by Kyle Spencer
“How does that make it okay?!” Ravenna screams back as she waves her hands over Einar's corpse. The color quickly fades from his body before the brave warrior crumbles to pieces like shattered ice. “Uriel! Nownownow!”
Uriel draws another arrow and aims at a cluster of skeletons. The arrow flies true and hits the sternum of one of them. Upon impact a brilliant explosion engulfs them all in a red hot fireball. Even standing so far away I can feel myself cook a little in my armor from the heat wave.
“Wooooooo!” Uriel hollers. “Yes! That's what I'm talking about!” Another arrow flies. Another explosion envelopes a group of skeletons. With another arrow notched and string drawn taut, Uriel looks behind him. “Ravenna! This is too cool! We should do explosive arrows all...all the...all the time...” Out of nowhere a bone axe had embedded itself in Uriel's chest. Before any of us can call out to him his eyes roll back in his head and he crumples to the ground. As he falls he releases his arrow. Straight up in the air. I try to follow it but it disappears in the inky blackness of the night sky.
“Ravenna! Ishma! Heads up!” I call out as my warhammer finds another target. There's not much any of us can do now except try to keep the oncoming horde at bay and pray that arrow doesn't find any of us.
“I swear to your gods, Ishma,” Ravenna screams over the jangle of bone, “if we get out of this alive I'm freezing your dick off.”
Ishma just laughs. “I regret nothing.” Two more skeletons turn to dust before the priest. “And besides, if you really wanted to –“ Brother Ishma's words, as well as Brother Ishma, are drowned in a roar of flame as the arrow finally lands. Out of the plume comes shrieks of pain and thin beams of light, turning any skeleton they touch to ash. I crouch and raise my shield. The stinging scent of burnt metal tells me I did so just in time.
“Oh...” I hear Ravenna groan over the din. I peek from behind my shield to see her staring down at a smoldering hole in her chest. “My robes.” She turns to me with tears in her eyes. “They were so pretty...” She doesn't fall over like I expect, but instead instantly turns to an ice sculpture of herself. Concentric circles of fire and frost shoot up from the ground at her feet. The next sharp wind carries it all away like fine dust.
I am alone now.
And I am dying.
I know I can't take on the countless ranks of the undead by myself and I know I don't have much time left. There's only one thing I can do.
“Foul creatures of the night!” My voice echos off the abandoned homes and storefronts. “My name is Draaga Silverkin, daughter of Emira Silverkin, The Shadow's Bane. Righteous blood flows through my veins and I will not let your taint spread across this land! While my friends may be vanquished, their spirits strengthen me. With their help, the Light shall prevail this night. No matter what –“
“Talia...”
“evil deed you may commit,”
“Talia...”
“The power of Good and –“
“TALIA!”
I blink at everyone around the table. Rayne's head is cradled in his hands, eyes half closed. Erika's face is obscured by a tankard of ale and Baern has followed suit. And poor little Dirk looks close to tears as he stares at the paper in front of him. He really did love playing Einar.
“Oh...” I smile sheepishly. “I was monologuing again, wasn't I?” Everyone at the table mmm-hmms in unison. Berkley, who always sits at he head of the table, just glares at me.
“Yes,” he sneers, “you were monologuing again. Can we just get on with it?”
“Yeah, yeah.” I grumble as I scoop up the die in front of me. “I cast Mass Resurrection.” The table gasps as one. Berkley just grins.
“You don't have enough health to cast that safely. If you succeed, you die.”
“Yes,” I say flatly, “but if I don't do this I die anyways. But if I succeed I obliterate all the skeletons and bring everyone back from the dead.” Berkley's grin falters. Gotcha, you sniveling little jerk.
“F-fine, go ahead and roll.”
I send the tiny ivory orb sailing across the table where it dances and clatters before finally coming to a rest. Berkley chuckles. The rest of the table groans.
One.
“Fumble.” Berkley grins. As if we didn't know. He rubs his hands together gleefully. “Now then, let's see...”
