Love and Cold Winds: Part 4: Obligatory Backstory

    Garn was one of those people who made pros and cons list in their head as they assess their life and long term goals. He was doing so now aboard the traveling caravan, which was as hospitable as a long wood and metal reinforced box that could comfortably fit a party of five human sized occupants. (8 if they were of the smaller races) The dragonborn was the tallest and widest of them all so it was rather cramped. The upside was that the storm flavored mage's own space was right next to his meaning the pair had plenty of time to talk and get to know each other.
    Downside? Flirting is incredibly awkward around a nosy halfling bard who made flagrant eyebrow gestures that flew over Vort's head, but the tall lizard caught all of them. Norra was fairly pleasant as she seemed too oblivious to all of this and was definitely more concerned about the rather fat horse's food intake. Though it did not need a diet, should you mention it the horse would hit every bump on the road until they stopped. Garn could only assume this through the grumpy whinnies in response to Norras' words.
    After the slog of a quest within Gardlid, what followed was an attempt to short change them due to the outdated paper work. It ended when Garn, Norra, and Vort loomed over the head secretary of the Gardlid guild management like a trio of angry deities while Lym spoke calmly and clearly to keep them from smiting the whole place. Thus the original reward was doubled, they stocked their wagon, and then they headed further north toward the larger city of Nomands to register their new party and head to the nearby dungeon.
    To pass the time, well-thumbed decks of tarot cards were pulled out and games from basic poker to a strategy game called Black Tower were played. Garn managed to sneak in a few wins against the seasoned players, though he guessed they were going easy on him. The days wore on as such, swampland slowly receding to allow firmer earth to support hearty trees. They stopped every now and again to cook and share stories of past adventures or of their personal lives when the alcohol was brought out.
    They learned of Garn's life within his tribe, raised by a pair of fiercely protective widows who taught him everything they knew. His friends laughed as he described the farewell meal that nearly made him comatose. He learned of Norra's life being adopted into a small band of rangers tasked with protecting a distant king's sacred forest, and how they stayed behind to fend off the usurper's men while she fled with what lay in the heart of that place.
    Lym sung his tale in the tavern of a small passing town, of how his family wished for him a life not of song and revels but of trade, merchantry, and arranged marriage. The switch from the somber song to a upbeat tempo of how he ran away with his favored lute, the dowry, and the clothes on his back sent the the spectators into an uproar of laughter and cheers.
    Vort was the last to really speak up, and the other two shared knowing glances when the young man held a melancholy smile and simply said he would share when the time was right. The time, as it seemed would be when Lym insisted they stop at a magically formed hot spring a 2 miles from the city proper before their backs all seized up from the mountain of paperwork they would have to work on. Norra vanished into the woman's section of the spring while Lym vanished into the massage parlour with a pair of elves in tow.
    Garn had settled into the hot spring, the slow season leaving the steaming body of water to himself, for at least a few minutes before someone stumbled and landed face first into the water. Steam rose and obscured the figure floating face first in the water, once it cleared enough he caught sight of storm grey hair. He jumped and quickly waded over to Vort and helped him up.
    "You alright?" he asked, keeping the very obviously drunk mage steady.
    Vort looked up unfocused at him and leaned up against him. "I'm drunk!"
    The dragonborn snorted, guiding him to the sunken benches and sitting him down. Vort apparently was a cuddly drunk as he found out, wrapping himself around a free arm. He noticed the scars fairly quickly, given the sheer quantity of them over his body. Old blade wounds and the strange twisting scars of magical attacks spotted his skin, but the most old and prominent were the branching pale lines that resembled lightning covering most of his body.
    "They're pretty ugly huh?" Vort slurred somberly, locking eyes with our narrative vehicle.
    "I wouldn't say that." he replied, the questions stuck to his tongue.
    As if reading his mind, Vort settled against him, hair sliding down to obscure his eyes.
    "Most magical orders find my sect, the Storm Callers, 'barbaric'. The nicer ones call it a relic of an old age, when the lines between druidism and magic were still blurred. They would both be kinda right and wrong in a way." He sluggishly kicked his leg up, sending rough ripples though the springs water. "We do not tame lightning or the air, instead we temper our bodies with intense training to make it our own, like forging. The storm we call on is inside us, made by the deep hate and respect forged from our cruel teachers."
    Silence followed as Vort said nothing else, as he didn't really need to. Garn could already get a far too vivid picture of the little human's early life washed in pain and fury. It made him wonder briefly if Vort's smile was ever genuine. His morbid thought was halted when he heard the mage giggle, and looked down to see him smiling up.
    "You know your tail twitches when your contemplating." he giggled again.
    At least this smile is genuine, Garn thought as returned the smile. "And you become a clumsy poet when you're drunk."
    They both laughed at that, after which a comfortable silence followed as the two enjoyed each other's company lounging in the springs. Garn did have to carry Vort back to his bed as he solidly passed out against the dragonborn, but it was rather obvious that he did not mind at all.

Shapeshifter: -Part VI- [edited]

Laying in bed, I watched my room grow ever darker, breathing and taking in the cushy, absorbent blankets. The sun set over Marblehead, and my room grew darker still. The time was approaching, and I swiftly threw my flannel pajamas to the side of the empty, black hamper. Into the steamy shower I stepped quickly, feeling the exhaustion of the day wash away with the infernal water. My fingers ran through my conditioned hair as it were composed of fairy silk, and I breathed slowly but largely, expanding my lungs wider with every inhale of pomegranate and sugar.  The scents and my energies swirled among the steaming room, caressing my aura and every inch of me into its grasp. The clouds of steam billowed around my hourglass, full figure while I stepped out to find my plush red towels folded neatly for me. I dried off and dressed to the tune of Mystery Skulls, amplifying my desires and anticipation even further. The usual bubbling sensation of refreshing energy wafted over all of my skin, not bothering me much since the early days of 'mirroring', as I called it.

