A Stranger in Skyrim 2

Chapter Two: The Dragon

In which fire is generally bad.

The dragon opened its mouth and sound rushed out, a disorienting wave of it that knocked her sideways. She … understood it, just as she'd understood the foreign tongue, though she couldn't put meaning to it in the traditional sense. It just … it meant force.

The soldier put himself between her and the dragon, his sword drawn. Not that it would likely do him much good. The dragon shouted again, and she didn't see what happened next; she tumbled to her other side, facing away from her imminent doom.

“Guards!” The general shouted. “Get the townspeople to safety!”

She shifted slightly, rolled back on her toes, standing without the use of her hands. She'd heard that particular trick was hard for some people – it was easy for her. Her head spun, her ears rung. She shook her head to clear it.

Blondie was there. Somehow, he'd gotten his hands free, and he was beckoning her. “Hey – Blue – get up! Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!” When he knew she was up and moving, he turned. “This way!” He began running toward a tower. After a moment or two, she followed him, passing a dying Imperial soldier on the way. There was blood and fire everywhere ….

It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the tower, and the first thing she saw was a pair of half-dead Stormcloaks. Another knelt nearby, tending to their wounds. How had it wrought so much destruction so quickly?

“Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing?” Blondie – Ralof – sounded urgent. Everything was urgent. Her head was spinning. “Could the legends be true?”

The Jarl's voice was deep, she noted. “Legends don't burn down villages.” He turned his attention towards her, and she felt small all of a sudden. “We need to move – now!”

Ralof nodded. “Up through the tower, let's go!”

She followed Ralof up through the tower, panting before she reached the top. She was not in good enough shape to be facing off with a dragon. Definitely not. A soldier was digging at some rubble – apparently the tower had begun collapsing from the top already.

The dragon was there, and suddenly a big chunk of the wall was not. He spoke Fire, and then fire shot from his mouth to engulf the soldier, who screamed, flailing his arms to try and put out the flames. The stone didn't burn long, but the soldier was doomed. He flopped to the floor, so much ash. The dragon flapped off.

Ralof beckoned her forward. “See the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going!”

She stared at him like he was crazy. It was a ridiculous feat he expected of her. She couldn't jump that distance, and even if she could it was a long drop. She'd break her legs. She shook her head, taking a step back. He tugged her forward. “What are you waiting for – go! We'll catch up to you when we can.”

She still balked at the distance – until he shoved her forward. She teetered on the edge, flailing a bit, and then fell towards the inn.

She landed belly-down on the thatched side of the roof, scrabbling for any handhold, sliding towards the edge. She didn't want to fall, but it didn't look like she had much of an option. She slid down, falling to land on her ass with a thump. Ow. Everything hurt now. Fantastic.

She stood again – because it was urgent – and then immediately covered her head with her arms as part of the tower fell, flaming rocks showering her.

Through the inn. She'd survive this dream somehow – she'd already missed her appointment with Death earlier, so now she had no choice but to continue. She edged around the wall. Stairs, that would take her inside the inn, then she'd figure out where to go from there, right?

Except, not only was the inn on fire, but more importantly, there was no way through. What was she supposed to do now?

There was one section – a cupboard that hadn't yet started to burn. Gods, it was hot – she shuddered, then began to climb over it, fire licking at her arm. She liked fire, but she didn't much care for the idea of burning alive. She made it over – it wasn't that hard of a climb, so even she could manage it – and out the front door of the inn. She'd have burns, but at least she was alive. That was better than a lot of people could say today.

The fire had felt so real, though ….

She came upon two men – the soldier and some other guy. The soldier was beckoning to a small child – the child from before? Surely not. “Haming, you need to get over here, now!”

The child ran towards him – and the dragon spoke fire.

Flames engulfed the boy. No. No, that didn't … that didn't make sense. Children weren't supposed to die – that just wasn't right. But it was true. She didn't know how to take that. The cold, practical side of her pointed out that children were just as mortal as everyone else – and she was particularly mortal. She had to get out of this hellhole before she, too, was set ablaze.

