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[Silent Poet]

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The room smelled of earth and smoke. Poet was staked face down to the ground in the center of a ritualistically purified circle.

The memory of this place and what had transpired here beckoned him across the vast expanse of the intervening years and myriad lives he had since lived.

He could hear the witch chanting her voice seeming to stay both rooted at his feet and moving around him.

This was the ninth time he had been to this chamber. Every year since the age of three and the incident with the wolves, his mother had brought him here secretly.

He felt the sting and burn as her thorny wand repeatedly traced a pattern on his bare back. For the last 8 years this ceremony had ended with him receiving a single strike by a whip that often had to be sewn up.

"Hugh, it is time. I give you this my greatest gifts. Remember that no matter what you become you will always be an highlander born."

Poet shivered, because he rememberd being in that place. He remembered being 12 years. He remembered what was to come next.

"The first one I give to you so that you will know that my love and the love of the clan and the people you choose to let into your heart will be with you always."

He heard the crack above his head and then felt it tear into the flesh of his back. A small groan slipped from his slips and his eyes watered. Then the back of his right hand exploded with eldritch fire as runes appeared there. It was Gaelic and spelled out love.

"Hugh, we must hurry, your father is almost here."

"Finish it then, mum."

Just then the door to the earthen chamber shattered inwards.

"Ye bloody witch! Ye have ruined me first born with yuir treachery and evil ways. I should have done this a long time ago! Hold her still lads."

Poet's father, a man who seemed like a giant to him, loomed in the shattered doorway as the lads from the clan held his mother still.

"I have made him his own man, and given him more than you ever have or will. You will finish my job, just as it was foretold."

"I willna do any such thing ye harlot. Ye willna ever trouble me again."

Poet's father drew the clan sword and thrust it forward. He felt the blood from his mother's wound splatter and drip onto his body. Then the clan lads let her limp body fall and she landed in a heap facing him. Her eyes were nearly lifeless.

"I have always loved you Shug." Poet screamed as his mother coughed and then her eyes went lifeless.

"Ye were going to lead the clan. Now ye have been ruined and reek of witchcraft. I ban ye from these lands for as long as I live."

Poet heard the crackle of the whip and then a searing pain as his father brought a tenth lash wound to his back.

His left hand grew cold and runes began to glow on the back of it. The word was Gaelic for hate.

A building rage swam through Poet's young body and he effortlessly stood ripping the stakes from the ground.

"Stand down or I shall slay ye as ye did me mum"

"Ye are no longer of this clan, ye are a stranger and enemy to me. Dispose of him lads."

The boys and men Poet had grown up with advanced on him, with cudgels and blades.

A young boy's called from beyond the doorway and behind his father. It was Angus. The distraction was all Poet needed. Summoning the energy as his mother taught him, he clouded the men's minds and stepped into the land of shadows and left his homeland behind.

Poet woke up drenched in sweat and his old lash wounds were seeping blood and the runes on his hands were glowing.
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"When he spoke, what tender words he used! So softly, that like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell." - John Dryden

[Sadira Reflov]

---

Velma for the past few nights, had her past revisit her. No matter how much ale she drank, she could not escape the memory.

The fresh air of the farm pentrating her nostrils. Before it had sicken her, but she was getting use to it. Having had worked the farm since she were a mere child, the smell just sorta grew on you. Of course nothing topped the cakes that Naissia made. She could not believe her younger sister could cook so well. Going to buy honey and flour for it, she was more than anxious to get them. Her return home, her body tense at the shouting. Her eyes transfixed upon the men. They looked to be so many, as she kneeled by their broken fence. She gripped on the board, hands clenching, she could smell blood. She felt little trickles down along her arm. But she could not move her head to see what it was...for her gaze was on the men who were...threatening her family. What was she to do, should she remain where she was, or should she...the thought never completed as she heard a cracking sound. She seemingly awoke to her sister calling out her name. Their field seemingy littered with dead bodies and blood. The farms air had taken a change from what she knew, to what she would later know. The scent of blood. It burned a hole in her nostril and her memory. A sharp pain raced along her arm as she clenched her fist. Naissia was bandaging up her arm, as her eyes drifted down upon the lifeless body of her father. The sound of a horses gallop drew her attention to the man running off. His threat of returning echoing in her ears.

