World's Over Journal IV Just a Dream?

It wasn’t a dream;

     Lights, brilliant blue illuminated the silent steel husk of Bahamut. Whether by some tampering of Charles earlier that day or the lifting of some magic from our tomb, the fusion power core had become active. All around us the silence manifested itself, once our minds rested in the darkness and flickering of blue, now that we could see everyone around it, an eerie feeling much like death was upon us.

     We began looking around only to find all the others situated in a state of hibernation or death without decay. Edgar, Motron and Boren a heap of crumpled armour sealed behind the protective shield that now held them captive inside the cannon core.

     Maggie along with her husband Leinis were both huddled together against ammunition crates near the bunks to the right of the command console; Croglin with his wife Celise were cuddled up tightly together in the bunk just behind them. Ceska, the wife of Motron, had Priscilla, the only child on board, wrapped tightly in hear arms on the floor just behind the center bulkhead along the right shell wall behind the others. Ruldo sat motionless his head bowed with both hands upon his lap in the command console. The solitude of silence steals heartbeats from my chest.

In earnest anticipation of,
Jane
With Charles

Ps. That is all my heart could bear to write.

Of Demons & Cowboys

Upon the barren plains,

   Of a dry and desolate wasteland of the world's most Southern continent there walked a lone gunman. His hat was wide of rim and brown with a flat top, it and a yellow, black and white checked scarf hid his face well from any who paid him any notice. His baby blue and brick orange checked collared tunic sleeves were rolled up and the collar stuck out on one side along his neck above the scarf. Atop that he wore a tan brown and tiny egg shell blue pin stripped waistcoat, his trousers were once blue but were weather worn stained white and grey from dust and smoke, his belt was hazel brown with gold skulls upon it and his shoes were thin rubber soled black and tan leather flats, devoid of a stinger or spur.

     Like many of the modern day warriors of the Southern Continent once known as Africa, the demon carried a revolver, though not one that fired typical ammunitions. Most all casings and gunpowder were done away with at the end of the final world war, when the magic of the universe was resurrected by the melting of the polar ice caps and rained down upon the earth, changing everything.

      Each of the six chambers that once held bullets was now a cylinder for a single shot laser cannister, which slowly recharged over the course of several hours. It was the same for Shotguns, though their double or pump action barrels fit single shells that would have to be put into a case charger fitted to the belt, though very few cowboys had this equipment, most just had to wait for the shells to recharge. Often whilst waiting, they ended up dead.

     Generally the land had three types of cowboy who roamed the plains, the skilled one whose dedication to the way of the gun paid off with accurate shots, the maniac who had somehow collected a recharger or a myriad of weapons who won his life by firing as many bullets as possible, usually just the mere look of such a deviant was enough to scare off any foe. Then there were those who had a gun, but it was merely for show. Always strung to their hip or underarm in a well decorated holster, rarely, if ever, cleaned or fired. These men were the folk of cities, where battles were fought and won by the local justice, but just in case, they carried.

      For years our traveller circled to reach this place again, where his rebirth began, where the gunfighter was reborn. Most didn't survive their first fight, surrendering their last breath to the laser blades of revolver bullets or a flash of scattered shotgun short beams. The old ways of duelling had ended when the last of the gentlemen died to the trigger happy fools who had rekindled an inspired dedication in rogue warriors to seek skill and patience in the way of the quick draw. Indeed it was the only way to defeat someone with more shots than you.  

     What once was known as Africa was left in solitude by the kingdoms and empires of the other remaining inhabited continents. For the wars upon it's shores were not bound to laws but prejudice, mere contests of arms, for amusement. From the top most kingdom to the lowest street scum, it mattered not if you were born demon, human, dwarf or elf nor even reanimated undead; all that mattered was how much fire power you were packing.

     Jaghoul stood on the edge of town staring down the lone boulevard beyond the massive gate and high walls, the place seemed devoid of life save for the movement of dust in the wind. To enter the oasis city meant certain death, a cesspool for scoundrels, bottom feeders, bounty hunters and rogues all seeking glory at the edge of the world.

     In the distance an airship, a flying wooden vessel made in the image of ancient ocean fairing ships, often with cloth wings and a levistone or hot air balloon instead of any sails, was rising into the skies. It was a majestic thing to watch the ships take off into the open air on a voyage to the floating continents or to some abandoned mine in search of treasure, though rarely to war.

     Large scale battle was a thing of the past, king pins and jesters ruled the lands beside necromancers and emperors, power had long ago surrendered itself to those who inhabited the bars of the city streets, to the mercenary, for there weren't enough citizens on the continent to make up armies from, let alone get them to wage war against one another for some rich scum's plot to overthrow his neighbour's town for the sake of image or meagre monetary gain.

     Today was different though, Jaghoul had come to the birth place of his resurrection to begin a quest, a journey into the perilous dark realms of the forlorn continent. Seeking to answer a simple question, who pulled the strings on rebirth, from man into immortal... From corpse to lich?

Renegade Station

The children huddled together,

     In the far Eastern wing of the station against the frigid air that ever maintained a constant state of visible breath, in a corner the seven of them held on to one another for warmth despite several layers of clothes, which were much too large for them in most cases being made generations ago for soldiers who fought in the world wars. Thick grey or green wool was the trend, all of them had a scarf overly long wrapped several times around making their necks look like part of their shoulders which were hidden under layers of tunics, jumpers and a long trench coat with a cloak and hood attached. The same could be said for their legs, long under garments layered beneath wool pants in which their tiny feet were wrapped up in socks trapped tightly in wool coated leather boots. Some had a beanie on or a wool cap while others had fighter pilot leather caps but all of them had goggles as old as the wars themselves.

     For as long as anyone could remember the children had been sent out from the frozen citadel high above the frozen tundra atop a spire of ice and stone. There the fortress had been since the world changed and the immortals had come out from their exile, back to the light of the sun. They were sent out, escorted by armed guards, to a crack in the ice where they would search the caverns for shards, crystals filled with liquid light, the fuel that kept the village outside and the stronghold atop the spire lit and warm.

     The seven children had plotted to escape after hearing the elder's tale of the child who fell and dreamt of green lands beyond the icy passage at the edge of the vale. The entrance to the mountain's depths was by means of a brick mason bridge at the edge of the village along the cobble stone lane along the walls of the fortress. Beyond the statues of gargoyles at the far end was a path that lead into the vale where the gates to the mines were locked.

