Age of Chaos Setting Story Winners 2001

Best Story:

1^st Place

“A Clockwork Revenge”

by Jowy

The study was unquiet

The delightful whir of the revolver fills the languid air of the

study. A young man, in his late teens with the skin of the desert, a

dark, swarthy individual stuffs another round cylinder into a small

device made of cobalt. He quickly snaps shut the chamber giving a

belligerent smirk to the weapon.

"You know, you seem to enjoy making violent things, why is that

Jowy?" remarked a short dwarven man, wearing a curious suit lined with

many pockets, each haphazardly stuffed with a variety of strange tools.

Jowy places the strange device onto the hard-oak table in front

of himself, "I needn't take advice on pacifism from an old dwarven

siege-engineer, Brellin."

Brellin was actually fairly tall for a dwarf but still short for

human standards. His beard was graying but the hair atop his head was a

rich amber color. His face, naturally mirthful and cheery-looking

always maintained a blushing cherry-red hue at all times. Brellin was

an instructor at the Academy, but was not held as highly as many of the

other Head Artificers. His ideas of "science" were not well-accepted

among the Inner-Circle.

"No, you don't, but you do realize that your actions could, more-

or-less get you killed or possibly worse, right?" the chipper-turned-

serious dwarf rubbed his chubby nose, "This really isn't something to

throw your life away for..."

"I'll make this clear Brellin, I will prove to these tired old

traditions of ritualistic magic are nothing to true science."

"Pah! Those "old fools" are already putting their other foot into

the grave, why bother with them?"

"They spit on science! They call it "childish foppery!" Jowy

slams his fist on the hard oak of the workbench, "I'll see to it they

never mock science ever again..."

Brellin absently rubs his chin, "Fine boy, you do whatever you

like, it's your life. Throw it away if you want to..."

"I'm not throwing it away!" Jowy's face lights up with rage,

"Even Argos and Xir believe those flatulent old braggarts! I have to

prove this to them..."

"You don't actually plan on fighting them, do you? I mean, it's

suicide!" Brellin protested, "I'd really hate to see a brilliant mind

like yours thrown away over something so... so... trivial as this!"

Jowy smirked, "Teacher, you know me far better than that... I've

a plan in mind. I won't tell it to you, your tongue gets a bit loose

when you get into that spiced dwarven ale."

The old dwarven instructor laughed cheerfully, "And I needn't

take advice on temperance from the winner of the annual student

drinking competition, lad."

"That you don't friend, that you don't," the young artificer

smiled.

The moon hung high in the air and the headmaster was working late

into the night. He had reports to finish and the secretary came down

with a twenty-four hour flu and left all the paperwork unattended. The

headmaster's face was a twisted expression of pure thought, his

features carved from good-aging, a well-shaved beard adorns his sharp

chin. His silken beige robes flow with the movement of his penstrokes,

woven gold embroidery glimmering faintly in the light of his hanging

censer. The ambient scribbling of the headmaster's quill was broken by

a sharp rapping on his chamber door.

A voice from outside called, "Valimoore, open this door!"

"You raging old fool," Headmaster Valimoore shouted in response,

"It's unlocked, come in!"

A robed figure, dressed in green wearing a deep navy sash stormed

in, crossing the heavily-polished, white marble floor. He bore the seal

of a high-patriarch of the Argos-Xir academy on his sash: white and

black dragons clasping a golden orb surrounded by five similarly golden

stars. He is a fat man, or at least by normal standards, of large

girth, his deep silken robes barely hiding this fact. His double-

chinned face is wrinkled with premature aging.

"Ah, Callos, what a surprise," Valimoore smirked, part-smugly but

mostly sarcastic, "What brings you here this late at night? The kitchen

run out of food again?"

"We have no time to discuss my eating habits, Valimoore," he

breathed heavily as if the walk across the room was a mile-long

journey, "We must talk of the visitors we shall have."

"Ah, yes, the envoy from Tar Valon? Yes, we should talk of this,

but first, have a seat. Tea?" the headmaster motions the patriarch to a

heavily lacquered oaken chair, then pours a small cup of tea from a fine

ivory tea-pot, "It's very good, fresh from Ebou Dar, in Altara."

The patriarch irritatedly took his seat, the wood groaning in pain

by the weight, "We have no time for trifles such as that, there is the

matter at hand, the visitors."

"Yes, I've read the notification, inspection of the facilities

and a formal congregation and inspection of all instructors. High-

ranking Aes Sedai of each of the tiers of White Tower, red, blue and

all of that non-sense, escorted by twenty of their personal warders. It

all sounds awfully drab."

"Yes, quite common except for one matter," Callos retorted

quickly, "The Amyrlin Seat will be making an appearance."

The headmaster looked visibly shaken, "What?! Who told you that?

That's insanity! I..."

"Would have known about it?" the patriarch interrupted, "Yes, you

would have eventually, but I heard this news directly from Argos. He

Mind-saw it a few minutes ago."

"This is discomforting news Callos, something important must be

happening for Argos or Xir to be involved with. Why would the Amyrlin

Seat be coming here?"

"No doubt for a surprise inspection..."

Valimoore interrupted this time, "No, something more. The academy

may be independent but we are still under scrutiny by several other

forces, namely the Ashaman, the White Tower, even the High-Tower of

Sorcery, even those foolish New Manetheren Artificers... She must have

something planned."

"I'd wager so. Fine, I will plan something, anything. Also, I'll

see if Argos knows any other the details," the heavy magician moved

towards the door.

The headmaster called out just before Callos opened the door, "Do

not pester the dragons, Callos!"

"I will do no such thing, Valimoore," he replied.

"And tell not a soul of this-- no one."

A shadowy figure just outside the door gave a quick smirk,

hearing the sound of the door opening treaded silently down the marble

hallway and out of view.

The morning passed quickly that day

Jowy studied the small device he had just created under the

watchful tutelage of Brellin. It was a simple device, a small clockwork

mechanism played a bit of music that was created by a series of holes

which pegs twanged strings as a small brass nightingale opened its beak

and flapped it's wings.

"So, how goes your revenge, pup?" Brellin asked sarcastically.

"It goes well, goat," Jowy grinned in a whimsical way, "I have

everything planned so so well."

The dwarven engineered raised an eyebrow, "I'm hoping it doesn't

require blood to be shed, does it? And I don't like to be called a

goat, Jowy."

"Nor I, a pup, Brellin, but it will not require anyone to be

hurt... not physically at least."

"I still don't understand how you plan to attack the Circle

without actually 'attacking' them."

"You don't need to understand, honestly Brellin. Just leave this

to me. I can handle myself."

"As you say, Jowy, just remember, if you need my help, I'll help

you. I always will."

"Thank you, Brellin. You are a good instructor, but you are an

even greater friend."

Jowy continues to work on the clockwork bird for a few more

hours, meanwhile Brellin leaves to tutor another student. There was a

sharp knock upon the chamber door. A robed figure, Headmaster Valimoore

stepped across the threshold of the room, of course, letting himself

in. His robes were red, a fine silk with curling tendrils of gold with

lacey leaves similarly embroidered into the cloth. The venerable

headmaster moves around the table, casting a condescending gaze at the

desert youth.

"Ah, the desert rat works on his little trinkets... That's quite

a specimen you have there," the headmaster asked in a cynical tone

pointing at the clockwork nightingale, "How does it work?"

Knowing that an outburst now could mean expulsion, Jowy answered

calmly, "I had originally designed it to play music through moving

chords but I opted for chimes run by a metal 'tape,' Sir Valimoore."

"Oh, you know that magic would be far easier than this science

non-sense you practice, I could easily have the wind give it's sweet

whistle, the fire it's crackling rage, the water its gentle crescendo,

or the earth play its fine baritone drum," the headmaster gestured with

a twist of his wrinkled hands, "This science seems quite useless to me.

"Headmaster, why would you have an engineer in your employ if our

presence disgusts you so?"

Valimoore retorted wave his hands impolitely, "A mere

technicality, as this is an academy of magic and study, we are simply

researching all forms of magic. Certain members of the Circle in their

infinite wisdom felt this was... necessary."

"Have you come to lecture me, headmaster or do you have a

reason..."

Jowy was interrupted, "Do not speak to me in that tone you

insolent pest. I merely tolerate your presence, speak to me as such

again and I will have you expelled immediately where you can go back to

your filthy hovel in that sand-pit! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir Valimoore," the young artificer muttered heatedly.

"Good! Now, I need you to present that worthless contraption of

yours to the Aes Sedai witches who will be coming tomorrow to inspect

the Academy to see if our facilities are... exceptional. I expect it to

be working by then."

The aging headmaster uncordially made his way back out of the

workshop chamber. Jowy just smiled absently as he began to unscrew the

casing on the brass nightingale...

The night was quiet but something was prowling

A displaced figure crept through finely decorated hallways of the

academy. He knew that being caught would indeed be costly, as the

nightwatch were specially trained students in combat weaving, in

particular, the area of paralyzation. One wrong move could be

potentially devastating. He peered down the dark hallway, keeping to

the brick sides of the walls, where the pillars met the ground and

where his footsteps would not fall loudly. His targets were clear in

his sights, the headmaster, Valimoore was walking quietly with a woman,

or at least, what looked like a woman dressed in a deep black robe.

The prowler had stumbled into the middle of a discreet

conversation with Valimoore speaking softly, "... and I hope we'll have

your support?"

The dark-robed figure replied in a quiet, raspy voice, "Yes, you

will have the support of the Dark Sisters. But we must also get what we

want... you have made arrangements?"

"Many arrangements have been made we will deliver you the Amyrlin

Seat if you fulfill your end of the deal..."

"Yes, we will expand your library into the forbidden magics, and

make sure they integrated into your regular courses, of course,

looking like normal weaving."

"The power of the Black Ajah is great indeed, you'd best take

your leave before the nightwatch sees you..."

"I will do that, we will fulfill our end if you meet ours..." the

Black Witch wheeled around quickly, "Someone is there!"

The concealed prowler rolls quickly across the floor as a bolt of

dark flame rolls off the Ajah's finger-tips. He was revealed. A loud

keening sound fills the hall as the intruder draws a bright silver

scimitar, visages of twisting dragon-shapes curling over the fuller of

the gleaming blade.

"Guards! Nightwatch! Someone come quickly, there is an

intruder!" Valimoore calls out, his words echoing throughout the

hallway as dancing lights of held lanterns bob down the hallway.

The sole intruder twisted his blade in an arcing slash across his

shoulder, a blade of pure ice spiraled madly towards the fearful

headmaster and his dark companion. Shrieks of fiery glee heralded the

eruption of a flaming barrier created by the twisted Ajah. The icy

razor melted away harmlessly become a faint mist when exposed to the

A gleaming bead of sweat dropped from the prowler's forehead. He

rolled a small brass sphere along the ground. It exploded with a pale

light and massive amounts of fetid horrible stench billowed forth from

the confines of the orb. The headmaster rasped and coughed terribly

under the effect of the horrid vapors. His shouts and idle cries

attracted quite a commotion among the academy and when the smoke

finally cleared both the prowler and the Black Ajah witch were gone...

The nightly incident was hushed as an experiment gone awry

Jowy peered out the window at the ground hovering below him. It

was still amazing to him, a whole academy floating through the power of

a Ter'angreal or possibly a more powerful artifact. The engine was

created by the dragons, Argos and Xir, generations ago when the

surrounding land was uninhabited and the dragons had a huge hoard. But

when the men came, they decided to adapt and use their knowledge to

serve a purpose. The delegation from the White Tower was to arrive

today. He had just finished fixing the clockwork nightingale, it was to

play a special song for the head Aes Sedai of the delegation. Brellin

had quietly entered the room as the youthful artificer stared longingly

out the window.

"Seems like there was quite a fuss last night," Brellin commented

to the absent-minded boy, "Rumors are someone broke in. Others say it

was a big experiment gone bad. I opt for the former, how 'bout you?"

Jowy responded noncommittally, "Hmm? Oh, yeah, yeah. Whatever you

say Brellin."

"Something bothering you youngster?" questioned the teacher

caringly, "Come on, you can tell dusty old Brellin."