The saddest day in her life revisited her often during the sweet nights caress. She awoke to what was like laughter. Her body was drenched with a cold sweat. The area that her arm was hit back then had sharp pain surging through it. Her fist clenched so tight that her nails against her palm brought blood. Luckily this evening, she didn't push Breti out of bed. Quickly swinging her legs over the edge, she moved swiftly to the bar, wearing only her evening clothing. She sat there gazing upon her mug of ale. Softly massaging and caressing her arm. Wondering, why after all these years, this memory had decided to return haunting her again.
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"Nature gave man two ears but only one tongue. A gentle reminder that he should listen more than he speaks."

[Ultima]

---

Ultima slept, this was rare.

Images swam in his mind...

A blood covered note, and the water below clouded red... a taste revealed the sweet, provocative mix that was Kayame's blood...

A red-headed girl with a ponytail, sobbing, stating she didn't love him... the kryss guided by his 'brother's' hand puncturing her chest...

Unclasping a blue cape, draping it across GreyPawn's desk in the White Tower... a note being dropped onto it...

His hand, holding a dagger to the throat of a man with short white hair, and a matching goatee...

A sandy-haired girl with an unearthly beauty to her, sitting on the Moonglow shore... "I'm leaving for Caina," she states.

Himself, dressed in a grey robe existentially similar to the one he wore now... searching the snow-surrounded castle for the girl...

A burning tavern, chokes and screams being heard... a familiar voice among them, and a soon-to-be familiar face approaching...

No... this is the one he knew was coming...

He is much younger, smaller... in a rustic cabin surrounded by greenery...

It is night. His sister... she has retired for the night. He is too excited to sleep. His father and mother are downstairs... he smiles, seeing his mothers shiny blue hair, so like his own, and his father's rough, dirtier blue...

A knock at the door. His father stands, to get it. It swings open... the glint of gold, orange from the flames outside...

The gold-clad woman, she demands that his father submit to a witch-trial by order of Trinsic. She draws a sword, and points it at his chest. When he refuses, she scowls. She stabs him, blood is spilled. His mother rushes to the door. She is beheaded. The torches outside are set to the cabin. The wood catches quickly. Smoke fills the house, he rushes to his sister's door, but it is locked... and very warm. There are screams from inside. His eyes stream with tears, both from the smoke, and... the flames lick up the stairs, and the wall outside. The floor collapses, he is pitched into searing heat. He struggles through a hole in the wall nearby, into the cold night air. Coughing, he hears the... Paladins, yes, from Trinsic... he hears them comment on the murder of his family... "It doesn't matter. They weren't even human..." Sitting, watching his home burn, he pulls his hair down, covering his ears as best he can. He runs off into the night, seeing a soft blue light in the distance...

Ultima's eyes shot open, his hair having fallen away from his ears in his sleep. He touched them softly, and slowly pulled back the covers. He went out to his balcony. "Vith dos." He said to the ghosts of his past.

[Ditto Armunn]

---

Ditto was sitting on the polar bear rug, watching in the mirror as the skull turned round and round slowly in the whisps of decay smelling smoke. Floating in the air on the fumes of rot and vermin, the skull spun faster and faster...it's phosphorescent eyes made of ruby beckoned at her from the darkness.
Inside the mirror, the skull itself began to smoke and a strong smell of death's bones wafted in air, curling it's way into Ditto's direction, assaulting her senses and making her feel light enough to walk on the wind.
She stood up slowly and took a step towards the mirror to go towards the skull. As she stepped inside the mirror, she fell downwards....plunging towards a bottomless nothingness. Stretching out with her limbs, Ditto couldn't hold on to anything. There was nothing to hold on to. Her body tumbled down, round and round like the skull had done. She opened her mouth to scream, but not a sound came from her lips. She just continued falling....downward.....falling....
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The Dark Lady, Ditto Armunn, D|O -(hawk# 232286048 )
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Quote: "Oh Great! First I get stabbed and now I'm bleeding!" - Ditto
[quote="Tarothin Armunn"]I know and I have mood swings like a pregnant woman at times. :/ I'm very random.[/quote]

[Arlin]

---

The sickly sweet smell of sweat permeated the hallowed halls of the Yew Abbey. Arlin gripped his broadsword tightly, the blade seeming to grow heavier and heavier. He licked his parched lips and adjusted his helm for about the seventh time. Looking to either side of him, he could see the full military might of the Yew Militia come to bear.

