Patrick

Some confusion has been cleared up. In earlier phases of the story the names weren't totally worked out and a mistake had slipped into the names, as effectively we called the god leading the cult under two different names. Now this has been changed and the god of pain and suffering uses only one name, Netkal.

"It shall be made exactly as you ask good sir." The smith smiled inwards. It was not always that he received such a well paying order. "But I shall need a few days, maybe two weeks before it shall be ready. Some of the components are not easy to acquire, and for the frost drake scales, I might have to pay a high price, so if you can give me an advance that..." Julak nodded, while the smith spoke, then interrupted him. "That is completely acceptable." The smith looked surprised, but managed to hide it quite quickly. He had not accepted the man to be so cooperating. Julak handed a small pouch of foreign silver coins to the merchant, who seemed to be more than satisfied by the quantity. "I propose that you come back in a week's time to see whether I have managed to finish. While I can not promise that it shall be ready, I shall try my best." "Good." - Julak said, and the two of them shook hands on the deal. Julak picked up his folded cloak from where he had left it next to the door and opened the door of the smithy, to the sound of thunder off in the distance. "Sounds like a storm is coming." - the smith remarked and then locked the door behind Julak. Julak looked around the street. He could not see anyone who could be spying on him and walked over to the house of Hion Emereus. He could see light coming from under the door, but did not want to disturb at this time of the night. Visitors weren't welcome at this time of the night and his description of what he wanted to the smith had taken several hours, and the time was well past nightfall now. He took out a small piece of parchment from his pack and using a bright red feather, from a species of bird unknown in these parts he scribbled a message on the paper, then folding the paper slipped it under the door. He untied his horse and set out to get the newest information on the movements of the cult and the attempts at stopping their activity, when suddenly he felt something hit him on the right cheek. Thinking it was just a leaf blown by the wind he started brushing it aside, when suddenly he heard the minutest of whispers. "Celenia?"

And you'll even have to blame the random numbers for that vote...

Oh well congratulations to the villagers, baner and seer! Thanks to Quincunx for the great game, shame I couldn't get to choose and kill anything...

There is a certain feeling of menace in the air. Menace directed at me. I had not only surprised them by what I had said earlier, but I had also unnerved them. They disliked me. They were a pretty strange bunch. Starting with the lesbian-oriented woman, the little child, who seemed to be lost in her own world, and all the others, including that suicide-inducing man. Duncan eyed me suspiciously. He seemed not to like me. I flashed a cunning smile at him and then eyed the woman, who seemed to be wanting to show off her body. Might as well enjoy this group therapy. - I thought to myself.

I'll vote for Jason Ulmer (Katzaniel) IC post giving a reason to follow.

I waited for Duncan to finish. I could easily see from my previous encounters with serial killers during my career that he was acting. And badly while at it. If the Dr. was at least a quarter as good as I thought she was she would also see it. But she did not comment. Looking around Thomas realised that it was his turn. "Regret. At times I felt it, at times not. When I made my confession I was certainly feeling regret. But whether it was regret over not being able to explain why I commited the murders or regret over the taking of life, I could never explain." I looked around the other "guests" of the motel and saw that my unconventional way of explaining my regret had caught them off guard, and they were now listening to me. I looked directly at Dr. Tuttle, knowing that she had probably already read my case file. "As you must have seen in my case file, I killed pretty randomly. Every one of those individuals could have led a full life, had I not ended their lives." I suddenly stopped, lost in thought. The others looked at me curiously, since I obviously had not finished saying all that I had wanted. It was Dr. Tuttle, who broke the silence about a minute later. "Please continue Thomas, you were saying that those individuals could have lived full lives." "Yes I was. But they did not live full lives, because I killed them." - my voice was cold, almost emotionless. After all that time at the homicide department, and my years as a consultant for the police department, had I become senseless to murder? Had it been this that had pushed me to kill those people? Simply being used to murder so much, that my doing it did not strike me as bad? I made a mental note of talking about this with Dr. Tuttle the next time I had a private interview with her. "I do most certainly regret killing one of my victims. He was a young boy, the son of a murderer, on death row, I had interviewed. This murderer had asked me to take something to his son. I did, and then visited the son several more times in the coming weeks. He was a bright boy, and would have deserved much more than what he had with his mother, in the slums of Detroit. One day I went walking with him in one of Detroit's parks, when we started talking about his father. It was a sensitive subject for both of us, as the boy did not know that his father had been given the death penalty and I did not want to reveal it to him." "He mentioned to me while we walked that one day he would want to be like his father. I had stayed silent for a long time that afternoon, and had killed the boy two days later. I did not want to let him become a murderer as his father had been. The one thing I regret is not having tried to talk to him. I immediately went to action, as a bad cop would have done. Instead of negotiating I killed him." I fell silent. Hopefully that was going to be enough for the group therapy. However I did have a few things to talk about with the Dr. once the others weren't around.