    Of the seven, only two of them were over the age of twelve, the rest were wee squirts that were swept up in the motion of escaping when the guards discovered them in the alley on their way to the bridge, diverting them into the sewers where they found the abandoned station. The squat overly long armed pig men who hid their faces behind masks, some would know as goblins, had not given chase for they had met their end at the shard blades of the eldest two in a short but blood skirmish.

     Through the darkness of the village streets, for the blue lights of the shard were shut off in the late hours, the children were given chase by the soldiers of the spire, the silence was only broken by the footfalls of the children, for the goblins wore no shoes. When the group was nearing the bridge the oldest of the escapees realised the group wouldn't make it with the guards so close at their heels.

    Contra stole himself against the wall of one of the houses and in the shadows waited for the guards to pass as Sabine lead the group onwards. He only just noticed in time that the silent soldiers had passed for they moved as shades in the darkness. One quick flash and the first guard crumpled to his knees, a shard of crystal logged in his neck. The other turned to face the assailant, sending his spear out as he spun, nearly decapitating Contra, who just narrowly avoided the blade. Contra rose from his crouch like a snake he lounged at the exposed chest of the soldier whose life was taken by reflex and luck, if not by fate.

      Silence reigned as the realization set in that he had just taken the lives of two sentient beings, whose souls now meandered aimlessly between the shadow world and that of the living. Rising up from atop the dead guard's chest, Contra made his way through the dark streets to join the others.
   
     Under the last arch on the edge of the village, beyond which lay the bridge and freedom, the group stole their way into the ventilation maze between the town above and the forge works below. There they found the abandoned station and lay down to rest, though the eldest two knew their plans had gone seriously awry.

The Time Machine Tattoo

   Ever since Dominic could remember,

     He had heard stories of Namiah, queen of the angels, sister to Lilith the damned, whose army succumb to the power of darkness in the invisible wars that raged long ago high up in the clouds. In dreams he had held her hand as she fled under a reign of arrows, narrowly escaping from the citadel of obsidian stone where for so long she was held captive, high up in the skies. 

Every night hidden under the covers lit by a tiny flash light Dominic would watch the hands of his grandfather's pocket watch as if it retold the story of his first dream. It was that same silver handed circle that he carried with him where ever he went, but today the watch had special purpose.

Dominic hand't felt so much as a fairy's tickle throughout the, normally quasi painful experience, procedure. Dominic sat upright and awake, not an ounce of alcohol or drugs in his system, completely sober he had sat through a needle injected art form. 

The tattoo was that of a nineteenth century pocket watch painted upon the underside of the Dominic's wrist. When he was not but a lad that same wrist had been broken during a climbing expedition with his elder brother in the neighbours back yard. The barkless and twisted red Manzanita tree had been a prestigious centre piece of the lush forest of fauna that compromised the beautiful fairy tale garden behind the ancient stone walls of the Quiest family.

When the deviant artist had finished, he looked up at Dominic and smiled 'just one final touch and we'll be done.' With that the artist put down his needle and took off his gloves. He looked back to my wrist, gently grasped it in his left hand and leaned in, at first the young man couldn't tell what it was he was doing, but then he saw it. The tattoo artist was turning the dials of the watch, as he did Dominic began to swoon with the onset of an intense dizziness. With each turn of the hands past twelve the room grew darker until it was nearly black, then suddenly it stopped and the enveloping darkness began to dissipate. 'That should do it son,' the deviant artist said with a wicked grin 'you may leave now, if you can.' With that the artist let go of the Dominic's wrist and the world went white.

Wind, a bitter intense breeze bit through the young man's clothes, kindling a chill as deep as his bones. It felt as though he were standing naked upon stones and pebbles in the middle of a dry river bed, a tempest howling down upon him with no barrier in sight. It was so intense Dominic's eyes began to tear up as he attempted to open them, it was a struggle and it was several seconds before he was able to squint.

It wasn't wind at all, Dominic was falling. He closed his eyes and prayed it was all just a dream, biting down hard on his lower lip and pinched his his index finger underneath his thumbnail until it started to bleed. Opening his eyes once again Dominic admitted to himself that he was not in fact dreaming.

The ground was invisible, hidden behind thick white fields of cloud. Dominic was rushing towards them in a free fall, what lay behind them, he would soon find out.  Once again he closed his eyes, this time to feel the open air rippling down his skin, the wind made it feel as if he had no clothes on at all. Suddenly a cool mist began to form about him, he could feel his clothes now damp with moisture.

When next he opened his eyes, Dominic found himself enveloped by the white fields. Soon he was completely drenched from head down to his toes, he felt as if his pants would fall off at any moment. Reaching down he did his belt up another two notches, just for safety, the denim of jeans was overly heavy when wet. 

Straining to hold his eyes open through the mist like rain Dominic began to wish for a view of his demise, how far off was the ground or even the slightest glimpse of the earth? Not a second later there was a break in the cloud and so too was the deep brown of dirt mingled with stone. Only a few thousand feet below Dominic could see plainly the outline of a mountain top or maybe it was simply a hillside in the middle of the country side.

 The clouds before Dominic's eyes began to break, he was falling very swiftly towards an island floating in the sky. He rapidly surveyed the landscape, it was more than an island, it was a continent hovering there before him. 

It was massive, as he grew closer the island in the sky grew more distinct. Dominic could make out there were at least three lakes, one near the Eastern edge surrounded by fields of tall grass upon rolling hills, close to what he guessed to be a city of stone surrounded by what could only by forest, marshes lay before its gates and the lake beyond it, in the Western realm of the continent, was also near to a town, though this one was much smaller than the other.

In the centre of the continent was what appeared at first glance to be a spiral tower, that reached thousands of feet into the sky, most of which as disguised, hidden by the same clouds that Dominic had just emerged from...    

Rattle & Chain

I escaped,

       On the last train out of town. That day the rain poured down in torrents from an obsidian sky, the clouds loomed over the coastal village black and foreboding, indeed it was a good day to leave.

Forsaken by the magic of the universe and utterly tired I leant my head up against the cracked and cob web covered glass to appease the the train rumbled down the tracks my jaw rattled as my unbeating heart within my ragged and skeletal chest yearned for the one who I had lost in the city I was just driven out of.

     Why did my decaying heart even care at all, about the present or the past, I'm sure that I could hear its withered form rattle inside of me as the mist rolled over the sea side town, he had watched me die. Dangling there from the noose under the stone arches, hand made gallows before the cathedral doors. My final act wasn't ignored, the twitch of my toes in Morse' code... 'I love you.'

