Closed///Unforgotten Freedom

(Forewarning: This thread takes place shortly after dusk, as far from the school building as possible. It also takes place on the Fourth of July, obviously.)

The sun dipped below the horizon until only a gentle, orange glow remained to stain the edge of the sky. The warm but lifeless hues reminded Gunnar of the same light given off by a dwindling campfire as the last embers smoldered in the ash sending up wisps of smoke that danced in the dying thermals. He had often stared into those smoky swirls before letting sleep claim him when he was traveling on the plains alone. Tonight though, it wasn’t kindling and firewood that laid waiting for a spark at the old cowboy’s feet.


Off to Gunnar’s right sat an opened crate. The lid, with bent nails still extending from the planks, was propped up against the side of the wooden box. Anyone approaching the discarded lid, would see bold, red letters stamped across it that read ‘FLAMABLE’. The interior of the container was lined with straw that crinkled as Gunnar reached in with calloused hands and sifted through the packing. A small smile spread his lips, like the sun cresting a hill, when he brushed his fingers across a smooth surface. With a swipe of his hand, Gunnar dusted the object until the fading light of the courtyard glinted on the tubing. He carefully lifted it from the scattered straw and out of the crate. It was a short cylinder, wrapped in decorative, plastic paper printed with a cartoon bomb, capped with a cone on one end and a long dowel extending from the other. “That’s the last of ‘em,” he mumbled to himself as he laid the rocket down with its traveling companions. He paused a moment as he examined the assortment set out in front of him. Their unlit fuses lay coiled in the grass like silent, sleeping serpents. When they finally hissed though, he knew that their bite would be impressive.


“Wait a minute, there was supposed to be something else.” he muttered to himself, as he glanced over to the open crate again. “One was supposed to come in a box…” he whispered, as if chiding the crate and straw for hiding it from him. Gunnar leaned over the crate once more and reached his hands into the straw. The bottom of the box was hidden in shadow, though the lighting mattered little when he was already groping through the layers of straw to find the last thing he’d ordered. The straw pricked his calloused skin, but he barely felt the sting, as his fingers waded through the dried grass. His eyes widened, his lips splitting in a smile again, as joy spread across his weathered face. “Here we go, this is the big un!” he chuckled as he reached in with his second hand to heft a box out of the create. The high-gloss cardboard glistened in the failing light of the courtyard as he lifted it up to his eyes and read the label aloud, “‘Pyrotechnic Motherlode’.” Gunnar paused for a second and then grinned. “Sounds like a blast.”


The ex-ranch hand reached for his Bowie. The long blade slid free of its sheath in silence and caught the last light of the setting sun. “Drat,” he grumbled in mild annoyance. The knife stabbed in the soil with a soft ‘thunk’ when he threw it down. By the time he had flicked on the electric lantern beside the crate and it bathed the area in its glow, the handle of the Bowie had ceased wobbling in the air. Gunnar plucked the oversized knife from the ground and slid it across the top of the box in his other hand. The loosened lid fell open while Gunnar cleaned the blade of his knife on his jeans and then sheathed it.

Minutes passed before the American had his tribute to freedom set up, but at last, he stood back with a grin and admired the assortment of rockets staked into the ground. “Let’s get everybody out 'ere,” he said to the fireworks, as if they were just as eager as he was to get the show started. A silver lighter twinkled in his hand like a captured star as he leaned down and lit the fuse for one of the rockets. The cord crackled when it ignited and the flame sizzled up the length of it while Gunnar took a few steps back in retreat, should anything go awry. Just in case, he had a few pails of water waiting nearby. The grass rustled beneath his booted feet as he shifted his weight, his anxiousness showing in the tensing of every muscle in his body. The cowpoke was nervous, doubtful of his pyrotechnic skills, but it seemed no one else was going to step up to celebrate his nation’s holiday.

The sparking flame crept up the winding fuse and then disappeared into the bottom of the rocket. To Gunnar, time seemed to stop as he held his breath in anticipation. The rocket erupted, embers shooting from its bottom as it streaked up into the sky. It screamed as it climbed, wailing as loud as any banshee. Heck, he thought, if I’m wasn’t careful, maybe a real Irish banshee might come investigate. A laugh escaped his lips as he looked skyward, watching the sparkling, shrieking pyrotechnic soar higher and higher and higher. At last, it sizzled and the cinders disappeared from sight, lost in the inky sky. A second passed, the smoke trail dispersing on the wind, before the rocket announced its death with a crack louder than thunder and shards of the spectrum exploding outward. As each spark sputtered out, they rained down to the earth as ash. Gunnar looked towards the doors of the school, waiting to see if anyone would come.


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“Hoo-wee!” cried the cowboy in sheer delight, a laugh alight on his lips as he felt the sprinkling of ash settling on him after each smoldering splinter created by the exploding rocket had burnt out. His gaze affixed on the school, Gunnar waited for signs of life. Here and there, panes of glass glowed from lights in the rooms beyond, but yet, none of the doors opened. It didn’t even seem that anyone was cracking their windows to peek out into the night to investigate the ruckus. Click. Click. Click. Gunnar kept flicking open and shut the cap of his lighter, the silver glinting in the soft illumination provided by the electric lantern, but he could barely hear the sound. It was as if he had stuffed cotton in his ears, which wasn’t a half bad tactic when dealing with Banshees. Just muffling their cries was sometimes enough to rob the screams of their lethality.

Of course, with his hearing hampered from the screech and crack of the first rocket, he was unaware of the near silent approach of soft footfalls from behind him. Even if his ears hadn’t been ringing, the feline-like female could probably still have sneaked up on the aging hunter if she really wanted. His senses were keen but not that keen. At the sound of his voice, he nearly dropped his lighter in favor of his revolver, but he forced himself to forgo that reflex. Before the lighter could slip from his flexing fingers, he snatched it in his hand again. He caged it in his fingers and turned to the girl behind him. “Those?” he asked, jerking the thumb of his free hand over his shoulder to indicate the rockets staked into the ground behind him. “Those’re fireworks, miss,” he answered. When she corrected her impoliteness, he gave a wave of his hand before reaching out to shake hers. “Formalities aren’t the most important thing in life,” he muttered, dismissing her apology as unnecessary. “I’m gonna give people a few mo’ minutes to show up before I start the show propah.”

Silence. Peace. It was one of those usual boring nights at Caislin Hallows, where he would sit in his dormitory trying to keep himself occupied until the following day. Unless he was working in the office, he really did not have anything else to do. There were no real classes around except for his survival class, which took a turn towards the interesting, but other than that he was pretty much kept to his own devices for entertainment. Having cleaned his entire arsenal, organized his room, and flipped open a few boxes to put assorted items away he really did not have much else he could think of to keep his hands and mind busy. So instead of twiddling his thumbs that forth of July, he decided he would keep his hands clean and just read a book. It was an interesting story, titled the Afterblight Chronicles. He had read a few of the various authors listed in that genre, but he had favored a collection by Scott Andrews. Nearing the end of his second book, it was not the awkward silence that disturbed him but the explosions happening outside his window.

