The Pen and The Wind

Behind a closed door lay a darkened room, the only light coming from a laptop screen, the only sounds heavy breathing and a muffled buzzing. Amy gasped as a shudder ran up her body from the vibrator she was thrusting in and out of her soaking cunt with great vigor and speed. The sensations filling her with immense pleasure, letting her mind fantasize with great detail the scenario in the erotica on the screen in front of her. Breathing heavily, and with arm and vibrator in constant motion, she read on:

…Jenny’s entire body quivered as a small orgasm shot through her. Her back arched as each forceful pump of Raya’s massive cock pushed her to new heights of pleasure. Jenny looked up at the powerful centauress and saw the dominant smile on the herm’s flushed face; they were both enjoying this so much. Raya’s arm length horse cock began to swell and throb, and with a shout Jenny felt the hot cum flood her, the new sensation making her cum harder than she ever had before, her walls clamping down on Raya’s member as it continued to flood her with both cum and ecstasy…

The steaminess of that last passage sent Amy over the edge as she imagined that centaur shemale’s cock flooding her, and her body seized up as as a massive orgasm rocked her body, completely soaking her chair and dripping down to the floor. Panting heavily, she turned off her vibrator and threw it onto her bed, and then looked for an dirty shirt to mop up her mess while she caught her breath. 

It only took a few minutes for the wash of endorphins to fade away and the shame and depression to set in. She cycled through the other tabs on her browser, social networks that were mainly antisocial, and found no trace or sign of human contact reaching out to her. There was one post about how someone apparently had the most amazing boyfriend and group of friends, which made Amy give off a heavy sigh. She longed for a life like that, but it always seemed to elude her. 

As it always did when she was in this state, the though crossed her mind that it was because of her, that she was too freaky. Before her ego could even hope to console her, she glanced over at the far tab, the still open erotica. She let another heavy sigh loose as it hit home, she was far too freaky for her own good. 

It’s not as if she wanted to be like this, she started off pretty normally. But, when your few friends are busy for night after night, and pretty much everything on TV sucks, all you can really do is masturbate. And when that persists for a while, you get a little desensitized and have to explore other kinky things. For Amy it started with standard porn, then the freakier stuff, somehow branched into hentai, which eventually led her to furries, and it wasn’t long before she was fantasizing about centaurs and other monsters. Her masturbational explorations didn’t affect her outside actions, but possibly reflected some sort of openness. That, and desperation. 

Logic and reason did their best to comfort her, saying that she was in this state because she needed friends who understood her and accepted her as she is, but that did little to console her in the present. Besides, while the theory was sound, it was still flawed. So few people freely admit they’re that freaky, they hide under veils of normalcy as long as they can. Finding true friends and love for someone too freaky for normal life is a hard and daunting task. 

She let another sigh out and opened the erotica tab back up. There was still a long night ahead, and dwelling on stuff like this wasn’t exactly doing her any favors. She retrieved her vibrator and began to search, hoping to find anything good with a drider in it. 

1. Find a hammer. It is key to have this later on in the process. 
2. Fill yourself up with as much hormonal angst as possible. You’re going to need enough to be boiling and making you almost a psychotic sociopath.
3. Now, look at a lot of porn, but don’t masturbate. You’re adding unrealistic pent up lust to the equation, it’s key for these bestsellers. 
4. Now get absolutely shitfaced drunk. Just short of vomiting, but enough to give you a killer hangover. 
5. Remember the hammer? Good. Give yourself a couple of solid whacks to the head, you’re shooting for a fairly serious concussion. 
6. Your cognitive processes should be impaired enough to write an absolutely horrible plot with very flat and bland characters. The pent up angst will make them whiny enough to give a very flat “depth” to the characters, and the pent up lust will add a nice level of misogyny and some poorly rendered sex scenes. This is key in attracting a female audience. They love lusting after angsty, sociopathic, misogynistic, pretty boys, the bestseller and movie numbers don’t lie. 
7. Crap out about 200-250 pages.
8. Call 911, get rushed to the hospital.
9. When you get released, call up an English major or someone with an I.Q. that’s average to above average.
10. If they start convulsing both in rage and the sheer horror of your works, you did it right. 
11. Call a publisher.
12. Profit.

Order is greatly ovepowered, and patterns and sequences are few and far between. What lies between them is chaos, beautiful chaos, that offers entropy to all things in the meaningless existence that it supports. It is the chaos that swallows all gods and prayers, and cares not, only unravels into entropy and nothingness. 

Embrace chaos and oblivion, for they are the only forces guiding our lives. All else is delusion and ignorance, for not looking into into the formless swirling void, and having one’s limiting consciousness rendered asunder.

To chaos I submit, and no deity or power would dare claim me, for they are powerless. Unravel me and tear my being apart, it is my fated end. 

The fate of humanity was dismal. 

An ever increasing world populace meant there were significantly less and less resources to go around. All forms of population control were heavily debated and eventually shot down by the mass religious complexes of the world. Population grew and grew, but without a predator to thin the herd, humanity seemed doomed to starvation and overcrowding.

