Coming Home

    The soft chugging of a locomotive reaches the pilgrim. He sits atop his white horse, overlooking the prairie. As he shields his eyes from the noon sun, he can just make out the flickering line of black train cars moving across the horizon, leaving black smoke in its wake. He rolls his shoulders to work out the stiffness. He has been away for a long time - too long, Mariah will say - and he doesn't know what's going to be waiting for him. He hopes it will be his family. He hopes it will be the child he hasn't yet seen.

Oh Sh-

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A Boy pt. 2

    Danan soon left the village, fleeing into the shielding depths of the forest, unable to bear the sound of his mother's sobs. At first, he stumbled and cried out in pain with every step of his warped, uneven body. His body was transforming, and with it, his mind. As his bones mercilessly stretched and grew thicker, and his muscles swelled up, his mind degraded. The first thing he forgot was his name. He forgot his parents. He forgot his home and his friends. When his face stretched into that of a wolf's with dagger-like fangs under yellow eyes, he forgot everything.
    Everything but The Doctor.

A Boy

    Once, there was a boy. His name was Danan. He liked that name. His parents told him it meant "beloved." For the first 11 years of his live, he lived up to his name. Until The Doctor came to town.

    The Doctor had seemed a strange sort. Short, bald and eccentric, he had kept mostly to himself. His white coat was ever spotless and his dark glasses that hid his eyes made him seem like some kind of insect. Danan had peaked through The Doctor's window one evening, when The Doctor was doing one of his experiments. He had seen a lot of strange things. Things he didn't understand. There had been a lot of blood.

    One day, Danan fell ill. Terrible pain wracked his small body. His screaming and crying kept his parents awake for weeks before they finally brought in The Doctor. He had offered to help them as soon as he'd heard of Danan's illness, but the parents had declined. After Danan had told them of what he'd seen, they hadn't trusted The Doctor. But in the end, their love for their son had overruled their fear. The Doctor had certainly seemed enthusiastic and eager to cure Danan. Perhaps too much so.

    Then came a night of gleaming knives, jagged saws and glowing potions. He can remember only shadowy half-memories from the night. A giant syringe embedded in his arm, his veins glowing blue. His chest cut open, his failing heart and heaving lungs drenched in blood and dancing in the candlelight. He remembers the strange sucking sensation of his lungs being torn out. He remembers waking up with the ears, eyes, lungs and heart of a wolf. He remembers the shouts and screams as the villagers chased The Doctor out of the village. He remembers the look of terror and revulsion on his parents' faces. He remembers his senses sharpening. His muscles growing. He remembers horns growing from his shaggy head.

    He remembers Hawktooth.

Argument

    Taylor and I had an argument. It came out of nowhere. One moment, we were trying to assemble a table from IKEA. The next, we were trying to crack open each others' skull with the lime-green table legs. He told me that the bendy thingamajig was supposed to go into the whatchamacallit. I told him that he was a liar, a bitch and Hitler. He disagreed and broke my arm. At this point, I was pretty confident that I was winning the argument. So I pulled a knife, stabbed him in the lung, and told him that his face was stupid.

The Psych Man

    The Psych Man peered through the blinds, looking at The Prisoners gathering in the courtyard far below him. They milled around one man in particular. From so far up, The Psych Man couldn't make out The Agitator's features, but he knew them from memory.
    'Do you think this is something we should actually worry about?' The Warden asked from behind his desk.
    'No,' The Psych Man said. 'I can handle him. He wields nothing but misdirected anger.'
    The Prisoners formed a circle around The Agitator who raised his hands, motioning for silence. He pointed an accusing finger at The Psych Man.

Wrapping Up For The Day pt. 2

    As the bed disappeared into the floor with a hiss of pistons, adorable, bushy-tailed death flooded the room. Hundreds upon hundreds of genetically modified rodents poured over the shocked drow assassin. Steel teeth chewed through metal, cloth and flesh. Tiny, needle-like claws tore his eyes from their sockets. One of the squirrels chirped and tittered excitedly as it burst through the assassin's chest, painting the walls red with blood.
    He opened his mouth to scream, but before a single syllable could find its way past his lips, a trio of especially adorable and merciless squirrels forced their way down his throat.