"The fuck!?"

Nearly bouncing out of bed and onto his ass, he managed to rush over to see a few fireworks rushing wildly past his window frame and into the night sky. Shaking his head diligently, he merely tossed the book onto the bed and put on some pants. Was not as if there was anything else to do...

Taking a step through the doors, the night air was a rather cool one for summer. Being in Ireland, where it was primarily cold and damp, he had put on a standard attire of cargo pants, black undershirt and a light opened button up shirt on top. It was a style he always stuck to because it allowed him to keep his firearm hidden and within easy access. Although wearing black ontop of a dark green checkered over shirt was a fashion no-no, he didn't seem to mind. It was just to his advantage to toss something conveniently on and hit the door running.

"Who the hell is shooting off fireworks!?"

A loud whizzing noise screeched past his ear, deafening it as it popped above. Wincing from the minor pain, he merely saw the light coming from the door a bit aways and began to pace towards the small collective group. When he got into range of seeing who it was, he walked over to see two familiar individuals standing around like it was no one's business. "Seems like someone started the party right on time eh?" Slowly remembering what day it was, he patted his pants and realized something was missing. "In your hopes and dreams for making big explosions, I hope you followed the American Tradition of hot dogs, hamburgers, and a cold case of beer Gunnar?" Chuckling, he would wait for a pause in the fireworks before stepping close to the threshold of Gunnar's attire of bombs. "What you got in there other than sparklers?" He smirked playfully, poking some fun at the much smaller rockets he was using. "I know you got something more than that. Cherry bombs? Artillery shells? Come on. " But he didn't go rummaging through the boxes just yet. There was something to be said about putting your fingers into another man's explosive cabinet.

There were rare instances when Neit had no idea what people were talking about. She had been human for only a year and a half, not nearly enough time to fully fall in line with their insanity. The fact that this man was so excited over something so loud and bright had her perplexed. Shouldn’t they be avoiding flammable things that could shatter your hearing in seconds? Confusion flashed across her features as she cocked her head like an inquisitive feline, “Fireworks? There’ll be…. More of them?”

Inevitable confirmation from the older gentleman would clearly make her cringe. She could hardly imagine the want of such devices, let alone the excitement of setting off more. Curiosity was the only thing keeping her from bolting back towards the school and the unfamiliar comfort of her bed. This was going to hurt her ears but she wanted to see what the others looked like…. Perhaps if she stood back and covered her ears it would help.

Words were on the verge of being spoken before the fine hair at the base of her neck stood on end. Like a bristling cat sensing something approaching, she turned and moved to the side. Relaxing only once she remembered where she had seen the boy before, not that it was a taxing job to begin with. She had met a total of three people now, on with all those shinnies upon his skin, the other from registration and now… someone who enjoyed setting off fireworks. Three people and she knew none of their names, not exactly the best move on her part. Standing back from the two males she simply listened, waiting to see what would happen and if anymore fireworks would be set off.

Sarthas leaned against the tree with his left shoulder watching the small gathering of students on the open field. They were several hundred feet away yet their voices carried on the cool night air to his trained ears. Some he could make out words, others he could not but the words didn't matter, it was their simple presence that bought with it a tiny comfort to the dead creature. It had been the sound of the explosions that had disturbed the dark man's brooding, bringing him to stand within the shelter of the large pine. He bled into the darkness around him, letting it consume him, devouring him whole as his nearly black eyes watched in silence. His usual cowl was missing, leaving the wild mess of his short brown hair to twitch every so often as a stray breath of icy wind struck his shadowy features. Features marred by deep scratches that ran from his forehead to his chin as if fingernails had raked their way down the dead flesh. The hate was still there, beneath the surface nearly flooding his mind with its strangling presence, tainted with the hint of madness that would never leave. But he was in control for now, his will binding the emotions with strong chains that would be difficult to break.

His eyes shifted a moment, turning to what lay beyond the open field. The castles walls rose in the distance as if to stand against him, a looming reminder of his weakness. Weakness... The man scowled in disgust with the idea before turning his eyes back to the small celebration that lay before him. He recognized two of those present. Riley, that one had a rather unusual fascination with guns and he was quick witted as well. A tiny hint of a smile replaced his earlier scowl. He was even useful in the graveyard. Although in the end Sarthas did have to save the man's life... his smile faltered a moment. What good came of it he wasn't exactly sure. Riley's actions had been strange, out of place. Here, he seemed himself at least as much himself as he had seen of him in the past few months. But Sarthas knew that something was waiting in the darkness to pull the man's strings should it have need of his assistance yet again. The smile vanished completely replaced with an emotionless mask. The same puppet-master that pulled his strings.

Fighting off the rising irritation the man turned his eyes to the second figure he recognized. This one seemed the polar opposite of Riley. He was calm and collected, years of experience having given the man a slow near infinite patients. It was this one who seemed to be at the center of all the attention at this rather small celebration. Though he had never actually introduced himself, Sarthas had made a point to learn his name. Gunnar, or so he called himself. That very same man he had met yet again at the entrance to that cursed castle, when he had come seeking blood. Sarthas wracked his memory, trying to pull together the pieces of that encounter. It was difficult, the intense flood of emotions had dulled all of his senses but he could pick out things here and there in the swirling cloud of intense hatred. He was certain the man had fired at least once.....no twice. Yes, the second time had been to defend himself from a stray blade, a blade meant for Sarthas. That smile crept upon his features once more. Had the roles been reversed he would have taken advantage of the blinding madness of the other man. Not that it would have done Gunnar any favors he supposed, still he would not have let such an opportunity pass. He was an assassin after all. “Bound by your own morality....how quaint” Sarthas whispered the words to a man a good distance away that could not possibly hear him.

Once more the all consuming darkness of his eyes shifted, this time settling upon a new figure. This one seemed almost cat-like with her skittish behavior. And the way she moved, staying low to the ground and testing every footfall carefully before hand.That awful smile twisted further along the edges of his mouth as his eyes dissected the woman at a distance. I wonder what she tastes like....The thought came to a screeching halt as he realized what it was. His smile faltered a bit. Where did that come from? It was extremely uncharacteristic of the man yet it seemed to simply slip into his thoughts almost as if it belonged. Shrugging it off for now, he decided it was simply a lingering effect of his this new body. Though he didn't relish the idea of having to go around eating people in the future should the thought actually mean anything.