My exams are finally over! I can better concentrate on the game now.

I was lucky to have ten minutes of free time in which I could squeeze that short post in, but I shall definately be missing in action until friday afternoon at least (that is friday morning for US people and early saturday for people on the other side of the globe).

The others look to me to be real psycho cases, especially that woman stinking of vomit. The only thing I can't understand is what that young girl is doing here. I never saw anyone that young be in the same prison as adults. Must be some really new facility we are all being brought to here. I hear my name on the intercom and the man, who seems to work here shows me the door. I manage to open it with my handcuffed hands and wonder what awaits me inside.

Patham rushed into the room and immediately spotted the one he had come looking for. Mynx was already surrounded by well-wishers but Patham flew over them in his owl form and landed on Mynx's shoulder, then hooted happily into her ear. He then jumped off and shifted nearly flawlessly back to his human form and repeated the same thing in a speech, which Mynx could understand: "Happy Birthday kitty cat!"

Congratulations! *huggles*

She could barely breathe in the stink of beer, but inside the empty mug was the best place she had found to be able to hide and listen in on conversations in the bar. As a fairy, Celenia was able to make herself invisible, but keeping up the invisibility for an extended period of time totally drained her of her energy. Conversation was mostly what one would have expected in a bar: small talk about the upcoming harvest, rumors of wars in distant lands, the newest misinformations about the cult, talk about the death of one of the general's lieutenants. Celenia had acted as a spy for Julak many times before and she knew how to sift through the worthless information to find the useful. But so far this night she hadn't found anything useful. The time was well past midnight, when the wind started picking up outside. Most of the regular drinkers had gone home and as far as Celenia could tell from inside the mug there were only four people remaining in the tavern other than the inkeep. She was getting tired and bored, but Julak had asked her to watch the barkeeper and while he was awake she was going to watch him, or at least listen to him. At the moment she could hear him shuffling around behind the bar, frying some sausages for the four still in the tavern, who as the sounds told her were busily playing cards. With a disgusted sound over the lucky streak of one of his playing partners one of the four stood up and walked over to use the restroom. The opening of the tavern door could not be heard over the resounding sound of thunder which rolled over the town. The storm was getting near and from the sound of it, it was going to be a big one. Even inside the beer mug, standing in about three centimeters of beer, Celenia could feel the static electricit stored inside the clouds. She stifled a smallish yawn, then her attention perked as she heard the footsteps approaching the bar. She guessed that the door had been opened when the thunder sounded. She wondered what someone would want in the bar at this time of night. "That is one hell of a storm brewing outside, the whole sky has been blackened by the clouds." "Aye." - was all the barkeeper said, as the smell of fried sausages started mingling with the smell of beer in Celenia's mug. "Can I get you something?" "I've come to talk business not pleasure." - the voice was firm and had an edge of command to it. Celenia wondered who it could belong to. She was pretty sure she hadn't heard the man in town before. "I don't remember ever doing business with you." - the barkeeper said casually, although some uncertainty could be felt in his voice. "Actually we have never seen each other before." The door of the restroom opened and closed again as the card player returned to his seat. "Excuse me for a moment." "Harry! Sausages ready!" A chair creaked as it was pushed back and footsteps came to the bar, then left. The sound of jingling coins told Celenia that money had been exchanged. "So what can I help you with?" Then the barkeep must have noticed the mug on the far end of the counter, and to her alarm Celenia felt the mug moving under her. Before she had the chance to fly out the mug was turned upside down and she fell out, hit the floor, then the beer drenched her totally, and she missed the man's reply. She quickly turned invisible and luckily escaped detection, but was only able to catch what the inn keeper replied to the man. "...don't know where they are. No one seems to know. You'll have to find one of them to know." The man on the other side of the bar laughed. "Thank you my dear inn keep, that is exactly what I had expected to hear. Any of the four of you know the answer to the question I asked him?" The man was obviously talking to the card players. The lack of sound from them meant they had probably just moved their heads. From the new burst of laughter from the man, Celenia guessed the reply had been the same thing. "Well I'll be off to find them then." "What? In this storm?" - during the whole conversation the sound of the rain hammering on the roof had been gradually picking up and the wind howled through cracks in the walls, with the sound of thunder heard frequently. "I've never seen better weather!" He moved away from the bar and opened the door of the bar. Celenia, drenched, stinking of beer and utterly exhausted decided to call it a night. She shook her wings to get the beer off of them and still invisible flew towards the door and just managed to squeeze out while it was still open. She could barely stay immobile in the wind, and needed to break her concentration on the invisibility spell to be able to keep all her energy for flying. It was pitch black outside, the only light coming from the window of the tavern just behind her. But it was enough to illuminate the face of the man, who was looking right at the door behind Celenia. Then a sudden flash of lightning illuminated the street. Celenia recoiled as recognition hit her when she realized that the man hadn't been looking at the door. He had been looking at her. And his face had been one she had hoped never to see again. However it was her shock which saved her as she suddenly stopped beating her wings and the wind blew her away as it would have blown a sheet of paper.

