Awaited Return

The house was dark and cold. Of course it was; no one had entered the place in over a year, and it had been still longer since anyone had actually lived there.
She sighed and dropped a small pack to the floor. All of her belongings fit in such a small space, and she wasn't sure whether that was impressive or depressing. Wood was stacked near the fireplace, very dry, easily kindled. Building the fire took her mind off other things for a few minutes. Paper from her pockets for tinder, some large shavings torn free with her knife, and the fire was crackling. Flickering light cast about the place. Some of the shadows were banished, but that only served to reveal the dust and cobwebs that filled every corner.

Tomorrow, yes tomorrow she would clean up and set the old house to rights. Tonight had been filled with enough. She was tired, both physically by the long journey, and in spirit from the sight of the place.

Too many memories were bound here, and too much old pain.

Her sleep would not be easy tonight.

Under Ancient Stone: Part III

Stealth was abandoned in favor of haste now. Cairis faced forward only long enough to see Alise raise her fist and swing it sideways into the wall of the narrow passage. Tor pressed himself flat against the wall and gestured urgently for the rest of them to pass him even as he rummaged through his bag for things to trap and slow the pursuing horde.
"No Tor, not here, just RUN!" Tala shrieked, her normally high pitched voice went down an octave or two on the last word as a pulse of magic burst from her. Lightness filled their limbs, and they sped back up the corridor. "Tala they'll be following close!"
"No they won't, not from there," Alise responded calmly, "the passage is going to collapse in a few seconds."
Cairis stared at the Sylvari over his shoulder, "by the Six! why are we not running faster then?"
"Because you bookah are too busy talking thats why!" Tala shouted as she slipped past him and shot around the corner. Cairis didn't feel a rebuttal to that statement would have been appropriate, so he just ran harder.

Under Ancient Stone Part II

Slowly, so incrementally that they had had walked for almost another hundred feet before they noticed, the rough cave floor and walls gave way to ancient hewn stone and solidly placed blocks. After the initial shock had worn off, close examination of the walls began to reveal carvings. First it was just seemingly random chisel marks, but those soon gave way to runes, words, and sentences. Most of the runes were as indecipherable as those on the plinth from earlier; though Cairis was able to pick out a few here and there that bore enough similarity to hazard a guess at their meaning. The one bright spot was that neither Cairis, Alise, nor Tala's devices could detect any hints of magic in the Orrian writings. That however, changed when they found the second plinth.

Under Ancient Stone

The walls of the cave glittered around them in the slight luminescence let off by Tala's armor. The diminutive Asura was several paces ahead of the rest of them, waving around a device that supposedly would detect any dangerous sections before she stepped on them, Cairis was somewhat less confident in Asuran magic after the last few mishaps with Tala's devices. She claimed to have made great progress since then, but the sections of his hair that still hadn't grown back from being singed off left him not wanting to simply take her word for it.
Behind him were the other two members of their group, Alise and Tor. The Sylvari and Norn moved with incredible silence through the rough cave, leaving Tala clinking and humming rather obviously. Alise's silence was hardly surprising. She barely weighed anything anyway--and Cairis was fairly certain that she was using some manner of air spell to silence her steps even more--Tor on the other hand was at least half again as tall as he was, and at least twice as heavy. Yet the Norn managed to move with all the grace of a dancer, avoiding every bit of loose ground or rubble that could have made any noise. Cairis himself was no slouch when it came to sneaking, but he was more than a bit awed now. He knew Tala much better than these two, having met her some years ago in Divinity's Reach. She supposedly had done work with them before, but what work that might have been was unknown to him.

Wanderers in Frozen Mist

Jenn wasn't sure how they had arrived here, in this desolate frozen wilderness, but she was certain that there was a way out. There must be a way back home, back to their lives.

The four of them had been at a cafe, enjoying cocktails before their food arrived, when it started. A strange dense fog bank suddenly rolled in around them, they could hear people around them crying out in confusion and alarm, but their cries became quieter and quieter. Soon they could hear nothing at all, except each other's breathing.
"What's happening?" Chris had demanded, but no one could really give an answer to him.

Death-Walker

The agony is overwhelming, obliterating consciousness, leaving nothing behind in its wake. Gradually it begins to recede, like a river retreating to its banks after a flood. Sheer agony retreats until only a dull throbbing ache remains. My mind slowly rises back to the surface. Memories and thoughts run about madly, and it is several minutes before I can get a thought through the morass.
I have died again... and just like every time before, it has not been permanent.

Nightmare Reality

When you lie in bed at night, and your mind seems to run wild over uncharted fields of imagination, there inevitably arise those patches that shock, horrify, and terrify. Nightmares we call them, and mature individuals are told to shrug them off, they don't mean anything anyway.
But what if that advice is wrong?

