Kasmandre

Fxz'et looked down at the charred remains of his mynock. On the one hand, it was annoying that Zarek was interfering with his tests. On the other hand, knowing that his mag-armor couldn't withstand being run through an ion engine was somewhat valuable information. Not too valuable, though. Fxz'et crouched down, turning over the blackened chunks of meat with one finger until he found a similarly mangled piece of electronic equipment. Apparently, when Zarek was putting it in the intake he hadn't noticed the mag-armor generator. Which meant it had been on the whole time. And that meant that the mynock had survived about ten times as long as the previous one. Feeding off the energy from Zarek's ship had kept the armor from imploding the mynock. So, as long as Fxz'et drew power from the Force, he wouldn't have to worry about the armor crushing him. Pleased with having another creation finished, Fxz'et briefly considered fusing Zarek's landing gear shut just to teach him a lesson, then decided that having charred mynock caked on his exhaust valves was punishment enough. For now.

Welcome, Shathward, good to have you.

Fxz'et stood for a moment, looking down the corridor to where Palu and Reaver had just fought to a standstill. Either of them could have brought down Mira and both were a threat. Even if he managed to finish his mag-armor before whichever one of them was a Jedi decided to kill him (which wouldn't be long if they were half-way intelligent), he wasn't too confident about the armor's ability to deflect a solid blade. He'd made it with blocking lightsabers and blaster bolts, not blades and clubs. They'd both have to die, and if they killed each other, all the better. Anyone could kill them, for all I care, just so long as I don't have to go against them...a few words whispered in the right ears should do well enough. "After all," he muttered to himself, "'Reaver Malice' is playing things up a bit. Might as well wear a name tag saying, 'No, really, I am a Sith!'" ooc: j'accuse Gryphon/Reaver Malice

Fxz'et stalked back to his quarters, considering the lightsaber duel he'd just witnessed. Normally, something like that would have been forgotten as soon as he'd seen it. He had no skill with a lightsaber and no appreciation for those with that skill. If you had to hit the other guy with coherent light, you'd seriously screwed up somewhere earlier in your planning. But this one stuck with him for some reason. Probably because it wouldn't be the last over the next several days. Fxz'et had no illusions that all the students would be doing detective work looking for Jedi. Most of them would probably just take the opportunity to get rid of their least favorite people. Fxz'et knew he would. As he entered his quarters, he sent out a command through the Force. All around the room, droids and machines that had been gearing up to kill whatever came through the door immediately deactivated. Another benefit of Fxz'et's rare force skills with mechanical things. The last student to try sneaking into his quarters wound up in three-centimeter cubes. Sitting down at a worktable cluttered with parts scavenged and stolen from throughout the academy, Fxz'et pulled out his new lightsaber. Now nearly complete, it looked no different than any other lightsaber, although a little shorter than most. Also, it appeared to be attached to a wristband. After a few final modifications, Fxz'et closed the access plate and strapped the lightsaber to his wrist. He hit the activation plate on the wristband and the lightsaber sprang to life. Strapped to his wrist, it looked more like a great red claw extending out of his arm than a sword. Also, it didn't glow passively like other lightsabers. The blade flashed and flickered, emitting horrible screeching noises. The mynocks tethered in the corner screamed in pain at the ear-splitting noise. Fxz'et smiled. He may be among the worst lightsaber fighters in the academy, but with this blade, his opponent would be fighting the sound and light of his weapon more than he'd be fighting Fxz'et. Deactivating his new lightsaber, Fxz'et pulled his mag-armor to the center of the workspace. Although armor that crushed the user certainly had uses, he would need armor that worked properly if he was to crush his foes.