It wasn’t just the population that was a problem though, mass production and consumerism ran through nonrenewable resources such as petroleum and metals at an ever increasing rate. There was always demand, but continually dwindling supplies, so the prices skyrocketed. People often went without food and other needs to have these produced goods, which became needs of their own in this mass produced culture. All of these would run out soon enough, and we would have nothing. Our dependency on these things would leave us with no time to develop alternatives, and we would be long dead before a solution could be developed. 

In light of this, Dr. Louis Retton dedicated decades of his life to producing a solution to this daunting problem. It was on  July 22, 2042, that he met with all the world’s leaders to discuss what would be known as Project Permanence. 

Dr. Retton’s team of experimental physicists had developed something that humanity had only seen in movies and stories, a device capable of reducing the size of physical objects. It was the key to Project Permanence. He presented his case to the world leaders, a plan to reduce the world’s populace to 1/100,000th of it’s size, and relocate them to a scale city-state built to house them. Their reduced size would turn sparsity into plenty, and would leave the educated populace indefinite time to produce the solutions to the world’s problems. The only ones left unshrinken would be a small collection of farmers to produce the micro-world’s food supply, and a small unified military force to protect the micro-world. It took days of argument, but eventually, the plan was enacted. 

And so, over the course of several years, every human settlement was shrunken and placed in a secure bunker in the center of the United States. It all seemed to work perfectly, once a week the farmers and workers would deliver shipments to the soldiers and micro-nation, an apple alone could feed the entire condensed planet, and the reduced populace and resource consumption let everyone live a life of comfort and plenty. 

It was during one of these shipments, when a soldier was delivering the portions of food and materials to the micro-nation, that a fly slipped in past the closing door. The soldier didn’t notice it until he placed the shipment onto the receiving pad, and out of the corner of his eye spotted the fly walking about on the top of the dome. In a reflex long trained into his psyche, he leaned over and slapped at the fly. He missed, as we all do, but he also lost his balance, and went toppling forward. His body landed on the domed world, and unable to sustain his weight, it came collapsing down. His body alone destroyed 70% of the mini world, the falling glass did away with the rest. 

The world was now left with a small population of farmers, and a small population of soldiers. Just a little over 100 human beings total. But it turned out that the problems that plagued the world were not an issue for the survivors. The root of the problem had been removed. But, now there were just over 100 humans left, with no civilization and limited technology left. Without them ruining the environment, the predatory animal’s population skyrocketed, and for the first time ever, humanity’s population was kept in check. We lost our position at the top of the food chain, because we proved we didn’t deserve it. 

One of my bi-weekly columns for the non-profit magazine I write for. I figured all of my literary minded followers would like this. 

In my free time, I like to write. I love to write poetry, prose, and short stories, I’ve not only got a bit of knack for it, but I genuinely enjoy it. Writing is something that allows me to express myself in ways I can’t normally, it allows me to explore who I am as a person, and how I fit into this massive and chaotic world we live in.

However, it’s not really the best time to have this hobby. Our culture has for the most part abandoned the arts, especially the literary arts. Sure every now and then there’s a book marketable enough that people buy it in mass droves, but only a minority of the populace truly appreciates the literary world, and even less appreciates the poetic world. The cultural apathy against the written word grows more intense, like a river eroding a rock.

There are small pockets of resistance to this oppressive apathy, poetry is alive and well on several websites, with a fairly strong writing community on Tumblr (which I am a proud member of), but these are more like the last pockets of survival. This is a shame, because everyone could use a little more poetry and art in their life. These two things are crucial to our humanity. Poetry, and art are the spirit and the soul reflected on the world, they inspire life and give us all a reason to live.

So if you’re reading this now, go out and read a little more. Take in some poetry and literature, and feel them enrich your very being. You’ll find that for years you were malnourished as a human being, and that such sustenance can make you a better person.  

Tavion glared at the sign that made no sense, trying to deduce which path would lead him to his pay the fastest. He thought to himself “Signs are supposed to be helpful,” yet these provided no direction at all. They only pointed down two paths, with two phrases carved down each arrow, “Where there are owls,” and “Where there are no owls.”

“Which way should we go?” The voice behind him asked.

He turned and glared at the robed twit asking the ceaseless annoying questions, “Shut up, this is your fault we’re stuck like this.”

“Well you’re the ‘world’s greatest thief, treasure hunter and adventurer,’ you should be able to handle this kind of thing!”

“Forgive me for not being able to navigate my way through a place called The Forrest of No Return!”

“Well, what are we going to do?”

Tavion stared back at the owl sign, and couldn’t help but think how he got into this mess. He could have been drunk out of his mind right now, probably in the middle of a rather extraordinary evening with that one cute barmaid, or any other woman lucky enough to cross his path. Of course, that was kind of how he got into this mess.

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It was either the smell in the air or the cheap gin that made Alphonse feel like vomiting. Even though the intense waves of nausea broke over him like high tide, he did not move nor make any attempt to head to the bathroom, he had had enough cheap liquor before to know that the best thing right now was to sit still and let it pass. The musty smell of what can only be described as urine, vomit, shame, and despair didn’t help things out. The terrible country music being played over the radio was enough to make one gag, but Alphonse managed to suppress the urge by focusing on the never-ending supply of obscenities and pathos carved into the bar counter. This place, Jim’s Tavern, was so reminiscent of a cliché run down bar that one could feel like they were stepping into a noir film by just walking through the door.

