Heroes & Villains

Hi there!

You've arrived at the LJ I'm using to document all of my LARP characters. The vast majority of these will be for the Camarilla continuing chronicle. Pretty much all of them will be friends locked. Please comment if you'd like to be added, and to what filters:

• Petrus Luchetti - Vampire: the Requiem
• Greg Sullivan - Werewolf: the Forsaken
• Happenstance - Mage: the Awakening
• James Daniels - Changeling: the Lost

For previous readers of netbard: I've friended you to this journal and will add you to all filters (since that was what you were reading previously). If you have a selection of filters you'd like to limit yourself to, just comment here and it shall be done.

Thanks,

John Christensen

The oni and the sword faced each other across the small circle that had been set aside from them. Battle raged around them – the second round of a single combat melee tournament raged as combatants vested for the right to call themselves the strongest. Themselves the best.

Neither the oni nor the sword were in this circle for themselves. The oni was for the fallen Kings and Queens of Azure Hills - those sacrificed to another’s madness and those that sacrificed themselves to bring about the formation of something new. The sword was there for the memory of those that had fallen in the Battle of the Lilac Bower. For Knight-san, but also for Tetsubo-san, and Guren-san. And for Chijiriki-sama.

Neither would hold back. To do so would dishonor the memories that both of them held so dear.

A moment passed. Two. Three.

When the moment was broken, it was broken by both of them at once, at the same time charging at each other – James drawing his katana as he leapt and Dan swinging his great weapon against him. He could not even tell who landed a blow and who did not land a blow.

It didn’t matter - the moment the pass had ended they were both spinning for another blow. And another. And another.

They fought with all that they were, everything that they believed in, everything that they desired. With all the memories of those that had already fallen. Though they upheld the rules of the tournament, wind and ice raged around the two as their elements flared with the same passion with which they fought.

When the end came, it was as abrupt as the beginning. One final pass, two staggering steps. And then he was falling, falling to the ground. His katana fell beside him, his body and mind spent and exhausted.

He turned his head over, and saw Dan laying there as well. “Dan-sama.”, he whispered, his voice barely carried upon the wind. “Thank you.”

As he lay there, he felt the life’s blood pouring out of him. I could die here., he thought to himself, No one would know it for cowardice. No one would blame Dan-sama. I could just close my eyes and release myself.

But he knew, as the thought passed his mind, that he could do no such thing.

He could only stay alive, he could only pass one breath at a time, one foot in front of the other.

He could only live a life that would bring honor to the fallen.

A life that would show the memory of the Chijiriki-sama that even in this cold world, honor could still exist.

He tried, very hard, not to pass out before the medic made his way over to him.

He woke in pain. His wounds were many and varied and covered nearly his entire body. As he breathed, his felt his ribs bend oddly - at least one, probably more was broken. The ground below him was cold and hard.

He shifted, his hand reaching, feeling for the place where his last wound had fallen onto him. His fingers found bandages, somewhat soaked through, but still binding against his wounds. Surprised, he felt around his body and found other bandages. He looked down and saw that his wounds had been tended to.

But he was not in the Lilac Bower.

The hollow in which he lay was crude - it appeared as if a section of the hedge had been hacked to pieces with a weapon. He was in the center of it, laying on a cleared section of ground. In the corner, the Chijiriki was binding her own wounds.

Alarm made him sit up quickly - perhaps too quickly, the bindings on his rib compressed them painfully. She looked up as he moved and bade him to sit down again. And he did, before he fell down.

When he had say down again, they began to talk.

A mistake. It had been a mistake. They had not meant to join the Battle of the Lilac Bower. They had meant to challenge him on the oath he had made to not kill. They had meant to see if his oath would be strong enough to keep them from taking him to Arcadia.

His oath. An oath that had lasted only long enough for him to believe they had come to join the battle. That had lasted only long enough to realize he didn’t have his jo anymore. That had lasted only long enough to draw his sword and strike.

To strike first. It was his fault. If he had paused, if he had waited, they could have prevented it. All of it.

She continued. And what she spoke of broke James’s heart. What she spoke of brought tears to his eyes to mirror the ones in hers.

Guren-sama was dead. Justin had shot her again, and again. And then when she had fallen, when she was unconscious on the ground, he placed another bullet right into her head to ensure her death.

Tetsubo-sama was dead. He had been defeated in battle and fallen to his knees. He had called for Sean-sama to end his life. But Tetsubo-sama was not bright. He had never understood that the difference between Arcadia and this world was that in Arcadia, their master could bring them from death.

They were dead. All of them. And his friends had brought about their death. But their actions had come from James’s. His sword had brought nothing but death.

