Fantasy Realms of Nymserine: Main Thread [[CLOSED]]

[Melon Bomb]

Through the reflection of her spotless blade, Vie admired the perfect waviness of her hair as she gingerly ran her fingers through her locks. Lookin' cute! The more apparent scrapes and bruises were already beginning to heal thanks to her fae blood save for some conspicuous gashes lingering on her elbows, but those were covered up anyway. In contrast, Kezine stood beside her sloppy as all hell. Short as it was, her hair was frayed in a dozen different directions, shirt was on backwards, skirt was terribly wrinkled and uneven. . .

Kezine's earrings dangled as she tilted her head, raising a brow as the statue attempted to profile her.

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know," she said, ignoring it and casually prodding at it with her weapon. "What are you, anyway? A spirit? Artificial?" Leaning back, she looked up and squinted. Other than its silhouette, none of its features were clear as a result of its armor - speaking of which, does it even need armor?

When the towering knight addressed Vie, she stowed her sword away and snapped to attention stiff as a board, listening silently and respectfully like she was at a military orientation or something. She nodded in agreement as the guardian revealed her weaknesses, briefly reflecting on each one as they were run by her. It reminded her of her training with Dagne - before she was even permitted to wield the blade, she was first required to assess her state of mind. A tool without guidance is merely a weapon of violence, she had explained. And guidance does not only come from within. The path of heroism is not truly a path, but rather an intricate web, and one must discover how to bend it without breaking it.

As the guardian wrapped up its evaluations, the doorways opened and silvery light spilled into the chambers. Kezine stepped inside with little hesitation, and Vie exchanged nervous glances between the others before heading in, seeeing them off with a smile.

"Good luck everyone! Be safe!"

Leaving them with those words, she followed after Kezine and vanished into the light.

 

[Zazz]

Azaria glared at the Guardian for his choice of words, but said nothing while he went around with his assessments. They were pretty accurate, as far as she could tell. She had seen Fernwe and the tikitooth enter, so she rolled her eyes when Verity whirled around to see. Azaria eyed the place with clear distaste, unimpressed by its lack of repair.

The halfling finally strode past towards the open door, her piercing gaze on the man in armor. "I'm half human, too, you oaf. No wonder nobody bothers with the upkeep of this place." And with a look of disgust, she sheathed her dagger and walked on into the light.

 

[SilverFlight]

Pyrrhus listened to the guardian seriously as he spoke, afterwards leaning down to his companions. "I don't like this ghost." He whispered, "He sees into souls."
After the others he finally noticed the half-fairy come up behind them.
"Hey! It's Fernwe! Hullo Fernwe, where have you been all this time?"
Watching his companions vanish into the light one by one he felt the mood change.
"Good luck." He said quietly as he watched Veryity, Kezine, Vie and Azaria disappear.
"Well," he began, addressing those still there. "Let's see what this soul-seeing dead man has in store for us eh?"
With that, and a jovial spring to his step he walked through.

 

[BugDozer73]

There were not many left by the time Roland found himself able to move again. "A mystical child of power born in the sands and raised by the waves. You feel lost and abandoned, set on uncharted territory without a compass to guide you, following a single star in hopes to find meaning and fulfillment." His words wrapped around Roland like an anchor, and left him in the middle of his companions bare and vulnerable. How could he have seen right through him? How did he know about his blood? He had been petrified of anyone connecting the guardians words, but almost unfazed, the group stepped 1 by 1 into the glowing door, until all that was left was himself and the fairy who he had carried across the river, only to disappear.

After Roland regained enough composure to move, he looked back at the fae child, giving her a small smile, clouded by his emotions and he turned to the light. What was beyond that door? The guardians ability to see right through him was enough to sow doubt in him: There would be no secrets in this test, not after that. Roland began to worry about what, or rather who he would have to face through that doorway.

NO.

He had come to far to turn back now. And, like a man perched upon a ledge a thousand feet above the ground, Roland held his breath and ignored the tightness in his chest, and he toppled into the door way, plummeting towards the first trial.

 

[Purize]

The First Trial:
Light washed out everything, blinding Verity for a moment before he eyes tried to adjust. Wind blew softly over her skin and she lowered her hands from her face, blinking. Impossibly, she was now outside. Tall, green grass rolled in the breeze, rippling like waves across the desolate field. She stood on a faded dirt path. Behind her was a dark arch the size of a door way, but as soon as she looked at it, it began to fade away. "Wait-" She called, but the door shuddered and drifted away like smoke. Verity wondered if the others would be able to to the trials... this whole place was riddle with magic and the way everything shifted and changed was unpredictable. She lingered at the beginning of the path that started under her feet before she began to follow it.

She had only walked for a few minutes when she noticed that the road split off to a fork in the distance around a huge mountain that climbed precariously into the sky. As she drew closer, she could see two boys standing side by side, staring ahead blankly. She hesitated, becoming more cautious as she approached. As if sensing her presence for the first time, the boys heads rose simultaneously to stare up at Verity. They both had heterochromic eyes with startlingly bright colors; one blue and one green.

Verity was just about to open her mouth to talk to them when the boys both began to speak together in unison. "There are two paths around they mountain," they said, their voices like chimes. "One path leads to the other side of the mountain, and the other will get you lost forever. We know the path that leads to the other side, but you can ask us only one question. One of us lies and the other tells the truth, so ask your question carefully." They both gave an eerie smile that make a chill run down Verity's back.

Verity looked at the two paths. There was nothing that marked one different than the other. If she decided to take her chances and just pick a path on a whim, there was a 50% chance she would pick the right one... but not only did she not want to get lost forever, she was sure that the test wouldn't be that easy. It was possible that if you tried to solve the puzzle on chance, no matter which path you picked, you would fail the test. She returned her attention to the two boys who looked at her expectantly. Her head spun with things to say, but they all ended with the possibility of getting lost. If she simply asked them both which path was the right one, they would both point to different paths. She couldn't tell which one of them may be the liar either. Like the paths, the twins were identical.

"Which path would the liar tell me to take around the right way of the mountain?" She asked finally. The twins glance briefly at one another and they both pointed to the right. Then, like stone, they went still and their eyes closed, they're hands frozen in the air pointing towards the trail. Verity stumbled away from them and turned to walk as quickly as she could down the path on the left. She hoped to the Gods that she'd made the right decision.

She continued down the path and soon saw another doorway. Verity all but ran to it, grateful to get away from the creepy twins and the lonely plains. The door stood on it's own with no walls around it. She turned the knob and let it swing open, bathing once again in that same white light. She gritted her teeth and walked through it, ready to face the next challenge.

The Second Trial:
She was already starting to get used to the bright light that signaled the transition between trials. However, this time the scenery around her changed dramatically. It was much darker now the only source of light coming from torches with blue fire along the walls of a simple, square room. It was a smaller space than the room with the Guardian, but had much of the same features. It was all carved perfectly out of stone. No rubble or broken pillars filled the space, in fact the only noteworthy thing in the room was a large mirror that covered the entire back wall. It looked old and worn, some parts rubbed away and dirty. She walked up to it, eyeing her murky reflection.

She tapped the mirror tentatively, her pointer finger touching against the cool glass. She looked over her face, watching as panic and uncertainty creeped over her features. What was she supposed to do? There was nothing in that cramped, dark room but her and her reflection. She frowned at herself in the mirror and it winked back at her. With a start, Verity looked closer, maybe it was a trick of the light... but now the reflection was grinning. Her lips curling into a cruel, taunting smile. Verity backed away with a gasp, drawing her sword from it's sheath as the mirror's surface rippled like the surface of water and her reflection stepped through... also holding the family heirloom sword of the Ophelia's. Glancing back at the mirror, she could no longer see any reflection of herself or the evil clone.

The reflection's palm glowed and black smoke curled around her hand forming a small ball of light. Verity balanced her sword carefully in her hand, feeling her own energy course through her, forming her wispy blue focus into her hand. This trial was testing her own fighting ability against herself... and while Verity didn't consider herself all that powerful, she certainly didn't want to spar against another spellsword. The necklace at the base of Verity's throat pulsed, sensing the crackling magic in the air. Then, with another wink, the Verity clone launched forward, swinging her sword in a perfect arch over her head down onto Verity, who barely had enough time to throw up her blade to block it.

Verity's gritted her teeth and threw out her palm, her focus blasting towards the clone in a blazing ball of pure energy. It made contact, pushing her opponent away enough to give Verity some room... but it should have sent her flying. What was this thing? It didn't even seem hurt, it only took a moment before Verity saw a sphere of black hurling towards her. She ducked just in time, hearing it explode against the wall behind her. She got up and ran around the form of the clone, who kept sending her magical focus flying towards her. One of the blasts caught Verity's ankle, making her tumble to her side mid-run, but she got up again quickly, wincing. Her reflection had a hard look of determination, devoid of mercy or emotion as her sword flashed outwards. Light reflected on metal and Verity parred the blow, and swung her sword down towards the clone's knees. To Verity's disbelief, she jumped over the blade and used the hilt of the sword to hit Verity in the gut, sending her stumbling backwards, gasping for breath. Before she could regain her stance, a searing pain lanced across her cheek in a thin line. Frustration boiled within her. This thing wasn't even trying and it was still kicking her ass. Verity circled her clone, using the pain to sharpen her focus.

The reflection was faster and stronger than Verity. Trying to beat her normally wouldn't work, so she would have to play to her own weaknesses. And Verity's greatest weakness was her limited mana supply. Without magic, she was half as effective in a fight with just her sword... if she could agitated her copy and get her to use up all her mana... Verity could probably win.

She dipped, swiping at her legs again, which she easily evaded. Verity was more confident now, now dancing about, slashing and dodging. She wasn't trying to do any serious damage, but the more work she gave her clone, the more it would try to take her down. She tried to keep her own magic use to a minimum, inly using it to tease her opponent and act as a distraction so she could sweep in and clip them on the arms and legs. After a few moments of this, the clone finally snapped, starting to throw a lot more force behind her blows, trying to catch Verity and cut her down. Steadily, Verity could feel herself tire of umping and spinning and dodging, her muscles screaming to stop and rest, but she pushed on.

The clone didn't seem to tire, but the light in their necklace was already starting to fade... just a little longer. But then the clone stopped, bringing her sword in front of her and swiping her palm along the side of the blade, leaving behind a trail of black mana that made the sword hum with energy. Verity's eyes widened, knowing exactly what the reflection was about to do. A soft whirring sound rose into the air, steadily getting louder. The clone's hair drifted and flowed like wind blew through it and magic began to swirl around her form in dark, smokey tendrils. Then it opened it's mouth in a silent battle cry and charge forward to make contact. Verity could hear the metal and magic singing through the air as the blade swung towards her at blinding speed. Verity's palms buzzed and her body shimmered, using magic to propel herself aside away from the attack. When the sword made contact with the solid rock floor, the energy pent up in the blade exploded outwards, sending Verity tumbling backwards and cracking the back of her skull against the wall.