Nanotech: Alpha Swarm

Attn: Dr. Strenz

The Alpha Swarm has surpassed our greatest hopes, however they still seem to be suffering from several distinct limitations.

First, despite our best efforts, they remain incapable of learning new information. Our attempts to create a hive-mind memory have apparently failed, we must pursue this further.

Second, they seem to be able to recall a particular form only for as long as they carry the mass of it. It also seems that this limitation extends to a roughly 5 minute time span, with the time limit being shorter with more complex items. Thus, while the swarm can absorb an object, and then flawlessly recreate it, it cannot then replicate the object, even if it is attempted immediately.

Thirdly the nanites seem to eventually hit a critical mass in terms of numbers. It is unclear at exactly what point this occurs, but it also can be clearly witnessed. The swarm can rebuild itself from only a milligram of nanites back to its starting mass of 1 Kg, but it does not seem to be able to grow larger than 2Kg. We theorize that the nanites numbers overwhelm their ability to communicate, and that nanites that are still connected to the hive begin to register the disconnected nanites as hostile invaders, and reabsorb them.

Dangerous Dance

Despite Valeras' implicit threat, Hethir managed to get both of them back to the Storm Hawk without anyone's skin being punctured. Their feet had hardly touched the deck before the sails were unfurled and the ship pulled away from the dock.
How do we fare Michael?
Captain, four men attempted to infiltrate the crew, one shortly after our arrival, the others after we had reached the inn.
And now?
Three are in the brig, two of them are still unconscious. Two came at the same time earlier, one of them tried to flee, I shot him down, his body will be thrown overboard later, one crewman died as well.
Unfortunate. Very well, I will attend to our unwanted guests shortly. Keep the helm, get us well out to sea, I want to be out of easy range to be tracked.
Aye sir.
Where have you situated the mercenaries?
In the rear quarters, I informed them to stay there until you came to speak with them.
Excellent, thank you Michael.

In Lieu of Sanity...

Who needs to be sane anyway right? Sanity was such a dull experience, especially when compared to what I get to see now!
I mean, while I was sane I trudged to work every day, sat at the same desk, did the same boring repetitive tasks... It was misery! Now I've thrown all of that out the window, I do what I want! When I want! And I TAKE what I want! And no one wants to stop me, because you see, they're all still bound in the chains of sanity, and I'm free.
And that terrifies them...

You see, in lieu of sanity... I have power. Power to act how I would act, and no one can stop me; because if someone wanted to stop me, they would first have to free themselves of their chains of sanity. And once they did that... oh, well once they did that they wouldn't want to stop me anymore! Ohoh no... no they would join me, or perhaps try to outdo me! You see... insanity is... intoxicating.

Far better than any drug, more sensual than any lover... madness is consuming, and yet for all that it takes away, it gives back more!

Oh yes, I gave up my sanity long ago, but in return... I have become mighty indeed...

A Bloody Courtship

Tastrel was not the pirate-infested sump port one would usually expect from a city full of hired blades. It was clean and bright--white marble was the primary construction material used--and every citizen wore brilliant colors. Tastrel was a town of nobles. Nobles that threw around money like they pissed it, and who were constantly trying to get one-up on the other nobles around them. Mercenaries came here frequently both to relax, and potentially to be hired by the noble families. The nobles were forbidden from arming their own servants, but all of them avoided that royal decree by hiring scads of mercs. That is what brought Hethir here.

A Deadly Proposal

As the sun set bloody against the distant horizon, Hethir sat on the topsail spar. One hand held a line loosely for balance, the other held a piece of parchment. His dark eyes stared unblinking away from the sun, into the deep shadow cast by his ship. Far below him the crew worked in somewhat eerie silence, setting the Storm Hawk at sea anchor. For a long while he didn't move, then he lifted his hand to look at the parchment again.
The delivery of it disturbed him greatly, for many reasons. Foremost among them was the messenger that had delivered it. The small obsidian statuette was unpleasantly cold in his pocket. An hour ago it had been a huge raven, bearing down on his ship with uncanny speed with the parchment clutched in one razor-sharp talon. It had flown straight to Hethir, and no sooner had his hand touched the scroll than the bird shrunk down and stopped moving, becoming a crude statuette on the deck. A magical messenger of that sort--especially one that could seek its target as well is this one--was no small investment, and implied a certain level of power, affluence, or both, that Hethir was never very comfortable dealing with.
Then there was the message itself...

Embracing Death

I don't really remember dying anymore, that memory faded away to a dull ache a long time ago. One of the living told me once that it sounded like I was describing a toothache. I don't remember what teeth even feel like.
It has been a long time, such a long time...

