Solivagus

Too late When I'm gone will you even care or will you even realize that I’m not even there? When I’m gone, You will regret everything you said, And I hope you live in pain, Once you hear that I am dead. Pull the rope tight, Let go and let me swing, And notice that to you, My life didn't mean a thing. So there I will hang, With no movement left to share, Will you notice something, When tomorrow I’m not there? So, you got what you wanted, You chose my own fate. Oh, so now you want to help me... Well, I’m sorry, you're TOO LATE!

Is self hate the same as self pity? Self Hate The days bring the smiles Whilst the nights bring the screams Every day the same trials Every night the same dreams Drowning in anger at the world Stunned by self hate Watching what's unfurled Myself I Berate Disgust, revulsion, shame I feel…when I see me Tired of this game I try to flee Knowing I can’t trust Therefore I cannot love Though I feel this is not unjust I curse those from above Desiring a soul mate To be loved by one Is something I learned to hate For me, it cannot be done The mask begins to fade And I die inside As I cut I feel betrayed As my feelings collide

My first attempt at a non-rhyming piece. More than any other so far, I wonder if this is truly poetry, or merely ramblings. Sickness took my soul and gave birth to my insanity Bent twisted in a burning agony, Feverish with a wish to die, A desire to end this torment, Surrounded in filth coated in slime, Living in my own self made hell, Torn from the living eaten from within, Leaking tendrils of corrupted sickness from my pores, Aching eyes red and swollen, Flaking skin cracked and oozing, Goblets of yellow fluid drip with stench, Great mounds of rupturing waste, Cover my body like unwashed sweat, Wracking coughs torture long abused lungs, Flies feast upon my wasteland, Maggots drill through my veins, Ugliness swims through my soul, My blood burns with disease, I feed upon my cracked teeth, Crunching and swallowing, Gums continuously bleed, And yet my heart ticks on, This is my tapestry to my withered existence, My misery leaks from my bloated shell, Covered in gangrenous sores, I exist yet wish and for an end, Pain rips through my bent frame, A pulsing wretchedness takes over, Emotions spew forth in a jumbled mass, Screaming gore splatters crusty walls, Madness seethes with tortured sorrow, I wished for death yet find only endless horror.

I Hurt Take me away from all those I hurt, Peel me away from this life I live. Set fire to my body and burn up all the lies, When I'm gone I'll have no pain to give. I always see that look in your eyes, You say it isn't there. It's that awful look of hatred, But I’m sure that you still care. I break everything I touch, Hurting everyone I know. No one leaves unhurt, At least that's what they tell me so. They love to watch me hurt who I love, They like to play games with my head. They laugh at the pain I seem to cause, I'm really just better off dead.

Hide From Sleep Never want to sleep again, Because you haunt my dreams. I hide in my insomnia, I'll never rest it seems. Small distractions comfort me, Keep thoughts of you at bay. But sooner or later my mind will slip, Looks like you're here to stay. So weary of your persistence, There's nothing I can do. How much I wish to sleep again, But there's nothing I can do.

Are they the ramblings of Mad Heinrich, or do they make sense? Shattering Mask. Sometimes I feel I don't belong here, I want to go so far away, But something always holds me back, Forever telling me to stay. I long to lie in darkness, Have it wash over me, But there's the light that shines I wish that I was blind, it wouldn't make me see. I wear my mask of happiness, Hoping it will never break, Not a crack upon its skin, But how long will it take? See it start to crumble, When it shatters so will I, Then you'll see the real me, Hidden behind my wall of lies.

Well, at least if all the pins from the grenades go missing they'll know who to blame...and while you're away, all the other kenders will be defenceless. I suggest you warn them about my Staff before you go. It would be unfortunate if it were to fall into the wrong hands...

Heinrich shoots sparks towards the kender, wrapping the little squeaker in light-you go dying on me and I'll burn ya to a crisp Have fun, if fun is allowed in the army.