Her ears rang as the magic dissipated. The reflection had paused for a moment, it's small form trembling from the exhaust of mana. Verity scrambled to her feet, hear head spinning. The clone's mana reserve is depleted, now was her only chance. Pain throbbed in her head, but the grip on her sword was tight and steady. She dashed forward, throwing her focus forward once more. It sailed through the air, knocking into the clone, making them stumble back several paces. They began to advance towards Verity and she recalled the ball of mana, sending it through the back of the reflection, making it stumble a second time. Using that brief distraction, she swung her sword. The clone blocked it, but only barely. Mana coursed through Verity, down her arms into her blade, propelling her forward. Faster. Harder. Fighting was always like dancing with the blade as an extension of yourself. She could predict the movements of her opponent, her magic acting like an amplification of her own will. The reflection began to falter and fumble, less powerful without any mana left. Finally, Verity found an opening.

Her sword drove forward instinctively, cutting right through the reflection, the blade stuck out the through the other side, slick with black, inky blood. Their sword clattered to the stone floor and crumbled away. The whole clone fell limp and heavy like a sack of flour and eroded away into a pile of ash. Verity looked down at the pile, blinking. Her hands shook and every part of her felt tired and worn... but should couldn't help but think that there was something more profound about killing your reflection. She turned, looking at the mirror that still showed a blank, stone copy of the room with a dark, dusty pile on the floor. She had to remind herself that this whole thing was influenced by magic and illusion... but still it felt wrong to look into a blank mirror.

The glassy surface rippled again, melting away into an arched door. Verity pushed her messy, silver hair out of her face and walked up to the door. She wished to done with this whole trial already. The only way to get out of this hell was to pass or fail... and she was starting to not mind the possibility of the latter. With a shaky breath, she opened the door and stepped into the next room.

The Third Trial:
A silken dress patterned with white and silver flowed around Verity's small form and cascaded down the marble steps that lead to the courtroom. Two elven guards stood at attention and opened the large double doors for her as she approached. She couldn't remember how she got here, or what she was doing, but some sort of dreamy intuition lead her into the palace's large ball room.

As the doors opened, the sound of cheers erupted reverberating throughout the wide space. The ceiling was high and the walls were lined with tall, pointed windows. Warm light spilled into the room, throwing patterned patches of sun onto the polished marble tile. At the end of the room were two handsomely crafted chairs that served as the throne for the king and queen of Shylanora. The side isles of the room were flooded with elves and ambassadors all cheering and beaming at Verity as she walked down the isle. Her father walked towards her, a warm smile making his face wrinkle as he held his arms out towards her.

Verity hesitated, confused, but overwhelmed with happiness. Her father... he was alive and well. He wasn't the same frail man with pale skin that never woke from his deathly sleep. This was the man she remembered, happy and jovial as he was before her mother died. He took her hands and looked at Verity with pride. "My daughter, welcome home," he said.

Speechless, she stood there staring at him for a moment and he turned to address the crowd around them. "Ladies and gentlemen, today is a very blessed day. My daughter has returned to Shylanora to carry on the name of the family and lead our city into a new age!" The audience roared with more cheering and Verity watched them all in amazement. They're cheering for me...? None of them looked scared or disgusted. Verity's heart clenched and she blinked away the urge to cry. It didn't make sense... but she was here. She was back home with her father and a kingdom that loved her for the first time. She looked at her father, searching his face for any sign of misunderstanding. "F-Father... what about uncle?" Argos Ophelia looked down at his daughter with a mournful look, and for a moment she was horrified. Did he grieve for his brother? "Gerard was an evil man who sought to destroy everything we've built here over the years... I am so sorry you had to go through the thing you did, my darling." His eyes were filled with concern... but it was for Verity. She shook her head slightly, and opened her mouth, but didn't really know what to say.

"Now," he said, changing the subject abruptly, projecting his voice to the audience once more. "Today in honor of my daughter's return I shall retire from the throne and Princess Verity Ophelia will be named Queen." Verity spun, "What!?" She blurted, making some people in the crowd laugh. Her father grinned, nodding to her. "Yes, my dear. You are all grown up and ready to lead the city in my stead. But there's one thing you must do first."

Verity's head spun as she tried to take this all in. Her? The queen? I just got back... I don't even know how I got here? Why am I here? She felt like she was forgetting something very important, like there was something she was supposed to do, but the thought slid away like sand through fingers every time she tried to concentrate on it. "Bring him out." Her father ordered some guards.

Verity snapped back into attention and watched, still a little dazed, as a cage rolled out into the court room. Inside it was a dirty and disheveled boy who looked a little older than she was. The crowd booed and hissed at him as he kept his head low, thin, white knuckles clenching the bars of the cage. As he got closer, her rose his eyes to meet Verity's and she let out a gasp of horror. It was Amaury.

Her cousin... she tried not to think about him all these years, but here he was. Caged like an animal. Anger boiled within her, but pity also sat in her stomach like a rock. No one deserved this... but then again, she didn't deserve the things that he and his father did to her, either.

Argos turned to Verity, pointing at the cage. "You can rule over Shylanora like you were meant to. This city is your birthright and these people are your people. The Ophelia line has lead for centuries and you will carry on their legacy." His sharp eyes burned into hers, and she resisted the urge to squirm under the pressure of his gaze. "If you want to be the leader that our race needs and follow your destiny... you will have to kill him." He jabbed his finger for emphasis, and Verity froze.

"Kill... Amaury..?" She whispered. Her father nodded slowly. The room shifted slightly before coming back into focus and she felt sick to her stomach. "He is your cousin, and without you he is next in line for the throne. If you don't kill him you will never be able to be queen." Her father said, his voice now a deep growl. Verity shook her head slowly, staring at Amaury and his gaunt, tired face. "I... can't..." She said, her voice still quiet and soft.

A guard walked up to her, placing her family sword in her hands. Something about it looked wrong. She carried this sword everywhere, she knew it like she knew the back of her hand. It's weight felt dead in her grasp and didn't carry the familiar hum of energy that she was used it. "Use it." Her father commanded. "Kill him and become the queen of your people." The crowd crescendoed into an uproar egging her on. "Do it" they said, "kill the traitor" they yelled. Verity felt that dream-like pull again and slowly began to walk towards Amaury. His sad eyes met hers as she held her sword in one hand. A guard opened the cage and dragged him out, throwing him to the ground. He fell to his knees and kept his head down, his neck bare and ready. He knew what was coming.

Verity couldn't shake the strange sense of wrongness and surrealism that hung in the air. The light that filtered into the room was too bright and the people around her were too loud, their voices colliding in a distorted cacophony. Even her father didn't look the same anymore. He looked almost feverish, his eyes staring her down with animalistic intensity. Amaury, despite his current weak and dirty state, was the only thing that seemed real. He looked how she imagined he would be all these years later. A short stubble had begun to grow on his chin, and his features were still made of all angles. Verity had always thought he looked more like his mother... He was never much like his father. Almost as if he sensed her hesitation, he looked up at her again, those bright blue eyes as clear as day. He didn't say anything. He didn't plead or beg or apologize. He just sat there, looking completely at peace. His lips quirked up ever so slightly into the softest of smiles and looked at Verity with understanding.

Her breath caught and she raised her sword. The crowd fell quiet with hungry expectance, and she swung her blade down and broke it over her knee, snapping it in half like a stick. There was an unearthly wail and everything felt like it was crashing down around her. The world peeled away like wall paper and fell away into darkness, leaving her alone with Amaury.

He stood, looking cleaner now and dipped his head silently before he, too, faded away into the darkness.

oO*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*Oo​

When Verity awoke, she was laying on the cold stone floor. Her cuts and bruises from the fight were gone as well as the dress from her vision. She sat up, feeling a little groggy and she rubbed her eyes. There was a sound, like a fire igniting in a fireplace, and she looked up to see the Guardian standing over her. She got quickly to her feet and brushed herself off.

"Congratulations, Verity Ophelia," He said. "You have passed the Trials of the Gauntlet. Welcome into the Circle."

A door cracked open behind him and his form faded away. She was getting really sick of this place and their obsession with mysterious doors, but this time when she passed through it, nothing happened. She stepped out of the ruins and was greeted by Maximus who gave Verity a broad smile. "Looks like you made it. Congratulations." Verity looked around, taking a moment to ground herself, making sure she was actually in reality this time. She'd never been so sick of magic in her life.

Maximus nodded at her silence in understanding. "Yes... the trails are a bit taxing. Let's wait here for the others and we can go back to headquarters to get some rest." Verity nodded numbly and sat down on a blocky piece of rubble, waiting for the others to finish.
BugDozer73 SilverFlight Zazz Melon Bomb Lekiel

 

[Zazz]

The assassin walked into the light, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sunlight. Sunlight? Really? Azaria rolled her eyes at the blatant display of magic. She was going to be sick by the end of these bloody trials.

Slowly, the world came into focus and she found herself at a fork in the road. Two older children - twins, she realized as she grew nearer - stood silently between the two paths. Glancing behind her, she witnessed the door she had come through fall away into nothingness. She sighed, and stopped at the boys. They spoke.

"There are two paths around the mountain," they said in eerie unison. "One path leads to the other side of the mountain, and the other will get you lost forever. We know the path that leads to the other side, but you can ask us only one question. One of us lies and the other tells the truth, so ask your question carefully."

Azaria stood and observed them both. They were the same, down to the expression they wore. Their eyes foretold nothing, betrayed no emotion. She huffed and strolled around them, a hand on the pommel of her dagger. Crouching, she observed each path, checking for tracks, for footprints. The road most traveled upon would be the wrong one, would it not? But maybe this was the easiest trial. Either way, her sharp eyes found no tracks but her own. Magic, she remembered, rolling her eyes.

She stood, turning to them; they, too, had turned. "Which path would you say is the path that leads to the other side of the mountain?"

The twins looked at each other. One arm raised in the direction of the path on the left. The other twin frowned at his brother, unable to come up with a correct answer. Azaria promptly slit the liar's throat and took tge path on the left, casually explaining, "I hate liars."

 

[Melon Bomb]

Kezine's Trials

Trial 1
Kezine tapped her weapon against her shoulder, casting her glance off to the side as she briefly mulled over the statements. Mikael was much better at these kinds of things than I ever was, but. . .

"If there was a straight line between where I came from and the road I'm supposed to take to pass this trial, which direction should I be going in?"

Silently, one twin pointed toward one of the two roads. The other pointed backwards toward the path behind her. She ruffled the boy's hair as she strolled past him, taking the left road as she casually waved goodbye.

Vie's Trials

Trial 1
Vie sat quietly in front of the twins, thinking and rethinking the puzzle at hand with her legs crossed and her chin in her hand. With each passing second, her expression visibly creased, becoming more and more frustrated with this stupid riddle. What if I asked. . . ? No, that doesn't make any sense. How about- Ugh, but what if neither can answer it and I'll have just wasted my question?

She lightly smacked her sword against the ground a few times.

"Drakie, are you in there? I could use a little help."

Nothing happened, of course. Dracaris had been unresponsive since morning. Not only that, but it had no way of communicating with her verbally, so it was hopeless either way. She tried to think back to Dagne's points of wisdom, but none of it was helpful.