I looked at the spotless, shining bathroom tiles and felt that I had forgotten something important... No matter. Time to dry. I blew out my midnight hair, pulling and brushing it out until it was straight as a ruler. I left it down, framing my made up face well, and dressed in a long black blazer on top of a black tank to keep out the cooling night time air; After all, Autumn was here. I paired it with gray skinny jeans and over the knee, flat black boots. My black faux leather purse paired with the outfit nicely, giving it an air of business casual. Perfect.

"Hot date tonight?" someone asked, and I whirred, my bones nearly escaping my skin.

"Oh, Serena!" I breathed. The spell had worked, after all.

"Just wanted to let you  know that your clothes will be done in the dryer soon. I'll be leaving now." she smiled.

"I'll walk you out!" I said, silently promising myself I'd never leave my door unlocked again.

I quickly poked my stereo to turn it off, and walked around quickly to the front door, holding it open for Serena's unassuming form. Who knew someone so unassuming could be so quiet? I scoffed at myself.

"Thank you for everything. Your work was very satisfactory, at the least, and I'm sure we'll be getting to know each other well." I handed her a key to the house. "For when I'm not here." I locked the door behind me and started down the mason stairs, about to start walking down the sidewalk.

"Um... Do you need a ride somewhere?" Serena asked, looking at the severe lack of vehicles on this side of the road.

"I'm just walking around the corner! Thank you, though!" I faked a smile and waved. The last thing I wanted to do was put her in danger. What a nice girl, but I just couldn't do that to her. The more distance between us, the better.

I marched down the sidewalk while Serena started up her car and carefully pulled away. The sun was almost completely gone then, emphasizing the glowing, promising full moon above.

A bit later, I walked up to the bar, taking a deep breath before checking the time at the door. 6:58 P. M. She'll be in her usual spot, and I looked around for a second before laying eyes on her.  She had her hair in long, tight braids which framed her face like a work of art. Her dark skin shimmered in the faint lights like the moonlight reflects upon precious onyx. I approached her and smiled, accepting my fate. She was sitting alone at the table as a queen, and I was lucky enough to have her undivided attention for the night.

We were serious at first, but after the first two martinis we were getting a bit more comfortable. As expected, she was making all of the first moves, and all I had to do was show her what a good, non-clingy, secure person I was. After doing this 5 previous times, I had become an expert at the early game with her, I hoped. She is as easy to start with as a hot knife cuts through butter.

Her dark eyes sparkled under the dim lights, and I looked into them deeply as she spoke about her job, her insecurities, her achievements, and her desires. Her dreams were beautiful, and her insecurities even more so. By the time I downed my fifth martini, however, we were barely speaking. At that point, we may as well have just been saying we wanted to have a nice night in bed together, but from what I could remember, we were just a mess of mumbled flirting and half-meant arm touches. By the end of the sixth, my mental emergency alarms rang in my head, bringing me back from the depths of drunkenness to heavily buzzed. I can't drink too much... I need my magic... To help... me... I struggled and stared at the table, refocusing my thoughts, turning my inhibitions back on, only taking a few seconds to realize that I was missing the previous ten minutes of my life. Idiot. I looked back at her dazzling eyes, her shiny braided hair behind her. She was drunk, but not too drunk to make okay choices. I can't sleep with her on the first date though, especially being intoxicated.

"This was s'posed to be a ...Date, you know? You are BEAUTIFUL!" she said a bit too loudly to me. Okay, maybe more intoxicated than I thought. She'll be getting sick soon if I don't stop her.

I asked for the check, to which she became only slightly confused, and quickly forgot as I stuffed my card into the bill as soon as it came.

After signing and paying I debated with myself for a bit. I won't sleep with her, but one kiss couldn't hurt... Could it? But she even said today was supposed to be a date... But I haven't seen her this drunk, at least we broke up last time... And honestly, I've never seen her drink this much...

"I'm... Not feelin' so good..." she half mumbled.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine," I said lightly, helping her up from her chair. "I'll walk you home and you'll wake up tomorrow, totally fine." I smiled reassuringly.

"O-okay...." she said, stumbling a little on her feet.

And away we went from the bar, an epic journey of laughter and stumbling as we clamored through the quiet, chilly streets of Marblehead for a little while. We stopped at a familiar abode, one made of dark wood and angled rooftops that I had been in at least a thousand times before. I helped her up the small stairs, all the way to her door. And out of habit, I took out my own key that I had to her best friend's house, and slipped it into the keyhole. A perfect fit, as always.

"How... How'd you get that out of my purse??" She looked confusedly at the key in the lock, still drunk but clearly sobering up a little.

Time seemed to stop as I stared, wide-eyed, at what I had just done in front of her. And I froze in shock, unable to think of a clever thing to say.

