You're welcome :-)

My friends told me not to go home with her. Black hair, black nails, and eyes like black pools with a bit of mud around them. "She looks like a witch dude." I told them she didn't, it's a style, and they shouldn't be so weird about it. "I don't know man. Something is different." I stepped back and told them that I've been having a rough week and I needed this. They patted me on the back and we all made up.

So, I took the girl home that night. I won't get into the dark details, but after it was all over, we started talking about life.

"My Cat went missing last week." I told her. "I haven't been eating right, and I couldn't even sleep the first few nights."

She rolled towards me and grabbed my hand so tightly that I winced.

"Do you want your cat to come back?" I looked at her strangely, then she repeated "Do you want your cat to come back?"

It was a silly question. "Of course I want my cat to come back."

"Good," she smiled. "It shall be done."

That was an odd way to phrase it.

I left that night. The clarity kicked in, and suddenly the decorations around the house began to have an effect on me: a taxidermy zebra head staring out over the bed, a strange herbal smell that threatened to put me to sleep, and a dried hand hanging next to the door that I hoped was a monkey's.

The next day, Stanley came back. He looked like he'd been staying at the Ritz Carlton instead of on the streets. His fur was perfect, and he seemed better than ever. That was the best day that I'd had in a long time.

So you'd think when he came back for the second time, I'd have been equally elated. Instead, I was confused. He looked the same as Stanley and acted the same as Stanley, but there was doubt in my mind, so I laughed and posted it on social media as some cosmic coincidence.

Then, on the third day, coincidence seemed impossible, and instead, I found my mind drifting back to the words of the girl. Maybe she'd done something.

Today is day 11, and I've been searching for her for days. I told my manager that I was in a car accident, and I've burned through all of my sick days and started to cut into my PTO. The bus I took to get to her apartment and the bus I took to get home both went through different neighborhoods. I found the building I went into, but even after asking every tenant I could find, nobody seemed to know her.

I don't know which Stanley is real, or if any of them are, but I'm running out of space, cat food, and time.

I need to find that witch.

^ the human condition

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[removed]

"So, what's the big idea?"

I snapped out of my star-filled stupor enough to recognize that Speedster, the actual Speedster, was talking to me.

"Uh, holy shit. Sorry. But, uh, what do you mean?"

"This is your package, yeah?"

I double check the address, and the name. Sure enough, it's my package. "Uh, yeah."

"And you made this order at 11:55pm?"

Weird line of questioning, but whatever. "I only made it a few minutes ago, yeah."

"And you requested same-day delivery?"

This is kinda weird. Is he mad? "Yeah, came free with the purchase."

"So... what's the big idea?!"

Oh, he is mad. Why is he mad? "I...needed this package?"

"You needed this package? You needed it enough to send some boys from out-of-state to deliver it? In five minutes?!"

I chew on the words for a moment. Does he...think I expected this package tonight? Did the delivery guys think so?

"What, got nothing to say for yourself?

Surely not. Surely this is just a misunderstanding. "Look, I don't know if I've said something to offend you, Speedster, sir. I just..."

"You've offended me by expecting a delivery in five minutes across state lines! You've...!"

Speedster carries on for a few moments, but brain tunes him out as I make a horrible connection. I don't want to believe it. And maybe it's not completely true. Maybe this is just a weak point; after all it is two past midnight and the Speedster is only human... presumably. But still, a seed of a question is planted, perhaps ruining the visage of my favorite super hero ever:

Is Speedster actually an idiot?

I hold up a hand to stop Speedster, interrupting. "Sorry, Speedster. I think I see what's going on now. You've assumed, I'm guessing, that I was expecting this package tonight, as in, before midnight. And, I'm thankful to you for doing so, it is a big help. But that's not the case. I was expecting this by the end of day tomorrow. Er, today. Whatever. I wanted this package expedited, but I know how this stuff generally works. I'm not an idiot, I know it's a long way from the shop to here."