He rose and crossed to her, wincing. He spoke to her, then, whispered to her of his apologies that what had happened had happened. He spoke quietly of his wish that she had not brought the Storm into this battle, that she had but waited until after the battle.

And she spoke of the cold world he had chosen to reside in, where honor was nothing and death was forever. And her desire to leave this cold place and return to the side of her Master, in a place where honor was forever. And she wanted him at her side.

He almost did it. He almost agreed to do such a thing, to abandon his search for honor and for his answer. But as the words formed on his lips - he couldn’t utter them. This world was cold and lacked honor. But it was real, in a way that Arcadia could never be. Perhaps his choices might lead him to a permanent death. But it would be his death. And his life would be his to lead. And while the world might lack honor - he would bring it to the world. It was the only thing left to him, the only thing he could do.

But here, in this tent, while the two of them would surely be parted on the morrow, he knew that there was one, last truth that he had to admit to the Chijiriki.

“I love you.”, he whispered to her, and leaned forward to kiss her. She did not resist.

—

The morning had come all to quickly, and the two elementals were on their feet again so that they could break camp. They were resolved to their seperation - not happy about it, but resolved. She would return to Arcadia and he would return to the real world. In time, perhaps, the pain would fade - but for the moment it was still fresh.

She was leaning over to kiss him farewell when the bullet struck. He felt the breeze of its passing as it entered her temple and then left her head from the oppose site. He blood was warm against him as he collapsed to his knees, as her lifeless, quickly cooling body fell into his lap. He reached down, in disbelief, as she shuddered once. His fingers touched her cheek, dipping into the blood slowly dripping down her face.

The scream he uttered was from the center of his soul and seemed to carry all the warmth of his body with it.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Brian, his motley mate, climbing down from the tree, with the gun that had been used. He saw Lirriana moving closer, cautiously. He spoke to her, quietly. Coldly. Spoke to her of what had been the truth of the situation that Brian had found.

And then he left her, to pick up the body of his murdered wife and to lay her on the ground. To stack stones over the body and plant her weapon at the head of it. As he staked those stones, the tears welled in his eyes. As he stacked them, the tears dripped over his face. He did not notice them. He did not feel them, or see them as they dripped slowly onto the stones of her cairn.

When it was done, he straightened and stood again. He looked over his motley, whom he had pledged to be with for a year and a day. In the freehold where he had pledged to serve.

And he took a step towards Rochester. He had made Oaths. He would carry out those Oaths.

For all he had left was his Honor.

James stood in the shelter of the Lilac Bower. But the shelter that it offered was shattered. The Storm stood within the shattered door of the hold. They had returned to take him. They had returned to fight him.

And he was weak. The crossbow quiver was still in his shoulder, the blood soaking through his clothing. His ribs were broken in at least three places from his impact with the side of the Bower. His jo was left in the hands of the one who had thrown him towards the Bower. All he had left was his katana.

And he watched the Chijiriki step forward with her naginata. He watched Tetsubo and Sean square off. He looked around at the wounded members of the freehold, saw the powder still lingering on the floor. He knew that, outside, Antonius-sama, Jonathan-san and others were fighting the hobgoblins.

He was wounded, gravely. A battle with the Chijiriki could have only one conclusion in his state. And to be successful, he would have to break his vow to not kill. His hand reached down, one hand lingering on the hilt of his katana.

He had barely a second to contemplate his choice. But as he contemplated and let his eyes look towards the other, he realized that the choice was simple. His friends were around him. His home was threatened. There was only one answer to the threat that the Storm pose.

One hand tightened on the grip of the weapon, drawing it and striking in one stroke. As he lunged forward, though, his eyes caught the Chijiriki's. For a moment, he had the glimmer of a feeling of what he had felt in Arcadia. The unexpected feelings stung his heart, and his foot stumbled, his blow going wild.

The move sent events rushing forward. The Chijiriki pronounced him an oath-breaker. And, he knew, he was. He had forsaken his pledge to give up the sword. More than that, though, he felt his path was correct. For the first time, there was no doubt in his heart. He was, no doubt, going to die in the next few minutes - but if he did die, he would die knowing he was fighting to protect something greater than himself.

The Chijiriki struck. His ribs ached as he tried to dodge, a moment to slow, the blade of her naginata piercing his shoulder, ripping it open. He staggered once, and then again when Guren struck with her fans. His vision dimmed for a moment as he stumbled, nearly falling. He had been healed by Rosemary once before attacking the Chijiriki - those wounds were re-opened. He did not see the Chijiriki chide Guren, claiming him as her target.

There are still people who need protecting, he whispered in his head, Get up. Fight!