Several minutes passed, and she was already at her wit's end. The boys continued to watch over her without a word.

". . . Can I ask for a hint?" she said meekly, looking up with pleading eyes.

"Yes," said one.

"No," said the other.

"No, wait! That wasn't my. . . question. . ." Vie made the loudest groan humanly (fairie-ly?) possible, sweeping her hands down her face. Great. Great. Ya blew it. The heck are you going to do now, Vie?
Peeking through her fingers, she squinted exasperatedly at the boys. There's gotta be something I can do-

Wait. I can only ask one question, they said. Maybe if it's not a 'question'. . .

Confident in her comeback, Vie posed victoriously and pointed at the twins, smiling.

"Okay! Point to the direction of the correct path!" Surprisingly, they seemed to oblige.

One pointed left.

The other pointed right.

The color drained from her face and her finger curled down in defeat. Well, that's not helpful at all. I'm seriously going to fail the first trial. Sighing, she began to wonder what she'd eat on the way home to cheer up herself up from this hilariously failed attempt, when a thought suddenly hit her like a brick.

Hold on a minute. One of them clearly lied earlier. There's no way I can ask for a hint, because I used up my question to ask that. She turned to them again, noticing that the twins were still pointing.

The one that said no pointed to the road on the left. I wonder. . . ? Vie swallowed anxiously, watching their eyes follow her as she took the path. Is this going to work? The door appeared in her view, and when she neared, her hand hesitated as it hovered over the handle. Only one way to find out.

 

[Zazz]

The dark-haired halfling came to a door and confidently pushed past into the light of the other side. Well, the transition, not the other side. The other side was dark, dimly lit by the same blue lanterns from the crumbling room. The walls were made of stone, pillars holding the ceiling intact. At least, she mused, the Guardian kept his magic fantasy land together in one piece.

Azaria ran a hand along a stone pillar as her eyes adjusted. She came to a mirror that ran the span of one wall. There was nothing in this room but her own reflection. No doors, no trapdoors... She checked. So she stood, leaning against one of the pillars with her back and the bottom of her foot against the stone, twirling a knife between her fingers. Her reflection did the same. They stared at each other for a while, unblinking, twirling the knife. The blade whirring softly was the only noise.

And then her reflection disappeared behind the pillar.

"What the..." Azaria kicked off her own pillar, confused and on edge. She no longer had a reflection. How was that possible? Wait... Magic. Of course. But why? Azaria glanced around the mirror for any sign of movement, approaching it carefully. She tapped the reflective glass with a knife, and sure enough, it still existed. It was solid, but she could only see the room in it.

No later than two seconds after she tapped the mirror, a knife came whizzing towards her from behind. She heard it just in time, ducking before it chipped the glass where her head had just been. With an instinctive twist, she hurled her own blade towards the source. She caught the briefest glimpse at her attacker and found... herself? Before she had time to confirm, the attacker disappeared behind a pillar. Whoever it was, they were silent as she was, and quick. Glancing back at the mirror, she frowned at it and picked up the attacker's blade, weilding it. It felt familiar in her palm; it was exactly like her own.

Hearing the slightest whisper of dust under a foot, Azaria regained her focus; she, too, disappeared, using the pillars and their shadows for cover. Here and there, she thought she saw a shadow move on the other side of the room. As quiet as she could, she notched an arrow and let it fly when she saw it move again, only to reel back behind stone to avoid a blade headed straight her way. She sword under her breath. "Come out and play," she called, moving stealthily to another spot. She waited. Sure enough, her attacker soon crept around the pillar she had just been hiding behind, dagger weilded. Azaria's eyes widened as she realized that she was, indeed, fighting her own reflection.

What, was she supposed to kill herself? Was that the trial? She mentally cursed the Guardian for not being very clear with his instructions. What a waste of space.

The half-elf weilded one of her twin daggers and a throwing knife, then stepped out of the shadows. Her reflection startled, but recovered quickly; Azaria dodged a blade, only to have another slice across the side of her left breast. The clone had aimed for her heart. Azaria set her jaw; it was a fight to the death after all. In a rage, she cut the distance and swiped at her opponent with her dagger. But the clone was quick; she blocked the attack with one dagger and struck out with the other. Profanities were bitten back, the sting of blade cutting through flesh burning in the halfling's veins. Her eyes were murderous. The clone's were taunting and savage. Azaria twirled out of reach and flung her knife, landing it in a groove of the stone floor instead of its foot. The clone smirked, having dodged, and swiped at her again.

This time, Azaria brought out both daggers to defend herself. The clone was a flurry of movement, elegant and twisted as the original. Azaria found herself outpaced, her usual elegance forfeited for the sole purpose of staying alive. The clone was stronger, forcing her back with each clang of blades. Sweat beaded along her brow as the reflection advanced. She was too preoccupied that she did not notice the wall at her back until they touched, and the clone's dagger sunk into her side. Azaria cried out in agony. The blade was pulled free and blood came seeping out from under her shirt. The half-elf looked ahead dazedly, putting a palm to her wound, but as the dagger came forth again, she barreled forward with her shoulder, connecting it with the clone's chest. They tumbled to the stone ground, weapons dropped, and wrestled. Blood smeared everywhere. The two assassins grappled at each others' throats. Azaria was losing the ability to breathe while the other snarled, rolling onto her. Azaria changed course and dug her thumb into its eye, resorting to cheap tricks to survive. The clone reared, releasing Azaria just enough for her to take a gasping breath and jam a stray dagger into the clone's raised arm. The clone raged and returned to strangling the halfling.

This was it. She was going to die by her own hand. How humiliating. Or was it? Maybe it was a compliment. She didn't have time to think it over before her survival instincts kicked in again; struggling beneath the stronger clone, she grabbed hold of its long, free hair and used it to strangle it, too. She yanked on it so hard that thd clone fell off sideways, and Azaria rolled away. She scrambled to her feet, taking a trio of throwing knives from her belt and hurtling them at the attacker. There was a clatter as they hit stone.

The clone emerged, black blood oozing from its eye. It notched an arrow faster than Azaria ever had and sent it flying... just over her shoulder. With a snarl, the one-eyed demon thing shot arrow after arrow. Azaria dodged her mangled aim.

But then, the clone shut her other eye. Azaria stayed perfectly still, holding her breath. She knew that if she could shoot dead straight blindfolded, her opponent probably could, too. The rogue flitted her gaze around the roo in search of something useful. There was nothing. The imposter had an arrow notched, ready to fire.

The rogue thought of Kaeli. Kaeli, who lived through everything she was put through, and even used her wounds to her advantage. Azaria looked down at the hole in her side. Uncovering it, blood slowly pooled in her hand. She had an idea. Gripping her dagger tight, she raised her bloody hand and flung her own blood away from herself. The clone turned at the sound of the light splatter and fired an arrow-

Just as a blade struck through the back of its ribcage, piercing its black heart. Azaria jimmied the blade, rupturing as much of the organ as she could, and fell with her clone as it slumped to the ground, defeated.

Everything was quiet. Deathly quiet, save for her panting. Her skin stung where she had been cut, and she doubled over, her vision hazy with the loss of blood. Suddenly, the mirror wall shimmied and rippled, melting away to reveal yet another door. With a grunt, Azaria pulled her dagger free and crawled, bloody and weak, to the light.

 

[SilverFlight]

The sun shone brightly in the ethereal plane Pyrrhus had found himself in, though he was afraid it would soon set for how long he had been sitting in front of the fork and the twin beings with their stupid riddle. His rump ached from where it was parked in the dust. He was only allowed one question...
Ethereal bees buzzed over puffy clover blossoms, ethereal grasshoppers chirruped in the long grass. It was all very life-like, if Pyrrhus forgot himself he may well have believed he had really stepped out into the peace-drenched foothills of a gentle mountainside.
The only way forward however was through these two strange boys. They stood still, blinking at him expectantly.
"Oh bother, I haven't a clue." Pyrrhus said with an exasperated sigh. "And yet...there's something familiar about this scene.."
Just then it hit him. Yes! This riddle was in a play! Before the daring hero reached the dragon and saved the fair princess he had come across two goblins guarding a forked road. A smile spread across his face and he selected one of the brothers, leaning in conspiratorially to whisper: "Would your brother tell me that this was the right path." He pointed at one of the roads randomly.
The boy looked down where Pyrrhus was pointing, looked at his brother and then shook his head vehemently.
The centaur rose with a happy cry, kicking dust up from the trail. He ruffled the boys' heads fondly.
"Never let it be said that my hobby was useless." He chuckled happily, and, with a flick of his whip-like tail he started down that very same path.

~~~

The scene changed so abruptly that Pyrrhus came up short. The door he had come through wasn't attached to any sort of building, yet this was most definitely a room. The muted grey stone was lit with a faint light that didn't seem to be coming from anywhere in particular. A vast mirror occupied the opposite wall. Pyrrhus heard the door shut behind him and whirled around only to find bare wall where it had once been. He gave the wall a narrow-eyed glare, but having no other choice, he turned and approached the mirror. Pyrrhus had very little to do with nobility, mirrors were not something Pyrrhus encountered regularly. His reflection peered back at him, a little scruffy but otherwise not too bad if he did say so himself. He flexed experimentally; his reflection showed off thick muscles.
Pyrrhus stepped closer, striking another pose. The mirror Pyrrhus copied him exactly. Pyrrhus leaned in to examine his handsome face. That was when the mirror Pyrrhus reached out and grabbed his throat.

Pyrrhus could only choke on his surprise as the mirror him forced it's way out. He was forced back and it was all he could do to stay on his feet.
Deprived of air as he was Pyrrhus couldn't help but notice that this mirror Pyrrhus was stronger than he was. He had an awful feeling that this was what he could be if he devoted all of his time to fight training. The second trial became clear to him. Right, first thing's first: he needed to breathe. In a flash he reared, lashing out with his front hooves and catching the mirror Pyrrhus in the chest. At the same time he had drawn a blade and flashed it at his opponent's arm. the mirror Pyrrhus let go instinctively and both centaurs jumped back.
Both sets of blades were out now and the two circled each other, hooves echoing faintly against the room's walls. Without warning the reflection charged. Pyrrhus, not used to fighting other centaurs, tried to meet him head on. The collision sang through him and he reared as his opponent did the same. They grappled, arm and hoof until Pyrrhus suddenly felt himself tip too far backward. He fell, crashing to the ground, one of his blades spinning out of his hand. The shoulder than had hit the stone first pounded painfully.

His reflection stood over him with a look of triumph. He was obviously out-matched...at least in strength.
He made a show of trying to reach for his missing blade. The reflection sneered and stepped forward to kick it away. This was what Pyrrhus had been waiting for. On his side his legs were free and he lashed out with two hooves, catching both fore and hind leg of his opponent on his left side at the same time. Mirror Pyrrhus went down as Pyrrhus came up. His shoulder flared with pain and he was forced to lift his right hoof off the ground. He was on his feet, but he was fighting three-legged now.
His reflection rose with a growl and Pyrrhus let him. They clashed again, this time Pyrrhus moving sideways, deflecting the momentum away so he wouldn't be overpowered, but his opponent's blows were heavy, and he felt himself already beginning to tire. He needed a plan.

Another blow nearly sent him to the ground again but it was just as he was recovering that he noticed something. This Pyrrhus impostor...he was using the same strategy over and over again. That gave him an idea.
Mirror Pyrrhus whirled and raised his blades for another charge. When it came Pyrrhus didn't try to meet it at all, instead he danced around it, keeping close to his reflection, inside its guard. A well-aimed kick hobbled his enemy's right leg.
Mirror Pyrrhus roared and struck out, but Pyrrhus had sidestepped, using a specific Elven dance move that he had adapted himself to four feet, and with his injury, he discovered it worked just as well on three.

Pyrrhus had always envied the fact that the two-legged races had so much more of a dancing culture than his own did, so in secret, during the festivals and holidays, he would study the dances meticulously, and, when no one was looking he practiced them. Anyone who had seen him practicing would be sent into fits of laughter for at first Pyrrhus was awkward and clumsy, but with time (and a lot of practice) Pyrrhus mastered each step. Eventually he was brave enough to attempt a dance about one of the festival bonfires. The people in audience were struck speechless by how gracefully he performed, despite his size and extra feet.

His reflection howled in absolute rage as Pyrrhus skipped and jigged, whirled and leapt about the room, completely untouchable. Every time his opponent managed to get close, Pyrrhus would out-maneuver him with a series of nimble steps, all the while landing blow after blow, light but with purpose.
His reflection began to exhaust itself trying to catch the agile centaur. One more mistake and it stumbled, allowing Pyrrhus the strike to his other foreleg. Mirror Pyrrhus went to its knees and Pyrrhus stepped in to lay a blade casually against its throat.
"Yield." Pyrrhus said.
The reflection was breathing hard, glaring up at him with bitterness...and then sudden approval. It dropped its blades and, rising silently, it backed into the mirror and was gone.