The Speedster looked flummoxed for a moment, before looking stoically embarrassed. "Well...it's still a trip those poor workers have to take. They don't get paid nearly enough for something like that!"

"Then it sounds like you're talking to the wrong guy. I'd be more than willing to pay extra if it meant the delivery folks got paid better, and before you said something, I assumed they were paid well."

Speedster seemed to open his mouth to say something, before closing it in embarrassment.

"Listen, I'm not about to say anything about our conversation. I don't need that in my life, and honestly, I'm a huge fan. I just would like to ask for one small favor..."

Speedster looked me over, before giving a sigh. "And what might that be?"

"Could I get a selfie? No one will ever believe that I met the Speedster if I didn't!"

Just want to make a note real quick: I feel this is a kinda cliche scenario (I say after writting it out) and wanted to keep the story somewhat vague so that it fits a larger profile of people and hopefully is enjoyed by them. Anyways, to the story now, there's more rambling at the bottom if ya care to see.

A skeletal hand holds out a deeply stained bowl filled with a dark iridescent liquid, waiting for the person to accept.

"I don't get it. I just... how, WHY can't I forget? I feel like I've drank a thousand of these things and I haven't forgotten!"

"Close, Eight hundred eighty-"

"-I don't care about the actual number! I just... It's only been you and me, for what, weeks, months, years?! Don't answer that. I just, I can't understand why I'm so... unable to forget."

"Your soul cannot rein-"

"-incarnate before it's ready, yeah yeah, I remember. But what does that mean? WHY?"

"Your soul needs accept what was, and what might be, in order to move on to the next life. Yours is not ready to move on."

"Accept what, exactly? That my life has been a living hell? That no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I gave, no matter how good of a person I tried to be, it was never enough?! Hell, no matter how my mind begged for a break, how my body just needed to rest, how my soul screamed for a moment of reprieve, I kept going! I would falter, I was imperfect, I made mistakes, and I get all of that. I fully understand that I'm just a person and can't realistically expect myself to be perfect or to have done everything right. I GET that. I just wanted to be someone who, no matter what, never stopped trying, who never gave up. I wanted to be someone that gave others hope, that would bear the weight of the world if it meant someone got to take a much deserved rest, to be the-"

"That is not what holds you back."

"-one who... What? I- what do you mean?"

"..."

"No... No no, don't get me started. My child and spouse have NOTHING to-"

"-Have everything to do with this."

"NO! They are EXACTLY why I need to go back, they're WHY I need to- to..."

"You cannot change what was."

The deep ambiance began to lighten and the liquid seemed to shift and shimmer for a moment before the hand pulled back.

"... Please, I just want to do right by them, they were robbed of their life far too soon, I want to live for them now! I want to begin anew so that I might get it right this time."

"You can still live for them, your time has not yet ended."

"HOW AM I SUPPOSE TO... wait, my time hasn't ended? I thought I was dead? No, I HAVE to be dead, right? There's no way my body could survive-"

"-You are worth more than you realize. Your friends arrived in time to help save you."

Faint voices are heard in the background, along with some shuffling around.

"They... But why? I- I wasn't that great of a friend. We just hung out sometimes, occasionally helped each other out-"

"-Found joy in the dullest of times, found comfort with each other when the world was painful, formed unbreakable bonds through trial and error. Whether you believe it or not, they want you back, and are worried. They've visited nearly every day to check on you."

"But... My kid, my-"

The ambiance becomes nearly white and grows in noise.

"-They will be waiting for you in the next life, but for now, you must live this one. It's time to wake up, they're waiting for you."

"... Thank you..."

The persons eyes slowly open to a blurry world, followed by the exclaimation of others around them.

"How long can we keep this up? It's been what, a couple years now? I'm not sure-"

"-wait guys, shut up, look, LOOK THEY'RE WAKING UP!"