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I woke with a bit of a start, to a dark room and my glasses digging into my nose. Obviously I had nodded off during reading. I must have been incredibly tired, for I didn’t remember laying my head down, and it was such a fascinating read. I sat up and rolled my head around to work out the rather nasty crick that had set in, and turned on my desk lamp. The light shone over the worn and musty pages, and I quickly wiped off a dot of drool I spotted on the page I was napping on.

I was amazed that I was even reading such a book, as it was so ancient. It was a large worn tome, bound in black leather, with letters etched on the front that spelled out, “The Black Bestiary.” It was incredibly old, used as an index and guide to all the supposed dangers and monsters of the world. I knew it was all myth, but I had always had an affinity for myth and monsters, and this book was giving me a great many more monsters that I had never heard about to do battle with in my sleep.

The current page I was on was different from the rest, there was no sketch of a grotesque beast, but rather of a sad looking beautiful woman. The entry of text to the side was entitled, “Venus Doppelganger.” Curious, I read on.

The Venus Doppelganger is different from the other beasts compiled here. It feeds not on flesh, but on the energy and emotions of man. It preys on those who have fallen in love with someone who does not love them. It takes on the form of the prey’s love, and in doing so takes on their memories. It then appears to the prey as the idealized form of their desire, what the prey has built them up to be in their mind instead of their true nature. The beast then professes it’s deep love for the prey, for in the back of it’s mind it truly does. The prey is usually so overjoyed that it does not question, and the two become one. The beast does not harm it’s prey but feeds of the energy of his love for it, and in return showers it’s prey with love and happiness. The only way to discover a Venus Doppelganger is to have the person who’s shape they have taken confront them. If this is done, the Doppelganger will revert to it’s original form, and run off. Little else is known about these creatures, as those who they have chosen for prey are happy, and don’t wish to lose that.

The thought of a monster preying on shunned love and loneliness was odd, as the rest in the book were creatures preying on man in various ways, it stood out from the rest. I couldn’t help but wonder what the Venus Doppelganger would look like to me. I’ve fallen in love so many times, every one of them not returned. “It’d probably just avoid me altogether due to the confusion,” I joked to myself. The waves of exhaustion that had snuck up on me earlier were beginning to make it’s second assault, so I retired to bed.

I woke up several hours later, to the sound of lightning cracking right outside my window. I was just about to relax and drift off to sleep, when I noticed something pressing down on my bed. I looked, and saw a strange woman standing over me. She was… stunning, with long, jet black hair, a dark complexion, a very ample bussom, with an incredibly toned body, and eyes that shone like diamonds, even in the dark. I didn’t know her from anywhere, and here she was standing over my bed. In the back of my mind, I thought I was going to die, but my less sensible parts reasoned that getting killed by such a beautiful woman wasn’t all that bad.

“I’m sorry, I probably scared you didn’t I?” She was stammering shyly, but her voice, so smooth and sweet, her every word I could swear I tasted caramel. “I’ve been watching you for a while, and I’ve just been too shy to say anything. I finally managed to get my courage up, and I guess I got a little carried away, didn’t I?” She gave a small laugh, gods that smile, so serene it could lull a city to a standstill. I was absolutely melting, and looking past her obvious insanity, rationalizing it as just shyness induced crazy, as I’ve been prone to come down with in my past. She came down from my bed, and sat down. We began talking, and it was just amazing. She was an avid reader, a bit of a nerd, frequently sang for pleasure, and wrote poetry and stories every day. I was falling for her, fast, when I saw out of the corner of my eye the large black tome.

Though I kept talking with her, in the back of my mind, I was beginning to notice things about her. Her face, it looked like someone I used to know, a girl I fell in love with, but other than the face, looked nothing her. But her long jet black hair that shimmered like onyx in the moonlight, strangely similar to another girl I used to love’s hair. It also didn’t register initially, but I could swear that I’ve heard her voice before, and recognized it as that choir singer I once fell head over heels for. Piece by piece, the illusion was starting to break. I joked about it steering clear of me, but the Venus Doppelganger still chose me, piecing together traits and memories, thoughts and feelings from all those unfortunate enough to win my favor, to form the ultimate temptation to me.

It was hard to keep playing along when I discovered her secret, but I did. In the back of my mind, I began thinking of a way to get away, to run, to hide. Nothing was coming to me though, but I sill kept frantically searching for one. One stray thought ground it all to a halt though, “Why run?” She was literally my perfect woman, why run away from her? Gods know I’m lonely, and though I know she’s not human, I can’t help but feel attraction rising up in me. I remember a passage from the book, “The beast then professes it’s deep love for the prey, for in the back of it’s mind it truly does.” She was a beast, a monster, but one who really did love me.