The weasel at the end of the table always takes a sick pleasure in offing our characters in the most horrible ways, like that one time the whole party was killed by a swarm of diremosquitos. Or that time when the floor literally became lava for no reason. Then there was that time where in the first five minutes of the campaign we entered the Cave of Happiness...only to have the ceiling collapse on us.
Yeah, Berkley's a dick. But he's the only one with all the rulebooks, so I guess beggars can't be choosers.
“So,” Berkley begins with an evil smile, “instead of casting Mass Resurrection, you actually-”
“Wait!” Dirk pipes up. “Talia's luck is fifteen. That means she can reroll a fumble once per day.” He shrinks away from Berkley's glare, but the murmurs of agreement from the rest of the table give him back his courage. He reaches across the table and nabs the die, but only after (half)playfully sticking his tongue out at our Dungeon Master. “Here you go, Talia.” He blushes a little as he drops the die into my hand. I smile. Sweet Dirk.
Without hesitation I fling it again. It caroms off a couple of tankards before spinning like a top in the center of the table. Everyone leans in and holds their breath. The spinning slows down and the die comes to a stop. Berkley slumps back in his seat while everyone else cheers.
“Twenty!” I cry. “Critical!” I smile at our DM, who looks like a cub that had his favorite toy broken. “Not today, Berkley.”
***
The tavern is fairly empty now; most have gone home for the night. All that remains are our table (minus a Berkley, who pouted his way home shortly after the campaign ended), some old-timers at the bar, and two tattooed aurox sitting in a corner booth – sailors by the looks of them. I turn back to my mug of ale when I feel a tap on the shoulder.
“H-hey, Talia.” It's Rayne, with eyes bloodshot and breath reeking of alcohol. His arm is wrapped around Erika, who smiles apologetically. “We're...we're tired. So...over...over there! Going!”
“Goodnight, you two.” I smile and silently mouth 'good luck' to Erika. She rolls her eyes as they struggle towards the door. Just as they stumble through the entrance I hear a squeaky little cough behind me.
“Um...Talia?” Dirk says barely above a whisper. I hide my smile; I knew this was coming for a while now. “I was umm, just umm –“
“Whaaa?!” Rayne yells from the street outside. “When did it get dark?” Dirk and I look at each other and burst out laughing.
“Yes.” I beat Dirk to the punch. “Yes I will.” His jaw drops as his velvety gray fur turns three shades darker and the insides of his ears flush crimson.
“I, but, I mean, you, I, but...really?” He looks at me like I played a trick on him. I bend down and give him a reassuring peck on the nose. He's now five shades darker. “But I'm not even your type.”
“Says who?” I retort with a wink. “I do need to be heading back now. But how about we meet back here on the Moon's Day?” He shows those two big teeth in that cute maus-y grin he has.
“S-sounds good!”
“Good.” I wink again and head towards the entrance. I need to make sure Dirk doesn't see my own ear-to-ear grin. Not my type! Psh!
It's hard enough being so far from home, let alone being the only firefox in this town (as far as I know). Even now, after being here for so long, I'll still get those stupid questions. Are you really a firefox? What else would I be? Can I touch your tail? Touch your own. So was your mother a panda and your father a raccoon, or the other way around? Was your mother an idiot and your father a moron, or the other way around?
But Dirk was different. He never asked stupid questions, never stared, never wondered what I was doing here. He si
mply liked me for who I am and in spite of that shy dorkiness...no, actually, because of it he is the best person I've met in Aquarian.
I step outside into the fresh night air and breath deep. Somewhere in the distance Rayne's voice drifts towards me on the breeze. “Owwwww! Where'd that lamp post come from?” Well, time to make my way back to the convent. Or sneak my way back in – I'm out way past my curfew.
Oh, the Sisters are gonna be pissed when I get back. This is the fifth time this month I’ve been out past curfew. I can hear Sister Marell now; Now Talia, the Sisterhood has a strict set of rules for a reason. For the safety and wellbeing of every Sister we all need to get our rest. And the number of the poor and needy in Aquarian is growing by the day, meaning that our duties to those in need are increasing as well and blah blah blah something self-righteous blah blah blah some verse from scripture.
