View Full Version : Candice Dionysus: Prose and Non-Fiction

Candice Dionysus
05-15-2007, 07:47 AM
Maroque: A Novel of Nightmares: (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/editpost.php?do=editpost&p=5112)
The Story Begins (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=5113&viewfull=1#post5113)
Maroque (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=114697&viewfull=1#post114697)
Interlude ( I ) (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=216351&viewfull=1#post216351)
Dei (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=216356&viewfull=1#post216356)
Kyonsei (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=216365&viewfull=1#post216365)
The Serpent (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=216368&viewfull=1#post216368)
Awake (Dei) (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=216370&viewfull=1#post216370)
Awake (Anianka) (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=328270&viewfull=1#post328270)
Roommates (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=328274&viewfull=1#post328274)
Truths to Come (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=328277&viewfull=1#post328277)
Turtle (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=357219&viewfull=1#post357219)
A Little Explanation of Monique (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=454098&viewfull=1#post454098)

An essay/rant-type thing (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=5594&viewfull=1#post5594)
Secret Project (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=7499&viewfull=1#post7499)
Pain [Short Story] (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=18584&viewfull=1#post18584)
Project "Fort Wars" (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=38065&viewfull=1#post38065)
Project "Fort Wars", Chapter 1 (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=38068&viewfull=1#post38068)
'Eights' (Short Story) (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=76900&viewfull=1#post76900)

UnNamed: It Began With A Box (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=88548&viewfull=1#post88548)
Chapter One (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=328279&viewfull=1#post328279)
Chapter Two (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=328282&viewfull=1#post328282)
Chapter Three (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=328287&viewfull=1#post328287)
Chapter Four (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=357211&viewfull=1#post357211)
Chapter Five (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=455162&viewfull=1#post455162)

Dreams (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?275-Candice-Dionysus-Prose-and-Non-Fiction&p=114695&viewfull=1#post114695)

Maroque: A Novel of Nightmares

What if you were having a nightmare and you died? If you died while sleeping, would you be trapped in your nightmare forever? Or would you go to heaven or hell?
Imagine your most beautiful, and spectacular dream. Now imagine it twisted into a nightmarish realm of pain, torture, and deceit. This is what the land of Maroque is like.
How do you get there? Maroque is a land that you may only visit while your physical body is asleep, and your mind is wandering the Dreamscape’s of the Universe. And if your body dies while you are there, then you become trapped for all eternity.
At first the few inhabitants, the nightmare demons, were alone. People would come and go, and sometimes wouldn’t even see them. When they finally realized they could smell the human souls, they began hunting them, and causing them to ‘die’ in Maroque. And since anything that dies in Maroque becomes a demon, the population soon began to grow.
Maroque is a place where the deadliest, nightmare creatures come to life, and even the vegetation is out for the taste of blood. In this realm of death and carnage there is one nightmare which rules over Maroque. Her name is Monique and she is the Princess of Nightmares.

Can you live and wake to see another sunrise? Or will you simply become another of the Demons of Maroque?

Candice Dionysus
05-15-2007, 07:49 AM
The Story Begins

--A strange place for a story to start, no? Our ‘heroine’, if she can be called such, is at work in Kerry’s Book Store, nestled in downtown Barrie. The Dunlop St. Store has been there quite a while - when a lot of the stores downtown fizzled, this one still stood. The men who owned it hadn’t sold, but they’d hired her the previous year, just a few months after Anianka’s eighteenth birthday in May of 2012. It was July 19th, 2013 now and she was out back, across from the Salvation Army store where the poor and homeless would congregate for supper later on - just across from the nucleus of the city, Barrie Bus Terminal. She watched people go to and from the Terminal while smoking a cheap Native cigarette. They didn’t always taste the best, but they were affordable.
--Tweakers, losers, assholes... Anianka’s thoughts were of all the people she saw. Retards, niggers, Jews... By no means was she a racist; Anianka hated all races equally, including her own. If you asked her, and she was feeling particularly nice, she’d tell you she just hated humanity. “No one special,” she might say, “just all the people on Earth.”
--She found it sickening that the whole town basically spider webbed from the Terminal, and the lake, Kepmenfelt Bay, not more than a two minute walk from where she stood now. And the city never did fix the Sunday and nighttime bus service to meet the demands of the growing population - which had been growing fairly steady since about nineteen ninety-five or so. It still only ran once an hour from seven pm on week- and Saturday nights, and once an hour from ten am to about six or seven pm on Sundays. At least during the week it was on the half hour
--She snuffed out her smoke and went back in. She’d had three customers since her shift started at nine in the morning. An old woman and two young adults, probably no more than twenty fives years old each. The old woman had bought a romance novel; the young adults had gone for the fantasy and science fiction. Anianka preferred murder mysteries herself, but no one knew that except her and her bosses. And they were both drunks, so who cared?
--Anianka working cash was more of her form of a joke. “Watch me fool people into thinking I’m somewhat normal!” she might have told a friend, if she had one. Besides, she needed the money for food, smokes, and shelter - and in that order, too.
--About the only memories Anianka had were bad; her father beating her purple for not cleaning her room; the other kids teasing her in fifth grade for her home-pierced nose; the teachers telling her to take it out and her blunt refusal because she had the right to express herself. And OH! How furious those morons had been with her! How exquisitely pissed off they got when she told them NO! Had she ever been quite so happy since that day? Not that she could remember, but maybe...
--A man, possibly in his mid-thirties, came into the store. They smiled at each other and he went to browsing the shelves near the back. He was almost an attractive man in Anianka’s mind, but for the most part she hated him before he even walked into the building. If he was feeling talkative she might slip him her number; she wasn’t adverse to sleeping with someone every now and again, even if she hated human kind. She was promiscuous, but she was safe about it.
--She fixed her shirt to show a bit more cleavage and unzipped the sides of her skirt, upwards, to show more thigh. When she felt her appearance was ‘slutty’ enough she went out from behind the counter to fix some of the shelves a bit. He came back to the counter with a Stephen Davis novel, she likes his books, and when he looked at her she heard his breath catch in his throat. She turned, playing the innocent flirt, and she giggled on her way back to the counter.
“Hello.” she said, amiably and cutely. “Will that be all?”
He stuttered a bit before he got the reply of “all for the books, yeah.”
Real smooth, dude, she thought, then said “for the books?” and giggled.
After five minutes of poor flirting on his part, and gentle pressing on hers, she gave him her number and his book.
--Another casualty of war, she mused to herself, slipping back to her usual morbid demeanor, zipping her skirt back down and re-readjusting her shirt.
--She was studying human behavior in her spare time, reading up on it, watching people every chance she got. It was manipulation she was really learning, and OH! Was she ever getting GOOD at it! Just for shits and giggles, to see how easy she would bend the rest of the world to her will. It was nothing to her, and it was oh-so-fun. But the main reason was the power; she had power over people. That was what was important, that was what turned her on. He would probably call later tonight, or tomorrow evening.

Candice Dionysus
05-16-2007, 11:22 AM
What ever happened to the pacifistic and passionate views of the 1960's? The sit-in’s, the rallies for peace, the non-violent revolution of the Counter-culture through protest and concert? Has the population grown too fat and lazy to really care about war and hate in any non-military, peace-love-unity-respect, love-thy-neighbor-as-though-he-were-your-brother, let-the-music-set-us-free, F-U-C-K the F-U-Z-Z way anymore? Are they really content to let the joint Government of North America keep on its Roman Shadow-path, towards a full and painful collapse?
I wasn’t alive in the sixties. Hell, I wasn’t alive in the seventies, or early to mid-eighties. I was born in ‘88, of all times. But even the Grunge-and-punk revolution of the ‘90's faded into this pop-punk, fashion oriented culture of pseudo-depressed idiots who can no more read and write then they can take care of themselves right. They’re either too fat and lazy, or too skinny and uninterested in the world around them to notice that its so royally screwed up. They don’t believe they can make a real difference. Non of them are leaders, they do as they are told, whether they know it or not.
What they need is a strong voice, a real and strong person to lead them to their destinies. Because they are at current too sober, or too drunk on the wrong drugs to realize their full potentials! The loss of the greats, like Jim Morrison and John Lennon were big losses on the Revolutionary front; we could have done so much better with people like them to lead us to our own personal Nirvana’s, to stop war and to keep our noses where they belong, instead of our people dying needlessly and uselessly! Its ridiculous, and as the future, I won’t stand for it any longer!
Its true! The children are the future! So why are so many of us stupid, undereducated, over-medicated emo-kids? Sheep! You’re all sheep! And I could be the Shepard, if only you’d listen, look past my outer appearance, drop your petty preconceived notions, LEARN and ADVANCE and ACCEPT the REALITY of your world! SEE THE LIES! Realize the TRUTH of it ALL!
The Government wants you all under control, and by letting them medicate the young, or, really, make up problems like A.D.D. - Most of those kids just need someone to pay attention to them. A PARENT or two to raise them, teach them, LOVE THEM the way a parent is meant to! But I wander. By letting the Government do this you are doing nobody any favors. That is, no one but the Government. The North American people have the Right to Bear Arms so that if at any point they disagree with the way their Government is doing things, they could have another Revolution, take back the country and start over. Interpretation of the Constitution corrupts it greatly.
But this fact was forgotten by the people, who decided they’d rather have a non-violent Revolution, in the end. The sit-ins, love-ins, protests, rallies... They only turned violent because the police turned them that way. But it could work! Because of Freedom of Speech, Freedom of Expression, it could work still! So why did we stop? Why, indeed. How did the Government win? Easy.
The hippies were all talk and no muscle. They said “we’ll make peace” but made love instead. They said “Free Tibet” and freed only their minds, they said they’d change the world and changed only their own tune in the end. The Hippies became the Yuppies, and the passion was lost. But is it gone forever? In France they revolt over anything they don’t agree with. Does it work? Not always, but it keeps the Government in fear, which is as it should be. People should not fear their Government, they should have it by the balls! Of yes! And I ask you, would you put your own personal well-being on the line for something you believed in so strongly? Or are you a coward who would hide and say the answer they want to hear?
I, for one, have had to put my live on the line for what I believe in, and would gladly and proudly do it again!
But would you?

Candice Dionysus
05-21-2007, 12:07 PM
Alright! So I've been working forever on this project (which I really want you all to participate in!) of a free bi-monthly magazine (http://antabaka.freewebpage.org).

I've got myself a deadline, and I've gotten a few submissions of poems and short stories, but I need some more, I need articles and rants; music, television, movie and game reviews; political views; fashion reviews; bar and club reviews for anyone who might be visiting your area; art; and anything else, anything, that you might be able to think of!

If you click the link at the top of this post it will take you to my site. There you can find updates, my deadline, the subjects we cover, people working on the magazine with me, submission guide, etc. If there is anything you think is missing, or you need to know, feel free to ask me.

I plan on having the first issue ready for February, barring any unforeseen problems.

As you may have guessed, this magazine is for anything, anyone, and anywhere. So anything you have to submit, be it an opinion, artwork, a recipe you want to share with the world, or just a local story you think is gripping, I want you to submit it.

Thanks, and I hope to be publishing something of yours soon,

05-21-2007, 12:10 PM
Looks good Candice :D

Candice Dionysus
05-21-2007, 12:15 PM
Thanks, Matt. ^^; Like I said, I've been the only one working on it, so for it to look "good" is pretty freaking amazing.

05-21-2007, 12:16 PM
Its not an easy thing to do for sure, I put my fingers to the bone on six pages yesterday. :lol:

Candice Dionysus
05-21-2007, 12:17 PM
I've still got my own few articles to type up, a layout for the magazine itself to come up with, advertising to do, contributors to find, and so on...
Because I can't do the whole thing on my own, no matter how good I am.

05-22-2007, 10:30 PM
Very neat, Can! I look forward to this!

Candice Dionysus
05-23-2007, 08:25 AM
Thank you, Fruno.
But at this point, I'm really in desperate need of help. I can't do this all on my own, and I need volunteers to help.

For those interested in helping, the websites Current Issue page has a list of the things I will be accepting articles in and on. Any questions about each section, feel free to PM me here and ask.

Candice Dionysus
06-23-2007, 07:01 AM
Pain. Why did his stomach hurt? Oh, right, that was why. He tried to open his eyes and found that everything was just as dark with them open. He tried to sit up and his body screamed bloody murder. Pain, yeah, but he was more hungry than hurting. Slowly, turn to the edge of what ever you are laying on. That’s right, feet on the ground – the nice, reassuring, solid ground. Yes, now take a moment - breathe. That’s right, nice and slow.
Good, he’d succeeded in sitting up with minimal pain. But his body was stiff. How long had he been unconscious? Hard to tell. He couldn’t remember anything after he took a tumble off his bike.
So, then, where was he? It was so black he couldn’t see a thing. There was no adjusting to this total blackness. But light would have hurt him, so he was glad for it, really. Yes, glad. But oh God, his stomach! He had to get up, find some food.
He groped around the sides of him, looking for a table or wall to steady himself with as he stood up. He didn’t find one. Damn. So he’d have to risk falling flat on his face. Ok, he could do that. Slowly.
He lent forward, gently, his hands pushing on his thighs. They felt too thin. Far too thin. How long had he been here, in this timeless blackness? Secluded from light, and unable to eat or drink?
Drink. Come to think of it, his mouth was dry, too. Damn it. Don’t think of it. Just think of standing up. That was the important thing now. Just stand up.
He tried to use the muscles in his legs to straighten them, but it didn’t work. He collapsed back down onto the bed. Damn. That failed miserably. He tried to curse out loud and found his throat was too dry. Nothing came out.
He was so thirsty, now, that he forgot how hungry he was. He forced himself to stand again, slowly, and closed his eyes. His head was spinning; his stomach tried to leap into his throat but was far too empty. The acid was probably eating at the lining. He managed a groan; the sound of it in all the darkness was almost frightening.
He managed to take a step forward, and then another, but his foot snagged on something and he went down. His head cracked off of something and then he was out.

Pain. Always pain; stinging, dizzying, delicious pain. Why did it hurt this time? He thought back to the last thing he could remember doing. Taking a few steps, that’s right. So logically he must have fallen and hit his head. Tentatively he touched his forehead. A sudden blast of tear-educing, exquisite pain lanced through his brain and head. He probably had a concussion. It also felt wet. He licked his fingers to find the coppery, metal taste of blood – he always thought his own had a hint of lemon to it, but he never could say why. He’d have to find the Bactine and some bandages. And painkillers – lots of those. But only after he found food and water.
Damn, how long was he out? Probably a few minutes, the blood was still fresh. So, then, getting up would be first priority. Then, finding either a light, or a way out. How did he get here? Good question. He sat up, seeing stars anyways due to the pain. He could remember crashing, but nothing more. Damn. Oh well, it would come back to him. Or, so he hoped.
He moved into a crawling position as slowly and carefully as he could, and felt for what he’d smacked his head off of. Pottery, dirt. It was a plant-holder – a big one. And his own blood was still on it in little beads that his fingers broke when they felt it. Gee, that wasn’t morbid. No sir, not that.
Oh well, he may possibly use it to steady himself this time. It felt tall enough. But all he could really do was hope, in this eternal darkness all around him. He pushed himself up, trying not to make himself dizzy. There, he was up again. The pot did help, then. That was always pleasant.
Now, time for the locating of a door. This ought to be fun, but optimistically this little bit of good luck would hold out and he wouldn’t go down again. Well, at least he could still be optimistic. There weren’t any signs that this was a dangerous situation, aside from the severe starvation he’d been feeling, and the even more powerful dehydration. His lips already felt chapped, and that was never a good sign. Perhaps the headache he had woken up with was really a migraine due to the absence of life sustaining liquids. Then he would have had to have been unconscious for at least three days, which would explain the stiffness of his leg muscles.
He felt his way to the side of the plant, and found a wall. That was good, that meant that there might be a door somewhere. He groped his way along it, slowly, stopping to let the dizziness fade if he started to go too quick. A concussion was really a wonderful thing to add to all the pain he had already. Too late now, just find the door. He came to a corner, and followed it over. Great, he had no idea where he was now. But at least he was doing something. He moved along this new wall for a short time, but in the darkness it felt like eternity. His hand hit something and suddenly he was blinded completely, and his head screamed in pain. He went to cover his eyes and went down again.

