In Caera, it was not uncommon for villains to rise from nowhere and
attempt to take over or destroy a kingdom, or the world, or even the
universe.

As such, it was also not uncommon for a hero or heroes to set out on a
quest to stop the villain from taking over or destroying said kingdom,
world, or universe.

Inevitably, the heroes would manage to thwart the villain, usually
killing said villain in the process.

Such was the story of the heroes Julian Kestrel and Arica Llewellyn.
The evil mage Brandomere, in his quest for power, had destroyed Julian
and Arica's home village of Donnell's Lake, killing Julian's father 
and Arica's entire family in the process.  Julian and Arica had 
quested for over a year (which was quite a long time for any quest in 
Caera), finally tracking down Brandomere.  Brandomere had mistaken 
them for assassins, rather than the vengeance-seeking heroes they 
actually were, and offered them positions of power in his army (with a
fairly nice salary, at that).

Of course, being heroes, they refused and thwarted him.  With a gaping
sword wound to the chest, no less.

Brandomere was not happy.  Especially when his precious castle,
Grimstone Keep, fell on top of him.  And as it collapsed, Brandomere's
chest wound, and his fate, was sealed...

...one would think.

=======================================

Indie Madnesse presents:

Saving The World Again

Story started by Thomas Wilde

This chapter by Larry Alton "t.ogre" Garrett

Chapter 15: You didn't think it was over, did you? (INSERT DISC 2)

=======================================

The temple of Rothschild Damane stood empty.  Braziers lit the 
clearing as the sun slowly fell from the sky and the gloomy darkness 
became even more gloomy and dark.  In fact, it became more than gloomy
and dark -- it became foreboding.

A sibilant whisper emanated from the darkness beyond the ambient light
provided by the braziers.

>he has failed us.  as so many before have failed us.  failure is no
longer an option.<

The voice seemed to pause briefly before beginning an incantation in a
guttural, animalistic voice, a voice that recalled the bleating of
sheep, a voice that recalled the growling of mountain lions as they
devoured those sheep, a voice that recalled the fury of the great bear
as he fought off the mountain lions attacking him, and underneath it
all, a voice that recalled the cold indifference of man as he used his
weapons to destroy the great bear.

The voice rose and twisted into the howling of coyotes and the screams
of the dying as three shimmering forms came into view in front of the
braziers.

*-----*-----*

Davydd Fenwilde caressed the wood as he continued to shape it.

He knew that there was nothing that could compare with the grace and
power of a well-made longbow.  Granted, the longbow may not be as easy
to use as the CROSSBOW, but it took a special man, one who was willing
to dedicate his entire life to master the longbow.  And Davydd knew
that he was not a master, but he also knew he was one of the best
available.

He smiled and caressed the wood again.

*-----*-----*

Rothschild Damane was confused.

This wasn't anything like what he expected death to be.  In fact, come
to think of it, after suffering through that procedure and having all
that metal integrated into his body, he hadn't expected to die.

Come to think of it, according to the prophecies, he wasn't supposed 
to die. In fact, according to the prophecies, the only one who should
have been able to stop him was the boy Tyler.  But Tyler was dead and
buried.

So who the hell were these people, coming into the cavern and mucking
up his well-laid plans for world domination?  And thwarting his 
masters in the process?

They were *not* going to be happy about this.

Damane rose up out of his body and followed the group as they fled to
the surface.  He bypassed and observed them as they came out of the
manhole, one-by-one.  Mage.  Barbarian.  Little girl with a furball.  
A pirate woman.  A scholar.

The last two looked familiar.  Damane thought for a moment then 
realized where he had seen them before.  They were the ones whose 
castle was destroyed when he killed Tyler.

Those meddling heroes.

And as Damane ground his ethereal teeth in rage, the scene before him
began to fade to white.

*-----*-----*

Within the rubble of Grimstone Keep, something stirred.

This stirring was something that would have been mistaken by a person
for settling of the rubble, or minor loss of structural integrity, or
inertial dissolution into the arms of chaos, or stuff finally giving 
up the ghost (no pun intended), or maybe just rats scampering.  Just 
one of those strange noises that occurs in the middle of the night for
no apparent reason, and seems to be more common in places where there 
has been a collapse or any other relative instability of sorts.

