always pulled up so severely. Chantry walks like she has a mission even when she is lost in a grocery store. But the first thing you notice about Chantry is her eyes, she has a gaze that will look into your soul and in thirty second or less she can tell you everything you are doing wrong in your life and how to fix it. All in all she’s not the type of person you would approach to ask for directions, but once you get to know her you never regret it. The day I made the choice to drop out and run, Chantry noticed me. To this day I don’t know why, or even when she did, I just know that she did. Of all the people who attend my school and watched me have a breakdown in the middle of the Haven, Chantry was the only one who reached out. She didn’t do anything grand; she simply sent me a text.  “You okay hun?” That’s all it said, three little words. Three little words that turned the course of my life, and honestly I don’t want to know where I would be without them.

What happened next, I really have no explanation for; I don’t understand why I did what I did. I don’t trust people by nature. People are stupid and loud and untrustworthy. I certainly do not trust people that I barely know and have only spoken to once or twice in my life.  So I have no idea why I responded to Chantry with “No, not really.” I cannot think of a good reason why I responded with the truth, why I trusted her.  It might have something to do with the fact that I was sitting on the floor of a public bathroom with tears running down my cheeks and snot dripping from my nose. Maybe this is one of those times in life that God sees fit to interfere with the lives of mere mortals. Whatever it was, and I am inclined to pick the first choice, I told Chantry the truth and that changed my life forever.

In under a year Chantry brought me from the sniveling teenage girl who avoided mirrors to the adult that defends the fact that she is going to major in English, whether or not anyone supports her in it. I changed from avoiding everyone to taking on the fly adventures and having flirting with people I didn’t know. One of our better planed adventures was our Ikea Day; it was about four months ago on the only Friday both Chantry and I had off.

Our day began promptly at eight a.m. as Chantry picked me up for breakfast and to discuss our schedule for the day. I literally mean schedule, Chantry had scheduled every minute of our day, from picking me up to extra wandering time. Chantry is kind of neurotic like that; she even made a spreadsheet type thing on her smart phone for us to follow. It is a little strange, but oddly endearing, she wanted to make sure I got to see everything I wanted and she was going to make sure that I had a good day. After our schedule review over waffles and crêpes, we headed off to our first stop, the Salt Lake City Public Library. It may seem odd but I have been obsessed with that building since the day it was completed. Chantry understood, nobody else ever had but Chantry got it. From there our day was filled with whatever caught our fancy. Comic shops, a thrift store, a café in the basement of a county government building, even a cool fountain I saw as we were driving by. Chantry stopped, found a place to park and took me back to play in the water. 

Nobody had ever understood me the way Chantry did and I don’t know that I will ever understand why she choose me. She could have been friends with nearly anyone she wanted; she has that ability to connect with people. What made her choose me? I asked her that very thing one day, one of those days where we were doing soul searching. Chantry looked at me, gave a little half smile and said “Because you’re different. I like it.” That was it. She didn’t explain. She didn’t expand. That was it and that was enough.

Those two little texts, both only three words long, were the beginning of a friendship that would withstand four different depression medications, two accidents, thousands of bus and car rides, and two of the most hectic schedules known to mankind.  If Chantry hadn’t taken notice of me that day I would have probably ended up dead shortly after. If Chantry hadn’t chosen to become my friend I would have never gotten the help that I so badly needed. If, if, if so much of our lives depend upon that tiny little word, if. So IF I had to choose only one friend to have with me for the rest of my life, I would choose Chantry, because without her I would have no life to spend with any one. 

Due to His Station

Thus began the end of the world, a single tear was shed by a single girl in hopes of regaining her lost love. A single tear was shed by a single girl; who was the daughter of a king.

This daughter was loved by many and admired by all, but only one man held her heart within his hands. This man, the one who caught her eye and now holds her heart, was the son of a carpenter. As he held her heart, and beheld that it was such a fragile and breakable thing, he gave her his heart in return. He then placed her heart in the hole in his chest, the hole created when he gifted her his heart, and he covered it with bones and muscles to protect that fragile and breakable item. She did likewise and his heart warmed her and their bond was forged of a steel that could not be broken. As her blood flowed through her veins and his though hers it became impossible to hide, which they must due to his station in life.

As their bond became more apparent the daughter's mother, meaning the queen, became increasingly distraught. The mother, being the queen, began to plot; and as she was a very wise and cunning woman she soon devised a plan. Having much control over the country through the love her husband, being the king, had for her she soon put her plan into action. She, being the queen, began a war and sent the man, the man who held the daughters heart, away to battle. When the daughter discovered this treachery she began to weep. When the king found his daughter weeping he became enraged and set out to find this man, the one who held her heart.