“Haming!” The soldier screamed his denial. “No!”

She ran forward then, dragging the soldier back. “You can't help him, now.”

He looked back and up at her, lost. She didn't know what he read in her expression, but he swallowed, nodding once. “You – you're right.”

Well, he took that better than she was taking it. She could felt her hands trembling.

“Let's – let's go. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense.” She let him go, and he ran off. She followed at a slow jog.

“Stay close to the wall!” She dropped into a crouch, obeying without question. The dragon landed right above them, its wingtip so close she could have touched it.

Oh gods, she was going to die.

The dragon spoke fire, and fire engulfed a soldier, though fortunately not the soldier she was following. She had to believe this was some kind of horrible dream, and she'd wake up soon. As long as she believed that, she could ignore the screams, the way the man's flesh melted from his bones. The smell of charred meat was everywhere.

She was going to be sick. She was going to be horribly, violently sick. She'd never had smells invade her dreams before, and her arms still hurt from the burns.

Oh gods, this wasn't a dream, and she was going to die.

“Quickly, follow me!”

The dragon had taken flight – now was the only time to run. So, she ran, still following the soldier.

The general shouted at the soldier. “Hadvar!” All right, his name was apparently Hadvar. “Into the keep, soldier! We're leaving!”

All around, she could hear the sounds of screaming, dying people.

And it was all. So. Real. She felt herself shaking, terror overtaking her. She couldn't move as that massive black shape swooped down overhead. Fire blazed from its maw, and she found herself feeling relieved because it got someone else. She got to live. The soldier turned back to look at her, then trotted back to shake her by the shoulders. “Snap out of it!” She looked up and over at him. “Look, if we don't get inside the keep, and I mean now, that dragon will eat the both of us! You don't want that, do you?” She shook her head, mutely. “Then come on!”

The soldier – Hadvar – dragged her along by her arms. Well, he'd only grabbed the one, but they were kind of bound together at the wrists.

“Ralof, you damned traitor! Out of our way!”

Oh, it was Blondie again, she noted, dully. “We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time!”

“Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!” Hadvar dragged her towards the keep, so she went, stumbling after him.

The door slammed shut behind them.

A Stranger in Skyrim 1

Chapter One: Dreaming

In which an execution is postponed.

She woke slowly, feeling groggy. Ugh, she'd forgotten her meds, hadn't she? She blinked sleep from her eyes, but they were still blurry. Then again, they were always blurry. She needed glasses for a reason ….

She heard a horse snort, and the sound of wheels clattering on stone. The sound was jarring – she had never been in a horse-drawn carriage, but she realized with sudden clarity that she had apparently been sleeping in one. She sat up, looking around. Slowly, her eyes adjusted until she could see perfectly. That was even more alarming.

She looked down, to find her hands bound, her clothes replaced with thin rags that did nothing for the cold. What was going on? Where was she?

Across from her sat a similarly bound man, blond and muscular, with a hint of a beard. She noted that he apparently got to keep his clothing; he was dressed in chain mail with a brown padded gambeson over it, and blue cloth over that. He was watching her. She looked back at him, uncertain.

“The mystery girl wakes.” That was not English. That was not English, but she understood it as clearly as if he'd been speaking her native tongue. “Tell me, Blue, what province do you come from?”

She shook her head to clear it. “Province?,” she said, hesitantly, shocked to discover that she, too, was speaking the foreign tongue.

He looked at her a little strangely. “Well, wherever you're from, you picked a bad time to come to Skyrim, friend. You walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.” He shook his head, sadly.

The thief was dressed in rags no better than hers, she noted. Like everyone else in the carriage, he, too, had his hands bound. “Damn you, Stormcloaks,” he scowled. “Skyrim was fine before you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell.” The thief looked straight at her. “You there – you and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.”

“We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief.”

The soldier driving the carriage looked back at them. “Shut up, back there!”