That was all about a year ago, I’m still with Morrigan (the name she chose for herself). There are times when I’m reminded she’s not human, and that she is literally feeding off my energy, but really I don’t mind. I’ve got plenty of energy to spare, and it’s infinitely better than being alone. She makes me happy, and makes every day a little brighter, she really does love me. I care a lot for her, hell, I might actually love her, it’s hard to tell. All I know is that a monster has her claim on me, and it makes me happy. I suppose, that’s all I can ask for.

Tavion glared at the sign that made no sense, trying to deduce which path would lead him to his pay the fastest. He thought to himself “Signs are supposed to be helpful,” yet these provided no direction at all. They only pointed down two paths, with two phrases carved down each arrow, “Where there are owls,” and “Where there are no owls.”

“Which way should we go?” The voice behind him asked.

He turned and glared at the robed twit asking the ceaseless annoying questions, “Shut up, this is your fault we’re stuck like this.”

“Well you’re the ‘world’s greatest thief, treasure hunter and adventurer,’ you should be able to handle this kind of thing!”

“Forgive me for not being able to navigate my way through a place called The Forrest of No Return!”

“Well, what are we going to do?”

Tavion stared back at the owl sign, and couldn’t help but think how he got into this mess. He could have been drunk out of his mind right now, probably in the middle of a rather extraordinary evening with that one cute barmaid, or any other woman lucky enough to cross his path. Of course, that was kind of how he got into this mess.

He was on his third bit of rum in Crookshank’s Tavern, the closest place he had to a home, when the twit walked in. He wore a set of semi-ornate robes and had large staff that appeared jeweled, but from Tavion’s experience with all things shiny and valuable, they were worthless glass. Such was the appearance of someone in the Royal Academy, which meant he was either a pompous ass, or a naive sucker. Judging from his slouched appearance and complete lack of confidence, he was the later. Tavion took another swig of his rum, eying him from his usual booth at the back corner of the lowlife bar that was his home, people like him only came into Crookshank’s to hire thugs or to hire Tavion. The little robed man looked around nervously as he made his way back to the bar. This was more often than not the standard reaction to Crookshank’s, as the walls were mounted with various rusty and quite frightening looking weaponry, as well as the mounted heads of hundreds of various creatures and monsters, all arranged to look like they were currently snarling at anyone who walked by them. Also, it always seemed to have a musty decaying scent, as if it was built over a large pile the undead (which would explain those odd scratching and clawing sounds one often heard coming from the floorboards). The other patrons were off putting too, as everyone except that rather handsome gent in the back sipping rum looked as though one had taken a pile of beast parts, stitched them together in a vaguely humanoid form, shaved them with a broken bottle, and dressed them in garments so dirty even a beggar would refuse to wear them. Ugly brutes are a common sight in a tavern, but Crookshank’s patrons took the cake. Tavion often wondered how the owner convinced the barmaids to work here, but his focus was now on the out of place little man.

The scared robed man made his way to Tavion’s booth, with a voice meek and quaking, “I-I’m looking f-f-for a thief.”

“I’m looking for a barmaid I have yet to seduce, but I’d have to ride to Ispost to do that.” He turned and looked the scared little man. “Why do you need a thief?”

The robed man began to stammer, but before he could say anything Tavion held out the bottle, “Here, your nervousness is annoying me, take a drink and settle down.”

Tavion learned a lot in his rum filled haze. He learned that the robed man was a total lightweight for one, as it only took one drink to get him clumsily slurring words. He also learned that his name was Rafquel, and he was a Cleric at the Royal Academy. He had been working there for several years, and the higher ups were about to discover a dirty little secret of his. A few years back a certain sacred item important to the well being of the entire kingdom went missing from his watch, and rather than reporting it and being executed, he replaced it with a cheap but remarkable lookalike. In a week’s time there was going to be a very important royal ceremony, and his mistake and cover up would be discovered. He also learned that the person who took it was some sort of dark wizard, and took it to do… dark wizard stuff. He was two thirds his way down the bottle by then, details were a little fuzzy. What it all boiled down to, he figured, was that Rafquel needed to get it back, and was here to hire someone to do it because he had little to skill of any sort of his own, and that he intended Tavion to be that person.

“Alright, I suppose I’m interested. Where is the target?”

“Well, it took me a while, but I heard that he has a hideout within the Forest of No Return.”

Tavion paused a moment and thought it over, “Wait a minute, if it’s a forest of no return, then how would anyone know whats in it?”

That stumped Rafquel, and responded, “I’m not quite sure, but I spoke with a diviner and he said that it is definitely in the center of the forest.”

“And another thing, if it’s a Forest of No Return, how do you expect me to return deliver the package?”

“I’m sure it’s just a name.”
“That’s what John said after about three pints. No one ever saw him again.”

“Are you up to the task or not?”

Tavion paused for dramatic effect, always drove the point home when he did that, “Rafquel my lad, I am the world’s greatest thief, treasure hunter, and adventurer. I once got trapped by a lich, and stole the orb that held it’s very soul. There is no task I’m not up to. That said, I’m not going to do it.”

“What?! Why not?!”

“Because I don’t care about your problems and am pretty drunk? That good enough a reason?”

“But… I could die.”
“I… find myself not caring about your fate.”