Right, so, that was my first time writting, well, pretty much anything to be honest. I've always liked the idea of creating stories, but never really brought myself to do it. I'm not sure what compelled me to write it, but I did, so uh, I hope you enjoyed? That being said I'm totally open to tips, constructive critisism, or whatever else that may help future writting. On that note, I can't say I'm well-versed with grammar or punctuation, but I tried using it in a way that -- to the best of my knowledge -- hopefully got the pauses, interruptions, etc. through in a clear way. Hopefully the way I 'transcribed' the conversation to a story wasn't too confusing for y'all, I just wanted to try and make it feel more natural/flowing. Anyways, enough rambling and worrying, I appriciate any feedback y'all might have!

[removed]

Damn this is hilariously awesome. 😎

Pt2.

"You have no idea do you?" I asked.

Number 1 cocked her head to the side and gave me a puzzled look, she herself barely noticing the fresh blood dribbling down her neck. Three blades meant any movement would cut, and she was fidgeteding like she'd just hit the nose-beers herself. Though, sadly, she was full send ADHD and never once thought it was something to work on or control, only embrace.

Not that she knew what those four letters meant, no one on this world did.

"You actually don't." I was stunned. Genuinely. Though I guess I shouldn't be, she had been twelve, maybe thirteen when I gave her the glyph. Starved, beaten, slaved and possibly worse, she'd been half feral when I'd chanced upon the wagon train that held her captive. Too young and too traumatised.

I laughed. I couldn't help it. All this time and she had no idea.

"Guards!" The King, er, Emperor... the Kingperor said with a casual, dismissive wave. "Remove the summons already and bring her to me."

"What are you laughing at asshole?" She demanded, her eyes never once leaving my face.

I laughed even harder. This crazy wench had summoned me more times than I'd had different lives, she'd called me to fight, to solve her petty squabbles or to beat someone who'd beaten her. I'd stolen, intimidated, coerced, I'd hunted and cooked, I'd even hand stitched patches into her clothes.

And this entire time she had no idea who or what I actually was.

"Ah-hah-haaa! Oh man, sorry little one, that's just too much," I finally managed to say.

"Oi, you shitty summons, I'm the master here!" Number 1 yelled. I want to say screamed, but it wasn't screaming, not yet. And she wasn't anywhere near girly enough for that anyhow. Roared would be more accurate. "I give the orders, me, Eslyn Dar! You, the summons, follow the orders, same as usual. Now help get me out of here!"

I laughed again. I couldn't help it. It was too good, and I was a little too broken by now. One hundred and... ten, or was it eleven? One hundred and eleven different lives, and then this crazy bitch summoned me hundreds of times, fracturing an already strained psyche. So I laughed, and enjoyed the hilarity I found in the situation. Worst was that I was glad the summons hadn't hurt at all, like, at all.

"YOU DARE IGNORE ME!?"

Eslyn and I both turned to look at the Kingperor, who was so red he was almost purple. His eyes were bloodshot and spittle flecked his lips and chin. The pudgy man looked apoplectic with rage.

"Hoo-boy, woo-sah my rotund friend, woo-sah!" I tried to sound calming, but mirth colored my tone and I could barely keep my hands steady as I patted at the air.

Eslyn on the other hand, took a different approach. "Shut up, beefcake."

I actually giggled at that. I'd taught her that one. And a lot of the insults she used that just confused everyone on her homeworld.

"OFF WITH HER HEAD!"

Three blades moved before the words has finished leaving the kingperors mouth and Eslyn shrieked. Full on screamed. Like she always did when she genuinely thought she might die.

Clang, clang-ang!

I don't think I'd actually stopped laughing since I started, just barely managing to get my words out, but now in the silence that billowed out in the wake of the ring of steel on stone, my laughter bounced around the wide vaulted chamber with quite dramatic effect.

"Eh!?" Eslyn flicked one eye open and peered around, then gasped in shock and squealed in delight - just like she used to do as a kid - when she saw all three men staring at the bleeding stumps where their forearms used to be. "Eat a bag of dicks, stumpy boys!"