“Anyway, what's wrong with him, eh?” The thief jerked his chin at the last man in the carriage. From the looks of him, he was some kind of nobleman, with fluffy fur covering heavy chain mail. Not only was he bound, but the … Imperials? … had gagged him, as well.

The blond guy snapped, “Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!”

“Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you – oh gods – where are they taking us?”

Blondie sounded defeated. “I don't know where we're going … but Sovngarde awaits.”

“No,” the thief whimpered. “This can't be happening, this isn't happening!”

She looked between them, confused. She had to be dreaming. This was not her warm, safe, bed, in her warm, safe, home. And if they were prisoners, shouldn't they have something a little more restrictive than wide-open carts? And weapons somewhat more modern than swords? She liked medieval weaponry, but she knew guns would be infinitely more effective.

Well, if it was a dream, it was her dream, and she'd just have to go along with it.

Blondie looked back towards the thief. “Hey – ” he said quietly. “What village are you from, horse thief?”

“Why do you care?” She didn't like the thief. He was so whiny.

Blondie smiled tiredly. “A Nord's last thoughts should be of home.”

“Rorikstead. I – I'm from Rorikstead.” Great, another place she'd never heard of.

Someone up ahead shouted. “General Tullius, sir, the headsman is waiting!”

“Good,” someone else replied. “Let's get this over with.”

“Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh – Divines, please help me!” Why would the gods help a thief? At least, she assumed the 'Divines' were gods of some sort. Maybe they were some kind of equal-opportunity gods. Gods who overlooked the various failings of a man. That would be new.

They rolled into a town of some sort, and oh, it was medieval. Thatched roofing, wooden huts. The walls and towers were made of stone, but it was rough, not the perfectly precise bricks she was used to.

“Look at him,” Blondie called her attention back. “General Tullius, the military governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves, I bet they had something to do with this.” Elves? Elves? Really? She craned her neck to try and get a good look at them, but the carriage had already moved on by the time she took interest.

“This is Helgen.” Blondie's eyes went a little distant. “I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in ...” He shook his head. “Funny. When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.”

She heard a child's high voice ask who they were, and where they were going. His father shooed him inside the house – well, apparently it was an execution they were headed to. She wouldn't want her child to see something like that, if she had a child.

A woman's voice now, “Get these prisoners out of the carts. Move it!”

“Why are we stopping?” Whiny asked, his voice fearful.

Blondie just looked at him. “Why do you think? End of the line.” The carriage rolled to a stop. “Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us.” He stood. After a moment, she followed, standing shakily.

“No, wait! We're not rebels!” Whiny cried.

Blondie sighed. “Face your death with some courage, thief.”

The others hopped out of the cart – she took her time crawling carefully down. She didn't like any kind of height, even a short drop like that.

“You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!” The reality of the situation was slowly dawning on her, as well. What if she died in a dream? Would she just wake up, or what would happen to her in the real world? No, she couldn't think of that. Something would happen, and she'd make it out alive. That was the way dreams worked.

“Step toward the block when we call your name. One at a time!” The woman was dark-skinned, wearing heavy plate armor. She'd never seen real plate, nothing nearly so fine, anyway.

She glanced over at Blondie. He sighed again. “Empire loves their damned lists.”

There was a long line of people ahead of them, all dressed in the same uniform – padded gambeson over chain mail, blue cloth over that. Finally, the man called, “Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm.”

“It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric.”

The soldier called again. “Ralof, of Riverwood.” Blondie stepped forward next. “Lokir, of Rorikstead.”

“No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!” The thief stepped forward – and then began running.

The woman cried out. “Halt!”

“You're not going to kill me!” Lokir called.

When the thief did not comply, she shouted again. “Archers!” The thief promptly became a pincushion, tumbling to the ground. Blood oozed from him as she watched. She'd never seen a man die before, even in dreams. She wasn't sure what to think, but there was a sense of relief to it. At least it wasn't her.

“Anyone else feel like running?” The woman's gaze fell on her, and she shook her head slowly. She'd been shot with arrows before – even heavily padded, they hurt. She couldn't imagine the pain of live weaponry punching through her.