I had been searching the street markets for my lover's favourite cheese to go with the mushrooms I had returned with and a few greens when I was pulled into an alley by a city guard. The malice in his eyes stole my attention from the muttering of a death threat, a predatory wolf in guard's skin would not escape the poise of rage within my lover hero if he found out...

     This demon in the flesh of a man who lay vacant atop of me, trousers half way down his knees, utterly spent after raping me in a back alley upon the brick cobble stones of a tiny ancient passage way in a town a thousand years away. For a moment he let down his guard, my lover's malice wouldn't be necessary, I would deal with this vile creature myself. My hands clasped to the wicker man's ox cart slipped from the childish bindings and as the predator's awareness slacked, but for a moment after cumming, I found his knife and drew it. One clean gash up his left arm as it dangled there against the bindings that once held my hands, how foolish the devil was. His leather wrist guard and tunic melted away before the blade and his forearm opened like a sheep's belly, inner wrist to elbow, he would bleed out in minutes. Even after the mad lust the guard bestowed upon me and possibly countless women of the city, there was panic in his eyes as he realized his doom, slowly he curled up into a ball and lay there whimpering as he died.

    A crowd had gathered at the ally's entrance, Soon after more guards had come and I was swept up in chains before Kæfka, a wicked judge.When next I opened my eyes I panicked for a second at the realization... The impact to unconsciousness would be my last vision of rest. I stood between two guards before the Cathedral's courtyard archway, a noose dangling there waiting to steal my last breath... So I thought but now I find myself sitting on this ancient train, alone in the silence of the car, no lover to attempt another rescue of my forlorn undead but never decaying beautiful heart...

In earnest anticipation of,

Land of Silence

It is said,

     That in ancient times the immortal's had dozens of strongholds deep underground, many below the Eternal Plains. A silent land that stretched over nearly a third of the continent, from the edge of the mountains of the Pacific Rim of Fire all the way to the Eastern Sea. No one had ever confirmed the fable, but there was hardly a need now as the great ocean fields of tall grass were home to little more than but a few scattered towns along the last road and some remote villages near the Dark Forest which bordered the Southern Lands where mankind dwelt.

     Under the shadow Cirrus and Snow Dome beyond it, where the last memories of an ancient evil survived trapped in the Columns Ice Fields, telling the tale of a frozen wasteland of death the mountain range once was and for the most part still was; a dangerous place of the undeath and beasts no one lived to describe, there stooped a creature nearly invisible amidst the tall grass beside a large boulder, gazing at the passage out  of the mountains.

     Hidden under the shadow of the boulder the would be predator remained motionless, crouched in silence for hours, contemplating how to deal with the tiny shadow of an unknown entity coming down out of the mountains along the broken rubble of the ancient road that lead through to the sea on the other side. Nothing had come out of the passage for a hundred years, ever since the ochre expanse that covered the skies in the decimation glow.

     Ever since that day, there had always been a watcher present in the vale below the forlorn road that lead up into the darkness of the mountains. It was easy to hunt down anything that ever made it onto the plains, though it had been years since the last pilgrim had wondered down out of the shadows, the land was flat, windy and dry. The ancient broken stone road was the only visible anomaly in the southern grasslands, though beside it ran the new road, one comprised of trampled earth and dust, for some strange reason or a magical other, the grass had not grown over the path the destitute had carved when making their way into the  Eastern Realms.

   
   
   

Darkened Sun; Love's Survivors

I woke from reverie,

    There in the window sill of our tenth floor apartment, sat the form of my lover. We hadn't bothered to leave like so many others when the bombing began, both of us had long ago given over fear to the moment of being alive, though now not even that could be said to be true of either of us.

     She was but a mannequin of her former glory, her soul fleeted in and out of the skeletal form that sat motionless in the sun as it streamed in through the shattered glass of a rain stained brick frame, in a building overlooking the ancient hill top Necropolis, from the highest point one could see the entire city and the surrounds down to the distant hills of the Green Belt. Every day she sat there, waiting for the return of something she never wanted in life, but in death the desire had become overwhelming.

   We hadn't been able to have a child, we both saw this as a good thing since neither of us had ever really wanted a kid, but when the world began to change, mending occurred across the earth for those infirm, the deaf, those stricken by cancer and a myriad of other genetic illnesses. So it was that near the end, just before the war began, as if to bind ourselves to the dying planet, we conceived and it was to be a girl.

    Four months along and none of the check ups had shown any signs of complication, save the ones the whole world was dealing with outside our apartment where my office had been transformed into a beautiful white baby's room. I had to move all our creative production tools and bins of random yet useful digital tech chords along with the writing desk and all our other geek quirky imagination inspiring helpful inventions into the living room where my wife, the beautiful maiden of mine, sat face to face, our laptops and the worlds we had together created the only thing between us as something  began to stir deep underneath the earth and in the oceans that flooded so many cities as the polar ice caps magically melted away.

     It was then when the war began and mankind lost it's marbles to vengeance that the mending stopped and darkness reigned. Penumbra spread over the land like a plague, even before the clouds of ash and destruction accumulated as the bombardment of the city took place, it only lasted a few days, then, the whole world went silent.

    The television had no channels, the radio lost all its air waves, the streets were littered with silent people, would be corpses, though we I never checked, it didn't matter anyhow, I was a corpse and yet I am still able to write and survive via my ghost of a soul being trapped in this husk that was my body.

     I don't know where my maiden goes when she leaves her body there in the window sill, but I imagine that she has trained her soul to truly act as a ghost, an ethereal being to the eyes of long lost mankind, searching the streets of our city, even to the top of the hill for the spirit of our lost child. Often she doesn't come back for weeks at a time, it is then, I think, that she delves into the darkness below the hill, into the Necropolis. Risking her own soul for a rifted love, fighting and fleeing from banshee, valkyrie and all manner of undead from wraith to wight and every sort of zombie in between vampire and lich, the last we both had become.

    If only I could remove myself from this hollow unbeating chest, then I too would fly along side my maiden, hand in hand we'd seek unto the ends of the world. But, I believe she needs me here to protect her body as we both slowly decay, a reason  for her to come back.

In earnest anticipation of,

World's Over Journal XXXI Stare Amidst Stone

     I thought it strange that we should be brought to the gates to greet the visitors, seeing how we ourselves were only guests of the city, but Toki was a lieutenant of the guard, so I accepted the call and walked silently beside her, together watching Priscilla bound down the cobblestones towards the entrance to the main citadel off the terrace.