Love and Cold Winds: Part Three

~A Slightly Gruul-ing Task~

    The meaty creature hit the earth with a similar noise to a club striking a recently deceased horse. The aforementioned metaphor would also convey the feelings of the bedraggled party. After their bender in Parnattha and a perhaps too weepy goodbye from the arena owners, they traveled northward to the swamp's border of the town of Gardlid. From there they were tasked with eliminating a tribe of Gruul, nasty goblin-like creatures that had taken residence in an old fort.
    The town didn't want to deal with the dungeon that might spawn there if they were left unintended, and so our party set off to subjugate them. They did not imagine a quest so simple could drag on for so long all thanks to a lack of motivation from the local guild's scout core.
    The quest had been up for weeks with no one claiming it, allowing the little pests to get a spawning pit up and running to double their numbers. Garn swung his blade back and forth like a grisly farmer cutting down the small hoard pouring into the cracked courtyard of the fort. Gruul are not smart creatures and did not think for a minute to try and flank the dragonborn. Norra was sure as hell using their idiocy to thin their numbers down with a volley of arrows while Lym aided and berated via bardic magic behind some nearby cover. Vort meanwhile was a few paces back behind Garn, excitedly chanting over a gently glowing blade.
    The mages' order of The Storm Callers Creed magic fighting style could be summarized as 'swift and brutal' or 'ominously distant.' This was due to the more destructive spells in this arsenal needed time to build a charge and have a high range and are supplemented by spells quickly cast and supporting blade work. With the final word the blade began to discharge small arcs of lightning, the many runes across it surface glowing brightly.
    "Now, Garn!" Vort called, raising the blade over his head.
    The dragonborn tossed his blade to the side and dropped to the ground, just in time for Vort to swing his blade down. A bolt of lightning tore free from its metal, magically honing onto the first Gruul, sending smaller bolts arching though the horde behind them. A swath of Gruuls lay melting while others were stunned, then pin cushioned and burnt to death.
    Garn stood up with a grunt, retrieving his blade as Vort sped past, literally hopping from one monster to another. Lym made sure he and Garn could keep up as Norra sprinted forward, quick sniping stragglers. To the untrained eye this whole scenario was the quick deployment of a well thought out plan, though this could not be farther from the truth. There were 10 whole minutes of bickering before Vort settled everything by with the simple plan of "Keep hitting them and wait for the signal!"
    But it worked, and the party pushed their way into the entrance hall. As mentioned before, Gruul are not the brightest monsters birthed from The Pit. When the leader of their kin began turning into a eldritch goo balloon, they thought it best to plunk him in the biggest room of their new lair. This was of course, the front entrance. Nestled between two crumbling statues was a circle of black bubbling ooze. At its center was a spiral of twisted metal spines, enclosing a fist-sized red sphere in a rough eye shape. It seemed to glare at them as they approached, the deceivingly thin surface bubbled with a false depth.
    "So, What are we going to do with that?" Garn asked, wary of all the vibes coming off of it.
    "We hit it until it breaks!" Vort said cheerily. "Unless we want to keep it for some reason."
    "Hard pass, the only people who want those things are the Dungeon Guild and shady ass people." Lym pipped up. "Both are similar really."
    "Welp, lets get to it then." Norra knocked an arrow and aimed it at the sphere. "I think we got here before this thing got too powerful."
    The arrow flew true, and hilariously bounced against the orb. There was a pause before the ooze below violently surged upward into a fist and came hurling at the archer. Vort quickly became the target as he pushed his friend away and it sent him hurtling toward a wall. Garn moved without thinking with speeds faster than people could comprehend, and caught the seemingly frail mage in his arms, taking the impact with his spine.
    Lym set fire to the ichor substance with a screech of his lute strings, followed up by the archers hail of arrows. The hefty dragonborn cushioned the impact with most of his back, hoping that cracking sound wasn't his own as he slid to the ground with enough care not to crush Vort. There was a long moment of silence (aside from the quiet shrieking of of the spawner burning to death) before  the mage spoke up.
    "You okay?"
    "Thats my line." Garn replied.
    "I'm not the one who took a stone wall to the back."
    "I'm a lot tougher than you." The big lizard felt Vort shift atop him and found his face entering his vision.
    "Do I look that frail?" Vort asked.
    "Perhaps?" Garn replied, realizing he was talking to the man who had slapped him into a wall and was a seasoned adventurer. He was glad scales couldn't blush.
    "Well thanks for having my back, I hope it doesn't harm yours." Vort said with a smile.
    From afar, Lym watched the little scene with a bemused grin while the ever stoic archer picked a thin crystal from the dissolving remains of the adolescent spawner's core.
    "I think someone has a crush on our little storm cloud." the bard half sung.
    "Neat." Said Norra curtly.
    "Oh come on now, you can't possibly be a grump about such a beauty as is a young loves' first bloom!" The halfing was already spinning a whirlwind affair between the mage helping the warrior into a sitting position to check on his back.
    "Sure I can." She replied. "We have known Garn for a handful of days. What you think is a crush could just of be him protecting the magic user like any good party member should."
    "I mean maybe," Lym replied, "But just look at them!"
    Norra looked at their mage inspecting their warrior's back, watching as he happily informed him that it wasn't his spine and helped him to his feet.
    "Yes," she replied with her arms folded. "A great show of teamwork."