The man looked at her, now, as well. “You there, step forward.” She did, slowly. He was dressed in a leather jerkin with a skirt that covered his upper thighs. “Who are you?”

“My name is Mariah,” she said uncertainly. The strange language tumbled from her lips. “I don't know where I am, but there has to be some kind of a mistake – I didn't do anything.” She tried to make her case quickly. “I've never been to – to Skyrim – before in my life – I've never even heard of it before. Please, let me go, I'll do whatever you want.” This was her one shot to convince them not to kill her.

“Captain …” the soldier said, looking towards the armored woman. “What should we do? She's not on the list.”

“Forget the list.” The captain said it dismissively. “She goes to the block.”

The soldier nodded grimly. “By your orders, Captain.” He turned his attention back to her. “Forgive me.” He looked a little sad, at least.

She considered running, but where would that get her, really? Shot dead on the spot. There was still a chance something would happen to save her. She just had to hold out hope.

“Follow the captain, Mariah.” His accent butchered her name, but it wasn't like she was in a position to take offense, really.

So, she did, pausing in the middle of the line. A man stood before the Jarl, arms folded. “Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero.” He shook his head. “A hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne.” The Jarl grunted, unable to respond for the gag over his mouth. “You started this war!” The general – she recognized his voice from before – poked the Jarl in the chest. “Plunged Skyrim into chaos! Now, the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!”

A sound, then, a distant roar that made the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “What was that?” the soldier asked.

“It's nothing, carry on.”

The captain snapped a salute. “Yes, General Tullius!” She looked toward a woman dressed in brown, with a yellow hood. “Give them their last rights.”

The priestess – for that was what she appeared to be – raised her hands. “As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are –”

One of the Stormcloaks stepped forward. “For the love of Talos, shut up, and let's get this over with.”

“As you wish.”

“Come on, I haven't got all morning!”The red-haired Stormcloak stood before the block, until the captain shoved him down so his head was resting on it. “My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?”

The headsman's axe went up. The headsman's axe came down. Suddenly, there was a body without a head, blood squirting from the stump like an effect in a cheesy horror show – only, she could smell it, taste it in the air. She shuddered, eyes wide. People were talking, but she couldn't understand them.

The captain pointed at her. “Next, the prisoner in the rags!”

The roar came again, echoing over the distant mountains. “There it is again, did you hear that?” The soldier looked around.

“I said, next prisoner!”

The soldier took her arm when she didn't immediately move forward, gently led her to the block. “Nice and easy.” She stared down at the box. The redhead was already lying inside. There wasn't enough room for another head. She began to laugh, a little hysterically. This wasn't happening. It was all a dream. She had to believe that. She'd wake up just before they cut her head off. She had to believe that.

They shoved her down so she was kneeling on the man's body. Never had a dream felt so real. She could feel him under her, could feel the sticky blood on her knees. When they lowered her face to the block, she turned her head to avoid getting blood all over her face, though some got on her cheek anyway. It couldn't be avoided. She realized she was shaking, almost violently.

The headsman's axe went up, and she closed her eyes, bracing for the impact.

Another roar went up. The General's voice, then – “What in Oblivion is that?!”

“Sentries,” the captain called. “What do you see?”

“It's in the clouds!”

She cracked her eyes open, and a massive thing descended from the sky, landing on the tower in front of her. The headsman was knocked off his feet by the impact.

She'd never seen one, had never believed they existed.

But even she could identify it.

“Dragon!”

Apocalyptic Log - Ayala

They say only the strong survive.
I aim to prove "them" wrong.
The world has been devastated by nuclear war.
My name is Toni Ayala. I'm a witch. And I'm going to save the world.
I've taken a job at the local hospital. It isn't pretty, but I've got my foot in the door.
One day, I'll lead the restoration efforts.
For now, they tell me I'm an on-call organ donor. I think they were joking.

---

Ugh. The conditions at the hospital are medieval at best. I've been promoted to cleaning out bedpans. The water we get to use is just as filthy as the messes we're supposed to be cleaning, but at least it's water, I suppose. That's more than most people have right now.

