Mars

Soft light brushed against the columns, the small streams illuminating all of the hairline cracks and deep crevices that adorned them.

The place had a different beauty than Vitu-Ghazi, one that was sharper, older. Thick vines trailed along the ground, wrapping themselves around large pieces of rubble and heavily entangling themselves with each other. They weren't lush but veiny and threatening instead as if they might snake up and grab one's ankles at any minute.

At the thought, Mars scooted a little farther towards the center of the courtyard. The feeling of an itch began to work its way up his arm, and he reached to scratch it. It spread onto his other hand, quickly leading to a stabbing feeling. Raking his teeth over his lip, he glanced down to find his skin turning an even brighter white. The vampire yanked his arm away, stepping back towards the vines as he immersed himself in the shade.

His elbow crashed back into another candidate's chest, smacking into hard metal. He held back a yelp, the blow causing a tremor through his entire arm. It wasn't as if it had really hurt, it just managed to connect with one of those few places where the bones kept throbbing for a good three minutes afterward. Letting out a shaky breath, he glanced behind him.

A figure towered over him, her eyes watching him mercilessly. Doing the smart thing, he immediately took several steps away. It was no longer her stature that made him feel small, but those cold, lifeless gray eyes. They were worthy of a hawk's, focused on whatever prey they could find; not to mention, she had the wings to match. Mind reading skills or not, it wasn't hard to discern she hated the vampire with a certain enthusiasm. Had it not been for the fact that they were both up for Guildpact, Mars was fairly sure she would've buried him in a cell six feet under and "conveniently" lost the key.

"Ahem," a voice cleared itself above the din, mercifully dragging the angel's attention away from their staring contest. "I suggest you prepare yourselves, you have one minute until we leave for the trial."

Mars's heart skipped a beat at the suddenness of the announcement. He caught a glimpse of the person who had spoken, but the elf was already busy conversing with a shorter man, who until now, Mars's hadn't even noticed to be standing in the corner. Running his teeth over his bottom lip as if he was trying to saw it in half, he settled for a final look around. His fingers tapped quickly against his leg, his gaze fluttering over the blood colored banners to the gnarled trees that clung to crumbling concrete. The one word that repeated as his gaze lingered, was ancient.

Thunk. The giant wood slab that had been barring the door crashed to the ground. Brass hinges squealed, and Mars watched curiously as they were shoved open. Dust swirled into the courtyard, the clouds obscuring everyone vision and sending one or two people hacking from what Mar's could hear. Furiously rubbing his eyes, he stared beyond the walls to find a clearing. Trees were sprinkled throughout, though they were short and squat, the leaves dulled in color. It looked as if it had been a very long time since it had rained, the ground made of dust and nothing else. Brick walls cut off the area at some point in the distance, though it was hard to fathom how far away they were.

"The trial is simple," the elf informed somewhere behind them, his heavy voice turning several heads. "If you wish to pass you must retrieve a Gruul signet."

The vampire squinted, where were the signets supposed to be? It couldn't just be one big game of hide and seek.

A horn blew, the dust swirling again as the sound carried over the clearing and rang in the candidates' ears. Mars cupped a hand over his left one, cringing as the blare just about blew out his ear drums. Blinking through the clouds, he swallowed harshly as his heart dropped into his stomach. He saw where the signets were.

A few elves had rested upon the tall brick walls, each with an arrow notched and aimed. Several humans had also appeared, their clothes all blood reds and deep greens. One in particular caught Mars's eye, a heavy broadsword hanging from his belt. The largest population was of ogres, the smallest of them still reaching far above the boy's height. No matter the species or the weapon, one trait was shared among the group of Gruuls; they all wore a signet strung on a piece of rope and hung around their necks.

The first arrow struck nearly three feet away from him. Heart hammering in his chest, Mars swallowed his fear as best he could. He watched wide-eyed as one of the candidates from Gruul dove forward, already on the move. The action resulted in an avalanche, his movements quickly replicated by a shrimpy elf and the winged angle from Boros. Blood pumped through his own blood faster, the energy of the group getting to him as his legs grew restless. He had one, maybe two, more seconds before his time ran out and his heart was struck clean through.

Courage, just think about courage.

One step was all it took to get him into a run. If he had to fight, he was going to make it quick. Breath came and went so swiftly that it had no time to shake. The vision in his left eye disappeared as the wind whipped his bangs into a frenzy, half of the battlefield vanished. Trying to fix it as he barreled forward, he caught sight of an open target.

The elf had dropped down from the wall, bow still in hand. He was tall and lithe, though what his face looked like Mars had little clue. Besides, if he could attack him from behind he could blindside him. Focusing on the green hair instead of his pounding heart, the vampire pumped his legs even harder. At the last second, he pushed off with his foot to give him a boost.

It backfired instantly, his foot tripping him over a boulder his hair had blinded from view. Desperately trying to stay in the air, Mars did his best to give himself an extra flying boost. It barely righted his trajectory, giving him time to reach out as he soared over the elf's head. His hand clasped around the signet tied there, the successful feeling of the cord breaking shooting his spirits up. The next second, however, they crashed into the ground with the rest of him.

Rubble dug into his skin and earth scrapped at his lips. He caught glimpses of brown and blue as his body was battered against the earth. Mars mind spun, the only real thing he could remember being to keep clutching the necklace in his hand. His free palm scraped against the ground as he grabbed a fistful of dirt, his body finally slowly to a stop. Out of breath and feeling out of his body, he surveyed the sky above. It was blue and peaceful, out of place in the dangerous clearing. His hearing returned to listen to the crashing of metal and the crunch of footsteps on dirt. They were incredibly close, and as he tried to twist his head, he was roughly pulled up by his jacket collar.

At least he had landed in the shade, he thought numbly as he locked eyes with a pair of green ones.

"Don't think your done here so quickly," the man in front of him growled.

Mars squinted at him, his eyes quickly finding the green hair. Oh crap. Using his free hand, he failed at trying to pry the elf off. His eyes still hadn't quite refocused, and a headache had begun to form.

"I got it fair and square," he countered, his fangs sliding out as he weakly tried to scare the Gruul member off.

Green trendles began to snake around his neck, slipping from the elf's sleeve. Already hard for breath, he lashed out with his foot and slashed the guy in the side. With the short burst of surprise, he wiggled through loosened fingers and stumbled back. Narrowing his green eyes, the elf stepped towards him again.

A flash of brown sent Mars blinking rapidly. He stared open mouthed at the fallen ogre, its corpse pinning the elf to the ground. In comparison, it looked as if Mar's had been fighting a chipmunk. Glancing left, he found Mikaela with a small, satisfied smile.

"Sorry about that," she informed, stepping onto his chest and yanking off the other signet resting there. "This is mine."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Midnight Lynx

"Please." I begged as the Ogre pinned me to the cold floor

He smirked as he lifted up his heavy hand towards my very vulnerable heart. I was weak, I had no strength left in me to fight. This was it, this was the end.

*12 hours earlier*

I must say, the last week for me has been....captivating. I broke many of the rules I was supposed to follow, disrespected my elders, and was welcomed into a very mysterious circumstance. However, something still didn't feel right to me. Why would a total stranger allow me into their Guild with open arms, no questions asked? I had given the lead Monarch the Black Signet that I fought for; but how could that have been enough? Will my questions ever be answered? I was determined to find out.

I was going to begin my journey today by attempting to come back into contact with Lazav, the leader of my Guild. I don't recall where to find him, or how I even managed to do so the last time. I just had to keep my hopes high enough to face this on my own.