Slowly, he straightened, his hand tightining on the katana. "This one is sorry.", he whispered to the Chijiriki as he put one foot ahead of the other and ran towards her, spinning at the last moment, giving up any pretense at a defense to strike true and hard against her shoulder.

The next moments were a blur of motion, pain and blood. He struck the Chijiriki again and again, but was struck in return. He fell, at least once, his consciousness fading into black only to be replaced by sight and pain. He heard the sounds of explosions above him and outside. Heard the sound of gunshots in the room. His nose was filled with gunpowder and blood.

For a moment, he vagually recalled a battlefied far and away.

But that was then, and this was now.

And there were still people who needed protecting.

He moved forward again, to strike. But as he did, he was a moment to slow. The spiked ball of the Chijiriki's weapon swung around and down towards him. There was no time to evade, no time to get away. This was the blow that would end him and there was no hope he could escape.

But the blow never fell. The young stonebones who had arrived only a month earlier was suddenly in its way, suddenly taking the blow, taking a strike powerful enough to leave him unconscious on the ground. He looked up in shock and rising anger as the Chijiriki chided him for letting someone so young take his blows.

Protect them.

He charged once again, his sword swinging. He struck true once, and then again. Somehow, by some miracle, he succeeded in dodging the hammerfall of her weapon. He was weak, the blood loss was leaving him light-headed. Out of the line of his sight, he saw Knight-san fighting through the crowd. He saw Brian-san shooting again and again. He thought Justin-san was somewere in the mess as well. And he saw Sean-sama fighting desperately against Tetsubo, trying to win against the giant.

It could not continue.

And it did not.

He slipped on blood. He had no idea if it was his own, or his friends', or the Chijiriki's. But he slipped nonetheless and left himself open for the strike of the Chijiriki's blade. He felt it cut right across his chest. The pain became his world as he staggered down to his knees, his hand opening to drop the katana. His vision was fading, the strength draining out of his body. His fight was over and done, his life was over.

But as he looked around and saw the fight through the bower, The freehold was rallying, pushing forward.

You have done what you can. You have fought as hard as you can. No one can fault you for falling. No one can say you did not do enough. And, hopefully, it will be enough.

There were no other thoughts left in him, no more fight. No more wind. The air fell to the ground, the life leaving it in the red blood flowing from his wounds.

---

There were things that the fallen Elemental could not see.

He could not see Sir Knight smashed with Tetsubo's club, his head turned to a ruined mass.

He could not see member after member of the Freehold fall against the blows of the Storm.

He did not see Guren shot again and again and again until she fell. And then shot once more in the head, killing her instantly.

He did not see Tetsubo stumble and fall, and call to Sean to finish their battle. To end his life. He did not see Sean strike once, true, ending Tetsubo.

And he did not see the Chijiriki lift him from the ground and disappear, fleeing into the hedge.

The cherry blossoms had long since sprouted, fell, and blew away. The small cherry blossom tree in Highland Park had long since grown leaves and was very green against the blue sky and sunlight. Cooler sunlight than was the normal for this time of year, but still sunlight.

For a moment, the elemental sat underneath the tree and led the sun fall over him. His eyes were closed, the wind blowing against the fabric of his gi. His katana lay across his lap, held lightly by his two hands. At his side, a small basket of very thin ribbons, cut neatly into strips.

The seeress had told him to find his tree. Once, many months ago, in the heart of the winter. And once again a few weeks ago, when he had lost his way so completely. Always he had asked the same question - how could he atone for his past? How could he find the path forward to the future?

It always came back to this tree. He had vague memories of a tree in Arcadia - flashes more than anything else. Feelings more than memories. A feeling of safety, of remorse and calm.

A feeling he hadn't had for a very long time now.

His hands lifted the katana and slipped it into his obi as he stood up. The katana secured, his hands picked up the small basket of ribbons. Long, graceful fingers pulled one out.

He couldn't remember his victims. The irony of his situation was that even now he didn't know the faces of those he had cut down. He wished it were otherwise - but wishes would never change the present.

He would just have to do the best he could. His hand took the ribbon and found a branch of the tree. He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer for whoemever it represented, whomever it was that was cut down in the prime of their life. And then he tied the ribbon to the tree.

The man stood in front of him. The sword he was carrying was huge, but not like his own. Strange knotwork lined the hilt, which matched that of his scabard. He was huge, standing head and shoulders above Katana's short stature. But it wasn't going to be enough - his Master had called for this man's death, so Katana had come to end him. It had long since ceased to be important to him why his Master wanted this man dead - it could have been for any reason. But he had called for his head, and so Katana would take it.

He sprang forward, moving as quickly as the wind which howled around them. The huge sword swung down towards him, towards where he was. He sprang to the side and slashed, once, his weapon cutting deeply into the warrior's side.

"Why?", asked the man as he fell.