Congratulations to Sweetcherrie and drummondo! Oh and thanks for my promotion also.

The brakes on the van were old and made a lot of noise. Every time the van braked for a red light I could hear them. I wonder where they are taking me. They had told me that I was being transferred to a new facility. But you can never know with these guards. Sometimes they did not tell the truth because they were taking the prisoners to a place they did not like, but they wanted the prisoners to be calm during the trip. I scratch my left ear with my handcuffed hands, while shooting a glance at Isaac, the guard sitting across from me in the van, pointing the shotgun at me all the time. He knows that I am one of the most cooperative prisoners, but he can never be too careful. I try to make small talk, but he does not reply to my attempts. With another squeal of the overused breaks the van slowly comes to a halt. I look at Isaac to see whether this was our destination. Isaac had been the guard on my floor in Los Angeles's highest security prison all the time I had been there. Sometimes he brought me small messages from my family and at one point gave me a drawing made by my youngest son, Jim when he was ten years old. The drawing was the only thing I had been allowed to take with me from the prison on the flight and the subsequent ride in the van. Isaac did not reply, but from the small movements and sounds of the van I could feel that the driver was getting out. The back door of the van opened and the driver stood there pointing his gun at me. "Ok, Isaac you can get out now." While Isaac slowly moved out I took the drawing from my shirt's pocket and had a look at it. It showed Speed, the stallion I had bought in 2002, with the whole of my family drawn next to him. On the bottom of the paper Jim had written in his small handwriting: I love you dad, hope you come home soon. I was told to step out of the van and did so, but tripped on the edge of the van and fell forward on my face, and the drawing flew from my hands. I felt a pair of hands grab me forcefully and I was pulled up by the driver. "Don't try any tricks on us McKinston." - the driver was a local cop, whom I had never seen before. "There is no need to be rough to him. We're leaving him in less than five minutes anyway." - Isaac said and handed the drawing back to me. I gratefully took it and placed it back in the safety of my shirt pocket. "You think he's allowed to have that?"- the local cop asked. "That shall be up to those who take care of him from now on." Isaac told me to walk in front of him towards the building, I could see in front of us. I wondered what would await me inside.