As the other students left the meeting hall, Fxz'et caught up to Mira. She gave him a sideways glance, not sure what to make of this as Fxz'et rarely came out of his own world enough to notice the other students. Before she could ask, though, Fxz'et spoke. "A Jedi in the Academy...seems like a rather stupid move. Especially to reveal themselves so early in the game. They'll be hunted by everyone here. And, considering what a rock Korriban is, they'll be trapped here." He paused for a moment, then, as if it had just occured to him, "Unless of course they had their own means off the planet." "What are you talking about?" Mira asked coolly. The Verpine hardly ever spoke, and now he was babbling riddles at her. "Hm?" Fxz'et acted startled, as if he'd barely noticed she was there. "Oh, nothing. Just thinking out loud, I suppose. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I left one of my mynocks in the fuel intake of Zerek's starship. He should be full by now." He then hurried off, hoping his suggestion had taken hold. ooc: Akallabeth - Zarek Because I always wanted a ship...

Fxz'et struggled with the mynock, pulling it by the chain he'd attached to it to the stake he'd planted in the yard. He briefly considered cutting off both the beast's wings, but decided that injuring it in such a way would cause problems in his test. Still, the frustration at getting nowhere with the mynock was getting to him. Fxz'et lashed out through the force at the creature's little mind. For a wonder, it worked on the first try and the mynock fell to the ground, stunned. Usually, such a task took a few shots as Fxz'et's ablity with living minds always left something to be desired. The only thing that allowed him to sleep soundly around humans like Que-essa was the knowledge that they wouldn't know their way around an Verpine's thoughts. Turning his mind back to the task at hand, he chained the mynock to the stake and quickly harnessed the mag-armor generator to what he supposed could have passed for its chest. He'd found a small cluster of infant mynocks attached to the power arrays of one of the shuttles that had come in recently (the same shuttle he'd stolen the pieces for his mag-armor from, actually; hopefully no one will try to land that shuttle in a 0G environment anytime soon...). He'd taken the whole batch and raised them in his chambers. This one was one of the four that had survived his "care." Now, it would tell him if his armor could really resist a lightsaber. Fxz'et activated the generator on the mynock and stepped back. As the armor powered up, the mynock became enveloped in a violet aura. After a moment or two, the humming of the generator woke the mynock and it attempted to fly off, stopped only by its chain. Satisfied that the armor wasn't restricting the mynock's movement in any way, Fxz'et activated one of his lightsabers. As always, the blade felt clumsy in his three fingered hand and the motions to attack with it looked absurd but they worked well enough against a chained foe. The deep crimson blade collided with the mag-armor a dozen times in quick succession. The mynock screeched in terror as it rebounded from the blows, but didn't seem to be injured in any serious way. Satisfied, Fxz'et deactivated the blade and grinned at his latest success. His lack of skill with a lightsaber would matter very little now, and once he finished his new lightsaber, he'd easily be the most formidible student in the academy. His mind was already on his mental blueprint of his new lightsaber when he realized the mynock hadn't stopped screeching. He looked at the creature quizzically, wondering what the problem was. When the mynock imploded in a spray of gore (most of which was contained in the mag-armor's field), he got his answer. He stood there for a minute, considering the factors that could have led to this. Already, he had a half-dozen possible solutions mapped out. He only hoped that he could hit upon a successful one before he ran out of mynocks. If all else fails, though, I could just try it out on one of my classmates, he thought, gathering up his belongings. Zarek's always been annoying and it would be nice to own a starship...

Fxz'et barely registered the announcment and the various scuffles that followed. He was busy and right now nothing in the universe existed except the mechanical pieces before him. The arguments were far enough away that he didn't need to worry anyway. And if they did come close enough...well, he had a few new toys that he'd been meaning to try out. A few crystals rose off the tabletop and settled themselves into the shell of what might become a new lightsaber. Carefully, he likewise inserted the focusing array. He may lack the strength or range of some of his fellow students in psychokinesis, but he surpassed most of them by huge bounds in fine control. His mouth-parts pulled into a grotesque imitation of a smile as the parts fit inside perfectly. Carefully, he used the Force to infentessimily warp the primary strike plate of the focusing array. It was now physically no different, but would conduct energy in a much different way from usual. His "smile" widened. There was no one else in the academy who could have done that. He retrieved the rest of the parts off the table and started out of the cafeteria. He had a prototype of his mag-armor ready and he needed to find a test subject. Before he left, though, he reached out to the various machines of the cafeteria and drew off energy from them, filling himself with glorious power. The caf machine sputtered and shot out a flare of sparks as a good deal of its innard suddenly fused together. Fxz'et's smile returned. Looks like my classmates will have to go without their morning cup of that brown glop. More the pity.