And thus began the end of the world, a single tear was shed by a single girl due to the treachery of the queen.

The Story of a Drow (Prologue)

Navigating FalseFara Effectively:
Everything You Need to Know About FalseFara and Then Some!
Chapter Forty-Seven: Peoples and Places to Avoid

There exists no bowman more deadly than those known as the Drow. Practitioners of the Dark Arts, these elves are the sole inhabitants of the Ebony Woods, a land so war torn and poisoned, that the living trees are few and far between. Darker skinned than any other nation of elves it is commonly believed that their ancestors consorted with the devil and they are not even truly elves any longer, but an entirely new race.

Throughout the years there have been few wars that they have not had an underhanded part in starting, and none that they have not ended, often by wiping out entire races. Only two nations have ever attempted to get into their good graces, one by becoming allies with them, the other by becoming trading partners. The Ayleids, a nation of Bretons most commonly known for their command over simple magics and their ability to perform simple tasks, became the allies of the Drow. Two weeks after the treaty was signed the Ayleids disappeared, all five thousand or so, nobody knows how or where to. Well nobody that is, except for the Drow, and they are not talking. The Redguard was more successful in their attempts. This nation of wanderers is the last known establishment of humans in all of FalseFara. Living in the Suhalla Desert they trade in wares that cannot be found outside the harsh winds of the Suhalla or by anyone not of Redguard descent. The Redguard and the Drow have been successful trading partners for nearly a decade; they keep their peace and their distance. All business is done in the Dead Zone between the forest and the desert, swept clean of plant life by the black sands of the Suhalla. The Dead Zone is home only to the Kelarka and the trading outposts used by these two outcast nations.

It is entirely unknown how many Drow there are, or how their culture works. Reports range from forty thousand to around nine million, this last account is not widely believed however as it came from an escaped prisoner of war on the brink of death. The largest gathering of the Drow ever recorded has been at war, with a sighting of nearly fourteen thousand. This number alone makes them larger than any other nation on record; no children were counted among the fighters that day. Their government is thought to be a hierarchy, with an all-powerful king at its head and the rule passing on to the oldest male in the family line, regardless of ability or desire to rule. Brothers have been known to kill one another for the chance to take the crown; the next in line may not abdicate. The current king, King Nicolive, killed fourteen brothers and his father in order to sit on the throne. He was the youngest of his family and now has sixteen sons of his own. It is believed that they marry for life; however this has never been confirmed by any Drow.

With a keen sense of smell and eyesight unrivaled by even the Kelarka, the Drow are nearly impossible to ambush. They know that you are coming before you are even aware they are ahead of you, allowing them to become the hunters rather than the hunted. A Drow is never seen alone, always in small groups, or at the very least pairs. This allows the work to get done with at least one man always on guard.

It is the advisement of this guidebook that one avoids the Drow at all costs. DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES ENTER EBONY WOOD OR ATTEMPT TO ATTACK A DROW! THESE ACTIONS WILL RESULT IN THE IMMEDIATE DEATH OR DISAPPEARANCE OF EVERYONE INVOLVED!

What They Made Me

    Everybody knows the story behind Wolverine, you know the X-Man. They covered his bones in metal to make him nearly unbreakable. He didn’t like what they had done, but all in all it really didn’t do that much harm to him either. His life continued in much the same way it always had, so long as he never got taken to the hospital. I wish my story had such a happy ending.

    I was never really all that, um, normal. From birth my parents were pretty sure there was something different. I mean they named me Franswa who does that unless they know that you are going to end up a freak, I only wish they hadn’t been so afraid. I wore gloves everywhere, they told everybody that I had very delicate sink. That the slightest thing would give me a rash, they were lying. The truth is that with one touch from me, the smallest contact with my skin would cause your bones to begin to melt. They would liquefy and seep out of your pores. You could try and fight, but the same touch that would end your life would also ensure that you didn’t mind too much. Maybe that you even enjoyed it. I lived with this my whole life, from birth clear up until now, seventeen years later. When I was younger I used to dream of becoming like superman, you know like on “Smallville” that show about Clark Kent growing up as a farm boy. I used to think that I was like him, that one day I would be able to use this strange power of mine for good. I know better now, now I can never be anything more than what they made me. A monster.

    Despite all of that my life didn’t get really strange until about eight months ago, that’s when they began to show up. I am not really sure who they are, but they certainly know who I am and more importantly what I am. They first showed up at school and I really didn’t think much of it. They looked like any other state people here to see where the funds had been used and how much more they could take from the inner city kids. Typical yearly cut backs nothing for me to worry about, I didn’t take any art classes or music ones either, they could cut anything they wanted to and I wouldn’t care. But then they showed up at my house, the same men, I guess they thought I wouldn’t notice. They said they were inspectors for our landlord. That the apartment building had just been sold and new management wanted everything inspected. They never did inspect any of the other apartments.