I left my town and began walking through the same forest I spotted Lazav in previously. I recall seeing a very shadowed and old house, and he was standing in front of it. With my luck, that wouldn't be the circumstance this time around. The sky was still an ash grey color and the world around me was filled with gloom. It seemed to be getting colder and colder the further into the forest I got. I became slightly dizzy and the world around me seemed to be moving faster than it was before. I fell backwards and saw a shadow standing over me.

"Why have you returned to me child?" The voice asked

I looked around with my blurry vision trying to make out a face.

"Lazav....is that you?" I asked shakingly

"Answer the question Child." He replied sternly

I pushed myself off of the ground and stood tall in front of him.

"I need to know, why me? Why am I the chosen one? Why did you welcome me into your Guild?" I asked in a straightforward manner.

"You got what you wanted. Why question me now?" He asked

"Because I feel as if you want more from me, in order to prove my worth." I replied

"Right you are Child." He replied while grazing his hand across my shoulder

"What, what must I do?" I asked eagerly

"Bring me the Amethyst Signet by Midnight tonight. If you complete this journey you will have fully proved your worth and will be genuinely welcomed into my Guild." He replied bluntly

"Of course, sir." I replied while slowly turning away from him.

I made sure to make a mental note of my surroundings this time, in hopes that he would be easier to come across the next time around. I was pleased with the fact that he wanted so little from me to prove myself, but I had no idea where to start or where to find this "Amethyst Signet". I decided it would be best to do some research at Ravnica's Library. It carried almost every book about any magical creature, spell, or town. I figured that my first clue would be in here.

I walked in and began looking through the tall shelves. I went to the letter S and was immediately faced with many books about the different Signets of Ravnica. After a few minutes of scrummaging through the books I finally found one titled "The Amethyst stone Signet."

In complex language the book summed up that the Amethyst Signet could be located in the depths of Ravnica, close to where the Gruul clan can be located. However, there are plenty of warnings in the book that the Signet is heavily guarded and must be dueled for. This was unsettling to me, but I was prepared to fight.

I traveled over to the part of land where the Amethyst stone is supposedly being held captive. I had nothing more on me than an old beat-down sword, and the clothes on my back. I've always been a fairly fearless gal, but today I had an unsettling eerie feeling lurking inside of me.

The land where the Gruul clan is located was nothing to get excited over. In my opinion it always seemed dingier and less taken care of than the other lands of Ravnica. Not that I would imagine an Ogre to be your everyday housewife, but they could at least take a little bit of pride in their land. As I Walked deeper into their territory i could hear the moaning and groaning of the Ogres becoming louder. This was a good thing, because It meant I was getting close to my destination, but I also had no idea what I was about to throw myself into. The evening began to set in and the eerie feelings only increased with time. I pulled out my map to ensure that I was headed in the right direction, and sure enough, here I was, here it was.

I was standing In front of a beautiful brown building. The walls had vines going down their sides and the doors were blocked with tall Crystal gates. This was the last place i Would've expected to find in an area like this. I started walking towards the building to see if I could get a closer look and try to maneuver my way in. I walked up to the gate and attempted to pull on it and I was immediately electrocuted all the way through my body.

"Ouch! Goddammit." I yelled

I didn't realize just how loud I had been but it was too late to think because I had already drawn the unwanted attention to myself.

"You dare enter my land?!" A deep voice yelled towards me

The sky instantly turned a pitch black and it became too dark for me to see my surroundings, but I was smart enough to know that I was most definitely screwed.

I decided to give up on the mission and make a run for it, but when I tried to run I landed face first into a foreign body. I looked up and saw a 7 foot tall Ogre look below me, he grabbed me by my wrist and threw me into a tree.

I went into full attack mode, using all of my natural resources and anything I had on me to fight them off, but there were too many and I was surely losing. The rusty sword I had brought with me broke within the first stab. I was very much empty handed, they however had a whole team standing behind them. Three blocking the gates, and at least seven of them circled around me. I tried Hissing, screeching, anything I could do that would possibly scare them off, but nothing was working, I was only succeeding in aggravating them more and a sense of panic came over me. I attempted to run again, but an Ogre threw a rock at the back of my head, knocking me cold on the ground.

My vision was blurry and I was too weak to stand. I looked up to them standing over me. I tried to stand but my legs were shaking and I was too weak to hold my body weight, I began to look at my last resort, begging.

"Please." I begged as the Ogre pinned me to the cold floor

He smirked as he lifted up his heavy hand towards my very vulnerable heart. I was weak, I had no strength left in me to fight. This was it, this was the end.

I closed my eyes and accepted my fate. I had no way out and was now going to be faced with a slow and gruesome death.

Suddenly, I was pulled from the cold ground and thrown over the shoulder of a tall being.

"H-hello?' I muttered

"Shut up. Don't speak." The voice replied

"Who are you?." I asked defensively

"I said don't speak." The voice replied

I was still in a state of being dazed and confused. All I could feel was the ground around me moving up and down. I tried to stay alert but I lost all focus and ended up blacking out.

*3 Hours later*

I woke up back in my own home. I looked around me to see if was alone and it appeared that I was. Standing next to my head was a large white box, I opened it to see the Black Amethyst shining at me. I was confused... I don't recall what happened after I blacked out but I sure as hell didn't find the energy to fight off all of the Ogre's and get it myself. I was amused with the Amethyst finding its way to me, but I was left with many unanswered questioned. I rummaged through the box and found a note written on a torn off piece of parchment paper.

It's wise to not question the unknown.

Obviously this was given to me, but why? Who would do such a thing for nothing in return? I was told not to question the unknown, but unfortunately that's exactly what I was going to do. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tzun Greatbrain

DID NOT HAND IN

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Iracun Rumpig

Twas a battle he went to next. Nay, on the night of all nights could it have happened. Wind blew through the land, carrying with it the whispers that lay siege to nations. The unwilling shore bore a mighty storm, waves upon waves crashing against it, driven by the wonders of a world unspoken. Ah, he could have spend years there! Just listening to the sound at his back as he traveled. It whistled to him as he went, singing a tune much lower than that of the small boy who traveled ahead, with him an undead creature. Yes, that day was a large day. It wasn't kind, nor forgiving, and Iracun could feel the anticipation in his bones as he drew close to his battle. His sword was raised high, small body held erect and stiffer than anything a mere night in a home could have given him. Sniffing the air, he could smell the fear coming from the hundreds of warriors lain out before him, sniveling and shaking in their boots before the one who would destroy them.

"When did you start writing fiction?"

"Goddamn it!" His hands furiously swiped over the ink with his ink remover, fixing the mistakes he'd lain down in words of untruth. Of course, Iracun would never admit it wasn't true. Just that, by god, sometimes a goblin has to tell the truth in a different way. Not lying, though. He had a name to uphold.

A name of what, well, that couldn't quite be said.

Iracun had spent long hours working with his hands as he feet went. At one point, his new firestarter had started making his feet catch flames. It was all fun and games until the bottom of his foot-holder lit as well. The smell of burnt hair forced him to drop his pointed weapon, the rocks clanking together and sparking more, and soon he was using his lit feet to stomp out the lit grass.

With a sigh, he left the burnt stain on the world. Perhaps that, it could be said, was his first true...well, mark, he left. As a person, Iracun had done great. He had traveled, invented, joined in on something far greater than himself. But, if he were to look back on those times, it wasn't until his first true mark that he really became something...incredible "No, no." wonderful "God, no." larger than his body "We get it, I'm short." more.