"M-m-my men, what... what did you DO TO MY MEN!?" Kingperor started with a scared stutter, that progressed into a scared shriek. One to rival Eslyn's. Impressive. "GUARDS!"

The sound of armored feet began to echo down the halls leading into the room and Eslyn turned panicked eyes on me again, once again ignoring the now handless men who fell back toward the walls.

"GUARDS!" The Kingperor screamed again, his voice shrill and cracking.

"Oi, Kami," Eslyn said, her voice much smaller now. I giggled again. "The laughter is getting weird now. He's about to bring hundreds of soldiers in here and then we're screwed!"

The name she'd used was from one of my favourite worlds, one so devoid of magic I wondered if I'd finally found a way to cheat reincarnation. Sadly it didn't, but it's lack of magic made it fascinatingly diverse in so many unique ways. Such as their folklore, mythology and the bizarre, almost fanatic and fetishist ways subgroups of cultures embellished and twisted said culture. I'd told her it because to a twelve year old, I may as well have been God, yet here she was, still treating me like a regular old summoned pet Axehound.

Kids.

"GUARDS!" The Kingperor screamed again as dozens of heavily armored figures began spilling into the chamber. "KILL TH-"

His voice cut off so abruptly that even the soldiers still pouring in turned to look and find out why.

Clang-thud, thud-thud.

First the crown, then his knees, then finally the Kingperors head hit the marble stone floors moments before his body did too.

Clap. Giggle. Clap. Giggle. Clap.

"Well, Eslyn, you little rascal." I slung an arm over her shoulder as she stared wide eyed at me. Wider than I'd ever seen her stare, it looked like her eyes might genuinely fall right our of her face if her eyelids retreated any further. I could barely see them as it was. "Let's get out of here shall we?"

"But-" she began, one hand raised to point at the half crazed, half stunned royal guard.

Then one exploded. The concussive force blew his neighbours aside and several cried out in pain and disorientation.

"But-" Eslyn tried again.

Bang! Cla-clang, thud-thud! Bang! Bang!

"What?" My laughter seemed to have stopped, which was good, but the wide, manic smile I saw reflected in the girls eyes told me it had just retreated. The laughter didn't need to be free at the moment, not when realisation was dawning in those same glassy eyes. "No time for your oldest pal?"

Bang! Ba-bang! BangBangBangBangBangBang!

I felt like I was Rambo, or Carl, or Jon Lajoie.

Cool guys don't look at explosions.

"I'm hungry," I felt my grin get wider as we walked out of the throne room. Eslyn shook, her skin pale and clammy. "You?"

I wonder where the kitchens are?

Time for some more laughter.

And food.

Here comes Trolley Man! Look at him in his stupid outfit, the kids love it! Who puts a pantograph on their helmet? We get it, you’re a trolley! He makes ding-ding noises, he makes really forced catch phrases about public transportation, his trolley-motif armor clinks and clangs wherever he goes. He’s like a blunt force instrument, the last sort of guy you’d want involved in a delicate crisis, like a hostage situation, or a collapsing building.

And yet, despite the jokes and the worries, he gets the job done. He’ll bulldoze his way into that hostage situation, and everyone goes home safe and sound. He’ll rush into a burning building and—against all odds—get every person to safety without a scratch on them after he showed up. He’s strong, he’s calculating, he’s charismatic, and at the end of the day, he can be relied on to save the day.

They all think it’s a gimmick.

I made the name first, after the thought experiment my powers reminded me of. The costume came second, made to look like some sort of knockoff Transformers toy that could turn into a big red trolley. It was to hide my shame at what I had to do while wearing it. When people started laughing at me, I laughed right along with them, burying it all under the mask of the lovable trickster. They don’t know what I do, what I’m capable of. They don’t know that every time I “save the day”, there’s a price. And even if they suspected—it certainly doesn’t take a genius to come up with the trolley problem connection, several conspiracy forums have already gotten that part right—nobody has come close to the truth. It’s not like pushing a button, and someone, somewhere, dies.

