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...

Reflections on the Zimmerman Trial

...and all the dregs that have been kicked up because of it.
I don't normally like to write on politically charged issues, but this particular one just kicks up so much sand I need to clear it from my teeth.

First and foremost, death is a tragedy, nothing changes that fact, but when justice has been followed and a verdict has been reached, that should be the end of it. As a nation, we are nothing without Law, it has been followed, that should settle it.
For the record, I am very out of touch with news, I hadn't actually read a thing about this case until the verdict had been reached. The case itself has little import to me.

The reactions to it, on the other hand...

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.