~~~

Pyrrhus didn't remember falling asleep, but as his mind drifted slowly back to consciousness, he felt a familiar surrounding come into focus: The smell of dry grass, baking in the bright sun of his homeland, mingled with the scent of desert blooms after a rain, and...sandalwood. He was in the sandalwood grove on the top of the hill that overlooked his village. The shade of the trees cooled the gentle breeze that tickled his coat with tender gusts.
Slowly Pyrrhus opened his eyes. The sight and sound of his home nearly brought tears to his eyes. He had been away for so long.
He watched his people go about their lives, oblivious to the fact that he sat just out of their sight. The chief's son...and their future leader. Idly he began scanning the crowds for a face he knew would not be there. It was the face of the one he had once trusted without question...the one who had betrayed him.
"Finally, you've been asleep for hours you lazy ass."
The voice made him freeze. Though it was playful and light, he could feel shards of ice creeping into his heart. Pyrrhus had to force himself to look around to the one person thought he would never see again.

His eyes traced the familiar patterns of a rust and white pinto coat. Thick limbs and a shimmering red-haired tail. Pyrrhus swallowed hard and looked up into the centaur's face.
The face that peered down at him was smiling roguishly, almond-shaped with brown eyes and a mane of wild, red hair. His chin and neck were thick and his shoulders broad. He sported a similar beard and sideburns, though like the rest of his hair, they were red. He carried no ornaments or weapons. He was exactly as he had been before Pyrrhus had left.
"Aeolus." He whispered softly.

Pyrrhus staggered to his feet, backing away, arms out as if to balance himself, not trusting his legs to carrying him past the shock.
"Y-you...betrayed me." He heard the tremor in his own voice. Aeolus gave him a curious look.
"You came one night, lead me away from my band and..." He choked, the words wouldn't come. Smoke, chains, shouting and pain. The memory of it came flooding back.
"Hey." This time Aeolus' voice was gentle, soothing. "It was a nightmare. A bad dream."
Pyrrhus looked about the clearing, trying to shake the ringing of steel in his mind.
"But...the shackles..the scars..." he looked down at his wrists...there were no scars. Suddenly the memory didn't seem real. He touched a wrist gingerly, as if not quite able to believe it.

He jolted as a hand touched his shoulder, a flank bumped against his own.
"A bad dream." Aeolus repeated. Pulling close and folding his arm about Pyrrhus' shoulders.
Pyrrhus felt him, felt the warmth of him and suddenly realized just how much he had longed for a moment like this. He closed his eyes, and leaned into the embrace.
Aeolus wasn't a traitor. He wasn't a traitor and he felt the same way about Pyrrhus as Pyrrhus had about him.
He forced down the lump in his throat and for one moment, let himself be content.

Shouts from down the hill brought him back. He lifted his head from Aeolus' shoulder to watch what was happening below.
Human men were approaching the village, their intent grim.
Some rode on horseback, great steel nets carried between two riders to fling about young centaurs, pinning them to the earth and tangling their slender legs. Others used iron hooks on ropes to tear down roofs, other used torches to set tents ablaze, driving their occupants out into the open. Still more galloped in with crossbows, sending bolts into the chests of warriors before they could leap for weapons. The insignia on their leather armour sent Pyrrhus into a flurry of panic and rage.
"Slavers!" He cried, lurching forward, hands going to his equine shoulders to reach his blades. A hand caught him and held him fast.
"Don't." Aeolus spoke calmly, his expression serene.
"I can't just do nothing! They'll be taken to the arena! Aeolus I can't let my people go to that terrible place!" He looked aghast at his old friend's placid face.
"Pyrrhus." The sound of his name on Aeolus' lips stilled him.
"If you want me Pyrrhus, you will let this happen. If not, you will lose me forever."