I have to choose who I kill.

Whenever I use my power, I gain the ability to save anyone and everyone in front of me for the next five minutes. The laws of physics and causality bend to allow me to do this. People will fall from high places and I’ll always be there to catch them. Guns aimed at them will turn on me, but always seem to miss or glance off of my cheap sheet metal armor. I seem to gain super strength and super speed. I am impervious to harm until the task is done, because I can’t save anyone if I’m hurt. In those moments where I’m saving lives, the world grants me all the powers of a demigod, so long as I use them for the sake of the innocent. It’s the perfect power for a superhero.

But just like the titular thought experiment, every time I throw that switch, and gain the power to divert any and all disasters from befalling the people on the proverbial track, someone else has to die, and I condemned them. But this is where the analogy fails, because it’s not like to knock a falling pillar away from a huddled family, it has to fly into an innocent bystander. No, the doom I invite on another is far more simple and insidious. They just die.

Whenever I throw that mental switch, and my powers activate, I just have to think of any innocent person I know, and they die. They simply cease to be.

(This was the part where I was going to write that Trolley Man targets the unborn to die, but then I realized that’s me tripping right into the topic of abortion and the morality involved, and I’ve decided I don’t want to do that. Apologies for the anti-climactic ending.)

thwip

A summoning is never a pleasant experience. Never. It starts with a slip, a tug, not so much physical, more like vertigo I'd say, your inner ear rocking like you're on the open sea. It's kind of a special feeling.

Then, suddenly, you're in two places at once, your mind, your body, your very spirit itself duplicated for a single fleeting moment in time. But then that moment is actually outside of time, and the duality is not clean. There's a... a rending, of sorts, a splitting strain, an impossible burden of your meta-and-physical presence being in two places at once. A paradox, an impossibility.

Then the magic of the summons properly takes effect and WHAM! You're in a new location as if you'd always been. It really screws with your head.

All of this to say, I don't dole out summons glyphs lightly. In fact, I try not to give them out period. They are ALWAYS BAD. Which is what makes this current moment so bad. I mean, the moment has been happening for a damn long time now. So long, actually, that I almost feel like I'm that blighted rock again. How can this one moment take so bleeding long that I'm reminded of MILLENNIA of solitude and darkness and wet dirt?

Woah now, hold up man. That was several cycles ago, don't get carried away now. Actually, that was... dozens of cycles ago. When did I start getting put into humanoid bodies again?

thwip

"-to me!"

Wait... is that? I barely caught the last words of that, but I'll be damned if I don't know that voice. That godsforsaken voice!

Do you know how many summons glyphs I've handed out? Four. FOUR! One guy I know - gods he's a special case, full blown nut job that one - he's given out dozens, at least! I also know a faeling, one the ahh, the um... gah, you know the type, short, rail thin, backwards knees with the bug-like shell and eyes? She's given out three hundred and thirty three, and the numbers always have to match so she's spent the last century picking the next one hundred and eleven people she'll give glyphs to so she can dole them out in one fell swoop.

Madness.

Me, on the other hand, four. Only four. Because the first person I gave one to truly made me regret, and the other three I gave out in desperation and delirium. Ol' big shot number 1 summoned me for anything and everything. It near broke me, Mr Returner, Soul of a Hundred Lives. Thus I turned to the sweet release of narcotics and hallucinogens, and when that only encouraged my abuser further, I discovered a wondrous quirk of summoning that I've kept close to my chest ever since. You can't be summoned twice.

So, still fueled by the most magic of mushrooms and inhaling leaf so delightful and smooth you'd have thought it was from the White Wizard and the shire itself, I set out to find others worthy of my glyphs. Sadly, somewhere between the second and third glyphs I found myself run afoul of the dreaded nose-beers and BAM! BAM! Four glyphs handed out with absolutely zero idea of who they ended up with. I do, however, know with complete certainty, that they've never once been used. In more than five centuries. While the second I gave out has been used once.