Pain. This time white pain, lancing through his already concussed head. There was blood in his eyes now, and his vision was red. Wait, vision? He could see now, he’d hit the light switch. He took a moment to look around before he stood up. There was the mysterious hard object he’d been laying on. It was a child-sized bed, which explained why he was so stiff when he woke up. The potted plant he’d hit his head on; it was a large one, as he’d guessed. The pottery was the usual orange-y brown color, and the plant was actually a small palm tree. There was the covered window. The fabric covering the window seemed to be black velvet, which explained why no light got through.
But why was it so bright in here? His eyes should have adjusted by now. Then he noticed the walls were glass. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? He could see outside, but no light could get in. As a result, the light reflected off the glass on the inside, and made things a lot brighter than they should have been. He imagined the outside was like a big black mirror, reflecting everything around him. Holy hell, where was he?
He kept looking about, seeing both the size of the room, and where the door might be. Definitely not near those black curtains, though he didn’t see why they would be needed, since the whole room was a window. He looked to the right of them, and there was no door there, either. But there was no door to the left, so where was it? He turned to look behind himself, and lo! There was the door. He grasped the glass handle and gently turned it. It cracked open, and there was darkness behind it. But it wasn’t the same as the darkness he’d had in this room up until recently. Anyways, he could get out. That was good.
He went through the door, letting his eyes adjust to the half-darkness and leaving the door open so he could see for as long as possible. His legs were working considerable better, now that there was a whisper of food soon to come. He slowly walked down the hallway he’d come to, using the wall to steady himself where he needed it. This was good, this was progress. The hall was silent but for the echoes of his own shuffling feet as he trekked down the corridor. There were other doors, but he passed these, hoping for either an elevator or a stairway. It had looked like he had been at least one level off the ground, and he didn’t want to take any chances.
Behind him he heard a door open, and footsteps shuffle out. Oh God, let that be someone helpful, please? For a moment there was no noise. Not even his own shuffling feet; he’d stopped at the first sound of another creature in the halls. Then, with no clear warning, the person called out to see if anyone was around. It was a female voice. Asking for help. He suddenly went very cold. Either this was a trap, and he should continue shuffling along and looking for a way out – run, even – or he should go back and see if she really needed his help. But it felt wrong, everything felt wrong. All wrong, beyond a doubt.
He began to shuffle the way he’d been going, and then to take his feet right off the ground, and put them down gently, sneaking along the corridor slowly. Then he heard the call again, saying she really needed someone, please won’t they help? Anyone? But he couldn’t justify what was wrong, even to himself. She wasn’t right, she just wasn’t right at all. He began to take larger sneaking steps, until he found a door that was different from the rest. Maybe this was it; maybe he could escape through here. She called out again, sounding more impatient this time, and he could hear her shuffling towards him, but not slowly at all. The light was mostly gone from the hallway, so she couldn’t see him just yet… But she would be capable of seeing him inside a definite range, and he knew it. No, he had to try this door, had to get away.
It opened soundlessly, despite looking rather old, and he saw stairs. Oh, thank God! Stairs, and he could get out and away from this awful place! She cried out again, help! Help! He’s following me, I just know it! Please? Won’t you save me? But she was wrong. He went through the door, and closed it behind him. He took a breath and then was almost running down the stairs. He went around once, twice, three times… He lost count. Eventually he got to the bottom, and he heard her feet on the floor coming in behind him, and beginning to come down the stairs. He went through the opposite door, seeing light through a grimy window about shoulder-high. He was outside, yes! He began to run, to run and run as fast as he could.
He smacked into someone, they cursed. They began to ask him questions, who he was, where he came from, why he looked so sick. He tried to explain and was surprised he had enough fluid left in him to begin to cry. He’d run smack into a police officer. Then, once more, he fainted.

Pain again. How many times would he wake up in pain? A female voice asked him if he was awake, finally. He tried to respond, and then merely smacked his hand gently on the side-rail of the hospital bed. He remembered now. He’d gotten out, he’d found the policeman. He must have brought him here, to the hospital. The boy cleared his throat a few times, and then asked if he parents had been informed. The nurse said no, he was a John Doe, no ID, no wallet even. She asked him who he was, how old was he, where was he from? He told her to get a policeman in here, he didn’t want to repeat himself. She said she’d call him in now.
A moment later the man who he’d run into was in the room, holding his pad of paper. He said he was glad he was awake, what did he have to tell him? He explained who he was and where he was from – Hunter Fielding, 15 years old, from Portland, Oregon. They just stared at him. He asked them what the problem was.
“Hunter, you’re lucky to be alive, let alone unharmed.” The police officer told him. “You were abducted by a serial killer – a woman from right here in Santa Monica. We caught her just after we found you. You’ve been out another week, but the hospital has kept you hydrated and fed. You were reported missing over a month ago. We found drugs in your system - Valium, GHB, heroin, and opium. You were massively dehydrated, and on the verge of starvation. She was going to cut you up, slowly, as you starved to death, we gather. Its what she does with most of her victims. She claims she’s pregnant, now. We have her in solitary, awaiting a trial. We didn’t find your ID in with the other nineteen wallets we found.”
“I don’t carry one… My mom said I don’t need one yet.”
“At any rate, we can call your parents now, and let them know we’ve found you. But… How in the hell did you get out? You should have been too weak to move at all.”
He just smiled, weakly.
“You’d be astounded at what a kid can do when he needs something to eat.”
And now, no more pain.

06-23-2007, 02:11 PM
Ehh. Not bad, but definitely not your best. I just couldn't get into it that much.

A little continuity issue also.

Third paragraph, fourth line, you wrote "The blinds seemed to be black velvet...", then in the same paragraph, ninth line, you wrote " Definitely not near those black curtains..."

The ending made it more interesting, though.

Candice Dionysus
06-24-2007, 06:41 PM
Ehh. Not bad, but definitely not your best. I just couldn't get into it that much.

A little continuity issue also.

Third paragraph, fourth line, you wrote "The blinds seemed to be black velvet...", then in the same paragraph, ninth line, you wrote " Definitely not near those black curtains..."

The ending made it more interesting, though.

Ooh. I had meant to write curtains in the first place, but I guess my mind just wasn't working. I haven't edited this at all, by the way. Just spell checked. Which is why its on here.
I'll fix that now.

06-27-2007, 10:27 PM
Society is so skewed that it has no idea what's going on. They've all got their heads so far up their asses they shit when they sneeze. It's just people need something to believe, something to blame. It makes them feel safe.

Candice Dionysus
09-19-2007, 08:16 PM

Candice Dionysus
09-19-2007, 08:19 PM
Chapter One

ℑn childhoods hour there exists a vast imagination, creating whole worlds within which children play and grow. For some this imagination is encouraged, promoted, and thrives; for others it is stamped upon until it winks out like the flame of an unwanted candle. The fact remains that all children have it when they start out. For those whom it is encouraged in, it sometimes turns into this amazing talent, this brilliant mind, and these people become actors, writers, singers, musicians, dancers, and all manner of stars or unappreciated visionaries. For those whom it is squashed within, they become businessmen, politicians, or bureaucrats. Both are faced with problems, pleasures, and two roads diverged, but none of that is important as the decision you make as a child; to follow your heart and utilize your imagination, or to toss it away forever, leaving it for the more practical, the more mundane. For Margaret Woods, the decision was both.

Margaret Woods was a fifteen-year-old girl living in the small town of Niccals in South-Central Ontario, just outside of Barrie, to the North and the East. She lived in a large house, on a street of large houses just in front of a large space of forest on the very edge of the town, through which a mostly underground river emerged, snaked, and submerged, connecting two large lakes. As a smaller child Maggie’s mother had taken her swimming in that small river, but when she turned five, her mother ran out, leaving her with her father, a music label executive who almost never has time for her. When the two are together, it is either for him to give her money, or them to argue over this or that; he doesn’t get his daughter, and she gets him all to well. After all, she’d begun to turn out just like him already.

Among Maggie’s neighbors were the five members of Corralee Impaled, a five member metal band who did both melodic death metal, and industrial psy-trance, skillfully blended both on CD and in concert. These men all had children, all of whom were younger than Maggie, but who she would hang out with anyways, because their fathers were so close.

There was Carl Lewis, the alcoholic drummers anorexic son; Estelle and Cayrn Marxstein, the bassists kids; Nickolette Deaconstrukt, the singers daughter; Sheekyennå Servetta, the lead guitarists daughter; and Tyenn Sharksfinn, the rhythm guitarists son. Maggie was closest with Ty and Sheekyennå – whom was mostly called Yenni, to make things easier- though Carl seemed to have a crush on her, and Nicki did seem to enjoy her company. She trusted Ty enough to pierce her lip and nose for her when she was thirteen – Ty had been hesitant, but had done so on the black-streaked brunettes express order. Yenni and Ty were both part Swedish, and mostly Scandinavian, both having ice-like blue eyes, though thirteen-year-old Ty’s always had this spark of warmth in them, in direct contrast to Yenni’s cold and bored stares. The bands producer and his daughter lived with Maggie and her father, sharing the large house and parenting together, thus thrusting a relationship upon Maggie and twelve-year-old Rickelle Tumbler, whom with a semi-agreeable peace was reached early on. Up the street from them happens to be a less-well-off family, with who lives 10-year-old Kort Zinedeaux, who likes to hang around with Cay, and with Ricki.

Also living on the street resides another group of children, who Maggie’s group seems to always have problems with. The biggest problems stem from what they all call The Fort Wars, a series of battles fought over different areas in the forest designated forts by both groups, and sometimes furnished. Fargo Jones, Carl’s cousin Samantha Lewis, Michael Pots, Shéyenno Amarth, Ken Russell, Melina King, Danielle Stuarts, David Capsicum, and Kanajima Riyo make up the children who always seem to be giving Maggie and her friend’s grief. I’ll get to them later.

Our story finds itself starting in late July with Maggie, Yenni. Ty, and Ricki in what was termed the “Chair Fort,” large in part due to the used recliner nestled beneath an ancient, gnarled Oak tree. Basically the only way to get into this fort is to take off your shoes and trek a little ways up the river, and its used mainly in the summer, or the winter when all the underbrush and poison ivy are dead and out of the way. Here had been dug a large pit in which they have fires in the early and late summer, often on weekends or nights when they had made a particularly good win against Sammy’s group. It was one of the few forts that remained hidden from the fort thieves – they were much to mundane to think of checking along the rivers banks, and never swam up quite so far as that. For them to stumble upon it would almost surely be an accident, in the event it should happen, and even then, the chair was usually covered in a bush that grew around its sides, and was able to be pulled back from the seat and turned into a reclining bush throne, easily hidden except in winter. It was pretty far out, though, and the likeliness of them finding it was always slim.

Ricki had ventured to bring a portable CD player, and Maggie had consented to allowing some of her vast collection of hard, angry music, as well as some of her equally vast collection of dance-inducing techno tracks, pulse-pounding electronica, and bouncing Euro-beats. Currently the ghetto blaster was pumping out a hip-to-the-jive electro-remix of some popular song past its prime, and Ty and Yenni were bopping about as Maggie watched from her brambles-and-leaves throne, like a queen. Ricki was down to her underwear, as it was scorching hot, and was swimming about in the middle of the river, destined for sunburn. Carl was supposed to be bringing something from his parent’s stash, this kind of booze, or that, and Nicki and Estelle – or Tel - were also supposed to be on their way as soon as they could. Carl always supplied to booze, despite being so young and small, because his parents were of the opinion that if he drinks under their supervision, its for the greater good, because at least he’s not getting arrested, or worse, out on the street. He was steadily on his way to becoming as heavy a drinker as both of them, if he kept drinking the way he was now, and Maggie knew it, but it wasn’t her decision to make, so she let it be.

It was already five in the afternoon, and with the longest day of the year just past, the days were getting shorter. She knew the others would be there, but she was getting edgy. Another month and school would be back in session, and she would be a sophomore in high school, joined by a freshman Carl, who started school a year early, and therefore was in high school as such. She adjusted her cut-sleeve plaid top, unbuttoning a few of the buttons, and pulled a pack of smokes out of her pocket – she got them from a friend, who bought them from a Native, who sold them in bags of two hundred. They usually went splits on a bag, and Maggie had a beat up old tin pack she fished out of someone’s purse at school and slapped a sticker on. In her other pocket was a blue dollar store lighter, which she replaced every month.

”Maggie!” Ricki called, splashing her way closer to the short, and wiping her dripping wet dirty blond hair from her eyes. “Come split that with me, babe!”

”You come here, you want it so bad, Ricki!” Maggie called, their shaky peace bound mostly in cigarettes, booze, and music these days – though mostly by their joint dislike of Sammy and her friends, and their efforts to defend their forts together. “I’ll share, but I ain’t movin’.”

”What? In my see through underwear?” She called back. “I don’t want Ty to see that.”

”Should’ve thought of that before you wore white underwear,” Maggie said, teasingly, “besides, its just Ty! He doesn’t care. Probably seen me like that a million times by now.”

”Haha…” Ricki said. “You’re a skank then.”

”Fuck you.” Maggie was not, in fact, a skank. She wasn’t prudish, either, but she didn’t mind being in her underwear, no matter how see-through, around close friends. Truth be told, she’d rather be seen like that by the people she knew and trusted, than by someone who just wanted to sleep with her. She had a habit of going way deeper into the forests certain nights and attending bush raves. She always got hit on at these, but she didn’t know any of the people there well enough to even think of having sex with them. Ricki knew that, and was just being a bitch. She was also laughing, and making her way over, so Maggie lit her smoke, the two Scandinavians ignoring them and continuing to dance.

As the two girls passed their smoke back and forth, taking drag after drag, Carl waded up the shallow part of the river, his shoes in his backpack, his pant legs rolled up. He smiled and waved to them, his rust-colored hair falling into his lime green eyes, a half-drunk and dopey smile gracing his lips. His freckled skin must have been lathered in the highest possible SPF, because he had his swimming shorts sticking out of his rolled up pants, and a towel sticking out of his backpack.

”I brought Irish Cream, and vodka’ n’ juice.” He said, as he walked up to the chair and let his backpack down next to it. “How’s the water?” He tipped the half-naked Ricki a wink before almost choking at the realization that she was in Maggie’s lap, a towel separating them, and a smoke going back and forth between them.

”Water’s fine, fire-crotch.” Ricki replied, nodding back. She knew about his crush on Maggie, but she wasn’t about to say anything. It would be fair to assume everyone knew, but it was one of those unspoken knowledge’s. “Jump on in. I’ll be in after this is dead.” She meant, of course, the cigarette.

”R-right.” Carl said, slipping his shirt off, and then his jeans. “Tel said she’d be here as soon as Nicki finished cleaning her room. So yeah, they’re coming together. Sadly the others can’t make it tonight… Although Cay says he might show up towards the end. He’s got soccer practice until eight.”

”Cool.” Ricki said, taking a drag off the smoke, before passing it back and giving Maggie kills. “Lets go in now. Why can’t Kort come?”

”Grandparent’s’re here for a visit.” Carl replied as the two of them walked towards the water.

”Ews.” Yenni said, her English not so great because she and Ty had grown up speaking Swedish. “Grand’s parents. Poor Kortz, should’s be here’s with us.”

”Ja. Well, can’t wins them all, huh?” Ty replied, switching the CD which had just ended.

”Not everyone’s grandparents suck, dumb-asses.” Carl said. “Mine are pretty awesome, actually. They like to give me money.”

”Ja, wells, you’re luckies, Carl.” Yenni said, boredom still icing her voice. “Mine gives me clothing’s I hates wearing.”

”At least’s yours gives you things.” Ty said. “Mine gives me nothings. Hates me and mine father, after’s mother died’s. Dads giving’s me everything’s, but stupid’s grand’s parent’s gives nothing, ever, evens Christmases.”