Body Snatcher

Ever lying
Under shadow
Watching myself
Playing, stringing

Lies and lies
Blanket tears,
Eyes and eyes
Dampen fears

Steeling spirits
Holding closer
Soaking inside
Pulling, thieving

Face to face
Scaring you,
Skin to skin
Stealing you

Ever crying
Under shadow
Watching myself
Morphing, sculpting

Lies and lies
Stealing souls
Eyes and eyes
Burning gold

Love and Cold Winds: Part Two

    Lym'rothlin Badgerheart (Also know as Lym to his friends and lovers) had heard and sung songs of heroes of happenstance using their wit or dumb luck to accomplish their goal. The handsome halfling had no idea he would ever find a living soul that would have both aspects wrapped in a uniquely eye-catching package such as Vort. 
    Norra was a hunter down to her core, born and raised in the dense Novera Forest. She knew how to track, hunt, and even cast a little magic to give her arrows and knives enough of an impact on monstrous beasts. Caution and distance had been her only companions 'till a boy with storm colored hair saved her from the club of a berserk minotaur, and so the wood elf swore a life debt to him.
    Their reasons aside, over the year of travelling and performing feats to gain a decent reputation, the three found themselves becoming fast friends. And while they decided things by diplomacy, Vort's cheerfully chaotic disposition often led them down very interesting roads. In this particular instance it had led them to the human settlement of Parnattha on the edge of Garr'thd's Swamp.
    Within this particular town was a Tavern (non) ironically called The Slippery Fish. Garn found himself sitting in a back booth with Vort and aforementioned company. His prospects of ale-powered flirting was dashed as he looked between the chipper bard and the ranger oozing stoicism out of her green cloak. Vort had sat himself right next to Garn while the height-apposed duo sat opposite of them. Lym had just finished regaling everyone within ear shot of the perilous tale of how the party got its name, The Happy Accidents.
    "Well...An excellent song." Garn finally said. The halfling stood on his seat and bowed, eliciting a smattering of applause from nearby patrons. To think this all stemmed from the harmless question of, "So, who are you?"
    "Anyway," Norra said, "Lets just cut to the chaise. We need a fourth member to get into the higher levels and you're the best option for miles."
    This was not the first time the dragonborn had heard this line. Once he left his little village and started making a splash in his newfound profession, a representative of the nearest local guild (The Hardy Serpent) came to fill him in on the way of the world while attempting to recruit him.
    In times long past past the five great heroes of old formed the first guilds to combat the evil sweeping across the land. The High Guilds are those guilds which follow the highest orders of the High King and the Collective Kingdoms. From each region they oversee the Lesser Guilds, those formed by seasoned adventures to tackle greater challenges and tasks with all the benefits involved. Further segmenting this are Parties, smaller bands of adventures who are either in a guild or trying to get into one. There are also Mercenaries, those who prefer the independence away from the political  and cutthroat practices guilds tend to accumulate in their ranks.
    Any adventurer also had a Level, which was a short hand for their experience and prowess, and depending on the guild the process of leveling up could have been stupidly easy or easily frustrating. Garn happily skipped all this nonsense and marked himself as 'Mercenary, not taking requests'.
    So, why would he even hear them out now? One could blame the small man with storm colored hair that bitch slapped him into a wall. He of course would not admit that to himself or anyone else.
    "I don't know, what's in it for me?" Garn finally said.
    "A chance to actually be challenged again." Vort spoke up, "Plus, the money isn't half bad!"
    Garn blinked and looked down at the smiling human. Given he was the one who bitch slapped him an hour ago this sentence out of context would have been condescending. However the sheer sincerity it was spoken with, combined with a very honest assessment, Garn had begun to feel ever so slightly bored with his lot in life. He had left his home village to experience the world, and only took the job to hone his sword skills and get some gold for himself.
    Given the mediocre challengers he was put up against, he was made into the child with the biggest stick in the age old game of 'don't hit me with that'. He was tempted to say no to them much like the other parties and guilds that had attempted to recruit him, but he was more tempted to say yes (definitely not from the silly flight of having a crush, how dare you imply that?).
    "Alright," he said finally after the correct amount of tension built. "I'm in."
    "Yes!" Vort shouted joyfully. "Drinks are on me!"
    The whole party cheered, and proceeded to partake in the age old adventuring bonding experience; Becoming amazingly drunk and rowdy for the rest of the night.

Shapeshifter: Part V

Shackles holding me upright against a smooth stone surface, I awoke to... a different realm entirely, turning my stomach to shreds and stealing my breath from my heaving chest. Spheres the size of houses tumbled and turned in a black infinite abyss, dotting the vista with stars of lost hope above and around me. The spheres barely missed me, but those dots in the sky didn't look quite right either, almost as if each one had its own expressions and emotions as if they were some how alive. This turned my vision blotchy, and I attempted to close my eyes but it burned with the strength of a searing pan from an oven. I didn't dare look down in the horror that I may have been, in fact, floating, as my legs dangled past the slab I was tied to. I tried to close my eyes but they refused, and my body screamed as I opened my mouth and no sound escaped, as if I had never had one. I saw nothing of myself besides my left arm, which looked darker and skinny, a long hand sprouting forth with even longer fingers; I wasn't sure I could get used to the sight of it and panicked even further than what I believed my limits were. The unease in my stomach came to a vomit as I felt something alive within me, trying to emerge (crawl?) up my throat. The lack of breath running through my throat did not disturb me in the least, as if I never even had lungs. A windy whirring sound caught my attention for a brief few seconds, which came louder and louder, as if something were moving towards my dangling, infinitesimal body in this chaotic world of the strange. The thing in me was slimy and was coming out any way it could, a few tendrils, possibly even tentacles, at a time. Expanding and stretching, I felt my throat about to burst.

I woke up face-planting the floor again, this time too late, and I squeaked with a half scream into the solid floor when I turned my head. With a muffled thud all of me landed without too much harm done. I coughed and gasped loudly, a horribly loud cacophony of wheezes coming from my exasperated body. I writhed along the floor and held onto the rug until my breath finally slowed a bit, sweat covering the once clean, pink fluff of my small rug. I felt the terrible stomach drop of foreboding and with a start, I paused, and ran to the bathroom to vomit what was left of my dinner.

I'm never eating calamari again, I repeated in my head like a broken record, tears flowing down my face from the toxic taste of bad, half-digested seafood and bile.  After hours of retching, I was finally empty and laid on my side on the cushy blue bath mat, my muscles aching and my stomach feeling like I had swallowed needles. 

"Water..." I croaked to the air, pushing on my leg to slowly shamble over to the kitchen to get a glass, nearly falling with each reach of my now weakly legs. The walls were an excellent tool for catching myself, at the least. The cool liquid soothed the irritation while that sustenance helped my stomach stop turning with every second gone by. With a fumble or two, I hastily searched for my phone, the only device between herself and I. My 'men's' flannel pajama pants tried to contain the phone forever, but alas, I beat them at their own game by taking the phone out of its textured, industrial case. No new notifications lit up the bleak, depressing screen with 9:52 A. M. read on it. I opened the texting app and quickly typed out "Good morning. It's Annabelle" before staring into the white, infinite light that was the message box.

If I put a winking face after, it might seem too forward or creepy. But if I put no smiley I might sound like an ass. But if I do use a smiley she might think I'm too friendly. Or she might hate smileys. Goddamned human norms...

I started breathing shorter and I placed my phone down, closed my eyes, and inhaled with all of my might. My lungs were squashed like the gods were clamping down on each one with a large, muscular hand.

Calm down, Annabelle... You idiot... I really need to do something about this anxiety, and this weird lung-squeezing sensation.. It's going to become a huge problem. And with that thought, I forced my shaking hands to pick up my phone, type a regular smiley face and send the message, then dragged myself over to the marshmallow couch with frailty. I let the couch devour all of me that it would allow, with a box of crackers in one hand and The Dreamlands Journals: X in the other.