Thanks for the compliments. This was a lot of fun and I can't wait for the next game to start. Playing as a Sith will be a little different from playing as Good Bennet...

The horse stumbled yet again, nearly throwing Good Bennet off this time. Bennet pulled the mare to a stop and righted himself in the saddle. Taking advantage of this pause, he pulled out the piece of vellum Brother Thibault had helped him make. Only, it wasn't just a piece of vellum anymore. It was a map and a big part of God's Plan. Brother Mathieu said so and Brother Mathieu knew better than anyone what God's Plan was. After all, it was Brother Mathieu who told Bennet why all the people had gone to God. Bennet was sorry that he'd gone into the library, but done was done. Still, he couldn't help but think back to the night before... He'd been sleeping peacefully when he was woken up by his door opening. The hooded figure who came through seemed surprised that Bennet was awake and paused for a minute. He pulled a hand from his robes, revealing a glass of water. The figure paused again, then deliberately poured the water onto the floor. Bennet could hear him whisper, "I cannot. God help me, I cannot." The figure lowered his hood and stepped to the side of Good Bennet's bed. "Good Bennet, you have to leave tonight. Hopefully, your disappearance will weigh as heavily on the Abbot as your death would. He must be convinced to block up the heretic works in the library. So, you must leave immediately, without telling anyone." Brother Mathieu paused again, considering. "I'll have to send you to him... As much as I hate him to know I know that sin too... Bennet, how would you like to be with your father?" Good Bennet's horse whinnied, bringing him out of his reverie. He consulted the map that Brother Mathieu had made for him. If he followed it, he'd reach his father. As he started along the road again, he wondered whether Father Gulzar would be surprised to see him.

Fxz'et Race: Verpine (six foot tall insectoids with a penchant for taking stuff apart and putting it back together with "modifications") When he was still a small child, Fxz'et's hive was attacked by a Sith Lord in retaliation for "improper" repairs of his ship (really, he didn't feel like paying for the repairs). Recognizing Fxz'et's strength in the Force, the Lord dumped him off at the Academy and went on his merry murderous way. Fxz'et, like most of his race, is utterly enraptured with technology. Added to this is his proficiency in using the Force to affect all manner of electronics. In the five years he's been at the Academy, he's taken apart almost every piece of technology present at least once and disassembled no less than six lightsabers and reassembled them with improvements: One lightsaber he gave a tri-blade with two blades perpendicular to the other. He failed to tell the lightsaber's owner who lost a leg and his left hand when he turned it on. Another he added a genetic code security device to. Unfortunately, he never programed anyone's genetic code into it, so it doesn't turn on for anyone. A third got a holdout blaster installed. Once again, he failed to tell the owner, who, while fighting another student couldn't figure out why his blade would only fire out blaster bolts. That student will be missed. A fourth exhibited no noticeable change, making its owner incredibly wary of it, eventually building another lightsaber rather than risking using his "modified" one. A fifth he installed a Sith holocron into the hilt. The holocron was meant to teach basic lightsaber technique. The lightsaber's owner, an older student, was not appreciative of the suggestion. A sixth had an entirely silent blade (ie, it didn't hum like a regular lightsaber). No adverse affect came of this one. No one's exactly sure whether the results of the less successful lightsabers (dismemberment, death, etc) were purposeful or accidental. As Fxz'et only modified the lightsabers of those he didn't care for (with the exception of the sixth), accidents seem unlikely. The success of Fxz'et's own lightsabers (he has made four and is working on a fifth, all with special modifications) also belie this fact. Currently, Fxz'et is working on armor capable of protecting against lightsabers. The prototypes he's made seem promising, but no one has stepped forward to test them out.

Happy Birthday!