"Oh no, i-it's nothing, nothing at all."

"Nothing? Doesn't sound like nothing. You definitely have that

'I'm really concerned look'"

"Concerned? No, more like homesick, really. I miss the shifting,

shapeless dunes of Great Desert. I miss seeing the purple mist around

the Spine of the World. I miss it all, Brellin."

"Then why don't you go home? You don't need to stay here."

"I will, Brellin," Jowy drummed his fingers absently on the

windowsill, "but first I have something to settle."

A student shouts from outside, "They're here! The Aes Sedai are

here! And would you believe it? The Amyrlin Seat is here too!"

Brellin's ears and expression perk up at the sound of the

unexpected news, "The Amyrlin Seat? But why?"

"Don't worry, teacher, let's go!" Jowy's expression seems to

brighten at the sound of the news.

Jowy fetches his clockwork creation from the worktable and both

the young artificer and the old dwarven engineer leave towards the

gathering hall, just above the surface of the ground.

The visitors were greeted cordially as expected.

The entrance hall was grandly adorned with many tapestries laced

with silver and gold, most bearing the Academy crest and others bearing

the symbols of guild ranks such as the elementalists, alchemists, and

even the crests of the newly created machinists guild, of which Jowy is

a member and Brellin a master of.

The Aes Sedai all gathered in the meeting hall ready to dispense

with the formalities of their inspection. The Amyrlin Seat was at the

center of the congregation surrounded by a number of highly skilled

Warders and the most trusted Aes Sedai of each tier. Soon the Amyrlin

seat and the Headmaster were face-to-face ready to discuss issues of

the Academy and possible collaboration between studies despite

political barriers.

"So, Valimoore, we have some issues to discuss about a possible

future between our two institutions but we must make some inspections

of your facilities," the Amyrlin Seat spoke in a calm, detached tone.

The headmaster gave a disquieting grin, "Yes, we desire a future

with the White Tower, but first, we have a gift for you. Will you

accept?"

"I will, but it must be checked first," the noble woman motioned

for a gray robed figure, a Gray Ajah.

The woman weaves her hand over the clockwork bird in a seemingly

entrancing motion. Tendrils of ethereal mist flow and wrap around the

mechanical creation.

"It is clean," the Gray Ajah speaks, "I detect no dweomer upon

the device."

"Good, well let us have a look at this fine piece of

workmanship..." the Amyrlin Seat speech halts slightly, "How does it

work?"

Valimoore speaks up, "Yes, you simply turn that small key there

until it will turn no more."

"Yes, I understand" the Amyrlin seat winds the clockwork bird

with a delicate hand.

Sweet music fills the air. A soft ballad accentuated with

delicate notes played by a harp. The seraphic melody fills the entrance

hall putting the entire audience into a lulling trance. All spectators

were held in awe at the lovely music.

"It is beautiful," the Amyrlin Seat remarked, "I am found

speechless, and it works without the aid of the One Source?"

The music stops with a sudden crack and the voice of the

Headmaster takes its place, "Man. arrangem..ts have been made we will

de.iver you the Amyrli. Se.t if you fufi.l your en. .f the deal..."

"What is this diablerie?!" the true headmaster scowled.

The scratchy voiced changed into that of a woman, "Ye., we wil.

exp.nd your libra.y in.o the f..bidden m.gics, and ma.e sure they

inte.rated into your regular course., of co.rse, lo..ing like normal

we.vi.g."

The Amyrlin Seat spoke clearly to the murmuring spectators,

"Quiet! I must have silence. Calm yourselves."

The nightingale continued to flap its wings and beat out the

final tidbits of its conversation with Valimoore speaking yet again,

"Th. powe. of .he Black Ajah is .reat i.deed, y.u'd best .ake you.

le.ve befor. the nig.twatc. see. you..."

The treacherous Valimoore's voice spoke again with fright, "T-

this is a lie! A traitorous lie! All of it! I had no such..."

Valimoore's speech was cut-off as the clockwork avian continued

to sing its song in Valimoore's stead, "the Aes Sedai witches-- the Aes

Sedai witches-- the Aes Sedai witches-- the Aes Sedai..."

Valimoore wheeled about, his eyes darting about the crowd,

finding their mark on young Jowy, who was giving a mischievous grin,

"YOU! You dare to do this to me?!"

A group of Warders immediately seized Valimoore in a calm,

distanced manner as the Amyrlin Seat spoke, "Search the area for

assassins. This man's treachery is undone. But what shall we do with

him?"

A booming voice was heard from above, it sounded enraged, it was

the white steel dragon Argos, "Bring the traitorous scum to my

chambers, he will be dealt with there."

A figure moved out from beneath the cloak of shadows, "Ah, friend

Jowy, I see your plan worked."

"I could not have done it were it not for you, Rocke, your skill

in deception is great," Jowy hugged his friend.

"I am not as skilled as some, he was overconfident..." Rocke

paused, "What will you do now that you have your revenge?"

The young desert man rubbed his forehead in deep thought then

spoke, "I will prove the worth of science to the rest of this magic-

ridden world. Not one will not know the power of the mundane when I am

through..."

With that said, Rocke simply nodded...

2^nd Place

“Crossing Paths”

by Dunadan

Glancing at Belvun, Siv remembered, not for the first time, that night did not interest his guide. Shade, shadow, the edges of light -- these things interested Belvun, in a professional sort of way, but the red sunset settling on the horizon did not attract even a glance. Belvun seemed to be able to see as well in blinding desert glare as in midnight gloom. He would not be worried by the oncoming night, at least not for his own sake.

Desert glare. What the sun could do to you when you stood under it in the Waste was something Siv would never have understood, a year ago. The Waste was something he would not have survived without Belvun. He owed too much; he would have a long life of debt, or die owing, one or the other. Tonight, the debt would likely rise again.

Eyes refocusing on the dimming form moving ahead of him, Siv wished for elven eyes. He'd have to trust Belvun's instead, what with no Lord standing by to grant him wishes. Now would be a great time to gain perfect sight, though. Not that it would do him much good asleep.

The though of sleep was as a blanket, settling over the face. The constant fear of the last two days was numbing, now. Ahead, Belvun stepped into long shadow of a great oak, and seemed to be gone. Shaking his head, Siv realized he needed to refill his water cask, and eat something. Shaking his head caused his vision to blur even more. It wasn't just Belvun's stealth, it was the exhaustion, too.

A hundred yards to the right, a little down the hill, the third member of their party was briefly visible between trunks, head turned back, the butt of a spear jutting behind, stride long. Siv ducked under a branch and turned to look again, but no sight or sound told where their outwalker was.

He didn't keep track of his companions, they kept track of him. This would make an unbelievable fire tale, if he survived it. An outcast elven ranger, a foolish son, too far from home, and an Aiel, hundreds of leagues from the Waste, and a woman at that. A year of survived trials and mistakes, most of his own making, and he was almost home. Almost home, and almost dead. A voice, his aunt's, quoted in his memories, "the Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills." Flame tongued woman, she'd laugh to see him now. She didn't really believe the excusing saying, she thought he deserved everything he got. What he was going to get was flashing teeth, if he didn't keep his eyes open.

* * *

He came to slowly. The voices were quiet, but near, and he couldn't quite identify them. He didn't remember laying down. He decided not to open his eyes, he didn't think it would be worth the effort. The voices weren't to be feared, he knew them, at least he thought he knew them. Consciousness faded away again.

* * *

When he woke again, he opened his eyes immediately, because someone was about to put something into his mouth. Vikara pulled the waterskin away as she saw him wake. He couldn't see her face, her back was to the fire, but he was sure there was no expression on it. He reached for the waterskin and she let him take it from her hands.

He took a long pull of water, and felt the raw ache in his throat as he swallowed. And then he remembered where he was, and tried to sit up. Vikara held him down with a hand on his chest.

"You can't stand yet, it will do no good," she said.

He groaned as his back spasmed and he collapsed back, breathing hard, a tree root, his shortsword's pommel, and the stone on his necklace all managing to prevent a soft landing.

"Where is Belvun," he asked, after he managed to roll on to his side.

"He is circling us until the moon peaks," she replied.

"I just... I don't remember what happened," he muttered.

"You didn't drink, with a full cask of water, fool wetlander." Her contempt for fools, a group to which she seemed to think almost all non-Aiel belonged, was as direct as usual. She wasn't paying full attention to him, but finding his faults seemed as natural as stealth to her.

He was a fool, of course. She wasn't paying much attention to him, as they were two days from the borders of Astirin, hunted by a vampire that wouldn't give up, and wouldn't die. Siv waited for the fear to come flooding back, and almost didn't care when it didn't. He had no hope other than in his companions. He had abandoned himself and the gods had abandoned him, too.

Vikara must have been startled as Siv was when Belvun spoke from beside them, judging from the way her movements froze. "We are closer to the Tar Valon road than I thought. We should make for Rossin's Inn. Unless I miss my mark, we are only two hours away, even in the dark." Belvun did not miss his mark.

A faint movement, the shadow of a moon shadow, almost masked by flickering fire light, was the warning. He grunted off of his side, rolling left to his other side, kicking his right foot over, catching Vikara's ankle with his own. She let his foot carry her leg from under her and rolled away from him, bouncing off her palms to come upright beside Belvun. The hiss and rush of wind told her why, before words left her mouth, even without seeing Belvun draw blades.

Siv scrambled up and tripped backwards on a tree root, fighting his disorientation to circle around the tree, grasping at the bark's rough ridges, pulling himself back toward the fire light. He had no chance in the dark. He rounded to where he expected Belvun to be and instead found Vikara, her back to him, her hand on her veil. Her hands dropped to her belt instead and she leapt forward, almost directly into the fire.

Siv saw Belvun, then, a black on black figure, weaving in the darkness, dancing with a shape marked only by glinting, red eyes. A faint, slightly curved line reflected red firelight, momentarily. Belvun's swords had tasted the vampire twice in the last two days, the first time striking it through the heart and the gut, the second nearly taking off its right arm. Both times, the vampire had fled, its shriek of pain the only indication it had suffered. What it would take to kill the vampire was unknown, its kind legend, even among Belvun's people.

Vikara passed the fire, running low, and Siv saw her hand flash towards the ground. It came up carrying her spear, already pointed the vampire's direction. The vampire had to know she was coming, her shadow jumping across tree trunks towards the combatants as she passed the fire. Her charge ended abruptly as her target rushed Belvun and then veered away into the darkness, its speed incredible and its silence more so. Belvun's defensive strike passed through nothing but air and he spun, crouching, preparing for another rushing attack from the darkness. Vikara had stopped, too, the vampire's path of exit cleverly leaving Belvun in her way.

Siv stood, silent, not daring to distract his companions. Seconds passed, and then, almost as one, both turned and looked back at him. The blank look on both of their faces was unexpected. Unexpected and definitely a bad thing.

He turned slowly. At least it felt slow. The being behind him was motionless and was in darkness, as he stood between it and the fire. But those eyes, red, predator's eyes gave him no doubt that this was the vampire.

It was just another shock in a series of shocks to discover he wasn't dead or being bitten or struck. The vampire was motionless, still. Then it spoke.

"Saved, you are. Hide your mortal flesh behind relics, then... my Master will take you yet. He takes everyone, eventually." The voice seemed almost normal, lending a strange tinge to the unreality of the situation. The glint of normality passed immediately, though, as Vikara's spear flashed past Siv at the shape in front of him.

The sound of the spear's ricocheting through the underbrush in the darkness beyond was the only indication it had been thrown. Where there had been fiery eyes the moment before, there was nothing, not even a hint of a shape. Belvun appeared at Siv's shoulder, blades ready, but the tilt of his head showed confusion, rather than caution. Vikara walked past, almost casually, disappearing in search of her spear. She must know something he didn't.

It took less than three minutes before Siv was following Vikara in the night, the fire smothered behind them.

What had saved him?

* * *

Rossin's Inn had stood for generations, or rather, the Rossin family had run an inn in that particular hamlet for generations. The Inn had been burnt down twice in the last hundred years, once three generations ago and then again only 20 or so years ago. Masonry work from the previous inn still stood across the commons from the new Inn, standing testament to some skilled mason's hands. Master Rossin, well, the old Master Rossin, had wanted to rebuild on the old ground, but he had owned several plots of land around the common and the need to get a new inn up and bringing in the gold was overpowering.