---

There's a family in the next bunker over. They seem so happy, despite everything. That's what I'm working for. Those children need people like me.

---

The mob stopped by for their weekly cut. I spent the whole day crying from hunger pains, and the bastards had the audacity to eat their protein rations in front of me. Then, they even made off with my new couch! Said it was too good for me. Sure, I can get another, but still, it's the principle of the thing. It disgusts me.

---

I've been working my ass off to become an intern, to really begin medical practice. I've been studying constantly, whenever I have a free moment. Today, it finally happened. I'll learn from the best doctors in the area, and then I'll be the best.

---

We're so understaffed. I don't think I've seen a normal human in the place, and the "best" doctor is a resident werewolf barely more competent than I am.

---

A man walked by my shelter today. Cyrus Sepulveda. He's ... interesting. Okay, he's hot. Plus, he actually is a normal human. You just don't see many of those these days.

---

I had to fight past some zombies to get to the hospital tonight, and when I got there, they tell me there's a patient with a blood type identical to mine, in desperate need of at least one working kidney. I've got two, would I please donate one? I had no choice but to let the werewolf operate on me. It was successful - barely - but .... gods, the facilities are barbaric. I half-expect to get an infection, even though my witch blood makes me resistant to disease.

---

I swear, aliens keep landing on top of my bunker. Aliens. What.

---

The trick to success is to always keep pushing forward. I'm so close I can taste it. We're working on getting clean watter arranged, we've begun trying experimental procedures at the hospital. Conditions are improving. I feel like I'm making a difference. I really do.

---

We've done it! It's still ongoing, of course, but the restoration efforts are underway. As a reward for all of my contributions, I got the first shower and laundry facilities in the area, not to mention a fertility treatment. Cyrus and I have been talking, and neither of us are getting any younger. We agreed to marry, just an informal ceremony, and he moved in with me.
Naturally, we consummated our relationship as quickly as possible. I'm positively glowing right now. Everything is going right in my world, besides the zombies and the nuclear winter, anyway.

---

Damn it, damn it, damn it!
They cut our rations. Cyrus, naturally, decided to be the gentleman, give me his share. I'm pregnant, he said, I needed it more. I spent the whole night puking up my guts, but I needed the food more than he did. It couldn't last for long. He - he starved to death, right in front of me. I kept trying to get him to eat, something, anything, but he refused, right until the end.
What do I do now?

---

Twins, and oh, they're beautiful. If only Cyrus had lived. It's a boy and a girl, Anthony and Maria. I can tell, just by looking at them, they have the gift.
Now I have to survive. They need me.
I need them.

---

It's been a long time since I last wrote - raising the twins took a lot out of me. But it's done. No more baby bottles, no more dirty diapers. If this were Before, they'd be starting school, making friends.
If only ....
I can feel my mind slipping away from me. I know the word for it, even if I can't stop it. No amount of medical knowledge could prepare me for the ill effects of advancing age - and it's more than just growing old. It's a kind of madness settling in, seeping into every corner of my mind. Senility, or worse.
At least I can rest easy, knowing there's a brighter future ahead. Even if my mind does fail, even if the world we used to know is gone, I know in my heart there's always hope.
My children will carry on my legacy. I've raised them to do great things.
One day, I'll show my daughter this diary. She'll continue the tale.
People need to know how the end of the world became a new beginning.

Humanity

Seeing what became of Its elves, The Magus was not particularly bothered. With their long lives, infrequent births, and inherent caution, they had been rather boring. It created a few more elves, hiding them in the far reaches of the world so their cousins could not easily find them. Once It had done this, It turned to Its next project. These, It decided, would not be so boring.

They looked almost elven, these new creations, though they were stronger in build. These, It turned greenish-gray, and It gave them short, brutal lives. They had sharp teeth, and were completely unafraid.