"Because that is the way of this place.", Katana replied.

His eyes opened. One branch of the tree had one ribbon on it. There were still ribbons in his basket. He pulled another out. Another faceless victim, whose name he could not recall. He whispered another prayer to the dead as he tied it to the tree.

They were just attempting to get free. They had run from their masters, all allies of his own master. And so his master had called for their deaths. The others of the Storm were dealing with the other group - this was his. He was in amongst them in a flash, his sword arm a blur as he cut left and right, as the blood stained the grass field they had been running through.

At last, there was only one. A woman, desperately scared, stained with the blood of her companion. "Why?", asked her, as Katana moved towards her.

"Because I have to.", he replied.

Another branch had a ribbon. The man reached into the basket again and again, tying ribbon after ribbon to the tree. He spoke nothing but whispered prayers to the wind, to the ghosts that haunted him.

At last, there were two ribbons left. He picked the next to last one up and tied it to the tree, again praying to the air.

He was tired. Death after death after death, which seemed to solve nothing, which seemed to lead to nothing. Death for honor, death for his master's whim, death because death was the only answer to any question that was asked. He was on another battlefield, surrounded by death, blood filling his nostrils. He paused, no other opponent around him - all around him corpse after corpse asked a sorrow-filled question to him.

"Why?", he asked himself. The wind provided no answer.

The last ribbon was not for a whisper of a memory. It was for a reality. He pulled it out and again tied it to the tree. This time, he whispered a prayer for Lucy. "This one was not aware that you were not dead.", he whispered to the wind, "He thought that what was being done was for the best for all, including for your soul. This one is aware that he has wronged you, and he is sorrowful for that. He will do all he can to make recompense."

His basket was, finally, empty. The tree was festooned with ribbons which blew softly on the chill breeze that cut through the park. He looked at them, sadly. There was much to do. Much that needed putting right. He knew that now - too much time had been spent in sorrow.

More than the time that was spent after the duel. In a way, he had spent his entire time since he had returned from Arcadia living in the sorrow of the past, trying to redeem a sin that he could not even remember. Trying to live a contradiction - fighting for those in the present while trying to live in the past. Fighting to not kill with a weapon that did nothing but.

"Apologies are offered.", he whispered to the air, to the tree. "Living in the sorrow of the past is no longer an option. Too many people are depending on this one to protect them now. No more time remains for contradictions. Sorrow is had for the mistakes and sins of the past - if it is possible, this one will find a way to atone for what was done. But his full attentions are needed to help protect the lives around him. He will return to this tree, as often as he can. He hopes you understand."

The elemental looked up at the tree once again. He bowed at the waist, once, apologizing to the air and to the tree. And then he turned and walked away, leaving the tree with its ribbons fluttering in the wind.

High on the hill that overlooked Rochester, the warrior stood alone within the Hedge. The space around him had been cleared through weeks of meticulous work with the spade and axe that rested against the un-cleared hedge near him. His eyes were not on them, though his hands still had blisters from work.

In his hand, instead, was a sheathed katana. His eyes traced down the lacquered wood of the sheath that held the weapon. His free hand reached, gripping the hilt, closing his fingers around it and then drawing the weapon in one swift, graceful motion that left the blade held ready. 

His eyes traced the sharpness of the blade, forged carefully. He presumed it was forged in Arcadia, though in truth he had no memories of the forging of it. And few enough of the forging of himself. 

“This is a weapon to kill.”, he thinks to himself as he looks at the blade. His hand slides the sheath into his obi once again and reaches out, a thumb tracing the cutting edge of the weapon. It comes away cut, leaving a thin trail of blood on the edge of the blade. 

She had called him on it. She had spent time putting him together after the disaster, spent time and made sure that he was himself. And when he was, and they faced each other in practice across the clearing, she took his words of peace and threw them at him. 

What was worse is that she was right. A man proclaiming a desire to never kill had no right to carry a weapon designed to kill. The hypocrisy was obvious, and had always been. This was, though, the weapon he was trained the best in. 

Even that, though, was less true than otherwise. He had trained in Aikido, hard, since he came back. He knew the way of using his opponent’s strengths against them. He was skilled with the jo. So why did he continue to cling to this weapon? Why did a piece of him refuse to surrender it? 

“I’m still back there.”, he whispers to himself. “I’ve never escaped, not truly. Not as long as I held this. I need to leave there, put it behind me.” 

Even as he thought that, though, he knew it was wrong. He couldn’t put it behind him. How could he? That place had changed everything about him – what had returned was not even fully human, didn’t understand what it was to be human. 

But when he returned, he had tried to put it behind him. Even when he left the winter court for the spring, he had tried to deny what he was. Deny that it had any hold on him. Deny that it had changed him. Deny that it still had a hold on him. 