Serena will be here soon, at least. Hopefully she's good. I'd hate to lose another mundane servant...

The Dreamlands series didn't sit as well with me today as it normally would, as I kept flashing back where I was a few hours ago. Each time I saw the long, thin, brown arm coming out of me, my stomach turned once more. My body crawled with specks of pins and needles all over with my strangely quick, but quite normal healing abilities. The clock chirped as it struck noon, and my crackers were running low. I prepared to see Serena by primping my messy bun and wiping off my streaked makeup from some days prior. After all, who doesn't love a post-scheming B. O.?

Serena was normal, to say the least; 'Mundane' and 'inconspicuous' were her middle names. The stomach churns pried my attention from The Journals and, giving up, I decided to watch Serena instead. I had barely noticed her coming in as she gave a mousy "hello!" and begun the work I was paying her for immediately. She had shoulder length wavy brown hair pulled into a top knot with a bandanna over most of it, with dark brown eyes and an earnest vibe that seeped into everything she touched. She was perfectly normal, for hired help. The best part about her was her lack of awareness of my false walls.

My leg itched when, with a buzz, my phone finally vibrated. I picked it up, and it was her.

"Good Afternoon :)

You and me, martinis, 7 o'clock tonight. You in?"

Her forwardness never ceased to impress me, and I dropped my phone onto the wooden table with a clatter while holding my breath. I read it over once, then twice, then three times, after picking it up with a careful grip.

"She wasn't supposed -" Serena turned and looked at me, listening, as she was the only person here. "I just -" I stopped at that, feeling my mind start shorting out, and made a heel turn before swiftly sliding on my striped socks into my bedroom.

"She wasn't... She wasn't supposed to ask me out... THIS soon..." I half-breathed to the air. The other half was a loud, ever increasing wheeze. My senses began veering, as I then heard the ticking of the analog clock as if it were right next to my ear, TICK... TOCK... TICK... TOCK... The ticking began to drift away, but before I could feel relief, I smelled the cleaning solution Serena used in the kitchen filling my nostrils with ammonia. My nose and sinuses were on fire, and I threw myself on the bed at the woozy unraveling of my balance.

After what felt like a whole day of having my eyes closed, I then could hear my phone vibrating inside my brain, my skull, my bones, like magical vibrations were torturing and sensationalizing my unassuming body before I even knew what was happening.

Magical seizure? The words came to mind, but I hadn't felt anything like it before in the 106 years I had been on this strange earth.

Asthma... Magic... HALT. I gathering up all the Willpower I could within myself, feeling it flow through me like a warm, violent liquid. That I could concentrate was certainly a miracle, allowing me to finally end the curse Annabelle had been stricken with from infancy. Warm liquid pooled in my lungs and it stung and burned as hot as lava. If you could imagine pouring bleach into your chest cavity, that wouldn't even begin to describe the agony I had just begun putting myself through. The pain in my chest completely covered all of the pain I would have had to bear within my skull.

I maintained a firm grip on the flannel sheets and quilted blankets of my bed, just barely being able to direct my screams into the bed, hopefully muffling them enough that Serena wouldn't hear.

I awoke several hours later facing my ceiling, all of my pain and mental anguish finally gone. The relief overflowed within my soft, squishy shell of a body. My lungs felt oddly clear and free from strain, and my head was sorting itself out at a quick and steady tempo. "Thank the Gods." I whispered to the peace and quiet of my room. The different recesses of my mind, no matter how deep, had been knocked around quite a bit. I could feel the disarray cluttering corners and niches of the dark halls that mapped my thoughts. My palms stung with nail marks where I had clawed through the silk, violet sheets, drawing drops of blood.


I rolled over with more ease than ever before, my new body finally becoming accustomed to my unfamiliar spirit. Enjoying the lifting of weights off of my chest, I reached for my phone on the cold, solid end table.

It was all real, right?
To my delight, the message was actually there. The anxiety of the day that had melted away was soon replaced with overwhelming determination. I caught myself smiling at my phone as I answered, "Sure! I'd love that." 