The first time I'll be able to post is Friday night CET, as I finish my exams that day. For the moment I'm still in the middle of studying. But right now I have the time for a shortish arrival post.

Watching his friend moving away Patham took out a piece of paper from his pocket and tore it into several small pieces on each of which he wrote a message. He shifted to his owl form, with much more ease than he had done it just that morning. Far, near to the horizon, the sun was slowly setting in realms which did not belong to the keep of the Pen. Basking in the last rays of sunlight he looked over the edge of the ledge. High he was, but as he started having second thoughts about flying down the voice echoed again in his head. “One does not control the wind. One enters it, feels its freedom and moves.” "Thanks you for having made the ending of this day so wonderful..." - he whispered onto the wind, knowing that the one, to whom the message was destined was going to hear him. Patham did not try to fight against the currents in the air as he jumped, but simple stretched his wings and let himself glide downwards. Five minutes later the Necromancer, Venefyxatu saw a small piece of paper land in front of him, as he was walking back towards the keep of the Pen. As he bent down to pick up the paper he heard a sharp hoot from above. On the paper was a simple phrase of thanks written in an elegant, thin handwriting and on the bottom of the paper was the mark of the clawed foot of an owl, in the same ink. In the following few minutes identical pieces of paper landed close to, or in the case of Salinye on top of, the others who had wished him a happy birthday outside the keep. Patham landed at one of the windows of the Cabaret Room. That takes care of Gryphon, Mynx and Salinye, now to find the Raven and Sweetcherrie. - he thought to himself. He found the Raven close to the spot where he had been earlier, enjoying the cool breeze entering the window next to him. Patham landed quite smoothly on the windowsill next to Raven and hooted a hello at him. He then lifted one of his legs so that Raven could see the piece of paper attached to it. Patham indicated with his other leg, that it was for him and Raven then removed it with his beek. As he started unwrapping it, Patham was already flying off, intent on finding Sweetcherrie, the mastermind behind this day of fun. Sweetcherrie heard a knock on her door, and when she went to answer, she saw Patham in his human form, standing outside the door with a wide grin on his face. He rushed in and hugged Sweetcherrie, then stayed quiet for several seconds. Finally he broke the silence. "I've never been good with what to say in certain situations, so before I say something that would sound awkward I'll just say two words." "Thank you." He then smiled and handed Sweetcherrie a small, yellow flower, which grew abundantly in a small clearing outside the keep. "I brought this for you, to thank you for organising this awesome day for me." - he smiled.

Reminds me somewhat of my birthday earlier this week... Friends: "Happy Birthday! We'll celebrate after we finish exams next week." *goes back to studying* Family over phone from more than 1000 kilometers away: "Happy Birthday!" *goes back to studying* Oh and I also had 8 hours of classes... Happy birthday in advance though Falcon.