It’s not like I chose to join the Sisters…
“Well, wot’s this here?” Someone growls behind me as two vices squeeze my arms. Suddenly the world spins and I’m swung into a dark alley. Bright spots dance in front of my eyes as my head smacks into the hard wood siding of a building. The spots fade and are replaced by the dim yellow irises of two aurox. They grin at me, the stench of beer oozing between the gaps in their teeth.
Stupid, stupid Talia! Too busy mocking clergy to pay attention to her surroundings!
“Mmm…she’s a pretty one.” The aurox on the right snorts, sending a small gold nose ring flapping. “Pretty, pretty, pretty.”
“Wot’s a pretty little thing like you doing out here at this hour?” The one on the left leans in close. Seeing the two together jogs my memory. They were there at the tavern; the two sitting in the corner.
A large, meaty hand begins to slide up my tunic and I feel the first stabs of panic in my stomach. I fight back that panic – I’ve got a handle on this situation. I just need to wait until the right moment. Those sickly yellow eyes gleam when the aurox finds what he was searching for. He squeezes twice for good measure.
“Oi, Jarn! Let me have a feel.” The one on the right grumbles.
“You’ll have plenty more than a feel before we’re done, Gorem.” Jarn replies. The two laugh in unison. Suddenly, a slurred voice calls from the street.
“Hey! Heeey you, you two! Stop that right now *hic*!” The soft shuffling of feet announces the entrance of…another firefox. His robes (is he a monk?) are rumpled and wine-stained. He shuffles towards us and basically falls against Gorem, wagging a finger in his face and giving him a look of stern reproach. “Thiiiiis…*hic* is not gennle…*hic* gentle…gentlemanly behavior. And I must insist that you *hic* stop at once!”
“We’re not gonna have some fancy-arse panda muddle up our bit of fun, are we Gorem?” Jarn snarls. His partner shakes his head. “Alright then, I’ll hold her. You take care of him.” He presses his face against mine. “Now watch this, luv. Your knight in shining armor ain’t gonna be more than a rug by the time Gorem’s done with him.”
Gorem wraps his burly arms around the newcomer and lifts him off the ground. With a violent grunt he begins to squeeze. There’s a series of snaps and my would-be savior slides down and splays out on the ground with a groan.
Well, that was quick.
“Uuuuuuup.” He rises a like marionette being picked up by its strings, no worse for wear. Gorem just gapes dumbly. The robed monk (yeah, definitely a monk; look at the beads) sways like a willow in a hurricane. Gorem snorts and brings around a haymaker from his right. The club of a fist hits nothing but air; its target dips low under the aurox’s arm and brings up his own strike, right in the brute’s stomach. A gust of air shakes Gorem’s nose ring and he fall to his knees.
“Quit playing with him!” Jarn growls.
With fierce determination, Gorem rises to his feet and begins a flurry of punches at the monk. None hit. Every swing is dodged like a butterfly evading a net. Every uppercut is sidestepped like a river flowing around a rock. I had never seen a creature – sober or otherwise – move like this one. And each attack is countered by a strike from the firefox. Soon Gorem is again on his knees, his breathing heavy and labored. And the monk is still dancing around like a leaf on the wind.
“Oh for fucks sake!” Jarn’s hand slides out of my tunic and into his vest. From it he pulls a thin dagger and with a grunt he hurls it at the monk. It whistles through the air past Gorem’s ear and connects with a solid thunk right between the monk’s eyes. The dagger clatters to the ground - apparently it was the handle of the dagger that struck - followed closely by a knocked-out monk. Jarn’s eyes grow wide; even he knows it was a lucky throw. His partner uses the opportunity to nab the knife and jam it into the monks stomach. The firefox let’s out a burbling whoosh. That bastard Gorem removes the blade and shoves it in once more for good measure. My heart sinks into my feet as I look at the heap of robes and blood crumpled on the ground.
Now the two turn back to me and grin. “Where were we?” Jarn chuckles. He clenches the collar of my shirt, twists, and rips. The fabric tears in two all the way down to my waist, exposing my breasts.
“Mmm-mmm.” Gorem licks his lips. Sharp pains stab into my chest as large clumsy hands grope and squeeze and pinch. I bite my cheek and clench my fists. As the two fumble their way around my breasts I close my eyes.