Love and Cold Winds: Part One: When Losing a Tournament is a Good Thing

   In a world as fantastical and filled with adventure as Tellardrin, one could not contest that huge shows of spectacular violence makes everyone happy. The small Colosseum, built by some hopeful entrepreneurs, literally banked their hopes and dreams on it. And by the grace of the Gods of luck and gambling it was paying off.
    This was mostly in part to Garn, of whom to the proprietors had crawled out of the western swamps just to claim the title of champion. It helped the alligator-like Dragonborn was 6'7" and built like a barrel with several logs wrapped in dark green hide topped with another log filled with teeth. He had even gained enough money to gather enough leather and metal to create an intimidating metal sleeve and threatening belt. Of course, arrogance and a swelled head followed, as who could beat a literal giant lizard with a sword that could double as an ironing board?
    Garn certainly didn't think it would be the tiny human who cheerfully entered the ring, his friends equal parts wishing him luck and asking why he believed this was a good idea. He toward over the little human, watching the cloud of storm colored hair and dark grey robes flow as the wind kicked up.
    He had with him a long and thin sword covered in strange marks, and a overly friendly smile. Garn raised an eye ridge at this newcomer. The proprietors had informed him he would be fighting a formidable adventurer, but the little thing before him looked out of place within the rough sand and high walls of the arena.
    "And who are you?" Garn bellowed over the crowd, as it wasn't hard with all the bass in his voice.
    "Vort of The Grand Peninsula." He returned, only loud enough for his opponent to hear.
    "Let us hope you fight as grand as your title." the dragonborn moved into a fighting stance.
    Vort simply smiled and took up his own stance. And when the call to begin came, he flew. Garn watched as the little human dashed forward and hopped into the air, sword poised in a thrust which led towards his opponents un-armored shoulder. He managed to just barely avoid the blow, staggering back as Vort skidded to a halt and retook his stance. 
    The objective of this battle was simple, hit one another until one was incapacitated. The local Mages had enchanted the stones of the arena to dull any attack so one could not be killed, only bloodied. Garn steadied himself and grinned as he raised his blade.
    "I didn't know I would be fighting a Mage." he said.
    "What gave it away?" Vort called back.
    "No normal swordsman would use such attacks."
    Vort laughed, and came at Garn with a fast horizontal slash. Despite his size, the Dragonborn could move with surprising bursts of speed, and stopped the attack with the flat of his own blade, bringing his free fist down toward Vort's head. He rolled out of the way before the scaly mace could make contact,and jumped further back as Garn's massive blade cut the air where he had just been. He let loose a stone-shaking roar as he went on the offensive.
    His massive blade whistled though the air and sent clouds of dust as it hit the earth were his nimble opponent had barely managed to get away. Vort managed to move in close enough to land a blow, but was sent flying by a punch to the stomach. And so they went, partners in a deadly dance.
    Both had equal reach with their weapons, and what Vort lacked in Garn's impressive strength he made up for in his astounding speed and precision. They continued to trade blows, stepping back and coming at each other with ferocity given to those who quickly grew to respect the other's prowess while all the while the crowd cheered, screamed and bet on the outcome of a fight no one would ever guess would be so intense.
    It was when the pair pulled away, Garn knew he had to finish this soon. While the injuries he had sustained were not fatal they were steadily compiling against his stamina. It seemed a much similar case for Vort, blade bobbing with each breath he took. He would have to buy an ale for this one after he won, he thought, prepairing his final strike against the human.
    He had just enough time to realize the long and thin blade coming toward his face like an arrow, and quickly raised the flat of his blade to deflect it. He didn't register the impact of it though, as Vort had seemingly materialized in front of him, hovering in the air as the back of his hand made contact with Garns face.
    This humble narrator would like to pause on this moment to quickly explain something to you dear reader. Many of you are aware of the phrase "love at first sight" but within Tellardrin's western Dragonborn culture (and a few Dwarven ones as well) is the concept of "love at first blow." Sparing the long winded cultural history as to how it came to be, it boils down to similar concepts: a connection with another which brings about strong feelings, outside of the physical feeling of being struck.
    This was the feeling that struck Garn, along with a slap empowered by a storms gale that sent him flying into the nearby wall and into abrupt unconsciousness. It is fairly obvious to admit that it was something absolutely no one had expected, at all.

Shapeshifter -Part IV-

This woman I stole had been in impeccable physical health, but she had the anxiety of someone who had been through more than a few incidents in her life. I didn't have time to reflect on it as she sucked me into this deep conversation that I was letting her trap me into. I was a willing participant, strung up in her web of anecdotes. Her words always gave me both a flutter in my stomach and a tightness in my chest, like a titan squeezed around my lungs with an enormous grip. It was both familiar and incredible, though the squeezing was a bit harder than my liking in this body.

Not showing my unease, I hoped, I forced myself to breathe the best I could, and timed it with the ticking of my designer watch, at the same time demanding my eyes to stop looking anywhere but into hers.

"Do you understand what I mean?" she looked straight at me, a sincerely concerned look on her face. She's been talking this whole time and all I've been doing is breathing. God. Damn. It.

"Yeah. Thank you." I smiled, speaking slightly better than squeaking, this time.

"So what's bothering you? What's on your mind, hun? You look lost."

I looked down awkwardly, trying to use body language to my advantage. "I don't really want to talk about it, thanks though." Damn it, why did I do that? Looking around in a small panic I said, "Honestly I'd really just like to talk with you about other things, if that's okay."

"Oh? Well how would you like to hear about my most recent breakup?" She gave a smile that read about as innocent as a demon of depravity.

"Uh, yeah, sure." Shit. SHit. SHIt. SHIT. 

"Let me tell you something, this lady was incredible. She was beautiful, rich, good at making love, and cared about me. But you know how sometimes people can get a little too into you?"

I stared blankly and just barely nodded.

"She was possessive, you know? She said that she just couldn't bear to see me with anyone else, whether it be an acquaintance or a friend. Total bullshit, if you ask me. Happens all the time, though" she sighed. "Everyone else I know has issues with guys or ladies cheating on them, and I'm over here with the stalkers." she laughed. It sounded like the Christians' version of the Devil in my ears.

I believed that I was keeping my calm well, until I realized my eyes were spread wide in amazement. My mouth was definitely also agape. "I suppose I can imagine what you mean... After all, people need their space, right?"

I frantically searched my mind for hundreds of ways I could distract myself and have time for myself while dating her, and exactly zero of them were appealing to me. Reading? I've read every book I own plus I already read two books per day from the library. Painting? Boring. Music? Already d --

"Damn straight... What was your name again, sweetie?"

We exchanged names and numbers, and that was the moment I made it my mission to let her have time for herself at all costs, for the fifth time. The first time didn't count, since I didn't truly know her until it was too late. But this time, the sixth relationship, I am making my fifth attempt at this 'space' thing count.

That evening after I went home, all I could do was sit and breathe while my mind gradually churned slower from the excitement that afternoon. I sipped my finest whiskey with my back slouched into the new marshmallow couch I had delivered a few days prior. Even though the television was on, I didn't see it. I didn't even truly hear it. My eyes looked but the rest of me was seeing micro expressions, blinks, shimmering hair, all belonging to her. Why did I have to choose a body with such bad anxiety? I agonized over how the conversation went, over and over through my chaotic brain.

Though, after a while, it turned into my past faces, my new face, my plans, my life... And
like the waves of an ocean, my mind caressed the edges of the coast of where my wonder sat. Why am I the way I am? And if the Gods made humanity, then who made ME? I jumped out of my seat as I saw Vincent's face stare back at me from the lit screen. And now I'm hallucinating again. Great. My whiskey now covering the nearby rug, I wandered to bed and laid in the darkness, truly feeling how alone I was for the first time for as long as I could remember. Those questions lurked ever closer than before, creeping about the corners and niches of my mind while I tried to focus on anything, everything else. Each and every one haunted me into my sleep.