”Ahh, shuts up ands dance, Ty.” Yenni said. “Puts something’s on alreadies!”

Ty flipped Yenni the bird as he riffled through the CD’s, two of his mothers gold bracelets rattling around his wrist loosely. He cracked his neck and adjusted his gray-green tee shirt with the picture of a phoenix erupting into flames on the front, under which were the words “Immortal Reborn” in a block text that looked like there was a sandstorm blasting through it. He peeked over his shoulder at Yenni standing crossed armed and bored, and behind her Carl was splashing Ricki, who was running away, and back, the two eventually deteriorating into a water wrestling match – and of course, Ricki was winning because Carl was so much smaller.

Maggie, who had finished the smoke by now, stomped one skate shoed foot to the ground, adjusting her glasses. “Ty, put in the two dee three mix CD.” She told him, smirking. He nodded and flipped back to it. Maggie smiled, watching her friends, and an electronic R’n’B remix floated its way into the air around her, and she nodded her head along with it, her eyes closed.


She must have dozed off, because she opened her eyes with a start as Tel an Nicki were there, and Nicki ha given her a big hug.
“Oh god, what time is it?” She asked. The sun had definitely moved since her eyes first closed. Must have been seven or so, she reckoned, from the shadows.

“Its probably about seven thirty… Wouldn’t you say, Tel?” Nicki said.
”Yeah, give or take.” She replied, looking to her watch. “I brought weenies and buns, and Nicki’s got chips, pop, ‘n some of those delightful little fruit things her parents always have sitting in a bowl on their table.”

”’Lee-chee,‘ or somethin’ like that.” Nicki corrected. “Love ‘em.”

”Yeah. The red ones ya have to peel,” Tel agreed, “with the big brown seed in the center… They’re all transparent and whitish and jiggly.”

Ty laughed. “Those tings are so strange…” He said, stopping dancing for a moment.

”But they’s amazingly good.” Yenni said, her hips shaking with the steady beat and tempo of the now slow-paced Middle East-inspired Euro dance track. “I’s impressed firsts times I tried’s them.”

”Ja. So good!” Ty grabbed the ever-bored girls wrist and pulled her close for a moment, before spinning her out and away from him. “Tastes likes… I dunno. Such odd flavors. Should’s makes a candies with that flavors.”

”Should’s makes candies with you’s brains.” Yenni said, not unfondly. She might as well have been belly dancing, the way her body was moving, arms an hips swaying as she turned and twisted. She grabbed Nicki by the hand, and the large, raven-haired girl began to move almost equally as gracefully as the miniscule blond.

”Good moves,” Yenni said, “you’s been practicing’s.” The two girls bumped hips every so often as they danced.

”I try.” Nicki replied.

While the two contrasting beauties danced, Carl made his way out of the water and back up to where Ty, Tel, and Maggie were discussing the strategy for retrieving control of the wicker fort, almost a mile back in the west from where they were now.

”We gotta get it back.” Maggie said. “We’re the ones who furnished that one.”

”How?” Tel replied. “We fortified it pretty well when we set it up.”

”Tellie, baby.” Maggie said. “We know all the key points of fortification, and we also know every weakness.”

”The vantages points from’s the west’s and south’s…” Ty said. “Little’s bit from’s the north’s. But the east’s weak’s to attacks. We could’s sneaks rights up on them’s, they’s never knows we’s coming if we’s avoiding’s makings noises.”

”We bring water balloons, walking sticks, rocks…” Carl added, not sadistically, as they’d been attacked with just the same in the past. “We could have that one back in no time… And we could refortify it with all-around vantage points, fix the visible weak spots,” he smiled, thinking it over and swaying just a little with the music, “and even the ones they might not think of. We could do it. No problemo.”


The children went on speaking of weak spots, vantage points, and redesign plans for some time, until Cay showed up with the beginning of the setting of the sun, and Nicki and Yenni set to work finding underbrush and wood for a fire. There were plans to be made, situations to discuss, and weenies to roast, so they each got busy with one thing or another, and by the time the sun was gone from the sky, the fire was going, and they were seated about it happily chatting and preparing to eat. At the last second, barely audible over the sound of the music and their own voices, Maggie could hear the splashing of someone coming up the river quite quickly. She tensed, and hushed everyone, and a few seconds later Kort tripped over a root onto the riverbank. Maggie helped him up, wiping his messy brown Beetles-cut hair out of his eyes. Yenni stared coldly, but she was glad he was here. She nodded to Ty, who tossed him Ricki’s towel. Brown eyes met blue as they smiled at each other, and Kort explained, as he dried his feet and legs off, that his grandparents had gone to bed early, and he had snuck off as soon as he’d gotten a chance.

”Its not that I don’t like them – I love them, they’re great – but I wanted to be here.” He’d said, blushing just lightly in the firelight. “I didn’t want to miss anything important.”

They filled him in on their plans for the Wicker Fort, and someone gave him a weenie and a leche fruit, and they put on a Corralee Impaled CD, Nicki’s father doing the low, rumbling vocals over what started out as an industrial track, but soon turned into a combination of industrial and death metal. What was low and gravelly soon became dark and equivalent to a vocal earthquake. And as they laughed and ate, they had no idea the choices awaiting them in the not so distant future.

09-20-2007, 08:42 AM
Huh... not quite sure what to make of it. I might have to wait for more...

For some reason I got a Bridge to Terabithia for adults vibe from this.

Candice Dionysus
10-01-2007, 09:17 PM
Honestly, its not going to be like that. There's going to be a lot of them going make-believe, but for the most part its really going to be more about the characters, and how they deal with each other. I'm going more for reality, and less for fantasy with this one.

Candice Dionysus
12-12-2007, 10:00 AM
The blue wave crested and drew back forty feet from the shore. She could see it from her window, atop the hillock to the west of the small beach and dock. The sun rose slowly from beneath the horizon, casting a misty grey light on the world outside her window. It was somehow bright and dark at the same time; the darkness and light merging, as if just for her.

Feeling compelled, she got up and quickly clothed herself in a long skirt and short sleeved blouse; the cotton of the skirt cooling her warm skin, the silken blouse caressing her gently. Yes, she would go for a walk on the beach this fine pre-dawn summer morning. It would make her feel good.

Her mind already half on the Yesod plain, she tip-toed her way down to the front door of the overgrown cottage, slipping silently through the quiet corridor. Then, as quietly as she could in her corybantic, half-dead state of mind, she unlocked and opened the front door. The fresh air hit her like the waves hit the sand, and she gently closed the door behind her, the soft click of the door in its frame telling her of her success almost silently.

The doctor said she was very ill, and her mommy had cried. Later, when mommy had told daddy, he’d put a hole in a closet door, out of both shock and anger. It wasn’t the ‘can’t sir,’ or the ‘tubel-roses’; it was something else. Something like ‘eights,’ only that wasn’t quite right. The doctor said, behind closed doors, that the ‘eights’ had caused her to get a cold, and the cold had progressed to ‘new moan ya,’ which might make her die, but right now she felt fine, good even. She knew she would die, but she was five, and she wanted to live the time she had left, not spend it in bed while mommy cried beside her.

The grass felt good between her toes; she missed the feeling after being in bed for a month. The grass turned to sand, and she giggled at the grainy, funny feeling she didn’t possess the vocabulary to describe. In her delirium she wondered if heaven would be like this wonderful, empty pre-dawn beach. She would love that.

She walked to the point where the water hit the sand, feeling the cold, soft water and surf lap lightly at her toes. She relished in the feeling of the surf. She looked over her shoulder, only for a second, at the empty concrete walkway that led to her house.

A fish jumped near-by, and she tilted her smiling, cherubic face towards the sound. The rocking Ocean roared and crashed, but she loved the sound, delighted in it so greatly. This place was hers, but she knew it was also Mother Natures, the Great Goddess’ world, just as much. That was alright, she didn’t mind sharing this place with the divine; it made her feel special. If all the fairy tales could be real, it still wouldn’t measure up to the secret, and unique feeling she had now, sharing the beach’s wonderful sights and sounds with her personal Gods. It was glorious, she felt magnificent, and having no sense of ‘blasphemy,’ she felt God-like herself. And she felt ready; ready to say goodbye to mommy and daddy, ready to meet her Gods, ready for a new adventure. And look; there was a nice old warrior man to show her the way.

She walked to him, taking his outstretched hand and looking up at him. Her smiling face locked eyes with his smiling face; he was an ancestor. The muscled, middle-aged mans blue-green woad tattoos showed gracefully on his chest, and he knelt down, his kilt touching the sand, to give her a silent hug.

“I want to say goodbye to mommy and daddy before we go,” she said. He simply nodded, and stood. They walked into the house, and she looked over her shoulder at the beach once more. She saw her self lying on her back at the edge of the Ocean where the water met the sand for a moment, and understood she couldn’t turn back. Though she had not felt herself pass over, she felt that it was probably best this way for her. That she had already been on the verge of death from the moment her eyes had opened that morning, she now knew, though how she did was unclear. Her ancestor held her hand tight, but not overly so, and she squeezed it, both sorrowful and serene at once.

They silently went up the stairs to her parents bedroom, and she kissed them both. Alice, her mother, woke up and saw her. She said something incoherent, then her daughter waved goodbye, and was gone. Alice got up, a little concerned, not bothering to wake Chester. She went into her daughters room, and the first thing she saw was through the window; her daughters small, crumpled body at the edge of the water. The sun was nearing the top of the horizon, and she screamed.

Candice Wozniak / Dionysus
April 15th, 07
11:06 PM
Barrie, Ontario

12-12-2007, 03:15 PM
The repetitious nature of The, There, She, A, etc. all bog down the story and wear out the reader. But other than that, it's an okay story.

Candice Dionysus
12-18-2007, 11:39 PM
So I've updated the first post, you guys. Anyone with suggestions can PM me.

I just wanted to let you know this project hasn't died, but it has been a little revamped. It still needs a but of a jump start, but I'm doing a lot better than I thought I would mostly on my own.

Candice Dionysus
01-09-2008, 12:12 AM

Silanis quietly and thoughtfully traversed the streets of her hometown, Clover Hill. The young woman was coming from a friend Kaiana’s apartment in one of the ebendsahdc buildings, large, multi-level abodes, which housed many families. These were scattered through normal houses, and a few things like two schools, a market place, and city hall. Her house was in the Northeast end of town, and Kaiana’s building was just in the middle of the town. She was in the market place, and about ten minutes from her own house, which was right on the outskirts of the market place and had a storefront attached to it. The two girls had been working on a dress for Kaiana, a long gown for her to wear to her twentieth birthday dinner, an event to mark her full adulthood. It was coming along nicely, but Silanis had to be home for around sunset, and it was fast approaching. She herself was only eighteen, still a few years off from such an event, though she longed for it.

Shifting her bag from one shoulder to the other, her long brown hair getting caught under it, Silanis looked behind herself. Fixing her hair, she felt as though she was being followed, but there was no one else around that she could see. Just the same, she started to walk just a little faster. The townspeople she trusted, she had known them all her life, but if there was someone from out of town around, she didn’t want to take a chance in them being trustworthy. As she rounded a corner the toe of her boot struck a small metal object. Blinking to clear her vision just a little, she knelt down to pick up the box-like object to study it, her silver eyes catching the green of her gloves as she did so.

It was small enough she could fit it in her pocket and covered in intricate engravings of vines and flowers, a seam running through the middle as though it could open. Her fingers became just a little sore as she tried, and eventually she gave up. There were three buttons on the bottom, and an inscription on the top, but she wasn’t about to try to figure out what for while she was still out on the street. Something fell behind her, and she turned to catch a glimpse of something lavender zooming out of sight. Rather than follow it, Silanis took this opportunity to run quickly in the direction of her own home, slipping the small, ornate box into her bag as she did so.

Even in her rush she was able to note the beauty of the town at sunset; the purples, oranges, pinks, and blues all mingling and setting a mood of intense elegance upon the façade’s of each and every building, and especially among the quaint booths, tables, and small tents which made up the market place, and marked her very close to home.

Clover Hill itself was a fair-sized town, on the continent of Gandara. It was roughly one day on horseback from the ocean in the North, and just around eight weeks from the sea in the South. The sea in the West was about two weeks away, and the ocean in the East was roughly five. This meant that Silanis was at the top of the continent, and in the months of shorter days it never got quite cold enough to snow, though sometimes Silanis wished it would; she’d heard stories that it had done so in the past, and longed to see the snow, rather than just hear stories of it. The climate, it seemed, had gotten quite warm; indeed there was a sort of tropics in the ocean to the West, smaller then that of the Southeast, and everything was generally very warm on Gandara. Of course, Silanis had heard tell that it snowed in the South, but she had also heard that on the opposite side of the world the snow was heavy in the North.

Silanis had heard fantastical stories of Queen Hegunini of the Royale Mega-City, near the ByTalna cliffs of Hundr Buma to the East, who ruled a kingdom of snow. It was said that only the very bottom of her continent, near the bridge that connected Hundr Buma to Nylia below, was desert. This was the Skydragora, and it connected to the Kadragora at the top of Nylia. There were two other deserts on Nylia, the Wadragora and Fydragora, and on her own continent, Gandara, there was the Mandragora, on the other side of Lake Xodaik, of which a small river arose from under the ground about two miles East of Clover Hill, near the edge of the Sephirôt forest, of which the further East you got, the safer it became. It seemed there were creatures that stuck to the Western half of the forest, and even the hunters dared not go in except in great numbers with greater weaponry.

Finally Silanis came to her own house, making her way to the side door rather than going through the storefront that made up half their house. Letting her parents know she was home, Silanis entered her room and sank quietly into her bed, kicking off her boots so she could relax.

01-09-2008, 02:09 AM
Little Princess: I put it on the Index as a novel, is that ok? or is it going to be something else?

Candice Dionysus
01-09-2008, 09:39 AM
No, it is a novel. One I wrote when I was fifteen, and am in the process of completely re-writing.
Thank you, Jean.

01-10-2008, 01:32 AM
I always like your writings. You sure can tell a story, and have a story to tell.

Candice Dionysus
01-10-2008, 07:33 AM
Thank you, that means a lot to me.:huglove:

Candice Dionysus
02-24-2008, 01:35 AM
Wow, ok, so I have like actually twelve or thirteen chapters of this written... I can't believe I haven't updated it since the first one. Well, I'm going to.

Candice Dionysus
02-24-2008, 01:37 AM
The previous few nights she’d dreamed of trekking through black mountains under a blood red sky. She had been alone, but felt watched. It hadn’t been like she was dreaming. Falling hurt and she’d woken up sore. She’d seen strange tracks and heard weird animal and bird calls, and just before she’d woken up the first time a strange creature had lunged at her. It had looked like a cross between a wolf and a bird - the grey fur giving way to red-brown feathered wings; the padded paws giving way to blood-covered claws. It had been beautiful and terrible at the same time, and she was both glad and a little but sorry she woke up when she did. She kind of wanted to see it more clearly than she had.

The second dream had seen her in almost the same place as the previous had left her, but the creature was not there. It had been much the same, walking away from the large red-coloured sun, hearing strange calls, seeing tracks, the shadows growing in front of her, etc. It was a good workout, but it was hot and tedious after what felt like hours. The mountains had been on a steady downslope into almost tropical weather, and Anianka felt that she wouldn’t be able to stand the heat. Then the gentle rain began, and she was very grateful.

When she woke up this time she’d been sitting on what appeared to be a rough stone couch or bench - in all honesty it was probably neither - in utter ecstasy as the warm rain fell on her like mist.

It had been a particularly hot July night, so she was not surprised to wake up damp in the large house her Uncle had left her. But these dreams... They made no sense to her. She’d always hated hiking, so why was she dreaming of such an arduous journey in the mountains? It confused and amazed her, and she would do some research on dreams when she had a change to go online.

Her friends - the few she had - were all online. Everyone else were ‘acquaintances’ or ‘undesirables’. She liked those words because they were so much better than the rest. She had no real enemies or nemeses to speak of, just people with whom she shared a mutual dislike. And there was no one in the pissant little fuckhole of a city that she would ever consider calling a friend. It was that simple; they were all below her - her intelligence, her beauty, her grace, her abilities - totally below her. Or, at least, everyone she’d met, anyways. Her friends, though, online or not, were intelligent, they were on her level, and they could probably help her figure out the dreams.