Walking his eyes down her body he had the strange suspicion that it wasn't that type of hunger. “I wonder...” He narrowed his eyes a moment trying to analyze the feeling but it slipped through his fingers like wisps of morning fog. Shaking his head he waited for the show to begin. He had never seen a fireworks display before as it was one of those many pleasures in life that seemed pointless. But maybe....just maybe it was worth watching. After all at the moment he didn't exactly have a clear direction to head. His carefully laid plans had been shattered, and so it was now a waiting game.

As he watched the cat like woman a rather amusing thought filled his head. Just like a game of cat and mouse...he would go along with her game for now. Ailis thought him a shiny new toy, In the end, she would find that Sarthas was much more dangerous than any other toy she had ever had. “On with the show.”, he spoke for the final time much louder now. If someone were paying attention to such things they just might hear those words, but then that was the point wasn't it? He could play games too...after all.

Homesick. It was a word that, almost every day of her life, didn't belong in Aliah Valdean's vocabulary. It wasn't that she came from any sort of bad home that left her with a sob story and a need to expouse and wax poetic about the troubles of her youth shaping her into what she had become today, but there just wasn't much for her to go back home to now. All of her brothers were older and all long gone from that childhood home.

Strangely enough, it was a memory of those same brothers that made her long for a day ten years ago all the same. A memory of a bunch of rambunctious boys chasing each other in an open field with lit Roman candles and then doing their damndest to set the neighbor's roof on fire with a set of high-powered fireworks that had erased several weeks worth of allowances.

So it was no surprise that Aliah was drawn out toward the fireworks, making her way out through the darkness into the night, toward the lights she'd already seen firing up into the sky. The girl dressed casually, having changed into normal clothes after her routine at the gym and then a shower. A light and faded pair of denim jeans covered the lower half of her body, a red and white long sleeve tee shirt wrapping around her upper body. The shirt was mainly white with a red stripe wrapping around her shoulders and neck. The crystal necklace dangled out from the shirt and rested against the fabric covering her chest.

Her hair, pulled back into a loose ponytail with a few loose rebel strands floating along against her face, appeared almost white, the palest of blue hue going unnoticed in the darkness. Eyes on stayed on the horizon, waiting for another salvo of the colorful explosions in the sky.

"Just don't make me have to run around half the night icing down all the flames you get started when these things fly off in the wrong direction," she called out with a growing smirk beginning to play on the corner of her lips, a devious look beginning to cultivate on her clear face.

“Lots more,” answered Gunnar as he turned to the staked rockets. With a flick of his fingers, he sparked his lighter again. The flame flared up against one of the fuses. “Best step back, missy.” Gunnar retreated about two yards as the crackling sparks crawling up the fuse reached the base of the rocket. As the sputtering projectile screamed upward, spurts of sparkling flames followed it up like a comets tail. Heading towards the apex of the fireworks trajectory, the tail flickered out. One… Two… Gunnar ticked the seconds off in his head. Three.

Ka-pow! “Let freedom ring,” chuckled the ex-ranch hand as sparking shrapnel blasted outward from the self-destructing rocket. The tiny pieces shimmered with a brilliance that outshone the stars set in the night sky. The stars seemed to flicker as if they trembled in a jealous rage for being temporarily surpassed. But after a few seconds, the light of the firework had faded and the stars remained. They were the immortals of light and the rockets he sent up, whose lives were snuffed out just as quickly as they began, were the humans. No matter how hard a rocket strived to truly outdo the stars, to fly into their embrace, those specks of light always remained as distant, impassive observers. And then there were the shooting stars, immortals who gave up eternity for a few seconds of life that mimicked the intensity of fireworks. Gunnar lowered his gaze to the school that stood vigilant against the darkness. Here and there, it cast its own glow to ward off the shadows. But what was the source of the light? wondered the cowboy.

Motion caught his eyes as the female that moved with feline fluidity tensed and turned. Twisting, Gunnar’s gaze swept across the girl and the source of her agitation, the new arrival. “Riley,” he laughed, seeing the youth he’d met what seemed ages ago in the registration office. The young man had been playing the role of clerk. Gunnar’s face relaxed in a smile as he looked from the boy to the girl and then his eyes widened with recognition. They’re the answer. How obvious! The school was a beacon that burned with the light of all three, a beautiful blend of illumination cast by stars, shooting stars, and fireworks! Beside him stood a shooting star and a firework—an appropriate term for the boy that seemed so fond of pyrotechnics—and he knew, somewhere that the mysterious maiden he had met in the courtyard most likely watched and she was one of the few, true stars at the school. But she seemed to be teetering on the edge, considering letting her brilliance burn across the atmosphere.

Gunnar loosed a laugh, triumphant in his realization, but then he heard Riley’s question about refreshments. “Nah, none of those. You even old enough for a sip of beer?” teased the elder. Gunnar laughed when Riley spoke again. “No such luck—none of those were in stock.” When Riley seemed to dive into the crate to root through the straw packing, Gunnar laughed and approached him from behind. The boy would have to double over to reach down into the packing straw, and while he was distracted, Gunnar lifted a booted foot and aimed a playful kick at the boy’s bottom. If he was as good of a shot with his foot as he was with his gun, he figured that Riley would fall head first into the crate and be plucking straw from his clothes for weeks.

After his attempt to shove the boy into the crate, Gunnar felt a chill traveling up his spine. He suppressed the urge to shiver as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Somewhere, he knew that the shadow’s eyes were on him. Where that man that hardly seemed a man lurked though, Gunnar couldn’t say. But he knew that he was around, hiding in the distance. For a moment, Gunnar’s free hand lowered to one of his holstered revolvers. His fingertip traced across the smooth wood, letting reassurance that radiated from the familiar firearm seep up his arm and calm his quickening heart. No, he thought, if Sarthas meant to start trouble, he would’ve done it already.

Before he could ponder the prickling sensation at the back of his neck any longer, the arrival of yet another audience member caught his attention. He let his hand fall away from his gun. “Miss, that’s just the risk of watching the show. Willing to pay that price should we need yah?” he asked, smiling to the woman. He wasn’t sure of where she was from, but the sight of her reminded him of good, old fashioned American girls, and Gunnar smiled to her. It wasn’t often that a girl caught his eye. “Hey, Riley,” called the cowboy. “Light up the next one, will yah? Yer pick.” Gunnar turned his gaze to the young man, wondering if he’d managed to find anything else in the crate or if he’d even managed to get himself out of it. Once it seemed that Riley was aware of his surroundings and his attention was turned to Gunnar, the older man tossed his lighter to him, the silver casing glinting in the lantern light.

The grass rustled beneath Gunnar’s boots as he approached the latest arrival. “Name’s Gunnar, Miss. What’s yours?” he asked, offering her a hand. She looked like a human and after all the oddities he’d met at Caislin Hallows that was good enough for him. “Where you from, Miss?”