This is going to eventually be part of a Heinrich story, but as it doesn't have him in it and the staff won't come in to use for a fair time I wasn't sure where to put this, I'll leave that problem with the elders . By the way-need some advice with this. Should the word "Staff" always begin with a capital, since it's been given a title? The Staff, dubbed the Staff of Truth, revolved slowly in its prison of light and dark. Half black, half white, the wooden ends were separated by a long strip of metal. The dark side of the Staff was carved with horrific, frightening runes and seemed to radiate darkness. Men who looked to long upon that side were said to go mad, and those who touched it to be incinerated. Now gaze upon the bright side. Shining bright as if to try both to drown out it’s twin and to balance it, it seems also to radiate power, but one of beauty. The runes carved upon this end drew the eyes of men to it, and it was claimed that this side would never harm another being. Or so it was said. Rumours though, that’s all they were. For no one had touched the Staff. No man alive had seen the staff save for the Lords and the High Judge, and they only for a few seconds, for they knew that the rumour of madness at least were true. They tried with all their might to remove the Staff from its prison, to release it to work wonders with its legendary power, or to destroy it and prevent the dark side from destroying the land, but all to no avail. The Staff was not made for them. Oh there were legends of course, there always are. There were legends that the Staff would one day be taken up by a man who would wield it for good or for ill. Whispered talk travelled at night, and it had to be at night and in whispers. The legends were that only a true High Judge could grasp the object said to be the essence of power, and yet the High Judge could not retrieve it from its resting place. These rumours were crushed as soon as found, crushed by the army dubbed the White Cross, the army that answered only to the Lords and the High Judge. They did not appreciate such talk. But no one, whether Lord, Judge or soldier, could entirely quell the talk of the world…

Cheer as well? Great work

What then is happiness? Does it bring joy or great strife? What then is happiness? Is it another part of life? What then is happiness? Can it be bought? What then is happiness? And can it be fought? What then is happiness? How much can you share? What then is happiness? And should I really care? What then is happiness? Where is it hidden? What then is happiness? And can it be bidden?

It comes in the night, Staying just out of sight. It appears in the sun, Having its fun. Death stalks us all, Summer or fall. It always draws near, Tasting our fear. It brings out the best, When sending us to rest. It brings out the worst, For those who are cursed. Death stalks us all, Summer or fall. It always draws near, Tasting our fear. It's work's always done, No matter how hard we run. Doctors and religion, Are merely a fiction.

Solivagus doubles up in his armchair at the mental picture of the lizard in sunglasses, but stifles his laughter enough to hug Appy hello and well done, before dropping back into his armchair trying not to look embarrased.

Seven Wards of ancient lore, For earth's protection, wall and door. And one High Judge to command the Law, To wield the staff and guard the core. Seven Words to name evils might, To bind it's cruel, foul might. And one pure Judge to wield the staff, To bar the earth from evils sight. Seven hells for failed faith, For earth betrayers, man and wraith. And one brave Judge to stem the tide, To stop the evil calling foes to it's side.

Thankyou for those words Peredhil. And thankyou for your support when I needed it. I don't know what I would have done without your help.

As said in another forum, Heinrich has returned... Heinrich thrust himself angrily away from the fire. That time was over. A memory relocated to the back of his mind. Never to be forgotten, but not to be dwelled on either. He knew if he dwelled on it he would be truly mad and sink into oblivion, and leave the world to his fate. With a heave of muscles unused to exertion he rose to his feet. He through his stick aside angrily and picked up his staff. This was no staff to lean on. It was not a prop kept nearby for him to lean on, as some believed. Look at it, see it... It is carved with a multitude of runes, a complex design of symbols that even he, Heinrich, did not understand fully. Some of the figures carved upon the oaken staff were so beautiful to behold that eyes wept when they rested on them, wept at such beauty that it pierced the very soul of the beholder. Others, however, were dark and evil. Twisted lines that dipicted scenes too terrible to describe. Men shuddered at the sight of the symbols, drew back with fear and revulsion from the wielder. Whether it was magical or not Heinrich was unsure. That it was a mark of who he was, a paradox, he was certain. Good and evil, light and dark, despair and hope, Heinrich was indeed a paradox. There were rumours of course. Heinrich smiled grimly at the thoughts now running through his mind. There were always rumours. Some believed it held power, some believed there was no good in it merely a curse of chaos. It is suprising what some people will believe. Heinrich walked down the hill that had been his home for many years, just how many he was not certain, but it seemed like a lifetime. Plans were already whirring through his head as his feet led him downwards. Clothes, clothes and a shave. He looked with disgust at his robes. A symbol of seven circles, one inside the other surrounding an emblem of a dark red serpent was the only thing clear and visible. That symbol meant something he was sure, but for the moment understanding eluded him. Heinrich shrugged. That was something for another time. My apologies that this is even shorter even than my other pieces, I plan on making them longer, and of writing a true and complete story of Heinrich and his travels throughout the land.