     When we arrived at the citadel we found the gates were shut, Menke told us that Kensori had ordered all the doors into the city shut until the plot of the undead envoy was discovered. Turning from the sealed oak bolt steel doors we walked a few paces along the wall till we reached a willow tree standing over the stream that fed the forest upon the marsh grove terrace that housed the royal guard and was our temporary home. Just were the stone wall was eclipsed by stone, as the mountain began, under the shade of the willow vines pitter patterned with  budding flowers we stopped as Menke moved towards the wall.

     There at the edge of change was a portal hidden by the deep magic of the dwarves, who all too well knew the power of stone manipulation via the power that long lay dormant in the world. The secrets of the troll dwelling were a gift from the masons and smiths who manned the black gate, a mystical portal that kept the great demon Udhere and his army  in the great darkness beyond, locked away for all time. It was a return for the troll warriors who can come to the aid of those on the wall thousands of years ago during the tragic tale of Lucifer's second coming, when the last spell plotted against the wall won.

Menke lay the head of his spear against an indent in the wall and whispered. There was a tiny shimmer and the wall began to open slowly of its own accord. We entered into a small passage that we walked several paces before coming to a stairwell carved out of the mountain, at the bottom there was a fork, Menke lead us to the left and the passage immediately began to slope steadily more steeply until one felt the urge to break into a run just to keep moving, that or sit on your arse and slide the rest of the long way to the front gates.

Along the way the passage levelled off several times and there are many more forks, we always chose the one that sloped, it was a long way down from the high Terraces to the fountain before the citadel where the undead envoy and Kensori along with a small host of the city guard waited their arrival.

The four of us made the front gate just before noon, we were still in the passage when ahead we noticed several thin beams of light upon the floor and the wall to our right. When we reached the portal Priscilla and I stopped to have a gaze, before us was the open vale wherein the fountain lay. We could see a small envoy of warriors dressed in lacquered plates from shoulder to wrist and chest to waist, upon their belts were sheathed a pair of blades, one long sword and a second shorter one. Below they wore a kilt of the same fashion as the armour that adorned their upper body, with pants below the knees with plated guards down to their ankles. Most had a helmet on, though the two sitting the furthest distance away had taken theirs off and places it at their side. The helmets themselves didn't seem overly protective, being made of a small cap that draped lacquered plates down just above their pauldrons, very different from the steel helms the knights of old wore, though their was one drastic difference that appeared immediately as one of the envoy turned towards us, his helmet was the same as the rest, though as he turned one of his hands was fixing a clasp from a hideous mask to his helm. He no longer appeared as an undead warrior at all, but a demon. The horns jutting out from his helm l, that earlier appeared to have no function at all, for one one would ever let themselves be gores by, suddenly birthed forth a dramatic effect, he had become a creature of unknown origin in armour, a fearsome thing that stood on its hind legs like a man or elf, but appeared to have no right to do so, as if it stood erect only because the armour demanded the horrible demon within to do so. It was a mesmerising effect that I realised would be a vital tool of war, especially against the lesser tribes of immortals and mankind.

     How long I had been transfixed by the warrior I did not know, when I looked up Priscilla was still spell bound by the warrior. His eyes seemed to be set upon her, though we were hidden by magic, if he had eyes left in his skull at all that is, it appeared to me quite suddenly that the warrior might have been held there by Priscilla rather than vice versa. She cocked her head to the side in curiosity and so too did the 

demon warrior, she raised an arm in greeting to the window just as she made the same motion, then she had him curtsey before turning to follow Menke and Toki, when she left the stone window the warrior stood tall and firm once more, giving no indication that anything abnormal had occurred...

Druid in Ruins

I woke as if from a nightmare an unspoken name upon my lips. Was I supposed to remember it in the waking realm or was it merely a dream? In this magical age of the earth, there was no such things as coincidence. If your heart knew love, or malice for that matter, your will knew perseverance and you had even the slightest bit of magic in your blood, anything was possible.

When the magic first started to manifest itself upon the face of the world people believed they were insane or had some ill fated mental disorder... This was not the case, for no matter how many times you saw a psychiatrist or took the prescribed drug the governments were handing out that week for the supposed disorder, you would always find yourself perceiving the world as if it was but a waking fairy tale, a dream land. A universe that knew not the limits everyone had grown up believing.

I am a perfect example of just such magic, for I am not entirely human any more. In fact I am not altogether entirely corporeal, as I am of an ancient race known as the Dryad or druid. When the world found itself upside down at the beginning of the age of the pure water, imbued with magic, I was living in a district just outside of Seattle. I hadn't bothered with the tests the government wanted us to line up for if we showed any signs of the Water Illusion Disorder, as it was mostly for corporate profit off the drugs, clinical tests and political funding they recieved in a half hearted effort to cure humanity from a disorder no one could even prove existed.

The world continued on much as it had since before the 21st century until one day. The one day the world changed, with the destruction of New York's down town core by two immence dragons being broadcast over the television. The next few weeks were chaotic, massive earthquakes had tipped mountains upside down,  which now floated in the sky as continents. The magical water that had been released as the polar ice caps slowly melted had finally found its way, in mass, into the atmosphere and came down in the rain.

When it did, the chaos that had surrounded the cities of humanity began to manifest itself within. The Water Illusion Disorder was no longer deniable, in fact those who had type two and three were coralled, imprisoned, shot. Some would become test subjects, others died in cells as prisoners while others became the slaves humanity would use to power the mechanism of the war.

I was glad when it all ended for me. One day I sat up from a dream, only to find myself sitting in a chair staring down at myself. I had become a spirit or ghost, as humanity knew my kind as. Every day that I was in the city, I became weaker. Eventually I stumbled into a park and fell into a tree... And became the tree. My limbs swayed in the wind, my turned brown and fell to the ground. I stood in that park, as a majestic Maple Tree, for years beyond count.

Then one day the skies changed, well truly it was the atmosphere, as I would later find out. Not more than a week after that there was a storm that moved over the face of the world, the rain drops had come down with a yellow hue, like beautiful marbles. Then the war ended and the deep sleep fell over much of humanity, especially those who had been infused with the water before the war.

Then one day I woke up, practically falling out of the tree. Yet I was still the tree...My skin was made of bark and my hair was as the leaves. The rubble of the city was completely gone, overgrown by a boreal rain forest. In the distance there was a new town and a road which wound its way towards a city near the ocean. The ancient ruins had been torn down and used to build the road and construct the new town. Whatever remained had become one with whence it came.