Tavion then began to give him a look that said, “leave now, there is no swaying me.” The man looked as if a knife had been stabbed in the chest, the sheer shock of the world etched in his face, contemplating his own fleeting mortality, probably reminiscing over all those missed opportunities. He got up and left with that look still on his face, and Tavion took another swig of the rum, such emotion may have affected him in his younger days, but he was far too hardened, with a far too infamous a reputation to afford such acts of kindness.

He was just about to sit back and finally get to that full state of relaxation, and maybe pass out, when another figure approached his booth. This one far larger and more intimidating, wearing the pelt of a bear around his crotch, with a smell that could slay a griffin and carrying an axe that was quite possibly the size of a horse, but that might have been a trick of the rum. This very frightening figure was glaring at him, seething with rage, and it managed to grunt out, “Are you the son of a whorish rat who slept with my wife?”

Normally, a cunning ruse, or pretty much any deceit would be appropriate here, and normally would diffuse the trouble. However, Tavion was far too drunk for deceit, and despite his common sense screaming at him not to, he slurred this gem of a response, “that’s a very real possibility. What’s her name my good, smelly bear?”

He stared at Tavion with unblinking eyes, which Tavion could have swore were actually glowing with rage. That probably wasn’t a good sign. “Her name… is Sarasha.”

Tavion began to think, and the image of a red-headed blacksmith with a very large rack and a firm rump came to mind, and then the image of her without clothes laying out on her workbench came to mind. “Oh… her… well, I can safely that I didn’t not sleep with her, or her luscious rack. I would definitely say that-” he couldn’t finish his already incriminating sentence, as that axe of the bear of a gentleman was carrying was now lodged in the floor after splitting his table in half. The response of panic was enough to overtake the tides of rum he had ingested, and he fled with much haste. He made it out of the tavern and into the streets, with the thundering feet of that reeking gigas right behind him. He frantically searched around for a means of escape or a way to hide, but all the alleys boarded up due to the outbreak of rats (and to conceal the lepers and political protesters), and the street was completely barren of horses, save for the one Rafquel had just climbed upon. Not dying was enough of a motivation for Tavion, so he rushed over and lept onto the horse. Rafquel was surprised, but Tavion yelled, “Just ride you twit!” and they were off. Soon enough they were out of the city, and Tavion could see the treeline of The Forest of No Return, and thought to leap off the horse, letting the twit handle his own business himself. In the back of his mind, a thought came up. “If its a treasure so valuable that the royal family would execute upon learning that it went missing, there would probably be a great reward for it’s return.” For the chance of an extraordinary payout, it might prove valuable to go with the twit. They were deep in the forest by now, and stopped when they reached a fork in the road, one with a sign that said, “where there are owls,” and “where there are no owls.” They had dismounted to ponder the direction, when a horrible shrieking sound which came from all around them had spooked the horse, and it ran off into the trees, never to be seen again. There they were, a thief and a cleric, stranded in a wood where there was supposedly no return, with a fork in the road, and a sign alluding to owls. There was no way this was going to be easy.

Tempers rose as they spent hours at that fork in the road, as Tavion’s nerves were wearing thin hearing Rafquel complain about how he’s going to die no matter what. There was a lot of bickering, and hurtful words being thrown around, but they still were stuck there. Eventually Tavion got fed up, and unsheathed a blade. It was a long curved blade, with several small serrations along the edge, made of a jade green metal. Rafquel did not respond positively to it.

“Oh gods, you’re going to kill me! I swear I’ll shut up!”

Tavion chuckled slightly, “Please, I wouldn’t sully my dear Venopresa here with your blood.”

“Venopresa?”
“My prized treasure, I stole it from the Naga Queen of Southern Iraquesh, I always have it on me, and I wouldn’t waste it on you. We’re going to let it make a decision for us.” With that, he closed his eyes, and spun around once, throwing the blade with incredible speed. The jade blur shot through the air and sunk into the signpost with a dull thud. Tavion opened his eyes and saw it resting in the center of the arrow that said, “where there are owls.” He walked over and pulled the blade out of the sign, there was a green residue where it struck in, which began sizzling and bubbling, eating away until the arrow broke in two.

He turned and looked at Rafquel with a devious smile, “Little enchantment on the blade, corrosive venom that seeps into any incision it makes. Anyway, let’s go, it’s better than sticking around here any longer.”

“But do we have to go down that path?” There was a tone of worry in his voice.

“Why the sudden concern?”
“Well… what if that sign is accurate?”

“Then we will see owls, what of it?” Tavion was getting annoyed.
“I… don’t like owls.”
“I don’t like rats, what of it?”

“I have a fear of owls, alright?”

Tavion was amused, “A fear… of owls? What, did an owl take your lunch money or something?”

“No! It’s nothing like that!” He then sat down and began to reminisce, much to Tavion’s annoyance. “My parents died when I was very young, so I lived with my grandmother. She had always wanted me to have a respectable career, and always nurtured me and pushed me to join the Royal Academy. In a way, she helped make me who I am today. She had a beloved pet owl, which didn’t like me that much. One day, it went wild and attacked me, and when she tried to get it off of me and defend me, it mauled her to death. Since then, I can’t be around owls at all, they terrify me.”