Good Bennet wandered through the hallways of the abbey, wanting to talk to someone, but finding almost no one around to actually speak with. It seemed like most of the monks of the abbey had gone to God over the last few days. Bennet hoped they were happy with God, but it made things awful lonely. He missed Father Thibault, who'd helped him make his vellum. He missed Felipe, who'd apparently not been sending people to God, but was resting now. He missed Father Gulzar, who'd always been nice to him and had never yelled at him when he forgot to not walk on the lawn. Father Gulzar had been a little funny, too. Every once in a while, he had started to say something to Bennet, but then stopped. Probably something about the lawn. Maybe about the lawn game that he'd put in before he left. Bennet liked the lawn game. He could never remember exactly what it was called, so he just called it the lawn game, but since it was the only game that was played on the lawn, the name made sense. Bennet was on his way to the lawn, when he wondered what happened to the soup he'd left God. He couldn't remember exactly where he'd left it, but he was pretty sure he could find it. After about a half hour of searching, though, he hadn't turned it up. Bennet wondered what had happened to it. After a few minutes of thinking, the answer became obvious: God had picked it up! So, apparently God liked onion soup. Maybe Bennet should get him another bowl of it. After all, no one else seemed to be worried about getting God food and someone needed to take care of it. So Bennet would do it. He snuck into the kitchen and found a pot of soup simmering on one of the stoves. He sniffed it. Barley. Barley and something else. Bennet wasn't sure. But it smelled good, so he figured God would like it. Quickly, before someone could spot him, he filled a bowl with soup (spilling only a little on the floor) and hurried out of the kitchens. Now he just had to figure out how to get this to God. He could always set it down where God would find it again, but he couldn't remember where he'd put it before and God might not know if he put it in a different place. So what could he do... He could give it to the next person who was going to God! But how to know who would be going to God next? Just then, one of the visiting monks passed Bennet, obviously on his way to somewhere. Maybe he was going to God. Bennet caught up to him, stuck the bowl of soup into his hands and said, "Gi' dis to God." Then, he duty done, Bennet started off toward the garden to play a little of the lawn game, leaving a very confused Brother Igottafiln in his wake. OOC: I accuse Eyremon: Brother Igottafiln

Over the last hour or so, Good Bennet had noticed that the monks seemed to be more withdrawn than usual. After hearing bits and pieces of a half-dozen whispered conversations, Bennet thought he had a good idea of what exactly was going on: -Someone was still sending people to God (Good Bennet wasn't sure whether this was a good or bad thing because the Fathers all said it was good, but they didn't look like it was a good thing) -Father Adrian the beekeeper had been sending people to God, but left the monastery to be with God himself (which was good, because he was scary) -Francis went to God with Father Adrian (which was either good or bad, depending on whether going to God was good or bad. Maybe. This is all kind of confusing) -Someone is still sending people to God (Bennet was pretty sure this was bad) -Onion soup would be served at dinner (which was almost as bad as the person sending people to God. Maybe God would want Bennet's soup, because he wouldn't want it. If people were going to God, they could take the soup with them. God may be hungry. Bennet didn't remember any of the Fathers saying anything about giving God food. This didn't seem quite right to Bennet. He should get God something to eat) As Good Bennet picked up his bowl of onion soup, he happened to see Felipe sitting at one of the tables. He looked tired. Sending people to God would probably be tiring. And Felipe was always getting penances. And penances were only given when you were being bad. Sending people to God was bad (maybe). Felipe is sending the people to God! Good Bennet was about to tell Father Gulzar, who was just leaving the dining room, when he noticed the bowl of onion soup in his hands. He stared at it for a few minutes, wondering how it got there, then remembered his plan to give God some food. So, he set off for the chapel instead, pushing Felipe to the back of his mind. ooc: Accusing Venefyxatu-Felipe "the Eternally Punished"