I pace around my room, anger etching my face. Exactly 5 paces-such a small room. But here, here and in mIRC I am free, unlimited space for unlimited work. I promised myself I wouldn't come here. Promised myself I'd stay away. People calling me a liar, people claiming I invented everything. EVERYTHING they claimed! So I took a vow never to return to this place, never again to set foot inside these halls. But here I am. Writing again. Rambling on endlessly in a room I can pace for a lifetime and never reach the end. Pathetic, isn't it? I don't even have control over my own mind. I try so hard to concentrate, to stay away and to keep my vows, but my mind betrays me. So here I am, back after a long, long time. Who cares if they call me a liar...I suppose I do but that's not enough. I hear voices in the wind, hear them whispering in my ears, telling me what I must at least TRY to do, no matter what I promised. And so I take up my pen again, and try to think of something to write, while hoping that the people who called me a liar, a fraud, a person who created an entire web of people out of THIN AIR, will change thier minds in time! Heinrich will come again, facing his demons and fears, breaking his oaths made in anger and despair. Heinrich will come again, just as I have. Forgive me, all who I have wronged, and thankyou Elders, for not hounouring my request to delete my account.

Aw man, I suppose I've gotta start commenting on work as well as improving my writing. Congrats to all who increased....

Writing is one of the only pleasures I have left, so humour me. In memory of Sas, this actually has a girl in it. Heinrich stared darkly into his small campfire, remembering the days of his life. He prodded the fire with a nearby branch, sending sparks into the air. As he stared deeper into the fire a vision began to appear. His heart wrenched as he recognised the vision that was forming, but his eyes were no longer under his control. Horrified, he looked on... The day was bright, the sun lightening Heinrichs heart as he walked through the forest. Birds called to each other, and as he listened he thought he could make out the words they were making. Quietly he laughed at his foolishness. Hearing voices in the song of birds! A squirrel chittered at him as he walked too close to the tree it had claimed as his home, and he marvelled at the wonders that nature provided to it's denizens. Where else but in the forest would you find such calmness of spirit even in the warnings of creatures? His footsteps were light, both out of happiness from this glorius day and for fear of breaking anything that nature had formed and ruining it's beauty. Soon he was in the very heart of the forest. A large oak spread it's branches around the small clearing that was present, seeming to embrace the area with warmth. Here it was that he had met Her, here was where he found contentment. Heinrich froze suddenly, the laughter dying in his throat, his happy mood vanishing as if by magic. Around the clearing were dark stains in the grass. And there, in the center of the clearing, was a body. It had been rituasticly carved, signs had been cut into the body's pale, fair skin. Blood soaked the area around the body, formed in the same signs as thoughs on the flesh. Heinrich walked horror struck towards the body. He had to know who it was, although his mind already screamed the answer. His eyes lingered on the stars, circles and crosses that had been gouged into the form before him, unwilling to move upwards and view the face. Slowly he forced them up, and gasped in horror as he saw the answer to his thoughts, saw the proof that he needed that his mind was right. There, in the centre of the clearing, lay his bride to be, a scream frozen upon her perfect features, her dead eyes filled with horror and pain. She had not been dead while those who had made the signs were at work. Tears coursed down Heinrichs face as he reached out and closed her eyes, eyes that had once been green and sparkling but which were now glazed in death. His body shook in grief as racking sobs issued forth from him. He had to force himself to breathe, force himself to prevent his hands from drawing his knife and using it to join her in the afterlife. Gradually anger overtook him. His sobs subsided and his eyes, once filled with grief, now burned in anger. He lifted his eyes to the sky and screamed his anguish. Something inside of him began to build, and as he screamed again the whole ground shook with his agony. The forest, once seeming so peaceful, now seemed to mock him. The birds song taunted him and the oak that had once seemed warm and safe became a towering monster, laughing at his grief. He screamed again and the tree itself began to shake. He lowered his eyes from the heavens and directed his full anger at its core. Unreasoning hatred coursed through him. The tree had done this. The tree was responsible. It would pay. His anger poured forth, finding the sap, the very life blood of the tree and turning it to ice. The tree groaned in protest but though it has weathered all manner of natures cycle it had never faced Heinrichs pain. With a loud crack the tree shattered, its branches falling from its trunk as that began to burst as well. The tree crashed to the ground, showering Heinrich with leaves. Still his anger was not satisfied, but there was nothing else to aim it at. Trees were not enough, and the birds had fled. The entire forest had fallen silent at the damage he had caused. His anger instead was focused into the symbols formed on the ground. He would find who had done this deed. He would find them and drain them of life. Today was the day when his heart died. Heinrich shuddered as he finally managed to pull his eyes away from the flames, away from the visions. Why? Why had he been shown that vision? Of all the things he could have seen, why that? Did it matter though? Here he sat now, dressed in rags with a mind crazed by grief. Wild, unshaven he was called mad by both himself and by others. Mad Heinrich, that's who he was. That's who he would always be... I realise my stories are...inconsistent. My mind is in turmoil right now, I can't seem to get things straight in my head. One day it will come to me, and I will be able to write a coherent tale with a proper timeline. Until then, these short tales are all that will appear, and few of them will be joyous. My thanks to all who have read this, if any do...