Pyrrhus pulled away, blinking back tears, he fixed other centaur with a look of pure pain. "Then...I've already lost you..."
He turned to the sound of Aeolus yelling his name, but he didn't look back as he pulled his blades free, throwing himself at full gallop down the hill to defend his people.

~~~

Pyrrhus awoke with a roar, hooves sliding on the stone as he fought to gain purchase. He looked about wildly, ready for the gory heat of battle, but the room was still and slowly, his real memories returned to him.
Pyrrhus sat heavily on the floor. The faint feeling that he had passed the test hovered at the back of his mind, but he could take little pleasure in it for now.
He didn't say a single word, he only buried his face in his hands and grieved for the loss of Aeolus a second time.

 

[BugDozer73]

Trial One

He fell, a weightlessness consuming his body and he plummeted in darkness: until he was no longer falling, but unexplainably on the ground, wrapped in the dancing grass of the cliff side.

Roland blinked twice, his eyes adjusting uncomfortable from the darkness of the room to the blaring light of the mid day sun. Roland rose to his knees and looked around himself. There were trees in the distance, laying beyond the fields of grass to his left. To his right was the ocean, crashing symphonically against the bluffs beneath him. He himself was now standing on a dirt path, with two lines worn from years of passage by carriages.

How did he get outside? What happened to the trials? Something about this felt very wrong to Roland. He made his way over to the right, standing above the cliffs, and he cast his gaze out over the glittering waves below. He could see them churning, hear them lapping, smell them spraying, but it wasn't real. When he was near water he could feel an energy in his gut, a connection to himself that only the sea held for him. He knew the water below was nothing more than an illusion. Roland scratched his head twice and looked around, still confused as to why there was nothing here. He began off down the path for several minutes, looking for anything to give him a clue, until he came upon a clearing.

2 boys sat there giggling and playing by a fork in the path. Beyond them, one path turned left, driving deep into the woods, while the one on the right skirted around the woods, following the ling of the cliffs. At his presence, the boys stopped their playing and turned to him, each one smiling. They were twins.

"There are two paths around they mountain," they said, their voices like sea bells. "One path leads to the second trial, and the other will get you lost forever. We know the path that leads to the other side, but you can ask us only one question. One of us lies and the other tells the truth, so ask your question carefully."

Roland stopped, and looked at the boys, stroking the hairs on his chin. If one path leads to where he wants to go.... hmmm...
Roland snapped his fingers, looking at the boys with an excitement in his eyes. "I got it!"

"If one of you always lies, then... wait no that wont work... hmmm..." Roland went back to thinking for a moment. This was a very hard query. While he sat there pondering, a small white bird fluttered over and landed on a tree to Rolands left, followed by two more. Roland looked up and recognized them instantly; Albatross, the criers of the sea. The twins seemed to glair at them for a moment, but Roland cried out.

"A-HAH! If an ent falls in the forrest, does it make a sound?!" Roland looked at them with an excited glint in his eyes, and they stared at him with confused expressions. They turned to each other, then back to Roland, who sat there with a pleased expression on his face. Surely, the weight of the unanswerable question would cause them both to explode.

Two more birds landed on the tree.

"You fool! You just wasted your only question! Now you have no way of knowing which path to take!" The Children said with a laugh, and for the first time Roland looked embarrassed. Neither of them had combusted, and Roland was no further along in getting past this trial.

The birds on the tree began to cry loudly, drawing glares from Twins. Several more arrived from over the cliff, and they flew towards Roland, circling him frantically.

"NO INTERFERENCE WITH THE TRIALS!" cried the twins in unison, and they charged forward at Roland, each drawing a blade. He reeled back, not sure what was happening, but the birds on the tree flew forward and swarmed the twins, crying loudly and pecking in a tornado of white feathers and beaks.
While the twins thrashed wildly at the attacking albatross, one bird grabbed Rolands white cotton shit in its beak and tugged softly in the direction of the forrest. Roland looked back at the grunting twins, now bleeding in several places from the birds pecking, and he nodded at the little one pulling his shirt and followed it into the woods.

They walked through the woods, the bird now perched on his shoulder, content to ride along as they strolled forward. The trees were grand, raising with glory, high into the blue sky. It was a quiet walk, and while Roland half expected the twins to pop out at any moment, the entirety of their journey was rather uneventful. They passed tree and leaf until they came to a cave opening, its sheer walls standing with a very dark sense of finality. Roland looked at the bird on his shoulder and it gave him a little chirp, bouncing back and forth for a minute and ruffling its feathers.

"You want me to go in there?"

The bird chirped once more.

"Do I have to?" Roland said, not liking the idea of being trapped in a tight space. To be perfectly honest, he didn't like the idea of going underground, away from the water.

The bird flew in front of his face aggressively, flapping and tweeting, pecking at his head slightly, as if to say "YOU GET YOUR SALTY BUTT IN THAT CAVE RIGHT THIS MINUTE!"
"Alright alright! Jeez!" Roland said as he tried to cover his face from the tiny onslaught. The albatross settled back down onto his shoulder triumphently, and together, they strolled into the cave...

SECOND TRIAL

They walked through the darkness, the light from outside having disappeared moments after entering the cave. It was cold and clammy, and Roland had to keep his hands on the stone walls to make sure he didn't run into anything. For some time there was nothing but silence and darkness, but after a moment a soft light began to filter through the tunnel, leading them forward. With each step the light grew stronger, gifting the rocks with more definition and color, until finally the pair stepped into a large cavern, bathed in the light from a still pool of water in the center. The ceiling was high up, and covered in stalagmites, which sent small drops of water towards the ground. As Roland walked forward, he took in the room around him. There did not seem to be any more ways out of the tunnel.

Roland approached the glowing pool, leaning over and looking in. Roland could see himself in the pool, leaning over to look back at him, but beyond his own reflection, Roland could not see into the inky blackness of the water. He stood up straight and looked around, but the place seemed empty.

"Now what?" He asked the bird, who just looked at him and cocked its head, offering him a blank expression. Roland sighed and turned back towards the hallway.... which was no longer there. The room was now completely sealed off, as if it had been for a milenia.

"What the hell?" But before he could move, a hand wrapped forcefully around his ankle. He yelled and looked down, finding the hand extending out of the water, connected to.... himself. Roland froze in shock, and stared as his reflection, whose eyes held no life or color, dragged him back. The albatross flapped up in fear, chirping loudly and trying to peck at the reflections hands, but it was no use. With immortal strength, Roland pulled Roland back into the waters, dragging him beneath the surface and into the darkness.

Roland thrashed about, no light from the surface trickling down anymore. The hand on his ankle was gone, and he was alone in the waters. For whatever reason, Roland began to feel his chest tighten, and his lungs burn for air.

I CAN'T BREATH?!

Roland kicked hard and followed the bubbles upwards, until his head broke the surface, and he sucked in the surface air. Lightning flashed through the sky, and thunder rumbled loudly in response. The surf of the waves crashed over Roland, and he was sent beneath the surf once more, before coming back to the top, struggling to stay afloat. Salt water got in his mouth and made him splutter, and the rain that came pouring down made it hard to get air even above the surf.

Roland felt a hand clamp on the back of his shirt and haul him out of the surf. He flew backwards and landed hard on soaked wood, which creaked beneath the impact of his fall. He lifted his head and looked around, taking in the masts, the rails, the planks beneath him. All around the sea raged, screaming in the storm. Just beyond him stood... himself: his reflection from before, both swords drawn.

Roland scrambled back, a sense of panic filling him, and he pulled himself to his feet as his reflection began to approach. Another flash of lightning engulfed the ship with light as it was thrown from wave to wave. Roland had to yell his throat sore to hear his own voice over the wind.

"STOP! WHAT ARE YOU?" The other Roland didn't listen: he continued to walk towards Roland, his ancient blades glinting in his hands.

"Wait! STOP!" Roland dove to the side just in time to miss a strike from the other Roland, who sliced right through the railing Roland had been leaning against. Clearly he couldn't talk his way out of this. Roland had just enough time to draw his own blades to meet the attacks from his reflection. Together, they danced through the storm, rain coating everything as the steel twirled upon each other, each parry like rumbling thunder. Second Roland pushed Roland back, his sword skill unlike anything Roland had seen before: It was his own. Three quick blade strikes and a long sweep kept Roland on his toes, barley able to return his own blow, which the reflection easily ducked under and kept moving forward.

Roland turned back and ran up the stairs to the Quarter deck. From the top of the stairs he met steel with steel, contesting force and speed with his own. Two more parried strikes and he had to leap back to avoid a blow to his feet. Roland shook the rain out of his eyes and wiped his hair away, clinging to the skin of his face. They stood in the storm and stared at each other for a moment, their minds combating one another as the circled, blades extended.

Roland leapt forward and began this tempo, lashing out with a gale of strikes, each one met with equal speed and force from his other. For a moment they danced, swaying with the ship, twirling their blades in and out of their opponents defenses, evenly matched. A rouge wave crashed onto the deck, dousing them both, and the clone lunged forward, knocking away Rolands blades, but Roland grabbed onto his over extended wrist and hurled the mirrored forward, forcing it to drop its blades as well. Both sets of blades slipped over the soaked wood and clattered down onto the lower deck.
They both bolted for the stairs, each desperately trying to get to their weapons first.

The mirrored got to the stairs first, but Roland was quick at his heels, wrapping his arms around the waste of his clone and hurling him back. The rain and water made him strong, and he smiled at the clone. For the first time this fight, he began to feel his blood pumping. The clone rushed forward, and Roland followed suit. They met each other shoulders down, each grappling for superiority. Roland flexed his strengthened muscles and pushed the mirror back onto his knees, feeling him beginning to give. The clone looked up at him with an evil grin and pushed back, stronger than ever before, and Roland felt his own legs beginning to buckle. Roland gritted his teeth and pushed, his feet sliding over the deck, before he released the clone, who threw him aside: not before Roland landed a strong punch through his clones jaw. Roland recovered quickly and sent out several other strikes, but his clone was as fast as he was, and leaned from side to side, batting away his strikes with poise. Roland yelled and threw a right hook that shook the rain, right over the ducking clone who left his own left hook deep in Rolands guts.

Roland felt his eyes nearly fly out of his skull, and he fell to his knees, clutching his middle and coughing up blood. The clone sent one more kick, crossing rolands face and sent him flying. Roland slid across the deck and his the rails with a crash, and he shattered the wood and toppled over to the lower deck. The clone stood above him on the ledge, lightning flashing once more, and Roland struggled to move further away from himself, bleeding and shaking. The clone dropped to the same deck and approached Roland, who was running out of options. Roland's eyes darted to the side, and the churning sea.

He held out his hand and let his mana surge, sending a stream of water jetting over the side of the boat and into the clone: who with no effort at all held out his hand and dispersed the sea into mist, completely unfazed. Roland's mouth flew open, and he cringed, pain searing through his body at the motion. His jaw was most likely fractured from that kick. It was a miracle that he was even conscious.

There was no hope: The clone knew everything that he did, had every ability Roland had, could match him strength for strength and speed for speed. Roland had no chance of winning: He was sinking to death.

The clone grabbed one of his blades off the deck and picked Roland up by his collar. Roland spit blood in his face, deciding if he ever got out of this, he would never look in a mirror again. The weight of mortality was a chain upon his soul, and he began to crumble beneath its crushing grip.

Roland...... Evolve.

Roland felt her voice lap at his mind, filling his heart and his soul. A new surge of mana arced through him and he felt it surge. His skin began to spark and he grabbed the clone by his jaw, squeezing and glaring at him with anger. Thousands of volts surged through his body, causing him to drop his blade and convulse under its power. Roland stood upright and hurled the seizing clone back on the deck, throwing out his hand and sending several more bolts of lightning from his hands into the clone. Roland felt one with the storm, and lifted off the deck slightly. His eyes began to glow blue, lightning discharging slightly from his iris's and hands. He didn't even feel like himself anymore, like he was almost lost in his new found power. He was the storm. He was the lightning. He was the gale.