Good Bennet tried to concentrate on what he was doing, but he kept finding himself pulling out the sheet of vellum Father Thibault had helped him make. He knew that he shouldn't handle it too much, he might wreck it and it would be wrong to ruin a part of God's Plan. Vellum was apparently an important part of God's Plan. Father Thibault had told him so. Bennet wondered what else was part of God's Plan. He should ask Father Thibault next time he saw him. Flowers, maybe? Flowers were pretty like vellum and Father Gulzar knew all about flowers. Weeds, too, but Good Bennet was pretty sure that weeds weren't a part of God's Plan. Father Gulzar had said so, Bennet thought. Maybe he should ask again. Or he could ask Father Mathieu. He knew about flowers too. As he pondered this, he overheard one of the other monks talking about Father Adrian and something about his bees. Good Bennet looked up from his vellum. Did the bees get out again? He remembered that last time that'd happened. One of them had stung him and OH! did that ever hurt. Bees probably weren't a part of God's Plan either. Maybe. Bennet could ask Father Adrian about that, but he was a little afraid of Father Adrian. One of the servants (Francis, was it?) had told him that Father Adrian kept bees inside his bee-suit. Good Bennet tried to listen for buzzing the next time he'd seen Father Adrian, but maybe they were just being quiet. Maybe Father Alcott knew more about God's Plan. He could read, so he must know lots of stuff. And books were made of vellum, so they must be part of God's Plan. There were lots of books in the library and they were pretty to look at, but Good Bennet wasn't allowed in there. The one time he'd gone, he'd gotten horribly lost and he thought he'd never find his way out of there until the Librarian found him. Good Bennet shivered at that thought. Quickly, he put his vellum away and got back to work. Of course, it wasn't long, though, before he stopped and snuck another quick look at his vellum.

If you choose not to choose you still have made a choice.Where is this monastery, Swizerland? I feel like changing my vote to you 'cause you fence sit. C'mon, nobody knows anything at this point. You just hope (and pray, in this game ) That one's me. I know that choosing not to choose is a choice. Right now, that's the one I'm making. And seeing that Bennet is still on a "no one's going to die ever again" kick, I can't exactly vote for anyone to be lynched. Now, that's not saying that someone can't convince him. Someone with a glib tongue could get him to vote definitely for someone. And feel free to vote for Good Bennet if you want. I'm sure the other monks'll be fine with you picking on the poor boy

Brother Adrian was passing through one of the corridors whenhe came across Good Bennet. The giant noticed instantly that something was worrying the beekeeper. "Fadda Adian, wha's wrong?" It was a sign of how much stress the monk was under that he didn't even attempt to correct Good Bennet's habit of referring to the brothers as "father." "It's all this fuss about Brother Adelmo..." Good Bennet's face clouded even further. "Wha'bout Fadda Admo?" Oh no, Brother Adrian thought, no one's even bothered to tell the poor boy what's going on. The news just spread so fast, it's easy to remember that poor Good Bennet wouldn't understand any of this. After all, I don't think he's ever had to deal with something like this before. As if any of the rest of us have any experience with this type of thing. "Brother Adelmo was hurt sometime last night and he's gone to live with God." "Fadda Admo commin back, right?" "No, Good Bennet, he won't be coming back. Sometimes people get hurt or old and they go to God and don't have to be hurt or old anymore. Do you understand?" "No." The statement seemed less an answer to Adrian's question and more a simple negation. "None fadda gota God. Fadda's stay here. With Good Bennet. Bennet's good. Bennet's been good. Fadda Admo'll come home. Good Bennet tell God." Before Brother Adrian could try to calm Good Bennet, he was already running down the corridor, on the brink of tears. For a moment, Brother Adrian stood there, shocked, trying to decide whether to go after Bennet or to spread the word of God's indictment. God help the poor boy. God help us all. ooc: Abstaining

I really like this. The way you tie the various colors of the card's front (which I find myself trying to picture throughout, a good sign ), works really well and you stay away from the some of the obvious clichés, which is refreshing. Great job. A few things you might want to think about though. Your rhyme scheme in your stanzas switches between ABAB and AABB. You might want to think about making it uniform and only switching in the PS. I think it would keep a smoother rhythm and emphasize the last stanza. Another thing you might think about changing is in the fourth line of the fifth stanza ("Was blue..."). Ending a sentence in the middle of that line feels a little strange and if it was made one sentence, the breaks in the last stanza would be much more noticeable. Very good, though. I wish I could write something like this for someone.