Moreness would come to him later, but there, right there, as he made his way to his second challenge, Iracun discovered that he had the ability to be this mystic thing that was more.

The wind blew through his hair, and he reached up only to sigh. Goblins, on average, did not live too long of lives. They aged faster, some would say. But Iracun hadn't known that all his life. So, for him, having thinning hair at the age of twenty-five was a crisis. He was halfway, not in his thirties yet! But there it was. He quickened his pace and wiped his hand on his pants, ignoring this. It was not until later in his life, when the hair was all gone and his body was more defined by age, that he was to look back and laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Soon, he had reached the battle ground. Fifty armed men-

"Fifty? You said-"

"I know what I said!"

Soon, Iracun could feel the battle-worn ground under his feet, and he could see the twenty guards standing tall not too far away. Nineteen others were there--making twenty for twenty, or one for one. Each had twine wrapped around their neck, holding up the signet of Gruul. It wasn't as clean as the Selesnyan one had been, but it would do. He could barely hear the instructions as one leader spoke out, their voice seeping with destruction. "Fight! Win the signet. Fair trial. Honest, yes?" Borborygmos asked. No one would dare go against him.

Oh, but onto the battle! For that is important, yes, and it's stupid to sit around wasting time with words spoken when there are more important things to do. Iracun looked down at his small, fire-starting weapon, and he smiled. It would be more than enough. As the first two struck each other, he raised his head to the sky and shouted out loudly, screaming to the world to assert himself.

Then, he ran forward, looking for the biggest one he could find. They were all warriors, all the bravest and toughest in the entirety of Ravencia. Their clothing was armor, thick and strong, but he was smarter than them. It didn't take long for him to strike, attacking the unknowing beast of a creature.

Iracun pulled his weapon from the bloodied mess of an ogre, smiling in the death that was before him. Before he could even reach for the shiny signet, another grabbed him--it was large, much larger than he'd ever seen before. It's neck alone must have been larger than his body! He gasped, rushing forward and using the dead body to propel himself as he jumped, grabbing onto the creature and strangling it as it attacked. "You won't defeat me," he shouted as it---

"Grandfather, what you do you mean? How could you slay 'em without a sword? Your weapon couldn't've been that strong."

Iracun looked up, rubbing at his eyes and cursing. "I-" he tried to start to defend his claim, "uh--well--"

"And what does this mean...you strangled him? Grandfather, you said his neck was larger than your body!"

"Babydear," a voice called from the other room, "Why don't you come help Mommy? Grandfather Iracun is busy lying." Just before he was able to pull himself up out of anger, she snorted and corrected herself with a quick, "writing".

His grumbles continued far after the young one had left the room. "They don't know what happened," he said. "I know what happened. Pah! Won't deal with them! No, Iracun, back to work, back to work. It'll come, flow and flow, on and on." A sigh passed through him as the anger dissipated. Though he was quick to anger, at his age he'd come quick to forgetting it as well. The task at hand struggled as he stared down at the writing, knowing the story but not wanting to admit it as it was.

He breathed, remembering that dawn. The wind came slowly, from the north, bringing a slight chill to what had been a fair rising. His body shivered as the memory fell into focus, tinges of color swamping the distorted image. Oh, he longed to be there again. To, in some way, prove himself.

Truth is, Iracun didn't earn his signet.

The day was cold. Don't ask for temperature, that's not important. The wind coming from the east or south, or the heat of the ground, or whether it was sunny or not...none of that matters. For Iracun, none of that even existed. He had traveled to Gruul, unwilling of course, because why would a goblin, considered small, stupid, and fire hazards, want to go to where Orges, Vampires, and other such lived? He didn't, but the Izzet League had sent him down to see if he could represent them.

Iracun could almost remember the other guy they sent too--someone shorter than him, a strange goblin that wore large goggles and spoke in a boisterous voice. His name had been Greatbrain. Truly, formidable.

Represent, or get killed, that was the true question. The people who lived as part of Gruul weren't people that Iracun spent time with--they held within them a distrust for technology, for the urban world, and something about them was constantly...angry. Anger was something he was used to, as he could be found angry at comments and other sorts, but something about their anger was different. It came from within, from the heart, not a simple anger that happened in the mind for a few minutes or days. No, they were complexly angry.

Out of all the people in Ravencia he could have wanted to meet, people from Gruul were the last. Borborygmos, the Guildmaster, was speaking when Iracun managed to bring himself up there, forcing his shaking body to stand upright. Truth was, Iracun was scared. Things could be said on the subject of bravery, and how it requires one to stand up to cowardice and go through with things, but Iracun didn't last long. Within minutes of listening to the uneducated, loud, angry voice, he wanted to run and hide. The small firestarter in his hands didn't feel like a good weapon, especially not compared to their armor-clad bodies that glistened in the early morning night. These were warriors, not just average people.

"Oh no, no, no," he whispered to himself. "Not doing that. That's stupid. Nope. I won't. I won't." His feet gradually begun to shift backwards as his eyes had carefully studied those before him. "The others can do this. I'm out."

Something tugged at him, however.

It was grass that truly made Iracun reconsider his stance of running.

His feet tripped and his body came down hard, the smack sounding loudly as cries of fighting began. A cry left his lips as the world seemed to shift. Ground shook as large feet stomped the earth. Screeches of blood-thirsty warriors sounded as both scared and righteous want-to-be Guildpacts attacked.

It came towards him, bashing a hand against it's armor and shouting words that he truly didn't have time to decipher.

"Little man will lose!"

Iracun couldn't be bothered to remember events like that, but he did remember what he shouted next. "You will not defeat me," he had yelled.

The feeling of liquid seeping through his pants was enough to make him want to cry. He couldn't speak, his tongue held fast against the back of his throat.

It wasn't enough, however, when the ogre screamed out and ran forward. With a frontal attack like that, his bones would be crushed and blood jellied.

Oh no, he realized. Time to run! There wasn't actually time for him to think, but that didn't deter him. Great minds don't need much time. Iracun needed a way to run, a way to fight, or a way to reverse time. Two of those options weren't available.

His feet scarcely touched the land as he went, his body small and allowing him an easier claim to the land than the ogre. It followed behind him, laughing, keeping up with every twist and turn the small man made. He didn't run far, not away from the battle, just away from his opponent.

Every time he got near the edge, near to escaping, someone blocked his path. There were too many. Everything came in on him, drowning him in voices and shouts, everything there bigger and ready to attack, to kill, to maim.

Looking back, it wasn't until the ogre managed to grab Iracun that their battle truly begun. It was a terrific thing, filled with enough action to make several pages of work, but he summarizes.

The battle hardly lasted an hour.

They punched and hit, attacking one another. Big to small, smart to dumb, the two attacked. One was made for fighting, the other for analyzing, figuring things out. Iracun was a genius for his size, for his age, for his species, and he was determined not to be brought down by a Gruul fighter. They're good for fighting, he'd thought while carefully avoiding a deadly punch, but not for much else, eh?

"Bloodsnout," Iracun remembered whispering. He kept up his mantra, over and over, cursing and whispering as he dodged attacks just barely. Scrapes and cuts filled his body and already he ached. There wasn't an end, nothing he could do to truly protect himself.

The ogre jumped, flinging Iracun's pitiful body through the air as he did, then beat the ground next to him. The small goblin screamed loudly before kicking upwards, hitting it in the jaw. Iracun fell back to the ground and the ogre fell backwards, stumbling as it tried to upright itself.