One in particular, and Italian man in his late thirties, was into parapsychology and dream studies. It fascinated her, which was why they got along so well at first. They’d been talking for six years, sent each other letters, cards, trinkets... And spoke every chance they got. He was as close to a real partner as she’d ever gotten, and since she was of Italian heritage herself, she figured she might go see him, and see if it was the same in person... If the dreams didn’t drive her insane first.

It wasn’t so much the origin as it was the possible meaning that she really wanted to know - not the why but the what which was confusing her so badly. It was recurring, so it must mean something.

What she liked the most was the clarity of everything - the air, the stone, the red on crimson contrast of the sky, the sounds - and how she felt everything, including both rain and pain - even wind.

It wasn’t like a dream in any way until she woke up. Oh, but she still felt scrapes, had bruises, felt stiff, sore - in fact, she’d lost about ten pounds these past few days, but hadn’t changed her routine a single bit! And that made her laugh, when she really stopped to think about it.

In the dreams she knew who she was, but she had no memories of how long she’d been trekking, only that she’d finally left Barrie - Oh! How happy that made her - and she couldn’t wait to dream again, to visit -

( Maroque )

- that magical place once again, and be gone from Barrie, if only for the night, and... And...

Wouldn’t if be grand if she could sleep forever?

Ah, such silly little thoughts - not so much wishes as fleeting ideas. Anianka had PLANS, and ASPIRATIONS - real goals in the waking life... What did she have in the dreams? A weird desires to travel West as the red-orange sun coursed its way behind her.

What would she find at the bottom of the mountain path? What importance was it, really?

But the dreams had to be some sort of metaphor for something that her sub-conscious cooked up to make her really think - what did they mean?

She wished she could talk to Italo right this moment, but tomorrow was her off day, and so tomorrow it would have to be. She had a lot to do, and he was only normally online in the early morning until about one in the afternoon. By the time she got home he would be gone, probably asleep.

But she could wait one more night. Of course she could; she was patient.

Candice Dionysus
02-24-2008, 01:40 AM

As a young girl Anianka was mostly ignored by her mother and father. She pierced and tattooed because she felt real, and it had made them notice her. When she pierced her nose her mother had slapped her, but allowed her to keep the damned stud in. A week later her father had kicked her in the side several times for getting suspended. It had hurt, but it healed. It always healed after time. What mattered was the attention; they were noticing her, and not just giving her food and money and clothing to go out into the world with.

In sixth grade she’d begun smoking. She knew all about it, the bad news was everywhere. She didn’t care. Her father had yelled himself hoarse, and then just hauled off and beat her black from the waist to the neck. Less than five months later she’d been injured during gym class, the remnants of her bruises still a yellow-black on her soft stomach and breasts. The nurses and doctors had taken her from her parents and she’d been given to an equally uncaring, though not abusive, uncle who had ended up raping her at age fourteen. What a joke that had been. His penis was so small it was no wonder he had to rape, it was the only way he’d ever get any. He did it again ten or twelve more time by the time she was seventeen, and then suffered a fatal heart attack in his sleep. He was forty eight. By that time she’d slept around with half the student body at her high school, Barrie North, male and female alike.

She’d turned to sex because it was the only time she really felt happy for the longest time, other than when she spoke to Italo. She’d met him a week before her uncle had raped her. When the bastard died the only person she’s told the truth to was Italo. He told her she was brave, and most women were too scared to say anything even after the person died. Then he vowed he’d always be there if she needed him, and she’d said something she’d never meant to say to anyone, “I love you, Italo. Thank you.”

“I love you too, Princess Anianka. I mean it.”

Then she’d had to log off for school, and she felt sad to have to turn off the camera and go be among those loathsome idiots that everyone called her ‘peers’.

She did love Italo. He was the only person she really did love. Yes, she would be a hairdresser or something, and move to Italy to be with him, even if they were only friends forever. She was finally sure she was capable of loving someone, and it was Italo Imperioli. That made life easier for her, to a degree.

Candice Dionysus
02-24-2008, 01:46 AM

Unsure of what had drug up such painful memories Anianka took a shower and went to sleep. At first it was dreamless, but slowly she opened her eyes on the blood red sky of Maroque.

She moved her hand to rub her eyes and heard someone jump back. Bolting upright she had just enough time to see a small figure run behind a rock. Her blond hair fell in her face as she stood up, and she walked over to the rock, absently brushing the loose strands behind her ear.

“Hello?” she asked, softly. “Who’s there?”

When there was no response she turned to go, assuming who or whatever it was had run off. What a strange place this was, though. The landscape, the sky, the inhabitants she’s seen so far. It was all so alien, so unique. So...

She stopped. Something ahead was glinting out in the black sand a little to the right of the path. The sun, at about the ten a.m. point in the sky, was reflecting off of something glass or metal, perhaps a weapon, it was too far to tell. If she could have a weapon she might feel safer. Next time the bird-wolf attacked she might not be able to get away - and how had she gotten away? There was no memory - one minute she saw it, the next it was morning and she was twenty feet down the path. Very curious, that. Where had it gone? Where had she gone?

Ah, but if that were a weapon! She began to run towards it, thirty feet, not too far... Twenty feet; a sword, perhaps... Ten; a dagger... Five; or a staff lodged in the earth... She stopped and bent down to examine it. A statue, roughly the size of a basket ball, lay at her feet.

She tugged at her shorts and unshouldered her backpack, kneeling to lift it up and examine it; the metal was freezing cold despite the almost direct sunlight almost all morning. It was made of what looked like gold, though she couldn’t be sure, and though it was so big it was very light. She looked it over and the sad face of a turtle looked back at her with black diamond eyes.

What the hell? She thought. A turtle statue in the black sand of a mountain in the middle of nowhere?

It was a curious item, and she wondered who dropped it there without noticing, Her hands began to go a light shade of blue, so she put the idol in her backpack and got moving again. She could see what looked like trees with black trunks and red leaves, and a slow, creeping fog around the bases.

“Wait!” A small, dark voice called.

She stopped and looked back; the small creature in front of her was maybe about four feet tall, blue skin and green hair. Her nose came out off her face about four inches, and there was a piercing on the left side. There were several piercings in her left ear, as well. Her outfit was just a strapless top and a short skirt. She had a long, lizard-like tail, and wore sandals on her small, lizard-like feet. Anianka stared into her bright oranges eyes, and the small monster advanced on her. Taking a step back Anianka’s eyes never left the eyes of the creature in front of her.

“Don’t go into the marsh alone. You’ll never come out again.” The creature told her. “I’m Kyonsei. I’ll go with you, but for the Gods sakes, don’t go alone!”

Kyonsei seemed urgent, distressed. Anianka stood apprehensive for a moment, then waved her forward. The two of them looked at each other for several moments, studying each other. Anianka adjusted the straps of her backpack, and the straps of her tank top. Kyonsei looked her up and down, from her fedora to her biker-style hiking boots which rode to mid-calf.

“What’s down in the foggy marsh?” Anianka finally asked. “Why is it dangerous?”

Kyonsei gave her a look as though Anianka should know, then said a single word; “Starblaze.”

“Who or what?”

“Starblaze is Monique’s pet snake. He’s over a hundred and fifty feet long, a real giant. He’ll eat you whole if you’re alone, but if there’s more than one he usually lets ‘em go.” She was staring off into the marsh, and looked contemplative. “Well, usually, but not always. You shouldn’t be all on your own in Maroque, Anianka. You could die or be killed and never get out.

“Fuck that, I gotta go through the marsh to get to the lake!” She surprised herself by saying so.

“Why? What’s at the lake?”

“I don’t know. But...” she closed her eyes for a moment, and then she was the one staring off into the marsh and looking contemplative. “Have you ever felt that you had to go somewhere? That nothing else mattered, because once you got there you would know what to do next, and why?

"There is something important waiting for me at the lake. I can feel it. I’m going to keep going until I either die or get there, whether you’re with me or not, so... If we’re going, lets go.”

Anianka turned and started walking back down the slope, and Kyonsei started to follow at a quicker pace, to be just a little ahead of her. They got in amongst the black trunks and wetlands, the little lizard-girl picking out a path. There were only birdcalls now, all other noises save their footsteps had ceased.

Along the way Kyonsei said only two words; “stay alive.” When Anianka tried to ask her other questions, she ignored her. They walked in silence.

Candice Dionysus
07-24-2008, 07:51 AM
Interlude ( I )

At the center of a vast field of white roses, all at the beginning of blooming, lays a large - no, enormous - white rose. She is a gigantic, carnivorous plant who becomes very protective of her seedlings around strangers. Her belly is wide enough for ten people to lay upon, yet only one does; a slender, young-looking girl with ankle-length pink silk hair, deep, violet eyes and full peach lips. She was laying on her thin waist, one long, slender leg bent up at the knee, the black, silver-buckled heels clinging possessively to her calf. Her thin, muscular arms were crossed under her angular jaw, her hair kept from her face by a simple black headband. Clinging to her teenaged-girl frame was a dark purple, thigh-length sleeveless jumpsuit. She was talking to the rose - whom she called Snowbright - cheerily about anything from new inhabitants in Maroque to how her other pets were. Snowbright listened attentively, occasionally asking a question or two. Despite her appearance, this girl was not sixteen - in fact, it was more like sixteen thousand.

Regardless of the topic changes her mildly amused mood stayed the same. She knew she didn’t have to worry, because all of this was hers. She organised the few inhabitants, found ways to keep them that way, gave them ideas and knowledge, helped them. She was Monique de Maroque, the Princess of Nightmares, and this was her land.

Of course, she was the older and strongest demon in Maroque, and no human could hurt her here, or at the lake, or in her castle, or anywhere in her realm. She was in charge of everything and everyone that set foot in her realm. Everyone.

Since she’d found the first few struggling, hungry demons in her black and red forests she’d come to realize two things; because she’d helped them, and continued to do so, they were her’s to command as she wished - she had POWER over them. The second was that all of them had no memories of how they’d got to her world, and all thought they should have been dead for one reason or another. Soon she figured out that when humans died here they changed, transformed into demons and were stuck, forever her subjects. Soon after she had her demons, those whom agreed with her ideas, hunting and killing all humans in Maroque. Monique herself had no memories of ever not being in Maroque, though she must have been out at least once, for she couldn’t have been here always. Regardless of her memories she always had a grand time, the magic’s she had taught herself in the first hundred years or so were always evolving, always getting stronger, and her people were so helpful, so loyal to her... The Demon Queen, Princess of Nightmares, was never happier in all her years.

The red-orange sun was slowly giving was to the blue moon, ever round, in the crimson sky which would soon turn maroon, then black. Somewhere in the West Anianka and Kyonsei were just reaching a safe clearing in the middle of the Serpent Marsh, Starblaze granting them safe passage only because he assumed Kyonsei would take her in her own due time. When Anianka awoke for the night he would approach the small lizard-lady and speak with her for a bit. He didn’t like the taste of the dead, and he wasn’t hungry anyways. Monique didn’t really care, though she did know about Anianka trying to reach the Lake - if she’d gone in the opposite direction she’d have passed right by her just presently. Monique had hoped to have the girl at the castle one day soon - she was similar in personality, and if she didn’t die, Monique saw big things for her in her own world. This was amusing, and maybe the girl would be strong enough for Monique to release.

What Monique didn’t know was that the Turtle statue was found that day by the very girl Monique felt like playing with. Not that she’d make too big a deal of it; it was just a statue. But she might wonder why she didn’t see her find it - she was looking at the time.

Candice Dionysus
07-24-2008, 07:56 AM

As Anianka was flirting in the bookstore in Barrie, Dei was sitting in the shade of a tree in one of the many courtyards of the Juniper Hill Sanatorium in Malakai, British Columbia smoking a Marlboro one hundred millimetre, alone. The spaced-out, long haired patient had a form of hypomelanosis, known as Oculocutaneous Albinism type one, which manifested in him as white hair, white skin, photophobia, purple irises, and hyperopia, or farsightedness. For this last he wore a pair of tortoise shell horn-rimmed glasses, which he was never seen without - except in bed.

Today he had his ankle-length hair out of its accustomed butt-length French braid - he’d been too lazy to re-braid it even as a knee-length normal braid after his shower - and his hat, a kind of black cowboys hat, lay forgotten on his shelf. To see him now you’d think her were a young woman, and not the nineteen year old boy he was.

Dei had been having unsettling dreams about terrible creatures chasing after young girls, and such. He had a lot of premonitions even before he’d been admitted - which was for destructive behaviour, at age sixteen - but he couldn’t stand the drugs, and stopped taking them. So, after a brief break in the precognitive REM, he had a lot of dreams of people who ended up dead within a week. The little girl from last night didn’t stand a chance.
His purple eyes darted around behind his glasses for a minute, then settled on the grass between his legs, one of which was bent up at the knee, his arm, the one with the smoke, resting on it.

The dream troubling him the most had been two nights prior, he’d not dreamed of someone else, but of himself. He’d been lost in a marsh, terrified or a snake he couldn’t see, and of never finding who he’d been sent there to meet. He’d woken up soaked, and looked around the room, unsure which was reality for a moment or two. And then he’d been unsure of which reality he’d been hoping for, the marsh or his room at the nut-hatch. He figured he’d never be sure which was better, and so he was just now recalling all he could of the vivid, lucid dream.

A sense of dread and fear mixed with wonder, amazement, purpose, waiting, and a deep feeling of need were very, very prominent the whole time. Most of all the need, he needed whoever he was waiting for, and felt they might need him, too. Heeding his gut instinct, he’d dodged and wove his way through the marsh with little trouble. For some reason he felt he might miss

( her )

the person he was here to find if he wasn’t careful about what path he took and where he ended up in this terrible, beautiful place.

He snuffed out his smoke in a small dirt divot that served as his ashtray, and lit another after a few minutes.

Snakes, swamps, mysterious strangers... The dream had everything but the kitchen sink! But would it be a one-shot, or would it continue? He found he wanted them to continue, wanted the fear, the need, the adrenaline he had when he awoke that morning. Even the disorientation, unsure of which was the dream, and which he wanted to be the dream.

Sitting in the shade, smoking his Marlboro bitch-sticks, Dei felt he had an epiphany.

Eleven P. M. Unknown to even himself, Dei has begun to slip into Maroque for the second time. His eyes fluttered and darted, his room changing into the clearing even as his lids slid closed for the final time that night.

The marsh... Oh God, the Snake! Dei scurried from the spot where his eyes opened, looking about. He was among the trees. Right. But still no safe; before him lay the single long trail of the serpents body. It had missed him... But how? And how long until it came back this way?

He slipped as silently as he could through the trees, carefully picking his path through the marsh. He was so sure that

( she )

the person would be there, where ever there was, sooner rather than later. He’d know where it was when he got there. It was imperative that he met up with them before the end of today, because it might be too late afterwards.

But maybe he was just being paranoid. He hoped so, but just in case... He would be there.

Day progressed to twilight with nothing be the marsh itself for company. As Dei walked up on the clearing he saw Anianka and Kyonsei, but neither were speaking; they just sat in silence, Anianka nibbling on something. He made his was up behind them, the breeze blowing his long hair out lightly behind him, as though it were a cape.

Anianka chose this moment to turn, standing up and looking right into his purple eyes. She know, all at once, that he needed to be with her at the lake. She knew the way an animal senses a natural disaster beforehand, and seeks shelter. Some things had to be. Others weren’t mandatory. Kyonsei, beyond this point, was not mandatory - though she may be helpful - but the white-haired androgyne before her had to be there on a “the planets will align” level, it was just meant to be.

She held out her hand, and Dei stepped forward to take it. There was a flash in their minds’ eyes’, and Kyonsei watched with mild amazement as they both collapsed.