    I was already suspicious, but everything came to a head when my parents sided with them. I don’t know what they told Mom and Pop, something about them being able to fix me or other such nonsense. But there they were one day when I came home from school, Mom had already packed my bags, and Pops helped them chain me to the car. Neither of them cried or even waved as they took me away. We drove for hours, I’m not really sure where we ended up I slept for most of the ride, but when we got there that’s when the real horror started. They began testing, on me, on my DNA, on my skin, even on my bones. I don’t know what they found out and I don’t think I want to know, the tests hurt enough. I really don’t want to know what it told them.

    After the tests came the injections, these hurt even worse. I don’t know what was in the injections, some sort of concoction they created to make whatever my power was stronger. Pretty soon my appetite dropped, I didn’t want to eat anything and what I did eat I threw back up. Then came the day they tried to spoon feed me, they tied me down and forced the food down. The man who was feeding me made the mistake of touching my face with his bare hand, I felt better instantly. That was the first man I ever killed. Whatever was in those shots had made this curse so strong that all it took was one touch, no more than a minute long, and all the bones in them moved to me. The bones didn’t just liquefy and seep out pores now, now they seeped into me. Now it’s the only thing that can keep me satisfied. 

    They didn’t lock me in that night and when I got out there was no one else in the compound. They had seen the monster they created and they wanted nothing to do with me anymore. I ran all night long that first night and most of the next day as well. I don’t know where I was trying to go, just away from that place, away from the awful place. Now I keep away from towns for fear that I might hurt someone. I sedate my hunger on animals, but they never really fill me up. I try not to hurt anyone, but the pull is getting stronger. Someday my control will falter and more people will die. The death count will rise, that poor worker, dear old Pop, loving Mother, all gone. Soon others will join them.

Mel's Dinner

    Jaspart Benwa was the man that every girl in the office wanted, every girl that is except for me. The man walked around as if he owned the world, as if all women should just lie down at his feet and let him have his way. The sad part is that all the women seem to agree with him, they just let him do whatever he wants and he is NEVER punished! I do not appreciate this; this makes me feel as if I am some sort of freak.

    But I don’t need to worry about any of this, I have a secret weapon. I am dating a man, a nice man, a man who cares about my feelings, a real man who can accept the fact that I am the strong independent type. His name is part4966, ok so I haven’t actually met him and we are dating online, but he really is that amazing. At least I have some sort of a relationship unlike Mr. Benwa, the man never tied to a woman for more than a night. In truth I have almost accepted dinner offers from Mr. Benwa just to see what all the fuss is about, but as always my logic won out over my emotions and I have yet to accept an offer. Mr. Benwa; however, has not taken the hint and continues to ask on a daily basis.

    “Good morning Katilyn. How are you this fine Monday morning?” Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

    Eyes darting, footsteps racing, I answer, “Fine, Mr. Benwa. And how are you?”

    “Good, but I would be better if you would call me Jaspart, Mrs. Nix,” he says blocking my path.

    Glaring holes in his pretty little head, huffing my breaths in and out, and grinding my teeth in anger I respond, “Jaspart it is then. Now would you kindly get out of my way Jaspart?” I shove my way past him and enter my office, leaving Jaspart, stammering and shocked, alone in the hallway.

    Head shaking in confusion, hand waving erratically, I take a deep breath to calm myself. After relaxing I nearly skip to my computer to logon to the dating site. Please let him be on, please let him be on, good he is!

    part4966: Hey! How are you? :)!
    lynix94: Better now. I had a run in with that guy again. :(

    part4966: The one from your office?
    lynix94: Yeah that’s the one. Oh how I wish he would just transfer or something.
part4966: Sorry:(! That’s no good. Well if it makes you feel any better I had to deal with this lady from my office today.
lynix94: The one who can’t take a hint?
part4966: Yeah that’s the one…..he he that is kind of funny :)

lynix94: What is?
part4966: That we both had early morning run ins with the people we like least in our offices.
lynix94: Ha ha yeah that is funny. :)

part4966: So how about we celebrate? Will you meet me for lunch?
lynix94: …….How is this something to celebrate?
part4966: I don’t know……… I just want to meet you. I want to put a face to the person I feel like I know so well.