Emery Rossin had died but three years ago, and now his eldest son, Namun, was the new Master Rossin. Belvun had known the Rossin family for as long as they had run an inn. Belvun was not welcome in his homeland, but he was always welcome at Rossin's.

The three travelers entering the common room at nearly midnight were given a wary glance by a girl scrubbing the long table, but they were given a much more hospitable greeting a minute later by Master Rossin himself. Thrifty business sense ran in the Rossin family, but it didn't take long for Siv to feel genuinely welcome. It was much later than respectable travelers arrived at an inn, especially outside of large cities like Tar Valon and Astirin, but he had only time to sit down and unlace his boots before food, good, hot food, was brought to the table.

Two bowls of some wonderful (was it really that good or was it just too long since he'd had a good meal?) stew later, and his head was down on the table, although the murmur of conversation from Belvun and Master Rossin still drifted through the fog of near-sleep.

Moments (hours?) later he was shaken awake by Belvun (wished it was Vikara), and herded upstairs to a bed. He managing to get one boot off, and then collapsed back onto the bed. Then the door squeaked. His eyes shot open, but it was Vikara.

"Your necklace. The stone was given to you by Maetva" she said. It was half a question, he was sure she did not know the answer, but it must not have been hard to figure out. The Wise Woman had been far too hospitable to him, a servant of traders. The faces of the other Aiel had been stone, but he was sure they were shocked when he was invited to eat with her, alone.

He pulled the cord above his head, the stone appearing from under his shirt. It was not really stone, it couldn't be; a stone would not have perfectly shaped but very distant leaf hung in its center. If you set it on a table the... whatever it was, might as well call it a stone... looked thin, like it was halfway to melting into a puddle. But when you picked it up and held it, it felt solid and round. And the green leaf was always there, always a leaf.

"It is an Ioros Stone," said Vikara. "You have a destiny." He thought he heard her mutter something else about destiny, but he was not meant to hear it.

"While you wear that, do not fear those whom you do not hurt." She stepped back through the door again, and then paused before closing the door. "You must show me your city when we come to Astirin." Then the door closed. Placing the Ioros back around his neck, he fell back, intent on figuring the reasoning behind the long chain of events that had brought him here. He was asleep in moments.

* * *

The third fire to destroy Rossin's Inn did not start as an accident. The third fire was an act of desperation and rage.

Belvun did not sleep that night, as he had not slept either of the previous nights. He talked with Namun Rossin for an hour and then convinced him to take to his sleep. Then he chose his guard post, a bench between the fire and the door. Namun had assured him all the windows were barred and shuttered; strange occurrences, he claimed, had caused the inhabitants of the village to all take up the practice, even though custom was to leave upper windows open on midsummer nights such as this.

It was not far from dawn when a scream from upstairs began the commotion that would fill the inn until it crumbled to ash. Belvun bolted for the stairs, and began to charge up them, reaching for his shorter blade. Then he slowed and came to a halt, five steps from the bottom.

In light too pale for human eyes to make out anything but a human form, Master Rossin stood, motionless, eyes seeming to stare through Belvun. He held a length of cloth in one hand, torn, it seemed. Then the corner of his mouth twitched.

"He got in, Belvun," he said. Belvun did not respond. "Odd. You look like cattle to me, now."

It must have been surprising to Rossin to realize he had been struck through with a spear. He certainly looked surprised. She had to hit something, sometime, Belvun thought to himself, as he drew his short blade.

Reflexes threw him backwards as shadow dropped from above. Pain dragged at his muscles, but desperation and growing rage launched him onto his feet. Behind the elder vampire now decending the stairs towards him, he could see Rossin pause then calmly disengage the spear head from the wall beside him. A door slammed and he could hear Vikara's voice dimly from the floor above. He did not think that Aiel ran from a fight, there was something odd, but for now, now he must live.

The elder vampire advanced on him, and then dove at Belvun's feet. This was a move entirely unconsidered in the High Elven schools of blade combat. Under normal circumstances, it was a move that left you missing vital portions of your upper anatomy. This vampire was making its own circumstances, though. Belvun barely gained enough height to keep his legs away from the fangs that sought his blood. The vampire passed under him with too much momentum to stop under him or Belvun would have been dead, for sure. For good measure, though, he thrust his long blade behind him in a low, backhand attack. He was surprised to feel it bite flesh, hard. He jerked forward and spun, reversing the hold on his long blade as soon as he felt it pull free.

A luck blow, nothing more to be said. The wound was to the vampire's neck, close to its throat. It had its hand clasped firmly over the wound, and a faint hissing coming from its mouth. Was it trying to trick him, or was it actually vulnerable now? It had moved with what seemed much greater spead and strength than he had seen before.

Creaking boards alerted him that he did not have time to contemplate. Belvun had always been amused more by irony than he ought to have been, so his mouth must have given him away, for the eyes of the vampire in front of him suddenly narrowed. His chance for surprise slipping fast, Belvun leaped forward, as if to perform the same diving attack he had only just escaped moments before. The vampire moved to its right, hand still on neck, but so fast that its feet blurred. Belvun never made it anywhere near the vampire, nor was it his intention. His long blade flicked out as he fell forwards and caught the unlit pottery oil lamp on the table top, knocking it toward the door. The lamp crunched onto the floor, loudly, undoubtedly broken open. Belvun let go of his short blade so he could use his left hand to control his fall and roll.

He came up standing by the end of the table, front door behind him, the common room before him. The common room now contained two vampires, one wounded but deadly, one an old friend, pierced through, but seemingly unconcerned. And there was a candle. A lit candle, on this end of the table. Much nearer than the fireplace.

A faint thud of something heavy, like a person, hitting the ground outside the building turned all heads towards one wall. My chance, though Belvun. Moving deliberately, Belvun stepped forward and grasped the candle. Both vampires turned back towards him as he squatted, hoping the flame did not flicker out.

The elder vampire roared, its wound forgotten, and leaped at Belvun. Belvun let go of the candle, with an instantaneous prayer to the Lords of Light to feed its fire, and concentrated on getting his sword into some sort of defense. He did not try to strike the vampire, but to block its path with his blade. The effort was not necessary, for his attacker collapsed to the floor, halfway to him, rolling under the table, hand back clutching its bleeding neck.

Fire flared around Belvun's feet, and he fled toward the door, throwing the bar aside and then backing out into the cool dawn air. The fire inside was now roaring, only seconds after the candle had touched the oil. Surely, his prayer had been heard.

"I'm bloody fine!," came Siv's voice from around the corner of the inn. "To me!," Belvun shouted, grasping his long blade's hilt with both hands. Its sister was lost in the inferno, it would be hard to replace. Fool, mind the door, he thought to himself.

Vikara and Siv appeared around the corner, Siv limping, but both at a run. Belvun spared them a glance, and then returned to glaring into the fire.

Nothing rushed them. They will flee by the windows in the back, Belvun thought, but I can not afford to let either of these children near them. "Go now," he said, "and I will be with you by nightfall. Stay to the highway; you should be seeing Astirin road guards soon. Go. Now!"

That neither Siv nor Vikara said a word was a bigger miracle than any Belvun had seen in the last year. They did, of course, have to look at each other and then give him that Light cursed "don't do nothing stupid" look, before moving into a quick walk across the commons towards Astirin Road.

By the Light, you didn't get to be an old elf by being stupid. Besides, he had vampires to roast, if he could....

Best Humor Stories:

1^st Place

“Citadel Corporations Has-Beens”

by Dhalgren

* * * * * * *

* Citadel Corporations Presents: *

* *

* The Vagina Monologues *

* *

* Starring Your Favorite Oracles *

* Sekiron, Gestania, Dericor, and Eleyona *

* * * * * * *

Announcer: Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, I am Oprah.

Loud applause

Oprah: Tonight, people, we have a special surprise for you. Presenting the famous Vagina Monologues to you are the famous Oracles of the Citadel: Sekiron, Gestania, Dericor, and Eleyona!!!

Enter: Sekiron, appearing as a large bird, Gestania, wearing a low-cut red dress, Eleyona, wearing a long white dress, and Dericor, wearing…

Loud Gasp from Crowd

Oprah: Umm Dericor, you're not wearing anything.

Dericor: Well, Oprah, they don't call me the Oracle of Swords for nothing.

Oprah: Oh, heh, well, go on with your bad self

Laughter

Oprah: So, let's begin this evening. Oracles, take your places please. Audience, prepare yourselves for the beauty and magnificence of The Vagina Monologues.

* * *

Eleyona: Vagina. It is a word, it is a world. It is a land of its own. If your vagina were a planet, which planet would it be?

Gestania: Saturn, with its many-layered rings. Makes for good surfing!

Sekiron: Mercury. Small and petite like a cherry, yummy when gobbled down.

Dericor: If I had a vagina…well, it would have to be the big grand daddy itself: The sun!

Eleyona: Um, that's not a planet.

Dericor: Oh, well, um… now it is!

Eleyona: Right...Well, my vagina would be the planet Mars.

Gestania: Ummm, more like frigid Pluto.

Dericor: Gestania! Don't say that…hers ain't that bad after a couple of glasses of wine.

*winks at Eleyona*

Eleyona: giggle

Gestania: You mean you slept with her??

Dericor: Well, we uhhh…

Gestania: You frickin lousy bastard! How the hell did you fit it in, anyway?

Gasp

Eleyona: Well, it's not his fault he doesn't like used trash.

Gestania: Oh no you don't, you has-been schoolgirl!

Eleyona: Schoolgirl! At least I went to school!

Gestania: Hey, Astirin was being plagued by demons. I never had the time to take Steal Your Oracle's Husband 101!!!

Sekiron: Calm down ladies. We're here to present a show to the nice audience. I think they'd like to hear that more than this argument. How about a show of hands. Who wants to hear the Vagina Monologues?

Silence…A wolf howls nearby

Sekiron: Um, okay, who wants to hear these two squabble?

Loud Applause

Sekiron: Um, okay then.

Eleyona: Hey, shut up Sekiron. What the hell do you know about having a vagina anyway?

Sekiron: Well, you see, I…

Gestania: Hmm... I've always wanted to know, what do you have, Sekiron?

Sekiron: Um, I ah…

Gestania: I mean, you're not even a human being.

Eleyona: I bet he, or should I say it, doesn't even have anything. Just a bunch of useless feathers.

Sekiron: Hey, none of my feathers are useless!

Gestania: Sekiron, isn't it true that among your aerial friends, you're not even known as Sekiron?

Sekiron (beginning to turn red): Whatever could you mean, my oh-so-lovely Gestania?

Gestania: Isn't it true that you're called Pat???

Sekiron: *screams*

Gestania: Pat. Could be Patricia or Patrick. Point is, we don't know. Do you???

Dericor: Eeew, you mean I've been checking out porno with some neuter?

Gestania: You've been checking out porno???

Sudden Applause from Audience

Sekiron: Uh?

Eleyona: What the…

Crowd begins to chant, 'Jerry! Jerry!'

Jerry Springer: Hello everyone, and welcome to the Jerry Springer show!

Sekiron: Hey, I thought we were on Oprah..

Eleyona: Yeah, how the hell did we end up on-

Jerry: Okay, and let's get right back to business. Gestania, you've just found out that your hubby, Dericor, has been cheating on you with that tramp Eleyona, and that he's been checking out porno with a hermaphrodite! Ha!

Jerry: And the crowd says-

Crowd: Ha!

Jerry: Tell me, how does that make you feel?

Gestania: Well, it's certainly not what I've expected. I mean, its like my world has been turned upside down. Dericor, I'm afraid its over.

Dericor: Aww, come on, Kelly, I'll stop.

Jerry: Wait, who's Kelly?

Gestania: Oh, it's just a pet name he calls me sometimes. It started once when we were in bed. We had just finished making love and he whispered in my ear, "Oh Kelly, that was beautiful." It just seemed so perfect and so right. I've been his Kelly ever since.

Jerry: Hrm…kinky

Sekiron: You actually let him call you by some other girl he's probably shagged?