So you Wanna Leave a Cult?

    Well hello there! If you have picked up this pamphlet, opened the cover and started reading this then you are in fact, in a cult! It's alright though, these things happen to people with little self esteem and who are incredibly gullible to people who speak with a degree more authority than they are used to. If you feeling offended, then congratulations! You are on your way from leaving the happy little group of suckers that surround the ego maniacal criminal you call a cult leader!
    Follow along these 7 simple steps and you just might make it out into normal society!
    Step 1: Just.Leave.
    Now  I know what your thinking- "If I could just fucking leave, then I would!" and if that is your case, this is not the step for you. For those who just got their feet wet in strange rituals and sabbaths in a spooky warehouse, you can leave! Most cults starting out will always have one or two who drop the cause and return to normal life. They may attempt to reach out to you, so if you find them getting too frequent, best skip town for a while.
    Step 2: Remember that skipping town bit?
    If just now 'a cult' seems like a bad idea after the sacrificial bloodletting binding you all together, then its time to close your accounts, stuff all your clothes and money in a bag and drive. There are two optional places you can hide if your former cult buddies decide "one of the Chosen Children of Chargathum'dall" is too important for the Grand Plan: A massive city, or a small town. Both have their pros and cons of course. a city will offer the anonymity of millions of other people, though so do they if they come for you. In a small town, you are the newbie in a town where everyone knows everyone, and there is a high chance your new friendly (and nosy) neighbors will happily greet you, while simultaneously trying to pry everything about yourself out of you. The trick is to act the right amount of normal to keep the community placated, while being interesting enough to keep them from just dismissing you as "just another townie."
    The con of a small town is that everyone is just too damn friendly. Once your cult finds you via some dark magical means or the paper trail your incompetent ass left, being friendly to the locals will make it easier for them to spill your location to them. But, I hear small town cops are really bored and with something like this, you'll have their full attention.
    However, if you are too deeply entrenched in the eldritch rituals and ceremonies to actually just up and vanish, proceed to Step 3!
    Step 3: Fake your Death!
    Well this escalated quickly didn't it? Sadly, your inability to "just say no" when you performed that rite naked and skin-soaked in a mixture of goat and pigs blood, and your witness of something inhuman peering between the shadowy gaps of the trees scribbling furiously, means it's time to take hold of your gender specific genitalia and start being drastic! This step might be a tad hard to do as they watch over each other like a bunch of paranoid hawks but it is worth trying out at the very least! Due to some legal reasons this pamphlet cannot spell out how to do that, so if you're rather unimaginative and have no skills in grave robbing, proceed to the next step!
Step 4: Time to be a Mole!
    Like any decent cult, yours is bound to be doing something so shady even shadow things raise their shadowy eyebrows. It's time to put your natural ability of ass kissing to good use! Build up evidence against your Leader and the various members of your Cult, maybe set up a camera during the Ritual of Borsha'gthha so you have that rampant animal abuse on tape (best keep yourself out of the footage though). Collecting evidence might be hard if you have to live in a room with four other dudes while your Great Leader has a girl-filled mansion to himself. But hey, if you all have an hour of "private time" then be sure to stash them where no one would look. Finally, once you have enough footage, be sure your one of the few who go into the neighboring town to get supplies, ditch your fellow cult members and sing like a canary hopped up on crack.
    With any luck, your testimony and the various evidence will be enough to have police and SWAT kicking in plywood doors and dragging cultists out. Unless of course, the police are under the Cult's control... Which leads us to:
    Step 5: Time to Hire Investigators!
    Aaah, the bane of any cult: nosy people! Yes while it seems a little terrible dragging other people into your mess, remind yourself you saw your leader summon a black glowing ooze from a ritual circle and it turned Bob into a horrible bloated monstrosity that shambles around the estate, so you're really running out of options! A normal party of investigators come in groupings of 3 to 8, and have a wide variety of skills and knowledges that could be helpful in ending your cult...Or getting them brutally killed, at the least. Fret not, for there always seems to be a unlimited number of people willing to fill in the sudden vacancies!
    As for actually hiring them, its best to hire by proxy! Find a good friend, trusted loved one, or someone the cult has alienated, and promptly beg them for help. 9/10 Times they will happily shell out money or favors in order to bring the investigators into town. If your Cult leader starts to get antsy and look suspiciously at his herd then you know they are here!
    Step 6: Lay Low!
    Again, this may seem rather hard as the gaggle of semi-competent "heroes" you managed to hire happily plow though all the carefully laid plans your leader had laid in place with a frightening mix of pure luck and incredible bouts of violence toward the heart of the eldritch and sordid affairs you and your buddies have been up to. It is here you may start to notice bouts of madness begin overtaking various cult members, including your leader as the amount of black rituals with each gleeful ruination of one of those dastardly webs that were woven.
    Human sacrifice in order to summon up a big nasty thing from the realm of H. R. Giger's nightmares and spell slinging mad men are not far behind you and your choice of wearing your "brand me with dark maddening runes" robe today. Its best for you to stay as far under the radar as possible, and weave the illusion of actually participating. Make the movements but not say those hard to sound words, stay hunched in the back as your leader asks for "volunteers", and above all else- STAY. AWAY. FROM.THE. INVESTIGATORS.
    They are more likely to get you killed than any abomination of nature your Grand Leader pulls from parts unknown. You're still a "cultist" and in 99% of the time you run into them, you will get shot, stabbed, beaten, or hit with a spell. Find yourself in that happy medium and wait for:
    Step 7: Wait Until Everyone's Dead!
    Yup! The final step is to be the biggest coward in the bunch. For you see, in the end once you introduce investigators into the mix the  "Final Plan" will be pushed months or even years ahead of schedule as time becomes a precious commodity. As the party to end all parties gets started, the investigators come storming in, guns blazing and sealing spells at the ready.
    Before that, be sure to have an exit strategy, know the entrance which they will most likely enter, hope you aren't doing this ritual inside a room with only one door, and make your move when everyone is distracted! That's right! Run like your life depended on it (because it does!) Always be sure to be wearing normal clothes and good running shoes under your robe because you best ditch that place the minute you can.
    Its best to find a place to hide and wait it out if you can, as who knows what nasty buggers are lurking around the perimeter? Just don't stay in the main building as investigators have a habit of setting fire or blowing up buildings with cult related activity in them.
    If you can't do this, I suggest stealing some car keys before hand, or learning how to hot wire for a quick and safe getaway. Just be sure to ditch the car after the sun rises! With any luck all evidence of you being in the cult would be burned up along with the corpses of monsters and your former colleagues, leaving you free as a bird (except for those nightmares and therapy!)
    And there you have it! You managed to survive the worst decision in your life, and once again are free to hopefully not join another cult! For additional aid please grab "So, an Investigator is Trying to Kill You?" Who knows, you might need it!