Her purpose, he knew it now. Get to the lake, go from there... He felt her need, her desire, and he knew he had to go, too. Where else would he go? Her name, Anianka, he knew it now. Would she know his? Why was he here? How much information was just transferred between the two of them?

She had accepted him instantly, but he knew now she hadn’t been expecting him, hadn’t known there was someone (and hadn’t he known it would be a girl all along?) That she had to be with, had to wait for. Someone special, someone without whom things might go differently - wrongly. But when their hands touched something clicked on such a level it nearly knocked them out.

She was leaning over him now, her face wore a look of concern - this was, for some reason, unexpected.

“Dei?” She asked, unsure. “Is that your name?”

“It is if yours is Anianka.” He replied, trying to sound a little humorous. She smiled and helped him sit up, and for just one moment he wanted her. Just for an instant, then the feeling was gone.

She introduced Kyonsei, Dei feeling mildly unsure of her, but saying nothing. Kyonsei merely nodded, preferring not to speak, not to say anything lest she say too much.

Dei came to notice that Anianka was different than the caring girl bent over him he’d seen at first. She was anti-social, almost to the point of sado-masochism, and strong disassociative identity disorder, or maybe a highly advanced case of schizophrenia... She wasn’t sane, at any rate, so he’d have to be careful how he comported himself, and of the things he’d say. He didn’t want to piss her off, he was like that too, it was why he was in the nuthatch.

Candice Dionysus
07-24-2008, 08:56 AM

When Anianka and the newcomer, Dei, had vanished for the night Kyonsei left the clearing. She was going to do her own things, Monique be damned, and so be her pets. But she had help, of course. It wasn’t her against the world, Gods dammit, or she’d hide in a cave for eternity. No.

Ayrei was a winged creature modelled after Anubis, the Egyptian God of Embalming and protection of the soul immortal - head of a jackal, body of a man. He was also Kyonsei’s only friend in all of Maroque, just as Italo was Anianka’s only friend in all of the world. Or, her only real friend, the only one she trusted.

Ayrei was older than Kyonsei by far. He had taken her in when she’d died, been her guide, her teacher for the last four hundred years. And he was shadowing them now, so she went to him.

“Do you think she can, or should I kill her now?” she asked, not caring that it was a rude way to begin a conversation.

“Kyonsei, who’s ever wanted to get to the lake for no justifiable reason? She’s our best bet.”

“I’m not sure of her.” she replied. “I think she’s insane.”

“Then she’s more likely to really try, no?”

“I’m going to trust you,” she replied, “but if you’re wrong, I’m going to be so angry...”

“Pray I’m not, then.” he said. “Best bet.”

He smiled at her just then, his canine teeth sparkling in the bluish moonlight. He was sitting cross legged so that she wouldn’t have to crane her neck up to see him; Ayrei was six feet tall. He opened his arms and she went to him. He kissed her hair, holding her gently in his lap.

She didn’t like Anianka, but if Ayrei thought she could best Monique, well, she’d keep on it as long as she felt she was needed. Or until she was bid leave of the task. After all, there was only so much she could do for Anianka before she was useless.

“You might be able to teach her a few things, too.” Ayrei said, breaking her chain of thought. “Who knows?”

Candice Dionysus
07-24-2008, 09:01 AM
The Serpent

Starblaze made his way top the clearing where he smelt the humans. The little demon wasn’t there, but she was close. His hissing breath drew in and out in huge, wind-like gusts, warm and strong. Normally he would have killed them by now, but he was curious about what the little one and her friend would do to them, now that the odds were even.

Monique might not approve of his god-like demeanor towards the situation, but his curiosity was getting to be very strong. Too strong to just kill and not find out what will happen. He was drawn in by some magic that was too old and too powerful to fight, so he went along.

Kyonsei, the Serpent hissed. It could not speak, but it could communicate in other ways. Come.

She looked up and saw the eyes, glowing purple in the light distance. Ayrei stood up, the lizard-girl in his arms.

“Starblaze!” he called. “Leave her alone, she’ll get to it on her own!”

Ssshe and I mussst ssspeak, jackal. Starblaze responded almost idly, ignoring that Kyonsei clung to her friend in fear. I mean no harm, little one.

She looked at the Snake doubtfully, Ayrei holding her close.

“No, put me down.” she said, deciding to trust herself to destiny instead of play it safe. This creature was not a god, nor was Monique, and she should not fear them as such. He gave her a look but did as she had asked of him. She smiled and tried to reassure him she’d be ok, but in the end she knew he felt no better for it. All she could do was go.

She slowly made her way over to the giant snake, scared for her life but doing what had to be done.

Candice Dionysus
07-24-2008, 09:03 AM
Awake (Dei)

He opened his eyes, the lizard-girl still partially visible from what he was now sure wasn’t just a dream, but an Astral Projection of sorts. This was probably a side effect of trying to gain control of his prophetic dreaming - or maybe they were drugging his food with some experimental drug, or something. Who could be sure?

His room came into full focus and he began to search for his dream journal and pen. He opened it to a blank page before putting on his glasses to write. His long, colorless hair shrouded his shoulders and chest as he began to scribble down all he could remember of the dream he’d just had, and the one two days prior, about Anianka, and Kyonsei, the fear, the longing... And about the underlying sense of destiny; how he felt he’d have met with her one way, or the other.

Once that was done he hid it away again and got dressed. The sun would be up soon and he was going to be first in line for breakfast - and get it fresh for once. His roommate still slept, her breathing faint. They had to share a room because there were no other options. Otherwise, they’d never’ve been paired together.

Being of the now non-violent variety their door was unlocked. Dei took advantage of this to go for smokes at night - so did she, and often they’d go together, watching out for each other like siblings. He would do so now, in the west courtyard. But he made a brief bathroom stop, first, his bladder screaming at him with a rage. Things outside were bright, now, in a dull “the sun is comin’ up” manner. The hall to the courtyard also led to the main building, and was long, dimly lit, and marked with fake potted plants on tables at regular intervals. He was on the second floor, but that was alright. The staircase led directly to the boxed-in courtyard, so he didn’t really worry. If anything he would be glad for the fresh air and the cigarette - he was going a little stir-crazy (haha) in the overly-warm room.

The bottoms of his baggy pant legs got under his feet as he walked down the hall and stairs. The doctors and nurses were amazed he didn’t trip himself or fall by slipping on the fabric, but his trick was walking softly. It was amazingly preventative.

He had the smoke lit before he was even out the door, unable to wait, feeling uneasy. He rushed out the door and nearly tripped on a bench. Over by a large Willow stood Seamus, an older patient who was harmless, and spoke quite often of “crazy Negroes” and “gold plated corn on the cob.” Harmless yes, but also an ex-heroin addict, and at one point, a hobo on the streets. He was picked up talking to himself, and brought here. But because he was amusing, and he didn’t hurt anyone, Dei didn’t mind him being around. He was one of the few Dei could put up with.

Currently Seamus was watching the leaves rustle, and hadn’t noticed Dei yet. So he went and sat in his usual spot under the tree, the grass wet, and his dirt-divot ashtray lined with morning dew. He sat down, not caring about the wet. He wouldn’t be able to find Anianka, but perhaps she could find him. The only problem with that was the fact that neither of them knew where they came from until they woke back up. This meant he would need some way to remind himself, some way to change things, to... To... To alter the reality of the dream and bend it to his will.

Of course, if he would take, say, a note in his hand, then he would remember, and she might be able to bring it with her on the other side! Or maybe she could bring him out with her...

No, try a piece of paper first, see how it goes. Work your way, Dei. But he was already grinning at the possibilities - silently laughing.

“She’s the Devils Daughter come to take her throne.” Seamus said, idly. The suddenness of his voice made Dei jump. “And the other is Goddess in disguise.”

“Who’s that, Seamus?” Dei asked.

“Oh, she don’t remember, but she’s been around the worlds of the Yggdrasil before.” he rambled on. “Not the first world, the hidden world, but the other nine for sure. When the two meet, sparks fly, who ever loses, loses their very soul. No referee, anything goes. Don’t lose, Goddess.”

Dei stared at him, unable to tell if it were rambles or prophecy. Seamus fell to sitting and smiled, just then.

“Who’s the Goddess, Seamus?” he asked. “Who’s the Devils Daughter?”

“Elohim can save her.” Seamus said, and he closed his eyes. “Elohim can help her.”


“Them crazy Negroes took my bucket of fries again, didn’t they?” Seamus asked, opening his eyes. “I’ll get ‘em eventually.”

Candice Dionysus
07-24-2008, 09:03 AM
Edit: double post. Sorry.

07-28-2008, 11:49 PM
Just keep posting them, Can. I love them!

Candice Dionysus
07-29-2008, 12:58 AM
Thank you so much, Jon. :huglove: I should be posting a bit more in a few days. I'm trying to find my notebook, because I write it all in there by hand first, and its missing, so I can't continue without it.

07-30-2008, 03:29 AM
soon I hope to buy a cartridge for my printer, print it out and read at last! I remember loving the beginning

07-30-2008, 11:43 PM
I never write by hand if I can avoid it. My penmanship sucks!

Can., I love how your writing has quality and you put out a great volume of it.

Candice Dionysus
07-31-2008, 06:58 AM
Jean, you make me blush. May your cartridge never empty (once you get a full one).

Jon, I feel a lot better about my writing if I write by hand. That way, I know I always have a main draft sitting around. I know its in my room, I just have to remember which box I shoved it in..
And thank you. When I write, I like to write as much as my brain can spit out at that time. But, since I haven't been roleplaying, my brains had a harder time exercising, and I'm finding my real writing a little harder.

08-04-2008, 08:17 PM
Yes, my son, an avid writer, has greatly reduced his writing because of two RPGs.

08-24-2008, 11:22 PM
He came back to the counter with a Stephen Davis novel, she likes his books, and when he looked at her she heard his breath catch in his throat. She turned, playing the innocent flirt, and she giggled on her way back to the counter.

I never noticed that before... :huglove:

Candice Dionysus
08-26-2008, 02:56 PM
Ah, Steve, you know I love ya. You're also mentioned in Web of Lies, a movie my characters went to see was based on a book you'd written. Hehe. :huglove: We King fans gotta stick together, no?

08-30-2008, 11:20 PM

Candice Dionysus
01-27-2009, 01:19 PM
I just noticed I posted the same chapter twice in a row. I'll go change that.

Candice Dionysus
01-27-2009, 01:24 PM
Awake (Anianka)

Damnit! She slammed her fist down on her pillow, the sun shinning in her window. She had today off, so she wouldn’t have to wonder all day how the hell there was the Turtle Statue from her dream next to her in bed this morning. This was getting out of hand, she had to talk to Italo, or she’d lose her mind.

She got up, grabbed a towel and hopped in the shower. The heat of the water released some of her stress, but she still couldn’t explain that statue, and it gnawed at her like a rat. How did it get there? What did it mean? In mythology the Turtle was generally a God-like figure upon who’s back rests the world – literally the weight of the world on its shoulders.

But not always – Christians saw them as symbolizing evil forces, and the Greeks saw them as the citizens of hell; and it was one of the four Divine Animals of Chinese legend, accompanying the Phoenix, the Dragon, and the Chimera. She breathed deeply for a few moments, turning off the water and drying her pale white skin – she noticed on her legs some cuts, strawberry slices in her smooth skin.

Oh well, they were small, they wouldn’t scar. Besides, she had to further her knowledge on Turtle Myths today, what she knew was little compared to what there was to know; a basic knowledge.

She made her way into her room, grabbing some pants and a blouse – she dressed this way on her days off or when she was hung over, unelaborated outfits were for when she was lazy. Wrapping the towel around her shoulders she sat at her desk and turned on her laptop computer. When it was booted up she logged in and opened all the programs that she figured she would need, including her music player. Maybe some Death Metal would put her in a better mood – it usually did.

Sometimes, usually randomly, she wondered if she was and angry person, but really she was just apathetic.

When she had her music blaring nice and loud she opened her messenger to look for Italo. She didn’t see him online, so she opened her browser and began to look up “Mythology; Turtle” in her search engine. She spent three hours scouring the results and taking notes. Then, as she was coming back from getting a sandwich Italo logged on. His messenger window and a web camera invitation suddenly covered the browser; Anianka happily accepted the offer and when it loaded, he waved to her.

”Hello.” She typed. “I’m glad to see you.”

”Is good to see you, too.” Came his reply. “How are you?”

”Freaking out a bit.”

”Why’s that?” He asked.

”This.” She replied, picking up the statue. Then, one handed, she proceeded to explain what had been going on.

”How unique.” Italo replied. “Story from a Live Action Role Play?”

”Er, no.” She wrote. “Something really going on.”

”No joke? No lie?” he asked. “You’re really serious?”

”Yes, I am.” She replied. “Have I ever lied to you before? What reason would I have?”
”Good point.”

“I’m really freaked out about this, hon.” She put down the statue, and shook her head. “I’m actually scared.”

“Its alright to be scared,” Italo told her. “We all do, unless we’re robots. Listen, I have no idea what’s going on while you sleep, but that statue is unique. Get it checked out by a pawnbroker or a jeweler, but don’t sell it. See what it is, got it?”

”Yes, I understand…”

“What have you found on Turtles?” he asked.

She thought about it for several minutes, and then began to type up everything she had, copying and pasting whole sections from certain sites. It took up the word limit per message multiple times, taking up over 16 messages. Italo took his time to read it all carefully, looking for any clues and trying to form a theory or two on this strange phenomenon.

After a short while he replied, and the two of them threw ideas back and forth for a while. All the time she’d been slowly gouging a hole in her desk between messages. This one was significantly smaller than the others, but was a sign of stress and worry – a habit she’d picked up in grade school many a year ago.

The most common result, they concluded, was that of the Turtle with the world on its back. It sounded somehow right to Anianka, though as with her desire to reach the lake, she couldn’t exactly say why. It nagged at her, of course, but there were more pressing matters this day. Far, far more pressing matters to attend to. Such as what she should do when next she slept, and if she could bring things in with her, as well as out.This idea scared her a bit, but if she could, she could bring a weapon next time; a dagger, or sword from her collection.

”Anianka, don’t do anything impractical.”

”I won’t, I promise.”

After a few more hours Anianka ended her conversation with Italo and grabbed the statue. What are you? She wondered, the cold metal numbing her hands easily. Why are you?

After a moment she put the statue in her backpack and got ready to go out.

Candice Dionysus
01-27-2009, 01:30 PM

The girl sat quietly beside the tree as Dei explained bits and pieces of the story to her. She figured, because of how well she knew him, that he’d finally actually gone off the wall and landed upside-down. But she listened attentively and made mental notes of things to ask him when he was done. Her roommate, what a guy.

Catie knew Dei to be one of the sanest patients there, but then, what was “sanity?” What was “normal?” Other than something the ignorant masses pushed on free-thinking individuals who they deemed “crazy” or “weird.” Ah, but she was waxing philosophical. She was here because she’d attempted to kill her eleventh grade History teacher. The man had tried to seduce her several times to no avail. The final time she had jammed a pencil into his forearm and tried to cut his throat with scissors. The teacher denied trying to take advantage of her, and with no witnesses, Catie plead insanity.

She did put up a convincing case, but hadn’t expected to end up here. That had been three years ago. She smoked her Virginia Slim, listening to the only person she got on with go truly mad, and sighed. Dei stopped.

”Catie, I need your help.” He said. “Right now.”

”What can I do?”

Dei explained his theories on bringing things in and out of the dream realm, and how he wanted to test it first with paper, and work his way up He told her if he could a note in with him, he might be able to bring something out. Or someone in.

She looked at him, trying to see how serious he was, if he was pulling her leg, but he seemed sincere and that scared her. That really made her uneasy.

Dei scanned Catie’s face for any signs of emotion – she was so good at masking it – but this time was surprised to find what looked like fear. He reached over to touch her face, to reassure her. Her long black hair fell in her face, an he lent in to fix it for her,
”Catie, I’m not lying.” He said.

”I… I know.” She replied. “That’s the problem, I believe you but its so strange…”

”Catie,” He smiled. “Its not so bad. Hey. I tell ya what… If it works, I’ll show you, I’ll take you there.”