City of Solitude

In the future, love is not lost.

Years after the final war had begun, long after the lights of the high rises had gone dark, when squadrons of biped and quadruped tanks roamed the earth in search for pockets of resistance, in an ancient citadel upon a scared and weather worn dais snuggled in a wooden throne sat a pillar of salt in the form of a young lady.

In the centre of the hall there stood another pillar of salt, though it was not wholly upright. The form of a young lad knelt before the princess' throne. Beside the boy there lay a lion, who also was naught but salt, though by some ancient markings one could tell that is was once jet black.

Outside a kingdom of tall grass fields bent and furrowed in the wind. The dreams of those who had walked the city long ago lay frozen in tombs scattered here and there amidst the blades of green and brown. When the most ancient of magic had fallen from the skies those who had lived in the land had been caught at unawares. Most of the citizens had been instantly petrified, of which only a few remained for most of them had eroded away in the wind and the rain.

Swimming ever so subtlety throughout time amidst the grass and pillars of salt was a most foul creature. Its body was very long and slimy much like that of a snake, though it was covered in thick impenetrable scales and with each breath tiny bouts of smoke left its nostrils.

The wingless vermilion oil red and dark spring green dragon had made a conscious point of avoiding the obsidian stained salt lion, even though the salt boy's heart would have made a most delicious meal.

The same went for the princess, her unbeating heart would be a tasty morsel for the demon that lurked behind the desolate city walls, though she sat safe behind the doors of the citadel.   The abandoned and forlorn palace grounds were no place for the living, even the wingless one detested the prison it could never leave. Even if it could, there was nowhere to go...

World's Over Journal XXX Strange Tale

     The guard knocked upon the portal as we finished breakfast, sure enough he had seen our shinnanigans and had the courtesy to give us a few extra minutes to wash up and prepare a morning meal.

He was a very polite young warrior, we could tell at once that he was not as seasoned as Toki. His brown laquired plate armour bore no signs of war and his pale olive skin's was covered in naught but fiery pink markings, there were no scars. He even looked young, at least beside Toki when she received him at the door, he didn't even have a broken tusk, of which he had six, one in each corner of his mouth and two extra on the bottum that jutted out nearly to his brow where his blood orange hair lay mostly hidden under his brown laquired helm.

Toki and the young guard stood in the doorway taking for a few moments before Toki rejoined us for breakfast, along with our new guest.  He had pleasant manners and was a bit shy, if you could call it that, for he had never seen, much less interacted, with a human before and here he was sitting with two very preculiar persons.

As we sat eating in the back of the house in the kitchen round table upon a singular stone bench carved out of the mountain side there was much discussion about the days events. The young guard, whose name was Menki, told them that several undead warriors had made up camp in the vale. They had come armed to the teeth but had set up in the centre of the meadow, in plain view.

Kensori had approached only when, after several hours, the leader of the troop had come forth and sat down upon his knees before the fountain. The warrior carried only a longsword and short dagger beside it. He was dressed much like what we would have known as a samurai. Which means of course that his swords were a Diasho, Katana and lesser blade a Wakazashi.

About his gaunt skeletal haunting face was a mask, which made his face look more like a demon than undead. The faceplate hung down from his helmet, black stained grey laquered plates also hung down from the helm so that the warrior's head was entirely invisible. The mask itself was hideous, a twisted face with fangs that rolled back inside the eye sockets and came back out the the nose. Utter impenetrable darkness lay about the eye sockets, making any onlooker ponder if the warrior had eyes at all.

The rest of his armour was quite plan, black laqured plates down to his wrists embroidered in a once emerald green tunic. The same went for his kilt or hakama which just past his knees, his shin guards too were the same plates.

There in the middle of the glade before the fountain he sat until Kensori ventured forth alone, naught but his spear in hand and short blade hanging upside down from his left shoulder at his back. Kensori had come back to the other guards shortly and sent Menki to bring the visitors to the gates.

In earnest anticipation of,
        Jane
             Without Charles

Charles Gardens of Trouble...

      I stepped through the shoji screen door and out into the garden, leaving Allyndran to prepare for the counsel meeting, alone with her thoughts. I found myself under the shadow of the labyrinth canopy once again, though the trees here that mingled with the manzenita were not Red Wood but various trees that bore fruit and berries. Even the shrubbery was a vast mix of vegetable, root and herb plants.

Beyond the three foot high stone wall of Allyndran's garden a cobble stone path lead around another much larger garden in the town's centre, it too was enclosed by a stone wall.I was standing at the far North Eastern corner, to my left the path travelled further east still, down a small hill and out from under the labyrinth, where I could just make out two wind mills with an open workshop at each base, a blacksmith and a artisan smithery. Beyond the slowly churning hands of the wind mills lay the bogs of the swamp that encompassed the entire village, which now I had to admit, was much larger than I imagined it from my first glance in the mist.

Beams of light swam down through the branches and shadows to mingle themselves about the ground here and there. The garden's canopy reached out and entangled itself with that of Allyndran's house, for beside me also stood a three foot round Manzanita tree. Indeed the whole village seemed to be shrouded in a guise of shadow where only here and there light found its way through. It seemed as it the place was guised in a permanent twilight, it was indeed beautiful.

Near the far end of the town square I saw Edgarory and a mouse, who could only be Freya with her red pointy had nestled firmly upon her brow, walking slowly out of view, down out of view along a path, that I assumed would lead them to the two mills. So I made my way out of Allyndran's garden and down the path to meet them.

I found them sitting upon the pathway wall at the bottom of the hill in front of the second mill, the artisan's shop. They seemed to be resting comfortably, waiting for me. 'My daughter is waiting for you inside,' Freya said with a smile that spoke volumes of how pleased she was with something, as I drew near. I assumed it to be a dubious plan of fun at my expense, 'but best to wait another minute or two before you go inside,' finishing she set her hands in her lap and twiddled her thumbs.

Edgarory made not even a peep as I sat down beside him, Freya in between the two of us. 'I expect you'll let me know when I should head inside,' I asked of Freya, but the question was directed at both of them.

'No, you'll just know,' answered Edgarory, a smile forming at the edge of his lips. As he finished Freya flashed him a quick glare, with her blue and green eyes sparkling with light. Something was about to happen that I hadn't entirely expected.

In all hopes of returning,
                                Charles

World's Over Journal XXIX A Tide of Mirth

        The next morning I woke refreshed for I had slept deeply after Toki's words. In fact sleep had stolen me into dreams of our farmstead, you and I walking side by side with Priscilla running before us. I rolled slightly in order to sit up, sadly I found my left shoulder wet by the dribble I had drooled during my dreams.