“Wow… I’m sorry, that’s actually tragic.”

“Thank you.”
“… And kind of hilarious.”

“What?!”

“I’m sorry, I’m just picturing an old lady getting attacked by an owl, and I can’t help but laugh.”
“That was my grandmother!”

“Still funny.”
“You’re horrible, you know that?”
“Rafquel my dear annoyance, you have to be in order to survive in this world. Now suck it up and come with me, or stay here and starve to death.”

They continued on, Rafquel slowly trudging on, eyes darting in every direction, looking for the owls that the sign spoke of. There was no end to the path in sight, and watching trees pass by for what looked like hours of travel, Tavion figured he should try some kind of small talk.
“So, you’re cleric at the Royal Academy, what’s your field.”
Rafquel’s eyes were still darting around, still looking for the winged menace. “Uh, oh right, I’m in an Arcane Acolyte, studying the magics of the lost kingdoms.”

“Huh, you’re actually a little interesting. Can you do any of that magic?”

“A-a bit yes. Nothing too useful I’m afraid.”

“Well that’s less interesting. Why do you live like that? You academy jokers spend all your time inside, pouring over books, rarely venturing outside, and you don’t even allow women into your ranks. Why live like that?”

“Well, there’s a quiet dignity to it I suppose. I did it all because my grandmother wanted me to, she wanted me to have a life as a dignified academic, to make some great discovery to benefit all of mankind. But I don’t know if that’s really for me.”

“Alright, lack of alternatives forces me to ask, what would you prefer to do?”
“Well, I’ve always dreamed of owning a little apothecary shop. Just a quiet little existence helping people out, going out once a week to pick ingredients, returning home every night to a loving wife. A lot better than wasting away pouring over musty tomes.”

“Wow… that’s… nice? Not really my thing.”

“Well, I’ve never been one for excitement. What about you? Do you particularly enjoy your means of living?”

Tavion paused for a bit, it was a question that he had never even thought he’d be asked, and he really didn’t know how to answer. “I remember back when I was young, my dad was the only one around, and he really didn’t care about me. I was free to roam the streets while he was doing odd jobs and drowning himself in rum. I had always heard the stories of the famous adventurers, braving untold dangers, slaying vicious monsters, and recovering precious lost treasures, all to the glory and admiration of everyone. I always dreamed of being an adventurer and finding some priceless treasure, to buy a big house will all kinds of luxuries, so dad wouldn’t drink so much, and maybe be proud of me for once.

“One day there was a flier posted up outside a pub, there was a crew wanting to go out, and recover a lost treasure from deep within a large canyon, and they needed some extra hands. I saw this as my chance, and gathered the few things I owned, and slipped away. The crew saw I was nimble and small, and gladly accepted me. It was several days journey, and one night we snuck over to see our target. Turns out it was a small tribal village in their ancestral home, proud men and women with playful children all living out a happy life. The target was a sacred idol in the back of the village, which they all prayed to once a day, at the same time. There were too many people around no matter the hour, so they decided that I was small enough to take it without getting noticed. I got in easily, but was hesitant, I didn’t want to destroy these people’s lives. But then I remembered my dream of the big house, and took the idol.

“When we got back to the city, the crew thanked me, and gave me 75 gold pieces. It wasn’t enough to buy the house, but it was enough to live comfortably for a while. I rushed home, so happy, so proud of myself, and was sure dad was going to be proud. I walked in and found my dad on the floor, dead. He had drank himself to death, and I was now an orphan. I lived in that home by myself, sneaking into people’s houses and stealing from them while they slept. A few weeks later, I had heard about a small village, peaceful people who had never hurt anyone and were always kind to travelers. They had all died of thirst, after their sacred idol and only source of making water went missing. All their blood was on my hands. After that, I remembered just feeling a sort of emptiness, and realized what a cruel place the world was, and how you had to be cruel to survive in it. I don’t think there’s any other way I can live really.”

There a long silence, as Rafquel kept feeling the need to say something, but failed to find the words. The silence didn’t last, as a mysterious sound began to come from the path in front of them. There was a thick cloud of black mist that was giving off a sound that was like a hiss and a gurgle. The cloud began to rise and expand, before the hissing sound turned into a ear shattering screech. The mist blew away as a huge gale erupted from it’s center, and where the mist once was now stood a creature, ten feet tall, with four large wings, barbed claws at the end of each one, covered in brown and white feathers, and a distinct owl-like face.

Rafquel fell down in shock and began backing away in terror. “Good Gods, it’s Zezmelett!”

Tavion drew Venopresa and his secondary mythrill dagger and got into a ready stance. “Zezmelett?”

Rafquel was still backing away, quaking in fear, “The monstrous Owl-King. It’s a vicious and deadly beast, with a bounty on it’s head in every kingdom.”

Tavion raised an eyebrow in interest, “You mean to tell me that this thing’s head is valuable?”

“Yes, incredibly so!”