Catie felt her face flush, and looked into Dei’s eyes; his smile was so comforting, so friendly. She kissed him, quick, and then looked away. Why had she one that? Why had she given to sudden emotion like that?

Dei’s eyes widened as she kissed him; this wasn’t what he had been expecting. He looked at her, seeing that she seemed embarrassed, ashamed. He took her hand to reassure her he wasn’t upset.

”Will you help me, then?” He asked.

She nodded, her eyes darting quickly to look on his quite briefly. “Tell me how…” She whispered.

Dei bowed his head and stood up, Catie standing with him. Silently they made their way out of the courtyard and up the stairs; the hall was so dim, so closed. Patients and staff wandered about, seemingly aimless. They both showed no signs of outward emotion towards anyone, looking instead both angry and tired. People left them be.

When they got into their room and closed the door she threw herself onto Dei, hugging him fiercely. He wrapped his arms around her waist, not understanding, but glad for the contact.

”How do we do this?” She asked. “What do I do?”

”Keep an eye on me… Look for changes,” he paused, “and see if I’m still physically here or not.” He leant over his nightstand and scribbled a note to himself and Anianka quickly. He knew she wouldn’t be there right now, but if this worked, he could keep the note until later. Catie’s help was very much appreciated, and he’d have to tell her so, afterwards.

She must have truly lost it herself to believe the young man leant over the small table before her. But there was no harm in indulging him in his own insanity, was there? She could always claim that, should staff choose to ask… But why would they? Silly Catie… They don’t care! She thought. Dei stood straight and turned, a grin on his pale, slender face. He looked beautiful just then.

”I’m going to take two pieces.” He told her. “A note, and one that has nothing but the word ‘destroy’ on it. When I do destroy it, it should be gone when I wake up. Tell me what happens.”

Catie nodded and sat down in the chair next to Dei’s bed. She watched him take off his glasses and lay down, the notes clutched tightly in his hands. He used a technique he’d taught himself to overcome insomnia, and after a while everything faded away.


He opened his eyes to a large blue moon and golden stars in the maroon sky. It was mesmerizing, and he had to stop himself from getting fully entranced. The notes were there, it had worked. Now he had to destroy the one, but how?

He ripped it in half, then in half again and again. Then he let the breeze carry the pieces away. Then he froze. The snake… Where was it? It was close by, but… No, he had to wake up now… Now!


Catie’s eyes widened as the notes vanished from his grip, and he now seemed transparent… But no! Trick of the eyes, has to be… She stood up and leant over him. His breath was warm on her skin.

“Dei..?” She whispered. “Are you there?”

No response, of course, the albino was asleep. She sat back down and watched his body. His breathing picked up and he twitched. She stared, her breath caught in her throat. He was gone for a second… Just a second, and then he was back, sitting bolt-straight, panting, and with only one piece of paper in his hand.

”What?!” She was frightened, he was acting weird.

”S-Starblaze…” He whispered. He shook his head, unsure of reality even still. But… He had remembered to destroy the paper! Yes, because there was only one in his hand, which means it worked… He could, in fact, take things into Maroque.

Catie waited for a coherent response, but she was on edge. This entire situation was ridiculous, but it was happening… She’d finally gone over the edge into the black oblivion of true insanity.

”The snake is close to our campsite.” He said, finally calm enough to form a coherent sentence. “Starblaze has found Kyonsei, she was gone.”

”Ah…” She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. Dei made perfect sense, and she was terrified.

Candice Dionysus
01-27-2009, 01:33 PM
Truths to Come

Anianka sat clinging to her backpack and the frozen Turtle statue like a child might cling to her teddybear. The jeweler she had visited had studied the Turtle very closely for more than an hour, and offered her a ballpark estimate off the top of his head… Twenty-six point eight million dollars, but when she’d refused, he’d just kept going up and up until she’d simply walked out. He must have thought she was crazy, and maybe she was… But the statue seemed to claim otherwise, almost arrogantly.

So the statue was worth tens of millions, solid pure gold and perfectly rounded black diamond eyes. It hadn't looked as valuble, she thought, in Maroque. It was beautiful and pricey, and she couldn’t sell it until this was all done. If it ever ended, or she lived to see the end. Which she was seriously beginning to have doubts about. Her weapons room had many a sword and scimitar she could strap to herself and bring in as protection. Plus, she did know how to use most of them, because of her obsession with ancient war, battle, and hand to hand combat.

She got up, putting her backpack on and began to make her way home. Not only to choose a weapon, but to hide herself away from the world she so hated.

She got home at about the same time Dei was destroying his paper in Maroque, hiding the bag under her bad and going into her weapons room. She’d inherited the house, which was owned outright, from her uncle, and only paid the necessary bills like hydro and internet. What to bring with her tonight? She looked around the room, carefully considering her options, and found she couldn’t decide from her functional models. Her swords, throwing knives, crossbow, compound bow, various daggers… There were too many options, too many working weapons. Her indecision mocked her, giggling cruelly from a safe distance as it blocked her choice from getting through. And so she sat among her various blades and sharp objects, unable to reach a final verdict, but unwilling to give up.

Finally she was able to decide upon a scimitar and short sword, a bowie knife, and for good measure, her compound bow and quiver of arrows. Pleased with her selections, she moved them to by her bed, and busied herself with making some food.


As she browsed her fridge, looking for what to make, she considered everything, but most specifically her connection to the Turtle, and why she’d found it. If the Turtle was a God, it was trying to tell her something; but what? This business with the other world, also… Why was she going there? What was drawing her there? How could she end her constant nightly adventure in a dream realm? She knew she needed to get to a lake, but not why. What would happen when she got there? Why? But she had none of the answers for these questions, and it vexed her.

”What the hell is going on?” She asked herself, heaving a sigh. “Why is a Turtle so important?”

She pulled out the ingredients she needed after deciding on a nice Rosemary Chicken, and turned the oven to the correct temperature. She did not see the Turtle statue begin to glow at the eyes, or feel the temperature of her apartment begin to drap as the gold mouth opened to release a cold mist. She measured the ingredients, and prepared the chicken in the pan, and when she finally was enveloped in the frozen air of the icy mist, it was too late to even scream; time stopped.

Candice Dionysus
01-27-2009, 01:36 PM
Chapter One

After eating dinner with her parents Silanis returned to her room, her ferret kicking up a little bit of a racket. Taking her food bowl and filling it, Silanis cooed to her ferret, Libra, and scratched under her chin just a little. Libra licked at her fingers, and then ravenously dug into her food. Silanis giggled softly before going into her bag to grab the small box she had found on her way home. Upon further inspection it looked mechanical, like some of the safes and jewelry boxes she had seen when she had visited the market at Lakshûr to the South when she was younger. This meant that the three buttons on the top were probably some sort of code, which meant there were only so many combinations to try before she got the sequence correct. Turning it over, she took another peek at the inscription. It seemed inconsequential, trifling. One son comes around; millions cannot stand to his power. Maybe it meant something, and maybe it didn’t. She thought on it quietly, trying to decide its usefulness in opening the box, but it made no sense.

Turning the box over and over to study it, she considered what her options were. Then, while she was about to give up, she noted the buttons were colored and something in her mind clicked. One son… Son… Sun! Of course! Her mind raced as she made the connection, and she scarce knew what she was doing before she pressed the yellow button. Hoping she was right, she held her breath and watched. Nothing happened, and her heart sank as she had felt for sure that she had figured it out.

When she turned the box back over to look at the inscription again and ponder it, however, her eyes widened and her breath hitched in her throat. With a choked yelp she dropped it. The words had changed somehow, and as far as she knew, there was no technology for something like that. Libra looked up from her food lazily, sniffed the air, and went back to her bowl with what seemed like a shrug.

Tentatively, Silanis picked the box back up and looked at the inscription to be sure her eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on her. There it was, defiantly staring back at her as if it had every right to say something different, and she couldn’t explain the feelings that evoked in her. There was no way, no conceivable way, that those words could have possibly changed when she pressed the button; she had never heard of anything like that.

But it was another useless sentence that seemed of little consequence, and Silanis was almost certain now that this was some sort of game of riddles, despite none of them being actual questions. Considering this new sentence carefully she remembered back to her childhood, visiting the fair in Grenview to the West. To the riddling competition that took place. They took the game very seriously, it was one of the most ancient, and she remembered hearing somewhere that riddles had been used for everything from a test of wits to making a wager to save your life. What could this one mean, then, by stating quite uselessly “see shells on the beach, and gulls in the sky?” The sheer irrelevance of it was nigh infuriating, and she was, in spite of the shock of it, rather displeased with how this box seemed to be working. Reason dictated that she shouldn’t hit a random button, for fear of what might happen were she to get the answer wrong, but yet she could not guess on her own just yet as to the correct answer. It only made sense that you would see shells on a beach and gulls in the sky, and yet the incontrovertible sentence seemed to manage a manner of ambiguity to it, which even still eluded her.

Silanis moved to take a break, shuffling through an old book of riddles to see if there were any of these sorts. As she flipped through the pages, lounging back on her bed with the box next to her, she didn’t seem to find anything of importance. This line still befuddled her, and she was growing impatient with it fast. What did it mean? She was tempted to throw the box at her large pile of stuffed dolls in the corner, but held back, fearing her aim not so good. In a huff she opened a dresser drawer and aimlessly started to ruffle through her clothing. She came upon a bathing suit at the bottom, and remembered the times her mom had taken her to the port at the tip of the peninsula, Port Canchâs, and she had gone swimming at the beach. Then it clicked in, and it took her a moment to realize she now had the answer. It was water that was what had been eluding her. She pushed the blue button and quickly turned it over to see what new riddle had taken its place in the inscription.

The words that awaited her confused her even more than the previous. It said, “The blade is not sharp, but can be very long.” This infuriated Silanis, because she knew nothing of weaponry, and there was no way she could ever figure out the answer to this question. Regardless, she began to list off all the weapons she could remember in reference to the word blade. Her list was terribly short, and not long after she realized none of what she had come up with corresponded with a color anyway. In a huff she sat upon her bed with her arms around her knees.

Why did the riddle have to be about weapons, she wondered, when that was one of the things she knew nothing of? She wanted desperately to see what would be on the inside at the end of it all, but of this she had no clue. What kind blade made sense with a color, and was not sharp? It couldn’t be blue again, but there was no silver or gray to push, and none of the colors would mix to make it. She closed here eyes, feeling very silly, and tried to clear her mind. Who did she know that she could ask about such things? Unfortunately there was no one whom she was able to think of off the top of her head.

But of course there had to be some simple answer to this, and she was just thinking much too hard on it. This couldn’t really be so impossible as it was making itself out to be, and she would surely be able to think of an answer on her own in time. She heaved a sigh, getting up to change into her pajama’s, and going through her own nightly ritual of bidding goodnight to the moon and stars. Perhaps she would be able to think more clearly in the morning, after breakfast and a quick run to wake herself up.

Candice Dionysus
01-27-2009, 01:40 PM
Chapter Two

As Silanis slept, the box lying off to the side of her as though it were forgotten, what seemed like a small, lilac-haired child with large purple wings made her way into the room through the window. Looking about the room, she wondered where she could hide for the morning, where Silanis would not see her. Wings aflutter in the darkness, and her eyes fell on first the ferret in its cage, followed by the large accumulation of stuffed toys given to Silanis over the years. The faerie sighed, seeing no place else but beneath the bed, and slid underneath it. This girl would see through any of my spells, I think, thought the faerie, because my magic is not much stronger than that of the inscription. It was only a hope she had, that she would not betray her own location in her excitement come morning.


When the young woman awoke in the morning, she blearily made her way to her closet, choosing from the pile of messily folded clothing what was, for her, a normal outfit. It consisted of a knee-length white cotton skirt, a pair of blue-and-white striped stockings, and a dark green blouse with a light blue bodice over it, and a dark green jacket to top it all off. Stretching, she tried to better rouse herself, so that she could tackle the riddle that had defeated her once before.

From the darkness under the bed, the faerie lay asleep, having been unable to wait until morning to see Silanis awaken. The ferret scratched about in her cage, waiting impatiently for her breakfast, and Silanis looked over with a smile.

“Come now, little Libra.” Silanis said. “Give it a moment, and I’ll go get your food, aye?”

Libra kicked up a bit of a fuss when she left the room, making no small amount of noise in the process. The faerie awoke while Silanis was getting food for the ferret, and looked about from her shelter, forgetting for a moment where she was, and why. When she saw Silanis reenter the room, she remembered. This girl had found the little box, and she was here to see if it would be opened or not.

Silanis walked back over to the bed, after giving Libra more food, and picked the little metal contraption up off the bed, careful not to hit any buttons. Smiling to herself, she reread the riddle inscribed upon the bottom.

“For a moment there I thought I had been dreaming.” The brunette mused aloud, thinking over the sentence that presented so much trouble. “The blade is not sharp, but can grow very long… Meh… Weapons.”

The child-like creature under the bed left out a soft sigh, knowing that Silanis was thinking entirely the wrong thing for the answer; at this rate she would never get it right. Another lost cause, it seemed, who would never open the box, and eventually lose it. The little faerie-girl felt a little sad, she had thought this time someone would open the box for sure.

Silanis stood there with one hand on her hip, looking at the small box in her hand. What could the inscription be talking about this time? There were no blades that corresponded with the colors of the buttons, or any color those colors would make. Red and yellow made orange, blue and yellow made green, and red and blue made purple. As far as she knew, there were no orange or purple blades, and the only ‘blades’ that were green were…

”Of course!” Silanis exclaimed, all but kicking herself and laughing. “Grass blades get long, but they won’t cut you.”

Why she had not thought of that before was a mystery, but she had the answer now. All she could do was hope that pushing two buttons at once would not reset the box. Carefully, she pushed the blue and yellow buttons at the same time, holding her breath while she waited to see what would happen. There was a moment of disappointment, when nothing did happen, but she also felt a little grateful; for fear, she may have had a heart attack if something had.


Turning the box back over, she once more read the inscription, and it went on like this for some time before she finally came to a little bit of a stumper. Vampire, Bat, Rat, Vermin. It wasn’t even in the form of a question, or an actual sentence; just four words that seemed to have nothing to do with each other besides a little bit of a rhyme-like quality. What on Erve could it be? In a huff, she slumped down to the floor, staring at her feet in disdain. It was then that she heard the hushed breathing of an excited child, and tensed.

“Who is there?” A stupid question, but all she could think of. “Who’s in my room?” Her head whipped in the direction of the bed and window, but she looked past the two indigo eyes beneath the low bed. So the faeries magic hid her well enough, it seemed.

“I don’t think you could comprehend my existence,” said the faerie, plainly, “for you could barely comprehend the magic of the box.” This only upset Silanis.

“What the hell are you talking about?” was the first thing to leave her lips, and it made the faerie want to laugh. “Who are you, what the hell are you doing in my room?” Then, as an afterthought, “where in the hell are you?”

“A faerie.” Said the small creature, not dancing around the answers. “Called Wolfe, by those who know me.”

“Wolfe?” Silanis asked. “Faerie?” What was going on? What was she plunged into with little warning, to be left dazed and confused by a small box and a voice that claimed to be a faerie? This insanity could not be real, there had to be some kind of joke to it all. It was here the faerie took an opportunity of Silanis’ eyes being closed to crawl from beneath the bed, her wings once more aflutter, so that she hovered above the ground seemingly effortlessly.

When the young brunette opened her eyes to dispute the existence of faeries, they were met with the most amazing sight she had ever imagined. There, in her room, not more than an arms-length away, was a real faerie, wings, and all. Everything that Silanis had known to be true as a child came back to her in a rush that nearly knocked her over, and she became momentarily dizzy as it all sorted itself out.

“Are you alright?” Wolfe asked, dropping to the floor and allowing her wings to fold; all ten small, lilac appendages folding neatly behind her. Resting a hand on her shoulder, there was a genuine look of concern on her face.

”I… You’re real?” Not even a word on her own state, just the question could be articulated. “You’re real. That can’t be.” Silanis was in a state of shock beyond anything she’d been through before, and it was hard for her to take this lightly. “I was told it was all silly stories. Was I lied to?”