This is dedicated to Nobody from mIRC. He told me to dream of Sas, so I thought I better write down just what he's asking me to dream... I see a small, thin body, lying peacfully on the bed. So quiet. So peaceful. I draw closer, and see the figures face. It has the face of Sas, and I feel tears start to course down my cheeks at the knowledge of what will appear next. I have had this same dream too many times not to know. Figures surround me, pointing and laughing in contempt at my weakness. Fool, crying your eyes out over one life. You thought you had won. See what pride has cost you? The voices repeat the words, chanting them. I recognise the faces of my brother, my sister, of others I have known and fought. I stare down at Sas' face, knowing what I'll see but unable to stop myself from looking. I see blood. It runs dark and glistening across her face, it forms deep pools of red in the depths of her face. I see lines of blood run into her hair, I try to scream but all that comes out of my mouth are sobs. No more! Please! The people around me laugh louder. You did this Richard! You did this and more! You killed Dawn and you killed Sas and you have lost! Miserably I curl up into a ball, rocking backwards and forwards on my heels while the people around me point and laugh, backwards and forwards as my gaze turns red. That, Nobby, is more or less how my dreams go. I don't have theability to describe them any better than that. Still want me to dream of Sas? By the Seven, someone give me a reason to live...

"Why am I always the one to type the things out?" "Because I'm the one who writes it down on paper!" "You have ANY idea how hard it is to work out what your writing says?!" Richard Sighs. "Just type up the story Sas, I'm too tired to argue" The darkened cavern was alive with dimly seen staggering shapes. Dull eyes glinted in the shadows, decaying limbs dragged on the damp stone floor. The glow of arcane magic swirled around the skeletons that stalked towards the warriors, rusted swords held in their jerking limbs. Dead grins faced the party and an eerie whispering reached their ears as the foetid and decaying puppets of the Necromancer Vormach Sylvas closed in on the outnumbered heroes. They had descended into the darkened cavern through a hole in the roof far above, climbing down a stout dwarf rope and alighting on the flagstones of what they supposed to be yet another long abandoned hall. It was only when movement had started in the shadows, and the harsh words of Necromantic magic rang out that the warriors realised that they had inadvertently descended into a hellhole. Faced by the shambling horde of undead, Gragni Trolldoom had been seized by bone chilling terror, and was rooted to the spot. The magical glow that surrounded Melandron faded to nothing as fear froze the mind of the elven ranger. Even Kulkas had snarled and backed away as the zombies and skeletons approached. It had been Heinrich Kemmler, witch hunter, who had broken the spell. As the walking dead had reached out their decayed and diseased talons to tear out the hearts of the warriors, he had raised his amulet aloft and called upon the power of the Seven to drive out the dark abominations that assailed them. For a moment there was no reply, and the mocking laughter of the necromancer skulking in the shadows filled the hall. Heinrich had not flinched, his faith in the power of the Seven strong in his mind. Then the cavern filled with bright light, incandescent beams of energy radiating out from the witch hunter to throw every small crevice of the cave into stark white illumination. Hissing and spitting, the creatures of darkness were thrown back in disarray, shielding their eyes from the hated brightness. With an effort of will and much cursing, Vormach Sylvas threw his minions back into the fray, forcing them on towards the warriors. But now they were ready for the fight, and met the undead with gleaming steel and powerful magic. Outnumbered many times over, the warriors resolutely determined to fight the deathly creatures. Melandron's upraised fist unleashed a rain of fire upon the approaching zombies, turning them into blazing, staggering figures, ambling stupidly around the cave. Kulkas strode into the midst of the stumbling skeletons, smashing them into slivers of brittle bone with the flat of his mighty sword. Dashing past the enraged barbarian, Gragni Trolldoom dodged the clumsy blows of a mace-armed mummy, and cleaved the decaying lord in two with his mighty axe. Face to face with Vormach Sylvas, Heinrich quickly tucked away his amulet, grinned and raised his sword. The necromancer licked his lips feverishly, looking for a way out. "My creations will be your doom. Your pathetic Seven cannot help you, there are too many of us - we'll get you in the end," the necromancer sneered, backing away as fast as he could. As if they could sense his fear, a shudder ran through the undead throng, and they too fell back for a moment before rallying and continuing the fight. The witch hunter just strode forwards, following the necromancer until Vormach Sylvas was backed right up to the cavern wall. "I will put these poor souls to rest. You have no right to bind them here," Heinrich snarled, raising his sword once more. The necromancer suddenly lunged forwards, and cold steel glittered in his hand, striking for the witch hunter's heart beneath his flowing robes. As the witch hunters sword hilt smashed the necromancer to the ground, Vormach Sylvas's final thought was to wonder why his poisoned blade had failed to penetrate the soft cloth of his adversary’s cloak. The necromancers twitching body slumped to the ground, and as his life ceased, so too did the magic animating the zombies, skeletons and mummies. In a moment, the entire undead force crashed to the ground, a threat no longer, and the warriors breathed a sigh of relief. Releasing the protective magical shield which had been warding off the assaults of a powerful mummy, Melandron shouted across at Heinrich. "Our thanks are in order, witch hunter - are you hurt at all?" Fingering his amulet, which had deflected the necromancer’s blade through the rip in his cloak, Heinrich shook his head. "Nothing that can't be stitched," he grinned. "Is that your idea of humour?" "It's the most I know, yes. Be reasonable Sas, I'm a very depressing person after all." "You don't depress me." True, but you're wierd" "I'll get you for that Rich. Just see if I don't."