But It made their lives too short. They had little care for the long aeons ahead. These creatures, It named orcs, and they did spread to many parts their predecessors had left untouched in their fear. They formed large, warlike bands, creating a rough, cruel society. For a while, It was content to watch their incessant infighting, but It quickly became bored.

And so it went.

The Magus created many races in this way. Some had long lives, some had short. Most were unafraid of the dark, many could see with little light. It even revisited the elves, twisting Its creations into new forms.

But none of Its creations held Its attention long.

Finally, It focused Itself. Its new project had to have a shorter lifespan than the elves, or It would get bored of them quickly, but longer than the orcs, or It would have little use for them in the long run. They couldn't be timid or fearful, but nor could they be completely unafraid. They wouldn't be as strong as the orcs, nor as fragile as the elves. This new creation would be a middle ground, a compromise between all Its previous creations.

And they would be perfect.

It called them humans, and they quickly outstripped the orcs in their exploration. They had lives just long enough to taste eternity, without being frozen by it. They planned for a future they would never live to see. They had genius, they had madness, they had paragons and villains, they had brutal destroyers and peaceful healers.

They were chaos.

And The Magus loved them dearly.

Plague

It came to pass that Dios favored a certain group of mortals greatly. These mortals were called elves, and they were full of life. The Magus's power shone brightly in them. They were the first mortals It put Its entire self into creating, and that light was a beacon. Every elf that gave praise to the Sun, gave praise to the Light, was another spark of The Magus's power reclaimed.

Nyx grew envious.

She had no mortals of her own to play with. The elves, as She knew, feared the Night, for they could not see in the darkness. In the beginning, the elves were the only mortals worth playing with: they were the only mortals who could think. They made plans, they had dreams. No other mortal could boast such things.

And so Nyx went down amongst the elves at night, disguising Herself as a beautiful, if blind, young woman.

"Why do you hide?" She called out to them, standing in the town square.

One very brave elf cracked open the shutters to his window to respond. "It isn't safe," he explained. "You should go inside."

She shook Her head. "The Night is beautiful, if only you could see It." She beckoned the elf, and he closed the window to Her.

So it went. Nyx would cajole the elves to leave their homes, and one by one, the elves refused, until at last, a small child left her empty home. Nyx knew this child. Once in the forest, her family had been slaughtered by wolves. Nyx had watched with interest, but had not intervened.

"They won't come," the child explained. "They are too afraid."

Nyx smiled down at the child. "Why are they so afraid, little one?"

"The darkness hides fearsome beasts," said the girl. "We cannot see them to fight back."

Nyx rested a hand over the girl's eyes. "Then I will give you sight to pierce the darkness," She spoke, and so it was. The girl could see in darkness.

"The creatures are too strong to fight, Mistress," said the child.

And Nyx shifted Her hand, resting it atop the child's head. "Then I shall make you strong enough to face any challenge. No beast will be too great for you."

The Goddess did this for each member of the clan Ba'naelro, and She became diminished for her efforts. Her spark shone dark, shadowing The Magus' own, and her people were strong.

God-touched, Her children did not age. They were masters of all beasts. They were strong, and they were cunning. However, although as creatures of the light they had been able to suffer the darkness, as Children of Night, the reverse was no longer true. Sunlight burned them, as did places and things consecrated to Dios. Submersion in fresh waters weakened them, burning their skin like acid.

However, the Night was beautiful to them, and they were powerful. They became content with their new place in the world, and Nyx was content with her single clan of mortals.

One day, Dios learned of this treachery.

He raged endlessly, unable to find, much less punish, the wayward tribe. In His stead, He sent His most powerful clerics, and His fiercest warriors, to kill the Night Children.

The Night Children sent the warriors and clerics back in pieces, suffering only few losses.

So it continued for some time, and this grieved Nyx. She is above all else, a goddess of healing, not war. Her children's deaths weighed heavy on her heart, especially as they could not reproduce as mortals did to replenish their numbers.