Slowly I got up and walked out onto the upper balcony where a small stone basin stood, it was full of water that awaited my hands and face; though today I would also be washing my left arm entirely along with the shoulder. Before I had finished washing up before breakfast, Priscilla meandered sleepily out onto the balcony beside me. For several moments she merely stood there, her gaze held by the beauty of the garden upon the terrace below or possibly she had fallen back asleep, her arms resting upon the stone brick railing.

I saw a guard from the front gate strolling along the path through the gardens towards the house and knew our day was about to start. So I took it upon myself to wake Priscilla in my own fashion.

'Hey, what's the deal,' Priscilla said angrily, though she was more astonished than upset. She was covered in water, the continents of the basin had drenched the entire right side of her body. I merely stood there with a smile on my face, though I was trying to look dumb and innocent. I shrugged and started to make my way down stairs.

'You'll pay for that,' Priscilla called after me as I made the staircase, though I did not stop, but I did wince when I heard Toki scream. Priscilla had unleashed her mirthy rage upon Toki, who had just walked out unto the balcony from her bedroom.

        'Child I can't...Mumble mumble, believe... You just...Wait till.... My hands... On you!' I heard from down stairs along with a great deal of running around.

'You're kinda slow for a warrior,' I heard Priscilla taunt, 'maybe you should take a step back and just be a gate gaurd.' With that I heard a light yelp, four great foot steps and then a splash. Toki had thrown Priscilla off the balcony out into the garden, where she landed in a pond.

Moments later she walked straight in through the front door, right into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around me from behind in a kind of child's bear hug. peering over my shoulder I saw her face beaming up at mine... Covered in mud. I smiled back and took her hand, leading her back upstairs where all three of us washed ourselves off in the large basin where clothes and baths were taken. As I was preparing the water I noticed that Priscilla had disappeared. Not long after Toki trudged into the room, rank with mud, she did not look impressed. But once the water was drawn and the three of us had grown accustom to the warmth of the bath we were all naught but smiles.

Alas, soon our day will begin and it's going to be a long one.

In earnest anticipation of,
        Jane
             Without Charles

Short Story in the Lands of World's Over

The Samurai Witch stood over the defeated Warrior who knelt at her feet. Their duel hadn't been long, it had only taken two quick flashes of the Witch's elegant katana to disarm the Warrior of his brutish double edged long sword.

Kneeling there before her, his head bowed low, chin upon chest, the warrior seemed utterly defeated and resigned to death. The Witch brought her katana to his belly and from right to left she began to open it with her blade.

When she reached the centre, she turned her blade up and began to slice open his chest cavity. With the swiftness of lightning the Warrior brought his hands to the Witch's blade and clasped it in his palms. With all his might he leaned forward and pushed the katana up into the Witches chest, nearly splitting her face in two in doing so.

Both the Witch and the Warrior would certainly die this day. Though only one would come back to wonder the lands of the living.

A dream riddle from the mind,
From Priscilla

World's Over Journal Jane's Heart

       Dear Charles, the whole world changed seemingly right before our eyes. One moment, that seems a distant memory clouded by a thick low lying for - which I have no desire to alleviate - we were stumbling on the brink of a final world war; huddled together in the Bahamut quadruped crab tank with the rest of the family members, whose names I can no longer recall. Neither Priscilla or I can remember the name of her... Well, I am her mother now, but we'll get to that.

Where the rest of our tank unit ended up, who knows, I'm sure they had their chance to survive in flight and peace or to perpetuate the battle scene we were speeding towards, a land of ruin. I don't want to remember the stone towers that lay fallen, the ash that covers the dead from our own weapons, a destruction we conceived nearly brought all the earth into eternal silent mourning.

A month we've walked this beautiful earth. My darling Charles, have you seen with your brilliant green eyes the way this majestic forest lives? From the smallest insects stammering about in the underbrush and dust to the Trolls who've fashioned a city out of the mountain side, everyone is at peace. There are several tribes of Immortal Races in the valley, from elves and angels to trolls, goblin and daemons, all attempting to fashion what the human race could not, harmony.

Where once my heart cared only of our day to day survival on our homestead of reasonable comfort and stability of life, I've discovered that my soul longs to attach itself to this majestic and mysterious this world and the peoples who live within it. No hiding or running away, Freya, Toki, Kensori they are our friends, all of whom Priscilla has taken a fast friendship with, going so far as to even learn a great majority of their language, even in such a short time as a few days. Shall we tear down our bubble, our tree house, I think not. But the prejudice of the old world, illegitimate perceptions of the unknown, we must break down and set ourselves free of. Priscilla deserves a world where harmony reigns, by choice it will exist; Lived by those who stand vigilant in virtue.

I want us to make a vow, provided you agree,  before the Troll Tribe that we will care for Priscilla as our own, that she is to be our daughter until the end of all things or time itself. I know you haven't spent much time with Priscilla, but I sense that your heart is changing as well. Though we are apart and there is no end in sight of our departure adventures, I know we shall see one another again. That you are a stronger and wiser man than ever, please don't forget our future is here and now. The past is not ours to hold onto, though we are in part responsible for the travesties, remember today and hold not onto yesterday.

I love you! Shall write again when I have time, Priscilla, Toki and I are heading with the royal court to the fountain before the gates, apparently late last night a small band of undead warriors arrived and wait patiently in the vale for the Trolls to send an envoy. Priscilla is rather excited to meet a lich for the first time. I just hope that my being creeped out doesn't show on my face and in my mannerisms around them. I must learn to give everyone of any race their own chance, for the Trolls have been lovely hosts! We shall see what types this band of undead warriors are.

In earnest anticipation of,
Jane
       Without you...

Charles & Ravice

I meandered slowly back through the labyrinth of shoji screens several moments later, only after pondering over the words of the young mouse. She had spoken with such a bitter passion, contempt and rage in her eyes mingled with pain and remorse.  Could it be that  Jane and I had been destined to cause some unfathomable ill fortune, bringing on a  tale of woe fated news, that we were unaware of?

I admit that when I fired the laser to fell the tree that would be our home, I had not thought for a moment of the world outside of Bahamut's Tomb. The plan was to obtain freedom and a new home in a freshly fallen tree, a stump to carve and call our own.  It had never crossed my mind that there world be thousands of sentient mouselings could have lost their lives when I pulled the trigger. I pulled the trigger...