Dericor: Hey, stay out of this, you freak!

Gestania: Yeah, it's none of your business. You're just some freaky neuter!

Sekiron: Hey, don't make me get medieval on your buttocks.

Gestania: Yeah, well, bring it on!

Sekiron: Well, I don't really want to fight…

Gestania: slaps Sekiron hard

Crowd begins to chant, 'Jerry! Jerry!'

Eleyona: Blood! Blood!

Gestania: Bring it on!!

Sekiron: Don't say I didn't warn you.

Sekiron: utters the words, 'eugzr vodkz'

Gestania: looks slightly different

Gestania: I'm dispelled!

Eleyona: Gestania has been dispelled!

Dericor: Gestania has been dispelled!

Sekiron: Gestania has been dispelled!

Jerry: Gestania has been dispelled!

Crowd: Gestania has been dispelled!

Sekiron: Bye bye, Kelly poo.

Gestania: Ohh… crumples into dust as Sekiron fireballs her

Dericor: Oh my God, you killed Kelly.

Eleyona (screams): Bastard!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sekiron: Kelly! Damn imbicile, that's not even her name-

Suddenly a brilliant flash of light surrounds everyone, and Iriki, the Oracle of the Creator appears, shriveled and gasping for breath.

Iriki: Oracles…come closer, you must…hear

Sekiron: Not now, Iriki, bout to shorten this idiot's sword to a 2d2

Iriki: No…please, listen…the Plagueseed

Dericor: Plagueseed my behind! There are no demons.

Jerry: chuckle

Iriki: No..must listen…fetch the Plagueseed…I am dying

Sekiron: Well, chill out, I'm almost done.

Iriki: Dying…please help

Dericor: Wish we could mute this ugly biatch.

Iriki: Last chance…about to die, please fetch the…Plag…ueseed

Eleyona: Wait, isn't something weird supposed to happen when Iriki dies?

Sekiron: Yeah, demons take over or something.

Dericor: OH no! Iriki!

Iriki: Too late…stupid fools…I'm …dead

Eleyona: Nooo…

Suddenly the stage turns black and Jerry Springer appears before them

Jerry: Time for final comments! Guess what guys, you're dead!

Oracles scream as Jerry's body morphs into that of a seven-horned demon

Demon: Ha! Say good-bye…

Demon: disintegrates the Oracles with a mighty firestorm spell

Demon: Yes! We have taken over the Citadel. Next stop: Canada!!!

2^nd Place

“Nova's Golem Tower of Blood”

by Remor Kelvin

Upon my seventeenth year dwelling within a dismal, nameless farming community

located just west of New Manetheren, I decided that I had had enough plowing for

a lifetime. Always dirty, always tired, always overworked, this was not how

I wanted to spend the remainder of my life. I wanted action, I wanted fame. I

wanted the adventurer's life.

The moon shone brightly that summer evening. I silently clambered down from my

loft in the attic of my family's flea-infested cottage, and carefully avoided the

third step from the bottom, as it creaked rather loudly when stepped on, and I did

not wish to wake my mother and father. I convinced myself that I would return

home when I had become rich and famous, and that I would buy them a new mule and

hire someone to re-roof our rickety cottage for them. I leaned over my mother

while she slept and gave her a peck on the cheek, then slipped out the back door

and began traveling east, towards New Manetheren. Had I known my future, I would

have awakened my parents, to bid them good-bye, but I did not know then that I would

never return to the place of my birth.

After several hours of walking I came upon the main trade road. Three days as

the crow flies to my destination, I decided to make the walk in two. I began a brisk

jog down that dusty road, and did not stop until nightfall on the second day of my

journey. Tired, hungry, I decided to sleep. I made a bed of pine needles a few

hundred yards off of Trade Road, and slept. That night I dreamed. I dreamed of

riches, treasure, the blood of my enemies. Fame, adventure, I would have it all!

During this dream I subconsciously realized that my birth name would not do my

adventures justice, after all, all famous adventurers have names that roll off of

the tongue, and Forgath Mulesweat did not. My new name hit me during this dream,

I decided to henceforth be known as SUCKA SLAYA.

The next day of my journey was uneventful. I arrived at the western gate of the

sprawling city, amazed at the bustle of travelers, merchants, and young adventurers

eagerly awaiting entrance into Manetheren. After three hours of standing in this

line, I had finally made it! Let my adventure begin!

'Hello, My name is Sameth. I am a member of the Adventurer's guild, and I am here

to help you,' a strangle clothed, pale-skinned man stated.

'HUH?', I queried back.

'My name is Sameth, and I am at your disposal. If you have any questions you may

direct them to me, and I will do my best to answer them.'

'UM, YEAH WHATEVER MAN,' I answered and brushed past this strange character. Hah!

I didn't need any help, for I am SUCKA SLAYA!

The man stepped in front of me, blocking my way. 'MOVE MAN OR YOUR GOING TO GET

IT,' I warned.

'Please do not threaten, I am only here to help. But I can see that you do not

wish my advice or assistance, so take this map. It will direct you to the Golem

Tower, a place where you may train your body in the rigors of combat.' The man

handed me a tattered map, and disappeared into the crowd.

I decided that perhaps I should start small, and heed Sam-whoever's advice.

Unfurling the old map, I began following the directions to the golem tower. After a

few hours walk toward the eastern side of the city, I had arrived at my destination.

'HAHA, IM HERE AND YOU ALL ARE GOING TO DIE, FOR I AM SUCKA SLAYA!' I shouted,

warning everyone and everything inside of their impending doom.

I peered around me, and saw hideous creatures. They seemed to be made some of

paper, some of straw, all held together with glue. 'HAHA,' I thought to myself, 'THESE

GOLEMS ARE GOING TO DIEEEE, FOR I AM SUCKA SLAYA!' With that thought in mind I began

kicking and punching away at the nearest golem, one of paper. With a swift kick to

the midsection, the golem fell silently to the floor. 'THAT WAS EASIER THAN I

THOUGHT,' I thought to myself. I then noticed a gleam on the floor, partially hidden

by the fallen golem's body. After beheading the golem and kicking the decapitated

corpse, I found a single gold coin that the golem had been carrying. 'HAHA IM GOING

TO BE SO RICH NOW,' I shouted at the top of my lungs. One gold coin was more than my

family had made on last season's entire crop of squash! Much to my joy, the golem

also had been carrying a wooden staff. I grasped the staff in both hands, and began

swinging it around. It felt good in my hands, much like the hoe's I had used for

years to till the ground in our garden. 'MANY MANY GOLEMS ARE GOING TO DIE NOW,' I

thought to myself. I set upon the barely animate golems with a fury I had not before

possessed, and many hours passed as I hacked golem after golem to pieces, stopping

only long enough to junk that stupid old map and behead each corpse where it fell.

Golems made of wood, golems of clay, glass and stone all fell before my wooden staff

of death. Each held a small pile of golden coins, and many were wearing armor that

I would wear to better protect myself from my foolish enemies. My attacks had become

more directed, my blows more powerful and swift. I felt more and more confident in

battle each time the destroyed body of a golem hit the floor. 'HAHAHA I KILLED THEM

ALL,' I screamed in triumph as I ascended the last step of the golem tower, an

climbed to the top of the caverns. I scanned around, eagerly looking for more golems

to slay, when a small, paperback book lying on the ground caught my eye. Upon

inspection the book was entitled "The AoC newbie guide." 'NEWBIE GUIDE? I DONT NEED

A DUMB GUIDE I JUST KILLED ALL THE GOLEMS FOR TALENS SAKE,' I said aloud. I quickly

picked up the book, ripped it in two, threw the pages everywhere, and paused for a

moment to announce, 'SUCKA SLAYA NEEDS NO HELP!'

I began the long descent towards the ground floor of the tower, with a thirst for

battle flowing through my veins. I was so eager for combat that I did not notice how

far down I descended, and after the last step I had found myself in the basement. I

looked to my north, and saw yet another golem, this one larger than any I had seen

before, and apparently made of iron. The golem was accompanied by some strange old

man, wearing a glue-stained shirt and chatting idly with some old woman. Strangely,

the very aura around the woman glowed with a soft white light, very obviously this

lady was a witch. Had I not been so full of bloodlust at the time, I also would have

noticed the serenity emitted by that strange old lady, and probably would have

realized that she was there to help young adventurers such as myself. But let's face

it, standing before me was a golem, and it had to die. And if the witch got in my

way, well, it was a well known fact that witches are better off dead anyway.

With a blood-curdling scream I charged the golem, my wooden staff of death

swinging wildly in the air. I landed the first few blows on the golem, but to my

dismay my trusty staff simply shattered against the golems hard body. The golem

retaliated, landing a solid fist into my chest, and I doubled over in pain. I

attempted to escape, but I had lost all sense of direction after the golems breath

taking blow to my sternum, and wound up backing myself into a wall. Cornered, I had

no choice but to fight. 'MY NAME IS SUCKA SLAYA, AND YOU WILL ALL DIE,' I screamed

at the top of my lungs. I mustered up my strength, and my courage, and charged the

old lady, as she was the the closest to me. She sidestepped my kick, and with a sad

look on her face spoke several words in a strange tongue. I screamed in agony as

acid erupted from the old woman's very mouth and drenched my body, searing into my

flesh, burning out my eyes, melting my clothing. Through the pain I felt my life

fading away. Just before I lost consciousness, I heard a strange sound, almost as if

some divine herald was announcing to the world, "[Info] : SUCKA SLAYA killed by Nova!"

Best Zone Based Stories:

1^st Place

“The Journal”

by Giovani

Alas, my strength is failing me. Cursed be the beast who dug its claw in me

to tear me cruelly asunder. But in vain, shall I not die. To he whose eyes cross

this piece of parchment, my only tombstone in this twisted prison, I tell my tale

so you will know where you are. My name is Giovani Amadeo, the proud Darkfriend who

dared walk the path of no return, the labyrinth.

How many moons have passed since my departure for this dreaded path? I know not,

but I can clearly remember the day I decided to venture here. I stood in the dark

humid grave of the land where the undead still battle, my eyes gazing for the last

time at my powerful mentor, Gagh. I remember him telling me it was too soon for me to

walk the path, that I did not have to do it. Oh how arrogant I was, I took the bloody

sovereign from his hand with a look of defiance. How proud I was. How foolish as

well. After a short farewell, I walked my way deeper into the tunnel, descending

the stairs until my boots sank softly into sand dark as ashes. Surrounded by the

thick fog I stood, my eyes wandering towards the only other figure present. Sitting

at the helm of the mockery of a boat with ripped sails, the robed figure looked back

at me, asking me in a voice that still echoes in my tormented soul, if I sought

death.. Knowing not fear then, I climbed aboard the ship, handing the grim ferryman

his toll, and taking my place on his vessel. The ship started its journey towards

the land of no return, the fog seemingly following it. Sharpening my weapons, I was

getting ready for the challenge so many adventurers sought. Little did I know I would

have more than I bargained for.

Finally reaching our destination, I jumped out of the boat, by boots landing in

the dark sand. I stood at the shore, gazing at the wicked land at my feet. I felt the

grim hand of Fear touching me for the first time then, overwhelming me with the feeling

that what I would face would be of unspeakable horror, even to a creature of darkness

such as me. Turning around to see if it would be wiser to go back, I only managed to

notice the absence of the robed ferryman. Destiny has placed the pieces on the

chessboard, there was no turning back for pawns like me. My only option was to go

forward.

Moving on, I started venturing into the plains of the labyrinth. Plains is a loose

word here, for what I went through was merely desolated land. Hearing the incessant

cracking noise of lifeless dried grass being ground beneath my leather boots for days

nearly drove me over the edge. Aside from that minor nuisance, so far it was almost…

pleasing. Mind you, oh reader of this parchment, that us shades have particular tastes.

Trees growing out of the dead soil and extending their grim limbs to the sunless sky,

the only thing more terrifying in this environment were the seemingly alive shadows

cast by those trees. Shadows, dancing a macabre dance, perhaps reveling at the

thought of my soul joining them rather soon. However, a dark line far away was

contrasting with the rest of the plain. Perhaps a river ? Guiding myself with that

line, I worked my way closer.