Heart pounding and head fuzzy, I stop to think it over. I really want to meet this man, but what if he is just saying that for, well you know. Would I be able to handle it if that’s all he wanted? It has been I long time since that has happened to me, and I have to admit I want it too. But can I handle nothing more than that? Coming to a decision I type:

lynix94: Okay, let’s do it. Meet me at Mel’s Dinner on Fifth at 2.
part4966: Perfect I will see you there. I will sit in the blue booth.

With those parting words I log off and finally get to work. I have four hours to fill before I can leave. I won’t get much done during any of it, but will fill the time that’s for sure. 

At 1:30 I leave my office and head to the restroom to check one last time and make sure that I am presentable. I spend so much time studying my look and second guessing myself that I don’t leave the office until 2:15. Praying that he didn’t leave, or worse stand me up, I rush through traffic to Mel’s.

    I walk in and search for the blue booth. There it is where it has always been in the back corner of the diner. There is a man sitting at the booth, a tallish man, a handsome man, or at least the back of his head is. I walk slowly over to him and slid into the seat across from him without looking up.

Then slowly and carefully I look up into the eyes of the man that I have been dreaming of for the past four months.

“Benwa?!”
“Nix?!”

One versus One Hundred

Zai Luran common foot solider number 1-7849, this is who I am. The first of my kind, a commoner raised by the noblemen’s tutors and trainers. Abandoned on the door step of Sir Travin’s Home for Aspiring Knights, I was taken in to quell an uprising of the common folk against the king and nobles, it worked. They promised that others would follow, that there would be a new social class made up of men like me, commoners raised like knights. But seventeen years later I am still the only one, Zai Luran in a sea of Sir Charmaine, Sir Henry, and Sir Alexander. Then the day came that it all changed, the day of the test.

The test is a simple thing one man versus one hundred soldiers, not knights just common foot soldiers but there is one hundred of them. The goal is to last longer than the other team through any means necessary, many great men have died during this deadly game of the nobles. For it truly is just a game to them, they watch it happen in plush seats with wine and hot food, the lives lost mean nothing to them; after all they are just common soldiers. Only once has a noble been killed in this game and the commoner who committed the act was accused of murder and put to death. That was the first time that a man was put to death without a fair trial. But the nobles have added a challenge to my game, they got bored with the same old thing every week; I have to outlast without killing any of the one hundred men who will fight against me. Never in the three thousand years of Vastva history has this ever happened before.

From the ground I can’t see the arena that surrounds me, but I know that they all see me. My picture fills the hover screen high above my head; the whole event will be documented by the hover cam floating near my face for later review. The monotony of “Zai Luran vs. the hundred”, being repeated over and over again, was finally broken by the starting bell. I send a prayer to Willhelm, guardian of tactical maneuvers, and then I’m off running for my life.

The first twenty men are easy to capture, tossing rocks from my perches in the trees I lure them right into my most obvious snares. The next forty or so are a little smarter, or perhaps it is just harder now that it is getting dark, but they too stumble into my carefully laid plans. Most of the rest follow in much the same manner with more tossed rocks and rustled bushes, it‘s so easy that I nearly fall asleep and out of the tree, this would have given away my game as nobody had looked up yet. But then I was shot by one of the last three players and I lost my perch anyway, I scrambled up and sprinted down the nearest path. As I ran I heard more gunshots ahead, rounding the corner I saw the other two players shooting at each other, the path took me between them and straight to one of my more carefully concealed traps. The two who had been shooting each other turned to chase me and as I jumped into the nearest tree they collided with my net which hoisted them into the air. Ninety-nine down only one more to go.

The last man took much more time and nearly a quart of my own blood. A trail of blood led to and over one last trap, my most impressive by far I have to say. A pit with microscopic ropes crisscrossing it, the dark and a few leaves make it nearly impossible to see. Leading him down the path towards it I use the trees to swing up over the pit and to the other side, he rounded the corner and saw me standing in the middle of the path apparently out of breath. He walked right into the pit and was wrapped up in the net laying at the bottom, I had won.

The next morning it was announced, one of the men had died, I had failed. They said it was the last man I caught, they said he was strangled by the ropes of the net. But, I know that man lived. I cut him out of the net myself and left the arena with him, he was alive when I went home. They killed that man so that a commoner would not be knighted, so that the balance would stay the same, the thought makes me sick.

Zai Luran common foot soldier number 1-7849, this is who I am, this is who they have made me. But the time is coming that they will lose all their power, when they will become common. They trained me as a knight, they raised me as a knight, they tell me to fight as a foot soldier, but they forget that I think as a tactician. I see what no one else sees, I hear what no one else hears and what I see and hear is social unrest in all of the common folk. So what I do is bide my time, I wait it out, I persuade people to speak out, I speak out myself on occasion. One day all my time and work will pay off and I will get my revenge.