In her grief, Nyx bestowed upon her children new powers. They would be able to become as beasts, or fine mist, and they could heal any wound

Most importantly, by sharing their blood with a true mortal, they could create new Night Children, and thereby replenish their ranks. These new creatures were the first vampires, and they did not have the divine spark their parents were given. They craved it, needed it to sustain their power - no, their very lives. Before long, they turned on their parents, killing almost every last elf of the clan Ba'naelro.

Then, when there were no more Children to be found, the vampires turned outward. They hunted down any elves they could find. Some did choose to expand their numbers, creating a great many vampires. Many did not, choosing instead to leave a wake of drained bodies behind.

So ended the time of the elves.

Creation Myth - Harte

All things are born of The Magus. In the beginning, It created the Day and the Night, the Light and the Dark. This is why these things remain the easiest to conjure; Dios and Nyx are The Magus's oldest, and most powerful, children.

From the beginning, there was conflict, for the first children were too different, and each abhorred the other. "I will not share the sky with Her," said Dios, and He tore the very eyes from Her face. These became the moons, Nyx's firstborn, and her blood pooled between them, forming the great oceans.

Nyx struck back unerringly, for Her eyes still saw Her Enemy. She ripped a single eye from Dios's face in retribution, and this became the Sun. With her clever claws, She shredded His body, and His flesh became the Earth, his blood becoming the rivers and lakes.

So it came to pass that between Them, They formed a world, around which They circle endlessly, each waiting for the other to step falsely.

Other great spirits then came to be. Aqos, Nyx's left eye, watches over the waters, while Fyra, Nyx's right eye, burns constantly in pain, for He is scarred and unwhole. His fragmented self became the bloody red moon and the many stars in the sky. He governs Fire, that mortals may burn as He does.

Arya, the great spirit of air, formed around the world when Dios and Nyx lay together, panting and spent, exhausted from their first battle. She is their shared breath, and governs Air. Arya refuses to take a side in the great war, for she loves Her parents equally.

Eiran, Dios's second child, formed the Earth to His liking, shifting it in great, heaving shakes, as His body is Dios's cast-off flesh.

Dalia, the Sun, works with Aqos and Eiran, to help all living things to grow.

All living things are born of The Magus. It seeded the world with mortals of every shape and size, for only a God as mad as It could create with such variety, and all mortal beings are Its playthings.

Despite this, no sane mortal worships The Magus, for none would survive Its full attention long.

Who

The vision roused her from her meditation as it had three separate times this week.

It was always the same. She stood back-to-back with another, a male who she knew to be her best friend. He was laughing as they fought overwhelming odds.

By now, she knew that laugh better than her own.

It ended before she could decipher it, breaking her focus. She sighed, pressing a palm to her head. Who was the man? What was he to her? For that matter, who had she been - for such a thing had never happened to her before her rebirth, she was certain.

She stood, gracefully, padding soundlessly through the halls of the temple. Her footsteps took her to Master Absylon's room. She bowed to the master, then sat, patiently waiting for him to rouse from his own meditation.

"What troubles you?" He sat with his back to her, but she felt the gentle caress of his mind against hers, reassuring, nonetheless.

She felt herself smiling softly, though the smile faded as soon as it appeared. "Who am I?"

"You are Aeryn." He smiled. "You were reborn to us as one of the finest pupils this temple has seen in a long time." She heard his voice in her mind. And you are as a daughter to me.


As you are like a father to me, she thought, confident he heard her. "But who was I before?"

He shook his head. "You were no one. You came to us a mortal, without direction or purpose. We chose you for who you are now, who you have become, not who you were then." She could hear the smile in his voice. "We took your pain with your memories, dear one. You are a better person without them."

"Master, I ..." She closed her eyes. "I do not know who that person is, not really." She shook her head to clear it.

She felt his smile, then, and it warmed her to her core. "Then you must find her. You are ready."

The Good Stuff

So ... the meds they have me on are a remarkably powerful mix of antidepressants that keep me happy. Or at least not down. It's ... strange. I am used to - to the point of considering it my 'norm' - being just about on the verge of tears, guilty for no reason, an emotionally fucked mess.

Apparently if you put enough chemicals in the human body, you can evict any demon of the mind.