But that was a lie. His clothing gave it away. The weapon in his hand gave it away. The wind he could call and control gave it away. 

What, then, could he do? What was the answer?

Could he give it up? Could he turn his back on everything that Arcadia had made of him? The answer was an obvious no – he had no way of changing that which he had been made. Nor did he have any idea of who he would be if he tried to do such a thing. 

Could he go back entirely? Become that which he had been. Could he draw this sword and take the life of someone who was in his way? He shifted, his arm sliding the weapon through the air as he tasted the idea on the air. 

He could not. He could not see himself taking a life, could not bring himself to contemplate it. 

If the creature he had been made to be still had power over him, then it was obvious that the person he was trying to be had weight as well. Fourteen years of life here had had that effect. 

Perhaps, he thought, the answer did not lie in attempting to be one or the other. Even while he wandered, he had remained what he had been made. But perhaps the Spring court was right. Perhaps the answer was to keep moving forward. To keep trying to be who he wished to be. 

The seer in the gobblin market had been right – he had to find his tree. He had to atone for what he had done. But his atonement needed to be there. He needed to step forward into this world. 

His hand shifted, the katana sliding easily back into its sheath. He pulled the weapon out of his obi and considered it for the briefest moment. 

It was time for him to move forward once again. 

And to do that, it was time to give up this weapon of death. His oath of protection would be fulfilled, but his jo and his Aikido were enough strength to do it.

Glamourdust,

You must believe me to be an idiot. You seek to atone for something that you do not find yourself in fault with? Ridiculous.

You were not asked to trust the Chijiriki. Though she was my wife in Arcadia, I am not a fool and know that blind trust in a Loyalist would not be something to ask of anyone.

You were asked to trust me, the so-called 'respected member of the verdant court' you claim to have saved the life of. You were asked to trust me, to know that this duel was necessary to hold onto my honor, against the slight I visited upon the Chijiri. That to go through the duel, to risk my life in such a way with the determination to not take the life of another, was the only way to find the answer I have sought for for thirteen years.

But you chose not to do so. You chose to act in the most cowardly fashion possible - you did not ask me if I needed your assistance, you did not ask me why I was going to the bridge to duel. You simply cast your vulgar Goblin magics. And in doing so, you destroyed my honor and you destroyed the answer that I sought.

So, for the record, you did not save the life of a "respected member of the verdant court". You have destroyed my desire. And thus, I am no longer a member of the court of spring.

James Daniels
Ronin

The Hunt ended as quickly as it began. What started in an ominous scream, ended in a feeling of relief and remorse. In the dawning of a new day.

He stood alone on the roof of the hotel in Buffalo where they had fled for shelter, where he had brought them together. As he stood there staring out into the rising sun, he could not help think of those who had not joined them - Marcus Antonius, Zephy, Tanith, Twist, Lily Rose. The one who he would not name, even in his own head. He wondered if they were all safe as well.

And that made him think of the one who most certainly, was not. Gaius Arctorus was dead. Slaughtered protecting a criminal being brought to trial.

He considered the fact that, a week ago, he had given Sean a piece of paper to give to Gaius and Edria in case he died in his duel. For a moment, he had to laugh at the irony - a bitter, desperate laugh, followed by a long sip of the sake he had carried since that day.

You have died, Gaius Arctorus. You died, when you were supposed to live and know that I had found my answer in the death that had found me. And I lived, to learn that there was no answer - only a fop in a dress who destroyed everything I was searching for.

Damn you, Gaius. What am I supposed to do, now? How do I go on, when what I was looking for is lost to me and the man I would turn to to help me find my path has passed beyond this world?

The sun had risen entirely, had broken the plane of the horizon. It was time to go back to Rochester and deal with the destruction the Hunt had wrought upon his home.

It was time to find something to keep living for.

"I do not want you.", said the Chijiriki at his side as he looked over the railing of the bridge, looking down at the river far below him. "Throw yourself into the river. Drown for hours until you finally die."

His honor was gone. No, not gone. His honor was stolen from him - ripped away in the use of a single contract, ripped away by a fool. His answer was taken from him entirely - no hope to gain it now, with no way to fight the Chijiriki as himself. She would not take him to Arcadia, as the conditions of the duel demanded.

There was only one option. And slowly, one foot, and then the other climbed the railing, lifting his slender body up to the edge. Sean was there, at his side. He did not look down. He did not look at the Chijiriki as she watched him plant one foot on the top railing. As he deftly swung himself up. And over. And off the edge.