There is a reason, of course, that Iracun's attacks allowed him to defeat his attacker, even for that short duration. If the reader of this might be one of his disciples and does not understand, you're a goddamn disgrace and he probably doesn't want you back. It's simple, of course, to summarize that his ability to remain upright while the ogre couldn't stemmed mainly from size--but if one simply comes to that conclusion they are merely half right. The other half, duh, comes from Iracun's ability to disorientate the ogre with his yell, and also stimulate an animalistic instinct from Iracun that encouraged him to attack wildly.

Science didn't help when he wasn't capable of fully understanding it, but it did allow him an upper-hand not known before. While the ogre was down, Iracun grasped the necklace and pulled with one hand, and used the other to jerk his self-made fire-starter. The two rocks, one more metallic and the other more stone, struck and the sparks hit everywhere but the necklace. Cursing, he struck again as the ogre began to lift himself. Time flew out the window. For a split second, he began to fall. The world shifted downwards. Something hit him hard in the side of the head and his hand let go.

His body fell to the ground.

Next to him, a small chunk fell too.

Iracun didn't have time to grab the signet, which had fallen during his attack, and instead had focused all of his attention onto the ogre. His competitor wasn't above killing him, it seemed, and the ogre's fist raining down wasn't something he could ignore.

His eyes remained fixated on the necklace, hands reaching out to grab it as something heavy fell beside him. The ogre's hand missed him by a second, and he yelped in surprise, grabbing onto it and allowing the ogre to lift him before kicking in the softest region he could find.

Yelling and grunting filled the air, louder than before somehow. There wasn't much time. He had to get it, one way or another, but how? Everything was a blur to Iracun, and the small man felt his heart racing inside of his chest. His weapon lay beside him, the stone having snapped off. His hands shook as he grasped it, stabbing upwards. Screams came and went, and Iracun was soon left in the dust, dribbles of blood coating his body as he reached out for the signet, grasping it tight to his chest.

Rising again, he could see most of the battles had settled. Before him, lay a slain ogre, it's life gone but his forever there. And he left the land, knowing that whatever place came next, he would be brave and courageous enough to leave more marks upon the land. On, he went.

Iracun's hands hovered over the page, trembling as he finished off his work there. He breathed in and out deeply, feeling the memory course through him. Every second of it replayed, faster than before.

The ogre's cry as it was stabbed, backing away just enough for him to grab the signet and run. Defense wouldn't help, offense was no good, but he had feet and those feet could run. He had a weapon, so he could defend himself. But most of all, he had what he'd come there for.

So he wouldn't have to return.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Heccan Chareon Kirkeus

"Little lamb, who made thee?

Does thou know who made thee,

Gave the life, and bid thee feed

By the stream and o'er the mead;"

- from "The Lamb": William Blake, Songs of Innocence

There is a story, known in our world – but, of course, not in theirs –, that tells of a boy who faced off against a man much, much larger than he was. In this fable, the boy has no weapon but a sling, and no strength but his faith in some superior being. I ask you, reader, not to think of this tale as you read the one I bear now, for, while the setting and the outcome is similar, I can promise you that the two realities are entirely different. You see, in the world of which I tell you, there is no higher being to grace boys with success and strength: all our hero has is the force buried inside his own heart.

"This is your people?"

Heccan blinks and looks up to Calais, wide eyes filled with wonder – you must understand, reader, that if you saw these creatures, you would be even more overwhelmed than our hero. He, after all, hails from a place where the fantastic and the realistic have blended, and is magical of himself, so if the ogre warriors of Gruul can impress him with such awe, your reaction to their greatness would be almost impossible to imagine. Calais herself towers many feet over him, and yet even she seems dwarfed by their presence. To truly understand the sheer scale of these warriors, you would have to picture a forest of pine trees, maybe a little shorter than the average, advancing towards you with deafening steps that leave fissures in their wake, sword in one hand and club in the other. Perhaps they could be compared to a herd of elephants, if the elephants were particularly angry and capable of using man-made weaponry. One way or another, I doubt that you would even dream of facing such a fearsome sight.

Calais nods. "Surprised?"

"A little," Heccan admits. "I always thought you were tall, but..."

"Scared?" she asks.

"Very. You?"

Calais shrugs. "I lived my life amongst them. Their size was never a problem before."

At his feet, Fluffy has gone completely still. Even the bone of its tail has stopped wagging, and instead pricks upwards like a thorn might rest on the vine of a rose. "Don't worry, boy," whispers Heccan. "Just stay back and you'll be fine."

There is no chaos to this battle – rather, it progresses as a series of conflicts, mirroring each other in the speed at which they end. Many of the champions choose to fight in teams, though that does not seem to do them any good. One of the angels, for instance, flies around the ogre's head as the other attempts to trip it by repeatedly kicking at its shins. As the winged angel grabs the medallion from around the ogre's neck, it falls over, crushing the wingless under its weight. The crunching sound of bone echoes in the plain, and the fights halt for a moment as shivers go down many a spine.

"I should probably be the one who survives," says Heccan. "Worst comes to, I can just bring you back. Wouldn't that be fun?"

Calais stares at him. "No," she says.

"Are you sure?"

"Very."

"Fine," Heccan sighs. "You're no fun."

One of the slightly smaller ogres spots him, and Heccan freezes. It stomps towards him, shaking the earth with each step as the muscles on its body ripple. You can do this, Heccan. A few steps closer. He feels fear creep up his neck and into his brain. This is just a nice gentleman. Who wants to fight you. And will probably kill you. But a nice gentleman nonetheless. He probably has his reasons. Aren't you trying to fight him too?

Heccan runs forwards, his dainty steps bearing no echo, nor moving so much as a speck of dirt. He throws all of his weight at the ogre, aiming a barrage of punches up at its hips. A shriek echoes in the air as Vella is knocked into the air, crashing several feet away with a sickening crack!. What happens when those who toy with the dead meet their ends, you ask? Unfortunately, even I have no idea – no matter how great I may be, I cannot tell you of the life I have not experience: that which comes after death.

"A little help would be nice!" shouts Heccan, looking towards Calais.

"Unfortunately for you, I'm no fun," she says. "I should probably find one of my own instead of sharing, because I'm such an unfun person."

That was rude. Unfortunately, Heccan doesn't have much more time to think of how slighted he has been, as the ogre swings a boulder-like fist towards his head. He ducks at the very last minute, but, as it takes a step back, the ogre's foot lands a few inches away from Fluffy, who has been aggressively biting at its ankles with the teeth-like bones in its mouth. The rabbit hops away.

"You monster!" screams Heccan. "You were going to hurt Fluffy, you... you..." he trails off, "you massive oaf!"

As he starts to back away, an airy, high-pitched voice escapes from Heccan's mouth. His eyes flash black. His hair begins to fly in a non-existent wind. Slowly, a song forms:

"Birdy, birdy, bird of prey,

Come, stay here another day.

Birdy, birdy, bird of death,

Come here, take another breath."

A cloud of dust begins to grow just above the earth's surface. From it escape a series of birds, one by one, all in varying states of decay. A raven, first, its head just barely hanging on to its head, slanted over to the left and holding by a thread of bone. A crow, then, chunks of its stomach missing entirely, showing the rotting organs inside its body. An eagle, then, made purely of bone save for the talons on its paws, the beak attached to its face, and the eyes in its skull, glinting with malice. Even then, however, the dust does not stop. Nor does the singing.

"Bucky, Bucky, Bucky deer,

Avoid the light, and come back here.

Smelly, smelly, smelly skunk,

Oh, won't you spray your toxic gunk?"