Tavion gave a wry smile,“All the motivation I need.” With that he dashed forward, but to his surprise was kept at bay by the squall created by it’s massive wings. Thinking on his feet, he lunged to the side, running up the trunk of one of the trees, jumping from it and diving forward to it. Zezmelett, began to change direction of it’s flapping, but it wasn’t quick enough as Tavion made a gash in the center of it’s chest. It screeched in pain, but before Tavion could strike a finishing blow, it caught him with one of it’s barbed claws. It threw him to the ground, and stepped on him with one of it’s talons. It gave off another bellowing screech, and began to swing all four of it’s claws at once, aiming right at Tavion. He cringed, and held his blades in front of him as some sort of desperate defense, waiting for the blow to strike. It never came though.

Cautiously he opened one eye, to see what exactly was keeping his demise from finishing things. Around all four of its wings and tight around its throat was a set of glowing, golden chains. Tavion followed the chains with his eyes, and found Rafquel crouched in a ready position, mumbling in a strange language, with each chain appearing from the center of his palms.

“Hey, good on you, you finally stopped pissing yourself in fear! Can you get this feathered bastard off me though? It’s not nearly attractive enough for me to get into this submissive stuff.”

Rafquel cracked a smile, and then slammed his arms down to the ground, the chains taking that force with them, toppling Zezmelett and making it stumble out of balance, freeing Tavion from it’s grasp. Tavion sprang to his feet, and lunged forward, ready to finish things. Still moving forward, he plunged his mythrill dagger into the Owl-King’s side, leaping up and swinging his legs as he did so, propelling him above the beast, facing it’s back. Fluidly he sank Venopresa right into the back of its neck, the corrosive venom eating away at it’s spine, until it’s screams of agony ceased and it fell to the ground. The long feared Owl-King was now dead.

Tavion began to get to work cutting off it’s claws and head, trophies so he could claim the bounty promised. While he was eviscerating the monstrous corpse, Rafquel was oddly silent. He only spoke up when Tavion was having a comically hard time jamming it all in the rather small pack he brought everywhere. “You know, I was admittedly too terrified by the thought of a giant owl ripping me asunder, but I just realized what that black mist was.”

“Oh?” Tavion said, stomping on the surprisingly thick skull barely not fitting in the pack.

“That was an old preventative spell, a fear spell. It rips your worst fear in the world from wherever or whenever it really existed, as a way to keep people away.”

“So, *whack * you’re *whack * saying *whack * that *whack * this *whack * giant *whack * bastard *whack *… is because of your rather amusing owl fear?” He said, gasping for air after trying to hammer the head of the monstrosity into the pack with it’s own leg.

“Exactly, but that means we’re not exactly through.”

Tavion finally managed to get the buckle of the pack to close, and stood up. “I’m guessing you mean we’ve yet to face my fear here?”

“Yes!”

“Calm down Raffy, you’ve got nothing to worry about, I’ve got no fears.”

“You’re not afraid of anything?”

“I can promise you no owl monsters or any other type will come after us. At least, not on my account.”

They were about a half mile past the owl’s corpse when they encountered a large cloud of black mist. Rafquel gave a worried look at Tavion who remain stoic and unphased. They waited, yet nothing stepped out of the cloud, and only when a light breeze kicked up did they see what it was hiding. There was a large hole in the ground, rectangular with neat edges, showing it was man made. A step closer showed it was not too deep, only about five or six feet. There was an awful smell reeking from it, and upon closer inspection was revealed to be layers upon layers of shit, some fresh, some months old. The most disturbing element wasn’t the excrement though, but the two skeletal arms reaching out of it. They were strewn randomly, as if their owner was carelessly tossed in, and tightly clutched in each of their bony fingers were two objects. One, an empty rum bottle, the other a very distinctive dagger, with a serrated blade made of a jade green metal.

Tavion stared at that grave for a long time, silent, unblinking. This was his future, and how he was viewed. He remembered that scrappy little kid with wide eyed dreams of being an adventurer, to be beloved by all, to help people in every way he could. He looked at himself now, a drunken selfish thief, he adventured, but only at the request of others for him to pilfer something or another, and the fruits of his efforts always ended with him drowning himself in rum and women. His younger self would have kicked him. He was what so many people despised, he was what he despised, he was worse than his own bastard of a father. His whole world, what he was, and what he was going to be crumbled around him.

He bent over, and grabbed the second Venopresa from the skeletal hand, and turned to Rafquel. “Heh, joke’s on them, now I’ve got two.” He chuckled weakly, but his face soon returned to the hollow dazed expression, and he began to trudge on as if he was fighting himself to remain the same. Rafquel remained silent, and followed behind.

The passing of time blurred, and neither of them was sure of how long they had walked before before they had reached that clearing. There was a stark deadness to the ground, as if it was a patch of land so malevolent that neither tree nor blade of grass dared grow in it. In center was a stone building in disrepair, dead vines draped over the black granite stones, it was a building that gave a sense of foreboding just looking at it. In the center of the ramshackle doorway stood a strange looking man. He had a long beard, white, yet with waving streaks of black throughout it. He wore a set of long mauve robes, yet they appeared to be made of fur. He had a small, mean looking face that looked like a rat had chewed on it for several hours, and dark, bloodshot eyes that made one’s blood grow cold. On top of his head was the most remarkable feature though, a crown made entirely of yellow topaz that shimmered even in the dark forest, with a black owl crest in the center of it. He barked at them in a high, annoying voice, like a sick mouse trying to sing an opera, “Very impressive gentlemen, I never expected anyone to get this far.”