To show a three year old Gnoll how to tie his shoes. A gnoll. Who has paws for feet. Shoes. On paws. Suffice to say the little pup tore through them in less than five steps.

Though the smile on that pudgy, ugly, Hyena-man face was both terrifying and beautiful to behold. He was so damn proud of himself, aaand I gotta admit, I was pretty chuffed too. However, he then called me his imaginary friend and said that because he'd made his wish we'd never see each other again and yep. Never seen him again.

Only this one. Numero uno. Probably one of my top five, maybe even top three biggest muck-ups across more than a hundred different incarnations.

Geezus. How the hell did I ever think that SHE was a-

"HELLO!?" Number 1 yelled. Right into my ear.

"Gah!" I staggered back, almost slipping as the shout tore me from my thoughts. Whoops. How long had I just been standing there?

"How nice of you to join us," she said, voice dripping sarcasm. "Finally."

"Hey Gatekeeper?" I called out to the empty shadows of the vaulted ceiling above. "Any chance for a reroll?"

Number 1 sighed, far too exaggeratedly, before starting to speak again. How can just a voice give me near as much trauma as Granny Meng's brew? That stuff is designed to scrub a soul clean for reincarnation, yet this voice is just as bad. Maybe worse. And whoops, I should probably listen to what the witch was saying.

"-see, they've got me by the balls and you're the best way out. A Summoner should always be protected by her summons, and as you were my first, you can have the honours of going out in a blaze of glory first."

I just stared at the woman, wide eyed, until my eyes hurt and I had to blink. I barely even noticed the three blades held against her neck and the thin lines of blood that ran from them as she fidgeted and moved, nor the rich tapestries, gilded paintings and the dozen other signs of a royal court. I didn't even look at the red faced king, or emperor or whatever, as the weight of Number 1's words settled in my mind.

Or rather, blew my mind.

"You have no idea do you?"

Triaa and Cread could only stare at him while my mouth hung open. 30 times over a life of 26 years? And 5 times over half a year? I squeezed his arm again, holding on until Vinz laid a hand on mine.

“Too tight, Amara,” he said, a small grin on his face. With a quick sorry, I removed my hands from his and placed them at my side.

“Why did you not tell us this, Vincent?” Cread asked, a hand covering Vinz’s shoulder.

“Because if I did,” Vinz began before closing his mouth and opening up once again, “you would know I was a warlock. You would know I was not the wizard of Light you searched for in that inn we get in. You would have had rejected my request to join, as many others did before”.

I could only turn away, Cread turning his eyes toward the ground.

“Kid,” Triaa began, “if you would have told us about that pact before-“

“No!”, Vinz cried, shocking Triaa into silence. “If I told you, any of you, you would sent me away alone, or worse, try to kill me, which you almost did!”

I could not meet his face, my neck warm once again from shame. He was right; if he told us when we met or in our first weeks of journey, Cread or I would have surely sent him on his way. And when he showed us the truth, fear gnawed at me and rage overtook Cread. We were told warlocks were dangerous, demonic, unwavered in the ulterior. And yet…

I stepped forward Vinz and wrapped my arms around him, holding him tight as my brown hair met his. He froze in shock, but eventually he relaxed and held my shoulders with his hands.

Vinz, you have saved us countless times, from Jargon’s Reach to Greater Mane to right now where you stood in front of a dragon’s breath to save us. You taught us how to cook your island’s meals, how to sing your tales, and even taught me, an unteachable magician, basic magick. Vinz, you are a selfless mage, more than any wizard I’ve ever met. I’m sorry I ever doubted you for who you are, I’m so sorry I ever did”.

A weight wrapped my shoulders, a large hand cupping Vinz’s head. I peered upward toward Cread’s face, his brown eyes slightly glassy. “I’m sorry too, Vincent. I never should have attacked you after I saw your magick that saved us. My teachings taught me to hate every warlock I met, but you have taught me far more kindness than I have ever known.