OOC: I have exams next week and shall only be able to play full-time starting on Friday, if that can be accepted I'll play this character. Name: Thomas McKinston Age: 47 Gender: Male Race: European Marital Status: married with three children Admitted: October 2003 From his personal journal he started to write December 2003, while in prison: "I was born in Edinburgh, Great Britain to parents, who emigrated to the United States when I was seven years old. I grew up in Los Angeles and after completing secondary school I went to Police Academy, from where I graduated in 1985 as an inspector in the homicide branch of the L.A.P.D. In 1987 I took Sarah West as my wife and in the following seven years we had three children: Simon, Laura and Jim." After twelve years of succesfull service I retired from the force and became a consultant for a firm working on a contract for the Police Department to come up with reliable psychological profiles for serial killers. It was on the 7th of July, 1999, that during a lunch-break my co-worker John Grishalle proposed to me an interesting theory of his. He said that a normal person could not kill without having a guilty conscience afterwards. I made a bet with him that I later came to regret, of trying to convince him otherwise. During the course of the second half of 1999 and 2000 I interviewed more than 200 murderers in prisons around the US to try to prove John wrong." "Most of the interviewees were clearly non-normal and I had to disregard them for the purpose of the bet, but some of them were clearly extremely intelligent people, who I could not understand why had commited the crimes they were in prison for. One man in particular touched me a lot. He reminded me of the killer seen in the film Se7en. On the surface he was a totally normal man, and you could have known him for years and not suspect him of the nineteen murders he had commited. He had been a university professor of psychology and had killed his victims to be able to study their panic reactions when they realised that death was getting near for them." "He was called Kevin Young, and I interviewed him three times during the summer months of 2000. He was really open with me and even gave me a copy of his PhD after my third visit. His PhD was about parallels between abuse during childhood and mental disorders in adult age. I could not help but think about my father, who after his accident at work had turned a drunkard, and eventually died of alcohol-poisoning, when I was eleven years old. When he was drunk he sometimes beat me, although in the mornings he always regretted doing what he had done." "It was around this time that I started having strange thoughts. I decided that I would visit Kevin once again, so that he can maybe help me analyze my thoughts. But when I went to visit him in September of 2000, I found that he had died in the prison's hospital three days earlier. Apparently he had had cancer for the last three years." "It was on the way back from San Francisco, where he had been kept in prison when I picked up a hitch-hiker." From the police report after Thomas McKinston's confession: "The suspect, Thomas McKinston, came in voluntarily to the central Los Angeles Police Department and confessed on the 17th of July 2003 to the killings of fourteen people, of all age groups and genders in the last three years. The suspect accurately described the locations where the bodies had been hidden and the methods with which they had been killed. The first victim, Stephen Brach was picked up on the 7th of September 2000, next to the road between San Francisco and Los Angeles..." ... "None of the bodies had been found prior to the suspect's confession and the suspect had continued his professional and personal life in a totally normal way after he had started the alleged murders." Article in the Los Angeles Times on the 17th of October 2003: Ex-cop gets jailed for 14 murders Thomas McKinston, an ex-inspector of the homicide department of the L.A.P.D. pleaded guilty yesterday to the murders of 14 individuals between September 2000 and May 2003. The jury delivered the sentence after a mere two hours of deliberation. The sentence was of 30 years in prison, with possible parole after 15 years in case of good conduct. Police department spokesman Harold Greene had revealed that the suspect had been extremely cooperative during the investigation, but that he had been unable to give a reason for the murders. Due to his expertise in homicide investigations, none of the bodies had been found prior to his confession, and had it not been for his confession the Police Department would not have had enough evidence to jail him. McKinston's lawyer and family were unavailable for further comment. Assessment of the state: Several interviews conducted by reknowned psychologists did not reach any conclusion as to why he had commited the murders. They were totally coldly, precisely carried out murders, as Thomas had described them, but he himself could not give any reason for them, while he still cooperated in every possible way with the psychologists. He even accepted to be hypnotized and to pass lie tests, but they did not produce any new results. In prison he has acted normally and has even continued his work on a book he had been working on before going into prison on profiles of serial killers, into which he has incorporated observations even about himself. At times his ex-colleagues both from the P.D. and from the firm he had worked at afterwards come and talk with him, and his advice has helped to catch two serial killers, since he entered prison.

Awesome feedback Sweetcherrie! Thanks! *hugs* When I edit a chapter I'll post here to show what changes were made.