Roland roared over the struggling form of the clone, and he threw both hands forward: from the dark clouds above emerged a bolt of lightning larger than any before it, hitting the clone with a deafening explosion and tearing the entire hull of the ship asunder. As the ship exploded, Roland could hear the Clone "pop" and the light faded from the blast, nothing left in its wake. Roland's eyes stopped glowing and his energy drained as the storm began to clear, and sea began to calm. Roland floated lower and lower as his power left him and he collapsed into the sea, his eyes closing as he sank lower and lower....

TRIAL THREE:

Roland heard the chirp of his friend before he opened his eyes. Like before, he had to blink several times to hets his eyes adjusted to the glaring light of the sun. He lifted his hand to shade his eyes and noticed the fluttering form of his white feathered friend. Roland sat upright, and rubbed his head and eyes, his head aching slightly. He looked around, realizing where he was immediately. The smell of fish in the air, mixed with the salt breeze, and the venders leather bags and wood crates, and the ashes of the braziers that lit the nights: He was at the docks of Meletus; or rather, a ways down from the docks, alone on the sands of the shore. He looked around, and at himself: He must have washed up here after the fight... what was that thing, anyways? And also.... how? Roland realized that all of his wounds from the fight had been

"...Healed."

Her voice was unmistakable, like the wind through sails and the water over the jeti rocks, all at once.

Roland turned to see her standing before him in the sand, smiling. her skin had a bluish tint to it, and she was draped in white silk, covering only what was necessary and flowed around her in the breeze. She was exactly as he remembered her, tall and imposing, but loving all the same.

"Mom" He said, not angry, or even surprised. Instead, it was delivered a lot more as an acknowledgment of her presence.

"The water has always been your home, your fields and your mountains: It is also your bandage, and your road back to me. I have missed you my son."

Roland rose to his feet, dusting the sand off oh his body, and looked at her. No one else seemed to be around. But the water felt real to him.. He could reach out with his heart and he knew it was real.. Maybe the trials were over?

"They are over my love. You need not struggle anymore. It is your time to come and be with me."

"What?" Roland stared at her in disbelief.

"You have more than proven yourself in battle: You have acted as my son with grace and for thought, and now it is time for you to come home, and live with me forever."

Roland felt his heart inflate. His mother wanted him to be with her. She was recognizing him as her own, and he would finally have his family. It was everything he had ever wanted. And yet...

"What about my friends? Where are they?"

Thasia chuckled a little, her smile falling ever so subtly.

"They are leaving. They are on a boat now to go and carry out the will of the circle. But you are beyond them all, Roland..." Her voice began to plead with him slightly. "You are the son of the ocean itself: The caller of the waves. Your purpose is with me, by my side. Let the mortals worry about their own problems." She offered her hand to him, but Roland looked back at the docks. He could see the boat she spoke of, and his friends; Verity, Pyrrhus, Azaria and Kezine, all laughing and loading up the ship. Thasia could sense his hesitation.

"Why do you stall, my child? Is this not what you wanted? Who do you think it was who helped you through the trials? Who sent you the wings of the waves to guide you past the twins?" She held out her hand and Rolands white feathered friends chirped and flew to her, perching on her finger and shaking excitedly as she stroked its feathers with her other hand.

"And who was the one who helped you push past your own limits, by guiding you to the storms power?"

Roland looked down at his hands, and pushed with his mana gently, watching as several volts of electricity sparked over his skin, like small streaks of life. The power felt good, he could not lie. But his friends.... Why had he not talked to them after the trials? How did he get here. Didn't they notice that he had been missing?

"Roland.... " Thasia said, her eyes pleading with him.
He turned and faced the boat. "I'm sorry.... this... something isn't right."

Thasia's expression became agitated. "Stop being foolish Roland. Come and take my hand, and we can be together forever."

"What is going to happen to my friends?"

"They are not your friends. I am your mother! The ocean is your only home. The fish-"

"WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN TO MY FRIENDS?!" Roland shut his eyes as he yelled at her, the sky darkening and the waves falling still to his power. Thasia let her hand fall, her face now angry, and disinterested.

"They are going to die, Roland. If they leave the dock.... they will all die."

Roland didn't hesitate, but took off towards the boat. His feet beat on the sand, and the waves starting to churn. The sky grew darker with ever step closer he got.

"ROLAND! If you leave, you will lose your power. You will lose your soul. Turn around Roland." Her voice echoed over the beach, but he didn't stop.

"TURN AROUND!" But he kept running.

Each step he took, he felt weaker. As the boat grew closer, he started to feel himself draining... Beyond the docks, he could see his friends begin to notice something wasn't right. Roland darted onto the wood, noticing the oncoming hurricane, racing towards their ship. They looked at it paralyzed, as did everyone else on the dock. He skirted through the crowd, running desperatly to be there in time. He could already feel no connection to the sea anymore, or any power at all. He felt crushingly mortal, and it terrified him. He did not stop running.

"Are they worth it Roland? Are those mortals you hardly know worth your life?" Her words whistled through his mind as he bolted onto the ship, running towards the side of the ship to meet the storm.

"Yes. They are my family!" He cried loudly as he hurled himself over the side and right into the hurricane, his form disappearing into the gale.

He shut his eyes, and reached out to the last draining bits of mana to try and stop the storm.

He was torn into the sky by the force of the storm, his power too weak to stop the hurricane, and he shut his eyes, waiting for death.


When he opened them, he was not dead. He was not in Meletus, he was outside of the ruins, clutching the ground.

"What ha... did I win?" He said, unable to move or look up until the dizziness subsided.

 

[Lekiel]

She stood staring as one-by-one her companions walked up to the portal of light and stepped through. Fernwe clutched her feline friend closer to herself, suddenly unsure about the whole situation. Gone was her carefree demeanor. Even when the seafarer walked up to the light and turned back to look at her, she could only return his warm smile with a wide-eyed look, brown irises seemingly almost too large for her delicate face. At last, she was alone... well almost, as Finwinne mewled and batted a paw at her chin. She gulped down a lump in her throat.

"Alright! Alright!" Fernwe whispered to her companion, not even sure why she was whispering. She glanced at the Guardian, stoically standing his ground and took a tentative step towards the light. Then another. And another. She was right up against the doorway, You could even say her little pointed nose was already pretty much in the light, and its brightness was blinding*cough*. Fernwe squinted until she could not bear it any longer and blinked. Then she blinked again. AND AGAIN FOR ADDED EFFECT!

A mellow breeze caressed her face, catching wispy tendrils of her brown hair as she stood unnaturally straight in what seemed to be a golden meadow. Before her, a dirt trail led off towards a looming mountain, and to either sides golden wild grass waved and shimmered in the gleaming light of a setting sun.

"Finny, you see thi-?" Fernwe reached up to her neck where the tikitooth usually perched but found her shoulders empty. A sudden overwhelming panic gripped her nerves, threatening to cloud out all thought. Finwinne was gone! To the young fae, it was as if half of her soul had been brutally and unwilling wrenched from her. Vanished in an instant.

"FINWINNE!" The halfling took one glance about her, before abruptly bolting into the tall waving grass, occasionally pausing to call out to her friend. She ran for what felt like hours, and called out until her voice grew hoarse before she finally began to slow down. The squeezing of her lungs as she gasped for air had become too much too handle. Coughing and spluttering, she reached out with her hand to part a large bunch of weeds and froze at the sight before her. She was back at the pathway.

Fernwe squinted her eyes as confusion marred her features. But as if some sort of weird paradox, the strangeness of the whole situation brought her to her senses. All these wasn't real. I mean... not in the usual sense of the word. Sensible Fernwe was back online. This must be part of the trials, some sort of magical place that only she could enter. She took a moment longer to catch her breath, before setting down the dirt pathway.

Before too long, she came upon a fork in the road. Standing on the path, but not baring the way were twin boys. They were matching white garments and were identical down to their heterochromatic eyes. Their gaze followed the halfling and as she stopped to ponder their presence, one of them began to speak. "There are two pathways behind us." His voice was childlike, but both children had an eerily expressionless face as they studied her. The boy continued. "One path leads you to the second trial. The other, will get you lost forever. We both know the right way, but you can only ask us one question. One of us will always lie, while the other will always tell the truth. So choose your question wisely."

Fernwe's eyes gleamed in excitement as soon as the boy was done. A riddle! She was fond of riddles, one certainly had to be if they ever grew up amongst the spriggans of Selenia. But these boys were amateurs compared to ole` Briarbark.

She let out a little tinkling giggle at the two boys before speaking. "You should have gotten a third to read out the rules!" The halffairy grinned broadly at the boys, whose faces still remained impassive. Still grinning from ear to ear, she turned to the boy who for obvious reasons, could not speak the instructions. "Which is the right path I should be taking?" The boy pointed to the right. Fernwe promptly marched down the left.

, ; . ' ` ~ * ~ ` ' . ; , ; . ' ` ~ * ~ ` ' . ; , ; . ' ` ~ * ~ ` ' . ;
​

Fernwe skipped her way along the dirt path as it curved lazily around the mountain until finally, a similar archway with blazing light stood blocking the path. With considerably less hesitation than before, the halffairy took a deep breath and stepped through the portal.

The sudden lack of lighting took her by surprise and she had to blink away the bright residual flash spots that dotted her vision. When her eyes finally adjusted, the petite halfling stepped forwards to survey the new place. She was in a stone chamber of sorts, similar to the cave where they entered with the Guardian, but wider and with higher ceillings. Tall stone supports lifted off the ground and up into a darkened ceiling, so high that they faded into blackness, perhaps holding up an unimaginable weight; their smooth rock glowed in pulsing turqoise, lighting up the chamber in its shimmering hues.

Fernwe weaved around the pillars hesitantly, her earlier jubilance at having bested the first trial all but faded. The air was thick and heavy, the smell of ancient magic lingered like a bitter aftertaste in the halffae's palate. An abrupt movement at the corner of her her eye caused the girl to start. She ducked back behind one of the stone columns as her fingers snapped instinctively at her seed pouches. To her horror, they came up empty. For the second time, the halfling began to panic as she fumbled through her various pouches. Except for her dried herbs, everything else was gone! With growing trepidation, she reached through the folds of her robe to a strap around her thigh. Her hands closed over the hilt of her Whitewood dagger. Fernwe risked a sigh of relief. At least, if she were attacked by giant potatoes she could now defend herself.

Steeling her beating heart, Fernwe puffed out her cheeks several times as if that alone could instill unwavering courage into her tiny frame. Taking one last breath, the halffairy stepped around the corner and came face to face with herself. But it was all wrong... her eyes were deep obsidian and spoke of a soulless entity. From the corners of her eyes, dark blood bled out over her pallid skin. Her Shadow's facade twisted into a macabre grin.

"By Adamin-?!" It happened too fast. There was a blur of movement and Fernwe acted out of pure instinct twisting frantically to avoid the dull flash that was a stabbing dagger. But she was too slow. She cried out as excruciating pain flared up from her left shoulder from where the Whitewood struck, narrowly missing her heart.

~*~

...How do they grow so tall?

Her Shade's face cackled with soundless laughter as soon as the dagger struck. With every ounce of her strength, the Halffairy grasped the dagger to prevent the blade from slipping further. A desperate shout escaped her lips as she grappled with the Shade. But as Fernwe pushed back, to her despair she found that the Shade creature was indisputably stronger; even had she not been stabbed. But she was far from done. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she leaned her frame to the right and kicked up her legs, leveraging on the downward thrust off the blade from the left. She crashed against her assailant's legs, sending the Shade flying overhead in a tumble. The dagger clattered to the floor, as it was wrenched free during the tumble. Fernwe scrambled to her feet, one hand stained crimson as she held it to staunch the flow of her lifeblood. Her other arm barely grasped at her own dagger, hung limply by her side. Her breath labored and raspy, she turned to face the Shade. The mirror creature bore down on her. It took its time, taking dreaded step after step. Though weaponless, it seemed to know that there was no way Fernwe could fight it, or even outrun it. There is no other way... Switching the Whitewood dagger to her one good hand, Fernwe screamed her pain away and charged. She was no warrior...

~*~