A light sigh was heard from behind me as Triaa’s arms wrapped around us. “Well, I knew something was off about you from the start when you left a scar on my once clear arm. But I like you and the scars now, so I forgive you”.

We all laughed heartily as our embrace loosened, leaving only Vinz and I with each hand on the other’s wrists

“Thank you all. Truly. I couldn’t imagine a party without anyone of you” Vinz said with a grin. I smiled as I squeezed his arms one last time. Letting go, I began to look around the area for any path. Vinz came to my side, his hands to his eyes as he peered with me. With a point, he revealed a trail that went deep into the brush of trees with a small light of a lamp glittering in the background.

“Shall we head there, Amara?”

“Oh shall we head there, Vinz,” I responded with a bright smile. Vinz chuckled as we began walking forward, Cread and Triaa following behind. As he stepped past the corpse of the dragon, I left a small imprint on a scale. With a light rise from Vinz’s fingers, the imprint glowed and let the dragon levitate in stride with the two of us. Taking a look at the laughter between my three party members, I felt a sense of warmth, now not from shame, but of true and utter companionship.

“Sinaveil, grant me your power”

Vincent’s hands rose, black magick igniting from his fingers. The dragon before him growled, and sent a terrible turquoise flame toward us. My hands raised instinctively as the flames enveloped us both, but no heat rushed over my body and removed me from the earth. Even though I knew the breath only lasted seconds, it felt like eternity. When the beast closed its jaw, Vincent’s hands were scorched black, but they were already healing at a rapid pace. From black to raw red to a dark brown, his hands raised higher, the magick burning down his arms. With a cry, a pair of skeletal hands fit for a giant erupted from the ground and went for the throat of the dragon. As they strangled it, the dragon swept claws at bone and mage alike, a single finger grazing the palm of Vincent and letting out a line of blood. With a grimace, Vincent thrust down with his hands and slammed the dragon to the ground. With a twist, the hands snapped the neck of the beast, with a faint roar the final act of defiance.

As Vincent lowered his hands, the bone-bare hands lowered as well, disappearing into the earth without even a shimmer. As he turned toward me, his cut healed, but at a slower pace that showed scar tissue. I reached to grab my blade, but I recoiled as the hilt burned orange-hot.

“Here, let me heal you,” Vincent suggested, but I turned my burnt hands away from his, fear crawling up my spine.

“What in gods’ name was that spell, Vinz? You told us you were a wizard of Light, not of dead”.

“It is not what it looks like, Amara. There is no-“

“-evil within your magick!”

Vinz and I couldn’t help but duck as a mace the size of our heads swung over ours. As I looked up, I saw our Paladin, Cread, swing it around to his shoulder. With a shout, he sent another swing toward Vinz, crashing downward into the earth as Vinz leaped back with a flair of spell at his feet.

“Cread, listen to me! I do not want to fight any of you”.

“You fight me on my beliefs, warlock! There is no majesty in the dark!”

“Oh please, Cree, there most certainly is”.

Vinz gasped as a knife came to his throat. From the shadows, Triaa came forth, her hood of Plane-walking falling to reveal crimson locks of hair and elongated earlobes. She placed a hand on Vinz’s back and pushed forward, tipping his weight forward and onto her shoulder. Vinz attempted to move, but Triaa only tsked as the blade laid smooth on his Adam’s apple.

“Now, Vinz,” Triaa said as her weight shifted to hold him still, “you mind telling us exactly what that was?”

Vinz breathed deep, his eyes racing across my face and Cread’s. With another breath, he spoke once more.

“It, it was an invocation, of necromancy,” Vinz let out.

“Correct. And do you know what you told us when you joined our party six weeks ago?”

“That I only knew-ow-healing magick?”

“Correct again, my dear,” Triaa replied, her knife moving away from his throat. With a slight push, Triaa sent Vinz forward and making him near stumble on the length of his linen trousers.