He fell. And as he fell, he released his breath. What would come next would be hours of torture, pain followed by pain as all the damage from his drowning was not taken by him but was, instead, taken by Glamourdust. Glamourdust would die - there was no doubt in his mind at that. Even as he took his honor back, his pledge would be broken. He would die honor-less.

But even that was to be denied to him.

He did not see Sean plummet down the intervening distance. Felt the younger elemental grab him. And certainly felt the power of the hedge gate that Sean created on the opening of the bridge to the ground. And moments later the two of them had crashed through to the other side of the hedge, safe.

But still without honor.

As he looked up at the sleeping dragon being nudged to wakefullness by the sounds poking through the gateway, he picked himself up. He looked at Sean, sadly. One hand reached down to slide over the sheath of his katana, drawing it slowly from his obi. He held it in front of himself, studying for a moment. Meaningless. It was meaningless to hold it any longer. His hand opened and the katana splashed into the water.

He began to walk. Slowly at first, and then faster as he called on the powers of his kith. He was alone in moments.

Alone to contemplate what was left to him. His honor was gone. The answer he was seeking was lost to him. Chijiriki was correct - he was a warped sword, broken and useless.

What was he supposed to do now?

Murderer

The elemental perched on a branch of a tree barren with leaves in the winter cold, the field around it covered in untouched snow. His right hand held his sword, still sheathed, as he perched and watched it.

Murderer

It was the word he had fled Arcadia to escape. The charge he had acted since returning to atone for. The single thing he wanted, more than anything, to not be true about himself.

Murderer

He could see the blood on his hands again. The blood of a young Beast, staining his hands red. Destroying the pledge he had made, shredding the hope that he had had.

Murderer

The Hag had agreed, when he took service, that he would not be required to do it. But he had, nonetheless. He remembered it, remembered the fear in her eyes, remembered the pain she felt as he cut her nearly in two.

Murderer

Worst of all - he remembered enjoying it. Feeling the same rush as he had felt back there whenever he took a life.

Murderer

"No more.", the elemental whispers, looking at the sword in his hand. "No more. Never again. If I never draw this sword again, I will kill no one."

But even as he thought that, he remembered the Lost from Azure Hills. Newly escaped they had grasped their freedom and been promised protection. Only to lose their lives hours later when the Loyalists attacked - an attack that he had not been able to prevent.

Murderer

"How?", he whispers again. "How do I keep to a vow to not kill and still protect those around me? What do I do?"

The chill winter wind took the question from his lips, but provided no answers.

Under the barren tree in the park the elemental stood straight and loose, balanced lightly on the balls of his feet. The katana in his hand was held up in front of him in the starting position of the first kata. The sweat froze to his face and his hair as the cold, large snowflakes drifted down from an orange sky lit by the skyline close to the north.


He was no longer entirely certain himself.

They would come for him soon, he thought - the tea ceremony had ended civilly, but had not resolved matters. There was, perhaps, only one true way to resolve matters, and that was to speak the language all four of them understood implicitly. Understood, because they had been forged to sing that language. But he still had no answer to how he could unleash what he was, how he could fight with the passion and strength he remembered from Arcadia without becoming the monster he had become.

The answer might, perhaps, come as a result of the battle to come - but could he win that battle without that answer?

Too many problems. The Loyalist David had returned to bring Azmadiel back. He was sworn to defend his fellow freehold member, sworn to prevent him from being returned to Arcadia by not only the freehold oath - but the Praesidium oath. But David was right, in a way - Azmadiel had the potential to do so much harm in this world. He had done so much harm, in fact. If he defended the "demon", would he also be defending the evil he had wrought? Sean's fetch was still in town and was, apparently, living with Sean's ex-wife - truly bizarre. But the wrong move would lead them all to a confrontation with the police and, worse, the military. And the winter crown was still nowhere to be seen.

Things were coming to a head - so many problems, so many paths leading forward. Too many. And he still lacked the answer to how to live his life. He was running out of time, running out of energy to keep running like he was.

Saga had once feared that his guilt and his fears would consume him and lead to his destruction. As the warrior stood in his ready position, about to go through the kata again, he feared that Saga had been right.

The night was cold, the chill autumn air filled with moisture that clung to the elemental's gi, making it heavier, weighed down with water. He swung through form after form, strike after strike, his body moving gracefully through the clearing as muscles followed attacks that had been drilled into him years ago.

Slow. Too slow. Not fast enough, not powerful enough, not enough.

They were faster than him. They were stronger than him.

It didn't used to be this way. In Arcadia, with no doubts in his heart, he could have stood against any one of them. He could have won.

Something was missing. Some difference between what he was and what he is. Some gap, some failing.

Something he had lost.

Something he had thrown away.

Unless he could find it again, unless he could wield it, unless he could use it - there was no hope.

But how could he find it?