After hours of walk, I finally stood in front of the black river. I remember

other tales of adventurers venturing in the labyrinth that never came back. It was

said that the river was created by the feeling of intense hatred the first prisoners

in this accursed place felt for their captor. It was not that hard to imagine, seeing

waves in the river, writhing in great fury, a fury that could only be matched by the

personification of hatred. Some even said that should one come close to the river,

it will wrap around its victim, rending any hopes of escaping its wrath futile. At

the shore of the river was one of the captives of the labyrinth. A miserable patryn,

I chose to ignore him and rather investigate the intriguing forest that was near. The

creature would die of its wounds in any case, I am not one to help the weak.

As soon as my foot came down on the bed of dead leaves in the forest, I felt the

presence of danger surrounding me. Looking back to make sure I would not get lost, I

could only see trees even though I had just set foot in this wicked forest. It seemed

that the creators of the labyrinth even tampered with the land to obey their very

wishes, engulfing souls into the bowels of the forest. Every few steps I took, I saw

shadows moving behind the trees, creatures that would blend in the shadows, stalking

me. I prepared a fire that night before going to sleep. A troubled sleep it was

indeed, for I woke up as I felt a tickle in my neck. I did not pay attention at

first, thinking it was merely an insect, but I quickly felt my spirit being drained

away. Rolling away from my improvised bed and nearly immolating myself, I raised my

head to glare at the other side of the fire, where my attacker stood. I was astonished

to see in front of me a fabled magebane, an ethereal creature bound to the labyrinth

by whatever demonic powers its creators might have had. Before I could even draw my

knife out of my belt, it vanished again, nowhere to be found. It was only then that I

started thinking this place could very well be my final resting tomb.

Only moments after this unexpected attack, my alert mind made me spring to my

feet as the rustling of leaves could suddenly be heard in the tree above me. And death

came from above, for a creature that could only be wrought by my darkness nightmares

plunged down from the tree to land a forceful blow, shattering the rock where I was

previously resting into tiny pebbles. The time stopped as we were both staring at

each other, standing still as the leaves from the shook up tree fell down gently in

between us. The creature in front of me was likely an eerie experiment of the

powerful creators of the labyrinth. Its face and skin looking like a tiger, it was

standing on two legs, its back arched like a feline as it was extending its

frighteningly sharp claws in my direction. The beast then leaped in my direction as

I started to chant the name of my Lord Azakhet, begging for Him to help me. The

tigerman's shoulder hit me straight in my cuirass, cutting my breathing short after

the last word of my incantation barely escaped my mouth, the power of my lord

surrounding my enemy with a dark red aura, marking him for doom. I used the

momentum from the blow at me to roll away from the deadly claws of my assailant, the

claws cutting through the earth and sending leaves flying in the air. The leaves

almost blinding us, I threw a volley of daggers in the beast's direction, almost

regretting it as I heard the heartstopping roar of pain and anger coming from the

other side of the wall of leaves. Maddened with rage, the half animal charged

towards me, claws first. Closing my eyes and praying Azakhet for luck, I drew my

trusty chef knife and plunged to the left of the beast, swinging my weapon wildly

at his back. I then lost grip of the knife, rolling away and bumping into a tree.

Panic struck me harder than any of the legendary Loh's arrows as I struggled to get

up, seeing the tiger slowly walking in my direction. Lifting its huge clawed hand,

it looked like it was about to strike me down with a final blow but instead, the

beast only collapsed on me. It is only then that I saw my beloved knife protruding

from the tigerman's back. The blood pouring from the nasty wound seemed to give a

bit more life to the pale leaves as I pulled out unceremoniously the knife from

the beast's back. I then used the blade to chop off the tigerman's claw, thinking

a souvenir for my brother of arm, Giro, would be much appreciated.

After the battle, I walked a few more hours before finally stumbling out of the

woods, collapsing in fatigue in front of the black river again. To my surprise, the

pathetic patryn was still alive. Gathering my strength, I approached him, getting

ready to cross the bridge. It is only then that he saw the severed claw from my

previous victim. Begging me to have it, I finally gave the claw to him to see

what he would give in return, given the fact a wounded man is easily killed in case

he would try to steal my claw. After getting the claw, he paid me back by protecting

me with the magic of his ancestors, allowing me to cross the bridge. I suppose that

it was enough for me to spare his life. So I engaged the narrow bridge over the

river. I was almost surprised that the river did not even try to harm me as I

passed over it on the tiny unstable bridge. From up there the river looked even

more threatening. Bubbling and twisting in all directions, almost encouraging me

to fall down so I could feed it. A grim fate indeed it must be to fall into that

river of eternal darkness. I finally reached the other side, seeing the river

behind me. At least I would not have to go back there again. More desolate plains

could be seen from this side of the river, but far away, a faint shimmering of

hope was radiating in the distance. Perhaps there, in these lands afar from

everything else known to the living, I will find the path to godly power, perhaps

I will be able to be as powerful as our fabled ancients.

After merely a few miserable minutes of walk, I stopped right in my tracks,

seeing two pair of red eyes glowing in front of me. Turning away, I started to run

back toward the river, the creatures immediately starting to chase me. Agile as wind

I may be, but those beast were certainly the product of pure dark magic. They moved

faster than anything mortal I have seen, as dark as the darkest shadow and likely

deadlier than any creatures found in the woods of the outside world. The beast

finally caught up to me, jumping on me and digging its massive claws in the back

of my cuirass, ripping through by cloak and tearing through my cuirass as if it was

mere parchment. Turning around, I tried to load my derrobane crossbow and aim a

shot at my attacker but it was faster than my eyes could follow. Before I knew it,

the dark creature sent me on the floor with a massive charge to my chest. Putting my

hands on the ground to get up, one of them slid away from the firm ground to hang

over the dreaded river of hanger. The beast jumped on the occasion to pounce on me

and lacerate my chest, ripping away my armour and tearing my flesh with its powerful

razor-toothed maw. The black beast howled in sheer delight as it was feasting on my

soon-to-be carcass. My darkened soul would soon be the toy of the labyrinth

inhabitant I thought. But with my last strength, I grabbed the largest rock I could,

and I swung it at the beast's head, surprisingly seeing it rolling off me and falling

in the river of anger. A ghastly sight it was indeed. The creature screamed with

inhuman wails, echoing everywhere in the labyrinth. Forever shall this sound be

engraved in my tortured soul. The living water spiraled around the creature, ripping

it in pieces, both body and soul. Forever will that image be engraved in my eye,

even as I try to sleep. To think that it was the fate of some other adventurers.

And with my strength left, I wrote this to you, reader.

So there it is, that is the truth about this place. Are you still sure you want

to risk not only your body, but your soul just for the power of the ancients? Are you

willing to be eternally tormented by the beasts in the labyrinth? Will you be able to

withstand the inhuman screams that will wake you in the middle of the night and

visions of an horror beyond the eyes of other mortals that will haunt your eerie

waking moments? Turn back while you can, do not let the labyrinth capture your soul

as it almost did mine. It is only now that I realize I should've listened to my

mentor's wisdom. If I can just try to rest, and pray Azakhet for my survival, I swear

I will go back home and forget about this foolish quest. No power is worth that

much risk. I should be able to go back easily, besides, I have taken care of my

foes, nothing should stop be now… Now that I think of it, I recall seeing two pair

of eyes. But... then where is the other beast that chased m...

2^nd Place

Memoirs of The Exploration of Jlindan

by Loh

One day in my travels across the desert I came across a giant sandstorm. It

looked as if it was large enough to carry a city along with it. Curiosity overtook

my better judgement and I entered the sandstorm. After awhile, I realized that I

was trapped inside the same sandstorm as the ancient city Jlindan that was ruthlessly

taken over by the Thj'onin demons. I soon saw desert nomads who seemed to be

aimlessly wandering the sandstorm. One of them offered me a key that they had found

and said it could help me once I'm inside the city. It felt like I wandered forever

inside the sandstorm. Finally, I came upon the grand gates of Jlindan. Atop the

gate was a golden tiger, the symbol of prince Hujan, and a silver elephant, the symbol

of prince Kyrva. As I walked through the gates, I was greeted by the Thj'onin

assassin Lithijin. He taunted me with imposing words and then disappeared in a cloud

of smoke. I saw him balancing on the top of a building like a sadistic ghost and

then a second later he tried to stab me with his punch-dagger Ebondeth. He proved

to be extremely dangerous with his relentless attempts to stab me. He apparently

thought I was a threat and needed to be eliminated. After quickly dodging out of the

way of his stab I fled and drew upon the power of my Lightning Bow. He followed

after me and got a quick stab into my shoulder. Blood streamed down my arm and this

angered me. I drew an arrow and shot it through his hand that he had stabbed me

with. He came at me one last time with his bloody dagger. I quickly avoided it

and shot an arrow through his neck. He fell to the ground leaving a pool of blood.

As he died, I heard the gates of the tempest shatter.

In the inner plaza of Jlindan there was a beautiful fountain that had a statue

of Jaefis replacing something that was obviously there before it. When I inquired to

the peasants about whom Jaefis was all they told me was that he would steal them. . .

I talked to Kyrva and Hujan and they only told me very basic information so I decided

to enter the tempest. After wandering through the tempest I found someone named

Eridale. He was in what seemed to be a pit in the sand and in each direction there

was a small stone gateway. I noticed the skulls that lined the sides of the pit

which scared me. As I entered, he turned my camel to cinder with a fire-like spell.

I tried to flee but he instantly summoned me back to what was going to be the field

of battle. I shot a volley of arrows at him which he returned with a blazing hot

balefire. I scratched his side which did minimal damage to him, but his spell had

charred my skin. I decided I needed to end this battle quickly and aimed an arrow

directly at his head. After a well-shot arrow, I came out victorious but I also

felt I could fight no longer. As Eridale died, a man named Sythriel whispered that

I could not defeat him and then disappeared into a gateway. I knew if I was going

to defeat him I would have to rest before the fight.

After I had spent some time resting, I entered the gateway. I found myself

inside Sythriel's smoke trap. I could not make out his face, all I could see was his

helmet and glowing red eyes coming from inside the helmet. The fighting started and

I had to flee from combat in order to regain strength from his fierce attacks. His

first blow left my arm very bloody. I fled from him but I learned it was no use

running. I called upon every last bit of strength I had, but I couldn't tell if I

had even weakened him. He obviously prefers his smoke trap for a reason. He knew

how to hunt through it very well. He came at me with an attack slashing my right leg.

I hobbled to get away from him in a hope to heal myself. I knew I had to finish this

or he would finish me. I dodged what would have been a deathblow from him and shot

an arrow right in between those glowing red eyes. As he died, I heard a noise that

sounded like something had popped open or unlocked.

I went back to the plaza and decided to sit around and think about where the

door could be that had unlocked or opened. I noticed a door leading downward when

I arrived at the inner plaza. It was locked but I was able to open it with the key

the desert nomad gave me. I found myself in Fysechek's sewers. I decided to try

and avoid him. I found a door on the west side of the sewers that I could open with

the key I got from Eridale. As soon as I entered, I felt like I was going to freeze.

There were three giant masses of blue tentacles that were on the way to Vendessa

which I overcame by nailing their tentacles to the ground with masses of arrows. It

was frightening to look at Vendessa. She had a blue mass of tentacles extending from

her torso and spider-like legs. She charged toward me enraged that I had entered and

wrapped me in her tentacles. I wrenched myself out of her tentacles and she swept me

to the ground with her legs. I shot arrows through her legs to prevent her from

charging toward me any more. I finished her off by shooting arrows through all seven

of her eyes.

I decided to explore the north of Fysechek's sewer next. I came to two doors. One

was unlocked by the key I gained from Vendessa, the other by the key from the nomad. I

found myself in a dungeon with four scorpions. After killing off one of the scorpions

by shooting arrows through their tail and torso, I went down and found myself in

Tsavirin's Oubliette. He appeared not to like direct combat. He tended to flee behind

the many doors that were in every room of this area. After a long time of playing hide

and seek with Tsavirin, I shot him full of arrows until blood covered the walls to end

the chase. With the key that he had, I was able to enter the tower of Jaefis.