Oh but we haven't met before have we? I apologize for not introducing myself-I should... right?
My name is Domnas, I lived and breathed in a small village no far from here, but that was probably before your time. One day, a curse struck my village, everyone died. Everyone except me. Somehow I managed to survive when no one else did.
Of course, as you can see, it didn't last. The witch walked into the village then, smug and seemingly pleased with herself. I did what came naturally to me, I charged right at her. She seemed to be surprised when I hit her--she must have thought everyone dead already--but the surprise only lasted a moment, and... well, while I had plenty of aggression, I simply wasn't very good.
The flames burned me away slowly, she seemed to be savoring my suffering as I writhed. "Enjoy your miserable non-existence..." The darkness beckoned, calling to me... and I willing fell towards it, then it burned. The merciful darkness vanished, replaced by cold and pain.

The village was the same, but the bodies were lined up on the street. She was still there, looking over the corpses, and as I watched, she kicked the pile of ash that had been mine. I didn't occur to me to question what had happened, only that this fiend of a witch in front of me was going to die.
She was surprised again, only this time her eyes widened in fear too. I still don't really understand how it works, but I just picked her up and slammed her into the ground, then a wall, through a house. I must have leveled half the village by the time I was done with her.
I remember her final words too, "...looks like my curse worked too well..."

So there you have it, cursed to wander as a ghost, poor Domnas. It isn't all so bad though. You wouldn't believe some of the things I've seen over the years. Of course I don' really remember most of them, something about being a ghost, you don't retain much.

Anyway, now that I've introduced myself... suppose you tell me what you're doing here, before I smash you and your friend through this wall...

In the King's Name Pt 2

The inn stood much as it always had, except the front window was now broken, and a few broken pieces of furniture were scattered across the yard. The bodies of four liveried guards were scattered around the yard as well, and the trail of blood leading away indicated the direction that the rest had taken.
Sitting on the front step was a figure that could have been mistaken for a beggar were it not for his eyes. Solid orbs of a piercing blue the color of deep seas, they seemed to glow of their own internal light. The figure let out a heavy sigh and stood up.

In the King's Name

Heavy footsteps pounded along the frozen road while the inhabitants of the inn slept; a mailed fist slammed on the front door. The innkeeper jolted awake and began groggily making his way through the kitchen. The innkeeper spit curses as he knocked over a stack of dirt pans and a cast-iron griddle landed on his foot. Finally reaching the front door, he hollered through it.
"What daft fool is making such a ruckus at this time of night?!"
"Open this door in the King's Name!"
The response was proud, almost haughty, the voice cultured and crisp; it was a noble's voice. The innkeeper began to sweat. Nobles pounding on ones door in the middle of the night never boded well. Numbly, he drew the bolts and pushed the door open. Eight heavily armed guards with torches stood outside in formation, and at their center was clearly the man who had spoken. A head taller than the guards with him, his hair gleamed in the torchlight like liquid fire flowing over his shoulders.
"What... is your wish m'lord?" The innkeeper managed to stutter out.

Footprints

I focus all my will on just placing one foot in front of the other. Some far corner of my mind refuses to cooperate, instead electing to notice how difficult this task really is. I want to scream at it, shout in my mind to shut up and help me, but I don't, it would take too much effort. One foot, the other, an endless line of footprints stretch out behind me like a snaking ribbon of pain and toil. One step. My entire body shivers, and I struggle to maintain my balance. I sway like a tree under the blows of the lumberman's axe, but I do not fall. Another step forward.
How long has it been? How many footprints stretch out behind me? How many more must I lay down before I reach my destination? Another step, another footprint in the soft earth. What is my destination? I cannot remember, my mind is tired, too tired to recall. Step, and another. Or maybe it isn't, maybe I never knew where I was going. Maybe there is no destination. My feet rise and fall. If there isn't a destination, why continue, why go to such effort. If there isn't a purpose behind this drudging journey, then why make it. It takes all my will to continue stepping forward, but at the same time, I cannot stop. Like a magnet pulling a lodestone, all effort is focused, but I cannot do otherwise. My will forces me on, but I cannot will my will to cease.
Another step, and another.
My limbs ache, and my eyes droop closed. I force them open again, clawing to remain awake. I have to stay awake. Another footfall. My will is unbending, my legs move slowly, unsteadily, but unrelentingly. I cannot stop, I cannot sleep, and yet I cannot continue, I cannot fight off sleep forever.

I am a walking contradiction, I cannot stop, but I cannot reach the end, I am a weary man in an eternal journey. An eternal moment of exquisite torment without relief.

Another step, and another...