Tavion gave a smirk, “Look Raffy, I’m not the only thief here anymore.”

“Oh I’m far from a thief, only taking what is so rightfully mine. The Crown of Zem-Zelette is a gift to those who rule from wisdom. Those fools in that palace don’t act like that in the least. And once I’ve finished unlocking it’s power, I’ll force the fools out and dance on their bloated corpses. The kingdom will be mine to rule!”

“Right, because citizens are all for taking orders from a crazy man who spends his time living out in the middle of a forest, and I can only guess who spends his time humping squirrels.”

The sinister man laughed, “I’ll show you my power if you don’t believe me. It’ll be nice to wipe that smug grin off your face.” with that he began chanting and raised his arms into the air. The crown on his head gave a faint glow, and then a bright flash, as a dull yellow bolt of electricity shot from his hands into the dead ground. There was a silence, followed by a rumbling sound which admittedly scared Tavion a bit. Not as much as when the ground erupted with bodies though. Each looked like a human corpse, but yet not human, as their arms and heads were covered in feathers, and from their hands protruded a set of barbed claws that looked all too familiar. There were about thirty total, and they were striding at a dangerously fast pace, heading right to Tavion and Rafquel.

Tavion began to chuckle, and then limber up. “Nice one there, gotta say I wasn’t expecting anything like that,” he said while cracking his neck. “I wouldn’t get all that cocky though. You see, it’s always wise to know about your opponent. I’ve already got a good idea about your boys here thanks to your little fear spell out there. But I’m a fair man, so I’ll give you a little something to go on yourself.” His expression grew serious as he drew both jade green blades. “I’m the best.”

Tavion rushed forward at incredible speed, it almost seemed like he melted into a whirlwind of blades. As soon as he got into range of one of the creatures he plunged one blade straight into its heart while slitting its throat with the other, seamlessly pulling them out and hacking another’s arm off and gouging it’s eye. It was a sheer storm of blades, each that tried to lay its claws on him would find its claws hacked off and a blade through its throat. The crowned man looked in horror as that which took him months of vigorous study to learn, and years of planning beforehand was hacked down one by one in front of his eyes.

It was three minutes and twenty seven seconds later, and each creature lay on the ground dead. The crowned wizard raised his arms and began the chant again, but Tavion learned long ago that it was dangerous to rest until a job was completely finished. The man only managed to get the first word of the chant finished, before he felt the impact, and corroding venom, of twin blades piercing his heart and skull. Tavion relaxed and let his corpse unceremoniously fall to the ground. The crown rolled off his cracked and sizzling head and into the small building. Tavion followed it in and picked it up, but noticed a door in the middle of the room, not connected to any wall. He stepped forward and inspected it, there was an odd familiarity to it. Slowly, cautiously, he opened it and looked through. There was the sound of birds in the air and the rather larger rats squeaking., and the smell of cooked meats, blacksmith furnaces, and sewage flooded in. He was looking through the door into a paved alley, right in the center of the city. This was an enchanted doorway, and how the lunatic was going to get his horde in the city.

Tavion shouted for Rafquel to come, and the two of them found themselves about three streets from where it all began. Tavion held the crown in his hand, inspecting it, and playing around with it to torture Rafquel. “You know,” he said not looking up from the crown, “it has occurred to me that I could simply return the crown to the palace for a large reward myself, and just leave you to whatever fate that would come to you.” He heard Rafquel give off a shocked wimper, and looked up to see his face twisted in terror, betrayal, and sadness. Before he could go on a pleading tirade, Tavion interrupted him, “BUT, I think it would be better if I just turned it over to you.” He gave a small smile as he handed it over to Rafquel, who gladly took it, stashing it under his robes and then hugging Tavion before running off, to save his own hide.

Tavion smiled, though he missed the chance for a rather large payout, he still felt good about it. “The world is a terrible awful place, and one has to be terrible to survive in it, but sometimes a bit of kindness can be warranted,” he figured. He sheathed both his blades, and walked on, noticing the particular brightness of the sun, and the warm energy of the populace in the streets. He was tempted to return to Crookshank’s, but wanted to go somewhere a little more positive. He thought about it for a moment, and then wondered what Sarasha was up to.

The sun beat down brightly on the warm bright day, it was a picturesque Spring day in March. The squirrels played around in a heartwarming manner, and the birds sang in uplifting and rhapsodous manner. Frank found it all annoying.

He sat out on a bench in Meyers Park among the bright and breezy day, looking at the bright colors dotting the landscape, it gave him a headache. All this happiness going on without him, not caring about him at all, it was infuriating. The smiling children playing so carefree, the dogs frolicking with glee, the flowers dancing in the breeze, they all deserved the death that was coming to them sooner or later.

Before he could retch at any more uplifting happiness, he received a call. It was the pharmacy, his medication had come in. He stood up and went to go pick it up, hopefully he could enjoy Meyers Park at some point.