A deer prances out of the earth first. The bone antlers on its head seem sharper than ever as it rears onto its two back feet and lands back on the ground with a mean-sounding humph. A skunk jumps up, the chunks of flesh barely hanging onto its carcass adding to the nauseating smell it carries. The birds fly overhead, screeches escaping from their beaks.

"Beaver, beaver, beaver dam,

Come up here, and bring the lamb.

Thank you, friends, for your free will –

Now fight, my dears: it's time to kill."

As the beaver and lamb settle onto the ground, Heccan's song stops and he gives each of them a cheerful wave and a smile. They run forth, swarming the ogre from every direction. The buck spears its antlers into its stomach. The beavers gnaw at its calves. The skunk sprays a toxic-smelling gas upwards, towards the ogre's face. The birds dive down and tear at pieces of the ogre's flesh. Even the lamb, frail as it is, kicks its skeletal legs at the ogre's shins, until finally, it falls over. A noise similar to the crashing of a pine tree against the hard earth shakes the entire plain. The woodland creatures crumble back into ashes and dust, until the battlefield looks as though none of the last few minutes had ever happened.

A few moments later, once the final dregs of the battles have come to an end, the dead are assembled together: the warriors, yes, but, much to Heccan's sadness, a few of his fellow champions as well. Vella, for one, as well as the angel, but three others have also found their ends fighting the Gruul force: a nymph – who Heccan could swear comes from the more tropical part of Selesnya –, a vampire – the male. The frightening female stands a few bodies away from him, very much alive –, and a human. She had an absurd name, though Heccan cannot remember it. I hate to inform you, reader, that absurdity has no room in the trials ahead, and that death will lie at every corner. For now, however, I am glad to say that fifteen of the champions have found temporary safety and even success.

Over towards a broken tree trunk, Fluffy shakes and looks at the corpses of the ogres. Slowly, careful not to startle it, Heccan moves towards the rabbit and picks it up and sings to it in a smooth, soothing voice.

            "Bunny, bunny, don't you fear,

For I have made you, and I am here."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vellatovarin Tempus

Father sat me down beside the dining-room table when Mother and my two brothers had gone upstairs to sleep. He held a mug of ale and even though he and Mother called it tea (to help him sleep at night), I knew exactly what it was, though I was not sure they were aware I did.

He rubbed a thumb absentmindedly along the mug's handle, fondling it the way a man might a sentimental trinket. But he didn't drink from it. He always left that until a conversation had finished.

"Vella, honey." He said.

And I remember thinking then, Oh no, this is going to be something I will not like.

"I think it's time we found a use for that magic of yours." His expression was blank. Perhaps that's where I got it from.

He went on. "They'll try and tell you that there's no place for necromancy outside of the guilds, but they're wrong. You and I both know that."

I could see where he was going.

"I- I don't want to join the Sparrows, Papa." Tears sprang to my eyes and I was furious at them for betraying my indignation as fear.

"Oh." He put the ale down on the table and wrapped me up in his arms. "You'll be fine, Vella." He rocked me gently, like I was a baby. "No one's forcing you to. I just thought it would be good for you to get out of the house more often is all."

I sniffled. My tears spilled onto his tunic. I remembered that it had been clean in the morning and felt guilty about ruining it, but he didn't seem to mind.

But he was wrong. I didn't have a choice. I had to join the Sparrows, a small mercenary group, or die of starvation. We'd run out of funds. Father used to be a member of the town-guard, but one day when the sun was high and water was low, he had a seizure and his left leg stopped working properly. My eldest brother, Vincen, was part of the guard too, but they didn't treat him right, didn't give him the right pay, and he was too kind-hearted to say anything against them, so he comes home with a handful of useless coins every week. And then there's Tuli, my second brother, who can't speak a single word. Mother tried to help out too, but she'd been ill for as long as I could remember.

We all had the same black hair, the same brown eyes. Sometimes, I dreamed that my magic would take a mind of it's own and I'd wake up in one of my brothers' bodies. If I was Vincen, I'd be ruthless. I wouldn't let anyone cut my pay. He was a bear of a man, but he acted like a baby. If I was Tuli, I'd find a job that doesn't require talking. Some kind of labourer. He was even bigger than Vincen, so there was no excuse there. But I wasn't either of them, and they never listened to me.

I was their baby sister. And here I was, with the family's responsibilities on my thin shoulders. It was up to me to bring money into the house. But I was only twelve years old.

I took a deep breath in.

"I'll do it."

Father paused, the drink an inch from his lips.

"I'll join the Sparrows." I said.

He put the mug down. Ale sloshed over the side when it hit the tabletop.

"Are you sure, Vella?"

"No. But I'm going to do it." Because I have to. Because if I don't, it'll be my fault when you and mother and Vincen and Tuli starve. Because my siblings are useless and so are you. Because I'm the only choice. "But I have conditions."

"Conditions?" He cupped his cheek in his hand and gave me an almost curious look.

I tried, for the first time, to put cold fire in my eyes.

"You'll stop drinking. I know how much ale you have in a day. And you're going to stop. All of it." I stared at him, unblinking. "You're going to take mother to the physician's. I don't care how many times she refuses. You're going to do it if it's the last thing you do. If you have to knock her unconscious, I don't care. Just see that it's done.

"And Vincen— you're going to put a spine in that boy. He's nearly twice my age and he'd rather dilly-dally with flowers than do a man's job. Even if I do join the Sparrows, I won't have enough income to support the family. If you have to go down to the guards' barracks yourself to demand they respect him, you do just that"

I stopped, breathed and waited. I couldn't think of anything else.

There was a mixture of amusement and something else in Father's eyes. I think it was pride. His mouth flicked indecisively between a smile and a frown.

"When did you grow so old, Vella?" And now there were tears in his eyes. But mine had long since dried.

"When I had no other choice." I got up from my seat.

That was the last time I cried. And the last time I seeked comfort from my father.

But if I'd known what was going to happen six months later, I'd never have listened to him. In fact, I'd have killed him before joining the Sparrows.

***

The road to Skarrg was a broken one. Cracks and crevices adorned the ground and steep ravines meant I had to change direction multiple times. I only travelled at night, for obvious reasons. But the night itself was silent, lacking the beauty of Vitu-Ghazi, as if the world was waiting in anticipation— spectating those trying for the Guildpact. I had yet to run into another candidate. Maybe that was for the best.

Skarrg had its own savage beauty— the beauty of lands that had stood for centuries, defying the destructive grip of nature. Ruins that had been held together by the hands of vines and the roots of trees for generations. Perhaps, like Trem Shondor had said of Vitu-Ghazi, it would look more impressive during the day. So creatures like I don't belong here.

Meaning I can't be spotted.

I had timed this badly. Dawn was approaching, so I needed to be fast. I snuck closer to the open lands of Skarrg. There wasn't much cover, damnit, just open plains. But I could make the most of the fading night and the scattered ruins.

Twenty signets, twenty chances, held by twenty of Gruul's strongest warriors. But twenty candidates also vying for a chance to grab one. And the other guilds would have picked their best. I'll have one shot, I told myself.

I stayed crouched, close to the ground, and snuck closer. The nearest was a rocky outcropping, but at least a hundred yards of empty land lay between. Faster, Vella! I bunched my cloak around my hands so it distorted the shape of my silhouette and didn't flap around.

Then the world ignited.

I dived for the outcropping, scrabbled around it. Above me came the cry of a phoenix. The Skarrgan Firebird. Just my luck.