As I entered, I noticed a gate to the north, but I decided to explore the rest of

the tower first. On the first level I found a room filled with switches. I sensed they

were trapped so I decided to avoid them for the time. I climbed the tower and found

Jaefis' butchery. There was what looked like the skins of the Jlindan peasants hanging

on the walls with racks for them. One of the racks was empty. There was a strange

black cube in the middle of the room and I decided to take it. I went back to the

bottom of the tower and found I could unlock the gate. I walked through the maze and

found a man named Andarion. He was very polite with his battle etiquette. I bowed

and nodded to him. I almost felt bad as I had to kill him. He started by sending a

blow to my left arm with his Masamune. I fired back with an arrow to his right arm.

Blood gushed from his arm but it was not enough to stop him. He weakly slashed at me

with what seemed to be the last of his strength and I finished him with an arrow

through his heart. He was certainly a noble and worthy opponent. I received a key to

the black cube I picked up earlier from Andarion. Inside the cube was a note that

gave clues to the order that the switches. After figuring out the order of the

switches I had to rest to recover from the damage I sustained from Andarion and the

traps.

I went to investigate what the switches had done and found a gateway had opened

in Andarion's maze. Inside the gateway I found the imprisoned Cassarus. He had no

desire to fight and informed me how I should go about finding and getting Jaefis to

show himself. He claimed that the mind-reading beast Ixyshyn knew his name and I had

to speak his name to him in order for him to take his true form. He said that she

dwelled beneath Fysechek's sewers. I found an open door in Fysechek's sewers and

continued down underneath the waters looking for Ixyshyn. At the bottom of the area

I found an urchin that was easy to kill. He was hiding a crevice that apparently

leads to the Ixyshyn. As I entered it, I took heavy damage from a trap. I decided

it would be best to avoid conflict with Ixyshyn in my weakened condition. I quickly

glanced into Ixyshyn's room and saw GIJKAQUARIN written on one of the walls. I made

my way back to the plaza of Jlindan and thought of where I might find Jaefis. I

realized he must be disguised as one of the Jlindan peasants since one of the racks

in his butchery was empty. I started saying this name to everyone I could find in

Jlindan. It seemed like I had spoken the name to everyone until I had finally come

upon a scholar. When I spoke GIJKAQUARIN to him, Jaefis ripped off the skin he was

covered by and retreated back into his tower. I chased him to the top of his tower

and the battle began. We both fought with all the might we had within us. As he

rushed toward me, he put up his vengeance shroud, forcing me to feel some of the pain

that I inflicted upon him. He tried to knock me over with his axe but I dodged and

put an arrow in his shoulder which did nothing but anger him. He slashed both my legs

with his giant axe and I returned the attack with an arrow through his torso. In a

fit of rage, he threw me across the room. In midair, in a desperate attempt to end

this gruesome battle, I shot an arrow strait through Jaefis' chest leaving blood

splattering everywhere. He fell to his knees and said that I could not resist a

look at Seraphim before leaving. He fell flat on the ground and laid there dead.

He had a key to the door leading to Seraphim's prison. As I entered, I looked at the

giant beautiful creature imprisoned in the room. I remembered Jaefis words and tried

to look away but my eyes were fixed on the Seraphim. I could feel the blood rushing

to my head. I realized it was too late. This would be the end of my journeys.

Best NPC Based Stories:

1^st Place

The Trials and Tribulations of a Nursemaid

by Esbet

Far to the north, the clouds were piling on top of each other, gathering

for a devilishly wicked storm. Back at the Shire, past the Bywater Road and

in the Kid'n Keep, the afternoon was turning colder. The toddlers stayed near

the small fire, trying to keep warm. Suddenly, one of the small children's

hands accidentally came in contact with the flames and yelped with pain. The

two nursemaids looked at him with dismay, wondering how one could be so

careless. Nevertheless, they fetched some cloth to wrap his wounds and

comforted him. The toddler ran back to play with his friends immediately, and

once again became consumed in the politics of children; who has the most

cooties, and other pressing matters.

As the sun started to slowly give way to the radiance of moon, the two

nursemaids decided to take a stroll along Bywater Road, so not only they

could talk, but smoke their favorite tabac that Sting had given one of them

the other day.

"Oh, that man is so nice. I'm going to marry him one day," one of the

nursemaids proclaimed.

Her colleague nearly spit out all of the tabac as she muttered angrily,

"Sting? That ungrateful, lousy, pathetic, worthwhile boss? I'd rather marry

the Miller than that poor excuse of a man."

"Oh now, no need to be so defensive. Without Sting we would've never

landed this nursing job at Kid'n Keep. He put in a good word for us with the

Thane, and you ought to be eternally grateful." She nodded with

self-satisfaction.

Sighing loudly, the other nursemaid commented, "If he didn't think I was

as cute as I am, he would've never given us anything. Anyway, aren't you

concerned with our current nursery? The toddlers are disrespectful, and we

don't have half the resources we need. Even the wild children in Haon-Dor

have more access to decent housing."

"Why, now you've really crossed the line. I think we do a pretty good

job of keeping these brats in line."

Hidden in a nearby clump of plants, several local gossips crouched,

recording the nursemaids' conversation on a goatskin scroll. Their eyes

perked, and they scribbled their notes even more rapidly and intensely as

they showed their true feelings of the nursery. The general opinion around

the Shire was that they were the happiest women in town. They had a cushy

job, and Sting visited them personally occasionally -- something for which

most of the women would die for. Attention from that golden-haired renegade

was valued as much or more than money. To hear that they really weren't

content would keep their village snickering and discussing in private, trying

to discover what's really wrong. The topics spawned from this development

could prove endless! A journalist's dream!

***

In a far away citadel, a solid sheet of blinding white balefire ripped

through Esbet's skin, followed by the mad laughter by Sekiron, Oracle of the

Falcon. Crippled by this devastating blow, the defeated adventurer returned

to the Ceremonial Room in town to replenish her strength. As she rested,

several other mages stumbled into the room, boasting of their adventurers and

good fortune. Stories of defeating the one known as Orthis the Undying

himself, and killing doomlords in their spare time. Gathering all of the

strength that she could, Esbet decided that in order to maintain a basic

level of self-respect, the slaughter of Sekiron was essential. She wrapped

herself in her gray flowing robe known as the Robe of the D'Khotan, from one

of her former conquered foe, and she limped all the way to the stables. Next

she gave Huerin a small sum of money and slumped her body onto a huge

warhorse. Soon she would have revenge.

***

The second, more naive, nursemaid started bawling and moaning, weeping

with the realization that their job is too tough. If only the toddlers would

show some respect occasionally. She ran off, running onto a dirt road that

lead to Sting. He greeted her with open arms, but she shied away from his

flaring red aura, fearful that it might burn her. She unloaded all of her

problems onto him, explaining how rude she thought the other nursemaid was.

He barely acknowledged her complaints, which was unusual for him -- he had

taken interest in the most mundane problems in the past. Perhaps he was

concerned with the approaching darkness and the chill in the air which was

unusual for a summer evening. Worried about the prospect of having his

fireshield come in contact with rain, he completely ignored the nursemaid.

She nudged at him and whispered urgently, "Sting, are you listening to

me?"

Silence.

Weeping hysterically, she tried to tell him, "A strange anti-paladin just

rode in on horseback. It is possible she is the renowned Shire lifeleecher! I

can't believe I abandoned Kid'n Keep to go on the walk, I hope they'll be

okay..." She continued with her desperate plea, "If we stop her now while

she's weak, there's a chance that the toddlers will survive."

By the time she finished, what seemed to Sting as rambling, he was gone,

to seek shelter from the impending storm. She focused, and realized it was up

to her to make sure that the citizens of the Shire didn't stay together in

large groups -- the invader would not be foolish enough to waste her mana

leeching life from just one or two victims. Dashing up the road, her dress

became covered in dirt as she stumbled over a stick in the road. Several

women grabbed her from behind a bush and tried to keep her still.

Attempting to squirm from their grasp, she tried to tell them that she

had to go warn everyone of the approaching danger. However, the gossips

couldn't decipher what she was trying to say and started with their

questioning.

"We happened to overhear a little conversation you had with another

nursemaid. It seems you aren't happy with your profession. Could it simply be

boredom, or is there something more wicked at hand? We always suspected that

Sting was not as righteous as he seems. When that outlander came here..." --

The nurse's squirming didn't halt the other womens' interrogation -- "...we

didn't trust him at all. I see you spending far too much time with him. What

devilish plot are you cooking up?"

Frustrated by the pathetic gossips, the nursemaid exploded into a

berserker rage, and with one spell cut their life spans in half. Even she was

shocked by this sudden outburst of power, but she knew that now was not the

time to think about it. All that matters is to save the toddlers. The

gossips, stunned by this display of strength, released their grip, allowing

the nursemaid to run as fast as she could down Bywater Road, approaching

Kid'n Keep. Suddenly a sharp, cold wind chilled her bones. Nearby she heard

the malignant laughter of Esbet as she drained the toddlers' lifeforce. She

was too late, but a last effort had to be made. As the nurse entered the

Keep, she found the culprit babbling about how she would finally possess the

runestone of the falcon with her added strength. And suddenly, she had crept

out of sight.

"I have failed to do my duty," the nursemaid exclaimed, falling to her

knees, "and now I am unworthy of this position. I swear, by the house of

Bywater, I shall avenge these toddlers' deaths."

***

Twenty-eight years later, in the Silver Hallway of the White Tower in Tar

Valon, the shamed nursemaid's former colleague approached the door leading

into the Amyrlin Seat's study. She adjusted her blue shawl, as it was

slightly crooked. She knew that the Amyrlin expected Aes Sedai to show

proper respect and formality when approaching her. Entering into her chamber,

they exchanged the traditional greetings. Almost immediately, the nursemaid

said, "I will not waste your time, Mother. Now that I have proven myself

worthy of the title of Aes Sedai, I ask that you trust me enough to tell me

what happened to the other nursemaid from the Shire."

The Amyrlin frowned but agreed to answer the question. "Very well. As you

know, she quickly developed her powers and advanced to be a full Sister three

years before you did. Soon after, she agreed to undergo a mission to deliver

Dyaclecius, the mayor of Astirin Proper, an official message from the White

Tower which stated that we absolutely disapprove of the worship of Orthis. "

***

"Orthis you say?" Dyaclecius started to show some interest in this

unsuspected envoy from the White Tower.

"Sir... I come here to bring a message saying that we disapprove of your

sick religion," the grey-haired woman stated.

Instantly, eying her with disbelief, he proclaimed, "Very well! Knights,

throw this lass into the Lair of the Unnamed!"

It was essential that she not fail this mission. Her previous failure

many years ago had brought many nights of weeping. Her rebuilt pride could

not withstand another failure, however. Suddenly, she was released by the

dark guards and plunged into a large vat of frigid dark blue water. A claw

scraped at her leg, followed by several more assaults, until she realized

that some sort of demon was pulling her down. Almost immediately after this

realization she pulled a golden, glowing ter'angreal from her pouch that

Sting had given her many years ago. Bad memories of the Shire pushed their

way into her mind, but they only spurred her sense of determination to

survive and prove herself. The curio glowed with a powerful crimson light,

which charred the Nautilus Demon into a burnt corpse, slowly sinking to the

bottom of the cold floor. She had saved the ter'angreal until a time of need,

where she could channel a large amount of the One Power into it to activate

the Finger of Death spell.

***

"I felt the impact on the thread of time as the Nautilus Demon perished

-- a great evil was rid from the world. I knew very well that Dyaclecius

would imprison her in the creature's lair, but had no idea that she could

kill it.," the Amyrlin said.

Shocked by this turn of events, the former nursemaid yelled, "You sent

her on a mission knowing that she would die?!"

"Essentially, yes. She was the only one who was brave enough to accept a

mission into the foul Kingdom of Astirin. You know how naive she is, and she

thought this would be her chance to redeem herself from some sin she

committed in her former career. I am deeply sorry, but find comfort in the

fact that she served the Tower well."