But the trained observer, that is, one who has been tutored in the 
proper arts of observation and those arts involved in the stirring, 
would have recognized this as a definite stirring, if he had been 
there, but, alas, those that were trained in this particular style of
observation were not currently available to observe, so there was
nobody there to observe the stirring and record that it was, most 
assuredly, a stirring.

And as this stirring occurred, a pile of rubble collapsed, dropping
about fourteen inches.

Then all was silence.

*-----*-----*

On the other side of the continent, within the rubble of a 2500-year-
old civilization, the exact same stirring occurred at the exact same 
moment.

And, as before, there was no trained observer to observe the stirring.

*-----*-----*

The party stood around the professor and the hulking mass of flesh and
metal formerly known as Mecha-Damane. The professor sighed as he stood
up from where he had been kneeling, shaking his head and muttering to
himself.

"What is it?" inquired Aquila.

"It's the corpse of a large man that appears to have body parts
consisting of metal, but that's not important right now," replied the
professor.

As Aquila blinked and attempted to assimilate that answer, the 
professor pointed out a seam in the metal to Harold. "You see?  I 
didn't think this was possible."

Harold looked at the seam in question, cocked an eyebrow, removed his
glasses (the fact that Harold wore glasses has thus far in the story
never been mentioned, nor has it been mentioned that Harold looked
remarkably like a chicken, with a permanent look of surprise plastered
on his face, coupled with a rather unappealingly extended proboscis, 
but such is unfortunately the case, and now that these two
items have been mentioned in this rather conspicuous aside, back to 
his actions) and cleaned them on his lab coat, then put them back on 
and gazed closely at the seam in question once again.  "Remarkable," 
he commented. "Absolutely incred-the hell?"

The professor chuckled.  "Exactly as I assumed.  Nothing we did in the
lab when we attempted to create my Half-Mechanical Half-Organic 
Guardian Creature Designed To Inspire Terror In Those Who Choose To 
Question My Knowledge And Abilities even compares to this.  I have 
only seen reference to this once before, and that is in the histories 
of Ort I have procured prior to now."

"So how was this done, professor?" asked Darrow, now intrigued to find
out that the texts he currently held were rapidly gaining value.

*-----*-----*

In the makeshift temple of Rothschild Damane, the howling song 
plummeted from its heights of terror into a dark chanting.

The three shimmering forms began to merge.

*-----*-----*

Mewly stopped.

Catherine, who was chasing Mewly around, was unable to stop herself in
time and tripped, falling right on top of Mewly.

Mewly didn't even notice.

In fact, the only thing Mewly noticed was a reverberation inside 
itself that it hadn't felt in a very long time.

2500 years, in fact.

It felt wrong somehow, as if it wasn't the same as it had been 2500
years ago.

But then again, it *had* been 2500 years since the last time.

Maybe something had changed.

Catherine got up.  "Mewly?  Why'd you stop?"

Now that Catherine had started to get up, Mewly had started scampering
back toward the Aqua Terror.

Catherine stood and brushed herself off before noticing Mewly was
heading back the way they came.  "Mewly!  Wait!"

*-----*-----*

"Explain that to me again, professor.  I'm not sure I understand,"
Julian stated.

"The process is referred to in the history books as 'sprite editing.'
Apparently the scientists of Ort found a way to manipulate the basic
atomic codes of the body in such a manner that it would literally 
cause parts of the body to simply change from one material to 
another," explained the professor.

"So what you're saying is that the Ortians understood *and applied* 
the concepts of alchemy?" Arica asked, amazed.

The professor simply, mutely nodded.

Darrow grinned and fingered the texts.

*-----*-----*

The three shimmering forms twisted themselves together in an obscenely
erotic dance as a droning basso pulse incorporated itself into the
chanting.

And as they twisted, they coalesced into an thickening ethereal mist,
red and viscous.

The mist settled to the ground and began to form a body.

An unclothed human body.

The face-down, lightly breathing body of an eight-year-old boy...

...whose chest and back were laced with an intricate tattoo of scars 
and brands.

And the laughter of a child echoed in the darkness.

*-----*-----*