A small blossom, pink and white, tumbles over itself as it floats down. Gently it lands on the tip of my nose. It has a light fruity smell that tickles my nostrils. A brisk, unexpected sneeze sends the petals on their way again. A low chuckle to my right turns my head.
“Nothing beautiful lasts.” The great General Ryuusei sits under the shade of a cherry tree, slowly polishing the blade of his halberd. He works one spot of the blade, takes his time to examine it, and begins polishing again. He’s been working on the same spot for the greater part of an hour.
“But you said everything is beautiful.”
“So I did.” He looks at his reflection in the mirror-like steel. “No matter how ugly or frightening something may seem, it always hides some form of beauty underneath.”
I’ve heard him say this so many times over the years but never had the courage to ask him the question that was now on the tip of my tongue, eager to escape.
“…and war?”
He pauses. “The only true beauty of war is that it ends.”
…What? What does that even mean?
He continues his polishing. “Why, even that mosquito buzzing around you has its own beauty.”
What mosquito? How-
A tiny insect lands on my nose where the cherry blossom had been moments before. Oh, that mosquito. Slowly I raise my left paw. Slowly, slowly, slowly…
“So,” The old firefox chuckles, “you are willing to smack your own face for only the possibility of killing that mosquito?”
Well, when he puts it that way it does make it sound kinda dumb.
“What should I do then?” I ask as the bug takes off again in large circles around me.
“Let it land on your arm. And wait.”
“But it’ll bite me.”
“Of course! That’s what they do. But when it does bite you, listen to what I say.”
In a few seconds the little buzzing thing lands on my arm. It settles down on my fur and drives its beak into my flesh. A very faint burning sensation begins to emanate from the bite.
“Now,” The General commands, “extend and flex your arm. Tightly! Tightly!” I do as he says. The mosquito begins to swell and take on a crimson hue. It continues to engorge itself until it is the size of a tiny flying berry.
“It’s stuck!” I exclaim as understanding washes over me. The General just nods.
“Sometimes it is better to let your enemy strike you first. Yes, it may hurt, but it is a small price to pay to ensure victory.”
I nod solemnly as two fingers pop the bug. I lean back against my tree and watch the sun set over the ocean. From our hillside perch we could see the entire harbor. The large white sails of the navy sh
ips look like spun gold in the sunlight.
“You’re leaving again.” I finally say. Of course he is. “Mom’s going to be pissed.”
“No.” He says with a touch of sadness I’ve never heard before. “I’m not the one leaving this time.”
“That’s it! I want more!” Jarn growls like a hungry beast. “Help me!” With Gorem pinning my arms, Jarn proceeds to tear my trousers apart. The chill night breeze makes my fur stand on end. My mind begins racing through all the possibilities and actions from here on out. Hopefully these two dumbasses will decide to-
“Turn her around.” Jarn says.
Good.
Gorem releases my arms and grabs my waist. I’m twirled around about a foot from the wall. I can feel Jarn clamp my shoulders.
Now! My father’s voice sounds like a firecracker in my head.
Before the brutes can throw me around more, I jump towards the wall, taking Jarn off balance just slightly. The wood creaks a little under my feet as they’re planted against the wall. With a grunt I launch off the wood siding and send Jarn to the ground with me on top of him. In the brief respite their surprise has given me I become incredibly cold. In an instant my breath begins to cloud and my fur stands completely erect. Even my nipples harden. That feeling, along with the surge of adrenaline coursing through me, feels so, so good.
Gorem looks down at me with wide eyes. He knows; I can see it. His mouth begins to try and form words – probably an apology or a plea for mercy – when I grip his ankle with my left paw.
There is no sound. He doesn’t even scream. The nerves in his leg froze too quick for him to really feel anything. A quick strike from my forearm shatters his entire shin like porcelain and the aurox falls to the ground like a redwood. He lays there in shock, feebly gasping for breath.
“What are you?!” Jarn gasps behind me.
“You’ll see” I respond as I spot something very important of his sticking up between my knees. I try to sit up to reach for it but Jarn grabs me by my neck. Big mistake. I gently place my paws on his.