It passed overhead and its light was like a miniature sun, nearly bright enough to burn my skin. But it carried on flying south. My breath escaped my mouth. It hadn't seen me. That would indeed have been a painful death. Would I get another chance like that? I doubted it. So I waited for a moment, watching the phoenix until it became a distant star.

When I felt ready, I dashed out and ran for a cluster of cracked stone pillars. This time I was faster, quieter: a ghost passing over the ground, unseen. I could see ogres and trolls in the distance, silhouetted by bonfires, and the small, hunched bodies of elves and humans. Most of them were probably kept as slaves.

I made up my mind then. I was going to kill the first ogre I'd see.

From behind a pillar, I watched a small group of them lumber past. And, there, the Gruul Signet hung from the neck of the one in the centre. They all looked well-trained and held their weapons comfortably. I couldn't try to fight them all, six against one is never a good idea, even with someone of my speed and skill. The Signet was my priority. Acquire the Signet, then run.

I checked my weapons. Twelve knives in my belt, two in each boot, a dozen in my cloak and half a dozen in each vambrace. A tomahawk and a curved shortsword were strapped to my back, and my favourite weapon, a rope spear, hung from my side. The blade was half the size of a sword, deceptively light and devilishly sharp. The rope attached to it was fine and strong and rarely got tangled.

But against six opponents, the rope spear wouldn't help me. I needed to take them out from a distance first, then rush in before they know what was going on.

I held a knife in each hand. Then I felt. It. The air stilled. Then shifted.

I snapped my head backwards, on pure instinct, and barely dodged the sword that swung overhead. My own knives flew forwards but clanged harmlessly against the pillars.

Damn.

The Gruul were here. How had they snuck up on me?

I jumped to the side, a second blade narrowly missing me. My shortsword found its way to my hand. Then, through the leather armour and into the soft belly of a Gruul warrior.

Leather? Gruul wore iron!

I focused my eyes, peering into the darkness as the Gruul beside me crumpled. Four skeletal silhouettes hid in the darkness, their blades painted black to stop them reflecting moonlight.

"You aren't Gruul." I pulled a knife from my belt. These were trained assassins. The House Dimir? Here?

"What would you know of our customs, wench?" Spat the closest one. "We are the Slizt clan. The Night Murderers of the Gruul. And you will pay for the life of our comrade." His voice had a reptilian cadence to it.

Regardless of my predicament, a smile tugged on my lips. "Members of the Gruul Clans that rely on stealth? Isn't that cowardice?"

One further away, a female, snarled, "Vampire scum! You are no match for us. You may have been adopted by the dark, but we were born in it. Raised by it. We didn't see the light until—"

And then she stopped. Because my knife sprouted from her throat.

Before they could register what happened, I was among them, parrying a hasty attack and spilling open one's stomach. Then I feinted widely and slashed open the third's neck with another knife.

The last one stumbled backwards. That saved her life, as another knife buried into the ground where she had stood a second earlier. I caught a good look of her face. She was Viashino—all five of them were—members of a reptilian race, the likes of which I'd only heard of but never seen before.

And she did the first sensible thing. She screamed for help.

I cut her down a moment later but the damage was done. From less than fifty paces away, the group of ogres shouted and pointed in my direction. One nocked an arrow in a giant bow.

I ran.

But in the wrong direction. I ran towards the arrow. Towards the murderous ogres. Towards the twice-damned Signet.

I pulled my tomahawk from its sheath and threw it at the archer. The arrow flew wide but I didn't stop to watch the archer die. I dove into the group, pulling my rope spear from my waist and throwing the rope around the nearest ogre, leaping over him and digging the blade into the chest of another. Midair, I twisted my body like a cat to avoid an axe. Then I landed and swept away the first ogre's feet. When he fell, the spear-end of the rope spear drove through his compatriot and into his own neck.

I was already off the ground. The rope spear was already back in my hand. And then it was spilling the blood of the leader. I flicked the rope upwards, wrapping it around the Signet at his neck, then yanked hard, pulling the blade out and bringing the Signet with it.

I caught the signet in my hand, prepared to run from the the remaining two ogres, when the earth began to shake.

An earthquake? Now of all times?

Tentacles as dark as the night sprung from the ground. I rolled out of the way, narrowly escaping with my life, when they grabbed onto the nearby ruins and used them to pull its own colossal weight out of the ground.

It was a monster. A beast from dark fairy-tales. A bane of legends. The eight necks of a hydra, with the heads of a hellion— a ring of tentacles surrounding razor-sharp teeth.

"Ulasht," One ogre whispered. Fear tainted his voice. "The Hate Seed."

The ogres turned tail and ran.

But I didn't. Ulasht stood between me and my escape route. How in the world was I going to get past him? The Hate Seed roared, the screeching sound of hell given voice. Despair clouded my vision. How was I going to defeat this monster?

Easy, Vella. You fight the strongest monster all the time. You fight the beast inside.

I rolled my shoulders. Pulled four knives from my cloak, two for each hand, and wrapped my rope spear around my forearm.

When two heads of Ulasht came crashing down I rolled forwards. A third head tried to pluck my out of the air but I was anticipating it. I threw two knives at it and it snapped its head backwards. Before it fell out of range, I snagged the rope spear on one of its tentacles and its momentum threw me high into the air.

I threw my knives, every single one of them. They sang steel fury and thudded into his skin. The monster screeched again, this time in pain. But now I was falling.

I managed to grab ahold of the rope again. The movement jarred my arm, nearly ripping it out of its socket, but I held.

I pulled hard and the spear-end fell out, dropping me to the ground. I landed neatly.

And ran. In the right direction.

But something grabbed around my waist, and I could feel Ulasht pulling me up into the air again.

This is it. I thought as I watched his frothing mouth open to consume me. This is where I die.

My life didn't flash before my eyes. Just three faces. Father, whose insistence on me joining the Sparrows brought me here today, without whom we would have died of starvation and would have been better off for it. Poor Tuli, who had always been innocent, who had never done anything wrong, who couldn't speak a word, and who had died for no other reason but to amuse a group of filthy ogres.

And Oriden. Where are you now? Are you here, in Gruul, where you once thought of going? Can you see me now? What I've become?

Then as if in answer, an angel rose from the sky. An angel of light and life and purity and divine vengeance.

That angel was the sun.

My body burned, and burned Ulasht with it. The monster dropped me, screaming in fury and pain.

My body crashed to the ground, smoking, dying. But I crawled up, dragged myself through the dirt, Ulasht tried grabbing me again and each time my body seared his skin, until he finally gave up and slithered away.

I didn't know if I screamed or cried. I didn't know if I truly survived or if, when I finally dragged my body under the shade of a tree, I had become a ghost.

But I did know something. I had won. The signet, a carving of a burning tree, was clutched in my hand, held desperately to my chest.

"I beat you." I croaked.

And I'll never know if I was talking to the Gruul Clans, Ulasht The Hate Seed, or the beast inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Calais Agate

She had no home, no place of her own. Every place she walked she encountered shutters, every face she met looked away. That was her nightmare. When she closed her eyes, they stared at her out of the corner of their eye. She was not stupid: she could see that they wondered why an ogre was treading on their land. But did they not realize it was her land too? That land had no owner, that she—just like the rest—had been born from the earth and sun? She was home, and yet no one was there to greet her.

All the others competing for leadership, they watched her too. But she was powerful, she knew she was powerful, even though it didn't seem like it. She was destined for something important, she was certain of that. And there was that one...Heccan, who always seemed kind to her. But he destroyed life and brought it back, and she could not reconcile the taking of such sacred things. He remained, though, steadfast, with the bunny whose deformities seemed endearing. She was grateful for the company.