Chapter 6 "The sword-wielder is dead, Master." "Show me his body." The tall, lean man kneeling in front of the throne motioned to servants behind him, who rushed out and a minute later came back in carrying a body. Jerrick's body. "You may stand Erfalag." "Yes Master." The man, who had so far been sitting on the throne stood up and walked over to the body. He took only one glance at the body. "I see you did not fail me again Erfalag. The first time was quite a bad mess up on your part." - the pale faced man held a long pause, letting Erfalag sweat. His servants needed to know that he never showed mercy. Erfalag had been severely punished for his failure and it was only thanks to his present success that he was still alive. "He had a mage with him, but we got the two of them seperately Master." "A mage...interesting. Who was this mage?" Erfalag snapped a finger and the servants brought in the other body. Erfalag's master did not move at first to inspect the body. He just looked at Erfalag. His red eyes, stood out from the whiteness of his face and burnt Erfalag's eyes whenever he looked at his undead master. Unable to bear the stare anymore Erfalag bowed his head. "You are hiding something from me Erfalag." "I would never dream of..." Sawax simply put up a hand to stop Erfalag's protest. "I can see it in your eyes." Erfalag started trembling. "I see..." - Sawax said solemnly. "So you do not have the sword. It seems that I shall have to send someone to get the sword. Unfortunately for you it shall not be you." Erfalag fell to his knees and tried starting to plead with his master, but to no avail. Sawax simply lifted a finger and Erfalag fell to the ground dead. Sawax lifted a bony finger and indicated the servants remove Erfalag's body. Being a lich had some advantages to it. Sawax had been born over four thousand years ago, but then dissatisfied with the short length of the human life-span he decided to lengthen it. The price, of needing to give up his humanity had not bothered him a bit. If only killing one of the Kiriati were as simple as killing that bungling Erfalag. - he thought to himself as he walked over to the mage's body Erfalag had brought. And what a pleasant surprise met him when he saw the familiar face...

OOC: I decided to radically change what plans I had had for the continuation of the story, because I got a much better idea. Chapter 5 "No, I haven't heard of them...should I have?" - Olira replied with a puzzled expression on her face. "Jerrick, we don't have time. The hunters have been unleashed and you know that they do not relent until they are destroyed or until they get their pray." - Maqal interrupted, before Jerrick had a chance to reply. "Hunters?" - Olira asked, not able to follow the conversation between the two men. "It is the name we have for the ones you call piercers." - Maqal said, before Jerrick could say the same thing. - "Jerrick, we need to flee from here. If you want her to come with us then be it, but we have to leave now." Jerrick nodded, seeing the wisdom in his friend's words. They left the road half an hour later, knowing that the piercers moved slightly slower on the forest paths they were planning on taking. Up until sunset they walked the small paths, which usually only the animals of the forest used. Just shortly before sunset they found a small clearing with a large oak tree in the middle of it. They made camp next to it. While Jerrick went off to catch some game for them to eat, Olira stayed alone with Maqal. Not wanting to disturb the man, while he was making the fire, she busied herself with her own thoughts, sitting with her back against the oak tree. But then her attention was caught by the fireplace Maqal had prepared. He had only put large pieces of timber on it, no small pieces to be able to light the fire easier. Maqal noticed the direction of her gaze and laughed out softly. "You think that I am doing it the wrong way, don't you?" - he chuckled softly, and then snapped his fingers close to the fire, and the fire started crackling merrily. Olira's mouth formed a silent 'o' but then she too started smiling. She had not suspected that Maqal was a mage. The sword at his side and his build were not those of a typical mage. Soon Olira and Maqal started chatting, oblivious to the small forest sounds, which slowly started around them. It was thus that they did not hear the small sounds of twigs snapping around the clearing and did not see the dark shapes moving around them just inside the shadow of the trees. Jerrick did however hear the sounds of the twigs snapping. Thinking he had at last found the game, which had evaded him for the last half hour, he readied his hunting knife. When he heard a twig snap right behind him he turned and jumped at what had first seemed to be a wild boar. It was when Jerrick's scream pierced the night that Olira and Malaq realised that something was very wrong. Malaq immediately jumped up and grabbed his sword in his right hand, while with his left he seemed to be caressing the blade. The blade started glowing firey red, as if it had been kept in the fire for several minutes. After a word of command from Malaq, the fire rose higher and illuminated the whole clearing. However apart from the crackling of the flames no sound could be heard. "JERRICK!" - Olira shouted in desperation, then felt Maqal's hand on her shoulder. "Jerrick is dead. The hunters are here. I underestimated them. Jerrick underestimated them. He should have taken his sword with him when he went on the hunt." Olira fell backwards towards the oak tree and it was only thanks to the tree that she didn't fall completely. The tree caught her, and she slowly started sliding towards the ground. But Maqal's hand pulled her up. "There is no time for that Olira. They shall come for us any time. They have gotten their target now, but they never leave any witnesses. Take Jerrick's sword, even if you don't know how to use it, the sword shall do the work on it's own. It is a good blade." Olira stood dazed as if still in shock, but eventually she started forming words again. "Sword...broken." "WHAT?" - Maqal's unbelieving shout pierced the darkness and planted more fear into Olira's heart than the piercers ever had before? A heavy silence followed the shout, as Maqal's eyes darkened and his expression changed, but after several long seconds he seemed to regain control over himself. "Slicer broken? That is the worst news I have heard since many long years." He put a hand on Olira's shoulder and Olira felt as if a strange presence were searching in her mind. Maqal withdrew his hand and scanned the clearing. The piercers haven't moved inside the circle of light yet. It meant that he had time for what he knew needed to be done. "Listen Olira. You have been caught up in something you can not understand, and I don't have time to explain now. I myself would take up the shards of Slicer if I could, but the sword wasn't made for me, and thus would not bear me. You however were Jerrick's chosen companion. Slicer shall accept you. I am going to teleport you to..." He paused for a moment as he saw the first dark shape emerge from among the trees on the southern side of the clearing. Just seconds later another let out a roar from the northern side. Maqal started talking faster. "I am going to teleport you to Hinnra's Keep. Seek out old Killian there! Tell him I sent you and tell him about Jerrick and Slicer! He'll know what to do. Take Slicer now! Quick!" The first piercer reached the fire and simply walked through it. Maqal pointed at the creature's head and murmured a spell. A white hot blast of fire erupted from his fingertips and decapitated the creature, leaving only a smoldering, headless corpse. The second piercer approached from the other side and Maqal gave it the same treatment. Then getting a moment of breathing space, he took Olira's hand and shouted out the spell this time. The last thing Olira saw before she was swept away by the magical energies were dozens of piercers approaching from every side, and the small figure of Maqal standing in the midst of them, aiming to kill as many as he could before falling. Then all went black as the world folded around her, and she passed out.