“Fireworks? There’ll be…. More of them?” Was the first reply he got when he arrived at the open area that day. Talk about a way to kick the fireworks off, a new gal who had no idea what was going on. Turning to see Neit make her comment, he saw her eyes lighting up. It would seem that she was the type to be amused at the smallest things in life. Or maybe it was the first time she had ever seen such bright, loud explosions in the air. It was a strange place to be at Caislin Hallows, to think of the impossible happening was a very probable statement. Nevertheless, as people began to trickle in and get closer, his eyes did dart towards the items held in the crates.

It was not as if he was at least curious to see what kinds of fireworks the man brought.

Hearing footsteps behind him, he could sense that Gunnar was at least curious to see what Riley wanted to sort through. Although he wanted to start pulling things out, he just had a bad feeling about exposing his own ass to Gunnar. Although the man reminded him of an old country boy, he was not raised in the city to not be too keen on that type of man's antics. Feeling a small swish of air from behind him, he merely shifted his weight to the side... the boot catching nothing but air. But as Riley smiled, rolling on the balls of his feet, he heard a whisper in the wind. It was almost a tickle at the back of his mind, a play on his ear. Listening closely, he heard the words...

“On with the show.”

What? Was that Sarthas...

Course, his minor distraction caused him slip on the moist ground nearby. Although people would rant about the fire hazard of fireworks, Ireland was a wet and cold country... either it was always raining or always had this moist dampness to the air. Although it was never humid, as the frigid winds kept sweeping the winds evenly across the plains. This made perfect grounds for shooting fireworks safely. No dried grass or wood, no fire... easily. Nevertheless, he slipped on some mud... so what seemed to be a fairly tactical maneuver, his tiny little 'worry wart' caused him to slip and fall backwards into the crate. A loud, crunching sound could be heard as he fell into the crate, crushing the straw and a few of the items on top.

Once everyone had a laugh and he managed to gripe "Fuck..." he slowly rose from the box with a pile of straw in his hair. Eying the new chica that managed to come nearby, he remembered who the girl was and answered Gunnar's question before she even said anything.

"The white haired pretty girl's name is Aliah..." Dusting off a few of the pieces of straw, he rubbed his head with a look of wincing pain in it. "What the hell did my head crack open..." Reaching into the box, he pulled out a large box. Dusting off the contents, he opened the small broken wooden lid with a smile of laughter in his face. "Fucking A. Artillery!" Ignoring the pain in his head and back, he set up the small cannon on the ground... withdrawing a lighter from his pocket and lighting the small ball nearby. As the fuse lit, he casually slipped the ball into the tube... taking a few steps back to yell. "FIRE IN THE HOLE!"

PHOOOMMMPPP

A loud, crystallized explosion would facade into the air, joining Gunnar's few treats that he would let go himself. Dusting the remainder of straw from his pants and shirt, he took a step back to attempt to poke Gunnar, saying "I know you got some satellites or those repeated egg crate tube launching rockets." Pointing to the box, he told the man that he would rather see HIM dig into the crate first. Walking around to the other small boxes, he pulled out a few packets of sparklers and punks, preparing a few of the much simpler fireworks for them to play with. "Hey Neit, why don't you come over here and hold this..." Holding up what seemed to be a punk-stick, he held a lighter in the other hand.

If Neit walked over to take a hold of the item, he would light the end of it saying. "Do not let go, it won't pop." Only if she did not let go, he would light his lighter and burn the end of the sparkler... letting a bright white and blue light would burn from the tip of the sparkler traveling up the stick until extinguishing two minutes later.

The flash of red and white in the distance caught the dark man's eyes and he turned his head to see yet another new face coming to join the fireworks show. This one actually appeared normal which was in itself strange for Caislin Hallows. Nearly everyone who came to the school seemed strange. They all held their own little secrets, secrets that terrified the outside world and perhaps with good reason. But this one...this one seemed nothing more than your average college student trying to make her way in the world. The very idea made the man shake his head slightly. If that in fact were true, he almost pitied the woman. That awful smile remained on his lips. Almost. After all even those used to the unusual would have a hard time accepting the impossible here where the impossible was an everyday occurrence. "Just don't make me have to run around half the night icing down all the flames you get started when these things fly off in the wrong direction," The sound of the woman's shout carried easily to his ears and made the main raise an eyebrow in curiosity. What exactly did she mean by icing down the flames? Narrowing his eyes to study the woman closer as she arrived at the group he still couldn't pick out anything unusual but that didn't mean it wasn't there. Sarthas knew well enough that appearances could be deceiving.

The sound of another firework launching itself into the air snapped his eyes to its source. Apparently now it was Riley's turn to play with fire. When the thing exploded filling the night sky with a brilliant flash of color, he frowned. What was it they saw when they looked at those lights? Why were people drawn to such spectacles? They served no purpose, there was nothing to be gained here. Feelings like joy and happiness were foreign to the dark twisted creature and they seemed rather pointless. What could be gained with them? You could not kill someone with a kind gesture. You could not further your goals by going out of your way to bring others happiness. Then why? What was the point of it all, what was the secret that had evaded him his entire tortured life? Celest had known. The very thought of the child sent a shock-wave of anger through him so powerful it nearly shattered his control, somehow he managed to wrestle the feelings back down to a dull roar. Yes, she had known. He had surpassed her in every way imaginable except for that .He just couldn't understand, yet it came so easily for her, as easily as killing....was for him.

Scowling in frustration the man turned his eyes back too the people who had gathered on the lush green fields under the dark night sky. Students had come from all walks of life and from all across the world to gather at Caislin Hallows. Why? Because they had been drawn here for the very same reason he had been, with the promise of something more. To become something greater than they were, to strive and achieve. To push their own limits and perhaps even shatter them. Their reasons for attaining this greatness were all different yet the goal remained the same. “Fools” The hiss of his whisper was filled with bitterness. He had come here seeking these things, seeking to understand and he had learned nothing. Lifting his dead lifeless hands he stared at the lines and creases on his palms. This is what he had to show for it. He had lived his life certain that he had nothing more to loose, but he was wrong. Clenching his fingers into tight fists, seething hate raged behind the dark mirrors of his eyes. He was so very wrong.

He felt it, like a tickle in the back of his mind. He knew that feeling, he could taste its presence as if it were a living thing pulling at the dark recesses of his battered soul. Slowly, his eyes rose from their place upon his hands...to find her. That awful smile returned, twisting his features into a more horrifying picture befitting the dark man. The tainted dark brown of his eyes found the copper flash of her own and for only a moment he dove into their depths. Even from such a distance he could almost feel the skittish tension within her and then she turned. Sarthas remained perfectly still, watching from the darkness draped in silence yet she could see the man. There was no doubt in his mind, this curious cat like woman could see him and that....changed everything.