Wrapping Up For The Day

    Doctor Blitzmann stretched and winced at the cracks and pops that erupted from his stiff back. It had been a long, productive day, and he was tired. He gathered his notes into a neat, little stack and tied it together with a length of string. Opening one of the many closets and drawers that lined the back room of his shop, he deposited the notes in front of the ones from yesterday.
    He walked through his store, snuffing out the candles as he went. He checked the locks on his front door; three deadbolts, two padlocks and a small keyhole were attached to it. Just to make sure, he had engraved a magical locking glyph of his own making into the metal-plated door.
    Content that his door was securely locked, he shuffled into his bedroom. To call it spartan would be an understatement. A thin mattress lay on a wooden frame and a single candle stood on a small, wooden table next to it. The flame sputtered as he lit it.
    He undressed, neatly folding his clothes and placing them on the table. He lay down on his back, naked except for his goggles and promptly fell asleep.

***

    The feel of cold steel against his throat jolted him awake. A dark figure loomed over him. He could see a pair of eyes glinting beneath the hood. The business-end of a narrow sword rested on his neck. 

    'We have you now, Blitzmann!' The figure said, his voice dripping contempt. 'Our vengeance is at hand!'

    'Oh,' Blitzmann said, relief evident in his voice, 'It's just another one of you guys. I was getting worried there for a second.'

    'Do not mock me, monster! Tonight you die by the hands of Undrek'Thoz!'

    'The problem is,' Blitzmann said, pulling the hidden lever behind his bed, 'None of you are prepared for the squirrels.'

A Dark Room

    A cold breeze made the ripped and turn curtains stir, letting in a pale beam of moonlight for a moment before falling still again. If someone had been there to see (there wasn't, not any more), they would have seen a prone figure lying face-up on the ground. A man with graying temples and a dark stubble. His eyes were open. His heart was still and lifeless. He clutched a glass bottle in his hand, the dried remnants of wine still resting in the bottom. A half-burnt candle stood on his desk, long strands of wax hanging from its side. 

    An air of desperation and resentment permeated the piles of paper and black and white photographs. A shattered mirror hung on the wall. It had once been covered by a white cloth, but no more. Despite the man's precautions, something came through. Once he had realized what he had set in motion, he tried to stop it. He hadn't been strong enough. He had learned things he should not have learned. He had been a fool. And he had paid for it most dearly. 

    Now there was no hope for man. The Faceless One had entered their world. Soon it would be his.

Jax At A Lake

    'Why are you out here?' she asked, rubbing her hands together to warm her frozen fingers. When Jax spoke, he didn't look at her.
    'Because this isn't the hospital. There aren't any of...' He made a vague hand gesture. 'Those people here. Just me and the lake.'
    She nodded. After a moment, Jax pointed at something floating on the still water.
    'And that duck,' he said.
    'Quack,' it said.
    'Yeah,' Jax muttered. 'Quack.'
    She sat down next to him. 'How's the new hands?'
    'They're alright,' he said, slowly flexing the metal fingers. 'Strong. Wish I could feel them, though.'

The Cracked Keg

    The door to The Cracked Keg swung open, revealing the black outline of Elyssa Tel'Dary. Her dark eyes scanned the room, locking eyes with anyone who dared look at her. The Cracked Keg was one of the toughest taverns in Strasa. Tough taverns attract tough crowds. This one was no different. A trio of orcs sat around a table, glaring daggers at her. Banor Blackbarrel, the proprietor, was standing behind the bar, cleaning a mug with a dirty towel. He wasn't having much success. He didn't care much.  A man was leaning against the far wall with his eyes closed. Elyssa was pretty sure that he was dead. A hand on the hilt of Uchehi-Kai, she walked up to the bar and leaned in close to Banor. He smelled of gristle.
    'I'm here to see Alyshandra,' she said. 'Open the passage.'
    Banor spat a dark glob of phlegm into the mug. 'Alyshandra don't come here no more, panther.'
    'I don't believe you.'
    'I don't care.'
    'Well, I do,' she said, smacking Uchehi-Kai onto the bar desk. Its black blade cast a strange, blueish light on them. 'I care very much. And if you don't tell me where she's hiding, I'm going to start breaking things.'

Kings and Cats

    The cat licked his fingers with its raspy tongue, and he scratched it absentmindedly behind the ear. It purred softly and leaned into his rough palm.
    'Our troops have breached the wall here, here and here,' his advisor said, pointing out the areas on one of the many maps scattered on the table.
    The king nodded, scratching the cat's chin. It let out a small sneeze, sending a bright gout of flame from its nostrils. The dry maps immediately caught fire and the advisor hurried to choke the flames.
    'Stupid magical cats,' he muttered.
    The king chuckled and kissed the cat between its ears.