"Oouuu... What doth thou speaketh of tiny one? The most wondrous Terebinth Oaks? The firmament yond shines above? Betoken me what sparks thy curiosity dearest sapling?" The old spriggan croaked and groaned as gusts of air rushed through his rumbling woody vocal chords, as if it were a mellowed ancient organ. He cast his gaze earthward to the tiny halfling girl. She had an awed smile on her face as she reached her short arms into the air while she twirled on a little patch of mossy ground, as if by doing so she could fully embrace the lush magical forest around her. Everything in this part of the Carpathian was bursting with fertility and life. From the giant mushrooms, flitting glittermoths, towering grandstags and of course, the time honored Terebinth Oaks.

"It's... ALL so... ENORNIMOUS!!" If the old tree could crack a broad smile, he would have one at that exact moment as his ancient mind pondered at the halfling child's choice of words. He'd already learned quite a few ever since he began taking her on his forest walks. Purplesmell, wonderventurous, fuzzyhmms, the list went on. The little tikitooth cub that usually trailed around her feet seemed just as enchanted as her friend. Her furry ears twitched this way and that, trying to make sense of it all.

"You're a Grovekeeper! What seed... what MAGIC could grow such LIFE!" The child went on, her eyes almost seemed to sparkle and she giggled out of sheer joy as a glittermoth alighted on her pointed nose.

She slashed at the Shade, but without so much as a blink of its soulless orbs, the mirror creature blocked her arm mid-swing. A clenched fist jabbed into her gut, and Fernwe doubled over spluttering as breath was forced out of her lungs. Before she could recover, there was an audible crack as she was kicked in the face, sending her crashing to the ground. Blood gushed from her broken nose, and her vision swam as tears formed in her eyes. Then the Shade was upon her once again. Retrieving the dagger the Shade pounced on her. Drawing on whatever reserves she had, Fernwe grabbed at the blade to prevent the dagger from slipping into her heart. Her fingers were wrecked, but the halfling held on for her life. The blade slipped lower.

~*~

"Hmmm..! Marry the Grovekeepers tend to the trees and animals with their charm. And with seeds, they replenish the forests with evergreens yond in turn, provide sustenance for littler creatures. But these... These groweth not with marvelous charm nor enchanted seed! Nay, these art not what makes a true Grovekeeper, without which such could not exist."

"What is it then, Lysander? How does one grow such enornimous stuffs?" The old spriggan let out another rumbling hum as if stood back to ponder the halfling child, she had begun to wander off, entranced as she were with the magical forest. Reaching down with a rustle of twigs and leaves, the spriggan gently grasped the tiny child in his hands and set her up on a mossy boulder. She turned around and he was met with one of the brightest smiles in his centuries of life. It warmed his heart like a bright spring morning. The spriggan knelt down as low as he could, so he could look her in the eye.

"The answer thou seek, thou wilt findeth on thy own. But heareth me this, little one. A true Grovekeeper holds all life in that lady heart." The old spriggan prodded at her chest for emphasis.

"FINWINNE!"

She shut her hazel eyes and cried out with all her will, and when Fernwe opened them again, her eyes flashed brilliant emerald in an instant. The blade slipped lower. She felt an outpouring of her soul, like a fountain gushing from the depths of her heart. There was a thunderous roar. A flash of dark coat and rippling muscle. Another savage roar and then the Shade was snatched away in a blur of midnight fur. Through her tears and blood, Fernwe squinted in the dimly lit darkness. She could barely make out the gigantic dark shadow that was her closest friend in her mightiest form. The tikitooth had the mirror shade in its powerful jaws and with one savage snap, it was over. Fernwe slumped back down to the stony ground. She fought to stay conscious, it was too tempting to just let go. But suddenly she felt a familiar presence as she was lifted off the ground, and she knew she was alright. The lights grew brighter, even through her eyelids and then...

 

[Zazz]

Azaria awoke in a prison cell. How the hell did she get from the second trial to here? She couldn't remember.

"Ah, you're awake. You passed out after the second trial, and in treating your wounds, we recognized your halfblood ass as the ruffian who somehow managed to kill a Circle member." An imposing man with distractingly bushy eyebrows made his presence known, walking around the isolated cell. Azaria's eyes followed his every movement even as she checked her wounds from the battle against herself. Someone had, in fact, bandaged her up nicely, and the pain was little more than a slight irritation. "You are to serve out your sentence immediately."

The halfling observed her surroundings, finding the gaps between the bars too narrow to pass through and the floor bare, save for the flickering shadows that danced in the light of the blue mana torches. She must have passed out, she thought. The halfling looked to Maximus Powwel with a strong air of pride and defiance. "And how long will that take? What about a fair trial?"

But Maximus only smiled. "You must choose between two other prisoners. One will live, but the other must die in exchange for your freedom."

She narrowed her eyes at her punishment. It didn't make any sense; what would she know of two prisoners? Who even were they? How could she escape... Or she could choose to sit and rot in this cell and not choose a life to take. But her thoughts stopped when a larger cage was wheeled in. It carried the two prisoners, both of whom had their hands tied to a pole each. Between them lay the only weapon in the room, aside from those on Maximus himself; a dagger. Beside it lay a locked box.

Azaria knew the prisoners. Horror filled a pit in her stomach and her eyes widened; Verity, tied and gagged, standing next to Kaeli, her love, in the same state.

"N-no... You must be mistaken. They have done nothing wrong! Let them go. I killed him, not them. Let them go!" Azaria rattled the bars of her own cage in a fit of panic. "Let them go!"

Maximus merely stepped between the cages, hands behind his back. "Azaria Eldrvarya, you have a choice to make. Both of these prisoners have ingested a slow-acting poison." Her face grew pale, along with her knuckles. How dare they touch her lover. She yearned to touch her, to hold the fairy in her arms. Kaeli shook, frightened in the cage. Maximus went on. "In the box is the antedote. It will open when you have successfully taken the life of one of these women. If you fail to do so, both will die."

"You foul boar!" Azaria spat after the man as he left through the wide door, slamming it shut behind him. She heard the click of a lock, and the two cages swung open. All was silent in the room. The two women looked at Azaria, awaiting her decision. The half-elf slowly stepped out of her cell, rubbing her face. The wheels in her head turned furiously. Poison. The poison would kill them both. She had to choose, there was no way out. With an uncertain hand, Azaria lifted the dagger. It was her own. It felt heavy in her hand, the weight of two lives held pulling it down. She looked to Verity, who looked at her with fear, though she tried to hide it by holding her chin high. Azaria then looked to Kaeli, her lover, and her eyes softened. The fairy trembled bravely, reliving her nightmares. Azaria approached the fae woman and gently pulled the cloth away from Kaeli's mouth. She softly caressed her smooth cheek, taking in all that she was with bright green eyes. No words were spoken between the two, even as Azaria cut her free from the pole she had been tethered to. Kaeli's arms sought out the halfling's torso, and Azaria held her lover near, her heart tugging at her chest. Beside them, Verity grew increasingly pale, sure the assassin would choose her lover over her. She was nothing to the halfling in comparison. She was going to die.

For minutes, the two lovers held each other. Azaria's fingers stroked through red hair, Kaeli's heart slowly calming. Finally, Azaria pulled back and let the fairy out of the cage. She went to Verity and removed her gag. Verity shut her eyes as Azaria raised the blade.

The tearing of fabric was accompanied by the feeling of freedom, and Verity opened her eyes, confused. The halfling set the locked box in the princess's hands and left, rejoining her lover. Verity watched in shock and confusion as Azaria took hold of Kaeli's hair and kissed her. The two of them molded together like they were one, with Kaeli's hands on Azaria's waist. A tear fell from Azaria's eye as she gently moved her lover's hair from her neck, kissing her with all of the love and care in the world. She loved Kaeli with all her heart, and she told her so in a whisper. Kaeli sensed her hesitation, her reluctance, and placed a hand over her lover's heart and nodded, silver eyes meeting teary green ones. She gave a gentle smile, and raised on her ties for one last, loving kiss.

Azaria slipped the blade into the base of her skull and into her brain. Tears flowing freely now, she guided Kaeli's corpse to the ground, falling to her knees and bawling over her still form.

___

Azaria awoke in the fetal position in the crumbling room, eyes wet and arms enpty. Confused, she wiped her eyes and slowly sat up, taking a look around at the others who had nade it through. She couldn't look at Verity, even as she came to terms with the fact that it had only been a trial. Azaria crawled over to Pyrrhus and huddled close to him, breathing in the scent if sandalwood to ground herself so she wouldn't hurl.

 

[Lekiel]

Keeper..keeper..er..er...

Keeper.. The voices... they resonated like ripples upon a pond. Floating outwards from somewhere deep within the recesses of her consciousness.

"Keeper." A rush of wind in her ears. And then a watery PLOP. Hazel eyes flashed wide open. Flecks of gold reflected in irises as they beheld the setting of Aurora's light. It was a fair day, with a scattering of puffy clouds drifting lazily in the wind. Their cottony whiteness stained vermilion as the light dipped into the horizon. She blinked.

Ironic. That this would be our last sunset... She glanced to the darkened east. A gathering storm, roiling clouds and a foreboding crackle of malevolence that promised darker things than a mere freak weather pattern. She could taste it in the air. She wondered if they could too... they...

"Keeper..." She looked to them gathered before her. She knew their faces by heart. Every angle and crease that sculptured their faces. Faces that even now furrowed with worry. They looked to her. She was their keeper. Why me? What use is a keeper who cannot protect all those that she held dear? Why did they choose her? She was nothing. And now they will all pay for her folly. A hollow symbol of hope...

But wasn't this what she'd always wanted? Even though deep down she knew she wasn't worthy. She was nothing. NOTHING.

They glanced at each other, before the oldest of them spoke.

"Keeper... All is lost, the capital has fallen. Shylanora is besieged. They have called for aid... but we have turned them away." His face was carefully impassive. But she knew. She heard the shattered spirit crying. She saw the desperate inhumane instinct taking over. The maddened gleam of his eyes. One that called for survival, even if it meant the sacrifice of others. To live, at whatever the cost.

"We turned them away..?" She whispered in response. It wasn't a question. Not to them at least.

"Yes... YES! They forsook us! They spat on our magicks! Discarded those of our blood! We were no more than tainted filth in their lands! You would know their prejudice first hand, Keeper!" She looked to them. All were nodding emphatically, eyes wide and feverish.

"We MUST close our borders. Protect the Ellcrys. Seal the forest with our magic. IT's THE ONLY WAY!" He was nearly hysterical. They were all so far gone. But while they did it out of madness, she saw it through reason. They were right. Perhaps their enchantments could hold. They could wait it out. There was no way they could win. They were too weak. She was weak.

She opened her mouth to speak, but a tug on her hand brought her attention earthward. Her gaze fell on brilliant emerald eyes. She knew those eyes all her life. They sparkled with purity, a gaze untainted by fear. A reflection of what her soul had been. No... a reflection of the soul that she is.

And then she knew her decision had been made long before. In a darkened cave where she once lay bleeding. It seemed so long ago, like a distant memory that up till then, she wasn't even sure was hers. But everything was clear now. She understood it. They were weak... so they will become more than this! That was the only way!

"No."

His back stiffened. Unsure what to make of her denial. "Keeper?"

"No, we will not seal the forests with our magic. We will go out... We will go out, and meet them!"

"YOU WILL DOOM US ALL!"

"NOOO!" Their despairing wail took on an unbearable pitch. Their faces all seemed to melt into one twisted mass. She felt their terror. Their anguish. She saw the deaths. The slaughter. She saw the overwhelming darkness. She saw how small she was. How insignificant. She was nothing. But for once...

I am not afraid.

, ; . ' ` ~ * ~ ` ' . ; , ; . ' ` ~ * ~ ` ' . ; , ; . ' ` ~ * ~ ` ' . ;
​

The flash of light was comforting this time and she welcomed it with a smile. Fernwe's eyes fluttered open, and she immediately felt the irritating yet all too familiar sloppy wetness as Finwinne licked her face. She reached out and tucked the feline in for a deep hug, revelling in her companion's comforting warmth.

"You won't believe what i saw Finny..."

Oh but I will... because I saw it too.

 

[Purize]

Verity's head rested in her hands as she sat on the broken rubble, legs criss-crossed. She had her eyes closed, replaying in her mind the broken images and visions she'd seen during the trial. Some where clear and vivid while others were a bit hazy. A sounds crackled through the air, and Verity felt a rush of magic. When she looked up, Roland lay on the ground looking around in a daze. Verity couldn't help but crack a smile at him. "Yes, you won."

Maximus also smiled and offered to help the demi-god to his feet. "Two down, just a few more to go," he said.

A moment passed and the others started trickling through. One of the adventurers she didn't know had made it through as well Fernwe. Verity couldn't help but notice how broken Azaria and Pyrrhus looked. She wondered what they had gone through in the trials, but even more, she wondered if this was all even worth it. It was good for a person to know their vulnerabilities... but did breaking a person really make them stronger? Or did it leave them in crumbled pieces behind a tough outer wall that they would let no one through?