My head swam in a torrent of doubt as awe overcame me. 'Had my actions caused the deaths of so many,' the though riddled itself over in my mind, the depths of its sorrow hit my soul hard and I staggered. Opening my eyes a moment later, I found myself leaning against the a wooden beam between two shoji screens. How long I stood there silent in the deepest sense of awe, trapped in the immense imagery of inescapable woes, I knew not.

When at long last I looked up, Ravice's eyes were upon me. Gazing down from her perch on Allyndran's shoulder, in the kitchen, as they were preparing something near the stove. A fiery rage emanated from Ravice as her eyes pierced the depths of me, as I stood there, a weak and frail man hugging the wall for fear I should falling, overcome with the grief of truth, aftermath of a caused calamity. Was it remorse for the dead or merely sympathy for my own plight in the moment I recognized a terrible mistake? Even at such a young age, the mouseling knew it was the later.

I closed my eyes to avert her gaze, desiring a moment of reprieve. It seemed but a moments blink, but when I opened them again Ravice stood before me in the door frame of the kitchen at the end of the hall, the fire still blazing in her eyes.

'Arise from the ashes of regret, shame and sorrow,' the black rodent seethed, the fur on the back of her neck, forearms and feet was standing on end, 'from a tomb you escaped but how many did you create in your first endeavour in our world? Can you tell me, man from a distant age of war, greed and pride? You made an escape without venturing forth from the beast's womb to see the world you had awoken into. An utter disregard for life, just like all the others from your era, selfish.' As she finished she turned on her heels, stomped one foot down hard and leapt in a great bounds from the kitchen. When she had made the door, Ravice stopped to gaze over her shoulders at me. After pulling her cloak's red cowl over her head she crossed her arms underneath its crimson sleeves.

Whatever I had done, Ravice's dispute with me and subsequently Allyndrans neglect to acknowledge it, had made me aware the scars I had created. For Allyndran stood silent and forlorn throughout the interaction between the mouse and I. I found it a struggle to speak, to find the words to say in the aftermath...For how can anyone reconscile the unimaginable, the horror of a holocaust.

'I can't imag...' I began though my voice was faint with weakness, but Ravice would not tolerate a response from me, she turn her gaze to the town beyond the threshold wherein she stood, as if I were a foul smelling corpse. 'I'm sorry' the words came out as a faint whisper taken in the wind towards the mouseling who had stood a valiant heroine ignoring her defeated foe. 'How many lost their lives because of me,' the question was directed at no one in particular, a riddle sent into the open air. There was no response from Ravice who took a great bounding leap down the pathway through the garden that lead into the village. There she stopped once more and stood silent. 'Ask Ally, if she can forgive you,' Ravice said with stern wisdom beyond her years, 'If she can then maybe I can as well. For her pain is greatest of all.'

With that she escaped my view beyond a bush of blue roses, venturing down the pathway and into the bustling town. With that I was left alone with Allyndran, where Edgarory was I knew not. I had many questions and had no the strength of will to beseech Allyndran of the woe I had caused her. She was silent and still as a statue, solitude clung  to the air like a low lying fog, it felt as if I were utterly alone with Death, in a room that swam before my eyes as tears unsought swam down my face... Tears of sorrow.

In all hopes of returning,
                                Charles with Edgarory

World's Over Journal XXVIII Magic Water

That evening, after Priscilla had gone to bed, Toki and I remained up late talking before the hearth. The topic which had been eating away at my mind ever since Priscilla had mentioned going to investigate the road hadn't left my thoughts. I turned to Toki and asked about magic.

'Regular magic, cannot be taught, nor is it within the blood,' Toki began in the stern stoic tone which was her way, emotion was only betrayed in glistening shimmers behind her eyes and a minute smile which might be seen dancing at the edges of her lips. 'It is discovered from small manifestations of the will and then harnessed. It takes time, discipline, a good mentor and a wand, of sorts, to make a good wizard, witch or warlock... Though even then things can go wrong as greed, fear and hatred creep in, if the wrong type of magic is mixed in with that type of magician, a necromancer is born; though they are few and rarely survive the transformation from living to undead.'

'That brings us to unliving magic,' continued Toki 'the unholy powers were born of a single entity at the dawn of time. Her will and the magic within went unchecked for an age of the earth, until she fashioned herslf a wand. It was during this time that many creatures and beings began coming back to life, as undead. There are varrying degrees of magic inside the unliving, but what we do know for certain, is that they all share a united memory. Every life that dies brings into the legion's history it's own memories, up until the point of death.

'Do you mean that Priscilla is undead,' I asked Toki my eyes starting to swell with tears as unchecked sorrow began to overcome my thoughts. 'She is just a girl... Was just a girl,' I corrected 'I know she is aging differently than other humans, and that there is something odd about her dragon tattoo, but she didn't die in her hybernation. It was but a deep sleep.'

'Jane, do not fret,' Toki said calmly, seeing my panic, 'It is common for humans to be found in the deep slumber of the final war's magic. No, one truly knows all the magic that moves about the earth, and there is new magic that has begun to stir in the past age, ever since the wand of the Vampire Queen was shattered and the Necromancer was born. What I can tell you is, that as far Kensori and I can tell, she is not one of the undead. Rest your heart and do not fret.'

My nerves calmed and I became less tense, 'well my friend,' I said to Toki in a weary voice as I stared into the fire, 'I must be off to bed as I am ever so tired.'

'Sleep well my friend,' Toki replied, 'tomorrow will be another long day.'

In earnest anticipation of,
Jane
Without Charles

World's Over Journal XXVII Troll History

That afternoon we found ourselves on the top terrace of the Troll Stone Citadel, through out our wonderings Toki told us of how the citadel came to be. That several tribes of Troll had come together ages ago after the war had ended. Priscilla and Toki had been discussing the undead road that passed through the valley again, it was a matter of extreme importance becuase it was the legion had spread the word to all the troll villages as they made their way into the Frozen North. Unification seemed like a good plan at the time, since the Human, yet Immortal Emperor had been gathering and enslaving as many immortal beings as the politicians of the free cities of the northern rainlands would allow without another war.

The three of us stopped for lunch in one of the markets on the third tier from the top, it was only a small square with about eight shops in total. We ate roasted peppers, onions and nuts mixed with garlic and something like humus on the side with a piece of bread. Marggette the shop keeper whose table we sat at told us more about the history.