Flushed from running to tell yet another of the newcomers to stay off his lawn, Brother Gulzar walked back over to the garden, muttering to himself about inconsiderate walk-everywheres and bryony sprouting all over his lawn. He'd only just gotten back to work when he spotted someone else leaving the path out of the corner of his eye. He jumped to his feet, ready to lay into whomever was violating his lawn. "Geroff-" He trailed off with a sigh when he saw who'd left the path. The tresspasser was hard to mistake. Towering over any monk in the abbey at six feet, with lanky brown hair and eyes without a trace of guile or malice in them, Good Bennet was easily the most recognizable person at the abbey. He'd been left at their doorstep seventeen years ago by a whore who claimed his father was here, although she never said who the father was. Like most of the brothers, Gulzar felt a kind of guilty duty to the softheaded giant. After all, he was the closest thing to a son any of the monks were like to get. "Good Bennet, I told you, stay on the path. See the path?" Gulzar said softly, pointing at the garden path. "See the path! 'G-off d' lawn!'" Good Bennet chimed happily. Gulzar smiled at the imitation. "Yes, off the lawn, Bennet. Why don't you go down to the stores and pick me up a sack of fertilizer. The sooner this byrony grows, the sooner I get it out of my lawn." "F'lizer! Off t' the stores!" Bennet replied, setting off straight across the lawn. Gulzar sighed inwardly, knowing there was nothing to be done for it. As he walked back to his work, he wondered idly if they'd ever find out who Bennet's real father was.

Good Bennet: Bennet was born seventeen years ago, the child of a whore who didn't want him but didn't have the heart to kill him like her matron advised. Instead she left the child on the doorstep of the monastery with the following note attached: "I kant kare for a babi. He shud b wit his fadder. Tayk kare of me Bennet." None of the monks stepped forward to claim the child (for obvious reasons) and he was raised collectively by the brotherhood. Unfortunately, Bennet was a little slow. He never learned to read and his speech and actions remained like a child. He did however, grow up to be a very large man, standing a full six feet tall with a great deal of tightly corded muscle. As such, he's used for any task requiring a good deal of strength. Bennet is happy to help any member of the brotherhood all of whom he refers to as "fadda" despite continued efforts to teach him the word "brother." Over the last seventeen years, Bennet has become as much a part of the monastery as any of the monks, but because he lacks the capabilities to actually become a monk himself, they call him "Good Bennet" instead of "Brother." The subject of his paternity does come up from time to time with several different brothers whispered as possible candidates. Officially, they collectively claim that the whore was mistaken or lying to make sure they'd take him in. Bennet doesn't appear to take after any one of the brotherhood, but everyone has their suspicions. As earlier stated, Good Bennet is a veritable giant at six feet tall, with lanky brown hair and big brown doe's eyes (he's such a sweetheart ). He can usually be found smiling vacantly in the stables, where he enjoys feeding and taking care of the horses, or wandering the hallways of the abbey, loudly greeting anyone who passes. OOC: If anyone would like to have the "dirty little secret" of being Bennet's father, PM me. Your character will have to be over 30 years old, though, for obvious reasons.

I've been seeing these for the last few months, but I was never around when sign-ups were happening. Looks like my luck has changed (at least until I get offed, I suppose ). I like the idea of the TV serial. If we go with that one, I'd like to play a creepy gaffer who spends all his time up in the catwalks.

I've been on a few scavenger hunts in my day... One time, in high school, a few of us were hanging out at one of my friends' house and (having nothing better to do at the time) had a scavenger hunt around her subdivision. Basically, it involved going up to people's houses and asking them for various items. The only item I really remember was '3 grapes' because the way my team solved that was by getting a can of fruit cocktail from one house. We figured there had to be at least three grapes in there. We wound up losing by one item, but I still think our grape solution meritted bonus points. Another time, a little over a year ago, my dorm was having a photo scavenger hunt with the purpose of familiarizing the freshmen of the dorm with Chicago (which is about a 30 minute train ride south). One of the things on the list was to panhandle $2 from people on Michigan Ave (the "Magnificant Mile", the main shopping drag in Chicago). One of the people my group asked someone for change who happened to be a panhandler himself and a heroin addict besides. He was actually a pretty nice guy and gave us a few pointers about the panhandling trade. In the two and a half years I've lived near Chicago, this is probably the sketchiest thing to happen to me. Scavenger hunts really tend to make for good stories.