Your result for What Mage Are You?...

Bard

"Your fates whisper softly; we sing it boldly."

Take What Mage Are You? at HelloQuizzy

The hut was tiny, crowded, and difficult to breath in. The smoke from the hookah the frog-person was using spilled into the room, making the air cloying.

I can't escape this hell
So many times I've tried
But I'm still caged inside
Somebody get me through this nightmare
I can't control myself

They were desperate. Absolutely so. Their time was out - Ergo would come to collect Mitch and one other Changeling in a few short hours and they were no closer to meeting his price than they had started. There was no time left, there were no other chances. And these two annoying creatures were in their way, demanding a larger and larger price for what they needed.

So what if you can see, the darkest side of me?
No one will ever change this animal I have become
Help me believe, its not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal

Marcus went first. He gave and he gave, spilling his fears into the creature as coins were created and fell from his hand. Gave until he collapsed, twitching onto the floor.

It wasn't enough.

They demanded more.

James stepped forward. And he let himself go.


I can't escape myself
(I can't escape myself)
So many times i've lied
(So many times i've lied)
But there's still rage inside
Somebody get me through this nightmare
I can't control myself


The katana was out of his sheath in a moment, the air turning to a hurricane around him as he activated his air. The lizard creature was first, flung against the wall as James leaped towards him, his entire body turning in a graceful strike that was blocked by the creatures dual scimitars. The dance began, a dance of rage and speed fueled by James's desperate desire to see no one else taken, to not fail in his charge.

But it was not enough to simply fight - he could never win this way. They wanted fear, he would give it to them.

The gap between who he was and his control collapsed.


So what if you can see the darkest side of me?
No one will ever change this animal I have become
Help me believe it's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal I have become
Help me believe it's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal

One last swing - the creature's hand fell off, severed at the wrist. Blood flecked over James's gi, across his hand. He grabbed the creature and slammed him into the wall, the blade of his weapon at the creature's throat.

So close. One pull, one drag of his hand across the creature's throat and it would be dead. And he would be the murderer again. And Mitch would be saved.

NO!

He punched, as hard as he could, the creature's jaw collapsing under his fist. He let the creature go, letting it fall to the ground and turned to the frog.

It still wasn't enough.

Marcus gave, again, even more, though James could tell it was tearing him apart to do so.

Rosemary gave, though James could tell it was tore her apart.

It still wasn't enough.

No more. No more sacrifice, no more giving away fears. There's only one thing left to give.

He stepped forward to the frog man. They talked, the coins disappeared. It became evident there was only one price the creature would accept, one price that would save Mitch.

He had to become the weapon once again.

He looked back at the others. He saw Marcus weakly whisper "no". He saw the others watching with fear and uncertainty, saw that their hope was fading.

Once before, he had a drawn his weapon and killed. He had done it for what he thought were good reasons, for what he thought were noble reasons. He had thought he was saving lives, had thought that his sacrifice was worth it.

To this day, he realized, he still felt that way - even with all the death, with all the sin he had committed, he still believed that he had done it with the best intentions.

So what if you can see the darkest side of me?
No one will ever change this animal I have become
Help me believe it's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal I have become
Help me believe it's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal
(This animal I have become)


No hope. No choice.

He took the sin.

In one smooth stroke, he drew his weapon and attacked the frog creature, aiming for his head.

The chair the creature was in was shattered by the blow.

The room, though, was empty. The frog creature had escaped - it had been his plan all along to draw out this fear.

But their prize was there.

No choice.

He became the air and fled.

No hope.

James stood on the roof of his apartment building, looking out over the city. The wind rushed through his hair - it was a good feeling, one that he took solace in.

Redemption.

He was searching for it. Searching for it desperately since he had been awakened in Arcadia, since he had returned. It was something that, truthfully, he never thought that he would find - how could he? How does one atone for slaughter? How does one apologize to those who are slain.

Where is the physical form of your redemption, James? Where is your tree?

The seer had asked that of him, even as he was searching for answers to those that might be returning. He had found none of those answers, but perhaps he had found another answer.

Or if not the answer, at least the start of it. The tree that had appeared in the tea-leafs, the memory of the single thing that had rooted the wind in Arcadia.

He would have to search. He would have to find his tree. To it he would tie his prayers for redemption, that they would not fly away with the wind. Though the names of those who were slain were not recalled, it was at least a start.

And he would hope that the Seer was right - that doing good things would bring good things to him.

The young mage watched the vehicle drive way into the distance and towards the sunset. He was unsettled, certainly, as he stood there on the side of the street. The person he had talked with had offered him only a vague sense of the situation and so, in return, he could only offer vague advice. He could only tell the other mage about the tragedy of the final option, about how he had seen other, good mages struggle with how to balance wisdom with that final option. He watched the vehicle drive away and he hoped his words about the supporting strength of mages guarding each other's Wisdom were good enough. He hoped the other mage would more than consider seeking his counsel - he hoped he would.