She tried to restrain her anger in front of the Amyrlin, but found

herself incapable of doing so. "How could you! And you speak of her in the

past tense, are you implying that something happened to her?"

***

Thoughts of death and despair were flowing through her mind. The cold

floor of the engineering tunnels of the Orthis Project were no comfort

either. Long gashes covered her body, the salty blood oozing onto the floor.

The brutal strength of the illithids and the Elder Brain had almost robbed

her of all her lifeforce.

"Must not die.. If I do not stay alive I will be a failure! The Amyrlin

must have known that I would be subjected to this pain, but I am alive. I

must stay powerful so that I may seek vengeance upon her!"

A tall man wrapped in an odor-emitting black cloak approached this

pathetic wretch with sick amusement. "Soon Orthis will have her soul, as he

takes all the souls of the dead. For now, though, I shall question her, find

out her motives," the mysterious man thought to himself.

Once she had regained her strength, she told the stranger of her

sorrowful story.

"A nursemaid, eh? Excellent. You will guard Yvarra with your life, or

else end up as my eternal slave. Orimane does not accept the weak! Go on,

leave my sight!"

***

The former nursemaid of the Blue Ajah gasped as she learned of her

friend's fate.

The Amyrlin Seat concluded her tale by saying, "It is sad to see a

follower of the Light consumed by the foul promises of greatness given by the

minions of darkness. "

***

To this day, the nursemaid tends to Yvarra's needs, a difficult job

seeing that the girl is mad with some sick mental illness. Although weak and

tired herself, she lives so that she may redeem herself after the mishap in

the Shire, and also to pursue methods of revenge against the Amyrlin, who so

willingly allowed her to go on a suicide mission. Occasionally foolhardy

adventurers attempt to give the girl trinkets, and it is at this point where

the nurse explodes into a frenzy and guards the child with an insane passion.

Any wise soul should stay away from this wretched, possessed woman, as her

fury is rivaled only by a select few monsters.

2^nd Place

The Tale of Scorn Darksire, fallen Warrior of the Light

by Asuryan

The Year 66 of the Third Age, the Month of desolation the season of storm, unto

this realm emerged a child, destined to be one of the greatest and most tragic of

heroes. A fallen god, doomed champion of the light, and the most accursed of heroes...

The infamy of this flawed titan bestrode the legends of his age like a colossus.

His deeds are all but forgotten, his tale a web of tragedy, his name Azriel de'

Syaln. Little is known of Azriel's early life, his origins were shrouded in mystery.

Orphaned at birth he was brought to the city of Tar Valon at an early age, and

schooled in the ways of combat by the Order of Light. Azriel soon discovered his

gift for the arcane and his unsurpassed martial prowess. And at the age of 17 he

was enrolled into Order of Paladin, and rose quickly through their ranks.

Azriel grew to be tall proud and fair, a master of weapons and the arcane arts.

Over the years Azriel distinguished himself in several military campaigns throughout

the realm. His fame spread to all corners of the realm, he was a warrior without

peer and a foe without mercy. A champion of the light and unbreakable shield against

the darkness. It is said that he was the very mortal incarnate of Solace.

Part 1 : The EVE of Darkness

At the age of 21, Azriel was elected a place in the White Council, and won the

title of the Champion of Solace. However another fate befell Azriel at this time,

while on pilgrimage in the town of Brin Shayar Azriel met and fell in love with the

half-elf maiden Ishra'les and for a brief moment in his life he found true happiness.

But this happiness was to be short lived...

On the eve of their marriage, a dark host descended upon the town of Brin Shayar

like a ominous storm. Legions of undead quickly overran the towns garrison. Peasants

were butchered in droves by warriors of jet, zombies feasted upon the dead while the

risen dead ravaged the once golden fields. The few whom survived were dragged away by

the undead host while the remnants of their ancestral home laid desecrated and

destroyed before their eyes.

Columns of smoke that rose beyond the peaks, alerted by this Azriel and his

company rode swiftly to its trace. With their arrival, Azriel felt grief like never

before. He began a frantic search, desperately calling for his beloved amongst the

charred remnants. But in his heart he knew what fate has befallen them... Azriel was

overcome with sorrow and titanic fury, he swore a terrible vengeance upon his foes

and non present doubted his resolution.

The next morning, Azriel emerged from his tent and his followers witness a complete

change him. Azriel looked like death itself, his face was gaunt where once was fair,

his cheeks were sunken and eyes were chill, and he spoke with a bitter edge. Azriel

dispatched a messenger to Tar Valon seeking aid of the council, and with his party

Azriel set off upon the trail of the undead host.

The journey came to an end as they reached the end of their trail. Ahead of them

loomed the walls of a forsaken city. The necropolis gleamed like an obsidian crown in

the desolate land. Azriel and his company took shelter in a nearby town, where they

rested themselves and made plans of the coming battle.

As nightfall approached, and a lone figure streaked across the fading horizon.

Alone the rider galloped swiftly to the presence of Azriel. He brought with him a

message from Tar Valon, the council has refused him aid for they declared his cause

of no concern to them.

With this Azriel went mad with fury, he ordered his lieutenant to rally the men,

for they were to wage this war with or without aid of the council. His advisors tried

to convince their Lord otherwise, but to no avail. However local peasants flocked to

Azriel's cause, for they to wish to be ride of this foul infestation. Soon the fields

were littered with raging mobs, at their tip rode silverclad knights brandishing high

and proud their banner. Azriel arrived at the fray and rode the the vanguard of the

army, and with a command the great mob began their perilous march to whatever doom

that may lie ahead.

Soon their march ended before the gates of the Necropolis. As the legions rallied

and the ranks lined up, from out of nowhere came a chilling wind sweeping across the

land. All present were stunned with a moment of fear, even the blood curdling warcries

of the frenzied mobs ceased as all was silent...

The screech of rusted chains sounded as the gates of the cursed city opened. Then

from the recesses of the necropolis emerged the undead host. Like a sea of corruption

legions of foul nether creatures spew forth from the castle gates. A dark laughter rose

through the valley, and the silence was broken...

The militia stood motionless paralyzed by fear, as if awaiting death to sweep

through their ranks. Only the commanding voice of Azriel managed to rouse them from their

enchanted state. Then the signal for attack, and the army charged forward to meet their

undead foes.

With a crash the two forces met, led by Azriel the mounted knights bore down the

blasted valley like a tidal wave of steel, silvertip lances tore through ranks of

rotting flesh crushing living bone. Azriel's charged deep into the heart of the dark

host with abandoned, with insane skill and deft he maneuvered his mount about. Like

a cyclone of destruction he bore through the ranks of undead. His lance streaking

across his foes like a silver thunderbolt the silvershod hooves of his steed crushing

all before them.

The militia soon caught up with the mounted knights, and a bloody melee broke out.

The overwhelming peasant armies thundered through the undead ranks, there was no room

for skill, as the combatants simply hacked at each other. And soon inch by inch they

slowly carved a bloody path through the undead ranks. But as victory seemed within

their grasp.. A dark howl echoed through interiors of the undead city, and from it came

forth riders wrought of darkness. Death Knights plunged into battle, slaying all within

range. The fell armor of the dark riders turned the crude weapons of the peasants as

they were butchered like lambs to the slaughter.

Azriel hacked relentlessly with his blade, his fuming vengeance slowly drove him

closer to the gates. No enemy lived within reach of his blade, everywhere he went his

foes laid headless. But the battle seemed forever, the outcome was uncertain from where

he stood. His arm began to ache each time his weapon crashed into his foe, and he soon

began to feel the bulk of his armor rest on him.

Everywhere death was abound, Azriel tried to fight the weariness in him. As he peered

across his shoulders, the last regiment of peasants broke and were swiftly cut down

by the fell blades. The knights too began to fail, nearby a group of surviving knights

were in frantic struggle to fight off the knot of undead that surrounded them . All

seemed lost, the numbers of the fell host were inexhaustible, and with each fallen

peasant rose a soldier of the damned.

The battle was unwinnable... Azriel knew it in him from the start, yet... In a sudden

berserk rage, Azriel lashed out at all before him! Swinging his sword like a mad man,

he charged forth the gates of the undead castle! Tears streaked across his face as it

was frozen in despair. A death knight lunged before him but Azriel swept its blow away,

with the return blow cleaved through the creature hide before it crumbled into dust.

From behind him came another undead knight, it thrust its weapon but the blade

glanced off Azriel's armor but struck deep into his mount. The wounded beast reared and

plunged as pain overcame its body, with a final neigh of defiance the creature

collapsed tossing Azriel onto the earth.

Lying on the blood soaked battlements Azriel was all but fallen. Despite the pain he

reached for his weapon, but from the earth a foul hand emerged. Like an icy clench it

gripped Azriel's limbs. Soon more rose binding him to the earth. Azriel struggled in

vain to break their hold, but his exhausted frame could do no further. Slowly he began

to lose consciousness. The blood of hundreds flowed like a crimson river, he watched

the last warrior fall to the hordes, as cursed dead feasted upon the fallen... then

all was dark...

Azriel's senses stirred to gradual awareness, yet it was dreamlike. The smell of

blood and death was all about him, as he woke a terrible spasm ran through his body,

pain flared in every nerve his eyes bulged and he screamed in agony.

He found his hands and feet bound to a great crucifix carved of darkened wood, his

body lashed with terrible scars that flowed endless blood founts. His mind went numb

with the pain, the agony had stopped, a single thought echoed through his mind,

vengeance.

A voice rang out, 'Ah... You have awakened, at last...'

Hatred surged through Azriel's veins, yet the voice enchanted him. It was bitter yet

gentle, damning yet... it was not human... Suddenly a mighty force ripped through

Azriel's mind, all thought seem to have exploded, infinite images flashed through his

head, emotions ran amuck and random in his heart he struggled to break his loose and

let out a terrible wail.

The dark laughter echoed through, its malice and glee tormented Azriel's spirit.

Slowly Azriel recovered, and his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He was in some sort

of desecrated cathedral, the walls were stained with blood, shadows lurked at every

corner of the structure. Above him was a domed roof, carved with terrible images.

A single figure emerged from the shadows, and the laughter ceased.

He spoke, 'Where is the light you follow now paladin? It would seem that your

gods have left you to die... just like they left Ishra'les to die' He cackled with a

sinister glee. Hatred burned in Azriel, he wanted to tear this this creature apart

with his bare hands, he wanted it to burn for eternity for his doings, but.. yet

what he spoke of... was it not true? Despair crept into his world as it collapsed

around him, his will was dead.

'Your life lies now in not mine but your hands, Choose! Your dogma that is dead

and has abandoned you, or choose the path of vengeance!'

Azriel's body was all but broken, his mind pondered upon those dark words...

He peered at the dark forsaken cathedral, the light cowered where the shadows loomed, and

the blood of hundred before stained the once pure walls...

Azriel spoke "I choose.... Vengeance..."

The laughter of the dark gods echoed through the land, the very earth shook and the

torches flickered as the room darkened. The world mourned the loss of a champion of

light and the birth of the Scornful one... Azriel felt the bindings about his limps

grow loose as he collapsed fell. The dark figure approached with a dreadful slowness,

Azriel peered up and caught a glimpse of a shimmering chalice in the creatures hands.

Before Azriel could recover, the voice spoke with a gentle embrace, "Drink..."

Azriel felt a warm fluid trickle down his lips. It seared through every vein in his

body and plunged him into a dreamlike state. It was a strange ecstasy. He felt his

strength crawl slowly back to him, he peered into the cup. What he saw sickened him,

blood, but he did not stop, he could not stop, not even to breath... He snatched the

cup from the creatures hand and with great draughts emptied its contents... It was

unlike anything he had experience, heartier then the finest meal, more potent then

any ale, more satisfying then the love of a woman... it was the only other thing that

could satisfy him aside vengeance...

Slowly Azriel staggered to his feet, then suddenly as if a great force had struck

him a deadly spasm gripped his heart. He screamed writhing in agony as the pain flared

through him like a searing flame. He was dying...but like great tentacles a strange

darkness lurked from his body and cast itself out at his fleeing soul binding and

dragging it back to his mortal frame. He felt a titanic surge of energies in his body,

images roused his mind, fear and darkness echoed, he gasped.