He followed her movements like a wolf would watch its latest meal, his entire attention drawn towards that one figure amongst the small crowd of people. He faintly recognized Riley slipping close to her to hand her something but so intent upon his prey was he in this one moment it didn't register. Suddenly a tiny flame ignited from the young man's hand and the object she held erupted in brilliant sparkling light. Such a thing would have thrown most people off but Sarthas? No he welcomed the radiance as it illuminated the woman who had become so very interesting. The light from the firework danced across her features and even from his distance the predator memorized every last detail. That terrible smile widened to reveal the flash of teeth as words slipped from his lips dripping in the most disgusting of tones.

“Here kitty kitty...come out and play.”

Those words were caught on Nature's icy breath and carried down toward the small group. The monster straightened leaning from the tree taking a single step forward, but no more. It was almost a tease as if he were taunting her with the gesture. Weather she heard his words and turned to see him or not, it made little difference to this man of shadows, for he was playing his game now. And he was very good.....at his game.

The dying day gave way to the onslaught of night. Like most creatures who roamed in the evening hours, she appeared as the light sank beneath the horizon and the sky turned dark, littered with the twinkles of stars. She appeared as a black silhoutte, standing just outside the school grounds. Small frame enwrapt within the long ebony cloak which hid the delicate form beneath the billowing cowl. The hood pulled up to cover her head so only a faint hint of the pale ivory flesh of her face would be visible.


Pupiless eyes watched with interest as the explosions quieted any chirp or hoot of the night birds and an array of manmade lights bursted into colors overhead. A faint smile touched the bowlike mouth. "Fireworks..." she mumbled to herself. It had been ages ago since she had witnessed such a delightful sight. From the corner of her periphreal vision she noted the slow invasion of other forms as they began to appear.


Each one making the trek towards the source of the entertainment. She dared to move closer with bare feet quieting her approach. A short distance from the small gathering she paused to watch the next stage of tinted hues saturate their pigments against the black canvas of the sky. Gaze turned back to the bantering of the group as whoops and hollers seemed to accentuate the event.


A few steps drew her near, but falling short of actually joining the festivites as she lowered her body to kneel upon the ground. Pulling the fabric of the cloak around her snuggley. The hood falling back as she lifted the pixie like features to the skies. A look of wonderment afixed upon her visage with childlike awe. Inspired by the merriment of the celebration of lights and sounds.

Before she knew what was even going on around her, Aliah found herself already the target of two questions, one of them even answered for her before the words could form upon her own lips. Normally the quick-witted one with a tongue that could sharpen steel, the girl knew that she wasn’t bringing her best game on any level tonight. A long trip, a short good-bye, and a dark tunnel that was her future lay in front of her. This place and this evening was like a little taste of home. Hopefully, it was just what she needed to find a way to sync into the life offered before her.

“Beat me to the punch,” she said to the one that was obviously running the impromptu show, firing off something of a courtesy nod to Riley, her encounter with the young man in the Registration Office still fresh on Aliah’s mind from earlier in the day. She’d just been trying to talk down the brute of a newcomer that was Garen and get on with her own day. In a way, her interests there had been allied with Riley’s perfectly – both of them just wanted to be free of stress and someone hassling them for no reason. In her mind, Garen was the problem. Sure, she didn’t handle it perfectly, but she was cautiously optimistic that Riley wouldn’t have a target painted on her head or back forever.

“And I hail from the far away, mystical land of Room M of the female wing,” she said, the fireworks popping in the sky serving to create a momentary light on the crooked grin sitting on her face for a few seconds. She didn’t feel right in this place yet, but she wasn’t the type to sit in the shadows and wait for someone else to drag her along. If there was a story to be written about her, she wanted to be a main character or at least have a say in it all.

She was fairly aware of the others roaming about in the open area. Most of them were…different. Aliah knew that, for all intents and purposes, she appeared the absolute picture of normalcy in a place that looked upon normalcy as a genetic defect. A weakness. They wouldn’t be able to sense vampiric bloodlust or a lycan draw to the light of the moon.

Then again, they wouldn’t be able to sense fear, either.

“Well, you’re a bona fide Uncle Sam for the rest of the night, but I guess I could settle for a name like Gunnar once all the gunpowder’s gone and the dust is settled,” She said to the one who’d responded to her comment about chasing down all the fires. “And since I’ve already made a fool of myself one too many times for one day, I’m just going to sit right here and hope you don’t blow yourself up. Or maybe I want you to so I look better by comparison. Either way, should be a good show.”

Setting her hands on her hips, she studied the young man for an instant before her attention was stolen by another cracking light in the sky.

“Aliah?” he repeated, glancing from speaker of the name to the woman that it labeled. “Well, it’s nice to meet yah,” he added as he stopped in front of the girl. When she seemed to not notice his hand extended towards her for an old-fashioned handshake, he let the limb fall back to its place at his side, trying to play it off as if he hadn’t ever tried. Pushing a laugh through his lips, he waved his hand to dismiss her joking answer, “I mean, where’re yah from originally. Home town and such. ‘Cause I doubt yah’ve been living at this school all yer life since I’ve never seen hide nor hair of yah before tonight.” A smile perched itself on the lips of his weathered face, the wrinkles etch in his skin appearing as dark canyons in a desert landscape as the fireworks flashed overhead. In that flickering, inconstant light, Gunnar looked older, aged beyond his years. “Uncle Sam, huh? Guessin’ yer definitely an American girl,” he laughed as she stood with her hands on her hips.

Glancing over the young lady’s shoulder, he saw another silent shadow moving in the distance to settle on the grass. Gunnar didn’t have a problem with a quiet observer, though he couldn’t help but think she looked awful small to be out on her own. But he’d heard of fae creatures that looked like children while in truth they were centuries old, even run across a few in his years, and he wouldn’t put it pass Caislin Hallows to be housing one or two such creatures.

“What, what’re yah givin’ ‘er, Riley?” asked the ex-ranch hand as he twisted around to see the boy pass a shaft to Neit’s hand. “This ain’t gonna end well,” muttered the man under his breath. Gunnar winced when the sparkler ignited, spritzing sparks from the tip. “Riley, c’mon, don’t torture the poor girl. She looks scared tah death of it.” He stepped away from Ailiah and approached Neit. “Y’know, Miss, if yah want to get ‘im back, just try touchin’ ‘im with it,” he suggested with a gesture towards the mischievous boy.