And then, as he looked around the streets of Manchester, he swore to himself. Goddamn it. I should have had him drop me off in Salem.

The young mage started walking - it was a fair walk to get to the nearest bus station, and he was tired.

The storms have ended
The path before him is clear -
May he return home?

So I feel like a challenge.

1. Give me a song. If I don't know the song I may ask you for a copy or for lyrics.

2. Give me a subject. It can be anything. Alternatively it can be a character and we can either schedule a scene with the song as a theme, or I can write something between them with the song as a theme.

3. Give me a character. Preferably one of mine. Your choices are:
I will produce some piece of writing about the subject, from the character's viewpoint. Please at least try to make the song fit the subject, as I do reserve the right to throw in the towel.

Go to it!

Sometimes when your hopes have all been shattered
And there's nowhere to turn
You wonder how you keep going
Think of all the things that really mattered
And the chances you've earned
The fire in your heart is growing
You can fly, if you try leaving the past behind
Heaven only knows what you might find

You know, Lady, if you're going to do this to me on a regular basis, you could at least buy me dinner first., the young man thought with a smile on his lips. He was in Boston again. He had totally not intended to come back after Annie and Avatar had dropped him off in Penn Yan, but here he was. Rivet had called him - he had actually tracked down his cell phone number and given him a call and asked to meet with him. And though the young man really hadn't wanted to go back, he figured he ought to at least apologize to the man whose auction he had ruined.

He had been wrong. Not totally wrong, like at other times, but just wrong enough for it to matter.

Fate hadn't abandoned him - she hadn't broken the agreement. She just needed more from him. Manchester was a bigger problem than a single battle could fix. Probably a bigger problem that a series of battles could fix. And he was no warrior.

Dare - dare to believe you can survive
You hold the future in your hand
Dare - dare to keep all of your dreams alive
It's time to take a stand
And you can win, if you dare

But, in truth, this was no war. Not a conventional one, at least.

This spirit supposedly fed off the nasty deeds that it inspired. A sort of infinite loop leading it to become more and more powerful. And as he had seen, he couldn't stand directly against it.

Directly.

But the spirit couldn't be everywhere. The spirit couldn't be everything. There had to be places where its attention was weaker. And if hope sprung in those places, it would both force the spirit to use its strength and deny it food until it used its strength.

He couldn't fight this thing directly. He couldn't fight this thing with a sword, or a gun. He wasn't Annie, Gypsy, or Solomon.

Fate had kept her word - the road had taken him where he needed to be. And now it was time for him to stop bemoaning his fate and to start fighting with the only weapons he had.

Hope. Faith. Charity.

Everybody's trying to break your spirit
Keeping you down
Seems like it's been forever
But there's another voice if you'll just hear it
Saying it's the last round
Looks like it's now or never
Out of the darkness you stumble into the light
Fighting for the things you know are right

They were fragile tools, subject to be lost or broken by cruelty. But combined with the magics that had been gifted to him, they might just be enough to make a start of this. To make it so that when those with their swords were needed, the enemy was weak enough that they would not be harmed by the battle, that they could win without anyone dieing or being scarred.

He reached into his pocket for his cell phone. He had questions to ask Annie and Avatar, assumptions that he needed tested by two people who knew way more about spirits than he did. Then he had a very long war to start. No. The war had already started - he just hadn't joined it up until now.

Dare - dare to believe you can survive
You hold the future in your hand
Dare - dare to keep all of your dreams alive
The power is there at your command

It was going to be a long road. And it was going to be the most dangerous thing he had every tried to do. But if this was where Fate wanted him, this was where he had promised to go.

The young man stood there, in the middle of a well-apportioned room, auction items on display for sale, the best of hopes in his heart and mind as he talked to people in a desperate, last-ditch attempt to get them talking to each other, to throw off the corruption that was rampant in the room.

He looked down at himself.

He was nearly covered with alcohol. He was starting to reek of it, in fact.

His face hurt from being slapped. Hell, he had lost count of the number of times that he had been slapped.

And as the last person he had talked to finished calling him the fifth variation of a hyper-active nut job who should be in a mental institution instead of a charity auction, he looked up and saw the group of people moving towards the exit.

Fail.

Fail.

Fail.

He glanced over at Asha, and at some of the other mages in the room. And then as fast as he could without sacrificing the shreds of his dignity in an all-out run, he left the room and then the building. He left Manchester at a run since at that point it wasn't his dignity that was important - just the tears and despair.