Maximus, who had been leaning against a pillar, stood up straight. "We should get going now. It's getting late." Verity hadn't even noticed how dark it had gotten so quickly. The trials felt like they had went on forever, but when she was inside each moment was fleeting. Verity stood, ready to fall in line behind Maximus when she turned, looking towards the ruins. "Wait, what about Vie and Kezine? They're still in there, aren't they?" Verity worried that they may have failed the trials, but Maximus nodded. "They are still in there. A guard is coming to take my position and watch for them when they come out. Sometimes the trials take a lot longer for certain people." Verity glanced at the ruins for a little longer before nodding and following Maximus back to the Circle's headquarters.

BugDozer73 SilverFlight Zazz Melon Bomb Lekiel

 

[SilverFlight]

Pyrrhus was oblivious to everything around him, until he felt a weight against his side. He looked down to find Azaria, huddled by him, leaning into his soft fur. He hesitated for only a moment, recognizing the pained expression on her face. He reached down and folded her in a tight hug, as much needing her as a pillar as she needed him. Slowly, the sharpness of the trial began to fade, leaving a dull, aching memory.
"I..didn't expect it to be anything like that..." He whispered, starting slightly when Maximus spoke.
He watched but didn't make a move. He was not going to disturb Azaria until she was ready.
Pyrrhus had lost count of how many times he wished Aeolus hadn't done what he did. At the beginning he tried to convince himself that it had been a mistake, Aeolus couldn't possibly be a traitor, but the denial wore away eventually, helped by the sting of the lash and the chafing of slave cuffs. He rubbed his wrists, where the scars were back, a red and faded memory of a past the centaur had tried to bury.
The trial had opened old wounds, and it would take time for them to close again.

Zazz Purize

 

[BugDozer73]

Roland stood and dusted himself off, nodding to Maximus. The trials had been hard, much more so than he had expected. Despite being unhurt physically, his body still ached from the beating... that he technically gave himself. Not to mention he still felt drained from the last trial. He had been so close to just taking her hand and forgetting that everything else mattered. It would have been so easy....

Roland looked back at the ruins as both Pyrrhus, then Azaria appeared. The Fae was not far behind, as well as her small cat thing. He had not thought they would all be standing here now, but they had all seem to have passed the test. Everyone except Vie and Kezine. Where were those two? Had they not made it through? Maximus made it clear that should they arrive there would be someone to greet them, so he guessed they were still completing their trials, and were not already back through the front gates. He nodded at Maximus, following behind him. As he passed Azaria and Pyrrhus, he reached out and put a hand on Pyrrhus's shoulder for a moment and gave him a sad smile, as if to say he was glad they had made it through, but he sympathized with there inner conflicts at the moment. They looked as broken as he felt. Maximus led them back to the circle headquarters, and down several hallways that Roland paid no mind to as he thought about what had happened. Maximus began dropping them off at different rooms, and when it came time for Roland to depart, he nodded silently at everyone and slipped into the room, not bothering to look around. Instead, he found the bed, collapsed and shut his eyes, giving in to the stormy sleep that had been waiting outside of his mind.

 

[Zazz]

Azaria shut her eyes tight when the centaur embraced her, a few tears escaping. The halfling leaned into her friend while her heart ached, unable to speak just yet. She heard Maximus gather the winners. Slowly, Azaria unlocked her body from her broken heart and patted Pyrrhus's equine shoulder. She stood, finally checking herself for wounds that were no longer real, and weapons that were. She took a deep, shuddering breath and extended a hand to Pyrrhus. She did not want to be in this horrid place any longer.

 

[SilverFlight]

It was Roland's hand on his shoulder that shook him out of his memories again. He gave the pirate a grateful look. Azaria pulled herself up first and Pyrrhus took her hand gladly, standing up and moving to follow the others.
The corridor out felt a lot longer than it had going in, but finally he could detect the faint breeze that was coming from out doors. He looked at the dorm door he'd been told was his.
"After the last trial...I can't imagine I would be able to sleep now without nightmares..." He muttered softly. "Would anyone care to join me for a walk back into town?"
In truth the rooms were also a fair bit more luxurious than he was used to as well. It would take him a while before he was used to them.
"I suppose...we should learn to like this place." He took another studious look around, not quite feeling comfortable in the pristine surroundings. Suddenly he missed the Sultry Pearl's small but cozy room.
Zazz BugDozer73

((You can time skip if that's what was planned, I'll write when Pyrrhus came back after it))

 

[Zazz]

Azaria took one look into the room and inhaled deeply. It felt empty. Empty and lonely and large. She needed to see her love, to hold her in her arms. She needed to know what she had done was not real. She took to Pyrrhus's side and ran her fingers through the fur behind his shoulder. "I will come. I... need to see Kaeli."

 

[SilverFlight]

Pyrrhus smiled down at his friend, taking comfort in the fact that she at least had someone to go to.
"Then let us get you to your love at once." He declared with a decisive clop of one hoof, a little of his usual bright demeanor returning.
He led the way outside, relishing the fresh, cool air.

 

[Purize]

The walk back to the headquarters seemed shorter now that she wasn't dreading the trials. It was all over and now she felt more tired and worn than accomplished. "There will be a ceremony held tomorrow for you all in commemoration of your success, but for now get some rest," Maximus had said on the way over. After escorting us to our rooms he murmured something about having other matters to attend to and disappeared down the hall.

She gave a faint smile and a wave to Roland and the rest of her new friends before closing her bedroom door behind her. For a moment she stood there, her forehead leaned against the cool wood and her hand resting loosely on the doorknob. Guilt tugged at her heart for dragging them all into that mess. Azaria's haunted face kept flashing in her mind and she remembered the way Pyrrhus's shoulder's slumped, his usual light and merriment faded. Even Roland looked weary and glassy-eyed... but then again, he always had that far-away look on his face.

Verity's hand fell from the knob and clenched into a fist at her side. They did it. They were in the circle, but she was too dazed to really be happy about it yet. She pushed off of the door and got her first good look at the room. It was lavish and clean, decorated with furniture carved from dark mahogany. It matched the theme of the rest of the building. She crossed over to the bed and kicked off her shoes, letting her bag ans sheath fall to the floor. She looked down at her sword for a moment, picking it back up to draw it out from the leather. The metal shone softly in the light of the room, humming with a familiar magical energy that she knew was her own. She killed herself with this blade. It wasn't real, she knew... but the symbolism wasn't lost on her. Parts of her still ached where phantom wounds teased at her memory. Carefully, she put her sword down again and climbed into the bed, burying under as many covers as she could and pulling them up just under her nose. As she closed her eyes she did her best to keep away thoughts of Shylanora and her father and Amaury. The candles and lanterns still glowed with light, but she didn't bother putting any of them out. She didn't want to sleep in the darkness tonight.

oO*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*Oo​

The king sat at his desk, bent over piles of parchment. His hand was stained with ink and his held a quill that scratched quickly back and forth over the surface. He was so focused he jumped when the door to his study opened. He rose his head expectantly as a guard stepped in, gesturing to Maximus. He nodded to the guard who dipped out of the room once more, closing the door behind him.

"Maximus," the king said, leaning forward. "How did the trials go today?" Maximus walked up to the desk, his arms held dutifully behind his back as he addressed the king. "Very well, your highness. We have five new recruits who completed the gauntlet successfully. Two more are still inside."

"Five new recruits?" The king repeated in astonishment. "That's quite a lot more than normal... how many entered?" Maximus nodded, more to himself as if he also shared the king's surprise. "Eight entered. Only one of them failed."

The king sat back in his chair, taking in the information. "And two more unfinished, you said... intriguing. I think i'll sit in on your ceremony tomorrow, if you don't mind." He flashed Maximus a smile, and he chuckled. "Of course my lord, it would be an honor."

"How soon will they be able to go out?" The king asked, twirling the quill in his hand. Maximus considered this for a moment. "Well, we will assign their mentors tomorrow... I don't think it wise to send them straight into searching for the artifact, your highness." The king nodded slowly. "Very well then. Do as you see fit, Maximus. They're your recruits after all. However, I would like to get your men out there to Necropolis as soon as you're able." Maximus bowed and replied, "Of course," before bidding the king a good night and leaving him alone in his study once more.

BugDozer73 SilverFlight Zazz Melon Bomb Lekiel

 

[Zazz]

Tangled in the sheets of the Sultry Pearl, Azaria lay next to her lover, bare skin touching. Kaeli watched the troubled halfling, stroking through her soft, dark hair. Azaria's hand rested over Kaeli's chest, feeling the steady thrum of a heartbeat. Kaeli was her rock. How could she have taken her life? This pure, loving individual whom she trusted her own life to.

Kaeli kissed her face. "What troubles you?" Her voice was soothing, her touch, inviting. "Hmm?"

Azaria sighed and closed her eyes. Kaeli's side was warm against her breasts. The halfling answered her quietly, telling her about the final trial. Her heart broke all over again, the memory a fresh wound, and she could not stop the tears that fell from her eyes. She felt guilty. She felt unworthy of her lover's presence, and she sat up at the side of the bed, hiding her face in her hands as her shoulders shook. She did not deserve Kaeli's love and affection. She did not deserve her trust.

But a gentle hand found her shoulder. The fairy slowly slid her hands around Azaria's naked torso, her own bare chest soft against the halfling's back. Kaeli kissed her shoulder and told her softly, "You were honourable, my love. You took an oath to protect your princess and you did. You have nothing to be ashamed of." Azaria wept harder, shaking in her lover's grasp. "Shhh... I love you," she whispered, burying her sweet smile in Azaria's neck with a kiss.

"Can you forgive me?"

Kaeli stroked the half-elf's skin and smiled, breathing in her scent. "I already have."


_____

By the time the others woke the next morning, the rogue had already bathed and returned to headquarters. She waited in the hall, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, listening to whatever banter filtered through from elsewhere. Something about their ceremony, a little bit about demons across Nymserine, hushed talk about an artifact. She picked up snippets of chatter. Necropolis. Waldorf, perhaps. But she merely stood there, waiting on the others.

 

[SilverFlight]

Pyrrhus by next morning was very much recovered, at least in appearance. He had found the breakfast laid out for them on the long tables of the dining hall: piles of delights heaped on every inch of it. There were fresh bunches of grapes, green and purple, overflowing on white china plates, dew sparkling on their perfect skins. Apples, oranges, bananas, pears, quince and custard fruit, all pristine and perfect. There were mountains of pastries of every kind, flaky or jam-filled, glazed or dusted in powdered sugar. Thick-crusted bread which when broken, steamed from just being pulled from the oven. Pyrrhus savoured the sweet scent of freshly-baked bread as he heaped a loaf or two onto his plate. There were thick, salty biscuits and clotted cream and every kind of preserve Pyrrhus could name (and some he couldn't).
Another table contained plates of crisp bacon, fat sausages, still dripping with juices from the pan, and stacks upon stacks of pancakes so thick and fluffy they looked like clouds at sunset.

Pyrrhus had a healthy portion of everything but the meat stacked onto two plates. His pancake tower had been doused in gold syrup. He sat at one of the long tables (pushing the stool aside to make room for his equine rump on the floor) and admired his spoils with a misty eye. "I could certainly get used to this."
As he spotted Azaria he waved at her jovially, pointing at the massive feast and mouthing: 'can you believe it?!'
In part Pyrrhus wanted to ask her about what had happened, to ask them all, but he would wait for the moment. If their trials had been anything like his, it was not a topic that would be very open for discussion.

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((I apologize, I was really hungry when I wrote this...))

 

[Zazz]

Pyrrhus caught her attention; he must have been up before she returned. Azaria smiled back, if a little distantly, and pushed off the wall to join her friend.

"I see you've found the treasure," she teased, taking a plate for herself. It was soon piled high with fruit and bacon. Taking a seat next to the centaur, the slim rogue picked at her grapes, staring off at nothing in particular. "Some trials, huh."

 

[SilverFlight]

Pyrrhus swallowed a mouthful of fresh bread and grinned. "This is the best treasure a centaur could ask for," he said dreamily. Selecting a pear next he had just bitten into it when Azaria spoke again; he nearly choked on the sweet nectar.
"You could say that." Pyrrhus answered once he had coughed to relieve his lungs of the irritant.
"I suppose I should have anticipated something like that. The hint was that spirit reading our pasts before the trial even began..." He glanced at her cautiously, unsure whether to ask.
"What was yours about?"
Zazz