“Stay close, by all that is holy, I can feel their unearthly presence.” The witch hunter frowned and motioned for the others to be silent. The holy symbol, which had glowed blue-white in the darkness, leading them on through the twisting maze of tunnels beneath the great city of Morgath, now radiated an ever-glowing light. They were close, Heinrich Kemmler could feel the blood turning to ice in his veins, as it always did when the moment was upon him. His thoughts were crystal clear, time running in slow motion to his highly attuned senses. Behind the witch hunter, the other warriors waited, a few paces back down the dusty passageway. Melandron the ranger faced away into the darkness behind them, his keen eyes scouring the shadows for danger, his right hand grasping the hilt of Faugnor, the sword of his fathers, and slayer of daemons. The ranger’s left hand made strange passes in the air, and Heinrich felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and stand erect as he sensed the currents of magical energy focusing in the sir around the gaunt elf warrior. Kulkas the hulking barbarian seemed unaffected, unaware even, of the flurries of magical energy or the tension in the air. Flexing his immense muscles, the barbarian grinned, showing white teeth, and fondly kissing the blade of his immense sword, as he always did before a fight. “Soon eh, witchkiller, more blood and gold?” The massive sword glinted in the glow of the lantern held by Gragni Trolldoom, a dwarf adventurer and perhaps the most unpredictable of the group. It was the dwarf who had brought them here, after several harrowing months in the Gormach Mountains. Although they had defeated many fearsome beasts and made a tidy sum out of their exploits, the dwarf was still not satisfied. A black deed from his past drove him on, and he would never be free of guilt until he had atoned for his sins or died trying. In the Dark Halls below Manach Gorman he had almost achieved his ambition, as the giant that had been present there had seemed sure of killing them all. Fate had intervened at the last minute however. The giant’s head had flown across the chamber and the dwarf, drenched in black blood, had screamed aloud his victory. At the moment, the dwarf licked his lips in keen anticipation, his orange mohican quivering with barely concealed bloodlust. His thumb ran along the blade of his ancient axe, running in and out of the complex patterns made in its gleaming surface by the many runes of destruction engraved there. Heinrich had seen the dwarf following those patterns even in his sleep, and the dwarfs’ preoccupation with death and killing somewhat unnerved him. “A dragon? Chimera? Griffon? Daemon?” The dwarf whispered the questions eagerly at the witch hunter, who simply frowned and motioned at him to be patient. Heinrich looked at the door before them. It was black, bound in some substance, which he cared not to identify. The words of protective wardings flickered across his mind, but he pushed them away. Useless, all useless, he knew what lay beyond the door would be immune to all but the most powerful of holy artefacts. Slowly, carefully and deliberately, he wrapped the glowing talisman that had led them here, and placed it back in the special pocket in the lining of his voluminous cloak. From another pocket he extracted a small golden amulet. Holding the amulet aloft the witch hunter sighed wistfully. “Cormans’ amulet, perhaps our only chance.” The magical aura surrounding the ranger faltered and died, its energies nullified by the witch hunter’s amulet. This took some effort on Heinrich’s part, as his brow was furrowed in concentration. “Witch hunter,” snarled Melandron. “What are you about?” “No time now, I cannot keep this up for long. I am sorry if it…inconveniences you.” Heinrich’s arm was shaking as he held the amulet. An enraged howl sounded from behind the closed door. “I think you are not the only one disadvantaged by the amulet. Prepare yourselves.” The warriors had barely enough time to ready themselves for combat when the black door flew open before them, and red light spilled out into the corridor. An enraged snarling and bellowing issued forth, and several terrified hooded figures rushed out into the passageway. “Cultists!” spat the witch hunter, and the retort of his hastily drawn pistol, deafeningly loud in the confined space, sounded down the corridor. One of the cultists collapsed in a heap as the shot took most of his head off at point blank range. The witch hunter tucked the pistol in his belt and withdrew another in a fluid, graceful movement. “Guilty, sentenced!” The cultists crowding in the corridor peered uncertainly through the gun smoke at the menacing figures now approaching them, but the glittering arc of the dwarf’s axe seemed to decide them, as it neatly sliced one of their members in half. They ducked back into the room, where the growls and snarls were getting louder and less coherent. “Follow them when I…” But Heinrich had no time to finish, as Gragni and Kulkas were already through the door and into the chamber, carving a red path through all who stood before them. As Melandron reached the doorway, the haughty elf paused to address the witch hunter. “Nothing which cannot be slain by the sword of my ancestors, human, but in future I would appreciate…” “DAEMON!” Came the overjoyed shout of the dwarf from within the room. “Never in my wildest dreams!” A scream of pure malevolence, power and bloodlust shook the whole cavern, showering loose rocks and debris upon the party. A gangling, choking scream of terror and agony split the half-light, abruptly cut off, to be replaced by a resounding deep, throaty and totally evil chuckle. Heinrich hoped upon hope that whatever had just died was one of the cultists, not one of his companions. “Oh Heinrich, Heinrich Kemmler,” the growling yet perversely sing song voice reached the warriors in the passageway. “I can taste your soul already…” Heinrich shoved Melandron with his gloved fist, still holding the amulet in his clenched fist. “Do you think I can hold his magic for long? Get in there and put that sword to some use!”