"Well, Calais," he said, from what seemed to be far below her, "this is your home, your turf. I can conjure up a bit of magic, but we need two signets, yeah? Fluffy here has some pretty good gnawing abilities, but only when provoked. I, on the other hand, am at service to gnaw whenever."

Calais did not respond, but instead began her foray into the throng of warriors. She was small—considerably larger than Heccan, granted, but tiny in ogre size—and she felt inadequate as she saw eyes shift towards hr from the warrior line. They knew her—surely, they did. Perhaps they would freely give a signet up to one from their own clan.

Heccan trailed behind her. He was nice, he did not seem to have the general apprehension around Calais as many others did. In fact, he almost seemed to enjoy her appearance. Calais was, for the first time in a very long time, distracted. A more appropriate term might be conflicted, but in the mist of Gruul beginning to swing at her opponents, distracted was the only word there was. She faced a dilemma with Heccan. For the first time she felt off-kilter, where she could not be assertive nor as angry as she typically was. He had not been judgmental nor had he been anything but polite when listening to her over the group's dinner as she spoke at length about ogre discrimination. In her many undefined years of life, she had never met someone who had been so receptive to her ideas.

She did not like it.

She blocked him out of her mind and focused ahead. It became difficult, however, to continue approaching the blockade of Gruul warriors when Heccan began to hum a song about dead rbbits and foxes. The earth behind her began to change—she could feel the vibrations beneath her feet—but she moved forward. She heard Heccan's voice calling out to her, but she could not listen. Her guard was already down, her defenses already weakened.

The first she approached was Gruul's largest ogre. He stood ten feet tall and swung a club languidly. He stared down at her, grunting at her. "Stupid mixer," he said. 'Mixers' were those who preferred integrating with other races of being. She had, in fact, acquired a rather mixed reputation in Gruul.

"Signet," she declared—though to most in earshot it sounded like a roar, as did the typical ogre language sound like. "I ask you for the signet so that I may continue on and bring honour to Gruul and raise us ogres to the levels of others. I—"

"I've heard your speech before, Calais. Get lost."

The ogre language, it must be noted, sounds much more elegant in interpretation than it does in the current situation to those who do not understand the language. Ogres speak in grunts and roars that sound menacing to many, but that is as they like it. Intimidation works well to keep outsiders away from their land. Calais had a mastery of her first language, though normal conversation with those such as Heccan were difficult to get her meaning out.

She gave a swipe at his leg, but Polis shook his head and began to fight off the several other opponents who had snuck up behind during their conversation. She hurried down the line—most were preoccupied with fighting others, and for a moment she released her guard and looked for Heccan. He emerged several feet from her, through a tangle of brutish legs and clubs, holding a signet.

"Here," he panted. "I got this for you I'll be right back, I think Gregory the weasel was about to get the signet from that Azorius one."

Before he could leave though, he waited for Calais to take the signet. She stared at it. This was unprecedented. "I cannot," she said. "It is yours. I find my own."

"Calais, please. I got a whole army of woodland creatures in there doing my bidding, just take it."

It was a kind gesture, the nicest she had ever experienced. And yet she could not control herself. Of course he would think her too weak to do things on her own. They were all the same—and to think she began to believe he was different. He pitied her, he wanted to appease her so she wouldn't hurt him. She let out a roar that made many stop and turn, and flung Heccan into the dirt. She turned away, letting her anger fuel the magic she felt brewing within her. She hated it—that she could control magic but not her own emotions.

Several metres from where she first began, she turned to another ogre warrior. She saw it again—that look of fear and shame. Ashamed that Calais was from Gruul, that she shared the same blood as them. The ogre stood clutching the signet and narrowed his eyes at her.

"You may not receive before you prove your worth, how about that? Little ogres thinking they can do big things. Look around, we are different than them."

She did not know the ogre in front of her, nor did she care. Years of the same old phrase, even those she never met used it against her. But she knew she was strong, even if she wasn't big. And she knew she had something no other contestant had: a reason to fight. Her life had been made up of those who sought only to tear her down.

Magic was expelled from her body in an uncontrollable burst from her hands, knocking the ogre onto his back. She grabbed the signet and turned triumphantly to what she expected to be spectators. But they weren't there. Instead carnage was spread around her. Warriors and contestants still battling, blood flowing freely on the open plain. And there lay Heccan still, unable to conjure magic to raise his own self from the dead.

She realized what she had done. What would they think of her now—unpredictable ogre is ready to kill contestant in spite and anger? She was no leader, and she ran as fast as her legs could carry her until she met the limp body of Heccan on the ground.

"Sorry. So sorry," she said, and she picked him up carefully and brought his small body to her ear. She listened for breathing, and then—there! A ragged breath. Fluffy hopped at her feet and she was careful to tread around as she held Heccan, repeating over and over again, "Sorry, sorry, sorry."

He had only wanted to be kind. Calais had rarely known kindness. Now, she could see that would need to change. She could hurt others, she always seemed to hurt others. She would learn, she was determined to learn. She could not hide who she was, but she could change herself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Grunt-Man

GRUNT-MAN GET PASSENGER PIGEON. IT SAY NICE FEMALE OGRE WANT LONG WALKS ON BEACH WITH NICE OGRE PARTNER. GRUNT-MAN GO TO BEACH. MEET FEMALE OGRE. DROP OUT OF GUILDPACT RUNNING AND LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER. THE END.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elijah Karsur

Every body and club that slammed into the ground sent another tremor through it, causing the base of the wall to tremble. It wasn't the type of massage Elijah had had in mind when he left Vitu-Ghazi behind, though he didn't bother to move. The farther away he was from the middle of the chaos equaled the smaller percentage that he was going to die. Blood had already splattered on his jeans after all and without vinegar, it was gonna take a whole Hell lot of work to get it out. Crossing his arms, he tilted his head and surveyed the battle scene for the fifth or so time.

The area was incredibly large, so large in fact that had one of the candidates wanted to, they could've started running to the other end and still have yet to make it there. He wondered if they had bothered to think of that, though it was unlikely. Truthfully speaking, he doubted they had thought much about the trial at all. It had very little elegance and even less flair. Much like the place itself, it was plain and simple, muted colors muddling already muted minds. Not that Elijah would have outright called the behemoths before him stupid; he did want to have a chance of beating them before they got excessively bloodthirsty.

A body went soaring through the air, headed straight for the ground. At the last second, the angel pulled up, her wings twisting swiftly as the tips brushed the densely packed earth. Elijah grimaced, having been given a face full of dust for standing too close. There always were those idiots that leapt into the fray without thinking. By now he was sure half of them were making up the majority of the body count. Was he the only one who saw the sense in waiting? The signets weren't going anywhere and besides, it would make things much easier on the young man if he could attack one of those who was already weakened.

Heaving himself off of the wall, he took a decisive step into the battlefield. Gravel crunched underfoot as he slipped his hands into his pockets and narrowly avoided being hit with a flying club. The blood of both Gruul soldiers and candidates alike had begun to make the ground sticky, its shade turning an unpleasant red. Stepping around the motionless body of an ogre, Elijah began to seek out an easy win. What found him first, however, was the near opposite.

A mallet missed him by mere inches, leaving an impressive crater behind it. Unable to fully hide his wide-eyed expression, Eli spun on his heels. The ogre behind him was a good ten feet tall, the weapon resting on his shoulder roughly twice the size of the young man's head. It felt similar to looking up at a particularly ugly house. Blood already coated the giant's yellow skin, though on closer inspection it became clear he didn't have any wounds of his own.