Overture: Storyteller's Prerogative Lie back, children and hear a tale of the days of old. Listen well and I'll tell you of the heroes of the West. Of Jamie the Kind. Of Ramburt the Bold. Of Aeron the Beauteous. Of Tybalt the Devious. Of Darion the Wise. And of Bethany the Quick, greatest of them all. Oh? You say you've heard all the old stories? You could recite the tales yourselves of how Ramburt rode three nights straight to warn the King of the Arhur's treachery (except of course for those of you who'll tell me it was ten nights and all through snow), of how Aeron seduced the warlord Brecct while Tybalt led an army into the enemy camp, of how Bethany settled the quarrels between the Northlanders and the Krosos, of how Jamie held the Tower of Souls with only his quarterstaff and his courage, of how Darion the Wise ended the Age of Fear when he gave his life sealing the Passage of Eternity? Well, I don't doubt for a second that you know all these stories and a hundred thousand besides. There isn't a child from the Gray Marsh to the Terrible Cliffs who hasn't heard these stories from their fathers and brothers and uncles and mothers (for isn't it the mothers who are the finest storytellers?). But have you ever heard the story of how Jamie earned his sword? What, you say? Jamie never had a sword? Nonsense! There wasn't a man among the Horselords who didn't know the sword as well as their own wife. What? You didn't even know Jamie was a Horselord? Well, then, I suppose you never heard of his brother Derek, either. Or of the great feud between Ramburt and Darion. Or of how Tybalt came to need the aid of Darion and owe him a blood-debt in the first place? Did it never strike you as odd that Aeron, the most beautiful woman to walk this side of heaven, wore a cloak and death's head mask into battle? Or that Tybalt was the only left-handed member of the Tyrian thieves? None of you thought to ask your mothers when Jamie made his famous oath? Or where Darion learned his art? Or how such an inexplicable mish-mash of fighters and cheaters and dreamers became the greatest names ever known? How these six came to know and love each other in the first place? Well, it seems you barely know these heroes at all. Gather close, children, and I'll tell you a secret: every one of these brave men and women was once an ordinary person like you and me. They, too, once sat on their mother's knee and heard stories of heroes so brave and true that they couldn't possibly be real. They played games and told jokes and did all the things little children do. If you'd known any of them back then, you wouldn't see any difference between them and other children. They didn't glow or speak in tongues or possess superhuman abilities. They were normal, everyday children and grew into normal, everyday adults. So, you must be asking yourselves (for I know you're all wise children, wise beyond all years) how did they become heroes? How did these perfectly normal people grow so tall with shadows so long? Well, like most stories of the Heroes, it begins with Bethany...