Cabin

    'We drove up north to get away from the city. We arrived at the cabin on the seventh. She was dead a week later.'

    'Any contact with animals?'

    'No - I mean, we lived in the forest for a week. So, I guess. Birds maybe.'

    'Did you come into contact with any other people?'

    'We spotted a couple of hikers, but they didn't come near the cabin.'

    'I see. When did you discover the bodies?'

    'Six days after we arrived. We were on our usual evening walk - she wanted to watch the sunset - when we saw something hanging from a tree.'

Eight Laughing Figures pt. 2

    One of the eight figures - a man bearing the silvery eyes of the kalashtar - shivers.

    'Damn these cold nights,' he says, pulling his cloak tighter around him. 'Even ale can't warm me up.' He looks at his feet. 'Can't feel my bloody toes,' he mutters.

    The biggest of the eight figures - a great, hulking minotaur with fur the colour of earth and a pair of obsidian horns - speaks. His voice is slow and deep - like water falling from a great height. 'More fire, Flicker.'

    'Yes, father,' a bronze-skinned man breathes, sparks flowing from his mouth. Glowing lines cover his body and as he raises his hand, flames spring from them. The snow around his feet flash into steam, and the large logs in the campfire burst into flames with renewed intensity.

    Son of Hawktooth looks at his family and grins.

Eight Laughing Figures

    Deep in the forest of Maelgon lies a small camp. Four white canvas tents surround a roaring campfire. Around the fire sits eight laughing figures.

    'So I walked up to him.' One of them, a red-bearded dwarf, says. 'And chopped his legs off!' His companions howl with laughter. 'You should have seen him,' the dwarf laughs, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. 'Flopping around on the ground! Blood spurting from his stumps!'

    One of his companions - a hard-faced woman with jet black hair - snorts in amusement and pulls the whetstone along the long, curved blade resting on her crossed legs. Next to her sits another woman, cheeks flushed from ale and laughter. 

    'Shain,' she says to the blonde elf next to her between peels of laughter. 'Give us another mug, eh?'

    The sharp-featured man smiles as he fills her mug with frothing ale. 'You sure you can handle it, sister? You're not built for heavy drinking.'

    'Says you, you skinny bastard!' she gasps in mock horror. 'I could drink your weight in ale, little brother!'

    'I'm sure,' he says, handing her the mug.

Grave

    A man sits in front of a grave. He is alone. He clutches a red, wilted rose. As his body shakes with quiet sobbing, a petal tears itself loose. It falls on the white marble slab set into the ground. Wiping his eyes with his sleeve, the man brushes the petal away. His hand brushes the engraved letters, and memories come flooding back. The pain makes him ball his hand into a fist. He thumps the slab of marble. It hurts. He thumps it again. The pain is good. It makes him forget. He thumps it harder, leaving a smear of blood.

Ulrich Bannon

    'My homeland.' Ulrich said, a shadow of a smile on his usually emotionless face. 'I'd almost forgotten what it looked like.' He looked back at his companion, waving him on. 'Come, doctor!'
    Blitzmann wiped the sweat from his brow as he clambered over the moss-covered rocks. He really wasn't meant for this type of terrain. His feet ached, his lungs burned and his mouth was dry. He made a mental note to take a second look at his Controlled Explosion Boots design. More control, less explosion, this time. But as he crested the top of the hill, he had to admit it was an impressive sight.
    Great, rolling plains with scattered islands of red moss covered the immense valley. Black mountains framed the horizon, snow-covered tips almost hidden in the clouds. The Morrowpeak Lions stood as they had for millennia, built by the gods of past.
    A peel of thunder rolled across the valley.
    'Do you hear?' Ulrich asked, peering into the sky. 'The mountains are forging the first breaths of war.'