“Yes, but not deliberately.” A smile graced the faeries lips as she replied. “We’re in hiding, no one is supposed to know we exist.”

”But then…” Her mind cleared a bit with each passing moment. “Elves, half-breeds, sylphs, Gods… They’re real, too?” It was stunning to think all those wonderful things from the stories of her childhood actually existed.

”Yes. Everything you heard tell of, within a certain amount of reason, is real.” There was a pause as Wolfe thought of the best way to explain this simply. “Basically, everything good you heard of is real, but so is everything bad. This is because its all a matter of opinion on what good and bad really are in the world of the preternatural, the supernatural, and the inhuman.”

“If no one is supposed to know you’re real, why are there stories?” It was more than a valid question, she felt. “And why are you here?”

The faerie must have felt it was a valid question as well, for she paused at great length to think it over. For a moment, Silanis didn’t think she would get an answer. Then; “Because you have found something of great importance to me.” Wolfe leaned over to pick the box out of her hand, and looked at it curiously. “It’s been many years since I have seen this.”

”I’m sorry.” Silanis said, not really understanding what Wolfe was getting at. “You can have it back, if it’s yours…” She felt a little bit bad, now, for taking something that hadn’t been hers to take. “Oh, but!”

Wolfe looked at her, puzzled, and shrugged her shoulders in question. “I don’t want the box, no. Its yours to keep, if you can open it.”

”Then, that means… It was you I saw darting out of sight last night, then. Wasn’t it?”

Wolfe looked at Silanis for a moment, and then shook her head. “I didn’t think you would be able to see me.” With a shrug she took a seat on the bed, and blinked. “Your own magic is stronger than I’d anticipated. You should try to train it, it may be useful.”

“I don’t have magic.” The brunette said, hastily. “I’m only human, I have no magic.”

“Silanis, Silanis.” Wolfe said, looking around the room. “Listen, everyone has magic. It’s a matter of figuring out how to use it. In the old days, all humans knew magic, and everything was good, and happy, and we could roam freely…” The faerie trailed off.

“What happened, then? What changed?”

Her tone changed then, low and dark. “Zaçic.”

The name Silanis knew and had been taught to love. Zaçic was the man everyone believed lived as the Son of the One True God, who spread love and peace through the lands over three hundred yeas before she was born. What the hell was going on?

“Surely you can’t mean the Zaçic?”

“Ah, but I do.” Motioning for Silanis to sit next to her, Wolfe got ready for an explanation. The girl deserved the truth. “He showed up, and suddenly associating with fae-folk and Elves was against their Religion, and you would end up in Hell for using magic.

“The old Gods were shunned, pushed aside, and called demons. Maenads were arrested and labeled witches and burned, Dryads were cut down for fear they were forrest witches…Elves were shot on sight, simply because their ears were marked a sign of witches mating with the Devil.

“Halflings were about the only ones not completely destroyed, because they were basically smaller humans, and simply labeled vertically challenged. And only because some human women had given birth to human children who’s bodies never really grew up. Dwarves had it easy too, only forced to work in the mines they loved anyways, because they were too rowdy for the surface. Zaçic is a powerful wizard.” Wolfe paused and rested her head on her left hand for a moment, remembering the things that man had done over the years. “He’s been in control of politics for centuries, behind the scenes, in the shadows, just out of arms reach. He holds a powerful spell over the world, even to this day, weaving webs of deceit and power through the decades, sometimes more involved, other times hiding and working his glamour. He doesn’t die, but he can be killed. I’m not even sure he’s human, to be honest. I think he’s the demon.”

Silanis gaped at the faerie, everything she’d been taught from childhood smashed to pieces, and wasn’t sure if she believed it or not. In the end, she knew in her heart to be true that everything she had believed in, in her childhood, was the truth; not what her parents had told her about such things, about Zaçic.

Candice Dionysus
01-27-2009, 01:44 PM
Chapter Three

Staring at Wolfe, Silanis could not but blink, and she felt her body begin to shake. Was she angry? A tear slid out of her eye, and she shook her head. She choked on words, trying to think of exactly the right thing to say, but she couldn’t. Suddenly her vision was washed out, and she saw a dream she hadn’t seen since she was a very little girl.

A group of Maenads dancing, a fire between them, and a feast laid out under starlight in a large and lustrous emerald green clearing. Tree’s lined the perimeter, going nearly out of sight, and a group of people sat laughing on the grass, plates of food around them. One looked up, a beautiful man in sandals and pair of pants with embroidered grapevines all up the left leg. He smiled, and waved for her to come join them.

“Silanis, my dear! Come, sit! Grab some food!” He said, his lovely face lit up in the firelight.

Silanis saw herself move towards the group, and call the name Dionysus as she did. She looked as though she were her current age, not as she had once remembered the dream. Watching herself grab some of the amazing food laid out for them, Silanis heard the conversations of the people about her. She heard the names; Hera, Ares, Aphrodite, Amphitrite, Diana, Apollo, Zeus, Eros. Each one of them a God in the fairytales she heard as a little girl. Dionysus took her hand and kissed it, his own violet eyes glinting in the gaze of her gray ones.

“So, tell me, Sila darling.” He said to her, his voice raised only slightly. “What do you desire more than anything?”

She did not answer, only looking back into the eyes of the God before her, and smiling. Then, finally; “To bring peace and order to a world gone bad.”

There were murmurs of approval among the other Gods, and Dionysus nodded his own approval. Zeus was tall, muscle-bound and very white in both the color of his hair and his attire. His hair was cropped short, and a long jagged scar ran across his right shoulder, visible because he wore no shirt.

“You are worthy, then.” He said, and handed her a plate with something jiggly on it. Then, the vision swam away, and her room came back into focus. For a split second everything was clear, and then she whispered Wolfe’s name and fell off the bed.


Wolfe jumped when Silanis hit the floor. She got down on her knees and pushed Silanis onto her back. When her eyes had gone blank and she had fallen to the ground, Wolfe had felt the presence of a God or Demon, and she stood protectively over Silanis, alert to any and all sounds. After a while, nothing happened, and the feeling had dissipated, Wolfe bent over Silanis on the ground. She shook her shoulder, looking at her face.

“So what, you died of information overload?” She asked, trying to hide tears with laughter. “Wake up already, it wasn’t that shocking… We finally find someone who could possibly be the one, and you faint? No, I don’t think so. Wake back up, Silanis.”

She groaned, and her eyes fluttered open. The gray orbs searched around the room frantically, and then closed again. Taking three deliberate, slow breaths Silanis sat up and brushed herself off. She stood up as if nothing had happened.

“Are you okay, Silanis?” Wolfe asked, fluttering up into view, looking like a child with wings. “Did you hurt your head when you fell on the floor?”

Shaking her head, Silanis climbed back onto her bed, sitting back against the wall on the other side. “I’m fine.” The words came out naturally, and she shook her head again. “It was just a little bit much, and then that vision happened, and I just went into shock or something.”

“Wait, wait.” The faerie landed on the bed and looked at her. “What vision?”

Silanis explained what she had seen, the Gods and how they’d welcomed her, and how abruptly it ended. It was Wolfe’s turn to stare at Silanis, unsure of what to say.

“I used to have that dream when I was a kid, but never like that.” She said. “He was never…” The word choked her, and she hesitated a moment before trying to say it again. “I-In love with me.” She looked embarrassed.

Wolfe’s wings fluttered a little, absent from her control. She then took off from the bed and began to trace a fluttering pace around the room. Silanis had no idea what she was thinking about, but waited patiently for her to say something. For a moment her gray eyes followed the very purple girl in the air, and then she remembered the box, and picked it up from her nightstand.

Vampire, Bat, Rat, Vermin, the riddle still taunted her. She turned the box around absently, contemplating the inscription on the back. What did those things have in common that related to a color? Bats and rats were technically vermin, and Vampires were said to be able to turn to bats… Vampires were generally drawn in dark places, and that was where vermin like bats and rats could also be found, a good part of the time. Darkness was also known as blackness, but could she chance being wrong? Her mind was telling her no, but then a part of her that never spoke up told her to try it anyways. She was tired of second guessing herself all the time, never being sure.

She pushed all three buttons on the box, and placed it on the bed next to her, watching. Wolfe saw what was going on and gasped, hovering in place while the box let out a small mist, and the lid popped open. No one had seen the box open even once since it was sealed over five hundred years ago. They cast no-sees on it, and kept it hidden from Zaçic from the moment they knew he sought it. If a wizard like him ever got hold of it, who knew what could happen?

Silanis picked the box back up, and gently opened the lid. What started back at her, Wolfe would later explain, sharp and shinning, was a diamond-like jewel set in a rounded, woven-gold circle that had a spike of dwarf-woven gold going up to a point in the center, perfectly placed, to hold it in. It was the simplest, and yet most beautiful piece of jewelry she had ever had the luck to gaze upon. All the questions, all the colors, to protect this one single sparkling, gorgeous piece of work made into a tangible ring.

“Its beautiful, Wolfe…” Silanis whispered, staring down at it.

“Its yours,” Wolfe replied, “put it on.”

“What, me wear that?” She asked, looking at the faerie sidelong. “First of all, my mum would be all over me as to where it came from, “Oh, Sil, are you getting married? Who is he?” Every time I get a piece of jewelry, she asks the same questions…” She stopped mid-sentence when Wolfe took the ring from the box and placed it on her right index finger. “What..?”

“Not since the box was sealed has it been found and opened.” The faerie said, somberly. “By rights, the ring is yours, Silanis. Its your fate.”

“You can’t be serious…” Silanis looked close to laughing. “My fate? I’m a merchant’s daughter; I don’t have a fancy fate. I’m far too young, and far too plain to have a fate! And I don’t wear jewelry like this, either.” She held up her finger and pointed to the finely wrought gold. “My father sells stuff like this when the lordlings are in debt and need to pawn off trinkets. You’ve got the wrong person, Wolfe. I’m sorry.”

“You’re wrong, Silanis. Your dreams? Those weren’t just dreams. And that box? How is it that you’re the only person who noticed it all day?” Wolfe got up close and grabbed her shirt. “Why is it that no one before you has been able to open it? Those questions weren’t impossible. They required a little thinking, yeah, but they weren’t unsolvable. It gave different people different inscriptions; it had the ability to choose who would solve it. And the magic in the box chose you. So before you decide its all a mistake, think about that, and think about what you could do with the ring, because its something special.”

Silanis looked from Wolfe to the ring and back, her expression that of someone who’s just been told to choose between a puppy and a kitty, and the one they don’t choose would die. Wolfe had just sprung this on her from left field, and to be fair, Silanis was taking it all quite well.

“At any rate, the longer you take, the less time we have to prepare for the journey.” Wolfe said, breaking the silence.

“Journey?” She asked. “What journey?”

”I’ve got to take you to the elders, of course.” Wolfe said. “They sealed the ring, they hold the real answers to this fate of yours.”

“Oh, but I can’t leave. What will I tell my parents?” Silanis had always thought her parents would be sad if she left; she did not want to make anyone sad to go off on a journey that made no sense. “This is insane!”

“Silanis, do you want to know your fate?” Wolfe asked. “Sometimes, when you realize there’s something bigger planned for you, you have to go for it. The people who love you will understand, and eventually forgive you for leaving them. Sometimes you have to hurt the people you love to save them in the end.”

“Who am I saving?” This was huge, how could she be expected to just go and not spend any time considering the consequences of the action? Her, save the world? What would her parents think about that? “Wolfe, you have to give me a couple days to consider this… I don’t know if I can leave my home! Let me think about it – don’t force me to make a decision I may end up regretting, just let me decide for myself.”

“Alright, then. You’ll let me know your decision once you’ve made it?”

“Yes.” Silanis promised. “As soon as I come to it.”

“Good.” She rubbed the left side of her face, and let herself relax on the end of the bed. “I’m staying in here, then. And when you reach your decision, if its no, I will leave. And if its yes, then, I will help you get ready and stay safe along the way.”

Silanis nodded, and went to make herself some breakfast. This was a strange, strange morning… What on earth was she going to do?

Candice Dionysus
03-22-2009, 04:18 PM
Chapter Four

Over the course of the next couple days Silanis watched the smaller things in life that she had never paid much attention to. Things she had once seen as insignificant - little tone fluctuations, and minute attitudes that people took on when other people said or did things…

The sound of real laughter versus the fake laughter she heard in even some of her own friends; the bloom of a flower in morning light, the backstabbing that was so open, but so friendly…

It was painful for her to see how many people drank alcohol from small bottles and flasks, which they kept on their person. This wasn’t her place, she couldn’t be meant to stay here until death, or marry one of these drunken men, or run her fathers little shop and deal with all these people, all the time. Whatever was in her future, it was almost guaranteed to be more significant than being a wife and running a store in a city of drunks and fake people. But how would she convince her parents to let her go?

That was where Wolfe came in. Wolfe had magic, and knew how to use it. She would be able to find a way to get Silanis’ parents to agree to her leaving, because she refused to just leave them with no explanation. So it was decided, as she sat in a small park at the edge of the market place, that she would go with the little faerie to see the elders and learn her fate. They had already lost two days of travel time.


“How, then, are we to convince my parents that I am supposed to go now?” Silanis asked, after explaining her feelings to Wolfe.

The little faerie sat on her bed, thinking, for what seemed like ages. It was quite a conundrum, Silanis wanted to go, but did not want to hurt her parents at all in going. The only way they would let her go would be if she were getting married, or if royalty called her away. Or especially if she were marrying royalty, but setting up something so elaborate would take more than just her own magic.

Although she supposed Dian would be willing to play the part of a suitor, if she could get a hold of him somehow. He had been looking for an excuse to visit the human cities, and this would be a good enough reason indeed. He had been helping her follow the box, to an extent. Logic stood to reason that if he were her friend, he would help her with this.

Looking to Silanis, the faerie began to smile. “I think I have a solution.” Her voice was soft and lilting. “I know someone who could be useful in getting you out of here, without hurting your parents.”

“Who?” Silanis asked, looking suspiciously at the faerie.

“His name is Dian.” She replied. “He lives in the elvish city Athlone. He’s been looking for an excuse for nearly two-hundred years to visit a human city.”

“An Elve?” Silanis asked, feeling small and insignificant in the large world that had been opened to her a couple of day’s prior.

“He could be a suitor come to whisk you away for marriage.” Wolfe continued. “He’s handsome, smart, and well-to-do. It would be a cinch to convince your parents.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait.” Silanis said, holding up her hands. “You want me to lie?”

“Only in the name of the greater good, dear.” Wolfe explained. “That ring is special, and your fate is just as special, being tied to the ring. You may save a city, a country, or the world, with that ring. You don’t know for sure, and neither do I. So it makes sense that you would go to the elders, and if you have to lie in order to get there, I know the Gods forgive if the ends justifies the means.”

“I get that much, but why does it have to be marriage?” She didn’t much like the idea of marriage, and being lovey-dovey with someone she did not know. “Couldn’t it be something else? Couldn’t he be from the ByTalnan government, come to whisk me away to be… I don’t know, a courtier? The Reid’s may not be anything special here, but I’m sure we’ve got something our lineage we could use, instead of marriage.”

“If you want to take the time to look everything up, by all means, go right ahead.” Wolfe said. “But every day you take is a day less in the rest of your life, so use the time before you leave very carefully.”

“I will.” She would, and she would go right away to check her family lineage.

There was a book on it in her fathers study, and he was working the storefront right now. She could look through it uninterrupted for a while. She grabbed some of his paper and a small dove quill to take notes. By the end of that day, she had a list four pages long and showed it to the faerie.

“Are there any names here that look familiar to you in any way?” She asked.

“Heyail Reid.” Wolfe said. “He was in the court of the Nylian kingdom many years ago. He also had strong ties as an ambassador of Nylia to ByTalna. I had no idea there was any actual relation, though, or I would have mentioned him earlier.”

“So then my suggestion of this Dian being a courtier from ByTalna would work, right?” Silanis would try anything to avoid lying about marriage to her parents.