The sun crept over the horizon, and its light bathed the Abbey in a dark orange glow. Similar to the color of blood.

The sounds of orders being barked and of soldiers getting into palce could be heard outside of the solid oak doors. Suddenly, everything went quiet. Arlin clenched his teeth and tightened his grip on his horse's reigns. This was it. Protus and Thorin stood beside him, both weilding mighty battle-axes. The moment of truth.

Silent Death and Wren stood above them, thier bows at the ready, notched with arrows. The other Militia prepared for the assault on this holy place.

Two large explosions sent the oak doors flying off thier hinges, showing the Militia with splinters, Arlin covered his face with his shield, and lowered it just in time to see the first Moonglow Militia charge into the Abbey.

"For Yew!" was the battle cry that resounded through the halls, as Arlin jumped forward, slashing down with his sword and dazing a young warrior. Two more quick strikes downed the man, his blood spilling onto the white tiles. Arlin looked back up, deflecting the blow from a kryss, and burying his sword in the unfortunate mans chest. He charged through the crowd, surrounded by carnage and death. He watched as Thorin fell to the combined assaults of magic and a hail of arrows.

Fury raged through Arlin, fueled by fear. He could be next. He took his eyes away from his mayors body and turned, bashing a solder in the face with his shield. Just as he was about to land the killing blow, he was knocked to the ground by a bolt of energy. He watched as time slowed, a battle axe descending to split his skull open. His sword moved to parry the blow, but not quick enough to stop the axe from burying itself into his left cheek.

Roaring in fury, Arlin launched himself upward, stabbing the man repeatedly in the chest with the sword, well after he was dead. Arlin was caked in blood, both his own, and that of Moonglows soldiers. Another bolt of energy shot through Arlin, knocking him against the wall, and near unconciousness. The last image he saw was Greypawn, making his way through the red halls of Yew Abbey, before his eyes shut.

Arlins eyes fluttered open and he awake from his dream. He instinctively raised his hand to his cheek, and traced the deep scar that ran from his eye down to his jaw. He sighed and turned over on his side to look at Arcana. It seems his past decided to revisit him more often these days. Arlin placed a soft kiss on Arcanas forehead, and wrapped his arms around her protectively. She buried her head in his chest as Arlin held her.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that he had fought that battle. And in some ways, it was. But the dream didn't sit well with Arlin, and he found difficultly getting back to sleep. Arlin lived off of instincts, and his instincts told him something wasn't right.
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As the fire fades to night, remember always the ember that started it all.

[An Undead Herald]

---

Night fell upon the lands of Malas as it normally would. The citizens of Umbra and the slaves of the Order slumbered as if it were any other night. For those that had been blessed by the Ebon Skull however, this night held something special in store.

The denizens of Charnel Hill that still retained their mortal coil were plagued with nightmares more vivid and intense than anything felt before. Those who had already embraced Entropy and become of the Undead were blinded as visions ransacked their waking minds and plunged them into surreal depths.

Each member of the Order stood alone in the middle of an icy tundra filled with ancient, ruined and crumbling towers of obsidian and bone. Howling winds almost drowned out the howls of the wolves that remained somewhere near yet always out of sight. Before them loomed a cave of ice and stone. Red light danced upon the roof of the cave and flickered outward from the gaping maw of an entrance.

“Qur ralde ura lasuin.” A thousand voices hissed in unison from within the Well of Souls. Even those who had yet to master the Ebon Tongue could somehow understand the ancient Stygian language, “You are our children.” It said.