The man’s way of speaking, mixed with the age that seemed plastered onto an undeserving face, made this Gunnar something of an intriguing figure to Aliah. Oddities and unique circumstances were her favorite situations – so long as she could eventually crack the armor and get to the core of the matter. Every question deserved an answer, every mystery an explanation. In her mind, the world was a very simple place once one took the time study it. This one, she thought to her herself, seemed a new and complicated subject all in his own right.

”I’m trying to remember the last place that I actually called home,” the girl responded for a moment, dropping down onto her backside on the grass and hugging legs against her chest for a few seconds. This was the first time that she’d had any sort of conversation that didn’t involve registration forms or threats of physical violence since she’d arrived. She was still a long way from being relaxed, but it was a good start.

”My father was in the military, so we moved around more than I could keep track of. Went to five different high schools before it was all said and done, including a four month stint of what you can almost barely call being homeschooled.” The girl shifted slightly, watching as a small burst of wind swept by them for a moment, carrying a few loose blades of grass up from around her feet. ”Anyway, last and longest stop was Great Falls, Montana. Or Malmstrom Air Force Base if you want to get technical.”

Absentmindedly, the girl began to trace invisible lines in the air around her, eye bright eyes following them as if some sort of unseen light trailed her fingers. She was used to asking questions, not talking about herself like this.

With most of his attention span focused on the girl who held a sparkler in her hand, he was could not look over to see what the new arrival was mentioning or even saying. Besides what little attention span he had left was sent searching around from the voice he heard before. Where the hell was that man. It was not as if Riley was out to kill Sarthas, he really did not have that much beef with him. Let by-gones be by-gones. He knew the man was one step from crazy, twice steps from a confused homicidal maniac but it was not as if Riley could not relate in some way. War and poverty twist people to do things a sane person would never even dream of. The rich always get richer, and the poor just get used. If Sarthas's upbringing was a result of man's common stance on bending the rules of nature in favor of a weapon, then Riley could understand that on some level of degree. Riley knew that the way Sarthas moved was unnatural, and the man just didn't goto night school to learn those kinds of suicidal risks.

Turning most of his focus back to Neit, he motioned her to continue to hold it. "All the sparkler does is fizzle and sparkle. It won't blow up in yer hand, nor will it try to hurt you as long as you hold it correctly." Watching the sparkler nearing the end of it's path, it started to spit and fizzle from the lack of explosive chemical mix to make the sparkler emit such a glow. "See, it won't even touch your hand unless you hold it where the sparkler trail is." Smiling once again to the girl, he would attempt to take the expended sparkler from Neit if she allowed him so... throwing it in a small pile that was hopefully considered trash. "Wanna try that again?" Just because someone is confused, doesn't mean they don't want to give it a whirl on the second try. Pulling out two punk-like sticks, he motioned her forward saying. "You can put one in each hand and run around if you like." Sparklers were an excellent source of light.

It was rather obscure to why Riley was being so nice to this one individual. Normally he would pick up and grab more fireworks for himself and continue to shoot them off until there were none. He would also experiment with multiple kinds of fireworks on one fuse, possibly tying up an army man full off chopped bottle rockets just to see the army man twirl in mid air. But he felt a pang to the younger, much more innocent girls at Caislin Hallows. It was as if previous events start to bleed over into his personality, causing him to question his own mortality of who the real personality of Riley... is... But before he could question that and try to figure out if he really heard Sarthas, a familiar man's voice echoed over his threshold of hearing. “Y’know, Miss, if yah want to get ‘im back, just try touchin’ ‘im with it,” Chuckling lightly, Riley merely shook his head by saying "Instead, why not go try to give people your other sparkler and mingle a bit Neit?" And with that, if Neit was at least one more sparkler punk, he would light the end of it and send Neit on her way. If not, he would allow her to figure out if she wanted to continue to play with the sparklers... or any other fireworks that were nearby.

Standing up, he knocked off a few more straw pieces and nodded to Aliah of where she came from. He had heard of the place where she was from, but he never got the chance to visit. It didn't surprise him that the girl was an Army brat, given the way she moved and talked, so it helped to fill a few pieces of her. Once more, having a dossier of the people who live nearby become useful tools and bargaining chips later in life. Picking up another balled-shell for his cannon, he lit the fuse and dropped another ball into the tube, this time letting the PHOOOMMMPPP call for the warning... sending the firework up into the sky and lighting the night air with a nice crystallized explosion. "Huh, that looks like a football..." Gunnar didn't skimp out on buying the good stuff.

The loud sound of another firework as it shattered the night sky filling it with brilliance and curious shapes made the man twitch ever so slightly. But he did not give up his prize so easily. His eyes were focused on that single figure, that one woman in a sea of deep green beneath a sky flashing with newly blooming light. He was vaguely aware of another joining the party, a shadow not so unlike his own but unlike him that shadow clung to the edge of the forest trees as one would cling to mother seeking protection. In his shadow there was no safety or promise of any protection. No, in his shadow there was only the inky blackness of evil, the fathomless depths of sorrow and beyond a raging river of hatred. Again her eyes had found his darkness yet this time, she took a step toward him. That awful smile seemed to crack his already twisted features as it split across his face. Once more his words found freedom in the cold night air around him. A gentle breeze beat a slow rhythm against his figure from beyond to carry those tainted verses to her sensitive ears. “Can you feel it? Does it call to you from the shadows?”

His words were barely a whisper beneath his breath as he closed his eyes, taking in the scent of the air around him. Gunpowder mixed with the taint of sweat and something else. His eyes opened once more, a terrible void of life and light in their depths. They found her again, those eyes. It was almost as if he need not see to find her. As if he were looking through her into the very depths of her soul. She took another step. He could almost feel her anxiety and the battle of wills within as she fought against her own curious nature. Again she drew toward him yet stopped at last, uncertainty playing over her figure as her attention was drawn to another source. The small feline figure came to her side, its body blocking her progress as if it were intent on keeping her away from the shadows that called her name so insistently. But it was too late, she had drawn the attention of the monsters that dwell within that darkness.

The dark man took another step forward to the very edge of the tree's shadow as it curved off to the side. Slowly, he lifted his arm, his hand breaking the plane of the swirling shadow. The poor light of the stars and moon fell upon the creature's skin to reveal its pale and deathly nature. He held it there, palm extended outward as if offering it to the conflicted cat like woman who would dare look for what lay beyond the vale of darkness.

“Come play with me....”

There was evil in that tone.

“...and I promise you”

It dripped with sweet poison

“...It will be enjoyable...”

The digits of his extended hand curled to leave a single finger which beckoned her in the direction of his fortress of night. At last he spoke his final words. These two words screamed danger, they bleed horror, they cried out in a chorus in despair but most of all, they promised that no matter what her choice, her life was about to be anything....but boring.


“For me.”