“Theoretically, yes.” Wolfe replied. “Its worth a try, at any rate. I’ll go get him tonight, then, and in the morning he will come to get you, yes?”

“Alright, that sounds good.” Silanis replied. “Give me a heads up before he gets here, ok?”

“Of course.” Wolfe replied, and opened her window. “I’ll return really soon, Silanis. Get a good nights rest, and I’ll be back come morning.”

Silanis nodded, and Wolfe took off out the window. She closed the window behind the faerie, and prepared herself for bed. Tomorrow would be an interesting day.

Candice Dionysus
03-22-2009, 04:32 PM

Anianka looked around her misty kitchen, the clock above the table frozen to silence, and shivered. She moved to look out the window, the world frozen, her neighbors stopped short of getting in their car, a bird frozen mid-flight.

“What’s going on?” She wondered out loud.

“Child...” A flighty, velvet voice behind her. Anianka turned.

“Who..?” Before she could finish she found herself staring at a turtle the size of a German Shepard. The turtle was looking back into her eyes. It wore an intent but sad expression on its reptilian features.

“I am Skilpadde, the world of Dreams rests on my back.” His head went down for a second, as if to bow. “You have been drafted to save the souls who enter upon the dreamscape of Maroque.”

“What?” Blinking, Anianka simply looked confused. “From what?”

“From becoming demons, child.” Skilpadde replied.

“Like Kyonsei?” She asked, trying to make sense of it.

“Yes, like Kyonsei.” His head bobbed in agreement.

“What can I do?” Anianka asked, “And why should I? I hate people.”

“You can’t escape destiny, my child.” His words were deliberate and slow, his voice at once gravelly and willowy. “The Lake, my dear. More will be revealed to you there on what you need to do. But I can tell you a little bit now.”

Skilpadde let out a heavy, deliberate sign, and laid himself down, making sure he was comfortable. Anianka got impatient.

“What can you tell me then, Turtle?” She demanded, roughly.
“Patience, dear. I’ll get to it in good time.” He replied, and motioned for her to get comfortable.

Begrudgingly, she complied, seating herself at one of the chairs by the table. Being impatient meant that waiting for the turtle to begin explaining was torture, and she fidgeted a bit.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the turtle seemed to be ready to talk, and she watched him intently. Now she knew why he needed to freeze time to talk to her.

“Alright now, child.” Skilpadde began. Anianka had a sneaking suspicion he was being even slower to prove a point. What that point was, though, she had no idea. “I can tell you that this is very, very dangerous. You must find the Guardian of the Lake. He will be the one with the most information for you.

“As for what I can tell you, you might want to grab something to eat, child.”

Candice Dionysus
06-13-2009, 12:54 PM
So, I'm going to update again in about a week... I don't have the files on this computer. As soon as I get the wireless running, it will be golden, though. Everything is on my laptop.

Candice Dionysus
06-13-2009, 12:54 PM
So, I'm going to update again in about a week... I don't have the files on this computer. As soon as I get the wireless running, it will be golden, though. Everything is on my laptop.

Candice Dionysus
10-27-2009, 02:03 PM
A Little Explanation of Monique (for your pleasure)

Anianka watched the turtle intently once he began to speak of the Queen of Maroque.

“We aren’t sure when, exactly, she died there, but we do know she must have been a spoiled, deeply ambitious young woman. She managed to bend and reshape Maroque to fit her will, wrangling unsuspecting visitors into trusting her, only to kill, and in turn steal and demonize their souls upon release.

“Over time, she gained more and more slaves, some willing, and they built for her a large, fantastical castle. Monique lives there, but it is not guarded - for there has never been an attack from which to guard. She feels she is safe within not only those walls, but all of Maroque itself, for eternity.

“Of course, her pets help keep it that way. Starblaze, the serpent of the Marshes, devourer of mortal and demon souls alike. You have been passing awfully close to him, Anianka. Be careful, he is not to be taken lightly.

”Snowbright, the giant carnivorous Rose plant and her seedlings, on the opposite side of the mountains. She would have made a fast meal of you, dear. Avoid her, if you can.” Anianka made a brief note of that in her mind.

“Under the mountain are a people Monique has, to this day, no idea of. A Dwarven race, called the Incoborous. Fat, though muscular, covered in tattoos, short but formidable. They are always watching, and you may meet them sometime. They have vast underground tunnels and cities below Maroque, and not just the mountains, though their main dwellings are in that area.

“When you get to the Lake, though, you’ll know exactly what to do I cannot explain it to you, it is something you must figure out for yourself, my child.” Here Skilpadde gave pause longer than normal. “But I fear you must be extremely careful, my child, for there are many perils on the way, some of which you have seen,”

“The bird-wolf...”

“And some you could never imagine. It was a very good idea to select weapons, but they may not be enough to keep you alive if you run afoul of a creature like what you call the “bird-wolf” or anything like it.

“And should you run afoul of Monique herself, I fear nothing shall save you. For her magic is old and strong, and you’re yet to cast a single spell.”

Anianka quirked a brow, shifting in her seat. “I can use magic?” The concept was foreign to her, but she was intrigued by it. “How do I..?”

“Only in Maroque, child.” Skilpadde replied, shaking his head. His tone was sullen, but it went back to the lilting drone of conflicting tones as he continued. “You shall figure it out in good time, dear one. You and Dei both.”

“You can’t tell me how to do it?”

“Child, I cannot tell you how to do something that works differently for every person. You must learn it yourself as Monique did. Only then will you truly be able to defeat her, as I am sure you must.”

“Why do I have to meddle in something I had no fucking clue was going on?”

“You are the chosen one, child. You can’t fight it, and neither can I. If I could change it for you, I would in a heartbeat. However, Destiny is Destiny, and it cannot be altered.”

“How cliche, Tortoise. I’m unimpressed. What’s to stop me just joining forces with this Monique? Sounds to me like she’s got a good thing going for her.”

“Do you really believe that it would be so easy as to just join Monique?” Skilpadde sighed, and his speaking quickened just a bit. “Think, child. Monique is, for all of her age and experience, just a spoiled teenage girl with too much power for her own good. You can do one of two things. You can kill her, or you can make her see the error of her ways. Now, which one sounds more likely?”

“Harsh... Brutal. I like the way you think, Skilpadde. If you want this spoiled brat who thinks she a queen dead, I can most definitely do it for you. Where is this castle of hers?”

“It is not that easy. You must first travel to the lake, or you will never be ready in spirit or body.”

Anianka looked at the turtle, contemplating his words and weighing her options as time stood still for her alone. On the one hand, Skilpadde could be bluffing, and she could join this Monique. On the other, it could be truth and Monique could be impossible to join forces with. The big question in Anianka’s mind, though, was what she would get out of it. What was being offered to her in return for killing this “spoiled teenager?”

She tapped her fingers on the table for a moment, impatient and waiting for more. When Skilpadde did not continue, she twitched impatiently and asked her question.

“What do I get out of it, and what do you really get out of it?” The turtle stared his blank stare, blinking for what seemed like the first time in the entire time they had been sitting there.

“You get the chance to do something you’d be locked away in your own world for, and get away from it with only the realm of Maroque knowing you’d done it.” He told her. “And I... Well, I get peace and order in my realm once more.”

Anianka laughed. She didn’t care one bit for the peace and order - it never tickled her fancy much - but getting away clean for killing someone did sound right up her alley. It seemed Skilpadde knew what she wanted, and how to get her to listen to him. She shrugged her shoulders.

“I’ll do it.” She said.

Candice Dionysus
10-31-2009, 12:13 AM
Chapter Five

With her ability to fly, it made getting to Athlone faster than if she’d had to travel by foot or horse. This meant that she made it there just around one thirty in my morning, a four hour flight. Dian was a night owl, so he would still be up, and she knew he would be happy to see her no matter what time it was. She got to his door, and knocked. A light came on in the kitchen, near the back, and she could hear a chair scuffle. A tall man with blood red hair and pointed ears made his way to the door, a look of curiosity on his soft, angular features.

“Wolfe!” He exclaimed when he opened the door. “My friend, its good to see you again!”

“Same.” The faerie replied. “I’ve gotten myself into something you might be interested in.”

“Come in, then.” He said. “I’ll make you something to eat and we can talk about it.”


Wolfe sat in Dian’s kitchen, looking at the papers he had strewn about his table. They were mostly bard’s tales, stories about the truly mythic creatures, and legends about the truly unknown things in the world. Why was Dian reading these things?

“So, tell me then, Wolfe.” He said, turning from his wood stove and the luluhid pancakes he was cooking. “What is it you’ve gotten yourself into, that you need my help?”

She smiled, and bade him turn back to the food so it wouldn’t burn. Explaining about the box – Dian mentioned that he remembered how she’d been following it around for about a century and a half now - she told him about Silanis, and how she found and then proceeded to open the box. Wolfe also added in the part about her vision, and how she fell to the floor out of nowhere. She explained the plan Silanis had come up with, and the role she needed Dian to fill, making sure to mention he could leave once they had gotten Silanis on the road.

“What, and leave a young human girl open and vulnerable to the hardships and cruelties of travelling so close to Cianira’s Bunch over in Meadowvale??” He shook his head. “If I decide to go, I’d be going all in.”

““Cianira’s Bunch”? What are you talking about?” The faerie quirked a brow.

“I used to know Cianira when we were both around a hundred and thirty. That was a little over five hundred and eighty years ago. She was a nice girl, very much into designing projectile weapons. She created what she calls “hand cannons”. They are very dangerous, because they shoot a pointed chunk of lead at a fast velocity. She leaked her design in secret to humans, but on a smaller, less powerful scale. “Let them figure out how to make ‘em bigger.” She said to me when I spoke with her before she did it.

“I’ve only spoken with her a handful of times in the last five hundred and eighty-two years – the last time was about eight months ago. She was running out of an underground base near Meadowvale’s Feyveil Tavern.

“I think they’re crazy, bunch of anarchists living so close to a human city... I could understand way back when, but these days its just… Stupid. Anyway…

“They like to… Search for people who could possibly know Zaçic. They interrogate any humans that stray too close. It’s funny, because there are at least two humans in the group.

“I know there was Vervain, who has a personal vendetta against the wizard, but there’s another named Jahnjyeh, whose motives I don’t know. They would stop you two for sure, especially alone. If I’m there, on the other hand…

“I’m the only Elve with blood red hair in the last thirteen centuries. They’d know me simply because of that fact. Ci might even help.”

Wolfe scratched her head a bit and thought. An anarchist group living so near to the Feyveil was certainly an interesting predicament. How had she not heard of that sooner? It hadn’t occurred to her that she was that far out of touch with the rest of her world, which actually made things more difficult. She would need Dian for the long run, and hoped desperately that he would agree to go with her.

“Look,” Dian started, putting a plate of the pancakes in front of her, “this has been important to you for over a century, right? And it’s tied in directly with the Elders not only in your home, but here in mine as well, so she would have to stop here anyway. That makes my meeting her inevitable, regardless of how you get her out of her own home. I’ll come, I’ll help, and I’ll see what her fate is. Once you learn that, I say we stay here a little longer than you planned while I make a hard choice. I do have a sister to worry about, remember?”

He most certainly did have a sister, and Wolfe remembered Nuku well. The two never got along, she always thought that Wolfe stole her brothers attention away, and quite frequently said that the faerie would be the death of one or the other of them. She was asleep right now, up two floors in the tree line, her own entrance locked tight. It was a five-story home, the third split in two, with a locked door, and two entrances – one from the ground, and one from the tree line onto a bridge.

“Okay.” Wolfe replied, sombrely. “That makes sense.”

“Alright.” He picked up one of his papers and began to read a bit. Wolfe took a bite of the pancakes, he always made such heavenly food, and she was thankful for the Elvish cooking mastery he had picked up from his uncle as a child. But, of course, with a few centuries of practice, almost anyone could become a fantastic cook. All that took was practice, which Wolfe had never once bothered with.

As he sat there reading the papers in the dim magic light of the kitchen, Wolfe watched the expressionlessness of his beautiful face. What was he reading, she found herself wondering, that he was so unconcerned with everything else around him, even ignoring his own luluhid pancakes. Having never seen him this intent on reading random papers, she shifted uneasily.

"Um... What are you reading, anyways, Dian?" She asked, and he looked over to her. Shrugging, she looked at him with an expression that read 'what’s so interesting?'

"You know about the Völva of the ByTalna cliffs, correct?" He responded.

"The supposed bird-women who live in almost unreachable caves?"

"Those would be the ones." Dian affirmed. "They are supposed to know the secret of the New Goddess who will bring Zaçic to ruin."

"No one has ever seen them off hand, you know," Wolfe said, "just stories about friends of friends who met them. Just fairytales, woven by the creatures of fairytales."

"You, of all creatures, Wolfe, should know that the creatures of fairytales are real, even if they are the fairytales of us "fairytales."" He dropped the page in front of her, pointing to the drawing etched in charcoal on the parchment paper.

On the parchment was a woman with hair so black it seemed to shine blue, and eyes that looked both amused and deeply sorrowed. There were wings behind her bangs, sticking off of her head, and wings on her back, both magnificent shades that looked almost silver.

Her midriff and flat stomach were exposed, as was her cleavage, but there was a long, sectioned metal necklace - or at least she assumed it was a necklace, but with all the sections, it looked as though were she to take it off, her neck would flop over. That probably made her look taller than she was, unless her spine was really that long. The sleeves of her bellytop hung well past her hands, looking like the sleeves of a robe instead, and her skirt came down almost to the bottoms of her boots.

Wolfe could see her tail feathers poking out from behind the skirt, too. This was a Völva, she was certain, and from the detail, it looked like the artist had her pose specifically for the occasion. It was unsigned, so whoever did it did not want to be known.

"On the back it reads as follows:

"The Völva Priestesses are part bird, part woman, and hold the True Prophesy of the NEW Goddess, and her battles with the False Prophet and Wizard, Zaçic, so-called "Son" of the falsified "One True God."

"The Völva reside within the ByTalna Mountains, in cave dwellings among a series of cliffs in the centre of the mountain range. They each hold loyalty to one other God, but all worship the NEW Goddess first and foremost.

"The practices of the Völva are obscure and generally unknown, though are said to involve food, drink, and sexual activity,

"The existence of the Völva is generally put off as myth, legend, folktale. Most will write them off as a fairytale, though there are always those who will search for them, or claim to have seen them.

"I have met them, by a chance encounter, on a journey through the mountains to search for certain gemstones found in the region. The Völva are kind, and gentle, and they treat their guests with love and respect at all times. Stumbling upon them is very good luck, as they will take you in and help you.

"Its signed Heyail Reid." Dian finished, looking to Wolfe. "This man met them, he spoke with, danced with, and slept among these priestesses."

Wolfe simply stared at her friend, unbelieving that the one who drew and wrote of these creatures was related to the very girl who had found and opened the box. Unable to think clearly or even to speak, she sat there staring at the page after a while, and trying to put this together.

"Are you okay?" Trying to get a feel for what kind of reaction this would turn into, he bent to try and look into her eyes. She looked back to him, a look of utter disbelief on her face.

“I know now how Silanis must have felt when I told her everything she thought to be a fantasy was real.” In her foolish pride, she had assumed she knew it all, but she really only knew a fraction of what she had thought. If the Völva were real, then perhaps there was some truth to their prophecy. “But it opens up interesting theories in regards to their new goddess.”

“I’ve found myself more and more interested in them as time goes on.” Dian looked at the drawing. “I want to find them.”

Wolfe sighed. “Look, you probably slept all day, so you’re good to drive, right? I want to be there in the morning when Silanis wakes up. I wouldn’t want her to think I’d forgotten her.”

Dian nodded and gathered up his papers. “I’ll have the carriage reading in about half an hour.”

He walked away to get some things together for the journey, and Wolfe finished her pancakes, though they had gotten a little cold by now. She contemplated the idea of a new goddess, thinking of ways it could be beneficial. She looked through all the pages, and there were several more drawings of other things, a good chunk signed by Heyail Reid with various dates and years.