Shapeshifter -Part III-

Between shopping and moving, all I could remember was falling: falling into a dark living room, with a bear skin rug and a dim fireplace. A red velvet couch sat next to me as the music of life quickly muted to eerie silence. I floated still, feet touching the floor with no feeling. The lack of voices in my head was both a relief and horrifying. I was alone... Actually alone. No one would find me here. All that surrounded this room was pitch. Where there should have been walls there was shadow. Even with the irregularities, I held a feeling of calm underneath the dread. My stomach sank with realization. Is this mine? I shuddered with a cold chill, and when I blinked a gold and black crown appeared upon the velvet couch, about the size for a king. About my size, I silently thought to myself. I could hold myself back no longer, and temptation pulled me to the crown. With a leap, I was in my blankets, my bed, the beaming sunlight from my window on my face and reality sinking in. I could scarcely breathe with my lungs burning for air.

The weird, foreboding dream haunted me every night without fail.

I woke up in my bedroom, standing near the edge of my bed,  watching the floor come closer and closer to my face faster than you could say the word ‘ouch’. My life flashed before my eyes, reminding me again of her aura and presence, but luckily, my arms reached the floor before the rest of me did. Sweat poured from my head down to my chin, then dripped onto the fluffy, purple rug I picked up yesterday.

“Uuuuuuuuuggggggggghh,” I vocalized to myself and the ceiling, rolling onto my back. At least the softness of the rug was a little comforting, cushioning my back from the wooden floor. My beating head went away once I thought of her, and her velvet soft skin, her silver streaked, black silky hair in the wind like it was straight out of a shampoo commercial. I wondered how she was, if she smelled the same, if she cut her hair, if she got that promotion…

I snapped out of my mind as my phone buzzed in my pocket. A reminder read "PART I START" lit up across the screen. A grin grew across my face with a demure and maniacal feel. Let us begin.

I read my list one last time, rehearsing everything in my head based on how it went the last 6 times. I slipped on skinny jeans and a striped shirt with a new bracelet. It will work this time, I know it will. I just have to have a little faith. I brushed eye shadow and blush, and drew the sharpest cat eyeliner possible. My name is Annabelle Chevalier. I went to college for Literature and that I have an avid interest in reading and writing. I am 35, and I take vitamins. Exercise and health is important to me. I grabbed my new favorite bag, a classic brown messenger bag made of faux leather and careful planning. I was adopted and have no idea of my biological parents, and my adoptive parents passed away at least 3 years ago. I smiled a couple of times in the mirror to make sure I looked perfect, and then checked the clock. I was right on time.

I marched over to the corner, sirens blaring in my head, ignoring a couple of idiots on the street. I peered into the window of the bookstore. The angelic, silver haired wonder of my interest was indeed sitting at one of the three cafe tables, sipping her favorite tea and reading the first book of the Dreamlands Journals series for the 28th time. I felt my hair to make sure it was still pristine and walked in, shoulders straight and head high. I couldn't feel my limbs, as they disintegrated into nothing from just one look at her. My head nearly beat out of my skull while I badly feigned perusing the aisles for the next fiction novel to read. The temptation to look at her was pulling me ever deeper into this hole I was digging for myself.

Her long black hair becoming lustrous and metallic, sparkling under the ceiling lights appeared to glow with an otherworldly sheen. My hands ached to feel it swim in between my fingers. I caught myself shortening in breath, and I closed my eyes to force my lungs to take in as much air as possible, slowly. My breath was slightly audible as I inhaled with all of my might.

Needles shot up my arm as my nails dug deep into my palm. My other hand just trembled, fingers outstretched. Breathing helped a little with both cases.

I opened my eyes in time to see her smiling at me. From her table, probably 20 feet away, she clearly could have seen me attempting to squash an anxiety attack from possessing my body. Why me? I looked up at the ceiling as if to look at the sky, at the heavens, at the gods in embarrassment. I felt the flush of blood go to my ears and cheeks, as I had each and every time I attempted to seduce her again. Why do I even try to be subtle?

"Are you okay?" she asked, giggling a bit at my social failure. Gliding up to me with the poise of a beauty queen, she spoke, "I don't mean to pry, but... Well, I am a psychologist, and it appeared you were having a bit of a rough time there. Would you like to talk about it?"

I felt disbelief, which of course I probably showed on my stupid face, and while I paused she waiting only a few moments before, "Sorry, maybe I shouldn't have offered. I'll go sit down again." She walked back to her table looking down at her feet, fidgeting with her fingers together.

The awkwardness consumed us both, while I stood there speechless in front of the Miscellaneous Fiction aisle, and she tried but failed to concentrate on her book.

"I-- you know what? Sure. I'd love to ta--" I coughed as my voice cracked from nearly asphyxiating myself with anxiety. My lungs were squeezing themselves shut faster than I could breathe in. I forced another deep breath, and she smiled. "Talk. I'd love to talk."