Katzaniel and Sardin pass through the portal, feeling only the slightest lurch as the dragon's chanting falters. In the twinkling of an eye, they appear on Darkening Earth. Appropriate to the name of the world, it appears to be quickly approaching dusk where they land, although the sunset is hidden behind the enormous skyscrapers that flank the wide stone path they appeared in the middle of. Before either adventurer has a chance to properly gain their bearings, though, a bright light bathes them from behind and they are assaulted with a cacophony of honking and screeching. Katzaniel turns to see a hulking metal thing bearing down on them just in time to yell a warning to Sardin and leap out of the way. Sardin turns a half second later, but in that half-second the metal behemoth has closed most of the distance between them. No time to get out of the way. Just before the car can hit him, Sardin explodes into a whirlwind of sand which swirls around the steel thing as it passes through the cloud of sand and comes to a screeching halt on the other side. A second later, Sardin reforms, looking none the worse for the experience. Meanwhile, a door on one side of the thing opens and a very upset man storms out with a odd looking metal device in his right hand. He walks right up to Katzaniel and starts yelling in her face, "You stupid freakin' morph! Don't you have enough sense to stay the hell out of traffic? I damn near hit you, and, I swear to God, if you so much as dinged my fender, I'll put you out of your misery!" Katzaniel draws herself up to her full height, making sure that the man can see her spear. "Excuse me? You almost run me over and you blame *me*? If you don't get back in your little carriage, I do more than ding your fender!" The man takes a step back, a little surprised at Katzaniel's outburst. Obviously, he expected her to back down meekly, but "backing down" and "meekly" aren't exactly familiar terms to Katzaniel. Still, he plunges on, more on bravado now than actual anger. "Oh, really? Well, let's see how much your little stick helps you when you've got a hole in your freak chest!" He raises the strange device, aiming it at Katzaniel's heart. Before the situation could get any worse, though, a flash of sliver passes between the two of them and the muzzle of the man's device falls away, sliced off cleanly. The man stands there in shock for a moment, then looks down at his ruined gun, to Katzaniel, to her spear, and then to Sardin, who looked like he was looking for his excuse to cut off more than the man's gun barrel. This guy might not be the brightest torch in the castle, but he knew when he was outmatched. He sprints back to his car, slams the door, and speeds away, shooting fearful glances in his rear-view mirror. Katzaniel watches the car speed away, then takes a look at their surroundings. It doesn't take long to note all the things that seem to have gone wrong. "Hey, what's going on? Where are the others, why did that stupid dragon put us down right in traffic?" Sardin looks around, appearing very annoyed. He says something under his breath that Katz can't understand, but she feels it's safe to assume that it's a curse. she nods agreement, then says, "We've been here for long enough that they should have gotten the portal back open, if they're ever going to. No point in staying here, where anyone can see us. Let's find that Treme guy and his book and get out of here." Sardin shrugs and starts off the street, hardly able to help noticing the people staring at the unusual pair. They could hardly expect anything else after the show they just put on. The tigertaur squints briefly at her companion's rude response, but follows. "Have you been in this place before?" Sardin shakes his head absently, his attention more on the impossibly tall buildings that seem to be all over the place in this world. His partner follows his eyes, wondering what he's trying to say, but decides that none of the buildings would make for good cover. "Look," she says, rushing to walk beside him rather than behind, "I stand out here pretty badly in this form. I can take any cat shape, but I lose the ability to speak. Should I just shift? Do you know where you're taking us?" Sardin stops for a moment and appraises Katzaniel's male upper body and tiger back, then glances back at the street. Katzaniel is right that she stands out here. But changing shape in public probably won't help things either. After another moment scanning the buildings to both sides of the street, Sardin starts toward a narrow alleyway. A quick glance down it reveals one inhabitant: a passed out wino. He gestures for Katz to follow. She does, eying the prone body suspiciously. Soon there is nothing on two sides of them but solid brick, and a third wall made of stacked garbage. Sardin turns to Katzaniel and stares her directly in the eyes making sure she understands what he's going to try to "tell" her. He folds his hands in front of him as if praying then opens them, then he shrugs. After repeating this a few times, Katz understands: he doesn't know where the book is. As soon as she figures that out, she curses. "Do we at least know where *we* are?" As Sardin shakes his head in negation, Katzaniel suddenly remembers something. "Wait, Scarlot mentioned a scroll that would tell us more. You've got that, right?" Sardin reaches for his belt, then sighs and shakes his head again. He glances at Katz and realizes right away that she's got no place for a scroll. He makes the "book" sign again then a chopping motion. Katz doesn't need to see that one again. With no way of knowing if they're in the right place and no information on where to find the book, finding it would be nearly impossible. She groans, obviously torn. "Scarlot is going to kill us if we return without that book. If we caused this much commotion coming into this world, perhaps the others did too. Let's get to the nearest inn and see if we can't overhear something about them." Katzaniel effortlessly shifts into a large tomcat, black and orange with a white patch on the tail for easy identification.

Kasmandre the Koot stands in the back of the auction hall, hurriedly counting up his coppers on a table. After getting four different results in as many counts, he gives up and shouts to the front: "10!"

Wow, thanks for the votes everyone! And here I voted for Katz's entry. Heck, I'm just surprised I did so well against these great writers. Thanks again.