"You could've started with a simple hello," Elijah commented with a smile, while discreetly giving the ogre a wider berth.

The Gruul soldier huffed in response, lifting his mallet from his shoulder.

"Wait," Eli instructed sharply, the impact of his words causing the briefest of pauses in the ogre's movements.

He reached farther into his pocket and pulled out a small ring. It was thin and silver, the black gemstone on top minuscule in comparison to the character before him. Upon double-checking that no one else was watching, he slipped it onto his finger. It wasn't as if anyone had said they couldn't bring accessories.

Grinning in spite of himself, Elijah spread his arms out to make himself an even larger target. "Alright, hit me with all you've got."

Bewildered by the sudden change in attitude, the Gruul member complied. His first strike missed as the candidate ducked into a roll, the ground once again receiving an unnecessary punishment. The second strike landed closer, the weapon messing up Eli's hair as it brushed past. Only when the fourth strike miss did the ogre's anger begin to bubble onto the surface.

"See I always thought that was the problem with ogres," Elijah quipped merrily. "You're all too damn slow."

"I would not make fun if I were you," he warned back in a growl, heaving his weapon over his head once again.

Eli threw himself out of the way again, watching as the attack missed him by more than a few feet. Pushing himself to his feet and brushing off the excess dirt, he opened his mouth to spit out another insult; however, he was stopped by the air around him turning a sickening purple. Rubbing his eyes furiously, he looked through to see the Gruul member grinning with his yellowed, crooked teeth. Elijah grinned back.

The ogre stumbled, his knees crashing beneath him as the mist disappeared. Holding up left hand and flexing his fingers, the young man's grin grew wider. He took a few steps closer to make sure the orge could see the small, black ring on his middle finger and laughed.

"I appreciate you trying to poison me. Really, truly, because as much as I love this little puppy," he faked a disappointed pout, "it only works when deflecting magical attacks."

He reached forward then and yanked on the signet around the Gruul's neck. The cord it was attached with broke with a satisfying snap. Stepping backward, Elijah watched as the poison took its full effect and his enemy crashed to the ground, their eyes rolling backward. He felt accomplished, though his heart was still beating heavily against his chest, and his smile had been soured somewhat by the idea of what would have happened if he hadn't dodged that first attack. Oh well, it was a lesson for the next time. For now, he was going to go wash his jeans.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hesperia Haera

A crow caws for battle

and she burns.

The sunlight drones;

Hesperia wishes for shade

to mend her skin.

it's day; it's war.

In the far distance, twenty figures stand. Tall, with broad builds and weapons of wide clubs and twisting blades. Their heads are as big as stars, bodies as thick as trees; they're grown to be warriors. Bred to fight in battalions.

Hesperia's hands clench into fists, and then release. Pain sears through her because of the sun, the sky bleeding in its rays. Her knuckles pale and wither and her breath is shallow, too ragged to reach her lungs. Existence tears her apart; knees wobble; bones weigh heavy.

She's weak. And crows flap their wings in the air. No one else can see them, but Hesperia finds their feathers hanging upon her every move. Their shadows are disfigured on the cracked soil; caw, caw, caw, and suddenly everything shifts. An earthquake brings the ground to a halt. Beings move. Hesperia stays behind and watches the flock flicker in and out like fire, feeble and warm.

The Gruul soldiers grunt and groan. Even from afar, she hears them as if they're thoughts, too close a mutter. The signets gleam around their necks and bid Hesperia to move, but magnets hold her in place.

The crows keep her heart heavy, legs numb.

Seconds whir- wind across her face. She blinks. She blinks. Sweat pours down her cheek and draw circles in the dirt. Her fingers twitch- twitch. She breathes. Blackness seeps inside of her like sludge blending blood. She swims in grief.

The moment passes and she shakes her head; caw, caw, caw, cry the beaks, but Hesperia runs beyond their tone. The ground is stiff. She locks her eyes on a signet- not a soldier- and her veins twist into ropes to pull her forward, mind moving quicker than her limbs.The sun continues to beat her down, yet she's standing high.

The Gruul footfalls are loud, thundering, an echo of breaking land. Hesperia balances herself every few feet, eyes stuck on a shorter, mud-colored warrior. He's clever and slow, teeth shining wildly at the sun. He's beastly like anything can be; with fervor.

A fog sets in. Not around the world and field, but Hesperia alone. Her senses diminish- sight focuses above, to the sky- her touch feels nothing, not the handle of her moon crested knife- she tastes her own saliva, smells salt and water and air. She hears everything. From the pounding of feet to the wails of war, existence settles for sound and sound only.

The Gruul ogre runs close enough for her to hear its breath. It's heavy, like forming tornadoes, erratic and hard. Winds against concrete, whirring and she feels it heat against her skin.

Her body reacts quickly, shooting to the left and letting the ogre barrel past. She's displaced, but recovers with a wicked grin; crows fly over ahead, mocking, and her hands go numb.

Life flows through her- whispers and crying and she can hear her family so loudly and it's hands on skin, skin, and hearts stop. Her grin disappears, replaced with a frown. Her sight makes a return, just in time for her to see a swaying knuckle connect with her breasts, sending her back, heels winged off the ground.

When her back strikes the floor, all five senses flush into one. She sees the ogre stand over her, his stench of moss and sticks so overwhelming. Beads of sweat drip down her cheek, the smell of salt from before becoming taste, and her heart's tirade ventures on.

Her gaze seeps into hers; it's a momentary glance, and seconds flutter as the ogre tries striking her again, this time with a desire for blood. She rolls quickly out of the way, his club splintering where she was laying. Grass and dry sand cover her as she slides, muslces beginning their ache, hands itching for the signet.

Her hands, like blades. Like tools and nothing else. Overhead, the silent caw-

-and her family perishes beneath her-

-and the ogre swings, but she's late avoiding it. His club hits her side, wood chipping right above her hip bone. It's weak; dull; like lapping waves in the distance. She wonders why she's not overcome with pain, but crawls from under the ogre's grasp. Her breath is sent away, lungs dilated to accept air in wisps, bundled together.

She's turned around and can't see the ogre any longer, dangerous and wrong and calamitous. Her fingers are sharper than her blades, senses swiveling as the ogre comes up from behind, attempting to throw her once more. However, she predicts the world's motions and tides and jumps out of his way, twisting her hips to throw the moon blades into his neck.

His skin is too thick; vine-like and unreal. They pierce him, but draw nothing, vacancy spilling from the shallow wound. Hurriedly, she puts her heels to a rock and launches to follow up the knife- hands on skin- she's felt it all before- life, life, so easily taken away...

Hesperia closes her eyes when her palms touch the ogre's neck. She doesn't reach for the signet right away, but rather his veins, feeling them pulse. He's frozen at the core from her fingertips, instantaneously encased in frost. They shiver in sync.

When she opens her eyes again, the ogre sinks down. She presses the knife further into his neck until quiet strips of blood bubble and fall down his chest. The liquid stains her arms, too, and she smiles as the cold, wet, crimson sensation caws at her to breathe.

Then, when his knees buckle and thud against the cracked sand, Hesperia stands. In her hand, the signet beams, swinging back and forth like a metronome, mesmerizing and calm.

A crow sings for blood

and she laughs.

The moon sharpens and rusts;

Hesperia yearns for it

to come and rise.

it's kill; it's kill.