He blinked, the world seemed different, he felt it move, he could hear the kindling

of a flame far beyond the castle walls, a thousand scents tingled in his nostrils. He

felt different, feeble, yet...

He looked about him, the darkness seemed to have faded, everything was clear now yet

the shadows seemed to still cling on. He peered about then suddenly realizing that he

cast no shadow... he stared at his hands, they were cold and pale, he was curious but

not afraid.

He asked, "What am I?"

The dark figure replied, "You are now like me and of my blood. You are a drinker of

blood, a scourge of humanity, You are an aristocrat of the night... You are a Vampire."

Azriel gazed up at the dark figure, and this time he beheld not a mere rotting corpse,

he saw something beautiful beyond contemplation. Its skin glowed like it was

translucent its features were flawless and its limbs were slender yet not shriveled

instead elegant.

The creature spoke again, "Come now child, there is much for you to learn... first

off, my name is Lysander... But now... your must sleep.... "

Strange dreams haunted Azriel's mind, he saw things from far away he saw the evergreen

fields of Brin Shayar, he dreamt of his one true love, then they all seemed to drift

away from him... further and further till all was but emptiness...

Azriel opened his eyes, he saw nothing. He peered about his surroundings, he was in

a sarcophagus of some sort. He was trapped under a heavy marble lid, yet he felt no fear,

he began to wonder. He paused for a moment, then with a gentle push he shifted the lid

of the stone sarcophagus aside. The lid must have at least been twice his weight, yet

with such ease... He pondered.

Then he heard the voice of Lysander calling, "Ah... You are awake, come now there is

much for you to learn" With this he lead Azriel out of the crypt into an open

courtyard. As Azriel walked he felt the veins about his face shrivel and tighten,

they grasped him like a coiling serpent. He felt an unbearably hunger, a thirst...

Then he caught a scent in the air, it ceased his craving for a moment and he asked,

"What is that smell?"

Lysander replied, "It's blood."

Azriel slowly recognize the scent, it was familiar, and yet so different, he craved

it...

Lysander spoke again, "It is time for you to learn of your being my fledging..."

With this Lysander took his hand, it was as if the world collapse about them, he

felt his body shift as a strange mist borne them forth. As the mist dissipated,

Azriel peered about his surroundings, he recognized it. It was here that the

peasants rallied to his cause, where once was teeming with life the town was now

dead and desolate, the houses laid there empty, all but deserted.

Then he noticed a peasant boy walking nervously cross the cobblestone streets.

Lysander whispered gently into Azriel's ears, "There is your prey... now go."

A natural instinct stirred in him, Azriel began stalking his prey through the

alleys. Soon they approached a secluded street. In less then a heartbeat Azriel was

upon the peasant like a great cat. His strength surprise even himself, he could

have easily subdued the feeble boy, but chose to toy with him a little. But soon

his thirst overcame him, and instinct struck him once again.

He snatched the boy by his wrist and reached for his neck. For the first time he

realized the pair of fangs in his mouth. He felt the ecstasy once more as his teeth

sank deep into flesh, he felt the blood gush up at the roof of his mouth. He

savored every moment of the warm liquid coursing through his veins. And as he

tightened his grip he felt the bone jar and snap under the immense pressure...

Then from amidst the ecstasy he felt Lysander's presence and the voice,

"Make haste! We must go now!"

Azriel released his grip and let the corpse collapse to his feet. He scanned about

for Lysander, but he saw only darkness. Then from a corner he heard a dozens voices,

as he peered over once more he caught glimpse of a frightful figure. The peasant

shuddered at the sight of his blood stained features and the bloodless corpse that

lay on the ground, "He's here! The demon is here!!" cried the peasant.

In a split second, a dozen peasants flooded the alley. The frenzied mob charged at

Azriel cursing and swearing. A flaming torch came hurtling from the crowd towards

Azriel. The touch of fire scorched him as it it brushed pass. The fire discomforted

him, it made him feel vulnerable, he feared it...

Azriel scrambled back, retreating from the frenzied crowd. Then he felt a grip upon

his shoulders, he peered across, "Lysander!"

Lysander spoke, "There is no time, we must fly!"

The approaching mob paused for a moment, stunned by the presence of Lysander.

Lysander glared scornfully at the gathering crowd, with a gesture, ethereal energies

flowed from his hand towards the corpse of the fallen prey. Before their eyes the

darkness fused within the corpse and with a deadly slowness it rose to unlife. The

risen corpse struck out at the crazed mob with its foul touch. Quickly the vampiric

duo fled the scene disappearing into the shadows.

The world flashed before Azriel's eyes once more, then it ceased as he felt himself

reel to the darkness. He was back in the castle, he peer about. Lysander was at his

side, it was almost dawn. Azriel tried to speak but Lysander gestured him and

whispered to his ear, "There will be time for your questions tomorrow night, now

we must rest."

With that Lysander led Azriel into the crypts, and there they lay with two great

sarcophagus as the sun crept from the distant horizon. Azriel laid still as death,

he sensed the sun begin to rise as its golden beams touched the realm. A sense of

loathing brewed in him as the dawn came of disgust... But slowly he embraced the

realm of dreams.

Part 2 : DAWN of Vengeance

The months passed like days, with each waning moon Azriel grew greater. He

grasped the very concept of his vampiric nature and wielded it like a true master.

He easily overwhelmed the might strongest mortals tenfold with his vampiric

strength, he traveled through the night like a silent breeze. He could move

matter with a mere thought and could read the darkest secrets of the mortal

mind.

From Lysander he learnt the dark arts, he embraced necromancy and crafted it to

his will. Soon his powers grew far beyond that of his imagination, and slowly yet

surely he began to surpass even the might of even Lysander. But with his new found

powers, also came an unsatisfiable emptiness... Azriel questioned purpose, he

questioned the darkness and he questioned the gods...

That blightful night, as the darkness settled upon the realm Azriel rose. He

approached Lysander questioned him their being, but Lysander disavowed any

knowledge and shrugged Azriel's claims. Soon argument broke, hatred flared within

both parties. Unsatisfied, Azriel attempted to scrye Lysander's mind, but the old

one resisted. Soon a terrible battle of the minds took place, colossal waves of

powers clashed, clouds of dust and debris were thrown about the air. Both were

unwilling to give ground, and both were evenly matched.

But the deadlock soon ended as the thirst for blood weakened Lysander for a

moment. Quickly Azriel lashed out with his last remaining strength, so great the

force it struck Lysander across the hallway. With all his rage and all his might

Azriel inflicted a mortal wound upon Lysander's. With his body broken, his mind

was weak. Azriel held the battered creature within his icy gaze, slowly he

scoured its mind like a ravening beast. But the wild images drove Azriel mad,

knowledge beyond him entered him, he felt like he was going the explode. Then he

glared at Lysander whom was in mocking laughter. Hatred seered, Azriel sunk his

teeth deep into Lysander's throat, with a single draught the foul creature

collapsed, bloodless and perhaps truely dead at last.

With a wavering gesture Azriel arrived at the edge of a desolate town. Then from

the darkness he let loose a terrible cry, the sound woke the dead and curdled the

blood of the living. Azriel stormed through the village like a cyclone of death,

as from the abyss the cursed answer his calls.

The door shattered into a thousand tiny shards, Azriel entered. Before him two

children cowered in fear. He glanced about with a gesture a nearby sickle leapt

into his hands. Faster then the flick of a serpents tongue the blade lashed out,

with a cry a child laid headless. He felt no remorse, no pity for these pathetic

creatures. Then with another thrust he plunged the scythe deep into the bowels

of the second child. He felt like death himself coming to claim the souls of

these pitiful beings.

The village stood burning as Azriel vanished into the night, as dawn came the news

of Azriel's wrath had already begun to spread through the northern kingdoms.... A new

evil was about to rise, the Vengeance of Azriel had begun...

As the night of reckoning crept upon the realm, Azriel traveled to the plains where

his company fell. There he began a dark ritual, the bleak forsaken plains tingled

with forbidden magic as the shadows rose. From the Abyss emerged the fallen knights

of Azriel's company. Twelve there were, each imbued with power far beyond their

previous reckoning.

And thus came the thirteen sires of darkness, the riders of Azriel wrought of hatred

and in darkness. That night Azriel retook is vows of vengeance, to the dark gods

themselves he swore to rid the realm of every single worshiper of the light, and

from that day onward, he was known to the world as Scorn Darksire.

With his followers Azriel ravaged town after town, like a plague he gripped the

realm with death and fear. His infamy soon spread beyond that of his past glory,

wherever he went the light fled and the shadow conquered all. With each victory

his power grew stronger and his legions greater. And soon his dark campaign brought

him to the very gates of Tar Valon.

There Scorn laid siege upon the walls of the great city, weeks of warfare waged on

without resolution. The cities garrison were experienced and well armed, but the

hordes of Scorn were limitless and his riders unbeatable. Both sides fought

relentless with burning animosity for each other. Yet slowly the dark hordes gained

the upperhand as the garrisons supplies dwindled and their numbers thinned.

At the day of the final battle, Azriel's minions broke the defenses of Tar Valon.

The ravening hordes poured into the city, destroying all within sight. The entire

city was caught in a web of panic despair as the remaining guards frantically tried

to fight off the ceaseless horde. Towering structures toppled to the earth as the

streets burned in a river of blood. But as victory seemed eminent, new players

entered the field.

Beams of silver lanced through the air and reduced a nearby contingent of zombies

to dust. Upon silvership arrived figures clad in light, from the east the hordes

were broken as the thundering wrath of the Gamamiel Ogiers were unleashed unto the

battlefield. Caught between the hammer and the anvil, the dark minions were driven

to the heart of the city.

A bloody battle carried them to all corners of the city, but even with such a great

force brought to bear the dark host held their ground and fought with an adamant

fury. Azriel and his riders drew death at ever corner and soon their blades met

that of the White Council. The hatred and scorn held by Azriel was all but

forgotten. With a roar he tore into the ranks of the followers of light, little

could they do to stop this avalanche of death. One by one they fell before Azriel,

but a true challenge soon rose to meet this evil.

The White Seer Mandarran rose from amidst the chaos and destruction. Great and

terrible spells seared through the air as they waged their battle. Terrible

magical energies were unleashed, death spells hissed and spluttered as

counterspells unmade them. Columns of fire spewed forth only to be dispelled by

a touch. Two mortal gods battled ceaselessly, the world seemed to have halted

in their time. Mandarran gestured for lightning but it fizzled with a word, then

Azriel spoke and his voice rippled through. The very earth shook and buildings

threatened to topple. The seer tripped as he lost his balance, seizing his

chance Azriel lashed out with a killing spell hitting the seer with full impact.

Looming over Mandarrans battered frame for the final blow, suddenly a surge of

light struck him from behind, Azriel faltered as he resisted the coiling magic.

He peered about in search of its source. The Ogier druid Hemas brandishing his

wooden staff. With a roar Azriel lunged at him, his blade struck the Ogier's staff

shattering it into pieces, swiftly reacting the Ogier dodged the second blow but

the blade cut deep a wound across his back. Quickly a contingent of garrison

guards charged at Azriel, the many dozen of them tried to subdue the dark lord

with brute force, but none survived the reach of Azriel's blade. Victory was his at

last, but as Azriel glanced across the horizon, he saw the sun creep to the skies...

Azriel roared in defiance to the gods, as slowly the light crept into the realm.

Like balefire the light reduced the dark legions into dust. Azriel peered about he

had no choice but to flee, but as he gathered his strength to take flight, he heard

the waned voice of Mandarran.

In some ancient tongue he spoke, and with his last ounce of power a burst of light

leapt forth from his staff. White flames engulfed Azriel as it cut into him like a

million blades. Then with a gesture, the sphere exploded into raw energies. The

immense impact smote Azriel's scarred body through the air sending his remains

plunging into the sea...

And thus ends the tale of Scorn Darksire, however his body was never found. Some

claim it was destroyed by the raw magic, some say that it had perished beneath the

waves. But some present claim that they saw a dark figure flee the light amidst

final moment, and that Scorn Darksire still lives in undeath, awaiting the moment

for his final reckoning...