The tunnels Heinrich had traversed had, up until now, been pitch black. His only source of light was his amulet that glowed blue-white around his neck, as it always did when he was near the presence of evil. He had stalked his adversary for many weeks, the foul sorcerer somehow always one step ahead of him. Now, however, the time of reckoning had come. He had the magic user trapped in his new lair beneath the once great city of Morgath, and the warlock would not escape him now. In spite of himself Heinrich wrapped his black robes about his tall frame. His blood had turned to ice in his veins, a sure sign that the forces of darkness were present. Suddenly a door appeared in front of him. Fashioned out of gold it bore the insignia of two cobras entwined, and runes of power flickered around its edges, glowing red in response to his amulet. Heinrich reached deep inside his robes and pulled forth a pouch of pure white sand. Reaching inside he formed a circle around himself, protecting his mind from the possible madness that could so easily penetrate his mind when he had to fashion the power of chaos, what some called magic. A large amount of force would be needed to break the bonds of warding, and he knew that the aftershocks that would eventually catch up to him would last for days. Still, he would do his duty, whatever it took. Replacing the pouch of sand inside his robes he drew himself up to his full seven feet and began to slowly chant under his breath. Gradually his chant grew louder and he began to form obscure gestures in the air with his hands. Sweat began to bead his brow as voices clawed at his mind barriers, demons formed from chaos determined to enter his body. The wardings on the door began to glow so brightly that he was tempted to look away, to shield his eyes. But he knew such weakness would be fatal. With one final shout he brought his arms sharply downward, his hands balled into fists and with an audible snap the wardings on the door burst. From within the chamber beyond someone, or something, screamed in pain. Heinrich smiled grimly. His adversary had better have had his own defences up. The voices of the demons ceased to call at him and faded with howls of anger, knowing that their efforts were useless. With a loud crash the door of gold opened with a crash and several terrified hooded figures rushed out into the passageway. Cultists! Heinrich sneered at the foolishness of humans who believed demons would reward them before their own, and he threw bolts of blue flame from his finger tips, felling the wave of attackers instantly as their bodies were consumed by the righteous blue flame that the bolts carried. Their screams of pain were terrible to hear, but Heinrich gave them no heed. The guilty must be sentenced, the chaos purged from their souls. Heinrich stalked into the room and immediately a demon appeared in front of him. It's many clawed arms reached for him, and it's gaping mouth appeared so huge that it could snap him in two with one bite. Heinrich, recognising it for what it was, waved his arm almost disdainfully and the illusion vanished. "You are a fool to believe your tricks will work on me, agent of chaos." Heinrich called out, addressing the man who had taken the illusions place. The man was dressed in robes of spun gold and his face was so full of cruelty and evil that Heinrich had to suppress an involuntary shudder. Grimly he stalked towards the sorcerer, only seven paces away. "And what of