Gunnar’s grin waned into a soft, sympathetic smile when the girl mentioned her difficulty recalling home. Despite spending months at a time on the range, working either of his professions, Gunnar knew where home was. Home was where it had always been—his parent’s cozy rancher back in… “Montana?” he repeated, his eyebrows hopping higher than a hare when a coyote’s jaws clamped down on its tail. “Well I’ll be,” he muttered with a laugh. Gunnar slapped his thigh, a crack filling the air since there weren’t any fireworks crackling overhead. The only sound, besides the two conversations, was a soft whimper of wind and the sizzle of the sparkler Riley had given Neit.

“I’m from Montana, born and raised,” he explained at last with a shake of his head. “Just some backwater town out in the boonies.” He kept smiling as he looked at her. Before Gunnar could continue the conversation with the cute girl, the explosion of whatever Riley had just sent up interrupted. For a second, Caislin Hallows was lit up as bright as day despite the hour. Even after the firework had faded, leaving a wispy ghost of smoke to haunt the sky, Gunnar saw colors sparkling in his eyes. “Sheesh! Boy, yer finding stuff I didn’t know I bought. Maybe they got the order mixed up. Seems to be workin’ out in our favor though. Pity whoever’s got less than they bargained for though.” Gunnar gave a shrug.

When he saw Riley lifting what looked like clear cut ordinances from the crate, Gunnar’s eyes widened. Should he really trust the upstart with explosives that could probably blow more than a few fingers off if something went wrong? For a second, Gunnar glanced over the gathered people. His gaze stopped at Aliah after passing over everyone else. “Yah said yah can put out fires, but how good’re yah at healing burns or worse, miss?” he asked, nodding his head to the potential disaster.

Dark eyes flitted from the colorful explosions in the sky to the small crowd around the crate. The childlike smile softened into the remanence of a faint one. Keen hearing picked up every conversation. The one who was overly excited about the array of fireworks. The semblance of a cowboy trading words with the military brat. Another girl that wandered from the group towards the edge of the woods.


A haunting whisper of words that carried on the nights breeze, enticing the girl to continue her trek into the darkness. A curious look as she strained to make out the words but to no avail. Gaze narrowed down on the feline who strived to stop the lass and once again the smile brightened. In this life, Bruxa had found animals to be the one constant reminder of her former self.


Attention was drawn back to the heavens as another heavy sound foretold of more fireworks dancing overhead. The grasp on her cloak loosened as she became more relaxed within the situation. Thin fabric falling open, exposing the petite frame beneath. Bustier top hugging her torso like a well worn glove. Legs hidden beneath the black gauzy material of a long skirt that only left her bare feet in view. Hands fell behind her to plant the palms of her hands into the thick tufted grass just behind those narrow hips.


Leaning with a gentle arch of her back so her face was perpendicular to the bursts of colors overhead. Ebony mane with the streak of fiery red tresses cascading down her back with the new position. Delicate features showed the rapt attention and deep emotion caused by the sight of something extraordinary as the fireworks continued to light up the darkness of night like some surreal multi color strobe light.

Aliah Valdean was drinking in the situation and, as much as she hated to admit it, actually starting to enjoy herself a little bit. It was her first time to see some of the others just act as they were, have fun with each other and not confine themselve to some official position or act as though there some all-seeing power was watching and dictating their every move. Not that she'd spoken to any of them but Gunnar, but at least it was a start.

"Well then, it's good to know that at least two good things have come out of Montana," she replied with a smile, her attention turning to Riley, who seemed to have earned the watch of several pairs of eyes at this point. Gunnar seemed particularly interested, although Aliah wasn't entirely sure just how seriously to take the man's question about being able to deal with injuries. The fireworks seemed real enough, though.

"Never counted myself to be much of a healer on any level aside that usual first-aid, but that's part of point of being here, I guess." One more look at Riley and Aliah decided that maybe she should start to take things just a little more seriously than usual. "I'm more inclined to put out the fires before they get where they are going. Don't worry," she said while stepping closer to Gunnar with a daring smirk playing upon her lips, "I'll protect you if the big bad flames get too close."

Everyone was so paranoid that Riley was some five year old child when it came to fireworks. Yeah, he loved to play with fire. But he also liked to take small propane canisters filled to the brim and ductape nails around it for a makeshift anti-personnel mine without a detonator. That was fun, but required a much more delicate hand. Even if Riley seemed very easy going around all the explosives, he would handle each item with care. He was stationed some 15 to 20 feet away from the main crate of firewerks, making sure the ground was damp where he situated himself. He aimed the cannon away from the crates, even pushing the straw away to make sure that the ball's expended sparks wouldn't catch them alight. So it was not as if he was childish around the explosives, he was just more comfortable around things that went boom. This began to show much more appropriately when he started to grab the last ball in his 'cannon box set' reading the label around the ball as a 'Big Whammy'.

Oo rah'

He had let Neit to her devices when she seemed to be more distracted about other things in the Forest than himself. It was not as if he was not worried that there was a chance that the crazy beasts of the night would want to come out to play. He could at least sense that they were being watched. Call it instinct, but he just knew that there was something out there, something being plural, that made his skin crawl as he set up his cannon for a final explosion. It didn't take a shaman to tell him that there was trouble a-foot. He just didn't care at the present time. As long as they remained watchful eyes, he was not going to intervene. Besides, this was not his Forest. He had no right to barge in uninvited, unless he needed time to himself or there was something that would cause danger.

He kept his eyes on Neit though, as she tried to wander towards the Forest's edge. She was not his responsibility, what so ever, he was just felt that her going over there meant the fact that she would probably get herself into trouble. He would just rather avoid it if he could, but he wasn't going to lash out and stop her if she took off running towards the tree line.

Speaking of darting eyes, he had looked up to catch the watchful gaze of Aliah while he was setting up his firetrap. Just as he was about to light the match, he realized that he was the only one shooting things off at this point. No sense letting himself take all the fun. He had to share at least a little bit. Placing the explosive back into the cardboard box, he would go back towards the crate to fish out more fireworks. Finding a few fire tails, several boxes of bottle rockets, he fished out several packages of 5-10 shot roman candles. Ripping open the package, he took three in one hand as he walked over to Gunnar and Aliah.

"Catch!" He would yell, tossing an UNLIT roman candle to both Aliah and Gunnar. Holding his own in his hand, he pulled out a lighter and stepped near the possible coupling moment. "Dig out your fuses, and I will let you guys have a go at shooting these off.". Holding his roman candle away from his body, he pointed it towards the night sky and waited patiently for both of them to dig out their fuses. If they gave him the okay, he would light all three of their roman candles at once, then pointing his stick into the sky. "This is going to be cool." He would ONLY light the roman candles if he got both Gunnar and Aliah to agree to do it with him and walk a bit aways from the firework crates.