Suddenly, all of their dreaming visions of the mysterious cave were blocked by a large black skull with violet light pouring out of the cavernous eye sockets. Nothing of the frozen plains and dead city could be seen. Even the frigid sun above had been eclipsed by the revered relic.

“Qur ralde xa da Tazenkof.” it bellowed. “You are of the Skull.”

Currents of electricity and waves of numbing cold came out of the skull’s eyes and flowed through their bodies and spirits. Their frames convulsed and racked in pain whether they lay dreaming in bed or stood lost in their mind’s eye.

“Qura posilun endon incorpus ralde uras!” thousands of tortured, raw throats screamed. “Your flesh and spirit are ours!”

An intensely sharp, agonizing pain pierced the hands of everyone who had touched the Ebon Skull and were found still in its favor.

“Qur bis’mal servolis Nazarieng endon Dazarieng mourn’raletin!” the voices both shouted and whispered at once. “You shall serve Entropy and Oblivion forever!” The all encompassing image of the artifact of Oblivion opened its jaws and consumed its servants, sending them to the final, sweet embrace of the Void.

One by one the minions of the Order awoke from their deep sleep or trance and looked to their hands where the pain had been the most intense. Each and every servant of the Skull found a peculiar brand on their palms. A marking in the shape of a black skull.

[Nightshade]

---

A dark room crafted from the same sand that the house rested upon. Most of the furniture was made of sandstone as it was the most plentiful resource there was. A man slight of build sat in a stone chair, working with various herbs and bowls scattered about the table. Long, jet black hair fell down bare tanned shoulders. However, this Nightshades' eyes were an almost hazel gray and his skin lacked the strange metallic tint that it had now.

He unconsciously rolled over in the bed, bare hands clenching the blankets underneath him. He knew this dream all too well.

Gray-hazel eyes fixed intently on his work, Nightshade picked up a jar full of red and brown flakes, sprinkling it into the bowl in front of him. Blissfully unaware of the events soon to come, he picked up a wooden spoon and began to stir the contents.

Fiery sparks burst behind him, startling him and causing him to knock his work over in his fright. A soft thud sounded behind him, and he slowly turned around to see what had caused all the ruckus.

Clad in light leather armor which was now tattered and burnt beyond use was a petite woman with wood-brown skin and short brunette curly hair. She had fallen face-first to the floor. A pool of blood rapidly spread across the floor, creeping around Nightshade's bare feet.

'I am covered in Mistress' blood.'

Nightshade's face tightened into a pained grimace as he threw himself onto his other side, trapped in his unconscious state to be tortured by his memories for the night.

He now stood in a local tunnel, still humid and somewhat windy like his desert home that it lead to. At his feet was a patch of recently disturbed dirt. His head was bowed and hands clasped in prayer at the gravespot which he hoped would not be disturbed too much.

He stood there unmoving, and the image seemed to last for hours. He had stood there for hours.

Turning around to leave, he almost bumped into a man he hadn't noticed before behind him. With metallic olive colored skin and light clothing that defined him as a desert local. The efreet clasped his hands behind his back, a smug smile on his face.

"You still mourn?" he mused, shaking his head in disapproval. Nightshade's normally calm facade faded to a soft frown, waiting for the man to continue his lecture. "She would be disappointed." The efreet chuckled under his breath and turned his back to the raven-haired man.

"Am I fated to be tormented every moment of my life by you?" Nightshade whispered after a moment of hesitation. "Not even in my sleep will you leave me be..."

The efreet turned around, smiling maliciously. "You tried to use me, she tried to use me, and the fates so far have played in my favor." With a confident and gleeful 'hmph' he added, "Now it is your turn to be used.. They will use you."

Nightshade tensed as the efreet disappeared, his skin glowing with a green metallic tint and eyes shining over to a stormy gray. Two copper bracers appeared around his bare wrists, plain for the most part aside from fitting his wrists perfectly with no visible way to remove or equip them. A light breeze batted at Nightshade's hair as if to greet him and force him to acknowledge its' presence.

His hand clenched one of the bracers, turning to lay on his back restlessly as he slept.