Who knew?

Derpaderp. It also, however, clouds my higher brain functions enough that I kind of lose my train of thought periodically. The only thing that seems to keep me thinking in a straight line is the fact that my intellect is adequate to compensate for ... any deficits that arise. It does sometimes however take a moment or two to regain focus.

My workplace has been remarkably accommodating of my condition. It is good.

I really don't have a lot to say lately, however, which is part of the reason I don't .... haven't been posting as much.

Or, y'know, at all.

There's just nothing to say. Nothing interesting has been happening.

I've been playing a lot of Minecraft lately. You can watch me fail at like five FPS just about every night from twelve-thirty AM to one-thirty AM Central Standard Time.

I think I want a nap now.

All my meds state that I am going to be drowsy and/or dizzy. I am very tired. That is about the only downside I have encountered.

I'll accept a little drowsiness if I can feel otherwise human.

Transmutation

Or: I take this and that, and turn it into something else.


Take a fragile, sick mind and screw it up into something almost healthy ....


Oh, I told myself I wouldn't cheat. Better than Wolves is my true love, and I couldn't bear to give up its pure automation and style. I respect and admire Flowerchild for sticking to his guns - for setting his foot down and saying that this would not stand.

But I am not made of such strong stuff. I am now keeping a second .jar file for a batch of mods with something more ... magical.


I am, of course, referring to the twin mods Equivalent Exchange 2 and Thaumcraft 2. Both deal with turning one thing into another, especially matter into energy, but they go about it in two entirely different ways.

EE2 adds a lot of what most people would define as 'end-game' content. That is, you should really only try tackling EE2 after establishing yourself in the unmodified world, getting a few diamonds and a lot of redstone together, that sort of thing. When you've gotten all that together, then you can start on the things that require literally hundreds of diamonds to create.

What you get out of those diamonds varies from things like axes that can chop down entire forests in a single swing, to things like armor that makes you basically impervious to damage, to amulets that let you drain oceans, or hammers that let you level mountains.

To help you get that far, EE2 adds a lot of low-level content as well, like the Talisman of Repair that fixes your gear for you, or the transmutation table that lets you turn any item into any other item of equivalent value. See what I did there?

To EE2, cobblestone is no different from smooth stone is no different from grass is no different from sand - all are equivalent in value, and any can be made by using your trusty philosopher's stone on another.

Heady stuff, and there's something simply awesome about turning a handful of lapis lazuli powder into an entire library.

Now let's take a look at Thaumcraft 2.

By comparison, initially there is at once more wonder and less power to be had from TC2. Thaumcraft 2 adds a lot to world generation, from little sparkling wisps that flutter around the sky, chiming ever so softly, to shimmering silver trees that can't be grown naturally, to tiny crystals deep in the earth filled with magical power. There are mysterious monoliths, and massive greatwood trees, strange zombies and tainted slimes. The magic in the world is fueled by an invisible force called 'aura,' which can be corrupted by an equally powerful force called 'taint.' Both occur naturally, but can be made much more powerful when cultivated by the player.

Everything the player does, he or she does to harness Vis, the natural power of the world, to create things every bit as wonderful as those things made available by Equivalent Exchange.

There is a somewhat slower pace to TC2 than EE2, in part because, although EE2 immediately allows you to transmute anything you have into anything else you've ever had, in TC2, every discovery beyond the first two or three blocks has to be researched at a Quaesitum, a block that benefits from being placed in the aforementioned library, and a lot of the things researched at the Quaesitum are completely random in nature. With enough resources available, everything in EE2 is immediately at your fingertips, even if you're playing completely legitimately, while TC2 doles the magic out a little at a time - and gives terrible consequences to rushing ahead without thought.

As both mods are dependent on the Minecraft Forge, neither are compatible with Better Than Wolves, which is really my only complaint so far. It's hardly the fault of the mods, but it does mean I have to keep my worlds separate, at least until the official API hits.

Back, and doing all right. Expect posts erratically as I have thoughts in my head.