IF the roman candles were lit, he would smile as the tiny repeated phoomps would light the sky. Little flares would flash across the horizon, if the roman candles were lit, lighting up the entire area with nice multi-colored glows.

The creature held there a moment, his hand extended in an offering that could only grant suffering. But as easily as that offer had been made, it was withdrawn. The screams of a little girl in the back of his mind tempered the darkness molding it and giving it direction. Slowly the hand lowered, returning to its bastion of shadows as what was once a man nodded ever so slightly toward the curious cat like figure. She had not spoken a word and yet she had answered his call with her eyes. Those strange golden hews told of life and a future that had yet to be written. He was the evil that took that future, he was the darkness that devoured the light and left only sorrow in his wake and yet.... The awful smile on the creature's pale lips faded ever so slightly. And yet tonight he would listen to another voice, a voice that had grown so faint and distant that it was difficult to hear its words over the storm of shadow that ravaged his soul. But listen he did, for he had once been a man and he remembered a time long ago when those golden hews that looked on towards his darkness had been the eyes of another young woman, a woman he could not save.

Taking a single step back, the evil retreated ever so slightly, his face still marred by the smile on his lips though it was less pronounced. As if the thing were diluted in some strange way. Slowly the shadow turned from the inquisitive eyes of the woman and began to walk around the tree, but before he vanished from sight entirely, he paused a moment turning his eyes back toward the party and the woman who had strayed from its shelter. “Curiosity killed the cat.” No sooner had the words slipped from his dead lips in a quiet whisper than he was gone.

Darting from tree to tree, keeping to the shadows to which he had always felt so comfortable the man skirted the large grass field that surrounded the castle's grounds. Once on the opposite side of the school that the celebration was taking place, the man shot forward. He moved with a blinding speed, far quicker than any human could ever dream of moving. It was something befitting the monster he had become, only blur of motion to signal his passing. At last he arrived at his destination, the courtyard of the front entrance itself. There upon the ground lay a blot of blackness where there should only have been cold stone. Slowly, he traversed the distance to the object, reaching down to lift it from the earth. The empty vessels of his eyes blended with the inky darkness of the cloth he held. It felt warm to him, almost as if it were welcoming him like an old friend. Slipping the cowl back in place, the darkness engulfed his features as if it were devouring his very flesh. And perhaps considering the meaning behind the thing, this strange idea was not so far from the truth.

As the fireworks continued, their brilliant light caught the reflection of something from the corner of his eye. The shallow smile that had lingered on his lips from his encounter with the cat like woman stretched a bit more. As if only the sight of the thing had bought him comfort in a sadistic way. Quickly he moved to the knife and lifted it from its place on the stone. The blade was scratched and flawed much like he appeared. His clothing had been torn and sewn so many times now that it seemed more stitches than cloth. His face had its own lines and its own wounds but perhaps the most horrifying wounds of all were those that could not be seen, those in his mind....and those in his soul. He was no longer a whole man, he was only part of what he had once been...a part of a human that had once existed. He was a patchwork man, sewn back together again over and over. He had bled so many times and so often that he now had no blood left to give. He was a memory and one best left forgotten.

Glancing back at the castle the man felt a mixture of untamed rage and bitterness. She was still there, within the walls and protected by her own devices. He could do nothing to break her hold over him, for it was she that tore him from hell's grip. The sounds of voices in the distance brought his eyes back to the warmth of the celebration far in the distance. There was the hint of longing somewhere in the depths of his soul but it was only a hint and only for a moment. As if the feeling was a distant memory of what might have been. Turning his back to the gathering of students a lifetime away, he quickly set off toward the forest trees and the shadows that lived within. The man vanished without a trace to speak of, not a print upon the earth or a whisper of sound in his passing.

Back in the courtyard the glint of steel is seen. A matching blade to the one taken, only this one was abandoned and left to its fate at the feet of the school's massive stone walls. It was not left there unintentionally, for the dark man never did anything without intention. It was a memento, a prize if you will for any who wished to lay claim to it. Ailis's had won her victory, but it was only a single battle in a greater war and when the time came he would be the one to bring her to her knees, of that he was certain. And that blade? Perhaps it was more than a gift. It might also have been a hint of something else. A hint that in time he would return if for nothing but to reclaim all that was his. If that were true, god have mercy on the souls of those who stood in his way....for he would not.

Exit Thread

A smirk tugged at the corner of Gunnar’s thin lips when Aliah teased him. “Not muh-self that I’m worried ‘bout, it’s the boy over yonder,” explained the older man, nodding towards Riley. So far the younger man had proved his pyrotechnic skills sufficient to handle everything he’d managed to uncover from the straw in the crate, but Gunnar wondered how long that would last. Just in case things went awry, it was best to have a back-up plan in mind. And when explosives were involved, it was doubly important to have all your bases covered. Glancing over the girl, Gunnar decided to put his faith in her abilities to quench any blaze the boy might inadvertently cause. As for healing, it looked like he himself would have to be in charge of that, if it came to it. Having come to his conclusion, Gunnar gave a light nod as if ending a discussion with himself, and turned to Riley’s call of “Catch!”

With a gunslinger’s reflexes, the older man snatched the rod out of the air. His calloused fingers closed around the smooth, waxy cylinder. “Definitely don’t remember buyin’ these,” he muttered, arching a bushy eyebrow as he inspected the roman candle. Twirling the shaft in his fingers, he dug out the fuse with his other hand. “Here.” He held the wick out to Riley as he brandished the lighter, a flickering flame atop it, once Gunnar had joined the other two a few steps farther from the stash of explosives.

After it had been lit, the strand hissed as if it was a yanked zipper. When the sparks sputtered up into the rod, Gunnar tightened his grip on it in anticipation. An orb burst from the end of the pipe and shot up into the sky. It sizzled like a thick steak on the grill. When Gunnar closed his eyes, he could envision the slab of beef spanning the grating, hot coals glowing beneath it, and smoke heavy with the scent of the meat drifting upward and dispersing on a gentle, summer breeze. It reminded him of his home more than an ocean away.

The brilliance of another barrage of bright lights shooting upwards broke Gunnar’s daydream as the glow seeped through his closed eyelids. Opening his eyes, he looked up at the fireworks in the sky, casting their light across the lawn. In the distance, he could see the school lit by the sporadic flares. The structure stood taller than any building in his home town. Pennants surmounting each tower flapped in the wind, as if they were the castle’s hands, shaking angrily at the sky that reached farther than it could ever try. As the three orbs of light sunk in the sky, Gunnar watched the shadows trickling across the stone walls of the castle like crude. The darkness seeped into the cracks of the masonry, pooling where light couldn’t evaporate it. That building was his home now. Or it was until he decided to take a trip back across the pond.