you Heinrich Kemmler?" Called out the wizard, his voice full of malice. "You claim to destroy chaos and yet it follows in your footsteps!" Six paces to go. The sorcerer brought both his hands up into a single fist and a beam of red light shot towards the Witch Hunter. Heinrich quickly pulled his cloak up to meet the beam and it rebounded and hit the roof with a deafening crack. Five paces to go. The foul magic user summoned up creatures from the nether world, but Heinrich quickly dispatched them with bursts of blue fire. "It does not follow me," Heinrich answered in response to the wizards taunt. "It fears me for what I am." Four paces to go. The wizard formed a wall of red fire between himself and Heinrich, trying to buy himself some time, but Heinrich surrounded himself in his own protective blue shield and stalked on. Three paces to go. "You arrogant worm! My master does not fear you! He guides your steps in his own game and soon you will be destroyed!" Two paces to go. The wizard began to grow desperate, he had run out of magic and he knew his end was near. Desperately he pleaded with Heinrich. "Let me go! I'll reject my master! I'll give you the information you need to find others of my kind! I repent of my sins! Heinrich, PLEASE!" Disgusted Heinrich Reached across the small gap that was left and grabbed the magic user by the wrists. His grip was strong, and the wizard grimaced in pain. "You sicken me." Heinrich practically spat the words. "You more than any of your kind I have purged from this earth. They at least did not reduce themselves as you have!" Blue fire shot along Heinrichs' arms, gathered at his fists and the coursed through the wizard’s body. The wizard convulsed as righteous power coursed through his body, but he was still able to force out a few final words. "Chaos surrounds you" With that the wizard was dead, his spirit and the chaos his mind had harboured cleansed from his body. Strangely Heinrich found no satisfaction in his duty. The wizards final words haunted him despite all his efforts to dispel them. "Chaos surrounds you" Richard irritably throws down his pen. "That's the best I can do, the others can judge for themselves whether it's worth keeping on the board or whether it should just be tossed aside as garbage." Sas walks over to Rich and smiles. They'll keep it-though I still think there should be love in it somewhere..."

Happy birthday Deg, one of these days I'll beat you... Sas kicks Rich-"its his birthday. doesnt need to be reminded about YOUR failures! happy birthday Deggy-hugs and kisses from me " Richard stalks off muttering under his breath "i heard that!" YOU were supposed to, it's everyone else who wasn't. Can we PLEASE stop arguing, hardly the best way to say happy birthday is it, a chronicle of one of our arguments. Sas curls up-"oh alright-just for today "

Locked in a circle, No exit in sight. Trapped due to weakness, In a cage of pure white. The white starts to grow stronger, Brighter each day. Trying to persuade me, To accept its way. But still darkness surrounds me, Still some traces of hate. Parts of my old life, Preventing my fate. The darkness starts to waver, Shrinking and writhing. Suddenly the darkness, Seems so confining. Now there's nothing to protect me, No where to hide, No way of knowing, What fate will provide Locked in a circle, No exit in sight. Trapped due to weakness, In a cage of pure white. Concieved of while I was working, so apologies for it being so odd