As the tribes gathered, coming out of the north and a few from the South the village in the depths of the magically protected vale became too small. Thus the need for a citadel, which grew out of a large cave at the end of the village, deep in the vale. A vast and thriving underground city; with lush crop fields in giant halls deep under the earth, guard towers upon terraces stagged in tiers in protection of the city, upon which also vast gardens and beautiful flower beds.

Toki picked up the story where Marggette left off as we continued on our way. She spoke of how the mighty hill trolls had lead the charge into the cave, digging furiously behind them were came the various trolls who had lived in the valley of a time out of mind, it was their desire to show their hearts were with the unification of the tribes. A king for each tribe there had always been, but there too was an emperor and he was from the valley tribe. There had been no squabling or political woes, they were united as they had been in the dark ages of the earth, hidden deep underneath the mountains hidden from humanity.

When Toki had neared the end of the Troll history if the valley we found ourselves back at her dwelling. It seems that we were so occupied with her story and the people we had met and what they added to the story that we had lost our bearings.

'Jane,' Priscilla began as we neared the entrance, 'the next time we are near the road, well I suppose it will be your first time,' she said with a smirk, 'there are two statues which we need to investigate. I wish to see if these memories, that haunt me in nightmares by night and speak to me in day dreams as I walk in the waking world, are really true.'

I remember making a special note at the point, to ask Toki at a later point about the unholy magic that had touched Priscilla as we lay sleeping entombed within Bahamut. In fact, I should make it a point to ask about all types of magic in this strange new world.

In earnest anticipation of,
Jane
Without Charles

Charles & Ravice Calamity Relived

The young black mouse in red and brown had fallen silent, Her head remaining lowered for several moments in the door way beside her mother after a strike of her walking stick, as if overcome by shame or fear; I knew at once it was not from pain for no tears formed in the corner of her eyes. How could a mouse, a child of Freya who was one a strong and wise warrior, who had never yet laid eyes upon me before, fear me.

'Charles,' Ravice began slowly, still staring at the floor, 'You may have never seen me before, but I have laid eyes upon you and Jane. The day you both first came out from your silent tomb.' Still her eyes would not surrender from their intense gaze upon the floor, she was concentrating all her will just to be able to speak to me. 'You remember, the day you fired the laser and the tree fell,' I nodded letting out a barely audible yes. She must not have heard me, or maybe she was lost in the memory of the calamity that errupted the forest into chaos that day.

On that particular morning as the light of dawn penetrated the skies amidst the haze, illuminating the world below in a deep shade of purple, as if twilight had come early, the gigantic steel crab which had rested dormant suddenly woke up. The Behemoth groaned as the ancient gears began to rotate every so slowly, it stopped when its right claw was open and aiming maliciously towards the tree. A beam of living liquid fire poured out from the claw and severed the giganitc Redwood from its roots. Then the menacing steel crab began to raise itself up, pushing hard against the tree, as it did so a wire shot out and a sharp hook on the end sank deep into one of the larger branches just above the Gallant farm, another shot out and sank its single tooth into the mightiest branch of a neighbouring Giant Sequoia and with one great pull of the wires the mouse kingdom began to plummet towards the earth.

The steel beast had calculated the beam and subsequent push to pull measurements perfectly. As the tree fell it collided with no other tree, that is until it hit the mighty branch it was being pulled towards, which did not crack or break under the weight for just as before the collision the crab shot another several wires out sinking deep into the boughs of the falling tree and the steel behemoth pulled hard and the branch acted as a leaver. Hundreds of branches exploded as the falling tree was pulled over the other side of its neighbours mighty branch. As the mangled tree began to roll over the other side it creaked and groaned the sound filled the valley as it began its second descent towards the forest floor, still far below. Most of the Boughs were gone, shattered in the explosion which sent pieces of branches in every direction, mingled in the fall amidst tiny wood chips, pulp and shredded green flakes, which were once leaves, were tears of red rain, blood. The leaf and splinter storm was blinding, much like a mid-winter blizzard amongst the chaos fell the terror frozen, the wounded and the dead.

The tree began its second descended, like a carrot being thrust back into the earth in reverse order, top first. With a tremendous thwomp, which resounded throughout the valley, the Redwood struck the Arbutus labyrinth upon the shallow slope and began to slide down towards the ravine. The labyrinth carried the weight of the gigantic Redwood as it slid, sparing the forest floor from the chaos. The savaged Sequoia quickly found the ravine, it went over the side and began a 3rd, albeit shorter, descent towards the lower side of the valley beyond. It smashed into the forests smoting down deep into the Arbutus labyrinth. The tree became one with the labyrinth upon the far side, and the forest fell silence once again.
Raising her gaze to meet mine, she continued, 'the tragic events of that day were only narrowly avoided, but by the dream of a dear friend. It is her, not you, that I am here to see this day,' with that she bounded off between my legs and down the hall.

In all hopes of returning,
Charles & Ravice

Charles & Ravice

The next morning we awoke to a rapping upon the solid oak frame of the front sliding door. At first I did not rise, expecting to hear Allyndran's cloven hooves upon the the floor as she passed, but she didn't and Edgarory had gone into the undercity last night after dinner. Blinking under the duress of dawn's radiant orange light, I slowly open my eyes. Putting on my pants, tunic and socks I rise, stretching before I turn to the door and walk over to open it.

The hallway is empty as is the rest of the house. There is a knock on the door frame again, though it seems quieter than the first few times and close to the ground. Looking around slowly, scratching my head I walk towards the door. Sliding the thin white screen door open slowly, I find that no one there.

A moment later the knock is there again, but this time it is beside me, on the frame near my left foot. I turn, suddenly completely awake, yet again no one is there. Then there is a rapping upon the frame to my right, I turn but no one is there, yet this time I hear a the giggling between my firmly planted feet of what can only be a mouse. Near the screen door there is another more jovial whole hearted laugh, there before me stood Freya, a wide grin upon her face.

'My friend, I know you are not as fast as once you were,' I said with a sly wink, 'then who stands giggling between my legs?' Freya's bright smiling face quickly turned to stern stone, though I her wink, which was not directed at me.

'Ah that is right,' Freya began with a smirk, 'you didn't meet any of my family during the chaotic season, the aftermath of the falling tree.' A small mouse dressed in a red, brown and orange tunic with a deep gray cloak walked out from beneath my feet to stand beside Freya. 'This is my youngest, my daughter Ravice.' As she finished Ravice gave a deep bow, though earnestly respectful, she had not finished giggling, and so took a rap upon her head from her mother's cane.

In all hopes of returning,
Charles