Deckhands

    Hands clasped behind his back, Blitzmann marched resolutely back and forth before the three deckhands. With their backs pressed up against the ship's railing, they formed in a line that was not quite straight. Blitzmann shook his head. This pitiful rabble was not the courageous crew he'd had in mind.
    'Now!' He said, making the three jump. 'What have you got to say for yourselves?'
    The man on the left hesitantly raised his hand .
    'Yes! Jonesy!'
    'Wha' 'ave we go' t'say fer wha', cap'n?' He asked, his toothless mouth making his speech almost unintelligible.
    Blitzmann could hardly believe his ears. 'The state of the Blitzkrieg!' He shouted. 'The state of you lot! That state of the harpoons, catapults and cannons!'
    The man on the right raised his hand.
    'Roblins!'
    'We don't... We don't have any harpoons, captain. Or catapults. Or cannons.'
    Blitzmann leaned close, so their faces were just inches apart.
    'Exactly!' He hissed. 'How can you call yourself pirates when you don't have any weapons!?' He stepped back, looking the men in the eyes. 'Well?' he said expectantly.
    The man in the middle raised his hook.
    'Mathews!'
    'We don't, cap'n.'
    'You don't what?'
    'We don't call ourself pirates. You ordered us not to.'
    Blitzmann frowned. 'I did?'
    'Yes, cap'n. You ordered us to call ourselves "The Marvellous Blitzing Corsairs Mark Two".'
    'Oh. Right.' He stared blankly into the air for a few moments, seemingly lost in thought. His eyes grew vacant as he recalled his old crew. Good lads. And such warriors! He shook his head. 'What was I talking about?' The deckhands shrugged. 'Right. Well.' He waved his hand. 'Dismissed!'
    The three men ran off; Jonesy clambering into the crow's nest, Roblins trotting down to the hold and Mathews staggering about the deck on his two wooden legs, a mop in his one remaining hand.

Excuse

    'This ship has entirely too little weaponry.' Blitzmann said, shaking his head disapprovingly. 'Not a single harpoon, cannon or firehurler in sight.' He whirled around, pointing an accusing finger at a deckhand swabbing the deck. 'You!' he called.
    The man froze like a deer caught in the headlights, eyes wide and panicky.
    'A-aye, cap'n?'
    'What's your excuse for this travesty?'
    The deckhand knew better than to question the doctor's mad accusations. Best to just play along.
    'I'm a halfway-retarded ogre spawn scarcely worthy of the pathetic brain in my inferior skull?'
    Blitzmann blinked, taken slightly aback. 'Correct,' he said. 'Carry on.'

Goblins

    Son of Hawktooth smashed his armored fist into the goblin's face, sending it sprawling back to the mud. Its fellows gibbered and screeched in their strange, high-pitched tongue, jumping on the spot and brandishing their shoddy array of crude maces, rusty knives and small, pointy sticks.
    One of the small, grey creatures raised a sturdy-looking stick and, as it uttered a word of power, a flash of lightning arched from its schorched tip to the ground scarcely a yard away from Son of Hawktooth's feet. That gave him some pause.
    'Go-leave now-now,' the spellcaster screeched. 'Dog-man flee-run quick-fast or we kill-stab!'

Reset

    The monitor flickered to life. She squinted at the bright light, trying to find the right program through watering eyes. She was tired. So tired of everything. Tired of family and friends. Tired of strangers and enemies. Tired of civilization. Tired of nature.
    Her eyes adjusted, and she could see the little, green icons lined up in neat rows. She tapped one with a finger. With a chime, the picture turned black and a series of green letters appeared in the middle of the screen.

KING INDUSTRIES PRESENTS

RESETTER (C) 

RESET? Y/N

Without hesitation, she typed "Y" and pressed enter.

THANK YOU

THE WORLD (C) WILL RESET SHORTLY

PLEASE DO NOT TURN OFF OR DISCONNECT YOUR COMPUTER

Paint

    'Make the letters big!' Blitzmann called. 'And swirly!'
    'Aye, aye, captain!'
    'And write it in gold!'
    'Aye, aye, captain!'
    'And make the last "G" look like a dragon!'
    'Aye, aye, captain!'
    Blitzmann stood with crossed arms at the ship's railing, looking down at the deckhand dangling from a jumble of ropes and planks six feet above the water. He held a delicate, wooden brush, carefully spelling out the ship's name on its side.
    'B. L. I. T. Z. K. R. I. E. G.' Blitzmann yelled. 'I recommend you get it right the first time! Unless you fancy getting turned into chum.''

Mount

    "I don't understand why you insist on using that ridiculous animal," Ulrich remarked. "A horse is faster, stronger and infinitely better suited for combat."
    "What you forget," Blitzmann said. "Is that horses are boring and camels are awesome. Genetically modified camels are doubly so."
    Blitzmann patted his trusty camel on its glorious mane of smooth, golden fur and sighed contentedly.
    "Truly, Richard, you are my greatest creation."
    Richard bleated happily and walked face first into the side of a building. After a moment's loaded silence, he bleated again, less happily.
    Ulrich raised an eyebrow.
    "Shut up," Blitzmann said. "Camels are awesome."