“Triaa, what are you doing!?”, Cread asked, his mace raised high. I grabbed my blade from the ground, pointing it at Vinz whose hands raised in surrender.

“Come on, Cree, you know Vincent would not hurt a harmless fly, nevertheless his friends. Am I right, dear?”

“Right you are, ma’am,” Vinz gulped as Cread took a step forward, but sighed and lowered his mace to the ground. I took three forward, my blade pointed at Vinz’s nose.

“But he did say he was a wizard,” I questioned, my sword unwavering before him. “And no wizard does necromancy under the Guild”.

“Well, um, I’m the exception,” Vinz spilled nervously, his hands raising higher again as I thrust my blade slightly toward him.

“What do you mean by exception?’

“I’m a warlock, yes. I am a Necromancer, yes. But the Guild found my skills to be exactly what they need as a wizard, and so they let me go”.

“Your skills? You have basic magick control, fire magic, and healing. What do you need necromancy for?”

“Well, my healing is necromancy. But it’s a little hard to explain when you have a sword to the face,” Vinz pitched, with a single finger upon the top of the blade. With a single thought of doubt, I sighed and relaxed my arms. Sheathing the blade, I instead pointed a finger upon his chest and pushed to a rock in front of me. He sat down and twiddled his thumbs as Cread and I stood around arms crossed, Triaa opting to levitate cross-legged. With a nervous glance, Vinz sighed, pulling off his hood of lapiz and letting out a length of black hair to his shoulder.

“Ok, so,” he began to explain, “my healing is necromancy. It’s not complete necromancy, not one enough to rise a human or animal or Eldritch from the dead. What is enough to arise from death is these tiny, and I mean tiny particles on a person’s body. This allows me to essentially reverse wounds, by taking dead particles, letting them live again, and then having them join back with the rest of the particles happy-ever-after!”

“Wait, so you are telling me that I have nercomanced…THINGS on my body?!” Cread cried, his mammoth hands rushing across his arms and legs. Vinz chucked and laid a hand on Cread’s arm.

“Cread, you’re fine. They’re not rotting or boney like other necromanced things are. They’re slightly different in terms of makeshift, but that’s why the tiny scars are there”.

“Then why did you seem to heal completely from the dragon flame?” I interjected, my eyes glaring into his. Vinz looked at his hands, noting the lack of scar tissue from his arms or palm.

“When I called upon him, Sinaveil, he gave me much power as I needed to stop the dragon, heal us, and save you,” he stated calmly with a look of care at me. I felt a warmth creep up my neck before I flushed it down with a deep breath.

“That explains the giant hands then,” Triaa noted, her legs flipping around whilst she floated, “Physical projection or actual necromancy, by the way?”

“A little bit of both,” Vinz replied with a short smile. His face set back to stone as he looked at his hands once more. I reached for his hand, hesitated, and laid both palms on his arm instead.

“Is there something wrong, Vinz?” I asked quietly, squeezing his arm softly. Vinz sighed again and began looking in the distance, trailing the horizon with a sense of melancholy.

“Whenever I call upon Sinaveil, my life force gets taken away. Bit by bit every time.

“How much is a bit?”

“About half a year, give or take a day”.

I grit my jaw in shock, before asking “And how many times have you done so, Vinz?”

“Since I’ve been with you all, 5 times including now. Since I’ve known his presence… 30 times”.

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definitely in my top 10 stories on this subreddit :)

i loved it, and

>“It is greater folly to let out a bear that was already in a cage."

my god, what a powerful character

This is halarious

This is good, and funny

Everyone thinks they're the good guy :]

>I really want to read more and see what happens when King Henry finds out!

Same!

I'm really glad you see it that way! I was torn on whether I should have a clear bad guy or good guy, and decided to leave it ambiguous.

Very good power for saving hostages

The community old man has broughy us a gift!!

A mock chess game between 2 alien species that moves real things like space ships/stations

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