Sounds like a fun one. 0. [Female] Appy 1. [Verb, past tense] forked 2. [Adjective] dark as night 3. [Adjective] mexican 4. [Noun] grape 5. [Noun] pitchfork 6. [Noun] Sweetcherrie's bouncy ball 7. [body Part] belly button 8. [Verb, past tense] grated 8.5 [Male] Peredhil 9. [Car part] dashboard fuel level indicator 10. [Adjective] totally empty 11. [Verb, past tense] constitutionalized 12. [Noun] the foremost feather on the head of an owl 13. [Adjective] simply difficult

"Dancing? Why Not?" - Patham said. He and Sweetcherrie started dancing to the sound of the music. "Let's just hope that all of me stays in human shape while we dance." - he said with a large grin on his face after the first song finished.

Patrick looked around and then took the painted wooden sign out from under his coat. He stuck it in the ground in front of the hastily erected tent. The sign read: "Looking for writer." He smiled and walked inside the tent waiting for applicants. OOC: Since Salinye had to pull out of Dark Times, Venefyxatu, Sweetcherrie and me, we need an extra writer. If we only get one writer he or she shall be welcomed with open arms, but if by any chance we get several, we shall ask for the applicants to write an imaginary post for the role they are taking on and then the three of us shall decide which one we like best and who we shall take. The part which needs to be written is the part of Hion Emereus and his daughter. Oh and it would be cool if the applicants have MSN as the three of us usually discuss the plot and what to write over MSN. Warning the following might be a small spoiler as the information has not yet been revealed in story. A bit about Hion Emereus and his daughter (unnamed as of yet): Hion Emereus is in his late forties or early fifties. He is a retired mage, but in his earlier days had participated in several adventures. But around the age of thirty he got fed up by the greed and "evilness" of adventurers and retired from adventuring donating most of his money to the poor, he settled down. His daughter is in her early twenties. Their relationship is quite close. Here is a link to the story thread: link